Adam and Hoss rode slowly into the yard. It had been a long day of spring round-up and branding and Hoss shoulders and back were sore from throwing balky calves onto their sides and holding them down; his nostrils were still filled with the stench of singed fur and he knew he would hear the animals' protesting bellows even in his sleep. Adam's right shoulder was sore from roping and then securing the calves and he thought that this would be his last year; it was the circular motion of swinging the lasso that was becoming so painful. It made him wish he had a wife to rub liniment into his shoulder and that thought made him smile—he knew he was old when he wanted a wife for that comfort and not to pull under him at night.
It was just before dark—later than dusk but not quite night-and the lights were on in the bunkhouse a few hundred yards away; soft lamplight glowed in the windows of the ranch house while the evening chill began to surround them. Adam liked that time of night best. It always soothed him somehow and all the anxieties of the day seemed to melt away with the sun.
"I don't know why we always gotta stay later than the hands," Hoss said. He didn't expect an answer and he didn't receive one. Adam just dismounted and taking his horse's reins, led him into the barn where the youngest hand, 16 year old Miles was waiting, passing the time by flipping a knife into the soft floor. Hoss followed. Miles looked up and then jumped up when he saw it was Adam and Hoss.
"Rub 'em down and feed 'em," Adam said. "And make sure you do a good job; they've had a hard day. Once you're finished, go get your dinner—your day's over." The boy nodded, said, "Yes, sir," and began to unsaddle the animals.
Hoss and Adam left the barn and headed to the house.
"Noticed Cochise weren't there—guess Joe ain't back yet from Arizona."
"Yeah, I noticed." Adam said nothing more. They both knew that Joe had been due back from Rancho Verde over a week ago. The two hands who had accompanied him to deliver a seed bull had arrived home nine days ago and said that Joe had told them he was staying on with the Albright's for two more days but since he was so late, Adam had sent a telegram to Buster Albright, the owner of the ranch, requesting knowledge of Joe's actions—had Joe left yet? Had he indicated he wasn't heading straight home to the Ponderosa? The whole telegram had cost a buck fifty—a lengthier telegram than any of them had ever sent but Ben had wanted Adam to be specific without sounding too protective of his youngest.
Hoss sighed. "I hope Hop Sing's got somethin' good tonight—I'm starved." He sniffed, attempting to separate the mingled odors. The smell of peach pie was dominant as far as Hoss was concerned. "Peach pie for dessert. And…yup! Yeast rolls. Smell that? And fried yams…and…."
"Smells like roast lamb to me. I'd rather have a nice beef roast," Adam said. There was something about the taste of lamb that Adam didn't care for even when disguised with mint jelly. It wasn't gamey, it just tasted odd to him.
"Don't you worry none," Hoss said. "I'll eat your servin' as well."
"I just bet you will," Adam said but before they reached the porch, the door opened and their father, his arm in a sling, stood in the golden light pouring out into the increasing darkness. A week earlier Ben Cartwright had sprained his right shoulder when his horse slipped on a slab of rock and Ben went down, falling heavily on his side. Initially, he was more concerned about his horse and it was only when he tried to remount that he realized he couldn't use his arm without intense pain. Since then, he had worn the sling. Adam and Hoss had tried to talk Ben into going to see the doctor but Ben refused. "I've had more injuries than you can shake a stick at and always taken care of them myself. I don't need a doctor—Paul Martin can't tell me anything I don't already know. I didn't break my collarbone or my arm. Give me a week or two and I'll be fine with a little work to ease out the stiffness after." But he hadn't. Instead he had become worse, not even being able to sleep comfortably in bed but having to sleep sitting up. Finally he had allowed Paul Martin to be fetched and he was told he had a fractured collarbone and his shoulder joint had been jammed—hence the swelling and limitation of movement. He was to rest and place warm compresses on it. So Hop Sing would heat thick folded towels in the oven and have Ben hold them to his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Adam asked his father. It was obvious he was worried.
"I received this wire today." He handed it to Adam with his left hand..
They could have gone inside to read it but Adam opened the folded paper under the porch light and Hoss read over his shoulder but Adam read aloud anyway.
"To my knowledge, Joe headed home-departed six days ago. Draft for bull sent by wire. Inform if not received."
Both Adam and Hoss looked at their father.
"Aw, Pa," Hoss said, "I'm sure Joe's just fine. He's probably found some little heifer who paid him some attention and stayed around a few days. You know how Joe ss. Some skirt sashays in front of him and he's like a dog on a scent."
"I don't know," Ben said. "I just don't know. I swear that Joe will be the death of me. He'll worry me into an early grave. I knew I shouldn't have sent him." His face looked ashen in the porch light.
"Let's go eat," Adam said, putting a hand on his father's good shoulder and guiding him into the house. "Tomorrow—early tomorrow—Hoss and I'll head out to Arizona to look to find the 'lost child' but when we do find him, well, just don't be surprised if he looks like he was trampled by a herd of horses when we finally drag him in the house."
Hoss chuckled and Ben smiled but the smile quickly dropped away. He was worried about his unpredictable, mercurial youngest and could barely eat any dinner. And his dreams that night were troubled and when he awoke, although the sun soon rose, it seemed darker somehow, not as bright, not as warm as the preceding spring days had been.