The dream continued haunting Ben nightly in Adam's absence, furthering his worry about the trip Adam and Joe had taken to Eastgate. Time seemed to pass a little too slowly while his oldest and youngest sons were away. Ben did his best to remain busy; he tried not to dwell too much on the images of his recurrent dream. Both things proved difficult, though, and more often than not, whilst engaging in a task, he found his concentration would wander away from the chore or project he had begun a back to the details of his dream, and he would become transfixed.
The first telegraph from Adam and Joe came and so did the foal Hoss had been anticipating. It was a fine addition, a colt by the looks of him; Ben's middle son couldn't have been more excited if he was the stallion who sired it. A second telegraph followed the first; it was not news Ben wanted to hear. His eldest and youngest sons had conspired against him, deciding they were deserving of a few days off. The second telegraph did not promise a third, rather that they would return at the end of the following week. Ben had been nearly as furious as he was worried. Then, eventually, a third telegraph did come, and he was swiftly reacquainted with his fear.
Adam had ventured off into the desert outside of Eastgate alone. He had been robbed, stripped of his horse and whatever else. Joe had found Sport; Adam was still missing, lost among steep cliffs reminiscent of the one in his father's dream. Ben and Hoss met up with Joe quickly and together they embarked on what would become to feel like a desperate, foolish search. There were miles to cover; rough, rugged, and barren, the landscape was as unforgiving as the heat of the sun—something the three of them didn't dare give voice to. There was little point in discussing the heat of the sun, the danger of the land, or Adam's slim chances of survival past the first few days after being robbed. Rough estimation advised that would have been nearly a week ago now.
They fired their guns into the air, one, two, three hopeful shots of alert, and they called out Adam's name. Hoping and praying that if he were still alive then he would be able to hear their voices and be reassured that they were looking for him, or, better yet, that he would shout back and let them know he was somewhere in the distance waiting to be found.
Adam never responded to any of the yells.
They found Adam's holster discarded in the sand. Black, worn and achingly familiar, Ben held the item in shaking hands as he inspected it, searching for physical verification it was what he thought. His fingertips eventually found what he was seeking, branded on the inside of the leather the initials AC. They were worn nearly flat now as the holster was growing old; it had been a gift to a son from his father nearly ten years ago.
Holding the holster tightly, turning it in between his hands, Ben felt increasingly old as he was reminded of the occasion and what had prompted the gift. There had been nothing wrong with the brown holster Adam had carried before this one; it hadn't needed replacing. Upon his return from college Adam had begun favoring dark clothes, and, to Ben, matched with dark pants and shirts, something about the lighter, brown leather had begun to seem a little off.
When Adam had traveled back East, he had left still displaying small remnants of the uncertainty of a boy and he returned with the assurance of a man. The evolution in his appearance only seemed to reinforce the fact that he had grown and changed. Ben was proud of the man Adam had become during his years away, the gift of the black holster had been somehow needed to signify this fact.
Taking great care in placing Adam's holster in his saddle bag, Ben continued his search.
He didn't sleep during those days—or nights—despite the incessant worry of his other two sons. He was afraid he would fall victim to the dream once again. As unnerving as it was to experience when he had known Adam was safe, experiencing it while his son was missing would be unbearable. Still, he found himself preoccupied with cliffs. They were a hard thing to ignore out here, standing tall and jagged in nearly every direction. He investigated all of them, the tops and bottoms, half-wishing, hoping, and praying they would stumble upon Adam. Each cliff was as unfruitful as the one before, empty, and evidence-less. Adam was nowhere to be found.
They continued like this for days until, overcome by exhaustion, Ben hung his head. Seemingly feeling his despair, his horse hesitated in place, obediently waiting to be given orders to continue. Weary and grief-stricken, Ben couldn't conceive of ordering anyone to do anything. His thoughts were burdened with memories of Adam. He had become increasingly haunted by what was to become their final farewell, tortured by reappraisal of the decisions he couldn't take back.
He hadn't wanted Adam to travel to Eastgate because of his premonitory dream, so why did he let him go?
And why had Adam followed him into the house and hugged him before he left?
It was such an odd thing for him to do. It was an indulgent action, odd in the most glaring way. Adam wasn't in the habit of hugging people; he was such a reserved man. He didn't necessarily shy away from physical affection, rather he preferred more moderate displays. A handshake or a hand on an arm, shoulder or back. Since he reached adulthood, Ben had never known Adam to initiate an embrace—at least not under normal circumstances.
Could the day Adam and Joe left the Ponderosa and set out for Eastgate be considered a normal one?
With his palpable fear about Adam's safety lingering, Ben had to admit it probably wasn't, and Adam was intuitive by nature. Ben was certain Adam had known he was nervous, just as he was certain Adam had wanted to conform to his wishes and return home on time, but his yearning for fresh air and open space was stronger than his desire to adhere to his father's direction.
Was that the reason for the gift of the hug? Had Adam known before he left home that he would leave Joe behind in Eastgate and venture into the wilderness alone under the guise of needing time in nature to hunt and then fish and enjoy what was left of summer before it was over too soon?
Adam had wanted to get away before the weather turned; it was how he had justified wanting to go in the first place. Ignoring his dream, Ben had allowed him to go, because he had had a premonition about Adam eventually leaving too, though death wasn't the way he had ever foreseen his eldest son disappearing from his life.
Adam wanted to get out, so he had, and now that he was gone, he was never coming home.
"Pa," Joe said quietly, finally summoning the courage to say the truth they all knew. "We're gonna have to face it, we're not going to find Adam."
"Pa," Hoss said. "It's been two weeks since he left Eastgate. He couldn't have survived."
The statement was devastating, achingly permanent, and unavoidably true. While Ben didn't want to give up, he could no longer keep going.
He glanced back, casting long looks at each of his remaining sons and saw his own internal anguish etched on their faces. The expressions of both his sons hinted at guilt. Joe was bound to feel responsible for agreeing to Adam's suggestion of taking a few days off and allowing him to head off alone. Ben knew Hoss felt guilty for agreeing with Joe about abandoning the search for Adam, as giving up on his older brother was nearly an impossible thing for Hoss to do.
Adam and Hoss were very close—all three of his boys were. They respected, protected, fought, and loved each other, but the bond between Adam and Hoss was different than that which either of them shared with Joe. Maybe it was due to a gap in their respective ages or the discrepancies in their childhoods.
Adam had come along when his father had still been a younger man than Joe currently was, Hoss had been born years after and Joe would come later. Much, much later, once the Ponderosa was already established and Ben was well on his way to becoming a wealthy man. Joe hadn't known a day of difficulty or poverty in his life. It was Adam and Hoss who had been forced to grow up rough and fast. It bonded them together in an incredible way, leaving their loyalties to one another nearly impenetrable.
Giving up Adam—for the first time in his life—was killing Hoss inside. Ben knew this because it was killing him too.
"Alright," he said gruffly. Sitting upon his horse on the top of a rocky hillside, Ben looked at the land below and willed himself not to give into the tears that felt so close. "Let's go on home."
The second he said the words he wanted to take them back. Soon he would, because eyes widening with surprise, Ben's gaze locked on a man stumbling across the earth below.
He blinked rapidly, struggling to believe his eyes, then lifted his hand, and bellowed, "Adam! ... Adam! ... Adam!"
With the words he was off, both sons following closely behind. Leaping off his horse, Ben reached Adam first, who had fallen to his knees on the ground and begun to crawl forward.
"Adam," Ben repeated, his stomach turning. His son was beaten and dirty and laughing of all things.
"Adam," he repeated. Grabbing hold beneath Adam's armpits, he began hoisting him back to his feet.
Joe stood opposite and assisted the best he could. "Adam," he echoed worriedly.
"Adam, Adam, Adam," Hoss said insistently. Coming to stand behind, he grasped Adam's upper arms, holding him upright and near his chest.
His feet and arms still moving weakly, Adam shook his head in an uncoordinated manner and continued laughing, a dry, haunting, maniacal sound. "There's no gold," he laughed. "There's no gold."
Holding on to Adam's arm tightly, Ben was taken aback as a horrible reality was beginning to sink in. Hair slicked back with grime, Adam's clothes were torn, dirty and tattered; his skin was darkened, burned, and blistered by the hot sun. His eyes were a startling combination of bright and dull, wide, and wild. The son who had disappeared into the desert nearly two weeks ago was gone; he was looking at the Adam from his dreams.
Do you think you can catch me? Adam's question from the dream circled Ben's mind. Pa, can you?
"There's no gold," Adam laughed. "There never was any damn—"
"ADAM!" Ben bellowed, suddenly unable to reconcile his unease. He was regretful about the volume of his voice, but if anything was going to snap Adam out of this state of madness then it would be the promise of becoming the focus of his father's fury.
Closing his eyes, Adam ceased laughing immediately. Body becoming rigid, he momentarily tried to stand up straight.
Hoss loosened his grip on his brother, hoping he was finally coming to.
Adam stood on shaking legs, his face crumbling with sheer devastation. "Oh, Pa!" he cried, his feet giving out beneath him as he dissolved into deep-chested sobs.
It was the word that told Ben everything and nothing at the same time. Whatever his son had endured had been bad, the details of which he couldn't begin to suppose.
Never being privy to Adam saying the word nor crying in adulthood, Joe was shocked, as was Hoss who, momentarily stunned, lost his grip on his older brother's arms.
No, Ben thought as Adam began to fall.
Can you catch me? The memory of Adam's voice echoed.
This time, Ben could, and he did.
Adam sobbed harder as Ben lowered him safely on the ground, then paused as Joe wiped a water covered hand across his mouth, trying to moisten his dry and cracked lips.
"He was dragging a dead man, Pa," Hoss said.
Ben didn't know what to say or think. So fervent was his worry for his son that he didn't realize Adam had been in the company of anyone else. Holding the canteen to Adam's lips, he helped him take a small drink.
As soon as the canteen left his mouth, Adam was crying again and weakly struggling to bridge the gap between himself and his father. Though Ben was shaken by the desperate action, he knew what to do—what he and Adam both needed for him to do. Pulling Adam close, he held and rocked him, rubbing slow circles on his back. He didn't say a word. Surely this was a moment he was destined to look back on with contrition, a bothersome feeling that for a man who always had such wise things to say to each of his sons, he should have been able to say something. At that moment, he found himself without any words at all.
It wasn't that Ben didn't want to comfort his crying son with reassurances. It was that he almost couldn't believe his eyes—or that the weight in his arms was real. Stumbling through the desert beneath the cliff where they had paused, Adam had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. One moment he hadn't been there, the next he was, and now he was in Ben's arms. Ben struggled to reconcile how any of it had come about. He had given up; they had abandoned their search. Only minutes ago, he had believed his son was dead, now Adam was here, his deliriousness demanding Ben hold him closer than what had been allowed in years.
Eventually, Adam quieted, his body growing completely lax. Feeling a jolt of panic, Ben finally loosened his embrace, struggling to crane his head to get a good look at Adam's face, just to verify that he was breathing, just to ensure he was indeed still alive.
Hoss's hand squeezed his shoulder. "He's fine, Pa," he reassured. "Just beat up and exhausted. He passed out." He cast a troublesome look at the sky. "We still got some daylight left. What do you reckon we ought to do?"
"Pa," Joe chimed in, his voice unusually serious. Seated cross-legged on the ground a few paces away, he rested his elbows on his knees, his chin on the tops of his fists. "We should get going."
"We shouldn't stay here," Hoss said. "Adam needs to see a doctor; he needs to have his wounds cleaned out. Ain't no telling how long some of them cuts have been festering and his clothes are nasty dirty. I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, seeing as you're the one holding him close, he smells something fierce; he needs to be cleaned up proper and we ain't equipped to deal with none of this."
"He's right," Joe said.
"Eastgate is three quarters of a day's journey from here," Ben said, wondering how Adam was going to endure the ride. How were any of them going to contend with their memories of the last two weeks?
"Then we best get after it," Hoss said.
