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The late Friday afternoon sun trickled through the window, dappling the papers on Eli’s desk with shadow. The children were all quietly sitting at their desks, copying pages out of their history books. Eli stared at Little Joe, as if willing the boy to look at him. Joe didn’t. He was too busy trying to write with the hand Eli had struck with the ruler earlier that morning.

It was a simple enough task he had set forth for them, all they had to do was copy down pages 120-130 out of their book. Of course, he’d put a little incentive into it, if any one of them failed, he’d send a nasty note home to their parents. Just another little lesson in discipline, thanks in part to his mother.

"Children need discipline-you must teach them--if I'd succeeded in your training, you wouldn't be the failure you are." The words rebounded against the walls of his mind, words that had become a litany he chanted every morning before leaving his room.

Noting that the children were still all bent to their task, he pulled a map of the Virginia City area out of his drawer. He carefully spread it out on his desk top and smiled at the the cave-ridden hills that covered the north edge of town.

Eli traced the sharp lines on the map with his fingertip, taking comfort in the pictures and dark places they represented. The deep caves were his only true haven-the only place where his dead mother's voice didn't intrude on his thoughts and his mind became almost clear. In the caves, sometimes he would recover his fragile grip on sanity and wonder why he was doing the horrible things to the children. But the moment he left the safety of the hills--his mother's voice intruded, berating him for trying to escape and telling him that he must double his efforts.

The morning he'd found his special cave was forefront in his mind, and he re-lived it again.

The cave was cold--unlike anything he'd felt before. The chill cut instantly to his bones, as if the cold started from the inside and worked it's way out instead of the reverse. He’d had to turn sideways to slide past the wall of stone that partially blocked the entrance. It was this wall that had been the death sentence for four of the five archaeologists who’d been searching for ancient artifacts miles below in the twisted passageways. After the earthquake, they’d managed to climb out of the depths of the caverns, make the long journey past the newly created pits and drop-offs only to be stopped by a ten foot thick slab of rock that fully blocked the entry way—only fifty feet from the mouth of the cave and freedom.

Eli’s heavy black coat had done little to fight the chill but he'd pushed on. Past the site where they'd found the corpses of the archaeologists, past the sheer dropoffs and down a steep slope. He’d stopped to rest on a large boulder when he'd felt the feeling for the first time--as if he was being watched, no-- guided to a certain place. It wasn't the disturbing feeling that he felt when his mother spoke to him, but rather a completeness or wholeness. A good feeling. He'd traced his fingers down the timeworn cracks and crevices in the limestone walls, as if there was a message to be read. But the walls so close to the surface hadn't held any clues, they were buried much lower in the cave. Secrets to be discovered and treasured later.

Joe smiled as he saw Steve Garner waiting for him just outside of Virginia City. He raised his hand in greeting and instantly regretted it. The pain in his hand had died down to a constant dull throb but the movement caused a lightning flash of pain to streak across the palm of his left hand. He swore softly, but forced a smile to his lips for his friend.

Steve nudged his horse onward and the two met under a big oak tree. Steve playfully slid down off his horse and landed with a thud on the dirt. He pushed his black hat back further on his head and then hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He’d had a good morning playing poker down at the Tub O’ Guts and had been looking forward to seeing his young friend all day.

In direct contrast to his Steve’s dismount, Little Joe wearily got down off his horse, taking extra care not to jostle his sore hand. The bleeding had taken forever to stop and he hoped it wouldn’t start again. He turned his back to his friend and started to unfasten his saddlebags.

Steve was so excited he almost skipped over to Joe. He slapped the boy happily on the back, shocked when Little Joe dropped to his knees.

“Jeez, Joe!” Steve exclaimed, as he helped the boy up. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard!” When he got his first look at Joe’s face, he could see the dark circles under the boy’s eyes and the general look of fatigue. “You sure look like shit.”

Joe grinned wryly and returned to his task. “Thanks, that makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better,” he mumbled and eased the saddlebags off Cochise’s back. He fumbled with the straps that held the saddlebag closed but finally managed to open it. "Be careful with these," he said as he gingerly pulled an egg out of its protective cloth covering.

“What did you do to your hand?” Steve asked. He’d noticed the difficulty Joe’d had in working the clasp on the leather saddlebag and with the boy’s disheveled appearance he hoped that nothing was seriously wrong.

Steve frowned as he accepted the egg and wiped off a smear of blood. “Nothing, huh? Let me see your hand.”

Little Joe quickly hid his hand behind his back. “I said it’s nothing. Now do you have the plan straight in your head?”

Steve frowned and his eyes darkened. “Yes, the plan is all straight!” He didn’t like the way his friend was trying to divert attention. It was a trick he’d learned long ago and used frequently himself, but it usually meant trouble. “I’ve been pulling pranks like this since you were in diapers…” He paused, wondering how far Joe could be pushed. He straightened up and squared his shoulders. “But I’m not going through with it unless you let me see your hand.”

“What! Not going through with it! Are you crazy!” Joe roared. “You know how that bitch …..” He was so exasperated he couldn’t even speak. His lips continued to move, but the words just didn’t come out.

Joe finally did as complied and when he finally caught his breath, Steve continued. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go through with it, only that I wanted to see your hand.”

Steve exhaled loudly. “No, I don’t claim to be one of your brothers but I also don’t like to be conned.” He held up the egg. “I also know blood when I see it. So, if you want this little payback to happen, you’ll show me your hand.”

“Oh, all right!” Joe scowled. “If you must!” He slowly pulled his left hand out from behind him and showed it to his friend, palm down. “See, I told you it’s nothing!”

“Uh, huh,” Steve said as he gently grabbed the boy’s hand and slowly turned it over.

Joe grimaced at the contact and bit his lip to prevent the moan that threatened to escape. He held his breath as the bloodly cut was exposed to the light.

Steve shook his head when he saw the wound. It was a jagged cut that ran diagonally across the palm of Joe’s hand. “Ouch! That looks like it hurts!”

“It’s fine,” Little Joe said as he pulled his hand away. “Now can we go over the plans?”

“In a minute, in a minute,” Steve said as he tucked the first egg securely in his saddlebag and pulled out a clean, white strip of cloth. “How’d you get that?”

Joe eased the saddlebags over his shoulder and propped his uninjured hand on his slim hip. “Are we here to discuss a prank or me?”

Steve grinned, showing a gap between his teeth. “A little bit of both, now I asked what happened? You were at school all day, right?”

“So it had to happen there, right?” Steve prodded. His patience was wearing thin and he wanted an answer.

Little Joe looked over Steve’s shoulder, hoping to avoid answering the direct question. “Hey, you know it’s getting late, I’d better be getting home. So if you want these eggs…”

Steve crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I’m waiting for an answer. As I was saying, it had to have happened at school, right?”

Joe walked over to Cochise and pressed his cheek against hers. “Just a little misunderstanding with the teaching,” he said softly.

Joe turned around and looked steadily into Steve’s eyes. “I said, just a little misunderstanding with the teacher. I thought he was human and he showed me my mistake.

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise. “The teacher did this?” He ran his hand through his hair and turned around, trying to cover his shock. After a moment, he turned around again and faced Little Joe. “Have you told your Pa about this?”

“Ha!” Joe scoffed. “My Pa and the rest of the parents in the whole town.” He kicked a clump of dirt and sent it flying off into the distance. “They not only let it happen, but support it.” He shook his head. “It’s discipline, you see.”

“Still, this is a little bit, well extreme.” Steve chuckled half-heartedly. “I remember my school days, what there were of them anyway and I can’t even imagine ….”

Little Joe thought briefly about telling his friend the whole story about what had been happening at the schoolhouse, but then thought better of it. Steve seemed sympathetic but he had thought the same about Pa and Adam. He couldn’t bear the thought of being told to grow up and stop acting like a little kid again. Especially from someone who regarded him as at least old enough to have a few drinks.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it under control,” Joe said, forcing an air of confidence into both his stance and his voice. “Now, about the eggs?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on a minute.” Steve took Joe’s sore hand and carefully wrapped the clean cloth around it, tying it snugly on the top of his hand. “At least that’ll keep it clean until you get home. Now make sure you take good care of …”

Joe pulled his hand away. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, repeating Steve’s words. He retrieved his saddlebags once again and pulled out an egg, handing it gingerly to Steve.

Steve took the egg, tossed it up slightly, bounced it on his arm and caught it again.

Steve shook his head. "You're just too nervous Joe," he said, casually tossing the egg in the air this time and catching it.

"Ha!" Joe scoffed and backed away slightly. "You wouldn't toss those around so easily if you'd ever had rotton eggs on your clothes. I think it's even worse than skunk. And those are from my special stash so they're probably two years old," Joe snickered, his sense of fun overriding his bad day. "I'm sure we'll clear out that little church in no time flat." He pulled one more egg from his saddlebag and handed it to Steve.

A little more cautiously Steve accepted it and wrapped both eggs in soft flannel. "Do you think three is enough?"

Joe nodded and raked his hand through his curls. "I guarantee it." He paused looking at his friend. "You sure you'll be able to handle this by yourself?"

Steve rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "What do you think I am, a kid? Kid?

When he realized Little Joe wasn’t satisfied with the answer, he continued. “Of course I can. All I have to do is sneak into the church and slip the eggs under the witch's cushion."

Joe exhaled loudly and clenched his hands in exasperation. "No, that's not it. You've got to slit the side and put the eggs inside the pillow. If you put it beneath the insides will run all down the pew. We want them to think the smell is coming from her, not the egg."

Joe held out his hand. "I'm not wasting my special stash if you don't have the guts to do it right. Give 'em back."

Steve scowled, but acquiesced. "Allright, we'll do it your way--but if I get caught..."

Joe grinned and hooked his boot into the Cochise’s stirrup. You’ll be glad you’re in church,” he said as he stepped up onto the pinto. "Because, you’ll have a lot of praying to do!"

After a busy Saturday morning doing chores and chopping wood, the most prevalent sound at the dinner table was the scraping of silverware against porcelain. After Ben finished his steak, baked beans and fried potatoes he poured himself a cup of coffee and looked at his children.

Hoss was finishing his third helping and was reaching for more. Adam had finished his meal and was taking a sip from his glass of water. Ben turned at looked at Little Joe, who was toying with his meal. His glass of milk sat untouched, by the top of his plate. Ben shook his head, knowing that he ought to do battle with the boy once more over his eating, or rather lack-of eating, but after going over the books this morning he really didn’t have the energy for it. He turned at looked at his oldest son. “Adam,” he began, and waited until the dark haired man gave him his attention. “I was checking the expenses for the lumber mill this morning and I’m a little concerned over what Simons charged us for the new saw blades.”

Adam swallowed and set down his water glass before answering. “I know the two of you had cooked up some special deal over that, didn’t he honor it?”

Ben shook his head. “No.” He paused to take another drink of coffee. “I’m hoping he just forgot to credit our account but I’m not too sure. Sometimes he can conveniently forget a deal when it comes time for the actual payment to be made.”

Adam nodded in agreement. “I know you’ve had trouble with him in the past. What are you going to do?”

Ben took a deep breath and set his cup down on the table. “I’m going to ride over to his place this afternoon to talk to him about it. I’d prefer to get this matter cleared up as soon as possible.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Anything you need done here in the mean time?”

Ben glanced over at Little Joe, whose plate contained the same amount of food since the last time he’d looked. “As a matter of fact there is. I know you have to meet Paul Clemens in Virginia City today and I’d appreciate it if you’d take Little Joe with you and get him a haircut,” Ben said, glancing at his youngest son and waiting for the explosion that always happened when he proposed trimming the boy’s chestnut curls.

The expected explosion didn’t occur. Little Joe continued staring down at his plate, as if he hadn’t heard the conversation at all.

Amazed, Ben looked over to Adam who returned the shocked look. “Joseph,” he said again, louder this time and directed to the boy who sat on his right. “Did you hear me son?”

“Huh?” Little Joe answered, looking up slowly when he realized the question was directed to him

“Adam is taking you to town today for a haircut,” Ben said, once again internally bracing for at the very least an argument.

“Sure, Pa. Whatever you say,” Little Joe said as he pushed the full plate of food away from him. “I’m full, can I go and get changed for town then?

Little Joe slid his chair back and stood slowly. He flexed his sore hand, the one that Eli had viciously struck with the ruler the day before and quickly left the table.

Hoss watched his brother’s departure and when he was certain the boy was out of earshot, leaned closer to the table and whispered. “Who was that and where is my little brother?”

Ben had to smile. “I know it son, I know it. I just don’t know what to expect any more,” he said, studying Little Joe’s full plate.

“And what about that?” Hoss prodded, pointing at Joe’s plate. “He ain’t never going to grow if he don’t eat.”

“I agree, Pa,” Adam joined in. “I know with the way he’s been so down lately you don’t want to push him, but he’s got to eat. Doc Martin said when he took the stitches out of Joe’s leg that he needed to gain weight.”

“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know already, boys. I’ve been thinking of taking him to see Paul as soon as I get a chance, but with things being so busy around here lately …”

Hoss patted his Pa’s forearm reassuringly. “Don’t think we’re criticizing you Pa, because we really don’t mean to. It’s just that we’re worried.”

“I know, son. I am too.” Ben looked at the stairs, as if willing the boy to return. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

*****After the first uneventful haircut in Little Joe Cartwright’s life, the oldest and youngest Cartwright boys were walking down “B” street heading for Lila Mae Watson’s café. The small homey restaurant, decorated in dark green and white gingham was just the place, in Adam’s opinion to tone down Paul Clemens’ often brusque and overbearing persona.

With ladies’ present, the mine owner would be much less apt to swear and get out of control as he had on numerous previous occasions. However, the important meeting with a business associate wasn’t the task that was forefront in Adam’s mind. The most important job of the day was avoiding Abigail Jones. He’d been successful in doing so since the dance and he hoped his luck would continue. Adam walked quickly, purposefully down the sidewalk, but kept a keen eye out for the spinster.

Although the average person wouldn’t have noticed, Little Joe did. “Who are you looking for?” he asked, as he hurried to keep up with the longer legs of his older brother.

Little Joe rolled his eyes and cleared his throat before repeating himself. “I said, who are you looking for?”

“What makes you think I’m looking for anyone?” Adam said warily, his eyes continuing to scan the street as safety and the café’ loomed in the distance.

“Whatever,” Little Joe shrugged, sticking his hands into his pockets. “But Mitch told me that Miss Abigail is off visiting relatives in Carson City this week.”

Adam stopped quickly, almost causing Little Joe to bump into him. He turned and bent over to look the boy in the eye. “Are you sure?”

A twinkle lit Little Joe deep green eyes as he looked up at his older brother. “What difference does it make if you ain’t looking for anyone?” he asked slyly, enjoying putting Adam on the spot.

Adam straightened up and propped his hands on his hips. “I ain’t,” he took a deep breath. “I mean I’m not looking for anyone.” He glanced quickly to the right, to make sure no one was coming.

“Uh, huh,” Joe said, nodding in amusement, enjoying the fact that Adam’s words and actions were saying drastically different things. He stared down at the boardwalk and tapped his boot on the wood. “So what’re we waiting for, don’t you have a meeting or something?” he said, not glancing up.

Adam took a deep breath, counting to ten in silence. Proceeding too forcefully would cause Little Joe to clam up obstinately and too gently would invoke teasing that he didn’t want to deal with. Somewhere in the middle was where he had to stand, interested, but not too interested. The gentle trill of feminine laughter around the street corner caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. He whipped his head around quickly offering a plea to the heavens above that it wasn’t Abigail. He waited, silently but no one came into view. He exhaled loudly and looked over at Joe, who continued to stare down at the boardwalk.

Adam stroked his chin, hoping the obedient boy who’d sat still for his haircut still inhabited the body of his usually mischievous little brother. ”Yes, I do have a meeting, I’m just interested, that’s all,” he said, appeal in his dark eyes.

Little Joe looked up, a twisted grin on his lips. He was ready to have a little fun with Adam, but the desperate look in his eyes and the tense posture changed his mind. “Yes, she’s gone. Won’t be back until next Friday.”

Adam relaxed visibly and dropped his head slightly in relief. “I see,” he said. “That’s interesting.” He took another deep breath and a smile lit his lips. “Well, we’d better get going then. I know Mr. Clemen’s doesn’t like to wait.” For the first time in weeks, Adam’s step was light and purposeful as he strode down the street. No looking over his shoulder, or canvassing the streets to avoid meeting the pale spinster who had tried to have her way with him at the dance. No, today I feel free—more like the true man I am. As he walked, the past few weeks played in his mind and he felt like a fool. Hiding from Abigail, avoiding coming to town in case he would run into her. It just wasn’t right. I should’ve just outright told her the truth and been done with it. I’m not interested in her romantically. Life is too short to waste my time avoiding a woman I don’t want to be with. Instead, I should spend my time pursuing some of the beautiful woman Virginia City has to offer. They approached the intersection of “B” and “E” streets, and Adam heard the rustle of satin from around the corner. The sound brought back delightful memories of girls from his past. With a light heart, he wondered who the woman was, perhaps the beautiful Pamela Simpson, with the auburn hair and deep green eyes or Samantha Evans whose dresses were just a little too tight for propriety. With Abigail Jones out of sight and thankfully, out of mind at least for a few days anyway, Adam felt free to greet whatever faced him. The rustle of satin increased, as the woman approached the corner. Adam stopped walking and put a hand out to stop Little Joe. He was going to make use of his reprieve and this was the lucky woman he was going to do it with. He smiled, that suave, all-knowing smile that made the hearts of the women of Virginia City melt. Perhaps it was fate that brought me here today, maybe this woman is the love of my life. The future Mrs. Adam Cartwright is ….

Lauretha Lewis trod around the corner, both her presence and her ruffled, fuchsia, satin dress causing the smile to freeze on Adam’s lips and the hair on the back of his neck to stand up.

Adam swallowed hard to get the lump out of his throat. “Ah, Mrs. Lewis,” he said, removing his hat, and motioned for Little Joe to do the same. “How nice to see you.”

Lauretha offered a small smile. “Hello, Adam, Little Joe,” she said, removing her ecru crocheted gloves. She paused a moment, watching Little Joe remove his hat before continuing. “I’m glad that I ran into you Adam, you see I have a favor to ask.” She tucked the gloves into her reticule and put her hand on Adam’s arm. “It’s about the church choir, you see. We really would love to have you join.”

Although he loved to sing, the thought of the all female choir, of whom Abigail Jones was a member was not a pleasant one. Adam tucked his hat under his arm and patted her hand. “I’d love to, ma’am but I’m very busy with ranch work, you see.” He tried to pull away, but she didn’t release her hold.

Lauretha clicked her teeth in disapproval. “I understand that, Adam. We are all very busy people. But, being a founding member of the church does have some responsibilities, which I take quite seriously I assure you. Having a beautiful choir is one of them. I simply won’t take no for an answer.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no,” Adam said softly, but with a note of finality. He gently removed the woman’s hand from his arm and stepped away. “I just don’t have the time to devote to practice. However, I’m sure they would love to have you join.”

Lauretha’s eyes widened in shock. “Me?” she said haughtily. She arched her back and drew herself up to her full height. “Although I have a beautiful voice, there are just too many other infringements on my time. Important social engagements, you understand. Someone has to keep this town from falling into impropriety—what with the liquor flowing freely and the feminine entertainment available in the saloons—it’s a miracle that all the decent townsfolk haven’t left.” She licked her lips and smoothed a lock of hair away from her broad face. “While we’re discussing propriety, I’m sure you realize that it is about time you were married. You need to settle down with the right kind of girl, not like this boy’s mother of course,” she said, rapping Little Joe on the head.

Joe scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but a warning look from Adam stopped him.

Lauretha leaned closer to Adam. “I heard that you were outside at the last dance with Abigail,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I’ve told that girl, if you give the milk for free they won’t buy the cow. Not that I’m insinuating anything, you understand, but from what Abigail told me about the events that transpired outside the dance, in strictest confidence of course, I believe that we should be planning a wedding soon. Is that your understanding also, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Certainly not!” Adam exclaimed indignantly, as he backed away, both from the words and her foul breath. “You’ll have to excuse me…” He grabbed Little Joe by the arm and started to leave.

Lauretha’s false geniality gave way to disgust. She stamped her large foot and shook her finger at Adam. “I will not excuse you, nor your behavior. Women are not objects to be pawed and then discarded like last weeks newspaper and you should know that. I’d at least have hoped your father would’ve taught you…” she paused and stroked her stubbly chin. “Course he did marry that last wife of his and we all know she was a ‘bad egg’.”

Little Joe pulled away from Adam and stood toe to toe with the woman. “Watch what you say about my mother, you old …”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me like that you little brat!” Lauretha screeched. “I can see Mr. Waldoch didn’t punish you properly for that last little stunt you pulled at school. Sticking your tongue out at a teacher like that! If I would’ve had my way …”

Little Joe struggled in Adam’s grip, trying to dislodge the large hand cupped over his mouth, but his older brother was just too strong.

Adam’s dark eyes flashed in anger. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t disparage my stepmother’s memory in my presence,” he said coldly, pushing Little Joe behind him so he could stand closer to his opponent.

Taken a back by Adam’s quick rise to anger, Lauretha changed topics quickly. “Yes, we were on the subject of your marriage to Abigail, I believe,” she said coldly.

“I don’t have anything to say on that subject,” Adam said, partially turning away to make a quick exit. “Not to her, and certainly not to you. Good day.” He grabbed Little Joe by the arm and pulled him up the street.

They walked quickly toward the café’, Adam still fuming over the woman’s presumption and the fact that she’d made him late for his appointment. Little Joe, misunderstanding the tight grip Adam still kept on his arm, tried to appease his brother’s anger.

“I didn’t stick my tongue out at Mr. Waldoch,” Little Joe said, barely remembering to use Slimey’s given name instead of his nickname. “I did it at her.”

“Huh?” Adam responded, as they stopped outside the small café. He let go of his brother’s arm and looked down at the boy. “What?”

“I said, I didn’t stick my tongue out at Mr. Waldoch,” Joe said as he rammed his hands into his pockets and stared at his boots. “I did it at her.”

Adam fought to control a smirk, but failed. He slid an arm around the boy’s shoulders and tilted the curly head up so Joe looked him in the eye. “Not that it was right, you understand,” he said with a small smile, “but I can understand why you’d want to. I had a hard enough time not doing it myself.”

“No, I’m not,” Adam said with a smile. “If you behave while I meet with Mr. Clemens, I’ll even buy you a hot chocolate.”

“No thanks,” Joe automatically responded at the offer of food. “But, I’ll try and sit still.”

Adam patted him on the shoulder and steered him into the café. “That’s all I can ask for.”

Once inside, the almost empty restaurant told them immediately that they had missed their appointment. The small café’ only had seven tables, and only one of them was occupied. The petite blonde woman lunching with a handful of teenage girls bore no resemblance at all to the portly Paul Clemens.

Lila Mae, the proprietress greeted them warmly. “Adam, Little Joe, it’s good to see you boys. Mr. Clemens’ left looking for something stronger than the coffee I serve.” She handed Adam a carefully folded piece of paper. “He left this for you.”

“Thanks, Miss Lila.” Adam raised an eyebrow at the intricate folds in the paper.

Lila chuckled softly. “I know what you’re thinking Adam. Land sakes you would think he entrusted me with some secret code the way he folded that paper.” She sniffed indignantly. “As if I didn’t know he was going to seek out a glass of whiskey instead of my delicious coffee.”

Adam smiled warmly. “Yes, our Mr. Clemens does have a flair for the, dramatic shall we say?”

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Lila said, pulling a pad and pencil out of her apron pocket and scribbling the bill for her last customers. “If you’ll excuse me Adam, I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Certainly,” Adam said. He waited until the lady had walked over to the still occupied table before unfolding the note. He scanned it quickly, then frowned. He glanced over at the clock and noted the time, 2:30. “We only missed him by a couple of minutes, I wish he could have waited. I really don’t feel like heading over to E Street to track him down.” Adam stroked his chin, already dark with shadow even though he’d shaved that morning. “Say, Little Joe do you think you could stay out of trouble long enough for …” He turned around, expecting to see the slight form of his younger brother. When the only thing behind him was an empty table and the door leading to the street, Adam shook his head angrily. “I should’ve known the angelic behavior was too good to be true,” he said under his breath. “If that brat has taken off, I swear I’ll tan his scrawny hide,” he scratched his head in bewilderment. “But he was just here a minute ago…” He glanced around the room once more, hoping he’d been mistaken and his little brother was still in the café’.

A feminine giggle from the room on his right drew his attention. “That little brat! I should’ve known.” Adam crumpled the paper, tossing it carelessly on the floor and stormed through the swinging door that separated the dining room from the kitchen. He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him. The waitress, a nubile young girl in her late teens had his little brother tightly in her grasp and was kissing him passionately on the lips. Little Joe, no innocent himself, had his arms wrapped around the girl’s trim waist and his hands were just starting to explore downward.

The swinging door slammed against the wall just before Adam yelled. “Joseph Francis Cartwright!! Just what do you think you’re doing!!!”

Little Joe tore himself away from Meghan’s full lips and whipped his head toward the door. “A..A..Adam!” He finally managed to utter in a horrified gasp. “I thought you were meeting with Mr. Clemens. A moment passed and Joe realized his hands were still clasped around the girl’s trim waist. He tore his gaze away from the furious face of his brother and looked into his friend’s chocolate brown eyes. He couldn’t help the sheepish grin that sprang to his lips nor the hasty wink he gave her before he removed his hands and backed away from the curvaceous girl. He looked up at Adam, hoping some of the color had returned to his oldest brother’s face and he had started to see the humor in the whole situation. It wasn’t to be. Little Joe crossed his hands behind his back and chewed on his lower lip.

Meghan hadn’t met Adam before but knew his reputation. She smoothed the white apron that protected her simple blue cotton dress. She licked her lips nervously and summoned all the courage she possessed. “Mr. Cartwright please don’t be angry,” she implored, batting her dark eyelashes. “I asked Joe to come into the kitchen. I was just teaching him how to …” She paused, trying to come up with a socially acceptable way of finishing her sentence.

Adam didn’t wait for her to finish. He grabbed Little Joe by the scruff of the neck and escorted him roughly towards the door, grabbing the boy’s hat on the way. Once they reached the door, he turned around and skewered Samantha with a cold, hard stare. “Believe me young lady, I know exactly what you were doing. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave Little Joe alone. He is a little too young to be learning to cook, if you get my meaning,” he said icily. He pushed the door open and walked through, dragging a virtually helpless Little Joe behind him.

They proceeded through the restaurant, out the front door and were halfway down the street before Adam finally turned Joe loose. Adam shook his head sternly and handed the boy his hat.

Joe grabbed the hat and threw it angrily to the ground. While he’d been apprehensive when Adam first caught him kissing Meghan now he was livid. He propped his hands on his hips and glared up at his older brother. “What in the heck did you have to say a thing like that for!”

“Don’t even get me started, Little Joe,” Adam said, mirroring his little brother’s stance. His anger hadn’t lessened and the obstinate stance the youngster was taking wasn’t helping matters. “You had no business going back in the kitchen with that girl and you know it. How many times do I have to tell you to stick with girls your own age?”

Little Joe narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, his embarrassment over the scene with Meghan causing him to be reckless. “Don’t bother telling me again because I’m tired of hearing it! The girls my age are just kids!”

“Exactly my point.” Adam jabbed Little Joe in the chest with a pointed finger, causing the boy to jerk backwards. “Although you don’t like to hear it, you are ‘just a kid’ and I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you one.” He took a step forward, keeping his finger in Joe’s chest. “Even if that means dragging you away from every girl in Virginia City.”

Joe exhaled loudly and clenched his hands into fists. “Why can’t you realize that I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I’ll realize it when it is true and not a moment before,” Adam stated flatly, but with a ghost of a smirk forming on his lips. He grabbed Little Joe by the upper arm. “Now are you going to come along willingly or do I have to drag you? We still have to talk to Mr. Clemens before we head back to the Ponderosa.”

The boy thought a moment, but he knew Adam would carry out his threat. “I’ll come willingly,” Joe said grudgingly, gently prying his older brother’s clawlike fingers from his arm. When he was free he picked up his hat and jammed it roughly on his head. He pulled the brim down low on his forehead, in the hopes that it made him look older and just a little bit sinister.

Adam started walking down the boardwalk and Little Joe followed several steps behind. When they turned onto “E” Street Joe frowned. He quickened his pace until he fell into step with his longer legged brother. “Where are we going?”

“Why?” Adam answered as he waved to Slim Jensen the foreman of the Triple “K” ranch who was just coming out of “The Silver Dollar.”

Little Joe stuck his hands into his pockets and continued walking alongside his brother. “Just wondering,” he finally answered. They passed a few more saloons and Joe could see The Bucket of Blood looming in the distance. He fervently hoped that’s where they were headed.

Adam smiled down at his little brother, surprised when he saw a frown on the boy’s lips. “I thought you’d be enjoying yourself taking in the sites on ‘E’Street.”

“Oh, I am. It’s just that I’m just kinda worried over what Pa’d say about it,” Little Joe said, licking his lips nervously. Although it wasn’t the truth, it seemed to pacify his older brother. In reality, Joe was very worried that he’d run into some of the men he’d met in the Tub O’ Guts and they’d recognize him. That could lead to questions from Adam that he didn’t want to answer.

Adam nodded knowingly, realizing that his brother was only interested in keeping in Pa’s good graces. He patted the boy’s back reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of Pa.”

“Uh, huh,” Joe replied absently. Paul Whitman was coming down the street toward them. The tall, slim man was a great piano player and he regularly worked at the Tub O’ Guts, keeping them all entertained with one catchy melody after another. Joe pulled his hat even lower on his brow and looked down as if the boardwalk was suddenly very interesting. After Mr. Whitman passed, Joe breathed a sigh of relief and straightened up. Adam had gotten several steps ahead of him and The Bucket of Blood was fast approaching on his right side. Joe whispered a silent prayer that no one would be in there. He swallowed hard and tried to think positively. It’s the middle of the afternoon and the guys I see are in town real late at night. There’s no way they could hang out in this saloon in the afternoon and still be sober enough to make it into the Tub O’ Guts at 2:00 in the morning. Plus, there’s no way Adam is going to let me go into the saloon. He’s probably going to make me wait outside anyway and so hopefully if someone does recognize me, older brother won’t hear it. Joe nodded to himself, agreeing with the rationalization—but it didn’t make the butterflies in his stomach cease.

The butterflies turned into bats when Adam walked right past the entrance to the saloon.

Joe stopped dead in his tracks and stared. There was only one saloon past the Bucket of Blood and it was exactly the one Little Joe didn’t want to enter. “A..A..Adam,” he finally managed to utter.

Adam stopped and turned around. Even several steps away he could see that Little Joe was very pale and breathing very quickly. “What’s the matter, little buddy?”

Joe suddenly remembered that he should breathe—it wasn’t easy with his heart beating so fast. “We just passed the Bucket Of Blood,” he said raspily. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. A moment later he opened them, without any success—he was still so nervous he thought his heart would jump right out of his chest. Realizing that Adam was still waiting for him to answer he continued. “I thought we had to meet Mr. Clemens.”

Adam nodded. “But not at the Bucket of Blood,” he replied, a wrinkle now creasing his brow. He walked back to Joe. “It seems our business associate prefers a little seedier entertainment. He’s waiting for us at the Tub O’ Guts.”

If Joe was pale before, he now turned positively ghostly. “I can’t go in there.” His stomach lurched and he swallowed hard.

“Ummm,” Joe tried to come up with a new excuse, but couldn’t find one so he used the old standby. “Pa’d have my hide.”

Adam shook his head. “I told you I’d handle it, now come on.” Adam grabbed Little Joe by the arm once more and dragged him towards the saloon. “There is no way in heaven or hell I’d leave you outside after that little scene with the waitress. I’d hate to see what would happen if you ran into a willing lady.” He looked up at the sign that crowned the seedy establishment, not surprised that it hung crookedly. “Not that we’ll meet any ‘ladies’ in here, mind you,” he uttered under his breath. “But they’d certainly be willing.” He pulled Little Joe up the three steps that led to the boardwalk. They paused just outside the doors and Adam finally let go of his brother’s arm.

"I don't want to go in there, Pa would be awful mad," Joe repeated, crossing his arms defiantly.

"When has that ever bothered you before?" Adam replied, peeking over the swinging doors of the saloon. Once he saw that there were no nude paintings on the walls nor any obvious improprieties going on, he pushed on the doors. "Quit dragging your feet, we're going in."

Adam shook his head in disgust at Joe's behavior. "Don't worry, I told you that I'd take full responsibility with Pa for you going in here."

“Don’t bother, you don’t have a choice so you might as well come in willingly or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you in,” Adam said threateningly.

Little Joe cringed and took a step backwards. “A..A..Adam, now lets be reasonable …”

Adam took a large step forward and grabbed his little brother by the arm. “I’m not kidding, kid. Now get moving,” he said gesturing toward the interior of the saloon.

“Yes, sir,” Little Joe finally replied, resigned to his fate. His stomach lurched uncomfortably as he took a step into the room, Adam at his elbow.

The smell of cigar smoke was thick in the air. Adam looked to his right and saw the bartender, a portly man in his early forties whom he didn't recognize, not unusual since this was his first time in the seedy saloon.

Before Adam could speak, the bartender waved at them and called out, "Joe, good to see you. I didn't expect to see you during the day, about two o'clock in the morning is more your style--Do you want your usual?"

Joe had quickly put to fingers to his lips in a vain attempt to stop any outward signs of recognition, but the bartender hadn't been hired for being quick witted and had either not noticed or didn't understand the "shushing" reference.

Adam eyes darkened immediately. He grabbed his young brother by the arm and jerked the boy around till he faced him and then grabbed his other arm. "How does he know you?" he demanded.

Little Joe's lower lip trembled. "It's the funniest thing Adam, I've never been here in my life," he backpedaled, trying to squirm out of his bigger and stronger brother's grip.

"I asked you a question and I expect an answer?" Adam said as he stared down ominously at the boy.

Little Joe offered his oldest brother his most winning smile. "Maybe he has me confused with someone else?"

"How may little kids named Joe you reckon he gets in here?" Adam quizzed, still keeping a tight grip on Joe's arms upper arms.

Little Joe shrugged, unable to come up with any answers, even though he knew his life depended on it.

"I believe my business with Mr. Clemens can wait another day. Right now we're going home," Adam said threateningly as he drug his captive out through the swinging doors.

Once they reached the horses, Adam grabbed Cochise's reins, knowing that Little Joe would try and take off if Adam let him loose. As Little Joe mounted his pinto, he contemplated the mess he was in. If Hoss had been the one who had found out he'd been frequenting the saloon, Joe figured he had a fair to middling chance out of talking his middle brother out of telling Pa. He looked over at Adam who held Cochise's reins in a tight grip. With Adam, those hopes dwindled to none.

Adam and Little Joe rode into the yard, after a silent journey home. Adam had tried several times to get the details of his trips to the Tub O' Guts out of his little brother, but had finally given up. Pa would be a much more powerful persuader.

"Hoss!" Adam called as he climbed down off Sport and tossed the reins around the hitching post. As Little Joe dismounted Adam noticed how pale and concerned his youngest brother looked. Well he should. "Hoss!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming. What do you want?" Hoss yelled as he stomped out of the barn. Straw still clung to his shirt and he had stepped in something that he tried to wipe in the dirt.

"Of course I have, I couldn't wait for you two all day could I?" Hoss answered, obviously put out that he was doing the chores by himself once again.

"Well, the lateness is my fault, I had a little run-in with one of the Lard sisters, which strangely enough turned out to be a stroke of luck," Adam said with a grin, then turned to Little Joe and frowned. "It's a pretty good thing I did too, otherwise I wouldn't have caught baby brother here who was up to his usual tricks."

Little Joe suddenly found the ground very interesting. Adam's claw-like hand at the back of his neck caused him to look up guiltily.

"Do me a favor and don't let him out of your sight while he does his chores. I'm going to go in the house and try and figure out how to break the news to Pa that his youngest son has been frequenting the seediest saloon Virginia City has to offer," Adam said as he shook his head. "It isn't going to be easy."

"Well then don't tell him," Little Joe piped in. The thought of his father after Adam finished telling the details of his middle of the night trips caused the familiar burning in his stomach. He pressed his fist against his solar plexus, trying to quiet the swirling storms of acid that came much too frequently since Eli Waldoch's arrival.

"Not a chance in hell, boy. I have my own hide to consider. When Pa finds out about you drinking it'll be bad enough. But to think of the consequences if Pa knew I knew already and let it slide? Not a chance in hell!" Adam said and stormed into the house.

Adam shut the door behind him and hung up his hat and gunbelt by the door. He walked over and sat the blue wingback chair that faced the settee. Once settled, he thought of his two options concerning his baby brother. First, he could tell his father and Little Joe would be in big trouble. A stern lecture followed by a severe tanning would be Little Joe's immediate punishment, probably followed by a month of restriction to the Ponderosa.

His thoughts turned to option two. If he could convince Little Joe to tell him how he had accomplished convincing the bartender to let him drink. This in itself was a marvel, and even though the boy could be very convincing Adam felt certain Joe had to have help along the way somewhere. This secret accomplice could create problems in the future.

Several minutes later the door opened and Hoss and Little Joe walked in. Joe looked over to Adam hopefully, but the grim expression on his brother's face offered him little hope. When Adam jerked his thumb toward the stairs, any hope flew out the window.

Little Joe silently walked past his brother and trudged up the stairs, but turned at the landing to cast one last pleading look at Hoss then continued upstairs.

Both men waited for their brother's door to close before they spoke. Hoss sat down on the gray stone hearth and looked at Adam. Adam closed his book with a snap. "Okay, out with it. Tell me why you think I shouldn't tell Pa about Little Joe."

"C'mon, c'mon. Baby brother is nothing if not convincing when he's trying to talk his way out of trouble." He pushed his hair back from his face. "I've about half changed my mind about telling Pa as it is--so I'll leave it up to you to convince me the rest of the way."

Hoss stood and walked over to his father's desk and thought a moment. He turned and sought out his brother's deep brown eyes. "I hate to disappoint you Adam, but I think you should tell Pa all about it."

Adam was shocked and he stood in amazement. "What?" he almost shouted, not believing his ears. Hoss was always one hundred percent in Joe's corner, the fact that he advocated telling Pa about Joe's saloon trips was tantamount to treason.

Hoss walked back to the hearth and sat down again, and motioned for his brother to do the same. "You didn't ask him too many questions did you?"

Adam threw up his arms. "Well, I tried. The answers I got were less than enlightening to say the least. I figured I'd leave the real interrogation up to Pa." He sat down in the blue chair.

"So tell me why this sudden change of heart over Little Joe's behavior?" Adam said as he studied the concerned expression on his younger brother's face.

"How d'you suppose he got out of the house to sneak off into town?" Hoss asked cautiously.

Adam rolled his eyes, this was getting nowhere and Pa'd be home soon. "He sneaked down the stairs after we were asleep of course," he said evenly.

Hoss shook his head decisively. "Nope. I know this is a long time ago for you Adam, but when you were a little shaver and snuck out of the house, how did you do it?"

Adam thought for a moment, the years falling away as he thought of his secret tips to town. "Out my window, and across the back porch roof,” he answered finally.

Hoss nodded. "Yep, so did I. Now think back, why did you go through your window?"

"Because the...." Realization dawned on Adam and he stood up and began to pace. "Because the stairs creaking always woke Pa." He stopped and looked at Hoss. "But he doesn't have a ...."

Hoss sighed and nodded. "That's right--he doesn't have a window that opens onto the back porch. The little fella's been sneaking out one of our windows."

Three hours later Ben Cartwright sat on the settee listening to a disturbing account of his youngest son's activities.

"I don't think he's been in that saloon more than four or five times, but ..." Adam said as he paced in front of the fireplace.

Ben's mouth was set in a grim line and he was having a hard time controlling his temper. "How many times he's done it is irrelevant. Once is disobeying. Joseph knows that he's not even close to old enough to have anything to drink."

The thoughts of the brandy incident in Reno caused Adam to raise his eyebrows at his father.

Ben held up a hand at his oldest's expression, reading Adam's mind. "Having a tiny glass of brandy with his father is an entirely different matter.” He stood and glanced at the stairs. “ He knows full well what I think of a child in a saloon."

“Now Pa, since he was with me…” Adam began uneasily, hoping he hadn’t inadvertantly gotten himself into hot water.

Ben shook his head. “Don’t worry about that son. I understand why you took him in with you, and at this point I’m glad that you did. The lord knows when or if we would have found out otherwise.”

Hoss leaned forward in his chair. "What concerns me most is how easily he was able to sneak out."

Ben's eyes darkened. He had been so concerned with the transgression than the actual method of escape hadn't crossed his mind. "What d'you mean?"

Hoss ran a sweat-slick hand through his hair. "Well he had to crawl out one of our windows," he said as he gestured to Adam, then back to himself. "While we were sleeping."

"What makes you say that? Why would he go to all that trouble with the stairs right over there?" Ben asked gesturing toward the staircase.

Adam smiled. "You're a little out of practice with sneaking out Pa, I mean it has been a while since Hoss and I felt the need.”

Ben glared at his oldest as he propped his palms on his hips. "What do you mean by out of practice, young man?"

"I mean," Adam said earnestly. "That it has been at least four years since Hoss snuck out of the house, and quite bit more than that for me."

"So?” Ben prodded. “You boys rarely snuck out and the few times you did I caught you on the stairs or shortly thereafter."

Adam shook his head, amused at what his father didn't know. "Pa, I went out my bedroom window at least fifty times and probably many more."

Hoss scrunched up his face, but felt he had to confess too. If it would keep his baby brother safe and home at night, he was willing to tell all. "Me too."

Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He walked away from his sons and thought a moment, then turned back to face them. "Well I guess I wasn't as diligent a father as I thought."

"Well, we didn't really get into any trouble, just kid stuff," Adam said quickly, hoping to head off any feelings of guilt that might surface in his Pa.

Ben nodded and stroked his chin. "But now that you're older and wiser you realize what trouble you could have gotten yourself into."

Hoss looked at Adam for confirmation before answering. "Sort of. Plus Virginia City is a lot different now. There were just a couple saloons then and they didn’t let kids in. Now it’s different."

All three Cartwright's knew Little Joe considered himself an adult and didn't like being treated like the child he was. Ben sat down on the sofa and looked at his two older sons. "So what made you decide to tell me all this?" he asked as he reached for his cup of coffee on the table.

Hoss swallowed loudly. "Well Pa you know how Little Joe always wants to do grown up stuff. That's gotten him into trouble more times than we can count and I'm sure it'll only get worse."

Adam chimed in. "Well, we are his big brothers' and are supposed to keep a close eye on him."

Ben took a sip of his coffee as he waited for the second part of his boys' reasons for tattling on their baby brother. Adam and Hoss shared uncomfortable looks and were silent for a moment.

Unable to control himself any longer, Hoss slapped his thigh in exasperation. "Dagnabit Pa, it really burns me to think the little rascal crawled out right under our noses."

Ben looked surprised. "Huh?" This element of his youngest son's departure had escaped Ben's notice.

"That's right Pa," Adam said calmly. "When we sneaked out, we had to crawl across the roof of the back porch and then drop down onto the ground. Little Joe’s bedroom doesn’t have access to the porch. So, he crawled through one of our bedrooms and out the window. Then reversed his escape route to get back home."

Ben closed his eyes and ran a weary hand down his face. He was silent for a moment. Adolescence had been a rough time for both Adam and Hoss, but even their antics had left him ill prepared to deal with Little Joe. After a minute, he finally opened his eyes and looked at his sons. "How do you propose we remedy this situation in the future, that is aside from the sound thrashing I'm going to administer?"

Hoss tucked his hands in the pockets of his dark brown pants. "We've been thinking about that Pa. Joe doesn't know that we know how he's getting out. So Adam and I figured we'd rig up a little trap for him the next time."

Ben nodded. "Good idea--catch him in the act," His thoughts turned back to the task at hand. He started to unbuckle his belt to administer a well-deserved tanning to his youngest child."

Hoss scuffed his boots on the wide-planked floor of the great room before looking mournfully up at his father. "Aw, Pa. Do you have to do that?"

Ben raised his eyebrows. "Are you questioning me boy?" he asked heatedly. Although he consulted Adam on occasion about disciplining Little Joe, he always knew Hoss to be staunchly in the boy's corner so he never asked him.

"No, sir. It ain't that." Hoss backpedaled. "It's just that..." He stared down at his scuffed brown boots a moment before looking his father in the eye again. "A lecture always made much more of an impression on me than any of your lickings ever did."

Ben smiled at his soft-hearted middle son who was correct in his thinking. A stern lecture had usually been adequate to set Hoss back on the straight and narrow. "I know it did son, but your baby brother takes after your oldest brother in this case," he said as he inclined his head toward Adam. "It takes a little more physical punishment to make an impression on him."

Ben smiled at his oldest son's selective memory. "Yes, you. I recall many an evening that ended with you having a “necessary little talk” young man--you just choose to forget it now that you're all grown up."

Adam had the grace to blush as Ben continued. "You remember when I caught him in the Silver Dollar don't you Hoss?"

Hoss grinned broadly. His reaction partially from the recollection of the incident and partially from the fact that Adam looked so uncomfortable at being reminded of his past transgressions. "Sure do Pa."

Adam decided that a little maneuvering was in order to get the subject back where he felt it should be--Little Joe. "Yes, but let's remember that I was almost seventeen at the time," he said coolly. "Joe isn't even fourteen yet."

The smile on Ben's face faded, and his thoughts returned to the issue at hand. "You're right as usual son."

" If he thinks he’s so grown up, I’ll punish him like I did you.” He turned to Hoss “Go cut me a hickory switch and I'll make sure your baby brother regrets his desire to be grown up for at least a couple of weeks."

Little Joe stared out his window at the backyard of the Ponderosa ranch house, trying to make some sense out of the way he was feeling. When first banished to his room, he had been justifiably scared. The fear had lessened however, when he started thinking about Eli Waldoch and the other students. The fear gradually was driven out by recklessness. How could Pa be so blind to what was happening in his own house and town? Was it blindness or did he just no longer care? Didn’t care, that is, unless he was disobeyed. A grim smile crossed Little Joe’s lips, and then was gone. “I’ll show him,” he whispered.

The creaking of the stair banister made Little Joe turn and walk to the door and press his ear against the door. He listened intently, hoping to hear the heavy thud of Hoss’ boots or even the cat-like grace of Adam’s ascent. He was disappointed. Instead it was the slow, measured steps of Ben Cartwright. The way he always climbed the stairs when he was angry, but trying to calm down before he started to lecture—or worse. He backed away from the door, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. Joe swallowed hard, his resolve almost leaving him. Thirteen years of conditioning was difficult to throw away, even with the hell his teacher had been putting him through. He chewed on his bottom lip and drew several deep breaths. This calmed him a little, and he thought back to his first day of school. The fear on Sue Ellen Tracey’s face when Slimey was going to punish her for no reason. The anger on Slimey’s face when he’d volunteered to take her punishment. He flexed his hand, the stinging pain once again fresh in his mind. The way Adam had quickly decided Joe was at fault, once again. The shock when Pa didn’t believe him and then told him to handle the problem himself. These thoughts made his resolve return tenfold. He stood up and glared at the door, clenching his hands into fists. I’m doing the best I can. If I’m old enough to handle Slimey, I’m certainly old enough for a beer!

The doorknob turned slowly, and Ben Cartwright walked into the bedroom. He sensed a difference in Joe right away. When facing punishment, his youngest usually was contrite and wheedling, trying to lessen the consequences at all costs. The boy facing him today was neither. He closed the door behind him and walked over to his son.

Joe crossed his arms and raised his chin, looking directly into his Pa’s eyes.

Ben propped his hands on his hips. “I’ve just spoken to your brothers,” Ben said, his outrage simmering just below the surface. “And I’d like an explanation.”

“For what?” Joe turned and walked over to the window. He paused a moment and then turned to meet Ben’s eyes. “I can’t seem to do anything right in this house, so you’ll just have to let me in on what I’m supposed to be confessing to,” he scowled.

Insolence was a bad thing in the voice of a child in the Cartwright household. Ben’s response was quick and sure. "Don't use that tone of voice with me, boy. You are my son and will do as you are told. Is that understood?”

Joe leaned against the window seat, trying to control his anger. He knew lashing out at his Pa would do him no good, but sometimes caution just had to be thrown to the winds.

Joe leveled his chin and glared up at his Pa. “Yes, sir,” he said, clenching his jaw tightly.

Ben ignored the tone, and continued. “I’m talking about your trips to the Tub ‘O Guts. You are too young to go into a saloon, let alone to drink in one. I’d like an explanation.”

“You may think I’m too young, but I think differently,” Joe said quietly. “I wanted to sample a little of the “night life” that Virginia City had to offer.”

"I don't for one minute think you sat in there all by yourself. And your so-called friends are part of the problem. No true friend would have helped you get a beer or let you see what goes on in a saloon at that hour of the night. Who were they?"

Ben took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. “And, I’m making it my business. Now I want an answer.”

“I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I’m going to send Adam and Hoss back into Virginia City to find out who helped you. Your so-called friends will answer to me when I’m finished with you.”

Joe jerked his head up in alarm, but realized he couldn’t stop his Pa. “You do what you have to do,” he said calmly. But you should know it was my decision to go there. Not theirs.”

“But they are adults,” Ben said, emphasizing the last word. “You are thirteen.”

“So what!” Joe hissed. “ I think if I want to spend some time in a saloon and have a few beers I should be able to without worrying about breaking some of your ‘rules’.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “The fact is that you are thirteen years old,” he said icily. “These ‘rules’ are for your own protection. There are things in this world that aren’t suitable until you are old enough to handle them.”

The events of the past few months flickered in Little Joe’s mind, the beatings, the cruelty, sleeping in the barn and the ever-present acid storms in his stomach. All these things built into a crescendo and Joe couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “And you think you’ve done a good job, do you? Protecting me with these rules?”

“I have done my best!” Ben snapped. “As your father I have a responsibility to …”

“You think all these restrictions protect me? There are worse things in Virginia City than what goes on in the Tub O’ Guts, let me tell you.” Joe shook his head. “But you just don’t want to listen, do you?”

Joe jumped up. "You've had enough!!! What about me?" Joe was livid and couldn't control himself. He stomped his foot angrily and was about to launch into a recitation of Eli Waldoch’s sins when the look on his Pa’s face stopped him.

Ben crossed his arms angrily and a deep furrow creased his forehead. His eyes blazed angrily and there was fire in his voice. "This is your final chance, Joseph. Who did you meet in the Tub ‘O Guts?”

Little Joe crossed his arms and flopped down on the bed. The look he shot his father was of absolute disgust. “I’ve already given you my answer. I don’t need any more chances.”

Ben nodded his head grimly. “One way or the other, I’ll find out.” He paused, looking at his son lounging on the bed. “In the meantime, I wouldn't get too comfortable sitting there." He turned and walked out the door.

Three hours later, Little Joe sat in the high backed chair in front of the desk in the study. He nervously chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for his father to come back inside. To say he was afraid was an understatement. The anger that he had expressed earlier had gradually been replaced with dread. Although he still was upset with the way his family was handling the Eli Waldoch situation, his immediate concern was survival. The Tub of Guts had been a welcome diversion from his problems at school and he hoped his new friendship with Steve Garner and his pals would continue. Not that Pa would approve of the friendship of course, but a kid had to keep some secrets, didn't he? The front door opened and closed loudly and Joe sat a little straighter in his chair. He looked up at saw the anger in his Pa's smoldering eyes. Joe swallowed hard to keep the lump in his throat from continuing upward. With a sinking feeling, he knew no amount of wheedling or charm was going to get him out of this one.

Ben stopped in front of his desk and leaned his backside against the edge. He crossed his arms across his broad chest and glared down at his son. Little Joe stared at the floor, trying to avoid his father's gaze for as long as possible. After a moment, Ben cleared his throat.

Joe looked up, wincing when he saw just how angry his Pa was and the hickory switch in his hand.

"Adam and Hoss just came from the Tub O' Guts," he said sternly, watching as his youngest slid lower in the chair. "Look at me!" he snapped.

"Now I'd like some questions answered and I expect the whole truth, understand?"

Little Joe took a deep breath, taking care to not look away from his Pa's eyes. "A few months."

Joe shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, a couple maybe. It depended on how tired I was."

Joe looked away, carefully choosing his words before responding. "Because you're wrong," he said softly.

Ben's lips tightened at the words. "Look at me and then repeat what you just said."

Joe turned back to his father and looked him in the eyes. "Because you're wrong," he said evenly.

"That's what I thought you said." Ben stood and walked away from the study, trying to gather his thoughts. A moment later, he returned to the desk and sat down behind it, placing the hickory switch on the right side of the desk. "So you think you are grown up enough to make decisions about your welfare, do you?"

"Joseph, you are thirteen years old. The age of majority in this territory is eighteen. Until that time, the law says you will follow my wishes or face the consequences. Do you understand?"

"One of the most important parts of growing up is learning how to make your own decisions. But the fact is you are much too young to be going to a saloon and drinking beer. You don't have to think I'm right, but I do expect you to respect my decision. Understood?"

Ben decided to ignore the tone. "Now, one more time I’m going to ask you who did you meet in the saloon?”

Joe leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. Something struck him as not right here. After all, his brothers had just been there and they probably found out all about Steve and the rest of his friends. But, maybe no one had wanted to talk. The type that frequented the lower class saloons on E street weren't too impressed by the Cartwright name so maybe his friends were safe.

Joe licked his lips, looking his Pa in the eyes. "Why didn't Adam and Hoss tell you?"

Ben glared at his young son. "I hope you understand what you're forcing me to do," he said, picking up the hickory switch that lay to the side of the desk.

Joe stood angrily and stepped up to the desk. "I'm not forcing you to do anything. But I’m not ratting out my friends to save my own hide. Adam and Hoss probably couldn't find out who they were and now you're trying to get it from me. And, " Joe pounded the desk for emphasis. "Since this is one of the few choices I have, I'm going to make the right one!"

Ben tapped the palm of his hand with the switch. “I guarantee twenty minutes from now, you’ll regret this,” he said calmly. He paused a minute, watching Joe look at the switch. “When Adam and Hoss turned fifteen, I decided they were a little to old to be spanked like children. So, I came up with something a little different.” He walked around the desk and grabbed Little Joe by the shoulder, forcing him to bend over the desktop. “Since you think you’re old enough to drink, I’m sure you’ll agree you’re old enough to be punished like a young man instead of a boy.”

Little Joe couldn’t control the yelp that escaped his lips when the first stripe was laid across his backside. The switch stung like nothing he’d ever felt before and a single tear slid down his cheek. After the fifth stripe, he wished he’d never heard of the Tub O’ Guts.

The sound of Hoss whistling as he passed Joe’s door on the way to breakfast woke the boy from a fitful sleep. He hadn’t even tried to sneak out into the barn last night because lying in bed was painful enough without adding the exertion of sneaking out a window. Joe lifted his face out of the pillow and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Mmmmfgh,” he groaned. Just that little bit of movement caused his backside to protest vehemently. “This is going to be a rough day,” he whispered.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he carefully scooted to the side of his bed and eased his way onto the floor. He paused, taking several deep, steadying breaths before he took his first cautious step. “Yep,” he said to himself, scrunching his face in discomfort. “This is gonna hurt a lot.” He took a second step towards the washbasin. “Oh, man I hope this is worth it.” A third step was a little better and Joe sighed in relief. “Wait’ll that old Lauretha Lewis gets her comeuppance, it’ll make this all worthwhile.” A fourth step and he was at the washbasin.

A wave of indigestion hit him and he had to close his eyes and grab hold of the washstand to fight it. It passed after a moment and he re-opened his eyes to an unpleasant sight. He scowled at his new haircut in the mirror and poured some warm water from the pitcher into the basin. As he splashed his face he pictured the aftermath of the egg prank and smiled. Then a frown creased his lips as the thought of the buggy ride to town intruded. “At least, I hope it’ll make it all worthwhile.”

Mrs. Lauretha Lewis pushed open the door to the Virginia City church and stepped inside. The singing was an indication that she was right on time, at least according to her schedule. She liked to make an entrance and her ensemble today was guaranteed to create an impression. She was tightly encased in a semi-sheer, yellow, gauze blouse that clung tightly to her every bulge and gave others a peep underneath into the veiled mystery of a heavy-duty corset. A burnt orange organza skirt with a flurry of out of control pleats that bust forth from her paunchy belly completed the outfit. She pinched her cheeks to add some color, then patted her limp and thinning locks, trying to coax the tortured strands into some vague resemblance of a style. Blissfully unaware of how she truly looked, she sashayed down the center aisle of the church, casting withering gazes on the other parishioners as she passed.

Elizabertha Less-Byan winked at her seductively from her perch to the left of the altar behind the organ. She continued to press the keys and then let her gaze slip past her lover to glance at the other parishioners, mentally making notes on whom she had heard gossip about the day before and whom she still needed to get details on. It was the way the two women kept some excitement in their lives, trying to cause trouble amongst the rest of the citizens of the mining town.

The final bars of "Ave Maria" filled the small church and the minister grinned broadly at the group. "Ah yes, a fine turn out!" he said and smiled towards the back of the church where Steve Garner and the rest of the wild bunch were.

Lauretha turned her nose up in disdain at the small group of men who had attended Sunday services for the last two weeks. She didn’t share the minister’s opinion that the men were a welcome addition to ‘her’ church.

Several rows behind Ms. Lewis, Little Joe’s forearms screamed in pain. The buggy ride to church had been horrible. He’d managed to hook one leg under his backside and sit on it for a part of the way, but it hadn’t helped much. Each bump in the road had caused him to topple to the side and Adam had yelled at him to sit right or else. The rest of the way, he’d put his hands under his hips and nonchalantly lifted his butt off the seat. Although this was somewhat successful, it wreaked havoc with the muscles in Joe’s arms. Those same arms now were a mass of knots from the trip. Joe now had his feet on the floor and his back braced against the back of the pew. It wasn’t doing much good, but he figured they wouldn’t be in church long anyway. Once the fumes hit, the church it was going to empty quickly. He chewed on his knuckle and watched nervously, as if the downward descent of the woman's behind was in slow motion. When in control of a plan he was usually cool and collected--but when he entrusted even a small part to others it made him nervous.

Ben looked to his right at Little Joe and frowned. He had been watching his youngest’s pain reducing measures since the boy had come down the stairs this morning. He’d been very surprised when Little Joe had made his way to the breakfast table and even more so when he drank a full glass of milk without any prompting. Ben hadn’t expected to see him until at least noon and then only long enough to do his chores then head back to his room. Although Ben understood the boy’s contortionist position, he didn’t approve of it in the presence of the Lord. He leaned over to the boy and whispered “Sit straight, Joseph.”

Joe jumped at the interruption of his thoughts and it caused his feet to slide out of their carefully braced position. He came down hard on his sore backside. “Mmfgh!” he muttered before he slid his hands under his hips and lifted the weight off his butt.

Ben opened his mouth to protest again, but decided against it. At least the boy is in church, he thought and returned his gaze to the front of the room.

Hoss and Adam had also been amused with the antics of their youngest brother on the way to Virginia City. The thought that a thirteen year old had ‘put one over on them’ for God knows how long stuck in their craw. Adam, seated on Little Joe’s right couldn’t refrain from a little brotherly teasing. He leaned over and whispered "Bench a little hard this morning, Joseph?'"

"Hmm?" Joe answered absently, not even paying attention to the ribbing. His gaze was riveted on the moving, burnt orange behind of Ms. Lewis.

She hefted her bulky frame into the front pew, indeed the only one she could fit into because it had no matching seat in front. She placed her reticule on the seat and smiled at the other occupant, Eli Waldoch. Grabbing the side of the pew for support, she slowly lowered her large behind to the corduroy cushion. The goose-down pillow had seen better days. Years of being squashed by a three hundred pound bible-thumper had taken its toll on the once fluffy cushion and it now more resembled a large rectangular pancake. But now, carefully interwoven between the feathers lay a deadly bomb ready to explode.

Lauretha's butt made contact with the cushion but she only noticed a very slight crunch. She pulled her striped fan from her reticule and began to wave it in front of her face to keep the always-threatening perspiration at bay. This habit also forced the burgeoning stench from the crushed, rotten eggs to overflow to the seat behind her.

The Devlins’ were the unfortunate occupants of the second pew. Mitch's hand immediately flew to his mouth as he fought the urge to gag. The sulphurous odor clung to his nostrils and he started to bolt. A firm hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to his seat.

"Sit!" George Devlin commanded as he tried to see through watering eyes. Hopes of the smell gradually dissipating stuck in his mind, but that hope was dashed when the obese woman shifted on the cushion and a new wave of stomach-turning stench rolled over the top of the pew.

"Good Lord in heaven!" Mr. Devlin groaned and covered his mouth. His stomach lurched and he ran for the exit, almost tripping over his escaping son in the process.

Lauretha turned and sniffed disapprovingly. "Ill-bred, lower class wretches'" she snorted. "I'd expect better manners." She smiled at Eli Waldoch, seated on her right and then turned to face the front of the church. Smiling at the minister, a wrinkle creased her brow when she realized the man was staring at her disapprovingly. She straightened her back and thrust her chin in the air haughtily.

Mrs. Devlin and her children had struggled to control themselves in the face of Ms. Lewis' nasty words and even nastier odor. When the petite woman felt her stomach turn over she knew she'd had enough. She grabbed her daughter's hand and stood. "We're leaving," she whispered and pulled the girl along. Seeing their mother and sister depart and deciding they had no desire to face the fumes themselves, Mitch’s older brothers beat a hasty retreat behind them.

All the movement had the unfortunate effect of fanning the noxious fumes in a circular pattern and sending it swirling throughout the small church.

When it reached the pew where he was sitting, Little Joe instantly regretted the joke. The condition of his stomach was questionable anyway and when the rancid odor descended upon him the acid storms began anew. With one hand over his mouth and the other on his stomach he pushed past Ben and ran for the back door, his father following shortly after.

This was a scene that was repeated many times in the church as the sickening stench extended to the rafters. Soon the only occupants were Steve Garner and his gang, the preacher and Mrs. Lewis.

The preacher's stomach rolled and he couldn't fight it anymore--he had to leave. He glared pointedly down at Ms. Lewis. "Perhaps next week you can manage to avoid this unladylike behavior during Sunday services!" He clapped his hand over his mouth and ran down the aisle.

Realization dawned that she was being blamed for the stench. Lauretha stood and stared after the minister. "Well! I never!" she screamed, then her eyes took in the group of young men who were sitting in the last pew. Each had their index and forefinger pinched tightly over their noses and were smiling broadly. "Well! I never!" she repeated, louder this time.

"That's what you say, but that ain't what I smell!" Steve said loudly and gestured to his friends to get up. "C'mon guys, maybe the ladies down at the Tub O' Guts ain't got religion, but at least they don't smell like shit!"

The fire that had been sustaining Little Joe over the past few weeks abruptly fled with the end of his saloon trips. Although he continued to argue with Eli at school and take the brunt of his abuse, when he was home he didn’t have the strength to put on his customary show of everything being all right for his family. Instead, he rarely spoke, rarely ate and didn’t argue at all when provoked. He just did what he was told and then went to his bedroom. The Cartwrights’ became very busy once again with ranch business. An unusual warm spell caused snow to melt in the mountains and some flooding in the lower pasturelands of the Ponderosa. Unfortunately, these fields were the winter pasture for several herds of cattle. Although only twenty head were lost, all the herds on the lower-lying pastures had to be relocated to higher ground.

“I’m sure glad to be back home,” Adam said taking a moment to savor the full stomach that was the aftermath of Hop Sing’s delicious breakfast.

"I know what you mean, son,” Ben agreed, leaning back in his chair. “If I don’t see another of those stubborn Texas longhorns until spring…”

"Hard to round up?” Ben questioned. “I thought I’d never get my rope around that black one. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the need to lasso a steer.”

“Well, I’m sure we couldn’t have foreseen anything like this when we let most of the hands go,” Adam said, stating the obvious. “It took all three of us to round them up.”

"You know it’s funny, but Little Joe never even asked to go with," Ben said as he took a sip from his cup. "I was sure I was going to have to lay down the law on this, but he never even tried. I get the feeling that he’s just given up and is shutting us out of his life."

"Pa, I admit we've been busier than usual this year, but a ranch life is hard work and Little Joe understands that. "

"That's just it Adam. Is the ranch taking up too much of my time to properly look after my youngest son? I always told myself that you boys come first and I don't know if that's happening right now."

Adam patted his father on the arm. "Little Joe knows that we're busy, Pa. He always has."

"I know," Ben nodded. "I've always thought that Joe has had it the easiest out of you three boys. We've always been settled here, not traveling around the country like when you and Hoss were young." He paused, as he thought of Little Joe and his mischievous smile, a smile that had been lacking in recent weeks. "But is it true? When Hoss and you were boys, I was always there. I tucked you in bed every night and took care of you.” He shook his head sadly. “With Joe it always seems like I'm just back from a trip or leaving again. Timber, cattle, mining, it’s always one thing or the other.”

Adam swirled the coffee around in his cup and thought for a moment. "With Hoss starting to take over some of the ranch business there will be more time at home for you--maybe that'll help." he said, not able to deny what his Pa had just said. He took a sip from the white china cup.

Little Joe sat on his bed, waiting for the rest of his family to go to bed. He yawned loudly and leaned back against the headboard, willing himself to stay awake. The cold night breeze washed across him from the open window on his left, causing him to shudder. “Damn, it’s cold tonight,” he whispered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms trying to keep them warm. He would have liked to close the window, but the combination of cold and fresh air was what kept him awake long enough to sneak outside to sleep in the barn.

Joe and Seth saddled their horses after a long and hard day at school. The signs were becoming more and more evident every day that Slimy was losing his fragile grip on sanity.

“I’m telling you Joe, it’s just too risky,” Seth said as he threw the large leather saddle over the back of his bay mare. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Joe tightened the cinch on Cochise while he thought. “I know. But I don’t know what else to do. We need to figure out more about Slimy to know how to fight him.” He touched his right cheek gingerly; he could still feel the stinging slap his teacher had administered earlier in the day. Slimy was becoming bolder and bolder in his torment, and was starting to be a less concerned about leaving marks

Seth noticed Joe’s movements and winced in sympathy. “I never thought he’d slap you in the face like that."

“Me neither, but I tell you.” Joe pushed his curls off his forehead. “I’ll be looking for it the next time.” He grabbed Cochise’s reins and waited while Seth finished saddling his horse. “You know, since he doesn’t talk to his mother in school anymore, we don’t have any idea of what he’s thinking.”

Seth nodded. “I never thought I’d miss his ravings to that ghost, but it did give us some clues.”

“That’s why I think we have to go ahead with my plan. If that letter doesn’t come soon and if we don’t find out more about him we may end up with even bigger problems.”

Joe chewed on his lower lip and he contemplated what he thought Slimy was capable of. “What if he brought a gun to school? What would we do?”

Joe took a deep breath. “Yeah, and before this year we never thought a teacher would punch a kid in the stomach either, or smack me in the head with his cane, or hang me up by ….”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Seth said as he finished tightening the cinch on his saddle. He mounted slowly and waited while Joe did the same. “Do you think we can get away with this?”

Roy Coffee walked past the Livery stable on the way out of town, the early afternoon walk designed to fight the tired feeling he’d had all morning. He’d been in the post office when some schoolbooks Mr. Waldoch had ordered came in and he’d volunteered to deliver it. Law enforcement duties had been few and far between in the last month, the usual rash of childish pranks and jokes that usually arrived with the start of the school year hadn’t materialized. In fact, the sight of one of the schoolchildren in town was rare.

The red and white schoolhouse, built ¼ of a mile away from the town loomed in the distance and he picked up his pace slightly, wanting to see the happy faces of the children. In particular, Little Joe Cartwright, whose dancing green eyes and sassy mouth were always good for a laugh or a little nonsense to break up an otherwise dull day. Roy pulled his tan jacket a little tighter around his neck trying to prevent the chill from creeping into his bones.

When he was about a hundred yards away from the building, he heard the angry cries for help. Roy broke into a run, his thoughts whirling trying to gauge the direction the shouts were coming from. When he reached the school grounds, he followed the sound to the outhouse that sat on the outskirts of the open field. The small wooden building was painted bright white with a wooden roof and four small holes cut in the eaves to aid ventilation and allow light. The door, like the building itself was just a simple series of boards joined together at the top and bottom with a crossbeam. Roy skidded to a halt just outside the door and scratched his head at the sight. A thick rope was tied around the outhouse, keeping it’s occupant locked up inside. “Well, I was wondering when the pranks would start to happen,” he said with relief, knowing the tension had to building up and the kids would break loose sooner or later.

A slow smile caressed the man’s lips. “Yep, it’s Sheriff Coffee—is that you Mr. Waldoch?”

A string of expletives rebounded against the tiny walls of the outhouse, and then an answer to the Sheriff’s question. “Yes, it’s me. Would you kindly get me out of here?”

Roy fought to contain his laughter at the prank. This was the type of deviltry that he expected from the students. “I sure will, just give me a second.” He carefully untied the rope and let it drop to the ground, then pulled the door open.

Eli squinted his eyes at the bright light that assaulted him when he left the confines of the small outhouse. “Those damn brats…” he spouted, then clenched his fists to try and contain his anger. He knew an outburst in front of the sheriff would do him no good at this point. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “I mean…”

Roy chuckled and wrinkled his nose at the foul stench that emanated from the outhouse. “You can call them damn brats all you like, Mr. Waldoch. Probably wasn’t a treat spending any time at all in there,” he said, pushing the door shut with his boot.

“He, he,” Eli laughed tentatively. “You can say that again.” He rubbed his aching belly gently. I don’t know what happened to me. I usually don’t have stomach troubles, but this afternoon I just …”

Roy arched an eyebrow, wondering what additional mischief had gone on at the schoolhouse. Locking the teacher in the outhouse was one thing, but poisoning the man was another. “What say we head back up to the schoolhouse and find out just who is responsible for this?” he said gesturing up the small hill.

“An excellent idea, Sheriff Coffee,” Eli said with a smile. “I must admit this is the first time I’ve had any mischief to speak of in my classroom.”

The two men walked slowly to the classroom, enjoying the weather. As they neared the small schoolhouse, laughter could be heard from within.

Halfway across Virginia City, Little Joe pushed open the sash and climbed through the window at the Boardinghouse where Eli Waldoch lived.

The room was just as Joe remembered it from his last trip-- immaculate. The bed was neatly made, the hem of the bedspread exactly one inch from the floor, the pillows neatly fluffed and placed at the head of the bed, the pillow shams looked as if they'd been freshly ironed. Joe searched for the diary, careful not to disturb anything that would be noticed.

"Damn," Little Joe swore softly. "It has to be here." He looked over at the closet, remembering what he'd found in there before. He'd hoped to avoid it this time, but decided it was the only place that he hadn't looked. Taking a deep breath, he walked the seven steps tentatively, hoping the white woman's gown wouldn't be there. The door handle felt cool in his hand as he turned it and then opened the door. Off to the right side was the white silk gown, the one that put disturbing thoughts in his head, like what was a single man doing with a woman's nightgown. "Stop it," he admonished. "You've got bigger fish to fry.

He looked up at the shelf above the hanging clothes and smiled. There it was, the diary he'd been looking for. Stacked neatly beside it were rectangular boxes, neatly labeled Chess Match '54, Chess Match '53, and Chess Match '52. Curiosity got the better of him and he pulled the lid off the top box, marked Chess Match '55-Santa Fe, last year.

The box slid easily off the shelf and Joe pulled off the lid. He nearly dropped it when he saw what was inside. It had started as a photograph of a boy, now horribly disfigured by what looked like cuts from a knife. Joe picked up the photograph and turned it over. Neatly written on the back were the words Sam Caulfield-checkmate March 30, 1855. A shiver ran through his spine, realizing just how fare Slimey was prepared to go.

Carefully he returned the photograph to the box, returning it to the shelf and grabbing the diary. He sat down on the floor, and flipped through the book until he got to the bookmark.

A letter from my sister in Boston arrived today and it was very disturbing. Apparently Little Joe Cartwright sent a letter to the National School Board, questioning my past performance as a teacher. Luckily, Renee was able to retrieve it from the mail before it was delivered. I'm so lucky that my sister is the maid at the post office; otherwise this match would be over.

Ah, the match. It is going well, but not as well as I'd have liked. For the first time, my divide and conquer strategy hasn't worked, so I've been forced to improvise. It has been challenging, but it won't be long now. I've gained new insight from an unexpected source, some new friends. Unexpected, to say the least. Elizabertha and Lauretha have cued me in on a few of my chosen pupil's habits and tendencies. It has made a big difference in how I'm going to finish the match and I'm very grateful. However, the closeness of a woman, even as unattractive as these two has led me to other problems. My mother's dressing gown beckons me nightly and I don't know how much longer I can resist the urge to pleasure myself. The saloons with their painted women have become very enticing, and I don't know how much longer I can hold out. Even though the whores in this mining town are cheap looking and overly painted, they can still set my loins on fire. I must end this match, and soon.

I haven't heard from my mother in over a week. Can her threat to leave have been real? Will she ever come back? Have I disappointed her so much that she would never speak to me again? My final thought--will I miss her?

Joe flipped ahead a few pages, hoping for more insight, but there was none. The remaining pages were blank. "So my letter never arrived," Joe whispered. "Shit! Now what am I going to do?" He closed the diary and carefully returned the book to the shelf.

He walked to the window and looked toward the business district of town. The telegraph lines, suspended high above town swayed in the wind. "My only hope," he whispered. He grabbed a piece of paper and hastily scribbled his message. With one last glance around the room, he tucked the paper in his pocket and climbed out the window.

Ten minutes later, Joe crept warily up to the schoolhouse, and peeked into the window. The sight of Sheriff Coffee standing next to Slimey sent of shiver up the boy's spine. This isn't going to be good. Joe took a deep breath and summoned his nerve. He walked to the door of the classroom and pushed open the door, ready to face the music.

"Just where in the hell do you think you've been boy!" Roy yelled as he stalked down the aisle and grabbed Joe by the upper arm. He dragged him up the aisle and pushed him against the blackboard. "I want an explanation and I want one now."

Joe flinched and his legs turned to jelly. The Sheriff had always been a strong presence in Joe's life, and had been a friend of his father even before he was born. He’d seen the sheriff upset, angry, and even furious but his expression today topped the list.

When Roy saw the fear in Joe's eyes he softened. He'd watched the boy grow up and had no real desire to scare him that badly-but a little fear did have a benefit now and them. "Sit your butt down and don't move," Roy declared and pointed to a desk.

“I’d like to know who is responsible for this,” Roy said, slowly walking down the aisle toward the door.

Roy turned and walked back to the desk at the front of the room. “I’m waiting.” He stood at the front of the classroom, staring at the children sitting in their desks. All of them had suddenly found their desktops very interesting.

“Look at me!” Roy barked, but fought a slight smile at the way the kids jumped in their seats. All eyes were on him. “Who did this?”

“Sheriff Coffee?” Eli said tentatively. “I’d really like to handle this on my own, if that is alright with you.”

Roy turned and looked at the teacher, who didn’t look capable of handling anything. “You sure, Mr. Waldoch? You look a little pale and shaky to me.”

Eli smiled, and wiped a shaking hand across his sweaty forehead. “I’m sure I’ll be okay.” He shook his head. “It’s strange, I’m rarely ill.”

Eli shook his head. “No, no. All I’ve had today is a glass of water like I do every morning. Nothing unusual.”

Sheriff Coffee walked over to the desk and picked up a glass. “From this glass?”

“If you’ll pardon my bad manners, teacher.” Roy swirls the glass around and looked at the bottom. “It looks like you got a little grit or something in the bottom.” He stuck his finger into the grit and brought a tiny sample of it to his lips. He turned and looked at the teacher. “You drank a whole glass of this?”

“Yes.” Eli shuddered. “It’s not.” He closed his eyes and paused a moment. “Poison?”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine. But, I'd say somebody here set out to send you to that outhouse—and I know exactly who it is.” Roy walked down the aisle to Little Joe’s seat. “This is Hop Sing’s special pipe cleaning mixture, isn’t it?”

Coffee grabbed Joe by the upper arm and hauled him out of his seat. “I asked you a question, boy!”

“Ah, I see,” Eli said, grimly. “I’ll take care of it, Sheriff.” His stomach turned, and he swallowed hard. “But since I seem to be destined to have an unpleasant afternoon, I believe I’ll let the children go for the day.”

Roy nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.” He glared down at Joe. “But I’d be more than willing to march this boy right home to his Pa and tell him exactly…”

Roy glared down at Little Joe. “If you were my boy, “ He grabbed him by the upper arm and turned him around, delivering a hard swat to the seat of Little Joe’s pants. “You wouldn’t sit down for a week.” Roy turned and looked up at the teacher. “But I’ll let you handle it.”

Eli Waldoch watched the Sheriff leave the schoolhouse, then went to the window to watch him walk back toward town. When he was a good half of a mile away from the school, he turned to the students.

“You may go.” He glared at Little Joe. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” he said icily and left the schoolhouse.

Before heading for the Ponderosa, Joe snuck into town to find some help. He caught up with Steve Garner just before he went into a saloon.

“Joe!” Steve called as he saw the boy down the street. “I didn’t think I’d see you again for a month of Sundays.”

Joe smiled, thinking about last Sunday. “Well, after that little problem in church last week, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about seeing you in church.

Steve chuckled, remembering the horrified look on Ms. Lewis’ face. “That was a terrible thing she did, and in church? Tsk, tsk. Where are her manners?”

Steve leaned in close to his friend. "By the way, I appreciate you not telling you Pa about me and the boys," Steve said, leaning against the sidewall of the tub of Guts. "I don't know if I'd have had the nerve to stand up to your Pa like you did."

Joe grinned wryly. "Believe me, standing up was all I was able to do afterwards."

"I need you to ride to Carson City and send a wire for me," Joe said, looking up into Steve’s eyes.

Steve looked at him quizzically. "Carson City? Why can't we just send it from here?"

Joe chewed on his lower lip a moment, deciding on how to phrase his answer. "Because if I send it from here, they'll tell my Pa," he said softly.

Steve nodded and hooked his thumbs into his pockets. "Sure thing. Just tell me who to send it to and what you want to say."

Joe pulled a folded slip of paper from his back pocket. "Here it is, but you can't look at it."

"Because it's private. I put who it goes to on the inside of the paper and all the details for the telegraph operator." He handed the paper and some money to Steve. "Can you do it today?"

Steve yawned, scratching his ribs. "Well, with my busy schedule...” When he saw the concerned look on his young friend's face, he stopped teasing. "I sure can, Joe. Do I need to wait there for an answer?"

Joe shook his head. "No, if I'm right, the response will come here." He took a deep breath, "I really appreciate this."

Steve tucked the paper in his pocket and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it right away. Might be a few days before you get a response though. I heard they were having some problems with the telegraph lines around here..”

“With my luck, I’m sure they are,” Joe said grimly. He looked around cautiously; hoping none of his Pa’s friends had seen him. “I’d better be getting on home.”

Joe sat cross-legged on his bed and stared at the four walls that had become his prison. Slimey’s payback for the outhouse ordeal had been brutal. Eli had started screaming at them as soon as they walked into the school. He’d intentionally picked Molly Washburn, Joe’s friend with the withered leg, screaming obscenities at her and calling her a worthless cripple. He’d tried to intervene but Slimey had just ignored him. Then the teacher had proceeded on to the other students, picking on them one by one as they cowered in their seats. Joe had done everything he could to try and divert Slimey’s attention from his friends but it hadn’t worked until Joe had finally threw a glass of water in his face. Then Slimey had finally left the other students alone.

Joe pushed his curls off his forehead and climbed off the bed. He walked over to the door and locked it, then walked over to the washbasin. He unbuttoned his shirt and slid the white cotton fabric off his sinewy arms and let it drop to the floor. Joe grimaced when he caught sight of his reflection in the cheval mirror. His breastbone was one large bruise in a half-moon shape, exactly the size of the heel of Slimey's hand. His right arm also carried the imprint of his teacher but on the lightly muscled bicep the bruise more resembled a claw where Slimy had grabbed and squeezed tightly the day before. “ Joe leaned closer to the mirror and took a look at his face, the dark circles under his eyes very prominent today. "What am I going to do?" he whispered. "I can't take much more of this." His breath caught in his throat, as a sob threatened to escape. "I don't even have the energy to cry," he said sadly and walked to the bed. It looked so comfortable, and it was for the first ten minutes of sleep. But when the nightmares intruded, it became a black pit of despair threatening to never let him escape.

Joe fought the tiredness, the weariness that had become so much a part of his life. He could hide it for short periods of time; breakfast, school for a while, and supper but when he was alone it was all he could do to stay awake.

A knock on his door drew his attention and he hurriedly retrieved his shirt and slipped it on. "Who is it?" he called as he forced the buttons through the holes.

"It's me, Joseph," Ben answered softly as he jiggled the door handle, dismayed to find it locked. His youngest son had become a ghost in the house in a matter of a month and Ben felt he was failing as a father.

"I'm coming, Pa," Joe called as he hastily tucked his shirttail into his pants. He splashed a little cold water on his face to and hurried over to the door. The metallic clang as he slid the deadbolt back beckoned Ben Cartwright to enter.

Ben pushed open the heavy pine door and walked in, smiling when he saw Little Joe waiting patiently for him to enter. Although Ben had seen his youngest boy only hours ago at supper, the dark shadows in the room made Joe seem even more exhausted if possible. "Time for bed, son," he said softly as he walked over to the walnut dresser in the corner. He pulled open the top drawer and grabbed a blue and white striped nightshirt from the corner. "Why don't you get undressed and hop into bed. I want to talk to you."

Joe was instantly wary and his eyes darted nervously. "Did I do something wrong?" Slimey had said he would handle the punishment on his own, so they couldn’t have known about the outhouse. He mentally catalogued the events of the day, certain he had done all his chores, hadn't talked back to Adam, hadn't .... He chewed on his lower lip and looked up at his father, half expecting Pa to strike out without warning like Slimy did all too frequently.

The fear that glittered in his youngest's eyes caused Ben to pause. He put his arm around Joe, shocked when the boy flinched. Creases of worry lined his forehead, and he spoke softly, cautiously as if to a wild animal. "Of course not, why would you think that?"

Joe tried to pull away, but Ben pulled the boy into a hug. "Joseph, what is the matter?" he asked as he caressed the curls straggling down his son's slender neck.

Joe stiffened as the hug put pressure on his sore chest. He took a shallow breath, willing the tears not to come. He drew in several deep ragged breaths, his shoulders heaving as he fought the urgent need to tell his Pa exactly what was wrong. The tears came slowly, haltingly but they came. The sobs followed, and Joe did what he wanted to do for the past three weeks--he cried. He cried for himself, the daily torture he had to face and he cried for his friends who had to endure the whims of a madman.

Ben hugged the boy even tighter and rocked him gently as he cried, hoping the answer to the mystery was close at hand. Joe couldn’t hold this much inside and not have it affect him as it had. Whatever was going on had to come out.

When Little Joe’s tears slowed he started to feel ashamed. He was almost fourteen years old and crying like a baby. But he had to tell someone, he had to. Joe pulled away slightly and pulled his sleeve across his eyes, drying the tears that still clung to his long lashes.

Ben placed his index finger under Little Joe’s chin and tilted his head upward. “Do you want to talk about it son?”

Joe looked into his father’s kind brown eyes, and wanted to tell all. He wanted to put all his problems with Slimy on his Pa’s shoulders and let him handle it. He opened his mouth to speak when a thread from a previous conversation crossed his mind. “You’ve always had a wild imagination.” Little Joe turned away and studied the far wall. He shook his head.

“Joseph?” Ben had watched the play of emotions that flitted across Joe's face. One moment he was ready to reveal all, Ben sensed but the next second the familiar guarded expression was back in Little Joe's green eyes.

“No, Pa. I don’t want to talk about it.” Little Joe took a deep shuddering breath, trying to gain control of his conflicting emotions. The child in him wanted to do one thing, while the burgeoning adolescent wanted to handle it himself. But he still couldn't tell Pa what was wrong. The last time he had tried and the rebuff he had received was still too fresh in his mind--Joe wouldn't chance it again.

Later that evening, Ben was jerked awakened by Cochise's frantic whinny. "Horse thieves!" he muttered. He threw back the heavy wool blankets and got out of bed, quickly pulling on his pants and boots. Silently pushing open the door he peered out into the hallway and almost bumped heads with his oldest son.

Adam snickered. "I scared you? I was just ready to push on your door when it opened."

Cochise's whinny pierced the night air once more and both men looked at each other.

"I hope not. They'd have to either really brave or really stupid to try and steal the horses out of the barn when we have a pasture full down by the creek. You never know though. Did you wake Hoss?" Ben asked.

Adam nodded. "He's putting his pants on right now." He glanced down the hall toward his youngest brother's room. "I’m not waking up Joe. No sense him getting caught up in a situation that could turn out to be dangerous."

"I agree." Ben smiled in the darkness when he saw the large form of his middle son enter the dimly lit hallway. "Let's grab our guns and head out to the barn then."

Cochise gently, then forcefully nudged her boy with her soft pink nose, trying in vain to wake the child. Joe thrashed wildly back and forth on the small pile of hay, his flannel nightshirt little protection against the cold Sierra nights.

The barn door was suddenly thrust open and the sound of pistols cocking caused Cochise to glance toward the door. If a horse's face could show human expression, the features on the black and white pinto's face would be one of relief. She whinnied to draw attention to her stall and was gratified when the men started toward her.

"Please, no!" Little Joe moaned as he fought the demon that called himself Eli Waldoch. "Just let them alone," he whispered as he whipped his head from side to side on the hay. His boots kicked the side of the stall, trying in vain to escape the icy cold fingers of fear.

When he heard the sound of Joe's voice, Ben ran to the end of the barn where the pinto pony was kept. When he finally reached it he looked down he saw his beloved youngest son, once again in the grips of a terrifying nightmare. Quickly holstering his gun, he knelt down next to Joe and shook him. "Joseph, wake up son. It's all a dream," he said softly.

It was as if Joe hadn't heard the comforting words of his father. He struck out with his boot, connecting hard with the side of the stall, sending shock waves up his healing leg. The pain jolted him slightly, enough to pierce the outer edges of the dream and start him spiraling back toward consciousness.

"Joseph," Ben tried again, patting the boy's cold cheeks trying to bring him out of the nightmare.

Joe pulled away, certain the person who was slapping him was Eli. "No! Just let us alone!"

Ben grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him gently, trying another method to shake the dream. When that didn't work, he crouched down in the stall and cradled Joe's head against his broad chest. He felt Little Joe stiffen at his touch and the boy tried to pull away. Ben just pulled him closer and firmly wrapped him in a gentle hug. Slowly Ben felt Little Joe start to relax in his arms.

Little Joe grinned sheepishly trying to control the chattering of his teeth. "Sorry I woke you up," he said as he wrapped his arms around his chest to try and quiet the bone-shaking chills. " Why don't you go back to the house?" Little Joe suggested. “I’ll come in a little later.”

Ben picked him up, cradling him in his arms. “I think we’ll all go in the house and have a little talk.”

Ben shook his head firmly. “We’ll discuss it in the house, Joseph,” he said as he walked to the barn door.

Adam opened the door, allowing his Pa and brothers to precede him. The four walked to the house and into the great room where Ben set his youngest down on the settee. Adam grabbed an afghan and wrapped it around Little Joe's shivering shoulders and then sat down beside him. Hoss sat on the other side and Ben took a seat on the pine coffee table across from his Little Joe.

Ben took the boy's hands in his and rubbed them gently to warm them. "Son, how long have you been sleeping in the barn?"

"Son, I asked you a question," Ben said softly, but with steel behind the words.

Joe squirmed on the couch, not wanting to admit the truth. He looked over at Adam and saw only concern in the dark eyes, not the annoyance he was sure would be written there. He returned his gaze to his lap. "A few weeks," he murmured. Joe looked up into is father's eyes and pleaded his case. "I knew you were all tired of waking up with me, and it was affecting the ranch. I did what I could to help."

Adam and Hoss' eyes met over Joe's head and guilt bloomed in their souls. Little Joe had been going through a terrible time and they were sleeping like babies.

Ben was more concerned with the problem at hand. Little Joe had to open up and share what was torturing him or the nightmares would only get worse. The hard part was convincing his obstinate youngest child of that fact. "Son, we're going to get to the bottom of this right now. What is going on in that head of yours?"

Little Joe shrugged, unwilling or unable to divulge the truth. "Nothing, just leave me alone. I'll be fine," he said pulling his hands away from his Pa's comforting touch.

Ben's eyes darkened, but his tone remained soft. "Joe--you are not fine, and obviously leaving you alone has not worked if you've been sleeping in the barn for weeks. What is wrong?"

Joe folded his hands and clasped them tightly together, his fingernails digging into the back of his hands. Maybe the pain would get his mind off this conversation and they would leave him alone. He closed his eyes, trying to avoid his concerned family members. The images of the nightmare returned and he gasped and quickly reopened his eyes. Joe stared at his hands, unwilling to look into his father's worried face.

Ben followed the boy's gaze, and saw that Little Joe's hands were clutching each other so tightly that the knuckles were turning white. He looked worriedly over to his oldest son and met Adam's eyes.

Hoss watched his younger brother as the boy tried to mentally escape from the room. He decided that a quick change of subject might knock Little Joe off guard and they would eventually get the details of the nightmare from the child. "Say, boy how did you get outside without the rest of us hearing?"

Joe quickly looked up into his older brother's kind face, but then frowned, dismayed that his customary quick thinking had deserted him in the middle of the night. He slowly scanned the faces of his Pa and Adam before answering. "The window," Joe replied softly, too tired to come up with a better answer. When he saw both Hoss and Adam ready to dispute his words, he continued with a small smile. "Oh, I know all about the bells you've got rigged up on your windows. That's why I had to go out...." Joe looked over at his father once more and finished in a barely audible voice. "Pa's window."

Adam and Hoss' jaws dropped, but Ben chose to ignore his son’s last statement. "We'll handle that in time," he said, shaking his head decisively at his older sons. "I want to hear about your nightmares, son," he questioned and again took his youngest son's hands in his.

Little Joe squirmed and chewed on his lower lip. He hated being put on the spot and disliked talking about the inner workings of his mind. "I can't talk about it Pa... I just can't."

Ben studied his son on the couch before him, the haunted eyes desperately shifting right and left. He could tell Little Joe was trying to retreat from a difficult situation. "Son, you have to tell me what is going on."

A single tear stole down Little Joe’s pale cheek and he shook his head vehemently. I can't tell. I can't tell. I won't break my promise to the others.

Noting Joe's emotional distress, Hoss wrapped a big arm around his brother and pulled him in close. "You can tell old' Hoss, can't you punkin?"

The warmth of Hoss' embrace combined with the afghan helped Joe’s teeth stop chattering, but didn't weaken his resolve. I'll handle this like an adult. "Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine."

Little Joe raised tired eyes to his father's, hoping the battle would end soon. The nightmare had left him frightened and distraught and the interrogation by his family was only making matters worse. It wouldn't be long before he would crack, and he didn't know what the outcome would be.

Adam sensed his baby brother was at the end of his emotional rope. While Pa and Hoss continued to question the boy, he slipped away to the kitchen unnoticed.

"The only way these nightmares are going to stop is if you tell us what is happening," Ben said softly as if talking to a wild animal, which was what his youngest son most resembled at the moment. "We need to get to the bottom of the problem and come up with an answer. Then all this trouble will go away and you can rest."

Joe pulled away from Hoss' comforting embrace and glared at his father. "No!" he croaked. "I'm not going to talk about it! I don't want to and I'm not going to!" Joe looked down at his hands, annoyed because they were shaking so badly, but continued his outburst. "I said I will handle it and I will. I'll..." Joe started to rise.

"Joseph, calm down," Ben said sternly and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, reseating him on the settee.

"Pa," Adam said from his newly arrived place behind the settee, a glass of milk laced with a sedative in his hand. "This isn't going anywhere. Maybe tomorrow morning would be better?" he said, knowing his little brother was wound tight and could explode at any moment.

Ben smiled at his oldest son, who was always levelheaded. Adam is right, this is getting us nowhere. He looked at Little Joe, shivering on the sofa . His failed attempt to get the truth out of the boy had done nothing but make him retreat further. "C'mon Little Joe, why don't you drink this and then let's get you up to bed," he said softly as he accepted the milk from Adam.

"I-I-I-I'm fine..." Little Joe said softly, staring at his shaking hands. "And I don't want to go to bed."

"I'm sorry, son. But there is no choice in the matter," Ben said as he gently forced the drink into Joe's hands. "You are going to drink this and go upstairs to bed."

A single tear slid down Little Joe's cheek as he looked up into his Pa's eyes. "Pa …"

Ben scooted over to the couch and put his arm around his youngest son, helping him bring the glass to his lips. "There now precious," he said as Joe took the first swallow. "That's not so bad, is it?"

The first gulp of milk calmed the acid storm in Little Joe's stomach enough for him to concentrate on the moment. "Pa, please can I …"

"No, Joseph. There will be no questions right now, you will finish your milk and then we'll sit here a while, just you and I," Ben said as he cocked his head toward the stairs indicating to Hoss and Adam they were to go to bed.

Hoss opened his mouth to protest, but Adam shook his head quickly to force him into silence. Adam ruffled Little Joe's hair before heading upstairs.

Hoss patted his little brother on the shoulder and offered a quick "Night Punkin." And followed Adam up the stairs.

Little Joe took another gulp of the milk and tried to set it down, but Ben stopped him before the glass made it to the coffee table. "I said all, precious," Ben said as he steered the sedative-laced milk back to the boy's lips and forced him to take another drink.

Joe tried to push the glass away, but Ben was just too strong. ""I don't want …"

Ben pulled him in closer and forced the last of the milk down his throat. Joe coughed and gagged, but swallowed the liquid. Setting the empty glass on the table, Ben pulled Little Joe's curly head into his throat and pulled the afghan up higher on the boy's slim frame. "We'll just sit here a little bit and catch our breath, then we'll head upstairs," he said as he gently patted Joe's leg."

Joe took a deep breath and accepted the calming feeling the sedative had on him. He knew what was in the milk and that was why he hadn't wanted to drink it. Once the liquid was forced on him and he knew there was no choice, Joe reluctantly accepted drugged sleep.

Ben nodded. "The even worse news is the Paul is in Carson City and won't be home until tomorrow night," Ben said, taking a sip of his steaming coffee.

"So what are we going to do today? Are you going to let him go to school?" Adam asked.

"What about tonight?" Adam said, tracing the rim of his cup with his finger. " You have that Cattleman's Association meeting and I won't be back from the Placerville until at least 9:00."

"And I promised Sam Flanagan that Hoss would help him out today." Ben tapped his fingers on the table. "I suppose there isn't anything to be done about it." Ben smiled. "Joe will probably be relieved that he doesn't have to face any of us tonight."

"I am going to have Hoss ride with him to school today and then he can leave a note for Paul to come to dinner tomorrow night. I think I'll invite Roy, too. Then it wont look so obvious."

The students cowered in the corner as Slimey went on with his afternoon tirade. One of the students, Molly Washburn had watched Joe take beating after beating in the past few months. She felt a flicker of guilt win out over the fear that dominated every fiber of her being. The other boys, all of them older and taller than Little Joe hadn't done anything to help him. Even Mitch and Seth, who were Joe's closest friends hadn’t been able to summon the courage to stand up to their teacher.

“Like what?” Seth hissed as he looked at the clock. “It’s almost time to go home anyway.”

Slimey looked over in the corner and all thoughts of conversation between the students stopped. He glared at them and then returned to his victim.

"Listen you little brat," Waldoch said ferociously, his eyes narrowing into slits. "When I talk, you will listen. I don't care if you are a Cartwright and your Pa has is one of the richest men in the territory. I will not be ignored!" He yanked the boy to his feet, and smashed the heel of his hand into Little Joe's sternum, an evil smile flitting across his lips when he heard a crack.

Little Joe fought the clouds of gray that swirled before his eyes, sheer will power forcing him to stay conscious. Slimy would not see him pass out. He would not win this way. The pain was excruciating, radiating out from his breastbone into his ribs, great spasms of fire that threatened to engulf him at any moment. The clouds threatened again, and Little Joe drew in a small breath and tried to double over, but Eli held him firm.

Eli shook the boy sharply. "Trying to weasel away from me boy? You know what I do to weasels?" He drew his hand back again, ready to inflict more punishment on the youngster.

Little Joe bit his lips to prevent any outcry of pain, but he couldn't control the agony that danced in his eyes.

Eli recognized the anguish in his foe's eyes and smiled. The match is drawing to a close. So much the better, I've tired of this little town anyway. He didn’t bother to wait for a response from his victim but thrust his hand forward again, connecting squarely with the center of the boy's chest, then released his hold.

Joe crumpled to the ground in a heap and wrapped his trembling arms around his chest.

Eli's parting shot was a kick to Joe's sore leg and then he grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

Little Joe had suffered through broken ribs before, and successfully hid them a couple of times—but this time the pain was different-more intense. When the other students came over to talk to him, he couldn’t even speak—just motioned them away. They gradually left, except for Molly.

Molly eased herself down beside her friend. “Little Joe, what can I do to help?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Joe said through gritted teeth. He took a few shallow breaths and managed to roll over onto his back. “I’ll be fine,” he gasped.

“No, you won’t,” Molly said when she saw her friend’s condition. “Seth and Mitch are saddling your horse, but I’m going to send them for Doctor Martin.”

Molly thrust out her lower lip. “No, you’re not. He hit you so hard he must have broken something in your chest. I could hear the crack all the way in the corner.”

Joe leaned up on his elbows. “I know you’re just trying to help, Molly. But I’ll be okay, really.” He gave her one of the famous Little Joe Cartwright grins. “I know what I’m doing.”

Molly, unlike most girls wasn’t fooled by the grin, but she did start to give in. “I’m not sure.”

Joe sat up, patted her on the shoulder. “But I am. Don’t worry.” He waited a moment while his head cleared and then stood up. “Everything will be over soon. Trust me.” He extended his hand and helped her up.

Molly smiled. “I trust you, Little Joe, but I’m still afraid of Mr. Waldoch.”

After a very slow and painful ride home, Little Joe struggled into the house, grabbing some brandy from the liquor cabinet on the way up to his room. As soon as he entered his room he locked the door. He leaned against the door and took several swallows quickly, hoping to numb the pain as soon as possible. He clenched his jaw and slid down the frame as the pain overtook him.

Hours later, Little Joe cradled the bottle of brandy against his chest as he fought the searing pain. Each breath was torture and although the alcohol dimmed it enough for him to function, Joe knew without the haze-inducing pain reliever he'd be unable to put up any kind of front for his family. Luckily, Pa was at a Cattleman's Association meeting and Hoss and Adam were gone for the evening. Even Hop Sing's increasingly louder mutterings hadn't convinced Little Joe to do anything more than mutter a hasty "I'm fine-just not hungry" through the closed door. Early on in the evening, he'd tried to lie down in bed, but the prone position just made the pain increase. So he sat in his mother's rocking chair, willing the pain to go away. Taking another gulp of the numbing brandy helped, but just to be safe he slid the bottle into the third drawer of his bureau and closed it tightly. Returning to the chair, he whispered aloud. "That telegram has to come tomorrow."

Adam walked slowly up the stairs as he unbuttoned his white shirt. The evening had been successful, he'd managed to talk Jeremy Windthorp into another five thousand board feet of lumber and he was tired. That was the reason he'd beaten Pa and Hoss home on a Thursday night. The Cartwright's didn't usually conduct business in the evenings when there was a full day of work in the morning, but tonight had been an exception.

Adam turned the handle of Little Joe’s door and was surprised find it locked. A half-smile creased his lips as he reached on top of the doorframe and felt for the key. He poked his head into Little Joe's room to make sure nothing odd had happened in the absence of the rest of the family. What he found wasn't what he was expecting. Little Joe was in his white, cotton nightshirt asleep in the rocking chair by the window. The boy was shivering and his bare feet stuck out beneath the hem of the thin garment.

Adam shook his head and propped his hands on his hips. "Little brother, when will you ever learn?" He walked over to the bed and pulled down the covers then walked over to the chair. Gently picking up the sleeping form of his baby brother he cradled the boy close to his chest and carried him over to the bed, easing him onto the mattress. He pulled the covers up to Joe's chest and listened to the raspy sound of the boy's breathing. "Sounds like you're getting another cold there, buddy," Adam said softly. He began unbuttoning Joe's nightshirt, but the movement had woken the boy who quickly put his hands over his brother's to stop him.

"Hi," Joe said raspily, his tight grip preventing Adam from proceeding with the buttons. "What are you doing?"

Adam smiled and pulled his hands away. He tenderly brushed a curl off his brother's forehead. "I didn't mean to wake you--but you sound like you're having a hard time breathing. I was just going to unbutton your nightshirt and listen to your chest," he said softly.

Little Joe coughed, hiding his face in the crook of his arm as he did so. "No, that's okay. I'm fine." He shifted on the bed and winced.

Adam's eyes clouded and he looked down at Little Joe's leg. "Leg bothering you?"

"Let me just take a look then," Adam said decisively as he started to draw back the blanket. Joe's hand stopped him.

Adam picked up Little Joe's hand and placed it on the mattress. He skewered the boy with a stare, daring him to talk back. "I said I'm going to take a look."

Thrusting out his lower lip, Joe gingerly wrapped his arms around his chest. To Adam, it was a show of defiance. To Joe, it was a pain reducing measure.

"Joe.." Adam warned as he pulled the blankets down past the boy's thighs. He lifted the white cotton nightshirt and looked at the healing leg. For the most part, it looked good. The stitches had done a good job of holding the edges of the wound together as it healed, and there was no sign of swelling or infection. But a large red mark covered the top of Joe's thigh. "What happened here?" Adam asked gently, knowing the wrong tone at this point would cause Little Joe to clam up completely.

Joe moved his leg experimentally. It did hurt, but not to the depth of his chest. "It's nothing."

Adam pressed gently on the red mark, drawing a groan from his youngest brother. "Doesn't look like nothing to me. In fact, it looks pretty sore. How'd it happen?"

Joe shrugged and looked away. "Just a little scuffle today, and I kind of ended up on the bottom." At least I'm not lying.

Adam rolled his eyes at Joe's antics. "You shouldn't be involved in any scuffle at all. What were you thinking?" Adam pressed on the fringes of the mark again, trying to determine if the red mark would turn into a bruise. "Tell you what, little buddy. I'll go down and get an ice pack to put on it. Should take some of the sting out of it anyway."

Adam shook his head and grinned. "No. Not if you promise to take it easy tomorrow."

"Okay, then." Adam stood up and stretched. "I'll be back soon, why don't you try and get some sleep?"

"I won't," Adam said softly and turned to the door. I won't have to. Doc Martin'll be out here tomorrow night and he never misses anything.

It was after midnight that evening and Eli couldn't stand his empty room anymore--the desperation for sexual release caused him to take a chance. He had chosen the seediest saloon on E-Street, the Tub O’ Guts, where the whisky was cheap and the girls cheaper, hoping to avoid contact with any of his students' fathers' or older siblings. A schoolteacher in a saloon although perfectly acceptable back east was bound to draw some raised eyebrows in the relatively unsophisticated town of Virginia City. Especially with what he had in mind. He walked up to the fight-scarred bar and ordered a whisky. A portly bald bartender set a none-too-clean glass before him and sloppily poured the amber colored liquor into it. Eli downed it quickly and motioned for another, then another, then another. When a warm glow came over him, he ordered a beer to keep the buzz but not push him past an enjoyable state of inebriation to drunkenness. He caught a glimmer of white satin out of his right eye and turned quickly, hoping to see a girl he could ease his sexual frustration with. Disappointment registered on his features and his eyes clouded. A trick of his imagination. All the girls were dressed in bright colors, their once fine gowns now appearing dingy and gaudy after years of nightly use. I need a woman! But the woman had to have definite attributes in order to arouse the man, whose sexual identity was so warped that not just any female would do.

A sandy-haired woman walked up next to him and ordered a drink for the bartender. Eli looked her up and down, noticing the grime buildup on her neck from too little bathing. Her cobalt blue dress, fringed with feathers at the collar once might have been attractive but now the feathers were all wadded together and they hung in a matted jumble. But still, they were feathers, Eli thought as he remembered the white marabou that decorated his mother's dressing gown. Casually he touched the blue satin of her sleeve and felt a familiar stirring of arousal, an ache that he longed to release. The woman didn't turn at his touch, instead she continued talking to the bartender. Eli closed his eyes and slid his hand up the woman's sleeve, trying to imagine the woman of his dreams. As his imagination took over his conscious mind, his organ stiffened and his breathing increased. There she was, beautiful black hair trailing down her back, almond shaped eyes wanting him, needing him. Eli licked his lips in anticipation as his penis throbbed, aching to escape the tight black trousers that encased his sweaty thighs. His breath came in short pants as the fantasy continued toward climax.

Ethel Camerton thanked the bartender for the drinks and turned to the man next to her, who had been caressing her sleeve for the past two minutes. His eyes were tightly closed and he was panting for breath. Looking down she saw the large bulge in the man's trousers and then shocked, she sought out his face. Finally she found her voice. "Hey, it ain't free you know," she drawled in a deep Southern accent, pulling her arm away.

The interruption doomed Eli's impending release and his eyes snapped open. "What!"

"You heard me, mister," she said showing a gap in her front teeth. "I seen what you was doing there, and believe me it takes nerve to almost shoot your load in the middle of the saloon. And, without so much as a proper hello or discussion of payment for services." She picked up the two drinks and turned to leave. My name is Ethel and I don't care how kinky you are, but I expect to get paid for what you just tried. Or," she glared at him threateningly. "I'll let everyone in the town know--schoolteacher." She whirled around and flounced off, the swishing sound of her petticoats echoing her threat.

Little Joe sat slumped in his seat, his arms wrapped around his chest. There was no need to fight Slimy today, indeed he didn’t even have the strength. It had taken all his willpower to get out of bed and come to school today. He figured he was in trouble with Pa already for skipping breakfast and leaving them a note, but he knew the only way he’d make it to school on time was to leave very early. Joe had barely nudged Cochise to more than a walk because the jarring caused tingling flashes of gray to fill his vision. He’d nearly passed out twice and the relief he’d felt when he saw the first glimpse of the schoolhouse was close to nirvana.

Eli stormed across the front of the classroom, his heels clicking loudly against the scarred pine floor. He was angry-no beyond angry. The insufferable brat wasn’t even fighting him today. After he’d carefully orchestrated a conclusion to the match, he was going to have to change his plans once again. There would be no joke played on him today, Eli thought as he glanced at the pale boy slumped in his seat. No righteous indignation to take out on Little Joe Cartwright. He’d tried several times to goad Little Joe into a confrontation but the boy couldn’t or wouldn’t be pulled into it today.

Eli stalked over to his desk and sat down. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the scarred wooden desktop. He scanned the room, noting with a smug grin the fear on each face. Seth, Mitch and Patricia Devlin, each one could only hold his glance for a moment before looking away. He continued his perusal until he came to Little Joe, his nemesis.

A thought, unbidden entered his mind. Nemesis? He’s just a little kid. A trill of laughter, heard only in his mind, brought back vivid, unpleasant memories of his childhood. He slapped his hand on his thigh, hard, to fight the thoughts, to send them back where they came from. He straightened in his chair and put his feet back on the ground.

His glance returned to the Cartwright boy, who was now sitting up straighter, a little taller. Eli could tell that the effort was costing him, though. Even from twenty feet away he could see the grimace on his face and the trembling lower lip. Physically broken, yes, Eli concluded, but not mentally. He needed the tears—weeping, sobbing, the outward display of utter dissolution and the transfer of all control. This is what he needed to bolster his manhood enough to defeat his internal demons and allow himself physical pleasure. He continued to stare at Joe, who only had so much strength in reserve. The boy’s shoulder slumped and he groaned. Yes, physically broken, he reaffirmed, but not mentally. That would happen today.

How to provoke him, that was the question. He’d already tried several things, but he hadn’t heard a peep from Joe. He thought back to the first incident he’d had with the brat. Joe hadn’t been able to let a girl be punished unjustly. Eli stroked his chin and grinned evilly. Maybe I’ll just use that strategy again. His gaze took in the girls, wearing a ragged assortment of faded ginghams and drab colors, dressed to be unnoticeable in the classroom and for the most part it worked. The girls were just faces to him, nothing noteworthy except for the pain they could cause the boys. They were usually beneath contempt, a gender with no possible future except for mothers, spinsters or prostitutes, all professions equally contemptible to his eyes. A flash of white out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. Molly Sims, had just pulled a white handkerchief out of her pocket and was wiping her nose. Ah, the choice is made. She would be the bait to pull the brat out of his cloud of pain and draw him forward to do battle. The last battle, the one that would end in the total dissolution of what Joe Cartwright thought he was. “Molly Sims!” he barked. “Get up here now!”

The girl rose, her withered leg making her movements slow. Inching toward the front of the room she stared at the planks in the floor as she whispered a hasty prayer.

When she reached the front, Eli leaned against the desk, grinning evilly down at her. “I’ve decided I want you to dance for me.”

Molly took a shuddering breath, trying in vain to fight the fear that coursed through her veins. “B-B-But Mr. Waldoch, sir, I-I-I can’t,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Molly took a deep breath, and forced herself to stop crying. “With a withered leg, sir.”

“I don’t believe it, I think you just don’t want to dance.” Eli stood and walked over to the girl. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“No, sir,” Molly said, clenching her fists as the fear started to turn to anger.

Eli circled the girl, taunting her anew with every step. “Yes, you’ve been lying all your life, haven’t you? Looking for sympathy, using your feminine whiles to snare boys with your frailty.”

“It’s true. You probably just don’t like me telling everyone your plan up here. Who is it,” he whispered loudly. “Which boy do you want? Who do you hope to catch with this act?” He leaned in close to her. “Who is it? Seth Pruitt? No? Mitch? You won’t tell me, huh?”

“That’s just not the way it is sir,” Molly answered hotly, her usually pale complexion now blotched with red.

“Don’t yell at me, brat!” Eli responded with a smile. Just the reaction he was hoping for, to draw out Little Joe. “You ought to know better, yelling at a teacher is unacceptable and I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

“Yes, I think we’ll play a little game,” he said with a grin as he picked up his pointer. “Yes, a little game to make you understand who is boss in this classroom.” Eli walked over to the small girl and stood in front of her.

“Please, sir. I’m sorry,” she said contritely, staring down at her shoes. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Look at me when you speak!” Eli screamed. When Molly looked up at him, he continued. “You didn’t mean to what? To lie? To shout?”

Eli nodded, “Good, brat. But that’s not good enough. You still need to be taught a lesson.” He picked up his retractable pointer from the desk top and slowly pulled it out to it’s full length, each click causing his confidence to grow. Once fully extended, he tapped the pointer across the palm of his hand, enjoying the slapping pain almost as much as the fear that ran rampant in the girl’s eyes.

Molly swallowed hard and glanced over her shoulder at the boys, who all had somewhere else to look at the moment. She didn’t want to but she looked at Little Joe. His green eyes were clouded with pain, but he nodded at her never-the-less. Bravely, she shook her head and mouthed “no.”

An evil grin split Eli’s lips. “Ah, Mr. Cartwright, you are amongst the living today, at least for the time being.” He gestured for Molly to sit down and focused his attention on the boy slowly walking down the aisle.

“I’ve decided to give you a chance to escape punishment by playing a little game.” Eli slapped the pointer across his open palm before continuing. “Our little game for the day, Mr. Cartwright is called ‘trust.”

Little Joe reached the head of the classroom and stood before Eli. He closed his eyes tightly a moment, then took a shallow breath. A myriad of thoughts swam in his mind, but the one that pushed itself to the forefront was anger. When he opened his eyes again, the little Joe of old stared up at his teacher. “Trust, huh? I got news for you asshole, I don’t trust you at all,” he mocked.

Eli was taken back by the profanity and the look in the boy’s eyes. The downtrodden look was gone, replaced by … He couldn’t put a name to it. His reserve wavered a little, but the thought of the white nightgown and physical release were a strong enticement.

In response, he slapped Joe across the face, the force of the blow knocking the boy off his feet and sending him sprawling onto the floor. “We don’t swear in my classroom, brat,” he said icily. “Now get back up here.”

Joe’s eyes clouded briefly, but his reserve remained strong. Forcing himself to rise, he walked over to the desk.

“Like I said before, “ he said glaring at Joe. “Today’s lesson is called trust. Lay your arm on the desk, palm side up.”

Eli rolled his eyes, and demonstrated. “I knew you were stupid boy, but I thought you could take simple instruction.”

Little Joe took a shallow breath and looked over at Molly. Her eyes were wide with fear and tears were running down her pale cheeks. He grinned at her, then turned his attention back to the desk. He placed his arm on the desk, and slowly looked up at the teacher.

“I’m going to bring my pointer down and almost strike your hand. I you move, you’ll be punished. If you don’t, well, we’ll see, won’t me?”

Little Joe bit his lower lip and stared up at Slimey, hatred in his eyes. “Do your worst.”

Eli’s eyes narrowed. He’d had no intention of halting his blow in mid-strike anyway, but now he wanted to humiliate the brat even more than before.

Eli slowly raised the pointer and held it in mid-air a moment. His black eyes sparkled as he hit Little Joe's outstretched hand with so much force that it snapped the metal pointer in half.

“Uhhh,” Joe moaned as he pulled his hand back and cradled it against his chest, biting his lower lip to force the tears not to fall.

“Look what you did!” Waldoch screamed, holding the handle of his beloved pointer in his hand. He tossed it aside and grabbed Joe by the shirt, pulling the boy to his feet. "We’re not done yet,” he seethed. “Put your hand back!”

Eli lifted Joe by the shirt front until they were nose to nose. “I said, put your hand back. Now," he said in a low voice.

Eli narrowed his eyes. “It’s your choice, brat. Either you take it, or “ Eli surveyed the room, looking for a different victim. He pointed to a new victim, a blonde girl with braids. “She will.”

Joe took a deep breath, his feet still dangling eighteen inches off the ground. “All right, we’ll finish your little game,” he said softly.

Eli grinned and dropped the boy into a heap on the floor. The end was near, he could sense it. Little Joe would beg for mercy, break down just like all the other chosen children had. He would grovel at his feet and surrender completely to his total domination. Very soon now, it would happen. Eli thought about his past victims. He’d never had to take it this far before, the other boys had all snapped long before this brat. Maybe I’m losing my edge? No! He shook his head to to clear his mind of distressing thoughts. This would be the conclusion of the game and then he would be able to wear his mother’s dressing gown and have the blessed release of his pent up frustration.

Joe struggled to his feet, his right hand a mass of throbbing pain. He bit his bottom lip, to stop the groan that wanted to escape. A shallow breath cleared his mind somewhat, and he forced himself to walk back to the desk and lay his arm on the top.

A feminine voice drifted down from the rafters. “He’s too strong for you.”

Eli frantically looked around the classroom, ready to challenge the speaker. “Who said that?”

“I knew you were worthless and weak the instant they pulled you from between my legs. A sick, puny boy who ought to have died at birth.”

“It’s the truth, you might as well know it," the ghostly voice of Mrs. Waldoch hissed.

“I am not!” Eli screamed. He grabbed his cane and came back to stand before the defenseless boy. The classroom was hushed, quiet, afraid of what would happen next.

“I’ll show you how strong I am, you bitch!” He struck the cane three times across the Joe’s hand and wrist, gratified to hear the snap of broken bones with each blow.

When Waldoch's vision cleared, he realized what he's done. He saw the boy on the floor crumpled in pain, but the brat hadn’t surrendered completely.

Eli raised his cane for the final time--the end to the game. A blow across Little Joe's cheek would break the pretty boy's jaw and then the brat would break--he was sure of it.

A joyous feeling filled his chest as he raised his cane above his head. Just as he was about to begin the downward arc someone grabbed the cane. Furious, Eli tried to wrench it away but then another hand joined the first. He whipped around and saw Molly Washburn and Seth both gripping the cane.

"I see there is more than one brat that needs to be taught a lesson! Eli pulled the cane free and turned back to his original target. He stepped back when he realized that the other children were now standing in front of Joe Cartwright, shielding him from any further harm.

“Get out of my way!” he seethed. The solidarity in the children’s eyes caused him to take another step backwards. They seemed to realize that he’d gone too far this time, this was irreparable damage and they wouldn’t take any more.

Slimey took a deep breath, realizing that the game was over, for the day. He calmly picked up his worn black leather planner and tucked it under his left arm. He twirled his cane once, smiling when the children flinched. A false smile caressed his lips and he started to whistle as he walked out of the classroom.

Seth followed him to the door and locked it behind him, then hurried back to Joe.

The class huddled around where Little Joe had crumpled to the ground. Hot searing pain consumed his hand and wrist and he rocked back and forth trying to calm the flames of pain that licked up his arm.

"No!" Joe said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine,” he paused, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “Just give me a minute.”

“No ‘we’ don’t. I’m fine,” Joe said, as he struggled to his feet, cradling his injured arm. “I’ve got to get home or I’ll be in more trouble.

Joe’s eyes took on a hard look. “You’re right Patricia. There is no way.” He looked around at his classmates. “There is no way they’re going to believe that Slimey did this.”

“Yeah, just like they believed all the other stuff we told them.” He looked over at Seth and Mitch. “I’m not the only one who told the truth and all I got for it was a sore hind end.”

“He’s right,” Mitch said. He looked over at Patricia. “You know it’s true, Sis.”

“But Mitch, he can’t…” She gestured over at Joe, who had just sat down behind Slimey’s desk. “He can’t hide that!”

“Don’t worry about Joe,” Tuck said, winking at her out of Joe’s sight. “Old Seth and I’ll take care of it.”

Seth nodded. “Everybody go home now. Don’t say anything. It’s Friday and this’ll all be over and done with by Monday.”

The children still stood around, but Patricia shooed them away. She glared at Seth. “You’d better take care of it, or I’ll take care of you,” she threatened.

When the children had finally left, Mitch sat on the edge of Slimey’s desk and looked down at his friend. “So what’re we going to do?”

"You cold hearted bitch!!! See what you've driven me to?" Eli screamed as he hastily stuffed his clothes into a gray and brown striped carpetbag. "You pushed me and I finished too fast!!" Can't you even let me enjoy the small pleasures I have left in life???" The chessboard attracted his attention, several moves left before he should have checkmated Little Joe. Eli stalked across the room and grabbed the heavy wooden board and carefully lifted it into the air. The ebony and ivory faces on the pieces taunted him, laughed at him because they knew he hadn't succeeded--he hadn't completed the match. "We'll see, mater. This match isn't over until I say it is!" The heavy chessboard felt weightless in his hands as he raised it above his head. Eli paused, thinking of all the preparation that had gone into his game of wits against a thirteen-year old. "We'll just play it by ear from now on. You'll see, mater. I'll best that brat yet." He hurled the board at the wall, the thump and crash loud enough to startle the Widow Hawkins who was down in the living room.

Eli grabbed his bag and ran for the door. He flung it open and without a second look sprinted down the stairs and out the front door.

"Hmm, I wonder what that was all about," the widow said aloud. "Hmm, oh well, a new schoolteacher will be along soon enough I suppose." She took another drink of heavily spiked tea and stared at the fireplace.

Tuck and Seth rode beside their friend on the way back to the Ponderosa. They exchanged worried glances as Little Joe leaned further and further over the neck of Cochise until his forehead rested on her neck.

Hey lets take a break huh? I think my horse has picked up a stone in his shoe," Tuck said, knowing Little Joe wouldn't like them stopping to check on his condition.

Seth slid off his horse and ran over to Cochise. "C'mon buddy let me give you a hand," he said reaching up to help his young friend.

Joe slapped away the helping hands. "No, I can do it myself," he said breathlessly. The pain from his chest and arm were relentless and didn't stop. It was all he could do to stay conscious. Cradling his injured wrist, he swung his right leg over the saddle and slid off his horse. Luckily, Seth was there to steady him once his feet hit the ground or Joe would have crumpled into a heap on the ground. Tuck grabbed Joe around the waist and helped the boy over to a tree where they settled him on the ground. Joe leaned his head back against the tree, hoping the pain would end soon.

"Hey Joe, let's take a look at your wrist again, maybe the swelling has gone down some," Seth asked hopefully after glancing at the worried face of Tuck.

"Yeah, might as well take a look," Joe said, swallowing loudly as he eased his arm out from between the buttons on his shirt.

Tuck and Seth both drew in deep breaths. Their friend's wrist and hand had swollen even further and looked terribly painful. Tuck shook his head. "I don't know Joe, but I think we'd better have Doc Martin take a look at that."

Little Joe answered slowly, through gritted teeth. "Not a chance." He paused to steel himself against the pain. "It'll be fine....it'll be fine tomorrow. I just have to get through tonight." Joe closed his eyes again and tried to will the pain away.

Tuck and Seth stood and looked at each other, the identical question in their eyes. What should we do? Tuck pulled his collar tighter against his neck to fight the increasing afternoon chill. He looked at Joe lying on the ground, the sweat pouring off his forehead.

Joe opened his eyes and smiled slightly. "I know what I’m …" he paused and waited for a wave of pain to pass before he could continue. "Doing."

“This is just too much!” Seth said, looking to Tuck for confirmation. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

"No!" Little Joe uttered as he struggled to rise, but failed. "I can't see the doctor. I just need to get home and I'll be fine."

Tuck stamped his foot and pointed a long finger at the prone boy. "No you won't! Little Joe you got to listen to reason. Your right wrist and probably hand is broken. God only knows what he did to your chest but I know that's hurting you too, has been since yesterday. This game is up, all we have to do is tell your Pa and the Doctor that Slimey has been doing this and things will work out. We just need to tell the grown-ups!"

Little Joe glared at his tall blond friend. "We tried that didn't we," he gasped. "Didn't ..... didn't do us a lick of good last time. What makes you think it'll work now?" Joe grabbed his chest with his good arm and leaned back against the tree, exhausted from his speech.

"You....you...promised me that you'd let me handle this," Joe said through gritted teeth. "Now just help me back up on that horse and I'll go home." He inhaled shallowly, trying to avoid sending more spasms through his chest. "Tomorrow that telegram will come and this whole mess will be all over and we'll have done it the grown up way." He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, trying to save his meager strength for the ride ahead.

“A couple of days ago,” Joe panted. “I told you that this will all be over soon.” He put out his good arm for a hand. “

Seth frowned, but helped his friend to his feet. “Okay, I guess you’re right.” He helped Joe over to Cochise. “But I’ll never forgive myself if…”

“Just let it go, huh?” Joe said, climbing on the horse with difficulty. “We’re all in this together.”

Little Joe sat on a saw horse in the barn and watched as his two friends cared for his pinto. He found that it eased the pain somewhat if he doubled over and pushed his fist into his solar plexus, but after a moment or so it made him lightheaded.

Seth brushed the pony's silky black and white coat as Tuck filled her feed bucket. They both glanced over at their friend, his struggle to fight the pain obvious to their eyes. When Tuck finished his task he walked over to Joe and knelt before the younger boy. "Little Joe you ain't going to make it," he said softly.

Joe bit his lip before speaking. "Yes, I am, you'll see." He grimaced. "That telegram will be here tomorrow. It has to be.”

Tuck joined them and put his hands on his hips. "How're you going to do your chores tomorrow?" he prodded, trying to rile his friend and get him to give up this foolish idea of hiding his injuries.

Little Joe cracked a crooked grin. "I'll worry about that tomorrow," he said as he stood shakily. "You two better get home or you'll be in trouble." Joe took a shallow breath. "Thanks for your help. Don't worry I'll handle anything that comes my way--you'll see."

Joe walked out of the barn toward the house and tried to convince himself of the same certainties he had just forced on his friends. He catalogued his hurts to keep his mind clear; every breath was torture from his sore chest, his hand throbbed horribly and his wrist sent shooting pains all the way up to his elbow. Yes, sir he was in fine shape. He carefully pushed open the door to the kitchen and peeked his head in, glad that Hop Sing was nowhere in sight. He carefully sneaked into the room and grabbed a sack and filled it full of ice from the box near the door. If he could just make it up to his room and splash a little cold water on his face he'd be okay. The bottle of brandy was there too, that'd help. Of course the brandy last night had made the stomach pain excruciating, but right now a stomachache seemed like the much lesser of two evils. Little Joe walked out into the great room, relieved that he was alone in the house. He crossed the room and slowly ascended the stairs and walked down the hall to his room.

Little Joe pushed the door shut behind him and swiftly went to his bureau to retrieve the hidden bottle of brandy. He took a few swigs, but was afraid to take more because he still had to sit through supper with his father and brothers. He sank to the floor and clutched his wrist to his chest, rocking back and forth to try and fight the pain. He tried to open his hand a fraction of an inch at a time, but he couldn't will it to move. He didn't know if it was broken or not, but it hurt like the devil. It throbbed in tandem with his headache. Joe grabbed the sack of ice and placed it over his wrist, the pressure of the bag causing him to stiffen and fight the tears. He hoped the ice would make the swelling less noticeable and make the pain bearable. If it didn't help, Joe didn't know what he was going to do. His admonishments to his friends' aside, Little Joe knew he was very close to being unable to hide his injuries.

Supper was a noisy meal, with Roy telling details of the different trials he’d attended and Paul telling about some of the new medical procedures he’d witnessed on a trip East.

A Cartwright family rule, at least when there were guests for dinner was that children were meant to be seen and not heard. A rule Joe usually had a hard time following, but not tonight. The actor in Joe came alive, both for self-preservation and because of a healthy serving of brandy that he’d drank just before dinner. To the casual observer, he was just a kid sitting at the table, keeping his mouth shut.

Joe took a sip from the water glass in front of him, the cold liquid feeling good to his parched throat. His hand trembled slightly as he returned it to its place. He glanced around to make sure it hadn't been noticed, and dropped his hand once again to his lap. He opened and closed it several times, letting the blood flow into his fingers. He took a couple deep breaths, willing himself to keep up the act. His left leg had begun to fall asleep, so he shifted slightly in his chair, bumping his sore wrist in the process. He sat bolt upright, tensed his whole body and clenched his jaw to fight the urge to cry out.

“Are you all right Little Joe?" Adam said, rising from his chair. He had been keeping an eye on Joe all through the meal and had started to actually believe that the kid was okay.

Joe forced a grin. "Of course I am. My foot just fell asleep that's all." He took a shuddering breath. “I’ve just got that pins and needles feeling.”

Adam shook his head as he sat down. “That’s from the blood flow returning to your leg, isn’t it Paul?” he asked, directing his question to the doctor.

“Partially, actually it’s also due to oxygen returning …” Paul droned on, describing how tissues were starving for oxygen and the pain was the natural occurrence when it returned.

Relieved that he’d escaped unscathed, and that the attention had turned away from him, Joe rubbed his temples. The clatter of the dishes and the din of the conversation had increased his headache tenfold. The sound of their voices grated on his nerves, so he closed his eyes and tried to will the pain away, to no avail. He concentrated on his food, although he was not even remotely hungry.

Ben glanced at his youngest son who was seated to his left. "You're behaving very well tonight, son. Is something wrong?" he asked with a grin.

Little Joe smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course not, Pa. Just enjoying the conversation, that's all."

When his fingers touched Joe’s sore wrist, the boy couldn't control himself. He groaned loudly and doubled over. He shoved his father's hand away. “No, please."

Ben was stunned. He quickly jumped up and knelt by his youngest son's chair. "What is it ? What's wrong?"

Joe couldn't respond as the waves of pain coursed through his body. His headache ceased to exist. Every fiber of his being was settled into one spot on his wrist, where pain radiated like heat. After a while, he realized it wasn't going away and he would have to try to overcome it for the time being. He took several shallow breaths, and then could hear what the people around him were saying. He opened his eyes and saw his father beside him. He could hear people behind him, but couldn't focus on them. He leaned back In the chair, still cradling his wrist with his other hand, unable to even wipe away the tears on his face.

Paul was immediately on his feet and over to Little Joe. The sight of the doctor sent a chill through the boy's spine. "No, he said shaking his head. I'm fine. Just a cramp, that's all." He sat up straighter in his chair, and wiped the tears from his face. I'm fine now. See?" He said, attempting a smile through clenched teeth. He looked first at his father then at his brothers. "I'm awful tired, I think I'll just go up to my room now," he said, and started to rise.

"No you won't." Ben said softly while firmly pushing the boy back in his chair. "Hiding something won't make it go away." He gently moved Little Joe's left hand from over the injured wrist. "Let me see."

"Well if it is, then we'll just double check won't we," Ben said softly. He took hold of Little Joe's wrist and eased the sleeve upward. Once it passed the wristbone, the deep black bruise encircling the wrist was readily apparent, plus the fact that it was swollen three times its normal size. He looked his baby son in the eye. "Precious, why didn't you say something?"

"It is certainly more than a bruise young man," Paul chimed in after noticing the condition of the youngest Cartwright's wrist. "Let me get in there, Ben."

Ben pushed an errant curl off the boy's forehead. "I'm sorry, son. It has to be this way. There is no choice involved."

"It's fine, really--just a little sore," Little Joe said, his voice wavering. He tried to push his chair back away from the doctor, but met resistance. He turned around and saw his brother Hoss behind his chair, preventing any exit. Joe turned his attention back to the problem in front of him.

Paul grinned at Little Joe before responding. He knew this wasn't going to be easy. "Well what do we say I just check then," Dr. Martin said, looking into Joe's eyes.

Backed into a corner, Little Joe became obstinate. "What do you say we don't. I said it's fine, and I'm the one who should know," he snapped, carefully sliding his sleeve down over his injured wrist and cradling it safely in his lap.

"When are you going to realize that I'm the one in charge here? I'll be the judge of your condition," Paul said firmly and reached for Little Joe's injured wrist. He frowned when the boy pulled the limb even closer to him.

Little Joe set his teeth in determination and glared at his father's friend. "I said it's fine," he said icily.

"Joseph," Ben said in a flat tone. "Do as the doctor asks, and we'll have no discussion about it--understood?" He placed a strong hand on the boy's shoulder to convey his conviction. Mournful green eyes looked up at him, and a trembling lower lip tugged at his heart. Ben knelt by his youngest and placed a comforting arm around the slim shoulders. "It has to be this way son," he said again and gestured for the doctor to continue.

"I’ll do this as gently as I can, he said softly as he took hold of the injured wrist. He pushed Joe's sleeve up past the elbow and whistled softly when he saw the deep swirling black bruises. “Adam, will you get my bag from the buggy, please? “ Paul asked as he pressed on the wrist gently, ignoring the slight groans from his patient. “Sorry about this Little Joe, but I’m pretty sure it’s broken.” A few moments later, he looked up at Ben. “Let’s take him upstairs and get him undressed. Then I can do a full examination.”

“I, I, I! Enough!” Paul said, spearing his patient with a hard look. “If you don’t cooperate, I’ll give you a sedative!”

Joe backed off, slightly. He knew if the Doctor carried out his threat, there was no way he could hide the rest of his injuries. “But..”

Ben smiled, following the doctor’s tactics. He gently picked up his reluctant son and carried him up the steps to his room.

Paul led the way, having spent many hours in Little Joe’s room and pulled down the blankets so Ben could set him on the sheets. Adam arrived with the medical bag just as Ben pulled off Joe’s boots and pants.

Paul opened his bag and began to pull out the items he would need. Splints, plaster, sedative—a last resort, but he pulled it out anyway.

Ben unbuttoned his son's shirt over the boy's feeble protests. When he slid the last button through the hole and pushed the shirt open, fear jumped to his throat. "Good Lord!" Ben exclaimed.

Little Joe was bruised from his collarbone to his solar plexus, deep angry black with no shading.

"Let me get in there," Paul said as he motioned the man to rise. He quickly sat down next to the boy on the bed and surveyed the damage. He ran his hand down the boy's breastbone.

Little Joe struggled and grabbed the doctor's hand and thrust it away. "Just leave me alone," he panted as he tried to get his breathing under control. The pain was more than he could bear and he had to stop the examination before it got even worse.

"Joseph! Lie still!" Ben said commandingly. He hoped his son would obey, but seeing the struggling boy on the bed he knew it was hopeless.

Intense pain immediately spiraled toward the surface. A single strangled cry of "Stop!" passed Joe's lips before he was unable to speak.

"Hold him!" Paul directed when he realized that restraining the boy was the only way he would be able to complete the examination.

Adam and Ben pressed the slim shoulders to the bed as Hoss held down the boy's sinewy legs.

"Stop!" Little Joe croaked again, the crushing pressure on his chest taking him mentally back to the schoolroom and Eli's torment.

"Joseph lie still--this will go faster and easier if you cooperate." Once said, Ben knew the odds of that happening were less than a snowball's chance in hell.

Joe tossed his head back and forth on the bed, his unbroken arm trying in vain to dislodge the hands that held him still.

Paul cut the boy's shirt off, unwilling to risk any further movement to the injured wrist and hand. Once Little Joe's shirt was removed and the full extent of the bruising was exposed, Paul realized that the broken limb would be a minor part of Joe's injuries.

When he realized he wouldn't be able to force his freedom, Joe focused on overcoming the pain.

Adam looked deep into his baby brother's pain filled eyes. "Little Joe, who did this to you boy?"

Little Joe shook his head violently. Paul glared at Adam. "That doesn't matter now," Paul said as he moved his hands to the left to check Joe's rib cage.

"Joseph, you're only making it harder--just lie still," Paul said vehemently. He returned to the sternum and progressed down the boy's chest. When he reached the abdomen he pressed deeply to feel the internal organs. When he manipulated the boy's stomach Little Joe fought even harder. He succeeded in doubling over and then tried to push the probing hands away.

Ben and Adam increased their efforts and managed to push Little Joe back down on the bed. Little Joe had the strength of a grown man when he was trying to avoid the doctor. They each held the boy by the shoulder and hip to try and let the doctor continue his examination.

Paul frowned, and continued his methodical probing as Joe's struggles increased and became frantic. A moment later, Paul stopped and patted the boy on the shoulder. "All done for now, son." He looked up at Ben and motioned toward the door, before returning his attention to the boy. "What do you say you lie here quietly while I talk to your father and brothers' downstairs?"

Little Joe slowly opened his eyes. "I want to get up.... there's nothing," he gasped, "nothing wrong with me."

"I'm afraid my diagnosis differs from yours young man, but we'll discuss it when I return," Paul said as he stood slowly and stretched. "Hop Sing, we'll be back shortly."

The diminutive house servant nodded in response. "Yes, Sir, Doctor Martin. I take good care of Little Joe till you get back."

The four men trudged wearily down the stairs and were greeted by Roy Coffee who was seated on the settee in front of the fireplace.

Paul poured himself a cup of cold coffee from the pot on the pine coffee table. "Well, he has a broken sternum, at least two broken ribs," He took a sip from the cup and grimaced at the taste. "Plus, well you've seen the hand and wrist. Several broken bones in the hand and at least two breaks in the wrist and lower arm." Paul sat down on the sofa and gestured for the Cartwrights' to do the same. Once seated, he continued his diagnosis. "On top of the injuries, his stomach his extremely tender. Before I give him any laudanum for the pain, I need to know if he has been having stomach problems. I'd ask him but you all know the response I'd get, so I'm asking you. Any nausea or indigestion?"

Ben sat on the arm of the leather wingback chair. His misgivings of the past several weeks danced in his mind. "I thought it was strange, but he has been drinking a lot of milk lately."

"But he hates milk," Paul said as he ran his hand through his thinning gray hair.

"I know, I know. I just thought maybe he was finally listening to all of the harping we do about him eating properly," Ben said reflectively as he stroked his chin.

Adam smirked. "Fat chance of that. I did notice he seems to drink a glass before he starts up to do his homework though."

"And he has a glass as soon as he gets home from school, in addition to the one he has at supper," Ben continued. "All that milk could be to settle his stomach."

Paul listened to the conversation and knew the symptoms were heading in a direction that he didn't want to travel with the youngest Cartwright boy. "Yes, yes very possible. Has anyone seen him actually throw up?"

The large man stuffed his hands in his pockets before he answered. "We were up by the north pasture, and we rode up on a dead calf. The buzzards had gotten to it and it smelled pretty bad. I had a hard time keeping my lunch down myself. But the next thing I knew Little Joe was down off Cochise and throwing up over by that grove of Pine trees on top of the hill." Hoss paused, not wanting to continue, but knowing he must. "He was real sick for about a minute. So I went over by him, even though he told me to stay away. He told me that he had shared Seth’s lunch and he’d had some tomato sauce in it."

Paul pulled his glasses off and set them on the table, then rubbed his tired eyes. "That's what I thought. I'm pretty sure he's got a bleeding ulcer on top of everything else." He paused a moment then continued. "I'll treat that too, but it's going to be hard with the blood loss he's recently had. Let's not mention anything about it, let him think he's put one over on us--at least for tonight."

Paul nodded. "If we can keep him in bed and still, it'll give those bones a chance to heal. We'll have to treat his ulcer on an on-going basis, but if we can discern the cause and keep it from bleeding it will probably clear up on its own." He picked up his glasses and put them back on. "One more thing," Paul said directing his gaze to the sheriff. "I've only seen a broken sternum once when a man was thrown in a wagon accident. Whoever did this had a lot of strength and really wanted to inflict pain. I don't know who did this, but I wouldn't say the residents of Virginia City are safe until the monster is caught."

"I agree, Paul. When can I talk to him?" Roy said quickly, anxious to get to the bottom of the matter.

Paul shook his head. "I don't want you talking to him at all. I'll help Ben ask him one question, but right now we can't afford to get him upset. There is too much risk to his health."

Ben nodded and anxiously looked back toward his son's room. "Should we head back upstairs?"

"Little Joe no!" Hop Sing said emphatically as he held the boy down on the bed. "You not get up!"

Ben pushed open the door just as Hop Sing uttered the last phrase. He saw his youngest son, pale and hurt but still earnestly trying to escape from his bed. "Joseph!" he said sternly. "What is the meaning of this?"

Little Joe immediately stopped his struggles and lay back on the bed, trying in vain to halt the pain that ripped through the center of his chest. Once the adrenaline that had been driving his struggles stopped, the pain returned full force and took his breath away. If he had any hopes of getting out of this room they were gone now, vanished with the arrival of his father.

Hop Sing slowly moved to the rocker and sat down. He wiped his brow, relieved at the arrival of reinforcements. He was usually able to handle his young charge, but when facing the attention of Doctor Martin Little Joe was especially difficult to control.

Ben walked over to the bed and looked down at his youngest son. He brushed a hand softly across the boy's forehead, pushing the unruly curls back into his hairline. "What's all this fuss about son?' he said softly and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I just want..." Little Joe said softly, trying to keep his breaths shallow and even to not aggravate his sore chest. "to.." He drew in another breath and let out a soft groan. Closing his eyes for a moment helped to control the pain, and he bit his lip to stifle any further outcry. "to get..."

"Some sleep." Paul Martin finished for him as he walked around the footboard of the bed. Ben noticed that his friend kept his right hand hidden from view. Paul sat beside his young patient and patted Little Joe's hand.

"Shhh, son. I want you to stop talking," Ben said as he shifted in the bed until he was sitting next to his youngest son. He slid an arm behind the boy's shoulders and pulled him slightly to the side.

Doctor Martin seized the opportunity given him. He brought the hypodermic needle into view as he slid the sheet down on his patient's hip and injected the sedative.

A sharp pain in his hip forced a strangled cry from Little Joe's lips. The muscles around the puncture wound protested painfully, then faded to a dull ache. Joe winced and struggled again when Dr. Martin rubbed the site of the injection to quickly distribute to sedative.

"That's not fair!" Little Joe fought them, with all the strength he had left. Ben held the exhausted boy close until his struggles lessened.

"I know you don't like shots son, but I need you to go to sleep and I don't have time to wait for a sleeping powder to take effect," Paul said softly. He pulled the sheet and blanket up to Joe's waist and waited for the drug to do its work.

Ben reluctantly laid his youngest child back on the bed. Once Joe was safely lying on the goose down pillow, he brushed the curls off the boy's forehead. "Now you just rest son, everything'll be allright tomorrow."

After a few moments the sedative began to take effect. "Joe," Paul said softly. "I'm going to ask you a question and I want a truthful answer."

Joe's eyelids were heavy but he looked up at his Pa and Adam. Paul took Little Joe's chin in his hand and directed the boy's gaze back to him. "Look at me Little Joe, you're talking to me now. Don't worry about what your Pa or brothers' are thinking--only me. I need to know something very important--when did this happen?"

The boy struggled to keep his eyes open as the sedative continued its work. He licked his lips. "Chest yesterday mostly," Little Joe whispered. "Hand, today."

Paul patted the boy on the head. "That's good Joe. That's good." He turned to Ben and spoke softly so his patient wouldn't overhear. "The sedative has a mild truth serum, but I don't want him upset-I'll let you ask one question and that's all--understood?" Paul said sternly, extending his gaze to include Adam.

Little Joe tried to shift onto his side and winced, hissing in his breath when the pain struck. Ben gently placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and eased him down onto his back. "Lie still now son, I want you to tell me who did this to you."

“You don’t want to know,” Little Joe whispered. “You won’t believe me.”

Twenty minutes later, Little Joe fought the sedative and won. He struggled back to consciousness just as Doctor Martin finished wrapping yard after yard of muslin bandages around his rib cage.

"It's too tight," Little Joe said frantically as he struggled to suck in a breath.

Doctor Martin frowned, dismayed that his young patient was awake so quickly. He pushed a curl off the boy's forehead. "It has to be tight son, to keep your ribs pressed together. I know it's uncomfortable, but there is no other way to get them to heal properly."

Little Joe took shallow breaths; trying to fill his lungs with the oxygen they so desperately craved, yet avoid putting more pressure on his sore chest. He turned sorrowful eyes up to his father. "Pa," he said forlornly, grimacing slightly to fight the pain. "I don't want to stay in bed..."

Ben smiled at his son, the splinted and broken hand and arm propped up on pillows, Hoss' flannel shirt draped around the boy's shoulders to fight the chill, yet not disturb the splint. The tightly wrapped bandages held the broken breastbone tightly in place, but also increased the pain to an almost unbearable level, at least according to Paul. And the only complaint his son has is about being forced to stay in bed. Ben couldn’t help the small smile that came to his lips. "I’m sorry son, but you have to."

Hoss leaned in so Little Joe could see him. "Say short shanks--how are you feeling?" he said cheerily, despite the lump in his throat.

Little Joe could barely force a smile to his lips. When a wave of pain hit, he had to close his eyes and draw in a trembling breath. "I'm fine," Little Joe said as soon as he could get himself under control.

Adam nodded and bent down on the opposite side of the bed. "Sure you are little buddy." He stroked Little Joe's uninjured arm trying to offer the boy some comfort. "You'll be up and around in no time."

"Okay, that's enough," Paul said firmly. "I want you three out of here," he said as he pointed at the Cartwrights'. "He's not going to go back to sleep with you here, so out!"

"But Paul," Ben began, not thrilled with the thought of leaving his injured son alone.

Paul held up a hand. "Hop Sing and I will stay right here. I can't finish fixing him up while he's awake, and you aren't helping matters."

Little Joe shifted nervously on the bed. "I'm not going back to sleep..." he gasped.

Adam placed gentle fingers over his baby brother's mouth. "You are going to do whatever Doctor Martin says. C'mon Pa," he said as he caught his father's gaze. "Let's let Paul get back to work."

Little Joe tried to speak, but Adam shook his head sharply. "Not a word Joseph. I mean it." Adam softened when he saw his little brother grimace again in pain, but turned when he felt a hand on his arm.

The Cartwright men walked slowly down the stairs, once again to join Roy Coffee in the great room.

Roy wasn’t alone. Carl Weathers, the town telegraph officer was with him. “Did he tell you who did it?”

“Well, I don’t think he has to. Carl brought this urgent message. It seems our schoolteacher isn’t what he says he is.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “C’mon Roy, you’re asking me to believe that Eli Waldoch would do this?”

“Not asking, telling.” Roy took a deep breath. “Seems like he’s not the only boy that this has happened to.”

“All forged. This telegram is from the Board of Education in Washington D.C. His teaching credentials were taken away after he was suspected of two murders.”

“Seems that after he killed his mother he started taking his problems out on the students,” Roy said.

Hoss looked over at Adam. “What say we head into town and get us a teacher, “ he said angrily.

Roy shook his head. “Won’t do no good. According to this note from my deputy, he’s already cleared out.”

Later that evening, Adam sat in the chair and watched his young brother sleep. His guilt threatened to overcome him when he thought about it, especially when he realized the hell the boy had gone through. Joe was so young and vulnerable, and he had come to his older brother for help and he had turned him away.

A soft moan from the bed echoed across the room, adding to the churning acid of guilt in Adam's stomach. He rose and walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Adam watched the changing expressions on his little brother's face, the boy still mired in drug-induced slumber.

Little Joe shifted on the bed; his brain cloudy from the after-effects of the sedative Doctor Martin had forced on him. The pain was ever present and the drugs only deadened it long enough for him to snatch a few hours sleep.

Adam turned and looked at the window as the first beams of morning light hit the sky. He returned his glance to Little Joe and saw the boy's breathing change from the slow and rhythmic pattern of sleep to the choppy inhales of pain.

Another moan escaped Little Joe's lips as he began the struggle back to consciousness. A single tear slid down his cheek when Joe realized the pain wasn't going to go away. It would be his daily companion for weeks and there was no escape. He opened his eyes and wiped the tear away with a quick swipe. He forced a smile at Adam when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Joe paused a moment as if taking inventory. He was safe in his own room, and with Adam beside him he could keep the fear at bay. He shifted restlessly on the bed; his feet caught up in the blankets and the foot of the bed. The movement sent ripples of pain through his chest, and he bit his lip and stifled a cry.

"You're going to want to try and stay as still as possible, Little Joe. Movement is going to irritate that broken sternum," Adam said brushing the curls off the boy's forehead.

"Sternum, that's your breastbone. That's broken clean through, that's why Doc Martin had to wrap your ribs so tight." Adam waited until another wave of pain passed for the boy before continuing. He realized Little Joe didn't even know what Paul had said about his injuries. "You also have some broken ribs, and your hand and wrist."

Little Joe looked down at his bandaged and splinted hand lying securely on a pillow beside him. It throbbed badly, but compared to the pain in his chest the broken bones were insignificant. He risked trying to move the hand. "Uhh..." he yelped, and grimaced.

"Buddy, don't do that. You'll only make it worse. You need to listen to what the Doctor says and rest as much as possible," Adam chided gently.

"I hate this," Little Joe complained with a catch in his voice. His nightmare had come true.

"I know you won't want to leave the boy, Ben but if you could spare Hoss and Adam for the posse," Roy paused looking at Little Joe on the bed who was regaining consciousness. "We could sure use them."

Ben sat next to his son on the bed, and stroked his cheek. He deftly sidestepped Little Joe's statement and asked a question to divert the boy's attention. "How are you feeling Precious?"

Little Joe looked up at his father, the worry lines so evident this morning. "I'm fine, Pa. I want to," he paused and grimaced as a wave of pain hit him. "Help the sheriff."

"Son," Ben said as he took the boy's left hand and patted it. "I'm sure Roy appreciates the fact that you want to help, but this is for the men to handle. You are going to stay right here and rest."

Joe thrust out his lower lip, determined to make them understand. It was his fault that Eli had gotten away. If he hadn't slipped up and let them find out he was hurt the solution to their problems might have arrived by telegraph today. Little Joe was certain of it--he had to make them understand. "Pa, I have to help," he pleaded and rose up on one elbow.

"Out of the question." Doctor Martin answered from his recently arrived place in the doorway, very displeased to see Little Joe awake and trying to get out of bed already. "You are in no shape to be sitting up in a chair--let alone traipsing around the country.

"I'm fine! I'm going to help find..." Little Joe paused as the dizziness struck. The fast, shallow breaths he was forced to take made him constantly on the verge of hyperventilating.

Paul knew that given any opportunity Little Joe would be out of his bed and joining the posse. "You stay in that bed or I'll either tie you there, or," he grabbed his bag and hastily pulled out a syringe. Gratified by the look of fear on his young patient's face, he continued "or sedate you so heavily you won't even realize it when Christmas comes."

“I’ll see my own way out, “ Roy interjected. “I’ll expect some help from you then, Ben?”

Paul sat on the edge of the bed and examined his young patient. "I think we'll be able to cast his arm and hand in a couple days if the swelling continues to go down," Paul said directing his words to Ben.

"I know you don't son," Paul said as he pasted a patient smile on his face. "But your wrist and hand are broken and I'm going to put one on."

Little Joe tried to lean up on his elbow but even that simple movement was met with a frown from the Doctor. "You didn't put one on Adam's broken wrist the last time."

Paul looked heavenward before answering. "Yes, I know I didn't, but I could also trust Adam to take care of it, and we both know that isn't the case with you."

Joe desperately wanted to cross his arms to show them how displeased he was, but it just wasn't possible with his hand and wrist splinted. He settled for a scowl and drummed his fingers on the pale blue quilt. "It's not fair!"

"I know a cast is bulky and cumbersome. But a broken bone has to be kept straight and in line to heal properly," Paul explained.

Little Joe shifted on the bed, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. "Why can't you just leave the splint on it instead?"

"We tried that before, didn't we? The next thing I knew you were up trying to walk on that broken ankle you had. Set you back to day one didn't it? We'll have no repeat performance of that incident," Paul said firmly.

"Can I...can I get up after you put the cast on?" Little Joe asked hopefully, trying to salvage some hope of escape out of the situation.

Paul smiled and patted the boy's left hand. "Sorry, Little Joe but the answer is no." Paul pulled the quilt down to the boy's hips, glad to see the bandages around the lightly muscled chest hadn't loosened. "How's the tummy?" he asked as he pressed on Joe's lower abdomen.

Little Joe grunted but fought down the urge to double over. His stomach wasn't any better but he didn't want them to know that. "Fine."

Ben smiled at his son's characteristic surliness while injured. "He's been eating fair--not enough as far as Hoss is concerned of course, and I have to admit I'd like to see him eat more."

Joe's jaw dropped and he gasped. "More? How could....how could..." He paused, as a wave of pain ran through his young body. He thrust his left fist to his solar plexus and hunched up to try and fight the pain.

"Joe," Paul said quickly and pushed his patient back on the bed. He pulled the fist away from the boy's chest and pressed it to the mattress. "You can't do that! It's only going to make it heal slower."

"No! I know it deadens the pain, but with a broken sternum it forces pressure on the heart. Joe, you could do irreparable damage, and I will not allow it," Paul said firmly. He turned his attention to Ben. "If you see him doing that again, we're going to have no choice but to tie that free hand down."

"I wish I could give you something for the pain, boy," Paul said softly as he brushed the curls off Little Joe's forehead. "But I can't risk it with that stomach of yours. An ulcer--especially a bleeding one is life-threatening in itself." At the surprise on his young patient's face he smiled. "Yes, I know all about it, son. You should know by now that you can't hide something like that from me." He looked over at Ben, his failure to lessen Joe's pain a burden clearly written on his face.

Joe nodded. "I'm sorry." He coughed and doubled over, careful not to use his pain controlling measure while his Pa and the Doctor were in the room. He struggled for breath and tightly closed his eyes for a moment, willing the pain away. He finally lay back on the pillow, exhausted. He looked Paul in the eyes. "I'm sorry I'm such a baby."

"Oh, Precious don't even think that," Ben said quickly and turned the young face toward him. "You've been very brave, but you need to rest now. Just close your eyes and let your mind drift off."

Paul picked up a syringe from the nightstand and slid the sheet down past Joe's hip. The boy quickly looked to see what was happening but before he could protest the doctor injected the sedative. "Please Pa," he said turning pleading eyes up to his father. "I don't want to sleep anymore..."

Ben stroked his son's forehead. "You need the rest son, don't worry everything will be fine."

A few minutes later, Little Joe dropped off into drug-induced sleep. Ben pulled the covers up over his son’s chest and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Until that bastard Waldoch is caught I think we had better get used to a lot of sleepless nights from the children of Virginia City." Paul looked down at the sleeping boy, hoping the drugs would ensure a dream-free rest. "I can't say I blame them."

Eli watched the three girls as they strolled up the boardwalk. They were laughing and talking and having a good time while he was miserable. The flight from his room two days ago had left him with very little time to grab anything and he’d been hiding in the hayloft at the Livery Stable since then. But he’d formed a new plan last night. A new plan to let him finish what he’d started. Closer, closer they came. He could hear the shrill laughter and it grated on his nerves. When they neared the alleyway, he drew his gun and stepped in front of them.

All three girls stood there in shock, the fear running rampant across their young faces. Their teacher on a good day was enough to cause the fear, but the man who stood before them held little resemblance to the stuffy and well-groomed man that normally taught them. His clothes were wrinkled and smelled of horses, his tie was missing and he had deep sweat stains under the armpits of his white shirt.

A smile curled Eli’s lips in response to their silence. “Good.” He gestured with the gun toward the alleyway. “Get moving.” Once they were in the alleyway, he pulled a ribbon from each of their pigtails and tied them around a note. “You,” he said, pointing to Patricia Devlin. "You go tie this around the hitching post and come right back here, or your little friends are dead--understand?" Trembling she took the parcel and did as she was told. Once she returned, Eli pushed them all down the alley to two waiting horses. “We’re going to take a little ride.”

itch looked up and down the streets of Virginia City for his older sister. She was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, but as usually happened they had encountered a group of giggling girls and she was gone. The trouble was she had an annoying habit of blaming him whenever they were separated and their parents usually believed her. He turned the corner onto E Street, although what his sister and her friends would be doing in the seediest section of town was beyond him. The wind whipped through the narrow streets as Mitch passed the saloons on the end of the street. The sound of voices to his left caused him to wheel sharply and suck in his breath, but it was just a few drunken men coming out of the Red Dog saloon. He exhaled slowly and shook his head. If his Pa caught him on E Street he was in trouble as it was, let alone not having any clue where Patricia was. A sharp gust of wind almost sent his tan hat sailing, but he was able to grab it in time and pull it down tighter on his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the ribbons tied to the hitching post, the lightweight fabric fluttering with the breeze. “What in the world?” Mitch muttered as he hurried over to the post. Recognizing the teal blue ribbon his sister had been so proud of that morning at breakfast, he untied the ribbons and quickly unfolded the note.

Mitch swallowed hard and crumpled the note in his shaking hands. He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts and then frantically took off to find Sheriff Coffee.

Roy looked up from his paper-strewn desk when the door to his office was flung open. Mitch ran in and leaned on the front of the desk as he frantically tried to catch his breath.

Mitch didn’t have the breath to tell the older man. Instead he dropped the note on the scarred wooden desktop.

Roy looked quizzically at the out-of-breath youngster before him, then down at the paper. “I hope this explains something, son,” he said as he picked it up and unfolded the note.

To whom it may concern,

I’ve taken the girls to whom these hair ribbons belong. They are safe for the moment, but if my demands are not met I will slaughter all three, taking care to do it in the most painful ways possible. Make no mistake I will carry out this threat.

I’m sure by now you’ve heard about the lessons I’ve been teaching the children. I consider these lessons to be far superior to any secondary learning about literature or geography. These mind games I’ve taught the children will serve them well in their lives, in addition to the enjoyment watching them has brought me. Children need to learn early that life isn’t fair and they will be thrust into all kinds of situations where the outcome isn’t based on fairness or equality or even luck—but on the whim of the person in charge. There, I have that out in the open. Now, the fun part--the demands, or should I say demand.

To quote a famous military officer, “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few—or the one.” Therefore, I will trade my “many” for “one.” The one, however is Little Joe Cartwright. Make no mistake, I will neither guarantee his safety nor his life--but in exchange for him I will release all of my other prisoners unharmed.

I will give you two days to convince Ben Cartwright to give up his boy for the return of the other children. I want the brat blindfolded by the north fork in the road on the west side of Virginia City. The drop-off time is Monday morning at 10:00.

You have one chance. Use it wisely.

Mr. Eli Waldoch

Mitch finally regained enough breath to speak. “We’ve got to tell Little Joe!”

Roy looked over the note once again, then folded it carefully before looking Mitch in the eye. “No we don’t,” he said decisively. “Wouldn’t do us any good, and that poor youngun’s got enough problems as it is.”

Mitch leaned forward on the desk, his blue eyes pleading for some measure of reassurance. “But, Sheriff. He’ll help, I know he will.”

Roy fought to keep a cool façade in place to keep Mitch calm. Inwardly, he was desperately trying to think of some plan to ensure the safety of all the children. “Yes, I’m sure he’d try," Roy said, patting the boy on the shoulder. "But we ain’t telling him and that’s final. You hear me boy?”

Mitch nodded, but his shoulders drooped in disappointment. “What are we going to do?”

Roy put his arm around the boy and escorted him to the door. “Just let the grown-ups handle it, but you can help by showing me where you found this.”

Flickering candles of pain, white hot one instant and almost bearable the next forced Joe back to consciousness. He heard words, uncertain which direction they came from. “No luck, can’t figure out where he’s gone.” The Sheriff’s voice, it had to be.

“Those rocks make it almost impossible to track him.” His brother Hoss’ voice.

A whimper escaped Joe’s lips. Gritting his teeth, Joe slowly opened his eyes and was confronted with five concerned faces--Pa, his brothers', Doc Martin and Sheriff Roy Coffee. Taking a shallow breath to fight the pain, Joe spoke. "What're you looking at?"

"Yes, it did and so did the letter from the School Association, notifying us that Mr. Waldoch was dangerous and under suspension from the teachers union," Adam said quickly. “And on top of that, Sheriff Coffee got a telegram that said he is wanted for the murder of his mother and another young woman back in Boston.”

Ben fought to control his exasperation as he sat down on the bed next to his youngest son. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

Little Joe gaped in disbelief. "Tell you? I tried to. I tried to tell Adam, and he wouldn't do anything," he panted and tried to rise. "Then I went to you. I tried every way to get help, we all did, but none of you would listen."

Ben pushed him gently back to the bed. "You're going to hurt yourself, lie still!"

Little Joe shook his head. "All I heard was discipline and self control and life isn't fair," he gasped, twisting to the side to try and calm the searing pain in his chest. "What I really wanted and needed was someone to help."

"Calm down Little Joe!" Paul insisted as he quickly walked to the bed to try and restrain the boy. He pushed him back to the mattress.

"I won't! You didn't have to sit through..." Joe exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his unbroken hand. His breath came in short gasps, the deep lines of pain obvious on his face.

Paul pulled a syringe from his bag and readied a sedative. Little Joe stared at his Pa, forming more accusing words.

"Hold him Ben," Paul said quickly, deciding to end the outburst before it heightened.

Little Joe looked over at the doctor and saw the needle. "No! I don’t want to sleep!"

Ben pulled Little Joe over to his side against his chest. Paul slipped the boy's pajamas down over the slender hip and injected him quickly.

“You didn’t see what he did to the girls! How he’d …” Little Joe started, then fought another wave of pain.

Ben held Little Joe close as the sedative began to calm him. "I'm sorry, son. I hope you can forgive me—us” he said, noticing the upset in both his sons eyes. “ We should have listened to you."

Joe fought the sedative as best he could. "I tried." Joe's pain filled green eyes sought out his father's steady gaze. "I tried to do it like you said, but..."

Joe nodded, and did as instructed. A few moments later he again tried to apologize. "I tried to do the grown up thing, but the letter ...." He bit his lips and squeezed his eyes shut again, a single tear escaping and leaking down his smooth cheek. "It took so long to get here." He paused and licked his lips. "When no one believed us I couldn't think of any other way ..."

"I understand, Joseph. But we need you to rest now, and stop fighting the medicine Paul gave you," Ben said looking over at the Doctor.

"He's right Little Joe. I want you to stop talking and let the sedative take effect. I don't want to have to give you another injection," Paul said, although in reality he couldn't carry out his threat. He had already given the boy the biggest dose allowed.

When Little Joe finally slipped into sleep, Ben looked at his other two boys. "I told Roy we'd meet the posse up by Elk Grove Gorge. Are you ready?"

"Pa, I think I'd like to stay with Little Joe," Hoss said anxiously as Little Joe fought demons even in sleep.

"He'll be unconscious for several hours, Hoss. I think your time would be better spent finding the man that did this, instead of watching your little brother sleep," Paul said as he returned the syringe to his bag.

Paul patted Hoss' beefy arm. "He'll be fine Hoss. Don't worry. It'll take some time, but he'll be up tormenting you by Christmas--I promise."

"Okay, Doc. I'll hold you to that," Hoss said as he looked one last time at Little Joe before he left the room.

Several hours later, Little Joe was abruptly yanked back to consciousness by a hand shaking his left shoulder. He groaned in pain from the movement and opened his eyes. When his vision cleared, he was surprised to see his friend Mitch.

"Mitch? What're.." Joe closed his eyes to fight the pain. "What're you doing here."

"You've got to help! Slimey has kidnapped some of the girls and is holding them for ransom. We have to get them back!"

Little Joe shook his head, waiting for the pain to lessen to the point where he could speak.

"Joe-you've got to help," Mitch asked again, his voice tinged with panic-"that's my sister Patricia he's got."

"I'm coming," Little Joe gasped. He took another shallow breath. "I didn't even have to think twice buddy." He exhaled slowly, then inhaled again. His struggles from earlier in the day had made the pain in his chest even more intense. "I'm just trying to figure out where Eli would have gone, that's all," Joe said as he threw the covers back from the bed. He wrapped his unbroken arm around his ribs and tried to rise.

Mitch looked at his friend so pale and weak on the bed and realized he had made a grave mistake in coming to the Ponderosa. "Joe..." he trailed off.

"I said I'm coming," Joe said, once more sinking back to the bed. On the fourth failed try he looked up at his friend and held out his hand. "I'm going to need a little help."

Mitch hadn't seen his friend since they had left the schoolhouse and didn't know what poor shape he was in. When he had burst in, he blurted everything out and expected Little Joe to jump out of bed to help. He extended his hand and eased Joe to a sitting position, his friend's legs dangling off the edge of the bed. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

Little Joe bent almost double trying to fight the pain. After a moment he drew in an unsteady breath. "I'm coming," he said, the exertion already starting to get to him. Joe balled his right hand into a fist and pressed deeply into his solar plexus. "I think I have an idea where they might be."

Later that afternoon, Eli stormed back and forth in the miners cabin high in the hills. "No Joe Cartwright at the drop point. Well girls do you know what that means? The high and mighty Cartwright's think their boy is worth more than the three of you. I can see I'm going to have to give them a token to realize that I'm serious." He looked over the three girls, trying to come to a decision. "I'll let you three decide. In five minutes, I'm going to come back in and kill one of you. If you can decide and agree who it'll be, I'll do it. If no decision is made, I'll kill two." He smiled icily. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," Slimey said and backed out of the room. The click of the lock told them once more they were locked in and the girls started to cry.

Three boys huddled behind an outcropping of rocks ten feet behind the cabin. Eli’s ranting was so loud he was clearly audible even at that distance. "What did he mean 'no Joe Cartwright' at the drop off point?" Joe said softly, glaring at his friends.

Mitch and Seth looked at each other guiltily. "We didn't want to tell you Little Joe, but Slimey asked for a ransom. He wanted you in exchange for the girls'." Mitch said.

Little Joe took a shallow breath, trying to fight the dizziness. "Then this is easy. I'll just go in and he'll let the girls' go."

“Yeah, that’d work great,” Mitch mocked. “Because he’s so trustworthy.”

"Huh, uh," Seth said quickly. "I'm the oldest and I'm in charge here. Mitch you take off and get the posse--they should be near Steven's point. Little Joe and I will wait here and make sure nothing happens before you get back."

Mitch nodded and took off for his horse, eager to bring rescuers to help his sister. Joe waited until he was certain Mitch was gone. If things went bad, he didn’t want Mitch to have to watch his sister die. Joe looked into Seth’s eyes. "You know we can't wait for the posse. It'll be twenty minutes at least till they get here--if Mitch finds them right away. We have to get them out," Joe whispered.

Seth nodded, peering over the rocks to look at the back of the shack. "I know. I'll go."

Little Joe shook his head, then grunted against the pain it caused in his torso. "You..." He took a shallow breath and closed his eyes. "Won't fit through the window. It'll have to be me," Joe said, finally opening his eyes after he finished speaking.

Seth eyed his friend warily. Little Joe was fighting to stay conscious and he could tell the pain was bad. He had seen his young friend in similar situations, and could tell Joe was in very rough shape. He stood and looked toward the cabin once more. But Little Joe was right--there was no way he was going to fit through that window. For one of the few times in his sixteen years he cursed his stocky body as he looked at the narrow window six feet off the ground. "Mitch…”

"I will," Little Joe said and carefully tucked his splinted wrist inside his shirt, glad that the Doctor hadn't cast it yet or it would be much harder to manage. "I can't climb through the window using only one hand so you're going to have to boost me up to it."

They snuck to the back of the cabin and Seth did as requested, lifting Joe up to the window. He was glad when his friend slowly slid through the window and dropped to the other side. Standing on a rock, Seth was able to peek through the window and see the girls all tied up on the floor. He noticed Joe took a moment to compose himself on the floor, then stood and walked to the girls. The relief was clearly written on the girls' faces at the sight of their rescuers, and they relaxed slightly when Little Joe pulled out his knife and slit the ropes around the first girl's wrists.

Sara Beth Parker ran to the window and easily pulled herself up and through to safety. Joe next cut the ropes holding Patricia. She kissed him on the cheek and started to speak. Little Joe put his fingers over her lips and shook his head. He pointed to the window and was glad when she ran over and climbed through.

Seth looked at his pocket watch and tapped his foot nervously. One minute left. As his friend was cutting the ropes holding the last girl, Seth realized something. How was Little Joe going to get out? There was no way he was going to be able to boost himself up through the window with one hand, and Seth knew Joe would send Janie Thompkins through the window first. On the coat tails of the first realization, came another. Little Joe had known he wouldn't be getting out through the window.

As soon as he completed freeing Janie, the sound of a key entering a lock filled the small room. Joe thrust the girl toward the window and ran to the door--bracing his back against it.

"What the!" Eli screamed from the other side of the door. "What the hell is going on in there! That's it, all three of you brats are dead! Dead do you hear me!" The large man pounded his fists on the door, enraged to be thwarted even for a moment.

When Janie slid through the window, Seth poked his head in and saw Little Joe braced against the door. He shook his head sadly and whispered, "Joe..."

Little Joe shrugged slightly and offered a small smile. "There was no other way, Seth." He pushed harder against the door, trying to keep Eli away for a moment longer. "Go. Get the girls away from here that's the important thing. I'll be okay, just keep them safe." Joe paused. "And... and if something bad happens..." A single tear slid down his cheek. "Tell my Pa and brothers that I love them."

Any further conversation was halted as Eli gave one last push that threw the youngest Cartwright to the floor. Eli grinned evilly--surprised yet gratified to see Little Joe on the floor. He laughed maniacally. "Just what I wanted boy-just what I wanted," he said, traces of spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. The brat was in rough shape that was apparent from a first glance. Ah, what would cause the most immediate pain--he grabbed the broken wrist, his entire outlook gladdening as he heard the all-too-familiar groan--music to his ears. "Fixed you up real good, did they?" He grabbed Little Joe by the shirtfront and dragged him into the front room.

Huddled in the corner, Joe hoped Eli's angry shouts couldn't be heard in the distance by Seth. He knew his friend had realized too late that Joe wouldn't be coming out through the window, and would be feeling guilty. There just wasn't enough time even if he had been feeling better. Another stinging slap to his right cheek whipped Joe's head to the side. He flinched and looked up at his captor once more. The glint of madness that had frequented his teacher's eyes was no longer. The blue eyes that stared back at him danced with full-fledged insanity. Joe realized that Slimey had effortlessly slipped past the gate that separated the sane from the insane--into the realm of madness.


	Part 3