Paul Martin finished his examination and straightened, trying to relieve the crick in his back. He fished through his bag and pulled out two bottles before turning to face the young man standing sentinel in the doorway.

“It’s not good news, is it?” Adam asked abruptly.

Paul chose his words carefully. “It’s not bad news. It’s worse, certainly, but that is how the disease runs its course. When did the cough start?”

“This morning. Though I thought his breathing sounded labored last night.”

“That’s from the membrane over the throat. It will go away eventually, as long as the toxins don’t build up in his system. That’s what causes the membrane to thicken and – “

Adam shifted. “And?”

“In some cases it can suffocate the patient.” He saw Adam’s face and continued firmly, “It’s usually brought about by poor care or late diagnosis. That’s not the case here, Adam.”

Adam gestured to the two bottles. “And that will take care of it?”

“It will help, yes.” Paul reached over and felt under Adam’s chin.

Adam squirmed away. “I’m fine.”

Undaunted, Paul felt his forehead. “You don’t look fine.”

Adam gave him a ghost of a smile. “Well, you don’t look so good yourself.”

Paul laughed. “I’m sure.”

“How are things in town?”

Paul hesitated. “I need to talk to you about that. Any other signs of illness among the men?”

Adam shook his head. “No. We scrubbed down the bunkhouse and I checked everybody’s throats.”

The mental image made Paul smile, but he hid it from Adam. “Well, Smokey is doing well – looks like a light case so far. Deever’s a little worse off, but I don’t see why he shouldn’t recover with proper care. Why don’t we have some of Hop Sing’s coffee and I’ll explain to you how to use what’s in these bottles.”

Adam flushed. “Sorry. My manners are off today. Breakfast should be ready – why don’t you eat with us?” He let Paul proceed him down the stairs and frowned at the sight of the empty dining room chairs. “Joe must still be asleep. Why don’t you sit down? I’d better wake him up or he’ll be late for school.”

“Adam – “ Paul reached out a hand to stop him. Well, there would be no easing into this. “Joe won’t be going to school today.”

“Not going to school. Is he - ?”

"No, no – " Paul interjected hastily, cursing himself for handling this badly. He must be tired – his bedside manner was in rags. “I haven’t even seen Joe today. The fact is, we’ve closed the school and are using the building as another hospital. As of last night, nearly twenty percent of the population is down with diphtheria. Virginia City and the environs are officially under quarantine.”    

“Twenty percent,” Adam repeated slowly, trying to imagine what that meant in terms of friends and neighbors.

“That’s right. I would like everyone who can to stay out of town for the time being. How are you fixed for supplies?”

“Fine.” Adam was still reeling a little. “We’re fine. I’m just not sure how to keep Joe occupied – thank God Hoss will be back tonight.”

Paul peered at him with some concern. “Adam. Hoss will not be back tonight.”

Adam looked at him with quick alarm. “He – ? Is he all right? What did you hear from Carson City?”

“Adam.” Paul gave his arm a gentle shake. “Hoss is fine. We’re under quarantine, remember? That doesn’t just mean nobody goes out – it means nobody comes in, either.”

Adam stared at him for so long that Paul became alarmed and gave him another shake. “Adam?”

Adam blinked. "I didn't think - " he laughed mirthlessly. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"Well, you've got a lot on your mind." Adam nodded wordlessly. "Have you thought of sending Joe to the Devlins until the worst is over?"

Adam glanced at him, then shook his head. "He'd never forgive me."

"Could be in his best interests, though. As long as they stay clear of illness. So far, so good." Adam looked torn. Paul patted his arm. "Well, you think about it. I'll let you know if all is still well there when I check back."

"Thanks - Hoss'll be worried when he hears about the quarantine. If I write out a telegram could you drop it off when you get to town?"

"Certainly. Why don't we have some breakfast and let Joe sleep a little longer."

Hop Sing was placing platters of eggs and ham and potatoes on the table as they sat down. Paul thought he looked about as dragged out as Adam did - or, as Adam had pointed out - he did himself. Adam glanced up at the cook. "Maybe you'd better have a seat, Hop Sing. Dr. Martin's going to tell us how to administer the medicine he brought."

Hop Sing put down the coffeepot but declined to sit. Paul talked them through the correct dosages for the medicine that would be placed in boiling water to help with the cough and breathing, then the one that would be taken internally. Hop Sing took the bottles. "Hop Sing give now?"

"Good idea, Hop Sing, once you've prepared the kettles."

"Here, I'll give you a hand." Adam started to rise.

Hop Sing protested in Cantonese. "You eat. Breakfast get cold. Where Little Joe?"

"Asleep. He can't go to school today - we're in quarantine. I don't know how we're going to keep him busy - think he could help you a little?"

Hop Sing nodded. "Little Joe be big help to Hop Sing."

Adam knew it was a dead-on lie and that Hop Sing was just trying to alleviate his worries, but he accepted gratefully. 

Paul watched Adam push eggs around his plate until he finally said gently, "You know, you really need to eat those and stay well. Your family is counting on you."

Adam nodded, glancing toward the stairs. "When will we know something one way or the other?"

"Disease runs its course in a week or so, generally followed by some recuperative time."

"Have you had any  - " there was no other way to say it. "fatalities?"

Paul was silent.

Adam swallowed slowly. "I see," he said heavily. "Can you tell me how many?"

Paul added cream to his coffee, stalling for time. Finally he said, "Adam, I know you like the facts, but in this case you'll only use them to torture yourself. Why don't you just deal with the cases under your care right now?"

Adam smiled his half smile. "Doc, that's just the kind of talk that makes my imagination run away with itself. So why don't you just tell me?"

Paul sipped at his coffee. "Seven so far. Including the drifter."

Adam paled a little, glancing again toward the stairs. "So fast."

"It's like that. Which is why I think you should really consider sending Joe away. For his protection and your peace of mind. You have enough here to contend with."

"I won't go!" They both jumped at the sound of the shrill voice suddenly at the top of the stairs.

Adam threw down his napkin and stood up. "Joe - "

"I won't!" Joe thundered down the stairs as Adam strode toward him, shoving his older brother with all his slight weight. "You sent Hoss away and you won't let me see Pa and now you want to send me away too! I hate you! I hate you and I wish you'd never come home!"

"Joe!" Adam held him by the arms, kneeling so he could look into his face. "Joe, I want you to calm down and listen to me."

"I don't have to listen to you!" Joe struggled against his brother's grip, but Adam was much stronger. "I don't have to do anything you say! I'm gonna do whatever I want and I'm gonna see my Pa!"

"Joe!" This time Adam gave him a shake. "You need to listen to me. You will NOT go in Pa's room - do you hear me? You will NOT, or I WILL have to send you to Devlins. Not forever - just until it's safe for you to be here! Do you understand me at all? Do you understand how important this is? Look at me, Joe!" Adam's voice had risen to match Joe's volume. Joe raised his eyes reluctantly to meet Adam's, his lower lip trembling suspiciously.

Adam's fingers were digging into Joe's upper arms. He loosened his grip and tried to calm his voice. "All right, I don't want to scare you, but you need to understand - people can die from this. Now I want you to promise me that you will stay out of Pa's room. I want you to give me your word - or I will send you to Devlins, Joe - right now, this very minute. Do you understand me?" Joe's eyes filled with tears. After a long moment, he nodded. Adam relaxed his grip a little more. "Then I have your word?" Joe nodded again. Adam let out his breath in a gust of relief. "Thanks." He gave him a quick hug, but Joe remained rigid. Adam released him, searching his expression anxiously. "Sit down and eat breakfast. You don't have any school today, but there are a lot of things you can do to help out. I'd better check on Pa and Smokey and Deever - with all that yelling they probably think we're under Indian attack. I'll be back in just a minute." He watched to be sure Joe had seated himself and Hop Sing was on hand before heading toward the stairs.

Paul finished his eggs and rose to his feet. "I'll go with you  - one last look before I start out." With a quick glance at Joe, he followed Adam up the stairs. Once they were out of earshot he said quietly, "I still think it's a good idea."

Adam looked at him and looked away. "I'll think about it."

"All right then. I'll let you know if the Devlins are still free of illness." He pushed open Ben's door. "Oh, and Adam - " Adam raised a questioning brow. "Try and get some sleep."

Adam squinted at him with the faintest of smiles. "Right, Doc. Just as soon as you do."

"Moved that 150 head down to the east pasture, Mr. Cartwright. Clyde and Frank are just scouring up there fer stragglers. Lem and Paint oughter have a chance ta replace that section o' fence tomorra."

Adam glanced up from the fence he was examining to Curly and nodded. "There's a group scattered over the western range that'll need to be collected, too. Tomorrow. "

"Yes, sir."

Adam glanced up at him again. This sudden politeness was almost as unnerving as the past insolence had been - he was actually stiff from holding himself ready, waiting for the next sneak attack - but none had come, not one all day. He half wished they'd just do it and get it over with.

"Anythin' else, sir?"

Adam shook his head. Sir . It was close to being comical. Well, maybe without their leader the fun had gone out of the game. "Have somebody double-check on supplies, though. With the quarantine we can't go into to town to collect any unless we're hard up and someone will have to volunteer if we need them. Hopefully we won't. Hard to know who handled what and what would be safe anyway. Guess we're better off than the town residents." He realized that he was rambling, thinking out loud, and stopped abruptly. His mind wasn't really here and he probably wasn't fooling anyone. "Anybody else show signs of being sick?" he asked.

"Not yet." The "yet" hung in the air, vaguely alarming.

"Well, that's something anyway. I'd better go see about the ones who are then. Good night, Curly." Adam started toward Sport.

"Mr. Cartwright?" Adam turned questioningly. Curly hesitated, then reddened uncomfortably.

"Well?" asked Adam after a puzzled minute.

"Um…well…we'll see to that western range tomorra."

Adam raised his brows. "Okay. Good. That all?"

Cury's face deepened to scarlet. "Yes, sir."

Adam nodded, mystified, then mounted Sport and wheeled him in the direction of the ranch.

The ranch house was quiet when he arrived, so he went directly to the kitchen seeking Hop Sing. He found him straining broth into a large kettle, looking frazzled.

Adam watched for a moment. "That for the patients?"

Hop Sing grunted assent.

"How are they doing?"

"Sick," answered Hop Sing shortly.

"How's Joe?"

"Him sulk."

Adam winced. "Where is he?"

"Room."

"Not all day?"

"No," Hop Sing admitted. "Him cut wood. Help in kitchen."

"Good." He looked at the tray Hop Sing was preparing. "Who's that for?"

"Missa Smokey. Nobody else eat. Throats too sore."

Adam reached to take it from him. "Let me take care of that. I'll look in on Pa, too. You look like you could use a break."

Hop Sing glared. "You out working all day."

"Well, you've been in here working all day and you've had Joe on your hands. That counts as double duty. Keep this up and you'll be sick too."

Hop Sing's face scrunched into a frown, mortally offended. "Hop Sing never sick," he said indignantly.

"There’s a first time for everything. Let's not tempt fate."

Adam managed to wrest the tray from Hop Sing who grumbled something and turned his attention to supper.

The upstairs seemed even quieter than the downstairs had. Adam balanced the tray on one arm and knocked lightly before entering. The light was dim and the fire low and he waited for a minute for his eyes to adjust, grimacing a little at the hoarse growl of Deever's breathing. When he could see clearly he made his way to Smokey's bedside and rested the tray on the night table. Smokey's eyes had been closed but he opened them and scowled as Adam felt his forehead.

"How you feeling?"

Smokey shrugged indifferently. "Good enough."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Adam felt the lumps under Smokey's chin and the cowhand jerked back. "That's what I thought." He pulled the cork out of the medicine bottle on the night table and measured some liquid into a spoon. "Here. Doc swears by it." Smokey swallowed carefully, still looking disgruntled. "Hop Sing thought you were ready to eat something."

"Reckon." Smokey choked on the word, swallowing uncomfortably.

Adam eyed him. "Better reheat your towel. Deever's too - I don't like the way he sounds at all. Think you can feed yourself, or you want help?"

"Myself."

Adam's throat hurt just listening to him try to talk. "Okay. " He helped Smokey sit up and settled the tray on his lap, removing the towel and taking it to the kettle over the fire to reheat. He added Deever's towel, pausing to check his temperature. Deever sounded bad. He should probably get some medicine down him too. He glanced up to see how Smokey was managing his broth and caught him staring at him. He raised his eyebrows. "Something you need?"

Smokey shook his head.

"That going down all right?"

Smokey shrugged. Adam turned away resignedly. He had heard of people who developed saintly demeanors when ill - clearly Smokey wasn't one of them. He fished out the two towels, wringing them out with a wooden dowel and letting them cool a bit before returning one to Deever and the other to Smokey. Deever didn't open his eyes but he seemed to relax a little. Smokey looked cranky, but accepted it.

"Anything else I can get you?" It looked as though he'd made a dent in the broth anyway. Smokey shook his head. "All right. Hop Sing or I will be back to check on you and take the tray." He washed his hands and headed down the hall to look in on his father.

Ben didn't seem much better either. He was restless and groggy and Adam spent some time trying to get some water, then the medicine down him. Ben gagged repeatedly, as though he had something stuck in his throat, but after a while managed to swallow the medicine. Adam was pretty sure he wasn't even aware he was there. He sat with him only briefly, since Hop Sing was probably timing him to be sure he didn't linger too long. It unsettled him to see his father sick and helpless - he couldn't remember the last time he'd been bedridden - somehow in his mind he had always seemed invulnerable.

"Missa Adam!" Hop Sing's voice wasn't loud, but it carried down the hall. He had been right. Timing him.

Adam stepped into the hall to see Hop Sing at the top of the stairs. "Suppa. Bring Little Joe." Hop Sing disappeared back down the staircase. Adam paused to refresh his father's towel and feel his forehead again before washing his hands and rapping on the nearest door.

"Joe?" No answer. He tried a little louder. "Joe? Supper's ready." There was prolonged silence. Joe silent was about as unsettling as his father ill. Adam was just about to turn the knob when the door opened abruptly. Joe brushed past him without a glance or word and headed for the stairs.

Adam blew out his breath slowly. Well, evidently he hadn't been forgiven for that little scene this morning. Just when he'd thought he was making some progress, too. Swallowing his disappointment, he pushed himself away from the door and started slowly down the stairs after him.      

Adam sat at his father's desk with a pot of coffee and the lumber contract spread out before him, the house completely quiet. He poured himself another cup of coffee and rested his head on the heel of his hand, trying to focus on the contract. Off to one side he had his father's notes, piled neatly under a list of the ranch hands remaining in good health and the list of tasks that they needed to accomplish. He was good at math, but no amount of figuring was going to make the ratio of hands to task look any more promising.

Hop Sing and Joe were in bed - both worn out from the day-long battle of wills. Hop Sing had won - this time - but his resources were already stretched thin and Joe's stubbornness was legendary - Adam smiled a little - almost as bad as his own. He had to face facts. If Devlins were still clear of illness, Joe would be better off there. He leaned back in his father's chair and sipped his coffee, unhappy.

When he was eleven his father had gone away to New Orleans for six months, leaving him and Hoss with neighbors. Kind neighbors. His father had written regularly. He had explained why he had to go, and Adam had understood. But what he remembered best was that understanding didn't help at all - he had still felt bereft and abandoned. When Pa returned he brought a new wife and everything was changed forever. For better, eventually. But for worse for a long time.

He sat up and put down the coffee cup, trying to focus on the contracts. And he was being silly and sentimental - it wasn't the same situation at all. Joe would have to go away for a few days, tops. Adam could even go visit him, though the thought of trying to fit one more thing into a twenty-four hour period left him with a sinking feeling of despair. Everything would work out, in time. Joe had just been upset this morning. He didn't really hate him. Probably. He didn't really wish he had never come back. Eventually Joe would understand and forgive him. He tossed his pen moodily on top of the contracts. When he was, say, forty or so.

He was so troubled by his thoughts that the sound of footsteps on the stairs made him start. Much too heavy to be Joe's, and nobody else would be up. He stood up behind the desk. "Who's there?" he asked, a little sharply.

"Jest me, Mr. Cartwright." The sight of Curly Froman in the great room with his hat clutched respectfully in his hands was so foreign that for a minute Adam wasn't sure he wasn't asleep and dreaming. "I was jest visitin' with Smokey an' Deever - Hop Sing done let me in."

"Oh." He really had to shake this jumpiness. "I thought they seemed a little better tonight. Deever's breathing isn't great but he's sleeping and Smokey actually swallowed some broth." Curly nodded self-consciously. He didn't budge, so Adam said, "Would you like some coffee?"

Curly shook his head, clearing his throat. "I was a-wonderin' if'n you had a minute."

"Of course." Adam was curious, then a thought occurred to him. "You don’t have a sore throat, do you?"

Curly shook his head again. "Oh, no sir. Nothin' like that."

Adam nodded, relieved. "Then what can I do for you, Curly?"

Curly shifted feet, acutely uncomfortable. "I been thinkin' about what you said about the quarantine an' about Hoss not bein' back fer a while." He glanced down at the desk in front of Adam. "An' I know yer Pa was a-workin' on that lumber contract an' all."

"Yes?" Adam heard the slight edge in his own voice. If Curly had come to gloat he had plenty to gloat about.

Curly cleared his throat again, looking longingly toward the door. "Mr. Cartwright, I know I ain't give you no reason ta trust me, lotsa reason not to, maybe, but I figger yer in a spot. Now, what I was thinkin' - yer foreman is down an I ain't never been a foreman, but I done worked here for three years now. I know the men an' I think they'll foller me. I was thinkin' you could give me instructions every mornin' on what you wanted done, say, an' I could report back to you every night. That'd free you up ta see ta the lumber while yer Pa's sick."

Adam blinked at him, trying to understand what he was suggesting. At his hesitation, Curly hastened on, "I know yer still payin' Smokey his full wage an' seein' as I ain't got foreman experience I wouldn't be expectin' foreman's pay. Jest figgered it'd be good experience fer me an, well…" he trailed off uncomfortably. "Anyway. It was jest an idee."

Adam was so taken off guard he was speechless. Was this another prank of some kind? But no, Curly certainly seemed sincere. "It was a good idea,” he said slowly. “But of course if you're working as foreman you'll get foreman's pay."

Curly relaxed a little, but shook his head firmly. "No, thank you, sir. You jest continue on payin' Smokey. I'll take experience in place o' money." Eager to escape, he moved toward the door, almost before Adam knew he was going.

"Curly!" he called after him. "I - " This was awkward for him too. He gestured helplessly. "I don't know how to thank you."

Almost to the door, Curly stopped. He didn't turn around, but even from here Adam could see the red creeping up the back of his neck and the way he was torturing his stetson in his hands. He cleared his throat again a couple of times and addressed the floor between his feet. "Mr. Cartwright - " He cleared his throat one more time. "Mr. Cartwright, Smokey's my brother. I count myself thanked." And he was out the door before Adam could say another word.

Adam stared after him for a long time. Finally, he smiled. Well. That explained a lot.     Tomorrow he would ride up to the lumber camp. He reseated himself and attacked the lumber contracts with renewed heart.

It had been well after midnight before Adam felt he understood the contract and his father's plans for fulfilling it well enough to turn in, so he was surprised and annoyed to find himself suddenly awake and staring at the black rectangle that represented his window, innocent of even the faintest streak of pre-dawn. He rolled over, hoping to fall quickly back to sleep, then froze at a glimpse of white floating by his bedside. He blinked, brushing away the fanciful notions that had flooded his mind, then pulled himself up on one elbow. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the dark it looked less like a specter than an eleven year old night visitor.

He swallowed a yawn. "What's the matter, Joe? Bad dream?"

Joe shook his head.

"Need something?" A shiver of prescience ran down his spine and he sat up quickly. "Sore throat?"

Joe nodded and Adam fumbled to light the lantern. "Let me take a look." He noticed his hand was shaking and forced himself to do it slowly and carefully. "C'mere." Joe stepped into the light of the lantern and opened his mouth. Adam noticed that his face felt warm. "Not too bad," he lied, though his heart turned over at the sight of the familiar grey patches. "But you shouldn't be standing here in your bare feet. Let's get you back to bed and I'll get you some of the medicine."

Joe clutched at his arm. "Adam, I didn't go in Pa's room. I didn't break my word. I swear I didn't, Adam."

Adam removed Joe's hand from his wrist and gave it a quick squeeze. "I know, Joe. You could have gotten it anywhere. C'mon. You need to get back in bed." 

Joe allowed himself to be shepherded back to bed and tucked in. While he tried to get comfortable, Adam went downstairs to heat up a kettle of water and some towels to ease the swollen throat.

It took a couple of hours before Joe was soothed and able to fall back into a restless doze – by that time the windows were showing the first grey of morning. Adam decided that as long as he was up he might as well visit his other patients. He took along the medicine and towels and a pitcher of hot water in case anyone else needed tending.

Smokey seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Adam vowed to take a closer look at him in the daylight and see if he could catch a previously undetected resemblance to Curly. Not that it would prove anything – no one would ever guess by looking that he and his brothers were related. Deever was coughing some in his sleep so he added some medicine to the kettle steaming over the fire and placed a fresh hot towel on his throat.  His father proved to need a new towel as well and his fever seemed a little higher – he wished he knew whether that was a good sign or bad.

He slumped in the chair by his father’s side. No point in going back to bed. In another hour or so he would have to be at the barn chores.

Well, Joe wouldn’t be going to Devlins tomorrow – today, rather - that was for sure. And Hop Sing was going to have a fourth patient – how long would he be able to keep up this pace? And if Hop Sing got sick, what then? He rested his head in his hand and watched his father’s slow, slightly ragged breathing. Sure wish I could talk to you, Pa. I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of keeping things together. He lost track of how long he sat there, but the sky was growing rosy when he heard Hop Sing beginning to rattle pans in the kitchen. He checked his father’s forehead and headed downstairs to tell him the bad news.

Hop Sing took the news as calmly as if spending his days nursing a growing number of patients was an every day affair. He scolded Adam into eating breakfast, scolded Curly into joining him when he came in to get his orders, and then shooed them both out the door - one to the west range and the other to the lumber camp - before going to check on his charges. He found all were looking reasonably quiet and busied himself straightening Mr. Cartwright's sick room. He was just building up the fire and adding medicine to the kettle when he heard a gruff voice call feebly, "Hop Sing!"

Hop Sing turned around. "Boss! You awake!"

"Of course I'm awake. What's this miserable thing?" He pulled fussily at the towel at his throat.

"That to help swelling. Me reheat. How you feel?"

Ben glowered irritably. "Could be worse. What time is it?"

"Almost 8 am. You like some breakfast?"

"Hmph. Where are the boys?"

Hop Sing looked sly. "Boys fine. I bring you breakfast. First you take medicine."

"Medicine." Ben frowned. "Oh, that's right. The diphtheria. All right. I suppose the boys are all gone at this hour." He coughed, then paused to catch his breath. "Anyone looking after that lumber camp?"

"Missa Adam," Hop Sing reassured him, pleased that he hadn't had to lie at all so far.

"Good." Ben accepted the medicine and sank deeper into the pillows. "Knox is competent but I feel better with one of us there. You know, Hop Sing, something to eat doesn't sound half bad. That and a shave."

Hop Sing smiled broadly. "You want shave, you feeling better."

"I believe I am. Everything seem to be going all right?"

"Everything okay. I bring you food, then shave."

"Send Adam in to me when he gets home tonight, will you? I want a first hand report."

"Missa Adam handle everything, you see. You relax. Get well."

Ben smiled. "Sounds like good advice, Hop Sing. But I'll feel much better, I'm sure, once I have a chance to talk to Adam and hear that everything's running all right."

Knox and Adam loathed each other on sight. Knox was a big man - almost as big as Hoss - with a bristling red beard and an angry, strident voice. Adam instinctively mistrusted him. For his part, Knox had gotten very comfortable running things in Ben's brief absence and disliked the thought of taking orders from his boss's youthful son even more than the ranch hands had. In fact, by noon Adam had to admit to himself that Smokey's passive-aggressive tactics were looking downright affectionate compared to Knox's scathing belligerence.

His brief overview of things only served to enforce his uncomfortable conviction that Knox was not abiding by Ben's dictums. Knox was offhand and condescending in response to Adam's questions and evasive and almost hostile to his requests to see petty cash and the daily voucher books. "Got things to do, sonny boy," he growled. "You wanna take a look around, help yourself. Yer Pa seemed pleased enough."

Adam glanced about at the groups of men. He was well aware that few professions were more self-protective and harder to impress than loggers and Knox clearly had their loyalty. Outwardly he looked cool, inwardly he took a deep breath. This hurdle was going to be a tall one. "My father can't be here and I need to acquaint myself with the project. I'll need to see everything you've done so far. If you can't show me around, who can?"

The men stood silent and unmoving as a wall. Knox grinned maliciously. "Don't know as I can spare anybody. We're all pretty busy with that contract and all."

Adam's short night and worry did nothing to enhance his remaining store of patience. "Fine," he said abruptly. He pointed to one of the workers at random. "You. Name?"

The logger looked uneasily from Knox to Adam. "Crawford. Sir." The "sir" earned him a glare from Knox.

"Since Mr. Knox is too busy to show me around I'm asking you for a tour. I have notes on what my father was expecting to accomplish. I'd like to see how close we are. Later this afternoon, Mr. Knox, maybe you'll be able to free some time to show me the accounts?" Adam's voice was brittle with polite sarcasm and a stir rippled through the men, like birds shifting in a tree.

Knox gave him a wolfish smile. "Sure thing, sonny."

Crawford moved reluctantly to stand, not exactly by Adam, but in his general vicinity. "I'll get my horse," he muttered.

Adam's inspection did nothing to decrease his uneasiness. He checked his father's map of trees to be cut again and looked around in frustration. "Looks like the cuttings are closer together than the map indicates," he said finally. "Or am I wrong?"

Crawford looked acutely unhappy. "Knox mighta changed a couple o' things. To save time. Contract's mighty tight, y'know."

"I realize that." Adam frowned at a patch that looked treacherously bare to him. "But speed and one contract aren't everything. There are long-range repercussions to clearing too much at once. What else?"

Crawford pursed his lips. "Reckon you'll be wantin' to see the mill."

"Yes, I will." He eyed Crawford as he remounted. "You trying to tell me I won't like what I see there either?"    

Crawford grimaced. "It's a tough contract, Mr. Cartwright," he repeated doggedly.

"All right." Adam kneed Sport into motion. "I know that." He continued to study him. "Crawford - " He watched his face and played a hunch "how do you like working for Knox?"

Crawford looked down and then straight ahead at the road. "Knox is a good lumber man. Tough. Y'know. Does what it takes to get the job done."

"Crawford, have you ever worked for my father before?" Crawford shook his head. "Then you need to understand that there are things that he'd rather not do - even if it gets the job done. If Knox is doing anything shady or destructive then I need to know about it."

Crawford looked at him for a moment. "Better get on to the mill," he said at last.

The mill seemed to be running efficiently enough, though there was something off about it that Adam couldn't put his finger on. After a while he realized what it was - the workers all seemed quiet - almost sullen. Missing was the singing and joking he was used to seeing on crews. Still, might not mean much - they'd been working a pretty intense schedule. Closer inspection showed a little sloppiness in the safety procedures, too. Adam hated sloppiness, especially in an area that risked lives. He watched Crawford's face carefully this time when he said, "I notice some of the safety procedures are a little lax and a few of those men look as though they've been on shift too long. How's the accident rate? Still good?"

Crawford avoided his eyes. "Knox keeps all the accident reports."

"But if there were accidents you'd know. Men always talk about them."

Crawford's eyes studiedly devoured a tree opposite. "You'd have to ask Knox," he said firmly, then, almost as if it were dragged out of him against his will, "Some of the men are still on from second shift."

Adam frowned, trying to picture the work roster in his head. "I didn't think we had enough men for two shifts."

Crawford gave him an odd look. "The men take turns working double shifts."

Adam raised his head sharply. "Is that safe?" Crawford didn't answer, which seemed to Adam an answer in itself. But he could see Crawford wasn't going to elaborate, so he just said, "Where to next?"

Adam was in a quandary. He was appalled at Knox' tactics and was sure his father would never condone them. But Knox had been left to his own devices with a tight contract deadline to reach - no doubt the means simply seemed a logical way to meet the ends. He'd have to have a conversation with him in private - explain that the long term drawbacks weren't worth the short term gains. He took off his hat and rubbed at his eyes. That was going to be an exceptionally pleasant conversation, no doubt. He returned his attention to Crawford.

"…we've been pullin' the logs out, bein' as Snake River's so low. Runnin' into a few problems with one of the other river crossins' on the road out, though - too rocky and deep for the horses to wade, too wide for a bridge that would hold the weight of horses and logs all the way across."

"Show me."

The river was just as Crawford had said - a wide slash across the logging road with an abrupt, rocky drop on each side, the stream bed peppered with jagged outcroppings of more rock. Too rocky to act as a substitute for Snake River and moving the wrong direction anyway. Adam glanced around at the surrounding ground, but didn't immediately see any way to avoid the river all together. "What does Knox say about it?"

"He says he'll get the logs down the mountain."

"Mm hm." Something was tickling at the back of Adam's mind but the clamor of his conflicting anxieties seemed to be drowning it out. "Does he say how?"

"No, sir, Mr. Cartwright."

"You know, you could call me Adam."

Crawford looked at him doubtfully. "Yes, sir."

Adam sighed. "Let's go. I need to talk to Knox. And Crawford - " he hesitated, not sure how this would be taken. "I appreciate the tour. If it gets you in trouble with anyone - Knox, or anyone - let me know, okay? I'll take care of it."

Crawford gazed at him blankly, then bobbed a perfunctory nod.

The best thing about dealing with Knox, Adam reflected ruefully on his way home as the sun was going down, was that he made Smokey look so downright friendly and reasonable by comparison. He steered Sport down the mountain road, pressing a hand to the small of his back to ease the ache that had settled there. The planned review of the voucher books had turned into a shouting match, no winners. Knox had a piercing voice, but Adam could work up an impressive volume himself. When he left the rough cabin that served as an office he saw some of the men hastily working with eyes averted, as though they'd been listening.  And as he walked away he could feel their eyes follow him. There was definitely something fishy going on - whether carelessness or dishonesty or both he couldn't tell yet.

"What a mess," he said aloud. He needed Knox to finish the contract, but maybe losing the contract would be cheaper than keeping Knox. Wish I could talk to you, Pa, he thought tiredly. Maybe you'd have some answers.

Sport picked his way carefully, as subdued as his rider. Knox hadn't had a plan for getting the logs across the river either - or at least not one he was willing to share - and Adam had to admit he was drawing a blank as well. Usually he liked a challenge but right now he just felt used up. And if Knox called him "sonny" one more time, he was going to haul off and slug him. He smiled a little to himself. Workers not cooperating? Try a fist to the jaw. The Adam Cartwright method of management. No. He just wouldn't believe there wasn't a better option.

The Ponderosa came into sight and Sport picked up the pace a little. He could see someone waiting on the porch and for a moment his stomach clenched, until he recognized Curly. Probably just waiting to give his report. He had to stop anticipating disaster at every turning.

He swung off of Sport and threw the reins around the hitching post. "Hi, Curly. Just let me take care of Sport and I'll be right with you. Eaten yet?"

"Couple hours ago."

Adam squinted at the twilight sky. "See your point. Don't know how it got so late so fast. Why don't you go in and let Hop Sing bring you some coffee anyway? I'd appreciate the company. It just about echoes in that dining room these days."

"Sure thing, Mr. Cartwright."

"Adam," he corrected over his shoulder, leading Sport away to the barn.

Adam didn’t linger with Sport this evening. He noticed that Hop Sing had persuaded Curly to a little more than coffee and smiled as he sat down.

“You late,” said Hop Sing abruptly.

Adam picked up his fork. “Hop Sing, you’re beginning to sound like a wife. How’s Pa and Joe?”  

“Fatha little better. Little Joe not bad.”

“Pa’s better?” Adam started to rise, stopped by Hop Sing’s glare.

“Seeping now. You late. Eat and see later – maybe awake.” He saw Adam’s anguished glance at the stairs and softened some. “Him eat and ask for shave. Little better, but very tired.”

Adam broke into a grin. “Well, that’s the best news I’ve had in days. How about Joe?”

“Little Joe restless, but him always restless.”

“Smokey and Deever?”

Curly answered this time. “Smokey’s sleepin' a lot too – must be a good sign. Deever’s not rallying so fast, though.”

“What’s the Doc say?”

“Him not come til tomorrow. Eat you suppa.”

“How’s the lumber operation?” Curly asked as Adam obediently plied knife and fork.

Adam made a face. “Not sure. Not so good, I think. How are things on the range?” He meant to actually listen to the response, but Curly had sent his tired mind back to the lumber camp and it was a moment before he realized Curly had stopped speaking and was waiting for some kind of answer.

“Whattya think we should do?” Curly repeated.

“I don’t know. Any ideas?” Adam was buying time, trying to remember all the points of the problem Curly had described to him, so he was surprised when, a little hesitantly, Curly described a possible solution.  Now Curly had his full attention and he nodded. “Sounds good.”

Curly’s expression was ambivalent. “Tain’t the usual way.”

“No. But sounds like it will work.”

Curly looked cautiously pleased. “Yer Pa ain’t much o’ one fer new-fangled notions.”

“I know.” Adam’s tone was so rueful that Curly laughed out loud.

“Smokey’s the same way. He figgers if'n somethin’s worked fer twenty years ain’t no reason why it won’t work fine fer twenty more. Gotta point, I reckon, but how are ya ever gonna know if’n somethin’ else might not work better?” 

“Exactly.” Adam pushed away his plate. “You want a brandy? I could sure use one.” He took Curly's shrug for consent and poured two brandies. Curly sniffed suspiciously, but drank. "So," Adam savored his own brandy. "How is it you and Smokey have different last names?"

"Different Pas, same Ma."

"Makes sense. Am I the only one who didn't know that you're brothers?"

Curly shook his head. "No, sir. Don't nobody know. Hearabouts, anyhow."

Adam swirled the brandy in his glass. "Why the big secret?"

Curly shrugged. "Smokey got the job as foreman here an' liked the place - sent me word ta come. I got the job on his recommend, so he figgered folks might get the wrong idee about why I was hired."

Adam choked on his brandy and opened his eyes at him. "You mean he was afraid people would think you only got the job because you were his brother."

Curly nodded. "Course he knew I could do the job. But you know how folks kin be."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "I have some idea," he drawled.

Curly flushed beet red and looked from the floor to Adam and back to the floor. "We was just - y'know - having a little fun with ya," he squeaked out at last. "Kinda seein' what you was made of."

"I'm glad somebody was having fun. Too bad my father and I don't have different last names."

Curly grew redder. "Smokey kin be kinda hard-headed - a little on the unreasonable side, like. He don't mean nothin' by it." He took a big mouthful of brandy and grinned a little. "Course, liked ta scare the piss right outta him when he found out Clyde and Deever let you ride off alone that day yer cinch was cut. They was supposed ta be with you ta make sure you didn't get hurt er nothin'."

"And to watch the fun, I'm sure. Why didn't they come with me?"

"Deever said you ordered them ta fix that upper pasture fence and the mood you was in he weren't about ta argue. He was feelin' he'd already pushed ya too fer."

Adam gave a snort of laughter. "Good instincts."

"Yeah, but Smokey took a good piece outta him instead so don't know as he was all that much better off. You shoulda seen Smokey's face. Was sure you was gonna turn up with yer neck broke."

Adam grinned, remembering. "Yeah, I found him haunting the barn that night."

Curly chuckled. "Figgered yer horse come back without ya and was tryin' ta find out if'n he needed ta go lookin' fer ya. All the time wonderin' about what he was gonna tell yer Pa." He tilted his head at him. "You never did tell your Pa?"

Adam shook his head.

"Huh." Curly nodded. "That's what I thought."

They sipped in silence until Curly said, "Reckon you'll be wantin' ta check on yer folks. Why don't we talk about what you'll be lookin' to have covered tomorrow?"

Adam nodded, moving to his father's desk to rummage for his notes. He was going to give them to Curly to follow along, but remembered just in time that Curly couldn't read and used them for reference instead. When he was done, he added, "How about you? You see anything we should be taking care of?"

Curly shook his head. "Nope. But I'll keep an eye peeled. Guess I'll be sayin' good night."

"I'll keep your secret for you if you want, Curly, but seems to me it'd be a lot easier just to tell people."

Curly gave a low whistle. "And go through what we put you through? No thanks." Adam laughed and Curly joined in. "Thanks for the brandy."

"My pleasure." Adam held his hand out. "You're doing a good job, Curly. I really appreciate it."

Curly accepted the hand. "Sure thing, Mr. Cartwright. Night."

Adam started to correct him, but sighed instead. "Night, Curly."

Adam stood for a moment, thinking that it was the first pleasant conversation he'd had with anybody in a while. That made him miss Hoss and he remembered that he had wanted to send him another telegram via Doc Martin. He sat down at the desk to compose it, chewing the top of the pen. Hm. Couldn't tell him everything or he'd worry. Couldn't tell him nothing or he'd be suspicious and worry even more . He finally compromised and told him that Pa was somewhat better and Joe was under the weather and hoped he wouldn't read too much into it. He added a post script asking about the grain deal, then marked it for Doc Martin the next morning and headed for the stairs.

Ben did seem to be resting better. Adam added medicine to the kettle and refreshed his hot towel, noticing with pleasure that the swelling under his chin was down some. He dearly longed to shake him awake and tell him all his worries, but both awakening him and burdening him with his problems were out of the question. He couldn't so much as hold his hand without creating trouble. Frustrated, he decided to leave the arena of temptation and, with one more check of Ben's temperature, he washed his hands and slipped out the door, leaving it a little ajar in case Ben called for something during the night.

Joe had always been a little afraid of the dark, so a light was left burning low in his room. Adam thought he looked feverish and reached down to feel his forehead. Joe stirred and opened his eyes. "Pa?"

"No, Joe, it's me - Adam."

"My throat hurts."

"Yeah, I know. You want some of Hop Sing's tea? It seems to help. He left some on the back of the stove."

Joe nodded. Adam gave him his medicine and a fresh hot towel. "You take it easy. I'll be right back."

He made his way downstairs without any lights to avoid disturbing the rest of the household. In the kitchen, he added kindling to the banked stove fire as quietly as possible. Hop Sing's room was right off the kitchen and heaven knew he needed his rest. Adam sank down at the kitchen table to wait for the kettle to heat, letting his head drop into his hands for just a minute. He could really use a little rest himself.

The stove couldn't have been banked too long ago, because it only took a short time before the brew was bubbling and letting off a fragrant steam. Adam dug out a teapot and a cup and returned soundlessly to Joe's room.

He had hoped that Joe would drift back to sleep in his absence, but he was awake and waiting for him. Adam propped him up so that he could drink more easily and perched on the edge of the bed to hold the cup for him. "Better?" he asked when Joe had managed to empty the cup. Joe nodded. "Want a little more?"

Joe shook his head, snuggling down into his pillow. "Adam, can you stay with me tomorrow?"

A hand squeezed at Adam's heart. "Wish I could, buddy, but I've got to be up at the lumber camp. Hop Sing takes good care of you, right?"

"Ain't the same."

"Isn't," Adam corrected without thinking.

"Whattya doing at the lumber camp?"

Adam reached down to smooth his hair off his forehead and gauge his temperature. "Got a river I've got to get some logs across."

"Like the Rubicon?"

Adam expelled his breath in a laugh. The things Joe happened to remember always surprised him as much as the things he seemed to forget. "Something like that, yeah."

Joe shifted his head to Adam's knee. Adam hesitated. He wasn't even supposed to be this close - prolonged contact was forbidden, especially with Joe in the early contagious phase. But he could no more push him away than he could cut off his right arm. Well, he'd just have to wash carefully, was all.

"Adam, what will we do if you get sick too?"

Adam almost denied the possibility of any such a thing, but he had caught the faint note of anxiety in Joe's voice and knew he'd never buy it. So instead he said, "Well, Joe, I figure by the time I get sick you and Pa will be well and you can take care of me. See that you do a good job, too - I could really use the bed rest about now."

Joe actually laughed a little and closed his eyes. "Deal." Adam thought he was asleep until he said, "Adam, will you sing to me? Like you used to."

Adam blinked. "Sure, buddy. What did you want to hear?"

"Anything. One of them songs you used to sing."

"Those,"  Adam murmured automatically, half to himself, rummaging around in his brain until he remembered a song at random. He began to sing softly. He was well into the third song before he felt Joe's breathing even out into sleep.

He shifted position cautiously. No, Joe was firmly settled on his leg. He was going to have to wait until he was more deeply asleep before moving him. He leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable. And smiled in the dark.

Because it seemed that Little Joe hadn't forgotten quite everything they used to have between them after all.

There was a noise like a squirrel chattering in his ear and he reached up to brush it away. The noise grew louder, faster – then clearer. “Missa Adam! MISSA ADAM!” followed by a sing-song of rapid Chinese. Adam pulled himself inward. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away. But now a hand shook at his shoulder, and the voice said, directly in his ear, “Missa Adam!”

Adam jumped, it gradually dawning on him that Hop Sing must need something. “Coming,” he mumbled.

The hand stayed insistently at his shoulder. “You get up NOW.” Adam opened his eyes a little and reached up to rub the grit away. Something knocked his hand aside, followed by a ferocious spurt of Chinese. “You wash first! You crazy, seeping in here? You need wash!”

Adam finally blinked his eyes clear enough to realize that he was lying across the head of Joe’s bed. He must have fallen asleep. He glanced over at Joe to see him slumbering peacefully. Probably rolled off of his leg sometime in the night. He pushed himself into a sitting position, careful not to wake Joe, and eased off the bed. Hop Sing was standing in front of him, sternly proffering the bucket of water and lye. Obediently, he dipped his hands in and scrubbed, then sidled to the door, Hop Sing close at his heels.

“You crazy?” Hop Sing repeated indignantly, as soon as they were on the stairs. “You want get sick too?”

“It was an accident, Hop Sing. I went in to check on Joe and must have fallen asleep.”

“I fix bath. You have bath now.”

“Okay, okay…” Adam’s eyes drifted to the window, and he froze. “Oh, my – what time is it?”

“Hop Sing cook, not clock,” replied Hop Sing tartly. “Fix bath.”

“Hop Sing, the sun is up.”

“Then Hop Sing fix breakfast too.”

“No, I should be finishing the barn chores by now – I’m late. I’ll be late getting to the camp. God only knows what Knox…” he glanced around frantically, as though looking for some magic way to turn back time. “I’ve got to get to the barn chores. Forget breakfast, I don’t have time.”

Hop Sing’s burst of angry Cantonese was ear splitting. He no sooner seemed about to settle down than he launched into a whole new tirade. Adam couldn’t understand a word, but he had a pretty good idea what he was getting at.

   “All right, all right!” He held up his hands to stop the flow of angry sound. “If you can fix me something to take with me, I’ll eat on the way. That’s the best I can do, Hop Sing. Now I’ve got to get out to the barn.” He held up a hand as Hop Sing seemed about to go off again. "I'll wash my face and hands now and then take a quick sponge bath right after the barn chores."

Probably the pump was not what Hop Sing had had in mind, but Adam gave his face and hands a cursory scrub while drawing water for the stock. He couldn't believe he had left them unfed this long. What's more, he was going to be late getting to the lumber camp - something that would not make it any easier for the crew to take him seriously. He didn't even want to think about the fact that he had exposed himself to a contagious illness for a lengthy period of time - he would face that trouble when and if it came. The more immediate problem was that he was on a schedule that allowed for no missteps or slip ups and lost time was the enemy - it could never be made up and he was falling increasingly behind.

 Still half-groggy with sleep, he lugged two buckets into the barn and stopped first to water Buck, his father's large buckskin. He was so distracted that he stood poised with the bucket for a full half-minute before it dawned on him that Buck was drinking. He put down the bucket and ground his fists into his eyes. The feed bin was also full. Puzzled, he reached up to stroke Buck's nose, his eyes wandering around the barn. All the animals were munching happily, everything looked clean and in order…his gaze finally stopped on Clyde, in the act of returning a pitchfork to its peg. Clyde nodded to him. "Morning, Mr. Cartwright."

Adam stood staring, mouth ajar, not convinced yet that he wasn't dreaming. "You - did the barn chores?" he managed finally.

Clyde nodded. "Curly noticed you wasn't down at your usual time and figured somethin' was up. Asked me to take care of 'em afore startin' out for the east pasture. Anything else you need me to do afore I go?"

"Any - " Adam was having the worst time catching up. "I don’t – " He paused to collect his wits. “No," he stammered at last. "Nothing. Thank you."

"I'd best be on my way then." Clyde sauntered past him to the door.

"Clyde – " he had no idea what it was he wanted to say.  “Thank Curly for me?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Cartwright." Clyde touched the brim of his hat to him and disappeared outside.

Adam stayed behind, stunned, still stroking Buck. Sport whinnied to him and he walked over to rub his ears. “We’ll be on our way in just a bit, fella.” He couldn't really understand what was going on, what had brought about this change.

Didn’t matter anyway. Suddenly, he was back on schedule. He was too relieved to question it much. He straightened the kink in his back and started for the bathhouse. A short sponge bath, a shave, a look in on Pa, and he was on his way. He might even have time for a cup of coffee.

 Ben’s first thought on awakening was that everything hurt a little less – his throat, his head, his eyes – though he was suffused in an overall weariness. His second thought was that the window was full of sunlight and the day must be well advanced. He was just trying a little experimental movement when Hop Sing appeared in front of him.

“You still!” he said firmly. “Take medicine!”

It seemed like good advice, so Ben swallowed the contents of the spoon floating under his nose before clearing his throat to speak. “Water?”

Hop Sing quickly filled a glass from the pitcher on the bedside table and helped him drink. Ben decided he felt fuzzy, but overall, worlds better.  “What time is it, Hop Sing?”

“Almost noon. Docta Martin coming.”

“Ah. Good.” Ben nodded approvingly. “I’d like a few words with him. Missed the boys again, I suppose?”

“Boys all busy,” agreed Hop Sing firmly. “You like lunch?”  

 Ben reached up to feel under the towel at his throat. His neck was a little less stiff.  “Maybe a little. How are they doing, Hop Sing? This hard on them?”

Hop Sing’s expression was unreadable. “They worry. Natural. But very busy. No time worry much.”

“Good.” Ben nodded vaguely. “Lots to do. Has Adam said anything about the lumber operation?”

Hop Sing shrugged casually. “Missa Adam come home pretty late,” he suggested evasively. “I fix you lunch.”

  “All right." Ben coughed a little and swallowed - his throat felt raw still, but no longer on fire. "I’d like some kind of report from Adam when he gets home tonight – he can wake me up if I fall asleep.”

“No, he can not.”  The firm voice from the doorway made them both turn. “Absolutely no business chat, Ben – you may be feeling better, but you’re still a sick man and I’d like to keep things moving in the right direction.”

“Hello, Paul,” said Ben, a little guiltily. “Nice to see you.”

“And nice to see you able to see me.” Paul opened his bag. “Glad Hop Sing’s around to make sure that you behave. Why don’t you see to that lunch, Hop Sing, while I examine my patient?” He picked up the towel and felt Ben’s throat, nodding to himself. “Improved. But don’t kid yourself it’s over. I don’t want you even thinking about anything but rest and food until I say so.”

Ben smiled a little. “That’s kind of a tall order, Paul. Besides, I’m sure I’d get well much faster if I could talk to Adam about our business interests and hear that everything’s all right.”

“Maybe.” Paul inspected the inside of his throat. “But the other side of that is I don’t want Adam hanging around you for any long business discussions. You’re still contagious, you know, and the two of you are bound to lose track of time once you get started. I’d like to limit his exposure.”

Ben turned cold. “Of course,” he said slowly. “Of course you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. Hoss and Joe - ?”

“Have not been in here.”

Ben nodded, relieved. “I don’t suppose Adam’s said anything to you…?”

Paul grinned, feeling his pulse. “All of my conversations with Adam have involved you and diphtheria. I’m serious, Ben. No business for a while. Adam’s as bright and as capable a young man as I know – I’m sure he has things well in hand.”

“Certainly.” Ben watched him pull a bottle out of his bag. “Left him with quite a lot to handle, though. The range and the lumber deal – not to mention Joseph. Oh, I know Adam’s a grown man – and mostly I’ve treated him like one since  - well, since he was five or so, actually –but I can’t help feeling it’s too much pressure. Joseph would be a handful alone, without the lumber contract to meet. And I keep thinking of what happened after Marie died…”

Paul glanced up from the liquid he was measuring. “Managed all right then, as I recall.”

“But it took a toll, Paul," Ben argued, rubbing at his neck. "Well, I guess he has Hoss and Hop Sing to help him.”

Paul nodded noncommittally. “That’s right. Think good thoughts.” He poured his liquid into a glass of water and handed it to Ben. “This is for you. You are looking better – though not nearly as well as you seem to think, so I’m having Hop Sing enforce my instructions.” He watched Ben drink and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Let the boys work things out in their own way, Ben. I think you’ll be surprised by the results.”

Ben made a face as he swallowed the medicine. “Good surprised or bad surprised?”

Paul gave him a mischievous look. “You never know. That’s part of what keeps life interesting, don’t you think? Get some rest, my friend. Follow my instructions and you’ll be meddling in your sons’ business again in no time.”

Ben glared at him as he settled back on the pillows. “It's my business. And I do not meddle.”

“No?” Paul stood up as Hop Sing entered with a tray. “I wonder what they’d have to say about that? Take care of him, Hop Sing. In spite of himself. I know the way out.”

Ben was going to give a crushing retort, but Hop Sing interrupted him with a spoonful of broth and he swallowed instead. “I can see it’s going to be difficult to reclaim proper respect around here when I’m better,” he said sourly.

“Very difficult,” agreed Hop Sing cheerfully. “Eat.”

Adam slammed the account book closed and pushed it away, glaring at it accusingly. Worse than he had expected. Either the man was an idiot, or a cheat. Maybe both. He got up from battered table that served as a desk and paced the small space restlessly.

Knox had finally surrendered the books and the petty cash key that morning before taking off for the riverbank, making it clear that he didn’t have time to fool around with such trivialities. His blustering attitude of yesterday had been replaced by one of smug confidence – as though he knew something was wrong and dared Adam to do something about it. Adam stopped his pacing and sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms, frowning at the wall opposite. And he had a point.

His first impulse was to fire Knox and boot him down the mountainside, ending his problems with him once and for all. Along with any hopes he had of fulfilling this contract.

The men were Knox’ men, not his – and replacing them in the midst of an epidemic and quarantine was unlikely, at best estimate. Laughable, at worst. But allowing Knox to continue to cheat and rob and bully the Cartwrights  - not to mention the lumber crew  - rubbed Adam sorely against the grain. He pushed himself to his feet and paced slowly to the door. Even if he kept a portion of the crew, the contract deadline was in jeopardy. He barely had enough men to finish on time now, always assuming he thought of a way to get the logs and lumber where they needed to be.

There was no way around it. He was going to have to try to come to some kind of an agreement with Knox. He strolled over to where Sport was tied and pulled himself into the saddle, kneading at the tension gathering between his brows. A lot like making a deal with the devil. But his father had dealt with him all right. If he could just strike the right note, maybe he could find a way to deal with him, too. He swung Sport around. And maybe not. It hurt his sense of justice to have to cave to a man like Knox.     Be honest with yourself, he thought, smiling reluctantly. You mean your pride. Guess you can sacrifice a little of that to bring in Pa's contract for him. He steered Sport toward the logging road and the river.

As he approached the river his mind was so busy thinking of what to say to Knox that it took him a minute to note the ruckus up ahead. He heard the sounds of yelling, and a horse’s scream of distress. He pulled Sport up to listen more carefully. These mountains were full of wildlife, though usually they stayed far away from heavy concentrations of men. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard and spurred Sport into a gallop. Sport careened around the bend while he was still above the work site, giving him a full view of the goings on below.

Knox had a team of horses hitched to a load of logs and was trying to coax them into the river. When they resisted, he would beat them with a broad stick. One beast was already covered with pink foam and streaks of blood, striking out with his hooves as far as the harness would allow. While Adam watched, Knox struck him again, full in the face. Adam felt a mounting rush of pure rage, muffling sound and clouding his eyes with a red hot mist.

He later had no real memory of exactly what followed – the next thing he knew he was beside Knox, tearing the stick from his hand. For a heartbeat he thought he was going to use the stick on Knox himself, then he turned away instead, breaking it over his knee and throwing it into the river.

He turned back, taking three quick breaths in an effort to get himself under control. When he thought he could speak he ground out, very, very quietly, “I’ll prepare your wages. Get your things together and get off the Ponderosa.”   

Knox glowered at him. “You cain’t fire me.”

“I can. I have.”

Knox’ confidence seemed to shake a little for the first time. “You fire me, you lose this whole dang contract. All these men march with me.”

Adam shifted his gaze to encompass the men standing nearby. Three in front took an instinctive step backward. "Anyone that feels a need to go with Mr. Knox can stop by the office. I’ll give you your wages. Now, Mr. Knox. I want you off my land.”

Knox stood, uncertain, trying to decide whether or not to make a stand. Adam cocked the rifle.

Knox narrowed his eyes, backing up reluctantly. “All right, sonny boy. You got the upper hand for now. But this ain’t over.”

Adam ignored him, moving to examine the horses. One seemed spooked, but otherwise all right. The other was in bad shape, bleeding in a number of places, including one eye, dangling his left front leg in front of him. Adam crouched and ran his hands gently over the leg, feeling for any breaks. He sensed someone squatting beside him and heard Crawford’s voice in his ear.

“Tain’t no use, Mr. Cartwright. He’s gotta be put down.”

It was exactly what Adam had been thinking, but his mind rebelled against it anyway. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Tain’t the point, sir. It’s the only merciful thing to do.”

Adam nodded painfully. Hoss, maybe, would have been able to think of a way to save him, but he didn’t know of anyone else who could. And to keep the poor creature hanging on in agony while he waited for Hoss to return…he unfolded his knees slowly and raised the rifle. “Unhitch the other one and lead him away, will you, Crawford?” He waited, cold with resignation, while Crawford took care of the other half of the team, then stroked the horse’s quivering neck, talking to him soothingly, noticing again the blood in his mouth and eye. If he had to die at least there was no need for him to die scared. When the harness was off and the horse seemed calm, he took careful aim and fired.  The horse dropped to the ground.

Adam stood staring at the corpse. “What did he think he was doing, anyway?” he asked of no one in particular.

“River’s calmest here – fewest rocks. Figgered maybe the horses could swim.”

“Pulling logs? Logs are buoyant. They’d – it doesn’t make any sense. And even if they could, the condition that animal was in…”

Crawford’s voice was philosophical. “There’s some folks as likes to cause pain. Cain’t stop once they start. Makes ‘em feel strong. I can take care o’ this here, sir. You get on back to the office.”

Knox’ pay envelope . Adam nodded wordlessly, wondering where he’d left Sport. He glanced around blindly, someone pressed reins into his hand.

He didn’t remember mounting, didn’t remember riding back to the camp, didn’t even remember carefully figuring Knox’ wages, setting things up to settle with the rest of the men.

But when Crawford entered, he was sitting there quietly with one foot resting on the desk, his mind shrouded in a black cloud.

He had lost his head. He had lost his temper and ruined everything – ruined his father’s chance at his carefully calculated contract. And now the Cartwright reputation would be besmirched and he would have to tell his father about it – about his foolishness and lack of control – his failure when his father needed him most. Worst of all, at the very heart of his being he knew that if it happened again, he would respond in exactly the same way. He glanced up at Crawford as he entered.

“All taken care of, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam nodded, shuffling through the papers in his hands. “Want to know how much I owe you, Crawford?”

Crawford shrugged. “Payday ain’t till Saturday.”

Adam looked at him directly for the first time. Then slowly lowered his foot and looked at him again, trying to decide what it was that made him seem so different.

He had it. Crawford was smiling. It was, he realized, the first time he’d ever seen him smile. He leaned forward on the table. “You sticking it out with me, Crawford?”

“Just came by to tell you the horse was taken care of and to get orders for the men, sir.”

Adam shook his head. Sir . Would he ever get used to that? “No one’s stopped by yet. How many men you figure we’re down?”

“Less Knox?”

“Right.”

“None.”

Adam squinted at him. “None,” he repeated. “None left or none gone?”

“None gone, sir. Just need to know where you want us.”

Adam felt his back straighten. “The mill,” he said automatically, “so we don’t waste any time while I try to think of a way to transport what we have to port. Find out how many board feet we need to finish, and how many rough hewn. Keep a small crew aside to scout stands of trees nearer the river – might save us some time to start cutting there instead. Remember, no clear cutting. Crawford – " he hesitated, not sure he’d understood right, but afraid to hear otherwise, “except for Knox, we didn’t lose anyone?”

“Not a one, sir. I’ll get to it now.” He moved to the doorway, turned back, grinning. “Mr. Cartwright, I don’t mean to be personal er nothin’ – “

Adam raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“Well, sir, I gotta say – when yer in a temper, you sure are the spit o’ yer Pa.” He bobbed his head genially and disappeared through the doorway. Adam stared after him for a minute. Then he dropped his head into his hands and laughed.

“Docta say Missa Cartwright seem betta. But no business talk.”

Adam glanced up the stairs and back at Hop Sing. “None? I – well, I made some decisions today he should know about.”

Hop Sing shook his head firmly. “Docta say business talk very bad. Worry Missa Cartwright.”

“Doc doesn’t know the half of it.” Adam lowered himself onto the stairs and rested his elbows on his knees. He had just arrived home from the lumber camp and it was well after dark. He had collected all kinds of information, but had yet to come up with a single workable idea. He was grateful to still have a crew – more grateful than he could say – but in another day or so he wasn’t going to have a lot of work for them unless he came up with some kind of a solution. "Doc take my telegram for Hoss?" Hop Sing nodded. "I have something else for him to bring into town for me if I miss him - a pay envelope for one of the men. He can leave it at the bank."  

"Missa Curly stop by, but he no wait. Say he talk in morning."

Adam nodded blankly.

"Suppa in stove. You eat now."

Adam rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Not right now, Hop Sing."

Hop Sing frowned. "You very late. Eat."

Adam stood up slowly, shaking his head. "Not now. Maybe later. I'm going to check on Pa and Joe." He could feel the wall of Hop Sing's silent protest behind him as he went up the stairs. The fact that he wasn't scolding told Adam that he was worried about him and he was sorry for that - but the mere thought of food revolted him. He stumbled to his father's room and stood just inside the door, afraid to sit down and risk falling asleep. In the thin light of the moon his father seemed to be resting peacefully. He leaned his head back against the door lintel and closed his eyes. "Oh, Pa," he breathed.

"That you, Adam?" The hoarse voice from the bed made him jump.

"Yeah, Pa."

"What time is it?"

"Not sure."

"You're not just getting home, are you?"

"Been home for a bit."

"Good." Ben closed his eyes again. "Everything going all right?"

I fired a man today, Pa. I didn't have any choice and it was the right thing to do but a man is out of work because of me and it doesn't feel good.  "Everything's fine."

"Everything all right up at the lumber camp?"

And I had to put down a perfectly good horse that might still be alive if I'd made the decision sooner. And I have no idea - none - of how to meet this contract. I don't think you'd be very proud of me, Pa. "No business talk, right, Pa?"

"Right." Ben laughed a little. "And you aren't supposed to stay in here too long. Just tell me how your brothers are. Joseph behaving?"

"Well. You know Joe. They're worried about you, but they're okay." And I'm not sure you'll ever be able to forgive me for lying about that one - especially if anything happens to Joe. "How about you? Doc says you're a little better."

"Much. Tired and bored mostly." He peered into the shadows, trying to make out his son's face. "You sound tired."

"A little."

"Better get off to bed, then."

"All right. You need anything?"

"Nothing. Nice to talk to you."

Adam took a deep breath. "You too, Pa."

"Sleep well, son."

"Night, Pa." Adam eased the door closed behind him. He checked Joe and straightened his covers, then looked in on Smokey and Deever before finally going to his own room. He pulled off his boots and sat on the bed, back against the headboard, his head buzzing with weariness but too keyed up to sleep. He was thinking about what his father had said about Hoss and how it might be difficult for him to get respect just because of his age. And wondering why it never seemed to occur to his father that he might have the same problem. Then he remembered what Ben had said about things coming easier to him than his brother and nearly laughed out loud. He certainly hoped Hoss was having an easier time of it than he was.

To be fair, though, he thought, yawning, Hoss probably told Pa when he had problems, and he certainly hadn't shared his. Now that he wanted to he couldn't. His own fault. He tried to remember when and why he had first fallen into the habit of keeping things from his father.

He let his eyes slide closed, seeing a young widower, torn by grief, struggling west, taking odd jobs to feed and shelter himself and his small son. Trying to do it all alone. He couldn't really remember when he had figured out that it made it a little easier on his father if he didn't mention things like "hungry" and "cold" and "tired". Pretty early, he thought. And it had pleased him - made him proud that he could help that way. Now it wasn't really necessary, but he couldn't seem to stop.

He sat forward and shook himself, irritated with the turn his thoughts were taking. After a moment he reached for his guitar and fingered it. It never failed to remind him of Marie. Maybe if he played very, very softly…he strummed a chord experimentally and was pleased at how quiet it was. Hoss's room was between his and Joe's and it was empty - maybe if he played for a little while it would relax him enough to sleep. He strummed for a few minutes, then began to pick his way into a melody at random. It was a few minutes before he realized that it was a little Swedish song Inger used to sing while she baked or sewed. He picked quietly into the chorus, thinking about Inger and Marie, and then his own mother. He'd been lucky in his mothers, he decided. Not everyone could strike gold three times in a row. He smiled. Four, to be fair. Hop Sing had certainly earned a place on the list. It would have been nice to have known his own mother a little better, but he felt sometimes as if he did - just from his father's and grandfather's stories and the few things she'd left behind.

He tried to remember other songs he’d learned from Inger…there was a lullaby he recalled her singing to Hoss when he was a baby…he was picking his way easily through the melody when a movement in the doorway startled him. He put his hand across the strings to stop the sound and stood up guiltily. “Joe! You shouldn’t be out of bed! Did I wake you?”

Joe shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “I was awake and I heard the music. Can I come in and listen?”

“No,” said Adam firmly, hurrying over to him. “You have to get back in bed. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Joe stood pat. “If I get back in bed, will you play for me?”

“We’ll wake up Pa.”

“Not if we’re quiet. Besides, I think Pa would like it.”

Adam looked at his brother’s bare feet on the cold floor. “All right, but back in bed, now!” He put a hand on Joe’s back to steer him down the hall. Joe climbed in bed and let Adam tuck him in. Adam felt his forehead, then his neck, and gave him some more medicine. Joe rolled onto his side and got comfortable. “What were you just playing?”

“A lullaby. It’s Swedish. Hoss’s ma used to sing it.”

“Play that. It’s pretty.”

Adam focused on playing as quietly as possible. He snuk a glance at Joe, whose eyes were closed, and cautiously tapered into silence.

He was just about to leave when Joe said, “Don’t stop. Are there words?”

Adam resignedly picked up the tune again. “Yes, but they’re in Swedish. I don’t really know them.” Joe snuggled down to listen. Adam played the chorus through twice, then said, “That’s it. Why don’t you go to sleep now?”

Joe opened his eyes and gazed at him pleadingly. “Play something else? Please?”

“All right. One more.” Adam tried to remember something Marie used to sing. After a minute he recalled a cheerful French song she had used to help keep Joe still while she was bathing him and started that. He wondered if somewhere way back in his memory Joe remembered it too. Joe’s eyes were tightly closed when he finished and his breathing was deep and steady, only a little ragged with his illness. Adam counted to five this time before standing up.

He was just turning to leave when Joe’s eyes sprang open. “Don’t go yet.”

Adam almost laughed. Darn kid. He should have known better. He could vividly remember going through this routine almost nightly when Joe was about three or four. Every time he’d thought he had him to sleep he would pop up again, like Lazarus. 

“Joe, you need to get some sleep.”

Joe scowled. “I sleep all day.”

“You need to, so you can get better.”

Joe smiled his most innocent smile. “I’ll bet a song would put me to sleep.”

“Guess I walked right into that one.” Adam sat back down and resettled the guitar across his lap. “Just one more, or I won’t be worth much tomorrow.”

Joe grinned his satisfaction and cuddled down again. Adam was about halfway through another song when he asked, “Did you cross the Rubicon?”

Adam paused, lost for a moment, then remembered their previous conversation. “Oh.” He shook his head, fingering his way into the musical bridge. “Fraid not.”

Joe yawned mightily. “You will.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy, but I have my doubts.”

Joe shook his head. “You will.” His tone of absolute conviction made Adam smile. “Tell me that story again?”

Adam slowed his playing, narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously. “Caesar and the Rubicon?”

Joe nodded.

“I thought you said that story was boring.”

“Naw. I like it. I just wanted to make you tell me.”

Adam gave a gust of reluctant laughter. “You little con artist.”

Joe shot him a mischievous look then closed his eyes in an angelic expression. “Go on.”

Adam worked his way through the story of Caesar and the crossing of the Rubicon, his fingers absentmindedly picking out a musical riff to underline the action here and there. This time, Joe seemed really on his way to sleep at last.

Adam put down the guitar and reached over to arrange his covers, lowering himself into a crouch until he and Joe were eye to eye. He ran a hand over the curly head. “Joe?” he whispered.

“Mmm?” Joe didn’t open his eyes.

“Next time you want something? You could just ask.”

Joe smiled, half asleep. “Not as much fun,” he murmured.

Adam grinned. “But faster,” he suggested.

Joe pushed his face into the pillow, yawning again. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Night, buddy.” Joe muttered something in return. Adam stayed where he was for a minute, stroking Joe’s hair, his expression thoughtful. Good advice, actually. Maybe I should give it a try myself.

   Adam stared out over the river as though the mere act of staring could affect an idea. He had spent the morning scouting the area for alternatives and come up empty – right back at the riverbank. The Rubicon. He smiled to himself, remembering Joe. Well, easy for you Julius – at least you had a bridge. And even when you didn’t, you had some of the best engineers the world has ever known. I remember reading about a campaign where you actually built a bridge en route…he shifted slowly, the germ of a thought scratching at the back of his mind.

“Crawford,” he said after a minute. “You said this was the slowest point on the river. The fewest rocks.”

Crawford nodded, wrinkling his nose at the river before them. “Course, it’s all pretty slow right now, bein’ as the water's so low.”

Adam leaned his shoulder against a tree, his brain starting to click. “And you’re sure about the rocks?”

“Yessir. Fer what it’s worth.”

“Could be worth a lot.” Adam hardly dared breath while his idea took shape – fuzzy shape, to be sure, but it was a beginning. He turned it over in his mind. It would mean abandoning a lot of his father’s carefully laid plans…not enough I fired your foreman, Pa, you should see what I’m up to now. It’s a gamble, and I could lose the contract all together or suffer a terrible penalty…and it’s not an idea I’m sure you’d like. But it’s the only one I’ve got, Pa, and given the time …he stared out across the river, weighing the risks against the potential gains. “Crawford. You ever raised a barn?”

“Sure. Everybody has.”

“Good. I want you to find me our best builders. I’m going to need as many as we can spare without losing too much time at the trees and the mill. We’re going to raise a bridge.”

Crawford looked doubtful. “Won’t hold all the way across the water.”

Adam grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re going to make the water work for us. Ever hear of a pontoon bridge?”

Crawford looked even more doubtful. “No sir.”

“You will. Start talking to the men for me. I need to take some measurements. Then stop back by the office and we’ll talk about scheduling.”

Crawford shook his head. “Whatever you say, Mr. Cartwright.”

Adam took a deep breath and looked out across the water one more time, wishing he could talk this through with someone, wishing he were more certain it would work. But - “’Let the dice fly,’” he murmured under his breath.

“How’s that, sir?”

Adam smiled over at Crawford’s puzzled face. “Nothing, Crawford. Just – nothing.”

Dr. Martin found him busy at his father's desk when he stopped by later that afternoon, scraps of paper riddled with math calculations and large sheets with rough sketches spread out before him. He stood and watched for a moment, realized Adam was completely unaware of his presence, and approached the study area.

"Well. You're home early for a change."

Adam glanced up, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from his work and rising to greet him. "I needed my drafting tools. I've rescheduled everything and Crawford can keep the crews going until tomorrow. I'm hoping to have this ready by then."

"What are you designing?" the doctor turned one of the pages so he could look. "A dock?"

"A bridge. I may have finally hit on a solution to our problem of moving the lumber. I need to be careful, though - it has to be wide enough and strong enough and stable enough."

"Hm. Interesting." Dr. Martin turned the picture back to Adam. "But I won't pretend I understand what I'm looking at. How are the patients?"

"Pretty good, I think. Sleeping, last time I checked. Joe's reached the coughing stage. You should hear it around here nights."

"I have a telegram for you from Hoss." Dr. Martin pulled a folded telegram out of his pocket and smiled at Adam, then frowned abruptly, taking in his face for the first time. "Good God. You look terrible."

Adam smiled reassuringly. "I'm okay. Just covering a lot of territory."

Dr. Martin moved to feel his forehead. "You’re warm. Let me see your throat."

"My throat's fine. Probably just the fire in here - it's pretty high." He waited patiently while the doctor looked down his throat and felt under his chin.

"Hm." Dr. Martin shook his head. "Your throat does seem fine. But I don't like the way you look. Are you sleeping at all?"

Adam perched on the edge of the desk and shrugged. "Sure. Some." Dr. Martin looked at him and he dropped his eyes. "Okay - Joe's kind of restless nights."

"I have something I could give him to help him sleep." Adam frowned. "Very mild. Just a little something that I'd add to the steam kettle - completely natural, but he'd sleep through the night. And you could too."

Adam looked uncomfortable. "Look, Doc, as soon as Hoss is back and everybody is on the mend I plan to sleep for a week straight - but right now…" he hesitated, his ears reddening. "I think Joe wakes himself up on purpose. I mean, he loves Hop Sing, but Hoss is gone and he can't see Pa and I've been getting home so late…I think he just needs to feel secure - that something in his world is a little normal - he's just a kid after all, and everything is so…so he wants to see one of us at some time during the day – to reassure himself. And the only one around is me, and that's about the only time I'm available.

We don't talk for that long, really, but he seems to feel better afterward. So, in a way, it's actually good for his recovery. Don't you think?" He glanced at the doctor hopefully.

"Joe's doing very well, Adam, and he can sleep during the day. I was thinking about you."

Adam looked at him sheepishly, then away again. "I think maybe he's not the only one that needs to feel like things are a little bit normal. I feel better afterward, too."

Dr. Martin paused thoughtfully. The hardest thing for a doctor to remember sometimes was that patients were made up of more than just physical symptoms. He sighed resignedly. “All right. But I’d like to see you fit in a little more sleep somewhere. And don’t stay with Joe too long – he’s still contagious, you know. Take me to my patients.”  

Adam led the way upstairs, glad the doctor didn’t know about the night he’d inadvertently spent in Joe’s room.

Dr. Martin hesitated at the head of the stairs. "Come to think of it, why don't I do this alone while you get back to work?"

Adam raised his brows. "Why?"

"First of all, I don't want you and your father starting into some long business conversation while I examine him. Secondly, if you're run down I don't want you in there when you don't have to be. And thirdly, if your father gets a good look at you in daylight he'll worry, and that's the last thing he needs."

Adam grinned. "I don't look THAT bad - besides, the curtains are drawn so he can sleep."

"Just do as I ask - I promise I'll give a full report before I leave."

Adam hesitated, then nodded and made his way back down the stairs. In truth, he was a little relieved - he felt awkward about facing his father until he had his plan in place and knew it would work. Seemed like there were so many things he couldn't say to him he could hardly think of a safe topic – except maybe the weather.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, remembering Hoss's telegram. He slit it open with his thumb and read it walking back to his father's desk.

HEY ADAM STOP
ALL WENT WELL HERE STOP
EAGER TO GET HOME STOP
GOOD NEWS ABOUT PA STOP
TAKE CARE OF JOE STOP
HOW ARE THINGS WITH THE RANCH STOP
HOPE TO BE THERE SOON DON'T STOP
HOSS
PS YOU DON'T SAY HOW YOU ARE STOP

Adam sat down at the desk to write a reply for Dr. Martin to take back with him.

HI HOSS STOP
CONGRATULATIONS ON THE GRAIN DEAL STOP
PA AND JOE IMPROVING STOP
ALL WELL HERE STOP
MISS YOU DON'T STOP
ADAM
PS I'M FINE STOP

He offered it to the doctor when he reappeared less than an hour later. Dr. Martin tucked it into his vest pocket. "With any luck it won't be too long before we can lift the quarantine and Hoss can come home."

"Things better in town?"

The doctor removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fewer new cases being reported."

Adam studied his face. "Anyone else…?"

"Four more." The doctor sounded bitter. "It's hard on the old ones and the children." Then smiled faintly as he caught Adam's anxious glance at the stairs. "Don't worry. Joe seems to have a light case, and your father would not thank you for putting him in that category."

Adam didn't smile back. "Still, he's not that young anymore."

This time Dr. Martin smiled fully. "It's relative, I suppose." He became brisk. "But this isn't the time to take chances. I don't want any carelessness causing complications. Plenty of quiet and fluids. I'd say Ben is officially on the mend - Smokey, too. If all goes well, they'll be able to come downstairs in a day or two."

"Then we'll have to tell him about Joe."

"When the time comes. Not before." He saw Adam's expression and added kindly, "I know it's difficult, son, but it's not forever. And it's for his own good."

Adam grimaced. "Hope he sees it that way. There's sure a lot I'm keeping from him, Doc."

"Yes, well, think of it as a form of medication. Where's Hop Sing?"

"Taking a nap. Since I was home early I thought he could use a break."

"I'm sure he could." Dr. Martin gave Adam's arm a pat. "Things seem well in hand here."

"The credit for that goes to Hop Sing, not me."

"He'd make a good nurse. Any of the other hands come down with it?"

"Not so far, no."

"Well, hang on a little longer, Adam. I think we're almost out of the woods. I'll come out or send a messenger as soon as the quarantine lifts."

"Thanks, Doc." Adam walked him to the door, then returned to his sketches.

Adam refused to look at the clock when he finished, as though not knowing the time would keep it from being as late as he feared. But there was no avoiding the faint lightening of the sky, so he stood and stretched and walked over to the window to have a look. Dawn was almost upon them. No point in going to bed now.

Despite the sleepless night he had a sense of satisfaction. His design was done - now it was just a matter of building it. With enough smart men, that should only be the work of a day or two. And if it worked - and it had to work - then the worst of his troubles were over. Pa was on the mend and Joe looked likely to be soon as well. They might even be able to come downstairs in a few days - sure would make things less lonely around here. Curly was doing a good job bossing the range and the end of the quarantine was in sight. That meant Hoss would be home. And then he would eat as much as Hop Sing wanted him to and sleep as much as Doc Martin wanted him to and things would return to normal. 

He walked back to the desk and flipped through his sketches, feeling a warm bloom of accomplishment. In the cold light of morning they still looked good. He spread out his new cutting maps and carefully refigured the time needed to finish the contract before the penalty kicked in. And gave a low whistle. Sure was cutting it close. Still…

"No turning back now, right Julius?" He shook his head at how loud his voice sounded in the empty room. Another week like this and he'd be nutty as a fruitcake.

He should let Joe know that he'd inspired him - that he might just cross his Rubicon afterall. He glanced at the stairs and hesitated. Joe's cough had kept him sleepy and irritable - disinclined to conversation. But he didn't have to be at the barn chores for at least another half hour…he sat down at the desk and pulled out a fresh piece of paper, beginning a picture of an army of loggers, with himself at the head, crossing a pontoon bridge. He'd title it "Adam crosses the Rubicon" and leave it on Joe's night table for him - at least he'd know he'd been thinking of him. He whistled softly to himself as the picture came to life, paused to place the tune and smiled. It was Inger's lullaby.

"Mr. Cartwright, that is the darndest thing I ever done seen in all my born days. Think it'll hold all them horses and lumber?"

"Should. I did all the calculations and mathematics are one of the few things that don't lie. Besides, I figure anything that could hold armed soldiers in bronze breastplates and horse drawn chariots can handle a few horses pulling lumber."

Crawford folded his arms and shook his head. "Mr. Cartwright, half the time I don't foller a single word you say."

"Never mind, Crawford. And I wish you'd call me Adam." They stood watching as the men put the finishing touches on grading the steep bank for easy access. The pontoon bridge stretched, broad and imposing, across the face of the water. The light was fading now, but tomorrow they would try it out – drive the first load of logs over it to the other side. Adam felt his heart lift at the thought.

It had taken two days to build, if you didn’t count Sunday – close to his estimate. The loggers had proved a willing, if curious, crew – and if the design had them questioning the sanity of their boss they hadn’t said anything about it. As long as they got their wages they seemed content.

The builders glanced at the sky and began to pack up for the day. Adam moved a little closer. “I’m going to walk it. Care to join me?”

Crawford frowned. “Gettin’ kinda late, Mr. Cartwright. You oughta be gettin’ home. Time enough for that tomorrow.”     

Adam grinned at him and shrugged. “You go, then. I kind of have an itch to try it out. Just across and back. I’ll see you tomorrow, Crawford. Good work.”

Crawford shook his head at him. “Night, sir.”

Adam watched him walk away. Poor Crawford. But he seemed determined to follow Adam whatever crazy place he led. And that was a lucky break.

The last of the men were carrying away tools and they touched their hats to him as he stepped onto the bridge. He felt the small movement of the surface underneath him. They’d have to speed up cutting to compensate for the lumber they'd used to build this, but he’d planned for that. Some of the builders would be switched to cutting crew tomorrow – some to transport. He was walking a fine line, but he had every hope that he could keep his balance. He strode out toward the middle of the bridge, enjoying the solid feeling underneath him. He wondered if this was how Caesar had felt in 49BC – unsure, elated, terrified - alone.

Watching the bridge take shape and span the river had been one of the most exciting days of his life. He had only wished that there were somebody he could tell about it. Joe seemed to be turning the corner of his illness and was sleeping now almost all the time. His father was doing well – approaching convalescence, in fact – but he was still forbidden to discuss anything that might upset him or even linger with him for very long. With the town off limits, it had made for a long and empty Sunday. The hands played cards and horseshoes around the bunkhouse, but Adam found himself too restless to join them. After a while, he had taken Sport out to ride the range and check how things were going. If his father did come downstairs he was going to want a report, and Adam wanted to be able to answer with first hand knowledge. Things looked in good order and he had Curly to thank for that. He’d tell his father so.

If he were honest with himself, he looked to his father’s questions with a mixture of relief and trepidation. He wouldn’t be sorry to turn some of the responsibility back over to him, but he wanted to be sure that some of the decisions he'd made were sound first.

Somehow, his ride had ended up at the lake by Marie's headstone and he'd spent a couple of quiet hours there, looking out at the water. He had expected to have a rambling chat with her, to maybe tell her about his bridge, but instead he'd just sat there, not sorting through his problems, not even thinking. By the time he'd mounted to return home he had found some measure of peace.

He reached the opposite bank of the river and started back. The sun, a ball of pink fire, was just disappearing behind the mountains. Crawford was right – he should be getting home.  He crossed back over the bridge and swung onto Sport, making himself comfortable in the saddle. “Let’s call it a day, boy.”

The long ride home was so filled with the endless revolving of his busy thoughts that he was surprised to see how dark it was when he dismounted outside the Ponderosa. Even for the shortening autumn days it must be late. Hop Sing wouldn’t be very happy with him.

He led Sport into the barn and undid his cinch. He told himself that it was important to take care of his horse first, but part of him knew he was avoiding Hop Sing’s wrath and he chuckled, feeling six years old. Maybe by the time he’d finished with Sport Hop Sing would be in bed. He took his time making the horse comfortable and checking to see that all the animals were fed and watered. He was just thinking that he couldn’t really stall any longer when he saw a light coming from the tack room. He frowned. He was sure he hadn’t left a lantern burning. Could one of the hands have been so careless? Or maybe, since he was late, someone had turned it on for him. He sighed. Either way, it needed to be turned out. A lantern left burning in a barn, even in the tack room away from the hay, was a terrible fire hazard.

He pushed the tack room door open. The lantern was sitting on a tack box at the other side of the room. Seemed a funny place to put it and a funny place to forget it, but he was too tired to think about it now.  He strode over to it and bent down to turn it out. Then there was a high, whooshing sound and a thud of impact and he was face down in the dirt.

He lay for a second, half-stunned, trying to figure out how he had tripped, but a wide, stinging band of pain across his back told him something had knocked him down. He tried to push himself up and look around, but a brutal, thumping weight between his shoulder blades forced him back against the icy floor. This pressure he identified as a man's broad boot, even before he recognized the familiar voice;

"Hello there, sonny boy - who's got the upper hand now?"

Knox.

Of course. Knox was trapped in town by the quarantine, with nothing to do but feed his anger and resentment. How could he have been so careless as to not think of watching his back?

Knox drove his heel into Adam’s spine. “Whatsamatter, sonny boy? Not happy to see me? And here I went to all this trouble to surprise you.” The relentless vice of Knox’ boot squeezed the air from Adam’s lungs and he tried to shift, struggling for breath. He felt Knox pluck his gun from its holster and lean in harder, laughing softly. “Now, don’t git all impatient – I cleared the whole evenin’, just for you. NOT that I have any place to go – thanks to you.” Knox’ tone grew ugly, and he crushed down with such violence that dots swam before Adam’s eyes and he half-expected to hear the sound of his ribs and spine cracking. Just as he felt consciousness slipping from him, Knox eased his weight.

“Don’t give in so easy, sonny. You’ll spoil all my fun.”

The blood sang in Adam’s ears along with Crawford’s words…There’s some folks as likes to cause pain. Cain’t stop once they start. Makes ‘em feel strong. The memory made him feel a little sick. He coughed, trying to grab a breath while he could, caught the pervasive smell of cheap whiskey. Knox was drunk. That probably made him more violent, but it also made him slower. If Adam played his cards right, he might be able to make it work for him. 

 “So, how are things at the lumber camp? Miss me?” He nudged Adam in the ribs with something. Adam peered through his eyelashes, saw him dangling a thick board from one hand. He couldn’t see much else from this vantage point, but he was biding his time – letting Knox get cocky. “You disappoint me, sonny boy – thought you’d have more fight than this. Guess you’re not so tough without yer fancy – “ While he spoke, Knox lightened the pressure on Adam’s back just enough. Adam looped his arm around the leg planted in front of his eyes and pulled. Knox tottered with a yell.

Knox was drunk, but he was as solid and massive as the trees he cut and he only tumbled into the wall. Adam, for his part, was regretting all those short, ill-slept nights as he found his reflexes slow. But despite the throbbing ache in his back, he made it as far as his knees before Knox recovered and, with a howl of rage, swung his board.

It caught Adam under the jaw and sent him flying, white lights exploding behind his eyes. He landed hard and lay still, blood filling his mouth, the world rocking under him, clinging to shreds of consciousness. He sensed, rather than heard, Knox moving to stand over him, tapping the board on the dirt floor by his ear.

“Now, that’s more like it.” Knox pulled back his foot and booted him solidly in the side. Adam choked on the blood, coughed, trying to clear his mouth and breathe. He waited for the coup de grace, wondering if there was anything he could do about it. And waited. After a moment he tried to pry his eyes far enough apart to see Knox. He was just standing there, holding the lantern in one hand and the board in the other, staring at him.

Knox smiled. “Didn’t think you was finished just yet,” he remarked conversationally.

Adam tried to lift his head and fell back under a wave of dizziness. Somehow, Knox’ stillness disturbed him more than the attack. 

Knox swung the lantern casually from his hand. “Reckon you’ve been in the camps long enough now to know what every lumber man fears most – fire. When the wind's right and it’s been dry – say like tonight – it can strip a mountain in a matter of hours. Once it takes hold, ain’t a whole lot a body can do to stop it.”

Adam tried painfully to focus on the lantern and Knox’ chillingly matter-of-fact words, though everything looked and sounded as though he was under water. Was Knox going to set fire to the lumber operation? He had to stop him! He struggled to sit up, but he couldn’t even lift his head.

“Nasty way to go, fire. Course, it’s usually the smoke that gets you first, but on the floor like you are, maybe not. Figure a strong young feller like you could last quite a while. Maybe even long enough to burn to death. And with the wind blowin’ like it is, shouldn’t take long for the rest of the place to catch. Water supply’s got to be low.”

Adam’s heart beat suffocatingly in his chest. Images raced through his mind – of the animals in the barn, the men asleep in the bunkhouse, Pa and Joe and Hop Sing, Smokey and Deever, sick or asleep in the ranch house – by the time anyone knew about the fire…he felt a core of sheer stubbornness harden inside of him. No. He wouldn’t allow it. Somehow or other…he tried to calm his racing, aching brain. If Knox was stupid enough to start the fire in the tack room instead of, say, the loft, it would take longer to take hold. Once Knox made his break for safety, he would put it out before it got out of hand. Pile saddles on it, blankets – something. If he had to drag himself he’d find a way . He lay very still, his eyes barely open, watching. Let Knox think he was finished. He wasn’t. Not yet.

He saw Knox toss the board aside and pull Adam’s gun from his waistband. For a second his heart faltered. Was Knox going to settle for a quick death? But the gun wasn’t pointed at his head or his chest, it was leveled somewhere around his kneecap. He turned cold. Son of a bitch sure wasn’t taking any chances on him going anywhere. And paused.

A gunshot. That was bound to bring somebody. If only he could make the gun go off – preferably, he thought grimly, without getting shot.

Knox pulled back the hammer. “Here tell this hurts a mite,” he offered with a smirk.

Adam watched through narrowed eyes, waiting until Knox' attention was focused on his aim, a little unsteady in his drunken state, then gathered all his strength and kicked out. Knox tumbled backward, the shot going wild. Adam managed to roll onto his side and get his hands under him to push himself up, but he was slow, too slow, Knox was faster. He felt the hard muzzle of the gun dig into his temple, and Knox’ voice, cold with fury, grate in his ear.

“You just gotta be smart, dontcha?” he hissed.

Adam caught a glimpse of Knox’ eyes and closed his own briefly against the look in them. This was not going to be fast and it was not going to be pleasant. He steeled himself. Then heard the distinctive click of a rifle cocking.

“I wouldn’t.”

For a second neither Knox or Adam moved, unsure as to what was happening. “Put that gun down, nice and easy-like.” Adam felt Knox' finger waver on the trigger and grit his teeth. "I mean now, mister." There came the chatter of half a dozen or so more rifles cocking. The gun barrel shifted slightly on his temple and Knox was yanked out of his line of vision. Adam sagged in relief, letting his forehead slump forward onto his arm for a moment before fumbling for the tack box to pull himself up. 

Then someone was helping him, lifting him. He had a glimpse of Curly Froman's face as the tack room walls swooped past him in a swooning circle. He clutched at Curly to steady himself, then felt the tack box beneath him but was afraid to loosen his grip lest he be thrown off of the wildly spinning earth.

"Mr. Cartwright? You okay? Can you hear me?" Curly's voice was a little clearer now. "Are you hit? Mr. Cartwright?" He felt Curly dabbing at his chin with a handkerchief or a bandanna and, a little unsteadily, took the cloth from him and tried to clean some of the blood out of his mouth. The room was slowing down and Curly's face, anxious and questioning, was coming into focus. "Where are you hurt? Mr. Cartwright?"

Adam felt tentatively along his jaw. It hurt like hell, but nothing seemed to be dangling or creaking, so probably it wasn't broken. His hand came away bloody and he moved the bandanna to press it there instead, clearing his throat experimentally. "Curly, you think you're ever going to call me Adam?"

Curly stared at him for a moment, then gave a crack of laughter. "Lordy. He's all right. Somebody help me get him into the house."    

Curly whistled through his teeth as he watched Hop Sing prepare to rub ointment into the welt across Adam’s back. “Nice. Should make ridin’ a lot of fun tomorra. Hope you’re plannin’ on stayin’ around here. “

Adam pulled the ice pack away from his jaw and explored the area inside his cheek with his tongue. “Tomorrow? The first load of lumber goes across my bridge tomorrow. You better believe I’m going to be there. Where’s Knox?”

“If you mean the feller we pulled off’n you, Clyde and Frank are givin’ him an escort to the sheriff’s. Figgered it was urgent enough fer a trip ta town, even with the quarantine. Who is he?”

“Was the lumber foreman. I fired him a few days ago.”

Curly's eyes twinkled. "You sure got a way with people. Anybody else's back you set up that me an' the boys should be keepin' an eye peeled fer?"

Adam chuckled, than groaned, as the laugh made pain ripple through his injuries. "Not that I know of. It's hard to be sure. Where are the rest of the fellas?"

"Bunkhouse. They're more comfortable there and you got sick folk in here. But they appreciate the whiskey."

"Least I could do. They saved my life. Probably more than mine. Gunshot bring you?"

"Yup. Thought I heard a yell, earlier, but figgered it was the wind."

"Glad you - ouch!" Adam jumped as Hop Sing began his ministrations. "Easy, Hop Sing."

"You hold still," said Hop Sing sternly. "Should have docta."

"Doc Martin has a whole town full of patients with diphtheria. He doesn't need to ride all the way out here to look at a couple of my bruises. Nothing's broken - a little ice and a good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

Hop Sing grumbled something in Chinese. Adam had no idea what he’d said, but he was pretty sure it wasn't flattering. He decided to change the subject. "How are the patients? The ruckus disturb them at all?"

"Everybody seeping," Hop Sing admitted grudgingly, finishing with the long welt. "Big bruise tomorrow." He prodded where Adam had been kicked in the side and Adam let out a grunt of pain. "Bruise here too. Very bad. Crazy business. Fatha no like."

"Well, I didn't like it much myself." He turned to try and get a glimpse of Hop Sing's face. "You won't tell him about this, right?"

Hop Sing's face was unreadable. "Too many secrets. Very bad."

"I know…" Adam stopped him as he moved to dab at the cut on Adam's jaw. "He'll worry, Hop Sing. And there's no need to. It's all over. Doc says in a couple of days he can come downstairs and I can tell him everything. Or everything that matters anyway."

Hop Sing held his gaze for a moment. "Docta leave note for you," he said finally. "And telegram from Missa Hoss. I get."

Curly watched Hop Sing leave the room. "You need anythin' else? A hand up the stairs?"

Adam shook his head. "No. Thanks."

"Well, if'n yer determined ta go up ta the lumber camp tomorra I'll have one o' the boys see ta the barn chores. That oughta give you an extra hour sack time, anyway."

Adam thought about protesting, but it sounded too good to refuse. "Thanks," he said meekly. He held out his hand. "And thank you for what you did tonight."

Curly chuckled. "My pleasure, Mr. - Adam. Gotta say you keep things real inerstin'."

Adam smiled wryly. "A little too interesting for my tastes. I'll be glad when things settle down."        

Curly's smile broadened. "I'll be curious ta see that. Night, sir."

"Night, Curly." Adam watched him leave then reached for his shirt and began to ease painfully back into it. Hop Sing would fuss all night if he let him. He had just gotten the shirt back over his shoulders when Hop Sing returned and handed him two pieces of paper.

"Suppa spoiled," he announced.

"Just as well. Don't think I'll be chewing anything tonight. Thanks for everything Hop Sing, but I think I'll be going up to bed. Sorry to wake you."

Hop Sing looked like he wanted to say something, but threw his hands up instead. "Crazy business," he muttered. "You go bed. Me clean up."

Adam nodded gratefully and rose cautiously to his feet. The room gave a quick dip and he grabbed for the fireplace but after a second he felt able to manage the stairs. Hop Sing watched without comment, though his expression was eloquent. Under his skeptical scrutiny Adam was careful to take his time, making good use of the banister as every step pulled on his sore back. Curly was right. Riding tomorrow was just not going to be any fun. He was relieved to make it into his room and close the door. Now that he was alone, he admitted to himself that everything hurt. He painstakingly removed the shirt again, hoping Joe slept through the night tonight. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to wake up, never mind respond, if he needed him.

He paused to take inventory. The welt across his back burned, the bruise on his ribs ached, his jaw throbbed, his left arm felt stiff. He itched absently at the inside of his arm, noticed the redness around the scratch there. He'd almost forgotten about that. Thought it'd have healed by now, but it looked a little infected. He'd have to put something on it, but not tonight. Not at the cost of another trip down those stairs. He bent over to take off his boots and nearly cried out at the pain it caused. He sat for a moment, breathing carefully. Okay. Nice and easy.

He almost laughed at how slowly he had to do everything, except laughing was a little too painful to contemplate. After a time he was undressed and under the covers, trying to find a comfortable position to read his notes. He finally ended up on his unbruised side and unfolded the one from Dr. Martin.

"Dear Adam: Your father is progressing very well and if nothing changes, I plan to let him get up and move around a little on Wednesday. At that point Joe should also be moving towards convalescence and you can tell Ben about him. Go a little slowly with other information at first. Smokey is teasing to go back to the bunkhouse and I will probably allow him to at about the same time - possibly Deever, too -  but no range duty for a while. I'll let you know.
I have had no new cases of diphtheria in two days. If this continues, we will lift the quarantine and I will wire Hoss immediately. I will give you a full update on Wednesday. Best Regards, Dr. Martin."

Wednesday. Day after tomorrow. Adam smiled and opened Hoss's telegram.

DEAR ADAM STOP
THANKS FOR THE NEWS STOP
DOC MARTIN SAYS IT SHOULDN’T BE MUCH LONGER STOP
MISS YOU TOO DON'T STOP
HOSS
PS HOW ARE YOU REALLY STOP

Adam grinned, stopping quickly to press at the twinge it caused on the injured side of his jaw. Hoss wouldn't be very happy with him. He had told him that he'd better not come back to find him any more bruised than when he left and he certainly was that. He fumbled for the pen on his night table and drafted a reply on the back of the telegram:

DEAR HOSS STOP
PA GETTING UP DAY AFTER TOMORROW STOP
DOC SAYS JOE DOING WELL STOP
LOOKING FORWARD TO HAVING YOU HOME DON'T STOP
ADAM
PS VERY FUNNY STOP      

He put it on his night table and reached to carefully turn out the light. He felt tired, and sore, but thankful. He was still alive. Pa was still alive. Joe was still alive. And by all appearances, they looked to stay that way for a while. He gazed at the music box and after a second's hesitation, reached out and raised the lid. The soft waltz was still playing as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

"Well, ya done it. Beats me all holler as ta how, but ya done it."

Adam smiled a little at Crawford's words, despite the hammering throb gathering behind his eyes. Beat him all hollow, too, but the logger was right.

He had arrived early yesterday to watch the men prepare the first team and the first load of logs for transport. The horses had hesitated at the base of the bridge and Adam's stomach had given an odd flutter, but with some urging they had finally lifted their feet and started across. When they reached the other side Adam had felt his heart begin to beat again.

Crawford had grinned at him. "Mr. Cartwright, you look at that there bridge the way some men look at a purty woman."

Adam's eyes drank in the next team beginning their cross. "Well, Crawford, I'll tell you - I can't remember the last time I saw a woman half as pretty as that bridge looks to me right now."

"If'n that's so, sir, then once this here contract's set I'll take you ta where I know there's some real purty women - seems ta me you need yer memory jogged. Among other things."

Adam had just laughed as he felt an enormous weight shift from his shoulders. "It's a date, Crawford."

If he had thought that seeing the bridge completed made for a wonderful day it was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing it in action - watching it serve the purpose it was designed for. Despite his aches and pains and worries, Adam had gone home that night giddy with bliss.

Loads of lumber had continued across the bridge and down the mountain all day yesterday and the first shipment would be taking off late today. As fewer loggers were needed to cut they moved to the mill or transport. Eventually, Adam planned, they would all be on transport and the last shipment should be in place just in time to avoid the penalty. Barely, but barely was good enough. "Looks like we could just about make it."

"What in tarnation made ya think o' such a thing? A floating bridge."

Adam shook his head. "Long story. How's the cutting?"

"Cutting's near through - I'll be moving some ta the mill and some ta transport tomorra, most likely, like ya said." Crawford narrowed shrewd eyes at him. "How's yer face?"

Adam shrugged. "'Bloody, but unbowed.'"

"Shoulda warned ya about Knox. I know the kinda man he is. Forgot about the quarantine though - thought he'd a moved on."

"My fault. Should have thought he’d have to go into Virginia City if I paid him in script but I didn’t have enough petty cash on hand."

Crawford pursed his lips. "Wouldna mattered. Here tell the Marshall’s got a good sized perimeter staked off for that quarantine – can move pretty freely within it, but can’t step outside it. He probably wouldn’t a got nowhere anyhow.

Got things well in hand here, sir, if'n ya wanted to set out early. Take a rest."

Adam rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness in his bruised back. "You think so? Doc's letting my father come downstairs today and I'd kind of like to be there."

"Got things all covered. Figger I can handle anything that comes up."

Adam gave him a swat on the shoulder, then flexed his elbow abstractedly. Arm was still stiff. "I know you can. You've been a wonder, Crawford." 

"Then git on home and let me show off what a wonder I am."

Adam grinned, then groaned at the pain that ricocheted through his jaw. "Good idea." He took one last look at a load of logs being driven over the river. Was it like this for you, Julius? Triumph? Relief? Some hard decisions made and some stiff prices paid…with victory at hand, was it still only bittersweet?

But victory was incomplete - he still had to tell his father the whole. His pleasure tempered with caution, he went to get Sport, turning up his collar against a sudden chill. Indian summer was over - fall was definitely here. He pulled himself into the saddle with something less than his usual grace, his head suddenly accelerating the dull hammering it had been threatening all morning. He sighed resignedly. Too little sleep and that pounding Knox had given him were taking their toll. No wonder Crawford was sending him home.

He pointed Sport down the mountain. "Nice and easy, boy. Not feeling up to anything too energetic today."

Ben opened his eyes, trying to place what it was that had woken him, then forgot that thought almost immediately as he realized his throat no longer hurt. In fact, nothing hurt, not really, and the terrible, enervated feeling of the last few days seemed to be gone, too. He lay for a minute, enjoying a sense of well being, when the sound that had woken him came again. The sound of coughing - not his. It came to him slowly that he had heard that sound more than once over the past week - somehow, in his fevered confusion and exhaustion, he had always assumed it was coming from him. Now that he had his wits about him he knew it was coming from nearby. He narrowed his eyes to listen.

After a minute, his suspicions roused, he threw back his covers and reached for his dressing gown. He was pleased to find himself fairly firm on his feet and, belting the robe tightly, stepped to the room next to his and pushed the door open.

"Pa!" Joe stopped coughing and looked up with an expression of pleased surprise. "Pa, are you better?"  

"Joseph." Ben moved to his bedside, automatically feeling his forehead before seating himself in the chair by the bed. "Well, no fever. That's good. I'm fine, son. How about you? Have you caught cold?"

Joe shook his head, beaming at his father. "I got diphtheria, like you. Are you really better? I sure missed you, Pa."

"Much better, son." Ben felt his forehead again more anxiously, stung. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you when you were sick. Where are your brothers?"

"That's okay, Pa. Hop Sing and Adam took good care of me, but they wouldn't let me see you. Adam's at the lumber camp, I guess, and Hoss is still in Carson City."

"Carson City!" Ben's brows drew together. "But - what day is today? How much time has gone by? Surely - "

Joe rummaged cheerfully through some papers on his night table and pulled out a hand drawn calendar with the days crossed off. "It's Wednesday. We been sick for more than a week. Adam made me this so's I could count the days - he said the Doc would let us up in about a week if there weren't no compli- comp…" he wrinkled his nose, struggling for the word.

"Complications," Ben supplied. "Any complications." He frowned. "You're telling me you've been sick for over a week and I knew nothing about it? And why is Hoss still in Carson City?"

"On accounta the quarantine. He can't come home till it's lifted, Adam says. Think it'll be lifted soon, Pa? I sure miss him." 

"Certainly, son. I'm sure - quarantine, you say?"

Joe nodded brightly, happy to see his father and delighted to have someone to pass the time with. "Virginia City and the environs is quarantined. What's environs, Pa?"

"The surrounding area."

"The school was made into a hospital. Maybe they'll never be able to open it again, huh, Pa?"

Ben smiled. "Somehow I doubt that, so don't get your hopes up."

"Would you play checkers with me, Pa? It's sure boring being sick."

"Yes, Joseph, it sure is. I suppose we could have a game, but I'd like to talk to your brother and find out exactly what's been going on around here."

Joe made a face. "He won't be back for hours and hours…he gets home real late."

"I see." Ben's frown deepened.

"I got my little set Hoss made me." Joe busily pulled a small checkerboard and a sack of checkers from his night table drawer and pushed the papers out of the way to set it up.

Ben reached over to help him and caught sight of a drawing lying on top of the stack of papers. He picked it up to study it more closely. "What's this?"

Joe leaned over to look. "Adam drew that for me. That's him crossing the Rubicon."

"The what ?"

"Well, not the real Rubicon. That's just what I call it."

"I see." Despite all the questions colliding in his brain, Ben couldn't help being a little amused. "And how do you know about the Rubicon?"

"I learned in school," answered Joe airily. He positioned himself so that he could point to the figures in the picture. "Adam had to get some logs across the river and this is how he finally did it. See? It's a floating bridge. Can I ride up and see it, Pa?"

"I suppose…not today, of course…" Ben's forehead puckered, trying to make sense of the picture. The bridge did indeed seem to be resting right on the water, and while he knew Adam might be casual in his representations of people, he would never be less than accurate in the way he depicted structures. Maybe he was reading it wrong. He studied it a little longer. That was definitely Adam, marching at the head of a troop of loggers carrying peavey hooks and saws and axes in place of swords and lances and wearing flannel and wool caps in place of breastplates and helmets. Well, it was an amusing picture, no doubt, but it gave him an uneasy feeling about his lumber operation. Surely Adam knew better than to waste lumber building a bridge when they needed every log available to fulfill the contract on time? Of course he did. Adam was a responsible boy. Though building things was a bit of a weakness…Perhaps Adam had simply drawn it to divert Joe? To help make the history lesson stick? That sounded like something Adam would do.

The sound of a strangled gasp from the doorway made him look up. Hop Sing was frozen there, his expression uneasy.

"Ah, Hop Sing." Ben smiled, enjoying his chagrin.

"You no supposed to be up!" Hop Sing exploded at last. "You supposed to wait for docta!"

"I feel perfectly well, Hop Sing, and I'm sure Paul would have let me up anyway. I'm finding out so many interesting things - maybe you'd like to fill me in further?"

Hop Sing glared at him, regaining his composure. "You supposed to wait for docta! Very bad!"

"Joseph and I are just going to play a little checkers - we won't go any further than that without Paul's permission. We've both had more than enough of our own company - at least I know I have, and I assume Joseph too - since I hear he's been ill almost as long as I have?"

"Little Joe only little sick. Docta say no tell Fatha - worry."

"I see. And I hear Hoss never made it home from Carson City?"

"Docta say no tell," Hop Sing repeated firmly. "Missa Hoss home soon."

"Mm hm. And exactly what else don't I know?"

Hop Sing lifted his chin. "Missa Adam tell everything when docta say okay - not before. Boss maybe want to disobey docta - not Hop Sing. Wait for docta say okay." He picked up a quilt from the bottom of Joe's bed and threw it over Ben's lap. "You play checkas - okay. I build up fire and bring warm tea. Docta come soon. Missa Adam come later. Tell you everything."

Ben looked at the drawing once more and set it carefully off to the side. "That," he said thoughtfully, "should prove interesting."

Adam swore softly to himself as he stooped to pick up his saddlebags and sling them over his shoulder. That made the third thing he'd dropped. Somehow or other, his left hand just wasn't working the way it ought to. He kneaded it firmly with his right. It was stiff and tight - wouldn't quite close into a fist. He held it up next to his right hand. Swollen, that was why. He shivered, tugging the edges of his collar together. Well, as soon as he got out of this cold he'd have a look at it. Temperature sure had changed fast. 

   He gave Sport a final scratch behind the ears and headed toward the house. No sign of Doc Martin yet, but no way of knowing when he'd come. No sign of anyone, really. He pushed open the front door and was met with silence. No Hop Sing either. He hung his hat on the peg by the door and removed his gunbelt, struggling a little with the fastenings. He decided to keep his coat on. The chill wind on the road down from the mountain seemed to have settled deep in the marrow of his bones.

There was a fire roaring in the fireplace and he moved to it, lowering himself slowly onto the table in front of it and stretching out his hands to catch the warmth. That was better. He pressed his fingers against his eyelids, trying to push the headache growing there back under control, but the fire was relaxing him a little too completely and he pulled himself hastily to his feet. It would never do for Doc Martin to come and find him asleep in front of the fire. He strolled over to his father's desk, partly to distract himself, partly to see if there was anything he'd left undone. There was an unopened telegram lying there, addressed to him. Had the doctor been out here already? It seemed possible, though not likely - his schedule was so erratic these days. He frowned as he picked it up and sat on the edge of the desk to read it. It was from Hoss, and his frown gradually turned to a smile as he read.

DEAR ADAM STOP
DOC THINKS THE QUARANTINE IS OVER STOP
SAYS I CAN COME HOME IF I BYPASS VIRGINIA CITY STOP
WILL START OUT TOMORROW MORNING STOP
TELL HOP SING I MISS HIS COOKING STOP
MISS ALL YOU FOLKS TOO STOP
SEE YOU SOON DON'T STOP
HOSS

Adam glanced at the transmission date. Yesterday afternoon. Hoss could be home for dinner. Now, there was news worth coming home early for. He pushed himself away from the desk and headed for the stairs. Better check on the patients - see if the Doc had already been by. Better change for dinner, too - maybe into something warmer. Sure had gotten cold. He massaged his temples as he made his way up the stairs. Boy, he was tired. But the worst was over now. Hoss being home would make a huge difference.

He stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs, drawing his brows together. There were voices coming from down the hall. Couldn't be Doc Martin - his rig wasn't here. He paused, leaning against the banister to listen.

"King me!"

He smiled. Joe. Maybe Hop Sing had joined him in a game of checkers.

"This game isn't over yet, young man!"

Adam raised his eyebrows. Pa. Doc must have been here if he was up. He hesitated. Well, no point in telling him about Joe now, and the doctor had said to take it slow with the rest - but what was safe and what wasn't?

He could just tell him that the ranch and the lumber camp were okay…his hand went automatically to his jaw. The swelling had gone down some, but there was no missing the jagged gash and the deep blue-black bruise that spread like a stain there. Pa would ask, and he doubted he'd accept another story about him falling. Not that he had any illusions that he'd accepted the first one. That would take him into the whole story about Knox…and what about Hoss? If Hoss came home tonight would Pa think he'd been out on the range, or would he know about the quarantine? He blew out his breath thoughtfully. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. Wish Doc Martin had left another note.

He lingered uncertainly in the passageway. Well, he couldn't just hang around out here forever…a burst of laughter sounded from Joe's room, along with Joe's excited voice, "I won! I won!"

"You won this game, you scalawag - I demand a rematch!" 

Adam glanced at Joe's door and back at the floor. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Joe so happy. Actually, he could remember - before Hoss went away and Pa got sick.

That was what he would do, then. Joe and Pa hadn't seen each other in over a week - the least he could do was give them some time - alone - without interruption. He slipped quietly into his room and pulled the door closed, shrugging out of his coat and unbuttoning his shirt.

Removing the shirt was still a slow business and the sleeve snagged on his left arm. He cursed under his breath and peeled it off carefully - it really was getting tender - then glanced down to take a look. Well, no wonder - that scratch didn't look very good at all. He itched it - a little infected  - he'd have to soak it or something. Have Doc Martin take a look on his next trip out. But right now he was freezing and he was tired and his head ached and nobody needed him for at least a little while - maybe he'd just stretch out for a minute and close his eyes - try to decide what he was going to say to Pa. He gave a chuckle of self-amusement. The rate his heart was beating he must really be nervous - if he had to defend his actions to his father he should be as calm as possible first.  He struggled to get his boots off and lay back on the bed, pulling his quilt around him. God, he was tired. And cold. And - but he pushed that thought away, refusing to give it credence. Still, a little company wouldn't be a bad thing…without opening his eyes, he reached over and pushed open the lid of the music box.  Though he was already drifting, the musical chime brought the tug of a smile to his mouth. The next best thing, he thought drowsily, as the music became a part of his dreams.

Adam. Adam. Adam. Someone was calling his name, over and over, from a long way away. ADAM. He rolled over and away from it, trying to return to the inky womb of insensibility, but the voice had started his brain in motion and now it nagged at him, insisting on recognition. A voice he knew, but couldn't place…someone…something important he had to do…Adam…and now there was another voice, chattering over the first one, no words he could make out…he wished they'd either talk so he could understand them or go away and let him sleep…ADAM…something gripped his arm, startling him with a sudden flash of pain and he cried out, striking out. But the pain cleared his head for a minute and he remembered - there were sick people in the house - somebody must need him - he had to get up…but somehow he was still lying there, the voices droning on and on but not making any sense. He tried to focus on them, but his heart was beating so rapidly in his eardrums that it drowned everything else out. He tried to ask them what they wanted but gradually realized he wasn't actually making any sound. His breathing was coming too fast – he tried to slow it down so he could talk, but it kept rushing along, faster and faster, to the beat of the little waltz that was either playing on the music box or in his head – he couldn’t be sure which… Adam… there was some kind of hubbub - some flurry of activity - and more talking, more voices, but they didn't seem to be talking to him now and he pulled away, seeking a return to sleep…and now the voices were farther away, fainter and fading…he hardly noticed when they weren't there at all anymore.

"Adam?" he had been rocking peacefully on a becalmed sea, but this voice startled him awake. He remembered that someone had been calling him - it seemed like a while ago but his sense of time was skewed. He opened his eyes a little, not really ready to let go of the peaceful darkness of slumber but teased by the feeling that he'd put something off too long already. "Well, hello."

He thought about rubbing his eyes, rejected it as too much trouble. "Pa?" he mumbled.

"That's right. How are you feeling?"

"Okay. Kind of tired. Guess I fell asleep, huh?"

Ben smiled a little. "Something like that."

"Sorry. Meant to be awake when Doc Martin got here. What time is it?"

"About midday."

That didn't sound right, but something else was bothering him more, something about his father…”You okay?” he squinted at him. "You're dressed," he added after a minute.

"That's right. For a couple of days now."

"Days?" He was missing something. His brows pushed together in a frown, trying to play back time in his mind, frame by frame. He turned his head, looking for clues - his eyes came to rest on his night table, littered with bottles and a spoon and basin and some cloths…his frown relaxed and he settled back on the pillow. "Oh. I finally got it, huh?"

"Diphtheria? No, by some miracle you dodged that. Gave yourself a nice case of blood poisoning though."

Adam stared at him, perplexed, then remembered his left arm and realized with a creeping sense of alarm that he couldn't feel it. He pushed back the covers to look, released his breath in a slow sigh of relief. It was mummified with bandages, but it was there.

Ben followed his gaze comprehendingly. "You were lucky. A little longer, however…"

Adam turned his face into the pillow and closed his eyes. "It was just a little scratch."

"Out here? I taught you better than that. How did you scratch it?"

He could hardly remember any more. That terrible day when everything seemed to fall apart at once…"Fence wire," he said after a minute. Not very bright, now that he looked back on it. Probably best not to mention the mud hole.

Ben was horrified. "Oh, Adam - "

His eyes opened a crack. "There was a lot else to think about," he interrupted defensively. "And I did take a bath. I kept meaning to put something on it, but somehow something always came up."

"All right. I know." Ben took a deep breath. "You're lucky you don't have lockjaw." He shook his head. "I certainly would have made sure that you washed it out with boric acid, though, so I guess you still need your old father for a few things."

“A few?” Adam thought back on the past days, closed his eyes again and shuddered. "You just don't know." 

"No? Well, that's something to hear. Like to go back to sleep?"

Adam shook his head. Now that his memory was in motion, it was pricking at him - he had dozens of questions. 

"Where's Hoss? He get home?"

"Oh, yes - he's dying to tell you the story of his grain deal when you're up to it. He's the one who found you, in fact. Said he hopes you'll find a better way to welcome him back next time. When he couldn't wake you up he was really frightened. Said you were burning up but kept saying over and over that you were cold."

Adam smiled. "Poor Hoss."   

"Yes, well, you're lucky he heard the music box playing or it may have been a long while before anyone found you. From what Joe said we weren't really expecting you back till evening. As it is, Hop Sing slapped a poultice on you and poured one of his teas down your throat and had things pretty well under control by the time Paul got here a couple of hours later to lance it. Paul says he may have saved your arm. Not to mention your life."

"Hop Sing's been a life saver for me in more ways than that. I don't know how I would have managed without him. He did most of the work of taking care of Little Joe - " he glanced at his father uneasily. Confession #1. "Sorry I couldn't tell you about Joe, Pa," he finished carefully.

Ben nodded. "Never mind, son. I know how Paul can be."

"You couldn't have done anything anyway and it just would have worried you. How long have I been out of it? How's Joe doing?"

Ben smiled. "Few days. As for Joe, Paul claims he gives diphtheria a bad name. He shot out of bed as soon as he was allowed and has been busily underfoot ever since, pining for that ride on Cochise."

Adam pushed himself up on his good arm to stare at him. "Poor kid is still waiting for that? Is he well enough? Couldn't Hoss take him?"

"Oh, he's well enough. And Hoss has offered. I've offered. But you know Joseph once he gets an idea in his head. Evidently it's you or nobody."

Adam frowned, not sure he’d understood. "He's waiting for me?"

"Mm hm." Ben pushed him gently back against the pillows. "So do us all a favor and heal quickly before he drives us to distraction."

Adam let his father resettle him, swallowing carefully around the funny ache that had risen suddenly in his throat. “He wanted it so bad,” he said at last. “He shouldn’t wait.”

“Well, you can try telling him if you like. Anything I can get you?”

“No. You shouldn’t be – how well are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you – allowed some light duty. Everything seems in good order on the range.”

Adam nodded. “Thanks to Curly. He should have a raise or something. Guess you know about Smokey?”

“And the diphtheria? Yes, Paul told me, then Curly filled me in.” That hadn’t been exactly what Adam had meant, at least not all he’d meant, but if Smokey chose to stay closed mouthed about their friction that was okay with him. “Curly tells me the men were very impressed with the way you looked out for them during the epidemic."

Adam gave him a searching glance. Was that what the sudden change in attitude had been about? “What else could I do? Besides,” he turned on his side, trying to get comfortable, remembering Knox and the barn chores, “they did a pretty good job of looking out for me, too.”

“Glad to hear it. Glad that went smoothly anyway.”

Adam closed his eyes again, thinking that “smoothly” might be more than a slight exaggeration of the truth, but that glossing over it would probably be better for both him and the hands. The significance of his father’s emphasis took him a little longer. Oh. Confession #2.  He opened his eyes to try and read Ben’s expression, but it gave nothing away. “Guess you know about Knox?” Ben didn’t answer. Adam rolled onto his back with a sigh, trying to think of a way to explain. “I had to fire him, Pa. Or maybe I didn’t have to. But it seemed like the right thing at the time. He couldn’t accept my authority and I couldn’t accept his way of doing things and we were running out of time.” His father’s gaze was making him uncomfortable and he turned away. “Anyway, I did the best I could.”

“Yes, I see. Hard thing to do, firing a man.”

“It was. After.” He glanced at his father with a glimmer of an apologetic smile. “Of course, it’s a little easier if you’re in a temper at the time.”

Ben laughed. “Crawford told me about it. I would have done the same.”

Adam rubbed his face sleepily. “Well, it probably wouldn’t have happened if you’d still been in charge.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll never know. But I’m sorry for what happened after. Sorry that I exposed you to such a man.”

Adam looked at him sharply. “I’m not a kid, Pa.”

“No. I suppose you’re not.”

He sounded sad, and that puzzled Adam. He was trying to figure it out when something else finally registered with him. “You  - saw Crawford?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes. Paul let Hoss drive me up to the lumber camp yesterday.” Adam stared at him. “I saw your bridge, too.” Adam had a hundred questions then, but he couldn’t seem to put even one of them into words. Ben must have understood because he said quietly, “I thought it was extraordinary.”

Adam's slow smile almost blinded him. "Did the job."

"Did indeed."

"The contract - are we still - ?"

"Oh, we'll make it. Crawford stuck with your outline, even in your absence. Loyal as a dog, that man. To you, at least. Wouldn't budge on cutting down by the river without your say so - said you had it all planned."

Relief was giving way to drowsiness and Adam missed the note in his father's voice. "Mm. Thought if we were cutting closer it would save us some time."

"I wouldn't mind leaving a thicker stand by the river though, and there's a patch a little further over that could use some thinning. Won't cost any real time."

Adam yawned. "You should tell Crawford."

"I can tell him, then, that it's all right with you if he takes a few orders from me again?"

This time Adam caught his tone and he opened one eye warily to study him. "You mad, Pa?"

Ben took a breath. "No, son, I'm not mad. I'm very proud of you." He smiled sadly. "Guess I just have a little adjusting of my own to do."

Adam yawned again, sinking into the pillow. "What are you adjusting to?" 

Ben gave a short laugh. "That my son is twenty-three."

Adam was fuzzy with sleep but he murmured, "That's not new."

Ben sighed a little. "You wouldn't think so, would you?" He straightened Adam's covers and reached over to feel his forehead, lingering to smooth back his hair. "Want the music box?"

"Mm hm." Adam was too far gone to wonder how he knew. "Tell Hoss and Joe - " 

Ben waited patiently, but the rest of the sentence was lost to sleep.

He lifted the lid to the music box and released a hundred memories with the little waltz - to him it sounded like a remnant of Elizabeth's voice and foolish and sentimental though it may be, he would always believe that it was Elizabeth herself who had called Hoss to find his brother that day. He wished, passionately, that she were here now.

Parenting alone, Liz, has its drawbacks, he thought dolefully. Sometimes you just can't be all the places you need to be.

He leaned close to examine the marks on Adam's jaw, wincing a little at the reminder of his confrontation with Knox, fading some now. Probably wouldn't even leave a scar, but Ben had been appalled to discover all that had happened while he had lain ill and powerless to help, even more appalled to realize that he probably hadn't discovered everything and most likely never would. As father and protector he was feeling woefully inadequate.

Of course, everything was fine, really - Joe was fine, Adam would be fine, Hoss was home. The ranch was still running and the lumber contract would be met. He smiled a little as his eye snagged on Elizabeth's picture. Yes, I know, love, and probably that's the part that is really smarting. I'm not so indispensable as I supposed. All my boys are growing up - our boy is grown. I just don't quite remember how it happened. He sighed heavily, turning his gaze back to Adam.

So odd, my love, that I never fully see him as he is now. I look at him asleep and I see the baby you showed me that first golden day, the toddler I tucked into bed in a hundred different boarding houses, the little boy I put to sleep in a covered wagon, the youngster that designed his own room at the Ponderosa. How is it that I worked and planned and scolded and pushed and prayed that he'd grow into a fine, smart, independent man and now that he has, I yearn for the little boy who needed me? Why didn't someone warn me that even as my heart swelled with pride it would be torn in two? You would have had something wise to say - something healing - you always did. Help me, Elizabeth, my love, not to hold our son back because I am afraid of losing him.

"How's he doin'?"

The voice started Ben out of his thoughts and he glanced up to see Hoss in the doorway. "Oh, fine, fine. He woke up and talked for a little while, then fell back to sleep. Could be recovery, but I think maybe he's just tired out. Was quite a time for him."

Hoss nodded, coming to stand by his father. "Fer you, too. Why don't you get on and take a rest, Pa? I can sit here fer a while."

"I'm fine, Hoss."

Hoss gave a snort. "Durned if I don't know where Adam gets it."

Ben looked at him suspiciously. The remark did not sound like a compliment. "Gets what?" he asked challengingly.

"This thing he has about doin' everythin' his own way. Not takin' help from nobody."

"I do nothing of the kind!"

Hoss pursed his lips and looked thoughtful.

Ben scowled. Maybe there was some truth to that. A very little. In a small way. He'd had the run of things for so long - maybe he was having a hard time adjusting to having to lean on someone else - even his children - even for a little while. What was it that Paul had said about letting them work things out their own way? And being surprised by the results? He looked at Adam again and cleared his throat. "I don't suppose he really needs anyone to sit with him. He's sleeping and there's been no sign of fever all day."

Hoss shrugged. "I could use a little quiet company. Fer a boy that's supposed ta be recoverin' that Little Joe has more energy than all o' us together. In fact, he's threatenin' ta help tend Adam - somethin' about a deal they made. Takes a man in his full strength ta survive Joe's tendin'. He's gonna need me ta protect 'em."

Ben's heart constricted. That's my job.

"You feelin' okay, Pa? Yer lookin' kinda down."

Ben shook his head wryly. "I'm all right. Just feeling a little sorry for myself over something I seem to have lost."

Hoss dragged a chair over next to Ben's. "Well, Pa, the past couple weeks we coulda lost you and Joe and Adam. Cain't figger anything else ya mighta lost can be too important, all things considered. Pa, you look tuckered. I got things under control here. You git." 

Ben narrowed his eyes at him, but he was smiling. "You know, you're getting to be almost as bossy as your brother."

Hoss made himself comfortable. "Ain't nobody bossy as Adam," he said cheerfully. "You git some rest. I'll look out fer him."

Ben paused, then nodded quietly. "I know."

"Later on I'll help ya look fer whatever it is ya done lost."

Ben gazed at him, his expression thoughtful. Maybe you don't ever really lose anything, he thought - anything important anyway. For clearly here was Inger's calm, sensible, down-to-earth heart, alive and beating in Hoss.  He looked at Adam. And there was Elizabeth's bright, inventive, sensitive spirit.

He rose slowly to his feet. "Never mind, Hoss - you're right - " he rested a hand gently on his big son's shoulder, "I haven't lost anything that matters."

Adam stood leaning against the porch post, waiting. Dr. Martin had allowed him up and about a couple of days earlier and it was good to be out in the fresh air again, crisp with the first real touch of fall. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then flexed his left arm experimentally and flinched. Still a little sore. He wouldn't be doing too much with that arm for a while yet.

He smiled to himself. Ironic. He had managed to avoid diphtheria, he had survived Knox' attack, only to be brought down by a bothersome little scratch. Pretty funny, really, though when he had remarked on this to his father, Ben's expression told him that he did not find anything about it even remotely amusing. Well, never mind. He'd save it for Hoss. Hoss would think it was funny.

He was looking toward the barn for the glimpse of Hoss that would tell him that their horses were saddled when he became aware of a presence over his left shoulder. He twisted to look, turned back to the barn.

"Smokey," he said casually. "How ya feeling?"

 Smokey made himself comfortable a little behind him and shrugged. "Well enough, I reckon. Ready fer the range again this week, Doc says. Lucky thing. I done fixed and cleaned every bit o' tack and done every small repair this ranch's got ta offer. A little longer an' I'd-a had ta start breakin' things just ta have somethin' ta do. You?"

"Fine. Arm's a little stuff."

Smokey scratched at his forehead and grimaced, still studying the barn. "Oughter thank you, I reckon."

Adam shifted a little, also still firmly focused forward. "Don't see why. Just doing my job. Curly did a real good job bossing the range."

Smokey nodded. "He's a nice young'un."

Adam smiled. It was hard for him to think of a man at least ten years his senior as a young'un, but then, he could imagine that he'd always see Joe that way, too.

Smokey seemed to have something caught in his throat, but he coughed a little and squeezed out, "Figger I owe you an apology. Not - " he added hastily, "about the range er nothin' - feller's gotta learn ta take his licks. But about what I said about yer brother. I was outta line. I was put out about him sluggin' Curly an all an - well - you know how it is with kid brothers."

Adam grinned. "Guess I know something about it."

Smokey rubbed reminiscently at his jaw and chuckled. "Reckon you do at that."

They stood in silence, still not looking at each other, until Smokey said, "Hear you done a good job at the lumber camp. 'Spose yer Pa'll be movin' ya up there?"

Adam shook his head. "Probably not. Contract's about done. Expect I'll be back on the range. That a problem for you?"

Smokey seemed to find something very interesting in the dust by his feet. "Not specially." He returned his eyes to the barn, squinting. "Reckon yer not sech a bad feller ta work fer." He glanced at Adam quickly. "That don't mean I like ya."

Adam dropped his head to hide a smile. "Understood."

Smokey nodded, almost smiling himself. "See ya round the range, then."

"I'll be there." Adam watched him thoughtfully as he strode away to the bunkhouse. 

"Well, young man."

He turned at the familiar slap on his shoulder. "Pa. Doc."

"Adam. Good to see you on your feet. How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing fine. How's everybody else? Pass muster?"

"Let's just say that if I can figure out a way to bottle the Cartwright constitution I'll be able to retire a wealthy man. It's positively indecent."

"Tough stock, Paul," said Ben glibly, but he peered closely at his son anyway. "Sure you're ready for this?"

"More than ready. Where's Joe? He's the one that was so all fired crazy to get going."

"Getting your lunch from Hop Sing, I think. Now, there's no reason to hurry. You're not running a race. And if you get tired just turn around and come home. You and Joe haven't been up and around for all that long."

"Don't worry, Pa - I'll be along to keep an eye on our poor little invalids." Hoss strolled across the yard, dusting his hands together. "Go away fer a few days and the whole passel o' ya go ta rack an ruin. It's downright pitiful. Guess you'll know bettern' ta leave this one in charge again."  He jerked is thumb toward Adam. 

Adam gave him a withering look. "Nobody left me in charge, I was elected by default. But you're right - next time you can stay home running from stem to stern and I'll spend my days trying out every eatery in Carson City."

Hoss smirked. "Problem with you, older brother, is you just don't know how ta delegate. You like ta do everything yerself." He grinned slyly at Ben and Dr. Martin. "Poor leadership."

"That so. Now, it'd've been really helpful if there'd been more than a handful of people to delegate to. And I didn't do anything alone." Adam grew serious suddenly, remembering. "I couldn't have. Believe me."

Hoss met his eyes for a moment and they exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. "So? Where's that ornery whippersnapper we're doing this whole ride fer, anyhow?"

"Getting your lunch, so think twice before you complain. Horses all saddled?"

Hoss nodded. "Yup. Nothin' like comin' home ta find you gotta do eveythin' yerself."

Adam raised his brows at him. "Thought you were the expert on delegating?"

Hoss scowled good-naturedly. "Oh, yer funny. Ta who?"

Adam smiled. "My point exactly."

"I've got lunch!" Joe barreled out of the front door, slamming it loudly behind him.

Ben winced. "Joseph!"

"Sorry, Pa," said Joe cheerfully. "Let's go! Where are the horses?"

"In the barn," answered Hoss pointedly. "Ain't enough I saddled 'em, you want 'em brought around fer ya, too?"      

Joe gave him an innocent smile. "Doc says I can't do anything too strenuous yet, right, Doc?'

Dr. Martin held up his hands in protest. "Don't drag me into this!"

"If you're so enfeebled, Joseph, maybe you aren't up to this ride today," suggested Ben ominously.

Joe looked at him, wide-eyed. "I've been savin' all my strength for it, Pa. After today I can ride Cochise full time, right?"

"If your brothers think you're ready, yes. And they'll be twice as tough on you as I'd ever be, so behave responsibly."

"I'm ready!" said Joe confidently. "And I'm responsible. I took care o' Adam while he was sick, just like I said I would, didn't I?"

Adam glanced at him. "If that's what you call all that bouncing up and down on my bed and talking my ear off, I guess you did at that."

Joe's smile broadened. "Oh, say, Adam - Miss Abigail was real sorry to hear you weren't feelin' well. She wanted to make you some sugar cookies. I told her you weren't contagious or nothin' so she shouldn't be afraid to bring 'em out herself."

Adam reached up languidly and tugged at his hat brim. "You know," he said conversationally to no one in particular, "I've let you get away with that so far. But that could change at any time."

Joe looked at him, a little uneasy. "What could you do?" he said suspiciously. "You couldn't do anything."

Adam pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "You never know. Consider yourself warned." He stepped lightly from the porch and started toward the barn at an easy gait. Joe looked after him, uncertain.

"Say, Adam - " Hoss called. He hurried to catch up halfway across the yard and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Adam, what you gonna do to 'em?"

Adam looked innocent. "To Joe?"

Hoss nodded. "Yeah. What you got up your sleeve ta do?"

Adam considered without breaking stride. "Nothing," he said finally.

Hoss wrinkled his nose. "Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"But - he's expectin' ya ta do somethin'."

"Uh huh."

"But - " Hoss began to grin "that'll just about drive him crazy!"

Adam gave him a slow smile. "Yup."

Hoss shook his head in admiration, reaching out to open the barn door. "Adam, you gotta mean streak a mile wide. "

"Yup."

"Hey!" Joe jumped off the porch to follow them, clutching the package of sandwiches. "Hey! You can't do anything! What you gonna do? C'mon, Adam, tell me!"

Adam winked at Hoss and disappeared into the barn without a backward glance. He looked over at Sport, saddled and waiting. "You know, I could get used to this."

"Yeah?" Hoss dropped the door abruptly. "Well, don't."

Ben stood watching from the porch, smiling faintly as Adam strode toward the barn with Hoss running to catch up and Joe pelting after them.  For a moment time telescoped for him, the voices he heard were high and treble; he half expected to see Marie come out the door.

"Ben? Ben, you seem a million miles away."

Ben shook himself. "Ten years, actually. Sorry, Paul. What were you saying?"

"I asked where they were going."

"Oh. Lumber camp, to see Adam's bridge. And give Joseph a workout on Cochise. Two birds with one stone." 

Paul nodded. "I remember he was working on some sort of bridge."

"Amazing thing - though he tells me it's only meant to be a temporary structure. Can't imagine how he came up with it. Oh, he gave me some long, complicated explanation about Julius Caesar, but I'll never really understand the way that boy's mind works. Guess I should just be glad it does, hm? I'll tell you, Paul, makes a man feel old and behind the times. Obsolete."

"I don't know." Paul reached over to refill his coffee cup from the pot Hop Sing had left. "Experience and innovation. Sounds like a winning combination to me."

Ben nodded, accepting a refill for his own cup. "Maybe you're right."

He jerked his head up at the sound of elevated voices from the barn, followed by the unmistakable tumult of a scuffle. He half rose to his feet. Really, those incorrigible - what were they thinking? Adam still only had the use of one arm for all intents and purposes and Joe - he stopped himself in mid-thought and forced himself to sink back into his chair.

Hoss would see to it that nobody got hurt -  by brute force if necessary. He took his current, self-appointed job as nursemaid to his brothers very seriously. He had returned from Carson City with a new air of confidence and, with Adam down and Ben still convalescing, had taken up the slack with a determination and authority that had first astonished, then impressed his father.

Ben shook his head. His sons didn't need him as they once had - at least not in the same way - that was inescapable fact. But if in exchange he had boys who could be counted on to look out for one another - and for him - it didn't seem like such a bad trade. Given a little time to get used to it, he might even come to enjoy this growing up.

The noise escalated and Paul looked at Ben questioningly. Ben steeled himself and leaned back in his chair with exaggerated nonchalance. He didn't have to know everything his boys were up to. He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

Paul cleared his throat. "Uh - Ben…Adam's stitches…"

Ben sipped his coffee. "It'll be fine, Paul."

Sure enough, a few minutes later all three appeared, leading their horses. Ben and Paul watched as they mounted, looking a little disheveled, but otherwise no worse for wear.

Adam paused his horse briefly by the porch and leaned forward in the saddle. "We'll be heading out now," he said formally, a suspicion of a twinkle lurking deep in his eyes as he reached up to touch his hat. "Doc. Pa."

"Have fun, boys," agreed Ben placidly. "Don't be late."

"No, sir," chimed in Hoss, touching his hat. "Doc. Pa."

"Bye, Pa. Bye, Doc," chirped Joe, touching his hat in imitation of his brothers.

Paul watched them ride away, shaking his head. "I've got to hand it to you, Ben - raising three boys alone. Don't know how you do it. Makes dealing with a diphtheria epidemic look like child's play."

Ben's eyes followed his sons, peaceful and amused, stretching out his legs and propping his feet on the chair in front of him. He was thinking of the way Hop Sing and Adam had looked out for him and Joe, then the way Hoss in turn had looked out for Adam, even Little Joe trying to do his part…and of the distinct, lingering, comforting presences of Elizabeth, Inger and Marie. He recalled Adam’s words to Hoss and smiled to himself.

"Not alone, Paul, believe me," he said softly. "Never alone."