Ben was surprised, “It’s a little early to be keeping an appointment with Parker.  He considers banker’s hours too early for him.”  Ben and Joe both knew that the accountant rarely left the poker tables before 2 am, although as long as he got enough sleep, his work didn’t seem to suffer for it.

    “I thought I’d check and see how that railroad spur was coming along.  They’d planned to be getting to our easement by today.”  Joe tried to sound neutral as he spoke.

    Ben knew better.  “I know you don’t like the idea of prison labor building that spur, but it can’t be any harder on the men than breaking rocks at the prison.”

    “Pa, it’s no better than slave labor.  And it takes work away from honest people who need it.  That’s why you argued against it.”

    “But I lost.  And once that spur’s completed the mines will provide more jobs than laying the tracks, long-term jobs.”  Ben reminded him.

    “But at least I can check and make sure they’re being treated right.  And besides we’re contracted to provide the food for the prisoners once they cross onto our land.  I need to check on what they want.”

    “Joseph you can’t be taking menus out to a bunch of state prisoners like they were being served at a restaurant.”

    Joe had to laugh a little at that, “I mean I need to see if they need us to bring utensils, plates, cups, whether there’s some kind of restrictions we don’t know about.”

    “They already told us nothing that can’t be eaten with fingers or a spoon.  No forks, no knives.  Everything accounted for and returned.  Edmund can take out the cups and plates that are already in the chuck wagon in case they’re needed.”

    Ben looked up at his son and realized no matter what he said, Joe had a need to go out and check for himself.  He just hoped he wouldn't find anything wrong that he couldn’t do anything about.  “Well, take those two fool dogs with you then.  They need a run.”

    They both looked over to where the Scottish deerhounds were lounging against the stone hearth in the front room.  They’d been a somewhat unwelcome present from a visiting friend of Ben who thought anyone would be honored to have a pair of the royal dogs of Scotland.   They did only two things, sleep and chase.  And sometimes their twitching in their sleep indicated they were combining the two.  Ben would have found them a new home as soon as his friend returned to Scotland but by that time Jamie was in love with them.  And he was the only one they showed any affection for.

    “Ok Pa, but if they take off after a rabbit or a coyote, they’ll have to find their own way home.”

    “Come on dogs” Joe called out as he grabbed his hat from the hook by the door.  “Lets go show some rabbits your stuff.”  As always, he refused to call them by name.  The male had already been an adolescent named Angus when he was presented to them.  Jamie had named the female pup Agnes without thinking what a tongue twister it would be to call them together.  Then he’d insisted he couldn’t change the name because she liked it.  The two dogs rose with a slow dignity and deigned to accompany Joe out the door.

    Waiting on the porch, his own dog greeted the prospect of a run with the appropriate doggy enthusiasm.  As always Bramble ignored the two bigger dogs and they him.  Joe leaned down to pet the little black and white border collie.  “Thanks Bramble, it’s nice to feel appreciated.”

    He looked forward to taking Cochise out today.  Joe had reluctantly stopped using him in hard ranch work and on long trips once he’d hit twenty.  But he was in good shape for his age and the kind of ride he was going to take today would do the pinto good.

    When he went into the tack room for his saddle, he saw that someone had been working on his mother’s sidesaddle.  Had to be Pa.   Even though no one used it, he took it out periodically and kept the leather oiled.  It wasn’t the saddle she’d been using when she was killed.  That one was long destroyed.  She’d brought this one from home as one of the beloved pieces of the South she had brought West.  It was a part of her Pa could never part with and could never allow to fall apart from neglect.

    Joe went over and stroked the oiled leather, wondering what his father thought about as he worked on it.  Joe’s clearest memory of the saddle was the time RJ, who’d ridden astride all her life, put it on Cochise and rode in circles around the big corral, working on changing gaits in this unfamiliar position.  Joe had been in the wheelchair then and had wheeled out to watch the girl and horse trying to figure out what was to them a strange contraption for preserving feminine modesty.

    He’d been enjoying the sight immensely until Hop Sing came out and started scolding in his rapid almost unintelligible English .  At first they’d thought he was mad that they were humiliating poor Cochise who was a working horse used to only proper equipment.  When they understood that he was worried that his Pa would come home and see RJ making light of his mother’s saddle, they’d put it away.

    Pa never did quite approve of RJ.   He had affection for her; he had to after she saved Joe’s life and quelled her restless spirit for the months it took to see him through the hard work that finally got him out of the wheelchair.  But she rarely dressed like a woman and even more rarely acted like one except when she shared a bed with Joe.  If Pa knew about that he never let on and wouldn’t have counted it in her favor.  And Pa could never convince her to accompany them to church.  She spent Sunday mornings running the hills on foot, sometimes covering more than 25 miles.  She scoffed at those who depended so much on their horses that they were helplessly stranded without them.  But Joe knew most of Pa’s disapproval stemmed from the bare fact that Joe was in love with her and she would neither settle with him nor leave him alone.

    For more than a decade, loving RJ had been a fact of his life.  She dropped in about every six months and then was gone again.  She had always warned him she could never be a one-man woman.  He knew she had a man in Texas and another in Wyoming and doubtless others as restless as she, although she never talked about them to him.   He’d given up asking her to stay, but never given up hoping she would.   He’d overheard Hoss chiding her one day about preventing him from ever settling down and starting a family.  She’d told Hoss that Joe just hadn’t met his true love yet.  She called herself the keeper of his heart, preventing him for settling for one of the countless women he’d dallied with so he’d be available for his true love.  At the time he’d truly believed that Hoss was right; he’d never be fully happy with another woman.  But when he met Alice, he wondered at RJ’s precognition.  He’d had no second thoughts with Alice, no worrying that in the long run she wouldn’t measure up to RJ.  She was the true love of his life RJ had foreseen.  But now she was gone.

    He hadn’t seen RJ since Hoss’s funeral.  She hadn’t felt it was right for her to come to his wedding even though he’d been honest with Alice about her and Alice didn’t seem to feel threatened.   Alice had even added a postscript to a letter Joe had written thanking RJ for keeping Joe’s heart safe for her.  He knew why RJ had stayed away after Alice was killed.  Joe would have had feelings of disloyalty if they’d shared a bed so soon after his loss but his despair and loneliness would probably have driven him to whatever momentary comfort it would have brought.  And now his loss was over a year past and he had an emptiness that no one could fill, but RJ would be a comfort.  He knew she’d come when she thought the time was right.

    Joe filled his life now with taking over the running of the ranch so Pa could slow down and trying to be the only big brother Jamie had left.  It wasn’t enough but it was all he had.

    He finished saddling Cochise and headed out with the three dogs running along side.

    An hour later they crossed the little stream below the ridge overlooking the spur.  Joe wasn’t sure he was even going to ride down to the work site.  Maybe he would just check things out with binoculars from the ridge.  Just then the two deerhounds scared up a rabbit and took off.  Joe had Jamie’s whistle with him but he knew better than to bother with it.  Once the sight hounds got into chase mode their ears stopped up.  The whistle was to call them back after they’d lost the prey or caught it.

    Joe started to speed up in the direction the deerhounds had taken when he heard a piteous barking behind him.  There was Bramble on the other side of the stream, running back and forth waiting for his ride.  He’d been off on a little excursion of his own when Joe had crossed the stream.   For some reason Joe had never been able to figure, the little dog hated to get his feet wet.   He called out to him with affectionate exasperation, “Come on Bramble, you can jump it.”  But the dog continued his demands for a ride and Joe knew why.  There was mud on both sides of the stream bed and wet was wet.

    Joe turned Cochise around and walked him back over the stream.  The moment he reached the other side, Bramble leaped up on the saddle in front of him.  As they recrossed the stream, Bramble stood on Joe’s knee with his paws on his shoulder and barked defiantly at the dreaded water.  He jumped down as soon as they cleared the mud on the other side.  “Well,” Joe thought, “at least the damn dog never tracks mud in the house.”

    When Joe reached the ridge, he could see that the work was only a few hundred yards from the Ponderosa boundary.  He used the binoculars and counted twenty men at work and three guards on horseback.  Even though it wasn’t near the hottest part of the day yet, most of the men had their shirts off.   As he watched, he saw one of the guards sight his rifle.  He wasn’t aiming in Joe’s direction or at the working men.  Joe turned to see what he was aiming at and his heart sank.  The two deerhounds had chased the rabbit over the ridge and were paralleling the working men midway down.

    Joe headed down yelling the whole way.  But he couldn’t get there fast enough even if he had been willing to risk Cochise stumbling on the steep rocky trail.  But, as he rode toward them, he saw one of the prisoners hit the rifle with the handle of the shovel he’d been working with and the shot went low and wide.  Before Joe could get close enough to stop it, the guard clubbed the prisoner in the head with the butt of the rifle.

    Joe did get there in time to stop him leaping off his horse and clubbing the man again as he lay unconscious on the ground.   When Joe got between the guard and the prisoner, the guard turned the business end of the rifle on Joe.  “This ain’t none of your business mister.  And you could get shot for trying to help a prisoner escape.”

    Joe looked down at the unconscious man lying face up on the ground with his scalp laid open and bleeding profusely.  Man?  He looked hardly more than a boy, surely no more than eighteen.  Joe tried to keep things calm.  “I don’t think he’s much of an escape risk right now,” he said mildly.

    “Out of the way mister,” the guard insisted.

    “Listen, this man just saved you from more trouble than you could know.  You should be thanking him not bashing his head in.”

    “What are you talking about?”  The man didn’t believe him but it at least got him curious.

    “That dog you were about to shoot belongs to Ben Cartwright.  You know that name?”

    The guard nodded.

    “If you heard the name, then you know he has a reputation as a hard man.  He loves those dogs more than his own sons.  And I should know.  I’m one of his sons.”  Joe spoke these bald-faced lies with confidence, figuring men like these would think that anyone with money both hard and capable of loving a prized dog more than a child.  “If you’d hit one of those dogs, he would have had your job.  And you wouldn’t have gotten another one anywhere in this state.  Hell, he would have called in some favors and made sure you did some hard time.  Those dogs are valuable.  He might decide to get you fired for trying to shoot them.”

    The man’s attitude changed a little as he sensed he was dealing with someone with some power.   “Now wait mister, uh Mister Cartwright, I thought those were wolves out there.  They don’t look like any dogs I’ve ever seen.”

    Joe had to admit that although the dogs really didn’t look like wolves, their gray, grizzled coats might give them that look as they sped by.  But he wasn’t going to give this man an out.  “You’re not going to win any points with my father with that excuse.”

    Joe didn’t want to waste time arguing.  He was concerned about the wounded boy  “We need to get this man to a doctor,” Joe said urgently.  He didn’t really believe they were going to let that happen, but if he started out with that demand maybe they wouldn’t stop him from taking less drastic measures.

    The guard made the expected response.  “This man’s a violent prisoner who just tried to escape.  We can’t leave the rest of the prisoners and we’re sure not letting you take charge of this one.”

    “Escape?  He didn’t try to grab the rifle or to hit you.  He just deflected your shot.”  He added, “Lucky for you.”

    Joe tried to assess what he could do for the boy.  “Then let me take him into the shade, wash out that gash and bandage him up.    See how he feels when he regains consciousness.”

    The guard hesitated.  Joe figured the best he planned to do was throw some water in the boy’s face and poke his ribs with the rifle barrel until he woke up.

    “Look, I owe this man as much as you do.  I had charge of my father’s dogs.  If one had gotten killed or even wounded he would have skinned me.  Believe me, he’s not just a hard man with outsiders.  He’d have been likely to take a whip to me.”

    The guard reluctantly agreed.  He unlocked the ankle cuff that attached the boy to two of the other men.  Without help Joe dragged the boy into the shade of some nearby trees.  It was easy enough.  He must have a few inches on Joe in height, but he was at least 20 pounds lighter.  His arms and chest were pretty well developed as though from heavy work, but his ribs protruded badly.  Joe left to grab a saddlebag off Cochise.  When he got back, the guard was chaining the boy’s hands around one of the smaller trees.

    Joe tried to stop him.  “That’s can’t be necessary.”

    The guard ignored him while he finished locking the cuffs.  Then he said, “We’ve got to get the rest of the men back to work.  There’s only three of us.  We can’t spare someone to guard this man while you coddle him.”  Then in an accusing tone he pointed at the saddlebag.  “What’s in there?”

    Joe responded blandly.  “Not the keys to those cuffs.”  He displayed the opening to the guard.  “Canteen, bandages.”    The guard walked off with barely a glance.

    Joe did his best to wash out the gash and bandage it up tight.  It really should have been stitched.  Either way it would leave a scar, although high enough up in the hairline maybe it wouldn’t show much.  Then he tried to wash all the blood off the boy’s face and dark hair.  There’d been a lot of it, but head wounds usually bled a lot.  He wished he could give the boy a bath.  He looked and smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in months.  His ragged pants looked like they’d never seen soap.

    After awhile Joe got the feeling that the boy was conscious but trying not to show it.   Joe stopped what he was doing and spoke in a low voice.

    “Listen, I’d like to give you some swallows of this water, but I can’t give water to an unconscious man.   If you’re not in any hurry to get back to work, you can play possum as long as you want.  They can’t see you here.  And if you talk low, they can’t hear you.  So maybe you could just let me know if you’re awake.”

    Joe thought he saw the boy’s eyes flicker, as though in indecision.  That decided it for Joe.  He directed his dog.  “Wake him up Bramble, but quiet.”  Immediately, Bramble was on the boy’s chest vigorously licking his face.  No one who was even close to consciousness could ignore Bramble when he was determined.   Joe knew.  He’d tried.  And chained up as he was, this boy couldn’t even use his arms and hands to deflect the enthusiastic little dog.

    “Ok, Ok, that’s enough.”  The boy spoke quietly which told Joe he hadn’t been startled into wakefulness.

    Joe pulled Bramble off immediately.  “My kid brother taught him that.  No one sleeps in if the two of them are of a different mind.  It’s even worse when he’s directed to wake you up loud.  A dead man couldn’t sleep through that.”

    The boy didn’t say anything for a moment.  Then he asked, “You really got some water there?”  Joe knew he wasn’t really asking if there was any water, but asking to have some in an indirect way.

    “Sure” Joe gently lifted the boy’s head up and gave him a few swallows of water.  Then let him have as much as he could take.  He sensed the boy was humiliated by being chained that way and having to be given water like an invalid, but his thirst had won out.

    The boy’s next question was a curious one.  “Aren’t you a little old to be getting a whipping from your father?  You must want your inheritance real bad.”

    Joe smiled.  “That was just something I said to them.  My father never even used a whip on a horse.  But if you heard that, I guess you’ve been awake for awhile.”

    The boy looked fearful for a moment.  Joe assured him he wasn’t going to tell the guards anything.  “Truth is I do owe you a big favor.  Not for saving me from a whipping, but for sparing me the look on my little brother’s face if I’d had to tell him one of his dogs got shot.”

    Joe rummaged through his saddle bag and came up a little bag of lemon drops.  “I’m afraid I didn’t bring any food with me, but these things are pretty good.”

    He put one in the boy’s mouth.  The boy lay back with his eyes closed.  Joe bet he hadn’t had candy in a long time.  He wished he’d brought some cookies or something more interesting.  But then again, he didn’t think the boy would like being fed chained up as he was.

    “My name’s Joe Cartwright.”  He couldn’t shake hands.  He almost reached over and patted the boy on the shoulder but thought better of it.  His introduction just hung there for a moment before the boy answered.  “Griff” A little hesitation,” Griff King.”

    Sensing the introductions, Bramble pushed his way up to Griff and put his paw on Griff’s chest.  Then, as though discerning Griff couldn’t take his paw, the dog put his head down where his paw had been.

    “Bramble, leave him alone.”

     Griff quickly intervened.   “It’s ok, he’s fine.  I haven’t had a dog to pet for almost two years.”

    “Looks more like he’s petting you.”  Then Joe recognized the meaning behind what Griff had said.  Two years.  “How old are you Griff?”

    “Eighteen.  But I guess what you really want to know is what could a kid not much past sixteen have done to land in Nevada State Prison.”

    “It’s none of my business.”

    “Doesn’t matter.  Attempted murder.”  Griff saw the reaction on Joe’s face.  “Tried to kill a man with a pick handle.”

    “You have a reason?”

    “Not one the court recognized.  My stepfather liked beating on people and I was usually the most convenient target.  When I tried to stop him from beating my dog to death with that pick handle, he turned it on me.  When I got it away from him, I turned it on him. Maybe I would have killed him if two of his friends hadn’t pulled me off.”

    “Sounds like no more than assault at worst, more likely self defense.  And you were just a kid.”

    “And he was my legal father.  When your own father thinks you belong in prison, I guess the court listens.”

    “So you’ve served almost two years.  You must be up for parole soon.”

    Griff turned his head away.  “On a sentence of six to ten, maybe they’ll consider me in three or four years.   But they’d have no particular reason to give me parole.  Especially once Gardner files his report saying I attacked a guard.”

    Joe thought maybe he could prevent that, but he didn’t want to make promises he wasn’t absolutely sure he could keep.  “Well at least we’ll write a letter to the parole board saying you have a job when you get out.  They set some store by that kind of thing.”

    Griff didn’t answer.  Joe didn’t know if Griff figured he was just making talk or he didn’t think he’d make it three more years anyway.

    “Griff, there must be something I can do for you now.”

    Griff’s eyes flickered up to where his hands were chained around the tree.

    Joe smiled grimly.  “I guess that sounds like a pretty empty promise when I couldn’t even get them to take off those cuffs.  But you almost got your head bashed in saving me a lot of heartache.”

    “Didn’t do it for you,” Griff answered curtly.

    “Well, even better.  A favor done for a rich man’s son can have all kinds of motivations.”   Then Joe tried again.  “The Ponderosa is providing the food for the crew the next two weeks or so.  There must be something we can bring special for you.”

    Griff visibly brightened.  “If you just make sure we get something better than salt pork and beans or beans and rice, I’d be a real hero around here.”

    “That’s already been taken care of.  Edmund is making pots of beef stew.  Good stuff.”

    “With real meat in it?” Griff said wistfully.

    “Well, of course.  How else can you make beef stew?”

    “You’d be surprised,” Griff said bitterly.

    “You must have something you’ve been wanting special.  Something you remember from before prison.  Pot roast, pork chops . . . .?”

    “Fried chicken.  My mother made the best fried chicken.”  The expression in Griff’s bluegray eyes softened.   “My father, my real father, used to tease her, calling it Yankee fried chicken.  He was from Atlanta.  She was from Boston.  She made it with mountains of mashed potatoes and gravy.  And sweet peas.  She said  putting sugar in the water was the secret to that.”

    “We can do that.  Course it might cause our own little north/south conflict.  We have two cooks since we have so many hands to feed.  Edmund’s from San Francisco by way of New York.  Abby’s from Atlanta like your father.  They never agree on how chicken should be fried.”

    Griff went rigid.  Then he asked with what Joe could tell was feigned nonchalance, “Abby, she’s Edmund’s wife.”

    Joe looked closely at Griff as he answered.  “No, her husband’s name is Robert.  They’ve been working for us for more than twenty years.  Why, you think you know her?”

    “How could I?  I was born in Montana eighteen years ago.”  Then he added under his breath, “They don’t care about me anyhow.”  Then. in a normal voice.  “Got any more of those lemon drops?”

    As Joe placed one between his lips, he studied the boy’s face.  What was he hiding?  Something nagged at the back of Joe’s mind.  Something about Abby and Robert.  They’d come from Atlanta by way of St. Louis.  Robert was a freed slave but Abby had run away when she was going to be sold away from Robert.  She’d been smuggled out of Atlanta by Robert and the son of the family that had owned them.  They’d named their son Andrew after that man.  He’d seen the picture of Robert standing next to a tall slender blond man and another picture of that same man with a dark-haired woman on the day they were married in Billings Montana.  Robert and Abby had gotten letters from Montana for years, including one with the picture of a little dark haired boy the same age as young Andrew.  He’d been named Robert.  Joe thought their last name was King.  But they were all dead.  Where could this boy fit in?

    Joe looked closely at Griff.  He couldn’t see any particular family resemblance.  But this boy was gaunt, filthy and had a sparse growth of beard.  Who could tell what or who he’d look like with a bath, a shave and a few weeks of decent meals.

    “Is Griff your real name boy?”

    “Sure,” he answered cautiously.

    “Your full name?”

    Griff didn’t answer.

    Just then Bramble nudged Joe’s hand as he always did when someone was coming.  Gardner was approaching.  Joe put his hand lightly on Griff’s mouth to silence him, in case he was finally going to answer the question.  He made a show of bathing Griff’s face with his wet bandana as Gardner came under the trees.

    “He awake yet?”  Gardner would have nudged Griff in the ribs with his boot if Joe hadn’t grabbed the boot mid-swing.

    “He’s been in and out.  Give him another half hour.”

    Just then Griff opened his eyes.  “I’m ok,” he said weakly.

    “About time” Gardner said as he bent down and uncuffed one of Griff’s hands just long enough to recuff them in front.  Roughly he pulled Griff to his feet and gave him a little shove toward the work crew.  Griff made it three steps then collapsed.  Joe caught him as he went down and sat him down with his back against a tree.

    Joe faced Gardner.  “This boy’s probably got a concussion.  It’s not going to do you any good to stick him out in that crew in the sun just to have him drop again.  It won’t hurt to give him another half hour.  You can see he’s not faking or he could have just kept quiet.”

    But Griff struggled to his feet again and this time made it back to work.  Joe wondered why he’d rather return to back breaking work in the hot sun than answer a few questions. “They don’t care about me anyhow.”  He’s sure that’s what the boy had said.  And he must have intended Joe to hear it, else why say it aloud.  But he’d said it so softly, he could claim he’d not meant it to be heard.

    He watched as Cartwright disappeared over the ridge on his pinto with the little dog at its heels.  Why hadn’t he told him that he’d only volunteered for what was considered a tough job because he’d heard it was going through the Ponderosa?  Why hadn’t he told him who his father was and his connection to Robert and Abby?  Maybe because it wouldn’t accomplish anything.  Did he still want to make them ashamed for not helping him when he was left without either parent despite what they owed his father?  He couldn’t hope there was something they could do to relieve the misery his life had become. They were just servants in the Cartwright empire.  And maybe he didn’t really want anyone who’d known his father to see him chained up like an animal.

    Back at the ranch, Joe found Robert inventorying the chuck wagon to make sure it was properly equipped for the prisoners’ meals.  He took Robert aside and asked if the name Griff King meant anything to him.  Robert stared at  him, then answered slowly, “Griff Shawnessy was the name of Andrew King’s father-in-law.  They gave their son my first name and used his for the middle name.  How did you know about that?”

    Joe didn’t want to tell him yet.  “Just heard the name today from someone from Montana."

    “Someone who knew Andrew?”

    “Maybe.  Robert would you mind if I went to your house and looked at those pictures you have of Andrew’s family?”  Joe was trying to be cautious, but Robert was too smart to be put off.

    “I’ll go with you.”

    A few minutes later Joe was examining the three pictures.  There might be some resemblance between the young, tall, blond man standing next to a much younger Robert and the boy he had seen today.  And the young dark-haired boy of ten could be that same boy but just as likely not.  As Joe kept studying the pictures, trying to make a decision, Robert waited patiently.  Finally, he said, "Joe those pictures aren’t going to talk to you.  Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

    Joe told him about Griff.  He couldn’t read the look on Robert’s face – determination, hope, pity.  “Joe, we believed the boy Robby was dead because we were sure his mother was and she died with a dark-haired boy she’d been nursing.  The cholera epidemic had killed dozens of people.  Maureen was one of several women helping the local minister tend the sick in his church.  They were burning bodies and clothing so there was no identifying particular bodies.  The minister had been working with little sleep for days, so he couldn’t be specific about anything.  But he’d kept separate envelopes with some of the belongings of the dead in case someone came looking.”

    Robert went into his bedroom and came back with a gold locket.   “I recognized this as one of the few things Andrew brought with him when he left home.  And inside were pictures of Andrew and Maureen.  She’d died with her arms around the body of a boy she’d been taking care of.  His description made him sound a little younger than  Robby who would have been fifteen then, but with the confusion and the effects of the sickness on the victims . . . .  The minister had put ‘Maureen King and son’ on the envelope.”

    Robert continued in a tone that spoke of guilt and regret, “But what if it wasn’t him Joe?  What if we just jumped to the easy conclusion and ended up leaving Robby with an abusive stepfather when he could have finished growing up here?”

    Joe saw the possibility but wasn’t willing to believe in the likelihood that purely by chance this boy Robert and Hoss has searched for over three years ago had ended up on the Ponderosa.  That was just too much of a coincidence.

    “Robert maybe this boy is just using a name he hopes might help him.  Maybe he knew Robby and his ties to the Ponderosa.  I don’t think we should jump to conclusions now.  The way he whispered, “They don’t care about me anyhow” was probably just his way of admitting that he wasn’t really anyone with a connection to you.  The real Robby had to know you would care.”   Joe didn’t want to be responsible for raising any false hopes, assuming finding this boy only part way through a prison sentence he might not survive would carry hope anyway.

    “I’ll know him if I see him.  I’ll know if he’s Andrew’s son.”  Robert was sure.  Joe was not.

    But three hours later, Joe could see Robert was sure.

    They drove the wagon up close to the work site and asked one of the guards other than Gardner for a prisoner to help put things together.  “That boy Gardner bashed this morning can’t be much help on the work crew right now.”  Joe suggested.  The guard didn’t much care, especially as Joe handed him a plate of apple pie.  Joe took another piece over to Gardner to distract him so Robert could get a chance to talk to Griff.

    Weller came over carrying a plate full of pie.  Griff didn’t figure he was bringing it to him.  Weller put down the pie long enough to separate Griff from the rest.  He picked it up then pointed to the wagon with his rifle.  "Over there boy.  They want someone to do the dirty work."  When Griff didn’t move, Weller prodded him with his rifle.  " Did you hear me boy?  If you don’t want the cushy job, I’m sure someone else will volunteer.”

    As Griff made his way to the wagon, his pace impeded by the chains on his ankles, the black man was unhitching the horses.  The man gestured for Griff to join him.  With the team of horses between them and the rest of the crew.  The man stared at him.  Griff kept his eyes downcast.  He recognized this man from his father’s pictures but he wasn’t going to let him see the recognition in his eyes.

    The man reached out, put his hand under Griff’s chin and forced him to look up.  As he locked his bluegray eyes to Robert’s brown ones, Griff was shocked to see tears.  With his eyes still locked on Griff’s, Robert put his hands on Griff’s shoulders.  “Why didn’t you come to us boy?  You didn’t have to stay with that man, that man who put you here.”

    Griff didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t lower his eyes.  Finally he said, “I wrote after Ma died.  Twice.  Just asking after a job.  Didn’t want charity.  You never answered.  Figured you were mad that Ma remarried and didn’t want anything to do with us.”

    “We never got any letters.  When we didn’t hear from your mother after she said you were coming here, I tracked her down to the church where she died.   The records said her son had died with her.”

    And there it was Griff thought.  He was here because of something as small as letters not delivered.

    He answered Robert, “Ma took charge of a boy whose parents died.  She was nursing him.  He was only twelve though and didn’t look like me except for the color of his hair.  But I guess things were pretty confused with so many people sick and dying.  My stepfather took me away when she died.  He needed me to work so he wouldn’t have to.  Four months later, I was here.”

    Then he added,  “she never loved him but she didn’t know how bad he was.”

    Robert squeezed Griff’s shoulder slightly.  “I know.  She wrote us, almost like she had to apologize.  She said she didn’t love him.  Would never love anyone but your father.  Apparently thought you needed a father.”

    Griff and Robert both had to laugh a little at the irony in that.  Griff then said soberly, “I guess I got a little wild after my father died.  I was fourteen.  I wanted to take care of my mother but didn’t want to obey her.  After a year of that, this guy Colby came along.  I hated him right from the start but my mother thought it was just because I resented any man who paid attention to her.  He was nice to her at first. And he got me a job on a cattle ranch.  So I wasn’t around much while he courted her.  After they got married, he found out she had a connection to the Cartwrights.  He was from Carson City so he knew about the Ponderosa.  So he decided they should move down this way, maybe touch you for some money while he went mining or making his fortune some other way.  He had all kinds of plans but not much follow through except with his fists.”  He added quickly.  “Ma never saw him hit me.  And I was ashamed to tell her.  She would have left him.  And anyway he didn’t hit me so much before she died.”

    “Robert, we need to get things moving.  You can talk while we serve.  I’ll get a fire started.  Griff can you take care of the horses?"

    Griff’s eyes moved from Robert’s to Joe’s.  Joe couldn’t read them.  But Griff nodded and walked the horses over to the shade.  Without being asked he took them water.  Then without a word he started doing whatever needed to be done.  He carried firewood, set up a table and got out tin cups, bowls, plates and spoons.

    Joe asked Robert as he gestured toward Griff, “You’re sure?”

    “His coloring’s his mothers, her hair, the bluegray eyes Andrew described to me.  But his face is his father’s.  And his build if he had a little more meat on him.  I’d know him anywhere.  Joe, how do we get him out?”

    Joe knew this was coming, but he didn’t have an answer.
 
 

    Grodan leaned back in his chair as two of the guards brought Griff into his office, shackled hand and foot.   He gestured the guards out, leaving Griff standing in front of his desk.  He made no motion for him to sit.

    Griff stood uncomfortably, wondering why he’d been brought here before breakfast.  He’d been hauled out of the hellbox and brought directly here.  That had never happened before.   No one was ever brought to the warden’s office just to be punished for something.

    Grodan let him stand there as he shuffled some papers around his desk.  After a few long minutes, he looked up.  “Well, boy.  Looks like you struck the fancy of some rich man’s son.  They bought you an early parole.”

    Griff tried not to react, not to show some pathetic semblance of hope that this sadist would then turn against him.  He’d been back here six months and heard nothing from Robert.  Of course, no one ever got mail.  He’d resigned himself to the fact that Robert couldn’t do more than make sure he had a job offer that would convince the parole board to release him at his first parole hearing --  two and a half years from now.

    “I thought you’d be happy to get out of here.  Of course, you can always turn it down.”  Griff maintained his impassive stance as Grodan looked for a reaction.

    "Cartwright’s son could be here any time.  If you accept this parole, you’ll be his, body and soul, for the next five years.   You’ll do everything he says – everything.  One word from him and you’re back here to finish out your ten years.  He owns you.  He tells you to lick his boots you’ll do it.”  An odd look came over Grodan’s face.  “He tells you to bend over for him, you’ll do that too.  And from what I’ve heard about Joe Cartwright, you’ll be doing a lot of that.

    Griff looked up at that, a hint of foreboding crossing his face.  But he didn’t know what Grodan was getting at and wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction asking.

    “Well you don’t think an important family like that needs to get free ranch hands out of the state prison,”  Grodan said as though Griff had asked.  When young Cartwright came sniffin’ around here, asking about you, I told him how you made your way here.  How you sold yourself to the other men. . . .”

    Griff’s breath caught in his throat.  “I never . . . .”

    Grodan finally got the reaction he'd been looking for.  “Oh, don’t get upset.  That’s what sold him on getting you out of here.  That young Cartwright puts on a big front as a ladies’ man.  But I know the rumors.  His daddy would never admit it, but I’ll bet in his secret soul he knows there’s a reason his 30 year old son never married despite having every girl in the county wanting to be the mistress of the Cartwright ranch.  I’ll bet he even used a little of his influence with the parole board.  Maybe figures it’s safer to keep something like you at the ranch where his son can keep his depravity a secret.”

    Griff felt sick to his stomach.  He couldn’t breath.  “You told him . . . .”

    “I did you a big favor boy.  Don’t worry.  It’ll be easier than taking on all the men here like you used to.”
 
 

    Griff looked up, “You knew.  You knew what they were doing to a 16 year old boy and you made no move to stop it.”  Griff lunged forward but was caught up in the chains which kept his feet close together.  Grodan grabbed the cane he always had close at hand and cracked Griff across the face.  His cheek split open and blood poured down his shirt.

    “Course I knew.  I always know what’s going on.  This is my prison.  But boys come in here.  They have to make their own way.  You should thank me.  You learned to fight.  You’re almost a man.  And this Cartwright, he’s a gentleman.  It’s not like he’s going to tie you down and force you.  Well, at least not for a while.  He’ll buy you things maybe.  Fancy food and clothes, maybe a nice horse.  He’ll give you the easy jobs.  Keep you close to home.  Or maybe he’ll just treat you like his kid brother.  Heard Cartwright adopted his son a special kid brother.  Maybe he needs variety.  I could be wrong of course.  Maybe, they do just want a free ranchhand. ”

    Griff made no response, and no effort to stop the blood running down his face.

    There was a knock at the door.   “Warden.  Mr. Cartwright’s here.”  Grodan came around the desk.  He gestured Griff to a bench in the corner.  “This is it boy.  Decision time.”

       To the man at the door.  “Bring him in.”  Joe came in and immediately saw Griff.  And the blood.  “What the hell happened to him?”  Joe started to approach Griff.  Grodan stopped him.  There may be a little problem with his parole.  Some men get like that.  They’re afraid to get out.  Afraid they’ll fail.  They lash out.  Griff got in a fight.  Had to be restrained.  I think I’d better keep him until I report this to the parole board and see what they want to do.”

    Joe glanced at Griff.  Griff slumped down on the bench with his face against the stone wall.  He knew how this was going to end.  A crumb thrown his way and snatched from his grasp.  There wouldn’t be any point in trying to tell the truth.  It was too complicated any way.

    “I’ll send for a medic.  Lets give him room to work.  We’ll take a walk outside.”

    Joe was reluctant.  He was willing to bet “medic” meant a guard with a bucket of water and a dirty rag, but he didn’t want to cause any trouble that might delay his taking Griff out of this place.  As they headed out, Grodan left him for a minute to speak a few quiet words to a guard.  When they were out in the yard, Joe demanded to know what had really happened.

    “I told you, he got into a fight.  Maybe he didn’t start it.  If the boys heard Griff was leaving, maybe they didn’t like it.”

    Joe was puzzled.  “Why would they care?”

    You have to understand Griff’s place here.  A  pretty young man like that.  He gets by shall we say . . . .  Well, look, we try to stop that kind of thing but when you have so many men and no women . . . .  Griff learned early that there were ways to get extra food, to get the others to do some of the heavier work for him.  It’s a way of life for him now.”

    Joe didn’t really believe Grodin.  He was a slimy, sadistic bastard.  Maybe there was some slim underlying truth there.  After all.  Griff had been here since he was sixteen, Jamie's age.  He couldn’t have stood up for himself.  He couldn’t be blamed for anything he had to do to get by.

    “Look, I don’t give a damn about what he did in here.  He can make a fresh start working at the ranch.  He isn’t going to be able to get himself out of any work there.  Let’s get back.  I need to get back to the ranch.  Sounds like he was the victim in that fight.”

    Grodan shrugged.  “Just thought you should know in case you have any young men around your ranch.  Griff has a taste for the young ones.  We've had to move a few of the smaller ones to other cell blocks to protect them from him.”

    Joe thought involuntarily of Jamie again.  Damn, he couldn't let anything this man said influence him.  He was trying to poison his mind against Griff, probably out of pure meaness.

    Back in the warden’s office Griff didn’t look much better than he had when they left.  Joe decided to move things along.  “Are there some papers for me to sign?”

    Grodan hedged,  “Well, I really should report this fight to the board.”

    “But you said the others probably started it.”  Joe could tell Grodan wanted something.  Did he want a bribe?  Or did he resent Joe snatching Griff out of his hellhole.  Maybe his sadistic nature demand some assurance that Griff was going to be as miserable on parole as he was in prison.  Maybe that's why he was trying to make Joe suspicious of Griff.

    “Look, I’ve gone to a lot of trouble.  I was guaranteed that Griff here was mine for the next five years.  Someone who couldn’t complain about the hours or the wages.  Someone to shovel out the barns, clean the outhouses and all that stuff no one else wants to do.  I’m going to cause a lot of trouble with the Board if I’ve come all this way for nothing.”

    Joe pretended not to understand Grodan’s meaning.   He went over to Griff.  “Get up boy.”  As Griff struggled to his feet, Joe said to Grodan.  You can have the guards take the shackles off his ankles.  He won’t be able to ride in those.  I’ll keep the wrist shackles though.”

    Grodan saw an opportunity.  “Sorry, those are prison property.  I thought you convinced the board Griff was ready to be out in free society.”

    Joe had decided to keep on with his tough massah routine.  “Look I’m no fool.  I’ve got a two days ride back to the ranch.  Once we’re back there, the law all over the county is in my father’s pocket.  He wouldn’t last a day if he ran off.  But here . . . .  I’m not going to go to sleep tonight with this con on his first night out of prison just waiting to run off or worse.  How much for the shackles?"

    “Fifty bucks.”

    “I’ll give you ten on deposit and send them back when I get home.”  Joe took a couple of fives out of his wallet and tossed them on the desk.  Without waiting for an answer, he held out his hand for the key to both shackles.  He pocketed the smaller one and gave Griff the larger.  He didn’t try to help as Griff awkwardly fumbled with the key, his shackled wrists making it hard to unlock the stiff mechanism on the ankle cuff.

    Grodan spoke up again.  “He can’t leave here in those clothes.”  Joe looked at the tattered filthy prison clothes Griff had on.  “I doubt if he has any sentimental attachment to them.  I brought some clothes from home.   I’ll get them.”  When Joe came back, he handed Griff a pair of pants and shirt from the bundle he’d been carrying.  They were almost as shabby as the prison garb.  Joe was glad he’d brought some that shabby for the effect.  “Put these on.”

    Grodan told the guard to take the wrist shackles off.  “See he doesn’t take anything that doesn’t belong to him.”  Joe turned his back, facing Grodan as Griff changed into a pair of threadbare pants that were too short and a worn shirt with sleeves that didn’t reach to the shackles the guard put back on his wrists.  His feet were bare.  Josh, pointed to Griff’s feet.  “How much for the shoes?”  Griff interrupted him with the first words he’d spoken since Joe arrived.  “I’d rather go without.”

    Joe walked out of the warden’s office without a word.  Griff didn’t follow.  Joe turned, a question in his eyes.  Griff said quietly, “I want the stuff I came in with.”   Joe looked at Grodan.  Grodan shrugged.  He went to a shelf and pulled down a small box.  He shoved it over his desk toward Griff.  Griff looked through it, tossing some clothes and shoes on the floor.  It broke Joe’s heart to see how much smaller the clothes were than the ones he was wearing now.  He must have grown five inches while he was here.  Griff apparently came to what he was looking for, a picture without a frame and a little carved wooden figure.  He stuck them in his pocket and turned around.  “I’m ready.”

     Without a word, Joe led the way out to his two horses, Griff walking gingerly over the rocky ground with his naked feet.   Bramble jumped from his position on Joe’s saddle and ran over to greet them.   Griff knelt for a moment and petted him.  Joe didn’t speak until they got out of hearing of the guards.  “Griff, I just bought that roan gelding on the way here.  He’s barely green broke.  He might spook at those shackles and it might be tough for you to control him wearing them.  You’d better ride mine until we get out of sight of the guard tower.”  He started to tell Griff he would take the shackles off then, but Griff had walked to the roan’s head, talking to him softly, rubbing his neck, letting him sniff the metal around his wrists.

    Griff mounted.  The stirrup leathers were a little short for him, but it was clear he didn’t want to wait to adjust them.  Joe mounted and they made their way out as the gate was opened, Bramble leading the way.   Joe watched Griff handle the horse.  He didn’t seem to be having any trouble. Joe nudged his horse into a lope, wanting to get some distance between them and the prison.  He didn’t figure Griff would mind.

    Joe took the key out of his pocket.  “Hold out your arms.”  As Griff twisted in the saddle and leaned over with his arms outstretched, he blacked out.  He would have fallen hard but Joe caught him and managed to lower him to the ground.  Joe dragged him a little way to the scant shade from a pile of boulders.  He leaned him in a sitting position against one of them.  Taking off his bandana, Joe wet it in the stream and started to wipe Griff’s face.  Griff came to with a start.  “You all right?”  Joe asked anxiously.

    “Just a little light-headed from the sun I guess.  I’ll be OK.”

    Joe unlocked the cuffs and grimaced as he removed them from Griff’s wrists seeing the deep welts left behind.  “Damn it Griff, why didn’t you tell me they were so tight?”  The guard’s parting gesture of contempt, he supposed.  Griff didn’t answer.  He just rubbed his wrists with his hands.  Joe thought of something else.  “When was the last time you ate?”

    Griff closed his eyes, leaning back continuing to rub his wrists.  “I don’t really remember.  It’s not like the food there is something I’d want to remember.”

    “Well, did you eat this morning?”  Griff shook his head.  “Last night, yesterday at all?”

    “I was in the hellbox all day.  They dragged me out and took me directly to the warden’s office this morning.”

    “Then how did you manage to get into a fight?  That blood was fresh?”

    “Grodan hit me across the face with his cane.”  Griff didn’t offer more and Joe didn’t ask.

    Joe got the loaf of bread he’d bought that morning out of his saddlebag and handed it to Griff along with a canteen and some strips of venison jerky.  “See if this will tide you over.  Town’s only an hour away.”

    Griff tried not to wolf down the food and almost succeeded.  When he’d finished, he leaned back against the boulder with his eyes closed.  Joe pressed a couple of apples and a small bag of peppermint into Griff’s hand.  It was the only other food he had with him that didn’t have to be cooked.  “Dessert.”  Joe said as Griff opened his eyes.  Not the slightest hint of a smile crossed Griff’s face.

    Griff struggled to his feet, over Joe’s protest.  “I’m OK.  Let’s get away from here.”  He glanced back toward the direction of the prison.  Joe pulled a pair of boots out of a sack on his saddle.  “Here, see if you can get these on.”  He couldn’t.  “We’ll have to get you a bigger pair in town.”  Joe turned to the task at hand.

    “I had a lot of trouble getting that roan across the stream.  Don’t think he’s ever been in moving water before.  You take my horse.  I’m not going to pull you out of the stream.”  Griff didn’t argue this time.  He got up on Joe’s horse.  Joe mounted the roan.  “I’ll go right behind you.  He might decide its ok this time.”

    Griff started across the ford.  The roan was skitterish, but Joe thought he might cooperate by following Griff on Joe's horse.  But just as they were well into the water, a furry bundle launched itself from the boulder farthest out in the water onto the saddle in front of Joe.  That was enough for the roan.  He reared and spun, tossing Joe on his back in the water, then took off for the side they’d just left.

    As Griff turned around, he saw Joe lying the water with Bramble perched on his shoulders.  “You hurt?”

    Joe grinned ruefully.  “I forgot about Bramble.  He hates getting his feet wet.”

    Griff laughed.  The first sign of any kind of amusement Joe had seen.  “Do I need to pull you out of the stream?  Or you want me to get the horse?”

    Joe responded, “First, take this damn dog.”

    Bramble licked his face profusely as though just given a compliment.  Joe handed Bramble up to Griff.  Bramble stood on his hind legs, his front paws on Griff’s shoulder, barking at the water.  He jumped down as soon as they cleared the muddy spots.  Joe struggled to his feet, feeling a bruise on his right buttock that was going to make the rest of the ride a bit uncomfortable.  By the time he got up and oriented, Griff was back on the roan, holding out the reins to Joe for his own horse.  He looked like the food had kicked in.

    “I’m going to take Bramble across so he doesn’t get in the way or spook the roan with his barking.  He tends to bark at the water, like he can keep it away.  You wait here.  I’ll come back.”

    Griff protested.  “I think I can get him across.  You got him over here.”

    “I think I just wore him out.  Took me over half an hour.  Had to bring Bramble across first, then go back.  I almost left him tied up there.  We would have had to ride double this far.  You get him across on the first try, we’ll start you off as a horse trainer instead of just a beginning hand.”

    Griff looked up.  “What does that mean?”

    “Well, $5 more a month to start.”

    “You’re going to pay me?”

    Joe made an exasperated sound.  “Damn it.  You didn’t think there was any truth to anything I spouted off to that bastard Grodan did you?  I could just tell he was going to try to cause trouble if he thought you were going off to anything better than slave labor.  Look, we’ll talk about this after we cross.  You can ask any questions you want.”

    They actually got across fairly rapidly.  Despite Bramble’s barking at the water from his perch on Joe’s knee, the roan seemed to get confidence from Griff.

    After the crossing, they rode on quietly.  Griff didn’t want to talk and Joe didn’t push it.

    The knot in Griff’s stomach was starting to loosen up.  Joe hadn’t gotten angry at either the horse or the dog.  A little exasperated maybe, but he hadn’t taken it out on them.  Maybe he wasn’t the kind of man to fear.  Even if he wanted something from Griff that Griff wouldn’t give him, maybe he wouldn’t push it.  Maybe if Griff worked hard and just avoided too much contact, that would be enough.

    It was almost noon when they got to town.  Joe had Griff wait with the horses while he went into a saloon and came out with a couple of cheese sandwiches.  He handed one up to Griff.  “This should tide you over for an hour or so.  On my way out I made sure the bath house would have hot water for a couple of baths ready by the time we got here.”

    Griff got a little uneasy.  “I’m OK.”

    “The hell you are.  I’m not riding with you on mile further until you wash that prison stink off you.”

    The bath house was just a big shack with five large tubs in it.  Nothing resembling privacy, but no one else was using it this time of day.   The attendant filled two tubs and left some buckets of very hot water next to them.  There were brushes and some harsh looking soap.  Griff didn’t exactly dive in.

    “You get started.  I’m going to put the horses up in the livery with some grain.  By the time we finish dinner, they’ll have had some rest and we can push hard until nightfall.”  Joe turned to go out the door.  Griff stopped him.  “You’re going to leave me alone?”

    “You doing a Bramble number on me?  The water’s not that deep Griff.”

    Griff didn’t laugh.  Maybe one a day was his limit.

    “I mean, aren’t you worried about leaving me alone?”

    “Why, you planning to run off?”

    “Well, I could.”

    “You going to run barefoot back to prison?”

    Griff didn’t answer.  Joe faced him.  “Look Griff, you’re not my slave or my prisoner.”

    Griff interrupted him, “Oh, aren’t I?”  He sounded both bitter and angry.

    Joe was getting a little fed up.  “Have I given you any reason to think I plan to mistreat you?”  He stopped a moment, looking on the still prominent red welts on Griff’s wrists and the tattered clothes he had on.  “I mean besides letting you hear me tell the warden that you were going to be spending the next five years cleaning outhouses sixteen hours a day and making you ride half a mile in cuffs so tight they cut off your circulation and having you put on clothes no much better that the ones you wore inside.”

    If Joe hoped for a smile, he was disappointed.  “Griff, I have to trust you.  I don’t plan to chain or lock you up for the next five years.  I have to believe that you’ll at least give it a chance.  The reality is, you don’t have anywhere else to go.  Abby and Robert are the only people you have a connection with in this part of the country.  The Board will put a reward on your head if you take off.  So I might as well start trusting you now.”

    “Let’s not let the water get cold.  Robert  sent some better clothes for you. I just didn’t want to let Grodan see them.  And besides, there was no point in getting that prison stink on them.  I’m going to bring back a barber.  We could both use a haircut and a shave.  Especially you.”

    Griff started to protest.  Joe cut him off ,  “Now don’t tell me you have some objections to a barber.”

    Griff got his back up.   “Maybe I want the beard.”  What happens if I refuse?”

    Joe shrugged.  “Griff, don’t use this as some kind of declaration of independence.  I’ve gone out on a limb for you.  So have Robert  and Abby.  But the best we could have done was make sure you got out when your first parole date came up two and a half years from now.  We had to convince my father to use his influence to get this early date.  My father’s a fair man, but he expects people to put their best foot forward.  The least you can do is look respectable when you meet him.  After you’ve started work and he sees you’re worth your wages, you can grow your hair down to your ass if you want. And besides, Abby and Robert  feel guilty enough for not finding you when your mother died.  The more pathetic and uncivilized you look, the more guilt they’re going to feel.  And they don’t deserve it.  So just for now . . .  Please.”  Joe started to walk out, then turned,  “And Griff, I hate to break it to you, but that’s the sorriest excuse for a real beard I’ve seen since my brother Jamie tried to grow one.”

    Griff almost smiled.  And he was ashamed of his outburst, but wouldn’t admit it.  He didn’t respond.  He just turned toward the tub and made a show of testing the temperature.  Joe left without a word. Two minutes later, Griff was in a hot soapy tub.   He scrubbed everything as hard as he could, then just lay back after replenishing the hot water from a bucket beside the tub.  By the time Joe came back, Griff was almost asleep.

    Joe wasn’t alone.  He had brought the barber from next door.  “Can you give him a shave and haircut while he’s sitting in the tub?  I don’t think he’s ready to get out.”

    The barber could and he did.  Griff made no resistance.

    By the time they were both finished, Griff was hungry again.  But Joe took him to get some clothes and boots before stopping for dinner.  Robert had sent new socks and underwear, but the pants and shirt belonged to Andrew who was a little shorter than Griff.      And his boots were too small.  Griff tried to refuse but Joe pointed out that it would just slow them down to have Griff walking around barefoot all the way home.   Griff insisted the money be taken out of his wages, “If you’re really paying me.”  Joe just nodded, refusing to show his irritation.

    So for the first time since he was fifteen, Griff had the feel of stiff new clothes on his back, clothes not cast off from someone who’d gotten all the good use out of them.  And boots that would have to be broken in instead of needing newspaper worn inside against the holes.

    Joe just told the woman who took their order, “can you just bring us a big platter with some of everything you’ve got back there.  Steak, chicken, pork chops, big plate of fried potatoes maybe.  Some kind of greens.  Biscuits and honey.  And bring us more than we could eat.  Except for the greens.   We’re probably going to ride through supper and could use some extra for the road.  Not to mention, we have a hungry little dog over at the livery with our horses.”

    While they were waiting for their food, Joe decided to set things out for Griff as plain as he could and see if he could open him up enough to get him to ask some questions.  Joe could tell Griff had something on his mind.  Most likely he wanted to know what was expected of him.

    “Griff, what did they tell you about the conditions of your parole?”

    Griff was caught by surprise.  “I didn’t even know about this parole thing until five minutes before you showed up.  Nobody even asked me if I wanted it.”

    “You mean you might have turned it down?”  Joe was surprised no one had ever talked to Griff.

    “I think I could have been asked before they just gave me to some stranger to run my life for the next five years.”

    “I don’t want to run your life Griff.  It’s a full-time job running my own.  And I’m in charge of most things on the Ponderosa now.  You’ll just have to see to running your own life.”

    “Can I leave if I want?  Can I wear a gun?  Can I lie around in bed all day if I choose?  I know damn well if I do any of those things I’ll be back in prison so fast  . . . .”

    Joe interrupted, “Griff let me make one thing clear.  The only way you’re going to end up back in prison is if you do something against the law or in violation of your parole conditions that gets the courts or the parole board to send you back.  It’s true you can’t leave the county unless you’re with me or Pa.  And you can’t wear a gun.  If you want to lie around in bed all day, you won’t be paid, but you won’t be sent back to prison either.”

    “So what happens if I decide to take off?”

    “One of your conditions is that you report to the sheriff in Virginia City once a month.   If you fail to report, he’ll wire the parole board and they’ll call in the bond we put up and put it out as a reward on your head.  $5000 would be a powerful incentive for someone to bring you back in.  And I guess for me to bring you back before the sheriff sends that wire?”

    Griff looked pale.  “Why would you spend $5000 for me?”

    “Didn’t.  We put up a bond.  We won’t lose anything unless you rabbit. We’re just betting you won’t.  Robert assured us you won’t and I trust him more than most anyone I know.  If we lose the money, it’ll be Robert paying it back for the rest of his life.  Not because we’d expect him to, but because  his sense of honor would make him.  And he’d rather have to do that than see you spend one more day in prison.”

    “Why are you all doing this?  Because I stopped some thug from taking a pot shot at a dog?”

    “Hardly.  For Robert, because he owes a debt to your father that he feels he can finally make a payment on by helping you.  For me, because if you’re a tenth the man your father was, you’re worth the trouble to give you a new start.”

    “You know nothing about my father.”

    “The hell I don’t.  I’ll bet I know some things you don’t”

    That stopped Griff short.  Joe continued, do you know why Robert and Abby owe such a debt to your father?”

    “Sure, he smuggled her out of the South before the war when his father was going to sell her away from Robert.”

    “And do you know what that involved?”

    “They put a false bottom in a wagon.”

    “Is that all he told you?  Did he tell you it was a hanging offense some places?”

    “He told me he really wasn’t in that kind of danger because she belonged to his father.  His father would have protected him.”

    “Would you like the real story?”

    Griff was noncommittal but Joe thought he saw a hunger there for any memory of his father.

    “You’ve never seen a picture of Abby.  She’s never had one taken because she’s supposed to be dead.  But she’s an incredibly beautiful woman.  She’s three quarters white, the kind of beauty that was prized in a slave. Robert and your father grew up together.   When children were young, they were allowed to play together, white and black.   Abby was born on the same plantation and she and Robert both became house slaves.  They fell in love.  When your grandfather was offered a small fortune for her, he sold her to a man who was going to take her into the deep South on his return from business in Canada.  Your father and Robert came up with a plan to get her away.

    Your father was a third son, not the one in line to run his father’s estate.  He convinced his father to give him title to Robert and a little money to make a start in Texas.   When they left, they didn’t head for Texas.  They camped on the other side of the river.   On the day after they left, Abby was to fake a suicide.  Her motive was convincing, but the method had to be also.  Everyone knew that Abby couldn’t swim and was terrified of deep water.  She threw herself in the river in plain sight of a half dozen people downstream from where Robert and your father were camped.  They were there to pull her out.  That sounds easier than it was.  They all almost drowned.  Your father pushed her into Robert’s arms as they got to shore and was swept away.  Robert managed to pull him out, but it was a close thing.”

    Griff stopped him, “I don’t know who told you that story, but it can’t be true.  My father never swam a stroke in his life.  He was terrified of moving water just like you said Abby was.”

    Joe smiled.  “Robert told me about that.  He and your father swam together as children.  He said they were both a couple of tadpoles.  But after he almost drowned that day, he never got near that kind of water again.  Funny thing is, Abby learned to swim quite well.  She saved a little girl from drowning in the lake a few years back.”

    Joe continued, “Getting her out of the river was only the first step.  She didn’t belong to your grandfather any longer.  If your father’d been caught with her, he wouldn’t have been protected.  It was a long way to St. Louis and then West from there.  And Abby is the kind of woman men pay attention to and fight over.”

    Their food came and Joe stopped talking.  The details of the story belonged to Robert and Abby anyway.  Joe took some pleasure in watching Griff eat.  He tried to keep up.  He was afraid that if he didn’t, Griff would feel he was eating more than his share and stop before he was really satisfied.  Joe didn’t want Abby seeing Griff looking like some kind of starving mongrel.

    They finished the meal with apple pie.  At least Griff did.  By the time they got to that part of the meal, Joe could do no more than push it around on the plate.  He took the opportunity to go back to the topic they’d started with.  “Griff, I’m not responsible for the restrictions set by the parole board.  And as far as I’m concerned, they’re the only restrictions on you.  You’ll be treated like any other hand on the ranch.”  Then he added, “By Pa and I anyway.  Can’t speak for Robert and Abby.  I expect they’ll be treating you like some kind of long lost son.  I hope you won’t throw it in their face.  They’re good people.”

    Griff made no response.

    “One last thing Griff.  I want to warn you about something so the shock won’t be seen in your face when you meet her.   Abby was the kind of woman no man could resist.  She was that incredible.  A good man would fall in love with her.  A bad one would try to take her by force.  As long as slavery was legal she was worth a fortune.  She was afraid she would be nothing but trouble for Robert.  It’s hard enough for a black man in this country to keep anything for himself.  So she did what she thought she had to.  She held a hot fry pan to her face until she was burned beyond any fixing on one side.”

    Griff  reacted with a stunned silence.

    Joe added,  “You told Robert you weren’t looking for pity.   Didn’t want any. Maybe seeing her will tell you that you’re going to get your wish.  There  won’t be any pity for your sad story from anyone at the Ponderosa.  Now if you’re ready we’ll get a move on.”

    Joe figured they were so tired it wouldn’t matter.  He’d shared beds smaller than the one in that room with his brother Hoss and lived to tell about it.  But Griff threw the saddle and bedroll on the floor and stretched out.  “I’m used to it” was all he said before turning his back and giving the appearance at least of falling asleep.

    Joe woke up well before dawn only to find Griff gone.  Saddle and bedroll too.  “Damn,” he thought, “I thought he’d at least give us a try.”

    Joe hurriedly got dressed and went down to the livery.  He lit a lantern and went to the stalls their horses had been in.  He was relieved to see they were both still there.  But then he worried that Griff might have stolen one elsewhere.  But even as that thought crossed his mind, he heard Griff’s voice from the stall where Bramble had been left sleeping.

    “Don’t worry, nothin’s missing.”

    Joe shined the lantern into the stall and saw Griff bedded down in a pile of clean straw, Bramble curled up next to him.

    “Good.  I thought we could get an early start.  I guess you’re ahead of me.”  Joe decided not to let on what he’d really thought.  “We should be able to make it to the ranch before nightfall.”

    He followed Joe into the barn, leading the roan.  After they put up the horses, Joe turned to Griff.   “Most of the men put up in the bunkhouse over there.  I thought maybe you were tired of living in a big room with a lot of men and no privacy.   You told Robert you’d spent most of your time in the last eighteen months smithing and tending horses.  So we figured unless you had something else you’d rather turn your hand to, you could start out working horses here.  We used to have an office attached to the barn.  I converted it for you.  Joe took him over to a closed door in back of the barn and pulled opened a padlock.   Griff felt his stomach turn.  It must have showed in his face because Joe stopped midway as he was opening the door.

    “What’s wrong Griff?”

    “You’re going to lock me up?”

    Joe looked down at the padlock in his hand.  He quickly handed it to Griff.  “God no Griff.”  The lock’s for you.  So you can keep the room private if you want.”

    “You could always use another lock.”  Griff tried to keep the unreasoning fear out of his voice.

    “Griff there’s a window in this room big enough for a man to crawl out of.  No one could be kept prisoner in that room.  No one’s going to put you back in a cage.  Not here.”

    Just then they heard footsteps entering the barn.  “Joe Cartwright, you’re not going to put our boy in a barn.  He has a room all ready at our place.”

    It was Abby.  Griff would have recognized her from the description his father had given him, even if Joe hadn’t warned him about what she had done to her face.   She had to reach up to hug him; she was a good ten inches shorter than he was.  When she dropped down off her toes she held his face in both hands and examined it in the lantern light.   Griff wouldn’t have tolerated this intimacy from any one else.  But even if he hadn’t known her connection to his father, even with half her face ruined, even though she was twice his age, he could not have resisted her touch.  Her beautiful eyes held his as her lovely hands stroked his face.  There were tears in those eyes as she said,  “Robby, we looked for you.  We should have looked harder.  I’m so sorry.”

    Griff looked over her head to Robert standing behind her.  “Welcome home Robby.  I told you Andrew was in school in Europe.  His room is all ready for you.   I wrote him six months ago how we hoped to bring you here.  Just got a letter back saying he’d be proud for you to take his room.  He even said he’d write you and tell you the best ways to sneak out at night in case we get to acting too much like regular parents.”

    Griff extended his hand to Robert.  “Thank you sir.  Folks call me Griff now, but I’d be pleased to stay with you for a while.”  Griff looked over at Joe, who nodded.

    Robert turned to Joe, “Your Pa’s still up.  Maybe we should introduce him to Griff here first thing.  Then we can take him over to our place to get settled.”

    Abby wouldn’t let loose of him.  She held onto his arm as they walked into the main house.  The grandest damn house  Griff had ever been in.  The silver-haired man who stood up from behind the desk looked close to seventy but had a commanding presence that everyone seemed to respect.  Abby held onto Griff’s left hand as she presented him.  “Ben this is Robby King.  He goes by Griff now but he’s still Andrew’s boy.  Griff this is Ben Cartwright.  The silver-haired  man extended his hand.  Griff hesitated a minute, then extended his own.  So this was the warden.

      Twenty minutes later Griff was in Abby’s kitchen with a big piece of cherry pie in front of him.  Robert had a smaller piece along with a cup of coffee, but Abby insisted on pouring Griff a tall glass of milk from the cooler.  For a moment Griff just rubbed his finger down the glass and stared.  He hadn’t had milk in years.  “Better eat up boy”  Robert told him.  She’s not going to rest until you’ve put on a few pounds.  But watch out for pits, Abby canned those cherries herself.  She’s been known to get impatient toward the end of the harvest.” Abby swatted Robert lightly as she left the room.

    “Griff, I would have come with Joe to fetch you, but he thought since he was going to be responsible for you that he should take the chance to get to know you a little.  Of course, we were so busy around here, it would have been difficult to spare us both.  And he had to sign the paperwork.”

    Griff tried to ask his question in a way that didn’t make him sound like he was suspicious.  “Sir, could I ask you why Joe has my parole?”

    “Are you asking why he would agree to do it or why I didn’t do it?  The answer to the second question is easy.  The parole board wasn’t about to let an ex-slave take charge of a parolee, especially not a white boy.  As for the second part, everything Joe found out about you convinced him you didn’t deserve to be in prison.  Plus, we’ve been here since Joe was a youngster.  Our friendship is deep.  I think he would have tried just on the strength of that friendship.  But our friendship wouldn’t have convinced the parole board.  Joe talked to people at the prison and in Claxton where you were convicted.  He sent wires and letters to people who knew your family in Billings.  He collected affidavits.  First he convinced his father, then his father helped him convince the parole board.”

    Abby returned with a wooden box that she placed on the table.  Robert looked at her and shook his head.  “Abby, the boy must be tired.”

    Abby looked at Griff.  “Not too tired for this.  Just one while he eats Robert.”

    Abby stretched her hand to touch Griff’s arm.  “Robby, I mean Griff . . . “

    Griff stopped her with a hand over hers.  “I didn’t want anybody to call me Robby after Ma died.  Still don’t.  But you.  I’d like you to.”

    Abby squeezed his arm in response.  Then she pulled the table lamp closer to her and opened the box.  She thumbed through the contents and pulled out a letter and opened it.

    She started reading,
 

“My Dearest Abby and Robert.

For most of my life, I didn’t think I had any purpose in this world.  Then Abby, when I helped Robert pull you out of the river and bring you to the life you deserved, I knew my life was fully justified and I would never need another purpose for having lived.  But now I know I have at least one other.  My son was born last night.  My beautiful son with dark hair like his beautiful mother.  My purpose in life is to make sure this boy grows up loved, educated, protected . . . .”

    Abby stopped reading.  I’m sorry Robby.  I was looking for this letter because Andrew was so happy when you were born.  I’d forgotten this part.  I’d forgotten that he was unable to follow through on his plans for you.  I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories.

    Griff hadn’t taken a bite since she started reading.  He took a deep breath to get control of his voice.  “Don’t stop,” was all he could get out.

    “You can read the whole thing later.  I’ll just read this part.”  She continued,

“It’s traditional in my world to name a first son after his two grandfathers.  But I don’t want my son to have any connection to the world of my father.   His other grandfather, Griff Shawnessy, is deceased but Maureen remembers him with affection.   So we are going to call him Robert Griff King.  I know that by this time Abby may have had her baby and you may have named him Robert as well.  I hope you won’t mind our doing this without getting your consent.  I hope the two boys will meet one day and become friends as we did.

Your loving friend,
Andrew

    Abby put the letter back in the box.  “Griff you do look tired.  Let me show you your room.  I’ll leave this box with you so you can read them whenever you want.

    Two hours later Griff was lying in the dark bedroom.  He hadn't blown out the lamp until after he’d read every letter in the box.  More than twenty years of letters.  He’d read about his father meeting his mother, his childhood, his parents feelings about him, his mother’s concern when he got out of control after his father died.  Everything was so strange.  Just being in a soft bed with clean sheets in a quiet room was strange enough.  Stirring in the memories of his childhood, and even things that preceded it, combined with the resentment he felt at having the next five years of his life decided for him, it was all too confusing.  He fell asleep before he could work out his feelings.