I don't ever remember my father raising his voice in anger until I was a young teen-ager. Oh, Pa would shout out instructions across the backs of our cattle herd, or upslope from the timber camp or from the top rail of the corral as I busted a bronc. He had a way of talking to you, soft and low that you just had to pay attention to naturally. Pa was such a mild-mannered man that most of the time he didn't need to shout to get his message across. At least not to me and my younger brother Hoss. You see it was only with the coming of our youngest brother, Joe, that Pa found himself shouting. Joe probably wasn't even a day old before we all heard that first window-pane-rattling "Joseph!" The kid was just in trouble from the get-go. And was all his life.

It wasn't that he was a bad kid. He just was always finding a way to get into trouble. Or trouble was always finding him. Whichever way you want to look at it, Joe was perpetually in hot water. And as he grew into adulthood, the water would just get hotter. Now Hoss and I would do what we could to keep him on the straight and narrow but after a while, all our tending to our little errant brother was just smoke in the wind to him. I never met a more headstrong individual in all my born days. No, let's call it what it actually was: stubbornness. Pure cock-eyed mule stubbornness. I learned all the signs early on: the feet planted firmly shoulder-width apart, the back ramrod straight, hands either planted on his hips or arms across his chest, jaw jutting out defiantly and green eyes a-blazing. Even as a grown man, he still had to look up to meet me eye-to-eye. And he would’ve had to stand on a tall stump to meet Hoss the same way. But did his lack of height and slender stature ever stop him? Not to my knowledge.

But let me set the record straight right here and now. I have never known a person, man or woman, braver than my little brother Joe. And the loyalty he displayed wasn't only for the family but for his friends as well. There were times when I thought that his bravery and loyalty would be the end of him for sure since he had the scarey habit of putting himself in harm's way to save someone else. But there again, he would display that cursed stubbornness and survive what many would not have. And I would see my father, no longer shouting Joe's name, but whispering it softly as he tended to his little boy's battered body.

Now, I would give all I own to hear my father say Joe's name again, be it shouted or whispered. For my brother is gone and my father sits in silence each day, wanting his return. I do too.
 

It had started out like a lot of the other of Joe's hair-brained schemes. And just like all those other times, Hoss was beguiled into it and I tagged along, telling myself that someone in the family would have to make sure the story was told straight. Perhaps I should be honest and say that sometimes the kid just was fun to be with when he got cranked up on an idea? Or that watching him put the moves on his unsuspecting target was educational? It doesn't matter. I became a willing participant, right along side Hoss and right behind Joe.

We had just finished a successful cattle drive down the mountains to the brokers in Sacramento…..

"Mmmm. Just look at it, Adam! Can't you hear it? I swear it's calling to us!" Joe turned from the hotel window he had been leaning out of, enjoying the view out over the city skyline.

"All I hear is your yammering and Hoss' snoring. How late were you two out last night?" I flicked the page of the newspaper to make it stand up, not even looking at Joe.

"Uhhh, well, let's just say we made an early night of it tonight?"

I recognized the dance around a straight answer. "That late? Joseph, you see more sunrises from the wrong end of the day than any two people I know."

"Whatever," Joe sighed, giving in much too easily I thought.

I had just a glimpse of a tan finger hooked over the edge of my paper before the paper was scrunched downward into my lap. I had an excellent view of the greenest eyes in all of Nevada, topping an impish grin.

"What?" I asked, knowing the answer anyway.

"Let's do it." The white even teeth flashed and the beguiling smile reached out and snagged at me.

"No." I did what I could to make my determination plain.

"Why not?" he asked, his head cocking to one side.

"Because I said 'no'. What part of 'no' don't you understand?" I tried to reclaim my paper without luck.

"The 'o' part? Aw, come on Adam. It'll be fun and even you need some of that occasionally," he reasoned.

"What makes you think that I need any more fun than watching you weaseling around Pa?" and I got my paper back when he let it go finally. I know he rolled his eyes. "Besides Pa will be here inside of a couple of days. Try your luck with him. That should entertain me for quite a while!"

"Adam, in that couple of days, we can get to San Francisco, have ourselves a high old time and be back here, waiting for Pa so we can all go home like good little boys."

The concept of my brother being a "good little boy" struck me as ludicrous. "And Pa would be none the wiser, right?" I couldn't tell him that I’d had the same thought, except in my version, I was the only Cartwright going to San Francisco.

"Right!" he crowed. "Besides, doesn't the idea of the race down river interest you?"
"You mean the one between the Delta Star and the Delta Queen? No, it doesn't Joe. It strikes me as highly dangerous. Those paddlewheelers-" and I reiterated a report of a recent explosion onboard one on the Mississippi River that had killed all aboard. The boiler overheated, the newspaper article had said. The resulting explosion and fire had been seen for miles along the riverbank but no one had been able to help the stricken vessel.

I put my paper down and studied my brother's back from across the room. Once again he was at the window, looking out, now towards the river. I knew he wasn't listening to what I said. He finally straightened up and ran his hand through his hair then turned and looked back at me. Joe shrugged his shoulders just once. Standing before me was not the man in his early twenties but the child of seven who had needed other children to play with and had none. The child who thought I had deserted him to go away to college. I nearly gave in.

"No," I said again.

"Think of all those places in 'Frisco you'd like to go to, Adam."

"No."
"The opera." He took a step towards where I still sat.

"No."

"All them artsy places." Another step.

"Museums." I corrected him.

"Yeah, them too." I could tell the correction had done like a lot of other educational things in my brother's life- shot right passed him without pausing.

"No" I said again. By this time he was almost on top of me.

"Plays," he whispered, "Fine dining. Wines beyond your wildest imagination."

"Sounds more like what Hoss would enjoy," I countered and put my hand on Joe's chest to stop him from coming closer.

"And that library!" Joe continued softly. "Think of it Adam! All those lovely books. Yours for the day." And he plopped himself into my lap, his arm draped across my shoulders and his butt firmly trapping my newspaper. You could have read those books, or the newspaper, by the gleam in his eye or his dazzling smile.

"And you would be availing yourself of all these cultural wonders if we went to San Francisco?" I asked.

Fast as a scalded cat, Joe was out of my lap and back onto his own two feet, panic in his eye. "Uh, no, I had other places in mind for myself, you see."

"Like the Barbary Coast?" I stood up, laying my paper aside.

"Uh," Joe looked to the floor.

"Like that little place I drug you out of last time we were there. What was it? Oh yes, now I remember. The Winsome Lady." And I took a few well-placed steps towards him.

"Uh, huh?"

"Or maybe you have that particular theater-" I started but the look on his face almost made me laugh out loud it was so pitiful. He let go a tiny little "eek".

"I am not sure which bar will let you back in, Joseph. Last I heard there were a few left, but not many, who didn't know the name Joe Cartwright and have it blackballed."

Joe moaned softly but I heard it any way since I was just about standing on his bare toes.

"So that would leave only my places of interest left, now wouldn't it?" A little salt in his wounds wasn't going to hurt me any.

"Well, there are a few places left, Adam. You just have to know where to look for 'em." The weasel was back.

"No!" I said for the umpteenth time and loud enough that I know half of Sacramento heard it. The door to the other bedroom opened behind us.

"Say, Joe? What did you do with them tickets for the boat you won off that fella last night?" Hoss asked as he stumbled out, yawning prodigiously.

So in the end it was to keep an eye out for my brothers that I conceded. Like I’d said: some one would have to be able to give a decent accounting of our time to Pa when he showed up. I never dreamed it would be an accounting of my own failure.
 

The afternoon sun was dipping towards the far horizon when we made our way to the docks. One behind the other the Delta Star, with her brilliant blue star on the bow echoed on the smokestack, was docked in front of the Delta Queen. The Queen, the older of the two stern paddle wheelers by only a few months, belonged to a rival shipping company. They both boasted staterooms, and a dining room said to rival any to be found on dry ground, but the Delta Queen held the record for the fastest time from Sacramento to San Francisco. And the Delta Star wanted it.

All day as we had walked the streets of Sacramento, we had heard snatches of conversation concerning the upcoming race between the two boats. As much as I fought it, I was beginning to be caught up in the excitement too. Forget about Joe and Hoss. They were beside themselves. Seems that by our brother winning those tickets in an especially good hand of poker, he had a very coveted possession. I even tried to talk him into selling them to someone else but the fever was too strong to fight in the pair of them so I relented. The tickets were for passage on the Queen but not a stateroom. Deck only. So we would have to pass the night in amongst the bales of hides and barrels of freight but that didn't do the least bit of damage to Joe and Hoss' enthusiasm. If nothing else, they seemed to think it would be a prime location for watching the race.

The gangplank from the dock to the Queen swayed as Hoss went up it and I swear the boat dropped a bit to one side as he stepped on board. I was surprised at his obvious enthusiasm for the whole journey. You see, my big overgrown lovable brother didn't like the water. When we had taken these trips down the Sacramento River by boat before, Hoss had always stayed in his cabin, never venturing out onto the deck while the boat was moving. But there he was that day, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do. I wondered if he had gotten over his dislike of the water but then decided against pointing out to him just where he was going to be spending the evening.

I followed Hoss up the gangplank and towards the bow of the boat. The boat would carry more than its share of passengers that evening from the looks of the people filing on board. It would also carry a large quantity of freight down to the port of San Francisco. As Hoss moved among the parcels and barrels I saw apples and fruits of every description, nuts from almonds to walnuts. There were bales of what I first took to be hides then realized it was wool fleece. Looking at the Delta Star, I saw she carried dressed lumber along her sides. But above all else, both boats carried people. And lots of them. The breeze coming from down river sent a shiver up my spine. Call it whatever you like, but I felt nervous about this whole escapade and said so to Joe.

"Adam, now why is it you are having these second thoughts? You need to think about this rationally. How many times have these two boats gone down this same river? Lots of times! Why should this trip be any different?" Joe questioned and I had no answers, only a feeling and I said so. He scoffed, saying, "Hey, you are always telling me to go with what my head says to do, not my heart! Follow your own advice. Besides, they just pulled up the gangplank. Only way for you to chicken out now is to get wet."

Smoothly the two boats eased out into the main stream of the wide river. Side by side, you could see that both boats were nearly identical. They were the same length and both were stern-wheelers, their massive paddlewheels at the rear of the boat, slowly rotating now. Then with the blast of her horn, the Delta Star seemed to leap forward, daring the Queen to follow if she could. The river seemed to roil and bubble under the blades, sending a spray back into our faces as we stood close to the bow of the Queen. It reminded me so much of an upstart youngster thumbing his nose at his elders as he skipped away. The Queen seemed to shudder then I felt her begin to move, a little jerky at first, then, quickly she fell into the wake of the Star, pressing.

We hadn't gone more than a mile when the Sacramento River widened. The Queen deftly swung to the port side of the Star and began to gain on her. Up ahead, all we could see was the wide expanse of rolling brown water. Beside the river, on low levees stood short trees and wiry grass. That is when there were the levees. Most of them were so poorly constructed that once past the spring runoff season, they had simply melted away back into the river. That made the channel look far wider than it actually was since a heavy rain could easily flood the adjoining acres. I had heard that sometimes the smaller boats would try to cut across these low-lying areas in an effort to shave time from their runs downstream. They called it wheat field navigating since that is what they ran through most of the time doing so. But the bigger boats like the Star and the Queen would not risk such.

There was a good deal of betting going on and I caught sight of my littlest brother taking a twenty dollar gold piece off a man with a smile on his face. I had almost decided to take him aside and have a long heart-to-heart talk with him when I saw something far more interesting to do. She was a lovely little blonde lady with a frilly blue bonnet. A quick glance showed me that for once, Joe's attention was not on the ladies. I strolled over to her as she leaned on the railing.

For a while we made small talk. Her name was Ariel and she was going to San Francisco with her aunt. They had a week planned of shopping and taking in the sights of the cosmopolitan city. I was delighted when she expressed a desire to attend the theater one evening and I determined right then that I would escort her. She smiled so demurely, little dimples appearing as she did so, her eyes becoming wide pools of blue.

"Would you like to accompany me to the dining room for some supper? You and your aunt, of course," I offered, not really wanting the aunt anywhere near. But manners are manners.

"Why certainly, Mr. Cartwright. But what about your brothers? Are they joining us as well?" she asked so innocently.

"They are big enough that I can trust them to find their own meals now days."
We were just finishing up our first course when the shout went up. At first, we paid it no attention. All during the afternoon, the two boats had jockeyed back and forth. Sometimes the Queen would lead. Other times the Star would clamber ahead, slicing across the bow of the Queen for position. But as the afternoon and the race had worn on, the river had narrowed until now there was barely room for one of the big steam belching monsters to run the center channel. Each time the lead had changed there would be either a cheer or a moan, depending on the betting of the last moments. But this time, as we finished our soup, it was neither. It was more like a scream of panic.

I instructed Ariel and her aunt to stay put and I ducked outside. I grabbed the first man I could as he ran by.

"What is it? What's going on?"

"It looks like the Star hit a snag or something. She's dead in the water, nose down from the looks of it. Iffen I was you, mister, I'd get to the back of the boat, 'cause we gonna hit her for sure." And with that, he pulled from my grasp and was gone.

I didn't think about the lovely young lady I had been flirting with, or her aunt. My concern was for my two brothers. When I had left them, they had been near the railing on the bow. I took a step up onto the side railing for a better view of the crowd, hoping to see Hoss. I didn't. With the crush of people headed towards me, I knew I couldn't make it forward to look for them. And by that time, the screams and panicked cries were so loud it nearly hid the sound of the Queen's horn blaring once, twice and then a third time. When I stepped down off the railing, I was swept away with the tide of people.

I didn't see what happened. I heard about it and read several accounts in the papers. The man I had grabbed was right. The Delta Queen didn't have room or time to stop and hit the Star. By the time of the impact, the Star had slewed around almost broadside so the Queen rammed it hard, nearly breaking it in half. The boiler on the Star exploded, sending scalding water everywhere. It was said that if you were on the Delta Star and survived, you did so with burn scars somewhere on your body. The force of the impact jarred loose the firebox on the Queen and that was where the fire started: down below on the elegant Queen. At first the crew fought it but with the boat settling in the water bow first, the deck began to dip precariously and rather than lose their own lives, the crew abandoned their fight.

During the next few hours, I couldn't tell you just how I managed to live. I just did. In the chaos that followed, I found Hoss. I had just pulled a young pregnant woman to the shore when I saw him sitting there, his head bowed down, blood rushing from a jagged cut over his left eye.

"Are you all right?" I shouted and he nodded. I could see he was in shock, his round face white with fear. "Where is Joe?"

"Dunno. He helped me get to shore then he went back." Hoss gestured with a bloody rag towards where the two boats sat, locked together in flames of agony.

I looked quickly around. There were scores of people there on the low bank. Their faces, some of them, were blackened by smoke. Other faces were like Hoss', white with shock and fear. The crying and wailing rose like a demented demon's cry over the scene. But nowhere on the shore did I see Joe. I had no choice. I had to return to the Queen to find him.

The Delta Queen was rolling to her side in her death throes when I finally found Joe.  I almost fell onto him as he stood on the deck, helping that same young woman I'd had dinner with, Ariel. He was helping her get down into the small rowboat that had appeared from somewhere. She was scared even though the surface of the water was just a mere two foot away. The boat groaned and lost more ground before he got her into the rowboat and pushed it off as he hung onto the railing.

"JOE!" I shouted, glad to have found him. "Are you all right?"

I will always remember what he looked like right then. His face, so young looking, smeared with black soot. His shirt was torn at one shoulder. His jacket was gone along with his gun. I saw that he was barefoot as was I. His hair was wet and shaggy, and he smeared more soot onto his forehead when he forearmed his hair from his face. By the dancing flames, I saw him smile.

"What was that you said about these things bein' dangerous?" he shouted back, remembering the words I had said earlier in the day. "Guess you were right!"

"Now you admit it!"

The deck shifted beneath our feet. In Joe's eyes, I saw no panic. No fear, even.

"Think you can get to shore on your own, old man?" he teased.

"Just as soon-" and I never got to finish my statement as he had shoved me into the water.

The next moment is etched into my memory with heart breaking clarity. Something on board exploded right behind Joe and for that single moment, I saw him, turned in profile to me, his arms raised to protect his head, as the horrific orange-lighted force reached him and flung him like a rag doll into the darkening night. I was so stunned by the vision that I never saw what it was that hit me hard enough to knock me unconscious. All I knew was that my brother needed me and I wanted to get to him but couldn't.

When I awoke, it was to thin gray daylight. I was cold. My head hurt so badly I was nauseous. Every time I took a breath, a shaft of pain lanced down my right side. There was a continual ringing in my ears. I lay as still as I could, trying to assess my surroundings. I looked out over the water then wished I hadn't.

The water looked like glass, it was so still, the early morning sun just beginning to give it color and substance. The two mighty paddle wheelers from the day before were now twisted hulks rising like the skeleton of some long dead monster from the river, all blackened, a wisp of smoke rising from them. The debris floating on the water raised bile in my throat for some of it had been human the day before. There was a small rowboat being handled by two men out amongst it. Every few minutes they would pause, and using a long pole, bring a corpse to the side of the boat then row for shore to deposit it in the growing piles. I watched, too horrified to look away.

Finally I looked around me. Down the shoreline I could see Hoss. Someone had bandaged his head for him. He was helping some of the people who were lying in the cold grass, touching some, giving some water from a canteen. In my head, I could hear him softly talking to them, telling them that it was going to be okay. That help was coming. Not to lose hope. As I watched him, he got closer to me and I began to hear his words in earnest. And I did take hope in them, that everything was okay and that help was on its way. When I opened my eyes again, it was to find him beside me.

"Now you just lay right still, big brother. Everythin's okay. We got help comin'. I'll see to it that you are on the next wagon out. They got a hospital of sorts set up in the next town that they're takin' hurt folks to and I'll get you there and get you some help," he explained, his voice soft and gentle, just like the hands he touched me with.

"Joe?" I asked, my voice sounding harsh and the breath I needed to speak with brought pain with it.

Hoss shook his head slowly. "I ain't found him yet. There's folks on the other shore movin' 'bout so it could be he's over there. Don't worry none, Adam. He's probably over there chasin' some filly." Hoss' awkward attempt at humor fell flat and he knew it. I could tell by the look in his eyes.

"Need to…wire…Pa. Tell him...what...happened." I wheezed, trying to get as many words out with one breath as I could. The effort exhausted me.

"Don't worry Adam," Hoss repeated, "I'll see to ever'thin'" and then I dropped back into the dark void of unconsciousness.
 

I could hear the voices long before I opened my eyes. One voice belonged to my father, another to Hoss. The third and fourth voices I didn't know but I took them to be from a doctor and a nurse of some sort by the words they used. I was in bed, warm. I could feel a stiff wrapping of some sort around my chest. And my left arm was heavier than it should have been. I decided the fuzzy feeling I had was more from some medication I had been given than any damage I had done.

"Welcome back," Pa's voice said and I felt his hand rubbing my arm gently.

I forced my eyes open then closed them again as the bright sunlight streaming into the room made my head pound suddenly.

"It's okay, now, son. We've closed the drapes. Come on, open your eyes," Pa encouraged. I did as I was told. Pa sat there on the edge of the bed beside me.

"How long?" I managed to croak out.

Pa took a glass of water from the small table beside the bed and lifting my head some, gave me a sip of water. Even though it was lukewarm, it felt good going down my parched throat.

"Not long," was his evasive answer.

"Joe? They find Joe? He okay?"

I wish now that I had never said those words. Something dark crossed my father's face and refused to leave. I heard him take a shuddering little breath and saw him pull his shoulders back straight. I saw his jaw quiver and his eyes brighten with unshed tears.

"Hoss is looking for him. There were a lot of people hurt and they were taken to a lot of different places up and down the river. So Hoss is having a hard time but he'll find him. I know he will."

If desperate hope had a face that day, it was my father's.
 

I heard the voices again before I opened my eyes. There was Hoss', full of heartache and sorrow. There was Pa's, full of grief. Hoss had just said something about going out again but checking in at the morgue this time. Pa, his voice cracking, replied that he would go. Hoss should stay there with me.

"But Pa, I seen some of the bodies they pulled from the river that day. I'll go. I can do it."

"I never said that you couldn't, Hoss. I just think this is something I need to do myself. Stay here with Adam, please. I don't want him waking up alone. He seemed very agitated the last time he awoke and with those busted ribs, that isn't good. No, Hoss, you stay here with Adam. I'll go down to where-" and Pa's voice stopped, choked by a hurt sob.

"Pa, please. Let me go with you at least," Hoss pleaded and I could hear the tears in his words.

"No" was all Pa said then a door closed.

For a long time, the only sound in the room came from beside me. Hoss never knew when I opened eyes for he had his head buried in his great burly arms on the side of the bed. His brawny back and shoulders shook as he tried to cry quietly. I reached out with my unfettered hand and laid it on his shoulder, trying to communicate with him through touch.

He tried wiping away the tears but they continued to fall. "Adam," and he struggled to make his face clear.

"I heard, Hoss. Pa said you were looking for him. I heard Pa say where he was going." Even to my ears, my voice was a strained whisper.

"I couldn't find him, Adam. And I looked everywhere. I swear I did."

"I know you did. But Pa was right. This is something he had to do. Maybe not alone, but he had to do it."

For a long time, we both just sat there in the shabby hotel room where I had been taken. And for the first time since I had watched my stepmother being buried, I cried. Even though it hurt me, I couldn't help myself. I longed with all my heart for my father to be there. To hold me. To wipe away my tears. I wanted to feel his loving presence. I wanted to be a small child again. I wanted for any of this to never have happened.
 

 “Hop Sing! Have you finished putting together that bag?” I shouted down the hallway from my open door. There were times when that little man would drag his feet over the simplest of chores and this was proving to be one of them. All I had asked him to do was to pack up some of the boys’ better clothing. I had decided once I received Adam’s telegram concerning the impending sale of the herd, that I would treat the boys to a well-deserved trip to San Francisco. But they would need better clothing that what they had taken with them on the cattle drive. And I figured one extra bag was not so much for a proud parent to see to. But it seemed that Hop Sing was having a good deal of difficulty accomplishing the task of packing that extra bag.

I shouted his name again and heard more rustling down the hall in Adam’s room. I thought perhaps I should see what was taking him so long. Even though the stage didn’t leave until the next morning, it was my plan to go into Virginia City that night, and get a hotel room. That way I would be well rested for my excursion.

 Finally I decided to have a look to find out what was Hop Sing’s problem. I found him in Adam’s room, carefully folding a white shirt on the bed. There at his feet was a large carpetbag, closed, and obviously full. There beside him on the bed was another smaller bag, open, and he was placing the folded shirt into it.

 “What is taking you so long?” I asked, peering into the open bag. In it, I could see some of Adam’s things as well as what I thought was Hoss’ good jacket.

 “Just about finished. Hop Sing have everything just about ready,” he beamed as he spoke.

 “It takes two bags?” I queried. His pigtail bobbed in time to his nodding.

 “This bag for Mister Adam and Mister Hoss,” he explained, gesturing to the one on the bed he was now closing.

 “Well what’s with this other one? This big one?”

 “That have Lil’ Joe’s in it. And special surprises I send to boys.”

 I gave him my sternest glare, but he didn’t shrink one bit.

 “Hop Sing send Mister Adam his favorite gingerbread.”

 “I am sure that Adam could get gingerbread in Sacramento. True, it may not taste as good as yours but –“

 “And Hop Sing send Mister Hoss sugar cookies.  He no get sugar cookies like Hop Sing’s in Sacramento.”

 I shoved my hands into my pockets, feeling very much like I was losing the battle as well as a war. I had the quick vision of myself hauling a steamer trunk loaded with all my sons’ favorite foods all over California. Hop Sing always thought that his boys were going to starve without him.

 “Well, what in heaven’s name are you sending Joe? From the looks of that bag it must be something fairly large.”
 
 Hop Sing’s eyes lit up and he smiled like a glorious sunrise. “Hop Sing hope Mister Ben let him send something very special to Lil Joe.” Only Hop Sing still called him that and as Joe would say, "live to repeat it."

 Silence, I thought would be an appropriate reply. Instead of answering my silence with words, he also remained mute.

 “What?” I asked and held my breath for the answer.

 “It right here,” he finally said but didn’t move or gesture towards anything.
 “What is?” I raised my voice.

 The little celestial flinched minutely and I regretted it. He looked quickly to the floor.

 “Hop Sing hope Mister Ben let him go too,” he finally whispered, his gaze still downcast. “Been long time since Hop Sing see family. Hop Sing miss family very much.”

 “You were in San Francisco two months ago!” I thundered. “And you said you were going to see your second cousin twice removed or whatever!”

 His chin came up, defiantly. “Not that family. Hop Sing miss Mister Hoss and Mister Adam and Lil’ Joe, just like you. They gone almost a month now. You talk about going to take boys to San Francisco for holiday. Boys be gone longer then.”

 Taking a deep sigh, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the doorjamb. Hop Sing was right. I had missed my sons and that was probably all the more reason why I had thought about the family holiday in San Francisco. It had just never occurred to me that Hop Sing would miss them as much as I did. But he apparently did.

 “How long will it take you to get your things together?” I relented.

 The sunrise smile returned and he pointed to the bag at his feet. “Hop Sing all ready now.”
 The little man had outfoxed me. Again.
 

 I was just about to step onto the stage the next morning when the lad from the telegraph office ran over to the depot, shouting my name. He thrust a slim sheet of paper into my hand and stood there panting. Quickly I dug into my pocket and found a nickel for him. He gave me his thanks and disappeared the same way he had appeared.

 Tearing into the white envelope, I expected any thing but what I saw. It was addressed to me from a town by the name of Antioch, which I knew to be just south and west of Sacramento. But that wasn’t what stopped me cold. It was the three words written there: “Help me.” And it was signed simply “Hoss.”

 “You all right, Ben?” Roy Coffee asked. He’d had breakfast with me earlier at the International House and seemed to think that I couldn’t find my way to the stage without his help. I had needed his help but it was with the baggage, not directions. Now, his hand closing over my forearm, jerked me from a rising panic. I thrust the telegraph into his hand.

 “Doesn’t say what happened, Ben. What do you suppose it could mean?”

 “I don’t know. Roy, the stage is leaving and I need to be on it. Even more so now. Would you send Hoss a wire, let him know I am coming as fast as I can?”

 “Course, Ben,” and in a whirl of street dust, the stage pulled out.

 I told Hop Sing what the telegram said and between the two of us we came up with what we thought the answer could be. By the way he had worded it, we took for granted that something had happened to Adam and Joe since Hoss’ pleading said “me” not “us." But there again, it could have also included him as well. We ran it around and around until finally my head was spinning. Considering now that Hop Sing had wanted to come along was a good omen, I decided to see if I could rest. The thoughts now about a holiday in San Francisco had disappeared.

 Our stop in Placerville gave us a more definite idea about what might have happened. It was there that I heard first of the two steamboats having collided on the Sacramento River not far from the little town of Antioch. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why my sons would have been involved since by my calculations, they would have just gotten the herd settled in Sacramento. Whatever the reasoning behind it, a dreaded feeling of fear was settling into my soul that was hard to dismiss. So instead of waiting for the morning train to Sacramento, Hop Sing and I resumed our journey on the night stage, not to Sacramento, but to Stockton. There in the early dawn, we bought passage on a paddle wheeler. Although the boat would ultimately put to port in San Francisco, the ticket agent said they would stop in Antioch.

 “You have kin on the Star or the Queen?” he asked, a toothpick rolling on his lips.

 “ Why? What happened? What does that have to do with Antioch?” I deliberately did not answer his question.

 The little fat man proceeded to tell me of the ill-fated race of the two boats.

 “Many hurt?” I questioned cautiously.

 “Lots of folks hurt, burned mostly. They took all the hurt folks to places in Antioch, Vacaville and Fairfield. There was so many of them, I understand some of ‘em even got sent back upriver to Sacramento.”

 My heart was pounding. “How about casualties?”

 “Well that number keeps inching up. Started out at thirty-nine. I unnerstand that bodies keep rising to the surface where they drowned. That and the hurt folks that don’t make it. Last I heard it was somewhere ‘bout sixty or so. But that may go higher yet ‘cause there was a list of missin’s about a yard long. Some folks has taken out ads in the newspapers, looking for loved ones.”

 I swallowed hard and asked if he had a copy of a newspaper. He handed me one from the day before, crumbled and the ink smeared. But it was readable. So as Hop Sing and I set out on the little side-wheeler Blossom, I read to him about the accident. I couldn’t bring myself to read the ads the ticket agent had mentioned. Nor could I read the long list of the identified dead. I was afraid whose name I would find.

 Not two hours into the trip and we passed the sight of the wreck. The man in Stockton had told it right. Out there on the still and placid water, several men in rowboats were still pulling bodies from the water. The bodies were horribly bloated and a strange fish-belly white. I couldn’t bear to watch yet I did. The wreck itself had other men swarming over it, shouting instructions. It struck me that they were like horrible little bugs, feeding off carrion. Sitting there on the deck in the early morning light, Hop Sing and I passed the rest of our journey in silence. Partly in respect for the scene we had passed and partly for what we both feared awaited us in Antioch.

 We docked in Antioch at mid-morning. The light fog from the Delta made the little town seem to sit in mid-air, up from the river as it was positioned. Hop Sing and I made our way up the gangplank then across the small dock. I noted sadly that on that dock were row upon row of cheap pine coffins. I wondered if one of them held the body of one of my sons. I paused to study them then shook myself and continued on up into the little town, searching for answers.

 I stopped a young lad of about ten and asked for the sheriff’s office. He offered to take me there and carrying our bags, we walked the length of the small town. It didn’t take long.

 “Sheriff Dutton, my name is Ben Cartwright.” I introduced myself to the lean man who sat behind the desk there in the sheriff’s office.

 He shook my hand, his grip solid and firm. “You have kin on one of the steamboats?” he asked, sitting back down.

 “I’m not sure. I received a telegram from one of my sons asking for help and it came from here,” I explained.

 He nodded, his sad brown eyes taking us in as he did so. “Mister, the past few days, they’ve had to bring in help over the telegraph office there’s been so many messages goin’ in and out. But if you can describe who it was that sent you that telegram, I might be able to help you.”

 He recognized Hoss’ description at once and sent Hop Sing and I over to the small hotel there on the main street. Like the rest of the town, the hotel was a sad, shabby affair, but checking with the clerk told me that two men by the name of Cartwright were registered there, same room. “You might say we’ve had a run on places to stay lately, Mister so I can’t rent you a room. That is until one of them folks as was hurt either moves out or dies. You got a problem sleepin’ in a bed where a body died?”

 I simply glared at him. His whole attitude spoke of the love of money not the love of his fellow man and he proved it by continuing, “Five bucks will hold you a spot in line. ‘Course you can’t have the Chinaman in the room. They have to sleep-“

 He never finished his statement. And that was mostly due to the revolver I found in my hand and pointed levelly at his mid-section.

 “What room are they in?” I asked.

 “Seven.” He backed away from the counter, clearly afraid. He would never know it but I was more afraid than he was. Something had come over me. And it wouldn’t let go.

 Bags jostling and shifting, Hop Sing and I made our way to room number seven. As I went to open the door, I drew a deep breath, steeling myself for what I might find and sending a fervent prayer heavenward.

 In the bright gold light of morning as it slanted across the high narrow bed, I saw Adam. One arm was bandaged from his bicep down, covering his fingers and it laid like an inanimate object on the bed beside him. The thin sheet and blanket covering him was pulled only to his waist so I could see the heavy wrapping around his chest. I stepped to the bedside and grimaced when I saw all the tiny cuts and bruises on his face and shoulders. I called his name, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t stir.

 A small sound behind made me turn. There was Hoss, his face bruised, his clothes rumpled, a cut over one eye that looked so much like an out of place smile.

 “Pa,” he whispered. I heard within the word a desperate longing of a little boy grown large.

 Leaving Adam’s side I stepped to Hoss quickly, grabbing one of his massive arms. I could feel that he was shaking but whether it was from fear, pain or relief I couldn’t tell. I directed him back to the chair he had apparently just left.

 “What happened, Hoss?” I asked softly, brushing a strand of his thinning hair back from his face, as I knelt before him.

 “It was terrible, Pa. Like out of a nightmare,” and he proceeded to tell me of the race and the collision of the two boats.“Some how or ‘nother, Joe got me to shore but then he went back to help other folks, Pa. Adam helped out too, bringing folks to shore. I stayed and helped where I could but there was just so many hurt. Then the Queen exploded in this big ball of fire. I was really scared then ‘cause I had seen Joe and Adam helpin’ a lady into a little rowboat right along side of it. The fellas in the boat got the lady and Adam to shore but Adam had been knocked out. I stayed with Adam but I kept a watch out for Joe. When the wagons begin comin’ to haul out the hurt, I made sure of where Adam was headed but then I started looking for Joe. Pa, I ain’t found him yet.”

 “Do you think Joe may have been hurt in the blast?” I asked and Hoss nodded.
 
 “Had to have been since he was on the deck, right ‘bout where I saw the first flash. Pa, I’ve looked ever’ where.” It was of no surprise that my son was crying as he finished his tale.

 I took a deep breath and rocked back on my heels. I patted Hoss’ knee. “We’ll find him,” I said, unsure of just how I would go about it but sure that it could be done. “But right now I need to know about you and Adam. Are you all right?”

 Instinctively, Hoss put his hand to his forehead and said he did have an awful headache. “Adam got the worst of it. The doctor who was here earlier said he had some busted ribs and his arm got burnt some. But worse’n that, he’s got a concussion. A bad one the doc said. Said we got to watch him, try to rouse him but he ain’t yet and that’s been almost forty eight hours ago. But I’ve slept some myself. Not done a very good job of looking out for my brothers, have I, Pa?” He finished with his head hung low.

 “It’s all right, son. I’m here now. Between Hop Sing and I we should be able to give you a hand.”

 “That’s good ‘cause I done spent the last of the money I had on that fool doctor. Man wanted it up front, Pa, or he wouldn’t even look at Adam. There was a woman come by and offered herself as a nurse but when I told her I didn’t have no money, she just disappeared.”

 Again I patted his knee and rose to stand before him. “Son, it’s all right. You get some sleep. Hop Sing and I will tend to things here.”

 “Pa?” Hoss asked and turned his face up to me, his eyes glistening with tears. “Help me find Joe, okay?”

 I nodded my assent.

 Once we had Hoss bedded down as comfortably as we could get him on the floor, I checked Adam again. I shook his shoulder gently and called his name again. But to no avail.

 “Mister Ben, you go look for Lil Joe. Hop Sing stay here and look after Mister Hoss and Mister Adam.” Hop Sing encouraged and I marveled that the man seemed to have read my mind. I dug into my pocket and gave him all the paper money there and instructed him to arrange for food for himself and the boys when they awoke.
 

 It was afternoon when I finally left the hotel room. My first destination was back down to the dock where I had seen a posted list. Someone had tried to list where the injured had been taken but it had been marked on and corrected so many times, it was hard to read. Added to that problem was the fact that often times, there was no name attached to the injured so it would read “female, mid to late twenties, brown hair, medium size, sent to Sacramento.” As I scanned the list for “male, late teens to early twenties, brown hair, medium build,” it struck me how many of them there were on the list. And they seemed to have been scattered to the far corners of the earth.

 “Looking for someone in particular?” a portly man at my shoulder asked.

 I glanced at him briefly then continued my reading. “Yes,” I said, “My youngest son. He was on the Queen. You?”

 “I was on the Queen myself. What did your boy look like? I might be able to help ya.”

 Quickly I described Joseph, half way through realizing I was describing his personality and actions more than his physical presence. The man listened solemnly then nodded his head.

 “Your boy wear his gun on the left side?”

 My heart leapt in hope.

 “I saw him on the Queen as it was goin’ down. He’d been helpin’ folks, swimmin’ some to shore, getting’ others to the little rowboats. Him and another fella, a bigger man, dark hair and clothes, they were real heroes out there.  Saw them on the deck just ‘fore it exploded.”

 “That other man was one of my other sons. Tell me, did you see what happened to him? The younger one?”

 Slowly, the man shook his head. “Sorry, mister.  I helped pull the dark haired one to dry ground but I don’t think the other boy made it. Don’t recall seein’ him after that.” He put a hand to my shoulder and patted it gently.

 I simply stood there and let his words echo around in my head. I couldn’t even begin to think that Joseph hadn’t made it out alive. I just couldn’t. He was my son, my youngest, my baby. As I had listened, the man had spoken of him as a hero. I didn’t want a hero. I wanted my son.

“Excuse me,” I called to the man’s departing back, unaware when he had turned to leave. When he turned back to look at me, I said “ Thank you for your information. If you hear of anything or see anything, my name is Ben Cartwright and my other sons and I are over here at the hotel. I would appreciate it if you could get a message to me.”

He nodded then asked “Your boy’s name?”

I had to stop myself for I had almost called my son by his old nickname: Little Joe. But having heard the praise the man given him, I reminded myself that those were not the actions of a boy, but a man. “Joseph, Joseph Cartwright.” I said.

“I’ll look for him, Mr. Cartwright. It’s the least I can do, seein’s how I was one of the ones he pulled to safety.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

Once again I turned back to the list and scanned it. This was of no use, I decided so I turned back to the small town. This time, once I was up on the main street, I looked for a newspaper office. It was at the far end of town, next to the saloon. When I stepped through one of the narrow double doors, the strong smell of ink assailed me. A man, hunched over by age, nearly bald, answered my hail.

“What can I do fer ya?” he asked, squinting at me over the rim of half glasses.

“I’m looking for information concerning the accident,” I explained.

“Iffen it’s kin you’re lookin’ fer, there’s a list down by the dock,” he said and started to return to the back room from which he had come.

“Yes, I am looking for one of my sons, but what I wanted to ask was there any rhyme or reason to where the injured were taken?”

The man harrumphed just once and seemed to think before he spoke. “Nope, not that I can think of, but it did seem that it mattered what shoreline they were on. Iffen your son was on the south shore, most likely he would have stayed there, comin’ here to Antioch. But if he was on the north shore, probably went to Vacaville or Suisun. But if he were hurt real bad, well, some went to Sacramento, others to San Francisco. Sorry I can’t be more helpful, Mister. You want to place an ad fer ‘im? Only cost you two bits.”

Once again, I heard money being bantered about. It had seemed that if you had coin in your pocket, there was someone here who was going to take it from you. All in the name of 'helping'. I shook my head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. At least not right now.” I pushed back from the counter and headed for the door.

“Hey mister!” the little man called out and I paused. “Hope you find your boy okay. The Sheriff is settin’ up a morgue down in the schoolhouse. You might want to check there.”

I shuddered with the thought of finding Joseph there. I walked slowly across the mean little street, now awash in late afternoon sunlight. The town seemed strangely quiet, almost as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. A scruffy dog lay in the doorway of the saloon and as I stepped to the batwing doors, he simply looked up at me.

A bartender or a saloon girl can have information that no one else does and have it before anyone else. But it must be bought and paid for in advance. This I could understand but not that of the other hands held out that I had experienced.

“Barkeep! Whiskey, please,” I ordered even though a whiskey was the last thing I truly wanted in my hand.

The fat bartender wiped his hands on his once white apron and set me up. When he set the bottle on the bar, I asked him to leave it and laid my last twenty dollar gold piece on the walnut surface. When he reached for it, I clamped my hand over his, gently but firmly.

“If you can give me some information, you can keep the change.” I offered, speaking softly.

“Sure thing, mister. What d’ya want to know?”

“Who owned the Delta Queen? And where can I find them?”

Before the man could answer, a voice from across the room called out, “I represent the Queen, here, sir. Perhaps I can better answer your question than Toby.”

Still not turning loose of the bartender’s hand, I half-turned to the voice. It belonged to a rake thin man dressed in a blue suit and white shirt. He had a thin mustache and goatee that didn’t seem to match the rest of him. Maybe it was because I was predestined to hate him that I instantly didn’t like him. Of that, I am not altogether sure about. But I do know that just to look at him made me want to curl my hand into a fist and smash his smug countenance.

“My name is Ben Cartwright. My three sons were on your vessel when it rammed the Delta Star. I have found my older sons but information concerning my youngest is hard come by. I was in hopes that someone around here could help me out.”

“Well, Mister Cartwright, I am Jonathan Loveridge, part owner of the Queen. First let me tell you how sorry I am about this whole business-“ he started as he stood up, extending his hand to me. I let go of Toby’s hand and it disappeared along with the rest of him and my twenty-dollar piece.

“I don’t care how sorry you are, Mister Loveridge. I need to find my missing son. And promptly. From what I have been told by others who last saw him, he may be grievously injured.” I went on and related to him what Hoss had told me as well as the man on the dock. As I did so, Mr. Loveridge came to stand beside me at the bar railing, leaning on it casually. Again I had to fight the urge to hit the man just on general principle.

Mr. Loveridge pursed his lips and nodded his head slowly when I finished. “You aren’t the first person I’ve heard talk about those two young men. They are heroes, Mister Cartwright, real heroes. It is my understanding that if it hadn’t been for their efforts, lots more folks would have perished that night.”

“Please forgive me. I don’t want praise for what my sons did. I want my sons. I don’t need heroes. I need my sons,” I hissed vehemently.

He pushed back from the bar and looked at his feet a long moment. “You are aware that we have yet to account for twenty-six passengers, aren’t you? Their bodies may be trapped in the wreckage. Maybe floated further downstream than we have searched. But rest assured, sir, we will account for them all.”

“I don’t want an accounting, Mister Loveridge. That means absolutely nothing to me,” and I tried to keep my voice under control but I was losing my patience rapidly. I had reached out and grabbed hold of his arm, gripping it tightly.

He looked down his long thin nose at my hand on his arm, distain dripping from his features. “I will do what I can, sir.” And he wrenched his arm away from me and walked out the door, straightening his jacket as he went.

I was still seething when I noticed that Toby, the bartender, was back. He slid my gold piece across the walnut top towards me.

“Here, mister. I can’t take your money. One of your boys helped my wife and baby girl off the Queen. Drinks are on the house as long as you’re here in town.”

“Your wife-“ I started to ask but Toby slowly shook his head ‘no’.

“My baby girl is okay though, thanks to one of your boys. And if you wait right here, I think I got somethin’ that might belong to him.”

Toby was gone all of three minutes and when he came back into the bar, I saw what he was carrying and my heart nearly broke.

“My wife, just ‘fore she passed over, said that a man took this off and wrapped it around Amanda, that’s my daughter, and used the sleeves like a handle to lower her into the boat. Then he just disappeared. Is it your son’s?” he asked and handed me the green jacket Joseph always wore.

As I held the familiar fabric in my hands, it felt cold to me, devoid of life. I quickly checked the inside pocket. There was still Joe’s wallet there and the locket that had belonged to his mother. Nothing else, for he never carried anything else. In a haze, I thanked Toby and left the saloon, headed back towards the hotel in the dimming light.

While I walked down the narrow wooden walkway, I tried to analyze what I was feeling and doing. Part of me wanted to rush about like a wild man to find Joseph. I was sure that he was somewhere, injured, needing help. But there was that other part of me, trying to be logical and methodical, that told me he would not be found alive. That I needed to go to the morgue and claim his remains. I was torn also between protecting Adam and Hoss, taking care of them, and searching for Joe. I couldn’t do both at the same time. Could I let Hoss handle the entire burden of a fruitless search? No, as close as my two younger sons were, I knew that should Hoss have to find his beloved little brother’s remains, it would crush him. But would it be any different for me? Probably not but I had handled death before. It would be a bitter draught to swallow but I knew I might have to do so.  I could leave Adam to Hoss and Hop Sing’s care, but I felt that if I did I would be deserting Adam. So many times when he was growing up, I had not been there for him when he was ill or hurt. As a result, he would always try to hide the hurt or the illness, if only to keep me going. No, I couldn’t leave my sons when they needed me. And Adam needed me.

I heard a strange voice behind the hotel room door as I stood in the hallway, summoning the courage to enter. Rising above it was Hop Sing’s strident singsong, insistent and angry. Pushing the door open, I saw a man at there at Adam’s bedside, Hop Sing hanging on to his arm for all he was worth.

“What’s going on here?” I demanded and the two combatants turned to me.

“This man, he say he doctor. He want to bleed Mister Adam. Hop Sing say he no do!” The little man turned loose of the other’s arm, coming to stand before me like a feisty bantam rooster. Under lowered brows, I studied the man and Hop Sing.

“My name is Doctor Horace Somers. Am I to gather that you are this young man’s father?” As he spoke, he extended his hand to me, the one not holding a scalpel.

“Yes. My name is Ben Cartwright, Doctor Somers. I would appreciate an explanation of what’s happening here.” I shook the proffered hand but it felt lifeless and cold. Unwillingly, I compared it to the handshake of Paul Martin and found it sorely wanting.

When Hop Sing started to excitedly explain, I placed a hand on his slight shoulder, letting it ask for his silence. He subsided immediately but did not budge from my side. I let my hand remain, holding him down as it were.

“Your servant here seems to think he knows more about medicine than I do, sir, and I would appreciate it if you would remove him while I tend to your son. I was simply going to bleed your son a little. He hasn’t woke up yet from his concussion and it concerns me,” the doctor explained, his gestures sharp, punctuating his statement.

“And you are of the opinion that letting blood would do what? Besides weaken him? Our physician back home in Nevada has never once used this treatment to my knowledge in dealing with a concussion.”

The doctor gave a deprecating snort. “This is not the wilds of Nevada, sir.”

It was now Hop Sing’s turn to hold me down, his little hand gripping my arm with far more strength than I would have ever given him credit for having.

“Granted, this is not the ‘wilds of Nevada’, as you so eloquently phrased it, but even in the wilds of Nevada, we have figured out that blood letting does absolutely no good. If that is the only treatment you can give my son, I suggest that you take your scalpel and leave.”

The look the doctor gave me said it all: he thought I was a complete idiot.

“Very well but when your son takes a turn for the worse, don’t come looking for me. Now if you will excuse me, I have some patients waiting for me who will not argue with my procedures.” He turned back to where his bag was opened on the nightstand and dropped his knife back into it, then snapped it closed. Hop Sing left my side long enough to fetch the dark jacket that had been hung on the back of the chair. He held it like a snake that would have bitten him.

“Should have known when I found a yellow heathen in here tending –“ he began.

“Doctor Somers, once again I ask you to leave. Take your antiquated medical practices and your unfounded prejudices from my presence or so help me God, I will shove your bag and all it contains down your throat. Do I make myself abundantly clear?” By that time I was coming close to losing all restraint and found myself shouting at the man.

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed as he shrugged into his jacket. He pulled himself to his fullest height, which let him come to shoulder high to me. “That will be twenty dollars,” he hissed.

I was not about to pay the man but wisely, Hop Sing interceded and reaching into his loose gray trousers, pulled out the wad of money I had left with him earlier. He quickly pealed off several bills and held them out to Somers. It galled the doctor no end, I could tell, to have to take money from someone he deemed to be a “ yellow heathen” and he hesitated. Then, as if to even come close to touching Hop Sing’s hand would infect him with some terrible disease, he snatched the bills away and nearly ran out of the room. Hop Sing, a benevolent smile plastered on his face crossed to the door to close it. Before he did, he leaned out into the hallway and shouted something in his native language.

When the door was closed, I allowed a smile to come to my face and saw its echo on Hop Sing’s. “What did you just say to him?” I asked.

Hop Sing had scurried to Adam’s bedside and was busy righting pillows behind Adam’s dark head. He was pointedly ignoring me.

“Hop Sing, what did you say to him?”

“Mister Hoss go to get dinner for us. He be back right away, he say. You find anything about Lil Joe?”

Trust Hoss to think of feeding us all but I still wanted to know what Hop Sing had called after the doctor. I asked again. “What did you say?”

When Hop Sing looked up from his straightening, an expression crossed his face I had seen hundreds of times. But not on his face. The eyes were wide and innocent looking, the smile barely there and the head, a little inclined.  Now did Joe learn that from Hop Sing or the other way around?  I wondered.

“Hop Sing?” I warned.

His head bobbed just once then his shoulders squared and his jaw firmed. “Hop Sing suggest he ask mother about father.”

Shaking my head and blowing out a sigh of exasperation, I sank into the chair at Adam’s side.

“You find out anything about Lil Joe?” Hop Sing asked again, sitting on the foot of the bed gingerly.

“No, not exactly,” and reluctantly, I handed Hop Sing the jacket I still held. As I watched him, the celestial took it and rubbed at the rough green fabric with one finger. Speaking softly, I told him what Toby the bartender had told me. He nodded a time or two but never looked up to meet my eyes, keeping his to the jacket he lovingly held. For several long moments after I had finished the telling, there was nothing but silence in the room. Then Hop Sing slipped from his perch on the bed and hugging the jacket to him, went to stand at the sole window in the room.

“You think Lil Joe dead?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with hurt.

“I’m trying not to think it but the more I hear about the accident, about what Adam and Joe were doing following it, about how they were helping others, about the explosion…” and I let my own voice fall away to nothing.

“But Mister Adam live,” he pointed out.

“But Adam was not on the deck when the Queen exploded. He was apparently already in the water. Joe was on the deck and would have either been blown off it and into the water or –“ and again my voice stopped in its own, not wanting to say that he would have been blown apart the same way the boat had been.

“No, Lil Joe still alive,” and with those four words, Hop Sing seemed so sure. I wanted to believe it as well.
 

Adam awoke briefly the next morning. He asked for his brothers and I gave him the truth: Hoss was out that morning, searching in the towns on the north side of the river. After he had a sip of water, he fell back asleep. I sat there beside him, touching him, trying to smooth the lines from his face. An irrational fear cropped up in me: that I would lose this son to this accident as well. Perhaps if I just stayed there with him, kept him in my grasp, let him feel me close at hand, he would live. I tried to tell myself that it was the lack of proper rest, not eating right and worrying why I started to cry. I dashed a hand across my face, willing the tears to stop but they wouldn’t. Suddenly the load was just too heavy for me to carry any longer.

“Pa?” came Hoss’ gentle, concerned voice at my shoulder. I tried to turn to him but found myself too immersed in grief to even move. Tenderly, he pulled me away from the bed and as I stumbled, he caught me in those great arms of his and held me. I leaned against him and let the fear and pain and worry wash over me, knowing that this son of mine would be there to help me.

His gentle words of love, faith and endurance bolstered my flagging soul. When I finally regained some control, I managed to push away from his massive chest. The look on his face threatened to send me into complete despair. Tears ran down his cheeks unheeded, his blue eyes bright with them. “No, Pa. I still ain’t found him. I come back to tell you that I’m gonna go down to the schoolhouse. See if he’s there.”

“No,” I said, searching for the strength somewhere within myself to go and do the chore myself. “You stay here with Adam for a while.”

"But Pa, I seen some of the bodies they pulled from the river that day. I'll go. I can do it," he protested, his hand out to stop me from leaving.

"I never said that you couldn't Hoss. I just think this is something I need to do myself. Stay here with Adam, please. I don’t want him waking up alone. He seemed very agitated the last time he awoke and with those busted ribs, that isn't good. No, Hoss, you stay here with Adam. I'll go down to where-" and my voice caught in my throat. Could Hoss see through my lie? Adam had not been that upset. But I knew that should Hoss go with me to the morgue, he would forever see his beloved little brother only the way Joe would appear in death, not the vital young man he'd been in life. So I used a lie to anchor Hoss here with Adam.

Hoss again pleaded to go with me but I couldn’t do that to him. I just couldn’t. I patted his hand and picking up my hat, went to the door.

“Pa, please?” he begged a final time.

I shook my head and said “No,” then walked out into the hallway, the door closing behind me.
 

The walk down the street towards the makeshift morgue was the longest I believe I had ever taken. With each and every step, the fear and dread became a heavier and heavier burden to carry. By the time I reached the doorway, I was shaking. I paused there, looking into the single large room. It was so incongruous, I thought. There on the walls were bright pictures drawn by the children of the town. The blackboard still held the day’s assignments. The light shone through the open windows and through them I could see the recess yard, a rope swing dangling from a tree. But the desks and chairs were nowhere to be seen. In their place, sawhorses with wood planks held sheet shrouded bodies. And the smell of death permeated the air.

I stood aside as an older woman, crying loudly, was escorted from within by a younger man. Once again I fought for control of my emotions, thinking that I was the only one who could do this.

“Can I help you?” a man in a minister’s garb asked, seeing my hesitancy.

“I’ve come looking for my son,” I explained, not looking at him but at the two rows of shrouds.

“When we could determine the gender, we put the women on the right, men to the left. Those bodies which are too badly burned for easy recognition, we placed at the back.” He explained as he walked with me, his hand under my elbow guiding me to the left. “Tell me about your boy,” he encouraged, “How old was he? Did he have any distinguishing marks on him? What color were his eyes?”

Although I gave him the right answers, another set of replies swirled about my mind as I said them.  How old was he? When? When he was teasing with his brothers? Or when he was working with his horses? How do you judge the age of your child? Distinguishing marks? How about a ready laugh? A quick smile? How he never seemed to just walk somewhere? And his eyes could flash from green to hazel, depending on his mood. And how he would give the girls a saucy wink, even in church when he thought I wasn’t looking.

One after another, the minister raised the sheets covering the faces of nameless men. I would shake my head ‘no’ and we would go to the next. Finally we came to the back of the room and I could not will myself any further. There were the bodies, he had said, that would be difficult to recognize. He allowed me stand there for a long moment before he put his hand to arm.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, peering up into my face.

“No,” I admitted, “I don’t want to but I need to.”

“Perhaps someone else…” and his voice trailed off.

“No. He was my son. It’s my job.” I tugged on my vest and started to the five sheet covered bodies. The first two I stopped the man from raising the coverings. They were simply too tall to have been Joseph. The third one he raised and I could tell by what little hair was left that it had been blonde, not Joseph’s luxuriant chestnut locks. The fourth body I also dismissed but only by looking at the hands. By the time we stepped to the fifth body, my heart was pounding furiously in my chest. The minister held me up with one hand as he pulled the sheet back from a body completely blackened by fire, all distinguishing facial features obliterated. It was arched still in the throes of death. Little by little, the sheet was pulled back and little by little my resolve to continue weakened. I will never in my life forget that horrible sight and the crashing feeling of lost hope until the feet were exposed. There was still one boot on a foot.

I must have cried out for the minister quickly covered the body back up and hurried me out the side door. I couldn’t find my legs to walk any further so I sat on the schoolhouse steps and buried my head in my hands. Over my head, I heard the minister praying for strength and guidance during these difficult days. When he stopped, I raised up.

“Thank you,” I said, and found my heart in my throat again.

“What would you like us to do with your son’s remains? With this heat, I am afraid the bodies won’t hold very much longer before we have to bury them. Perhaps if you can get some ice?” he offered, his solicitousness not falling on deaf ears.

“Thank you,” I repeated, “But that wasn’t my son.”

“But your reaction, sir. Are you sure?”

“I am sure, Reverend. My son had pulled his boots off before going into the river that night. Several people have told me how he helped them get to shore. I taught my son to never, ever, if he could help it, go into the water with his boots on. I am sure he followed my instructions that night.” As I said the words, the relief they had brought me just moments ago was replaced by a bitter sadness.

“I will pray for you and your son then. That you may find him still able to follow your heedings.”

Once again I thanked the preacher and stood up, new resolve to find Joseph flowing through me.
 

I returned to the hotel room and was relieved to find Adam awake and aware, talking with Hoss. From somewhere, Hop Sing had procured the makings for a simple meal of sandwiches and coffee. I noted that the gingerbread he had made for Adam was on the nightstand and several slices were missing from it. When I stepped into the room, all eyes turned to me.

"No, he wasn't there," I answered the question unspoken by the three.

"What do we do now then, Pa? I done checked all the places on both shores and he ain't at none of 'em." Hoss mumbled around a huge bite of a sandwich.

"That only leaves two other places that they would have taken him to: San Francisco or back to Sacramento. And since we seemed to have alienated the only physician this town has to offer, it might do us well to go ourselves."

"You mean that Doctor Somers?" Hoss queried, his head tilting to one side. I saw Adam also turn a puzzled look in my direction.

Ignoring the question and the chair across the room, I went and sat on the side of the bed at Adam's right. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Queasiness?" I reached out to touch him, lost in concern to recall that he was not the son who always longed for that sort of physical connection. It surprised me when he reached out and laid his hand on my leg and his eyes pleaded for something I could only describe as a child-like longing.

"Hoss, how about you and Hop Sing go and see when the next, God help for me for saying it, when the next boat leaves for San Francisco." I suggested and before I knew it, Adam and I were alone in the small shabby room.

"What is it, son?" I asked cautiously and slowly ran my hand up and down his unbandaged arm. "Are you in pain?"

He shook his head and looked away from me. I knew if I waited long enough, Adam might open up and tell me what was bothering him or he may very well stay closed up tight. I couldn't handle the silence and once again I asked him what was bothering him.

"You mean besides the fact that my brother may very well be dead?" Adam snorted derisively, trying to cover his emotions behind a mask of cynicism.

I settled myself a little further onto the bed and allowed my hand to cover his. Still he looked away from me.

"Adam, look at me," I ordered sharply. When he did so I continued but the misery apparent in his dark eyes made me soften my words. "I imagine that right now, you are beating yourself up over this. You feel totally responsible for what happened. Am I right?"

"Pa, if you are going to tell differently-"

"That is exactly what I am telling you! I am sure that when this whole idea came up, you tried to talk him out of it. Probably several times over if I know you and after all these years as your father, I think I know you pretty well. And I know just how persuasive your brother could be when he got caught up in some scheme. I also know that there are sometimes that you just have to let go and allow the chips to fall as they may."

"But Pa, I could have stopped him. I could have put my foot down and made-"

"Made him mad, maybe." I interrupted him. "Adam, you are an engineer. Can you push water up hill? Can you tell the rain to fall up? If you saw a boulder rolling downhill, you wouldn't stand in its path and try to stop it, would you? Dealing with your brother could be just like that. The boy had a mind of his own and sometimes all the logic in the world wouldn't have any effect on him. He just had to experience it for himself."

"But-" Again Adam tried to justify himself, not realizing that he had no need to do so.

And again I stopped him. "There are no 'buts' about it, son. You are trying to take the blame for something that you are blameless for. If anyone needs to be blamed for what caused this, it's me. I couldn't bring myself to ever come down hard enough on the boy to make a long term change in him. Truthfully, I never wanted to. I always wanted that spirit of his to have complete free rein because it made me feel younger. And that is something that I will have to find some way to live with now that he may very well be gone: that if I would have been a better father, he would still be alive."

"Have you come to the conclusion that he is dead?" Adam whispered, his eyes downcast.

I closed my hand over his and took a deep breath. "Not until they show his cold lifeless body will I think of him as dead. But more and more of what I hear and what I know in my heart, makes it hard to not think that way. What do you think? You saw him last. Could he have survived the explosion?"

As I watched, Adam chewed his lower lip in thought, something he hadn't done in ages. "Survive the explosion, yes, possibly. But the force of it probably knocked him unconscious and since he was already standing on the edge of the deck, it most likely knocked him into the water. And an unconscious man in the water doesn't stand much of a chance. If he survived, it was because someone got to him quickly and hauled him to shore."

I couldn't tell Adam but his words, spoken so precisely, tore at my soul. Even though I had thought much along the same lines, to hear them voiced aloud gave more pain than I thought I could bear. It must have showed, for Adam pulled his hand from mine and reached out to touch my face.

"Pa," he said softly, "I'm sorry. No, don't interrupt me. Let me say this. Like you, until I see his body, I am not going to ever think of him as anything but alive and laughing. And I don't think any one of us, me, Hoss or Joe, would have ever said that you were less than the best father a man could have. Just like you said that I am blameless, so are you, Pa. It was an accident. A stupid, horrifying accident that should never have happened. But it did. And the hole it created in our lives right now can only be filled by finding him. One way or another, we need to find him. So if we need to go to San Francisco or Sacramento or China, for that matter, let's go and go now. Use whatever means, whatever resources we have to find him. I may not be much help out pounding on doors, but I'll find a way to look for him."

"Thank you, Adam."

"But there is something I want to do right now," he said and I looked quickly into his dark eyes, wondering what it was he needed or wanted. He swallowed once and continued, his hand falling to my shoulder and staying there." I may be a poor substitute for him but I need something from you that I am sure would have been your first reaction to Joe."

Wordlessly, I gathered my oldest child into my loving embrace and held him there. "You are not a poor substitute. You are my son," I whispered, as stroked his dark hair.

 When Hop Sing and I returned from the docks, I wasn't sure what had happened between Adam and Pa but Pa seemed to have picked up in spirit some. Considerin' how he had been lookin' when he came back from that schoolhouse-morgue, I wasn't so sure but what Pa needed to be in that bed worse than Adam. He had been so worn out and frazzled looking, I could tell he was hangin' on by just a thread. But when we came back with the news of the next boat out, Pa looked a touch better.

"Next boat goes to Sacramento, Pa. We want to go there?" I asked, picking up another slice of gingerbread from the nightstand.

"Way I look at it, it’s a fifty-fifty gamble. From what I've heard, they took injured to both cities. I don't know about you boys, but I feel that time is important right now. What do you say? Adam? Feel up to another boat ride? It would be easier on you than a stage would be."

"If Hoss can help me get dressed and get to the gangplank, I can do it. And quit eating my gingerbread. Hop Sing brought you sugar cookies! You eat 'em up already?" Adam fussed at me. I could see that it hurt him to move a lot, what with his chest bein' stove in and all, but there was no way he was gonna be able to eat all the gingerbread Hop Sing had brought him. And I told him so.

"Going back to Sacramento may be the best thing to do, Pa," Adam said, ignoring me now. "The horses are there and having them at our disposal will make hunting easier. Not only that, the draft for the sale of the herd is still in the safe at the Cattlemen's Hotel."

Pa snorted and took a sip of the coffee Hop Sing and I had gotten earlier from the little café across the street. "Yes," he said, looking more into his cup than at any of us,"It seems wherever I turn, there is someone standing there with his hand out. They call it 'helping' but I think the only helping they are doing is helping themselves."

"Ain't that the truth?!" I agreed. When I had first managed to get Adam here to this ugly dank little room it had only been because I had the money in our pockets to pay for it in advance. That was gone by the time Pa had gotten there. For the first time in my life, I saw the benefits of being a rich man over a poor one. These folks didn't know who I was nor where I was from. They didn't know nuthin' about me but judged me and Adam not by our need but by the color of our money. I thought it was a mighty poor way to deal with folks.

"We'll need to cash that bank draft right away," Pa was saying and it pulled me back into the conversation. "How much was passage going to be?" he asked me.

When I told him, I saw him flinch like I had reached out and pinched him.

"Unfortunately, boys, I think that is more than we have at our disposal right now," and he gestured to Hop Sing who pulled a roll of bank notes from his pocket and gave them to Pa. He quickly counted the money and he was right. We didn't have enough for all of us to go.

"Pa, I'll find someway of getting there on my own. You take Adam and Hop Sing and go tomorrow mornin'" I offered. Even if I had to walk the sixty miles back to Sacramento, I would have done it without complaint.

"No!" and Pa's voice was sharp. It was my turn to flinch. "This family has been apart for too long. We either all go together or we all stay here together."

"But that ain't gonna help Joe, where ever he is," Adam murmured.

I couldn't have agreed more.

Hop Sing glided over to Pa's side and held out something to him. My heart missed a beat or two when I recognized what Hop Sing had given him. It was Joe's wallet. I knew how Pa had gotten Joe's jacket but it had never occurred to me that his wallet would have still been in it.

"Well, it seems for once that all our lessons about saving your money didn't fall on deaf ears. Joe has about forty dollars in here." Pa smiled as he counted the sheaf of bills there. I didn't want to tell Pa that the last time I had seen that wallet and that money it was right after a rather successful hand of poker for my little brother. It could just have easily have been empty if the cards he had been dealt hadn't been a pair of queens. Joe always did have the best of luck with the ladies, except that last one, the Delta Queen.
"What about San Francisco? Maybe we should split up and -" Adam was suggesting but Pa's thundered "no" stopped him cold.

"Didn't you just hear what I said about this family being apart? I swear Adam Cartwright, there are times I would take your stubbornness for your brother's. And I don't mean Hoss! When we get to Sacramento, we'll take a quick look around. I'll put an ad in the newspaper then go on San Francisco. But my first concern once we get to Sacramento is to find a competent doctor to tend to you, Adam. I am not so sure that Doctor Somers was anything but a quack!"

"You never did say what happened with him, Pa," I reminded him then wished I hadn't for it got me a real black look.

"He had some very unkind things to say about Nevada. And his practice seemed a little outdated to me. We dismissed him. Hop Sing paid him off and showed him the door," Pa explained and the glance between Hop Sing and Pa told me that the doctor's leaving hadn't been his idea at all. I wondered whose footprint was on his britches: Pa's boot or Hop Sing's slipper. It was a toss up either way.

"Well, if we're gonna be on that boat back to Sacramento in the morning, we need to get some sleep tonight." I caught Pa's drift right away.
 

Once the light was out, I could see there was a thin sliver of moon and it shone into the little room. I had stretched out on the floor over by the window so I could look out into the night sky real easy. Off to one side, Hop Sing was curled like a small child on the little rug at the foot of the bed and Pa sat slouched in the chair, his head resting on his fist. Adam seemed to be just as restless as I felt and after a while, we both gave up the pretense of trying to sleep.

"Adam, you awake?" I called out softly.

"Yeah" came his deep baritone, equally as soft.

I glanced over at Pa. I didn't want to wake him so I got up real quiet-like and went to sit on the floor at the side of the bed, leaning against it at the head. Adam rolled to that side and for a while we stayed just like that, quiet and together. Finally I couldn't take it any longer.

"Adam, I miss him somethin' awful," I admitted.

"Me too" he whispered back and I felt his hand drop down and land on my shoulder. "But neither one of us misses him as bad as Pa does."

"Suppose he's still alive?" I asked what had weighed heavily on my heart for the past few days.

"Pa and I talked about that earlier."

"And?"

I heard Adam take as deep a breath as I thought he could without hurtin' himself a whole lot. When he didn't answer right away, I looked up into his face. Now when Adam is hurtin' either from the inside or from the outside, it's like he pulls a mask down over his face so you can't see what he's feelin'. That's what I expected to see. But the mask wasn't there that night and it was just like his soul was a book laid out in the bright sunlight for all to read. Take ever' painful, hurtin' emotion there is and it was written all over my big brother's face. Then the mask dropped down and Adam was hiding behind it again.

"The odds are kind of long on it, Hoss," he sighed and his hand there on my shoulder began to move in a slow circular motion, just like what I used to see Pa doin' with Joe. It felt comforting, a connection, a bond building as he told me about how he last saw Joe standing on the deck of the boat.

"So you think when he hit the water he weren't conscious?"

"Hoss, let's face some things right now. First of all, Joe wasn't a very big man. The explosion in all likelihood tore him apart. That's why we haven't found anyone who saw him after the explosion. But supposing that he did survive the blast, hitting water with any force is like hitting a brick wall. Water doesn't 'give' and that may have done a whole lot of damage to him. It would have knocked him out at the very least. That is if the force of the explosion didn't. And an unconscious body usually floats face down."

"So what you are sayin' is that if the boat goin' up didn't kill him right off, he drowned?"

"Yes, Hoss. As much as I hate to say it, that's probably what happened. But just for the sake of argument, let's assume that he survived both the explosion and the fall into the water. Let's say somehow he managed to get to shore, either under his own power or with help. Once again, you've found no one who has seen him. But let's get beyond that. A little while ago, I think we all came across a startling revelation: the key to getting through this has been money. What do you think would have happened to me if you hadn't had the money for this room? For the doctor?"

I thought about it for a moment then answered sadly, "No body would have helped us, would they?"

"That's right, big fella. And Joe's wallet was in his jacket pocket, wrapped around a baby girl headed for Antioch. Now I did see him win a double eagle off a guy there on the boat, but I am betting that it just went into his pocket loose. If it didn't fall out somewhere along the way, or somebody steal it off him, just how far would that gold piece get him?"

"Not far the way folks charge 'round here. But Adam, I can't help it. I gotta believe that we're gonna find him. I just gotta!"

The hand on my shoulder stopped. It became a fist that gently pounded on my back.

"Me too. Like I told Pa, until I see his lifeless body for myself, the Joe I will picture in my head is the same one who got us into this: the laughing, smiling, finagling green eyed little imp of a brother who can talk his way into and out of nearly anything. And tomorrow afternoon, we're gonna get back to our hotel room in Sacramento to find him waiting for us. Probably wanting to know what took us so long to get back."

The playful bantering tone Adam used made me smile a little.