As the wagon train retraced its route through the steep-sided canyon several hours later, the small army convoy had no idea that for the second time in two days they were being watched. Hoss and Joe lay flat on their bellies observing the wagons rumble on their way beneath them. They weren't alone. Hanska had accompanied them but sat back from the edge, studying the brothers of his friend as they viewed the line of wagons move out of sight.

The rescued Ute men had congregated a short distance away from where they had been freed. They had greeted the two white men with distrust in their eyes, but when learning they were the brothers of Liwanu and that they had helped with their release, they had warily nodded their acknowledgements to the two men. But there was nothing they could do now, so Hanska had sent them on their way accompanied by Akando and Okomi. There would be a great homecoming when the young men arrived back in the high village.

But now plans needed to be made. Hoss and Joe had watched with consternation as Adam's arms had been tied behind his back and he was hustled into the back of the wagon. They saw him land roughly on his side as a helping hand ensured he lost balance. Joe had wanted to storm into the camp and demand they free his brother. But Hoss had held him back, whispering sharply that this wasn't what Adam wanted; remember Hanska's message. They had to trust that Adam knew what he was doing. Joe had sat back abruptly, unable to watch as his brother was taken from them again. But at least this time they could follow. They had been surprised to see the wagons circle around to face the way they had come and had concluded the transport must be returning to Fort Addington.

Hoss inched back from the canyon's edge and sat up. "Okay, so we all know what we're doin'. Hanska, you'll lead Joe to the nearest telegraph office so we can get a telegram off to Pa. And I'll follow Adam to the fort and hope they'll let me in to see 'im."

Hanska nodded briskly and had jumped up and swung up onto the back of his pony in the time it took for Hoss to climb to his feet.

"He don't waste no time, does he?" muttered Hoss wryly. He snorted and shook his head in amusement. He watched as Joe, in a movement that mirrored what Hanska had just done, swung easily into his saddle. Cochise sidestepped in anticipation of the ride. Hoss placed a meaty hand on Joe's thigh. "Be safe, punkin. I've already got one brother up to his neck in you-know-what. I don't wanna have to come bail out another." And before Joe had a chance to indignantly respond, Hoss had whacked his palm across Cochise's rump and the animal was away.

Hoss eyed the two riders until the sloping earth took them out of sight. He gathered up his reins and turned Dandy in the direction of the fort, pausing a moment before a soft word urged the animal to move.

"Now then, older brother, let's go see what heap o' trouble you managed to get yourself into this time."

xxxxxxx

They wouldn't let him see him. And there wasn't a darn thing he could do about it. Hoss had been camped outside the walls of Fort Addington for several nights. The morning after Adam had been locked up in the stockade, Hoss had visited the fort commander and asked to see the man in their lock-up. The commander had refused. Hoss had asked what the man was being held for, and the reply came that he had been involved in an attack on an army convoy; that he had freed several Indians intended for relocation onto a reservation. And when Hoss had explained the man was his brother, the commander had frowned, cocked his head in puzzlement and asked Hoss to wait where he was. The commander had briefly left the room and conferred with a subordinate outside his office. On his return, he told Hoss—in no uncertain terms—that he would not be able to see the prisoner.

Every day since, Hoss had returned to the fort commander's office and begged to see his brother. And each day he had been refused, turned down flat. There had been heated words; on one occasion Hoss had been almost tempted into drawing his revolver. But restraint had got the better of him and he had slammed out of the office, and out of the fort, and thrown himself on the ground in the sheltered grove he had made his camp. The nearest thing to hand, which happened to be a tin mug, had been hurled against a nearby tree. From where he had set up camp he had an unrestricted view of the fort; not being one of the larger garrisons it only had one entrance, so Hoss could see who came and who went. So far, there had been no sign of Adam. He was still a prisoner in the stockade.

Two days ago, Joe and Hanska had joined him. Joe had reported that he had telegraphed their father, and the reply which was sent back from Sheriff Coffee informed them that Ben had left a few days earlier en-route to meet his sons. Joe had fired off several more wires to the most likely towns Ben would travel through in the hope his father would intercept the telegram and know to head for Fort Addington. All they could do now was sit and wait. And pray.

xxxxxxx

Hoss got to know the layout of the fort pretty well over the next few days. The one entrance, that saw plenty of day-to-day traffic, opened into an inner yard with buildings facing the gate and on the adjacent sides. The buildings opposite the gate were divided by a paved covered passageway leading to the rear of the fort where the animals were corralled and the wagons stored. On one side of the corral was a row of stables and facing that were officer's quarters and a couple of lodgings for families. It was small and basic, but always busy. It didn't take long for Hoss to work out where the buildings most important to him were sited: the fort commander's office, the mess, and most crucially, the stockade.

He spent a large part of his day loitering around the fort's inner yard. He would position himself in sight of the stockade, leaning cross-legged against an upturned barrel in the shade of the porch that ran the length of the structure. To observers he appeared to be consumed with whittling a figurine from a soft piece of pine he'd picked up in his camp. And those spectators weren't wrong as Hoss was taking a great deal of care in ensuring the detail was right on his carving. However, Hoss had been whittling since he was a young lad, and could do it with his eyes closed. He always knew who was in the stockade and how long a person or persons had been in there. But it didn't help him gain access. The fort commander would walk out of his office and spy the big man leaning back against the pillar and shake his head in annoyance. But he let him be. Hoss's presence as a civilian in the post wasn't unusual. There were plenty of non-military inhabitants working as water carriers, laundresses or cleaners, so one more citizen didn't raise an eyebrow; particularly one that didn't make any trouble and who was becoming a familiar sight.

It was while in this seemingly relaxed pose, that Hoss took notice of a new arrival being welcomed at the gate. The man, another civilian, rode in on a sprightly roan with a flashy black mane, flowing black tail and black hooves. He dismounted slowly yet clumsily at the hitching post next to Hoss, hopping for balance on a crippled foot. Hoss saw he had to raise his knee in order to lift the foot off the ground, and it would flop down heavily when he took a step. The stranger nodded a greeting at Hoss as he secured his animal and loosened the cinch, his eyes taking in Hoss's large imposing form and apparent disinterest in what was going on around him. But Hoss knew immediately the stranger had got the measure of him; that the big man's outwardly casual posture was nothing more than an act. The stranger turned his body away from Hoss, letting his gaze linger for a few seconds more, and limped towards the fort commander's office. He lifted and flopped his mangled foot as he went.

The newcomer was back a few minutes later. Hoss had looked up at the sound of the stranger shutting the commander's door behind him. He watched the man pull the bandana from his throat and wipe away the sweat from his neck and forehead, before pulling his floppy-brimmed hat over his head. With eyes barely visible beneath his own low-drawn ten-gallon hat, Hoss observed the stranger as he hobbled over to his mount and reached for the animal's reins. As he turned the horse's head in the direction of the passage leading to the corral, Hoss spoke.

"Impressive animal ya got there."

The stranger paused and leaned over his saddle to face Hoss.

"Well, boy, I could tell you I caught this here beast with my own fair hands when he was no more'n a young fiery buck, playin' it hard and sweet with them lady mares, an' wilder than a bee-stung bull." The man limped around behind his horse, resting one palm on the animal's rump as he passed. "But I think we both know my story would be as genuine as a saloon girl's age." He looked down at his gammy foot and smirked.

Hoss laughed. "Well, however you got him, he's a mighty fine-looking horse."

The man leaned heavily against the hitching post and held out his hand. "Bill. Bill Half-Foot."

Hoss took the man's proffered hand in a firm grip. "Good to meet ya, Bill. Hoss Cartwright."

"Cartwright? You one of them Cartwrights who own a big spread out Virginia City way?"

"The Ponderosa, yessir. My pa is Ben Cartwright. That out there," he pointed through the gate to the grove of trees and the camp where Joe could be seen propped up against a tree trunk with his hat pulled low over his face, "is my little brother Joe."

Bill Half-Foot leaned forward to see the young man slumbering in the heat. Resting back against the hitching post, he took off his hat and used it to fan hot air across his face. "I ain't seen you around these parts afore, Hoss. What brings an upstanding fella like yourself to this fine establishment on so lovely a summer's day?"

Bill's sarcasm wasn't lost on Hoss. The day was probably the hottest of the year so far. And until Bill had walked his horse into the fort, the only movement in the parade ground had been the lethargic pacing of the two guards as they periodically crossed in front of the gates. Even the flies seemed to lack the energy to buzz around and irritate the fort's occupants.

Hoss folded his whittling knife and placed it and the carving in his vest pocket. He hugged his arms around his torso.

"Well, Bill, my older brother's got himself locked up in the stockade, but they won't let me see 'im. I figure they'll eventually get sick an' tired of my ugly mug an' let me in."

Bill nodded sagely and stared across the yard in the direction of the cells. "Wha'd he do?"

There was a moment of deliberation. Hoss wondered how much he should share with this man who he'd only known for a few short minutes. But there was something about him Hoss trusted. Maybe it was his humour, or the fact he didn't beat around the bush in asking what could be a provocative question; Hoss admired a straight-talker. It was clear this man was a half-breed. His dark skin and short, badly cut coal-black hair revealed the presence of Indian blood. And he had the distinctive high cheekbones so characteristic of the Indian. So perhaps it was this that made Hoss put his faith in Bill. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"We…ah…he…helped a bunch of Injuns escape from an army convoy. A few army fellas got injured, but no one died," Hoss's eyes widened to emphasise his point. "A few fellas mighta had a bit of a nasty headache the day after, but my brother didn't kill no one."

"Why won'ts they let you see 'im?"

Hoss shrugged. "If only I knew, Bill, if only I knew. But the longer they stop me from seein' Adam, the more worried I'm gettin'."

Bill looked to the ground and frowned. "Adam ya say?"

"Yep, Adam, Adam Cartwright, my older brother."

William Half-Foot chewed on an invisible morsel. "I met me's an Adam ma-self not s' long ago. White fella, dressed like an Indian. Army patrol I was with picked him up in the desert. He'd been tied up and left ta die."

Hoss unfolded his crossed ankles and straightened up. "Bill, that's my brother Adam. About so height, black hair, has a way of lookin' at ya as though you ain't got the brains to know to spit downwind."

"Kinda bad-tempered?"

Hoss whooped and slapped his palm against his thigh. "That's him! Bill, you know Adam! Well, I'll be."

Bill chuckled. "Well, it was more a passing acquaintance. I shared a couple of wagon rides with ya brother there. If I'd known we'd picked up Adam Cartwright of the Ponderosa Cartwrights I'd have insisted on a reward." He laughed, but then the smile faded from his face. "He'd had it rough, though. Said his family had been killed a coupla years before." Bill shook his head. "He was mighty bitter about that. He wanted only one thing in this big ol' world and that was to git back to his woman."

Hoss shifted around to Bill's other side so he had his back to the commander's office. He thrust his hands deep into his pant pockets, his shoulders rising to his ears as he straightened his arms.

"It's a long story, but, well, as you can see, me and Joe, and our pa, well, we didn't die in the attack on the wagon train, though Adam was led to believe we did." He kicked out at the dusty ground. "We'd only just got him back when this happened. He could end up in prison for what he did. Although," Hoss shuffled and looked down at his feet, "he wasn't alone when he freed them Injuns."

Bill raised an eyebrow. Hoss's confession came as no surprise to him. Hoss looked up and seeing nothing more than plain amusement on the face of his confidante, he continued.

"But see, here's the thing. Me and Joe, as I said, we were there when Adam and his pals freed those Indian boys. Adam had been so sure his wife and little gal were on that transport, but they weren't. One of them Indian boys told us that Adam had told us to leave, not to wait for 'im, and so we reckon he let himself get caught, deliberate like. Then Hanska, that's another one of the Ute, he told us someone called Cam…Cam-e…ah heck, some other fella, had been left here and that Adam's wife and kid were here too. So we reckon Adam offered himself up to the army as bait so he'd be brought back here. Though what he could do for them when locked up in a jail cell, God only knows."

The men were interrupted by the sudden arrival through the gates of a returning patrol. The small troop of men dismounted wearily, their faces wet and shining in the full onslaught of the midday sun. Hands were raised when they spotted Bill who returned their greetings with two fingers to his brow. The men led their tired mounts through to the stables.

Bill turned his attention back to Hoss. "Some women have the power to make a man lose his mind so he don't think straight. You get my meaning, son?"

Hoss nodded his head as he briefly looked to the ground. When he looked back up he had a wry smile on his face. "Yeah, I reckon I do."

They turned to watch the last of the riders disappear down the passageway to the corral.

"Thing is, Bill, I've been comin' here four days now, and I've not seen or heard an Indian woman or child. And no one will tell me if there is an Indian woman here. So seems to me my brother has got himself locked up for no good reason at all."

Bill looked up at the big man in front of him. Hoss stood there hugging himself, starring at the ground, scuffing the toe of his boot over imaginary obstacles. His brow was wrinkled with worry.

"Look, son, they knows me around here. I does a lot of work for the army on both sides of the territorial line, so there ain't no one from the most high fallutin', stick-up-the-butt officer to the most flea-bit, low-down, dirty son-of-a-whore private that ol' Bill don't know. Why don't you lets me have a bit of a nosy around, see what I cain't find out?"

Hoss squeezed his lips together, moved by the man's willingness to help him. "I'd be much obliged, sir." And taking the man's hand he gripped it in a firm handshake. "Much obliged."

Bill shifted his weight off the hitching post. "I'm doin' this for that cranky, sour-headed brother of your'n, don't you forget that."

"I won't, sir, I'll remember." Hoss grinned his wide gap-toothed smile and started to sidle away. "I'll be at my camp." He pointed in the rough direction of the ground outside the fort. When he reached the gate he stopped and turned back, calling to Bill who hadn't moved from his spot. "Oh, and when my pa gets here, I reckon that reward will be in order." And with that, he pounded out of the gates to where Joe and Hanska were lying dozing in the heat of the afternoon. At last, he had good news to share.