“Do ya know your name?” questioned the old man as he bent his head to peer down at the straggled looking imp.
The boy looked thoughtful, confused and then, looking wistfully up at the stranger, shook his head no. “I can’t seem to remember.”
The old man straightened up and scratched his balding head, gazing at the wide hazel eyes of the boy who had wandered into his yard and had passed out cold, falling in a heap practically at his feet.
It had taken some time for the old gentleman to bring the boy around. He’d had to soak a cloth in the watering trough and had moistened the sun-blistered face and the dried, parched lips several times before the lad had regained consciousness.
“Looky, sonny, don’t ya remember nothin’?”
This question deepened the frown already embedded on the dirty, cherub like face. The youngster shook his head no.
The old man’s patience was beginning to wear thin. There was working needin’ to be done afore his son got home. If his grown son returned before the old man had finished, his son would be furious at his father for not finishing with the chores.
While the old man remained lost in his thoughts, the boy struggled to his feet, staggering somewhat and reaching out for something to support him.
“Careful now,” the old man cautioned as he reached for the boy’s arm to steady him. “Ya ain’t quite yourself yet…come on over here and sit down whilst I finish these here chores,” the farmer said as he led the boy into the barn and helped him to sit down on the nearest crate.
“Thank you,” stammered the boy said politely.
‘Polite,’ the old man thought to himself as he studied the lad a little closer. ‘Ain’t some street urchin, clothes too expensive for that…wonder who he is…or yet…where he came from.’
The farmer picked up his rake and worked a few minutes in one of the stalls before pausing again to look at his unexpected guest. “Ya got any ideay how old ya might be, kid?”
The youngster was rubbing the side of his head, as if he had a pain that was causing his head to hurt. Troubled eyes, the color of emeralds stared blankly up at the old timer. He shook his head. “I…don’t…know…” he stammered.
Henry Craigmiles sighed heavily. “Ya sure don’t know much, do ya?”
Joe’s eyes flashed instantly but then the pain surged through his head once more, stilling the angry retort he was about to give to the tiresome old gent. “No…sir, I…reckon not,” he said softly.
The man’s tone softened some as he moved to stand before the boy. He gently lifted the boy’s chin, forcing Joe to look him square in the eye. He turned Joe’s head slowly from side to side, examining his face carefully. “Don’t make no never mind; ya look to be about…fifteen…sixteen or so.”
He released the boy’s chin, still studying the boy closely. “Ya head hurtin’ ya some, I suppose?”
It was more of a statement than a question but Joe nodded in response. “Like a hot iron’s been pressed into my temples…” Joe, using the tips of his fingers, massaged his temples. His eyes were closed tightly, as if he were willing away the throbbing pain. “It feels like my head’s been locked in a vise,” he said weakly.
Henry watched while he worked. He wondered silently where the boy had come from, how the lad had ended up here and where were the boy’s parents…and his horse, for the kid had walked or rather staggered, into the yard before collapsing. He glanced out the opened door of the barn. From where he worked, he could see the yard where the chickens pecked at the ground. His son, Grant, would be home soon, and Henry knew that his work would not be finished and that Grant would be furious. Glancing again at the boy, he wondered if the lad were capable of helping him out. With the kid’s help, he could be finished by the time that his own son got back from town and save himself not only the physical part of the work, but the long drawn out verbal abuse that he knew Grant would rain on him.
“Ya think ya could give me a hand, boy?”
Joe glanced up, barely able to see through the blinding pain that caused his head to hurt so. “I…I’m not sure…”
Henry held the rake out to the boy who stood, wobbling. When Joe stretched out his hand to take the tool from the old man, everything about him began to swirl. Suddenly he felt himself sinking to the ground and by the time he lay in a ball at the farmer’s feet, Joe’s world as he had known it, had turned into a dark, dense black hole where nothing made sense to his jumbled and confused thoughts.
Before he could offer his assistance to the unconscious boy, Henry heard the sound of approaching hooves. He glanced up, seeing his son riding up to the front of the old house. Quickly he rushed to close the barn door and returned to Joe, pulling his still body into the empty stall and into the furthermost corner where it was dark and less likely that the boy would be seen. The old man half covered Joe’s body with loose hay.
“Ya stay right there, and be quiet. Ya hear me? Don’t make a sound, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Henry whispered, hoping that the boy might somehow hear him and understand. The old man slipped from the stall, glancing back over his shoulder at the curly headed lad who was trying hard to wake up.
The old man put his fingers to his lips; “Shh…I won’t be long,” he whispered as he disappeared out the door.
For several moments, Joe fought his way back from his darkened world. His head buzzed as he huddled in the dark corner. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he scanned his new surroundings, still rubbing at his eyes in an effort to clear the fog that had seemed to settle before him. He started to move, to rise, but then the old man’s words came back to him, warning him to be still and remain quiet. Joe wondered why he was instructed to do so, what had happened that seemed to have frightened the old farmer? Not fully conscious to what was going on around him, and too weak to put up a fuss, Joe moved into a sitting position where he could rest his head against the wall of the old barn. His knees he drew up to his chest. He propped his elbows on his knees and covered his eyes with his hands, his head was pounding again and the constant throbbing was making his stomach start to ache. He even feared that he might be sick. When the acidic bile began to boil, it took all his waning strength to swallow it down and keep it down.
Suddenly, Joe heard the heavy barn door being yanked open. Loud voices caused him to perk up somewhat, as he forgot about the rising bile and the everlasting pain in his temples. The voice that rang out the loudest was strange to him, certainly not the old man’s. And whoever it was, was angry, shouting and yelling. An inner voice cautioned him to remain still and quiet as he had been instructed. Joe even tried pushing himself deeper into his hiding place as he listened to the arguing.
“Why in blazes ain’t ya done? What have ya been doin’ all morning, Pa?” shouted the younger man. “Hell, can’t I even go into town for supplies and leave ya here to do one blasted thing for me?”
“Now son…it ain’t like I ain’t been busy….” started the old man as he followed his son into the dark barn.
“Sure, Pa…sure, I can just look around me and see what all you’ve been doing,” ranted Grant in an angry voice.
In the darkest corner of the stable, Joe was having trouble keeping his stomach from reacting. It rumbled and he feared that the angry stranger might hear him. He clasped his arms about his mid-section, temporarily forgetting the pain in his head to concentrate on the battle going on deep within his belly.
“Grant…I’m sorry, son,” Henry said, casting anxious eyes toward the stall where Little Joe hid in the corner. Henry was afraid that if Grant found the boy, there would be hell to pay. He hated kids of any age. Henry could never figure out just why, but his son could not stand being around children, especially half-grown youngsters, such as was hiding in his barn. He’d always claimed the teenagers to be troublemakers and ill doers, smart mouth and rude Grant had always declared. “They ain’t got no respect for their elders…none of them…” he would often shout at his father. Perhaps, thought Henry, it was Grant’s raisin’, comin’ back to haunt him.
Grant whirled around to face his father, “Sorry? Yeah Pa, for once you’re tellin’ the truth, you’re sorry all right! You always have been, ya know that?” shouted the furious younger man. “You ain’t never done nuthin’ right, ya wasted ya whole dang life digging around in this here dirt, for what Pa? What? Nothing, that’s what for!”
“Grant…”
“Shut up, old man!” yelled the son. From the corner of his eye, Grant caught a movement in the furthest part of the stall that he stood in front of. His voice became silent as he moved slowly into the darkness, inching his way closer to the one who was trying to make himself unseen.
“Grant, hmm…take a look at this here mare, I think she might have a loose shoe,” Henry called suddenly, hoping to draw his son’s attention away from the youngster he had placed in hiding.
“Wait a minute, Pa…well I’ll be!” shouted Grant as he extended his arm out toward Joe and grabbed Joe by the upper arm and easily, with his much larger hand, hauled Joe from his hiding place. “Looky what I found hidin’ in our barn.”
Grant held Joe’s arm tightly within his strong fingers, nearly lifting Joe off the ground.
“Let me go!” cried Joe painfully as he struggled to wrench free from the big man’s strong fingers.
Grant gave the squirming boy a good hard shake, knocking the boy to the ground. “Shut up, kid,” shouted Grant, glaring at Little Joe.
Moaning painfully, Little Joe was too weak to make an attempt to get up. His head felt strange and his vision was beginning to blur. He lay, unmoving on the dirt floor.
“Grant,” said Henry, eyeing his son, “the boy’s been hurt…he wandered into the yard about an hour ago…then collapsed. Why, he don’t even know his own name, or how old he be…or where he come from…”
Henry knelt down beside Joe and helped him into a sitting position. One look told the old timer that the injured boy was on the verge of passing out again.
“He…needs a doctor, son,” Henry said, looking up at the man towering over him.
“A doctor? Are out of your mind, old man…we ain’t got no money to spend on…a doctor. No…I want him outta here…we don’t have no need for wayward kids around here…now get rid of him…”
“Rid of him?” stammered the old man. Henry stood up, leaving Joe on the ground listening and watching, fighting to maintain some sense of what was going on around him. “What do ya mean…get rid of him…”
“Just what I said…I want him out of here…do you hear me!”
“Yeah, I hear ya, son,” Henry said. He glanced down at Joe and then up at his son. “But…how…”
Grant had started toward the door. His steps were heavy, weighted by the anger that brewed beneath his rough exterior.
“I don’t care how you get rid of him, just do it…he’s trouble…hell, Pa…look at him…he’s some rich man’s kid…”
Both men turned to look down at Joe who by now had slipped again into his haven of darkness. Neither said a word for several moments but then Grant smiled, wickedly.
“Pa…” he said, grabbing the old man’s arm. “Did you say the kid had no clue who he was…or where he’s from?”
“Yeah, he don’t even know how old he is…why?” Henry asked, sensing that his son was toying with some idea that had just popped into his head.
“You know what, Pa…?”
“What?” Henry suddenly had a sick feeling of his own growing in the pit of his stomach. Whatever his son was planning for the boy, it would not be good, of that the old man was positive.
“We sure could use some help around this place. Ya been complaining forever about your old bones…and I’m tired…just plain old tired,” Grant said, his grin widening.
“What are ya thinkin’ on doin’?”
Grant shut the door to the barn and moved to the back, opening a door there. “Let’s put him in the shed for now…that way, if anyone comes lookin’ for him…they won’t find him. Then…when he’s better…we’ll make up some story…ere…we’ll tell the boy…I’m his uncle and you’re his grandpa…his ma…my sister, your daughter, died…and she sent him to us for raisin’…” Grant snickered softly. “He’ll work for us…he’ll have to, ‘cause…we’re…family!”
The old man’s eye narrowed slightly. He was contemplating what his son had just suggested. He didn’t much like it, the boy’s family, if they be rich, might come lookin’ and if they did…there might be more trouble than what either of them bargained for.
“Pa…ya been wantin’ to slow down…now’s ya chance…you can have the boy work for you in the morning…doing barn chores and such…and after lunch…I’ll use him in the fields…he’ll be our own little white………….slave!” For the first time in ages, the younger man laughed.
“We can both slow down…” beamed the old man after several more moments of trying to visualize the plan in his own head. The smile that graced his face suddenly disappeared. He grabbed his son by both arms, looking him squarely in the eyes.
“What if the kid remembers who he is…and…wants to go home?”
“There won’t be no…going home…he’s mine…from this day on, he’s my nephew…now help me get him into the shed. By the time I’m finished with him…he’ll do any dam thing I tell him to, or pay the consequences.”
While Grant had been talking, he had picked up the whip that hung on a peg. He had allowed the leather to run through his fingers as the smile became more grotesque. When he bent to take a hold of Joe’s upper body, he hung the whip back on the peg.
“Nope…we ain’t gonna have no trouble out of this kid…that, Pa, I promise you!”
***********
Ben jerked back on his reins, bringing his big buckskin to a grinding halt. He glanced all around, trying to find his men, whom seemed scattered, as were the cattle, in all directions. On the horizon he spotted his eldest son, Adam, and off to the west he could make out the bulky form of his middle son, Hoss. Ben’s hungry eyes searched the hills in hopes of catching a glimpse of his youngest boy, Joe…Little Joe to those who knew him best, but Ben could not pin point the youngster’s location. “Must be on the other side of the hill,” he told himself as he kicked his mount into action.
They had just about settled in for the evening, the cattle were beginning to settle down while the men in camp were eating their supper when a horrific roar of thunder had disrupted everything. The loud racket had startled the herd and before anyone could so much as turn around, the entire herd had stampeded, spreading out in every direction possible. The men riding herd, including Little Joe, had taken out after the runaway mass of cattle in hopes of getting them turned and then stopped. The men in camp jumped into action as well and joined the others but it had taken more than an hour to get the charging herd under control. Even yet cattle bawled and paced nervously about. The majority of the group of wranglers had made a circle around the herd while others continued to look for strays.
It had happened so suddenly that Ben had no time to fix his eyes on his sons’ whereabouts, until that second. He saw Adam wave to him and he returned the gesture. When Ben reached his oldest, he pulled Buck to a stop.
Adam was sweaty and the dust had stuck to his flesh, covering his facial features and black clothing in a fine haze of gray. But he greeted his father with a tired smile. “That must be about the last of them, Pa.”
“Good son…are you alright?”
“Tired…dirty…thirsty…other than that, I can’t complain,” Adam said with a dimpled grin. “I saw Hoss over on that ridge,” he told his father, pointing to the place he’d last seen his brother.
“I saw him…what about Little Joe…have you seen him?” Ben asked, all the while searching the distant hills.
Adam automatically followed his father’s gaze. He even turned half way around in his saddle and looked over his shoulder. When he faced his father, his eyes had a worried look about them.
“No…last I saw of him, he was out in front of the herd…” Adam gulped as a disturbing thought struck him. “He was…trying to get out of the way…the herd…charged straight at him,” he finished.
Adam saw the color drain from his father’s face and wished he had phrased his statement differently than to have it appear that Joe might have been caught up in the stampede and perhaps, injured…or worse. He hurried to soothe the fear he’d seen spring into his father’s eyes. “He’s probably off in the brush looking for strays…I wouldn’t worry, Pa…we’ll find him.”
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His eyes still searched the horizon, looking for his youngest son. “You’re probably right, Adam. Let’s get back to camp…he might even be there…and if not…well, we’ll just have to look for him…”
“He’ll come riding in…knowing Joe, he’ll be bursting at the seams telling us about his exploits…”
“It would be just like that boy to be out in front of a runaway herd of cattle,” Ben grumbled in a good-natured tone. “He never stops to think about the danger he puts himself in…”
“Impulsive, spontaneous, daring…”
Ben gave his son a sharp-eyed glare that caused Adam to chuckle to himself. After a moment, Ben smiled too.
“Come on,” Ben said, shaking his head but not enough to shake the seed of fear that had been planted deep inside his heart.
**********
It was late that evening before Joe woke from his unconscious state. He opened his eyes to find himself in total darkness. His first thought was that he really wasn’t awake, that he was still lost in the sea of blackness in which he had fallen. When he reached up and touched the side of his head and could feel his own fingers against his pounding temples and felt the pulse that beat there, he realized that he had indeed awakened. Confused as to where he was, Joe pushed himself into a sitting position only to find himself sitting in the middle of a narrow cot.
Curious about his surroundings and trying to ignore the blasting pain in his temples, he swung his legs around to the side of the cot and tried to stand up. At first he was wobbly but after a few seconds he was able to move slowly toward a tiny ray of light that glowed between the cracks in the boards. When he peek between the boards, the light appeared small and served no purpose in helping Joe to determine where he was. For a moment, Joe allowed his hands to rest on the boards, feeling along the wall until he was able to find the latch on the door. He tried it, but it refused to budge. Frustrated with a growing fear settling in his gut, he tried again and again, pausing to still the rapid fluttering in his heart. The door was locked…he suddenly felt trapped and alone.
“I am alone,” he muttered to himself, wondering where the old man had gotten to and why had the farmer locked him up in this tiny, one room shack. Suddenly overcome with fear plus the constant thumbing in his temples, Joe balled up his fists and beat on the door…yelling out in a vain effort to be heard.
“HELP!!! HELP!!! LET ME OUT OF HERE!! SOMEONE….PLEASE!!!”
In the house, the old farmer and his son sat in silence at the table, eating what meager scrapes made up their supper. The old man glanced up at his son just as the son raised his head and glanced at the door. “Sounds like…my nephew…has awakened,” the younger man said with a smirk.
“Sounds like it,” the old man said, rising and moving to the shelf over the stove. When he picked up a tin plate and began to fill it with the stew from the pot, Grant pushed back his chair and moved to stand behind his father. “Just what do you think you’re doin’?” he barked.
Henry looked up with a puzzled expression. “The boy’s awake…he’s no doubt hungry…I was goin’ to take him a plate…”
Angry, Grant grabbed the tin plate from his father’s work calloused hand and turning it upside down, dumped the contents back into the pot.
“We barely got enough to feed ourselves…he don’t need none…” Grant scolded.
“But…”
“NO BUTS! You heard me…the brat gets one meal a day…and what he gets and how much depends on how hard he works! If he sloughs off doing his work, he don’t eat…do ya understand? I ain’t wasting our grub on a lazy, no good kid who ain’t earned the right to eat…do I make myself clear?”
Tight lipped, the old man moved away. Grant returned to his seat, picked up his own tin plate and held it out to his pa. “Give me some more,” he ordered impolitely.
Afraid to say more, or refuse the demand, Henry took the plate and refilled it, handing it back to his son. For several moments he stood to the side and watched Grant cramming the stew into his mouth. The pounding on the door of the shed had stopped; apparently the boy had given up his appeal for freedom.
***********
Hoss found his father saddling his horse. It was early morning and the sun had yet to cast its rays over the tips of the mountains in the foreground. Ben was working feverishly.
“Where ya headed this early?” Hoss asked his father.
Ben barely glanced up as he continued to tighten the cinch on his saddle. “Joe didn’t come in last night…I’m going to look for him.” Ben dropped the stirrup down and turned around. “I want you and Adam to go with the men, take the herd on into Sacramento…when I find Joe, we’ll meet you there…wait for us. Tell Adam to see Mr. Curry, settle up with him and…wait for me.”
Ben grabbed the reins and mounted up. Buck danced in a circle before Ben had time to force him into a standstill. “Make sure you get a good price for those steers, understand?”
“Yessir…but Pa…why can’t…Adam take the herd on in…I…I wanna help ya find Little Joe…and…”
“Hoss…if I don’t find him by this time tomorrow…I’ll send word to you and Adam…but right now, I have a deadline on getting this herd to market…I need you and Adam to see that it gets done. But I have to find Joe…he’s my first priority…now please…just do as I ask.”
Hoss sighed deeply as he nodded. “Alright…whatever you say Pa…but, if ya find Little Joe…will ya send us word?”
Ben smiled, knowing how worried Hoss was about his little brother. They were shadows…Hoss and Joe…close, tight… “I’ll do better than that, son…I’ll deliver him to you personally…how’s that?” Ben said, smiling though he felt nothing like smiling. All night he had lain awake, listening to every sound, hoping that Little Joe would ride in…but it had all been for naught. Little Joe didn’t ride in and now Ben was worried sick about his youngest son. Anything could have happened…what if the boy had gotten hurt, trampled…what if his body lay broken and twisted under hundreds of pairs of sharp, cutting hooves. Unexpectedly, Ben shivered. ‘I can’t let my thoughts go in that direction. Joe’s alright…on foot maybe…’ he told himself.
Suddenly, Hoss’ voice broke through his disconcerting thoughts. “That’ll be great, Pa…now, don’t ya worry ya self none, Adam and me’ll get them critters to market on time…”
“Thank you Hoss…I knew I could depend on you…”
With that said, Ben spun Buck around and headed off at a full gallop.
***********
The door squeaked when it was pushed opened. Joe, who was lying on his back on the cot, opened his eyes and turned his head so that he could see who had unlocked the door. The old man carrying a tray pushed the door closed with the heel of his boot.
“I see you’re awake,” he greeted Joe as he set the tray on a crate that served as a small table. “Ya hungry?”
“Why’d you lock me in here?” Joe said as he rose into a sitting position and turned so that he could sit on the edge of the small bed. “Who are you…where is this place?”
The old farmer who was bent over the tray, worked at uncovering Joe’s meal, glanced up and smiled. “My, my…ain’t you all full of questions this morning’?”
The aroma of fried bacon and scrambled eggs filled the tiny room. Joe’s stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in…how long? He couldn’t even remember his last meal.
Henry watched the boy’s reaction to the food, sensing that it had been far too many hours since the youngster had eaten. He pulled up another crate and sat opposite Joe. When he picked up the fork and held it out to the boy, Joe took it and began filling his mouth.
“Must’va gone a while without,” the old man said.
Joe glanced up and nodded. “I suppose,” he said between mouthfuls. “You didn’t answer my question…how’s come you locked me up in here?”
“Had to…”
“Had to? Why…I wasn’t goin’ to do you any harm…” Joe explained.
“No…don’t suppose ya was…ya was too sick…say, how’s ya head this morning?”
“Better…” Joe said and then crammed another bite into his mouth.
“Good…cause we got work to do,” Henry said, lowering his head so that he could watch the boy from beneath downed lashes.
For a moment, Joe stopped chewing and looked at the old man. He seemed to be ignoring him. “Work? What kind of work?”
“Chores, boy…chores. Didn’t ya mama ever make you do chores?” Henry said as he stood up and turned his back to Joe so that the boy could not see his face, or his expressions.
“My…ma?” Joe said, swallowing. “What do you mean…my ma? Do…you know who I am?” he asked, standing and coming around to stand in front of the elderly man.
Henry said nothing.
“Please…you…have to tell me…do you know me?” he practically begged. He had been more than just a little frightened when he stumbled into the yard, unaware of who he was or where he came from…or why he was where he was.
Henry took a deep breath and turned around, masking his true feelings. If he didn’t convince the boy that he was his grandson…Grant would be furious with…both of them. “I know ya…well…I mean…I ain’t seen ya in a few years. Ya was just a wee little thing the last time I laid eyes on ya…”
“Then you do know me!”
“Yeah…you’re…my…grandson.”
For a moment, Joe was stunned. This wasn’t what he was expecting to find out. He had just assumed that he was…what? “Grandson?” he stammered.
“Yeah…you’re my grandson…you be my daughter’s boy,” the old man lied.
Joe, unable to find words to express his shock, turned away from the man. “Then…is the other man…my…father?” Joe asked with a worried frown. He hadn’t really seen the younger man, but he’d heard him, and he hadn’t liked the man at all. He was loud, and had a voice that was vicious. Dread filled his young heart with fear. “Is he?” he asked again.
“Grant? No, no…Grant’s my son…your uncle…”
“Oh,” breathed Joe in relief. “Then…who…and where…are my…parents…my ma and pa?”
Henry swallowed hard and looked Joe square in the eye. “They be dead boy…kilt in a freak accident.”
Unable to endure more, Joe sat down on the cot. He was an…orphan…left in the care of this old man and a vicious uncle. Slowly he raised his head to look up at his grandfather. “When did this happen?”
Henry sighed, dreading more lies. “About three days ago…”
“I…don’t remember…” Joe muttered.
“No…of course you wouldn’t…you was with them when the wagon went down the side of the cliff…but ya fell out on the way down…bumped your head…they was kilt.”
“That’s why my head’s been pounding then?”
“Yeah…ya took a pretty hard knock…caused ya to lose ya memory…that’s why ya can’t remember nothin’,” Henry continued with his lie. “We would of buried ya folks…but…there just wasn’t…enough left to bury…” Henry made a low moan, deep in his throat.
Joe looked up, believing the old man to be sick with grief, which in truth, he was sick because of his lies.
“I’m sorry…” Joe said, standing up and placing a hand on the old man’s shoulder. He was amazed at how the elderly farmer trembled. “This must be hard on you.”
Tears had almost filled the old man’s eyes. They blurred his vision when he looked into Joe’s tear filled ones. “No harder on me, lad, than on you…but…life goes on, son…”
The words were like a sharp knife, piercing his heart, but had no notion as to why. But they sounded familiar in a strange, unexplainable way. “Yeah…I suppose…we’ll get through this…” murmured the boy.
Henry started for the door but stopped, his hand on the latch. “You best finish ya breakfast boy…there’s work ya need to be doin’…if’n ya want any supper,” he added, hoping the boy might take the hint.
“Yes sir…sure…I…hmm…guess if I’m gonna be living here…I’d best do my part,” Joe said. He felt strange inside. He’d just learned his folks had been killed but yet, he felt nothing of the loss he should have felt.
“Well, you hurry afore Grant…starts gettin’ impatient…”cautioned the old man.
Joe was pulling on his boots but paused. “It sure don’t take much to make him mad, does it?”
Henry glanced out the door. Grant was heading toward the barn. “No, it sure don’t…so get them boots on and let’s go to work.”
“Yes sir…say…umm…sir…can I ask you just one more thing…two things?” Joe asked almost shyly.
Henry peeked out the door again, worried that Grant might find his way to the shed but he was nowhere to be seen. Henry supposed his son had gone into the barn. “Make it quick like sonny.”
“My…name…what’s my name?”
Henry seemed surprised. “Umm…name…your name…is…Chad…yeah, that’s it, Chad…Chad Wilson.”
“Chad…”muttered Joe. “And…what do I call you…”
Again Henry seemed to fumble over his words. He blamed Grant for this, forcing him to be the one to come up all these lies…and this boy, Chad…asked so many fool questions.
“Well…I’m ya grandpa, ain’t I…just call me Grandpa…”
Joe almost smiled at the old man; he seemed utterly confused by his questions.
“PA…WHERE ARE YA!”
“Uh oh…we best get a move on…” Henry cautioned as he yanked opened the shed door and started out.
Joe reached out for the man’s arm, stopping him from going any further. “One more question…why’d you lock me in here…why didn’t you take me in the house when I blacked out?”
Oh great, thought Henry to himself. How in blazes was he supposed to answer that?
“Umm…well, ya see, Chad…umm…this here shed is where you sleep…the house ain’t that big you know…not much more’n a cabin…”he hurried to explain. He’d seen Joe’s confused expression and didn’t want the boy to continue asking questions that he had no answers for.
“I…sleep in here?” Joe said more to himself than to Henry. He glanced around the tiny shed, sickened. “But why lock me in?”
“Damn it, boy! Stop askin’ so many fool questions,” shouted Henry as he took Joe’s arm and forced him outside.
Grant was stomping toward them, resentment was written in every line of his angry face as he made his way over to them.
“’Cause we didn’t want you running off…you was confused…we didn’t want you to get hurt worse’en ya already be…that’s why we locked you in,” whispered Henry.
“Oh…guess that makes sense,” Joe answered.
“What the hell have you two been doing all morning?” shouted Grant, glaring at his father and then at Little Joe.
“It’s just now six, son…I took the boy some breakfast…”
“BREAKFAST!” yelled Grant, turning to look down at Joe.
“The boy ain’t ate in some time, son…he’s gotta have a full belly if’n ya expect him to help out…” the old man tried to explain.
Grant took a deep breath and spun around to face his father. “What did we talk about last night, old man…have you forgotten so soon? No breakfast…work first…and if…” he turned his fury on Joe. “If you do your work like it should be…then you eat…not before…you got that, boy?”
Joe was taken back by the man’s statement and by his ill temper. But something deep within told him not to cross this man; it might prove dangerous. He instantly didn’t like his uncle, something about the man, besides his bad temper, warned him to tread lightly where Grant was concerned. “Yeah, I understand,” he said.
The fire that burned his cheek and set him on his butt in the dirt came as a total shock to him. His head had not stopped hurting completely, but now, because of the back handed slap his uncle had given him, Joe’s ears were buzzing, his head spinning and his vision blurred.
“You’ll use manners boy, when you speak to me…it’s yes sir, no sir, please, thank you, may I…and you’ll do what I say, when I say…no excuses…got that?” Grant growled.
Henry had squatted down next to Joe and was slowly helping the dazed boy to his feet. Joe rubbed his cheek with his hand, unaware that it was trembling.
“I said…”
“Yes sir…I…understand…sir…” muttered Joe, looking at the man and then quickly looking away.
“Good, now get in that barn…I want it cleaned from top to bottom by noon. If ya ain’t finished, don’t come looking for lunch…cause there won’t be none…for you anyway. Then, at one o’clock sharp, I expect you in the south field ready to plow…now GET!”
Joe took one quick glance at his grandfather and then practically ran to the barn.
“You didn’t have to hit the boy, Grant…he’s still not hisself…”
Grant followed Joe’s path to the barn, and watched the boy disappear inside. He turned to glare at his father. “I don’t care about his health Pa…only how well he works…hear my words, old man. If the boy don’t carry his weight around here…I’ll dispose of him myself…”
Grant turned and walked away, leaving his father to contemplate his words. The thoughts and images that flashed through his head and before his eyes made his stomach churn. He cast troubled eyes Joe’s way and watched how the boy slowly made his way to the barn. For sure, his newly found grandson would have hell to pay if he crossed his just as newly found Uncle Grant. Pity for what lay ahead for the boy, who was not yet fully recuperated from his accident, filled the old man’s heart. Henry could only wonder at how long the boy would last under the strain of his illness and the workload that Grant had planned for him.
‘Dam kid, why’d ya have to show up on my doorstep?’ muttered the heartsick farmer.
**********
Ben was exhausted. So many long tiring days on the trail with the herd and then the stampede had all but done the man in. He was hot and dirty and he knew he smelled, he caught a scent of himself on the breeze and he longed for nice hot bath…at home. But the longing for such luxuries were nothing compared to the longing in his heart for his youngest son. Ben had ridden ahead for miles, following the deep ruts in the dry, dusty earth that showed in which directions the runaway herd had taken two evenings ago, yet he’d found no trace, no sign, no nothing, that gave him a clue as to what might have happened to Little Joe. Longing had since turned to fear, dread…an emptiness that filled his heart and caused his stomach to hurt. Where was the boy…what had happened to him…the words ran as a never changing rumble through his tormented mind.
“Anything, God…anything. Please let me find…something…this not knowing is…killing me!” Ben beseeched his maker.
Urging his horse on, Ben continued his search for the missing boy. “He has to be somewhere…but where!”
Knowing how desperately Hoss and Adam must feel, Ben turned his horse around and headed for the nearest town. He’d send a wire to them, as he had promised he would and if their business there was finished, he’d have his two sons join him in the search for the missing boy. Heartsick and filled with a vast feeling of failure, Ben rode fast, prayed without ceasing until neither he nor his mount could continue with the pace he had set.
“Whoa,” Ben ordered his horse. “Let’s walk a spell, big fella…cool you off some before we reach town.” Ben dismounted, and though his basic instinct was to hurry, he knew he must slow down, for his horse’s sake as well as his own.
**********
Ben wasn’t the only one exhausted and filled with despair. Many miles away in an old run down barn, Little Joe, Ben’s missing son, lay asleep in the middle of a hay pile that he was supposed to be loading onto a wagon. Having worked steady since before 7 AM, without taking a lunch break, Joe’s tired and weary young body had at last given out. He had only meant to stop and rest for no more than five minutes, but having nestled down into the softness of the hay, it had only been seconds before the boy had fallen into a deep slumber. Now, late for the appointed time he was to be in the field to plow, and far behind on his barn and yard chores, he’d soon learn how vicious the wrath of Uncle Grant could honestly be. Even as the furious surrogate uncle jerked the barn opened and stepped into the dim interior, Joe slept on, totally unaware that the big man had moved to his resting place and was now standing over him. Grant’s shadow hid the boy’s features from the light behind him, but the farmer could plainly see that the boy was sleeping.
Grant leaned down and grabbed the sleeping boy by the front of his shirt and hauled Joe to his feet. He shook the lad hard, bringing Joe instantly from his slumber. Joe was momentarily confused but then, seeing the angry eyes glaring at him, his confusion quickly turned to fear. He tried to pull away, but Grant’s fingers held tightly to the material as he spun the boy around, lifting Joe’s feet off the ground as he was yanked upward and then slammed into the half wall of the stable on the opposite side of the barn.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing…sleeping on the job!” roared the furious man.
Joe, having fallen on one knee, slowly attempted to rise. “I’m…sorry…I…was…tired…I didn’t…mean to fall…asleep…honest…it won’t happen…again…”
“You’re dam right it won’t happen again,” snarled Grant, creeping closer.
Joe had gotten to his feet and began backing up as Grant inched forward. The hard boards behind him dug into his back. His uncle towered over him. Joe gulped, swallowing the fear that had suddenly risen as bile into his mouth. When Joe saw the man raise his arm high into the air and saw the balled fist coming at him, he turned his head, covering it with both arms. Again and again the man struck the boy, until at last, Joe lay withering on the ground, groaning pitifully. When the blows ceased, Joe automatically curled his body into a tight ball, scooting as far from the cruel man as possible.
“You have less than five minutes to be in the field. I’ll meet you there; if you’re a minute late…I’ll…” he stopped talking and turned to pick up the whip from the peg in which it hung. “I’ll tear the hide off your back…now MOVE!”
Grant stepped back, giving Joe the room he needed to get to his feet. A spot of blood showed on his already swelled lip. He could taste it in his mouth but he refused to wipe it away, at least not yet. Pain crept down his back where most of is uncle’s blows were delivered. Joe was a bit unsteady on his feet, unsure of his steps as he crept around the man and towards the door. Once outside, he filled his lungs with fresh air. The air seemed to clear his head enough to remind him he’d best not be late…his time was running out. As he ran to the designated area, he continually looked over his shoulder. He could see Grant making his way to the field. When Joe reached the edge of the field where the mule stood, already harnessed to the plow, he stopped and inhaled deeply, again filling his now heaving lungs with fresh air. There was a sharp pain in his side that burned each and every time he breathed in and out. But he was determined not to let the man know just how badly he’d been hurt by the powerful blows to his body. He’d plow the field…he’d not give in to his despair…he’d not give in to the hopelessness he felt growing in his heart.
“Dang good thing you’re here on time…now see all this?” Grant asked as he waved his hand about the area. “I want this entire field plowed before sundown…” he glared down at the boy.
Joe knew he was gapping. The field must have been an acre, maybe one and a half, give or take a few rows. It would be no easy feat…he wasn’t even sure if he knew how to plow…he couldn’t remember having ever plowed before. But he was sure that he’d not make the man’s deadline…he wondered if even an experienced farmer could plow this much land in that length of time. Joe glanced up at the sky…it was well past the noon hour…probably around two or three o’clock.
“If ya don’t finish by dark…don’t come in until you do…and don’t worry about eatin’ ‘cause ya not gonna get anythin’,” growled Grant.
Joe swallowed hard and glanced around at his surrounding. Suddenly he felt his body pulled forward. The man had him tight by the front of his shirt, his eyes were dark, filled with hate.
“And don’t think about trying to run away…cause I’ll be watchin’ ya…and if ya do…well…you’ll wish to God I hadn’t caught up with ya…”
Grant flung the boy backwards, causing Joe to stagger but he caught himself before he fell.
“Now git to work!”
************
It was far after dark, approaching mid-night before Joe returned to the barn with the mule in tow. It had taken every last ounce of his strength pushing his willpower to the extreme, but he’d finished the assigned chore. The field was plowed. The cost of his labor was that every muscle in his young body ached to some degree. His success gave him no pleasure for his hands were raw where blisters had formed and popped, leaving the skin marred and bloody. Though he tried early on, not to let his unhappy fate, the grueling work or the ornery old farmers get to him, his resolve broke when he knelt by the water trough and plunged his hands into the deep coolness. His face scrunched up in a painful expression, his hands burned so that it caused tears to spring into his eyes, overflowing and rolling down his cheeks. The tiny droplets of water dropped and mingled with the deeper water inside the trough. For several long moments Joe stayed at the trough. Every so often, he’d raise his hands out of the water and look at them. The flaming, burning flesh was barely visible in the faded glow of the old lantern. He glanced once at the old cabin. All the lights had been extinguished. Joe knew his new-found family had long since turned in for the night. Something else he knew…he was hungry…but it would do no good to beg, he’d have to wait until morning chores were done before his Uncle Grant would give him permission to eat.
After several minutes and barely able to keep his eyes opened, Joe made his way to the old shed. He found some rags, though not the cleanest, he used them to wrap his hands. Too tired for much else, the weary boy settled onto this cot and practically before he closed his eyes, he was asleep.
**********
The arms that embraced him filled him with a feeling of warmth and security. Joe nestled closer to the broad chest and listened to the steady beating of the heart beneath his ear. It had a calming affect on him. It gave him cause to relax and for the first time in many days, Joe felt safe…he felt…secure…no reasons now to be afraid. The reason…love. He could hear it in the beat of the heart; he could feel it in the strength of the arms that encircled him…he could hear love in the deep voice that whispered to him. In his sleep, the boy smiled and snuggled deeper into the bedding. He wanted to stay where he was…in this safe haven of love and strength, never to return to the cruel world in which he lived. He gently sniffed the air; the scent of the man was familiar. Joe tried to turn his head so that he might gaze at the man’s face, but always…always he was prevented from seeing the man clearly enough to make out who the man might be.
Never mind his thoughts repeated. You are safe now…you are going to be alright…we’re going home, soon…The words were repetitious. Home, love, warmth, strength…where was it coming from…who was the man holding him and cooing softly to him, reassuring him…who…who…who…
“TIME TO GET UP!” The door had been kicked opened and Grant stood tall in the doorway, the sun against his back. “GET UP, YA LAZY NO ACCOUNT BRAT!”
Joe raised his head slightly. Every part of his body screamed at him to stay put, but he slowly rose from his bed.
“It can’t be morning yet,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts. “I…just got to sleep.”
“Too bad…ya shouldn’t have sloughed off on your work yesterday,” Grant informed the boy. “What happened to your hands?”
Joe looked again at the doorway and saw his grandfather pushing his way past his uncle.
“Blisters…” muttered Joe, watching the concern spread across the older man’s face. He glanced up at Grant for his reaction while Henry carefully unwound the rags.
“Whew…that don’t look so good, Chad. Best we get some ointment on those blisters or you’ll never be able to work again. I’ll be right back.”
Henry walked past his son, giving Grant a furious glare as he went by. When the old man had gone, Grant walked over to Joe and grabbed both hands, holding them up so that he could inspect them. Joe wanted to pull away, but thought better of it. He gritted his teeth and held still while Grant turned them up and over and then around.
“You’ll live…” he said with no feeling whatsoever in his voice. “Did you finish all the plowin’?”
“Yes sir…”
“Darn good thing…did you take care of the mule?”
“Yes sir, I rubbed him down and fed him…gave him clean water and an extra measure of grain.”
“Good…we don’t want nothin’ to happen to that critter. ‘Cause if it does…I’ll have to harness you to that plow…and let you pull it.”
Joe swallowed hard. “Uncle Grant…sir…”
“What!” roared the uncle. He’d turned to the door watching his father hurrying across the yard.
Before Joe had a chance to ask his question, Henry appeared with the ointment and some clean bandages. He smiled at the boy as he nodded toward the two crates. “Sit down son, I’ll have ya all fixed up in no time…”
Joe hesitated, glanced up at his uncle and when Grant made no comment, he did as his would-be grandfather instructed. Grant turned and walked away, saying nothing more. Both Joe and Henry sighed in relief.
********
Ben was standing out front of the hotel when he looked up and saw Adam and Hoss riding down the street towards him. A rush of relief filled him as he stepped up to greet his sons.
“Howdy, Pa,” Hoss greeted his father, giving Ben a hearty handshake.
“Hello, Hoss, Adam,” replied Ben, shaking Adam’s hand as well. “I take it you were able to get the herd to market on time?”
“Sure did,” smiled Hoss. He watched Ben closely, acutely aware of the weariness that plagued his father.
“Got $5 more a head too,” added Adam. “I take it…you’ve not found Little Joe?”
Ben, overcome with worry and all but worn out, shook his head. “No…” It was simple and plain…a direct answer that summed up it all up.
“I sent you a wire the next evening…”
“Took us a couple of days to get it, Pa…or we would have been here sooner,” explained Adam.
“I figured so, since I didn’t get a reply…so, I kept searching…I haven’t even been able to find his horse…nothing…not one dam thing!” Ben gritted his teeth, frustrated and angry about feeling so helpless, worried sick about his youngest boy…fearing the worse yet hanging on by a lone thread of faith.
“Have you talked to the sheriff…we know we were west of Placerville, almost here in El Dorado…so the kid almost has to be between El Dorado and Sacramento…” Adam said, thinking out loud.
“Adam I’ve hunted every inch of that country…I didn’t find anything…nothing…”
“Pa…them cattle scattered in about a hundred different directions…some went west, some south…some up, down, some back towards where they come from…what if Little Joe took off after some that went north…or maybe…south…” suggested Hoss.
“I thought you said he was out in front of the herd when it stampeded?” Ben quizzed.
“Yeah…he was…but what if…he turned…he’d almost have’ta Pa…or get…” Hoss swallowed hard. “Get…trampled…and,” he rushed on, “since you ain’t found no sign of him or his horse…it ain’t likely the boy got trampled on!”
“Hoss is right, Pa…maybe you were looking in the wrong place.”
Ben seemed to be considering the new information. For sure he’d found nothing where he’d been, it wouldn’t hurt to look in opposite directions as his son suggested.
“Alright, Adam…Hoss…we’ll split up…I’ll ride up north toward Auburn; Hoss you go back towards Placerville and Adam…you ride down south aways…look around, if you don’t find something in the next couple of days…you meet Hoss back here and the two of you catch up with me…And if you should happen to find the boy…well, send me word in Auburn, I’ll check there for a message, say, in three days…”
***********
Though his hands hurt terribly, Joe still worked from sun up to sun down. His meals were meager and few and as the long tiresome days turned into weeks, his young, once muscular body began showing the signs of his abuse. His strength began to wane, his weight dropped, his once happy-go-lucky countenance had long since vanished. The boy was sad…lonesome and grieving for the love and respect that was missing from his life. His only respite from his lengthy hours and lonely nights, were long after he’d fallen to sleep and became lost in his dreams. The man appeared nightly, yet never showed his face. The strong arms and beating heart, the smooth, deep, mellow voice called out to him and Joe, deep in sleep, felt the pull, the yearning of his young heart to reach out to the man…but then just as he seemed about to discover who the man might be, the door to the shed would be yanked opened and Grant, ranting and raving, would shatter the dream into a zillion pieces.
**********
Two days later, the Cartwrights had returned to El Dorado. Adam had returned first, tired, dirty and disappointed that he had found nothing. He had stabled his horse at the nearby livery and had rented a room for himself, his brother and for his father. While he waited for them to arrive, Adam pleasured himself in a tub of hot soapy water and washing away miles of trail dust and sweat. He scrubbed himself until his body glistened and then redressed in the clean clothes he’d had sent out to the local laundry. Refreshed and feeling a bit better, it was while he sat in the dining room of the hotel that he first came up with the idea. He had watched the sheriff enter with his deputy and while he ate, he saw the pair going over the newest posters that had arrived on the afternoon stage. When he’d finished and paid for his meal, Adam hurried down the street to the local printing office he’d noticed when he had ridden into town.
As he pushed the door opened, the little bell over his head tinkled. Immediately, a man, not much older than himself, approached him, having come from the back room. “May I help you?” he said in a welcoming voice.
“I…hope so,” Adam said as he dug in his coat pocket for his wallet. He began flipping through it until he found what he was looking for. “I was wondering if you might be able to make up some posters for me?” he asked and then handed a small picture to the man. “And…put this boy’s face on the posters.”
The gentleman held the photo in his hand, studying the features of the boy who smiled back at him. “I reckon so…shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Good…I don’t mean to be forward, but I need them right away…how soon do you think you could have them ready?”
The man sensed the urgency in the tall stranger’s tone and mannerisms. “Is the boy wanted for something…a crime perhaps? And you’d want to put something besides his image on the posters I suppose?”
Adam’s laugh was bordering on nervous. The situation with Joe being missing was almost more than any of his family could endure. “He’s wanted alright…”
The man’s eyes grew big in wonder. “He’s only a boy…”
“Yes sir…he’s my kid brother…and he’s been missing for nearly a month now. My family and I have looked everywhere…and haven’t found a trace of him…I thought perhaps putting up posters…with his picture and a reward, might help us find him,” Adam explained.
“I see…and I’m sorry to hear about your misfortune. May I ask…how did he turn up missing?”
“We were bringing a herd of cattle to market…”
“Sacramento?”
“Yes…and the herd stampeded…just a ways out of town…Joe…that’s his name, has been missing ever since.”
“Hmmm…you don’t suppose the boy was…” he hesitated.
“Killed?” Adam moaned softly, the thought wasn’t new to him. “I hope not…but the longer time goes by that we don’t find anything…well…I try to be positive.”
“Absolutely, sir. Now, just write down what you want on the poster, and I’ll get started on them right away. How many do you want?” he asked as he handed Adam a paper and pencil.
Adam started writing, never looking up when he answered. “I think two dozen will do for now. I’m expecting my father and my other brother any time now…we’ll post them about town and in the surrounding area…” he said, handing the paper to the man. “How much?” he asked, digging in his purse again.
“Dollar and a half should cover it…are you Mr. Cartwright?” the printer asked after reading the reward poster with Joe’s name on it.
Adam tossed the money on the counter. “That’s right, I’m Adam Cartwright; my father is Ben Cartwright.”
“I’ve heard of him…has a big ranch down around Virginia City doesn’t he?” The man picked up the coins and put them in his cash box.
“That’s right,” Adam answered.
“Alright then, Mr. Cartwright…I’ll have these ready for you in about an hour…”
“Thank you,” Adam said with a tip of his hat. “I’ll be back later.”
When he returned more than an hour later, Ben and Hoss were with him. They picked up the posters, thanked the man and left.
“Adam, this was a good idea…why we didn’t think of it weeks ago is beyond me,” Ben said, holding some of the posters in his hand, staring at Joe’s reflection smiling back at him. Adam and Hoss swapped worried glances when they saw their father gently brush his fingertips down the side of the boy’s face on the poster. Ben sighed heavily and looked up at his sons. “I miss him terribly,” he said softly.
Touched by the warmth in his father’s voice and the sadness in his dark eyes, Adam placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “We know Pa…we miss him too.”
“Try not to worry, Pa…we’ll find ’im…I just know we will,” Hoss added.
After hanging several of posters about town, the three men retired to their hotel room for the night, anxious to start over again first thing in the morning.
***********
Joe was already up by the time that Grant came from the house the next morning. He’d barely slept at all, his insides churned with hunger. The need for food drove him from his bed. He hoped that by getting an early start that he’d earn the right to breakfast, being as how he’d been forced to skip both lunch and supper the day before.
Grant practically ran into the boy as he entered the barn, Joe was exiting.
“Well!” Grant stated firmly, obviously surprised to see the boy up and about.
“I…wanted to get an early start…sir,” stammered Joe.
“Hungry, heh?” smirked the older man. His eyes gleamed wickedly.
Joe lowered his head, afraid to look the man in the eye. He nodded his head and muttered in a low, almost shy voice. “Yes sir.”
“I thought as much…how long ya been workin’?”
“Since before sunup, sir…I’ve fed the stock, gathered the eggs and milked the cow. The milk’s in the well house…I was on my way to feed the chickens and slop the hogs. I’ll be done with mornin’ chores then…”
Grant eyed the boy closely. He’d changed since that first morning…the boy had lost some of the fight in him…course he’d beaten most of it out of the kid. Chad had been stubborn and belligerent, fighting against him at every turn. It had taken several trips to the woodshed and the firm leather strap, but Grant had managed over the weeks to curb the boy’s sharp tongue and ill manners. The lad appeared almost meek now, shy and tongued-tied, timid…afraid. He resembled nothing of the boy who had found his way to them. Once appearing well cared for and fit, the boy looked more like a street urchin now, unkempt and dirty, his hair lay in ringlets about his face. His eyes, once alive and dancing, now were dark circled and had more of a faraway look to them. He doubted seriously that if the boy’s family ever saw him, they’d not even recognize the lad, which pleased Grant, for he aimed on keeping the boy forever, forcing the kid to work for him, digging in the dirt that yielded little and shoveling crap from his barn. It was almost humorous to him, what he’d forced the once obviously rich kid to become. Grant smiled, surprising the boy who watched him from downcast eyes; fearful of what might be going through his uncle’s thoughts.
“When you’ve finished feeding the chickens and the hogs…go tell Pa to fix ya some breakfast…and eat fast…we’re goin’ into town today,” Grant announced as he turned and entered the barn.
For a moment, Joe was unable to move or to think clearly. It would be the first time since…whenever…that he’d been allowed off the farm. It mattered little to him that he’d be with both his uncle and his grandfather…he’d still be going. The excitement was almost too much as he hurried to finish his chores and then his breakfast. How many times had he thought about leaving, of running away, but the fear of what his uncle might do to him, should he be caught, tipped the scales into staying put.
“Maybe…just maybe,” he whispered to the chickens, “something good will happen today…maybe.”
*********
“I put up some more posters Pa, ain’t likely they’ll be missed,” Hoss announced. He was feeling a bit better about things this morning, more hopeful. He hoped his pa and brother were too.
“Thank you son…now, let’s get our things together and then have a bite to eat before we leave,” Ben suggested. He was quick to notice the spark of renewed hope that he’d seen in his middle son’s eyes. The thought occurred to him that if Hoss could still be hopeful, he would too. It would be a month tomorrow since Joe went missing…in truth, there wasn’t much to hope for…time was the worst of enemies now. There would come the day of reckoning, when they’d all have to admit that Joe was lost to them forever. A sad time to face for the future, but watching his two sons putting on hopeful faces, though Ben realized that it was for him that they were doing it, he’d do no less for them. Life would go on, with or with Little Joe. They would, by the grace of God, get though their loss, their grief…it wouldn’t be easy Ben thought…but he still had two sons, though the hole in his heart that would be forever an open wound for him, would always linger, reminding him of what he’d lost and most of what he would have missed, had the boy been found and brought home…alive.
“Pa…PA!”
Ben was jolted back to the present. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“You were a thousand miles away,” Adam said, sensing what had been on his father’s mind.
Ben’s lips pulled tight as he nodded. “I wish it weren’t so far…” he sighed. “Come on, I’m hungry,” he declared, forcing a smile.
**********
The wagon stopped in front of the general store and Grant quickly turned and looked over his shoulder at Chad who sat on the back edge of the wagon, looking all around, trying to take in every bit as much as he could.
“BOY!”
Joe spun around, having hopped down off the wagon bed. “Sir?” he answered quickly.
Grant jumped down as well and hurried to the back of the wagon. He picked up a leather harness and held it out to the boy. “I want you to take this down to the livery, tell the man there to fix it…and wait…the minute he’s finished, you get your butt back here…you understand? No dawdling around…here’s the money. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour…if you’re not back by the time we’re ready to load supplies…I’ll use the leather on you…and you know what that means!”
“Yes sir…I’ll…hurry…” Joe said, taking the harness from his uncle. He was anxious to get away…even if for half an hour. He felt like a bird out of the cage.
“Get goin’!”
Joe need not be told again, he immediately started running, but halfway down the street he slowed down and tried to take in as much as he could in the time allotted him, of the town and the folks that wandered the streets. Before he knew it, he’d reached the livery.
“Ya want something, boy?” the stable master inquired.
Joe held out the harness to him. “My uncle needs this fixed, sir,” Joe explained. “He said I was to wait.”
The old timer took the harness, inspected it and then nodded. “Won’t take but a minute, I’ll be right back, sonny,” he said and then disappeared into the darkness of the stable.
While he waited for the harness to be repaired, Joe walked a ways down the street, observing the people. Those that passed him stepped aside, as if they we