As The Virginia City stage bounced and swayed along the road, the occupants of the stage endured the jolting ride in companionable silence. “I’ll sure be glad to get to town,” Joe Cartwright muttered when the stage hit yet another rut in the road, causing its passengers to be thrown roughly against the side of the coach.

“This road seems to get rougher every year,” sighed the older man sitting next to Joe. He turned to Joe. “Is your Pa meeting you in town?”

“I hope so, Mr. Bartlett,” Joe replied with a grin. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a long walk home.”

Walter Bartlett smiled. “Bring him over the to bank before you leave Virginia City,” he suggested. “I want to talk to him about the new mill he wants to build.”

“Sure,” Joe agreed. “I have to visit your bank to deposit the money from selling that bull anyway.”

"You know, you shouldn’t be carrying that much money in cash,” Bartlett said with a frown. “A bank transfer would be safer.”

 "I know,” answered Joe. “But by the time I left the Carson ranch and got to Yuma, there was barely time to catch the stage. And I didn’t want to spend another day in Yuma waiting for the next one.”

“I’ve never been too trusting of banks myself,” offered the young man sitting across the coach. He smiled apologetically. “Sorry,” he said apologetically to Bartlett.

“Don’t be, Mr….,” Bartlett hesitated. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Billy, Billy Olsen,” the young man replied.

Bartlett nodded. “Don’t be sorry, Mr. Olsen,” he said. “A lot of people still feel that way since several of the banks failed a few years ago. But it really is a lot safer to way to transport money.”

"I suppose,” replied Billy. “But I saw too many men in the gold fields hit it big and then lose their money in some fly-by-night bank.”

“You don’t have to worry about Mr. Bartlett’s bank,” Joe assured Billy. “Mr. Bartlett is the most honest bank president I know.” Joe grinned. “Of course, he’s the ONLY bank president I know.”

The coach bounced again and the trio of riders were once more thrown against the side of the coach.

“How long did you spend in the gold fields?” Joe asked as the men tried to right themselves.

“Almost two years,” Billy answered. “I got pretty discouraged for awhile, but then I finally found a good strike.”

“Two years!” exclaimed Bartlett. “You don’t look old enough to have spent two years prospecting.”

“Well, I was only sixteen when I left home,” Bill admitted. “After my Pa died, my Ma wanted to move into town. I don’t like towns much, so I lit out.”

That’s still pretty young to be prospecting,” insisted Bartlett.

 "You’re probably right,” Billy agreed. “But it was the best way I knew of making a lot of money honestly.” Billy smiled shyly. “I got a girl back home in Fall’s River. She and I are gonna get married. Her Pa said he wouldn’t let her marry me until I got me a good stake. Well, I got it now. Enough to buy a nice ranch and some cattle,” Billy patted the breast pocket of his jacket.

          “Two years?” Joe said skeptically. “That’s a long time for a girl to wait.”

          “I know,” replied Billy. “But Carrie’s waiting for me. She wrote me a lot while I was gone. I didn’t get all her letters, but most of them found me. She’s waiting for me.” Billy reached into his jacket and pullet out a leather wallet. “Carrie’s the prettiest girl in the county,” Billy said. He opened his wallet and showed the two men a picture. Joe looked at the tintype. A dark haired girl wearing a white dress smiled back at him. Joe had to admit she was a very attractive girl. “She’s a beaut,” Joe said with a smile.

          “She sure is,” Billy stated, putting his wallet back in his jacket. “And sweet as sugar. I can’t wait to surprise her. She doesn’t know I’m coming home.”

          Bartlett had noted the thick wad of bills in the wallet. “You’d better come by the bank when we get to Virginia City,” he advised. “That’s a lot of money to be carrying around. I’ll arrange a bank transfer for you, and the money will be waiting for you in Fall’s River.”

          “No thanks,” Billy answered, declining the offer with a shake of his head. “I want to show Carrie and her Pa that I can take care of her proper. I don’t know if a bank transfer will convince them.”

          Bartlett looked out the window, studying the countryside. “We’ll be in Virginia City soon,” he said. “If you change your mind, come see me.”

          Suddenly, a shot rang out. The single shot was quickly followed by three or four other shots. Joe stuck his head out the window of the coach and saw four riders galloping toward the stage. All had guns drawn and were firing at the stage.  Joe felt the stage pick up speed, trying to outrun the men chasing them. Pulling his gun from his holster, he  fired a shot at the men, but they were too far away for him to hit anything.  Quickly, Joe pulled himself back into the coach. “Outlaws!” he shouted to the other men. Billy pulled a gun from his holster, preparing to shoot. 

The stage lurched hard to the right as the racing horses followed a bend in the road and the passengers were thrown against the side of the coach. Suddenly, the horses screamed and the stage came to an abrupt stop. The coach lurched forward, then swayed, and finally fell on to it’s side.  Joe felt himself slammed hard into the side of the coach, and then felt Walter Bartlett land on top of him. His right  leg was bent beneath him, and he winced as his knee was pinned between the coach and Bartlett.

          “Throw out your guns and come out with your hands in the air,” a voice outside the coach demanded.  Billy was struggling to right himself. He still had his gun in his hand, but he seemed unsure what to do.

          “Better do as they say,” Bartlett advised as he pulled himself off of Joe. Bartlett looked at Joe. “Sorry,” he added apologetically.

          Joe nodded and tried to straighten his leg. He felt a sharp pain in his knee.

          “We’re not waiting,” the voice outside the coach said. “Throw the guns out or we’ll fill the stage full of lead.”

          Bartlett snatched the pistol from Billy’s hand, then turned and grabbed Joe’s gun. He pushed the door above him open and threw out the guns.

          “Smart move,” said the voice. “Now come out with your hands in the air.”

          Slowly, Bartlett climbed out of the stage. It was difficult to get out of the fallen coach, but the banker managed. Billy followed him, moving much more agilely than the banker. As Joe tried to stand, he winced again at the pain in his knee, and decided to use his arms to pull himself out of the coach.  Joe was about halfway out of the stage when he felt a hand grab his arm and pull him forward, causing him to lose his balance and tumble to the ground. He sat up quickly and looked around. 

Four men were standing in a semi-circle around the coach. Joe took a quick look at each man, hoping to remember them. One was about thirty, with dark hair, wearing a blue shirt and red bandanna. The man standing next to him was younger and blonder, and was wearing a gray shirt. A big man -- bigger than even Joe’s brother Hoss -- stood by the blonde man. He was wearing a checked shirt and dark vest. The final man was small, with black hair, black mustache and a swarthy complexion. Joe had the impression the man was Mexican, probably because he was wearing a big sombrero.  Each outlaw had a gun pointed toward Billy and Walter Bartlett, who were standing near the stage with their hands in the air Joe saw the driver lying on the ground a few feet away, face down in the dirt. Joe couldn’t tell if the man was alive or dead. Joe looked around and noted the horses pulling the stage had disappeared. He could see some trees across the road. He guessed the horses must have come around the bend at full speed and panicked when they saw the trees. The horses must have jumped the barrier, causing the stage to crash, then bolted.

          “Get over by them trees,” one of the outlaws ordered the passengers, gesturing with his gun. Billy and Walter Bartlett walked slowly in the direction the man had indicated. Joe tried to stand but his leg buckled under him.

          “What’s wrong with you?” demanded one of the outlaws.

          “Hurt my leg,” Joe replied as he rubbed his knee. “I don’t think I can walk.”

          “Danny, drag him over with the others,”  shouted a dark-haired outlaw. The man with blonde hair grabbed Joe’s arm and roughly dragged him across the ground, dropping Joe in a heap a few feet away from the stage.

          Laying on his right hip, Joe propped himself up on his right elbow. He rubbed his sore knee as he watched the robbers.

          “Reno, get the strong box,” the dark-hair man ordered. He seemed to be the leader. The Mexican turned and walked back to the stage. “And check that driver,” the leader called after him. Then the leader turned back to the passengers. “Now nobody do anything silly, and nobody will get hurt,” he promised. “Danny, see what they’re carrying,” the man said over his shoulder.

          The young blonde man walked forward. He pulled open Bartlett’s jacket, and took the banker’s wallet. He pulled about $50 dollars out of the wallet, pocketing the cash and throwing the leather billfold to the ground. Then he moved to Billy. As he reached for Billy’s jacket, Billy knocked the outlaw's hand away. The robber brought his gun up quickly and cracked Billy across the head with its barrel. Billy staggered a few steps, but kept his feet. He put his hands to his head as the outlaw pulled him forward.

          “Stand still,” the robber snarled. He reached into Billy’s jacket and pulled out the young prospector’s wallet. “Well, looky here,” the outlaw said as he opened the billfold and pulled out a large wad of bills.  “Must be six, seven thousand here.”

          “Give it back!” Billy cried out desperately, reaching for the money. “That’s my stake.”

          The outlaw pushed Billy back a few steps. “It’s MY stake now,” he sneered.

Angrily, Billy balled his fist as if to take a swing at the man.

          “Billy, let him have it,” Joe said sharply. “It’s not worth getting killed over.”

Billy looked at Joe and then at the armed men around him. He dropped his hands to his side as a look of defeat crossed his face.

          “Now there’s a smart man,” the dark-haired outlaw said. “Danny, don’t forget about the one on the ground.”

          As the outlaw stuck the wad of bills in his pocket, Billy stood with his head down, his dejection evident. The outlaw laughed and moved to Joe.

          Joe laid still. He wasn’t happy about being robbed, but he knew it was foolish to try to resist four armed men. Joe's face was dark with anger as the outlaw pulled open his jacket and snatched the leather billfold from the inside pocket. “Looks like we hit the mother lode,” the outlaw said as he opened  wallet. “Another couple of thousand.” Joe glowered at the man.

          The man called Reno joined the others, carrying a strong box. He dropped it to the ground, then shot the lock open. The Mexican pulled two small sacks out of the box, opened one, and shook a few gold coins into his hand. “You were right, Johnny,” he said gleefully. “The money is here.”

          “Shut up, Reno,” the leader snarled. “What about the driver?”

 "He ain’t going to cause us any trouble,” Reno answered with a laugh. “He’s dead. Looks like he broke his neck when he fell.”

“Danny, get the horses,” the man named Johnny said. The younger outlaw nodded and walked to where four horses were waiting patiently behind the coach.

          As the horses were brought forward, Johnny stared at the passengers thoughtfully. Reno and Danny put the sacks of coins into the saddle bags of one of the horses, then mounted. The big man had stood silent during the whole robbery. Now he holstered his gun, turned,  and mounted also.

          “C’mon, Johnny,” shouted Reno. “Let’s ride.”

          For a moment, Johnny didn’t move, then abruptly nodded. He turned and mounted the last horse, his pistol still in his hand.

          Joe let out a sigh of relief. It looked like the outlaws were going to ride off. He was going to look forward to riding with the posse that would go after them.

          “One thing,” Johnny said. “We don’t like no witnesses.” With that, he pulled his gun up and shot Walter Bartlett in the chest.

          Shocked, Joe looked over his shoulder and saw Bartlett fall to the ground. Before Joe could react further, he heard another shot and saw Billy fall also. Joe tried to scramble to his feet, but he felt a bullet slam into him, knocking him back to the ground. Joe felt a searing pain, then went limp.

**********

          Hoss Cartwright was dozing in the seat of the buckboard as he waited outside the stage depot. He had delivered the horseshoes to the blacksmith, then treated himself to a beer. Now all he had to do was wait for the stage to arrive. Joe was due on the afternoon stage, and it was Hoss’ job was to ferry his little brother back to the ranch.

          “Hoss? Are you still here?” Hoss heard a familiar voice ask.

          Opening his eyes slowly, Hoss let a grin form on his face.  “Hi, Pa,” he greeted Ben Cartwright. “Yep, I’m still here. That danged stage ain’t arrived yet.”

          “It should have been here over an hour ago,” Ben said with a trace of disgust. “If I had known it was going to be this late, I wouldn’t have had you wait around.”

          “Well, Pa, somebody has to wait on Joe,” Hoss offered. “We don’t want him stranded in  Virginia City.”

          “I think your brother could find his way home,” replied Ben with a wry grin. “Of course, knowing him, it could take him awhile.”

          Suddenly, Ben and Hoss’ attention was drawn to a man shouting as he rode down the middle of the street. The man looked like a farmer, and he was leading a team of six horses.

          “Sheriff,” the man shouted as he rode slowly down the street. “Where’s Sheriff Coffee?”

          Both Ben and Hoss recognized the harness on the horses; it was the type normally worn by horses pulling a stage. Without a word, both Cartwrights ran down the street after the farmer.

          The farmer stopped in front of the sheriff’s office. Once more, he shouted Roy Coffee’s name. Ben and Hoss arrived just as Sheriff Coffee emerged from his office.

          “Jessie, what’s wrong?” asked the sheriff.

          “I found these horses wandering around,” the farmer explained. “Looks like they’re from the stage. I thought I’d better tell you.”

          “Did you look for the stage?” Ben asked the man.

          “No, I didn’t,” the farmer said firmly. “Ain’t my job to waste time looking for some broken down stage.”

          A crowd of people had gathered around the sheriff’s office. At the farmer’s words, a murmur broke out. Some people sounded angry while others sounded worried.

          Roy Coffee held up his hand. “Now, folks, don’t start imaging things,” the sheriff said to the crowd. “Lot’s of things could have happened. Maybe the wheel broke, or something. But I’m going to go looking for that stage, and I’d appreciate some of you riding with me.”

          “I’m going,” Ben said instantly.

          “Me too,” added Hoss.

          Several other men also shouted their willingness to go.

          “Fine,” agreed Coffee with a nod. “Get your horses, and meet me back here in ten minutes.”

          “Pa, I got to get a horse from the livery,” Hoss said as he and his father started up the street.

          “No, why don’t you just follow us with the buckboard,” suggested Ben.

          “But Pa, I won’t be able to keep up with you,” Hoss protested.

          “I know, but Roy’s right,” answered Ben. “We don’t know what’s happened. If somebody got hurt, it’ll be better to have the buckboard.” Ben silently prayed his son was all right. “Even if everyone’s all right, they’ll need a ride to town.”

          “All right,” Hoss agreed reluctantly.

          Putting his hand on Hoss’ shoulder, Ben added in a reassuring voice, “Don’t worry, I’m sure Joe is fine.,” Hoss nodded, but his face showed his worry.

          Quickly, Ben found his horse which was tied up in front of the bank. He rode back to the sheriff’s office, and joined the other six riders who were waiting there. As soon as he saw Ben, Roy Coffee raised his hand and led the posse out of town.

          With the worried look still on his face, Hoss watched the posse ride out. After giving out a small sigh, he climbed into the buckboard and snapped the reins. Hoss turned the horses, and followed the posse out of town.

         **********

          The posse followed the Virginia City road, riding at a slow lope as they looked for some sign of the stage. Ben fought the urge to send his horse down the road at a gallop. He wanted to reach his son as soon as possible. But he also knew he could ride right by the stage if he went too fast.

          The posse was no more then five or six miles outside of town when Roy Coffee saw the trees across the road and the wrecked coach behind them. He shouted and pointed ahead of him. The posse picked up speed.

          The riders stopped their horses just before the trees across the road. Ben’s heart went to his throat as he saw the bodies laying on the ground. He quickly dismounted and rushed forward.

          “Joe!” Ben cried as he spotted his son. He jumped the trees and ran to his son.

          Joe was laying on his right side; the left side of his shirt was stained with a large circle of dried blood. Ben knelt next to his son and put his fingers on Joe’s neck, afraid of what he would feel…or not feel. But Ben felt a faint throb. Joe was alive.

          Gently, Ben turned his son onto his back. He tore open Joe’s shirt, and blanched at the jagged wound on Joe’s ribs, just below the breastbone. The wound was crusted with dried blood, although a trickle of fluid continued to run down Joe’s body. “Get me some water!” Ben yelled over his shoulder. “Joe’s still alive!”

          Turning back to his son, Ben quickly untied his bandanna and balled the cloth. He pressed the bandanna hard against the wound and heard Joe moaned softly.

          Someone handed a canteen to Ben; he didn’t bother to look up to see who it was. Pulling the top off the canteen with his teeth, Ben took his hand off Joe’s wound so he could lift his son’s head. Then he trickled some water over Joe’s face.

          At first, Joe had no reaction to the water on his face. Then, slowly, his head turned. Ben put the canteen to Joe’s lips and trickled some water into his son’s mouth. Joe swallowed.

          “Joe?” Ben said softly. “Joe, can you hear me?”

          Joe didn’t answer. His face was pale and his eyes were closed. Ben shook his son’s head gently, hoping to rouse him. He was rewarded when Joe’s eyes fluttered opened.

          “Take it easy, son,” Ben said in an even voice, hoping to hide his fear. “Everything is going to be all right.”

          “Pa?” Joe asked. His voice was barely a whisper.

          “I’m here, son,” Ben answered quietly.

          Reaching up, Joe grabbed Ben’s arm. “Pa,” he said again in a whisper. “I can’t breathe.” Joe’s grip tightened. “It hurts, Pa,” he added. “It hurts bad.”

          Laying the canteen aside, Ben gripped Joe’s hand. “We’re going to get you to the doctor, Joe,” Ben reassured his son. “You’re going to be all right.”

          Joe didn’t seem to hear Ben. He looked at his father with glazed eyes. “Pa, I’m glad….glad you’re here,” Joe stopped and seemed to be gathering his strength. “I didn’t….want to be alone…when I….” Joe’s voice trailed off.

          Ben gripped his son’s hand tightly. “Joe!” he cried, desperation creeping into his voice. “Hang on, son.”

          Joe looked into Ben’s eyes. “I love you,” he said in a barely audible voice.

          Nothing Joe said could have scared Ben more. He knew his son wouldn’t have said those words unless Joe believed he was going to die. Ben gripped Joe’s hand even more tightly than before.

          “The others are all dead,” said Roy Coffee as he came up behind Ben. “How’s Joe?”

          “He’s alive, barely,” Ben answered, his eyes never leaving his son’s face.

          “Hoss is coming up the road,” Coffee advised. “We’ll get Joe back to town.”

          Ben didn’t answer. He felt Joe’s grip loosen on his hand, and saw his son’s eyes begin to close. “Joe!” Ben said loudly, shaking his son. Joe’s eyes fluttered open. “Joe, you stay awake,” Ben ordered in a firm voice. “You understand me? You stay awake.” Ben was afraid if Joe closed his eyes, he would never open them again.

          “I’ll…..try,” Joe whispered.

          Ben heard Roy Coffee shouting to Hoss to turn the buckboard  around, so it was facing toward town. He also heard the sheriff calling several men over. Ben’s eyes never left Joe’s face. He stared hard at his son, as if he was keeping him alive by the force of his will. Joe stared back at his father with dull eyes; he also felt it was important to keep Ben’s face in his vision, although he wasn’t sure why.

          From the corner of his eye Ben noted several pairs of legs standing around him. He felt a hand placed gently on his shoulder. “Ben, we have to get him to town,” Coffee told him in a gentle voice.

          As Ben nodded his understanding, several pairs of hands reached down and gently lifted Joe. Ben never loosened his grip on his son’s hand, and his eyes never left Joe’s face. Joe moaned as he was lifted off the ground.

          “Gently! Gently!” Ben urged the men, as he saw the pain in Joe’s face.

          The men carried Joe slowly to the buckboard. Someone handed Roy Coffee a blanket. Ben wasn’t sure where it came from, and frankly, he didn’t care. The sheriff put the blanket on bed of the buckboard, and the men laid Joe on top of it. Ben wrapped the blanket tightly around his son, then climbed into the buckboard.

          Sitting with his back against the driver's seat, Ben pulled Joe to him. He positioned his son so Joe's head was resting against his shoulder. Then he wrapped his arm tightly around Joe.

          Moving his head slowly, Ben looked up and over his shoulder. He could see Hoss staring at him, his face mirroring the worry and the terror his father felt. “Drive fast,” Ben said softly. “As fast as you can without bouncing us out.”

          Nodding, Hoss turned back to the team. He snapped the reins and the horses started trotting. Hoss snapped the reins again and the horses began to pick up speed.

          Ben turned his attention back to Joe, whose eyes were now closed. Ben put his hand on his son’s cheek and gently stroked it. Then he took Joe’s jaw in his hand and gently shook it.   As Joe’s eyes opened a bit, Ben shook his son’s head again. Lifting his head a bit, Joe looked at his father with dull, unfocused eyes. Ben could almost see the light fading from his son’s eyes. Ben’s heart was in his throat.

          “Joe, listen to me,” Ben said to his son. “You have to hang on. It’s only a little way to Virginia City. You have to hang on until we get there.”

          There was no reaction on Joe’s face. He simply stared at his father.

          Quickly, Ben looked around, taking note of the area, then turned back to Joe. “We’re passing the Carter ranch,” he told his son in a desperate voice. “You know how close to town that is. It’s only a little way now. Just a little bit longer.”

          Ben kept a steady stream of talk, describing to Joe exactly where they were, and how close they were getting to Virginia City. Joe didn’t react, but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on his father’s face.

          “Joe, I can see the town,” Ben said as the buckboard sped along the road. “I can see the livery stable. We’re almost there. It’s only a little while now.”

          Again, Joe didn’t react to his father's words. His dull, almost lifeless eyes simply stared up. Only the occasional blink told Ben his son was still with him.

          “Joe, we’re coming to the edge of town,” Ben advised in an encouraging voice. “We almost to the livery. It’s only a couple of blocks until we get to the doctor’s office. We’re almost there, son.”

          Snapping the reins, Hoss urged the horses to even more speed now that he was on the smooth road of the town. People on the street hurried out of the way as the buckboard raced by.

          “Joe, we’re here,” Ben said as the buckboard approached the doctor’s office. “We made it. You’re going to be all right now.” Ben wished he could believe his words.

          Suddenly, Joe’s head slumped forward. It was if Joe had been hanging on until the buckboard reached town, but now he no longer needed to stay awake. In a panic, Ben felt for a pulse on his son’s neck. At first, he couldn’t feel anything. Ben pressed harder, and felt a faint throb. He breathed a sigh of relief.

          Hoss pulled the buckboard to a skidding stop in front of the doctor’s office. He shouted for the doctor as he scrambled out of the seat and ran to the back of the buckboard. He stopped when he saw the look on his father’s face.

          “Pa, is he…” Hoss couldn’t say the words.

          “No, he’s alive,” Ben answered. “He’s still alive.”

          Reaching into the buckboard, Hoss pulled Joe toward him. He gathered his little brother in his massive arms, and carried him toward the doctor’s office. Dr. Martin was opening the door as Hoss approached. The doctor motioned the big man into the office.

          Slowly, Ben slowly climbed out of the buckboard, his knees weak. He walked toward the office in an unsteady gait.

          Hoss was coming out of a back room as Ben entered the office. “The doc’s working on him already,” Hoss said in a grim voice. Ben nodded and sat down in a chair near the door.

          “Pa, he’s going to be all right,” Hoss stated, hoping to reassure his father. “Joe’s going to be all right.”

          Ben nodded but he didn’t believe Hoss. He had seen the look in Joe’s eyes. Ben believed he had managed to keep his son alive for a little while, but he was afraid he had held his son in his arms for the last time.

          As Hoss paced the waiting room, Ben stared at the closed door at the back of the office. Ben fully expected the door to open at any minute and the doctor to tell him that Joseph, his beloved youngest son, was dead. As the minutes passed and the door remained closed, Ben felt a surge of hope. As long as the door stayed closed, Ben knew his son was still alive.

          The minutes turned into an hour, and still the door was closed. Ben began to feel that maybe he was wrong, maybe his son would survive. But he was afraid to allow the hope to grow. Too many of the people Ben loved had left him. He was afraid what it would do to him if he allowed this hope to take hold, and then had it dashed in tragedy. Ben sat, unable to move, staring at the door.

          Almost two hours passed, and still the door was closed. A new worry began nagging at Ben. What was taking the doctor so long? Why didn’t he come out and tell them about Joe? Ben felt the faint hope in his heart begin to fade. The doctor was trying to save his son, but it was taking too long. Ben began to think the doctor was working in vain to save Joe.

          Hoss was no longer pacing. He sat in a chair by the front door of the office. He too wondered why the doctor was taking so long. He glanced at Ben, and the look on his father’s face told him what Ben was thinking. Hoss prayed his father was wrong.

          Finally, the door opened. Ben and Hoss jumped to their feet as Doctor Martin walked out. The doctor knew how worried the two men in his waiting room must be. “He’s alive,” he declared. “I don’t know how, but he’s still alive.”

          Ben’s shoulders sagged in relief. Hoss put his head down and said a silent prayer of thanks.

          “How is he?” Ben asked. “Is he going to be all right?”

          Doctor Martin shook his head. “I don’t know, Ben,” he answered. “The bullet hit him square in the ribs. That prevented the bullet from hitting his heart or lungs or other vital organs, but it shattered the rib. I had to do a lot of digging to get the bullet out, as well as the pieces of the rib. He must have been in a lot of pain.”

          Ben nodded, remembering how Joe said he was hurting bad.

          “He lost a lot of blood,” the doctor continued. “A lot. Maybe too much. He’s very weak, and all that probing I had to do didn’t help. Joe’s heart is young and strong, but I don’t know if it’s strong enough to overcome this. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

          “When will we know?” Hoss asked fearfully.

          “Maybe by morning,” Doctor Martin answered. “If he makes it until morning, he’s got a good chance. I’ll have to keep forcing liquids into him to help replace the lost blood. Hopefully, that will keep his kidneys and other organs going until his body can replace its own fluids.”

          “Can we see him?” Ben asked in a grim voice.

          “Yes,” replied the doctor. “In fact, I’m going to need you and Hoss to help me move him to the bedroom. I want to be as gentle as possible with him.”

          Nodding, Ben pushed past the doctor. He walked purposely into the room at the back of the office, then stopped in the doorway.  Joe was lying on a table, covered to his shoulders by a sheet. Ben could see a pile of bloody clothes laying on the floor in a heap. He walked forward slowly, then stopped. For a moment, Ben merely stood by the table, watching his sleeping son.  Joe was pale, almost as white as the sheet that covered him. His breathing was shallow but steady. Ben could hear the soft intake of breath through Joe’s open mouth. He put his hand on the top of Joe’s head and patted it lightly. “You made it this far, son,” Ben said in a soft voice. “Don’t quit on me now.”

          Doctor Martin and Hoss had entered the room behind Ben. “Ben, he can’t hear you,” advised the doctor gently. “I’ve given him a strong sedative.”

          Ignoring the doctor’s comment, Ben stroked his son’s head. “You’re going to be all right, Joe,” Ben encouraged his son. “You can do it. I know you can.”

Pulling a stretcher out from behind the door, Martin walked over to the table. “Hoss, I want you and Ben to lift Joe so I can slip this under him,” the doctor instructed. “And watch how you lift his legs. His right knee is twisted and bruised. It’s pretty swollen.”

          “How did that happen?” Ben asked in astonishment.

          “I don’t know, Ben,” answered the doctor. He smiled briefly. “I’m a good doctor, Ben. I check my patients thoroughly.”

          “Right now, I think you are the best doctor in the world,” Ben stated.

          Doctor Martin blushed a bit. “I bet you say that to all the doctors,” he said gruffly, trying to hide his embarrassment at Ben’s praise. “Come on,” he add briskly. “Let’s get him settled in the bed in the next room.”

          It took awhile for the three men to transfer Joe to the bed in the next room. Ben and Hoss lifted Joe gently, afraid that they might hurt him if they weren’t careful. Once Joe was settled on the stretcher, the men carried him slowly through the waiting room to a bedroom. There they repeated their movements, with Ben and Hoss raising Joe gently from the bed as the doctor slid the stretcher out from underneath the unconscious man. Doctor Martin checked Joe’s bandages briefly, and was satisfied that his stitches had held. He pulled some blankets from the bottom of the bed over Joe, covering him to his shoulders. Joe never stirred during the whole process.  Ben and Hoss stood over the bed, watching Joe as the doctor went to get some water.

          “Do you think he’s going to be all right?” Hoss asked, knowing there was no real answer to his question.

          “I hope so,” Ben replied fervently.

          Doctor Martin returned in a few minutes with a cup and spoon, and sat on the bed next to Joe. “Lift his head for me, Ben” the doctor ordered. Ben reached down and lifted Joe’s head. The doctor slowly spooned the water into Joe’s mouth, being careful not to cause any choking. “I’ve put a lot of sugar and salt into this water,” the doctor said as he worked. “That should help him until his own body starts producing what he needs.”

          While Ben and Hoss watched intently, the doctor spooned about half the cup into Joe. When the doctor put the cup on a small table next to the bed, Ben lowered Joe’s head back onto the pillow. All three men were so intent on the patient on the bed that they were startled to hear a voice at the doorway.

          “How is he, Doc?” Roy Coffee asked as he stood in the doorway.

          Doctor Martin turned to the sheriff. “He’s still alive, Roy. That’s about all I can say at this point.”

          Nodding, Coffee swallowed hard. “I took the other bodies over to the funeral parlor,” he explained. “I had to tell Mrs. Bartlett about her husband. She took the news pretty hard.”

          “Mrs. Bartlett?” the doctor said with a frown. “Walter Bartlett was on that stage?”

          Again, Coffee nodded. “Yes he was. He was shot in the chest, and so was the other passenger, a young fellow. Looks like the driver got killed when the coach crashed.”

          Doctor Martin shook his head. “Walter Bartlett,” he said sadly. “Walter was a fine man.”

          Ben was startled by the news. He had been concentrating on Joe and hadn’t bothered to look at the other bodies. Now he was saddened by the untimely death of an old friend. “Roy, are you forming a posse?” he asked.

          “Yep,” answered the sheriff. “Got more than twenty men. We’re going back to where the stage crashed, to see if we can pick up some tracks.”

          “You tell those men that I’m offering a $1,000 reward for the capture of the men who did this,” Ben said in a grim voice.

          “Ben, they don’t need any reward,” Roy answered. “Everybody in town is mad about what happened. I could have had fifty men if I wanted them.”

          “Nevertheless, I’m offering a reward,” Ben stated firmly.

          “Roy, I’m riding with you,” said Hoss.

          “I figured you would,” Roy replied. “I got a horse outside for you.”

          Hoss turned to his brother who laid still sleeping on the bed. “I’m going to get the men who did this to you, little brother,” he said softly. “I want you here waiting for me when I get back, you hear me?”

          Ben and Doctor Martin exchanged looks. They knew that if he left now, there was a chance Hoss would never see his brother alive again.  “Hoss…” Ben started.  

          Quickly, Hoss put up his hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Pa,” he said decisively. “Joe’s going to be all right. I know it. Besides, I’ll do more good riding with the posse than hanging around here.” Hoss started to walk across the room. As he reached the doorway, he stopped and looked back, giving his brother a long look. Then he turned toward the door. “Come on, Roy,” he said, pulling his hat down firmly on his head. “Let’s go get those varmints.” Roy Coffee followed Hoss out of the room.  

          Doctor Martin looked at Ben who was standing near the bed. “Ben, it’s going to be a long night,” he advised. “Why don’t you go over to the hotel and get some rest.”

          “I’m not leaving,” Ben replied. He looked around the room and spotted a chair against the far wall. Ben walked over and pulled the chair next to the bed, then sat purposely on the chair.  The doctor hadn’t really expected Ben to leave. He knew how Ben felt about his boys.         

**********

          For the next few hours, Ben and Doctor Martin watched over Joe. Every half hour or so, the doctor spooned more water laced with sugar and salt into the injured man. Ben worried that Joe showed no reaction, but the doctor assured Ben that his son was heavily sedated.  Doctor Martin checked Joe’s breathing, pulse and temperature almost constantly, looking for some sign of change. The fact that Joe’s condition didn’t seem to be deteriorating encouraged him. 

Standing and stretching a bit, Bend walked across the room. Curtains draped a window on the wall a few feet from the bed. Ben lifted the curtain and looked out on the seemingly deserted streets of Virginia City. He wondered briefly where everyone was, then realized the day was fading into evening. He supposed most people were eating supper. Ben shook his head. Eating supper. He thought of all the meals he had shared with his sons. He wondered how he would ever eat another meal at the Ponderosa if Joseph wasn’t there.  Doctor Martin walked over to Ben. “Are you sure you don’t want to go over to the hotel for awhile?” he asked. “Joe seems stable.”

          Ben shook his head. “No,” he said in a firm voice. “I’m not leaving.” Ben turned and walked back to the chair by the bed.  The doctor watched as Ben pulled Joe’s hand out from under the covers and held the hand firmly in his own. It was almost as if Ben was trying to give some of his strength to his son.  Then Doctor Martin heard the front door of his office open, followed by a young voice calling, “Doctor, doctor, where are you?”

          Walking to the doorway, the doctored looked out into the reception area. “Here I am,” he called back. 

A boy about ten ran up to the doctor. “Doctor, Ma says you got to come see Mrs. Bartlett right away. Her chest hurts and she says she can’t breathe.”

          The doctor nodded. “I’ll be right there,” he said. He turned back to Ben. “I’d better check on Catherine. I’ll be back as soon as I can. You come get me if there’s any change.”

          Mutely, Ben nodded.

          For a moment, the doctor hesitated. He hated leaving a critically ill patient, but he was the only doctor in town. Doctor Martin was used to making painful choices, but he never liked doing it. “Give him some of that water in a half hour if I’m not back by then,” he instructed Ben.

          Again, Ben nodded.

          As the doctor left the room, Ben gripped Joe’s hand tightly. “Remember what I told you, son,” he said in a soft voice. “You have to hang on.”         

          Evening had turned into night by the time Doctor Martin returned. He had stayed with Catherine Bartlett much longer than he had intended. With quick steps, he hurried back into the sick room where Joe was. The lamp on the table was lit. Other than that, the scene was the same was when the doctor had left. Joe lay sleeping on the bed, with Ben holding his hand.

          “Any change?” the doctor asked as he entered the room. Ben looked up, then shook his head. The doctor sat on the edge of the bed and checked Joe’s pulse and breathing. Both were faint but steady.

          “I gave him some of that water twice,” Ben advised in a tired voice. “I used it all up.”

          The doctor nodded. “I’ll make up some more,” he said.

          “How’s Catherine Bartlett?” Ben asked.

          “She’s fine,” answered the doctor. “Or as well as she can be under the circumstances. She didn’t have a heart attack. It was just the worry and grief that caused her problems. I finally gave her a sedative and sent her to bed.”

          “Poor Catherine,” Ben commented sadly. “She’s going to be lost without Walter.”

          Doctor Martin nodded. Privately, he thought the same about Ben. If Joe didn’t pull through, Ben would be lost.

          “You know, it’s funny what you think about,” Ben continued. “I was remembering when Joe first started breaking horses. He was battered and bruised all summer. On some mornings, he was so sore he could barely get out of bed. I thought sure he would give it up. But he kept telling me that he wanted to be the best horse breaker on the ranch. He kept at it, and he learned. It wasn’t long before he WAS the best horse breaker on the Ponderosa.” Ben looked up at the doctor. “When he wants something, Joe is as stubborn as a mule.” Ben looked down at his son. “We just have to convince Joe that he needs to get well. If we do that, nothing will stop him.”

          Doctor Martin stared at Ben. He was becoming worried about his old friend. “Ben, you need to get some rest,” he said gently.

          “Soon,” Ben replied. “As soon as Joe wakes up.” 

********** 

          Doctor Martin woke with a start. He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep in the chair. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around. He could see the rays of the sun coming through the curtains by the window.  Turning his head quickly, he looked toward the bed. Joe and Ben looked as if they had been frozen in time. Joe lay sleeping while Ben sat holding his son’s hand.  The doctor stretched and walked over to the bed.  As he sat on the edge, he once again checked Joe’s pulse and breathing. He was surprised to find both much stronger. The doctor put his hand on Joe’s forehead and was pleased to find it only slightly warm.  Suddenly, Joe stirred. He moaned softly as he tried to shift his body on the bed.

“Lie still,” Doctor Martin ordered his patient. Joe didn’t seem to hear the doctor. He shifted on the bed again, and grunted at the pain it caused. Joe’s eyes squinted, then opened. He looked at the two men peering down at him, then his eyes focused on Ben. “Hi Pa,” he said softly.

 “Hi yourself,” Ben answered with a grin.

 “Guess I made it,” Joe said in a weak voice. 

 “You sure did, son,” replied Ben heartily.

 “I kept hearing your voice in my head,” Joe murmured. “I kept hearing you tell me to hang on.”

The doctor looked at Ben with a surprised expression. He knew Joe had been heavily sedated and he doubted the boy could have heard Ben. But somehow Ben’s message got through to Joe.

 “What about the others?” Joe asked softly. “Mr. Bartlett? Billy? Are they all right?”

Ben hesitated a moment before answering. “Don’t worry about them,” he replied in a soothing voice. “You just concentrate on getting well.”

Joe studied Ben’s face. “They didn’t make it, did they?” he said in a sad voice.

Ben took a deep breath. “No, they didn’t make it."

Slowly, Joe closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said in a tired voice. Then, abruptly, Joe opened his eyes again. “Pa, we have to get them,” he said. “We have to get the men who did this.”

 “We will, son,” Ben agreed in a grim voice. “Don’t worry, we will.” 

************

 It was late in the day when the posse rode back into Virginia City. The tired, discouraged look on the face of the men told everyone who saw them that they hadn’t found the outlaws. Hoss rode directly to the doctor’s office as the rest of the men scattered. He tried to tell himself that there would be good news waiting for him. But he felt the gnaw of worry in his stomach.  Hoss dismounted in front of the office and tied his horse to the hitching post there. He walked to the door, then stopped. Taking a deep breath before opening the door, Hoss walked into an empty waiting room. He stood there for a minute, unsure of what to do. He heard the door open behind him and saw Roy Coffee walk in.

“How’s Joe?” the sheriff asked.

 Before Hoss could answer, the door to the bedroom opened. Ben Cartwright walked out of the room, a relaxed and smiling expression on his face. Hoss felt the knot in his stomach dissolve.

 “Joe’s gonna be all right, isn’t he?” Hoss said with a grin.

 Ben nodded. “He’s still very weak, but he’s awake and talking. The doctor thinks his chances are good.”

 “I told you, Pa,” Hoss stated enthusiastically. “I told you he was going to be fine.”

 “Yes, you told me,” Ben replied with a smile.

 “Can we talk with him?” Roy asked.

 “In a minute,” Ben answered. “The doctor’s changing his bandages.” His face turned serious. “Did you find anything?”

 Hoss shook his head. “No, not really,” he replied. “We found tracks of four riders and followed them. But they got up in that hard rock country, and we lost the trail. We looked around for awhile, but we couldn’t find anything.”

 “You’re not giving up?” Ben said with alarm.

“No, we’re not giving up,” Roy assured him. “We just came back to get some supplies and fresh horses. We’re going back out first thing in the morning.”

The door to the bedroom opened again, and Doctor Martin walked out. He was carrying some soiled bandages in his hands.

“Doc, can we talk to Joe?” Roy asked quickly.

“Just for a minute,” the doctor answered. “He needs plenty of rest.”

With rapid steps, Hoss and Roy walked past the doctor and into the bedroom. The two men saw  Joe was sitting up in bed. His ribcage was wrapped in bandages, and he had dark circles under his eyes. But Joe's face lit up when he saw his big brother.

          “Hi, brother,” Joe said in a thin voice.

          Hoss sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi yourself. You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

          “I’m feeling better,” Joe stated. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”

          “Sure you will,” Hoss agreed in an encouraging voice.

          “Pa told me you were riding with the posse,” Joe said. “Did you find them?”

         “No,” Hoss answered with a shake of his head. “We found some tracks, but we lost the trail.”

          “Hoss, you have to find them,” Joe said, with an urgency in his voice. “You have to.”

          “Joe, we don’t even know who we’re looking for,” Coffee offered from the doorway.

          Joe looked up. “There were four of them, Roy,” he replied. “Four real mean hombres.”

          The sheriff walked to the end of the bed. “Joe, can you tell us what happened?” he asked.

          Looking down, Joe swallowed hard and gathered his thoughts before answering. He briefly described the stage wreck and the robbery. Joe’s voice shook a bit as he described how the outlaws had callously shot the passengers.

Coffee nodded as he listened. “Can you describe them?” he asked.

          For a minute, Joe thought about the men. He had a picture of each of them in his mind; he didn’t think he would ever forget them. The sheriff listened thoughtfully as Joe described the four outlaws, naming three of them.

          “Are you sure about those names?” Coffee asked as Joe finished.

          “I’m sure,” Joe replied. “I heard them. One was Reno, another Danny and the third was Johnny. They never said the name of the fourth man.”

          “Well, that gives me something,” Coffee said. “I’m going over to the office and start looking through some posters.”

          Doctor Martin stepped forward. “That’s enough for now,” he ordered firmly. “Joe needs to rest.”

          “Is it all right if I come back later?” Roy asked. “I want Joe to look at some wanted posters.”

          “In the morning,” the doctor answered. “Not before then.”

          “I’m all right, doc,” Joe said from the bed, although his voice sounded weak and tired. “I can look at those posters now.”

          “No,” the doctor stated. “You’re going to rest. I did some of my best work patching you up and I’m not going to have you ruin it.”

          Joe smiled weakly and nodded.

          As he stood, Hoss patted his brother’s leg. “You get some sleep, Joe,” he suggested. “I’ll see you later.” Hoss looked at his father, sending Ben a silent question. Ben jerked his head toward the outer room and Hoss nodded.

          As the doctor was helping Joe slide down under the covers, the others left the room. Ben closed the door behind him.

          “Is he really going to be all right?” Hoss asked immediately. “He looks pretty bad.”

          “The doctor said it’s going to take awhile,” Ben replied, “but he’s confident Joe will be fine.”

          Hoss nodded, but his face still showed concern.

          Turning to the sheriff, Ben said in a grim voice, “Roy, I don’t want the men who did this to get away. Whatever it takes, I want them caught.”

          “Don’t worry, Ben,” Coffee answered, his voice equally grim. “We’ll get them. I have a pretty good idea of who we’re looking for.”

          “I want them caught,” Ben repeated. “No matter what it takes." 

          True to his word, Roy Coffee was back at the doctor’s office early the next morning. He carried several sheets of paper in his hand as he walked to the bedroom door. Coffee smiled briefly as he stood in the doorway. Ben was washing Joe’s face with a wet cloth, just as he used to do when Joe was a little boy. Coffee had seen Ben do it many times. Only this time, Joe wasn’t squirming away or protesting. He was sitting quietly in the bed with several pillows behind his back, his hands lying limply on the covers. The sheriff’s smile quickly disappeared as he thought of the men who had brutally shot down three unarmed men.  Coffee waited until Ben had dried Joe’s face with a small towel, then rapped the door jamb lightly. “Morning,” he said in a hearty voice.

          Both Ben and Joe turned to look at Roy. Ben smiled, but Joe’s face was passive. He looked even more tired than the day before.

          “How are you feeling today, Joe?” Roy asked.

          “He had kind of a rough night,” Ben answered for his son. “Joe didn’t get much sleep.”

          Coffee’s eyes arched as he looked at Ben.

          “I guess talking about the robbery brought it all back for him,” Ben explained briefly. The sheriff nodded, understanding what Ben was trying to tell him. Joe’s sleep had been interrupted by nightmares about the robbery.

          Walking slowly, Coffee came into the room. “Where’s the doc?” he asked, looking around.

          “He went to check on Catherine Bartlett,” Ben replied. “Walter’s funeral is today, and he wanted to make sure she’s all right.”

          Giving a quick nod, Coffee turned to Joe. “Joe, do you feel up to looking at some posters?” he asked.

          Joe reached for the papers in the sheriff's hands. “I’m up to it,” he said briefly. Coffee handed him the flyers.

          As Ben and the sheriff watched, Joe looked at each poster, carefully studying the picture on each sheet. He put several aside, then went back and studied four sheets again. Finally, he handed the sheets to Coffee. “These are the men,” Joe said.

          Taking the sheets, the sheriff paged through them. “Johnny Keene and his gang,” Coffee said. “I kinda of figured they might be the ones. They’re wanted for robbery and murder in four states.”

          “What happens now?” Joe asked.

          “I’m going to wire every sheriff within a hundred miles to keep an eye out for them,” answered Coffee. “Then I’m taking a posse out. They might be hold up someplace around here.”

          “Roy, be sure to tell those sheriffs about the reward I’m offering,” said Ben. “A thousand dollars might help them look harder.”

          “I will, Ben, only now the reward is $10,000,”  the sheriff replied.

          “$10,000!” Ben exclaimed.

          “Yep, the stage line put up $5,000 and the bank is adding another $4,000,” Coffee said. He looked at Joe. “We all want to catch them. We want them real bad.”

          The sheriff picked up the other posters from the bed and started to leave the room. He stopped and turned back to Joe. “Joe, I almost forgot,” he said. “That young fellow who was on the stage with you. Do you know anything about him? We couldn’t find any identification on him. I want to notify his kin, but I don’t know who to contact.”

          A look of pain crossed  Joe's face and he lowered his eyes. “His name was Billy Olsen,” Joe told the sheriff in a strained voice. “He said he was going home to Fall’s River. His mother lives there. And the girl he was going to marry.”

          “Fall’s River, eh,” Coffee said . “I know the sheriff over there. I’ll send him a wire and ask him to tell the boy’s mother about what happened.” The sheriff turned and walked out.

          As Joe continued to stare down at the bed, Ben put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Joe, are you all right?” he asked.

          Joe looked up. “Yeah, Pa,” he said. “I’m all right.” But Joe’s face belied that statement. His eyes had a pinched look and his mouth had a grim set to it. “I’m all right,” he repeated in a soft voice.

**********         

          Four men lounged around a fire inside a cave. The outlaws were relaxed, confident that no posse would find their hideout. Two were stretched out on blankets, while the third idly fed some sticks into the fire. Johnny Keene sat sipping a cup of coffee, a thoughtful expression on his face.

          “Reno, I want you to ride into Virginia City tomorrow,” Johnny said. “Hang around town and find out what’s going on. See if the posse is still out looking.”

          “How come Reno gets to go?” complained Danny. “Why can’t I go?”

          “Because I said so,” Johnny answered in an angry voice.

          “Johnny is sending me because he wants to know what’s going on,” Reno said with a grin. “He don’t want to send somebody who’s going to spend time drinking and dancing with saloon girls.”

          “Johnny’s the boss,” added the big man, his voice deep. “He’s done all right by us so far.”

          Danny sat up. “I’m tired of just sitting around here,” he grumbled. “Why can’t we just ride out? Nobody knows who robbed that stage.”

          “Because I don’t want to get stopped by some posse,” Johnny said. “If we get stopped, they’ll search us. If they find those gold coins, they’ll know we were the ones who robbed the stage. I don’t fancy getting hung.”

          “We should have just kept riding,” Danny continued his complaint. “It was a bad idea to hold up here.”

          “Kept riding, eh,” Johnny said. “Danny, you’re dumber than you look. If we kept riding, we would have had to stop someplace out in the open. That posse would have found us in no time.”

          “We don’t know there’s a posse looking for us,” Danny mumbled.

          “There’s a posse,” Johnny stated. “When that stage didn’t show up, they went looking for it. They’re going to be looking for whoever robbed that stage.” He turned to Reno. “You keep your ears open and your mouth shut. And be back by night.”

          “Don’t worry, Johnny,” Reno said. “I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

Two hours later, Reno sat in the Silver Dollar saloon, nursing a beer. He had spent most of the morning walking around town, eavesdropping on people as they gossiped in the street. So far, he had heard nothing of interest. He figured he’d spend a little time in the saloon and see what he could pick up there. But the saloon was almost empty. He thought about asking the bartender about the stage robbery, but decided that might arouse suspicion. He was better off just waiting to see if someone else brought it up. So far, no one had. Reno decided to wait a bit longer to see if he could learn anything. He sipped his drink. He figured to finish his beer, then head back to the hideout.

The sound of footsteps and the rumble of voices caught the outlaw's attention. Reno looked up as a crowd of men pushed open the saloon doors. Six dusty men walked in and stood at the bar. “Beer,” ordered one of them. “Make it cold and wet.”

The bartender started filling some beer glasses from a keg. “You boys been riding posse?” he asked as he filled the glasses. Reno sat up and listened hard.

“Yep,” said one of them. “Didn’t find a thing.”

The bartender set the glasses on the bar. “You fellows going to quit looking?” he asked.

          “No, at least not for awhile,” answered one of the men, sipping his beer. “We’re heading out again in the morning.”

          “You fellows must want that $10,000 reward awful bad,” the bartender suggested.

          “Well, the money would be nice,” agreed another man. “But I ain’t doing it for the money. Joe Cartwright’s a friend of mine, and I don’t like the idea of whoever shot him getting away.”

          “I hear the doc’s going to let him out of bed for awhile today,” the bartender said.

          “Yeah?” replied Joe’s friend. “That’s good news. Sounds like he’s doing real well.”

          “It’s a good thing Joe was able to describe those outlaws,” said one of the men. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t even know who we were looking for.”

          Frowning, Reno pulled his hat down over his face. Johnny wasn’t going to like what he would have to tell him. A persistent posse, a $10,000 reward and one of the men still alive. No, Johnny wasn’t going to like this at all.

          “I think we’re wasting our time,” said one of the men at the bar. “Those outlaws are probably a hundred miles from here. We’ll never find them.”

          “Well, maybe we won’t,” replied another man. “But somebody will. I was out there when Ben Cartwright found his boy. I saw the look on old Ben’s face. He’s not going to let someone shoot his son and get away with it.”

          “You’re right there,” the first man agreed. “Ben Cartwright’s a big man in these parts. He’s going to have every sheriff west of the Mississippi looking for those outlaws. Hell, he’ll probably have the army out looking for them.”

          Quickly, Reno threw some coins on the table and stood up. He glanced at the bar, and saw the men had their backs to him. He left the saloon in a hurry.

          As he stood on the sidewalk outside the saloon, Reno wasn't sure what to do next. His first instinct was to ride back to the hideout quickly. But he knew Johnny would want more. He’d want to know where Joe Cartwright was.

          Slowly, Reno walked down the street, trying to look unconcerned. His eyes searched each of the buildings as he walked. He finally spotted a sign proclaiming “Paul Martin, MD”. Reno crossed the street and leaned against a post. He looked like any cowboy, just killing time. But his eyes were glued on the building across the street. 

          In the bedroom in the doctor's office, Joe was sitting in a chair by the window at the end of the bed. He was wearing a brown robe, and a blanket covered his legs. His right leg was stretched out, his foot was resting on a small stool. A tray holding a bowl of stew, some bread, and a cup of coffee sat on his lap. Joe was pushing the spoon around in the stew. He stared at the tray, his thoughts far away from the meal in front of him.  Ben walked into the room, prepared to take an empty tray back to the café. He was surprised to see the tray was still full.

          “Joe, you haven’t eaten your lunch,” Ben said with a frown.

          Joe looked up. “I’m not very hungry,” he answered briefly.

          Ben walked over to his son, concern showing on his face. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked quickly. “Are you feeling some pain?”

          Shaking his head, Joe said in a low voice, “No, it’s nothing like that."

          Letting out a sigh of relief, Ben moved closer to his son. “What’s wrong, then?” he asked as he perched on the end of the bed. Joe had seemed unusually quiet during the past two days. Ben had thought that his son was just trying to regain his strength. But now he wondered if something else was bothering Joe.

“Joe?” Ben said when his son didn’t answer. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

          Joe looked away. “It’s nothing,” he answered briefly. “I was just thinking about Mr. Bartlett and Billy.”

          Ben waited.

          “I wish I could have gone to the funerals,” Joe continued. “I wish I could have told them how sorry I am about what happened.”

          For a moment, Ben studied the troubled look on Joe’s face. “Are you feeling guilty because you’re alive and they’re dead?” he asked.

          Joe looked at Ben with surprise. “Yeah, I guess,” he admitted. “Something like that.”

          “Joe, you shouldn’t feel guilty,” Ben said. “I’m very grateful you’re alive.”

          “But, Pa, why me?” Joe asked. “I mean, why should I still be here when they’re dead. Mr. Bartlett was a good man. He helped a lot of people around here. And Billy had his whole life ahead of him. He was going to marry a girl back home and start a ranch. Why are they dead and not me?”

          Gently, Ben put his hand on Joe’ shoulder. “Joe, I don’t know the answer to that,” he said. “No one does. I once saw a clipper ship go down, a ship that was manned with experienced sailors. Everyone drowned except a young cabin boy. Men who were in the war tell stories of battles where the soldiers all around them were shot down and they came out without a scratch. No