The
English Rose
By
Diana Golding
( diana.golding@btinternet.com )
Adam stormed from the house, the speed of his departure matching the blowing of the tempestuous late summer wind whistling around the eaves of his home. Irritation showed on his normally composed features and was reflected in the lengthening of his usually compact stride, as he headed straight to the barn. He saddled Sport, and in a few minutes he was riding out of the yard, pulling his hat down firmly on his head as he kicked the horse into a gallop along the trail that would eventually lead him high into the mountains.
The grandeur of the rocky peaks and the
panoramic views over
As he reached a bluff where he could look down on the now distant ranch house he stopped, stepped slowly out of the saddle, and squatted down on the ground, which was softened by the carpet of pine needles that had fallen and lain undisturbed over the centuries. He picked up a handful and let them slip through his fingers, watching as they were carried off by the gale, and thinking that his relationship with his father might drift away as silently. When was Pa going to admit that his family could benefit from the expensive education he had given his son? Adam wondered. Three years at college had to be good for something, surely?
At twenty-nine, Adam considered that he should have done enough to gain his father’s respect for his ideas. But every time he came up with a new plan, whether it was for improving the stock, or better systems for managing the bookwork, or simply to ease conditions for Hop Sing in the kitchen, he had met resistance. He was trying to use his knowledge and skill to drag Ben’s thinking into the second half of the nineteenth century, but it was only after lengthy and often heated discussion that his father would make a decision, sometimes agreeing, sometimes not, and his dissent left Adam disillusioned.
He picked up another handful of brown, dry pine needles, and after letting a few fall from his hand he threw the rest angrily away, thinking that if he couldn’t get the respect he felt he deserved from his father, perhaps it was time that he looked elsewhere. It was at moments such as this, when he was at odds with his father, that he no longer felt comfortable at home; the walls hemmed him in and he felt constricted by Ben’s attitude. He had always wanted to travel, maybe now was the time. Adam snorted derisively, it was not the first time that he had had such a thought, but he had never acted on it and had no intention of doing so now. He simply needed to escape from the house for a while, into the solitude of the mountains.
He shivered as he stood; the wind was taking away the heat of his body, and cooling his temper. He smiled ruefully. In his haste to get away from the house he had not thought to bring his jacket with him, or even any supplies. Lack of food did not bother Adam; he had eaten a good breakfast, enough to see him through the day, and he was a skilled hunter. He would be able to catch something for supper, and only needed water to drink.
He remounted Sport and rode back to the narrow track he had been following, deep in thought. He knew that arguments with his father were inevitable; they were so alike, stubborn and hard-headed. But while Adam would occasionally reach a point where frustration got the better of him, Ben could always reason his way through their heated exchanges. It was one of the many attributes that Adam admired in his father, who over the years had learned how to manage his temper, because he knew that he still had a way to go before he could reliably control his own.
Adam was looking forward to a day spent alone among the stately ponderosa pines, for which his home had been named, and as his subconscious affinity with his horse told him that the animal was ready to run, he loosened the reins. Man and mount enjoyed the freedom of the forest and they both found release from the restrictions of life as Sport took off along the track, feeling the wind in his mane and tail. It was probably the noise of the restless air rushing past that prevented Adam from hearing the rending sound from up ahead as a branch high up in a tree, weakened and no longer able to resist the force of the wind, finally gave way and separated from its growing place. It dropped slowly through the intervening limbs, until it fell free and came crashing down on the lone rider, striking him on the side of the head. It completed its journey to the ground, tangling itself among Sport’s legs and bringing him to his knees.
Adam was fighting to stay conscious and in control of the horse, but when Sport went down he was unprepared for the sudden demand on his precarious balance, and was catapulted over the horse’s head, towards the trees. Through the creeping greyness in his mind, Adam saw a thick trunk coming towards him and managed to twist in the air, so he avoided hitting it with his head, but his arm and shoulder crashed into the rough bark. The shattering pain robbed him of what little awareness remained, and he fell to the ground and lay still.
Sport made it back to his feet and whinnied noisily at his undignified fall. He stood for a moment, his tack rattling as he shook himself, before trotting a little way up the track and then putting his head down to munch calmly at a clump of lush grass.
**********
Adam’s first thought on coming back to consciousness was that he was fortunate to be still in the land of the living, though the pain from his shoulder made him wish that awareness had not returned so completely.
His second thought was that the blow to his head had driven him out of his mind. He could hear words spoken, but they made no sense.
He was sitting up and someone was behind him with their arms around his chest, trying to lift him. “Come on, me old china, if ya can’t get on yer plates, then I’m goin’ to ‘ave to red rag ya.”
Adam recognised it as a man’s voice, and the words as English, spoken with a broad English accent, but apart from that he was at a loss.
“W…wait…wait,” he managed to utter through the pain, “my shoulder…”
“Yer in a bit of a two and eight that’s fer sure, but just let me get ya over to me nice warm Jeremiah and I’ll take a butcher’s.”
Putting aside the linguistic problem until he felt able to cope with it, Adam tried to stand, and with the stranger’s help, he made it to his feet. The man pulled Adam’s right arm over his shoulder and helped him across the track and into the woods on the far side, where Adam saw that there was a small camp among an outcropping of rocks, and he gratefully sank down beside the sheltered fire, cradling his left arm with his right. Every movement sent shafts of pain coursing through his shoulder and down his arm, so he turned his head carefully, until he was able to squint up at the man who stood before him. He matched Adam for height at over six feet, but there the similarity ended. This man was stout, and stood with a slight stoop that was accounted for by his age, somewhere approaching sixty Adam guessed, seeing grey hair that circled his head from ear to ear leaving a bald pate that shone dully in the sunlight above wide set eyes and a broad, friendly grin.
“Who…who are you?” Adam asked shakily, as he put up a hand and felt the small swelling above one ear and the stickiness of blood from a gash on his forehead.
“Me name’s Edward, Edward Mulherne,” the man answered in a deep, strong voice.
Adam wiped the blood from his fingers and extended his right hand. “Adam Cartwright,” he said as he shook hands with Mulherne, careful not to move his left shoulder.
“Pleased to meet ya, I’m sure.” Mulherne picked up his canteen and a cloth, then knelt down in front of Adam to wipe away the blood from his forehead, taking the opportunity to observe him more closely. The entirely black clothing and dark, strong features were imposing, Mulherne thought, and beneath jet black hair, clear brown eyes gave him an impression of someone you didn’t mess with, even though at that moment they reflected the pain of the injuries the younger man had sustained. When he was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, Mulherne stood. “Now, just sit right there, and I’ll go and get yer Charing.”
“My what?” Adam was confused, as far as he knew he did not possess such an object.
“Yer ‘orse,” the man explained, as though it should be perfectly obvious.
Adam nodded his head slowly, indicating an understanding he did not have, and closed his eyes. He had decided that he was probably unconscious and dreaming, and he was prepared to wait until the world started making sense again.
After a few minutes, Mulherne returned leading Adam’s large sorrel, which he tethered beside his own sturdy palomino and a pack mule. Squatting down by the fire, he filled a tin cup with tea from the smoke-blackened pot standing on the small rocks that encircled the flames, added a spoonful of sugar and stirred it in as he carried the drink over to where Adam sat.
“Mr. Cartwright,” he called, and Adam opened his eyes. “I thought ya could do with this.” He smiled as he held out the cup.
Adam reached out with one hand to take the offered refreshment, wincing as his shoulder protested. “Thanks.” He sipped the liquid slowly, and the strong, sweet drink revived him. His headache was fading fast, and he had found that as long as he did not attempt to move, the pain in his shoulder died to a dull ache, with only occasional spasms of searing agony. Even the simple act of breathing had to be done carefully, and he inhaled slowly as he looked at Mulherne. “What are you doing out here?” The man was dressed in a grey city suit and brown brogues, hardly the clothes for travelling through the wilderness of the Sierras.
“I’m goin’ to see me bottle. She wrote and invited me to visit. I got an ‘alfpenny
dip to
Adam nodded as he recognised the name of the town, but was bewildered by the rest of what he heard. “You are English, aren’t you?”
“Course I am,” Mulherne laughed, “I suppose me accent gives it away.”
“Then…I mean, why…?” Adam was trying to think of an inoffensive way to ask his question, until finally he decided to come straight out with it. “Why don’t I understand half of what you’re saying?”
“You don’t…oh me goodness, I’m sorry. When I’m alone I tend to drop into the vernacular. That means…”
Adam raised one eyebrow. “I know what it means.”
“Right.
Well, I’m from
“Don’t worry about it, but if you could just remember that I’m a poor ignorant westerner who has trouble following you occasionally…”
“Course I can,” Mulherne agreed, thinking to himself that Adam Cartwright was neither poor nor ignorant.
“You were saying something about going to see your ‘bottle’?” Adam frowned as he used the familiar word in an unfamiliar way. He sipped his tea, happy to continue the conversation which was taking his mind away from the pain in his shoulder.
“I meant me daughter. She got took away by me trouble…sorry, that’s
to say me wife, when she ran off with a rich gent from
“You’re a baker,” Adam deduced.
“What? Why’d ya say that?” Mulherne looked puzzled.
“You said you’d made enough bread…” Adam stopped as the Englishman burst out laughing.
It was a minute before Mulherne could control himself enough to speak. “Oh me goodness, no, I didn’t mean that. I mean I’ve made enough money.”
Adam was getting annoyed. He was fighting against the pain in his shoulder and now felt he was being made to look a fool. “Then what business are you in?”
“Meat.
I started with a little stall in
Adam shook his head carefully; any movement brought a screaming protest from his shoulder. He was happy to just sit for a while and didn’t relish the thought of anyone touching him. “No, it’ll be fine.”
Although Adam tried to push his hand away, Mulherne was insistent. “Don’t worry. I’ve cut up more carcasses than you’ve ‘ad ‘ot dinners and I know what goes on inside a man, it ain’t no different.” Mulherne ran his large, powerful hands over the bones under the black shirt. “I don’t think anythin’s broke, but you’ve put the joint out. I’ll ‘ave that fixed in no time.” He looked Adam straight in the eye, “This is goin’ to ‘urt, but I’ll be quick and then it won’t ‘urt so much.”
When he saw Adam hesitate, then nod, Mulherne took hold of his left wrist and quickly pulled the arm straight. Adam’s breath hissed through his teeth, which were clamped together against the pain, as Mulherne twisted his arm and then suddenly hit the injured shoulder hard with the heel of his hand. Adam groaned and hunched over, holding his left arm with his right hand and breathing quickly. He sat for a minute to get over the shock, then realised that most of the pain was gone. He straightened again, and smiled thinly.
“Thanks…feels better already.”
Mulherne smiled. “Told ya it would. Now, ‘ow about somethin’ to eat?”
Adam shook his head, the last thing he felt like was food. “Well, I’ll make enough fer
both of us and see ‘ow ya
feel when it’s ready.” Mulherne went to
the bundles that were lying to one side of his encampment, and came back with
beans and meat which he put in a pot with some water and a handful of herbs. He also held a strip of dark red material
that he had torn from a longer length, and when he was satisfied that the meal
would look after itself for a while, he fashioned a sling for Adam’s arm. “I bought some cloth when I was in
Adam nodded his thanks. “You said you were going to Floriston?”
Eyeing the forest, which looked the same in every direction, Mulherne laughed. “Yes, but I’m not sure where I am now.”
“You’ve come too far south, you’re on the Ponderosa.”
“I thought I was in
Adam smiled, “You are, but the land round here is the Ponderosa.”
“What’s that?”
“My home. It’s a ranch. We’re in the meat business too.” Adam saw brows raised in enquiry, and explained. “We raise cattle.”
“So what’s over there, would that be Floriston?” the Englishman asked hopefully, pointing to the far hills in front of him, to the north.
Adam smiled. “No, that’s the Ponderosa as well.”
“And over there?” Mulherne pointed to his left.
“And there,” Adam assured him.
When the older man then pointed wordlessly to his right and raised his eyebrows, Adam replied equally silently, with a nod.
Mulherne’s eyes opened a little wider. “I see. Big place then, this Ponderosa.”
“Biggest there is. In these parts anyway.” Adam allowed a tinge of pride into his voice, which did not go unnoticed.
“Do you own it?”
“Strictly speaking, no. It belongs…to my father.” Adam had hesitated because it seemed to him that, by putting the facts into words, he had a new perspective on the disagreement with Ben. His father did own the ranch, and while that legacy would pass on to his sons one day, at that moment Adam knew that he had no right to dictate what happened there. Before he could think further about it, Mulherne was speaking.
“So what were you doing out here, falling off yer Char…yer ’orse?”
Adam lowered his eyes. “Just riding.”
Mulherne sat stirring the contents of the cooking pot. “Listen mate, if you and me’s goin’ to get acquainted, then there’s no point in not bein’ ‘onest with each other.”
“I was just riding,” Adam insisted, not wanting to elaborate.
Mulherne realised that there was more to it, but left it alone. “You said that you know Floriston. If I ‘elp you to get back ‘ome, would ya point me in the right direction?”
“I won’t need any help, thanks. I assure you I can manage,” Adam said, a little sharply. He did not relish the thought of returning so soon, but now he was able to think rationally, he was more embarrassed at his behaviour than angry with his father. He accepted that Ben had every right to question any of his ideas, and Adam admitted to himself that he had left before they had properly talked through his latest plan.
“I think it would be best if I come with ya,” Mulherne insisted, not realising that Adam had no intention of going home immediately. “That arm might prove a bit troublesome. You could ‘ave strained the ligaments and that can feel as bad as breakin’ it.”
Mulherne served up their meal and, as Adam accepted a small portion from him, he remembered his manners. The man was feeding him and had taken care of him, yet he was turning away the offered assistance. Besides which, Adam knew he could find it difficult to be out alone with his shoulder as it was, and he allowed his common sense to overcome his feelings. He smiled, trying to make up for his abruptness. “Okay, thanks. It’s over a day’s ride from here to Floriston, so if you would like to spend the night at the ranch, you’d be welcome. Tomorrow, I’ll set you on the right road.”
“I’d be obliged, thank you.” While they ate, Mulherne told Adam how he had
come to be on the Ponderosa. “I left
“You seem to be doing just fine,” said Adam, pointing at the plate with his fork. “This is good food.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing me Rosie,” Mulherne said quietly after a pause, and Adam wondered if this was more slang. Then he smiled to himself as Mulherne continued. “That’s me daughter. She must be…” Mulherne raised his eyes and started to count on his fingers, “…twenty-four by now.”
“How long is it since you’ve seen her?”
For the first time, Mulherne looked sad. “Thirteen years.” Then he brightened. “But that’s all behind us now. I want ‘er to come back with me, and ‘er ‘usband, of course. Ya see, she’s the only close family I got left, now me Mum and Dad are brown… I mean, dead.”
“What will you do if she doesn’t want to go
to
Mulherne glanced up, and Adam could tell by his surprised look that he had not considered the possibility. “Then I guess it was all fer nothin’.” He paused, then continued slowly, “All the work and the struggle means nothin’ if you got no one to pass it on to. What’s the point to it? That’s the only reason…” Mulherne stopped as he saw that his words had stirred something in the American, whose eyes were staring at nothing, his mind elsewhere.
For Adam, Mulherne had put into words what
he had always known at the back of his mind, but had never put into coherent
thought. Now he knew the reason that he
always dismissed any thought of leaving.
Ever since his time at college in
But what if they did not want to? What if they wanted to make lives for themselves away from the Ponderosa? Adam shied away from those questions, knowing what his answer would be. Nothing in this life came free, and Adam knew the price he would pay for the sacrifices his father had made for his education and for those years spent in the east. He would remain on the ranch to take over from Ben, because, as Mulherne had said, his father’s struggle to build their home would be for nothing, if there was no one to pass it on to. He would stay willingly, though not entirely without regret,
Adam looked up at Mulherne and smiled, sharing an understanding. “You’re right, what’s the point.”
They had finished their food, and the older man gathered up the plates, scrubbing them with some dry pine needles before putting them away in the bundles, and then clearing the rest of the camp. Adam started to help, but Mulherne insisted that he rest. Once all was packed, and the mule loaded, they rode together back to the house. In the yard, they dismounted and Adam led the way inside, where he was immediately confronted by his father.
Ben had been seated at his desk and had risen as he heard footsteps approach and the front door open. “So, you decided to come back,” he said, standing with his hands on his hips, facing his wilful eldest child, then he noticed the sling and his paternal instincts asserted themselves. He glanced over Adam’s shoulder at the stranger who had followed him in, but his immediate concern was for his son. “What happened to you?”
“Got knocked off my horse and put my shoulder out.” Adam stood aside. “Mr. Mulherne fixed me up.” He turned to his rescuer. “Edward Mulherne, this is my father, Ben Cartwright.”
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Mulherne said politely. The two men shook hands and Ben raised curious eyebrows as he heard the foreign accent.
“Won’t you sit down?” Ben invited, and guided Mulherne to a seat, while Adam went to the kitchen to ask Hop Sing to make some tea. Mulherne was explaining his presence, and his destination, when Adam came back and sat quietly; he was not sure quite how things stood between himself and his father, after his abrupt exit that morning.
“How is it?” Ben asked, watching as Adam removed the sling and tested his shoulder carefully.
Adam searched the strong features and ebony black eyes, but saw nothing except concern. “Seems fine, just needs a bit of rest,” he assured his father. The muscles felt a little stiff, but the joint itself was free of pain.
“Then I think it would be best if you took Mr. Mulherne to Floriston.” Ben smiled. “If you wanted to go and talk to Andy McFarlane about those cattle you were interested in, it wouldn’t be far out of your way.”
Adam stared at his father. It was ‘those cattle’ that had been the subject of their argument, and he understood that he had been forgiven for his earlier behaviour. “If you’re sure, Pa?” Adam wanted to be generous in his turn. “I know you weren’t keen on the idea of Herefords on the ranch.”
Mulherne joined in; this was a subject he
understood. “Herefords give the best
meat, it’s rich and full of flavour, and they’re well covered. Get ya a good price in them fancy restaurants
in
Adam nodded his agreement. “That’s what Andy told me. I know that the preference here is for
Longhorns, but I think we would find a ready market for a small herd of them.” In the face of Mulherne’s support, Adam’s
enthusiasm for his project returned. “I
thought we could try cross-breeding them with the Longhorns. Herefords mature much earlier and we could
get a better turn around on the herds.
If I could get the Longhorn hardiness, combined with
Ben cleared his throat, and Adam stopped as he realised that he had got carried away. “Let’s wait and see,” Ben said, leaving his options open.
Noting that that particular conversation was at an end, Adam said he was going upstairs to change and offered to show Mulherne to the guest room. At the door Adam paused. “I want to thank you, Mr. Mulherne, for what you did today.”
“Don’t ya think it’s time you called me Edward? ‘Mr. Mulherne’ makes me sound like me father, and I ain’t that old, not yet anyway,” he laughed.
Adam smiled. “Then no more ‘Mr. Cartwright’, it’s Adam, okay?”
They shook hands in friendship, and parted.
Ben’s younger sons, Hoss and Little Joe, arrived home at the same time that Adam and Edward reappeared downstairs. Ben introduced them to Mulherne, who was taken aback by Hoss’ large size and Joe’s ready smile and open face. They were so different, both to each other and to Adam.
Before Ben could explain the reason for the Englishman’s presence, Hoss had noticed the cut on Adam’s forehead. “What happened to you?” he asked, frowning.
“I…had a little accident.” Adam did not want to admit that he had come off his horse; he knew that Joe, a natural horseman, would rib him unmercifully about it.
It was Mulherne who filled in the details. “Yer brother fell off ‘is ‘orse, that’s ‘ow we met, out in the woods.”
Joe’s eyes lit with the predicted pleasure. “You fell off your horse?” he said slowly, as a devilish grin spread across his face to be replaced almost immediately by mock seriousness as he turned to face Adam. “Well, big brother, perhaps it’s time I gave you a few lessons on how to stay put. First thing in the morning, I’ll saddle up old Bessie and meet you at the coral. She’s gentle and shouldn’t be too difficult for you to handle, there’ll be no danger of you falling off her.”
Adam sighed and raised his eyes heavenward, looking for the patience to deal with his brothers. “For your information, I did not fall off Sport. I got hit by a loose branch, and either one of you would have ended up on the ground, as I did.” He turned to the man beside him. “Thanks to Edward it was nothing too serious.”
Hoss joined in teasing his brother, who was six years his senior and twelve years older than Joe. It was not often that the younger brothers could take the opportunity to remind him of their comparative youth, and Hoss was going to make the most of it. “But don’t you think you’re a bit old to be takin’ a fall like that? Perhaps you should be usin’ the buckboard more, just in case, you know.” As he spoke he draped one of his powerful arms across Adam’s shoulders, but withdrew it quickly as Adam gasped and shrank away from him. Hoss frowned with concern, “What’s up?”
“Yer brother ‘urt ‘is shoulder,” Mulherne informed them. “Dislocated it was, but I put it right.”
Hearing Mulherne’s words, Joe realised that Adam had suffered more than the scratch they could see, and all thoughts of teasing vanished. “Are you all right?”
Adam eased his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s just a bit sore still. But like Edward said, he fixed it.”
“And we’re very grateful to him.” Ben saw Hop Sing hovering by the dining table; his silent signal that supper was ready. “Now, how about something to eat?”
As they took their seats, Edward reflected that it had been a long time since he had seen a family so at ease with itself, and he hoped that such times were not far off for himself, once he got reacquainted with his daughter.
The following morning, after breakfast, Adam and Edward set off for Floriston. If they pushed the horses they could have made it that day, but not before dark, so in deference to Adam’s still aching shoulder muscles, they did not hurry. Both men were enjoying the other’s company and the day was fine, the wind having abated.
They sat either side of their camp fire in the fading evening light and talked quietly. Adam described the life in the ‘wild west’, which Edward had read about but was finding the reality very different, and much less exciting. In exchange, Edward told stories of the characters he knew in London, while Adam listened, fascinated; here was a man who was living close to the life Adam had only read about in novels. Then he remembered his puzzlement over Edward’s words of the day before.
“Would you tell me about that…what did you call it…rhyming slang?” Adam was always curious about things that he had not come across before.
Edward nodded. “It started ‘bout twenty years ago, when the Peelers…the police force that is, got organised. Crooks used it to confuse ‘em.” He laughed. “They don’t take much confusin’, if you take my meaning. Any’ow, it just grew, and everyone in the ’field uses it now. Can’t make yerself understood else.”
“But why do you use those words? What was it you said?” Adam tried to remember some of the words that had mystified him. “You used the word ‘Charing’, and said that means horse. But there’s no rhyme there, so…?”
“A lot of the rhymin’
is done by more than one word; it’s really
“Ah, I think I see what you mean,” said Adam. “So,” he pointed at the trees, “a pine could be...a glass of wine, but you’d just say ‘glass’.”
Edward smiled and nodded. “You sure you ain’t got no cockney in ya?”
Adam smiled as well. “Just because I understand how it works doesn’t mean that I understand what you’re saying.”
Mulherne assured Adam that he would try not to use it, and as usual laughed at the remark, and Adam’s grateful acceptance.
After a pause, while he refilled their cups, Adam asked, “Exactly where does your daughter live?”
“She and Jason ‘ave got a ranch. ‘Ere,” Edward dug into his jacket pocket and handed Adam a piece of paper, “she wrote me directions.”
Adam took the letter, and nodded as he held it close to the fire so he could read it. From the clear instructions, he would be able to take Edward straight to his daughter, before going to see Andy McFarlane about buying his small herd of Herefords when he sold up and went back east.
Early next morning they approached the ranch. Adam observed, with a critical eye, that the yard was untidy; rusting tools lay where they had dropped, there was a broken rail on the corral, and straw spilled from the door of the barn. In contrast, the single storey cabin was neat, the windows gleaming, the steps swept, and a splash of colour was added by small yellow and red flowers in pots either side of the door.
They drew up in front of the cabin, where Edward dismounted, but before he had taken more than a step towards the house the door opened slowly and a woman appeared. She was slim, dark haired and, Adam thought admiringly, very pretty.
Rosemary Wyatt hesitated for a moment, balancing her image of her father against the man she saw standing before her. Older, and with less hair, but otherwise just as she remembered. Her dark brown eyes opened wide in wonder. “Daddy!” she cried, “You came!” She ran down the steps and threw her arms round Mulherne and he hugged her, lifting her off her feet.
“Course I came, I missed me little girl.” They stood for some minutes, rocking back and forth in each other’s arms, until Mulherne remembered the man who had been his guide. “Adam ‘ere showed me the way, otherwise I don’t think I’d ever ‘ave found ya.”
Rosie stood away from her father and turned towards the darkly handsome, black clad stranger, while Edward introduced them. “Adam Cartwright, this is me daughter, Rosie.”
Adam touched the brim of his hat in
greeting and, as Rosie looked closer, she saw the store bought clothes and the
finely worked saddle, and her eyes opened wide.
“Are you one of the Ponderosa Cartwrights?” she asked. Her words showed no trace of her father’s
accent, but were more reminiscent of the precise, clipped vowels of
“Yes, ma’am.” Adam smiled at the description.
“Well, thank you for bringing my father to me. Won’t you step down for some tea?” Her heart was beating nervously at being faced by a member of the powerful family that she had heard tell about, but she would not let that distract her from the common courtesies.
Adam shook his head; these two did not need him to invade their reunion. “Thanks, but no. I have a call to make, and I should be getting along.” He turned to Edward. “I hope I’ll see you again some time.”
Edward went to Adam and held out his hand. “You can be certain of that.”
Adam waved as he left, and Edward put his arm round his daughter’s shoulders as he turned her towards the house.
**********
Two weeks later, Ben and Adam were
finishing a quiet breakfast as they discussed the day’s work ahead. Usually the whole family would eat together,
but Hoss was taking a small herd to
Ben put a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I’ll go,” he said, rising from the table.
Jake, one of the hands, nodded a nervous greeting. “Mornin’, Mr. Cartwright, got some mail for ya.”
Ben frowned as he took the letters. He did not approve of any of the hands, or his sons, spending the night in town when they had work to do the next day, but Jake must have done so to have returned so early. No doubt he had collected the mail in the hope of blunting his boss’ cutting reaction. “What are you working on today?” Ben asked pointedly.
“Gatherin’ strays down by Glenbrook.”
“Then don’t you think it’s time you headed out?”
Jake nodded a sketchy reply. “Just goin’, right now.” He retreated gratefully out of Ben’s presence.
“Jake spent the night in town and collected the mail,” Ben said, as he returned to the table to finish his coffee. “Can I leave it to you to speak to him about it?” He glanced through the envelopes in his hand, and passed a letter to Adam. “There’s one for you.”
Adam put down his fork and chewed thoughtfully as he saw the unfamiliar writing, then tore open the envelope. After reading the contents, he left his unfinished breakfast and went to sit on the sofa in front of the wall of stone that was the fireplace, staring at the flames dancing around the large logs in the grate. Ben noticed his stillness and came to sit opposite him, in the stuffed leather armchair off to one side of the hearth.
“What is it son, bad news?”
Adam glanced up, “It might be; it’s from Edward Mulherne’s daughter.” He passed the letter to his father, who read it and handed it back.
“What are you going to do?” Ben was concerned. It was a cry for help, and he did not want his son to walk into trouble.
Adam did not answer immediately and Ben could see he was considering the question as he read again the letter in his hand which was brief, but conveyed its message succinctly.
“Wyatt
Ranch
Floriston
Dear
Mr. Cartwright,
My
father has told me that he considers you to be a friend, and I believe that he
is in need of one.
Recent
events here lead me think that his life might be threatened. I know of nowhere else to turn, and I ask for
your help, if you are willing to give it.
Perhaps it is just a daughter worrying for her father and imagining
things, but I am afraid that he is in danger.
My
father does not know I have written to you, and if you choose not to come I
will understand.
Your
servant
Rosemary Wyatt.”
Adam stood, folding the letter and pushing it into his back pocket. “I don’t know what this is about, but she obviously thinks Edward needs help. The least I can do is go and find out.” Then he added, “If you can spare me.” When Ben agreed, Adam headed for his room, returning a few minutes later with his saddle bags packed. After a visit to the kitchen for some basic supplies, he was ready to leave. Ben came to stand beside him, by the front door.
“Take care of yourself.” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder.
Adam smiled as he opened the door. “Don’t worry, Pa, I will.”
Ben watched him leave and, as he shut the door slowly, he thought to himself that people were fortunate to be able to call Adam ‘friend’; he never hesitated to go to their aid, sometimes to his detriment.
When Adam rode into the small yard the following morning, all was quiet. He dismounted, went up the two steps leading to the front door, and knocked. It was opened by a man a little younger than Adam, shorter by half a head, and slimmer.
“Yes?” the man’s attitude was not welcoming; his close set blue eyes narrowed and his mouth was pencil thin.
“I was looking for Mrs. Wyatt.”
“Why?” again the abrupt tone was evident.
“I am a friend of her father’s. Is he still here?” Adam said evenly.
The man turned and shouted into the house, “Rosie! There’s someone here to see your father.” He walked away, back into the house, leaving Adam on the door step. A minute later Rosie appeared, wiping her hands on a towel. She put her fingers to her lips as she put the towel down, then closed the door and tilted her head, indicating that Adam should follow her. She went down the steps into the yard, heading for the barn. Once inside its seclusion, she turned.
“Mr. Cartwright, thank you so much for coming. I didn’t know what to do, I’m so afraid for Daddy.”
Adam sat down on a pile of feed sacks and patted the space beside him. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it,” he said, taking off his hat and dropping it on the ground. “And the name’s Adam.”
Rosie sat down, but as she started to speak she got to her feet and paced back and forth, clasping her hands nervously. “When Daddy first got here everything was wonderful. Jason made him welcome, and we spent hours catching up on what has happened since I left. Then, it must have been two days after he arrived, he was here in the barn when a sack of feed fell from the loft. It would have fallen on him, but I came in and saw it start to move and shouted at him to get out of the way.”
“Well, these things happen,” Adam interrupted.
“That’s what I thought at first, but too many other things have happened. There was the team that bolted with the wagon and nearly ran him down, the cattle that stampeded when he was out on the range, the snake he found in his bed, and yesterday the cinch on his saddle broke and …” She stopped pacing and faced Adam, her dark eyes large in her oval face. “Oh, Mr. Cartwright…Adam…I’m frightened for Daddy, for what might happen, and next time…” Rosie hesitated to continue. If she was right, then there was only one person who could be responsible. “It must be Jason who’s doing it, there isn’t anyone else here.” As Rosie finished speaking she turned away, wringing her hands.
Adam got to his feet and stood behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. Seeing the anxious brown eyes looking up at him he hesitated, and for a fleeting moment her troubles were the furthest thing from his mind. She was beautiful and vulnerable and he wanted to embrace her, to hold her close, to protect her. But she was married and unavailable and in need of help, not complications. Adam had to take a deep breath as he felt his heart beat hard in his chest and was going to step back, away from the feelings she engendered, but he saw again the anxiety and put his arms round her reassuringly. He was skilled at hiding his emotions, and he called on that ability as he held her. She was tall, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder.
“You know that a ranch is not a particularly safe place to be. Why would your husband want to hurt your father?” Adam asked reasonably. He loosened his hold of her so he could see her face. “If you are so sure about this, why didn’t you go to the sheriff in town?”
Rosie did not move away, relishing the kindness being shown to her by the man who had come in answer to her plea. “Because the sheriff is away, and the deputy is Frank Wyatt, Jason’s brother. He wouldn’t believe me, any more than you do, and what if he did? Could I rely on him arresting his own brother?” She buried her face in his shoulder, sighing deeply at the hopelessness of the situation, and he stroked her long, dark hair.
Suddenly Adam felt a tight grip on his arm and, as he was pulled away from the woman, a fist landed in his face. He fell to the ground on his hands and knees, and was shaking his head to clear it when he was kicked in the stomach. He rolled onto his back, the breath whooshing out of his lungs, and he lay still, trying to gather his shattered senses.
“Jason! Leave him alone!” Rosie cried, hanging on to her husband. But he pushed her carelessly away, and she fell awkwardly.
Wyatt didn’t wait to see where she landed; his attention was wholly on Adam. “I’ll teach you to come here, interfering.” His boot connected with Adam’s ribs, but before he could withdraw it for another blow, Adam grabbed his ankle and pushed, causing him to overbalance backwards. Wyatt struggled to his knees, but Adam flung himself across the floor and forced him down again. They grappled, exchanging ineffectual blows until Adam got on top and landed a fist on Wyatt’s chin, laying the man out cold. Adam pushed himself to his feet as Rosie ran to him.
“Are you all right?” she asked, and Adam could only nod, not having the breath to speak as he brushed straw from his shirt and pants,
He picked up his hat, left the barn, and walked over to the trough, where he scooped up a handful of water and sluiced it over his face. He straightened, rubbing at his ribs, and looked at Rosie. “Where’s your father now?”
“In the house. When the cinch broke he fell from the horse. He wasn’t badly hurt, but he was shaken up by it.”
“Is he well enough to ride?” Adam demanded.
“I suppose so,” Rosie said, far from certain that her father should be out of bed.
“Then go and get him. Let’s not give your husband any more opportunities. I’m taking you both away from here.”
Rosie started towards the house, but then turned back and cocked her head to one side. “In the barn, when I told you what had happened, you weren’t convinced that Jason had anything to do with it.” A tinge of satisfaction could be detected in her words; Adam had not believed her and he had paid for his doubt. “But now you’ve seen what he’s like…I suppose that persuaded you?”
Adam fingered his bruised cheek. “No. Your husband hit me because he objected to my ‘interfering’, as he said, when I would have expected him to be upset at you being in my arms. That doesn’t make sense,” he explained. “Now, go and get your father, I’ll get the horses ready.”
Rosie ran into the house, while Adam went back to the barn. As he finished saddling the horses, Jason began to stir and Adam went over to him.
“Wyatt.” Adam got no response and repeated the name, louder. “Wyatt!”
Jason sat up, rubbing his head. “What?” He looked up and climbed slowly to his feet when he saw who had spoken.
“I’m taking your wife and her father to the Ponderosa. If you want to see them, that’s where they’ll be.”
Wyatt was furious. “What gives you the right to take my wife anywhere?”
Adam collected the reins of the horses and started to walk out of the barn. “She thinks you’re trying to kill her father, and until I find out otherwise I don’t think they’d be too safe here.” As Wyatt advanced on him, Adam drew his gun. “Don’t try it,” he said quietly. “Just stay in here until we’re gone and no one need get hurt.”
Wyatt looked at the gun and then at Adam,
seeing a confidence in the brown stare that unnerved him, and he backed
off. He stood in the barn, bewildered by
the turn of events, until he heard the sound of horses moving away. He swore loudly as he pounded his fist
against the barn door, then hurriedly got his own horse ready and swiftly
covered the short distance into town.
Adam led the way off the main road and into the forest, where they followed the narrow tracks. Rosie kicked her horse until she was beside Adam, leaving her father to follow behind.
“Why are we going through the forest, wouldn’t it be quicker along the main roads?” she asked with a worried frown.
Adam nodded. “Yeah, it’d be quicker, but if your husband decides to follow us he’ll expect us to have gone by the easier trail. I think it’ll be safer to go this way, even though it will take longer.”
“Jason’s a good tracker, the Sheriff always wants him with the posse if they have to find someone. He’ll soon find out that we came this way.”
Adam frowned. That was a skill Adam hadn’t thought to find
in the young rancher and it had him worried, but he smiled at Rosie, trying to
reassure her. “Let’s hope we can keep
far enough ahead of him. We’ll be on the
Ponderosa by morning, and at the house soon after
“What happens if Jason tries to take me back?”
“If you don’t want to go then we’ll stop him.”
Rosie was curious. “We?”
“At the Ponderosa you’ll have not only me, but my father to protect you. And my brothers will be home soon.” Adam looked at her and smiled reassuringly. “You haven’t met my family yet, but believe me, no one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to do when faced with them.”
“How many brothers do you have? You make it sound like an army.”
“Only two, but they’re more determined than any army. Don’t worry, you’ll both be safe there.”
Rosie hoped that he was right as she dropped back to ride beside her father.
Adam had a feeling that there was still a chance Jason might catch them, if he picked up their trail as Rosie thought he might, and they rode steadily, following the terrain as it sloped steeply upward, forming the hills that would lead them to the land that was the Ponderosa. He had tried to talk to Edward, but got only wan smiles and brief replies. It was obvious that the older man was struggling to stay with them, his head was down and his shoulders slumped, and Adam called a halt sooner than he would have liked.
He helped Rosie down from the saddle, then went to Edward, who was on his feet but leaning against his horse. “Come on, I think you’ve had enough for now.”
Edward looked up and nodded silently. Adam held his arm and sat him down on a fallen tree trunk, leaving him in Rosie’s care, then he led the horses a little distance away and tethered them among the trees, where they would not be spooked by the smell of the smoke from a campfire. He knew he could trust Sport, but was not so certain about the Wyatt animals. He loosened the cinches and made sure that they were settled, then went back to the camp and handed Rosie his saddle bags. “There’s coffee and a pot in here, can you start a fire and put some water on to heat?” When he received a nod and a small smile of agreement, Adam picked up his rifle. “Then I’ll go and find us something to eat.” He looked up at the sky. “There’s still a while before sun set, so once we’ve eaten and your father’s rested, we’ll go on.” He started off into the trees and was soon out of sight of the camp.
Adam went silently, his feet making no sound. He had been walking for ten minutes in the shade beneath the branches, when he saw movement up ahead. He stopped and raised his rifle, drawing a bead on the rabbit that was crouched down, its teeth nibbling busily at the blades of grass in a small clearing. He fired, and hit the animal cleanly in the head.
By the time he made it back to camp, Rosie had a fire going and coffee brewing. Adam prepared the rabbit and skewered it with a stick, holding it over the flames to cook. Rosie poured them all some coffee and sat down next to her father to drink it.
Her presence beside him stirred Edward, who had been lost in his thoughts, and he looked at Adam. “What made ya come back?” The short rest had brought back some strength to his voice.
“Rosie sent for me.” Adam smiled at the young woman. “She was worried about you.”
“She shouldn’t ‘ave bothered you.” Edward looked at his daughter, and told her seriously, “You shouldn’t ‘ave involved a stranger in our troubles.”
“I hope that you don’t consider me a stranger,” Adam declared. “She knew I was a friend of yours, and she had every right to ask for my help, and I’m glad she did.” Adam turned the rabbit slowly over the fire as he spoke. “So, do you want to tell me about it?”
When Edward did not speak, Rosie put her arm round his shoulders. “Daddy, I was worried. Something was happening, but I wasn’t sure what, or why. I couldn’t ignore it.”
Edward reached up and patted her hand as he smiled at her. “I s’pose yer right.”
Adam glanced at the pair, then turned back to concentrate on his cooking. “Meeting Jason today was not a pleasant experience.” He checked the rabbit and waited, but received no comment from his companions. “I’ll tell you what I think, then if you tell me I’m wrong, I’ll take you both back,” he said, looking at Edward. “Is it a deal?” Edward glanced up, and Adam was surprised to see fear in his eyes; the Edward Mulherne he had come to know did not seem to be afraid of anything. “I think that in the conversations you had with Rosie you mentioned that you had made a lot of money, and it, and the business, would go to her if anything happened to you. Wyatt took this information, and decided to speed that process.” Edward did not contradict him, so Adam continued. “Have you thought what would happen then? Once Rosie has the money, her life is in danger as well.”
Edward sighed. “I know,” he answered, his voice subdued as though he did not want Rosie to hear, and Adam suddenly realised what it was the man was afraid of; he was scared for his daughter, not himself. After a long silence, Mulherne spoke. “What happens when we get to the Ponderosa?”
Adam decided that the rabbit was cooked,
and pulled pieces off and handed them to Rosie and Edward. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but it will
give you time to think about what you want to do. I would suggest that the safest place for
both of you would be back in
They all ate the meat, at the same time digesting the enormity of Adam’s suggestion. Once they had finished, Adam left Edward and Rosie clearing the camp while he went to get the horses. He was about to replace his rifle in its scabbard, when he heard the deafening sound of a shot close by. He raced into the camp, sliding to a halt on the loose covering of pine needles, shocked to see Jason walking out of the trees and aiming a rifle squarely at Rosie, who was crouched over the motionless figure of her father. Adam took only a second to assess what he saw, then raised his own rifle as Jason heard his arrival and turned towards him.
“Drop the gun,” Adam ordered.
Jason hesitated, but seeing again the determined stare that he remembered from their encounter in the barn, he pursed his lips and threw the rifle down angrily. Adam went slowly towards Rosie, all the while keeping his eyes on Wyatt. As he reached the woman, he glanced down at her. “How is…?”
Before he could finish the sentence, Jason leaped on him. Adam remained on his feet but was forced to drop the rifle as he swung at Wyatt, connecting with his chin and knocking him to the ground. Hearing the scuffle, Rosie looked up, and was surprised to see the small clearing filling with men. She shouted a warning, but Adam was concentrating on picking up his rifle and only had time to register that she had spoken before he felt a crushing blow to the back of his head, and dropped like a stone as he instantly lost consciousness.
When Adam’s senses gradually returned he rolled onto his back and lay staring at the sky, waiting for the world to come into focus. He turned his head carefully, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw Rosie on her knees, her father’s head resting on her lap. Edward was speaking, but so quietly that only she could hear the whispered words, then his head fell to one side and Rosie stared across at Adam. He could see that her cheeks were marked by streaks of tears as she looked again at her father, whose eyes stared sightlessly at the darkening forest, and Adam recognised the stillness of death.
“All right, on your feet.” Adam heard the words and turned his attention from the sad tableau to the man speaking, who was pointing a gun squarely at his chest. He struggled to stand, frowning as the pain in his head threatened to overwhelm him. As he made it to his feet, Adam studied the stranger in front of him; apart from the addition of a bushy, drooping moustache, he was an older version of Jason. If Adam had any doubt about the identity of the man before him, it was banished by the silver star on his grey shirt, which marked him as a deputy sheriff; this had to be Jason’s brother, Frank. “Take off your gun belt, slowly,” the deputy ordered.
Adam looked from Frank’s sneering face to the rifle in his hands, and shrugged. He bent down to release the thong round his thigh, then straightened and released the buckle, holding it as he let the rest of the belt drop. Adam was ready to jump the deputy when he took the belt from him, but Frank was too careful.
“Drop it,” he ordered. As Adam let the belt fall to the ground, Frank jerked the rifle up, indicating that he should back off.
Adam started to walk backwards, but after two small paces he stopped and tensed as he felt a gun pressing into his back. He looked over his shoulder and saw a big man standing close behind him, and another man, smaller, further away.
“Well done, deputy,” the bigger man said. “You was right to be worried. Shame we were too late to stop him killing the old man.” As he spoke he pushed his gun harder into Adam’s back, and snarled in his ear. “Hangin’s too good for the likes of you.”
Adam rounded on the man. “I didn’t kill him, it was…” Before he could finish, Frank’s rifle struck him in the back and he fell to his knees.
“Shut up.” Frank pushed the barrel of the rifle into the back of Adam’s neck, and he shivered involuntarily at the touch of the cold metal. Frank noticed and mistook the reaction for fear. He smiled. “One more word from you and you’re dead, understand?” The rifle did not move as Frank ordered the men to find a rope, and soon Adam’s hands were tied securely behind his back.
Jason was slowly climbing to his feet, rubbing at his chin. He decided that it was time for him to act the aggrieved husband and son-in-law, and he approached Adam, who was still on his knees. He grabbed a tight handful of black hair and pulled backwards, until Adam was looking up at him through narrowed eyes.
“You killed my wife’s
“Rosie knows I…” Adam started to say, but was again silenced, this time by Jason landing a fist on his jaw, sending him crashing sideways. As Adam lay on the ground he could see the big man standing behind the deputy, smiling, and knew he would afford no protection from the Wyatt brothers and their scheming. But as Jason leaned down and lifted Adam by his shirt front, about to hit him again, the smaller man of the posse put out a hand and grabbed his raised fist.
“That’s enough,” he ordered quietly, but his voice was strong and Jason let his hand drop. “Don’t hit him again.” Adam thought that he had found an ally, but the man’s next words showed that he was wrong. “We don’t want him showing up in court too battered, the judge might take pity on him.”
Jason pushed Adam down onto the ground as he released his grip. He turned away, crossed the camp and roughly took hold of Rosie’s arm, pulling her away from Edward and onto her feet. She resisted, shouting at him to let her go and tugging her arm to get it out of her husband’s grip, but when Jason hit her across the face with his open hand, Rosie stopped struggling. The men around the camp watched, but said nothing; a wronged husband was allowed a show of anger. Adam saw Rosie’s face become a stony, defiant mask as she let Jason put her on her horse. Once she was mounted, the deputy turned to Adam.
“Okay, you next.”
Adam got slowly to his feet and walked towards Sport. Resistance was useless in the face of the guns aimed at him and, with help, he mounted.
Frank came up beside him. “I don’t want to hear a word outta you. If you give us any trouble, you won’t live long enough to stand trial.” When the rifle was pushed forcefully under Adam’s chin for emphasis, his eyes narrowed in anger and he clamped his mouth shut.
The deputy went back to pick up Adam’s discarded rifle, turning his back on the other men as he examined the weapon. His brows rose as he smelled the barrel, and he smiled, but his face was serious when he turned back and called to the men of the posse. “This gun’s been fired.” The two men took turns to verify the evidence for themselves as Frank returned to Adam. “So it must o’ been you who shot the old man.”
Adam was about to explain the he had been hunting, but again he felt the rifle under his jaw and he stayed quiet. Frank nodded. “That’s good, keeping your mouth shut like I told ya. You’ll have your day in court – before they hang you.” He laughed inwardly as he walked towards his own mount; this had turned out better than they had planned.
It was evening as they rode into Floriston. People turned to stare at the procession making its way slowly down the main street, and Adam could feel their eyes on him. He knew they were jumping to conclusions about what they were seeing; the posse returning with a body, and a prisoner – a murderer caught and being delivered to justice. He felt acutely uncomfortable as the centre of so much attention; he was being brought in like a common criminal, his hands tied, his horse being led, and he stared straight ahead longing for the ride to be over, even though it was going to end with him in jail.
Frank pulled up and drew his gun. “Get down.”
Adam managed to dismount with help from Jason, but as he was pushed towards the jail he turned, anger at his situation showing on his face.
Jason sneered. “Go on then, try it.” He pulled his gun from its holster and Adam stopped, knowing they were just looking for an excuse to shoot him. He became aware of the small crowd that had gathered and he started up the steps, anxious to get away from the watching eyes; some curious, some pitying and some downright hostile. He followed Frank into the front office, where the deputy collected the keys from the desk, and then went through the double doors that led to the back of the jail. He walked past the first of the empty cells, and opened the one that was furthest from the doors.
“In there.” Once Adam was safely locked up, Frank told him to turn round and come close to the bars, so that he could untie the rope that bound his hands.
“You don’t think you can get away with this, do you?” said Adam, as he rubbed at his wrists.
“Can’t see why we wouldn’t. We got a witness who saw you do it.”
Adam frowned. “Who?”
“Rosie. She’ll do anything that Jason tells her. She’s scared of him, and rightly so.”
“But no one’s going to believe that I would shoot Mulherne, what reason would I have?” Adam protested.
“You was in love with his daughter and knew all about the money that was comin’ to her, and had persuaded her to run away with you. Her old man didn’t like that, so he followed you and tried to stop you, and you shot him.” Once started on relating the story, Frank was happy to fill Adam in on the details of the evidence they would produce in court. “Jason’ll tell the Judge that he caught you in the barn with Rosie in your arms, and that you attacked him and then made off with her.”
Adam wondered just how much Frank would tell him, and if he would let slip anything that would help his defence. “How are you going to explain Jason being in the clearing ahead of the posse?”
“He was so upset at you takin’ Rosie, he wouldn’t wait for the posse. Rode out ahead of us, but seems he got there just too late to stop you.”
“You took a risk didn’t you? Suppose you’d caught up with him?”
Frank laughed. “I ain’t that stupid,” he sneered. “I made sure we didn’t go too fast. Once I heard the shot I knew we was okay. Course, your rifle being fired was an unexpected bonus, and that’ll be all it takes to hang you.” Frank smiled as he saw Adam realise how the evidence was stacked against him. “Now, you sit quiet like, the circuit Judge’ll be here in a week and we can get this over with.” Frank walked away, closing the doors behind him. Adam could hear laughter from the office, and he kicked the bunk in frustration.
The cell was small and dark, the only light coming through an unglazed window set high in the outside wall. Adam sat on the single bunk in his prison, his elbows on his knees, and he hung his head as dark, despondent thoughts filled his mind. He guiltily remembered his feelings towards Rosie as he stood in the barn, and the memory did nothing to help him think clearly. He could well have run off with her at that moment.
He shook himself to clear his thoughts, he had to concentrate on the present problem. He went over what Frank had told him, but could find no flaw in their plan. He might be able to persuade the court that he had been hunting with his rifle, and that he had enough money of his own and was not interested in Rosie’s inheritance. But if they asked him under oath if Jason had found Rosie in his arms, he could only answer ‘yes’, and that single word could hang him. Would Rosie lie to protect her father’s murderer, and how was he going to get word to his own father about what had happened? It could be that the first Ben would know about it was when his son’s body was sent home. Adam sighed hopelessly. Unless he could contact the outside world, there was no one to help him, and he couldn’t at that moment see a way out. He stretched out on the bunk, and it was nearly dawn before he fell into a fitful sleep.
When Frank brought him breakfast, Adam told him that he wanted a lawyer. He did not think that it would do much good, but if the deputy could be persuaded, at least it would enable him to get in touch with his father. To Adam’s surprise, Frank agreed without argument, and an hour later reappeared followed by a tall, elderly, bearded man whose clothes had seen better days; frayed cuffs on the jacket of his suit, and stained pants that were an inch too short.
“Here’s yer man, his name’s Solomon, but it don’t exactly fit,” Frank laughed, as he backed out of the doors.
Adam frowned at Frank’s remark but his spirits rose as he thought that now he would have an ally who could contact his father for him, and he addressed his would-be lawyer through the bars. “My name’s Adam Cartwright, and I think I need your help.”
The man cupped a hand to one ear. “Eh?”
Adam spoke louder. “I need your help!”
“Sorry son, you’ll have to speak up.” Solomon’s voice was rough, reflecting his age. “Cain’t hear a word you’re sayin’.”
Adam sighed, then called out to Frank. “Sheriff…sheriff!” Frank put his head round the door. “I need some paper, and something to write with,” Adam told him.
Frank smiled slyly, and came back with paper and pencil. Adam wrote a few words and handed the message to the old man, who looked at it, then at Adam.
“Son, I ain’t never learnt readin’.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, then he called again to Frank.
“What is it?” Beneath the bushy moustache the deputy was already smiling, as he approached the cell.
“This man’s not a lawyer, he can’t even read!” Adam shouted.
“I know that.” Frank’s smile disappeared as took Solomon’s arm and, after handing him a dollar, pushed him through the doors, then he faced Adam with a sneer. “You didn’t think I was really goin’ to get you one, did you? Just wanted you to know that you’ll get what I give you.”
“And what happens when I tell the Judge that you refuse