Ben Cartwright had no reason to even begin to suspect that his boys might be in any kind of trouble whatsoever. No reason at all except for intuition born of nearly forty years of raising three boys who seemed to always find trouble even in the most unlikely of places.

Hoss and Joe had sent a telegram saying they were on the way home, but Ben didn't expect the boys for another three or four days, depending on how enthusiastic they were about getting home and how bad the roads were for traveling. It wouldn't even have been terribly concerning if it had taken them a week. A horse could pull up lame, or a localized snow storm could slow them down. In fact, a blizzard could halt travel entirely and indefinitely.

He had plenty of things to deal with at the ranch to keep him occupied. Christmas was coming, but so was the end of the year, and business never entirely stopped at the Ponderosa, even for the biggest holiday of the year. Aside from which, it was Ben's habit to invite friends for a Christmas party, typically on Christmas Eve or earlier, leaving Christmas itself to him and his boys, and sometimes special guests that were staying with them. Making all the arrangements for a party was time consuming as well, even now at the last minute.

In fact, Ben was so preoccupied that he didn't even realize he was worried until it was pointed out.

"Why no eat?" Hop Sing inquired irritably in his broken English, gesturing to Ben's untouched breakfast plate, "Pour sugar four times, no drink coffee. Salt eggs six times, but no eat!"

"Hmm?" Ben grunted, looking up from being lost in thought, "Oh, I'm sorry Hop Sing. I'm just not very hungry this morning, I guess."

"You no hungry?" Hop Sing sounded deeply wounded, seriously annoyed and somewhat concerned all at the same time, "When last time Cartwright no hungry, Little Joe in bed with fever from be shot."

Ben thought back, wondering if that really was the last time he'd had no appetite. Joe had been shot many times, though it never got any easier for Ben to sit up all night praying for his son's life to be spared. It wasn't only him, none of the Cartwrights ever felt like eating when one of their number was sick or injured or missing or in any kind of real trouble. But Hop Sing was right, it had been Joe most recently, and it had been from fever due to an infection caused by a bullet.

"Well, Joe's not in bed with fever now," Ben pointed out, "I just got a message from him and Hoss, saying they'd finished the drive and were on their way home now."

"Then why no eat?" Hop Sing asked, gesturing again to the plate, "Mr Cartwright no like food?"

Hop Sing said his T's very softly, and R's frequently became L's when he spoke, particularly in irritation, which seemed to make him forget what he knew of English.

"I'm sure it was fine, Hop Sing," Ben said reassuringly.

The little Chinaman was an excellent cook, and the only housekeeper to have survived the trials of the childhood years of the Cartwright boys, whose wildness, energy, debatably clever ideas and sheer bulldog willfulness had driven away any and all other household servants that Ben had tried hiring over the years. But Hop Sing was also very temperamental, most especially when his cooking went unappreciated. Hop Sing asked little of the Cartwrights aside from his room and board and wages, even though Ben placed tremendous responsibility on him in a way, making him responsible for the entirety of the kitchen and everything that went on there, and sometimes even calling upon him to act as babysitter for children visiting the Ponderosa. In return, Hop Sing demanded only that the Cartwrights always be clean before sitting down to a meal at the table, and that they eat the food he fixed for them if they had no good excuse (such as illness) not to, and that they -at least most of the time- be civilized when eating, instead of grunting or arguing. The surest way to reduce him to cursing in Chinese and threatening to quit was to not eat, the second was to grunt over a meal. No matter how nice you were to him, he could not abide living in a house where his cooking went unappreciated.

"If fine, why no eat?" Hop Sing persisted, "Mr. Cartwright sick?"

"No, Hop Sing, I'm not sick," Ben replied, at a loss to explain his lack of hunger, "Just not hungry."

"Ai!" Hop Sing muttered, and unleashed a tirade in Chinese while stalking back to the kitchen.

Ben shook his head, listening to the pots banging in the kitchen while the Chinaman worked out his rage. He knew he'd have to make up for it by showing appreciation at lunch, if he could manage it. Hop Sing's anger never lasted, and was usually caused by his feeling unwanted and unappreciated. The man had almost no family, and no place to go. He had nothing except that kitchen, and no one except the Cartwrights, who were close as family to him. Asking them to show a little appreciation for the love and care he put into feeding them wasn't really asking too much, especially seeing as every one of the Cartwrights was nothing but a menace in a kitchen.

Hop Sing came back after a few minutes, clearly still upset as he began to clear the breakfast dishes. But he didn't clatter the dishes together, they were much too fragile for that, and he too conscious of the expense and trouble of having to replace them. Suddenly, he stopped and looked directly at Ben.

In a very earnest manner, he said, "Why Mr. Cartwright worry so, if nothing wrong?"

"I didn't know I was worried," Ben admitted.

"Mr. Cartwright like mother hen," Hop Sing said seriously, "Worry always about boys; know boys in trouble like hen hear chicks go peep, peep, peep."

"You think they're in trouble?" Ben asked.

"Hop Sing no think nothing," Hop Sing replied, "Mr. Cartwright think trouble and worry," his expression became annoyed once more, "So no eat breakfast, no drink coffee. Hop Sing work over hot stove all morning, and nothing! Mr. Cartwright busy be mother hen to grown boys and no eat. Ai!"

He walked off with the dishes. Ben didn't wait for him to come back, and instead left the table.

Now he knew he was worried, Ben wondered what to do. His sons were grown men and well able to take care of themselves, but he knew also that him and his sometimes ran into more trouble than one man alone could handle. He had no reason to suspect any trouble, in fact just the opposite. The boys were on schedule and it was two of them together. But he also had many years of experience that had taught him that Cartwrights had an instinct for knowing when their own were in danger. A few times when Ben had talked himself out of acting on his concern, one or more of his boys would drag him into it, and they would find that the concerns were never without cause.

Still, he couldn't very well just ride off the ranch and go hunting for his boys without any cause. Besides, his intuition had never been perfect; often he could not tell the difference between accurate gut instinct and inaccurate emotional clinginess. If he'd succumbed to the latter, he never would have let his boys out of his sight for a moment, no matter what, and that was no way for them to live.

Besides, it wasn't just Joe and Hoss out there. Even though the telegram Ben received hadn't said so, he knew that Candy was riding home with them. Despite experience and an in-born sense of caution common to all Cartwrights, both Joe and Hoss could sometimes be trusting lambs, not sensing danger or betrayal until it was far too late. They would let politeness and a general liking for other people get in the way of their better judgment, especially if presented with a deal that was too good to be true. But Candy, though he ever displayed an appearance of friendliness, levity and good humor, had a certain darkness to him that made him suspicious and always alert for threats or treachery, even from people he knew well. He was able to spot a swindler from a mile away, and was quick not only with a gun but also with a biting question or comment that would reveal a snake in the grass for what it was.

With the three of them together, how much trouble could they possibly get in?

Three or four days ride away, locked up in the only jail cell in the tiny town of Elodie, Joe would've given just about anything to be able to tell his father exactly how much trouble he and his brother had gotten themselves into through no fault of their own.

For the first couple of hours, Hoss and Joe were quiet, thinking and finding no way out of the situation. They each roamed the cell and tested every part of it for weaknesses, and found none. They listened to intermittent conversations between the sheriff and what they assumed were deputies, but they couldn't hear much of anything worthwhile, and no word from the ones who'd ridden out after Candy. Finally, Hoss could take the silence and Joe's incessant pacing no more.

"What do you s'pose Candy's chances are? Really?"

Joe had seen the shooting, and heard the aftermath, and he knew Candy's capabilities perhaps better than anyone because they'd spent so much time working together and were seemingly cut from a similar -though by no means the same- cloth, but he didn't have a good answer.

"I don't know. On a strange horse in strange country..." Joe shook his head, "I don't know anybody better trained to cover wild country with hostile people chasing after him; whatever Candy doesn't know about concealment and evasion tactics isn't worth knowing. But those deputies... they're bound to know the area pretty well. And, not knowing if that bullet just grazed him or lodged somewhere... well... there's no telling what kind of shape he's in for a long chase, which is what it's bound to be."

Hoss nodded, "That's kinda what I was figurin'. Might just be he'll need us to bust outta here and save his hide, 'steada the other way around."

"Maybe," Joe agreed unhappily, "But I don't see how."

"Me neither," Hoss admitted, "But we've been in a lotta tight spots. We'll find a way outta this one."

"I wish I had your confidence," Joe said.

"An' I wish you had my headache," Hoss replied.

His attempt at levity elicited a strained smile from Joe, who finally stopped pacing and came to sit beside his brother. Even though they were indoors, the jail room was cold, and the icy wind sometimes found its way through the barred window high on one wall, through which they could see little aside from the back of another building. Both boys were wearing their coats, but when Joe leaned his shoulder against Hoss', it was evident to both that they were shivering and trying to hide it. It wasn't fear though, they had never trembled before the prospect of their own deaths.

In fact, they were more angry than scared. They'd been hostages and held for ransom before, and it always made them more furious than afraid, because they knew the pain and fear it would cause their family. It also made them angry because they had been raised to have a certain resentment for being treated as victims. They were raised to take care of themselves, to defend themselves, and to protect those that needed it, and they never handled being helpless or powerless at all well.

Even though he was provably cold, and pacing did no good, Joe didn't stay seated for long. That inner fire that showed plainly in his dark eyes forbade it, and he got up and began to stalk the cell like a caged cougar once more, tension and impatience in every line of him. Hoss sat and watched his brother, knowing there was no way he could settle Joe down right now, he just had to wait for the next time reason came back into his little brother's head.

Joe was unpredictable, and Hoss had no idea if -when the time came for action- he would become deadly calm or disastrously enraged. Either could be equally dangerous, particularly if you were on the receiving end of it. But he did know that his brother could be relied on to have his back, if either of them happened to get an idea about what to do. When the time came, he would be able to read Joe's intentions as if they had a shared mind, just as Joe would be able to read him.

He hoped fervently that it would be enough.

The horse was limping, and Candy could feel the unevenness of the animal's lurching stride in every inch of his body. But he could do nothing except clutch the animal's black mane, struggling as he was to maintain his consciousness for long enough to get clear of Elodie and the men pursuing him.

He didn't understand what was happening, and right now he hurt too much to care. Despite blood loss and pain induced fatigue, his mind was whirling, not seeking an answer as to what was happening or why, but a solution, a means of escape, a plan for survival. Though often finding out why something was happening to him could be made a priority, in this case he was wiser than to waste energy speculating; it was enough to know that he was in trouble, that people were trying to kill him, that he had to find help not only for his own sake but that of the Cartwrights as well.

The horse stumbled and neighed painfully. The shuddering of the animal beneath him was almost enough to knock him off, but Candy managed to hold onto the horse's neck until it righted itself and came to a wayward sort of halt, its head down and legs trembling under it.

Candy knew he couldn't get far without a horse. But he also know that a wet horse in the winter cold would collapse beneath him before long, and this one already had an injured leg that was bothering it. He had no wish to kill a horse, and were circumstances otherwise he would have done everything he could to spare it. But he knew those men were following him. If they caught him, they would kill him. He could not stop here, nor afford to spare the horse. His choice was one of survival.

It seemed to take tremendous strength, and a long time to gather it, but he finally found enough in him to nudge the horse's sides hard enough to urge it forward once more. The animal moaned a protest, but he pressured it, and it finally obeyed him. The painful journey resumed, though the horse's limp seemed worse than before and it could be driven to no faster pace than a walk.

That was just as well, for it was unlikely that Candy would have been able to stay on the horse had it gone any faster. In fact, as it turned out, he could not even stay at that pace for much longer. The horse hadn't traveled more than a few hundred yards before Candy, with his consciousness abandoning him, loosed his hold and slid off the side of the horse and landed with a soft sound in the frozen snow.

The horse, weary, cold and dazed with pain, did not seem to notice, and continued on without him.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled.