This work of fiction had its genesis in a horrifyingly real situation for one of our writers. It is to her that we dedicate this work for she is still caught within the flames……….
 

“I would love to know what has kept him this time!” Adam Cartwright scowled to his father. “Why is it that Joe is never on time when it comes to working?  You know, Pa, if he were a hired hand, you would have fired him years ago.”

“And I wouldn’t have blistered the britches of a hired hand either for being late to work,” Ben pointed out as he looked in the direction of his oldest son, trying to remember if Adam had ever been late for anything in his life. Probably not, he thought. It seemed to Ben that Adam had always been as he was right then: rock solid, temperate and beside him. As such, Ben had grown to rely so heavily on his eldest son when it came to running the Ponderosa.  He had also come to rely on Adam for something else all together different: pointing out his youngest son’s faults. If there was a problem between the two, Ben knew he would hear it, if at all, from Adam first.  That part of his oldest son, he didn’t like but knew that it came essentially from a wellspring of love and protectiveness that Adam kept for his brothers. Anyone who knew the four Cartwrights would always think that Adam was probably the least caring of them when in fact Ben knew that it wasn’t so.  Adam just kept it out of the public eye. But right then there was not a concerned look to Adam. It was a look more of aggravation.

“Well, maybe he and Hop Sing ran into some trouble in town this morning,” Hoss, always quick to defend his younger brother, added.

“Only ‘trouble’ he ever runs into usually has a skirt on and you know it, Hoss.” Adam shot back. He was hot and miserable that morning and it was showing plainly in his temperament.

“STOP IT!” Ben finally shouted.  He had heard enough of this from his sons, particularly Adam.  At every opportunity he had complained that Joe wasn’t where he was suppose to be, starting mildly but sliding up the scale towards vexation. And Ben was finally putting his foot down. He too was annoyed that his youngest wasn’t out there helping as he had been instructed to do after he returned from town with Hop Sing and the supplies. At one point, Ben had considered sending Hoss back to the house to see what was holding things up but had decided otherwise when one of the sickle bar cutters had gotten jammed and then broken by the heavy hay they were cutting that morning.  Hoss had been needed to repair the damage done and that only left Adam to go looking.  Ben hadn’t wanted to do that either. With the way things had been between Adam and Joe lately, they would have both been sporting barked knuckles when they came back out to the hay fields. Probably a black eye as well. The two had done their best to try and keep it from their father, but Ben knew that the dissention between them had taken a step he had never wanted to see taken: there had been an all out fight, fists flying on both parts, not long ago. The only witness had been Hoss, who had stepped in and broken it up, but not before taking a few punches himself. Not one of them had said anything to their father but Ben would've had to have been blind to miss the bruise Adam had sported along his right jawline. He had surreptitiously checked out Joseph’s left knuckles and found the telltale scrapes he thought he would find.  That didn’t surprise Ben in the least seeing how Joe’s temper was notably the shortest thing on the ranch. But it did surprise Ben to note that Joe had kept a protective arm wrapped around his midsection for a few days when he thought no one was watching him. Usually it was a case that Joe fought Adam. In the past, Adam had refused to fight back but it was obvious now that he changed his mind and Joe had paid the price. Ben had decided that morning to sit the two of them down and talk things out but would wait for the cool of the evening to do so.

Now, he was chastising himself for not having the conversation earlier.  He was mad that Joseph had not appeared as instructed. “Joseph is too old to have his backside warmed but I will certainly warm his ears,” Ben said and then catching the rolled eyes of his oldest, added “ And you will remember that I am the father here.”

Straightening up from where he had bent over to inspect the cut hay, Hoss looked in the direction of the main house.  Not that he could see it. The meadow where the crew had been working since mid-morning was over a ridge from the house. But Hoss had kept an eye peeled for a sign of his brother anyway.  Joe, he could understand being late, but to have Hop Sing late was unheard of. It was almost noon and Hop Sing was to have brought lunch to the men and Hoss was hungry. That didn’t help his mood either.  Just like his father, he had heard Adam complaining and had wanted it to stop. Hoss knew the only way for it all to stop was for Joe and Hop Sing to appear right then and there with lunch, cool drinks, and for Joe to have good excuse.

At last, Ben called a halt. Nothing was going right that day. The hay was too heavy for the side bar sickles they were using and they would have to return to the house for the heavier mowers and the double teams anyway.  He would have to inspect them carefully before taking them out and using them since that had been Joseph’s job too and his youngest was clearly not following directions.  Sipping tepid water from his canteen, Ben shook his head.  Maybe Joseph wasn’t too big…

“Adam, go call the others off. We’ll head back to the house for lunch and swap the teams and mowers out.  Maybe we can salvage some of this day, but it isn’t looking like it. Hoss, you take the bay team and head back. We’ll be along,” Ben instructed, knowing these instructions were un-necessary but wanting them said anyway. “And should you see Joseph, send him directly to me.”

Hoss sure didn’t want to be his little brother right then.

As it were, all three Cartwrights and the others from the haying crew all reached the main house at the same time.  Ben noted that the wagon loaded with supplies was still sitting out front, the tarp laid back as if they were still in the process of unloading, the horses still harnessed. The kitchen door stood open but there was no sound coming from within. Still aggravated, Ben handed his horse off to Adam and headed into the kitchen, prepared to lambaste his wayward son.

The sight that met his eyes stopped him cold. Everywhere he looked in the spacious kitchen he saw destruction. Dishes broken, pots and pans laying everywhere, food spilled, the table there turned on its side, the back window broken, the curtain ripped from the rod. Ben, his heart in his throat and panic beginning to rise in him, stepped around the corner into the dining room.

And had to grab hold of the corner to keep himself upright.

The devastation that had begun in the kitchen was a mere shadow of what he found before his eyes. It was as if a tornado had gone through the house and touched everything. The dining room table, although it still stood on four legs bore gouges that ran its entire length. The chairs they had sat on just a few hours before while having breakfast and discussing the upcoming day’s agenda were now broken and splintered. The overhead chandelier had been ripped down and lay in slivers and shards on the floor.

The main room had fared no better and Ben, unable to give voice to his horror, stood mutely looking at it all. His favored leather chair, the back now bore slashes and one of Hop Sing’s butcher knives was still embedded there. The sofa had also been slashed and was tipped onto its back. And the arm of the blue chair, which now was resting against the fireplace had a deep crimson stain across it, with one leg at an odd angle, broken from the body of it. The coffee table, like the dining room table had been hacked at and the ax used still stuck into it. The gun cabinet with Ben’s collection of rifles had been attacked as well.  Even the set of horns from the first of the Ponderosa bulls that had hung over the fireplace had been torn down and tossed into the cold fireplace; the andirons there, pulled out onto the floor. The staircase railing lay dismembered on the floor; the red blanket nowhere to be seen.

Still in shock, Ben turned towards the only sound in the devastated stillness: a low moaning that seemed to be coming from his study. It too had been ravished. Ledgers, pages torn from them lay scattered like leaves in autumn. In amongst those ‘leaves’ he saw the broken frames and pictures of his wives, the wild horse statue that normally set on the table behind the sofa was now shattered; the big grandfather clock was pulled from the wall and lay broken on the floor as well. Woodenly, unwilling to see any more, Ben forced himself towards the sound, afraid of what he would find, hidden behind the upturned desk.

What he saw was Hop Sing, seated, unmoving, with his back resting against the destroyed bookshelf. His face was white and his eyes unfocused. In his hands he held what Ben first took to be a black snake then realized, stepping closer, that it was his braid, chopped from him. The sound Ben had heard was coming from him, a low keening. As Ben moved towards Hop Sing, the little man didn’t move nor even seem to realize that someone was there, even though Ben spoke his name.

“Hop Sing,” he called and gently touched him, trying to get him to focus. “Hop Sing, what happened here? Where is Joseph?” There was no response to either question. He tried again. “Where is Joe, Hop Sing?” But the faraway look remained. “Where is Little Joe?” There was still no response.

The front door crashed open and Ben heard Adam shouting the same name. But the shout died to a strangled gasp just as quickly.

The same look that had been on his father’s face now swept over Adam’s. Shock, disbelief at what he saw: the devastation of the rooms before him. But Adam also saw something his father had missed. As he slowly walked into the main room, all Adam Cartwright saw was that there was blood smeared on the floor. When his father called his name, Adam turned to find him beside Hop Sing, his father’s face white and he went to him immediately.

“What?….. Pa?” Adam was unable to speak or think clearly, he was so stunned. He bent beside them and saw Hop Sing’s state.

“Find your brother, Adam,” was all his father could get out.

Taking a quick glance around the main room, Adam called for Hoss to come and help him, alternating with shouts for his youngest brother. Anger was now taking over and Adam found himself shaking as adrenaline began pushing through him, overcoming all else. He grabbed the blue chair from before the fireplace and threw it half way across the room. With a mighty shove, he pushed the sofa back and out of his way, headed now for the stairs, bounding up them two at a time.

He hoped to find the upstairs rooms had been untouched but it was a hope unfulfilled. The sideboard in the hallway had the doors pulled from it and a quick glance into his father’s room showed even the massive bed had been dismembered, the mattress slashed, clothing from the bureau strewn about the room and the chair thrown halfway through the window.  Still calling for Hoss’ help, Adam went on down the hall to his own room.  It was the same destruction as he had seen in his father’s room: total. Open doors to his two brothers’ rooms echoed the same scene. In the guest room, Adam’s anger boiling over now, he picked up what was left of one of his favorite books and sent it hurtling through the broken window with a strangled cry of frustration. Everywhere he had looked was utter carnage.

With his heart pounding, Adam turned and started back down the hall, still screaming for Hoss to help him, Joe to answer him. Where the Hell was Hoss?  But more to the point: where was Joe?  As he hit the top of the stairs, both questions were answered.

Just inside the front door, seeing the damage done for the first time stood Hoss, tears streaming down his face. In his massive arms was the still form of his brother Joseph, beaten and bloody.
 
 

As he stood on the porch that evening, Ben Cartwright didn’t feel the cool evening breeze that came to wash across his anguished features. He couldn’t stay inside his vandalized home another moment and had stepped to the porch to get himself under control. His thoughts were black with anger as he stood there, wanting to slash out at someone for what had happened but could find no target.  It had been bad enough that his home was destroyed but for one of his sons to have been beaten…..He tried to shake the black thoughts from his mind.

Paul Martin stepped out of the house and rolling his sleeves down, went over to his long time friend, his heart heavy with sadness. Ben was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear him approach and started when Paul put his hand to Ben’s shoulder to get his attention. Ben didn’t have to ask.

“I have never in my life seen a man beat that bad, Ben. I am not going to sugar coat it. He took a beating…but he also gave one, my friend.  I could give you a list as long as my own arm but suffice it to say, Joe will recover.  It is going to take a bit of time. But there is something I want you to know that isn’t going to go down well.” The doctor paused, figuring how to say it.

When the pause stretched out, Ben swallowed hard and steeled himself.  As long as his son survived, he knew he could handle things. It would take patience and love to help his son get well and if there were qualities that Ben Cartwright possessed in abundance, they were the two. He watched as the doctor seemed to gather himself before continuing.

“Ben, both of his hands are broken. I am fairly sure that his right one will heal, given time, and he’ll be able to use it.” And again the doctor stopped speaking and almost looked away from his friend’s face.

“And his left?” Ben’s voice was husky as he asked.

“His left was crushed.  I tried to lay it out as straight as I could when I splinted it but ….” How could he say those words? “I doubt if Joe will be able to use that hand again, Ben. Like I said it was crushed. All of the bones in it are just so many pieces. If it heals at all, the bones are liable to become just a solid mass.  Fused together.”

Ben turned his back on the doctor and looked out over the yard into the moonlight, searching for something to calm the rage he felt.  He felt so helpless and suddenly, very old.

“And there is nothing I can do for Hop Sing.  My books would call it a catatonic state. He doesn’t react to any sort of stimulus, doesn’t speak or even seem to know where he is.  Joe, we can heal, after a fashion, but I am not sure Hop Sing ever will.  We need to keep someone with him at all times, keep talking to him and see if we can bring him around.” The doctor said, wondering how much of a catatonic state Ben was in right then himself. Paul had seen Ben in all sorts of situations over the years and marveled at how the man held himself together in some of the worst times.  But the man he was watching now wasn’t the same he had seen in years past.  There was a very angry look to him.

“Why don’t you go in and set with Joe, Ben?” He didn’t say that with the medications he had given the young man, he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t awake until sometime the next day.

Stiffly, Ben turned. Paul Martin saw the tears coursing down his face. If I could take this day away from you, Ben, I would, he thought.
 

Hoss was trying still to right the damage in the main room when his father came back into the house, but his heavy heart was not in it. He and Adam had done what they could but the destruction was just so absolute. They had managed with hammers and nails and mattresses from the bunkhouse to make beds for their brother and cook in their father’s bedroom and had cleared away what damage they could there. Why they had chosen that room was simple. It was the one room in the house they had found no blood. Destruction, yes, but no blood and seeing the shape their brother was in, it didn’t take much to know whose blood it was they had seen.

When his father had come through the front door, Hoss was clearing away the remainder of the stair railing. The doctor hadn’t spoken with him and that upset Hoss more than words could have.

“Joe gonna be okay, ain’t he, Pa?” he asked, unsure of the look on his father’s face.  He saw what Doc Martin had seen too.

Ben stopped on the landing and found no words for his feelings.“I’ll send Adam down to help you.” And went on up the stairs, leaving Hoss’ question unanswered.

Hoss was still standing there, looking at his father’s retreating back when the doctor came back into the house. There were things that he could fix, Hoss was thinking to himself, but he wasn’t going to be able to fix everything. Was one of the things he couldn’t fix turn out to be his family?

“Doc, Joe is gonna be okay?” he asked as he watched the doctor pull a dining room chair upright and set down on it, despite its broken back.  Behind him he heard Adam’s footsteps coming down the stairs and come to stop behind him.

“I’m going to tell you the same thing I just told your father. Adam, you know it already. Joe will recover but there are liable to be some major problems.  His hands, Hoss. His left one is broken so badly he may not be able to use again properly.  If that is the case then he is going to have some big hurtles to get over. He’ll have to learn everything over again, how to write with his right hand, tie a knot, button a shirt, everything that he did before with his left hand.  You can’t imagine it all Hoss.”

“It got busted that bad? How?” Hoss’ face scrunched itself into a look of pure misery

“I don’t know how-“ the doctor started but Adam cut him short, giving vent to the anger he had tried to keep under control since that afternoon.

“We both know, Hoss! Somebody stomped it!  You and I have seen that sort of thing in fights before.  We never thought about what it does to the man. How it can destroy his life.  Well, someone did that to our baby brother and I for one intend to see that he pays for it! For that and every other piece of our lives that he touched!” Adam finished by shouting, his rage was so great.

“I will not see the law taken into your own hands, Adam Cartwright.” The three men turned to find Roy Coffee standing just inside the door, his hands spread before him.  He had been out of his office when the same ranch hand that Ben had dispatched to get the doctor came to report the problem. As soon as he had heard, he had ridden out to see for himself as he had trouble believing what the deputy had told him. Now as he stood looking around himself, he decided that the story had been under-told. And that if unleashed, Adam Cartwright would make good on his threat.

“This goes beyond the law, Roy! Look at this!  There is nothing under this roof that hasn’t been damaged, broken, smashed, destroyed. And that,” Adam’s voice shook as he pointed to the stain on the back of the blue velvet chair, “That is my brother’s blood. And it is every where in this house. So you talk to someone else because I for one am not going to listen to you,” Adam argued back, his body shaking now with barely controlled fury.

Quietly, Roy Coffee went over and stood before the younger man. He had known Adam Cartwright most this man’s life and had never ever seen him losing control as he was right then.

“Nothing is above the law,” the sheriff said evenly. “Now you simmer down, young man. This isn’t like you at all, Adam. Get control of yourself. You aren’t thinking clearly, boy. You don’t even know who to go after, do you?”

“Whoever it is will be sporting some mean looking bruises, Roy. From the looks of things, Joe may have gotten in some solid hits on someone. And when we can get Hop Sing to start talking again, I am sure he can help us out.” Paul Martin stepped in between the sheriff and Adam. “But for right now, neither of them is going to be able to tell you anything. Hoss, how about you and I see about making some coffee and sandwiches.” The doctor and Hoss moved into the kitchen, leaving the still seething Adam with the sheriff.

“You had any trouble out this way lately? Something that would lead to any of this?” Roy asked, hoping to force Adam into a more logical frame of mind. When Adam simply shook his head “no”, Roy reached out and put a fatherly hand on Adam’s shoulder, trying to calm him.

“Roy, don’t try to stop me. You didn’t see what I did today. The house, Hop Sing, Joe. My father…..”

“Ben get…” Roy started but again Adam just shook his head no.

“I don’t know how to explain it. Pa seems to have just lost something this afternoon.”

“I think I understand, Adam.” And looking at the ruin around him, Roy knew the expression he would find for Ben and his sons.  He had seen it several times, different from this but the same. But then it was on the faces of women who had been raped.

Upstairs, Ben Cartwright sat down in the rocker that had been mended somewhat and placed next to his son. With a gentle hand, he reached over and shoved an errant curl off his son’s forehead, trying hard not to look at the battered face.  Tears came unbidden to Ben’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Here was his handsome and laughing son whom he had been so angry with earlier in the day for not showing up. That son, his easy smile now gone in a mass of bruises, the lips split. Here was the son who cared the most about his physical appearance, battered almost into unrecognizable form.  Ben found he couldn’t look at Joe’s face. He pulled the blanket further up onto Joe’s chest, still trying to cover the marks of pain. Without wanting to, Ben touched his son’s left hand lying in splinted bandages on top of the bedclothes. He could tell that the hand was swollen to nearly twice its normal size and could see the dark bruising now forming there. It seemed so cruel to Ben. This was the son who wore gloves to protect his hands and now those hands were beyond protection.  Ben longed to pick up that hand and hold not just the hand but his whole son in his embrace, to take away the pain, to make the bruises, the cuts, the unbelievable horribleness just disappear.

“Why?’ he whispered into the dark night air, asking everyone and no one.
 

Across from him, lying on the other makeshift bed, Hop Sing had watched it all. From the time he had come to find the white haired man leaning over him and speaking to him in words he could neither understand nor respond to, he had watched. He seemed unable to do anything more than that. Held tight in his grasp was his que, his ticket to Heaven as it were. Without it, he would not be able to meet his ancestors. But it was not suppose to be in his hands. He couldn’t remember why it was there and couldn’t make his mind and body work to get it back where it belonged, attached to him.

He had watched another man whom he took to be a doctor working over the other bed.  The young man there, he knew that he knew who he was but wasn’t able to put a name to him. An emotion, yes. Hop Sing knew that he loved the man and there was a great longing to arise and go to him. But again, he couldn’t make his body do what his mind was asking.  So he simply watched.

When the doctor had stepped away, a man dressed all in black had spoken to him, and although he had tried to listen carefully, he couldn’t make out the words he was using. He simply couldn’t understand the language the man spoke. But he did the tone.  It was a very caring tone. Now the first man, the one with silvery white hair, was coming into his line of sight and sitting with the hurt one. Hop Sing watched as the man touched the one on the bed. His first thought was that the older man meant to hurt his loved one and Hop Sing struggled to make his body do his bidding for his first impulse was to protect.  But it was to no avail so he watched and was relieved to see there was no malice involved. He saw the love so evident in every move the older man made, the tears on his face and the restrained touch to the younger man’s face then the hand. But then the older man sat back and just stared into the air, tears coursing down his face. Here, Hop Sing thought, was a love greater than his own.

Hop Sing finally allowed himself to sleep, not afraid by all that he could not understand.  He felt secure that the love he had seen would protect all that it could.

Somewhere off in the far distance, Joe could hear a rooster crowing loudly. ‘Funny that Hoss hasn’t been trying to get me up’ was his first thought then he tried to roll over and snuggle back down into his bed. He found he couldn’t move, his body felt weighted to the bed. He tried opening his eyes but found only one would and that only with a great deal of effort was he able to get both open at once. Confusion reigned within him as he looked around the room. It was his father’s room but the bed was too hard to be his father’s. And what was he doing in his father’s bed to begin with, he wondered. He tried to bring his hand to his head, thinking that it would help his sudden and intense headache. But instead, he found his father there, restraining his hand, keeping him from moving. Pa was saying something to him. Then within his line of vision, he saw Doc Martin. What the Hell had he gotten into now? Must have been a good one, the way he felt….then it all came back to him in a nauseating rush of events.

Even as his stomach tried to empty itself onto the floor, Joe was fighting to keep his wits about him. He could feel his father’s strong hands on his shoulders and hear the soothing tones in his voice but blackness kept reaching for him. He tried to push it away with his hands but they were too heavy to move. The dry retching over, Joe felt his father ease him back onto the bed. Then Doc Martin was giving him something to drink. It was cool and Joe swallowed, even though it hurt his throat to do so, closing his eyes to the pain.

After a few moments, Joe gathered himself back up and opened his eyes again. This time he was more fully aware of his surroundings.

More to the point, he remembered what had happened.

“Easy, son,” his father was saying as he used a rough wet cloth to bathe his face and neck. “Just lay still.” Joe was more than willing to do just that. He let his eyes drift closed again but remained conscious. He could feel Doc Martin touching his chest and then pushing on his stomach but he couldn’t get his hands lifted to push him away nor find his voice to tell him to stop. But his father was there, he could hear the soft soothing sound of his father’s voice and he let himself fall back into the waiting darkness, assured that when he awoke again, his father would still be there.

The shadows were lengthening as Joe regained consciousness for a second time that day. This time, he didn’t try to move anything but his eyes, because everything else on his body hurt.  Beside the bed, he could see his father sitting in the chair, asleep. At the other side of the bed, Hoss sat on the floor, looking out the window, his back to the bed. And Adam was stretched across the foot of the bed, reclining on his elbow, reading. Adam was first to see his brother was awake.

When Adam called his name, Ben became instantly awake. He moved quickly to the bed. “Joseph…don’t try to move, son. Hoss, go get Doc Martin. Tell him Joe’s awake again.”  Ben brought a drink to his son’s lips, which he accepted readily.
Doc Martin did a quick examination, noting how his patient reacted with each prod and finally nodded his approval then cautioned “Okay, Ben, but keep it brief. I want him resting again,” and allowed Ben back at his son’s side.

“What happened here Joseph? Who did this?”

And the story Joe told haltingly made the men in the room seethe with anger.

“Hop Sing and I got home just before noon. He went into the kitchen to start lunch to take out to you all at the hay field. I was just starting to unload the wagon when I heard him hollering at someone. Then there was a loud crash in the house. I ran to see what was going on. They were in the main room. Guess what I had heard was the clock being tipped over.”

“ ‘They’? Joseph, you said ‘they’. Who were they?” Ben asked softly, stroking Joe’s arm as far as the splint on it would allow.

“They were kids, Pa. Couldn’t have been more than 14, 15 years old. Must have been about 5 or 6 of them. Boys, really. When I came into the house, they had Hop Sing held down….. Oh God, is Hop Sing….?” And with the panic rising in his voice, Joe looked wildly around himself.

Ben quickly grabbed Joe’s face in both his hands and forced his son to look at him, afraid what would happen if Joe were to see Hop Sing there not physically ten foot from him but mentally in another world. “Joseph, look at me,” he commanded and after a brief moment, felt his son begin to relax beneath his hands. “Hop Sing will be all right.” Ben prayed he wasn’t lying. With his hands still cradling Joe’s face, Ben made himself hold eye contact with his son’s green eyes, ignoring the horrible bruises surrounding them.  Slowly, ever so slowly, he watched as they closed, the lashes long and soft beneath his thumbs as he wiped the damp tears from them.

Adam was the first out of the room. He thought if he had stayed one more instant in that room he would have exploded. As it was, he only allowed his fist to hit the wall in the hallway once as Hoss had closed the door behind them.  He wanted it to be the face of whoever it had been who had brought this on them but Joe had said one word clearly enough: boys. Not men as Adam had envisioned it being but boys. Teenage boys.
“Did I hear Joe right, Adam?” Hoss asked softly, his big face showing the same anger as his older brother’s. “He said it was a bunch of kids? Kids do this much damage? I can’t believe I heard him right.”

“We both heard him right.  I think one of us needs to ride into town and tell Roy Coffee. God help me, Hoss, but I don’t care how old they are. Doc said Joe must have given as good as he got but I can't believe that. I don’t see anyone but Joe and Hop Sing in there. By my way of figuring, there should be some boys somewhere in a world of hurt. If they aren’t, I intend to make it so.” He turned on his heel, set to leave but Hoss put one of his hands out and grabbed Adam’s shoulder in a firm hard grasp. He could feel Adam shaking beneath his hand.

“No, you don’t Adam. I’ll get into town and talk with Roy. You need to stay here. You need to keep things in line here. I’ll bring Roy back out here to talk with Joe but before I leave, I want your promise that you ain’t goin’ no where lookin'.” Hoss watched as Adam’s jaw tightened and his dark eyes deepened into midnight pools of hate. Adam tried to shrug off Hoss’ hand but it only made Hoss close his grasp down a bit harder. “Promise me, Adam.  Promise me that when I come back, you’ll still be here. I need to know that somebody is helpin’ Pa with all this. And you can’t be helpin’ him and Joe if you ain’t here.” Hoss was insistent. “We have to let the law handle this Adam.”

After a long moment, Hoss saw Adam give him a barely perceivable nod. Hoss turned to head down the stairs but Adam’s voice stopped him.

“What if the law doesn’t handle it, Hoss?  What then?”

“Then we will, you and I, brother.”

All that afternoon, Hop Sing had watched the tableau before him. He had understood nothing of what was going on, only the raw emotions presented. The man in black had tried to talk with him again but Hop Sing had remained silent before him. The other had tried to take his que from his hands but Hop Sing would not allow it. Thankfully, rather than force the issue, the man in black had relented and stepped away from him.

Once Hop Sing could see the young man on the bed, he calmed down again. The feeling of love rose so strong in him that finally Hop Sing got to his feet and started to walk to the bed. But he felt weak and his body betrayed him again and he started to fall. If it had not been for the white haired man reaching out to catch him, Hop Sing was sure he would have been unable to complete his trek. As it was, the older man seemed to understand his need to be with the young man who rested there. Careful not to move him in anyway, Hop Sing sat on the narrow bed and studied his face. After what seemed an eternity, the younger man awoke and a light came to his eyes.
 
Briefly and in obvious pain, he asked Hop Sing how he was, was he okay? And Hop Sing understood him and answered that he was confused by what had happened. The younger man spoke again but this time he did not speak so Hop Sing could understand him. Hop Sing softly told him to rest, that they would speak again later.

Ben had watched the exchange between his beloved housekeeper and his youngest son. For a brief moment, Hop Sing and Joe had conversed in Chinese and it seemed that Hop Sing had come out of his state. But then Joe had asked him if he could remember anything about the attack and asked in English. Ben saw Hop Sing’s expression change back into a blank look then just as fleeting, back to acknowledgement of the present, saying something to Joe in his native language. Inwardly, Ben cursed himself for never having learned any of his cook’s language. Now it seemed that that was the key to unlocking the terror that had forced the man’s mind closed.

When Paul Martin came in an hour later, Hop Sing had been coaxed back onto the other narrow bed and was sleeping. While he checked on the still sleeping Joe, Ben relayed what had occurred.

“Doesn’t surprise me in the least, Ben.  Hop Sing’s mind has retreated to where he knows he’s safe. The boys who did this spoke English and that makes them scary to him. Joe spoke to him in Chinese and he understood him. Joe is safe to Hop Sing’s thinking right now.  It may take him a while but Hop Sing will come back.  Imagine a child who has been extremely frightened. That is exactly what has happened to him. Maybe we need to get Le Chan out here for him.” Paul suggested, mentioning the name of Virginia City’s most prominent Oriental physician. “I’ll send for him first thing in the morning. But I need to take care of some things right now and I need your help Ben. The swelling has gone down enough that I think we need to get casts on both of Joe’s hands. That will be the only way to hold them still while they heal. It is going to be difficult for him but it is the only way he will even have half a chance to use them again.”
 

They were just finishing when Hoss returned with Roy Coffee. Ben came down when he heard Roy’s voice and saw again the mutilation that set his heart into near panic.  The signs of ruin were still there but his sons had done their best to set things right. The furniture that was salvageable had been placed in its accustomed spots, the table covered with a new cloth and his desk now sat back on its legs.  The coffee table sat before the ruined sofa, the gouges in it still visible. Like wounds, Ben thought. His slashed red leather chair was nowhere to be seen so he sat in the repaired blue velvet one, conscious that the stain on the one arm was blood. Joseph’s blood.

“Hoss tells me that the vandals who did this were just kids, Ben. That Joe woke up enough to tell ya this.  That right?” Roy launched into it, accepting a tin cup full of black coffee from Adam. It seemed momentarily out of character but then he decided that he would say nothing about it. Usually the cup was china and it was Hop Sing would have handed it to him. But all that had changed.  The cups were all broken. As was the man who usually served him.

“Yes. He said there were five or six of them, about 14 or 15 years old.”

“Did he recognize any of them? Would like to know who I am suppose to be looking for.” Roy asked.
Adam, sitting on a broken dining room chair, piped up. “They’ll be real easy to find. They’re the ones carrying the marks of my brother’s fists! They’re the ones with his blood on their hands! They’re the ones who delight in tormenting harmless people like Hop Sing!” The raw hot anger in Adam Cartwright was audible.

Roy slowly turned to look at Adam. He took in Hoss as well. “I told you boys before that you need to let the law handle this. You interfere in anyway and I will have to arrest you just to keep your hides intact.  It is my job as sheriff to handle this, not yours. Do I make myself clear?”

It didn’t surprise Roy that neither man answered him. “Can I go up and talk to Joe now, Ben?”

Ben had been lost in thought and had missed the exchange between Roy and his sons. It was Paul Martin on the steps behind him who answered Roy. “He’s awake now but you need to go easy on him. He’s in a lot of pain right now.”

Roy started up the stairs past Doc Martin, then turned to find Hoss and Adam coming behind him.

“You two stay put here,” he ordered and saw the look that passed between the two brothers that said they were coming anyway. He raised his hand and spoke more forcefully. “I told you I would not allow any interference and I meant it. Now, I’m going up here to talk to your brother alone and in private. You two will stay here. Is that understood?”

Adam opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the strong words of Doc Martin. "You will stay down here, boys, and I have my own reasons.  I do not want your brother upset any more than he already is.  You two go up there half-cocked and he'll get all riled and upset and start thinking of getting out of that bed--and you know he'll do it too."
"But Doc, we just want to …" Hoss began, trying to put his tangled mess of thoughts into words.

"I know what you want to do, Hoss," Doc Martin said as he took off his glasses and wiped them on the sleeve of his shirt.  Once completed, he put the wire-rimmed spectacles back on his nose and glared at Hoss. "But you are concentrating on the wrong thing here."  He gestured around the room at the shambles that was once a fine home.  "This, all this can be fixed.  But the two men upstairs should be your major concern.  Joe's hands are broken, maybe beyond repair.  Have the two of you thought of that?  No, to avoid it you're concentrating on your anger and your need for revenge."  He looked at Roy and motioned him upstairs.  "The sheriff and I will be questioning your brother.  I suggest you take a few minutes to think over what I've said."  He turned and sprinted up the steps after the sheriff.  He looked down at the two brothers and saw they had both sat down and appeared to be thinking.  Satisfied he had made at least a slight impression, he walked down the hall to the room. He could hear Roy's voice as he approached the door.

"Joe, I don't want to upset you," Roy said in a low soothing tone as he patted the young man's shoulder.  "But I need to find out if you know who did this."

Joe struggled to open his eyes.  The pain was never-ending and he found the only way to prevent groaning was to keep his eyes closed. But he looked over at Hop Sing who sat silently in the makeshift bed, then up into the dark eyes of the sheriff who sat next to him.  "D'you suppose we could do this somewhere else?" Joe asked, inclining his head toward his Chinese friend. A groan escaped his lips as he shifted on the bed. "I think I can make it downstairs…"

"Certainly not!" Doc Martin interrupted firmly as he glared at him.  "You aren't going anywhere young man.”

Joe looked up at the recently arrived doctor, his eyes brimming with anguish.  "But Doc, Hop Sing's just started talking again and I.." He paused and fought a wave of pain. "I don't want to upset him."

Doc Martin nodded and crossed to the opposite side of the bed and sat down next to Joe. "I know, Joseph.  But according to Ben, he doesn't seem to understand English right now anyway, so he shouldn't get upset over what you have to say."  Paul looked over at Roy and mouthed the words "take it easy," before returning his attention to Joe.  "The sheriff is going to ask you some questions, but I'm warning you.  If you start to get upset, or if you start moving around on that bed I'll put a stop to it--clear?"

Joe nodded and took a shallow breath to prepare himself for the interrogation.  His ribs hurt terribly and all he longed to do was wrap his arms around his chest and hold on tight to try and make the pain manageable.  An impossible dream because of the two heavy casts that extended from the tips of his fingers to his elbows.  "I 'm not sure who they were Roy," he said softly.

“When Hop Sing and I got home from town, Hop Sing went in to start making lunch. I was gonna get the wagon unloaded. I heard him in here yelling at someone then I heard a crash. Anyway, I thought that maybe Hop Sing was having some sort of trouble so I went in through the kitchen door. But he wasn't in the kitchen.  When I got around the corner into the dining room, I saw that there were three boys, about Hop Sing’s size holding him down on the floor…..” and the memory of all that had transpired flooded through him like a raging river.

The three boys were startled when they found Joe among them, slinging them bodily away from Hop Sing. They hadn’t thought that anyone was home and hadn’t heard the wagon pull up, so intent were they on the destruction being rendered. But now suddenly, here was Joe, plowing into them.  He lifted one young man by the arm clear off the floor and flung him towards the door. Joe grabbed the other two by the back of their necks, one in either hand, and tried to drag them away from Hop Sing, who still lay prone on the floor.

The first boy had regained his feet and took advantage of the fact that both of Joe’s hands were full and ran full tilt, head lowered and hit Joe full in the stomach. The force knocked Joe back onto the dining room table, taking the wind from his lungs, the white linen tablecloth sliding beneath him. He rolled from the table top, wiping the back of one hand across his chin, and eyeing the three before him a little more warily now. He was carefully sizing them up when a sound upstairs drew his attention. That there were others here was a passing thought but he pushed it from his mind. They were kids, yes, but even young rattlesnakes are deadly.

Just then, the biggest of the three before him, picked up the statue that graced the table behind the sofa and hurled it at Joe. As he ducked he saw one of the others off to his left coming at him and he turned just in time for one of the chairs to come crashing down across his side. While it forced him to the floor, he was able to reach out and grab the leg of his attacker, pulling him off balance and down.

There was another burst of noise upstairs that caught Joe’s attention but before he could even rise to his feet, he felt his attackers overcoming him. He tried to stand but found their combined weight more than he could lift.

Somewhere in the melee, Joe could hear Hop Sing screaming “No! No! Not cut!” and all Joe could think was that one of the boys was trying to hurt his friend. He had to get to him and help him but couldn’t stand. Putting both hands on the floor, he gave an adrenaline-enforced shove upwards, trying to rid himself of the others.

What happened next would remain in Joe’s memory forever. As if time had slowed to a crawl, he watched as a boot heel came down on the back of his left hand, full force. A white-hot lance of pain shot up his arm, across his shoulder and up into his brain. An involuntary scream tore from him and he pulled his hand to his chest.

When he screamed out, the two attackers had backed off, frightened now. There had never been anything in their plans about hurting anyone. Just trash the house. Have a little fun.  Everyone knew the Cartwrights had more money than God.  They could easily replace a few broken pieces of furniture.  But now they had crossed the line and the two that Joe was glaring at were becoming afraid.

As Joe rose shakily to his feet, he kept eye contact with the two boys in front of him now.  One of them he thought he recognized from town, with sandy brown hair and a lanky look to him, his pants legs being a tad too short on him.  The other boy had blonde hair and an almost cherubic look to his face. But the look stopped at his blue eyes.  They were nasty little pig eyes that bore into Joe.  There was fear there, Joe saw, but the fear only made the boy all the meaner looking. He needed to use that fear to his advantage.

“Look, I don’t know what you kids are up to but I can tell you right now, you are in a Hell of a lot of trouble.” Joe tried to still the panic he felt rising and was surprised to hear his own voice sound so calm, menacing, but calm. He wasn’t wearing his gun but that didn’t matter as he couldn’t have handled it anyway. His hand was throbbing painfully. No, he knew that he had to talk sense into these kids somehow. After all they were just kids…

Joe never saw the lamp thrown at his head by the third boy. It hit him a glancing blow but it was enough to  slice into the top of his shoulder and stagger him. As he took a step back, his legs hit the side of his father’s red leather chair and he stumbled again.
Just then he saw two other boys coming down the stairs, laughing, until they saw him.

“You just met some real trouble here, boys. I suggest you…” but Joe never finished.  As if directed by one thought, the five boys swarmed over him. At first, Joe had not wanted to hurt them but their intentions were obvious and Joe threw that thought away with the second punch he took to his jaw.  He felt a solid surface behind him and knew he was then being pressed back onto his father’s desk and reached out for something to use as a weapon against his assailants. The only thing that came to his flailing right hand was the frame that held his mother’s picture. ‘Ma, help me’ came to him as Joe used the frame across the back of a head of red-blonde hair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe could see the gun rack and Hop Sing. Completely out of breath, chest heaving, he prayed Hop Sing would grab one of the guns there and open fire. But Hop Sing just stood as if rooted to that spot, his eyes wide with terror. Then Joe saw that one of his attackers was headed towards Hop Sing, a butcher knife in his child-like hand.

“No. You bastard, no!” and from somewhere deep within him came the strength he needed and Joe was able to rid himself of two of his aggressors. In two long strides, he was to his friend and was pushing Hop Sing behind him, protecting as best he could. With his one remaining good hand, he reached out and shoved Hop Sing up the stairs. The kid with the knife made a lunge at Joe, the knife scraping his side and Joe went to knock the knife away with his left hand. The motion was hot agony and brought a scream from Joe. But it also knocked the knife away. This kid, though, was a brawler and he finished his aborted lunge with a body block that pushed both Joe and Hop Sing onto the steps. Scrambling to his feet, Joe was able to allow Hop Sing those precious split seconds to get to the top of the stairs. But there, Hop Sing froze, seeing the damage done to the main room and the dining room. That was all the boys needed.

Continuing to push the stunned Hop Sing behind him, Joe was backing up slowly down the hall, fighting the boys every step of the way. It seemed that they were coming from every direction at him and he knew of only one way out. Through them. There was a distant thought in the back of his mind of the revolver kept in the sideboard in the hall but how could he use it? His left hand and now his whole left side was a useless mass of pain. Joe kept using his right hand to give out as much punishment as he could but knew it was a matter of time… Why wasn’t Hop Sing helping him?

“Johnny, no, quit!” came a cry off to his right when Joe had been shoved to the wall and his knees buckled under him. He slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail as he did. There was a moment’s hesitation and Joe was determined to take advantage of it. He reached out with one long leg and kicked at the nearest boy. That seemed to turn the tide and as it were, the battle started to go in Joe’s direction for the first time. The blonde haired angel face was sent spinning crazily towards the steps as Joe kicked again. But the one who had held the knife was another matter. As Joe lashed out at him, they grappled and rolled down the stairs and onto the landing. Their combined weight broke the banister. Joe hit flat on his back, a piece of the railing beneath him. Blackness rushed up to engulf him as he tried to rise to Hop Sing’s plea for help.

When he came back to his senses, Joe, twisting painfully, saw that the boys had the cook trapped over by the bookcase in his father’s study. He could hear Hop Sing’s voice rising in terror and the cruel laughter of the boys. Joe got to his feet but his whole body seized up in pain. His shoulder wound was bleeding profusely and now a cut had opened on his cheek. The boys stopped laughing when they saw him get to his feet.

“He just don’t know when to stay down, does he?” said the boy Joe took to be the ringleader, the one who had held the butcher knife. Joe sized him up and didn’t like what he saw.  Although the boy was still young, he was easily Joe’s size or a bit bigger, outweighing Joe by a good ten pounds. Joe didn’t like the odds one bit.

“Get him!”  and they left Hop Sing and came at Joe.  Once again, he felt himself overwhelmed and pummeled by what felt like a hundred fists. This time though when Joe went down, he stayed down, feeling the dirt and wood chips beneath him and seeing the team of horses just a few feet away. His last conscious thought was that somehow he had to help Hop Sing.

Roy Coffee had listened in stunned silence. In all his years in law enforcement, he had never been so angry. He had dealt with murderers, thieves, rapists and common hoodlums but if the story he had just heard from Joe Cartwright were true, he was now dealing in an all new breed of criminal: young kids bent on just destroying things.

“You didn’t recognize any of them? Maybe seen ‘em around town sometime?” Roy asked softly.

With his strength giving out quickly now, Joe couldn’t even shake his head ‘no’. He was too tired to even keep his eyes open and let them closed. As he drifted off into the comforting darkness, he felt Doc Martin beside him, touching his face, pulling the quilt around his shoulders.

“Kids, Roy, kids did this,” the doctor whispered still in disbelief.

“And if I don’t find them first, I’m afraid of what….” but by then, Joe had let himself fall asleep.
 
 

Although they had thought that he was truly sleeping, Hop Sing had listened to everything going on around him.  He couldn’t comprehend the words, even though a part of his mind knew that he should be able to make out some of it. He still clutched his braid tightly in his hand, afraid that someone would take it from him should he relinquish the hold. How could he explain to his ancestors should he go to meet them without it?  They would think that he had turned his back on his culture, his history, his whole way of life.  No, he must keep hold of his que and figure a way to make the others understand him.
Now the room was growing dark and a breeze was wafting through the open window. The breeze, Hop Sing thought. It carried evil spirits into the room. He had to close the window before one could sneak in and take its own brand of vengeance.  Hop Sing arose, painfully aware of every bruise on his small frame, and walked to the window, meaning to close it. Before he could reach the sash, he heard the young man on the bed moan in his sleep and turned back to him.

Joseph. That was his name…..no, Little Joe was what Hop Sing called him. Tumbling through his mind then came memories of the past times spent with him: a little boy arguing with him about going to school, a little boy not wanting to eat what was placed in front of him, a boy laughing and smiling as they chased chickens for Sunday dinner, a young man getting ready for his first date with a girl. These were happy memories that came flooding back to him in a single heartbeat. But the next heart beat brought those of a darker variety: the very little boy who thought he had no one else to turn to when his mother died, the lad who had hovered near death with pneumonia, the young man who continually fought with his family to assert his manhood, the man who had tried to save Hop Sing’s life by sacrificing his own.

Softly, he padded over to the bed and took careful stock of what he saw. Yes, Little Joe was his name. The unruly curls that careened hap-hazardly down his forehead and lay tangled on the pillow seemed to call to Hop Sing and beg to be righted. With a shaky hand, Hop Sing allowed the briefest of touches to those locks, afraid that he would awaken Little Joe and cause more pain. When Joe’s eyes popped open, Hop Sing nearly jumped away, scared.

Joe saw the confusion on his friend’s face. He couldn’t muster the strength needed to speak any louder so, in a hoarse whisper, he asked Hop Sing for a drink of water.  Hop Sing simply stood looking at him until Joe repeated his request in Chinese. With a slight bow, Hop Sing looked for a glass and the pitcher of water that would normally have been close at hand.  He saw neither but there was a canteen there and when he picked it up, felt that there was water in it. He pulled the stopper and gave a careful sniff.  Yes, the water had a fresh smell to it. He held it out to Joe, a question in his eyes.

When he tried to sit up, the motion made Joe’s head swim. His head was pounding, it hurt so bad. Instinctively, he went to put his hand to his forehead to stop the swirling motion. But his arms were so heavy they wouldn’t budge from the bed. Joe looked down to where they rested and saw the plaster casts that held his hands. He tried to move just a finger but found that was impossible as well. Panic was rising in his chest and he struggled to sit up, half-afraid of what else he would find. Watching his friend try to sit up, Hop Sing went to him to try and help. But just as he touched the young man, the older silver haired man entered the room.

As Ben had opened the door, all he had seen was Hop Sing pulling on Joe and, to him, it appeared that Hop Sing for whatever reason fathomable, was trying to get Joe out of bed. Roughly, Ben shoved the small Cantonese back and away from his son, pushing with one mighty hand for all he was worth, trying to protect his son. So taken off guard was he that Hop Sing found himself on the floor across the room, dazed and bewildered. And frightened.  He struggled to his feet and while the silver head was turned towards Little Joe, Hop Sing ran for the door.

Once out into the hallway, instinct took over and Hop Sing headed for the stairs at a dead run, terrified. Nothing made sense any more. And he had to get away from the confusion. As he ran down the stairs, escape was all he could think of. As he rounded the doorway into the kitchen, once his sole domain, he ran smack into the biggest chest in Nevada.

Hoss had been unprepared for being run over by Hop Sing and had grabbed a hold of the diminutive houseboy just to keep him from falling.  But Hop Sing, in his state of confusion, thought that Hoss was trying to do him more harm and flailed away at him with his fists. The fists bounced harmlessly off of Hoss’s chest, but did major damage to the big man’s soul. Totally aghast at what was happening, Hoss turned Hop Sing loose and stepped back.  That was far enough for Hop Sing to see the butcher knife on the chopping block and he grabbed it to use as a weapon. Now brandishing the twelve-inch blade before him, he forced Hoss to one side and backed towards the kitchen door, readying to make his escape. He kept eye contact with Hoss and saw that there was a great deal of fear in the blue eyes.  He fumbled behind him for the doorknob.

“Now then, my esteemed friend, what has brought you to do this?” came the gentling words that Hop Sing understood, spoken in Cantonese. There at the dining room entrance stood Le Chan, Virginia City’s most respected Oriental physician. Chan spoke softly and in very measured tone and words, barely dipping his head in greeting. He had been told by Doctor Martin and then again by Ben Cartwright about the condition of his friend Hop Sing but had chosen to not believe until he saw for himself. Now he had seen the wild panic and fear for himself.

Hop Sing did not answer. Nor did he move.

“These people are your friends, as am I.  They mean you no harm or disrespect yet you would do so to them?  When they need you the most?  I am surprised at you Hop Sing.  How often have you come to me and sung the praises of the man on whom you now hold a knife?  And you have often spoken with pride of the one who lays upstairs, needing your care now more than ever.  You would leave him like this?  And what of the father? You owe him your life more times than you can count and this is how you would repay those debts?  The one called Adam has tried to help you though these dark waters and has brought me here to speak with you. This is how you would navigate these waters, with fear, uncertainty and dread?  I am surprised at you.” As he spoke, Le Chan had moved slowly and cautiously to stand not an arm’s length away from Hop Sing. When he finished, he extended his hand, palm up, his eyes asking for the knife.

Here, Hop Sing thought, here was understanding. Looking at the knife in his hand as though it were a foreign object, he wondered how it got there. And the revered elder who stood before him and spoke, Hop Sing knew that he was familiar by the words he spoke. The elder had spoken of others that Hop Sing tried to sort out in his clouded mind but was unable to make sense of it. Most of all, there was the big man who stood to one side, blue eyes blurred with tears as he watched.

Hop Sing shook his head as if to clear the cloudy mist threatening to engulf his sanity. He looked again at the knife in his hand. Around the same hand was wrapped his braid and he closed his other hand over it, dropping the knife to the floor. Le Chan reached out and took Hop Sing’s arm, pulling his attention back.

“You must rest now. Come,” the physician stated flatly and began to pull Hop Sing from the kitchen. Timidly, Hop Sing followed the elder through the main rooms, up the steps and back into the room he had fled. At that doorway, he balked for he could see the man who had pushed him away so violently. “You must rest here, Hop Sing.  I will see that no harm comes to you.” Still regarding the other man suspiciously, Hop Sing entered the room and moved to the bed the elder indicated.

As he laid down and the elder began to cover him with a quilt, Hop Sing looked over at the sleeping form on the other bed and said one word: “Joe?”
“He rests as well,” the elder whispered softly. “Now you do so. We will talk when you awaken.” And Hop Sing let sleep take him. There was no confusion in sleep.

As Ben Cartwright stood watching Le Chan and Hop Sing, his heart felt heavy. To see Hop Sing in such a state was difficult to say the least.  Hop Sing had always been there to help any time one of them needed it. Now when he needed help, there seemed no way that Ben could give it to him. He had been truly startled when he thought Hop Sing was trying to hurt Joe but then realized that that was one thing he would never have done. Even when Joe was a small child and being most difficult, he had never seen Hop Sing even raise a hand to smack cookie-stealing fingers. Ben knew that the relationship Joe and Hop Sing had developed over the years was a strong one.  They would need that strength from one another to heal.

“Le Chan.” Ben started cautiously, once he saw that Hop Sing was asleep. The oriental physician turned to him and bowed slightly.” I need to ask Hop Sing..” but the other man held up his hand for silence.

“No, you will only hurt him more by your questions right now.  He must rest as your son rests, in order to heal. All wounds heal, Mr. Cartwright. Some just faster than others. Hop Sing must rest. Then we will slowly bring him back to this world.”

Roy Coffee had been busy, although you couldn’t have told it by watching him. That afternoon after he had come back to Virginia City following his visit to the Ponderosa, he simply sat at his desk in his office, the outside door open.  He had watched town life while he thought of what he had to do and how to go about doing it.  When he had listened to Joe Cartwright tell what had happened and the hazy descriptions the boy had given him, Roy knew that in order to get justice handled properly, he had to be sure of his facts.  The only charges that he could come up with right then was assault and battery and destruction of private property. The sentences that went with those charges weren’t going to come close to matching the fury the Cartwrights were feeling.

The second afternoon found Roy Coffee strolling around town, carefully watching for teenage boys of the sort that Joe had described.  Doc Martin had said that they would have physical signs of a fight on them, so he watched for that as well. Unfortunately, he saw nothing.

He went in search of the schoolteacher, Miss Williams.

“Why, Sheriff Coffee. This is a pleasant surprise. Let me guess, you want school called back into session early from summer vacation because some of the children have been misbehaving,” Miss Williams said lightly as the sheriff settled onto the settee in the parlor of her rooming house.  She obviously hadn’t heard what the rumor and gossip mills had been turning out or she wouldn’t have taken such a carefree attitude.

“Well, I wouldn’t call beating a man nigh onto death, scaring another clean out of his wits and destroying a beautiful home ‘misbehaving’. I am hoping that you could help me out.” Then he had told her about what he had seen and heard at the Ponderosa. When he finished, she was pale.

“I really can’t say for sure, Sheriff. I only had two boys of that age in school last semester and they were from the best of families here in Virginia City. I am sure that Morgan and Jeremy wouldn’t be caught up in something as horrible as you described.”

“All the same I think I should go and talk with these boys. What’s their last names?”

“Morgan and Jeremy Taylor, you know, Judge Taylor’s sons.”
 

The big house on Main Street was a commanding sight to all who passed by. Judge Anthony Taylor had built the home on what everyone suspected was bribes but no one could ever prove it.  He said it came from wise investments. Most of the people in Storey County thought that he did a good job on the bench, handing out fair judgement. Most of the time. When Virginia City had taken off in size a while back, the governor had insisted that Anthony Taylor take up residence there, instead of being the circuit riding judge as he had been for years. As such, he had married a widow woman by the name of Claire and taken her two sons to raise as his own. The Judge, while a good man on the bench, had proven to be poor father material.  His two adopted sons could and did cause minor problems around town. Minor ones, Roy thought. Nothing bad enough to even bring him into the picture. But they might know something so Roy was there that afternoon, talking with the judge in his home office.

After Roy had briefly described what had happened at the Ponderosa, leaving out small details on purpose, the judge harrumphed once and leaned back into his chair.
 
“And what do you want out of me?  Sounds like you don’t need an arrest warrant yet. So what do you want?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to your boys,” Roy started.

Before he could even finish his thought, the judge was on his feet and leaning over his desktop, roaring at the sheriff. “My sons would have nothing to do with the riff raff you described! Don’t tell me that you think my sons would take part in something like that, now do you?”

Roy was trying to stay calm but the more he did, the louder the judge was getting. “I just want to talk with your boys is all, judge.”

Glaring at the lawman, the judge raised his voice into a full-blown shout for the maid. When she appeared timidly, he asked her to find his sons and bring them to him.

While they waited, Roy said nothing.  The judge, on the other hand, made plenty of comments. He was sure that his boys had nothing to do with this.  It was something cooked up by the Cartwrights. Everyone knew that there was no love lost between Ben Cartwright and himself and this was just something to keep the judge from getting the nod for another term on the Bench following the upcoming election,

After what seemed an eternity to Roy, the two boys appeared. He looked them over closely, trying to match their appearance with the sketchy information Joe had given him. All he saw was that both boys had some bruises on their arms and the oldest one, Morgan, had some scratches on his neck. When Roy asked about the scratches and bruises, Jeremy squirmed a bit before saying that he and his brother had gotten into an argument the day before.  The argument had ended with both boys taking swings at the other.  Roy chuckled softly. He knew two other brothers who did the same thing upon occasion, Joe and Adam Cartwright to be exact. But he sobered quickly when he thought of the two casts on Joe’s hands now and the anger in Adam’s eyes.

“Do either of you know a boy that goes by the name of Johnny? Would be about your age, maybe a little bigger than you two. Know him?” and both young boys answered “no” a little too quickly for Roy’s likes.  He would watch these two. If they were part of it, and Roy prayed they weren’t, it would be a huge hurtle to get them to trial…
 

“I wouldn’t normally suggest this, Ben, but I think I have to in this case. You need to take Joe and Hop Sing out of here.  My suggestion is that you take them into the International House, get a suite of rooms and stay there with them until all of this is over.  You yourself are not getting any rest. Let Adam and Hoss take care of the problems here. You concentrate on Joe and Hop Sing only.” And with each “you”, Roy Coffee thrust his finger at Ben’s chest.

Ben couldn’t help but look around himself at the remains of his once comfortable living room, now still in a shambles, despite Hoss and Adam’s attempts to right the damage. He had spent most of the last days upstairs with Joseph, partly to care for his son but also to avoid seeing what he saw now.  Yes, it was only material possessions that could be replaced but they were possessions that he had taken a lifetime to acquire and meant much more than just “things” to him and to his family as well.  Those were not to be replaced so easily. The memories evoked every time he walked through the room now were painful ones. He was having trouble thinking of anything other than those memories.

The sheriff watched him and saw Ben’s eyes wander about the room, noting that those eyes were so very sorrowful.

“But,” Ben started but Paul Martin butted in, hand raised characteristically to stop him.

“I think Roy has got a good suggestion there, Ben. I’ll even make it doctor’s orders for you, if that is what it takes. I can see to Joe and Hop Sing better in town, on a more regular basis.” And you too, old friend, was Paul’s unspoken continuation.

Looking at the wide planking of the floor, not seeing the many years’ worth of boot-heel scrapings but the minute trace of blood in the tiny cracks, Ben could find no voice to protest. After a long moment, he finally brought his eyes back to his two friends and saw their expressions of concern. He had long thought of himself as a man who gave help. Now, he was just coming to the realization that he needed help as well. And the two men who stood there with him were wanting to help him.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Ben simply nodded his head.
 

"No, I want to stay home, Pa!" Joe protested but weakly. His father had just told him that they would be moving to Virginia City for a time to allow repairs to be made to the house without disturbing him. He personally thought that it would be more disturbing to be moved into the public eye. Ever mindful of his appearance, he knew the bruises on his face were still evident and with his arms in heavy plaster confinement, he was unable to help himself. And his knee was still swollen enough that walking was painful and awkward. How his father could think that would benefit him was beyond Joe's comprehension.

"We need to do it this way, Joseph. I would appreciate it if you would not argue with me about it." Ben was doing his best to be stern concerning this uncertain move he felt was being forced on him as well. "Besides, Roy says he needs you to identify the boys who did this."

"Fine, bring them on out and let me have a look at 'em!" Joe countered.

"That would mean all the boys in town, son. No, I think what he wants is for you to pick them off the street."

"Then get a room with a view of the street then, 'cause I ain't going out on the street looking like this!" Joe let slip and Ben instantly recognized the real reason behind his son's reluctance, that ugly trait his youngest possessed in abundance: vanity. Maybe it was justified, but in this case Ben would let any admonition go unspoken.

"Good, then we're going," Ben announced and when his father got up to leave the room, Joe knew he had been outmaneuvered.  Again.
 

The argument had been a quick and hot one between Ben Cartwright and his eldest son as well. Looking back on it, Ben was surprised. Adam had taken his youngest brother's side without knowing it and that was most uncharacteristic of him.

"Let Hoss go into town and get the rooms. I'll help you with Joe and Hop Sing. We can time it to get to town right at dusk. Joe can go in the back way and be in the room without anyone in town knowing he's there." Adam had argued but Ben had wanted to go earlier than the proposed evening.

"Too late, Pa. I've already sent Hoss to get the rooms arranged. He should be back in a while."

Ben narrowed his eyes and pulled his brows into their familiar flat line when facing a confrontation. "All right then, if you have this figured out so well, you go help Joseph get dressed. I'll see to getting things packed up."

And Adam wasn't really sure if he had gotten the short end of the stick or not.

"Feel like a damn baby, Adam. Can't do anything for myself," Joe moaned between clenched teeth and labored breathing.  He had thought he was stronger than that but just sitting up and getting his pants on had taken its toll. Now, trying with Adam's help to get a shirt on was proving to be more than what he thought he could possibly handle.

"Why don't you quit using your energy to fight me and just let me do it for you, Joe." Adam explained, trying to pull a sleeve over one casted arm, but the cast was almost too large to allow passage. "Remember? Like when you were a little thing and Pa would send me in to make sure you were dressed for church? Remember those days? I sure do." Although Adam was trying to think of it just that way, he kept seeing reality before him: the bruises that covered his brother's slight form, the casts on both arms, the bulky bandages across the one shoulder, the ribs bound tight against movement, the one knee swollen nearly double. But most of all, the strain showing through on his brother's battered face.

"Face it, Adam, that sleeve just ain't going over that cast. Tell Pa I ain't going." But Joe was not in the least bit dejected by the idea.

An index finger raised in quick thought, Adam said "Wait right here, I have an idea." Quickly rising to his feet in front of his brother, Adam left the room.

Joe flopped back on the bed, wincing with the pain, muttering "Just where did he think I was going?"

Adam was back almost as quickly as he had left, one of his own good shirts in his hands. "Let's try this one," he suggested and pulled Joe back carefully into a seated position on the bed. This time the sleeve went over the cast easily but the cuffs hung well down over his fingertips. Once Adam had it buttoned up the front, he turned the sleeves up just a bit, mindful of the baleful looks Joe was giving him. When he was finished with the sleeves, he gave the collar a playful adjustment. "Just to give you the idea of what it will feel like when you finally grow up," he teased.

"I am grown. I just quit before you did."

"Yes, my brother, and we both quit before Hoss did!" and although it physically hurt Joe, he shared the old joke with Adam concerning their middle brother's legendary size.

Adam snagged a boot and was trying to help Joe on with it when Joe suddenly fell back onto the bed laughing, holding onto his sides.

"What is so funny? You could be helping just a little here," Adam fussed and reached up, grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled Joe back into a seated position.

"Can you imagine what it would have been like if you and I had grown to be Hoss' size as well?" and Joe laughed again, gasping through the pain radiating down his side it caused but unable to help himself.

The picture that popped into Adam's head was of the three of them blown to Hoss' proportions and was as equally ludicrous as the one in Joe's mind.  He gave up trying to get Joe's boot on and laughed as well.  He sat on the side of the bed with Joe. "Well one thing is for sure. Pa would be a poor man today trying to feed three us who eat like Hoss does," Adam pointed out and that set Joe off into laughter again.

Joe had to lay back down to control the discomfort the laughing caused. "Naw, Adam. 'Nother thing. You all certainly would have never nicknamed me Little Joe!"

Adam had to laughingly agree. For just those few moments it felt good to laugh with Joe but then he watched as Joe grabbed at his side, the pain he was feeling was evident on his face. The mirth both of them had just expressed was gone equally as fast for both of them.

Joe lay on the bed, struggling to control the pain, breathing heavily like a horse just run a great distance. "Damn!" he softly cursed, "Can't… even… laugh."

Uncertainty racing through him, Adam reached out and touched Joe's shuddering shoulder. But there was no way he could even comfort Joe and it angered Adam. More than the destruction of his home and possessions. More than the physical beating he saw that his little brother had taken. More than the abuse that closed Hop Sing to reality. More than any of that, Adam wanted revenge for what he had just witnessed: the silencing of Joe's laughter.

The darkness of night shrouded the streets of Virginia City. In the back alley behind the International House, Hoss and Adam Cartwright were helping their brother out of the surrey that had brought the three of them into town. Throughout most of the slow journey, Joe had sat, resting heavily against the protective side of his brother Adam as Hoss drove, trying to miss the ruts and potholes in the road. Now the journey was at an end and the most daunting of tasks still lay before Joe: climbing the stairs to the third floor. Back at the ranch, Joe had convinced his father to let him ride with his brothers while Ben and Hop Sing went into town in the buckboard, swearing he could handle sitting up that long. Now, the brothers all knew differently. Joe had nearly fallen out of the surrey into Hoss' arms. For a long moment, Hoss had supported Joe, feeling him tremble beneath his hands. Finally, Joe had pushed back from the massive chest and onto his own feet.

The breath he drew in was shaky but Joe still whispered "I'm all right. I can make it on my own, Hoss."

Reluctantly, afraid Joe would fall otherwise, Hoss turned him loose. "Sure, Shortshanks, sure," he murmured and saw a tight small smile come to his brother's face.

"You lead the way, Hoss.  Joe and I will be right behind you," Adam directed, handing Hoss the position he would have normally taken. He knew that with Hoss' bulk before them, Joe would be all but hidden between them, and there was nothing more Adam wanted right then than to help his youngest brother hide from the world.

"We got three sets of stairs to climb, Joe. You know I can just as easily carry you up," Hoss offered but Joe's gesture left no doubt as to how he wanted it done.

"I will not be carried in like a baby, Hoss. Now either get a move on or get out of the way," Joe hissed, his words belying his real physical condition. He doubted whether he could really do it or not but he wasn't about to let anyone see the weakness he felt.

By the time Joe hit the second landing, he could feel his knee throbbing and the pain from his ribs was making him breathe in short gasps. Unable to grasp the handrail, he sagged against the wall instead to catch his breath.  He closed his eyes, willing the pain, and the weakness it brought, away. Distantly, he heard Adam hiss for Hoss to stop and immediately felt hands supporting him. Using will power alone, he opened his eyes and struggled to stand on his own. The fierce look of determination in his eyes would have warded other men away but Adam and Hoss were not 'other men'.
 
"Why couldn't you have gotten a room on the second floor, Hoss?" he quipped, deciding that humor was going to let him have his way easier than fighting with these two.

"'Cause I'se feelin' real mean and cantankerous, little brother. Now you gonna let me help you?"

"Nope, not with you feeling that way. Just lead on Hoss, you know where you left the room."

Not in the least bit eager to do as Joe requested, Hoss saw Adam's head jerk on up the stairs in an unspoken command to continue. Confident that Adam would sing out loud and clear should the need arise, Hoss turned and headed up the steps, hearing his brothers behind him.

At the third landing, Hoss eased the door open to the hallway and looked down it. Adam had been quite blunt earlier in the evening when they had spoken of being seen in public. Hoss had at first thought that Adam was just joking with him about going in the back way.  To Hoss, it had seemed like they were sneaking around and it seemed silly to him. Then Adam, glowering darkly, had explained. "Joe knows how bad he's messed up right now Hoss and that bothers him a whole lot.  Hell, you and I both know he turns more heads than us 'cause he's so damn good looking. But right now, well, he's not so good looking and he knows it.  So we're just gonna let him hide for a while longer. Let the bruises fade, let the black eye heal and Joe will be back to his old devilish self. If we don't do this for him, he loses a lot of what makes him Joe. I personally don't want to see that happen. So, little buddy," Adam had let his hand come to rest on Hoss' shoulder and used the epithet that he normally reserved for Joe as emphasis, "We are gonna do it this way. Understand?" And Hoss had understood. Now though, he wasn't so sure his younger brother was going to make it the way the older brother wanted it.

There was no one in the hall but Hoss waited a few moments so Joe could catch his breath before moving into the strong light. He looked over his shoulder into Joe's face.

"Wait a minute, Joe," he cautioned and tugged the brim on Joe's hat down just a touch more, pulling his brother's features into more shadows than before. "That better?" and got one of Joe's lopsided grins in response.

Once again, in single file, they started down the hall, Hoss leading and sheltering, Adam following and with one hand extended, ready to support the faltering steps of the youngest Cartwright between them. They were almost to the juncture of the grand staircase when an elegant couple in evening clothes almost ran them down. Hoss stopped abruptly and felt Joe nudge into his back with a low, almost animal-like groan of pain.

When Hoss had stopped, Joe had been more intent on looking at the floor and concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Hitting his brother's solid back nearly knocked him down and he staggered back a half step. He immediately felt Adam's hand, fingers spread wide, against his back between his shoulder blades and heard Adam whispered "Just lean back a little, Joe. I've got you." Keeping his head down and his face in shadow, Joe did as Adam directed and felt Adam's other hand holding him up, supporting the arm closest to the wall.

To the passing couple, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary.

Once they were passed, Adam felt Joe sag against him. All pretense of strength was now gone.

"Hoss, help me with him." Adam whispered but it was needless for Hoss was already turning back, reaching for Joe. Once he had Joe firmly cradled in his arms, head tucked into his shoulder, Hoss moved down to the end of the hall, Adam slightly ahead now.

Ben had heard the rustling at the door that sounded like a key trying to be hurriedly fit into the lock. Crossing the floor quickly, he yanked to door open and was appalled to see Hoss carrying Joe.  Quickly he stepped back into the room and allowed Hoss in. He could hear Joe's labored breathing and it frightened him.

"Adam," he started to tell him to go and get the doctor but Adam's hand to him stayed his command.

"Joe just kind of over did it a bit, Pa. You know how bullheaded he can be.  It just caught up to him is all.  He's okay."

Feeling doubtful about that last statement, Ben trailed Hoss into the bedroom part of the suite of rooms.

Watching from both sides of the doorway, Adam and Hoss watched their father tend to their brother, unbuttoning and gently removing his shirt, speaking softly to him all the while, Joe moving but slightly, totally spent.  While Adam had a clear view of the scene, Hoss could see what was going on by watching the reflection in the mirror.

"What do we do now, Adam?" Hoss asked but didn't look at him, intent on watching his father.

"We go back to the ranch and try to make it a safe place again," was Adam's soft reply, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning back on the doorjamb, unwilling as well to look anywhere other than at the slight form dwarfed now by the huge bed.

"Safe for who? As long as those kids are still out there…" and Hoss let the thought drift away from him. "You know what I was thinking coming down the hall carrying Joe? He said it was kids that done this but he ain't that much bigger than a kid hisself.  I know he might be stronger than a kid but bigger? No, not much bigger. That’s what done him in, Adam, him and Hop Sing both. They were out numbered."

"No, Hoss. Wasn't Joe's size. Or the fact they were out numbered. It was upbringing. Pa always taught us not to pick on littler kids while we were growing up and we always took that to mean younger kids. Unless Joe was pushed to the absolute limits, he wouldn't have raised a hand to hurt someone he thought was younger than him. Same as you and I would have done."

Hoss considered Adam's words for a moment then reaching out, grabbed Adam's arm and attention. With a nod of his head he indicated the scene before them: their father so totally absorbed into Joe's care that nothing else existed for him, their brother's body a mass of bruises, his hands useless to him, and their cook, sitting off to one side, a vacant stare to his face.

"You still feel the same way?" Hoss asked.

"I can't say that I do. Not any more."
 
 

There was a slight sound that reached Hop Sing in the small hours of the morning. Rising and sliding his feet into his soft-soled slippers, his sharp ears followed the sound from across the parlor where he had slept fitfully. Hop Sing felt the coldness of the early morning air through his coarse cotton jacket and loose trousers and he wished for the comforts of a fire. Like the one at home, came the peculiar thought to him. Home? Where was home? He considered the idea, feeling that where he was wasn't home but had lost the concept of just where home was. The small sound came to him again and he hurried across the ornate carpets and into the large bedroom.

The temperature drop during the night had awoken Joe as well. As much as he relished the cooler weather, he had always disdained sleeping cold. So when he awoke to the chill, he reached for the quilt he knew he had seen at the foot of the bed earlier in the evening. But with just the barest tips of both sets of fingers showing from their white casings, getting his hands to do anything was impossible. He tried to grasp the quilt between the two casts but it was awkward and the quilt felt much heavier than it looked. Joe had finally managed to get it close enough to him but then getting it opened out to cover himself was another matter. He was still struggling with it when he realized Hop Sing was in the room with him.

Instinct took over in Hop Sing and with his voice hoarse from self imposed silence, he told the young man he knew as Little Joe that he would do it. To leave it alone and let him do it.

Grateful that help had come, Joe leaned back into the pile of pillows and in the language he had grown up sharing with Hop Sing, gave him his thanks.

Once the quilt was spread and warming him, Joe stopped Hop Sing from leaving. Something that no one in the family had had the courage to bring up, Joe thought he knew already. There was something terribly wrong with Hop Sing. Throughout the whole ordeal so far, he would have usually seen Hop Sing hovering in the near background, with just as anxious a face as his father's. Or someone in the family would have been calling for Hop Sing to bring this or get that. This time, however, he had seen nor heard none of that. What he had witnessed early on was that when he spoke in Chinese to Hop Sing, he seemed to listen. To come back to where they both were. When he or anyone else spoke English, a glazed look came to Hop Sing's features and it was like dealing with a ghost.

"What do you remember, Hop Sing?" Joe asked, searching for the right words to convey his true meaning in the shifting language of Chinese. Long ago, Hop Sing had admonished him that certain sounds said at different pitches and intonations gave different meanings to the listeners. That was why Hop Sing had insisted that Joe learn proper Chinese, not the Cantonese that was actually native to Hop Sing. Joe had liken it to learning English by listening to an Irishman: same language, same words just different.

At the foot of the bed, one hand still resting on the quilt there, Hop Sing paused. It was such a simple question. But through the sifting haze of fear, the answer could not break through clearly.

"What do I remember?" and he let his mind fall back to less complicated times. He turned to face Joe and sat on the foot of the bed, his fingers spreading the fabric before them. He told of how he had come to America at just 15 years old, intent on making his fortune in the newly found gold fields of California. Once he had his fortune made, he would return to Canton for his promised bride. There he would be much respected as a man of the world and he and his wife would raise many happy and strong sons to carry on his family traditions. But those had turned into just empty dreams once he had hit the gravel and cold streams of the California foothills.  The work was hard and grueling but he had felt that no one earned a fortune easily so he persisted. What he had not counted on was the way the white miners felt about others like him. After one particular small strike, Hop Sing had found his paper to the claim was declared worthless and he was ruthlessly pushed from the land. The next time it was the same all over again and Hop Sing began to see the pattern of the white devils. Let he or one of his "yellow" brethren start showing a claim had promise and a means was found to take it. Sickened by it all, Hop Sing left the California gold fields and headed East, hoping to find work. He was just sixteen years old and spoke two words of English: yes and maybe.

Joe had listened in fascination, trying to understand at first every word then gave in and simply sought out and grasped the ideas. In all his life, he had never once heard Hop Sing talk about his life before he came to the Ponderosa to live and work. It was as if Hop Sing had always been there and had never had another life. Joe knew different now. He had heard the not just the words but the feeling of loss Hop Sing had experienced. Loss of family, loss of home, a way of life, a language and culture. And loss of a dream.

"What about your promised bride? That's what you called her, wasn't it?" Joe asked when Hop Sing had fallen silent again.

A distinct look of pain dashed across Hop Sing's round face, awash in the waning moonlight. "When I did not return when I said I would, they feared I was lost. Dead. So they allowed her to marry another even though she had been pledged to me when we were both very young children.  I understand that she has been very happy with her new husband for many years. She has given him many sons and he is also happy with her."

"It didn't work out very well for you, did it? I mean coming to America and all," Joe asked.but once again saw the veil of confusion drop before his friend's face, clouding sight. Then just as rapidly, he saw the blank stare return. Hop Sing rose from where he had sat and started to leave the room.

"Hop Sing, thank you." Joe called in English to his retreating back but saw no sign his friend had even heard him. Then Joe said it again, that time in Chinese, and saw the shoulders slump and the head shaking back and forth in tiny little 'no's'.

When Joe awoke again that morning it was to the sound of voices and smells of bacon and coffee. He could hear his father out in the parlor area talking with someone. Throwing back the quilts, he thought to simply crawl out of bed and go find the source of the food and the talk since it obviously wasn't headed his way at the moment. But seeing how he was clad only in his nightshirt and he couldn't recognize the other voice, he was rethinking his strategy. Getting his nightshirt off wasn't going to be a problem but replacing it was. He laid back onto the bed, letting his thinking catch up with reality.

He was still lying there, contemplating the ornate ceiling above him when his father stepped into the room with Paul Martin.  He looked up into his father's concerned eyes just as his father quickly questioned whether he was all right or not. And just what did he think he was doing?

"Gonna get out of bed for a while, Pa. You know, get dressed, maybe have some coffee, a little breakfast, maybe read the newspaper if they got a copy of the Territorial Enterprise," Joe explained then closed his eyes as Paul Martin began probing his side.

"That hurt?" the doctor queried and it was all Joe could do to keep from groaning it hurt so bad.

"I'm fine," Joe claimed but it was through clenched teeth.

"How about your knee?" and the doctor placed a gentler hand there. It was enough to make Joe want to yank it away but he gave his standard response of "fine" and prayed the doctor would be done soon. But the doctor continued to his shoulder, his hands and finally to the swollen cheekbone that heralded the black eye. Each time the response Joe gave was by rote: "fine."

"Well, you are in no worse shape than when you left the ranch yesterday. From what your father tells me though, I would think that you would have second thoughts about getting out of bed this morning.  You know when I suggested this, young man, I more envisioned your making the trip in the back of a buckboard, laying down, preferably on something soft with enough pillows around you to keep you from bouncing into anything. But you didn't do it that way, now did you?"

Joe gave Doc Martin his best sheepish look but then decided it was probably wasted. With the doctor, his best weapon was usually silence, and he pulled it out even as he tried to sit up on the side of the bed. Doc Martin shook his head and gently pushed Joe back onto the bed.

"Now, of those thing you were listing off to your father about getting up, how many could you do on your own, with no help from anyone else?"

Joe saw the battle lines already being drawn. "Well I can certainly get out of bed by myself and…." Thinking back quickly to his list, he realized that there was only one other thing he could do without someone else helping him as long as his hands were in the hated casts. "and read the newspaper." Realizing his dependency on others, Joe's fight lost a little steam. "How long do these have to stay on for?" Joe asked quietly, his green eyes now having lost a good deal of their fire as well.

This was the part Paul Martin had dreaded most but he knew the young man before him had a great deal of personal courage and stamina that others his age did not. "A good month to six weeks. Then we'll take them off and see what we have."

"Can I at least get some fingers going here?" Joe asked, his voice just short of pleading.

"Absolutely not!" came the doctor's swift reply. "Let me explain what we are dealing with here, Joe." With that Paul reached out a grabbed Ben's right hand and held it between he and Joe. Ben watched helplessly as Paul pointed to three places just below the first set of knuckles on the back of his own hand and then finally just where the wrist joined with the bones coming from the little finger. "Those four places on your right hand are broken, Joe. The breaks are pretty clean from what I could feel as I set them. If you let the hand rest until those bones are done fully mending, you won't have any long term problems."

"What about this one?" Joe asked and lifted the left cast, the heaviest one, he thought, just a hair off the bed where it had lain. For a moment, he thought the doctor would grab his father's other hand but when he didn't, Joe felt fear rising like hot scalding acid in his stomach up to the back of his throat, threatening. Instead Paul Martin simply laid his hand down over the cast and pressed it back down

"I did what I could on that one Joe. But I am not sure that its gonna be enough for it." And Joe saw again the bootheel coming down onto the back of that same hand slowly, like molasses moving in January. He could feel again the instant the crushing heel hit solid flesh then felt as the flesh give way into white-hot pain. As though from a great distance away, he heard Paul Martin's voice say "I'm sorry Joe. I did what I could but it may not be enough. I'