Ben Cartwright gripped Captain Ashwell's hand firmly, but refused the chair that had been offered to him. Ashwell sat, somewhat hesitantly, and folded his hands on the desk in front of him. Bill had stayed outside with the horses, but Hoss and Joe had followed their father into the office. The captain nodded sharply towards Hoss, who had been a frequent visitor over the last few days. He ran a dismissive gaze over Joe as the young man leaned one shoulder against the wall. Hoss settled his backside on the window sill, crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his arms across his chest.

Ben looked across at the captain, watching as the man drew his chair closer to the desk. He observed the fastidious care that Ashwell had taken in his appearance. His dark hair was slick from the oil used to smooth it close to his scalp, and his moustache had been trimmed, combed and primped into place over his top lip. There was a steeliness to the captain's expression, but from the amount of nervous tugging down of his jacket and the flicking of imaginary specks from his sleeves, Ben wondered how confident he really was. Ben had noticed the highly polished boots as he had moved out from behind his desk to shake Ben's hand: a little too much time spent preening, and not enough time commanding was the conclusion Ben reached.

The captain looked at each man individually before resting his gaze on Ben. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Ben didn't beat around the bush. "I understand you have my son locked up in one of your cells. And that he has been badly beaten."

The captain didn't blink. "If you are referring to the man who attacked one of my convoys and freed a number of prisoners, then yes, I have him locked up in the stockade. As for his injuries, he was refusing to co-operate; the men had to apply a little more force than is usually necessary to make him behave as he should. It appears living like a savage has had quite a detrimental consequence."

Joe shifted his shoulder away from the wall and threw a glance at Hoss. Ben moved a step nearer the desk.

"You're lying, Captain Ashwell. From what I understand my son was beaten out of pure malice."

Ashwell's face began to redden as he sucked in his cheeks and pursed his lips. He took a deep breath. "I don't appreciate you coming into my fort and accusing me of—"

"I would like you to hand him over to me," Ben interrupted, disregarding the captain's indignation. "He may need medical help. I also want you to hand over the Ute Indian whom you also have locked up, and who, as far as I'm aware, has done nothing to warrant being a prisoner here."

"He was obstructive when being put into transport—"

"So you shot him?"

Captain Ashwell looked down and twisted his head to the side, before rising slowly to his feet and bringing his gaze back to the man before him. He pulled his uniform down with a sharp tug as he moved around from behind his desk. He ignored Ben's last comment.

"In answer to your request, the answer is obviously no. Your son broke the law and will be charged accordingly. The Indian will be moved to a reservation."

"Ah." It was the opening Ben needed. "Captain, could you show me where this reservation is?" He moved to the huge map of Utah Territory that took up half of the wall behind the captain's desk.

"Why do you want to know? This is government business; it's none of your concern."

Ben swivelled to stare hard into the man's eyes. "I'm making it my concern, Captain. As you might have realised by now, my son has close links with these people. If he is to be incarcerated for a period of time then I need to know where his family is."

Hoss and Joe exchanged a look. Their pa had more smoke than a damp wood fire.*

Ashwell puckered his lips and then moved to stand next to Ben in front of the map. "It's around about here." He pointed vaguely to the top right of the map.

Hoss shifted off the window sill and walked across the room, coming to a stop next to the captain. "You sure, Cap'n? From what I heard the convoy was attacked on the road between here and Boyd's Creek, and that's down there." Hoss pointed to a spot on the map which was almost diametrically opposite to where the captain had pointed. "Seems a mighty strange route to take to get ta the reservation."

The officer bristled. "Perhaps I got it wrong; it's a new site. I couldn't tell you where every Indian reservation and village is in this territory." He turned to look at both men who were blocking the route to his chair. "Do you mind, gentleman?"

Ben raised an eyebrow to Hoss as they both moved slowly out from behind the captain's desk. Ashwell thumped back in his chair, and opened the ledger on the table in front of him. "Now as you can see, I'm very busy—"

Ben clenched his fists on the man's desk and leaned over him. "You don't know where the reservation is because there isn't one, isn't that right, Captain Ashwell?"

Ashwell started to breathe heavily in and out through his nostrils; his mouth a thin tense line.

"Now, I don't know where you were taking those Indians but if it wasn't to a reservation, then I'm sure Major General Rainsford at Fort Penning will also have reason to enquire as to where they were being taken." Ben's voice was steadily climbing to a thunderous crescendo. "And yes, my son broke the law. But I would argue making dubious agreements with rogue Indians is just as unacceptable." The captain froze at Ben's words, staring with wildly-blinking eyes at the man leaning over him. He then let out a sigh, dropped his head and flopped back in his chair, throwing the pencil he'd been holding on to the table.

"You know about the arrangement?"

Ben straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. "I know there was a deal. What I don't know is what you got out of it."

Captain Ashwell sighed heavily. "Matwau's village is on poor land. It's near the desert, dry, harsh. They have to conserve their water as best they can and ride a long way for good hunting. How they ended up there, God only knows. But the land is rich in other ways. Matwau's village is sitting on top of a substantial ore of silver. He knows it but doesn't care about the wealth it could bring. He rode in, bold as brass, about five weeks ago and offered a deal. He said the land would be ours, if we would move another village off their land for him to claim."

Ben unfolded his arms and leant back across the desk. "So you agreed. You consented to move women, children, families off the land that was their home, because of your greed."

The captain jumped to his feet, driving his chair against the wall with a crash. "It was not for me! The money was needed to enlist more men, build more forts. This land is lawless; it needs order!"

Ben's eyes were black orbs of fire beneath his low-drawn eyebrows. "Don't deny you would have grown rich, the army officer who…found…the silver." Disdain dripped from every quietly-spoken word. He turned away, sickened by the sight of the man standing behind the desk. "And then what? I take it Matwau led you to where the village was."

"He took us to a trail that the villagers would be using. He was clever; he never let on where the land he wanted was sited. But we only came across a handful of Indians. We brought them back here. And I didn't see Matwau again."

Ben turned back to face Ashwell. "That's because Matwau is dead. He died confessing his crimes."

The captain closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

Ben let him digest the news of his erstwhile partner's fate before speaking again. "And the village? The village with all the silver?"

Captain Ashwell lowered himself back into his chair. He suddenly looked older than his years as all the polish and bluster melted from his frame. "Mr Cartwright, I could not tell you where a single Ute village is in this godforsaken land."

Ben looked at his boys. They had shifted from their positions on hearing the captain's statement. All three traded a look of relief. The Ute villagers were safe. Ben turned back to face the disgraced captain and, for the last time, leant across the desk.

"I'll ask you once more, Captain. Will you release my son and the Indian into my care? And I understand there is a Ute woman and her child here too."

The captain sat up slowly in his chair and reached for his pen and ink. "I'll write the release paper."

Within a couple of minutes, Ben was following his two sons out of the office, clutching the precious piece of paper in his hand. He turned as he reached the door. "As soon as I have my boy back safely, I will be writing to Major General Rainsford at Fort Penning about this whole charade. I expect you'll be hearing from him soon." With one last look at the defeated captain slumped in his chair, Ben closed the door firmly behind him.

xxxxxxx

Young Willard Frost was startled to see three civilians and his conniving ol' buddy, Bill Half-Foot, enter the stockade's office and present a signed release paper for the two prisoners. Ben didn't wait for him to fumble with the keys; he snatched them from the lad's hand and stormed into the room housing the cells.

He was almost driven back by the smell of human waste. Clasping a hand over his mouth, he entered the room. Ahead of him was the cell containing the Ute Indian who was climbing warily to his feet. Ben stumbled past him, quickly spying the prone figure in the next cell. His fingers wouldn't obey his instructions and he dropped the keys twice. A large hand folded over his own and Hoss was there, gently taking the keys from his father's grip and unlocking the cell door. The key took an age to turn during which Ben couldn't take his eyes from his son's bruised and lacerated back. But Adam was moving. And by the time the door swung open he had manoeuvred himself onto his rump, leaning heavily to the side with his weight on one arm.

Ben sank to his knees besides him. He wanted to envelop Adam in his arms but his hands could only hover over his son's damaged skin, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him more. Adam looked up, pushing a lock of lank hair behind one ear. And Ben's heart soared to see him smile.

"It's okay, Pa, I'm okay."

"Son, you're not okay, look at what they've done to you."

"A few bruises here and there, they'll heal."

"A few…"

Adam looked up at his father and smiled again. "Pa, you sure are a sight for sore eyes."

Ben laughed; the irony wasn't lost on him. Adam's swollen eye was now a garish mix of green and yellow, and the flesh around his other eye had an angry redness to it. Ben could hold himself back no longer. Gently cupping a hand around Adam's neck he pulled his son close to his chest. He placed a careful hand on Adam's back as he held him near. Knowing his son was now safe and in apparent good humour filled Ben's heart with a joy he hadn't felt since he'd been reunited with him four long weeks ago.

Adam pulled away from his father's chest gently, feeling Ben reluctantly release his hold on him. But Adam had not stopped smiling throughout the embrace. The warmth of his father's hold filled him with a gladness that penetrated through all the pain and hurt of the last few days. He looked up to see the two worried faces of his brothers staring down at him. He grinned at them to dispel the concern that narrowed their lips and lowered their brows.

He spotted Bill behind them. "Do I have you to thank, Bill? They stopped the beatings two days ago. And the food improved too." Adam laughed but the gratitude shone bright from his eyes.

Bill lowered his face. "Gaaah…I jus' told the cap who ya daddy was, is all." He started edging towards the door. "I'll go see about a wagon, you ain't in no fit state to ride." Bill turned as he reached the door through which Frosty was peering with interest. "I'm sure the cap will see fit to oblige." He moved passed Frosty, pausing for a moment to place a warm hand on the lad's shoulder. "I ain't too good at all that emotional stuff," he said to him. "Besides, I made a promise to someone which I needs to keep."

Adam suddenly gripped his father's arm. "Pa, my wife, she's here, I'm certain of it."

"Shh, Adam, we'll find her. We need to take care of you first. Can you stand?"

Adam glanced down as his legs. "I think so, though my feet aren't in a good way."

Ben leaned over to look at Adam's soles and frowned.

"We'll give it a try, let's get you up."

Bill had freed Cameahwait from his cell and the Ute had been hovering cautiously in the corridor, observing the interaction between Adam and his father. As Hoss started to move towards his brother to help raise him up, he was halted in his tracks by Cam as he squeezed past the big man. "Please, let me."

Hoss paused, throwing a glance at his father. Ben nodded, and together Ben and Cameahwait slipped an arm around Adam's back as Adam reached his arms around their shoulders. Taking his weight, they hauled him upright. He groaned and held his breath to lessen the pain in his feet but after a concerned query from his father, he nodded that he could walk. Just. Cam also winced at the effort. Adam noticed the Ute's grimace and spoke to him in the tongue they shared. "You shouldn't be doing this; you'll tear open your wound and they'll be hell to pay from Wanekia."

Cam paused, moving his hand down to Adam's waist to get a better grip. "I need to do this, my friend." He looked into Adam's eyes. "You understand?"

Adam nodded. Together, the white man who had given Adam life, and the Indian who had become Adam's closest friend, supported him as he left the stockade. He could only walk on the balls of his feet by the time they reached the yard. As Adam and Cameahwait emerged from the subdued light of their cell into the bright afternoon sun, they both clenched their eyes shut and ducked their heads to avoid the painful overbearing glare of the light.

Hoss followed them out and a sharp whistle from the passage leading to the corral sent him scurrying towards Bill who had secured a buckboard and mule for their use; as expected, the fort's commander had been more than obliging of their needs. Joe had scooted on ahead under orders to return to their camp and find a clean shirt for Adam to wear from the items strapped to his father's pack horse; and on his return to bring Sport and Matwau's Indian pony for Cameahwait. There was no way Adam could ride, so Sport would be tied to the buckboard.

A shady bench was provided for Adam to rest upon. The three men drew curious looks from the soldiers and civilians who manned the fort, particularly the half-dressed Adam with his Indian buckskin pants and horribly bruised torso and face. No one had seen him since the humiliation of his scrub-down by the washerwomen, and those who had been witness to that could see how, in the interim, he had been beaten to within an inch of his life. He sat leaning heavily against his father, ignoring the stares from inquisitive onlookers. Joe returned with a canteen of fresh water and an almost clean shirt. Adam didn't complain; he found the subtle odour of his father permeating the garment strangely comforting.

They had to wait a short while, but soon Hoss was walking through the passageway leading a mule and buckboard. Adam didn't mind the wait, especially after asking his father to help him stand so he could move into the sunlight. He leaned back against the hitching post with Cam and Ben on either side of him for support, his eyes closed and his face raised to the sky, relishing the tingle of heat against his skin.

He couldn't stop asking his father about Kia. Was she here? Had the soldiers moved her to a reservation? Could they take him to where she was? And Ben would lay a gentle grip on his son's forearm and tell him not to worry, he'd see her soon. Adam would nod and calm, but a few minutes later the questions would start again.

Hoss procured a handful of gunny sacks filled with grain, and these, along with every bed roll the party had between them, were laid on the floor of the buckboard. It was time for Adam to be helped into the back. He gripped the wooden side of the wagon, and took one last look around. He sighed. During those long endless hours of pain he had found himself repeating over and over that he was a fool, an idiotic fool, a reckless fool, a stupid fool; it had become a relentless refrain in his mind. He had thought constantly about the moment he had decided to let himself be caught and mentally berated himself for being so blind as to the consequences. His plan had been flawed from the beginning. How long could he have expected to get away with the deception that he was Ute? And after what he'd done in attacking the transport, well, the only logical outcome for him would be a prison cell for several years. But now, as he glanced at Cam besides him, he realised perhaps, just perhaps, it hadn't been such a fool idea after all. At the very least, his actions had resulted in his friend being freed. Cam could return to the village, to his wife and children.

As for Adam's own tiny family… His head dropped to his chest as a feeling of helplessness threatened to overwhelm him. But he quickly drew a breath and refused to let himself give in to such power-sapping sentiment. He would find them, even if it meant combing through every single fort, reservation and Indian village in the territory. Not an inch of desert, mountain and forest would go unexplored. And he would not stop until he had found them.

Adam lifted his head high and took another look around the yard; at the people who were standing in the shade watching the scene before them. He wasn't surprised to see the three soldiers who had taken such pleasure in beating him. They lounged together near the mess, their eyes fixed on the man who had humiliated them. The sentry Adam had knocked out was vibrating with nervous energy. The man took a step forward but one of his companions placed a hand on his chest and moved him gently but firmly back. Adam was saddened to see such loathing in the man's eyes and for a moment he felt regret. Was it his doing that this once fearful man was now twisted by hate? Adam sighed but didn't look away. He saw the defiance and satisfaction on their faces, he saw the pride; Adam had been nothing more than an Injun lover who needed putting in his place. After one last slow look at the three men, Adam blinked slowly, looked away and indicated to his father he was ready to go.

There was a scream behind him. A long, singular pitch of such intensity that not a head in the fort didn't twist around to stare in disbelief at the sound. It was Wanekia, and in her arms was a child with the raven-coloured hair of both her parents. Mimiteh let out a wail to match her mother's which only grew in volume when she was thrust into the arms of the man who had led her mother through the passageway. Bill tucked the infant on to one arm, and joggled her up and down to soothe her. Mimiteh wanted her mother, but Kia was gone, running across the inner yard to where her husband stood propped up against the buckboard. Bill had warned her Adam had been hurt, and she could see the bruises on his face. Kia couldn't restrain herself, though. She launched herself into the arms that had brushed off his helpers and opened to receive her.

Adam grunted noisily with the hard impact of her body against his badly bruised torso; the small of his back was forced painfully against the hard wooden floor of the buckboard making him gasp momentarily. But the pain was forgotten in an instant. He knew nothing else at that moment, only that his arms were wrapped around Kia and squeezing her close; that he could feel the firmness of her flesh beneath his hands as he gripped her body; that her breath was hot against his neck and her heart was racing in time with his. He pinched his eyes closed, clasping her tighter in his arms. He was scared to let her go, lest this was all a dream and she would vanish from view if he opened his eyes. She clung to him, her hands smoothing across his back, her head hooked over his shoulder, nuzzling her lips into his neck. They stayed bound together, two bodies welded so intimately they were almost one. Embarrassed, but happy, family and friends looked away and turned their backs to give Adam and Kia their time together.

Adam drew back slightly and lifted his hands to her face; the gentle touch of his fingertips lightly caressed her jaw and cheeks. He looked down at her, seeing her face properly for the first time since she'd thrown herself into his arms. He pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gazed at the lovely visage he had dreamt of every night that they'd been separated. Her eyes were wet, and tear tracks marked her cheeks, but she was still the most beautiful woman in Adam's eyes. He rubbed his thumbs over her face to wipe away the tears, and they both laughed.

And then he kissed her. No matter that half the world seemed to be watching, and that the half-healed cut on his lip stung like crazy when pressure was put on it, Adam opened his lips against hers. He could feel her body respond, flattening closer against his. There was nothing else but the taste of her mouth, the feel of her tongue on his, and Adam was lost in a world far, far away. Because, when Adam pulled back and looked down into those clear brown eyes, he was no longer aware of anyone except him and Kia. He kept his hands on her cheeks, transfixed by a face he had wondered at times if he would ever see again.

But then a wail broke through the spell that had been woven around them, and looking behind Kia Adam saw the flailing figure of his daughter in the arms of Bill. Ignoring the pain in his feet, he limped a few steps towards the older man, and with a teary grin took the child into his arms. With one arm under her chubby bottom, he pressed the tiny girl's head gently against his chest. Mimiteh wouldn't quiet and flicked her head from side to side, pushing back from Adam's body as her face turned red from tears and anger. Adam tucked his arms around her body and held her up, laughing. "What sort of welcome is this for your ol' papa, huh?" He kissed her small wet cheek. "My little tabboots." His eyes found Kia's and she moved to his side, ready to take the squirming child. But then Adam felt a warm hand on his back and turned to see his father, smiling at the young family before him.

"Kia," Adam spoke in English so his pa would understand, "I want you to meet my father."

Wanekia's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Your father? But he—"

"No. He didn't." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Cam turning away. "But that's all in the past, and it's a long story which I'll tell you when we're on our way."

Adam turned to his father. "Pa, this is Wanekia." He smiled at Kia with eyes that could barely contain all the love he felt for the woman who had given him purpose to live. "My wife." Ben stepped forward and with all the charm that had netted him three wives, he took her two hands in his own. "It's a very great honour to meet you." A kiss to her cheek made her redden in a hot flush of modesty. She lowered her head and moved closer to Adam. But both men could see the shy smile on her lips.

Mimiteh had quietened in her father's arms. A small fist clung to his shirt and she had followed the conversation with her head; large eyes full of wonder taking in the new people and new voices. "And this," Adam limped around on the spot so Mimiteh was facing his father, "is your granddaughter." Ben, with all the know-how and practice of a father of three children, reached across to take Mimiteh in his large secure hands and held her up in front of him. "She has Joseph's ears," he laughed. Mimiteh stared wide-eyed at the man grinning broadly at her. "She's beautiful, Adam." And as befitted a proud grandfather, he walked away with the babe to show her off.

The soles of Adam's feet were beginning to suffer. Keeping a firm hold of Kia's hand, he hobbled back to lean against the buckboard where he could alleviate some of the weight. He could see Ben proudly holding Mimiteh in his arms—Hoss and Joe smiling and waggling a small hand—and happy in the knowledge his whole family were together for the first time, he looked back to his wife. He raised her hand and placed it over his heart, pulling her close. Kia rested her other hand gently on his side and closed her eyes at the feel of her husband's touch on her face.

Adam leaned close to her ear. "Every time I shut my eyes, you were there," whispered Adam. "I never stopped looking for you."

Kia let her head drop onto his shoulder and when she looked back up at Adam, her eyes were glistening.

"I never gave up, my husband. I would know here," she placed a hand over her heart, "if you had left me to walk with the spirits of the dead."

Adam enclosed her hand within both of his, his palms smoothing over her fingers. He raised it to his lips, letting his mouth linger over her skin.

But then the party was ready to leave. Adam's exertions had wearied him more than he had expected and he needed to be helped onto the buckboard. With Hoss's hands under his brother's armpits, Hoss had to physically pull Adam up onto the cart. He was settled on blankets with his wife by his side. Their daughter lay on her belly across their laps, reaching out a small arm towards Dandy and Sport, who were tied to the back. Not a moment too soon, the buckboard, with Hoss at the reins, rolled out of the fort with an informal cavalcade of horsemen surrounding it.

As they passed the camp which had been Hoss, Joe and Hanska's home for a week, there was a fearsome screech and a horseman burst out of the grove, brandishing a rifle above his head. It was Hanska with a victory cry. His horse danced with nervous energy as he circled the cart and riders, whooping and hooting their triumph over the enemy. Cameahwait joined him, raising a fist in the air and spurring his pony in a constant spiral of motion. As the buckboard rounded a bend in the road and Fort Addington was lost from sight behind them, Hanska rode back to where he could be seen by the fort's occupants. He raised his rifle in the air once, his pony prancing beneath him, before wheeling the animal around and racing off, leaving nothing but a trail of dust in his wake.

xxxxxxx

If any of the Cartwrights had looked closely as they rolled out of Fort Addington for the last time, they may have noticed a shadow behind the window of the fort commander's office. Captain Ashwell stood with his back straight and his chin raised as the buckboard rumbled through the gates. He watched the fort's occupants return to their usual activities before reoccupying the seat at his desk. After a moment's deliberation he opened one of the desk drawers and retrieved a bottle of French brandy and a glass. He lifted the bottle to the light, smiling as he observed the liquid contents shine with a clear honey hue as the sunlight refracted through the glass. His army career was effectively over, his future uncertain, but he could still appreciate the beauty inherent in the simplicity of light rays reacting with a spirit made golden by aging it in oak casks. He looked once more towards the window and at the sunlight falling across his desk. Then, abandoning the glass, he uncorked the brandy and lifted the bottle to his lips.

Later that evening, his aide found him passed out across the desk; his head resting on a letter of resignation stained with the oil he used to keep his hair slicked back.

*I can take no credit for this wonderful idiom. I have borrowed it, with many thanks, from 'Cowboy Slang' by Edgar R 'Frosty' Potter (Golden West Publishers, 1986, p.63).