There is that point in waking from a nightmare where we stagger between the real and the unreal. To stay within that place is stay within the dream and make it reality. To step outside that place is to face a true reality that is sometimes more frightening than the dream. Yet far more terrifying is to remain caught between the two, between the …..
 

    The house was quiet…too quiet almost, Ben thought. Looking out the window behind his desk, all he could see was the pinpoint of light coming from the barn's lantern. With the blowing rain, he counted it as a miracle that it was still lit. Not that anyone would be coming into the dark yard that evening and needing its light. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned back to his desk. There the paperwork had been cleared away, completed until the next round of mail brought other letters to answer and contracts to consider. He turned the wick down then blew out the light, casting the room into dark shadows. He crossed to the massive stone fireplace and banked the fire well, settling it with several large logs for the night. Then putting aside his poker, he walked up the steps, rounding the landing. He stopped at the top of the stairs and looked over the quiet room just once then went on down the hallway.

    He settled into his bed, the thick comforter pressing him into the feather mattress with familiarity. It was like being cocooned in a warm soft cloud. For a few moments, he stared at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep quickly. He knew it was futile. He would not sleep that night. The day had been strenuous and tumultuous. Those events would circle in his head all night the same way they had since it had happened…..
 

      "Why Ben Cartwright, glad to see you here today!" Vince Avery, the bank president greeted him, his hand outstretched across the wide mahogany desk there in his office of Virginia City's most prestigious bank.

    Ben nodded his head just once and smiled as the banker's warm moist hand engulfed his. "I'm afraid that I'm not here to take out a loan, Vince!" he admitted and noted that the banker kept his mask in place. "I'm here to talk to you about some Cattleman's Association business."

    Avery had sunk back down slowly into his chair and leaning back in it, steepled his fingers under his chin and listened. As Ben laid out the Association's plans, the banker would nod and occasionally smile.

    "Well, as you know, Ben, we take every opportunity to support the cattlemen and ranchers here in the area," Avery was saying when something caught both of their attentions.

    Out in the main lobby area of the bank, having come through the broad double doors, were three men in long stockman's coats, collars pulled up and hats pulled down. While that wasn't out of the ordinary and sufficient to snag anyone's attention, the two sawed-off shotguns they leveled at the few patrons and tellers immediately did. The doors  were eased closed behind the men as they slipped further into the bank. The man in the lead, his face obscured by a bandanna like the others, gestured with his drawn revolver for the patrons to step aside and handed a cloth sack to the first teller.

    From their vantage point, the bank president and Ben Cartwright could only watch through the windowed wall. Ben checked behind him and noted that there were two ways from the office. One would take him into the direct line of sight of those two deadly shotguns and the other into the vault area. He didn't want to be in either place, so with a warning hand to Avery, they remained where they were, watching and, for Ben at least, noting what he could of the robbers.

    Once the last teller had filled the bag, the robbers jauntily touched the brims of their hats with their weapons and turned to leave.

    Unsuspecting of what lay inside the bank, Judd Proctor and his three sons opened the door just as the leader and one shotgun-wielder turned to leave. The shout from Ben's throat for Judd to watch out was drowned out by the roar of the first shotgun. Ben pulled his gun, yanking open the office door but by then it was all over. At least for the Proctor brothers.

    There were shouts and shots out in the street but for those in the bank, it didn't matter that the would-be robbers were dead outside. The greater tragedy was within.

    Judd dropped to his knees beside his middle son--John, Ben remembered the young man's name was. The shotgun had caught him full in the chest and the young man, barely out of his teens, had been dead before he knew what had hit him. The force of the blast had knocked him back against his eldest brother Tom and threw off Tom's defensive shot. A second roar had blown Tom's gun shoulder nearly off and he had fallen to one side, his eyes glazing as bloody bubbles rose to his lips. The youngest Proctor boy, not yet sixteen as Ben recalled, had valiantly pushed his father aside upon seeing what was happening. The leader's first, second and third shot had hit the young boy, his body jerking with the impact of each shell even though the first one to his throat was fatal.    Now, as Judd Proctor knelt in the blood and broken glass, his face was white. Frantically he called to his sons but the only response he got was his eldest reaching a bloody hand for him. They never touched again in life.

    Ben swallowed hard. It had happened oh so fast! Just like a candle being blown out, the three boys were dead. Their blood, streaming over the broad pine boards of the bank's floor, was still warm as Ben stooped to try and pull Judd away. Again and again he used words of comfort and urging but Judd refused to move. Even after Paul Martin shook his head over the eldest son's body, Judd Proctor refused to budge.

    "Judd, come on, we need to let Paul and Jessup do their jobs," Ben softly urged, his hands pulling at the other's shoulders.

    Judd Proctor finally turned stricken watery blue eyes up to look at Ben. "My boys," he whispered hoarsely, "My boys."

    Feeling his own heart sadden as he watched the undertaker Jessup and another man drape cloths over the three tangled bodies, Ben finally got Proctor to stand and move away.

    "My boys, where they takin' my boys, Ben?" he mumbled, still in shock. "I told the boys we were gonna make the last payment on the farm today then we were gonna celebrate! They take them away and the boys won't be able to celebrate with me, Ben!"    Still pulling him away, Ben finally got Judd Proctor into the bank president's office. From there, Ben noted that even though they could see what was happening, at least they couldn't see and smell the blood. Vince Avery pressed a small glass of brandy into the stricken father's hand and Ben gently encouraged the man to drink.

    "They's good boys, Ben, you know that! They help me on the farm. It's hard work but they know it's really for them so they work a little harder. You know how it is with young folks today, Ben! They's always thinking that they can do better somewhere else. But not my boys! Since they was old enough to walk behind a plow, or pitch hay or split fence railing, they've done it! The farm, well it ain't as big as the Ponderosa, but my boys and I are proud of it! And now, today, with this last mortgage payment, it's all paid for!"

    "Sure, Judd, sure," Ben couldn't bring himself to tell the father before him that his sons wouldn't be working the land any more. Just beyond the office window, Ben could see as Jessup and another man lifted the shrouded body of one of the Proctor brothers and eased it out the doorway.

    "And my Jimmy, he may still be a bit head-strong and a little flighty, but he's got the makings of a good man in him too! But he's still a boy. Wants to be out there helpin' his brothers and me day in and day out but I keep tellin' him that one of us has got to finish school so's the paperwork gets figured right. Ain't that right, Ben?"

    "Yes, it is, Judd. Listen, maybe you should come out to the ranch for a few days," Ben offered, not knowing what else to do or say but knowing when the truth hit the man before him, Judd would need someone. Ben kept the man's attention on him rather than the scene just beyond the door. A second body was being lifted out and taken away.

    "Well thanks, Ben, but the boys and I, we got lots of work to do. Spring was a bit wet and the plowing is behind schedule." The farmer chuckled briefly as though at some private joke and Ben fought his own distress. "Guess we got to let Jimmy help now or we won't get the corn all in like we'd planned!"

    Roy Coffee stepped through the doorway, his lips set in a grim line. He nodded to Ben and Ben simply shook his head and stood aside.

    "Judd," Roy began softly, touching the thin blue-shirted shoulder of the farmer. "I'm as sorry as I can be about your boys. Is there anything I can do for you?"

    "No Roy," and the man stood, his battered hat making quick little circles in his hands. He was clearly still in shock and denial. "We just come into town. Makin' the last payment on the farm today, you know!"

    Avery cleared his throat. Not looking at the gathered men, he spoke up. "Judd, seems the bank made a mistake. You made the last payment last month. I'm sorry 'bout the mix up. I'll get the deed out to you right away."

    Judd Proctor smiled broadly. "Wait till I tell the boys the good news!" and before anyone could stop him, he was out the door and standing on the broad walkway in the bright early summer afternoon.

    Ben and Roy went after him as quickly as they could and caught up to him as he stood there looking down into the wagon carrying the bodies of his three sons. The shroud had fallen to one side and John Proctor, open-eyed and grimacing in death, looked back lifelessly at his father. Judd Proctor slowly sagged, reality overcoming him. Ben and Roy each took an arm and helped the stricken father to sit on the top step. Instinctively, Ben moved to stand before the man and block his view of the wagon.

    Tears streamed down his face as Judd looked up at Ben. "My boys," he whispered through his tears, "my boys aren't gonna be helpin' me no more, are they, Ben?"

    Sadly, Ben shook his head.

    "My boys is dead, ain't they?"

    Ben nodded, feeling a lump growing in his own throat for the obvious pain the little farmer was going through.

    Before anyone could stop him, Judd Proctor pulled his own revolver and pressing it to his own chest, pulled the trigger. Ben reacted as did Roy Coffee but they were just too late to stop Judd. The man dropped back onto the steps, his mouth working. Roy shouted for someone to get Doc Martin as Ben knelt beside Proctor.

    Judd Proctor reached a bloody hand out and Ben grasped it. "My boys was good boys, weren't they? They's good boys-" he asserted once more then his eyes glazed over and he let go that last breath.

    "Yes," Ben whispered, "they were good boys. And you were a good father." Slowly Ben's hand dropped across the watery blue eyes and closed them for the last time.
 
 

    Now, deep into the night, the memory of those same blue eyes haunted Ben. He tried to not put himself into the same situation but knew that here in the West, the possibility was too real. His thoughts went back over other tragedies where parents were forced to bury their children. Floods, fires, and rampant illnesses were bad enough but when added to that mix were happenings like what he had witnessed that day, too many times he had comforted parents. Taking a deep breath and letting it go slowly, he sent a thankful prayer heavenward that his sons were alive.

     "They's good boys," Ben repeated Judd Proctor's last words. Yes, the Proctor boys were good men, like his own sons. They had worked beside their father the same way Adam, Hoss and Joe did. And it was his dream, the same way it had been Judd's, that his sons one day take over the running of things. For a bitter moment, he thought of the other father's last act and wondered if faced with the same, what he would do. He didn't understand it but yet he did. He shook his head, the linen pillowcase whispering faintly behind him as he did. He didn't think he would take his own life but it would be a lifeless life for him, he knew.

    Rolling to his side, he pulled the comforter up around his shoulders and pressed his face into the pillow. He tried to force the thoughts of Judd Proctor and his sons from his mind. Over and over again, he reminded himself that his own sons were alive and well. Adam had gone to San Francisco to finalize a lumber deal with the railroads that would keep the logging crews on the Ponderosa busy for quite a while. Hoss was overseeing a small cattle drive, taking a hundred and fifty head of prime cattle to the Army at Fort Churchill. It was a short drive and Ben was sure that Hoss would be home inside a week, ten days at the most. And Joe was taking the first swing at the high line shack, tending the cattle grazing in the high meadows.

    "They're fine," he muttered, pressing his face further into the pillow. Maybe, he thought, maybe tomorrow he would get Hop Sing to pack him a good big lunch and he would ride up to the line camp where Joe was. He couldn't very well go gallivanting over hill and dale to follow Hoss and Adam would merely look at him with those dark eyes, saying nothing, but plenty, if he should suddenly show up in San Francisco.

    And so, reasonably comfortable with his plan, he dropped off into a restless sleep…..

    The shotgun blast was deafening. As he watched, Adam was flung backwards into the wall. His face registered the same shock Ben imagined was on his own face as his son's shirtfront split opened under the impact of the buckshot. The flesh shredded and despite his hands clutching, the blood blossomed there. His fingers slick with it, Adam seemed to sag towards the floor, his hands unable to grasp anything to hold himself upright.  Ben immediately went to him, instinct overcoming all else. Adam's bloodied hand caught his father's and while he tried to speak, no words came but Ben knew what his son was saying. He knew the last word his eldest son spoke was to call for him. Then the dark eyes lost their brilliance and even though Ben held his first born close, the sigh from Adam marked his death and his hand dropped from his father's arm.

    The shots rang out in quick succession; one, two, three. As he looked up from Adam's fallen body, Ben only saw the third slug hit home. Hoss, two bright spots of blood already on his shirt, one in the shoulder and the other in his side, slid slowly to the floor. The last bullet had drawn an ugly line across his throat from chin to ear. The blood ran down his chest and his eyes widened in shock as he sat on the floor.

    Ben reached across Adam's still body, desperate. On his knees now, he struggled to Hoss' side, his hands pressing on the open wounds to staunch the flow but he couldn't manage. Over and over, he called Hoss' name, begging him to live but with a shuddering gasp, Hoss slumped forward into his father's embrace, the last beat of his heart spreading blood over his father's shoulder.

    His breath now strangling in his throat, Ben laid Hoss' body on the pine boards of the floor. He used one bloodstained hand to try and wipe the blood from Hoss' face but failed. The low keening he heard was his own disbelief. His sons! Dead! Both of them!

    When a hand touched his shoulder, he jumped, startled. With one hand reaching for his pistol he turned towards it. And stayed the motion just in time. It was Joe who had reached for him. As Ben watched horrified, Joe dropped to his knees beside his father. Ben could see that Joe's left arm hung awkwardly, the jacket sleeve no longer green but a deep crimson. Pulling Joe towards his chest, Ben saw that most of Joe's shoulder was gone, only the barest sinews holding his arm to his body. And as he cried out for help, Joe struggled for a moment in his arms then lay still.

    There he knelt, his trouser legs soaking up the blood of his sons. Adam's body, just to his right side, was half covered by Hoss' and Joe's, he held in his arms. "MY SONS!" he screamed in disbelief. "NO GOD, PLEASE, NOT MY BOYS!"
 

     Startled, Ben awoke, his heart racing He sat upright in his bed, covered with the sweat of fear. In the gray dawn light, he saw and knew he was at home, in his room. It was a dream, he told himself, a nightmare, yet it was so realistic that he wasn't sure. Hastily he flung off his blanket and, not even donning his robe against the morning chill, stepped into the hallway. There only silence greeted him.

    He didn't bother to knock but hurled open the door to Adam's room. By the dim light he could make out no body resting on the bed. He lit the lamp there on the bureau and looked around the room, searching for a clue that he had dreamed it. There was nothing there. Everything was neatly stored and placed. Just like it always was when Adam wasn't there.

    "Wasn't there," Ben moaned and the sound seemed to fill the room. "He's in San Francisco. He's on ranch business." Again Ben tried to reassure himself that it was all a dream but again, he fell short of the mark. He looked at his hand, trembling slightly in the coppery gleam of the lamplight. There was no blood on it and he told himself again that it was only a dream. "A dream," he muttered. "Just a dream….." But still the realistic feeling wouldn't let go of him.

    Down the hall he went, throwing open doors to his sons' rooms. They were all empty, the beds carefully made, but the rooms were empty. He returned to his own room and dressed hastily. As he went down the stairs, he made his plans. He would send a ranch hand into Virginia City with a telegram for Adam. He himself would ride hell-bent for leather to the line shack. Then, with Joe in tow, he would return to the house, and hopefully collect the returned message from Adam. Tomorrow morning at the very latest, he and Joe would head out to meet Hoss. He didn't care if his sons thought him a foolish old woman, scared of a dream. He had to have his sons with him. His living, breathing, unharmed sons.

    Ben was throwing the last of his supplies together under the startled eye of Hop Sing when he heard the front door open. A deep booming laugh shook the timbers of the house. Before Ben could get around into the dining room, he heard Joe's high pitched yelp that ended with laughter as well.

    "Hi Pa!" Hoss greeted his startled father.

    "Bet you didn't think we'd all show up home at once, did you?" Adam's drawl came from behind his most stalwart brother's back.

    His sons had no idea how relieved he was to see them, to hear their voices, to touch them. It must have shown because they looked a bit confused at one another.

    "I thought I heard Joseph," Ben said, not seeing his youngest and still fighting the feeling of fear.

    "He'll be in as soon as he gets out of the trough," Adam chuckled and set aside his carpetbag.

    Ben could contain himself no longer. He roughly took Adam's shoulders in his work-hardened hands and looked deeply into the dark eyes, seeing only confusion there. "Did everything go all right in San Francisco?"  he asked and Adam nodded. Ben's head bobbed in understanding yet he turned and laying a hand across Hoss' shoulders too, headed them towards the dining room where he was sure Hop Sing was putting out breakfast for them. "And the herd? You got it to Churchill okay?"

    "Ahead of time and in fine shape too, Pa," came Hoss' prompt reply yet over his father's head, he caught Adam's eye. He too felt something was wrong but couldn't understand his father's actions and reactions.

    "Hey Hoss! I'm gonna get you for that!" came Joe's sharp remark behind them and while Adam and Hoss continued on, Ben turned to face his youngest son.

    Joe stood there, water streaming from him, one arm taking a try at wiping the wet from his face. "Pa, they dumped me! For no good reason, they just upended me in the trough!"

    Ben couldn't help himself. Hearing the patent whine from Joe, he smiled and shook his head. Relief flooded through him. Sending Joe to change into dry clothes with a gentle swat to the young man's rear end, Ben's smile broadened.

    Thank you Lord, he silently prayed, watching as his sons plowed into Hop Sing's flapjacks with gusto. My boys, my sons, are alive. Have mercy on me, Lord, and keep them that way for a long, long time. I know now why Judd Proctor did what he did… for all of this means nothing without them. I am nothing without them.

    "So, anything exciting happen while we were gone?" Hoss asked around a mouthful of flapjacks.

    Later , Ben thought, later I will tell them but for right now…no. I want to hear them laughing, teasing. I want to hear and know that they are truly alive. Yes, my boys, my sons, are alive………. 

The Tahoe Ladies
December 2002