SEVEN

oooooooooo

Adam and Hoss were halfway up the ridge when they heard it. The single shot rang out like a clarion bell, signaling disaster. There could be no reason for anyone other than Cato Becket and their brother to be in this place, and out in this storm. Adam felt sick. He had to stop – had to strike out with his hand against a tree to find balance.

How were they going to tell Pa?

"Adam," Hoss said quietly. "It don't mean Little Joe's…dead. You know Joe. He's got spunk. Maybe he got the gun away from Cato."

It was a slim hope, but it was…hope.

He drew in a breath and nodded.

And they continued on.

The landscape they traveled was tough to navigate even in the warmer months. Just behind the old cabin was a field and, beyond that field, there were foothills. There was a path that ran into them, buried now in snow, leading up to a ridge – a cliff really – that lay along one side. If you could have seen the land as a crow did, the trail would have looked roughly like a question mark. They were at the point where the path began to climb, which meant the bottom of the ridge was to their left. It was eerie how silent the night had become. The shot had echoed for a good half-minute. Since then, there had been nothing. No shout of triumph. No cry of terror. No little brother calling out for help.

A hand on his arm stopped him. Adam blinked snow from his eyes and looked at his brother.
"What?" he asked.

Hoss was looking at the top of the ridge. He did the same and noted the incongruity immediately. The edge of the cliff crested like a white-capped swell on the sea. Except where it didn't. There was one place – big enough for a man to have passed through – where the snow was missing.

Hoss had lowered his gaze to sea of shadows at its bottom.

"Adam, you don't think…?"

Like two swimmers desperate to reach a drowning man, they plunged into that sea.

It was pitch-black under the ridge. They couldn't see anything. All they could do was bend and crouch and crawl through the snow. It was frigid work and, in no time at all, they were both soaked to the skin.

"Anything?" Adam shouted as he reached out again and clawed more of the white stuff away.

"Nothin'," Hoss called back, his voice hopeless but determined. "I'm goin' in deeper."

"Be careful!"

Adam watched Hoss plunge into the white stuff close to the cliff face before starting in again. He was moving out, winding back and forth, figuring if someone had toppled off of the ridge they would have fallen at least a dozen feet out from –

He sucked in air.

"Hoss! Hoss! I found him!"

Or at least he hoped it was Little Joe. What he'd found was a hand.

A very cold hand.

Adam clawed with desperation, seeking a face, and was both elated and horrified when he found it.

"Is it…Joe?" Hoss puffed as he came alongside him.

The black-haired man nodded, at a loss for words. He'd unearthed Joe's silent form and was running his hands along his baby brother's body, trying to determine where he'd been shot.

"Is he…okay?" Hoss asked.

What Little Joe was, was alive – thank God! Leaning over him as he was, Adam could feel his brother's breath on his cheek. He could also feel the heat radiating off of Joe's slender body. The kid had a fever. Not a surprise considering what he'd been through in the last twenty-four hours or so.

"I can't seem to find a wound," he replied as he straightened up with their little brother in his arms. "But it doesn't matter. Joe's cold, Hoss, really cold. We need to get him back to the cabin as quickly as we can."

Hoss shimmied out of his coat. "What do you suppose happened? I mean, if Little Joe ain't shot – who is?" the big man asked as he came toward him carrying it.

"I don't know," Adam replied as the big man draped the heavy garment over their brother's silent form. "All I know is we have to get him some place warm."

Hoss was staring at Joe. He touched his forehead. "Goldarnit, Adam! He's hot as a firecracker!"

"I know."

The war wasn't over yet.

oooooooooo

As the two brothers moved away, bearing their precious cargo like a hero from the battlefield, a tall, rangy figure appeared at the top of the rise, rifle in hand. It stood, watching them as they moved away, and then began its slow descent down the hill.

Ben Cartwright was out of bed. Atsa chided him for rising, but the nervous energy he felt made it impossible to lie still. The Paiute woman was a good nurse. She'd tended to his injuries and he felt much better. The poultices she'd placed on his wounds had kept infection at bay and his pain was diminishing.

His physical pain, that was.

For the hundredth time Ben walked to the door and opened it. Every time he did, Atsa scolded him for letting the heat escape. He knew she was right, but he couldn't help it. The snow-covered desert beyond the door haunted him. His sons were lost in it – all three of them. Even if Cato Becket and the threat he presented hadn't existed, the weather was just as dangerous. A man could get turned around so easily.

He'd never forgotten the first time he'd had to assist in burying a man who had frozen to death in the snow and not been found until the following spring thaw.

"Ben," Atsa said softly from behind him. "You sons will need warmth. You must close the door."

He lowered his head and then turned to look at her. Atsa was not a bad woman. She had just made bad choices. The sympathy that shone out of her eyes and the way she had tended to him, told him everything he needed to know about her. He wondered where her father was and if the pair would ever reconcile. Ben couldn't imagine being estranged from one of his children. They were such a precious gift, to be treasured and never thrown away.

"I know,' the rancher replied with a half-smile as he started to push the door to. Then, something stopped him. It was dark outside. The snow was a white wall. And yet, there had been…something. Ben glanced Atsa before stepping out to peer into the night.

There it was. Something. Or rather, someone. Someone was coming. Two men.

Ben's heart constricted with terror.

Two. Only two.

Hoss was in front, plowing a path through the thigh-high white waves. Adam followed. His older boy was moving more slowly, bringing up the rear. Ben let out a little cry when he realized Adam was carrying something. The rancher held his breath as his sons drew closer, afraid to hope and to have those hopes crushed.

It would have been like finding a needle in a stack of silver hay.

"Hoss?" he asked as the big man made it to the door.

His son gave him a shy smile. "We got him, Pa. We got Little Joe," he said.

"Alive?" Ben asked as Adam drew near. There was precious little he could see of his youngest boy. Hoss' coat engulfed him. Only Joseph's brown curls showed.

The big man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Joe's alive, Pa, but little brother's in a bad way."

The rancher closed his eyes and whispered a quick, silent prayer. God had been good. He had brought his boy back to him.

Now, it was up to him to keep him alive.

oooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright looked over his shoulder at the scene on the other side of the cabin. Adam was sittin' in a chair propped up against the wall, sound asleep. Older brother had been keepin' vigil and just drifted off. Pa was there too by Little Joe's side leanin' over him and talkin', all the while holdin' baby brother's hand. Joe'd done been unconscious since they brought him in. His fever was high and for a while, he'd been near to seizin' up. All the time Joe kept beggin' Cato Becket not to shoot him and kept yellin' out 'No!'. From what Joe said it seemed Cato had pointed his gun right at little brother and fired.

But little brother didn't have no hole in him.

The big man shook his head. Him and Adam, they'd heard the shot.

It didn't make no sense at all.

The big man grabbed his coat from the peg by the door and began to draw it on. He was going out to get more snow so they could melt it both for drinkin' and for tendin' little brother. The Paiute woman – Atsa – was doin' her best, but you could tell whatever was wrong with Little Joe was just about beyond her skill. Joe'd been through a lot; the wagon crashin' and Pa getting' hurt, makin' it to the line shack and then bein' kidnapped by Cato, and then havin' Cato drag him out into the cold. And then there was fallin' off the edge of the ridge. Sometimes it seemed God had it out for his little brother. Pa kept sayin' these kind of things were what made a man, what honed him and made him stronger. Dang it if little brother wasn't gonna be just about the strongest man in the world by the time he turned sixteen!

Hoss glanced at the bed again and the sick boy tossin' and turnin' in it.

If he made it to sixteen.

With a sigh, the big man placed his hand on the latch and opened the door – and then sucked in surprise at what he found on the other side.

It were an Indian.

"Hoss?" he heard Pa ask as he stumbled back into the cabin. The Indian followed him in. He was tall – not quite as tall as him – but taller than brother Adam. The stranger was wrapped from head to toe in furs and carried a rifle. As his father joined him and Adam stirred, waking from sleep to realize something was happenin', the Indian rested his rifle against the wall and began to disrobe.

As the layers fell away, Hoss let out a low whistle.

"Well, hey there, Charlie," he said in greeting.

Old Charlie as they called him didn't talk much, but that was the way with a lot of Indians. They was deeper thinkers than white men and didn't say nothin' unless they had somethin' to say. Charlie met his gaze and nodded. He did the same with Pa and Adam before moving across the cabin and comin' to rest at Little Joe's side. Atsa was sittin' with little brother, moppin' the sweat off his forehead.

She looked up and gasped.

The pair of them Indians eyeballed each other for about ten heartbeats before Atsa rose to her feet and exchanged places with the old warrior. Charlie placed his rough, dark hand on Little Joe's forehead and waited until baby brother's feverish eyes found him. Then he said somethin' in Paiute. You couldn't understand what he said, but you sure could understand what he meant. Joe gave him a weary smile before he drifted off again.

Old Charlie sat for several heartbeats with his hand on little brother's head before he stood up and went over to Atsa. She was kind of hunkerin' in the corner by the door. The old Indian went right up to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and began to speak in that funny language of his. When he stopped, he nodded toward the door. Atsa nodded too and then she opened it and stepped outside.

Charlie remained where he was for a moment and then went to talk to Pa.

"The spirit of the bad man still seeks to kill your son, Ben Cartwright," he said. "Cato's spirit is strong. Your son's is weak. I do not know if he can win the battle. Still, if you choose, I will do what I can."

That was as much English as he'd ever heard Charlie speak.

Pa glanced at Little Joe. "And what is it you can do?"

Charlie nodded. "I have medicine. It will strengthen his body, but he must choose to live. It will be easier to choose to die."

Adam came up beside Pa. "Little Joe is a fighter. He won't give up."

"Neither will we," Pa said. "What can we do to aid you?"

Atsa had returned. She was carrying a hand painted leather satchel, most likely filled with Charlie's medicine. She went to the table to the left of Little Joe's bed and began to empty it.

"Do you believe in the Great Father, Benjamin Cartwright?" Old Charlie asked.

Pa nodded. "I do."

The Indian placed his hand on Pa's shoulder. "I will fight for your son's life. You, Benjamin Cartwright, will fight for his soul."

oooooooooo

Adam lifted his head and looked at his baby brother. Joe was sleeping quietly at last. The black haired man rubbed his red-rimmed eyes before rising and heading over to the kitchen. He could smell fresh coffee and he wanted some. Pa was seated at the table. The older man had a mug in his hands and was turning it this way and that. Hoss had pitched a bunch of blankets in a far corner and was happily snoring away.

Atsa and Old Charlie were nowhere to be found.

Adam walked to the window and looked out. The light was dawning and, for once, there was no snow falling. The world was silent. Nothing stirred other than what few leaves clung to the bare branches of the trees. The sky was a brilliant blue and held the promise of better, warmer days. As he blinked in the light, Adam suddenly yawned.

It had been a long night.

"Did you manage to get any sleep?" Pa asked quietly.

He grinned as he turned and headed back toward the stove where the coffee pot rested. "Some." His eyes went to his baby brother. "How is Little Joe?"

Pa blew out a little breath. "Alive. Thank God."

Charlie had been with Joe, casting smoke over him and feeding him sips of some homemade concoction most of the night. He spoke quiet words and every once in a while, little brother would answer him. They all knew Joe knew some Paiute. He had friends who were Indian, Sharp Tongue and Sarah Winnemucca among them. It was funny that he considered himself the man of the world, but his little brother could already speak three languages – English, Cantonese, and Indian! Pa had been there every minute, watching while Charlie worked his magic. The crisis came about three in the morning. Joe's fever rose dramatically. He stopped sweating and went deathly still. He'd laid his hand on his brother's chest to check his heart and been amazed that it didn't leap out, it was beating so fast. Charlie quietly changed his position and held Joe down as he started to seize. There was no room for Pa, so he fell to his knees and started praying. And then, just as quickly as it began, it was over. Little Joe's fever broke, soaking the poor kid from head to toe. Pa went off to talk to Charlie, while he and Hoss cleaned their brother up and redressed him using spare clothes they'd found in the back room. It was odd. The clothing had a native flare to it – bright colors, lively patterns and such. Little brother's hands and face looked very pale against all that color.

Adam picked up the pot and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Where's Old Charlie?" he asked as he sat down with his father.

"Gone," Pa said. "So is Atsa."

Adam blinked. He was really hoping he could question the Indian about what had happened. They still had no idea where Cato Becket was. "Did you talk to him before he left? Did Charlie tell you what happened?"

His father put his cup down on the table top and pushed his chair back. He ran his hands over his face and let out a sigh before speaking. "Yes. We talked. Apparently Cato Becket was about to kill your brother when Charlie found them."

"Good Lord!" he breathed.

"Cato had backed Joseph up to the edge of the ridge. He had…." Pa paused. "He had the barrel of his pistol under your brother's chin. It's God's providence that the gun misfired."

"What happened?"

"There was nothing else Charlie could do. He shot Becket in the back. When Cato released your brother, Joseph…fell off the edge. Charlie was headed down to find him when he heard you and Hoss. He held back, waiting to see if you found him."

Adam grinned. "I suppose the sight of an Indian rising up out of the snow, with a rifle in hand, might have prompted me or Hoss to make a hasty decision."

"Precisely. Charlie watched as you found and brought your brother to the cabin, and then gave us some time before making an appearance. He…hesitated to do so because Atsa was here."

"Really?" He was surprised. "Is there bad blood between them?"

His father looked at him for the longest time. "You might say that. There is blood between them. Atsa is Charlie's daughter."

"You ain't foolin', Pa?" Hoss asked as he joined them.

Pa looked at him. "Sorry we woke you, son."

"It's okay. I wanted to check on shortshanks. I had this dream…." He shook his head as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "Now, what's this about Old Charlie and Atsa?"

"They used to live here, in this cabin. Charlie's wife died and he was left alone to rear a girl." Pa laughed. "God truly blessed me when he gave me only boys. A girl is whole different country." Sobering, the older man went on. "Atsa made bad choices. She married a white man who, in time, betrayed her and their tribe. Lives were lost. Atsa told me her father disowned her. He didn't. She ran and he hunted her, but he couldn't find her. By then she had been found by a trader and taken far away. It was only recently that he located her again. She was with Cato." Pa looked at each of them in turn. "I don't know if either of you remember Becket. He worked for me a short time and I had to let him go. It seems he came back here to make me pay for that 'sin'." Ben paused as he considered again the hand of the Almighty. "There are those who would say that Cato Becket finding your brother, lost in the snow, was a sign that there is no God. I see it differently. If Becket hadn't found Joseph, your brother would have died, a father and daughter would have never had a chance to reconcile, and the world would not be rid of Cato's evil."

"Hey…what's a feller…got to…do…to get some…coffee around here?" a weak voice asked, startling them all.

They were up and on their feet in a second.

Pa beat them there, of course, and sat down at Little Joe's side. "It's good to see you awake, boy," he said.

Joe looked confused. "When did..you two…get here?"

"Your brothers found you in the snow, Joseph. They saved your life," the older man said, his tone hushed. Pa ran his hand along Joe's forehead, brushing the curls away. "You need a haircut, young man," he said, his tone mock-stern.

Joe smiled lazily. "Maybe it…can…wait 'til…tomorrow…."

"Oh, I think I can take a few more days with you looking like a riverboat gambler." Their father cupped Little Joe's chin in his hand. "The only thing that matters is that you are alive."

Joe lifted his hand. The gesture was feeble, but Pa saw it and reached out immediately. "You're…okay…Pa?"

"I'm fine."

Baby brother looked puzzled.

"What is it, Joseph?" their father asked.

Joe gave them all a bright smile.

"Ain't that my line?"