A Missing Scene
Adam
Cartwright lounged on the boardwalk outside the Pavilion Hotel and carefully
picked his teeth clean with the sharpened end of a matchstick. It was around two
o’clock on a hot, sunny afternoon, and Adam had time on his hands.
His
father had driven off in a buckboard with the blinded painter he’d met in the
local saloon. For reasons that Adam only half understood, the two had promptly
proceeded to knock all shades of hell out of each other. Now though, they seemed
to be the best of friends, and Adam wasn’t unduly concerned for his father’s
safety; he was pretty sure that the old man could take care of himself. In any
event, old Ben Cartwright certainly wouldn’t appreciate having a grown up son
tagging along as a nursemaid.
Both
of Adam’s siblings had wandered away to find their own amusements. Joe, no
doubt, had returned to the saloon across the street and filled the empty seat
that he’d spotted in the perpetual poker game. Adam fully expected that, by
sundown, his little brother would be stony broke and scrounging the price of a
beer. Big, bluff Hoss had done exactly as he had threatened and taken himself
off to bed. Adam knew for dead certain sure that, right now, the big man was
lying flat on his back and snoring very loudly. The window was open; if he held
his breath and listened real’ hard, he could hear him. All in all, that left
Adam entirely to his own devices.
Of
course, by the same token, he was also free of responsibility and had only
himself to please. Adam shifted his toothpick across to the other side of his
mouth and frowned as he considered his options. There was the standard long,
soapy bath, topped off by a shave and a haircut and followed by several cold
beers and an evening spent in the local whorehouse, but today, that just
didn’t appeal. While not exactly in search of adventure, he felt like doing
something a little bit different.
In
the full heat of the afternoon, the street had grown quiet. People had retreated
in doors for a well-earned siesta. Several horses stood dozing at the hitching
rails and a row of mules waited with patient docility outside the saloon. A
huge, black cat lay on the boardwalk almost at Adam’s feet. He was sleeping as
soundly as Hoss with one relaxed paw and his fat, black tail hanging down over
the edge. The only other folk in sight were a pair of old timers engaged in a
ferocious and seemingly endless game of dominoes in the shade of the boardwalk
awning.
With
no clear idea of where he intended to go, Adam stepped over the cat and into the
street. As if at a given signal, the world swung into motion. Somebody yelled,
and Adam heard hooves pounding towards him. He turned quickly. A huge, black
horse was bearing down on him, coming from the stables in the street behind the
hotel. The animal was galloping, his ears laid flat, and his eyes showing white;
a very small person clung to his back. Adam did a neat little dance in the dirt
as he tried to get out of the way. The horse caught him a glancing blow with its
shoulder as it passed by and knocked him clean off his feet.
Adam
hit the ground rolling and took the force out of the fall. He was winded, and
landing hard on the butt of his six gun bruised his hip, but otherwise, he was
undamaged. The horse, running out of control and thrown off balance by its
collision with Adam, and by its rider’s instinctive jerk on the reins,
stumbled and almost went down. Its diminutive rider somersaulted over its head
and tumbled into the dirt.
Adam
picked himself up and went over. The fallen rider was only a boy and a young one
at that. His clothes were dishevelled and frayed at the edges, and he wore a
round, hard-topped hat. He started to stir and sat up, bemused. He shook the
cobwebs out of his head. Adam didn’t wonder the bone-shaking fall had made him
see stars. Leaning down, he took him by the elbow and lifted him onto his feet.
“Are you all right, son?”
Blue
eyes blazed at him: cornflower-blue, eyes as blue as a bright summer morning
surrounded by fair, sandy lashes. The boy shrugged off his hand. “I ain’t
your son, Mister!” The voice hadn’t yet broken; it was high and piping and,
at the same time, snarled with a bitter resentment.
People
appeared as if out of nowhere and came running from several different
directions. First among them was the thick-set, bull necked sheriff Adam had
nodded to earlier as he rode into town, and a much smaller man suited in black.
The undertaker was somewhat put out to discover that no one was in immediate
need of his services and retired in a huff. The sheriff looked Adam over with
some speculation. “That was some tumble you took there, Mister. Are you all
right?”
“I
guess so.” Adam attempted to brush off some of the dust. “I don’t know
about the boy yet.”
The
sheriff looked down. He was a tall man and the boy’s pale, upturned face came
about to his middle. “He looks okay to me.”
Adam
was about to suggest that they have a doctor look the boy over, just to be sure,
when a shout came from behind him. “Horse thief! Horse thief!”
The
moonfaced, overweight ostler from the livery stable stumbled into the street. He
was puffing and panting, gasping for breath and very red in the cheeks. “That
boy’s a horse thief!”
Clutching
his hat to his head with his hand, the boy turned to flee. The sheriff acted
with remarkable presence of mind and, for a big-built man, moved with speed. He
grabbed the boy by the elbow, almost jerking him off his feet, and held on
tight. The stableman panted up. His face was florid; great patches of sweat
stained his dirty pink vest and his trousers were slipping down over his belly.
The sheriff still held the boy firmly by the fleshy part of the arm. “What’s
this all about, Breeching?”
The
stableman pulled out a spotted bandanna and swabbed at his neck. “That horse
isn’t his. He sneaked in, an’ he stole it from right under my nose!”
“Di’n’t!
Di’n’t steal it!” The boy started squirming, trapped in the big
sheriff’s grasp.
Adam
decided it was just about time to join in; “Why don’t you tell us what
happened?”
The
sheriff, the ostler and the boy all turned to look at him. Adam thought, for a
moment, that he might have grown an extra head. Finally, the sheriff said,
“What’s this got to do with you, Mister..?”
“Cartwright,”
Adam supplied. “Adam Cartwright, And I think I’ve a vested interest. The boy
and his horse damn near killed me.” He rubbed the sore spot on his butt.
The
sheriff considered it, then nodded his head. “You could be right about that.
But you want to think real’ careful afore you tangle yourself up in this. In
this here town, we hang horse thieves.”
Adam
knew it was common practice: rough-cut justice in a savage land. He was a man of
his times, and it was, on the whole, a penalty that he approved of. On this
occasion however, he balked at the prospect of the thief stretching a rope. This
was no hard-bitten rustler who would steal a man’s hard-earned worldly goods
with never a second thought; this was no more than a child. “But he’s just a
boy! He can’t be more than twelve or thirteen. He doesn’t have his full
growth yet.”
The
boy was indignant. “I was fourteen last week! I’m just small for my age,
that’s all.”
Adam
wished that the boy would keep quiet. At fourteen, a boy was considered a man
full grown and fully responsible for his own actions. If he was a horse thief,
he could be hung. The sheriff knew it as well. “It don’t make no nevermind
how old he might be. The law’s the law.”
Adam
couldn’t argue with that. The sheriff looked sternly down at the boy. “What
name do you go by?”
The
blue eyes gazed at him without the slightest trace of guile. “My name’s
Jordan, Mister. Jordan Cartwright.”
Adam
stared at him, his mouth dropping open. He didn’t believe what he’d heard.
The sheriff looked from Jordan to Adam. “This here your boy, Mister?”
Adam
shook his head, numb with shock. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
The
boy let out a wail. “Daddy, don’t say that! You gotta save me!” He wrapped
his arms tightly ‘round Adam’s leg.
“I
think,” the sheriff said grimly, “We’d all better to go my office and sort
this thing out.”
After
the sunlight and the heat of the street, the sheriff’s office was dark, cool
and airless. It was dominated by a huge, battered and battle scarred mahogany
desk that took up half of the floor space. A pot-bellied stove and a couple of
chairs took up the rest of the room. The first thing the sheriff did was to take
away Adam’s gun. “Just a general precaution,” he said. He lifted the
Colt.44 out of it holster and slipped it into the drawer of the desk.
By
now, Adam had become distinctly uneasy. He wiped his palms of the seams of his
pants. The sheriff poured himself a cup of thick, black coffee from the pot that
sat on the back of the stove. He didn’t offer it to anyone else. Breeching,
the ostler, slumped into a chair too small for his bulk; he overflowed at the
edges. He pulled out the bandanna and mopped at his face. The sheriff stood over
him. “Breeching, why don’t you tell me about the horse?”
“A
horse is a horse.” Breeching gazed up at him with small, beady eyes. His face
was still sweating. “I got that one as part payment of a debt. The boy stole
it away from me. For all I know, his Pa put him up to it.” The eyes rolled
slyly in Adam’s direction.
The
sheriff turned to the boy; “Your Pa tell you ta steal that horse?”
Adam
was tired of being talked about instead of being talked too. “For a start,”
he said testily, “I’m not this boy’s Pa.”
The
sheriff regarded him with open speculation “The boy here says different. You
sayin’ he’s lyin’?”
“I’m
saying he’s not telling the truth.”
The
boy who had called himself Jordan Cartwright gazed up at Adam with brilliant
blue eyes. “Daddy, you know that ain’t so!”
“And
you know I’m not your Pa!” Adam retorted with venom.
The
sheriff sucked his teeth. “Then would you mind explaining how come he’s got
the same name as you?” He shook his head. “I’m gonna get ta the bottom of
this; have me a talk with them three fellas you rode inta town with. In the
meantime, I’m gonna lock you up fer a bit – just so I know where you’re
at.” He lifted a huge bunch of keys from a nail in the wall and directed Adam
into a cell.
Adam
spread out his hands “There’s no call for that. Why would I steal a horse?
I’ve got a horse of my own.”
“Then
you ain’t got nothin’ ta worry about.” The sheriff pulled out his pistol
and jammed the muzzle hard into Adam’s belly, just under his belt. “I
don’t know you, an’ I don’t know this boy. Could be you don’t know each
other. It’s somethin’ I’m gonna have ta look into.” He backed Adam into
the cell with a prod of the pistol and pushed the boy in after him. He swung the
door closed and turned the big key in the lock. “Don’t ferget, Mister,” he
said with a lop-sided grin, “in this town, we hang horse thieves.”
Adam
found himself locked in a cell that was hardly luxurious in its appointments. An
unglazed window, high in the wall, admitted a single shaft of barred sunlight
but little fresh air. The bunk was solidly built out of boards; it had a thin
straw mattress and a single, somewhat threadbare blanket, and there was a pot
underneath for a man to piss in. That was all. The sheriff went out with the
ostler. As they went through the door, Adam heard the fat man declaring what a
very fine animal the black gelding was.
Adam
turned on the boy, his tawny eyes angry. “Why don’t you tell me what this is
all about?”
The
boy backed as far into the corner as he was able; there wasn’t much room to
retreat. The bright eyes widened with fright. Adam realised that he made a
threatening figure and backed off, exasperated. He took a deep breath and
unwound his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The
boy wiped his coat sleeve over his mouth and picked up a silvery stream from his
nose. “Was all your fault anyway,” he said sulkily. “Iffen you hadn’t
got in the way, I’d have got clean away with that horse.”
“You
told me that you didn’t steal the horse.”
“Di’n’t.
Not exactly.” The boy sniffed the snot back into his nose. “That horse
belongs to me an’ my Ma. That fella Breeching took him away ‘cause of a feed
bill we owed him.”
Adam
began to see how it was. “A man had to pay what he owes.”
“We’d
of paid him!” The boy was defiant. “But without the horse, we can’t
plough, then we don’t have nothin’ to sell an' no money to pay with.”
“I
need you to tell that sheriff the truth!”
The
boy shook his head. “Iffen I tell the truth, they’re gonna hang me for
stealin’ that horse for sure.”
From
what he had seen of the sheriff’s attitude, Adam allowed that the boy might
well be right. He prowled back and forth behind the bars with a scowl on his
face. The boy sat on the bunk and watched him. Adam’s anger had turned to
frustration – and some concern. He wasn’t really expecting to dance on the
end of a rope – not if Hoss woke up before Christmas and Joe ever got out of
that poker game. He was pretty certain that they’d be able to prove who he was
and vouch for the fact that he didn’t have any children. All the same, he
didn’t like being in jail, and he had a kind of a dry raspy feeling at the
back of his throat.
The
boy was an entirely different matter. If it came to a trial, Adam would find
himself cited as a principal witness, and he’d have to say what he’d seen.
The boy could be hung on his evidence alone, and he didn’t like the idea of
that one little bit.
He
glanced at the boy. A single wisp of corn coloured hair had escaped from under
the hat. It dangled beside the bright blue eyes in a long coiling spiral. A
faint smile touched Adam’s lips.
The
boy was belligerent. “What you grinnin’ at, Mister?”
Adam
reached out and lifted the hat. A cascade of golden ringlets tumbled down over
the shoulders. “They might be ready and willing to hang a horse thief,” he
said. “But I don’t think they’ll hang a girl.”
The
sheriff thought the same way. His feet on the top of his ancient desk, he sucked
at his teeth. “Don’t reckon as you done no harm, Miss Jordan. I ain’t
gonna press no charges.” It was a simple statement that took a whole lot of
weight off Adam Cartwright’s mind.
Jordan
- the girl - the very attractive young woman - was reluctant to elaborate on
what she had revealed to Adam, but bit by bit, the entire story came out.
“When
Papa died, Mama had a hard time making’ ends meet, what with me an’ my two
little brothers to feed. She signed a paper with Mister Breeching to provide
feed for our young stock, with our one good horse as a surety. But the yearlings
didn’t sell for as much as we had expected. When Mama couldn’t pay,
Breeching took the horse to settle the debt. I thought, if I dressed up as a
boy, he wouldn’t recognise me, and I could borrow our horse back long enough
to do the ploughing this fall.”
Adam
slipped the Colt.44 into his holster and gave her a wink. “I guess I’ll go
pay Mister Breeching a visit.”
In
the humid heat of the late afternoon, Adam made his way to the livery stable.
Inside the barn-like building it was warm, dim and damp. The close-confined
gloom stank of horses, straw and fresh-dropped manure. Adam’s “Halloo!”
brought Breeching out of a stall at the back. He carried a two-tined pitchfork
like he knew how to use it, and his dirty pink vest was more sweat stained than
ever. His florid face darkened at the sight of his guest.
“What
do you want, Cartwright? How come the sheriff let you out of the hoose-gow?”
“I
guess he liked my face,” Adam responded with a pleasant smile. Breeching made
a non-committal grunt. Adam continued, “I want to make you a small business
proposition.”
Breeching
leaned the pitchfork against a supporting post in a business like manner and sat
himself down on a barrel-head. He mopped at the sweat on his face and gave Adam
his full attention. “What is it you have in mind?”
“I’d
like to settle the debt that you have on the horse.”
Breeching
shook his head. “Nope. Not a chance. The horse is worth more than the feed
bill.” His small eyes glittered with greed. “But it might be that I’d be
willing ta sell you that horse.”
*******
Joe
Cartwright ran his hands through his hair and asked the inevitable question,
“Hey, big brother, will you buy me a beer?”
Adam
regarded him with that well practised air of long-suffering irritation and
amusement. “You haven’t run through all that money that Pa gave you?”
“I
had a run of bad luck.” Joe pulled a face.
“I think those guys were cooking the deck, but I couldn’t prove
it.”
Adam
pinned his brother with a jaundiced eye. “Three week’s wages and an end of
drive bonus?”
Joe
shrugged and looked sheepish. “I had a winning hand. I’d have sworn it
couldn’t be beaten.”
“I’m
afraid you’re out of luck again, little brother. I haven’t a cent.”
Breeching had asked a good deal more for the gelding than Adam had anticipated,
and then there had been essential supplies and some harness and a young lady’s
dress…
Joe
stared at him, aghast. “So what did you do with your money?”
“Let’s
say I invested it.”
Now
it was Joe’s turn to look askance. “You invested it?”
Adam
wasn’t prepared to explain any further. He squared his hat on his head.
“That’s what I said.”
Across
the street from where they stood on the boardwalk, lamplight started to glow in
the hotel windows. Adam’s expression became speculative. Then he brightened
with inspiration. He slapped Joe hard on the shoulder. “I’ve got an idea.”
Hoss
emerged, sleepy eyes, from the front door of the hotel. Adam and Joe accosted
him, one on either side. Each of the brothers hooked an arm in the big man’s
elbows, effectively tying him down. Joe gave him a cocky grin. “You’re just
the man we were looking for.”
Hoss
looked suspiciously from one to the other. “What d’you fellas want?”
Adam
smiled silkily. “We thought you might buy us supper.”
Potter
Bar 2002.
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