The Beauty of Darkness - TWELVE
oooooooooo
"Put the light on the ground. Throw your gun over there, and then back away."
Ben did as he was ordered. He placed the lantern on the grass, tossed his gun into the shadows cast by the trees, and then raised his hands and took a step back.
"Look, Bob. I don't know what's happened and I don't care. All I care about is finding my son."
Stevens held one hand to his side. Both his white shirt and his fingers were black with blood. "Who's with you?" he demanded as he took a halting step forward. "Travis? Crock?"
"I assure you I am alone." Ben kept his voice even; calm. "You're not thinking straight. Why would I be with the men who took Little Joe?"
"Little Joe." Bob sneered. "The last time I saw him, he didn't look so good."
"What did you do to him?"
"Gave that uppity, smart-mouthed, rich kid what he deserved."
Swallowing his rage – and his fear for his son – the rancher replied, "Look, Bob. You're hurt. Badly, from the look of it." He lowered his hands. "Let me help."
"Get your hands up, old man, and keep them up!"
"All right." Ben raised his hands. "Now what?"
Bob blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, now, what? We stand here like this until you bleed out?"
"I'm fine," he insisted.
"No. You're not. And you know you're not." He indicated the wound. "What happened?"
"Crock sent me off with Travis' men. Told me to keep an eye on them." Bob coughed. He struggled for air for before continuing. "I caught two of them scheming. They were gonna go to Genoa and tell the sheriff everything. I got one of them." He snorted. "The other one got me."
That must have been the prison guard whose corpse Hoss stumbled upon. "What happened after that?"
"What do you think happened? I ran! I figured I'd hide out until Travis and Murdoch were gone, but then you came along." Bob waved the gun. "What do you suppose I should do with you?"
"You're gonna…let him go."
Stevens froze at the voice. Ben did too.
No. It couldn't be.
He heard a trigger cock, and then a man stepped out of the shadows.
It took Ben a moment to realize it was his son.
Joe was holding his gun.
"Joseph, no!" he declared.
"Stay where you are, old man!" Bob Stevens shouted. The gun he held moved back and forth between him and Little Joe, as if the injured man couldn't decide who was the greatest threat.
His youngest took a step. "Put the gun down, Bob, or I'll blow a hole through you."
Stevens scoffed. "What we got here is a standoff, Little Joe. You shoot me, I shoot your old man. That what you want?"
Obviously Stevens couldn't see what he could see. That, or he didn't know his son like he did. Joseph was barely on his feet. Even in the dim light the signs of past abuse were evident. His face was swollen; the skin bruised. His pallor rivaled that of a corpse.
Still, somehow, the boy held himself together.
Most likely by sheer grit.
"I want you to…put the gun down and go, Bob," Joe said as he took another step. "Go now, and don't look back."
"Like you'll let me go. I know you Cartwrights! You'll…."
"Little Joe is right, Bob. Go now and I promise we'll say nothing." His eyes flicked to his son. Joe had begun to tremble. He was breathing rapidly. "We'll give you a day before alerting Roy. Two. You can..."
A sudden cry stopped him. Joe clutched his side and dropped to his knees.
Somehow, he managed to keep hold of the gun.
Ben whirled to face his former ranch hand. "Bob, please. Let me go to Joe. He's just a boy."
Stevens was not doing so well himself. His side was black with blood now and he was listing to the left. For the longest time he said nothing. Then, "You get that gun and throw it to me, or I'll shoot him down where he stands."
Ben inclined his head in thanks and hastened to his son's side. Once there, he took the gun from the boy's near lifeless fingers and tossed it at Stevens' feet. Then he caught him up in his arms. At first Joe said nothing. Only when he brushed the curls from his son's fevered forehead did he stir and open his eyes.
"Hey, Pa…."
"Hey, yourself. You gave me quite a fright. What did you think you were doing, coming out of the trees like that?"
"I had to…needed to know you…were okay."
His son's voice was rough with pain.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, almost dreading the answer.
"I…." Joe caught his hand and then did something that startled him – he smiled. "Did you tell Mama? She'll…be happy. I learned…to walk…."
Ben's heart sank. He turned toward Stevens who still held them in his sites. "He's delirious, Bob! Joe needs help. Buck is just at the bottom of the hill. Let me take him and…."
Hope lit the outlaw's eyes. "You got a horse? Here?"
He nodded, reluctantly. "Yes." Ben swallowed hard at the betrayal. "Take him. Go! Just let me look after my boy."
"A horse." The gun dropped as Bob muttered to himself. "A…horse. I got…a chance."
Ben's hands moved over his son, seeking the source of the infection that burned through him. He was horrified by what he found. There were so many injuries! He'd obviously been beaten severely, and more than once. Joe's ribs were broken and his abdomen – it was tight.
"Pa!" Joe tossed his head and cried out at his touch. "Pa…. Mama! Gotta tell Mama…."
"Shh, boy. It will be all right." The rancher looked up. Bob Stevens gait was halting, but he was on the move. "Please!" Ben cried out. "Please find Hoss and Adam and send them here! Bob! For the love of God –"
A shot rang out, stopping him in mid-sentence.
Bob halted. He stared off into the distance and then turned to look at him.
Then, he fell.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" a cool voice asked as a man stepped into the clearing. He looked at Joe and then at him and said, "Let me guess, you're Ben Cartwright."
Joe roused enough to catch his sleeve. He tugged, seeking his attention. "Murdoch, Pa…. That's…Crock…."
Ben considered the source of all their woes. Jethro Crockett Murdoch was an ordinary-looking man, expect for his eyes, which were hard and cold as iron. The outlaw gave Bob Steven's body a kick before stepping over it and coming to his side.
Murdoch indicated Joe with a nod. "You breed them tough, Cartwright. Who wouldn't guessed ol' Joe would still be hanging on. I thought when I left him, he was a goner."
"You left Joe here, in this condition?" he asked, incredulous. "Alone?"
"Not alone. Never alone." Crock scoffed. "Like I told the kid, I left him in the hands of God."
"You left my son to die!"
Murdoch sighed. "You gotta understand, Ben. It's all about balance."
His hand was on his son's forehead. The boy was burning up. He had to get him help – and soon!
"What do you mean, 'balance'?" he snapped.
"Balance. Yin and yang, you know? I wanted Danny Kidd to suffer. That ex-con, well, he don't care about himself." Crock snorted. "But he cares about your son."
"You're sick!" Ben breathed between clenched teeth.
"No. No, I'm not. Danny killed my brother, Cass, so Danny had to pay. That's balance. It just happened, the best way to make him pay was to use your son. Everything was perfect, but then I got to second-guessing myself." He inclined his head toward the ground. "Joe here didn't commit any crime. Where was the balance in that?" Crock scoffed. "So, you know what I did?"
He glared at the other man.
"I rescued him. After deciding I would kill him, I saved your son's life and brought him here." The madman shrugged. "I decided to leave it up to God." Those wicked eyes widened. "Then, this morning, you know what happened?"
"What?"
Crock produced a gun and pointed it at his son's head. "God told me I'd been right all along. He does want Joe to die."
"No!" Ben shifted and placed himself between the barrel and his boy. "God doesn't want my son to die!"
Crock's finger pulled back on the trigger.
"Could've fooled me."
Ben rose to his feet. "If you must kill someone, kill me."
"Well now, Mister Cartwright, that's mighty generous of you, but…sorry. That's not the way it works. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. A brother for a brother." An insane sneer curled Crock's lips. "That's what I call balance."
"You're wrong, Crock. Dead wrong."
The voice came out of nowhere. Ben recognized it immediately. Joe did too and the boy became agitated. Weak as he was, he struggled to rise. "No! Danny! No…."
Ben knelt and stopped him.
"If you're looking for balance," Danny Kidd said as he approached. "You're not going to find it by killin' Joe Cartwright."
Crock faced Danny now. "You sayin' you know better than God, Kidd?"
Ben had begun to move. Danny fixed him with a stare and shook his head.
'Leave this to me,' it said.
The ex-convict halted in front of the man who hated him. "Tell me this, Crock. How do you know God wants Joe dead?"
"How? Because He told me."
"Is that so?" Danny huffed. "Well, do you know what God told me? God told me you got it wrong. Cass will never rest in peace if you kill Little Joe Cartwright. All you're gonna do, Crock, is lay Joe's murder on your brother's eternal soul."
Ben placed his hand on his son's chest. He could feel Joe's heartbeat. It was weak and thready, but it was there.
Attempted, he corrected silently.
'Attempted' murder.
"No," Crock countered. "I'm gonna free Cass."
Danny went nose to nose with the madman. "I got a question for you. You gonna answer it?"
"Sure. What do you want to know?"
"Tell me. How come Cass ended up in the poorhouse?"
Murdoch faltered. "Because…because our parents were dead –"
Danny shook his head. "No. That ain't it. Cass ended up there because of you, Crock." He pressed a finger into the other man's shirt. "He ended up in the poorhouse because you failed as an older brother."
Crock still had the gun. He waved it in front of the ex-convict's face. "Don't you say that. Don't you dare say that! I took care of him."
"How? By abandoning him? By going away where you wouldn't have to watch?"
"I needed to make money, to send –"
"You needed to be a big brother. You needed to show Cass the way. You weren't there and so he turned to crime." Danny paused. "I didn't kill Cass. Little Joe didn't kill him. You killed him, Crock, and you know it!"
The madman gripped Danny's shirt and hauled him forward. "It was you put a knife in his gut!"
Danny nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. But I didn't kill Cass. I set him free! Cass was dead already. We all were!" The ex-convict's voice broke as he continued. "The damned… the dead walked in that place; the place where they beat and starved and drove out everything in us that was human!" Danny sucked in a breath. Ben watched him come to a conclusion. "Do you want me to tell you how Cass really died? Do you?"
"I know how he died! You gutted him!"
It was at that moment that Ben sensed someone moving in the trees. Across the clearing, behind Danny, two men appeared. With a mixture of relief and apprehension, the rancher recognized them as his older sons. Ben held a hand up to catch their attention, and then inclined his head toward the trees behind him.
"Pa?"
He looked down. Joseph was trying to rise. His son was clawing at his knee. "Pa…."
"It's all right," he said. "It's just your brothers."
"No, Pa…. Danny!"
Ben followed his son's gaze.
"Balance," he heard Crock say.
And then the gun went off.
oooooooooo
Joe Cartwright slowly opened one eye, and then the other. He recognized the room and the bed he was in as his own, but had no idea how he had gotten there. As he pondered that, someone leaned in to speak a hushed word in his ear. Cool lips touched his forehead, and then the bed dipped. He turned his head to see who it was and –
Everything went black.
The next time he awoke Joe opened both eyes and held still. The end of the bed and the ceiling were about all he could see, but it seemed safer not to move. No one came into his line of sight or said anything, which made him wonder if he'd been dreaming before. Over the last few days he'd seen – or maybe 'sensed' was a better word – a lot of people moving around the room. He was pretty sure one of them was his father. And maybe his brothers. There was also a woman who liked to sing lullabies. Of course, the fact that a woman was in his bedroom in the ranch house pretty much proved that he was out of his head. Maybe none of them were real.
After all, the last thing he remembered was dying.
He made it out of the cave. He remembered that. Once he was outside he had no idea what to do and just thinking about it cost him mightily. His fever skyrocketed and suddenly he found himself in Boston going to that fancy school older brother Adam had attended. Pa told him once that Boston was a 'whole other world', still it had surprised him when his classmates turned out to be long-horn steers who carried their coats on their horns and insisted on eating the textbooks. The headmaster wasn't too happy about that – the book-eating part, that was – so he stepped right up and rapped the nose of the biggest one with a ruler. The big steer wasn't too happy about that and he let the headmaster know it by running the man through with his coat-rack horns.
Adam got really mad.
He'd been in the middle of apologizing to his brother – with the professor still hanging off of the steer's horns – when he woke up and realized he wasn't in Boston at all, but was lying in the dew-wet grass shivering and shaking. The pain in his side had increased. It was so bad, he started to think that he was the one who got gored. Rolling over didn't help. It made him retch. He retched so long and so hard he was damn sure there couldn't be anything left inside. Now, he might have been sick as a dog, but even a dog knew a man can't live with his insides out – at least not for long – so he got up to went looking for them – his insides that was – and plunged right over an embankment.
That was when he died.
Funny, he'd never really thought about what shape God would take, although he did remember the preacher saying more than one time that most men thought God was like their father. When he opened his eyes again, that was who he saw – his pa – though he knew it couldn't really be his pa because Pa didn't know where he was.
No one knew where he was.
No one but Crock.
He was glad he hadn't seen Crock when he opened his eyes, because then he would have known he was in Hell.
Joe shifted his body and waited. When the furniture stopped bouncing off the ceiling and remained on the floor, he decided it was safe to turn his head and look around.
Funny. He never thought heaven would look like his bedroom. It was kind of disappointing.
"Hey, sleepyhead."
Or God sound like a woman.
Soft fingers brushed his cheek. "I'll go get your father," God, or the woman said. "He'll want to know you're awake."
His father. Was Pa in heaven too?
No, Pa had been at the top of the embankment – the one where he died. He could see his father standing tall and strong, and hear him calling his name. Joe frowned. His vision was blurry and it was kind of hard to see. There'd been someone else leaning over him before that. A man with warm brown hair and ice-cold eyes.
The Devil!
Joe sat bolt upright, took hold of his covers and threw them back, ready to hit the floor – and he was pretty sure he would have 'hit the floor' if a pair of powerful hands hadn't gripped his arms and stopped him.
"Whoa, there, little buddy! Where do you think you're going?"
The ailing man closed one eye in an attempt to keep the world from spinning.
It didn't work.
"A-mm,' Joe said, his tongue and voice thick. "Aa-dm?"
"Yeah, it's me. Now, come on. Let's get you settled back in bed."
Joe sagged into his brother's strength – for two heartbeats. Then he remembered why he'd wanted to escape.
"No. Pa!" he insisted as he clawed at his brother's sleeve. "Pa…Devil!"
"I have been called many things in my time, young man, but that's not one of them," a familiar and beloved voice remarked. It was laced with a bit of a smile. "At least not by one of my sons."
Joe looked over Adam's shoulder at the door to find his father occupying it.
"See," the older man said, pointing at his head. "No horns."
"Now will you get back in bed?" Adam asked, exasperated.
Joe stared at his father until his knees began to buckle, and then he gave in. He offered no resistance as Adam put him to bed; fluffing his pillow and pulling the coverlet up to his chin just like he'd done when he was little.
"Adam," he said, clearly this time.
His brother halted in what he was doing. "What is it, Joe?"
"Are you…mad at me?"
Older brother glanced at their father and then back to him. "Why would I be mad at you?"
"Because of the steer."
"What steer?"
"The one with the coat on its' horns."
"The one with what?"
Joe winced. "The one at your college that ate the textbooks?"
"The steer at…my…college…." Adam gave him a 'look' and then headed for the door. "I'll get my hat and coat."
Pa was rounding the bed. He stopped with a hand on one of the posts. "Where are you going, son?"
Older brother halted just inside the door. "To get Doctor Martin. What else?"
Pa laughed, and then looked slightly concerned. His father's hand went to his forehead. "No fever. Hmm. Joseph, do you think, maybe, you dreamed up this…collegiate steer? After all, you've never been to Boston."
No. He'd never been to Boston, or anywhere that far east.
But he had been on that hill.
Joe suddenly felt sick.
"What is it, son?"
"Could you…. Pa. …Adam." He glanced at his brother. "Could I talk to you alone?"
Adam rolled his eyes. "I can take a hint. I'll find Hoss and then locate the Doc. They're both going to want to know that Joe is awake."
"And…rational," Pa added.
Older brother lifted one brow. "Kind of gives a new meaning to the word, but okay. And rational."
As Adam departed, his father took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Are you sure you're up to this, son? You look rather peeked."
He felt completely 'peeked', but he had to know. "Pa, what happened?"
A shadow passed over his father's strong face. "What happened…when?"
The sick man indicated the bed, the room; himself. "To me."
Pa let out a sigh. "First, tell me what you remember."
It was all sort of a jumble. His memory was hazy but, even worse, the memories themselves were painful and he shied from them. The skin on his wrists and ankles was raw, so he knew he'd been tied up. It hurt to move, to talk – hell, even to breathe – so he'd been beaten pretty badly and had broken ribs or worse. There were layers of linen bandages wound around his chest and middle and more on his head and...
"Someone hurt me?" he said, but it came out as a question.
His father's jaw tightened. "Yes. Someone hurt you."
"Did they want to kill me?"
Pa said nothing for a moment. Then the older man reached out to cup his chin. "Yes. And they almost succeeded."
"My stomach hurts."
"I'm sure it does. There were abdominal injuries. We thought…." His father shook his head. "Well, let's just say it's a good thing it's not just the Cartwrights' skulls that are tough. You've been a very sick boy."
"How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long have I been in this bed?"
"It's been over a week."
"A week?" He sat up shocked. "I've been out of my head for over a week?"
"In and out," Pa replied as he pressed on his shoulders. "Now, you need to calm down and lay back. It's a miracle you can even sit up."
Joe did as he was told. He lay there, thinking, as his father reached for the pitcher next to his bed and filled a glass with water. He took a couple of sips, relishing the cool, clean taste, before speaking again.
"I learned how to walk," he said, feeling like a little boy again.
His father turned away from the table with a frown on his face. "You've said that several times since we brought you home. I thought it was because you were fevered." He smiled. "After all, you've known how to walk for a long time."
"I was so tired, Pa. I hurt so much, I…gave up. I fell and didn't want to get back up. Then, I heard a voice. A woman's voice. I looked up and…." He knew he sounded crazy. "There you were – you and Mama. I was trying to walk and she was afraid I would fall. She wanted to pick me up, but you told her to keep back. You…said I had to do it on my own." Joe blinked back tears. "I had to get out of that cave. I knew you would never find me inside. The only way I was gonna do that was to stand up and walk. So I did. I got up and walked."
His father's eyes were moist as well. "Thank God you did. You saved my life."
"I did?" He scowled. "I don't remember much after that. Pa? Tell me what happened. Please?"
The ailing man lay in his bed, stunned into silence as his father related in halting tones all that he had forgotten. Everything came back as the older man spoke – the taunting, the abuse; the repeated beatings. As Pa's tale progressed, Joe began to remember and was able to fill in some of the missing details. He tried to conceal how bad his time as a prisoner of Mudge and Murdoch had been, knowing how deeply his torture and torment would affect his father. It was no use.
His body was an open book that told the tale of all he had suffered.
The room fell silent after that. They sat, hands and hearts joined, for some time before Joe found the courage to ask his one remaining question.
"Pa, where's Danny? What happened to him? The last thing I remember is you tossing the gun into the grass. I picked it up and pointed it at Murdoch and then, it all goes black." The sick man drew a breath against his fear. "What aren't you telling me, Pa? Where's Danny? Why haven't I seen him?" He swallowed hard. "Is he…dead?"
His father's thoughts had drifted he knew not where. The older man started and shook his head. "No, son. I'm sorry if I led you to believe that. Danny isn't dead." He pursed his lips. "Though, in some ways, he might as well be."
Fear gripped Joe. "What do you mean?"
His father rose and walked to the window. As was his habit when in deep thought, the older man thrust his hands into his back pockets before looking out. "Your brothers arrived just as Danny and Crock confronted each other. I signaled them to join us. I had you in the grass and was trying to get you to respond, so I was distracted for a while. Then, I heard something and looked up." Pa closed his eyes, as if to shut out the memory. "They were so close, Crock and Danny. Almost like one. When the gun went off…." His father turned to look at him. "There was blood everywhere. I had no idea who had been shot until Murdoch fell. Even then, I wasn't sure that both hadn't been hit."
"Did Danny kill him?"
"Yes, son."
"To save me."
Pa came to his side and touched his hand. "Perhaps. But more to save himself."
Joe clenched his teeth. "I need to see Danny," he said abruptly. "Bring him here."
"Joseph, I will not be ordered about – "
"Sorry, Pa. Sorry. I'm worried about Danny."
"So am I, son," the older man replied as he brushed a curl from his forehead, "but I'm more worried about you."
"I'm fine," Joe said as he leaned back. The motion made him wince.
"Joseph, you are far from 'fine'." His father sighed. "Even now, it's a miracle you are here. You were taken, held against your will, and used as a pawn in a malevolent game of revenge. Those outlaws tortured and beat you to within an inch of your life – more than once. Several ribs were broken. One came very close to puncturing your lung. That alone could have killed you, let then there's the damage to your abdomen and the fever…."
"Sounds like a normal day in the life of Joseph Francis Cartwright."
It hurt, but Joe rolled his eyes. Now, he'd never get to see Danny. Adam had done what he said. Hoss was standing in the doorway – right behind Doctor Martin.
Maybe they'd let him sit on the porch come spring.
oooooooooo
Doc Martin was a hard nut to crack. Joe tried his best to look healthy, but he supposed all the grunts and moans and gasps as the doctor lifted him and touched various places gave him away. He wasn't fine and he knew it.
But he would be.
The Doc declared him healing but not healed. His sentence – one more week in bed and then at least two weeks with no heavy work. The first few days weren't so bad since he was still kind of weak, but the last four would have been hell if not for the fact that Joe found out why he'd thought God sounded like a woman. It was because He was a woman.
Er, well. She was a woman.
It was Lessy who'd been singing him lullabies. When she heard what had happened, she'd insisted on coming out to the Ponderosa to look after him. The beautiful young woman told his father that she felt responsible for Jeth Murdoch coming into their lives and, even though Pa told her she was no such thing, she'd packed up Jorie and moved in. Figuring out that it had been Lessy in the room instead of God explained another thing – now he knew why Hoss had been absent so much of the time! Hoss was taking care of Jorie while Lessy was taking care of him. Middle brother was having a grand time of it! Lessy was here now, with him, sitting in the chair by the bed. Now that he was awake, she spent her time reading to him instead of singing. He had no idea what she was reading. It didn't matter anyway.
He just enjoyed looking at her.
"Mr. Cartwright?"
Joe blinked. "Huh?"
"I asked if you'd like to hear another chapter. Would you, or would you prefer to just keep staring?"
"Do I have to make a choice?" Joe shifted and pulled his body up so he could see her better. Lessy was instantly on her feet plumping pillows and rearranging them behind his back.
"There. Is that better?" she asked.
He caught her hand. "Thanks. For everything."
"Why? Whatever have I done?"
"Other than singing all those pretty songs to put me to sleep?" Joe smiled. "You've been a good friend."
Lessy sat back down as he released her. She picked up the book up, opened it as if she would read again, but then closed it and anchored her hands on top.
They were trembling.
"I was so afraid you were going to be killed and it would be my fault. If you'd died, I don't know what I would have done." She sucked in a breath. "Maybe died myself!"
Girls were so cute in the way they exaggerated everything.
"How would my dying have been your fault?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
"That awful man!" Lessy shivered. "I should have done something the minute I knew Jeth was in the area! I should have…stopped him somehow! I should have…."
Joe held her gaze. "Lessy, listen to me. Unless you took a pistol and shot Murdoch through the heart, there was nothing you could have done to stop him." It was his turn to shudder. "I'm glad you didn't. Really. You would have ended up in jail and – "
"Black and white are definitely not your colors."
They both started. Joe turned to find Danny Kidd leaning on the doorframe. He'd asked and asked, but this was the first time he'd seen Danny since…. Well, since passing out on that hill.
His friend had changed.
"Took you long enough," Joe said, with a bit of an edge to his voice. "Where've you been keeping yourself?"
Danny made a face. "I figured you'd been through enough without having to look at this ugly kisser. Didn't want to cause a set-back."
Lessy put the book down and rose to her feet. "Don't be too hard on him, Joe," she said as she headed for the door. "Danny's been busy."
"Oh? What's he been up to?"
Lessy paused on the threshold. "Show him, Danny. I know you have it on you." She looked at Joe and grinned. "He's never without it."
"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Joe snapped. "Without what?"
Danny reached into his jacket pocket as he ambled into the room and headed for the bed. He pulled out a piece of paper and ran his fingers over it before holding it out.
Joe took it and unfolded it. When he read the words it contained, his eyes went wide. "It's your pardon! You got it early?"
"Jeth was a wicked man," Lessy breathed, "and Danny is a hero." She moved to lay a hand on his friends arm. "Whether he chooses to believe it or not."
Danny ducked his head, disentangled himself, and crossed the room to the window. He stood there, staring out, his back to both of them.
"Lessy?" Joe called softly.
"Yes, Little Joe?"
He inclined his head toward the window. "I'd like to talk to Danny alone, if you don't mind."
She looked from Danny to him. "Oh, I don't mind. It's feeding time for Jorie anyway." The beautiful woman returned to the bed, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. "Talk to him, Joe," she whispered in his ear. "Tell Danny what he did was a good thing." As she straightened up, she added aloud, "I'll be back with your supper after Jorie has hers. See you soon, Joe. Good night, Danny."
Danny grunted something, but didn't move.
The moment the door closed behind Lessy, Joe said, "Okay, out with it."
"Out with what?"
"Whatever you got stickin' in your craw."
Danny shrugged. "I ain't got nothin' sticking in my craw."
"Well then, whatever's stuck up your –"
His friend slammed his hand down on the windowsill. "It ain't right, Joe. I'm tellin' you, it just ain't right!"
Joe sucked in air. He'd jumped and it hurt. "What…ain't right?"
"People callin' me a hero."
"But you are. Everybody says so."
"Everybody?"
"Pa, Lessy, Adam…."
"Yeah, well, they don't know anything."
He thought a moment. "You aren't having misgivings about killing Crock, are you? I mean, I know you thought he had a right to…. Well, because of Cass. But he would have –"
Danny swung around. His eyes were hollows. "But I didn't! I didn't kill him!"
Joe indicated the chair beside his bed with a nod. "Park it over here."
His friend glared at him but did as he asked. Danny sat heavily in the chair and dropped his head. "I'm not a hero," he said quietly. "I wish everyone would stop calling me that."
"Okay. If you're not a hero, what are you?"
The newly freed man looked up. "A liar."
"How? What did you lie about?"
Danny's jaw grew tight. Then he spit it out. "When I first saw you, Joe, I thought you were dead. I thought I had…." He shook his head. "We got you back here, me and your family. Soon as you were settled Adam went for the doctor and sent one of the hands to get the sheriff." Danny ran a hand over his face. "I gotta tell you, Joe, I almost ran. I was so scared. I thought if the law knew I'd killed someone, I'd go straight back to prison."
"But Crock was an outlaw. Adam told me there's even a wanted poster."
"You think that would matter?" He snorted. "It never does with an ex-con."
"But you're here. They didn't arrest you." Joe held out the paper Danny had given him. "And you got your pardon!"
His friend took it, looked at it, and tossed it on the bed. "That's a lie too."
"What do you mean?" Joe protested. "You're a free man!"
His friend rose and returned to the window. "I heard your pa tell the sheriff how I killed Crock. He told me later how he sent a letter to the warden of the prisoner and the territorial governor as well, telling them the same thing."
"So what's wrong with that? Adam said there's a reward. You're free, and you've got money. You can start out fresh." Joe paused. "Danny, what you did was a good thing."
"I told you, Joe. I didn't kill Crock."
"Of course you did. Pa saw you do it."
He shook his head. "No, what your pa saw was the gun goin' off."
"Pa said your hand was on it."
"Yeah, that's right. But Crock's hand was on it too." Danny looked at him over his shoulder. He hesitated, almost as if he were deciding whether to talk or run. Then he returned to the chair.
"We're friends, right?"
"Right.
"And friends don't lie to each other. Right?"
Joe nodded. "Right."
Danny reached up and crossed his heart with a finger. "God's honest truth, Joe. I didn't kill Crock.
"He killed himself."
oooooooooo
To be continued…..