The SJS
Ben put down his pen and leaned back in his chair to peruse what he had written. Nodding slightly in satisfaction, he set the document aside to dry, then slid open the top drawer to search for an envelope. The front door opened and he looked up to see Adam coming in from his morning chores.
“What are you working on there, Pa?” Adam tossed his hat onto the sideboard and strode over to the desk.
Ben smiled. “Oh, just something I’m going to have printed up at Wade Morgan’s shop in town. I’m just about done. Now I have to decide if I want to use the vellum or card stock; I think he’s running a special on both this week.”
“Oh, I remember…..you were just talking about those things the other day. But I thought you were going to look for some preprinted ones to save money?”
Ben scowled. “Well, yes, I asked about them at the Mercantile just yesterday. They threatened to call the sheriff. That is, after they stopped laughing. I’m telling you, Adam, I don’t know if I’ll ever buy anything from that place again.”
Adam picked up the document from Ben’s desk and studied it. “Looks good to me. But I’m not sure if you should leave a blank line after the word amount. Seems to me it would make more sense, and probably save more money, if you just put in some actual dollar figures that someone could just circle. Makes it easier for the person filling it out, too, don’t you think?”
Ben nodded, taking the paper from his son. Adam was always the practical one when it came to financial matters. “Good idea---let me work on it some more and then I can…”
Ben’s head snapped up, startled by a yelp and a loud thump on the stairwell. He and Adam looked over to see Joe lying in a heap on the landing. Adam sighed. “Great. Joe’s fallen down the stairs again. Third time this week. I told you Hop Sing shouldn’t have used that new varnish on the steps in this house--it’s slick as ice.”
He and Ben hurried over to Joe, who was whimpering and trying to pull himself up to a sitting position. Ben reached him first. “Easy now, son…..are you hurt?” He knelt beside his youngest son, searching for broken bones or other obvious injuries with a practiced eye.
“I’m okay, Pa….just slipped, I guess.” Joe tried to stand, but was stopped by his father’s restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Just hold on there a minute, Joe. I have to check for a head injury…”
Joe grunted his impatience. “Oh, come on, Pa…..I’m fine. Just help me up here.”
“Alright,” Ben replied, reluctantly. He and Adam lifted Joe to his feet. “But at least come over to the settee and rest a minute….for my sake.”
Joe rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be assisted down the remaining steps towards the settee. He was used to his father’s excessive concern when it came to his youngest son’s safety. Heck, it was probably even justified, Joe admitted to himself, considering how many times that safety had been compromised by his own reckless behavior. But it was sometimes a bit overbearing, considering that Joe was now nearly eighteen and no longer a child. Try telling that to his father, though!
Joe grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl before sitting down, and plunked his booted feet on the table. A sneaking glance at his father confirmed he would not chide him for it -- not so soon after an accident -- though Ben glowered at him. As his father returned to sit at his desk, Adam propped himself on the edge of it, and the two of them returned their attention to the document they had been discussing.
“What’s that, Pa?” Joe asked, only mildly curious. He casually studied his apple for worm holes before taking a bite. Probably some dumb bookkeeping stuff that he and Adam were always so danged excited about, he thought to himself. He sure hoped he didn’t get like that when he was old.
Ben looked up and smiled. “Well, Joe, I’m glad you asked, because I’m just about finished here. Do you remember our conversation last week? You know, about the repeated kidnappings?”
Joe came to his feet. “Oh, you‘re kidding! No, Pa, you can’t possibly be serious about this.” He groaned. “I can’t believe you’re actually considering preprinted ransom notes. I mean, think about it. It would be just like handing out an invitation saying ‘Hey, come and kidnap Joe Cartwright. Everybody’s doing it!’”
Ben sighed in exasperation. “Joe, you’ve been kidnapped eight, no, nine times in the last six months. Now, you know we’re glad to pay the ransom and have you back in one piece and all….we’ve been through all of this. But the point is, the Cartwrights are nothing if not hospitable and civilized. Most of these kidnappers can barely write and their spelling is atrocious. I just think that this would make things easier for everyone involved. It helps avoid any misunderstandings, and you have to admit, it’s much more efficient for us. We’ve been having a devil of a time reading some of these notes in the past. Why, just last month--remember? We couldn’t tell if the kidnappers wanted 25 cents or 25 dollars. Do you know how embarrassing that was when Adam and I came to make the exchange?” He looked over towards his eldest as he recalled that debacle.
“So, Adam and I decided that we should have these notes printed up in advance and then load several into your saddlebags. A few dozen should do it. We should toss in a few pencils too, now that I think of it. You’ll also have to make sure you carry a couple in your wallet, Joe--at all times, mind you--if you happen to be grabbed when Cochise isn’t around. So the next time this happens, you can point these notes out to the kidnappers--even give helpful information on how to fill them out. I think you’ll find they‘ll be pleased with your thoughtfulness.”
Adam smirked. Joe was convinced his older brother was secretly enjoying this.
“Come on, Joe. Pa and I talked it over, and we’ve decided to let you pick the ink color. They have some nice shades to choose from, and….” Adam grinned as Joe scowled and flopped back down on the settee, then he turned back to Ben. “I guess now is not the time to tell him about the coordinating thank you notes you plan to enclose with the ransom money. Weren’t you thinking about getting them scented?”
At that, Joe shot to his feet again, stomping over to the desk. “Pa…..can we at least discuss this some more? I mean, what would my friends think, for crying out loud? What will they do? I’ll tell you what they’ll do--they’ll just lock me up somewhere and fill out one of your little preprinted notes when they need some poker money--that‘s what they’ll do! Aren’t things bad enough as it is? You know how many dates I’ve been forced to miss because I was trussed up and tossed in some barn somewhere? Sometimes the girls just ain’t all that understanding afterwards, let me tell you!”
Adam was clearly amused at this outburst and Joe glared angrily at him. He flung his half-eaten apple at his brother, but it missed, landing with a thunk on the desk.
Ben frowned. This was not going as well as he had anticipated. He had hoped Joe would be grateful for the effort he was making; after all, when it came down to it, it was all for Joe’s benefit and well being. Sometimes he felt as if his sons didn’t appreciate him as much as they should. “Joe, could you at least look at this draft first, and then decide? I’m not trying to put a crimp in your social life, you know that. It’s just, well, for some unknown reason--especially recently--you seem to be the easiest means for these unsavory types to get their hands on some Cartwright cash. Adam’s too intimidating to most of them, Hoss is too big, and so that just naturally leaves you. I don’t know---maybe you‘re doing something to attract these characters.” He turned silent and looked at Joe pointedly.
That got Joe’s attention. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not like I walk around wearing some big sign that says, ‘Come get me, I’m completely defenseless and my Pa’s loaded’!”
“I know, I know, I’m not blaming you, Joe.” Ben sighed. “However, this is the situation in which we find ourselves for now. We can’t leave you locked in your room indefinitely, so we feel this is a good compromise. Since it seems to be inevitable that the kidnappings are going to take place, we need to make the best of the situation. It’s the Cartwright way.” Ben looked up expectantly at Joe, pleased with how convincing his little speech sounded. Surely, common sense would get through to his youngest son if nothing else.
Joe closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. It was clear that he had lost this battle. He could already tell his Pa had made the decision for him, and unless he wanted his future freedom severely restricted, he had no choice but to relent. “Let me take a look at it,” he said, resigned to his fate, however humiliating.
Ben picked up the sheet from the desk and handed it to his son. “I think you’ll see it’s pretty straightforward here, Joe. Adam’s made a few changes, and I’ve just worked them into the final draft. There’s a line for the date at the top--that’s a big help, you know--and then, well, you can read it yourself…”
Joe squinted at his father’s handwriting and began to read. “We, the kidnappers of one Joseph Francis Cartwright, hereby demand ransom--Oh, Pa, do you really have to put in my middle name?--in the amount of (circle one)--;” Joe paused. “Circle one? Circle one? You’re really making it easy on these crooks, aren‘t you? What denominations are you going to start with? Two bits?”
“That last part was Adam’s suggestion,” Ben acknowledged as he glanced up and smiled gently at his oldest son, who was trying hard not to look disgustingly proud of himself.
Pompous ass. Joe gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, wanting to throttle his big brother and smack that stupid grin off his face.
Joe handed the paper back to his father. “I think I get the general idea. I still don’t agree with it, though,” he said, his unhappiness clear in his voice.
Ben stood up, and walked around the desk. He regarded the pouting young man in front of him, and lightly grasped his son’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Little Joe. I’m only doing what I think is best for you, like any father would. Can you believe that?” He met his son’s eyes and smiled warmly.
Joe looked up into his father’s loving gaze and found himself blinking back tears. It never failed to affect him. “But Pa, I….” The corners of his mouth twitched, and soon a reluctant smile broke through. “Alright, Pa. When does this have to go to the printer?”
“Well, I’m glad you’re seeing some sense, now, Joe.” Ben was relieved. He had been forced to use his most cherished secret weapon --the old ‘loving gaze’. Joe had fallen victim to it yet again. Pity he had never caught on. “I’m taking it into Virginia City this morning. I’d like you to come along and help me make the proper ink and paper selections. It is for you, after all.” He carefully folded the paper and placed it in an envelope. “We can leave now, if you’re ready. Isn’t it your day to pick up the mail, anyway?”
Joe thought briefly about the breakfast he had missed, but didn’t want to get into another confrontation with his father, so he decided to grab a snack later if he got too hungry. He and his father put on their jackets and hats and headed towards the barn to prepare their horses for the ride into Virginia City.
Discordant whistling greeted them before they even entered the door. They stepped into the shade of the barn to see Hoss spreading fresh straw in one of the horse stalls. “Hey, Little Joe,” he called out with a grin. “Just finished up with yer pony here. He‘s sure twitchin‘ to go for a ride.”
Hoss patted Cochise affectionately before moving on to Buck’s stall, and started whistling again. It never ceased to amaze Joe how cheerfully Hoss took on the most dreadful of chores. Maybe there was something to that loco weed rumor Adam had mentioned after all.
Hoss paused as they approached Cooch’s stall, leaning a sweaty arm on the hayfork. “Ain’t seen ya all morning, Joe. Was startin’ to wonder if mebbe you’d gone and gotten yerself kidnapped agin, and…” He stopped short at the stricken look on Joe’s face.
“What’d I say?” Hoss looked at his father, puzzled.
“Never mind, Hoss. We’ll….uh….we’ll just talk about it later,” Ben reassured him. “Joe and I are on our way in to Virginia City. Mind giving us hand?” Ben reached for Buck’s silver-studded bridle.
“Sure thing, Pa,” Hoss agreed as he tossed down the hayfork. Whistling again, he made quick work of saddling up Buck and Cochise, and handed over the reins to Ben and Joe. As they lead their horses out into the yard and mounted up, they could hear Hoss had stopped whistling and was now singing rather loudly and off key, so pushing their hats down firmly on their heads and keen to escape the racket, they set off toward Virginia City at a brisk gallop.
The ride was uneventful and few words passed between the two riders. The acquiescence that Ben had managed to obtain from his son through the ‘loving gaze’ trick had long since dissipated and, unfortunately, had only about a fifteen minute staying power. Ben had to be sparing, however, with his use of the ‘loving gaze’ as too much of it tended to put Joe into a hypnotic state--the last time, he damn near passed out.
So, Joe fell into a pout. After a few miles, though, Ben became frustrated by the awkward silence, and tried to amuse himself by singing a melodious falsetto version of Early One Morning. However, he was forced to stop when he observed his twitchy and thoroughly annoyed son reaching for his gun.
Morgan’s Print Shop was their first stop in Virginia City, and as they entered the tidy little establishment, Ben warmly greeted Mr. Morgan, the proprietor and family friend. Joe emerged from his sulky mood long enough to smile at and nod at Mr. Morgan, but then sank back into irritated silence.
Joe remembered as a child he had always adored visiting this shop with his father, loving all its interesting smells, sounds, and shiny equipment. Mr. Morgan would sometimes sneak him handfuls of rubber bands so he could take them home to shoot at Hoss and Adam. Too bad he didn’t have a few on hand to snap at his arrogant older brother earlier, he mused, frowning. He looked over his shoulder and could see his father and Mr. Morgan bent over the counter, studying the draft Ben had brought in.
Mr. Morgan glanced over at Joe, and then looked away guiltily. Joe felt his cheeks redden. It was obvious that his father had already discussed the matter with the printer. Could this situation get any more mortifying? Maybe his Pa should just have an announcement printed in the Territorial Enterprise: Useful Tips for Cartwright Ransom Notes.
Joe made his way to the counter where the infamous printing project was being discussed as Mr. Morgan was scribbling notations onto the draft that Ben had presented.
“Well, Ben, business is a bit slow right now, so it turns out I can have this done for you by tomorrow morning, first thing. Let‘s see, it looks like you’re going to want this printed in a lot of 350?”
“350?” Joe was incensed. “Geez, Pa, are you getting a lifetime supply? Just how many times do you expect me to be kidnapped?”
“Now, son,” Ben replied, trying to be patient, “It’s just better to have too many than not enough; don’t you think? And, Mr. Morgan here made an excellent suggestion. For just a little extra money, we can actually double our order to 700, and…”
It was the last straw. With an angry glance at his father, Joe slammed on his hat and stomped out of the shop.
Ben shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He considered going after his son, but decided against it. He knew from past experience that it was nearly impossible to deal with Joe when he was in a snit like this. Better to leave him alone and give him time to cool off. He watched from the window and saw Joe turn left and head toward the post office. Good. Maybe he’ll remember to pick up the mail this time.
Ben turned back toward Mr. Morgan. “I guess I’ll be making the selections, after all, Wade.” He sighed. “Do you have any samples for me to look at?” He blinked at the vast array of colorful pieces of card stock Mr. Morgan spread in front of him. This was going to take longer than he thought.
**********
Joe meandered down the boardwalk, in no particular hurry to reach the post office. He took deep breaths in and out, in an attempt to suppress the bitter resentment he was feeling. He supposed his father only had his best interests at heart, but the whole ransom note issue continued to annoy him. He supposed he should have told Pa where he was going, but he was afraid of losing his temper in front of Mr. Morgan.
Then, all thoughts of ransom notes flew from his head as he paused at the window of the Mercantile. Yep, even after two months, it was still there. Nearly every recent trip to Virginia City had found Joe at the window drooling over it.
The Heiser saddle--direct from Denver, and the only one he knew of in the whole territory. Black, sleek, and shiny hand-tooled leather, with shimmering mother-of-pearl accents.
His saddle.
Might as well have the name Joe Cartwright emblazoned across the sway. How handsome it would look on his pony. He had considered sweet-talking Pa into buying it for him for his next birthday, but he knew his father would balk at the $300 price tag, especially with all the ransoms they had been forced to shell out lately. And because of Pa’s newly-enacted policy of refusing to pay anyone being held for ransom, Joe’s own savings were virtually depleted.
Reluctantly, Joe left his dream saddle behind and continued on toward the post office down the street. He was stopped short by the feel of a gun pressing into his back. Oh, goody. Here we go again. He felt a tug on his hip as his own weapon was lifted from its holster. Someone with severe halitosis breathed into Joe’s neck.
“Hold it, Cartwright. We’re going to take a nice, quiet little walk toward that alley. Make any sudden moves and I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
Joe was in no mood to go anywhere with ol’ ‘Stinky Breath’, but even with his usual tendency toward recklessness, he was smart enough not to argue with the business end of a gun. Joe’s only hope at this point was that someone would notice what was going on and alert the sheriff or his father. But there appeared to be no witnesses in the immediate vicinity; the street remarkably deserted for that time of morning.
Great. Just great. Where was everybody? Was the entire town in the saloon or something? He sighed loudly, and turned toward the alley, Stinky Breath pushing him onward.
As his eyes adjusted to the sudden shade of the alleyway, Joe noticed two other men waiting for them, guns drawn, triumphant grins on unshaven faces. “Haw, haw, it was easy, Jack, it was easy, just like you said,” Stinky Breath proclaimed. “He might as well have been wearing a big sign that said ‘Come get me, I’m completely defenseless and my Pa’s loaded’!” He missed the scowl that crossed Joe’s features at that statement.
Joe noticed then that, despite their disheveled appearances, the would-be kidnappers were nevertheless prepared, noting the wagon and horses waiting near the dark opposite end of the alley. Damn. They always ended up being smarter than they looked. How did they even know he was in town? The timing of it all was almost absurd, considering that his father was even now selecting the paper stock for ransom notes.
The taller of the two men, a blonde, gap-toothed dude Joe assumed was “Jack” approached him and pushed his pistol under Joe’s chin, forcing his head back. Joe stared up unblinkingly at the individual before him. He sure was ugly.
“We’re going for a little ride, Cartwright, and that rich daddy of yours is going to have to cough up some cash if he wants to see you alive again. Now, you cooperate, and nobody‘ll get hurt and you‘ll get home in one piece. Understand?”
Joe nodded and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He knew the routine well by now. Almost verbatim, in fact. But he also knew that he was no match against three big dudes with guns. More quickly than he could have thought possible, he was tightly bound and gagged, and tossed roughly into the back of the waiting wagon.
**********
Ben stepped out of Morgan’s shop, his head swimming with the stress of selecting a final design for the print job. Who knew it would be such a complicated process? He’d had no idea there were so many different typefaces to choose from and so many dozens of varieties of paper stock. In the end, he had settled for a simple 12-point Edwardian Script on a soft green linen, although the rainbow-striped paper had been awfully pretty as well. As he approached his horse, he was nearly run down by a speeding wagon carrying three men. He frowned at them as they flew past. Why was every one in this town in such a fired up hurry?
Ben was relieved to see Cochise still waiting outside. At least Joe hadn’t decided to go home by himself. Sure was taking a long time for him to get the mail, though, Ben noted. He smiled to himself. His son had most likely run into one of the throngs of females that somehow materialized whenever he came to town. His smile faded, though, as a vague feeling of unease settled over him. He shook his head. All this ransom talk was just getting to him. Joe was fine, and tonight Hop Sing was preparing a special dinner to celebrate three straight weeks without a Cartwright kidnapping. At least, that’s what Ben hoped. Otherwise, it would be a damned waste of a perfectly good turkey.
His reverie was suddenly interrupted by a voice calling from just inside the post office. “Mr. Cartwright! Mr. Cartwright!” It was Charles hollering and waving frantically from the door of the building, gesturing for Ben to come over. Ben approached, warily, as the strange little postal clerk had always creeped him out a bit.
“I seen them, Mr. Cartwright!” Charles said, excitedly. “I seen them. Three ugly lookin’ fellas; they tied up Joe and took him away in a wagon. I seen them. See, I’d been having the stomach cramps, doncha know, and I had to keep on goin’ to the privy down in the alleyway, and that‘s where I seen them. Woulda told ya before, but then, I had to go to the privy again, and then….”
So, that was it, Ben thought grimly to himself. Joe was missing again. Kidnapped. He sighed and turned in the direction of the sheriff‘s office, leaving the postal clerk still stammering in his wake.
After all that planning. Couldn’t they have at least waited until the ransom notes were printed?
**********
Joe squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight, wishing he had his hat. He had managed to pull himself up into a sitting position within the confines of the moving wagon and was slightly more comfortable, save for the awkward position of his bound hands. Once they had reached the outskirts of town, one of the kidnappers had removed the gag, and for that Joe was grateful. He hated being gagged.
He had been mostly ignored by the trio, though they occasionally threw an evil sneer his way, clearly trying to intimidate him, but only proving how unattractive they were. Joe regarded his captors curiously. Cowpokes, the lot of them; Joe would have bet his life on it. He had been around such types all his life on the Ponderosa and was quite familiar with their mannerisms, dress, even that distinct cowhide odor that could never really be washed away. When they washed, that is.
He glanced around at the passing landscape and wondered idly where they were taking him this time. Since he was now up to nine, no, ten kidnappings, he knew the locations of the more common hideouts in the area. There were any one of several abandoned mines, line shacks, and caves around where they could choose to hole up until the ransom was paid. Joe grimaced at the direction of his thoughts. He had been around crooks like this so much lately that he almost knew what they were thinking.
After nearly an hour of traveling at a steady pace, the wagon finally slowed and turned left toward a pass. Joe knew then where they were taking him. The only possible hideout nearby was a cave situated at the base of the canyon at Indian’s Leap, a cave whose entrance had been almost completely concealed by boulders from an ancient landslide.
It had served as a useful lair for many disreputable individuals over the years, and Joe remembered it from a previous abduction. Point was, he also knew that with recent heavy rains a large part of the cave was flooded, and would be completely unsuitable as a shelter. Joe nearly grinned. Maybe they were as dumb as they looked after all. Should he say something? At first he hesitated, but then he cleared his throat, and addressed his captors for the first time.
“Ummm, I don’t know if you know this, but…”
**********
Sheriff Roy Coffee’s head popped up as Ben came through the door, and he stood up and came around his desk to greet his friend. “Well, howdy, there, Ben. What brings you to town? Don’t tell me Joe’s been snatched again, eh?”
He chuckled, but stopped when he saw that Ben was not amused. “You’re kidding, Ben. Don’t tell me Joe‘s missing again? You’re going to have to put a leash on that one, I tell ya. What happened?”
Ben sat on the edge of Roy’s desk and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, Roy, it looks like he’s been kidnapped again. Charles at the post office saw the whole thing. And it’s a shame, Roy, a damned shame. Just one more day, and the ransom notes would have been printed and ready to go. They’re going to be real spiffy, too. Just wait till you see ’em.”
Roy put his hand on Ben’s shoulder, and tried to sound encouraging. “Ben, we’ll get him back. You know we will. Have you received any word yet? Were you able to read their demands this time?”
Ben shook his head. “There’s nothing yet. It’s probably too soon.” He sighed. “We’ll just have to wait to hear from them, I guess.” He came to his feet and turned to leave. “I need to get back to the ranch, Roy. Adam and Hoss will have to be told, and I want to be there when the ransom note arrives. Besides, Hop Sing’s cooking turkey for dinner.”
The sheriff saw his friend to the door. “Don’t worry, Ben. We’ll get Joe back. I’ll go down and talk to Charles and see if anyone else saw anything, and then I’ll be out to the Ponderosa first thing tomorrow. We’ll see if the ransom note has arrived by then.”
Roy watched as Ben walked down the street, then unhitched and mounted Buck and headed in the direction of the Ponderosa, leading his son’s pinto pony behind him. Roy frowned and heaved a tired sigh as he thought of the paperwork ahead. Joseph Cartwright’s kidnapping reports were taking up an entire drawer in his file cabinet.
**********
After what seemed like hours, Ben rode wearily into the yard of the Ponderosa. At the sound of his approach, Adam and Hoss trotted out to greet him. Simultaneous looks of confusion crossed their features as they noted the rider less Cochise, and then understanding dawned as they realized Joe had probably just been kidnapped again. Adam looked irritated as it would be his turn this time around to do Joe’s chores; Hoss had been stuck with that unhappy duty the last time Joe went missing.
Ben dismounted. His sons’ expressions had not gone unnoticed. “Well, I guess you figured out what happened. Have we received any word yet?”
“No, Pa.” Adam paused before continuing. “How did this happen, Pa? How could someone just waltz right up and snatch him off the street? Weren‘t you with him?”
Ben had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, we were at Morgan’s shop and he got mad again about the ransom notes and he walked out. I thought he was just heading over to pick up the mail. I guess that’s when it happened. Charles saw three men grab Joe and take off in a wagon.”
Adam lightly grasped his father’s arm to lead him towards the house as Hoss tended to the horses. “Pa, you couldn’t have known. Too bad about Joe, though. He’s going to miss a great dinner. Hop Sing went all out.”
**********
The sun was setting as the wagon came to a stop in front of the dilapidated line shack. Joe’s captors had been skeptical of his claim that their original choice of a hideout was largely underwater, and they actually drove the wagon all the way to the cave to find out for themselves. Seeing that Joe had told them the truth, they sheepishly asked if he could recommend another location.
Joe was surprised at this, but he was starting to realize that the three men were obviously not locals and truly did not know where to go next. He shrugged and then gave them directions to a secluded and mostly deserted line shack on the abandoned Wilson property, west of Virginia City. He had been taken there for kidnapping number two and remembered that it was fairly warm and dry and had a working fireplace.
Once they arrived at the new hideout, Stinky Breath hopped down and pulled Joe from the wagon. Joe felt a bit unsteady after the prolonged ride, and nearly fell when assisted to his feet, but was caught quickly by Jack, who was standing nearby. The third kidnapper--Joe had dubbed him ‘Big Ears’--went to work concealing the wagon and horses in the thick woods behind the tiny dwelling.
Joe was escorted into the line shack and pushed into one of the dusty chairs within. Jack set about lighting the kerosene lamps throughout, then sat down at the table, facing his captive. “Looks like we’re gonna be here a little while, Cartwright. Might as well try to get comfortable if I was you.”
Joe scowled at him. “I’d be a lot more comfortable if my hands were untied.”
Jack seemed to consider this, and then shook his head. “Sorry, can’t do that right now, Cartwright. Ya may just try to run off on us and we can’t be having that now, can we?”
Stinky Breath entered the dwelling. “Jack, where’s that ransom note? We gotta get it over to old man Cartwright so we can git our money and git outta here.”
Jack looked up blankly, and then came to his feet. “I thought you was takin’ care of that! I told ya, I don’t write good! You tellin’ me you didn‘t bring one?”
Stinky Breath looked exasperated, and then embarrassed. “Jack, I can’t write at all!” he admitted. “Yer the only one who knows how to write. Yer just gonna have to write one now, and I’ll take it on over to Cartwright’s place.”
Joe smirked as he observed this exchange, and was even more amused when it became apparent that his captors had neither paper nor pencil among them. Obviously not the brainiest crooks in the territory. He admitted reluctantly to himself that those preprinted ransom notes sure would have come in handy about now. His eyes flickered up as the door opened, admitting Big Ears. Before long he too was equally perplexed at their disastrous predicament.
After several minutes of listening to them bicker amongst themselves, Joe decided to speak up. For a seed of an idea was starting to take root in his mind. Perhaps there was a way out of this situation that would work out for everyone, himself included, he thought.
“Uh, hey, maybe I can help…” Joe began, cautiously.
Three heads snapped up, and his trio of captors suddenly fell silent as they regarded Joe with suspicion. Stinky Breath narrowed his eyes and glared at him warily. “Why? What would you do?”
Joe continued. “Just how much were you planning on asking for a ransom for me? Did you have a specific amount in mind?”
The kidnappers looked at each other, clearly hesitant to share this information. Jack finally shrugged. “Um, a hundred dollars.”
Joe shook his head and suppressed a grin. Another woefully small ransom. Were they just that dumb or did they really not have any clue how wealthy his father was?
It had been the common element of the last nine kidnappings. Every ransom note, the ones they could read anyway, always demanded pitifully small sums of cash. They were all amounts much less than would be expected for a son of Ben Cartwright, though Adam had gleefully announced that the kidnappers had successfully figured out how much Joe was really worth.
“Untie my hands, and perhaps we can make a deal, gentlemen. I think we could discuss an arrangement that’s mutually beneficial.” Joe said. The three looked at him blankly. Apparently polysyllabic words were beyond their comprehension. He reworded it. “There can be something in it for all of us.”
Jack eyed Joe cautiously. “Why should we trust you? We kidnapped ya, boy. Wouldn’t ya just try to escape, first thing?”
Joe responded, “Well, I did tell you where this cabin was, didn’t I? I suppose I could have just given you directions to the sheriff’s house instead, right?”
His captors looked at each other and nodded, conceding Joe’s point. Stinky Breath sighed, and rising up, came around the table towards him. Joe shrank back as Stinky pulled out his knife, then exhaled in relief when he felt the rope binding his hands being cut away. Stinky returned to his seat, and the trio looked back at Joe expectantly.
Rubbing his chafed wrists, Joe leaned forward in his chair and began, “Okay, here’s what I have in mind….”
**********
As they neared the cave near Indian’s Leap, Ben and Adam reined in their horses and dismounted. They continued on foot over the rocky terrain, looking for the designated black stone under which they had been instructed to place the ransom money. They had received the note late in the night; it had been tucked under the door as the three Cartwrights slept, full and bloated from Hop Sing’s excellent dinner.
Ben observed that the note had been written by Joe himself, on Ponderosa letterhead, no less. His poor, helpless son must have been terrified at being forced to do such a thing. The kidnappers were asking for $160 this time around; an unusual figure, to be sure, but easily accessible in the petty cash box. At least these ransom amounts hadn’t harmed the ranch’s finances, Ben thought cynically. Hoss remained behind at the Ponderosa, in case Joe showed up or they received another note from his captors.
Finding the large obsidian stone just outside the entrance to the cave, Ben pulled the envelope out of his pocket, and placed it underneath. He squinted and scanned the horizon, hoping for some sign of his son, but saw no movement anywhere in the tawny-colored landscape. Nodding to Adam, they made their way back to Buck and Sport, and hoped that the kidnappers would keep their promise to release Joe after the cash had been collected. If not, this would have been an entirely wasted trip.
**********
Joe Cartwright was feeling pretty good about himself. Everything had worked out exactly as planned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cut of the ransom. He riffled through the new bills in his hand and grinned. Fifty bucks! Almost as much as he made in a month working on the Ponderosa. A few more kidnappings and he would have that saddle in no time at all.
He never did find out the real names of his captors, except for Jack. They collected the ransom money without incident and happily forked over Joe’s share, and promised that ten dollars would be donated to charity. That was to assuage Joe’s guilt over helping himself to some of his father’s money. As for Joe’s part of the deal, he agreed to remain willingly with the kidnappers until the cash was collected, and would not pursue criminal charges against the three men if they were caught. And, of course, he had also provided the pencil, paper, and writing ability for the ransom note.
Joe had been dropped off, as agreed, on the Virginia City road outside of the Ponderosa, where he would have about a twenty minute walk home. He shook his captors’ hands and waved goodbye as the wagon faded into the distance. Joe had told his new friends about the lovely dream saddle in the Mercantile window, and they had listened with interest. They promised Joe that they would tell their friends about him, and arrange for future kidnappings so Joe could earn enough money to buy it. All in all, not a bad way to make a few bucks, Joe thought to himself. Good thing those ransom notes would be ready soon--he was certainly going to need them.
As he approached the house, Joe stopped for a minute and made an effort to force the grin from his face. He reached down and grabbed a small handful of dirt, patting it against his cheeks. Next, he ripped his shirt. Then, taking a deep breath, he bit his lip and successfully managed to work up a couple of tears. He continued into the yard of the Ponderosa, trying hard to look weak and upset.
“Pa, Pa!” he called out. As his father and brothers came tearing out the door, Joe rolled his eyes back and feigned a perfect faint.
**********
Nearly a month had passed since the kidnapping, and life on the Ponderosa had returned to its normal, busy pace. Sheriff Coffee had tried without success to obtain a description of the kidnappers from Joe, but apparently Joe had been so traumatized by the entire experience that he didn’t remember any of it. Ben eventually shrugged off the incident, feeling that it was hardly worth throwing a posse together over a measly $160. Joe had come back to them, safe and sound, and had made a remarkably speedy recovery after passing out in the yard.
Joe thought about his kidnappers from time to time, and wondered if they would keep their promise to tell their friends about his willing assistance in his own kidnapping. To tell the truth, he hoped they had forgotten about it. Once he reflected on the events, he began to regret his hasty impulse to turn the idea into some quick money-making scheme. He cringed to think what would happen if his father caught him taking part in something like that. Pa would probably work himself into a stroke just planning Joe’s punishment.
At the time Joe agreed to the kidnapping plot, though, he had still been smarting over the ransom note issue, as well as freshly lusting over the shiny Heiser saddle. The ransom notes had been delivered as scheduled, and Joe had to admit that they were quite tasteful and attractive, though they remained untouched in his saddlebags.
It was Tuesday, Joe’s regular day to pick up the mail in Virginia City. Adam had accompanied him to town this time, having the need to stop in and see Hiram Wood to sign papers regarding an upcoming timber contract. The brothers separated at Mr. Wood’s office and Joe headed first toward the Mercantile, as always, to moon over his saddle. The possibility of actually purchasing it at this point seemed bleak. He sighed and continued on to the post office to collect the mail. Stepping inside, he was once again goggled at by that creepy little Charles. The little dude was always winking at him. What the heck was his problem, anyway?
Joe tucked the small stack of mail into his jacket pocket, and made his way to the Bucket of Blood, where he was to meet Adam. Well, he was actually supposed to meet him on the bench outside the saloon, but Joe could never pass up an opportunity for something cold and bubbly on a warm day. He knew he would probably catch it from his older sibling, knowing how much Adam and his father disapproved of drinking on a work day, but what the heck was wrong with just one drink?
Joe found a table near a window and ordered a beer, settling in to wait for his brother. Adam always took longer than expected when he came to see the family’s faithful lawyer. Only his dull older brother would find something exciting to chat to Hiram about.
Joe had barely taken two sips when an unfamiliar looking cowboy approached and sat down opposite him. “Is that your pinto pony outside?” he asked.
Joe looked up, confused, but nodded. “Can I help you?”
The cowboy looked around nervously, and leaned in closer to Joe. “I’m a friend of Jack’s.” he whispered. “Are you Cartwright? Joe Cartwright?”
Joe nodded again, starting to comprehend the stranger’s objective.
The cowboy continued in a low voice. “Then, ya know why I’m here. I got something fer ya….from Jack.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment, handing it to Joe. “This here’s the schedule. We need ya to be ready.”
Joe unfolded the paper and stared at it in surprise. It appeared to be some type of hand-drawn calendar. Different locations and times were scribbled on designated dates. Though roughly presented, it was quite clear to Joe what was expected of him. He was to make himself available for kidnapping when and where it was indicated. Scrawled across the top, in red letters, was the phrase SJS Skedul. Joe looked confused. “SJS? What’s that?”
“Oh, uh, just ignore that part, kid. Now, ya understand what yer supposed to do?” The cowboy pushed his hat farther down on his head and looked around again, obviously in a hurry to leave.
Joe carefully refolded the parchment and handed it back, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve reconsidered this arrangement. It’s not going to work out after all. Give my regards to Jack, won’t you?”
The cowboy shot up so quickly he nearly upended his chair. The table rocked, upending Joe’s beer and splattering the contents onto his shirt. Joe stood up then, preparing to leave, but the cowboy roughly grabbed Joe’s arm, stopping him. “Ya can’t do that, kid. Everything’s all planned. Ya need to keep yer end of the deal.”
Joe jerked his arm from the stranger’s grasp. “This conversation is over, sir.” He walked out of the saloon and paused near the hitching rail, scanning the street for his overdue brother. Hearing footsteps behind him, he started to turn, and felt something hard slam down back of his head. He sank to the ground, a whimper escaping his lips as he descended into darkness…..
**********
A short time later, Joe slowly opened his eyes to bright, blinding light. He tried painfully to remember where he was or what had happened. As he attempted to focus his blurry vision, a figure in black appeared in his line of sight.
The Grim Reaper!
Joe hollered and unsuccessfully tried to scoot away from the ominous specter. Then, his vision cleared, and the image materialized into his brother Adam, who was crouched next to him, one black eyebrow raised sardonically. Joe blew out his breath in relief, determined anew to speak to his sibling about that stupid, slimming all-black look he insisted on wearing every single day. He could give a guy a heart attack.
Adam checked his brother for obvious injuries, finding only a small bloodied area on the back of his head. The little runt must have whacked himself on the hitching rail as he passed out. He helped Joe sit up.
“So, how much have you had to drink, younger brother?” he asked, his voice tight with disapproval.
Joe tried to protest. “No, Adam, I was…”
Adam shook his head, frowning. “I don’t want to hear it, Joe. I can smell the beer on you. Pa’s not going to be happy with this. You know how he feels about drinking in the middle of a work day.”
And leave it to older brother to march right in and tattle on him, Joe thought to himself grimly. He reached up and grabbed the hitching rail and started to pull himself up. Adam came around behind to assist his brother, who was swaying on his feet. Joe steadied himself and once more attempted to explain the situation.
“Adam, I didn’t pass out. Someone came up and…” Joe suddenly fell silent as he noticed the piece of folded up parchment peeking from his vest pocket, and realized then what had happened.
“What was that, Joe?” Adam asked, distracted. He was guiding his brother around toward Cochise. “Do you think you’ll be able to ride, Joe, or do you want to rest a bit more?” It was clear in Adam’s voice that he was eager to be on his way.
Joe paused to get his bearings for a moment, and then grabbed his pony’s reins and carefully hoisted himself up into the saddle, foregoing his customary swing mount.
“I’ll be okay, Adam. We can go back,” he said, preoccupied with the piece of parchment resting in his pocket, and its obvious implications. What the heck was he going to do now?
**********
At the sound of his sons’ horses loping into the yard of the Ponderosa, Ben put aside his pipe and threw down the newspaper he was reading, stalking out to confront the two. How dare they spend so much time in town when there was plenty of work to be done here at home?
His angry accusations died on his lips, however, when he saw Joe’s pale face. Joe was gingerly trying to dismount, and Ben sprang over to assist.
He was stopped by a disgusted-looking Adam.
“Don’t feel sorry for him, Pa. Your youngest son here decided to stop at the Bucket of Blood while I was at Hiram’s office. I found him passed out on the boardwalk in front. I could smell the alcohol on him.”
Joe glared accusingly at his brother. Leave it to ol’ Adam to start blabbing to Pa before he was barely off his horse. Joe rubbed his eyes and stumbled unsteadily towards the house, intent only on finding his bed. The trip back from Virginia City had been slow and agonizing, the brothers being forced to keep the horses to a walk, as anything faster brought on such waves of dizziness that Joe almost slipped from the saddle. He had puked, twice, and Adam had used up the remaining water in the canteens to rinse down Cochise’s neck, all the while glowering angrily at his younger brother.
Joe had barely reached the bottom step when he heard the bellow of his enraged father. “JOSEPH FRANCIS CARTWRIGHT!!”
Joe winced. Uh oh, the you’re in big trouble now voice. Joe didn’t even have to be asked to turn around and sit himself down on the settee and wait for his father’s lecture. He had been in this exact position more times than he could count.
Ben paced in front of the fireplace for a few moments, before stopping to stare furiously at his son. “Joseph, is it true that you’ve been drinking?”
Joe lowered his head. “Well, yes, Pa, but I….”
Ben continued. “And is it true that your poor brother here found you passed out in front of the saloon and had to help you home?” Ben looked sympathetically over at Adam, who was pulling up a chair to get a good seat for the lecture.
Joe raised his head and narrowed his eyes at his older brother, who had instantly donned a long-suffering, martyred look for his father’s benefit. What a great actor. Joe knew how Adam always enjoyed a good Joe-punishing.
Joe tried once more to defend himself. “But, Pa, I didn’t pass out. I was….” He stopped. How on earth could he explain the disastrous situation he now found himself in without getting into even more trouble? Heck, Adam would probably sell tickets to that lecture. He put his head in his hands, resigned. “I’m sorry, Pa.”
Adam interjected. “Pa, I really don’t want to interfere here, but…” Joe nearly rolled his eyes at that. Oh, please. He knew his brother was just dying to interfere. “I think you should consider a much more harsh punishment than your standard lecture…”
“And what do you have in mind, son?” Ben asked, noticeably interested in the pearls of wisdom that were about to come spewing forth from the sanctimonious mouth of his perfect oldest son. Oh, boy, am I in for it now, Joe thought.
Adam looked pointedly at Joe. “Well, it’s obvious that you need to send a message that will stick this time. Sort of a “hit him where it hurts” type of scenario, if you will.” He paused theatrically at that point, nearly preening at the rapt attention he was receiving from his father. Joe felt like throwing up…again. Adam continued.
“I think you should dock his wages, Pa. He’s obviously in no shape to continue working for the rest of the day, and maybe even tomorrow. And perhaps you should even consider that I’ve fallen behind in my own work because I had to help him home, and deduct even more. I mean, it was completely his own doing, as you know.”
“Pa, I can’t believe you’d actually listen to him!!” Joe was livid. He shot suddenly to his feet, and instantly regretted it, catching the back of the settee to steady himself. He paused for a moment, hung his head in a dejected manner, and continued on in his poor, sad, remorseful Little Joe voice. It usually worked like a charm on his Pa.
“I’m really sorry, Pa. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. It won’t happen again, honest.” Joe tried to sneak a peek at his father to see if it was working. It was quite evident it wasn’t.
Ben was nodding. He stepped over to pat Adam on the back. “Adam, I believe that’s a fine idea. I’m sorry that you had to put up with all this nonsense.” Ben then turned his attention to Joe.
“And you, son, will go directly to your room right now to sleep it off. You’re obviously intoxicated. And your wages will, indeed, be docked significantly due to your drinking on the job. Now, get upstairs!”
Joe scowled, and turned toward the stairs, but not before sticking his tongue out at his brother. Adam noticed, and smiled innocently at him. Joe slowly made his way up to his room, and immediately fell across his bed. As he drifted off to sleep, his mind was bubbling over with plots of deadly revenge against the jerk sibling he had been cursed with.
**********
Night had fallen by the time Joe finally woke up, and he sat up to light the lantern on his nightstand. His nausea had dissipated, and the headache was mostly gone. What was still there, though, bright as ever, was the anger.
So, his Pa thought it was a fine idea to cut his wages, was it? By odd coincidence, it was only then that he remembered the folded up piece of paper in his pocket. Yep, it was still there. He pulled it out, intending to tear it to pieces, but something, he wasn’t sure what it was, made him pause and unfold it. It looked the same as when the stranger had handed it to him in the Bucket of Blood, save for one more sentence that had been scrawled on the opposite side.
“No choice, Cartrite-- Co-oprate, or risk the rath of the SJS.”
There it was, that mysterious “SJS” again. Was it somebody’s initials, maybe? Joe shrugged, and studied the paper more closely. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss the idea. It certainly would have been less painful, he figured, grimacing, as he lightly fingered the bump on the back of his head.
The next kidnapping had been scheduled for the following morning. Nothing like giving him plenty of notice, he thought. Joe’s job was apparently to meet up with the kidnappers at sunrise immediately outside of the ranch’s boundaries, on the old mill trail, just off the road to Virginia City.
Joe sighed, considering. He folded the paper and returned it to his pocket as he headed downstairs, where the remaining Cartwrights were eating dinner. Conversation ceased, suddenly, as they looked up and noticed Joe enter the dining room. It was obvious to Joe what, or rather, who, they had been discussing.
Hoss broke the silence, grinning up at his younger brother. “Hey there, Joe, guess ya ain’t feelin’ so well today, huh?” He started chuckling, and Adam joined in, cackling along with him. Joe glared silently at his two brothers, who were nearly falling out of their seats laughing by now, and considered stalking back up to his room. His empty belly won the battle over his injured pride, however, and he glumly sat down to eat.
Adam started in on him right away. “Well, younger brother, I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson today.” He had paused between bites and was pointing his fork at Joe. “When you refuse to obey the rules, you have to suffer the consequences. Perhaps next time you’ll remember that when you feel an urge to get drunk when you’re supposed to be working.” For emphasis, he stabbed at a piece of beefsteak and popped it into his mouth.
Joe wordlessly turned his attention to his father. Was he really going to allow that condescending jackass to talk to him like that? Joe was shocked to see his father gazing proudly at Adam. “Took the words right out of my mouth, son. Of course, Joseph here may not be able to afford to drink for a while, anyway.”
At that, Hoss and Adam resumed their snickering.
Joe stood up, his appetite quite suddenly gone. His decision was made then and there. All trepidation and reluctance evaporated as if they had never been. Joe headed for the door, stopping only for his hat and jacket. Turning to glance once more at his family, he left, not sure particularly where he was going, but knowing that sunrise would find him on the old mill trail, just off the road to Virginia City.
Just wait till their precious little brother got himself kidnapped again. His brothers wouldn’t be so amused when they were doing his chores tomorrow…
**********
Silvery rays of early sunlight were beginning to filter through the towering Ponderosa pines as Joe arrived at the designated meeting place. He was saddle-sore and sleepy, having ridden around aimlessly a good part of the night. His anger and hurt still simmered, and he remained confident in his decision, though he found himself feeling somewhat uneasy as the darkness began to fade.
He guided his pony into the open from the shadows of the trees, and saw two men waiting on horseback. Joe regarded the pair warily, recognizing the cowboy from the day before at the saloon. As he came closer, they hailed him and dismounted.
Joe dismounted himself and approached them. He shook their hands and introduced himself, though he felt such social niceties felt somewhat strange under the circumstances. They in turn introduced themselves as Sam and Bill.
“Okay, gentlemen, let’s discuss this arrangement,” Joe said. “I agree to go with you willingly, and in return I’ll receive a portion of the ransom, is that correct?”
Sam nodded. “Yep, just like Jack said. Oh, and kid, sorry ‘bout bashin’ ya on the head yesterday. It’s just, well, we dun already had this planned out and…”
Joe held up his hand. “No, please. No offense taken.” He sighed. “Let’s just get this over with, okay?” He returned to mount his pony, and the other two followed suit. The three riders turned their horses toward the main road. After several minutes, Joe turned to his “captors”, suddenly curious. “Where are we going…..ummm, I mean, where are you taking me?” he asked, winking.
Sam grinned at Joe and answered. “Oh, just up the road to Virginia City a piece, then due south a few miles toward the old Miller place. It’s out of the way,” he said. “It’s pretty run down, but the barn’s still standing.”
Joe remembered. It was where he had been taken for kidnapping number six. Not the coziest hideout in the area, but it was mostly secluded and dry. Certainly the journey to the location this time around was much more comfortable. He fell silent for a while as they continued on, keeping the horses to an easy lope. Vague doubts were beginning to surface, and he wondered for the first time if he was making a big mistake in involving himself in this crazy plot.
The three riders continued on in relative silence for nearly an hour until they reached the boundaries of the Miller homestead. The overgrown and rough trail leading to the property was difficult to traverse, but eventually the abandoned dwelling came into view. The original house was uninhabitable, due to the ravages of the elements and scavengers, but the barn, surprisingly, was almost completely intact.
As they approached the structure, something scurried from beneath the door and disappeared into a thatch of overgrown weeds. Joe shuddered. He had forgotten about the rats.
**********
“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Ben Cartwright fought to keep his voice to a reasonable level as he faced his two sons. Adam and Hoss had just returned home after an unsuccessful attempt to locate their missing brother. They had all assumed that Joe would return home safely after taking an hour or two to cool off, but the waiting had turned into an all night vigil. The previous evening, Ben had ignored his impulse to go after his son immediately after he had so abruptly stormed out, and now he regretted it.
Hoss laid a large hand on his father’s shoulder. “Hey, Pa, just calm down, now. I’m sure he’s just fine. We followed Cooch’s tracks for a while all the way up to the old mill trail there, but then we dun lost them on the road to Virginia City. There are just too many tracks to pick up the trail. Little Joe probably just met up with some friends at the saloon or something. I’ll bet he’s just off somewheres sleeping it off.”
Adam piped in then. “Or, you never know, Pa. Maybe he’s just been kidnapped again. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Ben blew out his breath indignantly. “Well, he better hope that’s what happened. He’ll get more than a lecture if I discover he’s been out drinking again.”
**********
Upon arrival at their hideout, Joe presented his kidnappers with one of the printed ransom notes, and they were quite impressed. He even helped fill it out for them, gleefully deciding on a ransom of $200 this time. Wait till Adam sees this, he thought.
Sam and Bill looked over the completed note, and they nodded their approval. They agreed that Joe would have a standard cut of $50, with the obligatory $10 for charity. Now, all that was needed was for the note to be delivered. Joe suggested tucking the note inside his pony’s saddlebags, and sending him on back towards the ranch. Cooch would find his way home, no problem, he assured his companions.
Bill remounted his horse and grabbed Cochise’s reins, intending to lead the pony back down the overgrown trail to the main Virginia City road, and then send him on his way toward the Ponderosa. Joe and Sam made themselves as comfortable as possible on the earthen floor of the barn, and the two settled in to wait for Bill’s return. They soon fell into an easy conversation.
Joe took the opportunity to ask a question that had been burning in the back of his mind. “Sam…there’s something I’ve been curious about.” he asked. “What exactly is the SJS?”
Sam looked embarrassed. “Well, I guess someone might as well tell ya, since ya been so helpful and all. It all started a while back, ya know, maybe about eight, nine months ago. See, we all work as hands at the Bar-M ranch, just outside Mormon Flats. We had all just come back from a pretty long cattle drive, and a bunch of us came to town to have a few drinks and maybe play some cards. And then who should come in but you and yer Pa. Don’t know what you was there for, and you only stayed for a few minutes, but our pal Lester sure enough noticed yer Pa right off. Lester was kinda new then, but he told us how he used to work for the Ponderosa a while back, and how yer Pa just up and fired him one day for no reason, and that you Cartwrights were so high and mighty that someone should teach y‘all a lesson. Well, we had all had a few drinks by then, so we thought it was a fine idea. Before long, Lester came up with this idea of snatching one of Cartwright’s sons; just for the hell of it. He pretty much decided on you, what with your pinto pony and green jacket, you were the easiest one to recognize. We could just take turns doing it, he said, not to really hurt ya or nothin’; just scare ya some, and scare yer Pa.”
Joe was speechless. All the kidnappings, every last one of them for the past eight months, were related? Eleven kidnappings and counting; all part of some crazy plot designed by a bunch of drunken cowpokes. The puzzle pieces were starting to trickle into place--the frequency and similarity of the kidnappings, and the men involved in them. He found his voice then.
“And the ransoms? What about them?”
Sam continued. “We always kept the ransom amounts small - maybe about a hundred bucks or so--more or less. Usually enough to buy drinks for everyone. We figured that once yer Pa got ya back safe and sound, he probably wouldn’t set the law on us for a measly hundred bucks. I mean, it was all just a joke. No one wanted to go to jail for it.”
Joe nodded. Sam was right. His father never worried about the paltry sums of money, only about his son‘s safety, and once Joe was returned unharmed each time, Pa almost always dropped the matter legally and soon forgot about the incident. “You still haven’t told me about the SJS. What’s that all about?”
Sam grinned. “Well, after a few kidnappings, Lester thought it would be fun to start some kind of secret club or something for everyone who got away with snatching the Cartwright kid. Before long, all the hands at the Bar-M wanted in on it. It’s pretty popular--even hands from other ranches are hankering to join up now. We’re even thinking of getting matching tattoos. Joe, SJS stands for the Seize Joe Society.”
Joe shifted uneasily, not sure how to take that news. He was the focus of some secret club? That’s what this was all about? He didn‘t know if he should feel flattered or insulted.
“Sam, I didn’t know about…” Joe stammered, not sure exactly what he wanted to say. He bit his lip, considering. “You said people are still trying to get into the club, I mean, the SJS?” How many more kidnappings were being planned, for crying out loud?
“Oh, you betcha. The SJS is getting real well known round about Mormon Flats, you know.” Sam chuckled. “Sure makes things a lot easier, now that you decided to cooperate. Jack told us about that saddle you wanted, by the way. Sounds like a real beauty. Shouldn’t be too long afore you can get it now.”
Joe smiled slightly at the mention of the saddle. It was true. Just a few more kidnappings and he would have more than enough cash to purchase it; maybe even a little extra for a matching bridle. Of course, he would have some tall explaining to do about where he obtained the cash for such an expensive item, but he would worry about that later.
**********
Adam tightened the cinch on Sport’s saddle. He had just finished up his own morning chores, as well as Joe‘s, and he was preparing to launch a second search for his missing brother. His annoyance made his movements rougher than usual, and Sport nickered in protest. The sound of hoof beats made him pause as a lathered and exhausted Cochise came flying into the yard.
Adam stepped out to intercept his brother’s pony, and was assisted by Hoss and Ben, who had also been alerted by the sound. As Hoss stroked and soothed the terrified animal, Adam made quick work of examining the saddle and searching the saddlebags for any clue to his brother’s whereabouts. He found the ransom note almost immediately. “Pa….,” he said, handing the green card to his father. “I guess we know what happened to Joe.”
Ben took the card and scanned it carefully. He sighed. “Well, it looks like they want $200 this time around. We’re supposed to leave it under the black rock at the cave at Indian’s Leap before sunset today. Hmmm. Just like last time; isn’t that odd? If we follow the directions exactly, then Joe will be released shortly afterward.” He tucked the card into his vest pocket and regarded his two sons. “Well, I guess we have no choice, then. Adam, do we have enough to cover that amount in our petty cash box?”
Adam nodded. “More than enough, Pa. Good thing these ransom amounts haven’t been all that high. It sure would be a big hassle to have to go to the bank.”
**********
Dusk was falling over the ranch house as Joe made his way into the yard. He had earned his fifty dollars, as well as a ten dollar tip from his grateful captors, and he was quite pleased. The next kidnapping was scheduled in three weeks, and he would make sure he was ready for it. Sure was an easy way to make a few bucks, he thought, patting the bulge of crisp bills in his pocket.
Joe had decided that his reunion with his family would not be as dramatic as last time. Didn’t want to arouse any suspicions, after all, so he dispensed with the fake fainting spell this time around. He did, however, manage an expression of extreme relief as he stumbled his way through the door.
“Pa! Pa!” Joe called out, looking for his father. Spying him standing near the settee, Joe ran to embrace him. “I’m so glad I’m home, Pa. It was terrible! Just terrible! Thank God they let me go, Pa. They were dangerous criminals!”
Ben held his son at arm’s length, assessing him for injuries. Satisfied that Joe was physically unharmed, he guided him toward the settee and they sat down together. “Well, son, it’s over now. I’m just glad you’ve come home safely. Are you okay? Are you hungry? Is there anything I can get for you?” he said, searching his son for any signs of distress.
“No, Pa,” Joe replied. “I’m okay, really. I think I’ll just go upstairs and lie down for a while if that’s okay?” He stood up and turned toward the stairs. He hesitated, though before heading up, turning once more to face his father. “And Pa?” he said, “Thanks for paying the ransom, Pa. I was afraid, Pa. I was afraid that they were going to kill me.” Joe was pleased that he was able to manage a slight tremor in his voice at this remark.
Ben smiled warmly at his youngest. “It’s okay, son. You’re worth it. Now, just go on up and rest and I’ll have Hop Sing come up with some dinner in a little while, okay?”
“Great, Pa!” Joe grinned and darted up the stairs, quite forgetting that he was supposed to act sad and frightened. Ben wondered briefly about his son’s sudden change in mood, but dismissed the thought immediately. The poor boy had been through enough already. He was entitled to act a little weird, Ben supposed.
**********
The pleasant spring soon turned into blazing summer, and everyone’s tempers were short during the busiest time of year at the Ponderosa. It hadn’t helped that Joe had been kidnapped four additional times in three months, leaving the ranch shorthanded, and the petty cash box running quite low. It was the same story each time; the ransoms were paid as required and Joe was released a short time later. He was never physically harmed during each occurrence, but he was well and truly terrified afterward--so much so that Hoss and Adam were forced to take on Joe’s chores for several days after he was returned safely to his family.
Joe drove the buckboard toward Virginia City to collect the mail and other supplies one humid Tuesday morning; glad to be free from the glowering stares of his overworked brothers and the hovering, worried gaze of his father. He had just been released from his last kidnapping only two days earlier, and it had taken quite a bit of pleading on his part to be allowed to get away on his own. As he left the boundaries of the Ponderosa, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.
For today was the day. After so many months of waiting and wanting, today that saddle would be his. It was fate, he decided, that no one had seen fit to purchase it yet. Destiny had decided that the saddle was for no one but Mr. Joseph Cartwright, and this morning, destiny would be fulfilled. He could hardly wait.
He had struggled over what he would tell his family when they asked how he could afford such a costly item--and they were sure to ask, no doubt about it. He decided at long last to tell them that he had won the money in a poker game, as flimsy as that explanation was. He couldn’t seem to think of any other, though, and telling them the truth would be unthinkable, of course.
The kidnappings had become routine, but to tell the truth, they were getting a bit tiresome. He was starting to wonder if his Pa and brothers were becoming suspicious at this point. Adam, especially, had been wondering aloud at the similarity of the kidnappings lately, and Joe knew it wouldn’t be long before his analytical brother would start putting two and two together. Now that Joe was going to have his saddle, at long last, he had no further need for the additional cash at this point. And then there was that worried look he was starting to see in his father’s eyes after each incident. Joe was beginning to feel increasingly guilty over his part in the abductions as the summer wore on. But how could he stop now? From everything his captors had telling him recently, the SJS was more popular than ever, and cowpokes from all over the territory were wanting in.
Just one more time, he decided to himself. He would agree to participate in just one last kidnapping; scheduled for two weeks from today. Then, no more. The SJS would just have to find itself another willing victim.
**********
Late in the afternoon some two weeks later, the Cartwright brothers found themselves on the road to Virginia City. Moods had lightened considerably in the previous two weeks and the three joked around and chatted amiably among themselves on the journey. Hoss and Adam took the buckboard, but Joe preferred to ride alongside on Cochise, still breaking in his shiny new saddle. The saddle turned out to be everything he had hoped for; it fit as if it had been custom made.
His family had all admired Joe’s expensive purchase when he first brought it home, and they had initially seemed a bit skeptical at Joe’s explanation of a winning poker game, but they didn’t question him about it, especially since Joe had also showered his family with thoughtful gifts--a book of Longfellow poetry for Adam, an hand-carved ivory pipe for Pa, and a silver-embossed whittling knife for Hoss. Since that day, Joe had also worked diligently from sunup to sundown; no one had to nag him to get on with his chores. In fact, his family had rarely seen him so dedicated to his work.
As they neared town, however, Joe became increasingly subdued and quiet, to the puzzlement of his brothers. Once they arrived at their destination, the brothers went their separate ways to complete their individually assigned tasks--Hoss to the Mercantile to procure and loa