FIVE
Adam dismounted at the edge of the Gable mine. Before him lay the yard, the manager's shack, and a few other dilapidated buildings. He led his horse forward by hand and tethered him behind a brace of trees. Then, gun in hand, he moved forward until he crouched behind an empty water trough. Curiously, there was a light in the shack and he could see someone moving about. The figure was too tall for Joe, so it had to be Lark Miller.
Most likely was Lark Miller.
He couldn't know for certain that this was where Miller had brought his brother. The man might have deliberately misdirected Hoss. This might be some crony of the villain's, or even an innocent squatter. Lark and Joe – if his baby brother was still breathing – could be halfway to Reno by now.
Adam closed his eyes. His father's voice boomed in his head.
'Son, don't borrow trouble. Each day has enough of its own.'
Don't...borrow...trouble.
After watching for several minutes, Adam left the security of the trough behind. Clinging to the shadows that lined a small barn, he moved closer to the shack. As he passed the barn, he heard a horse snort and pound the earth with its hoof. Now, a city slicker might have called him crazy, but he was pretty sure he knew that snort. Rising up a bit, Adam peered through a filthy broken window to find a big black looking right at him.
It was Chubb.
Adam sucked in air. Little Joe was here.
Hopefully alive.
"Adam Cartwright! I know you're out there! I can smell you!"
The black-haired man stiffened. Chubb's snort must have given him away.
"You step into the light right now, Cartwright. Otherwise your little brother's gonna lose somethin' you can't replace!" There was a pause. "Come out with your hands up and drop your gun where I can see it!"
Adam closed his eyes.
Joe was alive.
After whispering a brief prayer of thanks, he opened them and called back, "Lark? What is this? Why are you doing this?"
There was a short pause. Then, "I got me a knife, Cartwright. If you ain't out in the light in ten seconds, you're gonna get a trophy, maybe a finger or toe, maybe something more important. In twenty, nineteen, eighteen..."
"All right!" he shouted as he did what he was told, dropping his sidearm and moving into the growing light. "Here! I'm here! Leave Little Joe alone."
There was a pause – an interminable pause – and then the door of the shack slowly opened inward. A moment later a tall man with pale blond hair stepped out.
"How the mighty have fallen," Lark snorted.
"Where's my brother?" Adam demanded. "Let me see him."
The blond man glanced into the shack and then turned to face him, his eyes lit with a cruel smile. "I'm afraid Little Joe is all tied up right now."
"Is he..." Adam swallowed over his fear. "Is he all right?"
"Stupid kid sat his ass down on a spider." He scoffed. "He ain't lookin' too good."
"Let me see him!"
Lark stepped off the porch, oil lamp in hand. It was growing light and he briefly wondered briefly why he carried it.
"No," his brother's kidnapper said.
Both Joe and Pa were known for their short tempers. It took next to nothing to ignite them. The truth was, he was no different. His candle just had a longer wick.
"Lark, listen," he said, containing his temper. "Joe is sick. You must know that! Stop playing games and let me see him. I need to help my brother!"
The tall blond man stared at him. "Ain't nothin gonna help that kid. He's gonna die – and you're gonna watch. Just like I had to."
Adam's head was spinning. How stupid could he have been? He'd thought Lark wanted Joe for Joe, but now he was beginning to wonder if he had been blinded by his love for his baby brother.
Could it be Lark's target had been him all along?
The black-haired man licked his lips. He ran a sleeve over his face to wipe the sweat from his eyes. "Like you had to?" he echoed.
"You don't remember me, do you, Cartwright? I don't know why I'm surprised. Me and my brother weren't worth spit in your eyes before."
Lark and his brother? Adam wracked his brain. It was clear now that 'Lark Miller' was an alias. Adam looked at the man – thought about how he walked and talked – but there was nothing.
Who was he?
"I'm...sorry," he stammered.
"Sorry. Yeah, sorry. Like you were 'sorry' when you said that mine wasn't safe. When you kept me from goin' in 'cause it didn't meet your specifications. Like you were 'sorry' when they pulled my little brother's bones out of the rubble a year later when they finally broke through. He was right behind the wall, Cartwright! You could have saved him!" The man was seething. "I had to stand by while my brother died a living death, and you sure as hell are gonna do the same!"
His mind was awhirl. What was the man talking about? What mine? What collapse? What...
And then enlightenment – like the devastating cave-in he had witnessed all those years ago – exploded before his eyes.
"Levings McNaughton," he breathed.
The blond man sneered.
"That's right stupid of you, Cartwright," he said. "A man ain't supposed to know the name of his executioner."
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Of all the reckless, irresponsible, and idiotic things!
What could Adam have been thinking?
Ben Cartwright was a furious man. He rode like a demon into the desert dawn, pressing his mount for more speed and distance than was reasonable. He'd been sitting at home, attempting to keep his mind on the newspaper, while Hop Sing bustled around the great room muttering under his breath, straightening things that didn't need straightened. The man from China would dust something, stop, sigh – look at the door as if expecting it to open – and then dust the same space again. Hop Sing was worried.
So was he.
Of course, he'd told himself all evening to stop worrying. Adam was with his brothers – Adam, his rock. The eldest son who had a good head on his shoulders and who would see to it that his younger brothers did as they were told so they could get home at a reasonable hour.
Adam who, this time, had failed him.
He'd just folded his paper with a snap and was ready to do the same thing to Hop Sing when they heard hooves pounding into the yard. Two horses, by the sound of it.
No wagon.
He and his cook had exchanged a look and then rushed for the door, nearly colliding as they got there. Hop Sing quickly retreated and let him open it. He'd almost wished he hadn't. As he'd surmised there was no wagon. There was no Chubb. No Hoss. No Little Joe or Adam.
Only a ranch hand leading Joe's Welsh pony, Cadfan.
The day was drawing to a close, but there had been enough light to see that the pony's sides glistened with sweat. Her hooves were covered in sand. By God's grace, there was no blood on Cadfan or on Little Joe's saddle, but that was about the only dispensation Providence allowed him. Before he could ask, the ranch hand – Jim Wheats – reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. The note was written in Hoss' hand.
'Pa. Adam took off. Joe and I was worried so we followed him. Joe got spider bit and he's real sick. We're heading for Gable's. Bring Doc Martin and come quick.'
Bring Doc Martin and come quick.
Gable's was at least ten miles into the desert, maybe more. The boys had been dressed and prepared for a day in town. He doubted if they had their jackets with them.
What was Adam thinking?
Reluctantly, Ben slowed his horse to a walk to let the animal cool down for a moment. As he did, he glanced over his shoulder. Doc Martin had been in bed when he arrived in the settlement. He'd pounded on the older man's door, waking his friend and half of the neighborhood. The physician wasn't used to traveling in the desert at night, even with the moon so bright it looked like a night on a San Francisco boardwalk. He'd had to dress and then rent a horse since his buggy with its rail-thin wheels would be practically useless. Paul wasn't used to riding either.
He hoped, now that the light was up, that the physician wasn't too far behind.
As he nudged Buck and began to move forward, Ben couldn't keep his mind from turning back to the time Marie had been bitten by a spider. His beautiful wife had been enamored of an array of wildflowers growing between two boulders in the house garden and, as a woman from the Crescent city, quite unaware of the dangers that lurked therein. At first he hadn't thought much about it. Marie said she was fine. But later that night, after she put Little Joe to bed, she'd begun to feel sick and had quickly developed a rash – and then, her throat began to swell.
Paul was sure they would lose her then.
After Marie came through, Paul had felt it important to remind him that Joseph might have inherited his mother's sensitivity to spider venom. They'd played that scene out a number of times, whenever the boy had been bitten. Most often, Little Joe had grumbled and grouched his way through a few days of feeling bad and was up and on his feet before Paul gave the A-Okay.
But, there had been that one time.
The spider bite had become infected and Joe's fever soared. Between Doc Martin's medicine and Hop Sing's herbs, things were put to right.
He hoped everything was all right now.
Pressing harder, the older man urged his mount to canter and then to run. They were old friends and Buck did as he asked, but he knew the horse could only hold out so long. The temperature was rising with the sun and Gables was still several miles away. With each hoof-beat that struck the desert floor, Ben grew more alarmed, as if – somehow – he knew every minute, each second was precious.
As precious as the life of one of his boys.
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He'd been twenty-three when it happened. Hoss had been seventeen, and Joe, almost eleven. He'd just returned from college and been eager to take up his role as his father's right hand man. Since he'd just graduated with a degree in engineering and architecture, he had looked forward the most to helping with the Ponderosa's nascent mining operations. Pa's focus had been mostly cattle and timber when he left, but since then his father had done as he suggested in his letters and diversified their interests, venturing out into mining as well.
The thousand acres of Heaven his father owned were as bountiful as Eden under the soil as well as on top.
He'd arrived home one day after busting broncos to find his father in a heated discussion with another man. He'd barely hung his hat on the peg and dropped his gun on the credenza before Pa called him over. The sounds he heard drifting from the kitchen told him Hop Sing had Little Joe busy cutting and chopping. It was more than amusing to hear the two of them arguing in Cantonese. He didn't know where Hoss was but figured his giant of a teenage brother was out in the barn somewhere.
When he arrived at the desk he saw Pa had a map of one of the older mines they owned opened on the desk. It was been worked before and closed down when the owner was stricken with apoplexy and ended up in a wheel chair. Pa originally bought it as much to help the man out as for the silver it might yield. He'd only gotten around to hiring a crew and opening it up in the last few months. Drawing up a chair, Pa sat down and listened. The angry man was the mine's foreman and he was insisting that the mine wasn't safe to work. Pa argued that he'd had it looked at and been told it was. Back in those days, Pa had as quick a temper as Little Joe and the two strong-willed men were sharpening their horns like a pair of randy mountain goats ready to go at it.
As he arrived, Pa introduced him to the foreman. Then he boasted how his oldest some had just graduated from college with a degree in engineering and knew all about mines. Adam would take a look, Pa said.
He remembered swallowing over his surprise.
All about mines?
He'd bluffed his way through, of course, not wanting to let his father down. He knew enough about beams and the pressure on them to take a look at the shorings and figure out if they posed a threat. Pa'd smiled at him when he agreed, like he'd just lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders.
Of course, that placed it squarely it on his.
He couldn't be wrong.
The trip to the mine had been fairly pleasant. The mine's foreman, name of Gavin, was friendly enough once he knew they'd paid attention to what he said. As they rode, he explained what he'd seen and, from the sound of it, he had a right to be concerned.
They arrived near the end of the first shift. He remembered as he dismounted that he'd seen a few men rising out of the mine, like a phoenix from the ashes, covered in dust and debris. It was immediately clear that the timbers holding up the tunnels were shedding rock and dirt. That was what had alerted Gavin in the first place. Together, he and his father went in. After a cursory inspection, he'd decided the beams were holding well enough that they could bring in a more experienced engineer to make the final call.
It had been a fatal mistake.
He and Pa, along with Gavin, had no sooner sat down in the mine office to talk when the alarm went off and the ground rolled under their feet. Before they had cleared the door, fire belched up out of the mine, vomiting ash and debris and littering the yard. Most of the miners were running from it toward safety, but there was one man – a tall, ash and soot covered man – who was running toward the entrance. Coming to a quick decision, he bolted forward and leapt, catching the man about his knees and dragging him to the ground. The miner fought him like a maniac, hammering his chest and face with blows, all the while shouting curses and blaming him for what had happened. No more than twenty seconds after he caught hold of him, there was a second explosion and the front of the mine collapsed, sealing in the remainder of the men who had worked the first shift.
Including, apparently, Levings McNaughton's little brother.
Adam's jaw tightened. His gaze went to Levings' and then rose to meet the man's hatred head on.
"Kill me," he said. "It's what you want."
"No, it ain't." Levings didn't yell this time. The quiet even tone he employed was far more terrifying. "I want to make you suffer like I suffered that day – like I been sufferin' for three years. Like I'll suffer the rest of my life! You took somethin' from me, Cartwright." Leving's lips curled in a sneer. "Now I aim to take somethin' from you."
As he watched, McNaughton lifted his free hand. When he recognized what it held, the sight caused him to tremble. He hadn't noticed it before, but now he did – a thin black line of death running from where Levings stood back to the place where his baby brother was being held.
Levings held his gaze as he pulled the glass chimney off the lamp he'd brought with him.
"Oops!" he said as he let it fall and then added as the oil trail caught fire, "Welcome to hell, Adam Cartwright."
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He'd fallen asleep, but the sound of voices had pulled Joe back to the surface of his predicament. He felt horrible. He could hardly swallow and was both hot and cold, burning up and shiverin' at the same time, so he knew he had a fever. Even so, he wasn't about to take whatever that crazy McNaughton meant to dish out layin' down! Sucking in a breath and holding it against the pain, Joe lifted up his shoulders and then his hips and scooted back as far as he could until he was almost sitting up. It hurt like hell to do it, but at least he wouldn't die in his sleep should the worst happen! His eyesight was murky at best with his eyes swollen and all crusted over. Now that the lamp was gone, he could hardly see anything – except the bed he was lying on. There was a window just above the bed and the dawning light streamed through it. The glimpse of the desert beyond made his eyes tear. He remembered seeing Hoss fall and the cry of pain his brother had let out when Lark Miller grabbed him and threw him over his saddle and rode away.
Hoss needn't have worried. He'd passed out quick enough.
The silvery moonlight let Joe see that the top sheet had been pulled out near the end of the bed and a part of it had been roughly torn away. By squinting, he could just make out his hands and feet. The same cloth bound him to the bed. Lark must have used it to make the strips that held him. Using the heel of his boot, Joe pushed at the dirty white fabric and was satisfied to hear it rip. Pa'd decided, after the accident, to abandon Gable's mine. That had been a good while back when he was a kid. No one other than a squatter or someone desperate to escape the desert sun should have lived here in all that time. With the hot days and colder nights, cloth was likely to grow thin as a shadow with holes in it.
Maybe, just maybe, he could tear it and escape.
Glancing up was hard. It made his head hurt and his eyes water, but Joe did it with determination and fastened his gaze on his wrist. Putting every ounce of spit and fire he had left into it, he began to wriggle and pull, and when that didn't work, he cussed and prayed. Just about the time he was beyond any of it, Joe heard a shredding sound and he was free.
Well, one hand was free.
Encouraged, using his free hand, he began to work on the second tie. The sound of two voices outside – raised in pitch and mad enough to kick a hog barefoot – stopped him less than a minute later. One was Lark's. The other, well, he couldn't tell. His hearing was about as muddled as his sight. He thought – he hoped – that it was Hoss or Adam, or maybe even his Pa. He didn't want any of them to be in danger, but he sure could use some help.
Joe wiggled and pulled for another minute or so. He almost let out a 'Yippee!' when the second hand came free, but remembered in time that it probably wasn't a smart thing to do.
For another whole minute he sat there, drawing deep breaths and listening to the men outside, before he attempted to free his feet. His stomach hurt from layin' over the saddle, and takin' a normal breath came just as hard as stayin' awake through one of Miss Jones' lectures. As he sat there in silence, breathing hard, one of the voices penetrated the fog he found himself in.
'That's right stupid of you, Cartwright. A man ain't supposed to know the name of his executioner.'
Joe blinked back tears.
A member of his family was in trouble!
Ignoring the pain, Joe doubled over and reached for his ankles. His head was swimming by the time they were free, but the strips came away easier, since he had both hands to use. Once free, the curly-haired boy pivoted on the bed, placed his feet on the floor, and stood up – only to fall right back onto his butt. Joe sat there with his fingers formed into fists, riding the wave of pain, before he tried again. This time he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward the door.
He'd almost reached it when there was a funny sound – a rushing noise like a sudden wind and then a 'whoosh!' Almost instantly his skin began to burn and he had to back off. Outside the window he could see flames rising. Above them he caught a glimpse of his brother Adam. Older brother was struggling with Lark Miller while screaming his name over and over. Adam was fighting for all he was worth to reach him. Joe's eyes went back to the flames.
He couldn't. Not in time.
He had to save himself.
Catching hold of the table to steady himself, Joe turned frantically from one side of the shack to the other. There had to be something – some way! Then, when he saw it, he felt like an idiot.
The window above the bed!
Moving as fast as his feet would take him, the fourteen-year-old went back to the bed and climbed on it and reached for the window –
Only to find it nailed shut.
