"Nothing there, Hoss," Adam reported, disappointed but not surprised. He took the reins from Hoss at their meeting point, both men swinging into their saddles. "The Petuccis cleared out of their house. They know what they're doing."
"Oh, no," Hoss groaned. "They could be anywhere. So what, we wait for a ransom note?"
"I don't know. They can't have gone far. The first thing is to send some kind of a cryptic telegram to Pa. He's got to know what's going on." Adam rubbed the back of his neck.
"Why didn't they just kidnap Joe in the first place?" Hoss asked.
"I wouldn't be surprised if they've been pumping him for information the whole time. I'm sure Joe knows some things as well, but who knows if it was an equal exchange." Adam gave a wave as the brothers rode in opposite directions.
Adam walked into the post office. "Telegram, please," he said.
The post master looked up. The face was awfully familiar. Almost like a face he'd seen last night.
Adam got the first punch in, but was quickly subdued when five men appeared for reinforcement, blocking and locking the door. "You made it right before closing," one remarked wryly. He gave orders over his shoulder for someone to hide Adam's horse and put the "closed" sign back on the window.
Adam knew he was hopelessly outnumbered, and braced himself for another beating. He had to cooperate for now, especially since they had Joe. No more punches came, however; he was thrown into an adjacent room and tied to a chair…face to face with his darling baby brother, tied in another chair.
Joe looked apprehensive, but not as much as he should be, in a situation like this. Relief and anger coursed through Adam's veins, and he glared at the kid who'd put them in this position. "Next time I'll use a poker straight from the fireplace," he seethed.
An older woman, obviously in authority, walked briskly into the room. "Good, glad we have two of you for insurance. If either one of you tries to escape, we'll shoot the other one in front of you."
Great. Now their only hope was Hoss, depending on when he'd notice that Adam was pretty late getting back from sending that telegram.
"We should have been gone by now, but had to attend to some…last-minute details," the woman sighed in irritation. "When our product is ready for shipment, you'll be in…tight quarters for awhile." She left.
Adam inspected his surroundings to be sure there was no means of escape, and was rewarded by a resounding slap in the face. Their guards took their posts very seriously, and the brothers were not even allowed to communicate.
It must have only been an hour (but felt like much longer) before it was time to go. Adam's feet were untied, although his legs were held in place by two men, and someone wheeled in a…coffin. He smelled an acrid burning from the other room. Adam shivered involuntarily—he was quite claustrophobic. This was obviously a specialized coffin—thick padding and thick wood…to be as sound-proof as possible. Adam was put in on his stomach, with his entire body wrapped to ensure no possible means of escape. The gag literally made him gag. He'd been in scrapes before, but he didn't know how they'd get out of this one.
The coffins were placed in a wagon, far apart. As they were the last to be loaded, the wagon left immediately.
"Leaving the area so soon?" a neighbor's voice that Adam recognized called out.
"A death in the family, yes," the woman's voice responded, the perfect blend of pleasant and sad. She was good, Adam had to admit.
"Good luck out there," the neighbor called.
"Hey—hey, wait, those people have my brothers!" Adam had never been so relieved to hear Hoss's guttural voice.
"Damn it—if we'd only left five minutes earlier!" a man in the wagon swore.
Adam heard a few shots, felt a jolt and a lean, and knew that Hoss had splintered some wheels.
."Get the sheriff!" someone screamed from outside. "There's shooting going on!"
"What's going on?" Sheriff Coffee's voice appeared, and steadied Adam's heartbeat considerably. "Every able-bodied man needs to come as backup," he called down the street to whoever could hear.
"My brothers have got to be in that wagon, Sheriff," Hoss pleaded. "Please, please, search it."
"What? I can't just go searching through—"
"Trust me. You have my word as a Cartwright, and these people are coming and going in a matter of months."
"We can't open those coffins, Sheriff," the older woman was arguing persistently when they came to that section. "Do you know how unsanitary that is? Those bodies died of infectious diseases."
"I am really trusting you on this one, Hoss," the sheriff said firmly. "Open them, please, ma'am."
Adam heard a screw turn, and sank with relief. But no daylight appeared.
"Oh, god, shut it up. My apologies. Hoss, what is the meaning of this?" the sheriff demanded.
"They must be on another wagon," Hoss said desperately.
"Feel free to go on your way," the sheriff said.
What?! Adam attempted to scream, to no avail.
"Wait—wait!" Hoss said. Adam could almost hear his brother summoning all remaining brainpower. "Do you see how deep those coffins are?"
"Shall we open them again?" the woman asked sweetly.
"No. Hoss, please. You know what, though…I have never seen a coffin of this design before."
"We have specific cultural needs, and use our own types of coffins. Please, stop upsetting our family in our time of grief. Can you point us toward another wagon for purchase?"
"Please open this coffin again, ma'am. In fact…Hoss, go get the locksmith."
"I'm here, sheriff."
"What do you make of this?"
Adam heard a series of grunts, groans, mm-hmmms…the locksmith observed, "What, is this a secret compartment?"…and finally, he saw a glimmer of light.
"Sweet Jesus! You sick-ass people are under arrest," the sheriff exclaimed in disgust.