The Birth of a Man
Prologue
“You’re not going in there, you hear me, that’s a man’s job!” Adam Cartwright shouted at his youngest brother as he held his shoulders firmly, stopping him from approaching the corral.
“Let go of me!” Joe yelled back, kicking out at his brother and catching him a painful blow on the side of the knee.
Adam yelped and released his grip as he bent to rub at the injured joint. Joe ran into the barn, intent on getting away from the laughing eyes of the hands gathered round the corral, where a bunch of new horses were being broken in preparation for delivery to the army. Joe had intended to help them, until Adam found out and stopped him. Joe felt hurt that Adam had made out that he was still a child, not yet grown enough to break horses; and worse, he had said it in front of the hands.
Adam came into the barn behind him. “Joe, when will you learn to do as you’re told?”
“I’ll do what Pa tells me, not you!” Joe was still yelling. As he saw his brother standing there, hands on hips, looking down at him, Joe’s anger took control of him and he leaped at Adam, knocking him to the ground. Joe jumped on him, landing with a knee in Adam’s stomach. Adam gasped and tried to roll away from the furious boy, but Joe had other ideas, and straddled his brother’s chest, his knees on Adam’s arms so that he couldn’t move.
Adam struggled to free himself, then suddenly became very still as Joe’s hand came up, and he was looking down the barrel of his own gun, which Joe had taken from his holster.
“Joe,” Adam said quietly so as not to anger his brother further, “What do you think you are going to do now?”
Fury still clouded Joe’s mind. “I’m gonna kill you.”
Suddenly Joe felt himself lifted into the air. He fought against the strength that held him, until he registered that he was in the grip of Hoss, his elder brother. Hoss put Joe back on his feet and the boy looked at his brothers, threw the gun down, and ran out of the barn.
“What the devil was that all about?” Hoss asked as he helped Adam back to his feet.
“Just Little Joe losing control,” Adam said calmly, replacing his gun safely in its holster. He looked thoughtfully towards the house as he heard the front door slam. Joe had never threatened him in such a way before, had he pushed the boy too far? Adam looked at Hoss. “Do you think I’m unreasonable, not wanting him to break those horses?”
“No, I don’t. But I do think you could be more careful how you tell him, you know how sensitive he is about his age.”
“I didn’t have time to be sensitive.” Adam started to leave the barn, then turned back to Hoss. “If I hadn’t stopped him when I did he could have broken his neck. How could I explain to Pa that I didn’t stop him when I should have in case I upset him?”
“OK. All I’m saying is that you could be more understandin’.”
“I’ll bear it in mind. Come on, let’s get washed up for dinner.” Adam thought that no matter how he tried to deal with Little Joe, he always ended up at odds with the boy. He walked slowly towards the house shaking his head.
**********
“Joseph! Come back here!” Ben Cartwright shouted after his youngest son. But Little Joe had mounted Cochise and was gone before his father even made it through the front door. Ben shook his head and walked slowly back into the house, where his middle son, Hoss was waiting for him.
“Couldn’t catch him, huh?” said Hoss, casting his eyes towards the door.
“No. He was already out of the yard by the time I got outside.” Ben stood with his hands on his hips, the expression on the strong face telling Hoss that his father was furious.
Hoss was a big man, his size emphasised by the loose cream linen shirt and tan leather vest that he wore, but his huge frame held a tender heart and he was concerned at the thoughtless behaviour of his brother, and the effect it would have on their father. “Pa, I’m sorry. I should have guessed what he had in mind last night, when he asked Adam to take him out huntin’”
Ben put his hands on Hoss’ shoulder. “No, it’s not your fault.” He indicated the table that they had just left. “Finish your breakfast.”
A minute later Adam appeared at the top of the stairs. “Can’t a man get any peace round here?” he said irritably, buttoning his red shirt as he came hurriedly down the stairs. Adam was making the most of his day off and had been in his room, reading, but was worried when he heard Ben shouting. He saw his father and younger brother sitting at the table, at one end of the great room that served as dining room, office and parlour for the family, and he approached them. His dark, handsome features registered concern as he saw the look on his father’s face. “What’s wrong, Pa?” he asked, tucking his shirt into his black pants.
“That…brother of yours has gone out after the cougar that has been taking calves from the north pasture. Hoss just told me what he planned, but he left before I could stop him.” Adam could see that Ben’s eyes were dark and smouldering with anger, overlaid with worry. He sighed, and shook his head. Joe was always ‘your brother’ when he was in trouble with Pa.
Adam immediately went to the sideboard behind the front door and picked up his gun belt and hat. His young, irresponsible brother had again upset his father with his thoughtless and impetuous behaviour, and Adam knew that it was his responsibility, as the eldest, to put it right. He turned to his father. “Don’t worry, Pa. I’ll stop baby brother before he can get into too much trouble.” He smiled to reassure Ben, hoping that he could deliver on his statement.
Adam’s use of the word ‘baby’ hit Ben hard. Yes, his baby was chasing a deadly cat through rough country, on his own.
Adam saddled Sport and headed out towards the north pasture, riding steadily. Little Joe couldn’t be too far ahead, and Adam hoped that he would catch up with him before he could start to look for the cat. Cougars were unpredictable and sneaky, they would have you chasing after them, only to catch you from behind when you least expected them. It took experience and cunning to track and catch one, and Little Joe had neither. Adam thought that he would have gone with him, if he had asked, then he recalled his brother saying something to him the previous evening about a hunt. But Adam had not been paying attention, he was engrossed in the new book he had bought, and had not taken much notice of the things Little Joe was saying. Had he been asking his brother to go with him? Adam couldn’t remember.
**********
Joe rode fast to get away from the ranch house as quickly as possible; he didn’t want anyone following him. This was something he wanted to do on his own. He had asked Adam to take him out to hunt the cougar, but his oh-so-much-more mature elder brother had brushed his request aside, so Joe had decided that he would go alone.
At sixteen, Joe was no longer a child, but not quite a man. His slim body had yet to take on the muscle that would mark him an adult. His brown curly hair framed a face untouched by blade, and at that moment it registered frustration at his position in his family. The six years between himself and Hoss was bad enough, but Joe felt that Adam, at twenty-eight, still treated him like a child and he was going to show that he was as good a man as either of them, and the hunt for the cougar was going to provide him with the perfect opportunity.
Three hours after he left the house, Joe pulled up at the edge of the forest, and sat looking down on the herd as it grazed the north pasture. All seemed peaceful, and Joe wondered if the cat had left to find new victims. Silently, he prayed that it had not; he wanted that cat, and the impression that it would make on his family if he caught it. Joe moved out into the meadow and started to circle round the herd, looking at the ground for signs of the cougar’s presence. Almost immediately, he pulled up and dismounted, as he saw unmistakeable paw marks. He was not as skilled at tracking as his brother Hoss, and he had no idea how old the spoor might be, but he decided to follow it anyway.
He remounted and headed into the forest, leaning down occasionally to check the tracks, which seemed to be heading up the hillside, towards the mountains. He followed them for hours, sometimes they disappeared, but always Joe managed to find them again, and continued.
As he went he began to get the feeling that he was being watched, and put his hand lightly on the handle of the gun he had ‘borrowed’ from Ben’s desk, and which now sat snugly on his left hip. He remembered Adam saying that a cat could spring out of nowhere, and the bravado with which he had set out began to leave him, as he glanced nervously left and right. Every rock seemed to hide a shadow, every bush seemed to move as he passed. He travelled further, going more slowly, ever alert to sounds that would warn him of the cat’s approach. He glanced up at the sun and estimated that it must be well into the afternoon. He had left so quickly that he had not thought to bring any provisions with him, should he have to stay away for the night. Now he would soon have to turn back, and admit to his family that he had failed. He gritted his teeth; he would stay out as long as possible, even if that meant getting home well after dark.
He was in an area of the country with which he was unfamiliar. He was not aware of the fact that he had left the confines of the Ponderosa and was now in territory claimed by the Bannock Indians, and the cougar was no longer the enemy. Joe thought that he would give it another half-an-hour and then turn back. Has either of his brothers been with him, they would have told him that no cat would go so far for his meat, the predator’s lair had to be closer to the pasture. But Joe had no one to advise him, and he carried on.
He stopped and shook his head in frustration; he was not going to find that cat today. He turned his horse, and came to a standstill. In front of him, stretched across the path, were five Indians, the feathers in their black hair stirring, brushed by the breeze, the paint on their faces highlighting their menace. Joe paled and swallowed convulsively. Two of the Indians came up beside him, and Joe sat immobile as they took his revolver from its holster and his rifle from its scabbard. The Indian with more feathers than the rest, his dark hair flowing past his bare shoulders, said something that was unintelligible to Joe, and the two beside him quickly had Joe’s hands tied behind his back. They took hold of Cochise’s reins and followed their leader. Joe looked round desperately, but there was no one to rescue him, he had wanted to hunt the cougar alone, and that was exactly what he was, alone.
**********
Adam reached the north pasture and looked round, but could see no sign of Little Joe. He was surprised that he had not caught up with him on the trail, and thought that the boy must have travelled faster than he anticipated. He sighed as he realised that he was going to have to track him. Then he grunted in annoyance, he could better have spent the time looking for the cougar himself, instead of hunting his brother. Adam sat for a moment, looking at the scene before him. The quiet hillside meadow was surrounded by dark pine forest and the cattle were grazing peacefully, a sure sign that they felt secure and there was probably no cat nearby at present. He started to ride round the herd, staying close to the edge of the forest, hoping that Joe had emerged into the meadow in search of tracks, and that he would intersect with his trail. Sure enough, there were hoof marks, and beside them, the paw prints of a cat. Adam turned his horse to follow, laughing to himself; the hoof marks were fresh but those of the cat were at least a week old. Little Joe wouldn’t find the cat this way, it was probably in California by now.
Adam rode on quickly, expecting all the time to meet Little Joe coming back from wherever the trail had led him. As the day wore on, Adam’s amusement turned to frustration, and then anger, as he acknowledged that they would not get home until late. Where had that rapscallion got to? Surely, he must realise that no cat would go this far from home for his kill, it simply wasn’t worth the effort. Adam began to wonder if his brother was worth the effort, then thought of what his father would say if he returned without his wayward sibling. He kicked Sport into a faster pace.
As Adam approached the place he recognised as the boundary of their ranch, he stopped. The trail he was following snaked ahead out of sight, and he was afraid that Little Joe was in danger of encroaching on Indian territory. Adam knew that the Bannocks, who inhabited this area, only tolerated the ranch and the Cartwright claim to it, as long as they did not trespass on Bannock land, and if Joe had gone very much further, he was going to do just that. Adam pursed his lips; he had been rehearsing a few well-chosen words to say to his brother, now he hoped that Little Joe would be alive to hear them.
“Oh, little brother,” Adam said to himself, “What have you gotten yourself into this time?” He knew that whatever it was, it was up to him to get Little Joe out of it, again, before he got hurt. Then Adam’s worry turned to annoyance as he thought that his impulsive brother had brought this on himself. He sighed deeply and rode on.
The sun was sinking below the mountains, and Adam knew that he should have found Little Joe by now. He was torn between going on and being caught in hostile territory, and going back to tell his father that he had failed. He decided that, in fact, there was no choice, and continued. In the growing darkness, he stopped and dismounted, his heart beating faster at what he thought he saw. He crouched down, praying that he was wrong, but as he examined the ground, he knew he was too late. Mixed with the tracks of four or five unshod horses were those of a white man’s horse, the marks of metal shoes defining where they had met. Adam stood and looked round, suddenly nervous, then he mounted and followed as best he could in the poor light.
**********
As they crested a rise, Joe looked down and saw the small camp towards which they were headed. It consisted of a dozen tall tepees, erected in a rough semi-circle. Paintings covered the hide walls, and fires burned outside about half of them, throwing eerily dancing shadows in the fading light. As the little group approached, several Indians appeared to watch them arrive. Joe looked nervously to right and left, seeing curiosity on the faces of the few children, held back by their mothers who watched silently as he passed. They stopped in front of an elderly man, who stood tall and erect, his head held high. He had a face lined with age, but his eyes spoke of his ability to lead and bend the tribe to his will. Joe was pulled from his horse and dragged to his feet in front of the man, who stood silently looking down at him, then he turned to the brave at Joe’s side. They spoke a few words, not understood by Joe, and then the older man addressed him.
“Why have you come?” His voice was deep, and reminded Joe of his father. Tears threatened to fill Joe’s eyes as he thought of his family, that he might never see them again, and he hoped that his voice would not fail him when he spoke.
Joe took a deep breath, and looked the Indian straight in the eye. “I was hunting a cougar. I didn’t know I had gone too far. Then your braves stopped me.”
“You are on my land,” the deep voice accused.
Joe quaked and nodded. “I know that now, but I didn’t realise. I’m sorry, I really am. If you let me go, I’ll get off your land.” His voice had started to shake, but he still looked the Indian in the eye.
The young warrior, leader of the group that had captured Joe, interrupted him, speaking quickly to the Chief who shook his head slowly.
“Broken Arrow wants me to kill you now. I tell him I will wait. One should never be too quick to kill an enemy. Death will release you from your fear, and a man can only die once.” The chief stared at Joe, who was frightened into silence. Two of the braves took hold of his arms and pulled him towards one of the tepees, where they threw him on the ground inside. He landed among bundles of furs, piles of clothing and assorted cooking utensils, all being stored for future use. Joe cried out as he fell heavily on the skins that covered the earth, then rolled onto his back and saw the Indians looking down at him.
The one that Joe assumed was Broken Arrow bent over as he came through the low entrance. He grabbed the front of Joe’s shirt and pulled him a little way off the ground, until their faces were only inches apart.
“Running Bear say you live, but soon I will kill you. A lesson to your family, cowards that they are, sending a boy to hunt alone. They too afraid to come.”
In the face of the accusations against his family, Joe found his courage. “They didn’t send me, I chose to hunt alone.”
Broken Arrow pushed Joe back onto the ground. “Cowards,” he spat out the word as he left.
Joe lay in the darkness, alone and frightened. Why couldn’t they see that he had simply made a mistake? He desperately wanted to cry, but knew that if the Indians saw his tears they would despise him and probably kill him straight away. He tried to take his mind off what was happening, but his thoughts went to his family, and how devastated his father would be if one of his sons was killed. Hoss would be upset too; his gentle giant of a brother would be heartbroken at the loss. Joe’s tears receded as he thought of Adam. His big brother would probably be glad to see the back of him, he thought. Adam was always telling him that he was doing things wrong, or bossing him around, or yelling at him for touching his books, which seemed more important to Adam than was his brother, or he simply ignored him, as he had the night before. No, thought Joe, Adam would not be upset at his loss.
**********
Adam followed the tracks while he could still see them, but then, as darkness fell, he had to guess the direction to take. After an hour, the moon rose and he could again see, by its faint light, the hoof prints that he hoped would lead him to his brother. He was riding uphill, through sparse woodland, when he spotted the glow from campfires not far ahead. He dismounted and walked slowly towards the crest of the hill, then lay on his stomach and eased forward until he could see down into the next valley. There below him was an encampment, not large, but big enough to hold more men than he could deal with alone, he had to get help.
Adam crawled backwards and stood. He was about to turn to make his way back the short distance to where he had tethered Sport, when he felt an arm snake round his shoulders and a knife at his throat. He raised his hands to grab the restricting arm, but before he could take any action, something hit him behind his knees and, as his legs buckled, he could feel the knife bite into his flesh. He remained still as a figure appeared in front of him.
Adam spoke, barely opening his mouth for fear that the knife would be forced further into his skin. “Broken Arrow!” Adam recognised the Indian as the one he had come across the winter before, stealing a steer from the herd taking shelter in Glenbrook Meadow. When Adam found out that the tribe was starving and in need of meat, he gave Broken Arrow the steer and five more besides.
“Adam Cartwright, you should not be here.” Broken Arrow well remembered this particular white man, and had nothing but contempt for the weakling. A real man would have killed to protect his own. Broken Arrow indicated to the man behind Adam that he should release his hold, and Adam resisted the temptation to raise his hand to his throat to assess the damage, but he could feel blood trickle down his neck.
“I’m looking for my brother. I think you know where he is,” he said as he pushed himself back to his feet.
The Indian approached Adam and relieved him of his gun belt, then nodded. “Come.” Adam felt a hand on his back and he was pushed roughly down the hill towards the camp.
As they approached one of the tepees, Broken Arrow turned to face the trespassing white man. “You wait. Stay here, don’t move.”
Adam looked round, saw the men behind him, and stood still, knowing he had no choice. After a few minutes, Broken Arrow reappeared followed by an older man, whom Adam assumed was their Chief.
“Running Bear will speak with you,” the young brave said. The older man looked at Adam, who could see the strength in the aged eyes. It reminded him of his father, and he hoped that the strength was tempered with wisdom and mercy, as was his father’s.
“You seek your brother,” stated Running Bear.
“Yes.”
“He is here.” Running Bear spoke to the men standing behind Adam and a minute later Joe was beside him.
“Hi Adam,” said Joe quietly, nervous of Adam’s reaction. He saw the look on his brother’s face, and at that moment, Joe was more frightened of him than he was of the Indians.
Adam ignored the greeting. He was relieved that he had found Little Joe, but knew they were both now in trouble. “Will you let him go?” he asked Running Bear.
“Why should I?”
Good question, thought Adam. “Because he is young and inexperienced. He wandered onto your land without knowing. A child should not die for a simple mistake.”
Joe was about to protest Adam’s use of the word ‘child’, but one look from his brother silenced him.
“You call him child, yet he hunts alone. That is the mark of a man. You let him do this.” Running Bear’s tone accused Adam of neglecting his responsibilities towards his brother.
“No, I didn’t let him do it. He went without my knowledge. He will be punished for it when he returns home.”
“Adam…” Joe started to speak.
“Quiet!” Adam ordered angrily, without even looking at him.
“His trespass cannot be ignored. There must be…” The old man stopped. “I do not know your word, but a price must be paid.”
Adam stood up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders as though to bear the weight of his perceived duty. “Then I will pay the price. You think that my foolish little brother is my responsibility, then so must his crime be.” Joe was about to object, but another look from Adam stopped him.
“You would take your brother’s wrongdoing, and its price, on yourself?” Running Bear was doubtful; Broken Arrow had told him about this white man, describing him as weak and cowardly.
“Yes.” Adam was relieved that Running Bear was even considering his offer, though fearful of what he might have in mind. But if he could just get Little Joe away, he knew that, as the eldest, he had done his duty to his father, and his family, by protecting his brother.
Running Bear turned towards Broken Arrow and smiled. “You see, there is honour in the white man. You called him coward, but he would stand in his brother’s place.”
Broken Arrow looked as though he would like to argue the point, but did not reply. Running Bear looked at the sky, studying the stars, then back to Adam. “At dawn you will come.” He nodded and turned away. The men standing next to Adam held his arms, while they tied his hands behind him, and then led him and Joe back to the tent where Joe had lain. They then anchored each of the brothers to a different tent pole and left.
Once they were alone, Joe tried to tell Adam how grateful he was that his brother had come to rescue him, guiltily remembering his earlier thoughts of Adam’s feelings towards him.
But Adam didn’t want to hear it. “Little Joe, if we get out of this, I am going to make sure that Pa tans your hide so hard you won’t sit down for a month. And when he’s finished it’ll be my turn, so don’t be too grateful.”
Joe had noticed the blood on Adam’s throat. “How’d that happen?” he asked.
Adam looked at his brother in the faint light coming from the fires burning outside, and knew he must be very afraid, so did not tell Little Joe that he suspected the blood could be just a pinprick compared to what might be shed during the following day.
“Just their way of saying ‘hello’. Now shut up and let me get some sleep.”
The look in Adam’s eyes silenced Joe, a look that said he was scared. Joe thought that if Adam was frightened they must be in real trouble.
***********
It had rained during the night, and the pattering of raindrops against the sides of the tent had lulled the brothers to sleep. Adam was resting against a bundle of furs, and he jerked his head up, coming instantly awake as he felt hands on him. He struggled against them for a moment, until he realised where he was, and that dawn was near. Joe’s heart was in his mouth as he watched Adam being taken from the tent.
“Adam, what are they going to do?” Joe cried, terrified for his brother.
As Adam was dragged backwards out of the small opening, he shouted hurriedly, “I don’t know, but whatever happens, if they let you go, head straight back home. Don’t wait for me, you understand?” He hoped that Little Joe would have the sense to do as he was told for once.
When they were out of the tent, the men hauled Adam to his feet and across the camp to face Running Bear. He stood in front of the Chief and looked him squarely in the eye; he would not let this man see that he was afraid.
“You have the chance to let your brother stand in his rightful place. Will you?” asked Running Bear.
Adam shook his head. “No, this is my responsibility. Do I have your assurance that you will let Little Joe go free?”
“He will be freed, if you can prove yourself worthy. If not, you will both die. For you are also paying the price for following your brother here.”
Adam drew a deep breath. There it was. If he failed at whatever the Indians had planned for him, his father would lose two sons. Adam was determined that he would not burden his lone parent with that sorrow. Running Bear spoke to Broken Arrow and he and another brave, Tall Fox, took hold of Adam’s arms and pulled him towards the side of the camp where there were no tepees, just rough open ground. They stopped between the trunks of two pine trees, which had been implanted in the ground six feet apart, and cut off about eight feet high. Broken Arrow turned Adam to face him, while Tall Fox went behind and undid the ropes that bound him. Adam rubbed at his wrists, trying to ease the soreness from them.
“Your shirt, off,” Broken Arrow ordered. Adam slowly undid the buttons of his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders and down his arms, feeling unaccountably vulnerable without the imagined protection of the thin material. Tall Fox snatched at the shirt and threw it on the ground, which had dried out after the night’s rain, and then he and Broken Arrow each fastened a rope round one of Adam’s wrists. They passed the ends of the ropes through thick leather loops suspended from the tops of the trunks, and pulled, raising Adam’s arms towards the loops on either side. The men kept pressure on the ropes until Adam thought that they were going to lift him off the ground, but they stopped before that happened, leaving him stretched almost to his limit, but with his feet still on the hard earth.
Running Bear came closer and stared at Adam. He knew that men such as this were the future for his tribe, wanting to live in peace, and he was torn between old customs and new friends. “Adam Cartwright, I know that it was you who gave Broken Arrow the meat for my tribe, and I am grateful for that, and I am full of sorrow that now you must endure what is to come. But I cannot ignore what your brother has done, or what you have done by following him here. The customs of the tribe must be obeyed.”
As Running Bear looked at him, Adam could sense in the chief a deep regret, but also a firm belief that what he was doing was right. The old man continued, “This is a trial of those who have wronged the tribe. Any who succeed in the challenge are forgiven, as though the wrong was never there. Those who fail are killed. Now it will test if you are deserving of your brother’s life, and your own. You will stay here until the sun falls behind the mountain. Any who feel you have wronged them may try to break you, but you must say and do nothing. No matter what happens, you must make no sound or you will be killed. Do you understand?”
Adam understood only too well that his chances of survival were slim and, in desperation, he tried again to get Running Bear to release Joe. “I understand, but this is my trial, one trial for both crimes. Joe’s guilt has passed from him to me, now he has nothing to answer for; he is innocent of all wrongdoing. Let him go. Do what you will with me, but release him.”
Running bear shook his grey-haired head. “No.” He pointed at an old man sitting on the ground a little way off. “You have a witness. He is what you would call a medicine man. He does not lie. If you make no sound he will not say that you do.” Running bear looked at the sky. “The test begins.” He spoke in his own language to Broken Arrow as they walked away. “I know that you would like to kill him for their trespass, but take care that you do not.”
“What if he fails the test? What if he cries out, or speaks, will you let them live? Are we going to allow the white man to come and take over our land without even raising a hand to defend ourselves?” asked Broken Arrow angrily.
“No. If he fails the test they will die, such is our custom, but you will conduct it as though it was a test of one of us, and you know that if you kill him before it is time, you will have wiped out the guilt and killed an innocent man, and that carries its own price.” Running Bear looked hard at Broken Arrow until he received a nod of acceptance, then he turned and walked back to his tepee. Broken Arrow was left wondering just how strong the white man was, how far he could be pushed before he gave in, or died.
Adam saw four braves standing around him, talking; he could not know that these four had been with Broken Arrow when he had captured Joe, and felt that they had been cheated out of taking revenge for the boy wandering onto their land. Adam didn’t like the way they pointed at him, like customers in a butcher’s shop deciding which cut of meat to buy. His shoulders were already aching from the drag of the ropes on his wrists, and he could begin to feel the heat of the sun as it rose over the trees around the camp.
One of the younger braves put out his hand to feel the dark hair that covered Adam’s chest. He ran his hand up and down in wonder, looking at his own chest, and feeling its smoothness with his other hand. Suddenly the Indian’s fingers wound themselves in the hairs and twisted hard, as a thin smile came to his lips. Adam’s eyes narrowed at the pain, but he looked straight at the other man, unblinking. The Indian nodded and backed away, and all four of them sat on the ground watching him, and waiting, making Adam feel uneasy at their scrutiny of him.
Soon Broken Arrow returned, leading his pony. He spoke briefly to the men, who stood up and moved away. Broken Arrow had told them to fetch their ponies, and they came back leading the animals. Again, he said something and they all mounted. Adam watched the movement of the men, wondering what they were planning. He did not have to wait long to find out.
Broken Arrow had moved his mount some distance away. Now he turned, kicked the pony, and, with a whoop of menace, started to canter towards Adam across the hard ground, the horse’s unshod hooves kicking up small clouds of dust. Broken Arrow headed straight at Adam, who thought that the man could not stop in time, but would ride right through him. Adam’s throat tightened, and he wanted to shout at Broken Arrow to stop, but Running Bear’s threat came to his mind in time to prevent him saying anything. Instead, he just watched, holding his breath as horse and rider came closer. Suddenly, Broken Arrow pulled on the horse’s reins and the animal tried to stop before hitting the obstacle in front of him. Broken Arrow hauled on one rein and the horse swerved, sliding sideways, hitting Adam with its shoulder. He felt the shattering pain of breaking ribs in his chest as the pony tried to obey the commands of its rider. The pull on Adam’s arms, as the pony struck him, forced the ropes to bite into his wrists, and he thought that his arms would be torn from their sockets. Then the rump of the animal caught him as it swung round, knocking the breath out of him. He hung there as his legs gave way, then he forced himself to stand, so that he could ease the pull on his arms and get some air into his lungs. He tried to gasp in great draughts of breath, but the pain in his chest meant that he could take only small gulps of the dust-laden air. Adam wanted to vocalise his pain, to cry out or moan, but instead he clamped his bottom lip between his teeth, and was silent.
Broken Arrow stopped a little way off, watching his victim. He saw Adam struggling for breath and smiled; the white man did not have the courage, or the strength, to last the day. He, Broken Arrow, would exact payment for the insult to his tribe, but slowly, oh so slowly. He looked across to the other four riders and called to them. They rode threateningly across the bare ground, not quickly, as Broken Arrow had done, but slowly and deliberately. They separated as they came, two going round behind Adam, two staying in front. They forced their ponies closer to him, shouting words of encouragement back and forth as they approached, and then they pulled on the reins, making their horses rear up. Adam felt a hoof land on his left foot and another kick him in the small of the back, robbing his legs of strength. He felt, among the crashing blows, a sharp, stabbing pain, this one in his right hip, then more hooves landed and the agony spread through him, becoming undefined, there were too many pains to separate. His vision started to blur, and if he had not had his teeth buried in his lip he would have cried out for them to stop. He hung suspended by his wrists, as the horses continued to inflict damage on his undefended body.
Eventually, the torment ceased, and Adam felt someone take hold of his chin, lifting his head. He opened bleary eyes and saw Broken Arrow standing in front of him.
“You think you last until sunset?” Broken Arrow shook his head.
Adam forced his bleeding and battered body to stand straight and defiant. Broken Arrow shook his head again, then twisted Adam’s head aside, and released his grip, turning to the four men who had come to join him. He told them to leave the weakling white man alone, let his pain do their work for them, let it eat at him and devour his resolve, and then they could finish this. They walked away, leaving Adam wondering what to expect next.
When nothing happened for some time, he hoped that they had tired of the game. He hung there, vainly trying to ignore the pain that shouted at him from every part of his body, but with each breath he was reminded of his broken ribs, his foot was swelling inside his boot, the pressure making it more painful to stand on, and his hip and back seemed reluctant to bear his weight. Adam shifted from one cut and bruised leg to the other, trying to ease the pain, occasionally allowing his arms alone to support him until his ribs and arms protested, and he again stood on his legs. It occurred to him that he was fortunate the ponies were unshod, and was grateful that Broken Arrow had not thought to use Sport and Cochise, with their iron-clad hooves.
Adam knew that Broken Arrow and his friends would return, but he did not know when, or what they had in mind, and the uncertainty of his ability to withstand them gnawed at him. No doubt, thought Adam, Broken Arrow had left him alone with just that intent.
His eyes took in the camp and he could see men and women going about their daily chores. It struck Adam as incongruous that he was fighting for his life, and they were carrying on as though he did not exist. He saw one small child, a boy, approach him and stand staring at him. He was about six years old, dressed in hides and with long dark hair. Adam tried to smile so that the boy would not be afraid of him. He thought that an innocent child should not be allowed so close to him and what was happening, but then the boy took a step forward and stamped on Adam’s injured foot. Startled by the unexpected action, Adam nearly cried out, only stopping himself by gritting his teeth, and pressing his lips tightly together. The little boy laughed and ran off to join his friends, who seemed to be congratulating him. It seemed that he had won the ‘dare’.
The rest of the morning passed quietly. For Adam it was a time filled with pain and doubt, and he felt himself weakening without any help from his tormentors. He was trying to take his mind off the agony flowing through him in waves, and was daydreaming of what he would be doing now if he wasn't there. He almost laughed as he remembered that he had planned to mend some of the broken fencing round Frenchman’s Creek, a job he hated, but which he would, at that moment, have given a great deal to be able to do. He thought of the icy water flowing through the creek, and hurriedly turned his mind to other things. He closed his eyes to block out the blinding light from the sun, which was now almost at its height. He was becoming increasingly thirsty, but knew that Broken Arrow wasn’t about to give him any water, and, despite his other pains, he was troubled by an annoying trickle of sweat that made its way down the centre of his back, and the attention of flies that settled on him looking for moisture.
Suddenly Adam became aware that someone was standing in front of him. He took a careful breath to steady himself, before opening his eyes. When he did, he was surprised to see a girl who was only a little older than Joe, her beautiful dark eyes observing him closely. He steeled himself, thinking of the young boy who had attacked him, but this girl held out a cup, put it to his parched lips, and he swallowed the water gratefully. He got as far as putting his tongue against his teeth to say ‘thank you’, when he stopped. His heart beat faster as he realised what he had nearly done. Had that been her intent? Adam wouldn’t believe it. She gave him another drink, then smiled at him, and left.
Adam was counting the seconds and minutes as they dragged past, feeling himself getting weaker as the pain, which he could not escape, hammered at him. He was perversely pleased to see Broken Arrow and his small band return, knowing the wait was over, but was dismayed to see that they all now wore knives at their waists. He didn’t know whether they were allowed to kill him before sunset, but from the way Running Bear had spoken, he assumed not. Broken Arrow stood in front of him, and he saw Tall Fox move out of sight behind him, while the others stood back, watching expectantly.
“Now we will hear the white man beg for mercy. You cannot last much longer.” Broken Arrow could see that the wait had taken its toll on Adam, as he had planned. “Why don’t you give up now, and let me kill you. I promise you a quick death.”
Adam considered the attractive offer for all of a second, then he remembered Joe, and shook his head.
Broken Arrow drew out his knife and held it up close to Adam’s face. The gleam of sunlight off the eight-inch blade blinded Adam for a second, and he turned his head away, turning back to look into the Indian’s vengeful eyes as he felt the sharp edge of the cold metal resting on his right shoulder. Without taking his eyes from Adam’s, Broken Arrow drew the knife slowly downwards, not cutting deep, but enflaming every nerve as it passed. Adam sucked in a breath against the pain, and held it as he again clamped his teeth over his lower lip. The muscles in his arms corded as he tried in vain to move himself away from the agony that filled his body. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and threw back his head, the tendons in his neck standing out sharply, as his whole body tensed. He could feel the knife slicing through him as it travelled from his shoulder, across the centre of his chest, towards the top of his left hip, leaving behind a trail of fire.
When Broken Arrow took the knife away he again held it up, and Adam could see that it was red with his blood. He let his body relax as far as was possible, he had survived this latest attempt by Broken Arrow to make him cry out, and, despite the pain, Adam stared steadfastly at his tormentor, revelling in his small victory. The Indian’s gaze hardened when he saw the look, and he spoke to Tall Fox while still watching Adam’s face.
The only warning Adam had of what Tall Fox was about to do was a small, stinging pain in his left shoulder, and then the agony of Broken Arrow’s action was repeated across his back. Before the knife had travelled six inches, Adam had bitten through his lip, the blood running down his chin to join that seeping from the gash across his chest.
When Tall Fox had finished, Adam was barely conscious, only the knowledge that he dare not leave the world kept his mind awake. Broken Arrow said something to him, which he didn’t understand, but Adam still had just enough awareness not to speak. Broken Arrow looked furious. This was only a puny white man, one of a race of weaklings who had forgotten how to live with the land, and men like this one and his brother were the worst, they had other men to do their work for them. How much longer could he survive, how strong was he? Broken Arrow was afraid that Adam might die at his hands before the sun set; he had to find another way. Suddenly he had an idea. He had seen Adam’s reaction to his brother, and knew that he was angry with the little one, but still he had stood in his place to save him. Now he could use their relationship as a weapon.
Joe was sitting in the tent, slumped against the pole to which he was tied, his imagination drawing dreadful pictures in his mind. He had heard earlier the shouting and whoops of the Indians, and was afraid that they had been directed at his brother. He wished that he could see out of the tepee, but the small doorway was covered. Joe recalled stories he had heard, rumours and gossip passed back and forth between children to frighten themselves, of how the Indians treated their captives. He had had nightmares after hearing the tales, and Joe’s conscience pricked him over his earlier feelings towards his brother, as he remembered that it was Adam who had taken him into his bed to comfort him. Now Adam was facing the reality of those stories, and all Joe could do was wait, and pray.
Joe looked up, as Broken Arrow came into the tepee, sat crossed legged on the hard ground in front of him and then spoke quietly, to persuade Joe of the truth of his words. “Your brother has told me that he has no liking for you, because he suffers for your wrongdoing.” He studied Joe’s face for his reaction.
Joe’s voice was loud with fear and anger. “What have you done to him?! Where is he?!”
“He is alive, but perhaps not for much longer,” the Indian said, his voice matter-of-fact.
Joe struggled uselessly to get his hands free. “If you’ve hurt him, I’m gonna kill you!”
Broken Arrow laughed. “No you’re not. Because when he dies, you die. Why do you fight for one who hates you?”
“He doesn’t, you’re lying!” shouted Joe, terrified that Broken Arrow was confirming his own thoughts. “He loves me, that’s why he came after me.”
“He tells me that he has no love for you, only hatred and contempt, and I will prove it to you.” Broken Arrow stood and released Joe from the tent pole, and pulled him through the doorway. Joe stopped dead as he looked across the encampment and saw Adam suspended from the ropes that held him. He almost ran to his brother, and his voice caught in his throat as he looked at the sight that greeted him.
“Speak to your brother,” Broken Arrow commanded Joe.
Joe was staring wide eyed at Adam, whose chin was resting on his chest, and who was totally unaware of the young man’s presence. All Joe could see was his brother hanging there, his chest covered in blood and his torn pants showing the cuts and bruises from the horse’s hooves, as was the rest of his body, and Joe thought that it was his fault, it should be him there, not Adam. Tears welled in Joe’s eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch his brother, to help him and give him comfort, but he could do neither.
He became aware that Broken Arrow was speaking again. “Your brother hates you for what you have done.” Before Joe could say anything, Broken Arrow continued. “Ask him for his forgiveness. You will find that he will not forgive you, because he hates you.”
Joe was frightened to speak, seeing the damage the Indians had inflicted, and knowing that Adam had every reason to hate him for it. But when again Broken Arrow prompted him, he addressed his brother.
“Adam?” Joe said softly, then louder, “Adam!”
Adam lifted his head slowly and stood on his abused legs, only now becoming aware that Joe was nearby. Joe stopped breathing as he saw his brother’s face. His eyes were half closed, his sweat-covered features drawn and grey, and there was blood on his chin.
Broken Arrow pushed Joe closer. “Ask him!” he commanded.
Joe looked round nervously, and then turned to his brother. “Adam, can you forgive me? You don’t really hate me, do you?”
Adam looked at Joe as the words registered in his pain-filled mind, and he forced himself to concentrate on the familiar figure in front of him, wondering at the questions he was asking, trying to make some sense of them. He realised that the answers Joe was looking for were both ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Adam could only have nodded or shaken his head, so he did neither, he just stared at his brother, willing him to ask a question he could answer.
Broken Arrow looked at Adam. “Tell your brother that you forgive him, or he will not believe it.”
As Adam realised what was happening he turned to look at Broken Arrow, hatred in his eyes for what the man was trying to do. Adam knew that if he answered they would be killed, but if he didn’t answer, Little Joe would believe that his brother hated him, and that might be a wound that would go too deep to heal. Even if they both survived, it could tear his family apart, but Adam dared not speak. He felt the turmoil in his mind, and it was almost more than he could bear at that moment.
Joe whispered desperately, “Adam, I’m sorry, please don’t hate me, I didn’t know… please.”
Adam could see the fear in his brother’s eyes, and felt an overwhelming need to protect the boy, that drowned out even the pain coursing through him. He wanted to tell Little Joe that he forgave him, that everything would be all right, and they would be out of there soon. But he couldn’t speak, couldn’t give his brother that assurance, and he saw the hurt in Joe’s eyes deepen.
Broken Arrow looked at Joe. “You see, I was right. There is no love there. He hates you because you are his responsibility, and you have done this to him.”
“Adam, please…” Joe begged again, but still his brother just looked at him.
Broken Arrow pushed his face close to Adam’s and hissed through his teeth, “Tell him!” Adam lifted his eyes to meet those if the enraged Indian, and shook his head. Joe saw the movement and something inside him died. Adam realised too late what he had done, and he looked at Joe, trying to make his gaze say what his words could not, but Joe turned away dejectedly, and went unresisting as the Indian led him back to his tent.
Adam wanted to shout out after him, to stop him from walking away. His throat worked and he had to clamp his mouth shut to stop himself from speaking. A deep hatred was welling inside him for the twisted mind that would set brother against brother. It seemed that Broken Arrow would get his revenge however this turned out, if not with actual killing then with the death of a family. Physical punishment was what Adam had expected when he took Joe’s place, hoping to spare him from injury, but to make Joe suffer by letting him think his brother had turned against him, was an evil trick. Adam tried to clench his fists to contain his anger, but he had no feeling in his hands, and they did not move at his command. He took a deep breath, until his ribs reminded him that they were broken, and he let it out slowly, his resolve to survive strengthening as he thought of what Broken Arrow had done. Adam knew he had to live, to be able to persuade Joe that what Broken Arrow had said was untrue. Was the frightened boy old enough to be able to comprehend, or would he only be able to see his brother’s rejection?
The sun was sinking lower, and Adam estimated that sunset was not far away. He couldn’t believe that Broken Arrow and his band had given up, and he was proved right as the group again appeared. Adam’s heart sank and his head swam with the thought of what they were planning, as he saw that they all held small bows in their hands. Four of them lined up in front of him, two about forty yards away, the other pair slightly further back.
Adam wondered at this positioning, and then his fogged brain recalled an inconsequential fact from his college years. ‘Point blank range’, he remembered, was the distance one had to be away from the target to aim at it with the point of the arrow, which would vary for different archers and different bows. It came from the fact that old English targets had a white, or blank, centre, and when one stood at the right distance, the trajectory of the arrow would allow the archer to aim at the centre, or point at the blank, and know that the arrow would find its mark. Any closer and you had to aim low, further away and you aimed high, estimating the variation.
Adam realised that they were going to use him for target practice, but if they were, indeed, stood at ‘point blank range’, they should at least hit, or miss if that were their intent, what they were aiming at, lessening the risk of killing him accidentally.
Broken Arrow came to stand near Adam, looking into his eyes, watching him. “Now we will end this. Tell me you want it to stop.”
Adam looked at the Indian and saw desperation on his face, and realised that Broken Arrow was afraid that he could not break him in time. Adam would have laughed if he could; instead, he merely shook his head slowly.
Broken Arrow said something short and sharp, then called to his fellow braves and Tall Fox raised his bow, preparing to loose. Adam’s narrowed vision could not follow the arrow, but he felt the wind of its passage as it flew close to his body. He closed his eyes in relief, and then opened them again, trying to guess where the next shaft would go.
Tall Fox turned to the brave beside him. Adam saw him raise the bow slightly, and he tensed, waiting for the impact of the arrow, but he heard the sigh of its passing as it missed his head by inches. The others laughed, then Tall Fox stood beside Grey Cloud, who raised the bow and loosed. The next thing Adam knew was a searing pain in his right leg where the arrow struck, just above the knee. He collapsed, taking all his weight on his arms. Adam had been prepared for some of the arrows to find their mark in him and had his mouth clamped tightly shut, his lips held firmly between his teeth. He nearly cried out, and tasted blood as his teeth tried to force themselves together. He breathed hard through flared nostrils, and looked sideways at Broken Arrow, who had a small, knowing smile on his face. Adam directed all his hatred at this man, concentrating on it, letting it deepen and spread through him, giving him some small measure of strength.
Tall Fox moved on to the last brave, who nodded and raised his bow. Adam’s heart was beating hard in his chest, he knew that he was getting to the end of his resistance, and he let his mind fill with the need for silence, nothing else mattered. He felt the arrow pierce the top of his left arm, only the grey feather fletchings preventing it from passing straight through. Adam’s head dropped onto his chest as the last vestige of strength deserted him, and the world turned grey around him. He knew that if anything else happened to him he would scream for them to stop, to kill him, and let it be ended. But somewhere in a small, sane corner of his mind, he remembered that it would mean Little Joe’s life as well as his own, and he determined that he would not utter. His head was swimming and he was no longer aware of what was going on around him, he was not even sure where he was, he only knew that he must remain silent to save Joe, he owed it to his father for all the years of care he had given to his sons. Adam would not throw away those years while he still had sense left to control himself. He struggled to raise his head, and watched with desperate eyes as his tormentors spoke together. Broken Arrow walked over to join them, raised his bow, and seemed to take careful aim. Adam lowered his head and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain, not knowing where it would be, or if he could withstand it. For an agonisingly long time he waited, wondering if he could keep silent or if this would be the end for both himself and his young, innocent brother.
Adam sensed himself falling, and realised that the pull on his arms had slackened, but he didn’t try to lift his heavy head as he was slowly lowered to the ground. He lay there looking up into the eyes of Running Bear, and then the old man who had been witness was leaning over him, speaking unintelligible words. Adam felt a shattering pain in his leg as the arrow was removed, quickly followed by a similar pain in his arm. But the timeless world he lived in was filled with thoughts of silence; he still could not make any sound, fearful that this was a trick to get him to cry out, and when the old man bound Adam’s arm and leg, he thought that the pain was just another challenge. Hands helped him to his feet, but he couldn’t stand and needed the support of those holding him. Someone was speaking, but Adam did not have room in his mind to make sense of the words. The pain, and the need for silence, crowded his thoughts so that the rest of the world did not exist.
“It is finished. You have earned the right to leave, with your brother.” Running Bear looked into Adam’s vacant eyes and knew he was not being heard.
Joe was brought from the tepee to stand beside Adam, and was shocked by his brother’s uncomprehending appearance. As they untied his hands, Joe pulled Adam’s uninjured right arm over his shoulders to support him. Adam leant heavily against his smaller brother; standing was impossible, and he wanted to say that he just needed to lie down, but the words died in his throat, all that mattered was his continued silence.
Grey Cloud reluctantly led Sport over to them, and Running Bear spoke to Joe. “Take your brother, treasure him for what he has done.”
Joe didn’t really understand, but was relieved that they were being allowed to leave. “Where’s my horse?” Joe asked, looking round for Cochise.
Broken Arrow was pleased that Running Bear had given way on this small piece of revenge. “We keep, your price,” he told Joe.
“No!” Joe cried.
“Go, and do not make this mistake again, remember what it has cost.” Running Bear said severely, and Joe trembled. He was heartbroken at leaving without his beloved Cochise, but could see that he had no choice.
“Will you help me to get my brother on his horse?” Joe asked uncertainly.
Two men dragged Adam towards Sport and lifted him into the saddle, then Joe mounted behind, cradling his brother in his arms. He could feel the wetness of blood soak through his shirt as Adam lay back against him, and he gritted his teeth, knowing what his brother had suffered on his account. Without a backward glance, Joe urged Sport forward, he wanted to gallop away from there as quickly as he could, but he knew that to do so would be dangerous. He pushed Sport up the hill and over the brow into the next valley. As they went Joe spoke to Adam, telling him that they were on their way home, that everything would be all right, that he, Adam, had saved them. But Adam made no sound, and did not acknowledge his brother’s presence or his words.
Joe was torn between stopping and trying to tend to Adam’s injuries, and getting home as quickly as possible. He knew that once he got Adam off Sport there was every chance that he would not be able to get him mounted again, and it was this that made him push on.
Darkness fell and, as it began to get cold, Joe felt his brother shiver. He looked round behind him and saw that Adam had his coat attached to his saddle. Joe pulled Sport to a stop and carefully undid the ties holding the coat. As he held one of Adam’s arms, preparing to pull the sleeve over it, he saw that the hand was swollen and discoloured. He glanced at the other hand and saw that it was in the same condition, a result, Joe assumed, of the way they had tied him to the posts. Joe fought back tears of guilt, as he forced the sleeve over one hand and then pulled the jacket round Adam’s shoulders. As he reached over to put the other hand in its sleeve, Joe thought that his brother would fall, and he put an arm round his chest to steady him. He heard Adam’s sharp intake of breath and realised that he had hurt him.
“Adam, I’m sorry, but you gotta put your coat on,” Joe told him.
Adam was a dead weight in Joe’s arms, and did not help at all, he was not unconscious, but incapable of movement, in a world of his own where people attacked him and took his brother from him. Eventually Joe managed to get the coat on and buttoned crookedly.
In the faint starlight, Joe had to guess where to go. His brother had not said a word since they had left the Indian’s camp, and Joe was concerned at his ragged breathing. Adam was taller and heavier than his young brother and Joe was finding it hard to balance him, and himself, and watch where they were going. The full moon rose and Joe could see the path ahead more clearly. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep Adam in the saddle, he was swaying with the movement of the horse, and Joe was afraid of what would happen if he fell. Suddenly, up ahead, Joe heard the sound of water, and he made a decision. He would stop here to allow them to rest, and he could bathe and rebind Adam’s wounds. He was also certain that water was more necessary for his brother at that moment, than getting home quickly.
He dropped from Sport’s back, holding on to Adam, and let the bigger man fall into his arms. He staggered and nearly fell as Adam’s weight hit him, but he managed to lie his brother down gently on the soft ground beside the stream. Adam made no sound, and Joe wondered if he was unconscious, but then he saw in the moonlight that Adam’s eyes were open, though they looked empty and unfocused.
Joe went to the stream and took off his jacket and then his fine brown cotton shirt, which he tore into strips, washing them as best he could to get out as much of the dirt and blood as possible. After replacing his jacket, he filled his hat with water, and went back to kneel beside Adam. He dipped one of the strips of cloth in the water and held it to his brother’s swollen mouth. Adam didn’t react, but when Joe took the cloth away, he licked his lips slowly. Joe repeated the process and gradually managed to get some water into his brother.
Joe sat back on his heels and shook his head, he just wanted to cry, he felt so helpless and alone. He had wanted to be treated like a man, and went after the cougar to prove that he was worthy of the name; but now his brother’s life depended on him he was not so sure of his manhood. Then he gritted his teeth and sharpened his resolve, there was no one else there to help his brother. As he started to clean and bind some of the injuries, Joe stared at the darkening bruises, and he saw that there was hardly a part of his brother that was not marked in some way. When Joe tried to turn him over to check the damage to his back, the look of agony on Adam’s face stopped him. Joe thought that it probably didn’t matter, he could do no more than wash the wounds, and he hoped that the jacket would act as the bandage he couldn’t provide. Joe saw the sweat that ran down Adam’s face, and was unnerved by his silence; the young man could not understand why his brother wasn’t crying out, or moaning.
Adam could feel the pain of his injuries, but he knew that he had to keep silent, the Indians were nearby and were listening for him to make any sound, and then they would return, take Little Joe, and kill them both. Adam would not let that happen, his duty to his father and his family would not allow it. No matter how they tried to trap him, he would fight them. He wanted to escape the pain in oblivion, but his mind told him that they could trick him when he came round, in the few seconds before he regained his senses he was vulnerable. No, he had to stay conscious, whatever they did.
He felt hands underneath him, lifting him, and the pain made him drive his teeth into his lip.
“Come on, Adam. You gotta help me, we gotta get you home, please help me,” Joe begged frantically, struggling to lift his brother. Then he saw that Adam’s mouth was bleeding, and the cause of it. He thought for a moment, then reached into Adam’s coat pocket for the jack-knife that his brother habitually carried there. Joe cut a short length off his own belt and, when he had folded it in half, he forced Adam’s mouth open and rammed the leather between his teeth. Adam bit hard into it, and for a moment, Joe thought that he could see awareness and a look of gratitude in the dark eyes. Then it was gone, and they returned to the blank stare that Joe had become accustomed to seeing.
“Adam, I’m sorry,” Joe said softly, regretfully, seeing the damage to Adam’s lips and knowing it was caused by his desperate attempts to control the pain. “I was stupid thinking I could track that cougar by myself. Please don’t die. I promise that if you get well I will never do anything like that again. I’ll be good, you’ll see, I won’t fight with you, and I’ll do everything you tell me. Just hold on until I can get you home.” He was fighting not to break down and cry, his brother needed him to be strong, but Adam’s continued silence cut through Joe, who did not know the reason behind it.
“OK, so you hate me,” said Joe, as he leaned closer to his brother. “But I need to get you on Sport, do you think you can help me?” Adam could hear the sorrow in his brother’s voice, but he did not move. All he could think of was resisting whatever new horror Broken Arrow had thought up to try to force him into crying out.
Joe went behind Adam and slowly lifted him into a sitting position. He heard a sharp intake of breath and thought that Adam must have several broken ribs, but they had to get back up on Sport. Adam simply sat, not attempting to lie down again, not making any move of his own volition, waiting for what would come. He thought that Broken Arrow was again using his brother against him, and he could only let it happen, knowing that Joe was an innocent party to his suffering, forced into it by the embittered Indian.
Joe pulled Adam’s right arm over his shoulder, and straightened up slowly, grunting with the effort. He had brought Sport to stand next to them, but when he reached for the reins and relaxed his support of his brother for a moment, Adam collapsed back onto the ground. The broken bones of his left foot and the arrow wound in his right leg meant that he had nothing left to stand on.
Joe knelt down beside his brother and leaned over him, looking deep into the dark, pain-filled eyes. “Adam, you gotta help me,” he cried desperately, “I gotta get you on Sport, but I can’t do it alone, you gotta help. We have to get you home. Please… try!”
Something in the desperation of Joe’s voice must have got through to Adam. He looked at Joe, who held his breath as he saw that the dark eyes were focused on him, and Adam nodded, just once.
Joe manoeuvred his brother to stand beside Sport, and Adam lifted his left foot into the stirrup as he bit hard into the leather strip in his mouth. By locking his swollen fingers together around the pommel, and with help from Joe, he hauled himself up, his arms shaking and his breath coming shallow and fast. But the effort of getting into the saddle had been too much for Adam, and the moment of awareness was gone in the waves of pain that assaulted him. He felt movement behind him, but it meant nothing, he knew only the threat of death. The torment had taken over his mind, and he was living in a world whose limits were his body, whose currency was silence, and whose very air was pain.
***********
Dawn was giving way to daylight, and Ben and Hoss were inside the house, preparing to go out again in search of the missing pair. They had been unable to find any tracks to lead them the previous day because of the rain, but they were going out anyway, there had to be some clue to their whereabouts. Then they heard the sounds of a horse in the yard.
“Pa! Hoss! Come quick! Help me!” Joe’s desperate call summoned them.
Ben threw open the front door, and then he and Hoss ran to Joe, who was sitting on Sport holding his brother who was slumped in his arms. When Ben saw Adam, he stopped, stunned by his eldest son’s appearance, but then quickly regained control of himself. Joe lowered Adam into his father’s waiting arms, and Ben held him while Hoss bent, preparing to pick up his brother. Joe dismounted and came round to help them.