Chapter 11, by Kaatje

It was too warm in the large bedroom, but not as sweltering as the usual summer day in Nevada. The dusty window shade flapped now and then, stirred by a sluggish breeze. Folly edged around the brass bed carefully, not wanting to wake the two slumberers. Daytime sleep was never as easy, but a gal had to get used to it if she lived this life. It was second nature now to catch a nap when she could, but these girls were young, and still adjusting—almost too young, to her way of thinking. A lot of men enjoyed the company of women who'd done a little living. Still, she'd been consulted on their hiring, and she couldn't complain. They were pretty enough to attract a lot of attention, especially in a raw town like this. The same was true of her, naturally. The Yucca could boast of having the best looking saloon gals in town. A sigh escaped her as she picked up some of their outer garments from the floor and hung them on the bedpost. She continued making her way across the room. Maybe the sigh was partly for her own lost youth.

Of course, Folly could pass for young in the right light, but that wouldn't last many more years, lucky as she'd been with her looks. Her thirtieth birthday would come next month. Twice the age of some in this business. She glanced at Thalia, whose eyelids were squeezed tightly enough that she doubted the girl was still sleeping. Poor kid. The sixteen year old had chewed her fingernails down out of fear. If she didn't do better next time she was given a task, Pete would probably turn her out. He was Ray Farrow's man through and through, even though folks around here saw him as well-to-do in his own right. The owner of the Yucca saloon had taken pains to be sure Hoss and Joe Cartwright were welcomed here, and it had worked, if not the way Pete had intended. Thalia's overtures had gone largely unnoticed by Little Joe. Certainly, he was kind enough to the tiny brunette in an off handed way, but the youngest Cartwright had eyes for a more mature woman, and a boldness that belied his years. Folly had found that out herself, gently fending off his sometimes less than sober advances. One thing that could be said of Joe, he was still charming with too much alcohol in him. However, she was no longer in a position that forced her to accommodate every willing customer. Now and then she'd humor one, or accede to Pete's wishes for a special guest, but she was hostess and that meant she could choose, within limits. There were four other women to take care of that side of things. She'd finally succeeded in turning Joe's attentions to Opal, despite Pete's plans for Thalia.

Out of all the bedrooms on the second floor, this one was special. Special by accident, but in a way she could use to her advantage. A rather small water color portrait was her goal. The scene depicted was one of a demure maiden placing flowers in a basket. Folly stepped in close to the wall and removed the oval frame from the nail. Setting the picture on the nearby dresser, she positioned her right eye near a carefully enhanced crack in the plaster. She'd been able to hear parts of the discussion even in the hallway. Ben Cartwright was not a quiet man. In the last few moments, his volume had increased. It was all she could do not to giggle as she got a look. Little Joe's face couldn't get any redder. His brothers didn't seem to be very comfortable either.

Folly gazed at Adam, indulging in a lighter sigh this time. The doctor had done his work earlier, and she'd intended to help. She was certain she wouldn't have been excused from the room, if not for Cartwright interference. Paul Martin was a practical man, after all. It would hardly have been the first time she'd seen a man without his clothes. Hoss and Joe had been concerned with their oldest brother's dignity, even if Adam had been largely unaware after drinking the doc's concoction. She'd simply come to this room and watched anyway. His brothers had undressed him more gently than she'd have thought men could. Too slowly for Dr. Martin, because he'd snapped at them to get on with it. After that, they'd assisted Paul stoically enough, but she'd seen the pain in their eyes when the wound was probed and Adam flinched and groaned involuntarily. The patient was more awake than they'd thought. He'd flinched more when the injury was cleansed, although he'd been quieter about it. Without his brothers, he might have thrashed dangerously during either operation. Hands that had held him down moved to soothe afterwards. Much could be said with a squeeze to an arm, and a brief touch where it wouldn't hurt. He was very still for the stitching the followed--evidently not as sensitive a procedure. Obviously, their brother's pain had affected them both deeply. Incredibly, she'd felt an ache in her throat, just from watching. What must it be like to have family who cared that much?

"Do you mean to tell me you thought it didn't count anymore, because I said it a few months ago?" Ben Cartwright placed his hands on his hips, incredulity expressed in his stance as well as his face.

Joe squirmed in his place and didn't meet his father's eyes.

"Easy, Joe." Adam's protest sounded sleepy. Joe was sitting on the bed where he was trying to rest, after all.

"I'm waiting for an answer, young man."

"Pa, old Carl had moved on. He ain't here to get jealous anymore. We reckoned there'd be no trouble, with him gone." Hoss gave a small shrug.

"No trouble." Ben took a breath and repeated it with more force. "No trouble! I'd say you ran into plenty of trouble, wouldn't you?"

"Yessir." The answers came quickly.

Folly wasn't sure if that had come from two Cartwright throats or three, until she saw a slight smile on Adam's face. Two, she thought.

"Joseph Francis Cartwright, stand up. You too, Hoss."

Folly put a hand over her mouth to cover a laugh. It shouldn't really have been funny, but the sick expression on the usually cocky young man's face amused her. He wasn't much more than a boy after all. Hoss wasn't looking much more confident, big and capable as he obviously was.

Ben Cartwright moved closer to his youngest, index finger at the ready. "I mean what I say, whether I say it this month, last month or last year. Is that understood?"

Little Joe gulped dutifully and nodded.

"And you." The eldest Cartwright pointed at his middle son. "Twenty-four years old. You were supposed to keep him out of trouble."

Hoss flushed and watched the floor as he nodded. "Sorry, Pa."

Folly felt a touch of guilt, now. After all, she'd been trying to seduce Hoss Cartwright for some time, with limited success. He'd been slow to accept her advances, possibly due to Joe's seeming interest at first. Now that Little Joe had turned his attention to Opal, she'd gotten Hoss to allow some touches and an occasional kiss. From his recent responses, she thought it wouldn't be much longer. Hoss had turned out to be more man than she'd thought at first, though. While obviously attracted to her, he wasn't allowing Folly to set the pace entirely. In fact, when Joe's beating had occurred, she'd been leaning in very near to the big man, as he'd played poker. She smiled as she recalled their closeness. Hoss had plainly appreciated her company. It hadn't been a deliberate distraction, just a continuation of Pete's orders. As far as she knew, the timing was coincidental.

Adam sighed from the bed and placed a hand over his eyes. He no longer seemed amused. "Pa, there's more to this than—"

"I know." Ben seemed to lose some steam, and gave his largest son's shoulder a pat. "I know. Neither one of you caused this. Sit down, boys." He paced back toward the door, ignoring the mild grunt from Adam as his brothers plunked down on the empty side of the bed. "Adam, I have more questions."

"Questions, Pa?" Adam opened his eyes again. "I've told you all I know about the shooting."

Ben leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, standing in silent thought. As Folly watched this, she was suddenly struck by his resemblance to Adam. There was another man he reminded her of, though. She hadn't gotten a good look at Ben Cartwright before, but in some indefinable way, he reminded her of Ray Farrow, Dirk's father. True, Ray Farrow was tall and silver haired—that much, they had in common. Maybe it was as simple as bearing, and having an air of authority. Farrow was craggier than Ben and lanky, much like an older version of his son. Folly thought he might even have been as handsome as Dirk once. What set her back was the coldness in his icy blue eyes. A coldness that only surfaced occasionally in his son. Although she was attracted to Dirk, and even fascinated by his wild moods, there was something the Cartwright men had that the Farrows lacked. Adam in particular was at least as fascinating as Dirk, but he would never have real feelings for her. He appreciated her face and figure—he was even amused by her comments, on occasion. That much she could read in his eyes. There was a distance in him, too, though. At least when it came to her.

"What do you remember about the time you left for college?" Ben asked.

"The time I left for college?" Adam's eyebrows went up, and he started to pull himself to a sitting position.

Hoss was nearer the foot of the bed, but he put a hand on his brother's good leg. "Doc said to stay flat."

"Oh, come on, Hoss." He looked at Joe for support, but received a headshake from his youngest brother.

"You'd better." Ben added.

Adam rolled his eyes as he sank back down. "All right, then."

A fly buzzed near Folly's ear and she brushed it away, before returning her attention to the scene. She wondered if the girls behind her were even trying to sleep anymore. As much noise as Mr. Cartwright had made, she thought not.

Adam reached an arm behind his head, at least propping himself a small amount. Dark eyelashes lowered as his mouth took a sober turn. "After we —'' He paused for a moment. "After we said our goodbyes—"

"What I remember is the night before." Joe's interruption was followed by a quiet giggle.

Ben's eyes widened as Hoss snorted a laugh and Adam chuckled.

"Ah yes, a visit from the Spirit of the Ponderosa." Adam grinned at his youngest brother.

Folly had never seen this kind of smile on Adam's face. It was different from his usual. He had an innocent, almost boyish look. Was that expression caused by a fond memory, or was there more to it?

Ben frowned. "Did this have something to do with that trail of flour going between your bedrooms?"

Hoss slapped Joe's back. "Here I done thought we got it all cleaned up, and Little Joe, too."

Joe laughed and blushed, but appeared to be pleased when his oldest brother tapped his arm.

"We did get cleaned Joe up, whether he liked it or not." Adam chuckled again. "I still don't know where you two got the idea. At least Pa never found the pine needles from the garlands."

"Pine needles? Just what were you boys up to?" Ben's lips twitched but he managed to sound annoyed.

"It was just one last prank, Pa." Joe's eyes twinkled.

Hoss shook his head, but didn't lose the small smile he had. "It was a laugh, and I reckon we needed it. We sure had been through one sad and sorry week."

"Well," Adam cleared his throat. "It didn't turn out to be the last prank, did it?"

"Only the last for awhile, brother." Hoss gave his good leg a pat.

"Well, it sounds like there was no harm done." Ben Cartwright's smile had come out. "What I'm asking about is your trip, though. Whom did you—"

A loud rapping on the door cut in. "Ben, open up. I got Marshal Taylor here with me."

Roy Coffee again. Folly wondered why he was back so soon, and with a marshal. She'd seen a lot of red faces today, but Roy's face was merely red on the cheekbones. He looked even angrier than when she'd spread the scent among the saloon patrons. Three men accompanied him into the room. One stocky and competent looking--at least the same age as Ben. When he removed his hat, what remained of his hair was gray. The next was around thirty and rangy, with brown hair and an equal air of competence. The third was younger and slighter, with sandy hair and angry dark eyes.

"Ben, you ain't gotta rehash it fer me. I heard the story from the marshal." Roy frowned and tucked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Now, all we gotta know is what Adam remembers."

-------------

Adam's throat was dry from talking. Between Marshal Taylor and Roy, he'd had to go over every detail numerous times. Young Billy Murdoch had been watching a little too intently for comfort. He supposed that was to be expected, since he was talking about the man who'd killed the boy's father. Marshal Taylor was very cool about the whole thing, dispassionately questioning one point or another. Some of his questions hadn't seemed relevant to the case, but perhaps he was simply testing memory. Zak Bentley had given Adam an approving nod once or twice during his recitation, but he'd remained silent. Roy's attitude was the puzzling one. If Adam hadn't known better, he'd have thought Roy was itching for an excuse to fight with Taylor. A few times he'd tried to object to the marshal's line of questioning, too.

"You're sure about it all, then. It was Brian Sebring you traveled with?" Roy asked.

Not again. "From the marshal's poster, yes. I don't see why Sebring's testimony wouldn't be worth a lot more than mine, though. After all, as far as I knew he was just a man going to Omaha."

"But you didn't recognize Ray Farrow."

"The man at lunch that day—I'm sorry Roy, but I really don't think it was Farrow. Changes happen in ten years, but not that many."

"Ten years is a long time, mister. You only saw him once." Billy Murdoch said. "Sebring ain't got no reason to lie. He's goin' to the gallows, anyway, if that appeal don't work. No reason it should."

"How old are you?" Adam couldn't help asking the question.

Billy Murdoch bristled. "Nineteen, as if that makes a difference."

"Nine when your father died, then." He tried to get his leg into a comfortable position again, but he was stopped by a firm clasp on his ankle.

"Doc said not to keep movin' it around." Hoss said.

Internally, Adam counted. His leg felt like it was on fire and cramping at the same time and Hoss was not helping, well-meaning though he was. "Let go." It was a small triumph for him when his brother complied. He shifted enough to get some relief and slipped a hand behind his thigh, trying for some surreptitious rubbing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father moving closer.

"I was nine, but I ain't forgot him." Murdoch turned to the marshal. "Amos, we can't have come all this way for nothin'."

Taylor's eyes softened as he put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Billy, it wasn't for nothin'. He witnessed the cash payment and that verifies Sebring's story. Just because the man wasn't Farrow himself doesn't mean it wasn't his agent."

"Damn it, Amos! That ain't the proof we need!" Murdoch's eyes were suddenly wet and his voice cracked, even with his obvious anger.

"Excuse us, folks." Taylor's hand gripped young Billy's shoulder a little harder. "Son, come out in the hall here. We need to talk."

Adam started thinking about the men he knew who worked for the Farrow operation. So many faces—had he met one of them ten years ago? As he was mulling the images over, he heard a loud but feminine sneeze. Roy's gaze turned in the same direction. There was a bad crack in the opposite wall's plaster. He'd noticed it before and wondered why The Yucca's owner hadn't had it repaired. He'd never actually met Pete Saunders, but the man had enough money by all accounts. It had seemed odd that he'd let some drunken customer break up his building without fixing the damage. Roy was looking at him now, giving him a nod. He quickly turned his attention away from the crack. Fortunately, the perfect distraction had arrived. Another pair of hands were on his leg. "Pa, you don't have to—"

"How long has this leg been cramping?" Ben demanded, carefully rubbing above the bandaged area. "Will rolling over help?"

"A little while, and not according to Paul." Adam answered, aware of Roy and Zak Bentley slipping out the door, but not looking at them directly. He hoped they could locate the source of the sneeze.

"Well, you can try it anyway."

Adam never thought he'd be in for this kind of treatment at age thirty. However, he recognized the inevitable. He allowed his father to help him roll over and rub the uninjured parts of his leg. Pa was good at this, after all, and careful where he indicated real pain. His body relaxed as the cramps started to ease—until he heard Folly and Roy's voices through the wall. Quite a shouting match, from the sound of it.