Adam had spent a rather uncomfortable morning, checking the lower pastures with a clearly annoyed Hoss. After a couple of hours, he could not stand the pointed silence any longer.
"I thought I'd go back home at lunchtime to apologise to Joe. I didn't sleep at all well last night, you know. I kept thinking about how I could have killed him and how it was all just a stupid argument about nothing." Adam looked and sounded genuinely repentant.
Ever the peacemaker, Hoss was ready to forgive and forget. He only hoped Joe would feel the same way. "Well, I'm sure Little Joe wasn't entirely blameless himself" he said reassuringly and urged Chubb into a canter. "Let's go home!"
The ride home was an excellent opportunity to prepare his apology and Adam entered the house, eager to make amends. He had fully expected to see Joe lying on the sofa, being fussed over by his attentive parent and was taken aback to see only Ben in the living room.
"Where's Joe? He's not … he's not feeling bad again, is he?" His eyes were drawn to the stone fireplace, but the telltale blood stain had been carefully cleaned away and no obvious trace of the previous night's fight remained.
Ben's sympathised with his son's obvious anguish.
"No, no, nothing like that. Your brother's still a bit pale and wan and he's still feeling rather sorry for himself, but there's nothing to worry about. He slept until nearly 11 o'clock and then went out fishing. Apart from that badly bruised butt of his, I'd say Joe's just fine."
Hoss beamed happily: his family were at peace once again and, even better, Hop Sing was bringing through a delicious looking lunch.
It was a warm day, with an almost cloudless sky, but the brightness hurt Joe's eyes and started a dull, thumping ache in his head. Sitting on the hard earth was proving rather painful and he soon gave up all pretense of fishing. Lying on his stomach, Joe cradled his head on his hands and quickly fell asleep.
He was rudely awoken by a hand shaking his shoulder and a voice calling his name. Joe sat up with a start and gazed reproachfully up at the figure standing before him.
"Whadd'ya do tha' for?" He must be still half-asleep, as his tongue didn't seem to be working properly and it was difficult to form his words clearly.
Donald Henderson smiled down at the sleepy figure. A few years older than Joe, they had known one another at school, although the age difference had effectively ruled out any close friendship. Like Joe, Donald was the youngest of three boys, but there the similarities ended. The Henderson boys were close in age, with almost identical shocks of sandy hair, freckles and blue eyes. Recently, there had been stories going around town that Malcolm, the eldest son, was very ill. Looking at Donald, Joe thought the tales might be true, for the older boy had a worried expression on his face and he looked as if he had been crying.
"I thought I'd better wake you up. It's going to start pouring down any moment now and you'd better get off home."
Joe looked up and saw the large anvil-shaped clouds that preceded a rainstorm and realised he must have slept longer than he'd thought.
"Thanks Donald. The Ponderosa's nearer than your place, so you could come home with me to wait out the storm if you want."
"No, that's all right, thanks. I'd better get home or my folks will worry. I'll come with you as far as the turnoff though and then cut on over the bluff."
Donald reached out a hand, helped Joe up and they began to jog back towards the Ponderosa, hoping to get home before the rain began. After 10 minutes, Joe began to feel seriously unwell. Every step seemed to increase the pounding in his head. The continuous pain was beginning to make him feel nauseous. His steps began to slow down and then to falter. The pain was now so bad that he could hardly see and, adding to his discomfort, his stomach was churning violently. Joe kept going for as long as he could, pushing on with dogged determination, but was eventually he simply had to stop.
Reaching the turnoff, Donald realised Joe was no longer in sight. Turning to look back, he saw Joe standing in the middle of the track. As Donald started back towards him, Joe bent over and was extremely sick. So sick that he collapsed onto his hands and knees on the track, still retching uncontrollably. Joe finally stopped vomiting and sat carefully down on the road, breathing hard and trying to compose himself. Donald stood helplessly at his side, unsure what to do or say. After a long pause, Joe looked up at him.
"Gosh, I'm sorry about that, Donald. Just felt sick all of a sudden. I'm fine now. You go on home."
Donald gave Joe a skeptical look and decided to ignore this remarkable statement. He could clearly remember Joe falling off his pony as a child, breaking his collar bone and insisting he was fine, even as his arm hung useless. It seemed that some things never changed. Donald reached into his pocket and pulled out a flat metal container, unscrewed the top and handed it across.
"Here, take a slug of this. It'll help settle your stomach."
Joe took the hip flask and swallowed gratefully, choking and spluttering as the brandy hit his throat. It tasted foul! Still, it did seem to help a bit though, so he took another sip, spilling a little on his shirt in the process.
"Thanks Donald. You're a useful guy to have around."
They walked slowly towards the turnoff, where Joe finally persuaded Donald to go home. The colour had returned to his face and the worrying green tinge was gone, so Donald thought it was probably safe to let the younger boy go on alone. "See you around, Joe." He waved and started to climb up the bluff, looking back occasionally to check on the small figure trudging doggedly along the path that led to the ranch house.
After walking for a mile, Joe was feeling hot, tired and dizzy. He found it increasingly difficult to place one foot in front of the other when his head kept spinning uncontrollably. He'd just sat down for a brief rest, when there was the sound of horse hooves behind him and a voice calling "Want a ride home, Little Joe?"
"Oh brilliant", he thought, "It's Adam." A ride home sounded good, even with his sore butt, but why couldn't it have been Hoss?
Adam drew Sport to a stop and looked down at Joe, who was perched gingerly on a rock. The kid looked a mess, with uncombed, disheveled curls surrounding a pale face. With his eyes closed, Joe looked unaccountably fragile all of a sudden. Adam dismounted and went over to the rock, and hunkered down in front of Joe.
"Are you all right Joe?" Taking hold of his shoulders, Adam gently pulled the boy towards him and Joe's head flopped forward onto his chest. Worried by this, Adam bent down to check his brother more closely. The fumes were unmistakable. All the concern in his voice disappeared, replaced by cold fury. "No, you're not all right, are you? You've been drinking brandy and you're drunk aren't you? Honestly, I despair of ever getting any sense into that thick head of yours!"
He jumped up, pulling Joe roughly with him. The sudden movement made Joe's head spin violently again and it was all he could do not to cry out with the pain building behind his forehead. Adam thrust him roughly up onto the horse, mounted behind and set off at a smart trot. Ignoring the boy's weak protests, he continued lecturing him all the way home. By the time they reached the ranch, Joe didn't know which was worse: the pain in his head, or the pain in his butt. He was very grateful when Adam slid off Sport and pulled him down onto the ground.
Watching from the window, Ben was pleased to see his sons ride in together and was hopeful that they had made amends, but his fond illusions were shattered when he saw Adam reach out and spin Joe around to face him. Ben hurried outside, hoping to avert another quarrel and arrived just in time to see Joe look up at Adam with a confused, uncomprehending expression on his face before throwing up all over Adam's boots.
This was the last straw. Adam had spent an extremely uncomfortable night worrying over his actions and had gone out of his way to find Joe in order to apologise, only to find the reprobate had been enjoying an illicit drinking session. And now he had ruined his boots. Enough was enough! Adam threw Joe bodily over his shoulder, strode across the yard and tossed him unceremoniously into the horse trough.
"I give up! There's no point in even talking to you Joe! You want to be treated like a man? Well, start behaving like a man instead of a silly little boy!"
Ben sighed. It looked like it was going to be another long and rather unpleasant evening. He helped Joe out of the trough and propelled him towards the porch, where Adam was removing his soiled boots.
"Joseph! Go upstairs and get changed into some dry clothes. Adam, you go and find a clean pair of boots. I'll want to see both of you in my study in fifteen minutes."
From the barn Hoss could hear the raised voices and decided that this was an ideal opportunity to give his tack an extra-thorough clean. When he was finished, he returned cautiously to the house, entered by the kitchen door. He looked enquiringly at Hop Sing, who merely shook his head mutely and returned to chopping up vegetables. It definitely seemed safest to stay in the kitchen for a while.
"That is enough!" An unmistakable voice boomed out and there was a sound of hands slamming down upon the desktop. "I will not have brother set against brother and certainly not under my roof. Adam, Joseph: I expect you both to shake hands and we will hear no more about this. Absolutely no more. Do I make myself clear?"
The question was clearly rhetorical. Hoss decided his presence might be helpful and walked out of the kitchen. He sighed as he surveyed an all-too familiar scene: Ben was standing glaring wildly at his recalcitrant sons; Adam was glowering, with his lips drawn into a thin line; Joe was looking rather dejected and had dropped his head down. Aware of his father's forceful gaze, Joe extended a hand and said softly "Sorry brother. Shake?"
Adam forced himself to touch Joe's fingertips briefly, dropping his hand abruptly, as if it were deeply repugnant to him. The kid had done it again! Joe had wrapped his father right around his little finger the day he was born. No matter what he did, Ben would defend Joe to the hilt. Adam's bitter musings were interrupted by another proclamation.
"Joseph, I am deeply, deeply disappointed in you. I have expressly forbidden you to drink to drink strong liquor, have I not?"
"Yes, Pa, but …"
"But me no buts!" His voice was rising again and Ben tried to control his fury. "You deliberately disobeyed me and then nearly ruined your brother's boots. You'll clean and polish them for him and then you can go to bed and reflect on your disgusting behaviour. Maybe that'll knock some sense into that thick head of yours!"
"It's not fair!" Joe whined automatically, and then bit back any further words, suddenly aware of how childish he sounded. But it wasn't fair. No one would listen to his point of view.
"Go on then, get going" Ben gave Joe a not entirely gentle slap on the backside as he passed by. He felt slightly guilty as his Joe winced audibly and walked slowly over to the door, dejection evident in every muscle of his body. Hoss smiled sympathetically as he passed, and gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder.
"And would everyone please stop clapping and patting me as if I were a dog or a horse or … or something! I wish you'd all just leave me alone!"
Luckily, Joe could not see the highly amused looks his fathers and brothers exchanged at this indignant outburst and he went out to the porch, feeling sorely abused. Looking at the soiled boots in disgust, he started on the thoroughly unpleasant task. For a family that was always nagging him to eat more, they sure did know how to put a person off his dinner.
Over breakfast the next morning, Ben delegated the chores for the day. Joe was relieved to find that he and Hoss were to bring some colts down to a lower field, while Adam and Ben went into town on business. Although it would still be uncomfortable to ride, he positively welcomed the opportunity to escape from the reproachful gaze of his father.
"Little Joe, I clear forgot to ask how the fishing was yesterday? Did you catch much?" Hoss enquired, hoping to break the stony silence that threatened to put him off his meal.
Ben welcomed the change of topic. "Yes, how did you get on? I don't recall seeing your fishing rod when you got back yesterday."
Joe looked puzzled. What on earth were they talking about? Fishing? He hadn't been fishing for a couple of weeks, had he? He stared down at his plate in confusion.
"Oh stop sulking and finish your breakfast. Some of us have got work to do!"
"I think I've had enough, thanks." Joe was anxious to get away before any more awkward questions were asked, so he ignored Adam's ascerbic comment.