Brothers of the Washoe

by

Janice Sagraves

I wanted to tell the story of the relationship between Adam and Chief Winnemucca’s son Young Wolf and how it began and got to where it was in the episode “Paiute War”. And since Adam grew up around the Paiutes I thought I should show him speaking their language so all dialogue in BOLD indicates that they are speaking in the Paiute language. Some of this story and many of the characters aren’t mine and no infringement was intended, I’m simply paying homage to one of my favorite episodes.

ONE

The first thing Adam Cartwright became aware of was the throbbing behind his eyes. As the fog shrouding his vision began to dissipate he realized that he was on his stomach with his long arms tied behind his back. The rawhide bit into his wrists as he tried working his hands.

As memory began to return he remembered being with his father and Major Ormsby at Sharp’s Peak – meeting with Chief Winnemucca and the other tribal elders. The Paiute’s were being accused of the massacre at Wilson Station and in Sun Canyon, of which Adam knew them to be innocent. He knew Mike Wilson was lying when he said they did it to cover his own guilt in the mistreatment of two Bannock women, which started the whole mess.

Quickly a party of miners, led by Ormsby, had been formed to go after the Piautes. Bill Stewart, attorney and prominent citizen of Virginia City, had tried talking to them, but to no avail. When they insisted on making the Paiutes pay Adam and his father had gone along to do what they could.

A parlay had been called to try to get things straightened out before the situation escalated into something no one could handle. But someone had fired a shot and a spate of chaotic gunfire had broken loose. He and Pa and Chief Winnemucca were trying to stop it when a crashing blow came to his head and darkness enveloped him.

He struggled to raise enough to he see his surroundings. A bear skin was underneath him and the smell of deer tallow filled his nostrils. One good look around told him that he was in a tepee – the Paiutes had him.

A flurry of activity outside made him look to the door opening. He winced involuntarily at the fury and hatred in Young Wolf’s face as he came through the tent flap. Dark hazel eyes met with piercing black ones, and Adam gulped hard. He’d never wanted to believe that his friend could kill him, but now he had no choice.

vvvvvvv

The black-haired, eight-year-old sat in the saddle like a man thrice his age. Adam Cartwright had an uncanny ability with horses that was noticed early on. He seemed to become one with the animal and to have the capacity to anticipate. But even the best and most savvy riders could be caught off guard, especially at such a tender age.

Adam had the annoying habit of just taking off when things began closing in on him and he needed to think. A solitary boy who had grown up hard on the way out west and seen the only mother he’d ever known die in front of him, Adam sometimes just needed to distance himself from the company of others. The gentle nurturing of a mother had been devoid from most of his young life and it showed in a sometimes aloof attitude.

He loved his father and two-year-old brother Erik dearly, and felt it his duty to protect the baby, and he certainly wasn’t averse to hard work – holding his own out on the range like a man grown. But the call to be alone could be strong. And the very nature of the life he led and the country he lived in made it imperative that it be answered.

Little Bit, the small, easy-going bay mare his father had given him to ride wasn’t under Adam this day. Dynamite, a big sabino roan with a disposition to match his name, was his mount of choice. The fact that the horse was difficult to manage and Ben had forbidden his son to go near the creature made him perfect for these moods.

Adam reined in as Dynamite crested the bluff, champing and tugging at his bit. His temperament seemed particularly vile today and it only served to agitate the boy more.

“Stop behaving like a baby,” he said tartly, his hand coming down sharply against the horse’s neck.

Dynamite snorted and stamped his fore feet, but Adam’s tight control kept him in check, if only barely.

“One of these day’s Pa’s gonna sell you. And I’m gonna let him.”

He jerked back on the animal’s head and dug his heels into its white belly. Blowing hard, the horse made a concerted effort to bite the unrelenting rider, but it was met by a strong hand and a stronger will.

Dynamite wheeled and headed back down the way they’d come, his mane stinging Adam’s face as he leaned forward. They were about half way when the warning rattle came too quickly for the boy to react. But the horse did react and reared with a shrill whinny, his front hooves pawing the air.

Before he could do anything about it, Adam toppled back over the horse’s rump and hit the ground with a grunt. Divested of the annoying weight in the saddle Dynamite ran on unhindered.

Cussing out loud, something Pa would never condone, Adam threw a handful of dirt in the direction of the retreating horse. “Big coward!” he shouted. But any further taunts were immediately forgotten as he saw the snake mere inches from his right leg.

Maybe if he didn’t move it wouldn’t strike. He tried not to breathe hard or do anything that could startle it or cause it to feel threatened. Sweat beaded on his face and ran down between his shoulder blades. He wanted to run, but he knew better than to even budge.

For almost a full minute both were perfectly still and Adam remained tense. Why didn’t it just go on? Maybe if he closed his eyes – if it didn’t see him looking at it?

His heavy lids had no sooner slid down when a sharp, burning ran through the calf of his leg. His muscles tightened and his arms dropped to his sides with a cry more of surprise as his eyes flew open.

His hand landed onto a large rock. More on instinct than anything he raised and brought it down on the snake – nearly cutting it in two – before it could bite again.

Adam fell back against the ground, sick with pain and fear. His heart raced and his frantic mind tried to sort things out. What had Pa always taught him to do in case of snake bite? First, don’t panic, that could get you killed. Second, what? His jackknife, the one Pa always insisted he carry for just such a case as this. He scrounged into the back pocket of his britches where he always kept it but it wasn’t there, so he tried the other – no knife. He tried every pocket that was left, but still no knife. Somehow he’d lost it, probably when he was thrown.

As he lay there staring up, trying to come to a solution to his problem he thought he heard voices – low and muted. He tried to call out but numbness was spreading through him.

Then something blotted out the sky – a face, a man’s strong dark face surrounded by long, black hair. His intense brown eyes looked down at the dying child, but something in them seemed to calm Adam’s raging fright. He spoke back over his shoulder and a boy of about nine came to stand next to him. He was as dark with the same long black hair, and a light shone in his keen young eyes.

Something in Adam’s confused mind told him that these two must be Paiutes. He tried to talk again, but no sound came. He watched as the man took out a large bladed knife, but Adam seemed to sense that no harm was meant.

The boy knelt by Adam and held his shoulders down, saying something he didn’t understand.

Adam’s leg felt so funny, he felt so funny. Then a sharp pain cut through the numb, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out, red rimming his teeth. His fingers dug into the dirt as the clouds and trees swirled into darkness.

“Is he dead, Father?” Young Wolf asked.

Winnemucca reached out and placed his hand against the unconscious boy’s chest. “No, son, he is not dead. But the snake’s poison is trying to take his life as we speak.”

“Did you see how brave he was? Not once did he cry out. And there was no fear in his eyes – I would have seen it,” Young Wolf said, as if mystified that a white boy could have such courage.

“Yes, son, I saw. Now go get the horses.”

“Yes, Father,” Young Wolf said then ran down the hill.

Winnemucca sucked out the poison and spat it away. He wiped the blood from his mouth then gathered the boy into his muscular arms. As he stood the child’s head fell trustingly against his shoulder.

He had seen this boy before; he belonged to the big, dark-haired man that lived in the small log house some distance inland from Washoe Lake. He would want his son returned safely to him as any man would. But Winnemucca also knew that many white men didn’t trust the Paiute, some even liked killing them. Still, he had to find a way to get this man’s son back to him.

Ben Cartwright came briskly out of the house and headed for the horse tied at the hitch rail. “When I find that boy we’re going to have a necessary talk he’ll never forget,” he grumbled to himself.

Adam had ridden off alone again without telling anyone. And on that murderous beast that he had been forbidden to go near. The animal had returned riderless about fifteen minutes ago – nearly sending Ben into frenzy.

Ben stuffed the provisions into the saddle bag then jerked the cinch around his horse’s belly. “Elizabeth, I wish you were here to put some sense into our son’s head.”

Mrs. Jordan would watch after the baby while he was gone. But he had no idea how long that would be. Adam could be anywhere, probably fuming and calling himself and the horse every bad name he could think of. Ben wouldn’t allow himself to say out loud what he already feared.

Ben turned to untie the reins and stopped dead – he was no longer alone. He hadn’t even heard them come into the yard – a strongly-built man and a fierce-looking boy on horseback. He knew they were Piaute.

His breath caught and a chill ran along his spine – the man held his unconscious son. Ben became very aware of the gun on his hip, if shooting started one or both of the boys could be killed. And he had no reason to believe that any malice was intended. They were taking their lives into their own hands by coming into a white man’s settlement.

Gingerly and one-handed – his eyes never wavering – Ben unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop. He removed the knife with two fingers from its sheath and let it drop as well.

Slowly, his hands in plain sight, Ben walked over to the pony the man sat astride. Ever so gently, his son was handed down to him. As their eyes locked together, something passed between fathers, and an understanding was born.

Without a word the two turned their horses and left as silently as they had come, fading into the trees.

Ben looked down at his son, so pale in his arms. His heart threatened to come up into his throat and suffocate him. Then, clutching the child to his chest, he rushed for the house.

“Mrs. Jordan!”

TWO

Adam watched as his father and little brother rode away. They had met with Chief Winnemucca and Young Wolf and a party of warriors at Truckee Rock. And it had been laid out plain for Ben that if he didn’t stop the California Militia that was coming to punish the Piautes – his son would die.

Adam knew that his father would try to get the Bannocks – the ones responsible for the attacks the Piautes were blamed for – to tell the truth, and in time. He also knew what would happen if he didn’t.

Winnemucca had always been a man true to his word. And when he said Ben’s oldest son would be killed, he meant it. And Young Wolf seemed more than eager to carry it out.

There was a tug at Adam’s arms as the brave holding the buckskin thong tied to his wrists urged his horse on. With a last glance at his departing family Adam followed. As he did he caught the glare of Young Wolf.

Young Wolf removed his knife from its sheath and turned it in the air so that the sun glinted on its deadly blade. He was reminding his once friend of what could happen to him.

Adam looked away and walked on. He didn’t need any reminders. He was all too aware of what his fate would be, and his throat tightened from it.

vvvvvvv

The two boys were striking. One lived in the world of the white man, the other in that of the Piaute. But Adam Cartwright would have been as comfortable to live like his friend. To put the boy in buckskins and moccasins and let his ebony hair grow, no one would have ever been the wiser.

Young Wolf, a year older than Adam, had just had his twelfth birthday. Ben Cartwright, on one of his many visits to the tribe, had given him a knife, and the boy was eager to try it out.

While their fathers and the elders visited and talked the boys had mounted up and ridden off as they always did. Adam’s horse, a little red-and-white pinto that Winnemucca had given him for his last birthday, had only a blanket. Adam had learned that he liked the feel of the animal’s bare back beneath him. He could feel its muscles and get a sense of their power.

Young Wolf had noticed that his friend was quiet and sullen and when he did talk it was clipped and succinct. Young Wolf knew something was bothering him and he was determined to find out what it was. But he would let Adam talk as he wanted.

They stopped their ponies along a small stream and slid down. As the horses drank the two youngsters went to its edge. Adam stooped, and he scooped up a handful of small pebbles and began skipping them aimlessly across the water.

“What is troubling you, my friend? And do not try to tell me it is nothing, I know you too well,” Young Wolf said as he looked out across the land of his home.

Adam had learned the language of his friend’s people and had proved very adept and quick at it. “My father has taken another wife, and I do not know how I should feel.”

“Is she a bad woman? Do you hate her?” Young Wolf asked.

“It has only been a short time, and I do not think I hate her,” Adam said as he concentrated on the rocks in his hand.

“Believe me,” Young Wolf hid his amusement, “you would know if you did.”

“She seems to love my father and my brother, and I think she loves me but…” Adam skipped the rest of the stones all at once and stood.

“You cannot be sure,” Young Wolf said with a tilt of his head. “But can anyone be sure of anything?”

Adam turned around and his bright eyes caught in the afternoon light. “I can be sure that we are friends.”

As if on cue Young Wolf took out his new knife. “We are not only friends – we are brothers. And brothers should have the same blood.”

Adam knew what his friend had in mind to do and it didn’t frighten him. Pain had always been such an integral part of his life that this held no fear for him. And it would be an honor to share blood with Young Wolf. Without the slightest hesitation he thrust his left hand out.

His eyes on his work, Young Wolf drew the knife’s keen blade across Adam’s palm – leaving a bright red wake – then his own. The boys clasped their hands together, allowing their blood to mingle and looked into each others eyes.

“Now and for always Adam Cartwright will be my brother.”

“Now and for always Young Wolf will by my brother.”

THREE

Adam sat with his back to the tent pole his arms tied securely around it. He could still feel the cold steel blade of Young Wolf’s knife pressed against his throat. The soldiers were coming, and his friend wanted to kill him – would have liked nothing better than to let him bleed to death in the dirt. But Winnemucca had interceded on his behalf, at least for now. The Army – led by Major Charles Hungerford, a seasoned Indian fighter – had not yet arrived, so for now he was safe.

As he’d been about to leave Young Wolf had turned back to him and asked if he remembered the knife. “I remember. My father gave it to you,” Adam had answered.

“Yes,” Young Wolf snarled, “I go now to return it to him.” Then he went out.

Adam knew that the young warrior planned on ‘returning’ it to his father in the body of his son. He cringed and tried to put away the vision of the black hatred on his friend’s face. But the image was vivid, and he couldn’t shake it.

Then the parting words Chief Winnemucca had said to him returned. “I am sorry for you Adam Cartwright, for you are a friend, and the son of a friend. But the first shot fired by the California Army will be a signal to my son, and you will die. And even as you die it will be as if a part of me that dies with you.”

Adam ducked his head and closed his eyes as he tried to comprehend what was happening to him. He, like the Piautes, was caught up in something that wasn’t of his doing. He was simply a bargaining chip to try to stop it. But before it was over he feared they were all going to suffer – some more than others.

He began working his hands again in an effort to loosen his bonds, and wondered how much time he had left – they all had left.

vvvvvvv

Twelve-year-old Adam Cartwright stood on the bank of their stream. It had become his and Young Wolf’s secret meeting place. When they were troubled or frightened or angry or just needed to be alone, they came here.

Young Wolf had an almost supernatural knack for knowing when his friend didn’t want to be bothered and when he had come to talk. Today he knew it was the latter as he slid from his pony and emerged from the shadows.

Adam knew he was there though Young Wolf moved like a ghost and just as silently. His father had often commented that he was as much Piaute as his friend, but it was a distinction that Adam wore with pride.

As Young Wolf slipped up behind him Adam whirled and grabbed his wrist as he reached out.

Young Wolf grinned approvingly. “You are getting harder to sneak up on.”

“You have taught me well,” Adam said. But then uncertainty crept over his face as he sat down on the bank.

Young Wolf sat alongside and watched him closely, but said nothing. He would let Adam decide when it was time to speak.

Adam began absentmindedly toying with a blade of grass he had plucked. “The baby came yesterday. Pa and Marie named him Joseph.” His black brows furrowed in.

“You have another brother. And this saddens you? I have only a baby sister.”

“And Saratucci is very pretty.”

“Yes, and I would die to protect her, but it is not the same as having brothers.” Young Wolf eyed him as a hawk would. “But that is not what troubles you.”

Adam shook his head. “I just cannot feel the way about Marie like my father wants me to. She is his wife; not my mother.”

“And was not the one called Inger not your mother? Yet you did love her; you told me you did. Did you lie?”

Adam had always thought it was different, but hearing Young Wolf say it made him realize that it wasn’t. Inger had been Erik’s mother, but she had been his too, for he knew she loved him. So why should it be any different with Marie? It would be wrong of him not to give her a chance too.

Adam looked at his friend and smiled. “It is good to have such a wise friend.”

Young Wolf laughed heartily, something that didn’t happen often. “And it is good to be such a liar.”

Adam held out his left hand and Young Wolf took it in his firm clasp.

“How could I have forgotten?” Young Wolf said, his onyx eyes dancing. “I do have a brother.”

FOUR

Adam and Young Wolf stood back in some brush. The other end of the long strip of buckskin that tied his wrists behind his back was in Young Wolf’s hand.

Chief Winnemucca, the elders and many warriors waited in the surrounding canyon for the California Army. It looked as if Adam and the Paiutes were very nearly out of time.

Young Wolf started off at a lope, tugging the buckskin and compelling Adam to follow. He hunkered down behind a cluster of rocks in the middle of the pass while Young Wolf stood on the higher one – his aggressive eyes watching.

Adam could hear the rattle of accoutrements and loud commanding voices. The Militia was coming. Time seemed to drag on endlessly until he saw them come into sight. Some were mounted, but most were on foot.

Winnemucca and the warriors took cover behind rocks and on ledges, and Young Wolf came down behind the rock in front of Adam.

“There are many,” Young Wolf said as the line of blue uniforms drew steadily closer.

“I told you there would be,” Adam said trying to stave off a cold sense of dread.

Young Wolf looked around at him, the same loathing burning intensely in his face. “Many eyes to see you die,” he said remorselessly then turned away.

Adam flinched more inside than could be seen. He was never surer that Young Wolf fully intended to go through with it. He brought his attention from what was before him and began concentrating on loosening his bonds.

This was his last chance and if he failed it would be as Winnemucca had told his father at Truckee Rock. He would have only two sons.

vvvvvvv

A light skiff of snow covered the ground as eighteen-year-old Adam stood on the bank of the frozen stream, waiting for his friend to come. He brought the coat collar up around his ears and tugged his hat down.

It had not been a good year to the blood brothers.

Four months earlier in July, Marie, Adam’s mother, had been killed in a riding accident. She had always ridden too fast and hard, and he feared for her safety. Both he and Pa had tried talking to her, but she would cheerfully brush them off for worrying too much. Adam would never forget the horse rolling over on her as it fell – of running into the yard with Pa. Doc Martin had been called, but there was nothing he could do. And that night they lost her.

Now word had gotten back to him that Pale Moon, the young woman that was to be Young Wolf’s bride, had died of a fever. A beautiful girl, Adam had thought her the perfect match for his friend. Betrothed as children they had grown up together and drawn closer. Adam could see that they loved each other deeply. Pale Moon had always been able to handle Young Wolf’s many moods and Adam knew that she would make the ideal wife for him.

But this morning while checking on the herd in the East range, Taukqua, a Paiute that worked for them, had come to him and told him what had happened.

Young Wolf had been there for him when Marie died and now Adam wanted to do the same for his friend.

Adam waited for over two hours – there were words that he needed to say to help him over the hurt as he had done for Adam through the summer. But Young Wolf never came.

The sun burned orange and the glow turned the snow almost coral when Adam slipped his foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. He would try again tomorrow, though he didn’t expect much.

After one last look about him, Adam brought the big dun’s head around and started back home. The pain he felt for his friend was amplified by his own grief for Marie and Pale Moon. But there was nothing he could do if Young Wolf wouldn’t let him.

FIVE

Adam’s right hand jerked free – it felt good to get the leather off of his chafed wrist. Now maybe he had a chance.

With a hand gesture from Winnemucca, Young Wolf came around and crouched down in front of him. “Stand on the rock.”

Adam’s fist bunched and he drove it into Young Wolf’s face, knocking him back.

Instantly on his feet Adam took off running, working the binding from his other wrist as he went. His long legs drove him on because his very life depended on it. His arms flayed the air, and his heart pounded in his ears. He knew Young Wolf was after him and that maybe the only real advantage he had was fear. But he also knew that Young Wolf’s hate was equally as strong and drove him just as hard.

Adam ran down a slope past a large boulder and into the clear. He had to get to the militia, try and warn them off before any shooting started. And he had to stay ahead of Young Wolf.

He soon came to a small rise near where the soldiers were coming – if he could make it there they would be able to see him.

Without any thought for his own safety at the moment he ran until he came to its summit.

“Go back! Go back! Don’t shoot!” he shouted waving them off. “Don’t fire!”

He didn’t see Young Wolf run up behind him – about to bring the knife down on him.

Then a pistol shot rang in his ears.

vvvvvvv

Adam had been away at college in Boston for four years and he hadn’t realized how much he missed family and home. Now at twenty-four, it was time for him to take more responsibility in the running of the ranch.

But first he had something that needed taking care of. He’d been back for almost three weeks now and had yet to see Young Wolf. He’d gone to their ‘secret place’ five times but always left without seeing him. Which didn’t completely surprise him, the relationship between them had become strained before he left, and he feared the separation had only broadened the rift.

Young Wolf had always been fairly somber and brooding, but after the death of Pale Moon he had become even more so. Without her gentle presence he had grown more distant, especially from the white world – most noticeably Adam. He seemed to blame all whites for the actions of some in what befell his people.

Today Adam had decided to give it one more try at the stream and if that came to nothing as before he would go straight to the village.

He rode off on a big four-year-old chestnut that his father had presented him with at his homecoming. Adam had named him Sport, and quickly learned that the animal was both a joy and a challenge.

It was a little after noon when Adam reined in along the stream bank. Taking in his surroundings as he lightly touched down he felt uneasy – as if being watched.

Much of what he had learned from the Paiutes was still with him. His skills and abilities had fascinated and intrigued his Eastern school mates. It became sport to try to sneak up on him and for him to do the same to them; they always failed, he rarely did. Some had taken to calling him “The Cat” because of the stealthy way he could move.

They also noticed how he could hear and see and sense things that they missed.

He ground tied the big chestnut and looked around him. Young Wolf had come, he felt his presence.

“I know you are here, so you might a well come out and talk to me,” Adam said, his eyes scanning ahead of him. “I am not leaving until you do.”

He held his breath and waited for an answer, and it didn’t take long to get one. A knife sliced through the air and embedded itself into a tree only inches from his head. It was hard for Adam not to look at it but he kept his eyes directed forward. He swallowed hard and continued to wait.

Young Wolf seemed to materialize from the trees like a specter, the lines of his face hard and cold. Now Adam would find out if the friendship that existed between them had survived.

“Why did you come here? Why can you not just leave me alone?” Young Wolf’s words were sharp and menacing.

“Because I am your friend.”

“You are no longer my friend. No white man is my friend. They try to destroy my people but my father and the elders cannot see that. But I can!” He thumped his fist hard against his chest. “It was unwise for you to keep trying to see me. Now you have, and I could easily kill you.”

“Is that what you want – to kill me?” Adam’s mouth went dry, but no emotion showed itself in his face. “I thought we were brothers.”

Young Wolf came and pulled his knife from the tree’s trunk. “That was many years ago when were children. But that changed when your people began trying to crush mine,” he said as he held the weapon’s lethal blade close to Adam’s cheek. “Maybe some day I will kill you. But not today if you go now.”

Adam held up his left hand, palm outward. “Then this means nothing to you?”

Something flitted through Young Wolf’s black eyes that Adam thought might be a hint of sorrow until this formidable warrior stepped in front of him and brought the knife close to his face and said, “What would your father do if I sent him your eyes? If you do not go now I will.”

Adam realized there was nothing else he could do. A friendship that had lived since he was eight had died. Nothing had changed as far as he himself was concerned, but Young Wolf could not and would not forgive him for what his people were doing. Even though Adam and his father and brothers and others only wanted to help the Paiute and live in peace with them, Young Wolf saw all whites as the enemy. And that included Adam; no matter what he said.

Adam climbed into the saddle. His and Young Wolf’s eyes met, and he saw only revulsion there – any trace of friendship extinguished. With regret in his heart, he brought Sport’s head around and kicked him into a gallop. He tugged his hat down in front and didn’t look back – he knew it would do no good.

Epilogue

Adam stood with his arms resting against the saddle of the Army horse. His mind still whirled with all that had happened in these two days. He rubbed at the long white scar that ran across the palm of his left hand.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked around into the face of his little brother.

“Are you all right?” Joe asked giving him a squeeze.

“I will be, but it’s going to take time,” he said vacantly, continuing to absentmindedly rub his thumb over the scar. “I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

“We all do,” Joe looked around him. “Adam, he would’ve killed you – he wanted to. If somebody hadn’t fired he would have, and it’d be me an’ Pa grievin’ now.”

“But the price, Joe – the price. If he’d killed me…”

“I don’t think things would’ve been any different, maybe even worse. No one knows and never will.”

Adam shook his head and massaged at his temple. “Major Ormsby, the Wilson’s, twelve settlers, thirty-two miners, fifteen soldiers and no one’s sure yet how many Piautes – dead because one man lied.”

“And your death would’ve only been one more; I don’t think it would’ve changed a thing,” Joe said softly, the corner of his mouth turning. “I’m just glad we didn’t have to find out.”

A sad light shone in Adam’s dark hazel eyes as he smiled forlornly and put his hand against his brother’s neck. “So am I. Come on, let’s go home.”

Joe grinned and gave him a friendly smack on the arm.

Joe swung up onto Cochise as Adam got mounted. They fell in behind their father, who rode behind Major Hungerford.

Hungerford, at the head of the military column, looked right and saluted Chief Winnemucca smartly.

Ben Cartwright and his two sons couldn’t look away as they passed.

Chief Winnemucca and a warrior sang a chant of mourning over the body of Young Wolf. They were oblivious to the soldiers behind them. Winnemucca had lost his son and his grief reached the sky.

Ben glanced behind him and realized how close he’d come to losing his oldest son. Hard as it was for him to face, he knew that if his friend’s son hadn’t died, his own would have. And that was something Ben didn’t even want to think about.

Adam felt empty – he’d lost his friend. But the truth was that he’d lost Young Wolf as a friend a long time ago. This had simply finalized the division between them. He tried to let his mind drift away from the sadness of today to a time far off when friendship was stronger than differences. A time when blood came together and erased the line between white and Piaute. A time when two boys rode the Washoe as brothers.

The End

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