No fire burned in the huge stone fireplace that dominated the main room of the Ponderosa ranch house.  Much as Ben Cartwright relished the idyllic charm of firelight’s warm glow on the faces of his loved ones, the summer heat wouldn’t permit the fire he kept burning whenever possible.  The light from the hanging lamp above him wasn’t quite as romantic, of course, but it served to light a scene that never failed to enchant him.

    The lamplight fell on the golden head of his beautiful wife Marie as it bent close to the dark-haired one of fourteen-year-old Adam.  Though Adam had been slow to accept his father’s third wife, he had come to look upon her as a friend and, in these last few months, a teacher.  Tonight, as they waited for their cook Hop Sing to call them to supper, she was helping him conjugate French verbs in preparation for his studies at the academy in Sacramento.  Adam wasn’t sure he’d be taking French this fall, but he enjoyed study and the language was both interesting and beautiful.  He wouldn’t count his summer hours wasted even if he couldn’t immediately put the new knowledge to use.

    Ben’s second son, chunky six-year-old Hoss lay sprawled on the striped Indian rug shaking a rattle in the face of Ben’s third boy, a gift doubly precious because both Joseph and his mother had almost perished at his birth just seven weeks earlier.  Hoss was grinning because the baby was awake for a change, Hoss’s chief complaint being that his new brother spent far too much time sleeping.  His parents didn’t share that opinion, for despite his diminutive size, Little Joe could emit the most ear-piercing shrieks, with which music he generally chose the middle of the night to favor his mother and father.

    Hoss, Ben recalled, had been an easy-going, sunny-dispositioned baby, happy as long as he was well fed, sleeping through the night by the time he was a few weeks old.  Not so Little Joe.  Everything bothered him——a wet diaper, an empty tummy or too bright a shaft of sunlight falling across his face——and he had no qualms about letting the world hear his discontent.  But the smile Ben flashed as the baby’s tiny fingers waved at the rattle plainly declared his prideful joy in the newest member of the family.

    As his brown eyes swept the scene, Ben’s face reflected the satisfaction of a man watching his dreams unfold.  For so many years settling in the West had been just that, a dream.  It was a dream he had shared with three wonderful women:  Adam’s mother Elizabeth, the daughter of a New England sea captain, with whom the dream had been birthed; Hoss’s mother Inger, the Swedish shopkeeper whose gentle courage had brought him to the brink of its fulfillment; and, finally, Marie, the Creole beauty with whom Ben hoped to share the flowering of all he had dreamed before.  With her and with his three sons, each a cherished gift from one of Ben’s beloved wives.  Ben released a sigh of deep contentment, and Marie looked up briefly to smile at him, her emerald eyes shining with quick comprehension of his sentiment.

    A loud insistent knocking battered the front door.  Ben started to get up, but before he could leave his mauve armchair, a soft-slippered shuffling told him Hop Sing had, as usual, hurried from the kitchen to answer the door.  And, as usual, he was chattering complaints in a mixture of Chinese and broken English.  The little Cantonese cook, whose life Ben had saved and who had, in gratitude, attached himself permanently to the Cartwright family, took fierce pride in protecting the areas he considered his exclusive territory, which included both answering the door as a proper houseboy should and, of course, the kitchen.  As absolute ruler over that domain, Hop Sing did not welcome interruptions at mealtime, and it was the unseen caller at the door who was the intended recipient of the expletives being hurled in its direction.

    Hop Sing opened the door and a fiery-headed, grinning boy of fifteen with a newspaper folded under his arm sauntered in.  “What’s for dinner?” Billy Thomas snickered in answer to the Chinaman’s grumbling.

    “Loast beef,” Hop Sing grunted.  “Maybe so, you stay, eat?”

    “Why, thanks, Hop Sing,” Billy replied enthusiastically, “I reckon you talked me into it.”

    “Hmph!” Hop Sing snorted and stomped back to the kitchen, secretly pleased to have another person to savor his food.

    “What’s the matter, Billy?” Ben drawled.  “Pantry running so low at your place you have to sponge a free meal wherever you can find it?”

    Billy just grinned.  “Why, I figured it was the least you could do after me riding all this way just to deliver your paper.”  He drew the latest issue of the Scorpion from under his arm and tossed it to Ben.

    Ben scowled eloquently.  As pleased as he was to get the local news earlier than usual, he knew better than to credit Billy Thomas with so selfless a motive.  Obviously, the boy was up to something.  Had his mother Nelly been there, she’d have been sure to point out that the “something” was bound to be mischief.

    While Ben perused the paper, Billy said hello to Marie and Adam, then wandered over to the cradle.  Bending over it, palms on his knees, he asked, “Well, how’s life treatin’ you, little Wet and Wail?”

    Hoss glared up at the older boy.  “That ain’t his name!”

    “Isn’t, Hoss,” his father corrected absently.

    “Yeah, Pa,” Hoss sighed.  He’d done so poorly in school last year that Pa was making him spend the whole summer doing lessons, but Hoss’s grammar showed little improvement.  “But that ain’t——I mean, isn’t——his name.”

    “It’s what we used to call you,” Adam laughed.

    “No such thing!” Hoss denied vigorously.

    “Oh, yeah,” Billy confirmed.  “Little Chief Wet and Wail, to be specific——’cause that’s all you did, just like this one.”

    Hoss’s lower lip thrust out.  “Little Joe’s a sweet baby,” he announced, “sweet as pumpkin pie.”

    “Pumpkin pie!” Billy hooted.

    “Especially when his diaper needs changing,” Adam commented dryly.

    “Pa, make ‘em quit,” Hoss demanded.

    “Oh, hush, Hoss,” Ben chided softly.  “They’re just teasing, and if you want my opinion, Wet and Wail’s a far more accurate name than Pumpkin Pie.”

    “You are all so cruel, to make sport of my sweet little François,” Marie said, rising and lifting her baby to her shoulder.

    As she had expected, everyone groaned.  “Pumpkin Pie sounds real fine next to that!” Billy snorted.

    Standing next to Marie, Hoss patted the baby’s back.  “You like that better, don’t you, Punkin?  Sure you do.”  Little Joe’s head bobbed back and forth in what Hoss took as a gesture of agreement.

    Marie flashed Ben a triumphant smile that let him know she’d tossed out the baby’s French middle name just to make peace by giving everyone something they could join forces against.  Ben wagged a playful finger at his wife to tell her he’d seen through her stratagem.  He was sure he’d seen through Billy’s, as well.  “This article about the upcoming dance wouldn’t have anything to do with giving us the pleasure of your company tonight, would it, Billy?” he asked with a smirk.

    “Dance, what dance?” Adam demanded, reaching for the paper.  Ben handed it to him, and as Adam read about the grand ball to be held at Lucky Bill’s hotel in Genoa, his black eyes brightened.  “We’re going, aren’t we?”

    “Sort of interferes with some other plans we’d made,” his father pointed out.

    “The picnic?” Adam asked.  “I don’t see why.  That was gonna be the Fourth of July, Pa; the dance isn’t ‘til the fifth.”

    “Oh, the energy of youth!” Ben chuckled.  “Two major outings——in opposite directions, I might add——in two days is more than my poor old bones want to think about.”

    “You are not old, Ben,” Marie scolded, “only thirty-six.”

    Ben smiled.  Compared to her mere twenty years, thirty-six certainly felt old, but he didn’t contradict her.  Nor did he mention the true cause of his reservations.  Marie had suffered through a difficult breech delivery and still seemed to tire easily.  Ben hesitated to plan more than her recovering strength could stand. “Yes, my love,” he said agreeably, “but I still think—”

    “Oh, of course, we should change our plans,” Marie interrupted.

    “No picnic?” Hoss wailed.

    “But, Hoss, think what fun a dance will be,” Marie urged.

    “Not as much as a picnic!” Hoss protested.  “I’d rather fish at Tahoe any day as flounce around a floor with frillies.”

    “Here now, I’ve got an idea,” Ben said.  “What if we picnic at Washoe Lake instead of Tahoe, like we’d planned?  It’s closer, so we could get home early and be ready for another day of fun.”

    “Tahoe’s a better place,” Hoss muttered, still disgruntled.

    “I know,” Ben said, “but there’ll be other times.”

    A broad grin split Hoss’s face.  “My birthday!” he yelled.  “Like last year!”

    The first response to Hoss’s idea came from his little brother.  Along with wet diapers, an empty tummy and bright light, Little Joe had little toleration for loud voices in his ear.  He screamed vociferously and Hoss looked immediately chagrinned.  He reached for the baby and when Marie released him, rubbed the small back until Little Joe began to settle down.  “There, there, Punkin Pie,” Hoss soothed.  “Brother’s sorry.  Don’t cry, Punkin.”

    “Dinnah leady; you come now!” Hop Sing scolded from the dining room.  Everyone laughed and dutifully filed around the table to the appropriate chair, Hoss still holding the little brother he obviously adored.

    “How about it, Pa?” Hoss ventured more quietly.  “A picnic at Tahoe for my birthday?”

    Ben chuckled.  “Sounds fine.  You’ll relate the change in plans to your folks, Billy?”

    “That’s why I’m here,” Billy grinned.  “Ma and Pa figured you might want the dance instead of the picnic, so I offered to ride over and ask.”

    “And arriving at dinnertime is just a coincidence,” Ben said with a dubious arch of his blue-black eyebrow.

    Billy helped himself to a slice of roast beef.  “That’s right,” he cackled.  Then he turned an ominous face toward Adam as he passed the platter to his friend.  “Real reason I came is to let buddy boy here know I’ve staked my claim to Miss Sally Martin for the dance.”

    “She know that?” Adam taunted.

    “I asked and she said she’d come with me,” Billy replied loftily, “so keep your hands off, boy.”

    “Fat chance,” Adam informed him as he piled his plate full of beef.

    Nelly Thomas, seated in a straight chair in her bedroom, gave a contented sigh.  “Lands, Marie, but you got a gentle hand with hair.”  The Cartwrights had taken Sunday dinner with the Thomases and since they wouldn’t have time to return to the Ponderosa before the grand ball that evening, had brought their evening clothes along.  The men had long since been dressed, but the ladies were taking their time, taking as much pain with their toilet as if tonight’s ball were hosted by President Buchanan instead of hotel owner William Thorrington.

    Standing behind Nelly, Marie gave the light strands another stroke.  “You have nice hair to work with, Nelly, fine but so thick.”

    “Well, I sure never thought it could be fixed fancy as you’re doing,” Nelly tittered.  “Won’t I be a sight at that ball tonight?  Folks won’t know me, all primped up like a china doll!”

    “You will look beautiful,” Marie purred.  “I would like to steal that gorgeous green gown.”

    Nelly gave her head a slight shake.  Green would have been the perfect color for Marie, of course, almost a match for those unusual eyes of hers, but the dress was much too large for the Creole woman’s slight figure, even this soon after her pregnancy.  Besides, Marie’s blue satin, crafted by a New Orleans dressmaker, was stylish beyond what any other woman in the valley would be wearing.  She’d be the one taking every man’s eye tonight, and that would have been true had she worn faded calico.  Marie was the beautiful one, Nelly thought, and she had to know it for all her acting unconscious of her looks.  A good thing Ben Cartwright wasn’t the jealous type.

    “There!” Marie said, stepping back, brush still in hand.  “Take a look, Nelly.”

    Nelly stood, approached the mirror over her washstand and gasped.  That couldn’t be her reflected in its polished surface!  Forget other folks not knowing her; Nelly didn’t know herself.  “Lands, I wish I had your talent with hair,” Nelly cried, turning to hug her young friend in appreciation.

    “And I yours in handling children,” Marie sighed.

    Nelly’s hug turned compassionate, concerned.  “What is it, honey lamb?  Adam ain’t bein’ fractious again, is he?”

    Marie smiled.  “No, all is well between us, except that I shall miss him when he goes to school.”

    “Well, you don’t have to cross that bridge for another couple months,” Nelly said, then smiled.  “Now, I know Hoss ain’t givin’ you a lick of trouble, so it must be our new little darlin’.”

    Marie nodded.  “Ben keeps talking of how different he is from Hoss, how much less he eats, how much more he cries.  I am sure I’m doing something wrong, but I am too ignorant to know what.”

    “You’re not doing anything wrong,” Nelly soothed.  “Children are different, that’s all, and if anyone ought to know it, it’s Ben Cartwright!  Why, the three I birthed were different as night and day, so how Ben can expect three boys by three different mothers to be anything alike is beyond me!”

    “Little Joe seems all right to you?” Marie asked anxiously.  “He is so small.”

    “Started out that way,” Nelly agreed, “and likely will be all his life.  Honey lamb, he’s you all over, even got your eyes, and you’re small.  I reckon his appetite fits his size.  You can’t go comparin’ him with Hoss.  That boy could eat a side of beef when he was Little Joe’s age!”

    “You are exaggerating,” Marie accused, but she was smiling again.

    “Not by much,” Nelly laughed.  “And don’t fret about the cryin’ either.  Little Joe’s extra sensitive, that’s all.  Likely he’ll grow out of it, but if you ask me, a baby that hollers about wet diapers is just showin’ good sense.”

    Marie laughed.  “Then I think I have the most sensible baby there ever was.  Ben teases me about bathing him every day, but my little boy likes to be clean.”

    Nelly bit her lip.  A daily bath went beyond her ideas of what was best, but she didn’t want to make the young mother feel more insecure than she obviously already did.  “Well, let’s see what the menfolk think of our finery,” she suggested.

    “‘Bout time,” Clyde Thomas grumbled as the bedroom door opened, but the complaint died on his lips when he caught the first glimpse of his wife.  “Nelly, hon,” he purred, “you look plumb gorgeous.”

    “Wow, Ma!” Billy exclaimed.  “Never knew you was such a looker.”

    Nelly blushed, but she was obviously pleased.  “It’s Marie’s doin’,” she deprecated.

    “She done good work,” Billy agreed, “but it ain’t all her, Ma.  Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, you always said, so she must’ve had somethin’ pretty fine to work with.”

    “Oh, go practice your flatterin’ ways on that Martin gal,” Nelly laughed.  “You gents ready to go?”

    “Thought I was,” Clyde chuckled, “but maybe I ought to dude up some more if I’m gonna be seen with the likes of you, Nelly gal.”  Clyde’s worn tweed suit did look a little ragged next to his wife’s polished appearance.

    Nelly hooked an arm through his elbow.  “You’re duded up enough for me.”

    “And altogether too duded up for fighting off those miners who are bound to throng your lady tonight,” Ben teased.

    “Best worry about your own duds,” Clyde sniggered.  “That gal on your arm ain’t exactly hard on the eyes, Ben boy.”

    “Pa, do I have to go?” Hoss pleaded again.  Having no interest in dancing, he had offered to stay at the house and watch the baby.

    Five-year-old Inger Thomas, her strawberry blonde hair set off by her new red calico, answered before Ben could.  “‘Course, you have to go, Hoss.  You’re my partner.”

    Hoss frowned.  As girls went, his mother’s namesake was nice, but he felt clumsy as an ox when it came to dancing.

    Sharply dressed in his gray cutaway jacket and maroon satin vest, Ben offered Marie his arm.  As they walked outside, Marie whispered, “I hope we have made the right decision.  What if the music makes Little Joe cry?”

    “If it does, we’ll ask Lucky Bill if we can’t bed the boy down in a spare room,” Ben said.  “I’d rather not leave them home alone, and Hoss can use a little work on the social graces.”

    “Now, Ben, don’t turn a dance into a lesson,” Marie scolded gently.  “Poor Hoss thinks he has had little else this summer.”

    “All right,” Ben laughed as he handed her up to the seat of their buckboard.  “No lessons tonight.  We’ll just dance our toes sore.”

    Strains of lively music greeted the party as they entered Lucky Bill’s Hotel.  Clyde took a firm grip on Nelly’s elbow.  “I may not be able to hold you for long,” he said, “but the first dance is mine.”

    Nelly stroked his short auburn whiskers.  “You don’t hear me arguin’.”  She willingly let herself be led to the dance floor.

    “I’d like to grab you while I have the chance,” Ben chuckled, “but I see another fellow already has you tied down.”

    Marie smiled, knowing he meant the baby in her arms.  “Take the basket over by the others,” she requested.  “I want Laura to see how our little one is growing before I put him down.”  Ben nodded and carried the basket to the side of the room where two other babies lay snoozing.  Ben sent a quick prayer heavenward that Little Joe would follow their cooperative example.

    Seeing no help for it, Hoss took Inger’s small hand and headed for the dance floor.

    Billy spotted Sally Martin dancing with her father and made a beeline to cut in.  Though, technically, Sally was Billy’s date for the evening, his family owned only one multi-passenger vehicle.  He hadn’t wanted the whole family along when he picked up Sally and she hadn’t wanted to ride horseback in her new evening gown of violet silk, so the young couple had agreed to meet at the dance.

    Adam started after Billy, intending to challenge his friend’s claim to the young beauty, when another pretty face caught his eye and he veered toward her instead.  “Thocmetony!” he cried, grasping her bronze hand as soon as he reached her.  “What a surprise to see you here!”

    “Instead of in my grandfather’s karnee, you mean?” the Paiute girl asked with a mischievous smile.  “I live here in Genoa now, with the Ormsbys.”  She turned toward the younger girl standing shyly at her side.  “You remember my sister Elma?”

    “Elma?” Adam asked, brow furrowing.  “That’s not the name I remember.”

    Thocmetony laughed.  “We took Christian names while we were in California.  Mine is Sarah, remember?”

    “I remember,” Adam said with a smile, “but I still think your Indian name has a prettier meaning, Shellflower.”  Shellflower was the English equivalent for the pink desert flower after which the thirteen-year-old Paiute was named.

    Sarah’s deep gold flesh darkened from the neck up.  “And I still think of you as Red Man, Adam,” she said, “but perhaps it is time to put aside childish things.  The Ormsbys prefer white women’s names.”

    “And white women’s dress I see,” Adam added, noting the simple yellow gingham his friend wore.  “You look real pretty in it, Sarah.  Would you like to dance?”

    “It is new to me, but if you will be patient, I would like to learn,” Sarah replied, taking the hand Adam offered.

    “Good, and you can tell me all about why you’re living with the Ormsbys instead of your own folks,” Adam said as he led her to the dance floor.

    “That is simple,” Sarah responded.   “My father wishes us to have the white man’s learning.  We will go to Genoa school soon, but now Elma and I do housework and help serve the stage passengers to earn our board.”

    Giving his partner an energetic twirl, Adam nodded.  He knew William Ormsby owned a local store, which also served as a stage stop for the Carson Valley Express.  “I’ll be taking that stage before long,” Adam offered, “when I leave for school in Sacramento.”

    “Ah, I will see you then, at least,” Sarah said, flushed with the vigor of the dance.

    “Maybe more,” Adam said.  “Maybe I’ll just”——a hand tapped him on the shoulder.  Adam frowned as he glanced sideways and caught sight of Billy Thomas.  “What are you doing here?” Adam demanded.  “Thought you had a partner.”

    “Hard to keep around here,” Billy shrugged, “with all these miners cuttin’ in.”

    “You’re no miner,” Adam grunted.

    Billy just grinned.  “No, but I’m cuttin’ in, same as they done me.  What’s your name, pretty?”

    The Indian girl smiled, pleased as any other to have two fellows vying for her attention.  “Sarah,” she said and took Billy’s hand.

    Across the room Laura Ellis was smiling into the face of Marie’s baby.  “Ooh, you pretty thing, you,” she cooed.  “You’re just the prettiest baby boy I ever saw, yes you are.”

    Little Joe evidently appreciated the compliment, for he smiled cheerily, his little head bobbing as his bright eyes took in the new surroundings.

    Marie giggled.  “Clyde says that most fathers have to keep a shotgun handy to protect their girls, but Ben will need one to drive away all the girls that will want to marry our beautiful Little Joe.”

    Laura laughed.  “Clyde’s right.  This one won’t have to do much skirt-chasing; they’ll chase him.  But you’ll probably be the one wielding the shotgun to hold them at bay!”

    “Mais oui, I will,” Marie began, but she was suddenly aware of a swarm of men swooping down on her.  She wasn’t surprised.  Even in populous New Orleans men had flocked around the Creole beauty, but here in Carson Valley, where anything in a skirt was a rare and cherished sight, the homeliest woman would be the recipient of more requests for a dance that she could possibly fill.  The fact that Marie was beyond argument the loveliest woman in the room guaranteed she’d be kept busier than most.

    Recognizing the man leading the pack as James Finney, Marie made a desperate search of the room for Ben, but he had his back to her, talking to Dr. Martin.  Marie remembered with distaste the last dance she’d shared with the man everyone called Old Virginny, after his home state.  Not only had the miner tromped on her toes, his breath had reeked of alcohol.  But Marie would have considered herself ill-mannered to turn him down.

    Just as Finney was stretching out his scrawny fingers to claim his prize, another lanky man stepped in front of him and, sweeping off his black stovepipe hat, announced loudly, “Henry T. P. Comstock at your service, ma’am.”  Comstock didn’t ask for a dance; he simply assumed it was his for the taking.  He gripped Marie’s elbow and guided her toward the dance floor.

    “But, my baby,” Marie protested.

    “I’ll see to him,” Laura called, her lips twitching with amusement.

    Irritated, but not despairing, Old Virginny and the scruffy miners behind him turned hopeful eyes on Laura, who merely laughed.  “I’m in charge of the refreshment table tonight, gents; I’m too busy right now to dance, but maybe later.”

    “Maybe, for sure,” called a not unhandsome miner in his middle twenties, who was far to the rear of the pack.

    Laura smiled at the likeable young man who, like Finney, had come west as a teamster for John Reese in 1851 and stayed to mine the nearby canyons.  “All right, Sandy; I’ll save my first dance for you.”  Sandy Bowers might be a little rough around the edges, but he was good-natured and open-hearted.  Laura figured she’d enjoy dancing with him far more than her friend was likely to be enjoying her turn around the floor with pompous Henry T. P. Comstock.

    Finishing his conversation with Paul Martin, Ben searched the room for Marie.  He spotted her and groaned audibly.  “I should know better,” he explained to the doctor.  “I should know better than to expect a dance with my own wife.”

    “I imagine she’d welcome your cutting in,” Martin chuckled.  “Old Pancake’s dance technique is a mite vigorous for most ladies’ taste.”

    Ben smiled at the miner’s nickname.  Though Comstock had only been in the territory about a year, his reputation for laziness had earned him the moniker of Pancake because he rarely went to the trouble of making sourdough bread, choosing to drop the batter on a hot griddle instead.  “You’re right; it would be an act of charity,” Ben said, the smile on his lips belying the solemnity of his tone.

    “Charity,” Martin scoffed.  “On that note, I believe I’ll adjourn to the punch bowl.”

    “If James Finney hasn’t drunk it dry,” Ben commented saucily.

    Ben claimed his wife for a dance, but couldn’t for long hold off the eager horde seeking the same privilege.  Throughout the evening partners changed regularly as lonely men satisfied their craving for female company.  Even Hoss lost his partner, to a gray-whiskered miner, but he didn’t care.  The boy navigated a straight course to the refreshment table, where Mrs. Ellis obligingly filled his plate full of sandwiches and cookies.  Hoss plunked himself on the floor behind the table next to three-year-old Jimmy Ellis and settled down to enjoy his favorite part of any social gathering.

    Ben counted himself lucky to have danced with every woman, young and old, at the dance, so whenever he lost his latest partner to another eager-faced gentleman, he contented himself with roaming the room in search of a neighbor with whom he hadn’t chatted in a while.  He couldn’t help noticing, however, that many conversations seemed to break off abruptly when he approached.  The occasional snatches he caught were disturbing, for their tone was almost belligerent.  “I stand with Brigham,” one of Ben’s closest neighbors, Alec Cowan, hissed to another Mormon.  “If the United States thinks it can”——in response to the other man’s curt nod, Cowan broke off and pasted a thin smile on his face.  “Hello, Mr. Cartwright.  Warm for July, isn’t it?”

    “July’s always warm here,” Ben replied lightly.  “You’ve lived here long enough to know that.”  There wasn’t much else to say about the weather, though, and Cowan seemed disinclined to discuss anything more serious, at least until Ben wandered off toward the refreshment table.  As he left, a quick glance over his shoulder told Ben the heads of his Mormon neighbors were once again bent in earnest grappling of some problem that evidently wasn’t considered the business of any gentile in the territory.

    Hating to feel shut out by his neighbors, Ben nonetheless shook off his irritation.  Tonight was a celebration in honor of the birth of their nation and a rare opportunity to come together for fun and frolic.  He didn’t intend to spoil it by worrying over how other folks acted.  Passing the three baskets of babies, Ben peered into the one nearest the refreshment table, hoping to see a slumbering son, but Little Joe was wide awake, face smiling, arms and legs kicking.  To Ben’s imagination, it seemed as if the tiny boy were keeping time to the music, almost dancing in his basket.  “Like parties, do you, Little Joe?” Ben asked gently.  “Well, Pa’s glad to see that——mighty glad to see that.”  He let the baby waggle his finger for a moment, then headed for a glass of punch.  He was thirsty.

    As he stepped toward Laura Ellis, however, he once again had the unpleasant experience of seeing a conversation broken off the moment he came within hearing distance.  The two blond-haired, blue-eyed Grosch brothers had been talking animatedly with Mrs. Ellis, but, spotting Ben, they stopped, and though they greeted him amiably enough, they soon wandered away in search of dance partners.  “What is going on?” Ben all but exploded to Laura.  He’d gathered that the Mormons were talking about Brigham Young’s growing controversy with the new President, but though that couldn’t possibly concern the Grosches, sons of a Universalist minister, the two brothers were acting equally secretive.

    “Oh, you know miners,” Laura laughed nonchalantly, “always chattering about some big strike they hope to find.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  Perhaps that’s all it was in the case of the Grosch brothers, but Laura’s answer seemed just a bit evasive.  Then he shook his head.  No sense imagining slights where none were intended.  “That middle boy of mine left anything for his famished father?” Ben joked.

    From behind the table Hoss looked up and grinned.  “It’s good, Pa; better get some while you can.”

    Ben laughed loudly.  “Sound advice, if ever I heard it.  Fix me a plateful, would you, Laura?”

    “My pleasure,” she said smoothly and began to cover a plate with sliced meat and cheese, sandwiches and cookies.

    In the wee hours of the morning, Ben lifted the basket containing his, at last, sleeping son and herded his family toward the door.  They paused to express their appreciation to their host, Bill Thorrington.

    “Glad you could come, folks,” the powerful man with the handsome face and convivial manner said.

    “It’s been a real pleasure,” Ben replied earnestly.  “Like to stay longer, but these youngsters are getting drowsy and we still have a long ride ahead.”

    “We’ve got vacant rooms, if you care to spend the night,” Lucky Bill suggested with a cheerful grin.

    Ben chuckled.  “Thanks, but I favor my own bed.”  He loaded his family into the buckboard, Marie on the seat beside him and the two older boys in back with the baby between them.  “Did you have a nice time?” he asked his wife.

    Marie snuggled close.  “Especially when I was dancing with you.”

    Ben laughed.  “Didn’t happen often enough for my taste.”

    They rode in silence for awhile.  Then Hoss asked, “Pa, what’s a monster vein?”

    “What?” Ben asked.  “Where’d you hear that, Hoss?”

    “Them Grosch boys,” Hoss yawned.  “They was sayin’ somethin’ about findin’ a monster vein.”

    “Oh,” Ben smiled.  “I imagine they were just dreaming of a big gold strike, son.  Not too likely around here.”

    “Somebody’s gonna give ‘em six hundred dollars,” Hoss reported.  “They told Jimmy’s ma——”

    “Hoss, it is not polite to eavesdrop,” Marie chided.

    “Yes, ma’am,” Hoss muttered.  “I wasn’t aimin’ to.”

    “I’m sure you weren’t,” Ben said.  “I feel like I’ve been eavesdropping all night, too.  Something’s going on among our Mormon friends.”

    “It troubles you?” Marie asked, for she’d heard an edge to his voice.

    Ben shrugged.  “I don’t know enough to be troubled.”

    “I heard some folks talking about leaving the valley,” Adam said.

    “Oh, I hope not,” Marie said.  “There are so few of us now.”

    Ben laughed.  “Few?  Why, there’re more than five hundred people settled this side of the Sierras, ma’am.  The territory’s growing by leaps and bounds!”

    Marie tittered softly, knowing she was being teased about her cosmopolitan upbringing in New Orleans, so different from life in sparsely settled western Utah.  “Yes, it feels very crowded.  Perhaps it would be well if some left.”

    She wasn’t serious, of course, but her words proved prophetic.  Within two weeks sixty-four of the Cartwrights’ Mormon neighbors had departed for Salt Lake City.  Ben could only surmise that the Mormons felt threatened by President Buchanan’s desire to install a secular governor in place of Brigham Young, who had held tight rein over the territory for the last decade, and had left to close ranks against the intrusion of the United States in the affairs of the Saints.

    The repercussions of that exodus by far exceeded the small drop in population.  The Utah legislature soon rescinded the creation of Carson County, attaching it to Great Salt Lake County for elective, revenue and judicial purposes and demanded that all records of probate and county courts be sent to Salt Lake City.  Ben, along with everyone else remaining in western Utah, was infuriated by the transfer.  Salt Lake City was, as always, too far away to provide effective government, and now the former Carson County wouldn’t even have a representative to voice their concerns.  They were back to the situation that had existed when the first squatter government was set up, and once again the cry to separate from the territory of Utah rang through the hills and valleys along the eastern Sierras.
 

Sighing, Marie handed the slate covered with figures back to Hoss, who was sitting cross-legged on the carpet before the fireplace.  “No, Hoss.  Five plus three is not nine.  And two plus four is not five.  Try again.”

    Hoss groaned.  He was tired of sums.  He cast an imploring glance at the cradle near him.  If Little Joe would just wake up, his mother would have to stop his lessons long enough to care for the baby.  But Little Joe showed no signs of providing the relief his older brother craved more than cookies, heretofore the first love of his life.  Hoss stared at the printed problems and, hiding his fingers beneath the coffee table, began tediously to count out the answers.

    A rap at the door made the boy’s head jerk up and drove the total he’d just calculated from his mind.  Marie frowned.  “Whoever it is does not concern you, Hoss.  Do your sums.”  Supporting his weary brain on a crooked elbow, Hoss slumped over his slate once more.

    Hop Sing answered the door and waited for the tall, well-muscled stranger to announce himself.  “Is this the Cartwright place?” the man asked hesitantly.

    “Pondelosa,” Hop Sing replied with an air that indicated everyone should recognize the name of the Cartwright’s ranch.

    The man swept an unruly lock of brown hair from his sun-bronzed face.  “Yes, but what I need to know——”

    Smiling, Marie came to his rescue.  “I am Mrs. Cartwright,” she said pleasantly as she walked toward the door.

    The stranger’s gray eyes clouded with bewilderment.  “Mrs. Cartwright?” he stammered.  “I—I’m sorry, ma’am, but it was Ben Cartwright’s place I was looking for.  I thought this place matched the directions I was given.”

    Marie’s golden head tilted.  “Mais oui,” she replied.  “I am Mrs. Ben Cartwright.  My husband is not here now, but should return shortly.”

    “Mrs. Ben Cartwright,” the man mumbled, shaking his head as if trying to absorb words that made no sense.  “Ben’s married again?”

    Marie laughed softly.  “Ah, I see.  It has been some time since you saw my husband?”

    “Six years, ma’am.”

    “Then you could not know,” she said.  “We have been married just over a year now.  Please come in, Monsieur——”

    “John,” the man replied as he entered and walked toward the furniture grouped before the fireplace.

    “Oui , Monsieur Jean,” Marie repeated.  “You are an old friend of Ben’s?  From California, perhaps?”

    An impish smile lifted one corner of John’s mouth.  “Oh, Ben and I go back a lot further than that,” he commented as he sat in the blue armchair near the cradle.  He stared in amazement at the sleeping baby.  “Ben and I were boys——and, I hope, friends——together back in New Bedford.”

    Marie clasped her hands in delight.  “Oh, Ben will be so pleased to see you, I know——and you will, of course, stay with us.  We have plenty of rooms, though not all are furnished yet.”

    John’s eyes scanned the large room, taking in the stairs to the second story.  “Yes, I can see how it might take time to furnish this much house.  Ben’s doing well, I take it.”

    Marie thought that question a bit presumptious, even for a boyhood friend, but she nodded politely.  She laid a slender hand on Hoss’s head.  “Six years ago, you said.  Did you meet this boy then?”

    John laughed.  “We met, but he was a good deal smaller then, eh, Hoss?”

    “I don’t ‘member you, mister,” Hoss said with a grin, tickled that the man knew his name without being told.

    John gestured toward the cradle.  “Your boy, ma’am?”

    Marie nodded.  “And Ben’s, of course.  We call him Joseph.”

    The stranger’s head rose abruptly.  Then he smiled.  “A fine name,” he said softly, as if it had special meaning for him.

    Just as Marie sent Hoss to the kitchen to request Hop Sing to serve coffee and cookies for their guest, the youngest Cartwright woke, crying, as usual, to have his diaper changed and his stomach fed.  Marie excused herself and took the baby upstairs to clean and nurse him.  In the meantime Hoss happily munched cookies with John and bemoaned his sad fate of doing lessons all summer.

    “Aye, matey, but how will you learn to navigate without knowing your numbers?” John asked.

    “You a sailor?” Hoss asked.  “My Pa was, too.”

    “Aye, most New Bedford boys dream of going to sea the way youngsters out here dream of herding cattle or panning for nuggets,” John laughed.

    “Was you on the same boat as Pa?”

    “No, never that,” the man chuckled.

    Little Joe rode downstairs in his mother’s arms, head almost erect, not bobbing nearly as much as it had at the dance earlier in the month.  When they reached the first floor, John stood.  “Do you think I might hold the lad?” he asked.

    Marie, always overprotective when it came to her precious Joseph François, immediately felt nervous.  She didn’t want to relinquish her boy to a total stranger, but John’s arms were outstretched and he was, after all, a guest and an old friend of Ben’s.  With a gracious smile that belied her true feelings, Marie let him take Little Joe.

    Far from sharing her qualms, Little Joe chortled contentedly as the man bounced him playfully.  “We’ll get along fine, won’t we, wee Joseph?” John chuckled.

    Hoss snickered.  “Little Joe’s what we call him, mister.”

    “Suits him,” John said, “like your name does you.”

    Outside, Ben and Adam had just arrived home from their day’s work.  “Looks like the Thomases are here,” Adam commented, seeing the wagon and horses in the yard.  “I thought they weren’t coming until tomorrow night.”

    “That’s the way I heard it,” Ben mused.  Hoss’s birthday had been the day before, but the picnic at Lake Tahoe had been planned for Sunday.  The Thomases were to spend the night Saturday so they could get an early start the next day.  Yet here their wagon sat a day earlier than expected.  Ben’s puzzled brow drew into still greater furrows when he glanced inside that wagon.  The wooden crate aroused no questions.  Probably something Nelly was bringing for the meal, but a seaman’s bag?  Where had they even found one in this land-locked territory?

    Ben sauntered toward the house, running his fingers through dark brown hair, sprinkled here and there with a few gray hairs.  He opened the front door and walked in, expecting to see Clyde and Nelly.  His mouth dropped in total shock, however, when he saw the man holding his youngest son.  “John!” he shouted joyfully and rushed to embrace him, baby and all.

    “Uncle John!” Adam, walking in behind Ben, cried.

    “Uncle John?” Marie asked, totally perplexed.  “But—but you said you and Ben were friends.”

    John chuckled, mischief glinting in his gray eyes.  “I said I hoped we were.  We are friends, aren’t we, little brother?”

    Marie dropped onto the sofa, overcome.  “Your brother?” she whispered.  “That John?”

    Ben laughed.  “My brother,” he responded, “and I see I’ll have to take him to task for playing such a trick on my bride.”

    “Take me to task!” John snorted.  “What about the trick you played me, keeping both a new wife and son a secret?”

    “Secret?  No,” Ben protested, “I wrote you——about Marie, at least.  I’ve been a bit slack in writing about Little Joe, I confess, but I promise I wrote about my marriage.”

    John shrugged.  “I never got it.  Likely, the letter’s lost at sea.”

    “It happens,” Ben admitted, then gave his brother a chagrinned smile.  “Let me introduce my wife Marie, then, brother.”

    John chuckled.  “We’ve met.”  He bounced the baby on his arm and Little Joe responded with an excited gasp.  “Her and our father’s namesake.  I always hoped to name a boy Joseph, but you’ve beat me to that, as you did other things.”

    “Easier to name boys if you stay home long enough to have them,” Ben observed, a trifle self-righteously, it seemed to John.

    John arched an eyebrow in a gesture so reminiscent of Ben’s characteristic one that their resemblance became pronounced.  “Don’t start that,” the older brother warned.  “I came near disowning you after you sent a certain letter correcting me for my vagabond ways.”

    Hoss edged close and stared into John’s face.  “You really my uncle?”

    John ruffled the boy’s straight sandy hair.  “Aye, lad, your wayward uncle finally on his way home.”  He looked back to Ben.  “The letter angered me, Ben, but I finally saw the wisdom of your words.  I have been too long away from my wife and my boy.”

    “You’re not going overland?” Ben asked anxiously.  It was late in the season for such a journey.

    “No, I’ll go back to San Francisco, then by way of the isthmus,” John said, “but I wanted to see you once more before I left.”

    “You picked the best time,” Hoss declared.  “You gotta come to Tahoe with us day after tomorrow, Uncle John.  It’s the purtiest place there is.”

    “Wouldn’t think of missing it, lad,” John smiled.  “In fact, I’ve brought along a contribution for the outing.”

    Adam gave a knowing grin.  “I bet that’s what’s in that crate outside.”

    John uttered a loud laugh.  “Always was hard to hide anything from your sharp eyes, Adam.  Come along, then and help me carry my things inside.”  He offered Marie a repentant smile.  “That is, sister, if I’m still invited to stay after the trick I played.”

    “You are most welcome,” Marie said, “but, please, no more tricks.”

    John nodded and raised his right hand.  “Upon my word, no tricks.”

    Ben threw an arm around his brother’s broad shoulders, broader even than his own.  “Let’s get your gear in, matey, and unhitch that team.  I notice you stopped by the Thomases first.”

    “How else was I to get directions?” John demanded.

    “Aye, but we’ll need to get the rig back to them tomorrow, for they’re coming on that picnic, too,” Ben laughed.

    As they walked outside, John shook his head, perturbed.  “They didn’t tell me that when they insisted I take the team, and after carrying that load from the stage depot to their place, I was more than eager to accept the kind offer.”

    “I’ll fetch them,” Adam offered.  “It’s the least I can do for my favorite uncle.”

    “Keep butterin’ me up, lad, and I just might find a special keepsake for you in that bag of mine,” John laughed.

    Trotting behind them, Hoss nibbled his lower lip, hoping Uncle John would find something for him in that bag, as well.

    The picnickers set off early Sunday morning, August 2nd, as soon as they’d finished the mammoth breakfast Hop Sing served.  Ben and John rode on the seat of the buckboard, wanting to spend as much time together as possible, since John planned to leave the next day.  Clyde perched directly behind them on a box of food for the picnic.  The ladies sat gossiping at the back of the buckboard with Inger and Hoss near them, taking turns holding Little Joe.

    Hoss was put out by the bigger boys’ insistence that they wanted to ride alone, but he consoled himself with the thought that Little Joe was better company anyway.  He, at least, never pushed his big brother away and always seemed glad to see him.  Hoss’s dog Klamath trotted along beside them, yipping in happy expectation of exceptional table scraps.  Klamath had been on picnics before and recognized the signs of good things to come.

    Billy and Adam were riding behind the wagon, close enough for everyone in the buckboard to hear Adam’s recital of how brave Uncle John had fought against pirates while he’d been at sea and had given Adam the cutlass taken from one of the blackguards.  Ben smiled, as he had when John regaled the boys with his exploits on Friday night.  Having sailed himself, he suspected more than half of the story had substance only in John’s imagination, but he didn’t say anything.

    After everyone was in bed Marie had whispered that she thought the tale too stimulating for small boys so near bedtime and the gift too dangerous.  Ben had made light of her worries.  “All boys enjoy tales of adventure,” he’d argued, “and you know Adam will be responsible with that cutlass.  He won’t be out playing pirates with it at his age, and it’ll spark a lot of interest hanging on his wall at the boardinghouse in Sacramento.”

    “All right,” Marie had conceded, “but I am glad John’s gift to Hoss was better suited to a little boy.”  John had brought Hoss a lacquered Chinese chariot, complete with a driver in a square hat and two red-plumed horses guided by matching reins of silken cord, a gift which seemed to excite Hop Sing as much as Hoss.  Evidently, the toy reminded the Cantonese of one he’d had when he was a boy in Kwangtung Province.

    John’s other gift, the crate of juicy California oranges had pleased everyone.  The Cartwright boys had more opportunities to enjoy citrus fruit than youngsters back east, who were lucky to find an orange in their Christmas stocking, but they had the fruit rarely enough to think it a treat.  Hoss had wanted to feed one to Little Joe, but had finally agreed the baby would probably choke on the pulp.  Hop Sing helped him squeeze out enough juice to give the baby a few spoonfuls.  The tiny mouth had puckered piteously, but Little Joe hadn’t cried, so Hoss insisted his little brother really liked oranges and was glad Uncle John had brought a whole crate.  The remark had brought a chorus of laughter, for everyone knew who was most glad of the oranges——or anything else that appeared on the table.

    Some of the oranges were in the buckboard now, to be eaten by the shore of Lake Tahoe, along with fried chicken, bread-and-butter pickles, beef and cheese sandwiches and assorted pies, cakes and cookies.  Far more food than any of them should eat, Ben mused, but the boys, especially, tended to grow ravenous on the extra exercise of swimming, fishing, and running among the trees.  Klamath would be lucky if he got the scraps he craved.

    “You headed for Zephyr Cove, Ben?” Clyde asked when Ben made a slight turn to the south as they neared the lake.

    “Best place I’ve found so far,” Ben commented.

    “Yeah, it’s a fine one,” Clyde agreed.

    “Zephyr Cove?” John asked, lips curving gently upward.  “You’ve taken to naming your new world, eh, brother?”

    Ben jerked John’s hat down over his eyes.  “Actually, Adam’s the one who came up with that name,” he chuckled, “and just wait ‘til you get a feel of that zephyr that comes across from the opposite bay this afternoon.”  Ben looked over his shoulder to wink at Clyde.  As both of them knew, that afternoon wind was too strong for anyone but a vocabulary-crazed boy to call a zephyr.

    Ben pulled the wagon to a halt near the shore of a crescent-shaped inlet, well sheltered by tall Jeffrey, ponderosa and sugar pines.  He reached up to clap John’s shoulder.  “Well, brother, what do you think of our picnic site?”

    John said nothing at first.  He vaulted over the side of the buckboard and walked to the water’s edge, Ben ambling along behind him.  Staring at the incredibly clear water, its depth making the lake so blue the sky above seemed pale and washed out by comparison, the older Cartwright heaved a sigh of contentment.  “No wonder you don’t miss the sea, little brother, with this in your backyard.”

    “The fragrance is different, but it gives me the same feel as the sea,” Ben admitted.

    “You ever sail her?” John asked with a sudden sharp look at his brother.

    Ben shook his head.  “No boat.”

    “We could build one, couldn’t we, Pa?” Adam queried.  He had just swung down from his horse and trotted over to his father.

    “Oh, Adam!” Ben scoffed.  “No time for that with you off to school in three weeks.”

    “Next summer then,” Adam suggested, and in his own mind it was a commitment.  “Think what fishing we could do from out in the middle, Pa!”

    “And what exploring,” John chuckled.  He knew his inquisitive nephew.

    Adam grinned, then shrugged and returned to his original reason for rushing up to Ben.  “Can we swim before lunch?” he begged.  “There’s time.”

    “Now, that sounds fine!” John declared.  “Wouldn’t mind a dip myself.”

    “Water’s pretty cold,” Ben informed him.

    “Spoken like a true landlubber,” John jibed.

    Ben threw a light punch into his brother’s ribs.  “We’ll see who cries ‘uncle’ first, Uncle John!”  He looked over his shoulder.  “Marie, we’re gonna take a swim.  Need anything before we leave.”

    “Just the food box,” Nelly called, “but Clyde can get it.”  In answer to Clyde’s frown, she said, “Well, someone’s got to watch the young ones.  You know Hoss won’t want in that cold water.”

    “Or any other deeper or colder than a bathtub,” Inger snickered.  Hoss gave the little girl, whom he usually counted a friend, a hard glare.

    “Mind your manners, young lady!” Nelly ordered brusquely.

    “Yes’m,” Inger said quickly.  “Could we pick berries, Ma?”

    “After lunch,” Nelly replied.  “You and Hoss watch Little Joe while Marie and me set out the food.”

    “That what I’m supposed to do?” Clyde grumbled, setting the food box at his wife’s feet.  “Watch them watch the baby?”

    “Oh, go on with you!” Nelly capitulated.  She faced Marie, arms akimbo.  “Honestly, men ain’t nothin’ but babies grown big.”

    Marie smiled.  She didn’t see anything wrong with the menfolk carrying on like boys on a summer holiday.  Ben worked so hard most days, she couldn’t begrudge him a little fun, even if her day so far resembled work more than play.

    Ben and John swam side by side, each taking strong strokes through the sapphire ripples.  They easily outdistanced both the two boys and latecomer Clyde Thomas.  Finally tired, they turned to float on their backs.  “How far across is it?” John asked, hands sculling lightly at his side.

    “Oh, ten, twelve miles,” Ben replied.  “All the way to California.”

    John turned his head.  “That’s California, is it?  I never heard of a Lake Tahoe in California, Ben.”

    “They call it Lake Bigler over there,” Ben laughed, “but I prefer the Washo name.  I think it means ‘big water in high place.’”

    “Any of them around?” John queried.

    “Might be,” Ben conceded, “but it’s nothing to worry about.  I get on with my neighbors, brother, red and white.”

    “You’re happy here, aren’t you, Ben?”

    “Couldn’t be happier,” Ben replied dreamily.  “What more could any man want than a loving family and land so grand it draws his heart to God?”

    “Nothing,” John said quietly.  “Time I remembered that, I guess.  The loving family, at least, I have, if they haven’t disowned me by now.”

    “They wouldn’t,” Ben assured him.  “Every letter I get from Martha speaks of how she yearns to have you home.”

    “Won’t know that boy of mine,” John said edgily.  “When I see how Adam’s grown, I realize the years I’ve missed with Will.”  Adam’s cousin was a year older than Adam, so John could gage his own boy’s growth fairly accurately by observing his nephew’s.

    Ben didn’t respond.  The thing he’d most criticized in his brother was his separation from his family.  It was outright neglect in Ben’s eyes, but there was no need to chide John now when he’d plainly seen his own error.

    “We’d better head back,” John stated.  “We’re getting pretty far from the others.”

    “Yeah,” Ben agreed, but made no move to turn from his back.  “John, do you think there’s any chance of your bringing your family out here.”

    “Oh, I’d like that,” John sighed, “but I doubt Martha would hear of it.  Not a pioneering bone in her body, I fear, but I’ll ask, Ben.  I think I could be content in a land like this, more than on that Ohio rock pile we call a farm.”

    “There’s good land here for the asking,” Ben said.  “We lost more than threescore neighbors last month, so you could pick up a place, improvements and all, for little or nothing.”

    “I’ll ask, Ben,” John repeated, “but don’t hold your breath.  After what I’ve put her through, Martha deserves the last say, and I’m afraid it won’t be to your liking——or mine.”  He turned to his stomach.  “Beat you back to shore,” he challenged and began to pull away with smooth strokes.

    Ben turned quickly and swam after his brother.  John, of course, had a slight head start, but Ben suspected his brother would have won the race anyway.  John, half a head taller, had arms and legs to match and had always been a step ahead of his younger brother in any competition they’d ever waged.  The other three swimmers soon followed the Cartwright brothers to shore.

    The picnic cloth was spread, so everyone gathered around it, appetites whetted by vigorous exercise and brisk mountain air.  John finally flopped back with a groan.  “Haven’t had a feed like that in years,” he declared.  “How do you avoid growing fat enough to butcher, Ben, with such as this in your feed trough?”

    “I work it off, brother,” Ben chuckled.

    “Aye, farming’s hard work,” John grunted, obviously dreading his return to it.

    Adam grinned.  “We call it ranching out here, Uncle John.”

    “Hoss!  Do not feed that chicken leg to your baby brother!” Marie said sharply.

    “He’s just playin’ with it,” Hoss mumbled.  He’d been dangling the chicken just out of Little Joe’s reach and watching the tiny fingers stretch for it.

    “Food is to eat, not to play with,” Ben scolded.  “Don’t be teaching your brother bad habits.”

    “Yes, sir,” Hoss muttered and put the chicken leg to better use between his teeth.

    “You ladies goin’ berry pickin’?” Clyde asked.

    “Sure are,” Nelly replied.  “May go up to one of the higher meadows and see if them Washos left us any strawberries.”

    “You clear out if you see injuns!”  Clyde ordered tautly.

    “Oh, they are peaceable,” Marie argued.  A year before she’d been terrified at her first sight of a “wild” Washo, but she’d lost much of her earlier fear of the tribe of gatherers.

    “Might not be if you pilfer their food supply,” Ben cautioned.  “Don’t dispute them over a few berries, my love.”

    Marie sighed.  “I cannot go, anyway.  I couldn’t pick many berries with Little Joe on my hands.”

    “I’ll see to him,” Ben chuckled.  “Might teach him how to bait a hook.”

    Everyone laughed at the idea of Little Joe’s holding a fishing pole in his diminutive hands.  “We’ll be expectin’ a fine mess of trout to fry up for supper,” Nelly challenged.

    “Ah, and a brimming pail of strawberries to nibble for dessert,” Ben threw back at her.

    The party split along gender lines, the ladies taking Inger with them to pick strawberries and the male contingent electing to angle for trout.  Marie had nursed Little Joe before she left, so the baby was sleeping contentedly on a pallet in the shade of one of the Ponderosa’s namesake pines.  The men and boys enjoyed a couple of hours uninterrupted fishing and had collected a good supply for supper when Little Joe woke and threatened to drive away every fish within sound of his earnest cries for attention.

    Ben was pulling in a steel-blue silver trout, large enough to put up quite a fight, so he hollered to Adam, “See to him, will you?”

    “Yeah, sure,” Adam muttered.  He’d had his fill of changing diapers when Hoss was a baby and never volunteered for the chore, but with nothing on his hook, he had no good reason to refuse.  He elbowed Billy’s ribs.  “Come on; give me a hand.”

    Billy scowled, but came along.  One sniff told both boys a dirty diaper was, as they’d feared, the source of Little Joe’s discomfort.  “I ain’t never changed a smelly diaper in my life, and I ain’t startin’ now,” Billy stated flatly.

    Adam gave his friend a hard look.  “No one’s asking you to, yellow belly.  You want to hold this little stinker or fetch the diaper?”

    “I’ll fetch,” Billy said quickly, holding his freckled nose between his thumb and index finger.

    “Figures,” Adam snorted, picking up the squalling baby.  “Come on, nuisance,” he grumbled.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.”  He followed Billy back to the wagon, holding the baby while Billy scrounged through the wagon in search of the basket that held the baby’s things.

    “Hey, I got an idea,” Adam called as Billy returned with the diaper.  “Take him a minute.”

    Billy’s nose crinkled, but he took Little Joe and held the bellowing baby at arm’s length.

    Laughing at Billy’s expression, Adam started to shed his shirt and trousers.

    “What you doin’?” Billy demanded.

    “I figure the easiest place to clean him up is out there,” Adam replied, jerking his dark head toward the sapphire lake, “and I could use another swim.”  Stripped to his underwear, he took Little Joe, pulled off his soiled diaper and started toward the water.  “You comin’?”

    “Yeah, I reckon I had my fill of fishin’,” Billy said, pulling off his own outer clothing and trotting after Adam.

    When his naked buttocks hit the chilly water, Little Joe uttered a loud shriek of protest, his small legs kicking furiously.

    “Hey, none of that,” Adam scolded softly.  “I’m not putting up with another little brother that’s scared of water.”  He bounced the baby gently and Little Joe slowly settled down.  “There, see,” Adam soothed.  “Just like a big bathtub, and you know you like baths.”

    Billy reached out to tickle the baby under his chin.  Little Joe grinned and began to spat the water with his tiny palm.  “He likes it,” Billy cackled.

    “Sure, he’s got good sense,” Adam replied loftily.  Supporting Little Joe firmly with one arm, he used the other hand to wash the baby’s bottom.

    “Let’s go out deeper,” Billy suggested.

    “Okay, but not too far,” Adam said.  “I’d better not get in over my head with this little squirmer to keep hold of.”

    Billy had no similar constraint, of course, but loyalty kept him close.  Adam finally laid Little Joe on his chest and lay back to float.  Billy, assuming a similar position, sighed contentedly.  “Now, this here’s the life.”  Little Joe babbled in apparent agreement.

    A sudden shriek of terror ripped the air.  Back amid the rocks where they’d been fishing, Ben leaped to his feet.  “That’s Marie,” he cried.

    “Injuns!” Clyde yelled.  “I knew we shouldn’t’ve let the womenfolk go off alone!”

    The two husbands took off with John and Hoss right behind them.  They clattered down the rugged slope to their picnic area and found Marie screaming hysterically at the water’s edge.  Ben enfolded her in his arms.  “Marie, what is it?”

    Marie couldn’t speak.  Sobbing uncontrollably, she pointed out toward the lake.  Ben’s anxious gaze followed her finger.  Then he coughed with relief.  “Oh, sweetheart, he’s all right,” he soothed, holding her with one arm and waving Adam in with the other.

    The gesture was unnecessary.  Adam had begun moving shoreward at Marie’s first shriek.  Soon he and Billy were wading out of the water.  Little Joe started to cry, his fingers fluttering back toward the lake.  He liked his new playground and didn’t appreciate being deprived of it.

    Marie snatched Little Joe from Adam’s arms.  “Oh, you horrible boy!” she fumed.  “How could you?”

    “Marie, Marie,” Ben chided softly.  “No harm done.”

    “No harm!” Marie sputtered, her emerald eyes glinting.  “How can you say ‘no harm’ when the water’s icy, and just feel that wind!”  From the glimmering green bay on the California shore a stiff gust, Adam’s so-called zephyr, had begun to blow.

    While Marie cradled her shivering, shrieking infant, she rounded on Adam once again.  “See how you’ve upset this baby!” she spewed hotly.

    “Me?” Adam yelled, his own temper erupting.  “He was just fine ‘til you made him come out!”

    Still perturbed, Marie stalked away and with Nelly’s help, dried and dressed the baby once again.

    “Oh, the joys of family life,” John chuckled.  “Maybe I’ll not be in such a hurry to go home after all.”

    Ben’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled when he saw he was being teased.  “Remember, brother,” he said saucily, “ladies are made of both sugar and spice.”

    “And a little of either goes a long way,” Clyde cackled.

    Ben gave his friend a push as punishment for his sass.  “Hoss, can you go back and bring all those fish we caught?” he called.

    “Sure, Pa,” Hoss grinned.  “It’s about time to fry ‘em up, don’t you reckon?”

    “I reckon,” Ben responded with a wink at Adam.  “I reckon Marie needs something to fry besides your gizzard,” he sniggered.

    “I didn’t mean any harm,” Adam alleged, hanging on, as usual, to his offense, “and I don’t think it did him any.”

    Ben put an affectionate arm around his oldest son.  “I don’t think so, either.  All things considered, I’d just as soon this boy had an early introduction to the water.  Less likely to turn out like his other brother.”

    “My thoughts exactly,” Adam said with a determined nod.

    “Don’t tell me you’ve sired a cowardly landlubber,” John accused gruffly.

    “Afraid so,” Ben admitted, obvious embarrassment in his tone.  “I’ve tried to be patient with Hoss, but he’s terrified in anything over his waist.”

    “Toss him in; let him sink or swim,” John instructed loftily.

    “No,” Ben said sharply.  “I remember how that method felt, big brother.  I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you yet for throwing me in the drink.”

    “I wouldn’t’ve let you drown,” John protested.

    “I know that now,” Ben replied, “but I’ll never forget those first few moments of absolute terror.  I won’t do that to a boy of mine.”

    “Better a moment of fear than a lifetime of it,” John sputtered defensively.

    Seeing Ben bristle, Clyde started to laugh.  “Like the man said,” he cackled.  “Ain’t nothin’ like the joys of family life!”

    Suddenly realizing the ridiculous spectacle they’d been presenting, Ben and John started to laugh, too.  “Come on, little brother,” John said.  “Let’s see if you remember how I taught you to clean fish.”

    Ben chuckled.  “Had more experience lately than you, I’ll bet.”

    John arched an eyebrow and gave his younger brother a sly smile.  “You’re on, little brother.”

    The three boys took charge of gathering wood and building a fire while the men raced to see who could skin and filet the most fish.  To Ben’s disgruntlement, John won, as usual.  “You forget, little brother,” John laughed, “that fish are readily had at sea.  I’ve had as much experience at cleaning them as you, my boy——maybe more.”

    With a shake of his head, Ben delivered the trout to the ladies.  Nelly was the expert where frying fish was concerned, Marie’s experience leaning more to gourmet cuisine, so the older woman dredged the pieces in cornmeal and set them sizzling while Marie set out the cold items left from the noon meal.  Inger sprawled on the pallet alongside Little Joe and soon fell asleep, having missed her afternoon nap.  Klamath curled up at the foot of the pallet and sniffed the air in anticipation of his share in the feast to come.

    While Klamath enjoyed the scraps of the meal, the human partakers sat dreamily around the fire, reluctant to leave though each knew they couldn’t afford to stay much longer.  Inger cozied up to Ben.  “Tell a story, Uncle Ben,” she demanded.

    Ben laughed and put an arm around her.  “My stories are likely to seem tame after the ones John’s been telling my boys.”

    “No, I want yours,” Inger insisted.  “You tell the best stories.”

    Ben gave the strawberry curls a tender tousle.  “I do have one that might fit the occasion.  Learned it from Tuquah awhile back.”  Tuquah was the Washo man who worked off and on at the Ponderosa.  “It’s about how Lake Tahoe was formed.”

    “I haven’t heard that one,” Adam said.

    “I’ve been saving it,” his father chuckled.  His voice dropped and he began.  “Once upon a time, when the world was young, a Washo brave was running from the Evil One.  He was a strong runner, but the Evil One was closing in when the Good Spirit appeared and gave the Washo lad the branch of a magical tree.”

    “What made it magic?” Hoss asked, eyes wide.

    “Each leaf had the power to create a body of water,” his father explained.  “If the Indian boy dropped a leaf when the Evil One drew near, the water would be an obstacle between them.”

    “And he could get away!” Hoss grinned.

    “That’s right,” Ben said.  “Well, the Washo brave ran harder than ever, but he was getting tired and the Evil One was catching up.  Right here where we’ve been picnicking today he decided to throw down his first leaf.  He picked one off, but the Evil One was so close, the brave panicked and instead of dropping the single leaf, he dropped the rest of the branch.”

    “Oh, no!” Inger cried.  “Did the Evil One get him?”

    “No, no,” Ben assured her.  “Why, you see what a huge lake that branch formed, don’t you?  It took the Evil One hours to get around it.  The brave ran on to the west, looking over his shoulder from time to time.  Finally, he saw that the Evil One had rounded the south shore of the new lake and was closing in again.”  Ben could feel the little girl shiver against him, so he hurried to the story’s conclusion.  “The Indian had only one leaf left, so he dropped it.  A smaller lake was formed and it took the Evil One just long enough to go around it that the brave had time to cross the mountains safely and escape into the valley of the Sacramento.”

    Inger sighed with relief, but Hoss’s lips were puckered in thought.  “What lake is that, Pa?” he asked.  “The little one, I mean.”

    “It’s called Fallen Leaf Lake, son, for obvious reasons,” Ben smiled, “and I hear it’s a fine one for fishing.”

    “I want to go there,” Hoss said eagerly.

    “We might sometime,” Ben said.  “But now, friends and family, I think it’s time we packed up and headed for home.”

    Everyone groaned, but there was no argument, not even from the children.  They all knew it would  be dark before they reached the Ponderosa as it was, and everyone except the youngsters had to be up early Monday morning.

In the faint light of dawn’s first rays, Ben and Clyde hitched the Thomas wagon, while John gathered his belongings and the two ladies said their farewells.  Billy Thomas yawned sleepily as he saddled his roan horse.  He was accustomed to rising about this time, but today it seemed harder than usual to get his eyes open and functioning.

    Adam, on the other hand, was fully alert as he tossed saddle blanket and saddle on the back of his sorrel mare with snowy mane and tail.  Ben looked up with surprise when his oldest son led the horse out of the barn.  “Where do you think you’re going, young man?” he demanded, but his voice wasn’t harsh.  Adam generally had a good reason for any actions he took.

    “I figured to see Uncle John off,” Adam replied casually.  “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

    Ben smiled.  “Yeah, that’s all right.  Don’t get many chances, do we, son?”

    “No sir, not many,” Adam said, giving his bulging saddlebag a pat.  Not many chances for what he had in mind once he got to town, either.

    Billy leaned close to his friend’s ear.  “What you got planned?” he whispered.  It didn’t seem reasonable to him for Adam to ride all the way into Genoa just to say good-bye.

    “None of your business,” Adam whispered back, then mounted with a maddening grin.  Billy didn’t have to know everything.  Fortunately, Uncle Clyde could be counted on to keep the mischievous redhead hard at work at home this morning, so Adam wouldn’t have to put up with any nosy interference.

    Ben, however, remained totally unsuspecting of Adam’s hidden motive for the early morning ride until they had separated from the Thomases and gone on to Genoa, so John could catch the first stage for the west.  Saying good-bye to his uncle appeared to be the last thing on Adam’s mind as he sauntered into William Ormsby’s store on Main Street, which also served as the stage depot.  While the men asked Ormsby when the next stage would leave, Adam edged along the counter until he stood before the Paiute girl now known as Sarah.

    The girl smiled broadly, her straight, white teeth gleaming in welcome.  “Adam,” she said.  “I did not think you meant to leave for school so soon.”

    Adam shook his head.  “No, I’m here a few weeks more.  My uncle’s taking the stage back to Placerville this morning.”

    “Ah,” the girl responded, then looked demurely at the counter between them.  Feminine instinct told her Adam was deliberately making an opportunity to see her.

    “Can you get free?” Adam asked.  “I brought something to show you.”

    “I will need to stay until the stage leaves,” Sarah said.

    “Me, too,” Adam replied.  He’d have to keep up the appearance of being in town to see Uncle John off, of course.

    “Hi, Adam,” giggled a little girl who had sidled up to him moments before.

    Adam gave her a quick glance.  “Hi, Lizzie,” he said.  Ormsby’s nine-year-old daughter warranted no great attention in Adam’s eyes.  It was clear from the worshipful gleam in young Lizzie’s brown eyes, however, that Adam Cartwright was an idol worthy of lasting devotion.  She folded her arms on the counter and stared up at him, hoping he’d throw one more glance her direction.

    “We’re in luck,” Ben said to John.

    “Aye, only an hour to wait,” John agreed.

    “And that’s just about what I’ve got available,” Ben chuckled.

    “You needn’t wait for me, if I’m keeping you from your work,” John sputtered.

    Ben laid a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “Not work exactly.  John Reese, who’s sort of a leader hereabouts, has called a meeting of some of us for ten this morning.”

    John raised an eyebrow.  “You into government, Ben?”

    Ben laughed.  “What government?  Look, we’ve got time for a cup of coffee.  Why don’t we walk down to Lucky Bill’s and relax ‘til stage time?”

    “So long as we don’t miss it,” John said.

    “Not a chance,” Ben chuckled.  “We’ll have a front row seat at the hotel.”  He looked around for Adam, spotting him between two pretty girls, only one of whom seemed to have his undivided attention.  Ben frowned, suddenly understanding his son’s eagerness to rise early that morning. That little schemer!  Then Ben shrugged.  So what if Adam were attracted by a pretty face.  Normal enough for a boy his age.  Besides, he’d soon be safely installed in Sacramento with enough bookwork to keep his mind off the Paiute princess back home.  And from the moon-struck look on Adam’s face, the sooner the better.  “Adam, we’re going over to the hotel.  You coming?”

    Adam shot a questioning look at Sarah.  “I’ll ask,” she whispered and went in search of William Ormsby.

    “Naw, I’ll hang around here,” Adam called.

    John laughed.  “You’re losing him, Ben,” he taunted as the brothers walked outside.

    “Not that way, I’m not,” Ben snorted, “not at fourteen.  Losing him soon in another way, though.  Don’t know how I’ll stand nine months with him gone.”

    John said nothing.  Nine months may have seemed long to his younger brother, but John couldn’t help comparing that short span to the time he’d been away from his own boy.  Not nine months, but nine years, almost, from the time he’d left home until he’d get back.  Half a lifetime for a boy.  What a fool he’d been to let the years slide past!

    The brothers found a table by the window, for John felt more anxious than ever to avoid missing the stage, and sipped hot coffee by the cupful.  “Tell me about this meeting of yours,” John said after the first cup.

    Ben shrugged.  “Not much to tell.  It’s just a preliminary meeting, anyway.  We’ve tried for years to establish a real government for this part of the territory, but everything we’ve worked on has come to naught.  Salt Lake City is just too far to provide any real help, and now they’ve taken back what little they’d given.”  He nodded as a waitress offered to refill his cup.  “Let’s not talk about that,” he said to John.  “I’m likely to have my ears full by evening.”

    John laughed.  “All right, little brother, we’ll talk of other things.”

    “Like your moving west,” Ben suggested.  “I’m gonna write Martha myself and add a little brotherly persuasion.”

    “A little womanly persuasion might be more useful,” John mused.

    Ben’s head lifted.  “Marie?  Yeah, maybe so.  I’m sure she’d be glad to write and give Martha a special invitation to join us out here.”

    “Throw in a few words about that grand house and having your own hired servant,” John suggested, “and maybe Martha won’t think it’s all uncivilized wilderness out here.”

    “Hide the truth, eh?” Ben teased.  “Hired servant, indeed!  I assure you, brother, it’s Hop Sing who gives the orders in that house!”  The brothers laughed, for as short as John’s stay had been, he’d had opportunity enough to understand what Ben meant.

    William Ormsby had agreed to Sarah’s request for a few minutes to talk with Adam, so the boy and girl had walked across the street to the triangular green area that served as Genoa’s public square.  Sitting down beneath a shady cottonwood, its dark leaves stirred by the drifting breeze, Adam opened one of the books he’d brought for Sarah.  “This was my first primer,” he said.  “I thought you might like to take a look at it, to give you an idea of what you’ll be studying this fall.”

    “Oh, yes,” Sarah cried, eagerly reaching for the thin volume.  She turned it over in her hands.  “Is this all the white man’s learning?”

    Adam laughed.  “Not even close, but this book will teach you the white man’s language——well, English, anyway——then you can read other books that will teach you anything you want to know.”

    “Like those?” Sarah asked, pointing to the other two volumes in Adam’s hands.

    Adam opened the blue-backed speller.  “This one goes with the primer,” he said.  “It teaches how to put letters together in the right order to make words.”

    “Ah, good, and the red one?”

    “Arithmetic,” Adam explained.  “How to count, add and subtract.”

    Sarah laughed.  “I can count.”

    “Yeah, but there’s more,” Adam insisted.  “Anyway, I thought you might like to borrow the books ‘til school starts.  Then, I’m sure, the Ormsbys will get you your own.”

    “I like much,” Sarah said, chocolate eyes shining.  “Thank you, Adam.”

    Adam opened the primer to the first page and began to teach the Indian girl the alphabet.  Sarah was a quick learner and before long could successfully recite the twenty-six letters that would become building blocks in the white man’s language.  Adam had just started to show her some three-letter words when six horses charged down Main Street.

    Sarah sprang to her feet.  “Oh, I must go!” she cried.  “I promised to help if there were passengers.”

    “Yeah, I have to go, too,” Adam said, “to say good-bye to my uncle.”  The two youngsters joined hands and ran across the street.  Adam found his father and uncle standing on the boardwalk in front of the store and endured a little good-natured ribbing from both.

    “Come give me your farewell, boy,” John teased, “since that’s why you came to town.”

    Adam grinned and willingly wrapped his arms around his uncle’s broad chest.  Then Ben took his son’s place, holding John in a long embrace.  There was mist in both Ben’s brown eyes and John’s gray ones as they gazed fondly at each other.  In each face was mirrored the fear that they might never meet again, though they hoped differently.

    “Write when you’re safely home,” Ben urged.

    “Aye, and you keep the mail service busy, too, little brother.”

    John stepped into the stage, the driver flicked the six reins, and the horses leaped away.  Ben and Adam stood on the street, waving until the coach faded to a dot in the distance.  Then Ben turned to his son.  “Now, if you have no further business in town, young man, you’ll find your chores waiting at home.”

    “You be home for supper?” Adam asked.

    “Should be,” Ben said.  “I don’t expect today’s meeting to hold long.  Now, no more dawdling, Adam.  Off with you.”

    Adam nodded to show he’d heard and, gathering the reins of his sorrel, mounted and rode toward the Ponderosa, while Ben headed toward Gilbert’s Saloon, where the meeting was ready to start.

    Later that afternoon Ben walked down to the garden plot where his two sons were gathering fresh vegetables for the evening meal.  “Adam, come here, son,” he called from the edge of the garden patch.

    Adam carefully made his way across rows of green beans and around hills of cucumber and squash to meet his father.  Hoss hadn’t been called, but he followed gladly in his brother’s wake, tromping green leaves with almost every step.

    “You need me, Pa?” Adam asked.

    “Sure do,” Ben said brightly.  “Committee wants me to ride up to Honey Lake and invite folks there to our conference on creating a new territory, and I’d like you to accompany me.”

    “A new territory?  That’s exciting, Pa!” Adam exclaimed.

    “Me, too, Pa?  You want me to go, too?” Hoss pleaded eagerly.

    Ben gave the boy’s chunky shoulder a consoling pat.  “Not this time, Hoss.”

    “Aw, Pa,” Hoss wheedled.  “I’m as good company as Adam.”

    Adam gave his younger brother a hard look, but Hoss didn’t notice.  His imploring eyes were focused on Ben’s face.  The expression he read there was kinder than  Adam’s, but just as firm.  “I said no, Hoss,” Ben stated.  “It’s going to be a long, hard ride, with little time to spare.”  He reached out to ruffle the boy’s sandy hair.  “Besides, I need you to watch out for Mama and Little Joe while we’re gone.”

    Hoss’s lower lip thrust out.  He knew perfectly well Pa didn’t really trust him to take care of his mother and baby brother.  That was just the kind of excuse grownups gave kids to make them feel better about something there was nothing to feel good about.

    The look didn’t escape Ben’s notice.  “No pouting,” he ordered gruffly.  “Finish picking the vegetables and bring them up to the house.”  He threw an arm around Adam’s slender shoulders.  “You come on with me.  We’ll need to get our gear ready this evening ‘cause we’re leaving before dawn.”

    Leaving Hoss to take out his irritation by snapping beans off their vine with far more energy than the task required, Ben and Adam walked toward the house.  “Why’d you want me along, Pa?” the ever curious Adam asked.  “You don’t really need me.”

    Ben smiled.  “Because we don’t have much time left to be together before you head off for school.  It won’t be much of a trip, I’m afraid.  The mass meeting is scheduled for August 8th, so we’ve got five days to get there and back.”

    “We’ll be pushin’ it,” Adam murmured.  “It’s a good ways to Honey Lake, isn’t it?”

    “A good ways,” Ben agreed.  “That’s why I couldn’t take Hoss along.  He’d slow us down.”

    “That’s a fact,” Adam grinned.  Hoss was comfortable on a horse now, but he still preferred a walk to a gallop.  “I guess we’ll be in too much of a hurry to stop by Pyramid Lake, too.”

    Ben laughed.  “No, no time for a visit with our Paiute neighbors this time.  Why do you care, though?   I thought the only Paiute you were interested in these days was staying in Genoa?”  Adam’s face flushed crimson as Ben pulled him close in a light-hearted, one-armed embrace.

    The sun was still asleep when Ben and Adam left the next morning, as was the rest of the household except Hop Sing.  Although Ben hadn’t expected it, the inexhaustible Cantonese had prepared their breakfast and had a substantial lunch packed, as well.

    The two Cartwrights headed north, riding hard all day, too hard to enjoy much conversation.  But when night fell, they made camp and cooked the beans and bacon they’d packed for the trail.  As they sat next to each other, spooning beans from their tin plates, Ben finally had a chance for the talk he’d been looking forward to all day.  “You getting excited about leaving, son?”

    “Yeah, Pa,” Adam answered.  “Not much longer now.”

    “Not much longer,” Ben agreed, but his voice revealed a faint tinge of regret.  “Any qualms, boy?”

    Adam looked offended.  “I’m not scared, if that’s what you mean.”

    Ben chuckled.  “Not exactly, but there is a difference between courage and cockiness, Adam.”

    The offense melted from Adam’s visage.  “I know that, Pa,” he said quietly, “and I think I know the difference.”

    “Good,” Ben said.  “It’s natural enough for you to see only the good in going away to school, but there’ll be some rough times, too, son.  After all, you’ve never lived away from your family before, and that can be hard the first time.  I remember how lonely I felt when I went to sea after my parents died.  I think you’ll miss us a bit, as we will you.”

    Adam grinned.  “I will, Pa; I know that.  Especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas and my birthday, but I’ve already thought it through and decided it’s worth it.”

    “I think so, too,” Ben smiled, “and likely you’ll make new friends who will keep you from pining away from loneliness.  I want you to be sure to keep in touch with us, however.  We can trust Snowshoe Thompson to get mail to us twice a month, even if the mail stage can’t get through, so I’ll expect a letter with every post, young man.”

    “You’ll get it, Pa,” Adam promised, “and I’ll be expecting letters from you, too.”

    “You’ll get them,” Ben promised in return, “but I don’t want you to write just to me, Adam.”

    Adam’s brow furrowed.  “You mean Marie?  You want me to write to her separately?”

    Ben shook his head, laughing.  “Only if you like.  I meant your younger brother, Adam.”

    “Which one?” Adam teased.

    Ben slapped his son’s leg playfully.  “I had in mind the one who can read.”

    A mischievous glint flashed in Adam’s black eyes.  “Like I said, which one?”

    Ben frowned.  “Don’t mock your brother, Adam.  He’s doing better and will improve even more quickly if he can look forward to reading mail of his own.”

    “I’ll write Hoss, too, Pa,” Adam pledged with a grin.

    Ben smiled then.  “You’ll need to keep it simple——and print, not write——but I think you’ll find it’s worth the effort.  You boys have always been close, and writing to one another will help keep you that way, as it always has you and Jamie Edwards back in St. Joseph.”

    Adam nodded thoughtfully, then mused, “No way to keep close to Little Joe, I guess.  You think he’ll even remember me by next spring?”

    Ben shook his head.  “No, you’ll have to start over with him, I’m afraid.”

    “It’s funny,” Adam yawned, his body responding to the long day’s ride, “but I never thought I’d want another brother.  Now I think I’m gonna miss watching him grow.  He’ll do a lot of that this year.”

    “Yeah, you’ll miss a lot,” Ben said, but what he was really thinking was how much he’d miss his oldest son.  He took Adam’s plate.  “Turn in, son,” he suggested.  “We’ve another hard day ahead.”

    Through the months he’d spend away Adam would cherish that trip with his father, the days of steady riding side by side and the nights of talking around the campfire.  It had been a long time since Adam had spent so many hours alone with his father.  They left him with much to mull over on lonely days in Sacramento——his father’s hopes and dreams for him, as well as much advice on handling himself in the new situations he was likely to encounter.  Adam sopped up his father’s wisdom as thirstily as he had his first lessons in the little primer he’d loaned the Paiute girl and found it even more useful once that guiding voice was distant.

    The Cartwrights reached Honey Lake and delivered invitations to all interested in forming a new territory to convene at Genoa on August 8th.  Though technically the Honey Lake settlers lived in California, their location on the eastern side of the Sierras gave them more in common with the residents of western Utah, so they expressed great interest in joining them to petition Congress for the new territory.  Though they had almost no time to prepare, several men quickly gathered their gear and hit the trail behind Ben and Adam.  No more opportunity for private talks then, but Adam listened with interest to the political discussions that flared around the campfire on the way home.  The men’s reasoning made sense to him.  Now if only Congress could be made to see clearly how men like his father needed to be set free of Salt Lake City’s government in name only and how men like Isaac Roop and Peter Lassen needed a government closer than Sacramento, from which Honey Valley was separated for months out of the year by snow-blocked passes.

    Ben had only one night at home before the mass meeting began in Genoa.  Expecting to be gone overnight, since the meeting wasn’t scheduled to begin until 1 p.m., he packed a carpetbag and secured lodging at Lucky Bill’s Hotel.  When the delegates gathered, Ben was gratified to see representatives from Eagle Valley, Carson Valley, Willow Town, Ragtown, the 26-Mile Desert, Humboldt River Valley and Lake Valley near Lake Tahoe, as well as the ones he’d escorted from Honey Lake. Ben felt proud to be numbered among such prominent settlers as William Ormsby, Richard Sides, Elijah Knott and James McMarlin, the clerk who had taken over Spafford Hall’s Station and renamed it after himself.  A good selection of men, not numerous enough, Ben feared, to make an impression on Congress, but men who understood the problems well and could articulate them effectively.

    Articulate they did, hour upon hour, grievance upon grievance.  No one disagreed about the problems; the discussions all concerned the best way to present them to Congress.  Even a visiting Californian, renowned journalist James M. Crane, who was in their area to collect material for a series of geologic lectures, was asked to address the meeting.  He spoke for over an hour to rousing applause, for his extensive political experience made him an excellent orator.

    Finally, the debate culminated with the drafting of a memorial listing their reasons for requesting separation from the Territory of Utah.  The memorial, written down by Richard Sides, declared that no law existed in western Utah except theocratic rule by the Mormon Church and complained vigorously about the recent rescencion of Carson County, along with its courts.  With western Utah reduced to little more than an election precinct, no one cared to vote because their vote carried no weight in far-off Salt Lake City, now the county seat.  The factor of distance was a major grievance for both the Honey Lake residents and those of the former Carson County.  Cut off by snow for four months of the year from California and from Salt Lake City by hundreds of miles, the settlers felt the only solution was a government of their own, one that could actually be in touch with them.  In conclusion, the memorial requested the formation of a new territory to be called Columbus with Genoa as its capitol.  Its boundaries were to be the Sierra Mountains on the west and the Goose Creek Mountains to the east, with the Colorado River forming the southern boundary and, of course, the border of Oregon Territory on the north.

    A vote was taken to determine who would carry the memorial to Congress.  Ben was pleasantly surprised to find his name suggested, but he politely declined.  He didn’t feel he could leave his wife and young sons alone that long, not when the territory abounded with unattached men equally qualified.  In the end James M. Crane, who had demonstrated his ability to present their case, was selected.  After that a committee of twenty-eight was appointed “to manage and superintend all matters necessary and proper in the premises,” and this time Ben couldn’t talk his way out of serving, though he suspected the position would carry no real authority unless and until Congress approved their petition.

    Hoss grinned happily as he walked through the woods beside his brother Adam.  Since Adam was leaving for school in just one week, Ben had made both boys a gift of that time.  “Make some memories,” their father had said and had released them from all but the most urgent of their regular chores.  For Hoss it was enough that he’d