Lost Son

by Susan

“Hold the rein tighter, Joe!” shouted Adam Cartwright from his perch atop the corral fence. “You’ll never keep her head up that way!”  

Joe Cartwright ignored his brother’s advice as he eased himself onto the saddle of the horse being held tightly by two other riders. The mare’s eyes were wide with fright, and her body quivered when she felt the unfamiliar weight on the saddle.  

“Shorten the rein,” called Adam again as he watched his brother catch the stirrups of the saddle with his feet.  

Joe continued to ignore his brother’s shouts. He settled himself on the saddle and gripped tightly the rope which was serving as a rein.

“Let her go,” he said the riders with a brief nod.  

The riders on either side of the horse released their hold on the animal’s halter. Immediately, the mare began to buck, trying to throw the weight from her back. Joe gripped the saddle tightly with his legs and knees as his body was jerked forward in the saddle.  

After two bucks in a standing the position, the mare decided to try a new tactic to rid herself of the unwanted burden. She started forward, taking a step, and then began bucking again. The weight on her back stayed firmly attached. The mare began to run, throwing her back legs into the air at every few steps, hoping that one of these bucks would toss the weight from her back.  

Joe quickly found the rhythm of the mare’s bucking and began shifting his weight slightly in anticipation of each move the horse was going to make. He vaguely heard the shouts of encouragement from the other riders and the men sitting on the fence, but his concentration was centered on keeping his seat firmly atop the mare. His arm was jerked as the horse dipped its head, but Joe held on to the rope tightly.  

The mare soon tired of the bucking and gradually realized the weight on her back wasn’t going away. She gave a few more kicks into the air but they were more of a feeble protest than bucks. Soon she simply began to run around the corral. She felt the bit in her mouth pulling her slightly to the right and followed the command reluctantly.

She ran toward the center of the corral, and slowed when she saw another horse and rider approaching. The rider grabbed the halter and the mare pulled herself to a stop.  

Joe slid off the saddle and onto the ground. He watched for a moment as the mare was led away, then turned to walk toward the fence where Adam was sitting. Joe rotated his left shoulder slightly as he approached the fence.  

“Good ride, Joe,” said Hoss Cartwright. Hoss was leaning against the fence post near the board on which his older brother was sitting. Joe smiled briefly in acknowledgment.  

“You should have kept the rein shorter,” commented Adam from the fence. “That way she couldn’t have lowered her head. She wouldn’t have jerked your arm as much, and she couldn’t have bucked so hard.  

Joe looked up at his brother. “I know how to break a horse, Adam,” he said tersely.  

“Just giving a little advice,” replied Adam.  

“Yeah, well, thanks for the advice,” said Joe, “but I don’t need it. I know what I’m doing.”  

Adam shrugged. “It’s your body. If you want to be stiff and sore, that’s your decision. I was just trying to keep you in one piece.”  

Joe glared at Adam. “Look, Adam, I’ve been breaking horses almost since I could walk. I know keeping the rein short keeps a horse’s head up. But I also know if you keep it too tight, you can ruin a horse. That mare had a real soft mouth. I didn’t want to take the chance on ruining it.”  

“Don’t you think it’s better to take a chance on ruining the horse than getting yourself jerked around and maybe thrown?” suggested Adam.  

“No, I don’t,” replied Joe angrily. “I’d rather give a horse a little more rein and try to stay with her.” Joe’s eyes narrowed. “You know, Adam,  sometimes if you can keep a rein too tight. Then it doesn’t control a horse. It only makes the horse work harder to get a little freedom.”  

Adam looked back at Joe with a steady gaze. “Some animals need a tight rein than others.”  

Joe’s reply was cut short by a shout from across the corral. Joe turned to look at the cowboy who called his name.  

“What did you say?” shouted Joe.  

“I said, do you want to try that black?” yelled the cowboy. He was sitting on top of the fence on the other side of the corral. Behind him, six or seven horses were milling around in a small enclosure. The two riders sat on their horses in the middle of the corral, watching expectantly.  

“No, that’s enough for today,” shouted Adam before Joe had a chance to answer.  

Joe spun back to face his brother. “Don’t you think that’s my decision?” said Joe angrily.  

“Look, Joe,” said Adam in a reasonable voice. “You’ve ridden six horses already today. There’s no sense in overdoing things.”  

“Joe, it’s getting on toward supper time,” added Hoss hastily. “Why don’t we call it a day?”  

Joe didn’t answer for a minute, but his mood lightened at the sound of Hoss’ voice. Joe knew he was tired and probably irritable as a result. Adam always seemed to know how to rub Joe the wrong way, Joe thought, just as Hoss always seemed to know how to nudge his brother out his black moods.  

Joe turned to Hoss. “How come you always know when it’s time to eat?” he asked with a smile.  

“Just a natural gift, I guess,” replied Hoss with a grin. He glanced up at Adam. “You’ve a gift at breaking horses, and I have a gift at knowing when it’s time to eat.”  

Adam slid off the fence and stood next to his brothers. “Dinner sounds like a good idea,” he said. Adam began walking across the corral, shouting to the other men that their work was over for the day.  

Joe watched Adam, then shook his head. “Just once I’d like to do something without him telling me how I’m doing it wrong,” muttered Joe.  

“Aw, Joe, he don’t mean anything by it,” said Hoss in a conciliatory tone. “You know Adam. He’s just naturally got to butt into things and tell people what to do.”  

Joe gave Hoss a wry grin. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Guess that’s Adam’s gift. Being able to tell everyone else what to do.”  

Hoss laughed and clapped his brother lightly on the back. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go eat.”  

*************  

Conversation around the dinner table at the Ponderosa ranch house covered the usual topics of the day’s activities and ranch chores. Joe had shaken off his earlier irritation at his brother Adam. A good washing and a brief nap had restored his good humor by the time he had come down for supper.  

“Pa, I think I found three good horses for Mr. Ferguson over in Twin Pines,” said Joe when there was a lull in the conversation.  

“Which three?” asked Adam curiously.  

“The sorrel, the roan and that mare I broke today,” replied Joe.  

Adam cocked his head. “I don’t know about that mare. She seemed kind of skittish. Ferguson wants some stock he can count on for work around the ranch. I don’t know if that mare would be right for that.”  

Joe felt his irritation at his older brother returning. “I rode the mare, Adam, not you,” he said in an annoyed voice. “She needs a little work, but she’s a good animal.”  

Ben Cartwright could see a dispute starting to broil between his two sons. He decided to intervene before things got out of hand. “Why don’t I take a look at those horses tomorrow?” he suggested. “See if they’re what Ferguson is looking for.”  

“Fine,” said Joe in a flat voice. He looked at Adam. “I’m sure you’ll be surprised to find that I can actually judge horses.”  

“Hey, Joe, you want to play some checkers after dinner?” asked Hoss, also trying to diffuse the tension around the table.  

A peculiar look flashed across Joe’s face. He looked down at his plate for a minute as if trying to decide something. Then he looked up at Hoss.  

“No, I can’t,” said Joe with a shake of his head. “I have to go out for a little while tonight.”

  “Go out?” said Hoss in surprise. “What you going to do?”  

Joe shrugged. “Just something I have to take care of.”

“Sounds kind of mysterious,”’ said Adam, raising his eyebrows.  

“Yeah, Joe, what are you up to?” asked Hoss.  

Joe’s eyes flashed with irritation. “That’s my business,” he said curtly to Hoss. Joe turned to Ben. “Is it all right with you if I go out?” he asked.  

Ben saw the challenging look on Joe’s face. He decided now was not the time to ask his youngest son why he was going out. After all, Joe was 22, no longer a child. He didn’t need to account to his father for his every move, even though Ben’s curiosity was piqued. But Ben knew now was not the time to press the issue with Joe. 

“Of course,” replied Ben with a nod. “Just be sure you’re home at a reasonable hour. We have a full day of work tomorrow.”  

Joe smiled briefly at Ben’s reminder. His father had been giving him the same instructions for as long as he could remember. “Don’t worry, “ Joe assured Ben. “I won’t be gone long.”  

“Be careful,” said Ben, adding another often repeated instruction.  

“I will,” said Joe with a nod, barely hearing the words said to him a hundred times. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and threw the cloth on the table. “See you later, Pa,” he said, pointedly ignoring his brothers.  

Joe pushed back the chair from the table and walked from the dining room. A minute later, the men around the table heard the front door open and close.  

“Where do you suppose he’s going?” asked Hoss. “That’s the third night this week he’s been out.”  

“Couldn’t be a girl,” commented Adam. “He didn’t spend his usual hour primping like he generally does when he’s seeing someone.”  

“Now that’s enough, boys,” said Ben in mild rebuke. “If Joe doesn’t want to tell us where he’s going, that’s his business.”  

“Yeah, but Pa, you have to admit he’s acting kind of mysterious,” said Hoss.  

“When Joe doesn’t want to talk about what he’s doing, that usually means he’s up to something,” added Adam. “Something that’s going to mean trouble.”  

“We don’t know that,” said Ben. “He could be doing something perfectly innocent.”  But a concerned look crossed Ben’s face, belying his words.  

“Yeah, like what?” asked Hoss.  

“I don’t know,” admitted Ben. The frown of concern on his face deepened.  

“Why don’t Hoss and I ride out after him,” suggested Adam. “Just to see what he’s up to.”  

Ben hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think you should do that. Joe can look after himself.”

“Pa, you know Joe,” pressed Hoss. “He gets involved in things and sometimes he gets in over his head.”

“We’ll stay way behind him,” promised Adam. “He won’t even see us.”  

“I don’t know, Adam,” said Ben, his voice full of doubt. “I don’t like the idea of Joe thinking we’re checking up on him.”  

“Pa, we’re just going to make sure Joe ain’t involved in something he can’t handle, that’s all,” said Hoss.  

“It won’t hurt just to find out what he’s up to,” said Adam. “We might be able to keep him from doing something he would regret.”  

“All right,” said Ben reluctantly. “But I want your word that all you are going to do is follow him. I want you to promise you won’t interfere in…in whatever he’s doing.”  

“We won’t,” said Adam, pushing back from the table. “We’re just going to make sure Joe doesn’t need protection.”  

“Protection?” said Ben in surprise. “From whom?”  

“From himself,” replied Adam.  

***************  

Adam and Hoss were buckling on their holsters as they crossed the yard from the house to the barn. Now that they had decided to go after Joe, they both realized that trying to find their youngest brother could be a challenge.  

“Hey, Hank,” Adam called to one of the hands as he and Hoss neared the barn. “Do you know which way Joe went when he left?”  

“Yeah, he was heading up to Rim Rock Canyon,” replied the hand.  

“How do you know that?” asked Hoss in surprise.  

“Because he told me,” snorted Hank.  

“He just told you?” said Adam, his surprise equal to Hoss’.  

“Well, not exactly,” admitted Hank. “I asked him if he was going near Virginia City ‘cause I needed some tobacco. He said no, he was going to Rim Rock Canyon.” Hank looked at the two men curiously.

“Why do you want to know where Joe went?”  

“We, um, we just need to find him, “ said Adam vaguely. “Do us a favor and saddle our horses for us?”  

Hank nodded briefly, and walked into the barn.  

“Rim Rock Canyon? What do you suppose he’s doing up there?” asked Hoss.  

“I don’t know,” said Adam with a shake of his head. “But whatever our little brother is involved in, I don’t think it’s planning a Sunday social.”  

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

Adam and Hoss had no trouble picking up Joe’s trail as they approached Rim Rock Canyon. Daylight lingered until almost nine in the early summer, and Adam had guessed it was only a little after seven when they had left the Ponderosa. The sun was bright enough for the two Cartwrights to see the tracks a horse had made through the tall grass.  

As they neared the canyon, Adam put up his hand to halt his brother. “We’d better go slow from here,” suggested Adam. “We don’t want to ride right up to him.”  

Hoss looked around. “I bet he’s heading for Piaute Rock,” he said. “If he was meeting somebody, that’s the easiest place to find around here.”  

“You’re probably right,” agreed Adam. “Let’s leave the horses a little way off from Piaute Rock and go the rest of the way on foot. If we keep to the brush, Joe won’t see us.”  

A troubled look crossed Hoss’ face. “Adam, you sure we’re doing the right thing? It don’t feel right sneaking after Joe like this.”  

“We’re only making sure he’s not getting himself into some kind of trouble,” Adam replied patiently. “It’s for his own good.”  

“Yeah, I suppose,” said Hoss. “I just hope Joe feels that way.”  

Adam and Hoss left their horses about twenty yards from Piaute Rock, and walked as quietly as possible through the trees and bushes toward the landmark. Hoss was beginning to think that Joe was someplace else when Adam suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him down. Hoss looked at Adam in surprise and started to say something, but Adam quickly put his finger to his lips. Then Adam pointed through the brush.  

Joe was sitting at the base of a tall rock decorated with drawings and figures. His horse was tied to a bush a few feet away. Joe was patiently whittling on a stick as he obviously waited for someone.  

Adam and Hoss crept through the brush toward Piaute Rock. They stopped a few feet away from the tall and crouched down to watch and listen. They didn’t have to wait long. The sound of a horse approaching drew both their attention and Joe’s.  

Joe threw away the stick he was whittling as he saw the rider. He got to his feet and closed his pocket knife as the rider approaching.  

“You finally got here,” said Joe to the rider as he stuck the knife in the pocket of his jacket. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”  

“That’s Pete Gordon,” whispered Hoss.  

“Shhhh,” cautioned Adam.  

“I’m sorry, Joe,” said Pete in an apologetic voice as he pulled his horse to a stop. “I got hung up.” He shook his head. “This whole thing is getting a lot more complicated than I thought.”  

Joe looked up to the rider from the ground. “You’re telling me!” said Joe in an exasperated voice. “When I agreed to help, I didn’t think I was going to get sucked in this deep.”  

“I know, Joe, I know,” said Pete. He let out a sigh. “I thought this was going to be simple but it’s not.”  

“How much longer is this going to take?” asked Joe. “My Pa is starting to ask where I’m going after dinner.”  

“You didn’t tell him?” said Pete in alarm.  

“No, I didn’t,” Joe assured the man on the horse. “I haven’t said anything to anybody about this.” Joe cocked his head. “So how much longer?”  

“Tonight should be the last night,” promised Pete. “After tonight, I can put my plan into action.”  

Joe shook his head. “You know I still think you’re going about this all wrong. There’s a whole lot easier way to get cattle.”  

“You’re still going to help me, aren’t you?” asked Pete in alarm. “I need you, Joe. I can’t tell one cow from another. I need you to tell me which ones to take.”  

“Yeah, I’ll help you, like I said,” replied Joe with a sigh. “Just don’t let anyone know I was in on this.”  

“Don’t worry,” Pete assured him. “I’m not going to tell anyone.” Pete looked at Joe, his gratitude evident on his face. “Joe, I owe you for this. I really do.”  

Joe shrugged, then grinned. “Just don’t ask me to help you change those brands.” With a nod, he walked over and untied his horse, then vaulted into the saddle. “Come on,” said Joe. “We only have an hour or so of daylight left. Let’s go look at some cattle.” Joe gave his horse a light kick and started to ride off. Pete turned his horse and followed Joe down the trail.  

Adam and Hoss stood as two riders rode off. Bushing aside the brush, the two walked toward Piaute Rock.  

“What do you think they’re up to, Adam?” asked Hoss in a puzzled voice.  

“I don’t know for sure,” replied Adam grimly, “but it sounded an awful lot like Joe was scouting some cattle for Pete to rustle.”  

“Aw, Adam, Joe wouldn’t do anything like that,” said Hoss. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. “Would he?” 

“Joe and Pete have been friends for a long time,” said Adam. “And I know Pete is unhappy with working in the office at the Lucky Dollar mine. Rustling some cattle would be a good way for Pete to make some money.”  

“But Joe wouldn’t help him do anything illegal?” protested Hoss.  

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Adam. “But Pete doesn’t have a ranch. If he isn’t thinking about rustling, why does he want Joe to help him pick out cattle?”  

“I don’t know,” admitted Hoss. He looked at Adam with a troubled face. “What do you want to do? Follow them?”  

“No,” replied Adam with a shake of his head. “By the time we get our horses and try to find their trail, it’ll be getting dark. Besides, it didn’t sound like anything was going to happen tonight. I think the best thing to do is go back to the ranch and tell Pa what we heard. Maybe he can talk some sense into Joe.”  

“I hope so,” said Hoss. The big man shook his head. “This is going to break Pa’s heart when we tell him.”  

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

Joe was surprised to see three grim-faced men sitting by the fireplace as he walked in the front door of the Ponderosa. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to cause such somber looks on his father and brothers’ faces.  

“What’s wrong?” asked Joe as he shut the door behind him. He quickly pulled his hat off his head and stuck it on the peg next to the door.  

“Joseph, we need to talk,” said Ben from his red leather chair near the fireplace.  

“Sure,” said Joe, as he untied his holster from his leg and unbuckled the gun belt from around his hips. He threw the gunbelt on the top of the bureau near the door.  

“What’s wrong?” said Joe again as he crossed the room. A feeling of alarm was growing in him as he studied the grim faces around the room.  

“Sit down, Joseph,” said Ben in a serious voice.  

Joe slid down on the sofa across from the fireplace and looked around the room. Adam was sitting in the blue chair near the staircase and Hoss was perched on the ledge in front of the fireplace. Adam’s face was wrinkled into a frown. Hoss simply looked sad.  

Joe turned to his father with an expectant look. “Pa, what’s going on?” he asked, his alarm growing.  

“Joe,” started Ben. Then he hesitated. He had been anxious to talk to his youngest son, but now that Joe was here, Ben wasn’t sure what to say. When Hoss and Adam had told him about the overheard conversation, Ben had been angry at first. Then his emotions had changed to disappointment and fear. Now, looking at Joe, he didn’t know what he felt. Joe’s eyes were wide with both innocence and concern.  

“Joseph,” said Ben again. “I know how you feel about helping a friend, but it’s wrong to get involved in rustling.”  

“Rustling?” said Joe in a puzzled voice. “What are you talking about?”  

“Joe, Hoss and I followed you up to Rim Rock Canyon,” said Adam in a serious voice. “We heard what you and Pete Gordon said.”  

“We heard Pete asking you to scout some cattle for him to rustle,” added Hoss. He shook his head. “Joe, that’s plain wrong.”  

Joe looked around the room in astonishment. He was torn between a desire to burst into laughter and a need to give into the anger he felt growing in him. Joe finally gave into the former and began to laugh.  

“I don’t see anything funny about this situation, young man, “ said Ben sternly as Joe began to cackle.  

“I do, Pa,” said Joe as he shook with laughter.  

Ben looked at Adam and Hoss. They were as stunned by Joe’s reaction as their father.  

“I’m sorry, Pa,” said Joe as he took a deep breath and tried to stop laughing. Joe wiped his eyes. “It’s just so….” Joe shook his head and took another breath. “We weren’t talking about rustling those cattle. Pete just wanted me to look at some cattle he’s thinking about buying to make sure he wouldn’t get cheated.”  

“What?” said Ben in astonishment.  

“Pete’s uncle back East died and left him $10,000,” explained Joe. “He’s going to buy the old Henderson place and stock it with cattle. He asked me to look at some cattle from a couple of the herds he’s thinking about buying to make sure he was getting some good stock.”  

“Why all the secrecy?” asked Adam suspiciously.  

“That was Pete’s idea,” answered Joe. “Most people know that the only thing Pete knows about cattle is which end has the horns. He was afraid if people knew he was looking to buy cattle, they’d tried to pass their worst cows onto him. So he got it into his head to keep this a secret until he and I could look at the herds. I thought it was only going to take a day or two, but Pete ended up dragging me to every herd on the Comstock.”  

“Why didn’t he just buy some cattle from us?” asked Hoss. “He should know we wouldn’t cheat him.”  

“I tried to tell him that,” said Joe with a shake of his head. “But he said he didn’t want to trade on our friendship. He was afraid Pa would sell him stock at a low price because we’re friends. He said he didn’t want to start out on his new ranch feeling that he owed somebody something.”  

“Then it was all a misunderstanding,” said Adam with a shake of his head.  

“We should have known you wouldn’t have gotten involved in something like rustling,” agreed Hoss.  

As Hoss’ words sunk in, the situation was suddenly no longer funny to Joe. His merriment turned to anger, with a dose of hurt added. Joe found it especially painful that Hoss had doubted him.  “Yeah, you should have,” Joe said coldly. He gave his brothers a hard look. “And what were you doing following me anyway?” 

“We were just worried about you,” explained Adam, looking uncomfortable.  

“You were acting so funny, well, we just thought maybe you’d gotten yourself involved in something you couldn’t handle,” said Hoss. “We told Pa that maybe we just ought to make sure you were all right.”  

Joe turned to Ben. “You knew they were going to follow me?”  

Ben looked away for a moment, then turned to meet Joe’s accusing eyes. “Yes, yes I did,” he admitted.  

Joe stared at Ben, then turned to look at Adam and Hoss. “Well, thank you,” he said in a voice cold with fury. “Thank you all for showing me how much you trust me.”  

“Ah, Joe, it ain’t that we don’t trust you…” said Hoss.  

“No?” interrupted Joe. “Then explain why you thought you had to follow me and why you thought I’d do something as stupid as getting involved in rustling.”  

“You’ve been known to go off half-cocked on occasion,” said Adam, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.  He looked at Hoss for help. Getting none, Adam tried to explain. “We were just trying to help,” he finished lamely.  

“Joe, I’m sorry,” added Ben. “We should have never interfered. We should have known better.”  

Joe stood and looked at his father in anger. “You’re right. You should have.” Joe turned on his heel and walked toward the stairs.  

“Joe, wait,” Ben called after his son. “Joe!”  

Joe ignored the calls. He climbed the stairs without a backward glance at the three shamefaced men watching him.  

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

Ben, Adam, and Hoss had finished their breakfast by the time Joe slid in to his chair the next morning. No one said a word as Joe filled his cup with coffee and then spooned some eggs onto his plate.  

“Good morning, Joseph,” said Ben quietly, finally ending the awkward silence.  

“Good morning,” replied Joe briefly.  

The silence descended again as Joe began to fork pieces of egg into his mouth. Ben looked at Hoss, who simply stared at Joe, and then at Adam. Adam shrugged.  

“Joe, about last night,” said Ben in  uncomfortable voice. “We really are sorry.”  

Joe looked up at his father. “You shouldn’t have sent Adam and Hoss to spy on me.”  

“I didn’t send your brothers to spy on you,” said Ben. “They were just trying to watch over you.”  

Joe looked down at his plate. “You know, Pa, I think that’s worse,” said Joe in a hurt voice. He looked up again, his eyes full of pain. “it’s worse knowing that you don’t  trust my judgment.”  

“Joe, that’s not true,” protested Ben. “I do trust your judgment. Look at all the times I’ve asked you to take of business for the ranch. And even the ranch itself.”  

“No, Pa,” replied Joe sadly. “You trust me to do a job after you’ve told me exactly what to do. That’s not the same thing as letting me make my own decisions.”  

“I know you are perfectly capable of making your own decisions,” said Ben.  

“Yeah?” said Joe skeptically. He looked around the table. “When was the last time I did something when one of you didn’t second-guess me or check up on me?” 

“It’s just that we have more experience than you do,” said Adam.  

“Experience?” scoffed Joe. “Don’t you mean that you’re older than I am so that automatically makes you wiser than me.”  

“You have to admit that you’ve done some crazy things, little brother,” said Hoss.  

“Sure I’ve made some mistakes,” answered Joe. “Everybody makes mistakes. Seems to me that Pa always said making mistakes is how you learn.”  

“I did say that,” admitted Ben. “But there’s a difference between making mistakes and making unwise choices. We’re just trying to help you make the right choices.”  

“And there’s a difference between helping me and not trusting me,” snapped Joe, his anger flaring.  

“Trust is a two way street,” said Adam. “If you had trusted us enough to tell us what was going on, we would have never followed you last night.”  

“I promised Pete I wouldn’t say anything,” said Joe. “I didn’t think I would have to break that promise. I didn’t think I had to explain every single thing I do to my family.”  

“Of course you don’t,” said Ben in a soothing voice. “But at the same time, you can’t blame us for being concerned about you. Especially when you act so secretive.”  

“We didn’t know what was going on, Joe,” said Hoss. “That’s what had us worried.”  

“Maybe I overdid it a bit. But you still should have trusted me,” insisted Joe.  

“We were only trying to protect you, Joe,” answered Ben.  

“Protect me? Like some little kid?” Joe shook his head. “Well, I’m not a kid anymore, Pa. In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t been a little kid for a long time now.” Joe looked down at his half-eaten breakfast. “I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he said.  

Joe stood and started to walk from the table. He stopped and turned abruptly.  “You know, Pa, you’ve always said that a tree needs some room if it’s going to grow. Maybe that’s what I need. Some room to grow.”  

Ben watched in stunned silence as Joe walked away from the table. As he heard the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut, Ben put his hand to his forehead and slowly rubbed it. “I handled that badly,” he said.  

“Aw, Pa, you know Joe,” said Hoss. “He gets mad but he cools down after he’s had some time to think things through.”  

“He just needs some time,” agreed Adam. “He’ll get over it.  

“Will he?” asked Ben. “This wasn’t some prank, something that he can shrug off. I think Joe is deeply hurt by what happened. He doesn’t think we trust him.”  

Adam glanced at Hoss, then back to his father. “What can we do about it?” he asked.  

“I don’t know, Adam,” replied Ben with a frown. “I just don’t know.”  

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

Ben walked slowly up to the corral that was being used to break horses. He could see Joe in the middle of the corral, getting ready to mount a horse that was pawing the ground nervously.  Ben came closer and leaned against the fence to watch.  

Ben had spent the morning staring into the fireplace, deep in thought. Adam and Hoss had left the house after breakfast, wisely deciding to handle some chores far from any place where Joe might be. They both agreed that the last people Joe wanted to see that morning was his brothers.  

When Ben had finally decided to go looking for Joe, he was surprised when one of the hands told him Joe had been down at the breaking corral all morning, finishing work on the horses. Ben had had the vague idea that Joe would have run off someplace, perhaps to Virginia City or to a friend, to nurse his wounds. Ben hadn’t expected his volatile son would vent his anger by going straight to work.  

Ben watched as Joe rode the bucking horse around the corral. The horse jerked Joe forward in the saddle a couple of times but then Joe found the rhythm of the horse’s movements. No matter how hard the horse bucked and twisted, the animal couldn’t rid itself of its rider. Joe stayed on the horse’s back as if glued to the saddle. After a few minutes, the horse gave in to the inevitable and stopped bucking. Joe began to guide the horse around the corral.  

“Nice ride!” a voice called out next to Ben. Ben turned to look and saw Hank, one of the hands, leaning next to him against the fence.  

“He did a good job,” agreed Ben.  

“He sure did,” said Hank. Hank shook his head. “You know, Mr. Cartwright, I’ve seen a lot of bronc riders in my time. Joe’s good at it, real good. Maybe the best I’ve seen.”  

Ben’s eye widen as he faced yet another unknown fact about his son. Ben hadn’t watched or thought about Joe breaking horses in quite awhile. He just assumed Joe knew how to do it. He hadn’t thought about how good Joe might have become at taming horses.  

A troubled look crossed Ben’s face as he watched Joe pull the horse to a stop and dismount. When had he lost track of his son, he wondered. When had he stopped thinking of Joe as an individual, a son to be nourished and cherished? When had he begun taking Joe for granted?  

Joe watched the horse being led away, absent-mindedly swiping the dust from the stiff leather chaps that protected his legs. He turned to walk across the corral and stopped when he saw his father leaning against the fence watching him. Joe tugged nervously at the gloves on his hands then started forward.  

“Good ride, son,” said Ben as Joe came up to the fence.

“Thanks,” said Joe shortly.  

Ben chewed his lip for a moment, then said. “Could we talk?”  

“Sure,” answered Joe in a cautious voice.  

Ben glanced at Hank standing next to him, then cocked his head to the right. “Why don’t we go over here.”  Ben walked a few feet away from Hank and waited.  

Joe climbed over the fence and jumped to the ground. He followed Ben, rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs as he walked.  

Ben looked Joe straight in the eyes as his son stopped next to him.

“Joe, I’m sorry about what happened last night,” he said slowly. “But I’m even more sorry about what you said at breakfast this morning.”  

Joe looked away, feeling embarrassed. He felt his complaints had been valid, but he hadn’t meant to be so strident when voicing them.

“Pa, I didn’t mean to…” started Joe.  

“Let me finish,” interrupted Ben. “Joe, being a parent is hard. It’s probably the toughest job in the world. You have to find that middle ground between guiding and protecting your children and giving  them the freedom to lead their own lives. It’s not easy. There’s no sign posts to tell a parent when they’ve strayed off that middle ground. Somehow, somewhere, I’ve strayed over the line. And I’m sorry.”  

Joe looked up at his father. “Pa, I know you were only trying to do what you thought was best. But sometimes, you have to let me decide what’s best for me.”  

“I know that, son,” said Ben. He sighed. “Life can be a long and treacherous road. I just worry that somewhere along the way, one of my sons will get lost along that road.”  

“But it’s a road I have to walk myself,” said Joe in a serious tone, continuing the analogy. “You can’t do it for me.”  

“I know that, too,” agreed Ben.  “It’s just hard for me to remember you and your brothers are grown men. To me, you’ll always be my little boys.”  

“Pa, I’m not ten years old any more,” commented Joe wryly.  

Ben sighed. “Sometimes, I wish you were only ten again. Things seemed a lot less complicated when you were younger.”  

Joe grinned. “Yeah, but then you’d be yelling at me for skipping school or not doing my chores. I’m no angel, Pa. I’ve given you reason  to worry over the years.”  

“To worry, yes,” said Ben with a nod. “But never a reason not to trust you. I do trust Joe. I only hope you’ll believe that.”  

Joe studied the ground, not sure how to answer. He wanted to believe what his father had said, but the thought of being followed last night still rankled. Joe cleared his throat. “Those three horses for Ferguson,” he said changing the subject, “you want to take a look at them?”  

 “I’m sure the three you picked out are fine,” said Ben.  

Joe looked up and gave his father a wry grin. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a look at them?” 

“No, no, I’m sure they’re fine,” said Ben.  

“Well, why don’t I show them to you any way,” said Joe, his grin widening. “I think it would make both of us feel better.”  

A thought struck Ben. “Joe, why don’t you plan to deliver those horses to Ferguson,” suggested Ben. “A little time away from each other might be a good idea – for all of us.”  

Joe looked away for a minute then nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Right now, I think I could use a little time away. Especially from Adam and Hoss.”  

“Your brothers were only trying to help, Joe,” said Ben in a mild tone.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t need their help,” said Joe, his irritation returning.  

Ben put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Everyone needs help sometimes, Joe,” he said.  

“I just wish you hadn’t felt like you had to send Adam and Hoss after me,” said Joe, his irritation growing.  

Ben looked away, trying to decide what to say. “To be honest, it was Adam and Hoss’ idea to go after you,” Ben said slowly.  

“That figures,” said Joe, his irritation turning into anger.  

“But I agreed to the idea,” said Ben, trying to mollify Joe. “I’m just as much to blame. I should have known better.”  

“Pa, I can understand you worrying,” said Joe. “But Adam and Hoss, well, they just plain like butting their nose into my business.”  

“Joe…”started Ben.  

“You know it’s true, Pa,” said Joe, his voice full of anger. “To them, I’m just a kid. I don’t know anything. Well, I’m getting tired of them treating me like I don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”  

 Ben could see the stubborn look returning to Joe’s face, and felt the ground he had gained in rebuilding things with Joe was starting to slip away again. “You take those horses to Ferguson, Joe.” he said quietly. “It will give us all a little time to cool off and think about things.”  

Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Pa,” he said. “Remember what I said this morning about needing some room. Well, maybe that’s what I need. A little room.  

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

Ten days later, Joe was riding slowly through the mountains on his way back from Twin Pines. He was in no hurry to get home. His Pa had told him to take as much time as he needed to deliver those horses to Ferguson. Joe knew what he really meant was to take as much time as he needed to think through his relationship with his father and brothers.  

The two days before Joe had left for Twin Pines were uncomfortable around the Ponderosa. Adam and Hoss had been unfailing polite and considerate around Joe. Joe, for his part, had remained cool toward his brothers. Ben had tried his best to restore a sense of normalcy around the house, but hadn’t had much success. It was a situation which they all found to be awkward. But none of them seemed to know what to do to break through the barrier that the argument and Joe’s hurt feelings had built.  

Time and distance from the Ponderosa had dissipated Joe’s anger but his anger had been replaced with frustration. Why was it, Joe wondered, that it was only on the Ponderosa as a child? When he was away from the ranch, people treated him as the rational, competent person that he was. He had delivered the horses to Ferguson and received the payment without any hitches. Ferguson had been pleased with the horses Joe selected. The rancher hadn’t questioned him about his choices. He had paid Joe the money and even bought Joe a beer in the saloon in Twin Pines before Joe left. Not once had Ferguson seemed to think that Joe was too young, too inexperienced to handle the transaction.  

Joe sighed as his sense of frustration mounted. He could understand his Pa fretting over him – that’s what fathers did. But why couldn’t Adam and Hoss see him as an equal? Why did they always treat him as incompetent child, someone who had to be watched and checked on to make sure he did things right.  

Maybe he should just stay away from the ranch for a while, thought Joe. Maybe a few months on his own would show his brothers that he could manage without their constant supervision. Joe shook his head. The thought of being away from the Ponderosa for that long was a troubling one. Despite his problems with Adam and Hoss, the Ponderosa was home.  

Joe debated the issue with himself as he rode, coming to no conclusion. He chafed at what he felt was unwarranted intrusion into his life by his father and brothers but at the same time, he felt no great desire to leave his home. For one thing, he didn’t know where he would go or what he would do. And Joe knew himself well enough to know that, as much as he complained, he would miss the companionship of his family.  

Joe pushed the thought of his family aside for awhile, and resolved to simply enjoy the trip home. He had decided to travel through the mountains back to the Ponderosa, taking the slower but more scenic route home. He enjoyed riding through the lush growth of trees and flowers. The weather was pleasantly cool and there was a scent of pine and honeysuckle in the air. A few birds twittered in the trees but otherwise, the only sound Joe heard was the noise of his own progress through the woods. Joe rode slowly, enjoying the peace and solitude of his trip.  

This ride would be perfect, Joe thought, if only he hadn’t had to leave his pinto behind. Cochise had a stone bruise, nothing serious but it prevented Joe from riding his usual horse to Twin Pines. Instead, he was on a big roan. The horse was comfortable and did what he told it, but Joe felt no connection with the horse. It was just transportation. Somehow, Joe felt that he would have enjoyed the trip more if he was sharing it with Cochise.  

A small stream trickled along near the trail. Joe decided to stop and fill his canteen. He drank from the cool, fresh water and filled the canteen to the brim. Joe led his horse to the stream and watched as his horse drank its fill.  

Joe looked up abruptly as he heard an odd noise. He looked around, alert and straining to hear the noise again.  A first, all he heard was the silence of the woods. But then he heard a branch snap, and the thud of a hoof. His horse snickered, smelling another horse nearby. There was no question another rider was coming up behind him.  

Joe wasn’t particularly alarmed. After all, there was no reason why another rider shouldn’t follow the same route he was taking. But at the same time, he decided to act cautiously. Few people traveled through the mountains; most preferred the easier, more direct trails in the flat lands. It seemed a bit more than a coincidence that another rider would be traveling through the mountains at exactly the same time Joe was there.  

Joe led the roan away from the stream and into the brush, choosing an area where he could see through the trees, but would be difficult to be seen by someone else. Joe eased the loop off the hammer of his pistol in his holster, and pulled the gun up slightly to make sure it would be easy to draw. Then he stood next to his horse and patiently waited.  

A few minutes later, a rider walked his horse slowly through the natural path between the trees. The rider was a big man, perhaps in his thirties, wearing a checked shirt and black vest. He wore a black hat, and the dark shadow of a few day’s growth of beard. Joe had a vague memory of seeing the man around Twin Pines.  

The rider was looking to the ground as he rode, as if he were trying to follow some tracks. He stopped his horse where Joe had pulled the roan to a stop and a puzzled expression crossed his face. He looked around, finally turning toward the brush where Joe was standing the in shadows.  

“Looking for something?” asked Joe from the trees.  

The rider looked startled at the voice and peered into the trees, finally spotting Joe in the dim light. An attempt at a smile crossed the man’s face, but the smile looked more like a wolf baring his teeth.  

“Oh, hi,” said the man. “You surprised me.”  

“Why were you following me?” asked Joe.  

“I, uh, I wasn’t following you,” replied the rider. “Just cutting over the mountains.”  

“Right,” replied Joe in a voice that conveyed his disbelief. “That’s why you were reading my tracks.”

“Well, I was curious when I saw your trail,” replied the man. “Not many people come up this way. I was just kind of amusing myself trying to following your tracks.”  

“Why don’t you just amuse yourself by riding on,” suggested Joe.  

“Sure, friend,” replied the man. The man looked around. “You don’t mind if I water my horse first, do you?”  

Joe did mind. Some instinct told him that this wasn’t a man to be trusted.  But Joe couldn’t think of an excuse not to let the rider water his horse. “Go ahead,” said Joe. “Get some water and then move on.”  

The rider nodded and slowly dismounted, watching Joe cautiously as he landed on the ground. He led his horse to the stream and watched as the animal drank. The rider cupped some water into his own mouth.   

Joe led his horse a few steps forward, out of the brush. He wanted to be able to keep his eye on the rider, and back near the trees, it was difficult to see the man by the stream. Joe held the reins in his right hand, and kept his left hand near the butt of his pistol.  

“I saw you around Twin Peaks, didn’t I?” said the rider as he lead his horse back from the stream. “You’re the kid who sold those horses to Ferguson, aren’t you.”  

“Yeah,” replied Joe shortly. “What’s it to you?”  

“Nothing,” said the man with a shrug. “Just making conversation. Those were nice horses you sold to Ferguson. Must have got a nice price for them.”  

“That’s my business,” replied Joe. “Why don’t you get on your horse and move on.”  

“Cranky, aren’t you, friend,” said the rider.  

“I just don’t like people butting into my business,” said Joe.  

The rider looked at Joe, eyes narrow and calculating. Then he made his move.  

As Joe saw the rider’s right hand reach for the gun in his holster, his own left hand reached for his own gun as he dove to his right. Both men were fast with their guns. Both pistols fired almost simultaneously.  

Instantly, Joe felt a burning pain in his left side as he hit the ground. He watched as the rider clutched his chest and doubled over. Then the pain in Joe’s side seem to intensify. He winced and grabbed his side with his right hand. He felt the sticky liquid and knew he had been hit.  

Laying on the ground, Joe closed his eyes tightly as the pain seemed to burn into his side. He could hear the sound of horses running, and the soft grunts of his own agony. He was breathing hard and he could hear his breath escaping in rapid bursts through his mouth.

But Joe was grateful for what he didn’t hear – the sound of the other man moving and the click of a trigger being pulled for a second shot.  

Joe wasn’t sure how long he laid on the ground with his eyes closed. No more than a few minutes, he was sure. The pain in his side seemed to ease a bit, and Joe rolled on his right side, pulling his knees up a bit and curling his shoulders forward. That seemed to ease the pain even more. Joe laid on his side for another few minutes and then slowly opened his eyes.  

A few feet away, Joe could see the rider on the ground. The man laid on his stomach, face down, his gun a few inches from his hand. Joe couldn’t tell if the man was dead or alive. He knew he should probably check. But he also knew that in his current position, the pain in his side was at least bearable. If he moved, the pain would get worse. So Joe simply laid on the ground and closed his eyes.  

It was the sound of the water splashing over the rocks in the stream that finally got Joe to move. He laid on the ground for a long time in not a comfortable position but one which he felt offered him the least amount of pain. A lassitude seemed to be creeping through him, and Joe’s felt no desire to move. Some part of Joe’s brain was telling him that if he simply laid here, he would die. But the rest of his body seemed to reject this notion. Joe lost track of time, and thought he may have even drifted in and out of consciousness for awhile. He knew he ought to care about that, but he didn’t.  

But the longer he laid on the ground, the drier his mouth grew and the bigger his thirst. He suddenly wanted nothing more out of life than a drink of that cold water from the stream. The sound of the water tickling over the rocks seemed to beckon him. Joe could hear the water running slowly and an occasional splash as something like a branch or a stone dropped by a bird hit the water. The desire for a drink overcame his desire to lay unmoving on the ground.  

Slowly uncoiled his body, Joe grunted as each movement seemed to set off a new wave of pain. He pushed himself up on his elbows, and slowly forced the lower half of his body up until he was on his knees. He thought briefly about standing but quickly discarded that notion. He didn’t think he had the strength, and, besides, being on his hands and knees seemed to ease the pain again.  

Turning his head slowly, Joe looked until he could see the stream, and then kept his eyes fixed on his objective. For right now, all that mattered was getting to the water. He slowly began to crawl on his hands and knees, grunting in pain as he moved. He didn’t mark the distance he had to travel. He simply forced himself forward.  

Joe was surprised when he found himself next to the rider sprawled on the ground. He hadn’t really had a sense of making progress over the rough ground. Joe stopped and shook his head to clear it. He remembered he should check to see if the man was dead. Joe put his hand on the man’s back and felt no movement. He reached a little higher until his hand found the man’s neck. The flesh was cool and Joe couldn’t feel a pulse. Joe was fairly sure the man was dead.  

Seeing the rider’s gun laying on the ground in front of him, Joe brushed it away with his hand. Then he turned once more to look for the stream. Now he could see the water as well as hear it. Joe forgot about the dead man and the gun laying nearby. He began to crawl forward once more.  

With a sense of relief, Joe finally reached the water. He collapsed to the ground and plunged his face into the stream. The water flowed into his mouth and he began drinking. The cool water was the best thing Joe had ever tasted.  

Joe finally lifted his head from the water, his thirst at least temporarily satisfied. The cool water on his face seemed to clear his thinking and revive his spirit also. For the first time, he began thinking about taking stock of his situation.  

Rolling to his right, Joe took a look at the wound in his side for the first time. His shirt and jacket were soaked with blood.He pulled the cloth up and winced both from the pain and the sight of the wound.  

The bullet seemed to have taken a chunk of flesh out of Joe’s side. The wound was bleeding freely, but as far as Joe could tell, the bullet hadn’t hit anything but flesh and muscle. Shock, pain and loss of blood seemed to be the worst damage done by the bullet.  

With fumbling fingers, Joe  searched the inside of his jacket for the small pocket and then for piece of cloth inside the pocket. He finally found the handkerchief and pulled it out. The handkerchief wasn’t very big, and it had the dull white color of much washed cloth. Joe stuck the handkerchief in the stream and waited a moment until he was sure the cloth was thoroughly soaked. Then he pulled the dripping handkerchief out of the water and pressed it against his side.  

As he pressed the wet cloth against the wound, Joe yelped with pain but he held the handkerchief firmly against his side. He fell onto his back and pressed even harder against the wound. As he stared up at the sky, Joe tried to think about what to do next.  

The horses had run off, that he knew. They had been frightened by the loud shots so close to them. Joe thought briefly about trying to find one of them, but discarded that idea. There was no telling how long and far they would run. He could try to track them for days without success.  

What he needed now, Joe decided, was some help. The nearest town was Twin Pines, and that was almost a day’s ride on horseback. For a wounded man on foot, it would take much longer to reach the town.  

Initially, Joe thought about simply staying where he was. He had plenty of water and was reasonably comfortable. A rider could come up the trail. Maybe it was just wiser to stay here than try to make it back to town.  

Then Joe gave a short, ironic laugh as he thought about what to do. He had told his Pa that he wanted to make his own decisions. Well, now he was faced with one of those decisions. He could try to make it to Twin Pines or take his chances by staying where he was. Joe shook his head. He wished he knew what was the best thing to do. He wished he had someone to tell him what to do.  

Turning his head, Joe looked over to toward the body laying on the ground. Ferguson had paid him a hundred dollars for the three horses. A hundred dollars, Joe thought, wasn’t much money. Maybe the man thought he had more money, or maybe a hundred dollars had been a lot of money to him. Joe shook his head. It didn’t matter. That hundred dollars had been the price of the man’s life – and maybe his own.  

Staring up at the sky, Joe could see the sun through the trees and knew it was afternoon. Maybe he should simply stay where he was until morning, and then start out for Twin Pines then. He winced as he felt another stab of pain from his side. Walking to Twin Pines would be difficult, painful. Maybe he was better off where he was.  

Joe closed his eyes and forced himself to look at the situation he was in. If he stayed where he was, there was good chance he could die. Infection, starvation, even exposure would probably kill him if he simply laid by the stream. If he wanted to have any chance at all, he had to try for Twin Pines, had to try to find help. And he had to do it now, while he still had the strength.

Rolling on his side again, Joe once more he plunged his face into the stream to drink. He drank as much water as he could, not knowing when he might find another stream. He raised his face from the stream. The water dripped from his hair and face. One last time, he put his face in the water, and forced himself to drink again. When he was convinced he had filled himself with as much water as he could hold, Joe raised his head from the stream.  

Laying on his side, Joe gathered his strength and telling himself that he could make it to Twin Pines. The closer he got to the town, the more likely he was to find help. He would make it, he told himself over and over again.  

Taking a deep breath,  Joe pushed himself up on his elbow. He held the handkerchief against his left side firmly as he pushed himself off the ground with his right hand. Joe winced and grunted as he moved his legs. He wasn’t sure exactly how he managed to do it, but somehow, he got to his feet.  

Joe stood still for a moment, gathering his strength. His legs felt weak and he seemed lightheaded. He closed his eyes and took another breath. He slowly opened his eyes and looked into the trees in front of him. What had once seemed a peaceful forest now seemed like an expanse of frightening empty woods. Joe gritted his teeth. Then he began walking.  

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

 The sun had dipped a bit in the late afternoon sky as Joe staggered slowly between the trees. His side burned with pain as he walked, and his head was aching. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face and neck, caused by exertion, pain and a growing fever. Joe felt as if he had been walking for days, although in reality he had left the stream only a little over an hour ago. Joe had lost all sense of time and direction as he wandered through the woods, his gait more a shuffle than a walk. He vaguely remembered he was trying to get someplace, but he had forgotten where. All of his effort was focused on trying to stay on his feet.  

Joe took a few more steps, then rested, leaning against a tree. His right hand still pressed the now bloody cloth against his side, although this was simply another activity which his muddled brain had fixed into place than a conscious act. His knees buckled a bit as Joe’s tired body fought his determination to stay on his feet. Joe blinked as he stared almost uncomprehending at the tall trees and thick brush spreading out in front of him. The woods seemed endless, offering no hint of anyone or anything that might offer help.  

Pushing himself away from the tree, Joe shuffled forward, his determination to keep moving winning, at least temporarily, over his fatigue. He walked another ten feet or so before his tired legs finally buckled and he crumbled to the ground.  

Joe laid on his left side on the ground, his tired body wanting to stay where it was. Joe could feel the hard ground against his cheek and could the smell the dirt on which he laid. He also smelled another scent, this one unrecognizable. The odor was pungent and the image it flashed into Joe’s brain was that of some type of animal.  

It took a few seconds for Joe’s brain to connect the smell with danger, but once it did, Joe felt a new urgency to move. He pushed himself up on his elbow and lifted his head and shoulders. Joe swiveled his head, looking for any sign of the animal and was relieved when he saw nothing. He pulled his left leg forward a bit and his knee brushed against something hard. Joe look back toward his leg and saw an odd-looking pile of leaves and twigs. He looked away, his mind too tired and muddled to consider what the small mound of coverings might be.  He decided to roll on to his stomach and try to push himself to his feet. He moved his right leg over his left, dragging it into the collection of leaves.  

Joe heard the trap spring an instant before he felt its teeth bite into his leg.  

As the bear trap snapped closed around his leg, Joe screamed in agony. The sharp teeth dug into his calf and ground into the bone of his leg. Joe instinctively tried to pull his leg away, but that caused only the trap to tear away more skin and muscle. A wave of agonizing pain radiated up his leg.  

Gasping for breath, Joe laid still. The pain was so bad he could barely breathe and he knew any movement would cause the trap to tear at his leg some more. He cursed himself for his stupidity in not realizing the scent had been a lure for the bear and for not seeing the trap in the pile of leaves.

Joe forgot the pain in his side as it was replaced by a more intense agonizing pain. He could barely think; his brain seemed to be filled with urgent messages to do something, anything to ease the pain from his leg.  

Moving with almost infinite slowness, Joe pulled himself off the ground. He was careful not to move his leg, not wanting to do anything that cause the sharp teeth of the trap to tear away more flesh. Joe propped himself up on his elbow, and through a haze of pain, studied the trap.  

His leg was horizontal in the trap, caught as he had brushed across it rather than stepping into it. Joe assured himself that he had been lucky. If he had stepped directly into the bear trap, it probably would have snapped his leg in two.  

The problem now was how to get the trap open far enough that he could pull his leg free. Joe knew the best way to open a bear trap was to put pressure on the levers at either end of the now closed jaws. Joe twisted slowly, trying to position himself to reach the levers. As he did, the pain in his side returned with renewed force.  

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Joe tried to ease the pain in his side. It was now a question of which hurt most, his leg or his side. There was no way to tell which injury was causing him the worst pain.  

Joe opened his eyes and forced himself to continue to twist his body so his hands would be closer to the trap. He bent his captured leg slightly at the knee, hoping the movement would cause the teeth to dig further into his leg.  

For several minutes, Joe bent and curled his body before he finally admitted he couldn’t maneuver himself into the right position to reach both levers. The angle at which he was caught was wrong and he couldn’t twist himself around far enough to reach the lever near his foot.  

All right, thought Joe grimly, if I can’t use the levers, I’ll just pull the jaws open. Joe bent his body a bit more, trying desperately to ignore the stabs of pain from his side. He gripped the jaws on either side of his leg.  

Joe’s hands were slick from both sweat and the blood from his side. He couldn’t get a good grip on the metal. Joe wiped his hands on the ground, trying to dry them, then grabbed at the jaws of the trap once more.  

Pulling with every ounce of strength he had, Joe tried to open the trap. Unfortunately, his strength had been sapped by the gunshot wound and his exhausting trek through the woods. Despite his efforts, Joe couldn’t move the jaws. His leg remained firmly caught in the trap.  

Joe fell back to the ground, his small reserve of strength gone. He pounded the ground weakly in frustration and agony. The pain in his leg was an intense throb and his side ached. Joe had heard stories of animals caught in traps gnawing off their leg in order to get free. He had thought those stories incredible. Now he understood why an animal might do that. Joe would do anything to free his leg and end the agonizing pain.  

A look of fierce determination crossed Joe’s face as he pushed himself up off the ground again. He forced the pain back to a small area of his mind, and he concentrated every ounce of strength he had into his arms. Once more he gripped the metal jaws and once more he tried to pull them apart. With an almost superhuman effort, his hands began to separate the metal. The trap opened only a fraction, not enough to free his leg, but enough to keep Joe pulling at the metal.  

Joe had managed to open the trap a fraction more when his sweaty left hand lost it’s grip on the metal. The jaw of the trap slipped from his hand and snapped closed on his leg again. Joe screamed as once more the teeth dug into his flesh. He fell back to the ground as the agonizing pain radiated up his leg with renewed intensity. Joe’s body went limp and dark spots danced before his eyes. He felt himself slipping into unconsciousness and didn’t resist. He no longer had the strength to do anything but accept the end of awareness.  

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

The dog spotted the figure on the ground as it ran ahead of its master. The animal stopped and growled a bit, challenging the unknown human a few feet away. The black hair on its back bristled and its sharp teeth were visible under its curled lips. When the human didn’t move or respond, the dog moved forward, sniffing cautiously. The scent of bear as well as blood frightened the dog. It ran back a few steps, yelping excitedly, then turned back to the figure which still hadn’t moved. The dog began barking, trying both to warn its master and frighten away the unwanted scents.  

“Be quiet, Lucifer,” ordered the dog’s master as he guided his horse toward the excited dog. Lucifer ignored the order, and continued to bark at the figure on the ground.  

The man led his horse over by the dog. The rider wore a light blue shirt and a tan vest. His legs were covered by dark brown trousers, and a light brown hat was perched on his head. Thick white hair was visible beneath the hat, and a neatly trimmed white beard and mustache covered his tanned face.  Faint lines were visible on his face and around his blue eyes. The man wasn’t young, but neither was he what people would consider old.  

The rider held the reins loosely but tightened his grip as he rode closer to the dog. His horse shied a bit, catching the whiff of bear scent and blood also, but the rider pulled on the reins to control the horse. When the horse was quiet, the man looked to see what Lucifer had found.  

The man’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw the young man sprawled on the ground with a bear trap gripping his leg. He quickly dismounted and led his horse a step or two away, toward a nearby tree. The rider looped the reins around a low branch and tied them tightly. He had no desire to chase after a frightened horse.  

Lucifer continued to bark and dance around wildly, becoming more excited with each passing minute. The rider stopped and knelt by the dog, grabbing the animal’s head and neck in a light grip. “All right, all right,” he said to the dog in a soothing tone. “I see him. You just calm down, Lucifer.” The man patted and stroked the dog’s head until Lucifer stopped barking. “Good dog,” added the man as he gave the dog another few pats. “You stay here and be quiet.”  

Lucifer watched as his master got to his fee and walked over toward the figure on the ground. The dog’s body was tense but he obeyed the order to stay still.  

Joe laid on his side, his back to the approaching man. The man could detect no movement and wondered if the figure on the ground was dead or alive. The man knelt next to Joe to get a better look. He was surprised at how young the man was, little more than a boy. The rider  put his hand on the side of the boy’s neck. He could feel a faint pulse, and now that he was near the boy, see the slight rise and fall of the young man’s chest.  

“Son, you sure got yourself into a fix,” muttered the man as he turned to look at leg in the bear trap. Joe’s pants leg was soaked with blood,  and a few drops of blood fell from the leg into a pool of the red liquid below it. The man shook his head, wondering how long the poor kid had been trapped.  

The man moved to the trap and gripped the levers on either side of the jaws. He pushed hard on the levers. The trap had been sitting in the woods for some time, and while it wasn’t rusty, the mechanism of the trap was stiff. The man pushed hard, feeling the trap’s resistance. Slowly the jaws began to separate. The man pushed even harder and the jaws opened.  

Joe’s leg dropped to the ground as it was released. The man waited until he was sure he had the jaws re-set, then quickly lifted Joe’s leg out of the trap. He eased the leg to the side, making sure it was clear of the bear trap, then set the leg down gently. The man looked around and saw a small branch a few feet away. He got to his feet and walked over to pick up the branch then returned to the bear trap. He pushed the branch against the bottom of the trap, pulling out the stick just as the trap snapped shut again.  

The man threw the stick aside and turned his attention to the boy on the ground.  

Joe had laid silent and unmoving throughout the whole process of his release from the bear trap. The man shook his head at that. He wondered if the boy had hit his head or something. He found it curious that the young man had been so still.  

The man turned Joe over gently on to his back, and once more his eyes widened as he saw the wide stain of blood on the left side of Joe’s jacket and shirt. “What have you done to yourself?” the man said as he shook his head. He gently pulled up Joe’s shirt. A bloody cloth was pressed again Joe’s side. The man slowly removed the cloth and looked at the wound. He could tell it was a gunshot wound, probably a few hours old. Dried blood crusted the wound, although a trickle of fluid still escaped. The skin around the wound was red and a bit swollen. The man’s conclusion was the same as Joe’s – the bullet had gone through Joe’s side, putting a deep gash in the young man’s flesh, but missing any organs or bone.  

The man dropped the cloth to the side, and pulled Joe’s shirt down. He looked up to the face of the boy.  

Joe’s face was pale, almost waxen, but two bright spots of red were visible on his cheeks. The red spots and the beads of sweat on Joe’s face and neck told the man that fever and probably infection had already set in.  

The man turned his attention to Joe’s leg. Blood was still seeping from the leg, telling the man the injury was newer than the gunshot wound. It didn’t take much for the man to figure out that Joe had been wandering around with the wound in his side and stumbled into the bear trap. “You’re having a really bad day, aren’t you,” said the man, glancing at Joe’s face. “Well, let’s see what we can do about patching you up a bit.”  

The man stood and walked over to his horse. As he passed his dog, still standing and watching patiently, he gave the animal a pat on the head. “Good work, Lucifer,” he said. The dog barked once then sat on its haunches.  

The man walked over to his horse and pulled open the saddlebag slung across the animals back. He studied the contents with a frown.

There wasn’t much in the bag that would be of help to him. He pulled out a checked napkin, the cloth that had once wrapped his noontime sandwich. The cloth was clean, but he shook it out anyway, just to be sure. He pulled out a knife in a scabbard, and tugged the knife free, dropping the scabbard back in the saddlebag. He looked into the bag again, as if he expected other items to magically appear. Then he closed the bag.  

The man slipped off his vest and put it over the saddle. He began unbuttoning his shirt with a sigh. “I did like this shirt,” he said as he shook his head. When the buttons were undone, he slipped the shirt off, revealing a well-formed chest sparsely covered with a fine layer of gray hair. The man put his vest back on, then used the knife to slice the shirt into strips.  

When the blue cloth had been cut into several long strips, the man returned to Joe. He pulled up Joe’s shirt and pressed the napkin against the gunshot wound, trying one of the strips around Joe’s body to hold the napkin in place. Then he moved down to take a look at the injured leg.  

Using the knife, the man slit Joe’s pants to the knee and pulled the cloth apart. Joe’s leg was covered with blood, so the man used another strip of cloth to clean the leg as best he could. As he wiped away the blood, he could see six puncture wounds, three in the calf and three near the shin. The skin near the wounds was torn and the man figured the boy had foolishly tried to pull his leg free. The punctures were deep, and blood welled up in them almost as soon as the man wiped them clean.  

The man felt the bone below Joe’s knee. He couldn’t detect any displaced bone but that didn’t mean the leg didn’t have some kind of break in it. The man took the remaining strips of cloth and wrapped them tightly around Joe’s leg, both to stop the bleed and the hold the bone in place if there was a fracture.  

When he was finished, the man wiped his hands on the ground, cleaning them a bit of the blood that now covered them. He sat back, and thought about what to do next.  

He knew the boy was in bad shape, and needed some proper attention. The best thing to do, he decided, was to get him to his place as quickly as possible. A travois would take time to build, even if he could manage it with his limited resources. The man shook his head. There was nothing to do but throw the boy on his horse and hope for the best.  

The man stuck his knife through his belt, then reached down to pick up the boy. He put one arm under Joe’s knees and another under his shoulders. With a grunt, he lifted Joe from the ground, and staggered to his feet.  

Joe moaned softly and his head moved slightly as the man lifted him. The man looked into Joe’s face and a small smile flickered across his face. “Got a bit of life in you yet, don’t you?” he said softly.  

It took several minutes of maneuvering before the man got Joe into the saddle. Joe slumped forward over the horn, arms dangling loosely on either side of the animal’s neck. His legs hung against the side of the horse. The man untied the reins and climbed up on the horse behind Joe. He reached forward and pulled the boy back against him. Joe grunted softly but his arms and legs still hung lax. The man pulled the reins and clicked at the horse, turning the animal and starting it at a walk. Without looking, he called to the dog. “Come on, Lucifer,” he said. “Let’s get the boy home.”  

*********

The man wiped Joe’s face with a cold, damp cloth, washing the sweat from the young man’s face. It was getting on toward midnight, and, except for a brief respite to put on a shirt and feed the animals, the man had been tending to the boy since late afternoon. As he worked, the man wondered what else he could do to help the boy he had found in the woods. He had managed to get the get injured man home, and after laying him on the bed and striping him of his bloody clothes and makeshift bandages, he had cleaned the wounds as best he could with alcohol. The sting of the alcohol had forced several moans from the boy, but otherwise, Joe had remained silent and unmoving on the bed.   

The man had bandaged Joe’s wounds with thick pads of white cloth, and covered him with several blankets, hoping to sweat the fever out of the boy. He had spooned willow bark tea into Joe, a remedy the man’s mother had sworn by to break a fever. The man wished he had some other medicine to offer.  

The man thought about going for a doctor, but he quickly rejected the idea. There was no doctor in Twin Pines, and he couldn’t leave the boy alone for the four or five days it would take to fetch a doctor from the next town. Besides, the man had a feeling that by morning he would know whether the boy was beyond help. The young man in the bed looked strong and healthy, but he had lost a lot of blood, and the fever indicated the wounds were infected. A battle was being waged within the boy’s body, and the man felt he would know by morning which side was going to be victorious.  

The man looked at the pale, sweaty figure on the bed and wondered who the boy was and what he was doing in the woods. Another thought niggled at the back of the man’s brain: why was he led to the boy? The man pushed the thought aside for now. It was too weighty an idea for him to contemplate as he sat by the boy’s bed.  

The man wiped Joe’s face again, and this time the young man in the bed stirred. Joe felt the cool cloth on his face and was grateful for the brief relief it offered him from the burning heat he felt throughout his body. He turned his head a bit and shifted a bit on the bed, wincing and moaning softly at the pain even this slight movement caused. Joe tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. “Water” croaked Joe in a barely audible voice.  

Joe felt a hand lifting his head from the pillow. A cup was placed against Joe’s lips. Joe began sipping the liquid slowly, almost too weak to swallow. The liquid had a slightly bitter taste but Joe didn’t care. He drank it gratefully.  

After a minute or so, the cup was removed and Joe’s head was laid gently on the pillow. Joe laid still for a moment then forced his tired eyes open. Joe could see a figure next to the bed, but the image was blurry. He blinked twice, trying to clear the haze of fever and pain from his vision. The figure became slightly more distinct, although Joe was still unable to see it clearly. However, he could make out a white shirt and tan vest, and a thatch of thick gray hair.  

“Pa?” said Joe in a whisper. He closed his eyes briefly, then forced his lids open again. “Pa?”  

The man sitting by the bed was startled by Joe’s whisper. He stared at the boy for a minute. “No, I’m not your Pa, son,” he said slowly.  

Joe’s muddled brain didn’t understand the words but he heard what he thought was a familiar deep voice. “Pa,” he said, his voice more urgent. “Pa, help me.”  Joe winced and grunted as a new wave of pain wracked his body. “Pa….it hurts…please…Pa…help me,” begged Joe.

Joe turned his face toward the figure by the bed. He moved his hand, reaching out until he felt an arm. He clutched the arm weakly. “Pa… I’m sorry…I’m sorry about…what I said,” said Joe in a breathless  whisper. “Please…help me…I’m sorry…please…it hurts bad.”  

The man stared at the boy in the bed. He knew the boy was delirious; his eyes were bright with fever and his speech slurred and disjointed. But the man also could see the pleading look on the boy’s face, and he could hear the boy begging for comfort.  

The man put his hand over the boy’s hand. “It’s all right, son,” he said in a soothing voice. “I forgive you. Everything is going to be all right now.” He patted the boy’s hand lightly.  

“Pa?” said Joe again as he heard the deep timber of the voice if not the words. “Pa…don’t leave me…don’t…” Joe’s voice faded away.  

The man patted the boy’s head, and brushed the damp curls of hair from the boy’s forehead. “I won’t leave, son,” he said softly. “Your Pa’s here. Don’t worry. I’m here.”  

The man felt the boy’s hand slip from his arm, and he saw the boy’s eyes close. The boy’s chest was rising and falling with a steady regularity that indicated the boy had slipped back into the darkness of sleep. The man sat back the in the chair and closed his own eyes. “Lord,” he prayed softly. “You brought this boy to me. Don’t take him away again. Please. Don’t take him from me.”  

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

Joe slowly opened his eyes, a task that seemed incredibly difficult. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten, and both his side and leg throbbed with a dull ache. Joe’s eyes scanned the room, searching for some clue which would tell him where was.  

Plaster covered the walls of the rather large room. Joe saw a window with shutters on the far wall, and a small dresser just to the left of the window. A bookcase, half filled with books, stood next to the dresser. Joe turned his head a bit and saw a small fireplace on the side wall. He turned his head toward the other side of the room. He could see a door, partially open, a few feet away. A table stood next to the bed, the top of which was covered with a pan, cloths, cups and a small teapot. A chair sat next to the bed, and that’s what drew Joe’s attention. The chair and the man sleeping quietly in it.  

Joe studied the man, wondering who he was. He reminded Joe a bit of his father – about the same age, same thick white hair, same tan vest. The man’s chin rested on his chest, and Joe could hear the sound of a faint snore. Joe shifted a bit on the bed and instantly regretted the move. He grunted as the dull throbs in his side and leg suddenly turned into sharp pains.  

The groan must have wakened the man in the chair, because he instantly sat up. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the figure in the bed. For a moment, the man looked puzzled, as if he were surprised to see Joe. Then a warm smile crossed the man’s face. “Good morning,” said the man in the chair. “How are you feeling?”