April began not much differently than March ended, although the precipitation that fell was more often rain, rather than snow, at least in the valleys.  In the Sierras snow still prevailed; in fact, the mountains were covered with a thicker blanket than at any time during the previous winter.

    The first of April dawned gray and cloud-covered, and before noon the showers came——a slow, drenching rain.  For once Hoss didn’t spend his lesson time with his eyes yearningly gazing out the window.  He finished early and was rewarded with permission to play with his little brother until time for evening chores.  Little Joe was delighted with Hoss’s imitation of a puppy nipping at his heels as he crawled around the front room.  Tiring of that game, Hoss was inspired to prepare a surprise for their father.

    Ben came in early that afternoon, deciding it was futile to work in a downpour, however softly the droplets fell.  He slapped water from his hat, then removed his slicker, left it just outside the front door and walked in.  “Pa!” Little Joe cried happily.

    Ben beamed at the boy.  Nothing ever sounded as sweet to him as that one syllable, no matter which of his sons voiced it, but it was still new to Little Joe’s lips and, therefore, all the more precious.  “How’s Pa’s sweet baby boy?” Ben cooed.

    “He wants to show you somethin’,” Hoss announced, taking both the baby’s hands.  “Up, Punkin,” he ordered.  “Stand up.”

    Little Joe pushed up to stand beside his brother.  Nothing new in that, of course; the boy had been able to pull up for some time now.  But Ben caught his breath when Hoss held just one of Little Joe’s hands as the child took one, two, three little steps before he flopped onto his backside.  Swooping the baby up to the ceiling, Ben crowed with delight.  “Ooh, you bright boy!  When did you take this up?”

    “Today, mostly,” Hoss reported.  “I been workin’ with him.”

    “And a job well done it was,” Ben said, giving his middle boy a proud smile, “but unless my eyes deceived me when I put up my horse, you have some chores that need doing in the barn, too.”

    “Just gettin’ to ‘em,” Hoss said.  “Can I take Little Joe?  He ought to learn how to milk the cow, you know.”

    Ben laughed.  “I think he’s still a mite small to take over your chores, young fellow.”

    “That ain’t what I meant!” Hoss protested.  “I just meant he could watch.”

    “Not today,” Ben chuckled.  “He doesn’t need to go out in the rain.”  He brought his face close to the baby’s and clucked, “You need to take another step or two for Pa, don’t you, sweet boy?”  Little Joe grinned and willingly performed again for his father as Hoss hurried into his jacket and ran through the raindrops for the barn.

    Spring finally tiptoed in, like a guest unsure of her welcome——sunny days interspersed with snowfalls or thunderstorms until finally the warmth came to stay.  With it came the busiest time of year on the Ponderosa and elsewhere throughout the valley.  Clyde Thomas had new fields to break to the plow, but Ben found himself so occupied with his own work, he rarely found time to help his old friend.  Fortunately, Billy had grown into a stalwart young man, able to do his share of the plowing and planting.

    Hoss found it harder than ever to keep his mind on his books when the bright sunshine beckoned so invitingly.  As if warm weather were not enough distraction, the increasingly mobile Little Joe provided still more.  How could anyone expect a boy to study his lessons when a small hand patted his book, demanding attention?  Marie would gently lift the baby away, setting him at the opposite end of the low table from Hoss.  For a few minutes Little Joe would play with his blocks or nibble his bunny’s ear, then he’d remember that what he really wanted was brother Hoss, pull himself up and make his way, hand over hand along the table, back to the object of his devotion.  “You are incorrigible,” Marie would scold fondly as she removed him once more, but the kiss with which she ended her rebuke was unlikely to prevent repetition of the behavior.

    Once the weather cleared, Hoss took that to mean his little brother could now accompany him wherever he went, so whenever it was time to milk the cow or gather the eggs, Little Joe could be seen clinging to his brother’s hand as they ambled toward the barn.  Once they got there, Hoss expected Little Joe to sit quietly and watch him do the chores.  Sometimes the baby cooperated, but frequently Little Joe wandered off to explore on his own, and the more steps he was able to take without Hoss’s guiding hand, the further he wandered, until Hoss began to think the company wasn’t worth the nuisance.  It was hard to milk a cow while keeping one eye peeled on Little Joe to make sure the toddler didn’t stroll into an occupied stall.

    Another member of the family definitely considered Little Joe’s new-found ambulatory skill a nuisance, to judge from the stream of Chinese that erupted whenever Hop Sing heard the clatter of pans pulled from a cupboard and looked down to find the young culprit smiling benignly up at him.  “I’m sorry, Hop Sing,” Marie would say each time she ran to rescue her baby.  “He is gone before I know it.”  She would take Little Joe’s hand and lead him back through the dining area into the front room, cautioning him against bothering Hop Sing, but the next day found the baby toddling back into the kitchen without qualm or conscience.  Of course, since Hop Sing was as likely to reward him with a cookie as a scolding, Little Joe was slow to learn that he wasn’t wanted in the kitchen.  In fact, it was obvious from his demeanor that the youngster couldn’t conceive that he would be unwelcome anywhere.  “Spoiled rotten, that’s what you are,” Ben regularly told his youngest, most fervently while in the midst of spoiling the baby himself.

    In previous years Adam had taken charge of the family garden, but he was still in Sacramento when planting time arrived, so Hoss took on the responsibility.  Late in April he set out onions and potatoes, with the dubious help of his younger brother.  Bare toes squishing in the moist dirt, Little Joe paddled through the plowed furrows alongside Hoss.  When Hoss dropped a piece of potato into the ground and patted the soil over it, Little Joe at once flopped down to thump the ground with the flat of his hand, too.

    “That’s right,” Hoss said.  “Pat it down firm, Little Joe, so it’ll make lots of potatoes.  You like potatoes, don’t you?”

    “No,” Little Joe said.

    “You don’t?  Aw, I don’t believe that,” Hoss argued.  “Taters taste good, little brother.  Onions, too.  Like onions, Little Joe?”

    “No,” Little Joe smiled.

    Hoss grinned.  “You don’t know what you’re sayin’, do you?”

    “No,” Little Joe assured him.

    “Oh, quit sayin’ that,” Hoss said, wriggling his finger into the baby’s side.  “You quit sayin’ that.”

    “No, no,” Little Joe chortled, squirming away from the tickling finger.

    Hoss shook his head, still grinning.  “I better teach you some more words.  I know.  You got another brother, Little Joe.  He’ll be comin’ home real soon now, and it’d surprise the punch out of him if you could say his name.  Say ‘Adam’ for me, Punkin.”

    “No,” Little Joe giggled, trotting down the furrow while Hoss clambered up to give chase.

    With Little Joe riding on his arm, Ben paced the boardwalk in front of Ormsby’s store in Genoa.  Marie, just as eager to meet Adam’s stage as her husband, stood quietly behind him, amused by his agitation.  One would think Ben was expecting the governor of California instead of his own son!  Hoss had chosen to pass the time by examining the jars of candy inside.

    Little Joe wriggled, reaching and stretching, obviously wanting down.  “Oh, all right,” Ben said when he caught sight of Hoss coming out of the store.  “Go to Hoss.”  He set the toddler down and watched him trot quickly toward his older brother.  “Hang onto him, Hoss,” Ben cautioned.  Lately, Little Joe had shown a propensity for vanishing at any and every opportunity, and it would be just like him to decide to explore the street the exact moment twenty-four galloping legs stormed into town in front of the stagecoach.

    Little Joe obviously didn’t appreciate being held back in his adventures, even by one hand, but he was willing to tolerate it as long as Hoss kept on the move.  Up and down the walkway the two brothers paraded until Hoss heard a rumble coming toward them and knew the stage would soon arrive.  He snatched up Little Joe and ran back to the front of the store.

    Adam jumped from the door in the side of the coach, the first passenger to disembark.  “Pa!” he shouted, flinging his arms around his father.

Ben returned the embrace with an almost crushing bear hug.  “Look at this, will you?  I do believe the boy’s missed us, Marie.”

    Marie came forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Adam’s cheek.  “As we have him.  Welcome home, Adam.”

    “Merci, Marie,” he said, using the French term in honor of their lessons together.  “It’s good to be home.”

    “Hey, Adam!” Hoss yelled.  “You bring me anything?”

    “Yeah, greedy belly, I did,” Adam laughed.  “You got something there for me?”  He reached to take the baby from Hoss.  “Missed you, too——yes, I did,” he told his youngest brother.

    Little Joe took one look at the unfamiliar face and started to whimper and squirm.  “HaHa,” he pleaded.

    “He wants me,” Hoss announced proudly.  “Reckon he don’t ‘member you, Adam.”

    “Reckon not,” Adam said, handing the baby to Hoss with a touch of disappointment.  “We’ll have to work on that.”

    Hoss brightened.  “Hey, yeah!  We been workin’ most a month on somethin’, ain’t we, Little Joe?  Know who this is?” he asked, pointing at the other boy.  “Your brother Adam.  Say it now.”

    Little Joe cocked his head back at the stranger.  “Ah-um,” he repeated dutifully, although, for him, the word had no meaning, just a sound Hoss liked to hear.

    Adam laughed.  “Well, aren’t you the smart one!”  He ruffled the baby’s soft curls.  “Funny, too.  Won’t let me hold you, but you know my name, huh, monkey?”  Little Joe grinned, beginning to warm to the stranger.

    “Yeah, and look what else he can do,” Hoss declared, setting the toddler down.  Little Joe immediately demonstrated his skill by trotting off down the boardwalk.

    “Hoss, I told you to hang onto him,” Ben chided.

    “I’ll get him,” Adam laughed.  “He moves fast!”

    It was no problem, of course, for Adam’s longer legs to catch Little Joe’s short ones, so he didn’t bother running.  Little Joe halted, anyway, when he ran into a ruffled skirt.  Clutching it, he looked up and queried, “Mama?”

    Bronze hands reached down to lift the youngster.  “No, not Mama, little Running Deer,” she laughed.

    Adam stood grinning at the pretty Paiute girl.  “Hello, Sarah.  Nice to see you.”

    Sarah smiled, her almond eyes lighting.  “It is good to see you, Adam.”

    “I heard you’d gone back to your people,” Adam said, “after”——he broke off awkwardly, not sure whether to mention last year’s misunderstanding over the deaths of McMartin and Williams.

    “Things better now; I come back,” Sarah replied.  She, too, seemed reluctant to speak of the painful incident.

    Caught between two virtual strangers, Little Joe wriggled uncomfortably.  Adam took him from Sarah and set him down.  Pointing, he ordered, “Go back to Hoss.”

    “HaHa,” Little Joe called, running back the way he’d come.

    “Little brave run good,” Sarah said, smiling.  Then she frowned.  “No, that not right.  Him run——well?”

    “He runs well,” Adam corrected.

    Sarah shook her head.  “English not easy.  Too many rules.”

    Adam laughed.  “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you.  Plenty of the fellows at my school have trouble with the rules, and they’ve had years more practice than you.  You’re doing fine.”

    Sarah smiled again.  “I study hard, learn much.”

    Adam gave her a puzzled look.  “But I thought the school here closed when the Mormons left.”

    “Mrs. Ormsby teach me,” Sarah explained.

    “Adam,” Ben called, “we need to be leaving, son.”

    Adam waved to show his father he’d heard, then turned quickly back to Sarah.  “I’ll be seeing you,” he said, brushing a light kiss on her cheek.  Beneath the deep bronze of her face, a rosy gold flush appeared, but Adam didn’t see it.  He’d already turned his back to walk toward his waiting family.

    “What’s the hurry?” Adam said as he climbed into the back of the buckboard, where Ben had already stowed his luggage and guitar.  “Sarah and I haven’t had a chance to talk in nine months.”

    “Talking isn’t all you were doing, young man,” Ben muttered, flicking the reins.  “You watch your step with that girl, Adam.”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adam said.

    Ben frowned over his shoulder.  “I saw you kiss her, young man.  You need to remember that she’s Paiute.”

    “So what?” Adam asked sharply.  “People are people, you always taught us.”

    “True enough,” Ben replied, “but cultures are different.  What you intend as innocent flirting, she might take as something more serious.”

    Adam hooted.  “Pa, we’re friends, just friends.  I’m too young to think about getting serious——with Sarah or any other girl.”

    “She, on the other hand, is exactly the right age!” Ben snapped.

    “Girls mature earlier than boys, mon ami,” Marie said, reaching back to touch Adam’s hand.  “Your father means only that you should be careful Sarah does not misunderstand your friendship.”

    “Precisely,” Ben agreed sharply.  “If there’s anyone we don’t need a misunderstanding with, it’s the Paiutes.”

    “All right, Pa, I’ll watch myself,” Adam promised.  “Is that why you hustled me out of town, to avoid riling the Paiutes?”

    Ben chuckled.  “No.  We’re expected for lunch at Carson City, and it’s a fifteen-mile drive, son.  We’ll be late, as it is.”

    “Hey, great!  I’ve been wanting to see the new town——and Billy.”

    Ben smiled.  If seeing Billy Thomas was Adam’s first goal, he couldn’t be as girl-crazed as Ben had at first feared.  Even if he were, Carson City would offer a pretty substitute for the Paiute girl.  Sally Martin, Ben thought with satisfaction, was a safer object on whom Adam could practice his youthful flirtation.  If her dealings with Billy Thomas were any indication, Sally could handle any boy’s nonsense without entertaining ideas none of the youngsters were as yet old enough to consider seriously.

    It was past noon when the Cartwrights arrived in Carson City, but Nelly had planned lunch in expectation of a late arrival.  “You’re a mite earlier than I expected,” she said, coming out to greet them.

    “May I help?” Marie asked at once.

    “Oh, I’ve had plenty of help,” Nelly laughed, nodding back toward the open doorway, through which Sally Martin had just exited.  “Laura’s bakin’ the bread at her place.  Figured we might as well have a big celebration, invite the whole town——well, practically.”

    Sally moved slowly to where Adam was talking animatedly with Billy Thomas.  “Nice to have you home, Adam,” she said softly.

    Adam turned to grin at her and his mouth dropped.  “Sally, you’re even prettier than I remember,” he said in open admiration.

    “Don’t they have any pretty girls in Sacramento?” she teased.

    “A few,” Adam admitted, “but I’ve been busy with my books, you know.”

    “Yeah, I’ll bet!” Billy scoffed.  “I’d like to see the day even you’d pick a book over a pretty girl!”

    “Not today, for sure,” Adam said, giving Sally a swift peck on the cheek, probably more to irritate Billy or his father than to impress the girl.

    Sally didn’t even blush, just smiled and took Adam’s arm.  “Let’s show Adam around town, Billy,” she called over her shoulder.

    Billy’s eyes glinted and at first he planned to stay behind and sulk.  When Adam gave a glance back, though, he shuffled forward, feeling he had as much right to his friend’s company as any fickle girl.

    “Billy looks jealous,” Adam laughed to Sally while the other boy was still out of earshot.

    “Serves him right,” Sally snickered.  “The way he’s been flirting with that German girl over at Placerville.”

    “Marta?  Who told you that?” Adam asked.

    “His father,” she whispered as Billy strode up.

    “Well, what do you think of our town?” Billy demanded.  “Looks puny to you after Sacramento, I reckon.”

    “Anything but San Francisco would,” Adam chuckled.  “I like Curry’s plans for this place, though.  Pa wrote that he’s bringing in a surveyor to lay the town out, but not on the Mormon plan like Genoa.”

    “Carson’s gonna be a better place every way than that hive of Mormons,” Billy boasted.

    “Oh, not you, too,” Sally protested.  “You sound just like your father.”

    Billy grinned impishly.  “Naw, I ain’t that bad.  Just proud of our own town, that’s all, and you should be, too, Miss Prissy.”

    “I am,” Sally declared with a flounce of her head, “so don’t get uppity with me, Billy Thomas.  Just look how we’re growing!”

    “Yeah, I can see,” Adam said.  “Two more houses going up than what Pa wrote about.”

    “The one to the left is Mr. Ormsby’s,” Sally reported, “and what’s that other fellow’s name, Billy?”

    “Stebbins, Martin Stebbins,” Billy answered.

    “Mr. Ormsby from Genoa?” Adam asked.  “I saw Sarah Winnemucca there when I came in, but she didn’t say a word about moving.  Of course, we didn’t get much chance to talk,” he muttered, still perturbed at being rushed out of town by his father.

    “She and her sister will be coming here with the Ormsbys when the house is finished,” Sally said, “and I’ll surely be glad to have other girls close to my age in town.”

    “Yeah, havin’ other girls around sounds right good to me, too,” Billy declared, hoping to get a rise out of Sally.

    The Martin girl only laughed, easily seeing through Billy.  “Never knew you were that fond of Lizzie,” she teased, “but she’s a little too grown up for you, isn’t she?”

    Billy’s face flamed and he scowled at both her and Adam, having seen the winks they exchanged.  “Better be gettin’ back.  I see ‘em settin’ out the food, and I reckon neither one of you is so grown up you care to be last at the table.”

    “Not with Hoss around,” Adam grinned.  “We’d better hurry.”

    Earlier that May morning Clyde, Billy and Paul Martin had carried out both the Thomas’s table and Laura Ellis’s and placed them together so there’d be room for everyone.  The women congregated near one end and the men at the other with the youngsters in between.  That insured that each gender could converse on the topics they preferred, the children——who’d rather eat than talk——forming a buffer.

    The men, of course, chose politics.  “Hey, Adam,” Clyde called toward the center of the group, “any news from Sacramento?”

    “I brought the latest issue of the Bee,” Adam said, buttering one of Mrs. Ellis’s fluffy yeast rolls.  “You’re welcome to read it, sir, but it’s mostly the same old thing——Kansas.  They’re gonna put the state constitution to a vote.”

    “‘Bout time they let the folks that live there have a say in their own government,” Clyde grunted.

    “I’m sure Stephen Douglas would agree,” Ben commented.  They were all aware of the continuing battle over statehood for the Territory of Kansas.  Even in isolated western Utah, they’d heard how President Buchanan, in early February, had asked Congress to admit Kansas as a slave state despite the rejection of its pro-slavery constitution and how Stephen Douglas had accused the president of violating the concept of popular sovereignty.  The men gathered at the table were in basic agreement with Douglas.  Ben and Paul were both Yankee born and bred, while Clyde’s mid-western upbringing still disposed him to an anti-slavery position.

    The conflict over Kansas had gone on so long that Ben was amazed the free staters there had energy remaining for the battle.  But would he give up, in their place, and accept the unacceptable?  No, Ben decided, when it came to an issue of clear right and wrong, a man had to fight with whatever strength he had and trust God to renew it, should it flag in the midst of the struggle.  But Ben’s real prayer was that the conflict would never extend beyond the borders of Kansas, certainly never reach far enough to affect their lives in the distant west.

    “Ah, Mistah Adam, good you be home,” Hop Sing bubbled, beaming and bowing in eloquent respect to Mr. Cartwright’s number one son.

    “Thanks, Hop Sing.  Good to see you,” Adam replied, setting his carpetbag down just inside the entrance.

    “When do I get what you brung me?” Hoss demanded.

    “What he brought you, Hoss,” Marie corrected as she removed her shawl.

    “Yeah, but when?” Hoss persisted, grammar being much less important to him than an answer to his question.

    From the lofty plain of adolescence, Adam laughed at Hoss’s childish impatience.  “If you’ll carry my bag upstairs, I’ll get it for you now.”

    Hoss frowned.  “I ain’t carryin’ them heavy books.”

    “Those heavy books, Hoss,” Ben reminded him, setting Little Joe down.  “You’re not carrying those heavy books.”

    “That’s right, I ain’t,” Hoss declared emphatically.

    Ben groaned.  The boy was hopeless, grammatically hopeless.

    “I’ll carry the books,” Adam said.  “Wouldn’t trust you with them, anyway.  You carry the bag.”

    “Okay,” Hoss agreed, picking up the carpetbag and heading up the stairs.

    Adam followed.  So, also, did the youngest Cartwright, at least until he reached the stairs.  Unable to climb, Little Joe whimpered in protest, little palms beating on the bottom step.  “HaHa,” he cried, arms stretched imploringly upward.

    “Not this time, little one,” Ben laughed, catching the baby up in his arms.  “Your brothers deserve some time alone.”

    “And this one needs a nap,” Marie said.

    “Good luck,” Ben chuckled.  “He doesn’t appear to be in the mood.”

    Leaving their parents to deal with that problem, the two older boys hurried into Adam’s room.  “Wait’ll you see this,” Adam enthused, pulling out a rolled-up sheet of paper from his bag.

    Hoss spread it open on Adam’s bed.  “A picture of a boat?” he muttered, disappointed.  “I was hopin’ you’d bring me some candy.”

    “I did, greedy belly,” Adam said, “but this is even better, and it’s for both of us.”

    Hoss shook his head, not understanding.

    “Look,” Adam explained, pointing to the drawing, “it’s a plan for a boat we’re gonna build this summer.”

    Hoss’s face brightened.  “You mean a real one?  One we could sail in?”

    “That’s right,” Adam said.  “Good idea, huh?”

    “Yeah, if——”

    “What?”

    “If you really know how.  You ain’t never built a boat, Adam.”

    Adam set his lips stubbornly.  “Well, I know I can.  I’ve been talking to every steamer captain who’d take the time, and I learned a lot.  Besides, Pa knows boats, and he’ll help, I bet.”

    “Pa’s awful busy,” Hoss reported.

    “Roundup?” Adam asked.

    “Yeah.  They start brandin’ tomorrow.”

    Adam nodded.  “I’ll need to help with that, but I still think we could get a boat built by the Fourth of July.  Think of the fishing we could do from the middle of Lake Tahoe, Hoss!”

    “Yeah!” Hoss cried, catching his brother’s enthusiasm.  “Let’s ask Pa right now if he’ll let us do it.”

    “Okay, but first things first,” Adam chuckled, digging into his carpetbag for the package of assorted candy he’d bought before leaving Sacramento.  “Better put this in your room ‘til after supper.”

    Ben pulled the buckboard to a stop before Lucky Bill’s store in Genoa shortly before noon on Wednesday, June 16th.  While he didn’t need many supplies, any excuse was as good as another on mail day.  He didn’t frequent Thorrington’s place often.  The new enterprise in Carson City was closer to home, although it still carried little beyond basics.  When Ben had needs beyond those, he usually gave his business to Ormsby, but one of the items on his list today was chicken feed, and Lucky Bill generally gave him a better deal on it.

    He walked inside and presented Thorrington with his list, smiling at the youngster standing with his father behind the counter.  He liked to see a father and son working together.  “Oh, and I need some paint, if you have it,” Ben added.  “Preferably red.”  The paint was for the boat the boys were busily building, and the request for red had come from Hoss.

    Lucky Bill laughed.  “Nope.  I’ve got whitewash, but that’s it.”

    “No, I’m afraid that won’t do,” Ben said.  “I’d better see if Ormsby has any.”

    “Might,” Bill conceded.  “He carries more fancy goods than me.  Got something else you ought to have a look at, though, Cartwright.  You won’t find the like of it at Ormsby’s.”

    Ben arched a questioning eyebrow.

    “Out back,” Thorrington said, gesturing with his head.  “Just take a minute.  Jerome here will load your supplies.”

    Ben shrugged and followed the tall merchant outside.  He had time to spare since the mail stage was running late, and his curiosity was aroused.  When he saw the sleek chestnut thoroughbred in the corral, he gasped.  “What a beautiful animal, Bill!  Where’d you find a racehorse out here?”

    “Friend of mine brought him in from Honey Lake Valley,” Thorrington grinned.  “Nothing in the territory can touch him, Ben, and the price Edwards is asking is well below his value.”

    “Ooh, don’t tempt me,” Ben chuckled.

    “Knowing livestock like you do, you can see what quality he is,” Bill urged, “and I’ve heard that wife of yours sits a fine saddle, too.  Of course, this animal might be too strong for a lady.”

    “Not my lady,” Ben boasted.  “She could ride anything, and I’d love to give her a mount like this.”  He sighed.  “Can’t do it, though.  I bought too much land this year to spare anything for riding stock.  I have to concentrate on building my herd.”

    “Too bad,” Bill said.  “Edwards is in a hurry to sell, and at the price he’s asking, this beauty won’t last.”

    Ben shook his head.  “Sorry, but I can’t.  Thanks for showing him to me, though.  It’s a privilege just to look at an animal this fine.”  His head came up as he heard the sound of galloping hooves.  “Must be the mail.  Look, Bill, I’ll be back for those supplies and pay you then.  I’m hoping for a letter.”

    “Who ain’t?” Bill laughed.  “Bring back mine, if I get any?”

    “Sure, glad to.”

    Ben hurried to the post office, but it was already crowded.  Even with the exodus of the Mormons, on mail day the room was always packed, and it didn’t pay to be last in line.  Ben managed to fall in only three feet from the window.  Looking up the line, he grinned.  Trust Billy Thomas to elbow his way to the front.  As the young man passed him, eyes glued to the envelope he’d just received, Ben edged a toe across his path.  Billy walked right into it and stumbled, but Ben caught him, laughing.  “You seem mighty interested in that piece of mail, son.  Didn’t know your pa was expecting such an important letter.”

    Billy grinned, pushing his shock of red hair back from his forehead.  “Not Pa,” he bragged.  “This is all mine.”  He waved the envelope under Ben’s nose.

    “Mighty fragrant,” Ben said, taking a deep whiff.  “Who’s sending you that kind of mail, young fellow?”

    Billy turned the envelope so Ben could read the return address.

    “Marta?” Ben asked, incredulous.  “I thought she had better sense.”

    “Hey!  A girl could do a lot worse,” Billy retorted.

    “Don’t see how,” Ben muttered dryly, then grinned at the boy.

    “You expectin’ mail,” Billy asked sociably, “or just hopin?”

    “Hoping, mostly,” Ben admitted, “though if I don’t get something from that brother of mine soon, I may disown him.”

    “Well, here’s your chance,” Billy cackled.  “You’re next.”

    Ben stepped to the window and his face brightened as he was handed a letter with John Cartwright’s name on it.  “Anything for Lucky Bill?” he asked.  There wasn’t, so Ben turned away, shaking his head as he saw Billy scanning the lines of his letter from Marta.

    He was tempted to read his own letter then and there, too, but preferred to wait until he had a little more privacy.  He peeked over Billy’s shoulder, not really reading, just teasing the boy.  Billy hastily folded the letter and stuffed it in his vest pocket.

    “Might burn a hole in there,” Ben warned with twitching lips.

    Billy shook his head, grinning.  “It ain’t that fiery,” he said.  “How’s Adam comin’ with that boat?”

    “Oh, fine,” Ben replied.  “In fact, I’m going over to Ormsby’s now to see if I can find some paint for it.”

    “I’ll walk along with you,” Billy offered.

    Ben nodded, then smiled wickedly.  “Good thing you hid that letter from Marta if you’re up to what I think you are.”

    Billy laughed.  “You know me.”

    “Yeah, always sniffing the daisy that’s closest,” Ben sneered.  “I’m gonna tell you what I told Adam, young man.  You curb your flirting ways with Miss Sarah, or you’ll have Winnemucca and her whole tribe down your throat.”

    “Yes, sir,” Billy grinned.  “One little sniff or two won’t hurt, though.”

    Ben groaned and walked into Ormsby’s, shaking his head.  Boys the age of Billy or Adam just didn’t understand how much trouble one little sniff could cause.

    Billy took his sniff and Ben bought his paint, yellow instead of the requested red, but Ben didn’t figure Hoss would be overly disappointed.  As the two emerged from the store, they became aware of loud voices just down the street.  “What’s going on?” Billy wondered.

    Ben shook his head and, as curious as Billy, moved toward the sound of the disturbance.  Suddenly, he thrust the can of paint into the young man’s hands.  “Here, hold this,” he ordered and began to run toward the scuffle in the street in front of Lucky Bill’s store.  Screaming in protest, Bill struggled against the men holding him, arms pinioned behind him.  In front of the store, young Jerome was yelling for the men to let his pa go.

    Ben shoved men aside, trying to reach the merchant.  “What’s this about?” he demanded.

    “Vigilante business,” a man snapped, shoving Ben back.  “No concern of yours, Cartwright.”

    “Wait a minute!” Ben shouted.  “What business do the vigilantes have with Lucky Bill?”

    “That horse, Cartwright,” Bill panted.  “They think I stole it, but I swear I didn’t.”

    “Horse stealing ain’t the half of it,” one of the men holding Bill snorted.  “You’re wanted for murder, Thorrington.”

    “Murder!” Lucky Bill hollered.  “I never killed a man in my life!  This is crazy.”

    Ben thought so, too.  He knew Lucky Bill had a reputation as a sharp gambler, perhaps a less than honest one, but he’d never heard anything worse of the man.  Even that vice was tempered by Bill’s tendency to give away almost as much as he gained to anyone with a sad story to tell, sometimes even to the very man from whom he’d won the money.

    Billy Thomas pushed in close to Ben.  “Get out of here, boy,” Ben grunted.  While he was still concerned about Thorrington, he felt a more immediate responsibility for his friend’s impetuous young son.

    “What you men gonna do to him?” Billy demanded, ignoring Ben’s restraining hand.”

    “Shut up, boy,” one of the mob yelled.  “Vigilantes ain’t answerable to no milk-faced pup!”

    “That’s not so,” an authoritative voice rang out.  “We vigilantes welcome scrutiny.  Every judgment we make must be open and above board.  Answer the boy!”

    Ben turned to see William Ormsby pushing his way through the crowd.  “Now, what’s the charge against this man?”  Ormsby demanded.

    Ben blew out a relieved puff of air.  He didn’t approve of vigilante justice, but Ormsby, at least, was a fair man or had been in all Ben’s dealings with him.

    “Murder!” came the accusation, and the crowd rumbled in agreement.

    “Who’s he supposed to have killed?” Ben demanded.

    “Well, not him, exactly,” one of the accusers admitted.  “The murderer is William Edwards from California, but this man’s been hidin’ him out at his ranch, tryin’ to sell the horse Edwards stole!”

    Ben glanced sharply at Thorrington.  He knew Lucky Bill had been participating in the sale of the horse, but no one as yet had given him reason to believe the horse stolen or, if he were, that Bill had known about it.  “You got a bill of sale for that racehorse, Bill?” he asked quietly.

    Ormsby lifted a hand.  “Wait a minute, Cartwright.  No evidence will be taken here on the street.  Charges being duly brought, we’ll hold this man for trial tomorrow afternoon, with John Cary as judge.  Bring him to my store and we’ll lock him in the storage room.”

    Still resisting, Lucky Bill was dragged down the street.  “Where’s Edwards, Thorrington?” his two main accusers demanded as they trailed him down the street.  “Where you got him hid?”

    “I don’t know,” Bill yelled.  “I’m not hiding him.”

    Most of the crowd followed the procession to Ormsby’s store, but a group of five closed in, instead, on Thorrington’s young son, Jerome.  “You know where that killer is, boy, you’d best speak up,” they snarled.  “Your pa’s sure to hang if you don’t, and maybe you alongside him.”

    The youngster blanched and turned anxious eyes toward Ben.

    “Don’t threaten the boy!” Ben snapped.

    “No threat,” one of the men growled.  “Just tellin’ the youngun what’s bound to happen if Edwards ain’t found.”

    “And——and they’ll let my pa go if they got Edwards instead?” Jerome stammered.

    “Sure, son, no reason to hold an innocent man, is there?”

    Jerome bit his lip.  “He’s camped out in a canyon back of our place.  Said he didn’t want to make extra work for Ma.”

    “Come on, boys, let’s get him!” the ringleader shouted and the five took off east toward Thorrington’s Clear Creek Ranch.

    Chin trembling, Jerome looked up.  “I did right, didn’t I, Mr. Cartwright?”

    Billy Thomas answered instead.  “Sure, you did.  You had to speak up to save your pa.”

    Ben rubbed the youngster’s shivering shoulders.  “Go home to your mother, boy; she’ll need you.”  Jerome nodded and, wiping the tears from his eyes, went to close up the store.

    Billy Thomas turned to Ben.  “I better get home,” he said.  “Pa’ll want to know about this!”

    “Yeah,” Ben muttered absently, wondering if he should see the Thorrington youngster home.  No, the boy was upset, but too old to appreciate a nursemaid.  Better to let him take the news to his mother by himself.  Ben’s attention jerked suddenly back to Billy.  “Where’s that paint I gave you, boy?  You just drop it in the street when you came running, looking for trouble?”

    “No, of course not,” Billy growled.  “I ain’t a fool kid, even if that is how you’re treatin’ me.  I seen your wagon there in front of Lucky Bill’s and put the paint in back.”

    “Oh,” Ben said, regretting his sharp words.  After all, Billy hadn’t volunteered to take charge of his goods.  Would’ve served me right if he did toss that paint in the dirt, Ben thought with chagrin, though “Thanks, Billy,” was all he said.

    “Sure,” Billy shrugged, easily appeased.  “You gonna be comin’ in for that trial, Uncle Ben?”

    “Yeah,” Ben muttered.  “Yeah, I’ll be here.  You tell your pa.”

    Ben walked back to his wagon, jaw clenching when he saw the supplies loaded inside.  He hadn’t had a chance to pay Lucky Bill for them and didn’t want to delay Jerome with business now.  Thorrington would just have to trust him, though the man probably had more important matters on his mind——like the preservation of his life and the future of his wife and child if the charges held up.

    Ben drove home slowly, pondering what would become of the territory if they couldn’t find an effective means of law enforcement.  So far the vigilantes had only tried and sentenced a few minor offenders, but a charge of murder carried a heavier penalty.  Would they really sentence a man to hang?  And if they did, what made their so-called justice different from any other mob lynching?

    When the wagon pulled into the yard at the Ponderosa, both Adam and Hoss came running to meet their father.  “Did you get the paint?” Adam asked eagerly.  “We’re almost ready for it.”

    “Yeah, did they have red?” Hoss queried, trotting up at Adam’s heels.

    “Huh?” Ben asked.  “Oh, yeah, the paint.  No, I had to buy yellow, Hoss.”

    “That’s all right,” Adam said.  Seeing Hoss’s disappointment, he put an arm around the younger boy’s shoulder.  “Yellow’s a good color, Hoss; it’ll look like sunshine on the lake.”

    Hoss looked up at his big brother and smiled.  “Yeah!  Like sunshine.  That’s good.”

    Ben handed the reins of the horses to Adam.  “Unload the supplies and unhitch the team, will you, boys?”

    “Sure, Pa,” Adam said, brow furrowing.  “Something wrong?”

    “Yeah,” Ben said.  Without explaining, he walked toward the house.

    The furrows in Adam’s forehead deepened.  Something really was bothering Pa.  Adam wanted to help and decided the best way to do that was to complete the chores his father had given him.  Show himself a man and maybe Pa would confide in him like one.  “You start unloading, Hoss,” he directed, “while I unhitch the horses.”

    Inside, Ben pulled off his hat, hanging it on one of the pegs to the left of the front door.  Marie came to greet him with a kiss, but the one he returned carried little of his usual passion.  The young Creole immediately sensed that something was wrong.  “No mail?  No letter from John?” she asked, stroking his rough cheek.

    “What?” Ben asked, pulling himself out of the cloud in which he’d moved ever since leaving town.  “Oh, yeah, there was a letter from John.  I’d forgotten.”

    Marie’s emerald eyes clouded.  “What could make you forget that?” she pressed.

    “Trouble in town,” Ben muttered.  “Tell you later.  Let’s see what that brother of mine has to say.”

    “Yes, let’s,” Marie urged, hoping the news would brighten his countenance.

    It didn’t.  Ben had waited for months for his brother’s reply to his suggestion to come west with young Will, and when it finally came, the answer was not the one he’d hoped for.  According to John’s letter, Will was infuriated by the suggestion that they abandon the place his mother had slaved to preserve.  His father, he felt, owed it to her memory to spend as much time there as he’d spent gallivanting around the west and the Pacific Ocean.  John felt he couldn’t refuse.  He’d delayed answering Ben’s letter in hopes Will would change his mind, but it was clear the boy’s anger ran deep.  Maybe in time Will would forgive him and be willing to move on, but John wouldn’t risk losing the boy by insisting he do so now.

    “John is wise,” Marie said.  “I know the decision saddens you, mon mari, but I am sure it is the right one.”

    Ben nodded soberly.  “It is, of course.  That boy’s broken-hearted; he’s got to be given time to heal.”  Ben sighed deeply.  “Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea asking them here, anyway.  Maybe they’re better off in settled territory where——”

    “What is it, Ben?”

    Ben took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  Then he began with Lucky Bill’s offering to sell him that beautiful thoroughbred and ended with his being dragged off to Ormsby’s storeroom.  “Mob justice,” Ben muttered.  “What kind of place is that to raise a family?”

    “You think Lucky Bill will be found guilty?” Marie asked.

    Ben stood abruptly and began to poke at the fire.  “I don’t know; I couldn’t tell if they had any evidence or not.  Maybe that’ll come out at the trial.”

    “You will attend?”

    “Yeah,” he said sharply.  “For all the good it’ll do.  They won’t put me on the jury, not after how outspoken I’ve been against the vigilance committee, but maybe having people like me there to scrutinize their so-called justice will make them give Thorrington at least the semblance of due process.”

    It was still well before noon when Ben crossed the Carson River, ironically over the toll bridge in which Lucky Bill was a partner.  White puffs of cottonwood seed floated in the air, drifting with Ben as he rode into Genoa.  He wasn’t sure where the trial would be held, but he could see a crowd forming on the triangular green at the center of town.  Riding to the Main Street side of the triangle, he dismounted, tied his bay to a nearby shrub and walked onto the green.  “Trial being held outdoors?” he asked the first man he met, a young lawyer named Richard Allen.

    “Yeah, lots of folks interested in this one,” Allen said.  “I, for one, can’t believe Lucky Billy’s involved.”

“Me, either,” Ben said.

“Well, it should be starting soon.”

    Ben nodded and moved back to his horse.  He wasn’t all that hungry yet, but now was probably the best time to eat the sandwiches Hop Sing had packed.  Chances were he’d have even less appetite later.  As he pulled a sandwich from his saddlebag, a young voice called out, “Hey, got any more?”

    Looking over his shoulder, Ben saw Clyde give Billy a half-hearted clout on the ear.  “You’ll have Ben thinkin’ your ma don’t feed you,” Clyde scolded.

    The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked upward.  “I know Nelly better than that!  Probably stuffed you to the gills before she’d let you out the door.”

    “I admit it,” Billy joked, “but us growin’ boys need lots of grub.”

    Ben gave a short laugh and handed his sandwich to Billy, taking another from the bag for himself.  “I’ve got one more if you’re still growing, too,” he told Clyde dryly.

    “Don’t mind if I do,” Clyde said.  “Bound to be hungry before this is over.”

    “You think it’ll be a long trial?” Ben asked.

    Clyde shrugged.  “Could be, with two men to try.”

    Ben glanced sharply at him.  “They found Edwards?”

    “Yup, brought him in last night and locked him up with Lucky Bill.”

    “Right where Jerome said he’d be,” Billy added.

    “Well, I hope it is a long trial,” Ben said soberly as he unwrapped his sandwich.  “As serious as the charges are, I hope the jury takes its time.”

    “Depends on how strong the evidence is, I reckon,” Clyde remarked.  “Way I heard it, the men that caught him came all the way from Honey Lake, pretendin’ to be horse buyers to smoke out who had that thoroughbred.”

    Ben shook his head.  “Sounds bad, I admit, but it’ll take more than that to convince me Bill’s guilty.  You’ve got more confidence in this kind of justice than I do.  Maybe you’ll get a seat on the jury, get a chance to make it a fair trial.”

    “Naw,” Clyde muttered.  “I ain’t that high thought of.  It’ll be committee members does the judgin’, and I ain’t joined.”

    That surprised Ben slightly, having heard Clyde express approval for the committee on a number of occasions.  On the other hand, Clyde had always been more bark than bite, never one to push himself to the front.

    The trio had just finished their sandwiches when William Ormsby, curly black hair blowing in the wind, exited his store.  Behind him, under guard of acting sheriff W. T. C. Elliott, one of the men who had trailed Edwards from Honey Lake, walked the two defendants, faces drooping, steps dragging.  Ben, Clyde and Billy moved closer.  So did the other spectators.

    John L. Cary called the proceeding to order; the eighteen-member jury was selected, all known vigilance committee members; and the first trial, that of William Edwards, began.  Men from Honey Lake Valley gave testimony of the shooting of rancher Henri Gordier and the theft of his herd of cattle and a thoroughbred racehorse.  The men, each a neighbor of Gordier, had examined the horse in Lucky Bill’s corral and identified it as Gordier’s property.

    The crowd listened in hushed attention as the witnesses admitted that a man named Snow had, at first, been accused of the murder, but after Snow’s hanging, the truth began to leak out and the Honey Lake Valley citizens realized they’d hung the wrong man.  Later evidence all pointed to William Edwards, whose sudden flight added to the suggestion of his guilt.

    When Edwards took the stand in his own defense, he denied any knowledge of Gordier’s murder, but his inability to produce a bill of sale for the horse Bill Thorrington had tried to sell on his behalf weighed heavily against him.  Finally, under the pressure of bombarding questions, Edwards broke down, weeping, and admitted he had killed the Frenchman, rustled his herd and stolen the horse.  Seeing suspicion mounting against him, he had ridden into Utah Territory, taking only the horse, and sought refuge with his old friend Bill Thorrington.  “But Bill never knew what I’d done,” Edwards insisted.  “I lied to him, same as to everyone else.”

    The jury deliberated only a short time before returning a verdict of guilty and sentencing Edwards to be returned to Honey Lake Valley and hanged at the scene of his crime.  “Can’t say that weren’t a fair trial,” Clyde declared, his steely eyes daring Ben to say otherwise.

    Ben shook his head.  Hard to argue with the verdict when the man confessed.  Hard even to feel sympathy for someone who had knowingly allowed an innocent man to hang in his place.  “His testimony seems to vindicate Thorrington, though,” he told Clyde.

    “If he’s tellin’ the truth,” Clyde said, “and it ain’t just a case of old friends hangin’ together.”

    “Which they’re likely to do if they find Lucky Bill guilty,” Billy joked.

    Ben groaned, and Clyde turned snapping eyes on his son.  “Ain’t no call for that kind of nonsense,” he sputtered.  “You shame me like that once more, boy, and you’ll be too saddle-sore to mount that roan of yours.”

    Billy took the hint and wiped the saucy grin off his face.  “Yes, sir, I’ll straighten up,” he vowed.

    “See that you do,” Clyde grunted, turning apologetically to Ben.  “Shouldn’t’ve brought the boy, I reckon, but I figured he’d handle himself better than this.”

    “He’s young,” Ben muttered tersely.  “Living’s still a game to him.”

    Billy flushed and stalked away.  He was willing to admit he’d gotten out of line, but he didn’t see why they’d come down on him so hard, why they kept treating him like a kid, when he knew himself to be a man.  Hadn’t he done a man’s work this spring, plowing and planting those fields?  Sure, sixteen was young, but it made him a young man, not a fool kid.  He decided he’d view the second trial from the opposite side of the green.

    William Thorrington was not charged with the murder originally cried against him but with being an accessory after the fact to the crime.  The way the crowd was rumbling as testimony was taken, however, made Ben fear the penalty would be the same, although the evidence was shaky, at best.  The worst that could be said against Lucky Bill was that he’d given Edwards shelter.  If he knew of Edwards’ crime, that would make him an accessory to murder, Ben agreed.  But Edwards himself had said that Bill did not know.  In Ben’s mind, that raised enough doubt that he would have voted against conviction, had he been on the jury.  But he wasn’t.  Bill Thorrington’s fate was in the hands of eighteen men who had taken it upon themselves to determine justice.  Ben could only hope that the man’s renowned luck in gambling would deal him a winning hand today.

    That reputation as a gambler, though, seemed to be weighing against the defendant, at least according to the crowd milling about as they waited for the jury’s deliberation.  Ben, of course, had known of Bill’s skill at the game of thimble-rig, and knew enough to stay away, as he did from most gambling opportunities.  Life itself was a big enough gamble in Ben’s eyes, and other than a sociable hand of poker with well-known friends, he never participated in gaming.  Thorrington was known as a sharper, however, by too many people to be dismissed, but the man wasn’t on trial for gambling; he was being tried for murder, and it didn’t matter what else he was guilty of, so long as he was innocent of that charge.  Ben was sure he was.

    “Jury’s taking a long time,” Ben commented to Clyde as they waited.

    “Reckon that pleases you,” Clyde muttered.  “I didn’t plan on bein’ gone this long.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “Free to leave anytime you like, I suppose.”

    Clyde uttered a harsh laugh.  “Reckon I’ll see it through.  Don’t understand what’s takin’ so long, though.  Seemed cut and dried to me.”

    “Yeah,” Ben agreed.  “Just not enough evidence to convict.”

    Clyde’s blue eyes narrowed.  “I heard plenty!  He’d’ve been danglin’ by now if I’d been on that jury like you was wantin’.”

    Ben’s mouth gaped.  “You’re kidding!  On what evidence?”

    Clyde spat a stream of brown tobacco to his right and turned back to Ben.  “Don’t it strike you suspicious that Edwards was holed up in that canyon behind the ranch?  When we got guests, we keep ‘em in the house.”

    “Yeah,” Ben admitted.  It was the one thing that had raised suspicion in his mind.  “Does kind of make it look like Bill knew Edwards needed a hiding place, but who can say what story the man told?”

    Billy ambled up, hands stuffed in his pocket.  “You don’t got anymore of them sandwiches, do you, Uncle Ben?” he asked.

    Ben shook his head.  “Sorry, son.”

    “Where’d you take off to, boy?” Clyde demanded.

    Billy waved his arm behind him.  “Over there, across the green.”

    “Huh!  View better over there, I reckon,” his father muttered.

    Billy shrugged.  “Naw, but they’re sure makin’ interestin’ talk.  I never knew Lucky Bill was a Mormon, Pa.”  Billy knew his father’s ears would perk up at that and his irritation be deflected to a new target.

    “He’s not,” Ben growled, seeing through Billy’s stratagem and not liking it.  “Thorrington’s a gentile, same as we are.”

    “I don’t know, Uncle Ben,” Billy argued.  “Folks been sayin’ he’s got a second wife hid out.”

    “Yeah, I’d heard that,” Clyde grunted.  “It had passed my mind, but I remember now.  That Thorrington’s had a passel of practice at hidin’ things, seems to me.”

    “Oh, Clyde,” Ben protested.  “For the love of mercy!  The minute anyone mentions the word ‘Mormon,’ you lose all sense of objectivity.”

    Face flaming, Clyde pulled himself upright and glared at his old friend.  “Who made you judge and jury over everything under the sun, Ben Cartwright?” he snorted.  “Thorrington’s innocent just ‘cause you say so, ain’t that the way of it?”

    “No, but because the facts don’t prove him guilty,” Ben insisted.  “Look, Clyde, I have no quarrel with you.  I think you’re wrong, and I think you’re letting your feelings color your judgment, but you’re entitled to your opinion.”

    “And you to yours,” Clyde grunted, “wrong as it is.”  Ben chose to keep his mouth shut.

    The ensuing silence made Billy uncomfortable.  Secretly, he leaned to Ben Cartwright’s opinion, but he didn’t dare say that in front of his father.  He had to go home with Clyde and didn’t relish meeting the wrong end of a birch branch when he got there.  Finally, he noticed the jury filing back into place and felt he’d found a safe comment to make.  “Guess we’ll find out what them men thinks real soon.”

    “Hush up, boy.  I want to hear them, not you,” his father growled.

    Billy pressed his back against a nearby pine, breath held.  He’d caught a glimpse of Jerome, standing near his father, and all of a sudden the trial wasn’t just a way to pass time anymore.  Real folks, one of them a boy younger than himself, were about to be raised to the peak of joy or tossed into a gully of despair.  Billy felt his stomach knot up like it was his own pa on trial.  Up to that moment he hadn’t really cared which way the verdict went, but when it was read, an involuntary groan welled up in his throat.

    No one heard it, not even the two men standing closest, for at the same instant the crowd roared its approval and a woman’s shriek pierced the shouting.  The sound died down briefly as the judge delivered the sentence.  Like Edwards, Thorrington was sentenced to hang at the scene of his crime——in this case, the ranch where he had hidden the murderer. As the sheriff came forward to take Thorrington into custody to await the appointed day of his death, Mrs. Thorrington clutched her husband possessively, and Ben started forward.  Clyde threw an arm across Ben’s chest.  Irritated, Ben shoved the arm aside and walked boldly toward the weeping woman.  Clyde started after him, then stopped, satisfied that Ben wasn’t putting himself in danger when he saw him move toward the woman instead of those guarding the man.

    A few others had moved toward the distraught woman, as well, trying vainly to comfort her.  “Mrs. Thorrington,” Ben began, scarcely knowing what to say, “if there’s anything I can do for you”——he stopped, uncomfortable under the fixed stare of her glazed eye.

    “Do?  You want to do something?” she screamed.  “Stop them!  Stop them!”  The woman collapsed, crumpling to the grass, her boy’s arms swiftly encircling her neck.  Another woman leaned over the pair, whispering something into Mrs. Thorrington’s ear.  Feeling useless, Ben walked away.

    He couldn’t get away, however, from the challenge Mrs. Thorrington had shrieked at him.  Her voice haunted him as he rode home, haunted his dreams throughout a restless night.  Stop them, she had pleaded, but how could he?  One man against an angry mob.  Ben wrestled with his conscience all night long.

    He woke to a soft hand stroking his whiskered cheek.  “Mon mari, what is wrong?” Marie asked tenderly.  “You moan so in your sleep.”

    “I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her fingertips.  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

    “Ben, you treat me as a child,” Marie pouted.  “I am your wife, meant to share your troubles, not to be protected from them.”

    Ben pulled her down to his breast and sighed, running his fingers through her golden hair.  “Dearest, there’s nothing you can do.”

    “About Monsieur Thorrington?  No, and nothing you can do, mon mari.”

    Ben gently pushed her away and sat up.  “Maybe not, but I have to try, Marie.”

    “Ben, no!” she whispered, her voice urgent, but soft, aware of Little Joe’s presence in the next room.  “You cannot fight the vigilantes.”

    “I’m not talking about fighting,” Ben assured her, taking both cheeks in his weathered palms.  “Bill’s not scheduled to hang until tomorrow.  That gives me time to talk to some of the vigilante leaders, try to make them see reason.”

    “But, Ben, he was tried and convicted,” Marie argued.  “What can you say that will change that?”

    “It wasn’t a legal trial, Marie,” Ben insisted.

    “But you told me you once served on such a jury.”

    Ben nodded.  “And argued——successfully, I might add——against invoking the death penalty.  Only the authorized government should take on that responsibility I contended then and still do.”

    “You think they will listen again, as they did before?” Marie queried.

    Ben took her hands, pleading for understanding.  “I don’t know, my love, but I have to try.  You see that, don’t you?”

    Marie smiled weakly.  “Oui, my love, I understand, but be careful.  Oh, Ben, be careful!”

    Ben kissed her.  “I will, sweetheart.”

    Marie spent the day moving aimlessly from one room to another, telling herself repeatedly there was no reason for worry, yet worry stalked her footsteps.  Only the occasional needs of her baby could distract her thoughts for long from her husband’s quest for justice.  Where was Ben?  What response was he receiving?  And if it were the one she feared, would Ben be content to stand by and watch William Thorrington hang at dawn on Saturday?  Or would he take foolish action to try to stop the execution?

    Her nervous fidgeting at the noon meal told the boys something was wrong.  Adam, who tended to feel himself responsible for the ranch in his father’s absence, demanded an explanation.  Marie told him briefly what his father was trying to accomplish.

    “They’ll listen,” Adam assured her.  “Folks around here respect Pa.”

    “But they seem so sure Monsieur Thorrington is guilty, Adam,” Marie murmured.  “There are others who feel as your father, I am sure, but there cannot be many.”

    “Don’t worry,” Adam soothed with a boy’s implicit trust in the wisdom and infallibility of his father.  “You through yet, Hoss?”

    “Almost,” Hoss muttered.  “Don’t rush me.”

    Adam laughed.  “As if I could, slow poke.  I’ll see you outside.”  He smiled at Marie.  “We should have the boat painted in an hour or so.  Why don’t you come out and take a look?”

    Marie nodded.  “I will.”

    By the time an hour passed, Little Joe was awake from his nap and toddled happily at his mother’s side to see the new boat.  “Ooh,” he cooed and reached for the sunny yellow shape.

    Adam pulled his hand back.  “Unh-uh.  Don’t touch.”

    Little Joe whimpered piteously and stretched once more for the object of his desire.

    “It’s still wet, Punkin,” Hoss explained, futilely.  Little Joe began to wail stormily.

    Marie lifted him and spoke sternly or, at least, as sternly as she ever spoke to her precious baby boy.  “If you are going to start that, Joseph, I will have to take you back inside.”

    Little Joe understood only one word, but ‘inside’ was sufficient threat to make his sobbing subside to a mere whimper.  Marie smiled and patted his back soothingly.  “It is a beautiful boat, boys, and I am sure you will enjoy it.”

    “Yeah,” Adam agreed with satisfaction.  “I wish it was our turn to have the Thomases here.  I’d sure like Billy to see it this Sunday.”

    “A week will make no difference,” Marie laughed.

    Adam grinned.  “No, I guess not.  It needs another coat anyway, but there’s plenty of time.  We wanted it ready for the Fourth, you know.”

    “ Oui, I know,” Marie said, gazing down the beaten road to the house.  No sign of Ben yet, but she hadn’t expected an early return.  She knew Ben wouldn’t rest until he’d talked to everyone who had the power to overturn the vigilantes’ decision.

    He hadn’t arrived by the time Hop Sing set supper on the table.  “Where Mistah Ben?” the irascible cook demanded.  “Dinnah leady now!”

    “I will wait for Mr. Cartwright,” Marie said firmly, “but you may prepare a plate for the boys if they are hungry.”

    “Not for me,” Adam said, black eyes glinting.  “Perhaps the children should eat,” he added loftily, daring anyone to relegate him to the classification of a youngster.

    “I should probably feed Little Joe,” Marie said, “and put him to bed.  He’s getting sleepy.  Would you like to eat now, mon chéri, or wait for Pa?”

    Recognizing her characteristic name for him, Hoss jumped up.  “I’ll eat now,” he said.  What was the point of putting off a good meal just ‘cause Pa was late?  Pa’d want him to eat, Hoss figured, following Hop Sing into the kitchen.

    The Chinese cook snuffled, his ire only slightly ameliorated by having one member of the family ready to eat his food while it was at its best.  To Hoss, however, he smiled benevolently and dished up a heaping plate of roast beef with roasted potatoes, carrots and green beans seasoned with bits of bacon.

    When he finished, Hoss offered to take Little Joe to bed.  The baby looked too sleepy to keep him company for long, but anything, even turning in early himself, was better than sitting around downstairs, where everyone was either angry, worried or too busy playing grownup to be any fun.

    The night was dark, the wind chilly, when Ben rode in and wearily wrapped the reins of his bay around the hitching rail before the house.  “I’ll see to your horse, Mr. Cartwright,” the ranch foreman offered, coming out of the bunkhouse when he heard the horse neigh.

    “Thanks, Enos,” Ben said and walked into the house.

    He was met practically inside the front door by a barrage of Chinese, interspersed with rebukes in English.  “Why you late?” Hop Sing demanded.  “Dinnah all cold, velly bad, you unnahstand?”

    “Yes, yes, I understand,” Ben muttered, “but I’m not hungry, Hop Sing.

    Hop Sing stomped his slippered foot.  “Nobody eat, velly bad!”

    “That is enough, Hop Sing,” Marie said, coming between them to pull Ben toward the sofa.  “You can see that Mr. Cartwright is too tired to eat now, and he is also too tired to listen to your chattering.”

    Hop Sing’s cheeks puffed out.  “Maybe so, Hop Sing go back China.”

    “Feel free,” Ben growled.  He’d had his fill of hopeless argument for the day.

    Hop Sing caught his breath, turned and stalked into the kitchen.  He had, of course, no intention of returning to China.  He owed too great a debt to Mr. Cartwright to ever leave him.  But an uneaten meal revealed a disturbed mind, in Hop Sing’s opinion, so he made the threat to balance the concern he felt.  Mr. Ben had troubles, and Hop Sing knew no better way to counter them than to offer a warm, filling meal.  If Mr. Ben wouldn’t let him do that, there was nothing left but to feign great displeasure and stomp off, in hopes that Mr. Ben would remember the next time and submit rather than endure another such scene.  The tactic worked more often than not, but it was unavailing that night.

    Once Ben was seated, Marie sat beside him, running her fingers through the hair at his temple.  “You have had a long day,” she whispered, “and I think it did not go as you hoped.”

    Ben shook his head and lay it against her shoulder.

    “They’re still gonna hang Lucky Bill, Pa?” Adam, perched on the table before the sofa, quizzed.  “I was sure you could talk them out of it.”

    Ben sighed.  “Sorry to disappoint you, but your father’s not quite as convincing as you thought.”

    “It is sad, Ben,” Marie murmured, “but you have tried your best.  You must take comfort in that.”

    Ben looked at her sharply.  “I don’t find that thought very comforting, Marie, not when it means an innocent man’s death.”

    Wisely, she said nothing, merely nodded and stroked his forehead with a soothing hand.  Ben smiled——a weak, weary smile that conveyed no joy.  Then, the words having taken this long to register, he remembered Hop Sing’s querulous complaint.  “Haven’t any of you eaten?” Ben queried.

    “Hoss did,” Adam reported, “and Little Joe, of course.  We decided to wait for you.”

    “And I’m still holding you up.  I’m sorry,” Ben muttered.  “I have no appetite, but you two should eat.  This is my worry.”

    Marie closed her small hand over his.  “Your worries are mine, Ben.”

    “Mine, too,” Adam declared.

    Ben uttered a short, humorless laugh.  “Oh, Adam; you’re just a boy.”

    It was the worst comment he could have made.  “Pa!” Adam protested.  “I’m going on sixteen.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “And still have a ways to go to get there.  For mercy’s sake, Adam, be a boy while you can——and go eat your dinner.”

    Adam resented his father’s attitude, but his stomach told him he really was hungry.  Deciding that ignoring it in no way enhanced his status as an adult, he went into the kitchen and requested a plate of food from Hop Sing.

    “Humph!  ‘Bout time somebody make good sense,” the little Cantonese announced, reaching for a clean plate.

    “Shows good sense, Hop Sing,” Adam corrected.

    “Ah, so?  Show good sense,” Hop Sing repeated.  He had early learned that Adam was his best resource for learning English.  “Mistah Ben, Missy Cahtlight show good sense pletty quick now?”

    Adam shrugged.  “Maybe Marie.  Pa’s showing no sense at all tonight.”  Though Hop Sing didn’t catch Adam’s real meaning, he shook his head in vigorous agreement with the boy’s disapproval.

    Ben lay as still as possible in his bed that night.  He couldn’t sleep, but he knew if he tossed the way he had the previous night that Marie’s sleep would again be disturbed.  So he lay staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself he’d done his best, that there was nothing more he could do, but over and over his tired brain hammered a single theme——“Stop them, stop them”——the words Mrs. Thorrington had screamed at him.

    In the gray light of the half moon, he slipped quietly from his bed and began to dress as noiselessly as possible.  In her sleep Marie’s hand touched the empty pillow beside her, and her eyes opened as she sensed something wrong.  Sitting up quickly, she saw Ben pulling on his boots.  “Where are you going?” she whispered.

    Ben came to sit beside her.  “I’m going to stop that hanging, Marie.”

    Marie suppressed a cry of alarm.  “Ben, you cannot,” she pleaded.  “They will kill you!”

    “No, no, I’ll be all right,” he assured her, though he’d spent the night wondering whether he’d ever see another.  “I’m sorry, dearest, but this is something I have to do.”  He kissed her swiftly, stood and headed for the door.

    Marie sprang out of bed.  “No, Ben!” she shrieked, forgetting the sleeping children in her panic for him.  She ran across the room and threw her arms around him.  “I won’t let you go!”

    Ben pried her hands away.  “Marie, don’t do this,” he begged.  “I have to go.”  He walked into the dark hall.

    Without stopping to throw a peignoir over her gauzy nightgown, Marie ran after him, bare feet oblivious to the cold, hardwood floor.  “Ben!”

    Two more doors opened.  Adam ran into the hall, instantly alert, while Hoss stared, bleary-eyed, from his doorway.  “What’s going on?” Adam asked.

    “Help me stop him, Adam!” Marie begged.  “He is going to get himself killed!”

    Hoss jerked awake, terrified.  “Who’s gonna kill Pa?” he cried.

    “Marie, please,” Ben begged.  He looked from one son to the other.  “There’s nothing here to concern you boys.  Get back to bed,” he ordered firmly.

    “What are you doing, Pa?” Adam demanded.

    “Who’s gonna kill my pa?” Hoss yelled.

    “Answer them!” Marie ordered hotly.  “Tell your sons what a fool they have for a father!”

    “That’s enough,” Ben shouted.  “I cannot stand by and watch an innocent man hang, and nothing you say can make me!”

    Marie clutched at him, sliding to the floor, her cheek pressed to the top of his brown boots.  “No, Ben, no,” she sobbed, clinging to his ankles.

    “Marie, let go of me!” Ben commanded brusquely, grasping her arms and flinging her off.  He moved swiftly for the stairs.

    Another shriek reverberated down the hall, not Marie this time.  The angry voices had awakened the youngest Cartwright and he was declaring his indignation to the heavens.  “Take care of our boy,” Ben said softly from the head of the stairs.  “Take care of all my boys.”  His voice choked and he ran downstairs, stopping only to take his Colt’s Navy 41 from the cabinet beside the door.  Though Ben had rarely carried a firearm until the misunderstanding in Genoa had strained relations with the Indians, he was competent in its use, and he knew he’d need it this morning.  Mere words had already failed.

    Weeping, Marie stood and headed toward the nursery, Hoss’s bare feet padding down the hall after her.  Adam, face set with determination, went back into his room to hustle into his clothes.  Grabbing his breech-loading .45 Sharps and ammunition, he moved silently through the house and trotted across the yard into the barn.

    Ben had just finished saddling his bay when Adam came in and reached for a saddle blanket.  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Ben demanded.

    “I’m going with you,” Adam declared.  “Two have a better chance than one.”

    “Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” Ben snapped.  “This is not some adventure out of a storybook.”

    “I know that,” Adam sputtered, “but I know you’re likely to get yourself killed if you try doing this alone.”  He threw the blanket on the back of his sorrel mare.

    Ben snatched it off.  “You’re not going,” he said bluntly, “and that’s an order.”

    “Oh, yes, I am,” Adam insisted stubbornly, arms akimbo.  “You can’t stop me anymore than Marie could stop you.  Quit treating me like a kid, Pa!”

    Ben drew his arm back and slapped the boy, hard, across the face.

    Adam’s hand flew to his stinging cheek.  He couldn’t ever remember his father’s striking him, not that way.  Hot tears swam in his eyes.  “Pa, let me go,” he pleaded.  “If you can’t stand by and watch Lucky Bill hang, how do you expect me to stand by and let you be killed?”

    Ben grasped him by both arms, his fingers digging painfully into the boy’s flesh.  “I’m ordering you to stay here, Adam,” he said firmly, then his voice became tender.  “Look after Marie and your brothers.  I’m counting on you.”  Ben led his bay out of the barn, mounted and galloped toward the valley.

    Running outside, Adam watched his father ride away.  Tears coursed unashamedly down his cheeks.  He knew what his father meant.  There was a good chance he wouldn’t be coming back, and he had to know that Marie and the little boys would have someone to care for them and provide for them.  Adam realized his father had paid him a great compliment in giving him that responsibility, a man’s responsibility, but he didn’t want it.  Pa had told him last night to be a boy while he could, and suddenly Adam found himself wishing his boyhood could go on forever, because that would mean he still had a father to take care of him.

    Ben rode his bay harder than he ever had before, and the animal, sensing his urgency, galloped past the dark skeletons of the pines on each side of the mountain trail.  Occasionally, Ben slowed where the footing was uneven or to give the gelding a chance to catch his breath, then urged him on again.  The hanging was scheduled for dawn, and Ben couldn’t afford to be a minute late.  Even seconds might make the difference.

    Though it was still too dark to see the scenery flashing past, the land made its presence known through Ben’s other senses.  The crisp, pine-scented air sent waves of nostalgia rippling through him, and, drown it out though he tried, Ben couldn’t silence the fear that he’d never again breathe the air of these hills he loved so much.  As he entered the valley, it was the pungent fragrance of sage that pierced his nostrils and whispered to him of home.  The feel of the cool breeze against his unshaven face, the yelp of a distant coyote——every sight, sound and smell a siren’s voice calling him to stop, to turn his horse and gallop back to the comfort and peace of home.  But another voice blared louder, the voice of his conscience, sounding surprisingly like that of Thorrington’s wife.  Fool’s message though it shouted, Ben had to respond.  He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

    The sun was rising, but a purple haze still hung in the air when Ben rode onto Bill Thorrington’s Clear Creek Ranch.  Standing in black silhouette against the lavender sky was a single tree, a wagon pulled beneath it, and around the wagon hangman and spectators stood, waiting for the designated hour.  There was no sign yet of Lucky Bill.  Probably inside, being given a few last moments with his family.

    Ben charged into the group, and men scattered in all directions to avoid the bay’s flying hooves.  He wheeled and, drawing his Navy revolver, swept it in an arc before him.  “There’ll be no hanging here today,” he announced loudly.

    “Ben!” a familiar voice shouted.

    Ben’s head jerked to the right, and his eyes flew wide with shock as he recognized Clyde Thomas.  He hadn’t counted on having to fight his old friend.

    “Cartwright, you’re overstepping yourself!” Elliott, the vigilantes’ sheriff yelled.

    Ben faced front again.  “Yeah, I am, but you men are overstepping the law itself.  Now, bring Bill Thorrington out here, and put him on a horse.  I’m taking him to California for a legal trial.”

    “Ben, don’t do this,” Clyde pleaded.  His eyes flicked nervously from Ben to the men closing in on him, and he almost instinctively shouted a warning, clamping his mouth shut at the last second.  Ben had to be stopped, no two ways about it, but Clyde didn’t want to see his old friend hurt.

    Elliott stepped forward, showing no fear of Ben’s drawn pistol.  “You’re well respected in this community, Cartwright; don’t jeopardize that position by one foolish action.  I call upon you to step aside and let us carry out the decision of our duly appointed judge and jury.”

    “Step aside and let you hang an innocent man, you mean!” Ben snapped, eyes flashing.  “Never!  Get Bill out here and on a horse.  Now!”

    “All right, Cartwright, all right,” Elliott said, making a calming gesture with his hands.  He moved toward the house, as if to obey Ben’s instructions.  Watching Elliott closely, Ben saw the sheriff nod but realized too late the nod was a signal to men who’d moved in behind him.  Ben felt himself dragged from his horse, his pistol twisted from his hand.  Suddenly, men were grabbing him on all sides.  He threw punches left and right, finding targets, but doing little damage.

    “Ben!  Ben, stop it!” Clyde yelled in his ear.  Glancing to his left, Ben saw Clyde hanging onto his arm, keeping him from defending himself.  “Let me go!” Ben demanded, wrenching his arm loose.  “What are you doing here?”

    “His civic duty, that’s what, Cartwright!” shouted a man who punctuated his declaration with a blow that opened a cut on Ben’s lip.

    Clyde made another grab for him, and Ben rounded with a jab to Clyde’s jaw that decked his old friend.  Clyde jumped up quickly and sprang at Ben, Clyde and five or six others.  Ben felt himself knocked to the ground, at least one man holding each of his limbs.

    “String him up next to Lucky Bill!” yelled the man clutching one of Ben’s flailing legs.

    “No!” Clyde hollered as he wrestled with Ben’s left arm.  “Ben’s an interferin’ fool, but that ain’t a hangin’ crime.”

    “Thomas is right!” Elliott, standing over them, announced.  “Tie him up ‘til our business is finished.   He’ll give no trouble after that——or suffer the consequences.”

    Clyde grabbed a rope and began to wrap Ben’s wrists.  “Clyde, stop!” Ben cried, struggling to get free.  “For the love of mercy, don’t take part in this!  Help me stop it!”

    “Shut up, Ben,” Clyde hissed.  “You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

    Ben brought his wrapped wrists up with a sudden movement and struck Clyde under the chin.  The other men holding him quickly subdued him. One avenged the attack on Thomas by battering his face while the others held him down.  Blood spurted from his nostrils, dribbling down into his mouth.

    Clyde yanked back the arm of the man inflicting the punishing blows.  “That’s enough!  Just tie him up, Elliott said.”

    The men holding Ben sat him up and Clyde, after tightening the bonds on Ben’s wrists, began to wrap the rope about his arms and torso.  “We don’t see eye to eye on this one, Ben,” Clyde said.  “I know it’s hard, but this is for your own good.”

    The others tied Ben’s feet.  “Bring him up to the wagon,” Elliott ordered.  “Let him get a good look at Carson justice.  Maybe he won’t be so quick to go against it the next time.”

    A shout of approval met this suggestion, and Ben was hauled to his feet, trussed so tightly he couldn’t stand, much less walk, and dragged close to the tree and wagon that would serve as Thorrington’s gallows.  Clyde stepped aside, leaving Ben to the rough handling of the outraged vigilantes, but he hovered close——either as protector or guard, depending on whether one viewed his action through Clyde’s eyes or Ben’s.

    The door to Thorrington’s house opened and Bill walked calmly out, his wife and son remaining inside, probably at his instruction.  Ben licked his lips and tasted the salt of his own blood.   His left eye had started to close, but he followed each step the condemned man took.  To Ben’s amazement, Bill seemed almost cheerful as he moved toward the wagon and, as if to control his own destiny, slipped the noose around his own neck, drawing it tight.  Ben tensed, the tightness of his own bindings making him sense the constriction of Bill’s throat more vividly than any other man there.

    The mob grew quiet in the face of Thorrington’s courage, and everyone could hear him clearly as he began to sing “The Last Rose of Summer” at the top of his lungs.  Evidently, Bill, his legendary luck run out at last, intended to enter eternity with a song on his lips.

    Ben started to shiver, feeling the gooseflesh crawl up his arms, as he saw two men approach the team hitched to the wagon.  One on each side slapped the horses’ rumps and the animals leaped forward, pulling the wagon out from under Bill’s feet.  In the midst of a line, Bill’s song ended.  His six-foot frame jerked at the end of the rope, his dark eyes rolled back and his tongue flopped out the corner of his mouth.  Then he hung still, swaying in the breeze that rustled through the leaves of the cottonwood.

    The men holding Ben dragged him directly beneath Thorrington’s body.  “Dump him like the worthless trash he is,” one ordered, and when Ben fell heavily to the ground, rammed the toe of his boot into his ribs to get his attention.  “Take a good look, Cartwright,” he snorted, grabbing Ben by the hair and jerking his head upward, “and see what you’ll get if you interfere in vigilante business a second time.”  The man walked off, followed by the others, who slapped his back in approval of the way he’d handled the headstrong meddler in their affairs.

    Ben closed his eyes, not wanting to see the body suspended above him.  He heard horses walking away and waited until everything grew silent before he opened his eyes.  He expected to find himself abandoned, but when he looked up, he saw Clyde Thomas standing above him.

    “If you’re ready to ride home peaceable, I’ll let you loose,” Clyde offered, “but not if you aim to ride after them men and make more trouble for yourself.”

    “Well, I sure couldn’t count on you to help me, could I?” Ben accused hotly.

    Clyde shook his head.  “I’m helpin’ you right now, way I see it.  You ride after them men, you’re gonna get yourself strung up to the nearest tree.  Maybe I ought to leave you hog-tied; by the time you work yourself free,  I reckon you won’t be so anxious to go lookin’ for trouble.”

    “Untie me!” Ben demanded.

    “Not ‘til I get your promise,” Clyde said, folding his arms and staring Ben down.  “A man as almighty upright as you won’t lie, even to get free.”

    Ben’s jaw hardened.  “I won’t go after them,” he said tersely.  “What’s the point now?”

    Clyde nodded and began to loosen Ben’s bonds.  Ben rubbed his sore wrists, flexing his hands; then, when Clyde reached to help him up, he knotted his right hand into a fist and flattened the older man with a fierce uppercut.

    Clyde scrambled up.  “What’s the idea?” he demanded.

    “How could you?” Ben ranted, clambering painfully to his feet.  “How could you hold me back, tie me up, make me watch that mockery of justice?”

    “Me?” Clyde stormed.  “What about you, Ben Cartwright?  How could you come crashin’ in here, riskin’ your life on a fool stunt like that?  How could I do what I did?  I didn’t see no other way to keep your ignorant head attached to your stubborn neck, that’s how!”

    “Get out,” Ben snarled.

    “You’re hurt; let me help you,” Clyde offered, reaching a hand forward.

    Ben slapped it away.  “I don’t need help from the likes of you,” he sputtered.  “Follow your friends into town and celebrate this man’s murder.”

    “I’ll be goin’ home,” Clyde muttered.

    “Go where you like,” Ben thundered, “just get off the property of this grieving family!”

    Clyde turned away, then spun around again to face Ben.  “Man needs buryin’,” he said quietly.  “Be glad to help.”

    “I’ll tend to it,” Ben growled.  “Get away from here!  I doubt Mrs. Thorrington would appreciate the help of a man who helped to kill her husband.”

    Clyde bit his lip and limped toward his horse.  Ben didn’t see him ride away; his eyes were fixed on the dead man.

    Hoss tried again to build a tower of blocks for Little Joe, but once again the baby knocked it over with a petulant hand.  This time Little Joe’s small fist closed around a block and he tossed it at his older brother, hitting Hoss on the forehead.  “Doggone you!” Hoss yelled.  “I oughta paddle your bottom.”

    “You will do no such thing,” Marie snapped, looking up from her embroidery, on which she’d made precisely ten stitches in the last half hour.

    “He’s actin’ awful,” Hoss complained.

    “You’re not much better,” Adam accused, slamming the book he’d been trying without success to read.

    “That is enough,” Marie said, sighing as she stood and picked up the baby without any hope of soothing him.  Little Joe had been peevish all morning, and who could blame him?  Awakened too early by angry voices in the hall, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, and he seemed to absorb the tension of whoever touched him this morning.  Everyone was nervous and irritable:  Hop Sing, cranky because still another meal had gone untouched; Marie, frantically worried about Ben; Adam, overwhelmed by the responsibility he was already trying to assume; and Hoss, terrified that evil men really might kill his father.  The boys had done a few chores, the ones that had to be done, but after that they’d all gathered in the front room, not feeling like working or playing or even talking.  Just waiting, each in his own way, and each minute that passed without the sound of hooves in the yard added to the edginess everyone felt.

    Adam raised his head, listening intently.  “I heard something,” he said and jumped up from his father’s armchair.

    “I didn’t,” Hoss grumbled.  “You’re hearin’ things.”

    Adam scowled at his brother and ran for the door.  He flung it open and gave a shocked cry when he saw his father’s battered face.  “Pa!”

    Ben staggered in, exhausted by the frantic early morning ride, the beating he’d taken and the labor of burying Bill Thorrington.  Marie set Little Joe down and ran to Ben.  “Oh, Ben, your face,” she murmured.

    “I’m all right,” Ben said, taking her in his arms.  “It’s all over.”

    “Come in and lie down,” Marie urged.  “You are hurt.”

    “It’s nothing,” Ben muttered, but he let himself be led toward the sofa.

    Little Joe pulled up and toddled into his father’s leg.  “Pa,” he whimpered.

    Ben instinctively reached to lift the boy.

    “Oh, don’t bother with him now,” Marie said.  “He’s been impossible all morning.”

    Ben shook his head, feeling soothed by the little one’s nearness.  But Little Joe, on getting a close look at his father’s bloodied face, began to wail in terror.  With a sorrowful, almost apologetic look, Ben gave the boy to his mother.  “I didn’t mean to frighten him.”

    Marie held her baby, patting the heaving back, while Adam guided Ben to the sofa.  “Take care of Little Joe,” Adam instructed, taking charge.  “I’ll see to Pa.”

    Ben smiled and nodded at his wife.

    Marie didn’t want to leave him, but the screaming baby did nothing but strain everyone’s nerves.  “Come with me, Hoss,” she said, heading for the stairs.  “Perhaps, we can soothe him to sleep.”

    “Didn’t work before,” Hoss mumbled, but he followed obediently.  He could tell Pa was hurting, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that.  The only thing that mattered to him, anyway, was that Pa was alive; anything else could be fixed.

    As soon as Adam had Ben settled on the sofa, he hurried into the kitchen to demand a basin of warm water from Hop Sing  “Mistah Ben hurt bad?” the Chinese cook asked anxiously.

    “I don’t think so,” Adam said, “but I can tell more after I get him cleaned up.  Just get that water in fast as you can.”

    The little cook nodded and moved swiftly to the pump.

    Adam went back into the front room and sat on the table beside his father.  “I guess they hanged Lucky Bill,” he said softly.

    Head cushioned on the arm of the sofa, Ben looked sorrowfully at his son.  “Yeah,” he muttered.  “I couldn’t stop them.”

    “But you had to try,” Adam said.

    Ben smiled gratefully.  This boy was the only person who seemed to understand.  Not surprising, though.  Adam always had been closest to his father, in both looks and feelings.

    Hop Sing arrived with the water, and Adam began to sponge away the dirt and caked blood from his father’s face.  Marie came downstairs just as he was finishing.  Ben stretched out a hand, and she moved quickly to his side.  “Little Joe settled down now?” he asked.

    Marie shook her head.  “A little.  Hoss is rocking him.  The motion seems to soothe him.”

    “Always did,” Ben smiled, then winced.

    “You are in pain,” Marie murmured, touching him gently.

    “No, not real pain,” Ben contradicted.  “My face is sore, my body aches, but it’s nothing serious.”

    “Want me to ride for the doc?” Adam asked.

    “No, no,” Ben chuckled bitterly.  “He couldn’t do more for me than you have, and another scolding is not the medicine I need.”

    Marie’s mouth tightened.  Another scolding was just what she thought was in order, but she resolved to withhold it, at least until Ben was in better shape to listen.  “You must rest.  No work for you today,” she said instead.

    Ben smiled.  “Or anyone else, unless my eyes deceive me.”  He looked at Adam.  “Not working on the boat today?”

    Adam shrugged.  “Not in the mood, I guess.  Anything you need me to handle?”

    Ben touched his son’s shoulder in gratitude.  “Nothing, son; just see to the cow, the chickens.”

    “We did that,” Adam assured him.

    “Then take the day off, do something with Hoss.  I’m gonna sleep awhile.”  As Ben closed his eyes, Marie motioned for Adam to come away.

    As usual, the family slept late on Sunday——at least as late as Little Joe would permit.  After a leisurely breakfast, they would normally have loaded everyone into the buckboard and driven to the Thomases for dinner.  This morning, however, Ben dawdled over his morning coffee; the others, though they’d finished eating, remained at the table.  Finally, Marie suggested it was time to leave.

    “I’m not going,” Ben said, taking another sip of coffee.

    Adam and Hoss exchanged an anxious look.  “You feelin’ bad, Pa?” Hoss asked.

    “I’m all right, son,” Ben replied.  Little Joe banged happily on the table with his cereal spoon.  Ben smiled at him, grateful that one person, at least, was oblivious to the unease affecting everyone else.

    “But you don’t feel like riding to the Thomases today, is that it?” Adam asked.

    “Not today, not any other day,” Ben muttered.  “I will not sit to table with a murderer.”

    “Huh?” Hoss asked, his face scrunching up as he tried to make sense of his father’s comment.  While Marie and Adam had heard a full description of what took place at Lucky Bill’s and understood what Ben meant, Hoss was completely in the dark.

    “He is hardly that,” Marie sputtered.  “I know you are angry, Ben, but——”

    “You have no idea how angry,” Ben snapped.  “My own wife defending the man who hog-tied me like a calf for branding!”

    Marie stood and came behind Ben’s chair, laying cool hands against his cheeks.  “I am glad he did, Ben; if he had not, I think you would be dead.”

    Ben lurched out of the chair and into the front room.  At the fireplace he turned, eyes sparking hotter than the wood on the hearth.  “I can’t believe you said that, my hot-blooded Creole wife, raised under a code of honor.  I thought you, at least, would understand me.”

    Marie moved toward him.  Little Joe whimpered a protest at being left behind, and Hoss scooted close to pat him consolingly.  “I understand, Ben,” Marie said, trying to curb her temper, though the spots of color in her cheeks betrayed her.  “I think you were right in believing Monsieur Thorrington innocent, but wrong in interfering.  It was foolish.”

    “Fine, criticize all you like,” Ben grunted, folding his arms against his chest and facing the fire.  “I don’t need your approval.”

    “I think a man with small sons should not risk leaving them orphans!” she fumed at his rigid spine.

    Ben spun to face her, arms still stiffly folded.  “And I think a man with small sons should set them an example by doing what is right!” he retorted.

    Hoss laid his head down and started to cry.  Adam stretched a hand across the table and ruffled the younger boy’s sandy hair.  “You keep that up and I guarantee one small son’ll start bellowing up a storm,” he barked at his parents.  As if he’d taken the hint, Little Joe began to cry.

    Both Ben and Marie caught their breath, suddenly realizing the sons they were discussing were hearing every angry word.  Marie laid her head against the rigidity of Ben’s armored stance.  “I don’t want to quarrel with you, Ben,” she murmured softly.

    Slowly, Ben’s arms opened to enfold her.  “Or I with you, so maybe we’d better not discuss Clyde Thomas.”

    Marie nodded.  “We do not have to go today.”

    “Oh, you can go if you like,” Ben said.  “I have no objection to you or the boys going, but good as Nelly’s cooking is, it’d stick in my craw today.”

    “No, no, I would rather stay with you,” Marie whispered.

    Hoss bounced up from his chair.  “We ain’t goin’ to Aunt Nelly’s?” he wailed.

    “No, son, we’re not,” Ben said.

    “But——but we always go, ‘less they come here,” Hoss moaned.

    “Hoss, I’m sorry,” Ben said.  “I know you’re too young to understand, but”——Ben started to say Uncle Clyde and choked on the familiar title——“Mr. Thomas and I had some trouble yesterday, and I doubt we’ll be welcome there.”

    “If you been fightin’, you oughta go make up,” Hoss declared.  “You always made me and Adam, when we was fussin’.”

    Ben shook his head.  “This is a little more serious than a children’s quarrel, Hoss.  Now, it’s settled; don’t argue with me any more.”

    “Wait a minute,” Adam remonstrated.  “We can’t just not show up.  They’ll think something’s really wrong.”

    “There is something really wrong!” Ben bellowed.

    “Ben,” Marie cautioned, “you are shouting again.”

    Ben took a deep breath.  “All right; all right.  What do you suggest, Adam?”

    “Well, I’ll go,” Adam offered reluctantly, “and tell them why you won’t be there.”

    “You don’t have to do that, Adam,” Ben murmured.  “It’s not your responsibility, son.”

    Adam shrugged.  He agreed that the responsibility was really his father’s, but his father had made it plain he didn’t want to see Clyde Thomas.  “Somebody’s got to tell them,” he insisted.  “It’s ill-mannered not to.”

    “He’s right, Ben,” Marie said softly.

    “Yeah, fine.  You——you go ahead, son,” Ben said.

    Adam took his hat from the peg beside the front door.  “You want to come, Hoss?” he asked.

    Hoss looked from his brother to his father, not sure what he ought to do.  “Naw, I guess not,” he muttered, “but tell Aunt Nelly I ain’t mad at nobody.”

    Adam gave his little brother a sympathetic smile.  “I’ll tell her,” he promised, “and Uncle Clyde, too.”

    Billy met Adam in the yard when he rode up.  “Where’s your folks?” Billy asked.

    “Not coming,” Adam mumbled.  “I need to talk to your pa, Billy.”

    Billy caught the somber tone in his friend’s voice.  “Sure, he’s in the house.  Come on in.”

    Adam wrapped his sorrel’s reins around the hitching post and followed Billy inside.

    Nelly looked up from the stove.  “Lands, you’re early today,” she said.  Seeing Adam nervously twirling his hat in his hands, she came closer.  “What’s wrong, boy?  Where’s the rest of the family?”

    “They’re not coming, Aunt Nelly,” Adam replied uneasily, “and you can send me packing, too, if you want, but I figured someone ought to tell you that the rest won’t be coming for dinner.”

    “Your pa wasn’t hurt that bad, was he?” Clyde asked, concerned.

    “I told you you should’ve sent the doc out to tend him,” Nelly chided.

    “No, Pa’s all right,” Adam assured them, “except——except he’s—— well——”

    “Out with it, boy,” Clyde ordered.

    “He’s mad,” Adam said bluntly.  “I don’t want to repeat what he said, but what it comes down to is he’s mad, and he doesn’t want to take dinner here today.”

    “Sorry he feels that way,” Clyde said, leaning back in his chair.  “That all you came to do, boy, deliver a message?”

    Adam shook his head.  “No, sir.  I’ve got some questions I’d appreciate your answering about what happened yesterday.”

    “You’ll stay to dinner, won’t you, Adam?” Nelly asked, her voice almost pleading.

    Adam smiled and nodded.  “If you’ll have me, ma’am.”

    “Why, you’re more than welcome,” she beamed, “and goodness knows there’s enough food.”

    “Can I ask Sally to dinner, seein’ as how’s there’s extra?” Billy requested.

    “Ask anyone you like,” his mother said, brushing at her eyes as she turned back to the stove.

    When Billy had left, Adam moved closer to Clyde.  “I had some questions.”

    “So you said,” Clyde muttered.  “Ask away, boy; I got nothing to hide.”

    “You and my pa have been friends a long time,” Adam began, “so it’s hard for me to understand how you could watch him get beaten up like that and not try to help.”

    Clyde sighed.  “That was hard for me, too, boy.  To be honest, some of what your pa got, he asked for.  You can’t expect a man to get punched without hittin’ back, and your pa was strikin’ out at anything he could reach, arms and legs flyin’ ever which way.  He even knocked me down a couple of times, though I never struck him.”

    Adam gave Clyde a lopsided grin.  “Pa didn’t tell us that part, sir.”

    “Don’t surprise me none,” Clyde grunted.  “Ben’s got a way of seein’ just one side of things.”

    “The way he looked, well, it just didn’t look like a fair fight to me,” Adam stated.

    Clyde nodded.  “Wasn’t.  Like I said, some of them blows Ben asked for, the rest was from men takin’ out their spite.  I didn’t like seein’ Ben hurt, but there’s two reasons I didn’t step in.”

    “I’d like to hear them.”

    Clyde gestured to the right and Adam sat down in the chair next to him.  “First, there was things I couldn’t have stopped.  They happened too fast, over and done with before I could’ve done anything.  No sense fightin’ something that’s already finished.  Some I could have tried to stop, probably wouldn’t have done any good, but I could’ve tried.”

    “Why didn’t you?”

    Clyde laid his callused hand on Adam’s knee.  “Ben interferin’ the way he did riled some of them men hotter than——”

    “Clyde, you watch your language!” Nelly ordered, spinning around quickly.

    Clyde nodded contritely, figuring he had enough people mad at him without adding Nelly to the list.  “Well, the point is when men are heated up, like they was agin your pa, that fire’s got to go somewhere or it can build up like steam in a boiler.  Better to open a valve and let some escape before it explodes in ways you can’t control.  You get my meaning, boy?”

    “I think so,” Adam said thoughtfully.

    “Maybe it wasn’t the right decision,” Clyde conceded, “but I figured it was better to let your pa take a few punches than have something worse happen.  There was men talkin’ about stringin’ him up alongside Lucky Bill.  I’d’ve fought ‘em if they’d tried that, but I don’t think I could’ve stopped ‘em.”

    Adam bit his lip.  “Pa never told us that part, either.”

    “Likely he didn’t want to worry you,” Clyde said.

    Nelly walked over to rest a hand on Adam’s shoulder.  “How’s the rest of the family feelin’?” she asked.

    “Not like Pa,” Adam assured her.  “In fact, I promised Hoss I’d tell you he isn’t mad at anyone.”

    “Bless his sweet heart,” Nelly murmured, shaking her head.  “This must be hard on him.  Thank goodness, Little Joe’s too young to understand.”

    “Trouble is, what he doesn’t understand, he screeches about,” Adam grinned, “and he’s been doing plenty of that the last couple of days.  Makes me glad I’m eating here!”

    Nelly gave him a hug.  “We’re mighty glad, too, Adam.”

Leaning back against the nearest pine, Paul Martin patted his protruding belly.  “Fine feed, ladies, but if I eat any more, we’ll have to declare a medical emergency.”

    “Wasn’t as good as usual,” Hoss complained.

    “Hoss,” his father muttered in testy warning.

    Hoss shrugged.  He knew enough to keep his mouth shut, but he held to his opinion.  The Fourth of July picnic hadn’t been as tasty as usual.  How could it be without Aunt Nelly’s pie to finish off the meal?  And as much as he liked Dr. Martin and his daughter, he missed the people who’d always spent the holiday with them——even Billy, teasing pest that he was.

    Billy, of course, was the one member of the Thomas family any of the Cartwrights except Adam had seen since that fatal Saturday that ended their long-time friendship.  He’d come by the house once, to see Adam’s boat, and had planned to be here today, when they first tested it on Lake Tahoe, but he hadn’t shown up.  Maybe his pa wouldn’t let him.  No way to know, since Billy’s pa and Hoss’s pa weren’t on speakin’ terms.

    Hoss thought the whole thing was stupid, worse than any kids’ quarrel he’d ever seen.  Pa wouldn’t take Sunday dinner at the Thomases the day after the hanging; then Uncle Clyde got his feelings hurt over that and wouldn’t come to the Ponderosa the next Sunday.  Now another week had gone by without seeing them, and Hoss began to wonder if the feuding would ever end.  Not if Pa had anything to say about it, he suspected.  Why, Pa wouldn’t even buy supplies in Carson City anymore, just ‘cause he didn’t want to deal with Uncle Clyde!  He drove all those extra miles into Genoa, instead.  Stupid, just plain stupid, Hoss told himself, though he didn’t dare tell Pa.

    “You through eating, Hoss?” Adam asked, the question snapping the younger boy out of his reverie.  “Ready to go for a sail?”

    “Yeah,” Hoss said, face brightening.  He and Adam had worked hard to make this moment happen, and he didn’t intend to let anything spoil it.

    Adam’s next words came close to doing just that, however.  “You’ll go with us, won’t you, Sally?”

    Sally looked longingly at the sapphire lake.  “Oh, I’d like to, but I should help put the food away first.”

    “No, no,” Marie said.  “I have nothing else to do.  Please go, Sally.  I know Adam will enjoy the sail more with you beside him.”

    Hoss frowned. It was supposed to be Billy in the boat with them, not a girl!  He didn’t consider it a fair trade.  Adam, on the other hand, looked pleased as punch as he took Sally’s hand and ran toward the shore where they’d left the boat after hauling it up in the wagon that morning.  Not wanting to be left behind, Hoss trotted after them.  Seeing his brothers headed for the lake, Little Joe pulled up and toddled off, too.

    “Uh-oh,” Ben said, getting up and giving chase.

    Little Joe was close to the shore by the time Ben caught him.  “No, you can’t go, baby,” he laughed, swinging Little Joe up into his arms.

    “Go,” Little Joe insisted, squirming.

    Ben held him against his chest.  “No, Little Joe, you can’t go in the boat.”

    “You’re too little, Punkin,” Hoss called as he climbed in.  Adam was busy helping Sally to her seat.

    “Bo’,” Little Joe whined.  “Go bo’.”  His hand stretched pleadingly toward the little yellow bark.

    Ben looked at Adam.  “You’d better get under way or you’ll have a stowaway on your hands.”

    “You hang onto him!” Adam shouted.  “That’s one crew member we don’t need!”

    As the boat pulled away, Little Joe wailed piteously.  Ben rubbed his back soothingly.  “Oh, it’s hard, I know.  Big boys run off and leave you behind, but you’ll get your turn.”

    Little Joe showed no sign of being comforted by his father’s promise.  As a possible distraction occurred to Ben, he sat down and began to remove the baby’s clothes.  Shedding his own shirt, shoes and stockings, Ben lifted the baby.  “I’m gonna take him in for awhile,” he called back to his wife and friend.  “You want a dip, Paul?”

    Paul waved and shook his head.  “No, thanks.  I’ll keep Marie company.”

    Marie looked up from the leftovers she was gathering.  “You do not have to.”

    Paul scooted closer to her.  “I want to.  It’s too soon after eating to swim.”  Marie glanced toward her husband so anxiously he laughed.  “Ben’s safe enough.  He won’t take the baby in deep, and he can’t cramp in water that shallow.”

    Marie smiled as she packed the pound cake into a basket.  “I worry too much, I know.”

    “Umm,” Paul acknowledged without rebuke.  “Ben’s been giving you more to worry about lately, too, hasn’t he?”

    Marie nodded.  “He is being foolish.  He thinks it is his quarrel and no one else is hurt, but how can we not be affected?”

    Despite his earlier remarks about overeating, Paul reached for one of the cookies his daughter had brought as their contribution to the meal.  “It’s just as bad on the other side of the quarrel,” he commented.  “Nelly wanted me to be sure to give you her love.”

    “And I send mine,” Marie said, then sighed.  “I do not know when I shall see her again——or Laura.  I had our foreman invite her here today, as he did you, but she sent word she had to work.”

    “Curry planned a big celebration for the town,” Paul explained.  “Laura agreed to bake the pies for the pie-eating contest.”

    Marie laughed.  “Hoss would have liked to enter that.”  A cloud covered her face again.  “We were so glad when Carson City was built, so happy our friends would be close.  Now look at us!”

    Paul closed his hand over hers.  “They’ll work it out, Marie.”

    Her troubled emerald eyes peered into his calm gray ones.  “Will they?”

    He gave her hand a squeeze and released it.  “They will.  They’re both stubborn as mules, so it may take time, but I’d bet on it.  They’ve shared too much to forget.”

    “Look at Ben now,” Marie said, smiling at the sight of her husband and baby splashing happily in the water.  “I have not seen him so at peace in two weeks.”

    “Anger’s an exhausting emotion,” Paul said.  “Take it from an expert, and I’m speaking from personal experience, not as a doctor.  I was an angry man when I first came here.  Ben told me then I needed to forgive the men who’d killed my wife before I could have peace.  Maybe I ought to administer a dose of the same sermon.”

    “I have already preached it——too often, according to Ben,” Marie smiled.

    “Maybe it just needs time to soak in,” Paul observed.  “Took me a long time to respond.”

    Marie flicked his nose with a red-checked napkin.  “Ah, but you were not so stubborn a mule as Ben or Clyde.”

    Paul nibbled his cookie.  “True, all too true,” he grinned.

    Sunday after Sunday went past with the two families going their separate ways.  Adam took Hoss up to the lake each week to sail and fish from their boat, and that seemed to somewhat alleviate the younger boy’s misery.  Once Billy went with them, but he confided that he found it hard to go against his father.  Not that Clyde had made any objection to his visit, he quickly assured Adam, but he’d spoken so sharply when he gave his permission that Billy had felt guilty, even though he knew he was doing nothing wrong.  “It’s the same here,” Adam disclosed.  “Pa doesn’t say anything, but he’s easier to get along with if we don’t mention your folks.”  Consequently, even the youngsters didn’t see each other often.

    Marie had been to Carson City once, ostensibly to visit Laura Ellis, but while she was in town, she’d slipped over to commiserate with Nelly about the foolishness of their husbands.  They’d wept on each other’s shoulders until Nelly pointed out that they were wasting precious time.  Instead, they chatted companionably, coddled Little Joe and dreamed of the day when they could all be friends again.

    Hoss enjoyed that visit.  He had a chance to play with Jimmy Ellis and Inger Thomas and eat a thick slice of Aunt Nelly’s chocolate cake, but he didn’t get to see Uncle Clyde, who was working at the trading post.  Not until they’d left, though, did he share his disappointment with Marie.

    “Oh, Hoss, you could have gone to see him,” Marie said.

    “I was scared Pa would be mad,” Hoss mumbled.

    “No,” Marie said firmly.  “Your father will say nothing; I will see to that.  Next time you must speak to whomever you wish.”

    Hoss nodded, pleased, but he found himself wondering when “next time” might be.  He had a feeling visits would be few and far between, and that thought brought a fresh worry.  His birthday was coming up at the end of July, and he’d never celebrated one without Uncle Clyde and Aunt Nelly.  “You think Pa and Uncle Clyde might make up soon?” he asked Marie.  “By my birthday?”

    “Oh, Hoss, I don’t know,” she sighed.  “I cannot promise, mon chéri, but we will make your birthday a happy one.  That I can promise.”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Hoss said dutifully, but he continued to worry.  He missed Aunt Nelly, especially, and not just for her cooking.  Lying in bed at night, Hoss came to understand that Nelly Thomas was a lot more special to him than he’d realized before.  She was more than a friend of his father’s; she was more than an adopted aunt; she was almost like another mother to him.  Though his mother-starved heart had enthusiastically welcomed Marie when she entered his life two years before, most of his early mothering had come from Nelly Thomas, and her absence left a void in him he couldn’t explain, one he was sure he couldn’t endure much longer.

    Deciding that his birthday couldn’t possibly be a happy one unless all his favorite people were there, Hoss determined to have things his own way.  He thought everything out carefully and began his campaign at supper on the Monday before his birthday.  “I been wonderin’,” he said tentatively as Hop Sing set a bowl of oxtail stew at each place.

    “What have you been wondering?” Ben asked, buttering a corn muffin.

    “About my birthday,” Hoss said.

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “Oh, do you have a birthday coming up?”

    Lifting a spoonful of stew, Marie clucked her tongue.  “Do not tease, Ben.  What do you wish to say about your birthday, Hoss?”

    “It’s a mite late to be hinting for presents,” Ben warned him.

    Hoss shook his head.  Why did they have to keep interrupting and making this harder for him?  “Not presents; I don’t care about presents.”

    “Glad to hear it,” Ben said, amused.

    “Ben,” Marie chided.

    “What I want is a party,” Hoss blurted out, “a picnic party, like we always have——only at Washoe Lake this time.”  He’d decided that Washoe Lake was neutral territory and a good meeting place for the people he wanted to attend.

    “I thought you liked Tahoe better,” Adam commented.

    Hoss glared at Adam.  He hadn’t let his brother in on his plans, but he sure hadn’t figured on having to argue with him.  “No,” he declared firmly.  “I—I do like Lake Tahoe best, but we been there so much this summer, I’d like to go someplace different.”

    “Fine with me,” Ben said.  “It’s an easier drive, anyway.”

    “Saturday, that’d be the best day, don’t you think?” Hoss pressed.  He assumed that Uncle Clyde could get away from work more easily at the end of the week.

    “Boy, you’ve got this all planned out, don’t you?” Adam teased.

    “Somethin’ wrong with that?” Hoss demanded.

    Adam just shrugged.  He was beginning to suspect his little brother was up to something.  Then he dismissed the idea.  Hoss was too open to be secretive about anything.  It just wasn’t in his nature.

    “A picnic Saturday at Washoe Lake sounds most pleasant, mon chéri,” Marie said quickly.  “Oui, Ben?”

    “Sure, fine,” he said, attention fixed on his bowl of stew.

    “And——and can I ask Jimmy Ellis to come?” Hoss suggested.  “Maybe Doc, too?”

    Ben chuckled, amused by the difference in age of the people on Hoss’s guest list.  “They’ll be welcome.”

    “And can I ask them myself?” Hoss begged.

    Ben cocked his head and scrutinized his middle son carefully.  “I guess you’re old enough to ride to Carson City by yourself, if that’s important to you.”

    “It is,” Hoss said happily.  Satisfied with the preliminary success of his plan, he began to spoon in stew like the hungry boy he was.

    Ben felt a momentary suspicion that there was more to Hoss’s request than met the eye, but, like Adam, he quickly dismissed it.  There wasn’t a surreptitious bone in Hoss’s honest body.  Obviously, he just wanted to demonstrate that he was growing up, and extending his own invitations undoubtedly represented growth to the boy.

    Hoss kept his gray mare at an easy canter.  He was excited enough to gallop, but he’d learned early to be kind to his mount.  Besides, there was no real need to hurry.  Carson City wasn’t going anywhere, and he needed time to plan his strategy.  He figured he’d ask the Ellises first, then the Martins.  Once the easy invitations had been extended, he could turn his full attention to the harder ones.  He’d go to Aunt Nelly first and get her on his side before approaching Uncle Clyde.  If he was acting like Pa——and Billy said he was——Hoss would have to do some fancy talking to get him to the party.  The boy was determined, though.  Uncle Clyde had to be there.

    As he’d expected, Laura Ellis quickly agreed to bring Jimmy to the picnic and even promised to bake Hoss’s favorite cake, chocolate with white boiled icing.  Doctor Martin was out taking care of a patient, but Sally accepted for them both and told Hoss she’d be looking forward to his party.

    Well content with the way things were going, Hoss headed for the Thomas cabin.  Nelly beamed when she saw him.  “Sunshine!  What a nice surprise!”  She looked past him into the yard.  “You alone?”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Hoss said, his voice barely above a whisper.  “I came to see you special.”

    “Well, isn’t that nice?” she said, giving him a big hug.  “I’ve missed seein’ you, boy.”

    “Me, too,” Hoss murmured.  “I don’t like this fussin’ one bit.”

    “Me, neither,” Nelly declared.  “Come on in and tell me what you’d like for lunch.”

    “Anything you fix is good,” Hoss said, “but I didn’t exactly come to eat.”

    “Why, it’s nigh on to noon now,” Nelly argued.  “Of course, you’re gonna eat.  I won’t take no for an answer.”

    Her words triggered an idea in Hoss’s brain.  “Okay, and I won’t take no for an answer, either.”

    “To what?” Nelly laughed.

    “I’m having a birthday picnic Saturday at Washoe Lake, and I want you and Uncle Clyde there.  Billy and Inger, too, of course,” Hoss hurried to say.

    Nelly sat down and pulled him close.  “Sunshine, there’s nothin’ I’d like better, but I just don’t know——about Uncle Clyde, I mean.  He’s got his feelin’s hurt real bad.”

    “I know.  Pa, too,” Hoss said, “but it’s time they got over it.”

    “Truer words was never spoken,” Nelly agreed, “but how do we convince them?”

    “You got to come,” Hoss pleaded.  “I ain’t never had a birthday without you.”

    “It’ll be up to Clyde,” she said without a hint of hope.

    “I better go ask him then,” Hoss said.

    “You do that,” Nelly said.  “Go right over to the trading post and put it to him.  And you can bring him back to dinner.”

    Hoss hustled across the street to Curry’s trading post, where Clyde was working alone.  He caught Hoss in a bear hug as soon as he saw him.  “Hey, boy, good to see you,” he said.  “Uh, your folks in town?”

    “No,” Hoss said.  “I’m here on business of my own.”

    Clyde chuckled.  “Probably should’ve taken it to Genoa.  We don’t stock gumdrops, son.”

    “I ain’t lookin’ for gumdrops.”

    “What are you lookin’ for, then?” Clyde queried, tousling the boy’s light hair.

    “You,” Hoss said, pointing his stubby finger at Clyde’s belt buckle.  “I’m lookin’ for you to come to my birthday picnic this Saturday at Washoe Lake.”

    Clyde’s face hardened.  “Your pa know you’re here?”

    Hoss shuffled his feet.  “Sort of.”

    “Sort of,” Clyde repeated.  “That answer bears explainin’, boy.”

    Hoss bit his lip.  “Pa knows I’m in town, and he knows I’m invitin’ folks to the party; he just don’t know you’re one of ‘em.”

    “Well, that’s a pretty important thing to leave out,” Clyde sputtered, “your pa feelin’ the way he does.”

    Hoss put both hands on his hips.  “What about you?  What are you feelin’?”

    “Well, I——uh——I don’t see as how that matters,” Clyde stammered.

    “It matters to me and Adam and Marie and Little Joe, too,” Hoss declared.

    A corner of Clyde’s mouth twitched up.  “Little Joe, too, huh?  He express that good and clear, did he?”

    “He sure did,” Hoss announced, totally missing the irony of Clyde’s question.  “And what I want to know is, are you still mad at my pa?”

    “Me?” Clyde protested.  “Ben’s the one with the head full of steam.”

    “You ain’t mad?” Hoss pressed.

    “Well, I ain’t mad, exactly,” Clyde replied.  “I think your pa’s been playin’ the fool, but——”

    “I think you both been playin’ the fool,” Hoss interrupted.

    “Now, wait a minute, youngun——”

    “You’re friends, ain’t you, you and Pa?”

    “We were,” Clyde said hesitantly.

    “Real friends don’t give up on each other,” Hoss insisted.  “Me and Jimmy fuss all the time, but we don’t stay mad ‘cause we’re friends.  I think it’s high time you and Pa quit bickerin’ worse than a couple of kids and made it up with each other.”

    “You got yourself a wagonload of opinions today, don’t you, youngun?” Clyde grunted.

    “I want you and Aunt Nelly at my party,” Hoss said bluntly.  “That’s my opinion.”

    “Yours, not your pa’s,” Clyde pointed out.  “He don’t know nothin’ about this shenanigan you’re pullin’, and you expect me to just drive up actin’ like nothin’ passed between us?  That’s askin’ a lot, boy.”     “It’s all the present I want for my birthday, you and Pa friends again,” Hoss pleaded.  “Say you’ll come.”

    “I’ll give it some thought,” Clyde said.  “I ain’t promisin’ nothin’, but I’ll give it some thought.”

    Hoss beamed, confident that his peacemaking mission had succeeded.  “Aunt Nelly says to bring you home to lunch now,” he stated.

    Clyde laid a hand on Hoss’s sturdy shoulder.  “Let’s go, then.  Sure will be nice to see you at our table again, son.”

    The sun glinted off the surface of flat, placid Washoe Lake.  Here, on the valley floor, few trees grew, but some cast refreshing shade at the southern edge of the lake.  Marie had spread the picnic cloth beneath a towering cottonwood, the shadow of whose dark leaves cast a circle wide enough for all the picnickers to enjoy its coolness as they ate.  The expected guests had already arrived——the guests Ben, Marie and Adam expected, that is.  Hoss kept nervously looking to the south, straining to see another buckboard headed their way.  No one had promised, but his hopes had been soaring high ever since his trip to Carson City four days before.

    “What’s bothering that boy?” Ben mumbled under his breath.  Hoss had been so bubbly yesterday.  That was actually his birthday, and the family had shared a cake and let Hoss open his presents.  Ben had remarked, tongue in cheek, that someone was certainly showing an interest in the gifts he had declared he didn’t care about, but he couldn’t help noticing that Hoss seemed happier than he had in——well, over a month.

    Now, at the picnic he’d planned for himself, with all the people he’d wanted surrounding him and wishing him a happy birthday, Hoss seemed distracted.  Ben cast his eyes south, as he’d seen Hoss do a hundred times, and he was the first to see the wagon rolling toward them.  “What on earth are they doing here?” he muttered.

    Though his voice had been low, Hoss heard and bounced up from his seat on the grass beside Jimmy Ellis to run to his father’s side.  Ben looked down at his son’s glowing face and became instantly suspicious.  “You have any idea why the Thomases chose this particular day to visit Washoe Lake, Hoss?” he demanded.

    Hoss took a deep breath and turned his face up to his father’s.  “I asked ‘em,” he declared firmly.

    Ben’s eyes hardened.  “Sounds like we may need to have a very necessary little talk, boy.”

    Hoss knew that was his father’s favorite way of announcing a spanking, but he was so sure what he’d done was right that he didn’t feel intimidated.  In fact, he felt bold as a mountain lion.  “Yeah, a little talk’s real necessary,” he said flatly, “but not with me——with Uncle Clyde.”

    Ben’s lips quirked upward.  Nothing he’d like better than to have a “necessary little talk” with Clyde Thomas, but he had a feeling Clyde wouldn’t hold still for a spanking.

    Adam had always displayed a remarkable ability to read his father’s mind.  Now, for a change, it was Hoss who instinctively knew what Ben was thinking.  “Not that kind,” he frowned.  “A real talk.”

    “You are out of line, boy,” Ben said, stiffening as he saw the buckboard pull up close to the cottonwood where the picnic was spread.

    Marie had risen as soon as she saw the Thomases and gone to envelop the unexpected guests in warm, welcoming embraces.  Adam and Sally had hurried to greet Billy, while Inger was looking everywhere for Hoss.  She spotted him, but her mother held her back, sensing Hoss had something tougher to deal with than an excited playmate.

    Clyde was the only one who hung back as the others gathered in the shade of the cottonwood.  He stood by his buckboard, not daring to look at Ben, who stood apart from the others, too.  Looking from one to the other, Hoss tugged at his father’s hand.  “Come on and say howdy,” he ordered.

    “You go say howdy,” Ben said, swatting the boy’s backside.  “They’re your guests.”

    Hoss frowned.  This was not going quite the way he’d planned, but he wasn’t ready to give up.  Deciding Uncle Clyde might be more reasonable than Pa, he ran to the buckboard and grabbed Clyde’s hand.  “Come on,” he commanded, pulling with all his might.

    “This ain’t gonna work, boy,” Clyde muttered, stumbling to maintain his balance.  He’d seen Ben’s reaction when he drove up.

    “Yes, it is,” Hoss insisted.  “Come on.”

    Reluctantly, Clyde let himself be dragged over to where Ben stood, arms folded tight against his chest.  Clyde swallowed a huge lump of pride and thrust his hand at his former friend.  “Howdy, Ben.”

    Ben’s arms remained glued to his chest as he returned Clyde’s greeting with an icy stare and icy silence.

    Hoss was furious.  Uncle Clyde had done his part, come more than halfway to meet Pa, but Pa was being just plain rude.  In his anger, he did something Adam could never have done, but Hoss was strong enough to pull it off.  He grabbed his father’s right arm, jerked it down and brought it out to meet Clyde’s extended hand.  “Now, shake hands and make up,” he demanded.  “You been scrappin’ like wolf pups long enough.”

    Ben’s face flamed with embarrassment, but Clyde grabbed his hand and gave it a quick shake.  “He’s right, you know,” Clyde said softly.  “We have been scrappin’ long enough——and all over nothin’.”

    “Nothing!” Ben snapped.  “You call what you did to me nothing?”

    “No, I call what I did savin’ your life!” Clyde shouted back.

    Hoss gave a satisfied nod and backed away.  They were talking now.  That was good.  They might do some yelling for awhile, like friends sometimes did, but now that they were talking, he was sure they’d work out their differences.  Neither man noticed him slip away.

    “You sure got a strange way of going about it!” Ben hollered back at Clyde.

    “Well, you didn’t leave me many options,” Clyde growled.  Then he took a deep breath.  “Whether I went about it the best way or not, you got to know, in your deepest heart, that I was thinkin’ of you.”

    Ben’s angry retort died in his throat.  He did know that, in his deepest heart; even while it was happening, he’d understood Clyde’s intentions.  He’d just been so frustrated by his own helplessness that he’d turned his anger against his friend and nursed it every day since until the anger was all he could see.  After a long silence, Ben said, “I——uh——didn’t give you many options, did I?”

    Clyde gave him a sour smile.  “Not that I could see.”

    “What were you doing there in the first place?” Ben demanded.  It was the question he’d pondered through wakeful nights for the past six weeks.

    Clyde shrugged sheepishly.  “I don’t know.  Curious, maybe.  I’d never seen a hangin’ before.”

    “Well, you got a good eyeful that day,” Ben snorted.

    Clyde nodded.  “The last one I care to get, I can tell you that.  It’s an awful thing to watch.  It wasn’t all curiosity, though.  Partly fear, I reckon.”

    That response took Ben off guard.  “Fear?  Of what?”

    Clyde twisted the toe of his boot in the grass.  “The way folks was splittin’ up over the whole thing, I guess, feelin’s runnin’ hot.  Mormons mostly favorin’ Lucky Bill and gentiles mostly goin’ agin him.  Reckon I just felt safer if folks knew which side I was on.”

    “You had nothing to be afraid of,” Ben said.  “I wouldn’t have let anyone hurt you.”

    “Even if you had to hog-tie me to save me?” Clyde asked, chin twitching.

    Ben laughed and suddenly realized how long it had been since he had.  “Yeah, I guess I might have done that, if I couldn’t think of any other way.”  He wrapped his arms around Clyde in a hearty embrace.  “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

    A round of applause from beneath the shade of the cottonwood made both men break apart, laughing.  “Reckon we’re puttin’ on quite a show,” Clyde grinned.

    Ben threw an arm around his shoulders and herded him back toward the others.  “Yeah, let’s get back to the party.  We haven’t eaten yet, so you’re just in time.  Afterwards, maybe you’d like to help me give Hoss his birthday spanking.  I’m gonna take special pleasure in making it a sound one this year.”

    “Just to grow on, of course,” Clyde snickered.

    “Oh, of course,” Ben chuckled.  “That conniving, little——I didn’t think he had it in him.”

    They returned to the hugs of their families and friends, and Ben became aware of how deeply affected everyone had been by his quarrel with the man who’d been like a brother to him since they’d come west together in 1850.  Everyone was wiping their eyes, though it was hard to tell whether the tears came from relief or laughter.  Hoss received innumerable pats on the back (and the backside from Clyde and Ben), while Laura Ellis expressed what everyone was feeling about him when she whispered to Marie, “A little child shall lead them.”

    There was more food than anyone could eat, since each of the ladies had brought a well-packed hamper.  While the women put the leftovers away for later, the men lounged and the children romped.  After about an hour Dr. Martin announced enough time had passed for it to be safe to swim.  The suggestion brought shouts of approval from the children, and the men, of course, felt duty bound to supervise.  They moved a short distance away and began shedding their outer clothing behind a bush.

    “Supervise the younguns, my foot,” Nelly complained good-naturedly to the other ladies.  “What they want is a chance to cool off themselves.”

    “Why don’t you go in with them?” Laura teased.

    “Lands, no!” Nelly squawked.  “I ain’t showin’ myself before them overgrown boys.  Ain’t fittin’ when they get the age of Billy and Adam.  Go in yourself, if you’re so anxious to swim with the menfolk.”

    “I’d rather have a nice nap,” Laura yawned.  “I always get sleepy after a big meal.”

    “A nap is just what this one needs,” Marie said, pulling Little Joe into her lap.  Since it was so hot, she took off everything but his diaper and laid him on a quilt beside her.  She handed him the calico bunny he carried everywhere.  “You and bun-bun go to sleep now.”

    Little Joe gurgled contentedly and hugged the bunny to his bare chest, sucking on one bedraggled fur ear.  Marie smiled.  Little Joe wasn’t always cooperative about naptime, and she was glad he wasn’t putting up a fuss today.  She was tired.  “I think I will rest, too,” she said and lay down next to her baby.

    Laura lay beside Marie and Nelly beside Laura.  Sally, who’d chosen to stay with the ladies instead of swimming with the boys, lay at the end.  For awhile they rested with their eyes shut, catching up on the gossip they hadn’t had a chance to share because of the ongoing feud, but slowly all the ladies drifted to sleep.

    Billy and Adam struck out for the center of the lake as soon as they hit the water, while the three younger children, all non-swimmers, stayed close to the shore.  “I wanna learn to swim, Pa,” Inger pleaded.

    “Okay, girl; hang onto me and we’ll go out a mite deeper,” Clyde said.

    “Me, too,” Jimmy insisted.  “I wanna go deep.”

    “All right, son, you come with me,” Paul offered.

    Hoss continued to wade among tule shoots and buttercups in ankle-deep water.  “Come on, son,” Ben urged, embarrassed that his boy, oldest of them all, was the only shore-hugging craven in the bunch.  “You don’t want those youngsters showing you up, do you?”

    “Don’t bother me none,” Hoss said, stomping his feet to make the water splash high.

    “Hoss, you have to learn to swim,” Ben said severely, “and today’s the day, I think.”

    “It’s my birthday, Pa,” Hoss whined.

    “Wrong,” Ben said severely.  “Yesterday was your birthday.  Today’s a plain, ordinary Saturday, except for one thing.”

    “What’s that?” Hoss asked suspiciously.

    “It’s the day you’re gonna learn to swim,” Ben declared.  “Now, get out here!”

    Fearful, but more afraid of making his father angry, Hoss moved cautiously into waist-deep water.  Ben, frowning, waded back to drag him deeper.

    At first, Little Joe played contentedly with his bunny, then, hearing the other children splashing and shouting in the lake, he rolled over and watched for a minute or two.  Smiling, the baby stood up and pattered off, so quietly that none of the ladies dozing beside him heard him leave.  Billy and Adam were too far out and each of the men too busy teaching one of the younger children to swim to notice Little Joe, either, as he tugged at his diaper and finally managed to wriggle out of it.

    Chortling happily, Little Joe toddled straight for the lake and plunged in.  The water closed over his head, and he came up sputtering, but undaunted.  He flapped his tiny arms and legs, but his movements were so uncoordinated he made little progress in the water.  Once again his head dipped below the surface.  This time he came up hollering.

    His cry was distant, but Ben heard and jerked around to find its source.  Seeing the baby floundering in the water, Ben shouted out his name and started toward him.  Hoss, now in water over his head, immediately sank, gurgling and gulping in water.  “Pa!” he screamed in terror.

    Ben reached back to pull him up and began to move toward Little Joe, towing Hoss along with him.  The added load slowed him down, and Ben felt panic surge in his throat.  He had to reach Little Joe quickly, but if he turned loose of Hoss, the older boy was sure to drown.

    Marie was screaming, running into the water, shoes and all.  The other ladies stayed on shore, shouting at her to come back, to let the men handle the situation.

    Suddenly, Clyde was at Ben’s side.  “Get the baby,” he yelled.  “I’ll see to Hoss.”

    Ben released his middle son and began swimming with powerful strokes toward his youngest, whose head, surprisingly, still stayed on the surface more than it dipped below.  Reaching the boy, Ben pulled him into his arms.  “It’s all right, baby; Pa’s got you,” he soothed.

    But Little Joe needed no soothing.  “Wa wa,” he begged, left hand splashing at the water.

    Ben laughed, relieved.  “You little fish.  You like the water, don’t you?  Not scared like your big brother?  No, not a bit.”  Seeing Marie standing in water to her knees, Ben held the baby high.  “He’s all right.  I’ll keep him with me for awhile.”  As Marie climbed out of the water, wringing her skirts, Ben smiled at Little Joe.  “So you want to learn to swim, do you?  Let’s show that cowardly brother of yours how to do it, shall we?”

    Little Joe grinned as Ben lowered him into the water and moved back toward Hoss.  “You can go sit on the shore and watch,” he told the older boy.  “I have a little lad here who’s not afraid of the water.  I think I’d like to teach a willing pupil for a change.”

    Hoss glowered at Little Joe.  How dare that little thing show him up and bring Pa’s displeasure down on him?  For Inger or Jimmy to outshine him was one thing, but Little Joe!  Hoss fumed with indignity as his father towed him into shallow water and swatted him toward shore.

    Ben carried Little Joe back into deeper water.

    “That boy ain’t got a scared bone in his body!” Clyde cackled.

    Ben chuckled.  “Nor many cautious ones, either.”  He looked over at Clyde.  “Thanks, old friend.  I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t taken Hoss off my hands.”

    “No problem,” Clyde assured him.  “Inger’s got floatin’ down pat, so I knew I could leave her for a minute.”

    Ben nodded thoughtfully and laid the baby on his back.  “Let’s see if you can float, Little Joe,” he suggested and slowly moved his hands away.

    Little Joe didn’t float, but only because he wouldn’t lie still.  Almost immediately he rolled over and began to flap his limbs in rather inaccurate imitation of the swimmers.  Ben put one hand under the boy’s stomach.  “All right, all right,” he murmured.  “Kick your legs, Little Joe.”  He used his free hand to slap the water with first one little foot, then the other.  It took awhile, but Little Joe began to get the idea.  Soon he could kick his legs while Ben held his hands out in front of him.  Little Joe crowed with pleasure.

    Watching from shore, Hoss began to burn with shame.  Little Joe was swimming!  Really swimming——well, almost.  And Pa was beaming with pride in his little boy.  It was unbearable.  Hoss waded out waist-deep and called, “Pa, I wanna learn to swim.  It’s my turn now.”

    Ben looked at him in amazement.  Hoss had always screamed when he was forced into the water.  Now he wanted to learn?  Jealous, Ben quickly realized, but he didn’t care what motivated the boy, so long as he learned.  “Like to, Hoss,” he called, “but I’ve got my hands full now.  I don’t think your little brother’s ready to come out.”

    “Ben,” Paul called, “what don’t I see what I can teach Hoss?  Jimmy here’s doing well enough that Clyde can watch him and Inger.”

    “Sure,” Clyde agreed.

    “Sounds good,” Ben accepted gratefully.

    Paul guided Hoss into deeper water.  “You won’t let me drown, will you?” Hoss pleaded, clinging to his friend.

    “I won’t let you drown,” Paul promised gently.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Hoss.  Your body’ll float right on top of the water if you relax and quit fighting it.  It’s a scientific fact.  Shall we try that first?”

    “O—okay,” Hoss said through shivering lips.  He figured Paul, being a doctor, had his science straight and that gave the boy a measure more confidence than his father’s repeated assurances.

    From time to time Ben glanced over at the doctor working with his second son.  Paul seemed to be having more success with Hoss than his own father ever had.  Ben felt a moment’s envy, but brushed it aside.  Whatever works, he chuckled.  Finally, Little Joe seemed to grow tired, so Ben carried him back to his mother.

    Marie had removed her soaked shoes and stockings and was sitting on the quilt, bare feet tucked beneath her.  “Come here, naughty boy,” she laughed gently as Ben handed her the baby.

    “Now, don’t scold him,” Ben chided.  “He’s worked wonders this afternoon.  Not only has he made strides in learning to swim himself, but he’s convinced that milksop brother of his to try again, too.”

    “Don’t you be sayin’ a harsh word about Hoss,” Nelly chided.  “That boy’s worked a wonder himself today.”

    Ben smiled, knowing she meant the reconciliation between him and Clyde.  “Yeah, he has.  Just call me Father of Wonders.”

Marie picked up her button shoe and tossed it at him.

August was a month as bright in outlook as it was in the sunniness of its days.  Of course, the reconciliation of the two families was the greatest source of sunshine in their hearts.  Once again Sundays were times to share friendship around a table of happy faces.

    The corn had been hilled and laid by until harvest, and the second planting of the garden completed.  Since their major responsibility was well in hand, and since Adam had only one month until he returned to Sacramento for his second year at the academy, he and Hoss were given extra free time to spend as they chose.  Adam, feeling he’d soon have all he wanted of being closed indoors, chose to spend the time in the open air.  Often he and Billy, with Hoss struggling to keep in sight, raced their mounts through Washoe Valley, just to feel the breeze whistle in their ears.

    More often, though, the boys skimmed the surface of Lake Tahoe in the sunny yellow sailboat.  Hoss liked those times best because, usually, he and Adam were alone.  Sometimes Billy broke free from his chores for a long enough visit to go up to the lake, but Hoss pretty much had his brother to himself there.

    And the memories they stored up against the coming separation!  The small ship traversed Lake Tahoe from east to west and north to south.  Every inch of its sapphire surface seemed their personal property:  every rock, every cove, every tree.  “Let’s name stuff,” Hoss suggested, “like you did Zephyr Cove.”

    “All right,” Adam laughed.  To name his own world appealed to his literary nature, but he supposed, to be fair, he’d have to give Hoss some voice in what the landmarks were called.  “How about that?” he asked, pointing to a large, volcanic rock about four miles north of Zephyr Cove.

    “That’s easy,” Hoss declared.  “That’s Cave Rock.”

    Adam frowned at the simple name, but saw what his brother meant.  A tunnel appeared to go through the rock and probably did form a cave.  “I guess it’ll do until we come up with something better,” he conceded.

    They continued sailing north past the promontory.  When they’d passed it, Adam turned to look at Cave Rock from the opposite side.  “Look, Hoss,” he cried, pointing.  “Doesn’t that look like a lady’s face?  See her little, upturned nose.”

    “Yeah!” Hoss yelled.  “It is a lady, Adam!”

    “Why don’t we call it the Lady of the Lake,” Adam suggested.  “That’s from a famous poem.”

    Hoss’s nose screwed with distaste.  “A poem!  Aw, no, Adam.  Cave Rock suits me fine.”

    “But it’s so plain, Hoss,” Adam argued.

    “I like it plain,” Hoss insisted.  “You’re the one all the time wantin’ stuff fancy.”

    Adam took a deep breath and decided, as the older brother, he’d have to be the mature one.  “Okay, we’ll compromise,” he offered.  “We’ll call it Cave Rock, and say the Lady of the Lake lives on this side of it.”

    “Well,” Hoss drawled, then smiled.  “Yeah, she is a lady, and she does live at the lake.  The Lady of the Lake who lives at Cave Rock.”

    “That’s right,” Adam laughed.

    The wind changed and began to blow from the north.  “Let’s see if we can sail all the way to the south shore,” Adam said, bringing the boat around.

    “Yeah!” Hoss agreed.  “Bet we’ll find more stuff to name down there.”

    Adam grinned.  He was confident they would.  Sure enough, an unusual rock formation greeted them on the southern shore of Lake Tahoe.  Adam instantly came up with the perfect name, and he was determined not to give in so easily this time.  “We’ll call this Shakespeare Rock,” he dictated.

    “Shakespeare!  That’s plumb awful!” Hoss hollered.

    “But, look, Hoss,” Adam pleaded.  “You can see his features real plain.”

    Hoss pouted.  “I can see it looks like a man, all right.”

    “It looks like Shakespeare,” Adam insisted.

    “You never seen him,” Hoss accused.

    “I’ve seen pictures, and this looks just like them,” Adam contended.  “There’s one in Pa’s book at home.  I’ll show you.”

    Hoss squirmed.  “Couldn’t we just call it the Man of the Lake.  It’d go with the Lady.”

    “No, Hoss,” Adam persisted.  “This is Shakespeare Rock.  You can name the next place we find.”

    “Oh, all right,” Hoss conceded.  “Where to next, Adam?”

    Adam laughed.  “Home, silly.  It’s getting late, and you don’t want to miss supper, do you?”

    Hoss grinned and shook his head.  “Nope.  Hop Sing’s fixin’ leg of lamb.”

    Adam took the oars and began pulling against the wind.  “You’re right; I wouldn’t want to miss that.”  Since the Cartwrights didn’t raise sheep themselves, mutton didn’t show up on the table frequently.  Tonight’s supper would be a treat, and tomorrow’s, too, since the left-over meat was likely to turn up in shepherd pie.

    On their next excursion the boys, accompanied by Billy this time, sailed from Zephyr Cove to the large bay directly across the lake.  “Look at that!” Billy whooped as they came through the four-hundred-foot wide mouth that quickly opened into the broader bay beyond.  “This here’s the purtiest spot on the Ponderosa.”

    “We’re not on the Ponderosa,” Adam grinned.  “We’re in California now, buddy.”

    Billy grinned.  “Close enough.  Besides, ain’t nobody else around to claim it.”

    “Or name it,” Hoss added firmly.

    “What you wanna call it——Hoss Water?” Billy jibed.

    “No,” Hoss scoffed.  “You’re worse than Adam, Billy, when it comes to names.”

    “I told him he could name the next place,” Adam explained, “so we’re stuck with whatever he comes up with.”  His black eyes glinted as he stared Hoss down.  “It had better be something good, though.”

    “It will be,” Hoss promised.  “Just give me some time.”

    Billy groaned.  “This could take all day.  Let’s explore that island over there while slowpoke makes up his mind.”

    “Yeah, that’d be a good place for our picnic,” Adam decided.  Hop Sing, working on the theory that growing boys came equipped with hollow legs, had packed a bulging hamper.

    Hoss was always ready to eat, so the three were in agreement.  They sailed as close to the small island as the wind would permit, then rowed to its north shore, tied up the boat and hiked to the topmost point.

    “It’s a baby island,” Hoss commented as Adam spread the checked tablecloth on the ground, “just the right size for a picnic.”

    “We’re not calling it Baby Island!” Adam ordered.

    “Wait a minute,” Billy put in.  “Is he namin’ the bay or the island?”

    “The bay,” Hoss inserted, quickly claiming what he felt to be the greater honor.

    “You can name the island, Billy,” Adam offered generously, then frowned, “so long as it’s not something stupid.”  He took sandwiches from the hamper and gave one to each of the other boys.  As they munched, broad-winged bald eagles, snowy white heads gleaming in the sunlight, glided overhead and slightly smaller brown and white osprey swooped down to plunge feet first into the bay and snatch fish from the emerald waters.

    “We ain’t the only ones havin’ lunch,” Billy cackled.

    “Yeah.  Wish I could catch fish that easy,” Hoss chortled.

    “Well, try catching this,” Adam snickered, tossing a cookie at his brother.  Hoss caught it and bit into the sugar-sprinkled circle with a grin.  “Yup, better than fish,” he concluded.

    After lunch the boys stretched out beneath the nearest shade and watched the huge birds fly overhead.  “Sure are a bunch of ‘em,” Billy commented.

    Hoss sat up quickly.  “That’s it!” he cried.  “Eagle Bay.”

    Adam closed his eyes and considered the name.  “Not bad, Hoss,” he concluded.  “Yeah, Eagle Bay suits this place.”

    Billy pointed to an osprey perched in a tree above their boat.  “I’m gonna call the island Fish Hawk Roost.”

    Adam’s nose wrinkled.  He didn’t like the way that sounded, but couldn’t deny the logic of Billy’s choice.

    “Yup, the way them hawks is catchin’ fish, I bet we could bring home a mess for supper easy,” Hoss suggested.

    “We will,” Adam said, “but I think we’ll do better fishing from the boat.”

    “Let’s get at ‘er then,” Billy urged.  “My pa’s powerful fond of them cutthroat trout you catch here.”

    “Just ‘cause they’re big,” Adam laughed.  “Come on, boys, let’s pack up and go to fishing!”

    The three hurriedly stuffed whatever was left back into the picnic hamper.  Ben had taught his boys to leave the wild places the way they found them, so they made sure nothing remained but a few crusts of bread Hoss crumbled for the birds.  Then they raced down to the boat and rowed deeper into the bay to fish away the afternoon, coming home with enough cutthroat and silver trout to satisfy the supper tables of both families.  Between them, Adam and Hoss caught more than the Cartwrights needed, so Hoss suggested sending some to Dr. Martin.

    “Sure, be glad to drop ‘em by,” Billy offered with a quick wink at Adam.

    Adam scowled, knowing Billy planned to impress Sally with the catch.  “Just make sure you tell her who caught those fish,” he warned.

    “Sure,” Billy said easily.  “They’ll taste twice as good if she knows they came from Hoss.”

    Adam shook his head, grinning.  He’d lay odds Hoss never got the credit for those fish.

    The last Saturday in August the Cartwrights and their friends gathered for one last picnic at Lake Tahoe, a farewell party for Adam, who would leave for Sacramento the following Monday.  Marie, Hoss and Little Joe would be traveling by stagecoach, while Ben, Adam, Enos Montgomery and two other hands drove the cattle Ben thought were ready for market.  Marie’s party would arrive in Placerville days before Ben, of course, but she would spend them visiting the Zuebner family.  The family would reunite in Placerville, where Ben planned to sell what cattle he could before driving the rest on to Sacramento.  Marie and the younger boys would, of course, take the stage and train into California’s capital.  She would arrive first and be settled in the Orleans Hotel by the time Ben finished his business.  Once Adam was again established in Molly Maguire’s rooming house, the rest of the family would go on together to San Francisco and later to Rancho Hermoso.

    Nelly sighed as the plans were discussed over a lunch of fried chicken, potato salad, pickled beets, sauerkraut and peach pie.  “Lands, what a trip that’ll be!  You know, I ain’t never even seen California.”  She had planned to go to the neighboring state once with Clyde, to pick out her parlor furniture, but little Inger had taken sick and Clyde had been forced to do the choosing himself.

    “Ain’t missed much,” Clyde grunted.

    “It’s our old friends I miss,” Nelly elaborated, slapping her husband’s rough hand.  “I ain’t seen none of them folks we come west with since we settled here.”

    “They’d love to see you,” Ben said.

    “Huh!” Clyde snorted.  “That Camilla’s turned plumb snooty, from what I hear.  Reckon she wouldn’t be pleasured to see plain folk like us.”

    “Maybe not,” Nelly admitted, looking at her worn calico.  She hadn’t worn her best dress to a picnic, of course, and the everyday dress looked faded and worn, especially next to Marie’s.  The younger woman had dressed in one of her simplest frocks for the outing, but Marie managed to look elegant in whatever she wore.  Probably look like a princess even in this old rag of mine, Nelly thought and sighed again.

    An idea flickered across Marie’s countenance.  “But why not come with us, Nelly?” she suggested eagerly.  “I would love to have a traveling companion.”

    “Oh, I couldn’t,” Nelly protested, but her brown eyes grew warm considering the idea.

    “Oh, Ma, can I go, too?” Inger begged.

    “I couldn’t,” Nelly said again, her voice weaker this time.

    “Why, of course, you could,” Ben said.  “In fact, it would be a blessing.”

    “Yes,” Marie agreed eagerly.  “With Ben busy with the cattle, I could use help with the boys.”

    “You don’t need help with me,” Hoss protested, “and I’ll help with Little Joe.  I always do.”

    “Hush, Hoss,” his mother whispered urgently.  She knew how little it would take to sway Nelly into saying no.

    “How about it, Clyde?” Ben asked.  “I know you’re too tied up with the trading post, but you wouldn’t mind Nelly’s having a grand fling in California, would you?”

    “Well, I don’t know,” Clyde mused.  “Ain’t never thought of her goin’ off visitin’ on her own.”

    “She wouldn’t be alone,” Ben pointed out.

    “I want to go, Pa,” Inger whined.

    “Two women travelin’ with three younguns ain’t much better,” Clyde snorted, glaring at his girl’s interruption.  “There’s some rough characters in Californy.”

    “I’ll protect ‘em, Uncle Clyde,” Hoss assured him soberly.  He couldn’t understand the sudden laughter that circled the picnic cloth.

    “There now, that ought to ease your mind,” Paul Martin chuckled, giving Ben a wink.

    “Oh, yeah, I’m relieved, all right,” Clyde said, eyes rolling.  “You reckon you can handle a Californy bad man, Hoss?”

    “If he tried to hurt Aunt Nelly or Mama or Little Joe, I sure would,” Hoss declared stoutly.

    “Hey, what about me?” Inger demanded, knotting her fist and pounding Hoss’s arm.

    “You, too,” Hoss said quickly.  “I know I ain’t a man, but I’m strong and I can fight.”

    Ben’s lips were twitching almost uncontrollably.  “You have to admit he’s strong,” he told Clyde and quickly buried his mouth in a napkin.

    Clyde shook his head, not convinced, but too amused to argue further.  “It’s up to Nelly,” he said finally.

    Marie caught her hand.  “Oh, say you will come, Nelly.  Think how glad Ludmilla and Camilla and Rachel will be to see you after all these years.”

    “And the children,” Nelly murmured.  “How I’d love to see how they’ve grown.”  Then she shook her head.  “No, I couldn’t; I just couldn’t leave my menfolk with no one to see after them——not for that long.”

    “I’ll see after them,” Sally offered impulsively from her place between Billy and Adam.  “I’m a good cook, Mrs. Thomas, and I can do the washing and mending, whatever they need ‘til you return.”

    “Hey!” Billy cried.  “That’s an idea.”  He tossed Sally a conspiratorial smile.

    Seeing it, Adam’s jaw hardened.  He could read Billy’s mind.  That leering Billy was picturing himself cozying up to the doctor’s daughter night after night, while his rival stewed two hundred miles to the west.  The two young men took their rivalry pretty lightly, at least to this point.  Adam wasn’t sure what his true feelings for Sally were, and Billy seemed to share pretty much the same feelings for every girl he came near.  Eating at Sally’s table, however, might give the mischievous redhead an advantage it would be hard to combat from a distance, improved postal service notwithstanding.

    “Why, what a sweet offer,” Nelly said, smiling at Sally.

    “Say yes, Ma; I want to see San Francisco,” Inger pleaded.

    “Well”——Nelly drew the word out to give herself time to think——“Well, yes, I believe I will.”

    Sally clapped her hands.  “Oh, wonderful!”  The girl stood quickly.  “Now, Adam, I’m ready for that sail you promised me.”  She wanted to get away quickly before Nelly had a chance to reconsider.  She was a good-hearted girl and wanted the kindly older woman to have the pleasure of the trip, but even more she found herself looking forward to the opportunity to show off her domestic skills for a larger audience than just her father.

    Billy jumped up.  “Hey, I’m goin’, too.”

    “All right,” Sally laughed.  “I guess we can put up with you, hmm, Adam?”

    Adam nodded, then smiled triumphantly at Billy when the girl hooked her arm through his for the walk to the sailboat.  Billy stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled nonchalantly after them.  Let Adam have this afternoon’s victory.  Billy would have plenty of time to make up for taking second place today.

    “I wanted to sail today,” Inger pouted.  “I never have.”

    “I’ll take you out later,” Ben promised.  “In fact, we’ll all go sailing today, turn and turn about.  We’ll be hauling the boat back home this afternoon, so this is our last chance.”

    Hoss leaned over to whisper in his baby brother’s ear.  “Hear that; we’re all goin’ on the boat today.”

    “Bo’!” Little Joe shouted with glee.

    Ben groaned.  “I didn’t mean him, Hoss.”

    Paul smiled.  “You did say everyone, Ben.”

    “Yeah, and after all,” Clyde cackled, “if Hoss is strong enough to fight off desperados, he ought to be strong enough to hang onto one squirmin’ youngun.”

    Ben grunted his displeasure under his breath, then turned a stern eye on Hoss.  “You’d better take a firm grip on that boy and don’t let go for nothin’, you hear me, Hoss?”

    Wide-eyed and awed by the responsibility, Hoss bobbed his head quickly.

The Cartwrights had purchased their tickets and were waiting on the street in Genoa when Billy drove up and helped his mother and little sister from the buckboard.  “Hey, Aunt Nelly!” Hoss called, waving with all his might.

    “I don’t think she could miss you,” Ben commented dryly.

    “Howdy, Sunshine,” Nelly smiled, walking down the boardwalk to meet her friends.  She stooped to give the boy a hug.  Close behind, Inger bounced up and down, eager to be off on her first real journey.

    Billy dropped his mother’s carpetbag at her feet.  “I’ll get your ticket, Ma.”

    “Thanks, son,” she said, then stared at the pile of luggage near Ben.  “That all yours?”

    Ben laughed.  “A lot of it belongs to Adam.  Easier to send his things this way than haul them on a cattle drive.”

    Nelly laughed.  “Makes sense.  I was afeared Marie was bringin’ her whole wardrobe.”

    “Not quite,” Ben observed, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

    Marie slapped his upper arm.  “He thinks I pack too much, but he forgets how long we will be gone.  Besides, much of what he calls my luggage is filled with this one’s diapers.”  She patted Little Joe’s bottom affectionately.

    Nelly leaned over to kiss the baby’s curly, dark gold locks.  “You got more courage than me, takin’ one this small, but I know how you cherish keepin’ the little sugarfoot close.”

    “Sugarfoot!” Hoss giggled.  “Is that gonna be your name for him, like mine is Sunshine?”

    “Maybe, just maybe, Sunshine,” Nelly smiled.

    Billy sauntered out of the store.  “Here’s your ticket, Ma.”

    “Thanks, Billy,” she said.  “Ain’t no need you stayin’ to see us off.  Ben here will see we get boarded safe.”

    “Reckon I’ll head out then,” Billy said.  “Gotta consult with Sally about dinner, you know.”

    “I doubt she needs your help,” Ben mumbled.

    Hearing him, Billy just shrugged and gave his mother a kiss.  “Give my love to Marta,” he dictated.

    Nelly laid an affectionate swat on his britches.  “I’ll warn her to keep clear of the likes of you, you scamp.”

    Billy grinned.  “Have yourself a right fine trip, Ma, and don’t be frettin’ ‘bout me and Pa.  We’ll make out.”  He gave Inger’s strawberry-blonde braid a swift yank as he loped past her.

    “Hey!” Inger yelled.

    “Behave yourself, little sis,” Billy called.  “Don’t run off with no Sacramento charmer.”

    “Ooh, he makes me so mad!” Inger confided to Hoss.  “Aren’t big brothers just the biggest pains in the——”

    “Inger!” her mother snapped.

    “Neck, Ma,” Inger finished quickly.  She grinned at Hoss, who shook his head.  Not that he disagreed entirely.  Big brothers could be a pain in the neck, no arguing about that, but that academy was about to swallow Hoss’s big brother again for endless months.  Inger, who’d seen her big brother practically every day of her life, couldn’t understand that sometimes big brothers could be missed.

    The stage rumbled into town and pulled to a halt.  Ben helped the driver load all the luggage, then assisted Nelly as she stepped into the coach, followed by Hoss and Inger.  He took Little Joe in his arms for a moment.  “Pa’s gonna miss you,” he cooed in the baby’s ear as he held him close.  “Be a good boy now, and don’t give Mama any trouble.”

    He lifted the baby inside to Nelly’s reaching arms.  “Pa?” Little Joe called.  He couldn’t understand why his father wasn’t getting in, too.  Or his mother.  “Mama!” he cried, squirming to get off Nelly’s lap.

    “I’d better go to him,” Marie said.

    “Um-hmm,” Ben acknowledged, but he held her a moment longer.  “Have a good trip,” he said, giving her a lingering kiss.  “I’ll see you in Placerville.”

    “Mama!” Little Joe screamed.  Marie gave Ben’s cheek a parting stroke and hurriedly climbed into the stagecoach.

    Ben waved until the vehicle was out of sight, then mounted and rode quickly to join the trail drive already making its way south to Carson Pass.

    Little Joe was still crying as the stage took off.  “Sorry I couldn’t settle him,” Nelly apologized.

    “I think he feared I wasn’t coming,” Marie murmured, then smiled at her friend.  “Don’t worry; he will soon quiet down.”

    “Little Joe likes stagecoaches,” Hoss explained and Marie nodded.

    “Me, too,” Inger said, giving a happy bounce that brought a disapproving frown from the portly gentleman who, with Hoss, was making a sandwich of the little girl on the seat opposite the two mothers.

    “Inger, sit still,” Nelly cautioned.

    “But I’ve never been on a stagecoach before, Ma,” Inger whined.

    “Well, me neither,” her mother laughed, “but I ain’t bouncin’ all over the coach.”

    “You wanna sit by the window, Inger,” Hoss offered.  “You can see better.”

    “Yes!” the girl cried, immediately standing.

    “That’s a sweet thought, Sunshine,” Nelly complimented as the children switched places.

    “Aw, I been on a stagecoach lots of times,” Hoss said, discounting his chivalrous action.  He could count on one hand, with fingers left over, the number of trips he’d made by stagecoach, but Hoss felt himself a seasoned traveler compared to Inger, who’d never been west of the Sierras.  Since the ladies were keeping Little Joe occupied, Hoss passed the time by pointing out the sights to Inger.

    As the coach jolted over the rough roads, Marie moaned, then smiled at Nelly.  “It is miserable, I know, but we must take comfort from all those days we will have in Placerville to rest.  And the stage beyond there is smoother.”

    Nelly just laughed.  “Lands, girl, this isn’t rough, not compared to walking from Indiana.  And so fast!  It’s a luxury, Marie.”

    Marie giggled a little.  “I first came here by wagon, too, remember?”

    “Buckboard,” Nelly scoffed.  “Ridin’ all the way.  It ain’t the same, honey lamb.”

    “No, I am sure,” Marie agreed congenially.  “I would like to hear of your trip west, Nelly.  Ben has told me so little.  I think he fears to speak too much of——”

    “Inger?” Nelly asked softly.

    “What, Ma?” Inger asked, turning from the window.

    “Not you, darlin’,” Nelly laughed, “the one you’re named for.”

    “My mother?” Hoss queried.

    “That’s right, Sunshine.  Your mama was askin’ about how we all come west together.”

    “I wanna hear, too,” Hoss said.

    “Me, too,” Inger pleaded.  “There’s nothin’ much to see out this window.  Just more sand and sage.  Tell the story, Ma.”

    “We certainly have time,” Marie pointed out.

    “Well, if this gent don’t mind listenin’, I reckon I will,” Nelly said.  She smiled across at the man whose corpulent face was made broader still by his mutton chop whiskers.  “It’ll help keep the younguns quiet.”

    The man nodded, clearly pleased with any suggestion that would guarantee a peaceful ride.

    Nelly wasn’t the storyteller Ben Cartwright was, but her remembrance of the journey west included the kind of homey details Marie found fascinating, with enough excitement thrown in to interest the children and their seatmate, as well.  An hour into the story, the children decided they were hungry, so Marie and Nelly opened the lunch baskets.  Since they’d each brought one, there was more than enough to share, and their fellow traveler became positively chummy as he munched sandwiches and listened to more of the Larrimore train’s travels along the California Trail.

    Once the stage began to ascend the Sierra Nevada Mountains, Inger’s interest in the scenery perked up again, and Hoss impressed her with his ability to name virtually every plant they saw from the window.  “You’re smart,” Inger said, thus winning Hoss’s undying gratitude.  No one else had ever described him that way!

    Night fell and the weary passengers slumbered as the stage rumbled on.  None slept well, however, with the possible exception of Little Joe, who seemed to respond to the moving stage as if it were a rocking cradle.  Hoss and Inger woke early and irritable, and the gentleman sharing their seat began to wish he’d gotten off at one of the miserable way stations they’d passed in the night.  Nelly dug out the remaining sandwiches from her hamper and passed them around.  The rumbling of their tummies stilled, the children settled down once more.

    The mountain country was beautiful.  Dark evergreens lined the roadway, while here and there stands of aspen were just beginning to turn vibrant gold or flaming red.  Such views could be seen from the valleys east of the Sierras, of course, and even more frequently in the hills surrounding the Ponderosa, but here trees abounded, lacing the air with the pungent aroma of pine, mingled with the less discernable scents of other trees.

    The red clay canyon on whose sides Placerville sprawled glowed in the deeper crimson of the setting sun as the stagecoach pulled in and deposited its passengers.  “It’s been a pleasure, ladies,” their gentleman companion said, doffing his gray felt hat, then proved his congeniality by calmly hoisting several of their carpetbags beneath his hefty arms.

    With his help and that of a man Marie hired to assist them, the party transported all the baggage to the El Dorado Hotel and checked into adjoining rooms.  “We’re goin’ over to Mama Zuebner’s for supper, ain’t we?” Hoss asked eagerly.  “I’m half starved.”

    “Oh, Hoss, I think we should eat here tonight,” Marie said.

    “But why?  Mama Zuebner’s is the best in town,” Hoss argued.

    “I know,” his mother said, “and we will have breakfast there, mon chéri, but we are all tired and dusty.  We will feel more like visiting tomorrow.”

    “Aw, shucks!” Hoss pouted, plopping down on the nearest chair.

    “Lands, I hate to disappoint the youngun,” Nelly sympathized, “but I’d sure favor lookin’ a sight less draggled when I see Ludmilla again.”

    “ Mais oui,” Marie said firmly.  “Hoss must be patient and think of others besides himself.”

    “Yes, Mama,” Hoss said, but his face still hung with disappointment.

    “I’m hungry, too, Ma,” Inger grumbled.  “Can’t we eat now, wherever we do it?”

    “Sure, sugar,” her mother soothed.  “Here, you said, Marie?  They got a restaurant?”

    “ Oui,” Marie said.  “Ben has eaten here before.  He says it is acceptable.”

    “Let’s try it, then,” Nelly advised.  “We ought to get these cranky younguns fed and bathed and into bed as soon as possible.”

    “This one is not so cranky,” Marie smiled as she shifted Little Joe from one arm to the other.  “My good little traveler.”

    “He certainly is,” Nelly said, giving the baby an approving pat.  Hoss and Inger exchanged a look of joint discomfort.  Neither of them appreciated having a baby make them look bad.  No word passed between them, but both of the older children decided to work extra hard at behaving well at the supper table.

    Nelly took one look at the menu and shook her head.  “A dollar for plain old sauerkraut!” she hissed to Marie.

    “I know,” Marie commiserated.  “Prices are terrible, but one must eat, oui? ”

    “I reckon,” Nelly muttered.  “Ludmilla must be makin’ a fortune if her prices come close to these.  Me and Clyde just may be in the wrong business, in the wrong place.”

    “Do not tease,” Marie chided.  “How would we survive without you?”

    Nelly smiled.  “I wasn’t serious, honey lamb.  I like our part of the country.”  She looked down at Inger.  “You know what you want?”

    “I can’t read all these words, Ma,” Inger muttered in frustration.

    Nelly sighed.  “I wish the girl could have a real teacher.  I try, but I fear she ain’t learnin’ like she should.”

    “My mama’s been teachin’ me real good,” Hoss bragged.  “I can read this whole menu.”

    “That’s good, Sunshine,” Nelly said at the same moment that Marie rebuked Hoss for bragging.

    Hoss quickly glued his eyes to the menu and looked up to announce his selection.  “I want the hash.”

    “Which one, Hoss?” Marie queried.  “Low grade or eighteen carat?”

    Hoss shrugged.  “What’s the difference?”

    “About a quarter, the way I read it,” Nelly giggled.  “Reckon the eighteen carat is supposed to be better.”

    Marie nodded.  “And for a quarter’s difference, I think you should choose the better, Hoss.”

    Hoss nodded in agreement.  “Eighteen carat, then, for me.  How ‘bout you, Inger?”

    “Does that say ‘rabbit?’” the little girl asked, pointing to a familiar word.

    “Yeah,” Hoss replied.  “Jackass rabbit, whole, one dollar,” he read to demonstrate his skill.

    “That’s what I want,” Inger decided.

    “Oh, Inger, you won’t eat a whole rabbit,” her mother objected.

    “But it’s what I want,” Inger insisted, her face forming a pout.  Hoss gave her a swift kick under the table.  Inger got the message.  “Please,” she said, amending her attitude with dizzying alacrity.

    “Well, I reckon we could share it,” Nelly mused.  “I ain’t so all fired hungry myself, and it would cut down on the bill.”

    “You can order extra vegetables, I am sure,” Marie suggested.  “I think I will have hash, like Hoss.”

    “We can’t share,” Hoss said quickly.  Inger returned the kick he’d given her earlier.  Hoss frowned at her.  “Well, I’m hungry.”

    “I meant to share mine with Little Joe,” Marie said, her eyes reproachful, “not you.  I am familiar with your appetite, Hoss.”

    Hoss gulped.  “Yes, ma’am,” he said in quick contrition.  “Little Joe’ll leave you plenty; he don’t eat much.”

    The others laughed.  “No, he does not,” Marie tittered.

    “Not near as much as you, anyway,” Inger said pointedly.

    Hoss glared at her.  “Nor you, either.  Oink, oink.”

    “Children, please,” Marie admonished.  Their voices had been both sharp and loud.

    “See how sweet Little Joe’s behavin’,” Nelly added.

    Little Joe, who’d been happily patting the linen tablecloth with the flat of his hand, looked up and smiled angelically at the mention of his name.

    Hoss and Inger looked at each other and sighed.  They’d let it happen again.  As they returned to their rooms after supper, Inger took Hoss’s arm and whispered in his ear, “We got to do somethin’ about that baby.”

    Hoss shook his head.  He wasn’t any happier with Little Joe at the moment than she was, but, after all, a brother was a brother, while a friend was just a friend.

    Hoss rapped on the door to Nelly and Inger’s room.  The little girl answered.  “You ready yet?” Hoss queried.  “Mama’s just about got Little Joe dressed, and I’m hungry.”

    “You’re always hungry,” Inger tittered as she opened the door wide to let Hoss in.

    “Almost ready, Sunshine,” Nelly reported.  She was sitting before the mirror above the dressing table, retying her best silk bonnet.  Her fumbling fingers just couldn’t seem to get the bow right this morning.

    “You look mighty fine,” Hoss said, “and Inger, too.”

    Inger gave the wide flounce of her pink gingham skirt an impatient twitch.  “Ain’t it awful, dressin’ up this fancy just to go to breakfast.”

    “I want you lookin’ nice for my old friends,” Nelly said, nervously smoothing her daughter’s strawberry strands and perching a bonnet on her head.

    “I don’t want to wear a hat,” Inger complained.

    “Hush now,” Nelly scolded as she tied the pink ribbons under Inger’s chin.  “You don’t see Hoss fussin’.”

    “I don’t see him wearin’ no bonnet, neither,” Inger sputtered.  “He ain’t even dressed fancy.”

    “Wait’ll we get to them Larrimores,” Hoss sighed.  “I’ll be decked out fancy enough to make a dude miserable.”

    Nelly bit her lip.  Exactly what she’d feared.  Looking down at her best dress, years out of fashion, she sighed.  She herded the two youngsters before her to the Cartwrights’ room.

    “Ah, good.  You are ready,” Marie said, reaching for her green muslin bonnet and tying its black grosgrain ribbons.  It matched her merino skirt, which was topped by a tucked chemise of white linen with puffed sleeves and cuffs of tiny tucks edged with lace.  “How beautiful you look, Nelly!”

    Nelly smiled.  For once, she didn’t feel tacky standing next to Marie.  That was only because Marie had chosen such a simple outfit this morning, though.  As they walked toward Mama Zuebner’s Cafe, Nelly mentioned what Hoss had said about the Larrimores.  “I been frettin’ that nothin’ I got’s fancy enough for them,” she said.  “Clyde said I could pick me out some dress goods this trip.  You reckon, maybe, Ludmilla would let us use her scissors and needles to stitch up a dress?”

    “I am sure she would,” Marie assented, “but you will find a better selection of fabric in Sacramento, Nelly, and we will have time there as well.”

    “But no place to work,” Nelly argued.

    “Mrs. Maguire’d let you use her place, I bet,” Hoss piped up.

    “ Mais oui,” Marie agreed quickly.  “We must see Adam’s things safely to the rooming house, so we will ask her then.  She is most friendly and helpful.”

    “Yes, I remember you tellin’ how she watched Little Joe for you last trip,” Nelly said.

    Arriving at the cafe, Nelly’s fingers fluttered at her throat.  “Lands, I won’t know those girls,” she murmured.

    Marie smiled, understanding her friend’s nervousness.  “Of course, you will, and they will know you.  You will see.”

    They entered and a pretty, blonde girl of eighteen turned to assist them in finding a table in the room crowded with hungry miners.  “Mrs. Cartwright!” she squealed, hurrying to the party of women and children.  “And your beautiful baby——and Hoss.”  She stooped to give the chunky boy a hug.

    Standing upright again, she cocked her head to examine Marie’s companion, then, giving a cry of delight, wrapped Nelly in a warm embrace.  “Oh, Mrs. Thomas, it’s been so long!” the girl exclaimed.  “We see Mr. Thomas and Billy several times a year, but you”——her eyes fell on the child at Nelly’s side——“and this must be your little girl!”

    “This is Inger,” Nelly said, smiling with pride.  Inger fidgeted uncomfortably under the German girl’s gaze.

    “Mama will be so excited to see you after all these years,” Katerina said.  “Let me find you a table, and I will tell her you have come.”

    “Thank you, Katerina,” Marie said.

    Katerina managed to find them a table by the window.  As they took their seats, she asked, “Are your husbands with you?  Will you need more room?”

    “No, but Ben will meet us here in a few days,” Marie explained.  “He is driving some cattle to market.”

    “Oh, Mama will be glad to hear that,” Katerina remarked.  “Our customers have been asking when we might have some of that good Ponderosa beef again.”

    “Ben will be glad to hear that,” Marie smiled.  Ben took pride in the fine cattle he raised and would welcome the news of the Ponderosa’s growing reputation for prime beef.

    Katerina started to head for the kitchen, then turned back to the table.  “Would——would Enos be with the cattle drive this time?” she asked shyly.

    “Monsieur Montgomery?  Oui, he will be here.”

    Katerina blushed and hurried away to the kitchen.  Nelly leaned close to Marie.  “You don’t reckon?” she whispered.

    “Mmn?” Marie hummed.

    “Katerina and your foreman,” Nelly whispered even more softly.

    Marie’s eyes lighted.  “Oh!  Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

    “I don’t think so,” Hoss sputtered.  “I like Enos; I don’t want him runnin’ off to Placerville after no girl.”

    “Hush, Hoss,” his mother ordered abruptly.

    Hoss sighed.  Breakfast was starting off the same way dinner had ended, and no blame to Little Joe this time.

    Ludmilla bustled out from the kitchen with seventeen-year-old Marta at her heels.  “Ah, Nelly Thomas, so good you come at last!”

    Nelly stood and fell into Ludmilla’s ample arms.  “Oh, it’s been so long, Ludmilla.”  She looked at the tall girl standing behind her mother and gasped.  “This can’t be Marta, that little tomboy that always wanted to play with the boys!”

    Marta blushed prettily.  She’d dropped her hoydenish ways in the last year or so and, following her sister’s example, was developing into an attractive young lady.  “It’s me, of course, Mrs. Thomas.  How’s that ornery Billy?”

    “Ornerier than ever,” Inger declared.  She hadn’t forgotten Billy’s farewell yank on her pigtail.

    Marta laughed.  “You must be the little sister he’s always bragging about.”

    “Braggin’!” Inger squealed.  “Not Billy!  He don’t even like me.”

    “He does,” Marta assured her, “but he’d never let you know.  Like I said, he’s ornery.”

    “He sure is,” Inger grinned, seeming pleased that her big brother had complimented her, even if it was behind her back and never to her face.

    Katerina took everyone’s order, and the ladies enjoyed a good gossip over scrambled eggs and ham.  All the awkwardness Nelly’d felt dropped away by the end of the meal.  That afternoon, between the noon and evening feeding frenzies of the miners, the ladies gathered in Ludmilla’s kitchen to master the intricacies of apple strudel, which Marie had never prepared quite to Adam’s satisfaction, and to exchange old memories and recent anecdotes.  Marta, still less interested in domestic pursuits than her mother or sister, took charge of the three children, conducting them on a tour of her brother Stefán’s new brewery and down to the creek to wade in the cool, rippling waters.

    Over the next few days the women spent many happy hours in the cafe kitchen, and the menu of Mama Zuebner’s Cafe expanded as a result.  Nelly’s fried chicken made a hit with the miners, but there was even greater demand for Marie’s dessert crepes.  And when the miners heard that Ponderosa beef would be available by next week, the dining room resounded with their shouts of approval.

    Ben arrived in time for supper Saturday evening, treating Enos Montgomery and the other trail hands to the best Mama Zuebner had to offer.  Marie and Nelly exchanged knowing looks as Katerina neglected regular customers to hover attentively over the table where the Ponderosa’s foreman sat, obviously more interested in the pretty waitress than the food she served.

    In bed that night, Marie questioned Ben about Enos’s intentions.

    “He hasn’t mentioned any intentions to me,” Ben chuckled, pulling his wife close, “but I have a few of my own.  I’ve missed you.”

    “And I you,” Marie murmured, “but do not change the subject.  I think they are in love, Ben.”

    “That’s nice,” Ben said, nuzzling her lilac-scented neck.  “Sure glad Little Joe’s old enough to sleep with his brothers this trip,” he whispered suggestively.

    Marie pulled demurely away.  “You do not want to lose a good foreman, do you?”

    That got Ben’s attention.  “No need for that,” he said sharply, raising himself on one elbow.  “Katerina would make a lovely addition to the Ponderosa, good company for you.”

    “Oui,” Marie said quickly, her fingers stroking his arm, “if they had a place to live.  You might hint to Enos that we could fix up your old cabin to please a new bride.”

    “Marie!” Ben protested.  “I can’t play cupid for those young people.”

    “Just a hint,” Marie suggested with her most inviting smile.  “Perhaps all Enos is waiting for is to know he can provide his bride a good home.  I am sure you can be subtle.”  Before Ben could protest, she bent over his bare chest and slipped her cambric nightgown from her shoulders.  Nothing subtle about the offer she was making.  Enos would just have to look out for himself, Ben decided as he buried his face between her fragrant breasts.

    The sun was climbing as Ben rode to join the cattle drive Monday afternoon.  Since the butchers weren’t open on Sunday, they’d had to lay over in Placerville one day before selling any beef, then Ben had remained behind to see the ladies and children safely aboard the stage.  It had been a poignant leave-taking:  Ben could still hear the heart-rending sobs of his youngest son, who’d clung tenaciously to his neck, not wanting Pa to disappear the way he had the last time the boy boarded a stage.  Too young to understand Ben’s assurances that he’d meet them in Sacramento, Little Joe had wailed piteously.

    Ben’s heart lightened as he rode up alongside his eldest son.  “Everything going well?” he asked sociably.

    “Sure,” Adam said.  “You get them all on the stage?”

    “Yeah,” his father replied.  “Little Joe wasn’t very happy about my riding off, though.”

    Adam laughed.  “He’ll get over it.”

    Ben chuckled.  “I suppose.  Probably the minute the stage starts rolling.”

    Father and son rode side by side throughout the afternoon, and Ben found himself wishing this ride to Sacramento would go on indefinitely.  He’d enjoyed having his son home this summer and hated the thought of parting again for nine long months.  People talked about a mother’s needing to cut her apron strings, but Ben, who’d been both father and mother to Adam for many years, thought no mother could have found it harder to turn loose than he did.  Like Little Joe, though, he’d just have to get over it, Ben decided.  Adam was a fine young man and becoming a better one for the broadening of his experiences.

    They made camp in the lowlands near the American River that would lead them to Sacramento.  It was hard to face beans and bacon again after the succulent sauerbraten and strudel they’d wolfed down at Mama Zuebner’s, but no one complained.  The men knew they would have a few days in California’s capital while Ben and his family went on to San Francisco, and there were restaurants and saloons in abundance in that thriving city.

    Enos Montgomery poured himself a second cup of coffee after supper and squatted near Ben.  Ben took a deep breath and poured himself another cup, too.  If he were going to keep his promise to Marie, he’d need whatever courage the hot brew could instill.  He began by mentioning the date he expected to meet Enos and the men at Rancho Hermoso.  “Think you’ll have any trouble getting them there?” Ben asked.

    Enos grinned, stirring two heaping spoonsful of sugar into his coffee.  “No, sir.  They’ll have spent their pay by then and be ready to earn some more.”

    Ben nodded.  That had been his thinking when he’d decided to pay the men half their salary in Sacramento and the remainder when they returned to the Ponderosa.  “What about you, Enos?  Planning to spend all your pay in the big city?”

    “No, sir,” Enos replied amiably.  “I’m saving mine.”

    “Yeah, I knew that,” Ben admitted with a smile.  “You’re a fine, frugal young man, Enos, the kind that plans for his future.  But what is it you’re planning for, exactly?”

    Enos took a sip of coffee.  “Don’t take your meaning, sir.”

    Ben cleared his throat.  No more hemming around the subject.  It was time to plunge straight in.  “I was wondering if you’d ever thought about settling down, Enos, raising a family.”

    Enos sat down, folding his legs Indian style.  “Yes, sir, I’ve thought some about it.”

    “Have to find the right girl, I suppose,” Ben said, dangling bait.

    Hooked, Enos’s dark head came up abruptly.  “Oh, no, sir, I’ve found——”  He shrugged.  “If she’d have me, that is.”

    Ben smiled.  Marie was right!  “Katerina?” he asked softly.

    Enos flushed.  “That obvious?”

    Ben shook his head.  “Not to me, but there were ladies along this trip.”

    “Oh, yeah,” Enos mumbled.  He took deep interest in the contents of his tin mug.

    “Have you talked to the girl?”

    “Unh-uh,” Enos grunted, then looked tentatively at his employer.  “She’s mighty young, Mr. Cartwright.  Likely not interested in an old fellow like me.”

    Coffee spewed from Ben’s mouth.  “Old!” he sputtered.  “You’re not thirty yet, boy.”

    “Yes, sir, I am,” Enos corrected, “a month ago.”

    “Oh.”  Ben leaned forward.  “Twelve years between you then.  What’s that?”

    “You don’t think it’s too much?” Enos probed hopefully.

    “I should hope not!” Ben laughed.  “I’m some over fifteen years older than my wife.”

    Enos chuckled.  “That much?  I guess it can work then.  You think her mother might approve——and her brother?  I guess he’s the one to ask for her hand.”

    Ben smiled.  Stefán must be all of twenty now.  Hard to think of a boy that young being the one to decide whom his sister could marry, but the Zuebner lad had been forced to grow up early when his father died along the trail.

    “I doubt there’s anyone they’d be more likely to welcome into the family,” Ben assured the earnest suitor.  He was sure Ludmilla and Stefán would prefer an old and trusted acquaintance to any of the miners or merchants Katerina was likely to meet in Placerville.  And life on a ranch would suit the German girl.  After all, the Zuebners were farm-bred.  “You should ask her on the way home,” Ben suggested.

    Enos shook his head.  “Got nothing to offer her yet.  Been saving up, like I said.  Hope to have my own place someday, but——”

    “No need to wait,” Ben said quickly.  “That old cabin of mine is standing empty.  Needs some repair, of course, some fancying up for a lady, but you’re welcome to it, and when the time comes, I’d sell you some land around it.  Keep you on as foreman, of course, so you could have cash coming in while you build up your spread.”

    Enos’s dark eyes began to glow.  “You’d do that?  I—I could ask her right away then.”

    “Ask her,” Ben urged, slapping Enos’s shoulder as he stood up.  “I’ll be looking forward to having you as neighbors.”  He poured the rest of his coffee on the fire and headed for his bedroll.

“They’re not here,” Adam announced after a quick survey of the suite the hotel clerk at the Orleans Hotel had indicated was occupied by Mrs. Cartwright and sons.

    “Probably out shopping,” Ben commented.  He hadn’t expected to find his wife at the hotel in the middle of the day, but he was disappointed nonetheless.

    “Probably,” Adam grinned.  Ladies seemed to have an aptitude for that activity beyond that even of a country boy who rarely saw the big city.  Of course, Mrs. Thomas and Inger had never seen Sacramento at all, so it was doubly reasonable to assume they were scouring the stores for some utterly worthless female gewgaw.  “Let’s eat,” Adam suggested.

    “Yeah, I’m hungry, too,” Ben admitted.  “We’d better clean up first, though.”

    Adam brushed at the trail dust coating his trousers.  “Guess so,” he admitted and willed his rumbling stomach to quiet down while they washed and changed.  A full bath was probably in order, but both father and son were too hungry for more than cursory attention to their grooming.  They decided to eat lunch in an unostentatious cafe, where no one would expect, or even appreciate, sartorial splendor.

    “Could we stop by the rooming house to see if my things are there?” Adam asked as they waited for their food to arrive.

    “I’m sure your stepmother got them there safely,” Ben said bluntly.

    Adam shrugged.  “Yeah, probably, but I’d kind of like to see Mrs. Maguire, let her know I made it in, and put in my bid for my old room.”

    “Oh, I guess we can,” Ben said.  His face brightened as a thought occurred to him.  “You know, that’s a good idea, Adam.  If the ladies are out shopping, they may have left Little Joe with Mrs. Maguire.  I’d like to see my little boy, at least.”

    Adam frowned.  Little Joe in no way fit in with his plans for the afternoon.  “We can’t take him to the bookstore,” he complained.

    “Why not?” Ben chuckled.  “I’d hold him.”

    “Easier said than done,” Adam muttered.  “Remember how he was in Placerville.”

    Ben said nothing, for Adam had a point.  Little Joe, as everyone had been quick to tell him, had made himself quite at home along the boardwalks of Placerville, cheerfully trotting off to explore any new sight that caught his eye.  The miners, who saw few young children, had been delighted to watch the game of chase the little lad led with the bigger boy and girl charging frustratedly after.  Little Joe’s mother, however, tended to view with alarm his propensity for running into a street crowded with horses and wagons.

    After lunch Ben and Adam walked to the rooming house and knocked at the door.  Mrs. Maguire answered.  “Oh, you’ve come, have you?” she said.  “It’s good to have you back, Adam.”

    “Thank you, ma’am,” the boy replied politely.

    Ben doffed his hat.  “I was wondering if my wife might have left our baby here while she shopped this afternoon.”

    “Come in,” Mrs. Maguire laughed.  “They’re all here.  Youngsters in the swing out back, ladies in the dining room.”

    Ben smiled broadly and followed her to the dining room.  Across the table pieces of burgundy silk lay strewn in apparent confusion, but each lady seemed to know what piece she needed when it came time to fit another to the section of dress she was sewing.  “My, you look busy,” Ben chuckled.

    “Ben!” Marie cried and rose to engulf him in an ardent embrace.  “You have made good time.  And have you sold all our cattle?”

    “Every one,” Ben reported, “and for a good profit.  Just in time, it appears, if I’m to keep you in finery.”

    “The dress is mine,” Nelly laughed, “something fancy enough to take dinner with the Larrimores.”

    “They’d have taken you any way you came,” Ben chided.

    “But Nelly will feel more comfortable in this,” Marie insisted, holding up the silk skirt to which she’d been sewing a wide ruffle.

    “No doubt,” Ben smiled.  “I thought you’d be out on the town, bankrupting me.  I only hoped you’d left Little Joe here for me to play with.”

    “He is here, of course,” Marie laughed, “and will be glad to play with you, but you insult me, monsieur.  Bankrupt you, indeed!”

    Ben gave her a saucy wink.

    “Did you get me enrolled?” Adam asked.

    “ Mais oui,” Marie replied, sitting and taking up her needle once more.

    “What classes?” the boy demanded.

    “Reading, writing and elocution, of course,” Marie said.

    “I knew that,” Adam muttered impatiently.  Those course were standard for each term.

    “Greek again and French, as you had hoped,” Marie continued, “and world history and algebra, whatever that is.”

    “Mathematics,” Adam explained.  “I’d like to get a head start on that.”  He looked longingly at his father.

    “Adam’s wanting to buy his books this afternoon,” Ben explained.

    “I have already bought them,” Marie said, snipping the thread at the end of her seam, “from a list the school supplied.  They are in your room, Adam.”

    “I’m going up to look them over,” Adam said, then remembered his manners, “if that’s all right.”

    “It’s all right,” his father said.  “After all your work on the drive, you’ve earned an afternoon to spend as you like.”

    “Same room, Mrs. Maguire?” Adam asked.  At her nod, he raced for the stairs.

    “That boy and his books,” Nelly chuckled, looking up to rest her eyes.  “We won’t see hide nor hair of him ‘til suppertime.”

    “Yeah, which leaves me at loose ends,” Ben complained good-naturedly.  “If you ladies are sewing and Adam’s reading, what am I to do ‘til time for dinner?”

    “Play with your youngest, you said you wanted,” Marie smiled.

    Ben brightened.  “Yeah, good idea.”  He exited through the back door.

    “Pa!” Hoss yelled, charging off the swing.

    “Pa!” Little Joe screamed, sliding off in a heap, but pulling up at once and running for his father.

    Ben released Hoss to swoop the baby skyward, laughing in the sheer joy of being with his sons again.

    The party remained in Sacramento another full day, giving the ladies time to finish Nelly’s new gown, which she inaugurated that night at the Forrest Theater.  Over her protests Ben insisted on treating her and Inger to dinner and the dramatic adaptation of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  It was the first time either mother or daughter had seen a play and both wept profusely at the poignant death of little Eva and the mistreatment of Uncle Tom by Simon Legree.

    Traveling by steamboat the next day was a new experience for Inger, though Nelly remembered taking one such trip back east when she was no older than her daughter.  Hoss, once again acting as guide for his friend, stood at the rail beside her, pointing out sights he considered interesting.

    A mammoth dinner was served at noon.  Nothing compared to the fare available on steamers on the Mississippi, Marie and Ben informed the others, but far from scanty.  Had their stomachs been willing, they could have sat for hours eating everything from fresh fish and oysters to roast venison and fine vegetables.  Hoss scanned with delight the table with a wide variety of rich desserts that graced one side of the dining area until his mother told him he could have only one kind.  He chose a thick slice of chocolate cake with cherry jam between each layer and an extravagant slathering of whipped cream as icing.

    They arrived in San Francisco late in the afternoon and checked into the Parker House.  As they had in Sacramento, the Cartwrights stayed in a suite with two bedrooms and a parlor, while Nelly and Inger shared a single room nearby.  Conscious of the price of meals and lodging in California, as well as the costlier-than-usual purchases she’d made in Sacramento and intended to make in San Francisco, Nelly wanted to keep expenses down as much as possible.  Besides, the Thomases didn’t need a parlor of their own when they were spending most of their time in the Cartwrights’, anyway.

    The entire party——except Little Joe, who was napping in the boys’ room——gathered there after freshening up from their journey.  Ben was sitting at a small writing table when Nelly and Inger arrived.  “I’m just sending word to the Larrimores of our arrival and asking if we might call tomorrow afternoon,” he explained.

    “Lands, I hope it’ll be all right,” Nelly fretted, taking a seat by Marie on the sofa.  “Don’t know when I’ll be likely to get this way again.”

    “It’ll be fine,” Ben assured her.  “Camilla just values these touches of societal manners.”

    “High-falutin’, Clyde calls her,” Nelly giggled, “but I reckon she was always a mite that way.”

    Ben chuckled.  “More than a mite now, but Lawrence has stayed pretty down to earth.  As for the children——”

    “Ben,” Marie said, wagging a finger at him.  “Little pitchers.”

    “Yeah, guess so,” Ben shrugged, turning back to his writing table.

    Across the room Hoss dug an elbow into Inger’s ribs.  “They mean us,” he hissed, “but, shucks, I already know what a pain that Jewel Larrimore is.  You won’t like her much.”

    Inger nodded in complete acceptance of her friend’s evaluation.  She and Hoss usually saw eye to eye on folks.

    “You writin’ the Wentworths, too?” Nelly asked.  “I’d sure favor seein’ them again.  The reverend was a good man——turned out to be, at least.”

    Ben smiled, remembering the rigid religion Ebenezer Wentworth had espoused when first they met and how the experiences of the trail had mellowed him into a man more compassionate of his neighbors.  “Yeah, I’ll send them a note, too, but there’s really no need.  Ebenezer’s family doesn’t stand on ceremony.  A stranger off the street would be welcome in their home unannounced, much less a dear friend like you.  I thought we’d see them in the morning, possibly take them to lunch, and visit the Larrimores afterwards.”

    “Sounds good,” Nelly agreed.

    “And do dress simply, Nelly,” Marie urged.  “Dear Mary has so little to spend on herself, and we do not wish to make her ill at ease.”

    “Lands, no!” Nelly said, then frowned.  “But we have to dress fancy for Camilla, don’t we?”

    “We’ll change after lunch,” Marie decided, “but only into our second best dresses.  The Larrimores are likely to invite us to supper, either tomorrow night or the one following, perhaps to the opera, as well.  You will want to save your silk for that.”

    “She’s right,” Ben sighed.  “I’d better get my suit freshened up for the occasion, too.”

    Hoss groaned at the thought of squeezing himself into a frilled shirt and fancy suit.  “Dinner at the Larrimores is plumb awful,” he informed Inger, “but the food’s pretty good.  And they got these Chinaboys that serve it to you.”

    “Like Hop Sing,” Inger said.

    Hoss shook his head.  “Naw, fancy Chinaboys in silk shirts and pants.  And they only bring out one kind of food at a time, so don’t worry if there ain’t nothing but soup to start with.”

    “What are you younguns whisperin’ about?” Nelly asked, looking suspicious.

    “I can guess,” Ben laughed.  “The joys of dining in high society, eh, boy?”

    Hoss shrugged and turned crimson.  Sometimes Pa was altogether too good a guesser.

    “Boat!”  Little Joe squealed, pointing ahead.

    “That’s right,” Ben laughed, bouncing the baby on his arm.  “The Wentworths live on a boat.”

    “Boat!” Little Joe demanded, struggling against his father’s confining embrace.

    “That’s where we’re going,” Ben chided softly.  “Hold still, you little squirmer.”

    But Little Joe refused to oblige, wriggling so persistently that Ben set him down as soon as they were on the deck.  “Fine, tell them we’re coming,” he said dryly, swatting the boy’s bottom.

    Needing no urging, Little Joe trotted off immediately.

    “Ben!” Marie scolded, hurrying after her baby.

    “He’s headed straight for the door,” Ben muttered defensively.

    The door to the boat that served both as the Reverend Wentworth’s church and his home was always open to anyone in need of help, so Little Joe wandered right in.  A silvery laugh greeted him.  “We don’t get many your size here,” the pale-cheeked girl said, stooping to catch the little boy.  Looking up, she saw the flustered mother.  “Oh, Mrs. Cartwright!” Mary cried.  “Is this your baby?”

    “Mine, yes, and a naughty boy he is,” Marie rebuked lovingly.

    “Oh, no, he’s precious,” Mary murmured, nuzzling the baby’s neck.  “Such a beautiful boy, so like you.”

    By now the others had entered.  Mary recognized Ben and Hoss right away and hurried to welcome them.  It took a moment longer for her to realize that the woman standing beside Ben was someone from the party with which she’d traveled west.  She didn’t, however, recall Nelly’s name, since she’d been only five at the time.  Ben introduced them.  “Let me call father,” Mary offered.  “He’ll be so glad to see all of you.”

    While the adults visited in the parlor, Mary took Inger, Hoss and Little Joe to her room.  “The boys aren’t here?” Ben asked, taking a seat in the armchair Ebenezer offered him.  The chair’s fabric was threadbare, the padding lumpy, but Ben was glad to see the room more comfortably furnished than on his last visit, even if the furniture was obviously second-hand.  He hoped his regular contributions to the Reverend Wentworth’s work were making life better, especially for fragile Mary.

    “They’re at work,” Ebenezer said.

    “Don’t neither of ‘em feel called to the Lord’s work?” Nelly asked.

    Ebenezer laughed sharply.  “Scarcely.”  A shadow fell across his face.

    Seeing it, Ben immediately asked, “The boys are well?  And Mary?  She looked pale to me.”

    “Mary’s always delicate, of course,” Ebenezer sighed, “but she’s not ill at present.  The boys are in good health, of course.”

    There was more to be told, Ben was sure, but he didn’t consider this the proper moment to ask.  “I’d hoped to take you all to lunch today,” he said.  “You and Mary will come, of course.”

    “Well——”

    “I won’t take no for an answer,” Ben urged, “and you don’t want to deny Mary a treat.”

    Ebenezer smiled.  “No, I never would.  The dear girl has so few opportunities.”

    “Since we’ll have the baby with us,” Ben explained, “Delmonico’s is not appropriate.  The Irving, perhaps?”

    “Where you took us before?  Yes, Mary enjoyed that very much,” Ebenezer replied.

    Little Joe insisted on walking hand in hand with his new friend Mary, so the procession to the restaurant was perceptibly slowed.  The ladies liked the pace, for it afforded them the opportunity of scrutinizing shop windows as they passed.  Ben and Ebenezer found themselves repeatedly pausing to let the ladies and children catch up, and during one of these intervals alone, Ebenezer told Ben he had a request to make.

    “Anything, old friend, you know that,” Ben replied.

    “Do you remember once, a few years ago, you offered to let Mary visit your home?  You thought the climate might be better for her,” Ebenezer began.

    “Yes,” Ben chuckled, “and I remember you pointed out that it wasn’t appropriate for an unmarried man to entertain a young girl in his home.”

    “You’re not unmarried now,” Ebenezer smiled, nodding back at Marie.  “Do you think your wife would mind having a guest for awhile?”

    Ben took his hand.  “We’d both love to have Mary with us——for as long as she likes.  However, I’m not sure this is the right time of year, Ebenezer.  Our winters can get very cold, and I doubt that would do Mary much good.  Perhaps in the spring?”

    Ebenezer sighed.  “Spring, yes.  I confess I’d hoped to send her sooner, but, as you say, your winters are probably harsher than ours.  It——it wasn’t only Mary I’d hoped you might welcome, though, Ben.”

    Ben studied his friend’s face.  “The boys?  I thought I read some concern there earlier.”

    “Mark,” Ebenezer said quietly.  “Matthew, of course, hates city life and would welcome a stay in the country, but he has a good job here and is too responsible to forsake it.  Mark, on the other hand, worries me.”

    “I know he’s fretted about——well, the frugality of your lives——but I thought that was mostly for Mary’s sake,” Ben said.

    “That’s how it started,” Ebenezer sighed, “but lately Mark seems bent on tasting all the forbidden pleasures he thinks he’s been denied as the son of a poor preacher.  He’s taken to nightly excursions to the Barbary Coast, haunting the melodeons and cheap groggeries, and because he drinks more than he ought, he’s lost more than one decent job.”

    “I’m so sorry,” Ben sympathized.  “Of course, Mark is welcome to come to us if you think a change of scene would help him.  It might simply build his resentment, Ebenezer, if he thinks you’re sending him away to be corrected.”

    “That’s why I thought to combine it with Mary’s trip,” Ebenezer whispered, for the ladies were drawing near.  “Mark would do anything for her, and if he thinks the visit is for her sake——”

    “He’d come willingly,” Ben said.  “Do send them this spring, then, Ebenezer, and we’ll see if we can’t bolster Mary’s health while reminding Mark of his better instincts.”

    “What are you speaking of?” Marie asked, for she had heard the last few words.

    Ben nodded back at Mary, bringing up the rear with Little Joe still clinging to her hand and Hoss and Inger trailing behind.  “Ebenezer’s gonna let Mary come to see us next spring.  Mark will escort her and stay also.”

    “If that’s acceptable with you, Mrs. Cartwright,” Ebenezer said quickly.

    “ Mais oui,” Marie cried with delight.  “It will be a joy.”

    “Lands, it’s about time you put that big house to use,” Nelly laughed.

    “Yeah,” Ben muttered.  He cast exasperated eyes at his youngest son.  “Any chance you could talk your son into letting me carry him?” he groused to his wife.  “I’m getting hungry.”

    “ Your son,” Marie said, tossing responsibility back at her husband, “cares little for the growling of your stomach, and if you wish him to move faster, you may speak to him, not I.”

    Ben looked at the little boy toddling happily beside Mary and shook his head.  Better to leave well enough alone.  This way, when they finally did reach the restaurant, at least they might hope for a peaceful meal.

    Ushered in by a Chinese houseboy in yellow silk, the Cartwrights and Thomases entered the Larrimore parlor.  Camilla’s taffeta skirt rustled as she rose from a rose brocade settee to greet her female guests with a continental peck on each cheek.  Lawrence gave Ben a quick wink as they exchanged an old-fashioned American handshake.

    “So good of you to call,” Camilla intoned graciously.  “Won’t you sit down, sill vuse plate?”  Her attempt at French was, as usual, awkward and affected, but Marie responded with a polite, “Merci, Madame” as she took a seat, giving careful attention to settling her skirts until she could control the mirthful trembling of her lips.

    Once everyone was seated, Camilla nodded at the houseboy, who disappeared at once.  “I’ve arranged to have tea served here in the parlor, so we may have a nice chat.  You must tell me all the news from the wilderness.”

    “Wilderness?” Nelly asked, puzzled.

    “She means Carson Valley, Nelly,” Ben interpreted, amused.

    “Oh, lands!” Nelly laughed.  “It’s not a wilderness, Camilla.  Why, Carson City’s growin’ to be quite a little town.”

    “Yes, I’m sure,” Camilla replied with a patronizing smile.  She felt certain that “little” was the precisely correct description for Nelly’s hometown.  “My, what a pretty child you have, Mrs. Thomas.”

    Nelly’s eyes clouded for a moment.  Mrs. Thomas, indeed!  After all they’d shared together on the Overland Trail!  Of course, she and the Larrimores hadn’t seen one another in years.  Perhaps it was only natural that Camilla should feel a little distant.  Nelly appreciated the compliment to her daughter, however.  “Thank you very much,” she said.  “Inger’s a sweet child, a joy to my heart.”

    Camilla smiled at her own daughter, a miniature copy of her mother in a dress which alternated violet taffeta with ruffles of violet and green tartan.  “You remember Jewel, of course.”

    “My, yes,” Nelly said.  “Wouldn’t have recognized her, though.”  How could she possibly recognize the little girl from the trail in this cloyingly sophisticated adolescent?

    “Jewel, precious, why don’t you take Inger to your room and show her your doll collection?” Camilla suggested.

    A petulant pout appeared on Jewel’s painted lips, but she rose at once.  “Of course, Mother.”  She extended a hand toward Inger.  “Come with me, little girl.”

    Inger looked at her mother, and Nelly nodded her permission.  As Jewel herded the younger girl toward the hall, she leaned close to whisper, “We’ll stop by the necessary so you can wash your hands.  I don’t want you dirtying up my dolls’ silk dresses.”  Inger looked at her perfectly clean hands, then frowned at the older girl.  Hoss had been right; she didn’t like Jewel Larrimore one bit.

    “Sorry Stewart couldn’t be here today,” Nelly commented after they’d chatted for awhile.  “Sure would like to have seen how he’s grown.  How old is the boy now?”

    “Nineteen,” Camilla answered proudly.  “He’s at the Philberg Academy today, of course, but you’ll see him tomorrow night.  You will be staying long enough to take dinner with us and attend the opera, won’t you?”

    “We’d be pleased, Camilla,” Ben replied for all of them.  “Is Sterling enjoying his studies?  I know Adam is.”

    Lawrence laughed, a laugh without mirth.  “Sterling hates every minute he spends with a book, but his cruel father forces him.”

    “Really, Lawrence,” Camilla chided, then smiled at Ben.  “The Philberg Academy is the most elite in San Francisco.  You should consider transferring Adam, Ben.  Of course, he won’t have the pleasure of Sterling’s company after this term, but think of the benefit to him socially, the contacts he might make to further himself in life.”

    Ben cleared his throat to give himself time to weigh his words.  Of all his goals for Adam, making the right social contacts was last on the list, and Sterling Larrimore was probably the last boy in the world Adam would choose for a companion.  “Adam’s happy where he is,” he said finally, “and we’re satisfied that he’s getting an excellent education.  As for social contacts, he’s met some fine young men, one of them the son of a state senator.”

    Camilla looked impressed.  “Oh, my!  Well, that’s good, then.”

    Little Joe squirmed uncomfortably in his mother’s lap.  “Down,” he whimpered.

    Marie took one look at the delicate teacups and dessert plates with which the Chinese houseboy was serving each guest and gripped her child tighter.  Little Joe just struggled harder.  “Down!” he demanded loudly.

    “It’s all right, Marie,” Lawrence assured her.  “He won’t hurt anything.”

    Marie looked dubious, but set the boy on the floor.  Little Joe toddled off to explore the new world around him.  “Watch him,” Marie mouthed silently to Ben and he nodded.

    “A beautiful child,” Camilla enthused, “the image of you, Mrs. Cartwright.”

    “Ain’t he, though?” Nelly laughed.  “We tease Ben that he’ll have to keep a shotgun handy, once this one’s of age, to scare off the girls.”

    Lawrence gave a hearty laugh, but Camilla’s sounded merely obligatory.  “Yes, indeed, an attractive child,” she said.  Little Joe toddled up to clutch her taffeta skirt between inquisitive fingers.  “Ooh,” he cooed, liking the sound the material made when he rubbed it against itself.  He pulled it toward his mouth for a taste.  Camilla gently pried her skirt from his fingers.

    Little Joe, never still for long, set off in search of new sights and sounds.  There weren’t, however, enough interesting ones to keep him occupied long.  Soon he was back patting his father’s knee.  “Boat,” he said solemnly.

    Hoss grinned.  He and Little Joe were of the same opinion.  He, too, would have preferred to be on the Wentworths’ boat to sitting in the Larrimores’ stuffy parlor.

    “Shh,” Ben whispered, pulling the baby into his lap.

    “Boat, Pa,” Little Joe insisted.

    Ben crammed a cookie into the youngster’s mouth.  Though Little Joe didn’t crave sweets the way Hoss always had, he nonetheless munched away at the cookie.  Ben smiled at Marie.

    She shook her head.  A cookie wasn’t likely to distract Little Joe for long.  Obviously, they would need to make an abbreviated visit.

    Two chimes declared the hour.  Hearing them, Nelly looked up at the tall grandfather’s clock and smiled.  “Now, there’s the voice of an old friend,” she said.

    “Yeah,” Ben chuckled in agreement.  “Kind of miss the old fellow.”

    “You are talking mysteries,” Marie chided.

    “You remember me tellin’ how Ben and the boys stayed in a cabin with us that first year, don’t you, honey lamb?” Nelly asked.

    “ Mais oui.”

    “Well, Camilla’d left her clock behind when they went on over the mountains,” Nelly began.

    “And I hated to see such a fine timepiece ruined,” Ben added.

    “So he up and brung it home one day,” Nelly finished.  “Lands, what a racket that clock made in our little cabin.”

    “But we got used to it,” Ben reminded her.  “Like I said, I kind of miss hearing those musical chimes through the night.”

    “We still appreciate your bringing it to us,” Lawrence said.

    “And my mother’s china,” Camilla added.  “What a surprise you gave me, Ben, the day you and your brother carried it in!”

    “You hear much from John now that he’s gone back east?” Lawrence inquired.

    Ben laughed.  “More than when he was at sea, but that’s about all I can say.”  He had just started to relate the news from John’s last letter when a small hand slapped at his cheek.  “Boat, Pa,” Little Joe pleaded.  “Go boat.”

    Ben offered the boy another cookie, but Little Joe pushed it away.  “Go boat, Pa,” he whined.

    “Shh,” Ben murmured, lifting the boy to his shoulder.  “You need bed, not boat,” he whispered to Little Joe, then gave his wife a resigned look.  “I’m afraid we have a tired boy, here.  We’d better take him back to the hotel for a nap.”

    Hoss bounced up, eager to leave.

    Lawrence stood and shook Ben’s hand in farewell.  “I’ll have our driver take you back to the hotel,” he offered and Ben thanked him.

    Camilla rose, too.  “And remember, ladies, I’ll meet you at the Parker House at ten and show you all the best shops.”  Nelly had mentioned earlier that she, Marie and Mary Wentworth intended to spend most of the next day shopping, and Camilla had invited herself along.

    Marie sighed with resignation.  “Oui, Madame, we will expect you at ten.”

    “Reckon Camilla will get offended if we shop somewhere ‘sides her place?” Nelly asked as she and Marie waited in the Cartwrights’ parlor at the Parker House for Mrs. Larrimore to arrive.

    “You go where you want, Nelly,” Ben said sharply.  “You don’t get enough opportunities in the big city to let Camilla dictate your plans.”

    “Ben is right,” Marie said.  “The Larrimore Emporium is one of the best, though, and we will probably find more——”

    “Careful,” Ben cautioned with a smile, for he was fairly certain Marie’s next word would be ‘toys’.  “Those little pitchers are just in the next room.”

    “Now, are you sure you want to be saddled with all three younguns?” Nelly queried, a worried frown on her face.  “Inger could come with us.”

    “No, no,” Ben assured her.  “She’ll be happier with us, and I’m sure there are certain items you’d rather buy when she’s not around.”

    Nelly smiled.  She was looking forward to doing the Christmas shopping this year, for a fact.  Clyde had always done well by the children, but she was certain she could make better choices for their girl child, at least.

    A messenger arrived at the door, announcing that the Larrimore carriage had arrived, and the ladies rose quickly.  Ben kissed Marie’s cheek lightly as she passed him.  “You are sure you’ll be all right?” she asked anxiously.  “Little Joe——”

    “Will be fine,” Ben finished.  “He’ll love the beach.”

    Marie nodded and hurriedly followed Nelly out the door.  Ben went into the boys’ room.  “Who’s ready to test the waves?”

    “Me!” Inger said, bouncing up from the bed where she’d been playing with Little Joe’s bare toes.

    “Me!” Little Joe chortled, not having the slightest idea what he was agreeing to.

    Hoss said nothing.  Although he’d learned to swim, he still didn’t feel confident in the water, and an ocean represented a powerful lot of it to him.

Ben herded his charges downstairs and hired a carriage to take them to the waterfront.

    Little Joe squealed the minute he saw the waves.  “Wa-wer!  Wa-wer, Pa!”

    Ben laughed.  “That’s right.  You like water, don’t you?”

    Little Joe’s head bobbed and he squirmed to get out of his father’s arms.  “Oh, no,” Ben scowled playfully.  “You stay right with Pa, baby boy.”  He turned to the other children.  “Don’t bother undressing.  Just take your shoes and stockings off, and you roll up your pant legs, Hoss.  I don’t want either of you children going in deep.  Ocean currents can be strong, and neither of you swims all that well yet.”

    A bright smile lighted Hoss’s chubby countenance.  “It’s all right to wade?”

    Ben rolled his eyes.  “Yes, Hoss, for once it’s all right to wade.”

    “This is gonna be fun!” Hoss declared to Inger as he flopped onto the sand to remove his shoes.  Sitting beside him, the little girl nodded.

    Ben sat down to remove his footwear and everything except Little Joe’s diaper.  He took the toddler’s hand and moved toward the waves lapping the sandy shore.  Little Joe crowed with delight and pattered through the sand to splash contentedly in the waves.  Ben glanced at the other youngsters from time to time, of course, but they were both good children, not likely to disobey.  In fact, Hoss could probably be counted on to yelp in terror if either of them ventured more than knee-deep.

    Hoss and Inger chased each other, then let the incoming waves chase them for awhile.  Noticing the shells scattered along the shore, however, Hoss decided they’d be the perfect things to store in the treasure box Uncle Clyde had made for him and began to gather them up.  Inger thought collecting shells was a good idea, too, but she was more discerning in her choices, selecting only the prettiest and only one of each kind.  Hoss picked up everything that wasn’t badly broken.

    The children were having so much fun Ben had a hard time convincing them it was time to leave.  “Little Joe can’t take this much sun,” he explained.

    “He don’t want to go either,” Hoss argued.

    “He doesn’t want a good many things that are good for him,” Ben chuckled.

    “But we wanted to build a sand house, like them other kids is doin’, Uncle Ben,” Inger pleaded.

    “Yeah!” Hoss chimed in, although the thought of playing in the sand hadn’t entered his head until Inger mentioned it.

    “Oh, all right,” Ben gave in, “for a little while.  Just don’t try to construct the pyramids of Egypt.”  Both Inger and Hoss promised faithfully that they would not build a pyramid, an easy promise to keep since neither child had the slightest notion of what one was.  Little Joe, of course, whimpered to play with the others, which practically guaranteed the house built of sand would have no resemblance to anything ever built in stronger material.  No one cared, however.  They were there to have fun, and even the baby’s fumbling fingers couldn’t spoil that.

    Afterwards, with Little Joe freshly diapered and the others redressed as neatly as possible, Ben took them to a high overlook.  “Know what those are, children?” he asked, pointing to the sleek brown animals sunning themselves on the rocks below.

    Listening to the animals calling to one another, Little Joe supplied the answer.  “Doggy!” he cried.

    Inger and Hoss laughed.  They didn’t recognize the animal, either, but knew it wasn’t a dog.  “Does bark like one,” Hoss admitted with a grin at his baby brother, “but that ain’t a doggy, Punkin.  You know what doggies look like——like Klamath.”

    As the animals continued barking, Little Joe shook his head.  “Doggy,” he insisted.

    “Seal,” his father corrected.

    “Doggy,” Little Joe repeated stubbornly, frowning at his father.

    “Fine.  Watch the doggies,” Ben said dryly.

    The “doggies” put on a lively performance for the three children, slipping in and out of the water, shaking themselves dry and raising their whiskered noses to the sky.  When Ben announced it was time to leave, the response was the same he’d received at the beach.  “It’s past noon now,” Ben said.  “Aren’t you hungry yet?”

    “Hey, yeah,” Hoss agreed quickly.  “I sure am.”

    “You always are,” Inger giggled, giving him a teasing grin.  “Me, too, though.”

    “Me, too,” Little Joe added.

    “You, too, what?” Ben chuckled.

    Little Joe pointed downward.  “Want doggy.”

    “Oh, no,” Ben laughed.  “Doggy stays here.  We have enough animals on the Ponderosa.”

    “Doggy,” Little Joe pleaded piteously.  “HaHa doggy.”

    “Huh?”  Sometimes Ben found it difficult to interpret his youngest son’s broken speech.  Suddenly, the meaning became clear, however.  “No, I know Hoss has a dog, but you cannot take home a seal.”

    The baby began to cry.  “Oh, don’t start that,” Ben chided softly, holding his little one close to comfort him.  “That doggy has to live in water, son.”  Then Ben shook his head.  What had possessed him to try to explain to a child under two?

    But Little Joe understood more than Ben had thought he could.  “Tahoe,” the little boy suggested.

    Ben laughed, surprised the baby even knew the name of the alpine lake near the Ponderosa.  “No.  Lots of water, salt water.”

    Not understanding the difference, Little Joe continued to whimper.  “Let’s go,” Ben said quietly to the other children.  They found a seaside cafe, where no one objected to sand-coated customers, and once absorbed in a tasty meal, even Little Joe forgot why he was crying.

    Having collected Mary at the Wentworths’ boathouse, the ladies arrived shortly afterward at the Larrimore Emporium.  “Oh, my!” Nelly cried when she saw the stately brick building.  “You folks have done right well for yourselves.”

    Camilla beamed proudly.  “Yes.  Lawrence was always good at business, of course, but opportunity was lacking in St. Joseph.  I’m so glad I persuaded him to come west.”

    Nelly choked, for no one who had come west on the Larrimore train could have swallowed Camilla’s statement without choking.  They all knew her for the most reluctant pioneer in the group, the one who wanted to turn back at every river crossing.

    Marie smiled.  Though she only knew what she’d been told about that trip, she could guess what Nelly was thinking and stored up Camilla’s remark to repeat later for Ben’s amusement.  She turned to Mary Wentworth.  “Would you prefer a ready-made dress, mon chérie, or the yardage to make your own?”

    “Oh, ready-made, of course,” Jewel answered for her friend.  “They’re so much more stylish.”

    Mary laughed lightly.  “I am not a stylish girl, Jewel; you know that.  I would like to make my own, please, Mrs. Cartwright.”

    Marie smoothed the girl’s fine curls.  “I thought that would please you best, but be sure to choose everything you need to finish your outfit——ribbons and laces, buttons and thread, to match.  We’ll buy you some new shoes, too.”

    “You are so kind!” Mary cried.

    “Oh, no, we’re are just having fun, like little girls dressing a new dolly,” Marie laughed.  “You must let us have our way or we will cry and kick our heels against the floor.”

    “We can’t have that!” Mary tittered.  “Oh, this will be fun!”

    “Well, let’s look at the yard goods, then,” Jewel sighed, crooking her arm through Mary’s elbow.  “At least, we have some fancy ones here.”

    Marie and Nelly made their way around the store with Camilla hovering at their elbows to point out the best buys.  Usually their taste tended toward simpler things, but Marie sighed with longing when Camilla pointed out a pair of gray linen walking boots with delicate tassels at their fronts.  “They’ll look lovely on your dainty feet, my dear,” Camilla enthused.

    Marie nodded.  She thought so, too, but she still felt reluctant to buy things for herself when she was sure Ben needed every spare penny to purchase ranch stock.  “Not today,” she said, but seeing her yearning eyes, Nelly made a note to mention those boots to Ben.  They’d make a nice Christmas gift, and he’d appreciate the suggestion.

    The ladies made their selections and brought them to the register for Lawrence to tally and, in Marie’s case, credit to the account Ben would pay when he came to shop the following day.  “You’ll want all these delivered to the Parker House?” Lawrence asked.

    “Well, I am not sure what to do with the things for Adam,” Marie said.  “I think the Paynes will probably invite him there for Christmas as they did last year, and——”

    “Oh, no,” Camilla interrupted.  “You must send the boy to us this year.”

    Completely taken off guard, Marie could say nothing.  She was certain Adam would prefer another trip to Rancho Hermoso to a stay with the Larrimores, but as yet the Paynes had made no invitation.  They hadn’t had a chance.

    “We’ll show the boy a wonderful time, won’t we, Lawrence?” Camilla rushed on, sensing Marie’s hesitation.  “Plenty of parties and nights at the opera to entertain him.  You know Adam would enjoy that.”

    “ Oui, he would,” Marie admitted.  “I will have to speak to Ben, of course.”

    “Yes, of course,” Lawrence said quickly, “but you tell Ben we’d love to see Adam again.  Been quite a while now.  Shall I just keep his gifts here and send the rest on to the hotel?”

    “ Oui, I suppose that will be best,” Marie replied.  After all, Ben could collect them tomorrow if he chose to refuse the Larrimores' invitation.  She looked back up at Lawrence.  “There is one more thing I hoped to purchase, but I have seen none here.  Perhaps you could direct me to a shop that sells clocks such as yours.”

    “We have some lovely mantel clocks, my dear,” Camilla suggested.

    “I think she means a grandfather’s clock, Camilla,” Lawrence said.

    “ Oui,” Marie inserted quickly.  “It would make a fine gift for Benjamin since he misses yours so.”  Frugal with her own desires, she didn’t mind spending money on Ben or the boys.

    “It would,” Lawrence agreed, “but I doubt you’ll find one in San Francisco, Marie.  We could order you one, of course, but it wouldn’t arrive in time to ship it over the mountains——if you were thinking of Christmas, I mean.”

    Marie sighed.  It was so hard to get used to the difficulties of shopping in the far west.  In New Orleans one could find practically anything.  Here, though San Francisco was growing more metropolitan all the time, luxury items were still a rarity.

    “Why don’t you order a clock for this spring?” Nelly suggested.  “For your anniversary.  Ben’ll like it just as well then.”

    “ Mais oui!” Marie cried.  “That will be perfect.”

    Lawrence beamed with pleasure.  “Shall I just choose one I think Ben will like?  I’ve got a pretty good idea of his taste.”

    “ Oui, s’il vous plait,” Marie said, certain she could trust Lawrence’s judgement, if not his wife’s.

    While Lawrence was totaling Nelly’s purchases, Mary approached, carrying a bolt of lilac calico.  “I tried to talk her into the brocade,” Jewel pouted, “but, as usual, she just won’t listen.”

    “Papa will like this better,” Mary said, her blue eyes shining.

    “Is it what you like best?” Marie probed.  Mary nodded with a smile.  “Six yards, I think,” Marie decided, quickly assessing Mary’s figure.  “That should leave enough for a matching bonnet.”

    Then, while Lawrence measured the length of fabric, she took Mary around the store, selecting trim for the dress and ribbons for the girl’s hair in every color available.  Even black would look striking against Mary’s light tresses.  “We’ll buy your shoes elsewhere,” Marie whispered to her young charge, sensing that Mary would prefer something simpler and more serviceable than the stylish boots at the Emporium.  Mary smiled gratefully.

    Leaving the Larrimore Emporium, the shoppers made a concerted attack on the shops of San Francisco.  They did more looking than purchasing, however.  Clyde had promised to build a new home from sawed lumber for his family, so Nelly was particularly interested in getting ideas for furnishing her new home.  The house the Thomases were planning wasn’t nearly as large as the Ponderosa ranch house, but it would contain a guest room.  Nelly did purchase one bed and washstand for that room, even though she’d have to store it at the Ponderosa until her house was completed.  Anything else could wait until spring.

    Marie stopped in a tobacco store run by a man named Adolph Sutro to buy a new pipe and imported tobacco for Ben’s Christmas present.  Not as costly as the grandfather’s clock, of course, but Ben would be pleased.  Brown, buttoned boots for Mary and a bag of Ghirardelli’s chocolates for Hoss completed their purchases.

    “Now, for a delightful luncheon,” Camilla suggested.  “Delmonico’s serves the finest food, of course, but we’ll be eating there before the opera tonight.”

    “Something lighter would be better for luncheon, don’t you think?” Marie suggested.

    “Yes,” Camilla agreed, “and I know just the place, Winn’s Fountain Head.  It’s near here, too, at the corner of Washington and Montgomery.”

    “Hope it ain’t too fancy,” Nelly murmured to Marie as Camilla led the procession down Montgomery Street.

    Winn’s Fountain Head, however, turned out to be the perfect luncheon spot for a group of ladies weary from a morning’s shopping.  After dining on delicate tea sandwiches, Marie offered to treat everyone to a dish of ice cream.  “Could I have the strawberries and cream, instead, Mrs. Cartwright?” Mary Wentworth asked.  “I haven’t had fresh strawberries since we found them along the trail.”

    “Lands, girl, that’s years ago,” Nelly sympathized.

    “You must order exactly what you want,” Marie added.  “Ice cream is a treat for us because we cannot get it at home as we can strawberries.

    Except for Mary, all the ladies enjoyed a dish of cold ice cream, then each returned to her home or her hotel room to rest in anticipation of the evening’s activities.

    Nelly took one look at the warm adobe hacienda at Rancho Hermoso and immediately knew she’d feel more welcome there than she had in the Larrimores’ San Francisco mansion.  The Paynes’ home had a quiet grace and beauty that was inviting.  And the fervor of Rachel’s welcoming embrace confirmed Nelly’s expectations.  Within moments the years faded away, and the companionship they’d felt along the trail returned.

    The Payne children immediately seized their new playmates for rowdy games in the dirt yard, while Rachel ushered the ladies into the parlor for lemonade and gossip.  Jonathan remained outside with Ben to help carry in the voluminous luggage.  “Which of these do you want us to store for Adam’s Christmas?” Jonathan asked, laughing at the size of the pile.

    Ben shook his head.  “I left those in San Francisco.  The Larrimores invited the boy to take Christmas with them.”

    “Oh, too bad,” Jonathan said.  “We were counting on having him here again.  I think he really enjoyed himself last Christmas.”

    “I know he did,” Ben assured his friend, “and I’m sure he’d rather visit    you again.  Lawrence and Camilla were awfully insistent, though, and I wasn’t sure of your plans, so I accepted their invitation.”

    Jonathan laughed as he hoisted carpetbags and bundles.  “Well, we’ll put in our bid for next year right now.  That way you’ll have no excuse.”

    Ben laughed and gathered up an armload to carry inside.

    “Isn’t it wonderful news about Enos?” Rachel was bubbling as the men came in.

    “Oh, did he tell you he intends to ask Katerina to marry him?” Ben asked.

    Rachel laughed.  “Not just intends——already has!”

    “But how is that possible?” Marie queried.  “We have not been back through Placerville yet.”

    “Maybe you haven’t,” Rachel tittered, “but once Ben put the spark under him, Enos couldn’t wait.  Rode back to Placerville just to ask her before he came here.”

    Chuckling, Ben followed Jonathan down the hall to the guest room.  That foreman of his always had been a quick worker.

    “Land sakes!” Nelly cackled.  “And she said yes?  I know she did!”

    “She did,” Rachel reported, smiling broadly.

    “Oh, we must hurry home, so we can get their cabin ready,” Marie said, panic flickering in her emerald eyes.  “I did not think he would move so quickly.”

    “Relax,” Rachel said.  “They won’t be marrying ‘til next spring.  That disappointed Enos, I think.”

    “Just like a man,” Nelly clucked, “always wantin’ their cake before it has time to bake.”

    “Katerina needs time to prepare her trousseau, oui?” Marie asked.

    “That’s part of it,” Rachel replied.  “And Stefán asked them to wait, to test their feelings.”

    “That youngun always did have a good head on his shoulders,” Nelly said approvingly.

    “And always was protective of his little sisters, too,” Rachel added.

    “I have always thought spring the best time for a wedding,” Marie sighed contentedly.

    The other ladies laughed.  “Just ‘cause that’s when you married Ben,” Nelly teased, and Marie’s demurrals only made the others laugh harder.

    They had plenty of time to discuss plans for making Katerina’s wedding a joyous celebration, for the women and children stayed on at Rancho Hermoso after Ben and his hired hands started driving the newly purchased young cattle back east over the Sierras.  Finally, the day came for them to return home if they were to arrive by the time Ben did.  Little Joe wept furiously at being parted from his new friend Sammy Payne, and the ladies wiped tears from their own eyes, as well as the baby’s.  They were bonding tears, though, tears expressing the pleasure they’d found in each other’s company.  And while Nelly and Marie had enjoyed visiting all their California friends, they could scarcely wait to return home and begin renovating the old cabin for its spring bride.  With that responsibility, in addition to the building of Nelly’s new home, the next few months would be busy ones.
 

    Although Clyde and Nelly hoped to be settled in their new home by Thanksgiving, construction could not begin until early October.  Just as well, Clyde declared, for it was not until September that Abraham Curry was able to hire a surveyor, Jerry Long, to lay out the streets and the ten-acre plaza that would form the new town’s center.  By waiting, Clyde felt he could have a better feel for where the best lots would be.  The weeks during which Long was working were among the busiest of the year for farmers, anyway, as gardens yielded their final harvests and food was preserved and stored against the winter to come.  Finally free from regular responsibilities, Clyde chose a lot on a side street, set the date for the house-raising for the second Saturday in October and invited his neighbors in to help.

    Ben arrived early with all the ranch hands he could spare from their regular work.  “Marie’s coming,” he assured Nelly and Laura, who were already at work preparing food for the noon meal.  “She just needed some extra time to get Little Joe’s things together.”

    Nelly nodded.  “I figured as much.  Clyde and the doc are over at the house site.”

    “Yeah, I’d better get over there, too,” Ben said.  “I figure Clyde’s anxious to get started.”

    “No more than me,” Nelly laughed.  “I’m lookin’ forward to havin’ a parlor again.”

    “And a bedroom separate from your children,” Laura teased.

    Nelly blushed and flapped a flour-coated hand at Laura.

    Ben ambled across the plaza to the lot Clyde had purchased for his new home.  Digging the foundation, Clyde flicked a shovelful of earth over his shoulder and paused long enough to greet his friend.  “‘Bout time you showed up,” he jibed, “or was you plannin’ on waitin’ ‘til the work was all done?”

    “Just so I’m here in time for dinner,” Ben joked back.  “Got another shovel?”

    “Go on and take the doc’s for now,” Clyde suggested.  “He ain’t much of a hand at diggin’.”

    “Or hammering, either,” Doctor Martin acknowledged, giving the shovel to Ben and leaning his hands on his knees to take a deep breath.  “But when my time comes to build I’ll really need help, so I’d best earn it now by doing what I can.”

    Ben laughed.  “That’s the way it works, my friend.  I didn’t know you were planning to build, too.”

    “Not soon,” Paul said.  “I’m going to set up my office in the Thomas’s old place, once they move.  That’ll give us more room at home, but I’d like Sally to have something better than a cabin someday.  Maybe next year.”

    “Why don’t you make yourself useful, Doc, and bring some more shovels from the tradin’ post?” Clyde asked.  “I reckon Ben’s men know how to wrestle one.”

    “Better than me,” Paul admitted.  “Sure, I’ll gladly fetch and carry whatever you need.  Don’t want my unskilled hands ruining your hard work.”

    “Them hands is skilled enough in other ways,” Clyde said, giving the doctor an encouraging grin.  It wasn’t often he felt himself the equal of educated men like Ben and the doc, but when it came to working with his hands, Clyde knew he was the acknowledged expert and could afford to be generous, the way they were with him at other times.

    “Howdy, Uncle Ben,” Billy, digging the foundation for the opposite wall, called.  “Next time you write ole Adam, you tell him I’m building this place sound as I can without his help.”

    “I’ll do it,” Ben promised, chuckling.  Architecturally-inclined Adam, as Billy knew, had been particularly perturbed at missing this house-raising, and the freckled-faced mischief couldn’t resist teasing, even if he had to do it indirectly and by mail.

    “Hear anything from the youngun lately?” Clyde asked as Ben planted the shovel in the ground and pushed with his foot.

    “Just the one letter,” Ben said.  “No real news to tell, except that everyone in California’s looking forward to that Butterfield Stage Line coming in.”

    “Should be soon, huh?”

    “Middle of this month, if reports are right,” Ben replied.  “Think of it, Clyde——St. Louis to San Francisco in under a month.”

    “And that’s goin’ the long way ‘round,” Clyde added.

    “Yeah,” Ben muttered, pitching dirt over his shoulder.  The route chosen for the new Overland Stage, down through El Paso and Tucson to Los Angeles and up the coast to San Francisco, was a source of frustration.  A central route would have been shorter and would have brought the stage conveniently close to Carson City, but opponents argued that winter snows in the Rockies and Sierras could disrupt service.  Ben suspected the pressure to choose the longer route, so circuitous it was called the “oxbow,” had come from southern politicians.  A shame sectional contentions had to affect ordinary people’s lives that way, but since Ben had no expectation of traveling east again, he couldn’t complain too much about the stage’s bypassing western Utah.  Adam, of course, might choose to continue his education back east someday, and it was good to know transportation was improving enough to make that possible.

    When the foundation was dug, the workers began raising the wooden supports for the house.  By the time noon came, the framework was in place, and the men gathered around the table, proud of the work accomplished and ready for an hour’s rest.  The women and children would eat later.

    “Thank you, ma’am,” Enos Montgomery said when Nelly offered him his choice of light or dark chicken meat.

    “Take another piece, son,” she urged.  “You need some meat on your skinny bones.”

    “So that little gal of yourn’ll have somethin’ soft to hold onto,” Clyde cackled.

    Enos blushed furiously and the other men laughed good-naturedly at his discomposure.

    “Ignore them, Enos,” Marie soothed, pausing as she circled the table pouring coffee for each worker.

    “They’re just jealous,” Nelly added stoutly, “wishin’ they had a bride pretty as Katerina.”

    “That’s right,” Ben laughed.  “All except me, of course.  I’m content with my own beautiful bride.”  Marie smiled at him.

    “Hey, who says I ain’t?” Clyde protested.  “You tryin’ to get me in trouble with my woman, Ben?”

    “As if you needed help!” Nelly chortled, pulling her husband’s auburn beard.

    “What you think of them Californy cattlemen bringin’ their herds to winter here, Ben?” Clyde asked, feeling a change of subject would be prudent, if only to spare his chin whiskers.

    Ben ladled gravy over his mashed potatoes.  “Can’t figure it out.  Plenty of good grazing in California, but I suppose we have enough range to share.”

    “Not any of ‘em up our way, at least,” Enos commented.  “The herds I’ve seen were in Carson and Eagle valleys.”

    “Any thoughts on the coming elections?” Paul asked, taking a roasting ear from the platter as it passed.

    “Consarned Mormons still tryin’ to run the show,” Clyde grumbled, slathering butter on an ear of his own.  “Reckon that’ll please Ben here, though, him bein’ of the Mormon party.”

    “Now don’t start that!” Nelly chided.  “If there’s anything I’ve had an earful of the last month!”

    “I don’t understand why the political parties here are divided along religious lines,” Paul commented, “especially after so many Mormons leaving the region.”

    “Nothing religious about it,” Ben muttered.  “It all goes back to that incident with Lucky Bill.  Because the man had two wives, everyone who thinks he was hanged wrongly is lumped in with the Mormon party, even if they’re gentiles.  Everyone who thinks the hanging was justified belongs to the anti-Mormons.”

    “Mr. Thomas here never did cotton to Mormons,” Enos commented, “so I figure he’s with the anti-Mormons.  You takin’ the opposite side, Mr. Cartwright?”

    “I vote the man, not the party,” Ben replied irritably, “and Mr. Thomas ought to know that.”

    “Reckon I do, Ben,” Clyde said, “but you always seemed to favor them Mormon candidates.”

    “Never had much else to choose from,” Ben pointed out.  “Still that way, though to a lesser extent.”

    “Yeah, well, I’ll be voting for every anti-Mormon I can find on the ballot,” Clyde grinned, “and hopin’ my good neighbors’ll do the same.”

    Ben didn’t want to give Clyde the satisfaction, but he planned to give the few anti-Mormon candidates his vote, as well.  They seemed like solid men, especially his Washoe Valley neighbor Richard Sides, who was nominated for selectman, and Abernethy, who was running for sheriff.  Of course, Ben would have been likely to vote for anyone running against  W. T. C. Elliott.  The very name brought bad memories to mind.

    After lunch the men went back to work and by the time they quit that evening the house was framed in and roofed.  There was more work to be done, but now that the house was safe from the weather, Clyde could take his time about finishing the interior.

    Ben had just loaded his family into the buckboard for the trip home when he heard someone shout his name.  Looking across the Carson City plaza, he saw William Ormsby waving at him.  “Be back in a minute,” he told Marie and headed toward the hotel owner and merchant.

    As soon as he came within reach, Ormsby clapped him on the shoulder.  “Here’s the man for you, Dodge.  No one in these parts is a better friend to the Paiutes than Ben Cartwright——excepting myself, that is.”

    Ben turned a quizzical gaze on the dark-headed young man standing beside Ormsby.  “I haven’t had the pleasure, sir.”

    “Frederick Dodge,” Ormsby said in introduction.  “Newly appointed Federal Indian Agent.”

    “Oh!  A pleasure, indeed, sir,” Ben said enthusiastically.  He’d read about the appointment of the Indian agent for western Utah, but had not as yet met the young man.  “With so many white men encroaching their lands, the Indians need a voice in their support.”

    “My intention, precisely,” Dodge declared enthusiastically.  “However, before I can be an effective voice I must know the people I represent.  I wish to rendezvous with the Indians and ascertain their needs, but I’m in need of a guide, Mr. Cartwright.”

    “He asked me first, of course,” Ormsby inserted, “because of my relationship with Winnemucca, but business prevents my leaving here.  Then I saw you, Cartwright, and knew you’d be the perfect solution to our new agent’s problem.”

    “You are a friend to the Paiutes, I’ve been told,” Dodge added.

    Ben had to smile.  That had been said of him more often as a criticism than as a quality to admire.  “I count a number of Paiutes, as well as Washos, among my friends,” he replied, “and I’d be privileged to introduce you to them.”

    “Fine,” Dodge beamed.  “When can we leave?”

    “Tomorrow morning?” Ben suggested.  “If you like, you can return to the Ponderosa with us, spend the night and get an early start.”

    “Wouldn’t pass up that opportunity!” Ormsby enthused.  “You wouldn’t believe the meals their Chinese cook dishes up.”

    “I’ll get my things and be down in a few minutes,” Dodge said.

    For the next two weeks Ben showed the new Federal Indian Agent around the territory, introducing him to leaders of both the Washo and Paiute tribes.  “I’m surprised to find the Indians in such good condition,” Dodge declared as they rode toward Honey Lake Valley.  “They are experiencing some changes in their lifestyle, but seem to be adapting well to white ways.”

    “Some more than others,” Ben replied.  “The Washos have always seemed more adaptable to me, but even the Paiutes are beginning to find work on the ranches.”

    “It’s encouraging,” Dodge enthused.  “Of course, they will require governmental help, but not nearly as much as I’d feared.”

    “What they really need,” Ben suggested, “is land set aside for their restricted use.  Good land, I mean, like around Pyramid Lake.”

    “A reservation?”

    Ben frowned.  “Not exactly what I had in mind.  That word implies keeping the Indians in; I had in mind keeping white men out.”

    Dodge laughed.  “Hard to accomplish, but I understand your point.  It’s a valid one.  It’s time these Mormons had some restrictions.  The Indians have suffered enough at their hands.”

    Dodge reminded Ben so much of Clyde Thomas that he chuckled.  “Not just Mormons.  The gentiles are just as bad.”

    “Yes, but it’s the Mormons who’ve been in charge, Mr. Cartwright,” Dodge argued.  “You think there’s any chance of their being turned out in the upcoming election?”

    Ben smiled.  “About a snowball’s chance.  I intend to do what I can, however.  That’s why I’ll be leaving you at Honey Lake.  I have an obligation to a friend, as well as a civic one, so I have to be in Carson the last of the month.”

    “I understand,” Dodge replied.  “This man you mentioned, he knows the Indians as well as you?”

    “Pretty much,” Ben said.  “In fact, I believe Warren Wasson speaks Paiute more fluently than I do.  Poito’s people——well, you’d know him as Winnemucca——have been spending most of their time along Smoke Creek, so Wasson sees them more than I do nowadays.”

    “I hope you’ll be able to attend the rendezvous,” Dodge said.

    “Try my best,” Ben promised.

    Since Nelly was anxious to move into her new home, Clyde worked diligently, and by election day on the thirtieth of October, everything was ready.

    Bringing a buckboard loaded with furniture the Thomases had stored at the Ponderosa, Ben cast his ballot in Carson City early that morning, then remained in town to help his friends transfer their belongings from the cabin to the two-story frame house.  Afterwards, Paul enlisted him to help carry his examining table and medical supplies to the old Thomas cabin, thus separating his work place from his home.

    When the election results were announced later that evening, Clyde sneered as the usual majority of Mormons candidates were declared victors.  L. Abernethy was the new sheriff, and Richard Sides, another anti-Mormon, was named one of several selectmen.  Practically everyone else came from what Clyde Thomas referred to as “the wrong party.”

    After the election, as Ben had hoped, he was able to attend the rendezvous with the Paiutes arranged by Frederick Dodge.  The Indians had an opportunity to air their grievances and seemed pleased by the hickory shirts, overalls and tobacco the Indian agent offered in token of future help.  The earnest young man was making a good beginning in his relationship with the natives; if he could be as successful in dealing with the white authorities in Salt Lake City, Ben foresaw many years of peaceful relations with the original inhabitants of western Utah.

    “Well, it’s not as bad as I was afeared it might be,” Nelly commented after she and Marie had made an inspection of the old Cartwright cabin.

    “It is bad enough,” Marie moaned.  “You can see through those cracks between the logs.”

    Nelly laughed.  “Just needs new chinking, honey lamb.  The menfolk can take care of that in a day.  Since Ben boarded up the windows, they’re in good shape.  Place needs a good cleanin’, of course.”

    “Our job,” Marie said.  She fingered the curtains at the front window.  “These should be replaced.”

    “My, yes!” Nelly agreed.  “Those were old when you moved in.  We’ve got plenty of time to make new curtains, though, and the bed ticks should be freshened.”

    “They will not need two bedrooms,” Marie said.  “Perhaps Katerina would wish to use the front one as a parlor.”

    “Sounds good to me,” Nelly remarked, “but we’d best ask Enos about that before we go plannin’ their house for them.”

    Marie laughed.  “Oui, you are right.  It is such fun, like the day we took Mary shopping, but we must remember this is Katerina’s home, not our dollhouse.”

    “Enos won’t mind a few suggestions,” Nelly said, “and a parlor’s a good one.”

    “We must also tell him to buy a cookstove,” Marie insisted.  “We took ours with us, and Enos may not realize how important a proper stove will be to his wife.”

    Nelly laughed.  “You’re just rememberin’ how it was when you first came here and found out Ben expected you to cook over an open fire.”

    “It was horrible,” Marie declared, “and I do not want Katerina to find such a welcome.”

    Nelly put an arm around the younger woman.  “Don’t you fret, honey lamb.  By the time Enos brings Katerina here, this cabin’ll be everything a new bride could hope for.”

    Marie smiled.  With all of them working together, she was sure the Montgomery’s new home would be perfect.

    November broke brisk, wind swooping down the slopes of the Ponderosa hills.  Then an unexpected snowfall gave warning of an early and severe winter, the temperature dropping so sharply Ben knew he had to lay in a large supply of firewood, the sooner the better.  His plans to caulk the Montgomery cabin changed quickly as he and his men hurried into the woods with whipsaws and crosscuts.  The cabin could wait, after all; it was months until the wedding.

    After that first snowfall, however, the weather, although cold, turned pleasant again.  Hoss buckled down to his schoolwork in earnest, but he missed no opportunity to volunteer for other activities.  Refusing the boy permission to join the woodcutters, Ben relented when Hoss volunteered to ride into Carson City after the mail the day it was due.  Ben remembered how much he himself had looked forward to a day away from his books and hadn’t the heart to deprive his son of a morning’s freedom now and then.

    Snowshoe Thompson still only carried the mail as far as Genoa, but Abe Curry, as a service to residents of his new town and those who lived on nearby ranches, provided a man to pick up everyone’s mail and bring it to Carson.  The day the carrier was expected, Hoss rode happily toward town, the only cloud graying his mood the piteous sobs of his little brother on being left behind.  Little Joe’d forget all that by the time Hoss returned, however.  Even if he hadn’t, Aunt Nelly probably would have cookies baked, and Hoss could appease his younger brother with a sweet peace offering.

    Hoss arrived in town before the mail did, so he visited with Jimmy Ellis for awhile, then invited himself to dinner at the Thomases.  They were at the table when the noise outside told them the mail carrier had come.  Since nothing was more important than news from the outside world, Hoss and Inger were excused from the table to collect their families’ mail.

Clyde ambled along after them for a chance to garner any news that might have come by word of mouth.  As they walked back home, he reported what he’d learned.  “Less than ten miles to go on that telegraph linking Placerville to Genoa.  Ought to be finished in four, five days.  You be sure and tell your pa, Hoss; he’ll be wantin’ to know.”

    “Yes, sir,” Hoss said.  “Reckon he’d let me telegraph Adam?”

    Clyde laughed.  “Telegraph’s for emergencies, boy.  Reckon you’ll have to make do with regular mail.”

Though he couldn’t have gotten away with it at home, Hoss read his letter from Adam right at the table between bites of beef and barley soup.  As he read, his frown deepened.

    Noting the boy’s expression, Billy chuckled.  “What’s the matter?  Don’t he have nothin’ to talk about but what books he’s readin’?”

    “Worse than that,” Hoss moaned.  “It’s all about some girl he met.”

    “Hand it over,” Billy demanded.

    “Billy!” his mother scolded.  “You mind your manners.”

    Hoss, however, saw nothing wrong in Billy’s request and immediately surrendered the offensive letter.  Billy scanned the lines quickly and returned the letter.  “He don’t tell enough to get excited over,” the older boy remarked.

    “What girl’s he talkin’ about?” Nelly asked, unable to control her feminine curiosity.

    “Aw, it’s the sister of that senator’s son he knows, that Martin Gallagher,” Billy muttered.  “Name’s Philippa.”

    “Peculiar name for a gal,” Clyde commented.  “That all he says, just her name?”

    “He says she’s pretty,” Hoss reported, disgusted.

    “Might tell more in the letter he wrote your folks,” Billy suggested.  “We could——”

    “We could not!” his mother snapped, easily reading the mind of her nosy son.  She looked over at Hoss.  “Hate to hurry you, Sunshine, but you’d best get your dinner eaten and get that mail to your folks.  Your pa’ll really be tickled to get a letter from his brother.”

    Hoss shrugged.  “Pa won’t be back ‘til dark, anyway.  Just so I’m home in time to milk and feed the chickens before supper.”

    “Well, take your time then,” Nelly smiled, “and I’ll bag up some of them gingersnaps to take with you.”

    “Little Joe’ll want some, too,” Hoss said, turning his attention away from Adam’s adolescent mooning over Philippa Gallagher and back to the pleasanter prospect of his soup.

    Billy grinned.  He could read Hoss as easily as his mother read him.  Hoss probably would persuade his Aunt Nelly to send extra cookies for Little Joe, but if that baby saw more than one of them, Billy’d be mighty surprised.

    Hearing the front door open, Little Joe immediately abandoned his blocks by the fireplace and ran, arms outstretched, calling, “HaHa!”

    Hoss swooped the little boy up.  “Hi, Punkin.  You miss me?”

    “Very much he did,” Marie replied, sounding perturbed, “and you have kept him waiting a long time.”

    “Pa said I could have the day off,” Hoss muttered defensively.

    “So long as you did your chores,” Marie reminded him.  “You have barely left time for that before supper.”

    “Yes, ma’am.  I’ll get right at ‘em,” Hoss promised.  He grinned at his baby brother.  “Wanna help brother milk the cow, Punkin?”

    “Moo moo?” Little Joe inquired.

    “Yeah, milk the moo moo,” Hoss giggled, and Little Joe laughed in response.

    “It is too cold, Hoss,” their mother argued.

    “Aw, no, I’ll bundle him up,” Hoss assured her.

    “Well, all right,” Marie conceded.

    Not wanting her to have time to reconsider, Hoss immediately found Little Joe’s wraps and started dressing the little boy for his brief trip across the yard to the barn.  “Aren’t you forgetting something, Hoss?” his mother smiled as he prepared to leave.

    “Don’t think so,” Hoss said.  “He’s practically wearin’ everything he owns.”

    Marie laughed.  “And what of your other brother?  Did he send no letter this time?”

    “Oh, yeah!” Hoss chortled.  “Him and Uncle John both.  Here they are.”  He handed over the letters and headed for the barn.

    Marie opened the letter from Adam first.  As Billy had suspected, the letter written to adults did contain a more detailed description of pretty Philippa Gallagher than the simpler one addressed to Hoss.  Marie’s romantic heart fluttered with interest, reading more between the lines than Adam himself had intended when he wrote them.  Just as she was trying to decide whether to read John’s letter now or wait and share it with Ben, her husband walked in.

    Ben hung his hat and jacket on the pegs by the door.  “I see Hoss managed to dawdle the day away in Carson City,” he commented, having just delivered his horse to the barn.

    “You told him he could have the day off from his lessons,” Marie pointed out.

    Ben laughed.  “And he took me literally, I see.  He says there’s a letter from John, as well as Adam.”

    “Yes, I have just read Adam’s,” Marie said.  “It is most interesting.”

    “Not John’s?” Ben smiled.  “Well, if you haven’t read that one yet, let’s do it together.”  He sat down in the mauve armchair near the fireplace.

    Perching on the arm of the chair, Marie smiled and handed him the unsealed envelope.  Ben opened it and read his brother’s news aloud, then tossed the letter down in disgust.  “I thought he’d gotten that nonsense out of his system!”  John had written that he, along with his son Will, had joined the latest gold rush to Cherry Creek in Colorado.

    “You wanted so much for him to come here,” Marie sympathized.

    “Yeah, and he said the only thing holding him back was Will’s unwillingness to leave that farm.  Well, he’s left it now,” Ben fumed, “but only to stand hours a day waist deep in icy mountain streams swishing mud in a pan.  What kind of life is that?”

    “John’s kind,” Marie said quietly.  “You said he never wanted to be a farmer.  Perhaps Will wants to try his father’s way for a time.”

    “If he does, the boy’s as big a fool as his father!” Ben ranted, jumping up to poke at the logs on the grate.  “We could have had a wonderful life here together.”

    Marie stood and ran soothing fingers across Ben’s shoulders.  “For you, it would have been wonderful, but I am not sure that is how John would see it.  He is a Cartwright, Ben.”

    Ben spun around.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    Marie reached up to touch his cheek, stubbled by this time of day although he shaved closely every morning.  “Nelly always says there is nothing so stubborn——”

    “As a mule or a Cartwright,” Ben muttered.  “I’ve heard it before.”

    “And I have heard before that when you wanted to come west, John called you a fool,” Marie said softly.  “Then it was he who wanted you to share his life, but you wanted to build your own.  I think that is what John feels now.  He does not wish to live in the shadow of his little brother, and that is how it would be here where you are so well established and he just beginning.”

    Ben stared at her.  “We really have switched places, haven’t we?”

    Marie nodded, smiling.

    “All right, I can understand that,” Ben admitted, “but another gold rush!  Of all the”——he shook his head in disbelief.

    “John says he has heard good reports,” Marie pointed out.

    “But he hasn’t seen anything yet,” Ben countered.  “The letter says he left Missouri around the middle of September.  He’d just about have had time to reach Colorado by now.”

    “And he promised to write when he did,” Marie said.  “By the next mail, perhaps, he will have wonderful news to give you.”

    “Not that soon,” Ben reminded her.  “The letter has to go to California first, then back over the mountains to us, remember?”

    “ Oui,” she agreed, “but by Christmas you should hear.  A special gift.”

    “If he’s come to his senses and decided to head this way, it would be,” Ben muttered.  He looked up hopefully.  “Maybe Will won’t take to mining and be anxious to start up a good farm or ranch.”

    “Maybe,” Marie said, holding him close.  She had never met Will, of course, but all she had heard made him sound like a typical Cartwright, probably too stubborn to give up easily.  She doubted that Christmastime letter would bring the news her husband craved.

    The Cartwrights arrived in Carson City around ten o’clock on the last Saturday in November.  Abe Curry had decided to host a town-wide Thanksgiving celebration, with all rural residents of the outlying region invited, as well.  The feast was set for noon, so Ben and his family, by prior arrangement, met at the Thomases to wait until the appointed hour.  The Ponderosa ranch hands would be coming along later, probably just in time to sit down to eat.

    Marie immediately went to the kitchen to reheat her contributions to the meal and help Nelly with final preparations on hers.  Ben and Clyde settled comfortably in the parlor across the narrow hall from the ladies, while Inger escorted Hoss and Little Joe upstairs to her room.  Billy was over at the Martins, making himself useful (so he said) to Sally.

    The children climbed the stairs and went to the back bedroom, next to Billy’s and across the hall from the one Clyde and Nelly occupied.

“What do you think of my new room?” Inger asked eagerly.

    “I seen it before,” Hoss said.

    “Not since Ma put up the new curtains,” Inger insisted.

    “Yeah, they’re nice,” Hoss said, just to be polite, for he had little interest in the pink calico frills at the window.

    “Let’s play house,” Inger suggested, moving toward the toy stove in the corner.  “You can be the pa, and I’ll be the ma, and Little Joe can be our baby.”

    Hoss grimaced.  At eight years old, he considered himself beyond such girlish games.  “Can’t we do better than that?”

    “Aw, come on, Hoss,” the little girl pleaded.  “I’ll make us a good meal,” she added in her most persuasive voice.

    Hoss grinned.  “Rather have that big un Mr. Curry’s got planned.”

    “It’s gonna be good, all right,” Inger conceded.  “Mr. Curry brought in two big turkeys from California, and with folks bringin’ stuff from all over, it oughta be the biggest spread you ever saw.  Better than the Fourth of July, even.”

    Hoss nodded.  He hadn’t been able to attend that celebration, due to the conflict between his family and Inger’s, but from all he’d heard it had been a grand one, and today’s feast sounded like it would have more to choose from than even Hoss’s legendary appetite could handle.

    Little Joe, who had followed Inger over to the toy stove, reached for the tiny cast iron skillet sitting on the imitation burner.  Inger pulled his hand back.  “No, baby, hot,” she scolded.

    “It ain’t neither,” Hoss scoffed.  “You’re just pretendin’.”

    “‘Course, I am,” Inger snorted, “but he shouldn’t touch anyway.  It’ll teach him bad habits, Pa, and we don’t want him gettin’ burnt on a real one, do we?”

    Hoss snickered.  “Reckon you’re right, Ma.  Don’t touch, Punkin.  Stoves are hot.”

    “Hot?” Little Joe queried with a quizzical tilt of his curly head.

    Hoss touched the little stove and drew his hand back quickly, yelping and blowing on his fingers.  “Hot!” he declared.

    “Ooh,” Little Joe said, immediately stretching to touch the stove.

    Hoss pulled him back.  “No, don’t touch.”  He frowned as Little Joe started to wail.  “Do you want Pa to give you a very necessary little talk?” he asked, sounding serious.

    Little Joe shook his head and buried his face against his brother’s thigh.  Inger picked the little boy up and sat down to rock him in the small chair her father had made.  “Guess he ain’t much hand at playin’ house,” she commented.

    Hoss sat Indian-style on the hooked rug near Inger’s feet.  “Naw, guess not.  You writ Santa what you want for Christmas yet, Inger?”

    “I’m too old for that, Hoss,” Inger chided.

    Hoss laid a finger to his lips and pointed at Little Joe.  “He ain’t.”

    “Oh, yeah,” the little girl replied.  “Well, I’m hopin’ Santa will build me some more kitchen stuff, like he did the stove.”

    Hoss grinned, knowing she meant Uncle Clyde.  “What kind of stuff?”

    “A dining table, maybe, or a sink for washin’ dishes, one that could hold real water.”

    “That don’t sound like much fun,” Hoss muttered.  “Sounds like chores to me.”

    “So, what you want Santa to bring you?” Inger asked.

    Hoss shrugged.  “Ain’t sure.  A rifle’d be nice, but I reckon I ain’t got a prayer.”

    “I guarantee you ain’t!” Inger snorted.  “Your Santa’s got better sense.”  She looked at the toddler in her lap.  “How ‘bout you, baby?  What you want Santa to bring you?”

    Little Joe just looked puzzled.  “Sanna?”

    “He don’t ‘member,” Hoss said.

    “Well, now’s as good a time as any to teach him,” Inger declared.  “You start, Pa.”

    Hoss narrowed his eyes.  It sounded to him as if they were back to playing house, but he launched into an explanation of Christmas for Little Joe that the nineteen-month-old seemed to find fascinating.

    “Inger!” her mother called up the stairs.  “Time to go, younguns.”

    Hoss hefted Little Joe to his shoulder and headed downstairs.  “Come on, Ma,” he teased.  “You don’t want to be late for that turkey.”

Inger clattered down the stairs after him, and soon the entire party was headed for the town plaza, where Laura Ellis was supervising the placement of food on the tables provided by the town’s founder.

    Ben took his youngest son and sat him on the plank bench beside him, with Marie taking her seat on the baby’s other side.  Typically, Little Joe stood up at once and began to crane his neck in all directions.  “Now, what are you looking for?” Ben asked as he sat the boy down again.

    “Sanna!” Little Joe announced.

    “Santa!”  Ben guffawed.  “You’ve got the wrong holiday, little one.”

    “We was teachin’ him about Santa Claus upstairs,” Hoss explained.

    Still chuckling, Ben shook his head.  “Don’t you think you’d have done better to teach him about the Pilgrims and how they shared their first bountiful harvest with the Indians who’d helped them through the winter?  Or don’t you remember that much of your history lessons, young fellow?”

    Hoss pouted eloquently.  “Sure I do.  Didn’t think of it, that’s all.  This is like that first Thanksgiving, though, ain’t it, Pa?  We got Indians and everything.”

    “Indians?  Where?” Inger, sitting beside her chubby friend, demanded as she peered down the table in both directions.

    “Right down there,” Hoss responded, pointing.

    Inger laughed.  “That’s just Sarah and Elma.”

    “They’re Indians,” Hoss insisted.  “Paiutes.”

    “I guess so,” Inger admitted.  “They just seem like other folks to me.  They’re my friends.”

    “As it should be, Inger,” Ben smiled.  “Indians are ‘just folks.’”

    “Don’t you go fillin’ my girl’s head with your injun-lovin’ ways, Ben Cartwright,” Clyde sputtered.

    “Aw, Clyde,” Ben growled. “What have you got against those girls?”

    “Nothin’!” the older man snapped.  “They’re all right, learnin’ the white man’s ways and tamin’ down right nice, but I won’t have my little girl thinkin’ she can walk up to just any injun and expect the same.  There’s plenty more wild ones out in the sagebrush that ain’t to be trusted.”

    “Yeah, it’s still an untamed land, with plenty of wild men, red and white,” Ben admitted, “but I think Inger’s got sense enough to know a friend from a stranger, whatever his race.”

    “Reckon so,” Clyde conceded, irritation dissipating at Ben’s praise of his girl.  “We done tried to bring her up right.”

    “You men shush your nonsense,” Nelly ordered.  “Curry’s about to make a speech.”

    “Hope he keeps it short,” Clyde muttered.  “I like my turkey and stuffing hot.”

    Ben chuckled.  He shared Clyde’s opinion, but had already pegged Abraham Curry for the long-winded type.  While Curry waxed eloquent in his praise to Almighty God for the development of his new town, Ben glanced across the table at Clyde and Nelly.  Ben numbered those two friends at the top of his list of blessings of the previous year.  How nearly that friendship had ended, all because of his own foolish pride!  As Curry concluded his speech with a prayer over the meal, Ben bowed his head.  It was not for Carson City that he thanked God, however, but for the restoration of a treasured relationship, one to be cherished and guarded against whatever unknown conflicts might imperil it in days to come.

From his stool beside the milk cow, Hoss looked across his left shoulder to grin at his giggling baby brother.  Little Joe, hay sticking out from his tousled golden brown hair, lay in an empty stall with Klamath poised over him, obligingly washing the toddler’s face with his rough tongue.  “Come here, you silly thing,” Hoss said.  “Klamath, let him up, boy.  Off, Klamath!”

    The small brown dog gave Little Joe’s face a final, affectionate lick and padded toward Hoss.  Little Joe followed.  “Come here,” Hoss repeated, reaching for the youngster and setting him between his legs.  “High time you learned to milk a cow.”

    “Moo moo?” Little Joe asked, tiny fingers stretching to touch the cow’s soft flank.

    “Yeah, moo moo.  You milk her,” Hoss directed, closing his brother’s fingers around the cow’s udder.  “Now squeeze.”

    Little Joe gave the udder a quick yank.  The cow’s hind leg kicked back in irritation, but nothing came out.

    “Guess you still ain’t strong enough,” Hoss sighed, beginning to think he’d never get any help with his chores.  Wrapping his hefty hand over his brother’s miniature one, he squeezed the udder.

    Little Joe crowed with delight, certain he had produced the frothy milk rattling the sides of the pail.  Hoss continued the charade for a few more squirts, but finally decided he’d never finish his morning chores at that rate.  Setting the baby behind him, he ordered, “Play with Klamath some more,” a command Little Joe willingly obeyed.

    He wasn’t as quick to obey when Hoss told him it was time to go inside.  In fact, he answered his brother with an emphatic “No!”

    “Little Joe, you better mind,” Hoss warned.  “It ain’t good to backtalk your elders.”  He’d learned early that his father didn’t approve of little boys who did that and figured when it came to Little Joe, he counted as an elder.

    Little Joe just laughed and continued rolling in the hay, arms around the longsuffering Klamath.

    Hoss tried another tactic.  “Here, Klamath; here, boy,” he called.  More readily obedient to his master’s voice than Little Joe was to his brother’s, Klamath immediately frisked to Hoss’s side.  Little Joe sat up, looking mad.

    Pretty sure a rain of tears was about to follow, Hoss forestalled it by offering his brother a piggyback ride.  Little Joe grinned and stood at once.  “HaHa,” he cried, arms raised.

    “That’s right, Hoss’ll give you a ride,” the older boy said, lifting the toddler to his back.  “Hold on tight.”  He picked up the pail of milk with one hand while the other closed over the small hands circling his neck.

    “Giddiup,” Little Joe commanded.

    Hoss laughed.  “You think I’m your horse, do you?”

    “HaHa,” Little Joe responded.  “Giddiup, HaHa.”

    “Horse, not Hoss,” the older boy corrected, though he knew the effort for a futile one.  Little Joe used the same sound for both words.  Small chance I got of him sortin’ it out, Hoss thought, when folks bigger than him makes the same mistake.  Hoss acted his part to perfection, neighing loudly as he carried the youngster and the milk into the kitchen.

    “Bleakfast pletty soon now,” Hop Sing informed imperiously.  “Need eggs light away.”

    “Yeah, that’s where we’re headed,” Hoss replied, prepared for the admonition he heard every morning.  Freed of the need to keep the milk in the pail, Little Joe’s horse trotted more vigorously to the chicken coop.  Hoss took a handful of feed and trickled it into his brother’s outstretched palm.  “All right, now, feed the chickens, but don’t drop it all in one place like yesterday.  Scatter it, see?”

    Little Joe’s small chin bobbed up and down, and he made an honest effort to scatter the feed as Hoss had directed.  Most of it still landed in one spot, but Hoss was encouraged by the toddler’s improvement.  Maybe the boy would make a hand someday, after all.  He gave Little Joe some more feed to reward him.  Little Joe understood the gesture as approval of his work and, smiling happily, tossed the feed into the air, much of it landing in his hair.

    Hoss laughed.  “Mama’ll have a fit when she sees you,” he said, brushing feed and hay from his brother’s hair.  “I’m gonna gather the eggs now.  Wait right here.”

    “Me,” Little Joe pleaded.

    “No, I ain’t trustin’ you with eggs,” Hoss chuckled.

    A pout formed on Little Joe’s lips.  “No,” Hoss said more firmly.  “You’re not big enough.”  Tears started to form in the little boy’s eyes.  “It won’t work,” Hoss informed him.  “Hop Sing’ll have my head if I show up with broken eggs, so you might just as well shut it up.”

    One tear slowly trickled down Little Joe’s cheek, but when Hoss merely turned his back and began to take eggs from the hen’s deserted nests, the toddler transferred his attention to the chickens.

    “Don’t chase ‘em,” Hoss scolded.  “You’ll scare ‘em out of layin’.  You like eggs, don’t you?”  Little Joe’s head bobbed.  “Then, leave them chickens alone!”

    Somehow, even with Little Joe’s help, Hoss finished his chores in time for breakfast, a hearty one of scrambled eggs and bacon with fried potatoes, biscuits and gravy.  Afterwards, Hoss took his place at the low table before the fireplace to begin a chore he hated far more than milking the cow or tending chickens.  Even on a frosty December morning like this one, he’d much rather be outdoors than hovering over his books near a warm fire.

    As she did every morning, Marie first moved to the right side of the fireplace to take Little Joe’s toys from the box Clyde Thomas had made him to match the ones his older brothers had upstairs.  She established a warm play area for the toddler where she could keep an eye on him while she instructed Hoss.  Then the lessons she dreaded almost as much as Hoss began.

    As usual, Little Joe played contentedly with his blocks and his bunny for a short while, then squirmed his way into Hoss’s lap to assist with the older boy’s lessons.  Hoss grinned, for he knew the youngster would soon tire of sitting still and begin creating enough distraction that their mother would be forced to declare a recess.  Sometimes, Marie found herself wondering if the two brothers plotted the disruption of schoolwork together.  A foolish thought, she chided herself, or would be if Hoss hadn’t seemed to share an ability to communicate with barely verbal Little Joe that surpassed that of anyone else.

    Ben loaded the last of the supplies he’d purchased at the general store in Genoa.  Ordinarily he would have taken his business to the closer trading post in Carson City, but Snowshoe Thompson was due in sometime today.  Ben could have waited, of course, and picked up the mail in Carson City, but when Thompson ran late, sometimes the mail Curry’s carrier brought wasn’t available until the next day.  Since today was Saturday, a late arrival could mean a delay over the weekend, and Ben wasn’t prepared to wait that long.  Adam’s boyish news would probably keep, but Ben was also expecting a letter from his brother, a letter he hoped would bring news of John’s imminent arrival.

    Snowshoe Thompson hadn’t arrived by the time Ben finished his necessary business, but he wasn’t about to leave town until he had his mail in hand.  He had to find a better place to wait than the street, however, for the temperature this eighteenth day of December was bitterly cold.  A foot of snow covered the ground, and there’d been ice coating the Carson River when he’d crossed the toll bridge earlier.

Ben pulled the collar of his flannel-lined jacket up over his neck, but the icy wind still managed to snake down his back.  Chilled to the bone, Ben headed for the Stockade Bar down the street.  Though not a heavy drinker, usually restricting himself to a single beer, Ben ordered a whiskey.  Sipping it slowly, he relished the liquor as it burned his throat, then spread its warmth throughout his body.

    Like everyone else in the bar, Ben automatically turned when he heard a new customer walk in.  “Hey, Roop,” he called.  “You’re a long way from home.  How are things up at Susanville?”

    Isaac Roop came to the bar and shook Ben’s hand.  “Cold, same as here,” the California resident of the eastern slope replied.  “How’s the Ponderosa?”

    “Doing fine,” Ben said.  “Let me buy you a drink.”

    Roop responded the way any westerner was expected to.  “Sure.  Let me get some food in my belly first, though.  Haven’t had a bite since breakfast, and I can’t take liquor on an empty stomach.”

    “Now you mention it, I’m getting hungry, too,” Ben said.  Both men ordered a sandwich and beer, then sat down at one of the bar’s few tables to enjoy their lunch and talk over the latest news of the territory.

    Again footsteps sounded at the entrance.  Again every head turned.  Although Ben recognized the two men stomping snow from their boots, he didn’t know them well.  They were better acquainted with Isaac Roop, obviously, for they came directly to the table to greet him.

    “Ben, you know W. L. Jernegan and Alfred James, don’t you?” Roop asked politely.

    Ben shook the men’s hands.  “We’ve met.  Haven’t had much chance to get acquainted, though.”

    “Well, you’ll be getting acquainted with us soon enough,” James declared, beaming proudly.  “Everyone will.  Take a look at this!”  He handed the paper first to Isaac Roop, who held it so Ben could read it, too.

    “ Territorial Enterprise,” Roop read.  “What’s this mean, boys?”

    “First issue of our newspaper,” Jernegan replied.

    Ben noticed the date line on the front page.  “Carson Valley, Utah Territory--Published every Saturday morning at the Office on Mill St., Genoa, Carson Valley,” he read.  “You aim to keep this up regular, then, make a weekly of it.”

    “About time this territory had a paper with a non-Mormon outlook,” James stated.

    Ben laughed.  “I have a friend who’d agree with you.  For that matter, I do, too.  You have extra copies for sale?”

    “So happens we do,” Jernegan grinned, “or will as soon as we get back to the office and run them off.  This one was hot off the press.”

    “I’ll take two,” Ben said, “one for me and one for that friend I mentioned.  If your paper prospers, the first issue ought to be a real keepsake.”

    Jernegan and James both laughed.  “Like your attitude, Cartwright.  Mind if we quote you in the next issue?”

    It was Ben’s turn to laugh.  “If you consider my remarks newsworthy, gentlemen, be my guest.”

    A man stuck his head in the door of the Stockade Bar.  “Hey, Thompson’s in!” he yelled, and the saloon’s population emptied into the snowy street.

    Ben joined the general stampede for the post office.  Soon he found an uncrowded spot and tore into John’s letter.  The letter was longer than usual, for John not only sent news of himself and Will, but described the development of the new town they considered their home.  Temporary home, Ben devoutly hoped, but the letter gave no indication of that.  If anything, John sounded proud, the way Ben did when he wrote about the development of Carson City.

    “Though our town is less than a month old, it’s growing fast,” John reported, telling how one hundred and eighty men living on the west side of Cherry Creek had held a meeting on October 30th to found the town of Auraria, territory of Kansas.  He and Will, however, had located on the east side of the creek in the even newer town first called St. Charles and finally Denver in honor of the territorial governor.

    “Quite a rivalry between the two towns,” John wrote.  “Auraria’s bigger, but you’d like Denver better, Ben.  Quieter, more businesslike.  Why, we’ve even had our first sermon preached here!  Methodist preacher, too, the kind my Martha favored.  So you can quit worryin’ about your big brother.  Denver’s rough, but we’ve already got more religion here than in your God-forsaken western Utah.  (Mormons don’t count, little brother!)”

    Ben had to laugh at that remark.  He’d be sure to share it with Clyde Thomas, too, who would appreciate it even more than Ben.  He read on:  “Will seems to be taking to the miner’s life.  Our claim is showing some good color, so maybe I’ve finally found my El Dorado after all these years.  Good to have my boy here to share it when it comes.  For now, though, we’ve got to leave off mining to build ourselves a solid cabin before winter sets in.  Too bad we can’t move that old one of yours here and save ourselves the trouble!”  Ben smiled.  Obviously, he’d neglected to tell his brother that cabin was already spoken for.  He read on, “I’d better close for now.  Will has the axes sharpened, and it’s time to chop down some more cottonwoods.  Write soon, little brother, and try not to scold.”

    Ben winced uncomfortably.  John knew him too well, knew how much he’d like to scold his big brother for his endless pursuit of gold.  At least, the town of Denver sounded like it had a promising future, or would if the gold held out.  Time would tell.  Maybe, like Marie’d said, John could build himself a future there alongside Cherry Creek.  Maybe, someday, he’d be the one urging Ben to come share his good fortune, and Ben would be the one disappointing John.

    Ben folded the letter, taking out the one from Adam, instead, and his son’s news brought the smile back to his face.  Adam, who had at first bewailed spending the Christmas holidays in San Francisco, seemed to have had a change of heart.  At least, he said he was looking forward to a good time.  Evidently, Lawrence Larrimore had written the boy, promising to take him to any theater presentation he chose, as well as arranging a party for Adam and his own youngsters.

    The mention of a party reminded Ben of why he was in town.  To buy ranch supplies, of course, but those were the least important items on his list.  Hop Sing and, to a lesser extent, Marie had been growing frantic about finding everything they needed to make the Ponderosa’s annual Christmas Eve party memorable.  Ben had hoped to do a little duck hunting near the river on the way back, but Snowshoe hadn’t gotten in as early as he’d expected.  High time he headed for home, if he didn’t want to listen to a diatribe before the Chinese cook would condescend to serve supper.

    For the next week, as Hop Sing and Marie combined efforts to prepare refreshments for the upcoming Christmas Eve party, tempting aromas wafted almost constantly from the kitchen, tempting the two youngest Cartwrights into forbidden territory.  Both boys received the same high-pitched rebuke from the irate Cantonese cook, but while Little Joe’s excursions were viewed with tolerance by his indulgent mother, Hoss’s were soundly scolded.  “You are old enough to know better, Hoss,” Marie reproved, dusting floury hands on her apron, “and to keep your little brother away, as well.  Return to your lessons at once.”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Hoss sighed.  Taking Little Joe’s hand, he returned to the front room, willing Friday to come quickly so the hated schoolbooks could be tossed aside for a few days.  “Here, play with bun-bun,” he directed, giving the toddler his toy rabbit.  “Brother has to study.”

    Little Joe frowned, but sat babbling to bun-bun for a few minutes before ambling off toward the inviting kitchen once more.  He was in the dining room before Hoss realized he’d disappeared.  “Little Joe,” he hissed softly, not wanting the two bakers to hear him.  When the toddler ignored him, Hoss got up and tiptoed after his brother.

    By the time he caught up, however, Little Joe was already in the kitchen, pulling on his mother’s skirt.  “Tookie?” he requested.

    Marie turned just in time to see Hoss enter the kitchen.  “I told you to keep an eye on him,” she reprimanded.

    “I tried,” Hoss protested, “but it’s hard to watch him and the primer, too.  Maybe I should quit studying for awhile, huh?”

    Marie laughed.  “That is most generous of you, Hoss, but perhaps you are right.  We will never get all these gingercakes baked if this one keeps pestering for a cookie.”  She patted Little Joe’s curly head.

    “Maybe if you gave him one,” Hoss suggested, tongue flicking involuntarily over his lower lip.

    Marie giggled, hiding her lips behind delicate fingers.  “I do not think it is Little Joe you are thinking of, mon chéri.  Nevertheless”——she took two gingercakes from the cooling rack and presented one to each boy——“Now keep him out of here!”

    Hoss grinned.  “Come on, Punkin,” he said.  “Let’s eat our cookies in the other room.”  Little Joe smiled and followed obediently, now that he had what he wanted.

    To Hoss’s delight, Friday finally arrived and, with it, the official suspension of all lessons until after the holidays.  Early that morning he went with his father to select a tall evergreen, and they spent the afternoon, while Little Joe napped, decorating the tree with their handmade ornaments and small calico bundles of candy for the younger guests who would attend the party that evening.  Laura Ellis arrived about three o’clock to help Marie deck the mantel and staircase with pine boughs and cones and supervise the moving of furniture and the arrangement of the refreshment table.

    When Little Joe woke, Hoss was delegated the responsibility of keeping the baby away from the tree.  First, he sat Indian-style beneath the branches and, gathering his brother into his lap, explained the purpose of the tree and how tomorrow morning they would find many presents waiting under it.  “So you mustn’t touch,” Hoss finished.  “Santa won’t like it if you do.”

    Little Joe nodded soberly as he reached for the wooden bird gracing the limb nearest him.  Hoss sighed and pulled the youngster’s hand back.  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

    His father, bringing in an armload of firewood to place in the woodbox beside the massive stone fireplace, laughed.  “You’d be wiser to take him out of temptation’s reach, Hoss.”

    “Yeah, I guess,” Hoss admitted with a shrug.  “Let’s go play with my Noah’s Ark, Punkin.”  Little Joe was fond of the boat full of animal pairs, so Hoss successfully kept him occupied until time to dress for the party.

    Since Ben finished dressing first, he took Little Joe downstairs so his mother and Laura could complete their toilettes without distraction.  Setting the baby on his knee, he asked, “Now, has Hoss told you all about what happens tomorrow?”

    “Sanna,” Little Joe replied, smiling in a way that told Ben his youngest was looking forward to a visit from St. Nick.

    “That’s right, and is there something special my little boy would like Santa to bring him?”

    “Doggie,” Little Joe responded immediately.

    Ben laughed.  “I’m afraid you’re too young to be responsible for a pet, baby.  You’ll have to share Klamath with Hoss for now.”

    Little Joe shook his head vigorously.  “No, no, no, no,” he insisted.  “Wa-wer doggie.”

    “Water doggie?” Ben asked, puzzled, then the light, woefully, dawned as Ben realized the gift his son wanted was one he couldn’t possibly put beneath the tree.  “I thought you’d have forgotten the water doggies by now!”

    Little Joe patted his father’s chest with a pleading palm.  “Wa-wer doggie,” he repeated poignantly.

    “Little Joe, Santa cannot bring you a seal for Christmas,” Ben said, with little hope of the toddler’s understanding.  “Seals——uh, water doggies——don’t like snow.”

    Little Joe’s face looked so pitiful Ben cuddled him close.  “There, now, you’re gonna have a nice Christmas.”

    “What’s wrong?” Hoss, coming down the stairs decked out in his best suit, asked on seeing his little brother’s dejected face.

    “He wants a water doggie——a harbor seal——for Christmas,” Ben lamented.

    “Yeah, that’s what he said when me and Inger talked to him about Santa on Thanksgiving,” Hoss said.  “I tried to explain.”

    “You failed,” Ben reported glumly.

    “Aw, he’ll forget when he sees his presents,” Hoss assured his father.

    “I hope so,” Ben muttered ruefully, “and, speaking of presents, you will not see yours until suppertime if you dare wake this baby early, like you did last year.  Furthermore, you will stay home to tend your cranky little brother instead of watching me win us a fat bird at the turkey shoot tomorrow afternoon.”

    “Aw, Pa!” Hoss protested.

    “I mean it,” Ben said firmly.  “Let your brother sleep.”  Not to mention your weary parents, he added silently.

    Guests, many more than the previous year, began arriving shortly before sundown.  Though the Cartwrights didn’t feel prosperous enough to invite the entire population of western Utah, they did expand the guest list to include a number of prominent families in the area.  Abe Curry was a natural addition, along with a few others from Carson City.  Theodore Winters and his family from Pleasant Valley, just north of Washoe, came for the first time, as did James Sturtevant, a newcomer to the territory after the Mormon exodus.  The new federal Indian agent, Frederick Dodge, now making his headquarters in Genoa, came, as well as older acquaintances like John Reese and Stephen Kinsey.  Since several lived south of Genoa, however, those with young children, like the Motts, would leave early.  Ben had given a special invitation to Lucky Bill’s widow and her son Jerome, but neither came, evidently still not up to socializing among people, like Winters, associated with her husband’s hanging.

    The children, as usual, enjoyed Ben Cartwright and Doctor Martin’s joint reading of A Christmas Carol, and the calico-wrapped candy put an even brighter sparkle in their eyes.  Dancing, as always, lasted into the wee hours, making Ben doubly glad he’d spoken to Hoss about waking them early.

    Toward evening on the twenty-fourth of December, Adam leaned over the rail of the steamboat Eclipse, headed for San Francisco.  Despite the brave letter he’d written home, he felt more forlorn, more homesick this holiday season that at any time since he’d started school in Sacramento.  Not that the outlook was totally bleak.  After all, Mr. Larrimore had promised to show him a good time, and Adam was looking forward to a night or two at the theater and maybe a Christmas party at the Larrimore home.  He had a full week to spend in San Francisco, however, and he wasn’t sure he could endure the company of Sterling Larrimore that long.  He’d never liked the boy, who was four years his senior.  Of course, they were both older, both young men now.  That might make a difference.

    Only Lawrence Larrimore met Adam when the steamer pulled into San Francisco.  “Big party tonight,” Lawrence explained.  “The ladies are adding those last minute touches.”

    “Ladies?” Adam asked.  Obviously, Mr. Larrimore meant his wife, but that was only one lady.

    “Camilla and Jewel, son,” Lawrence elaborated, giving the boy a conspiratorial wink.  “They’re both quite fashionable tonight, I can assure you.”

    Adam’s dark eyebrows met in a straight line.  Jewel a lady?  Why, she was nothing but a little girl.  Older now than the six-year-old he remembered from the trail, of course.  How old would she be?  Suddenly, Adam laughed.  She was fourteen, just a year younger than he was, and he considered himself a young man.  Maybe Jewel did qualify as a young lady.  In fact, Adam realized, she was exactly the age of the enchanting Philippa Gallagher.

    Somehow, when he met Jewel later that evening, however, she managed to look much younger than his friend Martin’s sister, maybe because Jewel tried too hard to look grown up, while Philippa kept to simple styles that flattered her youthful face and figure.  Jewel, of course, didn’t have a figure to flatter in the first place; to Adam, she looked like a flour sack tied with string in the middle.  Her looks wouldn’t have mattered, though, if her manners had been better.  She openly snubbed Adam for a country rustic until her mother insisted she dance with their guest.  Not even the harmonious tones of the string quartet, so much more to Adam’s refined taste than the fiddle music he’d have danced to back home, could make it an enjoyable experience.

    Every other young lady at the party, however, found him a desirable partner.  Adam had learned to dance from his father, who always glided smoothly to the music, and had polished his style with the help of his roominghouse mates.  Thanks to them, he knew the latest steps and could perform them gracefully.  That, added to his handsome face and congenial conversational ability, sharpened by evenings in the home of Senator Gallagher, made many a girl eager to spin around the room in his arms and reluctant to relinquish him to the next eyelash-batting competitor.

    It didn’t take Jewel long to realize that her house guest was the sensation of the evening among her friends, and she began to look at Adam through new eyes.  He wasn’t the kind of boy her mother had described as eligible, certainly not well-to-do, but he was good-looking, especially those dark, magnetic eyes.  Finding herself drawn into their depths, Jewel took action.  She looped her arm through Adam’s and emitted a nervous giggle.  “For shame, Melanie Jane!” she said with a simpering pout.  “You silly girls can’t monopolize all his time, you know.  Adam’s my guest, after all, and I’ve only had one itty bitty dance with him.”

    Sally Jane looked irritated, but since the song had ended, she curtsied graciously.  “I enjoyed our dance so much, Mr. Cartwright,” she said suavely.  “Perhaps I could find room on my card for you later this evening.”

    “Please do,” Adam replied and meant it.  Melanie Jane was slim and graceful, in addition to being quite pretty.  Too well-mannered to turn Jewel down, he danced with her next, although he would have preferred the company of almost anyone else.  She did dance well, for her mother had paid exorbitant sums to the city’s finest instructor to ensure the girl’s social graces, but evidently those skills had been honed at the expense of educational ones.  Adam finally gave up trying to converse with his young partner, for there was no substantive subject on which she could make a literate statement.

    Despite Jewel’s fawning presence and Sterling’s languid tolerance of the son of his father’s backwoods friend, Adam enjoyed the evening.  The party lasted until nearly 3 a.m., however, so he was glad when it finally ended and he could retire to the richly appointed guest room provided for him.  Needing to unwind, he lay awake on his bed, trying to imagine what gifts would be waiting for him beneath the tree the next morning.  He was pretty sure they would seem simple and sparse to Sterling and Jewel, but he didn’t care.  They’d be treasures to him because they came from people who loved him, and he intended to hold his head high.  As simple, rustic and frugal as his family might seem to society’s elite, he’d rather be the son of Ben Cartwright than be sired by the richest nabob in San Francisco.

    Hoss dutifully, if impatiently, waited until his little brother awoke on his own, and the entire family was rewarded with a more agreeable attitude from the youngest.  Little Joe still needed help unwrapping his gifts, but he seemed delighted with each revelation, from the rubber ball he rolled across the floor to the carved wooden squirrel on wheels that Hoss passed down to him.  Marie was delighted with her gray linen walking boots, even though she wouldn’t be able to wear them until she again visited a town with boardwalks to protect them from the dust and mud.  Ben, of course, professed complete satisfaction with the fine imported tobacco and new pipe he received, and Hoss seemed equally thrilled with his new treasures.

    Finally, only one gift remained beneath the tree, one so small it had been overlooked earlier.  “It’s for Little Joe,” Hoss said after retrieving it from the dark corner beside the staircase.

    “Oh, from the Thomases, I suppose,” Ben said.  “He doesn’t have one from them yet.”

    “Yep, that’s what it says,” Hoss grinned.  “Here, Punkin, another present for you.”

    Little Joe dropped the rubber ball, which bounced toward the stairs, and tore a corner of the paper hiding his new gift.

    “It’s soft,” Hoss reported.  “I bet it’s another animal, like bun-bun.”

    “Probably,” Ben chuckled.  “Nelly’s handy with a needle.”

    Just how handy became evident when Hoss helped tear away the paper.  “Doggie!” Little Joe cried ecstatically and hugged the leather seal to his heart.  “Wa-wer doggie!”

    “How on earth!” Ben ejaculated.  “How could she possibly have known he wanted that?”

    “Inger, I bet,” Hoss suggested.  “She knew.”

    “Yeah, that makes sense,” his father admitted.

    Hop Sing padded in from the kitchen.  “Bleakfast almost leady,” he announced.  “Velly special Chlistmas bleakfast.”

    “Thank you, Hop Sing,” Marie said.  “We will be there in a moment.”

    Looking satisfied, Hop Sing shuffled back into the kitchen to put the final touches on an especially abundant holiday brunch.  The other Cartwrights, as well as one already-stuffed guest, gathered around the table.  Little Joe had continued to cling to his favorite present, and no one had the heart to tell him that water doggies didn’t belong at the table.

    Immediately after eating, Ben and Hoss loaded the buckboard with generous packages of the leftovers from the party the night before and a carpetbag of night clothes.  They’d be spending the night with the Thomases in Carson City and sharing Sunday dinner with them the next day.  Then, bundled in thick winter outerwear, they piled into the wagon for the long, chilly ride into Genoa.  Actually, the shooting match would be held just outside town, on their side of the Carson River and would be attended by virtually every man in the vicinity who thought he had a chance to win one of the prize turkeys brought in from California for the contest.

The Thomases were already there when the Cartwrights arrived, as were Dr. Martin and Sally.  “Don’t tell me you’re entering the contest, too!” Ben exclaimed, pumping the doctor’s hand.

The doctor laughed.  “No, I’m just here for the show.  I doubt I could even win one of the chickens, much less a turkey.”  In addition to three turkeys, to go to the three best shots, the organizers of the shooting contest were providing chickens and sage hens as lesser prizes.  Almost every man who entered was likely to go home with something, but each one hoped for something rarer than the sage hen that appeared on most tables fairly regularly anyway.

“Don’t you be frettin’,” Billy Thomas offered.  “I’ll see to it Ma invites you to dinner when she cooks the fat bird I bring home.”

    “I’ll be the one bringin’ home the turkey for dinner tomorrow,” Clyde declared, “but the doc and Sally is welcome to share it all the same.  Ben’s folks is already comin’.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “I intend to earn the turkey for tomorrow’s feast, gentlemen, so if you want the honor, I’d advise you to shoot straight.”

    “If you wish me to help cook it, I suggest you help me down from this wagon,” Marie said pertly.

    “Yes, my love,” Ben said, turning, red-faced, back to his neglected duty, “although in a pinch I could probably bring Hop Sing down to Carson to roast the turkey.”  He gave his wife a saucy wink.

“Not in my kitchen!” Nelly declared.  “I don’t need that yeller’s help when it comes to roastin’ turkey.”

“You sure don’t!” Hoss shouted in agreement.  “I ‘member how good you done that other time we had turkey.”     As he clambered over the side of the wagon, Nelly reached up to lift Little Joe down.  “Why, what’s this, Sugarfoot?” she cooed, touching the toy clasped tightly in his hand.  “Did Santa bring you a new playpurty?”

    “Wawer doggie,” Little Joe crowed, holding it out for her to inspect.

    “And do you like the water doggie?” Nelly plied.

    “Does he ever!” Hoss cackled.  “He won’t turn loose for one minute.  We had an awful time gettin’ his leggin’s and coat on.”

    “Well, I bet Santa’s proud to see him enjoyin’ it so,” Nelly smiled.

    “She should be,” Marie said softly.  Chuckling together, she and Nelly walked to the thick pallet Nelly had spread on a cold, but snowfree, patch of ground and settled down to gossip and watch Little Joe make his seal splash into the patchwork sea until time for the shooting to start.

    Each entrant paid a modest entry fee, then one by one each man stepped up to fire the weapon of his choice at the designated target.  After the first round of shooting, half the contestants were eliminated.  They would be the recipients of sage hens, only one for those who shot widest of the target, up to three for the top men in the group.  Clyde Thomas was disgruntled, not only because both Ben and Billy had aimed truer than he, but because he’d missed advancing to the next level of competition in the most frustrating manner possible.  He’d been top shooter among those eliminated.

    “Tough luck, Clyde,” Ben said, clapping him on the back.  “I remember all the times you outshot me along the trail.”

    “Out of practice, I reckon,” Clyde mumbled.  “Been buyin’ my meat already butchered too long.”

    “Don’t worry, Pa,” Billy announced, chest expanding.  “I’ll uphold the honor of the Thomas men.”

    Clyde groaned and shook his head.  “Part of me wishes he’d get the shellackin’ a mouth like that ought to earn him, if the Good Book speaks true about pride goin’ before a fall.”

    “And the bigger part of you wants that Thomas honor upheld,” Ben snorted.

    Clyde grinned and with a sheepish shrug stood back to watch the rest of the contest.

    The target was moved back and once again each man aimed and fired.  Ben felt his muscles tense up when his turn came, then willed himself to relax, aim carefully and squeeze the trigger.  Only five men would advance beyond this round, and he wanted to be one of them.  His bullet struck close to center, but far enough away that Ben was certain five others would be closer.  Yet when every man had taken his shot and the names of those who would advance were called, Ben grinned happily as he heard his own.

    “Yea, Pa!” Hoss cried, jumping up and down with excitement.  “We’re gonna get us a turkey!”

    Those who were eliminated from the second round were each awarded a single fryer for their efforts.  Ben took advantage of the brief break between rounds, while the cackling prizes were being passed out, to accept his son’s hearty hug.  “Nothing certain yet, boy, but I’ll try my best,” he promised.  Only three men who shot in this final round would win turkeys, the others taking home two plump fryers apiece.  Chances were looking good that they’d dine on turkey for dinner tomorrow, however; Billy Thomas was still in the running, too, and if he kept shooting as well as he had been, there was little likelihood of his taking the fall Ben felt certain the little braggart deserved.

    The order of shooters was announced:  Richard Sides, Samuel Buckland, Ben Cartwright, James Sturtevant and, finally, Billy Thomas.  Sturtevant took his place in line beside Ben and leaned on his rifle as he watched Dick Sides aim at the target, which had been set back further than before.  “Leastways, Washoe Valley is well represented, eh, Cartwright?”

    Ben chuckled.  Sturtevant had a point, since three of the final five contestants resided there.  “Something to be said for putting your own meat on the table, I guess.”  It wasn’t really a valid explanation; like most of his neighbors, Ben raised or bought the majority of his meat.  Hunting was fast becoming something men did for sport, not to feed their families, but Ben figured he and his nearest neighbors probably hunted more than men who lived in town.

Sides fired and the crowd gasped in awe, for the bullet struck just below the black bull's-eye.  Sam Buckland  whistled.  “Thought I had a chance, but ain’t nobody gonna beat a shot like that!”

    “Speak for yourself,” Billy Thomas announced.  “I aim to try.”

    “We all aim to try, boy,” Sturtevant muttered, “but tryin’ and doin’ is two different things.”

    Shaking his head, clearly overawed by Sides’ performance, Buckland stepped up to take his shot.  It struck well left of center.  “Dad blamed target’s too far back,” he muttered as he walked back to join the spectators.

    Ben chuckled to himself.  It was precisely that distance that was intended to separate the good shooter from the true marksman, and he figured it was about to weed him out, as well.  Except for the indignity of losing to smart-mouthed Billy Thomas, he wouldn’t have minded too much.  He’d had an enjoyable afternoon, even if the only reward he took home was two chickens.

    “Come on, Pa!  You can do it,” Hoss hollered.  “You can win us a turkey!”

    “Turkey!” Little Joe whooped in imitation of his big brother.

    Ben laughed and waved at his sons.  With inspiration like that, he’d have to try his best.  After all, such fine boys deserved a father to look up to.  He took his time, aimed for the bull's-eye and fired.  The crowd roared its approval, for the bullet seemed to have struck just right of center.  From this distance it was impossible to tell whether Sides’ bullet or Cartwright’s had come closer.  That decision would be left to the official judges.

    “Mighty fine shot, Uncle Ben,” Billy congratulated him.

    “But you aim to do better, right, boy?” Sturtevant snickered.

    Billy shrugged.  “I aim to try, don’t you?”

    Sturtevant bared his teeth in a loud cackle.  “Yeah, boy, I do.”

    “Well, just remember,” Billy teased.  “Tryin’ and doin’ is two different things.”  Ben took advantage of his quasi-familial relationship to aim at Billy’s ear the cuff he thought that remark merited.  Billy just grinned and ducked.

    Sturtevant took his shot.  It hit just below Sides’ mark, so he stood clearly in third place, with only one shooter remaining.  As Billy advanced to the shooting line, he held his rifle overhead, pumping his arms to incite the crowd’s applause, and the bystanders responded with encouraging shouts and hand-clapping.  Though he would need a near perfect shot to win the desired turkey, Billy seemed totally undaunted, his face reflecting such confidence that Ben couldn’t help laughing.  How can you stay irritated with a youngster as irrepressible as that? he thought.

    Whistling cockily, Billy raised his rifle with a relaxed arm, sighted carefully and let the bullet fly.  And fly it did——straight to the bull's-eye!  There was no question in anyone’s mind as to who had won the fattest turkey of the three.  Billy’s bullet had hit dead center.  Ben clapped him on the back, then got out of the way, for the onlookers were rushing forward to shake the young man’s hand and add their congratulations.  With his game leg, Clyde had a hard time pushing through the crowd, but he finally reached his son, and it was clear from the expression on Billy’s face that it was his father’s approval that meant the most.

    Hoss hurried over to Ben.  “Did we win one, Pa?” he asked eagerly.  “Did we get a turkey?”

    Ben rumpled the youngster’s sandy hair.  “Yeah, boy, we got a turkey.  Not sure where I placed, though.”

    “Who cares?” Hoss yelled.  “We got a turkey, Pa!”

    Ben bent over to hug the exuberant boy.  Who cared, indeed?  When the judges announced that Dick Sides had come in second and Ben Cartwright third, Ben just gazed into Hoss’s glowing face and knew that was reward enough for him.

    Adam knotted his new cravat, then adjusted the silk top hat at a jaunty tilt and smiled with satisfaction at his reflection in the mirror.  The hat would have looked out of place back home, but it suited San Francisco.  He felt highly fashionable, thanks to the gifts he’d received this Christmas.  Among other things, his parents had provided material for a new suit, and Mrs. Larrimore had escorted him to the best tailor in town for a fitting.  The suit had been delivered just this morning, so tonight’s New Year’s Eve ball would be the first opportunity the boy had had to wear it.  The hat and cravat, gifts from the Larrimores, set the outfit off to perfection.  Adam was grateful, for his old suit had grown a pinch tight in the shoulders.  Tonight, though, he’d be able to dance in comfort, as well as style.

    Thoughts of the ball reminded him of his family once more, for, like him, they were probably getting dressed about now for the traditional dance back home.  He’d thought of them many times during the past week.  It was hard not to notice the contrasts between the Larrimores’ lifestyle and the simpler one Adam was accustomed to on the Ponderosa. Adam wasn’t sure which he preferred.  Having the theater and opera available whenever you wanted was a luxury not found in western Utah, but neither did San Francisco have the Ponderosa’s fragrant pine forests or the clear waters of an alpine lake at its backdoor.  Too bad a fellow couldn’t have both.

    Then Adam grinned at his own foolishness.  A fellow could have both, obviously; he was proof of that.  He just couldn’t have them at the same time, anymore than a boy could eat peach pie and chocolate cake in the same mouthful.  He might as well enjoy the sophisticated pleasures of San Francisco while he could, knowing that the simpler joys of home were waiting for him when he returned.

    He joined Sterling and Mr. Larrimore in the parlor to wait, as usual, for Mrs. Larrimore to finish dressing.  She shouldn’t be as late as usual tonight, however, for she wouldn’t have Jewel’s toilette to supervise.  The girl had insisted, against her mother’s admonition, on stuffing herself with pastries at Delmonico’s after the opera, which ran especially late last night, and had paid the penalty in a distressed digestive system.  Adam was sorry Jewel was ill, of course, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved that she wouldn’t be attending the Young People’s Ball with him and Sterling.  Her attentions had become altogether too leech-like over the past few days, and Adam welcomed the respite.

    Mrs. Larrimore breezed in.  “Well, now, are we all ready?”

    “We are now,” her long-suffering husband muttered sardonically.

    Camilla disdained his comment with a flap of her hand that reminded Adam of Nelly Thomas’s characteristic gesture.  “Are you boys sure you wouldn’t rather attend the Civic Ball with us?”

    “With all those boring political types?” Sterling scoffed.  “Don’t be ridiculous, mother.”

    He hadn’t given Adam a chance to respond for himself, but the young Cartwright would have agreed anyway.  Not that he considered mingling with the mayor and other governmental officials boring.  Since Sterling had confided that all the prettiest young ladies would elect to attend the Young People’s Ball hosted by a prominent San Francisco family, however, Adam wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment in making the same choice.

    Once they’d left in a hired carriage, Adam learned that Sterling had other plans.  “You don’t really want to go to another stuffy dance, do you?” the older boy inquired.

    “I like dances,” Adam replied.

    “Oh, I know, but, really, they do get so dreary when you have them night after night,” Sterling drawled.  “Let’s have some fun, instead.”

    Adam, who didn’t have the opportunity to attend dances “night after night” didn’t consider them dreary, but, as Sterling’s guest, he felt he should accede to the other boy’s wishes.  “What kind of fun?” he asked.

    “You like shows, don’t you?” Sterling queried.

    “Sure,” Adam agreed readily, “if that’s what you’d rather do.  Opera or theater?”

    Sterling gave a disdainful laugh.  “You are such a child, Adam!  I meant a real eye-stopping show.  I don’t suppose you’ve ever even been to a melodeon?”

    “No,” Adam admitted.  “What is it?”

    “A musical show, sort of,” Sterling replied with a quizzical smile.

    “I like music,” Adam said.

    “Good,” the older boy replied.  “We’ll have a night on the town, then, just us fellows.  Good thing Jewel took sick, huh?  She’s such a tattletale, we’d have to have gone to the ball.”

    When they entered the melodeon, the first thing Adam noticed as they took their seats at a round table was the bar along one side of the room.  “This is a saloon!” he hissed at Sterling.

    “Let me guess:  you’ve never been in a big, bad saloon before,” Sterling mocked.

    Adam flushed crimson.  “Sure, I have,” he declared hotly.  He didn’t feel required to explain that he’d been ushered out within moments of his entry or that both he and Billy Thomas had had their bottoms blistered as payment for the escapade.

    “Why make a fuss then?” Sterling yawned.

    “You said we were gonna see a  musical show,” Adam objected.

    “We are,” Sterling said.  “This isn’t a saloon, Adam.  They serve drinks, sure, but it’s a melodeon, like I said.  You don’t have to drink unless you want to.”

    When the first act came on stage, Adam settled back to enjoy the scantily-clad singer’s song.  The lyrics, however, were so suggestive that he found himself blushing with embarrassment.  Seeing his companion’s heightened color, Sterling laughed.  “I can see you’re going to get a real education tonight, school boy,” he snickered.

    Adam didn’t say anything.  “Is that all?” he asked when the songstress left the stage.

    “Naw, they just take a break between acts to sell drinks,” Sterling explained.  “Want one?”

    “No, thanks,” Adam said tersely.

    “Suit yourself,” Sterling replied, raising a finger to attract the attention of a pretty waiter girl.

    The girl who responded couldn’t have been much older than Adam, but the heavy layer of paint on her face masked her youth.  Her low-cut neckline and the skirt ruffling barely below her hips masked almost nothing, however, and Adam felt his neck growing warm as she leaned over to display her charms when she brought Sterling’s shot of whiskey.

    “Quite a looker, huh?” Sterling queried, watching Adam closely.

    “Yeah,” Adam muttered.  “When’s the next act?”  He hoped it would be soon and of better quality than the previous song.

    A humorous skit soon began on stage.  At first Adam laughed, for some of the lines were hilarious, but as the skit proceeded, its humor became more raunchy, its actions bawdier.  Adam felt disgusted, and his discomfort accelerated when, during the break between acts, a waiter girl in beribboned bloomers and hip-high boots perched on his lap and stroked his cheek.  “How ‘bout comin’ up to my room?” she suggested.  “I’m real gentle with the young ones.”

    “Uh, no——thanks,” Adam replied, polite despite his growing distaste for this establishment and its regular residents.  His pa had taught him to treat all women with respect, and the habit persisted even though this particular woman didn’t seem to merit respect.

    The waiter girl plastered an eloquent pout on her lips.  “Let me bring you a drink, then,” she offered.  When Adam shook his head, the pout deepened.  “How’s a girl supposed to make a living, sonny?” she simpered.

    “Have a drink,” Sterling muttered, clearly perturbed.  “I’ll pay.”

    Adam wasn’t sure afterwards why he gave in.  Maybe just to get the girl off his lap.  Maybe because he didn’t relish looking like a little boy in front of her and Sterling Larrimore to boot.  Maybe because he’d always had a curiosity about the taste of liquor and the atmosphere of the melodeon already had his senses reeling enough to make the suggestion enticing.  Whatever the reason, Adam ordered a beer.

    Sterling laughed.  “Not up to whiskey yet, eh?”

    “Beer suits me fine,” Adam muttered, dark eyebrows meeting in a line over his glowering black eyes.

    “Bring the kid a beer,” Sterling told the waiter girl.

    She laughed, too, giving Sterling a knowledgeable wink.  “Sure thing, sonny.  One beer, coming up.”

    Adam sipped his beer tentatively, not sure he’d like the taste.  He did, though, once he’d gotten past the froth, and when Sterling offered, he accepted a second drink.  The acts on stage were no more musical than before, but Adam began to laugh at jokes that would have seemed pointless earlier.  His head was spinning when they left the melodeon following his third beer.

    “Let’s go by the Cobweb Palace next,” Sterling suggested.

    “I don’t feel so good,” Adam muttered.  “Maybe we ought to go back to your place.”

    Sterling laughed.  “Not yet.  You’ve got to work it off, boy.  My father will lambast me if I bring you home in this condition.”

    “What condition?” Adam demanded as he missed the step into the carriage.  He would have fallen onto the ground had Sterling not been behind him.

    “You’re funnier than Mark Wentworth, the first time I took him around town,” Sterling sniggered.  “Never mind.  Just stick close to me.  You haven’t seen anything yet!”  At his instruction the carriage took them to the north end of Meiggs Wharf, where they entered an ill-lit drinking establishment festooned in all corners with cobwebs.

    “Quite a place, huh?” Sterling commented.  “Abe Warner likes spiders, so no one’s allowed to bother them.”

    The proprietor’s love for spiders was all too obvious.  The light was dim because cobwebs hung from the chandeliers.  They also covered the bottles of liquor behind the bar, effectively removing whatever appetite for liquid refreshment Adam had left.  Even the nude paintings on the wall were scarcely visible through the gossamer webs draping them.  Evidently, the owner had an appreciation for other forms of wildlife, too, for beneath the cobwebs a row of cages held monkeys, parrots and other exotic animals.

    “I’ll have a stone fence,” Sterling told the waiter, then grinned at Adam.  “That’s whiskey watered down with apple juice, for your information, country boy.  Time to slow down if we plan to arrive home sober.  You’d better lay off altogether, though.  You lied before, Adam; this was your first time.”

    “To drink,” Adam admitted.

    “Better not have more, then,” Sterling advised.  “Besides, I got something better than liquor to show you after this.”

    “Yeah, what?”

    “Wait and see,” Sterling sneered.  “Why don’t you ask Warner to show you his walrus tusks and whale teeth?  He’s got quite a collection.”

    The collection was, indeed, interesting, for into each tusk or tooth was carved a patriotic scene.  Adam complimented Warner on the craftsmanship.  “I’d like to give something like this to my father,” he said, pointing to a tusk with a square-rigger carved in its side.  “He was an officer on a ship like this before we came west.”

    “Might be arranged, for a price,” Warner said, flattered enough to ignore the fact that the young man wasn’t drinking.  He and Adam quibbled over price a few minutes before coming to terms.  Adam tried to negotiate for a whale’s tooth to give Hoss, but he hadn’t brought much money with him that night and couldn’t offer enough to satisfy the whiskered art dealer.

    “Nice piece,” Sterling commented when Adam returned to the table and showed him the tusk.  “Souvenir of a special night, huh?”

    “It’s for my pa,” Adam explained, then suddenly paled.  He had a feeling Pa wouldn’t approve of where he’d gotten the present, and it was highly unlikely Pa would consider this a “special night” to be remembered.  The thought of having to tell his father what he’d done that night sickened Adam, but the idea of concealing it tied his stomach in even tighter knots.  “We should leave,” he told Sterling.  “You said you needed to stop drinking.”

    “I said ‘slow down,’” Sterling slurred, “but I guess it’s time, all right.  Got another stop, remember?”

    “Not another saloon,” Adam said firmly.

    “Naw, something better.”  Sterling lurched out of his chair and stumbled toward the door with Adam in his wake.  “Chinatown,” he told the driver as he groped for the carriage door.  The driver headed for Dupont Street.

    As they walked down the narrow alleys of Chinatown after getting out of the carriage, Adam couldn’t imagine what Sterling found to attract him in the row of two-room, wooden shacks.  Finally, they stopped beside one.  “Now, to start the New Year right,” Sterling announced gleefully.  “I’ll buy you a lookee, first, so you can decide.  I figure that’s about all you can handle, but I’ll be going in.”

    Adam’s head had begun to clear, but evidently his judgement was still impaired by the alcohol he’d consumed earlier.  When Sterling ushered him to a window and told him to take a good look, he did.  He jumped back, appalled.  “It’s a girl, and she’s——she’s——”

    “Naked?” Sterling suggested, leering.

    “More than that,” Adam stammered.  “She’s——there’s a man in there, too.”

    “Well, watch the show!” Sterling cackled, clapping Adam on the back.  “I paid two bits for your entertainment.  You don’t want to waste it, do you?”

    “I sure do!” Adam sputtered angrily.

    Sterling shrugged.  “Suit yourself, but you’re not looking while I’m in there.”

    “You’re not!” Adam protested.  “What would your folks say?”

    Sterling collared the younger boy roughly.  “Not a thing, because you’re not telling, are you, country boy?”

    Adam twisted free.  “I wouldn’t dirty my mouth talking about this!” he yelled and stalked back to the carriage.  He flopped down on the cushioned seat, wishing he could erase the image of the fragile-boned girl with almond-skin and short, sleek hair.  She was just a little girl, not even as old as the one back at the melodeon, and she’d stared back at Adam with vacant, coal-black eyes.  He’d never seen a creature more wretched.

    Ten minutes later Sterling returned, stuffing his shirttail back in his trousers.  “Don’t look so shocked,” he ordered Adam loftily.  “Yellers are cheap trash.  I aim to graduate to the Upper Tenderloin after I come into Father’s money.  They’ve got class whores up there on Mason and Larkin streets, if you’re ever interested.”

    “I’m not,” Adam snarled.

    Sterling just laughed.  “Probably couldn’t pay the ticket, anyway, country boy.”

    Adam folded his arms and pressed his back against the coach seat.  He wanted to get as far away from Sterling Larrimore as possible.  He was grateful he’d be heading back to Sacramento the next morning.  The first thing he’d do once he got there was take a long, hot soak at the Alpha Bath House to scour off every trace of San Francisco.  Then he’d have an unpleasant letter to write to his father.  He dreaded that, but he knew he’d have to do it before he’d ever feel clean again.  There’d be at least one benefit to the confession:  Adam was pretty sure he’d never have to spend another holiday with the Larrimores.