Bonanza: Native Land

For those of you that are sticklers for historical accuracy, I should mention that I cheated with two of the quotes/poems I used.
Both Housman's and Henley's pieces were probably not written until ten or twenty years after this story takes place.
The rest is historically viable, or at least in keeping with Bonanza lore.

Adam Cartwright pushed the needle through the bridle he was repairing, his gaze drifting to the book lying open on a nearby tack box.

He almost never brought books to the barn - partly because it wasn't good for them, partly because he was generally pretty good at compartmentalizing the different parts of his life: ranch work in one slot, intellectual pursuits in another. But lately it was becoming more difficult to keep the lines from blurring, and this book had proved to be hard to put down. After a brief battle with himself he had been unable to resist the temptation to carry it along to the tack room and skim a paragraph or two while he repaired and polished and sorted the tack.

It was Ralph Waldo Emerson's Essays on Transcendentalism. Of course, he had read a lot about Transcendentalism while he was in college in Boston - it was impossible to live so close to Concord and not - but the poems of Walt Whitman and some new essays by Bronson Alcott had fallen into his hands and fanned the flame of his interest. Ironically, it was his life on the ranch that had given him an new appreciation of the philosophy, and he had dug out his Emerson and Thoreau for another look.

It had proved absorbing. He wasn't sure he bought it, but he was burning to talk it over with someone. And there was the rub.

He secured another stitch in the bridle and frowned. He shared the ranch with his father and two brothers and the chances of a good debate with them on the merits of Transcendentalism weren't much better than they were with the cowpokes he rode the range with. Oh, they were all smart enough, but Hoss was disinclined to read anything but the Territorial Enterprise, and Joe leaned more to dime novels. His father liked a good book occasionally and was probably familiar with this modern American philosophy, but all his efforts to try him out on the subject had been met with polite distraction.

Well, he was busy, Adam understood that, and the demands of running such a huge ranch were many, leaving little time for anything else. But sometimes Adam's need to share his love of more esoteric ideas and pursuits burned so hot and high that he didn't know where to go with it for release, leaving him restless and distracted. He was feeling that way now. If only his mother had lived. His father often remarked that she had been as bookish as he was, with the same passion for the aesthetic, and he was willing to bet that she would have had plenty to say on the subject of Transcendentalism.

But, then, if his mother had lived, that would mean no Hoss and no Joe, and he really couldn't imagine his life without them. He glanced at the next paragraph, then let out a yelp as he drove the large, curved needle directly into his thumb. Swearing softly but fluently, he dropped the bridle and shook the pain away from his hand. And that was what happened when you were thinking about one thing when you should be concentrating on another, he lectured himself silently.

Adam jumped, startled to find he wasn't alone and embarrassed to be caught talking to himself. "Hoss," he said, looking up to see his younger brother's hulking silhouette in the tack room doorway. "I didn't hear you come in. Um - nothing. Just thinking out loud."

"How..? Oh...no. It's just a quote. 'When I consider how my light is spent' - you know, from Milton's 'On His Blindness'." And then he wanted to bite his tongue, because he could be pretty certain that Hoss did NOT know and that was exactly the kind of thing that Little Joe called his "putting on airs".

He wasn't, really - it was more like speaking a second language - something that was so much a part of you that it was hard to remember that everybody else didn't understand it, too. But he tried to remember, and wished that he had remembered this morning. The last thing he wanted was a fight - the one he was having with himself was bad enough.

He needn't have worried. Hoss accepted the answer with his usual easy calm, wrinkling his forehead thoughtfully. "Well, shoot, Adam, you can't spend light, kin ya? I mean, it ain't like money."

Adam grinned. "Not that kind of spend, Hoss. Like you spend time. Milton meant "when I consider how my life is spent, or my time and talent". Light is just a metaphor. Of course, by that time, Milton was blind, so by "light" he was also referring to his eyesight, and how that loss had diminished his ability to use his talent, or spend his life as he had intended, so you see, it has a sort of a double…" he caught Hoss's expression and came to an abrupt halt, clearing his throat. "Well, anyway. It was just a quote."

"Huh. You don't say." Hoss watched him cut the thread and return the bridle to its peg. "That in that there book?" He gestured to the open book on the tack box. Adam followed his gaze and colored slightly, doubly glad it was Hoss and not Joe. If Joe found out he'd been reading while he was supposed to be taking care of tack he'd never hear the end of it.

He pushed the book closed and picked up a martingale he'd finished polishing to return it to its hook. "No, that's a book by a fellow called Emerson. On Transcendentalism. It's a modern American philosophy he created, based on the teachings of Immanuel Kant."

"Transcendentalism. It's a kind of a religion that emphasizes the alignment between man and nature and the nobility of the human spirit…" Hoss looked at him blankly. Adam sighed inwardly. "Never mind."

Hoss gave a low whistle. "You sure know a powerful lot a things, Adam. How's it feel to know so much?"

'Lonely', thought Adam, surprising himself with his own thoughts, biting down before he could say it out loud. But something must have shown on his face, because Hoss's kind, mild blue eyes were fixed on him scrutinizingly.

He picked up the last bridle, which belonged to his mount, Sport, moved to his stall and began slipping it over the beautiful gelding's head.

"Everything's fine, Hoss." He busily threw a saddle blanket over Sport's back, avoiding Hoss's gentle gaze, and reached for his saddle. "Except that if I don't get up above the north pasture pretty soon and look for those strays, Pa's gonna skin me." He reached for his book and handed it to Hoss. "Do me a favor and put this back in my room for me?"

Hoss didn't drop his gaze, but accepted the book and watched him tighten the cinch. "Sure thing, Adam."

Adam took Sport's reins and led him out of the barn. He was about to mount when Hoss put his hand above his on the reins, almost at Sport's bit. Adam looked at him and knew he wasn't getting out of this one so easily. He looked down at the ground, then back at his brother. "Look, Hoss, it's really nothing, okay?" Hoss continued to hold the reins, patient and immovable. Adam sighed again, out loud this time. "Okay, it's just that…" How could he explain to Hoss what he didn't really understand himself? "Every once in a while, I kind of wish that somebody else liked some of the things that I like, that's all. Can I have my reins, please?" He swung into the saddle, trying to ignore Hoss's face, scrunched into a frown. Damn. The last thing he'd wanted was to upset his tender hearted brother.

Hoss slowly handed him his reins, wrinkling his nose at the book in his oversized paw. Adam picked up the reins and urged Sport forward. "See ya, Hoss."

Hoss's face suddenly brightened tentatively. "Say, Adam?" Adam turned. "I like yer music a right lot."

Adam smiled a half smile and reached down to give him a brotherly slap on the shoulder. "So you do. Thanks, Hoss. And thanks for taking care of the book for me." He pressed his heels into Sport, and the horse shot forward.

Hoss looked after him, his forehead still crinkled in a frown, then down at the book, flipping the pages curiously. He shook his head. What a whole lotta itty-bitty print. And no pictures.

Adam finally pulled Sport up after giving him his head most of the way to the north pasture. He'd figured a gallop would do them both good, but now he eased him into a restful trot, bending him this way and that through the trees. He grinned a little to himself, remembering Hoss's face as he'd lectured him on Milton and Emerson. He really had to get himself in hand, or they'd find him giving literary symposia to Hop Sing's chickens. He put his hand on the breast pocket of his jacket and felt the letter crinkle there, his mind shifting to his other quandary. He felt badly that he hadn't mentioned it to his father yet, but he wanted to wait until he knew his own mind a little better. He drew the letter out and skimmed it.

It was a habit that maddened his father - reading while riding - so he was careful never to do it when he was around. His father was sure that it was a practice that could only end in a nasty accident, but it never had - in fact, once it had actually saved his life, when a bushwhacker's bullet had been deflected from his heart to his leg by a volume of Shakespeare's sonnets. He had survived, though the sonnets hadn't. He smiled at the memory, then frowned at the letter.

His grandfather was making a plea for him to come east. He was getting old, and he wanted to spend his remaining years with his only grandchild, his only remaining kin. He pointed out that Ben, his father, had two other sons to help him, while Abel, his grandfather, had only Adam. He spoke at length about the charms of the east; the museums, the libraries, the concerts, the theatres, the lectures. He spoke even more about his own loneliness and increasing frailty. Adam sighed, and returned the letter to his pocket. He made a good case.

Of course, his father needed him too, depended on him a great deal, but his father was still healthy and vital, and had strong support in Hoss and Joe. And then, back east, many people shared his interests. You could get all kinds of good literary debates going. He slowed Sport to a stop and leaned over his neck, admiring the view.

But he knew it wasn't that simple for him. He often felt out of place in the west, that was true, but what he'd never told anyone was that he hadn't really felt at home in the east, either. The crowds and the noise wore on him, he missed the wide open spaces, the clean air and endless vistas, the hard physical labor, the directness of the people. He'd missed his family, the way of life. He patted Sport affectionately on the neck. "Not to mention you, boy. What would I ever do without you?" Not for the first time, he envied his brothers, who seemed to fit in so well, be so satisfied, so sure of where they belonged. He reached down further to scratch Sport along his jaw. "How about you? You got any thoughts on Transcendentalism you'd like to share?" Sport tossed his head and rolled a baleful brown eye at him. "Didn't think so. Let's see to those strays."

By the time Adam met his father in the bottom land, the sun was getting low in the sky. His father reined in his massive buckskin as he saw Adam approach and waited for him, erect in the saddle.

"A dozen!" Ben Cartwright frowned. "We're missing over a hundred. How carefully did you check?"

Adam tried not to look exasperated. He was never anything less than thorough, and his father knew that. He tried to keep his voice even. "Pa, I checked every rock and gorge and ledge up there. They're just not there - no bones, no nothing. No sign of them."

Ben reached over and patted his arm apologetically. "I know, son, I just can't imagine where they got to. Here comes your brother, maybe he has some ideas."

They waited while Joe's frisky paint pulled up along side them, Curly Froman, one of the hands, not far behind. "Don't know, Pa, only managed to ferret out a handful," said Joe as he pulled to a stop. "But Curly, here, has a thought."

Curly tipped his hat politely. "Just somethin' I heard, Mr. Cartwright. Somebody said they saw signs of some cows wandering up there in the hills."

Adam squinted at the distant hills. "How would they get all the way up there? Doesn't seem like a very likely place to roam."

Curly shrugged. "Got some Bannock and a few scrub farmers and grub stake miners up there that might be borrowing to get through the winter. Don’t know if there were Ponderosa beef or not, but thought I oughta tell ya."

Ben followed Adam's gaze. "Well, thank you, Curly. I suppose one of us should check it out."

Ben shook his head. "Seems to me you pulled hardship duty last time, Adam. One of your brothers should go this time."

"Hoss's busy with all that blacksmithing for the next few days back at the ranch," Joe pointed out.

Joe met his father's look and let out a yelp of disappointment. "Pa, that trip'll take at least four days!"

"Probably five, Joseph, traveling uphill most of the way and saving your horse." He eyed his youngest son meaningfully.

"But, Pa, That means I'd be gone over Saturday, and I promised Jenny Mayfield I'd take her to the Social!"

"Joseph, since when does your social life take precedence over ranch business?"

"Pa, why don't I go," Adam interrupted. Maybe a few quiet days in the saddle was just what he needed to clear his head. "I haven't asked anyone to the Social yet - " Actually, he'd forgotten all about it. "And I know for a fact that Hoss finally got up the nerve to ask Betsy-Sue. So, since I'm the only one that doesn't mind, why not?" He kept his voice reasonable, so that his father wouldn't start wondering why he was as eager to get away as Joe was to stay.

Ben looked from one son to the other, then sighed. "I suppose you're right. Sometimes when you try too hard to be fair you just end up being unfair. Besides," he smiled mischievously. "If I ever want to marry any of you boys off, I guess I'd better make time for socializing. Otherwise I'll be stuck with you forever!" He and Joe laughed. Adam tried to smile, but he felt his grandfather's letter was burning like a brand in his pocket. "Adam, you head home and get your gear together. Joe and I will finish up here. We'll see you at dinner."

Adam whistled softly to himself as he finished preparing his gear. Bedroll, saddlebags, provisions - better bring some warm things, weather was unpredictable at that elevation. His eyes strayed to Emerson, sitting on his desk, and he turned away resolutely. Absolutely no books. He needed to clear his head - to hear himself think. The idea of being under no one's scrutiny for a few days brought a blessed sense of relief, and he smiled as he tied his bedroll.

He glanced up to see Joe in his bedroom doorway, and returned his eyes to his bedroll. "Thanks, Joe."

"Hey, Adam?" Adam looked up again, questioningly. "Thanks for goin'. I'd hate to cancel on Jenny."

Adam settled his bedroll on a chair with his saddlebags and shrugged. "No problem, Joe. To tell the truth, I'm looking forward to a little quiet."

"You really interested, or are you just humoring me because you think I'm doing you a favor?'

They weren’t a moment too soon – Hop Sing was just beginning to serve as they sat down, and both the Chinese cook and their father hated it when they were late for dinner.

Ben passed the biscuits to Hoss on his left. “Make sure you leave some of those for your brothers,” he said automatically. “So, Adam. Are you packed?”

“Make sure you’re prepared for snow. I know it’s early, but those mountains are unpredictable. I don’t want you spending the winter on the other side of Brinkman’s Pass.” Ben smiled, feeling a little anxious despite the smile, and a little foolish about being anxious. Adam was a grown man, but fatherhood was fatherhood and the passage of time didn’t really change it.

Adam met his smile. “I packed for snow, Pa. Anyway, if the Pass did close this early chances are it would be temporary. Be unusual not to have a thaw or two before real winter sets in.”

“True, but as I said, it’s unpredictable. Keep an eye on the weather and don’t take any chances.”

“No, sir.” Adam kept his eyes on his plate. He knew his brothers were hiding covert smiles and he was busy swallowing his own. Their father would not be amused to find them sharing a grin at his expense.

“If you find them, don’t try to bring them down by yourself. Just find a place to contain them until we can go back for them. Maybe I should send someone with you...don’t look so alarmed, Joseph, I meant one of the men, not you.”

This did not suit Adam’s plans at all. “Pa, you can barely spare me, never mind somebody else. If I find them I’ll either cut a deal with some of those settlers or the Bannock to help me bring them down, or find a way to corral them temporarily. Don’t worry.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Ben chewed meditatively. “The wildlife will be scrapping for food this time of year, too. Make sure you bring your rifle.”

That was too much for Adam. He put down his fork and met his father’s eyes directly. “You wanna check my bedroll before I go, Pa?” he asked, with carefully measured courtesy.

Ben raised his eyebrows. Joe lost his battle with himself and burst out laughing, triggering Hoss, and then Adam. “All right, all right.” Ben finally smiled reluctantly. “I know you’re not a schoolboy, and I know this is not your first trip.”

“Not my first!” Adam wiped his mouth on his napkin and shook his head. “Pa, I don’t think it’s my hundredth. What’s got you so jumpy?” He tilted his head at him, trying to read his face.

Ben felt a hand squeeze at his heart. Every once in an unexpected while Adam’s expression was so like Elizabeth, his mother’s, that he had to do a double take to remind himself that she wasn’t there. "I'm not jumpy," he responded, gruffly, to hide what he was feeling. "I just don't like this trip. Not at this time of year."

Adam started to say something light, then stopped. He remembered that he was keeping a secret from his father, who could be uncomfortably intuitive when it came to his sons. Probably came from being both mother and father for so many years.

He studied him through his lashes, trying to see if he suspected anything. One way or another, he had a decision to make, a decision that wasn’t necessarily going to make his father happy, and he had to get his focus back. Moving cattle required attention and concentration – having his mind skitter around from cattle to philosophy was going to get himself or someone else killed.

He put down his coffee and leaned forward on his elbows. “Look, I’m gonna go straight up, look around, come straight back – four or five days if I don’t find anything, couple more if I do. How’s the blacksmithing going, Hoss? Any luck fixing that wagon?”

His father smiled at the pointed change of subject. “All right, tell me when you’re leaving and I’ll drop it.”

“First light. Wouldn’t want anyone worrying any longer than necessary.”

The morning dawned cold and misty. As the sky lightened, Ben made his way out to the porch where Adam had Sport tied to the hitching rail, fastening on the last of his gear. He didn't look up as Ben approached, but asked, "Making sure I buttoned my coat?"

Ben frowned, trying to gauge his mood. Hoss wore his heart on his sleeve and every passing emotion showed itself on Joe's face, but Adam was hard to read. Adam gestured with the scabbard he was attaching to his saddle. "My rifle," he pointed out solemnly.

His face was grave, but this time Ben caught the smile lurking in depths of the dark eyes and his mouth puckered into a rueful grin. "All right. That's enough insolence from you, young man," he said without heat.

"Just thought I'd see you off." Ben had been widowed three times and good byes were never casual for him.

Adam glanced at him as he finished tying on his bedroll. "You know, if I find those cattle and manage to recruit help to drive them back here it's going to be slow going - downhill most of the way. Could take longer than we expect."

"So you won't send a posse out after me if I'm a few days overdue. All joking aside, Pa, you seem worried."

Adam shook his head. "You sure take your duties seriously. I should be back within the week. Joe'll give you enough to worry about while I'm gone." He reached out his hand to his father.

Ben took it, then pulled him into a quick hug. "Good luck, son. Be careful."

Adam swung lightly into the saddle. "I always am, Pa." He touched the brim of his hat to him and pressed Sport into a canter.

Adam barely reached the foothills before the sun started going down. He wanted to make a little more progress before bedding down for the night, but he kept Sport at an easy walk. The climb was going to get increasingly difficult, and he didn't want him to overheat, especially in this weather. He had expected the mist to burn off throughout the day, but it had lingered, and as the sun retreated, left the air damp and chilly, visibility diminished. He was going to have to give up soon and make camp, while he could still see.

He felt a hundred times better. The solitary ride had given him a chance to leave some of his troubles behind. Away from the loving scrutiny of his family he felt more able to lay his puzzle out before him and make some choices. He pulled Sport up near a quick flowing stream. "All right, boy. Guess we'd better call it a night. This is as good a place as any."

He dismounted and looped Sport's reins loosely on a branch, pulling his saddle. The mist had left a fine layer of moisture on his horse’s coat and he took a few minutes to wipe it off before opening the saddle blanket over his back to keep some of the damp off. "Brought you some oats, but mostly you're going to have to make do with grazing - they won't last more than a day or two," he explained to the animal, rubbing his ears affectionately. "Why don't you eat while I make a fire?"

There was plenty of wood lying about, and he quickly had a nice blaze going. Cooking seemed like too much trouble and he was tempted to make do with beef jerky, but he knew a warm meal was a wiser choice with the temperature dropping and reluctantly checked his provisions for beans to heat and the coffeepot. He could see the stars through breaks in the mist and paused to admire them. There was a sight you didn't get back east. And there were no gallops through the meadows - you were mostly confined to sedate trots. On the other hand , he thought with a faint smile, your dinners weren't limited to beans in the wild, either.

He started the coffeepot going with water from his canteen and set the beans to heat while he refilled the canteen from the nearby stream. Better give Sport a good long drink there before they settled down for the night.

The hills were deeply quiet, except for the occasional cry of some nocturnal animal. Adam settled down to eat with his back against a rock and thought about his grandfather. He had lived with him when he'd gone back east to go to college and they now enjoyed a lively correspondence. Adam loved him dearly and was painfully aware of his advancing years. If he decided not to go back, would he run the risk of never seeing him alive again? Of leaving him alone and lonely in his declining years? Elizabeth, his mother, had been Abel's only child, and had died shortly after giving birth to Adam. Didn't Adam owe it to him to be there for him, now that he was old?

But if there was a question of owing, then what about what he owed his father? Ben was getting older, too, and, while very vigorous, deserved the opportunity to take things a little easier. Hoss and Joe provided ample help in the barn and on the range, but neither had the patience or the interest for the books, the planning, the taxes and money matters - places where his father depended heavily on his eldest son.

This was getting him nowhere . No matter what he decided, someone would be disappointed - someone would be let down. He hated letting people down, especially people he loved.

Adam blew out his breath in a sigh and reached for the coffeepot. His breath lingered in the frosty air and he made a mental note to keep a close eye on the weather. His eyes returned to the glimpse of stars above. He wished the right answer would just appear there. He cleaned up his dishes and tossed the remains of his coffee. Enough. After seeing to the fire, he rolled himself in his blanket and was asleep almost immediately.

Ben stared out the window and frowned. Nasty cold snap for so early in the year. They needed to finish moving the herd to winter pasture as soon as possible - maybe he should think about hiring some extra men. He shrugged into his vest and moved to the hallway. Right after breakfast he would take a look at the books and the payroll and see if they could comfortably manage a couple of extra hands. And Adam would be back in a few days to help as well.

As he moved past Joe's door he noticed it was still closed and knocked briefly. "Breakfast, son," he called, smiling at the vague mumble that answered him. Hoss's door was open - he was probably already seated at the table, impatiently anticipating breakfast. He paused in surprise by the third door, which was ajar. It wasn't like Adam to leave his door open when he was away - he was intensely protective of his privacy. Ben had never been able to decide whether it was part of his nature, or a natural result of having two younger brothers. Probably both. He reached out to gently pull it closed, then stopped, startled.

Hoss looked up, his expression a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. "Oh. Hey, Pa. Time for breakfast?"

Ben leaned against the doorframe, taking in the image of his middle son seated on his older brother's bed with a book open in his hands, his lips moving painstakingly as he read. "Well, what's all this? Missing your brother? He's only gone for a couple of days."

A red flush made its way upward from Hoss's collar. "Just havin' a look at one o' Adam's books, P,." he mumbled.

Ben bent down to glance at the book's spine and raised his eyebrows. "Emerson! Well, that's very - ambitious - of you Hoss. How do you like it?"

Hoss cleared his throat. "Well, I ain't got so fer yet, but Adam was readin' it when he went away and he made it sound real inerestin'."

"So he was." Now that Hoss mentioned it, Ben had some vague memory of Adam bringing Emerson up once or twice. He knew a passing stab of regret. What had been so important that he had forgone an opportunity to have a non-ranch-related conversation with his taciturn first born? No doubt Adam had been hoping for a philosophical discussion. Well, when he returned Ben would bring the subject up himself and see that he got it. "If you like that one, you ought to try…wait, I'm sure it's here…" He moved to Adam's bookcase and skimmed the titles. "Ah! Here - " He pulled two other books by Emerson off the shelf, then added Thoreau's Walden's Pond and Civil Disobedience. "Personally, I always found Thoreau a little easier going. If Emerson gets to be too much for you."

Hoss stared at the book in his hand, then at the small stack his father had created on top of the bookcase. "Thanks, Pa," he said dubiously.

"No problem, son. Always like to see you boys improve your minds. See you at breakfast." He continued his way down the stairs, waiting until he was well out of earshot before chuckling a little at the memory of Hoss's face when he'd added to his reading pile. He couldn't imagine what was really going on, but he knew he'd find out eventually. He could wait.

Well into his second day Adam was ready to believe that cattle wandering the high country was just a rumor, or somebody's idea of a bad joke. The mist had finally burned off, leaving the day clear and cold, a constant chill pervading under the blue shadows of the pines. At the higher elevation the air had thinned, too, and Sport snorted softly in protest as they continued to climb.

Adam reached down to pat his neck. "Don't worry, boy, I'm with you - a little more and we'll call it a wild goose chase and head back." There was no sign of anything like cattle tracks or grazing or trampled underbrush. In fact…Adam paused, suddenly thoughtful…there wasn't much sign of any kind of wildlife. Suspiciously little, now that he came to think about it. He stood in the stirrups a minute, looking about, then dismounted, pulling Sport after him. "Come on, boy. I have an idea."

Now that he had an idea what he was looking for it didn't take him very long - the absence of trail led him to a spot where a natural depression in the hillside was ringed by pines. Branches and brush were strung between the pines to form a makeshift corral. He secured Sport and moved closer, stealthily, though he didn't really think there was a lookout of any kind. After a moment, reasonably sure no one was about, he pushed his way into the corral to get a closer look. It held about forty head of cattle, and sure enough, the nearest one bore the Ponderosa brand. He looked at the next one - Flying G brand. He moved among them, checking systematically. Only about eight were Ponderosa head, the rest were a motley collection of his nearest neighbors' brands - two brands he didn't recognize at all. Well, here was a pretty mess. He moved back outside of the corral and collected Sport. There was the sound of running water off to his left and he moved toward it. It didn't take a genius to figure out that following the stream would take him where he wanted to go.

He didn't bother to remount - he wanted to appear as harmless and unthreatening as possible. He knew a passing discomfort about what he was about to do - true, he was friendly with the Bannock, but they tended to be unpredictable, and having his stolen cattle in their possession might make them a little more nervous than usual. Well, no turning back now - if he was close enough to their encampment some lookout had spotted him by now anyway. As if in response to his unspoken thoughts, a figure materialized out of the trees in front of him.

He almost smiled. Someone he knew. Seemed like a friendly sign, but it also made him wonder how long they’d been watching him. “Hello, Bruno.”

The Indian nodded his greetings. “Adam Cartwright. What brings you so far from home?”

“Seems like some of our cattle have wandered pretty far from home, too.”

Bruno shifted his stance. “They have wandered into Bannock Territory. They are now property of the Bannock.”

“Come on, Bruno – branded cattle? You know better than that. Besides, I’m having a little trouble believing that a handful of the weakest head from half a dozen different ranches took it into their heads to drift all the way up here on their own.”

Bruno didn’t answer. Adam suppressed a sigh. Well, this was going well. After a minute Bruno said slowly, “They are as you say – the poorest cattle.”

Adam nodded. “No doubt about that.” He reviewed the cattle he’d seen in his mind. The trip up into the mountains had shaken off weight, the trip down would cost still more. Even with the winter to fatten them up – assuming they survived – what would their market value be? Also assuming he could get them down now himself, instead of coming back for them. Each day brought them closer to the danger of snow. How many lives was it worth risking for a handful of second rate stock? He studied Bruno thoughtfully. “Hunting and trapping not so good?”

So the Bannock needed the cattle to get through the winter. They were less valuable to the ranchers, still, setting a precedent of cattle raiding, even discreet cattle raiding on an as-needed basis, was dangerous as well. Adam mulled it over. “Maybe we can make a deal,” he said at last.

“Now, not all those head are Ponderosa beef and I’ll admit I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble of rounding them up and driving them home. Suppose I left them with you and compensated my neighbors for their cattle. Then, come spring, when you’re chasing down mavericks, you cut, say, four mares out of the herd and bring them to us at the Ponderosa in exchange. Good ones, Bruno – we could use some new blood in our breeding stock.”

Adam shrugged. “Bruno, I don’t think all those critters together are worth a stallion.”

After a minute Bruno nodded and extended his hand. “It is a bargain, Adam Cartwright.”

Adam grasped his forearm in agreement. “Now I’m going to have to go and count how many head of each brand you’ve got so I can pay the ranchers I’m buying them from. Make sure your braves know not to take a shot at me, okay?”

Adam raised his eyebrows. So they had been watching. “Okay,” he said evenly. “Oh, and Bruno – next time come to me first, okay? We’ll make a deal before the cattle take a stroll. Save me a long ride.” He winked at him.

The short walk back to the corral gave Adam enough time for some qualms. He wasn’t at all sure his father would approve of the agreement, never mind his neighbors, and he might have to pay more than the cattle were worth to get them to accept it gracefully. As he pushed into the corral he pulled out the tally sheet and pencil he always carried in his pocket at this time of year and pulled off his gloves to write. Getting cold, he thought absently as the chill air bit at his fingers and he studied the nearest animal. Flying G. Scrawny runt, too, but no doubt George Gilcrest would dicker with him as if it was prime beef. Circle J. Johnsons hated the Bannock – he’d have to figure out a soft sell there, too. Lazy K, Double H, Bar Lightning…it took the better part of the hour to tally all the cows, including rough sketches of the two brands he didn’t recognize and would have to find owners for somehow. Sure know how to make trouble for yourself, Cartwright, he thought. Well, never mind. The Bannock would have beef for the winter and he could use his own money to cover the deal if Pa objected. He glanced at the sky. Sun was getting low. If he started now he could make maybe an hour of progress before he’d have to stop for the night.

Adam hesitated. “Thanks, Bruno, but I don’t know…probably should make tracks while I can.”

Bruno shook his head. “Stay. Cold night. We celebrate bargain. Have fine meal. Beef.” Bruno’s eyes held a discreet twinkle.

Adam laughed. “Okay, you talked me into it. Just make sure you use one with the Ponderosa brand – I haven’t paid for the others yet.”

Adam jumped awake. He had been dreaming, and it had seemed important, but the images were dissolving, eluding his grasp, even as he turned over. He blinked about him, disoriented, and into the smiling eyes of Bruno's wife.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes to clear his head. "Keenhah. Good morning."

She indicated the steaming bowl in her hands. "For your face. Meal outside, when you ready. You need something else?"

Keenhah nodded again. Adam had once saved her from abuse at the hands of some traders at Wilson's Station, and now she had a special kindness for him. "When you ready," she repeated, and slipped back outside.

Adam sat up, rubbing his face. The bed of beaver pelts and the relative comfort of the teepee had been a nice change from the open air and hard ground, but he still had one - maybe two - more days of camping before he got back home, so he'd better not get too used to it. He rinsed his face in the bowl of hot water Keenhah had provided and wiped it on the cloth she'd left. He ran a comb through the thick black hair he kept short to discourage a tendency to curl, and reached for his shirt, feeling more alert. He picked up the bowl and made his way outside.

Keenhah took the bowl, nodding her thanks. He knew better than to throw the water away - the Bannock never threw anything away that he had seen and he was sure that Keenhah had a use in mind for it. He glanced around and noticed that no one else was eating, except for a few of the older folk.

"Of course we wait. You guest," said Keenhah gently. "Just the old ones - always eat first. Sit, Adam Cartwright."

Adam sat, his eyes on the old ones. They reminded him of his grandfather, and the fact that he hadn't come to any decision yet. He had to come to some kind of conclusion before he returned home, or tell his father the whole thing when he got there. He couldn't continue on as he had been.

Keenhah handed a bowl to him, then one to Bruno, who appeared from across the camp to sit next to him. Adam tasted it. "Keenhah, I can't even tell you how much better your cooking is than mine. I'll miss it this evening. Thank you for your hospitality."

Keenhah gave him a shy, pleased smile. Bruno looked up from his bowl. "You return to ranch today?"

Adam nodded. "As far as I can. Figure I can get about halfway, if the going is smooth. A third, anyway, if it's not." They ate in silence, then Bruno rose and disappeared inside one of the teepees. Adam also rose and stretched, returning his bowl to Keenhah's waiting hand. "I'd better get started."

Bruno came out of the teepee carrying something and stood next to him. He made a small gesture with his head, and magically, a teenaged brave appeared, leading Sport. Adam took the reins from him. "Thanks." He extended his hand to Bruno. "And thank you. It was a wonderful evening." Bruno clasped his forearm, then held out his bundle. It was an Indian blanket, a beautiful dark blue with a pattern worked on it in red and yellow. "What's this?"

Adam shook his head. "It's beautiful, Bruno, but not necessary. We already have a bargain."

Bruno didn't budge. "Is Bannock way," he said stubbornly. "For bargain. And for tonight."

Adam glanced up. The sky looked like a mottled grey bowl. “You think it’s cold enough?”

“Then I really have to be going.” Adam swung into the saddle, gave a final wave to Bruno and Keenhah. “You two take care. And thanks again for everything. Especially since tonight’ll probably be a whole lot less comfortable.”

The last thing he saw as he rode away was Bruno and Keenhah with their hands lifted in farewell.

Joe whistled piercingly as he strode from his room towards the stairs. Tonight was the night, and he was more than ready. He'd been hoping to go out with Jenny Mayfield for months, but rounding up strays and moving the herd to winter pasture had kept him on the ranch and away from town. It was going to feel good to dress up and cut loose a little with a pretty girl on his arm. He was trying out a few opening lines for Jenny in his head, trying to decide on the most sure-fire, when he did a double take and backed up a few steps. He pushed Adam's door open and stood in the doorway.

Hoss didn't even look up, so after a moment he said, "Adam's gonna kill you if he finds out you been messing with his books."

Hoss started, then glared, before returning his eyes to the page. "That ain't so, Joe an' you know it. Adam don't mind you borrowin' his books as long as you take good care of 'em, and I'm taking real good care. Haven't even taken 'em outta this room."

It was true - Joe had only said it because the sight of Hoss deeply involved in a book had left him at a loss for words - so now he tried again. "So whattaya readin'? Tryin’ to find some o' that poetry to dazzle Betsy-Sue with?" Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. Maybe Jenny would go for some of that poetry stuff. Adam sure seemed to have good luck with it.

Joe stepped into the room and lifted the book to read the cover. "Huh. Any good?"

Hoss looked flustered. "It's about…well, it's about…philosophical things. Stuff like that."

Hoss lowered his eyebrows at him. "Little Joe, if'n you don't have anythin' better to do than inerup’ me, find somethin', cause yer ruinin' my concentration."

Joe pushed his lower lip out, the picture of injured innocence. "Hey, Hoss, I'm just askin'. The picture of my big brother suddenly absorbed in the shining pursuit of philosophy blinded me for a minute, that's all. Where can I get some of this wisdom for myself?" Hoss raised the book threateningly and Joe dodged his swing. "Hey, hey, don't do that - you'll damage the book and Adam really will be mad."

Hoss scowled at him, then smoothed the book tenderly and returned his eyes to the page.

Joe leaned against the footboard. "Ah, come on, Hoss - I gotta know. Why this sudden urge to read older brother's dusty old volumes?"

"Come on, what's the big secret? You been sneakin' in here ever since Adam left. I thought you were plannin' some kind of a practical joke…is that it? A practical joke?"

"Cause you know full well that I'll bug you till you do, and I can hold out a lot longer than you can. So save us both some time and just tell me. You suddenly decide to turn scholar or what?"

Hoss glared, but he knew Joe had a point, so he finally said, "If you make a joke outta this, Joe, I swear you'll be walkin' funny fer a month, you hear me?"

Hoss cleared his throat a few times - he seemed to be having trouble getting started. Finally he said, "Well, ya see, it's like this. Adam was reading this here book afore he left, and he was atellin' me about it some, and seemin' like he wanted to talk about it an all…" he trailed off.

"Well, that's sorta my point, Joe. Adam seemed like he sorta wanted to talk about this here book, and there just weren't nobody to talk about it to. An' then he said somethin' that made me think that - well - when he was back at school there was probably heaps o' people to talk to about books and sech, and that mebbe he might miss it, so I got the idee that mebbe I'd read it and talk to him about it - sorta surprise him," he finished in a rush. "Now, I don't wanna hear one smart remark outta you. And don't you go teasin' Adam about it, neither."

Joe blinked. The thought of his self-contained, self-sufficient eldest brother needing anything from anyone was a new one. After a minute he said, "So what does it say?"

Hoss sighed deeply. "Well…to tell the truth, Joe, I can't make head nor tail of it. I read the same page three times and it might just as well be a ferrin' language fer all I kin understand."

Joe sat next to him on the bed. "Let me take a look." Hoss handed him the book and he read the first page, skipped ahead a little, came back to the second page. He turned to the ending, flipped the pages in the middle, dropped the book and threw himself back on the bed with a sigh. "Beats me. And just think, older brother reads that stuff for fun."

Joe nodded sympathetically. His eyes wandered among Adam's bookcases, crammed with volume after volume of dark, solemn-looking books. Suddenly he sat up. "Hey, Hoss! I have an idea!"

"Yeah! Look - the important thing here is that you can get Adam talking about one of those books he loves, right? It doesn't have to be that book, right?"

"Well, this place is just filled with books, and Adam loves all of 'em. So we just have to find one that you like, too. I mean, there must be one in ALL these books that you'd like and could talk about. We just have to find it!"

Joe was already crawling across the bed to the nearest bookcase. "I'll start with this one. You start with that one."

"Sure, why not? Might even read somethin' myself." He gave him an impish smile. "Would be worth the effort just to see the look on older brother's face."

A raw, slashing rain started about mid-morning, turning the mountain trails to icy mud. Adam felt the dampness even through his slicker as Sport picked his way along. He had redirected his descent a little to the west, hoping to be close within the vicinity of some of the trappers that pocketed the area in case he needed to seek shelter, but so far he had spotted nary a one. Hopefully he’d come across one or two by nightfall. Shelter would be nice by then – especially if it did indeed snow.

He was glad he’d settled things with the Bannock, but he was still missing over eighty head and he was beginning to feel pretty sure he would not find them up here. Sport slipped some in the mud and whinnied his distress. Adam patted him soothingly and shortened the reins a little. At this rate it could take him three days to get home, especially if the weather got worse. He remembered that tonight was the night of the Social and wondered if it was raining in the lower country as well. Hopefully not enough to interfere with Joe and Hoss’s good time. He hadn’t had any real interest in going himself, but he figured that after a few more hours in the rain it would start to sound pretty good to him.

The wind picked up, coming from all directions, tearing at his slicker and driving the rain under it. It wasn't long before he was soaked to the skin. He remembered his father's warning about the weather and smiled ruefully. Well, I did keep an eye on it, Pa. It just outsmarted me, is all.

Within a few hours some damp snow was beginning to mix with the rain and he was starting to become uneasy. Still no sign of a trapper or a miner's shack, even of a mine shaft, and visibility was disintegrating, too. The temperature continued a steady drop. If he was without shelter for the night he could be in trouble. He dismounted to give Sport a break and walked him for a while, his eyes searching in the half-light for some sign of civilization. He dug through his provisions for the oats and feed bag for Sport, and some beef jerky for himself. He used the oats sparingly. Sport could use a good meal in the cold and wet, but too much snow would limit the possibilities for grazing - he needed to conserve what he had. He sighed and remembered Keenhah's dinner the night before. He could use a good meal himself. The jerky was stiff and unappetizing with the cold, but he forced it down. The light was fading with the temperature, and the snow began in earnest, blown wildly by the wind.

Sport nudged him and he patted his nose absently. "Yeah, I know, boy. I'm not having much fun either." He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the drawing Bruno had made of the local settlements. Seemed like he should be coming up on one of them, anyway. He remounted, keeping Sport at an easy walk.

He was uncomfortably aware that if he didn't spot one soon he was in danger of missing them all together - the encroaching darkness and the blowing snow were making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. The snow grew heavier - a white blanket against the sky - and he felt his chest tighten in alarm. If he built a shelter with his slicker he might be able to get a fire going, but the odds of keeping it going throughout the night in this wind were poor. Sleeping in the cold and snow without a fire left a real good chance of never waking up. Better to stay in the saddle and keep moving - at least that would provide some warmth. The frigid air stiffened and froze his wet clothing and he shivered steadily.

It was truly dark by now, the snow dense and blinding. Sport's breathing sounded labored and tired in the cold air, but he didn't dare stop for both their sakes. Adam huddled in his coat, his hands barely able to keep hold of the reins. He felt as if he were trapped in some nightmare…trudging endlessly with the wind tearing at him, the snow blinding him and muffling all sound. He was exhausted from the cold and the long day in the saddle, but he didn't dare stop. He had no idea what time it was, or whether or not he was going in circles - but movement seemed like his best chance to stay alive until the snow broke, or daylight, or both. He was trying not to think about the fact that, here in the high country, storms like these could last for days. He felt pretty sure that he couldn't.

Sport's whinny of alarm woke him. He sat up with a start, encrusted with snow, just barely registering that he'd fallen asleep in the saddle. "Shhh, boy." He reached down automatically to soothe Sport, trying to orient himself. He was stiff and confused, cold beyond shivering. Sport whinnied again, shriller this time, dancing sideways, sliding awkwardly in the snow and ice. This time Adam's instincts caught up with him and he reached for his rifle.

It had just barely cleared the scabbard when he heard it - the distinctive barking cough of a cougar - and he fired wildly, with no time to aim - once, twice - before a weight like a rushing locomotive hit him square in the chest, knocking him from the saddle and flat on his back in the snow. He felt the seepage of snow down his collar and up his sleeves, the cougar's hot breath on his neck, a terrible burning in his chest. He swung the rifle stock at what he hoped was its head, felt it make contact with something, heard Sport's scream of terror. Wild things and weather, he thought hazily with the irrelevant irony of the dying, well, you've just always got to be right, Pa, don't you?…knowing, with regret, as the darkness washed over him, that being right would be no solace to his father at all.

Joe was feeling pleased with himself. His evening with Jenny had gone well - she had danced as many dances with him as was seemly and had allowed him a chaste kiss on the cheek when he'd taken her home. He had even managed to remember a line of poetry he'd found in one of Adam's books and he'd tried it out when they'd strolled outside to take a little break from the dancing and get some air. The dewy-eyed look she'd rewarded him with had him considering memorizing the whole thing. He hadn't had too much to drink, hadn't gotten into a single fight, and now he had good news for his father.

He hailed Ben to catch his eye, then rode out to meet him. "Say, Pa, good news - Perkins found over eighty head trapped in a box canyon on the southern rim. That only leaves a dozen or so unaccounted for."

"That is good news, son. We're making good progress moving the herds, too, though I could wish it would go a little faster. Don't like the look of that sky. Hoss is in town trying to hire a couple of more men and Adam should be home late today or tomorrow, so I suppose we'll make up the time then."

Joe shook his head. "You might not want to count on Adam right away, Pa - from the looks of those hills, they're havin' some snow up there - likely to slow him down."

Ben turned to frown at the hills. Joe was right - they had developed white blankets some time during the night. He stared so long that Joe reached out to touch his arm. "Hey, Pa, it's just a little snow. Adam knows what he's doing."

"There aren't that many opportunities for shelter up there. Even the best woodsmen can be taken by surprise. I wouldn't mind going up as far as the Pass to meet him."

"Pa, Adam's away and you just hired extra men - what kinda sense would it make for us to lose you, too? And Adam'll be all prickly if you start chasin' after him like a nursemaid."

Ben smiled a little. "True." He fussed with his reins. "Check among the men when you get the chance and see if any of them happen to know the status of the weather up there. I'd at least like to have an idea of when to expect him."

Ben gave his youngest son a warm glance. Joe could be heedless sometimes, but at other times, like this, he was such a thoughtful boy. "Thank you, son. If you could keep things moving down here until your brother returns from town, I'd appreciate it. I've got to go check on Williams and his crew."

Hoss turned from finishing his task of settling the three new hands he'd hired in the bunkhouse. "Yeah? What is it, Joe?"

"I don't want Pa to hear. Not yet. You notice it's been snowing up in the hills where Adam is?"

Hoss pushed his hat back on his head thoughtfully. "Cain't say that I have. But then, I ain't had much cause to look thataway. Why?"

"Well, Carter tells me his brother turned around and came back from that way yesterday without finishin' his trip because the weather was so bad. Said it looked like it was buildin' up to a real blizzard, and that the Pass wasn't actually impassable, but could be if it kept up for a couple days."

"That's what I wanted to ask you. He's already worried some and I don't wanna worry him more for nothin', but he asked me to ask around about the weather and I did. I don't wanna lie to him, either."

Hoss pondered, then shook his head. "Reckon there's no point in tryin' ta keep it from him, then. He'll just ask an' find out fer hisself if we don't tell 'im."

"Now, Joe, he asked you to find out an' ya did. I figger it's your job to see this thing through. He'll worry fer a minute, maybe, but he knows ol' Adam can take care of hisself."

"Well, you can tell him over dinner." He pondered a moment more. "Better wait fer dessert."

Joe waited until well beyond dessert, despite the meaningful glances Hoss kept shooting him. He told himself he'd tell Pa while he had his brandy, then while he sat by the fire, then just before he went to bed. He was contemplating telling him at breakfast so as not to interfere with his night's rest when his father startled him by asking "Well, Joseph. You did a fine job of moving those animals. Were you able to find out anything about this weather in the hills?"

"Carter's brother was riding up into 'em yesterday and had to turn back cause o' the snow. Said he thought there was a blizzard startin'. Course - " he added hastily, "he doesn't know for sure."

"He doesn't know fer sure, Pa," Hoss repeated. "Personally, I think them Carters tend ta exaggerate."

"For now. It's rough going, but it's open. He thought if it kept up, though, it could close."

Ben blew out his breath thoughtfully. "Well, we know that Adam didn't find much in the way of stock up there, because we found them down here. So if the weather is fairly manageable, he should be back in a day or so. If the weather is rough, hopefully he's holed up someplace until it passes. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Ben closed his book. "Well, it's been a long day and I'm going to bed. I'll see you boys at breakfast. Don't stay up too late." He strolled up the staircase and into his room, closing the door carefully behind him. Without turning on a lantern he moved to the window and looked out at the night sky, too overcast to show moon or stars. And while he was looking he began a quiet prayer for his son's safety.

Hoss and Joe watched him go in silence. After a minute Hoss said, "Well, that weren't so bad."

Hoss yawned and stretched, thinking about his answer. "Well, Shortshanks," he said at last, "You know what Adam always says. The only way ta hurt him…"

"Is to kill him," Joe finished with a laugh. "Guess he's right." Then Joe's smile faded abruptly. Suddenly, somehow, that didn't sound comforting at all.

He was straddling a fire-filled chasm, flames licking at his feet. On one side stood his father, calling to him, begging him for his help. On the other was his grandfather, reaching out for him, beseeching him to save him. The chasm was growing, the edges crumbling under his boot heels. He wouldn't be able to keep his balance much longer. He couldn't save them both, but how could he possibly choose? And yet if he didn't leap to one side or the other soon he would be dropped into the flames below.

He ran an arm across his forehead. It was so hot, making it difficult for him to think.

"Adam…" His grandfather's face was pleading. Adam met his eyes with his own haunted ones. He couldn't leave his grandfather there all alone. He turned to make the leap to his side.

"Adam…" His father's voice. He looked over his shoulder to him, saw Joe and Hoss with him, in peril too. He hesitated. He couldn't just abandon them. The ground shook under him warningly. Could he grab his grandfather, pull him back to his father's side, then take care of his father and brothers? He'd have to try.

"Grandfather, move a little closer if you can. Take my hand." The chasm widened. His grandfather didn't seem to hear him. "Grandfather, please, we're running out of time…" Sweat was running in his eyes now, the chasm was wider, the fire hotter than ever. "Grandfather, please…" The ground roared beneath him, he made a desperate decision. He leapt for his grandfather, grasped his hand to pull him back to join his father and brothers. The ground gave way under his feet, dropping him dangling on the chasm rim, flames licking at him.

"I'm coming, Pa, just let me…Grandfather, pull me up…" But his grandfather was old and the terrible heat seemed to paralyze him. "I'm coming, Hoss, Joe, I just have to…" His hands were slick with sweat, the fire leeched his strength. "I'm sorry, I can't…" His hand slid from his grandfather's grasp, he felt the rough surface of the chasm wall against his chest, then he was free falling, over and over, a surge of flame engulfing him…

"Ssshh…be still now. You'll make it worse." That was different voice. A woman. He searched his scattered brain for recognition, grabbed for her to stop his falling. "Easy now." There was a hand on his, cool in all the heat. "Try to be still. Can you drink this for me? Just a bit. There's a good lad."

He wanted to warn her about the fire, ask her to help him with his terrible problem. Maybe if he hurried, if she helped him, there was still time to save his family. "Of course I'll help you. Lie easy, now." He needed to explain to her that lying still was not the answer, but things were getting mixed up in his mind, fading to a dull greyness. He tried to ask her if she could see them, his father or his grandfather, but the words were having trouble forming in his mind and the greyness was spreading, deepening, swallowing him, until he disappeared into its nothingness. Into blackness.

It was the music that jarred him from the darkness next time - a sweet, plaintive singing, in a language he didn't recognize. The blackness still sucked at him, threatening to pull him under, but he fought it, struggled to open his eyes. He was amazed at how much effort it took. He managed to pry them to the merest slits. He had a glimpse of a harp, of red gold hair lit by the lantern into a fuzzy aureole around a small, pointed face, then he let his eyes slide shut, exhausted.

He frowned slightly as he tried to analyze the picture, make sense of it in his mind. Was he dead, then? He had some memory of dying. Maybe he was waiting for someone to guide him into the next world. Somehow, he had always had some idea that his mother would come for him when the time came, but even his faint glimpse told him that this wasn't her…his mother had been dark, like him. Not Inger or Marie, his stepmothers, either, though surely he'd see them soon enough? He drifted into some vague memory of Dante's Divine Comedy and his travels from hell to purgatory to heaven. Maybe this was his Beatrice, then. Waiting to show him the way. He wished she'd hurry. He longed to shake off this terrible lethargy that engulfed him, keeping him rocking in Limbo. He thought of calling out to her, but forming sentences seemed an unbearable chore, and after a brief mental struggle, he surrendered once again to the darkness.

The third time he came to himself he felt stronger. He was aware of a small, cool hand caressing his forehead. His father did that sometimes when he was ill and he certainly felt ill now, but that wasn't his father's hand. Inger had done it too the first time she'd met him, a small feverish boy of five, but Inger's hands had been large and strong and gentle, like Hoss's. He thought again of his mother, but his father had often told him that his mother's hands had been long and slender, like his. This one was small and delicate, like Marie's had been. Which would mean that he was, in fact, dead. He ought to open his eyes for a look, but it seemed somehow like an awful lot of work. After a while, curiosity got the better of him and he tentatively pried his lids apart.

"Well. There y'are, then." Not Marie. Marie had had a faint Creole accent. This accent was different. "Why don't ye take a wee drink o' this for me? There's the laddie." Adam felt a cup against his lips and drank almost involuntarily. "That's more like it, now."

Irish. Adam was pleased with himself. He recognized the accent as Irish. So maybe his brain hadn't deserted him all together. He cleared his throat experimentally. "Am I alive?", frowned at how faint his voice sounded.

"Oh, aye, that y'are, though by the bare skin o' yer teeth, let me tell ya. You'd a nasty run-in, it looks like, with a cougar and a snow bank, and lost the battle but won the war, so ta speak, seein' as he's dead an' yer not."

"Dead?" Adam remembered now, the cougar that had leapt on him from out of the darkness, driven to attack by cold and hunger, no doubt.

"Aye, he died right on top o' ya. And in a cunning twist of irony, saved yer life, in a way, seein' as it's probably his body that kept ya from freezin' afore I found ya. He banged you up a bit, but it's the cold that nearly carried you off."

Adam was remembering more now and he heard again Sport's scream. "My horse…"

"Is tucked up in the barn with mine. The accommodations aren't so grand, but they keep out the weather. A steady animal - most'll bolt at the smell of cougar, dead or no."

"Do you think you could manage a bit o' gruel, if I fed you? You could use the strengthnin'."

Adam tried to focus his eyes on her. He could just make out a slender figure swathed in a large bib apron, but the details kept running fuzzily together. He closed his eyes wearily.

After a minute he felt her sit on the bed next to him, deftly slide another pillow under him to prop him up a little. She had a bowl of water in her lap, and gently but efficiently began to wipe down his face with a soft cloth, talking all the time. "It's fine to have ye come round. I've been curious to meet a man who quotes Milton when he's barely conscious."

"Did I?" Adam chuckled a little, then immediately regretted it as the movement slashed across his ribs in a tearing pain. He took a ragged breath to steady himself. "Paradise Lost?"

"On His Blindness. Sure sign of a vocational crisis. You want to be careful about movin’ anything. Humor is good for the soul, but bad for cracked ribs."

"You've a broken collar bone, and you're a bit mauled on that side. You've a lovely voice for poetry, even in delirium. Are you an orator? Or a minister, perhaps."

Adam wanted to laugh again, but managed to stop himself. "Nothing like that." He noticed for the first time that his left arm was supported by a sling. "I can't believe I killed him. Didn't even have time to aim. Sure he wasn't already wounded when he attacked?"

"Now, I'll admit I didn't take much time for a post mortem on the cougar, seein' as I had my hands a bit full wit' you. All I remember is that he was a big feller - about two hundred pounds - and I'd a big job ta get him off you."

"I haven't thanked you…" She interrupted him with a spoonful of gruel. His brain was slowly trying to pull the threads together. "Delirium," he repeated suddenly, after swallowing. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days?" He had already been gone nearly three when the storm hit…he was at least another day from home…"Oh, God…" He tried to pull himself up, was immediately arrested by a torrent of pains attacking him from all sides, too many to separate, slumped back, struggling to remain conscious against the barrage of agony.

"Now, there was a turrible idea." He felt small hands on his shoulder and chest. "What did I tell you about keepin' still?"

Her voice was gentle. "Well, I'm sorry for that, but I'm afraid there's no help for it."

"You don't understand, my father was already…if you could just help me up…"

Even through his wavering vision he saw her eyebrows jump in a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Now, you listen to me. Even if you get up - and I'm thinkin' it's a long shot at best - you'd make it one or two steps - " She eyed him shrewdly "three, say, outta sheer cussedness, before you'd tumble on yer head. Making cracked ribs broken ones and undoing all me fine doctoring. Not to mention leavin' me with the job o' getting' yer large self back in that bed, which was no easy task the first time and is an experience I've no desire ta repeat.

An' after all that, dy'a know what you'd find? Dy'a remember how the snow was comin' down when you were hurt?"

He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at her, suddenly knowing where this was going.

"Well, it has been ever since. Still is. For better or for worse, my friend, we're snowed in. It's all I can do to get to the barn and chicken coop and woodpile, and I use a lead line for that. So you might just as well make the best of the situation and get yerself better."

Adam sighed. "Three days," he repeated. She watched him for a moment, and seeing that he didn't look likely to move again, began washing his hands. It was a soothing movement, and he felt his eyelids droop. "Wait a minute…" Something else she'd said suddenly registered and he opened his eyes. "You know Milton."

"Who else? Well, it's a longish list. I've been readin' everythin' I could get my hands on fer as long as I can remember. Eye hunger, my Da used ta call it."

"Eye hunger." Adam smiled faintly. "I like that." She was drying his hands now, in gentle, hypnotic strokes. "So we're stuck here for a while, is that it?"

He took it, eyeing her consideringly. His heavy eyes were betraying him, but he just had to know. "Miss - I don't know you're name."

"Miss Halloran. You haven't by any chance read Ralph Waldo Emerson, have you?"

Ben opened Adam's bedroom door and stood in the entryway, glancing about. It hadn't escaped his notice that Hoss and Joe had taken to spending an inordinate amount of time in there, and he was curious to know why. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place, except for a few books pulled off the bookshelves and the bedspread in something less than its usual perfect order. He bent down absently to smooth it.

He suspected a practical joke was underway, and while he rarely interfered with his sons' high jinx, he couldn't help feeling that after spending a few days battling snow in the high country Adam might be less than receptive. Suspiciously, he peeled back the covers and checked the sheets. Nothing in the bed. No short-sheeting. He picked up the loose books and flipped carefully through them. No. Nothing there. He returned them to the top of the bookcase. Was it possible that his two younger sons had simply developed a sudden interest in literature? He snorted. Not likely.

He spotted Adam's mother's picture on his night table and walked over to pick it up. Elizabeth's face smiled at him from across the years. Well, my love, he thought, I hope you're looking out for our son, because he's out of my hands now. Elizabeth's smile was comforting somehow and he sat down on the bed and gazed at her. Look at all these books. Wouldn't you be pleased, though? And the guitar. Our son is a thinker and a dreamer, just as you were. I can imagine the talks the two of you would have had if you had lived.

That reminded him of the talk he and his son hadn't had and he leaned back against the headboard to really take in the room - the shelves of books, the pictures of classical structures on the walls, the building plan sketches and drafting tools, the guitar. He suddenly had an odd sensation, as though an important piece of his son was carefully stored, hidden and contained within this room, behind a closed door. He looked back at Elizabeth, his expression thoughtful. Something you're trying to tell me, love? After a while, he gently replaced the photo and, with a final glance at Elizabeth's smiling dark eyes then one around the room, left, carefully closing the door behind him.

"Well, now, that's sommat better." Miss Halloran took her hand from his forehead and smiled at him. "Did ya have a nice sleep? It seems to have done ya a great deal o' good." She surprised him by pulling out a pocket watch and checking his pulse as efficiently as Doc Martin ever had. After a moment she nodded her satisfaction. "Well, this is fine. And just as well, since I need to change yer dressins' and that's bound ta hurt a mite. Do you think you could manage more than three spoonfuls o' somethin'?"

Adam shifted tentatively, wincing a little as his body complained. "I'd like to get up."

She smiled. "And I'd like ta fly, but they're neither very likely, are they? No, I'm afeerd it's best all around if you stay where you are for the moment, Mr. - Cartwright, isn't it?"

"You'd a letter in yer pocket - a bit blurry now, but I could make out the name. I dried it out fer ya." She folded back the quilts and blankets piled on him and carefully unfastened his sling. "You fell asleep before I could answer yer question."

"Which question?" He was irritated by the sluggishness that seemed to have invaded his brain.

"Oh." He studied her, able to see her clearly for the first time. She was small and slight, with a head of tightly curly red gold hair that escaped in wild wisps around her face and a pair of disconcertingly direct blue violet eyes. He couldn't put an age to her, but when she smiled she seemed very young.

"I am, in fact, a great fan of Emerson and the Transcendentalists, and Margaret Fuller is somethin' o' a hero o' mine - ye might say she's the reason for my bein' here."

Now that Adam was clear-headed enough to reflect on it, her being there, alone in the wilderness, did seem odd. "Miss Halloran - "

"I'm sorry. Mrs. Halloran. Is your husband away?" At least that made some sense.

"Doctor." Adam paused to assimilate this new information. It still didn't make a whole lot of sense. "I'm assuming of medicine, not philosophy?"

She put down the scissors she'd been about to apply to his bandages and studied him keenly. "That's right. You seem sommat less than shocked."

"I meant about the Doctor part. There's many a man who'd take exception ta bein' treated by a female physician."

Adam placed an arm protectively over his ribs and winced. "Obviously these men haven't enjoyed the privilege of having you piece them back together, like all the kings horses and all the kings men." He studied her curiously "Did you really think it would be all right with me to have you save my life until I found out you had the credentials to do it? What kind of sense would that make?"

"You'd be surprised how people feel about it. And sense seems to have very little to do with it."

She was clipping the bandages that covered his left shoulder and the upper part of his chest now and he said, partly to distract himself, "Where did you study?"

"Ever hear of a woman named Elizabeth Blackwell?" She started to peel the bandages away but they had dried to the wounds in places and even her gentle tugging made Adam draw air sharply through his teeth. She reached for a cloth that was resting in a bowl of warm water and placed it against the bandage to soak it loose from the wound.

"I think so," Adam gasped, trying to keep his voice normal. "Um - a British woman, isn't she? Doctor? Organized some kind of social medical care back east?"

"Aye. Steady, now." Dr. Halloran took a firm grasp on the bandages and pulled. The pain was so sudden and so intense that Adam didn't have time to make a sound. The room did a slow loop-de-loop and then righted itself, fuzzing in and out before his eyes. "All right, easy." She used the cloth to sponge his face. "I went to her alma mater and then studied with her, helped her with her organization fer a while…then I met a man from this part o' the world, and between his stories and me head full o' Walden Pond and Margaret Fuller I got the idea that I wanted to coom here…still with me?" After a second Adam nodded and she smiled in satisfaction. "Well, that's fine. Because this next part may hurt just a bit. A little alcohol to disinfect you - cougar claws are nasty breeders o' infections."

If this part was supposed to hurt, Adam wondered what the last part was supposed to have done, but his thought was answered far too soon as a flash of lightening seemed to sear the left side of his body. He gasped, too hurt even to cry out, and the world dissolved into a buzzing grey tunnel.

"There, there…I know, I know…" Dr. Halloran's voice crooned softly in his ear, "Just a bit more, now…good lad." He felt himself lifted to sitting position and fresh bandages wound about him. After a minute the greyness seemed to sharpen and separate back into colors. Dr. Halloran lifted a glass of water to his lips and then studied his face closely. "All right, then?"

Adam swallowed the water and nodded, fighting to control his breathing. "Just - dand,." he said through his teeth.

"Good. Because I really should re-wrap those ribs. And that might hurt the tiniest mite."

Adam groaned. "Why - is it," he struggled with his voice, "that doctors - always say that? If you mean that the pain is going to lift the hair right from my scalp, why can't you just say that? Is that something your Dr. Blackwell taught you?"

Dr. Halloran chuckled a little as she sponged down his face again. "Aye, well. It's considered sommat discouragin' to the patient ta say 'Hang on, love, we're goin' ta have some righteous agony here for the next few minutes'. But if ye prefer…favored odds are it's gonna hurt a big bit, but you'll feel better when it's done. Hang on, now."

Desperate to keep his mind from his ribs, Adam said, "So, where exactly were you with Dr. Blackwell?"

Dr. Halloran finished unwrapping his ribs and reached for a new bandage. "Steady. Na, there they didn't mind sa much." She twinkled at him. "Though they seemed to object ta my bein' Irish." She pulled the new bandage tight, caught him as he slumped against her and lowered him back on the pillows. "All right, all over now."

It occurred to him, hazily, as she wiped down his face again, that she was strong for someone so small.

She gave him another drink and drew the blankets up to his neck. "Think you could eat somethin'?"

She chuckled again and rose to remove the basin and soiled bandages. "Rest, then."

He reached out his good hand and caught her sleeve. "Stay and talk to me?" He was exhausted and dizzy, but longed for company.

She lay a gentle hand on his forehead and caressed it softly with her thumb. "Well, I'll tell ye what. Let me get rid o' this and fix ye a little medicinal tea I make - na, na, it tastes fine, I promise ye - and then I'll sit with ye. How's that?"

"I'll be right back. Now, if ye start ta sleep, don't fight it. We're neither o' us goin' anywhere fer a while, there'll be plenty o' time to talk."

"Ye've barely slept a tall. Unconsciousness and delirium do not count as rest - quite the contrary. Now, lie easy an' I'll be back in a jiff."

The doctor was as good as her word, both as to returning quickly and to the tea. Adam was surprised at the spicy fragrance it emitted and the slow, warm bloom it spread throughout his system. “This is good,” he admitted. “It reminds me of some Hop Sing, our Chinese cook, makes when we’re sick.”

“Really?” She made herself comfortable in the wing chair next to the bed. “I’d love to know what he makes it of sometime. I got that recipe from the Bannock. Between them and the mountain folk here abouts I’m become quite expert in folk medicine. Makes a fine supplement way out here where real apothecary supplies can be slow comin’. I’m workin’ on a very good study about it – I’m hopin’ some day ta send it East fer publishin’. Under a pseudonym, I suppose, if I want anyone ta read it.”

“No, but there we are. If it were glamour and glory I were after I don’t suppose I’d be out here in the wilderness anyway. Now, the people here abouts – they wouldna care if I’d two heads, as long as I could help ‘em, God bless ‘em.”

“So you must have a pretty large territory you cover. Especially to include the Bannock.”

“Oh, aye. I take Betsy – she’s my horse – on regular rounds – especially if I know a baby’s comin’ somewhere. The Bannock I usually only treat if they come ta me. Not much money in that clientele, o’ course, but they keep me in food and firewood and blankets an’ sech. Repair my roof in spring. Warm-hearted folk, once ya earn their trust, but that’s no easy thing either. Took me a while.”

“Almost two years. This is my second winter – that’s the worst part, I think. Isolatin’. Folks could need ye desperate, an’ how would ya know?”

Adam put down his teacup and closed his eyes for a minute. “If I remember correctly, Thoreau had more than his share of visitors.”

“Now, y’know, I thought I’d overlooked somethin’ important. Do ya want ta sleep now?”

Adam shook his head without opening his eyes. “I’m not asleep, my eyes just ache. Do you mind? Pretty rude, I know.”

“Oh, don’t worry aboot me. My Ma died when I was just a wee thing and left my Da with the raisin’ o’ me, so I’ve no upbringin’ a tall.”

“My Pa was pretty strict about things like that. And I had two stepmothers, even though briefly.”

“I don’t know anyone…” Adam tried to follow the thread through the scrambled days and nights of delirium. “Oh.” He grinned, a little embarrassed, closing his eyes again. “I think I thought I was in Dante’s Divine Comedy at one point.”

Adam had to admit that it was nice not to have to explain himself or guard his words for once. “I thought you had a harp,” he smiled at the memory.

“Oh, aye. A small Irish harp. 'Twere my mother’s. I play not sa ill, if I do say so. Are ye fond o’ music?”

Dr. Halloran shook her head. “Mr. Cartwright, yer a man after me own heart. I count it a lucky day ye landed on me doorstep.”

Her keen eyes glowed and she extended her hand. “Bridie. It’s Bridget, but I’ve never answered ta any but Bridie.”

"Well, it's a fine name and your research should be published under it." He paused, thinking. "I know one or two people at Harvard Medical…of course, I didn't go to the medical college myself, but I still keep in touch with some of the other faculty…maybe if I wrote to someone they would know how to go about getting your work looked at."

Bridie's eyebrows rose like twin question marks. "Are ye tellin' me ye went to Harvard?"

"Well, of course, it only follows. Seeing as ye studied engineering and architecture at Harvard."

She was immediately contrite. "Damn me careless tongue! I didna know it was a sore spot. Forgive me, Adam, of course ye can do whatever ye wish. I mean, afterall, it's not as if yer doin' somethin' crazy, like hiding in the wilderness with a medical degree." She slipped her hand into his good one and squeezed.

After a minute Adam gave her a rueful smile. "Actually, I guess I am, in a way." He turned to look at her earnestly. "You see, I've been struggling with that very thing lately. I can't seem to come to a solution I can live with."

She nodded. "Well, that explains Milton's On His Blindness, doesn't it? Is this about deciding whether or not to go to your grandfather?"

She cleared her throat. "I might have caught a word or two while I was dryin' it, like…and then you talked about it a great deal when ye were delirious…"

She threw up her hands. "All right, all right, I confess, I did! I've excuses, o' course…I thought ye were dyin' and I needed ta know about ye, I needed ta know how ta contact yer family…but the truth o' the matter is, I suppose, that I've a hopelessly curious nature and, damn, as I told ye, I've no upbringin' a tall! So now I need ta beg yer pardon twice in as many minutes."

Adam closed his eyes and shook his head, clutching his ribs. When he could speak he said, with the merest quaver in his voice "I've never heard a woman say 'damn' outside of a saloon before. You're one of a kind, Bridie Halloran and that's a fact. But you've got to stop making me laugh. It really hurts."

“Poor creature gave her life fer ya. The least ya can do is savor her memory.”

Adam took a deep breath. “If you promise to try to go five minutes without setting me off and doing harm to my ribs I’ll do just about anything.”

“I’ll try. It’s just I’m sommat giddy, ye see, ta have company fer a change, and literate company at that. If yer good and eat a bit I promise ta drag out me harp and dazzle ye with me Euterpien skills. What have I said now?”

“Euterpien,” Adam gasped “I’m trying to remember the last time I heard anyone use it in a sentence. I’m not sure I ever have.”

“Aye, aye, doctor.” Adam rested his eyes until Bridie returned with a bowl and spoon on a tray.

Adam smiled a little. “Maybe. But if I feed myself then you can eat at the same time.”

“Mm. Me Da.” Bridie chewed contemplatively. “He was a grand man, in his way, a Killarney dreamer. Full o' pretty thoughts. He’d a beautiful voice, like yers – only not sa deep. Made everything he said sound like music. Now, me Ma – she was a hard-headed Connemara lass. Always thought it a shame she didn’t live long enough ta teach me a bit o’ sense.”

Adam carefully negotiated his spoon. The broken collarbone and cracked ribs made things a little tricky since he couldn’t comfortably lean forward, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “Mine are just the opposite. My mother was a dreamer, or so I’m told, anyway, while Pa has sense and to spare. I respect it a lot, but sometimes I wish he could be a little more…” he hesitated, reaching for the word.

Adam grinned. “Now, there’s a picture I can’t quite get. Pa, whimsical.”

“Ah, well, that was me Da. To a fault, I expect. But he gave me two very important things and I’ll be forever grateful: he never made me feel there was anything I couldna do just because I happened ta be a girl, and he never made me feel I had any less responsibility fer lookin’ out fer meself just because I happened ta be a girl. I honestly don’t think he treated me much different than if I’d been a son.”

She pointed her spoon warningly at him. “Now ye watch yerself , or I’ll stop pretendin’ I don’t see ye strugglin’ there an feed ye meself.”

“Mm hm.” Adam painstakingly managed another spoonful. “You remind me of my Pa, come to think of it.”

“Yer Pa, is it?” She lowered her brows at him. “And how is that, not the red hair, I suppose?”

“Definitely the disposition.” Adam paused to consider, then nodded. “Pushy. Always needing to be right.”

"See? My Pa does that, too. Say something he doesn't like and he threatens you with a tanning."

Bridie folded her arms and studied him with narrowed eyes. "Is it possible, d'ya suppose, that we think we're always right because, in fact, we are?"

"Well, it's sorry fer him, I am - havin' sech an ungrateful, impertinent son."

Bridie glanced down at the bowl in front of him and back up into his face. "And I suppose ye think that provokin' me, like, has distracted me from the subject at hand?"

Adam met her eyes with a glimmer of a smile in his own. "I don't know - has it?"

"No, it has not. At this rate yer like ta starve ta death with food right in front o’ ye." She struggled with herself for a moment. "I suppose y'intend ta be stubborn about this?"

Bridie sighed. "Just see to it that ye get somethin' down ye. I can't have my way in everythin', I suppose."

Bridie smiled in spite of herself. "You get yer stubbornness from yer father, I'm thinkin', then."

Adam swallowed another carefully maneuvered spoonful. "He says from my mother. Which makes me suspect I got a double dose." He put down the spoon. The effort of eating cost him more than he cared to admit. After a moment he said, "We do this at home - every night. Talk over dinner. Pa and my brothers and I."

Bridie gave him one of her curiously direct glances. "And what do ye talk about? Books? Music?"

Adam shook his head with a smile. "Oh, no. My father and brothers aren't that interested in books or music. Ranch business, mostly. What happened that day. But it's nice. A nice way to end the day."

"I never had siblings. Tell me about yer brothers. Now that I know that yer father is terribly like yerself."

“Guess I was at that.” Adam told her about Hoss and his penchant for bringing home strays, his gentleness despite his massive size, his shyness, his boundless good nature until pushed too far; then about Joe’s quick temper, his energy and enthusiasm, his fondness for the ladies, his knack for trouble. He interrupted himself with a yawn and leaned back and closed his eyes for a minute. “I can’t remember the last time I talked this much. You’re a good listener.”

“It’s a treat ta have someone ta listen to. But yer wearin’ yerself out.”

“Mm hm. Of course y’are.” She rose and looked in his bowl, then offered him another spoonful. “Come on. Just a little more.”

He half opened his eyes at her. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave that alone.”

“Absolutely not.” He took the spoonful resignedly, swallowed. “I can’t believe I'm in such bad shape just because of a couple of broken bones.”

She filled another spoon. “It’s not sa much the bones, though you’d some blood loss from the cougar clawin’ ye took – it’s the exposure that’s got yer system in a tizz. Took a lot more outta ye than ye think, and it’ll take a bit to right itself. Yer lucky ta be alive. Which is why ye should listen ta yer doctor.”

“Knew we were building up to that…do you…can you…damn…” Adam struggled to keep his eyes open. “Sorry…”

“Hush. Don’t fight it. Sleep’s the best cure…here…” She abandoned the spoon and bowl and disappeared from the room.

Adam fought a losing battle with his eyelids, drifting briefly then shaking himself awake with a jerk that painfully rattled his ribs and shoulder. He had an irrational fear that if he fell asleep Bridie would disappear and he’d find himself alone in the dark and storm on the mountain. He sensed, rather than saw, her return, felt her gently remove one of his pillows so he could rest more comfortably. “I don’t want to sleep…” he protested.

He heard the sweet, plaintive voice of the harp and peered at her through slits in his heavy lids. “’Sbeautiful.” She began to sing soft accompaniment in that language he didn’t recognize and after a moment he ventured “…Gaelic…?”

Adam wanted to say something more, started to, opened his mouth to form the words, but it turned into a sigh and a final surrendering to sleep.

Ben's eyes drifted toward the high country for the dozenth time that day. The mountains were still blanketed in white, though the chill in the lower lands had yet to turn to snow. He steered Buck toward the chuck wagon and dismounted, his thoughts vaguely troubled. "Coffee, Charlie."

Charlie handed him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and beans. "Cattle are movin' fast," he offered conversationally. "Don't know as you'll need me as long as you thought."

"I don't know." Ben's eyes fixed on the mountains. "The weather can play some harsh tricks on a man."

Charlie followed his gaze. "I know what you mean. Early snow, even for that part of the territory, hey? My friend Carl is a scout through those mountains and he was telling me