Though occasional showers still fell in April, spring had come once again to the Ponderosa.  Hillsides and meadows alike were splashed with verdant green and dotted with blossoms in a myriad hues.  After planting onions and potatoes early in the month, Marie finally paid a visit to Washoe City and came home determined to bring the colors of spring into their own front yard.  Window boxes were planted with geraniums, and a wooden tub beside the porch sprouted a climbing rose that she hoped would one day spread its beauty over the roof.  In addition, a small dogwood tree, transplanted from a nearby stream bank, graced the far end of the house, and an assortment of flower seeds were sown along the wall on either side of it.

    The other Cartwrights also welcomed the return of pleasant days and balmy breezes.  Hoss and Little Joe were thrilled to spend more time outdoors, and as soon as the older boy returned from school each day, he would hurry through his chores, so he and his little brother could tramp through the woods or seek out a nearby fishing spot.  Though young himself, Hoss was trusted implicitly to keep the inquisitive toddler from harm, and he basked in his parents’ confidence and the whole-hearted admiration of that bright-eyed tagalong.

    As Ben rode each day from the scene of one ranch operation to another, he surveyed with satisfaction the blossoming of his dreams.  Everywhere he looked were signs of growth, not always appreciable in the ledger book, but visible to the naked eye.  Cattle fattening, timber operation starting up again, the sheer beauty of this land he called his own breathing fresh life into his winter-worn spirit, as spring seemed always to do.  The Ponderosa was a busy place these days, and Ben looked eagerly toward the day his eldest son would arrive to help him and to enjoy the fruition of what they had envisioned together.

    Only Adam failed to rejoice in the coming of spring.  In California, of course, he never experienced the harshness of winter, but he normally looked forward to spring as an indicator that he would soon be going home.  Not this year.  He had lived in dread of the coming confrontation for so long that, as April advanced, he almost found himself wishing that the school term this year might never end.

     Shadows were beginning to lengthen the final Saturday in April when Ben shouldered his garden tools and headed back toward the house with Hoss at his side.  The two of them had been hard at work all afternoon, planting root vegetables like parsnips, carrots, beets and turnips, and both of them wore the sweat-stained shirts to prove it.

    Ben smiled as he walked into the yard and saw his wife, seated behind a wooden table on the covered porch, her dress as stained as his shirt.  He knew the dirt hadn’t come from the work she’d done.  Marie had been planting window boxes with tomato and cabbage seed, to be transferred to the garden when the young plants had taken root, and that wasn’t ordinarily a grimy job.  Ben suspected the dirt had come from cuddling the rather grubby boy now chasing Klamath around the yard.  “You need a bath,” he whispered as he stepped close and kissed her cheek.

    “Mais oui, and you also,” she laughed, “but I think our baby son should go first.”

    “No, thanks,” Ben snorted as he scooped up the toddler, who had just run up to him while the little brown dog ran over to greet Hoss.  “I don’t relish second chance on bath water after this much dirt comes off.”  He swatted Little Joe’s dusty britches.

    “Nor I, but if I precede him, I shall surely need to bathe twice, and that I do not wish,” Marie laughed.  “I will bathe Joseph first and then myself, mon mari.”

    “That’s fine,” Ben assured her.  “Hoss and I will just sit out here and relax, won’t we, son?”

    “No!” Little Joe yelped as his father placed him in his mother’s arms.  “Hoss wanna play wif me.”

    “Someone’s comin’,” Hoss announced, and when the others stopped to listen, they, too, could hear the clop of horses’ hooves and the rumble of wagon wheels coming down the road.

    “Oh, look at us,” Marie fretted, brushing her dress with the hand not holding Little Joe.  “What will these visitors think?”

    “That we’re people who work for a living,” Ben grunted.  “There’s no shame in honest sweat, Marie.”

    “I know that, Ben,” she started testily, “but—oh, it is Clyde and Nelly!”

    Smiling, Ben walked to the side of the wagon as it pulled into the yard.  “Well, now, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

    “Don’t reckon you’ll think it a pleasure when you hear why we come,” Clyde muttered as he climbed down from the rig and reached back to help his wife down.

    “It is always a pleasure to see you,” Marie insisted, “though we did not expect you ‘til tomorrow.”

    Little Joe leaned forward, arms stretched toward Nelly, who gathered him up and hugged him tight.

    “Oh, Nelly, he will soil your dress,” Marie fretted.

    “No harm done,” Nelly assured her, though her face did not reflect the older woman’s customary ease of manner.

    Ben moved to the back of the wagon to lift little Inger from the buckboard and cocked a glance at the carpetbags he saw behind the wagon seat.

    “Took the liberty of bringin’ our duds, so’s we could spend the night, since we was plannin’ to go to church with you in the mornin’,” Clyde said, following Ben’s line of sight.  “Figured you’d want to hear the news soon as possible.”

    Ben folded his arms and arched an eyebrow.  “You comin’ out to weasel a free meal isn’t anything new, so what news might that be?”

    “Oh, Ben, it’s war!” Nelly cried, eyes moist.

    Ben gasped and Marie grew pale.  “Oh, no,” she murmured.

    “It’s finally happened, then, actual fighting?” Ben queried, his face grim.

    Clyde nodded soberly.  “Yeah, them dad-blamed rebels opened fire on Ft. Sumter on April 12th.  Took it two days later.  Lincoln’s called for seventy-five thousand volunteers to serve for three months.  He just calls it an ‘insurrection,’ but I reckon my Nelly’s got the right of it—it’s war, plain and simple.  Brung you the Enterprise so’s you can read all about it; it’s packed away in the bag there.”

    “I’ll read it later,” Ben said.  He shook his head.  “So it’s come to that, open warfare.  God help this country; God help us all.”

    Marie hung her head, almost as if she felt responsible for the actions of those other Southerners.

    Nelly touched her arm gently.  “Hope we ain’t puttin’ you out, invitin’ ourselves to spend the night.”

    Marie looked up and forced a smile to her lips.  “Oh, no.  As you can see, we are all much in need of a bath, so if you will just make yourselves at home, we will make ourselves more presentable for guests.”

    Nelly tweaked Little Joe’s nose, making him giggle.  “You go right ahead and don’t pay us no mind.  ‘Spect you’d better start with this little mess of a boy.”

    Marie laughed weakly, as though she feared mirth of any kind inappropriate after hearing such sober news.  “Oui.  That is just what Ben and I were discussing when you drove up.”

    The swing in the backyard at Molly Maguire’s boardinghouse for boys was large enough for two, but that Saturday afternoon only one forlorn figure sat sideways on the wooden planks, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them.  Adam knew that he’d soon have to vacate his private thinking place, for one of his rooming mates was sure to want that swing to entertain a girl.  If he hadn’t been feeling so miserable, Adam might have confiscated that swing for a date of his own, but he didn’t think it right to subject any girl to a mood as black as his.

    Adam felt decidedly alone in his reaction to the news about Ft. Sumter, although logic told him that there had to be some people who saw the situation as he did.  He hadn’t seen any, however.  Ever since the Pony rider had raced into town, waving his hat and crying, “War!” the streets of Sacramento had rung with sounds of celebration.  Everywhere Adam went, he saw balconies draped with bunting of red, white and blue and heard the rhetoric of fast and certain victory.  Didn’t they realize, these fools dancing in the streets, that war meant blood spilled in the sand, not parades and bands playing? No, he wanted to shout at them, war means death, and not one-sided death, either.

    Adam knew he wasn’t being entirely honest with himself, though.  It wasn’t really the thought of bloodshed back east that troubled him; it was the black clouds looming on his personal horizon that kept him huddled in a despondent ball on the swing, swaying aimlessly back and forth.  Facing Pa with a request to go back east had seemed comparable to fighting that Peloponnesian fracas before, but now Adam figured the confrontation might last as long as the Hundred Years War he’d read about in European history.  What hope was there that his father would consent to his heading right into a battle zone?  New Haven, Connecticut, was a long way from Ft. Sumter, of course, so it seemed unlikely that actual fighting would reach that far north, but Adam wasn’t sure Pa would see the logic of that.  Maybe I’ll get lucky and all these prophets will be right, Adam mused.  Maybe it will take just one or two quick battles to finish this war, and it’ll all be over by the time I need to leave.  Sooner or later I have to talk to Pa, but not now, not while everything’s so unsettled.  Watch and wait, I guess .  Watching and waiting was hard, though, especially when all he could see were storm clouds glowering over his head without a single shaft of light to pierce the blackness descending on his soul.

    Though Ben, Marie, Clyde and Nelly had stayed up long after the children went to bed that night, talking about the implications of the national situation, they were all up early and dressed for church the next morning.  To Ben’s surprise, that even included his wife.

    Marie offered no explanation.  She merely said that she would like to worship with them “this once,” lest anyone think her sudden change of attitude reflected a permanent one.  She understood now what Ben had meant at Christmastime when he suggested that there were certain times a person wanted to be in church, even one not of his or her personal persuasion.   When a nation goes to war, she thought instinctively, was such a time, a time for citizens to band together, to seek the counsel of godly men and offer prayers together, regardless of creed, just as she and Ben had done earlier that year. Odd, Marie reflected as they returned to the Ponderosa after an inspiring sermon and a season of prayer had brought a sense of peace to all their burdened souls.  This war is tearing our nation apart, but it seems to bring Ben and me closer together, to remind us of all we hold in common.

    “Let’s go see that garden now,” Inger demanded as soon as the youngsters had scrambled from the back of the Cartwright’s wagon.

    “You just hold on, young lady,” her mother declared.  “You’re not goin’ anywhere ‘til you change out of your good dress.”

    “Aw, Ma, I done waited forever now,” Inger protested.  “You said it was too late when we got here last night and there wasn’t time this morning.”

    “I reckon that garden’ll still be there ten minutes from now,” Clyde snorted.  “You do like your ma says.”

    Inger frowned, but murmured, “Yes, Pa.”

    Ben gave the little girl’s strawberry bangs a light-handed brush.  “There’s not much to see, child, just a few leaves sprouting so far.”

    Inger’s lips thrust out in a petulant pout.  “I know what gardens look like this time of year, but I don’t care.  I wanna do something.”

    Nelly put both hands on her daughter’s shoulders and pointed her toward the house.  “Changing your dress is something.  Now, git!”  She smiled toward Marie.  “Never seen a youngun yet that took to sittin’ still all mornin’.”

    “This one, especially,” Marie agreed, pointing her chin at the boy struggling to get down from her arms.  “No, Little Joe,” she said as she moved toward the house.  “Like Inger, you must change clothes before you go to the garden.”

    “Aw, Ma, have we got to take him?” Hoss moaned, trailing them inside.

    “Oui, you do.  None of us wants to listen to him wail when he is left behind.”

    Hoss threw a pleading glance at his father, who merely shook his head.  Hoss sighed and began to drag himself upstairs to change.

    The two larger youngsters were back downstairs almost before the adults had time to take off their coats and hats, and both perched impatiently on the fireside table, waiting for Little Joe.  Finally, he was ready, too, and all three children charged outside, bounding down the path to the garden.  “It’s like Pa said,” Hoss told his friend, “not much growin’ yet.”

    “Aw, I don’t care.  I just want to see if it’s big as you said,” Inger giggled.  “That and I don’t want to hear no more talk about that war, and that’s all we’ll hear if stay around the grown folks.”

    “War’s a bad thing,” Hoss said.  “Nothin’ but folks fightin’ who ought to get along.”

    “You just think that ‘cause you get a lickin’ when you do it!” Inger tittered and, grabbing Little Joe’s hand, she took off down the path.

    “Might just have to give you one if you keep up the sass!” a grinning Hoss hollered after her.

    Inger had stopped at the edge of the garden.  “It’s a right good size,” she admitted when Hoss caught up, “and a lot bigger than ours, but we got all we need for the three of us—and Billy, too, when he makes it in for a meal.  Ma even figures we might have some produce to sell to the tradin’ post.  That what your folks are aimin’ to do with the extra?”

    Hoss laughed.  “What extra?  You’re forgettin’ that we got ranch hands and lumberjacks to feed, too.”

    “Not to mention you!” Inger giggled.  “Hey, race you up to the ridge.”  She took off around the end of the garden, aiming toward the rise just south of the Ponderosa.

    Little Joe started after her, but Hoss easily overtook the short-limbed toddler and grabbed him.  “We ain’t racin’, punkin,” he said firmly.  “Pa said not to stay gone long, and I don’t aim to, ‘cause I don’t want Hop Sing mad at me.  Dinner’ll be ‘most any minute.”

    Little Joe pulled on Hoss’s hand as he pointed toward the ridge.  “Ingy gone,” he insisted.  “Gotta get her or Hop Sing be mad.”

    Hoss scowled.  “Reckon you’re right, at that, punkin.  Doggone that girl, sometimes she’s most as much trouble as you!”  Letting his younger brother take the lead, Hoss trudged up the rise after his little friend, whom he could still see ahead.  About halfway up the slope he heard a high-pitched squeal and, looking up, he saw Inger squat down below the horizon.  Sensing something wrong, he hurried forward, although Inger was frantically waving him back.

    “What matter wif Ingy?” Little Joe asked.

    “Don’t know.  Somethin’s up, though.  Hold tight to my hand, Little Joe.”  Growing concerned, Hoss plunged ahead.  He could tell that Inger was trying to hide, so he approached her stealthily and whispered when he spoke.  “What’s wrong?”

    “Injuns,” Inger hissed back.

    Little Joe’s eyes grew wide as he spotted the painted warriors riding along the top of the ridge.  “Inj—”

    Hoss clapped a rough hand over the small mouth and pulled his younger brother between his legs.  “Be quiet,” he whispered in the boy’s ear.  “Quiet and still as a mouse, punkin.”

    Not liking the hand over his mouth, Little Joe squirmed, trying to get free.

    “Keep still or I’ll spank!” Hoss hissed.

    The threat, idle one though it was, proved effective.  Little Joe sat still, and all three children watched the Indians file past.  Surprisingly, considering the noise the children had made, none of the bronze-skinned men looked their direction.  Either the Indians hadn’t heard them, which didn’t seem likely, or they had, but were unconcerned about a handful of children.

    As the end of the line moved past them, Hoss leaned toward Inger.  “We got to get back to the house,” he whispered.  “You go first and move quiet.  We’ll follow.”

    Inger nodded, gathered up her skirt so it wouldn’t swish in the grass and moved slowly down the hill, taking frequent furtive glances over her shoulder.  When she’d gotten well away without attracting notice, Hoss hugged Little Joe to his chest, stood up and followed, moving slowly at first and then picking up speed as he got further from the ridge.  By the time he reached the garden he had overtaken Inger and both of them took off at a run.  They were all screaming as they ran into the yard.

    The side door into the kitchen opened first, and Hop Sing stomped through.  “Why you all-a time gotta yell?  Dinnah waiting and—”

    “Injuns!” Inger shrieked.

    Hop Sing’s almond eyes darted in all directions.  “Where?”

    The front door opened and Ben came through.  “What’s all the ruckus?”  He eyed his older son with disapproval.  “I thought I told you not to stay long.”

    “Injuns, Pa,” Hoss panted, “up on the ridge.”

    “So?  Probably some Washos heading up to the lake to fish,” Ben said.

    Hoss shook his head vigorously.  “No, Pa.  Not Washos.  Paiutes, I think, and some others that looked different—and they’s all wearin’ war paint!”

    Clyde Thomas had joined his friend on the porch to investigate the commotion, and the two women were just coming up behind them when Hoss made his announcement.  “You see ‘em, too, girl?” Clyde asked.

    “Yes, Pa!” Inger exclaimed.  “It’s just like Hoss said.  Some were Paiutes, and some were dressed different than I’ve seen before, but they was all painted.”

    Clyde turned to the man at his side.  “What you make of it, Ben?  Would’ve thought them Paiutes got their fill of fightin’ last spring.  You don’t reckon they aim to attack again, maybe thinkin’ the white men is wrapped up with a war of their own and won’t have the strength to fight two at once?”

    “I doubt they’ve heard about Ft. Sumter,” Ben muttered.  “We barely have ourselves!  Numaga promised to keep the peace for a year, and I believe him to be an honorable man.  It doesn’t sound good, though.”

    “Reckon we oughta check it out?”

    Ben nodded soberly.  “Yeah.  You can borrow Adam’s black.”

    Hop Sing scurried forward as Ben and Clyde headed toward the barn.  “You eat first, Mr. Ben!  Dinnah all leady.”

    “We’ll eat later,” Ben called over his shoulder.  “The rest of you go ahead.”

    Hop Sing considered threatening to go back to China, but seeing the determined set of Mr. Cartwright’s shoulder, he quickly changed his mind.  Mister Ben was doing the honorable thing in putting his family’s safety before his empty belly, so for once the little Oriental would not chide him.  Those who remained behind, however, were convenient and acceptable targets for his bullying.  “Please to come to table now, Missy,” he dictated, “or I thlow food out.”

    “In one moment, Hop Sing,” Marie stated firmly.  “I wish a word with my husband.”

    “And me with mine,” Nelly added quickly.

    Hop Sing planted his hands on his hips and gave both ladies a ferocious glare.  Little Inger jumped back, clearly cowed, but Hoss just took the cook by the elbow.  “I’m about to faint away, Hop Sing.  You reckon us three younguns could come in and fill our plates?”

    “Humph!” Hop Sing snorted, loud enough for those in the barn to hear.  “Young ones only ones with sense today, I think.  Yes, velly good; you come table now.”

    Ben and Clyde, each with his wife at his side, led a horse from the barn.  “Be careful, Ben,” Marie whispered as she rose on her toes to kiss him.

    “I will,” Ben promised as he kissed her back.  Beyond them, Clyde and Nelly were exchanging similar endearments.

    The men mounted and walked their horses out of the yard.  They retraced the path the children had described and rode up to the ridge.  Clyde pointed to the tracks, plainly visible in ground still soft from spring rains.  “Unshod horses, all right.”

    “Yeah, Indian ponies, most likely,” Ben admitted.  “We’ll follow a ways, but try to keep far enough back so we don’t spook them.”

    “Right,” Clyde agreed, dropping his voice warily, though he had no reason to think the Indians were close enough to hear them.  He let Ben take the lead, bringing Adam’s black horse in behind the bay gelding.  Since they were moving slowly, it took the men almost an hour to come close enough to the Indians to spot them.  By that time the painted warriors had left the ridge, still moving in a straight line toward the south.

    Ben and Clyde remained on the ridge, looking down from the cover of the pines.  “Don’t look like they’re headed toward any of the settlements,” Clyde remarked, “but they are painted up, like the younguns said.  What you make of it, Ben?”

    Eyes fixed on the valley below, Ben shook his head.  “I don’t know.  Those others—I’ve seen men dressed like that in the Paiute camp before.  I think they’re Bannock, and, worse yet, that’s Wahe riding at their head.”

    “Wahe?” Clyde’s brow wrinkled.  “Don’t recall that name, Ben.”

    “You fought him.  Winnemucca’s half-Bannock brother,” Ben reminded his friend.  “Winnemucca has no great love for white men, but he’s a reasonable man.  Wahe—totally different—cunning, cruel.  Numaga’s promise would mean nothing to him.  With Wahe around, I have to think that means trouble is brewing, though not come to full boil yet, it appears.”

    “Maybe I ought to take my folks home and ride on to Fort Churchill, let the army know,” Clyde suggested.

    “You couldn’t get to the fort before dark, and night’s no time to be out alone if those are renegades, looking for trouble,” Ben pointed out.  “I was due to go into Virginia City tomorrow, anyway, to discuss a new timber contract with another mine.  I’ll gather my gear and ride in tonight.  Maybe I can arrange my business for late this evening—or reschedule it, if not—and leave for the fort first thing in the morning.”

    “Want me to take Marie and the boys back with me?” Clyde offered.

    Ben smiled.  “What, and deprive Hoss of a day of school?  Well, maybe the boy deserves a vacation.  I doubt there’s any danger yet, but, yeah, I’d feel better if they were with you.”

    The streets of Virginia City were agitated when Ben rode in late that Sunday afternoon, though not with concern for another Indian uprising.  War talk, north versus south, that’s what filled the air as he rode down C Street to the International Hotel.  Though the accommodations weren’t quite as good as at the Virginia, Ben wasn’t about to make the mistake of staying there again.  He wanted no part of the conflict back east, but he favored seeing the Union preserved, and that put him in direct opposition to most of the people who stayed at that hotel.

    After signing the guest register, Ben went to his room to change into a suit.  Since most mines and mills shut down on Sunday, he wasn’t sure he would find anyone at the offices of Gould and Curry, but he wanted to look his best, in case the business meeting did come off that night.  First impressions could be important, he remembered from his years of wandering from town to town in search of work, and he did want this contract.  It would make a nice surprise for Adam, due to arrive home about a month from now.  This contract makes it definite that I’ll be putting the boy in complete charge of the new operation.  Yeah, he’ll be pleased as punch to get that responsibility as his graduation gift  Make him feel himself a man..

    Walking down to F Street, he found the superintendent of the mine in his office, working on the books, and when the man learned why Ben Cartwright wished to move the date of their meeting, he was completely agreeable.  After some preliminary discussion they agreed on basic terms, and the superintendent suggested that he have a contract drawn up and ready for Mr. Cartwright’s final approval upon his return from Fort Churchill.  A handshake sealed the bargain, and Ben went back to the International in search of supper.

    Ben knocked sharply on the door to the Indian Agency and was startled when it was answered by a young Paiute man.  “I need to see Warren Wasson,” he said a bit brusquely, the nature of his business making him somewhat uneasy in the presence of an unknown Indian.

    “Ask him to come in,” came the instruction from within, and the bronzed man silently opened the door to admit the visitor.

    Warren Wasson, acting Indian agent while Frederick Dodge was away in Washington, D. C., scooted his chair back from his desk and stood as soon as he recognized his caller.  “Ben Cartwright!  What brings you this far from the Ponderosa?”  He walked forward to greet his old acquaintance.

    Ben shook the hand of the man, whom he had long respected for his concern for the Indians.  “Trouble, possibly.”  He glanced furtively at the young Paiute, who had gone back to his work of straightening up the office.  “I saw some suspicious movement on the Ponderosa, and when I reported it to Colonel Lander at Fort Churchill, he asked me to bring the report directly to you.”

    Wasson motioned toward a chair beside his desk and sat down in the one he had just vacated.  “This suspicious movement involved Indians, I take it.”

    Ben’s head bent questioningly toward the Paiute in the room.

    “He’s all right.  You may speak freely,” Wasson assured him.

    Ben still seemed hesitant, but he began, “Well, it was a combined group of Bannocks and Paiutes I saw, headed south.”

    “Toward Walker River,” Wasson supplied.

    Ben’s eyebrow arched up.  “Then you’re aware of it already.”

    “To some extent,” the Indian agent said.  “They’ve been congregating near the mouth of the river, presumably to fish, though the number is larger than expected, somewhere near fifteen hundred.  Nor, for that matter, did I anticipate Bannock participation, although that isn’t necessarily suspicious.  There are ties between the two tribes, as you know.”

    “In some cases, family ties,” Ben returned soberly, “as with the man leading those I saw—Wahe.”  He’d kept his eye on Wasson’s Paiute servant as he mentioned the name and was not surprised to see the young man flinch and glance toward him nervously.

    Wasson’s brow furrowed.  “Wahe,” he muttered.  “That doesn’t bode well, not the way he feels about white men.”

    “The men I saw were wearing paint,” Ben added softly.  “That doesn’t bode well, either.”

    The concern in Wasson’s eyes deepened as he turned toward the Paiute man.  “Ossowam, what do you know about this?”

    The Paiute glanced up with veiled eyes.  “You speak me, Missa Wasson?”

    “You know I did,” Wasson said bluntly, “and you know what I said, too.  Don’t play games with me, boy.”

    Ossowam shook his head vigorously.  “No, no.  No play game, but must not speak against spirit chief.”

    Wasson spat on the bare floor.  “Spirit chief!  Is that what Wahe calls himself now?”

    The Paiute swallowed hard and his chin trembled.  “Wahe big spirit chief; he say white man bullet no hurt him; all who fight him, white or Indian, will die.”

    Ben folded his arms and stared at the young man.  “If Wahe is big spirit chief, could he not hide his plans from the whites?  But you see he cannot.  The Great Spirit has revealed him.”

    Doubt flickered in the dark eyes of the Indian.  “Great Spirit think Wahe wrong?”

    Warren Wasson was quick to pick up on what Ben had suggested.  “As the White Winnemucca has said, the Great Spirit is displeased with plans for more bloodshed between white men and red.  That is why He reveals these evil plans.”

    Doubt ignited into fear in the dark eyes, and the Paiute boy stumbled back a few steps.  Wasson jumped to his feet, moved swiftly across the small apartment and towered over the youth.  “Tell what you know, Ossowam, or perhaps the Great Spirit will show His displeasure with you!”

    Ossowam cowered back.  “No, me know nothing.  Spirit chief bring cruel death if me tell.”

    The two remarks were so obviously contradictory that the white men knew the young Paiute knew more than he was willing to tell.  Ben Cartwright strode briskly to the side of the Indian Agent.  “Who is greater, Ossowam, the spirit chief or the Great Spirit?”

    “The Great Spirit,” the youth said at once.  “He is above all men and all things.”

    “Then, can the spirit chief, for all his power, do anything against a man who does the will of the Great Spirit?” Ben posed persuasively.  “He cannot!  He is powerless as a rabbit before the wrath of the Great Spirit.  Wahe cannot harm you, Ossowam, for telling what the Great Spirit has shown He wishes to be known.”

    “That’s right,” Wasson declared.  “Do not oppose the will of the Great Spirit, Ossowam!”

    The Paiute nodded slowly, although it was evident when he spoke that he still felt reluctant.  “It—it is as you say.  Many Paiutes gather; many Bannock, too, to make war on the white man—on you, Missa Wasson.”

    Warren Wasson lifted his chin and stared at his servant and sometime interpreter.  “I’ve been threatened directly?”

    “Yes,” Ossowam admitted, eyes lowered in shame, for he had great personal respect for this white man whom he served and only fear of Wahe had kept him from warning Wasson before this.  “Wahe say kill white agent, take guns, then go fort in small bands—eight, ten at time—act friendly, wait for signal, then kill all soldiers.”

    “Dear God,” Wasson murmured.  “It could have worked.  There are only forty soldiers at Fort Churchill now, Ben.”

    “We must warn Colonel Lander,” Ben declared.  His heart contracted hard as he thought of his old friend’s son, Mark, a private at Fort Churchill.

    “Yes, and we will,” Wasson agreed, “but perhaps we can put a stop to this nonsense, by taking the bull by the horns, so to speak.  Are you with me, Ben?”

    Ben’s dark eyebrows came together in a thoughtful line.  “With you where?” he asked, fearing he knew the answer.

    “Will you ride with me to Walker River and confront Wahe?” Warren Wasson asked plainly.

    Ben swallowed hard.  “I have no particular influence on Wahe,” he demurred.

    “Who does?” Wasson tossed back with a wry smile.

    Ben released a short, sputtering laugh.  Two men, riding into a war counsel of fifteen hundred men—it was madness, but it was just the kind of madness that might work.  “I’ll ride with you, if only to lend you my support.”  It’s the least I owe Ebenezer Wentworth.

    “Saddle two horses, Ossowam,” the Indian agent dictated.  “We’ll need you to act as interpreter.”

    The Paiute looked grim, but evidently deciding that he would be safe with these white men, who seemed in closer contact with the Great Spirit than Wahe, he gave a curt nod and left the small office.

    The air was still as Ben Cartwright and Warren Wasson rode toward Walker River.  Not a leaf quivered in the breeze; not a blade of grass rustled, almost as if Nature were holding her breath, and the hush seemed to presage peril, at least to Ben’s heightened imagination.  The camp looked peaceful as the two men arrived at the head of the river.  Had Ben not known better, he would have thought the Indians were simply holding their annual fishing rites, on a somewhat larger scale than usual.  That peaceful appearance, though, had been part of the plan, so the chattering voices of the children as they splashed in the water and the happy cries when fish were captured only made him shiver, for the joy seemed hollow and the peace a pretense.

    Just before entering the camp Wasson leaned toward Ben.  “Do you think they’ll respond to a show of strength?”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  Odd time to be asking, he thought, now that we’re here.  “I can’t guarantee it,” he said, “but it’s our only hope.”

    “Whatever you do, don’t show fear,” Wasson warned.

    “No,” Ben chuckled wryly.  “They definitely would respond to that—and not in the way we’d hope!”

    The two men rode forward.  The Indians stood motionless at first, just watching the white men.  Then, slowly, they began to move toward Ben and Wasson, gathering in a semi-circle before the two horses.  “I don’t see Wahe,” Wasson said, keeping his voice low enough that only Ben could hear.

    Ben, too, responded in a whisper.  “Can’t afford to be seen if he plans to catch the soldiers unaware.

    “He’s here, though,” Wasson said.  “I can almost smell him.”  He lifted a hand in casual greeting.  “Is the fishing good?” he said through his interpreter, Ossowam.

    The query met with silence, but Wasson simply waited, and finally one brave stepped forward and said, “The fishing is good.”

    “It must be to bring the Bannock so far from their homes,” Wasson said, his gaze seeking out unfamiliar faces.  His eyes narrowed.  “Have the streams of Oregon gone dry—or have the ravings of Wahe taken root in foolish hearts?”

    Though it was hard, with his stomach leaping into his throat, Ben schooled his face to remain immobile.  Wasson had thrown out the gauntlet, and the next few moments would tell whether the challenge would be met with words or weapons.  Two men against fifteen hundred; they wouldn’t stand a chance.

    Dark eyes sought other dark eyes, but before any Indian could speak, Wasson’s voice rang out once more.  “Look not to the right or to the left!” he proclaimed.  “It is not any of these who have revealed the plans of Wahe.  It is the Great Spirit Himself!”

    Ben listened with amazement as the Indian Agent forcefully presented the same proposition that he himself had used to sway Ossowam, that the revelation of Wahe’s plot showed the Great Spirit’s displeasure with what the Paiutes and Bannocks were planning.

    “Do not listen to the words of this empty bag of wind called Wahe,” Wasson warned, “for if you follow him, I promise before the Great Spirit that more blood will be spilled than was lost at Pinnacle Mount.”

    Ben sensed the shiver that ran through the crowd of Indians at the mention of that defeat, its memory so recent and so bitter to the red men.  None spoke, however.  Perhaps none had the authority.  Or, perhaps, they simply didn’t know what to say.

    “Tell Wahe, who cowers in his wigwam like a frightened child, what I have said,” Wasson ordered.  “We leave now to tell the soldiers at Fort Churchill what the Great Spirit has revealed.  Think well on my words and be wise.  All are welcome to enjoy the fishing, but let none think to take the white soldiers by surprise.”

    He wheeled his horse and began to walk away at an unhurried pace.  Ben turned with him, and the two white men rode side by side in silence for several minutes.  Then Wasson released a rush of air.  “Well, I think we’re out of bowshot range by now.”

    Ben laughed out his relief.  “Yeah, we’re probably safe now, unless we start hearing hoof beats heading this way.  That was some speech, Wasson.”

    “The germ of it was yours,” the Indian Agent said, finally daring to turn toward his companion.  “Thank you for the support, Ben.”

    Ben nodded.  “And now I’m going to ask for yours.”  Grinning at the quizzical cock of Wasson’s head, he added, “Next time you come to dinner at the Ponderosa, Warren, don’t mention this little escapade to my wife.”

    “She won’t hear it from me,” Warren Wasson promised, adding with a chuckle, “but I doubt you’ll be able to keep ‘this little escapade’ a secret, my friend.  I have a feeling it might be the talk of the territory by morning!”

    Ben groaned, certain his friend was correct and certain also that his confrontation with Marie, when she heard, would make facing fifteen hundred Paiutes seem like a waltz at a barn dance.  He was right about that, and it was days before Marie quit giving him the benefit of her opinion.  A few tense weeks passed, while the white citizens of the new territory of Nevada waited to see what their bronze brothers would do, but in the end that show of strength had turned the tide.  Wahe and his Bannock followers returned to Oregon, and Ben fervently prayed they would stay there.

    The conspiracy planned by Wahe was a historical event in April and May of 1861.  The plot was revealed by a young Paiute, who served as servant and interpreter for Indian Agent Warren Wasson, but the name Ossowam, while an authentic Paiute word, is an invention of the author.  As related in the story, the plot was thwarted when Wasson boldly entered the Indian camp and persuaded the Indians against their attack.
 
 

    Peaceful days, as mild as the May weather, settled over the Ponderosa.  The Indian uprising appeared to have been averted, and there was even a lull in the alarming news from back east.  Ben viewed it much as he viewed the lulls between thunderstorms so typical of this time of year.  Sooner or later there would be another storm, but the days between were balmy and reasons to rejoice, and May held a number of special occasions for the Cartwrights.  By the end of the month, Adam would be home, and Ben always felt happier when his family was intact, all sleeping beneath the roof of the sprawling ranch house his oldest son had helped to design.

    That was joy yet to come, however.  There was one celebration, earlier in the month, which simply could not be ignored.  Not that Ben would have wanted to; the birthday of a son always made his heart sing with reminders of the happiness he’d felt at that child’s birth.  Though Ben secretly thought that Joseph was a bit young for a real party, Laura Ellis had insisted that she be given the privilege of baking a cake for the little lad’s birthday.  “I’ve been cheated out of it for two years now,” she’d laughed, “and I won’t wait another year.  With a war going on, goodness knows what could happen by the time that boy turns five.”

    True enough, Ben had to admit.  Two years ago, they’d all traveled to Placerville around the time of Joseph’s special day, and last year the war with the Paiutes had been going on in May.  The boy was due a celebration, though Ben still felt a private family party was more appropriate for a child just turning four.  Laura’s special cake, however, seemed almost to demand more people to share it, at least in Marie’s opinion, and she joined forces with her friend to plan a guest list almost as large as that for one of their Christmas Eve gatherings at the Ponderosa.

    Leaving party preparations to the ladies, Ben, although somewhat reluctantly, accepted the responsibility of obtaining an appropriate gift for his youngest son.  “I will not get him a horse, though,” he asserted firmly, referring to the child’s oft-repeated whining for a mount of his own.

    “Mais non,” Marie agreed quickly.  “He is much too small.”  She’d smiled encouragingly at her husband.  “I’m sure the perfect idea will come to you, mon mari.”

    Though he’d struggled in thought for days, Ben was confident that the perfect idea had finally come to him.  By Joseph’s birthday, however, he still had not worked up the courage to tell Marie what he’d arranged.  “Wait and see,” was all he would say, for he was afraid she wouldn’t welcome the gift as much as Joseph would.  He’d commissioned Clyde Thomas to make the gift and deliver it at the party, figuring that Marie wouldn’t dare dress him down in front of their guests.  Ben winced.  Putting that off ‘til they went to bed probably wasn’t the wisest way to bedroom bliss, but maybe she’d have time to simmer down by then.

    The twelfth of May fell on a Sunday in 1861, and it was Ben’s turn to worship in Washoe City.  Marie had suggested that he take the boys to church, as usual, and let Little Joe’s birthday party be a surprise for the boy.  Joseph, of course, had no acquaintance with the calendar, so they simply hadn’t mentioned that he had a birthday coming.  As he rode off, seated in front of his father on the big bay, Joe assumed that it was a plain, ordinary Sunday, although he had been told that the Thomases would be at the ranch when they returned from church.

    As soon as the other three Cartwrights had ridden off, Marie flew into action, decorating the house with flowers and ribbons in colors as bright as the blossoms.  Some of the hands from the bunkhouse, with whom Little Joe was a special pet, helped set up tables in the yard and Hop Sing set a side of beef on a spit over an open fire.  One of the hands assigned himself the task of turning the spit to insure that the meat was evenly roasted, while Hop Sing returned to the kitchen to prepare the rest of the meal.

    Laura Ellis arrived early.  Setting the cake in the kitchen, from which it would make a glorious entrance after the main meal, she drew Marie out of the kitchen and over to the settee.  “If I know you, you haven’t rested a moment since your menfolk left.”

    “Oh, but there is still so much to do,” Marie argued.

    “And it’ll get done,” Laura assured her, “but I’ve got news to share, and you’d just better sit down and listen to it, Marie Cartwright, or I’ll take that cake straight home.”

    Marie laughed, but she sat down, as ordered.  “Oh, you would blackmail me, ma amie ?  For shame!”

    Laura smiled brightly.  “You’ll be glad I did.”  Her eyes shone with excitement.  “Oh, Marie, I can scarcely believe—oh, it’s just the most wonderful news!”

    “Then I must hear it at once,” Marie declared.  “There are stars in your eyes, Laura.”  She took her friend’s face between her hands and smiled with feminine intuition.  “I think it is the light of love I see.”

    “Love come to full bloom,” Laura admitted with happy fervor.  “George has asked me to marry him, Marie, and I’ve accepted.”

    “Oh!” Marie cried, enveloping the older woman in a warm embrace.  “It may be Little Joe’s birthday, but I feel as if I were the one receiving a gift.  How happy I am for you both!  He is a fine man, oui?”

    “Oh, he is, Marie,” Laura said as she pulled back.  “Both being widowed, we took our time and tested our feelings, but we’re sure now and ready to tie the knot, as they say.”

    “When?” Marie demanded.  “Soon?”

    Laura blushed.  “Quite soon.  We’ve set the date for May twenty-fifth.”

    Marie squealed.  “But that is less than a fortnight from now!  How can you be ready?”

    “Not much to be done,” Laura said with a shrug.  “We’ll just speak our vows before the justice of the peace.”

    Marie bounced up and faced her friend, arms akimbo and face resolute.  “You most certainly will not.  You will speak them here, in this very room, in the presence of your friends.”

    “Oh, I couldn’t,” Laura demurred.  “Why, you’ll be busy getting ready for Adam’s return and—”

    Marie brushed the concern aside.  “I insist.  Do not think to deprive a Frenchwoman of this romantic moment, ma amie.  I will not have it!”  She gave a small stamp of her foot for emphasis.

    Chuckling, Laura shook her head.  “Well, if you’re going to throw a tantrum, I guess I’ll have to give in gracefully or we’ll never get this birthday party put on.  Now, what’s left to do?”

    Little Joe looked puzzled when his father lifted him into the saddle in front of Hoss after the church service.  “Wanna ride wif you, Pa,” he said with a pout.  Since Hoss let him ride Charcoal into the barn every day after his return from school, Joe didn’t consider riding her anything special.  Besides, even though Pa didn’t ride as fast as Mama, he almost always kept his bay at a faster pace than poky old Charcoal.

    “No, you need to ride with your brother today,” Ben insisted.  “Pa has to hurry home to help Uncle Clyde with something.”

    Joe grinned.  “Hurry wif me, Pa; I like ridin’ fast.”

    Ben guffawed.  “Don’t I just know it!  Well, you’re gonna ride at a nice, slow, safe pace today, baby boy.”  Moving out of the line of vision of his youngest son, Ben looked up at his grinning middle son and mouthed, “See to it.”

    Hoss, who was in on the surprise, knew what his father meant.  Pa wasn’t worried about him riding fast with his baby brother, ‘cause he never did.  Ma was the only one who pulled that shenanigan.  No, Pa wanted him to keep Little Joe away from the house ‘til all the folks who were coming to the party had a chance to get there.  He figured a lot were there already, but the ones just getting out of church would need time to drive to the Ponderosa.  “Come on, punkin.  We’ll cut through the woods and see if we can’t spot some critters.”

    “Okay,” Little Joe agreed, smile bursting out at the prospect of adventure.

    “Keep clean,” Ben warned as he swung into the saddle.

    “Yes, sir, we will,” Hoss promised.  He headed in the general direction of home, but took a long, roundabout route, mostly walking Charcoal.

    “Go fast, Hoss,” Little Joe urged.

    “Can’t go fast when you’re lookin’ for critters, punkin,” Hoss reminded the child.  “You’ll scare ‘em off.”

    Little Joe pouted, but acquiesced quickly.  He’d been on enough trips through the woods with his older brother to realize that the noise of flying hooves would scare animals away, so although he squirmed impatiently in the saddle, he didn’t complain again.  The boys saw a few ground squirrels and spotted one jackrabbit, leaping across a meadow into a patch of trumpet-shaped scarlet gilia, but the real reward of the expedition was the sighting of a big blue grouse, spreading his gray tail in a wide fan and inflating his purple neck sacs as he paraded through the grass.  “He’s tryin’ to get himself a wife,” Hoss explained in a soft whisper.  “See how he’s struttin’ around?”

    “Uh-huh,” Little Joe responded.

    “That’s just his way of gettin’ the gal’s attention, showin’ what big stuff he is.”

    Little Joe nodded, filing the information away and gazing with renewed admiration at his big brother.  Hoss knew everything about critters and he always had the time and the patience to answer all Joe’s questions.  Joe was having a good time in the woods, as he always did with his big brother, but his tummy was starting to rumble.  “I’m hungry, Hoss,” he whimpered softly.

    “Okay, punkin,” Hoss said, heading Charcoal on a more direct path toward home.  “I reckon it is about time for dinner.”

    As he rode into the yard, Ben recognized the Thomas buckboard and saw the large shape in the back, covered with canvas.  “Marie’s tried to peek a couple o’ times,” Clyde tattled, “but I shooed ‘er off.”

    “It is a very large gift for such a small boy,” Marie hinted as she came up to greet Ben.  “I cannot guess what it could be.”

    Ben took a look around the yard and waved at the friends who had already arrived for the party.  “I guess there’s enough people here to protect me,” he chuckled.  “Go ahead and show her, Clyde.”

    A tall, lanky redhead trotted across the yard.  “Let me give you a hand.”

    “Billy!” Ben said, pumping the young man’s hand.  “It’s been much too long, boy.”

    “I had a couple days off,” Billy explained, “and figured I’d come help the little fellow celebrate bein’ all of four years old.”

    “Figured he’d help hisself to some of the little fellow’s birthday cake is what he means,” Clyde snorted.

    Marie shook her clasped hands.  “Oh, stop your teasing and let me see this gift—at once!”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Clyde said with a grin and a tip of his hat.  He and Billy began unfastening the ropes tied over the tarp on one side of the buckboard, while Ben and Enos Montgomery, who had come over to help when he saw the others tugging at the knots, worked on the other side.

    The guests gathered around, curious to see what was hidden beneath that tarp.  Katerina Montgomery, Laura and Nelly already knew, but they crowded close, too, wanting to see the expression on Marie’s face when she saw what they’d been up to.

    “Oh, my,” Marie gasped when she saw the varnished pine frame with its four scrolled spindle posts, each topped by a delicately carved pinecone.  “Oh, oh, my.”  She looked sideways at her husband and shook her head.  “Oh, I don’t know, Ben.  I’m not sure he’s ready.”

    “He’s ready,” Ben said quickly.  “I’m sure Joseph will be thrilled to get shed of that crib and have his own room.”

    Joseph’s having his own room was, of course, the sticking point with Marie.  Obviously, the larger bed would not fit in the tiny nursery.  That had been obvious at first glance.  Therefore, the child would have to be moved to one of the other bedrooms, away from his mother, whose ear, even in sleep, seemed stretched for his slightest cry.  Marie’s heart wrenched at the thought of not being able to hear Little Joe if he called to her, but she smiled bravely, admitting in a sudden burst of honesty, “You are right: he is ready; it is I who am not.”

    The assembled friends laughed, some visibly relieved that the doting mother had taken the upcoming separation so well.  Ben squeezed his wife to his side and whispered in her ear, “You’ll see; it will have its advantages.”

    “Ben, we have guests,” she hissed in rebuke, and those close enough to overhear laughed again.

    “Want us to set the bed up before the kid gets here, Uncle Ben?” Billy suggested.

    “Yeah, that was my plan,” Ben said, “but we’d better hurry.  I told Hoss to dawdle, but they could show up any time now.”

    “We’ll get it done fast as the Pony delivers the mail,” young Thomas promised.  “Lend a hand, Enos?”

    “You bet,” said the ranch foreman.

    As the four men started to lift the bed from the back of the wagon, one of the guests, Henry Van Sickle, who had come from south of Genoa, hurried forward.  “Better let me take that, Ben,” he suggested.  “You lead the way and show us which room to put this bed in.”

    “Thanks, Henry,” Ben said, readily giving up his place.  “I was thinking we’d put Joseph next to Hoss and across from Adam,” he told his wife as they moved toward the house.

    “Oui,” she sighed.  “If he cannot be close to us, I would like him to be close to his brothers.”

    “Marie, he’ll be fine,” he whispered.  They entered the house and led the way up the stairs to the first bedroom on the right side of the hall, nearest the stairs.  Marie almost reconsidered.  She could just picture Little Joe sailing down that banister with no one to stop his reckless plunge.  The other unoccupied bedrooms, however, were at the end of the hall from the room she and Ben shared, and it was better that he be near his brothers than down there alone, she concluded.

    The men set up the bed and then the ladies went into action, for once Nelly knew that Clyde was making a bed for the youngest Cartwright, she had organized a quilting party to make a coverlet to fit.  Katerina had volunteered to make matching curtains, while Laura had sewn and stuffed a mattress.  “I didn’t have time to hook him a rug,” Nelly apologized, “but I’ll try to finish one by the time the weather turns cold again.”

    “I can’t believe what you have accomplished already!” Marie cried with delight.  “Joseph will be so surprised—and so happy.”

    “Marie!” Ben hollered from downstairs.  “The boys just rode in.”

    “You go on down,” Laura urged.  “We’ll get everything set up and then you can bring Little Joe up to see his new room.  Oh, I can’t wait to see his face!”

    Little Joe’s face at that moment was already bright with excitement.  He was, of course, surprised to see so many people in the yard.  Some of them he knew well, like Enos, Clyde, Billy, Dr. Martin and Jimmy Ellis.  Others he’d met only recently, for they were families that attended the church in Washoe City.  The Reverend Bennett was there, and Joe liked him, of course, but he was most excited about the children.  The Perkins family was there.  Little Joe didn’t know the names of all five children yet, but he squealed with delight when he saw the two youngest, for Winchester and William were barely older than Joe himself.  There was another boy about their size, too, although Joe couldn’t at first remember his name.  It had been almost a year since he’d seen John Van Sickle, but he remembered playing chase with him at the Fourth of July celebration in Carson City.  Soon all four boys were chasing each other, darting around the long legs of the older guests.

    Hoss was having a good time, too, for some of the families also had youngsters his age, like the oldest Perkins kid, Charles, who was about a year older.  Marie had also invited the O’Neill family and George Winters, especially for Hoss, so both Cartwright boys were surrounded by playmates.  The adults, too, were enjoying the rare opportunity to get together during this busy time of year and were looking forward to savoring that tasty side of beef, whose tantalizing aroma permeated the air.

    When the ladies returned from their labors in the house, Ben snatched his youngest son up in his arms.  “I’m playin’, Pa,” Little Joe protested.

    “I know, I know, and you can play more soon,” Ben assuaged as he carried the boy back to the center of the yard.

    Sensing that a presentation was about to be made, all the guests circled around the Cartwrights.  Ben turned Joe so he could see them.  “Do you know why all these fine people are here today, Joseph?”

    Joe’s mouth puckered in thought and then his infectious giggle rent the air.  “Eat dinner and play chase.”  Everyone around joined in the child’s laughter.

    “Yeah, I expect some of them are here precisely for that,” Ben agreed with a chuckle, “but most of these friends came to wish you a happy birthday, Little Joe.”

    Little Joe cocked his head and gazed into his father’s face.  “Birt’day?”

    Mary Emma O’Neill tittered into her hand.  “He don’t even know it’s his birthday,” she snickered to Hoss.

    “Yeah, I know,” Hoss whispered back with a grin.  “Sure made it easier to keep the surprise.”

    “That’s right, Little Joe,” Ben was saying.  “Today is your birthday.  Can you tell our friends how old you are?”

    Little Joe automatically held up three fingers, as he’d been doing for a year now.

    “No, baby, add one more,” Ben said, pulling up a fourth finger.  “You’re four years old today!”

    “I’s big now!” Little Joe crowed to the amusement of those around him.

    “Oh, yeah, a regular whopper.”  George Winters jabbed Hoss with an elbow.

    “He’s tellin’ one, you mean,” Hoss teased back.

    “So, are you ready to see your birthday presents?” Ben asked his youngest son, who answered with a wild bobbing of his head that set the visitors off on another round of laughter.

    Enos Montgomery brought a chair to the center of the yard, and with a grateful smile Ben sat down, holding Little Joe in his lap.  One by one, his little guests brought small remembrances of the day: a bag of candy, a wooden whistle, a small pair of knitted stockings and an assortment of similar items.  Joe was so thrilled with each one that he immediately wanted to eat it or play with it or put it on, but in each case Marie would remind him to thank the giver and hand him another package to open.  Finally, all the gifts had been received, and Ben stood up with Joe on his arm.  “Tell everyone thank you,” he told the boy.

    “Thank you!” Joe cried.  “I like ev’wything!”

    “Now let’s see if you like your present from Pa and Mama, shall we?” Ben suggested.  He looked around at the guests.  “You’re all welcome to follow us up and see, but it may get a bit crowded in there.”

    “No shovin’,” Billy Thomas hollered in jest, pushing his way to the front.

    Sally Martin, who had been helping to arrange the bedroom, met him at the front door.  “Follow your own advice, you awful boy,” she said, snaring his elbow and holding him back.

    “Hey, me and Shortshanks are special friends,” Billy alleged.  “He’d want me up there to see his fancy new fixin’s.”

    “Go on with you, then.”  She gave him a shove toward the stairs and hurried after him, for she, too, wanted to see what Little Joe thought of his new room.  Evidently, almost everyone at the Ponderosa that afternoon was curious about that gift and the little boy’s reaction to it, for almost everyone came in and the line stretched down the hallway after all who could had crowded into the bedroom.

    They made way, of course, for the birthday boy and his parents, and Little Joe’s face, when he saw the newly decorated room and understood that it was to be his, reflected all the amazement and joy anyone could have anticipated.  “A big boy bed!” the youngster crowed, wriggling out of his father’s arms, trotting over and immediately jumping smack in the middle of the plump mattress.

    “Oh, Little Joe, not with your shoes on,” his mother chided.

    “I can tell you right now how much good it’ll do to make that a rule,” Nelly Thomas cackled.

    “And I can confirm it,” Laura chimed in, the sentiment echoed by Jane Perkins, Mary Van Sickle and every other mother of a boy.

    “You gonna like sleepin’ next door to me, Little Joe?” Hoss asked.  “I told Pa it was the best place to put you.”

    “The best!” his little brother chirped happily, jumping up to give his brother a hug, setting a sentimental scene that made almost everyone murmur, “Aah.”

    “Friends, I believe it’s time we sliced that beef and filled our plates with the other fine dishes Hop Sing has prepared,” Ben suggested, “so why don’t we head back outdoors and dig in?”

    The suggestion met with a whoop of approval, led by Billy Thomas, but joined by every male in the room.  The ladies stayed behind a few minutes, wanting to examine the furnishings of the new room.  The quilt was a log cabin pattern  in shades of green, beige and brown, while the curtains were made of a calico print with blue flowers and green leaves on a background of beige.  The rocking chair, brought in from the nursery, didn’t match, but Marie was already planning a trip to Washoe City, Carson or Genoa for fabric to make new cushions in colors that would blend more smoothly with the rest of the room’s décor.  She would have Ben and Hoss move her baby’s chest of drawers from the nursery later, but perhaps it was time Little Joe had an armoire of his own, she mused.  That would, of course, mean a trip to California.  Well, perhaps they were due for one, but plans of that magnitude would have to wait for later.  Today there were guests to attend and even the ladies were finally ready to leave that freshly decorated room and find something to fill their plates—if the men had left them anything.

    The afternoon was spent in play for the children and conversation for the adults.  Then, after the food had had a chance to digest, a fiddler began playing and the yard was filled with couples dancing.  Toward sundown everyone said their goodbyes and loaded into their wagons and buggies for the trip home.  Some had far to go and all had a full day’s work facing them tomorrow.  Ben and Marie thanked everyone for coming, and without exception the guests responded that they had had a wonderful time.  “Never thought a baby’s birthday party could be such fun,” Reuben Perkins said, echoing the sentiments of one and all.

    It took quite awhile to get Little Joe settled in his new room after all the guests had left.  Marie brought his nightclothes from the nursery and sat in the rocking chair to help him change.  Getting into his tiny nightshirt took longer than usual, for now that he was a big boy, Little Joe wanted to do it all by himself, even the buttons down the front.  In fact, by the time he was dressed for bed, Ben and Hoss had successfully moved his chest of drawers down the hall and into place.  Marie lifted the child into his new bed and tucked the covers securely around him.  Though the bed was smaller than adult-size, Little Joe looked lost in its vast width.  Suddenly, he started to whimper.  “Oh, dear,” his mother sighed.  “It is as I feared: he isn’t ready to sleep away from us, Ben.”

    Hoss snapped his fingers.  “That’s it!  I know what’s wrong.”  Without explaining, he ran down the hall, snatched up the two stuffed animals from the crib and returned at a trot.  “There you go, punkin,” he said as he popped the animals under the covers.  “Now you won’t be alone in that big ole bed.”

    Little Joe grinned and snuggled up to Bun-bun and Barker, as he had named his “water doggie.”

    “See, no fears, just needed a friend.  You’re a big boy, aren’t you, precious?” Ben said, bending over the bed to give the little boy a kiss on his curly head.

    “Um-hmm,” Little Joe murmured, yawning.  He turned on his side and his eyes soon shut, for having missed his afternoon nap, the little boy was tired.

    “Come on,” Ben whispered.

    Marie whispered, “In a few minutes.”

    It hadn’t seemed like a few to Ben, as he’d waited somewhat impatiently, wondering if he should ask to borrow Bun-bun or Barker, just so he’d have a companion in bed that night.  Marie had finally decided that her baby was sleeping soundly, however, and slipped into bed beside her husband  “Now to show you those advantages to an empty nursery that I mentioned earlier,” Ben said with a lascivious grin.

    “Oh, I know already,” she said with studied solemnity. “You want to fill it again with another child!”  She giggled at the look on his face and bent to cover his protesting lips with her own.

    Perhaps half an hour later Marie’s golden head rose from its resting place.  “I thought I heard a cry,” she murmured as Ben pulled her back down to his bare chest.

    “You’re imagining things,” Ben whispered.  “The boy’s fine, and he knows where to find us if he needs us.”

    “Oui , I suppose,” Marie sighed, nestling back into her husband’s embrace, but her ear remained cocked toward the open doorway to the hall.  Alert as she was, however, she did not hear the patter of little feet later that night as the youngest Cartwright padded into the room next door, dragging Bun-bun by one ear, and cuddled up next to Hoss.

    The next few nights followed the same pattern, but gradually Little Joe became more comfortable in his own room and began spending entire nights in his new bed, to Hoss’s heartfelt relief.

    Marie was almost frantic for the next two weeks.  “There is so much to do and so little time,” she moaned to Ben.  He just shrugged, a movement that, at least briefly, infuriated his wife.  Then, sighing, she shook her head and chalked it up to the general ignorance of men regarding social affairs.  The first order of business was the guest list.  Its preparation involved a trip to Carson City to consult with Laura, and even then the list wasn’t complete, for the bride-to-be needed to ask the prospective groom which of his friends should be invited.  Though the ladies would have liked to send properly engraved invitations, both the expense and the limited time caused them to quickly set aside that romantic notion.  Marie purchased some gilt-edged stationery, for which she had to travel to Genoa, and set to work hand-writing invitations to those whose names she had.  She couldn’t afford to wait until she had the complete list if the invitations were to go out a week before the wedding, as was customary.  It didn’t seem likely that George would add many friends to the guest list, but Marie hoped that she would receive the rest of the names in time to properly invite them.  Of course, since George’s friends were primarily miners, even one day’s notice would satisfy them.

    Besides the invitations, arrangements had to be made for the wedding ceremony itself and the levee afterwards.  Laura and George still insisted on a civil ceremony, so the justice of the peace had to be contacted.  That responsibility was assigned to Ben, and he got in touch with Thomas Knott promptly, fearing the marital consequences he might reap if he delayed.  Refreshments had to be planned for the levee, and while common sense indicated that the menu should be kept simple, Marie wanted the occasion to be memorable for her friend and planned a feast to rival any ever seen in the new territory of Nevada.  Feeling it inappropriate for Laura to bake her own wedding cake, Marie detailed that duty to Hop Sing and then had to spend a day escorting him to Laura’s bakery in the Pioneer Hotel so that he could be acquainted with the proper baking of a tiered cake.  There would be dancing afterwards, but Marie had talked to the fiddlers the day of Little Joe’s birthday party, so that detail was more quickly settled than any other.

    A telegram had been dispatched to Adam in Sacramento with a description of the type of gift Marie wanted to give the new couple.  Several nail-biting days passed before the package arrived, but Marie was completely pleased with the fine taste Adam had shown.  A letter inside the package indicated that the boy had wisely enlisted the aid of his female friend, Philippa Gallagher, in the selection of the damask tablecloth and napkins and the silver napkin rings.

    On Friday before the wedding, Marie kept Hoss home from school and had him accompany her to pick up supplies for the party.  Hop Sing was already busily mixing the batter for the wedding cake when they left, and by the time they returned, the tiers were baked, frosted and stored away in the pantry.  The supplies in the wagon were brought in and placed wherever Hop Sing directed, depending on whether he would need them tonight, tomorrow or, in the case of more general foodstuffs, at a later time.

    Saturday, the twenty-fifth of May, seemed the busiest day of all.  Early that morning Marie sent Hoss and Little Joe out to harvest vines, ferns and wildflowers.  While they were gone, the Montgomerys arrived, and Ben and Enos began moving furniture under the direction of their wives.  Although Katerina had only known Laura Ellis for two years and hadn’t seen her often in that time, she well remembered that the older woman had been one of those who helped to make her own bridal cabin so warm and inviting a first home, and she wanted to return the favor.

    The little boys, grubby as only boys could get, traipsed in, toting baskets of greenery and blossoms.  Ben volunteered to take charge of getting them bathed and dressed, so that his wife would be free to decorate the great room of the Ponderosa.  Katerina trailed vines down the banisters of the staircase, while Marie followed, artistically placing flowers among the green leaves.  The mantel over the fireplace received similar treatment, and vines were laid down the center of the serving table with a basket of blue lupine, red Indian paintbrush and mahogany-colored wild peonies in the very middle.

    They had barely finished these preparations when they heard hooves trotting into the yard.  Opening the door, Marie smiled as she recognized the buggy and the three people riding in it.  “One bride, delivered as ordered,” Paul Martin chuckled as he stepped down and then reached back to assist first Laura Ellis and then his daughter Sally.  As the four ladies exchanged kisses on the cheeks, Paul went to the back of the buggy and unfastened the straps holding two dress boxes in place.  Giggling, the girls took the boxes and went inside to change into their finery.

    Ben and the boys passed them on the stairs as they went up.  “Paul is here,” Marie told him.  “Please help him with his horse, Ben.”

    “Yes, of course,” Ben muttered, slightly disgruntled that she’d felt the need to dictate something so basic to good hospitality.

    Marie turned at the head of the stairs.  “And keep them clean,” she called.

    “Paul and his horse?” he asked with an amused arch of his eyebrow.

    “The boys,” she sputtered.  “I will have none of your teasing today, Ben Cartwright.  It is a solemn and sacred occasion.”

    “Yes, ma’am!” he declared, bringing his hand to his brow in a snappy salute.

    “Ooh, men!” Marie fumed as she led the way to her bedroom, where Laura would prepare for the wedding.  Sally and Katerina, by prior arrangement, slipped into Adam’s room to change.

    Ben ambled into the front yard with two spanking clean boys trailing behind and saw that Dr. Martin had unhitched his horse.  “Let me stable him, Paul,” he said, taking hold of the halter.

    “I’ll do it, Pa,” Hoss offered.  With a wide grin he added, “Hi, Doc.  Hey, where’s Jimmy?”

    “Hi, Doc,” Little Joe gurgled in imitation.

    “Hi to both of you,” Paul Martin chuckled.  “Jimmy will be coming later with the Thomases, Hoss.”

    “Oh, okay.”  Hoss stretched his hand toward the horse’s halter.

    “No, I’ll do this,” Ben said.  “You just keep an eye on your baby brother and make sure that fancy suit stays clean.”

    “Aw, Pa, that’s a heap worse chore than stablin’ a horse,” Hoss whined.

    “He knows that,” Paul teased, cupping the back of Hoss’s neck and winking at Ben.  “He wants the easy job for himself.  Saddles you with the hard chores a lot, doesn’t he, son?”

    “This one he does!” Hoss declared with an emphatic jut of his chin in his younger brother’s direction.

    Paul Martin rested his other hand on the smaller boy’s golden-brown curls.  “Guess I’d better give you a hand with it, then.  You need help more than your pa.”

    “Yeah,” Hoss cackled.  “I sure do!”

    “How’s that new bed treating you, Little Joe?” Paul asked as he herded the youngsters toward the house.

    Shaking his head at the twitting he’d endured at the hands of friend and family, Ben led the horse to the barn.  He had time after he finished to sit and talk awhile with his good friend before other guests began to arrive and he was kept busy, finding places for horses and rigs to be stowed for the afternoon.

    The wedding ceremony was to begin at 2 p.m.  Just prior to that hour Ben made his way upstairs, for Laura had asked him to give her away.  Little Inger Thomas, in a brand new dress of pale pink, led the way down the stairs, scattering peony petals on each step.  Then Marie, designated as matron of honor, followed.  Most of the ladies present had made new gowns for the occasion, but with all her other responsibilities Marie had not had time to sew a new dress.  While the green gown was one she had brought from New Orleans, however, she looked lovely to Ben as, with Laura on his arm, he descended the staircase behind her.

    Laura was dressed in a simple gown of cream-colored silk, and though she wasn’t as handsome a woman as her matron of honor, her eyes shone with the beauty of contentment as they fell upon the face of her groom.  They’ll make a good couple, Ben thought as he placed her hand in that of George Dettenrieder.  Like him and Marie, this man and woman had each been married before.  They had known the joy of young love and the grief of later loss; they both knew the hardships of single parenthood and the loneliness of a single bed.  Now they would discover anew the comfort of companionship and the everyday struggle to nurture their first blush of love into deep, abiding devotion.   Instinctively glancing toward his wife, Ben felt a swell of emotion rise within him.  He and Marie had reached that point in their relationship.  Their love had grown deep and strong, like two trees growing side by side, their roots intertwining until it was nearly impossible to tell which root came from which tree.  Trees so inseparable could withstand any gale, Ben mused, and he found himself almost looking forward to the storms he and this flesh of his flesh would weather together through the long years to come.

    Several of the guests attending Little Joe’s birthday party are historical characters, such as the Van Sickle and Perkins families.
    While I have not yet learned the date of marriage between the historical Laura Ellis and George Dettenrieder, property records indicate that he was married to someone else in October of 1858 and to Laura by May 29, 1861.  I have set the marriage date just four days before that simply for the convenience of the plot.
 
 

    Slapping the side of his thigh repeatedly, Ben stared down the length of Carson Street and then drew his watch from his vest pocket.  Nine-thirty-five.  Five minutes overdue.  A silvery laugh at his side made him turn toward his wife.

    “How long since the last time you checked?” she asked with a soft smile.

    Chuckling at an anxious father’s foolishness, Ben shook his head.  “Ten whole minutes.  Wouldn’t think time could move so slowly, would you?”

    “A watched pot never boils, they say,” Nelly Thomas, standing beyond Marie, teased.  “I guess that goes for stagecoaches, too.  Maybe you ought to take a run around the plaza, like our younguns, and see if the time don’t move faster.”

    Ben glanced across the street to the green square where his two youngest sons were romping with Inger Thomas, Jimmy Ellis and a couple of other children he didn’t recognize.  “Town sure is growing,” he commented.  “More new faces every time I come.”

    “But only one you long to see,” Marie said, stilling the incessant slapping by laying her hand over her husband’s.  “The stage is only a little late, Ben.  I am sure Adam will be here soon.”

    “Of course, he will,” Ben agreed, squeezing her hand.  “I’m just anxious to see him after all these months.”

    “Oh, look who is here,” Marie said, her eyes lighting.

    Ben glanced down the boardwalk and saw a tall man in the blue uniform of a Federal trooper, walking toward the group awaiting the arrival of the Pioneer Stage from Placerville.  Stepping toward him, Ben thrust out his hand.  “Mark, my boy, I haven’t seen you in months.  Don’t tell me you’re using one of your precious days’ off to welcome my son home.”

    Mark grinned.  “Well, we are friends, after all.  Since I was in town, I thought I’d like to meet his stage.”

    Ben smiled at the blue-eyed brunette standing beside Mark.  “I appreciate that, although somehow I think this little lady is the real attraction in Carson City this morning.  Hello, Sally.”

    Sally Martin smiled in greeting and moved down the boardwalk to exchange kisses on the cheek with Nelly and Marie.

    “Pa, it’s coming!” Hoss hollered as he charged across the street toward the hotel, in front of which the stage would stop.

    “Hoss, your brother!” Marie screamed.

    Hoss trotted back to snatch up his baby brother, who was running straight for the street with his usual lack of concern for horses or wagons in the road.  Hoss still made it to the boardwalk in time to thrust Little Joe at his mother before the stagecoach rumbled up to the hotel.

    The stage had barely stopped before the door was flung open and Adam Cartwright leaped out into the sea of welcoming faces.  Everyone was shouting at once, reaching out to pump the boy’s hand or clap him on the back.  Hoss, Jimmy and Inger were jumping up and down to get Adam’s attention, while Little Joe was adding his voice to the general hubbub, but hung back in his mother’s arms.  Knowing how Adam hated any public display, Ben tried to restrain himself, but finally yielded to the urge to at least wrap an arm around his son’s shoulders.  “It’s good to have you home, boy,” he murmured softly.  “I’ve missed you.”

    “Did you bring me somethin’?” Hoss demanded.

    Tousling the stocky boy’s sandy hair, Adam chuckled.  “As a matter of fact, I did, greedy belly.  In fact, I brought something for everyone.”

    “Candy?” Hoss queried eagerly.  “Them chocolates from San Francisco, maybe?”

    Adam gave his brother’s backside a soft swat.  “I came from Sacramento, remember?  So happens I did bring something from San Francisco, though, and it’s sweeter than Ghirardelli’s chocolates.”

    Sally Martin laughed knowingly.  “And it’s high time you unpacked that sweet surprise, don’t you think?”

    “Before it unpacks itself,” Adam joked back, giving a wink to Mark Wentworth, who, like Sally, knew exactly what the “sweet surprise” was.

    Adam reached back into the stagecoach, and a slender hand was placed in his solid grip.  A black, buttoned boot, brushed by a skirt of lavender calico, stepped down.  Soon a smiling face was seen beneath a matching bonnet.

    “Lands sakes, it’s little Mary!” Nelly Thomas cried.

    “The real reason I’m meeting the stage on a Monday morning,” Mark told Ben with a mischievous smile.

    Marie set Little Joe down and enfolded the girl in an embrace.  “Oh, Mary, what a wonderful surprise.  I thought you had decided not to accept our invitation to visit this summer.”

    “I hope you don’t mind being surprised,” Mary said.  “The boys insisted it would be more fun this way, but if you’re not prepared for a guest, I could stay with Sally.  She and I have been corresponding, and I do plan to spend the night there.”

    Ben wagged a chiding finger at the doctor’s daughter.  “Oh, so you’re in on this, too, are you, young lady?”

    “Of course, I am,” Sally said, linking arms with her fiancé.  “Mark and I have no secrets.”

    Little Joe tugged at the lavender skirt.  “Mary, I need hug you,” he insisted.

    “Oh, you sweet thing, do you remember me?” the girl cried, happily giving the little boy the desired hug.

    “You he remembers; his big brother he forgets,” Adam snorted.

    “Do not,” Little Joe contradicted with outthrust tongue.

    “Then where’s my welcome home?”  Adam opened his arms, and his little brother ran into them.  “That’s better,” Adam said, tossing the boy up to his shoulder.

    “Which of these go to the Ponderosa and which stays with you tonight, little sister?” Mark called.  The others turned to see him surrounded by a formidable pile of carpetbags, boxes and bundles.

    “Well, most of them are mine, and they go to the Ponderosa,” Adam chuckled, “although if Mary wants to borrow something . . .”

    “This is all I need for tonight,” Mary inserted with a smile of mild rebuke, pointing to one worn carpetbag.  “Oh, and that package is for you, Mark.  It’s cookies.”

    “Thanks, sis!” the soldier cried, smacking his lips in anticipation, for nothing that came out of the commissary at Fort Churchill could match the taste of home cooking.

    “Hoss, you help load the wagon,” Ben directed.  “It appears your brother has his hands full.”

    “Sure thing, Pa.”  Hoss grabbed up two bags and carried them to the buckboard.  “Gimme a hand, Jimmy.”

    Ben, Mark, Hoss and Jimmy loaded all the luggage, while Adam listened to Little Joe’s chatter about his new bedroom “just ‘cross from you.”  Ben helped Marie to the seat, but when he tried to place Little Joe beside his mother, the child would have none of it.  “I wanna sit back there, too,” he squealed.

    “Joseph,” Ben said in a warning tone.

    “I’ll watch him,” Adam offered.  “We’ve got some ground to make up, don’t we, little brother?”

    Little Joe had no idea what that phrase meant, but he bobbed his head and stretched his thin arms toward his oldest brother.

    “Oh, all right,” Ben conceded.  “All of you boys climb in.  It’s a long way home and time we got started if we plan to be there by dinner.  I assume you remember how Hop Sing feels about people who show up late to meals, Adam?”

    Adam grinned as he set Little Joe in the back of the buckboard and climbed up after him.  Hoss and Jimmy Ellis clambered in, too, and settled down close to Adam, who held Little Joe between his legs.

    Marie smiled at those still standing on the boardwalk.  “Now, you are coming to us tomorrow, oui, Mary?”

    “Yes,” Sally Martin answered for her friend.  “My father will bring her.”

    “You must come, as well, and take dinner with us,” Marie insisted.  “That is, unless Mark will still be with you.”

    “No, I have to be back to the fort by noon tomorrow,” the young soldier said.

    “You got a place to stay the night, boy?” Nelly Thomas asked.  “Not much room over to Doc’s, I know.”

    Mark grinned.  “I was hoping to borrow Billy’s bed, ma’am.”

    “Now, that shows sense!” Nelly declared.  “Sally, you tell your pa that all of you are taking supper with us tonight.  My, won’t Clyde be surprised when he comes in from work!”

    “I think that pretty much situates everyone for the night,” Ben said, “so say your goodbyes, folks, and let’s head for home.”

    A chorus of farewells followed, and as Ben clucked to the team to start, waves were exchanged; then everyone went their separate ways.

    “Just how did you talk Pa into letting you skip school today, Hoss?” Adam queried as the wagon rumbled down Carson Street toward the edge of town.

    Ben looked back over his shoulder and answered for his middle son.  “It’s not every day a long-lost brother returns, you know.  Besides, not much gets done the last week of school.”

    Adam laughed.  “I wouldn’t say that!  I got quite a bit done my last week of school.”

    “Do you think you did well with your final exams, Adam?” Marie queried.

    “The report will be sent later,” Adam answered, “but I think they went very well.”

    “Top of your class, most likely,” Ben said proudly and though Adam shrugged, he didn’t deny it.

    “Bet you can’t guess why Jimmy’s going home with us,” Hoss challenged his older brother.

    “Bet I can,” Adam tossed back.  “So happens I saw his mother—and his new stepfather—when they stopped in Placerville.  There’s an hour between stages, you know, and some little bird told them Mama Zuebner’s was the best place to eat.”

    “A whole flock of little birds,” Ben chuckled.

    “Still don’t see why I couldn’t go on the wedding trip,” Jimmy grumped.  “I’d like me a taste of that strudel and stew Hoss told me about.”  Ben, Marie and Adam laughed, while Hoss, as ignorant as Jimmy of what went on between newlyweds on their wedding trip, just shrugged.  Little Joe yawned and laid his head against his oldest brother’s knee.

    The buckboard pulled to a stop in the Ponderosa yard, and two little boys spilled out the back almost before the wheels stopped turning.  With Little Joe in his arms, Adam moved more slowly, laughing when he saw Hoss and Jimmy head for the back of the house at a dead run.  “Looks like I carry my own baggage in,” he said, handing Little Joe to Marie.  She promptly set him down, and, though groggy, he, too, stumbled toward the back of the house.

    In the privacy of their own yard, Ben threw an arm around his son’s shoulders and drew him close.  “No, no, those two scalawags can do it after they get back from the outhouse.  You’ve had a long trip, so you just come inside and take it easy ‘til dinner.”

    “That sounds good, Pa,” Adam said with a smile as, arms wrapped around each other, they moved toward the front door.  Stepping inside, he sniffed the air.  “And something smells good, too!  Yankee pot roast?”

    “That’s what my nose tells me,” Ben confirmed.

    Marie slipped to Adam’s side and brushed his cheek with a tender touch.  “Hop Sing asked your favorite meal.  I hope I remembered correctly.”

    “I couldn’t ask for better,” Adam acknowledged.

    “Ah, velly good.”

    Adam turned to see the little Oriental cook bowing in welcome.  “Hop Sing!” he cried.  “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to your good cooking again.”

    “They not feed you in Saclamento?” Hop Sing queried, tilting his head to scrutinize the slim figure of Mr. Cartwright’s number one son.  He shook his head and then smiled.  “You too skinny, but no wolly.  Hop Sing fix chop-chop.”

    “How long until dinner, Hop Sing?” Marie asked.

    “You washee up now, please,” the Chinaman directed.  “Maybe-so food be on table then.”

    The front door blared open and the three youngsters charged through.

    Ben fired a finger toward the open doorway.  “Back outside, both of you older ones, and get that luggage brought in.”

    “All of it?” Hoss whined.

    “Yes, of course, all of it!” Ben barked.  “Do you think your brother wants only part of his things?”

    “I think I’d prefer to bring in my guitar myself,” Adam chuckled as the youngsters ran back outside.

    “Probably a good idea,” Ben admitted with a wry smile.  “Make yourself at home, son.  I’m gonna stable the team.”

    Adam walked out behind him and rescued his guitar from the hands of Jimmy Ellis.  Depositing it in the corner by the fireplace, he went back outside and started to help his father unhitch the team.  “You told me to make myself at home, Pa,” Adam quickly said when he saw his father’s mouth open to protest.  “Don’t see how I can unless I’m out here doing chores like the rest of you.”

    Ben laughed.  “Oh, well, if it takes chores to make you feel at home, boy, I can sure come up with them.”  He took one horse toward the barn, while Adam followed with the second.  “Matter of fact, son, it’s time I told you about the assignment I’ve got lined out for you,” Ben said as he started tending the draft animal.  “Didn’t want you to get so excited you couldn’t concentrate on your exams or I’d’ve written about it before.”

    Adam arched an eyebrow, wondering how his father could possibly think that the prospect of chores would take his mind off his studies.  “I’ve always done my share, haven’t I?  I expected to do that this summer, too, of course.”  Though only ‘til about the middle of August, hopefully.

    Ben let the curry brush rest against the horse’s side.  “I know that, son,” he said softly.  “Matter of fact, that fine sense of responsibility is what convinces me you can handle this job.”  He stroked down the horse’s flank and paused to grin at Adam.  “You remember that new mine contract I wrote you about?”

    “Sure, Pa.”

    “Well, I want you to boss the job, start to finish,” Ben announced and waited to see the excited expression he was sure would meet his words.

    It was shock, rather than excitement, that registered on Adam’s face, however.  “Boss the job?  You want me to be the boss?”

    “Just of the timber crew,” Ben said quickly, sensing that his son was overwhelmed.  “I think straw boss is the term the men use.  You’d work under my ultimate authority, of course, but you’d be in charge of day-to-day operations.”  He moved toward Adam and rested a hand on his shoulder.  “I know you’re young, son, and this has taken you by surprise, but I have every confidence in you.”

    “Pa, I—I don’t know what to say,” Adam stammered.  There was much he wanted to say, much he needed to say, but Adam felt that this was the wrong time.  He couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject of college his first day home; he wanted to enjoy his homecoming and settle in a few days before the fireworks began.  By tomorrow, however, Mary Wentworth would arrive.  He didn’t want to risk an explosion with that fragile flower in the house, so he had already concluded that his confrontation with his father would have to wait for a month until Mary went home.  While frustrating, that much delay wouldn’t hinder his being ready to leave in August.

    Still, his father’s announcement made it all the more clear that Ben Cartwright envisioned his son stepping straight into leadership of the Ponderosa.  That prospect certainly appealed to the young man’s pride and was what he ultimately envisioned for himself, as well.  There was another dream to pursue first, though, one he still found difficult to share with his father.

    “Well, I didn’t mean to knock you off your feet within an hour of coming home,” Ben said, giving the boy a hearty clap on the back.  “Your new responsibilities don’t start ‘til tomorrow, so don’t give them a thought ‘til then.  Your mother and Hop Sing have a fine feed planned to welcome you home, and we’d best finish up here in the barn and get in there while it’s hot or they’ll both have our hides.”

    Adam nodded quietly and went to work.

    Ben cocked his head and studied his son for a brief moment and then went back to his work.  Adam hadn’t taken the news quite the way Ben had expected.  Probably just overwhelmed the boy, he told himself.  Probably has some doubts about making the transition from schoolboy to supervisor.  It’s a big step, a big change, and change always comes hard.  Just need to stand by, I guess, let him find his own way if he can and be on hand to offer advice if he needs it.

    Chores finished and luggage unloaded, the Cartwrights sat down to a feast of Adam’s favorite foods.  Ben offered a prayer of gratitude for his son’s safe return and set to work carving the roast and passing plates.

    Slumped in his high chair between his parents, Little Joe rubbed at his eyes with one hand while the other pushed his plate away.   “Too much,” he whined.

    “Oh, it is not,” Ben scolded.

    “Just eat what you want, mon petit,” his mother said, gently stroking the child’s curls.  He is tired, she mouthed at her husband and Ben nodded.  Marie turned toward the other end of the table.  “We had thought to have a large gathering to welcome you home, mon ami, but after the birthday party and the wedding, it seemed too much to ask of our friends.”

    “Busy time of year—for ranchers, especially,” Ben added apologetically, “and two parties in two weeks . . . well, most folks just couldn’t afford to take time off for a third this soon.”

    “Sure, I understand,” Adam said, scrutinizing the knife cutting through his beef with extraordinary attention.  “No need to make a fuss over me, anyway.”

    “Nonsense!  I wanted to make a fuss,” Ben insisted enthusiastically.  “Not every day a boy completes his education with such shining success.”

    Adam’s head jolted up.  It was the perfect opening for him to say that he didn’t consider his education complete, but it was far from the perfect time.  He said nothing and lowered his gaze to his plate again.

    “I am so sorry, Adam,” Marie said, reading the young man’s unaccustomed quietness as disappointment.  “I feel it is my fault, but I did not know about the wedding until the day of Little Joe’s party, and I offered our home to Laura before I thought to speak to Ben or of how it might affect you.  It is a weakness with me, acting by impulse, instead of careful thought.”

    Adam looked up and smiled at her to relieve the anxiety etched on her porcelain countenance.  “You did exactly right, Marie.  A marriage happens once in a lifetime, so it certainly merits more attention than just the end of a school term.”

    “You are kind, as always,” Marie said, the lines in her forehead relaxing, “but to us your homecoming is an occasion, mon ami, and we did want to celebrate it.”

     “Just wasn’t practical,” Ben explained, cutting his meat.  “Only a month ‘til the Fourth of July, too, and there’ll be a big celebration in Carson City for that.  Still, we might tempt a few of your young friends over for a little dinner party, if you’d like.”

    “Please, Pa, don’t bother,” Adam urged, face flushing.  “Sure, there’s people I want to see, but they don’t all have to sit down at a table together to make me happy.”

    “Don’t I get to have my party, Pa?” Hoss asked, looking worried.  “Little Joe got one, so I don’t see why I can’t, too, especially if Adam ain’t gonna . . .”  Embarrassed, he trailed off weakly.

    “What kind of party would you like, Hoss?” Marie asked as she coaxed a bite of potato into Little Joe’s gaping mouth.  “A large gathering like your younger brother’s or a picnic, as we’ve had before?”

    “Picnic’d be fine,” Hoss said, smiling broadly.  “I don’t care about all that dancing and stuff, but I got more friends now, Ma, and it’d be nice if they could come, too.”

    “I am sure that can be arranged,” Marie said.  “A picnic is simple to plan, Hoss, and I’m certain friends of your age will be able to come, if not their parents.”

    “Me!”  Jimmy Ellis hollered.  “Invite me, Hoss.  I’ll even ask Ma to bake a cake, big as the one she made for Little Joe.”

    “Me!” Little Joe echoed.

    “Oui, mon petit, both of Hoss’s brothers must be there, and, of course, you are invited, Jimmy,” Marie said quickly.  “However, there is no need to bring a cake.”

    “Yes, there is!” Hoss declared urgently.

    Everyone at the table, except the youngsters, laughed.

    “All right now, that’s enough talk of parties and picnics,” Ben said, patting his lips with his napkin and standing.  “This is Adam’s day, Hoss, not yours.”  He walked to the alcove, took a package from his desk and returned to the table, stopping beside Adam’s chair.  He handed it to his son.  “As you know, I planned to buy you a fine horse as a graduation gift, but since you prefer to take Blackie for your mount, I thought you might appreciate this, instead, as a token of my pride in your accomplishment.”

    “Ben, you are interrupting Adam’s meal,” Marie chided in soft rebuke.

    “Only for a minute,” Ben argued.  “I suppose I should have waited, son, but I’ve been sitting on this surprise for quite some time now, so indulge me.”

    Adam’s smile was wide and genuine.  “I wasn’t expecting anything, Pa.  Thanks!”  Eager as a child on Christmas morning, he slipped the twine off the end of the package and tore away the brown paper.  The box was narrow and just over a foot long.  Adam lifted the lid and gasped when he saw the sleek eight-inch barrel of blue-black steel and the polished walnut handgrip of the Colt Army revolver.

    “Eighteen-sixty model, just like the United States Cavalry carries,” his father said, proud of the gun’s newness.  “Mark located it for me.  I hope you never have cause to use a sidearm, son, but I know I can trust you to handle it responsibly.”

    “Always,” Adam promised in a hushed tone.

    “I’ve got an old holster you can use for now,” Ben added as he moved back to his chair at the head of the table, “but I want you to have one made to fit as part of the gift.  Next time we’re in town, we’ll see to it.”

    “That’s great, Pa.  Thanks again.”

    “And now, please, finish your dinner before it gets cold,” Marie admonished.

    “And before we start hearing wrathful ranting in Cantonese,” Adam chuckled, dutifully setting the box aside.  When he’d finished eating, he scooted his chair back.  “Guess I’d better get changed into work clothes and start earning my keep.”

    “All right, then,” Ben said, fighting to keep a straight face.  “You can earn your keep by taking care of  your younger brother this afternoon.”

    Adam’s eyes immediately turned toward Little Joe.  Noting the child’s heavy eyelids, he smiled softly.  “I don’t think he’ll last long enough for a story, Pa, but I’ll be glad to put him to bed.”

    “Not that brother,” Ben stated.  “The other one.”

    “I don’t need no tendin’,” Hoss protested.  “I’m half grown, Pa!”

    “I think Pa means he’s giving us the afternoon off, Hoss, to do whatever we want,” Adam said, catching sight of the grin twitching at his father’s lips.

    “Honest, Pa?” Hoss bubbled in disbelief.  “That’d be great!  Right, Adam?”

    “You bet, buddy; that sounds great,” Adam agreed.  He looked across the table at his father.  “If you’re sure you don’t need . . .”

    Ben chuckled at the distressed look that crossed Hoss’s open face.  “I’m sure, boy; go get reacquainted.”

    “Me, too; me, too,” Little Joe cried, rubbing his eyes with both small fists.

    “No, mon petit,” his mother said firmly.  “You must have a nap.”  She looked across at Jimmy Ellis.  “I think you, too, should rest this afternoon, Jimmy.  I know you are a big boy, but we woke you very early this morning.”

    Yawning, Jimmy nodded.  He would have liked to go with Adam and Hoss, of course, but he sensed that the brothers really preferred to be alone.  Besides, he was very tired, and even if naps were for babies like Little Joe, one sounded pretty good at the moment.

    Pointing out that he had to go upstairs, anyway, to change clothes, Adam again offered to put Little Joe down for his nap.  As predicted, the child fell asleep after only five minutes of Adam’s crooning a lullaby as he rocked back and forth.  Having tucked Little Joe snugly beneath the covers, Adam changed into a pair of dark trousers he’d worn the previous summer and noted that they were a good inch too short, although the red shirt he wore with it still fit reasonably well.  Seems a shame to waste good money on work clothes, when I’ll need something altogether different for Yale, he thought, sighing, but it can’t be helped.  Can’t expect men to look up to a boss who looks like a kid shooting out of his clothes.  Hope Pa’s willing to give me an advance on my first wages or that’s just what they’ll see, though.

    Hurrying downstairs, Adam opened the front door and grinned when he saw that Hoss had already saddled both Blackie and Charcoal.  “Looks like you’re ready and rarin’, little brother,” he called.

    “Yeah!” Hoss yelled back.  “Where you want to go, Adam?”

    “Let’s head up to the lake,” Adam suggested.

    Hoss grinned.  “That’s what I figured you’d pick.  Bet you’ve missed it, huh, Adam?”

    Adam tousled his brother’s sandy hair.  “I’ve missed everything—and everybody—on the Ponderosa, buddy.”  As he and Hoss slowly moved through the forest west of the house, Adam took deep draughts of the pungent fragrance of the pines and soaked in the pristine beauty of the wildflower-dotted clearings.  Nothing like this in Sacramento.  Adam admitted, as he had not let himself do until this moment, how homesick he had been for this land the Cartwrights called home.  Probably won’t be anything like it back east, either, he conceded.  Maybe I am a fool to give up all this for a little more book learning.  Pa was likely to see it that way, Adam was sure, but even the thought seemed a betrayal of a dream as cherished to him as the Ponderosa had been to his father.  Except that the Ponderosa was his dream, too, not just his father’s.  A better Ponderosa, though, Adam told himself, a Ponderosa that’s bigger and better because of what I’ll bring to it with that “little more book learning.”

    “Adam, I ain’t a baby now, you know,” Hoss complained.

    Adam glanced down at his brother.  “Huh?”

    Hoss squirmed in his saddle.  “I ride good now.  We don’t gotta go at a walk.”

    “You ride well,” Adam corrected, “and I know we don’t have to walk; it’s just more pleasant to go slow when you haven’t seen a place for a long while.”

    Hoss grinned.  “That’s okay, then.  I’m glad it’s just the two of us, Adam.  Little Joe and Jimmy are just too little to be taggin’ along.”

    Knowing the younger boys’ size wasn’t the real reason, Adam smiled in understanding.  “I’m glad we can have some time alone, too, Hoss.  I really have missed my best buddy.”

    Hoss blushed, but his face was beaming.  “You gonna miss stuff in Sacramento, too, Adam, like school—and that girl?”  He grimaced as he said the final word.

    Adam laughed.  “‘That girl’ is just a friend.  Sure, I’ll miss my friends, but there’s nothing more that school can do for me.”  His thoughts drifted eastward for a moment, to the school he hoped would do much for him; then he turned in the saddle to face his younger brother.  “How about you, buddy?  School’s been better for you this year, hasn’t it?”

    Hoss’s candid face wrinkled.  “Mostly.”

    “Those bullies you wrote me about haven’t been giving you any more trouble, have they?”

    Hoss looked down, uncomfortable for a moment, for he had been keeping secrets again.  “You won’t tattle to Pa if I tell you, will you?”

    “Not unless it would hurt you more to keep it from him,” Adam replied, his face registering concern.  “You haven’t been fighting again, have you?”

    Hoss nodded glumly.  “Just the last couple weeks.  After Little Joe’s party, some folks that didn’t know before figured out Ma was from New Orleans and started sayin’ awful things about her, especially that Cal Hulbert.”

    Adam reined Blackie to a stop.  “You mean because she’s from the South?”

    “He called her ‘secesh’—and worse.”  The exact phrase Calvin Hulbert had used was “secesh whore,” but Hoss couldn’t bring himself to say the ugly word, even to Adam.  Thrusting out his chin, he declared, “He wouldn’t take it back, so I pounded him good.  I know Pa don’t want me fightin’, but I couldn’t let him talk like that about Ma, Adam.  I just couldn’t!”

    Adam had heard enough boyish taunts in his day to guess what the Hulbert bully had called Marie. “Of course, you couldn’t,” his assured Hoss at once.  “A gallant knight always defends the honor of his lady, and a fellow’s mother deserves the highest honor of all.”

    “That’s how I saw it,” Hoss said, gusting out his relief, “but I ain’t sure Pa would.  You won’t tell?”

    “You think you’ve got the situation under control?”

    Hoss doubled his fist and showed Adam his solid knuckles.  “I can close Cal Hulbert’s mouth anytime he opens it.”

    “Only if you have to,” Adam admonished, “but I won’t tell Pa.”

    “Or Ma?” Hoss pressed.

    Adam gave a short laugh.  “That’s the same as telling Pa, little brother, so it goes without saying that I won’t tell either one.”

    Hoss took his still-doubled fist and gave his older brother’s arm an affectionate punch.  “You’re the best, Adam!  Sure glad you’re home—to stay this time.”

    A shadow crossed Adam’s face.  Seeing it, Hoss wondered if he’d said something wrong, but the look was swept away almost immediately.  The sapphire waters of Lake Tahoe came into view, and both boys were lost in gazing at its majestic expanse.

    Soft shadows of twilight were just beginning to stretch across the yard when Adam and Hoss returned to the Ponderosa.  Up from their naps, Little Joe and Jimmy Ellis were chasing each other back and forth, with Hoss’s dog Klamath nipping at their heels and yapping in canine contentment.

    Little Joe stopped as soon as he heard the sound of horse hooves, spun around and ran to meet his brothers, heedless, as usual, of their mounts.

    “Little Joe, no!” Jimmy Ellis yelled.

    Adam set Blackie’s feet dancing away from the toddler, vaulted off the tall horse and snatched his baby brother up in his arms.  Planting a stinging swat on the child’s backside, he shouted, “Don’t you ever do that again!  Do you hear me, Little Joe?”  Whimpering, Little Joe laid his head on Adam’s shoulder, and the older boy instinctively started to give the small back a comforting rub.

    “Sorry.  I tried to stop him,” Jimmy Ellis apologized.

    “Not your job,” Adam grunted.  He turned severe eyes on his other brother.  “Haven’t you broken him of this habit yet?  Obviously not.”

    Hoss glared at the small cause of the commotion.  “Well, I try, Adam, and Ma and Pa do, too, but he don’t listen so good.”

    As if to prove how little attention he paid to any admonition regarding horses, Little Joe looked up and gave his oldest brother a captivating smile.  “I can ride Blackie?”

    “Over my dead body,” Adam sputtered.  “Or, more likely, yours.”

    Little Joe cocked his head and favored Adam with a pleading pout.  “Just to the barn?  Hoss lets me.”

    “On Charcoal,” Hoss explained quickly, “nothing bigger.”

    “And you’re not even getting that today,” Adam told his baby brother.  “You’ve been naughty, Little Joe, and don’t deserve a reward.”

    Little Joe sent up a wail, which ended abruptly when another solid swat landed on his bottom.  “That does it,” Adam said.  “You are going inside right now.”  He looked at Hoss and Jimmy.  “Can you two get the horses stabled?  I’d appreciate it.”

    “Sure, Adam,” Hoss said at once.  “For a city kid, Jimmy does a right smart job of currying horses.”

    Adam chuckled as he toted a protesting Little Joe back to the house.  The idea of calling any boy from practically rural Carson City a “city kid” was hilarious to the young man just back from Sacramento.  The sense of mirth faded as he walked through the door into the great room.

    Marie, sewing in the mauve chair nearest the fireplace, looked up when she heard the sobbing of her child.  “Is he hurt?” she asked at once.

    Adam shook his head.  “This one is in need of a very necessary little talk.”

    Marie frowned tautly as she dropped her mending and stood up.  “That is not for you to decide, Adam.”

    Adam took a slow breath.  “No, it’s not,” he agreed quickly, though his voice was strained, “but if he keeps running at any horse that gallops into the yard, he’s gonna get hurt, Marie.”

    Marie paled briefly, and then her color heightened as she took Little Joe and stared severely at him.  “Have you done that again, mon petit, after all that has been said to you?”

    “Adam hit me,” Little Joe whimpered.

    “A swat on the bottom,” Adam retorted gruffly, “not hard enough to raise dust from your britches.”

    “And you have my permission to do so whenever you see such behavior,” Marie declared firmly.  She raised her child’s chin and looked into the misty emerald eyes.  “Do you hear me, Little Joe?  And if Adam is forced to spank you again, Mamá will spank, too—and when Papá comes home, he will have a very necessary little talk with you, as well.”

    “No!” Little Joe wailed piteously.

    “Oui, it will be so,” she insisted.  Her voice softened.  “You must learn not to run at the horses, mon petit; you are very precious to me, and I wish only to keep you safe.”

    “I wanna horse, all my own,” the baby whimpered.

    Marie and Adam both laughed at the thought of such a tiny child straddling a saddle by himself.  “Not for many days, mon petit,” his mother said, setting him down.  “Now go to your room and stay there until your father comes to speak to you.”

    Fear flashed in the emerald eyes.  “Nes’ry talk?”

    “That is up to your father.”  She pointed her finger at the stairs.  “Go.  Now.”

    Sending an arrow of anger in Adam’s direction, Little Joe stomped up the stairs and headed for his room.  As the door slammed, Marie giggled.  “Such a temper!  He had better get that in check before Papá comes up there, or there will, indeed, be a necessary talk of the most painful kind.”  She sat down and picked up the brown pants she had been hemming when the two brothers came in.

    “Are those mine?” Adam asked, assuming by the size that they must be.

    Marie smiled.  “We cannot have you meeting your timber crew in what you wore today, mon ami; those are most disreputable.  I let these out as much as I could, and I think the length will be close to correct.”

    “Thanks,” Adam said, taking the blue chair across from her.  “I have to admit I was worrying about that.  I guess I’ve grown some this year.  I mean, I knew I had, because Mrs. Maguire let down my school pants a couple of months back, but I hadn’t thought about my work clothes needing the same.”

    “Then it is good you have a”—she paused, having almost said “mother,” but quickly corrected herself—“a friend to think for you.”

    “Yes, it’s good,” Adam said softly, his mind drifting back to the time when he and Marie had been anything but friends.  It was, indeed, good that now they were.  It made home a place to yearn for when away and savor now that he was back.

    It was not the peace and tranquility of a happy homecoming, however, that Adam experienced that night after the house grew quiet and the only sound was the wind whispering gently through the pines outside his open window.  Turning from side to side to escape unwelcome thoughts, Adam only found new concerns facing him with each turn.  He set aside his apprehension about the inevitable confrontation with his father, having determined that the best way to prepare Pa for the idea of college was to demonstrate that he was a young man of sound thinking and ample ability to meet any challenge.  The challenge he would face on the morrow, however, was a formidable one, formidable enough to keep him restless on his bed throughout a very long night.
 

    Those already at the breakfast table looked up as Adam clattered down the stairs the next morning.  “Mornin’, sleepyhead,” Hoss snickered as his older brother moved toward the dining room.

    “Mornin’ to you,” Adam tossed back with a grin.

    Leaning to the side, Marie scrutinized the dark pants brushing the top of Adam’s black boots.  “I think they will do,” she concluded, sitting up.

    “They’ll do fine—at least ‘til I can spare the time for a trip to town,” Adam assured her as he took the seat at the foot of the table.  Though that would have customarily been the place for the lady of the house, Marie had long ago made it clear that she preferred to sit at Ben’s right hand, with Little Joe between them.  The high chair where the toddler normally sat was empty now.  “I looked in on the little fellow on the way down.  He’s still sound asleep.”

    Marie smiled.  “That is what I like to hear.  He is more easily handled when he rests well.”

    Adam laughed as he opened his napkin and placed it in his lap.  “I would have thought a good night’s sleep would just give him extra energy for mischief.”

    “It does.”  Ben winked down the table at his oldest son.  “Is that what you were trying to do, Adam, build up extra energy for mischief?”

    Adam flushed, taking mild offense at the teasing.  “I know I’m up late,” he said, “and I apologize.  City habits laid siege to me, I guess.”

    Ben chuckled.  “We’ll break you of those soon enough.  Better dig in and eat now, though, son, or we will be running late.  Showing up late to work won’t make much of an impression on the men you’ll be supervising.”

    If there was a remark calculated to take Adam’s appetite away, that reminder of what he was to face that morning was surely it.  Eyes studiously on his plate, he ate with determination and prayed that his nervousness wouldn’t show—either to Pa now or to the lumberjacks later.

    Hoss, on the other hand, was dawdling over his breakfast, his plate still half full despite an earlier start at the meal.  “You’d better dig in, too, boy,” Ben observed.  “It won’t do for you to be late to school, especially when you have a guest to introduce to your teacher.”

    Jimmy Ellis, sitting beside Hoss, lowered his glass of milk and grinned beneath a mustache of creamy white.  Ordinarily, he was a class of one, with his mother as teacher, so he was looking forward to visiting Hoss’s school and being around the other kids at noon and recess.

    Hoss, caught in the grips of spring fever, stabbed at his fried egg.  “Don’t see why I gotta go, anyhow,” he grumbled.  “Ain’t but four days left.  Can’t learn much in that time.”

    “You’d better learn, boy,” Ben said sharply, “or I’ll set you some new lessons to study that you’ll enjoy far less.”

    Suspecting that this was just another way of threatening a “necessary little talk,” Hoss scowled and poked a bite of egg into his mouth.

    “Oh, for mercy’s sake,” Ben scolded, noting the boy’s sour expression.  “You never heard your older brother put up a fuss about going to school, did you?”

    Adam looked up quickly and grasped the opportunity staring him in the face.  “No, certainly not.  One should never pass up the opportunity for more learning, right, Pa?”  In a flash of insight, he concluded that the best way to handle his own problem, at least for now, might be to plant seeds of this nature whenever he could and hope that they sprouted by the time he had to tell Pa of his own desire for further education.

    Ben fell straight into the trap.  “That’s right, son.  You listen to your brother, Hoss.”

    Hoss, instead, favored his older brother with the look of one betrayed.  “I ain’t going to no academy,” he asserted strongly, his glinting blue eyes daring anyone, especially his learning-crazed older brother, to contradict him.

    Ben cleared his throat.  “No one’s asking you to, but you will go to Franktown School ‘til the end of the term without further complaint—or you will spend the next four days in your room, lying on your belly.”

    Nothing veiled about that hint.  Hoss promptly polished off the rest of his breakfast and jumped up from his seat.  “Let’s get goin’, Jimmy,” he ordered.

    “Kiss your mother,” Ben said softly, “and be off with you.”

    “Wouldn’t forget that!” Hoss chirped, habitual grin back on his face.  As soon as Marie had kissed his cheek, he took off for the kitchen, Jimmy at his heels, to pick up his lunch pail from Hop Sing and charge out the kitchen door.

    Adam set his knife and fork across his empty plate and pushed back from the table.  “I’ll be ready as soon as I saddle my horse, Pa.”  He stood still for a moment and then gave in to the impulse that had struck him when he saw Hoss’s parting ritual.  Leaning over, he pressed a light kiss to Marie’s cheek.  “Thanks again for fixing my pants.”

    A warm glow shimmered in Marie’s emerald eyes.  “It was nothing, mon ami —and yet I have received such gracious payment.”

    Slightly embarrassed by the attention he’d drawn to himself, Adam blushed and left without response, but a contented smile touched his lips as he went through the front door.

    It was reflected on the lips of his father.  He’s growing up, more ways than one.  Ben glanced over at Marie and saw that she, too, was remembering how Adam had rejected her when she first arrived.  It had been a hard time, the hardest they had known together, but they’d all somehow survived it.  The seeds of love she had so patiently planted had born fruit, and though she and Adam still referred to one another simply as friends, Ben knew, if they did not, that a stronger relationship was slowly being knit between them, one that might be more accurately termed mother and son, and he rejoiced to see it.  His farewell kiss to his wife was especially fervent that morning, but in a hurry to get to the timber camp, he didn’t express what he was feeling.  He didn’t have to; she knew.

    Adam coughed back the acid surging up his throat.  Nerves, sheer nerves, he castigated himself, willing the food to stay in his jumpy stomach.  That’s all I need.  Pa may think showing up late will make a bad first impression, but it wins, hands down, over upchucking my breakfast in front of the crew I’m supposed to take charge of!  He took a deep breath and the acid receded, leaving a bacon-laced aftertaste in his mouth.  The woods were fragrant, their deep brown beauty dappled with patches of sunlight, and riding through them would ordinarily have brought a tranquil hush to Adam’s soul.  Not today.  Today, the woods seemed dark and foreboding, although he knew the ominous atmosphere came from within, not from the pungent pines through which he had ridden the day before in perfect peace and certainly not from the twittering calls of songbirds flitting among the branches.

    The forest opened into a clearing, where the timber camp had been set up.  “You men gather ‘round,” Ben Cartwright called as he and his son rode to the center of the camp.  He dismounted and gestured for Adam to do the same.  Ashamed of his hesitation, Adam did so hastily, his foot catching in the stirrup.  He caught himself before he tumbled to the ground, but he heard someone snicker and knew that he hadn’t covered the misstep quite as successfully as he’d hoped.  Nothing like making a good first impression!

    Ben clapped a broad hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “Men, I know a few of you will recognize this young man, but for those who don’t, Adam Cartwright, my son—just back from California—and the man who will be heading up this outfit.”

    Adam could feel the eyes riveting on him, a few who knew him in warm welcome, some in cautious appraisal and others in cold disdain.  At least, Pa didn’t say just back from school, he thought, although he suspected that most of the workers knew that.  They didn’t, however, need a reminder that strong of just how young their new boss was.  He felt his father tap his shoulder twice and knew that he needed to say something, to give these men some sense that he was up to the job that had been thrust upon him.  Anticipating this moment, he had wrestled with the right words half the night and hoped he’d found them.  “I’m happy to be home,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “and looking forward to the opportunity of working with you men.  While I’ve worked with timber before, I’m well aware that many of you have years more experience in this business than I have, and I trust you’ll let me tap into that expertise.  If you have suggestions for making the work more productive or efficient or ideas on how to make this camp a better place to work, you’ll find me ready to listen, and my decisions will be based on what is best for the workers and the job—in that order.”  Watching carefully the eyes watching him, Adam was relieved to see some of the cautious ones warm up.

    “We gonna keep the same crews your pa set up?” one stocky man in plaid flannel called out.

    Adam glanced over at his father.

    “I divided them into two crews and set their starting tasks,” Ben said, “just so you’d have a base to begin with this morning.”

    Adam nodded and raised his voice.  “We’ll keep those crews for now,” he said.  “I’ll reevaluate the divisions and what each of you is doing after I’ve had a chance to get to know you men better.  As I said, I’m open to new ideas, so don’t be afraid to let your preferences be known.  Now, I suggest you all get to the work that’s been assigned to you.  Daylight’s burning.”

    The men nodded, most in apparent approval, although Adam could still see scorn for his youth in the eyes of some.  Again he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.  “Like you said, ‘Daylight’s burning,’ and I’ve got a crew of my own to supervise.  Unless there’s something else you need, son, I’ll be on my way.”

    Adam forced a confident smile to his lips.  “Sure, Pa.  See you at the house.”

    “For dinner,” Ben said.  “You remember that we’re having guests.”

    “I remember,” Adam said in an undertone, wanting to welcome the guests, but dreading what kind of impression it would make on the men for their new boss to take a long noon break his first day on the job.

    Adam smiled as he rode in at noon and saw the doctor’s buggy standing in the yard.  Assuming Dr. Martin had himself driven the girls here, it meant that he’d be able to greet one more familiar face that he hadn’t seen since sometime last August, and after a morning of new faces watching his every move, simple acceptance from someone he knew and respected wouldn’t be unappreciated.  It hadn’t been a bad morning; so far, the men were just sizing him up with no sign of outright rebellion.  He had a feeling, though, that some of them had already concluded that the youthful boss didn’t quite measure up.  He’d have to keep his eye on them and try to catch trouble before it started, and though he still thought taking off for dinner on the first day was a bad move, he had to admit the rest from all that watchfulness—both his and the men’s—was welcome.

    His smile broadened as he opened the door and saw the tranquil tableau: his father and Dr. Martin bent in concentration over a checkerboard, since they didn’t have time for a chess match; Little Joe cuddled up in Mary Wentworth’s lap, with Sally Martin cooing over his curls; and Marie, beaming beatifically as they made over her precious baby boy.

    “Ah, there you are,” Ben said, looking up after sliding a red checker diagonally.  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten what I said.”

    Adam stole a glance at the grandfather’s clock to his right.  “It’s barely past noon.  I’m not late.”

    “Of course, you aren’t,” Sally called, her blue eyes bright with welcome.  “Compared to some I could mention, who are habitually late to supper, you are promptness personified.”

    Paul Martin threw a mock scowl in his daughter’s direction.  “You talk my patients into getting sick on schedule, and I’ll be glad to show up for meals, regular as clockwork.”  He stood up and walked over to lay his hands on Adam’s shoulders.  “Good to see you again, boy; you’ve been missed.”

    “Thank you, sir,” Adam said simply.  “It’s good to be home.”

    “You come to play wif me?” Little Joe piped up.

    Along with the others in the room, Adam laughed.  “No, I came home to eat dinner with you, but I have to go back to work this afternoon, baby.”

    Little Joe’s face reddened abruptly as he fold his thin arms across his chest.  “I am not a baby!”

    Adam picked up his little brother and hugged the child to his chest.  “No, what you are is a tyrant, pure and simple.”

    “Lording it over the ladies, to be sure,” Dr. Martin chuckled.

    “Don’t tease him,” Mary urged gently.  “It isn’t fair to talk over his head so.”

    “I suppose not,” Adam conceded, “but it’s hard not to, given how short that head is.”

    Mary smiled at him then, in appreciation of the humor.

    “Come table now, please,” Hop Sing dictated roughly from his stance beside the well-loaded table and none dared delay a moment longer.

    Ben rubbed his hand along Adam’s shoulder blade in passing.  “How’s it going, son?  Any problems?”

    “So far, so good, Pa,” Adam replied lightly as he took his seat, doing his best to disguise any apprehensions he felt.

    Ben arched an eyebrow at the short response, but shrugged off his fleeting concern.  After all, Adam had always been laconic, and at the moment he was probably more interested in food than anything else.

    “I’m a feller, not a trimmer!”  Nostrils flaring and veins throbbing in his forehead, the burly lumberman glared at Adam.  Muscles bulged beneath the flannel sleeves folded stubbornly across his barrel chest, warning Adam that this man had the strength to back up any position he took.  That it was a belligerent one was something the young straw boss had been expecting almost from the first moment they’d met.  Wilbur Watson had eyed him with disdain the first day, scowled in derision the second, mumbled with disrespect the third and now, on the fourth day of Adam’s tenure, Watson was challenging him at a volume no one within a hundred yards could ignore.

    Adam licked his lips, determined to keep his own temper in check and give this antagonist every chance to adopt a more cooperative spirit.  “You do a fine job of felling trees, Watson, but that’s not what I need you to do today.  I want a load, dressed and mine-ready, to haul to Virginia City tomorrow.  We’re behind on the finishing stages, so I’m asking you and these other three men to step in and take up the slack.”

    Watson’s laughter was rough and harsh.  “You’re askin’, huh?  Well, let me give you my answer, sonny—no—pure and simple.”

    Adam hissed in a sharp breath.  “Maybe I should make myself more plain.  I’m not asking; I’m giving you a direct order.”

    Watson aimed a stream of spittle at Adam’s boots and came close to hitting the right one.  “I don’t take up the slack for any man, sonny boy.  If we’re caught up with our work, that just means we’ve earned ourselves a day off, to my way of thinking.”  The leering trio behind him echoed the sentiment.

    Adam squared his shoulders.  “Take the day off, gentlemen, and you don’t need to bother reporting back to work.”

    Watson’s arms unfolded, and his hands clenched into fists.  “Why, you milk-soppin’ little whelp!”  He lunged forward, right fist suddenly connecting with Adam’s outthrust chin.  Taken by surprise, Adam fell back, hitting the ground hard.  “You talk like you’re bull of the woods, boy.  Let’s see you prove it.”  Elbows bent, fists raised, he danced around the clearing.  Like dogs on the scent of blood, men wielding axes and saws hurried out from the trees and across the clearing to form a circle around the combatants, large enough to give them room to maneuver, but close enough to feel like participants in the fracas.

    Adam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up slowly.  He figured the audience would insure that the lumberman didn’t attack until he was on his feet, hitting a man while he was down being frowned upon in any group where a fair fight was esteemed.  He doubled his fists and began moving around the perimeter of the circle, eyes fixed on his opponent.  He didn’t intend to be caught off guard again.

    Watson struck first, and Adam’s head rocked backward from the force of the blow.  He kept his feet this time, however, and struck back as hard as he could.  Watson danced away, laughing as the blow flicked off his left cheek.  He charged in again, driving a hard right into Adam’s midriff and following it quickly with an explosive left jab to the jaw and another hard right, this time hitting the side of Adam’s face, barely missing his eye.

    Adam staggered back, caught his balance and moved forward again, stumbling slightly.  Quick to spot an opportunity, Watson plowed a powerful fist into Adam’s abdomen.  Adam folded over at the waist, and Watson’s fists repeatedly stabbed into his stomach and ribs.  Breaking free, a winded Adam struck out and hit his opponent somewhere—he really couldn’t tell where because a cut over his eye was bleeding enough to obscure his vision.  Obviously, he hadn’t done much damage, for Watson was on top of him with scarcely time to draw a breath, concentrating on Adam’s abdomen now, first one fist and then the other pummeling him to the proverbial pulp.  As Adam fell to one knee, Watson lashed out with his hard-toed boot and drove it into the young man’s side.  Adam cried out in pain and crumpled.  With a grin of malevolent satisfaction, Watson again lifted his foot.

    “That’s enough,” Adam heard someone say, though he didn’t know the timber crew well enough yet to recognize the voice.  He took advantage of his opponent’s momentary distraction to pull up to his knees.

    “Stay out of this, Webber,” Watson snarled.  Catching Adam’s movement from the corner of his eye, the burly lumberman grasped the young straw boss by his shirt collar, hauled him to his feet and drew back his fist.

    Webber grabbed Watson’s arm and jerked him around, breaking the troublemaker’s grip on Adam’s collar.  Adam fell and for a moment could do nothing but lie there.  He recognized the man who had come to his aid, one of the few who had seemed to accept him from the first.  Shorter than most in the camp, Jake Webber, about ten years Adam’s senior, was built square and stocky, with hard muscles rippling beneath his shirt.

    “I said, ‘That’s enough,’” Webber growled.  “Beatin’ a bare-faced boy don’t make you bull of the woods, Watson.”

    “Maybe,” Watson snapped, “but it sure as anything proves the bare-faced boy ain’t the bull, and I ain’t about to take orders from some lily-livered pup what can’t hold his own in a fair fight.”

    Webber thrust the man away from him.  “Then I reckon you ain’t workin’ for Ponderosa.  Pup or not, big boss man says he’s the straw boss.  You can’t live with that, you pack your gear and leave—or I’ll make you wish you had.  And I reckon you can see I ain’t no bare-faced boy, Watson.”

    Watson ran an appraising eye over Webber’s beefy build and noted the complete confidence reflected in his square face.  Deciding that Webber could probably take him if he pushed a fight, Watson brushed dust from his pants.  “Ain’t worth it,” he grunted.  “There’s other outfits.”  He pushed his way outside the circle of spectators.

    Webber snorted.  “Go find one,” he called.  He raised his voice.  “And any of you that can’t follow the boss’s orders can trail along after that fool.”  Only two men turned to follow Watson.

    “The rest of you men get back to the work you’ve been assigned,” Webber ordered, and one by one the others moved away until Adam and his defender were alone.

    Though Adam had managed to pull to his hands and knees, he welcomed the calloused hand that helped him to his feet.  “Thanks,” he said, having no breath to say more.

    “My pleasure,” Webber chortled.  “That one just needed to learn the difference between bein’ bull of the woods and a plain, ordinary bully.  Anything that sticks in my craw, it’s a bully.”

    Adam massaged his neck and smiled.  “Sort of sticks in my craw, too.  Thanks, Mr. Webber.”

    “Jake,” the other man said.  “Just Jake’ll do, Mr. Cartwright.”  He rubbed his hands awkwardly down his britches legs.  “Reckon I owe you an apology for takin’ it on myself to fire Watson.  I know it ain’t my place; it yours, boy, if you’re gonna boss this outfit, but it needed doin’ and he’d only have laughed if you said it.  You ain’t got the muscle to back it up.”

    Adam flushed, recognizing the truth of the assessment, but suffering adolescent embarrassment nonetheless.  He’d known the minute Watson challenged him that he didn’t stand a chance.  While Adam could hold his own with anyone his own size or slightly larger, Watson was a head taller, fifty pounds heavier and about a dozen years more experienced as a fighter.  “You only anticipated my action—if I could’ve made it stick.”  He tossed a sour grin at Jake Webber.

    Webber laughed, liking the boy all the more for his ability to laugh at himself.

    Adam rubbed his aching jaw.  “Will the other men follow me, you think, or do I have this to look forward to every day?”

    Jake shrugged.  “You ain’t got much experience at handling rough lumberjacks—couldn’t have at your age, so that’s nothing against you—yeah, you might have some more trouble.  I could give you a few pointers on holding your own in a tough fight.  You—uh—can’t treat it like a gentleman’s boxing match, boy; you got to learn to fight a little dirty.”

    Adam scowled in chagrin.  “I think I could use a few pointers, Jake, but I would like to find a way to earn the men’s respect.”

    Jake looked awkward then, scuffing his thick-soled boots through the pine needles covering the ground.  “Meanin’ no disrespect, Mr. Cartwright, but your pa’s wrong to put you in charge, in my opinion.  Just bein’ the boss’s kid ain’t enough; you gotta prove yourself a man.  In a lumber camp that can mean beatin’ down all challengers, but maybe you can find another way.  You’re a sharp kid—fair one, too.  I could tell right off, and the men’ll see that in time.  Give ‘em time, boy, and I reckon you’ll find the respect you’re after.”

    “It’s good advice,” Adam said, thrusting out his hand.  “I’ll take it.”

    Jake grasped the extended hand and shook it firmly.  “Then take a little more.  Clean up, son; ride over t’other camp and tell your pa what’s happened; talk to him about what replacements we’ll be needin’.  I’ll keep the men workin’ ‘til you get back—and you make sure you get back today, whether you’re hurtin’ or not, you hear?  It’ll say something to the men.”

    Adam grimaced in sheer distaste for facing Pa.   He would have preferred to keep his troubles to himself and only confess them once he had the situation under complete control.  The marks on his face would confess for him, though, so there was no point in putting off the inevitable.  “I’ll be back,” he promised as he walked stiffly over to his horse.  “Might take awhile, but I’ll be back—and I’m making you acting straw boss ‘til then.”

    Jake Webber grinned broadly.  “Sure thing, boss—and thanks!”

    Adam nodded and mounted the big black, ignoring the pain in his side. 

    Adam reined Blackie to a walk as he entered the yard of the Ponderosa Ranch.  Though his father would have normally been at the other lumber camp at this time of day, Adam knew that he was at home today, working on the books and watching over Little Joe while Marie and Mary did some shopping in Washoe City.  He told himself that it was the likely presence of his little brother in the yard that made him slow down, but honesty compelled him to admit that was primarily an excuse.  Mainly, he wasn’t looking forward to showing his face inside the house, considering what was likely to happen the minute he did.

    The yard was empty, so Adam walked his horse past the barn and tied the reins to the top rail of the corral beside it.  Then, muscles still aching, he walked gingerly to the water trough between there and the house, pumped some fresh water and made an attempt at cleaning up before he went inside.  Between splashes of cold water, he looked up to see a small face, cocked to the side, carefully examining his cuts and bruises.  “Where’d you come from?” Adam queried.

    “The barn,” Little Joe replied.  “You been fightin’, Adam!  You gonna be in trouble; Pa don’t like fightin’.”

    “Were you in that barn alone?” Adam demanded, meeting attack with counterattack.  “Pa won’t like that, either, baby boy.”

    Little Joe pouted eloquently.  “I was just lookin’ at the horses; didn’t bother ‘em.  Gotta go somewheres.  Pa don’t want me in the house; he workin’.”

    Despite his irritation with the way the morning had gone and his dread of what he was about to face, Adam had to grin.  “Booted you out, did he?  Can’t imagine why!  You weren’t making noise or anything like that, were you?”

    Little Joe grinned.  “Maybe little bit.  Pa kinda cranky.  Don’t know why.”

    Adam dried his face with his bandanna.  “Bookwork,” he told his little brother.  “It has that effect on him.”

    “Huh?”

    “Books make Pa cranky,” Adam simplified.

    “Hoss, too,” Little Joe shared conspiratorially.

    Adam laughed.  “Different kind of books.  Anyway, baby brother, you stay out of that barn.  I can guarantee Pa will be cranky enough to tan your little bottom if he catches you.”

    “You gonna make Pa cranky?” Little Joe inquired, small face scrunching with concern.

    “More than likely,” Adam muttered, straightening up and staring at the front door.

    Little Joe’s head bobbed in sober conclusion.  “Think I stay outside.”

    “Smart thinking,” Adam said, and after giving his brother’s gold-brown curls a soft pat, he headed for the house, like a man prepared to meet his doom.

    Adam slipped four fingers behind the door handle and slowly depressed the lever above it with his thumb.  As he eased the door open, however, a noisy creak announced his entrance.  Hinge needs oiling, he noted with irritation.  Not that the extra second or two a noiseless hinge would provide would have helped him much.

    “Joseph, is that you?” a voice reminiscent of Moses on Mt. Sinai called from the alcove.  “I told you to play outside!”

    Adam closed the door, took a deep breath and stepped past the grandfather’s clock.

    “Joseph!” Ben shouted.

    “Wrong son,” Adam muttered as he rounded the corner.

    Ben’s mouth gaped in surprise.  “Adam?  I—I wasn’t expecting—good lands, boy, what happened to your face?”  He sprang to his feet, surged past the desk and touched anxious fingers to the cut on Adam’s brow.

    Adam bristled away.  “I’m all right.”  Seeing his father’s frown, he added in a less strident tone, “It’s not as bad as it looks, Pa.”

    “You’ve been in a fight,” Ben said.

    Adam made a feeble attempt at a cocky grin.  “And you’re given to understatement.”

    “Adam!”  Curbing his irritation at the boy’s manner, Ben steered him toward the settee.  “Sit down, boy, and tell me who did this.”

    Adam resisted, but finally gave in to the pressure of two strong hands on his shoulders.  “That doesn’t matter.”  He shook his head.  “Well, I guess it does, since you need to take the man’s name off the payroll—Wilbur Watson—and Todd Jacobs and Jim Swenson went with him.”

    “Those three did this to you?” Ben demanded, eyes sparking with fury.  “They beat you like this?”

    Adam waved his right hand in negation.  “No, no.  Just Watson—and it wasn’t a beating, Pa; it was a fair fight.  I just got the worst of it.”

    Ben’s mouth set in a grim line.  Not surprising, considering the relative sizes of Watson and his young son, but he couldn’t take it as lightly as Adam appeared to be doing.  He sat down on the fireside table, facing his son.  “What happened?” he asked simply.

    Adam had barely started his explanation when a wild neigh shot through the open window in the alcove.  Both his head and Ben’s snapped up simultaneously, but while his father paused, momentarily puzzled by the sound, Adam bolted off the settee and raced toward the door in sudden and certain knowledge of what was upsetting his horse.  He flung open the heavy oak door and dashed through it, ready to snatch his baby brother away from Blackie’s prancing hooves.

    What met his eyes, however, was a scene far worse than he had imagined.  Little Joe wasn’t standing beside the horse, trying to pet it.  He had evidently climbed the rails of the corral to which the horse was tethered, had grasped the saddle horn and was swinging one small leg over the saddle as Adam charged toward him, screaming his name.

    Blackie reacted by throwing up his hind legs, and Little Joe, eyes wide with surprise, bounced skyward, his hands slipping off the saddle horn.

    “Dear God!” Ben cried as he ran forward, knowing he couldn’t possibly reach the child in time.

    Adam, thankfully, was closer, and, fortunately, Joe came flying his direction.  Though he said nothing aloud, Adam was praying, too—hard.  And hard is just how Little Joe hit him, careening into his chest and knocking him off his feet.  As he lay there, aching ribs inflamed afresh, he caught a glimpse of Joe’s exhilarated little grin, and the sight pushed him over the edge.  Sitting up, he plunked his brother across his lap.  “Don’t you ever dare touch my horse!” he shouted, accentuating each staccato syllable with a hard swat on the upturned buttocks.

    “Adam, Adam,” Ben chided softly, reaching for his youngest son.

    As Ben lifted Joe from his arms, Adam leaned back, panting, on his elbows, and the fury and fear slowly began to ebb out of him.

    Little Joe, however, was red-faced with resentment and evidently figured one attack deserved another.  “Adam been fightin’, Pa,” he accused.

    “Why, you tattle-telling little brat!” Adam hollered.

    Ben’s response silenced both boys.  Laying Little Joe over his shoulder, he gave the boy’s bottom a stinging wallop.  Ignoring the child’s wails, he set him down and slapped his bottom one more time.  “Up to your room—now!” he bellowed.  “I’ll have more to say to you later!”  As Joe ran for the house, Ben rolled his head back and exhaled long and gustily; then he looked down at his oldest son.

    Adam gave him a rueful smile.  “Sorry, Pa.  I should have left that to you to begin with.”

    Ben nodded.  “You should have, but given the provocation, I doubt you could have.”  He chuckled and extended his hand.

    Adam grasped it and let his father help him up.

    “Now, let’s go back inside and discuss that other little provocation you dealt with this morning,” Ben suggested, “and then I’ll deal with the greater one upstairs.”

    “And he didn’t even have the good sense to be afraid!” Ben exclaimed as he ended his rendition of Little Joe’s encounter with Blackie, told to the Thomases over Sunday dinner in Carson City.

    “‘Spect you put the fear into him afterwards,” Nelly chuckled, offering a second helping of greens to Ben.

    Ben smiled ruefully as he took the bowl from her hands.  “I tried; I’m not sure I succeeded.”

    Clyde hooted across the table at his friend.  “Might as well face facts, Ben boy; you’re gonna have to get that youngun a horse.”

    Little Joe looked up in bright anticipation.

    “No,” his father said, staring directly at his youngest son.  “Not at four years old, I don’t have to get him a horse!  He’s too young and too small.”

    “Mais oui,” Marie agreed with a shiver.  “When I think what might have happened.”

    “Oh, I know,” Mary Wentworth added, her arm coming protectively around the youngest Cartwright.  “I’m so glad God had His angels looking out for this precious child.”

    “That ‘precious child’ does his best to keep heaven employed and on its toes, I’ll admit,” Clyde snickered, “but I still say you’re gonna have to get the youngun a pony before you’re ready.  He’s too dadburned determined not to find a way to get what he wants.”

    Ben’s gaze narrowed in a display of his own determination.  “He is gonna learn who’s in charge if I have to wear out the seat of a dozen pairs of britches!”

    Clyde grinned.  “I ‘spect that’s just what you’ll have to do.”

    “All right, now,” Nelly scolded as she went to the sideboard to get the dessert “You’ve teased enough, you ornery old coot.”  She set the peach pie on the table and began slicing it.  “I was surely disappointed that Adam didn’t come with you,” she remarked to Ben.  “You tell him he’s expected next time, and his Aunt Nelly won’t take no for an answer.”

    “I will,” Ben promised.  “He surprised me when he said he wanted to visit the Marquette place today.  I hadn’t realized he and that boy had spent enough time together last summer to form much of a relationship.”

    “They’ve been writing, Adam said,” Marie pointed out.

    Hoss, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the pie since its arrival at the table, spoke up quickly.  “Long as Adam ain’t here, could I have his share of the pie?”

    “Oh, Hoss,” Marie chided gently.

    Nelly, however, just laughed.  “I reckon you can, Sunshine.”

    Clyde reached over to chuck Hoss under the chin.  “Stakin’ your claim early, huh, boy?  Better watch out; I just might jump it!”

    “First one through the first gets seconds,” Hoss announced and set to work to earn the prize.

    Ross Marquette hooked a foot-long rainbow trout to the end of his string and slipped it back into the rippling water of Franktown Creek.  “That puts me two up on you,” he taunted with a wide-mouthed grin.

    “Luck, boy—pure luck,” Adam Cartwright drawled.

    “You’re just jealous,” Ross said, dropping down at Adam’s side and digging a worm from the can between them.  Rebaiting his hook, he tossed the line into the water and eased back next to his friend.  “Must have scared you spitless,”  he observed, picking up the conversation that had been interrupted by a sudden pull on his line.  Throughout their afternoon together, Adam had shared the experiences of his week and had just told Ross about catching Little Joe when he flew off Blackie.

    “Yeah,” Adam conceded, shaking his head and chuckling.  “So much that I lost my head for a minute and started whaling away at the kid’s bottom, right in front of Pa.  Good thing Marie wasn’t there!”

    “I’ll say!” Ross agreed.  Though he had yet to meet the lady of the Ponderosa, Adam had told him how Marie doted on Little Joe.  “You’re just lucky she didn’t tan you!”

    Adam laughed.  “No, she was more in the mood to pin medals to my chest when she heard.”

    “And so she should,” Ross declared loyally.  “You saved the kid’s life, after all.”

    Adam glanced away, for a moment back in the yard, seeing that little body speeding toward him.  He felt a hand on his upper arm.

    “Adam, you okay?” asked his friend.

    Adam nodded and, licking his lower lip, turned back toward Ross.  “Yeah, I’m okay, but it’s like you said, it scared me spitless.  You can’t imagine.”

    “Yeah, I can,” Ross muttered, pulling a blade of grass and starting to chew on one end.  “My little sister fell in the creek one day, back home in Tennessee, and like to have drowned.  I could feel my heart scrunch up inside when I saw her little blond head go under.”

    “But you got her out, right?” Adam asked.  “I mean, you did mean Margie, didn’t you?”  He’d been introduced to Ross’s younger sister when he’d ridden over that morning to ask if Ross could join him for some fishing.

    A fond smile touched Ross’s broad lips.  “Yeah, I just got the one sister, Adam, but it wasn’t me pulled her out.  That was my big brother, the one wearing all the medals in our family.”

    Adam sat up and hugged his knees to his chest.  “Didn’t know you had a brother.  You’ve never—”

    “I don’t,” Ross said sharply, a shadow crossing his face.  He swallowed down the lump in his throat.  “He died of snakebite comin’ west.”  He turned toward his friend, grief still haunting his brown eyes.  “Like to killed Pa when he passed on.  Pete—he was Pa’s namesake—and he was, well, everything I’m not in Pa’s eyes.”

    “You’re doing it again,” Adam reminded his friend.  “You promised me you’d work at not listening to that garbage.”

    “I do work at it,” Ross insisted, “but it’s hard to turn a deaf ear day in, day out.  I just gotta face the fact that I am a pure disappointment to my pa.”  He worked his shoulders like a mule trying to shed a pack.  “What I don’t understand, Adam, is why you was so scared to tell your pa about the trouble up to the lumber camp.  He don’t strike me as the type to—well, to be over-hard on a fellow who’s tryin’ his best.”

    “He’s not,” Adam said at once, “and I wasn’t scared of him—at least, not the way you mean.  It was more embarrassment than fear, I guess.  I knew the minute I walked in  he’d be firing questions, wanting to know who hurt his little boy, wanting to step in and deal with Watson for me, when I’m past the age for running to Pa with every little problem.  In a way, it’s like the opposite side to the coin of what you feel with your pa.  Pa thinks so highly of me that it can be hard to live up to, and my biggest fear, I guess, is letting him down after all he’s been to me and done for me all the years of my life.”

    There was a pull on Ross’s line again, but he ignored it.  “That why you ain’t told him about wantin’ to go back east to school, ‘cause you’re scared of lettin’ him down?”

    “Partly,” Adam admitted, jumping up and trotting to the creek bank to help haul in Ross’s fish, another rainbow trout.  “Mostly, maybe,” he admitted as Ross ran up beside him.  “Pa’s got a head full of plans for me, for how I’m gonna fit into running this ranch, and I know he’s going to be disappointed to hear that my plans don’t match his.  I guess maybe that’s what bothered me so much about what happened on Friday.  I’d figured that if I fit in with Pa’s plans this summer, showed him that I valued them, did a good job of bringing them off while I was here, then maybe he’d be more likely to value mine when the time came.  I sure messed that up!”

    Ross reached into the water and drew up a string of fish.  “I don’t think so, Adam.  So you got your nose bloodied a little.  Bet that’s happened to him a time or two, when he was a young sailor boy, like you wrote in your letters.  And you still got time to show him you can handle the job.”

    “Yeah, sure—hey!”—Adam caught his friend’s hand as he started to hook the fish to the string.  “That’s my string you pulled up, not yours.”

    “I know that,” Ross chuckled.  “You’re behind, remember?  And we wouldn’t want your pa thinkin’ you can’t even bring in a mess of fish!  Might go real unfavorable with you when you finally work up the nerve to tell him your big goal in life is to stay a schoolboy forever.”

    Pleased, as always, to see his overly sober friend in a good mood, Adam grinned.  As he rode back to the Ponderosa that evening, in time to deliver the fish to Hop Sing for supper, he pondered why it seemed so easy to share his heart with Ross when he struggled for words with anyone else.  He’d known Billy Thomas years longer, for instance, and counted him just as close a friend, but he’d never once considered telling Billy his ambitions for furthering his education.  Billy would have twitted him mercilessly and probably blurted the secret out in front of Pa in some incautious moment.  Ross was closed-mouthed, of course, but it was more than just the knowledge that he could keep a secret that made Adam feel free to unburden himself to his newer friend.

    Maybe it was because Ross was more like him than anyone Adam had known in years—not since Jamie Edwards.  Ross hadn’t had much chance for education, but he had the spark for learning, a spark that had only needed a little encouragement to flicker into flame.  Oh, he’d never be a scholar, never share Adam’s dream of going to college, but in the letters they’d exchanged since last summer, he’d shown an interest in Adam’s studies, often asking questions that sent Adam back to his books to dig out the answer.  And he’d taken a positive fancy to the poetry of William Cowper after Adam loaned him the book.

    Maybe, Adam conceded as he arrived at the ranch, it was like what he’d told Ross that afternoon about them being opposite sides of a coin.  Funny, in a way, but because Ross had problems at home that he found hard—no, impossible was the better word—to discuss with his father, that seemed to make it easier for Adam to admit that he was having trouble talking to Pa.  Much as he was looking forward to seeing Billy Thomas at the earliest opportunity, he knew he wouldn’t be admitting that problem to his lighthearted friend, who was never at a loss for words—with Clyde or anyone else.  Just thinking about Billy, though, made Adam grin.  Everybody needs a Billy in his life, he decided, to bring some joy and laughter, but I need Ross, too, to lean into the load with me.  Throw Jamie into the mix, to share my dreams, and I guess I’ve got about all a fellow could ask for in a circle of friends.

    The character of Jake Webber is taken from the Bonanza episode “The Quest” by John Joseph and Thomas Thompson
 
 

    Wednesday morning, the fifth of June, Ben climbed aboard the freight wagon loaded with squared timber beams, destined for the Gould and Curry mine.  “Time to go, boys!” he called.  Hoss and Jimmy Ellis gave Klamath a final pat on the head and came running, clambering up to sit beside Ben on the broad seat.

    Adam smiled at Marie as she straightened his string tie one last time and then started toward the hitching rail, stopping short when Little Joe put up his accustomed wail at being left behind.  Coming back, he stroked the small, heaving back a couple of times.  “I’ll bring you something, little fellow,” he offered.  The promise elicited no response from the sobbing child, so Adam left Little Joe to the comfort of Mary Wentworth’s arms and hurried to mount his black horse, which he would ride because there was no room on the wagon.

    Smiling her gratitude to both young people, Marie walked quickly to the wagon.  “Oh, Ben, there is one thing I’d forgotten.  Please see if you can find some light yellow hair ribbon—one yard, please.”

    Ben grimaced as if in physical pain.  “Hair ribbon?  Can’t it wait ‘til you—”

    Marie faced him, arms akimbo and jaw set with determination.  “No, monsieur , it cannot wait.  You know how rarely I get to Virginia City, and Mary hopes to wear her new dress to church this Sunday.  She has no ribbons to match, and there were only red and blue ones in Washoe City.”

    Ben’s face at that moment resembled that of his youngest son.  “But, Marie,” he protested in a voice that was almost a whimper,  “I don’t know how to pick hair ribbon.  I’ll probably get it too wide or too narrow or too yellow or not yellow enough or—”

    Marie interrupted his forlorn pleading with her distinctive laugh and reached into her pocket for a square of yellow calico.  “Just ask Mrs. Cass at the mercantile to match this, Ben.”  She handed the scrap of fabric to Jimmy, who passed it on to Hoss, who then dropped it into his father’s hand as quickly as if it were hot coals.  Marie turned to Mary, shaking her head and laughing again.  “Men—they can make the simplest task incomprehensibly difficult.”

    “Maybe because it is,” Ben growled.  He flicked the harness lines sharply.  “Get up, boys!”  He drove off, mumbling to himself.  “Not enough I deal with mule-stubborn lumberjacks all week; not enough I negotiate with hard-headed mine owners; not enough I haul a wagonload of supplies back for Hop Sing.  No, I have to match hair ribbon to yellow calico, too!”

    Adam prudently kept Blackie behind the wagon until his father’s ranting subsided.  About half an hour after leaving the house, he deemed it safe to ride up alongside his father.  “Thanks for driving this load in, Pa.  I know you need to be at your own lumber camp, but I do appreciate your taking time to go into town and introduce me to the mine’s superintendent.  You won’t have to be bothered next time.”

    Ben looked up at Adam.  “I wanted to come in with you, son.  It’s only right that I make the proper introductions and see you well started in your own relationship with the superintendent.  That’s no bother to me.  It’s just—well—hair ribbon I’m peeved over.  Matter of fact, son, if you’d like to show how much you appreciate my help, paying a little visit to Cass’s Mercantile for me would be a fine way.”

    Adam chuckled.  “You’d have to do a lot more than make introductions before I let you rope me into that!  Like saving me from a stampeding steer, for instance.”

    Ben scowled, thinking that a stampeding steer might be easier to face than his wife, if he came home without that yellow ribbon.  “The youth of America are losing all respect for their elders,” he muttered.

    “I ain’t,” Hoss said.

    “You volunteering to buy that hair ribbon, Hoss?” Adam teased, leaning forward to see around his father.

    Hoss gulped.  “No, sir!  I ain’t gettin’ roped into that, either.”

    “My ma’d do it, if she was back,” Jimmy mumbled.  “Don’t seem like she’s ever comin’, though.”

    “She and your new pa will be by to pick you up Sunday, son,” Ben told his young house guest.

    “He ain’t my pa,” Jimmy protested.  “He’s just ma’s husband.”

    “That makes him your pa,” Hoss insisted.

    “Does not!” Jimmy retorted.  “My pa’s dead.”

    “Yeah, I know,” Hoss argued, “but God done give you another one in his place, just like he gave Ma to me after my mother died.  It’s a good thing, Jimmy.”

    “If you let it be,” Adam added.  “Take some advice from a fellow who once fought against having a new mother, Jimmy.  Whether you let Mr. Dettenrieder become your pa or not is up to you, but you’ll be happier—and so will your mother—if you let him be a true father to you, in place of the one you never knew.”

    “Maybe,” Jimmy conceded, looking as if he were thinking it over.

    Ben kept his eyes on the horses, lest they betray the pride he felt in both his sons.  Hoss’s response wasn’t surprising, of course, but to hear Adam actually speak of his own feelings for Marie and how they’d changed was—both surprising and satisfying.  Suddenly, buying a bit of hair ribbon seemed a small price for having elicited those words from his eldest son.

    The delivery to the Gould and Curry mine had been made, and Adam had met the superintendent, coming away with the distinct impression that the man was only dealing with him with the understanding that Ben Cartwright himself was taking ultimate responsibility for the job.  It irked the young man’s pride, of course, but he understood that he would have to earn the respect of men like this and figured it was an easier challenge than earning respect from the lumberjacks he worked with every day.  That quest was going reasonably well, with the help of Jake Webber—as were his lessons in down-and-dirty fisticuffs—and Adam felt sure he could earn the businessman’s respect, too, given time.  He just wasn’t sure he’d have that kind of time before he left for back east.

    He had expected that they would head up to C Street after the transaction was completed, but his father turned the wagon toward the Ophir Mining Company offices on F, instead.  “I thought you did your business on Saturday,” Adam said, “or are you just introducing me here, too?  I didn’t think I’d be dealing with the Ophir.”

    “You won’t be,” Ben replied, “but I thought I might wangle you a tour of those square sets I wrote you about, if you’re interested.”  He smiled, knowing that he’d assumed correctly.

    Adam almost bubbled with excitement.  “That would be great, Pa!  The drawings you sent were fascinating, but I’d really like to see them in person.”  His enthusiasm soared even higher when they walked into the Ophir office and found the designer of the square sets himself inside.

    Philip Deidesheimer welcomed the eager young man with a warm handshake and, as he had free time, offered to personally show Adam through the section of the mine that had been timbered with the new shoring system.  “Of course, you and the other boys are invited also, Mr. Cartwright.”

    “Fascinating as your square sets are, Herr Deidesheimer, I’ve seen them,” Ben laughed.  “I’m willing, if the youngsters are interested, of course.”

    “I don’t much like goin’ underground,” Hoss said with a shiver.

    “Me, neither,” Jimmy announced loyally.

    “In that case, we’ll forego the kind offer and go along to Cass’s Mercantile,” Ben decided.  “Meet me at Winn’s Restaurant—on B St., between Union and Sutton—when you’re done here, Adam, and we’ll have dinner before heading back to the Ponderosa.  You’re welcome to join us, Herr Deidesheimer.”

    “Thank you, Mr. Cartwright, but I have another appointment,” the engineer replied.

    Ben, with the two youngsters seated beside him, drove up the steep hillside from F Street to C, turned right and moved down the main business street of Virginia City.  Pulling up in front of Cass’s Mercantile, Ben shook his head in wonder.  No matter how often he came to Virginia City, he felt as if he were visiting a new town almost every trip, although he had to admit, laughing to himself, that the town hadn’t changed much since Saturday.  Put a full week between trips, though, he thought, and I’ll spot something new every time, I’ll bet!  Virginia City, at two years of age, boasted a hundred solid homes, eight hotels, nine restaurants, ten livery stables and twenty-five saloons.  Twenty-five saloons, but no bank, Ben noted with irony.  Just about what you’d expect in a mining community!  Wells, Fargo and Company was filling that economic vacancy, though, and Ben had no complaint with their service.

    Shaking loose from his reverie and walking inside, Ben handed his list of supplies to Will Cass and with some temerity drew the scrap of yellow calico from his pocket to show the merchant’s wife.  Viola Cass laughed lightly and assured Ben that she knew exactly what Marie wanted and that they had it in stock.

    “The wagon’s outside, but we’ll be in town another hour or so,” Ben told Will.  “I came by here first to give you a chance to get things together, in case you were busy.”

    “Appreciate it,” Will said, “but as you can see I’m not swamped with customers at the moment.  Tends to get this way close to noon every day.  Can’t imagine why!”  He winked at Ben.

    “I can!” Jimmy Ellis volunteered.  “Folks is hungry!”

    Ben laughed.  “I think I know a couple of other folks who are hungry, too, right, Hoss?”  Turning, he saw that his middle son had his nose pressed to a glass case, behind which stood jars of rainbow-colored confections.  “Hoss,” he chided.  “You are not having any of that truck ‘til you’ve eaten a proper dinner.  Your mother would skewer me with her epee.”

    “Can we have some after?” Hoss begged.  “Jimmy’d like some, I bet.”

    “Yeah!” Jimmy agreed exuberantly.

    Ben grabbed each boy by the nape of the neck and gave them both a light shake.  “All right, you beggars, tell Mrs. Cass what you’d like.”  He glanced up at the proprietress behind the counter.  “A nickel’s worth each and the same each of peppermints and lemon sours for the sweet teeth at home.”

    “Haven’t seen much of your missus lately,” Will Cass observed, looking up from reading Ben’s list.  “Not scared to come to town, is she?”  He flushed under the hard look Ben gave him.  “I mean her bein’ secesh and all,” he stammered.  “Could be a mite dangerous.”

    “She isn’t secesh,” Ben grunted.  “She’s from the South, yes, but as grieved about what’s happening there as any of us.”

    “Glad to hear it,” Cass hastened to say.  “Didn’t mean no offense.  Folks talk, is all, and I’d heard—well—”

    “Folks have no business gossiping about what goes on in my family,” Ben countered gruffly.

    “Sorry, Ben.  Like I said, no offense.”  Cass wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his white apron.  “Your order will be ready by the time you finish dinner.”

    Wanting to show that he harbored no ill will, Ben thrust his hand forward.  “Appreciate it, Will.  It’s a long drive back to the Ponderosa.”

    Leaving the mercantile, Ben and the boys climbed up nearby Sutton Avenue.  As they reached the intersection with B Street, however, the sound of loud voices rolled down the hill from the street above them.  “What’s going on?” Hoss asked.

    “Not sure,” Ben muttered, instinctively starting toward the uproar.  Hearing footsteps behind him, however, he turned and remembered that he had two young boys with him and should be careful about leading them into unknown situations.  “Hoss, you take Jimmy on down to Winn’s and have a look at the menu.  It’s just half a block that way,” he said, pointing to the left.

    “Aw, Pa,” Hoss whined.  “I wanna see what the commotion’s about, too.”

    Ben snapped his fingers and again pointed in the direction of the restaurant.  “Git!”

    Knowing better than to argue when his father sounded that adamant, Hoss took off at a trot, with Jimmy at his heels.  Ben felt a chuckle tickling his throat, but another loud shout from A Street killed any hint of humor the boys’ hasty retreat had inspired.  Determined to learn the cause for the angry yelling, he began to climb.

    By the time Ben reached the next level, he was breathing hard, for the hill was steep.  Pausing to catch his breath, he took in the situation: hundreds of men milling around the old stone saloon owned by John Newman, shouting and pointing toward the roof.  As Ben’s gaze followed the pointing fingers, he gasped in shock, for waving in flagrant defiance atop the building was a Confederate flag.  Perhaps shock was what made him move forward through the shouting throng, although common sense dictated staying out of politically divided crowds.  “What’s going on here?” he demanded, but his voice went unheard among the dozens of others roaring out similar questions and angry answers.

    Men were surging forward, intent on tearing the rebel flag down, while others thrust them back forcefully.  Ben, deliberately refusing to take either side, found himself elbowed this way and that, until he was next to the boardwalk, where the saloon’s owner strutted back and forth, rifle in hand, daring anyone to take down that flag.  “Over my dead body—or yours!” he bellowed.

    Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out above the boisterous horde.  “Look!  Up on the roof!”  Since the crier was pointing at the opposite end of the building from where the Confederate flag flew, the crowd backed up to see what had drawn such excited notice.  As interested as the rest, Ben moved into the street, looked up and saw a Union flag unfurling in the blustery wind.  Beside it perched a man waving a pistol, defying anyone to take it down.  “Hey, Newman, it’s your partner!” a southern sympathizer called.

    John Newman stormed into the street.  “Tear it down, Waterhouse!” he demanded.

    “Never!” R. M. Waterhouse screamed down to his business associate.

    Newman lifted his rifle, but it was wrenched from his hands by a northern supporter, and suddenly what had been basically a shoving match became an all-out brawl.  Trying to separate belligerent opponents, Ben ducked fists right and left, but a few found his face.

    “Pa!”

    Ben turned toward the sound, although how he had known that he was the pa the speaker intended he could not have explained, for he hadn’t actually recognized his son’s voice.  A father’s instinct, he told himself later.  As he turned, he saw Adam on the outskirts of the melee, trying to push toward him.  “Stay there, boy!” he cried, urgently thrusting aside the men in his way as he moved toward his son.  “Stay out of this!”

    He had almost escaped when he felt his arm roughly grabbed.  “Be you secesh or Union?” the bearded man demanded, fist ready to inflict punishment for the wrong answer.

    “Nevadan!” Ben roared, shaking the hand off as he might a pesky fly.

    “Nevadan!” cried a man nearby.  “That’s it; we’re Nevadans!”  But few others joined that cry, most yelling out affiliations with either north or south.

    Ben got to Adam and dragged him to the opposite side of the street.  “What are you doing here?” he shouted.

    Fire flamed in Adam’s cheeks and in his eyes.  “What am I doing here?  What are you doing here?” he demanded.  “I show up at the restaurant and Hoss tells me you’re headed for trouble.  What did you expect me to do, sit down and order pork chops?”

    For the second time within half an hour, Ben was speechless with shock.  Then he said, “That is no way for a young man to talk to his father.”

    “And this is no place for a young man’s father to be,” Adam countered, chin jutted stubbornly forward.

    Ben stared, wordless, at his oldest son, and then a rueful smile brushed his lips.  “No, I suppose it’s not.  And, frankly, I don’t think Virginia City is any place for this family to be this afternoon.  Let’s collect the little boys and head for home.  We can get some cheese and crackers at Cass’s and eat on the way.”

    “Sounds fine to me,” Adam said as his father wrapped an arm around his shoulder, “but Hoss won’t be happy, not with cheese.”

    “Oh, we can find plenty at Cass’s to pad it out—as if that boy needed any extra padding,” Ben chuckled as he and Adam reached B Street and turned toward Winn’s Restaurant to collect the younger boys.

    Hoss was disappointed when his father told him that they wouldn’t be eating in town after all, but he was easily appeased with the promise that he could eat anything he could find in the store.  He and Jimmy treated it like a treasure hunt, and while they browsed the store, trying to decide what to have for lunch, Ben and Adam helped Will Cass load the rest of the supplies.  Then Ben paid the bill while Adam picked something for both of them to eat, as well as a miniature wooden pony for Little Joe.

    Another customer came in, just as the Cartwrights were leaving.  “Heard what’s going on up to Newman’s Saloon?” the man asked the proprietor.

    “Ben here was just telling me,” Cass said.  “Union flag still waving?”

    “Both of ‘em, fur as I know,” the man said, “and there’s help comin’.  Old John Collins is ridin’ for Fort Churchill.  We’ll see what the boys in blue have to say about that secesh flag!”

    Ben herded his covey of boys outside and onto the wagon.  Personally, he felt an urge to stay in town and find out what the soldiers did about this minor uprising, but he didn’t feel he had that luxury with three young boys in his charge.  Seeing Adam mount his black horse to ride beside them, he smiled as he recalled how his son had rushed up the hill to his rescue and stood up to him and made him realize that he wasn’t exhibiting the sense God gave a goose. Make that two young boys, he corrected himself mentally,  two boys and one brave and sensible young man.  His heart brim full with pride, just as it had been on the way into town, Ben droved down C Street and left Virginia City.

    Not until Sunday, when the Thomases came to dinner, did Ben learn the aftermath of the fracas outside Newman’s Saloon.  Billy, who had made a special point of arranging his schedule so that he could see Adam, brought the latest news from Fort Churchill.  “Seems like some folks figured what happened was a feeler, to test how much secesh sympathy there is ‘round these parts,” Billy reported as the men sat on the porch, awaiting the call to dinner.  “Newman claimed it was just a joke.”

    “Joke,” Ben snorted.  “No one but an addle-pated fool aims a rifle as a joke.”

    “Army didn’t take it for one, for sure,” Billy continued, long legs sprawled out before him as he leaned against a porch post.  “I talked to Mark about it, and he said that more than a third of the arms issued in that Paiute War ain’t been accounted for, and the army was fearful they might fall into secesh hands.”

    “That’s why they been searchin’ house to house, in Virginia City and Carson both,” Clyde Thomas added.  “Got eighty muskets from Sheriff Blackburn in Carson—the ones Judge Terry had when he was hopin’ to make hisself governor of Washoe, I reckon—and twenty-one more from Silver City before they went on to tear that confounded flag down.”

    Adam stood leaning against the other rough pillar supporting the roof of the porch.  “There’s a rumor that those muskets will be issued to a volunteer unit being recruited soon.”

    Ben looked up, surprised.  “Where did you hear that?”

    “Lumber camp,” Adam said.  “A couple of men brought the rumor back from town and told me they were thinking about quitting so they could join up—to protect the country, they said.”

    “It’s not just rumor,” Billy affirmed.  “Mark told me the recruiting is set to start today in Virginia City.”

    “Just see to it you don’t get any such foolish notions, boy,” Ben grunted.  He turned an iron gaze on Adam, as well.  “Or you, either, young man.”

    “As if I would!” Billy snorted.  “Got my fill of the army last summer.”

    Irritated that he was once more being cautioned about involvement in the sectional conflict, Adam bolted upright at his father’s admonition.  Reminding himself, however, that he needed to keep confrontations with Pa to a minimum in preparation for the major one to come a month from now, he swallowed his offense and said quietly, “I have no intention of joining the army—now or ever, Pa.  You really don’t need to keep saying it.”

    Ben had noticed both Adam’s first reaction and his curbing of his temper.  “Guess I don’t, at that.  Just need to remember that my son has a good head on his shoulders.”

    Adam smiled and nodded.

    Clyde stood up to rumple Billy’s shaggy red locks.  “This one ain’t, though, so keep it up where he’s concerned, Ben.”

    “Aw, Pa.”  Billy gave an exaggerated groan and looked to his friend for sympathy.  “They don’t never change, do they?  Still gonna see us as kids when we’re old and gray.”

    “If you live that long, boys,” Ben chuckled.  “If you live that long.”

    The call to dinner superseded any response the boys might have made.

    The incident at Newman’s Saloon occurred on June 4th or 5th, 1861.  Though considered a joke by the owner of the building, the flying of the Confederate flag was viewed by others as a feeler to test Southern sympathies in Virginia City.  Subsequently, two companies of militia, comprising four hundred men, were organized to protect the Union and suppress any rebellion.
 
 

    As summer drew on, the new territory of Nevada entered a season of celebration, although the event that ushered it in was one less joyous than those scheduled to come soon after.  Yet in a sense it seemed appropriate to bid farewell to an icon of the early days before welcoming the era of new beginnings.  The latter part of June found the Cartwrights and many of the other first settlers of Nevada gathered in a cemetery in Dayton to mark the passing of one who had, for better or worse, been a founding father of the territory.

    James Fennimore, otherwise known as Old Virginny, died as he had frequently lived, lost in an alcoholic daze.  At least, that was the report that had come to Ben.  Old Virginny, he’d heard, had tried to mount a horse while intoxicated, caught his foot in the stirrup and been dragged to death.  Fennimore was not a man Ben had ever held in high regard, but he had felt drawn to Dayton to pay his last respects nonetheless.  He wasn’t too surprised when Marie decided to accompany him; after all, it gave her an excuse to pay a visit to Laura Dettenrieder’s new home.  Presumably, that was part of the attraction for Nelly Thomas, too, or so Clyde claimed with a mischievous grin.  Mary Wentworth had volunteered to watch Little Joe while they were away, and Adam, who felt too busy to attend, had taken Hoss on as the youngest member of his timber crew.

    While the ladies visited with Laura after the funeral, sharing the news about the Bowers’ new baby girl, Ben and Clyde passed the time in the saloon run by George Dettenrieder in Gold Canyon.  “Seems like the right way to see Old Virginny off,” Clyde commented, raising his drink.  “He sure could down more tarantula juice than any man I knew!”

    “Not much of a legacy to leave behind,” Ben observed, although he dutifully clinked his mug of beer against Clyde’s shot glass of whiskey.

    “True,” Clyde admitted, “but he does have another one—and it’s growin’ into a right good-sized legacy, Ben.”

    Ben laughed.  “Virginia City.  Yeah, you’re right; his name will live on—long past yours and mine, most likely.”

    “I figure my name’ll live on in my younguns—and their younguns,” Clyde said, motioning toward George for a refill.  “It’ll be the same with you, Ben, and I reckon that’s legacy enough.”

    “More than enough,” Ben agreed, lifting his glass for a more heartfelt toast this time.

    “Adam, get some blankets to pile in the back,” Ben suggested.

    Distributing hay evenly in the back of the freight wagon normally used to haul timber to the mines, Adam laughed aloud.  “Blankets!  Pa, it’s the Fourth of July, not the fourth of January!”

    Ben arched a far-from-ferocious eyebrow.  “Don’t get smart with me, boy.  It’ll be after dark by the time we get home.  July or not, the nights still get cool.  The ladies and little ones will appreciate the cover, coming back.”

    “You’re right,” Adam agreed, jumping down from the wagon.  As he headed toward the house, he passed Hop Sing, who was loading the buckboard with baskets and crates, from which wafted tempting aromas.  “You need some help, Hop Sing?” he asked.  “I can send Hoss out.”

    The Cantonese cook snorted in disdain.  “Hop Sing not need that kind help—not if you want food get to Vi’ginia City.”

    “Point taken,” Adam chuckled.  Putting Hoss in charge of packing the food wagon was definitely akin to setting a fox to watch over the henhouse.

    Nevada’s first Fourth of July as a new territory was a time of rejoicing for all but the most die-hard supporters of southern secession.  Carson City, of course, was staging its own festivities, as were several of the smaller communities, but by far the grandest celebration was being planned in Virginia City.  Posters had been tacked up all over town for the last couple of weeks, listing activities and contests, and both Hoss and Adam had fallen victim to their lure.  Then an invitation from James Maynard settled the question, and when Ben let his friends know that the Cartwrights would be celebrating in Virginia City, three other families—the Thomases, Montgomerys and the newly married Dettenrieders—all decided that they, too, would hail the Glorious Fourth in the larger town.

    Because so many were being transported from the Ponderosa, Adam had suggested a hay ride, and Ben agreed that his son had come up with a most practical idea.  Since they’d soon have a new crop of hay to harvest, he and Adam piled the old hay deep in both freight wagons, to soften the ride of family, friends, ranch hands and timber crew.  Ben and Marie sat on the high seat at the front, while Adam, Mary, Hoss and Little Joe climbed in the back of one wagon and settled on the soft hay.  At least, the older three settled; Little Joe immediately burrowed head first into the hay, determined to discover if there was anything interesting underneath.

    Adam pulled him out and held him upside down as he brushed hay off the squealing youngster, giving special attention to the seat of Joe’s pants.

    “Oh, Adam, don’t,” Mary pleaded.

    “All right, angel heart, for you I’ll resist,” Adam said amiably, turning Joe right side up and setting the child between his legs with an admonishment to stay there.

    “Leaving now, Mr. Cartwright,” called the driver of the second freight wagon.  A number of the ranch hands were sitting on hay in the back, and more workers would be picked up at the lumber camp, for everyone had the day off and most wanted to spend the day in Virginia City.  In fact, the employees’ wagon was likely to be crowded.

    “All right, Carlton,” Ben acknowledged with a raised hand.  “You know where to meet us.”

    “Corner of D and Taylor,” Carlton called back as he lifted the reins.  “No fear of me forgetting that once I got a whiff of the vittles in that buckboard!”

    Ben laughed.  “You lead off, then.  We’ll follow and, Hop Sing, you bring up the rear.”

    The wagons set off in the order prescribed, but soon separated, one headed to the lumber camp, one making a swing to the northeast to pick up another passenger and the buckboard continuing down the road to Virginia City.  The passenger was waiting at the end of the road that led to a neighboring ranch, a wicker basket hanging from one rail-thin arm.  “I told you there’d be plenty to eat,” Adam chided as he took the basket and stretched a hand to help Ross Marquette into the wagon.

    “You know how Pa is about a man carrying his own weight,” Ross said with a shrug.  “Even goes for picnic food, I reckon.  Ma’s a good cook, too, so it’ll get eaten, I reckon, even if there is plenty besides.”

    “You’re doing a lot of reckoning today,” Adam teased.

    Seeing Ross flush a deep crimson, Marie gave him an encouraging smile.  “I am sure we will all enjoy your mother’s cooking, Ross, and I am pleased to meet you at last.”  She cocked her head, casting a mildly reproachful glance at Adam.

    Adam got the message.  “Sorry.  I should’ve made introductions straight off.  You know Pa and Hoss, of course.  The lovely lady reminding me of my manners is my stepmother Marie, and you’ve probably guessed that this scamp between my legs is my youngest brother, Little Joe.  That leaves only the sweetest little lady ever to grace the territory of Nevada, our houseguest for the summer, Miss Mary Wentworth.”

    Ross gazed awestruck and open-mouthed at Mary’s fair beauty.

    “Pleased to meet you is the appropriate response,” Adam suggested with a wry smile.

    “Oh, oh, yeah,” Ross stammered.  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Wentworth—and, uh, you, too, Mrs. Cartwright—and Mr. Cartwright—well, I already met you, uh, so—”

    Adam grinned naughtily.  “Best quit while you’re behind, Skinny.”

    “As should you,” Marie scolded.

    At the same time Mary touched a light, restraining hand to Adam’s arm.  “He’s teasing everyone today, Mr.”—she frowned, for Adam had failed to mention the name of his friend.

    “Marquette, Ross Marquette,” Adam supplied.

    “Mr. Marquette,” the girl continued.  “May I call you Ross?  You mustn’t be embarrassed by Adam’s teasing.  I’m pleased to meet you, too, and you must call me Mary, for we are all like family here.”

    “What’s in the basket?” Hoss asked before Ross could mumble out a response.

    “Don’t be so nosy, greedy belly,” Adam said.

    “I’m curious, too,” Mary said with a smile at Ross.  “May we peek?”

    Ross had to swallow, but finally found his tongue.  “Sure, Miss Mary; you—you look all you want.”

    Hoss quickly scooted over, so he could see inside the basket as soon as Mary lifted the lid.  “Ooh, fried chicken—my favorite,” he announced.

    “What isn’t?” Adam snorted.

    Mary gave his hand a playful swat.  “None for you ‘til you learn to curb your tongue.”  When Adam puckered up into a petulant pout worthy of his baby brother, Mary laughed, and as he joined in, Ross began to relax and feel, as Mary had described it, like family.

    Adam had brought his guitar, and soon everyone was singing.  The music made the miles seem shorter than they were, and soon Ben was parking the wagon next to the vacant lot at the corner of D and Taylor.  “This is where they’re planning to build the new Methodist-Episcopal church, Reverend Bennett said,” Ben informed everyone.

    “We gonna start comin’ here?” Hoss asked, standing up and leaning on the back of his parents’ seat.  “I like goin’ to Washoe City.”

    “And we still will, every other week,” Ben assured him.  “The weeks we drive your mother in to chapel, you and I will probably come here, though.  Well, just one of those weeks for you, that is.”  He gave his wife an apologetic smile, which she acknowledged with a gentle nod.  Jumping off the wagon, he moved swiftly to the other side to help her down.

    Marie shook her head as she surveyed the barren plot, with little more than odd patches of grass scattered across bare dirt.  “I have seen better picnic spots,” she observed with a slight crinkle of her nose.

    “Nothing to compare with the Ponderosa,” Ben admitted, drawing her close to his side, “but it’s the best I could come up with here in town, and we did agree to attend that dinner at the Ophir.”

    Marie patted his arm.  “It will be fine, Ben.  It is our friends we came to see, and as you say, we never lack for scenery in our own backyard.”

    “And speaking of those friends, I think most of them are here already.”  Ben took her arm.  “Shall we join them, my lady?”

    “Oui, ” she laughed.

    Arm in arm, they walked over to the shady spot selected by whoever had arrived first, probably Laura Dettenrieder, for she seemed to be directing the placement of the food her husband George, Clyde Thomas and Enos Montgomery were unloading from the Cartwrights’ buckboard.  “Where’s Hop Sing?” Ben called as they drew closer.  “I figured he’d be here, making sure  you gave his contributions center stage.”

    “Promised we would and run him off,” Nelly tossed back with a grin.

    “Oh, it wasn’t like that,” Laura chuckled, coming forward to kiss Marie on both cheeks.  “He was eager to get to Chinatown—to be with his own folks, I guess—so when we told him we could manage, he took off.”  Right behind her Katerina Montgomery gave Marie the same greeting.

    “Well, that’s one less to feed,” Ben said, laying his hand on Hoss’s hefty shoulder.  “More for you and me, right, boy?”

    “Right,” Hoss declared, “and everything looks great!”

    “Wait’ll you see the cake my ma baked!” Jimmy Ellis announced.  Showing no disposition to wait ‘til later for that enticing sight, Hoss grabbed Little Joe’s hand and took off after Jimmy.

    Not many of those gathered in the vacant lot had met Ross, so Adam introduced him.  Ross found himself feeling awkward and shy again, especially when yet another pretty girl was presented to him.

    “Get your eyes back in your head,” Adam teased as red-eared Ross shook hands with Sally Martin.  “She’s taken.”

    Ross dropped Sally’s hand as if he’d touched fire.  “By you?” he gulped.  “You never said.”

    Adam laughed.  “No such luck!  She lost her heart to a boy in blue.”  He laid his hand on his chest and sighed melodramatically.

    Sally gave the hand a sharp slap.  “He wasn’t wearing blue when I lost my heart,” she scolded.  “He did that for me, like a true Sir Galahad.”

    Adam gave her a peck on the cheek.  “Yeah, I know.  Mark’s on duty today, I suppose?”  When Sally, looking wistful, nodded, he scanned the group and asked, “Hey, where’s Billy?  I thought he was scheduled to be off today.”

    Nelly sighed.  “He was, but he had to ride for another boy that took sick real sudden.”

    “That where your father is?” Adam asked Sally.

    She shook her head.  “With patients, yes, but not that one.  Some boys in Carson City were careless with firecrackers and burned themselves.  He might be here later; at least, I hope so.  It’s sad, having to come without either of my men today.”

    Adam hooked his arm through hers.  “We’ll just have to stand in for them, then, won’t we, Ross?”

    Ross doffed his tan felt hat.  “Yes, ma’am, if—if you’ll have us,” he stammered.

    “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Sally laughed; then, seeing that Ross had taken her teasing seriously, she quickly slipped her other arm through his.  “That was meant for Adam, not you, of course.  I’m sure I’ll enjoy your company completely, Mr. Marquette.”

    “Ross,” he said, taking courage from the wink Adam sent toward him.

    “Now, don’t you be rushin’ off ‘til I’ve delivered your mail,” Clyde declared, planting a restraining palm on Adam’s shoulder.  “Billy sent orders to tell you that he was sorry he couldn’t make it today, but he should be off Saturday, instead, and he wants you to meet him at our place about five in the afternoon.  Won’t say what he has planned, just to spruce up and be there.”

    Adam saluted snappily.  “Yes, sir!  Orders received.  We’ll be there.”  He looked pointedly at Ross.  “We, as in you and me.”

    Ross gave an awkward shrug of one shoulder.  “I don’t want to horn in on you and your friend.”

    “Don’t be insubordinate, trooper,” Adam said, feigning the ferocity of a general commanding a buck private.  “I’ve got my orders, and I’m giving you yours.  High time my two best friends got acquainted.”

    Sally gave Ross’s arm a comforting pat.  “Billy won’t mind.  I’ve known him for years, and I can assure you, ‘the more, the merrier’ is his motto.”

    As the three young people started to move away from the adults, Laura asked, “Now, where are you children taking off to so soon?”

    “Children!” Adam and Sally both protested at once, Sally adding, “I’m practically married!”

    “Adam, we do need to know where you’ll be,” Marie admonished.

    “Oh, I think I can guess,” Ben said.  “Up the hill for the flag raising?”

    Adam nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

    “Headin’ there myself,” Clyde put in.  “You, Ben?”

    “Me, too,” Ben admitted, and all of the other men chimed in their intention to be part of the ceremony, as well.  “Sure you don’t want to watch this spectacle?” he asked Marie after kissing her forehead.  “Supposed to be quite a do.”

    “Oui , quite certain,” Marie said with a smile.  “A climb to the top of Mt. Davidson does not seem pleasurable to me.”

    “Nor to any of us,” Laura added, speaking for herself and the other ladies, who nodded their complete agreement.

    “Head up to C Street when you hear the music, then,” Ben advised.  “We’ll meet you there for the parade.  Surely, you ladies want to see that.”

    “Don’t know as I do,” Nelly laughed.  “Bunch of miners cavortin’ down the street ain’t that rare a sight, and someone needs to stay by the food, else them thievin’ Paiutes is likely to help themselves.”

    Remembering what Frederick Dodge had shared with him about the Indians’ scavenging for food here in town, Ben’s visage grew sober.  “Let them, then.  We have more than enough.”

    “I wanna go, Ma,” Nelly’s daughter Inger whined.

    “Me, too,” Little Joe declared, his face set with determination.

    When he saw his mother cock her head inquiringly, Hoss sighed.  “Yes, ma’am.  I’ll look after ‘em both.”

    “And I’ll help,” Jimmy added.

    “I don’t need lookin’ after,” Inger announced huffily.  “It’s boys who need watchin’.  I know how to behave.”  A swift swat on the plumpest part of her petticoat, though probably unfelt, produced a remarkably rapid change of attitude.

    With waves and kisses, those braving the steep climb departed.  Adam and Ross, with Sally between them, led the way and soon left the others behind.  Ben, Clyde, George and Enos followed, and a quartet made up of Inger, Jimmy, Hoss and Little Joe brought up the far rear.

    “Why we goin’ up there, Ingy?” Little Joe asked as he trotted to keep up with the others.

    “Oh, poor baby, it’s hard on your little legs, isn’t it?” Inger asked, stopping.  “Hoss, you’d better carry him,” she ordered.

    Hoss tromped back down from the head of the line and scooped Little Joe up under one arm.  “Doggone you, I knew you’d be nothin’ but trouble.”

    “Why we goin’ up there, Hoss?” Little Joe demanded, clinging to his brother’s belt as he rode sideways up the hill.  “Ingy won’t tell me!”

    “Yes, I will,” the little girl said, coming up beside Hoss.  “We’re gonna watch ‘em raise the biggest flagpole ever,” she explained.

    “Oh!”  Little Joe looked suitably impressed.  “What’s a flagpole?”

    “How big is it?” Jimmy asked before anyone could answer the smaller boy’s question.

    “Twenty feet tall,” Hoss, who had seen the posters, told him.  “Gonna take a heap of men to plant a pole that big, and Pa’s gonna be one of ‘em.”

    “My pa, too,” Jimmy boasted.

    Hoss grinned, glad to see that his friend had decided to take his advice—and Adam’s, too—to lay claim to his mother’s new husband as his pa.

    As the children finally puffed up to the top of the hill, Jimmy spotted a man handing out barrel staves.  “What’s them for?” he asked.

    Hoss wanted to know, too, so he set Little Joe down and led his small flock over to the man.

    “Howdy, sonny,” said the scruffy-bearded man, looking pleased to see the four youngsters, for children were still a rare sight on the streets of Virginia City.  “Want to leave your mark on the mountain?”

    “How you mean?” Hoss asked, taking the barrel stave being held out to him.

    “If’n you got a pocketknife, you kin carve your name on this,” the miner explained.  “We’re gonna drop ‘em all down that old rock chimney there.”

    “I want to,” Inger insisted.

    The miner laughed.  “You got a knife, little gal?”

    Inger shook her head.  “Ma says it ain’t ladylike.”

    The man gave one of her strawberry blonde braids a gentle tug.  “Your ma’s right, little darlin’.  You let your friend do the carvin’.  I reckon that stave’s big enough for four names.”

    “Yeah, I want mine on the same board as Hoss,” Jimmy insisted.

    “I guess that’s what we should do, since we’re here together,” Inger admitted, “but you better spell my name right, Hoss Cartwright.”

    Hoss stuck his tongue in her face.  “I spell better’n you, Miss Smarty Britches.”

    Inger said no more, for fear the taunt might be true.  Hoss had been to real school, while she’d only had her mother for a teacher.

    After watching his brother carve letters for a few minutes, Little Joe reached for the knife.  “I do my own,” he demanded.

    Hoss held the knife out of Joe’s reach.  “No!  Don’t you touch this knife, you hear me?  You’ll cut yourself.”

    Joe’s lips puckered into a pout.  “Will not.”

    When he again reached for the knife, Inger grabbed his hand and pulled it back, giving it a smart slap.  “No, no, baby.”

    “Don’t be hittin’ him,” Hoss ordered.

    “Just to learn him,” Inger argued, tossing her braids over her shoulder.

    Hoss pulled his younger brother toward him.  “I’ll learn him all he needs.”  He set Joe down, facing him, and adopted a stern expression.  “You better be good, punkin, ‘cause there’s lots of fun happenin’ today.  You don’t wanna miss it, do you?”

    Little Joe threw his head from side to side.  “Wanna see it all.”

    “Then don’t grab at the knife again,” Hoss said.  “You was just bein’ silly, anyhow, ‘cause you don’t know how to write your name, much less carve it.  You want it to look good, don’t you?”

    “Uh-huh,” Little Joe said, “but do mine now, okay, Hoss?”

    “Okay,” Hoss agreed, tousling his brother’s curls.

    “Then me,” Jimmy dictated.

    Inger rolled her eyes.  “That makes me the cow’s tail, like always.”

    “Just where girls oughta be,” Hoss teased.

    Inger folded her arms across her chest, thrust out her lower lip and glared in indignation.  “Ooh!  Boys!”  As if to prove how maddening they could be, the boys all laughed.

    Hoss finished carving their four names and at Jimmy’s suggestion added the date.  Then he led the other children up to the old chimney protruding from the some miner’s abandoned coyote hole dug into the mountain; he handed the stave to Little Joe and, hefting him up, told him to toss it down.

    Little Joe seemed reluctant to let go of the board with his name until Hoss promised to carve him one all his own when they got home.  Then he grinned and turned loose, practically tumbling down the chimney after it in his attempt to watch the stave plummet downward into the darkness.

    “Hey, they’re gettin’ ready to raise the flag!” Jimmy cried.  “Let’s get over there and find our pas.”

    “Look at all the men!” Inger cried, trailing behind the longer-legged boys.  “They all gonna grab that pole?”

    “Don’t see how they could, but I sure hope our folks get a hand on it,” Hoss replied.  “There’s Pa and Uncle Clyde.”  Though it was difficult to spot anyone in particular in the crowd of five thousand surrounding the tall flagstaff, George and Enos had taken positions relatively close to the other men, so the children quickly found them, as well, but couldn’t spot Adam, Sally or Ross.  When the pole was raised and wedged into the peak of the mountain, a small howitzer recently discovered in the mountains, supposedly the one brought west by John Frémont, was fired.  Everyone clapped, waved their hats and shouted in exultation, and the band began to play.

    Each child ran to his or her father.  Ben lifted Little Joe and put an arm around Hoss, and together they watched Old Glory fly in the brisk breeze at the top of the mountain.  Even though he had publicly espoused that Nevada was neither North nor South, Ben felt a rush of pride and patriotism at the sight of that symbol of American unity.  A Union of sovereign states—that was what young men back east were fighting and dying to preserve, what others, just as valiantly, were fighting and dying to dissolve.  Ben didn’t really know who was right about the sovereignty of individual states, but as he gazed up at the flag, he knew what his heart told him.  The states were meant to be united under this one banner, not to stand separately under the two that had flown from the roof of Newman’s Saloon, and he hoped that, somehow, the opposing states would yet find a way back together with minimal bloodshed on either side.

    “Pa, ain’t it time to be goin’ down for the parade?” Hoss asked anxiously.

    Shaken from his reverie, Ben smiled down at the boy.  “Yeah, I guess it is,” he admitted, having caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye of the crowd of men making their way toward C Street.

    Little Joe tugged at his father’s sleeve.  “Pa, where’s Adam?  He lost?”

    Ben bounced the boy on his arm as he moved down the hill.  “No, son, your big brother isn’t lost.  He’s somewhere in this crowd, and the easiest way to find him is to head toward the parade.  Adam knows where we planned to watch it, and your mother should be there, too.”

    “And Mary,” Little Joe crowed happily.

    “Yes, your favorite girl, too,” Ben chuckled, “though, goodness knows, she’s much too good for a rascal like you.”  He tickled the child’s ribs ‘til the resulting squirming made him fear he might drop his son.

    Ben and his boys joined the other men in their party at the corner of C and Taylor.  Little Joe immediately stretched his arms toward Adam, and when Adam took him, grabbed tight hold of the older boy’s neck.  “He thought you was lost,” Hoss explained with a grin.

    Adam cocked his head at his youngest brother.  “Oh?  You weren’t worried were you, baby?”

    “I’m not a baby,” Little Joe insisted.  “You s’posed to be smart, Adam.  How come you can’t ‘member that?”

    Adam laughed.  “Haven’t studied the subject enough, I guess.”

    “The textbook hasn’t been written,” Ben grunted, and Clyde, by his side, slapped his knee and cackled.

    “What you makin’ like a rooster over?” his wife asked as she and the other ladies arrived, several of them panting from the steep, one-block climb.

    Clyde eyed her with narrowed gaze.  “Never mind that.  Thought you was gonna stay down and guard the food.  Ben may favor feedin’ every thievin’ injun in sight, but I ain’t so sociable.”

    “Maybe I am,” Nelly retorted.  “Don’t like to see no one go hungry.”

    “‘Ceptin’ your husband,” Clyde snorted.

    She laughed then.  “Quit your worryin’, Clyde.  Couple of Ben’s men showed up and said they’d keep watch over the vittles.”

    “From the timber camp?” Adam asked, adding with a whimsical arch of his eyebrow, “The food would probably be safer with the Paiutes.  I’ve never seen men pack it away like those lumberjacks!”

    “Not even your little brother?” Ben asked, his eyebrow a carbon copy of his eldest son’s.

    Adam patted Little Joe’s flat tummy.  “Oh, he’s not such a big eater.”

    “Aw, he meant me,” Hoss muttered with a self-conscious crinkle of his nose.

    “Couldn’t have,” Adam tossed back with a grin.  “He said my little brother; you’re not little, Hoss.”

    Hoss grinned back.  “No, I sure ain’t; he must’ve meant Joe, all right.”  A frown almost immediately replaced the merrier expression.  “Sure hope them lumberjacks don’t eat up all of Aunt Nelly’s blackberry pie, though.  I been cravin’ it.”

    “And I’ll see you get as much as you want, Sunshine,” Nelly assured him.

    “What with six families putting their efforts together, there’s so much food I don’t see how even lumberjacks could eat it all,” Laura contributed.

    “Six?” Katerina queried, momentarily puzzled.

    “Counting Ross and Sally, who each brought a basket,” Laura explained.

    “Oh, yes, of course,” Katerina said, smiling at the two young people.

    “Hey, here comes the band!” Jimmy yelled.

    Adam lifted Little Joe onto his shoulders, so the child would be able to see above the heads of the adults lining the street.  “Oh, Adam, be careful,” Marie urged, her hand instinctively fluttering toward her son.

    The smile on Adam’s face faded.  “I always am,” he said sharply.  Then, seeing her duck her head, he added softly, “I always will be.”

    Marie looked up apologetically.  “Oui, I know—and I do trust him with you always, Adam.”  The smile she exchanged with Adam was warm with love and mutual, though hard-earned, respect.

    The band passed by, followed by the benevolent societies of Virginia City and representatives of virtually every organization in town, including the First Virginia Engine Company, Number One, with its new fire engine, said to be one of the largest on the west coast.   Atop the fire engine, brass fire-trumpet in her hand, sat the newly elected mascot of the company.

    “Miss Julie!” Little Joe squealed, bouncing on his brother’s shoulders in excited recognition of the woman who had helped entertain him during the long, dreary days at Fort O’Riley during the Pyramid Lake Indian War.

    “Hey!  Watch the kicking, kid, or you’ll lose that nice lofty perch,” Adam advised.

    “Sorry, Adam,” Little Joe giggled and went right back to waving, kicking and shouting out the name of his friend.

    Julia Bulette heard the sweet tones of a child’s voice, looked in the direction of the sound and waved at the little charmer who had eased her interment in the old stone hotel as much as she had his.

    Marie lifted her hand and blew a kiss toward her friend.

    “Oh, Marie, you shouldn’t,” Laura chided.

    “Pourquoi ?”  Marie asked, and then realizing that she’d lapsed into her native French, translated, “Why?  She is my friend.”

    “Shouldn’t be,” Nelly scolded.  “You got to think about your family, girl, and their place in this new territory we’re buildin’ and leave ‘friends’ like that hussy behind.”

    “I will never leave a friend behind,” Marie spewed hotly.  “How can you even—”

    “Ladies, please,” Ben said.  “We’re here to celebrate the birth of our country.”

    “And a hen fight ain’t the way to do it,” Clyde snorted.  “Mind your tongue, Nelly.”

    “I was just thinkin’ of her—and Ben and the boys,” Nelly muttered, turning her gaze pointedly away from both the woman on the fire engine and the woman standing beside her.

    “Is she a bad woman?” Mary whispered to Katerina.

    The young German woman leaned close to the younger girl’s ear.  “She’s a harlot.”

    “Poor thing,” Mary murmured, following Julia with her eyes as the fire engine rolled past.  “There must be a great emptiness inside her.  I wish I could show her how to fill it with a purer love.”

    Katerina wrapped her arms around the slender girl.  “Oh, Mary, a love as pure as yours would be wasted on that—”

    “Will you stop?” Marie demanded sharply with a stamp of her foot.  “She is my friend.”  She stepped into the street and called loudly, “Il est bon de vous revoir, ma amie!”

    “Marie,” Ben hissed, pulling her back to his side.

    “What, you, too?” she snapped, emerald eyes flashing.

    “We’ll talk about it later,” Ben said tersely.  “Let’s enjoy the rest of the parade, if that’s possible, madame.”

    Marie nodded curtly.  There was not much parade left, however.  The Chinese, organized in groups distinguishable only to themselves, marched under banners no one else could read, and at the end of the column came a group of Indians, Paiutes first, with a few Washos bringing up the rear.

    “Well, I guess that’s it, folks,” Ben said.

    “Time to eat now, right, Pa?” Hoss asked, tongue sliding over his lower lip in expectation.

    “You bet, little brother,” Adam answered, in place of his father, “and if we don’t get down there soon, I may have to nibble on whatever’s close to hand.”  Little Joe squealed as Adam took a playful nibble at the calf of his leg, eliciting laughter from everyone.

    “I will thank you not to gobble up my baby boy,” Ben said with feigned glare.  Then he smiled.  “Why don’t you lead the way, son?”

    Adam lifted his right hand to his eyebrow in salute and then called to his troops, “All right, everyone line up behind me and let’s parade to the picnic!”  Girls giggling and little boys snickering, all the youngsters lined up behind Adam, with Little Joe still riding on his shoulders, and started down to D Street.

    “I feel badly not to be sharing the picnic with you,” Marie murmured to the other ladies as they prepared to follow Adam’s parade, “and, worse, to leave you to deal with my children.”

    “There’s enough of us to watch over those two little angels, I reckon,” Nelly laughed, “even the one with the lopsided halo.”

    “Don’t worry for a minute,” Laura urged.  “Just have yourself a fine time among all the fancy folk.”

    Marie touched a slender hand to her friend’s forearm.  “I would rather be among ‘folk’ I love, but Ben wishes it.”

    Ben frowned, but said nothing until they were alone.  “You should have told me,” he chided.  “We didn’t have to accept Mr. Maynard’s invitation.”

    “I know,” Marie said as she slipped her arm through his, “but it will be good for your business, oui?”

    Ben directed her down C Street toward the International, where the dinner sponsored by the Ophir Mining Company was being held.  “Probably, but I was coming out of a sense of appreciation for his past business, rather than buttering him up for more.  Even with Adam’s help, we’re stretched about as thin as we can manage.  Still”—he paused, for a moment debating the wisdom of what he wanted to say—”if you really want to help my business image . . .”

    “But, of course, I do, Ben,” Marie interrupted his trailing thought.

    Ben took a deep breath and plunged on.  “It really isn’t helpful to that—or to our acceptance among better society in this new territory we’re building—to flaunt your relationship with . . . that woman.”

    Marie stopped abruptly and Ben braced himself for her stinging retort.  The retort, if such it could be called, however, was spoken softly, in tones barely above a whisper.  “I am shocked, mon mari, that you would so harshly judge a woman for the circumstances in which she finds herself.”

    “A person should be judged for his—or her—choices in life, Marie,” he asserted.  “You see yourself in her, I know, but you made better choices, even when you were under your cousin Edward’s diabolical influence.”

    “Perhaps,” Marie conceded with a sigh.  “I agree that Julie has not made good choices, and I fear for what that may one day cost her, but I meant what I told the ladies, Ben.  I will not turn my back on a friend.  Would you?”

    Ben circled his arm around her waist.  “I suppose not, not so long as there was hope of influencing him—or her—toward a better choice.  There is, however, a difference between help discretely offered and a demonstration on a public street, my love.”

    “Oui, I lost my temper,” Marie admitted.  “I had no right to embarrass you before our friends or others whose influence is important to your future.”

    “And that of our sons,” Ben added, escorting her through the front door of the hotel.

    “And of our sons,” she agreed.  “It is for them we do all, non?”

    Ben nodded.  He saw James Maynard moving toward them as they entered the dining room and lifted a hand in greeting.

    Marie’s voice tinkled with laughter, too, as she saw several of her friends running after Little Joe, who squealed in protest when Laura caught him.  She hurried over and took the child into her arms.  “What mischief have you caused, mon petit, to make all these ladies look so exhausted?”

    “What mischief hasn’t he caused?” Adam observed coolly, coming up behind the ladies.  “Chasing the lighted firecrackers one of the men gave the boys was just his latest escapade.”

    “Oh, Joseph, how could you?” Marie chided.  “You know fire is not a toy.”

    “Hoss play with it,” a red-faced Little Joe insisted.

    “Then I shall have to speak to him, too,” Marie said.  “After what Sally told us about those boys in Carson City, I do not think any of my sons need to play with firecrackers.”

    “Hoss was careful,” Adam assured her.  “I was watching him and Jimmy.”  He gave her a rueful smile.  “Sorry, but I didn’t see what Little Joe was up to ‘til he was out of reach.”

    Ben clapped his eldest son on the shoulder.  “No one knows better than we how quickly that can happen!”  He glanced inquiringly toward the blanket where the picnic feast had been spread.  “Anything left?”

    Clyde, sprawled on the edge of that blanket, raised up on one elbow and grinned.  “Didn’t put on much of a feed at that fancy restaurant, huh?”

    “Oui, the food was excellent,” Marie assured everyone.  “I cannot believe Ben wants more!”

    Ben probed his stomach here and there with his fingertips.  “Ah, there it is,” he said, touching a spot on his lower left, “room enough for one piece of Nelly’s pie—or perhaps a slice of Laura’s cake.”

    “Pie’s gone,” Nelly called with a laugh.  “Hoss saw to that.”

    “I do have some cake, though,” Laura said, “and there are some cookies left, too.”

    Ben dropped onto the blanket next to Clyde.  “I’ll take a slice and then we’d best be heading for home.”

    “But, Pa, we can’t,” Hoss protested as he and Jimmy charged up to claim the last of the cookies.  “There’s gonna be fireworks tonight, Pa, and I wanna see ‘em.  Please, Pa.  I ain’t never seen fireworks.”

    Ben reached up and pulled Hoss down beside him.  “You’ll see them, boy,” he promised, letting his hand ruffle through the straight, sandy hair.  “They’ll light up the sky for miles.  We should still be in Washoe Valley when they’re fired off and able to see them quite well.”

    After Ben polished off his slice of cake, there were goodbyes, hugs and kisses all around, and then the Cartwright contingent piled into the freight wagon for the long ride home.  Since a very sleepy Little Joe was clinging to his mother, Marie decided to lie down beside him on the hay.  Adam offered to drive the team, so Ben climbed in the back and settled into the hay next to his wife, while Ross elected to sit beside Adam and Mary and Hoss found soft spots in the hay to cushion their ride.

    As Ben had predicted, darkness fell while the wagon was still crossing Washoe Valley.  When Hoss, who had kept his eyes peeled toward town, squealed at the sight of the first burst of colored fire over Virginia City, Adam pulled to a halt.  Everyone watched, oohing and aahing as the valley echoed with the distant boom of rockets and the sky erupted with colorful arcs that soared upward and sprayed down over Mt. Davidson.  While the boys and Mary were distracted by the sparkling display, Ben stole a kiss from his beautiful wife, and she took it back.  Life is so good, he thought as the fireworks ended and he lay down in the hay with his wife in his arms.

    Glancing over his shoulder, Adam saw Little Joe put his head in his mother’s lap and smiled as her tender hand came to rest on his tousled curls.  He turned the reins over to Ross and picked up his guitar, strumming and singing softly, and as the music drifted over the quiet valley, it lulled Little Joe and everyone else in the back of the wagon into peaceful sleep.
  

    Ross Marquette dragged his right leg over the saddle and set it on the ground with discernible deliberation.  “Still don’t feel right, hornin’ in on this—well, whatever it is,” he muttered.

    Adam Cartwright was already in front of his horse, tying the reins to the hitching rail outside the Thomas house in Carson City.  “You sure take some convincing, don’t you, Skinny?”

    The front door flew open, and a flaming head of hair, attached to a body perennially in motion, bounded down the porch steps.  “Hey, Adam.  Been keepin’ an eye out for you.”  He glanced at the man tying his horse beside Adam’s black and extended his hand.  “Marquette, ain’t it?”

    Ross gave his lips a nervous lick.  “Yeah.  Ross Marquette.”

    “It ain’t dirty,” Billy said dryly.

    “Huh?”  Ross caught sight of Billy’s empty hand, still stretched toward him, and made an awkward grab for it.  “Oh, sorry.  I wasn’t worried about that—just . . .”

    “Slow,” Adam supplied with a wry grin.

    Billy gave Ross’s hand a vigorous pumping.  “Hope you ain’t that slow on the draw—if’n you ever need to draw, that is.”

    “Your folks would have your hide for even suggesting it,” Adam advised loftily.

    “Don’t aim to, in front of them,” Billy observed with his characteristic carefree grin.

    “Ross here’s feeling a little awkward about coming with me, uninvited,” Adam explained.

    “Hey, no need,” Billy said at once, as Adam had known he would.  “There’s fun enough for three in what I got planned.”

    “And just what might that be?” Adam queried, his staccato delivery indicating a certain suspiciousness.  Billy had, after all, been known to come up with some near-lunatic stunts during their long relationship.

    Billy slapped best friend on the back.  “Just a little celebration.”

    Adam chuckled.  “And just what is it we’re celebrating, old buddy, the end of your career as a Pony rider?”

    “That ain’t funny,” Billy said with a rare display of ill temper.  Though telegraph service had existed to California for a long time, the Fourth of July had seen the planting of the first poles for a transcontinental telegraph at Ft. Churchill and Julesburg, Colorado.  The Pony Express would only run until the two lines, being built from opposite directions, met, and then Billy would be out of a job.

    “Sorry,” Adam said quickly.  “I know you’ll be sorry to see it end, Billy, even though a telegraph across the country does represent progress.  You gonna blacksmith with your pa afterwards?”

    Billy shuddered.  “Not if I can help it.”  His characteristic grin flashed back into place.  “Not sure what I’ll do when the time comes, but something’ll turn up—always does.  Anyway, I ain’t worryin’, so don’t you, neither.  Like I said, we’re havin’ us a celebration tonight.”

    Adam laughed.  “I’ll ask again then: just what is it we’re celebrating, or will any excuse work for you?”

    “The end of your schooldays, boy,” Billy cackled.   “Long-time-comin’.  Thought the day would never come, in fact, but you finally made it through, slow as you are.”

    Adam caught his friend by his freckled neck and shook him.  “In my opinion, learning never ends, you ignorant rube, and, anyway, celebrations should be for beginnings, not endings.”

    Ross held his breath, waiting for some sign that Billy had caught the hidden meaning behind those words.  When it didn’t come, he knew in a flash of insight that Adam hadn’t shared his college ambitions with Billy, despite their long-time friendship, and a sudden surge of pride dispelled the awkwardness that had been gnawing at Ross ever since Adam started pushing him to come today.  He sensed that, in Adam’s eyes, he was as good a friend as Billy, and maybe, in some ways, a closer one.

    Oblivious to subtle hints, Billy just laughed.  “You’ve had enough book-learning, schoolboy.  There’s fun to be had out here in the real world, and it’s high time you had yourself a fling at it.”

    Adam turned loose of Billy’s neck, laughed and said he agreed.  “You still haven’t told us what kind of celebration you have in mind.  Considering the uneducated and undisciplined—not to mention devious—mind it’s coming from, you can understand my concern.”

    Billy pressed his palm to his chest.  “I am crushed, old buddy.  How could you think I’d plan anything but a good time in your honor?”  He draped an arm around Adam’s broad shoulder.  “I thought we’d start with a beer or two at the Magnolia Saloon, best place in Carson, just to loosen you up.  How’s that sound?”

    “That sounds fine.  And after I’m ‘loosened up’?”

    Billy gave him a clap on the shoulder and released him.  “Then dinner at Van Sickle’s.”

    “Now, why would I want to ride all the way to Van Sickle’s when I could dine with one of the best cooks on the Washoe?”  Adam swept his hand toward the house.

    Billy waved the idea aside.  “Ma’s the best, I got to admit, but I eat her cooking all the time.”

    “I don’t!” Adam laughed.

    “And I never have,” Ross dared to insert, wanting to side with Adam if choices were to be made.  “A hot meal, I mean.  What she brung to the picnic the other day was prime, though, and I’d favor sampling some more.”

    “Aw, come on,” Billy wheedled.  “We got to go near that far, anyway—for the dance.”

    Both Adam’s and Ross’s faces perked up.  “Dance, what dance?” Adam demanded.

    “Tonight, in Genoa.”  Billy grinned broadly at the effect of his surprise on the other two boys.  “You didn’t think I’d tell you to spruce up just for dinner with Ma, now did you?”

    “I usually do,” Adam teased, referring to the fact that he generally ate Nelly’s cooking after going to church.

    “And since the dance don’t start ‘til eight, we got time to kill.  Food’s good at Van Sickle’s, so I favor goin’ there over hangin’ around dead-dull ole Carson.”

    “And Genoa’s an improvement?”  Adam hooted at the idea.

    Billy tugged the loops of his string tie tighter.  “They got some fair-lookin’ girls over to Genoa,” he drawled persuasively.

    “The dance sounds good,” Ross put in, making a quick change in allegiance, “and Van Sickle’s ain’t far past Genoa,  like Billy says. . .”

    Adam chuckled in easy acceptance.  “Well, if you’re both going to gang up on me, I guess I might as well give in.”  He draped an arm across the shoulders of each of his friends and began to steer them toward the plaza.

    Once they’d crossed the central square of Carson City, the three young men mounted the steps in front of the Magnolia Saloon.  Just before passing through the swinging doors, Adam turned to give Billy a light-hearted reminder that he was buying.  Walking backwards, he didn’t see the pair of men leaving the saloon at the same time and bumped into a man of burly build.  “Sorry, mister,” he said promptly as he spun around.

    The tawny-headed man with side whiskers tied under his chin grabbed Adam by the lapels of his black broadcloth vest.  “Who you shovin’, sonny?” he demanded, voice booming with belligerence.  Breathing heavily, he thrust his florid face close to Adam’s.

    Adam leaned back, trying to get away from the liquor-laced spray from the man’s mouth.  “I’m sorry,” he said again, eyes fixed on the large revolver holstered on the man’s leg and the huge Bowie knife slung to his belt.  “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

    The man cast a glance at Adam’s two friends and grinned at the slight build of all three young men.  “Maybe I just oughta teach you to watch where you go then, sonny boy.”  He turned back to Adam and bared yellowed teeth in a sinister leer.

    The man’s companion caught his arm, just as he drew it back, fist doubled.  “He’s too small a fish, Sam,” the second man urged.  “Throw him back.”

    “But it’s my birthday,” the red-haired man slurred in reply.  “Got to have me a man for supper on my birthday, Al.”

    Al slowly pulled Sam’s arm down.  “Yeah, but you want a man, not a boy, don’t you, Sam?  Put these three together and you still wouldn’t have a good-sized meal.”

    Sam threw his head back and roared raucously, side whiskers bouncing on his Adam’s apple as he laughed.  “Yeah, need me a man-sized meal for my birthday, I sure ‘nough do.”

    “Come on, then,” Al urged as he herded his friend down to the street, Sam’s long, Spanish spurs clanking on each step.

    “Whew!  That was close.”  Billy wiped his forehead and leaned against the front wall of the saloon.  “You know who that is?”

    Adam tried to shrug nonchalantly, not quite bringing it off.  “Just some drunk,” he said.

    “Some drunk,” Billy scoffed.  “That’s when he’s dangerous, all right.  Boy, you been out of the territory too long if you don’t know who that was.”

    Looking sick to his stomach, Ross nodded.  “Sam Brown, wasn’t it?  Pa pointed him out to me once.  Told me to steer clear of him.”

    “Good advice,” Billy said as they moved through the swinging doors into the saloon.  He stepped to the bar and ordered three beers while Adam and Ross found a table and collapsed in chairs beside it.

    “Sam Brown,” Adam muttered.  “I’ve heard of him, all right.  Bad reputation.”

    “The worst,” Ross agreed solemnly, bony elbows propped on the table.  “Pa said he had fifteen notches on his gun before he got to the Comstock, and there’s more now.”

    Billy thumped a mug of beer in front of each of the others.  “Looked like he was aimin’ to add an extra notch for the schoolboy here.”

    “Who was that with him?” Adam asked, raising the beer to his mouth.

    “Alex Henderson,” Billy supplied.  “Kind of walks in old Sam’s shoes.  Wants to be a tough like him, but ain’t got the sand for it.”

    “I’ll take him over the sandy one any day,” Adam quipped, the left side of his mouth quirking up in a twisted grin.  His friends laughed, uneasily at first, and then more freely as they began to relax and relate how each had felt during the encounter.  After a couple of beers, the three young men left, watching carefully as they moved through the swinging doors.  They walked briskly back to Billy’s house, collected their horses and mounted for the ride to Van Sickle’s for dinner, Adam still protesting that it was a waste of money when Nelly’s cooking could be had for free.

    “What you bellyachin’ about?” Billy snorted.  “I’m payin’, ain’t I?”

    “Not for me,” Ross insisted.  “You wasn’t figurin’ on me.”

    “I don’t mind,” Billy said easily.  “Pony pays pretty good, and I ain’t got much to spend it on, anyhow.”

    “Well, thanks then,” Ross said, genuinely grateful, for his father paid him considerably less than the twenty-five dollars a week he’d heard that Pony Express riders made.

    They rode companionably for several miles until Ross reined up sharply.  “Oh, man, look who we’ve been trailin’!”

    Following his friend’s line of sight, Adam groaned as he recognized the two men arguing with the owner of Webster’s Hotel.

    “Wanna stop and see if Sam gets his birthday man?” Billy teased, pushing his hat back from his forehead.

    “No, I don’t,” Adam retorted with a scowl at the impish grin on Billy’s face.  “I don’t believe in tempting fate twice in one afternoon.”

    Adam’s characteristic soberness made Billy laugh out loud.  “What’s the matter, Adam?  You ain’t scared, are you?” he taunted.  “You got nothin’ to worry about.  You’re too small a fish, remember?”

    Adam blew out an exasperated gust of air.  “Yeah, but he might figure you’d make a good mouthful—before he bit into you and found out you were all air.”

    Billy just wrinkled his nose and said, “Very funny.”

    Adam lifted the reins and touched his heels to the black gelding’s sides.  “Come on, old buddy.  Supper’s waiting.”  Looking over his shoulder a few paces later, he noticed that Ross was still rooted in place, continuing to stare in fascination at the argument going on at Webster’s Hotel.  “You coming, Skinny?” Adam called.

    Ross jerked, gave a curt nod and followed the other two young men.  They arrived at the two-story stone hotel, set in a grove of locust, elm and cottonwood against the pine-crested Sierra foothills.  Dismounting, the three friends joined a collection of other would-be diners lounging around the yard as they waited for the dinner bell.

    Billy wrapped his long, thin arm around Adam’s shoulders.  “Guess I’d better fill you in on some of the pickin’s around here, schoolboy.”

    “Food’s good, I hear,” Ross offered.

    Billy chortled.  “Not that kind of pickin’s!  I meant girls.  Knowin’ what a slave driver Uncle Ben can be, I figured Adam here hadn’t had a chance to meet many since he’s been back, but now I’m beginning to worry about you, too, boy, if you can’t tell the difference between girls and food.”

    Ross laughed.  “I admit I ain’t had much chance to mix with girls, either, my pa bein’ a harder slave driver than Mr. Cartwright, but I do know one when I sight one.”

    “Well, that’s a relief,” Billy said, swiping his forehead as though pushing worries from his mind.  “Now, of course, I aim to claim the prettiest and spritliest for myself, but I’ll try to point some of the others your direction, boys.”

    A slightly superior smile played at Adam’s lips.  “I don’t need your help, boy.  I can charm the ladies three times quicker than you.”

    “Yeah?  We’ll see about that.”  Billy laughed his acceptance of the challenge.

    Ross kept his mouth shut.  Thanks to the tight rein his father kept him on, he had virtually no experience with girls and had a feeling he’d come in third in any contest with the suave Adam Cartwright and the supremely confident Billy Thomas.

    Just as the dinner bell rang, two more horses clattered into the yard.  “Look who’s here,” Ross whispered to Adam.

    Though his tone was soft, Billy was close enough to catch it.  He spun around and caught sight of Sam Brown and Alexander Henderson.  “Just can’t seem to get shed of them today, can we?”

    Adam’s brow wrinkled with concern.  “Come on.  Let’s get inside.  We’re not here for trouble, just a meal.”

    Billy slewed an impish smile in Adam’s direction.  “Why, Adam, that’s all old Sam’s here for—a man for supper, remember?”

    “Will you shut up?” Adam hissed.  “The way you run your mouth, he just might end up having you for his birthday supper.”  He spun on Ross when he heard the other boy laugh.  “I wasn’t joking!  Don’t you play the fool, too, Skinny.”

    “Aw, simmer down,” Billy drawled with a disdainful shrug.  “Like you said, let’s get inside and tie the feedbag on.”

    Having dawdled slightly, the young men were lucky to find a place at one of the long tables and, in fact, Billy had to elbow one man out of the way so that they could all sit together.  Just as the food was being served, however, Van Sickle himself came running through the dining room, yelling for everyone to get down.  Sam Brown burst in behind him, waving his pistol and firing random shots in no particular direction, one splintering the leg of a table, the next plowing through a bowl of mashed potatoes on another.  No one was sure where the following bullets struck, for everyone in the hotel’s dining room dived for cover under the nearest piece of furniture.  As Van Sickle hightailed it through an inner door, he bellowed back, “You wait ‘til I get my gun, Brown!”

    Wide-eyed, Ross Marquette crawled forward for a better view, oblivious to his friend’s yanking on his pants’ leg.  There was no action to see, however, for Brown, taking note of the packed dining room, simply turned on his heel and left.  Cautiously, men crawled out from their makeshift shelters and stood up all around the room.

    In a noisy gust Adam blew out the breath he hadn’t realized until then that he was holding.  “Another close call.”

    Billy slapped him on the back.  “Now, Adam, if you’re gonna live back in the Territory, you got to get used to sights like that.”

    Adam favored his friend with a smirk.  “Seems to me I had your company under that table, Billy.”

    Billy grinned.  “Best place to see that kind of sight, old buddy.  Nothing to worry about, though.  From what I hear, Brown’s pretty much a coward unless he catches a man alone and unarmed.”

    Ross started to say something, but just then Van Sickle came running back through the dining room, this time carrying a fowling gun.  “He’s going after him!” the Marquette boy cried, pushing past the table.

    “Ross!” Adam called.  “What do you think you’re doing, boy?”

    Ross stopped, momentarily called to his senses, but when Billy, too, made for the door, he fell in behind the redhead.

    “Ross!  Billy!” Adam yelled in protest, but neither of his friends responded.  Gritting his teeth, Adam gave chase.  Might’ve known Billy’d head toward trouble, first chance he got.  Been dragging me into messes ever since we met on that wagon train.  Thought Ross had more sense, though.  What’s got into him?

    He caught up with his friends outside, where both were tightening the cinches on their horses.  “You’re not serious,” he scolded.  “You not chasing after those maniacs, are you?”

    “I wanna see how it ends,” Billy said.

    “Me, too,” Ross insisted.

    Adam threw his hands toward the sky.  “It’s gonna end with one of them getting shot, you fools!  And the same thing could happen to anyone who gets between them.”

    “Aw, come on, Adam,” Ross wheedled.  “We’re just gonna watch.  We’ll be careful, won’t we, Billy?”

    “Sure,” Billy replied cheerily.  He threw his arm around Ross, as if the two were taking sides against their more sober friend.  “Come on.  Let’s show the squeamish schoolboy here how real Nevada men face down a bully.”

    Van Sickle, now mounted, blared out of his barn and charged down the road still covered with the dust of Sam Brown’s flight.  Ross and Billy split apart, each jumping into his saddle.  For a moment Adam refused to mount, shouting at them to use their heads, but when it became obvious that neither was listening, he quickly tightened his own cinch and galloped after them.  Just like the time Billy had wandered off from the trail when they were kids, Adam knew that tagging along was wrong, but he felt a responsibility toward his friends; he couldn’t leave them, no matter how much they deserved to be abandoned to their own foolishness.

    A mile down the road Van Sickle overtook Brown and his companion.  Billy and Ross were close enough to hear him shout at Henderson to get out of the way, but Adam only arrived in time to hear the blast as Van Sickle fired both barrels of his shotgun.  Henderson had dashed out of the line of fire, as ordered.  Deciding that friendship with Sam Brown was not good for his health, he kept going, back toward Genoa.

    The percussion knocked Brown from his horse, but he wasn’t hurt badly.  The notorious tough of Virginia City remounted and fired two shots, one of which whizzed past Adam’s ear, missing him by no more than an inch.

    Adam instinctively ducked, although the bullet had already passed him by the time he reacted.  “Have you had enough yet?” he demanded of his friends.

    Sam Brown kicked his horse and tore off down the road once more with Van Sickle still dogging his heels.

    “The fool, he’s used up all his ammunition,” Billy hollered as he galloped after the belligerents.

    “He’s a fool?” Adam shouted after him.  He turned sparking eyes on Ross.  “And you’re no better.  You want to see blood run!”

    Ross looked abashed at the rebuke, as if finally coming to his senses.  “We can’t leave him, can we?”

    Adam shook his head, knowing Ross was right.  Responsibility once again was calling his name, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like a fool as, with Ross at his side, he raised dust to catch up with Billy.  Riding south, they came to Mottsville, the next community south.  Van Sickle had evidently reloaded, for he again fired both barrels at Brown and must have missed, for the shots had no visible effect.  Brown fired back three times, missing Van Sickle, as well, and then rode directly to the Mott residence.

    For Adam the escapade took on intensified significance when Brown disappeared inside.  Eliza Mott had been his first teacher here in the West, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her being terrorized in her own home, though he saw or heard nothing to indicate that anyone other than Sam Brown was in the darkened house.  He dismounted and sidled over to Van Sickle, who was keeping watch from behind a water trough as the shadows of twilight deepened.

    A long time went by, with no one saying anything, and no sound coming from the house.  Van Sickle finally broke the deadly quiet that had descended over the homestead.  “You reckon he’s still in there?” he asked the Cartwright boy.

    “I don’t know,” Adam whispered.  “It’s so quiet, maybe no one’s inside.”

    “Or might be he’s still in there, and the Motts too scared to make a sound,” Billy suggested, crouched behind the other two.

    Ross leaned in close.  “Maybe they ain’t there,” he whispered.  “Maybe the Motts went to the dance.”

    “Hope so,” Van Sickle said.  “Don’t want any innocent folk gettin’ hurt.  Thought I saw some movement earlier, but might just have been Sam.”

    “Maybe if we all just went home,” Adam suggested, “Brown would leave, too.”

    “And have that killer come after me in my bed?”  Van Sickle snorted.  “You can take off any time you please, young fellow.  None of your business, anyway, but I’m ending this here and now.”

    Adam frowned, but was forced to concede that Van Sickle was probably right.  Sam Brown might be a coward in a fair fight, but judging by his reputation, he also was the kind to hold a grudge and seek a stealthy opportunity to take his vengeance.

    Van Sickle turned toward the more sympathetic-looking Billy Thomas.  “He’s got nothing against you, boy.  Why don’t you go in and see if he’s still there?”

    Billy blanched for a moment before his customary bravado took over.  “Yeah, okay, I’ll check it out.”

    “Are you crazy?” Adam hissed.

    Billy emitted a sick-sounding chuckle.  “Like as not, but somebody’s got to do it.”  He ducked low, in case anyone inside got trigger happy, and began inching stealthily toward the house.  Exhaling in exasperation, Adam fell in behind him, and after a moment’s hesitation Ross flanked Billy on the other side.

    As they neared the frame building, Adam, bent almost double, sprinted to the right side of the door, motioning to Ross to take the left.  He pulled his gun from his holster and when he saw that Ross had done the same, he nodded once and kicked the front door open, ducking inside.  A woman screamed as Billy dashed through, and both Adam and Ross leaned around his respective door jamb, guns at the ready, Adam being forced to expose more of his body since he wasn’t left-handed.

    “Mrs. Mott?” he called.  “It’s Adam Cartwright.  Are you all right?”

    “Adam?” a timorous voice warbled.  “Lands, boy, I never dreamed—”

    “Are you all right?” Adam asked insistently.  “Is Sam Brown in here with you?”

    “No, no, he’s gone, ran out the back,” Eliza Mott rushed to say.  Striking a match, she lit a lantern on a small round table in the center of the room.  “He said that someone was gunning for him and asked for protection.  I never dreamed that you . . .”

    “No, not me,” Adam assured her.  “It’s Van Sickle out there, and he’s determined to find Brown tonight.”

    Reminded of the reason they entered the house, Billy ran out the front door and called to Van Sickle.  “No sign of him here.”

    Van Sickle stood from behind the meager cover and ran for his horse.

    “He’s taking off again,” Billy called, dashing out the door.

    Ross automatically ran after him.  Adam groaned.  “It’s been like that all evening,” he told his former teacher.  “If you’re sure you’re all right, Mrs. Mott, I’d better see if I can keep those two from getting their fool heads blown off.”

    “Yes, you go on,” Mrs. Mott urged him.  “I’m shaken a bit, but fine otherwise, and Israel should be home soon.”

    Adam leaped into the saddle and galloped hard, trying to catch up with his friends, still not willing to admit that he was just as anxious as either Ross or Billy to see the denouement of this afternoon’s adventure.  He rode into the yard of Luther Olds’ hotel just as Van Sickle and the two young men following him were coming out.  “Not in there,” Billy announced with a shrug.  “Not sure where he could be.”

    A jangle of spurs made everyone’s head turn in the direction of the barn.  Van Sickle took off toward the sound, the others at his heels.  Spotting a burly man beside a horse, Van Sickle bellowed out, “Sam, I have got you now!” and let loose with both barrels of his shotgun.

    With a cry of pain, Sam Brown crumpled to the ground and didn’t move.  Van Sickle and the others approached cautiously and stood in a semi-circle around the motionless body.  Billy nudged Brown’s leg with the toe of his boot, and when there was still no response, Adam squatted down and pressed two fingers to Brown’s neck.  “He’s dead,” he said, standing up.

    “Self defense,” Van Sickle claimed.  “You’re all witnesses.”

    Adam’s head came up with a jolt.  Self defense?  Maybe, in the sense that Brown would have killed Van Sickle if Van Sickle hadn’t shot him first, but it was Van Sickle who had insisted on pursuit, who had forced Brown into a showdown and who had, ultimately, gunned him down before the notorious tough could draw his gun.  Did that constitute self defense, even here in the virtually lawless West?  It was a question for the law to decide, and a wave of nausea swept over Adam as he realized that he’d have to give testimony at that inquest and at trial, if there were one—which meant there was no keeping tonight’s antics from Pa, and Adam knew of no defense that would stand up before that tribunal.  Van Sickle might get off; he was doomed.

    “Adam, get a move on!” Ben called up the stairs.  He stalked back to the breakfast table and sat down to his half-finished plate of sausage and eggs.

    “He came in so late last night, mon amour,” Marie said gently as she coaxed another mouthful of scrambled egg into Little Joe’s mouth.  “Perhaps he is tired and doesn’t wish to attend the festivities with us.”

    “Not want to meet the new Territorial Governor?”  Ben eyed askance at the idea.  “A boy with Adam’s curiosity and interest in current affairs?  Of course, he wants to go!”  He stormed back over to the stairs.  “Adam!”

    Adam finally made his reluctant appearance.  He hadn’t overslept, in fact hadn’t slept much at all after his return from points south, but he was putting off the coming confrontation as long as possible.  It wasn’t going to be a pretty sight, and there were three impressionable youngsters at the table.  With a rueful grimace at the lameness of that excuse for his procrastination, Adam rounded the corner and started slowly down the stairs.

    “About time,” Ben fumed.  “You know Governor Nye’s due in to Carson today, and you know we plan to be there to greet him.”

    “I know, Pa; I’m sorry,” Adam murmured, sliding into his seat at the foot of the table.  He forked a single sausage patty and spooned a few bites of egg, all he’d likely get a chance to eat, onto his plate.

    “Are you well, mon ami?” Marie inquired solicitously, her eyes on the meager breakfast, more appropriate in its size to Little Joe than to his eldest brother.  Mary Wentworth, too, cast a concerned glance in his direction.

    “I’m fine,” Adam said, concentrating on his plate.

    “No need to starve yourself,” Ben muttered gruffly.  “We’re not that pressed for time.”

    Adam swallowed what was in his mouth and set the fork aside.  “You’re not pressed for time at all,” he said after taking a deep breath, “at least not on my account.  I’m not going.”

    As heads rose all around the table, Ben stared holes in the face across from him.  “What?” he asked, incredulous.

    “But it’s the governor, Adam,” Hoss protested loudly.  “Don’t you wanna—”  Mary patted his arm soothingly and tried to shush him.

    “Of course, I wanna!” Adam snapped.  In reaction to the stares that met his sharp tone, he dropped his voice almost to a whisper.  “I just can’t, that’s all.”

    “What’s wrong, son?” Ben asked, concerned by Adam’s despondent manner.  “I thought you were looking forward to this.”

    “Pa, I was; I am.  I mean, I would be if something hadn’t come up,” Adam sputtered, running his index finger up and down the handle of his fork.

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “Since yesterday afternoon?”

    Adam nodded.

    Growing exasperated with the process of dragging out, bit by bit, whatever was bothering his son, Ben took tight grip on the edge of the table.  “Well?”

    “I ran into a little trouble last night,” Adam began.  He stole a look at his father and saw the alarm reflected in those dark chocolate eyes.  “No, I don’t mean I’m in any trouble,” he hastened to say.  “I just—well, I witnessed a shooting, and I have to give testimony at the inquest today, that’s all.”

    “Oh, no,” Mary murmured.  “How terrible for you, Adam.”

    “Who got shot?” Hoss queried.  “Is it anybody we know?  It ain’t Billy, is it?”

    Little Joe’s head snapped up, and he looked ready to burst into tears.  “Billy shot?”

    “No!” Adam shouted.  Then, at the chiding look from Marie, he lowered his voice again.  “No, of course not, little brothers.  Billy is just fine.”  He dropped his voice still more and muttered to himself, “Despite his best efforts not to be.”

    “What’s that?” Ben demanded.

    “Ben, perhaps our younger sons should not be present for this discussion,” Marie suggested, for she had caught a few words of Adam’s last statement, enough to sense that there was a difficult story to be told.

    “No, they shouldn’t,” Adam agreed at once.  His little brothers didn’t need to hear about last night’s reckless pursuit of danger, and they especially didn’t need to hear what Pa was likely to say about it.

    “All right, fine.  Take Little Joe upstairs and change him into his good clothes, and since Hoss is already dressed, he can check the harness on the team.”

    “Oui, that sounds best,” Marie said quickly.  “Would you help me dress him, please, Mary?  Little Joe is such a handful.”

    Mary knew, of course, that she was being gracefully asked to leave Ben and his son alone, but sensing the need, the compliant girl quickly assented.

    As Mary carried Little Joe upstairs, Marie whispered assurances that his friend Billy was quite all right.  Hoss scowled at Adam and headed for the front door, moving slowly in hopes that he’d hear something before being banished outdoors.

    Ben waited until he heard the front door close.  “Well?” he asked again.  “What mischief have you been into, boy?”

    “I haven’t been into mischief!” Adam retorted.

    “Don’t lie to me,” Ben advised tersely.  “I know a guilty countenance when I see one.”

    Adam took a deep, hopefully calming breath.  “I haven’t been into mischief,” he repeated slowly, “but between Billy and Ross, I did get myself tangled up in some tomfool idiocy.”  He began with the first encounter with Sam Brown on the porch outside the Magnolia Saloon and told the whole sad story, leaving out nothing.

    Predictably, Ben exploded.  “Tomfool idiocy—that’s sure the right name for your behavior, boy!  Here you are, almost a man, one I thought could be trusted with responsibility, and you go chasing off after excitement with as little regard for the consequences as a boy Hoss’s age—or maybe Little Joe’s might make a more accurate comparison!”

    “Now, that’s not fair!” Adam shouted, his own temper triggered by the deprecating remark.  “I wasn’t chasing excitement.  I was chasing two friends in hopes of keeping them alive.”  Even as he said the words, though, Adam knew they didn’t reflect an accurate assessment of what had happened.  He had gotten caught up in the drama last night, almost as if he’d been watching a play on the stage.  Not as quickly as Billy or Ross, but he’d been primarily a gaping spectator, just like them.  His presence throughout the evening hadn’t insured their safety at all, nor helped to resolve the situation in any way; all it had done was give Sam Brown one more potential target.  Feeling unable to defend himself, he fell silent.

    Seeing his son wilt under the verbal chastisement, Ben relented.  “Well, what’s done is done.  I regret missing the governor’s arrival, of course, especially for the ladies’ sake, but I’ll take you to the inquest.”

    This time Adam really exploded.  “Take me!  I’m not a kid, Pa; I don’t need you to take me!”

    “Don’t raise your voice to me,” Ben warned.

    Heedless, Adam continued to rant at a high pitch.  “Take me—like a dog on a leash, to make sure I don’t run from my duty.”

    “Don’t raise your voice,” Ben demanded, raising his own.  “Of course, you’ll do your duty.  I don’t doubt that from a son of mine, but you will do it with me at your side.  No argument, boy.  Finish your breakfast and meet me outside.”  He bolted to his feet and strode briskly to the stairway, trotting up it to explain to his wife why she wouldn’t be meeting Governor Nye today.

    Adam leaned his head into his hand and began to massage his throbbing temple.  “Boy.”  There could be no surer sign of where he now stood in his father’s esteem than that one word.  Not man, not even young man—all the way down to boy in one swift plunge, and it was likely to be a long, hard climb back.  Suddenly, even the meager amount of food on his plate was more than he wanted, and Adam pushed it away.

    Adam stood in a huddle with his two friends outside the sheriff’s office in Carson City, where the inquest would be held.  Several yards away, the three fathers held conference, probably commiserating the woes of parenthood, Adam thought grimly.  “I can’t believe he’s missing the governor’s arrival, just to play watchdog to his little boy,” he groused to his friends.

    “It ain’t such a bad idea, havin’ your pa along for a thing like this,” Billy advised.  He talked for a few minutes about testifying at the Elzy Knott trial and how glad he’d been that both his father and Uncle Ben had been there to stand by him.  “A fellow can use all the support he can get for a thing like this,” he insisted.

    Sitting in the witness chair shortly afterwards, Adam discovered how true that was.  He’d told himself that as long as he stuck to the truth, testifying would be easy, but he could feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach.  The cannon that went off as he was describing the wait outside the Mott house only made him tense up more, with its reminder that he was causing his entire family to miss the long-awaited arrival of Governor Nye.  And the distant music of a band welcoming the official kept the acid churning in his stomach. My fault, all my fault, he berated himself.  If only I’d done what my head said was right and stayed out of the whole mess.  But his heart, not his head, had ruled last night, and it still insisted that he couldn’t have done otherwise.  He couldn’t leave a friend behind, anymore than Marie had been able to turn her back on Julia Bulette three days before.  Suddenly, he wished she were with him, instead of Pa; she would understand.

    Adam was subdued as he rode home beside his silent and glowering father.  It was obvious his youthful transgression hadn’t been pardoned yet.  Billy had gotten off scot-free, his father, though irritated, viewing him as a man responsible for his own actions.  Ross hadn’t fared so well with martinet Peter Marquette, who had administered a tanning guaranteed to keep Ross uncomfortable in the witness chair, but at least it was all over for him.  Even Van Sickle was a free man, having been discharged from any culpability in the killing of Sam Brown.  No, I’m the only one stilling paying for this tomfool idiocy, Adam told himself mournfully.

    He’d planned to sit down with Pa sometime Monday, after putting Mary on the stage back to San Francisco, with a trusted neighbor headed that way as escort.  He had intended to tell him all about his ambition to attend Yale University that fall and plead his case so persuasively that Pa would find it impossible to object.  Adam grimaced, almost hearing his father’s bellowing rejection of that request now.  “You can’t stay out of trouble in Carson City, and you expect me to trust you three thousand miles from home!”

    One look at his father’s granite-edged silhouette told Adam that he had a lot of ground to make up before he dared broach that subject.  He’d bided his time and worked hard all these weeks to prove his trustworthiness and reliability, his maturity and ability to handle himself—and he’d lost all he’d gained in one night of reckless running with the crowd.  How long would it take, he wondered, to build back his character in his father’s eyes?  Weeks, at least, and he didn’t have many left. 

    Sam Brown, first and worst of the Nevada bad men, died on his birthday, July 6, 1861, at the hands of Henry Van Sickle, in the manner described.  The inquest took place the next day, the same day the new Territorial Governor arrived in Carson City, as stated in this chapter.
 
 

    Ben Cartwright stopped directly in front of a raised wooden platform and within view of an arch erected over C Street by the ladies of Virginia City.  “I think this will be the best place,” he said, turning to his wife, who was walking behind him.

    “Best place,” Little Joe chirped from his father’s arms, eliciting a laugh from the entire family—with one glaring exception.  Adam was in town under protest today, and his face reflected his displeasure with being ordered here by his father.  The past week had been a miserable one for the young man.  In the wake of the Sam Brown incident, he had begun his campaign to rebuild his father’s good opinion of him, rising early and working late at the lumber camp, scarcely taking time for meals.  He had, of course, taken off the Sabbath, to accompany his family to church, and he had argued forcefully that he couldn’t take the next day off, as well, and fulfill his responsibilities to the job.

    Ben Cartwright, however, had just as stubbornly insisted that his family was not going to miss this second opportunity to welcome Governor Nye to the territory.  “And I do mean the entire family, boy,” he’d declared sternly, in tones that brooked no argument.

    “Boy” again, Adam had noticed, wondering if he could possibly rise to “young man” by early August, as late as he could possibly put off speaking to his father about attending the fall term at Yale.  Two weeks, maybe two and a half if he cut the margin close, and considering how the past week had gone, he was likely to need every minute of it, even to have a slim chance of getting his way.  The quarrel the previous night hadn’t helped his cause.

    When the strains of the brass band filtered over the Divide from Gold Hill, however, even Adam felt the rising excitement.  He had, after all, been looking forward to laying eyes on Nevada’s first Territorial Governor, up until his fall from grace, and something of the old exhilaration fluttered in his chest and brought a hesitant smile to his lips.  He glanced to his right, hoping to share the moment with his father, but Ben’s attention was on the arch, through which the uniformed members of the Virginia Union Guards were now marching behind the band.

    As the band began to play “Hail to the Chief,” the Guards presented arms and a shout went up from the crowd lining both sides of the street.  The Governor’s carriage appeared, and a salvo of guns were fired to welcome him to Virginia City.  The carriage stopped and Governor Nye stepped down.  As he mounted the platform, another cheer greeted the friendly face beaming from beneath a crown of long, white hair.

    “What a striking man he is,” Marie murmured.

    “That the governor?” Hoss whispered, blue eyes wide with awe.

    Ben laid his left hand on his middle son’s shoulder.  “That’s right, son.  Be quiet now; he’s going to speak.”

    Hoss nodded and grinned up at his brother Adam.  Adam smiled back and ruffled his slim fingers through his younger brother’s unruly thatch of sandy hair.

    “I was told that I was coming into a wild and dangerous country,” Governor Nye began in ringing tones, “but, on the contrary, I find here the most hospitable people I ever met.”  Virginia City declared her hospitality with more cheers and several more rounds of gunfire.

    “Looks like some of our citizens are determined to give Governor Nye a Wild West welcome,” Ben muttered in disapproval, catching sight of several men who appeared to have imbibed rather freely in the nearby saloons and were waving and shooting their pistols without regard to the direction they were pointed.

    Marie gathered Little Joe into her arms and turned sideways, so that her body was a shield between him and the street.  “Perhaps we were not wise to come today, Ben.”

    “We were invited,” Ben pointed out tersely, “and you don’t turn down dinner with the Governor, my love, not if you hope to prosper in this new territory.”

    “The children are not invited to dinner,” Marie reminded him.  “Perhaps they should have remained home.”

    “But I wanna see the Governor,” Hoss whined.

    “So look across the street,” Adam suggested dryly.  “That’s him.”

    Hoss gave his brother a sheepish look.  “Oh, yeah.”

    “I can’t see!” Little Joe protested, and his mother reluctantly brought him slightly forward.  With an understanding smile at his wife, Ben moved closer to her, so that his youngest son was now sheltered behind him, but still able to peek over his shoulder at the festivities.

    “I have come to this distant country with the hope of adding one more bright and glorious star—Nevada,” the new governor continued.

    The mention of statehood brought louder shouts, for there was scarcely a man, woman or child on the street who didn’t cherish that dream.  There was more gunfire, too, and suddenly Ben’s attention was drawn to a man who seemed more reckless than most with his explosive salutes to the governor.  One of the wild shots struck the rail of the platform behind which Governor Nye was standing, and a man wearing a badge swiftly pulled the governor down to protect him.  Concerned as he was for the new governor, Ben’s more immediate concern was for his own family.  “Get down,” he ordered sharply, making certain that Marie and their baby did before crouching in front of them, gun drawn.  Simultaneously with his father’s warning, Adam had pushed Hoss to the ground, moved in front of him and drawn his own gun.

    “Arrest that man, Williams!” the law officer yelled from the platform, and one of his deputies moved toward the man still waving his pistol and shooting it off whenever the urge hit him.

    “Put it down, Butler,” Deputy John Williams shouted.  “Put it down or I’ll shoot.”

    “I can’t see,” Little Joe whined.

    “Shut up,” Ben hissed, and the whine turned into a whimper.

    “Be quiet, mon petit,” Marie urged.

    As if in defiance of the order, Butler fired a shot over the deputy’s head.  Williams returned fire, hitting the man in the knee.  “Put it down, Butler,” Williams warned again.

    With a bellow of pain, Butler refused, turning his back and limping down the street, toward the Cartwrights, still firing aimlessly.  Williams sighted his weapon, aimed carefully and hit the man in the shoulder, obviously still intending to wound, rather than kill.

    Face red with fury, Butler turned around, dragging his bad leg, and aimed directly at the deputy this time.  “Drop it!” Williams ordered and when Butler declined, he aimed at the man’s face and fired.

    A gasp went up from the crowd as the bullet grazed Butler’s cheek.  Adam held his breath, awed by the deputy’s accurate aim, if, indeed, he had intended once again merely to wound.  Butler dropped his gun and put one hand to his bleeding face while he raised the other in surrender.  As the Cartwrights stood to their feet, they were shocked to hear the crowd booing in disgust.  “Aw, what’d you give up for?” one drunken fool shouted.  “You wadn’t hurt that bad.”

    Between the lawman and his diligent deputy, order was restored, and the governor continued his speech as though nothing had happened.  Ben had to admire the man’s courage and calm demeanor in the face of danger.  Maybe James Warren Nye came from the East, but he was evidently a man with sand enough to govern this wild territory, and he would have Ben’s support from this moment forward.

    The speech continued, and afterwards the new governor shook hands warmly with any who wished to greet him.  Ben brought his family forward and introduced each member.  “Cartwright—yes, I’ve heard that name,” Governor Nye said.  He smiled at Marie.  “I trust I will have the company of this lovely lady at dinner today?”

    “Yes, sir, they’ll be joining us,” a broad-shouldered man announced, his red-gold hair gleaming in the bright sunlight.  Ben recognized him as William Stewart, the prominent mining lawyer.  At six foot-two, Stewart stood head and shoulders above most men, but Ben, at a single inch shorter, could look him eye to eye.

     “Excellent, excellent,” the governor said.  He turned his benevolent gaze on the three Cartwright sons, reaching out to touch Little Joe’s soft curls.  “And shall we also have the company of these fine specimens of young Nevada manhood?”

    Seeing Stewart give his long and luxurious beard a nervous stroke, Ben spoke up quickly.  “No, the boys will be returning home.  I did want them to have the honor of meeting you, sir, before they left, and I thank you for your time.”

    “Not at all, the honor is mine,” Nye insisted, shaking Adam’s hand and then Hoss’s.  With a final pat of Joe’s head, he extended his hand to Ben.  “I will see you and your dear lady soon, sir, and I hope she will do me the honor to sit at my side.”

    Head bowed to hide her blushing cheeks, Marie curtseyed and assured the governor that the pleasure would be hers.  Then the Cartwrights moved on to permit others to greet the governor.

    “Wow, Ma!  You’re gonna sit right next to the governor,” Hoss said, bouncing with excitement.  “Ain’t that something?”

    “If he does not find a more congenial companion by then,” Marie answered demurely.

    “How could he?” Adam asked suavely.

    “How, indeed?” Ben added.  “There is no more gracious dinner companion in the entire Territory of Nevada.”

    “Nor two more gracious flatterers,” Marie laughed.  “I suspect some lady who stands higher in society—one who maintains less questionable friendships, perhaps—will find herself sitting beside the governor at dinner today.”

    “Well, we’ll see,” Ben muttered, wondering why his wife had to bring that up, today of all days.  Reaching into his pocket, he took out a gold half eagle and handed it to Adam.  “That should cover dinner for you and your brothers.  The governor’s party is at the Virginia Hotel, so choose anywhere but there, have yourselves a good meal and head on back to the Ponderosa.”  Ben’s hand rested on Little Joe’s head for a moment.  “I suspect this one will be ready for a nap by the time you reach home.”

    “If not in the saddle,” Adam chuckled.

    Marie touched her fingers to her youngest son’s cheek.  “Ben, perhaps I should return, as well.  After that incident in the street, I mean.  Joseph may be disturbed.”

    Ben, Adam and Hoss all hooted.  “All that child is disturbed about is that he didn’t get a better look at the ruckus,” Ben snorted.  He drew Marie to his side.  “Don’t worry about him for a minute, my love.  He’s fine, and in any event, Adam can take care of him.”

    “Certainly, I can,” Adam said, a happy bubble inflating in his heart.  Pa was beginning to trust him again, a sign that his campaign to restore his good standing had hope of success.  Feeling better than he had in a week, Adam was suddenly glad that his father had insisted he come today.  “After all, we can’t deprive the governor of the most gracious lady in the territory,” he added with a conspiring wink at his father.

    “Indeed, not,” Ben agreed enthusiastically, returning the wink.

    “Oh, you are flatterers all,” Marie scolded, her voice tinkling with laughter, “but I see I must yield.”  She leaned over to kiss Little Joe.  “Be good for brother, mon petit.”  Kissing Hoss, she added, “I know I need not say that to you, my good boy.”

    Hoss blushed with pride.  “Aw, Ma.  Yeah, sure, I’ll be good.”

    “And what about me?” Adam teased as she turned to take Ben’s arm.  He tapped his cheek.

    Marie laughed in delight at his hint for a kiss and gladly bestowed one.  “Oh, Ben,” she said as they walked toward the Virginia Hotel.  “I think Adam has truly accepted me.”

    “Of course, he has,” Ben said.  “Didn’t I tell you long ago that he would?”

    Marie squeezed his arm.  “It was a little slower coming than you promised at first, mon amour, but I think, truly, we are finally there.  Our oldest boy is all I could ask in a son, and now I know that they are all truly mine.”

    “Ours,” Ben corrected as they mounted the steps to the hotel.

    “Oui , ours,” she agreed.

    Ben shook his head as they entered the dining hall.  “Even if this is considered the best hotel in Virginia City, it seems odd to me to choose such a known hotbed of southern secession to welcome the governor.”

    “Can we not forget the war for even one afternoon?” Marie implored.

    “Of course, my love,” Ben murmured, adding with an impish gleam in his eye, “if you can forget worrying about your precious baby boy for one afternoon.”

    Marie shook her finger under his nose and then laughed.  “Oui, I will try.  I know Little Joe is safe with his brothers.”

    Bill Stewart approached the Cartwrights as they moved inside.  “Please come with me, friends.  The governor has specifically requested that Mrs. Cartwright sit on his left.  My wife will be on his right, so you and I will have an opportunity for close conversation, Ben.”

    Ben’s eyebrow arched at the use of his first name.  While he knew the lawyer, of course—who on the Comstock did not?—they were scarcely intimates.  Evidently, the governor’s interest in Marie had opened a door, not only with him, but also with those who wished to curry his favor.  Ben had no objection, however, to making closer acquaintance with Stewart.  He had, after all, the look of a man who might go far, and it never hurt to know such men personally, especially if one had political ambitions of his own.  Ben caught a glimpse of himself in the governor’s chair, perhaps when Nevada became a state, and his beautiful wife gracing his table as first lady of the land.  He brushed the image quickly aside; even if the vision were true, its fulfillment was some distance in the future.  Today, it was enough to relish meeting the present governor and having the opportunity to share his aspirations for the territory.

    As the first course, a corn chowder, was served, Stewart bent his head toward Ben.  “The Governor and I have been discussing the selection of a capital for our territory, once it’s organized, Ben.  I hope you will agree with me that Carson City would provide the best site—better water, for one thing, and a more congenial setting to legislators with families.”

    So that was it.  Ben smiled.  Stewart had hopes of being a legislator, and he preferred to raise his family in Carson City, rather than in a noisy, mining community of predominantly men, such as Virginia City certainly was.  You couldn’t fault a man for wanting the best for his family, but since Ben didn’t enjoy being made the ploy for another man’s ambition, he suggested first that Genoa would make an even more congenial setting.  “However, for purely selfish reasons, I would like to see Carson City made the capital,” he stated directly after that, to let Bill Stewart off the hook.  “Carson City is closer to me, and to locate the capital there might enable me to have some influence in the shaping of our new territory—and its ultimate statehood.”

    Governor Nye smiled in appreciation of Ben’s openness, so refreshing to a man accustomed to dealing with politicians.  “From what I’ve heard, Mr. Cartwright, I would certainly expect that you might exercise that influence to the betterment of our future state.”

    “A central location—an excellent point in Carson City’s favor,” Stewart inserted.

    The governor waved the comment aside.  “Yes, yes, Mr. Stewart, I’m well aware of your views and will consider them, I assure you.  I would like to seek Mr. Cartwright’s opinion now on another matter.  I’m told, Mr. Cartwright, that you have some understanding of Indian affairs in this territory.”

    “Some, yes,” Ben demurred.

    “My husband is too modest,” Marie said, leaning close to the governor’s ear.  “He is a personal friend of Chief Winnemucca and Numaga and has been, I believe, instrumental in maintaining peaceful relations with the Paiutes, in particular.”

    “So I had heard,” Governor Nye replied.  “Please, Mr. Cartwright—may I call you Ben?—please give me your assessment of the current situation of our Indian residents.  I consider this a matter of the highest priority.”

    Bill Stewart, whose only experience with Indians had come during the brief war with the Paiutes, was forced to sit in silence as Ben Cartwright waxed eloquent on a subject dear to his heart.  “Perhaps you should consider a political career, Ben,” Stewart said at the close of the dinner.  “You certainly appear to have a gift for communication.  Did you perhaps study law at one time?”

    Ben laughed.  “I’m afraid I have little more than a grammar-school education, Bill, though I thank you for the compliment.  Most of my learning, such as it is, came from reading everything I could get my hands on, during my years at sea.”

    Bill Stewart laughed.  “Maybe I should have gone that route, instead of putting in my time at Yale.  Didn’t stay long enough to graduate, anyway.  Came west in ‘48, looking for gold, and decided about four years later that the study of law held more promise for me.”

    “From what I’ve heard, sir, you made a good decision,”  Ben said cordially.  “I trust you’ll use equal wisdom as you offer direction to our new territory.”

    “I’ll return the compliment, sir, and express the wish that I may have your assistance in offering direction to Nevada,” Stewart returned smoothly.

    “My dear,” his wife interrupted in her soft southern drawl, “we really must return home if we’re to be properly attired for this evening’s ball.  I’m sure Mrs. Cartwright will be changing, as well.  Do you have rooms here, ma’am?  If not, may I offer our home for your use?”

    “Most gracious of you,” Ben said, “but we engaged rooms at the International House for the purpose, although we do intend to return to the Ponderosa tonight.”

    “All the more reason we should be on our way,” Marie stated gently.  “I have enjoyed your company at dinner, Mrs. Stewart.  Perhaps you will be able to attend the next gathering in our home.”

    “I’d be delighted, I’m sure,” Annie Stewart replied.

    Marie stifled a giggle until she was alone on the street with Ben.  “Did you see how relieved she looked when you said we had rooms elsewhere?”

    “Oh, I don’t know,” Ben returned with a shrug.  “I thought she might be drawn to you, as you’re both obviously from the south.”  Probably have her to thank for the choice of the Virginia Hotel!

    “Mississippi, in her case,” Marie amplified with a simpering drawl, “and you must not be taken in by all that southern charm, mon mari.  There is craft behind that charm.”

    “I know,” Ben acknowledged, “taking her cue from her husband.  I suspect he hopes to trade political favors with me.”

    “Mais oui,” Marie agreed at once.  “He sees the favorable impression you made on Governor Nye and wishes to warm himself in its reflection.”

    Ben took her hand in his and kissed it.  “I have you to thank for that, my lady.”

    Her head cocked at a coquettish angle, Marie gazed back at him.  “Perhaps, then, all my training from Cousin Edward has not been wasted.”

    “You needed no help from him,” Ben chided a bit gruffly.  He pulled her close and, with a lecherous lift of his eyebrow, whispered in her ear.  “And if you persist in looking at me like that, madame, we shall miss the entire dance, while I ravish you like the wanton woman he meant you to be.”

    An idle threat, considering the paper-thin walls of rooms at the International House.  Though tempted to call him on that bluff, Marie merely smiled in sweet, and alluring, submission and went through the door.

    “Are you tired?” Ben asked solicitously, pulling off the road.  “I know it’s been a long day—and night.”

    “Not so very tired,” she said, her fingers gliding across his broad back as she lifted her welcoming lips.

    Savoring a pleasure denied him throughout the day spent in public view, Ben pressed his mouth against hers.  “Did you enjoy the dance?” he asked after an extended kiss.

    “Umm, so much,” she murmured, touching her head to his shoulder, “but it ended too soon.”

    “Too soon?”  Ben laughed.  “It’s two in the morning, my love.  We really should have stayed the night, I think.”

    “No, I wanted to come home,” she said, adding with an enticing smile, “but not just yet.  You owe me, monsieur, one more dance.”

    “And I shall be pleased to pay the debt, my love,” he whispered.  Jumping down from the seat of the buckboard, he came around the wagon and lifted Marie down, his broad hands almost encircling her narrow waist.  Then he twirled her in his arms toward the shimmering lake, her toes barely brushing the grass, as he hummed the music to a waltz they’d heard earlier that evening.

    “Oh, Ben,” she sighed in content as they came to a stop at the moonlit water’s edge and he lowered her feet to the ground.  “I did help you today, didn’t I?”

    “You help me every day, Marie,” he said earnestly, kissing her forehead.  “Just the sight of your beautiful face, lying beside me, is all the inspiration a man needs to work his heart out and send his dreams soaring to the heavens.”  As he pressed his lips to hers once more, he felt her fingers slide between his buttons and laughed.  “You are a wanton woman!” he exclaimed.  “Here, under the stars?”

    “Here, there, anywhere, everywhere,” she whispered seductively.  “Ravish me, mon amour.”  She unfastened the top button of his shirt and put her lips to his chest as her fingers sought the next hindrance to her full enjoyment.  Slowly, button by button, kiss by kiss, she opened the shirt, and then slid her arms around his waist as Ben quickly drew off his shirt and went to work on her restricting buttons.

    “Are you sure you aren’t too tired?” he asked and got the answer he wanted when she toppled him to the grass.

    “Ravish me,” she commanded.  “Now.”

    And there, with only the glimmering stars as witness, he obeyed her command, and they expressed their love as passionately as if this were to be the last time ever—neither dreaming that, in fact, it was.

    Virginia City officially welcomed Governor James W. Nye on July 15, 1861.  His speech to the crowd in this chapter is an exact quote of his words on that day.  The gunfight between Deputy John Williams and a citizen named Butler happened during the ceremonies, as described.