cma1 - Wow, with your eye for detail I'm surprised you've been able to keep silent for this long. Thank you for your observation. I've taken out those two words.

BettyHT - I'm afraid it won't be that easy. I see a much longer road ahead for the boys. :/

Sorry BJ2! lol Unfortunately there are quite a few from here on out. ;)

AureaD - You won't have to wait long to find out. ;)

guest - Ooo, a guess as to the bad guy! Let us know if you're right. :)

~CHAPTER 12~

His back felt as if it had molded to the ridges and spikes of the rock wall behind him, so long had he been confined to the same spot. Looking down, he gazed at the manacles around his wrists and wondered if he would ever live to see the day they might be taken off. So far, no such fortune had smiled upon him, and Ben Cartwright was forced to endure the cold rings of steel binding him to the unforgiving rock. He couldn't count the number of times he had thought back to each one of his boys, remembering times and experiences with each that brought a smile to his face even in this ever-present prison. There were memories of Little Joe's laughing face and tousled hair which he always had to keep reminding him to get cut. It might've been a common ritual they had to make him go through when he was little, but now Ben thought Joe put up the customary fuss just for tradition's sake, a way to draw an amused chuckle from his old man. There were memories also of Hoss, his solid, sturdy, efficient middle son, always doing what needed to be done, and always ruled by his heart. Ben remembered the first time his big heart had been broken when a mean-spirited boy at school had made fun of his large stature and clumsy movements. It was then that Ben had conveyed to him that it wasn't what a person was like on the outside but what was on the inside that counted. He couldn't help how big he was on the outside, but ever since then he always strove to make what was inside as good as possible. And lastly, there were memories of the eldest of the three. Ben thought back to when he and Adam had come cross country together on their way to fulfill Ben's dream. It was with his son's help that he had built all that there is now... or... was. He couldn't even imagine how all that was happening affected them. The fact that he was forced to help these evil men in their plot to destroy the Ponderosa tore away at Ben daily and plagued his dreams with sadness and torment.

No matter how many times he had run that day over in his mind, he still couldn't see a possible solution to the predicament that led him here. Traveling along the cliff-top road from Virginia City to the Ponderosa was something he had done countless times before, and never, when he set out that day, did he expect that trip to turn out so wrong. He had just been going through the trickiest section of road, where the rocky hill on the one side pushed the road to the very edge of the overhang on the other. As he passed by, he had seen what looked like a wounded man in the middle of the road. He observed no gun in the man's holster and his hands were fully in view, so he didn't suspect the man was trying to waylay him. Carefully stepping down he went to the man and was about to turn him over when he felt the cold mouth of a pistol at the base of his skull.

"I wouldn't move or make a sound if I were you," the owner of the gun had said. As soon as the words were spoken the man lying in the road got up and brushed himself off, smiling all the while at how well their ruse had worked. "Just lift those arms, nice and easy like," the unnamed voice spoke again as Ben felt his gun being lifted gently out of its holster.

"I don't have much money on me. Take whatever supplies you want from the wagon." The man behind him chuckled a cold, mirthless laugh.

Just then Ben heard a horse approach from behind him and a voice answer, "What makes you think we want anything but you... Cartwright?"

Realization shot through Ben's mind at the cold familiarity of that voice. All the while they stripped him of his coat, hat and gun belt and even while they tied his hands behind him, he couldn't take his eyes off of that man. "What do you want?" he questioned angrily, his voice taut as a bow string from anger. The question didn't receive one word in response, but instead the man upon his horse motioned for all the others to mount up as horses were brought around by another member of the party. Once safely on top of the hill overlooking the tiny road, the order was given by the leader to start a cascade of rocks and loose debris from the top of the hill to plummet toward the small buckboard Ben had been driving just minutes earlier.

That day seemed so long ago, a bad dream of the past, a nightmare that Ben wished every time he woke would be behind him. He never saw his personal effects again. He figured with disgust that they were probably used to further implicate his death. What his poor boys must've suffered, what they must still be suffering. Ben yanked hard at his chains, feeling so helpless and yet not able to do a thing about it. He must play the "Boss's" game for as long as he had to. Anything... to keep his boys safe.

The single pair of footsteps made Ben raise his eyes to the round mouth of the cavern opening. The head man himself stepped in and walked over to his cot in the corner.

After several minutes the silence between them was broken. "How long?"

The man looked up, his black eyes digging into Ben's.

"How long will this go on?" Ben repeated.

"As long as it takes," the man replied, his voice holding little to no emotion, the eyes remaining an impenetrable barrier to the deep thoughts churning within.

"And what will it take? Until you've destroyed my land completely, destroyed me, completely? Because that's what you want, isn't it? It's just me. But, why?" Ben asked, his anger now adding volume to his voice.

The man didn't respond, just continued to lie on his cot.

"Why are you doing this? What do you want!" he yelled the very question he had asked the first day he was taken, to which he had not yet received an answer. Now he was determined to get one. Ben could see the man's jaw working as hints of emotion started coming through, and that fact gave Ben more resolve. He didn't care what the consequences might be. "What happened to bring you to this?" Then in a more devious and even mocking tone of voice, he continued, "For the first time in his life, did the great Jason McWhorter not get what he wanted?"

That was the last straw. The man slowly sat up and turned hate-filled eyes back to Ben. "You... It was all because of you," he said, his voice dangerously low.

"Inger was never going to marry you, McWhorter. She...she was too wise a woman and could tell that she would be nothing more than a prize from yet another conquest of yours. Inger could never live like that." Ben's speech slowed as thoughts of his second wife flooded his memory.

"You think it was just because of her?" McWhorter bristled, unconsciously twisting the blanket underneath him into a wrinkled ball. "That little good-for-nothing Swedish wench?"

Ben reflexively strained his muscles against his chains and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the smearing words cast on his deceased wife.

"Don't you dare..." he started.

"You think it was because of her?" McWhorter asked again in an almost accusing manner.

"Then what?" Ben growled after a moment's hesitation, his teeth grinding in hatred and frustration. "What was it, if it wasn't her? She convinced me not to press charges..."

"It didn't make any difference!" he shouted, pushing off from the cot, fire-laden anger lashing out of his very being. He started to breathe heavily and he walked back and forth in agitation.

"What do you mean?" Ben asked, never taking his eyes off the crazed man for a second.

McWhorter stopped and looked at Ben as if he expected him to know everything that had happened and find his actions for those events perfectly reasonable. "No, no... you might not have pressed charges," he went to stand in front of the wall, aching to punch his fury out on it for having the gall to be in the way of his pacing, "but you might as well have, because my life was never the same from that day on. Ever since you left my town, MY TOWN!" he shrieked as one possessed by the past. "I ran that place, owned practically every building, every company. I had everyone eating from my hand. Nothing happened unless by my word. But not after that day, the day that fool Gunnar came to see me, the day you came to see me."

He suddenly stopped pacing, although his chest continued to heave with pent up rage. He headed for his cot and sat down again, leaning over and clasping his hands together in front of him. Ben waited for the rest of the explanation, knowing that soon more would have to come. After taking an especially deep sigh, McWhorter sat up and stared off into space.

"The only bad thing about my town was it was small, growing to be sure, but still small. And in small towns gossip and scandal spread like wildfire. You might not've pressed charges on me for what happened to Gunnar, but the scandal that followed afterwards did just as much harm, if not more. No one would trade with me anymore. My businesses went under; I had to close up most of them. My reputation was ruined," he spoke the last through gritted teeth. To a man like Jason McWhorter, his reputation was one thing he was never afraid of losing, for he held it too dear and considered it too precious to have someone tarnish it. But tarnished it had been, and irreparably so, by the one man he now had in his clutches.

"In not even five years time, I had lost everything, could barely retain the shirt on my back. As the town continued to grow and prosper, I was forgotten, just a homeless person cast on the street from hard times. No one would've thought that I had owned everything at one time," he scoffed. "And it only got worse from then on. I had to use any means I could just to stay alive; and the only friends I could find were outcasts, just like I had become. One of which I had to dispose of the other day."

The blasé manner he spoke this latest bit of information sent a chill down Ben's spine. How a man could be so cold and indifferent in taking the life of another was beyond him.

"During one ill-fated robbery attempt we were caught and sentenced to 15 years in prison. And in that rotting pit I wasted away a good chunk of my life."

He turned to his audience of one. "And it was all because of you. Because of you, I lost the woman I should've married, lost my money, my way of life, everything that was important to me! And every day I spent in that filthy hole working my hands to the bone on hard labor I swore I'd have my revenge. The only thing that kept me going day after day was planning. I planned everything down to the last detail," the man's devilish face twisted into a deranged grin, and he chuckled at his well-conceived designs. "I lost everything because of you, Cartwright. And now you're going to lose everything, everything you ever worked for; and you're going to watch it being done all with your own hand. I want you to see your sons suffer with heartache and misery at your doing."

"Not my doing, McWhorter. You've left me no choice. You've threatened them," Ben's voice caught. That's why he was doing all of this, for his sons. The very first day they forced Ben to reveal information to them, the ultimatum had been laid down: either give them the information they needed to destroy his land and home or watch one of his sons die. What choice was that for a loving father?

And so it had gone on for what seemed like an eternity to Ben. He no longer had any hope of keeping his own life after everything was taken, but right now he was doing everything in his power to keep his boys safe, to keep them alive, even if it meant watching them grieve and despair at seeing their home and family be torn apart by unknown assailants. However, Ben realized that this man was mad, a lunatic perhaps, driven by his own insatiable lust for revenge. That fact made Ben think of nothing else but the safety of Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe. It was nothing but a waiting game at this point, and both of them knew it.

"Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" a woman cried despairingly.

Adam sleepily flicked his eyes open at the sound of the nice lady's sobs. He found the living room where he had been sleeping, empty. The sounds were coming from the open door of the adjoining bedroom. What could be the matter with Miss Inger? He had never heard her cry before. Adam quickly decided that a lady as nice as her shouldn't cry. It was then that he heard his Pa's voice. Pa was home! Everything must be alright then. But why is she crying?

"Something hit me on the head... It's the last thing I remember..." Miss Inger's brother Gunnar spoke now. Miss Inger said that he wasn't feeling very well and was sleeping, so maybe he was getting better.

Pushing off the knit blanket that covered him, he got to his feet and crept to the door, to listen at what was being said. Since his Pa had taught him not to eavesdrop, it was with some uneasiness that he did so; but he was scared. Earlier on in the day, his Pa had left him and he didn't know where he went. Granted, he had left him before, but never without telling him where he was going or when he'd be back.

"McWhorter," his father spat out the name just then. Adam stopped outside the door. "It must've been McWhorter," Gunnar acknowledged.

Adam slipped into the desk's chair, looking at the piece of paper he had just recovered, a copy of the release roster from the Illinois Prison. He hadn't imagined it. There, in the list of names of convicts released in the past year, was the name of one McWhorter, Jason. He had been released a mere two months before Sam Chapman. McWhorter... A name like that and at such a time in a young boy's life wasn't easy to forget. He hadn't known the exact details, but he did remember the man's name in connection with his father being accused of something, something he obviously hadn't done.

It didn't make sense. If this man had any lasting quarrel with any member of his family, it would've been his father. But his father was dead. Why try to destroy the Ponderosa if the only person he would wish to harm by such an act was dead? Or...

Adam's brain felt as if it were going to explode, so many thoughts were running loose, crazy thoughts, but thoughts and tidbits of happenings that were starting to make sense; his father's death, no body, the perfect information and perfectly-timed events of life at the Ponderosa of which this gang had to have accurate knowledge. Could it be?

Adam released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Even though he sat completely still in the darkness of the downstairs, illuminated only by the single lamp he had lit when he first reached the desk, he now breathed heavily as small beads of sweat rolled down his brow despite the temperature of the downstairs. Standing up, he shakily pushed away from the desk, and, in the dark, his hands sought out the brandy bottle. He quickly poured himself a glass and downed it in one swallow.

No! He wasn't going to let himself believe it unless he was absolutely sure. He knew that if he did and it turned out false, it would be like losing him all over again. Adam was too sensible a person to run wild with such an idea until he was sure. He wouldn't tell Hoss or Joe either; he couldn't. What if he was wrong? He didn't even know if he really believed it was possible or if it was just wishful delusions that crowded his mind. Or was he just going crazy, crazy to even think of such a possibility?

Time made its presence known again as the grandfather clock struck three in the morning. With each dong of the hours gone by came an imaginary voice in Adam's head that seemed to ride the very chimes of the timepiece. Alive! He's still alive! It seemed to say. If only Adam could let himself believe it.