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Chapter Three

Roy swirled the dregs of the coffee in his mug and swallowed it down. The bitterness of the liquid only added to the darkness that swirled inside him. He'd been the bearer of bad news many times in his job as sheriff and it never got any easier. It was always worse when it was a friend and he stared at the floor as he considered what his words had just done to one of his closest friends. He felt the weight of grief descending over the room and the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. It was a reality of life that people did not always survive the harshness of the territories, but how did anybody ever find the right words to comfort a parent who had lost a child? It was not right that a father should outlive a son and nothing he had to say could change that. The thought that Joe had given his life to save a child did nothing to lift the blanket of grief and he kept his mouth closed. There would be time for that conversation in the days to come, but now was not the time.

Before anybody could speak, the door pushed open and Ben heard faint footsteps crossing the floor. He had no interest in whoever it was and he was too distracted to note they didn't sound right. Even as he heard Adam's voice speaking, his mind was trying desperately to block out all thought. It took a few minutes for him to really hear his son's tone of voice, but when he looked up, he saw the young Shoshone brave they had seen only that morning. The boy stood in front of Adam and was talking, but Ben had no interest in anything he had to say. His mind was elsewhere and it wasn't until Hoss shook his shoulder that he looked up again.

"What?"

"Pa, didn't ya hear him?" Hoss was leaning into him and Ben blinked to clear away the fog. Roy was on his feet and Adam was staring at the boy. He'd clearly missed something of importance.

"He said him and his brother, they were out for seven nights and only just came back to their camp after sunset tonight. He said there's a white man in his mother's teepee. Said he's pretty banged up and not making a whole lotta sense."

Hoss waited impatiently for his father to catch up. Adam had moved closer and was alarmed at the blank expression on his father's face. The news should have had him on his feet and instead he simply stared at them.

"Pa! It's Joe! It has to be."

Ben climbed to his feet and looked around the room. He'd fought the sense of hopelessness for days and now he felt a glimmer of hope rising again, he wasn't sure he could trust it. The idea of finding the stranger was not his son after all would be too cruel and his gut twisted in raw pain.

"Did he tell you his name?" The words came out in a stronger voice than he thought he was capable of, but hope was rising of its own accord.

The young brave shook his head slowly and Ben had to fight once again to keep the fear at bay.

"He does not make any sense. The medicine man is not there and they do not know how to help what is wrong with his head."

"His head?"

"He is not right in the head. His mouth talks, but his words make no sense. My mother says his head may be bleeding on the inside or it may be the fever that confuses him."

Adam felt his stomach lurch when the boy said the stranger was too ill to tell them anything and he found himself heading for the door.

"Show us! Take us there."

The boy had anticipated the reaction and was already turning to follow when Hoss suddenly pulled them up short.

"Wait a minute. If he's a sick as the boy says, we need Doc Martin."

"He's still out at the Palmer ranch last I heard." Roy looked at the group before him and debated heading out to find the doctor himself. In the end, he decided they needed to ride out first and see if it really was Joe. He could always head back and collect the doctor and a wagon if need be. First things first meant he needed to see his friend reunited with his son as quickly as possible.

They were soon following the boy back out to where they had been earlier in the day and Roy noted the shift in each of the men ahead of him. Hope was a powerful force and he prayed it would be rewarded. Fortunately the moon was already high in the sky and lit up the way as they trekked back up the hill above the river valley. To Ben's impatient mind, it seemed to take hours before they saw the faint glow of campfires and the dark outline of teepees against the forest. He followed the boy to an area where horses were corralled and as he slid from his horse, he nodded quickly at the young men who stepped silently out of the darkness to gather their horses' reins.

"Which way?" His impatience was only building as they followed across to where the young boy pointed. A woman appeared to have been watching for them as she eased the teepee flap aside and pointed them inside. The faint glow of a fire shed enough light as they entered and Ben nearly stumbled as he saw his youngest son bundled in a pile of pelts. A woman sat beside him and appeared to be singing to him. Ben barely registered as their guide joined her and she stopped singing. Even from the entry, he could see something was very wrong and he quickly dropped to his knees.

"Joseph." The word was barely a whisper and he reached a tentative hand towards his son's face. His fingers brushed against too-warm skin and he felt his heart rate rising.

"Son, can you hear me?"

The woman spoke something in her own language and Ben only glanced her way before looking to the young man beside her.

"He hears nothing but his own dreams." The youth looked to his mother for further explanation and he once again spoke softly to her. Ben waited impatiently for the translation, but his eyes never left his son's face.

"He cries out, but his eyes do not open. He is wandering in his dreams."

Ben looked again at Joe's flushed face and felt his chest constrict. His son was certainly caught in a nightmare.

The myriad of questions competing for his attention would not come out and he simply reached out with both hands to cup his son's face. As he did so, he noted the dark bruising against his temple. Something seemed to snap and he looked up towards the woman again.

"His injuries?"

Once again, the youth relayed her answers as the woman tried to make them understand.

"We do not know what hurt him. They just find him walking in the trees. He was wet and they thought he had come from the river because there was much mud on him. He did not speak any sense, even then."

"How long ago? I mean, when did they find him?"

"Three nights." The woman held up three fingers as if to emphasize her answer.

Adam crouched down across from his father and studied his brother's face. "Three nights? So he was out there somewhere for over a day before they found him."

Ben carefully eased back the edge of the buckskin and gasped as he saw the extent of the bruising down Joe's torso. Angry, red gashes and swelling bore witness to the wild ride his son had endured down the length of the Truckee River. A deep rasping sound as Joe drew breath only alarmed him more. He'd heard that sound before and he tried to squash down the memory. The last person he'd heard struggling to breathe like that had succumbed to the infection in his lungs. Ben had almost forgotten that Roy was with them until he heard his friend's calm voice rise over his ugly thoughts.

"I'll head back to get Paul. Shouldn't be too long before I get him here."

Ben barely nodded as he agreed to the idea. He could not help but wonder if he would make it back in time. There was no suggestion of getting the wagon as they had first discussed and Ben knew that each of them was thinking the same thing. Joe was in no condition to be moved anywhere.

"I'll go too. I'll head back to town in case the doc's gone that way already." Ben looked up to where Hoss was already heading for the tent flap. The unspoken comment hung in the air. There was no time to waste in finding the doctor and getting him back.

Adam leaned in as Joe began to mumble and he watched in dismay as his brother's face contorted in pain. Without thinking, he reached out a hand and held Joe's shoulder to stop him from pushing himself upright.

"Easy there. Don't go moving about." He wasn't sure the words were sinking in, but he knew he had to try anyway. He could feel the heat under his fingers and he knew that Joe had spent at least twenty four hours lost somewhere before the Shoshone had found him. He must have been chilled to the bone and in great pain. Adam swallowed down the bile that rose up his throat as he stared at his brother's face. While he and Hoss had been joking about Joe shirking his fair share of work, his brother had been wandering injured, disoriented and confused. While they had slept the night in their beds, Joe had been suffering even more. He fought down the urge to lash out at something and instead began talking to his brother.

"Easy, Joe. We've got you now, little brother."

Joe shifted under his hand and mumbled something again. Adam leaned in closer and strained to hear. Joe's labored breathing disturbed him and he sat back upright. Before he could say anything, one of the women who had been caring for his brother brought a steaming bowl towards them. The water had a pungent smell and he almost gagged as she settled it next to Joe's head.

Their young translator nodded towards the bowl. "To help him to breathe."

The woman began to waft the steam towards his face and Joe coughed violently in response. Ben grasped at him as his face scrunched up in pain and slowly the coughing eased off.

It felt like hours before Ben heard horses outside and he heaved a sigh of relief to see Paul Martin's face coming through the tent flap, followed closely by Hoss. The woman, who he had come to find was called Little Eagle, graciously moved aside as the white man's medicine man crouched down beside her. Paul smiled as he noted the bowl of steaming water and the powerful smell.

"I couldn't believe it when Hoss came charging in to tell me you'd found him." He leaned over and gently eased Joe's head to the side, so he could get a better look at the bruising over his eye. The frown on his face spoke volumes as he examined the wound.

"Has he been awake at all?"

Once again, the youth translated the words for his mother and shook his head.

"She said his eyes have not seen since he fell coming into the camp."

"Three days! He's been unconscious for three days?" Ben stared at the woman as if hoping he had misunderstood. When her son whispered the comment to her, she dipped her head and nodded.

Ben turned to Paul and he clutched at his sleeve as if begging for another response.

"That's quite a blow to the head, Ben. Something hit him pretty hard. Or he hit something pretty hard. Either way, there is significant swelling and it's not surprising he hasn't woken yet."

He reached over to pull back the buckskin and frowned at what he saw. "He's taken quite a beating." The words were almost a whisper, as if talking to himself, but Ben nodded at him.

As the doctor began to prod at the bruised flesh, Joe shifted under his hands. "I'm sorry, my boy." As much as he would have liked to stop, he needed to know what was under the bruising. As he continued to slide his fingers along the bruised flesh, he felt two ribs give under the pressure. Joe flinched and muttered something that none of them could understand.

"Those ribs are broken. I'm going to need to bind them."

"Is that why his breathin's so bad?" Hoss was watching from behind him and cringed as his brother shrank back from the doctor's touch.

"Part of it. The other problem is how much water he swallowed. His lungs will be inflamed and he can't take a deep breath to clear them. I need to bind those ribs, but we need to keep a close eye on his breathing. This steam is certainly helping."

The woman smiled shyly as her son translated the doctor's praise and she nodded. It was a long-used remedy for any kind of breathing difficulty and she had used it on her son when he got the winter chills. The memory caught her off guard and tears pricked at her eyes.

Paul continued his examination and frowned at the level of bruising across Joe's abdomen. As he pressed on the skin he was alarmed at how rigid the skin felt. It was clear that blood had pooled beneath the skin and he had no way to know if it had stopped or if he was still bleeding inside. He dared not look up and allow his concerns to show and he busied himself with inspecting the rest of Joe's cuts and abrasions. If the bleeding had not stopped, there was nothing he could do to save his patient and he felt his chest constrict with the idea that he did not have the skill to save him. Perhaps, he thought, if they were nearer a hospital, with a surgeon who knew such things, there may be a chance. Maybe something could be done, but he knew his limitations and those of the other doctors in the area. He reined in the fear and plastered on a neutral expression before looking up.

Finally he leaned back and looked around at the group. "These folks have done a fine job of tending all the cuts and cleaning him up. I wish I could give a better answer, but we will have to just wait and see."

"Paul?" Ben glared at his friend, knowing he was not giving them a full answer.

"I'll do my best, Ben, but I just don't know. Only time will tell me what I don't know."

"He's gonna make it though, ain't he?" Hoss loomed closer and if Paul didn't know the man so well, he would have felt threatened.

"How often does Little Joe beat the odds, Hoss?"

The question hung in the air and nobody was prepared to answer. Joe could have a lucky streak at cards and often seemed to weasel out of situations relatively unscathed, but nobody was ready to call the odds he faced right now.

"Every day since he was born!" Ben reached a hand to stroke the top of his son's head. "He never should have survived being born so early and yet he did! Every day of his life has been Joe beating the odds!" The tone of his voice left no room for argument and each of them nodded slowly in agreement. Ben watched in amazement as the woman across from him reached out a hand and began to stroke his son's face. Tears slid down her cheeks as she began once again to sing softly. She may not have understood all the words the doctor had spoken, but the language of the heart needs no translation.