THE GUNFIGHTER
By JULES
This
story is a sequel to False Witness and although it would be possible to read on
it’s own, you will need to know the background about the character Butch Thomas
and how he and the Cartwright family came to know of each other.
I
have changed my mind slightly for this story and it will take place only 3
years after Thomas was sent to prison for the attempted murder and kidnapping
of Little Joe Cartwright. That makes Joe
19 years old for this story and suits the theme of the story a little
better. I was originally going to have
it five years afterwards at the age of 21 years.
Hope
you enjoy this one as much as False Witness:
Three years earlier these few words echoed in Joe
Cartwright’s memory:
“SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK. YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN – I PROMISE”
and now the
story turns another page and continues:
In
the town that Ben and his two boys were headed towards, the only noise that
could be
heard
down the street, was coming from the local saloon. Everyone that was involved had been summoned
there to hear what the next stage of the plan would be.
A
large figure sat at a lone table in the corner of the room, watching the others
he had called here and taking in all of their traits and personalities. He had picked some of the best he could find
for this particular little operation.
But then he had been forced to make up the numbers with a few that he
was not so familiar with.
Striking
a match from the heel of his boot and lighting his cigar, he stood to his feet
and
approached
the bar, ready to address them all.
“Gentlemen,”
he said in a low voice.
Some
of ten men gathered at the bar had turned at the sound of his approaching
footsteps. A quick or sharp nudge with an elbow to, caused the remaining few to
turn and face their employer.
“Nice
little set up you got here, Boss,” one of the men commented, but quickly
retreated back from the group a little at the cold stare he received in return.
“You
all know the reason I have asked you here.
What you may or may not understand is the rules and conditions that I
have imposed,” he began making sure that he had everyone’s full attention.
“The
rules are simple; my rules. If you don’t
like my rules, then leave now.”
Not
one of them moved towards the door that would have allowed them out of the
game.
“Good,
glad we understand one another.”
“When
are they getting here?” came the question from another man in the group.
“They
should be on their way here now. I
expect them to ride into town sometime later
today. When they do, I want you all in your assigned
positions. I don’t want any of
you
going off too early and spooking them before they make the livery stable.”
“When
do you expect this Joe fellow?” came another question.
A
smile formed on the man’s face at the mention of Joe’s name. “Not until I have everything prepared and
ready for him. Once we have the others
in custody, then I will make the arrangements to get him here. Ain’t nothing like a bit of family honour to
make them all fall.”
“I
want each of your names and where you are from so that we know each other
before
the
Cartwrights get here.”
The
men nodded and starting in no particular order, one by one they introduced
themselves.
First,
a man with fancy black boots and a black trim hat stood forward, “Name is
Johnny
Pardon,
but they call me “Ace” because I am the best damn card dealer that ever was.”
A
couple of the other men had snickered openly at the man’s bold statement of
being the
best
card dealer.
“Where
you from ‘Ace’?” one of them asked with sarcasm dripping from his words.
Before
the man could laugh any further, Johnny had produced a stainless steel knife
from
a
hidden sheath in his boot. “From
said
in a threatening voice, holding the blade of the knife precariously at the
other man’s
throat.
After
the tension in the room had subsided a little, then a large black man spoke up
next.
“Walt
Hays, from
ago
when I killed one of the men that stood behind us with a whip.”
The
others in the group nodded their acknowledgement until the next man stepped
forward to introduce himself.
Next,
a man dressed in an army uniform and sash spoke, “Captain Samuel H.C. Wetherspoon.” But he
gave no indication from where he was from or any other information about
himself or his past.
An
man of Indian descent now spoke his name to the group, “People call me Eagle
Claw”
he
said, not offering any further information either. What he and the others failed to notice was
the scowl on the face of Captain Wetherspoon from
behind. The look of loathing and
contempt of all Indian races clearly evident.
A
much smaller man now stepped forward to introduce himself, wearing a large
sombrero
hat
and clothing native to his people. “My
name is Jose Martinez from Mexicana” he
said
in a heavily accented voice. “I am here
to fight for the money you offer.”
Butch
Thomas smiled at the Mexican’s honesty.
At least he knew where they stood. Some of them were here to prove a
point or themselves, others, like Jose, were only motivated by greed and the
promise of a fortune at the end of it all.
Thomas
introduced the next two for them: “These two men are Dusty Slade and Peter
Williams. Both were inmates with me at Yuma State
Prison. They both have killed in the
past
and will do so again, given that they are now wanted fugitives from the law.”
The
next man to introduce himself to the group, was the man Butch Thomas knew the
least about. When he had started hand
picking this group of men, this stranger had approached him, rather than be
asked to fight against the Cartwrights.
“Wilson
Hughes is my name. Until a few days
ago, I was one of the ranch hands on the
Ponderosa
working for those no good, high and mighty Cartwrights,” he said. “That was
until
that young pup Joe Cartwright thought he was better than me with a gun and
forced
me
and two other fellows off the land.”
Out
of any of the men in the group, Hughes was the one with the most recent contact
with any of the Cartwrights. He had even
spoken to Joe Cartwright and seen the kid draw.
He would be most useful indeed, Butch said to himself.
The
only two other men left, were dressed exactly the same as each other, including
boots, hats and long leather coats. They
both chewed a cigar stub on the same side of their mouths and blew two
identical smoke rings into the air before they spoke.
“Names
are Henry Parker and Frank Fulton,” the first of them spoke. We don’t do nothing unless its together. We rely on each other and only each other. That way we live longer and don’t have to
trust anyone but ourselves.”
“Well
gentlemen, that was informative if nothing else,” Butch now remarked, trying to
figure out which of them would cause trouble and which ones would prove a good
enough ally against Joe Cartwright.
“Go
back to your drinks until I tell you its time to get ready.”
“Henry
and Frank, I want you two up on top of the General store roof, covering the
Cartwrights above with rifles.”
“Ace,
I want you in the alley way on this side of the street.”
“Captain,
you have the alley way on the other side of the street.”
“The
rest of you will be with me and given your positions as the time gets closer.
It’s
almost time for the trap to be set and the game to begin.”
And now – the page turns and the
story continues……………
The
remainder of the afternoon went by quite unremarkable for Joe. He had drawn a hot
bath
as he had wanted to and Hop Sing had busily prepared a hearty feast for the two
of
them.
Whilst
indulging in the warm water, Joe had enough time without interruption to think
on a number of events that had panned out in his life over the last few
weeks. In his head he still heard Tom’s
pleas for help, shaking his head full of damp curls in an attempt not to heed
them and fall into depression again.
As
Tom’s voice faded, it was replaced with the images from the cattle drive and
the realisation that he had almost been seriously injured when falling from his
horse. He swallowed, knowing that his
father’s fears had been founded and had been extremely lucky to come out of it
unscathed.
Joe’s
thoughts now drifted back to his desperate run from the herd and his family and
what had transpired in the barn. That
feeling of fear began to creep up his spine and made him involuntarily shiver.
Joe
knew that he wanted to test out his skills about shooting with his left
hand. As the water grew colder and he
wiped his face before getting out, he made more decisive plans about where to
do his practising the next day.
The
evening meal shared with Hop Sing was much quieter than the little Cantonese
man could remember in weeks.
Conversation was kept to a bare minimum, with Hop Sing
doing
most of the talking, and Joe answering out of politeness. His thoughts were currently elsewhere, and
the look on his face distant.
Hop
Sing gently tried to persuade the young man to reveal what was taking all of
his concentration. Just when it looked
as though the questions would remain unanswered still, Joe spoke up about his
plans briefly for the following day.
“I won’t be around the yard much tomorrow, Hop
Sing,” Joe said. He looked up after
speaking and could see the questioning look being returned to him. He had seen it before, usually on the face of
Ben Cartwright when he was being just as vague about his movements.
“I
just have some things to do tomorrow that might take me a little further a
field than usual,” Joe commented, getting up from the table at this point and
taking his mostly untouched plate to the kitchen.
Hop
Sing had known his young charge long enough to know that pressuring him to talk
would only make him put up the defences even higher. He would keep a silent vigil, knowing that
Ben expected it of him while he was away, but also because he cared for
Joe. There was a special place in his
heart for the youngest member of the Cartwright family.
Joe
had carried out his usual pre-bedtime rituals, along with checks of the doors
and windows downstairs to make sure that the house was secure. Hop Sing usually carried out the locking of
the windows and such, but tonight, Joe felt that he needed to prove to himself
that nothing was out of place.
Tiredness
was beginning to take its toll tonight, but that was no certain guarantee that
a restful night was in store. Especially
if his sleep patterns over the last few days were anything to go by. There were a few more lines on his young face
tonight, from lack of sleep most would say.
But perhaps they were also the result of being in a constant state of
alert. His mind continually ticking over and not allowing his body to rest as
it needed.
Joe
sat down on the soft edge of his mattress, listening and realising just how
quiet the house seemed now without the rest of the family present. His thoughts turned to his father and brothers,
wondering how far they had travelled today.
He
couldn’t deny that part of him missed the company, especially at night, when
everything seemed so still. The checkers
board downstairs would be left abandoned tonight and most likely tomorrow. The main fireplace in the living room had
burned down to embers and Joe saw no real reason to place more logs in
there. Joe planned to be away for the
majority of the day tomorrow and Hop Sing rarely spent much time in the main
living room, even when the all the family was at home.
Joe
tried to force his mind to relax and allow sleep to slowly creep into his
body. He lay against the pillows, making
himself as comfortable as possible and hoping to drift off.
Alas,
half an hour later though, it seemed that this night was destined to be plagued
like any other with sleeplessness.
He
tried to clear his mind of thoughts, hoping sleep would eventually come, but
instead he found his mind wondering back over old ground from the last week or
so. Firstly back to the cattle drive
they had recently returned from and the mixed feelings and emotions that had
been suppressed in relation to Tom’s accident and death.
Then
his thoughts turned to his nervousness and apprehension at certain times since
returning to the ranch. Little incidents
that had seen him reveal his vulnerability and fear
for
no reason. In the stall with Cochise, and a number of other times he could recall over
the last two days. Were they all signs
of his tiredness, or something else?
About
Without
warning, he shot upright in bed, almost screaming out loud. The hairs on the back of his neck had stood
up, like he felt the presence of someone else in the room.
“Is
anybody there?”
He
looked around in the darkness, but could see no immediate signs of
anybody. Then he concentrated on what he
thought had awoken him so suddenly. It
wasn’t fear of his own safety that had caused him to startle out of sleep. He had felt fear about the safety of his
father and brothers, but he couldn’t put a finger on why.
It
wasn’t like a nightmare of bad dream where he had seen something to make him
think they were in danger. Joe had
always been told that he and Ben shared some sort of special connection between
each other. That they could sense when
something else was wrong, and that is exactly how he was feeling right now.
What
Joe didn’t know, was that about 8 hours ride away, his father had woken at just
about the same precise moment as he did.
Ben had looked about their camp in confusion, expecting to see someone
else in their small camp site. There
was no one.
Ben
had put it down to an unseen animal make a noise nearby or such, but for the
rest of the night, his sleep too was light and on alert, as though he was
waiting for something to happen. He made no mention of his waking to Adam and
Hoss at breakfast a few hours later.
*************************************************************************************************
Early
the next morning, Joe had shared a sparse breakfast with Hop Sing, again cloaked
in silence for the most part. The small
Cantonese man could see that the youth had slept poorly and suspected that the
issue that was bothering Joe was deeply rooted into his thoughts than perhaps
first assumed.
Hop
Sing cleared the breakfast dishes away, leaving Joe at the table to sip at the
remaining black coffee in his cup. Joe
tried to take his mind off the thoughts and dreams that had prevented him from
sleeping during the night, and instead turned his attentions to the various
items around the room.
His
gaze fell upon the gun cabinet across the room that was mounted on the
wall. It was then, that he put some more
thought into his plans for shooting practice today. He left his
unfinished
cup and got up to walk to the rack.
Joe
opened the glass casing, and paused at each weapon, sizing them up for his
intended purpose. The majority of them
were well crafted rifles that his father had collected over the years, one or
two even given to him as gifts from his three sons.
Joe
pulled one of the rifles from its slot with his right hand and was about to
look it over more closely, when his eyes fell onto another smaller rifle that
lay behind the others. This rifle was
much smaller in size and was not mounted in a slot like the others. He doubted that the length of the rifle would
have allowed it to sit flush like the others, and this was probably the reason
for its current position in the gun rack.
Joe
lowered the first rifle to the floor, leaning the barrel against the wall,
turning his attention to the smaller weapon and taking it out of the
cabinet. Memory took him back to the
first time he had seen this particular rifle and how excited he had been to
hold it. It was his 16th
birthday. Pa had presented it to him in
front of the family, saying it was from everyone. He had never been prouder that day. His first rifle.
It
was Hop Sing walking back into the room that startled Joe from his
memories. “Sorry,”
he
mumbled sheepishly as he fumbled with the weapon in his hand. None of them were loaded. Pa had never allowed them to remain loaded
whilst in the gun cabinet.
“What
Little Joe need gun for?” Hop Sing asked directly, eyeing the weapon and then
the
youth. Even though Joe was now 19 years old, he
didn’t like it.
“I
told Pa I would clean them before he left, Hop Sing,” Joe said, a little truth
to his statement. He had promised his
father to clean the rifles. What he
hadn’t expected was a trip down memory lane upon seeing this particular gun.
Hop
Sing bustled back out of the room, muttering in his own language under his
breath about no good coming to people carrying guns, glancing back at Joe
before he re-entered the kitchen. Joe
had smiled at the little man’s antics, but the quickly faded as other memories
began to invade his subconscious. Some
he had fought to suppress for a long time, and still battled with on occasion,
unbeknown to his family.
These
included the reason that Pa had bought Joe the gun in the first place. At the time, Joe had been turning sixteen and
old enough by anyone’s standards to be begin handling a gun. Most of Joe’s friends had already been
practising with hand guns for a year or more.
Joe
might have been young at the time, but he was not naïve or ignorant to the
emotional turmoil that his family had been forced to endure after the trial at
the courthouse. Some of those days and
what had transpired during them were still part of him, and now matter how much
he tried to deny it.
About
eighteen months earlier, Adam had openly offered to teach Joe with beginning to
use a hand gun. But much to their
surprise, or perhaps their understanding, Joe had flatly refused. At the time he had laughed off the suggestion,
saying that he didn’t need to learn to use a gun yet. Thankfully, his family understood some of the
torment he had gone through and were patient enough to give him enough space to
make his own decisions.
What
Joe’s brother didn’t realise was that he distinctly remembered the cold chill
that travelled down his spine at the thought of a gun in his hand. He knew what one felt like. He knew precisely how it how heavy it had
seemed and how bad his hand had been trembling when he was forced to pull the trigger. He never wanted to experience that again.
Adam
said that the offer remained open whenever Joe was ready to try, and
eventually, Joe had found it necessary to learn about hand guns and their
use. But that had not been until about a
year ago and a half ago when the number of ranch hands was dwindling and Joe
found himself being needed more and more to carry out day to day tasks. Sometimes this involved a gun, for putting a
suffering animal out of its misery and such.
For
the most part, Joe had taught himself. A
little embarrassed to take up Adam’s long overdue offer and because he felt
self-conscience at how bad his hands had shaken for the first few times he
tried. It had taken until the fourth
attempt for him to even be able to hold it without his hand trembling and his
skin breaking out into a cold sweat.
When
Hop Sing returned to the living room, the gun cabinet had been closed, with
only one of the newer rifles being taken by Joe. When Hop Sing looked through the glass, he
saw the older rifle carefully put back in its original position. Somehow he could sense that Joe thought it
best not to disturb old ghosts.
The
sound of hooves in the yard outside, signalled that Joe had ridden away. His destination was not quite clear to Hop
Sing, but Joe had said he would be back before supper time. There were a number of jobs that needed
attending to since Ben and the other boys were away. Joe saw it as his responsibility to carry
them out and pitch in, as though he needed to prove to himself as well as his
family that he could manage when they were away.
Along
a dirt track, Joe raced his pinto, horse and rider becoming one and the wind
blowing into their faces. The trees
beside them and the road underneath went by quickly as they gained speed. Riding like this always made Joe feel on top
of the world. The feelings was so
invigorating and unlike anything else he could describe.
*******************************************************************************************
“How
long do you figure its going to take us to get to this place this morning, Pa?”
Hoss asked as he stirred the coffee pot beside the campfire.
“Shouldn’t
take more than an hour or so, Hoss,” Ben replied as he ate the few last
mouthfuls of breakfast. “I tried to get
as far as we could yesterday before the light faded so we didn’t have to much
farther to travel today. We don’t know
what we are up against here until we talk to the local Sheriff that sent that
message to
“Did
the message say anything else about what to expect in this place?” Adam asked,
not entirely liking the idea of going in to a lawless town without some basic
understanding of what had been happening.
“Nope,
but asked if we could help and quickly,” Ben replied, rinsing off his plates
and packing his bedroom away to recommence the journey. “We had better make a move. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can
see first hand for ourselves what is going on.”
A
few miles away in the town where Butch Thomas has set up his mismatched band,
the men he had staked out the day before were getting restless with the lack of
action. Most of them had been waiting
all night, expecting the Cartwrights to ride in late yesterday.
When
they hadn’t arrived, Thomas had told them to keep their vigilance up in case
the Cartwrights got a little too clever for their own good and made their way
into town without any of them being prepared.
None of them were happy to be spending a night outside in the elements.
Slade
and Williams ended up sneaking in some drinking time and would have been of
little help the night before. Butch had
given them the task of keeping watch from the livery stable, giving them a
comfortable bed of straw to spend the majority of the night. Fulton and Parker were not so fortunate,
still perched up on top of the roof of the General Store.
Johnny
Pardon was still covering the alley way, and would certainly notice any comings
or goings within the main street of town.
Captain
Wetherspoon had deliberately gone out of his way to
steer clear of Walter Hayes, not wanting to associate himself with the
dark-skinned man at all. The fact that
they were in the same town at all was not to the Captain’s general liking and
the sooner this alleged competition was over, the better.
No
one had seen Eagleclaw since they had taken up their
respective posts about the streets, but no doubt, with his Indian background,
he would be able to blend into his surroundings with the ability of not being
seen. He liked being in town even less
than the Captain, but the money Butch Thomas had offered, made them all stay
for now.
“Here
they come,” came a signal from Slade to Johnny Pardon, who in turn, made a
gesture with his hand to the Captain.
The first trap was about to be set.
Word had quickly spread to Butch about the imminent arrival of the
Cartwright family within the town, and he had grinned devilishly that his
carefully laid out plan was about to be put into effect.
On
the outskirts of town, the dust swirled up behind the horse’s hooves as Ben,
Adam and Hoss rode cautiously and slowly into the town. The first thing that struck them was the lack
of action, the second thing, the silence.
The place almost appeared deserted and they had to ask themselves if
they were in the town that
“Seems
awful quiet, Pa,” Hoss finally spoke up as they looked around at the vacant
shops and headed down the main street.
“Yes
it does,” Ben admitted, appearing a little perplexed himself at the scene they
were being greeted with.
“I
thought
“Something
seems odd here, Pa,” Hoss commented as they continued down the street. It almost felt like they were riding into a
ghost town.
“We
had better find the Sheriff’s office and see what all of this nonsense is
about,” Ben said sternly, not liking the idea that they had ridden for over a
day for what was quickly seeming like a wild goose chase.
“There
is the Sheriff’s office over there, Pa,” Adam pointed out, giving his horse a
reassuring pat, but noticing the horse’s heightened sense of alert since riding
in. Buck and Chubb appeared to behaving
the same, as though they sensed someone was about. But as they looked down the street and to
where they had just come from, there was not a soul to be found anywhere.
The
Cartwright’s changed the direction of their horses slightly and rode towards
the hitching rail outside the building that was signed “Sheriff”. It appeared to be as quiet as the rest of
the street and town, causing Ben to frown a little and wonder why they had been
summoned at all to the town. If there
had been any trouble or disturbances to report when Roy Coffee had received the
urgent telegram in
Halting
the horses, Ben remained seated in his saddle for a moment, looking around the
Sheriff’s office and listening for any signs of someone inside. It appeared that there was not and they may
need to find the saloon or other local establishments that might keep the
lawman away from his post.
Dismounting,
the Cartwright’s hitched their horses to the rail. Adam noticed that the horses still appeared
to be alerted to someone’s presence.
“We
can take a quick look inside and then check down the street……………..,” Ben began
to say to Hoss and Adam when the sound of booted footsteps and the jingling of
spurs caused him to stop speaking.
“Don’t
be making any sudden moves now gentlemen,” came the words from the left. Footsteps could be heard coming from the
right of them as well, and now they were being confronted by two men, on either
side of the Sheriff’s office, both brandishing rifles and holding them, ready
to use in an instant.
“What
is the meaning of this,” Ben Cartwright demanded, not appreciating to be asked
for
help
from a strange town and arriving only to have guns pointed at him and his
sons. “We were asked to come here!”
“Right
now all I am concerned about friend is you and your boys there removing them gunbelts and tossing them over here real careful like,”
Frank Fulton said, loading the rifle,
emphasising
that they meant business.
“Who
are you and what do you want?” Adam asked.
“All
in good time, now remove them gunbelts, I won’t ask a
third time,” the gunman warned.
Adam
and Hoss looked towards their father who gave a curt nod to do as they were
being told. All three Cartwrights reached
for the buckles and began to undo them, releasing the pins and allowing the
belts to fall to the ground.
“Now
you just all hold still a minute while my two associates behind you take them
off your hands,”
The
Cartwrights whirled around where they stood, seeing for the first time, two
other men
approaching
them from the other side of the street, both brandishing pistols instead of
rifles.
The
two men on either side of the Sheriff’s office, Hoss noted, looked very similar
in features. They both wore long leather
coats and both had the same make of rifle.
The two men covering them from behind were strangers too, but they were
both different in looks and the way they moved.
“My
associates Johnny “Ace” Pardon,”
“Now,
very slowly, you are all going to begin walking into the Sheriff’s office. And if you even think of trying anything, you
will be cut down before you have a chance to finish the thought,”
Ben
went first, followed by Hoss and then Adam as they formed a single line to walk
up the three or four steps to the Sheriff’s building. The two men with rifles came into full view
and the footsteps from behind told the Cartwrights that the two men behind were
watching their every move.
Henry
Parker moved in front of the Cartwright’s once inside the Sheriff’s building
and opened the door to the jail cells.
There were two cells on the opposite site of the room. One larger than the others. This was the cell that was gestured for the
three of them to walk into together.
The
only window they could see was in the smaller cell. A barred wall separated the two cells. The floor was made of hard concrete and there
was no other furniture within either cell.
At least there was a little more room for them in this larger cell. The other one was empty, but noticeably
smaller in size and they would have been very cramped together in that one.
With
all of them now in the cell and their gunbelts being
collected and tossed in a corner of the jailhouse across the other side of the
room, the cell door was closed with a slam and locked with the keys in Henry
Parkers’ hand.
“Can
you tell us what all this is about. Why
we are being held in these cells like prisoners?” Ben asked, his anger clear,
but not wanting to provoke the men into shooting himself or one of his sons.
“All
in good time, Mr Cartwright. All in good
time,”
Ben
had heard the man call him by his name and began to wonder suspiciously about
just how these men came to know him. It
couldn’t be by pure chance, and doubtful that they had made acquaintance at any
other time that he could recall.
“Who
is the Boss?” Hoss asked his father in whisper, picking up on the topic of
conversation that had been held between the two men.
“I
don’t know Hoss, but I don’t like any of this,” Ben replied, a feeling of dread
beginning to fill his inner core. There
was something not right about this town and what these men were doing. Something just not right…………..
**********************************************************************************************
Up
on a rocky plateau west of the Ponderosa, Joe Cartwright stopped for a few
minutes, blissfully unaware of the fate that had just befallen his father and
brothers. He pulled a water skin from
his saddle bag and after cupping his hand and drinking his fill, poured some
more into his upturned hat, offering it to his horse, Cochise.
“Nice
place up here, hey Cooch!” Joe said to the horse as
he looked about the surroundings. He was
quite pleased with the place that he has chosen to do his shooting
practice. He was miles from anywhere or anyone. The breeze was gentle enough just to ruffle
the curls on his forehead.
On
a bad day, the wind was known to swirl around the bluff with force causing all
sorts of trouble for anyone in this spot.
Today, however, fortune seemed to be on Joe’s side, and there was no sign
of anything more than the gentle breeze from the wind today.
The
breeze would also be kind on Joe’s shooting practice, enabling him to
concentrate on his aim and accuracy rather than wondering if the bullet would
even reach the target if a gust of wind should come along.
Joe
had planned to be here for quite a number of hours, bringing with him enough
water to last several hours for both himself and Cochise. He had also brought some sandwiches Hop Sing
had prepared and some sugar cookies that had been included as well. He had taken about an hour that morning to
gather the supplies and equipment that he would need to complete the practice.
To
the untrained eye they may not have seemed much: a few lengths of rope, a few old grain sacks,
some old tin cans and a couple of glass bottles that he had been able to sneak
out of Hop Sing’s pantry without being noticed.
There
were just too many questions that would need answering if Hop Sing or anybody
else had seen what he was doing. Apart
from trying to prove his independence, he didn’t know if he was ready to answer
all of those questions yet. Some of them
might bring up painful memories.
Leaving
the tin cans and glass bottles in his saddle bags for the time being, Joe went
about setting up the first of his practice targets. Taking the lengths of rope and the grain
sacks and placing them underneath a tree that was in the right position.
Behind
the tree, there was not much until the edge of the bluff. If something went wrong and a bullet did go
astray by accident or by purpose of the wind, there was little chance of it
doing any damage to anyone or anything if Joe fired in that directions.
Placing
the rope and sacks together on the ground, the next thing Joe set about doing
was finding three large size rocks. He
found two that were of a good size, grunting and using his well muscled arms to
pull them in the correct position. There
was enough gap between them to differentiate the targets, but were close enough
in the one area that Joe wouldn’t need to move around a lot to change his aim
too dramatically.
Finding
a third rock proved a little more difficult and Joe found himself becoming a
little frustrated. Eventually he had to
settle on a much smaller sized rock, making it necessary to fold the grain sack
before tying with the length of rope.
Joe took a step back once he had it in place, standing with his hands on
hips and clearly not happy about it. It
may be that he could only use the other two rocks and not three. He would make a final decision once he began
setting up the sights on his rifle.
Once
the grain bags were in place, Joe set about the next task he had set himself,
and that was to place tufts of grass behind the bags. The ropes were not tied too tightly and he was
able to gather enough dry grass from the immediate area for his purposes. The grass would act as a padding in front of
the rock and avoid any chance of a ricochet and the potential for any stray
bullets.
The
grass would also act as a muffler against the noise that the rifle firing would
create. It would absorb the shock and
distribute it over the surface of the rock, preventing any excessive echo out
over the bluff. Although he had taken
all the precautions he could to be out of harms way, his father and brothers
had instructed him well and taught him to respect firearms and what they
represented, rather just being a weapon in someone’s hand.
Joe’s
intentions this day were to practice not just with the rifle he had taken from
the cabinet, but also later with his hand gun.
He would use the tin cans and glass bottles as targets. He didn’t know which would be easier in
trying to teach himself to use his left hand, rifle or pistol, but he needed to
try both and satisfy his own curiosity.
He
had chosen using the rifle first, allowing his right hand to have a little more
to grip onto. The rifle’s longer barrel
would help him keeping it steady when the hand was unused to grasping anything
as accurate as a gun.
Knowing
that he had spent enough time fussing about with rocks and vegetation, Joe knew
that he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. The burning desire in him, fuelled by
curiosity and the past, urged him to face the unknown.
Walking
the necessary distance between himself and the rock targets, Joe turned and
faced the direction in which he would shoot.
He had carried the rifle in his left hand until now, but watched his
hand intently as he swapped the weapon to his unnatural right hand.
The
weight wasn’t uncomfortable, but just like when he had held his pistol in his
right
hand
two days ago in his bedroom, he could sense that it felt different. Not just different,
but
as though he had never fired a rifle before and this was to be his first
attempt.
His
hand did not tremble, but the grip on the rifle was awkward and ungainly. He felt as though he was missing a finger or
that he hand had been badly injured and was still trying to regain its former
strength and mobility.
Joe
raised the rifle and attempted to line up his site towards the target. He was not used to closing his left eye, and
relying on the right for judging accuracy and distance. The index finger on his right hand fumbled
for a moment trying to find the trigger.
Deciding that he had to ignore had different it felt to his normal
grasp, Joe fired the rifle.
The
shot rang out over the bluff, but the projectile did not strike the intended
target, nor any other landmark within the immediate area. Joe didn’t hear it hit anything, but to stop
his frustration of the whole morning mounting, quickly reloaded the chamber,
ready to fire again.
Joe
took a deep breath and adjusted his aim a little and trying to rid his neck of
an invisible twinge that stopped him from relaxing. He fired again………….. This time he saw the bullet strike but
unfortunately it was only the trunk of the tree behind the targets, splinters
of the bark flying off to show where the bullet had impacted.
For
the next forty-five minutes Joe reloaded and fired his rifle many times. With varying degrees of success. Some of the bullets hit the edge of the rock
targets, ricocheting off at an angle and landing quite some distance away. Others had been as inaccurate as the first
two, hitting higher into the tree, or missing all three targets altogether.
By
now, he was close to running out of the supply of ammunition he had brought, so
he put the rifle back in its leather holster on Cochise’s
saddle. After a short spell and cool
drink, he would see if his luck or aim was any better with his hand pistol.
While
he was taking the cool drink, Joe had time to reflect about what his real
reasons for doing this were. He had
tried to convince himself that it was a test.
A personal challenge to see if he could shoot with his unnatural
hand. But the motive behind the need to
know was what he didn’t want to admit, or face.
Out
here in the west, owning a gun and knowing how to use one was almost a
mandatory skill rather than something that was respected and gained over
time. At one time Joe might have seemed
almost impetuous himself to learn how to use a gun. He had often cajoled and pleaded with his
father to let him learn.
All
that had changed in the blink of an eye, and there was a period of time in his
young life a couple of years ago that he didn’t want to handle a gun at
all. Thankfully, Ben, Adam and Hoss had
allowed Joe’s reluctance to fade on its own and let his natural curiosity take
over when he felt ready.
That
had been almost twelve months ago, and since then, Joe had flourished under the
tutorage of his older brother Adam at using a rifle and the encouragement of
his father. Hoss had also taught Joe how
to clean the weapons correctly and how to store them when not being used to
avoid a nasty accident.
It
was about the time that he was reminiscing and thinking back in time that his
father and
brothers
found themselves being forced into a jail cell quite some distance away.
Once
he had seen that Cochise was watered and he had
quenched his own dry throat, Joe went to his saddle bags and pulled out the
bottles and tin cans that he had brought from home.
He
place a glass bottle and a tin can on the top of each of the three rock
targets, hoping that dividing them up as such would keep the practice
interesting. Joe could only hope that he
adeptness at using a hand gun would improve his aim and accuracy more than it
had using the rifle in his right hand.
When
starting out with the hand gun, Joe employed some of the tactics to those he
had used with the rifle, choosing to stand and face the target. The added difficulty with the hand gun was
that he wanted to see if he could draw it out of the holder strapped to the
side of his gun belt as well as shoot accurately at the stationary target.
Being
good with a hand gun had a number of elements that were different to using a
rifle.
For
one, the draw out of the holster had to be lightening fast. Quicker than your opponent if you needed to
shoot to defend yourself. If it felt
awkward to hold or didn’t feel as though it belonged, that is when you could lose
your confidence, flowing on from loss of balance.
The
drawing of the weapon and firing had to occur in one smooth, fluent
motion. Making the hand gun an extension
or part of your arm rather than and addition to it.
Despite
the awkwardness that he still experienced with the gun in his opposite hand,
Joe
felt
a little more comfortable with the hand gun.
Thankfully, Joe wore a gun belt that had two holsters, one each
side.
The
first two attempts at drawing, the gun had barely made it out of the holster,
the first time, part of it catching on the leather lip and causing the barrel
of the gun to point at the ground rather than the target. Fortunately it had not discharged, for which
Joe and his foot were very grateful for.
The
next few tries were not much better either, with it taking an enormous amount
of time in Joe’s opinion to make it out of the holster and then be pointed in
the direction that it needed to face.
He had fired two rounds so far, the first missing the grain bags and
spiralling into the dirt. The second
nicking the top of one of the bottles, causing the neck to break, but leaving
the majority of the bottle unscathed.
By
now, the frustration levels in Joe were increasing with each attempt, and he decided
that it was time for a change of tactics.
Instead of standing as he had been, Joe crouched down, hoping that a
change in the height and shooting angle would help hit the target.
He
decided to wave the drawing of the gun out of the holster on this occasion,
holding the
gun
in his right hand, but using the left to steady his right forearm as he
fired. Just as he was about to pull the
trigger, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
A
rabbit.
The
small bundle of grey fur, appearing from behind one of the rock targets,
sniffing at the ground and hopping forward, using his keen senses to assess the
area. And then, the rabbit turned and
focused his big soft eyes on Joe. The
rabbit’s long ears twitching as it listened.
Joe
had dropped the gun’s barrel away from the critter, not having a mean streak in
his body to be able to cause harm to the animal. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Joe
said with an uneasy chuckle.
It
seemed as though the appearance of the little rabbit was for Joe to admit to
himself that what he was doing would never achieve the answers he was looking
for. He had needed a little help in
finally admitting it to himself.
Joe
stood up, placed the gun in the correct holster, and without bothering to collect
the bottles or tin cans and grain sacks, prepared to ride away, back to the
Ponderosa.
Joe
knew it was time to forget the foolish idea of knowing if he could shoot with
his right hand or not. His attempts
today had only sought to waste time and bullets when there were other chores
that needed attending to on the ranch.
He would have to be up extra early tomorrow morning to make up for the
lost time in mending the fence in the south pasture.
He
paused slightly once gripping the reins and turning to look back at his efforts
for the last few hours. All he had to
show for his efforts was a gash in the tree, some impressions in the dirt where
he had picked up the spent cartridges and the one broken bottle that he had
managed to hit.
Joe
kicked Cochise into a gallop and headed for home with
a fresh attitude and determined not to let old ghosts and insecurities tamper
with his self confidence. Pa and his
brothers would be home in a few days and the daily routine of the Ponderosa
would see him forget all about today.
**************************************************************************************************
Back
at the town where the other Cartwright family members were being held captive
in the jail cell, tensions and frustrations were beginning to mount. Ben and his boys had yet to be told the
reason for them being confined to the cell and why they had been arrested in
the first place.
Hoss
was the first to speak, “What do you reckon they got us in here for, Pa?”
“I
don’t know, Hoss,” Ben answered truthfully, but his face devoid of any
emotion. His boys were unable to detect
his mood or what he was thinking at the moment.
“We
can’t just sit here and let them arrest us for no darn reason, Pa!” Adam
blurted out.
The
dark-haired Cartwright was rare to temper like this, but the ride had been long
today and yesterday. They had ridden
into a town that didn’t feel right to begin with and been arrested even before
they had hitched their horses.
“I
know this isn’t the ideal situation, Adam,” Ben said, trying to diffuse the
situation rather than adding to fuel to it by using a more condescending tone
that he might have used with Joseph or Hoss.
“I am sure as soon as the sheriff arrives we can straighten this whole
mess out.”
Adam
didn’t respond, letting the frustration fade away as quickly as it had
come. He found himself looking over at
the next cell beside them, noting how much smaller it was in size. It was probably only meant for one prisoner,
but still, he was grateful that they had been placed in the larger one.
Fifteen
minutes later, the Cartwrights attention was jerked back away from their
imprisonment when the front door to the jail house creaked, signalling that
someone was coming in. A pair of heavy
boots could be heard on the wooden floor.
Then it sounded like more than one pair.
Two
of the men that had placed then into the cell in the first place now walked
through the doorway, trying to intimidate the Cartwrights. Adam and Hoss recognized one of them as
holding a rifle at them when told to get off their horses.
Ben
decided to take the first step forward, “Why are we being held in here? We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Is
that right now, Mr Cartwright,” Frank Fulton.
“I suggest you shut it until you are asked a question or told to
speak. I can still point the barrel of
my gun through these here bars and put a bullet into anyone of you.”
Hoss
was about to talk back to the man when another set of boots could be heard
entering the jail house. Someone else
had just walked in, but he didn’t look like the Sheriff that the Cartwrights
were hoping for.
The
figure that entered was shadowed at first, with his hat pulled down low to hide
his features. He was a large man, his
build thick set and his shoulders broad.
He walked with purpose, as though trying to intimidate the Cartwrights,
and set their curiosity on edge.
The
man walked over to stand directly in front of the jail cell, surveying who was
behind the bars. With the brim of his
hat shielding the majority of his face, it was almost impossible for the
Cartwrights to know who he was yet.
“You
did good,” came the gruff response to
The
Cartwrights watched
“Are
you the Sheriff?” Ben Cartwright asked. The
fact that this man seemed to be acutely aware of their names, did not sit
well.
“Let’s
just say I run this town, Mr Cartwright,” the man replied, settling himself at
against a desk. “As far as you and your
boys are concerned, I am the law in
this town.”
“Who
are you?” Adam demanded, keeping his frayed temper in check, but not being able
to totally hide his frustration.
“You
must be Adam Cartwright. Funny, I was
always lead to believe that you were the calm one out of your family,” the man
threw back. “Your brother always spoke
highly of you. Said you were the
educated one of the family.”
Adam
looked towards Hoss, and then to Ben, confusion clearly written on his face
that this stranger seemed to know about them.
Hoss had given a brief shake of his head to indicate that he couldn’t
remember talking to anyone recently about Adam’s personality traits.
The
man laughed as he saw the unease that was clearly evident on the faces of his
prisoners. Just how he had wanted things
to proceed. If you were going to be
ahead of your enemy, you had to know everything about them and then use it
against them to your advantage. That is
what he had learned in prison for almost 3 years.
The
stranger turned to Hoss and looked at the large man, noting that the description
he had received some years ago had clearly been accurate. “My you are quite the strong looking man too
Hoss Cartwright. No doubting that you
could handle yourself in a fight. I can
see why your brother relies on you to get him out of a few scraps in the past.”
It
was at this point that all three Cartwrights realised that the “brother” the man was talking about was
Joe.
The
man now focused his attention on Ben Cartwright, taking a minute to look at the
patriarch of the family before speaking. “Mr Ben Cartwright. A man I have heard so much about. I been
heard your name spoken many times.
Sometimes merely as “Pa” screamed in the dark. Other times whispered in hope that you would
come. There was never a time that he
thought you would abandon him.”
The
conversation was getting to detailed for Ben’s liking, of his sons. “What do you know about my son, Joseph?”
The
man laughed loud and harshly at the question.
“I
know plenty. I have seen him when he was
at his most vulnerable. When he couldn’t
defend
himself, but always clung to the ideal that you and your sons would be coming
to rescue him.”
As
though to emphasis the callousness in his voice, the man took a deliberate step
forward towards the bars, removing his hat at the same time to reveal his
identity, “For the past 3 years, Ben Cartwright, there hasn’t been a single day
gone past that I haven’t thought of the name Joseph Cartwright.”
To
Ben, the face looked a little older, and the skin a lot more leathery, but the
scar on his face was undeniable, and the scornful look only confirmed his
thoughts of the man’s name: “Butch Thomas”
“Well,
its nice to be remembered,” the man said, placing the hat back on his head, but
now allowing his face to be seen. “I had
doubts that you would know my name.”
Adam
and Hoss were just plained shocked. Trying to assess the man’s brazen acts to
show up in their lives once more. They
both knew what had happened last time.
Their brother had suffered more than any of them.
Ben
didn’t make any further comment, but his mind was racing to the thought that
Butch Thomas stood before him and his sons.
A man that had bought nothing but hurt, harm and nightmares to the
Cartwright family. He had only seen the
man a few times, but his image was burned into his memory. That day at the courtroom, the look on poor
Joe’s face when he had seen this animal taunting his.
JOSEPH….. my God, what could he have
done…………….
The
thought written on his face with pain and fear.
“What
have you done with him?” Ben snarled.
Hoss
tried to be a little more forceful, gripping the bars, “I will tear down this
jail cell if you have so much as…..” A
few loose pieces of rock shook loose from the ceiling, but the bars remained.
Butch
had looked at Hoss as he gave his ominous warning, but smirked at the knowledge
that the Cartwrights would not be able to break the jail cell.
“You
will not be able to escape from the cell.
Brute strength or not, none of you will be leaving this cell without my
express permission.”
“Where
is Joe?” Adam asked, his gut beginning to tighten at the thought that Butch had
been anywhere near the Ponderosa since they had left yesterday.
Ben’s
next plea was filled with a lot more emotion, with Joe’s safety at stake. “Please, if tell me what you have done to
him?” He couldn’t bear to go though the
agony he had felt when Joe was kidnapped.
The anguish of not knowing where Joe was had torn him to pieces.
Butch
could see the reaction that he was extracting from Ben with the thought of his
beloved youngest son missing again. A
reassuring hand on either shoulder from both Adam and Hoss showed Thomas that
the family remained as resilient as ever.
“I
will have your son, Joseph, Mr Cartwright,” Butch said menacingly. “For now he remains where you left him, safely
back at the Ponderosa. With this
statement, he could see each of the Cartwright men visibly take a breath of
relief. But he would make sure it was
short-lived.
“When
he gets here, he can take up residence in the smaller cell beside you
there. After all, he needs to be close
to his family,” Butch informed them, pointing to the smaller cell.
A
lump of dread was now in Ben’s throat as he followed Thomas’s finger and viewed
the smaller cell from a totally different point of view to when they had first
seen it.
“Let
us out of here now, Thomas,” Adam shouted.
“You have no right to keep us in here and threaten us.”
“Be
thankful it is not you that I intend to threaten,” Butch snarled in reply.
“If
Joe is back at the Ponderosa like you say,” Ben began, praying to God that this
was right. “He would never come here.”
“But
he would Mr Cartwright. I know your boy
well, and your family. You stick
together when there is a crisis,” Butch said, pointing out the family’s strong
points. “And in fact, I am counting on
that so much to get him here.” he added coldly.
There
was no doubt in the mind of Adam and his family as they looked at Butch Thomas,
that the man was calculating and devious.
After nearly 3 years of jail time, probably even more so than any of
them remembered from the trial at
The
man had almost destroyed his brother, both physically by kidnapping him and
taking him away from those who loved him and familiar surroundings. Also mentally, as the family had been forced
to endure Joe’s inner battles with the memories and the seeds of bad thought
that had been deliberately planted by fear and retribution.
Butch
took this opportunity to pull out a folded sheet of paper he had been
concealing. He took the time to open it
slowly, seeing out of the corner of his eye that he held the Cartwright
family’s undivided attention.
“I
thought you might be concerned about how your boy was doing, so I wrote him a
little note:
“Joe,
Arrived in town (stop) All doing fine (stop)
Need extra pair of hands to deal
with problems (stop)
Come as soon as you can (stop)
Ben Cartwright
“How
did you know that Roy Coffee had sent us here to help here in the town?” Hoss
questioned Thomas.
“You
mean about the lawlessness that had been happening and that the town wanted
the
Cartwright family to help,” Thomas responded.
Even
before he made the next statement, the Adam and Ben suspected what was about
to
be said.
“Who
do you think sent the note to that fool of a Sheriff in
Thomas
said, clearly proud of his efforts to be able make up such an elaborate hoax.
“You
mean that nobody else lives in this town?” Hoss asked.
“I
OWN this town and everything in it,” Thomas stated gruffly.
“I
am going now so that I don’t miss sending this to
“Joe
will never believe it,” Ben said, knowing that he was grasping at straws to try
and delay Thomas from sending the telegram.
From behind these cell bars, they couldn’t do anything to help Joe.
“Why
not Mr Cartwright? It has your name on
it. Why wouldn’t he believe a message from
his own father. Someone he respects and
loves above all others,” Butch remarked, leaving Ben and his boys with their
pleas to leave Joe alone.
************************************************************************************************
By
the time Joe rode into the yard of the Ponderosa, he knew he was going to have
an unhappy Hop Sing. He had finished his
gun practice much earlier than planned, but on the way home, had decided to do
a few smaller chores that could be done while the sunlight was still good.
Joe
had just finished putting Cochise away and was giving
her a brushing down when Hop Sing came in the barn door, looking for his young
charge.
“You
verly late, Lil Joe,” Hop
Sing said matter-of-factly.
“I
know, but I lost track of time fixing one of the posts in the fence on the way
home,” Joe
replied,
hoping to defend his tardiness. He
didn’t dare tell the little man that most of his day had been spent a good deal
further away than he had said at breakfast.
“Always
excuse, never here for dinner,” Hop Sing accused, using other times that Joe
had been tardy when Ben was home to fuel his recall.
“Not
all the time, Hop Sing,” Joe said, trying to sound remorseful. He kept his eyes on the curry comb and Cochise to stop himself from giggling at the Cantonese
man’s version of a lecture. He really
would catch it hot if Hop Sing thought he was being laughed at. Joe knew Hop Sing took on more responsibility
when Ben was away, even if it crossed over into the role of parent.
“Dinner
cold. Hop Sing no heat up. Lil Joe eat cold
dinner. Maybe if Joe want hot food then
he eat on time.”
“Alright,
I am coming in now,” Joe said, putting away the grooming tool and following Hop
Sing across the yard.
“You
worry too much, Hop Sing,” Joe offered in his own defence.
“With
father away, Hop Sing make it his job to care,” the little man said, both of
them knowing that the ‘care’ was mutual and the genuine affection between them
was everything that existed in a family.
Joe
and Hop Sing stopped halfway across the yard of the Ponderosa, as the sound of
horses hooves could be heard approaching them from the roadway.
A
familiar figure appeared as he got closer, “Evening Roy,” Joe said with a
smile, greeting the Sheriff.
“Howdy,
Little Joe,”
“What
brings you out here this time of day?” Joe asked, knowing a visit this late in
the day was unusual. Whether
Joe
even commented to Hoss jokingly one day that he could predict with a fair
amount of accuracy where
“Just
got a message for you from the telegraph office,”
“Nothing
wrong is it?” Joe asked, a little concerned that they would send a
telegram.
“Not
so far as I can tell,”
Joe
chuckled at the Sheriff’s admission, exchanging a deliberately seen wink with
Hop Sing, “Oh I know you wouldn’t read something that was meant for another,
Joe
began to read the contents of the note, leaving both Roy and Hop Sing standing
nearby, itching to know what it said.
When the smile on Joe’s face changed, the Sheriff began to get a little
nervous. After all, he had asked Ben
Cartwright and his family to help out.
“Everything
alright Joe?”
“Yeah,
seems to be,” Joe replied. “But Pa reckons they need an extra pair of hands,”
he continued. Holding out the note for
Hop Sing and Roy to read for themselves.
“Well
I am glad they got there safe enough,”
“Seems
the thing to do,” Joe said, not displaying any sign of hesitance or
reluctance. “There isn’t much going on
around here except normal routine. “Pa
didn’t really give a lot of information about the trouble that has been going
on, but he wouldn’t ask unless he thought it necessary.”
“No,
I guess he wouldn’t at that, Little Joe,”
“After
the cattle drive we just completed,
“Hop
Sing, we should have plenty of bread and cheese for a day’s ride?” Joe asked,
knowing that the larders were always more than accommodating. After all, usually Hoss was here to eat his
fair share.
“Plenty
Lil Joe,” Hop Sing confirmed. “I make enough for long trip, and give you
extra to feed Mr Hoss when you get there.
He probably complaining now that he has no Hop Sing cooking for days.”
Joe
and Roy shared a small laugh as they watched the little Cantonese man happily
hurry across the rest of the yard, towards the house. His mind already onto what to put in Joe’s
saddle bags and a few extra treats that were reserved only for him.
“Looks
like you might need to take an extra saddle bag or two by the way he is
muttering away to himself, Little Joe,”
“If
Hop Sing is planning to pack enough food for me and Hoss, I might have to think
about hiring a mule just to get it all there,” Joe commented. “I will start out in the morning.
“Well,
if you need anything before you go, you just let me know. I know your Pa is doing
me
a great favour in going there when I couldn’t spare a man from my own staff.”
“Hop
Sing should be able to handle the house while we are gone. With the cattle drive over, there shouldn’t
be too much extra work until we get back.
We should only be a few days at the most,” Joe informed the Sheriff.
“I
better be off now, Joe,”
care
of yourself on that road and get your Pa to send me another message if the
trouble gets any worse there.”
“Nothing
to worry about,
Joe
walked into the house, taking off his hat and hanging it on the peg behind the
door.
As
he turned to go into the kitchen to eat his cold supper, he was surprised to
see the array of canned and dry goods that Hop Sing had out, preparing for them
to be placed in Joe’s saddlebags. He
really would need a mule looking at all the food, but knew that it was just Hop
Sing and how he took care of his family.
Joe
sat down behind on of the benches, content to share his meal-time with his
friend.
He
was surprised when a piping hot plate of meat and vegetables was placed in
front of him, the aromas already making him hungry.
Joe
looked up at Hop Sing, wondering why the change of heart about having to eat a
cold
dinner
for his lateness.
“Eat
before gets cold second time,” was the only instruction offered, a smile
tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Number three son still good in Hop Sing’s
eyes,” he added, giving a brief embrace to the young man before continuing with
the supplies Joe was to take.
A
fair distance away in another place, supper was also being served to Ben and
his boys.
The
dusty plates being squeezed through the cell bars, some of the contents
spilling from the rushed actions.
Dinner
was to be a congealed mix of cold gravy and a stew of some sorts. It was cold and very unappetizing.
The
stewed chunks of meat were hard, making Hoss have to stab at it with
force. “Hop Sing, I swear I will never
refuse your rabbit stew after I get out of here,” Hoss said as he tried to put
a fork into the bowl again.
Ben
and Adam didn’t bother with eating.
Going without a meal or two wasn’t the worst that could happen to
them. A feeling of foreboding settled in
the pit of their stomachs, knowing that they were imprisoned and without anyway
of warning Joe from coming to the town.
To stay away from Butch Thomas.
“Adam………,”
Ben said, his voice pleading. “Joe can’t
come here!”
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Joe
rose early the next morning, to make the journey. Hop Sing had given him the over-filling
saddle bags and they had shared a fond farewell.
The
young man pulled the collar of his green jacket up against the strong breeze
that would accompany him a good part of the way. Joe nudged his horse forward and then
settled into a comfortable position in the saddle, allowing Cochise
to dictate the pace.
About
half way through the day, he had paused briefly to take a drink of water and
give his horse a rest. The breeze was
still persistent, and unfortunately, swirled along the roadway, making it very
dusty.
Joe
squinted to look in the direction, knowing that there were quite a number of
hours to go. Probably more miles than would be possible in the daylight, but
Joe was reluctant to spend a night and then have to continue again in the
morning. Although it would be late at
night when he finally got to the town, at least he would be there and could
catch up on sleep once he and Cochise stopped.
“C’mon
Cooch, the sooner we start again, the sooner we get
there,” Joe said as he mounted again.
His horse was holding up quite well with the breaks he had been
taking.
Dusk
had come and gone and the night sky was now sprinkled with stars overhead. Joe was growing very weary and had
unintentionally nodded off a few times in the last hour. Cochise was also
tiring, but their destination was only a few miles away. They were almost there.
Back
in the town, Ben, Adam and Hoss had all drifted off into a restless and uneasy
sleep in the jail cell. Frank Fulton and
Henry Parker, the two bounty hunters had been assigned the nightly watch on the
Cartwright family in the jail cell.
A
pair of running boots could be heard coming in, “Quick, get up and ready. Thomas says he is almost here,” came the
shout.
Butch
had kept the two prisoners Dusty Slade and Peter Williams watching the roadway
for any sign of Joe Cartwright almost since the moment he send the telegram
back to Virginia City. In his mind,
there was no doubt that young Cartwright would come, merely a question of
when. And he had not wanted to take any
chance of him escaping or being alerted to what was about to happen.
Ben
and his boys were instantly alert, and trying to see all the action, but
“You,
fat one,” Parker grunted, indicating Hoss.
“Move over to the opposite side of the cell.”
Ben
and Adam.
“Just
a precaution, Mr Cartwright, Fulton stated to Ben. “You all just be quite in there now, until
this is over and the big one there won’t have to get a bullet in his
belly. I am sure you don’t want to have
to be worrying about two sons.”
Hoss
balled his hand into a fist at the callous way Butch was trying to get at his
Pa through his sons, and threatening to harm them for his own benefit. He wanted to punch the stone wall of the cell
to let out his frustration.
Adam
did try to strain their hearing for any sign of horses hooves in the
street. Knowing that the family’s worst
fears maybe about to be realised, and that Joe was outside.
There
was no window in their cell, only a small one in the neighbouring cell. They couldn’t hear anything, which only added
to their worry for Joe’s safety.
On
the outskirts of the town, Joe and Cochise came into
view. Joe saw a small broken
down
wooden sign on the roadway. Nailed over
the top half of the sign was a piece of flat wood, where the name of the town
should have appeared. But the town’s
name had been blackened out by charcoal and was unreadable.
The
bottom half of the sign bore the letters
POP 3
As
he continued riding, Joe was unaware of several sets of eyes watching them from
roof tops and alleyways. He didn’t sense
the rifles pointed at him, ready to prevent any escape.
Thomas’s
instructions had been clear, not to shoot unless absolutely necessary. They were to wait until he was lured into the
livery stable and then Butch would take care of the capture of Joe Cartwright
personally.
Sitting
in the saddle, Joe was tired, and his posture told the story. His shoulders were slumped, his hat sitting
lower on his brow and he was leaning forward over Cochise’s
neck. A sudden whinny from the horse
startled Joe, making him sit up a little more in the saddle and take a look
around at where they were.
“What
is it, Cooch?” Joe muttered in a sleepy voice, giving
the horse a reassuring pat. Maybe a cat
or something had startled his horse.
“Sure
is a quiet night here tonight,” Joe spoke to his horse, noting the silence that
greeted him as he rode along the street.
There was no evidence of the trouble that his father had stated in his telegram. Although late at night, it struck Joe was
unusual that there wasn’t a sole about.
Joe
rode a few more metres, cautiously wondering where everyone was, when he saw
something familiar. There was a livery
stable on the right side of the street, with the doors open and a dim light
coming from within. Tethered outside on
a hitching rail, was Buck, his father’s distinguishable horse.
Joe
looked about, but couldn’t see any sign of his father. The fact that the horse was fully saddled and
outside meant that Ben couldn’t be too far away. The Cartwright family took pride in looking after
their horses, no matter what hour of the day.
Perhaps Ben was inside getting ready to settle his horse for the night
after a long day of sorting out the troubled town.
“Pa?”
Joe said as he dismounted from his horse, tethering Cochise
beside Buck and beginning to walk into the stable in search of his father, he
thought to be nearby.
“You
in here, Pa?” Joe asked, closing his eyes briefly against the change of
light. The night outside was pitch
black, but the inside of the building was shrouded by the dim lights of
lanterns.
Joe
had just removed his hat and wiped away the dust that had settled on his
forehead.
Suddenly
from behind, something struck him hard in the back of the head. He fell face first onto the straw that
covered the floor of the livery stable.
Barely
clinging to consciousness, Joe reached to the area of his head that had been
struck, trying to remove the small pieces of straw from his mouth and
nose. He could feel the stickiness of
the blood that was present.
Joe
tried lifting his head to look about the room.
He couldn’t see his assailant and could only make out barely
recognizable shapes of horse stalls on the opposite side of the room.
The
weariness from the journey added to the confusion and fuzziness in his
head. His mouth was dry, and he needed a
drink of water. He was attempting to
turn over on his back, the dizziness disorientating him even further.
Joe
did not feel the toe of Butch Thomas’s boot nudge him in the ribs, but briefly
felt himself moving. By the time his body
came to rest on his back and his face was visible, Joe had lost his battle with
consciousness. The hand he had been
using to try and rise fell limply to his side.
Butch
didn’t make any comments at first. A
little disappointed that his prisoner had not been conscious long enough to
note his presence, but there would be plenty of time later for Joe to know who
had struck him.
The
young man was definitely older, Butch noted to himself. A little more muscle bulk in a few areas, no
doubt from working more on the Ponderosa.
He saw the gunbelt around Joe’s hips and
smiled to himself. Yes, he had grown up
since their last meeting, but just how much was yet to be determined.
“Put
the horses away,” Butch said to one of the men before striding out of the livery
stable.
On
the outskirts of town, the sign that Joe had noted on the way, now appeared a
little different. The breeze had blown
away the loosely nailed board from the top of the sign, and it now read:
POP: 15
to be
continued…………………………………………………………………….
Author
Notes:
I
know the name of the town is very corny, but I wanted to be very obvious that
Butch Thomas was back. I think I got the
numbers right for the town LOL.
Please
bear with me for any mistakes I might have made about shooting practice or
any
other element of the story. It is all
make believe.
I
apologize for the length of time in updating, but other things in life have
taken away all of my writing time. I am
hoping to update RiverBoat Gambler very shortly, but
will start on the next chapter to this story as soon as I can.
Hope
you are liking the story enough to keep reading.
Lots
more to come, the real plot of the story is just about to start.
JULES