Summary:    Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome is a new word for a condition that has afflicted thousands for countless years.  In Adam Cartwright’s case it would have been called The Legacy Of Kane.  The misery this causes Adam forces him to revisit Eastgate and renew old acquaintances and become involved in new adventures.

Rating:   ‘G’                                          

Chapter 1

So, here he was, sitting in the Red Dog saloon with a glass of cold beer on the table, exactly two years and six weeks from the last time he had a beer in the place.   Two years and six weeks.  He sighed deeply, picked up the glass and raised it to his lips.   Joe had complained of the heat and the bar keep had talked about a trial being held in the town, and Joe had stayed and he – well, he had gone on his own and met his Nemesis.

The glass was empty when he put it back on the table.   He stared at it for a while and then sighed deeply again.   Joe should have been sitting opposite him, drinking beer with him and chattering nonsense which mostly entertained his serious minded brother for no obvious reason other than he had lived with it all Joe’s life.   He sat back and crossed one leg over the other as he looked around the saloon.   It was not exactly busy.   Two dusty cowboys draped over the counter talking together in low voices, as they shared a bottle of whiskey to cut the dust from their throats.   Several miners were hunched over a table, playing poker and some, quite obviously, were about to lose all of their hard found gold dust.  

The barkeep watched him thoughtfully before reaching for a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.   Abandoning his place behind the counter he walked over to the man in black and placed the bottle down with a friendly air, followed by the two glasses.  He then pulled out the chair opposite the sombre looking customer, and sat down.

“I know you from back along, don’t I?” He indicated the glasses and the whiskey with his ring finger, and receiving a nod as acknowledgement, began to fill the two glasses. “You came in with your kid brother if I recalls rightly, about two year ago?”

“S’right,” Adam Cartwright replied.  He nodded his thanks as he picked up one of the glasses.  “Just over two years ago.”

“I remember because it was about the time of that trial.  Obadiah Johnson was up for murdering his partner and his wife – his own wife I mean.”  He grinned at his own joke, but Adam merely raised his eyebrows. “Only got five years.  I thought he would hang for sure.  That seemed to be logical to me, if you murder a man you hang – murder two folk – you hang!”

“Yeah, seems logical.” Adam sighed and frowned slightly.   That was all he needed, to run into a barkeeper with a memory like an elephant’s.

“Your kid brother stayed here in town, didn’t he?”

“So I believe.” Adam poured out some more whiskey and topped up his companion’s glass.  “He stayed for the trial anyway.”

“I guess he did,” Tompkins grinned.  “Had a way with the ladies, did your little brother.”

“Did he?” Adam crooked his eyebrow and nodded, not liking to correct the man by saying that Joe still had a way with the ladies.  He held the glass up to the light and surveyed it thoughtfully, before replacing it on the table.

“So what happened to you?   Last I heard you were found wandering round the desert dragging a dead man behind you?”

“Really?   Where’d you hear that interesting piece of information?”

“From Dolly.” Tompkins pointed over to a tall brunette who was draped over the shoulder of one of the miners, the one with the biggest poke of gold dust. “She worked in one of the saloons in Salt Flats when your family rode in with you.  It was the talk of the district for quite some time.  She got on pretty well with your kid brother as well, and he told her all about it.”

Adam glanced over at the brunette and frowned.  She looked the sort of girl that Joe would ‘get on well with’, but he doubted very much that Joe would have told her ‘all about it’. That was mainly due to the fact that neither Joe nor any other member of his family knew everything about it at all.  

“Did she say who the dead man was?” he asked Tompkins, leaning forward as though he were hanging on the man’s every word.

“Peter Kane.   She said it was Peter Kane, the crazy guy who had a mine about 15 miles south of Salt Flats.”  Tompkins leaned forward now, and lowered his voice.  “Some folks reckon that the place is haunted by his ghost.”

“Is that so?” Adam’s dark eyes darkened a little more, and he leaned back in his chair, surveying the talker opposite with wry amusement.  “What makes them think that?”

“I don’t ask.  I don’t believe it myself.”  Tompkins stood up and moved aside, hesitated for a second, as he pondered over whether or not to take the bottle, then avarice won out, and he took the bottle and returned to the counter.   The two cowboys had been joined by a third, and it was time to bring out another glass and chew the fat over with them.

Ghosts!   Adam bowed his head and grimaced. He had been haunted by the ghost of Peter Kane for over two years now so what really was new?   His father referred to it as the legacy of Kane, but for Adam, well, he thought of it as more of a curse.

He picked up the glass of whiskey again, and nursed it between his fingers as he stared down into the amber liquid, his mind turning back to the time when he had first been aware of this so called legacy.     Oh yes, he had been ill.   The whole thing had made him physically ill for a while, but he had rallied and pulled through and resumed work as usual within six weeks of the ordeal.

It had been a year later that the first sign of the problem reared its ugly head.   Spring time.   The foreman at one of their mines had sent an urgent message asking for him to get there and check the main shafts props.   He had gone with Hoss immediately, and found Peterson pacing the ground waiting for their arrival.

“The pumps not working, boss, and the underwater springs have thawed out faster than usual and flooded one of the tunnels.   We’re working flat out to get it drained, but it seems thoroughly inadequate to the task.  I’m worried about the men down there as the joists seemed loose.”

“Why were they loose?” he had demanded as they made for the mine entrance.

“I dunno, boss.  They were fine several weeks back, but since the thaw has set in they’ve got looser’n looser.”

They had gone into the mine.  Hoss had been behind him with the lantern held high and they had gone to the tunnel, where the water was slowly seeping in through the walls and turning the ground into a quagmire.   The men were working flat out to stem the problem at its source, except that they couldn’t trace the source and the pump had failed altogether to clear away the rising water.

“Peterson, I want you to close this tunnel down immediately and get the pump working in the one next door.  Check that this problem is not recurring anywhere else.”  He could hear his voice now, curt and abrupt.  Peterson should have known that there was a danger to the men here.  He should have used his initiative and got them out, instead of sending messages to the Ponderosa and waiting for them to tell him what to do.   He had wanted to tell the man just that, but Hoss had put a restraining hand on his arm and prevented him from doing so.

It was on the way home that the feeling had washed over him.  Nausea had swept up into his throat, and the most terrible panic had taken possession of him, making his whole body shake.   His chest had felt tight and he’d had difficulty in catching his breath.  Half way home he had been forced to dismount and throw up in a bush, and then wait until the sweating and the shakes had left him.  

“Summat you ate?” Hoss had asked, associating as always everything and anything to do with the stomach, with food.

“Guess so,” he had replied through clenched teeth, and had managed to get back into the saddle.  “Don’t tell Pa.  No need to worry him.”

Hoss had merely shrugged, which was his way of getting out of making any promises, so Adam never knew whether his brother had mentioned it to Ben or not.   

A few days later, Peterson had arrived at the ranch house, and had asked him to go back to the mine and check out some things.  It was Ben who had been in the house with them, and he had listened attentively to what the manager had said and agreed that Adam should go immediately.    His son had dutifully picked up his hat, and was tying on his gun belt when the feeling of utter panic had gripped him once again.   He must have changed colour for Ben had placed his hand on his son’s arm and asked him if he were all right. ‘Sure’ he had replied, and he had followed Peterson out of the house, even though his fingers were shaking so much he had difficulty buckling up his gun belt.

He had ridden to the mine with the panic mounting within him.   By the time he had dismounted at the mouth of the mine he was nigh on ready to scream.  Clamping his teeth tightly together, he had forced himself to the mine entrance, and then knew without any doubt at all that it was impossible for him to go inside.

He had played for time.  He asked Peterson countless questions, all relevant to the problem, thankfully, and having supplied the man with all the answers had somehow meandered his way back to Sport, and was back in the saddle and riding home before the man had had time to think about it.

The next time Peterson had summoned him, he had simply asked Hoss to go instead.  

“Why me?” Hoss had asked with half a beef sandwich in his mouth.

“Because you know about mines,” Adam had replied testily.

“You ain’t doin’ nuthin’, why don’t you go, seein’ as how you’re the engineer of the family”

“Because Peterson doesn’t need an engineer, he just needs one of us to do his thinking for him.”

Hoss had swallowed his sandwich and then had looked at Adam thoughtfully. The blue eyes had narrowed, as he had given his brother a long, searching look that had made Adam squirm.

“You ain’t skeered or summat, are ya?”

The silence had been overlong.  Ben had glanced at Adam, and then had told Hoss to go and check things with Peterson.   It had been obvious that Ben’s eldest son had been unable to hide his feelings, for as soon as the door had closed behind Hoss, Ben had been at Adam’s side and gripped hold of his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

The deep voice, clipped and hard, held in those two words all the anxiety of a father.   The dark eyes, looking into the pale face of his son, held all the tender feeling of a man who had seen enough to know that there was something about which to worry.

“Nothing, pa, I just…”

“I want the truth, Adam.”

The truth?  What was the truth?   Adam had shrugged and told Ben about his visit to the mine earlier, and how he had felt every time he thought about the mines.  Just thinking about them was enough to make him feel as though he were being strangled and had a heavy weight on his chest.

“You are sleeping all right, aren’t you?”  Ben had asked.  “No bad dreams?”

“No, nothing like that, Pa.  I go to sleep and wake up tired.  Don’t we all?”

“No need to be flippant with me, boy,” Ben had said softly, and had walked away, leaving him with his books, and his fears.

Adam Cartwright raised the glass to his lips and gulped down half of the whiskey it contained.   He was about to take another gulp, when a light touch on his shoulder made him turn, look up, and smile as the tall brunette moved to sit down on the chair next to him.

“You looked deep in thought, mister.”

She turned to the counter, signaled for another bottle, and then smiled at the handsome man, who was turning the half empty glass round and round between his fingers.

“Fact is, mister, you look just about downright lonely to me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, ma’am,” he replied. “I just had a lot on my mind to think about.”

Tompkins bustled up and put down the bottle of whiskey.  Adam noticed it was a full bottle again, and knew he was expected to pay for it.  He pulled some coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the table.

“Dolly, this is him! This is the guy who dragged Peter Kane outta the wilderness!” Tompkins gabbled, as he gathered up the money and slid the coins into his pocket.   Adam wondered momentarily whether they would make the transition to the cash box.

She paused in the act of pouring the whiskey into her glass and stared at him, with her ruby red lips opened like a blood red circle.

“You brought in that crazy guy?” she exclaimed, filling the glass overfull so that some trickled over her fingers.  “Then you must be Little Joe’s brother, the one who nearly died from getting lost out there in the wilderness?”

“I guess I must be,” Adam said, reaching out for the bottle and filling his glass slowly.

“You know summat?” She leaned forwards conspiratorially, and her eyes narrowed.  “That guy was just plain evil.”

“My brother?” Adam asked in a slow drawl with one eyebrow slightly raised.  She shook her head and took a deep breath.

“Not him.  I meant the other guy.  Kane.”  She swallowed several gulps and then put the glass down with a rather heavy thud, obviously that was not the first taste of whiskey to have passed her lips that day.  “He came to where I worked in Salt Flats several times.”

“So what makes you say he was evil?”

“Just – wal – just the feel of him, you know?” She looked at him, and the question was asked in such a way as to assume that he would know the answer, without having to say what it was.  She played idly with the glass between her fingers before looking at him again.   Her brown eyes were just a little misty, as though she had tears in them.  “He always talked so nice and so polite.   But the way he looked at me and the other girls – as though we were the scum of the earth.   Yet he never talked to us, and didn’t bother us at all.  Just stood there, or sat at the table, all alone, watching us.  When he was there…” she shuddered, “his eyes would just follow us all the time until it made you want to scream.”

Adam looked at the whiskey and drank it down slowly, then put the glass back onto the table.   She continued to talk, and Tompkins returned to the counter and began to polish the glasses.   Adam drifted back to shortly after his conversation with Ben about the mines.   

He recalled how he had woken up one night from a dream that had him yelling out aloud, and that had brought his father and brothers running into the room, wondering if a band of Paiute had got through the bedroom window and were trying to scalp him.    There was nothing to tell them, only that he had had a bad dream, and Hoss had said something about leaving the cheese alone in future, and they had gone back to their own rooms, yawning and scratching their heads.

He knew he was not afraid of the mines. He was not really afraid of anything – not really.    Logically, and looking at the facts quite coldly, there was no reason at all for him not to go to the mines.   Several days later he forced himself to visit Peterson, and got as far as the mouth of the mine, but felt as though he were walking into concrete.  His feet had just suddenly seemed unable to move.   His breathing came fast and shallow, as the perspiration had broken out over his body and under his arm pits, and he had to put out a hand to steady him self.   Peterson had actually taken him by the arm and supported him to where he could sit upon a bench, upon which he had sunk gratefully.

“Are you sick, boss?” Peterson had asked, and he had shaken his head and said he was fine, really fine.   It was just that when he tried to stand up his legs went in two different directions, and he was back down on the seat again.

This is stupid, he had told himself, a girl has more guts than this.  Get up and move yourself.   It was ten minutes before he was able to get up and move. He had walked over to Sport, mounted up and ridden home.  What could he tell his Pa?  That he was scared?  But he was not.  He knew he was not scared.  He had been in that mine countless times, and it was like taking a walk in the park to him.

“Pa?”

He had walked into the house feeling like a frightened child.  Bewildered and confused, he sought the only person he knew who could give him the reassurance he so required at that time.   Ben had taken his pipe from his lips and looked up, seen his son’s face, and had been immediately on his feet and by his side.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked, and then he had taken hold of Adam’s arm with a grip like a vice.  “Are the boys all right?”

Adam had taken a deep quivering breath to steady himself.   He had looked into the deep brown eyes and seen the anxiety there, and it had been for Hoss or for Joe.  He had taken another deep breath, and nodded slowly.

“Sure, Pa, they’re fine.”

“You came in just then looking so worried, I thought that something had happened to one of them.”   Ben’s rugged face had softened and he had smiled.  “Are you all right, son?”

His son had nodded, turning away as he slowly unbuckled his gun belt and set it down upon the bureau.   Then he had turned to look at his father, who was watching him thoughtfully with the air of a man who had, perhaps, missed something.   He had taken off his hat and set it down beside the gun belt.

Dolly stood up, and leaned forward, prodding him in the shoulder with a long and very pointed fingernail, whilst with the other hand she scooped up the bottle of whiskey.

“Y’know summat?” she snapped with a voice as brittle as shattered glass.  “You ain’t nuthin’ like your brother.  At least he always had the courtesy to listen to a gal!” and with a flounce she pushed away from the table, and got to her feet and teetered away.   

Adam watched her go with a slight frown, and then looked over at Tompkins, who merely shrugged and grimaced.  Pushing his chair back, Adam stood up and in a few paces caught up with her and took her elbow

“I’m sorry, I forgot my manners and was rather rude just then.  I’m afraid that when you mentioned how evil you felt Peter Kane to be, I – well – it brought back some rather unpleasant memories.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, and her face softened and she smiled.

“I can understand that, mister.   I guess I was runnin’ on a bit anyhows.  No hard feelings?”  She put out a hand, and her eyes twinkled when he took it and gripped it tightly.  “Say, y’know, you ain’t bad lookin’, mister, why don’t you come and see me some other time.  When you ain’t so preoccupied p’raps?”

Adam smiled and nodded, touched the brim of his hat and excused himself, and walked out of the saloon into the Main Street of the town.   

Chapter II

Eastgate had grown in the two years since he and Joe had been there.   It showed its prosperity by the tall fronted buildings that had grown around the main square.   There was a fine looking bank in the town that had not been quite so handsome previously, and the public baths were now adjacent to a large hotel that appeared very new and very modern.   Adam realised he could not remember what had been there before, but could remember the public baths and the way he had lectured Joe about the logical aspects of the law.   Joe had said something then about did everything have to be logical, and he had come up with some flippant comment about how no one could drive him to murder.  

His brow creased slightly in thought, as he walked to where Sport was nodding in the sun.  He untethered him, squinted around the street to locate the Livery Stable, and walked the horse across to where a large building declared itself to be Livery Stable and Blacksmith.    A large man, with sweat standing in beads upon his face, came to meet him as he entered.

“What kin I do fer yer?” Luke wiped his hands down a leather apron, which protected his clothing from the sparks from the metal that he hammered into shoes for the horses.  

“Take care of my horse until tomorrow morning?”

“Over there – first stall on the left.”

Adam led Sport to the indicated stall, and began to unbuckle the cinch strap and slide off the saddle.   He swung it upon the top rail and paused, as he realised the blacksmith was watching him with a curiosity not usually found in busy men in his line of business.

“Anything wrong?” he asked, narrowing his dark eyes slightly to get a more detailed appraisal of the man.

“Nope.”  The farrier walked up to Sport, ran a hand down the animal’s withers, and nodded.  “Seen this hoss before, ain’t I?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Adam replied, “I don’t think you were here the last time I was in Eastgate.”

“True enough, I moved here about six months back.  Jest a minute thar and I’ll check.”  He walked to a rather shaky looking desk, where he pulled open a drawer and produced a thin leather bound book.  Mumbling under his breath, and every so often licking his thumb and forefinger, he leafed through the book until a satisfied smile creased his face.  “Yep, here it is.   See, I thought I’d seen his brand before.”  He showed Adam the entry. “I like to make a note of the different brands and kind of horse that I bought or sold or shoed.  This hoss I bought from two rough necks, and then this young feller with…” he paused and ran his finger down the rows of writing, “…a black and white hoss with the same brand as this ‘un, came in and said it was his brother’s.  You must be the brother.”  He fixed Adam with a stern glare.   “He came back later, to collect the piebald.  Nice hoss that ‘un was, I had to fix his shoe.” He pointed to the sketch of a horseshoe and the note written beside it, of the size and reason for shoeing Cochise. “I like to keep records of things,” he said once again, “then when I git to retire I’ve some kind of memory to look back on.”

Adam nodded, and continued to divest Sport of his harness and bridle.  He stroked the animal’s cheek and nose, and led him further into the stall where the feedbag was hanging.

“So what happened to yer?” the farrier asked as he put the book back into the drawer.  “That young ‘un was skeered to death that summat was wrong.”

“I kinda got lost for a while,” Adam said quietly. “Do you want me to pay now or later?”

“Now would be as good a time as any.” 

Adam was about to put some coins on the desk, when there came the sound of hurried footsteps approaching the entrance of the stable, and a woman suddenly appeared with a wild-eyed and disheveled appearance.

“Luke, Luke, oh Luke.”  She ran to him and seemed to melt into his arms as he held her tightly, and Adam, unsure exactly what to do, stepped back and made an attempt to leave, but found his way blocked by them.  He could do nothing except step back to the stall and allow them some privacy, although he could hear the conversation well enough. 

He stood beside Sport and stroked his horse affectionately, whilst the hurried conversation whispered about his ears.

“Luke, he’s escaped.  He’s free again.”

“But, he can’t be, sweetheart.  He’s still got three more years to go.”

“I just heard it from Sheriff Cutter.  He got a message from the State Governor saying Obadiah had broken loose with three other men.”

“Then he’s crazy.   Darlin’, he won’t come here.  Don’t you be a-feared none, he won’t come here.  Why, fer heaven’s sake, folk would be on the look out for him and he’d be on a hidin’ to nuthin’ if he came here.”

“Luke, of course he’ll come here.  Don’t you see?  He’ll come for Danny.”

“No, no.  He won’t risk his neck and do that, not with three other men with him.   They won’t want to come here and git hankered down with a kid.”

“Why would he break jail now, Luke?   He killed two people.”

“They said it was manslaughter, honey, and in the heat of the moment.  Not like it were all planned an’ all.”

“He could have been free in another eighteen months if he had stayed quiet and jest got on with things, Luke.  Why spoil it all fer himself now?  It has to be so that he can get Danny.”

“Hush now, yer jest worrying about nuthin’ now.  If he comes for Danny, then we’ll jest reason it out with him.   He was always a good friend of ours, Clara, and there ain’t no reason for him to be any different now as he was then.   He’ll have Danny’s best interests at heart, you’ll see.   Why else would he have asked us to care fer the boy?”

Luke murmured more words of encouragement as he wiped away the tears from her cheeks, and after a few more minutes she left him, slightly calmer than when she had arrived.

Her husband, however, looked a far more worried man than he had been when Adam had first seen him.  For a second or so he seemed to have forgotten that there was another person in the building and stood, deep in thought, by the desk.    Adam cleared his throat.

“I’m, huh, sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said apologetically.

Luke shrugged and shook his head.

“My wife, Clara.   She’s got herself all worked up because Obadiah Johnson broke loose from jail.   Scared that he’ll be back for the boy.”

“I see.” Adam put the coins on the desk and looked at Luke thoughtfully.  “I thought you had only moved here recently?  Obadiah Johnson was jailed over two years ago.”

“That’s right.   Clara was related to his wife.  Cousins they were, and when she was killed, she came here for the funeral.  Then there was the trial, of course.   We’d always got on well with Obadiah, and he asked Clara if she and I would care for the boy until he came out of jail.  Danny’s a good boy, so she brought him back with her to whar we lived.   But then business got a mite tougher there, and it was a lonely place for the boy who was used to a town and kids an’ such. We decided to move back here, so that Danny could be with his old friends and be settled for when his pa came out of jail.   Obadiah was a good hearted man, he never would have murdered anyone deliberately.”  Luke sighed and shook his head.  “Sure put the cat among’ the pigeons now, thet’s fer sure.”

Adam nodded and picked up his saddlebags, which he swung over his shoulder and, after a muttered leave taking, he made his way to the main street and stepped out into the full glare of the afternoon sun.  After a quick glance up and down the street, he made his way to the hotel.

“One single room?  Yes, sir.  Here’s your key.  Room sixteen.”  The little man behind the counter handed over the key, and watched the tall dark man in the black clothes sign his name.  “Oh, Cartwright huh?  Had another Cartwright here some years back.  Wouldn’t be the same one, would it?” He gave Adam another glance over. “No, can’t recall the face.  Got a good memory for names though.”

Adam said nothing, but gave the clerk a piercing look with his dark eyes and turned towards the stairs.   Joseph had obviously made quite an impression on the town during his stay there, and with a sigh he began to mount the stairs to Room sixteen.

It was neat, clean and reasonably large.   He tossed the saddlebags down onto a chair and walked over to the window.  The sun streamed into the room, and he raised a hand to pull down the blind to shade it.  He recognised the blacksmith’s wife, Clara, as she crossed the road walking hand in hand with a good-looking boy of about ten years of age.  Adam gave them both a cursory look, before bringing down the blind and plunging the room into semi-darkness.

He unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on the bedpost, so that the gun handle was close enough for him to reach in a hurry.  He sat on the bed, yawned like only an exhausted man can, and then turned and sank into the mattress.  He folded his arms behind his head and surveyed the shadows that lingered in the room, and then looked up at the streaks of light that filtered through the gaps in the blind.   His mind slowly returned to that day he had visited Peterson at the mine, and how everything seemed to plummet out of control from thereon.

Chapter III

Nightmares had plagued his sleeping moments.   He began to loathe the time for bed, and fought against sleep.   This resulted in a ricochet reaction as exhaustion took a toll on his nerves.   The tenser he became, the angrier he became with everyone around him.   It seemed that suddenly there was not a single person capable of doing any job well or to the standard that suited the Ponderosa.   He began to snap and snarl at everyone around him, so that even Hoss, who loved his eldest brother more than he could say, had reached a point where he had to walk out of the room in order to keep his temper.

When Ben had finally asked him what was wrong, Adam had retreated into himself, and justified it by the thought that Ben had shown too little interest too late.   When Hoss had sat down and gently tried to prise out some information from his tight-lipped brother, he met with a stone wall of resistance that ended with angry words on both sides.    When Joe had tried conciliatory measures, his eldest brother had curtly told him to button his lip, then walked out of the room.

And night after night he forced himself to avoid falling asleep, until his body ached and his eyes closed and he could resist no further.   Some nights he slept free from hindrance of the dreams, but there were the other nights when they crashed in upon him, and he would awaken from them, shivering and yet with the perspiration seeping from his pores.  

Then he would lay awake in his bed staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the dreams that had awoken him.  Dreams that could only be remembered in tiny pieces, and none of them the same or matching the pieces of another.  In one dream he could recall standing on a cliff edge with Ben on the other side calling to him, urging him to jump, whilst beneath them roared the torrents of a waterfall.  He had jumped, and seen Ben turn and walk away whilst he plummeted downwards.   He had awoken to find himself in a tangle with his sheets on the floor.   

In another dream, he was lost in a mine.  It was as though he were only a child, small and alone and crying for his pa.   He had picked up a cold chisel and hammer and begun to hammer the wet slick walls, and he had felt such an intense loathing in his breast that he had not been surprised when a face formed before his eyes…but not the face of the man he had hated.  He had expected to see Kane, but the face he saw was that of his father.    He had woken from that dream with tears streaming down his face that he had stifled by pressing his face into the pillow.

Dreams, upon dreams upon dreams.   Exhaustion and irritation.  Fatigue and lack of appetite.    Ben would look upon his son, and see the handsome face growing more haggard and the eye sockets looking darker, whilst the eyes themselves seemed to become sunken.   He had smoked his pipe and read his paper, but his eyes had strayed involuntarily over to his son, and anguish had torn at his heart as he had watched the restless eyes wander from object to object in the room, and never appear to settle upon the pages of the book he held in his hands.

Perhaps Adam had not been surprised when he arrived home one evening, to find Dr Paul Kay sharing a pot of coffee with Ben and his brothers.  The silence that fell upon them, as he had stepped into the room, made it too obvious that the subject matter prior to his arrival had been himself.

He acknowledged them by a curt nod of the head, and unbuckled his gun belt and set it down beside his hat.   His dark eyes had shifted from one to the other and then back to the doctor, who had smiled and stood up, one hand outstretched.

“Good to see you again, Adam.”

“And you, Doctor.”  He had taken the doctor’s hand and shaken it warmly, then approached the table and poured himself some coffee.  “What brings you here?  A social visit?”

“Not exactly.” Paul had run his fingers through his shock of gun metal gray hair and frowned.  “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh!”  Adam raised his eyebrows cynically, and sat down with the cup in his hand.   “About what?”

Hoss had declared then that it was time for him to check his horse, and Joe had offered to go along with him.  His brother watched them both head for the door and then, with a slight frown, looked at his father.

“What’s happening?” he had asked, and Ben had sighed and raised his dark eyebrows and looked at Paul.

“I wanted Paul to talk to you, Adam.   I’ve been worried about you for a while and…”

“Worried about me?  Why?  I’ve not slacked off from work, have I?” He could feel the anger beginning to churn within himself, and he glanced hostilely over at the doctor and then again at his father.  “Why?” he repeated.

“I think you’re unwell, Adam,” his father had replied very gently, and he frowned.  “I’ve heard you calling out in your sleep at night, and it’s obvious you’ve not been sleeping and…”

Adam stood up and put down his cup, his lips pursed into the stubborn pout his father knew so well.   He tossed his head and his dark eyes flashed.

“I’m perfectly well.” His voice was tight with controlled anger and he glanced frostily at Paul.  “I don’t need to see you. I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.”

“Perhaps on your account,” Paul said lightly, and he smiled. “But I never feel it’s a wasted journey visiting the Ponderosa and seeing you all here.  Why not sit down and let’s just talk.”  He gestured to a chair and waited for the young man to sit, but instead Adam turned and without a word mounted the stairs to his room.

“Adam.”

He paused momentarily, then straightened his back and walked on a few more steps.

“Adam.   Stop right there and apologise for your rudeness to Paul at once.”

He had turned then and looked down from the half landing at the two older men.    They looked upwards, their faces upturned towards him like fledglings in a nest.   Ben’s face was purpling with temper, whilst Paul looked worried and anxious.

“I’m not a child anymore, Pa, you don’t order me to do anything.” 

They had stared at one another.   Black angry eyes meeting the force of dark fury.   Paul stepped between them and nodded.

“That’s alright, Adam, I was going anyway, but don’t forget, anytime you want to talk to me, I’ll be available for you.”

Adam had immediately given himself a mental shaking at the doctor’s gentle delivery of the words he had spoken, and he half turned.

“My apologies, Doctor.   I had no intention of being so rude, but…”  He paused and tapped the banister with his hand as he tried to think of some excuse for his behavior.  “I’ll call in sometime,” he had concluded rather lamely.

“I hope you do,” Paul had replied quietly, and then had watched him climb the stairs and disappear into his room.

Adam sighed, and felt the worm of shame wriggle in the pit of his stomach at the memory of that day.   Ben had accused him of being like a child, acting worse than a five year old.    His only response had been to ask his father to accept his apologies, only he was not too sure how a five year old was supposed to act.

**********

“I don’t know what your problem is, Adam,” Paul had said on the afternoon Adam had finally capitulated and visited him. “All I hear when I listen to you is anger.  I think you need to go back to the time when that anger first came to the surface, and when you’ve dealt with it…”  He had left the words hanging in the air, and they had looked at one another.  “Can you remember when it was?”

Kane.   It went back to that time when Kane had humiliated him; humbled him, put his boot on his neck and ground him into the dirt.   Anger and hate spilled up into his loins at the very word, at the very mention of the name.   He swallowed bile and had nodded.

“You could call it Kane’s legacy,” Paul said quietly after listening to Adam for some time.   “Oh, I know so little about the human brain, but I know enough about men. I’ve known many men who have faced tremendous evil, hardship.  I was a doctor in the army for some years, and I’ve seen brave men face terrible danger and walk away as though it were nothing and then, weeks or perhaps months later, they begin to fall apart.   They become pale shadows of their real selves.   Adam, they have to face the hardest struggle of their lives.   And there was nothing that I could do to help them, or you.”

“Are you saying I am sick?” 

“Yes and no.   I think that what happened to you, during that time with Kane, made you so angry that you could not control it.   You’re now angry at everything and at everyone.  You’re even angry with yourself.”

“Why?”

“That’s for you to find out.  It would be easy enough to say that it was because of the way Kane treated you.  Or because you don’t know whether he won or not.”  He saw the flash of Adam’s eyes and nodded.  “Is that it, do you think?”

Adam sighed as he looked away and stared for a while at the view from the window.   Familiar faces of people he had known for years, walking about their daily business totally unaware of the blackness that seemed to be whirling about his head at that moment.  He looked back at Paul.

“I didn’t think I could ever get angry enough to kill, to murder anyone.  Kane contended that I could – that any man could in the right circumstances.”

“But you didn’t kill Kane,” Paul said gently.

“No, not deliberately.  But…” Adam bit down on his bottom lip in a mannerism so familiar as to be endearing. “But I wanted to.   When we fought that last time, I had my hands around his throat and I knew that I could have killed him so easily.   And I desperately wanted to.”

“What stopped you?”

“Kane.  He knew.  He said ‘I won’.  So, I left him and tried to get away, and he said that I was going to leave him like the men who had left me.”  His eyes narrowed, and anger stirred in him again at the memory of those men who had condemned him to a death that would have been pitiless and remorseless, and he remembered the horror he had felt when Kane had accused him of doing just the same to him.   Would that have cancelled out the other, he wondered.

“You need to find out for yourself, Adam.” 

He had looked at the doctor, and then at the door, and frowned.  How would he find out?  Was there another Kane out there?   Would the anger and loathing he felt give him the courage to go and find out?

Chapter IV

Adam lay sprawled out upon the bed.   He lay on his back with his arms flung to either side of him.    The warmth of the room, the slow drift of a breeze through the window which merely touched the blind, the buzz of two flies as they waltzed around each other in a speck of warm sunshine, all combined to send the exhausted man into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Luke Morgan checked Sport’s shoes and then resumed his business.   The rise and fall of his hammer upon the anvil was somewhat muffled by the closed doors of his stables, so that he failed to notice the three men that rode slowly into town.

Clara Morgan and Danny stood together at the counter of the Eastgate Bank.  It had taken a while to reach the counter, due to Mr. Dodgeson taking his time over counting the money he had been given by the clerk.   He was leaving the bank when a new customer walked in, knocking the old man to one side and ignoring the look of reproach that was hurled at his back.

In fact, the new customer ignored the whole queue.  He strode to the counter, and then turned to face the townspeople assembled there.   No one complained.  They just stepped back with a gasp of startled horror.  The gun in his hand was sufficient inducement for one and all to group together and step back against the wall.    Another man had entered now, and he held a gun on them whilst indicating to the first man that they had to hurry.  

“Get these filled,” a thick graveled voice spat the command at the clerk, who grabbed at the bag, and began to pull out the drawers of money from the counter and throw the wads of dollars into the sack.  “Now the safe.”  Another empty bag was thrown at the other clerk who, white faced and shaking, hurried to open the safe door.

“Git a move on, Larry,” a thin man standing by the door called out, whilst he leaned against the doorframe in an attempt to appear as a casual townsman.  He had his arms folded across his chest, but the gun in his left hand was pointed in the direction of the huddle of customers.  Even if he were not aiming at anyone in particular they could see that someone would be injured, were he to be alarmed enough to use it.

“Frank, git to them – see what they’ve got – we want to make a clean sweep before leaving here,” the man referred to as Larry suggested to the man who had followed behind him only minutes earlier.

Frank pulled a bag from his jacket pocket and approached the queue.  He began to systematically pull off the rings from the women’s fingers, and fumble in jacket pockets to pull out wallets and purses from the men.  One by one the people began to empty their pockets and throw their belongings into the now bulging sack.

Clara clenched her fist in desperation as he approached her.  He grabbed the purse from her right hand, but seeing her efforts to hide her left hand behind her, he reached out and grabbed at her wrist and pulled her hand forwards.

“Please, not my wedding ring,” she implored, struggling to free her hand in a valiant but foolhardy attempt to save her precious ring.

“Leave her alone.”

“Whatta – git off’n me ya young hellion.”

Danny was slim but strong, and his grip on Frank’s arm was powerful enough to send the bank robber staggering back in an attempt to keep hold of his gun and not release the bag that contained his ‘loot’.    His yell was sufficient to bring him to the attention of the man at the door, who stepped inside the bank and fired off a shot.

The bank clerks suddenly seemed galvanised to move at an even more frantic speed, stuffing money and bonds into the bags with an alacrity that did them credit.    There were stifled screams from the women in the crowd, and one man yelled out an oath that was silenced with a groan, as Jerry Coutts’ pistol butt was brought heavily down upon his skull.   Clara gave a sobbing plea for the boy to be left alone, as Frank stepped forwards and grabbed the boy by the hair.   Danny yelled and struggled, but against two men he was powerless.

“Please…!” Clara cried in a heartfelt sob, but Frank raised his arm in a threat to silence her, and she shrank back against the wall.

“Danny Johnson,” Coutts said, looking at Frank in a way that Clara would eventually realise to be significantly suggestive.  

“Leave me alone!” Dan yelled, and swung a kick at their shins.  He heard Clara’s scream before the gun came crashing down upon his skull.   As the blow fell she threw herself forward to prevent its descent, only to be flung with such force against the wall that it knocked the breathe from her body, and she fell unconscious upon the floor.

“Bring him with us,” Jerry Coutts said, indicating the boy who was now slumped in a huddle on the floor close to Clara.

“Are you sure we can afford to be lumbered with him?” Frank whispered but seeing the determination in Jerry’s eyes, he nodded and dragged the boy up, and with a slight struggle succeeded in hauling the boy over his shoulder.

Still no one moved.   Larry Parks grabbed the last bundle of money and forced it into the bag, then turned and made for the door.

The Main Street was bathed in sunlight, and nothing had changed despite the gunshot that had rung out earlier.  The sound of Luke’s hammer falling upon the anvil still tolled rhythmically like a church bell.    The mute sounds of people talking drifted from the stores and street walks.    The three men, one of them bearing the boy over his back, walked hurriedly from the bank, mounted their horses, and had started their gallop away from the hitching rail when the first alarm went off.

David Lowe was the one to send off the alarm.  He and his fellow bank clerk had taken one look at each other as the robbers left, and he, having the longer legs, had reached the door first.    He yelled as loudly as he could and fired off a shot from a gun that had been concealed under the counter, but which they had been too scared too use during the robbery.    For some reason David Lowe assumed that bank robbers stopped using guns once they were on their horses heading out of town.   He was wrong!

Pandemonium was released with the speed of light.   From peace and accord came a swift transition to chaos and terror.   Gunshots rang out from all directions.   A dog began to bark, adding his own voice to the cacophony of sound.    Women shrieked and men yelled.

David Lowe bled to death in the doorway of the bank, his head resting in the lap of old Mrs. Butler, who wept copious tears that cascaded down and dripped upon his face.     The sheriff, who had been slumbering under a hot towel in the local barbershop, was firing off shots in all directions, hoping that one would find the correct target.  The dog ceased barking, his voice now a whine and yelp as a bullet grazed his back leg and he ran, his injured leg held high from the ground, to hide under the sidewalk. 

Adam Cartwright stirred, turned upon his side and slowly opened his eyes.  He blinked, and as alarm sent adrenalin pumping through his body, he rolled from the bed, grabbed his gun from its holster and headed for the window.  He released the blind that rolled up so fast it made him jump.   Then he leaned forwards, cautiously, his gun in his hand and ready for use.

He could see within seconds what had happened.   His eyes took in the scene of the young man dying and being comforted by the old woman.  The sheriff and half a dozen men running in each other’s way, firing off shots that could possibly cause more danger to the inhabitants of the town than the robbers themselves.  He saw the tail end of the three horses, as they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.   People were running from the stores and shops.  He saw Luke Morgan striding from his farrier’s shop, rifle in one hand and hammer in the other.

He relaxed.   He returned to the bed and slipped the gun into the holster and lay down.  This was not his town.   Eastgate was facing a problem all western towns had to face some time or another.  He rubbed his face and then yawned again.   He closed his eyes.  This would, he mused, test the mettle of the town’s sheriff.  If it had been Roy, then it would have been a different story.  He slipped easily back into sleep, with the bedroom now bathed in golden sunlight and the two flies now partying with several blue bottles in the corner of the window frame.

Chapter V

Clara Morgan opened her eyes to find herself looking up at her husband.  The anxiety that had been etched on his face ebbed away like the creases ironed from fragile tissue paper.  He kissed her brow, and stroked her hair, and held her close.

“You’re alive.  Thank God, for a moment I thought you were taken from me,” he whispered.

“Danny?” the word slipped from her lips in a gasp, and her eyes widened in terror.  “Where is he?”

A woman, who had been receiving some impromptu treatment from the doctor for shock, approached them and put a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“They took him.  Don’t you remember, Clara, they said his name and they took him.”

“You mean that they knew him?”  Luke asked, his anxious eyes resting first upon his wife’s face, and then upon the kindly features of Mrs. Groschen.

“One of them seemed to know him,” the elderly woman replied.  “The other man, the one they called Frank, didn’t want to take him but they bundled him out of here anyway.”

“Oh Luke, Luke ....”  She grabbed at his arm.  “I tried to stop them hurting him, I tried but they were too strong.”

“The sheriff’s rounding up a posse, my love.  I’m going with them.”

“No, Luke.” Her large eyes looked up at him in bleak despair.  Oh, to be sure he was an ungainly man, not handsome, nor slim and sleek, he was overweight and he smelled of the fire and the horse sweat, but he was her man, and she knew him.  She knew the kindness in him, and the honesty, and the gentle way he had to caring for Danny and herself.   He loved her with an intensity that engendered a tender love from her in return.   The fear of losing him now gripped her as so real that her heart shook within her.

“I have to go, honey,” he whispered, stroking away a tear from her cheek and releasing her hand from his arm. “Not just for Danny’s sake, but for that lad’s too.”  He turned his head to bring her attention to the young man who lay dead at the door.  “I’ll bring him home safely, I promise you.”

She said nothing more.  He helped her to her feet, and made sure that she was steady enough to walk.   With reassurances that he would be home as soon as they had caught the men, and that Danny would be with him, he walked away.   Outside, the deputy was striking the big metal triangle with the steel rod in order to assemble as many men for the posse as possible.  It clanged loudly and consistently for several minutes.   As the noise ebbed away, so the sheriff and the townsmen galloped out of the town.

The racket of the alarm clanged through Adam’s mind and he woke up, shook his head, and sat up.

“Coming, Pa,” he mumbled, his eyes still shut tight, and swaying slightly on the edge of the bed.

He yawned and opened his eyes, as he looked around at unfamiliar surroundings.   So, it wasn’t Pa sounding out the alarm after all.   Had he been dreaming again?   He yawned once more, and stood up and stretched so high that his shirt slipped its moorings and exposed an expanse of dark flesh.

He walked slowly to the window, tucking the shirt back into his pants as he did so.   He watched as some men carried away the inert body of the young man from the bank, and people left the building and walked their separate ways.   An elderly lady leaned upon the arm of a younger man, weeping into her handkerchief.  A younger woman walked in the opposite direction, alone, with her head bowed.

He followed her with his eyes and remembered where he had seen her before, and wondered where the boy had gone.   He sighed, and turned back to the bed and picked up his gun belt.   Had it only been minutes since he had fallen asleep?   He could vaguely recall the bank raid being played out in his mind.   It had all seemed part of a dream.

Chapter VI

Clara Morgan opened the door to her home and closed it with a slow motion.  She was too sad and too anxious to move with any speed.  Weariness consumed her as she walked towards the chair at the table and sunk down upon it, and then bent her head so that her face was buried in her hands as she wept.

For some seconds she sat there, with only the ticking of the clock as company to the sounds of her weeping.   Then another sound came to her ears and she froze.  She lifted her head and turned towards the door.   The light tapping as the handle turned brought a sudden hope to her heart, and she ran forwards with the word ‘Danny’ on her lips.  Even before her hand had touched the door however, it opened.

“What are you doing here?”  Hope died, and in despair she stepped back, a hand clutched at her skirts, whilst the other was raised to her lips to hold back the sob that caught at her throat.

The tall man at the door way put a finger to his lips for silence.   Dipping his head slightly so as to avoid the doorframe, he stepped into the room and with a very gentle movement pushed the door shut.   Then he stepped closer to Clara, took off his hat and forced a smile to his lips.

“Hello, Clara,” he said very softly.

He was a handsome man.   Tall, slim in build, with dark hair that waved back from a high brow.  His blue eyes were large and framed by thick dark lashes and his nose was high bridged.   The mouth was formed well and when his lips were parted to expose his teeth, they were seen to be very white and even.   A strong jaw line, which was set off by a cleft chin, made the handsome face appear to be that of a strong and resolute character.  He held out a hand towards her, a hand that was well shaped with a broad palm and long fingers.   An expression of misery fell across his features as she shrank back from him.

“Clara?  What’s wrong?  I thought you’d be pleased to see me after all this time?”

“Pleased to see you?” her voice came as barely a whisper.  “How can you say that, Johnny?   You only had another eighteen months to go before being a free man, and now you’ve broken jail you’ll be forever looking over your shoulder.  Why?  How could you be so stupid?”

He smiled gently and stepped closer to her, and she, prevented from moving any further due to the table, was forced to remain where she was, although she held out a hand to stop him getting too near.

“So? You do still worry about me then?” his voice was soft, gentle and his mouth smiled whilst his eyes were wary as they watched her face.

“Of course I worry about you.  You’re Danny’s father, aren’t you?  I wanted him to – to be able to know he was safe when he went home to you.   Now I can’t promise him that anymore.  Why didn’t you stop and think of him, Johnny?   If you had, for a moment at least, perhaps you would have had some sense and stayed where you were!”

He frowned and chewed his bottom lip, and then bowed his head as though considering more carefully the things she had said.   Then he glanced up at her and nodded slowly,

“May I sit down?” He pulled out a chair and sat before she had answered either one way or the other.  With a deep sigh he buried his face in his hands, and stayed silent for a moment or two before asking her for something hot to drink. “I’ve been riding for days.  Trying to get some distance between them and me.  I had to get here before them.”  He looked up at her and she stared at him, her eyes round in a pale mask of horror. “You’ve been crying?  You were crying when I came here?  Where’s Danny?” He pushed the chair back, and it toppled with a resounding thud onto the floor. “Where’s Danny?” He reached out and grabbed at her, held her tightly by the arms and searched her face. “Have they got here already then?  Am I too late?”

“What do you mean, Johnny?  What – who are you talking about?” she whispered, whilst her mind took her back just an hour in time, to when she last saw the little boy being carried out from the bank.

“Just tell me where Danny is so that I know he’s safe.”

“You’re frightening me.  Let me go, Obadiah, let me go now.”

He relaxed his hold on her and she stepped back and away from his reach.   Like two antagonists in a ring, they paused and surveyed one another, wary and cautious.   She was the first to move, stepping towards the stove and placing the coffee pot on a ring, whilst she thought over what he had said and the implications thereof.  Then she turned to face him.

“There was a bank robbery just over an hour ago.  The bank teller was killed, shot.   They took Danny.  One of the men seemed to know him, and took him with them.”

“You didn’t do anything to stop them?”  It was an accusation that stabbed her to the heart.  She bowed her head and burst into tears, which prompted him to step closer to her and once again take hold of her by the arms, but this time, more gently.

“They hurt me, and he stepped up and tried to stop them. One of the men said his name and everything was so hazy, I think I had fainted, Johnny, I can’t remember, except that they took him with them,”

“Do you know who they were?”

“One man was called Larry - I can’t remember - I can’t…”  She turned away from him and walked to the table, slowly setting herself down onto one of the chairs.  “There were three of them, and they robbed the bank and took our jewellery and wallets, and Danny tried to stop them taking mine.   I don’t know anymore than that.  Oh, Johnny, I’m so sorry, I should have taken more care of him for you, but…” she brushed away tears from her cheeks and looked at him, “…I had him with me because I was afraid that you would come and take him away from us.  I didn’t want you to go to the school and take him, so I kept him home with me.  We went to the bank together.”  Again the tears flowed, and as she buried her face in her hands, the tears dripped through her fingers onto the table.

He stared at her.  He watched the tears drip slowly onto the table and form miniscule pools.  He let her words sink into his brain, before he too had to sit down opposite her at the table.

“You thought I would steal my own son away from you?”

“When I heard that you had broken jail, I knew you would come for him.” She looked up at him, her long lashes spiked by her tears. “And you did, didn’t you?  That’s why you’re here.”

“Not to steal him away, Clara.  No, no – I wouldn’t have done that to you and Luke.   I knew…” he paused, and stopped himself from saying the words because they were no longer true.  He could not assure her that he had known Danny would be safe with them, when it had been proven that he had not.  “I knew you would do the best you could for him.”

“Luke’s with the posse.  They’ve gone after them.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, and then shook his head.  “They won’t find them.   Coutts was here before, he knows this territory inside out….”

“So does Luke.”

“No, not like Coutts.” Obadiah Johnson stood up and went to the stove.  He began to pour out the coffee whilst he considered what his next course of action could be, then he took the cups to the table and set them down, before resuming his seat. “Clara, I had to go with them.  When I knew what they wanted I had no choice.”

“There are always choices, Johnny,” she said softly. “The right one or the wrong one…you could have ….”

“You don’t know, you weren’t there.”

They were silent for a while, as each struggled to get their thoughts in some semblance of order.  Then he sighed.

“Clara, have you ever heard of a man called Peter Kane?”

“No.”

“Well, he was a strange kind of a man.  Kept himself to himself mostly.   He had a mine about seventeen miles east of the Lucky Seven.  Not many people knew its location, and I guess not many ever got to meet Kane, but rumours went around that there was some kind of crazy hermit out there with a mine full of gold.    Coutts met him once, in Salt Flats.  Well, Coutts and I shared a cell and he got to talking about it.  Said Kane was a man who made the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end.  Scared the life out of Coutts.”

“What has this got to do with Danny?” she whispered.

He glanced at her sharply and frowned, then took a deep breath.

“Thing is, Kane told them that he had more gold in that mine than any he had ever heard, could start another Comstock, so he said.  He was the kind of man you’d believe too.”

“Yes, but…”

“Then they heard that he was dead.   Coutts told ‘em I knew the location of the mine and could lead them to it.  But I said no, I had to work out my sentence.   Coutts said that if they didn’t get me to help them voluntarily they would make me lead ‘em to the mine.”

“You mean, they threatened to take Danny, just so that you would lead them to a mine?”

“Not just any mine, Clara.   Look, I met Kane several times.  He showed me some gold ore that was the purest I’d ever seen.”

“So you agreed to leave with them?”

“I had no choice in the end.  I was on a work party with them, and chained to Larry, so when they made their escape I was an unwilling, but captive, victim.  I had no chance to stay put.”  He looked at her and forced her to look into his eyes, as though that would compel her to believe him. “Then later, when they got to talking about things again, I thought if I could just get a horse and reach town before them, I could grab Danny and get away someplace.”

“Luke would never have let you.”

“Well, Luke isn’t here, and Danny’s gone too,” he replied quietly.

A sharp staccato knock on the door stopped them from talking further and Clara froze, looking at him in horror.

“Just act naturally, don’t arouse suspicion,” he whispered, retreating more into the shadows of the room.

She waited until it was quite obvious no one could see him from the doorway, and then opened it very cautiously and slowly.  

 Chapter VII

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Adam Cartwright slipped off his hat and held it loosely in his hand as he looked at her with a smile.   His sharp eyes were quick to detect the fact that the woman had been crying, although she held back into the shadows.   He took a deep breath.  “I’m Adam Cartwright from the Ponderosa, and I left my horse at your husband’s stables.”  He paused and looked at her again. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” she whispered.

“Well, I agreed to leave the horse there overnight but decided to leave now.  I just wanted to let him know, so that he wouldn’t think the animal had been stolen.”

“I see.  Thank you.” She began to close the door and then paused. “Do you need a refund of money?”

“No, that was not the point of my calling, I just wanted to make sure he would know I had taken the horse.”

“Well, he isn’t here just now, but I will tell him.  Thank you.”

She began to close the door, but was prevented from doing so when he placed a hand against it, and she looked up, frightened at the thought that he was about to force an entry.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, and you can tell me to mind my own business should you so wish, but I couldn’t help noticing that something was upsetting you.  Are you sure that there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

She looked up at him then and noticed the kindness in the stern features. She could see the warmth in the dark eyes that lingered over her face, and she raised a hand to her eyes to wipe away the last traces of tears.  She forced a smile.

“I’m all right, thank you for asking.”

Adam nodded and turned away.  Well, there was no point in foisting himself upon her privacy.  He was the stranger in town, so why should she trust him?  He wondered if anyone else knew that there was a black horse steaming from sweat caused by a hard ride, hobbled at the back of the house.   That meant she was not alone in the house and he wondered, momentarily, whether or not the man she feared returning to town, was actually already present.

He mounted Sport and turned the big horse out of town.   Some towns had the power to hold a person for a day or two, but not this one.  A few hours had been just about all he could take of Eastgate, and most of that time he had spent sleeping.

He edged Sport off the track, as a posse of men rode towards him and passed him by.  The sheriff and his men had returned to town, and from the look of it, they had returned empty handed and with a few casualties.   He shrugged, well, it was not his town, the sheriff was not Roy Coffee and it seemed to him that they had not spent that much time out there to warrant their return so soon.   However, he urged Sport forwards and into a quick gallop, he needed to get on as he had ghosts of his own to exorcise.

Chapter VIII

Luke Morgan was not a handsome man.   He was big of build with a barrel chest, and was most often smelling and looking as one would expect of a man in his particular trade.    When he had married Clara, a younger woman and attractive in her own modest way, people had been surprised and pleased, for his looks belied a gentle, honest nature.   He was a man who endeared himself to those who took the time and trouble to get to know him.   Clara had done just so and found herself a rock, a man who loved her deeply, and who was loyal through and through.

He pushed open the door of his home with a weariness that comes from either physical exhaustion or mental distress.    Slowly he put the rifle down in the corner, and then glanced up to find his wife hurrying towards him.

“Did you…?” the question hung half asked in the air, and she swallowed the tears and blinked them back as she took hold of his hand. “What happened?”

“Well, we had to turn back is what happened,” he replied glumly, and he tossed his hat along with the rifle.   “They knew we’d be along after them.  Shot down Deputy Lawson and winged young Mike Pitts almost as soon as we got on their trail.   Then they produced their ace card…..”

“Danny?” she whispered.

“Yeah.  Danny.” He put his arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss upon her head. “We had no choice but to turn back, or they would have used the boy as a shield.   Mebbe even killed him.   Couldn’t afford to take that risk.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go after them, of course.  No one’s going to take my boy from me and use him like some hostage.  Who do they think they are?  Oh…” his voice trailed away as he suddenly became aware of the other person in the room, and he looked quizzically at his wife then at Obadiah Johnson. “I wondered when you would turn up,” he said quietly, and with a sigh he released his wife, stepped forward, and extended his hand. “You’re a long way from where you should be,” he murmured as he shook Johnson’s hand.

“Where should a man be, Luke?   Ain’t it with his son?” Obadiah replied slowly.

“Not when he has a prison sentence to finish.”  Luke pulled out a chair and frowned, looking rather like a bad tempered bull. “What happened?”

It didn’t take Johnson long to explain to Luke what had happened at the prison, and why he was now sitting there in their cabin.   He shifted nervously in his chair, knowing that his fate now lay in the big strong hands of the blacksmith, who was so honest in his dealings that harbouring a criminal, a runaway from justice, was totally out of countenance with him.

For some seconds there was silence in the room, and Clara could feel her heart beating faster and faster beneath her ribs.   Eventually Luke looked at her, then he reached out to take her hand in his and draw her nearer to him.

“We promised to take good care of your boy, Johnny,” he said quietly. “We failed in doing that, although the situation was beyond our control.    If you think you know where they may have taken him, perhaps we can get him back.”

“We?” Johnson said quietly, with a note of hope in his voice.

“You and I.” Luke’s dark features darkened in the shadows of the room and he frowned again. “You think they’ll still want to get to Kane’s mine?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Mmmm.  So where would they expect to meet you?”

“I don’t know….possibly at Signal Rock.”

“Signal Rock?  Well, if we leave within the hour, we should be there before nightfall.   Clara, make us something to eat, dear, while we talk.”

Johnson put out a hand and grasped hold of Luke’s gratefully, for a second his voice failed him, but when he spoke it was husky with emotion.

“I can’t thank you enough, Luke.”

“I’m doing this for Danny, and for Sarah, your wife,” Luke replied, looking at Johnson with near black eyes. “We’ve come to care for the boy, Johnny, and I’d rather die than break our promise to you and Sarah and see any harm come to him.”

Johnson nodded and clasped his hands tightly together, and rested them on the table.

“You do still believe me, don’t you? That I never murdered them?”

“The jury saw fit to say it was not willful murder, and the Judge gave you a lenient sentence.  As for me, who am I to judge any man.  If you say it was not murder, then so be it.”

“I want you to believe me,” Obadiah pleaded. “You sound as though you don’t really believe me.”

“I believed you then, when Clara told me about it.   I have no reason to doubt you now.   If all goes well, and we can find Danny and bring him home safely, you know that you will have to go back and serve your sentence, don’t you?”

“You don’t really know what you’re asking,” Johnson replied with his voice trembling. “It’s like a pit from hell there.”

“But if you serve your sentence,” Clara said gently, placing her hand upon his arm, “you’ll be free to live your life with a clean conscience.  Johnny, you took two people’s lives, and…”

“I know.” He nodded acquiesance. “I know, Clara.”

“First things first, we have to think of how to get Danny back safely.   We’ll get fresh horses.  Mine’s just about tuckered out.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Clara turned from her meal preparation at the stove. “A man came just before you came home, Luke.  He said to tell you that he had taken his horse and was leaving.  He had told you he was going to collect him tomorrow but changed his mind.”

“Who was it?”

“Adam Cartwright, from the Ponderosa.” She picked up some plates and carried them carefully to the table. “He didn’t want a refund.”

“He’s got a good horse there,” Luke said quietly, and then returned to the subject previously under discussion. “When do you plan to meet up with these friends of yours, Obadiah?”

The younger man clasped his hands together in a gesture of despair, he could feel the sweat on the palms and steadied them by a determined effort of will.   He looked up at the dark eyes of the blacksmith and took a deep breath.

“Firstly, they ain’t friends of mine and secondly, as soon as possible.  I want Danny home and out of their hands.”

“Don’t you think we want that too?” Clara cried, her voice strained with the effort to keep calm.  “If anything has happened to him I’ll never forgive myself.” She turned away and hurried from the room. 

Her husband paused, looked at Johnson, and then followed his wife into the other room, where he took her into his arms and held her tight.   Alone, Johnson buried his face in his hands and saw only the blackness of despair ahead of him.

 Chapter IX                                              

Signal Rock was black against the beauty of a surprisingly magnificent sunset.   The young man on the large chestnut horse steered the animal between the rocks and towards his planned camping ground, without much thought to the action.  He rode by instinct, registering obstacles and such with one part of his mind, whilst the other part was engaged in thinking.   Sometimes he wished he could turn off the thinking process altogether as it was becoming increasingly exhausting.

He dragged his mind from where it had wandered and looked about him, as he felt the slight tug on the reins and realised that Sport had come to a full stop.   He inhaled deeply.   A slight frown furrowed his brow, as along with the fresh evening air came the drifting aroma of smoke, and food being cooked.    He allowed a slight exclamation of annoyance escape his lips, as he came to the conclusion that others had decided that Signal Rock was a good place to camp, and that he had either to abandon the idea and ride on, or test out the hospitality of the other travelers.

He stroked Sport’s sleek neck and considered the situation seriously.   Some travelers were more than hospitable, and glad to have a stranger enter their camp.  It meant pleasant conversation, and a catching up of news that could be passed on to others at another time.   But there were others whereby caution was necessary.  Adam Cartwright urged Sport on to a slow walk, and gingerly approached the camp.

From a vantage point behind some shrubs, he was able to look upon the camp and saw three men.   Two were in deep conversation whilst the other was busy checking on the food.   A coffee pot was spitting hot water onto the stones by the fire, whilst fat dripped into the flames from the rabbit incinerating above them.

He was in the process of inching forwards when there came a rustling in the shrub and as he turned, his hand inches from the handle of his gun, someone scampered through the shadows and towards him.

He could see from the corner of his eye movement in the camp, as the three men seemed to separate, moving towards the point where the figure had emerged.   At the same time a hand grabbed at his booted foot, and he looked down into the pale face of a young boy

“Help me…” the child gasped. “Git me outta here, please.”

Without more ado Adam extended his hand and took the boy’s in his own, and hauled him upwards.  It was a matter of seconds to maneuver the child into the saddle and turn Sport round. 

“Stop right there.”

The voice was hard and cold.    The barrel of the rifle pointed at them was even harder, colder.   The moonlight gleamed upon its gray lead and made it shimmer silver.   He put out a hand to reassure the boy, and turned Sport in another direction, only to be confronted by yet another rifle.   Instinct warned him that the third man would be right behind him now, and any move to get away would be futile.

“Put the boy down.”

It was instinctive to put a hand upon the boy’s arm, to reassure him of his desire to help.  At the same time, the boy clasped at Adam’s hand and gripped so tightly that the man felt the boy’s nails dig into his flesh.

“I said, put the boy down.”

Sport was a powerful creature and, as his legs pumped into action in obedience to his master’s command, Adam held the boy closer to his body, as though to protect him from any repercussions to his actions.   The horse seemed to mount the air, hover and then land gracefully some distance from Larry Parks.    Without any hesitation, Sport twisted his body to a 45 degree angle and then leapt forwards.    The muscles of his sleek and magnificently honed body moved in perfect synchronization, and for an instant of time it seemed as though horse, man and boy would be beyond the reach of any of the men.

But a bullet moves faster.     Adam heard the crack of the rifle and his brain registered the fact that, when he heard the sound, the bullet was already covering half the distance between them and himself.  He bent low, his head brushing against that of the child, who squeezed himself against the man’s body and felt the breath crushed out of his lungs.

Sport lunged to the left, and faltered.   The bullet had burned a welt across his hide that had both stung and startled the creature, and with a whinny of protest he misjudged his footing.    Adam heard the boy cry out as he, himself, was sent somersaulting over Sport’s head and then plummeting to the ground.

A well built man would find it impossible not to land without some damage to himself.    He fell upon dry rock strewn soil that, for him, was a blessing.   Even so, the breath was knocked out of his body. He heard a crunching sound that seemed to fill his ears to culminate in something grating.   Then he was only aware of consciousness ebbing away, and all the sounds around him seeming to disappear down into a long tunnel.

“Is he dead?”

Larry Parks stood looking down at the man dressed in black laid on his back upon the ground.   He knelt down and touched Adam’s neck, and felt the pulse beat against his fingers.  He looked up and shook his head.

“Check out who he is,” Frank yelled, as he struggled to keep the boy under control.   “Could be he’s the law around here.   Git still, doggone your ornery hide, boy, or I’ll whip you so good you won’t have a hide left.” He shook Danny severely for good measure.

Larry Parks roughly manhandled Adam from side to side as he rifled through his pockets, and finally stood up with the wounded man’s wallet in his possession.  He opened it as he walked towards his brother and cousin.  The sky was drawing to its climactic ending to day, and all the beauty of the sunset was now gone.

“Let’s git back to camp,” Coutts grumbled with a scowl at the man on the ground and a sharp slap around the head for Danny, as he passed the boy now contritely walking by Frank’s side.   “We kin find out what we want by the fire, looks like a full moon anyhows….” He glanced heavenwards as the moon broke through the clouds and lightened the sky.

“Ya ain’t thinkin’ of jest leavin’ him thar, are ya?” Larry asked, pausing now as he thought of the man who could be dying from his injuries only feet from their camp.

“Did we invite him to join us?” Coutts muttered out of the side of his mouth. “I don’t think so!” he answered himself with a sneer, and he spat heartily into the shrub before making a grab at the boy and yanking him towards himself. “And as fer you, you little sneak, thought you’d be able to git away, did ya?”

The boy raised an arm to ward off the blow that seemed destined to fall upon him.   A sob jerked at his throat, and he raised his eyes upwards in despair.  

“Look at this?”  Larry said, as he held a letter up towards them preventing the blow from falling by so doing. “That guy ain’t any lawman, he’s one of the Cartwrights from the Ponderosa, down Virginia City way.”

“Let me see that.” Coutts grabbed at the letter and narrowed his eyes.  The light from the moon was bright enough to see by, but even so he strode over to the fire and crouched near its flames to read the address on the envelope.   He frowned and then looked at Larry. “The name seems familiar.”

“You ain’t never met the Cartwrights, have you?” Frank leaned down and poured coffee from the pot into a tin cup.    His narrow eyes glanced from his brother to his cousin, and then to the boy who was crouched against some rocks nearby in an effort to appear as unnoticeable as possible.   His mean, thin lips softened and with a slight frown on his brow he stepped towards the child, and pushed the mug into the shaking hands. “Here, boy, drink this and then get some sleep.”

Danny said nothing, but accepted the drink with an alacrity that spoke volumes.  His terror of the men, who had snatched him away from the security of those he loved, no less even though he had been shown this one act of consideration.

“I worked on the Ponderosa a spell.” Coutts said quietly, chewing now on a matchstick and glancing thoughtfully over his shoulder in the direction of the injured man.  “Old Ben Cartwright can be a force to be reckoned with, when roused.”  His voice trailed off, and he looked once again at the square of paper in his hand. “Adam Cartwright, that’s Ben’s eldest son, the one he relies on as his right hand man.” He tugged at his ear lobe. “There’s something else too…”

“What’s that?” Larry pulled the rabbit from the spit, swearing beneath his breath as the hot fat burned his fingers.  He tossed the roasted carcass upon a flat rock set down for the purpose, and began to pul