The Prodigal
Joe Cartwright could hear the angry shouts of the mob from his jail cell. The noise was coming from the Silver Dollar saloon, where beer and whiskey fueled the throng’s antagonism. For now, the crowd was content to just voice their anger in the saloon, but Joe knew that the more they drank, the more likely they would decide to head for the jail to hold a lynching.
Peering out the cell window, Joe looked hopefully down the dark streets of Virginia City. He knew Sheriff Roy Coffee would do his best to stop the mob, but one man against a whole town weren’t very good odds. Joe wished his father and brothers were there to help.
Only a few steps were needed for Joe to walk across the cell to the wood-framed bed with a thin mattress. He sat down on the bunk and put his head in his hands. How did I ever get into this mess, he wondered. And who killed Mary Hawkins?
Mary Hawkins. A pretty girl, Joe recalled, but one he didn’t know well. She had been found dead, the back of her head crushed against a rock. Her father had found the body near Willow Creek. No one had thought of Joe in connection with the murder until Bob Deters claimed he saw Joe riding away from Willow Creek on the day of the murder. Joe knew he hadn’t been near Willow Creek that day; he had been up in the hills, hunting deer. But for some reason, Bob insisted he had seen Joe. Mary Hawkins' father believed Deters, and now he was in the Silver Dollar, stirring up the mob.
Joe's only chance to clear his name depended an old mountainman named Cherokee Pete. Joe had seen Cherokee Pete from a distance while he was hunting and had yelled a greeting at him. He wasn’t sure if the old man had heard or seen him, but Joe knew Cherokee Pete was his only hope to prove where he was that day. His father and brothers were searching the mountains for Cherokee Pete; Joe hoped they found him soon.
The noise from the saloon grew louder, and Joe could hear words like "Hang 'im" clearly through the din. He began to pace the cell nervously. When he heard the door to the cell area open, Joe looked up, expecting to see Roy Coffee. He was surprised to see Bob Deters come through the door, carrying a large ring of keys and a holster.
"C'mon, Joe," said Deters as he unlocked the cell. "You need to get out of here."
Joe hesitated. "If I run now, they'll be sure I'm guilty," he protested.
"If you don't get out of here now, you'll be lynched. That mob over at the Silver Dollar is working themselves into a real lather," declared Deters.
Still Joe hesitated. "Where's Sheriff Coffee?" he asked. "And why are you doing this? You're the one who put me in here."
"The Sheriff's fine; he's just having a little nap," Deters replied. "I feel real bad about you're being here on my sayso, and I sure don't want you hung. Now, c'mon. I've got a horse out back for you, with a bedroll and supplies. Here's your gunbelt. You've got about one minute to make up your mind."
But Joe continued to waver. He knew that escaping jail was the wrong thing to do. On the other hand, he sure didn't want to be lynched. Suddenly, Joe realized the noise seemed to be getting closer. The mob was heading to the jail.
With a quick move, Joe snatched his hat and jacket off the bunk. "Let's go," he called, grabbing the gunbelt from Deters’ hand. The two men went to a side door. Deters looked cautiously out the door, then motioned to Joe. They left the jail and headed to the back of the building.
A saddled horse, laidened with a rifle, bedroll and saddlebags, waited patiently, just as Deters had promised. Joe buckled on the holster, then turned to the young cowboy, extending his hand. "Thanks," he said gratefully. "I'll never forget what you did."
"Forget it. Just get out of here,” replied Deters, shaking Joe’s hand briefly. “If I were you, I'd head for the mountains. That lynch mob is sure to head for the Ponderosa once they find out you're gone. There's enough supplies in the saddlebags to last you a week or so, and plenty of ammunition. You should be able to manage fine for quite a spell. Whatever you do, don't come back to Virginia City for long time. Give your Pa and brothers time to cool things down. A couple of months ought to do it."
Swallowing hard, Joe nodded. A couple of months! It suddenly hit Joe that he might never be able to come back. Joe realized he had no choice, though, not if he wanted to keep breathing. He vaulted onto the back of the horse and rode off into the night.
Deters watched Joe ride safely out of town, then sighed with relief. At least that’s one hanging I won’t have on my conscience, he thought. He heard the shouts of the mob getting even closer, then the pounding of fists on a door.
Hurrying around the building to join the crowd, Deters hoped to lose himself among the milling men. He reached group just as they were breaking down the front door of the sheriff’s office. Four men rushed through the door, while the rest of the mob waited impatiently in front of the building. Suddenly, one of the men rushed back out of the office. “He’s gone!” the man shouted angrily.
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” a voice from the crowd yelled.
“Just what I said,” answered the man from the door. “The sheriff’s unconscious on the floor, the jail cell door is open, and there’s nobody in there. Cartwright’s escaped.”
An angry roar erupted from the crowd in front of the jail. The men started shouting and shaking their fists, but the mob seemed uncertain about what to do next. “Get your horses!” one of them yelled. “He couldn’t have gone far. We’ll track down that killer and hang him from the nearest tree!”
Shouting their approval, the mob turned as a group to head up the street toward the livery stable and toward horses tied to hitching posts. The crowd had traveled only a short distance when they found their path blocked by four men on horses.
“What’s going on here?” demanded Ben Cartwright.
“Your boy’s escaped from jail,” called a voice from the crowd. “We’re going after him and hang him!” The crowd murmured its agreement and started to surge forward.
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” declared Hoss Cartwright in a loud voice from the horse next to his father. He pulled his rifle from his saddle and cocked the weapon. “My little brother is innocent,” Hoss added.
A tall thin man pushed to the front of the crowd. John Hawkins, Mary’ father, faced the Cartwrights angrily. “You Cartwrights would say anything to protect that boy,” Hawkins cried in an angry and bitter voice. “He murdered my Mary. Deters saw him riding away. I’m going to find that kid of yours and make sure he hangs for what he done.” The crowd behind Hawkins shouted their agreement.
“Hold it!” yelled Adam Cartwright, aiming his rifle at the mob. “Joe didn’t kill anyone, and we can prove it.” He turned toward an old man on a scrawny horse next to him. “Go ahead, Pete. Tell them.”
The old man studied the crowd in front of him for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “I saw Joe Cartwright up in the mountains last Tuesday. No way he could have been at Willow Creek that afternoon,” the man stated in a firm voice.
“You’re lying,” yelled Hawkins. “The Cartwrights paid you to lie for them.”
“Now hold on,” replied Cherokee Pete heatedly. “No one calls me a liar. I wouldn’t lie for any reason, and not for a few dollars. What am I going to do with money? I got everything I need up in those mountains.”
As the crowd started to hum with uncertainty, Hawkins turn to face the men behind him, ready to urge them on again. Suddenly, he spotted Bob Deters in the back of the mob. “Deters, get up here,” Hawkins ordered. “Tell them what you saw.
Reluctantly, Bob Deters emerged from the crowd, pushed forward by the men around him. His eyes were wide with fear as he stood in front of Hawkins. “I don’t think this is the time…” he began.
“Tell them what you saw!” interrupted Hawkins, lifting his rifle toward Deters.
Deters swallowed hard. He looked at the rifle in Hawkins’ hands, then at the Cartwrights. “I was up by Willow Creek,” Deters told Hawkins in a shaky voice. “I saw Little Joe riding away. I recognized that pinto he rides.”
“See,” said Hawkins triumphantly. “We got an eyewitness.”
“Now hold on,” answered Ben. “Deters here only says he saw a man on a pinto. He can’t be sure it was Joe. And he sure didn’t see the man kill your daughter. Anything could have happened up there.”
Cherokee Pete was silently studying Deters. Suddenly, the old man grabbed Adam’s arm. “I know him,” the mountainman stated. “I saw him with a girl that day, a little which before I saw Little Joe. They was up a Willow Creek, kissing and tumbling in the grass.”
“No,” Deter shouted in a frightened voice. “I wasn’t; I didn’t even know the girl.”
“Wait a minute,” said Hawkins. “Mary said she was sparking some young fellow but didn’t say his name. I just assumed it was young Cartwright. Maybe it was you. What were you doing up at Willow Creek anyway?”
“No, No!” said Deters desperately. “It wasn’t me. I was just riding by; I saw Joe. I wouldn’t hurt Mary. I loved her.” The crowd fell silent as Deters realized what he had said. He looked around as the men stared at him. Suddenly, his shoulders slumped and Deters began to cry.
“It was an accident,” he admitted. “Mary and I were just having some fun. She got up suddenly and I started to chase her. She tripped and hit her head on the rock. When I realized she was dead, I panicked. I knew her father would kill me. So I said I saw Joe. I figured the Cartwright’s had enough money and influence to clear him. I never thought it would go this far.” Deters began sobbing.
Hawkins pushed his rifle against Peter’s chest. “You’re right,” he said furiously. “I am going to kill you.”
Ben Cartwright jumped from his horse and grabbed Hawkins rifle. “John, wait,” he ordered. “You almost hung one innocent man tonight; don’t make the same mistake twice. Let the law handle this. You heard the boy. It was an accident.”
Hawkins looked at Ben uncertainly. “My Mary’s dead," he cried. “Someone has to pay for this.”
Ben put a comforting arm around Hawkins shoulder. “John, I know this is hard. But no one is really to blame. Go home. Mourn your daughter. She wouldn’t want you to do this.”
Hawkins put his head down. He suddenly nodded, then wiped his eyes. “You’re right,” Hawkins acknowledged. He turned to the crowd. “Go home,” he commanded the men. “It’s all over.”
The crowd started dispersing. Ben took Deters gently by the arm and turned him toward the jail. “Let’s go, son” he said quietly. Deters nodded and started walking. Ben looked over his shoulder at his sons and Cherokee Pete. “We’ve got to find about Joe,” he added. The men nodded and began to walk their horses slowly down the street behind Ben.
As the five men walked into his office, Sheriff Roy Coffee was pulling himself up to a sitting position. Ben rushed to Coffee’s side and helped the sheriff to his feet, and then guided him to a chair. “Adam, get some water,” said Ben as Coffee slumped into the chair, moaning and holding his head.
Nodding, Adam walked to a bucket on a stool in the corner of the office. He pulled a ladle of water from the bucket and walked rapidly to his father. Ben took the ladle from Adam, nodding his thanks. He put the cup of the ladle to Coffee’s mouth and tipped it, pouring the liquid into the sheriff’s mouth. “Drink this slow; it’ll make you feel better,” said Ben with concern.
Coffee swallowed, pushed the cup away, then shook his head to clear it. Coffee looked up at Ben with surprise. “Ben, what are you doing here? What happened?” asked the sheriff.
“We’re not exactly sure,” replied Ben. “We rode into town just as a lynch mob was coming down the street. They said Joe’s escaped.”
Springing to his feet, Coffee raced to the door of the cell block. He looked in, then back at Ben. “They’re right!” he called. “The cell is empty.” The sheriff shook his head again, then looked around the room. He fixed his gaze on Peters, standing dejectedly next to Hoss by the door. “All I remember is that fellow Deters coming to the door. He said he had something important to tell me about Joe. I let him in and then everything went black.”
Deters looked up at the sheriff. “I hit you with my gun,” he mumbled, “And then I let Little Joe out of the cell. I gave him a horse and supplies and told him to head toward the mountains. He’s probably miles away by now.”
“You what?” said Coffee angrily. He began to walk toward Deters as Hoss moved in front of the dejected cowboy. Hoss put out his hand and stopped the sheriff’s progress.
“Hold on now, Roy,” Hoss declared. “Deters here has confessed to killing Mary Hawkins. He said it was an accident.”
Coffee looked around in confusion, then turned to Ben. “Is what Hoss is saying true?” he asked.
Ben nodded. “Cherokee Pete here confirmed Joe’s alibi. When Mary’s father began pressing Bob about what happened, he broke down and confessed.”
Coffee walked slowly over to Deters and stared at the miserable look on the cowboy’s face. He nodded slowly. “I knew Little Joe couldn’t have done something like that,” conceded the sheriff. He grabbed Deters' arm gently. “C’mon, son. I need to lock you up until we get this thing straightened out.” Deters nodded and followed the sheriff without resistance.
After locking Deters in the cell that had recently held Joe, the sheriff walked back into his office and saw the three Cartwrights and Cherokee Pete waiting for him.
“It’ll take awhile to sort this thing out. If what he says is true, he shouldn’t be in too much trouble with the law,” stated Coffee.
“The important thing now is to find Joe. He could be anywhere, and he thinks he’s a wanted man. We’ve got to find him before he does something foolish," said Ben grimly.
“I’ll get a posse organized right away,” Coffee offered.
“That’s no good, Roy," Adam countered. “If Joe sees a posse, he’ll think they want to take him back to jail…or worse.”
“Adam’s right,” added Hoss. “The only ones he’ll trust now is Pa or Adam or me. We’ll have to be the ones to go after him.”
Coffee nodded. “I believe you boys are right. But it’ll take a miracle for you three to find him.”
“I’ll help, “Cherokee Pete chimed in. “I’m the best tracker around these parts. If he’s left any kind of trail, I’ll pick it up.”
“Thanks,” said Ben gratefully. He turned to Roy Coffee. “We’ll head out as soon as it’s light. In the meantime, why don’t you get the newspaper to run a front page story about Deters’ confession. That way no one will go off half-cocked and take a shot at Joe if they see him.”
“I’ll do that,” Coffee agreed. “I’ll also wire every sheriff within fifty miles, telling them what happened and giving them a description of Joe. They can wire me back if they spot him.”
“Be sure to tell them not to try and approach Joe,” advised Adam. “If he sees a sheriff coming after him, he’s liable to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“All right,” answered the sheriff. He grabbed his hat from his desk and started toward the door. “I’ll get working on the telegrams now. Then I’ll wake up the newspaper editor and get him working on that story.” Coffee pulled open the door and walked out into the night.
“Pa," Hoss asked anxiously, “do you really think Joe would take a shot at a sheriff? He’s hot-tempered sometimes, but he wouldn’t shoot anyone deliberately.”
“I don’t know what he’ll do,” admitted Ben, shaking his head. “Joe thinks he's running for his life.”
Adam put his hand on his father’s shoulder. “We’ll find him.”
“I hope so,” replied Ben. He took a breath and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go get some supplies and head out. I want to be at the base of those mountains as soon as it’s light.”
***********
Joe rode hard for three days, stopping only when his horse needed rest. He used every trick his father and brothers had taught him to hide his trail. He brushed out his tracks and rode through streams. He looked for hard ground, and rode over rocks and soil where he wouldn’t leave any tracks.
Finally, he stopped. For three days, he had been grabbing only snatches of sleep. He had eaten in the saddle, munching on the beef jerky that Deters had put in his saddle bags. Joe was exhausted; his body was tired and sore. He couldn’t seem to think clearly. He knew he had to rest. Fatigue was his enemy now.
Joe halted his horse at the top of a hill. He dismounted and looked down into the valley below. There was no sign of riders behind him. A tired grin crossed Joe’s face. He had lost whatever posse was chasing him.
After leading his horse to an outcropping of rocks, Joe tied the animal to a small bush near the rocks. The horse began to eat the tufts of grass on the ground near the bush. Joe patted the horse on the neck, and then untied the bedroll and saddle bags. He carried the gear to the rocks, spotting a small opening between two boulders. He laid the bedroll and saddle bags on the ground, then returned to the horse. He undid the saddle and dragged it to the opening. Joe propped the saddle against the rocks, with the seat toward the ground, and unrolled the bedroll. He spread the groundsheet and grabbed the blanket. He eased his tired body onto the underside of the saddle, welcoming the cushion it gave him. He pulled the blanket over him, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
The sun was setting as Joe began to stir from his sleep. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes; he still felt tired and sore. Joe yawned and stretched his arms, then sat up abruptly as he remembered where he was and why. He scrambled to his feet and peered over the rocks to the valley below. He sighed with relief as he looked at the empty landscape. Still no sign of a posse. Joe slid back to a sitting position, his aching back resting against the saddle. He knew he probably should move on, but he didn’t have the energy to do it. Looking at the setting sun, he figured he had slept about six hours; he felt like he could sleep for about sixteen.
Joe looked at the patiently standing horse a few feet away. “Well, boy, what do you think?” he asked the animal. “Think we’re safe here for awhile?” He grinned as the horse turned and looked at him blankly. “Guess you don’t have any answers either,” said Joe.
Getting to his feet, Joe picked up a canteen from his gear. He walked over to the horse and untied the animal from the bush. The grass around the bush was eaten to the ground. Joe led the horse a few feet away, where the grass was plentiful. Using his hand as a cup, he gave the horse some water, then tied him to a small tree, leaving the reins loose enough for the horse to graze.
A rumble in his stomach reminded Joe that he needed to be fed also.
Walking back to the rocks, Joe flopped wearily on the ground. He opened the saddle bags and started pulling out hardtack and jerky, looking for something more appetizing. He spotted some smoked ham at the bottom of the bag and took it out. He took a bite and smiled at flavor.
Joe sat back and thought as he ate the ham. “What should I do now?” he wondered. He wasn’t really sure where he was. Somewhere northwest of Virginia City, he figured. Should he head for a city? Someplace big like San Francisco where he could get lost in the crowd of people? Joe shook his head. That was no good. He really didn’t like the city -- too many people. Besides, what would he when he got there?
He could double back and head for Mexico, but that seemed dangerous. He might accidentally run into the posse that was following him.
Joe frowned in thought. Pa had friends all over the West. Could he go to one of them? Would they turn him in? Joe sighed. Nothing he thought of seemed like a good idea. He finished eating, licking his fingers to get the last taste of ham, then swallowed some water from his canteen. He stared at the darkening sky, looking for some answers. But the only thing he saw was the stars beginning to twinkle in the night. Finally, his fatigue overcame him. Joe closed his eyes and slept again.
The bright morning sun woke Joe this time. He felt refreshed. Some solid food and a good night’s sleep revived his spirits. He stood and looked one last time down into the still empty valley. Joe was positive he had lost the posse now. He grabbed his saddle and gear, and walked over to his horse. As he saddled his horse, he began thinking again about his destination, but continued to have no answers to his dilemma.
After saddling his horse and tying his bedroll and saddle bags to the saddle. As he mounted, Joe took one more look around. “Well, boy, I guess you and I will just see some country for awhile. Maybe I’ll think of something later.”
Joe rode to the northwest for the next two weeks. He took his time, stopping to hunt fresh game and resting when he felt tired. He had no particular destination in mind; he just wandered. He stayed away from any trail that looked like it might lead him to a town or a ranch. He lost track of time. He wasn’t even sure where he was, although he felt sure by now he must be in the Oregon territory. The loneliness of his trek was starting to bother him. He thought longingly of his home and family as he rode. He missed joking with Hoss and arguing with Adam. Heck, he even missed his father’s lectures.
Coming to the crest of a heavily wooded hill, Joe looked down and was surprised to see a house and barn in the clearing below. It seemed odd to see the structures out here in the middle of nowhere. He could see a corral with a few horses behind the barn, and a wagon next to the corral. A few cows grazed in the open field behind the house.
Shrugging, Joe turned his horse, giving the animal a gentle kick. Suddenly, he lurched forward as the horse stumbled.
After the horse righted itself, Joe dismounted. He looked at his mount and saw the horse pawing the ground with its right front hoof. Joe patted the animal and murmured soothing words as he picked up the horse’s leg. He examined the hoof and cursed as he saw the shoe on the hoof was missing. Looking around, Joe saw the horseshoe a few feet away. He picked up the shoe and put it in his saddlebag, then patted his horse on the neck again and started to lead him down the hill.
A woman was scattering grain from a pail toward some chickens as Joe approached the house he had seen from the hill. She wore a print blouse and a dark skirt; her brown hair, streaked with gray, was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her neck. The woman eyed Joe suspiciously as he neared the house.
“Afternoon, ma’am,” Joe said politely. The woman nodded back, still watching the young man cautiously. “My horse threw a shoe,” Joe continued. “I was wondering if you had something I could use to put it back on.”
The woman studied Joe for a minute. “You been walking him?” she asked.
“For the last mile or so,” he acknowledged with a wry grin. “I was taught never to ride a horse that had lost a shoe.”
“Someone taught you good,” agreed the woman. “Well, there’s tools in the barn. Help yourself.”
Joe touched the brim of his hat. “Thank you, ma’am," he said and led the horse to the barn.
Inside the barn, Joe looked around. Six empty stalls – three on his right and three on his left – were just inside the doorway. Beyond them was a wide, open space. On the back wall hung a hammer and other tools. A cot was pushed against the side wall in the back, and a tall cabinet was standing against the opposite wall.
After leading his horse into the barn, Joe tied the reins loosely around one of the stall posts. He walked to the back of the barn and took the hammer off the wall. Looking around, he spotted a box of horseshoe nails on the floor. Joe grabbed a handful of nails and walked back to his horse.
Joe took the horseshoe from his saddlebag and lifted the horse’s leg. Balancing the leg on his knee, he fitted the shoe back on the hoof and began tapping nails lightly into the rim of the animal’s foot. Only a few minutes had past when he heard the barn door open. He looked up and saw the woman come in. She stopped near the door.
“Find everything you need?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Joe answered. He went back to work. The woman watched as he finished nailing the shoe on. Joe let the leg drop then bent to examine the horse’s leg. He ran his hands over leg, looking for any sign of heat or swelling.
“Any sign of a pulled tendon?” the woman asked from the doorway.
“No ma’am,” Joe replied without looking up. He felt the leg some more and then stood, satisfied that the animal wasn’t seriously injured. He turned toward the woman at the door. “He’s got a stone bruise but that should be all right in a day or so. Thank you again for the help,” he explained politely.
The woman nodded with a distracted air. Suddenly, she seemed to make up her mind about something. “It’s getting late,” she said. “If you want, you can stay here in the barn tonight. There’s a cot over in the corner and some bedding in the cabinet.”
Joe smiled gratefully. “Thank you. It’s been awhile since I’ve slept on anything but the cold, hard ground.”
The woman smiled at him. “Well, if you’re going to stay, you might as well have supper with me. Get yourself cleaned up. We’ll eat in about an hour.” The woman turned abruptly and walked out.
Joe looked down at his shirt and pants, surprised to realize how dirty he looked. He felt his chin and felt the stubble of a beard. He had been pretty lax about washing and shaving on the trail.
An hour later, Joe knocked politely on the door of the house. His face and hands were scrubbed clean, and the dirt brushed from his clothes. He was freshly shaved. His dark, curly hair was washed, and he had combed it the best he could with his fingers. He knocked again on the door.
The woman opened the door and raised her eyebrows in surprise at Joe’s appearance. “Come on in,” she said with a smile and held the door open for him.
After scrapping his dirty boots on a mat in front of the door, Joe followed the woman into the house. He walked into a large room. To his left, a few feet from the door, he could see a table with four chairs. To his right, against the back wall, was a fireplace. Two overstuffed chairs, separated by a small table, sat in front of the fireplace. Several other small tables with lamps were scattered around the room. Joe could see a doorway to the right of the fireplace. Two doors were fitted snugly into the wall on his left.
“Well, just don’t stand there, boy. Come on in,” ordered the woman as she observed Joe looking around. He grinned sheepishly and walked further into the room.
“My name’s Molly Branson,” the woman said, holding out her hand.
“Joe Cart…Carter” Joe answered awkwardly, taking the woman’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Joe,” Molly declared. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a minute.”
At dinner, Joe ate like a starving man. He devoured the chicken, potatoes and greens on his plate and had second helpings of everything. Molly grinned as she watched him eat. Finally, Joe’s appetite was satisfied, and he gave Molly a guilty look. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve been eating my own cooking for so long that I almost forgot what a good meal tastes like.”
“Don’t be,” returned Molly with a smile. “It does my heart good to see my cooking appreciated.”
Joe sat back in his chair. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead,” Molly answered.
“What are you doing living out here in the middle of nowhere? Not that it’s any of by business,” added Joe hastily.
“I don’t mind. It’s really not in the middle of nowhere. It’s only about a day’s ride to Caldwell -- that’s the nearest town.”
“What made you settle out here?” Joe asked curiously.
Molly got a far-away look in her eye. “My Will brought me here about three years ago. I knew when I married Will that he was a wandering man, that he wouldn’t be happy in one place. But I loved him so. And for awhile, it was exciting moving around so much. Always new places, new people. But eventually, I got tired of it. I made Will promise to build me a proper home and settle down. He found some gold up Colorado way and had some money. So he bought this land; bought the timber rights to the mountains around here, too. He built me a proper home, just like he promised.”
“Where’s Will now?” Joe asked, his interest piqued.
“About a year ago, he started getting that look in his eye,” Molly explained wistfully. “I knew he was itching to travel, so I told him to go. He promised me he would be back in a couple of months, that he was only going to do some trapping up north. I ain’t seen him since.”
“I’m sorry,” said Joe sadly.
Molly sniffed. “I can take care of myself, boy. I don’t need your sympathy.”
“I’m sure you manage just fine,” Joe noted with a smile.
Molly smiled back. “What about you?” she asked. “A young fellow like you should be home with his family, not wandering around these mountains. Where is your home?”
Suddenly a look of misery crossed Joe’s face, and saw his shoulders sag. He looked like the weight of the world had descended on his shoulders.
“I don’t have a home,” Joe replied softly, looking down at his plate. “I’m just drifting around.”
Molly studied the boy. Somehow, she knew there was more to his story, but she didn’t press him. Whatever was bothering him was his business. She stood and started picking up dishes from the table. “Well, I’d better start cleaning up,” she said abruptly.
Getting to his feet also, Joe began to help clear the table, but Molly waved him away. “This is women’s work. You go take care that horse and get yourself a good night’s rest. You look like you could use it.”
Joe thanked Molly again for the meal and for the bed in the barn, but she just shrugged off his thanks. She watched as Joe left the house and strolled to the barn. Slowly she shook her head. Poor kid, she thought, he’s got some real troubles on his mind. With another shake of her head, she headed toward the kitchen.
The next morning, Molly had just started cooking breakfast when she heard the sound of an ax. She walked to the window in the front of the house and smiled as she looked out. Joe was in the front yard, splitting logs into kindling. Walking to the door, Molly pulled it open it. Joe looked up from his work when he heard the creak of the door.
“Morning,” Joe called cheerfully. “I watered the stock for you and put out some fresh hay in the barn. Thought I’d do a few chores to pay for last night’s supper.”
“And maybe for this morning’s breakfast?” Molly asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Well, yes,” Joe admitted sheepishly. “That meal was awful good; it could be a long time before I get another one like it.”
“You’re invited,” Molly said. “Finish that log and bring in the kindling. Breakfast is almost ready.” Joe grinned and started splitting the log with fresh enthusiasm.
Breakfast was hot cakes, eggs and biscuits, and Joe ate every bite. Molly sipped her coffee thoughtfully as she watched Joe clean his plate. He drained his coffee cup, and smiled at Molly. “That was great,” he complimented the older woman.
“Glad you liked it,” Molly replied with a distracted air.
“Well, I guess I’d better be going,” Joe said reluctantly. “I sure do thank you for your kindness. “
“Joe, do you know anything about logging?” Molly asked abruptly.
“Logging?” repeated Joe with a surprise in his voice. “Yeah, I’ve done some. I’m not an expert at it, but I can fell a tree. Why?”
“I told you last night that Will leased the logging rights to the mountains around here. We’ve got a crew working a couple of miles from here, cutting timber for the sawmill in Caldwell. They could always use another hand.”
“I don’t know,” said Joe doubtfully. “I kind of planned to move on.”
“Why not?” Molly pressed him. “You said you just drifting. Couldn’t you use the work?” When she saw the hesitant look on Joe’s face, she continued. “Of course, it’s awfully isolated up there. No newspapers, no visitors. It’s the kind of place a man could get lost in.”
Joe looked at Molly suspiciously. Could she guess he was on the run? She smiled back at him innocently and continued to sip her coffee. Finally, Joe shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t have a better plan, and a logging camp could be just the place to hide out for awhile. “All right,” he agreed. “I guess I could try it for a spell.”
“Good!” said Molly, “Get your horse saddled, and hitch up the wagon for me. I’ll clean up here, then show you the way.”
As Molly drove her wagon up the mountain, Joe followed her on horseback. She guided the team confidently, with no doubt as to where she was going. The pair came to a camp about three quarters of the way up the mountain.
Several large tents dotted the area, and a man about forty was sitting at a table in front of one of the tents, a map spread out before him. He looked up in surprise as Molly and Joe came into camp.
“Molly, what a nice surprise,” called the man enthusiastically as he stood and walked toward the pair. “What brings you up here?”
“Hello, Henry,” Molly greeted the man. “I brought you a new logger.” She turned to Joe who was still sitting on his horse. “This is Henry Walker, my foreman.” She turned back to the foreman. “This is Joe Carter. He’s looking for work.”
Henry studied Joe. “I don’t know, Molly,” he said doubtfully. “He looks more like a cowboy than a logger.”
“I’ve done some logging,” interjected Joe. “I know how to handle an ax and a two-man saw.”
“Henry, he’s young and strong. What else do you want? Besides, you need the help,” added Molly.
Henry nodded. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “You can put your horse in the corral behind the last tent. Stow your gear in the first tent. There’s some empty bunks in there; just pick one.”
“Thanks,” Joe replied with a smile. He dismounted and started to lead his horse away. Suddenly, he stopped and turned back to Molly. “Thanks for everything.”
Henry watched Joe lead his horse away, then walked to the wagon where Molly sat with a look of satisfaction on her face. “All right, Molly,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”
“Henry, what makes you think anything is going on?” replied Molly with an innocent air.
“Because I know you. You adopt every stray critter within fifty miles. Now what’s the story with this one?” Henry insisted.
“I don’t know, Henry,” admitted Molly. “He’s a nice kid, but he’s got some kind of troubles. I thought you could keep an eye on him for awhile.”
“Do you think he’s on the run?” asked Henry. “I don’t want any trouble from the law.”
“Since when have you worried about that?” Molly answered with a snort. “There hasn’t been a lawman around here in three years. Besides, I don’t think he’s the kind that will cause you any trouble.”
Henry sighed. “We’ll see, Molly. We’ll see.”
**********
Ben, Adam, Hoss and Cherokee Pete spent a week searching the mountains, looking for Joe’s trail. At first, the mountainman was able to spot a few signs, but the trail always disappeared. They searched for several days in vain for any clue to where Joe might have gone. Finally, they split up, each taking a different area to cover. They agreed to meet in two days at the top of Willow Ridge.
Ben and Adam were sitting around a campfire at the top of Willow Ridge when Hoss rode up. Ben looked at his son hopefully as Hoss dismounted and approached the fire. “Nothing, Pa” Hoss said in response to Ben’s unasked question. “I didn’t even find a twig bent the wrong way. How about you two? Any luck?
Adam shook his head. “No, we didn’t find anything. We were hoping you or Cherokee Pete might have spotted something.”
Almost as if Adam had conjured him up, Cherokee Pete rode into the camp as Adam finished speaking. He dismounted and dropped his reins, rubbing his hands as he neared the fire. “Whew, it’s getting cold,” said the mountain man. “Adam, pour me a cup of that coffee, would ya?”
“Pete, did you find any sign of Joe?” Ben demanded.
The mountain man sipped his coffee and looked at Ben. “No, I didn’t find anything, and I don’t think we’re going to. That boy of yours really knows how to hide his tracks.”
As Ben’s shoulders slumped, Adam and Hoss glanced at each other, trying to think of something to say. “Pa,” said Adam finally, “Joe knows how to take care of himself. He’ll be all right.”
“I know that, Adam,” Ben agreed. “It’s just that I’m worried about where he’ll go and what he’ll do. He could get into real trouble.”
“Pa, he could be anywhere,” Hoss observed. “We’re not doing any good up here. Maybe we should head back to Virginia City. Roy Coffee might have some news by now.”
“I suppose you’re right,” admitted Ben reluctantly. “We’ll head back in the morning.”
“Then, I’m taking off,” announced Cherokee Pete. “I don’t much like towns. Too noisy, too many people. I’ll keep my eyes peeled and let you know if I spot anything.”
“Thanks, Pete,” said Ben gratefully. “We appreciate all you’ve done.”
“Shucks, I ain’t done nothing,” replied the mountain man with an embarrassed look. He walked back over to his horse and mounted. “Your boy will be all right,” he called to Ben. “You wait and see. He’ll come home soon enough.”
“I hope so,” said Ben. He watched Cherokee Pete ride off then turned to stare at the fire. Adam and Hoss sat next to him, both wishing they could say something to comfort their father, but no words came.
It was midday when the three Cartwrights rode back into Virginia City. The town was quiet, with only a handful of people strolling the sidewalks. A few stopped to stare at the trio as they rode slowly down the street but no one spoke to them. The discouraged slump of Ben's shoulders told anyone who cared to look that the Cartwright’s quest had been unsuccessful.
The three men rode to the Sheriff’s office and tied their horses to the hitching post in front, then climbed the stairs to the office and went in.
Roy Coffee was sitting at his desk when the men entered the office. He gave them a searching look as he watched them cross the office toward him. “I don’t have to ask,” said Coffee. “I can tell by the look on your faces. You didn’t find him.”
“No, we didn’t find him,” acknowledged Ben. “Did you find out anything?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Sorry, Ben. I’ve got nothing to tell you. I’ve sent telegrams to every place I could think of, but no one’s seen Joe.”
“Well, he must be someplace,” declared Adam with exasperation. “He just didn’t drop off the face of the earth.”
“Adam, if I had any idea where Joe could be, I’d tell you in a minute,” said Coffee. “But the truth of the matter is, no one knows where he is.”
“Pa, what do we do now?” asked Hoss with a frown.
“I don’t know,” answered Ben. He thought for a few minutes then turned to the sheriff. “Roy, did you send any wires to the big cities, like San Francisco?”
“No, I didn’t,” replied Coffee. “I didn’t see much point. If Joe’s in San Francisco, the police there wouldn’t bother to look for him. They’ve got too many other problems to worry about a missing boy.”
Ben nodded. “You’re probably right. But I’ve got a friend who’s a newspaper publisher in San Francisco. I’ll write him and ask him to print the story on the front page of his paper. If Joe’s there, maybe he’ll see it. Even if he doesn’t, the San Francisco papers have a big circulation. Someone is liable to see it and recognize Joe.”
Coffee nodded. “That might work, Ben.”
“Pa, maybe we should offer a reward,” Adam suggested. “You know, something like ‘$500 for information leading to the whereabouts of Joe Cartwright’.”
“That’s a good idea, Adam,” said Ben, his voice rising with enthusiasm. “Only let’s make it $1,000. That will really get people’s attention.” Ben jumped to his feet. “Come on, boys, let’s get back to the ranch. I want to get a letter off to San Francisco as soon as possible. There’s a couple of other friends who I want to contact also. If we spread the word, someone is bound to spot him.”
“I’ll keep sending wires,” added Roy Coffee as the Cartwrights walked out of his office. “I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”
Ben, Adam, and Hoss were walking to their horses, when a man approached them. “Ben,” called John Hawkins, “did you find him?”
Ben turned to Hawkins. “No,” he said shortly.
“Ben, I’m real sorry about what happened. I really thought Joe had killed my Mary. I hope you find him. And I hope you can forgive me.”
“I can forgive you for thinking my boy killed your daughter,” stated Ben with anger. “And I can forgive you for hating him when you thought he did. But what I can’t forgive is your taking the law into your own hands. If you hadn’t stirred up this town, if you hadn’t decided to be judge and jury, Joe would be home now, safe and sound.”
Hawkins lowered his head and looked ashamed. “I know you’re right, Ben. All I can say is that I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t going to bring my son home,” declared Ben heatedly. He turned and mounted his horse. “Come on, boys,” he said to Adam and Hoss. “Let’s get back to the ranch.”
Ben spent the next few days writing letters to everyone he knew. He told them what had happened and asked them to keep their eyes and ears open for word of Joe. He also asked them to spread the word about the reward.
Adam and Hoss took over managing the day-to-day activities of the Ponderosa, a fact Ben didn’t even seem to notice. Everyday he rode into Virginia City with a handful of letters. He checked with Roy Coffee on each trip, but the sheriff had no news for him. Ben’s initial enthusiasm about his letter-writing campaign began to flag. He knew it would take some time for the letters to reach everyone, and even longer to get any replies. But his patience was wearing thin.
Ben was sitting at his desk, writing a letter to a rancher he knew in Mexico when he heard the knock on the door. He put his pen down and walked over to the front of the house. When he opened the door, Ben was surprised to see Roy Coffee standing there. “Roy, come in,” Ben said heartily. Roy entered the room slowly and took off his hat. He played with his hat in his hands as he looked at Ben. He seemed to be searching for some words.
“Roy, what’s wrong,” Ben asked with alarm.
“Maybe nothing,” answered the sheriff slowly. “But I got a telegram this morning from the sheriff over in Black Creek. He says a young fellow matching Joe’s description was killed in a gun fight there last week. There was no identification on the body. He wants us to ride over and take a look at this fellow’s belongings, to see if we might identify him.”
Ben felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “Oh no,” he said weakly. He took a step back and put his hands to his face.
“Now, Ben, don’t start drawing any conclusions,” declared Roy Coffee hastily. “The wire just said the fellow matched Joe’s description. It didn’t say it was Joe.”
Ben swallowed hard and nodded. “You’re right. But if it is Joe…..”
“Ben, we don’t know that,” repeated the sheriff firmly.
“I’ll get Adam and Hoss,” said Ben, reaching for his hat and gunbelt.
Ben, Adam, Hoss and Roy Coffee rode as fast as their horses would take them to Black Creek, a small mining town near the border of the Utah territory. It was a two day ride to get there, and Ben kept thinking that Joe could have ended up in Black Creek if his son had headed east. He might have wandered around for awhile then headed to a small town for supplies. Ben tried not to let the let the fear he felt get the better of him, but it gnawed at his stomach as he rode.
It was dark when the four men rode into Black Creek. They could hear the music and the shouting from the saloon. The noise was punctuated by the sound of gunshots.
“This is a pretty wild town,” remarked Hoss as they rode by the saloon.
“Yeah,” agreed Adam, “it looks like the kind of place where the law pretty much doesn’t exist.”
Ben said nothing. He rode grim-faced to the building where a sign marked “JAIL” was hanging from a post jutting out from the roof. He stopped his horse in front of the building, and dismounted. The others followed suit.
A heavy-set man with a two-day growth of beard was sleeping in the office as the four men entered. His feet were propped up on his desk. His boots were caked with mud.
“Sheriff!” Ben yelled at the sleeping figure. The man woke with a start.
“What do you want?” asked the sheriff, still groggy from sleep.
“My name’s Ben Cartwright. This is Roy Coffee, the sheriff in Virginia City. You sent Sheriff Coffee a wire about a boy that was killed here.”
“Oh, yeah,” said the heavy-set man. “Fellow got killed here a week or so ago. We buried him on Boot Hill. I heard about the reward you was offering. Thought the man might be the fellow you’re looking for.”
“What did the man look like?” asked Adam.
“Early twenties, dark curly hair, kind of small, real fast with a gun. He killed a miner after losing all his money in a poker game. Claimed the miner was cheating him. The man he killed, he had a lot of friends. A day or so later, the man turned up dead. Some miners said he was killed in a fair fight.”
“And you believe that?” asked Hoss with disgust.
“Sure, why not?” answered the sheriff with a lazy grin. “These things have a way of working themselves out.”
Roy Coffee shook his head in anger. This was the kind of sheriff that gave the law a bad name. “You said you had the dead mans clothes,” said Coffee coldly “Can we see them?”
“Sure,” agreed the sheriff. He slowly stood and scratched his wide belly, then walked across the office and opened a drawer in a chest against the far wall. He pulled a stack of clothes and a gunbelt from the drawer, then walked back and laid the pile on the desk. “Nobody knew the fellow’s name and he didn’t have anything on him to identify him. We kept his clothes and gear in case somebody might recognize them.”
With his hands trembling, Ben picked up the gunbelt. The pistol in the holster had a pearl handle, just like the gun Joe always carried. He unrolled the gunbelt, then let out a sign of relief. “This isn’t Joe’s,” he announced.
“How can you be sure?” asked the sheriff with a frown.
“Because my son is left-handed, and this is a right-handed gunbelt. Joe would never have been able to use this,” Ben stated. He picked up the shirt from the pile of clothes. The shirt was blue, but a dark splotch of dried blood covered the front. Ben grabbed the shirt by the shoulders and let it unfurl. “This shirt is too small for Joe,” he added. Ben dropped the shirt and gunbelt back on the desk. “The man who was killed isn’t my son,” he declared.
“Well, it could have been,” said the sheriff defensively. “I’m mean, you never know. I thought it was worth checking out.”
“You mean you thought it was worth a $1,000,” remarked Adam angrily. “Come on, Pa. Let’s get out of here.”
After the four men left the sheriff’s office, Ben stopped and took a deep breath of the clean night air. Roy Coffee put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ben,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you. But that so-called sheriff was right about one thing. We had to check it out.”
“I know, Roy,” answered Ben. “I was just wondering how many more times we’re going to have to go through this.”
**********
Joe fell quickly into the routine of the lumber camp. He worked hard, cutting trees and trimming the branches off the felled logs. At first, he kept to himself, afraid that someone would recognize him or that he would say something that would be betray him. But he began to relax when he realized no one paid any special attention to him. A couple of times, he had failed to answer when someone called him “Carter”, but none of the men seemed to notice his lapse. After the weeks of loneliness on the trail, Joe was grateful for the company the camp offered.
The routine of the camp was simple. Each day the crew of twenty or so men cut and trimmed trees. Twice a week the logs were loaded into two wagons which were driven to the sawmill in Caldwell. The men took turns driving the wagon, not only because it was a long day’s drive to the mill, but also because the men who drove the wagon got to spend the night in town. The system allowed the loggers to have some time off without shutting down the camp.
When the wagons returned, the drivers brought supplies and any mail with them. Most of the loggers sent or received little mail. The exception, however, was a big, bearded Russian named Yuri. Every Friday, on payday, Yuri faithfully wrote a letter and enclosed his pay. Usually, he received a letter back each week. Joe noticed Yuri’s regular correspondence, and figured the Russian must have a family some place. Joe envied him; he wished he could contact his family. He missed his father and brothers a lot. But he felt it was too dangerous to try to contact them. He didn’t know who might intercept the letter and send the law after him.
Joe liked working with the loggers; they all worked hard for their pay. All, that is, except a man named Pike. Several times, Joe saw Pike behind a tree, drinking from a flask. He also knew the man seemed to disappear whenever a really tough job came up. But Joe kept his mouth shut about Pike. He didn’t want to cause any trouble that might draw attention to him.
Joe was sitting outside a tent, sharpening an ax, on an evening when the log wagons returned to camp. He saw Pike was driving the first wagon and the man looked in a foul mood. Several of the loggers called a greeting to Pike, but the logger ignored them. Pike climbed down from the wagon and was walking toward a tent when Henry Walker, the foreman, called after him.
“Pike,” the foreman said sharply, “you didn’t unload the wagon. You know how it works. If you drive the wagon, you unload the supplies.”
“Unload it yourself,” Pike shouted angrily and stalked into the tent.
“What’s wrong with him?” Walker asked the second driver.
“Aw, he’s just mad because he lost all his money in a poker game in town last night,” the driver explained. “He’s been complaining about it all the way from town. Don’t worry, I’ll unload the wagon.”
Walker looked uncertain for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders. “All right,” the foreman agreed.
The next day, Joe came back to camp early. The ax he had sharpened was dull again, and he needed a new one. Joe was nearing the camp when he saw Pike. The man looked around quickly, then slipped into one of the tents. His suspicion aroused, Joe followed him.
After silently pushing open the flap of the large tent, Joe stood watching as Pike began pawing through Yuri’s gear. The logger opened a leather bag and smiled triumphantly as he pulled a letter from the sack. Pike slipped the letter into his pocket.
“I think you’d better put that back,” Joe said in a quiet but determined voice.
Pike spun around. “What are you doing here, boy?” he asked.
“I said, put the letter back,” Joe repeated, ignoring Pike’s question.
Pike walked to the flap of the tent. “This ain’t none of your business,” he retorted.
“I’m making it my business,” Joe declared.
“Get out of my way,” said Pike, pushing Joe aside and walking out.
Moving quickly, Joe followed Pike out of the tent and grabbed the logger’s arm. Spinning around, Pike punched Joe on the chin. The blow knocked Joe to the ground and stunned him for a moment. Pike was standing over him, fists ready and a nasty grin on his face. Joe got up slowly. He was almost on his feet when he suddenly threw a left fist into Pike’s stomach. The logger doubled over and Joe hit him squarely on the jaw. Pike staggered back a few feet, and Joe took a step toward the man. Suddenly, Pike straightened and hit Joe in the face with his right fist. Joe’s head snapped around but he kept his feet. He charged Pike, grabbing the man around the waist and knocking him to the ground. The two men rolled in the dirt, exchanging blows. Finally, Joe managed to get on top of Pike and was about to land another blow when he felt his arms being grabbed. He was pulled off the man on the ground.
Looking around, Joe realized the loggers had returned to camp. Two of them were holding him securely. Two more grabbed Pike.
“What’s going on here?” asked Walker, approaching the men.
Joe gasped for breath. He could feel a trickle of blood on his chin. His face felt bruised and sore. Pike was struggling with the men holding him; his face also was bloodied and bruised.
“I asked a question,” repeated Walker sternly. “What’s going on here?”
“I saw Pike stealing from Yuri’s gear,” gasped Joe.
“He’s lying,” shouted Pike.
“Check his right front pocket,” declared Joe. “You’ll find Yuri’s letter with his pay in the pocket.”
Frowning, Walker took a step to Pike. Pike struggled to free himself, but the two loggers who held him firmly in their grasp. Walker reached into Pike’s pocket and pulled out the letter. He read the address on the front.
“Yuri,” called Walker, turning to a group of men behind him, “I think this is yours.”
The big Russian stepped forward and took the letter. He read the address. “Yes, this is mine,” he agreed in heavily accented English.
Nodding, Walker turned back to Pike. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here. I’ve put up with your laziness and your drinking, but I won’t put up with this. Get your gear and get out of here. You’re fired.”
Pike looked at the loggers standing around him. The expressions on their faces told him that the sooner he got out of camp, the better it would be for him. He pulled himself loose from the men who were holding him. “I’m going,” Pike mumbled. He started to turn and then stopped to look back over his shoulder at Joe. “I’ll get you for this,” he threatened. Pike turned back and walked quickly into a tent. He emerged a few minutes later, carrying a bundle. Without a word, the man walked out of camp and disappeared into the woods.
Walker came over to where Joe was standing. “You better get yourself cleaned up,” Walker advised kindly. As Joe nodded his agreement, Walker put his hand on Joe’s arm. “I know I should have gotten rid of Pike sooner. I knew he wasn’t doing his share of the work. But I need every hand I can get. I have to keep the timber going into Caldwell -- for Molly’s sake.” Joe nodded again.
Grabbing a bucket of water and a towel from the ground outside one of the tents, Joe walked over to a stump and sat down. He wet the towel in the bucket of water, and started dabbing the cuts and bruises on his face.
“Are you all right?” an accented voice asked.
Joe looked up to see Yuri standing over him, with a concerned look on his face.
Joe smiled then winced at the pain it caused. “I’m fine,” he answered. “I’ve been in worse fights than this.”
“I want to thank you for what you did,” continued the Russian. “This money, it is very important. I send it each week to my wife. She give it to the bank. Soon, we own a farm in California.”
Joe was surprised. “You don’t look like a farmer.”
“I a good farmer, one of the best in Russia,” Yuri boasted with a smile.
“How did you end up here, in a logging camp?” asked Joe.
“My brother and me, we saved a long time to come to America. We have friends in California, and they wrote us about the rich land and the freedom here. We came to America by boat, and landed in a town called Seattle. But when we got here, we found things cost more than we thought. By the time we bought wagon, seed, all the things we need, we had only a little money left. We decided to head to California anyway. Along the way, we see sign, saying loggers wanted. My brother and I decide that one of us should stay here and work while the other go ahead. My wife, Olga, went with my brother and his wife. They found a place near our friends in California. Good land, big enough for two fine farms. My brother, he give the last of our money to the bank for land. He has started clearing the land and building houses. I must send the money I earn every week so we can pay bank the rest of what we owe.”
“You must owe the bank a lot,” said Joe.
“Not so much now,” replied Yuri. “My brother, he sometimes find jobs and help pay bank. Soon, the land will be ours and I can go home to my Olga.”
“You must miss your wife,” observed Joe.
Yuri nodded. “Yes, I miss Olga. I miss my brother, too. Is good to have family who will help you.”
Joe swallowed hard. He knew what Yuri meant. He thought of all the times that his brothers had helped him, all the times they had pulled him out of trouble. He wished they were here to help him now.
Yuri clapped Joe on the shoulder. “Thank you again, my friend,” said the Russian. “Yuri will pay you back some day.”
**********
The camp returned to its normal routine after Pike left. Pike hadn’t done that much work so the loggers barely noticed his absence. Joe fell into the habit of working with Yuri. Joe liked the big Russian; the logger reminded Joe of his brother, Hoss. Yuri, still grateful to Joe for saving his money, enjoyed the younger man’s company as well. The two were becoming close friends.
The day Joe was dreading finally came, however. It was his turn to take the wagon into Caldwell. He had been thinking about what to do when his turn came. He knew there was a sheriff in Caldwell; he had heard the other men talking about it. What he didn’t know was if there were any wanted posters with his picture in Caldwell. If there were, and the sheriff spotted him, he would be on his way back to Virginia City to face a gallows. Joe decided the risk was too great.
The day before he was to take the wagons, Joe approached Henry Walker. “Mr. Walker, would you mind if one of the other men took my run with the log wagons,” he asked hesitantly.
Walker looked surprised. “No, I don’t mind. I’m sure one of them would be happy for another night in town. But what about you? You’ve been working here without a break for almost a month. Don’t you want some time off?”
Joe shook his head. “No, I’d rather stay here.”
Walker studied him for a minute, then shrugged. “Well, it’s all right by me. Go find yourself a replacement.”
Joe breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he had another few weeks of safety. He also knew he couldn’t stay in the camp forever, but at least he had some time to think about what to do.
Yuri was happy to take Joe’s turn at driving the wagon into Caldwell. “I get my letter from Olga sooner,” the Russian declared with a grin. “Another favor I owe you.” Joe shrugged off the big man’s thanks. He was just happy not to have to spend a night dodging the sheriff.
Joe was surprised when he returned to camp the next day to see Molly sitting at a table with Henry Walker. “Molly!” he shouted with pleasure when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”
Molly smiled at Joe. “Hello, Joe,” she called back. “Just checking on a few things with Henry.”
“You mean, just checking on me, don’t you?” Walker said with a grin.
“Henry, I never have to check on you,” Molly stated firmly. “Outside of Will, you’re the best man I know.”
As he noted Walker’s blush, Joe smiled at the affection that was evident between the two. He hoped Will was the man Molly thought he was. She deserved the best.
“Joe,” Molly said, “Henry here tells me you didn’t go into the Caldwell, that you’ve been working here every day.”
Joe nodded. “I just didn’t feel like going into town,” he explained.
“Nonsense,” retorted Molly sharply. “You can’t keep working all the time. Tell you what -- why don’t you come back to the house with me. I’ll fix you one of those dinners you seem to like so well.
Joe looked at Walker with a question on his face. Walker shrugged. “Go ahead. After all, Molly’s the boss,” he said.
“And don’t you forget it,” Molly declared with a grin. “Go get your horse, Joe. You’re having dinner with me.”
Molly’s dinner turned out to be everything she promised and more. She cooked the best roast beef Joe had tasted since he left the Ponderosa. She had potatoes, beans and biscuits, too. Joe once again ate like a starving man.
“Don’t they feed you up at the camp?” Molly asked with amusement as Joe was eating his second helping of everything.
“Not like this,” he answered with his mouth full. “Molly, you’re the best cook I know; you’re even better than Hop Sing.”
“Hop Sing?” asked Molly.
Joe stopped his fork in mid-air. “Well, um, he’s a cook at a ranch I used to work at,” Joe explained lamely. He put his fork on the table. Suddenly, Joe had lost his appetite.
Molly nodded but didn’t comment on Joe’s strange behavior. She could see the look on Joe’s face every time he mentioned his past. She knew he was hiding something. He would talk about it when he was ready, she decided.
“Molly, you ought to open a restaurant,” Joe advised, trying to change the subject. “You’d have the people in Caldwell lining up to get in.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment, Joe,” acknowledged Molly. “But I can’t leave here. I have to wait for Will.”
“Molly, do you really think he’s coming back?” Joe asked kindly.
Molly didn’t answer. She got up from the table and walked to the window, then looked out into the darkness. “I don’t know, Joe,” she admitted still looking out the window. “My head keeps telling me he’s probably dead; otherwise, he’d be back by now. But my heart keeps hoping. That’s the hard part, you know, the not knowing.”
Joe said nothing. He was thinking about how his father must be feeling, not knowing where he was.
“It’s hard not knowing what happened,” she continued. “You begin to look at every face, hoping you’ll see the one you want. Every time I go to town, I check for messages, hoping he’ll send word.”
“Maybe…” Joe started hesitantly, swallowing hard, “maybe he can’t send a message. Maybe sending a message would be dangerous for him.”
Molly shook her head. “No, if he were alive, he’d send word somehow. You don’t leave people you love wondering what happened to you. It’s too cruel.”
Joe stared at his plate. Molly’s words made him feel guilty. He knew his father and brothers must be searching for him, waiting for some kind of message from him. But he just couldn’t bring himself to send a letter. The thought of that lynch mob in Virginia City made him shudder.
Molly turned back to Joe with a smile. “Well, enough of this. I’m going to clean up. You go out to the barn and make up that bunk. Henry will want you back in camp bright and early tomorrow.”
Joe stood and walked over to Molly. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Thanks,” he said.
“What for?” asked Molly with surprise.
“For being my friend,” Joe answered.
Molly smiled warmly at him. “Go on, get out of here,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. Joe smiled back at her and left.
Two days later, Joe was lying on his cot at the lumber camp. It was still early, and most of the men were cleaning up and doing odd jobs around the camp. Yuri was sitting at a table, writing to his wife.
Joe stared at the top of the tent, not really seeing it. Molly’s words at dinner still rang in his ears. He had purposely tried not to think about Pa, Adam and Hoss; he had tried not to think about the Ponderosa and the life he led there. The memories were too painful. But Molly’s statement about how cruel it was to leave your loved ones not knowing bothered him. He tried to think of a way to get a message to his family.
Suddenly, Joe sat up on the bunk and looked at Yuri. “Yuri,” he said, “would you do a favor for me?”
Yuri looked up. “Sure, Joe. What is it?”
“If I give you a letter, would you send it to your wife and ask her to mail it for me?” asked Joe.
“Sure,” agreed the Russian with a puzzled expression on his face. “But why go to all that trouble. Why don’t you mail it yourself? The next driver can take it into Caldwell for you.”
“It’s complicated,” answered Joe slowly. “I want to mail the letter so no one knows where it came from. I can’t explain it. Will you just do this for me without asking any questions?”
Yuri shrugged. “All right. Give me the letter and I’ll put it in with the one I’m sending to Olga. She will mail it for you.”
“Thanks,” said Joe gratefully. He walked to the table. “Can I borrow a pen and some paper?”
***********
Ben Cartwright sat at the dinner table, toying with his food and glancing occasionally at the empty chair at the table. Hoss and Adam exchanged looks; they knew their Pa was thinking about Joe. Lately, that was all he seemed to think about. It had been almost two months since Joe had disappeared. The story of Joe’s arrest, escape and being cleared had run in several newspapers. The offer of a reward for information had been published, and posters announcing the reward had been sent to every town in the Nevada. Letters came in, at first a lot, then just a few. Most were from friends, offering sympathy and agreeing to help. A few claimed to have information about Joe, but each claim proved to be false.
In the last week, they had received no letters.
Both Hoss and Adam wished they could say or do something to help, but they had run out of ideas. Joe had managed to hide himself well. They felt he wasn’t going to be found until he wanted to be.
Adam cleared his throat. “Pa, we’re going to need some help breaking those horses if we want to fill that Army contract,” he announced.
“Yeah, Pa,” Hoss chimed in. “We still have about twenty horses to break. Usually, we could manage. But work seems to be piling up around here. It’s hard to get everything done without…..” Hoss stopped in mid-sentence.
As Adam kicked his brother under the table, Hoss looked at him guiltily. He hadn’t meant to bring up Joe. It just slipped out.
“You mean, it’s hard to get everything done without Joe, don’t you,” Ben said. “Go ahead; you can say it. We can’t ignore that fact that Joe’s not here. “
“I’m sorry, Pa,” apologized Hoss. “I don’t want to make you feel bad.”
Ben sighed. “No, I’m the one that’s sorry,” he countered. “I’ve left all the work in running this ranch to you boys.”
“We don’t mind,” declared Adam.
“Well, I mind,” replied Ben. “It’s not right. I’ve been ignoring you two while I’ve been worrying about Joe. I’m sorry.”
“Pa, we understand,” Hoss advised in a sympathetic voice. “We’re worried about Joe, too.”
“Yes, but you’ve kept the ranch going,” said Ben. “If it hadn’t been for you…well, I want you to know how grateful I am. Things are going to change around here, I promise you. I’m going to start doing my share of the work around here again.”
Adam and Hoss said nothing. They were embarrassed by the praise but also saddened by their father’s words. It was almost as if Ben had given up on finding Joe.
Ben pushed back from the table and stood up. “I’m going upstairs for awhile,” he announced.
Hoss and Adam watched Ben climb the stairs. “You know where he’s going, don’t you,” asked Adam.
“Yeah, I know,” answered Hoss. “He’s going to Joe’s room.”
Adam nodded. “I found him up there the other night, just sitting in Joe’s room. He wasn’t doing anything; he was just sitting there.”
“I know,” Hoss agreed. “I guess it makes him feel closer to Joe somehow.”
“Well, you’re not much better,” said Adam. “I see you out there, feeding and currying Joe’s pinto everyday.”
“What about you?” Hoss replied with a snort. “You’ve polished his saddle so many times that you’ve practically worn the leather off.”
Adam sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted. “We’re as bad as Pa. You know, I keep thinking about all the times Joe made me mad, all the stunts he used to pull. He used to drive me crazy.”
“Yeah,” acknowledged Hoss sadly, “I miss him, too.”
Adam and Hoss were already at breakfast the next morning when Ben came down. “Good morning, boys,” he said briskly as he sat down.
“Morning, Pa,” answered Hoss tentatively.
“Adam, I’ve been thinking about those horses,” Ben continued as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I bet we could find some men in Virginia City to help us break them.”
Adam looked at Hoss and then back at Ben. “Well, I suppose,” Adam agreed. “I could ride into town and see who’s around.”
“Good, why don’t you do that,” suggested Ben. “Hoss, I’m going up to check on that timber operation on Sun Mountain.”
“Pa, I was going to do that,” Hoss objected.
“You don’t have to; I’ll take care of it. You have plenty of other things to do,” replied Ben.
Adam and Hoss looked at each other. Ben seemed like his old self, taking charge and giving orders. They wondered if he was putting on an act.
The three men discussed ranch business over breakfast. Joe’s name wasn’t mentioned and Ben said nothing about writing letters or checking in town for replies.
Breakfast was almost finished when there was a knock on the door. Ben stood and walked to the door, while Adam and Hoss followed him. All three were curious about who would be visiting this early in the day.
Opening the door, Ben saw a young boy, about 15, standing there, holding an envelope in his hand. “Mr. Cartwright?” the boy asked.
“Yes, I’m Ben Cartwright," answered Ben. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Hopkins down at the post office asked me to ride out and give you this letter. He said he recognized the handwriting, and that you’d want it right away,” the boy said. He looked hopefully at Ben. “He said maybe you’d give me something for my trouble.”
Ben took the envelope and stared at the writing. Then he looked up at Adam and Hoss. “It’s from Joe,” he announced in a small voice.
“Mr. Cartwright?” the boy said again, the hope still evident in his voice
Turning back to the boy, Ben reached in his pocked. He pulled out a silver dollar and handed it to the young man. “Yes, thank you. You tell Mr. Hopkins I said thank you, too.”
“A dollar!” the boy exclaimed. “Yes sir. I’ll be sure to tell him.”
Closing the door, Ben continued to stare at the letter. He was almost afraid to open it, afraid what it might say. Adam and Hoss watched him. Finally, Ben tore open the envelope. He pulled out a sheet of paper and started reading it aloud:
Dear Pa,
I’m all right. Don’t worry about me. I know I should have stayed and faced my troubles in Virginia City, but I just couldn’t do it. You always taught us to face our problems, and not to run. I know you were right, but I just couldn’t stay.
I think about you and Adam and Hoss every day, and I miss you all a lot. I wish I could come back to the Ponderosa, but I know I can’t. So I’m going to make a new life for myself. I know I won’t be as happy as when I was at the Ponderosa, but I’ll manage.
Don’t try to find me. It’ll only cause trouble. This letter is being mailed by a friend far away from where I’m at. I’ll keep thinking about you. Maybe one day, I can come home.
Joe
Ben read the letter with mixed emotions. He was happy to know that Joe was safe and well, but disappointed that his son didn’t tell him where he was. He also was upset that Joe obviously didn’t know he had been cleared of the murder charge. Joe still thought he was a wanted man.
Ben looked at the envelope. “The postmark says Eureka.”
“Where’s that?” asked Hoss.
“It’s a little town in California,” replied Adam. “I’ve been through it. Nothing much there around there except farms.”
“Come on, boys, let’s saddle up. We’re going to Eureka to look for Joe,” declared Ben.
“But, Pa, Joe said the letter was being mailed by a friend, that he wasn’t there,” protested Hoss.
“I know,” answered Ben. “But maybe we can find out who mailed the letter. If we can, we can find out where Joe is.”
Four days later, three weary riders rode into the small town of Eureka. Ben had pushed his sons to keep riding, stopping only when they had to rest the horses. He knew the chances of finding who mailed the letter where slim, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted urgently to get Eureka and find out for sure. Any delay meant he might miss whoever mailed the letter.
The town had only five buildings – a bank, a store, a church, a stable and a grain storage depot. Ben asked an old man sitting in front of the bank about the post office and was told that the mail was handled by the storekeeper. The trio rode a few feet to the store and dismounted. Ben pushed opened the door, setting off a bell as he entered. Adam and Hoss followed him in.
A middle-aged man wearing an apron stood behind the counter. “Can I help you?” he asked with a friendly grin.
Ben pulled Joe’s letter from his vest pocket and showed it to the man. “I’m trying to find out who mailed this letter. Do you remember?”
The storekeeper studied the letter, then shook his head. “Sorry,” he replied. “I don’t remember who mailed it. People around here mostly just leave their letters in the basket on the counter. Every day or so, I collect the letters, stamp ‘em with the post mark and give them to the stage driver when he comes through. He takes them to Sacramento, where the letters get sorted and sent on.”
“The person who mailed this might have been a stranger,” Ben went on, pressing the man. “Someone not from around here. He might have had to buy a stamp for it. Do you remember anyone like that?”
The storekeeper shook his head again. “Nope. I don’t remember selling a stamp to a stranger. Sell ‘em all the time to the folks who live around here, but no strangers.”
“Did anyone mention mailing a letter for someone else?” asked Adam.