The Lo Mein Affair
Part 4: Hot Pursuit
By Kathleen T. Berney

Hop Sing paused as he swept the clean, spotless floor before the front entrance for what had to be at least the dozenth time, his body tensed, ears straining for the distant sounds of horses, heralding the return of his beloved family . . . his ENTIRE beloved family . . . the one he had unofficially adopted. Mister Cartwright and Mister Hoss had ridden out at dawn’s first light this morning, in the company of Candy, Jacob Cromwell, and a half dozen other men to continue their search for Little Joe and Miss Stacy.

Though Mister Hoss had gone through the motions of going upstairs and going to bed the night before, the half opened eyelids and facial muscles slack with weariness, eyes filled with worry and apprehension told Hop Sing very clearly how well the big man had slept. Mister Cartwright made no such pretense. He had spent the entire night in the red leather chair, staring down into a glass of brandy poured, yet never touched, consumed with worry, threatening all manner of dire punishment for his missing younger children one minute, fervently praying for their safe return the next. Both had declined Hop Sing’s offer to make breakfast this morning, but gratefully accepted the mugs of hot coffee, that he had brewed fresh and made extra strong.

“Anything?”

Hop Sing started so violently at the sound of his sister’s voice, he dropped the broom and dustbin he held in his hands, and almost, though not quite lost his balance. He glared down at the dustbin, lying inverted at his feet, then over at Mei Ling, as she stepped down from the last step to the floor of the great room. “Thanks a lot, Mei Ling,” he growled in Chinese. “NOW I have to sweep the floor all over again.”

“Not likely,” Mei Ling retorted. “That has to be the fifth time you’ve swept up there in the last half hour . . . or is it the sixth?”

Hop Sing bent down to retrieve the fallen broom and dustbin, noting the full, almost untouched breakfast tray Mei Ling held in her hands with dismay. “You . . . couldn’t get ANY of them to eat?” he asked, noting the painfully obvious.

“Miss Ashcroft is feeling quite ill this morning,” Mei Ling said with much sympathy and empathy. “I left a mug of peppermint tea with her. That should ease her distress a little and get liquid in her at the same time. Mei Ling did eat half a piece of toast, but Hsing . . . . ” She sadly shook her head, and shrugged.

“Hsing!” Hop Sing spat derisively, as he followed his sister out to the kitchen. “He is WORSE than useless.”

“Hop Sing, I have WARNED you not to go there,” Mei Ling rounded furiously on her younger brother. “I will NOT warn you again.”

“My apologies,” Hop Sing said in a sullen voice.

“I accept them in the same spirit of sincerity in which you offer them,” Mei Ling retorted wryly, as she favored Hop Sing with a knowing glare.

The pair continued on out into the kitchen in angry, sullen silence.

“I am sorry, Mei Ling,” Hop Sing apologized again after he and his sister spent the better part of the last quarter hour glaring at each other, and pointedly rattling the dishes and slamming around pots and pans as they cleaned up. “I mean it this time.”

“ . . . and this time, I accept your apology,” Mei Ling said. “I’m sorry, too, Hop Sing. I know you’re worried about the Cartwrights.”

“It’s not like Little Joe and Miss Stacy to be gone for so long a time . . . unless something is terribly wrong,” Hop Sing said anxiously.

“I . . . I feel like this is all MY fault.”

Mei Ling’s contrite words drew a sharp, astonished look from Hop Sing.

“I know Little Joe and Miss Stacy went out yesterday to find the men who stole Yin-Ling’s bride price.”

“Did either of them tell you this?”

Mei-Ling shook her head.

“Then . . . how do you know?”

“Hop Sing, I may not have the same talent you do in the kitchen . . . and my choices in love and . . . and in marriage have not been the most fortuitous . . . but I am NOT stupid,” Mei Ling declared with a touch of asperity. “Put together the fact that the jade statues have been stolen, Mister Cartwright going on and on about Little Joe and Miss Stacy playing detective, and . . . well, you don’t need a genius to put two and two together.”

“I didn’t mean to malign your intelligence, Mei-Ling.”

“Sorry I’m being such a prickly pear cactus.”

“We’re both worried about the people we love and care about the most,” Hop sing said ruefully. “Not particularly conducive for being tactful, I suppose.”

“No,” Mei-Ling agreed, then shook her head. “With everything that’s happened . . . Yin-Ling’s bride price stolen, imminent loss of the Li family honor, Mister Cartwright and Miss Ashcroft being forced to marry against their will, Yin-Ling never again to see the man she loves, and now Xing, Little Joe, and Miss Stacy all missing . . . this must be the darkest hour this house has EVER known.”

“No, Mei-Ling, this isn’t the darkest hour this house and family have ever known, not by any means,” Hop Sing said quietly, his thoughts drifting back to the sudden death of Joe’s mother, Marie, and the terrible weeks and months that followed. “But, I’d have to say that it does rank right up there in the top forty.”

“JOE! STACY!” Ben yelled at the top of his lungs for the umpteenth time. Though he still had plenty of volume and resonance, his throat felt scratchy and he could feel the beginnings of hoarseness, both normal consequences of having spent the better part of the last six or seven hours riding dusty roads, shouting almost non-stop. He and Hoss rode along the road to the north and Virginia City, while Candy and Jacob Cromwell rode south to Carson. The younger men had been dispatched to all of Joe’s and Stacy’s known favorite places within the extensive boundaries of the Ponderosa.

“JOE!” he yelled again. “STACY!” Please answer, he prayed fervently in silence.

The only reply was the fading echo of his own voice frantically calling the names of his younger children.

“Pa?”

Ben turned, and found Hoss on Chubb pulling to a stop along side him. “Did you find anything, Hoss?” he asked, hope mixing with fear and trepidation.

Hoss reluctantly shook his head. “Nothin’, Pa. Not a dadburned thing!”

“Damn!”

“ . . . uuhh, Pa, I hate like anything havin’ t’ say this, but . . . . ”

“What is it, Hoss?”

“You ‘n Miss Ashcroft got an appointment with Judge Faraday t’day at two o’clock,” Hoss reluctantly reminded his father, all the while inwardly bracing for a backlash of temper.

Ben closed his eyes and forced himself to count to ten, seething now with impotent rage and frustration.

“If y’ want, I can ride into town ‘n cancel it,” Hoss quickly offered. “Findin’ Joe ‘n Stacy’s the important thing right now.”

For a moment, Ben considered asking Hoss to do just that. “No,” he said reluctantly. “If I cancel now at the eleventh hour Mrs. Danvers might take it into her head to wire her cousin.”

“She told ya that y’ had a week, Pa.”

“Hoss, I can’t take that chance,” Ben said tersely. “I want you to ride back to the ranch, have Hank gather up any and all men who can be spared . . . and tell them to keep looking. If your brother and sister haven’t been found by the time we get back, we’ll rejoin the search.”

“Alright, Pa,” Hoss nodded curtly, then sped off.

“Please Lord, wherever my missing son and daughter are right now, please . . . watch over them and keep them safe.”

The first thing to intrude upon Stacy’s awareness was pain that began at the back of her head and circled around to her temples. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She turned her head and found herself immediately blinded by the glare of sunlight streaming in through the door standing wide open. Groaning in agony, she squeezed her eyes shut and abruptly turned her face away from the door and the light, setting her head to throbbing. For one brief, horrifying moment, she feared she was going to be sick.

“Ffffttttffffyyyyy.”

It sounded like her brother, Joe, speaking from a place far distant. Stacy forced herself to take a deep breath, then exhale, focusing all of her attention on keeping the air flow slow and even. She took another breath, then a third.

“FFFTTTTTAAFFFYYY.”

“G-Grandpa?” she groaned in a low voice, barely audible, taking great care to keep her eyes tightly closed. “That YOU?”

“GGGGRRRRRGGGHHHHH !”

THAT wasn’t Joe! The timbre and pitch were all wrong. Stacy opened her eyes again, and very carefully, and turned her head in the general direction from whence the new sound issued. She frowned upon seeing Hop Sing’s nephew tied to a chair with a gag stuffed in his mouth.

“FFFFFGGGGHHHTTTYYY!” Now that WAS Joe. He was speaking louder this time, but she couldn’t understand a single word he said.

Stacy rolled over from her back to her side, then very gingerly eased herself from lying on the floor to sitting up. “Why am I lying on the floor?” she wondered silently, wincing as her head began to throb once more, this time more insistently than ever. “Joe?” she called aloud this time to her brother.

“FFFGGGGHHHHH.”

“What’s the MATTER with you?” Stacy demanded irritably, as she turned toward the direction from which Joe grunted and groaned. “I can’t understand a single solitary word ya say when ya mumble like th— ”

Her words trailed away to stunned silence upon seeing a man lying on the floor a couple of yards away, bound and gagged. She frowned, bewildered, uncomprehending, as her eyes took in his thick, wavy, chestnut brown hair and green jacket.

“J-Joe?!”

“VVVVVGGGGCCKKKKKTTTT!” he responded, nodding his head vigorously.

Then, she it all came back to her in a dizzying rush of confused images. Xing. The stage robbers’ hideout. Shorty Jim and Big Jack. The man who looks like Pa.

“The man who looks like Pa . . . . ” Stacy whispered, growing more confused by the minute. She and Joe had ridden out to this place in the late afternoon. By rights, it should be dark outside, depending on how long she was out, and down for the count. It shouldn’t still be light out, even if the days WERE significantly longer.

“UUUURRRRFFFFLLLPPPTT!” Joe’s groaned desperately.

“OK, Grandpa, keep your shirt on,” she said peevishly, as she rose unsteadily to her feet, and stumbled across the room toward her brother.

“UUUUUUPPPPPPFFFFTTTTUUUURRRGGGT!”

“THAT sounds like something you oughtta be washing your mouth out with soap for,” Stacy said as she removed the wadded handkerchief from Joe’s mouth.

“Uuuggggghhh! Thank goodness, I can finally BREATHE!” Joe gasped, as Stacy set to work loosening the ties that bound together his wrists.

“UURRRRRGGGGHHHH!” Xing grunted very pointedly.

“Xing, shut-up and wait your turn!” Joe returned cantankerously. “Ooh man, have I got one humdinger of a headache.”

“You and me BOTH, Grandpa.”

“That big lummox . . . the one who looks like our big brother, I know he came up from behind and hit YOU over the head, Kid,” Joe said. “I think he also did the same with me.”

Stacy gasped, horrified. “He did WHAT?”

“Not so LOUD, Stace, puh-leeeze!”

“Did you say that big idiot hit us over the head?” Stacy asked.

“He hit YOU over the head,” Joe replied. “I couldn’t stop him. Then he must’ve hit ME over the head, too, ‘cause one minute it’s yesterday, and now it’s . . . well, it’s tomorrow.”

“WHAT?!”

“Stacy! Please . . . don’t shout. Not right now.”

“Sorry,” she murmured contritely. “I thought you said that it’s tomorrow.”

“It IS tomorrow. The lummox’s brother . . . the one who looks like ME said the knock over the head he gave YOU would last ‘til tomorrow morning,” Joe said. “That was yesterday.”

“Oh NO!” Stacy moaned, her heart sinking. “What time is it?”

“I dunno. Why’s that so important?”

“Pa and Miss Ashcroft, remember?”

“Oh yeah . . . . ”

Stacy, her hands shaking with fear and trepidation, finally managed to work loose the knots binding Joe’s wrists together. She helped her brother rise to sitting position, then bolted for the open door.

“Hey, Xing,” Joe called to the young Chinese man, as he untied the ropes around his ankles. “Do YOU know what time it is?”

“AAGGGHHH!” Xing snorted derisively.

“Oh. Sorry. I forgot . . .YOU’RE still all tied up,” Joe teased unmercifully.

“GGGGRRRRRRGGGHHH !”

“Don’t you take that tone with ME, Bub,” Joe chided Xing with a dark scowl. He untied the last knot, then pulled the rope away from his ankles. “Stacy? Can you tell what time it is by the sun?”

“Kinda sorta,” she said, looking miserable and uncertain. “It’s not yet two o’clock, but it IS past noon. I may have an hour.”

Joe rose and made his way over to Xing, still bound to the chair. “Ok, Xing, talk!” he ordered tersely, as he removed the gag from Xing’s mouth. “When did Bradley Meredith leave and WHERE did he go?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Xing shot right back.

“Y’ know? I can’t for the life of me understand WHY you’re so gung-ho to protect men who’ve kidnapped you, kept you here tied up for the past couple of days, and now who’ve left you to swing alone as it were,” Joe said, addressing Hop Sing’s young nephew in the same condescending tone of voice he might address an extraordinarily thick, slow witted child. “But, hey! I can’t choose your friends for you.” He looked over at his sister, still standing next to the open door, making eye contact. “Let’s go, Stace.”

Xing’s eyes went round with horror. “Hey! Wait a minute! You’re n-not going to . . . to j-just leave m-me here . . . a-are you?”

“Stacy and I don’t usually make it a habit of hanging around where we’re not wanted,” Joe replied.

“Please! Don’t go! Don’t leave me like this!” Xing begged.

“Well . . . . ” Joe’s face was an almost caricatured mask of thoughtful indecision.

“PLEASE!” Xing screamed.

“Stacy and I might stay . . . MIGHT, mind you, if you answer our questions,” Joe said favoring the young Chinese man with a warm smile, triumphantly smug, and a look of hopeful expectancy in his eyes.

“Alright,” Xing growled. “He left a short time ago— ”

“When?” Stacy rounded on him, her voice filled with desperation.

“How should I know?” Xing shot right back. “Do I look like a blamed coo-coo clock?”

“You said he left a short time ago,” Joe immediately interjected, in the hopes of forestalling an argument between Xing and his sister, an argument that would undoubtedly waste whatever precious time they had. “Where did he go?”

“To get his girlfriend,” Xing replied. “The school teacher.”

“He’s probably gone to Miss Ashcroft’s house,” Stacy said grimly. “Joe, can you manage Xing by yourself?”

“I guess so . . . why?”

“ ‘Cause if I leave right now, I may be able to catch up with this Bradley Meredith,” Stacy said, her eyes, her lower jaw, and mouth all set with a granite-like, obstinate, determination.

Joe’s eyes immediately went round with horror. “Hey, wait a minute, Stacy, y-you can’t g-go after Bradley Meredith by yourself— ”

“I’ll see ya in town,” Stacy said, before then bolted out the open front door.

Joe ran after her, wincing each step of the way. “STACY ROSE CARTWRIGHT, YOU COME BACK HERE . . . RIGHT NOW!” he yelled, pausing at the door. “IT’S TOO DANGEROUS GOIN’ AFTER HIM ALONE!”

Stacy tore across the yard, moving at near-break neck speed beating a straight path toward the barn, turning a deaf ear to her brother’s orders to return.

“Daggonnit!” Joe groused. “That sister of mine is ‘way too impulsive for her own good sometimes.” He started out the door after her.

“HEY! WHERE IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” Xing shouted, horrified by the prospect of Joe going off and leaving him tied up.

“I suggest you apologize for talking to me like that right now, or else I’m outta here,” Joe declared, taking no pains to conceal his annoyance. “My sister’s safety takes a heckuva lot more priority over YOURS.”

“Ok, Ok, I’m sorry,” Xing immediately apologized.

“Apology accepted,” Joe said, as he moved toward the door.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to untie me?” Xing demanded.

“I don’t have time,” Joe said. “If I don’t leave NOW, I may not be able to catch up with my sister.”

“You . . . you can’t go and leave me tied up like this,” Xing protested.

“Well now, Xing, I don’t see that I have a whole lotta choice in the matter,” Joe said. “I have to go after my sister, for heaven’s sake. I can’t have her facing down a known criminal by herself.”

“If you untie me, I’ll ride straight into town and turn myself in to the sheriff,” Xing begged. “I promise.”

“That’s all well and good, Xing,” Joe replied with an air of supreme, insulting indifference, “unfortunately, you’ve not exactly proven yourself as the most trustworthy of men.”

“I give you my WORD,” Xing growled through clenched teeth. “The word of a Li.”

“Which out of the mouth of your father and great grandmother means a great deal,” Joe said sternly. “Outta YOUR mouth, it ain’t worth a plugged nickel. Now you just sit tight here for a little while. After I catch up with Stacy and we settle things with Mister Meredith, I’ll send the sheriff back to fetch you. Adios, Xing.” With that, he left, with a ling string of Chinese invectives, shouted at top volume, ringing in his ears.

“Mister Rothburn?”

Nigel Rothburn, head butler and highest ranked servant in the Sutcliff household, sighed, unable to quite hold back his exasperation, then turned. It was Alvin Warren, known among his peers as “Tex,” one of the new footmen.

“The old China man’s out by the delivery entrance, Boss,” ‘Tex’ drawled, with a touch of insolence. “Says he’s here to drop off the clean laundry ‘n pick up the dirty. He’s also gotta whole buckboard full up with boxes o’ fireworks.”

“Thank you, Alvin,” Nigel replied in a tone of voice with just enough condescension to be insulting. He also noted with satisfaction that the young man bristled against being addressed by his true given name. “The man’s name is Hop Ling. From now on you WILL refer to him by his name, and you will do so with respect. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mister Rothburn,” ‘Tex’ growled through clenched teeth.

“Very well, that will be all,” Nigel said in a bored, dismissive tone. “You may return to your work now.”

‘Tex’ nodded curtly, then left. “ ‘Very well, you may return to your work now,’ ” he mimicked bitterly under his breath. After having been fired from three jobs in as many months, he had taken what he thought would be an easy job, especially after roping steer and busting broncs day in and day out. He had found, much to his chagrin, that Nigel Rothburn was a far more exacting taskmaster than Clay Hansen, Hugh O’Brien, and Ben Cartwright all put together.

Nigel Rothburn, meanwhile, went outside to meet Hop Ling. He found the elderly man still seated atop his buckboard, in the driveway just outside the delivery entrance to the Sutcliff home. “Good afternoon, Sir,” Nigel politely greeted Hop Ling. “I understand you have the clean laundry and fireworks?”

“Chou-Sen, firework man, he know Hop Ling come here, bring clean laundry. Ask Hop Ling bring firework. Mister Sutcliff order special,” Hop Ling replied.

“Which of those packages has the clean table linens?” Nigel asked, eyeing the parcels, wrapped in brown paper, nestled beneath the buckboard seat.

“This package here, on bottom,” Hop Ling replied, as he carefully edged the two larger parcels out and placed them up on the seat. “Other two clean shirts, one Mister Sutcliff, other Mister Sutcliff son.”

“I’ll take the parcel with the table linens,” Nigel said, extending his arms. “If you’ll grab the two with the shirts, we can take them inside, then I’ll show you where you may pick up the dirty laundry.”

“Very good, very good,” Hop Ling murmured, smiling.

Upon entering the house, Nigel Rothburn immediately passed his parcels on to Bridget Murphy, one of the kitchen maids. “These are the table linens Mrs. Carlson was looking for,” he said in an aloof, imperious tone. “Please see that she gets them?”

“Aye, Sir,” Bridget murmured, as she accepted the large parcel.

“Is Mister O’Reilly about?”

“Yes, Sir,” Bridget replied. “He’s out front lookin’ out after the men what’s cleaning the front yard.”

“Thank you,” he said, curt and dismissive. He, then, turned to Hop Ling. “If you would follow me, Sir?”

Hop Ling nodded and fell instep behind Nigel Rothburn. Together, in silence, they moved through the large, formal dining room, into the ballroom. On the mantle piece sat three jade statues, of Kuan Yin, Chang-O, and Hou-Yi, exquisitely carved in fine detail. Hop Ling froze as he eyes fell on them.

“THIS way, Sir,” Nigel said with a touch of asperity, upon noting that Hop Ling no longer followed behind.

“Oh, so sorry,” Hop Ling murmured softly, his eyes still riveted to the three jade statues. Could they possibly be . . . . ? He had no way of knowing, having never so much as laid eyes on them. Only Li-Hsing and his venerable old grandmother would know for certain.

Nigel frowned, upon noting that the laundryman was staring up at Mister Sutcliff’s newest acquisitions for his already immense art collection. “Mister Hop-Ling . . . . ”

“So sorry, Hop Ling admire fine work Chinese art. Very, very beautiful.”

“Yes, indeed they are,” Nigel said curtly. “This way, please.”

Hop-Ling nodded, then dutifully fell in step behind Nigel Rothburn again, his mind racing. Together, they passed through the formal parlor and the drawing room.

“Wait here, please,” Nigel said, when they reached the entry way.

Hop Ling nodded, and waited while Nigel conferred briefly with Michael O’Reilly, the footman.

“I’ve asked Mister O’Reilly to have a couple of his men unload the boxes of fireworks from your buckboard,” Nigel said upon his return. “After they have done so, they will bring your conveyance ‘round to the basement door. It should be there by the time you have finished gathering the dirty laundry.”

“Yes, Mister Rothburn,” Hop Ling replied.

“You will find a rather large table cloth in among the dirty laundry,” Nigel continued. “I would greatly appreciate it, if you could launder it and get it back here by sometime this evening? You will, of course, be paid extra for the rush.”

“Yes, Mister Rothburn, Hop Ling wash, bring this evening.”

“We should have more dirty laundry for you by then as well,” Nigel said. “Mrs. Sutcliff’s maid is gathering her things together now. The lady of the house suffered another of her spells last night, necessitating that her maid attend her.”

“Oh,” Hop Ling murmured sympathetically. “Hop Ling very sorry to hear. Hope Mrs. Sutcliff feel better very, very soon.”

“I’m sure she will,” Nigel said in a dismissive tone, accompanied by a sarcastic roll of the eyes.

“Mister Sutcliff, he have party?” Hop Ling asked.

“Mister Sutcliff is always having a party, for one reason or another,” Nigel said, as they now made their way to the basement.

“This party, big celebration,” Hop Ling observed. “Very big, with firework?”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

“Why big celebration?”

“How should I know, Sir?” Nigel responded in a tone a touch too bland. “As I said before, Mister Sutcliff is ALWAYS having a party for one reason or another. I, quite frankly, find it more and more difficult these days to keep up with his reasons to celebrate. At any rate, My Good Man, here is the entrance to the basement, where you will find the dirty laundry we have presently.”

“Yes, Mister Rothburn.”

“ . . . and don’t forget about the tablecloth,” he added, as he took the parcels of shirts from the elderly laundry man.

“Hop Ling remember. Clean cloth, bring back this evening.”

Judith Ashcroft finished brushing her long, silky, golden tresses, then set to the task of binding and securely pinning them back into the tight chignon she had favored for so long, up until the day of the picnic when HE unpinned it before they—

She sighed, then shook her head vigorously as if to physically dislodge that errant thought. Mister Cartwright had been more than kind and generous taking her in, offering her and her child, when he or she was born, a home and, most important, a family. Judith had promised, vowed to herself that she would be as good a wife to him as it was in her power to be. That meant putting this Bradley Meredith, or whoever he was, out of her mind once and for all. The thought saddened her greatly, though, much to her own surprise, her eyes remained bone dry.

Judith finished pinning up her hair, then turned to the bed, where Hop Sing had neatly laid out her clothing. She picked up the blouse, lying on top of her good navy blue suit and slipped it on, moving entranced as if in a dream. Though her fingers moved automatically through the motions of pushing the fabric covered buttons through the button holes, her mind looked on from far away, as if though a long, dark tunnel.

Today was her wedding day. That was plain and simply that. Apart from sadness at the prospect of never again laying eyes on the man she really loved, and would always love, Judith felt nothing. No joy, no unbridled excitement, not even any sense of anger or bitterness over all that had happened, just nothing. A knock on the closed door to her room drew her from her strange, troubled thoughts.

“Yes?” Judith responded in a dulled monotone.

“Judith, it’s Ben. We need to be leaving pretty soon, if we’re going to reach the courthouse on time.”

“I’m almost ready,” she called back, suddenly unsure of how to address him. One the one hand, it seemed very out of form to go on calling him Mister Cartwright, yet she didn’t feel quite right about addressing him by his first name. She slipped her skirt on over her head, taking great care not to muss her hair, then reached for the jacket.

When Judith went downstairs a few moments later, she found Ben waiting by the front door, impeccably attired in a light gray three piece suit, white shirt, and a black string tie, with black hat in hand.

As Hoss drew near the courthouse, he was heartily dismayed to find the street thronging with most of the mass of humanity making up the population of Virginia City, along with their horses, buggies, and buckboards. He slowed the horses to a walk and began to thread his way carefully along what had become a difficult obstacle course, frequently zigzagging to avoid running down a pedestrian or horse.

“What in tarnation’s goin’ on here?” the biggest of the Cartwright boys grumbled under his breath, as he swerved yet again, this time to avoid running over two young children who had broken away from their mother and darted out right in the middle of his path. “You’d think it was Founders’ Day, or some kinda carnival goin’ on by the look o’ this crowd.”

“I think I’M beginning to get a good idea as to what’s going on,” Ben replied with a scowl, upon noting that virtually all of the adults present turned to stare as their buckboard passed by, through eyes round and mouths gaping open. A few actually had the temerity to point.

“Oh yeah?” Hoss queried as he swerved left to miss a collision with a skittish horse, then right to avoid an elderly couple, who had chosen the absolute worst moment to try crossing the street. “Is it some kinda carnival?”

“It’s some kinda carnival alright,” Ben groused, his brows coming together in an angry, disgusted scowl. “Judith and I are the main attraction.”

“H-Hoss? Is there . . . is there ANY way we c-could m-move straight without all this w-weaving s-side to side?” Judith ventured hesitantly. “I . . . I think I’m g-going to b-be sick.”

Ben immediately turned to the woman seated next to him in the buckboard’s back seat, noting her face, alarmingly pale, with a tinge of green around the proverbial gills, with alarm. “Judith, close your eyes and take shallow breaths,” he instructed her gently. “I’m going to fix a place in the back so you can lie down.”

“Pa?”

“What is it, Son?”

“We’re only a block or so down from the courthouse,” Hoss said. “I could let you ‘n Miss Ashcr—I mean, uuhhh . . . Judith! I could let ya both off here, then meet ya at the courthouse once I find someplace t’ park the buckboard.”

“No!” Ben adamantly shook his head. “The minute we step down on the street, we’ll both be mobbed.”

Hoss turned again to skirt around a buggy heading down the street from the opposite direction. As he circled around the smaller vehicle he glanced up, catching sight of the biggest of the Valhalla ranch hands working for Brunhilda Odinsdottir, a very good friend and neighbor, literally standing head and shoulders above the milling crowd.

“HEY! BIG SWEDE!” Hoss yelled. “I NEED YOUR HELP!”

“Someone call Big Swede?” the big man asked, his voice thick with the accent of his native Sweden.

“BIG SWEDE, OVER HERE! IT’S ME . . . HOSS CARTWRIGHT!”

“HOSS, YOU CALL ME?”

“YEAH! GOTTA JOB FOR YA!”

“NOT NEED JOB ON PONDEROSA, GOT GOOD JOB ON VALHALLA,” Big Swede yelled back.

“Y’ AIN’T WORKIN’ FOR THE PONDEROSA, YOU’RE WORKING F’R ME . . . TEN, MAYBE FIFTEEN MINUTES TOPS! I’LL PAY YA TWENTY BUCKS.”

The big Scandinavian pushed his way through the crowd until he was finally walking along side the Cartwrights’ buckboard. “What you want Big Swede to do?” he asked.

“Wouldja mind clearing us a straight path through to the courthouse?” Hoss asked.

“Ja, this Big Swede do,” the man promised. He, then, made his way around to the horses drawing the buckboard. Taking hold of the bridle on the horse directly in front of the driver, he began to head the team and conveyance down the street along a straight and narrow path. “MOVE ASIDE, COMING THROUGH!” he yelled. Miraculously, people began to shift, moving to one side of the street or the other.

“So much for a quiet, private ceremony,” Ben muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Pa?” Hoss asked.

“Nothing. I’ll tell ya when we get home,” Ben replied.

They reached the courthouse ten minutes later. Big Swede brought the buckboard to a halt in the middle of the street in front of the courthouse.

Big Swede walked to the back seat, as Ben jumped down. “Here, Miss, let me help you,” he said. Before either Judith or Ben realized what was happening, he scooped the former up into his arms and set her carefully down on the street beside her husband-very-soon-to-be. He, then, went the extra mile, clearing a path so that Ben and Judith could reach the courthouse entrance easily, without the crowd pressing in.

“Thanks, Big Swede, much obliged,” Hoss said gratefully, after his father and Judith were safely inside the courthouse. He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Here’s the twenty I promised ya, with a couple more to buy yourself a few beers.”

“Thank YOU, Hoss,” Big Swede said, grinning from ear-to-ear as he pocketed the money Hoss had just paid him. “Big Swede much obliged.”

“Judith, are you alright?” Ben asked, after he and his reluctant bride-to-be had entered the courthouse and closed the door firmly behind them.

“I . . . I feel a bit woozy and I . . . need to catch m-my breath,” Judith gasped, as she collapsed heavily into the wall on the other side of the door.

“There’s a bench over here,” Ben said, as he gently took her arm. “Hoss will be awhile finding a place to park the buckboard. Why don’t we both sit down and catch our breath?”

“Thank you, Mister Cartwright, that w-would be wonderful.”

“My dear Miss Ashcroft, I should think that after all that has passed between you both that you would be at the very least addressing him by his Christian name.”

It was Myra Danvers. She and Ezekeil Abercromby stood together, side-by-side, before the bench upon which Judith and Ben sat. She had drawn herself up to full height, her back poker straight, with her arms hanging with rigid stiffness at her sides. Her face was an impassive mask, stone cold, void of any sign of emotion. Ezekeil shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. He, too, peered into Ben’s and Judith’s faces, his eyes never quite meeting theirs.

Ben slowly rose to his feet, his jaw tightening with anger. “Mrs. Danvers, the manner by which Miss Ashcroft and I choose to address each other is none of your business,” he said stiffly.

“Well, I would’ve thought that after all the intimacies you’ve shared— ”

“Good day, Mrs. Danvers . . . Mister Abercromby,” Ben said very pointedly, as he sat back down in the bench.

“Good day, M-Mister Cartwright . . . Miss Ashcroft,” Ezekeil murmured, his face scarlet. “Mrs. Danvers, we’d best move along— ”

“No,” she snapped, folding her arms defiantly across her ample chest.

“Mrs. Danvers, please!” Ezekeil begged.

“Absolutely not. I fully intend to make certain that Mister Cartwright does right by Miss Ashcroft,” she stated imperiously. “I will NOT leave here until I’ve witnessed their marriage vows myself.”

“Mrs. Danvers, neither you NOR Mister Abercromby were invited,” Ben countered, his own tone every bit as cold, and as imperious.

“Mister Cartwright, my humblest apologies,” Ezekeil mumbled, “I honestly didn’t WANT to do this— ”

“As head of the school board, it’s your bounden duty to witness this marriage,” Myra Danvers hotly protested.

“I beg to differ,” Ben argued.

“Mrs. Danvers, please . . . this is most embarrassing,” Ezekeil said. “I told you before this is at best, highly irregular.”

“You may leave if you wish, Mister Abercromby, but I will NOT,” Myra declared loftily. “This courthouse is a PUBLIC place . . . I have every right to be here.”

“Mister Cartwright?”

Ben glanced up and saw John Faraday’s secretary, Elmer McFarlane standing over him. “Yes, Elmer?”

“The judge has your marriage license drawn up and ready for you and Miss Ashcroft to sign,” he said quietly.

“Come along, Mister Abercromby,” Myra ordered, as she started down the corridor toward Judge Faraday’s office.

Ezekeil shot Ben and Judith a resigned, apologetic look, before falling in behind Myra Danvers.

Ben sighed as he turned to gallantly help Judith rise. “Miss Ashcroft, I truly am very sorry,” he apologized. “I had no intention of making this the three ring circus it’s become.”

“It’s not YOUR fault, Mister Cartwright,” Judith said as she rose, her voice tremulous. She walked meekly along side him down the long corridor toward John Faraday’s office, feeling like a lamb being lead away to the slaughter.

Upon reaching the office of Judge Faraday, Ben and Judith found Myra Danvers and Ezekeil Abercromby waiting. The prospective bride and groom signed the marriage license, without sparing their two unwanted guests a single glance.

“Excellent!” Myra crowed. Ezekeil looked away in abject humiliation. “Let’s get on with it.”

“John, my son, Hoss, had trouble navigating past all of the people milling about in the street outside the courthouse,” Ben said, directing a venomous glare in Myra Danvers’ general direction. “He should be along shortly. I’d like to wait for him.”

“I protest,” Myra said immediately. “This is a stall tactic, pure and simple. I say let’s get on with it.”

“Mrs. Danvers, PLEASE!” Ezekeil begged. “Surely you’re not going to begrudge Mister Cartwright the right to have his own son present . . . . ”

“Judge Faraday, what say YOU in this matter?”

“I say we wait for Hoss,” John said.

Hoss arrived a few moments later, with Roy Coffee following behind. “Sorry, it took me so long, Pa,” the former quickly apologized.

“Ben?”

“Yes, John?”

“Are you expecting Joe and Stacy as well?” the judge asked.

Ben sadly shook his head. “No. Joe and Stacy won’t be attending,” he replied in a voice, barely audible.

Bradley Meredith, meanwhile, tethered his horse to the tree, a young tree, growing nearest the tiny house in which Judith Ashcroft had lived throughout most of her tenure as teacher at the Virginia City School, then bounded up the stairs with all the exuberance of a schoolboy, leaving the classroom on the last day of school, before summer vacation. Smiling, his heart light, at the prospect of seeing Judy again after being away three long, interminable days, he balled his fist and pounded on the door, his excitement barely contained.

No answer.

Bradley knocked again, his smile, his eager anticipation never wavering.

Again, no answer.

Frowning, Bradley reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out his watch. He flipped up the cover as saw that the time was a few minutes past the half hour. “Of course,” he mused with a smile. She would be at the school this time of day. For a moment, he considered riding over to the school house and fetching her, but immediately decided against it. That course of action would attract far too much attention, given the fact that the Cartwrights had to be prime suspects in that stage robbery. He would be far better off waiting here. The house was just outside of town, set back away from the road and from eyes too quick to see and ever quicker to pry into the private affairs of their fellow men. He and Judy could very easily lie low here, then leave for Carson City first thing in the morning. From there, they could take the next stage out, destination . . . wherever, just so long as it took them far away from Virginia City and the State of Nevada.

Now that his and Judy’s immediate plans were settled in his own mind, Bradley pulled a key out of his pants pocket and slipped it into the lock. Upon entering the house, he was surprised to find that the painting, a seascape that Judy had hung above the fireplace mantle in the tiny livingroom, was gone. It had been painted a fair number of years ago, supposedly by a great uncle, and it was all she had left of the parents who had died so tragically, leaving her orphaned so young. He knew how she greatly treasured it. He, then, noticed that the books she had crammed into the built in shelves on either side of the fireplace, were also gone, along with a couple of pieces of porcelain bric-a-brac, she had kept on the mantle.

A troubled frown deepened the lines and creases of his brow, as he turned to survey the rest of the living room. The furniture was all there, each thing in its proper place. Of course the house had come furnished. But the small things were missing, like the cushions on the settee, with needle pointed flowers, hand stitched by Judy herself, and the hand crocheted afghan, a gift from a student.

Bradley, with heart in mouth, turned heel and ran into the bedroom. There he found the wardrobe doors standing wide open, its cavernous interior completely empty. The dresser, sitting against the wall next to the wardrobe, had the three largest drawers sitting open, empty of their contents. He found the two small top drawers sitting on top of the dresser, one piled on top of another, and the drawer normally beneath they lying on top of the bed upside down. The bed had been completely stripped of its linens, and dust ruffle. The oval shaped rag rug was also gone, and upon checking the dressing room, he found her towels, bathrobe, and nightgown missing as well.

“Mister Cartwright?”

Bradley turned upon hearing and recognizing the voice of Russell Churley, the rat faced little man, who was Judy’s landlord.

“There’s nothing of hers left here,” Russell said tersely. “My wife and I cleared out everything that belonged to her and set it outside on the front stoop. If anything was stolen . . . . ” He shrugged. “I can’t be held responsible for what others might do.”

“Where is she?” Bradley demanded, his voice tight with anger. “Why did she leave?”

“I have no idea where Miss Ashcroft has gone, nor do I much care,” Russell said, his nose wrinkling with obvious distaste. “I HAD assumed that you had taken her to the Ponderosa.”

“Why would I have taken her to the Ponderosa?”

“Because I had to evict her for non-payment of rent for the last six months.” Before Russell Churley realized what had happened, he found himself being lifted off the floor, his face less than an inch from Bradley Meredith’s. He flinched away from the intense anger in the big, silver haired man’s dark eyes.

“You lying little toad,” Bradley spat, “Judy’s rent was current. She paid on time every single month she lived here without fail and well you know it. So help me if anything’s happened to her— ”

“Put him down, Mister Meredith.”

Looking past the frightened Russell Churley, he saw Stacy Cartwright standing framed in the open door to what was Judy’s bedroom.

“I probably ought to let you pound Mister Churley for evicting Miss Ashcroft,” Stacy continued as she stepped into the room, “but we don’t have time for that.”

“Where is she?” Bradley demanded.

“She’s been out at the Ponderosa with us,” Stacy replied.

“The Ponderosa?”

Stacy nodded.

Bradley’s heart sank. He never in a million years dreamed that Ben Cartwright, the real one, would actually move in and beat his time with Judy. Perhaps, all things considered it was for the best. A life on the run was no proper life for a sweet, genteel lady like her. Though he was loath to admit it, Bradley knew that the man he so closely resembled could take care of her and provide for her in the manner she certainly more than deserved, after a lifetime of hardship and deprivation. “I guess that’s that,” he murmured sadly, as he dropped Russell Churley to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “I guess I’d best be going, then.”

“Going?!” Stacy echoed in dismay. She moved, planting her body right smack in the middle of his path, effectively barring him from the door. “Where?”

“Away,” he snapped, giving vent to the grief and anger within him, “someplace FAR away, well out of your sheriff’s jurisdiction.”

“What about Miss Ashcroft?” Stacy pressed.

“You can assure your father that I won’t trouble her anymore,” he replied. “As for Judy . . . . ” his manner softened. “Tell Judy I honestly and truly wish her the best.”

“But . . . . ”

“Now if you would please stand aside . . . . ”

Stacy stood unmoving, unsure of what to do next.

“Miss Cartwright,” he said through clenched teeth, “I said before that I have no desire to hurt you, and I meant it. However, if you do NOT move aside— ”

“****!” Stacy spat her own growing ire and frustration in Paiute, stamping her foot at the same time. “You CAN’T go!”

“ . . . and why NOT? I have nothing to keep me here.”

“You have Miss Ashcroft, you stupid idiot! She LOVES you! I thought . . . I was HOPING that YOU loved HER, too!”

“Whether I love her or not is a moot point,” Bradley growled. “The real crux of the matter is that she loves your father— ”

“DAMMIT!” Stacy shouted at the top of her lungs. “SHE DOES NOT LOVE MY PA!”

“THEN WHY HAS SHE TAKEN UP WITH HIM?” Bradley shouted back.

“SHE DIDN’T!”

“THEN WHY DID SHE TAKE UP RESIDENCE AT THE PONDEROSA?! YOU TOLD ME THAT YOURSELF, YOUNG LADY— ” His words ended on an agonized, astonished primal bellow when Stacy kicked him hard in the shins.

“I HATE it when people call me a lady!”

“Why you little---I oughtta turn you right over my knee and whale the daylights out of you!” Bradley declared vehemently as he bent down to massage his aching leg.

“Now you listen to me and you listen good!” Stacy growled back, unmoved by his threats. “Miss Ashcroft loves you. The only reason she’s been with US at the Ponderosa is because this . . . this . . . *****,” she spat out another Paiute word, as she inclined her head toward Russell Churley, standing huddled in a corner, all but forgotten, “wrongly evicted her and she had no place ELSE to go.

“She’s also going to have a baby . . . YOUR baby, only everybody ELSE thinks my pa is the father because the two of you look so much alike,” Stacy continued. “Right now, Miss Ashcroft and Pa are probably at the courthouse because Mrs. Danvers is MAKING them get married.”

“WHAT?!” Bradley roared.

“YOU HEARD ME!” Stacy returned without missing a beat.

“Damn!” Bradley muttered, as he climbed up onto his horse. “I’ve GOT to stop that wedding! Alright, Miss Cartwright, let’s go. I need YOU to show me the way to the courthouse.”

“Now that’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you say all day,” Stacy said grimly. “I only hope we’re NOT too late.”

Joe Cartwright, meanwhile, brought Cochise to a screeching halt in front of the sheriff’s office and dismounted, all in the same quick, fluid movement. He quickly tethered his pinto to the hitching post, then bolted through the door, moving at a dead run.

“SHERIFF COFFEE?!” he yelled as he ran inside. He turned and found Clem Foster, the deputy, seated behind the sheriff’s desk. “Clem, where’s Sheriff Coffee?” he demanded, frantically.

“Sheriff Coffee left just a short while ago— ”

“Where’d he go?” Joe snapped out the question.

“To the courthouse,” Clem replied. “Seems there’s quite a disturbance goin’ on.”

“Oh no, the courthouse!” Joe groaned, suddenly remembering his father’s and Miss Ashcroft’s scheduled nuptials. “I plum forgot!”

“Joe, is . . . is everything alright?” Clem asked, noting the youngest Cartwright’s mussed hair, his pale face covered with a layer of grime overlaid by a sheen of perspiration, and his shirt tail half tucked in, half out.

“No, I don’t have much time to explain, but you’ve GOT to find Stacy,” Joe said, breathless. “She and I ended up spending the night in the hideout of the crooks who held up that stage day before yesterday. Their accomplice is STILL there, tied up— ”

Clem immediately rose and walked out from around the desk. “Sit down, Joe, and take a deep breath,” he admonished the youngest of Ben Cartwright’s sons. He sat Joe down in one of the hard backed chairs facing the desk, then walked over to the stove and poured a cup of coffee from the pot warming on top. “Here,” he said, shoving the cup into Joe’s hands. “Perhaps you’d best start at the beginning.”

Joe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Stacy and I found the hideout of the men who robbed that stage day before yesterday,” he began.

“Where?”

“The old Haines place.”

“Are they still there?”

“One of ‘em is,” Joe replied. He took a big gulp from the cup in hand, wincing against its strong, bitter taste. “Li-Xing.”

“Hop Sing’s nephew?” Clem queried, aghast.

Joe nodded.

“Why didn’t you bring him in?”

“Because I have to find STACY,” Joe replied. “We were surprised when the stage robbers returned. One of ‘em, a big guy, dead ringer for Hoss, came up from behind and hit her over the head. His brother, the one who looks like ME, tied me up, then someone hit me over the head, too. This was yesterday.”

“Where are these men now?” Clem asked.

“Xing’s back at the Haines place,” Joe replied. “I left him there, still tied up. The man who looks like Pa . . . HE’S the man who, ummm . . . . ” He felt a sudden rush of blood to his face, much to his horror and chagrin. “ . . . well, uuhhh . . . YOU know . . . with Miss Ashcroft. Xing told Stacy and me that Bradley Meredith had come back to town to find her.” He scowled. “My hot headed, impulsive sister ran off after him before I could finish untying my ankles.”

“You have any idea where this Bradley Meredith and Stacy may have gone?”

“Probably to the place Miss Ashcroft’s been renting from Mister Churley.”

“Alright, YOU wait here, I’ll go check that out,” Clem said grimly. “I’ll also send a man out to collect Xing.”

“Clem, I can’t stay here,” Joe said rising. He downed the last of the coffee in a single gulp, and handed the cup back to the deputy. “I gotta get to the courthouse . . . be there for Pa. You got a bit of water I can splash on my face?”

“You’ll find a pitcher on the floor, on the other side of the stove,” Clem replied. “I’ll look for you later at the courthouse.”

“Right.”

After Clem left, Joe located the pitcher of water and poured out as much as his cupped hand would hold, then splashed it on his face. He walked over to the cracked, grimy mirror, hanging on the wall near the door. There, he quickly removed his shirt and mopped it over his face. Instead of removing the sweat and grime, he had only succeeded in moving it around, spreading it across his face more evenly. He splashed another handful of water onto his face, then yet another.

“I guess that’s good enough for government work,” he sighed, after mopping his face for the third time. Joe quickly slipped his shirt back on. He, then, turned to glance up at the wall clock hanging directly behind Roy Coffee’s desk, while running his fingers through the disorderly tangle of chestnut brown curls. “If I hurry, I think I got just enough time to buy a clean shirt and a tie.”

Joe burst out of the sheriff’s office and strode briskly over toward Cochise, still tethered to the hitching post.

“LITTLE JOE! LITTLE JOE, WAIT!”

Joe stopped mid-stride and whirled in his tracks upon hearing and recognizing the voice of Hop Sing’s father, Hop Ling. “Sorry, Hop Ling, I don’t have time to stop and chat right now,” he said as he placed his hands on the saddle and prepared to swing himself up.

“Please,” Hop Ling pressed, drawing up along side the youngest Cartwright son. “Urgent. Must listen.”

Joe opened his mouth to retort, but something in the elderly man’s face and eyes cause the words to die a quick and sudden death before he could give them utterance.

“Little Joe, Hop Ling must see Li Hsing, right away, right now. Hop Ling think he see statues.”

“Yin-Ling’s dowry?” Joe queried in surprise.

Hop Ling nodded.

“Where?”

“Big house, where Mister Sutcliff live. Hop Ling see when take clean laundry.”

“You sure?” Joe pressed.

“Not sure. That why Hop Ling need to see Hsing. Then Hsing come, see statues, know for sure.”

“You got your buckboard close by?” Joe asked.

Hop Ling nodded. “Buckboard just around corner.”

“Let’s go,” Joe said, the wheels of his mind spinning a million miles a minute. His father’s and Miss Ashcroft’s wedding was suddenly all but forgotten. “Hsing’s probably out at the Ponderosa.”

“ . . . if any man can show just cause as to why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace,” Judge John Faraday intoned reluctantly, his heart going out to his old friend, Ben Cartwright, and the sad young woman standing next to him. He paused, as a formality.

“Why are you stopping?” Myra Danvers demanded. “Get ON with it!”

“Mrs. Danvers, I am conducting this marriage ceremony, NOT you,” John returned in a cold, imperious tone, “and for the record, I do this under duress.”

Myra stared up at the judge open mouthed with shock.

“One MORE word from you, Ma’am, and I will have you removed, if I have to bodily pick you up myself and carry you out myself.”

Myra’s mouth immediately snapped shut. She favored Judge Faraday with a murderous, indignant scowl.

“Now where was I?” John asked himself, returning Myra Danvers’ glare with an equally ferocious one of his own. “Oh yes! If any man can show just cause as to why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

The sounds of men’s voices raised in anger and protest could be heard from the office of Elmer McFarlane, the judge’s secretary. Ben frowned, upon recognizing his daughter’s voice in the mix as well. The door burst open.

“Now hold on,” Elmer hotly protested. “You CAN’T go in there.”

Bradley Meredith burst into Judge Faraday’s office without breaking stride, despite the fact that Elmer was clinging hard to the hem of his jacket for dear life. Stacy Cartwright followed right on their heels.

“Your Honor, I object!” Bradley declared vehemently.

Myra Danvers and Ezekiel Abercromby stared from Ben to Bradley, and back again to Ben, their faces twin masks of shock, horror, and sheer astonishment.

“Mister Meredith, I presume?” Ben queried sardonically, as he favored his ‘evil twin’ with a dark angry glare.

“Sir, on what grounds do you contest this marriage between Mister Cartwright and Miss Ashcroft?” the judge asked.

“On the grounds that I am the father of her child, NOT Mister Cartwright.”

Judith, her eyes round with shocked astonishment, quietly left Ben’s side and walked over toward Bradley Meredith. “Mister Meredith . . . or whoever you are, I want you to look at me.”

“Judy, I— ”

“Your Honor, Mister Meredith speaks true,” Judith said, her voice trembling. “He IS the father of my child.” With that, she suddenly burst into tears.

“John, I’d like to suggest that the rest of us adjourn to Elmer’s office to allow Miss Ashcroft and Mister Meredith some privacy,” Ben said quietly. “I have a feeling they have much to talk about.”

“An excellent suggestion, Ben,” John agreed wholeheartedly. “Mister Meredith and Miss Ashcroft, feel free to take all the time you need. The rest of us will be out here.”

“Thank you,” Bradley said gratefully, as he slipped his arms around Judith.

Ben left the judge’s office first, with Hoss and Stacy following behind him. Roy Coffee followed next, shaking his head in wonder and complete bewilderment. Myra Danvers, her face pale and bearing painfully stiff, followed behind the sheriff, with a crimson faced Ezekiel Abercromby bringing up the rear.

“Stacy Rose Cartwright . . . . ”

Stacy swallowed nervously, as her father’s use of first, middle, and last names fell on her ears. After being out all night TWO nights in a row, to say she was in hot water clear up over her head would be the understatement of the year. “Pa, I— ”

“ . . . thank the Good Lord you’re alright,” Ben said, his voice shaking, as he caught his daughter up in a big, grateful, enthusiastic bear hug.

“I’m ok, Pa,” Stacy said, bewildered and vastly relieved, as she slipped her arms around Ben’s waist.

Ben held her for a moment longer, then set her away just enough to look her in the eyes, keeping his hands firmly planted on her shoulders. “You and your brother gave me quite a fright last night.”

“I’m sorry, Pa. We ONLY meant to find Xing and their hideout,” Stacy apologized with genuine, heartfelt remorse. “We also knew we’d find Mister Meredith.”

“Stacy, he’s a wanted criminal,” Ben hastened to point out. “Do you have any idea how foolhardy and dangerous that was? You and your brother could have been hurt . . . or worse.”

“I . . . I guess I didn’t think about all that,” Stacy admitted, her voice tremulous. “I only knew I had to do SOMETHING to stop you and Miss Ashcroft from making a real big mistake. If it hadn’t been for me in the first place— ”

“I thought I told you that none of this was your fault, Young Woman,” Ben chided her gently.

“You did, Pa, but . . . I couldn’t help feeling somehow responsible.”

“Kinda funny the way everyone feels responsible, except the individual who precipitated all this . . . . ” Ben acerbically observed, with a pointed glare over in the general direction of Myra Danvers.

“ . . . and what’s THAT supposed to mean?!” Myra demanded in a lofty, imperious tone, meeting Ben’s withering glare with a ferocious one of her own.

Ben gave Stacy an affectionate, reassuring squeeze, then let her go. “I think my meaning’s perfectly clear, Mrs. Danvers,” he replied, focusing his attention squarely on self-righteously indignant woman standing before him, her massive bosom heaving and her eyes smoldering with rage. Behind him, Hoss and Stacy exchanged nervous glances upon recognizing that very quiet tone of voice by which their father spoke as the deadly calm before the breaking of a ferocious thunderstorm.

“Mister Cartwright, everything I did was in the interests of safeguarding the moral sensibilities of this community,” Myra declared, as she slowly folded her arms across her chest, “especially the innocent, highly impressionable young minds of . . . of . . . that woman’s students, particularly the young ladies in this community. I will NOT apologize for that, and if I had it to do over, I would do the exact same thing.” This last she delivered with an emphatic nod of her head.

“Safeguarding the moral sensibilities of one’s community is all very well and good,” Ben allowed, “but when you blatantly ignore the weightier issues . . . like justice, mercy, humility . . . and love, all of your actions, though intended for good, become twisted into a great and terrible EVIL, bringing nothing but misery and heartache for everyone.”

Two bright, irregularly shaped spots of crimson appeared, amid Myra’s pallid complexion, one on each cheek. Her mouth thinned to a near lipless, near straight angry line, and her entire body, though held rigidly stiff, began to tremble. “By appearing before her class, day after day after day, in her delicate condition . . . she was setting an atrocious example for her students, most especially for the young ladies in her class . . . young ladies like your own daughter, Mister Cartwright,” Myra stoutly, obstinately maintained.

“When Miss Ashcroft learned that she was with child, she tended her resignation, effective immediately,” Ben said. “She made the decision to enter into what would have truly been a mockery of the sacred bonds of marriage . . . not out of any great love for me, but out of concern for my daughter. Miss Ashcroft, bless her heart, grew up in a place very much like the one your cousin runs out in Ohio. She not only wanted to spare Stacy from the possibility of suffering the same fate--- ”

“Had your daughter been placed in the custody of my cousin in the first place, I daresay she would have turned out all the better for it,” Myra declared, rudely cutting him off, mid-sentence. “Vivian . . . Mrs. Crawleigh is the kindest, the most loving, selfless, woman I have EVER known. Stacy would have benefited far more from HER example than from any set by that . . . that . . . that common whore, who has the audacity to pass herself off as a school teacher.”

“I’ve met your cousin, Mrs. Danvers,” Ben countered, his voice rising slightly. “I found her to be a mean, nasty, cruel, spiteful, vindictive woman . . . a monster from hell, as my daughter has so aptly put it . . . who, to be brutally frank, has no damned business being a caretaker of children.

“In the years my daughter has been with me and her brothers, I’ve seen her grow into a very loving, kind, gracious young woman . . . strong . . . courageous . . . full of mischief sometimes . . . honest . . . willing to take up for those who, for whatever reason, can’t take up for themselves . . . with a fierce, independent spirit that makes my heart soar. I shudder to think WHAT would have happened to her . . . how terribly she would have suffered . . . had the fort commander granted THAT WOMAN custody of Stacy instead of me.

“Now . . . as just about everyone in Virginia City knows, I WAS a sailor once. I’ve sailed around the world two, maybe three times over at the very least,” he continued, “and I’ve seen a lot of what humanity as to offer, the good and the bad.” He paused briefly, to allow her to absorb the import of his words. “I honestly thought that when I met your cousin that I had met just about the worst humanity had to offer. I was wrong.”

With each word Ben spoke, Myra’s eyes grew rounder and rounder. She had unfolded her arms and slowly drawn the fingers of both hands together, one finger at a time, into a pair of tightly clenched, rock hard fists. “I don’t know WHAT you’re implying, Mister Cartwright--- ”

“Alright, I’ll say it plain,” Ben said, his voice low and even, the scowl on his face deepening. “You had the chance to show mercy, even as you did what was just.”

“Meaning?!”

“ . . . meaning that you and the other members of the school board could have . . . in fact SHOULD have . . . dealt with Miss Ashcroft’s resignation and the circumstances that lead up to it . . . privately, as Mrs. Wilkens and Mister McFarlane suggested.”

Myra favored Ben with the unblinking stare of a snake, slowly, inexorably closing in on a trapped mouse. “Are you saying that you APPROVE of Miss Ashcroft’s behavior?” she demanded in a tone of voice that dripped icicles.

“Not at all,” Ben replied, “though I have to bear in mind that her genuine love for Mister Meredith led her to make the choices she did . . . and out of concern for the example she WAS setting for her students, she immediately resigned her position as school teacher. YOU, on the other hand . . . refused to be satisfied with anything less than dragging Miss Ashcroft’s good name through the mud . . . and mine, too . . . before the eyes and in the hearing of everyone living in this community, using the most blunt language imaginable to further shame and humiliate.

“Now, speaking for myself, I might have forgiven the aspersions cast on my name, character, and reputation . . . given sufficient time,” Ben continued. “But that wasn’t enough for ya, was it? Oooh NO! You had to lash out at my daughter, too, threatening HER with the prospect of being placed in the custody of that . . . that . . . cousin of yours! Do you have any idea . . . any idea at all how terrified Stacy was at the prospect?! My daughter, like every other child, has the right to feel secure within her own home . . . within the circle of those she calls her family. For three days . . . YOU took that away from her!

“ . . . and THAT, Mrs. Danvers . . . is something I’ll never countenance or forgive!”

Mrs. Danvers stood, her entire body rigidly stiff, unmoving, with a baleful glare fixed on Ben. Her lower jaw flapped up and down, though no sound issued forth.

“Hoss . . . Stacy . . . . ” Ben turned to address his son and daughter in a kindlier tone of voice. “Why don’t the three of us wait outside? I don’t know about the two of you, but I could sure use a nice breath of fresh air . . . . ” The last two words were spoken with a pointed glare aimed square at Myra Danvers’ face.

“I . . . I love you, Pa,” Stacy said very quietly the minute they stepped outside the courthouse, where John Faraday’s office was located. Acting purely on impulse, she slipped her arms around his waist and gently squeezed.

“Stacy Cartwright, what’s all this?” Ben queried gently, taking due note that her eyes shone more brightly than usual and that they blinked excessively.

“Pa, did you . . . did you really mean all those things you said about me to . . . to . . . the cousin of the monster from hell?!”

Ben smiled and hugged her tight for a moment. “I love you, too, Stacy . . . and yes! I meant every last word. THAT’S why you, your brother, and I need to sit down and have a heart to heart talk about the pair of you being detectives in your spare time.”

“Yes, Sir,” Stacy replied, wiping her eyes on the edge of her sleeve. “I’m sorry I . . . that I worried you last night . . . . ”

“I know,” Ben said quietly. “I ALSO want you to know that I’m very glad . . . and very grateful you DID find that scalawag and bring him in.”

“Pa’s right, Li’l Sister, you did real good,” Hoss declared, grinning from ear-to-ear himself, “and I’M real proud of ya, too.”

Stacy hugged Ben again, while reaching out to pull her big brother into the family circle. “Thanks, Pa . . . Hoss. Even if I end up with no allowance, and being restricted to the house, yard, and barn for the next month of Sundays, it’ll be well worth it.”

“I can’t for the life o’ me figure out how y’ did it, but I’M glad ya convinced Mister Meredith t’ come back, too, Stacy . . . for your pa’s sake,” Roy said, as he stepped outside onto the small porch at the courthouse entrance.

“He came back with me because he loves Miss Ashcroft,” Stacy said quietly. “When I told him about this shotgun wedding, wild horses couldn’t have kept him back. Blaze Face and I were pretty hard pressed to keep up with him.”

“I hope you’re right, Young Woman,” Ben said quietly, “for Miss Ashcroft’s sake.”

“After Mister Meredith ‘n Miss Ashcroft’re through talkin’, I’m gonna hafta arrest him,” Roy said.

Stacy’s face fell.

“He IS a wanted man, Stacy,” Ben gently reminded her . . . .

For a time, Judith Ashcroft and Bradley Meredith clung to each other for dear life, kissing each other ardently and repeatedly.

“Judy . . . Judy, Darling, why didn’t you tell me . . . about the baby . . . about OUR baby?” Bradley demanded between kisses. “I would never . . . never have left you alone . . . . ”

“I didn’t know myself,” she replied, “not really . . . until a few days ago, when I fainted in the middle of arithmetic class. Stacy Cartwright and her friends, Molly O’Hanlan and Susannah O’Brien stepped in and summoned Doctor Martin. He examined me and . . . well, the rest, as they say is history.”

Bradley hugged her closer. “Thank God, Stacy found me in time to tell me.”

“Amen to that!” Judith murmured with equal heartfelt gratitude.

“Judy?”

“Yes, Be—uuhhh . . . Bradley?” That was going to take a bit of getting used to . . . calling the love of her life by his rightful name.

“How did you know?”

“How did I know . . . what?”

“Well . . . that Ben Cartwright wasn’t me,” Bradley asked. “We look so much alike we could pass for identical twins. I’ve fooled people more than once on that score.”

“Well, you’ll never fool ME, Bradley Meredith!” Judith declared stoutly. “Not now, not ever!”

“How?”

Judith smiled and pulled away from him just enough to gaze up into his face and his eyes. “I look into Mister Cartwright’s eyes, I see the father of one of my pupils . . . FORMER pupils,” she said quietly. “I look into yours . . . I see the man who has been steadily and pretty relentlessly courting me ever since that ‘parent’-teacher conference you and I had regarding Stacy . . . I also see the passionate lover who so thoroughly and so gloriously ravished me when we went on that picnic, who’s been so tender and wonderful all the other times we’ve made love . . . . ”

Suddenly, with a heart wrenching sob she wrapped her arms very tightly around his waist and buried her head against his shoulder.

“Judy . . . Darling, what is it?” Bradley asked, troubled himself by her sudden distress.

“I . . . I just realized . . . the minute we step through those doors? Sheriff C-Coffee’s going to arrest you . . . put you in jail, and . . . and after the trial, you may end up in prison—Oh, Bradley, I . . . I don’t want to be apart from you f-for so long,” Judith sobbed.

“Judy, it may NOT be for very long,” Bradley desperately tried to reassure the distraught woman sobbing so grievously in his arms. “I’ve as good as turned myself in when I came back to stop the marriage ceremony between you and Mister Cartwright. I also intend to cooperate with the sheriff, and tell him where to find the stolen goods. All that plus time off for good behavior . . . I shouldn’t be in prison for more than a year . . . maybe not even THAT long.”

“I . . . want y-you with me when . . . when our baby is born. If y-you . . . if you g-go to prison— ”

“I want to be with you, too, Darling, but it’s for you and our child I have to turn myself in. A life on the road, always running, always looking over our shoulders . . . that’s no life for a child, and its no life for you either.”

“Y-You’re sure it . . . it won’t be any more than a year?” Judith asked.

“If that.”

“Can we . . . can we arrange t-to be . . . . married before—?!”

“Absolutely!” Bradley declared, his arms about her tightening gently. “I almost lost you today. I would have if . . . if Stacy Cartwright hadn’t found me by whatever sheer stroke of good fortune. Now that we’re back together, I want to make sure I can’t EVER lose you.”

They kissed, ardently and passionately.

“I love you, Judy.”

“ . . . and I love YOU, Bradley.”

He kissed her again. “You don’t know how much I’ve longed to hear my real name on your lips,” he whispered as he once more held her close, committing to memory the warmth of her body so close to his own, every plane, every curve, the heaviness of her head resting against his chest, the faint lingering scent of lemon verbena in her hair. “Judy?”

“Yes, Darling?”

“I need to give you something,” he said, as he reached into his pocket with one hand, while keeping the other firmly about her waist. He drew out a black, silk bag with a tasseled draw string, and placed it in her hands. “There’s over thirty thousand dollars in this bag, My Love. I want you to take it, use what you need for you and for our child while . . . while I’m away. But, you must promise me that you’ll tell no one you have this.”

“I promise not to tell any one about this bag, Bradley, nor will I ask you any questions about how you came by this,” Judith said firmly, as she dabbed the last of the tears from her eyes. “But, this is the last time I make any promises about asking questions.”

“Fair enough, Darling. Rest assured that I have enough put by to give us . . . you, me, and our child a fresh start anywhere . . . anywhere you wish to go,” Bradley said as he placed the black bag into her hands.

Judith opened her pocketbook and nestled the silk bag safely inside.

“Are you ready to face the world, My Love?” Bradley asked, as he took her hand and gently tucked it into the crook of his elbow.

“I’m ready, Darling.”

“Let’s go.”

“Bradley Meredith, you’re under arrest,” Roy Coffee said briskly, the instant Bradley and Judith stepped together, arm-in-arm, through the courthouse doors out into the light of day. “The charge is theft.”

Bradley nodded.

“I’ll need t’ take your gun.”

“Of course.” Bradley Meredith unbuckled the gun belt from around his waist and surrendered it to the sheriff. He also removed his derringer from its customary place, in the inside pocket of his jacket, and handed it over to Roy Coffee as well.

“Ben, would you mind holdin’ on t’ these?” Roy asked, as he held out the weapons, already taken from his prisoner.

Ben nodded, taking the proffered derringer, revolver, and gun belt from the sheriff.

Roy quickly searched his prisoner for other weapons, finding none. “Alright, Mister Meredith, let’s go.” He took Bradley by the arm and led him out of the courthouse, down the street, toward the jail. Judith Ashcroft walked along, on the other side of the prisoner, his hand tightly clasped in her own. Ben, still holding on to the weapons Roy Coffee had taken from his prisoner, followed behind, with Hoss, and Stacy trotting along at his heels.

“Mister Meredith, did you rob the Overland stage day before yesterday?” Roy Coffee asked.

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“No. Two associates also participated in the stage robbery,” Bradley Meredith replied. He sat on the bunk within his jail cell, with his arm around Judith Ashcroft’s shoulders. She held his other hand sandwiched between both of her own.

“Who were your associates?”

“I won’t name my associates,” Bradley replied. “I will only say that I chose them for this job because of their strong resemblance to Mister Cartwright’s two younger sons.”

“I can tell you who they were,” Stacy declared, favoring Bradley with a murderous glare. “Their last name was Slade. They were brothers. One of ‘em, the smaller of the two told us his name was James Slade, that his friends call him Shorty Jim.”

Sheriff Coffee looked over at her in surprise. “Stacy Cartwright, would you mind tellin’ me how YOU happened t’ git involved with these scoundrels?”

“I figured out where their hideout was,” Stacy replied.

“All by yourself, Young Woman?” Ben queried, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Well, uhhhh . . . . ”

“I didn’t think so,” Ben replied.

“Who else was helpin’ ya, Stacy?”

“Professor Foote!” she said a bit too quickly in her unwillingness to implicate her brother. “I found his book up in the attic when we brought down all the tree decorations last Christmas.”

“Professor Foote?!” Roy echoed with a bewildered frown. “Who in Sam Hill is Professor Foote?”

“You remember the time Hoss and Joe got themselves into a world of trouble trying to catch a couple of bank robbers?” Ben asked with a touch of asperity.

“I’ll never forget it,” Roy declared, his scowl deepening.

“Professor Foote wrote the book that gave them all those wild ideas on how to go about catching criminals,” Ben continued.

“Like spendin’ all night shovelin’ mud around the bank buildin’?”

Ben nodded. “I’m sorry I put that book up in the attic, when OBVIOUSLY I’d have been better off dropping it out in the middle of Lake Tahoe,” he said, directing a meaningful glare in his daughter’s general direction. “Stacy . . . . ”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Who ELSE helped you figure out where the thieves hideout was BESIDES Professor Foote?” Ben pressed.

“Sorry, Pa, I can rat out on Mister Meredith’s associates, but not on mine.”

“Perhaps I can answer your question, Mister Cartwright,” Bradley Meredith spoke up. “There was a young man with her, just under six feet tall, with brown, curly hair, wearing a green jacket. Does THAT help you in any way?”

“Yes, Mister Meredith, thank you. That was VERY helpful,” Ben said, glaring at his daughter, who in turn, shot Bradley a look meant to kill.

“You may consider THAT payback for the kick in the shins, Miss Cartwright,” Bradley said sardonically.

Ben’s eyes went round with astonishment and not a little trepidation. “Stacy . . . you . . . actually . . . kicked him . . . . ?!”

“He INSULTED me, Pa.”

“That must’ve been some insult,” Ben mused thoughtfully. “What did he say that you found so offensive?”

“He called me a lady,” Stacy replied in a withering tone.

“Hoo-wheee! . . . and you’re still walkin’, Mister Meredith?! You’re lucky my li’l sister here letcha off so easy,” Hoss quipped, not able to quite hide his amused smile.

“Stacy, how’d that book help you ‘n that, ummm ASSOCIATE o’ yours . . . figure out where their hideout was?” Roy asked, steering conversation back to the original topic.

“Easy! It’s in the first chapter,” Stacy replied. “You have to think like a criminal.”

Hoss threw back his head and roared. “Th-Think like a criminal, eh?” he murmured, at length, when at last his mirth began to subside. He shook his head in amazement. “That can’t be much of a stretch for you ‘n Li’l Brother, that’s f’r dang sure,” he chuckled, then very quickly sobered upon catching a sharp glare from his father. “Oh, uhhh . . . sorry, Pa.”

“I should hope so,” Ben said stiffly. “I did NOT raise your younger brother and sister to be a pair of criminals.” He, then, turned his attention to his daughter. “Alright, Young Woman, I want you to tell us EVERYTHING, from the beginning.”

Stacy nodded, then told them everything, starting with how she and Joe had reached the conclusion of Xing’s involvement. She was careful to omit the part about their visit to Polly McPherson’s establishment, however . . . . “Maybe I’ll tell ‘em . . . someday . . . in about ten years or so,” she ruminated silently.

“Well, well, well, ain’t this a small world,” Hoss murmured, shaking his head, after Stacy had finished her tale. “After all these years, the Slade brothers rear their ugly heads.”

“You know ‘em, Big Brother?” Stacy asked.

“I never met ‘em, but I think Joe ‘n me were mistaken for ‘em by a bunch o’ folks named Hadfield ‘n McFadden, that time we went t’ Texas t’ look at some horse stock,” Hoss replied.

At that moment, Clem and another deputy, a new man by the name of Wade Johnson, entered the sheriff’s office with a young Chinese man between them. “Good afternoon, Everyone,” Clem said by way of greeting, as he politely touched the rim of his hat. “Sheriff Coffee, Wade and I found this man out at the old Haines place. Joe Cartwright told me he was also . . . . ” His eyes strayed over to the jail cell with Bradley Meredith and Judith Ashcroft locked together inside. “Y-You’ve arrested M-Mister Cartwright and . . . and M-Miss Ashcroft?!”

“Wrong on all counts, Clem,” Ben said, coming to stand alongside the perplexed deputy. “That man you see there is one of the men who REALLY robbed that stage.”

Clem looked from Ben, standing right beside him, to Bradley, safely locked behind bars, then back over to Ben, his eyes round as saucers, and mouth gaping open. “I-I don’t believe it!” he stammered. “Now I understand why those people on that stage thought it was YOU. B-but . . . what about Miss Ashcroft? Surely SHE didn’t . . . . ”

“No, I most certainly and assuredly did NOT help hold up that stage,” Judith stated clearly and succinctly. “I’m just here visiting my fiancé.”

“So what did you ‘n Wade bring THIS young fella in for?” Roy asked, turning his attention back to his newest prisoner.

“Oh. We, uhhh . . . found him . . . out at the Haines place. All trussed up like a calf for branding!” Clem replied, distracted, as he sought to recover a measure of composure. “Joe said we would. He also told me this guy was involved in that stage robbery, too.”

“He was,” Stacy confirmed. “He’s the one who told Mister Meredith and the Slades on which stage the Li family dowry was coming into town.”

“Young Man, you actually helped Mister Meredith and the Slades steal your sister’s dowry?” Ben demanded, staring over at Xing, open mouthed with astonishment.

Yes, I did, Mister Cartwright,” Xing said bitterly, “and if I had it to do all over, I’d do it AGAIN.”

“That’s all I need to hear,” Roy Coffee said wryly. “Wade . . . . ”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Lock him up.”

Wade nodded curtly, then led Xing over to the empty cell.

“The only other thing that remains, leastwise as far as I’M concerned is . . . where are those statues NOW?” Roy asked, glared at Xing first, then over at Bradley Meredith.

“I sold them, Sheriff,” Bradley Meredith replied.

“To who?”

“Mister Geoffrey Sutcliff,” Bradley said, grimacing as if he had just bitten into something with an incredibly nasty taste. “He and I set the price at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The man has yet to pay what we had agreed.”

“Mister Sutcliff ain’t paid ya for them statues?” Roy asked.

“He has NOT paid the one hundred fifty thousand dollars,” Bradley reiterated with a dark scowl.

“Does he have the statues?” Roy asked.

“Yes, indeed he DOES.”

“Now just a durn minute, Mister Meredith,” Hoss growled. “You REALLY expect us t’ believe a couple o’ no good, ornery gunmen, like the Slade brothers done skipped town withOUT takin’ their cut in the robbery?”

“I had agreed to meet my associates at a spot previously arranged, so we could divide the money and finally go our separate ways,” Bradley said. “Since obviously I WON’T be showing up . . . . ”

“Looks like the NEXT thing I gotta do is see Mister Sutcliff about acceptin’ stolen goods,” Roy Coffee said grimly.

“ . . . and WE need to find Joe,” Ben said. “Clem?”

“Yes, Mister Cartwright?”

“Didn’t you say that JOE told you where to find Xing?”

“Yes, Sir, he did.”

“Did he happen to say where he was going?” Ben pressed.

A bewildered frown marred Clem’s brow. “Didn’t you see him over at the courthouse?”

“No,” Ben replied, unable to completely hold back his growing frustration.

“Clem, did Joe actually say that he WAS going to the courthouse?” Roy asked.

Clem nodded. “He said he had to be there for his pa. Those are his exact words, or close enough to ‘em.”

“He might o’ gotten waylaid along the way, Pa,” Hoss suggested.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ben said grimly.

Mei-Ling slowly paced the floor in the Ponderosa ranch house kitchen, with her face to the floor, wringing her hands every step of the way in utter despair. With her son missing, her beloved grandmother by marriage in the downstairs bedroom, patiently waiting for death to claim her, her husband upstairs, curled up like an unborn baby under the covers of the bed they shared, poor Yin-Ling weeping over the loss of the only man she would ever love in this life time, and immanent loss of the family respect and honor it had taken centuries to build . . . certainly these qualified as being among the darkest hours faced by the LI family, if not the Cartwrights. The soft sound of her brother’s footfalls drew Mei-Ling from her troubled thoughts.

“Did she eat ANYTHING, Hop Sing?” she asked in fluent Chinese. “Anything at ALL?!”

“No,” Hop Sing responded in kind, with a doleful shake of his head.

“Not even a little?”

Again, Hop Sing shook his head.

“Perhaps we SHOULD send for Mister Cartwright’s physician.”

“It wouldn’t do any good, Mei-Ling. Mrs. Li’s troubles are of the heart, not of the body. There’s no doctor in the world who can help her.”

Mei-Ling’s eyes stung with bitter tears, knowing all too well the truth of his words. “Is there truly NOTHING that can be done?” she asked aloud. “Nothing at all?”

“Our only hope is to find the stolen dowry, before the betrothal,” Hop Sing replied, as he placed the tray down on the counter, and set himself to the task of clearing away its contents.

“I only wish we knew where to look,” she sighed, as she wiped away the tears from her eyes and cheeks against the palm of her hand.

“What of Hsing?”

The question caught Mei-Ling completely by surprise. “What OF Hsing?” she demanded favoring her brother with a sharp glare.

“Where is HE in all this? Is he in offering comfort to his venerable grandmother? Is he upstairs maybe, offering comfort to his daughter? Has he offered no comfort to YOU his wife? Has he done anything to find his son OR the jade statues?” Frustrated and anxious himself, Hop Sing launched into an angry tirade.

“Hop Sing, please— ”

“Hsing is weak, Mei-Ling, though in body he may be a grown man, in mind and in heart, he is a spoiled little boy,” Hop Sing continued. “Countless times, he has betrayed you and cruelly humiliated you with his other women. He brought poverty to the Li family by squandering its entire fortune on strong drink, playing cards, and on his women. He would not even allow you to discipline his son . . . and yours, so Xing has grown up spoiled and lazy— ”

“HOP SING, STOP IT!” Mei-Ling yelled, rudely cutting her brother off at mid-sentence. “JUST STOP IT RIGHT NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“Why does he just lie around upstairs doing nothing?!” Hop Sing demanded.

“It is as you say, Hsing IS weak,” Mei-Ling admitted with much reluctance. “His family was very wealthy. He never HAD to be strong, as you and I had to be strong.”

“Being wealthy is no excuse,” Hop Sing argued. “Mister Cartwright is a wealthy man, yet HE is strong. His sons and his daughter are also strong. Joe and Stacy, his youngest son and daughter have been trying to find the men who stole the statues. They’ve also been trying to find the man who is father to Miss Ashcroft’s child so that they might restore THEIR father’s honor.” His words concerning Joe and Stacy were spoken with enormous pride.

“Mister Cartwright expects his children to be strong, to be honorable,” Mei-Ling said sadly. “Hsing was always sheltered and protected, first by his parents, then by his venerable grandmother. He never had to be strong, because it wasn’t expected of him.”

“Why do you stay with him?” Hop Sing asked.

“Because my son and daughter need a father,” Mei-Ling replied. “A poor father is far better than no father at all. I also stay because I care about Grandmother Li. She has been very generous and kind to me, Hop Sing. All the times I cried myself to sleep because I knew Hsing was out with another woman, she was there to comfort me. She . . . knows that it was wrong to spoil Hsing as she has, and she deeply regrets having done so. If I should leave Hsing, I would also leave Grandmother Li. This I will NOT do, not as long as she remains alive.”

“Will you leave him when his venerable grandmother dies?”

“No, because no matter what he has done, or NOT done, I still love him.”

The sound of horses galloping at full speed into the yard drew Hop Sing and Mei-Ling from their disagreement. The former frowned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that was Little Joe,” he muttered under his breath. “Mister Cartwright has told him, time and time again . . . . ” He abruptly turned and strode briskly from the kitchen, with his sister trotting along at his heels.

“MITCH! BOBBY!” Joe yelled as he halted the team pulling Hop Ling’s buckboard to a stop. He leapt down from the driver’s seat, then turned to offer the elderly Hop Ling a hand.

“Joe?” It was Mitch Cranston, one of the younger men who worked for his father. “What’s up?”

“I need you and Bobby to stable Hop Ling’s horses . . . and Cochise,” Joe said tersely. “We’ll also need fresh horses hitched up to the buckboard.”

Mitch nodded.

“HEY! WHAT YOU THINK YOU DO RUNNING HORSES IN YARD SO FAST?!” Hop Sing yelled at the top of his lungs, in English, as he bolted from the house and sped across the yard beating a straight path toward the youngest Cartwright son. “MISTER CARTWRIGHT TELL YOU AND TELL YOU AND TELL YOU— ”

“Hop Sing, we need to see Hsing pronto,” Joe said grimly.

“WHAT GO ON HERE? YOU AND MISS STACY GO FOR RIDE, STAY OUT ALL NIGHT,” Hop Sing continued to berate the young man he, himself, loved as a son, as they made their way back to the house. “WORRY PAPA, WORRY HOP SING! NOW YOU HOME, MISS STACY STILL GONE. WHERE YOU GO ALL NIGHT?!”

“Hop Sing, please— ” Joe begged.

“Hop Sing, we must see Hsing . . . immediately, if not sooner,” Hop Ling, speaking in his native tongue, very quietly, yet very effectively nipped his son’s angry tirade in the bud. “I saw the statues, Son . . . with my own eyes, I SAW them. I’m sure of it!”

Mei-Ling gasped, then turned, and fled into the house, screaming for her husband.

“You . . . actually SAW the statues?” Hop Sing queried.

“I’m REASONABLY sure,” Hop Ling replied. “But, I’ve never actually seen the statues before. We need to show them to Hsing, so that he may tell us for sure.”

“Hop Sing, why don’t you take your father over to the settee and sit down?” Joe suggested as they entered the house. “I’ll go in the kitchen and make up a pot of coffee— ”

“Fresh pot on stove,” Hop Sing replied, switching again to English, as he gently took his father’s elbow and steered him in the direction of the settee. A few moments after he had settled his father comfortably on the settee, Joe appeared carrying a tray with six mugs of steaming hot coffee, a bowl of sugar, and a small pitcher of cream.

“Where Mei-Ling?” Hop Sing demanded with a scowl, as Joe parceled out the coffee mugs, first to Hop Ling, then to Hop Sing. “Why she take so long?” He rose.

“Hop Sing, you sit down,” Joe said firmly, after handing Hop Ling the bowl of sugar. “I’ll go see what’s keeping— ”

“No bother, Little Joe.” The three men turned and found Mei-Ling standing next to the blue chair. Yin-Ling, her daughter, stood behind her mother and a little to the left. Though her eye-lids remained swollen, and her cheeks and angry shade of red from her long bout of crying, there was a fierce determination glinting in her dark eyes, like sunshine on a steel blade of a sword. “Hsing not come.”

“Then how we know statues Hop Ling see be statues belong to Li family?” Hop Ling asked.

Another voice spoke in the rising and falling sing-song pitch of fluent Chinese. Everyone was very pleased, albeit surprised, to see Mrs. Li standing next to the red leather chair. She spoke again, her words bringing a big smile to Hop Sing’s face. Mei-Ling and Yin-Ling exchanged glances then gazed over at the elderly woman, through eyes round with astonishment.

“Hop Sing . . . did M-Mrs. Li say . . . what I THOUGHT she said?” Joe asked, looking from one face to other, in awe and astonishment.

“Upshot is . . . Mrs. Li say she see statue. SHE come, make sure statue Hop Ling see are Li family statue,” Hop Sing replied, translating only the basics of what the venerable old woman had said into English.

“How we get inside house where statue are?” Mei-Ling asked, looking uncertain and troubled.

“Hop Ling and I have that all worked out,” Joe said, grinning from ear to ear. He looked over at the elderly father of Hop Sing and Mei-Ling. “You want to tell them, or should I?”

“You tell,” Hop Ling replied, returning Joe’s smile with a bright sunny one of his own.

“Truth to tell, this is mostly Hop Ling’s idea,” Joe said, then shared the plan with the others. Hop Sing and Mei-Ling translated for Mrs. Li.

Mrs. Li responded with a few thoughtful words.

Hop Sing grinned. “Mrs. Li say she think plan good, might work.”

“One problem,” Mei-Ling said. “Little Joe NOT look Chinese.”

“No problem, we fix,” Hop Ling said.

Joe glanced over at the face of the grandfather clock, standing next to the door. “We’d best get going then.”

“One minute,” Mei-Ling said. “Mei-Ling leave note for Hsing.”

“Go ahead,” Joe said rising. “I need to fetch something down from upstairs, myself.” With that, he bolted up the steps, taking them two and three at a time. He ran down the hall to his room, and there, grabbed one of the pink rhinestone shoes he had taken from the Virginia City Social Club.

“Little Joe, what that?!” Hop Sing demanded with a puzzled frown. “What you do with lady shoe almost big enough for Mister HOSS?”

A feral smile slowly oozed its way across Joe’s lips. “I’m taking THIS little sweetheart along for insurance.”

“What YOU think, Honorable Papa?” Mei Ling asked.

“Pant leg too short,” Hop Ling replied. “Up past ankle. No one wear pant leg so short. Need longer pair.”

“Mei-Ling go see,” she sighed dolefully.

“Little Joe, take off pants,” Hop Ling said.

Joe’s face fell. “You mean . . . THESE are also . . . too short?!”

“Too short. Shorter than last pants Little Joe put on,” Hop Ling replied. “Take off. Mei Ling look for pants to fit Little Joe.”

“OK, but . . . . ” Two bright spots of scarlet appeared on Joe’s cheeks, forehead, and the end of his nose. “You tell Mrs. Li and Yin-Ling to close their eyes.”

An amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as Hop Ling turned to address his granddaughter and her great grandmother. He spoke a few words of Chinese. Yin-Kuan and Yin-Ling giggled, but turned their backs.

An hour ago, they had returned to Hop Ling’s home, a small, narrow town house, located in the midst of Virginia City’s Chinese district. Hop Ling had dispatched his son, Hop Sing, at the laundry, located in the business district so that he, and number ten cousin, once removed, might launder the table cloth that the Sutcliffs were expecting that evening. Joe quickly shucked off the pants, a type favored by most Chinese men, then stepped behind the small dining room table, well out of view of the women present, leastwise from the waist down.

“Find pants, Papa!” Mei-Ling announced as she burst into the small room that her father used as living room, dining room, and kitchen. “These biggest you have.”

Hop Ling took the pants from his daughter, then instructed her to check on the pot, warming on top of the small stove set against the wall facing the door. He walked over to Joe and held the pants in hand up to his waist. “Hmmmm! Little Joe, hold.”

Joe took hold of the waist and held the pants up flush against his body, while Hop Ling stood back and gave them a critical once over. “Still little bit too short,” he sighed. “But we make do. Put them on, Little Joe, chop, chop. Almost dark outside.”

“Sheesh! I never thought I’d live to see the day when I’D have the same problem finding clothes to fit me that HOSS does,” Joe muttered and he slipped on the pants.

“Mei-Ling, how black dye doing?” Hop Ling asked, this time in English.

“Dye simmer, Papa, nice and black. Black as night.”

“Little Joe, come to table,” Hop Ling said. “Sit down.”

Joe pulled out one of the two chairs pushed under the table and sat down. “Uuhh, Hop Ling . . . do we HAVE to dye my hair?” he asked. His chestnut brown, thick, wavy locks, worn too long to suit his father’s taste most of the time, were his pride and joy. The thought of doing anything that posed the potential danger of ruinous long term consequences was enough to set him on edge.

“Must dye Little Joe hair,” Hop Ling insisted. “Chinese hair black, not brown.”

“Can’t I wear a hat?” Joe begged.

“No hat,” Hop Ling adamantly shook his head. “Hat can fall off. If hat fall off and they see Joe NOT Chinese . . . all of us end up in deep--- ”

“I get the picture,” Joe sighed.

“Don’t worry, Joe,” Yin-Ling said. “The dye Mama and Grandfather have cooked up on the stove is made from things like plants, tree bark, and vegetables.”

“No paint?” Joe asked.

“No paint or ink,” Yin-Ling promised. “Next time you take a bath, it’ll wash right out.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well . . . ok, . . . I guess,” Joe assented with much reluctance.

Mei-Ling, meanwhile, lifted the warm pan from the stove and quickly carried it to the table, with her hands wrapped in potholders. Yin-Ling grabbed a trivet from off the small sideboard, and set it in the middle of the table.

“Mei-Ling, need make up,” Hop Ling said.

“MAKE-UP?!” Joe echoed, incredulous.

“Need make up, paint Little Joe skin same color Chinese skin,” Mei-Ling explained. “Make Little Joe look Chinese.”

“Will the make-up wash off, too?” Joe asked.

“No worry, everything wash off.” Mei-Ling hastened to assure him. “Nice and clean, next time Little Joe take bath.”

“If I gotta . . . well, I guess I gotta,” Joe sighed.

There was a knock on the door. Yin-Ling ran to answer it, while her mother and maternal grandfather set themselves to work dying Joe’s hair. It was Hop Sing with the Sutcliffs’ tablecloth, freshly laundered, starched, pressed, and neatly wrapped in protective brown paper.

“The tablecloth is ready to be delivered,” Hop Sing told his niece in Chinese. “How’s Little Joe’s disguise coming?”

“We found him clothes that sort of fit,” Yin-Ling replied. “Mama and Grandfather are working on dying his hair now.”

Hop Sing carefully set the wrapped table cloth down in the small love seat, set against the wall perpendicular to the front door. “I’m frankly surprised Little Joe let them do it. He’s very fussy about his hair.”

“So I noticed,” Yin Ling said with a chuckle.

“Honorable Papa, one more thing before I forget,” Hop Sing continued, addressing his father in Chinese. “I ran into Wong Chung, the grocery man on my way back here.”

“What does HE want?” Hop Ling asked.

“He told me Mister Sutcliff ordered some food for a party he’s giving— ”

“That’s going to be some party! He’s already got a storage shed full of fireworks.”

“Wong Chung asked if we wouldn’t mind taking a half dozen crates of lo mein noodles,” Hop Sing continued. “I took the liberty of telling him he could load it in our buckboard.”

“It’s all right, My Son. Wong Chung extended me credit last year during my time of illness,” Hop Ling said. “I certainly don’t mind helping HIM when the opportunity arises to do so.”

The lengthening shadows, and sunlight, diminishing slowly yet with a relentless steadiness, coupled with the appearance of the gibbous moon, a bone white ghost against the still azure blue sky over head, evidenced the lateness of the day, as Ben Cartwright walked Buck into the yard, weary and anxious concerning the whereabouts of his youngest son. Hoss and Stacy followed silently behind on their own horses, Chubb and Blaze-Face, respectively.

Hoss peered over at his father with an anxious frown. “Pa?”

No answer.

“PA!” Hoss ventured, this time raising his voice slightly.

Ben stirred himself from his troubled musings, and shook his head as if to physically dislodge them, if only for a little while. “Did you call me, Hoss?”

“We’re home, Pa,” Hoss said as he and Stacy dismounted. He passed Chubb’s lead over to his sister, then took hold of Buck’s bridle, steadying the animal. “Why don’t you g’won in the house? Stacy ‘n I’ll see to the horses.”

Ben nodded as he slowly dismounted. “You two won’t be long?”

“We’ll be in lickity split,” Hoss promised.

“Where in the world could Grandpa have gotten himself off to?” Stacy voiced the nagging question uppermost in all of their minds, once she and her big brother were safely in the barn, well out of their father’s earshot.

“I dunno,” Hoss said gravely. “We’ve spent the whole live long day searchin’ high ‘n low for him, an’ . . . nothin’! You’d o’ thought he’d vanished right off the face o’ the earth or somethin’.”

“You want me to go back, and search along the road for him?”

“Oh, no you don’t, Li’l Sister. We don’t need YOU pulling another disappearin’ act like ya did last night,” Hoss admonished her sternly. “We’d best git these horses stabled. It’ll be supper time ‘fore long.”

Ben, meanwhile, had trudged across the yard alone. As he stepped through the front door, he was surprised to find Li-Hsing standing there, looking anxious.

“Mister Li, are you alright?” Ben asked, peering into the other man’s ashen gray face with concern.

“Hsing worry Mister Cartwright,” he said in a soft voice, barely audible.

All of a sudden, Ben became aware of the thick silence that seemed to have fallen on his home. There were no muffled sobs issuing from upstairs, none of the soft, hurried footfalls which had, over the past couple of days, become so characteristic of Mei-Ling’s relentless pacing, and at this time of day, Hop Sing was always out in the kitchen, rattling pots, pans, and other utensils in preparation for dinner. “Where is everybody?” he demanded.

“They go,” Hsing replied. “Mei-Ling say so in note.” He handed the delicate rice paper in his hands, over to Ben.

Ben looked over the note with a bewildered frown, then gave it back to Li-Hsing. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to read it to me, Mister Li,” he said quietly. “I can’t read a single word of Chinese.”

“So sorry,” Hsing humbly apologized. He raised the note up to the level of his eyes and translated the hastily penned Chinese characters. “Mei-Ling say they all go to town. She, Hop Ling, Hop Sing, Yin-Ling, even venerable grandmother. All go. Your Little Joe also go.”

Upon hearing the name of his youngest son, Ben turned and pounced with both feet. “Did you say Little Joe?” he demanded rounding on the hapless Hsing.

“Y-Yes,” Hsing stammered, as he involuntarily took a step backward.

“Joe’s been here?”

Hsing nodded. “He come with Hop Ling.”

“Does that note say where they’ve gone?” Ben quickly snapped out the question.

“Mei-Ling tell me venerable papa see jade statues, statues stolen from stage, he see them in house where he go, pick up laundry,” Hsing replied. “Hop Ling not know for sure statues in house belong to Li family. He and others take venerable grandmother to see.”

Ben inwardly groaned at the thought of his youngest son and house guests embarking on a course that would in all likelihood land them all in jail on charges of breaking and entering. “Mister Li, please . . . this is very important,” he said earnestly. “Did Mei-Ling say in her note whose house Hop Ling saw that statues.”

“No, but Hsing hear them say.”

“Whose house is it?” Ben pressed.

“Last name Slut-Clift.”

“Sutcliff,” Ben muttered through clenched teeth. Worse and worse. “Mister Li, I have to go right back out— ”

“Go bring back Mei-Ling, Yin-Ling and others?” he queried hopefully.

“Yes.”

“Please, go, bring back. Hsing be all right.”

With that, Ben tore out of the house. “HOSS! STACY! DON’T UNSADDLE THE HORSES!” he roared at the top of his lungs, as he flew across the yard, running at top speed.

“Pa?” Stacy queried, as Ben burst into the barn like gangbusters.

“I know where your brother has gone,” he said, taking hold of Big Buck’s lead.

“Where?” Hoss demanded.

Ben quickly filled Hoss and Stacy in on the details he had just learned from Li-Hsing.

“Dadburn it, not the Sutcliffs,” Hoss groaned. “Pa, y’ don’t think they’d have the good sense t’ go t’ Sheriff Coffee . . . do ya?”

“Not if your brother’s ring leading this little escapade,” Ben said grimly. “Mount up! We’re going after them. I just hope and pray we’re not too late.”

“Pa, what about Stacy?” Hoss asked.

“Whaddya mean ‘What about Stacy?’ ” the Cartwright daughter demanded, outraged at the prospect of being left behind.

“Stacy goes with US, Hoss,” Ben said. His reply drew a smug, triumphant smile from his daughter. “After last night, I’ll feel a whole lot better if I can keep her right where I can keep a sharp eye on her.”

“Mister Rothburn?”

Nigel turned and found himself staring down into the face of Abigail Mann, one of the downstairs maids, and a saucy little wench, if ever there was one. Her uniform always seemed to be a couple of sizes too small, with one button too many open, and apron cinched just enough to reveal her tiny waist. The brilliant tangerine curls, that were forever tumbling from the confines of her mobcap, and the way she walked with that subtle swing of her hip, led Nigel to suspect that she had once been a barmaid. She had been employed in the Sutcliff household for three, nearly four years now. Although her work was exemplary, he had to marvel at the fact that she had lasted so long. Mrs. Sutcliff was infamously known far and wide for her near obsessive jealousy, regarding her husband . . . a condition that seemed to have significantly worsened within the last few months.

“Mister Rothburn, the laundry man is back with that tablecloth,” Abigail reported, her ruby red lips curving slightly upward in a flirtatious smile.

“Thank you, Miss Mann, you may return to your work now.”

Abigail nodded, then withdrew.

Nigel smiled, as he indulged himself a moment of watching her retreating form, before heading out to the back door used by the servants and delivery people. He spotted Hop Ling’s buckboard upon stepping out through the back door, with a half dozen large crates piled up in the back and nearly the same number of people accompanying him.

“Good evening, Mister Rothburn,” Hop Ling greeted Nigel affably, with a big smile, as he alighted from the buckboard with surprising agility given a man of his advanced years. “Hop Ling bring tablecloth.” He held out a brown, wrapped parcel, his smile never wavering.

“Out for a family outing, Sir?” Nigel remarked, gazing up on Hop Ling’s companions, archly, with upraised, questioning eyebrow.

“Bring assistants,” Hop Ling cheerfully explained. “Mister Rothburn say laundry for Missus be ready? Hop Ling need plenty help, bring along lots and lots assistants.”

Nigel laughed out loud. “Yes, Mrs. Sutcliff does indeed have a rather extensive wardrobe,” he said wryly. “I hope they’ll be enough. What are all those boxes?”

“Lo mein noodle,” Hop Ling replied. “Mister Sutcliff special order. Noodle man ask Hop Ling bring, since Hop Ling come with tablecloth and pick up laundry for Missus.”

“Have two of your assistants stow those boxes out in the shed ‘round back,” Nigel ordered.

“Back where you put firework?”

Nigel nodded. “I’ll see that they’re shown to the basement when they have finished unloading your wagon,” he said. “If you and the rest of your assistants would be so kind as to follow me?”

Hop Sing quickly moved back toward the boxes, stacked in the rear of the buckboard, effectively blocking Joe from view as he jumped down, then moved to assist Yin-Kuan, the Li family matriarch. Hop Ling, meanwhile, set the brake on the wagon, as the remaining members of his family climbed down. He, Yin-Kuan, his daughter, and granddaughter meekly fell in step behind Nigel Rothburn, as he led the way directly to the basement.

Meanwhile, Hop Sing handed one of the boxes down to Joe, then prepared to alight from the conveyance himself.

“Hop Sing, these boxes are pretty light,” Joe said, taking care to keep his voice low. “I can easily take another.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Joe replied with an emphatic nod of his head. “Oh! Would you mind handing down that canvas bag? It’s over there, under the seat.”

“You mean bag with insurance?”

“Ssssshhhh! Willya please keep your voice down? I don’t want ANYONE to find out about that trump card unless and until I have to play it,” Joe hissed.

Hop Sing quickly retrieved the canvas bag and passed it to Joe, before handing him another crate of the lo mein noodles. Joe took the draw strings of the canvas sack and carefully maneuvered it between himself and the crates in hand. Hop Sing jumped down and grabbed a crate sitting close to the edge. They crossed the yard in silence, taking the dirt path skirting around the Sutcliffs’ formal gardens. Less than a moment later, they reached the storage shed.

Hop Sing, being the first to reach the door, pressed and held the crate in hand up against the wall, balancing it with one hand, while he pushed the door open with the other. “Little Joe, you have match?”

“Oh har de har har!” Joe responded sardonically, as he stepped up to the open door, following a few feet behind Hop Sing. “Very funny.”

“Hop Sing no make joke. It dark in here, very, very dark. Not see hand in front of face.”

Stepping inside the small, windowless structure, Joe realized that Hop Sing was absolutely right. He set his boxes down and placed the canvas bag on top. “I think maybe I DO have a match, Hop Sing,” he said as he fumbled through the pockets of the Chinese style pants he now wore. His finger tips lightly brushed against a small wooden box. “I found ‘em.”

“Where Little Joe?” Hop Sing called from somewhere in the darkness, over in front of him, to his right.

“I’m over here . . . by the door,” Joe replied.

“Hop Sing find lamp.”

“You hold your horses a moment.” Joe pulled the box of matches from his pants, and , after removing one, struck it against the edge of his boot. The match ignited instantly.

Hop Sing stepped into the small circle of illumination a moment later, with lamp in hand. He lifted the glass, allowing Joe to light the wick.

“Whoa!” Joe exclaimed as Hop Sing held up the flickering light. Much of the shed’s interior was taken up by crate upon crate of fireworks, with long strings of coiled dynamite fuse liberally strewn over what remained of the floor space. “I’m sure glad you found that lantern, Hop Sing. A guy could fall and break his neck in here, otherwise.”

“Hop Sing sent lamp here, on floor next to door. Little Joe be careful. Not want start fire with fireworks.”

“I’ll be careful,” Joe promised. “Where are ya stacking the lo mein noodles?”

“Only place,” Hop Sing said, as he turned and picked up one of Joe’s crates, still sitting just inside the door. “Up here, on top of firework.”

Joe nodded, as the match, used to light the lamp, slipped from his fingers. He turned and picked up his second box, and placed it up on top along side the first, not knowing that the match had dropped on top of the very end of a long, coiled piece string of dynamite fuse. A tiny, remaining spark caught, igniting the frayed edge of fuse. The flame, too small yet to be discerned by human eyes, slowly, relentlessly began to eat into the fuse, that wound ‘round and ‘round, its other end reaching deep amid the stack crates of fireworks.

Meanwhile, inside the cellar, Mei-Ling and her daughter, Yin-Ling set themselves to the task of separating Mrs. Sutcliff’s delicate “unmentionables” from her other clothing. Her father had, a few moments before, gone to see if the way to the ballroom was clear. Yin-Kuan hovered anxiously near the door.

“Mrs. Li, the coast is clear,” Hop Ling announced in Chinese, upon his return a seeming eternity later. “All you need to do is take a quick look. If those ARE the statues, we’ll inform the sheriff.”

Yin-Kuan nodded.

“We go up the stairs, this way,” Hop Ling said, extending his hand. “Be careful, these back steps are very steep.”

Yin-Kuan took hold of Hop Ling’s hand with a grip surprisingly strong in one so elderly, and allowed him to assist her in climbing the stairs. At the top, Hop Ling held up his hand for them to stop, just outside the door leading into the butler’s pantry. Yin-Kuan mutely nodded. Hop Ling very slowly, very cautiously cracked the door open and peered inside. The small room was neat, clean, and empty. He turned and motioned for Yin-Kuan to follow.

Hop Ling and Yin-Kuan moved noiselessly through the butler’s pantry, then into the cavernous, deserted formal dining room. When they reached the closed pocket doors, Hop Ling again signaled for them to halt. He, then, parted the pocket doors just enough to allow him a peek into the ball room.

“The coast is clear,” Hop Ling said. He noiselessly slid the doors open, and motioned for Yin-Kuan to follow. Together, they tip-toed over to the mantle piece, where Hop Ling had seen the statues earlier. Now, however, they were gone. The mantle stood empty. He and Yin-Kuan stood together, side by side, staring up at the empty mantle in complete and utter dismay.

“They were here! I KNOW they were! I SAW them!”

“He must have known that you saw,” Yin-Kuan said, her thick, salt and pepper eyebrows coming together in an angry frown. “He’s taken them away and hidden them.”

“They may be in his gallery,” Hop Ling whispered. “I know the way, but I must warn you, it will be risky. Mister Sutcliff’s gallery is upstairs on the second floor amid the family living space.”

“I MUST know whether or not this man has those statues,” Yin-Kuan said grimly. “Not only for the sake of the Li family honor, but for the sake of Yin-Ling, your granddaughter . . . . my great-granddaughter. Please take me to the gallery.”

“Please follow me, Mrs. Li. We need to go back the way we came.”

Hop Ling and Yin-Kuan silently retraced their steps back through the darkening rooms on the first floor to the butler’s pantry without incident. The latter, breathless from all of the unaccustomed moving about, closed the door of the pantry behind her and leaned against it heavily, while her companion fumbled through the deep pockets of his pants in the darkness, searching for matches. Hop Ling found the box, after a seeming eternity of searching. He pulled it from his pocket and, after a few moments more of fumbling, pulled out a single match.

After lighting the match, Hop Ling glanced around, trying to get his bearings. “There it is,” he finally announced in Chinese, his voice barely above a whisper. “These are the steps leading up.”

Yin-Kuan took a deep, ragged breath, then crossed the pantry to stand beside Hop Ling.

“As you can see, they’re very steep,” Hop Ling said, shining the light of the steadily diminishing match into the narrow stairwell. “Will you be able to manage?”

Yin-Kuan noted the look of concern on his face, and nodded. “I have to know whether this Mister Sutcliff has my great-granddaughter’s bride price or not,” she declared, her face set with grim, stubborn determination. “To that end, I have the strength to do what I must.”

Hop Ling blew out the match in hand, all but spent, then lit another. “Let’s go,” he whispered, “and please! Be very, very careful.”

“I will.”

Holding the burning match in hand aloft, Hop Ling silently moved into the stairwell, and started up, his arthritic knees loudly protesting the steep angle of incline. There was no railing, no hand hold of any kind to offer balance and stability. Fortunately, the confines within the stairwell were extremely narrow, with just enough room for an average sized person to pass. Hop Ling found he was able to keep his balance by moving up one step at a time, and keeping his back pressed firmly against the wall. With his free hand, he held tight to Li Yin-Kuan’s hand, pulling her up along with him.

Half way up the backstairs, Hop Ling and Yin Kuan heard someone giggle in the darkness above their heads, beyond the dim circle of light from the former’s match.

“Oh, Kirk, you should see yourself with that stern face. You look so silly!” The speaker was female, the same one the had just heard giggling. Hop Ling recognized it as belonging to Myrtle Abigail Sutcliff, the youngest Sutcliff daughter. To friends, what few she had, and family, she preferred to be known as Muffy.

“I mean it, Muffy.”

“Who are they?” Yin-Kuan asked. “What are they saying?”

“Kirk and Muffy Sutcliff. The youngest son and daughter,” Hop Ling explained.

“I mean it, too, Kirk. It’s a lovely night out, and I intend to take a short stroll in the garden before going to bed.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.”

“NO!” Muffy screamed and stamped her foot. “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!”

“Muffy, for heavens sake, keep your voice DOWN. Mother’s gone to bed with another of her sick headaches, and Father . . . well, Father’s not in the best of moods this evening.”

“I’ll keep my voice down when you, Mother, and Father treat me like an adult,” Muffy said firmly. “Now . . . I am going to go downstairs, let myself out back, so that I might take a stroll in our gardens . . . ALONE!”

“Muffy— ”

“NO!”

Hop Ling and Yin-Kuan stared at one another in complete and utter dismay, when they heard the soft creek of the door up on the second floor opening.

“Dammit, Kirk— ”

“Muffy, it’s very unseemly for a young lady to go around swearing like a sailor.”

Muffy stamped her foot again, this time hard enough to shake the very timbers of the house. “I DON’T GIVE A DAMN, DO YOU HEAR ME? I JUST WANT TO TAKE A SHORT STROLL IN OUR GARDENS . . . ON OUR VERY OWN PROPERTY . . . BY MYSELF . . . BEFORE I GO TO BED.”

“MYRTLE ABIGAIL SUTCLIFF YOU GET BACK HERE!” Kirk yelled after her as she ran into the stair well. The clatter of her hard soled shoes against the wooden steps as she ran was near deafening.

“GO TO HELL!”

“Oh no!” Yin-Kuan groaned. “She’s coming this way. What’ll we do NOW?”

“Back down the steps . . . quickly,” Hop Ling urged.

“It’s no use,” Yin-Kuan shook her head in despair. “At the rate she’s running down the steps . . . I can’t even move HALF that fast these days.”

Hop Ling new all to well that Yin-Kuan spoke the truth. Both closed their eyes and mentally braced themselves for the inevitable.

“MASTER Kirk and MISS Myrtle, your father has asked me to escort you to his study at once.” It was Nigel Rothburn. At the sound of his voice, Muffy’s clamorous descent down the back stairs abruptly ceased.

“I . . . I TRIED to tell her— ” Kirk whined.

“Don’t tell me, tell your father,” Nigel rudely cut Kirk off. “Miss Myrtle, if you aren’t up here by the time I count three, I’m coming right down there after you.”

A curt, exasperated sigh exploded from Muffy’s lips. She, then, turned and stomped back up the stairs. Hop Ling and Yin-Kuan slowly exhaled the breaths they had been holding. The match in the former’s hand went out, just before they heard the door upstairs close. They waited in darkness, until the footsteps and the terse, angry voices finally faded away to silence.

“That . . . was close,” Hop Ling whispered.

“TOO close.”

They remained silent for awhile longer, their ears straining to catch the sounds of footsteps, or voices returning.

“Do you wish to continue, Mrs. Li?” Hop Ling finally asked.

“I must,” she replied. “For the sake of my great granddaughter’s happiness . . . for the restoration of my family’s honor . . . I must.”

“I am getting to old for these kinds of shenanigans,” Hop Ling observed silently, as he fumbled again in the darkness searching for a match. He lit it, striking it against the sole of his shoe. After all the time spent in near total darkness, the tiny light cast by the match was near blinding. They continued on up the remaining stairs, until Hop Ling finally, at long last stood on the top most step, just inside the door opening out onto the second floor. There was barely enough room to accommodate him.

Hop Ling signaled for Yin-Kuan to wait silently, with a gesture. She nodded. He reached out, his fingers curling loosely around the door knob, then blew out the match. Hop Ling, with heart in mouth, carefully eased the door open, praying fervently the entire time that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. After allowing his eyes sufficient time to adjust to the dimmed, almost non-existent, lighting, he began to study the lay of the land.

The door to the back stairs, used mostly by the servants, was at the end of a very long corridor. There was a large window at the other end. Hop Ling could barely make out its lines. On either side, he could make out recessed alcoves, spaced at varying intervals, shrouded in deep shadow. The door to the gallery, where Mister Sutcliff kept and displayed his art collection lay within one of those dark alcoves. Unfortunately, Hop Ling hadn’t the vaguest idea which one. Even worse, he had at least a dozen choices.

He turned and explained the situation to Yin-Kuan. “If you have any second thoughts— ”

“We’ve come THIS far, Hop Ling,” Yin-Kuan said quietly. “To turn back NOW would like a traveler, who turns back from his destination to return home . . . after completing nine tenths of the journey.”

Hop Ling smiled. “You are absolutely right,” he said. “Are you ready for the last leg of THIS journey?”

“Yes.”

After making absolute certain the coast was clear, Hop Ling gallantly helped Yin-Kuan up the last step and out into the corridor. The first alcove, with recessed door was set into the wall, to their left, roughly ten yards from the door to the back stairs. They moved noiselessly down the hall, every sense alert, with Hop Ling in the lead, Yin-Kuan following. As they drew near, Hop Ling motioned for them to halt, and to draw back, close to the main wall. Yin-Kuan flattened herself against the wall as much as her body would allow, then held her breath.

Hop Ling swallowed nervously, as he peered into the alcove. He noted with dismay, the thin line of dim light along the floor. “Someone’s in there,” he whispered as he drew back. “We must be very, VERY quiet.”

“That must be Mister Sutcliff’s study,” Yin-Kuan whispered back, remembering the set-to between the man’s son and daughter.

“Yes. I hear no one in there talking, but someone is moving around.” Hop Ling pointed to the next alcove on the other side of the corridor, roughly four or five yards distant. “We go there next.”

Yin-Kuan nodded, then once more fell in behind him. Before they had gone two thirds of the way to their destination, the their ears picked up the sound of heavy footfalls coming from somewhere behind them.

“This way! Quickly!” Hop Ling hissed, pointing to the next alcove up ahead.
The two of them ran the remaining distance, then squeezed into the dark shadows of the alcove. Hop Ling gently moved Yin-Kuan deep into the recessed area, then peered around the corner into the hall way.

A tall, thin man stepped through the door to the back stairs, and started down the corridor, moving at a brisk pace. Hop Ling half feared that the man might have seen them. He noted with great relief that the man turned and stepped into the first alcove, where he and Mrs. Li had seen the light shining under the door. They heard the sound of human knuckles striking against a wood door, followed by voices, a brief exchange of words, and finally a door opening.

“Hop Ling, there’s nobody in here,” Yin-Kuan said. “No light shines under the door, and I’ve been listening with my ear to the proverbial keyhole. Not a soul has stirred.”

“Thank you,” Hop Ling murmured gratefully, as he noiselessly slid one of the pocket doors into its place in the wall. The room was indeed dark, as Mrs. Li had said. Dark and empty of all people. He entered the room first, moving to his left, keeping himself flush up against the wall. Yin-Kuan followed.

It was an enormous room, with tall picture windows lining the entire back wall. After an indeterminate period of time spent groping in the darkness, Hop Ling bumped into a wall sconce. He removed the matches from his pocket and lit the lamp, making sure to turn the light down very low.

“Hop Ling, it looks like we got lucky,” Yin-Kuan exclaimed with a satisfied smile.

The walls to the left and right of the door were crammed with all manner of paintings, drawings, and prints by well known American artists, with a smattering of pieces purchased at the Salon on his recent trip to Paris. A ring of free standing sculpture lined the outer perimeter of the room, ranging in size and taste from a statue of Anubis, the jackal headed God of the Underworld from ancient Egypt, to a small, statue of the Hindu deity, Shiva, exquisitely carved from fine ivory, to a marble statue of Demeter, a gift from a friend who had enjoyed the rare privilege of visiting an actual archaeological dig on Greece, just outside of Athens. The center of the room was crammed with all manner of display cases, filled to the brim with a wide variety of carved stone pieces, ceramics, and jewelry.

At Yin-Kuan’s suggestion, they divided the room between them and began their search for the exquisitely carved jade statues that rightfully belonged to the Li family.

“Good evening.”

Hop Ling and Yin-Kuan very slowly, very reluctantly, turned and found themselves looking into the baleful, stone cold face of Geoffrey Sutcliff. He stood framed in the open door, impeccably attired in black pants, a white shirt, and a port wine brocade smoking jacket.

“Oh, so sorry,” Hop Ling said with a big smile, as genuine as a three-dollar bill, laying on the Chinese pigeon English thicker than a jug of molasses. “So very, very sorry. Tay-ke wrong turn, zig when shudda zag?!”

“Oh. So . . . solly. So velly solly,” Yin-Kuan murmured trying hard to imitate Hop Ling’s version of American English.

“Not half so much as that act,” Geoffrey snapped as he reached into the pocket of his smoking jacket and extracted a derringer.

Hop Ling and Yin-Kuan both froze and raised their hands.

“You must be the laundry man,” Geoffrey said, eyeing Hop Ling with disdain. “At the very least, you’re going to find that business has taken a significant turn for the worse, because I plan to take my laundry business elsewhere.”

“To where? State of Nevada Correctional Facility?” Hop Ling queried without missing a beat.

“If ANYONE goes to the State of Nevada Correctional Facility it’s going to be YOU,” Geoffrey sneered. He, then, turned to Yin-Kuan. A smile oozed its way across his lips. “Well, well, well. I WAS expecting a visit from your grandson, or some other male family member, but NOT the family matriarch herself,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. “I must say your presence, Madam, is quite a surprise.”

“Y-You know we come?!” Hop Ling blurted out in surprise.

“Oh yes, I’ve been expecting you since Mister Rothburn told me about how intensely you scrutinized the jade statues,” Geoffrey replied. “He thought you were simply admiring the exquisite work of a countryman. I, however, thought it kind of odd that a mere laundryman would take so keen an interest in such fine works of art, so I did some checking. When I learned that your daughter had actually married into the Li family . . . well, I KNEW you’d be back.”

Yin-Kuan turned to Hop Ling. “Who IS that man?” she demanded in Chinese. “What is he saying?”

“He is the back-side-of-a-mule who purchased the statues from the thieves,” Hop Ling replied. His less than kind reference to Geoffrey Sutcliff brought an amused smile to Yin-Kuan’s face. He then translated the remainder of what Geoffrey had said.

“Then he knows the statues belong to the Li family,” Yin-Kuan said, her face darkening with anger.

“Yes, it would seem so.”

“You’ll both stop speaking in that ear-splitting gibberish at once,” Geoffrey ordered petulantly. They were ignoring him. Being ignored was the one thing Geoffrey Sutcliff hated above all else. “Furthermore, you’ll speak only when spoken to and then only to ME. Other wise you will keep your mouths shut.”

“Mrs. Li not speak American,” Hop Ling replied.

Geoffrey glared sullenly at Hop Ling for a moment, then sighed. “Oh all right. You tell HER what I just now told you . . . but nothing ELSE. You understand?”

“Hop Ling understand.” He turned and began to translate for Yin-Kuan’s benefit.

Geoffrey Sutcliff, keeping his eyes and the barrel of his derringer trained on the elderly man and woman before him, reached behind and to his left with his free hand to pull a braided cord the same color as his smoking jacket. Nigel Rothburn entered a moment later. Though he registered surprise upon seeing Hop Ling and Yin-Kuan in a place so far removed from the basement and the laundry, he said nothing. He merely looked over at his employer and waited expectantly.

“Mister Rothburn, I caught these two in the act of stealing,” Geoffrey Sutcliff said in a stone cold voice, bringing a look of sheer horror to Hip Ling’s face. “I want you to dispatch one of the footmen to fetch the sheriff at once.”

“Yes, Sir. What of their cohorts?”

“Cohorts?”

“Yes, Sir. When Hop Ling came, ostensibly to pick up Mrs. Sutcliff’s laundry, he brought this woman here and four others,” Nigel informed his employer.

“Where are they now?”

“I showed them all down to the basement.”

“Send some men downstairs to round them up, and escort them to my study,” Geoffrey said. “The three of us will meet you there. When the sheriff arrives, the entire motley crew will be turned over to him and placed under arrest.”

End of Part 4

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