Witch Wind

A little rusty and out of practice on this fanfic stuff, but hopefully I haven’t forgotten how it’s done!  I was in the mood for a good Joe and Shey story, so here you go . . .

Comments and feedback welcomed at CMOrtenz@aol.com.  Thanks to Karen F. for the extra set of eyes! :-) 

Fine Print/Standard Stuff:  Not my characters (except for Shey Cutter . . . he’s all mine!).  No profit is being made from this story, and no infringement is intended on any holder of Bonanza copyrights including Bonanza Ventures, David Dortort, etc.   Happy reading! 

Witch Wind

By Kate (CMT) 

An unseasonably crisp October wind crept beneath the edge of Joe Cartwright’s collar, forewarning of an early winter.  There was a damp edge to the air, as if had been carried from the shores of Lake Tahoe or the banks of the Truckee, lying cold and swollen to the west.  For days the unseasonable climate had been the talk of Virginia City.  Old timers gathered in the saloon, reminiscing about torrential autumn rains and fluke blizzards.  Those raised on folklore insisted winds from the north could only bode ill, a dread omen when they howled through the mountains during the witching month. 

Joe had never held much stock in superstition, but he couldn’t deny the unseasonably cool bite to the air.  Overhead a charcoal sky melted into pink where the dying ball of the sun sank low on the horizon.  Long shadows slanted through the trees, creating nests of blue shade among the autumn browned grass.  The peaks of the surrounding mountains watched impassively, tinged with purple and white against the steel sky.

Joe tugged his collar higher, grateful for the limited warmth of his green jacket, more for the black gloves that kept his fingers from growing stiff on Cochise’s reins. It probably would have been better to stay home and pass the evening with Adam or Hoss, playing checkers, but he’d been restless lately.  Cooped up too long with mounting chores and a list of responsibilities that grew daily.  The threat of any early winter brought a host of new worries to the ranch and a growing collection of tasks for each Cartwright.  Joe didn’t mind hard work, but he needed a break now and then to put the extra effort into perspective.  Earlier in the week, he’d run into his friend Shey Cutter at the post office and had agreed to meet at the Silver Dollar when Friday evening rolled around. 

Looking forward to a few beers and some friendly conversation, Joe rode into town headed for the saloon.  The streets were less busy then expected, a number of people chased indoors by the brisk wind.  A couple of hands from the Big Fir ranch left the livery stable as he rode by.  Further up the street, Ross Linden paused in front of his general store to call out a greeting and offer a friendly wave.

Joe tethered Cochise to the hitching post in front of the saloon and gave her a parting pat.  Shey’s grey gelding was nowhere to be seen, a sure sign his friend was still stuck at the Circle C.  Other than their brief encounter at the post office, Joe hadn’t seen Shey in over two weeks.  Between his responsibilities at the Ponderosa, and Shey’s overseeing of his own ranch, there hadn’t been time for catching up.  It would be good to see his friend again.

Joe grinned.  Even if Shey was as abrasive as hell. 

He took a step onto the boardwalk, wrenched to an abrupt halt by a woman’s short scream.  Drawn by the panicky sound, Joe sprinted around the side of the saloon into a narrow alley.  Jeannie, one of the girls who regularly worked in the Silver Dollar stood pinned against the building by a black-haired man.  A dark ring lingered beneath her eye, a mark she’d obviously tried to cover with makeup, but hadn’t been able to hide completely. 

“Please, Roper.”  Unaware of Joe’s presence, she spoke directly to the man who blocked her escape.  “I-I didn’t mean it.  You know you’re the only man for me.  I was just being friendly with Hank.  I—”  Her voice ended on a choked yelp when the man cracked her across her face.

“Hey!” Joe lurched forward.  Gripping the man roughly on the shoulder, he whirled him around. He had a fleeting glimpse of mud-colored eyes and a thick mustache before he drove his fist into the man’s face.  The jarring impact of flesh on flesh bounced through the narrow alleyway.  The man staggered backward, reeling off balance, colliding with the building and slumping to the ground.  Only then did Joe recognize him as Roper Crane, one of Shey’s hands.  

“Cartwright!”  Crane spat blood from his mouth, clambering angrily to his feet.  Off balance, he took a swing at Joe.  The punch went wide and Joe eluded him easily.  He sent a one-two punch to Crane’s stomach then slammed the cowhand against the building.  The wind howled around the corner and kicked up dust at their feet.

“I don’t know what you’re doing back here, Crane, but if I ever see you hit Jeannie again—”

“It wasn’t his fault.”  Frantically, Jeannie tugged his arm.  “Please, Joe—thank you for helping me, but it isn’t necessary.  Roper just had a little too much to drink.  It’s a misunderstandin’ is all.”

“She’s my woman, Cartwright,” Roper growled.  “Get your hands off me, ‘fore I kill you.  I don’t care if you are pals with my boss.  Shey should know better than to kow tow to Ponderosa scum.”

Jeannie was practically sobbing now, the wind scattering strands of ginger colored hair about her battered face.  “I’ll take care of him, Joe, just leave us alone.”  In the passing of a heartbeat her mouth thinned and her features grew pinched with anger.  “I don’t need your help!”

Disturbed, Joe released Crane and took a halting step backward. Immediately, Jeannie caught her lover’s shoulders, whispering assurances that she was sorry for everything she’d done; that he was right to be angry, and that yes, she probably had led on the man in the saloon. She kissed his cheek, tears streaking her face, and promised never to behave so wretchedly again.  Appalled, Joe watched the two stagger down the alleyway, Roper grumbling about how she didn’t deserve him and Jeannie promising to try to do better in the future.  

Joe waited until they rounded the corner. With a grunt of disgust, he headed into the saloon, disturbed to think that anyone could be so easily taken in by a lowlife like Roper Crane.   He’d known Crane since they were teenagers and Crane had been one of Shey’s on-again, off-again friends.  A little too volatile even for the impulsive Cutter, Shey’s friendship with Crane had been built on a mutual bent to bully others. It might not have survived their later years if Crane hadn’t acted completely out-of-character by selflessly saving Shey’s life when they were both just eighteen. Unfortunately that questionable act left Shey feeling indebted to Roper for life.  

In the saloon, Joe ordered a beer and took a table in the back.   It sickened him to think a man could treat the woman he professed to love with violence.  Worse was Jeannie’s acceptance and even defense of that behavior.  It obviously hadn’t been the first time Roper had hit her, given the telltale marks of a black eye she’d tried to conceal with makeup.  The encounter left him in a bleak mood.  He dropped his hat onto the table and raked a gloved hand through his unruly hair.  Windblown and ragged, the chestnut strands curled over his collar, a sure sign he needed to visit the barber in the not too distant future.

Joe took a sip of his beer, too lukewarm and watery, and glanced around the saloon. The three hands from the Big Fir had gathered at the bar and a few miners shared a card game at a table near the door.  A few older men beside him were talking about an early snowstorm a few years back when winter weather caught everyone unaware two months early.

“It’s the witching month,” a man with grizzled brown hair muttered to his companions.  Joe didn’t know his name, but he’d seen him enough with Roper Crane to know they were friends.  “Ain’t no good comes during October with the wind howlin’ like that.” 

The others agreed and the conversation veered toward the damage caused by a windstorm three days earlier.  Joe was half listening when he saw Shey Cutter enter the saloon, looking as windblown and disheveled as he felt.  His friend was dressed head to toe in black, a startling contrast against his straight moon-pale hair.  It had grown even longer than Joe’s, resting loosely on his shoulders.  The local barber would have a field day, given half the chance and a good pair of scissors.  Road dust left a thin white film clinging to Shey’s inky shirt and pants and all but obscured the dyed leather of his black boots.  With an acknowledging wave for Joe, Shey ordered a beer at the bar then carried it to the back.

“Saw your horse out front, Cartwright.  Been here long?”

“Just a few minutes.”  Joe drank the lacy head off his beer as Shey sat down across from him.  He grinned, noticing Shey’s slightly disgruntled look. “You look all out of sorts, Boss.  Problems at the Circle C?”

“Don’t ask.”  With a grunt, Shey plopped his feet on the chair across from him.  “I ain’t never been superstitious, but I’m startin’ to think maybe there’s somethin’ to this mumbo-jumbo witching month stuff.  Ain’t never had a worse October.  Lost twenty head at Redrock Ravine; had a horse go lame a day after a fire at one of my line shacks, then to top it all off Rob Falcon tells me he’s gettin’ married and movin’ north.”

“What?”  Joe leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table.  Rob had only been with Shey a few years, but he was a top foreman and would be hard to replace.  The news came out of the blue, much like the wind that shrieked unchecked from the north.  “Married?  The last I heard, he didn’t even have a steady girl.”

“Ah, the dang fool got himself all besotted with some prim miss up Oregon way.”  Shey shook his head, disgusted.  “I tell you, Cartwright, women are just plain bad news.  They spin a man’s head around, make him act out of sorts, like the only brain he’s got is what’s dangling between his legs.  Look at you and that she-demon from the east--”

“Shey,” Joe warned in a low voice.  Cutter being crass and vulgar was one thing, but Cutter dragging Lorna David into the conversation crossed the line.

“Yeah, I know.”  Shey held up a hand to stop further protests.  “I ain’t allowed to talk bad about your divine Miss D.  Well sit tight while I spew my guts, huh, Cartwright?  I’ve had it about up to here--”  Brusquely, he waved a hand over the top of his hat, “--with men who got a big ‘ole fish hook stuck through their mouth.  Rob’s only known this gal a few days and he already wants to put a ring on her finger.  The man jest ain’t makin’ sense.”

Joe snickered.  True, Shey was in a bind but he couldn’t help enjoying his friend’s comical frustration, especially as it related to women.  Shey had his own hands full in that area, continually skirting the “we-need-to-get-married” impatience of Callie Garrett, his on-again/off-again girlfriend.  The last Joe had heard, Shey was staking a claim to remaining single by cooling things with Callie.  He’d discreetly started to romance other women, making sure each short-lived relationship was blissfully free of commitment.

“I don’t suppose you could convince Rob to stay on after he’s married?”  Joe asked.

“Tried that.  His gal--Julie, Judith, whatever the hell her name is--wants Rob to work her Pa’s spread.  He says he feels bad about leavin’ and all, but he’s dead set on marryin’ the prim thing.”  Shey scowled into his beer.  “Last time I send my foreman to a horse auction,” he grumbled.

“Have you met her?”

Shey’s eyes came up, narrowed in suspicion.  “Who?”

“Rob’s girl.”

“Hell, no.”

“Then how do you know she’s prim?  And even if she is, how do you know she isn’t the best thing that could ever happen to Rob?”

Shey snorted.  “Now why don’t it surprise me none you’d say somethin’ like that, Joseph?  Not every man needs to be led around by a conniving woman.”

“So now she’s conniving?  I thought she was prim.”  Joe leaned back and swallowed a mouthful of beer.  Outside the wind kicked down the street, rattling the swinging doors at the front of the saloon.  Joe felt the resulting draft all the way at the rear of the room. “You know, Shey, someday some woman is gonna take you completely by surprise.  You’re gonna follow her around like a puppy and I’m gonna laugh my head off.”

“Keep dreamin’, Cartwright.  I’ll be old and gray ‘fore any woman sets her brand on me.”  He thumbed his hat back on his head.  “Now quit caterwaulin’ about it and help me figure out this mess with Rob.”

Joe grinned.  “Sure, Boss.  You got any ideas about who could replace him?”

Shey scowled.  He’d obviously given it some thought but judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t entirely happy with the options.  “I don’t know.”  He rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “You know how it is with hands, all of  ‘em thinkin’ they got a shot, none of ‘em really right for the job.  Time was, this kind of stuff was my Pa’s headache and I didn’t have to give it no thought.”  He downed half of his beer and dropped his feet to the floor.  Leaning forward, Shey lowered his voice, his gaze darting sideways to encompass Joe.  “I was thinkin’ about Roper Crane.”

“Crane?”  Joe’s stomach twisted.  “Shey, you can’t seriously think that man can run your spread.”

“You jest ain’t never liked him, Joe.”

“With reason.”

“Time was, you didn’t like me.”

“Yeah, well--”  Joe stopped, brought up short.  He fished for an answer to explain the change in their relationship.  “You aren’t exactly the bully you used to be, Shey.  Crane still is.  I just caught him with Jeannie around the side of the saloon.  He was smacking her around and she had a black eye.  Is that the kind of guy you want running the Circle C?”

Shey hedged, tilting his beer glass to look inside.  “My ranch’s got nuthin’ to do with his personal relationships.”

“So you think he’s gonna be ethical with you, when he treats her like trash?  When are you gonna stop feeling like you owe the bastard?”

“Don’t know what you mean.”  Shey swallowed a mouthful of beer.

“The hell you don’t.”  Joe’s green eyes flashed with anger.  He wasn’t sure what galled him more, that Shey was defending Roper Crane, or that Crane stood to benefit from Shey’s longstanding feeling of debt. “There are plenty of better men who could handle the Circle C for you.  Qualified hands, who’ve earned respect.  Lucas Flint would make you a great foreman, and I know the Ponderosa wouldn’t mind losing such a top hand, seeing how he’d be going to something better.”

“Flint ain’t never run a ranch.”

“Neither has Crane.  Flint’s got a damn sight more experience and he’s overseen some major cattle drives for my Pa.  Face it, Shey . . . .”  Joe pressed his lips together.  “ . . . the only reason you’re considering Crane--the only reason he even has a job--is because you feel indebted to him for saving your life.  You can’t keep carryin a man for something he did five years ago, busted leg or not.”

Shey shoved his glass aside.  “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Joe made a sound of disgust.  “He’s using you, Shey, and he’s gonna continue to use you as long as you let him.  I’m telling you right now as your friend--you’re making a big mistake if you give Roper Crane Rob’s job.”

“My friend?”  Heavy sarcasm lingered on the query.  Shey’s dark eyes flashed to his face.  “Your opinion’s noted, Cartwright.”  He pushed his chair back.  “I gotta go.  Nice chattin’ with you.”

“Shey.”  Joe glanced up at him.  “Quit being such an ass and sit down.”

“I ain’t the only ass in this room.”

Joe sighed.  “I’m trying to help you.”

“Then do us both a favor and keep your nose out of my business.”

Before Joe could protest, Shey barreled from the saloon.  He watched his friend slam a hand against the swinging doors, flinging them outward as he stalked into the street.  Another gust of wind buffeted the interior of the bar, making a few of the saloon girls look uneasily over their shoulders.  Stunned, Joe tried to decipher what had happened.  One minute he’d been trading quips with Shey, the next his cocky friend had turned suddenly defensive. 

Over Roper Crane.

Joe didn’t think Shey really considered the lanky cowboy a friend, but he’d been ready to take Roper’s side over Joe’s and that rankled.  After all they’d been through together, coupled with their unique enemies-to-friends-background, he would have expected Shey to take him more seriously and not get so hot under the collar.  Roper Crane was an unethical troublemaker who’d been playing on Shey’s sympathy for years, wheedling everything from a job he didn’t deserve to extra money in his pocket whenever he ran short of cash--which was most of the time.  The sooner Shey stopped feeling like he owed the deceitful leech, the better. 

Joe sighed and stood.  Roper had smacked Jeannie around.  At the moment, Joe wanted nothing more than to do the same to his stubborn friend.

+++++

Shey felt the cord on his hat catch as the wind snatched it off his head and dropped it dangling against his back.  He narrowed his eyes against the sting of dust, swirled to agitated life by the wind’s erratic path across the road.   It kicked up small funnel clouds like dust devils in the bowels of the Arizona Territory.  They roamed a short distance, dying at the edge of the grasslands, waiting for another to take their place. 

The unseasonable wind was as frustratingly unexplainable as the tightness in Shey’s gut.  So what if he’d gotten huffy with Joe?  Cartwright had no business telling him how he should handle Roper, or that Roper wasn’t right for Rob’s job.  He knew how to run his own damn ranch!  Hadn’t Roper warned him awhile back, being friends with Joe was going to make  everything he did open to Cartwright scrutiny?

“They’re always stickin’ their noses in,”  Roper had told him one night over shots of whiskey in the saloon.  “High and mighty, like no one else is good enough fer ‘im.  Always got an opinion, always yakkin’ on about how things should be done.  Joe’s jest like his old man, Shey.  You mark my words.”  Roper had waggled an unsteady finger in his face, a heavy plume of alcohol on his breath.  “You’re gonna rue the day you started callin’ Cartwright friend.   Take my advice and turn yer back on ‘im.  He ain’t yer kind of people.”

If anyone else had talked about Joe that way, Shey would have told them where they could stick their opinions.  But Roper had been drinking, and well--Shey leaned low over his horse’s neck, trying to rationalize his behavior--Roper had saved his life, and didn’t that count for something?  How many friends would jump in a raging river at risk to their own life in order to save someone else?

Joe would.

The answer came swiftly, making him cringe.  Hadn’t Joe taken a beating for him at the hands of William Arlen, rather than tell the sadistic tyrant where he was hiding?  Hadn’t he bartered his own life in exchange for Shey’s in the Threshold?  And hadn’t he stood up to Chance and his own family, especially Adam, when they questioned the strength of their unusual friendship? 

“Hell.”  Shey hung his head, realizing he’d blundered with Joe.  His friend had been looking out for his best interest. If he was truthful, Roper wasn’t the best friend a man could have.  Odds were Roper Crane would stab a man in the back the moment he had no further use for him.  Joe knew that, and he didn’t want it happening to Shey.

But Roper saved my life.  I owe him.

That was the miserable truth.  Nothing he did could ever atone for the sacrifice Roper had made.  The dark-haired man had busted his leg the day he’d jumped in the river to save Shey, and it had never healed right afterwards.  His work prospects had been severely limited as a result.  Ten months ago he’d wandered onto the Circle C looking for a job, and Shey had hired him on the spot. Rob had never taken to him and some of the other hands complained about his work ethics, but Shey turned a deaf ear to all of them.  Roper had saved his life, and that was all that mattered.  They’d even been friends once in the days when he’d enjoyed bullying Joe Cartwright. 

Shey released a frustrated breath.  He’d have to square things with Joe, make him see that Roper wasn’t really all that bad and that he deserved a chance.  Maybe Joe had been mistaken about Jeannie.  Maybe it only looked like Roper hit her.  With the wind kicking up all that dust, who could be sure what really happened?

He’d square things with Joe tomorrow . . . ride out to the Ponderosa and scrounge up some vague apology.  The kind that made it seem like he hadn’t really done anything wrong.  Joe always came around if he made a half-hearted effort at setting things right.  It was the way their friendship worked best . . . Shey made a token effort and Joe met him halfway.  Maybe this time he’d even go the extra distance and talk to Lucas Flint about Rob’s job.  Joe would like that, and what would it hurt to look like he was being reasonable, even if he’d already made up his mind?  After he visited the Ponderosa, he’d give Roper Crane the job and that would take care of everything.

Except his guilt.

+++++

Roper guzzled a beer then called for a bottle of whiskey.  He’d ordered Jeannie to stay in her room.  Since it was her night off he didn’t want her anywhere near the other cowhands.  Last night he’d caught her cozying up to Hank Gilmond of the Big Fir, and given her a black eye for the trouble.  Today still miffed over her denial of doing anything wrong, he’d dragged her into the alley, intending to make good and sure she understood how ticked he was.  Then knight-in-pissin’-armor-Cartwright had shown up and he’d had to eat crow.  What he wouldn’t give to take Joe Cartwright down a peg, but the stick-up-his-butt-do-gooder was practically in bed with his boss.  He didn’t understand that skewed friendship any more than he understood Shey’s sudden acceptance of a nose-wipe he couldn’t stand to look at a few short years ago.  He’d been at Shey’s side a time or two when Cutter had beaten Cartwright black and blue.  Rich kids, both of them, something he normally couldn’t stomach, but Shey at least had had a taste for rebellion.  Now he was all about being respectable, running his ranch and palling around with Cartwright.

Disgusted, Roper downed a shot of whiskey.  It would be different when he got his foot in the door.  Falcon was leaving, and he was the prime candidate to fill the spot.  Shey had all but told him he had the job.  Guilt went a long way when a man felt like he owed you, and he’d made damn sure Shey Cutter felt that yoke daily.  Once he had his hands on the Circle C, Roper was sure he could poison Shey against Joe.  Given a few months as Shey’s foreman, Roper expected to be living the good life with Joe Cartwright relegated to a thorn in Shey’s side.  Yup, he was gonna have a damn ‘ole good time turning those two against each other.

“Hey, Roper.”  A man with grizzled brown hair clapped him on the back and gave a short guffaw.  “Guess things ain’t so cut-and-dried as you thought.”

Irked at the intrusion, Roper frowned.  “What are you bawlin’ on about, Keenan?”

“Didn’t you tell me you was a shoe-in as foreman of the Circle C, now that Falcon’s hoofin’ it north?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

Keenan’s lips curled in a thin grin.  “I wouldn’t plunk money in the pot, if’n I was you.  Joe Cartwright and Cutter were in here a few hours back, and Cartwright all but convinced yer boss, Lucas Flint’s the man fer the job.  I overheard ‘em talkin’.”  The grin grew wider.  “Me and a few fellas were sittin’ right aside ‘em.  You know all about Cartwright and Cutter, don’tcha, Roper.  They’s like this--”  Keenan held up his hand, the first two fingers twined tightly together.  “Shey don’t think fer hisself no more.  He let’s Cartwright do it fer ‘im and if’n Joe sways Shey to his way of thinkin’, your tail’s out the door.”  He licked his lips.  “A man with a bum leg ain’t gonna do much ‘cept swamp spittoons in a saloon.”

“Get out of my face, Keenan.”  Roper shoved him aside.  He heard the man snickering as he moved away, the sound going through him like the sharp edge of a knife.  Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut about the job until Shey made it official, but he’d been so sure he could manipulate Cutter through guilt. Of course he hadn’t expected Cartwright to stick his two cents in, or Shey to put that kind of stock in his relationship with Joe.

Roper felt his face flame red.  He needed that job, hell he deserved it!  Cartwright and Cutter had enough wealth between them to support the entire state.  All he wanted was a cushy job and enough coin to keep him in booze and women for the rest of his life.  If Joe Cartwright was conspiring to keep him from that, he’d just have to do something about Cartwright.

He downed his whiskey.

Permanently.

+++++

Joe felt restless the next morning when he headed for breakfast with his family.  Hoss and Adam bantered back and forth about rounding up strays along Rim Creek, while Ben interjected a suggestion or comment now and again.  Joe was more interested in studying the scrambled eggs on his plate, growing colder the longer he left them untouched.  Pushing them around with the tines of his fork helped focus his concentration. 

Shey Cutter was being an idiot, that was the long and short of it.  His friend couldn’t see that Roper was using him, had been using him for the last ten months.  It was one thing to feel sorry for Roper and give him a job as a hand, but to consider promoting him to ranch foreman . . .

Joe grimaced.  The Circle C would suffer the cost.  In the end, that meant Shey would suffer too.

“Joe?”

Ben’s hesitant query drew his head up.  He blinked, realizing three pairs of eyes watched him expectantly.  “Is something wrong, Pa?”

“That’s what I asked you.  You’ve been awfully quiet this morning.”

“Kind of a nice change of pace,” Hoss murmured good-naturedly, but Joe didn’t rise to the bait. 

He shrugged.  “Just a disagreement with Shey.”

“There’s a surprise.”  Adam reached for his coffee.  “I still haven’t figured out what the two of you have in common.”

Joe shot him a dark look, but Ben intervened before he could snap a reply.  “Adam,” his father warned in a measuring tone.  He shifted his attention back to Joe.  “Nothing serious I hope--your disagreement with Shey.”

Joe shook his head.  He thought about mentioning Rob Falcon and Roper Crane, but that would just give Adam ammunition to point out how irresponsibly Shey was behaving.  While Ben and Hoss had come to terms with Shey’s brash personality and his unorthodox way of doing things, Adam had never really adjusted.  As much as he tried to accept Joe’s close friendship with the man who’d once been the town bully, he couldn’t get past Shey’s earlier behavior . . . particularly as it had related to Joe.

“It’s nothing important.”  Joe swallowed a forkful of eggs, hoping to appear at ease.  “How many strays did you find at Rim Creek?” he asked, deftly turning the conversation back on its original course.

“Half a dozen,” Hoss inserted. “And we sure could’ve used your help, little brother.”

“What?”  Joe grinned.  “And let you and Adam miss out on all that fun with the muck and wind?”

Hoss snorted.  “Witch Wind.  That’s what the old timers are callin’ it, ‘cuz it comes in the Witching Month.  I don’t rightly care if’n it is an omen of a bad winter, I jest wish it would stop its howlin’ when I’m out there tryin’ to get work done.  It’s dang cold in them hills.”

As if in mockery of his protest a strong wind buffeted the dining room window.  It rattled the glass with such force all three men glanced up quickly.  Ben stood long enough to look outside and shake his head.  “We better check the line shacks with it blowing like that, and the stock pens by Blue Rock.  Superstition or not, that wind can do a lot of damage.”

“Right, Pa.”  Joe dragged a napkin over his mouth and pushed back his chair.  “I’ll ride towards Blue Rock.  It’ll give me a chance to check some of that fencing I replaced on the southside, anyway.”

Adam raised a brow.  “You’re leaving now?”

“Why not?  It’s a long ride and I want an early start.”

Ben motioned to his plate.  “Joe, you’ve barely eaten.”

“I’m fine, Pa.  I ate something late last night when I got home.” It wasn’t a lie entirely.  He had tried to swallow a few mouthfuls of Hop-Sing’s leftover roast, but it had stuck in his throat every time he thought about Shey and Roper.  He flashed a breezy smile.  “Don’t wait up for me.  If it gets too late, I’ll just camp in one of the caves on the north face.”

“Make sure you take enough supplies,” Ben told him.

Joe gave a quick nod, glad to be given leave.  A night at Blue Rock, sheltered from the howling wind, near enough to feel its violent power, might be just what he needed.  An element as raw and unbalanced as his friendship with Shey, to put their latest at-odds encounter in perspective. 

In the barn he saddled Cochise, then roped a heavier jacket to his pack for after the sun set and the cold wind turned the night icy with frost.  Tugging his hat over his unruly brown curls, he spurred the mare to the north and the high rock country that lay desolate and cold, fully unaware another man watched and followed.

+++++

Shey tethered his horse at the hitching post, just as Adam and Hoss strolled from the front door.  Bits of loose bramble and pine needles skittered up against the base of the Ponderosa ranch house, chased by a cold wind.  Shey blew on his black gloved hands as he walked toward the two men.  “Hoss. Adam.”  He gave a nod of his head as a greeting for each.  “Your brother around?”

“You just missed him, Shey.”  Always the friendly one, Hoss’s face split with a welcoming grin.  “He left about half an hour ago, headed for Blue Rock.  Pa wants him to check the stock pens up there for wind damage.”

Adam tilted his head, falling into the role of inquisitor.  “Yeah, he seemed pretty anxious to be away.  Said the two of you had a blow-up last night.”

Hoss shot him a startled look.  “Disagreement, Adam.  Joe said it was just a disagreement.”

Adam rolled his shoulders, uncertain what qualified the difference.  Watching him, Shey frowned.  Adam had always been quick to point out his flaws to Joe, even quicker to remind him of Shey’s less than upstanding past.  No matter what he did or how frequently he redeemed himself, Adam was always there, waiting to shove him face down in the dirt.  Or so Shey thought.

“Did Joe say what we argued about?”

Adam shook his head.  “Thought maybe you’d want to tell us.”

Shey smiled tightly.  “Guess you thought wrong.”  He tipped his hat.  “Think maybe I’ll take a ride to Blue Rock and check out some of that wind damage myself.”

Silently fuming, Shey walked away.  He knew Adam was only being protective of his brother, but it galled him to think the eldest Cartwright sibling still considered him a bad influence on Joe.  While Shey’s friendship with Joe was unique and sometimes one-sided, his relationship with Adam was an irritating series of peaks and valleys.  Lately, no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to elevate himself out of the hole.

The hell with it.

He swung up onto his horse.  Adam could think whatever he wanted.  The only opinion that really mattered was Joe’s.

+++++

The sun was starting to set by the time Joe reached Blue Rock.  The ride had taken longer than he’d thought, headed face-first into the stinging and abrasive wind.  His hands felt numb, his face chafed, and his bones chilled.  The sky had grayed then blackened to the west, threatening a downpour as clouds scuttled overhead.  He was still a good distance from the caves on the north facing rock.  The thought of shelter, a warming fire, and some food in his belly made him increase Cochise’s pace.  He’d wait out the storm then check the pens tomorrow, seeing what damage he could fix and what needed to be addressed later. 

He slowed Cochise to a canter, picking through loose stone and shale as he maneuvered the mare through towering beds of rock.  He was halfway down a narrow trail when a rifle shot took him by surprise.  It pinged off the nearest boulder, spooking Cochise.  The horse bucked, frantically pawing the air with her forelegs as Joe made a desperate grab for the reins.  Unseated, he tumbled backward from the saddle, hitting the ground with bone jarring force. 

Cochise stumbled and her rear leg buckled unexpectedly.  Her hoof sliced open Joe’s thigh, cracking against bone just above the knee.  A blistering explosion of pain rocketed straight to his hip.  For a moment there was only blackness as the agony threatened to topple him into tomb-gray oblivion.  The horse regained her feet and barreled down the trail, spewing a cloud of dust in her wake.  Rain pattered on Joe’s face, dragging him back to painful awareness.  He tried to move and was rewarded by a fiery stab. Hot pain ripped through an eight-inch split in his skin, rocketing from knee to hip, then back again.  Groaning, he rolled onto his side.

“Well, if this don’t beat all.” Gravel crunch beneath hoofs as a horse walked to a standstill near his head. 

Joe tried to focus his eyes.  His vision see-sawed then blurred into something close to normal.  “Roper.”  His tongue felt dry, caked with mud.  He could taste the bitter tang of copper in his mouth and guessed he’d bitten his lip when he’d fallen. 

The black-haired cowhand from the Circle C sat looking down at him, a rifle cocked across his lap.  “Heard you might be up this way, Cartwright.  Thought we should continue our talk from yesterday.”

Joe’s head was spinning, sky and earth lurching on a pinwheel.  He got his hands beneath him, dragged himself back against a piece of rock, his busted leg streaming blood.  The rain was increasing but it didn’t seem to bother Crane.  Joe dragged his tongue across his split lip.  “What do you want, Roper?”  It was hard to think with the pain gnawing at his insides, the rip in his leg a torturous fire.  “My horse spooked.”

“How about that.”  Crane lifted his rifle, contemplating the stock as if seeing it for the first time.  “My aim was off.  I was hopin’ to wing you.  Guess I’ll have to see about getting’ the sights on this realigned.”

Joe closed his eyes, hoping to stop the sudden surge of nausea waffling up from his stomach.  Coupled with the wind, the rain was a fierce demon, every bit as lethal as the October chill.  Water dripped from the brim of his hat and ran down his neck, trickling over his spine.  It wouldn’t do any good to shudder or give into the punishing agony gouging his thigh.   Not with Roper Crane gloating like he’d bagged a prized steer.  Joe ground his teeth together, striving for control.  “If this is about Jeannie--”

Roper guffawed.  “You think I’d chase you all the way out here over some barmaid?  I got a bigger beef with you than that, Cartwright.”  The rifle dipped in his direction.  “I hear tell you’re tryin’ to talk Shey outta givin’ me Rob Falcon’s job.  Don’t rightly care fer you buttin’ yer nose where it don’t belong.  The Circle C’s got nuthin’ to do with you.”

“You’re wrong.”  Joe was shivering, cold and pain solidifying into a vicious combination. He wondered what the odds were of getting off a shot before Roper killed him. “Shey’s my friend.  I-I’m not gonna sit by while you use him.”

“Is that what I’m doin’?”  Roper flecked a thumbnail against his teeth.  He splayed his shooting hand, considering his fingers as if weighing a great decision.  “I kind like the way things stand. Shey and me got an understandin’.  I saved his life--”

“Did you?”  Joe leaned forward, dragging his leg closer.  A sudden forge-hot spike of pain made him grimace.  “I never did understand how Shey fell into the Truckee to begin with.”

Roper sneered.  “River rock can be mighty slippery.  ‘Specially if you ain’t payin’ attention and someone gives you a little shove.  I jest pushed too hard, and tumbled in after him.”

Joe stared.  “You shoved him in the river?”

“Why not?  I was miffed at him for takin’ Lisa Sue Juner to the Founder’s Day picnic.  I was hopin’ the current woulda swept him under, but I fell in after him.  It was jest luck I saved him.  I was out to rescue my own hide, not his.”

“You wanted to kill him,” Joe spat.

Roper shrugged.  “Don’t much matter now.  He thinks I’m a saintly do-gooder who risked life and limb jest to pull ‘im back to the livin’.   I got that fool wrapped three ways to Sunday.  I don’t need you convincin ’ him otherwise, ‘specially when it comes to the foreman’s job.”  Roper cocked the rifle, raising it for firing. “I was jest gonna set the two of you at odds.  Figure it wouldn’t take much to get you goin’ fer each other’s throats like in the old days.  But you done upped the ante. Now I gotta take care of you permanent.”  He pressed the stock to his cheek, taking aim.  “The way I figure it, they’ll jest think some bandit robbed you when they find your body.”  His finger tightened on the trigger.  “Say goodbye, Cartwright.”

Joe jerked at the explosion, daring to breathe only when he realized a bullet hadn’t ripped through his flesh.  That it hadn’t been Roper’s rifle that fired.  He stole a glance at Crane.  The lanky cowboy lay on the ground, his head turned to the side, a hole blown through the center of his back.  His horse had bolted down the trail after Cochise, vanishing in a ragged cradle of rock and mud. 

A second later, pounding hoofbeats crested the rise and Shey Cutter rounded the corner, long blond hair flying behind him. He spared barely a glance for Crane before skidding to a halt and dropping from the saddle at Joe’s side.  “Where’d he get you, Cartwright?”

“He didn’t.”  Joe didn’t know if he should feel relief, shock or numbing pain.  He settled for confusion.  “I think my leg might be busted.”  He looked down at his torn trousers, noting with a sinking sensation the amount of blood he’d lost. It saturated his pants from knee to mid thigh, dripping in large, ugly splotches to the ground.  He felt suddenly lightheaded. “Cochise bolted down the trail.”  He turned his head to indicate the direction she’d taken, sickened to realize how badly he was shivering.

Shey noted it too.  He grabbed the bedroll from his horse and popped the ties.  “Can you move your leg?  We gotta stop the bleedin’, but if it’s busted . . .”  He let the sentence hang as he used his bootknife to cut the bedding into strips.

Joe braced his arms behind him.  With concentrated effort he raised his leg, bending it at the knee. The strain left him white-faced and trembling.  “It’s not broken.” Exhausted, he crumpled against the rock at his back. 

Shey shot him a worried glance.  “Hang in there, pal, till I get the bleeding stopped.”  Moving closer, he wadded a thick piece of bedding over the wound.  It took a few more minutes to tie it into place with strips, during which time Joe made a concentrated effort to sit still.  Shey worked carefully, but the handling gentle as it was, only reinforced the razor-edged heat streaking his leg.  When Shey was through, Joe swiped a hand across his brow and sat back on his haunches.

“Bone must be bruised,” Shey commented.  “That wound’s deep, Cartwright.  It needs stitchin.’   We get you outta this rain, I can work on it.”  He glanced over his shoulder to the caves high on the rock face.  “Looks like we’re stuck here for the night.  Think you can make it up that trail?”

Joe swallowed.  The thought of putting weight on his inflamed leg left him pale and sweating.  Rather than reply, he gave a curt nod.  Shey helped him to his feet, then maneuvered him toward his horse.  Joe braced his arms on the saddle, sucking down a ragged breath.  “Give me a minute.”  He pressed his head against the worn leather, shivering as the punishing effects of the leg wound washed over him.   He could feel Shey hovering off to the side uncertainly; smell the wet must of dust and sweat on his friend’s clothing.  “What are you doing out here?” he mumbled.

“Looking for you.”   Shey gripped his shoulder.  “I swung by the Ponderosa and Adam and Hoss told me you were headed this way.  Thought I’d hunt you down and tell you what a confounded idiot I was last night.  Ain’t often I’m wrong, Cartwright, but I overheard everything Roper told you. Guess I’m the one who’s the fool.”

Joe gave a short snort of laughter.  “I know about a dozen men and at least one woman who’d pay money to hear you say that.”

“Don’t push your luck, Joe.  Get in the saddle.”

“Okay, Boss.”  To weak to do it on his own, Joe leaned back against him.  “Help me up.”

With Shey’s help, he managed to mount the gelding.  The sky reeled drunkenly overhead and the earth threatened to smack up against him, but after a few seconds of dagger-tinged agony the world righted itself.  Joe slumped forward as Shey collected the reins and led the horse by foot up the steeply winding trail.  He could feel blood seeping down his leg from the deep split, despite Shey’s makeshift bandage.  By the time they reached the cave, Joe was drenched and shivering.  Shey helped him dismount then settled him into a corner.  He stripped his horse of its saddle, kneeling to wrap the blanket around Joe.  Another ten minutes passed as he gathered kindling and started a fire.  When the blaze was steady, Shey found his canteen and knelt at his friend’s side. 

“Drink some of this.”

Joe shook his head.  Beneath the blanket his leg felt on fire despite the chills riddling his body.   “I’m just cold.”

“Come here, closer.”  Shey helped settle him by the fire, then pushed the blanket back to study his leg.  The wind howled through the mouth of the cave, bringing with it the sting of rain-cold air.  Outside the sky grew star-strewn and black, roiling with clouds.  Shey swore softly as he studied the damage to Joe’s leg.  “I can clean this up and try to stitch it, but other than that--”

“I need to get back to the Ponderosa,” Joe said wearily.

“Not tonight, pal.  Unless your Pa sends someone looking for you, we’re stuck here till daybreak.”

Joe gave a tired sigh.  “I told him I’d spend the night, then head back tomorrow.  They’re not expecting me at home.”

“What about your horse?  Think Cochise will wander back?”

Joe shrugged.  He was suddenly tired.  It was growing difficult to think, each fragmented thought more disjointed than the last.  He winced as a lizard-tail of pain licked down his leg and rooted in his knee.  A low moan escaped his lips. 

Shey paled.  “Hang in there, Cartwright.  Let me get this leg cleaned up.  Maybe you’ll feel better.”

What Joe felt was sleepy.  His eyes drifted shut as Shey moved away to heat water over the fire.  He stirred briefly when his friend returned to bathe the wound fifteen minutes later.  The warmth was momentarily soothing until Shey pulled a crude needle and thick thread from his saddlebag--cowboy’s stitching.  “I ain’t the best with this,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, well . . . fire it first before you stick that thing in me.”

“It’s gotta be done, Joe.  That mare’s hoof cut you clean through.”

“It’s not her fault.”

“Never said it was.”  Shey crouched before the fire, turning the needle in the flame to sterilize it as best he could.  “My pa sewed up a slice in my shoulder once.  You remember when we got in that scuffle at the May Fair . . . outside the general store?  Think we were nineteen--”

“Fighting over Beth Moyer.”  Joe gave a soft chuckle.  “Don’t know what I ever saw in that girl.”

“I’m guessin’ it had somethin’ to do with me takin’ an interest in her. You whacked me a good one, and I fell back against that pickaxe.  Sliced open my shoulder and my pa had to sew it shut, cause I was too puffed up and cocky to see a doctor.  Still got the scar.  Dang thing hurt like the dickens.”

“I expect this will too.”

Shey frowned.  “I ain’t none too keen on hurtin’ you, Joseph.”  He stood and moved to Joe’s side, concern evident in his whiskey-colored eyes.  Pushing his hat back, he squatted on his haunches. Gingerly he tore Joe’s pant leg, exposing the gory wound to full view. “Heard Roper tell you he was gonna try to set us against each other.”  Swollen and red, the skin was puffed at the center, leaking darker purple into the infected flesh.  He threaded the needle.  “Think he could do that?” 

Joe tensed at the first sting of metal in his leg.  “I don’t think anyone could do that, Shey.”

“Me neither.”  Shey shot him an encouraging glance.  “I’ll be quick, Joe.  I promise.”

It wasn’t quick enough, but somehow Joe survived the gut-twisting agony of having the wound stitched shut.  He’d had cuts threaded before, but never one this deep and never one that leaked fire with every excruciating pull of the needle.  When Shey was done he felt drained, too weak to focus on anything but his rain-damp clothes and the harrowing heat in his leg. 

“Sorry, Joe.”  Shey’s voice was contrite. “I’d ride back to the ranch, but I ain’t gonna get anywhere with the rain howlin’ like that, and it pitch black outside.  If’n you can jest hang on ‘til mornin’.”

Joe nodded.  “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re a sorry ass liar.”  Shey shifted, sitting beside him so their shoulders bumped.  He drew his saddlebag onto his lap and fished in the mouth.  “I ain’t got much.  Didn’t plan on stayin’ out here tonight . . . lucky I still had my bedroll from that trip to the line shack.  I might have a spot of jerky.”

“I’m not hungry.”  Joe leaned into the rock at his back.  If anything, the thought of food reawakened the twinge of nausea that had been flirting around his stomach ever since he’d fallen.  He thought of Roper laying face down outside.  “We should do something about Crane.”

Shey scowled.  “I dragged him off to the side.  I’ll worry about him in the morning.”  Disgusted, he shoved the saddlebag away and tossed his hat on top of it.  His long hair dripped water onto his black shirt.  Sweeping the bangs back from his forehead, he sent Joe a sideways glance.  “You got every right to be miffed at me, Cartwright.  Crane wasn’t jest usin’ me, he lied about savin’ my life.  Hell, the rat-scum tried to kill me.  I can’t believe I let him dupe me like that all this time.  To think I was gonna give him Rob’s job.”

Joe eyes drifted closed.  The heat in his leg was receding slightly, but every slight draft of air awakened a ghosting flicker of pain. “Roper was trouble, Shey.  He’s always been trouble.”

“I was trouble too.”  A long silence followed.  “Don’t that bother you none?”

Joe cracked an eyelid.  “Doesn’t what bother me?”

“I don’t know.”  Shey shrugged.  “I used to be pretty damn mean to you.  Right nasty.  Don’t you ever stop to think about those days?”

“Not really.”  Joe shivered, dragging the blanket closer.  Between the heat in his leg and the chills plaguing the rest of his body, he felt caught on a windmill.  One minute he was hot, the next he was freezing.  Cold sweat seeped from his ragged hair into his shirt, leaving his skin damp and chilled.  “Why dredge up the past?”

Shey was silent again, longer this time.  “My Pa would like us being friends,” he said at last.  “He always hated when I palled around with Eddie Wells and Roper.  Said no good was gonna come of it . . . that I was headed for a pine box or a prison cell if I didn’t change my ways.”

Startled, Joe looked at him.  “He said that?”

Shey laughed.  “Pa had a way of tellin’ a man like it was.  Lookin’ back on it, I think he was jest tryin’ to jolt me down the right path.”  He hedged, suddenly awkward.  “It’s a funny feelin’ being without no one.  Even Chance is gone.  If it weren’t for you--”  He broke off suddenly and gave a disgusted shake of his head.  “Hell, Cartwright, I ain’t gonna get all sentimental, but let’s jest say it ain’t so bad havin’ you around . . . hotheaded temper and all.”

A wan smile crossed Joe’s lips.  “You ain’t so bad yourself, Boss.  Thanks for tracking me down. And for sewing up my leg.”

“Someone’s gotta keep after you.”  Shey scratched the back of his neck.  “Enough of this sappy stuff.  Try to get some sleep.  As soon as it’s light, I’ll ride for help.”

Joe nodded, his eyes drifting shut even as Shey shifted for a position of better comfort.  Half conscious of the wind outside and the tapering whisper of rain, Joe let his thoughts funnel sluggishly into the gray haze of sleep.  As the night advanced he tossed fitfully, plagued by dreams of childhood where Roper killed Shey and he stood by watching.  Hours before dawn he woke cold and shivering, a tortured groan dragging him back to consciousness.  The pain in his leg blazed white-hot, but it was the cold that set his teeth chattering, his whole body quaking with spasms.

“Cartwright, what’s wrong?”  Concerned, Shey sat forward. 

Joe was too cold to reply, every minute breath of air from the front of the cave, a new and stinging lance of agony.  He ducked his head, trying to burrow into the blanket.  His hands were shaking so badly, he could barely grip the frayed edge.  “ . . . cold . . .”  he managed.  His clothes had yet to dry completely and the icy air left him battling a winter chill. 

Shey shifted, snagging the blanket to cover them both, and dragged him closer.  The sudden, shocking infusion of heat was blessedly warm, making Joe lean gratefully against him.  He wouldn’t have felt so awkward with his father, or Adam and Hoss, but this was Shey--abrasive, crass, far-from-sympathetic-in-most-circumstances Shey. A man he’d once traded blows with almost daily.

“Relax, Cartwright.”  Shey wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  “I ain’t gonna tell no one you curled up against me like a kitten.”

Joe grunted, too distracted to speak.  Leave it to Cutter to come up with a line like that.  Suddenly he didn’t care who it was beside him, he just wanted the warmth that came with contact.  Resting his head on Shey’s chest, he closed his eyes.  Tremors raced through his body, joining force with the acid in his stomach.  He bit back a moan, his fingers knotting in the front of Shey’s shirt on sheer reflex.  Pain ricocheted from his knee and pinged into his hip.  “Hell.”  He buried his face against Shey’s neck.

“Easy, Joe.”  Comforting fingers stroked the back of his neck, not unlike the soothing touch of his father.  He felt the brush of damp hair against his cheek, as Shey dipped his head to look at him.  “Try and rest easy.  I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Joe was too tired to move.  It was a strange sensation knowing he was cradled in Shey Cutter’s arms, an even stranger sensation to know he didn’t care.  “If you tell anyone about this . . .”

“What?”  Shey’s lips tipped upward in a sly grin.  “That you’ve gone and gotten yerself all besotted with me?  Ain’t no one gonna blame you, Joseph.  I’m the prime catch in Virginia City.”

Joe gave a short snort of laughter.  “Maybe if I were fishing for tripe.”  He nestled more comfortably against Shey, thankful to have a friend who didn’t mind such brotherly closeness.  The trapped heat beneath the blanket was already starting to lessen the chill in his body.  His tremors eased slightly, giving him a respite from the constant barrage. 

Shey noticed it too.  “Warmer?”

Joe nodded.  “You don’t make the best pillow, but given the options, you’ll do.”

“I’m flattered, Cartwright.  How’s your leg?”

“I’d rather not think about it.”

“That bad?”  Shey frowned.  “If Crane weren’t already dead, I’d skin him alive.”  He tightened his grip on Joe, nestling down against the rock. 

Joe knew he wasn’t comfortable, but Shey didn’t complain. What would Adam think he wondered, to see him curled against Shey Cutter?  Would his brother continue to mock their friendship or would he finally understand the unusual bond that kept them together?  Growing up with a friend was a safe and stable relationship.  But to find your enemy suddenly your best friend was to find every moment magnified to the extraordinary. 

Shey was right.  Lincoln Cutter would have been pleased.

+++++

Joe woke to the pale light of an early dawn.  The wind remained a steady force, shrieking against the walls of the cave, then scuttling away in a voice that whispered of the cold winter to come.  Gingerly, Joe eased himself to a sitting position.  His leg throbbed painfully, the skin feeling unnaturally tight as if stretched taut on the bone.  Stifling a groan, he dropped his head into his hands and took a moment to collect himself.  Shey Cutter was nowhere in sight, but coffee brewed on the fire and the smell of bacon and fried apples filled the air. 

Joe scrubbed a hand over his eyes.  He knew Shey had brought no provisions with him.  Did food and coffee mean someone had found them?

“Mornin’, Cartwright.”  Shey traipsed into the cave and dropped a canteen at his hip.  “Coffee and bacon in a minute.  That dang fool horse of yours wandered back here an hour ago.  Good thing you packed some provisions.”

Joe’s face lit up.  “Cochise?  Is she hurt?”

“She’s fine.  I checked her leg and there ain’t a thing wrong with her.  Jest lost her footing when Roper fired, I guess.  If you’re feelin’ up to it, we can both try to ride outta here.”

Joe nodded.  He wasn’t looking forward to the long ride back to the Ponderosa, but having Cochise come back made even that task seem possible. He took a swallow of water from the canteen, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth before replacing the stopper.

Shey fiddled around, scraping food together on a plate.  “How’s your leg feel?”

Joe flexed his foot.  “Tolerable.”  He tried not to wince as something heated and sharp pinged from his knee to his hip.  So what if it was throbbing?  So what if it felt like it had ballooned to two times its size?  He was afraid to move the blanket aside, for fear of what he’d find.  “I’m ready to ride as soon as you are.”

“You ain’t goin’ no where till you eat somethin.’”  Shey squatted in front of him and passed him a plate. 

The coffee smelt dark, a little too burnt, the bacon dripping with pan-fried grease. Joe felt his stomach roil.  “I’m not really hungry, Shey.”

“Too bad.  I don’t want you keelin’ over the moment I put you in a saddle.  I ain’t askin’ for a feast.  Jest make an effort, Cartwright, so I know you got somethin’ in your stomach.”

Reluctantly, Joe took the plate.  He watched as Shey moved away, gathering up their gear.  His friend whistled softly as he worked, carting items outside to secure on the waiting horses.  Joe ate one piece of bacon and a mouthful or two of the cooked apples, but avoided the coffee.  He was surprised to find the mere effort of eating left him feeling drained. 

“Suppose that’ll do,” Shey groused when he looked at Joe’s still mostly full plate.  Squatting at his side, he reached for the blanket.  “Let’s have a look at your leg.”

Joe sucked down a breath when the air hit it.  As he feared, the wound was inflamed.  Swollen skin stretched taut against the restrictive stitching.  He knew just getting to his feet was going to be sheer agony.  

Shey swore softly.  “You ain’t gonna be able to ride with that.”

“I don’t have a choice.”  Joe clamped a hand onto his shoulder.  “Help me up.”

He didn’t know how long it took to get mounted, just that every second was more grueling than the last.  Joe found himself leaning heavily on Shey when his own weight would have buckled under the taxing pressure of his wound.  His breathing came ragged and fast.  Twice he was forced to stop and cling to Shey, his arm wrapped around his friend’s neck, his body trembling with the effort of exertion.

“This ain’t a good idea, Cartwright.  How are you gonna sit a horse?”

“I’ll be fine.”  Joe sagged against him, letting his head roll on Shey’s shoulder.  He hooked his fingers into the front of his friend’s shirt.  “Just don’t let go, Boss.”

Shey grunted.  “Ain’t no chance of that.”

Some time later, Joe sat swaying on Cochise.  It took concentrated effort to stay upright in the saddle, even more not to cry out when the mare cantered down the incline, jarring his wounded leg.  Shey led the way, setting a slow pace, continually looking over his shoulder to check Joe’s progress.  By mid-morning it seemed they’d made little, yet Joe felt like he’d ridden for days.  His hands grew slick on the reins, slippery with sweat.  The wind howled down his back, chasing chill air, but today he felt only heat, magnified by the grizzled light of an impartial sun.

He could feel the wound leaking fluid onto his leg.  An ugly combination of blood and pus soiled his trousers.  Even without the sickly green secretion he would have known the wound was infected.  It blistered with heat, as raw and damaging as a forge-fired knife.  Sweat collected in his hair and soaked into the collar of his shirt.  He felt lightheaded and dazed, barely able to hold himself upright. 

“Shey.”  His friend’s name came out a garbled croak.  Joe slumped forward, wrapping his arms around Cochise’s neck.  He tried to hold fast, but sluggish momentum sent him sliding to the side.  He didn’t have the strength to resist the downward pull of gravity.  Too tired to fight, he plummeted to the ground, unconscious.

+++++

“Cartwright!”  Shey wrenched on the reins and pulled his gelding to a halt.  Pivoting from the saddle, he raced to Joe’s side. “Cartwright, you awake?” One gloved hand cupped his friend’s cheek, turning his chin toward the light.

Sweat glistened on Joe’s face, small beads clinging to the lush black line of his lashes.  Heat pulsed from his body with the dread-inducing force of deeply rooted disease.  “Joe.”  Shey tried again and received a small moan for his effort.  “That’s it, Joe . . . open your eyes.”

It was like coaxing spring from winter.  Shey felt sick inside, his gut twisted in a tight knot.  He’d known Joe was in bad shape, but he hadn’t been prepared for such a sharp downward turn.  His eyes dropped to Joe’s leg, noting fresh blood and unhealthy pockets of pus.  “Damn.”  He was no doctor, but he’d cleaned the wound as best he could last night.  Most likely, the stitching itself had triggered the infection.  He should have left the damn thing open.  Who did he think he was playing trail physician with his best friend’s life?

“Come on, Joe.”  Shey stroked a hand down his friend’s cheek, shocked to find his fingers trembling.  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how he’d come to care so deeply about someone he’d once despised.  He only knew his stomach was in a knot, his gut in his throat, every pulsing nerve waiting for Joe to draw a waking breath.  Something between them had clicked, something that placed Joe before everyone else in his life, including Chance and Callie.  It hadn’t been there when they were younger, or maybe they’d just been too bullheaded to see it.  He wasn’t big on admitting he needed other people, but--damn!--he needed Joe Cartwright.

“You’re tickin’ me off, Cartwright.  I’m gonna be mighty peeved if’n I gotta carry your sorry butt all the way back to the Ponderosa.  Probably give Adam somethin’ to squawk about for a month.”

With a low groan, Joe twisted his head to the side.  His eyelids flickered, heavy with the weight of fever. 

“That’s it, Cartwright.  Get those girl-pretty green eyes open.”  Shey stood long enough to tug Joe’s canteen from Cochise’s saddle.  With the wind dancing around him, he squatted on his haunches and splashed water into his hand.  Tracking his fingers across Joe’s brow and cheek, he let the cooling liquid chase away lingering heat.  When Joe groaned with relief, he poured water into his palm and dribbled it onto his friend’s neck.

“Shey?”  Joe’s chest rose and fell sharply with the quick hitch of his breath.

“I’m right here, pal.”  Shey forced a smile.  “Next time, warn me if’n you plan to take a tumble from your horse. What guarantee do I got you ain’t gonna sprawl face-first after the next five steps?”

“None.”  Joe exhaled.  He looked worn out, a fact that wasn’t lost on Shey. 

Hooking Joe beneath the arm, he dragged him a short distance, propping him against the trunk of a hemlock.  A few more seconds and Cartwright would keel over from sheer exhaustion.  Shey started to think the best thing to do would be to leave Joe where he was and ride ahead on his own.  He could be to the Ponderosa and back before the sun set with a real doctor and real medicine . . . elixirs to ward off the infection in Joe’s leg before it spread into something deadlier.  Behind him he heard Joe moving about and jabbed a finger in his direction.  “Jest stay there.” 

Shey walked away, gathering up the canteen, then tethering their horses and retrieving the saddlebags.  He plopped both at Joe’s feet and sat down facing him, drawing his legs up, crossed at the ankles.  “I know you ain’t gonna be too keen about it, but I gotta clean that wound again.  It’s infected.”

Joe nodded, his expression sober.  Shey tired not to think about how quickly an infected wound could take down a man.  He’d once seen a wrangler lose his hand after blood poisoning had set in.  Determined, he tugged the tail of his shirt free of his belt and ripped off the end.  The wind kicked around him pluming dust from the soil. Wordlessly he poured water over the wound, using the strip of cloth to swab away blood and oozing pus.

Joe grimaced, every muscle in his body snapping taut.  Unable to halt a moan, he turned his head aside, his eyelids fluttering shut

Shey shot him a worried glance.  He could feel heat radiating from Joe’s body in waves, a telltale sign of increasing fever.  Leaning forward, he pressed a hand to his friend’s brow.  “You ain’t swoonin’ over me, are you Cartwright?”  His lips rose in a sharp smile, but Joe remained unresponsive.  Frowning, Shey bent forward, tipping his ear near Joe’s lips to catch his breathing, grown soft and thready.  “Cartwright?”  He paused. “Joe?”

Shey swore softly.  Finishing with the canteen, he did his best to make sure the wound was dry, then bound it in another strip of material to ward against further infection.  The longer he remained, the longer Joe was without medical help, yet he couldn’t leave his friend unconscious. Frustrated, Shey started to pace.

What would Ben do?  What would Adam do?  Wasn’t he the one Shey was always trying to live up to, trying to convince he really did have Joe’s best interest at heart?  Adam would never leave his brother alone, undefended.  Would he try to get him back on a horse, maybe ride double?  It would take them longer to reach the Ponderosa, but if Shey rode to the ranch then had to come all the way back with help, wouldn’t that take just as long?

Undecided, he gnawed on his bottom lip.  His eyes tracked back to Joe, noting how his shirt had grown damp with sweat.  Given his rising fever, the witch wind edge of cold air probably felt good right about now.  Shey crouched beside him.  “Joseph.”  Once again he cupped his friend’s cheek, trying to bring him back to consciousness.  Joe grunted and turned his head, but didn’t open his eyes. 

Shey exhaled.  What he wouldn’t give for the brilliant flash of Joe’s smile, even the crackling edge of his notoriously short temper.  Anything, as long as it involved his friend healthy and well.  He trailed his fingers through Joe’s bangs, brushing aside a tangled snarl of chestnut curls. “I see how it is, Cartwright.  You jest want me to get all sappy and tell you what a great irreplaceable friend you are. Well it ain’t gonna happen.”  He dropped his hand to Joe’s shoulder, touched his cheek, his jaw.  “How many times growin’ up did I try to beat the daylights outta you?  Now here I am fawnin’ over you like some moon-faced calf.  It’s downright disgustin’, Cartwright, you hear me?  Yer turnin’ me into some kind of mawkish halfwit.”  He gave a gentle shake to Joe’s shoulder.  “And if that ain’t enough, yer Pa would skin me alive if I let anything happen to you.  After Adam lynched me.”

“ . . . Hoss . . . “

Shey gave a startled grunt.  “What?”

Joe turned his head slightly and cracked an eyelid.  “You forgot Hoss.  And I kinda like seeing you all mawkish and moon-faced.”

Shey grinned.  “Hoss would tar-and-feather me, and don’t get used to the sap.  As soon as you’re back on yer feet, I’ll deny every word.”

“How about as soon as I’m back in the saddle?”  Wincing, Joe tried to sit forward.  He dragged an unsteady hand over the back of his neck, wiping up sweat.  “I can sit Cochise, Shey.  All I needed was a rest.”

“All you need is a whack on the head to go with those muddled brains.”  Shey’s lips dipped in a scowl.  “I dunno, Joe.  Maybe I should ride on alone. Get help.”

Joe’s eyes shifted to the horses a short distance away.  Shey could tell he was calculating the grueling effort to mount, the even more arduous trek to the Ponderosa.  Clearly he wanted to be underway, but realistically feared whether or not he could maintain the pace.  Already his skin was flushed, the fever glittering like cut glass in his green eyes.  Shey passed him the canteen.  “Drink some of this.  It’ll help.”

Obediently, Joe swallowed.  With shaking hands, he set the canteen in his lap.  “We’ll ride double.  You can trail Cochise.  It’ll take longer, but it makes the most sense.”

Shey wasn’t so sure.  “Cartwright, you ain’t in no condition to ride.”

“I’m not in any condition to stay here either.”  He wet his lips, a glint of desperation in his eyes.  “I need your help Shey.  Don’t give up on me now.”

“Hell.”  Shey wasn’t sure if he wanted to shoot him or assure him.  It never mattered how determined he was, Joe Cartwright had a way of getting under his skin, wheedling him into circumstance he never would have considered a few short years ago.  Who would have ever thought Joe asking for help would turn his stomach to pudding?  “All right,” he grumbled, climbing to his feet.  “Let’s get this over with, ‘cause once that leg is on the mend, the gloves come off.  Don’t think I’m gonna haul yer sorry butt around anymore.”  He lodged his hands on his hips and stood staring down at Joe.  “You owe me a beer for this, Cartwright.  Probably two.”

“Deal.”

+++++

Hours later, with the Ponderosa a few short miles away, Joe felt like he was on the verge of collapse.  He’d lost all track of time, riding double on Shey’s gray gelding.  The sun had climbed overhead then started to dip toward the earth again, slanting shadows between the trees.  He remembered stopping a few times, Shey pausing to dribble lukewarm water between his lips and check the makeshift bandage on his leg.  Sometimes the pain was a fiery knot so intense it brought bile to his throat, others times he could barely feel it.

His consciousness waned, leaving him in a sticky fog one moment, the shockingly raw bite of clarity the next.  Sometimes the pain made him moan aloud and Shey would whisper an assurance near his ear:  “ . . .  not much further . . .  home soon . . . you’re doin’ good, Joseph.” 

Just the sound of his friend’s voice brought a measure of comfort that helped him relax.  Throughout the jarring ride, Shey held him braced against his chest.  Once or twice Joe nodded off, his head lolling on Shey’s shoulder.  If it weren’t for the support of his friend’s strong arms, he knew he would have tumbled from the saddle long ago.

Odd, as close as he’d been with Shey, he’d never felt this kind of comforting bond.  Complete trust, that whatever happened, his friend would see him through.  He was only half coherent when the Ponderosa ranch house rose on the horizon; when Shey whispered in his ear that he was almost home.   

“A little while more and you’ll be in your own bed, Joe.”  A hand tracked soothingly across his brow, mopping up cold sweat.  “Jest lean back against me and relax.  You ain’t gotta worry about nuthin.’”

"Shey?”

“Yeah, pal?”

His tongue stuck with the effort of speech.   “I owe you for this.”

“Yeah I know . . . two beers.”

Joe chuckled.  Groggy, he could barely keep his eyes open.  “I meant . . . I owe you . . . thanks.”

Shey dipped his lips close to his ear.  “Don’t blubber on me, Cartwright.”  His arm tightened around Joe’s waist.  “Jest get better and we’ll call it even.”

The sliver of a smile turned Joe’s lips.  “Worried about me?”

“Hell, no.  But with you down and out, who else am I gonna kick around?”

Joe laughed and the sound trailed into the whip-like hiss of wind.  It buffeted his body, tugging his clothing and hair, but he barely felt it, held protectively in Shey’s arms.  A second later he was in front of the house, the front door swinging open to spill his father and brothers outside.  A jumble of voices and orders followed, with firm, careful hands lifting him to the ground, carrying him inside. He felt the cool, blissful touch of the sheets, the cushioning softness of his bed, then everything spun together in a web of image of sound and his eyes rolled into his head.

+++++

Joe dutifully swallowed the last of his soup and passed the bowl to Ben.  As promised, he’d finished every drop . . . well most of it anyway, he amended with a glance for the liquid still swimming in the bottom of the bowl.   It was the first he’d eaten since awakening and it felt good to have something in his stomach.  He was glad to be home, even if he was propped up with pillows in bed, his damaged leg swaddled with clean dressings. 

“How do you feel?”  Ben asked.  Seated in a chair drawn close to the bed, he set the bowl aside on the nightstand.

“Better.  A lot better.  If it hadn’t been for Shey . . .”  The thought trailed away and he glanced at his father.  “He really pulled me through.”

“I know he did.”  Smiling slightly, Ben leaned forward and cupped a hand over Joe’s wrist.  His touch was blessedly warm, familiarly comforting.  “He was worried too.  Even after you passed out and Doc Martin got here, he hovered over you, fussing like a mother hen.  Your brothers thought it was comical.”

Joe raised a brow.  “Even Adam?”

“Especially Adam.  Your brother appreciates anything that makes Shey Cutter act out of character.”

“Is that what you think he was doing?”

“No, Joe.”  Ben gave a gentle shake of his head, tracking his thumb over Joe’s wrist.  “I think Shey was genuinely concerned for you.  He just doesn’t often let others see that side of him.  In fact . . .”  Ben’s smile widened to a grin.  “I don’t think anyone other than you could have made Shey react that way.”

He hadn’t really thought about it like that, but his father was probably right.  Shey granted him indulgences he never would have permitted with anyone else.  It made him feel singled out, special.  But those allowances went both ways.  Joe often held his temper or bit his tongue where his brash friend was concerned.  Shey had never been overly compassionate, which made his behavior of the past few days such a staggering eye-opener. 

Joe chuckled.  “I’m not so sure Shey’s gonna want to admit he was acting like a mother hen.”  Slumping down against the pillows, he laced his hands over his stomach, the hint of a smile dancing on his lips.  Outside beneath the bright October sun, a witch wind howled through the trees, but not even that blustery chill could unseat the warmth spreading through his veins. 

It might have taken him twenty-two years to make friends with Shey Cutter, but it had been well worth the wait.

+++++

“So . . .”  Shey grabbed a straight-backed chair and dragged it close to the bed.  Spinning it around, he straddled it backwards.  “You don’t look too worse for wear, Cartwright.  Not quite as pretty as those gals in Virginia City are used to seein’ you, or even as handsome as me--” he flashed a toothy smile, “--but you’re passin’ fair.  ‘Suppose you’ll do.”

“That’s generous of you, Shey.”

“Mighty.  How’s your leg?”

Joe lowered his eyes to his damaged leg.  Doc Martin had drained the excess fluid from the wound and restitched it, then plied him with elixirs and medicinal salves for the last two days.  The swelling was all but gone and his flexibility was gradually returning.  He gave a nod to indicate it was whole, then shot a glance at his chameleon-like friend.  “Doc Martin said if it hadn’t been for you and what you did, the infection probably would have been a lot worse.”

Shey backhanded the air, as if to slap away the comment.  “Ain’t like I had a choice.  If’n I’d let you bleed to death, think of the mess it woulda made.”

Joe shook his head.  “I can never stay one step ahead of you.”

“Time you stopped tryin.’”  Shey’s grin thinned then vanished altogether.  His expression grew serious, a little too somber for the buttery light pooling through the window.  He cleared his throat and shifted, nervously finger-combing the bangs from his forehead.  “I took care of Roper’s body.  Rode into town and told Jeannie what happened . . . that Roper tried to kill you, but she didn’t wanna hear it.  I left her sobbin’ her eyes out with one of the other gals.”

Joe’s eyes dropped to his hands.  He doubted what Jeannie felt for Roper had really been love, but the news would have hit her hard regardless.  “I’m sorry you had to be the one to tell her, Shey.”   Something tight and unpleasant settled in Joe's stomach.  It was his fault Roper was dead.  “If I hadn’t tried to influence you about Rob’s job--”

Shey waved the statement aside.  “Forget it.  You did the right thing.  And jest so you know, I hired Lucas Flint.  You were square about him, but don’t let it go to yer head none.  He’s at the ranch now, goin’ over things with Rob.”  He hesitated a moment and shook his head.  “Truth is, ain’t everything bad that happens during the Witchin’ Month.  That wind chased us back to the Ponderosa, got you back in one piece.”

“I kinda think you’re responsible for that, Shey.”

“Maybe.”  Shey looked at his hands and blew out a breath.  He was quiet a moment, his expression undergoing a chameleon-like transformation once more. “Cartwright?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I should get married?”

Caught off guard, Joe laughed out loud.  “What?  What brought that on?” 

Shey shrugged.  “Callie’s tellin’ me it’s time to ante up or she’s leavin.’  I ain’t got a lot of people in my life, Joe.”

Still adjusting to the rapid shift in conversation, Joe struggled for the right response.  “Do you want to get married?  I mean . . . do you love her, Shey?”

Shey frowned.  “Don’t go makin’ it complicated, Cartwright.”

“Complicated?”  Joe nearly choked on the word.  “Shey, there’s nothing complicated about it. Either you love the girl and want to marry her, or you don’t.”

“Easy for you to say.  You ain’t the one gettin’ married.”

Joe laughed.  Leaning back against the pillows, he folded his arms over his chest.  First he’d experienced Shey Cutter acting overly concerned and brotherly, now he saw Shey doubtful and confused.  Maybe there were perks to a witch wind, after all.  “I’m enjoying this too much to give you any more advice.”

Shey snorted.  “That does it.  My heart ain’t in it, and I don’t take well to havin’ my back against the wall.  If she leaves, she leaves.”  He shook his head.  “First I find out Roper shoved me in the Truckee and now Callie’s talkin’ about leavin.’  Rob says I got too many rough edges.”

Joe couldn’t resist a jibe since his friend was smiling.  “Guess you just naturally bring out the best in people, Shey.”

“So what are you gonna do--hog-tie me and dump me down a mining shaft?”

A dozen snappy retorts danced on the edge of Joe’s tongue.  In the end he settled for what was foremost in his heart.  “Guess I’m just stuck with you, rough edges and all.”

Shey raised a brow and leaned back against the footrest, mimicking his posture by crossing his arms over his chest.  “It could be worse, Joseph.   I coulda been a twin.”

“No thanks!  One Shey Cutter is plenty.” Joe flung a pillow at him.

Chuckling, Shey ducked.  “That goes both ways, Cartwright.  And now that I saved your sorry butt, you can buy me my beers.”

Joe grinned.  “Rain check in a few days?”

“Rain check,” Shey agreed.  He stood to leave, hesitating at the side of the bed.  His eyes still danced with amusement as he looked down on Joe, but something deeper lingered there too.  Dropping his hand onto Joe’s shoulder, he gave a tight squeeze.  “Glad yer in one piece.  You had me worried there for awhile.  Don’t do that again, Cartwright.  I ain’t got the stomach for it.”

“Me neither.”  As Joe watched Shey turn toward the door, he thought back to what Roper Crane had said right before he readied to pull the trigger . .  . “I was jest gonna set the two of you at odds.  Figure it wouldn’t take much to get you goin’ fer each other’s throats like in the old days.”

Roper hadn’t known him or Shey very well if he’d thought he could ruin their friendship.  Despite ups and downs and bumps and bruises along the way, Joe knew his relationship with Shey was stronger than either of them had ever anticipated.  The past two days had proved that.  Apart they were vulnerable to attack, but together they were stronger than even the fiercest witch wind. 

Shey gave him a parting wave.  “Don’t forget, Cartwright--”  He held up his hand, index and middle finger displayed.  “Two beers.”

Joe grinned from ear to ear.  “Deal.”   He couldn’t think of anybody else he’d rather share them with.

+++++

--end Witch wind--