Adam was glad his younger brother had gone to Virginia City with him for supplies, even though he knew it’d been an excuse to see Penny Chapman and not out of any brotherly need to be helpful.

Joe had been wooing the golden-haired eighteen-year-old for nearly six months now.  He’d never shown much interest until he realized at the Christmas party what a beauty she’d blossomed into.  Then he’d set his sights squarely on her.  It always amused Adam to watch his younger brother behave like a bird dog after a quail.  That is, until his work started to ail for it, then it got serious.  And it’d been at stage for almost five months now. 

Heated verbal battles had nearly become a constant between them.  Once or twice Adam thought his little brother was going to hit him.  But things hadn’t come to blows yet, and maybe they’d iron themselves out before it got that far.

A skew in front of Layton’s Mercantile had precipitated the separation now.  Adam could still hear Joe’s biting words, but he’d grown a thick skin, for the most part, against his little brother’s tirades.  It’s not to say they didn’t sting, but he knew the kid well enough not to take it too seriously.

Joe, silent and sullen, had stayed with him the whole way out of town, gradually increasing the distance between them as they went.  Adam had lost sight of the wiry piebald as it disappeared around the bend in the road, where it’d climbed, taking Joe out of danger’s path.

For once, Adam was grateful for an argument with his little brother.

His pulse raced as his dark hazel eyes continually darted to the right.  His stomach churned into a hard ball that threatened to stifle his lungs.  He slapped the reins against the horse’s backs in an effort to get them moving faster.  But pulling the heavily-loaded, bulky wagon up an incline he knew they were doing the best they could.  He just didn’t expect their best to be good enough. 

                ****

Joe Cartwright was so mad he could spit nails.  He was, after all, almost twenty.

Why couldn’t Adam understand, or even try to understand, anything he did?  Why did he have to spoil everything?  And why did the think Joe had to do everything by his rules?  Sure, his work had fallen off a little, but it wasn’t anything Adam and Hoss couldn’t handle.  And what harm could it do, as long as Pa didn’t find out?  And Adam obviously hadn’t told him yet.  Well, it didn’t matter anyway.  It was none of Adam’s business how he went about courting Penny Chapman.  In fact, he was going to take her to the dance on Saturday night.  And Adam had nothing to say about it.

It’d been such a wonderful time, sitting in the front porch swing with Penny, listening to her sparkling laughter.  He’d garnered her promise to go to the dance with him and had left her walking on air.  Then he’d met Adam at the store and the inquisition started.  Why couldn’t he do his wooing on his own time?  Maybe he should tell Pa on his little brother instead of covering for him.  And so it went, on and on until Joe had raised his hand to him.  He’d come close to busting Adam one and now he wished he had.  But Pa would ask about mashed noses and black eyes when he got home, so Joe had thought better of it.

Joe groaned to himself, his fingers tightening on the reins.  The day had started out sunny and blue-skied, but was quickly turning dark and ugly, just like he felt.

“Sometimes I can almost hate you, older brother,” he said with another groan.

Slowly, in his angry snit, he became aware of a deep rumbling as he cleared the trees past the bend in the road.  Almost instantly and ominously he knew the sound that assailed his hearing.  And he knew his brother was more than likely going to get caught in it.  His ire evaporated.  Adam needed him, though he wasn’t sure he could do anything, but he had to try; if it wasn’t too late already.

“Let’s go Cooch!  Adam needs help!” Joe said, bringing the horse’s head around.

He kicked the animal into a gallop and clung to his back as if glued to it.  Hooves beat the ground like mallets as the paint raced back along the pine-framed road.

The noise had grown so loud as to be almost deafening to nearly swamp all thought.  The young man’s breath was coming well-nigh as fast as his horse’s as they rounded the curve.  Why did he tell Adam he wished he’d just go away?

What Joe saw next sent spasms of horror shooting through him.  A great tide of water, like some enormous brown beast, overtook the cumbersome wagon and team and the lone figure in black.  The last look from his eldest brother had been as if to say good-bye.  Then he was gone.  

“Adam!”

Cochise danced in nervous circles as Joe fought to restrain him.  His own heart beat so hard and fast that it made his chest hurt.  The dirty deluge went on unhindered, spreading out and leaving desolation in its wake.  The grumble lessened as the churning water dissipated along its way.  Young trees, grown since the last runoff, were uprooted, rocks tumbled.  But there was no sign of the wagon, the horses, or Adam.

Cochise’s tense prancing lessened as things began to settle and Joe patted his satiny neck.  He stood in the saddle, his brown eyes searching, trying to cover every square inch of the torrent’s path.  “Adam!” he called, a quaver slipping into his already shaken voice.  “Adam, answer me!”

But he only got back thunderous silence, the kind that almost hurts one’s ears. 

Joe sat back in the saddle with a hard thump.  His brother couldn’t be gone; he just couldn’t be so quickly.  Moments earlier he’d been winding his way through the pass.  Now it seemed that the Cartwright family would be going to a funeral instead of a dance.  “Stop it,” Joe berated himself.

He wanted to cry, to hit something, to yell at somebody.  But there wasn’t time.  Now, on the off chance that Adam could still be alive, he had to start searching.  He raised his red-rimmed eyes to the gunmetal-gray sky, the threat of more rain in the mountains hanging over him. 

Joe couldn’t feel anything anymore.  He’d become numb from what he’d just witnessed.  He feared if he found him at all, he’d find Adam’s crumpled and broken body where it’d been tossed like a rag doll a child had tired of; limp and lifeless.

Carefully, he started Cochise down the decline along the trail of destruction, taking in everything.

Occasionally, the horse’s feet would slide on the turbid ground, but Joe kept Cochise under steady check.

He gradually began coming across pieces of the wagon and its cargo; bits of planking, splintered spokes and wheel rims, grain sacks, hoops from nail kegs, and the seat smashed and twisted against an embedded rock.  But nothing that was or ever had been alive.

Then, from off to the right, he saw movement.  Joe’s excitement ran off with him.  Adam!  He vaulted from Cochise, picking his way through the heavy mud.  His spirits sank; it was one of the horses mired in the thick muck that pulled at everything, trying to get up.  “Whoa, whoa.  Easy, boy,” Joe soothed as he crouched next to it, its eyes wide and bulging.  “Easy.”

Joe ran his hand gently along the horse’s mud-coated neck and onto it withers.  So far to poor creature seemed to only be stuck.

“Where’s Adam, fella?  Hum?  Where the big man that was with you?”

Joe was talking as much to alleviate his own fear as the animal’s.  He knew he was wasting time Adam might not have, but he couldn’t leave the horse to suffer.  Adam would be the first to tell him so.

He ran his hands along the left fore leg until it came to the cannon bone right below the knee.  Working it back and forth, he felt the grating of bone against bone.  He patted the animal again and made soothing sounds.

He wiped his gun hand on his britches as he stood.  His expression tightened as he removed the leather loop from the hammer of his pistol.  “Sorry, fella,” he said with a catch.  “But it’s better this way.”

Snorting and grunting, the horse thrashed about in a vain attempt to free itself as Joe stepped in front of it.  As it stopped, resting and panting, Joe aimed between its terrified eyes and squeezed the trigger.

The animal stopped moving as the report echoed through the draw and climbed its steep sides into the approaching storm.

                ****

Adam couldn’t be sure he’d heard anything.  His mind, paralyzed by cold, tried to sort it out.  His clothes clung to him as if they’d been soaked in molasses.  A clammy, grasping entity threatened to crawl into him and strangle, no, suffocate him.  He couldn’t move, hadn’t moved, in how long?  He didn’t know.  Did he even care?

He tried to clear the haze, figure out what was going on.  Think, Adam Cartwright, think.  What’d happened to him?  Why was he lying here unable to move?  What’s more, where was he?

In a way he wanted to get up.  And in a way he didn’t care if he ever did again.  Nothing hurt, leastways, not yet it didn’t.  But he had to get up, had to try to get up.  What was it Pa used to say when he and his brothers were younger?  “If you don’t try, son, you’ll never know what you can accomplish.”  He could almost hear his father’s rich voice saying the oft used phrase.  Why did that come to him now?

His thoughts began to reel.  Brother, brother, brother.  Joe!  Had he made it?  Made it out of what?  He had to find Joe.

Carefully, he tried to work his hands in the slick slime that surrounded him but they kept sliding away.  But he needed to push himself up enough to see where he was.  He finally managed to get them under his chest and started to lever himself against the ground.  His arms wobbled, but he had to do this.  He had to find Joe.

No pain; push a little more, a little more.  Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing agony ran down his back and into his boots.  It sucked the wind out of him.

“Aaaaaahhhh!” he screamed as he fell back into the ooze.  That was definitely not a good idea.  Now he’d done it.  Instead of feeling nothing his whole being began to shriek at him and it ran through nearly every inch of him, blurring his vision even more.  Had anything ever hurt so badly?

The purest torture came with every quick, jagged breath.  His chest thought to collapse each time his lungs filled.  Would he ever see his family, his home again?  “Pa, Hoss,” he muttered into the mud.  A quick, piercing pain ran through his right leg.  “Jooooeeee!”

                ****

Joe reined in Cochise, standing in the saddle, trying to make out where it’d come from.  That was Adam’s voice.  But the way sound echoed it could’ve come from anywhere.  He was going to have to rely on what he could see.  But it was getting darker, and that didn’t help.  Adam was dressed all in and black and the mud was just as black, and that didn’t help either.  It’d be a miracle if he found his brother.  Leastways, before it was too late.

“Adam!  Adam!”  His probing gaze missed nothing.  How far away had it been?  He kicked the paint lightly, easing father down the draw.

Joe was in a race against time and he knew it.  He didn’t want to imagine what his life would be like without his older brother.  Less confrontational, that was for sure.  But who’d keep him in line?  And what would it do to Pa and Hoss.  He shuddered at the notion. 

His brain was a quagmire of thoughts, most of which made no sense.  His eyelids pinched together; how could he ever even think that he could hate Adam?

“Adam!” he called in complete frustration.

Murkiness was stealing in like a thief, maybe to rob Adam of his life.  Make it impossible for Joe to find him before…  He tried to turn his thinking in another direction.

“Adam’s alive,” Joe said to himself.  “I am gonna find him before it’s too late.”  He fought off a sense of utter despair.  “I have to.”

But would he?  He had to stop that; he had to believe that he was going to.

Joe called out again, but didn’t get any answer.  Not that he expected one, but he had to keep on trying.  One thing Pa had never done was to rear a quitter.

Cochise’s metal–shod hooves clicked against the stones scattered over the floor of the draw.  Ominous charcoal clouds swirled and rolled furiously across the sky.  Thunder had begun to bark like a pack of wild dogs.

Abruptly, Cochise shied, snorting and pulling at his bit. 

“Whoa, Cooch, easy,” Joe said, giving him a pat.  “What is it?”

Joe slowly dismounted but stayed close to Cochise, taking in the shattered landscape before him.  He couldn’t make anything out; it all looked the same swathed in the overpowering sludge.

He started to look away from what he figured was just more wreckage when it moved.  At any rate, he thought it’d moved.  He took a tentative step away from the pinto, then another.  His pace quickened, as much as the grasping mud would let it, tugging and sucking at his boots. 

After the incident with the wagon horse, he tried not to let high hopes run away with him.  But as he drew closer his pulse grew more rapid and his breath came faster.  Adam, please let it be Adam.

Then he saw a hand, fingers, an arm outstretched.  The ground squished as Joe dropped next to the motionless form.  What lay before him, with the exception of the arm, hardly looked to be human.  Joe quickly, but warily touched it.  It was a man’s back; the slimy, mud-saturated cloth of his shirt sticking to Joe’s palm. 

“Adam,” he whispered, dreading not getting and answer.

He pressed down lightly and repeated his brother’s name, a little more loudly this time.  A weak, barely audible moan answered him.  He immediately wanted to turn Adam over and hold him against any pain, the mud, death itself.  But he hesitated.  He didn’t know how badly off Adam was, and after what he’d just come through, it couldn’t be good.

“Adam, it’s Joe.  I’m here brother.”

The hand moved slightly.  He was most assuredly alive, and a part of him had heard.

Joe gingerly checked along Adam’s arms; nothing broken there.  That was one thing in his favor.  But his lower legs were twisted at odd angles; giving rise to Joe’s suspicion that this wouldn’t be the case here.  He deftly felt along his brother’s left leg.  It was broken in two places; just below the knee and just above the ankle.  Straightening it out as carefully as he could he then went to the right one.  It was broken mid-calf.

Joe took a deep, cleansing draught of the rain-laden air in an attempt to hold back the fright that was trying to trample him.

He felt along Adam’s hips and spine and neck.  Everything seemed to be all right here.  But now Joe had to turn him over to see about his ribs.  Delicately, he eased him onto his back, and nearly strangled on a gasp.

Adam’s face was coated with the thick mud and his hair was matted with the stuff.  If Joe hadn’t known this was his brother he never would’ve recognized him.  Even Pa wouldn’t have known his own son.

Joe had seen his brother in trouble before, but never anything like this.

He applied gentle pressure along Adam’s ribcage and found, not surprisingly, that several were busted.  Joe wondered if maybe there was other damage inside, but he had no way of finding out or doing anything about it if he did.  His main concern right now was getting Adam home, and then sending someone for Doc Martin.

He wanted to clutch Adam to him, assure him that he wouldn’t abandon him like he had in the pass.  “Adam.  Adam, can you hear me?  It’s Joe.  I’m here now and I’m gonna take care of you.  I’m gonna get you home.”

But he got no response.  Only the rising and falling of his chest gave Joe any indication that is brother hadn’t died.

Overhead things continued to grow more quarrelsome.  Bright flashes streaked through the lowering clouds and the thunder had built to a crescendo.

Joe went back to his horse and led him down to Adam.  He ground-tied him at his brother’s feet, then took the canteen from the saddle horn.

He took a bandana from his back britches pocket and washed Adam’s face and neck, gradually revealing the beloved brother he’d come close to losing.  And more frightening was the fact that he still could.

Joe started to give him a drink, but stopped.  He looked in Adam’s mouth and found the encroaching mud.  With two fingers, he scooped it out then, washed out the kerchief as much as he could and used to clean out his mouth.

Adam was stone-still.  He didn’t seem to be aware of what was happening to him.

Joe raised his head.  Adam was cold and wet as a fish, and it sent an unrestrained shudder through him.  He lifted the canteen and tilted it slightly, but Adam didn’t know to drink and the water ran down the sides of his chin.

He couldn’t remember feeling so helpless.  It was if he were watching his brother die before him.  Taking the canteen away, Joe let his own head drop and closed his eyes.  “Please, Adam, please come back,” he said dolefully.  “I do need you. And I didn’t mean what I said.  It was stupid and hateful.”

Adam thought he sensed a presence, someone there with him, holding him, maybe.  It was hard work, but he managed to crack an eye open, then the other.  It took a minute for the face bent over him to register.  “Joe?” he croaked.

Joe gawked at him, almost in disbelief, and a lone tear ran unimpeded.  “Adam.”  He briefly looked to the sky and said a silent ‘thank you’.  “I’ve got you, brother.  I’m gonna get you home,” he said, trying to appear confident.  He thought Adam winced.  “Does it hurt much?”

“I don’t… don’t feel…  Too… Too cold.”

Now Joe realized that Adam was shivering.  If his injuries didn’t take him the cold quite possibly would.  And if it started to rain that would only make matters worse.  Joe could only hope that it held off until they got back to the house.

Joe tried again to give him some water.  Adam managed a partial sip but the rest ran away.  Joe put the stopper back and laid the canteen aside, but as he did, something rough and craggy brushed his sleeve.  Joe turned his attention back to Adam’s legs.  What he found unsettled him: a narrow piece of splintered wood, possibly from a crate, was driven in the right thigh.  Covered by the mud, Joe hadn’t noticed it before.  He also hadn’t noticed that Adam’s right boot was missing.

He wouldn’t tell Adam about this new injury just now, he had enough to deal with in simply trying to stay alive. 

He could worry about this new discovery later.  Right now he had other, more pressing problems to worry about.

“Adam, I’m gonna see if I can find something to splint your legs.”

“Legs?”

“That’s right,” Joe said, his insides bunching.  You’ve gone and broke ‘em both.”  Joe was afraid that if he passed out again it could be for good.  “So you keep talking to me.”

‘Can’t, Joe.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly as he gently lowered Adam back into the clutches of the mud.  “You’re a Cartwright, and Cartwright’s don’t quit.”  Joe pushed himself to his feet.  “Come on, Adam.  Talk to me.”

Joe wished for the pieces of woods he’d found farther back.  But he didn’t want to get that far away from Adam.  So whatever he found close by would have to do.

“What happened, Joe?”  Adam was tired and talking only added to it.  “I was… driving…”

Adam’s voice was so thin and unlike him it struck Joe to his core.  “You got caught in a spring runoff.  It washed down the draw and took you along for the ride.”

A runoff?  Some of the smoke was beginning to clear.  Adam’s forehead puckered in concentration.  Had he been alone?  No.  “What… What about… horses?”

Joe felt like he’d been punched.  It was so like Adam to think of someone else, even an animal.  Half-killed and he wanted to know about the horses.  “I only found one,” he said, bending over to pick up a couple of uprooted saplings.  The left fore was broke.  I…”

“Had to shoot…” Adam’s voice, growing even weaker, trailed off.

Joe looked around and saw that he was about to pass out again and rushed back to him.  “Oh, know you don’t,” he said forcefully, lightly slapping Adam’s face.  “You stay awake.  I can’t get you home by myself, I’m gonna need your help.  You’re gonna havta ride Cochise with me.”

“Cochise?”

“That’s right,” Joe said airily, trying not to let his disquiet show.  “You remember him.  Pa traded a Sharps buffalo gun to Chief Winnemucca for him.”  He could see that Adam was slipping away from him.  He began slapping him again.  “Come one, Adam, stay with me.”

“Joe, stop… hitting me… in…,” Adam grated.  He wished he could get a hold of his little brother.  “I’ve enough… problems… without…”

Joe forced a grin.  If Adam could complain then maybe there was a glimmer of hope.  “Well, you stay awake and I won’t have to.”

Joe started his search again.  “Keep talking, brother.  What’s that book you’ve been reading lately?  I haven’t seen it before, have I?”  Joe’s interests lay in other directions, but books were near and dear to Adam, and a subject that he enjoyed.  Joe had heard him talk about something new he was reading for hours.  He smiled fondly at the recollection.  “Tell me about it,” he said just as his sight caught something.

Against a large rock was what looked to be the remains of a packing crate, nearly washed clean.  “Adam!  Tell me about it,” he said, making his way to his find. 

Adam didn’t want to be bothered, he just wanted to go to sleep and block out the misery.  But he knew Joe wouldn’t let him.  “Nothing new….  Tennison.”  Things were gradually starting to come back piecemeal.  “I was…”   His voice faded as comforting blackness closed in around him.

Joe quickly gathered the pieces and hurried back to him.  Stooping and dropping them, he put his hand over Adam’s heart; still beating but it was fighting hard to do so.  “Adam, don’t do this,” he said commandingly, jostling him.  “Don’t you dare quit.”

But Adam laid there like a dead man.  A sensation of complete futility rushed over Joe and he began really shaking him.  Death couldn’t win, he couldn’t let it.  “Adam!”

Adam’s eyes opened sluggishly, and Joe gave a nearly hysterical little giggle.  “That’s better.”  Once he steadied some he went back to Cochise.  “Now, you were gonna tell me about that book.”

Adam couldn’t understand for the life of him why Joe cared.  Life; was life leaving him?  “Tennison….  It’s not…,” he rasped.

Joe thought he caught a hint of resignation.  “That’s poetry, isn’t it?” he asked, taking his lariat from where it was tied to the saddle.  “Tell me about it.”  He couldn’t help wrinkling his nose. 

“I don’t… It’s… It’s…”  But Adam’s eyes slid back as a paroxysm of pain ran through him.  Oh, if only it wouldn’t do that.  The sharpness of it ran along the length of him; his fists grasping around handfuls of mud and his jaw clenching.  He stiffened and fought against the nausea that swelled within him.

Joe was instantly at his side, gripping Adam’s muddy hand.  He wanted to take the pain away, but there was nothing he could do but be there for his brother.

“Sick, Joe.”  The nausea rose into his throat and he couldn’t hold it back anymore.  He began to retch, and he thought it would crush him.  Death would have been welcomed.

Joe carefully turned Adam onto his side and he vomited black mud, returning it to the earth.  Water ran from his mouth and nose.

It tore into Joe’s very soul, watching his brother endure the throes of such torment.  “Ride it out, Adam.  Ride it out,” he said, trying to hold himself together, for Adam’s sake, as well as his own.

Adam vomited again.  It was like a hot knife twisting into him.  “Joe, I…,” but the rest of it died.  Ebony waves crashed over him and his breathing came in excruciating gasps.  Someone was saying his name from the end of a lengthening tunnel and he felt pressure on his right hand.  Then the withering agony in his body fell away as he lapsed into wonderful oblivion.

Chapter 2

Adam slowly became aware that he was still alive.  He didn’t hurt so bad and the tension had gone from his hand.  He tried to move but it didn’t take long to find that this wasn’t such a good idea.  The first thing he saw was his brother looking down at him.  “Joe,” he wheezed.

“It’s about time you woke up,” Joe’s voice wavered slightly.  His attempt as sounding cheerful wasn’t exactly working; he certainly didn’t feel it.  “I was starting to think you were gonna sleep the rest of the day.”

Joe used the kerchief to wipe the perspiration away from his brother’s face.  Adam was freezing, shivering even while unconscious, yet he was sweating.  Joe didn’t like this.  Along with his injuries, was Adam getting sick?

He inspected the crude splints he’d made from the scraps of wood, tied firmly in place by lengths of his lariat.  Now he had to do something about those ribs.

“Adam.  Adam, I’ve gotta set you up.  You’ve got some busted ribs.”

This didn’t surprise Adam one bit, even in his somewhat befuddled state.  “Go… ahead, Joe.”

“All right, here we go,” he said and gingerly lifted Adam out of the mud that seemed reluctant to let him go again.

The cold had heightened the ache and Adam felt as if he were being torn apart.  He bit into his lower lip and line of red rimmed his snowy teeth.

Joe crouched behind him and leaned Adam back against him.  His brother’s breathing was coming hard and fast and the pain had to be unbearable.  But Adam had never been one to let that get in the way of what was necessary.  “You all right?”

“Ask… me… later,” Adam said between puffs with a brittle grin.

Joe’s smile didn’t go all the way up.  “I’ll do that,” he said, resting his cheek against the side of Adam’s head, leaving a dirty smear. 

A heartrending pang sank into him.  This was his brother; the man, who’d help to raise him, had given of himself whenever Joe needed him.  A lament rattled through him.  “Please, don’t take my brother,” he begged quietly.

He retrieved what was left of his rope and wound it around Adam, pinning his upper arms close to his torso and knotting it firmly in front.  A quick intake of air whistled through Adam’s gritted teeth.

Joe began to shuck out of his jacket.  As he shifted his grasp Adam slipped away from him, hitting the ground sideways with a dull grunt.

It felt as if every one of his ribs had poked out through his skin and it thought to asphyxiate him.

Joe was sick; he’d dropped him.  “I’m sorry, Adam.  My hands just slid off.”

Adam patted him.  “All right….  Now I… know how… greased pig feels.”

Any other time it would’ve been funny, but Joe had caused him pain unnecessarily, and he hated it.  Being extra careful this time, Joe sat him up and draped the coat around him, fastening the top two buttons.  “Now we’ve gotta get you onto Cochise,” Joe said, taking in the suddenly huge horse.

“Yippee,” Adam said lifelessly as his head lolled back against Joe.  He was seriously trying not to faint again, but he was aware enough to know that getting on a horse wasn’t going to be any picnic.

The cold had really set in, and Adam’s speech was rough from shivering so hard.  Joe worried that he needed to get him warm, but he couldn’t do anything about it right now.  If only the rain would hold off. 

“I want you to let me do most of the work.  Don’t try to help,” Joe said as he enclosed his arms around his brother’s shoulders.

“No trouble,” Adam said with a snort.  “I’ve been… doing… yours… five months.”

A spontaneous burst of anger surged through Joe; he was alert enough to remember that.  “Aren’t you ever gonna let that go?” he asked harshly.

“Would you?” Adam returned listlessly. 

The answer to the question was, no.  And now he felt bad for losing his temper.  Adam was badly injured, mortally for all he knew, and this wasn’t the time to get mad at him.  He didn’t want to go through life remembering that the last moments they’d had together were bitter.  “I’m sorry, Adam, I…” but he realized that Adam wasn’t worrying about it.

Joe dreaded this, and he knew the best way was all at once.  He eased him forward then, with all the strength he could muster, he braced himself behind Adam and pushed.  The slick ground kept moving away from him, but Joe wouldn’t quit.

Everything gave out at once and Adam fell back against Joe with a cry he didn’t try to curb.

Joe got the reins as he moved Adam forward against the saddle.  He was sagging in Joe’s grip, and he knew if he didn’t get Adam on the horse now, he never would.

“Adam.”  Joe gave him a shake.  “Adam, put your foot in the stirrup.”  

Adam’s mind was clouded as he tried raising his right leg.  Then Joe was telling him it was the other leg, the other leg.  So he tried raising it too.

Joe had all he could do as he tried holding Adam upright, controlling Cochise and getting his brother’s left foot into the stirrup at the same time.  He grabbed Adam’s belt as he lifted his right leg then pushed it over Cochise’s rump and settled him into the saddle.

Adam lurched forward against the pommel then swayed back.  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Joe said, pushing him forward.

Joe brought Adam’s foot out then, then put his own foot in the stirrup and swung up behind the cantle.  But sitting on the back of the horse like he was, Joe would have to ride with the security they afforded.  It would make things difficult, but it couldn’t be helped.

Cochise sidled under the accustomed weight.  Adam flopped back against his brother; nearly knocking him off, Joe quickly grasped the horn and held on.  Scooting closer to the cantle, he took the reins in his right hand and put his other arm around Adam’s waist. 

“Still… there, Joe?” Adam asked faintly.

“Still here, brother,” Joe said as he pulled Adam close against him.

Adam still shivered, though maybe not as hard, and his breathing was becoming shallower.  Joe didn’t know if this was bad, good or in between, he could only pray that his brother survived this. 

Joe nudged the pinto in the sides and they started on down the draw, the horse stepping cautiously among the wet stones and other flotsam.

Adam’s head rolled against Joe with the horse’s gentle motion, but it didn’t seem to disturb him.  Joe could feel his breathing; slow and easy.  Maybe it was a little too easy.

Joe found himself wishing he was riding Hoss’ Chubb.  The bigger, sturdier Morgan would pay no attention to Joe and Adam.  Or even Adam’s own Sport, sleek and larger than the paint.  And then there was Buck, Pa’s rugged buckskin.  But Cochise, as the smallest of the family’s mounts, would require more rest stops, taking away valuable time.  That’s how it was, though.  Without the horse they wouldn’t make it at all.  Adam wouldn’t make it.

Cochise finally came to the bottom where the terrain evened out.  Joe wanted to open him into a gallop, but the hard jarring wouldn’t do Adam any good and the horse would tire that much faster.  Not to mention probably unseating himself. 

Joe reined in, Cochise champing at his bit, and looked around him.  They were away from the road they’d been on, and this way would take longer.  They had to get back to the road.

Then he saw it, back off in the surrounding trees: the other horse.  It didn’t seem to be any the worse for wear, as far as he could tell.  Right now, however, it wasn’t a priority.  Someone could look for it later if it didn’t come home on its own.

With a single light tug and a gentle pressure from his knees the horse geed into a walk.

The weather continued to menace them.  The wind had picked up and was making its presence known.  It was fairly warm, but against Adam’s already wet clothes it could chill him further.  Joe hoped his own body heat and the warmth generated by the horse would be enough.

Cochise ambled on for maybe twenty or so minutes until they came to an embankment that led up to the road.  Joe stopped him and eyed the situation.  It wasn’t so awful steep, and if the horse were only carrying Joe, it’d be no problem at all.  But with Adam’s inert weight in the saddle and Joe on his rump, things could get a little tricky.  And Joe knew he couldn’t get down and lead Cochise, because without Joe to hang onto him, Adam would come off for sure.

Stop worrying about it, boy, and get it done, Joe had heard both his brothers say to him.  He tightened his hold around Adam, got a good grip on the horn and clenched his thighs against the horse’s sides.  “All right, Cooch, let’s get it done,” he said, prodding him on.

Cochise started to climb, his hooves and powerful legs picking their way.  Now and then a rock would get kicked loose and roll to the bottom.  The little calico fought for each purchase of a hoof.  Joe held his brother securely and his fingers ached from their hold on the horn.  All he needed was to slide off and take Adam with him.  While the fall probably wouldn’t do him much harm, it would most likely finish Adam.

Adam moaned lightly as the horse scrambled back onto the road, giving him a hard jerk.  The animal was winded, so Joe decided to wait here while he settled down.  And Adam needed some water, he’d hardly had any since before they left town. 

Joe got the canteen and, bracing it against himself, unstopped it. 

“Adam,” Joe said, giving him a jiggle.  “Come on, you need some water.”  Joe didn’t like disturbing him, he needed the rest, but he also needed to drink.  “Adam, wake up.”  He gave him a firmer shake.

“Huh, what?” Adam mumbled half out of it.

A couple small swallows were enough for now; after being nauseated earlier, too much could only aggravate things.  Joe stopped the canteen and hung it back around the horn; he could wait.

“We’re back on the road,” Joe said as he worked his hand inside the coat, placing it over Adam’s heart.  His brows drew down; it wasn’t as strong as he thought it should be.  But he was grateful that it was beating at all, after what Adam had been through.  He did seem warmer, however, and the shivering had stopped.  “We’ll be home before long.”

“Home,” Adam murmured.

“Yeah, home.  Pa can…”  But Joe cut himself off.  Pa wasn’t there.  Neither was Hoss or Hop Sing.  So caught up in what had happened and his worry for Adam, Joe had forgotten that they wouldn’t be back from the trail drive for another day or two, possibly longer.  And that meant most of the hands were with them.  There wouldn’t be anyone there to send for the doctor, and he couldn’t very well leave Adam alone while he went.  And he couldn’t rely on someone conveniently stopping by.  He was definitely on his own.  His brother’s life rested right on him, and it was an uncomfortable place to be in.

He fixed the coat around Adam and held him just a little closer.  Joe remembered his brother’s strong arms holding him in their protective circle many times in the past.  How, as a small boy, Adam had comforted him when he was hurt or frightened or sick.  Now it was Joe’s turn to do the same for him.  It gave him a measure of satisfaction to feel his brother against him; to be the protector for a change.

Joe blinked hard and brought himself back to the present.  The horse was rested so they’d better get started.  Joe feared Adam was on borrowed time, and he had to do everything he could not to waste it.

He urged Cochise on with his legs and a click of his tongue.

Joe hadn’t seen the sun’s bright face since leaving Virginia City.  The huge pines were twisting more as the wind continued to play its foreboding music in their boughs.  But still the rain held off.

Joe knew it could go on like this for hours before the heavens would finally part.  And he prayed it would do so now.

As they went on, their movement flushed a quail that flitted up near Cochise’s head.  The horse shied.  Instinctively, Joe reacted, speaking calmly, and tightening his arm around his brother; a little too tightly as Adam grunted.

“Sorry, brother.  But I didn’t hurt you as bad as a fall would’ve,” Joe said as he relaxed his clasp.

Cochise ambled on, his hooves tamping the hard-packed soil.

They had a way to go yet, and most of Joe had begun to hurt.  But for Adam, he’d endure a lot more and be more than willing to do it.  He hadn’t come out and said so since he was a child, but he loved Adam dearly.  And he’d make any sacrifice he had to in order to keep him alive.

The ground rose steadily and at this rate it didn’t take long before Cochise was blowing hard.  Joe pushed him a bit farther than he had before, but finally had to give in and stop, in Adam’s interest as well as the animal’s.

Like before, Joe decided to try to get more water into him.  He didn’t want his brother becoming dehydrated.  With all his problems, he didn’t need any more, not even one.

“All right, time for some more water,” Joe said, taking the canteen.  “Come on, Adam.”  He shook him but nothing happened.  Adam didn’t move, he made no sound, he didn’t do anything.  He didn’t even seem to be breathing anymore.

Joe went dead inside.  “Adam….  Adam!”  He jostled him harder, but still he didn’t wake up.  “Oh, Adam, you can’t’ve.”  Frantically getting his hand inside the coat he was answered with a slow but steady thump.

Joe released the breath he’d been holding as he hugged his brother with both arms and let his head drop.  Relief washed over him with the spring wind.  But then, something approaching outrage welled into him.  He wanted to yell at Adam, make him wake up, make him live.  Then just as quickly it was gone, leaving only concern for someone very dear.

Joe felt his forehead.  Adam was hot, not burning up, but hotter than he should be.  And he was hotter than he had been.  “I was afraid of this,” Joe said flatly.  There was that one problem Adam didn’t need.

Joe was growing desperate.  Adam’s life dangled by a slender thread that could snap as any second; his borrowed time was running out.  Joe put the canteen back and started Cochise before he was ready.  Rest had become a luxury that would have to wait.

Fortunately, it soon leveled out and Cochise would have it easier.  And they were getting closer to home.

Chapter 3

Cochise came into the clearing.  There it was: the house, ringed by pines and with the Sierra Nevadas as a back drop.  The house that Adam had designed and helped their father to build, the house where Joe had done most of his growing, the house that echoed with love and laughter and even tragedy.  But it was more than just a house; it was home, a haven.  And Joe had to get Adam there.

“We’re almost home,” he said tiredly.  “Almost.”

But Adam was still out of it and Joe doubted if he’d been heard.  No matter; home was within reach, and Adam would know when they got there.

Joe felt relief as they drew closer to the big, rough-hewn log dwelling.  What would’ve usually been about a half hour ride had taken over an hour. 

Adam had moved little and Joe had left him alone, now and then making sure he was still among the living.  He hadn’t tried to make him drink anymore, figuring the rest was more important at this point.  There’d be plenty of water later.

It seemed like forever before they came into the yard.  And the closer they got to the house, the more pent-up Joe got.  “Adam, we’re here.   We’re home.  Wake up,” Joe said anxiously.  “Did you hear me?  We’re home.”

He brought the horse as close to the front door as he could.   The shorter the distance he’d have to get Adam inside, the better.

He joggled Adam, saying his name.  But when he didn’t wake Joe began slapping his face.  “Wake up, Adam.”

“Joe… don’t…”

“Adam, look,” Joe said on a sigh.

For the first time in he didn’t know how long, Adam was aware.  Not exactly lucid, but he was aware to some extent.

Gradually coming out of his cave, he had to blink away the mist.  He had trouble processing what he saw, but something instinctively told him where he was.  “Home,” his voice was scratchy.

“That’s right,” Joe said, shifting the reins to his other hand.  “We made it.  Now I’ve gotta get you in.”

Joe slid to the ground, and the minute he did, Adam began to pitch from the saddle.  Catching him and teetering under the sudden weight, Joe eased him down and cradled him close.  Adam was a big man and a real load, but Joe had no choice, he couldn’t risk those broken legs again.  He ground tied Cochise.

Fast as he was able, Joe crossed to the front door, fumbled with the latch, and then pushed it open.  They were inside.  The house had never looked so good, so welcoming.  Joe called out in the hopes that someone might be there, but was answered only with silence.

Joe could feel his brother breathing against his neck and it assuaged some of his apprehension.  “I’ve gotta get you outta those clothes,” he said half to himself.

Then an idea came to him.  He laid Adam on the long rug just inside.  He took his hat and gun belt off and put on the table behind the settee.

“Adam,” he said, cupping his brother’s chin.  “Adam, can you hear me?”

The thick black lashes batted and he looked hazily at Joe, but appeared to have difficulty focusing.  He tried to say something but drifted off again.

Joe began looking around him, trying to get straight in his mind what needed to be done.  “What now?” he ruffled his unruly hair.  His thoughts were racing, darting from one thing to the next like a honey bee from flower to flower.

Shoving the door together as he went, Joe hurried to the bureau.  He took two blankets from the bottom of it then rushed to the settee.  The first one he spread over it so that it fell over the back the second rested in the floor, and they overlapped across the seat.

Next, he stoked the fire and added fresh kindling.  But he froze and stared blankly at the poker, his fingers tightening on its wooden handle till the knuckles whitened.  Then he abruptly thrust it back into the logs.

With a sudden jerk, he rushed upstairs, taking two steps at a time, to Hoss’ room.  Shortly, he came down with one of his big nightshirts; the gray and blue checked one, Hoss’ favorite.  He was also bogged down with pillows he’d scavenged from the beds.  He dropped them onto the settee then draped the garment over the side of the low table closest to the fireplace.

Joe wanted to set for a few minutes and rest, but there simply wasn’t time.  With a fast look at Adam, he ran into the kitchen.  He got a pan and filled it from the pump.  Then he gathered an armful of towels from a cupboard and started to leave when he remembered that he needed one, no, two of Hop Sing’s nice sharp knives.  He went to the sideboard and yanked open the drawer where they were kept.  His first choice had a large, wide blade, the second longer and more narrow.  He stuck them in his belt, gathered the towels and hastened back to the parlor.

He put everything on the floor, including the knives, next to Adam.  He was still out, and that was for the best.

Joe got the copper kettle that always sat inside the hearth, a continuous source of hot water.  He poured a steady stream into the cold in the pan, constantly testing it.  He wanted to take the edge off of it, but he didn’t want it scalding.  When he thought it was just right, he returned the kettle to its place and hurried right back.

Kneeling at Adam’s side, he undid the coat, and then cut the rope holding his arms.  They dropped with a thump at his sides, making Joe wince.  But Adam didn’t wake.  Delicately, as if he could hurt him this way, Joe unbuttoned his brother’s shirt and opened it back, exposing the broad chest.  Starting at the right sleeve, he cut all the way up from the cuff and across the front.  Then he did the same with the other side.

He raised Adam and pushed the remains of the shirt off of him and gave it a fling.  His skin was clammy and it sent a rush of fear through Joe.  Adam’s head rested trustingly against his little brother; his stern features relaxed and gentle.  He spoke Adam’s name under his breath and could feel a burning behind his eyes.

Joe closed the coat over its wet lining then laid Adam back down.  Now his attention went to the britches; he had to get them off without hurting him.  And then there was the matter of the boot.  But with two broken legs and a piece of wood sticking in one, Joe was afraid he couldn’t do this without doing harm.

He’d put that off as long as he could.

“Why don’t I try to get you cleaned up some?” Joe said with a taut grin.  “Pa’d have something to say about one of his sons looking like this.”

He put a towel into the water and squeezed it until it was only damp.  It was like bathing a baby; helpless and totally dependant, and Joe handled him as gently as a mother would.  “Before you know it you’ll be presentable again,” he said a vain attempt to be bright. 

Then, as the grime came off, Joe’s breath caught and he went completely motionless.  A long purple-blue mark angled across Adam’s ribcage from side-to-side.  Something, a board or the wagon tongue, from the looks of it, had struck him.  This certainly would account for the busted ribs.

Joe didn’t want to know what his brother had suffered, was suffering, or would suffer.  He only wanted to do what he could to keep any more to a minimum.  But one thing was a  certainty; what lay ahead would bring that suffering to new heights.

Putting himself back together, he washed his brother’s long arms with their fine hands and tapered fingers.  Joe remembered when those same strong hands held his own small ones.  How they’d comforted and guided.  And now they were so still.

Joe lovingly sponged the dried, caked mud from Adam’s heavy hair.  He’d always noticed how it shone like a raven’s feathers when it was wet.

When he’d finished he realized he’d forgotten something.  He ran to the kitchen and quickly returned with a couple long narrow pieces of sheeting.

Those ribs had to be bound.  Joe sat Adam up and got behind him; taking one of the strips, he began wrapping it tightly around Adam’s chest.  He whimpered with one particularly hard tug and Joe apologized.  Adam had been through enough without him getting ham-handed and adding to it.  Once the binding was securely tied he lowered Adam back to the floor and covered him to keep him from getting chilled.

Now Joe hesitantly turned his attention to his brother’s lower half and inhaled roughly.  He dreaded this more than anyone would ever know; he didn’t want Adam hurt anymore, but there was no way around it.  Pa used to say that sometimes you had to hurt to help.  Well, Joe was going to have to hurt, and hurt bad before he was finished.

His attention flitted to the fireplace, then to the poker, then back to his brother.  The idea of what he was going to do turned his stomach.  He’d seen it done before, though never done it himself, and the stench and pain had always stayed fresh in his memory.  Now he was about to add to those memories by doing it to Adam.

“You have to do this, Joe,” he said half out loud.  “If you don’t he’ll die.”

He knew Adam could die anyway, but this could give him a chance.  And any chance there was Joe had to take.  He’d considered waiting for Doc Martin, but he didn’t know when that would be, and by then it could be too late.  No, it was up to him. 

He wiped his face with the back of his hand then unbuckled Adam’s gun belt; the big .44 Colt long gone.  He laid it aside then removed the other belt and put with it.

Without hesitation, Joe began cutting Adam’s britches off of him.  Now he got a good look at the injury to his brother’s right thigh and it made him ill.  The large splinter looked to be in fairly deep and the blood around it had clotted and turned dark. 

Joe’s soft, dark brows lowered and one corner of his mouth snurled in distaste.  “No time to get squeamish.”

It wasn’t that he was squeamish; actually, it was just the thought of what he was looking at.  Thankfully, Adam didn’t appear to be aware of it.

He pulled the remnants of the britches from under Adam and tossed them away with the shirt.  He sliced along the side of the boot and literally peeled it away from Adam’s foot.  Then he rolled off the sodden socks and stuffed into the top of it.

“Hop Sing’s gonna kill me for dulling his knife,” he said, laying it down on the rug.  But Joe knew better.  He knew that Hop Sing would do the same thing without a blink for any one of his boys.

As gently as before, Joe bathed his brother thoroughly from the waist down, paying close attention to the dried blood.  He placed more towels over him leaving the right thigh uncovered.

Joe stood and stretched; it felt good but he didn’t have time to linger in it.  Bending over, he took the end of the rug at his brother’s feet, and drug it and Adam closer to the hearth.  “Unh, Adam, you’re heavy,” he grunted.

Joe pulled the poker from the burning logs.  It was getting there but it wasn’t quite ready, so he stuck it back.

He looked down at his brother lying serenely heedless to everything around him.  “Adam, for once in your life; do as I say and don’t wake up yet,” he said crisply.

Adam had never been one to bend to anyone’s whims or will.  Only Pa had any kind of control over him and sometimes they butted heads like two old rams.  And as bad as he himself was, Joe knew, without doubt, that Adam was the most stubborn, mule-headed person he’d ever known.  And even worse; most times he was right.    

Joe stooped next to him and checked Adam’s heartbeat.  Maybe it was a little stronger.  Or was it wishful thinking on his part?  “Stay with me, brother,” he said, watching him intently.

A wisp of black hair had characteristically fallen over Adam’s forehead.  Joe lightly pushed it back.  “You don’t even know I’m here, do you?”

For now, he was resting comfortably and getting warm.  He didn’t appear to be in any further danger, as far as Joe could tell, so he decided to see to Cochise.

Joe moved like someone caught in a bad dream out to the yard where the piebald waited patiently.  But it wasn’t a dream; it was a nightmare without an end in sight.  “You earned yourself something special today.  How does a carrot sound?” he said as he patted the horse on the jowl.

Cochise affectionately snuffled his velvety muzzle in his master’s hair.

Inside Joe, sadness mingled with gratitude.  “Thank’s fella,” he said, patting him again.  He pulled the animal’s head down and put his face against it and closed it all out  for a few minutes.  “Thanks.”

Once back in his stall and untacked, Cochise got a brisk if somewhat cursory rubdown, oats, water and his promised carrot.  Joe enjoyed the horse, and today ‘Cooch’ showed part of why.  He’d done everything Joe had asked of him and never once balked.  If Adam lived it could be said that Cochise helped save his life.

Joe went back to the house; tired and wrung out and with so much yet ahead of him.  But he wasn’t worried about himself.  Right now his only concern was his brother, and he was eager to get back to him.

Adam apparently hadn’t budged and he’d heated up even more.  Joe hoped it was from the fire, but he didn’t really believe that. 

Joe found that the nightshirt was well warmed and he decided that it was time to get Adam into it.  He slipped the long arms into the sleeves, then gathered it in back and eased it over his head.  Joe pulled it down around him, avoiding his injured thigh, and then covered him again to keep in the warmth.  Then he packed more toweling around his right leg to catch the blood.

Catch the blood.  Oh, would this ever end?  He stepped to the hearth and stared into the blaze.  His body throbbed all over.  He massaged his temples and let the scent of burning pine take him back to his first hunt.  The quarry had been mule deer and Joe had been fourteen.  Adam had thought him plenty old enough, and Pa had agreed.  Hoss had wanted to go but Adam believed that he and Joe needed the time together, alone.  Joe had become combative with his older brother; defying and rankling against his authority.  Things hadn’t changed.  But the outing had been good for both of them, and neither worried about coming away empty handed.  Some of the brotherly understanding had been restored, if only temporarily.

Joe pulled the poker out; it was ready.  But he wasn’t.  How could he do this to Adam?  How could he…  He let the thought go as he shoved the poker back into the fire.  How could he not?

He turned and looked down at Adam, at peace for the moment.  “I hate to do this to you, brother.  But I think you’d tell me to just get on with it if you could,” he said wearily.

Coming around on his brother’s right, he knelt down and took the finer bladed knife.  He paused to say a prayer for his hands and his nerve to stay steady; and for Adam not to suffer too much.  Though he knew that was one prayer that couldn’t be answered.

Joe looked dubiously at the hand that clutched the knife, its keen blade glinting in the light.  It was steady as a rock.  With a gritted determination to get this over with, Joe thrust the blade halfway to the hilt between the wood and the flesh of his brother’s leg.  As he ran it around a small amount of blood came to the surface, but he knew this wasn’t as bad as it was going to get.  He began to pry and move the wooden shard back-and-forth.  Allowing himself a quick side-glance he could see that Adam was beginning to react.

“Not yet,” he muttered.  “Please, not yet.”

Continuing to wobble the wood and pry, he felt it begin to come free.  It didn’t seem to be in as deep as he’d at first thought.  “There’s only one way,” he said sickly.  And, putting the knife down, he gripped the piece with both hands and gave a fierce tug.

It came out with such abruptness that it surprised Joe.  But the bleeding didn’t; it ran down Adam’s thigh in rivulets and stained the towels.  He threw the shard into the grate and grabbed the poker.  Without faltering, he laid it again the dreadful wound.  The stench of burning flesh hit his nostrils and he swallowed hard.

Searing, burning pain scorched its way into Adam’s dark world.  It ran into his very soul.  His mind spun and he sucked in air as the agony traveled through his body. 

Adam’s scream cut Joe in two, but he couldn’t stop now.  He had to make sure he’d stopped the bleeding.  “Just a few more seconds.  Gotta make sure,” Joe said, pressing the poker down as he leaned hard on Adam’s leg.

Adam writhed and screamed again.  His left arm shot out and hit the table leg with such force that Joe feared he may have broken his hand.

Finally, Joe cautiously lifted the poker; no blood.  “It’s all right, Adam.  It’s over.”  He gave the wretched thing a fling and it landed against the hearthstone with a blunt clang.  He cleaned away the blood then bound the wound with the other strip of sheeting.

Once the bandage was tied securely in place Joe scooted across the floor and gathered Adam up.  He was breathing so hard it gave Joe a turn.  The nightshirt clung to him and the black wisp was pasted against his forehead.  Joe took a towel and blotted away the perspiration.

“It’s over, Adam.  It’s over,” he said, seeing his brother through a film of tears.  “And I pray that I never have to hurt you like that again.”

Adam’s pain-glazed eyes staggered open and he looked at him.  Joe’s name came faintly on a whisper as he weakly raised his left hand. 

Joe took it lightly and felt along the back of it.  As he’d feared, it was indeed broken.  He wouldn’t let his brother see him cry, but in his deepest depths, he wept.

Adam’s eyelids wafted down and Joe felt him go lax against him.  He hunched over Adam, still holding his hand.  The constant fear that he was going to lose his brother couldn’t be allayed.  All he could do was stay near and pray.

Chapter 4

Almost half an hour had passed since the awful ordeal.  Adam was nestled on the settee, a pillow under his head and two propping his legs.  The blankets had been lapped over him with only his head uncovered and he was resting quietly.

Joe slumped in the red leather chair by the fireplace, keeping vigil over his brother while he slept.  He was tired.  No, he was more than simply tired; he was physically and emotionally drained.  Adam’s screams pierced him and the wounded, half-closed eyes haunted him.

The storm had finally come, and Joe was grateful it’d waited until they’d gotten home.  Two of his prayers had been answered, now if only the others would be.  It lashed around the house; the thunder answering the howling wind.  Joe had fastened the shutters in the dining room against it and lit a couple lamps in the parlor.  The blaze crackled and filled the room with light and warmth. 

Joe looked around, but his attention went immediately to the poker; lying where he’d thrown it.  He’d used it on his brother, and he knew he could never look at it the same way again.  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stared back into the fire.  Except for the snapping it made and the gale outside, the house itself was quiet;   silent as a graveyard after a snow.  He flinched and buried his face in his hands.  Why did he have to think such things?

For the first time he allowed himself to run unchecked.  Tears ran into his hands and down his arms, and his soft weeping floated around him.  If this was what being a man was about, he knew he wanted no part of it.  But a man wouldn’t have said what he did in front of the mercantile.

Joe calmed some.  I wish you’d go away and just leave me alone!  I don’t need you!, Joe’s shouted words forced themselves back on him and humbled him.  “I didn’t mean it, Adam.  Not a word of it,” he said his voice coarse and defeated.  “I do need you.  And I don’t want you to go away.”

“I know,” came a gaunt, but strangely familiar reply.

“Adam.”  Joe looked quickly around, savagely wiping away the tears, and rushed to his brother’s side.  Joe sat on the table and checked the progression of the fever, almost afraid of what he’d find.  He was still very hot.

He started to ask Adam how he was feeling but he could see for himself.  Adam was ashen and haggard.  His eyes sat back in deep sockets and Joe could almost see the pain lurking behind them.

He took the glass he had sitting on the table and held it to Adam’s pallid lips.  It seemed such an endeavor to get so little down.  Setting the glass back, Joe took the cloth from the pan of water, squeezed it out and began trying to cool him.  Adam’s breathing wasn’t as hard and fast, but it was labored.  The cloth heated quickly so Joe wet it again. 

“How long...  How long have I…”

“Been out?  I’d guess not quite an hour,” Joe said as he wiped Adam’s hair back.  “We had us quite a session, didn’t we?”  Joe forced a halfhearted grin.

“That we did.”  Adam didn’t really want to talk, but he had to, he had things that needed saying.  “You all right?”

Joe froze and held back what was bubbling up inside him.  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?  You know me,” he said as he looked from Adam, lest he give himself away.

His brother’s light tone was false, and Adam caught it right now, ill as he was.  He scowled skeptically.  “Yeah,… I know you….  Now… how are you?... And don’t make…”  He had to stop to let his breathing catch up with him.  “…ask again.”

Joe didn’t want to worry him; Adam had enough problems just trying to get well without worrying about him.  “Really, I’m all right.  It was rough putting you through that,” he said, trying hard to keep his strong mask on.  “But I knew it had to be done, and I got through it.”

Adam took one long, wearisome blink then rested his gaze on his brother’s drawn features.  He thought he’d heard Joe crying, and now he was pretty much sure of it.  “All right… for now…. But I… wish…” he said, nothingness wanting to take him once more.  His strength was deserting him, but there was still something he had to say; to do.  “Would you do… something for me?”

Joe studied him closely.  “Anything.  You know that.”

“Go to my room….  Box under the bed….  Get and… bring it back,” Adam said, struggling for every syllable.

“Adam, I…”

“Please, Joe… just once…,” his voice ebbed.

Joe was uncertain if he should leave him, but it seemed so important to him.  “All right,” he said with a wan smile and touched his brother’s wrist.  “But don’t you go anywhere.”

Faint humor flickered in the dim hazel eyes set on Joe.  “Thought… I’d go fishin’.”

Joe snickered lightly to keep from falling apart.  “In this storm?  You’d drown.”  He cringed at his poor choice of words.  Adam had almost drowned and he wasn’t out of the woods yet.  He rewet the cloth and put it on Adam’s forehead, then went upstairs with a backward glance as he reached the landing, and went on.

It was all Adam could do to stay awake.  He felt weighted down and it was making it difficult to make his lungs work.  But there was something he had to do before the shadows consumed him again, something he may not get another chance to do.

Adam could see the strain Joe was under, and he worried what would happen to his brother if he didn’t make it.  He’d fight to live, but he knew there were some fights even a fighter like himself couldn’t win.  And he wondered if this was one of them.

Joe was only gone for a very few minutes.  He held a wooden case, a little bigger than a cigar box, as he drug himself down the stairs.  Fatigue made itself evident in his dragging steps. 

He went back to the table and sat down.  Curiosity nibbled at him, but he knew Adam would tell when he was ready.

“Happy birthday, Joe.”

Joe looked straight at him; he didn’t like where this was heading.  “That isn’t for another month,” he said, stifling the anxiety building in him. 

Adam only half nodded.  “But we both know that…  maybe I won’t be around then,” he said barely above a murmur.  “Open it.”

Joe didn’t want to open it.  It meant he was giving up on Adam, surrendering to the fact that his brother wouldn’t be around for his birthday.

Adam knew his little brother, and he knew what he was thinking.  “Go ahead….  It won’t change… what’s going to be,” he said on an intake of air as a sharp twinge stabbed into him.

Joe paused.  In spite of what Adam said, he still felt like he was giving up.  Looking down at the chest in his lap, he gulped down the rock and fought the tears that threatened.  He could feel Adam watching him and he was afraid to look at him.

Trying to keep the trembling in his fingers at bay he flipped the clasp and opened back the hinged lid.  Inside, nestled in excelsior, was the most beautiful pistol Joe had ever seen.  The steel blue barrel and cylinder were heavily scrolled.  The stocks were highly polished mahogany wood with a silver disc in each engraved with the Ponderosa brand and the initials JC. 

“I believe the tool… should be worthy… of the man… who uses it,” Adam said, regarding his brother. 

Joe slid down in front of the settee, letting the box hit the floor and clutching the gun tightly.  Closing his eyes, he put his forehead against his brother’s chest.

Pushing himself to the limit, Adam brought out his right hand and put it on the back of Joe’s head.  “It’s all right, buddy,” he comforted, finally losing the battle to stay in this world.  “Go ahead.”

Joe’s pitiful sobs emanated through the parlor and into the dining room.  Even the fury outside couldn’t drown them out.  But they were soon lost to Adam as he lost consciousness again.

           ****

Joe stepped out into the wailing night with the chamber pot.  He emptied it against the wind so that the rain could wash it away then moved back to the shelter of the porch. 

He felt beaten as he watched the storm batter the barn and the trees.  There were so many things he wished the rain could wash away: words, anger, sorrow, misery. 

Adam had called him a man, but right now he was feeling more like an exhausted, scared little boy.  If only Pa were there to reassure him that everything was going to be all right.  But what if Pa couldn’t?  What if he couldn’t turn to him and say; “Everything’s gonna to be all right.  Adam’s gonna to be all right.”  Joe realized that sometimes he and his brothers expected their father to know the answers to things he couldn’t possibly.  A sad smile turned his lips and tugged at the corners of his vacant eyes.  Was it only natural for a son to look to his father and expect him to know the answers to all the questions?

The door had been left ajar so he could hear if Adam needed anything.  But his brother was out again and he didn’t expect it.

Joe wanted to go to sleep, to shut out everything that’d gone on.  But it would doubtless invade his dreams, and, anyway, he couldn’t risk being asleep if Adam needed him.

“Joe!”

Joe spun around, gut in his feet, and rushed inside, slamming the door.  He dropped the pot as he ran to the settee, catching his toe on something and nearly falling.

Adam was restless, he head rolling on the pillow, eyes closed.  “Joe!”

Joe sat on the table and took Adam’s flailing left arm, careful of the bound hand.  “I’m here, Adam.  I’m right here,” he said, feeling Adam’s forehead.  His discouraged expression said it all.  “You’re burning up.”  He washed Adam’s face with the cool, damp cloth.

“Joe!...  Gotta find… Joe!”  Adam’s agitation was escalating.  “Joe, water!  No, water!...  Gotta find Joe!”

“Adam, I’m here!  You’re safe!  There’s no water!”  Joe’s tense voice rose.

Adam was beginning the thrash about more violently and Joe feared he’d hurt himself over again.  Tenderly, he lifted Adam, blankets and all, pushed the pillow to the floor, then shifted onto the settee and carefully lowered his brother into his lap.  Joe held him firm, but remained mindful of his ribs.  “It’s all right, Adam.  Your brother’s got you, and I’m not gonna let anything hurt you,” he said, strangling back a cry.  “You’re all right.”

Adam continued to pitch about and Joe was having trouble hanging onto him, leastways without hurting him.  “Adam, stop it,” he said sternly. 

“Pa?” Adam asked roughly.  “Pa, where’s Joe?...  Gotta find… Joe.” 

“I said stop it!” Joe said directly, frustration and anger mounting; not at Adam but at himself for being so powerless.

Suddenly, Adam’s frantic eyes flashed open and looked straight into Joe’s, but he doubted if his brother really saw him.  Joe smiled poignantly, his heart tearing apart.

Adam just stared at him and calmed his breathing harsh and chafing.  Then his right arm raised and Joe took his hand.  “Joe,” Adam said, his voice frail.

“It’s all right now.  You found me,” Joe said mildly.  “We’re both safe.”

He looked deep into Adam’s eyes as a peace seemed to fill them.  Adam settled and became very still.

A sudden, urgent trepidation, almost a panic, engulfed Joe.  What was happening?  Was this it?  Was his brother dying in his arms?  “Adam,” his voice stumbled.

Adam passed out again and his head fell against Joe, but his breathing continued quick and ragged.  And Joe knew.  Adam had found him and would let himself rest now; Joe was all right and nothing else mattered.  Even half out of his mind with fever, Joe’s safety was foremost.

Joe pulled the blanket up and his clasp snugged around him.  Easing foreword, he moved the pan closer and took the cloth from it.  He bathed Adam’s face and wet his dry lips.  “We’ll get through this, brother,” he said, strain and lassitude coming through.

He tossed the cloth into the pan and leaned back against the settee and closed his eyes.  Tears seeped through his dark lashes and ran down his cheeks.  An ache had settled way down inside him, an ache so profound that he knew it’d take a long time to heal.  He also knew that if Adam didn’t come through this, maybe it never would.

He could feel his brother against his heart, his respiration still coming frightfully fast.  He looked at the pale figure he cradled, feeling the life he held.  And at that moment Joe felt more like a father holding his son, and for it maybe understood his own father a little better.

Joe let his eyes close against and shifted ever so slightly.  Gradually, Adam’s breathing slowed but stayed heavy and rough.  He rested easy in his brother’s sheltering grasp, only becoming restive twice.  But Joe’s soothing words and calm, gentle voice quieted him.

Joe got up only once to use the chamber pot he’d so unceremoniously discarded by the front door,  But he’d gone right back to the settee and taken Adam back to him.

He was aware most of the night and into the early hours of the morning.  Managing to doze some on and off; Adam remained at the center of his sleep which had become sound right before it got light.

           ****

That Friday morning dawned bright and full of promise.  The storm had blown itself out about an hour before.  The scent of pine and wildflowers pervaded the heavy, damp air and everything hung limp and wet.  But the warm spring sun and breezes would soon dry things into one of those glorious days that come to the Sierras.

But inside the Ponderosa ranch house Adam Cartwright continued to wage war against a high fever.  His kid brother was asleep on the settee, still holding him.

Sleeping soundly, Joe didn’t hear the horses or the chuck wagon splash into the front yard.  He wasn’t aware when the front door opened back and his father and brother blustered in.

Ben Cartwright froze where he stood.  “What in the world?”

The place was a wreck: dried mud on the floor, the rug rumpled by the fireplace, the poker thrown haphazardly against the hearthstone, a pile of dirty black rags and towels near the table behind the settee and a used chamber pot in the middle of the room.

Ben felt heat tickle at the roots of his silvery hair and the muscles in his jaw tensed.  He could expect something like this from Joe; but Adam.  “I leave them alone for two weeks, and look at this,” he said gruffly.  He was just about to call his wayfaring sons when his middle son spoke.

“Pa,” Hoss Cartwright said grimly, bending to pick up the smooth black gun belt and the remains of the muddy shirt and britches.  “This is Adam’s.  And so’s these.”

Ben took the clothes from him and looked them over.  They were filthy and had been cut, not torn, but deliberately cut.  Then his coffee eyes went to the single boot.

Hoss picked it up and turned it over in his big hands; it too had been cut.  “Pa, somethin’ ain’t right here.”

Ben’s mind began to whirl.  Where were Adam and Joe?  Granted, Joe could be a little erratic at times, but Adam was as stable as they came, and he wouldn’t just leave the house this way.  Not without good reason.

Ben hadn’t noticed the steady torrent of heated Chinese coming from the kitchen until it stopped.  Looking around, he saw Hop Sing standing like a statue by the dining table, gaping at the settee.

Ben and Hoss followed his line of sight.  For the first time they saw the mass of dark brown curls showing above the back of the piece of furniture.  He and Hoss walked around either end of it and stopped when they saw what was on it.  Hop Sing took a step closer.

Ben’s heart sank when he saw his sons.  Adam was unconscious and pale as a ghost, his face glossy with perspiration and his breathing heavy.  Joe, asleep, held him like he never intended to let go.

Ben sat on the table and leaned closer to them. “Joe….  Joe,” he said softly.

Joe didn’t stir. 

Ben could see the shades of fatigue in the face of his youngest, and was afraid to know what’d put them there.  “Joseph,” he said, his voice raising an octave as he touched his son cautiously.

Joe awoke with a start, his attention going directly to Adam.

“Joseph.”

Only then did Joe realize that he and Adam were no longer alone.  He blinked owlishly and looked at his father.  “Pa?” he asked wispily.  “Am I glad to see you.”  He side- glanced at Hoss.  “Both of you.  Where’s Hop Sing?”

Hop Sing came to stand by Ben.  “I light here, Mista Joe.”

“Joseph, what happened?”  Ben could feel his stomach tightening.  “What’s wrong with Adam?”

“I’ll tell you about it, Pa,” he said, glancing at Hoss again.  “But first someone needs to go for Doc Martin.  There wasn’t anyone to send and I couldn’t leave Adam alone.”

“I’ll git me a fresh horse an’ go right now,” Hoss volunteered, then rushed out.  For such a big man, he could move quite fast when he had to.

“Hop Sing, you’d better make us some coffee,” Ben said tiredly.  “This is going to be along day.”

“I go light now.  And I help with Mista Adam,” Hop Sing said and bustled into the kitchen.  He hated seeing one of his boys hurt so, and this one had fever.  Some of his tea would help.

“I thought he was dead, Pa.  I couldn’t find him.  And when I did he was all broke and covered with mud.  I didn’t even know it was him at first,” Joe said timorously, the words coming fast and cracked.

Ben reached out absently and put his hand on Adam’s face.  His eldest was burning up.  Ben met Joe’s pleading, tear-shrouded watch.  “But what happened, Joe?  How did…”

“He got caught in a spring runoff yesterday morning,” he said, cutting his father off.  “In Deacon’s Pass.”

A quick tremor shook Ben.  He knew Deacon’s Pass well, and he’d seen the damage wrought by these runoffs.  He’d also seen the victims that’d been caught in them; twisted and buried in silt and dead or dying.  Was his son dying now?  He could only guess what it’d been like for Joe to find his brother like that.  And he didn’t want to imagine what the previous day and night had been like for both of them.

Delicately, Ben opened back the blankets, and was taken aback by what met him.  The tail of the nightshirt was hiked, showing the full extent of injury to his son’s legs.  The front had been left unbuttoned and the binding peaked through.

With a tender touch, Ben lifted the bound hand.  It was so colorless against the white bandage that swathed it.  How many times had he held it when it was so much smaller?  He looked to Joe.  “Broken too?”

Joe nodded.  “He hit the table when I cauterized his leg with the poker,” Joe said sickly.  The shattering screams returned and he wanted to blot them out.  Would he ever be able to?

Ben’s memory turned back to the implement lying against the hearth and it jarred him to the marrow.  Joe had never had to do that before, and the first time it had been to his brother.  He felt a swell of pride for his youngest.  Ben had left a boy, and come home to a man.

Laying down the precious hand, Ben closed the blankets back over his son.  Then he took the cloth and began swabbing Adam’s face.

“Pa.”

“Yes, son,” Ben said, never looking from Adam or stopping what he was doing.

“We argued,” Joe said unevenly.

Ben had heard this before, it wasn’t anything new.  But this time it was different, Adam’s life was in danger, and Ben caught a hint of guilt in Joe’s voice.

“I said some awful things to him, Pa.  I said I…”  His chin began to quiver and he bit his lower lip.  “…wished he’d go away.  Leave me alone.  Pa, I don’t.”

Ben looked at him and it hurt.  He could see Joe’s blame; hear it in his voice, read it in the fretted brown eyes.  “We sometimes say things when we’re angry that we don’t mean,” Ben said, still ministering to Adam.  “Adam knows that.  And he knows you don’t want him to leave.”

Joe inhaled loudly.  “He said he does.  But I…” the downhearted voice fell off.

Ben gave Joe a smile that was a warm beacon, reaching out to him.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Adam rest so peacefully when he’s sick.  Somewhere deep inside, I think he knows who’s holding him.”

Joe’s thoughts reeled back to Adam’s thrashing and delirium, and his calling for his little brother.  How he’d calmed down when he’d found him.  The peace that’d crept into the fevered dark eyes when they’d met with his.  And he knew Pa was right.  Adam understood.  So did Joe.  Well, maybe a little.

Epilogue

“Ah, come one, Joe.  Ya gonna cut it or ain’t ya?”

Joe looked down at the chocolate-frosted cake, “Happy Birthday, Joe” written in white icing; but no candles.

Joe’s family couldn’t understand why he didn’t want them this year; he always had in the past.  But he’d only smile and say he just didn’t.  He knew that his wish had already been granted.

“Just hold your horses, Hoss.”  Joe beamed at the funny he’d made.  “You know I can’t cut it till Adam gets down here.”

“Well, if’n he don’t git down here soon I ain’t gonna wait anymore,” Hoss said, his brows dipping over his blue eyes.  “I’ll cut it myself.”

“Oh, no, you won’t.”

Ben sat at his end of the table, watching his sons with a muted expression of amusement.  “No, Hoss, Joe’s right, he said with mock seriousness.  “It was his decision to have only the family for his birthday this year.  And it wouldn’t be right not to wait until the whole family’s here.”

The whole family.  That sounded mighty good to Ben when, just a month ago, he’d come so close to losing a part of that family; first to drowning, then to a terrible fever.

“Well, dadburnit, whatever he’s doin’, I wish he’d hurry.  I’m just settin’ here awastin’ away to nothin’,” Hoss said, taking on his best emaciated expression.

“Is everybody waiting for me?” Adam asked cheerfully as he came down the stairs with a noticeable limp.

The right leg bone had healed without problem, but the left hadn’t done as well.  The double break had been more stubborn about knitting and the wound to his thigh had done some damage to the muscle.  But the cauterizing had saved him from a lot worse.

His father and brothers looked around.

“It’s about time, brother.  What took ya so dadblamed long?” Hoss said, his frown deepening.

He recalled the long ride to Virginia City to get the doctor after coming off a dragging trail drive.  But Adam had needed help and Hoss would’ve gone all the way to San Francisco, if necessary.

“I had to look decent for Joe’s birthday,” Adam said as he eased to the table and sat down at his usual place.  “I couldn’t come down here looking like one of the hands.”

Truth was; Adam hadn’t done any ranch work since he’d been hurt.  Doc Martin said it wasn’t time yet and Ben made sure his oldest hadn’t taken any on.

Joe had been taking up the slack more than Hoss, but he didn’t mind.  He took it as paying Adam back for doing his chores when he’d been sparking Penny Chapman; who’d dropped Joe like a hot rock.  The selfish little fool hadn’t understood why Joe had preferred staying at home to taking her to the dance.  Even after he’d explained that it was to be with his injured brother.

“Ya can cut it now, Joe,” Hoss said eagerly, rubbing his huge hands together.

Joe looked at the knife.  It was the same one he’d used to cut Adam’s clothes off, honed sharp.  His fingers tightened on the haft and his hand quivered ever so slightly.  At a light pressure on his arm Joe looked into Adam’s understanding eyes.

Adam grinned as he took his hand away.  “You better cut that before our brother keels over,” Adam said with a wink.

“Right,” Joe said as he brought the knife down through the tender cake.  “But he’s still gonna have to wait.”

Hoss’ face crumpled.  “Why, Joe?”

“Because as the birthday boy he gets to choose who gets the first piece,” Ben said, looking unnoticed at his oldest son.

“That’s right,” Joe said putting a good-sized portion on the plate his father had handed him.  With a smile he set it down in front of Adam.

A look passed between Adam and Joe.  Both of them knew that the bond between them was stronger than arguments or anger or even death.  No matter what happened, they would always be brothers.  Nothing could ever change that.

The End