agnieszka003

Family Apart

Agnieszka Maria

Summary: In revenge for a killed man, a gang leader kidnaps Adam, which leads to amazing discoveries at the latter’s part. Will the family apart come together again?

Caution, ‘nurses’: a little bit of suffering Adam...

One of the men suddenly threw his arms up and sank to the ground.

"I got him!" The sheriff’s deputy smiled broadly, reloading the rifle. Ben and his sons shot simultaneously; the bandits seemed to be backing off; then it was clear they indeed were.

"They won’t be back soon," grinned Joe happily. "We sure showed them, huh?"

Adam calmly reloaded the weapon. "They hopefully are back soon, so that Roy can arrest them. I don’t put much trust in outlaws at large."

"Right said, son," Roy patted his arm. "If they don’t come back here, I’ll lead a posse to find them. Ben?"

"You can count on us," nodded his friend. "Let us wait yet, they may try again."

***

"The posse begins with the search tomorrow," Ben pursed his lips. "One of us has to stay on the ranch." He surveyed his sons with a questioning look. "Volunteers?"

They exchanged glances and then all three shrugged their shoulders.

"Whatever you decide, sir," Adam unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn. "If I’m going, I must have an early night."

"I’ll stay," decided Ben. "You’re younger, and more fit for such ride. We’d better all call it a day, you must set out early. Just remember: Be careful."

They nodded, getting up rather wearily.

" ‘Night, Pa."

" ‘Night, Pa."

"Good night, Joe, Hoss," Ben smiled to them. "Adam?"

"I’ll check the barn and horses," his eldest put the jacket on. "I’ll try to fight the temptation to fall asleep in the hay," he joked. "Good night, Pa. You don’t have to wait for me."

"Good night, son," Ben answered, his eyes scrutinising Adam lovingly. "Don’t stay long, I can see you’re tired."

Adam smiled in answer and stepped out on the porch.

He closed the door, and raised his head. His eyes shot wide in shock, as though they wanted to fully encompass the shadow in front of him.

He sank softly into the expecting arms.

The first man gestured to the other, bigger one to carry the limp shape. "No trace," he mouthed, then moved quietly back into the darkness, the other following.

***

"So, where is Adam?", Joe smiled broadly, happy he wasn’t the last one down this time.

Ben frowned. "Hoss, get your elder brother down. You must get going soon."

"Sure," Hoss reluctantly left the table, as he was really hungry. "Hey, older brother, rise and shine!", he yelled into Adam’s room.

The empty bed looked unslept in.

"Pa!"

Hoss hurried downstairs. "Pa, did Adam sleep in his room tonight?"

***

Earlier.

Adam was slowly coming round. Then pain yanked him brutally back to consciousness. He tried to escape the boot thrusting itself in his stomach, but his hands were tied behind his back tightly, and he couldn’t get up.

"Wake up, Cartwright, I lost my patience," an unpleasant voice accompanied another kick. Adam groaned and curled up to protect his abdomen.

"Rise and shine, Cartwright," the boot turned him onto his back and rested firmly against his chest. In the glow of the fire Adam saw a rather well-built man, older, with fairly handsome features, dark, strong, manly shaped. What was going on?

He heard steps beside his head – wide-eyed, Adam stared in renewed shock: the man who he’d seen first on the porch. His mirror reflection.

A boot nudged his ear. "I don’t like you staring at me," spoke the reflection.

Adam’s eyes shifted from one man to the other. "Who are you? Where am I?"

A boot dug deep in his side – he curled up in pain.

"The rich man’s sonny is curious, huh? I lost one of my men – you lost one of your men. I’d like to see your old rich man looking for his sonny," the man laughed unpleasantly. "Unfortunately, he’ll never know whether his sonny lives or not."

Adam gazed at them, disquieted, almost afraid of comprehending.

"I said don’t stare!" Something exploded in his head and he almost lost the fight with nausea. Every move threatened with a revolt of his stomach. He desperately wanted to go to sleep.

The boot thrust itself into his stomach brutally, and he couldn’t stop the reaction anymore.

"Get used to it, Cartwright, that’ll be your life from now on," the darkness laughed with the voice of the older man.

***

"But you say there aren’t any tracks of any kidnappers?", asked Roy carefully. He understood Ben’s concern, but he needed to know more facts to draw some conclusions.

"Roy, there isn’t a single track of his that goes to the barn – or anywhere else, for that matter," Hoss rested his big hands on his hips, trying to remain calm against the turmoil inside. If there was one responsible and dependable Cartwright brother, it was Adam. "But there are traces that can be taken for somebody’s deliberate work on covering the tracks. Adam would have told us if he were going somewhere else, and wouldn’t cover his tracks. Somebody helped him leave. No, he’s not around here, and yes, Sport is still in the barn," he forestalled Roy’s questions. "And very much yes, we want you and us to look for him NOW."

Roy instinctively stepped back. Hoss’ shadow could be very comforting, but it was far from that now.

Ben rested his hand on Roy’s arm. "Roy, what if this search goes together with yours? If it was Caine and his gang? If they want to avenge their man?"

"It’s not likely that they would go for such risks," argued Roy calmly.

"Yes, I saw him, I guess," the rancher nodded. "I just thought how strangely that he’s like your son so much, Ben."

"And you saw them go that way?", Roy was his official self. "When? How many of them?"

"I saw two of them come up to the rest of the group – quite many there were, and they all went straight towards the pass. One of them... uhm... I think it was Ad... the one who looked like Adam that had something big hanging over his saddle – but it was too dark to make it out. I didn’t dare go closer," he explained. "It was late in the evening, I guess that’s why they didn’t notice me. Sorry, but that’s all I know."

"Thank you, you helped us quite a lot." Roy smiled rather grimly, and mounted. "Let’s go, before they have time to reach the rocky ground. We have to find Caine quickly – and Adam," he admitted in a heavy sigh.

"Oh, but it’s not likely that they would go for such risks," shot Joe ironically. Ben silenced him with a stern look, but Roy shook his head.

"I can understand him, Ben. He’s worried sick, just as you are. I am just doing my job, Joe, and doubting is part of it."

"Yeah, I know," admitted Joe quietly, shaking off his frustration. "Sorry, Roy. I know you wouldn’t let Adam down. Let’s go find him, huh?", he tried to muster his most charming, deadly lady-killer smile. Hoss decided it was not the time to tell him how miserably he had failed.

***

"Here."

Tim raised the cup, watching Adam’s reaction. The prisoner glanced thirstily at the water but suddenly winced and shifted, pulling his knees closer to him.

"M-hm," Tim gazed at him thoughtfully, then put the cup aside and yanked Adam up and into some bushes.

"Okay, pants down," he ordered, throwing him a knowing look. "Go on, Cartwright."

Even with his hands tied in front of him, Adam hardly managed to unbutton the garment. He turned back to Tim to get rid of the unpleasant pressure at last – an iron hand yanked him roughly back.

"Hey, I want to see your hands, Cartwright," Tim thrust the colt’s barrel into his side. "Go on with it, we don’t have the whole day."

Adam felt he was blushed, but most importantly he could relax his muscles at last, free from the pressing danger below his belt. This was the first time they allowed him that; the whole night and day he wasn’t allowed anything, not even sleep. He regretted not accepting the water quickly enough; but then, he wouldn’t have held it back anymore.

Tim pushed him back to his place. "Good boy."

The older man approached them with a frown. "Tim, what’s that supposed to mean? You let him...?"

His hand landed hard on the man’s face. Adam stared at them wide-eyed.

"Somebody has to sit with him, and nobody will if he stinks," protested Tim, apparently used to such treatment. "I won’t give him my clothes for a change. That’s for MY comfort, Dad, come on!"

"Just don’t spoil him," barked Caine. "The rich man’s sonny might get used to the luxury."

Adam noticed the threatening movement, and had just enough time to protect his face and abdomen. The kicks were vicious but few. He estimated none of the bones were broken yet – good, he was hoping to escape whenever they stopped guarding him non-stop – but his arms and legs hurt horribly. He’d been kicked and beaten countless times since the kidnapping; he was told clearly there was no other treatment he could expect. It hurt most when Tim beat him; he seemed an evil twin of him then. He still couldn’t believe the striking similarity; they were identical, as far as he could judge. Tim was skinnier, maybe, but that could be helped soon, couldn’t it.

Caine just snorted and walked away. Tim caught Adam’s shocked expression and barked, "What?"

Adam shifted uneasily and answered quietly, "He... he hit you."

"Now, who allowed you to talk!"

Adam fell on his side, trying to cover his head against another strike. None came, surprisingly enough. Instead, Tim jerked him back to a sitting position and thrust the cup in his hands.

"We won’t let you die," he smiled to his prisoner, and Adam felt cold shivers going down his back. Tim’s cold dark eyes were piercing him through unpleasantly, and he began to understand why his own eyes could embarrass other people. Slowly, he handed back the empty cup; this time, he thought better of talking. He was rewarded with a short appearance of dimples in Tim’s face, and a pat on the leg.

"Good boy."

***

Ben gazed helplessly into the night. Everything was still; only his thoughts and his heart raced. Where was his son? Did he live yet? Did his body... no, don’t think about that. You can’t. Adam lives. He must live.

But where could he be? So long...? Whoever would keep a prisoner for so long without a cause? They didn’t demand any ransom – they didn’t want any. They wanted... What could they want? To take revenge for a killed man? Then they would shoot somebody down instead of... Maybe they took him so that nobody could find the body...

No, that’s ridiculous. Maybe Adam... maybe they wanted to hurt him – and he ran – why not to the house? – no, maybe they hurt him, and he was confused – maybe even lost his memory – and lives somewhere, not knowing who he is and that somebody is waiting for him to come home... There would be tracks of some kind... Or maybe they caught him for ransom, and he escaped – lost his memory – and only because of that didn’t come home. Yes, he had to be somewhere there, maybe even very close, and just doesn’t know what happened – how badly would he have to be hurt then?

Maybe he escaped, but was injured so badly that...

They would have found him. One way or the other, they would have found him. Where was he? Who took him? And why? Why?

Maybe there was no point in looking anymore? – Oh, that’s ridiculous! He is somewhere out there and waiting for their help. Yes, he is.

Is he?

"Pa, I don’t think it’s a good idea to think of those things."

Ben startled. Joe gently began rubbing his father’s shoulder. His young face looked startlingly older with the worry.

"Pa, it’s not good if you sit here late every night and think. You’d better talk with us. You’ll feel better."

Ben shook his head. "I was analysing where we didn’t look yet. Maybe we forgot about something."

A big shadow loomed over them.

"Were you really ‘analysing’? Or maybe rather worrying?", Hoss shook his head wearily. "Pa, this can’t go on like that. You look like a shadow. The ranch is no longer properly taken care of. We just set out in the morning, look for him all day for the third time in the same place, and get back home done in in the evening. Pa, we must change something."

"Do you ask me to stop looking for my beloved son?!", Ben yelled his anger and frustration booming out in the night.

"Damn it, I love him, too!", yelled Hoss in similar frustration.

This cooled Ben’s temper, if only through sheer surprise. Hoss never yelled like that, and he certainly didn’t use such swear words and such a tone towards his father.

Hoss turned back from him, seething. He shouldn’t have reacted like that, he knew.

"Pa," Joe rested his curly head against Ben’s shoulder, as much to comfort his father as to get comforted himself. "We have agreed with Hoss that we have looked in every possible place three or more times. Maybe the sheriff should search further, and wire other sheriffs again, and we would wire everybody we know around the States – maybe they saw him. It’s no use going on like that. If we suddenly hear that Adam needs us, and we will be so tired that we’ll be falling from our horses, how will we be able to help him? Be reasonable, Pa. We must wait, and wire, and hope. Looking for him in all the places all over again is like hoping he would
materialise suddenly in one of them. We haven’t found him here, so he must be somewhere else. Let the sheriffs look for him, and let our friends look for him. We must keep this place and ourselves going, if Adam needs us it won’t be in a bad shape. We have to be ready to help him, and so we must keep strong, and rich – if somebody wants ransom, or if we have to pay for detectives – and we must be there for him instead of wearing ourselves out searching where we won’t find him. Be reasonable; think what Adam would do, what he would say. I bet he’d say: be reasonable, and he’d give you all the rational facts, and damn it, he’d be right again, as he always claims he is."

"I will not tolerate such foul language," Ben woke up at last. "So what am I to do? Wait?"

"Do what Adam would do – be reasonable and rational," answered Hoss quietly. "In case... WHEN Adam will need us, we must be strong and tough, but that’s not the way to achieve it. You must eat, sleep, and hope, instead of going desperate."

Ben gazed long at the round, kind face of this gentle giant, at his eyes, hiding pain in their immense bluishness, then at the boyish face of his youngest son, ridiculously aged with concern – Adam WOULD argue like that, he thought. After all, if they didn’t found him here during a month’s search, he wouldn’t suddenly materialise there. He felt he needed to pray again.

"Okay," he whispered, rising heavily, and dragged towards the door. Joe looked up at Hoss. "I guess Adam is still the most persuasive of us," he whispered without a smile. He would never ever admit the reasons were more to ease their father’s concern than because he believed Adam would suddenly appear and ask their help. Neither Hoss nor Pa should be upset. Nor Adam, if he’s somewhere there.

Hoss gazed back at him. "I guess," he agreed, managing something that with some good will could be interpreted as a smile. He would never ever admit the reasons were more to ease their father’s concern than because he believed Adam would suddenly appear and ask their help. Neither Joe nor Pa should be upset. Nor Adam, wherever he is.

***

It’s been a month. Adam wouldn’t have known if someone hadn’t said that lately. A month.

He’d learned that three beatings a day made the day good, two – marvellous. Sometimes he got food, sometimes he didn’t. He got water every day, at least.

His hopes of escaping were fading quickly. He was never left alone, not for a second, not even for attending to the most personal bodily functions. Caine took a lot of care to humiliate and imprison him fully. He was watched day and night, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

They sometimes moved on; he was then tied to a horse and blindfolded, unable anymore to determine wherever they were going. There were rocks and caves mostly, that was the only clue as to where they might be, but he wasn’t allowed to watch the surroundings much. All those sleepless nights he was aware that somebody was sitting next to him, reminding him painfully from time to time what was allowed and what was not. Slowly, fatigue allowed him the blessed oblivion of deep, dreamless sleep; mild resignation, which he put down to his weakened state, was in fact saving his sanity. However, he was still hoping for his chance – quietly. If they knew, they’d beat it out of him most probably.

He took the time to observe his look-alike, Tim, carefully – he didn’t want to earn a beating for that; a couple of times, he caught Tim’s gaze, proving the man was watching him just as closely and seemingly with similar interest. He was something of a second-in-command; Caine always left him to boss around the camp if he took some men away himself. Tim was also most often the enforced companion of Adam’s, both days and nights – with breaks, naturally. Adam preferred his company, if he was to be honest. Tim was at least impartial, and didn’t beat him for pure pleasure; he just did his duty watching him. He was the one to give him food; he didn’t abuse him verbally, as the others did. He somehow was always there when Adam came to after the beatings, head swimming, to find – to his quiet surprise – his hands less numb than before, as though someone had un- and retied him in the meantime. Thus, Adam felt simply a bit more relaxed with him.

Which didn’t mean Tim was his chance to escape, unfortunately.

Maybe his family would find him... Poor Pa...

***

Tim felt uneasy. He knew he was being watched. Raising his dark eyes, he met the hungry ones in the corner. The Adam’s apple of the prisoner moved with the involuntary swallowing.

When did they give him some food recently?, wondered Tim lazily, coming back to his meal. Adam’s louder swallowing almost startled him.

"Stop that," he demanded, sitting himself more comfortably, not raising his eyes from the meal. He heard Adam shift and swallow again.

"I said stop that!", he yelled angrily. Adam cringed, his gaze falling onto the food with involuntary swallowing. He slowly raised his tied hands and rubbed wearily at his cheek and mouth, trying to cover his moving Adam’s apple.

Tim put some more beans on his plate and rose. Adam helplessly watched him approaching, unable to back from the potential beating. The strong arm jerked him into a standing position and pulled to the fire. He stumbled and would have fallen without the support; his legs were numb and gave way under him.

He was almost thrown to the ground; the booted feet went around him, and a plate was thrust in his hands. Tim sat down and put some beans on the other plate.

"Eat," he muttered. Adam stared at him, then carefully placed the plate between his knees and awkwardly took some of the beans with his fingers. Not taking his eyes off Tim, he swallowed them, hardly chewing, and took some more. Tim looked up – Adam froze.

Tim glared at his prisoner angrily for a moment, then growled, "Either stare or eat." After a second of hesitation, Adam dropped his eyes and swallowed the food even more hungrily.

"Chew," Tim frowned. "Either you eat like a human or you won’t get anything, clear?"

Adam nearly choked at that on what he was swallowing; with the next mouthful, however, he forced his jaws to work. Tim observed him eating. His hands were tied tightly and he was trying hard to cope with the food with his numb fingers the way they were. The plate shook weakly between the knees, continuously tensing anew and anew against their weakness, but was far too precious for Adam to let it drop. His lips and jaws snapped hungrily at the food, wasting none of the little beans, chewing now more naturally but still with the visible effort of will.

At last, there was no little bean left; Adam carefully licked the remnants of the food off his fingers. Nothing could be wasted. For long days, all he got was water, and not as much of it as he’d like. He wondered briefly, would he get sick now?

The rim of the invitingly aromatic and hot cup touched his lips. Miraculous. Adam had to sip in order not to burn himself; but it was coffee, real good hot coffee! He thanked Tim with his eyes, trying to drink as much as possible as quickly as possible. They surely wouldn’t let him drink the whole cup.

Tim observed Adam; for a moment, he held his gaze, then Adam concentrated back on the coffee, leaving Tim angered, and then outraged. It wasn’t really the fire of deep gratitude he saw in Adam’s eyes that made him mad; it was his own reaction to it. He took pity. He turned to a softie and took pity! Well, hopefully, it’d be another humiliation for the rich man’s sonny, who had nothing on his mind but money!

Looking longingly at the cup being emptied onto the ground, Adam let his gratitude govern him.

"Thank you," he managed faintly, smiling shyly at Tim. "Thank you."

Tim froze at Adam’s voice; it came from somewhere so deep, he felt.

He raised his fist quickly, "Who allowed you to talk!"

Adam fell on the floor and anxiously protected his stomach with his legs. Tim thought briefly of kicking the food out of him, staring angrily at his prisoner, then hauled the man to his feet and dragged him to the corner.

"And stay there!"

Adam almost instinctively protected his head with his bound hands; when no strike came, he carefully glanced from behind his hands. Tim came back to the fire and was sitting with his side to Adam. He didn’t seem to want to beat Adam down after all.

The prisoner swallowed quietly, recalling the taste of the food and the coffee. He knew beans weren’t the best choice in his condition, but choice would be luxury for him now. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get nauseous now that his stomach was eventually filled, be it only partially. He closed his eyes; eating had been an effort. He never knew when he fell asleep.

***

Adam cringed under Tim’s gaze. He’d heard him talk to the men outside before, and wondered idly about the possible orders. Now, however, Tim came back and was staring at him intensely, and rather not in a friendly manner. Adam already had a black eye from yesterday, and wasn’t looking forward to repeating the experience. He shifted involuntarily, when his bowels reminded him of the yesterday beans.

Tim obviously heard that. Fine. Adam pressed his back to the rock, hoping the beating wouldn’t reach the said bowels; he hardly managed to keep them from emptying by now.

Strong hands jerked him to a standing position and pulled out of the cave into some bushes.

"Mmm," Adam raised his hands to protect his eyes, unused to the bright light.

"We won’t stand here the whole day," Tim let him go; Adam limply sank to his knees. "I remember you ate yesterday," said Tim. "Pants down, Cartwright."

Adam wondered whether he would ever get used to being humiliated like that. He awkwardly tried to cope with the buttons, but the ties and numbness hampered his moves. Suddenly, he felt two other hands cover his own two. "We don’t have the whole day, Cartwright," Tim reminded him. "Be as nice and don’t get me mad today. It’s enough my ankle hurts." He decided it was better to help the prisoner, as he hardly stood, than to kick him to hurry up.

In the cave, Tim cooked some meat, then warmed the beans. Adam gazed longingly at the food, whenever he knew he wasn’t being watched. He really didn’t want to get Tim mad, it was the only person to help him instead of beating him... most of the time.

The man by the fire moved eventually; he rose and came to Adam.

"Come on," he jerked him upright again and brought to the fire. There, he – incredible! – untied Adam’s hands and handed a bowl of broth to him.

"Eat."

Adam stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment. Then, he carefully began to sip the hot broth possibly quietly, his hands shaking uncontrollably, threatening to spill the precious liquid.

Tim appreciated his efforts with a glance, then fried the cooked meat for himself. He noticed Adam hadn’t had visible bruises for a couple of days, well, until yesterday; he got used to seeing a black eye, a bruise or a cut on the prisoner’s face. Knowing he shouldn’t expect any better, he tried now to suppress his irritability at Adam’s shaking hands and hungry sipping.

Eventually, Adam swallowed the last sip and slowly, almost reluctantly, put the bowl away. Meeting Tim’s eyes, he thanked him with a shy smile, thinking better of speaking up this time.

"I surprise myself with my generosity," muttered Tim, tying Adam’s hands anew. "Get back to your place," he ordered. Adam managed at last to slowly get up, and staggered to the corner.

Why did he actually feed him?, mused Tim, sipping his coffee after the meal. The rich man’s sonny got what he wanted!

He kicked out at the fire and jumped up. Adam startled. Seeing a sudden glimpse of fear in the prisoner’s eyes, Tim suddenly felt regret at his actions, but somehow that only enraged him more.

Adam ineffectively tried to protect his head from the heavy fists falling on him ruthlessly; the whole world contracted to immense, growing pain in his body; booted feet planted strong kicks in his thighs and back. He moaned when he felt one in his kidney, then the world, the whole little world of his pain and the booted feet whirled wildly around him, as the black abyss sucked him in.

Noticing Adam had ceased moving and moaning, Tim stopped, too, breathing hard. That rich man’s sonny... Why did he actually beat him?

He staggered back to the fire, sank to the ground and hid his face in his hands, trying to regain composure.

Caine strolled into the cave and a huge grin appeared on his face. "Well, well, well, the rich man’s sonny looks like one of us, huh?"

He kicked the limp body, without evoking any reaction, and laughing turned to Tim.

"I could swear your ankle wasn’t that well yet! Nice work, son, that’s what I like! Come, I’ve got to tell you the plan, I got an idea to use the Cartwright boy here; why should we feed him on our cost?"

Feed? He couldn’t remember anybody but himself feed the prisoner, mused Tim, glancing at the limp form before following his father. And yet he didn’t throw up the broth, he noticed in the back of his mind.

"We’ll be rich," Caine grinned unpleasantly at his men. That didn’t mean any grudge against them; the most pleasant smile he’d ever managed was at the sight of a buxom lady in an ‘evening outfit’, and it made him look like a mad, hungry bear. He was handsome as long as he didn’t smile.

"We’ll be rich, I tell you! Shucks, if it wasn’t for the trip to the old mad McDonald, we could begin at once! We’ll hurry, anyway," he winked at his son and reminded him, "Now, it’s only your ankle and my trust in you that makes you stay with him. We’ll take you to the place in some half an hour."

He grinned even wider at a sudden thought.

"Maybe we should wake him and let him run a bit? He could use some movement."

Tim glanced at his father with a weary expression. Adam wouldn’t run far.

"It’d take too long," he pointed out. "Both the waking and the running. And you can’t blindfold him then, or you kill him right away; he can see the surroundings this way. Get him on some horse – he won’t like that either – and we’ll be there quicker and safer. And having him for your trap."

Caine looked at his men proudly. "Now, that’s what I call thinking. Right you say, son, we’ll have some fun with him anyway."

They didn’t get much of any fun, however, for the simple reason that Adam stayed unconscious all the way long; or if he came round, it was for short periods and not surfacing enough to acknowledge pain or discomfort.

The ride was relatively short; however, whether from the ride or the previous movement, Tim’s ankle reminded him of the recent damage, and he was glad when they finally stopped.

"I guess you were right with the ankle," he admitted to Caine. "I’ll need a couple of days down to earth."

"Well, you have everything here," Caine offered the valley to him in a magnanimous gesture. "River, cave to sleep in, animals around... Ain’t I a good father to give all this to you?"

"Yeah," Tim grimaced probing the ankle while dismounting. "Not so good," he noticed worriedly. "I shouldn’t have kicked him, the beating itself would have sufficed."

"Bring him to the cave!", gestured Caine towards the prisoner and dismounted to stand beside his son. "I hate to look at him."

"How come if we’re so alike?", asked Tim. He staggered and sat down from the force of the slap.

"Don’t you be clever with me!", Caine yelled furiously, then nodded towards the cave. "Keep him tied; you can feed him some, we’ll need him later, and the trip may take a couple of weeks even. We’ll put some stones in the passage, that will close the valley should he try something funny with the ties. And take care of your ankle," he seemed surprised that Tim was still sitting on the ground. "Well, can’t you make it to the cave?"

The younger man slowly got up, wincing; he felt the ankle acutely now. "Leave me some food, okay? I’m not going to run around much today."

"What I won’t do for my sonny boy," Caine grinned, giving Tim a hearty slap on the shoulder; Tim staggered again and would have fallen if Caine hadn’t caught his arm. "Hey, that IS bad. Lie down, son. We’ll leave you everything you might need. Now I’ll worry the whole way." He grinned at Tim. "Ain’t I a loving father?"

"Yeah," Tim limped to the cave and sank to the ground. He decided to call it a day.

When he decided to move, he noticed the motionless form by the wall. Was he still unconscious?

The ankle stopped throbbing by now, so he thought to check on his prisoner. When he removed the fabric covering Adam’s eyes, the man squinted up at him fairly consciously.

"Woken up?", Tim sat more comfortably. "Want to talk?"

Remembering the last beating, Adam shifted his eyes modestly on the stony ground, instead of staring angrily at Tim.

"I asked you something," Tim nudged him. Adam puffed uncomfortably into the gag and this time shot a displeased glance upwards.

"We’re all alone, you know," the man continued. Adam answered with a slightly surprised look.

"Hungry?"

Now Adam’s gaze was fully surprised.

"Okay, you can talk," agreed Tim, noticing a glimpse in Adam’s eyes that told him he’d like to say something. Once the gag was out, Adam sighed deeply and
managed a hoarse whisper.

"Can you... give me water?"

"I can," answered Tim, not attempting to get up. Adam closed his eyes and let his head fall limply back onto the ground with a sigh. Yes, that would be too good.

Tim brushed away a lock of hair from Adam’s face. His prisoner was warm and flushed. Tim got the bucket and the cup, thought a second, then set the meat on fire to cook a broth. When he came back to his prisoner, he could hardly wake him to give him the water. Adam drank thirstily and Tim had to watch him so that he wouldn’t choke. His head rested on Tim’s hand, too heavy for Adam to lift it. His eyes were closed, the black eye bigger. He was really flushed now.

Tim sat there for a while, then idly began untying the prisoner. The man didn’t react anymore. Neither did he respond to being undressed or covered.

***

The hot broth gave off steam from the bowl. Tim cooled it a bit, then looked at Adam to find a pair of two brown intelligent eyes gazing at him.

"At last," he puffed. "I’m tired of playing the nanny for you. Here, drink that."

He raised Adam’s head and put the bowl to the man’s mouth. "Slowly."

Recognising a sudden grimace, he smirked, "Yeah, yeah, that in a moment. Now drink."

Having eaten and got rid of the uncomfortable pressure, Adam rested for a moment, then carefully tried a question.

"How long... was I... un... conscious?"

"A week, let’s say."

"Long."

"Yeah. I got tired of sitting there talking to nobody. How do you feel?"

"Tired."

Tim thought he should rightly be, it was the first day after the crisis.

"Want to drink something?"

"Mhm."

"Okay."

After giving Adam a drink of water, Tim sat back at his head.

"Want to talk?"

"Tired."

"Okay."

He sat silent for a while.

"Can I talk to you... just talk?"

"Sure." Adam looked up with surprise, but then smiled faintly. "Promise... to listen."

"Good. I was feeling kind of lonely. I actually wouldn’t talk to you if we weren’t alone, you know. But, uhm... I wondered why we are so alike. You are tired, so maybe I’ll talk and you’ll answer when you’re stronger. I wonder how old you are. I was born 18. May 1830."

Adam nodded faintly. "Same. Boston."

"The same as I!", wondered Tim. They eyed each other suspiciously, even more unsettled by the similarity.

"My mother died by my birth."

"Same."

"Hm. Don’t know her name. All I know is from my nurse. I had some books, as far as education goes. Been in many places."

He sighed. "Feels good to talk to somebody at last. I remember as I once saw a herd of wild mustangs. A brown one was leading. And they ran so strangely, like in circles. And then only I saw three men with lassoes. They were trying to encircle one of the horses, and the whole herd was trying to escape. The leading horse was so intelligent, I don’t understand how it communicated that to the others, but the mustangs divided into three parts and went three ways. The catchers lost their heads at that, and the horses joined back behind them. Ever seen anything like that?"

"Never. Sorry. Sleepy."

"Okay. Sleep well."

"Tim... washed me?"

"How long do you think I’d stay here if you stank?"

Adam snorted faintly, closing his eyes. "Yeah. Thanks. Cook... well."

"Oh, thanks, nobody ever told me that!", Tim seemed both surprised and delighted. "Go to sleep, you need some rest."

He rose and took the rifle; they would need some meat.

***

Roy drummed with his fingers on the desk and looked at Ben.

"I have... suspicions – nothing more than suspicions – that these are the men who might have kidnapped Adam."

He felt three pairs of eyes pierce him through.

"These are suspicions," repeated Roy nervously. "We just might find them... and see if they have Adam."

"Do you think they would still keep him?", asked Hoss unusually bitterly. "What for?"

"We won’t have the answers without finding them," answered Roy gently.

"I lost hope once, I don’t want to lose it again," whispered Hoss, shaking his head in pain. "What are the chances? After two months...?"

"We didn’t find... uhm... the body," stated Roy carefully, trying not to hurt his friends with the word and the picture it evoked. "Somebody has seen someone similar to Adam with them some time after the kidnapping... I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t take the chance, cost it what it may."

"Roy, I’d never let the slightest chance go," Hoss shook his head; Joe put a conforming hand on the big arm. "It will just hurt so much if we lose him again..."

Ben straightened his arms. "Most important is to stay together. We have to do it. When do you suggest to set out to find them, Roy?"

"That’s where they are now," the sheriff spread the map on his desk. "That’s their route. I suppose we would find them more less here... in some four or five days... but a posse can be sent right away, should they change their minds."

***

" ‘Morning," Tim greeted Adam, rolling the latter onto the side to untie his hands. "What do you say for fish for breakfast?"

"Sounds good," Adam rubbed his wrists and stretched. It still wasn’t extremely comfortable to sleep with his hands tied behind his back.

"Good, then go and catch some," instructed Tim, getting up. Adam looked at him in surprise, then laughed. "Okay, give me the fishing rod."

His twin shadow followed him to the stream. "Don’t think I’ll leave you alone; you could have too much time to think of unnecessary things," grinned Tim, sitting beside Adam. His prisoner didn’t answer, concentrating on the rod he held. He knew the stream sneaked into the valley snakewise among the roots of a big tree, which blocked the pass in-between the rocks, and escaped his sight under the big stones Caine’s men closed the valley with. There was no quick way to escape; he would have to climb out – if he’d manage.

"I don’t like you thinking," noticed Tim in a light voice. The poke Adam received with the barrel of the gun was by no means light.

"Should I talk the fish onto the hook?", he smiled rather faintly, nostalgia over him again.

"You might," advised Tim in a too kind voice. He studied the stoically patient form beside him, the intelligent, thinking eyes... a rich man’s sonny... Was he?

"A fish... a big one," Adam shifted suddenly, catching the rod more tightly. "My, it pulls like a little whale!"

Tim caught Adam’s hands where they held the rod to help him pull, excited at what might have bitten at the bait.

"That will be SOME breakfast," he noticed, his eyes twinkling.

The fish jumped out of the water, shining in the sun, and just then they pulled the rod. The fish landed on the ground, almost as big as half their thigh.

They caught their breath simultaneously at the sight, then started laughing with the joy of having accomplished a strenuous but pleasant task.

"That’s what I call ‘fish’," commented Tim.

A small avalanche of rocks tumbled down the wall of the valley.

"Hold it right there!"

They froze, both looking up the wall, both sitting in almost identical positions, one on the left, the other on the right side of the fish – and the gun.

Suddenly, Caine appeared on top of the other wall. "So, Cartwright, you found your sonny! Well, then get him, if you want!"

A shot rang out, and one of the identical motionless figures by the stream startled, and fell.

"NO!"

Amidst the shots, the other figure immediately wetted and pressed a bandanna to the wound, then stroked the black hair. "I know it hurts, it’ll be fine; it’ll be fine."

A moan answered him.

The chaos ended as abruptly as it began. Caine and his men arrested, Roy and the Cartwrights descended to the valley, taking the prisoners with them.

The half-naked man knelt beside the other one, also with no shirt on, gently probing the bullet wound. "He needs a doctor," he said to the men around him, not raising his eyes.

"Adam...", Ben knelt beside them, and looked in amazement at the two identical faces, with identical three day’s growth of beard, both men in identical clothes.

"We’ll see if your sonny makes it," laughed Caine harshly. "I see you cared for the rich man’s sonny, Tim," he turned to the kneeling figure. "Not too much? He looks well. We’ll discuss it yet."

The man raised his head eventually to look at Caine.

Ben was carefully washing the wound in soothing movements, but looked up when the other man stood up.

"Adam," he raised his head with concern in his eyes and request in his voice. The man stopped and looked back at Ben with surprise.

"How do you know it’s me?"

"You’re my son, Adam," Ben smiled slightly.

Adam looked at Caine sadly for a moment, attempted to speak, stopped, then shook his head and kneeled back at Tim’s side.

"We have to dress it," remarked Ben. "Do you have any bandages here?"

"Eeeeeer... I don’t know," Adam looked around helplessly.

"Cave... saddle... bags...", gasped Tim from the ground. "Search... must... be..."

"Right," Adam raced to the cave and came back shortly with bandages.

"Put moist... ban... danna," gasped Tim again, but Adam hushed him, "We know what to do. Lie still. It might be the lung."

"No... Can... breathe...", whispered Tim. "Flesh... wound."

"Hush," Ben carefully put the fabric on the wound. "Adam, lift him a bit. Right. Okay... that should do it."

Hoss and Joe approached them quickly. "The travois is ready. Adam, you fine?"

"Yes," he spontaneously threw his arms around them for a quick hug. How thoughtful of them to first think of a travois for the injured one, regardless of their desire to immediately hug him, that he felt emanating from them. "Let’s get him to a doctor."

They quickly moved towards the ranch, nobody paying more attention to Caine and his men than their handcuffs required.

***

Nearly two weeks later, Ben watched his eldest son closely by the supper. The younger man eventually raised his eyes, understanding he was expected to say something.

"Yes, Pa?"

"You were in the city, son?"

"Yes, Pa, you know I was."

"Talked to Tim?"

"Yes," he didn’t yet seem to grasp the aim of this examination.

"It’s so good that his arm’s fine again," Ben smiled lightly. "Did you convince him to come here?"

The younger man shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I told you he’s both stubborn and distrustful of us. I used all arguments I could think of, and gave him time to think of it. I can’t force him, Pa. He may give his answer tomorrow in the court as well, right?"

"Sure," answered Ben slowly. The younger man felt three pairs of eyes bore hard into him.

"What’s wrong?", he asked, alarmed.

"Whose idea was it?", asked Ben sternly.

"W-what?"

"To exchange clothes and places," Ben frowned. "So whose idea was it? Yours or Adam’s?"

"What?", the questioned man blinked in astonishment. "What are you talking about?"

"Roy would have alarmed me if something was wrong; however, I have some doubts whether he is capable of differentiating between you two; so if you are here, Tim, then Adam had to stay in the sheriff’s office. I don’t think you forced him, so whose idea was it?", Ben’s voice boomed around the room.

"I never thought you’d mistake me for Tim," the dark eyes gazed innocently at Ben. The older man answered with a hard, self-confident look.

"Whose idea?"

A quick glance around assured Ben’s suspect that Hoss and Joe wouldn’t let him withdraw. "Pa, you really think I’m not your son Adam?"

"Should I show you the scar on your left hip?", Ben straightened, obviously convinced of the identity of the man he was talking to. "The one you were born with?"

The dark eyes gazed at him questioningly for a moment yet. Then, the mask melted off.

"Not even Adam knows about it," he whispered, his eyes sinking to the plate.

"Whose idea was it?", repeated Ben, his voice somewhat gentler.

"Adam’s." He sighed. "He said I’d have to know you to be able to decide. It’s only for today. We’re supposed to change back before the trial," Tim raised his eyes and looked at the three Cartwrights rather curiously. "What mistake did I make to help you guess?"

"Millions," Ben smiled at last, be it slightly. "Don’t you think I know my children well enough?"

Tim licked his lips in a nervous gesture. "And how did you know about the scar?" Then, in his eyes there flickered realisation. "The doctor..."

"Not this doctor," Ben turned a letter over in his hands. "I think you should read it."

***

"Roy, let him out for a moment, we must talk," stated Ben, glancing sternly at the young, dark-haired man behind bars.

Caine shoved the younger man powerfully aside. "You ain’t gonna take my son away from me, Cartwright!", he rasped. "You’re trying to steal him away! Well, I won’t let you!"

He spat at the dark-clad man beside Ben, but could do nothing else to prevent the sheriff from doing what he was asked.

"Ben, do you think it’s reasonable?", back in the main office, Roy glanced uneasily at the two look-alikes. "Yesterday Adam talked to him in private, now all of you..."

"Oh, yes, Adam talked to him all right," Ben ‘s eyes flashed. "You’d better change back, young men," he advised them dangerously kindly.

Adam cast a displeased look at Tim, who shrugged his shoulders carefully and began unbuttoning the shirt.

"Back?", Roy was stunned. "What do you... They wouldn’t."

"Yes, they would," Ben frowned. "As though I couldn’t tell one from the other. Adam, I’d like you to read something. Tim, I want you to talk to the judge."

"What for?", muttered Tim, letting Adam help him with the shirt.

"You haven’t been there by the crimes Caine is accused of. The only one, according to Caine’s men, was the kidnapping of Adam," explained Ben. "And the letter may change your situation in this respect."

"What letter?", inquired Adam, buttoning up. "Why am I the last to know everything?"

"Here," Ben handed him the letter. "And you’d better sit."

Adam glanced at him in surprise, but obediently sat down and began reading. Soon, his face changed, eyed widened, his breathing quicker. He glanced up at his father, then at Tim, then back at the letter.

Silence was ringing in the air. Ben’s voice cut it almost brutally.

"I want the judge to see it."

The twin faces gazed at him silently; Hoss and Joe waited patiently for Ben to continue, knowing what decision had been taken.

"Tim has obviously been kidnapped just as Adam. This means he wasn’t with them out of his free will. He may... if he decides so... testify against Caine."

Tim silently watched the sudden uneasiness on Ben’s face, analysing. It was Adam who reacted.

"He doesn’t have to testify, the doctor can claim him unfit for a proceeding, he just got out of bed." He took Tim’s hands and pulled him in the chair beside him, whispering something to him in a persuasive way.

"Will Adam testify?", Roy turned to Ben.

"My testimony has been written down," answered Adam, catching the question. "I’m still weakened and shouldn’t be exposed to the emotional and physical strain of a testimony in court."

He turned back to Tim, who occasionally answered him in a whisper.

Roy touched Ben’s arm. "What’s in the letter?"

Ben took the paper from Adam. "I wrote the doctor in Boston, who helped Elizabeth with Adam." He handed it to Roy. "And you’d better sit, too."

"Roy?"

The sheriff obviously reacted to the news with a much greater shock then Adam; eventually, he blinked and looked up at them as though woken from a deep sleep.

"Sheriff," one of the twin figures – he never knew which was which – towered over him. "We’re going to see the judge. Tim accepts the name and refuses to testify against Caine. We’ll see what the judge says about other things. Can you set the bail?"

"What?", Roy still seemed half-conscious.

"Can you set the bail?", repeated Adam patiently. "Tim has to go to the judge, so we have to pay the bail for him, right?"

"Oh... it’s enough if you vouch for him, I guess," the sheriff woke up at last. "He is a Cartwright, so he won’t just run away, right?"

"Sort of," Adam glanced at Tim with a subtle smile in his eyes. No longer a mistreated prisoner, Adam was coming back to his old self.

Ben touched Tim’s arm gently. "Will you stay with us, son?"

The younger man answered with a wary look.

"Let’s be honest, Mr... Mr Cartwright," he opted for the more impersonal version. "From what I know, the letter’s true. It seems it was the very nurse who brought me up – with... Caine – and she told me when and where I was born, where the scar was from, and other things. That’s fact. So I’m a Cartwright. But I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are, what you’re like... I know nothing of you, you can’t possibly expect me to love you immediately."

Sadness and hurt glistened in Ben’s eyes, but he nodded.

"I understand."

"If it helps you, I don’t think I even love Caine," continued Tim matter-of-factly. "Anyway, I don’t want to feel like I sold myself. I can see the facts – so I’m Cartwright," he sounded as though it was some job or office you held, or an inborn feature, thought Ben. "But if I stayed with you, I’d feel as if I fell for the money and land. No, I don’t want to sell myself like that. I want to be honest with you and myself."

"I appreciate that," whispered Ben. None of the four Cartwrights was happy with the choice, and all tried to suppress that – unsuccessfully. Eventually, Adam muttered, "I guess I’d act the same."

"Definitely," mumbled Joe and attempted a joke, "Hoss, do you think the house would stand two Adams at once?"

Hoss grinned unconvincingly, appreciating Joe’s efforts to lighten the mood.

"We must see the judge first," Adam reminded them in a matter-of-fact tone, dismissing the sombre atmosphere. "Remember what I told you, Tim. We have to set you free."

"Is your middle name Fairy Godmother?", joked Tim.

"No, actually it’s Abel," laughed Adam. "Come on, we have to go."

***

"Proceeding to the case of the man known as Timothy Caine, allegedly the accused’s son ," the judge stopped, frowning upon hearing some noise from where Caine sat. "Doctor Martin has declared him unfit for testimony. However, the most important testimony in this case, I believe, is this letter," he unfolded a paper lying on his desk. "The letter came from Boston, from Dr Bowler. I shall read it now."

The audience whispered with expectation and fell silent. Caine frowned, sensing some threat. The judge began.

"Dear Mr Cartwright,

"Please forgive me if you should find this letter lacking in stylistic or structural value, but I am afraid that your telegram has unsettled my conscience, and I write to you immediately after receiving your enquiry. If not pure coincidence, if the answer to your question is the one I suggest in this letter, I truly hope you can consider my reasons and intentions honest, and forgive me.

"Your late wife, when in labour, first delivered a child wrapped around by the umbilical cord so tightly that it was blue for lack of oxygen. The boy did not cry out despite the help I was able to give him. Your wife was already in pain again, and I left the first child to the nurse, so that I could help your wife.

"The second boy came in a couple of minutes, and cried out properly. The first one did not. The nurse said he did not breathe, and suggested that she should take the child away, so that you did not have to endure such loss, when your wife’s life was already in danger. She was half-conscious during the delivery; thus, neither you nor she had ever known of the first boy. You came immediately upon hearing the other boy’s cry, hence I had little time to make the decision; I truly believed the child was indeed dead. If he was not, and Miss Bertram, Eve Bertram, the said nurse, had lied to me, I am afraid that it might be difficult to establish what had happened to the boy she had taken, as she left Boston before you, and there is little chance of finding her now.

"All the help I can provide is a description of identical twins – I believe your sons were such, as opposed to fraternal, i.e. non-identical twins – and a distinguishing mark of the first boy. If those two men are twins born of your late wife, their colour and build should be exactly the same; their appearance might even be identical, so that one can differentiate them with utmost difficulty. Besides, the elder of them, i.e. the one you did not know of, should have an old scar on his left hip, going from the pelvic bone, ilium, backwards and slightly downwards to the greatest gluteal muscle, i.e. the one in the buttock. It has been left by the umbilical cord, and should be still fairly visible.

"I admit there was a slight chance of the boy’s breathing shallowly, so that he did not cry out immediately but received enough oxygen to survive the first few hours, before his lungs began working properly. I might have done a tragic mistake in trusting the words of Miss Bertram, but please notice I had to decide quickly, and I had no reasons to distrust the nurse. Thinking the boy dead, and knowing your wife’s fate, I decided to keep this for myself forever. Yet, should it help your family, I most honestly and truthfully give you the account of those events, and hope for your forgiveness.

"Should you come to some conclusions as to the men’s similarity, please let me know. And please let me know whether you forgive me; I hope you can. I am an old man, Mr Cartwright, and therefore I will be looking forward to hearing from you most impatiently.

"I dare be so bold as to send my best regards to your whole family, especially your son Adam and, if it is he, his elder twin brother

Yours Sincerely

Dr Jason Bowler"

Silence reigned unconditionally.

"Ehem," the judge cleared his throat eventually.

"According to the information we could gather, the nurse of Timothy Caine was Eve Bertram, his mother having died in labour after delivering him, which took place in Boston, 18. May 1830, which in turn is where and when Adam Cartwright was born."

The audience was still too stunned to react. Caine cursed himself silently; he should have let the boy think she was his mother; marrying her wouldn’t be as bad as this, and safer for sure. Now that was her revenge, years after her death. Damn boy, only he could have told them!

"I believe what is left to do, is to present the two young men to the jury," added the judge, "for them to see how far the similarity goes, and whether the scar is there."

The door beside the jury opened, revealing two identical figures. The men slowly came up to the jury. The only element distinguishing were the shirts – one black, one red.

Caine snorted. "So you sold yourself to the Cartwrights, boy? That’s sure not what I raised you for."

One of the younger men – the one in black – almost winced at that; the other caught his eye and raised a quizzical brow at Caine, sizing him up in one cold, pulverising look.

"So, Cartwright, back to your rich old man?", Caine almost spat at the man in the red shirt. This time his actions and presence were ignored; only the man in the black shirt cast him a pained look.

Mr Johnson, the most esteemed member of the jury, cleared his throat eventually. "Could we see the scar now?"

The two men exchanged glances. "Maybe in the other room," one of them suggested. "It’s below the waist, you know, and there are ladies here..."

The jury members whispered briefly among themselves, then nodded, and all moved to the back room, from which the two men had emerged earlier on.

The judge shifted on his seat to draw the attention of the people present. "Out of sheer curiosity, Mr Caine," he began. "Could you tell me, which was which? I can’t differentiate, really."

Caine smirked. "It’s easy. My son’s the one in the black shirt, and Cartwright has the red one. You’ve seen their reactions."

The judge glanced to the other part of the room. "Ben?"

The older Cartwright answered calmly, "The opposite. And I think I know what to make of their reactions."

The door opened again, revealing the jury coming back. The twin figures stopped in the doorway.

"Mr Johnson," the judge turned to the man, while taking a little piece of paper from him and unfolding it. "We have a little problem here as to which of the young men is which. Could you tell us which of them has the scar, so that we know that he is Timothy, and the other Adam?"

"The man in the red shirt has the scar," said Johnson. "So the other one is Adam Cartwright."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

The judge glanced at the stunned Caine, then at the calm Ben Cartwright, and thought of how he himself, just before the trial, had explicitly ordered which of the men is to wear which colour. Thus pondering, he proceeded to the conclusion of the case.

"We have all seen these men are identical. The jury has confirmed the existence of the scar. The information given in the letter has been confirmed by the man concerned," he glanced towards the twin pair. "According to the former evidence he had no part in the actual crimes committed by the group. Thus, I feel entitled to say that Timothy Cartwright is not to be held responsible for the actions of the gang of Samuel Caine."

Adam gazed silently at Tim’s pensive face, the man’s own gaze concentrating wholly on the face of Caine.

After a longer moment, Tim turned his head towards Adam’s ear. "Now I know why I don’t love him."

***

"Something you forgot, Adam?", Roy looked up at the dark shape of Ben’s eldest son, that appeared in the doorframe.

"Not really," answered the familiar voice. "I take it Adam is in Virginia City, or at least was, right?"

"What do you...?", Roy blinked, uncomprehending. Steps were heard outside, and Ben stepped into the sheriff’s office. He suddenly froze, gazing long at Roy’s visitor; then, he slowly raised his arms to a warmest welcome. After a second of hesitation, the man went into the embrace.

"I decided to come," he said non-committally. "Is Adam there?"

"All are there," whispered Ben, blinking away the tears of joy. "So good to see you, boy. You look thinner," he fingered the tanned cheek affectionately.

"That’s... Tim?", Roy blinked in astonishment and shook his head to clear it from the shock. "Well, I’ll be..."

The entrance was shadowed by another lean, dark figure, which – identically as Ben – first froze for a longer moment and then embraced the unexpected guest heartily. "Tim..."

"Why, that’s...", Hoss and Joe glanced at each other in amazement, standing in the doorway.

"Surprise, surprise, your eldest brother’s back," Tim flashed his teeth in a predatory smile, watching them cautiously. He felt anxiety again that they should deny him.

Adam looked at him thoughtfully. "You know you ARE the eldest." He grinned. "You have no idea what responsibility is going to be your share."

"Don’t scare me."

Adam breathed a long sigh of relief. "Oh, it’s so nice to have somebody else responsible."

"Oh, no-no-no," Tim shook his head. "You’re there to help me."

"And why is that?", inquired Adam boldly.

"Because I say so, and I’m elder," retorted Tim.

Adam gazed at him pensively for a moment, then carefully complied, "I guess." He couldn’t deny his own argument.

Hoss chuckled at his reaction and reached to shake Tim’s hand.

"Welcome home, big brother."

The miraculous sound of the two words threw the two men spontaneously in a hearty embrace. When Joe noticed something glisten suspiciously in Tim’s eyes, he hugged him without a word. He cared none if he appeared rude or not; the lump in his throat would strangle him before he forced out a word.

"Welcome," Roy shook Tim’s hand cordially. "Another Cartwright in the family, huh?"

"Yes, sir, Timothy Cain Cartwright," Tim tested the name aloud. "Gee, sounds nice."

"Cain?", Adam asked quietly. The name unsettled him.

"Without the ‘e’," added Tim. "Every Abel needs his Cain," he explained with a wink and a shrug of his shoulders. "Even the mark is there," he patted his hip. Then, serious again, he added quietly, "I almost kicked you to death, Adam."

Adam tsk-ed, glancing at the sheriff warningly. "Can’t remember." He put his arm around his brother’s shoulders. "Let’s go home."

Outside, Tim nudged Adam delicately. "You know I don’t really know how to get on with... with... brothers."

"You’ll learn quickly," Adam comforted him. "They won’t give you a choice."

THE END [or a beginning...]

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