Almost contemptuously, Adam turned his head and stared at Evan Daniels. Unblinking and unforgiving, his steady regard was profoundly disturbing. Discomfited, Daniel dropped his gaze.
"The readiness is all," Adam quoted in an undertone, as the silence was suddenly and irrevocably shattered as a horse came charging out of the dappled undergrowth, with a man crouched low over his neck, a rifle held out straight and unshakeable.
"No!" Adam's cry echoed through the trees, as Daniels brought the rifle up to his shoulder in a smooth, swift motion and released a shot, missing Joe by inches. Just as the recoil shuddered through his body, a bright spot blossomed in the centre of Daniels' forehead and he staggered backwards and collapsed onto the ground, twitching almost imperceptibly.
"You always were a good shot, little brother," Adam thought. His limbs refused to obey him, even as his mind raced ahead wildly and he could only watch as Hoss swatted away the gun away from his jawbone and, with one punch, knocked his captor clean off his feet. Meanwhile, the other man pirouetted around, brought his gun up and fired at the man charging through the trees.
Joe grunted as the bullet ripped into his shoulder and tore its way through flesh, bone and ligament, before exiting in a spurt of blood. The impact jolted him violently and the rifle fell from his grasp. Momentarily unbalanced, he flung his feet free of the stirrups, pulled his gun free from the holster and used the forward momentum to launch himself out of the saddle.
The forest echoed to a fusillade of gunfire and as Joe tumbled to the ground, shots rang out around him. At the last moment, he tucked his head and shoulder in, somersaulted and came up, onto one knee, levelled his gun and loosed off two shots in quick succession, before he felt a fierce, hot pain furrowing along the side of his head.
It was like watching a scene on stage. Involved and yet detached, Adam saw the blood welling from Joe's head and watched as bright crimson drops began to colour the brown curls and then to flow unrestricted, soaking into his shirt. Then there was another shot, this one singing past Adam's ear, so close that his hair was ruffled by its passage. In horror, he watched as it found its mark and Joe flew backwards, landing in a soft pile of dirt. Suddenly wrenched out of his immobility, Adam pulled his own gun out and dispatched the last gunman with one lethal bullet.
Joe lay on the ground, his head resting amidst yellowing pine needles, his eyes wide open and with a puzzled expression on his face. Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he tentatively essayed a small smile.
"Thought I'd just check everything was alright. Got the shock of my life when I saw those guys." His breath was becoming uneven. "Did you get 'em, Adam?"
"We got them," Adam assured, using his hands to try to staunch the bleeding. There was so much blood. Joe's fingertips were cold to the touch and his lips were pale.
"Knew you would." Joe's breathing was fast and shallow. "Good man." He closed his eyes and Adam felt his self-control shatter, his iron-resolve fly out of the window. A sob tore its way out his throat and his cheeks burnt as bitter tears coursed down.
A large hand closed over Adam's fingers, pressing down on the shoulder wound, hard and inexorable. "You lie still and everything will be fine. Just fine. We'll get you home and you'll be fine." Hoss kept repeating this, over and over again, as he checked out the wounds, pulling off his bandana to use as an improntu bandage. His touch was infinitely tender as he probed the bullet wound that had gouged out a track along the side of Joe's head and tried to staunch the bleeding from his shoulder and hip.
"That's just a scratch," he reassured, trying not to let his voice shake too much. Already his hands were coated in blood. A casual observer would have thought Hoss was wearing scarlet gloves. "Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all."
The ghost of a smile flitted across Joe's face. "Hurts a bit. Take me home?" he implored, in a voice so faint that Hoss had to bend down to catch it as it whispered like a leaf dancing tenuously on a breeze.
"We're all going home," Adam reassured, wondering how his voice could sound so contained and assured. There was no need for further words as the brothers worked silently to get Joe ready for the journey: down through the tree-shadowed hillside, emerging into the bright sunshine of the green meadows that lead home.
Adam rode ahead, while Hoss continued at a slow, steady pace, one arm around his brother, who back lay limp and uncomplaining against him. Hoss kept his palm flat against Joe's chest, finding some reassurance in the slow, steady heartbeat.
Ben was relaxing on the porch when Adam rode in. One look at his eldest son's set expression was all it took.
"What's happened? Another cave in at the mine? Is everyone alright?"
During the ride home, Adam had searched desperately for the right words, but they had stubbornly remained elusive. How did you give this news to a father? Then he looked into Ben's eyes and saw that the man knew, with the instinctive love and understanding of a parent.
"Joseph?" Ben's hand rested on Adam's shoulder, drawing him close. "Is he … is he still alive?"
Not trusting his voice, Adam nodded and then turned around, burrowing his head in his father's shoulder, finding some small degree of solace. Ben hugged him close, then mounted and rode out to bring his youngest son home.
The sun was dipping behind the house when they arrived home and the horses cast long-legged shadows on the ground. Joe sagged in the saddle in front of Hoss, barely conscious and scarcely aware of his surroundings. The wounds in his shoulder and hip stabbed unmercifully, and even the smallest movement made him feel sick. Determined to get back to the Ponderosa, Joe fought against the period darkness that threatened to push him over into unconsciousness.
"Home now. We'll soon have you in you own bed." His father's voice seemed very far away, as if he were standing at the far end of a long tunnel. Joe felt an immense sense of relief that he had made it this far and began to submit to the overwhelming pain.
Eased gently down into waiting arms, Joe opened his eyes briefly at each and then sighed one word contentedly. "Home." And then his head fell back, stretching the chords in his neck and his body went limp and unresisting. A few drops of bright blood stained the dirt of the yard as they carried him into the house.
Hoss remained immobile on Chub, watching as they bore Joe into the house. He looked down at his shirt and shuddered as he saw the rust-coloured stains. The metallic stench of blood rose up, filling his nostrils and he hastily dismounted, went behind the barn and wretched uncontrollably.
Ben and Adam worked silently, carefully removing Joe's boots and then easing his pants off, revealing the wound at his hip: swollen and inflamed.
"Bullet's still in there," Adam commented briefly. "His shoulder's a different matter – went straight through and tore everything up."
Ben held his breath as they eased off the jacket and shirt, both saturated and sticky with blood. The large exit wound was looked raw and painful, with the exposed muscle and bone torn and shattered. He gently pressed a wad of cotton sheeting to the wound to try to staunch the bleeding and eased Joe back onto the pillows. Pulling up a chair, Ben sat at the bedside, holding Joe's hand. There really didn't seem to be anything else to do, except wait for Paul Martin.
"Doc's coming'!" A cry floated up from the yard and Adam hurried out of the room, just as Joe's eyes flickered open.
"Sorry, Pa," he whispered. His eyes were incredibly green against the pallor of his face.
Ben patted his hand. "You've nothing to be sorry for, Joseph. Nothing at all. Just lie quiet."
Paul bustled into the room, have been thoroughly briefed by Adam and Hoss. "Well, young man, you've been in the wars again, I see," he said briskly, knowing how Joe detested any undue fuss. He removed his jacket and began to thoroughly examine his young patient. The room was silent, except for Joe's halting breaths and the occasional question from the doctor, as he assessed the injuries.
It was obvious that Paul would be working late into the night, so Adam rose to collect lamps from the other rooms to provide him with as much light as possible. Hop Sing entered with jugs of boiling water and a pile of the cloths he always seemed to have ready for emergencies. An array of scalpels, tweezers and surgical needles lay waiting on the dresser, while Paul prepared the anaesthesia.
"Ben? We're ready to begin now. You and the boys wait downstairs. Hop Sing will assist me."
"I'll just stay with Joe until he's under." Immoveable, Ben watched silently as drop after drop of ether soak into the absorbent cotton mask held over Joe's nose and mouth. He kept hold of Joe's hand until it went limp, then raised it to his lips, kissed the palm softly and then folded the fingers gently inwards, before forcing himself to walk out of the room.
Adam and Hoss were waiting outside in the hallway. They flanked their father protectively, as they walked slowly down the stairs, with their arms looped companionably around his shoulders.
There was a full moon that evening: Ben sat on the porch, surveying the skies, noting how the stars seemed just a little paler than normal in comparison with its luminescence. Beside him, Adam and Hoss sat silently, each lost in his own thoughts.
"Sure is takin' a long time," Hoss said eventually. He walked a few steps and peered upwards at Joe's bedroom window.
Roy Coffee rode up and hitched his horse by the house. "Came over to see how Joe's doing'. Any news yet?"
"Paul Martin's still tending to him," Ben answered.
"The men brought Daniels and his mates into town. Turns out they made a habit of claim jumping, beating' up miners and such like. Got a whole stack of wanted posters with their likenesses on them back in town."
"Thanks for letting us know," Adam said. It all seemed very unimportant right now.
One of the ranch hands came over, looking nervous. "I found this in your saddle bag and thought it might be important," he stated nervously, holding out the lump of rock, veined with ore. Adam nodded his thanks, taking the rock gingerly and depositing it on the table.
Roy stayed for a short while, and then left the three men to their thoughts. The lump of rock was left on the table when the chill night air finally forced the three men indoors.
Hoss bent down and stirred the fire into life. "How about I make some coffee?" he offered, anxious to do something.
"Good idea, son. Could be a long night." Just as Hoss started towards the kitchen, Hop Sing appeared at the top of the stairs and called down to the waiting men.
"All finished. Boy sleeping now."
Paul was holding Joe's wrist, taking his pulse. "Weak, but steady," he announced and allowed himself the luxury of a smile. "He came through the operation well."
"Course he did," Hoss said. "Joe's a born fighter and he's strong. Real strong."
Joe lay still, white and unmoving in the bed, looking fragile and vulnerable, as Paul pulled the covers close around his neck. "His body's been under put through a lot and we'll need to watch him closely for the next few days. Luckily, his hip wasn't broken: the bullet lodged just under the pelvic bone, but there was a fair degree of damage to the soft tissues. His shoulder was a mess, and I'm not sure if I got all the splinters of bones out. All we can do now is watch and wait."
"And pray," Ben said in lowered tones, pulling up a chair, sitting as close to Joe as possible, gently touching the wan cheek with his forefinger. "You boys go get some rest," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the ashen face. Adam and Hoss knew that Ben would remain at Joe's side until morning.