The meal in Virginia City's only French restaurant had been as usual, superb. The Eiffel Tower was the most expensive eating establishment in town and it showed in both the well-dressed patrons and the furnishings. The mahogany tables were covered in pristine white and the silver eating utensils were of the very finest. Due to the nature of their discussion, the three men finishing their meal were glad they were seated at a corner table which offered privacy.

"He's a good boy, just seems to be a handful," Ben said as he toyed with his wineglass. Talking about his youngest son's misadventures was hard and the fact that this man was a stranger didn't help.

Adam noticed his father's discomfort as he took a sip from his wineglass. "Little Joe is very smart but doesn't seem to apply himself." He looked across the table at his father, glad to see perfect agreement written across the weather-worn face. "We would like to see him achieve his potential."

Eli Waldoch, Virginia City's newest schoolteacher wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. His icy blue eyes danced with the glowing light from the candles that stood in the center of the table. "Let me make sure I understand you. You're asking me to keep an extra tight rein on him."

Ben nodded and steepled his fingers on the table in front of him. "None of his past teachers have been able to convince him of the necessity of study. We were hoping that you, with your experience and background would have better luck."

Eli paused for a moment before speaking. "I must admit that I looked over his records and the notes in it are pretty detailed and quite lengthy I might add." He stroked the white tablecloth that brushed against his thigh and his mind threatened to wander.

Ben put his hand over his face for a moment before speaking. "He is a bit, um..." he looked to his eldest for the proper words to describe his youngest son.

"High spirited is the best adjective I believe." Adam said with a forced grin. Or out of control, or willful or troublesome or a thousand other not so complimentary words to describe my baby brother, depending on what scrape he has gotten himself into today.

Eli chuckled warmly, which contrasted with his cold, hard aquiline features. "As I said, I've read his records and they all have a common thread. The fact that he is very bright but doesn't pay attention or listen. Although he does seem to somehow absorb or grasp the concepts taught. He just doesn't seem to want to do any homework." When Eli noticed his two dinner companions nodding in agreement, he continued. "I'm going to lay out what usually happens to disobedient children in my classroom. I tolerate no disruption of any sort. You will either receive a note from me which requires your signature or he will receive a caning. I'm not very flexible I'm afraid. It will be my way or he will feel the results."

Adam smiled, relieved that a teacher with years of experience had finally decided to come West to Virginia City. Surely with twenty years of dealing with unruly children under his belt the man should certainly be able to handle one wild thirteen year old, he thought.

Ben however was thinking about how much he hated allowing others to discipline his youngest. Adam had given Little Joe more than his fair share of spankings, and even Roy Coffee on a couple of occasions had felt the need to swat his boy's backside--but outsiders were another matter. He had known from an early age that Little Joe was a discipline challenge, and the teachers at the Virginia City School were going to have their hands full. Ben couldn't count the notes that had been sent home in the seven years since the boy had started school. He looked up into the pale blue eyes and toothy smile of the new teacher. Hopefully, things would improve. "I'd really like to convince him to go on to McAllister's School when he turns eighteen."

"From what I've read about his intelligence level he certainly has the potential. We'll just have to create the desire." Eli looked at each man intently. "I'm going to warn you though. If he's accustomed to running wild it's going to be a difficult process to 'break' him so to speak."

Ben nodded and took a sip of his wine. "I understand. He needs a firm hand."

"Since we have already identified that he is a discipline problem, I'm going to do my best to see that he takes his education very seriously. I have one thing to add, however. In my classroom, I exert total control. So if you see evidence of a ruler stripe across Little Joe's hand, I don't want any further punishment to befall the boy, unless I send a note home. He must know I have parental authority to discipline." When he noticed the two Cartwright's nodding back at him, he smiled. "I have every reason to believe that we will succeed admirably," Eli said confidently as he wiped his mouth with the white cotton napkin and set it beside his plate.

The three men rose from the dinner table and walked out into the cool night air. Eli shook hands with the two Cartwrights' warmly. "I think we'll see a marked improvement with your 'high-spirited' Little Joe in the near future. If you let me do things my way, we'll have that boy in McAllister's School in no time."

Ben smiled warmly. "Good, that's exactly what I wanted to hear." He eyed the hand carved cane that Eli held in his hand. "I'd like to give a party next Saturday night at the Ponderosa to celebrate your arrival, but I'm afraid one of the principle pass times around here is dancing."

Eli noticed the man's gaze and held up the cane. "Don't worry about me. I'm used to sitting at the sidelines when all the young bucks whirl the ladies around the room. I'll find plenty to occupy myself let me assure you."

Adam noticed the intricately carved dragon's head on the handle. "That's beautiful work--may I?" he asked, stretching out his hand.

Eli smiled quickly. "Certainly, be my guest," he said as he handed the cane to the dark haired man.

Adam studied the exquisite detail of the wooden cane, before looking at Mr. Waldoch. "This is excellent work. Did you do it yourself?"

Eli smiled warmly. "Yes, a lot of trial and error I'm afraid. The head is modeled after the dragon Grendel in one of my favorite books."

"I know exactly who you are talking about," Adam said as he continued to study the cane. "These children below the dragon--who are they?" he said as he stroked the finely chiseled features of four boys who appeared to be about fifteen years old.

A smile curled Eli's lips. "Those are boys who've played chess with me. Kind of a favorite student sort of thing, at the end of the school year I carve their faces into my cane." Eli accepted the cane and licked his lips. "Well gentlemen it's been a long evening and I'd like to thank you for a delicious dinner. "But I have to face twenty two students in the morning and I need to get my rest."

Ben chuckled, glad the evening was coming to a close. "You're lucky it's not thirty-five students. If Mrs. McMillan hadn't enjoyed schooling the younger children last year after the fire, you would have had a full class," he said, remembering the way the older woman seemed to come alive when teaching.

"Yes, I realize how fortunate I am. I did have one question though. Why the big age gap between Little Joe and the younger students? Joe is almost fourteen and I believe and the next child is only ten." Eli pushed his oily salt and pepper hair back from his eyes as he waited for an answer.

"Yellow fever," Adam responded. "Little Joe and his mother were in San Francisco when it hit Virginia City. Wiped out every toddler in the territory." Adam took a deep breath before continuing. "That's also why Little Joe is over a year younger than the others in his grade. With such an age gap between students, and the boy so bright..."

Eli held up his hand to halt any further justification. "I understand completely. You felt that it would benefit the boy to send him with the older students rather than have him wait for the younger ones to catch up."

Ben nodded. "That's the way we saw it at the time of course, and I hope it was the right decision."

"I'm sure it was. Don't you worry I'll take good care of your little boy," Eli said and took his leave of his dinner companions.

It wasn't far to the place Virginia City's constantly changing lineup of school teachers called home. Eli walked up the stairs to Widow Hawkin's boarding house and took a left at the top. When he reached his room he looked around sharply then pulled out a key. He pushed it into the iron lock and was gratified to hear a click. One more glance around and he pushed open the door quickly, slid inside and shut it behind him quickly. He again pushed the key into the lock and turned it, the answering click this time music to his ears. He was home. His haven, his refuge, the place where he could continue the match that had become his reason for living. Eli almost skipped over to the bureau and turned up the flame on the oil lamp. Free rein--I've just been given free rein. The exploits and trials of Little Joe Cartwright had been one of the factors that had drawn him to Virginia City in the first place. The same day that trouble back East had arisen, the school records of the youngest Cartwright boy had arrived and Eli had taken the opportunity. But to have the father and oldest brother give him a free rein was an unexpected bonus.

Eli walked over to the closet and opened the door. A white satin dressing gown draped on a brass hanger dominated the small space. He ran his hand through his thinning salt and pepper hair, then stroked the garment gently. The memories came flooding back--a shrill laugh echoing through the shabbily furnished room. Eli gritted his teeth and clenched and unclenched his hands until the laughter died away. It didn't matter now. All that did was the chess match. He stroked the gown once more, noting the familiar stirrings of arousal. No! Not till the match is over! He walked over to the green velvet settee and sat down, a beautiful ebony and ivory chessboard on the coffee table. He picked up a ebony pawn and began to carve a name into the bottom of the piece. "Yes, I believe I made the right decision to come west. I've found the most important pawn to add to my final game."

The Virginia City Schoolhouse was a simple structure, one large room with a porch and main entrance on the front. An American flag flapped lazily in the slight morning breeze, it's colors echoed in the brilliant blue of the sky and the bright red and white of the school. Little Joe walked up to the entrance, his navy blue pants clinging uncomfortably to his thighs and the shoestring tie tied tightly around the collar of his white shirt. He stepped on the first step, and paused. I hope things go better this year than last. It wasn't that Joe liked to cause trouble, but somehow he usually ended up there. He pushed open the door and walked in, surprised by the silence. All the children were neatly lined up in their seats facing the front, the new teacher standing before the blackboard. What is this? I'm not late, at least not much.

"I assume you are Little Joe Cartwright?" Eli Waldoch barked with a gravely hint to his baritone.

Little Joe slid into the seat next to Pam Smith, a dark haired sixteen year old. "Yes, sir--that'd be me," he said, offering the middle-aged teacher a bright, friendly smile.

"I see. Thank you for gracing us with your presence. A second late appearance will not be tolerated, let me assure you," Eli said icily as he rolled his cane between his hands.

The thwp thwp sound reached all the way to the back where Little Joe sat and he cringed. Things don't seem to have started out very well.

Eli walked back to his desk and sat down. He studied all the pawns lined up before him-a normal teacher would have seen the freshly scrubbed faces of pupils-but not Eli. The children were here for his enjoyment and nothing else. In this classroom, learning wasn't even secondary-it didn't exist at all.

Eli studied his newest pupil, as a shadow from the past arose. Billy Joe Jenkins-from Alabama. No, not the same boy, but definitely cut from the same cloth. Arrogant attitude, same slight build, curly hair-but BJ's hair was black and his eyes were brown. The attitude was the same though. He watched how the young girls seemed to sit a little straighter and primp a bit more. A ladies' man too. The brat. His thoughts returned to the conversation with Ben and Adam Cartwright on Saturday night. Discipline and better marks. Yes, I'll enjoy this. And with full knowledge and even blessing from the boy's father and brother. Eli looked out the window and noticed the blue sky against the backdrop of the mountains. I'm going to like Virginia City. I'm sure of it.

The snow-capped mountains brought his mind back to the brothels of New York City and the prostitutes that inhabited them. The dark hovels were filled with aging woman whose sagging breasts couldn't hold a candle to the proud peaks on the horizon. Even though they were sorry excuses for women, his mind still drifted to the dark rooms on the waterfront and the times when he had been able to release his tensions and inner torment through a short tryst with a whore. The dark rages had been under control then, even manageable until a new girl had come to work at "Dip Yer Wick." Eli grinned when he thought of the sign that hung beside the door to the run-down whore house. The slogan falsely boasted "Clean sheets after every tenth customer" in faded white paint. Eli had struggled for years with the demons that threatened to take control of his body, but he'd been able to maintain a false façade in front of his students and fellow teachers. But after an unfortunate incident at the brothel, he had to now satisfy himself with the chess match. He stared back at Little Joe, who was animatedly talking to the dark haired girl beside him. Oh, yes the four boys, now broken spirited and emotionally tortured were the result of his matches--a success story . He looked down at his cane and caressed the carvings, deriving erotic pleasure from the feel of the wood. Little Joe Cartwright you will be my masterpiece. The piece de' resistance if you will--and the last face to be carved into my cane.

A frown crossed his lips. Unfortunately the result of the BJ Jenkins discipline was a broken nose, one that ensured his teaching career was over. Over, all but waiting for the final piece of paper to declare him unfit as a teacher. It would deprive him of the human tools necessary for his match and he knew that it would be hard to find a new reason for living. Eli knew he didn't have much time for this chess match-he couldn't leisurely play with his pupils like he had done in the past. The pace would be faster--and more painful for his students.

Little Joe turned and looked at the slightly acned handsome face of his friend Tuck, with his mocking brown eyes and fringe of dark yellow bangs. He raised his eyebrows wondering what was going on here. Since arriving home he hadn't had a chance to talk to his friends and had no inkling what was going on with the new teacher, but the prolonged silence and quick changes of expression were not a good sign. The man seemed to be angry one moment and simpering the next. He decided to take a page out of his treasured new detective book and study the man. Eli Waldoch was tall and broad and Joe judged him to be about Pa's size. Little Joe was not afraid of large men since he had been around them all his life. He judged him to be in his late forties and that the man carefully combed his oily hair to cover a bald spot.

Eli stood and dropped his thick-framed glasses heavily on the desk. "Since our last pupil has finally arrived from his extended vacation I thought I'd let you know how things are going to be handled in this classroom." Eli walked around the front of his desk and leaned against the edge. He sneered at the children, his upper lip curling in amusement. "I will accept no disobedience and will deal with any insubordination harshly. Your parents and the school board have told me what a bunch of unruly children you are and that you need discipline. That is one thing that I'm more than willing to provide. So the bottom line is--you will learn. Or regret it." He looked out at the sea of faces, glad that most of them held at the very least a shadow of fear. Eli's eyes narrowed when he saw Little Joe Cartwright in the back. The boy was slumped in his seat staring at the dark haired girl in front of him, not even attempting to pay attention to his dissertation. He'd carefully cultivated his image and this speech to instill fear into his students. The fear added to his pleasure and he wasn't about to let one snot-nosed runt of a boy stand in his way. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "The customary instrument of your punishment will be..." Eli paused for effect, his voice calm and sweet as honey. He pulled out a feat of engineering-a metal pointer crafted out of the strongest steel and six inches long. "You see children, this is what is called a collapsible pointer." He gently tugged at the tip with his long tapered fingers as it clicked out to its full length.

"I had this custom made by a medical supply company," Eli said as he twirled foot long steel pointer expertly. "Cost me two months salary-but oh." He closed his eyes and held the pointer close to his breast and savored the feel of the cold steel. "The pleasure it has brought me has been immeasurable." Eli opened his steel blue eyes and stared at his pupils. "I hit a girl with it in St. Louis, split her cheek clean open." Eli traced a finger slowly across his razor stubbled cheek. "I had the devil of a time getting all the blood off, it is a precision instrument you know." He turned and walked behind his desk and pushed on the tip of the pointer to collapse it again. The repetitious click, click noise grated on the students' nerves. "I never did ask what happened to the girl." A slow smile curled his lips as he noticed several girls' hands had flown to their cheeks.

"Now shall we start our lesson for the day? Turn to page 7 in your history books and let's discuss the War of 1812." Eli said, already contemplating whom his first victim would be.

Several hours later….

Sue Ellen Tracey was clad in a stylish blue and white striped dress, her straight ebony hair tied back with a white ribbon. She looked absolutely terrified as she stood in front of the teacher's walnut desk.

"Oh, what a pretty, delicate little hand that is, my dear." Eli fingered his pointer and licked his lips. "What a shame I'll have to put a not-so-pretty stripe across it. But it is a necessity, after all you were very late returning to class after recess today."

Sue Ellen looked up at the teacher, terrified but bewildered. She wasn't late, and didn't understand what he was doing or why. "But...."

"Silence!" Eli's voice cut through the air like a whip. "I don't have time for your petty excuses little girl." He grabbed her hand and lay it palm side up on the top of his desk. "Don't move it!" he ordered as he raised his pointer.

Little Joe couldn't stand it any longer. He had watched the scene enfold before him and knew this teacher was picking on his friend for no reason. His sense of justice was outraged, which left him at his most reckless and impulsive. Sue Ellen had done nothing wrong, Waldoch was just tormenting her because he could.

Eli took his time holding the weapon above the girl's hand, obviously savoring the moment. "Unless someone would be kind enough to take your place?" he sneered, with his back to the class. Expecting no response, he wasn't surprised at the silence in the classroom. The girl's tears slid down her pale face as she waited for her undeserved punishment.

Little Joe silently slid from his seat and walked to the front. He reached Eli's desk and offered Sue Ellen a small smile, picked up her hand and kissed it. "Go on," he said softly and gestured toward the back of the schoolroom. "I'll handle it." Little Joe slowly lay his hand across the desk in her stead and looked up at the astonished face of Eli. "I volunteer to take her stripe."

Eli's eyes narrowed as he watched the girl escape to the back of the room. He slapped his pointer across his palm twice, enjoying the sting of pain. When Sue Ellen was seated, he turned back to the boy who had defied him. Steel blue eyes glared at Little Joe. "So you will boy, and then some," he said icily and raised his pointer again.

Note: Miss Babette is in the episode "Calamity on the Comstock."

Little Joe pushed on the door to 'Miss Babette's Attire for Sophisticated Ladies', the tinkling of the bell attached to the handle announcing his arrival. The delicate scent of lilac and roses lingered in the air, a scent he had always found welcoming and endearing. It reminded him of lazy afternoons spent wandering though the shop while his mama and Miss Babette discussed the virtues of lace versus brocade. The memories were hazy, but the shop and its owner always brought his mind back to happy times when his mother was alive. He needed those memories to wash away the thoughts of the hellish day he had spent in school.

A tall slender woman pushed aside the curtains that separated the lavish display area from the workshop in the back. Miss Babette clapped her hands together happily when she saw her visitor and walked into the room filled with carefully arranged dresses and apparel. She pulled the boy into an embrace and hugged him tightly, then drew back to look him in the face. "Ah! Joe Joe, so nice of you to visit so soon after you returned from your trip. How was Sacramento my dear?"

Little Joe wrinkled his nose. There would be no fudging the truth here. Miss Babette knew him too well. "Okay."

Miss Babette put her hands on her hips and glared playfully at the boy. "Joe Joe, did you get into trouble?"

Joe had to grin. "A little."

"Well, a little isn't so bad is it?" she said with a smile. "And here you are safe and sound." She took him by the shoulder and turned him around, then back again. "And look none the worse for wear I might add." She patted him gently on the hand.

"Ow!" Little Joe yelped and pulled his hand away. "Maybe a little worse for wear," he said sheepishly.

Babette shook her head, and smiled. "What trouble did you get into now?"

Joe chewed on his lower lip for a moment. Adam's words about not interfering in Serena's life flickered through his mind, but he discarded them as quickly as they came. "Aunt B," he said indecisively, "I need to talk to you about a friend of mine."

Babette smiled and gestured toward the back room. "Why certainly child, let's sit down in the back and have a nice talk." She shook her finger at the boy. "But I'm warning you--you aren't going to talk me into anything again."

Little Joe pushed open the front door of the house, glad that the day was over. He couldn't remember ever having spent a worse day in his young life, although the chat with Aunt Babette had cheered him up a little. The great room was empty, a cheery fire burning brightly in the large stone fireplace and a book of poems lying open on the chair next to the hearth. Relieved that none of his family was around, Little Joe started for the stairs. He made it to the second step before Adam returned to the room to finish his book. The leather bound volume of poems was actually an excuse to be waiting for his youngest brother to return home from school. Although Adam had lent a hand in raising Little Joe, he felt that his baby brother didn't apply himself the way he should when schoolwork was concerned. When Adam had left for college at nineteen, it had been a financial struggle for his father to send him to Boston to study. Adam felt if he could just instill the love of learning he felt in his baby brother the boy would want to go to college.

"Say Little Joe, how was school today?" Adam asked hopefully, although he knew the odds of a cheerful response from his baby brother were slim.

Joe frowned and didn't turn around. His posture was wary. "Fine."

Adam sat down in the blue velvet chair and picked up his book. "Why don't you sit down and tell me about it?" he coerced.

"No, thanks," Little Joe said and chanced another step toward the safe haven of his room.

"Joseph," Adam said, his tone a little stronger. "I would like you to come down here and tell me about school."

Little Joe rolled his eyes and stopped his ascent. When Adam was in one of his moods there was no way he would have any peace until his oldest brother got what he wanted. Unfortunately, his day was one thing Little Joe didn't feel like discussing. He fingered the banister nervously. "I'd really like to go up and get cleaned up for supper?" he responded, more of a question than a statement.

Adam's tone hardened, as it usually did when he felt his younger brother wasn't showing him the proper respect. "I don't think a five minute delay will hurt you." He studied Little Joe's back. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you, boy," he snapped.

Reluctantly, Little Joe turned around and looked at Adam. There were two creases across his oldest brother's forehead, a sign that usually signaled the start of an unpleasant episode. Joe knew he had no choice in the matter. Adam would push and push until he got his way, so surrender was the only option. With a deep sigh, Little Joe turned and walked down the stairs. He crossed the room to the settee and flopped down on the red and white striped fabric, crossing his arms and scowling for good measure. "Okay, older brother. What d'you want to know?"

Adam grinned broadly, knowing Little Joe had bowed to his authority. "I want to know how your day was."

"Fine," Little Joe said and studied his fingernails. Looking Adam in the eye usually gave too much away, so he tried to avoid it.

Adam set his book down on the table before returning his attention to Little Joe. He steepled his fingers and spoke in a low voice. "Care to elaborate on that 'fine'?"

Little Joe scowl deepened and he looked up. "Nope."

Adam pursed his lips. Time to try another tactic. "Okay, then how was Mr. Waldoch?" He saw the boy's mouth open, another one word answer on his lips. "And don't tell me fine!"

A grin crossed Little Joe's lips quickly and then it was gone. His brother knew him too well. "He was okay."

"C'mon, Little Joe. Tell me how it really went," Adam said with a smile.

Little Joe took a deep breath and decided to share his concerns over the intimidating Mr. Eli Waldoch. He looked forlornly down at the sturdy pine coffee table, then up at Adam. "Are you sure that he's not ... you know..." Little Joe looked for the most descriptive word in his almost fourteen year old vocabulary to describe the insane actions of his teacher. He couldn't control the grimace that crossed his expressive face. "You know ... nuts?"

Adam's smile instantly fled and he angrily stood. Few things angered him as quickly as a child disparaging someone in the teaching profession, someone who, in his opinion had devoted his life to teaching the youth of the country. "Little Joe I ought to thrash you here and now. Saying that about a veteran teacher like Mr. Waldoch. He was teaching children long before you were born and will be teaching after your children are born!" Adam shook his finger at the boy who was now cowering on the settee. "I can think of no reason for you to cast such aspersions on Mr. Waldoch's mental status other than a dislike of the way he disciplines children." He noticed Little Joe was nervously rubbing his hand. Adam leaned across the pine coffee table and grabbed the Joe's hand, unsurprised to see a red stripe running across the open palm. "So you couldn't even go one day without getting in trouble, could you?" he sneered.

Little Joe jerked his hand away and rubbed it. It hurt like the devil and Adam pulling on it had made it worse. He had only understood about three fourths of the speech Adam had just rattled off, but realized once more he was being blamed. "Just leave me alone," he shouted and jumped to his feet, clutching his sore hand tightly. "I knew you wouldn't listen to me anyway. All you're ever concerned about is school and college and learning," he shouted, the injustice over his punishment and the new teacher boiling to the surface. "Just go and tell Pa about it, you always were a big tattletale anyway!" Forgetting his sore hand for a moment, he vaulted over the back of the settee and ran for his room. The boy took the stairs two at a time and slammed the door to his room behind him.

Hoss had witnessed his little brother's outburst and walked over to the settee. He placed his large hands on the back of the sofa and leaned over, puncturing Adam with a stare. "He's right you know. You always were a tattletale."

Adam put his hands on his hips and stared back at Hoss. "I hardly think a tattletale is the correct description for a twenty-eight year old man concerned for his baby brother's welfare."

"Seems to me you laid that same line on me about ten years ago. It didn't sit with me then and it doesn't sit with me now." Hoss walked around the sofa and stood next to Adam. "Can't you cut the youngun a little slack?"

Adam exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes. Maybe I was too rough on the boy. He looked up at the closed door to Little Joe's room. The fifteen years that separated the two brothers seemed so far apart. "I shouldn't, but Pa won't hear about the stripe on Little Joe's hand from me." He looked at Hoss and narrowed his eyes. "But if this is any indication of how the school year is going to be, I'm not looking forward to it."

Little Joe rode slowly to school the next morning, the actions of his teacher forefront in his thoughts. Was yesterday just a way to let them know Eli was boss? And where did he get a name like Eli anyway? Reminds me of eels or something-I know I'll nickname him slimy. Little Joe thought of the way the sweat had run down his teacher's neck when he was very angry. Yes, Slimy is a perfect moniker to stick the man with. But what are we going to do? The schoolhouse came into view as he rode over the last hill that separated the open country side from Virginia City. Most of the children were outside, waiting by the make-shift shed that housed the horses for the students. Little Joe could see his friend Mitch's bay mare was already tied up and drinking from the trough. Little Joe thought of Mitch Devlin's dad and how he was almost as strict a disciplinarian as his Pa. I hope the rest of the kids were more successful than I was in convincing their folks that Slimy is a poor teacher.

Little Joe slowed his pace even further, not eager for the questions he knew the other children would ask. Joe hoped that yesterday was just a test, and that the rest of the school year would go smoothly. He flexed his right hand, still stiff from the punishment form Eli's ruler the day before. It was going to be a long semester if that wasn't the case.

As the lithe pinto came into view, several of his friends broke into a run to greet him. Mitch's reached the smaller boy first. "What'd your Pa say when you told him about Mr. Waldoch?"

Joe pulled the reins down from Cochise's neck and started walking toward the

corral, forcing Mitch and the other children to keep pace. "Nothing. I didn't tell him."

Mitch stopped. "What do you mean you didn't tell him?"

Joe stopped walking and turned around to face his friend. "I told Adam and he got mad. Said that I was casting a-a-a-spersions or something on Mr. Waldoch's good name and he wouldn't tolerate it." Joe ran his hand through his curls and sighed. "I figured there was no use telling Pa--he'd just get mad too." He turned and resumed walking toward the corral.

Mitch hurried to catch up and was soon walking side by side with Joe. "What're we going to do?"

"What'd your Pa say?" Little Joe asked, knowing the odds weren't good.

"About the same thing as Adam, only he didn't use any fancy words," Mitch said squeezing his hands into the pockets of his blue cotton pants. He looked up toward the schoolhouse, then over at the group of children who loitered nervously by the corral. "You know they're looking for you to do something about it, don't you?"

Little Joe took a deep breath and nervously wrung his hands together. "Yeah, I know. But what?"

"I don't know," Mitch answered and shook his head. "Their folks said about the same thing that ours did." He kicked a pebble in front of him and watched it sail off into the distance. "Damn them McNaughton brothers for burning the school down last year. We wouldn't have any of this trouble if they hadn't gone and done that!"

"All water under the bridge now." Little Joe tied Cochise's reins to the hitching post and started to unbuckle her cinch. The rest of the Virginia City schoolchildren descended on their leader like a swarm of flies, all talking at once. "Wait a minute-wait a minute!" Joe shouted, stopping his task and turning to face his friends. "I don't have any answers for you. We'll just have to hope that yesterday was a test to show us who is boss in the classroom, and that today will be better."

Two hours later, Little Joe came to the daunting decision that yesterday wasn't a test. Slimy had been ranting and raving all morning, picking on children randomly to make examples of them. He flexed his right hand and studied the painful bruise that ran down the center of his palm. Instinctively he knew things were only going to get worse. Joe made a decision, he just couldn't watch anymore. Slimy had just made Amy Smith cry for a totally unknown reason and was already descending on her older sister. Little Joe steeled himself and realized the time had come. Time to make some trouble and draw his teacher's attention away from the other children, and unfortunately, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, onto himself.

Little Joe's outstretched arms ached. He had been standing in front of the class for twenty-five minutes, a heavy textbook in each hand. His position standing like a scarecrow in a cornfield of desks would've been funny except for the predicament he found himself in.

His plan to save Amy from Eli had worked, a little too well. His trusty pea-shooter's aim had been accurate, but the pea had bounced off Seth's head and gone directly into Eli's open mouth. Little Joe fought a smile and lost. Eli had nearly choked to death he was so surprised. Joe had expected to be called to task for his mischief, in fact it was the intent. But when Eli punched him in the stomach he had to admit it took him totally by surprise. The heavy feeling in his arms began changing from a tingling numbness to a smoldering fire. He looked over at Eli and hoped that his punishment would end before he dropped the books.

Slimy stared at his class, dismayed by what had happened today. He glanced to his right and saw Little Joe Cartwright, a mere slip of a boy who had defied him openly in front of the other students. A faint sense of unease fluttered in Eli's chest. I've never played a match with an opponent who actively fought back. He pursed his lips and traced their outline with a long tapered finger. Would this change the outcome? A smile curled his lips and he snorted. Not likely, not likely.

The snort from his left drew Little Joe's attention. He caught his teacher's eye briefly and realized there was a flicker of madness hiding behind them. There is no other reason-no sane man would do what he did today. There is simply no reason for it. Little Joe shifted slightly, the books growing heavier by the second. He looked at his fellow students, bright shiny faces terrified of the man before them. Where there was usually a smile on their lips, in anticipation of the day ending if nothing else, now tight strained lines replaced their smiles. Why is he doing this to us? Eli doesn't know any of us, what possible reason would he have to want to make us so afraid of him? Little Joe didn't need his detective book to figure this question out, but cast a sideways glance at Eli before he made his decision. The man obviously enjoyed it.

Hoss walked down the long hallway on the way to his bedroom, the remnants of a turkey leg in his right hand. As he turned the corner on the way to his room, he heard a muffled cry from Little Joe's room at the end of the hallway. Hoss turned left and pushed the door open quickly and rushed in, his gaze immediately seeking out the small form thrashing around on the bed. Little Joe was obviously in a very deep sleep and in the clutches of another nightmare. By the light cast from the lamp, Hoss could see that his baby brother was deathly pale and his whole body was shaking--as if he were struggling with some invisible foe. The heavy wool blankets were all on the floor and the boy's bare legs and feet kicked at the mattress. Hoss quickly ran to the bed and tried to shake Little Joe awake, but the boy fought back, unable to see beyond the horror in his mind.

"Joe wake up! Wake up!" Hoss whispered, trying to avoid awakening the entire household.

"No, never! You'll never win. I won't let that happen!"

Hoss sat on the bed next to his baby brother and carefully drew him into an embrace.

When he felt the gentle comforting arms around him, Joe pulled himself back to the real world. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up into the eyes of his beloved brother. "What… what happened?" he asked, his teeth chattering from the cold.

Hoss pulled Joe's face in to his chest and held him even tighter. "You were having a nightmare again. What was it about?"

Little Joe pulled away slightly, unwilling to divulge the truth. "Nothing, it was just a bad dream."

The same one you've had for the past three nights?" Hoss asked softly.

"Yeah." Little Joe flushed guiltily and studied his upper thighs.

Hoss stroked his brother's hair. So far the boy had managed to hide the new bout with nightmares from Pa and Adam. Joe would be held up to close scrutiny if they found out that he had started having the dreams again. Hoss decided one more time to try and get his baby brother to open up before he told Pa. "You might feel better if you talked about it."

"Sorry Hoss, but I just can't," Joe said decisively with a shake of his head.

Little Joe shivered even in the warm embrace of his brother. Hoss leaned down and retrieved the blankets from the floor and pulled them up around the boy. "How about I stay here a while 'till you fall back to sleep?" he said, looking into the sleep-deprived eyes of his baby brother.

Joe smiled. "Thanks, Hoss but I don't think I'll be sleeping any more tonight. You go on to your own bed, I don't want to get you into any trouble."

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday--each day brought a new means of torment to the schoolchildren of Virginia City. Little Joe wracked his brain trying to come up with some plan to enlighten their parents to the lessons their teacher had been inflicting on them, but hadn't had any success.

The Saturday night "Welcome to Virginia City" party for Eli Waldoch had been underway for nearly two hours and a crowd of happy people danced and talked in the great room of the Ponderosa ranch house. The food and drink were plentiful and the well-dressed men and women seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The occupants of the back porch however, were somber. Even with the soft strumming sounds of a guitar drifting through the partially opened window, the thought of joining the party didn't enter their young minds.

Little Joe sat cross-legged on the pine floor and fiddled with his black string tie, disappointment clear on his young face. Mitch and Tuck glanced at each other, knowing there was little chance of talking their young friend out of his mood.

"They couldn't help it, Little Joe," Tuck began imitating his friend's nervous habit and fiddling with his own navy blue tie, "they're just afraid."

"They're afraid?" Little Joe said and held up his hands, the striped bruises evident even in the dim light of the porch. "I don't think anybody's gotten smacked more than me this week and I'm here."

Seth snickered from his place in the rocking chair. "Really wasn't any way around you being here was there?"

Joe had to smile at the older boy's reasoning. "Okay, maybe you're right about that." He stood and stuffed his hands into his pockets and started to pace. His nervous stomach was screaming with indigestion and he hoped no one would notice. "Don't they realize they just made it worse though? Telling their parents they were sick..."

"Lying is what you mean," Mitch said from his newly arrived place in the doorway. He pulled on his suspenders and looked over at his friends. "If we were trying to prove that Eli was causing trouble they've ruined it now. Our parents are never going to believe us."

Tuck scooted over on the bench to make room for Mitch, who joined him. They watched Little Joe pace back and forth for several minutes, hoping he was thinking of a plan.

"Anything?" Mitch probed, after what seemed like Little Joe's thousandth trip across the wide-planked floor of the porch.

Little Joe flashed a lop-sided grin, but didn't stop his nervous pacing. If his feet were active, sometimes it kept his stomach occupied and the storms of acid didn't come so readily. "I wish. You guys come up with anything?" he asked hopefully.

Mitch chuckled and wrapped his sinewy arms around his right knee. "You know you're the brains in this outfit."

Little Joe sighed deeply and rolled his eyes in frustration. "You don't know how sad that is. If I'm the brains it'll be a miracle if we all survive the semester."

The back door creaked open and Ralph Devlin came out on the porch, the cool night air a welcome change from the stuffy great room. "Here you are boys, it's about time we were heading home."

Mitch shot a glance at Little Joe, who had visibly paled. Not liking the idea of leaving their young friend alone, albeit with a houseful of guests, Mitch tried to buy some more time. "But Pa, it's not even nine o'clock yet."

Ralph chuckled, not convinced by the stalling tactics. He was quite used to the boys wanting to spend more time together and using any weapon in their arsenal to divert an early trip home. "Yes, I know that son. I believe I checked my pocket watch before I came out here." He watched Little Joe move back and forth on the porch, unable to stop his restless pacing even in the presence of one of his friend's parents. "Little Joe you are about making me dizzy with all that moving back and forth. What's the matter with you?"

Little Joe immediately stopped and looked uncertainly at Mitch, then over at Mr. Devlin. "Just a little extra energy to work off, I guess."

Mr. Devlin nodded, fully aware of how much energy the youngest Cartwright boy possessed. "I suppose with none of the other children showing up you four didn't have anyone to dance with, probably got a lot of extra energy." He stroked his chin thoughtfully and looked at his son. "You're lucky you didn't pull that sick stunt like the rest of your classmates. You wouldn't have sat comfortably for a month of Sundays, boy."

Mitch stood and tucked his hands in his pockets before answering. He had considered the exact same tactic that his schoolmates had used, but the fact that Tuck and Seth were riding in the wagon with him had bolstered his courage somewhat. He chanced a glance at his two friends and saw the exact same guilty looks on their faces that he imagined was on his own. "Now, Pa. You know I wouldn't do anything like that."

"I'm glad, son. But the fact remains that we have to drop off Seth and Tuck before we head home, and I've got a lot of work to do tomorrow. So let's get going," Mr. Devlin said and jerked his thumb toward the door.

As Little Joe waved goodbye to his friends, an unwelcome visitor entered his mind. Slimey tried to infringe on his thoughts, but Little Joe pushed the thoughts deep, willing himself to forget them. A bud of acid burst into bloom in his stomach and he shook his head to clear the disturbing thoughts. Only when he was very upset did the indigestion hit, but in the past week the burning sensation in his stomach had been an almost constant companion. He had carefully avoided his teacher all evening, hoping to avoid the inevitable scene that would take place.

Footsteps behind him on the front porch and the scraping sound of a cane announced a real visitor. This was the one visitor Little Joe had hoped to avoid, but as usually happened his luck ran out a little before the evening was over.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and squeezed until Little Joe flinched. Waldoch spun him around and glared at the young boy standing boldly before him. "Your little friends did me a favor tonight by not showing up," he said menacingly. "It showed their parents what willful little brats they all are. It is an open invitation to increase the discipline in my classroom."

Little Joe didn't know what to say so he just stared at the ground, willing the teacher to say his piece and just walk away.

Eli grabbed Little Joe by the chin and jerked his face upward with a snap. "Look at me when I talk to you boy!" he growled, then glanced around to make sure he wasn't overheard. "You thought that all your little soldiers would march to your tune--didn't you? Well it didn't happen and it won't. Get used to it. They'll all desert you like rats on a sinking ship--they always do."

Little Joe's eyes narrowed and he jerked back away from his teacher. "They won't! You'll see, my friends won't desert me." He backed up several steps to get out of his teacher's long-handed reach. The venom was clear in the small boy's voice as he hissed his parting words. "As far as I'm concerned, the only rat here is you!" Joe skirted around the shocked teacher and ran into the safe haven of Hop Sing's kitchen.

Ben was speaking to Mrs. Jackson, the buxom middle-aged head of the Virginia City Ladies Society when the clock chimed eleven times. He smiled at her, offered his excuses and looked around the great room for a sign of his youngest son's curls. The lively music and dancing kept everyone busy swirling around the room but there wasn't a sign of Little Joe. I should have sent Little Joe to bed hours ago. Ben poked his head in the kitchen, then quietly went out the back door to check outside. "No luck," Ben said aloud. "Darn." He walked around the side of the house, inadvertently embarrassing Adam who was quietly sweet-talking Melissa Rivers, a tall girl with auburn curls. Ben escaped from that uncomfortable situation, only to bump into Hoss shyly talking to one of the Olson sisters on the front porch. Well, two sons located. Now to find the third and most elusive. Ben pushed open the front door and returned to the great room. He put his hands on his hips and scanned the room once more.

Roy Coffee recognized the worried look on Ben's face and correctly figured the reason for it. He caught his friend's eye and motioned for him to join him at the punch bowl.

Ben walked quickly over, narrowly avoiding crashing into Doc Martin as he whirled by with an attractive girl. "Have you seen Little Joe?" he asked as soon as the Sheriff was within hearing distance.

Roy took a sip of punch and looked his friend in the eye. "I saw him go upstairs a couple of hours ago." Roy said with a smile. A thought entered his mind and the smile turned to a worried frown. "You don't suppose..."

"I aim to find out. If that boy's taken off or is with some older girl there will be hell to pay," Ben said icily as he set his glass down. Roy put his glass next to Ben's and the two men very deliberately walked across the room to the stairs and ran up them as nonchalantly as possible. They quickly went down the hallway and Ben pushed open the door to his youngest son's bedroom. Ben and Roy poked their heads in and were relieved to see the boy curled up on top of his blankets, sound asleep, or pretending to be. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ben walked over to the bed and pulled a quilt from a trunk at the foot. He shook it out and draped it across the boy, tucking the green and burgundy quilt tightly around his shoulders. Ben dropped a kiss on his youngest's forehead and backed out of the room. He quietly pulled the door shut and then turned to the sheriff. "Well, I must say this is a first."

Roy nodded and stroked his chin. He had been worried about the boy lately and hadn't wanted to make a special trip out to the Ponderosa to talk to Ben, but since he was here he might as well speak up. He had seen Little Joe several times in the past week and the boy always seemed distraught and out of sorts. In the past it seemed like once school started it gave Joe the opportunity to be near Virginia City and every other day he was up to some sort of mischief. Not this year. "He's been quiet and withdrawn all evening. I've had several people come up and ask me if he was sick. It isn't just tonight either I'm afraid. Joe's been back in school awhile and I haven't had one bit of mischief out of him. He's just not himself Ben-what's happening?"

Ben shook his head forlornly. "I wish I knew. He's been like a ghost in the house since we got back from Sacramento. Up on time, does his chores without complaining and then heads for his room right after supper. It's just not Joe." He stroked his chin and thought a moment longer. "I've watched him when he doesn't know I'm looking and he seems so-so-on edge. It just seems like something is going on and he has it all bottled up inside and won't let it out."

"It'll come out sooner or later Ben," Roy said as he patted him on the shoulder. "I know it's hard to watch, but in the end he'll confide in you--he always does."

The two men walked down the stairs and rejoined the party. They were immediately joined by Paul Martin, Hoss and Adam.

Paul placed his hand on Ben's shoulder, a professional opinion forthcoming. "I've been meaning to talk to you about Little Joe, Ben. He doesn't look very good."

Ben stroked his chin and nodded. "He went to bed on his own for the first time in I don't know how long."

"Has he had any nightmares?" Paul asked, knowing the disturbance of Little Joe's rest was usually the first sign of problems for the baby Cartwright boy.

Paul was rewarded with negative shakes of their heads by Pa and Adam, and a quick look away by Hoss.

Ben noticed and grabbed Hoss by the upper arm. "Hoss, do you know anything about this that we haven't discussed?" he asked sharply.

Hoss reluctantly returned his gaze to his father and grimaced. "Well, Pa..." he said, and began to fiddle with the buttons on the front of his shirt.

Ben intensified his gaze, making Hoss even more uncomfortable.

Hoss took a deep breath and nervously ran his hand through his thinning sandy hair. Not telling his Pa about Little Joe's nightmares was one thing, but outright lying was another.

"I'm concerned about your baby brother. We need to have all the facts here," Paul Martin prodded.

Hoss stuffed his hands into the pockets of his chocolate brown trousers and kicked at the floor. "He had one last night..." he replied softly.

Ben's eyes darkened and he knit his eyebrows together. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked as he put his hands on his hips and looked at his middle son. "We've been through this many times--I need to know when Little Joe starts having nightmares," he said, concern edging the anger out of his voice.

"I know Pa, but last night when I went into his room, he just looked so scared, and he was shaking all over, and then he started pleading with me not to tell, and ..." Hoss blurted out.

Ben held up a hand, anger at Hoss' avoidance of the truth gone. He was well aware of the affect his youngest son's charms could have. "I know Hoss, but you should have told me. I'm his father--I need to know in order to make the best decisions regarding Little Joe's well being," Ben reasoned.

Paul stroked his chin and looked up the stairs, contemplating his next course of action. "Is he asleep?"

Ben nodded, following Paul's glance. "He's out like a light."

"I think I'll grab my bag and take a quick look at him. Just to reassure myself there aren't any obvious problems," Paul said. "He'll never even have to know I checked."

"Good idea," Ben said, knowing the sight of the doctor would cause Little Joe to close up tighter than a clam.

Twenty minutes later, Doctor Martin returned downstairs. The party had ended and the only occupants of the great room were the rest of the Cartwrights and Hop Sing.

"Well? How is he?" Ben asked quickly. His concern for Little Joe had mounted when Paul was gone and he was eagerly awaiting an answer.

Paul set his bag on the coffee table and motioned for the men to sit down. "Well, he isn't sleeping like a baby anymore," Paul said quietly. "He's very restless, thrashing around on the bed like he was being chased by a pack of wild Indians. I managed to wake him up just enough to shake him out of the nightmare, then he slipped back into a light sleep." Paul paused, letting the information sink in. "He did feel a little warm, even with all the blankets thrown on the floor. The boy seems pretty run down--how's he been eating?"

Ben rubbed his hands back and forth on his thighs. "Not well, and now if the nightmares are starting again..."

Paul shook his head. "Not if, Ben. They are." He reached into his bag and pulled out three packets of sleeping powder. "I think you'll be needing these again. This is an adult dose, so only give him half."

"I remember," Ben said, nodding. He accepted the three brown paper packets. A deep sigh escaped his lips. He hated forcing the sleeping powders on Little Joe, but it was usually a last resort.

Adam stood and started to pace in front of the fireplace. "Paul, isn't there anything we can do? I mean he's been having these damn nightmares for years now. Surely there is some solution?" He ran his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated at what his youngest brother had to deal with.

"I wish there was, Adam. I wish there were. But medical science hasn't come that far yet. Maybe in twenty or thirty years we'll know more about the inner workings of the mind, but right now we have to just try and treat the symptoms and hope the cause clears up on its own." Paul looked at the concerned threesome before him. "Unless any of you can get him to open up about whatever is bothering him, those nightmares are going to keep re-occurring." Paul looked at the hopeless faces of the men, then up the stairs toward Little Joe's bedroom. Maybe this time the nightmares wouldn't be so upsetting, but he wasn't going to bet on it.

One day stretched into another as the cycle of abuse continued. Each day Little Joe's body protested the abuse, physically by the ever-present aches and pains inflicted by his teacher's ready fists and mentally by the nightmares that tormented his every sleeping moment.

Little Joe's eyes closed for a second, and he nodded off before jerking himself back to consciousness. "No! Stay Awake!" It was close to two o'clock in the morning and he'd managed to fight sleep so far, but morning was a long way off. Throwing back the bed covers, he slowly climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Ice crystals had formed on the glass and Joe traced the intricate patterns with his fingertip. "You can't go to sleep. The nightmares will come back," Joe whispered to the empty room. He closed his eyes, trying again to be strong and fight the dreams that took over his body once he fell asleep. The shame he felt whenever a dream was discovered was so intense that he could barely stand it. Hoss nor Adam had struggled with bad dreams and Joe felt he was a poor specimen of a Cartwright to be plagued so severely by images that weren't even real. He paced back and forth in front of the window and tried to rehearse the days events in his mind to stay awake. He had to clean the tack room today, and Hoss needed help with the new mare. Leaning against the wall of his room, he slid down it and ended up in a pile on the cold wood floor. Maybe he would close his eyes for just a second, he reasoned. Not long enough to fall asleep even, let alone dream. But dark brown lashes had barely touched his cheeks when a nightmare began.

The halls of the house were cloaked in darkness with nary a ray of early morning sunshine to cast any shadow. Muffled footsteps could be heard on the stairs and a bouncing orb of light cast it's dim glow on the stucco walls. The candle was held tightly in the grasp of a small four-year-old child, who was desperately seeking his family. A cheval mirror stood in the corner of the hall and the boy tried to pass it without looking into its reflective depths. He didn't succeed--the word was there and it cut through his heart like a knife. ALONE!!!

Little Joe sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering so loudly in his chest that he was surprised to not see someone come running in at any moment. His nightshirt clung to his sweat soaked body and his hair was plastered to his head in damp ringlets. It was the start of the house dream again--one of the worst. Joe shook his head violently. "Get up!" he said to himself. "Don't wallow in self-pity like a little kid. You are almost fourteen years old, this is ridiculous." He stood shakily and rubbed his hands together, then ran his hands down his upper arms to fight the chill. Little Joe shivered and walked back over to the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to his chest. "I'll just lay in bed and stay awake," he reasoned. Two minutes later, as he slipped into the first stages of sleep, the nightmare returned full force.

The boy ran through the ranch house opening door after door. "Pa!" he screamed but when it left his lips it was a whisper. He flung open the door to his beloved father's bedroom and it was empty; no bed, no bureau, no pictures of his mama or his brothers. His father didn't exist--never had. Joe tried to cry out but no sound would emerge from his dry and parched throat. He fought back a sob then ran down the hall and into Adam's room, then Hoss'. Both bedrooms were totally devoid of any furnishings. Like no one had ever lived in the Cartwright home at all. The small boy inhaled deeply through clenched teeth, trying to fight the rising panic. Little Joe trudged down the stairs, his head bowed and silent tears dripping off his chin. When he reached the landing, he slowly pulled the red, white and black patterned Indian blanket from its resting-place on the banister and wrapped it around his shoulders. Sinking to the floor, he crossed his legs Indian style and stuck his left thumb in his mouth. Only then did he give into the terror that threatened to engulf his young body. He was alone, and would be alone--forever.

Little Joe's scream pierced the stillness of the sleeping ranch house. He sat up quickly, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. How much is true? Is it reality or a dream?

These questions were answered quickly when Adam thrust open the door to his little brother's room, and ran to the lamp. He quickly turned up the flame, filling the room with nightmare chasing light. Ben Cartwright followed his eldest son into Joe's room. He sat on the bed and pulled Little Joe into a hug. He held him tightly until the boy's trembling started to cease.

Little Joe pulled away and wiped his eyes. "I...I'm sorry I woke you up. I...I didn't mean to," he whispered, his lower lip quivering. His nerves were always raw after a nightmare and he didn't even attempt to disguise the fact.

Ben pushed the curls off his son's forehead. "Don't you worry about it son. Everything'll be allright in the morning. Do you want to talk about it?" he prodded.

Joe shook his head vehemently. "No, Pa....please." The vulnerability and raw emotion shone brightly in his deep green eyes.

"Joseph," Ben said as he reached out and cupped the boy's smooth cheek. The dark circles under his young son's eyes were obvious even in the dim light. "These nightmares aren't going to go away until you talk about them." He looked over at Adam who was standing at the foot of the bed. "Maybe we should get Doc Martin out here to take a look at him?"

"No!" Little Joe said sharply. His worst nightmare was seeing the doctor. He couldn't deal with it on top of all his other problems. He grabbed Ben's arm and gripped it tightly. "Please Pa, no doctor. Please..." he pleaded.

Adam silently slipped out of the room as Ben comforted his youngest son.

Ben sighed and debated with himself. He hated to see his boy so upset, but he knew he really should consult Paul Martin about his son's increasing problems with the nightmares. "All right son, no doctor. For now." He noticed Little Joe's eyes were starting to dim from tiredness. "But I want you to lay down and go back to sleep."

A stab of fear pierced Little Joe's heart, I can't do it. I can't face the empty house again tonight. "But I don't want to go back to sleep, Pa. I think I'll get up and start on the morning chores," Little Joe said as he started to rise. Even chores would be better than trying to avoid more nightmares.

Ben pushed his young son back to the mattress. "Joseph, you are not getting out of this bed. Tomorrow is a work day and you need your rest." Ben noticed a shudder run through the boy. "I wish you would tell me what is going on in that head of yours son. It might help."

"Pa, please. I'll work it out on my own. It'll be allright, but I don't want to go back to sleep," Joe pleaded as he frantically twisted the sheets into knots.

Ben saw his son's nervous movements. He laid his hands on top of the boys to keep them still. "Joseph, it's not even three o'clock in the morning. It's way too late or early for any of us to be awake. I want you to close your eyes and go to sleep."

Joe shook his head. "Pa, I'm not going back to sleep." The fear returned once more. An empty house, then icy blue eyes that seemed to bore through to his soul, then... He couldn't surrender to sleep--he couldn't.

Adam could hear the conversation starting to escalate into an argument from his position on the stairs. It sounded like he would be just in time. He walked into the room and as expected saw the start of a battle. Joe was lying in bed but had his arms crossed on his chest and his jaw was tight. He had that "you're not going to make me" look flashing in his eyes. His Pa however, looked concerned--yet no son of his directly refused his orders and lived, or in a child Joe's age--sat to tell of it.

"Joe, I've got an idea," Adam said from his recently arrived place in the doorway. "I think I can convince Pa to let you stay awake if you drink this glass of milk."

Two heads turned to stare at Adam. Ben raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "I think you need to go back to bed too, Adam. You are obviously way too tired to participate in this conversation."

Little Joe looked at his oldest brother with a mixture of relief and suspicion. "Why would..."

Adam threw a "I know what I'm doing" look to his father before walking over to the bed. "You see Little Joe, milk is supposed to be a sleep inducer. If you are so wide awake that you don't want to sleep, it should have no effect on you at all. However, if your body needs rest..." he let the sentence trail off, hoping the boy would take the bait.

Joe scowled but reached for the glass warily, staring at his brother all the while. "I told you, I don't want to go to sleep."

"Well prove it then Joe. Drink the milk and stay awake," Adam said and crossed his arms haughtily.

With one quick glance to Pa to confirm Adam's plan, Joe reluctantly drank the glass of milk. When finished, he set the empty glass on the nightstand. "See, all gone. Now why don't you two just go back to bed and I'll be fine."

"Allright Joe," Adam said as he motioned his father to join him. "But even if you don't go to sleep, you have to stay in bed--understood?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," Joe thought a moment and shyly looked up at his Pa and Adam. "Thanks for coming, though. You both help a lot you know..."

Ben pulled the covers up around his young son's neck. He leaned over and pressed his lips to the boy's forehead. "We know. If you need us, just call."

"Night, little buddy," Adam said as he patted the boy's head. "See you in the morning."

Ten minutes later, Ben and Adam crept back into the room to make sure Little Joe had fallen asleep. "That sleeping powder in the milk worked like a charm, Adam. Good thinking."

Adam smiled at the praise. "I figured out as upset as he was the only way to get him back to sleep was to knock him out." He looked at the still form of the boy on the bed. "With those dark circles under his eyes he certainly needs his sleep."

"I agree," Ben said as he tousled Little Joe's curls. "I think I'll have him take it easy with the chores this weekend. No use letting him get run down--next thing that'll happen is he'll be sick." Ben yawned and ran a hand through his sleep rumpled silver hair. "Are you coming to bed?"

Adam shook his head. "I think I'll stay here a little while. I'm not tired anyway."

"Okay, but remember. You've got to look for strays up in the north pasture tomorrow."

Adam nodded, his eyes never leaving Little Joe. "I know, I'll be along soon."

As soon as his father left the room, Adam sat down next to the sleeping boy on the bed and stroked the golden brown curls. "I wish I knew what scared you like that little buddy. I really do," he whispered with a catch in his voice. "I'd do anything to take those nightmares away from you-anything." It tore him up inside knowing his baby brother was suffering and he couldn't do anything about it. Adam had taken care of the boy since Marie had died long ago and he couldn't help but feel like a failure when Little Joe was plagued by nightmares. He wiped away a tear and stood up and walked over to the rocking chair by the window. The least he could do was keep a vigil until the morning light, he thought.

Little Joe sat in the hayloft, the soft hay the most comfortable place to sit after his recent punishment. His mind was cluttered with the images of what had happened today at school. Slimy had been wild, playing a sadistic game where all the children had to sit absolutely still. When one of they couldn't take it any longer and moved, Slimy would smack them on the back of the head. The fear on his classmates' faces had been too much for Joe to bear, so about halfway through the day had decided to play a little game of his own. Little Joe took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

The punishment for his spitball target practice on the back of Slimey's head was a caning. Joe shifted slightly on the hay pile. He had gotten used to his sore behind, but his head still pounded fiercely from the force of Slimy's blow. Joe had decided today that he had to try and tell his family what had been happening at the Virginia City Schoolhouse. He fought with himself over whom to talk his problem over with. Adam or Pa. Both had their advantages and disadvantages. Both would stand up for him and back him totally when the situation warranted. But given the fire last year and his past track record of mischief he didn't know if they would listen. He would have liked to have talked to Hoss, but he knew he'd eventually have to explain it to Pa anyway. He made his decision-it would have to be Pa, Adam had shown he wasn't willing to listen the first day of school when Joe had tried to explain to him then. It'd have to be Pa.

Ben sat at his desk reading a letter from one of his oldest friends. He smiled in relief several times as he studied the deep black ink on the buff colored vellum and thought of the man in question.

Little Joe slowly crossed the great room and sat in the leather armchair in front of his father's desk, unaccustomed to being there of his own volition. "Pa, I need to talk to you about something," he said, desperately trying to keep his nerve.

Ben looked up from his letter and smiled at his stealthy visitor. He knew Little Joe had been wrestling with an issue for several weeks now and Ben hoped the boy was ready to discuss the matter at length. Hopefully once the problem was out in the open, the nightmares would stop.

The words spilled from Joe's lips all in a rush. He outlined exactly what had been happening in school--the irrational behavior, the lessons, the way Eli picked mercilessly on the children. When he finished he drew in a breath and shifted uneasily in his chair. The expression on his father's face was not the one of outrage that he prayed for. Instead it was more of a "I've been expecting this subject" look.

Ben leaned forward and looked into Joe's deep green eyes. In fact, Adam had mentioned to him the tale Joe had told about Mr. Waldoch on the first day of school. "I'm not blaming you Little Joe, but you've always had a wild imagination."

Little Joe's jaw dropped open and he tried to speak, but Ben held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't interrupt me, son. As I was saying, discipline is hard no matter how old you are. But you have to understand Joe that you are getting older now. I expect a fair amount of embellishment from a boy, but this is just too much." Ben's thoughts drifted back to the letter and decided that he and his sons' might be guilty of the same thing as the older Laytons. "You've got to learn to stand up for yourself son, and not be running to me or Hoss or Adam all the time. You are almost fourteen years old and should be able to handle a few problems at school."

Joe shifted uneasily in the large chair, not really believing what he was hearing. He had never dreamt his father wouldn't at least give him the benefit of the doubt and talk to the teacher.

Ben continued with his lecture, but Joe had already mentally left the study. The gravelly voice of Eli intruded on his thoughts but the boy pushed them away. He wasn't able to fully escape the feeling of dread that had settled on his shoulders. The other kids were depending on him and he'd failed miserably. If Pa wouldn’t do anything things seemed pretty hopeless.

After the lecture, Joe walked out to the barn and sat down in Cochise's stall. He petted the soft velvety nose of his beloved companion then began to think. Maybe Pa is right-I shouldn't always depend on him or Adam or Hoss to get me out of trouble. I'm almost grown up and should be able to handle things on my own. But what should I do? Joe climbed to his feet and began to pace, his nervous energy getting the better of him. After about ten minutes, a plan had formed. "Cooch, this is what I'm going to do. I figure that Slimy didn't just turn this way when he got to Virginia City, right?" Little Joe smiled and gently took hold of the horse's bridle and nodded her head. "See, I always knew you were a smart horse," he said and began to pace in front of her. "So I figure there has to be a record somewhere of him pulling these crazy stunts on other kids-stands to reason, right?" Cochise knew what was expected of her this time, so she nodded her head. A smile lit the boy's face. "So all I have to do is to send a telegram to the School Association in Boston and they'll tell us all about him-right?" Joe didn't look to Cochise for confirmation this time, but shook his head and continued speaking. "Wrong! The telegraph operator will never let me send anything like that without checking with Pa first, and then he'll just say I'm trying to stir up trouble. It'll have to be a letter." The boy walked over and stroked Cochise's silky mane. "I only hope it doesn't take too long for an answer to get here."

Ben had watched his youngest son drag himself dejectedly out to the barn. He couldn't help wondering if the conversation he had just had with Little Joe should've waited about three years. Ben chuckled and shook his head. How bad could the situation be at the school? He chided himself. Mr. Waldoch had a spotless reputation and twenty plus years experience. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and thought of his youngest son and the nightmares he had been having lately. Were they connected? A fierce banging on the front door interrupted his train of thought.

"Mr. Cartwright! Mr. Cartwright!" Ben rose quickly and ran to the front door. He threw it open and saw Charlie, one of his ranch hands standing there, a telegram in his hand.

The words tumbled out of Charlie's mouth all in a rush. "I was in town and this just came in, and the telegraph operator said it was urgent that you read it right away. He told me to wait for a response and take it back."

Ben nodded and quickly scanned the message. He walked quickly over to his desk and grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a short note. "I'll be on this afternoon's stage. Should arrive in San Francisco on Wednesday." He handed the note to Charlie and yelled "Hop Sing!"

The diminutive Chinese man quickly shuffled in on slippered feet. "Yes, boss?"

"I'm going to be leaving soon for a trip to San Francisco. Please tell the boys' I'll be gone a few days. Give this note to Adam and he'll understand what I'm doing."

"Yes, sir Mister Cartwright," Hop Sing said bobbing his head in agreement. "I tell them." Ben turned and walked to the stairs, thoughts of how to avert a timber disaster forefront in his mind. The thought of his youngest son's nightmares and Mr. Waldoch were forgotten in light of the crisis.

The next day Little Joe stood on a small hill as twenty-one schoolchildren grouped around him. He looked up through the branches of the ancient oak tree above him, the branches filled with leaves of a burnt orange hue. Joe shook his head to clear it--the deep orange color and spreading pattern of the branches reminded him of flames. He looked at the group of friends clustered around him, all looking to him for guidance. The flames brought the mental picture of hell to his young mind, and that's exactly where he felt he was. "We’ve got to calm down," he said as the fear-filled whispers filled the chilly fall air. "This isn’t doing us any good. Our folks won’t listen and from what I’ve seen …" He paused and looked over at the school house, not surprised to see Slimey’s head at the window, watching them. "Slimey isn’t going to let up on us. So it’s up to us to do the adult thing and take care of it ourselves."

"How?" A tall sixteen-year-old boy asked. Although he hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of the new teacher's abuse yet, he was concerned about the future.

Mitch slapped the chubby boy across his ample chest. "Don’t you know better? If Little Joe says that we’re going to take care of it ourselves, it means he's already got a plan in his mind" He looked at Joe for confirmation. "Ain't that right?"

A slow smile curled Joe's lips, but it was an act for his friends. He didn't have near the confidence in his plan or their chances that he'd like to have. But he'd keep those facts to himself. There was no point in getting the other kids upset. He'd handle the letter and get it posted off to Boston.

The children were all diligently working on their homework and Eli allowed his mind to wander--he was back in New York City and he would soon meet the love of his life. She was a newcomer to the "Dip Yer Wick" and how he desired her. She was different from the other whores, a pale yellow rose blooming proudly in the midst of faded, wilted daisies. She carried with her an inner peace and dignity--something the years of prostitution hadn't been able to strip away. The sight of her, with her smooth skin, almond shaped eyes and straight dark hair had set his loins afire, but beyond that the sight of her had given him hope. Hope that there was a future for him beyond the seedy brothels of the waterfront, where he chanced his life every time he ventured forth to fulfill his fantasies. "Stop it!" He dug his fingernails into his upper thigh, the pain drawing him out of his reverie. He noticed some of the children with grins on their faces and hidden laughter behind their hands. They're mocking me!

"How dare you! He slammed his fist down on the corner of his desk. Just for that, the 'homework' has now been doubled. Ten pages, every night. Every night you will copy ten pages out of your history book. And woe to any child who doesn't complete it!"

Hoss entered the great room and hung his hat up behind the door. He noticed his little brother standing before the gun cabinets that lined the far wall of the room. The boy was intently studying the guns the glass-fronted cabinets contained. "You ain't supposed to touch them."

Joe turned and wrinkled his nose. "I know, I'm just looking." He turned and skipped over to Hoss. "Did you get me anything in town?"

"Well, this came for you," Hoss said as he whipped a letter out of his vest pocket with a flourish.

"Great!" Little Joe squealed and ripped the creamy white envelope out of his brother's hand. He immediately recognized the writing as Serena's and he sniffed the paper, her lilac scented perfume still faintly clinging after a journey of several days.

"What's going on with her?" Hoss asked with the full knowledge that he probably didn't really want to know the answer.

"Just gossip and stuff," Joe said innocently. This was the second letter from Serena that Hoss has snuck to him and he was grateful--but unwilling to share his plans.

"You ain't doing nothing that'll get me in trouble, are you?"

Little Joe pasted a hurt expression on his face and pushed out his lower lip. "Hoss, how could you even say a thing like that about me?"

"Experience, little brother. Experience." Hoss thought a moment, and put his hand out to snatch the letter back. "Maybe I just better take a look at what that gal is writing to you."

"I don't think so," Joe said quickly and hid it behind his back.

"Joseph," Hoss said evenly as he advanced on the boy. "I want to read that letter and I want to do it now."

Joe backed up until his he was up against the settee. He smirked and vaulted over the sofa and ran to the stairs, stopping on the landing to taunt his slower brother. "You'd have to catch me first and you know that ain't going to happen!"

When Hoss took a step toward the staircase, Joe ran up the rest of the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

"Joseph!" Hoss shouted, then turned to see Adam walk through the front door. He shook his head and jerked his thumb toward the stairs. "I'll get the best of that boy one of these days, you mark my words."

Adam smiled and hung his hat up on the hook by the door. He'd been hearing the same story since both Hoss and Joe were little and he figured he'd hear it for a long time. He unhooked his gunbelt, coiled it and placed it on top of the credenza. "What'd he do now?"

Hoss swallowed loudly. "Uh," he pasted a grin on his face. "Nothing, really. I'd best be heading out to the barn anyway," he said and tried to slip past Adam.

Adam grabbed his arm as he tried to scoot by. He fixed Hoss with a hard look and frowned. "I asked you a question."

"I told you, nothing, really." Hoss tried to pull his arm out of Adam's grip but his older brother held on tight. He wished he had used his brain and just kept his mouth shut.

"You're not leaving this house until you tell me what's going on, so open your mouth and spill the beans!" Adam said loud enough that Hoss knew his mind was made up.

"Damnit Adam, I'm old enough," He looked down at his older but shorter brother menacingly, "and certainly big enough to whop you if I have a mind to." He pulled on his arm but Adam didn't loosen his grip. "So let go of my arm and let me by."

Adam did as instructed, and but poked a finger in the big man's chest. "Allright, but if he gets in some kind of trouble with whatever he's doing, I want you to know that I'll remind you, and tell Pa about our little discussion here." Adam backed away and started taking off his heavy tan coat. "I'll leave it up to you," he said dismissively.

Hoss stood still and thought for over a minute. What could Serena be writing to Little Joe in those letters? What could they do when she was in Sacramento and he was here? Nothing, absolutely nothing. He scratched his head indecisively. But it was Little Joe, who could get into major trouble even during Sunday church services. He looked over at Adam, who was grumbling under his breath and hanging up his coat. Maybe it would be best to kind of just run it by Adam and get his opinion. "Adam?" he said tentatively to his older brother's back.

Adam was facing the credenza, nonchalantly rolling up his shirtsleeves. His lips curled into a slow grin. "Yes?"

"If I tell you," Hoss said stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Do you promise not to get mad?"

"No, I don't," Adam said as he turned around to face his brother. "But I will promise to only tell Pa if a problem comes up connected to it. That is, unless it's something so outrageous that it needs dealing with right away."

Hoss shook his head. "It ain't." He studied the floor for a moment before continuing. "You also have to promise that you won't tell Little Joe I told you unless..."

"Allright, allright I promise. Now out with it."

"Well," Hoss said and scrunched up his face knowing Adam was going to be really mad, both at him and at Joe. "Pa ain't here is he?"

"No he--isn't. He won't be back till tomorrow at the earliest. Now what's going on?"

"Remember, you promised you wouldn't ..."

"I remember exactly what I promised. Now tell me before I get mad before I even hear about what's going on!" Adam said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Hoss decided that blurting it out quickly was the best way. "Little Joe's been getting letters from Miss Serena in Sacramento."

Adam's eyes narrowed and darkened from a deep chocolate brown to ebony. "What! How! The only letters from Sacramento have come for ..." He glared at Hoss. "You."

"Yeah," Hoss backpedaled. "Funny thing about that Adam," he said although his brother's expression showed quite clearly that he found it anything but funny. "You see Little Joe asked me to accept those letters and then give them to him."

"And you did it too, didn't you!" Adam said as he stalked over to the fire. Hoss' gullibility when it came to Little Joe was legendary. "When are you going to learn?"

Hoss followed him over, and put a beefy hand on his brother's shoulder. "C'mon Adam what harm can really come of it? She's four hard days ride away and he never gets let out of our sights."

"I told him quite clearly not to have any contact with her at all," Adam said quietly, the fringes of his anger starting to show. "And," He turned to face Hoss. "Pa told him the same thing."

Hoss grinned widely and innocently. "Yeah, but you promised, and no problem has come up, so..."

Adam scowled, wishing he hadn't made the aforementioned promise. "All right. I'll keep my mouth shut. But I still don't like it."

Hoss breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have shared the secret with someone. And after all, if Adam didn't feel it was bad enough to tell Pa about, no harm should come from it.

Little Joe set the letter down. He couldn't help but compare the situations described in the letter and his problems with Slimey-were they so different? He thought of Pa and Adam, who had been so willing to dismiss his concerns--would they have been so quick if he had told them the injustices were committed against a slave? Or even an animal? No that would be cruelty, at least to the way his family thought. But against a classroom full of kids it was perfectly acceptable as long as it was done under the guise of discipline.

Eli leaned back in his desk chair and slid his arms behind his head. A smile lit up his snake-like features as the children filed into their seats from their lunch break. Although not wholly satisfied with the way the match was going, today was one of his favorite moves.

Seth flopped into his seat across the aisle and up from Little Joe. A quick glance up at the front of the classroom and the arrogant expression that graced the teacher’s features was obvious. This afternoon was not going to be good. He looked back at Joe and noticed wariness on his friend’s face. Apparently Joe had noticed Slimy’s smug demeanor also.

"Children!" Eli snapped.

All eyes snapped to the front, most of them filled with a mixture of fear and trepidation.

An evil grin curled Eli’s lips. "Today we’re going to play a little game." He leaned forward on his desk and put his feet back on the floor. "One of the most important lessons you’ll learn in life is that." He scanned the room as he paused for effect. "Life isn’t fair!!" He stood and walked around to the front of his desk and propped his behind on the edge. "I know you’ve all been wondering about your monthly report."

Joe's eyes widened. Actually he hadn't given any thought at all to the report--he'd been too concerned with surviving what Eli dished out on a daily basis. But a bad report home could throw an unwanted monkey wench into his plans. He glanced around at his classmates ad realized he was the only one who hadn't been thinking about it. The other children had all gone rigid-sitting stock still in place for fear of being singled out. Rigid backs not even close to touching the back of their chairs. He noticed tears in some of the children's eyes. Little Joe took a deep breath. I'm going to regret this. His hand went over the seat back as he intentionally sprawled in the chair. He stifled a fake yawn and managed to look nonchalant.

The noise drew Eli's attention as he knew it would.

Eli's hard eyes glittered in Little Joe's direction. Joe chose to ignore him. He loosened his black string tie and closed his eyes for a moment, doing a good job of feigning indifference.

The little display Joe put on unnerved Eli slightly but not enough to upset his plans for the day. The large man pushed off the front of the desk and walked behind the large walnut monstrosity. He slid open the top right drawer and retrieved a neat stack of papers. He grinned wolfishly, showing his uneven front teeth. "What I have here children," he began, patting the papers. "Are your reports. I have," he grinned again. "Twenty one sheets that say you are doing well and that I am happy with your progress." His smile widened either further at the children's obvious relief, then dropped the bomb. "And one sheet that reports you continue to be a problem and I suggest a little added discipline at home is warranted."

Joe yawned again and he ran his fingers though his curls. The teacher's little plan had upset him, but he didn't show it outwardly. To further demonstrate his indifference, the boy slid down in his seat and casually propped his boots against the seat of the chair in front of him. He opened and closed his eyes several times, trying to give the impression that he was having a hard time staying awake. He succeeded.

Eli stormed down the aisle and grabbed Joe by the collar and pulled him upright. "Sit up straight boy!" he hissed and smacked the boy on the back of the head.

Joe rolled his eyes and sighed deeply, but remained sitting straight. The minute Eli's back was turned and he returned to the front of the room, Joe slid down in the chair again and resumed his former position. Insolence was clearly written across his young face.

Eli sat on the corner of his desk and picked up the sheaf of paper. "As I was saying, I'll delve into a few problems you've caused in class--of course you and I know they will be purely fictional, but your parents won't know that." He glanced over the classroom, glad to see the frightened faces and rigid posture of the students. His gaze settled on Little Joe, who was openly defying him. He clenched his hands together, crushing the papers in the middle. His breath came in short pants as a dark cloud descended over him, the rage building to a boiling point. The brat! The insufferable little brat! I'll teach him--I'll teach him what discipline really means. I'll … He dropped the now crumpled papers on the desk and ran his hands through his hair. He turned around and stared at the blackboard, fighting for control. Deep breaths, Eli. Deep breaths. Don't let him bother you--he's just a little kid. You'll win this match yet--it's just a matter of time before he breaks.

The children shifted uneasily in their seats as they watched their teacher on the verge of losing all control. All eyes eventually turned toward Little Joe who inwardly was just as frightened as they were. Joe swallowed hard, trying to keep the swirls of acid in his stomach at a manageable level. He knew he couldn't show weakness now or the rest of the children would crumple. A mental picture of Adam at his most annoying helped him somewhat and he pasted a calm, cool and collected expression on his face. An expression his friends had come to expect these last few weeks.

Eli regained control slowly, and then turned and continued as if he'd never paused. "The best part of this little 'lesson' is that you are going to determine who gets the good reports." He shook the paper at the children. "And who gets the bad one." He paused for emphasis and picked up a lone piece of paper that graced the corner of his desk. "Ah, yes. You will decide." He returned to his desk and slid out the center drawer. He retrieved a small black bag and dropped it on the top of the desk. "You see children, in this bag are twenty-one white chits and one black one. We are going to play a game similar to musical chairs." He reached into his bag and pulled out a handful of square pieces of wood. "I'm going to toss all of these on the floor over there," he said, gesturing to the open space to the left of his desk. "And then when I say 'go', you are on your own. Of course, the more ruthless you are, the better your chances of having a good report."

Seth swallowed nervously, and looked over at Mitch who was gripping the sides of his chair tightly. Both had had notes recently sent home and felt the sting of their fathers' belts as punishment. If this was a game Eli was going to play, they were going to be winners.

Joe rolled his eyes and propped his hands behind his head. Why do I do this to myself? I know I could easily take home a good report if I tried hard enough. He glanced across the aisle at Molly Washburn whose lower lip was trembling and it was obvious that she was fighting tears. The small girl had a withered right leg and walked with a crutch. She would be the sure loser if Joe decided to try and win.

Eli grinned at the children who were leaning forward in their seats, straining to be the first to grab a white chit. Who says teaching isn't rewarding? Just seeing the selfish attitudes reflected on their faces made his spirits soar. It won't be long and they'll all be dancing to my tune. Stick together? I doubt it. We'll see, we'll see.

"Pick one, then line up against the far wall," Eli ordered as he tossed the chits on the floor. The crackling sound the wood made when it struck the floor caused the children to jump, but their eagerness remained obvious on their faces. "Go!"

The children scrambled forward madly, racing to the front of the classroom desperate to avoid the black chit. Seth grabbed his quickly and slid out of the way and Mitch did the same. The rest of the children were on the floor groping wildly on the hardwood floor. When the melee' cleared, there were still two chits on the floor. One black one and one white one were squarely in the center of the open area. Seth looked at the rows of desks and saw that Little Joe was still stretched out in his seat and Molly was struggling to climb out of hers.

Joe stood and walked over to the girl. He gave her a smile, which she returned nervously. He offered his hand which she accepted, and then stood shakily. They walked arm and arm to the front of the classroom and stopped right before the two chits. Molly looked at Joe nervously, wondering what was going to happen.

Joe took a deep breath, and gestured toward the floor. "Ladies' first."

Molly let out the breath she had been holding and a tear leaked from her eye. "Thanks, Little Joe," she whispered and then bent down to retrieve the white chit.

"You go on now," Joe said and pointed her toward the wall where the rest of the children waited nervously. When she reached the wall and stood next to Patricia, Joe leaned down and picked up the black chit. He glared at Eli. "I guess I know which report I get, don't I?" The boy grabbed the lone bad report off the corner of the desk and slowly walked back to his seat.

Eli was livid with rage. He stood quickly and his hands clenched into fists. "Out!" he screamed at the children huddled along the wall. "Get out now!!!" Slowly he turned back to Joe Cartwright, the boy who was fouling up his plans. The children fled quickly unwilling to watch what would happen to the bravest of their lot.

Eli stomped down the aisle and grabbed Joe by the upper arm. He jerked the boy to his feet and squeezed, trying to force a cry of pain. The boy didn't give in, he just clamped his jaw shut tightly and refused to acknowledge the fire that was burning in his arm. Eli raised Joe up off the ground until he hung in mid-air. Eli took a deep breath and heaved the boy against the far wall. Joe hit hard and slid to the ground with a thud.

"Worthless piece of shit!" Eli swore at the unmoving boy. He stalked out of the schoolhouse, nearly trampling the children clustered outside. "Class dismissed for the day--get out of my sight you wretched brats!" he screamed and headed toward town.

Adam and Hoss tied their horses on the rail outside the Bucket of Blood saloon. The trail dust clung to their throats and they were looking forward to a couple of beers to wash it away. Adam had no more than stepped on the first wooden step than he heard the gruff voice of Laurethel Lewis.

"Mr. Cartwright!" she barked.

Adam rolled his eyes and whispered "Oh, God, not the lard sisters."

"Mr. Cartwright!" The obese woman barked again as she waddled over to the tall man, her gaudy violet and acid green dress swishing as she walked. An equally huge woman, Miss Elizabertha Less-Byan followed close at her portly heels.

The two women thundered to a stop, the boards on the sidewalk protesting their disapproval at the weight they were forced to endure.

"I have some shocking news for you Mr. Cartwright," Laurethel began, clicking her stained teeth in disapproval. "I just received word that your youngest brother and some other boys are going to the swimming hole. Rollicking and cavorting without clothes on," She licked her lips. "It's distasteful."

"Goes against the lords preachings, and according to the Bible …" Elizabertha started, the well-rehearsed speech obviously close to their hearts. Where Laurethel dressed only in the loudest and splashiest colors, Elizabertha had a bizarre fondness for too-tight hot pink gingham. On a younger and thinner woman the miniature pink and white check would have looked fresh and beguiling. On Elizabertha it was a clear look into the mind of a spinster desperately seeking to project a youthful appearance. The hot pink ribbon tied around her graying locks added the final insult to a girlhood long since past.

Adam tipped his hat to the two ladies, and offered a conciliatory "Whatever you say, ma'am." He turned to Hoss who was staring at the two women like they were a newborn calf born with two heads. "Let's get out of here," he whispered.

"Hmpph!" Elizabertha sniffed and placed her pudgy hands on her ample hips. "Don't tell me you two gentlemen are considering entering a well-known house of ill-repute?"

Adam rolled his eyes at the necessity of having to speak to the women again. "It's also a place where a thirsty man can get a drink. Now, as I was saying…" He reached for his hat again, hoping to tip it and escape.

Laurethel curled her nose at the prospect of the two handsome men deserting them for the evils of a saloon. "Alcohol is the work of the devil! And a place like that," she gestured with her meaty right hand to the swinging doors that served as the entrance to the Bucket of Blood. "It ain't fit for decent folk."

Adam grinned broadly, the first part of the conversation that he had enjoyed. "Well then ma'am, my brother and I are proudly not 'decent folk'." He didn't bother to tip his hat, instead just turned on his heel and pushed through the doors.

"I don't see what the big deal is?" Hoss said as he walked behind his brother to an octagonal table in the corner. He gestured to Sam the bartender for a couple beers and sat down wearily.

Adam sat across the table from his brother. He steepled his hands on the scarred walnut table top. "Bible thumpers just drive me nuts," he began, pausing as Sam placed a frosty mug of beer before him. "It's people like those two women that make this a worse world to live in. First, they think that we're even interested in their opinion, then they try and tell us what's right and wrong with ourselves based on their narrow view of the world." Adam thought of the many times the Lard Sisters had intruded in places where it didn't concern them. "First it's temperance, because they don't like to drink. The next thing it'll be free speech. We won't be allowed to say or do what we want to because it conflicts with their 'opinion' of how things should be and where the line lies between what's right and wrong, or even appropriate. Then, they'll be trying to tell writers what they can and can't write. Where'll it stop? How we make love to our women or discipline our children?"

"The important thing is they ain't going to ban eating, at least I don't think so based on the size of them gals." Hoss waited for an answering chuckle but didn't receive one. "C'mon Adam, let it go. They're just a couple of old maids who like to eat and preach." He took a sip of his beer and licked his lips, hoping to change the topic. When Adam got on the subject of free speech or government it was bound to be a long and boring afternoon. He grabbed at the first thing he could think of to divert his older brother's attention. "Do you think they're right about Little Joe and them other boys at the swimming hole?"

Adam shrugged, trying to work the tension out of his shoulders. Injustice set his back up and no one did it like the two women he'd just seen outside. "I don't know, maybe."

Hoss' eyes glittered like cracked glass. He didn't usually resort to pranks against Joe because the boy usually paid them back in spades, but today was an exception. The thoughts of Joe's tricks in Sacramento were relatively fresh in his mind, as well as his escape with Serena's letter. "You up for a little mischief?"

Adam leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his neck. "I don't know, we should get back to the ranch," he replied half-heartedly. "But them two women kind of did remind me of Miss Rosey from Sacramento."

"Exactly what I was thinking, so if you can come up with an idea on how to get Little Joe back for his antics, I'm listening."

Adam sat upright in his chair and cupped his hands around his cold beer. A minute passed. Two. Three Then a grin curled his full lips. "I've got it. What we need to do first is enlist a little help."

Limestone once jagged rocks, worn smooth by the tread of countless feet rimmed the swimming hole to the north. Forty-foot high rocks served as a backdrop on the south and a grove of pine trees formed curving fan to the east. The hole was fifteen feet deep at its greatest depth graduating to a mere foot at the shallow end. A rope swing held in the clutches of a thick branch of an ancient oak tree offered a taste of airborne freedom for the lucky few bold enough to jump at its greatest arc. Many lads, brave or foolish depending on the outcome had jumped from the heights.

"Look out below!" split the afternoon air as Tom, a heavyset seventeen-year-old flew through the air, his beefy hands tightly clutching the rope swing. When he reached the mid-point he released the rope and catapulted into the sky, before falling to the water. When he hit the surface, the spray spread fifteen feet around in all directions, splashing well up on the rock wall bordering the hole. Tom was the largest of the boys in the school, soft spoken and kind. The sandy-haired boy was a trifle slow and would have been either a bully or the subject of ridicule if it hadn't been for the kindness of Hoss Cartwright years ago.

"Ha! Jake still has you beat!" Sam Morton said as finished dunking Jake. The game required skill as well as sheer weight, the closer you came to the wall made as much a difference as the force with which you hit the water.

Little Joe floated on his back in the center of the water. He had debated taking off his shirt to swim because the bruises on his shoulder and arm were really dark but in the end had decided they were his friends after all. It hurt his arm and shoulder to swim, so he had just spent the afternoon quietly floating and thinking about his problems. It wasn't like he excelled at the game anyway. He was able to get very close to the wall with his jump, but he just wasn't heavy enough to cause a big enough splash. The slight boy preferred it when they competed for distance--he usually won that--but today he didn't feel like doing much of anything.

The noisy antics of the remainder of the schoolboys, and their discarded clothes hung on a nearby tree offered easy access and provided perfect cover for the pranksters. As if stealing clothes was a chore they handled every day of the week, Hoss and Adam methodically retrieved all of the carelessly thrown shirts, pants and underwear and threw them into a heap.

Seven saloon girls, dressed simply in spite of their chosen profession walked out from behind the trees and stood ten feet back from the bank. They watched the children swimming and playing games for a few moments and waited to be noticed.

Seth was in mid-swing when he happened to glance at the shore. He noticed the smiling ladies and smiled back and started to wave, when he remembered he was naked. The hand that had unconsciously rose to wave immediately dropped to his private parts, and the graceful jump that he had planned turned into a awkward tumble of arms and legs which eventually ended up with a belly flop.

A collective "oooooh" from the onlookers at his landing, brought the attention of the naked boys to the females gathered on the shore.

"My, my that was quite a show of manly courage." Pamela said as she watched Seth rise sputtering to the surface. The deep red flush on his cheeks was unmistakable; whether from the embarrassment of his poorly landed jump or from the fact that seven women had just seen him naked she wasn't certain.

Carmen twirled her long blonde curls around a finger and pulled her black lace shawl tighter around her bare shoulders. "Getting a trifle chilly out here don't you think ladies?" She looked up at the sky and shaded her eyes against the sun. "With that sun starting to go down it'll get real cold fast."

The boys shifted restlessly in the water, none of them had noticed it was getting late. They would need to get home, and fast. As a group, they looked over to the grove of trees where they had hung their clothes, which were now gone.

Pamela twirled a pair of white cotton briefs on her index finger. "Anybody need these boys?" she taunted.

The boys slowly wandered into the shallower waters, where the cool water was waist deep to the older boys'.

"Ma'am please," Little Joe pleaded, the only boy with enough courage to speak.

"Sorry, sonny--someone needs to come out of this water and take these things out of my hand," Pamela said with a grin.

"Now, ma'am. I know a lovely lady like you wouldn't want to cause trouble for us-would you?" Little Joe coerced.

Sally Mae dimpled and brushed her auburn locks off her shoulders. "Well.."

"Me and the boys were just having a little swim here. But you know, later maybe you and I could get together and have a little private swim all our own?" Joe asked.

Sally Mae smiled. The boy was too young, but he certainly had the right ideas. "How old are you?"

Little Joe played his trump card. "I'll be eighteen soon, ma'am. Plenty old enough to take a beautiful woman like yourself for a walk." He knew there was no way they were going to believe him, but hopefully the saloon girl had a soft heart.

Pamela tried to prevent the giggles from escaping. She had known the Cartwright boys for years-at least the older two. The town was full of tales of Little Joe's antics and seeing the boy before her with twinkling green eyes she sensed the mischievous pranks she had heard about were true. "And just how soon is soon?"

Little Joe bit his lip, and lowered his head slightly, not wanting to admit the full truth. "You know, soon," he said softly and looked up at her through dark fringed lashes. He gave the girl the benefit of his most innocent look, hoping to convince her.

Tom grabbed the boy around the shoulders and gave him a chokehold. "Just over four years now isn't it Joe?"

Joe elbowed the larger boy in the ribs and hissed. "Do you want to get out of here or not?" After receiving a sheepish grin from his friend, Little Joe turned to his original target. "Where were we ma'am?" Joe said, offering her his best smile.

Sally Mae giggled. "You are a sweetie aren't' you." She turned to a tall dark haired woman in a too-tight black gingham shirt. "C'mon, Nancy let's give him his clothes."

Nancy grabbed her by the upper arm and spun her around. "You know we promised Adam and Hoss. Now don't you go caving in and spoiling everything," she whispered.

Sally Mae wrenched her arm out of Nancy's grip and turned around. "But he's so cute."

Joe wrinkled his nose--how he hated that word. Handsome and good-looking were adjectives he also heard but the most prevalent description about his appearance seldom failed to be cute. However, Little Joe was never one to stop in the middle of an attempted seduction for the lack of a better word. He gave her his most innocent look, coupled with a slight pout.

"Oh, honey you are a heart-breaker. But..." Nancy said, wavering in spite of her promise to the older Cartwright brothers. She hated to admit it, but she was as susceptible to Little Joe Cartwright's pout as most of the other residents in Virginia City.

"C'mon, how can you resist that face, or those curls?" Sally Mae coerced, gesturing toward the adorable boy who stood waist-deep in the water.

"Well..." Nancy cupped her hand under her chin and studied the youngest Cartwright brother. His curls were wet and his bangs kinked on his forehead, lending a slight ragamuffin edge to his appearance. She noticed the boy had a bit of a flair for the dramatic as he bit his lip and offered her a sad smile.

Little Joe exhaled slowly and turned around and winked at his pals. He was relieved that the battle seemed to be almost won. A rustle in the bushes to the left of the girls caught his attention. The boy was horrified to see his two older brothers emerge and start to laugh. At that point, Little Joe knew who the real culprits were and swore that he would get them back for this.

"Your charm isn't going to work this time. You're going to have to come out and get your clothes," Adam said with a chuckle as he dusted pine needles from his shirt.

The boys all huddled closely together behind Little Joe, who in spite of being the youngest was their obvious leader.

Knowing that there would be no convincing his oldest brother, Little Joe turned to the more easily convinced Cartwright. "C'mon Hoss. Throw me some clothes will you?"

Hoss smiled. He was enjoying the prank as much as Adam and had his own list of jokes that the boy had pulled on him. "Sorry, baby brother. You'll have to get them yourself."

Little Joe's eyes narrowed as he glared at his tormentors. "You do realize I'll pay you both back for this," he said icily.

Adam held out his hand and shook it slightly. "Can you see just how scared I am, little boy?"

Little Joe turned to confer with his friends. "Okay," he whispered. "I only see three options here."

Tom nodded. "And they are?"

"First--we wait until it's dark then go get our clothes. They don't have any lanterns with them so they wouldn't be able to see us," Joe said as he sneaked a look behind him at his tormenters.

Mitch, at fifteen and a half was the second youngest boy at the swimming hole. He shook his head. "No way. My folks will have the sheriff out looking for me if I'm not home by then." Several others nodded their agreement. Roy Coffee would have a busy evening if they didn't make it home in time for supper.

Jake turned and glared at the mocking group on the bank. "I tell you one thing Little Joe, I will personally help you murder your brothers' when this is all over."

"Don't worry, they'll get what they have coming all right. It may take a little time, but they'll regret this." Little Joe paused. "Option two is we all just walk out together and get our clothes. If we do it as a group, they won't really have one...er....person to stare at and it'll take them all by surprise. Anybody brave enough to go with me?" He looked up into the eyes of his friends, dismayed to find the most prevalent look to be horror.

Crossing his arms across his bare chest, Tom answered. "Uh, I think we better hope option three is a good one."

Little Joe rolled his eyes and put his hands on his slender hips. "All right. Option three revolves around my horse."

"What?" The group chorused.

Mitch slapped the side of his head with the flat of his hand. "You know I must have water in my ears, because I could swear you just said it revolved around your horse."

Little Joe wrinkled his nose in disgust at his friends. "You guys thought it was all a waste of time when I was teaching Cochise tricks last summer. Well, now we'll see if all that hard work paid off." Little Joe turned and faced his tormentors. He looked to the left where his beloved pinto pony stood grazing on the grass, her saddle and blanket next to her on the rocks. "Cochise!" Little Joe called. The horse raised her head and looked toward the water searching for her boy. Noticing him in the water, she walked over to the edge and waited expectantly.

Adam and Hoss looked at each other quizzically.

"Girl, I need you to do me a favor. Remember we practiced this. Blanket, Cochise. Bring me the blanket," Little Joe said and pointed to his saddle.

Cochise shook her head, her black silky mane landing haphazardly on her neck.

"Oh, come on. Don't you give me trouble too," Little Joe said mournfully, staring deep into his horse's eyes.

Cochise neighed in response, and slowly walked over to the rocks. She pushed the leather saddle off the green and white striped blanket with her nose. She looked once more toward the water, then picked up the blanket with her teeth. She shook it sharply, then carried it back to the water and her waiting boy.

The assembled cast of characters on the bank had been too stunned to stop the horse as she effectively spoiled their joke.

Little Joe took the blanket from Cochise and quickly wrapped it around his waist. He turned around and cast a withering glance at his friends who had doubted him and slowly made his way to shore and up the bank. As he exited the cold water, the saloon girls laughed and clapped, offering the boy a round of applause at his daring escape.

Joe accepted it gracefully. Keeping his left hand tightly wrapped around the blanket at his waist, he leaned over and bowed to the girls.

Adam and Hoss reluctantly joined the laughter as they realized their little brother had won--again.

"Okay, girls. Jokes over," Adam said with a smile, effectively dismissing them.

"He's right, c'mon girls. We've got to get to work," Barb said as she ushered the younger girls back toward town.

Sally Mae sashayed over to Little Joe, her silky dress clinging tightly to her full hips. When she reached her quarry she ran a finger across his bare shoulder. She licked her full lips and winked suggestively at the boy. "You come into the Bucket of Blood and see me soon honey, and we'll make all those little boy dreams come true."

Little Joe smiled up at her, a clever and flirtatious comeback already on his lips. He was dismayed when Adam picked her hand off his shoulder and dropped it.

"I think not," Adam said icily as he stared the saloon girl down. "He's not even fourteen years old yet--I think it will be quite some time before this boy steps past the swinging doors of a saloon. I think you'll be long gone from Virginia City by that time."

Sensing the fun was over for the day, Sally Mae shrugged and headed back to town.

After he watched the girls walk away, Adam turned to his baby brother. One glance at the boy's arm stopped the lecture that was forming on his lips. A bruise in the shape of a handprint was clearly visible on Little Joe's upper arm. Someone had grabbed tight to his brother and squeezed hard enough to leave marks. "What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing," Little Joe said softly, and studied his bare feet. He didn't like where this conversation was headed. He had worked very hard to hide from his family the bruises that happened almost daily in the small school. Now his secret was out.

"Hoss come here," Adam called and then returned his attention to his baby brother. "It doesn't look like nothing." He took Little Joe by the shoulder and turned him around, unhappy to see more bruises on his shoulder blade and back.

Hoss, the resident veterinarian on the Ponderosa, lumbered over to his brothers. "Let me see," he said standing before the boy.

Little Joe backed up until he was leaning against Adam. "I'm fine Hoss, really," he said with a quaver to his voice.

Hoss knelt before his baby brother. "Now punkin, just let old Hoss take a look. Don't you worry none."

Joe shook his head. "I'm fine Hoss...really." He looked over his shoulder and up into Adam's eyes. "Can't we just forget about it?"

"Sorry, little buddy but we can't." Adam gently but firmly spun Little Joe around until his back was facing Hoss. Joe tried to squirm away but Adam grabbed both his elbows and pulled him in close. "Just hold still, Little Joe. He'll be done in a minute."

Hoss looked at the pattern of bruises on his baby brother's shoulder blade. He pressed gently on the darkest bruises, not surprised at the sharp intake of breath and the fact that Little Joe tried to squirm away. He placed a comforting hand on the boy's left shoulder. "Just hold still youngun, I'll be done in a minute." Hoss continued pressing, trying to maintain his self-control in spite of the pain his ministrations caused the boy. He took a deep breath, relieved that the examination was over. "Hurts quite a bit I'll bet, but doesn't look like it's more than a bruise," he said directing his diagnosis to Adam.

"Don't tell Pa, please," Little Joe implored, staring up into Adam's deep brown eyes.

Adam shook his head, not surprised that the foremost thought on his baby brother's mind was to stay out of trouble with their father. "But Joe, he should know," Adam said, noticing how stiffly Joe held the injured shoulder.

Joe turned his pleading eyes to Hoss. "But he'll be mad because I didn't come straight home." His lower lip trembled. "You don't want me to get into trouble again, do you?"

The two older Cartwright brothers exchanged glances, torn between making the right decision or the benevolent one.

"What d'you think Adam?" Hoss asked as he looked at his older brother. Adam was hard to read, but there was a proud gleam in his eyes. Hoss smiled and looked down at Joe had. He had outwitted them once again with the saloon girls and if Pa found out where they'd found him he'd want more of an explanation than they wanted to give.

"Well, we really don't want to get you in trouble…" Adam began, both intent on saving Joe's hide as well as his own.

Hoss chuckled. "Okay, I'll go along with Adam then, but when we get home I'll put some liniment on it, that'll help," Hoss said reluctantly as he rubbed Joe's neck. "How'd it happen?"

Little Joe was silent, but several of his friends were more than willing to tell of the horrors that had been going on at school. Joe stopped them with a quick shake of his head.

Adam noticed the interaction between the boys, and prodded for more information. "Who'd you get in a fight with now?" He pasted a stern expression on his face, although he didn't really have the heart. Judging by the deep black and blue marks on the boy's body, Little Joe had obviously been the loser in the altercation.

Little Joe was unwilling to get into a discipline issue with his oldest brother again, so he chose to accept their assumption. "It doesn't matter, it just happened."

Adam was clearly frustrated by his baby brother's reluctance to talk. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Joe...."

Joe ignored him and turned to his friends. "You can come out now, you big babies," he called, just to rub a little salt into their wounds. He shrugged out of his brother's grasp and picked up his pants and slid his leg in. He thought of the whole episode and how lucky they were that Cochise had followed his instructions. He glanced up at his older brothers' then slid his other leg in and pulled his trousers up over his waist. They will  pay--I'm not sure how yet, but they will.

Little Joe listened to the monotonous drone from the front of the classroom. He'd gotten so used to the preaching that he usually let his mind wander--but not today. Today he'd decided to try a little trick of his own. To use a little offense instead of merely relying on defense.

Eli paused in his dissertation and took a sip of water from his glass. His throat was parched and the cool liquid soothed it briefly. He took a deep breath and looked at the children before him. The match is going well. No outbursts at all this week, indeed they had all seemed like little mannequins instead of children, sitting calmly in their seats not saying a word. The early afternoon sun caused shimmering prisms to dance off the glass as he picked it up and drained the last drop of water.

Joe sat up straighter in his seat, hoping that the bottom of the pitcher was near. He'd been on pins and needles all afternoon and had contemplated Eli's reaction at least a hundred times.

The tin pitcher of water sat on the corner of Eli's desk, today as it did every day. The water, drawn from the icy depths of the nearby well, caused beads of moisture to form on the tin sides. Eli wiped a drop of sweat from his brow and reached for the pitcher. He glanced at the classroom and noticed Little Joe nervously chewing on his knuckles. That one's up to something and bears watching a little closer this afternoon. The wooden handle felt cool in his hand as he poured the last cup of water from the pitcher. He tipped it up on end to get the last drop when three tiny perch slid into the glass. The room, already quiet went deathly still. The other children were all shocked, and this emotion shone brightly on their faces. Joe's on the other hand had dropped his gaze immediately to the top of his desk, clearly identifying the guilty party.

Eli picked up the glass and stared at the full classroom, his upper lip curling in disgust.

The perch, each one less than an inch long were crowded in the glass and bumped into each other as they tried to swim around. The thought that he'd been drinking fish feces all afternoon occurred to him. He sought out the culprit, one Joseph Francis Cartwright. All reason fled and he whipped the glass at the boy's head. Not waiting to check if the glass had hit the target, he grabbed his hat and stalked toward the door.

Luckily for Joe, he'd been expecting some sort of wild response and had just looked up in time to be able to dodge the glass. However it had shattered on the back of his seat and a flying shard of glass had sliced through the upper part of his arm.

Joe bit his lip to keep quiet against the pain and watched Eli slam the classroom door. He heaved a sigh of relief that there was no more punishment forthcoming and relieved that today was Friday and he'd have the weekend to ponder the results from his little experiment.

Patricia flew out of her seat and ran over to Joe. She managed to grab the boy just as he started to stand up. "Oh, no you don't Joe, you just wait a minute till I get a chance to look at this," she declared, dismayed that the sleeve of the boy's shirt was already stained bright red.

"It ain't anything, Patricia," Joe boasted, although the pain was pretty bad. He knew the girl had her heart set on being a nurse and loved to minister to any willing patient. A smile crossed his lips as he remembered the time that she'd insisted they play "doctor" and it had involved them both taking their clothes off.

Patricia looked up from the wound at the face of her patient and caught the smile on his lips. She grinned back at the shared memory. "Now you push that little thought from your head Joe, I was only ten years old."

"Hey, I was only six!" Joe protested with a devilish glint in his eye. "And, it was all your idea!"

"What's this all about?" Mitch butted in. "Has something gone on that I should know about?"

"No there isn't," Patricia said firmly as she returned to the task at hand. The blood on Joe's left bicep stood out against all the black and blue marks the boy had accumulated lately. Patricia pursed her lips and debated about saying anything. She and Mitch had tried to enlighten their parents to the problems at school but hadn't had success. "Mitch go get me the first aid kit, it's behind Slimey's desk." Mitch complied and Patricia ripped Joe's shirt all the way down the sleeve to give her more room to work. "Joe, doesn't your Pa notice how beat up you've been lately? Isn't it hard to hide the ruler marks and the bruises?"

Joe shook his head and smiled sadly. "Aside from at the swimming hole, nobody's noticed, everyone has been so busy that sometimes I wonder if I'm the only Cartwright that really lives on the Ponderosa," Joe said, not even trying to count the times lately he'd wanted to talk to someone and had just given up. He knew the Ponderosa was a large ranch with many business holdings and it took a lot of work to manage. But sometimes he wished that things were a little less hectic around home.

Mitch returned with the kit and put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Are they all gone at the same time?"

Little Joe shook his head. "No, either Adam or Pa is usually around. But they're so busy with business that I don't want to bother them with my problems."

"Why not? That could be the answer to our prayers!" Seth implored.

Joe grinned wryly. "I tried before, remember--didn't do me a damn bit of good except to have Pa and Adam preach at me. Believe me, I don't want to hear that lecture again." He paused, marshalling his thoughts. "I don't know if they really want to hear anyway. Sometimes they just bug me to see if I'll let something slip."

Patricia unscrewed the cap from a bottle of alcohol and studied the deep cut on the lightly muscled arm before her. "I hate to interrupt, but this is going to sting, Joe."

Joe peered at the girl from over his shoulder. "I know it, just go ahead. It's just a scratch anyway."

The girl smiled and tipped the spout of the bottle onto a white cotton cloth. "Ready?" When Joe nodded, she placed the cloth over the two inch long cut on Joe's bicep.

Joe gritted his teeth as the burning sensation ripped across his arm and he hastily sucked in a breath to cover his obvious discomfort. When the stinging lessened, he looked up at Patricia and gave her a wink.

"Little Joe I just don't know what I'm going to do with you!" she said with a smile. This was her last year at the school and she knew she'd miss the sight of Joe's engaging smile and penchant for mischief. She pulled a length of white cotton from the medical kit and wrapped it around Joe's cut. The bleeding had stopped and although angry looking the wound wasn't deep enough to need stitches.

Joe bit his lip and kept still through Patricia's doctoring, but his mind was occupied elsewhere. Where had Slimy gone and what was he planning? Joe had known that the potential for a major blow up was contained in the water pitcher, but he also knew he had to test the boundaries of what their teacher would do when driven to extremes. He gingerly moved his sore arm, the bicep now wrapped in white cotton. Well at least I answered that question-when pushed to the limit, all rational thought left Slimy's brain. The glass had been thrown accurately and with a great deal of force behind it. If he hadn't been paying attention and ducked to get out of the way, the glass would've hit him square in the head. Joe'd been hit on the head enough times to know that the speed and force behind the throw, the water glass could've killed him. "You about done there Patricia?"

The girl nodded and smiled as she tied a knot at the end of the bandage. "You keep this dry for a couple days and it should be just fine."

Joe stroked her cheek tenderly, both to thank her and to strengthen his bravado to the other children. "Prettiest nurse I've ever had," he said with a grin.

"Hey, hey," Mitch interrupted, bully aware of what his friend was doing and why. "No using those considerable Joe Cartwright charms on my sister!" he said good-naturedly.

Patricia helped Joe slide his sore arm back into the sleeve of his white shirt. "Surely Mitch you know I'm old enough to take care of myself?" she bantered, trying to make light of the whole Eli fiasco.

Mitch grinned good naturedly. "Just keep out of Joe's clutches, that's all I ask. He gets me in enough trouble being my friend, I'd hate to see what would happen if he was a relative!"

"C'mon Mitch, I'd be a good brother-in-law, you'll see," Joe countered as he buttoned the buttons on his shirt. He took a deep breath and accepted the hand Tuck offered him and scrambled to his feet.

"How're you going to hide that bloody shirt from Hop Sing?" Seth interrupted, trying to bring their attention back to the problems at hand.

Joe shrugged and dismissed his friend's concern. "I'll just wear my coat upstairs and change my shirt when I get home. This shirt will mysteriously disappear and they'll never know."

Seth smiled, caught up in his Little Joe's confident manner. "Got a plan for everything, ain't you?"

Joe caught Seth's glance and let a little of his true feelings of helplessness and fear creep into his eyes. "Not everything, I'm afraid."

Eli cursed himself for his reaction, which had been exactly the wrong one given the circumstances. He’d supplied the with children a clear look into his soul and the way his temper could get totally out of control. His mind slipped back to the New York City brothel and the beautiful woman that started his quest—Jade had been her name. She’d also seen the worst side of his temper and the look of fear in her deep brown eyes was a sight he treasured to this day. Eli passed the outskirts of Virginia City and headed for "C" street, where the saloons were plentiful. He stopped outside the Bucket of Blood and listened, the soft feminine laughter trickling through the open door made him smile. They were in there, whores of every shape and size. Enough to taunt most men with their wiles, a touch or a caress but all for a price—a price. Although he was certain many other members of his profession frequented saloons, Eli did not. It was just too risky in his situation. Playing the games he did with the children was enough to keep him occupied most of the time, and on the weekends he indulged his passion for spelunking. The caves around Virginia City were beautiful and he’d really come to enjoy the solitude away from the hustling and bustling town. Even the boarding house where he lived could be noisy on occasion, especially when the owner and hostess, the Widow Hawkins saw fit to take a drop or two of whisky, "purely for medicinal purposes," or so she claimed. The long lonely nights however were difficult. The memories flooded back and he found them difficult to control. A long hard childhood with five older sisters and a domineering mother. A father who was a ghost in the house for the first five years, then absent forever after when his mother had passed the point of reasonable behavior. The only way he’d survived in those difficult times was to seek refuge in the caves surrounding his home. This inspired a life-long love of all places dark and he grew to love the solace of the underground places. Anytime he needed to think or escape, this was where he went.

He turned away from the saloon and walked the dusty road toward home. The sight of the boarding house was welcome and he hurried past an astonished Widow Hawkins as she tried to engage him in another round of nonsensical gossip and female babble. He removed his hat and hung it on the hook inside the door and turned to face the room--his haven. A scowl crossed his uneven features as his saw the carefully set chessboard on the coffee table. The game was well underway and the pieces were arranged neatly on the black and white board. To the right side of the board, sat 5 black pawns, all captured in battle by his men. He walked over to the table and picked up a white pawn, one of his treasured players and then slowly set it off to the side. Joe Cartwright had definitely won this round, but it would be his last.

Hoss pulled his dark grey winter coat a little tighter around his neck and kept a sharp eye on the patches of scrub brush and trees that littered the countryside. The two younger Cartwrights' had been hunting for strays up on the north rim all morning in the hopes that this would be their last such foray this high in the mountains before the early winter snows hit. Any cow left at this altitude wouldn't survive until Spring and Hoss knew it. He was usually very diligent in his duties where the strays were concerned, hating to see any animal die a needless death. But to be honest, this morning his mind had been occupied with a much wilder animal than a lost old steer. He glanced over at Little Joe who was standing in his saddle trying to see farther. Even though the weather was cold, the boy had insisted on wearing his light blue corduroy jacket and Hoss shivered just looking at him. Not that the boy noticed the cold, Hoss was sure. Little Joe's internal temperature was just set a little higher than everyone else, Doc Martin had said once. Just like a smaller horse having to work harder to keep up with the rest of the herd--the Doc had explained won't feel the cold because his body is working harder just to survive.

Hoss nudged Chubb and the two slowly made their way over to the boy. They rode side by side several minutes before Hoss couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Joe…" Hoss began.

"Huh?" Joe said quickly and hurriedly looked over at his bigger brother. "What's the matter?" He'd been concentrating on the job at hand even more than needed to be. Searching for strays was boring and thankless work, but it needed to be done. As he had done so often lately, Little Joe tried to completely concentrate on any task at hand, to keep Slimy from intruding on his thoughts.

Hoss studied Chubb's mane for a moment, then continued. "What's wrong, punkin?"

Joe smiled at the nickname and took a deep breath before speaking. "What makes you think something's wrong?" he asked shakily.

"We've been riding for almost an hour and you ain't said a word. That ain't like you." Hoss reined in Chubb and grabbed Cochise's reins to make her do the same. "Tell me what's wrong."

Joe stared at the silky mane of his pinto. "It's nothin' Hoss."

Hoss reached over and lifted Little Joe's chin with a light touch. "That ain't true, boy."

A tear glistened on Little Joe's lower eyelash, but he hastily wiped it away. "I'm sorry Hoss, but we've got work to do. We promised Adam we'd have all these strays rounded up and be back before dark. I ain't got time to talk and you ain't got time to listen." He wrenched his chin away from Hoss and took off at a gallop.

Eli tossed and turned in his bed, the freshly starched sheets now damp with sweat. The serenity of sleep faded from his mind as he heard the click, click of high heels on the pine floor. The sound was off in the distance at first, then with each subtle volume increase another bead of sweat would trickle down the sleeping man's face. She emerged from the gray swirling mist and the temperature in the room slipped to freezing-just as he had felt when he lived at home. Mrs. Waldoch, or Mater as she insisted upon being called. Her tongue was sharp and her attitude unforgiving. She had been a tall woman, broad of shoulder and hip--not fat exactly, although her arms were powerful and her belly substantial. She was clothed in death, as in life in a white organza frock that did nothing to de-emphasize her sturdy frame, instead the expanse of fabric added pounds where it was unwanted and unneeded. When the noise grew closer, Eli wrapped his arms around his waist and shivered--but was afraid to dare and open his eyes.

The gravely voice pierced him to the bone. "I've been watching you for weeks now, and you never were able to take advantage of a situation even when it's thrown in your face!" Even though Eli was afraid to open his eyes, he could sense the movement in front of him. She paced in front of him, her heels punctuating each word she spoke. "You always were worthless, but now I'm going to give you a few lessons." The relentless clicking of the heels stopped, and her voice softened. "The oldest brother-use him," she whispered, and then was gone.

Eli opened his eyes and was relieved to find himself alone. His mother had been dead for four years now, and he hadn't seen her in fifteen. He didn't believe that her ghost had visited him, and forced himself to believe that it was his idea to use Adam Cartwright.

Eli watched the three Cartwright boys file into the little old church in Virginia City on a sunny Sunday morning. He couldn't help the sly grin that slid onto his lips. He watched as they smiled to friends on each side as they made their way up the narrow aisle toward the front. "I'll wipe that smile off your face right after church, brat! You'll see!" Eli hissed when he saw Little Joe wink at an older girl that Eli didn't recognize. He stared at the girl, deep black hair pulled back straight into a french twist, tendrils escaping on each side that trailed down her swanlike neck. She was a beautiful creature with pale white skin, more like alabaster with just the perfect rose shade thrown in for balance.

Eli squirmed in his seat and yanked at the loose fabric around his thighs. All of a sudden his trousers felt too tight and it was all that brazen hussy's doing. The bitch! Just one more example of how women used their powers to inflict suffering on men.

Sara Chapman sat in her seat, blissfully unaware of the problems she was causing the schoolteacher. She was nineteen years old and had completed her schooling the previous year, so the conditions at the schoolhouse held no interest for her. She considered Little Joe Cartwright a friend and between the two of them they hoped to come up with a plan to get Hoss to ask her out on a date.

The Cartwright brothers sat six rows from the front, filing silently into the wooden benches to the right of the aisle. As was their habit, Hoss pushed in first, next Joe and then Adam. Once seated, Adam began nonchalantly checking out the women in the room, his eyes settling finally on the delicate features of Suzen Simpson.

Little Joe glanced at Adam and saw him thoroughly occupied. He jabbed Hoss in the ribs to get his attention and whispered into his big brother's ear when he bent over. "Did you see the way Sara Chapman was looking at you?"

Hoss backed away from Joe and blinked several times in confusion. "Huh?"

Joe rolled his eyes. Hoss could be so dense when it came to women sometimes. "Sara Chapman," he whispered. "She was looking right at you when we came in."

"Sorry, Little Joe," Hoss said as he shook his head. "He snuck a quick look over his left shoulder and sure enough, the dark haired beauty was still looking. Hoss smiled shyly and then turned around again. He leaned down to Little Joe. "What do you know!" he whispered happily. "I think she likes me!"

"I told you she did! I think you should …" Little Joe began, but a hard nudge to his sore left shoulder caused him to turn quickly and look up into the face of his older brother. Joe wrapped his right hand carefully over his sore left upper arm to protect it and returned the scowl Adam gave him.

"You keep your eyes where they should be and your mouth shut little brother." Adam looked up and caught Hoss' gaze and mouthed a menacing "You too!" to the young man. Hoss flushed guiltily and turned forward to face the front.

The rest of the service passed uneventfully and soon the church-goers were filing out the double doors at the rear of the church. Hoss and Little Joe abruptly fled as soon as they reached the fresh air, knowing they had a good fifteen minutes to chat with their friends before Adam would be ready to head for home.

Hoss caught up with Miss Sara and spent his time talking to her, or rather he listened and she talked. Exactly the way Hoss liked to spend his time with a woman. The closeness of the opposite sex made him tongue-tied and he was always relieved when the girl in question took the lead and monopolized the conversation.

Little Joe and his school friends spent the scarce fifteen minutes discussing plans for the afternoon. Fishing was the topic of the day and Joe hoped he could convince Adam to let him go. He'd been up with the dawn and done all his chores, and both of his brothers. He'd been good--okay fairly good in church and couldn't think of a thing that would stop Adam from giving his permission for a leisurely Sunday afternoon at the lake.

Fourteen and a half minutes later, the group of boys rounded the corner of the church to where the wagons and horses were tied and caught a sight that drove terror into Little Joe's hart. Slimy was talking to Adam and both of their faces were red. Joe immediately stopped walking and tried to think of some plan of escape, or defense.

Adam looked in Joe's direction and narrowed his eyes at the boy. He jerked his thumb toward the surrey. Little Joe nodded quickly and turned to his friends, swallowing a lump in his throat before he was able to speak. "I think I'm in big trouble."

Tuck glanced over at Adam and could tell from even this distance that the man was furious. Slimy seemed to be somehow excited at the prospect of getting Little Joe in trouble again. "You don't think he told your brother about the fish, do you?"

Little Joe pursed his lips and thought a moment. "I don't know, but whatever he said Adam's really pissed." He stuck his hands in the charcoal grey trousers of his new suit. "It's going to be a long trip home."

It was indeed, a long trip. Eli had told Adam about the fish in his water pitcher and had enlivened the facts by adding a violent allergic reaction to the tale. Adam was furious and angrily lectured Little Joe from the outskirts of Virginia City to the moment they pulled the surrey up to the front of the ranch house.

Adam set the brake on the surrey and handed the reins to Hoss. He grabbed Little Joe by his sore shoulder, but his expression didn't soften when he saw the boy wince. "Change into your nightshirt and I'll be up shortly."

Little Joe's eyes flew open wide. "But.."

"Don't even try to talk me out of it, Joe."

Hoss watched Joe slowly jump down from the buggy and trudge toward the house. He didn't confront Adam until he saw the front door swing shut.

"Adam, you ain't fixing to..."

Adam shook his head wryly. "No, I'm not going to give him a bare-ass whupping, Hoss. It's just that he's got his new suit on and I don't want to wear out the fabric."

Hoss scowled as he fingered the leather reins. "A lot more concerned about worsted wool than Little Joe's backside, ain't you?"

"The way I figure it, the suit had no choice but to go along. It was Joe that put the fish in the water pitcher--and he deserves a thrashing for it--do you disagree?"

Hoss studied the seams in the floor of the surrey. "No, Adam you're right. Pa'd do the same thing iffen he was here. But I just..."

Adam placed a comforting hand on Hoss' beefy shoulder. "It's hard enough for me to thrash him without you second guessing me all the time."

"It is?" Hoss asked, surprised.

"Of course it is. I'm just as susceptible to those twinkling green eyes and charming smiles as you are." Adam intensified his gaze. "And I know that letting him off the hook would be the easy thing to do. But it would also be wrong. We have to consider how we were brought up, Hoss and do the same for Joe when Pa's not here." Adam gestured towards the house and they both got down from the surrey an slowly walked towards the front door. "When we were kids, how often was Pa gone for more than a day?"

"Well, when he married Mama."

Adam nodded in agreement. "But other than that?"

Hoss stroked his chin as the years melted away. "Three, maybe four times--why?"

"Okay, now think back over the years since I've been back from college--how often?"

"Shucks, Adam I don't know. Seems like every time I turn around he's gone."

Adam smiled sadly. "You've just hit the nail on the head, brother. With the size of the Ponderosa and our other financial interests, all three of us have to do some traveling. Joe always knows someone will be here when he gets home from school, but he doesn't always know who. In order to maintain discipline, the boy has to know that whoever is here will react in the same way that Pa would."

Hoss nodded, understanding.

"It's also security for him. It's hard on a kid when it seems like everyone else is going off when and where they please and he's always stuck home. I could just wait for Pa to get home and let him take care of the punishments, but that'd be harder on both of them."

"How so?"

Adam smiled wryly. "Remember when Pa bought the Texas longhorns and drove them back up here?"

Hoss nodded.

"And we snuck away from Mrs. Shaughnessy and went swimming up at the lake. Charlie caught us and we had to wait two weeks till Pa got home for our punishment-do you remember?"

"Sure do, that waiting was almost worse than the thrashing."

Adam smiled. "Exactly-and I don't want to put Joe through that. Remember how we hated the thought of Pa coming home from that trip? I don't want Joe to feel that way. When I punish him when Pa's gone, it provides security for him and peace of mind."

Hoss laughed softly and looked up the stairs. "Adam, I sure got to hand it to you. Here all this time all I thought Joe got out of it was a sore backside."

"Adam you've got to listen to me…" Joe began as soon as Adam opened the door to his room. The thought of Eli actually telling his brother about the fish hadn't occurred to him. He had been certain that his teacher would try and handle it on his own as he had done in the past.

Adam slowly closed the door behind him and looked at his young brother. The boy had undressed as ordered, and was obviously concerned. Adam could discern the faint quaver in Little Joe's voice as well as the fact he was nervously shuffling from one foot to the other. The one thing missing however and it was glaringly obvious to an older brother who had weathered childish pranks before. Remorse. Joe showed no signs of having any remorse whatsoever--in fact, he seemed almost proud of his prank. As if Mr. Waldoch had deserved it. His anger increased a notch. Adam viewed schoolwork as a stepping stone to the future and it bothered him immensely that his baby brother showed no real interest in it. He knew Little Joe was bright and he had hoped that a new teacher with a tough discipline background would force the boy to study.

"Joseph, I'm not interested in anything you have to say unless it will explain why you felt the need to pull this childish prank on your teacher." Adam began, propping his hands on his hips. "As far as I can see, there can be no excuse that will even hope to explain your behavior."

Little Joe propped his hands on his hips. Although he was sorry he found himself in his present predicament, he wasn't sorry he had tested the depths of Eli's temper. Joe searched his mind trying to come up with an explanation that would pacify his brother. "It wasn't just a prank, I was trying to…"

Adam grabbed Little Joe by the left arm and dragged him over to the bed. "I don't care what you were trying to do, boy. The bottom line is you pulled a nasty prank on a well-respected member of the teaching profession," he stated angrily. "And you know what you've earned and deserve!" He sat down on the bed and pulled the boy across his legs. The solid "smack" sound when Adam's hand hit Little Joe's behind echoed across the room.

Joe bit his lip and managed to remain silent. "You'll regret this Adam, mark my words, you'll regret this," he whispered as Adam continued with his punishment.

Monday was the longest day Little Joe could remember, in at least a week. He'd led Cochise to school, the aftereffects of Adam's temper still too fresh on his backside to even contemplate riding. Slimy had been acting triumphant all morning, forcing them to sit still in their seats and not move. Little Joe had three stripes across his knuckles to reinforce the fact that he hadn't been able to sit on the hard bench all morning.

But this afternoon was a different story. Where the Slimy of the early morning had resembled a bantam chicken strutting around the farmyard, this afternoon the man looked somehow haunted. As if someone from the past had finally tracked him down and was making him dance to a different tune.

"I am not!" Eli announced to the room.

Little Joe skewed his glance sideways to look at Tuck. What is going on here?

Eli sat down at his desk and wrung his hands nervously. The click click of her heels reverberated around his mind and when it stopped he forced himself to look up. "You're losing," Mrs. Waldoch sneered, as her tittering laughter trickled down from the rafters above. "A thirteen year old boy is beating you at your own game."

"Stop it mater! He is not!" Eli screamed at the tall woman who floated above him, her white gown silhouetted against the pine beams of the ceiling of the schoolhouse. He jumped to his feet just as a collective snicker reached his ears. He glared at his students and shook his fist. "Quit looking at her!" he screamed. "I'm the teacher--you will look at me!"

All eyes snapped to the front, not one soul brave enough to chance the teacher's anger at this moment. He was obviously close to snapping.

"You always were a worthless shrew you old bitch!" Eli screamed as he returned his gaze heavenward. "I'm glad you're dead! Do you hear me! I’m glad you're dead!" He picked up his water glass and hurled it at the ceiling. "And I'm glad you're rotting in hell!"

Later that afternoon, Adam and Hoss sat on a bluff staring down at the trail that led to Virginia City. They'd been cooped up all morning in the barn and hay shed preparing the ranch for winter and had taken a little ride for some fresh air. A familiar black and white pinto came flying over the horizon, but she was riderless.

Adam stood up in his stirrups and placed a hand over his brow to try and shield the sun. "Where's Joe?"

Hoss clicked his tongue. "He'll be along presently, I expect," he said dryly.

"Huh?" Adam replied as he turned to face his brother.

"You don't really expect him to be riding after what you gave him yesterday, did you?"

A knowing look graced Adam's deep brown eyes. "Ah, I hadn't thought of that."

"You didn't wonder why the boy wasn't at breakfast this morning? You really didn't believe that note about having to be there early, did you?"

Adam shrugged. "I really didn't give it much thought."

"No, I didn't think so." Hoss pointed down to the boy who was hurrying down the hillside, the fifteen miles from Virginia City to the ranch house seeming like a thousand, he was certain. "That poor punkin walked to school this morning and now is walking back home."

Adam shrugged again. "Well, it couldn't be helped. The kid should've thought about how uncomfortable riding is after a tanning when he planned on putting the fish in the pitcher," he said indignantly. He was starting to feel a little guilty about the harshness of the thrashing he'd given his baby brother. Not that it was undeserved at all, Joe knew the consequences of misbehaving at school and he also knew that there would be no leniency just because Pa was out of town. But the lack of remorse the boy had shown troubled him. Maybe there was more to this than he thought.

Ben Cartwright slowly trudged up the stairs. It had been a long journey home and he had been at his desk adding endless columns of numbers since he'd eaten supper. His hand glided along the banister and he took a deep breath when he reached the top. The runner in the hallway, intricately patterned with swirls of green and brown muffled his footsteps as he headed toward his room. A shaft of light peeked out from under the door to Adam's room and Ben smiled. Undoubtedly Adam was still up, reading the latest book from Charles Dickens. He knocked softly, unsurprised to hear a soft "come in" from the depths of the room. Ben pushed open the door and smiled at his son, who was lying in his bed on top of the covers. "You are going to catch your death if you don't put something on."

"Huh?" Adam said, before he realized that the draw of his new book had made him forget to put on his robe. He was stretched out across his bed wearing only his white cotton briefs. "I guess you're right Pa. I started to read just after I took my clothes off and this new book hooked me right away." Adam rose and walked over to the dresser, his bare feet slapping across the wide planked floor.

"Good thing you have the fireplace going in here or you would have froze to death by now." Ben chuckled. "Don't you have any sense, boy?"

Adam grabbed the navy blue robe from the hook behind his door and slid it on. His thoughts drifted back to his childhood as he looped the ends of the ties in front. "Do you realize how long it has been since you asked me that?" He looked into his father's eyes and smiled.

Ben smiled in return as he contemplated his oldest son who had grown from a small boy into a man right before his eyes. He ran his hand through his silver hair and thought of how the years had passed so quickly. "A long time. I wish the same could be said for your younger brothers'." He thought back to the time Little Joe had decided to copy his oldest brother's idiosyncrasy of wearing only his briefs to bed. Once under the covers Adam was a deep sleeper and rarely moved, so he stayed warm throughout the night. His youngest son however, was restless and constantly threw the covers off. This was the primary reason that Hop Sing always made sure Little Joe's winter nightshirts were made out of very heavy flannel. Ben had walked in on a sleeping Little Joe, covers strewn on the floor and clad only in his briefs in the middle of the winter two years ago. Joe's teeth were chattering and his skin was freezing to the touch. That was the day Ben put an end to his youngest boy's imitation of his oldest.

"That reminds me, Pa," Adam said as he adjusted the shawl collar of the robe closer around his neck. "I'm worried about Little Joe. I know you just got back, and I was going to talk to you about it tomorrow, but since you are here now..."

Ben sat down in the overstuffed green chair by the side of the bed. He watched as his oldest son lay down on top of the brown and rust patchwork quilt. "Now that you're all comfy and cozy..."

Adam took a deep breath, wondering how to broach the subject to his father. "When I came upstairs a couple of hours ago, I stopped in to check on Little Joe. He had fallen asleep at his desk. I startled him when I woke him up he looked so... so..." Adam clutched at the air in front of him, trying to express the feelings that his brother's obvious fear had dredged up in him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Adam opened his eyes slowly and looked at his father, the depth of concern obvious in the older man's eyes. "The closest thing I can compare it to is a hunted animal Pa. Like he was just expecting to be hurt or killed."

Ben was stunned. The timber crisis had consumed his every waking moment in the past week and Joe's troubles had receded into the background. But Adam had hit the nail on the head--it was fear Ben saw in his youngest's eyes. "I just don't know what is going on with the boy. He hasn't been willing to talk and I've just been so busy that I haven't been able to give him the time and attention he needs. He just keeps things bottled up in that curly little head of his until I want to take him and shake him."

Adam smiled, knowing that dealing with Little Joe's quickly changing moods was trial and error at best. "But that isn't the answer. I think we need to take things real easy with him, maybe he'll open up in the next couple of days." Adam pulled his feet up and tucked his legs under the quilt.

"Well, at least we have one thing to be thankful for, apparently school is going allright for him," Ben said with a smirk. "You have to admit Adam, the fish incident was funny." Adam had enlightened his father about the practical joke, and in front of Little Joe, Ben had been suitably angry. But his oldest son had detected an almost hidden twinkle in Pa's eyes.

Adam pursed his lips and shook his head. He could never understand how Pa could overlook Joe's mischief altogether in certain instances.

"Aw, c'mon Adam. This is the first bad report we've had on him this year. You know by this time I've usually been called to school at least five or six times." Ben took a deep breath and his features darkened. "He's just not the same boy though Adam. I want my irrepressible, mischievous Little Joe back--not this silent child who spends all evening in his room." He looked in the direction of Joe's bedroom. "I was actually relieved to hear about the perch in the pitcher."

Adam shrugged. "Maybe we're overreacting Pa. Let's give it a couple of weeks and see if things improve. If they don't maybe I'll talk to Mr. Waldoch and see what he has to say."

Ben rose and stretched. "Okay. I think I'll check on your brothers' before I turn in."

He walked to the door, patting his eldest on the head as he passed the bed. "Sleep tight, son."

"I will, Pa."

The week continued with Little Joe slipping up to his room as soon as possible after supper. When he told his family that "he had homework to do" he was telling the truth. He had to copy ten pages out of his history book every evening and present it to Slimy the next morning. It usually took him several hours to do, and sometimes he even had to finish it after a nightmare awakened him in the middle of the night. He'd managed to hide about half of his dreams by forcing himself to wake up before he screamed. Once awake however, sleep rarely returned and Joe found himself staring at the darkness until the dawn.

The latest manifestation of Eli's madness, the arrival of Mrs. Waldoch was disturbing to all the children--most of all to Little Joe. A boy who treasured the small wisps of memory of his mother had a hard time listening to a man who obviously hated his.

Adam and Little Joe spent a long Saturday morning fixing fence in the north pasture. Adam watched his little brother placing the heavy wooden poles into the deep vee created in the posts to hold them captive and secure. He pulled his black hat off and wiped his sweaty brow, the noontime sun warm even on a chilly fall day.

Little Joe had worked himself to the point of exhaustion all morning, pushing his body to the absolute limit. The twelve-foot pine logs, stripped to four inches in diameter were awkward and he usually had Hoss to help him. But today he decided he would do it by himself. His muscles screamed in pain, but he didn't listen. His one thought was tiring himself out enough to make nightmares depart for one evening.

"Little Joe!" Adam yelled. "Time for lunch!"

Joe looked over at his older brother and frowned. "I'm not hungry! You go ahead."

Adam shook his head, used to his little brother's non-existent appetite. "Now!" he ordered.

The expression on Adam's face told Joe he had better do as requested. His oldest brother could be difficult if Joe didn't obey, and if truth were told he could use a little rest. "Allright, allright. I'm coming!" he said and dropped the pole he was holding.

Adam sat down next to the oak tree and leaned back against his saddle. He watched Sport and Cochise drinking from the small stream that was just beyond the fence and thought about how much Little Joe was like his pony. Wild, free-spirited, and just a little too much to control on occasion. Adam had tried to break the pinto pony when his Pa had given the filly to Joe for his twelfth birthday, but hadn't succeeded. In fact, he had told Pa the horse was unbreakable and they should probably save themselves a lot of headaches and turn her loose. Unfortunately Little Joe had overheard the conversation and taken it upon himself to break the pinto at night, away from the prying eyes of the rest of his family. The boy had done it, but the recklessness of his actions was a small insight into what the future held. He watched Little Joe slowly walk up to the shade tree. "Have a seat little buddy," Adam said and gestured to the ground next to him.

Little Joe offered him a small grin. "Sure thing, Adam." He sat down cross-legged next to his brother and stared off into space.

Adam picked up the two sacks that held their lunches, lovingly prepared by their diminutive Chinese cook that morning. "Joe?" he said as handed one sack to his brother.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." Little Joe accepted the sack and set it down on the ground in front of him, and returned his thoughts to school. What am I going to do? The other kids are getting restless and if the letter doesn't get here soon Eli is going to get worse. He pulled a stray blade of glass and slipped it between his teeth. He chewed on it absently, trying to come to some conclusion.

Adam pushed the corner of his roast beef sandwich in his mouth and bit off a chunk. Watching his little brother from this close proximity he could see the inner torment on the boy's face. If only Little Joe would open up, let me in. That's what big brothers' are for.

After several minutes of watching the boy stare off into space, he decided to try and convince him to at least eat something. "Little Joe," Adam said softly.

No response.

"Hey, little buddy," Adam said, slightly louder this time.

No response.

Adam reached over and tapped his young brother on the shoulder. Little Joe recoiled quickly as if struck. Adam was puzzled. "Little Joe?"

A slow sheepish grin spread across Little Joe's lips when he realized he was safe on the Ponderosa. "Yeah?"

"What's wrong?"

Little Joe shook his head. "Nothing, just wool gathering I guess," he said tiredly.

Adam decided to let the response go. "You sure worked like a bear this morning little brother-especially after being awake half the night. Aren't you going to eat something?"

Joe prodded the unopened sack in front of him. "No, thanks. I'm just not hungry." He picked it up and offered it to his brother. "Do you want it?"

"No, thanks," Adam said as he patted his stomach. "I'm full." He looked at Little Joe's tired face and pursed his lips, unsure of how to proceed. Joe hadn't eaten much in days, but was it more important to get nourishing food into the boy, even if it turned out to be a major battle, or to wait and see if the boy would open up and talk about what was bothering him?

Little Joe dropped the sack on the ground between them and returned to staring off into space. Several moments later, when Adam could stand the silence no longer, Little Joe turned and looked into his older brothers deep brown eyes. "Adam?"

"Yes?"

"Would you..." Little Joe looked down at his hands, unsure if he should ask for what he so desperately needed.

Adam could tell the boy was struggling with something, but decided to wait him out. "What do you want little buddy?" he said softly, caressing the curly head.

Joe responded to the loving touch, as he had done so often in the past. He looked once more into his brother's eyes, the desire to help written so strongly there, it was the subtle push he needed to make his request. "Would you paint me a picture?"

Adam smiled kindly at the request, made so frequently when Little Joe was younger but very rarely since the boy had reached the edge of adolescence. "Sure, why don't you scoot over closer and lie next to me?"

Little Joe smiled quickly, a genuine smile that lit up his green eyes. Where other lesser artists painted with oils and canvas, his oldest brother painted with words. Detailed, descriptive words and phrases that brought back memories a boy didn't know he had. A touch, a promise, a caress, from a long-dead woman Joe longed to see once again. Little Joe stretched, then scooted over next to his brother. He lay back on Adam's brown leather saddle and closed his eyes contentedly, lacing his fingers together across his abdomen.

Adam paused a moment, marshalling his thoughts. "Do you remember the trip your Mama took to New Orleans?"

Little Joe shook his head slowly but didn't open his eyes.

Adam smiled and continued his story. "You were three years old and spitting mad that she wouldn't take you."

"Why'd she go?"

Adam grimaced. He hadn't anticipated that question. The truth was she had made one last attempt to smooth things over with her father, but the trip had been unsuccessful. "She had some things to do down there," he said smoothly and then continued. "Your mother always loved flowers and longed to have the time and seed to start a flower garden here on the Ponderosa. Back then you couldn't just get flower seeds from the general store like you can now--no ten years ago the store just stocked necessities. So the makings for a flower garden were hard to come by and would take her many years. But she started. She managed to have that little pink rose bush in the corner of the yard shipped in from Texas and that butterfly bush that sits next to it. She was so proud. I can still see her out in the yard with you, telling you all about roses and how the little prickly things on the stems were thorns and would hurt baby Joe's fingers. But you always insisted on "smellin" the flowers when the roses bloomed and if we wouldn't hold you up to them, you'd pull the stem down yourself." Adam looked down at his little brother and saw the smile that curled the boy's lips, and knew he was deep in the past.

"Well, after you got over being mad that she'd left you behind, you jumped in my bed one morning with a 'plan'. You had a piece of paper that was filled with scribbles. Every color imaginable from that special box of colored chalk that Pa had brought you from San Francisco. Different shades of color splashed all over the page but to you they were a plan. A very special plan for a flower garden for your mama."

Adam continued for several minutes and then he realized the gentle rise and fall of Little Joe's chest were the rhythmic sounds of sleep Adam stopped his story. He turned on his side and stared at the young face so near his own, then looked down at Joe's hand, and remembered a much smaller one, covered in dirt. The flowerbeds had been spawned by one of his mother's wistful glances at Miss Babette's extensive gardens. How the little boy had managed to wheedle some of the seamstress' best plants out of her, and convince his much older brother to help surprise his mama still amazed him. His little brother could convince the devil himself that he needed kindling, he was certain.

Adam brushed the curls off the boy's head and planted a kiss there. Unfortunately for them all, her life had ended too soon. What impact had his mother's death had on the boy? Little Joe loved very deeply and refused to let go of people. Whenever Pa left for more than a week Little Joe was nervous, on edge. Hoss' impending trip had to be scaring the boy as well. With no experience traveling alone, Joe always seemed to be left behind, waiting for his family to return to him, and the fear was always evident in his eyes the thought that the absent brother or father would never return. The four years Adam spent in Boston ate at him sometimes; he was gone when his baby brother had needed him the most. He knew it had scarred Little Joe, and even though the boy insisted he had understood Adam knew he hadn't. How could you explain to a four-year-old who had lost his mother less than six months ago that you'd be back?

Ah, Marie, a woman he'd hated at first and then grew to love. He looked into his baby brother's upturned face. All he needed to describe his long-dead stepmother was to look in Little Joe's face. He brushed a strong hand across Little Joe's forehead, her soft curls, her giggle, and even her small build was so evident in his little brother.

Several hours later, Adam pushed open the door to the ranch house, it's welcoming creak alerting the lone inhabitant to his presence. He pulled off his black hat and hung it by the door and then unhooked his gunbelt and lay it on the credenza. He exhaled slowly then proceeded over to the desk to talk to Pa.

Ben greeted his son with a welcoming smile. "How'd it go today son?"

Adam sat on the edge of the desk and looked down at his hands. "Okay," he said with a sigh.

Ben frowned at his son's demeanor and expression. "Get that section of fence fixed?"

"No, we didn't."

"Why not?" Ben said as he dropped his pencil in exasperation. The numbers in the columns didn't come out the way they should and he was tired of looking at them. "Wasn't Little Joe any help at all?"

Adam shook his head slowly. "No, it's not that, exactly the opposite in fact. He about worked himself into sheer exhaustion." He ran his thumb across his chin as he contemplated his next words. He looked at his father, knowing the effect his re-telling of the afternoon's events would have. "When we were eating lunch--or should I say when I was eating lunch, he asked me to paint him a picture of Marie."

"I-I see," Ben said softly. It was difficult to speak with the lump in his throat.

"He fell asleep in my arms." Adam took a deep breath and looked into his Pa's eyes for confirmation that he had made the right choice. "I made the decision that he needed the rest more than we needed that fence fixed."

Ben smiled. "That's why you are second in charge on the Ponderosa, son. Because you have such a good head on your shoulders." He stood and stretched. "Where is the boy by the way?"

"He's bedding down the horses for the night," Adam said and frowned. "He was afraid that you were going to be upset that the fence isn't finished."

Ben thought back to the sleepless nights his youngest son had been having. "Adam, the fence not being fixed is the least of our worries."

A tear had stained the paper and Little Joe brushed the wrinkled spot with his thumb.

Joe pictured his friend writing the letter, and how horrified she must have been when her future father-in-law had slapped his wife. Joe thought back to his own upbringing and felt his cheek. Adam had slapped him a couple of times and it never failed to make him mad, but he was never truly frightened of his older brother. He had never feared for his life. Little Joe grinned wryly. That's not entirely true I guess. That one time when I put that slow-acting itching powder in Adam's underwear right before the Spring Dance, murder seemed to be the lesser of the evils when I was caught. Luckily, Pa had been there to save him. Little Joe rubbed his backside in memory of the discomfort. Well, not really saved me, but had prevented Adam from killing me anyway.

"You don't understand, Aunt B, she's miserable," Joe begged. "Her parents are making her marry a man she hates. All she's ever wanted to do is to go to school and now it's her last chance." Joe gave her his most convincing look.

Babette tucked a brunette curl flecked with gray behind her ear. "You've been very convincing Joe Joe, but the answer is no. The girl's parents know what is best and I won't interfere. Just as I wouldn't come between you and your father I won't do it for this girl either.

"You'd have her marry against her will?" Joe asked incredulously, his green eyes widening in horror.

"Children don't always know what is best for them. That's why God put parents on this earth, child. To love and care for them until they're old enough to do it themselves."

Little Joe hid a smile; Aunt B had slipped right into his trap without even knowing it. He pushed his hands in his pockets and offered her an earnest smile. "How old is old enough?"

Babette pursed her lips, sensing she was somehow being led somewhere, but not knowing how to prevent the journey. "It depends on the child, of course."

"Well? What fifteen?" Joe said hopefully.

Tinkling laughter filled the small dress shop. "I daresay not, child. But, certainly by twenty-one..."

An inspired grin crossed Little Joe's lips and he jumped up and ran over to the saddlebags he had brought with. He pulled out a roll of paper and quickly unfurled it before Aunt B had a chance to react.

"Joe, Joe!" Babette exclaimed, waving her hands reflexively.

"Now don't you worry," Joe said as he grabbed her flailing arms and put them on the paper to hold it in place. "Serena's twenty-two so it shouldn't go against your better judgement at all."

Babette frowned and shook a finger at the boy. "You tricked me."

Little Joe grabbed her finger and kissed it, then smiled up at the woman who was the closest thing to a mother he could remember. "Just a little bit, but you'll forgive me won't you?"

She pulled her hand away, but then relented and caressed his smooth cheek. "Ah, Mon Cherie what will I ever do with you?"

"Just look at her sketches, please. That's all I ask. If they aren't good enough I'd rather let her know and dash her hopes instead of letting her dream of something that will never be."

Babette picked up the first sheet of paper and studied it closely before looking at Little Joe. "She has a good eye for detail. The style is a little unrefined, but..." She turned the paper over and looked at the next one. "Ah, this is better. She uses color beautifully here," Babette said as she traced the line of an emerald green velvet frock.

Twenty minutes later, Little Joe finally had to ask. Babette had been studying Serena's sketches for what seemed forever and he was dangerously close to being late for supper. "Well?"

Babette looked up as if she had been in a dream. "Oh, I'm sorry, child," she said as she removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "She does have talent, that is a certainly. But that doesn't mean I've changed my mind. I won't interfere."

"But you said twenty-one."

"Yes, I know that is what I said. But it still wouldn't be right. A girl's parents have her best interests at heart, and she'll just have to do as they say."

"She won't. She'll run away," Little Joe said firmly.

Babette's face clouded. "I suppose she will then. But I'm certain a young girl who was raised in comfort and privilege in society won't want to be without either for long. She'll come running home as soon as she gets cold and hungry. You'll see."

Little Joe stuck his hands in his pockets, saddened by what he just heard. I have to convince her somehow! "Isn't there any way I can change your mind?"

Babette shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Joe Joe, but the answer is no."

"What about if I go with her?"

The sadness turned quickly to fear, then finally on to a twinge of anger. "Don't you even think like that Joseph Francis Cartwright, or I'll march you home to your father!" Babette exclaimed.

"But Serena really needs your help!" he implored.

Babette wavered when she saw the determined look on her young friend's face. "I'll think about it." The clock struck four and she realized how late it was. "You better be getting on home young man, or you'll have some explaining to do."

Joe nodded and grabbed his saddlebag. "What about the sketches?"

"Leave them here, I'll look at them a little closer."

Joe stood on tiptoe and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thank you Aunt B," he said and scooted out the door.

Babette shook her head. "Little rascal," she said aloud to the empty shop. She walked to the door and watched the boy vault onto his pony's back. He really wouldn't go with that girl would he? If I know my Little Joe, and the size of his heart he just might. Another thought entered her mind. Joe Joe had always wanted to visit Paris. Maybe this was some elaborate scheme to make the trip.

Hours later, Babette strolled around her shop, trying to gather her thoughts. Joe Joe is right, I’ve had been trying to think up a reason to go back to Paris for years and haven’t had one. Now I do--but should I go? The trip would be very expensive and although her shop was quite profitable, she didn’t like the idea of spending that much money. Am I just looking for excuses? The girl needed to get away from her family, that much was certain—but should I butt my nose in where it’s unwanted? Babette smiled and thought of when Marie Cartwright had first come to the territory and they had become fast friends, both having memories of Paris. Some of the townspeople had looked down their noses at the newcomer when questions of her past had arisen. Babette had done no such thing, even butting her nose in when the portly Miss Lewis had set Marie up to force her to tell about her past at a quilting bee. Her eyes twinkled as she recalled the abashed look on Laurethel’s pudgy face when she told her to "shut up and mind her own business." It had been very unladylike but it had earned her the respect of the other ladies and Marie’s friendship. Was this situation so different? Serena needs help and I have the ability to give it to her. She grabbed a piece of paper and began jotting down notes to prepare for the trip.

Little Joe sat on the couch after an enforced supper, nervously tapping his foot against the floor hoping to escape to his room.

Ben lounged in the leather chair next to the fireplace and lit his pipe, an open book in his lap. He'd been attempting to read for the past fifteen minutes, but couldn't do it. The haunted look in Little Joe's eyes kept him from concentrating.

Adam pulled out the chess pieces and started to set it up on the game table by the stairs, his attention also on his youngest brother.

"Joe, can't you take pity on me and play checkers?" Hoss implored. "I'm about dying of boredom here, you haven't played in two weeks."

Little Joe smiled quickly and ran his hand down the back of his head nervously. "I'd like to Hoss, but not tonight." He rose and stretched, trying to work the soreness out of his muscles. The week had been a long one and he just couldn't relax no matter how hard he tried. He just seemed to tense up at any mention of school, or even if someone raised their voice.

Adam looked up from the chessboard over the queen he had just placed. "Well, little brother if you're not in the mood for checkers, I wouldn't mind a new opponent here." He raised an eyebrow toward Hoss. "Someone that would be a little competition would be a change."

Hoss narrowed his eyes in mock anger and stood. "Why, you…'

Little Joe chuckled and looked up the stairs toward the safety of his room. "No thanks, I've got things to do upstairs." He took a step toward the stairs.

"Joseph wait a moment," Ben said softly.

Joe turned around and studied his father warily. "Yes Pa?"

"Come over and sit down again please," he said, gesturing to the settee. "I'd like to talk to you."

Joe bit his lips and wrung his hands together nervously. So close to making it upstairs.

He took a set backwards and inched his way toward the staircase. "Pa, I really should…"

A line creased Ben's brow and he pointed at his young son with his pipe. "Don't make me repeat myself Joseph."

"Yes, sir," Joe capitulated and tucked his hands into his pockets. His eyes studied the floor as he shuffled to the middle of the room and flopped onto the sofa, his thwarted escape clearly affecting his attitude.

Hoss and Adam exchanged glances over their respective game boards. This wasn't going to go well.

"Joseph, I'd like to know why you escape to your room every night after what passes for supper, although how you stay alive on what you've been eating I don't know."

Joe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to keep his attitude in check. He usually hated these conversations and tonight was no exception. "Pa, have I done something wrong?"

Ben pursed his lips. "Well, not that I know of son, But I don't understand why you've been avoiding us," he said, gesturing to Adam and Hoss. "We're your family son and we love you. If you have a problem we'd like to hear it and maybe we can work it out together."

Little Joe's lip curled derisively but he managed to curb the sassy remark that sprang instantly to his lips. "I'm not avoiding you," he responded, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

"What do you call it then?" Ben asked, noting that Joe was fidgeting nervously on the settee. "Every night after supper you make some excuse and head to your room. It's not like you son."

"I've got stuff to think about," Little Joe said, studying his hands intently.

Ben chose to ignore the fact that his son wouldn't or couldn't look him in the eye. "Then on Saturday you do anything possible to stay out of our sight…"

Joe looked up quickly. "I've been doing my share of the work!" he spouted and looked to Adam for confirmation.

"Yes, you have Joe," Adam replied gently. "It's not the work we're talking about. It's you. Why don't you want to spend any time with us?"

"I've got stuff to think about," Joe replied again, hoping to pacify his oldest brother.

"What kind of stuff?" Hoss prodded gently. "Why can't we help?"

Joe clenched his hands into fists. His temper was starting to flare and it was difficult to keep it in check. His struggle was evident in the way his voice cracked when he responded. "Because it's grown up stuff and I'll handle it on my own."

Adam hastily hid a smile with his hand. "But that's no reason to avoid us Joe."

Joe sprang to his feet and stamped his foot. "I'm not avoiding you! Can't you just leave me alone? All I want to do is go upstairs to my room, is that a crime?" he shouted, all attempts to control his temper gone.

"Sit down young man!" Ben said icily, his dark brown eyes flashing. "Don't use that done of voice with me, boy. You'll find yourself in your room for an entirely different reason and it won't be pleasant, let me assure you."

Little Joe wrinkled his nose, but mumbled the expected apology as he plunked down on the settee. He slouched down as far as he could and crossed his arms belligerently.

Ben studied his son for a moment and decided to ignore the poor attitude. "Joseph, I understand that you are trying to grow up and sometimes having us around isn't the easiest thing. But remember when we show concern and help you figure things out we are trying to guide you," Ben said, taking a sip from his coffee cup.

"Pa, I understand," Joe said, trying to control his temper until he could escape. "But sometimes there are things I need to take care of on my own." He took a deep breath and boldly stood up again, noting that Pa's frown returned. "Now may I please go up to bed?"

"Go on then," Ben replied. His frown deepened when a genuine smile lit the boy's features and he ran for his room.

"That went well, don't you think?" Adam commented sarcastically as soon as he heard the door to Joe's room close.

Ben exhaled loudly and rose. He walked over to the fireplace and stared at the bright orange and gold flame for a moment, then turned to his sons. "What do you two think? Am I overreacting to this?"

Adam studied his hands. He was surprised Pa had waited so long to say something and was relieved his father had finally broached the subject. "I don't think so Pa. I mean he barely eats anything at all. I do have to say that I can't complain about the work he's been doing the past month. He's been the first one up every morning and usually outside doing the chores when Hoss and I get out there."

Ben stroked a strong finger across his chin. "I know. It just seems like the life has gone out of him though. Tonight was the first time I heard that smart mouth of his in weeks. I really thought I'd be happy to see it gone. But I miss the occasional bit of sass. Makes me think I'm doing may job as a father."

"I know, Pa," Adam agreed. "I miss it too. He's much too docile to be the real Joe Cartwright." He thought a moment before continuing. "I told him to clean out the chicken coop last Saturday, fully expecting a rip-roaring fighting match because it's such a nasty job and because he did it the last time. It's really my turn. I really only ordered him to do it because I thought he'd balk and I was looking forward to a nice little argument." Adam rubbed his hands together when he remembered the hurt look on Joe's face and how the boy'd just went off to work with out a word. "Didn't happen though."

Ben looked up the stairs in the general direction of his youngest son's room. "I guess we'll just have to keep an extra close eye on him."

Hoss stroked his chin and an idea entered his mind. Maybe this was a godsend. "You know Pa maybe I shouldn't go on that business trip."

Adam chuckled. "Any excuse to get out of it, is it now? I'm sure Joe'll be fine. It's not like he'll be alone here you know."

The scream woke Ben from a deep sleep. He flung back the heavy blankets that kept the cold away and reached for his blue velvet robe, quickly shoving an arm through the sleeve as he crawled out of bed. He pulled the robe around his shoulders and finished putting it on as he raced down the hallway. The second scream echoed through the house as Ben pushed the door open to Little Joe's room.

The sight of his youngest boy thrashing around on the bed, obviously in the grips of terror stuck a knife through his heart. "Oh, precious...my precious baby," he whispered as he hurried to the bed. Grabbing the boy by the shoulders, he shook him gently. "Joseph, son wake up! It's just a dream son, just a dream." Ben could see the tracks of tears that had run down the pale cheeks, the bite marks on his lower lip where the boy had fought to not cry out.

Little Joe continued to fight, not realizing that it was his father who was holding him so tightly. "No, please... I'll take it... leave her alone." He whispered as he struggled to free himself from the teacher who had made his little corner of the world a living hell.

Ben continued to try and bring his baby son back to the real world, but Joe struggled with an invisible foe. Hoss and Adam, arrived in the doorway. They were also clad in their robes and torn from their beds by the piercing scream of Little Joe.

Ben took a deep breath and tried again. Grabbing the boy by the shoulders, he shook him slightly to get his attention. Little Joe's panic-stricken green eyes snapped opened. When Ben saw the recognition, he held his son's eyes with his own and spoke slowly. "Joseph--It was just a dream."

Joe tried to flinch away, but his father didn't release his grip. "Pulling away won't make it better, son," Ben said softly. "We need to talk about this, Precious."

"No" Little Joe answered flatly. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm sorry I woke you all up," he said, noticing his two brothers standing in the doorway.

Ben could spot a lie almost as well as he could figure out when Little Joe was up to mischief. Only on two occasions did he let his little boy get away with not telling the whole truth, and bad dreams were one. He sighed and pulled the boy into an embrace, work-worn hand gently stroking the still heaving back. From years of past experience he knew that it wouldn't do any good to push-Little Joe would open up when he was good and ready and not a moment before.

Little Joe fought his father's enclosing arms at first, trying in vain to assert his adolescent manhood. But as the fear drained away he slowly began to lean more and more into his Pa's loving embrace. His chilled body responded to the warmth as his frightened mind eagerly sought the security that his father had always brought.

Ben Cartwright smiled sadly as he felt his precious baby's full weight lean against him and his breathing ease into the gentle rhythmic patterns of sleep. Ben slid his arm under his youngest's knees and gently picked him up. Cradling him tightly against his chest he headed back to his bedroom. He walked through the doorway and gently deposited Little Joe in his bed. Ben quietly tucked the blanket in around the sleeping boy and brushed a stray curl away from the thin face. He turned around and took a deep breath when he noticed the worry shining so brightly on his older sons' faces. "Go back to bed boys, I'll let him sleep with me tonight. He'll be fine."

Hoss rubbed his eyes sleepily and stifled a yawn. This was the third time Joe had woken them up this evening and he was ready to drop. "Are you sure, Pa?'

Ben offered a smile. "Of course I am son. We've weathered these nightmares before--and will again. You two get some sleep," he said, easing his tired body into a rocking chair. "I've got a little thinking to do."

The early afternoon sun trickled through the windows of the schoolhouse, giving an eerie glow to the classroom. The morning had gone smoothly--too smoothly. The children now realized that it was the "calm before the storm."

"I don't believe in all my years of teaching I've met a stupider bunch of girls." Eli stalked across the front of the classroom as he delivered his diatribe, pausing occasionally to glare at one of the girls. "Shouldn't be in school at all--all women should be kept locked up until the time comes and they're ready to be married to their lord and master."

Eli wiped his hand down his face, trying to control the dripping sweat.

Eloise Simmons slunk lower in her seat, her two sizes too large blue dress almost swallowing her slim frame. She wet her lips and tried to look up at the teacher because she knew that was what was expected of her, but it wasn't easy.

Slimey scanned the sea of faces, looking for a likely girl to pick on. He went straight for Eloise when he saw she wouldn't or couldn't meet his gaze. "Like I said, while they wait for their lord and master." Grabbing the scrawny girl by the elbow, he pulled Eloise to her feet and looked her straight in the eye. "Not that you'll ever catch a husband, looking the way you do." He smiled when he saw the shocked look on the homely girl's features and roughly thrust her back in her seat.

Eli stalked back to the head of the classroom and continued his lecture. "That's the way it should be boys, keep the women locked up. And then when we," he paused and clamped his hand across his breast. "When we select one of the inferior wenches to be our wife--she'll know her proper place. Clean my house, cook my supper and when the urge arises--share my bed." Eli noticed that most of the girls and a few of the boys blushed at the mention of sex. This seemed to anger him. "And when that need arises--she better not even consider the possibility of refusing. A wife's duty is to see to her husband's desires, no matter how perverse they may happen to be."

Little Joe snickered at the thought of any woman willingly having sex with the teacher. The snicker bloomed into a chuckle when he thought of the saloon girls he'd seen down at the Tub 'O Guts. Probably the ones who get paid to do it wouldn't be all that willing either.

Eli whirled around when he heard the laughter. "How dare you!" He stalked down the aisle and stared each child in the face, hoping to find the guilty culprit. This method turned up no clear-cut offender. He paused before Little Joe's desk and tapped his fingers forcefully on the scarred oak desktop. The boy had been quiet all day, probably trying to stay out of trouble while his Pa and middle brother were away. Eli had seen Hoss Cartwright head toward Placerville two days ago, he assumed on ranch business. Ben Cartwright he'd noticed at the stage depot that very morning, dressed for a long and dusty trip.

Joe shifted uneasily in his seat, trying to present an innocent face to the teacher. He fought the urge to break eye contact or look away, uncertain what Eli would interpret as the meaning. He bounced his right foot nervously as he tried to keep his mind off his aching seat. Pa's punishment of three days ago was still fresh in his mind and on his backside and although sitting wasn't as painful as it could be, it still wasn't altogether comfortable.

After determining that Joe wasn't the culprit, Eli turned on his heel and walked back to the blackboard. "Yes, children, the way courting should work is in the spring all the girls would be paraded before the eligible bachelors and if one strikes our fancy then we'll marry her." Eli stroked his chin. "Just like a horse and come to think about it that's just what you look like," he said as he stepped over to Clarinda Hawkin's desk.

Clarinda looked up at the teacher who was sweating so profusely that he pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket and mopped his brow. Her lower lip trembled and she tried to force her thin lips to cover her protruding front teeth. She didn't succeed and a tear dripped down her fleshy cheek.

Luckily for the girl, she wasn't to remain the teacher's target for long. His agenda today was much broader than making an individual student cry. No today was the day to teach philosophy--his philosophy.

"As I was saying, they'll tempt you with fancy clothes and sweet-smelling perfume but they're all the same deep down. Evil--they'll turn on you in a moment. That's why they have to be constantly under your thumb."

Little Joe skewed his glance sideways and looked at Seth. When he was certain he had the other boy's attention, he raised his eyebrows and jerked up his thumb. "I'll keep Marion under my thumb," he whispered as he smiled towards the pretty girl who sat in front of Seth.

"What!" Eli screamed as he whipped his head around. "Are one of you confounded brats talking again?!" He shook his fist at the now-quiet room. "If I catch one of you, so help me God you'll regret it!"

As soon as the teacher’s back was turned a carefully folded note hit Little Joe in the chest, then fell down onto his lap. He glanced toward the thrower, Seth and then quickly unfolded it, and keeping carefully shielded from the prying eyes of Slimy read it. "You’re pushing your luck." Joe wrinkled his nose. Like I don’t know that already. But Joe had noticed something that Seth hadn’t. Before Joe’s little interruptions the girls had been crying and frightened—now they were holding their heads up high and a few even had mischievous grins on their faces.

Eli had noticed the change also. To a man who ruled by fear and intimidation, this sudden change was disconcerting. He paused for several moments, listening for the voice of his mother whose presence in the classroom had become more and more common as the days of late fall turned into winter. Taking a deep breath, he renewed his lecture with vigor, determined to cower the children into submission once again.

Joe watched the emotions flicker across Eli's face and hoped that the man would switch to another topic, or actually try and teach them some schoolwork. Although Waldoch’s skills as a teacher were well known he had done very little teaching from books since he’d arrived in Virginia City. The lessons he taught were more life lessons, in a future Little Joe didn’t want to contemplate. Joe brushed his hand down the back of his head, an easily recognized nervous habit to his friends.

"What’s wrong?" Mitch whispered, then grinned wryly. "Besides the obvious that is."

Joe leaned over toward the center of the aisle. "I was just thinking about when the weather closes the road to Virginia City. You know Adam tutors me all winter when I can’t make it to school. I’m going to have to tell him what I’ve learned this fall." He paused and a grin lit his features and he stretched out his sore hand. "Maybe I’ll show him." He gathered his thoughts together and smiled at Seth. "But not before I have a little fun with Slimey."

"You're taking a big risk here, but I suppose you know what you're doing," Seth added, shaking his head. Although he was extremely grateful when it happened, he couldn't understand why Little Joe would take the problems of the class unto himself.

A shiver of fear ran up his spine, but Joe gamely continued with his recently formulated plan. He slid his hand silently toward the ink well on the top corner of his desk. Carefully he eased the small glass jar from the hole where it was kept and slowly poured a small puddle of ink onto a two-inch square of paper. He pressed his thumb into the small black pool and made a thumbprint on a clean sheet of paper. He scrawled the words "Please be under my thumb?" A smile caressed his handsome features as he thought of the smile and perhaps even a small flutter to a girl's heart his note would bring. A quick glance to his left and he saw the bewildered expression on Seth's face. Joe grinned and shrugged his shoulders, then began to carefully fold the note into a triangle. With Joe's many years of experience in passing notes undetected, he'd found that this was the best shape to avoid discovery. He knew that he was taking a tremendous risk with this scheme, but he couldn't help himself.

"And ... only the dumbest-no worse than dumbest," Eli ranted as he paced back and forth in front of the schoolroom. "Are the women who are stupid enough to get knocked up." He turned suddenly and glared at the girls in the classroom. "That's right, I said knocked up--no gentle words like 'in the family way' or 'expecting a bundle of joy'. Because that's not what it is," he snarled. "Once a woman is carrying a child she's rendered altogether useless. At least if she's young and pretty enough she can serve as a man's plaything, but boom!" he clapped his hands briskly in mid-air, making several of the students jump. "Once she's pregnant and that's the end of her--she goes from a plaything to an old hag who isn't good enough for a man to talk to, let alone take her to bed." He began to pace again as his voice rose with each declaration against the female sex until his gravely tone neared a crescendo.

Joe, for the most part had done a pretty good job of ignoring the latter part of his teacher's outburst. His thoughts were on other matters. Scanning the room with his eyes, he noticed Sarah Jessica Trepola was on the verge of tears. Sarah was a pretty blonde girl in the eighth grade who liked to wear her thick hair in one long braid that hung halfway down her back. Her seat was in the third row from the front near the window on the far side of the room. Eli's tirade about mothers had bothered her tremendously, because her own mother had died last spring in childbirth.

Joe grinned and flexed his left hand. Just the right girl to start with. Not too far away and close to the wall, just in case I miss.

Eli spun on his heel and advanced to the blackboard. Pausing a moment to gather his thoughts he grabbed the chalk and began writing a well-practiced list of the faults of all womankind.

Taking Eli's broad back to be his cue, Joe slid out of his seat and gently tossed the folded note underhand toward Sarah's seat. It landed with a plop on her desktop and she whirled around to see who had risked his life in such a manner. A shy smile lit her face when she saw who the culprit was and she pulled the note quickly into her lap. One quick glance at Eli determined he was none the wiser, so she carefully unfolded the note to read it. When she read the words, her smile broadened and she turned and blew a kiss to her young friend.

This same covert operation was conducted six times, and each girl who received the note personalized with Little Joe's thumbprint completely forgot about the madman who was busily scratching the faults of the entire female gender on the eight by ten blackboard.

As Eli scribbled the last phrase on the blackboard, "The only good mother is a dead one" he became aware of a new calmer--almost playful atmosphere that filled the room. He instinctively sensed that something was going on-the children were no longer frightened little rabbits hanging on every stroke from the chalk in his hand--it was almost as if there was someone had taken over the room and the children were following his lead. Eli's eyes darkened as he stared at the now completed list of faults on the blackboard. He dropped the chalk onto the shelf and he began to clench and unclench his hands, a gesture that should have alerted the students that he was aware that shenanigans had started-but the children were all too busy watching who the next note would be for.

The playful atmosphere abruptly disappeared when Patricia Devlin tried to catch the last note and it ricocheted off her hand and landed on the wide-planked floor at Eli's feet.

A scowl curled Eli's lip as he stared at the carefully folded slip of paper on the floor. "I wonder whose been playing little games while they were supposed to be paying attention," he sneered angrily and bent to retrieve the offending piece of paper. He unfolded it quickly and read it silently. "Mr. Cartwright, once again you are disrupting my class," Eli began as he stormed down the aisle in search of his victim. When he reached Joe's desk, he glared down at the boy hoping to cower him into submission.

Little Joe stared into the man's eyes, and met the anger he found there with a look of derision--a look that was not lost on the veteran teacher. "Why you little!!!" Eli screamed and grabbed Joe by the upper arm. He squeezed until Joe flinched and then lifted him out of the chair until he could look the boy in the eye. "You'll regret this insubordination you little brat--oh, you'll see!"

Little Joe bit his lower lip to keep from crying out. The pain in his upper arm and shoulder was intense but he wouldn't give the teacher the satisfaction of knowing how painful it was. He tilted his chin upwards and narrowed his eyes. "The only thing I regret is ..." he hissed.

Eli interrupted the declaration by shaking him vigorously. "Who gave you permission to speak boy?"

Joe could feel his shoulder beginning to separate as the tendons loosened around the joint. The only way to keep silent was to close his eyes and grit his teeth. He struggled briefly with the implications. If he kept his mouth shut Eli would take it as submission-something he wanted to avoid. But the alternative was crying--something he wouldn't do in front of the teacher.

Eli abruptly flung the boy against the wall of the schoolhouse. Joe hit the wall hard then slid down the wall into a crumpled heap on the floor. "Worthless piece of garbage that you are, you aren't even worthy of my disdain--but there is punishment for talking back to a teacher." He gestured around the room at the rest of the students. "And the little escapade that you decided to play at my expense." He pointed to the front of the room. "Get your bony ass up to my desk!" he shouted.

The entire room had gone deathly still-not a child dared move in their seats for fear of bringing the teacher's wrath down on their own heads. Self-preservation was alive and well in the Virginia City schoolhouse.

A large lump was rising on the back of Joe's head and he fought the dizziness that had almost consumed him when he hit the floor. The latest rantings of his teacher were fuzzy at best, but he had heard the last sentence. He took a deep breath and started to rise.

Eli took the slowness of the boy's compliance to be another signal of mocking and stalked over to Joe. He grabbed him again by his sore arm and jerked him the rest of the way to his feet. "I mean now!" he screamed and pushed him toward the front of the room.

Joe unsteadily put one foot in front of the other as he staggered toward the front of the room. His shoulder throbbed with every breath and he was filled with dread—this wasn’t exactly turning out as he’d hoped. When he reached the teacher's desk he stopped and crossed his wrists behind his back—hoping to avoid the caning he was sure he’d earned.

When he saw Little Joe’s contrite position, Eli’s anger intensified. So you think a simple caning is what you’ve earned, huh? I’ve got news for you brat—it’ll be much worse. "You know I think you deserve a much more," he stroked his chin reflectively. "Inspired, punishment, should we say than a simple caning?" Disguising his anger as much as possible, Eli forced himself to be outwardly calm. He strolled to the front of the room and sat down behind his desk. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "I’ll have to think on this for a few minutes, of course." He smiled, but then narrowed his eyes and glared at Joe. "Don’t move a muscle until I tell you to, or it’ll be a hell of a lot worse—understand?" he threatened.

Joe nodded silently and then stood still.

Eli smirked as he watched the boy standing in front of his desk. In some ways, he felt like a mighty eagle watching his prey—ready to swoop down at a moments notice and end the life of a small rabbit or squirrel.

The silence in the room was complete until Eli sensed a new presence had arrived. One who had a lot of experience in determining the worst punishments that could be inflicted on a child. "Oh hello, Mater," Eli suddenly said to a position three feet above Little Joe’s head. He stood in courtesy to the ghost of his mother. "Yes, the brat is out of control again. I try and try and still I…" he began, then paused as if listening to another. "No, no, we can’t do that. I don’t think Mr. Cartwright would appreciate it if he knew I dressed his son up in girls clothes." Pause. "No mother, I didn’t really hate it that badly. In fact I learned to like it." Pause. An evil grin curled Eli’s lips as he looked down at the boy in question. "Yes, you’re right. That would be exactly the perfect punishment; I know how I disliked it when I was a child. Thank you Mater."

Eli slid open the bottom right drawer of his desk and started to dig. "I’ll find it, I’ll find it. Don’t worry about it." A minute later in desperation, he finally pulled out several books and tossed them haphazardly on top of his desk, then bent to his task again. "I am not a slob! Stop saying that!" he muttered.

Little Joe noticed the title of the tan book on top of the pile; it read "Five Year Diary" in large block letters. Joe raised an eyebrow and his thoughts turned from the bizarre behavior his teacher had just exhibited. What can I learn from that book? I’ll bet there is all sorts of useful information in there. He looked around the room, half expecting the ghost of Mrs. Waldoch to read his mind. Will I find out why he thinks his mother haunts him?

"Ah-ha!" Eli exclaimed with glee as he pulled out a length of ½ inch diameter rope. "Here it is!" he said and held it up for the class to see. "I usually use this when I’m exploring the caves outside of town, but it’ll come in handy right here." He looked overhead and studied the pattern of rafters that criss-crossed the ceiling of the schoolhouse. "Okay, troublemaker," he said as he turned his attention to Little Joe. "Get over there by the wall."

Joe swallowed hard and hoped the punishment for his little love note scheme wouldn’t be death by hanging—a thought that would have been laughable last year. He walked over to the wall and waited for Eli to join him.

"Yes, yes," Eli hissed as he followed the boy. "I guarantee this’ll cure you of your little appetite for mischief at least today." He expertly tossed the rope over the lowest ceiling beam and then gestured for Little Joe to hold out his hands. Eli couldn’t control a grin as he tied one end of the rope around the boy’s wrists, and then jerked on the other end to pull Joe’s arms over his head. "Perfect! Now all I have to do is tie the other end off, and we’ll start your punishment." He looked around the room, trying to decide what to use. When nothing immediately came to mind, he improvised and walked over to his desk. With strength reminiscent of a man of Hoss’ build, he pushed the heavy desk closer to Joe and then grabbed the opposite end of the rope again. He knelt by the leg of the desk and judged the distance he’d have to tie off. "This has to be perfect, you know. So we’ll have to do this carefully." He pulled the rope taut so Joe’s arms were high over his head, and then pulled harder till the boy was standing on tiptoe. "There, perfect," Eli said as he tied the rope to the desk leg. "We’ll see how mischievous you are after this little punishment."

Joe struggled to find a comfortable position. His arms and shoulders already hurt from his mistreatment from earlier and now that they were in this awkward position the pain was growing more intense.

Seth watched his friend struggle with the inhumane treatment. Joe’s arms were stretched so high overhead that he knew there was danger of dislocation. Seth massaged his own shoulder in remembered pain. He’d had an accident last year and had pulled his shoulder out of the socket and the pain was excruciating.

Little Joe bit his lip and closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at the stricken faces of his friends while he was so close to the brink. The stretching of his arms was having an impact on every muscle in his body. His hands were losing all feeling which contrasted sharply to the fire that ran down his arms and into his shoulders. It was hard to breathe in this position and Little Joe fought to stay calm and take slow, measured breaths. His calf muscles were stretched taut and they ached. Joe knew it was only a matter of time before the muscles protested even more loudly and he didn’t know if he could maintain control when it happened. If he succeeded it would have a lot to do with how long Eli kept up the punishment.

Twenty minutes later, it was all Little Joe could do to keep the tears from running down his face. The fact that he was in agony was readily apparent to all the schoolchildren, but Eli had been ignoring him and carrying on a one-sided conversation with his mother.

Eli’s face was scarlet with embarrassment as he stood up and walked over to Little Joe. His mother had been berating him constantly and he looked worse than his hanging victim. Not a word crossed his lips as he untied the boy and then returned to his desk.

Little Joe rubbed his numb hands together in hopes that some feeling would return to them. He glanced over at the teacher in hopes the man would tell him what was expected from him, but there was no answer forthcoming. Eli just sat at his desk staring up at the rafters. Joe shrugged his shoulders, and barely prevented a cry of pain from escaping. Smart thing to do—bonehead. You’ve been ripping them out of their socket for twenty minutes and your first bright idea is to move them, he chastised himself.

Adam had dropped his Pa off at the stage around eight o'clock and had spent an altogether unusual day of leisure in town. He'd had a beer or two, a poker game and charmed a few ladies in the saloon. But now that the day was almost over, he had decided to meet Little Joe at the schoolhouse and accompany him home. Hopefully they could have an older brother--younger brother talk.

The sound of Mr. Waldoch's raised voice was discernable at ten yards from the front door of the schoolhouse. Adam reined Sport to a stop and dismounted. He flung the reins over the hitching post by the front steps and mounted the stairs two at time, before easing the door open. The confrontation between Little Joe and the veteran teacher was apparent even to a new arrival.

The distraught state that Mrs. Waldoch had placed her son in had lasted about an hour. Then the teacher had started again on the female members of the classroom and Joe wasn’t able to stand it. He had stood up in the middle of class and told Eli exactly what he thought of his warped opinions. Eli hadn’t taken the news well.

"How dare you! The impertinence! To tell me I'm wrong?--me!" Eli shouted as he stood toe to toe with his youngest and most difficult pupil.

Joe Cartwright's scowl deepened and he crossed his arms across his chest. Although the underlying reason that Little Joe crossed his arms was to try and lessen the pain in his arms and shoulders, he realized the implications of his confrontational stance--and didn't care.

Adam's brow furrowed at his brother's blatant disregard for authority. He cleared his throat to alert the two to his presence.

Little Joe whipped his head around to see who the new arrival was, and was openly relieved to see that it was his brother Adam. Joe was glad that his outburst had ended at least five minutes before—unless Adam had been lurking around outside for that period of time—he was safe. Although the consequences of what little Adam had witnessed could be substantial, Joe just couldn't deal with Eli any more today. His nerves were raw and he was closer to the breaking point than he could ever remember. Three times during the punishment he had found himself close to tears, something he swore Eli Waldoch would never see. If Adam hadn't come, he didn't know if he would have made it through the rest of the day without crying.

The relief on Little Joe's face was an exact opposite to the fierce disappointment that was clearly visible on Eli's uneven features. Although the teacher forced a smile to his thin lips, Adam sensed that the man was upset at the intrusion and would have preferred to continue the conversation away from prying family members.

"Adam, I'm glad to see you," Waldoch said, although the expression on his face was a direct contradiction to the spoken word. "We've had some problems today I'm afraid."

Little Joe glared at his teacher and then turned to face his oldest brother. "Adam .." he began, as his eyes began to tear.

Adam slid his strong palm over his brother's mouth and ignored the implication of the impending tears. "Not a word, Joe. I'm listening to Mr. Waldoch now, I'm certain we'll have plenty to talk about once we get back to the house."

"Maybe it would be wise to have the boy wait outside while we discuss his actions today?" Waldoch suggested.

Adam looked at the teacher and nodded before returning his gaze to Little Joe. "You go saddle your horse and wait for me outside, and don't you even think about taking off-do you understand?"

Little Joe looked into his big brother's eyes and nodded. He slowly walked to his desk and retrieved his books, then escaped the schoolroom.

When they heard the door close, Waldoch walked over to his desk and pulled a chair next to it for his visitor. "Why don't we sit down and talk like civilized men?"

Adam nodded in agreement and sat down in the proffered chair. His brother's relieved expression at his arrival still concerned him. Is there more going on here than I realize?

"What happened today?" Adam prodded, hoping to end the conversation quickly and get his little brother home.

Eli leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers. He looked Adam directly in the eye and began to lie. "I'm afraid your brother was out of control today, Adam. I was teaching the students the history of some of the Indian tribes in the area. The Shosone, the Paiutes and the Cherokee. Unfortunately, your brother took offense to the way the history book describes the savages, and in particular the way the squaws are treated."

"I see," Adam said as he rubbed his chin reflectively. "Go on."

Eli smiled easily, sensing he had the man’s trust. "I must say I tried to handle it the best I could." He rose and walked to the blackboard, needing to take one more look to make sure the damning sentences were fully erased from the lesson on women earlier in the day. He paused, to give Adam the impression that he was trying to deal with a difficult situation not of his own making. Turning again, he looked Adam in the eye. "I don't object with students having a problem with what I'm teaching--in fact I encourage discussion. But Joseph was just out of control."

"Go on," Adam encouraged.

"When I described to the children how the women in an Indian tribe are treated, Joseph became belligerent and insisted that I was lying."

A smile crossed Adam's lips and he had to respond. "The thing is, Mr. Waldoch that Little Joe has known many an Indian squaw and has many Indian friends. If he said what you were teaching was untrue, it was."

"That's fine," Eli continued, but his gruff voice became even lower as he sensed there might be a problem with his version of the story. "And as I said I could accept that. It was his attitude."

Adam nodded, knowing full well the problems the Cartwrights' had on occasion coping with Joe’s attitude. "Yes, Little Joe can have a hard time expressing himself when he gets passionate about something. What exactly did he say?"

"Well, Mr. Cartwright. I almost hate to tell you, but I feel I must." Eli stood and walked slowly to the blackboard and paused for effect. He turned abruptly and looked Adam in the eye. "He told me that I was full of shit."

Adam jumped to his feet and his jaw dropped at the blatant disrespect. "He what!"

Eli nodded and walked around to the front of the desk. "I know, I was shocked myself. I don't usually hear that kind of language from a thirteen-year-old and honestly didn't know what to say. I sent the other children home early." He sat on the edge of the desk and gestured for Adam to return to his seat.

Adam shook his head. He propped one foot on the seat of the ladderback chair and waited for Eli to continue.

"I was going to administer a caning and send him home, but if you are willing to take over the punishment for his behavior I'll just turn him over to you," Waldoch said as he studied the dark-haired man.

"I'll take care of it-don't you worry," Adam responded angrily. "He'll truly regret what he has done here today."

Waldoch nodded before continuing. "Just to keep you up to date, other than the usual amount of horseplay, things have been going rather smoothly," Waldoch said as he stroked his chin. "He's struggling against the stricter discipline of course, but it is improving. Today's episode as the first I've had all week and if you come down on him hard for this I think we're about half way there." He pulled a paper from the stack on his desk. After ensuring it was the right one, he handed it to Adam. "From his records from last year, I know he rarely turned in homework and if he did it was incomplete. This paper is a result of the increased discipline."

Adam smiled at the 100% that was boldly placed in the upper corner. "I knew it."

Eli rose and clapped Adam on the shoulder. "You were right about him. He is a very smart boy, we just have to work a little harder to get him to use that brain."

Adam beamed at the man as they walked toward the door. "He'll apologize to you tomorrow-you mark my words."

"I'm sure he will." Eli smiled evenly. "I have every faith in your ability to make an lasting impression on your brother."

Eli watched the two riders leave and smiled. All thoughts of the problems he'd had at the hands of his mother seemed miniscule. Things are going well. He looked at the paper one more time. The little brat really is smart. So much the better. As long as I can show the Cartwrights' that the boy is making academic progress they should continue to give me free rein. The evening looks promising—maybe I'll even break my own rules and stop at the saloon. A beer sounds good right now after the long day I've had.

"You think you’re smart, don’t you!" Wafted down from the rafters.

Eli rolled his eyes and stared at the apparition. "No, mater, I don’t," he responded tiredly, as all thoughts of the promising evening abruptly fled and the argument began anew.

The barn, usually a warm and hospitable place to the youngest Cartwright brother didn’t seem that way today. The trip home from Virginia City had been a silent one and the attempt Little Joe had made to explain his side of the story had been quickly rebuffed. Apparently Adam wasn’t interested in hearing what he had to say and was taking Slimey’s word as gospel.

Adam and Joe were in the north corner of the barn, next to the tack room. A lone chair was placed next to the hay bin and Joe glanced at it nervously. He'd had many hidings out in the barn, and in fact this was the place that Adam usually preferred when he was dishing out the discipline. Although the pain from Pa's tanning several days ago was gone for the most part, Joe didn't relish the thought of a repeat performance.

Adam propped his hands on his hips and glared down at the boy in front of him. "Did you tell Mr. Waldoch that he was full of shit?" he accused.

Little Joe did his best to offer a tentative grin, but the trying day had taken its toll. He just didn't have the energy or the emotional reserve necessary to come up with a plausible story. He was certain Adam wouldn't listen to his side of the story anyway so he just gave up. "What if I did?" he answered in resignation. Joe watched the furrows appear on Adam's forehead and saw the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his oldest brother's fists. It triggered the same emotions that he'd felt in the classroom today. Helplessness, sadness and futility washed over the boy and his already raw nerves threatened to snap.

Adam was livid. He turned around and composed himself for a moment before continuing. "Calm down," he counseled himself. When the outward fringes of his anger were gone, he turned and strode quickly over to Little Joe. When he was standing before his little brother he grabbed him by the arm and pushed him toward the corner.

The similarities between his problems this morning at school and the way this confrontation was enfolding was just too much for the boy. All he could picture was another horrifying torture session at the hands of a mentally unbalanced individual. He pushed himself back as far against the wall as he could and watched Adam approach. When Adam reached out to grab Little Joe, the boy slumped to the ground in terror and covered his head. "No!" he wailed.

Adam's jaw dropped as he watched his baby brother crumple into a ball on the floor. Although he'd known Little Joe to try and avoid punishment in whatever way possible this was going to the extreme and he was shocked at the totally unexpected turn of events.

Hoss had heard the start of the lecture when he arrived and had waited to enter the barn. Little Joe's discipline was left up to Adam in his father's absence but Hoss usually found it hard to stand by and watch. But the plaintive wail was just too much and he pushed his way quickly into the barn.

Adam's anger evaporated and he stared in horror at Little Joe--totally unprepared for the boy's response he was put in the rare position of having no idea what to do.

"Adam! What're you doing?" Hoss shouted angrily as he strode over to the corner where his brothers were.

Adam shook his head in wonder and knelt down and tried to talk to Joe. All he succeeded in doing was to drive the boy further away. Little Joe hunched against the comforting presence of the wall with his knees drawn up to shield his body and most of his face.

Hoss put a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Get away from him!"

"But I didn't …" Adam began desperately.

"I don't care," Hoss said as he shook his head. "Just go! I'll take care of it."

"But I didn't..." Adam tried again, concerned both for Little Joe and the anger in Hoss' eyes.

"Go--I'll handle this."

"Okay," Adam capitulated and slowly walked out of the barn, stealing one last look at Joe who still lay crumpled on the floor.

Hoss waited until his black clad brother closed the barn door behind him. He gently crouched down beside Joe. "Now what's all this fuss about Punkin?" he said softly. "You can tell old Hoss." He patted the boy's back gently, hoping to bring Little Joe back to the here and now instead of whatever fearful place he had traveled to.

A few moments later, Little Joe shook his head, still reluctant to trust his family after the many times recently they'd let him down. The trouble he'd gotten into over Hoss telling Pa about his letters from Serena was still fresh in his mind. "No I can't. It wasn't Adam's fault. Just leave me alone."

Joe pushed Hoss away and struggled to his feet. "I've got chores to do" Little Joe's chest and shoulder burned like fire but he was determined to not seek any help. He grabbed a pitchfork and thrust it into the haystack. He tossed the loose hay into the closest stall and repeated the procedure. Each stroke sent waves of pain through his chest as he twisted his torso and caused his shoulders to scream in pain. After he finished with the first stall, he leaned on the pitchfork and rested his head on the tip. Deep breath-don't show pain.

Hoss had watched the struggle to start the chores and couldn't stand it anymore. "Punkin..."

"I'm fine Hoss. Just leave me alone." Little Joe looked up into his kind brother's eyes. "Please, I'm asking you for this favor--just let it go."

Hoss stared down at the boy, and could see the raw emotion in his eyes. "But something's hurting you bad--I just want to help."

Little Joe shook his head. "Just let it go," he repeated. His eyes filled with tears and he bit his lower lip to keep control.

A war raged inside the big man as he fought to come to a decision. A single tear slid down Little Joe's cheek and it tilted the scale in the boy's favor. "Okay, if that's what you want."

"It is. Just leave me alone, okay? I'll come in the house later, I have some thinking to do." Joe wiped the tear away and continued with his chores.

Hoss' anger, which he had held temporarily at bay as he spoke to his baby brother, returned full force as he stormed into the house. "What in the hell is going on here! I've been gone a few days and I come home to a kid that is cowering in the barn. What is going on?"

Adam was standing in front of the fireplace, one boot up on the hearth, his chin resting on his palm. He was obviously deep in thought. He knew how upset Hoss was to swear, a trait his middle brother exhibited rarely. "I'm just as upset as you are, believe me."

"It sure didn't look that way in the barn," Hoss countered.. He couldn't stand to see anyone hurt his little brother, and from the look in Little Joe's eyes he had been hurting for some time. "From the way it looked to me you were about ready to thrash him."

Adam turned to face his brother, but refused to rise to the bait. "I was. He got into some major trouble at school today and he rightly deserves one. But when I saw the look in his eyes I just couldn't do it." He paused, remembering the astonished look his baby brother had given him when he had pushed him toward the back of the barn. He didn't even do it very hard, but it was like recognition flashed in his Joe's eyes, and then he cowered in fear. "Something very odd is going on with the kid and I just don't know what it is."

Hoss thought for several moments, then nodded and sat down. His anger had cooled once again and he believed what his oldest brother had to say. Adam wasn't at the root of Little Joe's problems. "Have the dreams started again?"

Adam shook his head.

Relief flooded Hoss' face. "Good-they just tore me up inside."

Adam nodded. "Think what they did to him." Adam's thoughts traveled to the past and he remembered the terrified toddler, even before Marie's death, waking the entire household with his screams. Marie would hold and cuddle the boy, and whisper assurances that the images weren't real--just make believe. Joe's thumb would invariably be in his mouth, and tearstains would have dried on his cheeks.

When Marie had died, the nightmares worsened, and because of his father's emotional distance from the rest of the family, Adam had borne the brunt of Little Joe's fear induced night terrors. Night terrors-that was what the expensive psychological book he had gotten from Philadelphia had called them--but offered no cure or course of treatment. Even before Adam had left for college they'd turned to drugs to try and help the toddler. As soon as Little Joe had gotten big enough to handle a sedative, Paul had prescribed sleeping powders to drive the demons away. Sometimes it helped, and sometimes it didn't-but the boy always fought them-whether it was the chalky taste in a glass or the sting of a syringe it didn't matter-he fought them with all his might.

"So what should we do?" Hoss asked, hoping his oldest brother had come up with some type of plan to figure out what was wrong with Little Joe.

"I think we’ll just have to follow his lead," Adam began as he stroked his chin, "Let’s see how he acts and we’ll have to go from there."

Hoss on the back of the settee and stared into Adam’s deep brown eyes. "I don’t like it, not one bit."

Adam stood and began to pace. "I don’t either, but what choice do we have? If we try and force the issue he’ll just clam up and we’ll get nowhere." He walked over to Hoss and threw his arm around the larger man’s shoulders. "This is the only way, trust me."

An hour later the subject of their conversation was trying to figure out for himself what he was going to do about supper. Joe'd hid in the barn after chores were finished, and sneaked up the back stairs to change his school clothes. But now the time was here—he had to go down and eat and face his brothers.

"They probably think I’m nuts," Joe said as he stared out the window at the vague outline of trees off in the distance. "Or worse that I’m some kind of baby for behaving that way." A headache started behind his right eye and he rubbed it, hoping to send it away. It didn’t work. The boy slowly walked to the bed and sat down on the corner, slowly dropping his head onto his outstretched palms. "What should I do?" he asked the empty room.

The door opened quietly and Hop Sing came in, with the answer to his favorite Cartwright’s question, and a glass of hot tea. "You drink this and feel all better," he said.

Little Joe looked up and smiled hesitantly, but didn’t take the proffered cup. "What is it?"

Hop Sing wagged a finger at the boy. "You not ask, it make you feel all better—that all you need to know."

Joe accepted the tea and sniffed it tentatively. "Well, it doesn’t smell too bad."

"You drink!" Hop Sing said, as he crossed his arms and stamped his slippered foot.

Little Joe looked up into his friend’s face, hoping to gain some more information before swallowing the liquid. "But what…"

"Not ask! Drink! Hop Sing ever tell you wrong before?"

The boy shook his head, knowing in his heart that it was true. Hop Sing had always helped him in any way possible.

The oriental man nodded knowingly. "Good, now drink." When he saw the boy tilt the china cup to his lips, he continued. "When you go down to supper, pretend like nothing wrong. Nothing happen at all."

Joe finished the tea and handed it back to his friend. The liquid had a sort of vanilla taste and had slid down easily. He took a deep breath, then another. The acid storm in his stomach decreased slightly and he actually started to feel a little better. Several minutes later, he was feeling much better and graced Hop Sing with a smile. "Thanks, I feel a lot better."

Hop Sing patted the boy on his curly head. "I told you so-now you pretend like nothing happen. Brothers’ will just let it go."

"Are you sure?" Joe questioned hesitantly. "I mean Adam was mad and Hoss was upset and …"

A firm shake of the Oriental's head stopped Joe’s query. "Yes. They will let it go."

Joe nodded and stood up. "I think I’ll get washed up for dinner then. Thanks.."

Hop Sing smiled and left the room, relieved that the herbal tranquilizer had helped Little Joe. He didn't know what he would have done if that hadn't been the case.

Ten minutes later Little Joe forced a lightness to his step as he skipped down the stairs for supper. The hot tea Hop Sing had brought him had calmed his stomach considerably and he even could detect the ghost of an appetite—and he even thought that things would be allright after all. When his right foot hit the first landing, he chanced a glance over at the table. Hoss was sitting in his usual place at the left side of the table, and Adam was at the end. They both looked, to say the least apprehensive. Taking a deep breath to calm a sudden case of nerves, Little Joe continued walking over to the table. "Mmm-smells good, doesn’t it?"

Supper was a very normal, although quiet meal. As Hop Sing had predicted, when Hoss and Adam saw that Little Joe was acting normally they let the whole subject of the day at school and the incident in the barn drop. In fact, the two older brothers got so engrossed in avoiding the subject that they happened onto an altogether inappropriate subject to discuss at the supper table--women.

"I'm telling you Hoss, that Pam at the Silver Dollar has the most beautiful eyes," Adam began, thinking of he sultry way the girl had glanced at him that day. In fact, he'd almost parted with some of his cash and went upstairs with her.

"You always were a sucker for eyes, older brother," Hoss countered. "Now I think a pretty laugh is much more telling of a kind heart and a good sense of humor." He thought back several weeks. "Like a few of them gals at the swimming hole when we …"

Adam cleared his throat quickly to halt any further words from spilling out of Hoss' mouth. "Let's forget all about that, shall we?" He quickly changed the subject. "Now tell me about your trip?"

The damage however, was already done. Little Joe had heard the reference to the nasty trick they'd played on him and his friends. The problems at school had driven the practical joke far from his mind, but a little payback might be just the thing to bring a little bit of fun back into the hearts of his friends.

New   2/09/01

The week progressed pretty much the same as the prior weeks. Eli would rant and rave and then come up with some brutal trick to play on the children. And, just as in the past, Little Joe bore the brunt of the abuse. He spent each evening after supper in his room doing his hated, repetitive homework and sneaked out each night to the barn to try and steal a few hours of nightmare-free sleep. The older Cartwrights' remained as busy as they had been, and although they sensed something was still wrong with the youngest member of the household they really didn't have time to try and pry it out of him. Fall ranch chores had to be completed before the first snow flew or the winter would be even harder than anticipated.

It was a Friday afternoon with a hint of Indian Summer still in the air--unusual for November but certainly not unheard of. Little Joe, Seth, Mitch and Tom had risked their parents' wrath by disobeying their orders to "go straight home after school" and had planned a little "payback." The sight that greeted them when they rode over the top of the ridge that separated the Ponderosa from the road to Virginia City was a pleasant one. Twenty yards down the ridge, nestled in a lush green valley next to a stream were the two older Cartwright brothers. Adam and Hoss were lying under a big apple tree, both sound asleep--or so it appeared. The far off trill of a whippoorwill caught Joe's attention and he stood in his stirrups hoping the sometimes-elusive bird was a distance away. He looked over at his companions and smiled confidently, hoping to give them some measure of courage. "Are you ready?" he prodded.

Mitch slipped a finger between the collar of his shirt and his scrawny neck. "Are you sure they're asleep?" he asked uneasily.

"Of course I'm sure," Little Joe snorted. "I used exactly the amount of powder that Hop Sing told me too." The boy thought back to this morning when he had sprinkled the white powder into his brothers' canteens. "Well, " he admitted, "maybe even a little more than he said--so they should be asleep." Or dead, he added silently. Joe swallowed hard, hoping that it was the former and not the latter circumstance that was the reason Adam and Hoss were lying so still in the valley below. Joe nudged Cochise forward and started down the hill. After they'd gone about five yards, he realized that there were no additional sounds coming from behind him. Sliding sideways in his saddle, he was able to shift himself around to see the other boys sitting motionless atop their horses still at the crest of the hill. "What? Don't tell me you're chicken?" he mocked

Seth kicked his horse in the ribs and the bay started forward. "I'm not!" he declared, although in truth the thought of Joe's older brothers' waking up and murdering them was a possibility.

Mitch swallowed hard and followed the stocky boy's lead, nudging his own horse forward.

Thirty seconds later Tom followed, and Joe again started down the hill toward the stream. Joe watched Hoss and Adam as they rode, trying to discern if they were really sleeping, faking it or--gulp dead.

The trill or a whippoorwill again caressed the air and Joe smiled. This plan, although hastily contrived was a masterpiece--if they could pull it off. He reined in Cochise about five yards from his sleeping brothers and dismounted silently. He slid his index finger to his lips to keep his cohorts silent and tiptoed over to Hoss. Prodding the big man gently with his boot, he smiled when a contented snore rose from beneath the ten-gallon hat perched atop Hoss' large face. He let his glance slide to the right, where Adam also appeared to be sleeping contentedly. He repeated the same test and finally chanced another breath when Adam didn't move. Squatting down by their feet, he gently tugged on Adam's left boot until it came free. Turning around slowly, he pierced his friends with a glare. "Are you going to help, or what?"

Ten minutes later, Hoss and Adam were clad only in their underwear and the boys were all sporting large grins.

"They're are going to kill us," Seth predicted as he finished tying Hoss' hands together.

A lopsided grin lit Joe's lips. "Well, they'll try. But it is their own fault after all. They shouldn't have pulled that little stunt at the swimming hole," Joe answered as he pushed a stake between Adam's bound wrists to match the one between his ankles. Once finished, he walked over to the stream and sat down. His friends joined him a minute later, their work accomplished and nothing to do until the two captives woke up.

Little Joe chewed on a blade of grass and watched for any sign of movement from Hoss and Adam. There was none. I sure hope I used the right dosage, or else this whole joke is going to be on me. I'll have to give the tour. He looked at the two large crocks full of honey at his feet and eagerly anticipated his brothers' reaction.

Tom ran a beefy hand over his razor stubble and stared at the grass. "What're we going to do about Slimey?" he asked, bringing the topic they had all carefully avoided to the forefront.

Little Joe shrugged and looked at his fellow students. They were all frightened of the teacher, and with good reason. He unconsciously rubbed his right hand that Eli had caned several hours ago. It still hurt terribly and he had a hard time opening and closing it. "Did you guys try talking to your parents again?" Little Joe asked hopefully. He frowned when the boys all shook their heads. "That letter'll be here soon-don't worry," Joe assured them, with more confidence than he really felt.

A soft groan came from the direction of the two captives. Joe jumped to his feet and ran over to his brothers. They roused slowly as if awakening from a deep sleep, and Hoss shook his head to dislodge his hat. Their first glimpse was of four grinning boys standing in a loose group around their heads.

Hoss shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs, then shivered. The air had turned cool, even though the bright sun was shining down on his face. He looked down to see why he was so cold and his first glimpse was of a thatch of sandy brown chest hair. "What!" he exclaimed before turning hard eyes on his little brother. "Joseph!" he snarled. "Where are my clothes!"

Little Joe held up a very large pair of chocolate brown pants. "You mean these, big brother?" he smirked. This is going to be fun and boy, will you ever regret that day at the swimming hole.

Hoss tugged at the ropes that bound his hands together over his head and swore loudly. "Dagnabit Little Joe! I'm going to tear you limb from limb when I get out of there!"

"You might try, but for the moment, I think if I were you I'd try to have some better manners," Joe coerced, his voice as sweet as the honey in the crock at his feet.

Adam came to a little more slowly than Hoss, but once he did his anger was easily twice as bad as his brother's. Methodically, he pulled at the bonds around his ankles and wrists and once discerning there was no way he was going to get loose without assistance turned his dark eyes on a certain baby brother. "Very funny, Little Joe. You've had your fun, although I wondered why that water tasted gritty. One of Hop Sing's little concoctions, I assume?"

A grin curled Little Joe's lips and he didn't feel the need to respond.

Adam nodded. "Ah, yes I thought so." He gave another tug on the ropes that bound his wrists, hoping against all logic that they would magically give way and he could cheerfully strangle the boys surrounding them.

"You can try pulling on those ropes all you want and they aren’t coming loose. You might as well just lie still and …" Little Joe grinned widely at his friends and picked up a brown crock. "Have yourself a few laughs."

Adam’s jaw hardened and he glared at the boy. "And just what is in there?"

"Well, older brother," Joe began. He dipped a finger into the thick amber liquid and then brought it to his lips. "This is one of Hoss’ favorites, honey."

Hoss looked bewildered, and didn’t have a clue as to what the boys had planned. But he knew he didn’t want to be a part of it. He gave a mighty pull on the ropes, but didn’t have any luck in either pulling loose the stake, or loosening his bonds.

"What do you plan to do with that?" Adam muttered through clenched teeth.

The anger in Adam’s voice made Little Joe pause for a moment, anticipating the possible consequences if he proceeded with the prank. But one look over at his friends, who were smiling and thoroughly enjoying themselves, he decided to continue. He took a deep breath. "Well you see .." he began, talking slowly and clearly as if explaining things to a child. "This is honey, and I’m going to pour it all over you and then…" He paused, enjoying the horrified look on his brothers’ faces. "I’m going to let the horses lick it off you."

"You wouldn’t dare," Adam declared menacingly.

Little Joe raised an eyebrow in challenge. "I most certainly would!" He sauntered confidently over to Adam and tipped the crock on it’s side. The amber liquid slowly dripped out of the container onto Adam’s ribs and torso.

Adam tried to squirm out of the way of the stream of honey, but his bonds were too tight and they prevented sideways movement. He looked down at his chest and watched the liquid pool into his chest hair and trickle down his chest onto his belly. "I’m going to kill you for this," he declared icily.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Whatever," Little Joe responded as he turned and repeated the same procedure with Hoss.

Hoss scowled, both at the predicament and the waste of perfectly good honey. "You ain’t gonna kill him Adam," Hoss said "Cause I’m gonna do it first!"

Little Joe shook his head in mock dismay. "Is that any way to talk about your baby brother?" he said, using a term he always hated because it reminded him of the large age gap between him and his brothers. "Aren’t you supposed to watch over me? How could you let me do something as terrible as this? It must be part your fault—you should’ve been watching me closer, but no—you two had to take a nap. In the middle of a workday—what would Pa say?" He grinned evilly and walked over to the horses.

He patted Cochise on the nose and whispered softly in her ear. "Here’s where we get a little payback, girl."

The four other boys watched Little Joe lead the pinto over to where the two bound Cartwrights’ lay. Although they were all enjoying the prank tremendously, they couldn’t help but wonder what the consequences of their joke would be.

"Remember when you told Pa that Cochise was unbreakable?" Joe asked as he led the pinto over to where his two defenseless brothers lay.

Adam nodded as he eyed the pinto that was standing directly on his left side.

"Well, she has a little score to settle with you too," Little Joe said as he patted the horse’s nose. He gestured for Mitch to take Trudy, his horse over next to Hoss.

When all the players were in place, Little Joe grinned evilly down at Adam. "You know I’m really going to enjoy this, older brother."

A furrow creased Adam's brow as his eyebrows drew together. He can’t be serious! I can take a joke as well as the next guy, but …

Little Joe directed Cochise’s head down to Adam’s torso as Mitch did the same thing to Hoss.

Cochise took a tentative sniff of the amber-colored liquid liberally spread across the dark-haired man’s torso. Once she discerned it was sweet, her long tongue slithered out of her mouth and roughly began licking the delicious treat. Her tongue left a trail of sticky wetness to cool in the air as she slid it across his ribs. Adam jerked in desperation to the right, trying in vain to avoid the licking. "Good God, Joe" he hissed through clenched teeth, doing his best to avoid laughing and to retain a shred of his customary dignity. The horse’s velvety tongue caressed Adam's ribs and slid up to his armpit where a large concentration of honey had pooled in his dark hair. Adam wriggled with all his will but couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled from his lips. When he regained the use of his voice, he continued. "This ... this is disgusting! How can ..."

His breathless tirade was cut short by Hoss' howls of laughter as Mitch's horse Trudy roughly licked the large man's belly and torso. "I can't...." Hoss began and then jerked his hips quickly to the left trying to avoid the continuous procession of the horse's rough tongue. "you know I can't stand ..." He jerked his hips in the opposite direction as Trudy's tongue zeroed in on a pool of honey that had collected in his navel. "I can't stand to be tickled."

Joe stroked his smooth chin and grinned broadly. "Oh, poor baby--I really feel sorry for you," he sneered, and then disclosed the real purpose for the prank. "Just about as sorry as you felt for us when you left us naked in front of a bunch of saloon girls!"

"Now Joe," Adam began between giggles. "That was just a little ..." He bit his lower lip and scrunched his eyes shut as Cochise's cold nose neared his defenseless armpit. "Surely ... surely you aren't holding a grudge over that little trick?"

Joe's friends couldn't contain themselves any more. The sight of the high and mighty Cartwright brothers' squirming around on the ground like worms on a hook was more than enough to cause them to erupt into gales of laughter.

Little Joe propped his palms on his slim hips and glared at Hoss. "Grudge isn't exactly the word I'd use, older brother... but it'll do as good as any, I suppose."

"Damn, it Joe!" Adam screamed between giggles, "I'm going to kill you!"

"Yeah, I know. I’ve heard it before," Little Joe said as he forced a yawn for the benefit of his friends.

"Okay, Little Joe you and your friends have had your fun," Adam gasped in relief as Cochise walked away from her captive. The sweat was running freely off his face and the sickeningly sweet aroma of horse spit mixed with honey invaded his nostrils. He swallowed quickly hoping to convince the bile that had risen to return to his stomach--it worked and his tone became less hesitant and his deep baritone took on a threatening tone. "Now let us go and I'll promise to only thrash you to within an inch of your life!"

"Ha!" Joe scoffed as he winked at Seth. "That doesn't sound like much of a deal to me--what do you think guys?"

Mitch chewed on his lower lip nervously and looked over at Tom whose restless pacing reminded him of a man who'd had one beer too many. "Ummm ... what do you think Tom?"

Tom couldn't tear his eyes away from the anger that smoldered in Adam Cartwright's eyes. He'd seen that look several times and it usually ended up with him hauling a struggling Little Joe home to a very painful punishment. "Maybe we should stop ..." he began tentatively.

Joe rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to chicken out?" he needled, but stopped teasing when he realized Tom was serious. "Over a little thing like Adam being pissed off? It's not like it doesn't happen everyday you know."

Adam tried to force the other boys to listen to reason. "Mitch, Tom, Seth. You all know I mean what I say," he stated calmly. "I won’t hold a grudge against the three of you, if you cut me loose right now.

Little Joe glared menacingly at his friends, just on the off chance that they might accept Adam’s offer. "Don’t even think about it guys. After what I put up with all day long for the rest of you I don’t even want to have to think about the three of you betraying me."

The three boys shook their heads in unison. "We wouldn’t do that to you Joe, you ought to know better than that."

"Good," Little Joe responded. "I don’t want to have to start being very quiet in class all day, but …"

"Damn, it Joe!" Adam shouted. "Turn us loose."

"Tsk, tsk--older brother--such language. What would Pa say?" Joe gestured to his friends. "And in front of young ears--tsk tsk."

"You rotten miserable brat!" Adam countered.

Little Joe stood and grabbed the crock of honey and walked over to his oldest brother. "Now big brother, you shouldn't have said that," he said with a cheeky grin. "Because now, I'm going to have to pour more of this on you."

"Joe! Not again, please!" Adam said and tried in vain to avoid the stream of amber colored honey that dripped from the jar. Once discerning that soft-soaping the other boys wasn't going to work, Adam returned to threats. "I'm going to kill you!"

Little Joe grinned. "Yeah, I know. But you'll have to catch me first." He picked up the second crock of honey and looked at Mitch. "I don't think they've suffered nearly enough--do you?"

"God Joe, please!" Hoss wailed. Trudy had finally stopped her feverish licking and was now standing contentedly next to his bounded ankles. "I can't stand ..."

Little Joe held up a silencing hand. "I know, you told us. You can't stand to be tickled." He thought for a moment, before continuing. "Since it was Adam’s bright idea to try the old ‘divide and conquer’ tactics with us, I think I’ll do the same." He looked over at Hoss. "You’re off the hook for this round, big brother." He returned his gaze to Adam. "This little round is for oldest brother alone." Little Joe tipped the crock upside down so all the remaining honey poured out onto Adam’s chest.

"Aaaaaghhhh! No!" Adam yelled in dismay.

Little Joe scratched Cochise between the ears, and directed his head once again to Adam’s middle. "C'mon girl, a little more honey there for you to lick off."

Cochise once again lowered her head and ran her velvety tongue over Adam's middle, resulting in squeals and muffled curses as the man tried to maneuver out of the horse's long-tongued reach.

Tears streamed from the corners of Adam's eyes as he struggled against the horse’s tongue. He knew he fought a losing battle, but couldn’t’ stop the fight as he jerked his body first one way and then the next to try and avoid the tongue-lashing of Little Joe's horse.

Ten minutes later, Little Joe grinned down at his captives, thoroughly enjoying the joke they had played. He looked up at the sky, trying to judge the time. When that didn’t succeed, he did it the easy way. "Seth, what time is it?"

"Three-thirty," Seth replied as he scanned the horizon for visitors.

"Well, then. We’d better get ready," Little Joe said, wiping his sticky hands on his pants. He looked over at the other boys. "Why don’t you guys mount up and I’ll finish up here."

The boys did as requested, and Little Joe walked over to Cochise and pulled a bowie knife from his saddlebag. Carefully sliding it from the protective sheath, he marveled at the way the blade glinted in the afternoon sun. With an evil grin directed at his friends, he turned and walked back to the captives.

When Adam saw the knife in his little brother’s hand, he let out a sigh of relief. "Finally," he sighed. He looked over at Hoss and mouthed a silent plan on how to jump the boys once they were free.

Little Joe reached his captives and crouched down on the ground between them. He grinned at each before outlining the rest of his prank. "Now I figure it'll be about fifteen minutes before the Wednesday Afternoon Ladies' Society gets here. So you'd best be quick about getting yourself cut loose," he said with a smirk, and stuck the pearl-handled knife in the ground just above Adam's head.

"What!!!" Adam and Hoss screamed in unison.

Little Joe directed his gaze to Adam. "Remember when you told them busybodies all about that family of whippoorwills that live around here?"

Adam nodded, dread turning the ice water that usually ran in his veins to lava. The Wednesday Afternoon Ladies' Society was made up of a bunch of old maids whose sole purpose in life seemed to be interfering in others lives. Adam avoided them like the plague whenever possible and when he had the misfortune to run into one of them, he was hard pressed to be civil.

Little Joe stood and scratched his head. "And do you remember how you told them you would show them some time?"

Adam nodded again. The promise had been a ploy to escape their clutches and he had no intention of ever fulfilling the tour of the Ponderosa countryside. The hair on his arms would have been standing up in horror if they hadn't been plastered to the aforementioned arm with a large helping of horse spit.

"Well they'll be here soon." Little Joe pulled the stakes out from between their hands and

ran to Cochise. He smoothly vaulted onto her back and picked up the reins. He smiled at his friends before returning his attention to his brothers' and their frantic race to cut themselves loose. "Like I said I figure you have about fifteen minutes to get loose and dressed before you start the tour." He pulled back on Cochise's reins and spun her around. "Oh, and remember this the next time you decide to pull a trick on us!"

Hoss and Adam could hear his tittering laughter as they desperately sawed at the rope.

An hour later, Little Joe had just finished his barn chores and was headed toward the house when his two irate brothers rode up. The boy made a mad dash for the safety of the front door, but was nearly cut off by Adam on Sport. Joe skirted past his brother's outstretched arms and threw the door open. He ran inside looking for either Hop Sing or his father to save him from his brothers’ wrath. Luckily, Ben Cartwright had just rounded the corner by the dining room.

"Pa! Pa! Save me," Little Joe squealed and ducked behind his father. He peeked around his Pa's waist to see the deadly glare from his two brothers who now stood in the doorway.

Ben barely managed to save the coffee cup he was holding, but he couldn’t contain the hearty laugh that escaped his lips. "Boys, boys," he began once he’d stopped laughing. "What’s going on here?"

"He! He!" Adam sputtered, trying to calm down enough to get the story past his lips.

"No, I’ll tell it!" Hoss insisted. "That dadburned little brother of mine tied the two of us up and took off all our clothes."

Ben looked down at Little Joe who was peeking out from behind his back. He couldn’t help but answer the grin on the boy’s lips with an answering one of his own. "And?"

"Then," Hoss sputtered, his anger increasing as he sensed Pa wasn’t going to see the prank from his side. "Him and his friends poured honey all over us and let the horses lick it off!"

Ben covered his smile with a broad hand, but managed to nod in concern. "Then?" he prodded.

Hoss narrowed his eyes menacingly and glared down at an innocent looking wide-eyed little brother. "Then, he …"

Adam had regained enough of his wits to interrupt. " We barely had time to throw our clothes on before he had the entire Wednesday Afternoon Ladies’ Auxiliary show up for a little tour of the Ponderosa!" He paused to swallow the bile that had risen in his throat. "I had to show Laurel Lewis the north pasture and search for the whippoorwills that nest there." He glared at Joe who hadn’t left the safety of his Pa’s shadow. "Right now I'm sticky, dirty, and covered with horse saliva. And I aim to take it out on a scrawny little brat's hide," Adam said as he shot out a hand and tried to grab the boy.

Little Joe was too fast for him and managed to scamper out of Adam’s long-handed reach.

"Now, boys," Ben said sternly, as he pushed Adam’s hands away. He paused and winked at Little Joe. "It was just a prank, and although I don't approve," he said as reached behind him and pulled his youngest around until he was next to his hip. Ben stared down at Little Joe but gave him a squeeze. "I'm sure you two aren't entirely blameless."

"You mean you're going to let him get away with it?" Adam sputtered angrily.

Ben looked down at Little Joe's eyes, dancing with mischief. A couple of irate older sons’ was a small price to pay to see the twinkle return. "Yes, I am," he said as he patted Joe's shoulder. "But I would like to know what you two did to deserve this payback," he finished quietly, then fixed Adam with a stare.

Adam took into account the quiet tone in his Pa’s voice—a sure sign of possible trouble ahead. He paused and thought of the swimming hole incident. The fact that they let their little brother talk to saloon girls would make Pa far angrier than any possible trouble Joe would be in for his honey prank. Adam made his decision quickly. "Ah, gee Pa. We'd love to, but ...." he backpedaled.

Hoss had come to the same wise decision as his older brother. "But we've got chores to do ..." Hoss finished for him. He grabbed Adam's upper arm and pulled him out the door before Ben had the chance to ask anything further.

Ben smiled at his adult sons' behavior, then turned to look at Little Joe. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to volunteer any information?"

Joe offered a dazzling smile. "Not volunteer."

"Okay, then you little rascal. Why don't you go and get cleaned up for supper," Ben said indulgently, adding a swat to the boy's backside as he skipped toward the stairs. "Oh, and Joseph?"

Little Joe paused and turned quickly, convinced that he'd gotten cleanly away with the whole prank. "Yes, sir?"

"I think you'd better plan on spending the tomorrow and Sunday around the house," Ben said, passing judgment.

"I'm restricted? For what?" Little Joe demanded petulantly. He couldn't think of anything he could have done, besides the prank of course that would've upset his Pa to the point of restricting him to the ranch.

Ben walked over to Little Joe and put a strong hand on the boy's shoulder. What time did you tie Hoss and Adam up?"

Little Joe shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. "2 O'clock or so."

Ben nodded. "That's what I thought. So you left school half an hour before it was finished, didn't you?"

Joe exhaled sharply, wondering how he hadn't thought of that part of the plan. "Yes, sir."

"Then I suppose you're getting off easily, aren't you?"

"I guess," Joe said sullenly as he stared at the floor. He had plans for the weekend and didn't want to spend them around the house.

"Get upstairs then, and get washed up for supper. You've got a long day of chores ahead of you tomorrow."

Little Joe brought the axe down sharply and split the chunk of wood cleanly in half. He looked at the pile of wood he had spent all Saturday morning chopping and was satisfied that his father would be pleased. He walked over to the bench that leaned against the side of the woodshed and sat down wearily. He picked up his tan shirt and mopped the sweat off his chest with it before returning it to the bench. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment willing the tiredness to leave his body. The nightmares wore him out and he never seemed able to catch up on all the sleep he missed. The sputtered Chinese of Hop Sing caused him to open his eyes again and he smiled at his friend.

"Not smile at me Little Joe! You put shirt and coat back on! Too cold out here!" he shouted and put his hands on his hips.

Little Joe offered him a slow smile. "It's not cold, Hop Sing," he said, although he had started to shiver because he wasn't working anymore.

Hop Sing crossed his arms and stared at the boy. "You come inside now. Lunch all ready."

"Is anyone back from Virginia City?" Joe asked, still miffed that everyone else had gone into town and he had to stay home.

"Hmph, no. Eat lunch in town," Hop Sing scowled.

Joe looked over at the woodpile, then up into his friend's almond-shaped eyes. "I'm not hungry, Hop Sing." Little Joe stood up and stretched, his body stiffening in the short time he had sat still. "I've got too much work to do, I'll eat extra at supper."

"No! You come eat lunch now!" Hop Sing demanded.

Joe shook his head. "I can't. I've got to get this wood chopped today and then maybe I can convince Pa to let me go to Seth's tomorrow. It seems like forever since I've had a chance to do something with any of my friends outside of school."

Hop Sing tapped his fingers on his crossed arms. "If little boy behave, he not be confined to ranch. Then he be able to visit friends."

"I know it's all my fault Hop Sing," Joe said contritely. "But I still want to go tomorrow. Don't tell Pa I skipped lunch--please?"

Hop Sing thought a moment before responding. Mr. Cartwright was adamant that his youngest boy always eat meals, but if Joe promised to eat more at supper... "All right. But you eat good supper--Hop Sing make sure." He returned Little Joe's smile and rubbed his arms briskly. "But it too cold out here. You put shirt on!"

"I'll see you at supper, after I've got this wood all chopped," Little Joe said and walked over and picked up the axe.

Several hours later, Little Joe's muscles screamed in pain from the repetitive motion of chopping wood. He piled the last split log on top of the pile and stretched. The only good thing about this punishment was the fact that it took his mind off his problems. He hadn't thought of Slimy all day. Joe shivered in the afternoon wind. While the morning had been cool when the sun was shining, the afternoon was definitely cold. He walked over to the bench and picked up his shirt, now a wrinkled mess from lying in a heap all day. "Oh well, it's not like the horses are going to pay any attention to what I look like anyway."

Joe walked to the barn and started on the chores, trying to work the stiffness out of his muscles as he did so. By the time he'd fed and watered all the horses, mucked out the stalls and straightened the tack room he was exhausted. Joe kept hoping he'd hear the jingle of the harness from either the buckboard or the surrey announcing the arrival of his Pa and brothers. But it wasn't to be. Snuggling down into the hay, he closed his eyes and thought that a quick cat nap was just what he needed before they arrived home.

Five minutes later, Little Joe jerked himself awake as thoughts of Eli once again intruded on his slumber. This time, it was both Eli and his mother who were torturing the schoolchildren and the boy had to fight the urge to scream when the cold hands of the long-dead woman caressed his cheek.

Little Joe quickly stood up and shook his head, trying to clear the disturbing thoughts from this mind. He walked into the tack room and saw the large pile of rusted log chain in the corner, hauled here and dumped after the flood last spring. Unkinking it and repairing it was a job they were supposed to do, untangle and coil, but it was rusted so badly Joe knew Hoss was unsure if it was salvageable. Just the project I need to keep my mind off Slimey.

Joe struggled to get the large heap of forged iron into a wheel barrow, then hauled it out to the back of the barn and dumped it beneath the pulley they use to haul hay up to the loft.

He yanked on the rope securing the pulley till he was able to drop it to chest level. Joe tied one end of the rope onto the rusted chain and pulled until he was able to raise a length to his height. The remainder of the links were rusted together too tightly to come loose, so Little Joe tied the rope off to the side of the barn and got a sledge hammer to help. Several blows later, he was able to wind up another three feet of the heavy metal.

So consumed in the backbreaking work, Little Joe didn't notice the passing of time and didn't hear his Pa arrive, nor an hour or so later his brothers come home.

Adam and Hoss came sidling around the corner of the barn, the sharp clanging noise of sledge against iron capturing their attention. "Well, well, well," Adam said with a smirk, the result of a couple too many beers in town. "What do we have here?" he asked as he leaned unsteadily against the barn.

Joe raised the sledge again and brought it down against the pile of rusted iron. The head of the sledge hit dead center to the chain then slid off to the left. He set the sledge down again and returned to the pulley, heaving on the rope with all the might his slender frame held.

"Does a body good to see the boy working, don't it Adam?" Hoss said as he tucked his hands in his pockets and grinned broadly.

Little Joe wanted nothing to do with kidding from his brothers. "Leave me alone, I'm trying to work!" he snapped.

Hoss nudged Adam. "He's being plain unsociable, older brother," he said with a smirk.

Adam pushed his black hat back further on his head and gestured toward the water trough. "I agree, and to show him the proper respect for his older brothers' I think he needs a little 'education' on how to treat his elders."

"Don't even think about it," Joe warned when he noticed the direction of Adam's gesture.

"Hmm, now he's telling us what to do," Adam said with a twinkle in his eye. The honey incident wasn't that far from his mind and he could still remember that old bat Mrs. Wilkerson complaining that she couldn't see the birds clearly enough. "Hey Hoss, remember how sticky we were when we had to show them ladies the birds?"

Hoss grinned happily, without showing his teeth. "I certainly do, and I must say that Mrs. Jacobs," He dropped his hands to just below his knees and lifted his pant legs gently. "Was most irritated that the cows had left, ahem remnants behind."

Adam waggled his fingers daintily, and continued with the imitation. "And must we go through all this wilderness? It is the 1860's you know."

Joe carefully looped the handle from the pulley around the notch on the barn. Even if he was going to get dunked, he was going to protect the work he had done. Even before he could turn around, his arms were pinned behind his back. "Wait a minute, wait!" he screeched.

"Music to my ears, boy, but we'll want to keep this kind of quiet," Hoss said as he slapped a beefy palm across Joe's mouth. "Pa don't really need to know of your poor manners now, does he?"

Joe struggled, but more as a charade than from any real hope of winning. There was no way his one hundred and ten pounds would be a match for his much heavier brothers.

The dunking happened quickly, without any real fight. Adam and Hoss tossed the boy into the trough and made sure he was thoroughly soaked to the skin before they departed to the warmth of the house.

Joe looked up from the trough and watched the retreating backs of his laughing brothers. The water was very cold, but Little Joe had to admit it kind of felt good on his aching muscles. He pushed his soaking wet hair out of his eyes and climbed out of the trough. He shook himself like a dog and decided to go back to work.

Hoss and Adam lounged in front of the fireplace and talked over the day's events. They had both sobered somewhat after a hot bath and a cup of coffee and were feeling warm and cozy in front of the crackling fire.

"Hoss!" Ben called from his place behind his desk. "It's almost suppertime. Where's your little brother?"

Hoss scrunched around on the settee and looked at Ben. "What d'you mean where is he? Didn't he follow us in about an hour ago?"

Ben shook his head. "No, I haven't seen him since we left the house this morning." He arched an eyebrow at his lounging sons. "I think he's still out working, and speaking of working. Did you two get your barn chores done?"

"Well, actually Pa. Little Joe had them all done when we got home from Virginia City," Adam said a trifle guiltily in light of what he and Hoss had done to their baby brother earlier.

Ben picked up his cup and drained the last of his coffee. "Go get him will you please? Make sure he's cleaned up in time for supper, Hop Sing was mumbling something earlier that I didn't quite catch, but it concerned Little Joe and I don't want a late appearance to cause any more problems."

Hoss and Adam exchanged looks then rose in unison. "Sure thing, Pa," they echoed and hurried out the front door.

When out of earshot of the house Adam rubbed his strong hands up and down his arms. "When did it get so cold outside?"

Hoss chuckled. "I think it was always cold outside, but the whisky we had at the Silver Dollar warmed us up considerably."

"Maybe you're right," Adam said as he blew out his breath and watched a cloud form. "I certainly hope he changed his clothes after we threw him in the water trough or he's going to be an icicle."

They pulled open the door to the barn and walked through the building to the back. The sound of the sledge hitting chain could be heard even before they pushed open the back door. Adam blew on his cold hands and watched Little Joe work for a moment. "Hey, little buddy!" Adam called.

Little Joe's head jerked up, he hadn't even heard his brothers' open the barn door. "Huh?"

Hoss motioned toward the house. "C'mon punkin. It's time to come in and get ready for supper."

Joe glared at them, the dunking still fresh on his mind. "I'll come in when I'm finished!" he said as he swung the sledge again. He grabbed the rope and put his weight on it to pull more of the now loose chain up on the coil. When done he slipped the loose loop at the end of the rope and secured it on a hook. He grabbed the smooth handle of the sledge and started to raise it when a hand grasped his upper arm. "Hey!" he said and looked up into the dark brown eyes of Adam.

"Now, I said." Adam winced as he felt Joe's sleeve crackle with ice.

Joe jerked his arm away and intensified his gaze. "I said when I'm done," he said with a scowl.

Adam matched the scowl. He recognized Little Joe's mood and realized the only way to handle it was with a direct order. "And I said now." He paused, giving the boy a chance to concede gracefully.

Joe crossed his arms and thrust out his jaw. "I've got work to finish!"

Adam exhaled sharply and put his hands on his hips. "Joe, I'm going to count to three and you are coming in the house with us, one way or the other."

Joe narrowed his eyes and bit his lower lip. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I ..."

Hoss took one look at the stances of his two brothers' and took matters into his own hands. He grabbed Little Joe by the arm and hoisted him over his shoulder and turned toward the house. "This wasn't getting him any warmer Adam, you should know better than to try and talk reason when he's in this frame of mind." Hoss could feel Little Joe nodding so he added a smack to the boy's backside. "And you youngun, there ain't no call to disobey Adam, he's only doing what Pa said."

Joe propped himself up on Hoss' broad back wishing he could see his brother's face. "But I've got work ..."

"I ain't never seen you such a bear for work, boy and I want you to remember something. Just because the work is done don't mean Pa's gonna let you ride over to Seth's, especially if I tell him you've been disrespectful to Adam here," Hoss said.

"Aww, Hoss," Joe pleaded. "You wouldn't tell him that?"

"We'll see youngun. But right now I want you to get upstairs and take a bath. We need you to get all warmed up quick like so Pa won't know you was outside in the cold." Hoss set him down on the porch and pointed a burly finger at the boy's nose. "Because if he does find out, I'll bet you dollars to donuts that Doc Martin'll be out here to check on you."

Staring up into Hoss' pale blue eyes, Little Joe knew he was right. He bit his lower lip as he mulled over his choices. There really were none. "Okay." Joe paused a moment. "But you have to promise you won't tell Pa!"

Adam nodded and pointed upstairs. "I promise, now get going."

Little Joe offered a quick smile and sneaked around the side of the house and up the back stairs to his room.

The four Cartwright men were seated around the large rectangular dining room table, which was topped with a pristine white tablecloth. Ben and Adam sat at the opposite heads of the table, while the two younger members faced each other across the middle.

"Get all the business done in town you needed to boys?" Ben asked as he handed the tureen of beef stew to his youngest son on his left.

"Sure did, Pa," Adam said as he selected a slice of bread and buttered it. "Had a little bit of extra time and even made a little stop-over at the Silver Dollar and the Bucket of Blood."

"So I noticed," Ben agreed as he surveyed Hoss, who still seemed slightly tipsy. Knowing the amount of alcohol needed to get his large middle son in such a condition, Ben was willing to wager that the time spent in the saloon was considerably longer than the time spent on getting supplies.

Little Joe ladled a small amount of the stew into a bowl, hoping that with the three other men at the table occupied, he could get away with just a tiny portion.

"That's not enough, Joseph," Ben said, knowing the subtle ways Little Joe tried to get around eating a full meal. "You had a full day and you need to eat more."

Joe wrinkled his nose in distaste, but reluctantly scooped another spoonful into his bowl, then looked over to his Pa worriedly. There was no way he was going to be able to eat all of this, his stomach was rolling already. He heaved a sigh of relief at Ben's nod and picked up the spoon.

Adam took a bite of stew and chewed it as he contemplated his little brother. Joe looked miserable and Adam hoped their little joke hadn't made the boy ill. "Looks like you did a good job on the chores today, buddy. Took you a long time, I'll bet."

"Yeah," Little Joe answered, still staring down at the stew. He knew Adam was trying to get him to join the conversation and try and make up for the little incident with the water trough, but he just didn't have the energy to join the banter.

Ben frowned when he looked at Little Joe. The boy hadn't eaten anything and was just staring at the bowl of stew. Deciding a change of subject might help, Ben asked, "How's school been, son?"

"Fine," Little Joe answered quickly, hoping the subject would drop as quickly as it had arisen.

"Fine?" Hoss asked as he scooped a large spoonful of the hot stew toward his lips. "We're used to hearing you complain about school just about every day by this time of the year."

Little Joe was too lost in his thoughts to hear his brother. Carrots and peas were swimming in beef broth among floating islands of dark brown beef. His head was pounding and it was hard to think with his stomach rolling in distaste.

"Joseph?" Ben asked. "Were you listening, son?" When he received no response, he patted Little Joe on the hand. "Your brother is talking to you."

At the touch, Little Joe jumped and looked up at his father. He grinned quickly to cover his unease. "Sorry, Pa. "I'm just a little pre-occupied. What did you say?"

"I said," Hoss said as he grabbed a piece of bread from the stack in the center of the table, "We're used to hearing you complain about school every day by this time."

Little Joe chewed on his lower lip, wishing he could tell them exactly what was happening--but knew he couldn't. "Oh, well. Nothing to talk about." He took a swallow of milk and rubbed his brow, hoping to send his headache away.

Ben cupped the back of Little Joe's head and turned toward the head of the table. "Are you sure, son? I know we haven't been around much lately to talk to, but you're awful quiet."

Little Joe nervously pulled out of his father's grasp. Since Slimey had started to strike out without warning, any physical contact set him on edge. "I'm sure, Pa." Joe took another gulp of milk. "Can I be excused?" he asked, hoping to catch Pa and Adam off guard.

Ben frowned as he looked at the untouched bowl of stew. "No, son. Eat your supper," he said sternly.

"But, Pa I had a big lunch--I'm just not hungry," Joe said as he pushed his chair back and started to rise. He was taking a risk and he knew it, but just couldn't face the stew with his stomach churning so badly.

Once the words were out of Joe's lips, Hop Sing flew out of the kitchen, his finely tuned ears listening for just such a false declaration. His hands fluttered as he ran toward the table spouting in Chinese. He pinned Little Joe to the chair with an almond-eyed glare.

Joe smiled tentatively at the cook and responded in Chinese. "Sorry, Hop Sing, it was just habit. I know I promised and I'll," he looked at the bowl of stew and gulped. "Eat." He picked up the spoon and closed his eyes, shoving a spoonful of stew past his lips. He chewed quickly and swallowed, hoping haste would make the meal go down easier. When the food hit his stomach, he fought the urge to groan. "See, I'm eating."

The other Cartwright's had watched the interplay between their cook and Little Joe with amusement. Hop sing spouting at the boy was a frequent occurrence, as was Joe's parroting back random patches of Chinese words. Often-times Hop Sing could cower the boy into eating when no amount of persuasion would work. Shortly before Ben would lay down the law and threaten punishment for disobedience, Hop Sing would show up to either defuse the situation and let Little Joe off the hook, or somehow convince the boy to eat.

Joe took another spoonful as Hop Sing watched with arms crossed and one slippered foot tapping the polished pine floor.

Joe's stomach reacted violently to the food. The rumbling could be heard across the large dining room. Joe closed his eyes as he took another bite and swallowed, trying to control both the noise and the flip-flops his stomach was doing. Another swig of milk helped and he finished his stew. He smiled at Hop Sing, who patted his on the back. "Good boy, keep promise," Hop Sing said in English, before returning to the kitchen.

Pa smiled at his youngest and patted his hand. "Good job son, that was worthy of Hoss," he said gesturing toward his middle son. Ben frowned. "Hoss, isn't that about enough?" He was referring to the third glass of wine that Hoss had poured for himself.

Hoss shook his head quickly. "Naw, Pa, just extra thirsty tonight I guess."

Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now that he had finished the meal, his stomach, which was usually in a perpetual state of unease was screaming at him to expel the offending food. Sweat ran down the back of his neck as he tried to control the urge to bolt from the table.

The rest of the Cartwright's continued eating as Little Joe fidgeted and twisted his hands nervously in his lap.

"We sure need those timber contracts from Mr. Dougherty," Adam said, referring to the business deal that Hoss would be handling next week. He directed his gaze toward his middle brother. "Are you nervous?"

Hoss set down his empty wineglass. "Just a little bit. I ain't never done this without …"

Adam patted him on the back. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll do fine. Pa and I have complete confidence in you," he reassured. "But if you want to go over it again…"

"I know the whole thing like the back of my hand," Hoss said with a too-loud chuckle. "I don't think going over it again is gonna help. I think I've just gotta do it."

Adam smiled at Hoss. Both Pa and he knew Hoss was nervous, but knew that Hoss had to take some more responsibility for the contracts of the Ponderosa. The constant travel was becoming just too much for the two elder Cartwright's. Hoss had handled the relatively easy negotiations in San Francisco well and Adam had no doubts that these would go just as well.

Ben turned to his youngest and clapped him on the back, nearly sending Little Joe face first into his empty bowl. Joe recovered quickly and almost managed to hide the fact that once again, he hadn't been listening to the conversation.

Ben watched Little Joe closely. He noticed how nervous he was and how the boy alternately rubbed his stomach and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "It won't be long and it'll be Joe's turn."

Adam rolled his eyes and groaned. "Good lord, I don't even want to think about that."

Joe scowled and clenched his hands into fists, his temper rising instantly. "Why not!" he snapped. I can do it just as good as you can, probably better." He started to rise from his chair but was stopped by Ben's hand on his wrist.

"Simmer down, Joe," Adam said as he waved his hands in submission. That's not what I meant. I think the competition will be in trouble. When those wheedling skills that you've been honing since birth turn into real negotiation skills, our competitors will be lucky to leave the table with their shirts on."

Little Joe calmed quickly and grinned, his stomach forgotten for the moment. "I don't wheedle," he declared. "I persuade."

Hoss nearly spit his wine across the table. The wine, along with the several beers he'd had earlier in the day had loosened his tongue to a dangerous point. He adopted a higher tone of voice, trying his best to imitate Little Joe. "Hoss, c'mon. What Pa and Adam don't know, won't hurt them."

Little Joe's eyes widened and he waved his hands frantically, trying to stop Hoss. Unfortunately his older brother wasn't paying any attention, he was too involved in recounting the events that had occurred shortly before they'd left for Jacob's fall wedding.

Hoss imitated Little Joe's giggle. "Nobody'll have to know you let me toss a few steers. It's just you and me up here. Just let me try a couple times-you won't regret it." A gut-busting chuckle burst forth from his lips and he nearly knocked his glass to the floor. When he gained control of himself, he looked across the table at Little Joe. The boy's face had gone cold-all expression frozen. The glow from the wine and beer abruptly fled. Shifting his gaze to the left, he caught sight of Pa's expression, which was to put it mildly--angry.

Ben tossed his napkin angrily on the table. "So, did you let him?" he demanded.

"Well..." Hoss stalled for time, realizing too late that he had not only dug his own grave with his tongue, but he'd dug Little Joe's as well. He swallowed hard and prayed the ground would swallow him whole.

"Well?" Adam repeated in a tone that was exactly like Pa's.

Hoss scrunched up his face, despair clearly written on his broad features. "Um…"

Little Joe, noting how uncomfortable Hoss was, answered for him. "Yes, he did." When Pa and Adam's angry faces turned to him, he faltered. "But just like I said, nothing bad happened," he backpedaled.

Ben founded his fist on the table. "Only by the grace of God, nothing did!" he roared, dark brown eyes drilling into his youngest son.

Joe was forced to guiltily flinch away but when doing so he caught the equally angry look on Adam's face. Not knowing where to look, he realized that his empty bowl of stew was probably safe, so he looked down at the white china.

Ben stood and turned his fury on Hoss. "How dare you! How dare you allow him to do something that both of you know is absolutely forbidden."

Hoss joined Joe's fervent gaze at the white china before him.

"Joseph!" Ben roared again, realizing that he needed to separate the brothers to continue the lecture.

Joe's head popped up quickly and he looked over at Pa, who jerked a thumb towards the stairs.

"Upstairs--I'll be up to discuss your willfull disobedience shortly."

Little Joe stood quickly. "Y-y-yes sir," he stammered, then turned and ran for the haven of his room.

When Ben heard the click of Little Joe's door closing, he turned back to his middle son who had started twiddling his thumbs to keep his mind off the coming lecture. Ben leaned on the back of his chair and stared at Hoss. "An explanation, boy. I'd like one."

Hoss looked up at him, trying to put his jumbled thoughts into words. "I… don't have one." He pushed his chair back and stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to pace. "That steer was barely more than an overgrown calf or I wouldn't have let him do it--I swear. I'd never take a chance with Little Joe getting hurt--you know that."

Ben softened, but didn't show it outwardly. He had to remember that Hoss was still young, although he looked older than he was. A strong-willed and very convincing younger brother was continuing to cause problems. "And the next time? When he wants to throw a bigger steer? What then?"

Hoss stopped his pacing. "I'll say no."

Ben raised an eyebrow and straightened up. "Are you sure? What if he tried to convince you again? I know how persuasive he can be, that pinto pony of his is proof of that."

"Well…" Hoss began, trying to sound absolutely positive but knowing he wasn't.

"Considering the problems we've had keeping him reined in around here, especially since the Cochise fiasco, I'd think you'd have been a little harder to persuade than you were," Ben said, gratified to see Hoss stare at the floor.

"It's just that," Hoss looked over at Adam, hoping to find a supportive look, but was disappointed. "The little rascal is so dang convincing," he said shaking his head.

"You need to enforce the age difference." Adam took a sip from his coffee cup and replaced it on the saucer. "That's the problem. To Little Joe, I've always been an adult and he knows not to even try to convince me about stuff like that. He still views you partly as an overgrown playmate who has some authority." Adam shook his finger at Hoss. "But with that authority comes responsibility. Now think, if he'd have tried that same line on Charlie, what would've happened?"

Hoss grimaced, knowing exactly what the oldest ranch hand on the Ponderosa would've done. "He'd have said no and then marched him to you or Pa for even asking."

Nodding, Adam took another sip from his cup. "Exactly--and that's what you should've done."

"But Joe'd hate me if I did that," Hoss moaned. He considered Little Joe more than a brother, he was his best friend.

Ben placed a bolstering hand on Hoss' arm. "I know it's hard, son but you don't know how far this could go. Joe has to view you as an authority figure too."

"But he's my friend too, Pa. I can't …. tattle."

Adam covered the smile that sprang to his lips, the thought of what a brutal tattletale Hoss had been as a child came to his mind. "You didn't find it so hard to do it on me about fifteen years ago, I recall."

Hoss couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "That was different, then I was trying to ."

"Trying to tag along and do things that you weren't old enough to do. And even though I got into trouble a little…" Adam interrupted.

"A lot," Ben said as he coughed into his hand, just to let his eldest know that he hadn't forgotten the problems Adam had encountered in his journey through adolescence.

Adam raised and eyebrow in Pa's direction. "Okay, a lot, I still made sure that you were safe at home and never got close to any major scrapes." Adam smiled at the thoughts of their shared childhoods. "At least I tried--and we're still friends, aren't we?"

Hoss rubbed his forehead and looked into his brother's deep brown eyes. "Of course we are, Adam. But I just don't know if I can…"

Ben patted Hoss on the shoulder. "I'm not telling you the friendship has to end. Convincing Joe that you mean business and accepting authority isn't going to happen all at once. But the coming years of adolescence are going to be hard ones for your baby brother. We all know just by his antics in Sacramento that he's bound and determined to get his way when he has his mind set on it. I'm not telling you to make him afraid to come and ask you questions, or even involve you in one of his milder practical jokes. But you have to know when he's crossed the line."

"But how will I know?" Hoss asked as he raised his hands in exasperation.

Adam stood and walked over to Hoss. "You'll just know. For example--you knew letting him wrestle that steer was wrong, didn't you?"

Hoss exhaled loudly and his eyes flitted to Pa and back again. "Yes."

"See? That's the hard part. The easier part is saying no and sticking to it." Adam picked up his coffee cup and saucer and gestured towards the settee. "Let's have a seat."

When all three men were seated, Adam continued. "I think you have to know how much Joe wants to do something and what he's prepared to do to get his way. For example, he's been trying to talk me into taking him into the Bucket of Blood for months now, just so he can have his first drink."

Ben's eyes widened in dismay. Adam chuckled and he fanned the air with his arms. "Simmer down, Pa. I haven't done it. But that's the point, Hoss. He wouldn't be able to convince anyone else to do it either. So, there was really no reason to tell Pa about it, because it just wasn't going to happen."

Ben glared at Adam. "You'll also notice, Hoss that your older brother doesn't always make the correct decisions either," he added with a touch of sarcasm. "In this instance, I would have liked to have known what he was trying to talk you into."

Adam cleared his throat, but continued talking to Hoss, hoping Ben would let the matter drop. "Anyway, it comes with time and maturity. I've no doubt if you hadn't let toss that steer, he'd have found some other way to do it--whether it was a newer ranch hand, or some other elaborate ruse. That's why Pa or I need to know these things--to be able to stop the problem before it gets to that point."

Ben drained his cup and set it on the coffee table. He looked up the stairs to his youngest son's room and decided the boy had stewed long enough. "Well boys, it's to 'that point' right now, and as much as I hate to, I'm going to deliver a very strong lecture on willful behavior to your younger brother." He glared at Hoss. "I'll deliver yours when I'm finished with Little Joe."

Hoss blushed and stared at the floor. "Yes, sir."

Ben paced back and forth in Joe’s room. "Son I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I’m your father and I know what is best for you. You aren’t ready to be tossing the calves yet—a few more years and yes you will be. But until then you have to respect my wishes." His anger had cooled on the way up the stairs when he realized that he should be angrier at Hoss than with Little Joe. The boy was just testing his limits the way he always had—but Hoss had to be strong enough to withstand it. He was the adult and Joe was the child. Ben remembered how happy the two of them had been returning from the little trip he’d sent them on earlier in the summer. Three whole days of camping out and branding the animals they’d missed in the spring round up. Yes, they’d been happy. Now he knew why.

"Adam also tells me that you've been trying to convince him to take you to a saloon, is that right?"

Little Joe nodded silently, knowing that any hope he had of seeing the inside of the Bucket of Blood was now gone.

"That will not happen, understood? I'll not be lenient with you the next time. If I hear you've been even close to a saloon you won't sit for a week." Ben leaned over and lifted Little Joe's chin, forcing the boy to look him in the eye. "Clear?"

"Crystal," Little Joe whispered, already dreading the rest of the lecture.

Twenty minutes later, Ben closed the door to his youngest son's room. Walking down the steps, Ben renewed his resolve to spend more time at home to help guide his youngest son on the difficult journey through adolescence.

Hoss had gone outside shortly after Ben had gone upstairs, unwilling to listen to sound of his father chastising Joe--especially since he knew he was the cause of the punishment. Adam was still seated on the settee, knowing that when his father came back downstairs he was going to need someone to talk to. Adam filled an empty cup with coffee and handed it to his father. "It's fresh, I made some when you went upstairs," he said, not admitting that he hated to listen to the sound of his lectures as much as Hoss.

Ben accepted the cup and took a sip. "Thanks, son. I needed this." He sat down in the wine colored leather chair and crossed his legs, reflecting on the lecture he'd just delivered. It had been a very strong one, punctuated by several question and answer periods-something he knew Joe hated. "Sometimes I wonder, Adam. If I'm doing right by Joseph."

Adam raised questioning eyebrows. "What do you mean Pa?"

"Well," Ben struggled to put his thoughts into words. "It's just that I'm so much older this time around. Being the father of a teenager is a lot harder when you're in your fifties than it was in my early forties."

Adam chuckled. "I think you're up to the task, Pa. I think you need to realize that Little Joe would be a handful for a father no matter what his age."

Ben smiled. "Maybe you're right." He looked up the stairs towards Joe's room. "I do hope I layed down the law strongly enough about throwing calves and" he raised an eyebrow at his eldest, "saloons."

Monday morning at school Little Joe tried to pay attention to the monotonous drone Slimey used, but just didn't feel well. His nose was all stuffed up and it was hard to breathe, plus had a pounding headache that was centered right behind his eyes.

Many years of experience had taught Eli how to pick out sick children. Little Joe Cartwright certainly filled the bill today. The boy's complexion was very pale and his normally twinkling green eyes were fever bright and watery. The perfect opportunity to inflict a little pain and suffering and advance even further in the match. When he saw the boy's eyes close for longer periods of time Eli picked up his dragon's head cane and softly walked down the aisle, stopping beside Little Joe's desk.

Little Joe was brought crashing back to reality by a hard rap to the back of his skull by the tip of Slimey's cane. He instinctively rubbed his head and couldn't hold back the groan of pain that escaped his lips. He looked up into the wild eyes of Eli Waldoch, and struggled to paste a compliant expression on his face.

The experienced teacher was not fooled. "You will pay attention," Waldoch said threateningly, raising his cane to strike again. "Or pay the consequences."

Little Joe tried to smile at him, but all he could muster was a half grin. The pain from the already rising welt on his head threatened to overtake him, but he wouldn't give Slimey the satisfaction.

New   03/20/01

The glow from the setting sun cast shadows against the rough plaster on the dining room wall as the four Cartwright men ate supper.

"Adam, how did your meeting with Sam Barker go today?" Ben asked as he buttered a slice of fresh-baked bread.

Adam finished chewing a slice of ham, then swallowed before answering. "Not too bad, Pa. I managed to convince him that a ten percent increase over last year’s timber prices was a good deal."

"Good, good," Ben said, nodding. "Now if you can work the same magic tomorrow in Carson City, we’ll be in fine shape come spring." He paused, considering the way the Ponderosa’s assets had grown in the past few years. From mining, to timber to the cattle and horse operation, the ranch seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds. "I only hope I have the same amount of luck with the mine owners later in the week."

Adam nodded. "I agree, Pa. They’re a difficult bunch of men to handle, and I’m not sorry that you’ll be doing the dealing with them this year." He slid a forkful of orange winter squash into his mouth and savored the taste before continuing. "I’m not going to miss old Mr. Grunther this time around, let me tell you."

Ben chuckled as he thought of the heavy-set older man who was one of the owners of the Yellow Jacket mine, but was puzzled over Adam’s reaction. "Harold Grunther? Why he’s harmless—why should he bother you?"

Hoss chuckled and nudged Little Joe with his boot. "We know why, don’t we?"

Little Joe looked up from his barely touched supper and forced a smile. "We sure…" A cough threatened, so he cleared his throat to try and avoid it. "We sure do."

Hoss glanced to his right and caught the dark glimmer in Adam’s eyes, but couldn’t help himself. "Wouldn’t have something…" he snickered, then licked his lips. "Something to do with what he calls you, would it?"

Although he’d only been turning half an ear to the conversation, Little Joe couldn’t help the giggle that escaped his lips. Usually he was the one who reacted badly to being called childish names and it was a rare occurrence for Adam to find himself in the same boat.

Ben was puzzled and a furrow creased his brow. He wiped his lips with the red and white checked napkin, then placed it in his lap. "What am I missing here?" he asked, directing his question to his oldest son.

Adam speared a slice of ham and brought it to his lips, in hope of avoiding any further discussion. "Nothing." He took a bite of the ham and chewed slowly, hoping the subject would drop.

Hoss wasn’t about to let such a good topic lie. "Seems Mr. Grunther recalls a little incident from when Adam was a boy, Pa and he likes to talk about it," Hoss volunteered, and stroked his chin for effect. "Something about pants, as I recall."

"Adam," Ben began, still not having a clue as to what Hoss was alluding to. "Would you please enlighten me?"

Adam exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes. "He calls me…" He paused, not even liking the sound of the nickname when it came from his own lips. "Young Mr. Smarty Pants."

Ben smirked, but managed to cover the laugh with his napkin. "I see, from that little incident …"

"Yes, yes. Fifteen years ago." Adam picked up his fork and speared a piece of ham. "Now can we let it drop?" He remembered the incident vividly and every time details of the prank were aired, he couldn’t help being embarrassed.

Adam and his best buddy Ross had been playing practical jokes and had mixed up a batch of glue and put it on the bench outside of the barber shop. He remembered the hilarious half day where he and Ross had made the clear concoction with instructions from Hop Sing. Of course, the poor housekeeper had no idea what their plans for the glue were, but that had made the prank all the sweeter. The sharp eyes of Roy Coffee and Mr. Grunther had seen them slather the glue on the bench and had made the two of them sit there instead. Adam had managed to make it out of town un-noticed, quite a feat for a boy with the entire seat of his pants ripped out. He’d counted himself lucky until the next day when Mr. Grunther had shown up and repeated the sordid tale to Pa and Marie. After the tanning for mischief that Pa dished out, more than Adam’s pride was injured.

Adam’s eyes clouded at the thoughts of present day. Mr. Grunther’s gravely voice could still send a hastily concealed shiver up his spine. And, on more that one occasion when Roy would grab him by the shoulder and ask "What’s up?" it could instantly send him backwards in time to that fateful July day.

Hoss had watched the emotions play on Adam’s face and couldn’t help but laugh. Pa joined in and even Little Joe gave a half-hearted giggle and then returned to studying his plate.

Ben studied his youngest son. Little Joe usually was the first on in on a joke and he should have been thoroughly amused by the whole incident—but he wasn’t. There was something wrong here. "Joseph?"

Little Joe exhaled slowly to gather his wits, then looked up at Pa. "Yes, sir?" he answered tiredly, then brushed the back of his hand across his watery eyes. If he was going to disguise his headache and stuffy head, he had to try and avoid all attention.

Ben reached over and touched the boy’s shoulder gently. "Are you okay, son? You’ve been awful quiet tonight."

Little Joe nodded and forced a smile to his lips. Even if he didn’t feel well, he was certainly going to do his best to fake it. "I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind, that’s all."

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Little Joe, contrary to his usual behavior rose quickly to answer it, both to escape the remains of dinner on his plate and to hope that the diversion would be enough to divert attention away from him.

Adam pushed his chair back and stood for their guest. "Business or pleasure, Roy?" he asked.

Roy smiled and tousled Little Joe’s curls. "Business, I’m afraid."

Ben stood and walked over to Roy. "Nothing too serious I hope?" he asked, taking the man’s hat and hanging it on the hook by the door.

"Not too bad," Roy said evenly. "Seems several of the mines in town have reported things missing and I was wondering if you’d had any trouble?"

"Nope," Hoss answered as the two older boys joined the group. "I was up there yesterday and everything was going along fine. The men were starting to shut down for the winter of course, but Sam Dawson said things were going very smoothly."

Roy stroked his chin. "Of course you shut your mine down weeks after everyone else in town, so the thieves probably wouldn’t have bothered you yet. We’ve had reports of everything from lanterns, to ropes to…" A smile caressed his lips. "Last night someone took the whole pulley system they use to haul the men up from the Yellow Jacket mine."

Hoss scrunched up his face. "The whole thing?" he asked in disbelief.

Roy nodded as he finger-combed his thinning salt and pepper hair. "Yep, lock, stock and barrel. No signs of horse tracks or anything to haul it out with either."

"Whoever stole that must have been really strong," Adam added. "It must have weighed what …" he looked to Hoss for confirmation. "Two hundred and fifty pounds?"

Hoss nodded in agreement. "Somewhere along them lines. I know it about wore me out getting ours hooked up and I had help to do it. There must be more than one person in on these robberies, Roy."

"Nope. Only one set of tracks." Roy’s eyes twinkled. "Iffen' I didn’t know you better, Hoss I’d be questioning you. You’re about the biggest fella in these parts."

"It’s hard to believe," Ben said as he shook his head that one man could do that. "But if you’re right Roy, this man has to either be a newcomer to these parts or deceptively strong. I can’t think of anyone who’d compare to Hoss and if he had trouble …"

Joe listened to the conversation with little interest. His opinion wasn’t needed and wouldn’t be asked for, although he did consider the thefts strange. Why would anyone want mining equipment right before the winter snows? Everybody knows once the snow hits the mines are much too cold to work in. A sneeze threatened, and Little Joe took a step backwards toward the safety of the kitchen. This is a perfect chance for me to escape—they’ll talk this over until it’s way past ten o’clock. Joe continued backing up until he was past their view and then fled to the safety of the barn.

The four men did discuss the robberies, and pretty much anything else interesting that was going on in town—which wasn’t much. As usual in Virginia City, once Winter started to threaten the visitors became few and the townspeople had to content themselves with gossip about eachother. No new scandals had arisen recently, aside from the usual rumors that started in the saloons and ended up in the whorehouses. Roy did leave before Little Joe’s predicted ten o’clock however, but only because the night smelled of heavy rains to come and he wanted to make it back to Virginia City relatively dry.

The next morning, Ben Cartwright watched the sheets of rain beat against the windowpane in the dining room. Although it had started to sprinkle shortly before he went to bed, the downpour really hadn't started till this morning. The rain-heavy gray clouds showed no signs of letting the sun break through. He looked at his two older sons as they came down the stairs. They’d stayed up well past midnight discussing the rash of thefts at the mines close to town and what they would do to try and prevent the same thing from occurring at their own.

Ben waited, but Joe didn't appear. "Where's your little brother?"

Hoss stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "Tweren't in his room Pa. I figure he's started on the chores already."

"He couldn't have," Ben countered as he strode over to the entryway. "His rain slicker is still here and I've been up for over an hour."

The front door opened and a very wet and cold Little Joe Cartwright slipped in. When he'd escaped outside last night to sleep in the barn he had no idea the rain was going to continue. Realizing that someone seeing his coat missing would be a dead giveaway, he'd elected to leave it hanging on the hook and take his chances with the weather. Unfortunately, the weather had won. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he was shivering badly, his rain soaked clothes clinging to his thin frame. He hadn't counted on coming in late and was dismayed to run into Ben before he'd had a chance to clean up and dry off. "Hi, Pa," he stammered, as he casually flicked away a raindrop that dripped down his nose.

Ben crossed his arms and stared at his youngest, but his features were lit with concern. "A little wet out there this morning?" he questioned needlessly.

Joe grinned when he realized he was being let off the hook. "Just a bit, sir."

Ben returned the infectious grin. "Okay then young man, you head upstairs and get dried off. Then scamper back down here for breakfast--understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Joe saluted and ran for the stairs, dripping water all the way.

"Joseph!" Ben began, but before the words were out of his lips his fleet-footed youngest son was out of range of the admonishment. He shook his head and returned to the table, smiling at the amused faces of Adam and Hoss. "I suppose I'll hear about wet floors from Hop Sing later."

Ten minutes later, Joe reappeared in dry clothes. His damp curls kinked uncontrollably on his forehead and he was flushed. He carefully slid into his seat and smiled at Pa, knowing his luck was due to run out. Pa was very overprotective and he could’ve been in real trouble this morning for going outside in the rain without his coat. Joe swiped a hand over his forehead, trying to tuck the wayward curls back to his hairline. He fanned himself with the napkin before unfolding it and placing it on his lap.

Adam slid a forkful of egg into his mouth as he watched Joe. Adam had noticed how pale Joe had been lately but that wasn't the case this morning. The boy's face had two bright spots of fever high on his cheeks and his eyes glittered like green glass. Adam chewed and swallowed and tried to catch his Pa's gaze.

Although he wasn't hungry, Joe put an egg and a slice of toast on his plate. He caught Adam's gaze as he was reaching for the butter. Quickly deciding attack was his best line of defense he smiled sweetly. "Something wrong Adam?"

"You tell me younger brother," Adam answered softly, hoping that Joe would inadvertently let the fact that he didn't feel well slip out.

Joe shook his head quickly and stifled a sneeze. "Nope, I'm just raring to go to school, that's all. How about you?"

Adam shook his head and grimaced. "I wish I was half as eager as you are Joe." He looked over at Ben. "I'm not looking forward to a wet ride into town and then traveling all that way without a change of clothes. But it can't be helped I suppose, that stage leaves at 9:00 sharp and I don't have time to do anything else."

Joe chewed the small bite of egg he had forced himself to take. "Don't worry about it Adam. I hooked Sable up to the surrey for you. That way you'll be nice and dry when you reach town. I'll stop by the stable after school and drive it home." He looked to Ben for encouragement. "If that's okay with you Pa?"

Ben thought a moment before answering. "That was very thoughtful of you Precious. But let's discuss business after breakfast, shall we?" he answered and gestured to Joe's plate with his own fork "You've made a good start there son, keep working on it."

Joe nodded and studied his plate, wrinkling his nose to fight back a sneeze.

Ben turned his attention to his eldest. "How long do you expect to be gone son?"

Adam wiped his mouth with his red and white checked napkin. "No more than a couple days I hope. I was kind of expecting some problem to crop up with the timber shipment. Mr. Atheron just seemed too indecisive but I'd have lost points with the rest of the boardmembers if I'd have called him on it. "

"I know how he is," Ben agreed as he mentally pictured the heavy-set ginger haired man. "He's been slipping for years but no one will say anything against him."

Adam nodded. "I did want to check out that herd of Black Angus that we've got stashed up in the high country. You never know when the snows will hit hard."

"I'll take care of that for you Adam," Hoss volunteered after he swallowed his sixth piece of bacon. " I was going to head up to the sawmill but I can put that off."

Ben nodded and took a sip of coffee. "That's a good idea Hoss, but make sure you get to the sawmill tomorrow." He looked over at Joe who was doing his best to disguise his fever and cold. "I might need you to take over the negotiations with the Yellow Jacket mine owners later in the week."

Hoss threw his fork down on the table in exasperation. "Awww Pa, why?" Hoss whined. He really didn't like the negotiations that he was being forced to handle and had hoped to spend some quality time with Joe. He hadn't seen much of the boy lately and missed the camaraderie.

Ben hid a grin with his hand. It never failed to amuse him when his nearly three hundred pound son acted like a small child. "Because I might have something more important to do," he declared evenly. He inclined his head toward his youngest son who was studying the remains of his breakfast.

Joe actually hadn't heard a word they were saying. A thought had occurred to him while he fought the urge to fan himself. The fire burned brightly in the hearth and Joe could swear the temperature in the room was over a hundred degrees. His thoughts, as usual were on the situation at school. Slimey is spending a lot of time exploring the caves around town, or at least that's what it seems like. He has to be looking for something, but what? It was a question he'd ask his friends as soon as he reached school. And could Slimey somehow be linked to the rash of thefts from the mines? If he was doing any deep exploring he’d need just the kind of equipment that had been stolen.

"Sure, Pa. I understand," Hoss answered quickly when he followed his father's gaze. Once he realized the reason why Pa might be staying home, Hoss was more than willing to do his share.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben watched his youngest son slowly force food past his lips as the rest of them ate their breakfast.

"Can I be excused, Pa?" Little Joe asked as he hastily wiped his lips on his napkin. The ride to school would be a long one with the way his head was pounding and with his nose all stuffed up. But anything was better than staying at home.

Ben looked at the few measly bites his son had taken and frowned. "Are you certain you've had enough to eat son?"

Joe nodded quickly. "I'm sure, Pa. Can I go now?"

Ben smiled. "Yes you may, son. Scamper on up to bed," he said gesturing toward the stairs.

Little Joe raised his eyebrows. "Huh? What for?"

Ben smiled, that all knowing smile that Little Joe knew usually meant whatever he was trying to get away with he wasn’t succeeding. "You're not feeling well son, I can tell."

"I’m fine Pa, really I am." Joe looked across the table at Hoss and Adam hoping to find some support. Finding none on their concerned faces, he turned back to his father. "Really, Pa." His lower lip trembled and his hands shook from the chills that had been plaguing him all morning. He was alternately hot, then cold, then hot again.

"No, you aren’t," Ben stated firmly. He leaned across the table and reached for Joe’s forehead, but the boy ducked away.

"Pa!" Joe squeaked. "I said I’m fine." He looked over at his older brother and hoped for an ally. "Tell him Hoss."

"Sorry, punkin—you don’t look fine to me. I think Pa has the right idea. You could do with a little rest," Hoss said and shoveled in a bite of egg.

Ben rose and stepped over to Joe’s chair to check for fever again, although the boy’s flushed cheeks were a dead giveaway. This time he put his left hand behind Joe’s head to halt any attempt to get away. "Stay still, Joseph," he warned and placed his right hand on the boy’s forehead.

Joe looked up at his father and tried to force a smile, but he just couldn’t do it. "I’m fine, Pa."

"No you’re not son," Ben said evenly, then knelt beside the boy. "You’ve got a fever." He placed his large hand over Joe’s shaking one. "And the chills. The place for you is bed, and if you’re finished with your breakfast that’s where you are headed."

Joe pulled his hand away and stifled a sneeze. Once composed, he continued. "I can't Pa. There's a big test at school today that I can't miss." That part was true, there was a test today, but even with all the problems at school, he'd much rather face Slimey than be subjected to his Pa, brothers' and Hop Sing when he wasn't feeling his best.

Ben smiled at the expected response and brushed the curls off the boy's forehead. "Well, don't worry about it. I'll just have Adam stop over and talk to Mr. Waldoch before the stage leaves. I'm sure your teacher will be more than willing to give you a make-up test when you're well enough to attend."

"Pa!" Joe pleaded, thrusting out his lower lip in frustration.

Ben shook his head decisively. "You heard me son, up to bed. I want you undressed and under the covers--and I mean now."

"Pa!" Joe's tone changed from pleading to petulant. His plans for the day didn't include staying home in bed.

"I will not debate this with you, you've heard my instructions and I expect you to obey them," Ben said sternly. When Joe opened his mouth to speak once again, Ben held up a hand. "I mean now, Joseph."

Joe wrinkled his nose, but knew any further arguing would be useless. He stood quickly and had to grab the top of the table to stop an attack of dizziness. When the feeling passed he shakily walked over to the stairs. Joe decided to try once more since he had put some distance between the dining room and himself. "Pa…"

Ben sat down and picked up his napkin, but the intensity of his gaze couldn’t be questioned. "Not another word Joseph. I want you in bed, I'll be up in a little while to check on you."

"But I'm fine…" Little Joe argued, stomping his foot for emphasis.

Ben stood quickly and started toward the stairs to enforce his edict. When Joe saw him coming he quickly ascended the stairs, a sneeze halting his progress briefly on the landing. He glared over his shoulder at the occupants of the dining room, then continued on to his room.

"Stubborn little cuss, isn’t he?" Hoss said with a grin.

Ben rolled his eyes and walked back to the dining room. "You’d think after all this time he’d learn he can’t fool me when he’s not feeling well."

Adam poured himself another cup of coffee and brought the steaming liquid to his lips. "I think he fools us more often than not, Pa."

"What do you mean by that?" Ben questioned as he wearily sat down at the head of the table.

Adam set his coffee cup on the table. "We all know Joe’s mannerisms and they’ve always been easily recognizable. We haven’t noticed many of them lately so we figure he hasn’t been up to much—but what if he’s realized that’s how we figure him out?"

"Huh?" Hoss asked, unsure of where the whole conversation was headed.

Adam grinned. "Think about it—he used to be downstairs all the time, playing checkers and stuff and trying to project health or innocence. Now he’s either up in his room, or out in the barn or off doing something. We don’t really see him much, except at supper or on the weekends. So, this avoidance may be a way of getting around us noticing things."

"Very possible," Ben agreed.

"I’m kind of embarrassed I didn’t think of it sooner—I think we’re all kind of lulled into a false sense of security, expecting him to always act the same way. But he’s growing up and we have to realize that," Adam offered.

Hoss glanced toward the stairs, seeing his little brother in a new light for the first time. "You think he's allright?" he asked.

Ben patted his worried middle son on the arm. "I'm sure he's fine, son. Just a bit of a cold I'm sure. We noticed it quickly and I'll keep him in bed for a few days if I have to tie him there," he promised.

Adam stood and stretched. "Well, I’d better get going. It's a long way to Virginia City."

Ben rose and shook Adam's hand warmly. "Have a safe and successful trip son," he said and then turned to Hoss. "Why don't you go with Adam and bring the surrey back with you?" he said as he slapped his middle son on the back.

"Sure thing Pa, do you want me to send Doc Martin out to take a look at the Little Joe?" Hoss asked.

Ben shook his head. "Not yet, I'll check on him and see how he's doing. If need be, I'll send Charlie for Paul later."

Little Joe sat on the window seat in his bedroom staring out at the back yard. The cool early morning air cooled him down somewhat but the fever spots high on his cheeks were still glaringly obvious. His thought processes, usually so quick to think up a plan weren't cooperating today. Whether from the pounding headache from the cold or simple tiredness Joe wasn't sure. "I have to go to school today," he said softly. "I need to be there." He pushed off the window seat and walked over to his desk. A messy pile of papers were on the corner, the result of yet another late night with his pen doing the hated homework. Joe massaged his left hand, trying to work out the stiffness. The extra barn chores that he'd been doing plus the twenty pages of homework every night were taking a toll on his body and he knew it. "How am I going to get out of this?" His shoulder's slumped in frustration and once again he walked over to the window seat. The cushion was soft and he eased his tired body onto it, propping his shoulders against the sill.

A quick knock at his door and then Hop Sing bustled in without waiting for an answer. The Chinese man knew he was always welcome in Little Joe's room and shared an easy familiarity with the youngest Cartwright than he would've ever considered with the rest of the family. Part of the reasoning, Hop Sing always figured was because he'd been in the Cartwright's employ before the child was born and he'd watched him grow from a tiny infant. He loved Adam and Hoss also, but not in the same way as Joe--the child he considered a son. But that son, was not cooperating.

Little Joe smiled, the most charming smile he could muster. "Hi, Hop Sing," he said softly and stifled a sneeze.

Hop Sing walked over and stood before Joe. He folded his arms across his chest and tapped his slippered foot impatiently.

Joe took a deep breath and finger-combed his hair nervously. Although Hop Sing was his greatest ally, on certain occasions the housekeeper was firmly entrenched in the enemy camp. "What?" he blurted.

Hop Sing shook his finger at the boy. "You know--disobey father. Mr. Ben he say 'Little Joe you go up and get undressed and in bed-right now' Hop Sing remember."

"Were you eavesdropping Hop Sing?" Joe tried to skirt around the real issue and turn the tables on the cook. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't.

Hop Sing shook his head, his braid skewing from side to side. "No change subject-you sick and need rest." Joe opened his mouth to argue but another sneeze interrupted. "No argue," Hop Sing ordered as he shook his finger at the boy. "You sick boy and need to get into bed."

Joe scowled and narrowed his eyes. He stood up and walked over to his friend, an argument already formed.

Hop Sing looked down at the boy and felt his forehead. "Body shaking from cold and head hot. No talk-change clothes and get into bed." He brushed past Joe and retrieved a flannel nightshirt from the bureau and handed it to the boy. "Now please, or I go get father."

Joe curled his lip and realized fighting the inevitable was useless, there was no way getting around the fact he was going to have to stay home. But getting into bed and going back to sleep was a different issue entirely. He grabbed the heavy nightshirt and sighed deeply.

"Chop chop! Right now."

"I will, I will. Give me a minute," Little Joe responded in a huff and began to unbutton his shirt.

Hop Sing smiled, glad that he had won the battle for the time being. "I be back to check later."

Little Joe slowly undressed and pulled the hated nightshirt over his head. I'll feel better if I just rest my eyes for a second, Little Joe rationalized. He lay down on the bed until his aching head was resting on the down pillow. I'll think of a way out of this mess. The thought of Slimey's eyes glowing in anger penetrated his thoughts briefly but then was gone, chased away by the blissful arrival of sleep.

"That brat! I'll teach him to make a fool of me," Eli screamed as soon as Adam Cartwright was out of earshot. "So this is the way it's going to be! He will not deprive me! God knows this is the only pleasure I get, I will not have it taken away from me!"

Eli Waldoch's screams bounced off the beams in the ceiling and echoed back at the students. "He'll pay, oh he'll pay. No one wins the game but me. I am the master. The game is my creation and no scrap of a boy will even attempt to best me at it," Eli screamed as he faced his class. He shook his fist at them for good measure as he decided who his next victim would be.

Several minutes later Eli dropped his heavy glasses on his desk. Decision made, he walked down the aisle, his heavy boots clicking with every step. Occasionally he would thrust his fist out at a student's face, but stop just before the blow connected. The flinches by the students cheered his foul mood somewhat and he chose his next victim. He grabbed Tuck by the shirtfront and hauled him to his feet. He pulled the boy into his face until their noses almost touched. "You think this is the way to beat me? You're a fool." He held Tuck in place but glanced around the room at the rest of the children. "You're all fools. Wait and see!" he shouted menacingly "When the game is over, there will be only one winner ... and no smart-mouthed little son of a whore is going to outwit me." Eli said, his outrage causing the mucus-laced spittle to fly in the general direction of Tuck.

Tuck's eyes were wild with fright. He didn't know what to do without Little Joe here. He was the one they looked to for leadership, and his presence kept the classroom on an even keel. Without him, they would quickly succumb to their teacher's madness.

Eli pulled the boy higher until his feet no longer touched the ground. His strength was a combination of overdeveloped muscles due to rock climbing and exploring caves, plus the insanity that radiated throughout his large body. "Let's see how you like taking Little Joe Cartwright's place today, shall we boy?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening.

Two hours later, a very cranky Little Joe woke to find Pa and Hop Sing beside the bed discussing his health. He clutched his now-opened nightshirt tightly to his neck and glared at the two pseudo-nurses.

"Well, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?" Ben asked cheerily, knowing from experience that Little Joe was going to be difficult.

"Fine," Little Joe responded grumpily. He didn’t like being examined at all, and the fact that they had done it while he was asleep was much worse.

"For not being tired you sure took a nice sleep," Ben commented while he studied the thermometer. He looked over at the Chinese housekeeper. "101.2. What do you think? Should I send someone for Paul?"

Little Joe shook his head vehemently, dread clouding his deep green eyes. He let go of his nightshirt and pulled the blankets tightly up to his chin. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion.

"I wasn't asking you Joseph," Ben said with a tightlipped smile.

"Pa, I'm fine. Just a little stuffed up is all," Little Joe said as he propped himself up on his elbows. "If you would just listen to me..."

Ben took one look at his son lying on the bed. He crossed his arms and pinned the boy to the bed with a stare. "Joseph although this conversation is about you, you are not a participant. I would appreciate it if you would just lie there quietly and rest."

"But, Pa," Little Joe said faintly, his strength waning. His head was all stuffed up and throbbed mercilessly. He was tired and achy all over, but definitely did not want to see Doctor Martin. Joe knew his father's friend would insist he stay in bed and probably dose him with all kinds of horrible tasting medicines. Yes, he definitely wanted to avoid the doctor at all costs.

Hop Sing placed a firm hand on the boy's forehead and paused before speaking. "Wait till tomorrow Mister Cartlight. See how little boy is in morning."

Ben nodded at his housekeeper. Hop Sing had nursed his sons through all sorts of illnesses and he had absolute faith in his abilities. Turning his attention back to the boy on the bed, Ben frowned. "I noticed you have a lot of bruises on your lower back. How’d you get ‘em?"

"Wrestling," Joe answered quickly. With a madman.

"At school?"

Little Joe nodded.

Ben rolled his eyes, knowing how rough and tumble play was for youngsters. "Take it easy, please. I don’t want you getting laid up when we have so much work to do this fall."

Little Joe smiled when he realized Pa had just given him the perfect reason to get out of bed. "Then why are you making me…"

"I mean getting laid up through foolishness. This cold you got through no fault of your own, and I’m certain Hoss doesn’t begrudge you a few days rest while you recover. But, wrestling with boys bigger than you are is just asking for a broken arm or leg." Ben shook his finger at the boy. "And, I won’t be so indulgent if that happens."

"Indulgent?" Little Joe stuck his lower lip out petulantly and glared at his father. So what you’re saying is that I’d better just work through anything that Slimey dishes out at school. Like I didn’t know that already.

Eli paced back and forth in his room, trying to calm down. Yes, he'd succeeded in terrorizing the rest of the schoolchildren, but it just didn't satisfy him the way it normally did. Without Little Joe Cartwright there to lend some needed spark to the students, they were just a bunch of kids that were frightened of their teacher. He walked over to the closet and opened the door, staring lustfully at the white dressing gown that hung there. Tentatively, he brushed the satin with the back of his knuckles, reliving the first time he'd seen the garment.

It had been many years ago and his mother had been gone for the evening to a bridge game in town. Her room, with its white lace curtains and elaborate satin bedspread was always off-limits to a "sticky-fingered brat" as she liked to call him, but on that evening he'd done the forbidden. Entered her room and surveyed the contents of every drawer and closet to his hearts content, and had eventually gotten caught and disciplined for it. That was the first time his mother had forced him to dress up in his sister Angela's clothes and it had ignited a fire in his veins like no other. A fire that he hadn't been able to control or extinguish from that day forth.

Little Joe’s temperature didn’t rise over the course of the next day, but it didn’t get any lower either. His fever-ridden body took advantage of the enforced rest and he slept deeply and without nightmares for the first time in weeks.

Pa and Hop Sing alternately sat by his bedside, applying cool compresses and forcing broth past his lips whenever he roused slightly. They also tried all the little treatments that Little Joe hated to try and fight the cold and the concerned caretakers knew it was a lot easier tending to the boy while he was asleep.

Ben sank wearily into the rocker by the side of Joe's bed. He shifted slightly in the barrel stave rocker and let his head loll backwards against the wood. "Joseph, Joseph what am I going to do with you?" he whispered.

The child in question shifted slightly on the large bed, his small body dwarfed by the dark oak four poster.

Ben laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the beams that criss-crossed the ceiling. The memories of the past couple days troubled him. After initially insisting he was fine, Little Joe had slipped into a deep sleep. In fact, he'd been the perfect patient--waking only when jostled and eating without complaint whatever was placed in front of him. The trance-like state even extended beyond the normal care of a sick child to the hot mustard plasters they'd put on his chest and the foul tasting concoctions Hop Sing always managed to cook up. But, disturbingly the reaction had been the same--total compliance bordering on indifference. Totally unlike the firebrand that was his youngest boy. Ben rose and stretched, then twisted from side to side to work the kinks out of his back. He pushed the silver strands on his forehead to the side and walked over to the bed. The bedsprings complained slightly as he sat down, but then were silent. He removed the cool, damp cloth from the boy's forehead and placed it in the bowl beside the bed. He smiled as he noticed the corkscrew curls on Little Joe's fevered forehead and pushed them aside as he felt to see if The fever had gone down any.

Ben set his mouth in a grim line. "Still the same," he murmured in frustration.

Hop Sing bustled into the room, a bowl of cool water in his hands. Noticing the worried expression on his employer's face sent a warm feeling to his heart. No one cared more deeply for his children than Ben Cartwright. "You worried, Mr. Cartwright?"

"It shows that much, Hop Sing?" Ben responded tiredly as he looked over at his faithful housekeeper.

"Hop Sing been on Ponderosa a long time--he know."

Ben nodded, confirming both the question and the statement. "It's just so unlike him."

Hop Sing smiled as he looked at the boy on the bed. "You no worry, Mr. Cartwright. This is calm before the storm. Little Joe be back to being willful little boy soon-you'll see.

Ben smiled grimly. "I hope you're right, I hate to say it but I miss constant battle."

"You'll see-Hop Sing is right."

Whether based on Chinese wisdom or the knowledge of a certain child's behavior patterns, Hop Sing's prediction came true the next day.

The next morning, after Ben had gone downstairs on an errand, Little Joe woke up. He threw back the covers and padded over to the window. He stared at the mist-shrouded mountains in the distance, the snow-capped peaks barely visible in the early morning light. The chill had not left the air yet, and the cold pine floor was a welcome change to his overheated body. Dropping his eyes from the view before him, he pushed up the sash of the window and lay his head down on the sill and closed his eyes. The letter has to come soon. The thought became a daily prayer, a litany, a wish that had to be fulfilled if the children of Virginia City had any hopes of surviving the devil the school board had hired.

Ten minutes later, Ben quietly pushed open the door to his youngest son’s room. He carried a tray with a steaming hot towel and a batch of Hop Sing’s fresh mustard plaster. He frowned when he caught sight of his son at the window. "Just what are you doing out of bed, young man?"

Little Joe jumped at the intrusion. His thoughts had been a million miles away, so he grinned sheepishly. "Just getting a little fresh air, Pa."

"Get back in bed now, or you’ll be in hot water, boy." Ben growled. When Little Joe made no move to comply, he issued another order. "Now!"

"Yes, sir." Little Joe slowly moved back to the bed and sat on the edge. He looked up into Ben’s dark brown eyes. "Can’t I just…"

Ben shook his head decisively. "No. All you are allowed to do is lie here until I tell you differently. I don’t want you setting foot out of that bed—is that understood?"

Little Joe rolled his eyes and pushed out his lower lip. "Yes, sir."

Ben set the tray down on the nightstand. "I think you’d best drop this attitude, boy. Or there will be serious consequences," he declared.

"Yes, sir," Joe replied wearily. He looked over at the tray and wrinkled his nose. "Mustard plaster?"

"Mustard plaster," Ben confirmed as he gestured to Little Joe to unbutton his nightshirt. "This’ll help with your stuffed up head."

Joe started to unbutton his nightshirt as directed. "That’s what you think."

Later that day, Little Joe lay in bed, his arms tucked behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, counting the beams overhead and stifled a sneeze. He was bored. Joe desperately wanted to get out of bed and go downstairs; in fact to do anything except stare at these four walls would be heavenly. The frightening thought of his father's wrath was what kept him lying in bed.

A short knock on the door drew his attention, and Joe desperately hoped it wasn't Pa. Joe had had enough of the mustard plaster on his chest, the broth, and all the other little remedies that Hop Sing and his father had cooked up to try and make him feel better. If he was honest with himself, he did feel pretty rotten.

"Hey little brother," Hoss said as he pushed open the door. "How you feeling?"

Little Joe crossed his arms across his chest and glared at his middle brother. "I'm fine--it's just a little cold, that's all. I don't see what all the fuss is about!"

Hoss chuckled at his baby brother's ill temper as he sat down on the bed. He grinned at Little Joe's discomfort and reached out to check if Joe's fever had gone down any. Joe moved over in the bed, just out of his reach. Hoss scooted over and reached out again, this time grabbing the nape of the boy's neck to hold him still as he again checked for fever.

"Hoss, I'm fine I said!" Little Joe screeched, his voice an octave higher. He struggled slightly, trying to work himself loose of his brother's grasp.

"Now hold still. You know Pa left me in charge while he went to town," Hoss admonished, feeling the boy's forehead, but never releasing his grip. Fever hasn't gone down much, if any. He looked into Little Joe's eyes, the emerald green just a little too bright. It was obvious the boy wasn't feeling any better and was trying to hide any discomfort he felt.

"Hoss! I said I'm..." Joe argued, his eyes flashing in anger.

"I know what you said youngun, I just tend to not believe you when you say you're not sick." Hoss smiled indulgently and moved his hand up to tousle the unruly curls when he felt a large lump on the back of his brother's head. He frowned and pulled Joe forward to get a closer look at the lump.

"Hey," Little Joe protested at roughly being thrust forward. "I'm not a sack of potatoes." When Hoss pressed on the lump, Little Joe flinched and tried to get away. "Hoss..." he groaned and gritted his teeth.

Hoss laid the boy back against the pillows then looked him in the eye. "How'd you get that lump Little Joe?"

Little Joe shrugged and studied the pale blue coverlet. He couldn't look into his brother's eyes and lie so avoided his gaze altogether. "I don't know, horsing around I guess."

Hoss put a meaty finger on Little Joe's chin and raised his head till the boy was forced to look him in the eye. "Does Pa know about it?" Hoss said as he studied his younger brother. There were dark circles under the boy's eyes and he seemed very nervous. What was going on that Joe was hiding?

Little Joe shook his head quickly and fear leapt to his eyes. "You ain't going to tell him are you?" Joe's eyes went wide with alarm and he gripped the coverlet tightly between his shaking hands. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nervous stomach, which seemed to have acquired a mind of its own. Little Joe sucked in another breath. He had been so careful to always be lying back on the pillows whenever Pa or Hop Sing came in so they wouldn't discover where Eli had hit him with his cane. Joe had gotten used to the ever-present headache that resulted from the blow and wanted to keep the disagreement with his teacher a secret.

Hoss pursed his lips, considering. "I don't know Little Joe-that's a pretty good sized goose egg you got there." He squinted as he thought about what he should do. "Maybe Doc Martin better take a look at it. Wouldn't hurt him to come out anyway and check how you're doing. I know Pa's been concerned because your fever is still up."

"I'm fine Hoss!" Little Joe insisted as he shook his head vehemently at the mention of the doctor. The main reason Little Joe hid any sigh of sickness or hurt from his family was because of his belief that they overreacted to any symptom he had. If Doc Martin came he'd insist on examining him and an overly thorough examination was sure to uncover the stomachaches he had been suffering from. Joe watched his brother's face, trying to gauge what he would say. He decided to try again. "Hoss, I'm asking you for a favor," he pleaded. "Don't tell Pa."

Hoss thought a moment before answering. "Joseph..." he began in that rare but firm tone that reminded Little Joe of his other brother. "I'm going to have to. You might have a mild concussion or something. I know I'd feel better, and the rest of the family too, if Doc Martin had a look at it."

Joe's eyes narrowed. He recognized that distinct "older brother" tone and knew Hoss wouldn't be persuaded when he talked like that. He pushed the hair back from his forehead and studied Hoss. "I hate to do this big brother," Little Joe said as he spread his hands in a gesture of futility. "But if you tell Pa I'm going to have to let him know that you went upstairs with Ellie Mae at the Bucket of Blood."

Hoss' jaw dropped. "What? How'd you hear that?"

"I have my sources," Little Joe announced as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Hoss grimaced and his haughty older brother tone dropped several levels. "But Little Joe, I just went to help her get her bedroom door open--it was stuck. That's all-I swear."

Little Joe knew Hoss' statement was true. Ellie Mae had told him what a kind older brother he had. But all was fair when he was trying to avoid Doc Martin’s clutches. "I don't know Hoss. All she told me was how great you were. I could only leave it up to my imagination what she was talking about."

"Dadburnit Joe--that ain't fair!" Hoss insisted as he shook a threatening finger at the boy in the bed.

Joe shrugged his slender shoulders. "Fair or not, that's the deal. I'll keep quiet if you do."

Hoss once again felt the lump on his little brother's head, then looked into the deep green eyes. He could tell Little Joe meant what he said, and Pa would be mad, very mad. "Allright, you win this time youngun. But don't try it again." Hoss pulled the covers up around Joe's neck and stood. "Now you try and take a nap. Pa'll be back in a little while and I want to be able to tell him you behaved yourself today-you hear?"

Little Joe nodded. He was tired--arguing with Hoss and the ever-present headache had taken their toll on him. "Okay, I'll take a nap. But remember--no Doctor."

"He won't come because of me. But if Pa finds that lump on your head it won't be my fault," Hoss said as he walked to the door. He turned one last time and was glad to see Little Joe snuggling under the covers. Hoss slipped through the doorway and was halfway down the steps before a thread of conversation returned to him. "All she told me" his little brother had said. His eyes narrowed wondering when and how Little Joe had talked to Ellie Mae. Hoss realized Pa would have a lot more to say about Joe talking to a saloon girl than any problems Hoss would face for helping her with a broken door. He turned and looked up the stairs at Little Joe's door. His brother had tricked him again.

The winding road to the Ponderosa seemed extra long to Adam. He'd gotten in on the stage around noon and had gone to the stable to rent a horse for the ride home. The only problem was he'd been forced to chat with Lew Phillips, the owner of the stable. Mr. Phillips was normally a very unassuming man, but when he wanted something he could be very persistent. Adam, patience nearly gone after a cold trip on the stage had agreed to the favor without thinking in order to get away from the ginger haired man.

It was that favor that was dwelling on his thoughts now. It wasn't a large thing to ask, but still he resented the imposition on his time and the Ponderosa resources. The large black stallion between his strong thighs turned skittish unexpectedly, and tried to shy to the left of the road. Adam pulled strongly on the reins and forced the horse to the center of the dirt trail. "Easy, boy," he soothed, patting the horse on the neck. "We'll be home soon, and I'll turn you out into the corral."

A rider could be seen on the crest of the next hill and Adam squinted to see who it was. The buckskin horse of Ben Cartwright was easily recognizable even at the two hundred distance. Adam smiled and waved, receiving an answering wave in return. He nudged the horse into a gallop, relieved when the animal followed his instructions.

When the distance was twenty feet between the two riders, the black stallion again turned skittish and tried to veer off the road and away from the incoming rider. With difficulty, Adam was able to control him and slowed to a stop alongside his father.

"Welcome home, son," Ben said warmly, as he clapped the dark haired man on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Pa. It's good to be home."

"Nice looking animal," Ben commented, admiring the sleek black stallion. "But poorly trained."

Adam nodded in agreement. "Lew wants me to see if we can take some of the wildness out of him before I send him back."

"How’d your trip go, son?"

"Fine, fine. No problem whatsoever. Where’re you headed?"

"Just to pick up some more mustard for Hop Sing."

Adam wrinkled his nose. "Mustard plasters for Little Joe, huh?"

Ben nodded. "His fever doesn’t seem to be going down any at all and it’s been three days. I'm going to stop at Doc Martin's and see what he says." He paused, then looked back toward home. "Check on him for me when you get back, will you?"

"Sure thing, Pa."

Little Joe poked his head out the doorway of his room and glanced down the hallway. He released the breath he’d been holding when he saw the empty hall. Pa had ridden out about twenty minutes ago and Hoss had left for Placerville and wouldn't be back for two days. Adam wasn’t due back until late tonight. Hop Sing was baking bread and wouldn’t stick his head out of the kitchen for at least another two hours if he ran true to form. This was the perfect opportunity to go check on Cochise. Joe grabbed the doorframe to steady himself; he was still a little lightheaded from being so stuffed up from the cold. He cautiously stepped out into the hallway, his confidence growing with each inch he placed between himself and his room. The carpet runner was soft beneath his feet and he placed his left hand on the wall for support as he sneaked toward the main connecting hallway. He turned right at his Pa’s door and glanced longingly down at the back staircase. So close, and yet totally inaccessible. There was a bell placed high on the wall that stood right in front of the back door. If he tried to sneak out that way, Hop Sing was sure to hear and come running. The bell had been there for as long as Little Joe could remember and although Pa insisted it was a deterrent to stop any unwelcome visitors, Joe was sure it had more to do with preventing wayward sons’ departures.

He crept down the hallway and down the stairs, being careful to avoid the sixth and ninth step, which creaked. Sighing in relief, he placed his hand on the latch on the front door, looking forward to a little fresh air. Unfortunately, at the same moment, Adam did the same thing from the opposite side of the door. Little Joe was surprised to see the deep brown eyes of his oldest brother standing before him, a carpetbag in his hand and trail dust on his coat.

"Adam!" Little Joe exclaimed in shock. "What’re you doing here?"

Adam grabbed the boy by the arm to limit any chance of escape. "My thoughts exactly, baby brother. What’re you doing here?"

Little Joe bit his lower lip, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. "I was just going to check on Cochise…"

Adam shook his head quickly. "Huh uh, you’re going back to your room and getting back into bed."

Little Joe scowled and tried to wrench his arm free, but Adam was just too strong. "But why? I want to…"

"I said no," Adam said, staring down into his brother’s eyes.

Joe’s eyes narrowed and he started to get belligerent. He was tired of lying in bed all day and wanted to escape to the barn for a little freedom. "Give me one reason."

Adam raised his eyebrows in shock at the sass. Although his little brother shot his mouth off on occasion, this belligerent attitude was relatively rare. Little Joe preferred to use guile and persuasion to get his way instead of outright defiance. "Because it’s too cold outside, you’re supposed to be in bed, and the most important reason is because I said so."

Joe wrinkled his nose. "I meant a good reason," he scoffed.

Adam’s eyes darkened. Up until this point he’d been fairly good-natured about the whole thing. But now the boy was getting smart alecky and Adam wouldn’t tolerate it. "Okay, good reason." He held up his hand and waggled his fingers in Joe’s face."

"Your hand?" Joe said as he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because this is the hand I’m going to blister your backside with if you don’t get rid of that attitude and smart mouth."

Joe looked at the hand and smiled tentatively, knowing the threat was real. "Oh, well," he backpedaled and slid his hands over his backside. "When you put it that way…"

Adam grabbed him by the nape of the neck and pushed him toward the center of the front room, Joe wisely kept his hands covering his most vulnerable target. "What’re you doing back so soon, Adam?" Joe began, hoping to change the subject and convince his oldest brother to let him stay downstairs.

"Things went a little smoother than I expected," Adam said as he continued to push Joe toward the stairs. "I ran into Pa on the way home and he told me to check on you and make sure you stayed in bed. I can see it was a good thing he did."

Joe planted his feet firmly at the bottom of the stairs and refused to move. He caught Adam’s gaze and complained. "Aw, you know how overprotective Pa is, I just wanted to check on Cochise."

Adam turned the boy around so they faced each other. He planted his hands on his hips and began to lecture. "Land sakes, boy you don’t even have a coat on! How could you even think of going outside?"

"I don't have a coat on because it’s so damned hot!" Joe said as he mimicked Adam's stance.

Adam shook his head. "No it isn’t hot. That’s the fever. That’s why you have to stay in bed!"

"I just want to go outside!" Little Joe countered, stamping his foot in frustration.

Adam grabbed Joe by the arm and turned him around, again facing him toward the stairs. He glanced at the floor and noticed Little Joe was in his stocking feet. "And make your cold even worse? You don’t even have your boots on!"

"Well that’s your fault!" Joe accused and pulled away from his bigger brother and turned to face him. He propped his hands on his hips again and glared at Adam. "Pa hid my boots because you told him to! It's just him being overprotective again--you know how he is!"

Adam hid a smirk. Yes, he’d told Pa to hide the boots, but now he could see it wasn’t enough of a deterrent to keep his baby brother in the house. "He’s not being overprotective. When will you learn to admit when you’re not feeling well?"

Joe crossed his arms belligerently across his chest. Obviously today was not the day. "I feel fine!"

"I’ve had enough of this attitude, boy," Adam began, shaking his finger at his much shorter brother. "You are going to march upstairs and climb into that bed. And," Adam crossed his arms to mirror his sibling's stance. "If you do it right now, I just might not tell Pa about this."

Joe shook his head, his jaw tightly set. "I ain’t going! I feel fine!"

Adam’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t look fine. You’re flushed and sweating and look like you are about to keel over." His voice dropped low. "If you don’t march right up those stairs right now I’m going to drag you there."

Joe’s eyes narrowed to match his brothers. He thrust out his lip in open defiance and stomped his foot. "You can’t make me!"

"Oh yes, I can." Adam threw the protesting boy over his left shoulder and started up the stairs. Joe kicked futile, trying to free himself. "Hold still!"

"Put me down!" Joe insisted as he squirmed trying to free himself from Adam's iron grip.

Adam gritted his teeth and paused on the landing. He gave a single hard swat to the boy’s backside.

"Ouch!" Little Joe cried and continued to try and squirm out of his brother’s grasp.

Adam raised his hand again. "Keep still I said or I’ll add a few more."

Wisely, Little Joe did as he was told and Adam carried him down the hall to his bedroom. He gently set his little brother on his feet and gave him a stern look before he unbuttoned Joe's shirt and pushed it off the boy's slim shoulders. He could tell just by looking at the boy that his pulse was racing and the fever had increased. Adam only hoped that it was the result of the thwarted escape attempt and not a downturn in the boy's condition.

Once the white cotton shirt slid to the floor, Adam reached for the waist of the boy's pants, but Joe stopped him.

"I can do it myself," Little Joe declared as he fought to keep the tears at bay. The confinement was wearing on his nerves and the thoughts of what Eli could be doing to his friends was overwhelming.

Adam started to respond sharply to the belligerent tone in the boy's voice, but when he saw Joe was struggling to keep his composure, he swallowed the reprimand that was on the tip of his tongue. "Okay, little buddy. You get undressed and I'll grab your nightshirt."

"No!" Joe protested immediately. The thought of the heavy fabric clinging to his perspiring body was just too much.

Adam smiled slowly as he looked at this little brother's sweat damp skin and discerned the reason for the sudden outburst. "Okay, no nightshirt," he agreed quickly as he turned to the bed and drew back the blankets, "But I want you in bed right now then," he insisted.

Joe chewed on his lower lip as he contemplated his options. Arguing with Adam had only gained him a smarting backside up to this point, and with the fever Joe knew he wasn't really thinking clearly--but giving in easily just wasn't his style. He smiled tentatively, the best he could muster under the circumstances. "Couldn't I just sit by the window for a couple minutes?" he wheedled halfheartedly.

Adam placed a strong hand on the boy's shoulder. "No, you can't," he said softly, realizing the request was just a token one. Joe knew just as well as he did that he wasn't in any shape to be sitting by an open window. All his little brother needed was the early winter chill blowing across his already overheated body. He slid his arm down off Joe's shoulder and grasped his upper arm lightly. He guided the boy over to the bed and forced him to sit down.

Joe wearily sank to the mattress, the soft featherbed a welcome change from his upright position. The fever brought occasional dizzy spells and Joe was afraid he was going to pass out right in front of Adam. So far he'd managed to hide the lightheadedness from Pa and Hop Sing, but then feigning sleep was easy enough to do when confined to bed. He paused a moment to fight the swirls of gray that threatened to overtake him, then bent down to pull off his black leather boots.

Adam stopped him and gently eased Joe back upright. "I'll take care of it, little buddy," he said softly and slid off the dark grey trousers that were bunched at Joe's slim calves.

"Okay," Joe agreed with a sigh, his strength nearly gone. He was uncharacteristically silent when Adam eased him down onto the soft pillow and scooted his legs onto the mattress. "Thanks," he whispered as his eyelids fluttered several times, then remained closed.

Adam sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on his little brother's chest, noting that his breathing had slowed considerably since dropping off into a restless sleep.

Little Joe stirred, and he muttered several incomprehensible words. His feet moved restlessly on the bed and Adam placed a hand on the boy's thigh to try and settle him down.

"Shhh," Adam soothed as he patted gently. "Everything is okay. Try and sleep, baby."

Little Joe subconsciously responded to his brother's voice and quieted. His breathing eased further as his sleep deepened.

A few minutes later, Adam looked over and noticed Hop Sing standing in the doorway, Adam's carpetbag in his hand.

"How is Little Joe?" Hop Sing asked, draping the saddlebag over the rocking chair.

"Well, at least he's back in bed anyway. Has he been this restless all week?" he asked, running his strong fingers through his dark hair.

Hop Sing shook his head. "No, Mister Adam. Little Joe been very quiet. Different boy than normal--he sleep most of the time."

Adam nodded then turned back to the bed. "And those dark circles under his eyes still haven't gone away," he commented to himself. "In fact, I can't remember the last time that he really looked rested." He looked over at the housekeeper again. "Can you?"

Hop Sing gently pushed the curls off his favorite Cartwright's damp forehead. "Long time, since little boy look good. I not sure anyone else notice. I tell Mr. Cartwright Little Joe--he not acting like should."

Adam smiled tiredly. "Oh, we've noticed. But realizing something is bothering Little Joe is a lot easier than getting him to tell you what it is."

Hop Sing's head bobbed up and down in agreement. "Mr. Adam have any idea what wrong?"

"Not a clue," Adam admitted sadly. He dipped a cloth into a bowl of cool water on the bedside table. He wrung it out until it was barely damp and then started to bathe the boy's chest. "We'll get it straightened out, baby. You'll see," he soothed, inadvertently slipping and calling his little brother by a pet name Joe loathed. If the boy had been awake and feeling better, the slip would have been instantly challenged. As it was, the child in question slept blissfully unaware of the slight to his adolescence.

Several minutes later, Hop Sing picked up the bowl of water. "I make supper--you stay with him?"

Adam smiled as he rummaged through his brown leather bag. "I'll be here, you go on," he answered, then pulled a newspaper from his bag. Settling himself comfortably in the rocker beside the bed, he opened the newspaper and began to read.

Hop Sing adjusted the blanket a little higher on Joe's neck and walked out of the room.

The Sacramento Chronicle was a real treat foe Adam to read. He'd picked up the paper on his trip but had been so busy he hadn't even had a chance to read the headline. When the words "Joshua Dayton to Testify Against Carmine Fratelli" jumped off the front page, Adam's heart leapt to his throat. Doesn't he know how dangerous that is? Adam Cartwright was born and bred with a strong sense of right and wrong--and he knew in his heart that Josh was doing the right thing. But he couldn't help but feel apprehensive for the young man he'd watched grow up. Taking a deep breath, he read on.

October 15, 1855      

"Poor Jacob," Adam whispered, placing himself in Josh's older brother's shoes. Little Joe moved restlessly on the bed and pushed the blankets down to his waist. Adam rose and pulled the blankets back up to mid-chest, then patted the boy on the arm gently. The thought of one of his brothers' in danger and him not able to help sent a shiver through his spine.

The sound of a carriage pulling up out front drew Adam from his thoughts. He placed his strong hand on Joe's forehead and checked to see if the fever had lessened. His lips tightened to a thin line when he realized the temperature remained the same, even after the cool sponge bath. "Damn!" he muttered. Footfalls on the stairs and then down the hallway brought the voices of Ben Cartwright and Doctor Paul Martin.

Ben walked through the doorway first, walking over to Adam and touching his shoulder. "Any change?"

"Well, we did have an escape attempt," Adam said with a slight grin.

"Escape attempt?" Paul asked, mirroring Adam's grin. He turned to Ben. "I thought you said he was very agreeable, hardly fighting you at all."

Ben finger-combed his thick, silver hair. "He is--or was," he backpedaled. "We just had that one little incident that I told you about and other than that..."

Adam touched his father on the arm. "I have to agree with Pa. Aside from a little bit of spark when I first caught him on the porch, he has been remarkably docile for Little Joe."

Paul smiled and set his black, leather bag on the bed. "Let me see for myself. If past experience is any indication, as soon as I start to examine him he'll wake up and start complaining." He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blankets down to Joe's slim waist. Pulling a stethoscope from his bag, he began the examination.

Five minutes and one still sleeping patient later, Paul made his diagnosis. "Well, the cold part was right on the money, Ben, but I'm sure you knew that. The cold itself seems to be clearing and I don't hear any fluid on his lungs, so that's good." Paul returned the relieved smile that Ben gave him. "The continuing fever itself is from an ear infection, he has fluid in his ears and swollen glands. So, we'll treat that with an injection and he'll be fine."

"Whew," Ben said in relief. "He sure had me worried when that fever wouldn't go down."

"I'm sure he did." Paul stroked his chin, pondering his next question. "How'd he explain the bruises?"

Ben shook his head in disgust. "Wrestling at school, he told me. Although why he has to roughhouse with those ..."

"Now Ben," Paul interrupted as he held up a hand. "I'm sure Adam and Hoss did the same thing when they were in school. Let the boy be a boy."

"I know you are right, Paul," Ben agreed "But I just wish he'd take it easy once in a while."

Adam couldn't help but grin. "Now Pa, you know that taking it easy just isn't Little Joe's style."

Ben chuckled warmly. "I know, but if he did I would probably still have a few black hairs left."

"The one thing that I wonder about is the lump on the back of his head, though. That probably should've been looked at earlier," Paul said.

"Lump?" Ben asked. "I didn't know he had one."

"Actually a rather sizeable one still, so it must have been quite a bit bigger several days ago." Paul stroked his chin. "That lump could've caused a concussion that changed his behavior, or ..."

"Or?" Ben and Adam said in unison.

"Or, he's just been wiped out by the combination of bad cold and ear infection," Paul said as he pulled a sleeve of syringes out of his bag. "I'm sure that's what it is, gentlemen. Don't worry, a couple shots of this stuff and it'll take care of it." Paul opened the fabric sleeve and surveyed the contents--six syringes ranging from small to large, with varying bore needles. The bore of the needle selected was determined by the thickness of the medicine needed. Paul selected a medium syringe and stuck the tip into a bottle, filling it two thirds of the way. He looked at his two helpers. "This is going to hurt, I'm afraid, and I'm pretty sure he'll wake up. After about a half hour we can put some ice on the site to help with the swelling and pain, but other than that there isn't anything we can do about it," Paul said as he pulled the blankets down to Little Joe's thighs with his left hand. "I'm going to need a hand here--this has to go into a large muscle so I'm going to use his hip. If you'd kindly roll him?"

Five minutes later, Little Joe was once again covered up to his neck. The injection hadn't woken him and he'd continued to sleep soundly throughout the whole thing. Hop Sing was now firmly ensconced by his side and the three other men took their leave.

The lecture Little Joe received from his father was enough to cower the boy into submission, at least enough to not try and escape for a while. Although bored, Little Joe spent his time trying to come up with the reasons behind Slimey's treatment of him and his fellow students. But Little Joe, having led a rather calm and sheltered life could think of no reason whatsoever, so he finally gave up and just concentrated on surviving his imprisonment.

Two days later, Hoss ambled into his little brother's room, a huge grin on his face. "How'd you like a little company?"

Little Joe brightened and pushed himself up in bed. He had spent the day downstairs on the couch and was feeling better, his head was no longer stuffed up and his cough was gone. But a week of being cooped up in the house had left him desperate to talk to anyone who wasn't a member of his family. Joe's smile grew wider when his friend Mitch followed Hoss into the room. "Mitch! How're you doing?"

The boy offered Joe a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes and waited for Hoss to leave.

Joe recognized the fact that Mitch wanted to be alone. He looked up at his older brother and smiled. "Thanks for letting him up here Hoss. Would you mind getting us some of those sugar cookies that Hop Sing baked?"

Hoss grinned. He recognized the ploy to be talk in private, but when cookies and his empty stomach were involved he would do as requested. "No problem Little Joe, in fact I might grab a couple for myself on the way." He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Little Joe's eyes clouded as he surveyed his friend. "Out with it. How are things going at school?"

"Slimey was really bad today," Mitch said softly and turned pleading eyes onto his friend. "Are you coming tomorrow?"

Little Joe coughed into his fist. "I hope so." Although he did feel better, his head still ached and his temperature wasn't back to normal, or at least that's what Pa and Hop Sing kept saying.

Mitch knew that the chances of Little Joe Cartwright getting out of the house when he was less than one hundred percent were slim. The children of Virginia City were going to have to do without their leader for at least another day or two.

"So, what happened today?" Little Joe said, although he was certain he really didn't want to know. The last few days in bed he had been too sick to really concentrate on the Slimey situation, and therefore felt a little better. Joe watched his friend pace back in forth in front of the bed until the movement started to make him dizzy. "Sit down will you? You're making me crazy."

Mitch grinned wryly and rubbed his sore backside. The tanning his Pa had administered the night before had been a particularly painful one and the ride to the Ponderosa was almost more than he could stand. "I only wish I could" he whispered.

Joe frowned at the revelation and sat up straighter in the bed. "What happened?"

"Well," Mitch ran a hand across the top of the footboard of the bed. "Slimy cooked up some lie about all of us failing a history exam. Sent notes home to all our folks, and you know how my Pa feels about school work."

Little Joe groaned and shook his head sadly. "Did you try to tell your Ma it was a lie?"

Mitch nodded and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Tried. Didn't do any good. I got a lecture about discipline and what a great teacher Slimy is and how glad we all should be that he came out here to teach us." Mitch bit his lip trying to keep his composure. To say that things had gone horribly with Little Joe sick were a vast understatement. Their teacher had been enraged at his favorite whipping boy's absence and had taken it out on the rest of the students. "He had poor Michelle Taylor crying, and.. and.."

"And what?" Little Joe probed. The oppressive feeling that filled his heart every morning on the way to school had returned full force. That letter has to be here soon. It just has to be.

"Most of the rest of us too, Little Joe." Mitch turned pleading eyes onto his friend, expecting to see betrayal mirrored there. "We just couldn't help it... he screamed at us, told us how worthless we all are ... and." He covered his face with his hands and his back heaved as he fought to control the emotions that threatened to escape.

Little Joe threw back the covers and got out of bed. The floor was cold on his barefeet but he walked over to his friend and put a consoling arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry about it Mitch. There's nothing to be ashamed of," he said softly. "That bastard has had lots of practice being mean to kids, and he was bound to break us eventually."

Mitch sniffed and raised his head. "You're not ashamed of us? I mean it was you that told us to try and not let him upset us."

"Well, we'll have to work on Plan B then," Joe said softly. His original plan had been to just rise above all the meanness Eli heaped on them, and try and keep their teacher from getting totally out of control until the letter arrived. Now he'd have to think of something else.

Eli threw his climbing gear into his well-worn saddlebag and tossed the black leather over his shoulder. He scowled as he picked up the red bound book on his nightstand, flipping open the diary and quickly turning to yesterday's date.

Eli slapped the book shut angrily. "What's the use?" he wailed to the four walls of his room.

"Indeed," echoed through the room, followed by the deliberate click, click, click of high heels on the floor.

Eli kept his eyes glued to the page, refusing to give the specter the satisfaction of his attention.

"I've often wondered why you've kept up the charade of writing the details of your insignificant life down." A shrill burst of laughter punctuated her sentence. "No one really cares, you know. You always were a worthless piece of trash and I see no hope of you changing now."

Eli slapped the book shut and quickly looked up, almost expecting to see the flesh and blood woman who had intimidated him for the first twenty odd years of his life. His steel blue eyes glittered like cracked glass and the perspiration made the bald patches on his scalp gleam in the dimly lit room. He bared his teeth ferally. "I am what you made me, mater," he hissed and stalked out of the room. He stomped down the stairs and glared at the Widow Hawkins on the way past. The front door shone like a beacon in the distance--past the parlor, which was tackily decorated with Circus paraphernalia, to the entryway which offered the only true path to escape. The length of the hallway seemed to get longer and longer as he sought to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the boarding house. He reached out and his long fingers sought the gleaming brass of the doorknob a full eight feet before he had any hope of contact with the knob.

A breeze rustled through his disheveled hair caused El to stop and he quickly looked at the closed window.

"Waste of time and money," tittered on the breeze. "Your father and I spent on that fancy doctor when you were small. All you got out of it was writing in that damn book, night after night," Mrs. Waldoch taunted.

Eli realized he still held his diary in his hand, and gripped it so tightly that his fingers turned white. The scent of rotted roses assaulted his nostrils, and then the taunting continued.

"Should've tossed you in the loony bin from the start. Might've kept your father from running off."

Eli's jaw dropped open in surprise. "You bitch!" he whispered hoarsely. "You blame me for that?"

Widow Hawkin's always alert ears picked up Eli's question and she was puzzled. She stumbled to her feet, the unsteadiness the result of a few nips from the whisky bottle. Never one to stand on ceremony in her own house, she never even pretended to overlook the conversation. "Who'd be blaming you for what?" she asked loudly.

"Good God, all women are insufferable!" he exclaimed as he banged open the door and hurried outside into the brisk afternoon air. He stumbled down the single step and out into the yard trying to free himself from the lingering odors he associated with the two women, rotted roses and Irish whiskey. Frantically sucking fresh air into his lungs, he looked down at the diary he still held in his hand. His jaw hardened until it resembled granite and he flung the book into the rose bushes that lined the yard. "Leave me alone!" he screamed and took off toward the livery stable

Crouching in the boxwoods across the street was Molly Washburn. Her house lay two blocks past the Widow Hawkin's boarding house and her withered leg made the journey home from school take a long time. Several times she'd seen Slimey entering and leaving the house and each time she'd slunk into the bushes and hidden. This time it had paid off. Once she determined that Slimey wasn't returning, she retrieved the diary and stuck it in her bookbag.

New   03/29/01

The Friday ride up into the hills of Virginia City always relaxed Eli, especially when the afternoon sun was warm on his back. The thoughts of the disappointing week at school gradually left his mind as he placed mile after mile between him and the good people of the town. A crooked smile formed on his lips when he reached the lava rock country that formed a moat around the foothills of the mountains. The rough terrain made tracking virtually impossible and although being followed wasn't a probability at this point Eli didn't like to take chances. The sharp rocks made traveling quickly unsafe for both man and rider, so Eli slowed down, preferring to take his time to reach his destination. The trip to the cabin usually took about an hour and Eli sometimes imagined the ride as foreplay to the larger pleasure of exploring the cave.

The dun brown gelding carefully picked his way across the uneven landscape, experience making even a four-legged animal cautious. The rented horse had made this journey several times before in the employ of the large man and he knew a sack of oats was waiting for him at the end of the trail.

The lava rock gradually changed to scrubby yellow grass, the only flora that would grow in the highly acidic soil at the fringe of the lava rock field. The journey continued for six more miles and then Eli could see the outline of Widow's peak in the distance. The outcropping of rock was named for the wives of the unsuccessful miners who had thrown themselves from its heights to escape facing their failure. Miners whose entire life savings had been spent in the unfruitful search for gold in the hills surrounding the small rabbit-run of a town that was eventually given the name of Virginia City. But the peak wasn't his destination, just a landmark he passed along the way. He kicked the horse, urging the beast into a gallop as the end of the trip grew near.

His heart leapt as he rode through the stand of trees that masked the valley where his treasure stood. Most others, when they thought of buried treasure the first thing that came to mind was gold or silver--but to Eli, it was in the form of drawings or artifacts from long ago.

Once through the drooping branches of the evergreens the canyon came into view and at the far end the sweeping rock formation that was his reason for coming. Eli reined in his horse and hooked his knee over the saddlehorn pausing to savor the moment. Feelings of euphoria threatened to overcome him as he stared at the entrance to what was referred to in town as Tornado Cave. Although he hadn't progressed as fast as he would have liked, the addition of the recently stolen supplies was sure to hasten his exploration. Eli returned his foot to the stirrup and urged the horse forward, toward the two-room shack that sat directly across from the mouth of the cave.

After taking care of his horse's needs, Eli picked up his supplies and walked over to the shack. He pushed open the rickety door, receiving a welcoming creak from the rusty old hinges. The deep amber rays of the setting sun flickered through the grimy glass on the west window, lending an almost otherworldly glow to the small room. The ramshackle cabin had fallen into disrepair in the fifteen years since a group of archeologists had ended their exploration of the cave. The west window was the only one that was left intact; the others were semi-boarded up to cover their missing panes. Eli dropped his knapsack on the table just inside the front door and then lit the oil lantern. After adjusting the flame, he held the old lantern chest high to force the bright light to disperse any lingering shadows. He surveyed the room carefully, checking for signs of any unwelcome visitors since last Sunday. The room looked the same, sparsely decorated with a table and four chairs, one pushed against an inside shutter to prevent an insistent banging whenever the North wind blew. The room contained a small fireplace, more for cooking than to generate heat, probably because the cabin was only used in the summertime. A bed, confiscated from the adjoining sleeping quarters was placed horizontally in front of the fireplace, as close as possible to the warmth.

Eli walked to the doorway of the second room and poked the lantern in, relieved that it also appeared untouched. Four beds, lined up dormitory style on the far wall dominated the room, the only other piece of furniture a bureau situated next to the lone, small window on the East wall. It was in the bureau that Eli had found the treasure--a map detailing the archeologists' explorations. The five middle-aged men had spent three consecutive summers in the Tornado Cave until the cave-in that had snuffed out the lives of four of them. The dead men were considered the lucky ones. The fate of the party wasn't discovered until several weeks later when they failed to make their regular pickup of supplies. When the rescue workers cleared a narrow path through the tons of limestone that blocked their way, they found the men. Four dead, their bodies crushed beyond recognition and with various limbs missing. Mr. Crowe, the only surviving member had the bodies propped up against artfully arranged rocks, so the effect was of a cozy little dinner party, with him playing the dutiful host. The meal consisted of raw rat and several different species of cave dwelling bugs. Apparently the same menu the unfortunate archaeologist had been surviving on in the weeks since his entombment. Most of the locals considered the cave haunted and to Eli's knowledge no one had ventured near the place since the gruesome discovery.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Eli retrieved the map and studied it, his own scribblings now added to the neat renderings of the archeologists. Eli surmised he'd gone about three hundred feet deeper than their last recorded exploration. Perspiration gleamed on his forehead and he hastily wiped it away. He grabbed his knapsack, slinging it over his left shoulder and left the cabin, eager to start his downward trek.

The Tornado Cave was named for its funnel shaped entrance that began at fifteen feet across then spiraled down to a mere four feet in circumference. Legends were plentiful as to the origin of the cave, but the archeologists had concluded that an ancient river had carved out the unusual shaped entrance hundreds of thousands of years ago. Eli entered the cave, squatting and duck walking when necessary to get past the shortest part. About thirty feet inside the entrance, the cave widened and Eli was able to stand easily. Holding his lantern at an arms length in front, he picked up the pace, eager to explore new ground before he was forced to turn in for the night. Eli always grew silent when he neared the narrow path in the cave, it thinned to a mere foot in width and he had to scramble through the fifty feet in order to make it to the larger cavern beyond.

The time worn walls passed quickly as Eli walked, his mind intent on reaching the spot he'd recently christened Dead Man's Salvation. It was in this place, apparently where the fifth archaeologist, Lucien Crowe had spent the main part of his days trapped in the cave, recording his thoughts for prosperity. These thoughts, unread until now were profound observations of man obviously beyond madness--but to Eli, the ramblings made perfect sense and it was if he'd finally found a friend and confidant. He had even tried to contact the man, but unfortunately Lucien Crowe had committed suicide a week after his rescue, never regaining his faculties.

Forty-five minutes later, Eli dropped his knapsack, which contained food in a ratproof metal container and a fresh supply of matches. It was dumb luck that had brought the faded words on the wall to his attention, or so he believed at first. As the eloquent phrases on the walls of Dead Man's Salvation touched his soul however, he had decided that fate had brought him here. Here, deep in the bowels of the earth, hidden in the hills surrounding Washoe Lake a dead prophet spoke to Eli's soul.

The words were hard to read at first, the letters almost indecipherable due to sporadic condensation gathering on the walls during the wet season. But further inside the cavern the conditions were drier and the thoughts of the trapped and desperate man had fared better. The first evening that Eli had spent in the cavern he had read out of curiosity, but as the lantern flickered in the wee hours of the morning it was as if the soul of Mr. Crowe was speaking directly to him. It had taken him almost an hour before he realized that the words were written in blood.

"Ah yes, Mr. Crowe," Eli said as if he wasn't alone. "We'll have a nice long weekend and then I'll return to torturing the students at the school. "Maybe you'll even have some new ideas for me?" he questioned hopefully.

Joe recovered quickly after the injection from Dr. Martin and bright and early on Monday he was headed back to school. Although it took a lot of convincing, Joe managed to ride Cochise the very first day back--avoiding the humiliation of ride in the buckboard driven by Pa. An unanticipated but very welcome surprise was waiting for him when he reached the schoolyard. Molly Washburn was shyly standing by the hitching post, her deep blue dress and braids whipping in the wind. What she held clutched in her small hands was to Little Joe worth its weight in gold. The diary of Eli Waldoch.

Later that morning, the games began. "Children!" Eli barked, "I want you to all play very close attention to the lesson you are going to learn today. "You, you and," his flinty-eyed stare sought out just the right child, "you!" The three students, Sam Jenkins, a lanky sixteen-year-old with white-blonde hair and a very pronounced stutter walked to the front of the room, followed by Mitch and Seth.

"Good, good, now line up in front of the blackboard over there," he said gesturing to the open area to the left of his desk.

The boys did as instructed and stood in a straight line at the front of the classroom. Slimey rubbed his sweaty hands together in anticipation--this was one of his favorite parts of the game and it never failed to make his day to watch them turn on their supposed friends.

Joe exhaled softly and scrunched down in his desk, content to let his friends take the brunt of the punishment for the day. Although his cold was gone for the most part, his head still ached and since this was his first day back at school he decided to take it easy.

A grin curled Slimey's lips as he pranced back and forth in front of his captive audience. Eli was torn between putting on the show for Little Joe's benefit or for indulging himself and including his favorite whipping boy in the festivities. He turned quickly and ran his hand through his greasy salt and pepper locks as he sought out Joe. "Hmmm," he said, stroking his chin. "I think we may need a volunteer, just to make things even up here, you understand."

Each child in the classroom studied the top of his or her wooden desk, unwilling to look the teacher in the eye. The fear of accidentally volunteering through some unconscious twitch or blink was just too risky for them to chance.

Eli grinned sadistically at the expected behavior-they were all really cowards, he thought as he studied row after row of bowed heads, black straight hair on Elizabeth Timmons head, blonde waves running down the back of Paulette Sheridan's fancy purple and gold dress, and the bowed head of Jeffrey Walters which sported a flame orange cowlick on the crown. He couldn't resist a game he'd learned as a child and gave each head he passed a sharp rap on the skull and sang out the word "duck!" joyfully.

Joe's curly head was bowed with the others until he heard Eli start to play the child's game. It brought back memories of when he was a boy and used to play the game with his friends. To have his adult teacher use the game to send fear running through the hearts of his pupils' was more than sadistic, it was perverse. By the time Slimey reached Joe's row, the boy's green eyes were blazing in anger and he'd thought of a new plan.

"Duck," gleefully spilled from Slimey's lips as he smacked Terrance Forrest on his white-blonde crewcut head, when the boy's head dipped down and smacked the desktop it was an added bonus as far as Eli was concerned. A chuckle rolled up from his belly and he didn't even try to restrain it. He turned to the last row and frowned, knowing this game was almost over. "Duck, duck…" he chanted as he struck the first two students, then paused before Joe Cartwright's desk. The boy had been missing for almost a week and although he had missed his favorite target, Eli had to admit the games had gone much smoother without the curly-haired brat. A sneer curled his upper lip as he stopped in front of the boy's desk, his hand raised to thump the kid on the head. Eli stopped at the cold fury that stared at him from the child who had become such a pain in the neck. He paused, uncertain if he was up to the task.

Joe saw his teacher pause and briefly wondered if insanity was contagious. But then he slowly rose and called out the word the other students had been afraid to hear. "Goose." He slid out from behind the desk and walked fearlessly to the front of the room and joined the line of boys. Each boy in the row stood a little taller since the latest addition.

Eli wrinkled his nose at the brat's boldness and disregard for authority. He stared at the row of boys and sneered. "Brave, are we? We'll see about that." He slowly walked to the front of the classroom and surveyed the boys for a moment. Folding his arms behind his back, he marched down the row, pausing to give each boy long look in the eye.

"Cowards, the lot of you," Eli taunted when he had completed his inspection. "We're going to have us an old-fashioned 'flinching party'. Get it? Not lynching, flinching."

Sam Jenkins was the first boy in the row. The tallest at six feet even, he looked up at his teacher and couldn't control the shudder that traveled up his spine.

Eli glared at the boy and ran his tongue across his lips. He then turned to the class and spoke loudly. "You see children, I'm going to show you a little lesson in self-control. Take this boy for example." Placing a sweaty arm around the boy's shaking shoulders he pulled him close. "Sam, I'm not going to hit you--understand?"

Sam's lips trembled and it forced him to stutter. "Y-y-yes sir."

"Good, you hear that children? I'm not going to hit Sam." Eli curled his right hand into a fist and waved it before the boy's pale face. "Now I'm going to come very close, but I won't actually hit him. That is, unless he flinches, that is. Because if he trusts me he will stand still. But if he does flinch, that tells me just the opposite--and then he must be punished." Placing his left hand on the boy's right shoulder, he turned Sam until they faced each other. "Here we go." Eli punched toward the boy's stomach and as promised, stopped a hair's breadth away from the target. Unfortunately for Sam, his survival instincts had kicked in and he flinched.

"Coward!" Eli screamed, still retaining his grip on Sam's shoulder. "I told you I wouldn't hit you, but did you listen? No! Now you will." He drew back his fist and punched the trembling boy squarely in the gut.

Sam dropped to his knees as the breath left his lungs. Wrapping his arms around his middle, he leaned forward until his head nearly touched the wooden floor, his mind focusing on the slim hope he wouldn't embarrass himself further and cast up the remains of his lunch on the schoolroom floor.

Eli's boots scraped on the floor as he took two steps and stood before his next victim.

Seth straightened and tried to look the teacher in the eye, but could only bear the piercing stare for a few seconds. He nervously played with the buttons on his brown and green flannel shirt, hoping to at least avoid embarrassing himself.

Eli wrung his hands in anticipation. He turned to the rapt pupils and grinned. "Now you see the first one was easy. I told you exactly what I was going to do. This time it won't be as easy. "Seth, I'm going to do the same thing to you, punch toward your stomach. I may or may not stop in time." He narrowed his eyes and glared down at the boy. "But let me assure you--if you do flinch, I'll punch you anyway."

Seth nodded and closed his eyes. He tensed his stomach muscles waiting for the blow.

Eli grinned again, trying to decide what to do with the boy. Decision made he thrust his fist forward and stopped again just an inch away from the boy's flannel shirt. He frowned when Seth remained still and didn't give him the satisfaction of flinching. Reluctantly he withdrew his fist.

After a moment, Seth tentatively opened one eye, then the other. This was a game Mitch, Joe and he had played many times and they'd each gotten to be quite good at it, especially when the 'two for flinching' rule was introduced. An unfamiliar opponent however changed the game, however. Where Seth knew Joe nor Mitch would hit very hard because they really didn't want the blow to hurt very badly, he was sure Slimy would have no such qualms.

Eli gritted his teeth angrily and moved to the next pupil in line, Mitch Devlin.

The boy pasted a calm expression on his face, in direct contradiction to the butterflies that fluttered inside his nervous stomach.

Eli leaned in and whispered, "Shall we try and make it two flinches out of three?"

Mitch sucked in a calming breath and closed his eyes, hoping his teacher's sadistic game would be over shortly.

Deciding part of the reason Seth had outwitted him was because he couldn't sense the blow coming, Eli varied his routine somewhat. "On the count of three I'm going to do it. Ready?"

Mitch nodded, unwilling to open his eyes and look into those eyes again.

Eli permitted himself a small grin. "One, two, three!" He punched forward, this time his fist connected slightly with the oatmeal colored cloth of the boy's shirt.

The boy didn't flinch and his eyes snapped open quickly and a grin flitted across his lips.

"You see how some of the pupils have managed to exceed even my lofty expectations." he stepped forward two steps and glared at the sole remaining participant in the afternoon' entertainment. "Ah, young master Cartwright. Will you make this a tie? We'll see soon enough, won't we?"

"Yeah, we will."

Eli's eyes widened that the boy had the nerve to talk back to him. "Yes, we will." He grabbed Joe by the shoulder and pulled him around to face him. "I'll make this a little harder on you, boy. I want you to keep your eyes open and watch me."

Joe wrinkled his nose in disdain, but nodded.

"Good, let's get it over with then," he said and without another word punched Joe in the stomach. The boy was given no opportunity to prove he wouldn't flinch-just a sharp blow to the pit of his stomach. Joe slumped to the floor with a deep groan and pushed his fist into his stomach to try and stop the searing pain. His stomach threatened to heave and probably would've if he'd eaten anything that day. Instead the bile rose in his throat until he could taste the acid, tinged with a coppery taste that had become familiar lately--blood.

Eli stared down at the crumpled form of his adversary and smiled. The end was coming closer, I can it. Joe Cartwright can't hold out much longer. "Pity you couldn't win the contest, I do believe we have a tie."

"Tie?" Joe gagged and coughed into his palm. The slickness of fluid in his hand sickened him as he quickly wiped it on his tan trousers. "You punched me in the gut," he paused to catch his breath and fight the nausea. "And you expected me not to flinch?"

"I never claimed the odds were in your favor, boy." Eli looked at the shocked faces of his students, then at the clock on the wall. Close enough. He walked over to his desk and retrieved his cane, tucking it under his arm as he passed the line of boys. "Class dismissed-we'll have an even better game to play tomorrow." As he walked down the aisle between the desk, he began to whistle cheerfully.

Once the door shut behind him, the room sprang into motion. Mitch and Seth crouched beside Joe on the floor hoping to get their friend to meet their eyes.

"Are you okay?" Seth placed a concerned hand on his friend's bony shoulder.

Joe couldn't bring himself to look up just yet. His vision had exploded into gray with faint sparkles of colored light when Eli hit him and it he was just now starting to make out the scarred schoolroom floor that was only inches from his face.

Joe sucked in a shallow breath and raised his head, surprised to see the worried features of Seth only inches from his own. "He didn't pull his punch like he did for you guys--so it doesn't count." Trying to straighten proved to be painful and caused his stomach to turn over and threaten mutiny.

Mitch glanced over at Seth, a matching concerned look on his face. He turned back to Joe who was struggling to sit up. "Say Joe, you got a little something on the corner of your mouth."

Joe nodded and gingerly pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth and wasn't surprised to find the fabric red when he pulled it away. "Thanks," he whispered hoarsely. The harsh combination of bile and had irritated the tender tissue in his throat and made talking difficult.

"Why don't the rest of you head home?" Seth prodded. "We'll take care of Joe." When no one in the small room moved, he strengthened his request. "Get going, all of you." The relief shone on his face when his classmates gathered their schoolbooks and began to file out the door. Four children remained, three of the members of the flinching party and Tuck. Seth had noticed the blood on the cotton and was worried Slimey's blow had damaged his friend on the inside.

"Joe you shouldn't be spitting up blood like that," Seth began and tried to think of a way to convince Joe to head for the doctor's.

"It's okay," Little Joe paused and cleared his throat. "It happens every once in a while. I've been having stomach problems since I came home from Sacramento."

Tuck looked down at Seth, his thoughts following along the same lines. He studied his curly haired friend on the floor who still was clutching his stomach in pain. "Joe you still shouldn't be spitting up blood like that. It ain't good." Tuck knelt next to Joe and put a sturdy hand on the boy's shoulder. "Maybe we ought to take you over to the Doc's?"

Joe coughed again, but this time carefully placed his handkerchief over his mouth when he did so. "It'll be…" He coughed again, then paused to take a deep breath. The pain from the blow was lessening, but the churning acid remained. "A cold day in hell..." He finally raised his head to look Tuck in the eye. "Before I willingly go to Doc Martin's office."

Seth tucked his hands into the waistband of his navy trousers and grinned. "Well, it's about forty degrees outside and I think this is as close to hell as we're gonna come for a few years."

Joe choked out a chuckle and smiled up at Seth. He was starting to feel like himself again and straightened up.

"So how about seeing the Doc?" Seth prodded.

Joe shook his head vehemently. "No way. I'll be fine." Mitch and Tuck each put a hand under Joe's arm and pulled him to his feet. The boy swayed slightly, but retained his footing after a moment. "See? I'm fine." Bile rose once again in his throat but he swallowed it down, fighting but not succeeding in keeping a sour expression off his face.

Mitch chuckled. "So you've been having problems with your stomach?" He remembered the many times when Joe hadn't even bothered to take his lunch out of his saddlebag, let alone make any pretense of eating. The previous teachers' had all made sure each child had something to eat and ate at least a portion of their lunch. Eli hadn't even bothered and many times children would've gone hungry except for the shared lunches of their friends.

Joe closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He took a deep breath before responding. "Yeah, I can't seem to shake them."

"My Pa says that milk does the trick. Cuts the acid in the stomach and makes him feel a lot better," Seth said.

Joe screwed up his face and looked up at his friend. "Ugh! That'd be almost worse than the indigestion."

Seth shrugged. "Better than tasting blood, I'd reckon."

Joe shook his head. "I have a feeling I'll be tasting a lot of blood in the next few weeks." He cleared his throat and looked Seth in the eye. "This was the start of my new plan."

"You're kidding? We can't fight back like you did," Seth said, his eyes wild with disbelief.

"I'll take care of it--don't you worry," Joe said and started shakily towards the door. "But now I've got to get started for home."

Joe walked along the edge of the stream, tying to compose the jumbled mess of thoughts dancing around his mind into an idea. The position of the sun indicated that it was well past four, which was the time he was due home to start on his evening chores. The cattails danced in the breeze, their heads bobbing in tune to some unheard rhythm that whistled through the verdant pines. A frog jumped into the stream, frightened by the closeness of the curly-haired visitor.

When they came to a widening in the stream, Joe paused on the edge of the bank and studied the swirling water, and thought how much the ever-increasing whirlpool reminded him of the problems at school. The problem with Slimey just seemed to be getting steadily worse.

Twenty minutes later, Cochise got impatient. She had been watching her boy stare into the water for too long and the evening was growing steadily colder. She nudged Joe in the backside hoping to prod him into action. Her nose connected directly with Joe's backside, the shock causing him to start and jump forward. The boy landed knee deep in the murky water. He turned and glared at the pinto. "Don't tell me you're out to get me too girl?"

Cochise nickered an apology and Joe smiled. "You're right, we'd best be getting home." He looked down at his wet boots and pants. "Just another great day all around, I guess."

Joe tied Cochise to the hitching post in to the left of the front door and grabbed his saddlebag. He hurried into the house, hoping to get a quick glimpse into Slimey's diary before he began the evening chores. The problem however was his father. Ever protective Ben Cartwright was waiting for his son to return from school.

"Well hello, Joseph," Ben began as he rose from the blue velvet chair that sat diagonally in front of the blazing fire. "How was your first day back?"

Joe' s brow furrowed and his upper lip twitched in annoyance, but he held his temper in check. An outburst now would do him no good he knew but the desire was still there. He took a deep calming breath, before answering. "Just fine, Pa," he answered calmly, then angled toward the stairs. "I'm just going to put my books away and then I'll start on the chores."

Ben smiled and gestured toward the settee. "Why don't you sit down a minute, I want to talk to you."

Joe complied, although he had to fight the almost uncontrollable urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. Once Little Joe was seated, Ben placed his coffee cup on the table and sat next to his young son. "So tell me about your day."

"It was fine," Joe answered as he stared down at his hands. The coppery tang of blood still clung to his tongue and he was anxious to brush his teeth.

"I see," Ben said as he studied the boy. Although he'd grown accustomed to the short answers of his youngest, it didn't make him feel any better. He reached over and felt Joe's forehead, surprised when the boy didn't flinch. "Well, your fever hasn't returned, so that's good." Ben noticed Joe was clutching his saddlebag tightly. "Got a lot of homework tonight?"

"Yeah, and I'd really like to get to it if you don't mind."

Ben patted the boy on the shoulder. "Get to it then. I'll have your brothers' take care of the chores. You just take it easy."

Joe hurried to his room and flopped down on the bed, then tore into his saddlebag. He quickly opened the diary and began to read.

Joe stuck a bookmark between the pages and set the volume on the nightstand. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and stretched, not even attempting to stifle a yawn. Although he'd only read the first few pages, Joe knew the words ahead would disturb him greatly and he should prepare himself for the delusions the forthcoming entries would contain. He rubbed his eyes again and shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable. His first day back at school had been very trying and he was tired, but felt he didn't have the time to take the nap his body so desperately craved. In the end, there was little choice--when Ben checked on his youngest twenty minutes later, the boy was fast asleep.

School the next day was a repeat of the previous one, with Eli continuing in his all-out efforts to break the children's spirits. After he finished his chores, Little Joe escaped to his room and pulled the diary from it's hiding place. Joe skipped over the detailed entries that he had first-hand knowledge of, preferring to concentrate instead on the feelings and emotions that Eli described.

The words jumped off the page at the boy, almost choking him in their ferocity and self righteousness. Although Joe had expected Eli's diary to be disturbing, the intensity of the entries caused the acid content in his stomach to reach new heights. When a passage vividly described Slimey's arousal as he stroked a white silk dressing gown that once belonged to his mother--halfway through the paragraph, Joe couldn't control the persistent spasms in his stomach any longer. The disgust was just too much and he rolled off the bed and retched into the nearby chamber pot. Sweat poured off his face as he tried to flush the mental images from his brain at the same time that he purged the remains of his meager lunch from his stomach.

Several minutes later, when Joe was certain the stomach spasms had stopped, he shakily stood and walked over to the wash basin. He looked at the pale face in the mirror and was shocked by his appearance. Deep, dark circles almost hid the disgusted look that haunted his deep green eyes. His hands trembled as he splashed his face with the cool water, hoping to banish the words and pictures from his mind. The images dripped from his mind like the water droplets from his fingertips: Eli, watching his mother undress; Eli, hiding in the closet while his mother seduced different men; Eli, taking a bath with his sister and thinking unbrotherly thoughts; Eli, pushing a girl down at the schoolyard and touching her as she struggled.

Little Joe shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and bring his tortured mind back to the present day. He succeeded in banishing the pictures, but the descriptive words Eli used to explain his actions remained: Forced, ripped, stiffened, aroused, stroked.

"Aggghhh!" Little Joe exclaimed as he clapped his hands over his ears trying to muffle the words. "No more!" Mercifully, the words ceased. To a boy in the midst of puberty, the thoughts of having sexual feelings about mother or sisters was beyond disgusting. Joe was very popular with girls and had done lots of kissing and some touching of the opposite sex, beyond he was sure what was appropriate. But it was always at the girl's invitation and had never proceeded below the waist. The thought of forcing his advances on an unwilling partner was foreign and very disturbing to him, but obviously not to his teacher. He walked over to the bed and lay down, hoping to calm the waves of nausea that still threatened.

A knock on the door was a welcome intrusion. Joe cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "Who is it?"

Hoss pushed open the door and poked his head in, a large gap-tooth grin dominating his face. "Just me, little brother. Pa said to tell you to come down for supper."

Joe scowled involuntarily and rubbed his still queasy stomach. "I don't suppose he'd take 'I'm not hungry' for an answer?"

Hoss chuckled and slid his hands into his pockets. "Never has in the past, I don't see why he'd start now."

Little Joe nodded and slid off the opposite side of the bed. Once standing, he eased the vomit filled chamberpot under the bed before joining Hoss at the door. "Let's get it over with then," he mumbled unhappily.

Supper was a tortuous meal to Joe, but thankfully Ben paid little attention to his youngest boy's lack of appetite. Sam Goodman, the mine foreman had joined them for the meal and the conversation somehow always returned to shaft length and ore content. Not that Joe minded, anytime the focus wasn't on him he considered it a blessing and it enabled him to dispose of the contents of his plate faster. He noticed several looks from Adam, but he was certain although his oldest brother suspected something he hadn't been caught red handed dumping his food into a napkin. When supper was over, the men adjourned to the living room for drinks and coffee.

Little Joe looked towards the stairs and thought of escaping to his room. Pa wouldn't notice he was sure and he could make some more progress on the diary. At the thought of the red book upstairs, the familiar acidic taste returned to his mouth. He swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down, then perched on the edge of the blue chair--unwilling to enter the childhood of Eli Waldoch for the time being. When Sam Goodman took his leave an hour later, Joe had fallen asleep by the side of the chair.

Adam noticed the sleeping child and smiled, glad that he'd been given an opportunity to bring up something that had been bothering him since earlier in the day. He placed his coffee cup on the table and steepled his fingers. "Pa?"

"Yes?" Ben said from his place on the sofa.

Adam rubbed the worn arms on the blue velvet chair. "I got a disturbing letter from Jacob Dayton today."

Frown lines creased Ben's brow and Hoss perked up at the words.

"It seems that the Fratelli's have threatened all of the family members over Josh testifying against them." Adam took a deep breath before continuing. "The police have put them all in protective custody until the trial."

"Well, at least they'll be safe then," Hoss said. "I'd hate to think of what could happen to them."

Adam nodded. "Desperate times call for desperate measures is the way Jacob put it." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "He told us to be careful here, just in case they should try and find out their whereabouts from us."

Ben nodded. "I'm glad we don't know anything, but …" He glanced at the sleeping boy on the floor and stood. "I sure wish this whole business was over with." Picking up Joe, he carried the sleeping form of his youngest son up the stairs and put him to bed.

Shortly thereafter Little Joe sat bolt upright in bed as a dream intruded on his subconscious. Luckily, he hadn't screamed and woken the household yet, so he was safe. He threw back the covers and quickly changed into his nightshirt. One last look around the room and then he retrieved the vomit filled chamberpot, and left for the barn.

Sneaking out was easy now for the boy and he made it to the barn with no trouble. He had emptied the chamberpot on the way and stashed it in the corner of the barn, so he could sneak it back into the house in the morning. Piling the straw in front of Cochise's stall, he grabbed his blanket from the peg on the way and snuggled deeper into the soft straw, which had been his bed for the past several weeks. He tried to will himself to not dream. It didn't work…

Joe was in a saloon, one he didn't recognize. Two men argued on either side of him, a petty battle over horseflesh. Little Joe glanced up at the soot-blackened chimney on the wall across from him. The once brightly colored apricot brick was now stained with black streaks of soot. Movement from the left of the oak mantle caught his attention, figures within the soot struggling into view. Squinting, he could make out two dragons facing each other, identifiable by the ridged back and long tails. Vaguely reminiscent of the harmless shadow pictures he and his brothers used to make from the glow of the lamp, he was mesmerized by the scene unfolding before him. All other sounds and presence faded from view. It was if he were alone in the room, the stage set, the play for his eyes alone. The players clothed in black, painted against a muted backdrop. With a thunderous roar and a burst of flame, the larger dragon bellowed his challenge. An answering roar resounded from his opponent. They rushed at each other joining in a grisly battle.

The figures thrashed wildly locked in a dance to the death. Flames seared the air, each one hoping to gain the advantage. Their talons, now dripping with blood, added red to the color scheme. Shrieks of pain pierced the night which, combined with the frenzied flapping of their wings drowned out all sound in the room. The pounding of his heart joined the wingbeat, but Joe couldn't tear his eyes away from the horror on the wall. A swipe of a claw near the throat of the smaller beast, the last deadly blow struck. The mortal wound spurted bright red, splashing Little Joe. He glanced at his hands and saw the crimson tide on his fingers, but a futile gasp drew his attention back to the battle. The mortally wounded beast collapsed on the mantle, blood flowing down the front of the chimney, its path determined by the cracks and crevices in the brick, then collecting in a pool on the hearth.

The survivor stood over the crumpled figure, conqueror and conquered and gave a deafening roar. Little Joe closed his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears, trying to muffle the sound. When the last remnants of the roar had left the air, he opened his eyes and looked up at the mantle only to find the victor staring menacingly at him, deep blue eyes rimmed with red. The beast clutched a cane in his hand.

Little Joe screamed and sat bolt upright, the sweat pouring off his body. His clothes were soaking wet. He closed his eyes and greedily gasped in oxygen. Cochise paced in her stall nervously and Joe stood quickly and calmed her. "It's okay girl, just a bad dream," he murmured as he stroked her forehead. "Just a dream." He only wished he could believe it himself.

Little Joe threw his tan saddle over Cochise’s back in preparation for the long ride to school and glanced at the wall. He shivered. Although he usually liked spending time in the barn, the fact that he slept here every night and the nightmares continued to occur made him a little leery of the large building. Knock it off—it’s just a building. Four walls and a roof-it has nothing to do with your nightmares. Think about something else. Eventually, Eli's face intruded and Little Joe’s mind jumped to an episode that had occurred that week in the schoolroom.

"That's not true--mater. I didn't touch your rouge pot. It must have been one of the girls, I swear!" Eli wailed then put an arm up as if expecting to be struck. The roomful of children faded from sight as he heard the click, click of his mother's heels on the pine floor. It was if it the sound was off in the distance at first, then with each subtle volume increase another bead of sweat would trickle down Eli's face. She emerged from the gray swirling mist and the room had gone cold--just as he had felt when he lived at home. Her tongue was sharp and her attitude cold, Eli wrapped his arms around his waist and shivered. Mrs. Waldoch had been a tall woman, broad of shoulder and hip. Not fat exactly, although her arms were powerful and her belly substantial. The white organza frock did nothing to de-emphasize her sturdy frame, instead the expanse of fabric added pounds where it was unwanted and unneeded. When the noise grew closer, Eli studied the top of his desk to avoid any confrontation.

Little Joe's thoughts returned to the present as he tried to make some sense of the occurrence. He'd carefully studied the diary that Molly had taken, and it had led to some insights about the perverse nature of the teacher's past and a general idea of where Slimey spent his time on the weekends. But to find out any events that led the man's mind to snap and derive pleasure from the sick games he played in the classroom, Little Joe would somehow have to get his hands on the older diary that was kept in Eli's desk drawer.

The week at home went relatively well for Little Joe. Although he was bombarded with orders to rest and take it easy once he returned from school, his family in general left him alone with his thoughts. This allowed Joe to re-read Eli's diary in peace and he came up with a few ideas to torment the teacher.

The weekend, however was a different story. After being sick, then a torturous week in school Joe was looking forward to spending some time with his friends doing a little exploring around Virginia City and maybe even finding the location of a cave Eli had outlined in his diary. Ben however had other plans. Not that they involved work or anything truly bad--but he chose this particular point in time to have the Saturday revolve around "family time."

Little Joe endured the checkers, chess games and other outings designed for his benefit and he was pretty sure he fooled Pa and his brothers into thinking he had enjoyed himself. But in reality, his thoughts didn't travel far from the classroom and the monster that presided over it.

Eli's weekend went far better--he penetrated beyond the farthest exploration of the archaeologists and had discovered some artifacts from ancient man. With the help of the stolen pulley system he was able to descend a sheer cliff much more quickly and even had celebrated with a bottle of whiskey when he reached new territory.

But now, back home Eli wearily sank onto his bed at the Widow Hawkin's boarding house. He'd just had a hot bath and had scrubbed all traces of dirt and bat dung from his body. All he wanted to do now was rest and prepare his lesson plan for the week ahead--but the best layed plans of mice and men often go awry.

The chessboard mocked him from its place on the table in front of the wicker settee. Two pieces remained on the grid, an elaborately carved ivory queen and a much simpler ebony pawn. The pawn had been a thorn in his side and the only remaining opponent for several days now, ever since Joe Cartwright had returned to school following his illness. The boy's absence from school had enabled the teacher to clear the chessboard of all the other ebony opponents, but in the space of a mere five days Little Joe had managed to eliminate the other ivory pieces as well.

Eli slid his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling, trying to push the thoughts of the past week out of his mind. The thoughts came unbidden to his tortured mind; Tuesday glue on the seat of his chair had enabled the entire class a brief view of his striped boxers. On Wednesday he had retaliated by caning Little Joe in front of the other students--but his opponent had gotten the last laugh by putting hot sauce on Eli's sandwich. The resulting burning sensation in his stomach had so unnerved him that he'd had to cancel classes for the rest of the day.

"Oh well, a new week to torment the boy," he decided and then closed his eyes.

"So you came all the way from Sacramento to see Adam Cartwright?" The preacher asked as he held the reins in his hands. The scenery was beautiful and he marveled at the size of the Ponderosa, as most did on their first visit.

"Yes, I did," Rosey said from her seat next to the preacher in the rented buggy. They had been on the stage together all the way from Sacramento and he had insisted on driving her out to the Ponderosa. "After all, I told him I would like to visit and sometimes I think a woman just has to take matters into her own hands."

Father Timmons nodded, and adjusted his white clerical collar around his neck. The damn thing was too tight and it was making his neck itch in the afternoon sun. He glanced once more at the unattractive woman beside him and realized he was lucky to have been given the seat next to her on the stage.

Hoss walked to the front door and pulled it open, shocked yet amused by the two people who stood in the entry. "Good afternoon, Ma'am, preacher. Please come in," he said as he gestured to the great room.

"Why thank you Hoss," Rosey said as they walked through the door frame. She stopped and looked around the room, surveying the masculine furnishings before turning back to Hoss. "We've come to see your brother Adam--we have a personal matter to discuss." She slowly pulled off her grey traveling gloves and waited for the large young man to move. After a few moments, she added. "Well? Are you going to get him or not?"

Hoss scratched his head, bewildered. "Yes, ma'am. I'll go get him." He turned and walked to the stairs, glad when his Pa came through the kitchen doorway. "Pa, Miss Rosey from Sacramento and the Preacher are here to discuss a personal matter with Adam."

Ben's eyes widened, but he kept the panic from rising in his voice. "Well by all means go get him then, son."

Hoss nodded and ran up the stairs, down the hallway and burst into Adam's room. His older brother was lying on the bed with a psychology book in his hands. "Don't you knock?" Adam asked quickly. When he noticed the stricken expression on Hoss' face he dropped the pretense of annoyance. "Out with it--what's wrong? What has Joe done now?"

Hoss walked over to the bed, truly unsure of what to say. He grabbed hold of the bedpost and stared at it. "Umm, Adam when we was at Jacob's reception, you and that Rosey woman were together a long time."

"Yeah--so?" Adam closed his book with a snap and shifted over to the edge of the bed.

"I know it ain't none of my business, but what'd you two do?" Hoss asked as he innocently sought out his brother's brown eyes.

Adam curled his upper lip. "What are you talking about? You know I can't stand her-she's the most annoying woman I've ever met."

"I know, but you know what Pa says--fighting can sometimes lead up to..." Hoss blushed. "Lovemaking."

Adam rolled his eyes in disgust and snapped his book shut. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"I'm just trying to make things easier on you older brother. I might as just come right out and say it," Hoss said, suddenly finding his boots fascinating.

"Look at me!" Adam barked as he stood up. When Hoss did as requested, he continued. "Say what?"

Hoss bit his lip, but then decided he might as well get it over with. "Miss Rosey and a Preacher are downstairs and she says they got a personal matter to discuss with you."

Adam's jaw dropped, and he sat down on the bed once more.

"I told you."

Adam's mouth opened and closed several times before words came to him. "I never....we never...." he began as he shook his head from side to side.

Hoss took hold of Adam's arm and pulled him to his feet. "Well I hope you didn't, because I don't fancy sharing my meals with that big gal. But, you got some explaining to do downstairs and we'd best get to it."

Hoss pulled a protesting Adam out the door, down the stairs and right over to their guests.

"Ah, Adam so nice to see you again," Rosey said as she put out her hands in greeting.

Adam put his hands into her outstretched ones, unsure of what else to do. She pulled him in close and kissed his cheek warmly.

"I uh--uh," Adam said and gestured toward the preacher who stood just inside the door.

"Oh, this is Preacher Timmons. We just happened to be on the stage together from Sacramento, and he kindly accompanied me here." Rosey noticed the stricken look on the mens' faces, and laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry gentlemen. I seem to think we have had a slight misunderstanding here."

The sound of the hammer being drawn back on a pistol drew their attention. "Yes, there was a misunderstanding-but it was on your part--you loud-mouthed witch." The man who had posed as a preacher said as he pointed his pistol at the group. "Now I want to know where's the boy?"

Ben and Adam exchanged glances, but before Ben answered his eyes strayed to the desk where the letter from Sam Dayton lay. It had echoed Jacob's thoughts to Adam and reinforced the danger the Cartwrights' might face.

A string of rapid Chinese could be heard from the front porch, then the door swung open. Hop Sing walked through the doorway, right into a punch from the preacher. The small man immediately crumpled to the floor and was still.

The Preacher looked down on the floor at his handiwork before returning his attention to the Cartwrights'. "Now gentlemen, before we were so rudely interrupted by the Chinaman here, I believe you were going to answer my question. Now, where's the boy?"

"What boy?" Ben asked, trying to frantically come up with a plan to save his family.

The preacher's lip curled in disgust. "Don't play stupid with me old man. The little curly haired kid who was in the Dayton wedding. I'm here to find out where Josh Dayton is hiding and I ain't leaving till I do--and I'm betting the boy knows. That Dayton brat will never live to testify."

"Why do you think my boy would know?" Ben asked, stalling for time.

The preacher snickered and pulled off the white clerical collar. "Was watching them at the wedding-them two was thicker than thieves." He caressed the top of his six-shooter. "It'd stand to reason if the Dayton kid was going to lie low for a while he'd a told his little friend." He ran his tongue over his protruding front teeth and threw the collar on the floor. "Now I'm gonna ask you again real nice--where's the boy?"

Hoss looked over at his Pa, then back to the preacher. "He ain't home from school yet."

The Preacher pulled out his pocket watch and held it in his left hand. "You sit down over there," he said gesturing to the settee and chairs in front of the fireplace. "We'll just wait till the boy gets home, but if he ain't here in twenty minutes, I'm going to start shooting."

Ben gave a small prayer of thanks that Joseph's habit of retiring to his room after chores had continued today. If it hadn't been the case, Little Joe would have been in the living room with his brothers when the uninvited guests appeared.

Little Joe had been listening through his door. He had at first found it amusing that Rosey was here with a preacher, but when he heard the hammer of the pistol pulled back he had instantly jumped out of his bed and opened his door a crack. After listening for a few moments, he realized that the man meant what he said and would kill them all. It was up to him to save his family. Joe eased the door open the rest of the way and slipped down the hall, his stocking feet making the trip silent. He walked into Pa's room and as he had done many times in the past, slid up the windowsill and climbed out on the roof. The wind whipped through his hair and he wrapped his arms around his chest trying to fight the shivers. His cold was gone now, but Pa would have a fit if he knew he went outside without a coat or boots on and was climbing around on the roof. Oh well, what Pa doesn't know wouldn't hurt him and the end certainly justified the means. He climbed down the porch, landing with a thump on the semi-frozen ground. Keeping low, he slid around the side of the house and peeked in the side window by the dining room. He saw his Pa and two brothers sitting on the couch, Rosey next to Adam. His heart leapt to his throat when he saw Hop Sing, his beloved friend on the ground by the Preacher's feet. Joe's hands doubled into fists. I've got to get help.

The preacher tucked his watch back in his pocket. This has gone on long enough. "Okay, it's been ten minutes--where is the boy?"

"You know how kids are--he probably stopped off to see one of them little gals that are always following him. He'll be home soon," Adam said, hoping that his baby brother had heard the commotion and escaped out one of the upstairs windows.

"We'll just wait ten more minutes," the Preacher said with a evil grin. "Then we'll have some fun--won't me Miss High and Mighty," he said, pointing the gun barrel at the young woman.

Rosey shuddered in response and drew closer to Adam, who reluctantly put his arm around her broad shoulders to comfort her.

Little Joe quickly organized the three hands who were in the bunkhouse. "Carl-you head for town and get Sheriff Coffee out here," Joe said as he looked at the tall black haired man. "Cliff-you head for Mrs. Monroe's house. I saw Doctor Martin headed there when I came home from school." Joe paused a moment, his thoughts on Hop Sing. "When you come back, ride in real easy. If things are okay I'll have two lanterns lit out front. If they're not....."

Carl patted the youngster on the arm and spoke softly. Although the plan was a good one, he was worried. "You sure you want to handle it this way? We could just wait for the sheriff to get here."

Joe shook his head quickly, although doubt clouded his deep green eyes. "No, that's my family in there. We've got to save them." A twinkle returned to his eyes. "Besides, if something happened to them who'd take care of me? I have a feeling no orphanage would take me with the trouble I cause."

Carl tousled Little Joe's hair as he had seen Ben Cartwright do so often. "Everything'll be fine. You'll see. But you be careful."

"I will. Now you two get going. I'm really worried about Hop Sing," Little Joe said, already thinking ahead to the confrontation that was going to happen in the house.

As they watched the two men ride off, Sam walked over and put an arm around the boy. "I don't know about this Little Joe," he said softly.

"You got a better plan? I'm sure willing to listen if you do," Joe asked, his eyes never leaving the house.

Sam shook his head. "I only wish I did. If something happens to you boy, your old man'll kill me."

Joe laughed, trying to ease the tension. "Don't worry, I think he'd have to stand in line behind Hoss. And once Hoss got through with you, you wouldn't be feeling any pain at all."

The Preacher snapped his pocketwatch closed. "All right. Times up-I want the boy and I want him now," he snarled as he pointed his pistol menacingly at the group.

The sound of the outside kitchen door opening drew their attention, as well as the sound of someone whistling-poorly.

Ben and Adam looked at each other quickly, stricken looks on their faces. "No, not Joe!"

The Preacher grinned broadly but kept his gun trained on the sofa as a curly-haired boy pushed open the door to the dining room and walked in.

Joe paused to grab an apple off the dining room table and then walked into the great room. Pretending to notice the room's inhabitants for the first time, he exclaimed loudly. "Adam you didn't tell me you were getting married!"

Turning his attention to the boy, the Preacher grinned broadly. "Actually we were waiting for you, sonny. Now suppose you tell me where Josh Dayton is?" He slowly turned toward Joe and aimed the gun at the boy.

As soon as the gun sight left the sofa, the sound of glass breaking drew their attention to the dining room. Sam shot quickly and winged the Preacher, but not fast enough to prevent the bullet that creased Little Joe 's upper thigh. With a groan, Joe crumpled to the floor.

Adam ran to the injured man and ripped the still-smoking gun out of his hands. He slapped the preacher across the face, sending him to the floor. When the man tried to rise, Adam punched him in the face for good measure, sending the fake man of the cloth spiraling into unconsciousness.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Adam knock the intruder out. "We already sent for the Doc when we saw Hop Sing down. Tell Little Joe I'll light the lanterns out front for him, then check on Hop Sing," he shouted through the broken pane of glass.

Adam nodded and turned to his little brother who was lying on the floor, cradled in his father's arms.

"Oh, Precious.." Ben said and kissed the boy's head pulling him in even closer.

A moment later, Hoss joined them, grimacing as he saw the blood on his brother's thigh. "Little Joe, you're hit."

"Just creased me-I'm fine," Little Joe said wincing as he pressed his hand down on the wound to try and staunch the flow of blood. "How's Hop Sing?" he said trying to turn to see his friend.

Ben was horrified when he saw the blood spilling out from between Little Joe's fingers. He looked over at Adam whose expression mirrored his own.

Adam took stock of the situation and quickly removed his belt. He knelt down beside his brother and looped it tightly around the boy's upper thigh to serve as a tourniquet.

Little Joe squeezed his eyes shut to fight against the added pain. "Just nicked me, I'm fine-really," he said softly.

The blood had already soaked through Joe's tan pants and started to pool on the floor. The wound was bleeding fast, too fast Adam thought as he tightened the belt even further. He looked at his baby brother and studied the young face, deep green eyes luminous with pain, pouty lower lip caught between even white teeth. Although Little Joe usually did his best to hide any injury, he couldn't do it today. Today it was prominently displayed on his face. The boy hurt. A shudder ran through Joe's body.

Hoss saw the movement. He ran to the stairs and grabbed the Indian blanket that was always hung on the railing and hurried back to his baby brother.

When his middle son handed it to him, Ben stroked the red and white blanket, which had been a gift from Chief Winnemucca when his youngest was born. The memories threatened to flood back, but he forced them away--he had to focus on the task at hand. "Thanks, son. We've got to keep him warm and conscious," he said, offering Hoss a small smile as he placed the blanket over his trembling son.

Ben watched his oldest son trying to staunch the flow of blood, as the puddle on the wide-planked pine floor grew larger and his youngest paler. "Tighten that tourniquet, Adam. We've got to get the bleeding stopped," Ben said as he cradled his precious boy in his arms. He brushed back the curls on Joe's forehead and spoke softly to him. "It won't be long now Little Joe, Doc Martin will be here soon and fix you right up."

Joe opened his eyes and looked up into the kind face of the man who had held him through countless hurts, both physical and emotional. He licked his lips while he summoned the energy to speak. "I..."

Ben put his fingers over the boy's mouth. "Don't try and talk now Precious, save your strength." When Little Joe quieted, he removed his fingers and again caressed the curly head.

"I'm fine," Little Joe managed to gasp as he shifted in his father's arms. "I don't need a doctor."

Adam and Hoss smiled at each other, even though they were covered in their baby brother's blood. They both knew Doctor Martin's ministrations were the worst conceivable thoughts in Little Joe's eyes.

"Little buddy why don't you let us decide what is best and you just lie still," Adam said as he tightened the pressure on the tourniquet. He looked at the blood on the floor, and was shocked that there was so much. His hands were covered with it, as was his shirt.

Little Joe shivered uncontrollably, even while held in his father's arms. Hoss pulled the blanket up higher around his brother's neck. "You just stay quiet punkin-everything'll be allright soon," he said, and prayed he was right.

The throbbing pain in his leg was hard to ignore. Little Joe took slow controlled breaths but it wasn't enough. He wanted to look down and see the injury but his Pa held tight to his chin. "Pa, I want to look," he murmured, thinking once he saw the bullet crease he would be able to relax.

Ben smiled and pulled the boy's face into his chest. "No you don't Precious. It's mighty messy down there and I think you're going to owe both of your brothers' a new shirt when this is over.

"Yeah, Joe. Quit bleeding on me will you?" Hoss said with a grin, trying to keep his brother's mind off the pain.

"Forget it Hoss," Adam said lightly. "You know he never listens to anything we have to say." He chanced a looked into Ben's eyes and saw the identical worry echoed there.

Little Joe chuckled softly, his sense of style different that his brothers. "Don't you worry," he said as he stifled a cough. "I'll get you two the best darn shirts you've ever seen--maybe the women would chase after you once in a while then." Joe shifted in his father's arms, and tried to move his leg. "Adam can you loosen that up a little? It's awful tight."

"I know it is Little Joe, but the bleeding is finally slowing down, so I have to keep it tight for a little while longer. Don't worry the Doc'll be here soon," Adam said as he glanced at the front door, hoping he was right.

Little Joe wrinkled his nose. As if the thought of Doctor Martin here, poking and prodding him would make him feel better. Joe wished he could see his leg. It hurt like the devil, but after all it was only a bullet crease. It couldn't be very big and they were probably just making a fuss over it like they always did.

Hop Sing knelt beside Ben, needing to look his favorite Cartwright in the face. Sam had helped him to his feet, and aside from a rapidly forming black eye, he was fine.

"Little Joe you be okay?" he asked, needing reassurance from the child he loved like a son.

Joe nodded reassuringly and looked up into his friend's kind face. "I'm fine Hop Sing. Don't you worry none. Are you allright?"

"Velly good, Little Joe," Hop Sing responded, bobbing his head rapidly up and down. "Head hurt just a little bit. I go make you some broth--you be in bed for a couple days after doctor get here. Make sure you eat good!" Hop Sing said as he rose.

Joe shook his head as vehemently as he could in his weakened condition. "No Hop Sing, I'm not going to be in bed for a couple days," he said as he turned pleading eyes up to his father. "I'm not--am I Pa?"

Ben pulled him a little closer. "We'll see what the doctor has to say Joseph--it's all up to him," he said, feeling it was best to avoid the issue at this point.

Joe tried to rise once again to get a look at his injured leg. "Pa, it's just a scratch..." Joe insisted. Even before Hoss could push him back down, the dizziness hit and he paused. "I'm fine..." he muttered before he lost consciousness and fell back into his father's lap.

Adam stared at the ten inch long gaping slash on his baby brother's leg, almost daring it to continue bleeding. If his baby brother was going to survive, it had to stop soon.

The sound of a buggy pulling in the yard was followed by the swift familiar footsteps of Doctor Martin. He pushed the door open, not waiting for an invite and rushed inside the ranch house. The sight of the three older Cartwrights, covered in the youngest's blood was enough to make him pause. Hopefully he wasn't too late. He hurried over and knelt down next to his patient, and discovered Little Joe had passed out, whether from the pain or blood loss he didn't know. The response to his question could be critical. "How long has he been unconscious?" Paul asked quickly.

"Just about a minute or so, Doc," Hoss answered. "He tried to get up to take a look, and it was like he got dizzy or something. Next thing we knew he was out of it."

"Good," Paul said as he unzipped his bag and pulled out a bottle. "Hop Sing!"

The servant ran from the kitchen in response to the Doctor's summons. "Yes, sir Doctor! I have plenty hot water, bandages all ready. Broth on the fire. What else do you need?"

"Just wanted to make sure you were all right. I was told that I was coming here to see you," Paul answered with a grin.

"Hop Sing do just fine. Eye hurt some but be okay. You take good care of my boy, and I make you special supper," Hop Sing both demanded and cajoled.

Paul smiled at the diminutive man, who had helped him so many times with the injuries that the Cartwright's seemed to bring home all too frequently. He looked down at Little Joe. Especially the youngest one, he thought as he felt the boy's forehead, then took the small wrist from Ben. He took the boy's pulse, glad that it was still strong despite the blood loss. Only then did he glance down at the jagged gash, ready to go to work. "Got that under control, Adam?"

As if cowed by the arrival of the doctor, the wound, which had been gushing bright red, had decreased. It continued to bleed, but sluggishly. Adam smiled and looked up at the doctor, then his father. "The bleeding has slowed quite a bit."

"Good, good," Paul said, knowing his presence alone calmed the Cartwrights'. At least the older ones. "Let me get in there Adam," he said.

Adam willingly relinquished his place as the Doctor knelt beside Little Joe. Paul pulled a scissors from his bag and cut away the pant leg that covered Joe's upper thigh. The wound was very deep and close to an artery. He looked up at the blood-covered Cartwright's and estimated the blood loss to be substantial. "Hop Sing, I need a pitcher of cool water. We need to replace the liquids his body has lost and fast or he's not going to make it." He pulled a brown bottle from his bag and poured a tablespoon into a small glass. He continued to bark orders as he worked. "Adam, I need a flat board about a foot long and six inches wide, as quick as you can get it." Paul looked up into the drawn face of his old friend, knowing the hurt he must be feeling as he cradled his baby boy. "Ben we're going to have to rouse him. He needs to take this," he said and gestured to the glass of medicine, "and drink as much water as we can force into him to keep his blood volume up."

Ben nodded and looked down at his boy. Joe looked like he was merely asleep, but very pale. He patted Little Joe's cheeks, and whispered. "Son, wake up. It's time to wake up."

Dark eyelashes fluttered, and Little Joe moved his head slightly. "Just five more minutes, Hoss, I promise I'll get up," he whispered.

Hoss grinned from his place at his Pa's elbow. It was usually his job to roust his bed-hugging baby brother for the morning chores. "You already had five more minutes, and Pa's awful mad, Little Joe. You best wake up and now."

Little Joe dragged a tired hand across his forehead. "Go tell him... go tell him about Adam and that saloon gal," he whispered softly. "That'll get his mind off me. Five more minutes...."

Hoss chucked his baby brother's chin. "C'mon Shortshanks, Cochise'll be wanting her breakfast. You know she doesn't like to wait."

Little Joe chewed on his lower lip and pushed Hoss' hand away. He was so tired, he just wanted to stay in this nice warm place and drift off. His leg throbbed terribly and the only way to avoid the pain was to stay asleep. But Hoss was right. Cochise would be hungry and he wouldn't let his beloved horse suffer just because his leg hurt a little bit. The roaring in his ears lessened and he decided he would risk opening his eyes. If Pa was mad at him, he'd just have to deal with it.

The skirmish going on inside his mind was evident for the three bystanders to witness. His facial expression changed with each decision, and before he opened his eyes Paul was ready for him.

It took great effort for Little Joe to finally open his eyes. What had seemed like a simple enough task when he decided to do it, took Herculean strength to complete. The scowl that sprang to his face when he saw Doctor Paul Martin kneeling before him was much easier to accomplish. He opened his mouth to complain when the medicine glass was forced to his lips and he was made to swallow the contents.

After swallowing the bitter liquid he grimaced. "That's not..." Little Joe gasped, "fair!"

Paul smiled at the fire that the young body of Joseph Cartwright contained. "Fair doesn't enter into it, boy." He accepted the glass of water from Hop Sing and looked up at Ben. "Ease him up a little, just enough so he can drink this."

Ben nodded, and raised Joe up a few inches. Paul brought the glass of water to Joe's lips and he drank deeply, whether to quench his thirst or obliterate the taste of the vile medicine was uncertain. When the glass was half empty Joe thrust it away and Ben eased him down onto his lap once more.

Footsteps from the front porch announced the return of Adam. He walked through the open front door and over to the group, a smooth pine board in his hand. "Will this do?"

Paul nodded as he accepted the wood. "Perfect." He eased the board under Little Joe's thigh and tied bandages around the leg to secure it. The splint would keep the wound still and avoid twisting which could break open the recently formed blood clots.

Adam knelt beside Little Joe and fingered the boy's curls. "How you feeling, little buddy?" he asked tenderly.

Joe smiled weakly up at his older brother. He noticed the worry lines around Adam's mouth and the creases on his forehead. "I'm fine, Adam," he said softly. "Just a little tired, that's all." Joe blinked several times and then his eyes didn't re-open.

"Paul?" Adam said quickly and turned to the doctor who had just finished securing Joe's splint.

"It's allright. We got some water into him, and I that medicine will help to build up his blood. It's probably better he's asleep when we move him upstairs." Paul wiped his bloody hands on a towel, supplied to him by the hovering Hop Sing. "I guarantee he'll be awake when we stitch this up though. It's going to take a long time and hurt like the devil."

Hoss stood and ran his hands through his hair, eager to do anything to help his beloved baby brother. "I'll carry him."

Adam shook his head, also needing to give the boy his support. "I'm the oldest, I will..."

"No," Ben ordered as he pulled his boy in closer to his broad chest. "I'll do it."

Paul smiled, as the three fought to do something constructive to help the boy. He slowly rose to his feet. "Actually, I want all three of you to do it. It'll put less pressure on his leg that way. Ben you put your hands under his arms and Hoss, Adam, you each take a leg and put your other hand beneath his back," he said as he directed the troops. "That should keep him from twisting and breaking the clots.

The three men nodded and bent to their task and carried Little Joe up the stairs and gently laid him on the four-poster bed in his room. Adam carefully eased off the boy's snow-soaked socks while Doctor Martin finished cutting away the rest of Joe's pants, leaving him with his modesty and his white cotton briefs. Paul pulled the nightstand closer to him and sat on the edge of the bed next to his patient. He dipped a cloth into the hot water and gently sponged the bloody areas around the wound, before he started in to work. The angry wound gaped redly in the sun that trickled through the windows. He gestured for Adam to turn the lamp up so it would be easier to see.

Paul looked at the three worried men. "Okay, here is how we are going to do this. You all know that as soon as I start cleaning that wound with alcohol he is going to wake up. We need him to stay calm and I'm not sure how we can do it. He can not be thrashing around while I stitch him up," Paul said contemplating the best way to handle the situation.

A minute or so later, Paul had devised a plan. "I'm going to need all three of you to get that wound closed. Ben you are going to have to hold him still," he advised.

Ben nodded and sat on the bed at Little Joe's head. He eased the boy up to a semi-seated position and slid an arm behind him. Gently he pulled his baby son in for a tight embrace, forcing the curl-covered head against his throat, effectively keeping his torso still.

Paul nodded. "Good." He turned to the middle Cartwright brother. "Now Hoss, I want you to keep that leg from moving."

"Yes sir," Hoss said as he crossed to the opposite side of the bed. He placed one large hand on his little brother's slender hip and another on his knee. This placement effectively kept both legs still and coupled with the heavy pine board Joe's injured thigh was strapped to, effectively prevented any movement.

Paul looked over at the last Cartwright. "Okay, the last and hardest part. Adam, that wound is gaping apart about 3/4 inch. When I'm ready to stitch you're going to have to hold the edges together so I can get a needle through it."

Adam ran his hand across his five o'clock shadow and nodded.

"Good. I'm going to warn you again though--We have to keep him from moving around. That wound is clotted right now, but it's real close to an artery. We were lucky to get the bleeding stopped; he could easily have bled to death. There's no guarantee we could get it stopped again if it the clots break open." Paul paused, letting the information sink in. "This is going to be hard. Stitches are very painful and it's going to take a lot of them to close a wound this size. But Little Joe has to lie still--no ifs, ands, or buts. It is a necessity." He fixed each one of them with a stare. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Hoss looked at Little Joe's sleeping face and frowned. "Can't we give him something to keep him knocked him out?"

Paul shook his head. "I wish I could, but he's lost a lot of blood. We can't take the chance. Laudanum is a blood thinner, and that is the opposite of what we need here." He looked at his young patient and noted that the boy's color wasn't returning. He took Joe's pulse and wasn't pleased with the results. "His pulse is awful weak--he may pass out in the middle of this, and I'm ashamed to say I hope he does."

Paul picked up the cloth in the bowl of water and wrung out the excess. He gently sponged around the wound, cleaning the leg of blood. "Hold him tight now. I'm going to get pretty close to the bullet crease."

Hoss nodded and tightened his grip. Joe thrashed as much as his captive status would allow, and opened his eyes as Paul neared the wound. He groaned and tried to look down, but his father held tight to his chin. "No Precious, you can't move. Just stay close to Pa and it'll be allright."

"It hurts, Pa," Joe muttered as Paul continued cleaning the wound.

"I know it does, but he'll be done soon," Ben said, trying to reassure his wounded child. He looked down at the bent head of Paul Martin and wished he were right.

Hop Sing came bustling into the room and set down a fresh basin of water and started to retrieve the dirty one.

Paul looked up into Hop Sing's dark eyes and smiled. "Why don't you just leave that for now Hop Sing. I may need you too."

Hop Sing nodded and walked over to the dresser, ever ready to lend assistance.

Paul reached into his bag and pulled out a large bottle of alcohol. He slowly unscrewed the cap and set it on the nightstand.

Though years of scratches, cuts and various other injuries--all treated with germ-fighting alcohol before bandaging, Little Joe knew the telltale sound of the lid. He squirmed, trying to get away from the burning pain that he knew was coming. "Pa! No!"

Ben fought to hold the wriggling youngster. "C'mon Little Joe, you're too weak to put up this much of a fuss-lie still."

With the little strength he had left, Little Joe fought them. "No, I'm fine. Just leave me alone!"

Hop Sing saw the struggle on the bed and instinctively knew what to do. It was what had calmed a toddler Joseph when his mother had died. He took the carved rosewood box, brought from Paris when Marie was a small girl, and wound it gently. The strains of Swan Lake filled the room and calmed Little Joe's weak attempt at fighting the inevitable.

Hoss held his baby brother's leg firmly as Doc Martin placed the alcohol soaked cloth directly on top of the wound. Joe's anguished cries filled his ears as the burning liquid did its work to cleanse and prevent infection.

Ben held Little Joe tight against his chest, and whispered soothing words to his boy. Nothing he could say would help him fight the pain, but Ben hoped his presence would comfort him. A minute or so later, Joe's struggles lessened as the alcohol evaporated.

After Little Joe had calmed somewhat, Paul threaded a surgical needle and prepared himself for the suturing. He pulled a chair close to the edge of the bed and looked to Adam. "Okay, I'm ready."

Adam sat on the edge of the bed and placed a palm on either side of the wound and drew the skin closer together. A moan from his little brother caused him to look into the deep green eyes, swimming with pain. "I'm sorry Little Joe, I know this hurts."

Little Joe hid his face in his Pa's shirt, trying to be grown up. It didn't work. He whimpered and bit his lip, but the pain was too much. The tears fell in earnest.

Like an experienced seamstress, Paul slid the needle through the skin, popping it through to the other side. He pulled the thread together over the ridge of the wound and tied a knot in the thread, then cut it and began the second stitch.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

A whimper escaped Little Joe's lips.

"Shh-little buddy, it'll be over soon," Adam soothed as he held the raw edges of the wound closed.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

"Pa, please...." Little Joe moaned as he squirmed against his father's broad chest.

"It's okay Precious, a third done," Ben said as he kissed the top of his son's head, and fought the urge to rock the boy to soothe the pain.

Paul worked diligently, pausing now and again to let his patient rest. The task could conceivably have been monotonous, except for the whimpers and groans it elicited in Little Joe.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Stitch, tie, cut.

Ben caressed the golden brown curls. "Precious, he's almost halfway," he whispered.

Little Joe could taste blood in his mouth from where he had bit his lip. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before-searing pain from the wound itself, but then pulling and puncturing. He didn't know how much more he could take.

Ben watched the movements of his friend Paul, and prayed for speed. Little Joe snuggled even closer to his father's chest, holding on to help fight the pain.

Adam paled as he watched the needle slide in and out of his brother's skin. He remembered getting four stitches in his hand after a fight at the saloon had sent him through the front window. The stitches were worse than the lecture he'd received from his father afterwards. Adam grimaced and thought of the pulling of the tender healing skin when they pulled out the thread to remove the stitches. He shuddered.

Paul paused, the needle poised in his hand and looked at his assistant who had suddenly gone as white as the proverbial ghost. Adam wasn't known to be squeamish, but there was always a first time. "You allright Adam?"

"Sure," Adam said shakily. "Just brought back a little memory..."

Paul grinned when he realized where Adam's discomfort was coming from. He recalled Ben having to hold another much older son still while Paul stitched up a hand wound. "Careful around windows now aren't you?"

Adam grinned sheepishly and looked at his little brother. Four stitches had been enough to send him running for the hills, and Adam had counted twenty-two stitches in the diagonal stripe across the boy's upper thigh. Twenty-two that was before he stopped counting.

"It's a good thing this isn't you, Adam. I recall you have enough hair on your legs to knit a sweater," Paul chuckled as looked at the lean muscles on Little Joe's legs. He stopped and re-threaded the needle. He looked up at Little Joe, held tightly in an embrace by his father. The boy was still conscious, and had managed to avoid sobbing. But his face was wet with tears, as was Ben's. He deftly tied the end of the thread into a knot, and continued his work.

Several minutes later, Paul washed his hands in the fresh basin of water on the bureau. "Not the quality of our illustrious Miss Babette, but quite a nice job if I do say so myself."

"All done?" Little Joe said breathlessly as Ben wiped the boy's tears away.

Paul wiped his hands on a towel and walked back over to the bed. "All done with the stitching part, son." He dropped the towel on the nightstand and unwound a roll of bandages. We'll just get this wrapped up real nice and tight and then I'll give you something to help you sleep.

Little Joe shook his head as vehemently as his weakened condition would allow. "I'm not tired," he protested wearily. "Besides, I promised Cochise I'd take her for a ride after supper."

"Well that's one ride I can guarantee is not going to take place--at least for a couple of weeks," Paul said as he lay two strips of wood on either side of Joe's thigh to act as a splint and then began to bandage the wound. The splint would keep the leg straight, because Paul knew there was no way Joe would lay quietly in bed until the wound healed.

"What!" Little Joe said as he struggled unsuccessfully to detach himself from his father's grasp.

"You heard me," Paul ordered as he fixed the boy with a stare. "You're not to leave this bed for at least five days--and that's five days without any complications. After that, you can go downstairs," Paul held up his hand to quell the phrase already on the boy's lips, "and lay on the couch. For at least a couple days. Then after that, I don't want you riding until at least a week after I take the stitches out."

Little Joe's bottom lip quivered. He'd had enough, and couldn't stop the silent tears that slid down his cheeks. He looked up at his father, the question in his deep green eyes.

Ben caressed his son's curls, saddened by the need to squash any hopes the boy had. "Whatever the doctor says is what we're going to do Joseph. No exceptions," he said firmly.

"But..." Joe said, his expressive eyes doing the pleading better than any words he might say.

"No exceptions," Ben said, effectively ending the conversation. When the doctor issued an order, he considered it his duty as a father to see the instructions were carried out. He pulled Little Joe in closer to him and hugged him tightly. "It'll pass fast, you'll see."

Paul finished bandaging the wound, then once again took his patient's pulse. It was racing wildly, not unusual after the ordeal the boy had just gone through. "You can turn him loose now, lets get his nightshirt on and then we'll get him settled in for a nap.

Adam grabbed a white flannel nightshirt from the dresser and handed it to Hoss. He then sat on the bed next to his baby brother and stroked Joe's cheek lightly with his outstretched fingers. "Sorry we had to do that little buddy," Adam said sadly. He couldn't get the picture of Joe struggling to fight the pain out of his mind.

Little Joe smiled tentatively. "I know Adam," he said softly. A flicker of mischief returned to the tired green eyes. "But should you really have left your fiancée' downstairs alone all this time?"

Adam shook his head and tousled Joe's curls. "That's my little buddy. Never too busy to inflict pain and suffering on his older brother."

Paul unbuttoned Little Joe's shirt as Hoss readied the nightshirt. When the last button slid free he pulled open the white shirt to reveal a deep purple bruise over the boy's sternum. Paul frowned. "How'd you get that?"

The doctor's insistent voice brought Little Joe's attention back to Paul's face. In the pain-filled minutes when his leg was being stitched, Joe had forgotten all about the bruises he was trying to hide. He shrugged, which increased the pain. "Just screwing around with the guys."

Paul didn't like the answer to his question. Deep bruising in this area was definitely caused by more than "screwing around with the guys." Paul pressed on the sternum, not surprised to see Little Joe wince. Nothing appeared broken or cracked, just badly bruised. Concluding that any further questioning was futile at this point, he decided to drop the subject--for now. "Well whatever you were doing-don't do it again," Paul said as he stood and stretched the kinks out of his back.

Little Joe nodded, glad no interrogation would be forthcoming.

Hoss slid the nightshirt over Little Joe's head and carefully pulled it down past his hips, careful to not disturb the doctor's handiwork. He then pulled the quilts up around Joe's waist and looked over at the Doctor. Paul was busily preparing a sleeping powder and a cup of the same amber liquid he had given Joe earlier.

Paul returned with two glasses of liquid. "You need to drink these two things and then you can rest."

Little Joe narrowed his eyes and carefully crossed his arms across his sore chest. He clenched his jaw. "No way, I promised Cochise I'd take her for a ride and that's what I'm going to do," he said with his jaw set obstinately.

Ben shook his head. "Joseph, you are going to do exactly as the doctor ordered," he said as he accepted the first glass. "What's this for?" he asked Paul.

"That's to build his blood back up. He'll need to take two tablespoons four times a day for a week or so," Paul said and smiled at the glare Little Joe shot him.

Little Joe shook his head again. "Huh uh, you can't make me," he said throwing all caution to the winds.

Ben looked into Joe's eyes and saw outright defiance there. He looked over at Paul.

"He has to take it--no exceptions," Paul said firmly.

Ben nodded. He knew Little Joe wasn't reacting normally after the ordeal he had been through, or the boy would have reluctantly complied with his father's orders. "Adam," he said quietly.

Little Joe's eyes flared open wildly and he tried to escape, frantically throwing the covers back. Adam grabbed him around the middle and held him tightly with one strong arm. With the other hand he forced the boy's mouth open.

Ben poured in the liquid, pausing when Adam closed the boy's mouth to force him to swallow.

As soon as he finished the first glass, the second one followed. By the time he had finished the sleeping powder, Joe's temporary blast of defiance had fled. He just didn't have the energy to sustain the emotion. He lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes, unwilling to look at the traitors that inhabited his room.

Several minutes later, Little Joe had fallen into a heavily medicated sleep.

Paul re-packed his bag as he gave the family instructions on Little Joe's care. "He'll probably run a fever tonight and tomorrow-so keep an eye on him. It was a clean wound that was attended to quickly. I don't foresee any problems, but since he lost so much blood he's going to be weak for several days. Don't let him get out of bed-whatever he says." Paul looked at Hoss, who blushed under such close scrutiny. "He could pass out and break that wound open." He handed a bottle of medicine to Ben. "Four times a day-no excuses. If you have to hold him down again--do it."

"Thank you Paul, for everything," Ben said, the worry lines diminishing slightly.

Paul patted his friend on the arm and smiled reassuringly. "I'll spend the night here and then check on him in the morning."

The next day dawned cold and clear. Paul had just finished his examination of a very unwilling Little Joe Cartwright and was putting his instruments away in his bag. He wasn't entirely happy with Joe's condition, his fever was a little higher than he expected, although acceptable with as much blood loss and trauma the boy had experienced the day before. Paul smiled as he witnessed a never-ending battle between father and son.

"Joseph you need to eat something before you go to sleep," Ben prodded, trying to force his boy to drink a cup of beef broth.

Little Joe shook his head, the pain in his leg and his prisoner status making him petulant. "I'm not hungry and I'm not going to sleep, Pa. I'm fine--just a little sore, that's all," he said as he looked down at his heavily bandaged leg and grimaced. "Besides, I have homework to finish."

Paul decided to share a little information he had gained on his last trip east. "You know my last trip to John Hopkins Medical Center I sat through this lecture about feeding tubes," Paul said as he wiped his eyeglasses on a cloth. "Seems some difficult patients refuse to eat, so they take a tube about this long," Paul stretched his hands two feet apart, "and put it down the patients throat. Then they just pour stuff right through the tube and into his stomach." He looked Little Joe in the eye. "Makes a world of difference in their appetite I understand."

Little Joe's jaw dropped and he gaped at the doctor, then turned to his father. "Pa, you wouldn't?"

Ben hid a smile behind his cupped palm. "Joseph, you know in this house we do exactly as the doctor orders. So, if Paul feels you haven't been eating properly...."

Ten minutes later, after a bowl of lukewarm beef broth eaten in protest Little Joe was in an even worse mood. His leg was very painful and he knew what he wanted to do would aggravate it the further--but he wanted to get up. The morning spent in bed was about all he could stand of confinement. Joe opened his mouth to propose a trip downstairs when Paul turned around with two glasses in his hands. One bore the dark amber liquid of the medicine to help build up his blood and the other a chalky white sleeping powder.

The battle was over much easier than the one the night before. Little Joe knew his father would not bear a repeat of his behavior regarding the medicine and so drank both glasses grudgingly.

After Paul and Ben watched the young patient succumb to sleep they left the room and started walking down the stairs.

"He'll be fine, but keep an eye on that fever. If it gets too high send for me right away, and I meant it when I said five days in bed. I know Little Joe could convince the devil to buy firewood, but don't let him out of that bed. If his fever goes down some, I see no reason you can't have him lie downstairs on the couch in a few days after we make sure there's no infection." Paul stroked his chin. "I'd say it'll be about ten days before he'll be able to go back to school, and only then if you take him in the wagon. I'll bring some crutches out later in the week for him to use. I don't want him walking on that leg for a couple of weeks or he could rip the stitches out."

Little Joe accepted the doses of medicine with an argument at every meal and tried every method at his disposal to get out of bed. Adam sat in the rocking chair in his youngest brother's room and listened as the boy tried charm as a means to escape the confines of his prison.

"Can't you convince Pa to let me out of here?" Little Joe pleaded as he plucked at the knots on the quilt that covered his legs. Not only were they not letting him get up and walk around, they insisted that he keep covered up like he was cold.

Adam shook his head decisively, although he felt sorry for his little brother. From past experience he knew being cooped up in the house had to be driving the boy mad. "Not till the Doc says so, you know that." Adam looked into Joe's eyes and thought how pale and tired he still looked.

Little Joe shifted his position and almost managed to mask the pain that it caused. "But this sitting still is just killing me..."

Adam smirked. Still was a word that he would never use to describe his baby brother. "Better killing you than Pa killing me if he knew I had let you out of that bed." He stood and stretched and rearranged the pillow under Joe's injured leg.

A groan escaped Little Joe's lips as he tried to shift his leg again.

Adam pointed a long tapered finger at his young brother. "You quit moving around and lie still." Joe tried to settle himself comfortably while complying with Adam's mandate. "You've got to keep that pillow under your leg Joe, you know the doctor said it had to be elevated.

Joe rubbed his eyes wearily. "I know, I know. 'I'm just sick of hearing 'the doctor this and the doctor that.' I just want it to be back to normal around here."

Adam softened. "I know, little buddy, I know. Next week you can hobble around on crutches, then we'll send you back to school."

As much as Little Joe hated school, he was eager to get back and hear what was going on with Slimey. A thought intruded into his mind and he looked to Adam for confirmation. "I can ride Cochise then, right?"

Adam shook his head sadly, he knew what he was going to say was going to upset his little brother greatly. "No, Pa's going to take you in the buckboard. Paul said no riding for at least three weeks."

"What!" Little Joe said and threw the covers off his lower body. "There is no way that I'm going to school in the buckboard, Adam." He pushed up on his elbows and Adam put a large hand on the boy's chest. Little Joe flinched at the added pressure on his bruise, but didn't stop complaining. "There ain't nothing really wrong with me, just a little scrape anyway. I'm fine, if you guys weren't overreacting all the time." He took a deep shuddering breath.

Ben hurried up the stairs, the sound of his youngest boy's tantrum could be heard all the way downstairs in the great room. He rushed over to the bed and helped Adam restrain Joe. "Settle down boy!" Ben roared when Joe continued to fight the confining hands.

"Pa, Adam said ..." Little Joe said and winced at a pulling sensation in his leg. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, trying to fight the pain.

Ben softened when he saw the pained look on his son's face. "Yes, I know what Adam said and he's right. Doctor Martin said three weeks till you could ride again and we are following his instructions to the letter."

Little Joe stopped fighting and lay back on the pillows, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to escape.

Ben lay his hand on his youngest son's forehead, sweeping the tousled curls off with one motion. "You're a little warm, son."

"That's because it's so hot in here!" Little Joe said petulantly, not liking the vision of being escorted to school by Pa. There was so much he was hiding from his family and he didn't know how much longer he could do it.

"Yes, yes he has a touch of a fever, but not too much," Paul said as he looked at his sleeping patient. It was just after 7:00 AM and he had stopped on his way to Carson City. Joe hadn't awakened yet from his nightly session with the sleeping powder and Paul wondered why he didn't always examine the boy this way. It made things so much easier. He eased the quilt off Little Joe's leg and carefully unwrapped the bandages holding the splint in place. As he examined the wound, he counted the stitches again to make sure they still remained in place. "Healing nicely, a little angry looking around the edges, but that's to be expected with such a large wound."

Ben nodded, shaking his head at the diagonal gash running across his boy's upper thigh.

"I'll wrap it extra tight, and I think if the fever doesn't go up any more, tomorrow you can move him to the couch," Paul said as he grabbed a jar of antiseptic ointment to dab on the wound. "But you make sure he doesn't get up off that couch, he could easily break this wound open and then we'd be back to square one."

"He'll stay put, you have my word on that."

"I don't need your word. I know you'll do everything within your power to get this boy well." Paul began to dab the ointment on the gash, neatly stitched with black thread. Joe moaned and thrashed about in his sleep and Ben laid a restraining hand on the boy's chest and leg. "Thanks Ben, I just wish he'd realize that we're only doing what's best for him."

Ben exhaled deeply. "I know, I know."

"Why don't you try skipping the sedative tonight? See how he makes out," Paul asked as he continued dabbing the wound.

"Okay, if you think that's best."

"Well, let's try it. If he has another nightmare, we'll continue with the sedative until he's up and around."

Adam sat in the rocker next to his baby brother's bed and watched the boy sleep. The soft strumming from his new guitar had quieted Little Joe enough to fall asleep despite the pain from his injured leg. The room, save the feeble light cast forth from a turned low lamp was shrouded in darkness. Adam felt in his heart, rather than heard the first signs that a nightmare had begun.

"No! Please!!" Little Joe whimpered, tossing and turning despite his heavily bandaged leg.

Adam rose quickly and sat on the edge of the mattress, gently patting the sweat-damp shoulder. "Shhh little buddy it'll be okay." He murmured, holding the boy still until the dream departed. When certain Little Joe had slipped back into sleep, Adam rose stiffly and walked over to the window that overlooked the backyard. The shafts of moonlight danced off the pine trees and the memories from the past trickled into his mind. Games played with his two younger brothers in the confines of the yard and the woman he had come to love as a mother. After a moment he glanced at Little Joe's dresser and noticed the picture of Marie was facing him, the silver frame glinting in the dim light. "What are we going to do Marie?" He took a deep breath and walked over to the dresser and picked up the picture. "I just don't know what to do to help." After a moment, he returned to the rocker and set the picture on the nightstand. He picked up the guitar and began strumming again, when a song slipped into his mind. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, the ghost of Marie standing beside him.

Joe quieted enough to fall back into a fitful sleep till morning.

"I'm bored, Pa. I just can't stand it anymore." Little Joe whined as he forked a piece of tender roast pork to his mouth. "I need to get out of here." He was lying on the settee in the great room, bored out of his mind. The restriction to the couch or his room had been driving him insane. He needed fresh air and excitement, not this stale existence of being carried from his bed to the couch and back again.

"It'll come soon enough, Joseph." Ben turned to Hoss who was savoring a mouthful of Hop Sing's winter squash. The Cartwright's were eating supper at the game table in the living room, the round mahogany table had been pulled up next to the settee where Joe was lying. Ben hoped that the meal taken with his family would keep the complaining to a minimum, but this hadn't occurred. "Hoss, how about you take Little Joe on in a game of checkers after supper?"

Before Hoss could answer, Joe spoke up. "I'm tired of playing checkers, I want to go outside and see Cochise." He turned his most potent weapon, his twinkling green eyes on a vulnerable target. "Pa, please, just let me see her and then I'll behave, I promise."

"Ha!" Adam scoffed. "Like we haven't heard that before. "There is no way in hell you are getting off that couch until Doc Martin says so." He took a bite of the pork and savored it as he chewed. Joe just has to learn to follow Doctor's orders or those stitches will never heal. Of course, he looked over at his father, and winced when he realized he was correct. I should've let Pa say that.

Ben cleared his throat as he glared at his oldest son. "Thank you Adam, for your opinion. However, I am still Joseph's father and I will make the decisions here--is that understood?"

Little Joe tittered and hid a smirk. He straightened the collar on his white cotton nightshirt as a means to hide his amused expression. It was so rare to see Adam get in trouble that you had to take them when you got them.

Adam rolled his eyes as he toyed with his food. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I overstepped my bounds."

Ben glanced to his right and saw Joe's failed attempt to contain his amusement then looked over at Adam. "Yes, you did. But you are exactly right son," he agreed as he turned back to Joe. "You are not getting off that couch until Doc Martin says so."

Joe scowled and pushed the food around on his plate again. Life is so unfair.

"And, eat your supper. I want that plate clean, and then since you don't want to play checkers with Hoss, it'll be time for beddy-bye for you. Maybe a long night's sleep will put you in a better mood tomorrow."

Joe exhaled loudly at the injustice of it all. "Pa…" he began to try another tact, reasoning.

Ben held up a hand to silence his boy. "I don't want to hear another word out of you. You should spend the remainder of your time eating, and we both know you can't talk with your mouth full. I want that plate clean--end of discussion!"

Little Joe's leg healed gradually and he was allowed up and around with crutches a few days later, though still confined to the level areas of the house. He did manage to sneak out to see Cochise three times and reassure his beloved horse that he was indeed, fine. Joe considered himself lucky that he only got caught once, and hoped that his luck was indeed changing for the better.

While Little Joe endured his own private hell at home at the hands of his family and the doctor, Eli had problems of his own. With his favorite whipping boy missing, the teacher's thoughts turned inward and the ghost of Mrs. Waldoch became an even bigger problem.

Eli paced back and forth in his room, arguing with the shade of his mother. "It's not my fault, you bitch!" he sneered. "He was shot and his father won't let him come to school."

A shadow crossed the room and whispered, her words heard in the mind only of Eli Waldoch. "A likely story, but then you always could be counted on to come up with an excuse."

Eli's face hardened and he began to sweat profusely. "You never did support me, did you? It was always my fault, no matter what happened, wasn't it?"

Mrs. Waldoch's teeth clicked in amusement as she tormented her only son. "I was proven right in the end, wasn't I? Lack of self-control has proven to be your weak point throughout your life and I'm sure will eventually will lead to your downfall." Ghostly heels clicked back and forth on the floor. "That slant-eyed whore was the beginning and that boy will be the end. Mark my words."

The next day, Eli studied the heads of his students as they worked on his latest assignment. Not that he was actually teaching them anything, just a little lesson in self-preservation. The last person to finish copying down the five assigned pages from their history book would be the unfortunate recipient of a note home to their parents. Eli grinned, revealing his uneven and stained teeth. They were all writing furiously and had been doing so for half an hour.

"Pathetic." The word echoed through the room, causing Eli's grin to quickly turn into a frown.

He scowled and surveyed the rafters. "What do you mean by that?"

Seth shifted uneasily in his seat but continued writing. He didn't want to risk another session with his father's belt, but it was sounding like Slimey was going to have another discussion with a ghost.

"You know exactly what I mean, you worthless piece of trash. You have them writing pages out of their books? How original!" Mrs. Waldoch sneered. "What'll you do for an encore--bake them cookies?"

Eli clenched his hands in anger, then forced himself to relax them. He picked up a pencil and stroked it aimlessly, trying to keep his cool. Don't let her get to you-she's not even real. She's been dead for years, if you ignore her she'll just go away.

"Ha, ha, ha," the specter squealed. "You think it will be that easy?" The room, warmed by the pot-bellied stove in the back suddenly turned cool--then cold.

The change in the temperature was noticed by the children and several of them chanced a glance back at the stove. It still glowed and appeared to be throwing off heat, but the room wasn't retaining it.

Seth rubbed his hands together and blew on them, trying to keep the cold from intruding and slowing down his writing. A sudden movement up front caught his attention and he looked at Eli.

Eli jumped to his feet, overturning his chair in the process. "I am in charge here!" he screamed. "You will not tell me what to do!" He grabbed his metal pointer and gestured toward the ceiling. "You are dead! Do you hear me? Dead!"

Seth listened to the outburst, afraid to believe and yet more afraid to disbelieve--a dilemma he and his friends had been struggling with for weeks. Was their teacher actually talking to a ghost, or had he gone completely mad?

The one-sided conversation continued for twenty minutes, in tones ranging from uncontrolled screaming to attempts at rational dialogue for short periods of time. The classroom sensed the end was near when Slimey sat down at his desk and threw his glasses on the table. He clenched his hands into claws and raked them through his hair, leaving deep furrows that showed traces of pink scalp.

"Mother, please …" Eli implored, unable to continue the argument.

"At least have the nerve to go visit the boy and let him know just how anxious you are for his return," Mrs. Waldoch suggested, clicking her teeth in disapproval. "If you had any guts, you'd …"

"Stop mother!" Eli screamed as he banged his head on the desktop in a frantic bid to regain control. When it didn't succeed, he sat down on the chair behind his desk and sighed. "Allright, I'll go out to the Ponderosa and talk to the brat." He closed his eyes in frustration. "Now please leave me alone."

Eli smiled as the Ponderosa ranch house came into view and he pulled his black coat a little tighter around his throat. The late autumn wind whipped around his shoulders and he kicked the horse into a gallop, eager to reach the house and get out of the weather.

Hoss Cartwright opened the front door and strode out onto the porch, thoughts of a lazy afternoon foremost on his mind. The big man had been busy for weeks readying the herds for the long and harsh winter ahead and was looking forward to a little break. A rider was not a welcome sight and didn't bode well for his plans.

Hoss abruptly changed his mind when Mr. Waldoch dismounted from his horse. Surely a little visit from Joe's teacher would perk up the boy's spirits and have no affect on Hoss' planned leisure. With that thought foremost on his mind, he offered his hand to Mr. Waldoch and greeted the teacher warmly. "Well there, Mr. Waldoch it's very nice to see you."

Eli accepted the greeting and shook the large man's hand firmly. "It's very nice to see you again, Hoss. Things are well on the Ponderosa I trust?"

Hoss ran a beefy hand through his thinning red-brown hair. "Yes sir, things are just fine--except for Little Joe of course."

"Yes, of course except for young Joseph," Eli said as he wrapped his horse's reins around the hitching post. "In fact, it is he that I've come to check on." He ran his tongue across his lips, allowing a slight nervous habit to break through his carefully controlled persona. "Do you think I could see him for a few minutes?"

Hoss tucked his hands into his pockets and looked in the general direction of Joe's bedroom. The boy had been insistent on skipping his afternoon rest and Hoss had almost had to resort to physically carrying him up to his room. In the end Joe'd given in, but only after extracting a promise that the prescribed two hour rest could be cut in half. The boy was supposed to be napping right now, but Hoss knew he wasn't. Joe was most likely lying on the bed pretending to be asleep--so a little interruption wouldn't hurt. "You sure can, Mr. Waldoch. Little Joe's been chomping at the bit to get back to school." Hoss paused and scratched his head, bewildered at the thought. "I don't mean no disrespect, but I can't really figure out why. He ain't never been so eager to get back to school before."

Eli gritted his teeth at the thought. "Is that so?" It had never occurred to him that his opponent was eager to continue the match. Instead, he'd assumed the brat was enjoying his time away from school, not pining away at home.

Hoss nodded. "Yep, it sure is." He gestured toward the front door. "Why don't I show you to Joe's room?"

Eli smiled in anticipation of the spectacle that was to come. "I'd certainly appreciate it."

Little Joe banged his head against the headboard, trying to distract himself from the bothersome thoughts that ran continuously through his mind. He couldn't help but feel like he'd abandoned his friends and left them at the mercy of their teacher. I've got to get back to school. Unconsciously he shifted his sore leg and winced at the instant pain it caused. Although he'd done a good job of hiding the stinging pain when he was hobbling around on crutches, when he was alone there was no need to disguise the discomfort. The gash on his leg was still very sore, and caused him great pain whenever he tried to put any weight on it. Of course, Doc Martin had forbidden him to try and stand on it at all, but the guilt over his friends was overwhelming--so any possible chance of returning to school early was worth the pain.

Joe hiked up his blue and white striped nightshirt to study the heavy bandage and splint that encased his thigh. Although Doc Martin had changed the wrappings several times, he'd always been very careful to shield the wound from Joe's eyes, to prevent the boy from being frightened at the severity of the bullet wound.

Joe bent his knee as much as the splint would allow and winced at the now familiar pulling sensation across his thigh. He looked over at the door and wondered if he should try walking on his bad leg and calculated the odds of getting caught. Pa and Adam were both gone until late and Hoss was in charge. Joe thought about his big brother for a moment and was saddened by the change in Hoss' behavior since they'd returned from Sacramento. At the wedding and shortly thereafter, he'd been the same friend and co-conspirator. But when they'd returned home Hoss had changed almost overnight into a responsible adult intent on furthering the business prospects of the Ponderosa. Sadly to Joe, it seemed like his beloved older brother had grown up. Although he had expected it to happen at some point it was an especially bad time just when Joe started school with Slimey as his teacher.

Joe eased his sore leg out of bed and gently touched the floor with his foot. He took a deep breath and slid his body to the side of the bed, then sat up and put his other foot on the floor. A twinge in his bad leg caused him to hitch in his breath, but Joe continued anyway. Biting his lower lip and pushing off the mattress, Joe stood up. He put all his weight on his good leg and straightened. Taking a deep breath for nerve, he tentatively put a little weight on his sore leg. Joe groaned and clenched his jaw tightly, trying to fight the searing pain that ripped across his thigh. Sweat broke out on his upper lip as he struggled against the pulling sensation at the edge of the stitches.. In the end however, the pain won and he collapsed backward onto the bed. After a moment the ache lessened and he slammed a fist onto the mattress.

"Damn!" he swore, both angry and ashamed at his own weakness. Joe carefully scooted up in the bed until his back was resting against the headboard.. He looked up at the beams that crossed the ceiling and fought to contain his frustration. Biting his lip, he pictured the crutches he'd been forced to use since his injury. Joe hated them. Accustomed to being light on his feet and having the agility of a cat, the crutches made him feel clunky and slow. To his young mind, the crutches symbolized weakness and Joe abhorred it. A spasm rippled through his leg, the damaged muscles protesting the sudden strain he'd placed on them earlier. Squeezing his eyes shut, he banged his head against the headboard hoping to distract his mind from the pain. Tears threatened and he fought valiantly against them--only to lose the battle once again.

A moment later, a sharp rap at the door surprised him and he quickly drew his hand across his face to disguise the path of his tears. "Come in," he said shakily.

The door thrust open and Hoss entered, his face lit by a radiant smile. "Hey there, little brother. I brought you some company."

Joe took a deep breath and grinned slightly, the thought of Seth or Mitch taking his mind off his problems cheered him somewhat. "Sure Hoss, who is …" The question caught in his throat as the hulking figure of Eli Waldoch crossed the threshold to his bedroom. Joe's eyes widened and he fought the urge to swear. His earlier trials attempting stand on his bad leg had left him distraught, and now the added upheaval of a visit from Slimey threatened to put him over the edge.

Eli instantly sensed all was not right with Little Joe Cartwright. The calm, self-assured boy that usually graced the classroom wasn't lying in bed before him. His practiced eye could spot the tell-tale tear tracks down the boy's pale face and the eyes were a little too bright. Joe'd been crying, that was a certainty. But over what? Eli pulled a ladderback chair over next to the bed and eased his black-clad frame onto the seat. Turning to Hoss, he graced the large man with a false smile. "Hoss, would you leave us alone for a few moments please? I've some school work I'd like to discuss with Little Joseph."

Hoss grinned agreeably and edged toward the door. "Yes sir. In fact, I've got some work to do out in the barn, so if you don't mind could you let yourself out when you're finished?"

Eli's false smile became a genuine one. "Of course," he said, pleased that he would have

total privacy for his conversation with his favorite whipping boy.

As soon as the door closed, the placid smile on Eli's lips turned into a sadistic grin. "So this is where poor Little Joe is holed up, eh?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You don't look too bad off to me. What's the real story?"

Joe's brow furrowed in consternation and his hands trembled from the strain. "The real story?" he echoed.

Eli took off his glasses and glared at the injured child who lay on the bed. "Come off it Cartwright. You're just afraid to me to school and face me--admit it!"

"No!" Joe shouted, forgetting for a moment that Hoss was relatively close and undoubtedly hadn't left the house yet. "That's not true!"

"Save your excuses for someone who'll believe them, boy." Eli leaned over the bed and pushed his face close to his pupil. "I know the real reason," he taunted.

Joe leaned as far back into the pillow as he could, trying in vain to escape both his teacher's foul breath and venomous words. The sharp retorts that usually were so readily available were missing today. Joe sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Sensing surrender in his opponent for the first time, Eli went in for the kill. "You were always a worthless little piece of shit," he taunted, not even realizing that he was using the very same words on Joe Cartwright that his own mother had used thirty odd years before. "It's too bad you didn't prove to be worthy of me, I did have some hopes that you would turn out to be a genuine adversary, but now I can see I was badly mistaken."

Joe kept his eyes tightly shut, trying to blot out the words as much as possible. He bent his good leg at the knee and wrapped both arms around it, hoping to escape the scene enfolding before him.

Eli stood slowly, deliberately and then walked over to the bureau. He picked up the cast silver frame which contained a picture of Marie Cartwright. He studied the picture for a moment, then turned back to the bed. "This your mother, whelp?"

Joe tentatively opened his eyes and looked over at Eli. Not trusting his voice, he nodded slowly.

A lopsided grin curled Eli's lips. She looked like a coldhearted bitch of a woman, just like my..."

"Don't you say it!" Joe exploded and started to rise. "Don't you try to compare my mother to that pathetic excuse for a woman that bore you!" Joe sucked in a deep breath and continued. "If you are proof of her handiwork then she should have been jailed!" Joe's voice grew louder with each accusation until he was to the point of losing all control. His left foot hit the floor and he eased his sore leg to the side of the bed. "If she'd have had any sense the bitch would've drowned you at birth! " He rose shakily and grabbed the bed post for support. "But no, she had to keep you alive to torment the rest of us." Joe paled as he placed weight on his sore leg, but refused to show any weakness to his teacher. "You're going to lose though, so help me God you'll lose!"

Eli rolled his eyes, then studied his fingernails in disdain. "As if I'd be concerned with a child. Why you're hardly out of diapers, boy." He set the picture back on the bureau and walked over to stand before Joe. Staring down at the slight boy, he curled his lip. "You and your friends always were a bunch of sissies, and this whining over some little cut on your leg is pathetic." With a final glare, Eli leaned over the bed and smacked Joe on his sore leg with the back of his hand.

Joe's grip on the bedpost tightened and he looked away to prevent the scream that sprang to his lips.

Eli frowned, disappointed that no scream punctuated his visit. "Worthless little piece of shit!" he complained under his breath, then stalked out of the room.

When he heard Eli's feet on the stairs, Joe let loose the groan he'd barely managed to contain. The tears slid down his cheeks and he clutched his bad leg, trying to make the searing pain stop. "I'll be back before you know it, Slimey," he promised. "And I'll be the one who comes out on top."

Joe plucked at the bed sheets as he tried to control himself. He wanted to cry in frustration and scream in anger both at the same time. His lower lip trembled as he looked up into the deep brown eyes of Ben Cartwright. "Pa, please! Can I go back to school tomorrow?" Little Joe begged. "My leg feels just fine!"

Ben sat on the edge of the boy's bed and placed his hand over Joe's. "I understand you're tired of being cooped up in the house, but I just can't ..."

Joe shook off his father's comforting touch. "Yes you can, Pa," he said earnestly, trying to get his point across. "You can do whatever you want. You're the one who said school was so important and all I'm trying to do is ..."

Ben cupped Joe's smooth cheek in his hand. "I know you think your leg is better, son," Ben chided gently. "But it's not. Paul said another week on crutches and that is the way it's going to be."

Joe pulled away and crossed his arms across his chest. He set his jaw defiantly and looked away.

Ben gently took Joe's chin and turned the boy to face him. "You know the rules in this household, Joseph. They are the same for Adam and Hoss. Paul's orders are followed to the letter, and he said ..."

Joe pulled away again and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Believe me, I remember what he said," he snarled.

Ben frowned and grabbed Joe by the chin, a little firmer this time. "As I said, I understand your frustration son, but I will not put up with this attitude." Joe tried to pull away a third time but Ben held firm. "Joseph!"

Joe huffed, but managed to force a little contrite smile. He realized that he wasn't going to win this way and he'd better think of another idea. Hopefully one would come to him before school started again on Monday.

Ben released the boy's chin and returned the smile. "That's better."

Hop Sing shuffled through the doorway, a glass of milk laced with a sleeping powder in his hand. Ben accepted the glass and turned to Joe. "Here you are, son. Your bedtime glass of milk."

The scowl returned to Joe's face. Although he'd been drinking milk to help with his stomach problems, he knew the nightly glass contained more than just milk. Although he was glad the nightmares had stopped since the prescribed sleeping powders arrival, he hated the fuzzy feeling they caused. He stuck out his lower lip and leaned farther back against the headboard. "Do I have to?" he asked, scrunching up his face in disdain.

"Yes, you do." Ben placed the glass in Little Joe's hand. "No argument, boy. Drink it."

Joe did as requested, though the sour look remained on his face. When finished, he scrunched down in bed and closed his eyes, certain sleep would arrive in a matter of minutes.

Doc Martin pulled the door shut to Little Joe's room and motioned Ben down the hallway. It had been a very difficult exam and the boy had been petulant and out of control. It had taken a very serious threat from his father to get the Joe to settle down enough to even have Paul remove the bandages and look at the healing wound. "His leg is healing nicely and he's been doing very well with the crutches. I think he needs to get out of the house but he's not ready for school yet."

Ben nodded as he stroked his chin. "Should I let him go outside then? He's been driving me to the point of distraction over seeing that horse."

Paul chuckled. "No, I don't think having him in the barn, unsupervised is a good idea. Knowing Little Joe, he'd be up on that pinto and gone before we had a chance to stop him."

The two men descended the steps in silence and walked over to the fireplace. They stared into the brightly burning flames for a moment before Paul spoke. "Have you thought about taking him to the dance tomorrow night?"

Ben pulled his pipe from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. "The dance? He's too young." When Adam and Hoss had been Joe's age Virginia City wasn't large enough to boast a community center like it did now. Ben had decided last year that fifteen was the right age for his precocious youngster to start attending the gatherings that made up the main part of the town's social calendar.

Paul paused a moment, pondering how to proceed. "I know he's a little young, but the excitement might do him good. It's a public place and you could keep a close eye on him, yet let him spread his wings a little bit." The thought of anyone short of a troop of Cavalry keeping a close enough eye on Little Joe Cartwright made him smile. "Besides, you know the mothers' of Virginia City have been bugging you to let him go anyway."

Ben nodded, remembering the many gentle proddings from the women-folk that their daughters would love to have his youngest at the town dances. "But…"

Paul shook his head to answer Ben's question before he could ask it. "Not that he could dance, you understand. But a little socializing would do him good. You could take him in the wagon, stay a while then head home."

"Okay," Ben said as he stroked his chin and thought of all the potential trouble Little Joe could get into. "But I don't know if I'm up to keeping an eye on him."

"I don't think anyone is, Ben but you'll have to play it by ear." Paul walked over to the settee and sat down. "After all, he's just one thirteen year old boy, after all."

The next evening, Adam and Ben walked into the gaily-decorated community building that was located on the outskirts of Virginia City. The building served as the meeting house for civic elections, church socials and various other events that concerned the town.

Ben stopped and took off his hat and gun, placing them on the side table just inside the door. He waited for Little Joe, who hobbled in a minute later, the crutches making his progress slow. Once Joe was inside, Ben slid his arm around the boy. "Now remember what the doctor said. I want you to sit down mostly with your leg propped up. A little walking and standing is okay, but not too much," Ben admonished.

"Uh, huh," Little Joe responded, not even listening to the words. The excitement over his first dance was too much to be dampened by any restrictions. Although dances were held here every other Saturday night, this was the After Harvest dance and the event of the season. Brightly colored paper lanterns in varying shades from gold deepening to orange then crimson hung from the ceiling giving the room a soft glow. At the far end of the building was a sturdy pine table covered with a bright orange cloth that held two punch bowls.

"Why don't you sit here and I'll go get you a glass of punch," Adam said as he gestured to an overstuffed chair in the corner where older men and ladies usually congregated.

Ben raised an eyebrow at the latter half of the suggestion.

"The ladies' punch," Adam said quickly, referring to a fruity mixture without alcohol.

Little Joe scowled but decided to let it go. "No thanks, I see some friends I want to talk to," he said as he swung his crutches past Adam and slowly made his way to the far corner of the room where a group of young ladies were smiling boldly in open invitation.

Joe had been flirting with the girls for over twenty minutes when Adam came over. "Hey buddy," Adam said as he slipped his arm around Joe's shoulders. "What do you say you sit down and take some weight off that sore leg of yours?"

Joe rolled his eyes. He was right where he wanted to be. Eliza Sue had been running her hand down his back for the past five minutes, and she wanted to go outside to "talk." That talk was something that Joe wanted more than life itself. "I'm fine right here, Adam." He inclined his head toward a homely woman on the fringes of the dance floor. "I see Miss Abigail looking for you, why don't you go talk to her and leave me and the girls alone?"

A frown instantly graced Adam's handsome features. "I don't think so," he said as he checked the perimeter of the room for the spinster, hoping he hadn't been seen by her sharp eyes. With a sigh of relief, he turned back to his little brother. "I want you to sit down right now, or I'll find Pa and we'll head back to the Ponderosa--understand?" he ordered.

Joe shrugged out of Adam's grasp and glared up at his older brother. "I said I'm fine," he hissed through gritted teeth.

Adam's frown deepened, as it usually did when his little brother didn't instantly obey. "You know I'll do it," he threatened surveying the crowd for Ben. "You know what the doctor said, you are to be sitting down with your leg propped up--and if you aren't going to follow his instructions…"

"C'mon Little Joe," Mary Kate, a tall willowy blonde prodded. "We'd love to sit with you--wouldn't we girls?"

When the four other girls in the group responded enthusiastically, Joe conceded. "All right, I guess I'll sit down."

Adam had been talking to Jeb Adams, the head of the school board for about twenty minutes when an unwelcome visitor grabbed his arm. "Oh, Ah-dum," she drawled "Dance with me."

Adam grinned, without showing any teeth. "I'd love to Miss Abigail, but as you can see Jeb and I." He gestured to the tall dark haired man beside him. "Were talking about the school."

"Some other time will do just as well, I'm sure. I live down the road from the school and haven't heard hide 'nor hair of those children for weeks." Abigail tightened her grip on his arm and gave a tug. "I said, let's dance."

"I don't want to be rude and leave poor Jeb here all by himself," Adam said, deep brown eyes pleading for rescue from his long-time friend.

Jeb grinned evilly. "I'm sure I can find a suitable companion, Adam. You go and enjoy yourself."

"Thanks a lot," Adam scowled, then let himself be pulled onto the dance floor. He put his left hand into Abigail's and slipped his right stiffly around her slender waist. He looked down into the washed-out features of his dancing partner. Her dull brown hair was severely pulled back in a bun so tight that no tendrils even threatened to escape and soften the pinched features of her face. Wire-rimmed spectacles perched precariously on her long and pointed nose, but the worst part of Abigail Jones, in his opinion was the annoying habit she had of calling him Ah-dum" in an annoying northeastern twang.

Adam rarely found himself tongue tied, but the words just didn't flow when he talked to Miss Abigail. "Nice dress," he finally said in a futile attempt to say something. Unfortunately, it wasn't the truth. The frock was pale gray with peach flowers sprinkled abundantly across her almost non-existent chest. The gown sported a high neck with white eyelet around the collar, an unfortunate design mistake that gave an onlooker the impression that her head was perched atop a frilly napkin.

"Isn't this just wonderful," Abigail tittered as she noticed the jealous glances of the other available women at the dance. Adam Cartwright was considered the biggest "catch" in the territory and would be for some time to come. "Dancing the night away in your arms, has to be every girl's dream come true."

Adam wasn't listening to his partner. He was too intent on keeping an eye on his youngest brother. He saw a girl run her hand through Joe's curls and beckon him outside. Eliza Sue was a strawberry blond who had matured to womanhood very early and sported the lowest décolleté of any female at the dance. Her tight blue dress left little to the imagination and in fact when Adam had first seen her he'd wished for the first time in a long time that he was closer to her age of seventeen.

Little Joe struggled to his feet wincing as his foot hit the floor. Each time he put weight on his leg it pulled the skin around the stitches and sent a twisting sensation up his thigh. He'd gotten used to it, but it still hurt. Wedging the crutches under his arms he followed Eliza Sue toward the east door.

Adam saw red. As a seasoned veteran of the bi-weekly dances, he knew exactly what went on outside the east door. There were a number of picnic tables set back under the trees where lovers and sweethearts shared kisses, and if they were more daring traveled through the woods to a meadow where…. Damn, he's out the door already, following a girl four years his senior. "Excuse me, Miss Abigail." He muttered and started toward the door.

Not one to lose her quarry once she had him hooked, Abigail tightened vice-like fingers on Adam's upper arm and followed toward the door.

"Adam, Adam Cartwright," a tall blonde man in a heavily starched white shirt bellowed.

Adam rolled his eyes but stopped. "Hi Bill, how's it going?"

Bill Simpson was one of his father's oldest business associates and a man they counted on to buy tens of thousands of dollars of timber every year. There was no way he could slip past him.

The conversation about possible business propositions from the mine owners' was mercifully short, and three minutes later Adam was once again headed outside. He didn't even notice the extra attachment on his arm. He stalked out the door looking for his wayward little brother. Not only was he worried about the possible romantic entanglements for the boy, but the terrain was rocky and uneven and Little Joe on crutches with a leg full of stitches sent warning bells off in his head. The memory of Little Joe covered in blood from the bullet wound was still fresh enough in his mind to add extra speed to his step.

Oil lanterns lit the way to the tree line, placed there to give some semblence of propriety and to ensure that lovers made the short walk to the meadow instead of taking out their passions on top of the picnic tables.

Adam scanned the tree-line. There they are, off in the far corner near the trees. At least she hadn't taken him too far-- in distance anway. He took a deep breath, wondering how he was going to prevent Little Joe from entering manhood too early. Adam stalked over to the table, Abigail still trailing behind with a death grip on his arm.

Little Joe and Eliza Sue were deep in a passionate kiss when Adam joined them. Joe was too enticed by the reality of his first French kiss to notice when a shadow loomed over them, but when Adam cleared his throat sharply he recognized the sound instantly and reluctantly broke the embrace.

"Just what in the hell are you doing out here?" Adam demanded as he propped his palms on his hips. His voice was an octave lower than usual, a sign Little Joe knew signaled displeasure which had a habit of turning into anger.

Little Joe looked up into the angry face of his oldest brother, then to the right into the peaked features of Miss Abigail. He smoothed his hair nervously and couldn't help the saucy rejoinder that sprang to his lips. "Same thing as you are, I'd reckon."

Adam followed Joe's glance and for the first time realized that Miss Abigail was latched onto his arm. When he turned back to the boy and Eliza Sue his eyes were as black as coal. "Why you little …" he bellowed and grabbed Little Joe by the arm. Mindful of the boy's injured leg he pulled him to his feet and swatted him sharply on the backside. "You get your butt inside before I add to that right here in front of your little girlfriend," he hissed into Joe's ear. "You've got no business being out here alone with a girl."

Realizing the threat was real, Little Joe quickly grabbed the crutches that Eliza Sue handed to him and started back toward the building. Adam watched him leave and started to calm down slightly. A claw-like grip on his arm pulled him back to a more immediate problem.

"Oh, Ah-dum, here we are in the moonlight, let's sit on the bench and get to know each other better," Abigail purred loudly.

The tiger-like zeal in her voice reached Little Joe's ears just as he was on the step to re-enter the community building. Joe couldn't resist. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called over his shoulder, then quickly entered the building.

"Why that little!" Adam barked. He took a step forward to chase after his brother but couldn't move.

Miss Abigail Jones, all five feet seven inches and one hundred skinny pounds of her was stronger than she looked. She retained her grip on his muscular arm and pulled him to the bench, forcing him to sit beside her. "I've dreamed of this moment, Ah-dum," she whispered as she grabbed him by his jacket lapels and pulled him close.

"Uh, Miss Abigail?" Adam said tentatively as he tried to back away. If there was one person in the world who he had no desire to sit in the moonlight with it was Abigail. He looked hopefully toward the dance, hoping for a rescue, yet knowing none would be forthcoming.

Abigail's voice dropped lower with desire as she pulled him closer. "Ah--dum, call me 'Abby'."

She ran her hand down his muscular chest, and Adam's mind drifted back to the other available women at the dance. There were several delectable pieces of womanhood that he'd like a chance to step into the moonlight with. If he could just get rid of this plain woman who seemed to hound him every time he arrived in Virginia City. He looked down at the thin lips and upturned face, poised for a kiss. Maybe what she needed was a lesson in what a real man needed and then she'd shy away from him. Decision made, he pulled her closer. "Oh, Abigail," he whispered and kissed her passionately on the lips. She responded by thrusting her tongue into his open mouth and raking her nails across his chest. When her claw-like hand started inching it's way up his upper thigh Adam started to panic.

Little Joe stood next to the east door with a glass of punch in his hand. The crutches propped under his arms made him feel steadier than he really was after the fourth (or was it fifth?) glass of the heavily spiked rum punch. The girls had remained with him throughout the evening and had managed to sneak him glass after glass of the liquor-laden mixture. Joe took another sip, willing the alcohol to make the throbbing in his leg recede. When they had first arrived he had barely noticed the dull ache, but now it was all he could do to keep from groaning from the pain.

Doctor Martin walked over and stood next to Little Joe at the punch bowl. He surveyed the boy for a long minute, noticing the pain etched on the youthful face, and the fact that he was pale and sweating. "How's it going Joe?"

Little Joe grinned tentatively, hoping to fool the gray-haired doctor. "Fine, doc."

Paul looked him up and down doubtfully. "You haven’t been putting any weight on that leg, have you?"

Little Joe shook his head quickly and looked toward the door and escape. "I think I’ll go get a little fresh air…"

His progress was halted by a firm grip on his arm. "I don’t think so, Joe. I want you to sit down and put your leg up. I don’t want any more pressure on those stitches. You’ve been standing far too long."

"Doc, really I’m fine," Joe said irritably, then gestured toward the door with a crutch. "I just need a little fresh air…"

Paul Martin shook his head firmly, to avoid any further discussion. "I said no." He looked around the crowded room to find a comfortable place to sit. "Over there," he said gesturing to an overstuffed chair in the corner by some tall potted plants. Turning to Joe, he gave the boy a stern look. "If you know what’s good for you, you’ll follow me and sit down."

Little Joe raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, a saucy retort on his lips.

Paul shook his finger at the unruly child. "I might add that I’ve had all the sass from you I intend to take. One smart remark out of that mouth of yours and I’ll find your father right now."

Joe closed his mouth and offered a tentative smile. He knew he had pushed the boundaries of what Pa considered "respect for your elders" and that Paul was offering him an olive branch--he'd better take it. "Yes, sir—you lead, I’ll follow."

"Good," Paul said as he let go of Joe’s arm. He walked ahead of Little Joe, clearing a path. "Slow and easy. I don’t want anyone to jostle you either."

The two managed to make it across the dance floor without any incident. Joe gently sat down in the dark blue chair, leaning back against the soft cushions, his crutches still held in his right hand. Paul pulled a straight-backed chair over and placed it in front of the chair. Kneeling before the boy, he picked up Joe’s leg to elevate it and keep the pressure off the healing stitches.

At the first touch of Doc Martin’s hands on his sore leg, Joe dropped the crutches and they clattered to the floor noisily. He closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair tightly to keep the pain contained as much as possible, but couldn’t control the groan as Paul lifted his leg and put it on the seat.

When the pain had subsided somewhat, Little Joe opened his eyes to find Paul studying him closely, a worried frown on the doctor's lips.

"I think it's about time you should be heading home, son," Paul said and patted the boy on the hand. He stood and searched the room for Ben.

"No," Little Joe pleaded and looked up at the doctor imploringly. He took a deep breath and swallowed shakily. "We just got here."

Paul put a cool hand out and touched Little Joe's forehead before he could pull away. "Yes, and no you didn't," Paul responded to contradict the boy’s answers. "I've been watching you for close to two hours and I think you've had more than enough excitement for the evening." He gestured toward the group of girls who had started to make their way over to Little Joe. "If you go quietly I'll keep my mouth shut about the little trips you've been making outside."

Little Joe bit his lower lip and knew he was caught. There was no graceful way to decline the offer, and it was a generous one. Pa would be furious if he knew of the number of kisses he'd received tonight and he'd have no hope of coming to the next dance. Joe drew in a deep shuddering breath and made his decision. He was tired anyway--home seemed like a good idea. "Okay, Doc. If you say so."

"Good," Paul said as he caught Ben's glance and motioned for him to come over.

Ben quickly made his excuses to Ms. Less-Byan and hurried over to the corner. When he arrived he wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. "I thought I’d never get rid of her," Ben sighed thankfully. He’d had more than enough of the heavy-set older woman’s thoughts about Little Joe's supposed pranks and was on the verge of snapping at her.

Paul chuckled, knowing the woman’s reputation for being a busy-body and sticking her over-long nose into everyone else’s business. "Well, I’m glad that I could help you in that respect, but I did have a reason for calling you over here." He gestured toward the pale boy sitting uncomfortably in the chair. "I think Little Joe's had enough excitement for the evening."

Ben nodded and knelt down, looking into his youngest son’s eyes. "You ready to go home?"

Little Joe looked up into Paul Martin's face before responding. "I guess."

"Did you have a good time, son?" Ben asked as he stroked Little Joe’s cheek.

Joe pulled away, embarrassed by the public displays of affection his father was so prone to. "I sure did, Pa. Can I come to the next one?"

Ben chuckled at the earnest expression on Joe’s face. "We’ll see how you behave in the mean time, son." He patted the boy's uninjured leg and stood up, looking around for his eldest. "Do you happen to know where Adam is?" he mentioned casually.

Little Joe fought a snicker and lost. "I was talking to Adam and Miss Abigail outside, but Eliza Sue and I thought they wanted to be left alone," he answered slyly.

Ben smiled at the group of girls that hovered around his son. He looked deep into Joe’s eyes and saw that although he was putting up a good front, he seemed to be fighting pain and looked very tired. "Why don't you say your good-byes and I'll go get him."

"Okay," Little Joe said with a twinkle returning to his eye as he looked at the six girls surrounding him, their pouty lips eager for a good night kiss.

Paul patted Joe's shoulder and winked. "I'll stay here and supervise, Ben."

Ben grinned as the twinkle in the boy's eye turned to a scowl on his lips. "Good idea, Paul. I’ll be back shortly." Ben noticed how Eliza Sue immediately perched on the arm of the easy chair and draped a proprietary arm around Little Joe’s shoulders. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced at the girl. He'd have some questions tomorrow regarding what his youngest was doing outside in the first place. Taking a deep breath, he headed for the east exit. Once outside, he could just make out the outline of his oldest son struggling with someone. He quickened his step, then realized maybe Adam was enjoying the struggle so he slackened his pace.

"Abigail, no!" Adam pleaded as he tried to pry her hands off his upper thigh. He'd been trying unsuccessfully for the past forty minutes to escape, but hadn't been able to slip out of her grip. The usually calm and cool Adam was beyond frazzled and to the point of losing all control.

"Um, son?" Ben interrupted, glad that the darkness hid the huge grin that dominated his face.

Adam exhaled in relief and turned in the direction of the voice. "Yes, Pa?"

"I think it's time we get ready and head for home. Little Joe is pretty tired."

"Great idea, Pa," Adam said quickly. "I'll go get the wagon and meet you out front." Adam frantically untangled himself from the woman's clutches and re-arranged his shirt. "Have a pleasant evening, Miss Abigail," he said and quickly ran toward the livery stable.

Ben watching his eldest, usually so concerned with appearances, seem to abandon all decorum and bolt from the scene. He turned and looked down at the pouting woman on the bench. "I'm sorry to spoil your evening, Miss Abigail but you know Little Joe is injured, and needs his rest," Ben soothed.

The spinster patted her thin dishwater-colored locks. "Yes, I know Mr. Cartwright. There will be other dances, and other stolen moonlight moments for Adam and myself before the actual wedding of course." Abigail picked up her shawl and threw it over her shoulders.

Ben offered his elbow. "Shall we return to the dance?"

Abigail tittered shyly as she rose. "Why Mr. Cartwright, whatever will people say."

Ben rolled his eyes, wondering what had possessed his oldest son to take Abigail outside. Good lord, don't let Adam have fallen for this woman. I couldn't stand it.

When they arrived back inside, Ben immediately took his leave of the spinster and returned to his youngest son. "Did he behave, Paul?" Ben asked his old friend, who was still at his post, standing guard.

Paul grinned. "No problems, but I think he'll be asleep before you hit the Ponderosa," he said, gesturing toward Little Joe who was struggling to keep his eyes open. "Make him stay in bed until noon tomorrow so that leg has a little time to rest, I think he over-did it a bit tonight."

Ben clapped him on the arm. "I'll take care of it," he said then looked down at Joe. "You ready to go, son?"

"If I have to," Joe said more as a compliment to his companions than from any real desire to stay. He was tired and sleep sounded good.

Ben leaned down and gently lifted Little Joe's injured leg down from the chair, noting the way the boy gritted his teeth at the touch. Eliza Sue handed him his crutches and Joe managed to smile at her. Joe took a deep breath and stood up, fighting dizziness once he was on his feet.

Ben noticed and slipped an arm around his son's slender waist. "You okay, Joe?" he whispered.

Joe took a deep breath and waited for his head to clear. When it did, he turned to his Pa and smiled. "I'm fine, let's go." He swung the crutches in front and slowly made his way to the door.

Once they reached the exit, Ben grabbed Joe's hat and put it on the boy's head, then did the same with his own. Uncoiling his leather gunbelt, he slid it around his hips and slid the brass prong into the hole of the buckle. He grabbed Adam's hat and gunbelt and followed Joe out the door.

Little Joe's progress was slow as he hobbled down the long boardwalk to the buckboard. Each step caused pain in Joe's leg and by the time he made it to the hitching post, the boy didn't know if he could stand much more. Ben quickly caught up to his youngest and walked beside him down the four steps to the street.

On the bottom step, Joe stumbled and came down on his bad leg-hard. "Oww-" he moaned uncontrollably.

Ben quickly slid an arm around Joe's waist. "Are you allright son?"

Little Joe squeezed his eyes shut tightly to fight the pain that radiated up his thigh and fought to keep his voice even. "Yeah, I'm fine." After a moment, the pain lessened and he blew out the breath he'd been holding. He looked over at Adam who was standing beside Sport and smiled slightly, hoping to avoid any further discussion about his leg.

Ben untied the reins from the hitching post and tossed them to Adam. "Would you mind driving the buggy? I'm a little tired and I think I'll lie down in the back," he said as he pulled the rolled up mattress out from under the seat and spread it out. "Why don't you stretch out back here and keep me company Little Joe?"

Fighting the sleep he knew his body needed, Joe decided to try and give the impression of health. "No thanks, Pa. I'll drive," he said as he set his crutches to the side and started to hop up into the buggy.

Adam hurried over to the other side of the buggy and grabbed Little Joe by the waist as he tried to climb into the seat. "I don't think so, boy," Adam said quickly, both to dispel any question over who was driving and to prevent Joe putting any pressure on the healing stitches.

"Pa!" Little Joe complained as the fire returned to his voice.

Ben thought of ordering Little Joe to lie next to him, then saw people starting to leave the dance. Judging avoiding a scene to be the best course of action, he gestured to Adam to help Joe into the seat.

It was Adam's turn to question. "Pa!"

Ben took a deep breath and crawled into the back of the wagon. "Just let him sit beside you son, I didn't say he could drive."

"Allright," Adam said as he lifted Little Joe into the front seat. Once the boy was settled he tied Sport to the wagon and got in himself. Picking up the reins he took a glance over at Joe, whose eyes were already drooping. "You hang on tight, Little Joe. I don't want you tumbling off."

Little Joe crossed his arms and stifled a yawn. "Yeah, yeah, just drive."

Five minutes out of town Little Joe's head hit Adam's shoulder. Pulling back on the reins to halt the team Adam turned around. "Out like a light, Pa."

Ben chuckled softly as he stood in the back of the wagon. "I knew he would be. Let's get him settled back here, then I'd like to have a little chat with you about a certain future daughter in law of mine."

New 8/11/01

An hour later, Adam reined in the team just outside the front door of the Ponderosa Ranch house. The crimson in his cheeks had faded to a pale pink now that he'd realized his father had been joking about a wedding between him and Abigail Jones. Adam shook his head and bit back a chuckle. "You had me going there, Pa."

Ben slapped his son on the knee and laughed heartily. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out, boy. You were gripping the reins so tightly that your knuckles were white." He stood and stretched, then climbed down from the wagon. He took a quick look in the back and noted Little Joe was still sleeping soundly. "But, there is a thread of truth in it son. I've seen it happen before where an untruthful girl will come back to the dance claiming a man had taken advantage of her and then insisted on a wedding."

Adam jumped down from the wagon and walked over next to his father. His upper lip curled into a half-hearted snarl. "I think I was the one being taken advantage of, Pa."

Ben snickered and nodded in agreement. "I tend to believe you, but with a wailing female and her father with a shotgun in his hands..."

Adam's eyes widened in alarm. "I see your point."

Ben clapped him on the back affectionately. "Good," he said and then stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

"Tired?"

Ben nodded, then ran his fingers through his silver hair. "I sure am. That Elizabertha Less-Byan just about drove me to distraction."

Adam smirked. He knew his Pa couldn't stand the woman, although he didn’t like to refer to her and her very close friend by their nickname. "I noticed that both the lard sisters took a liking to you tonight."

Ben arched a silver eyebrow and said something he wouldn't say to anyone other than Adam. "You and I both know those two women aren't looking for any man. They keep each other quite content."

"Why Pa," Adam began, pasting an innocent look on his face. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

Ben shook his head and propped an elbow on the corner of the wagon. "As if you didn't witness the jealous catfight between those two over Marie."

Adam hid a grin with his hand. "That was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

Ben looked at his sleeping child in the back of the wagon. "Yes, it was." Ben smiled at the memory of Marie's disgust over the two women and their lust. Not that lesbianism itself had offended her. Growing up in France and ending up in New Orleans had made her quite liberal in that respect, but she had absolutely no desire to be a party to it in any way. "That's why they dislike Little Joe so much, I think."

Adam walked back to the wagon and picked up his little brother. "They see him as the result of their failure?"

"Something like that." Ben looked toward the barn. "Why don't you take Little Joe up to his room and I'll bed down the horses."

"Sure thing, Pa." Adam looked down at his brother. "He sure had a good time tonight, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. Unfortunately I wasn't able to keep much of an eye on him, what with the Lard sis..., I mean Miss Less-Byan and Mrs. Lewis taking up so much of my time." Ben took a deep breath and exhaled quickly. " I don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you for keeping a close eye on him. " He unwound the reins from the hitching post and led the team toward the barn.

Adam's jaw dropped at Ben's last sentence. He'd been trapped by Abigail Jones for most of the evening and had no idea what mischief his little brother had gotten into. He looked down at the innocent face of Little Joe and shook his head. I know for sure that the boy's thoughts had been far from innocent when he was outside with that girl. Adam gazed heavenward and whispered a quick prayer that both he and Pa survived Little Joe's adolescence.

The next morning, Little Joe struggled to wake up, conscious only of a stinging pain in his sore leg. The thoughts of the previous evening brought a smile to his face, but he frowned when he couldn’t remember the long ride home. Clutching the front of his nightshirt, he realized that either he’d blanked out the journey home or, horror of horrors someone else had put him in bed. Fearing the latter, he quickly looked over to the side of the bed to find his crutches and try and do a little quick damage control with Pa.

Adam pushed open the door and walked in, a full breakfast tray in his hands.

Joe offered a tentative smile, trying to gauge Adam’s mood. When Adam returned the smile, Joe took a shallow breath in relief and began to look for his crutches again.

Adam noticed what the boy was looking for and shook his head firmly. "Sorry Little Joe, but Doctor Martin told Pa that you are to stay in bed today and take it easy."

Joe scowled as he carefully eased himself to a semi-sitting position and scooted back in bed until his back was against the headboard. "I really don't think..."

Adam set the tray down on the nightstand, then casually crossed his arms across his chest. He was determined to get his point across. "I wasn't really impressed with your thinking ability last night, little brother."

Joe pasted an innocent impression on his face. "What d'you mean by that?" He'd only made the one trip out the back door with Eliza Sue. The other girls he'd taken out into the stable through the side door. Joe knew Adam had been stuck with Miss Abigail by the picnic tables for most of the evening, so there should be no way he would know about his romantic endeavors unless he was the one who had changed his clothes. But Joe decided to try to bluff his way through. "Just what do you mean by that?"

Adam grabbed the straight-backed desk chair, flipped it around and straddled it. "Did you notice what you're wearing?"

"My nightshirt." Joe locked eyes with Adam, unwilling to imply guilt by looking away. "So what?"

Adam arched an eyebrow and intensified his gaze. "Do you remember coming home last night?" he asked haughtily.

"No," Joe answered, slightly disturbed by Adam's smugness.

"How about changing into your nightshirt?"

Little Joe bit his lower lip, a feeling of uneasiness starting to hammer at his insides. "No," he whispered, fighting the powerful urge to look a way from Adam's deep brown eyes.

"I want to know what happened at the dance," Adam ordered.

Joe grinned and shifted uneasily on the bed. "You know. People ... danced."

Adam got up and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not asking about other people." His gaze intensified until it almost pinned Joe to the bed. "I'm talking about you."

Joe smiled tentatively, then shrugged. "I just stood around."

"Uh, huh," Adam commented. "But you didn't get these." Adam grabbed the collar of the boy's nightshirt and pulled it open, revealing a path of love bites that started at the Joe's neck and traveled down his tanned chest. "From standing around, did you?"

Joe licked his lips, not needing to look down to know what Adam had found. The kissing session with Eliza Sue had gotten a little out of hand and the next thing he knew his shirt was off and the dark haired girl was licking his chest. A rose-colored blush flooded Joe's cheeks. "Not exactly." He was torn between embarrassment and a healthy dose of fear over what Adam was going to do with the information.

Adam got off the bed and stalked over to the window, trying to hold his temper. He really wanted to throttle the boy, but he knew it was just adolescent experimentation. He looked at Joe and arched an eyebrow. But he is starting awfully early. "What were you thinking? Letting a girl do that to you?"

A knowing smile played at Joe's lips that he did his best to hide. There was no way he was answering that question.

Adam turned back to the window and was silent for several minutes, contemplating his options. On the one hand, if I tell Pa all hell would break loose and Joe will be in major trouble. But will that stop him? The only other option was to repeat the lecture that Pa gave me in the buggy on the way home from the dance last night. He turned back to Joe and smiled at the expression of unease on the boy's face, and decided to choose the latter.

The afternoon sun shone brightly through the window in Doctor Paul Martin’s office, the cheerful light trying in vain to make the small examination room seem more inviting.

Little Joe sat obstinately on the edge of the table, having lost the argument with his father about coming to town in the first place. On top having been almost dragged to the office, he’d been forced to strip off his pants and boots and was now trying not to show his uneasiness over the upcoming procedure.

"Your father tells me the nightmares haven't stopped," Paul said as he washed his hands in the sink and dried them on a white cotton towel. The sleeping powders had definitely done the trick regarding the nightmares, but when the dosage was decreased even slightly a new onslaught began.

Joe didn't respond, he just kept eyeing the tray of instruments that seemed too close to the examining table for comfort. As much as he wanted to get things back to normal, he dreaded having the stitches removed. He remembered several years ago waiting in the adjoining room when Adam had stitches removed from his hand, and Joe was certain he wasn't going to like the procedure. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath.

Doc Martin walked over to the table and laid a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. Joe’s eyes flew open and he just about jumped off the table in shock. "Calm down, son. Calm down. After what you've been through this won't be anything. Just a little pulling, that's all--okay?"

Joe released the breath he'd been holding and nodded slowly.

Ben walked over to the table and patted Joe's back reassuringly. "It'll be over soon, you'll see. Now about the nightmares?" he prodded.

Joe shook his head vehemently. "I don't want to talk about it. Everything is fine," he declared, setting his jaw firmly.

"Joseph," Ben began. "In order to banish these nightmares, you have to let us know what is causing them and get everything out in the open."

"No way. I told you everything is fine, and that's all I'm going to say." Joe crossed his arms across his chest defiantly and glared at Ben.

Ben raised an eyebrow at the tone of voice. He shook his finger at his young son in warning. "Joseph, you'd best keep a civil tongue in that mouth of yours or so help me God, I'll…"

"Enough!" Paul interrupted. "I have a job to do and I'd like it done before the day is over--understood?" His glare encompassed both Cartwrights' and Ben looked away sheepishly although Joe just glared back at the Doc in return.

"Humph," Paul scoffed as he began to unwrap the bandages around Joe's thigh. "You just keep that nasty look on your face and I'll make sure you don't ride that horse of yours for two weeks instead of one."

Joe swallowed quickly; knowing Doc Martin could enforce his threat and tell Pa to keep him off Cochise longer than necessary just to teach him a lesson. "Sorry, Doc," he said quickly and pasted a false-but compliant expression on his face.

Paul chuckled at the abrupt change of expression, but knew there was no truth in Joe's current guise of submissiveness. He pulled the last bit of white muslin from around the wound and frowned. There wasn't this much pulling around the gash three days ago. He raised an eyebrow and stared at his patient. "Have you been walking on this?"

Ben stepped closer to the examination table until he was at Paul's right shoulder.

Little Joe looked guiltily away from both men. After Eli’s visit he’d been forced to try and speed his recovery and had hoped the exercise would get him back to school and in the saddle faster--not slower. He had to admit though, his leg did hurt a lot more since he'd started.

Paul threw the bandage on the table angrily. "You mean to tell me after I ranted and raved about how important it was to not put any weight on your leg, you did it anyway?"

When Joe refused to look at the doctor or respond Ben took him by the chin and turned his face toward them. "Joseph, I believe the doctor asked you a question. And," his voice dropped an octave and took on that icy quality Little Joe had come to dread. "I must admit I am most interested in the answer myself."

Little Joe's lower lip trembled and he contemplated stretching the truth a bit, but the concern mixed with anger in his Pa's eyes stopped him cold. There was no way out of this but to tell the truth, even though his Pa considered disobeying the doctor to be a cardinal sin. "Maybe just a little bit," he whispered.

Paul nodded in comprehension. "I thought so. There's more tearing around the edges than I usually see with a patient that follows my orders." He looked over at Ben. "I'm going to take the stitches out anyway, but I want you to keep him either in bed or seated for a day or so." His gray eyes drilled into Little Joe. "Even if you have to sit on him."

"I will, don't worry," Ben agreed sternly, not turning loose of his disobedient son's chin.

"Joseph and I are going to have a lot to talk about over the next couple days. We're going to have a little vocabulary lesson-I think he's forgotten the meaning of several very important words. Obedience, for one."

Joe fought the urge to roll his eyes, but didn’t succeed totally.

Ben frowned, but continued. "And, judging by the sharpness of his tongue this morning, I think respect needs to be defined a little more clearly." Ben finally released his grip on Joe's chin and backed up several steps. "Yes, Joseph," he said as he rubbed his hands together. "I'm sure you will find it most interesting."

Paul continued with the procedure and removed the stitches. Joe winced uncontrollably several times during the procedure but the pain wasn’t enough to make him forget the forthcoming lectures. After Paul finished, he carefully splinted and wrapped the boy's thigh in fresh gauze and turned to Ben, who hadn't moved from his position beside the table. "While he’s here, I’ll just take a listen to his heart and lungs and then send you both on your way." After an answering nod from the patient’s father, Paul returned his attention to Little Joe.

The expression on the boy’s face was one of shock. The phrase ‘listen to your heart and lungs’ sent a bolt of fear through Joe’s soul. He knew that usually meant he had to open his shirt-something he definitely wanted to avoid.

Paul frowned, wondering what was going on. Little Joe should have been relieved that the stitches were removed and although the prospect of a lecture from Ben should have put a healthy dose of fear into the boy, it shouldn't cause the desperation that shone so brightly in his eyes. "What's the matter, son?" he quizzed.

Little Joe looked away, unwilling to look the doctor in the eye. "Nothing."

Paul looked to Ben, whose rugged features were full of concern. Paul lifted an eyebrow in question, but Ben widened his eyes and shook his head in response. Neither man had any clue as to what was going on.

Grabbing his stethoscope from the side tray, Paul hooked it around his neck. "Okay then Joe," he began as he looked over his once again nervous patient. "Unbutton your shirt and let's get this over with."

Little Joe's deep green eyes widened in despair. This was what he had been afraid of. His nimble mind, ever quick to think up a scheme-reacted. He licked his lips and looked into the Doctor's dark eyes earnestly. "It's kind of cold in here, can't you just listen through my shirt?"

Little Joe's deep green eyes widened in despair. This was what he had been afraid of. His nimble mind, ever quick to think up a scheme--reacted. He licked his lips and looked into the Doctor's dark eyes earnestly. "It's kind of cold in here, can't you just listen through my shirt?"

"Cold?" Paul repeated, shocked at the prospect. He always kept his office extra warm in the winter to make sure his elderly patients were comfortable so the room always seemed hot to him. He looked at the boy on the bed, restlessly swinging his good leg back and forth. A smile lit Paul's lips as he remembered Marie's fighting with a baby Joe, trying to keep him warm and prevent the blankets from being kicked off. Cold indeed, you've been hot-blooded since birth. Paul's smile turned to a half-stern frown. "Try again Little Joe."

Joe scrunched up his face, knowing another stalling tactic wasn't forthcoming. In desperation, he crossed his arms high across his chest.

"Joseph," Ben hissed in anger. "I suggest that you unbutton your shirt as Paul asked, or that discussion will be right now!"

Joe gulped at his Pa's tone and his fingers immediately flew to his buttons and undid them, knowing any further balking was futile.

Paul pulled open Joe's white cotton shirt, then stopped at the sight that greeted him. "Well, well. What do we have here?" Paul asked, a knowing smile playing around the corner of his lips. Apparently Little Joe hadn't been watched closely enough at the dance.

"What are you talking about Paul?" Ben asked, stepping closer to the table.

Paul turned to Ben and offered a knowing smile. "It seems your son had a lot more fun at the dance than we ever expected."

Bewildered, Ben intensified his gaze at his friend. "Just what are you talking about?"

Paul pulled the shirt away from Little Joe's torso and gave Ben a look at the trail of love bites that danced about the lightly muscled chest. "Kind of makes me glad I'm only his doctor." He couldn't help the grin that split his lips. "Cause I'd sure hate to be his father or his preacher, because they've got their work cut out for them."

Ben groaned and rolled his eyes. "Joseph! Just what am I going to do with you!" He clenched and unclenched his fists in anger, then walked over to the window to try and control himself.

Little Joe swallowed, hard. While Doctor Martin continued with his examination, Joe studied the broad back of his father. Joe knew that although it looked like Pa was watching the passerby on the street, he was actually contemplating murder.

"Heart and lungs sound fine, son," Paul said as he pulled the stethoscope from his ears. "Now you just take it easy at home," he jabbed a pointed finger into Joe's chest. "And I do mean easy, then you can head back to school later on in the week." Paul looked toward the window and was glad to see that Ben had calmed somewhat. "I'm going to write down a few instructions for when he heads back to school. I don't want him bending that leg any more than he has to, so why don't you help him get dressed in the meantime?"

Ben nodded and strode purposefully toward the table. Once arriving, he glared at his youngest son who was already buttoning his shirt to hide the evidence. Ben grabbed the blue jeans from the table and slid them over Little Joe's slim legs, then put on the boy's left boot.

"In addition to the discussions I mentioned earlier …" Ben began.

Little Joe winced and swallowed hard. He knew 'discussion' to Ben Cartwright really meant lecture and that he wasn't going to like it one bit.

Ben cleared his throat, sensing Little Joe's mind had wandered. "I want to know exactly, and I do mean exactly what happened at the dance."

Little Joe shifted on the table, glad that his sore leg would save him from the tanning his father really wanted to administer. He sighed, knowing the coming interrogation would be almost as bad.

Paul finished the instructions and folded the paper neatly in half then walked over to Ben. "Follow these to the letter," he instructed and then grabbed Joe's crutches and leaned them against the side of the bed.

"We will," Ben said and tucked the paper into his pocket. "Won't we?"

Joe nodded half-heartedly and shifted on the table trying to get down without causing too much pain.

Ben offered him a hand to get down from the table, which he grudgingly accepted. Once his feet hit the floor, Joe pulled up his jeans and buttoned them quickly, then propped the crutches under his arms and started the trek to the buggy.

"Oh, Paul…" Ben began as a thought entered his head.

Paul shook his wet hands into the sink and grabbed a towel before turning to Ben. "Yes?"

The corners of Ben's mouth turned up in amusement. "Although it isn't easy being Joe's father, and although I've never questioned the preacher …"

Paul held up a hand in surrender. "Don't say it."

Ben continued. "Knowing Joe's medical history, being his doctor ain't exactly a walk in the park either." He grabbed his light tan hat from a hook on the wall, jammed it on his head and grinned broadly as he walked out the door.

Joe postponed the lecture by falling asleep in the buggy on the way home from the doctor. The next morning, however was another story. Ben stood before his desk and glared down at his youngest son. Joe sat in the right of the two chairs that faced the large oak desk, his sore leg propped up on a footstool. The lecture on propriety had been going on for ten minutes and Joe had only let his mind wander three times--a record for him. After an uncomfortable question and answer session, the ensuing talk had been general at first, outlining what God and in his stead Ben Cartwright's feelings were on appropriate behavior with a young lady. He knew Pa was coming to the climax though, because his face had taken on a deep red hue and he changed his focus to the events that led to the lecture. But then the memory of how soft Eliza Sue’s hair had been crept into his thoughts and his Pa’s image faded.

"Joseph!" Ben thundered as he slapped his riding crop across his open palm.

"Yes sir?" Joe snapped to attention, acutely aware that his fourth woolgathering excursion had not gone unnoticed.

Ben narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Since you can't even manage to participate in this discussion, I think you'd better spend the remainder of the time before you start back to school in your room, contemplating your misbehavior."

Joe groaned involuntarily. Although he knew he'd gotten off relatively easily the thoughts of the four walls of his room for two more days was daunting.

Ben shook his finger at the boy. "I just want you to know boy, that this latest little caper just about takes the cake and if your leg was in better shape there is no way you'd be sitting in that chair right now."

Joe smiled tentatively, glad the lecture was over. He knew Pa's parting shot was true and hoped his next escapade wouldn't be discovered.

A few days later, Joe sat sprawled in his desk at the Virginia City school house and scowled at the sentences written across the bottom of the blackboard. Eli had insisted on writing down every instruction Pa had given him this morning when Joe returned to school. The short list of directions seemed to reinforce to Eli that Joe was a weakling and needed special coddling in order to make it through the day. The buckboard ride in was bad enough, but then Pa had helped him up the steps and seen him safely settled in his seat before talking to Eli. Joe shivered. It is humiliating to be treated this way. Joe shifted his leg that was propped up on a footstool and winced. There had been a hard rain last night and the run off had made large ruts in the road to Virginia City. The buggy had done nothing to cushion the rough terrain and Joe had felt each jolt. To keep his mind off his aching leg, he had been watching Slimey's every move this morning.

"Children!" Eli snapped. "You may all go outside for recess," he turned and looked at Little Joe. "Except for our invalid, of course. Because," Eli turned to the blackboard and leveled his pointer at instruction #2. "Mr. Cartwright said that young Joseph is not to go outside for recess, but is to stay indoors and rest." He smirked at Joe's discomfort. "So the rest of you children--scoot."

The children did as commanded, though several stopped and lingered at Joe's desk a few seconds. When the room was empty, except for Joe and Slimy, the older man walked over and put a foot up on the seat of the desk in front of Joe. "So, back in business, are we?" He sneered, dark eyebrows forming a deeply inverted V on his forehead. "Well, I must say it's been interesting with you gone," he said picking at his dirty fingernails absently. "I suggest you keep a low profile and let me continue teaching the other children what's best for them. If you don't," He stood and glared down at Joe. "That sore leg of yours will feel like paradise compared to the damage I'll do." With that parting shot, Eli picked up the newspaper and walked out the front door.

Joe’s return had mellowed Eli somewhat and although he still picked on the class as a whole, he hadn’t singled out one person to torment. Little Joe took the opportunity for a little peace and quiet to study the man. He’d decided that in order to truly understand the teacher he’d have to get a look at the diary that he stored in his desk drawer. All that he needed now was a chance.

Friday morning had started out like usual. Slimy would scream at the class and call them various derogatory names, trying to decide which lesson to teach the children for the day. Around two o’clock however, someone decided to teach him a lesson.

Eli paused for a moment from his pacing back and forth across the front of the classroom. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his hankerchief and then stuffed it back in his pocket. The stove in the back of the room kept the room warm and when he exercised like this he often felt the sweat run down between his shoulder blades to collect at the base of his spine. When his gaze once more swept over the classroom he smiled broadly, revealing his uneven teeth. "Well, children," he began as he spun around to grab his pointer from his desk. "I’ve decided to play a little game of …"

A cold wind suddenly blew through the classroom. Eli paused and furrowed his brow, but then decided to shrug it off. Even though the schoolhouse was new, there was a possibility one of the nails had come loose to let in the wind. He cleared his throat and began again. "As I was saying, I’ve decided to play a little game of …"

"You’ve decided?" A female voice interrupted. "Since when have you been able to decide anything."

Eli exhaled loudly and propped his hands on his hips, instantly angry. "Stay out of this mother!"

Shrill laughter echoed through the classroom. "Me, stay out of it? When it’s my only son making a complete fool of himself I will say something." The laugher turned to a jeer. "You worthless excuse for a man."

Eli shook his fist at a point between the rafters. "I am a man, even though you tried your best to stop me!"

The room was quiet for a moment and Eli’s heartbeat began to normalize. He walked behind his desk and sat down, relieved that another episode was over.

Mrs. Waldoch spoke from a position right before the desk. "You mean your punishment for touching my things, don’t you?"

The close proximity of the woman who had made his life a living hell startled Eli and he quickly pushed away from the desk. His jaw dropped and he tried to speak but she was just too close. All he could utter was a stream of nonsense words.

A heavy sigh left Mrs. Waldoch’s ghostly lips. "Good lord, can’t you even speak coherently?’

"I..I.." Eli managed to utter.

"It was well deserved," she announced in clipped tones. "We’ll speak no more of it. That time is past and we should be concerned with the future."

Eli swallowed hard and managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "I have plans and they don’t include you."

"You call those plans, for the evening son? Not another exciting night of fantasizing while staying alone in your room-I think it’s disgusting. You sit alone in your room and touch …"

"Shut up!" Eli snapped. "It’s none of your business what I do!"

"To the contrary, my dear boy. It is very much my business. I’m the one who has always had to watch your dismal failures and try to convince my friends that the bad seed came from your father." She paused briefly to gather her thoughts. "Lucky for me that the your little whorehouse incident didn’t take place until after I died or that would have been one more tawdry little tale to try and sweep under the rug."

"I took care of it! You wouldn’t have had to do anything!"

"And I suppose you’ll relive it again, tonight in your tawdry little room." She paused for effect. "It excites you, doesn’t it!" she hissed.

Eli took several deep breaths to calm himself. "For your information, mater," he began straightening his tie for effect. "I’m not going to be home tonight!"

"Oh, another form of entertainment. Sleeping with another whore, I assume?"

"No, I have work to do at the cave," Eli replied calmly as he cleaned the top of his desk. He struggled to maintain his composure, knowing he couldn’t win a battle with his mother and he didn’t want to appear weak before his students. Once the last paper was safely stowed away in the drawer, he locked the desk and dropped the key in his pocket.

"Sure, you do. I can only imagine what kind of work you do, up there, all alone."

Eli’s fragile grip on composure slipped. "It’s none of your business anyway, you bitch!" He slammed his fist down on his desk. "I’ll do exactly what I please and if I want to spend all night every night underground I’ll do it!" He grabbed his hat, jammed it on his head and headed down the aisle. "Fucking stupid bitch," he muttered. "If she wasn’t dead I’d kill her myself." He paused to grab his heavy black coat from the hook on the side wall, then pulled the door open and stalked out of the schoolhouse.

The cold air assaulted him as soon as he left the warmth of the building and he hastily shrugged into his wool coat and started the trek back to town. As he walked, his anger grew. How dare she! How dare she even mention his fantasies in front of the students. A more disturbing thought entered his clouded mind-she’d been watching him alone in his room at night-without even the courtesy of speaking and making her presence known. He picked up his pace, his black leather boots crackling on the frost-stiffened grass. Looking up into the pale gray sky, he wondered if she was here, now, with him and just watching, waiting for him to make some kind of mistake or show an iota of weakness. Eli could picture her, floating along after him just like the witch she was. A shiver ran down his spine and he broke into a dead run, hoping his room would provide a safe haven.

The school children had watched the little drama enfold before them with amusement. This latest argument between their teacher and the ghost of his mother had at least kept his attention away from them. When Eli stalked out of the room however, they were left with a dilemma. Technically, they weren’t supposed to leave for another twenty minutes. Should they wait it out in case their teacher returned or escape early and have a few precious minutes to spend as they wished? After a moment spent in contemplation, the majority grabbed their coats and left.

Joe however, had other plans. He waited until Eli turned the corner to Virginia City that put him out of sight of the schoolhouse. Then he climbed out of his seat and, forgoing his hated crutches limped to the front of the room. He sat down in the wooden desk chair and pulled on the lower right hand drawer, hoping that Eli had forgotten to lock the one drawer. "Damn!" he swore when he discovered it was locked like the rest.

Seth and Mitch had followed him to the desk and looked at him quizzically.

Seth scratched his head in bewilderment. "What are you looking for?" he prodded.

Little Joe slapped the top of the desk angrily. "That diary that he keeps in here. I’m hoping it will give us some kind of reason why he acts the way he does."

Mitch stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed. "Just because he’s nuts isn’t enough reason for you, huh?"

Joe cracked a smile, but then answered seriously. "There has to be a reason behind it." A cramp seized his upper thigh and he quickly started to massage it. He closed his eyes and bit his lip to fight the pain. A minute later, it eased slightly and he continued with his thought as if he’d never stopped. "I mean people do just go nuts, but he’s been a respected teacher for years, at least that’s what Adam said." He exhaled tentatively, glad that the cramp had gone away and hoping it wouldn’t return. He propped his butt on the edge of the desk and continued to think out loud. "So something must have happened to him. But what?"

Joe pushed off the edge of the desk and began to limp painfully back and forth across the front of the classroom. "He mentioned something about a whorehouse …"

Seth watched his friend struggle to walk and bit his tongue for a minute, but then had to speak up. "That probably ain’t a good idea, you walking on your bad leg like that."

Joe cracked a crooked smile. "You aren’t telling me something I don’t know already." He stopped and smoothed his pants leg down his thigh. "But sometimes I think better when I’m moving and I really need to think right now." He continued to pace for several more minutes before he stopped abruptly and snapped his fingers. "That’s it-why didn’t I think of it before!"

"What?" Mitch and Seth exclaimed simultaneously.

Joe slowly walked back to the desk. "Mitch do you still have that hairpin you swiped off of your sister?"

Mitch nodded and pulled the pin from his pocket. "What’re you going to do with it?"

Little Joe took the pin and quickly slid behind the desk once more. "I’m going to try and do a little lock picking."

Mitch and Seth exchanged glances. "Do you know how to do that?"

"Well, kinda," Joe admitted. "At least I read about it in my detective book that Hoss bought me in Sacramento. "So with a little luck …"

The sound of a buggy pulling up to the front of the school broke their attempt at lock-picking. "Damn! That’s got to be my Pa!" Joe exclaimed. Footsteps on the porch caused them to bolt to the front of the desk and all three boys leaned nonchalantly against the desk.

"Hi, Pa," Joe greeted him with the most innocent smile he could muster.

Ben walked into the classroom expecting to find a room full of students. For the past several days he'd picked Little Joe up a little earlier than school was over to prevent a mad dash for the door at the end of the day--and to prevent the boy from hurting his leg further in the rush. What he found instead was suspicious. He arched a silver eyebrow at his son and friends. It was obvious to even a casual observer that something was going on here, but he couldn’t tell what. He crossed his arms and drummed his meaty fingers on his forearms. "Anything going on here, boys?"

"N No sir, Mr. Cartwright," Mitch said nervously. "Right Seth?"

Seth nodded quickly, to shook up to answer.

"Joseph?" Ben prodded, sending an all-knowing look toward his son.

Little Joe however, knew his father hadn't caught them and was just fishing. "No sir. Mr. Waldoch left early and Seth and Mitch were just waiting with me to keep me company."

"I see," Ben answered, wondering if he should accept the response or not. He glanced to the right and saw a pair of abandoned crutches leaning against a desk. His eyes narrowed in anger and he set his jaw. He walked over, grabbed the crutches and then stalked to the front of the room.

Joe exhaled audibly when he realized he'd been caught walking around without his crutches.

"Just what were you doing?" Ben asked angrily.

Little Joe scrunched up his face. "Just getting a little exercise?" he offered hopefully.

Ben handed the crutches to his son. "You are lucky I don’t exercise my right hand on your backside, boy. Now get into the buggy!"

"Yes sir," Little Joe said sadly and headed toward the buggy. I’ll have to somehow get back here tonight and work on that lock. It’s the best chance that I have to get my hands on that diary.

New 11/28/01

Eli quickly closed the door to his rented room and locked it. Pressing his broad back against the door, he finally allowed himself to wipe the sweat from his brow. Both the harried flight from school and the feeling that his mother was watching him unnerved him. For a man who liked to appear in control at all times, showing weakness this way set his jaw on edge. After taking several deep breaths, Eli calmed down enough to walk away from the door. Methodically he removed his hat and placed it on the top of his bureau, gliding his hand along the brim to dislodge an imagined speck of dust. He unbuttoned his long wool overcoat and then shrugged it off his broad shoulders. The floor creaked under his heavy-soled leather shoes as he walked over to the double-doored closet in the corner. He pulled open the right door and reached in for a clothes hanger, his hand fumbling among the sea of matching black suits and shirts. Finally his large hand grasped the neck of a free hanger and he pulled it out. He slid his coat onto the wire hanger and returned it to the closet.

A chill entered the warm room, followed by a deep throaty voice. "You want to do it, don’t you?" Mrs. Waldoch purred.

Eli closed his eyes and clenched his fists. "Not here, mother," he whispered softly as he stared at the left closet door, which remained closed. Behind that door was the reward for winning the game against his pupils. Yes, every night he thought about it and the pleasures that it gave him. But he wouldn’t succumb until every student’s will was broken. "Please, not here."

"What?" she demanded. "Don’t I have a right to enter the room of my only son?"

"Please …." he pleaded, unable to handle any more arguments today. His nerves were so tightly set on edge that he closed his eyes and childishly plugged his ears. He retreated until his back was touching the far wall. "I can’t take it…"

"You can and you will.." Mrs. Waldoch responded haughtily. When she received no response from her son she walked over and stood in front of him. "Open your eyes!!" she screamed.

"No, I won’t!" Eli wailed and collapsed to the floor. He curled into a ball and all reason fled from his mind. "I won’t do it!" Eli’s mind took him back forty years, and the person who answered Mrs. Waldoch was a mere child. "I won’t wear my sisters’ clothes! I’m a boy and you can’t make me! It’s not my fault that Papa went away! It’s not my fault…."

Mrs. Waldoch’s teeth clicked disapprovingly. "It didn’t work then, did it? In the end, you were punished accordingly." Her deep voice dropped even lower. "And you did learn to enjoy yourself, didn’t you?" she hissed. "Disgusting little creature that you are."

The left closet door seemed to open of it’s own accord and a white silk dressing gown floated over to Eli. The gown hung in mid air for a moment, then it dropped onto the head of the cowering teacher. "Do your sad, disgusting little dance and be done with it. All this inane banter annoys me."

Eli could control himself no more and began to weep hysterically.

"Worthless creature," hung in the air for a moment and then the chill left the room

An hour later, Eli finally was able to get himself under control. All his dreams were gone. He picked up the dressing gown and carefully brushed the dust off the material, then held it tightly against his breast. Caressing the material caused the blood to rush to his organ, but he fought down the familiar feelings of arousal. "Not yet," he counseled himself. "She may have won for the time being, but I still have a class to instruct. He stood up and stretched, trying to work the creaks out of his back from the time spent on the floor. He returned the gown to the closet and turned around, just to be certain he was in fact, alone. The chess game carefully set up on the coffee table haunted him. All his work, was for nothing. Setting his jaw, he slowly walked over and sat down on the settee. He stared again at the chess set, trying to re-capture the spirit of the game. He thought of the wonderful feeling of superiority when he would manipulate the parents into taking his side. The way his chest would swell with pride when he’d look down at the weeping faces of the children. Eli’s features clouded as he thought of himself crying on the floor not long ago. "Damn it no!" he swore and flung his arm across the table. With one broad stroke, he swept the chess pieces to the floor. "The game is over mother! You won!" He stalked over to the closet and retrieved his coat, pushing his arms angrily into the sleeves. "But the children will still pay. Just as I paid so many years ago." He grabbed his hat and jammed it on his head, then walked heavily over to the door. "I’ll still win," he muttered to himself as he pushed open the door, locked it behind him and then thudded down the stairs.

When Eli passed the parlor, he noticed that the Widow Hawkin’s had left a bottle of her best Irish whiskey in plain view on the dining room table. He stopped and thought a moment, and decided that the end of the game deserved at least a toast—or two. The sound of the widow’s off-key singing could be heard from the kitchen where she was preparing the evening meal for her boarders. Eli grabbed the bottle and tucked it under his coat, then left the house.

The streets of Virginia City were crowded and Eli found it hard to make eye contact with the people he met. The shame he felt over his recent breakdown was just too humiliating and he was certain people could read it in his face.

The pine trees that graced the sides of the road swayed in the cool afternoon wind as the oldest and youngest Cartwright’s had an oft-repeated discussion.

"I don’t understand why you insist on disobeying me," Ben ranted, as he tried to concentrate on driving the buggy.

Little Joe slumped in the seat next to his father, pretending to be listening but actually not. He’d heard this lecture so many times he knew he could repeat it from memory. He shifted on the seat slightly, trying to get comfortable. The long drive from town and the many bumps along the trail made his leg ache badly. Straightening up seemed to help some, but then something was poking him in the back. He reached back and pulled out a small brown bag. Joe turned his attention to Pa briefly, but realized his father was only on the "when I was a boy," stage of the lecture. Joe decided to wait before inquiring about the contents of the bag.

Twenty minutes later, Ben pulled back on the reins to slow the team as they entered the courtyard in front of the house. "So what do you have to say for yourself?"

Little Joe’s answer was quick. He’d had the answer prepared for the last forty-five minutes. "I’m sorry Pa, I’ll try to do better."

Ben nodded curtly. "See that you do." The fact that Little Joe appeared to be listening but really wasn’t hadn’t missed his attention. But he also knew his youngest well enough to know that if he questioned him about the content of the lecture, Joe would be able to parrot back a large portion of it, even if he hadn’t really listened.

"What’s this?" Little Joe asked, holding up the small bag.

Ben glanced to his left to see what his youngest was holding. "Oh, that. I had to stop at the apothecary and pick up some supplies." He pulled back on the reins again when they reached the front of the house, stopping the team next to the kitchen. "Joseph please tell Hop Sing that I have all the supplies that he wanted to stock the storehouse with. We’ll want to get some of these put in the cold cellar right away."

"Yes sir," Joe said and climbed down from the wagon slowly, mindful of Pa watching his every move. When he had the hated crutches propped under his arms, he grabbed the paper bag from the seat. "Should I give this to him too?"

Ben shook his head. "No, just set that on my desk. I’ll take care of it later."

Joe nodded and turned, making his way slowly over to the side kitchen door. His leg did hurt quite a bit after walking on it today and he winced uncontrollably when he stepped up to the porch.

Ben noticed and frowned. "Joseph," he called. He waited until Joe turned to face him. After you finish telling Hop Sing about the supplies I want you to lie down on the couch."

"But…" Joe began. He had plans for the evening and sitting on the couch with the family around was not included.

Ben held up his hand to stop the protest. "Don’t even think about arguing with me son. Just do as I say."

"Yes, sir," Joe grumbled and turned toward the kitchen. "Babying me all the time," he muttered under his breath "You’d swear I was two years old instead of thirteen." He continued on to the kitchen door and pulled it open, smiling at Hop Sing as he stepped inside.

"Pa says he’s got some supplies outside for you," Joe said.

Hop Sing plopped a ball of dough into a bowl and then wiped his flour-covered hands on the apron that was tied around his waist. He had been baking bread for supper and still had all the ingredients sitting on the table. "Velly good," he said, bobbing his head in delight. "Bread have time to rise before I come back." He slid around the end of the table and patted Little Joe on the back as he passed. "I made special almond cookies for you today, hidden underneath towel on pot rack.

"Thanks Hop Sing!" Joe said with a smile. He dropped the brown sack on the table and retrieved the plate of cookies. He pulled off the red and white towel and smelled the delicious aroma of the still-warm cookies. Popping one into his mouth, he savored the nutty flavor and crispness of the palm-sized cookie. So many things to do tonight! How am I going to get back into town to look for that diary? My leg still hurts too, I wonder if I’m going to be able to manage riding all the way to town? And, the big problem avoiding the nightly dose of sleeping powder that Pa thinks he’s slipping into my milk. All sorts of plans danced in the boy's head, but he couldn’t figure his way around the last problem. The sleeping powder. Little Joe licked the last crumbs of the cookie from his fingers and picked up the brown bag. Luck wouldn’t be with me today, would it? Unfolding the top portion of the bag, he peered inside and was surprised to find a brown packet that looked surprisingly like the one Pa kept locked in his desk, which contained the hated sleeping powder. A cautious glance toward the door told him he was still alone, so he pulled out the packet. Sure enough, in large block letters on the front was written "Sleeping Powder—adult dose 1 tablespoon" He opened the packet and looked at the white substance, then at the sack of flour on the table. They looked remarkably similar. Little Joe decided quickly, and dumped the contents of the packet into the garbage and filled it with an equal amount of flour.

Swallowing down a small pang of guilt, Little Joe left the kitchen and then hung his blue and grey plaid winter coat over the hook by the front door. He hobbled over to Ben’s desk and dropped the bag, then went over to the sitting area. Pa’s words about lying down on the couch were forefront in his memory, but he chose to disregard them. Propping his crutches against the side of the settee, he carefully sat down on the burgundy leather chair and eased his foot onto the pine coffee table. "Ahhh, much better," he sighed, and leaned back against the smooth leather, comfortable for the first time since he got out of bed that morning. Between the crackling and the warmth of the fire burning cheerily in the fireplace, Little Joe was soon asleep.

Several minutes later, the front door opened and Adam and Hoss walked in. They’d been up at the mines all day, checking to make sure everything was sealed up tight and that there had been no unwanted visitors since their closure the week before.

Hoss pulled his ten-gallon hat off his head and stuck it on the peg rack on just inside the door. He slicked his sweat-damp, thinning hair back with his hands, then removed his heavy sheepskin winter coat. "Hey lookee Adam, Little Joe’s asleep on the chair," he said gleefully as he pointed to the sleeping boy.

Adam shrugged out of his tan coat and hung it on the peg, placing his black hat on top. He was tired after a long day and didn’t like the tone Hoss used. "So?"

Hoss hung up his coat and then jabbed his older brother in the ribs. "Up for a little mischief?"

"No, I’m not," Adam answered tiredly as he rubbed his eyes.

"Good," Ben answered as he walked around the wall separating the dining room from the entryway. He had noticed that Little Joe had disregarded his orders to lie on the couch and instead had sat in the chair. "I’m not going to stand for any pranks this evening." He looked at both older boys and groaned. "I spent the entire morning losing to Roy Coffee in checkers then I had to get a huge load of supplies for Hop Sing. I’m certainly not in the mood for putting up with any jokes."

"I know what you mean," Adam agreed. "All I want to do is to eat some supper and go to bed. I’m bushed."

Hoss grinned. "Well if you two old-timers …"

Ben held up a hand to stop the insult before it got started. "And on top of my day, I caught Little Joe walking around without his crutches when I picked him up from school this afternoon." He intensified his gaze at Hoss. "So if you think I am in any kind of mood…"

Hoss stopped grinning and pasted a somber expression on his face. He made the motion of zipping his lip, indicating all funning was over for the time being. Going against doctor’s orders was a cardinal sin in the Cartwright household, at least in Pa’s eyes. Although he and Adam both did it when the occasion warranted, they did it with the full knowledge that Pa would be less than pleased. Little Joe however, seemed to disregard Paul Martin’s wishes on a routine basis and it constantly put him at odds with Pa.

Hop Sing’s soft-soled entrance interrupted their conversation. "Supper ready in ten minutes!" he announced sharply. "You get ready and wash up!" he instructed, as if he was talking to a group of schoolchildren instead of three grown men.

"Yes, sir, Hop Sing," Hoss responded quickly. "Right away!" He walked over to the chair where Little Joe sat and prodded him gently on the shoulder. "Little Joe, time for supper."

Little Joe, startled from a deep sleep, reacted quickly and flung his right arm up over his head for protection from an imagined blow from Eli. "No!" he yelled and shifted to the left, wrapping his left arm protectively around his vulnerable his stomach.

Hoss’ jaw dropped in surprise. This was totally out of character for the boy. "Joe!" he said quickly, and grabbed him gently by the shoulders. "It’s Hoss!"

Little Joe struggled briefly, then opened his eyes and realized he was home and Hoss was in front of him. He half-heartedly grinned in embarrassment, then shrugged out of Hoss’ grip. "Sorry about that," he said softly, straightening up.

Ben and Adam had watched the incident with amusement, which quickly turned to alarm in light of Joe’s distress. Both walked over and stood next to Little Joe’s chair.

When he noticed that he was now out-numbered, Little Joe looked at each of his family members in turn. "What?" he asked warily.

Ben sat down on the coffee table in front of his youngest son. "What was all that about?" he asked, intentionally keeping his tone light.

Little Joe looked quickly away, unable to meet his Pa’s steady gaze. "Nothing."

Ben looked up at Adam in frustration, but all he got in the way of an answer was a shrug.

"Joseph," Ben said reaching out and taking his youngest by the chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. "I asked you a question and I expect an answer."

Little Joe bit his lower lip, trying to come up with a plausible reason why he had totally overreacted to Hoss touch. As each second passed, an acid storm built in his stomach until it was almost unbearable. "I don’t know," he finally uttered, cautiously sliding a hand to just below his ribs to try and stem the rising nausea. When that didn’t work, he swallowed hard. "Hoss just startled me I guess," he said, pulling back from his father’s grasp. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, fighting to keep his stomach under control. The one thing he wanted to avoid was having them find out he was having problems keeping food down. As it stood now, he was able to avoid most of breakfast and not eat lunch. The only meal he had to really deal with was supper, and with the winter coming and the Cartwright men so busy they hadn’t paid much attention to his recent lack of appetite. Little Joe only hoped they would continue not to notice.

Ben looked up at his older boys’ in frustration, at a loss what to do with his youngest. He stood up quickly and propped his hands on his hips. In the end, he had no choice but to accept Joe’s explanation. He knew pressuring the boy to give the right answer would do no good. "All right son," he finally responded. "You head to the kitchen with Hoss and get cleaned up for supper."

Little Joe sighed in relief even before he opened his eyes. "Yes, sir," he said and climbed unsteadily to his feet.

Hoss handed him his crutches, and the two boys went into the kitchen. Once they were out of earshot, Adam stepped closer to Ben. "What do you think that was all about?"

"I wish I knew," Ben answered as he shook his head. "Just another example of why things just aren’t right with Joseph."

Adam nodded. ‘I know Pa, but I just don’t understand what’s going on. He hasn’t been up to any mischief that we know of, things appear to be fine now that he’s back at school …"

Ben placed a strong hand on his son’s shoulder. "I know, I know. But it has to be something that we just haven’t figured out yet."

Supper was an uneventful meal with the talk centering around the preparations for winter that the men were finishing up. The sawmill in the mountains was closed and locked up tight and all the lumberjacks had left for home the week before. The risk of being trapped by a blocked pass was too great to risk extending the cutting season by even another week. Once the snows hit, there would be no getting down off the mountain and Ben Cartwright didn’t risk men’s lives for profit.

The mines were all closed as well, and aside from a few missing lanterns and oil cans everything was accounted for. It appeared that the rash of thefts the other mines had suffered hadn’t affected the Cartwright mines too badly.

Most of the stock had been moved to the winter pasture, where it was easily accessible to water, feed and shelter. Although the cattle were bred to survive the harsh temperatures the mountains had to offer, a bad winter could kill even the hardiest specimen and decimate the herd.

Little Joe put on an act worth of a Shakespearian actor. He listened intently to what was said and even managed to offer a word of encouragement here and there. All while moving his food around on his plate to simulate eating.

The act was so good that Ben, Adam and Hoss were almost convinced that the earlier incident was just a startled awakening and that was all.

Eli pushed open the door to the livery stable and glanced around, glad that Sam Taylor, the owner wasn't in sight. He had a standing order for a rental horse every Friday night but he usually had to put up with a lot of small talk from the over-genial elderly man. Eli wasn't in the mood for talk tonight, he just wanted to get away. He took a long swig from the whiskey bottle and walked to the west corner of the large building, hoping that the black mare was still available. Eli didn't really like horses, but at least the black was a docile creature and he was comfortable around her. When he reached the stalls where the horses for rent were kept, he was disappointed. The only animal left was a large roan that snorted angrily when she saw him. Eli took an instant dislike to the animal and realized that going up into the hills tonight was out of the question. "Damn!" he swore when he realized he'd have to go back to his room and in all likelihood put up with his mother's company for the evening. Rodent feet scurrying from overhead in the hayloft caught his attention and made him pause. The ladder beckoned and he took another swig for comfort. "Maybe I don't have to head back to the boarding house after all." He looked at the half-full whiskey bottle in his hand. "And I have all the company I need, thanks to the Widow."

He tucked the bottle safely in the waistband of his pants and climbed the ladder, smiling when he reached the top. The hayloft was fifteen feet long and ten feet deep and a large pile of straw was heaped in the corner. The perfect place to spend a quiet evening alone. He licked his lips and walked over to the pile, his heavy footsteps causing the floorboards to creak in protest. Eli fought the urge to sneeze as he sat down on the large pile of hay. He snuggled in deeply, the warmth from the straw feeling good on the cool autumn afternoon. The scurrying sound of rodent feet briefly caught his attention, but he pushed the thought aside. He pulled the bottle from his waistband and decided to ignore the rats and concentrate on the task at hand—getting drunk.

Little Joe shut the door to his room behind him and hobbled over to his bed. He propped his crutches against the wall by the headboard and gently sat down on the edge of the soft mattress. His leg ached terribly and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. The thought of mentioning it to Pa was totally out of the question because he knew the answer would be pain medicine that would send his thoughts spiraling out of control—and he needed his wits about him tonight. The pain wasn’t limited to the area around the bullet crease, it encompassed his whole leg ranging from excruciating charley horses in his lower calf to a burning, twisting sensation that rippled through his thigh. Little Joe cautiously twisted to the side and scooted himself up in bed until his back was propped against the headboard. He closed his eyes and lay still, fighting to get the pain under control.

Several minutes later, he opened his eyes and sighed in relief. Resting his leg on the bed had helped and he hoped the pain wouldn’t return. His detective book rested on the bedstand and he grabbed it. Flipping the pages quickly, he stopped on page 110 where the words "Lock Picking" were printed in bold type. "Ah, my homework for the evening," he said aloud, then began to study.

Eli woke with a snort, and would have panicked if his brain hadn’t been so liquor-addled

to make it almost non-functioning. Sam Taylor’s voice drifted up through the floor of the hayloft and Eli snuggled deeper into the hay pile just in case the livery stable owner decided to come up the ladder for some feed.

"Sure is going to be a cold one tonight, Lightning," the livery owner said to a poorly named mare. He rubbed the horse’s nose gently and patted her head. "Don’t you worry none though, you’ll be snug as a bug here in the stable. Sam pulled his coat tightly around his throat. "We can sure feel it in our old bones, though cain’t we girl? I'll sure be glad to crawl under the covers in my nice warm bed tonight."

Eli took another swig from the whisky bottle as he listened to the one-sided conversation below. He guessed it was about nine o’clock judging by the sounds from outside the stable. I suppose I should think about heading back to my room, but I’ll have to face my mother there. Maybe I’ll head over to the Bucket of Blood and have a drink. He tucked the whiskey bottle in his waistband and started brushing the hay off his torso.

Sam Taylor sat down on a bale of hay and propped his back against the wall. He pulled a plug of chewing tobacco from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. "Say girl, did I ever tell you about the spring of 1832 and the flooding along the Mississippi?" he began.

Eli pulled the bottle out of his waistband. Having heard this story before, he knew he was I for a long wait before he could escape from the hayloft. Raising his bottle in mock salute to the elderly gentleman below, he settled in for a long, liquor-filled evening.

Although switching the sleeping powder for flour had saved Little Joe from a night of drug-induced sleep, things had gone downhill from there. Sneaking through Hoss' room to the window was easy enough, he'd done it many times. But crawling through the window with his leg so painful had proved very difficult and jumping off the porch room had nearly killed him. The walk to the corral where the hands' horses were kept was usually an easy half-mile jaunt, but his sore leg protested with every step and he'd almost given up twice. It took forever, but he finally coaxed a chestnut over to the gate and had slipped a halter over her head quickly. He slipped a blanket over her back and climbed the fence to mount her, not willing to risk sneaking into the barn for a saddle and bridle. Luck was with him for the ride to town, however. The full moon shone brightly and he was able to make it to Virginia City in almost record time.

Little Joe quickly doused his candle and crouched behind Eli Waldoch's desk. He'd been too consumed by his search for the diary to hear the hoofbeats come up to the schoolhouse and had only by luck heard Sheriff Coffee's whistling as the seasoned veteran made his nightly rounds. Little Joe looked toward the ceiling and clasped his hands together in fervent prayer. Please God, don't let him have seen me!

When the door handle jingled, Little Joe swallowed hard, trying to come up with a plausible explanation on why he was, not only in Virginia City in the middle of the night, but why he'd felt the need to break into the school house at one o'clock in the morning. He silently slid underneath the desk, just in case the sheriff came in to take a look around.

Luck was with him at least for this instance, Roy Coffee regularly checked the schoolhouse door to make certain it was locked, so tonight was nothing unusual. He lit his pipe and then climbed back on his horse to head back to town, his evening rounds completed.

When the clip clop of the horse's hooves could no longer be heard, Little Joe climbed out from underneath the desk and wiped the sweat from his brow. That was close! To help him think, Little Joe sat in the chair and propped his sore leg on the top of the desk. He'd foregone his crutches for the nighttime expedition into town and he could sure feel it. His leg throbbed in time with his heart and Joe was certain it would only get worse. Sliding his hands behind his head, he leaned back in the chair and thought of his options. Since that damn diary isn’t in his desk, there's only one place that he would've put that damn thing and it's got to be at the boarding house. He looked back at the door to the schoolhouse, which luckily he'd locked after entering. But how am I going to get into Eli's room to look? According to Molly Washburn his room is on the second floor way in the back on the right side. There's no way I can sneak through the middle of her boarding house.. A spasm ripped through his leg and he quickly began to massage it to ease the pain. Climbing may be my only option--maybe I'll be in luck and his room will be above a porch or something.

Twenty minutes later, Joe stood outside the Widow Hawkin's boarding house, the soft grey clapboards fading into the deep black of night. The large structure was well kept with a white picket fence out front and the remains of a carefully tended flower garden, now frost-bitten by the weather. Joe scooted around the right side of the sprawling two story house, relieved that there were no visible lights shining in the windows. His relief turned to disappointment when he realized there was no porch beneath Eli’s room--but a climbing rose, devoid of leaves and flowers because of the season seemed a good second choice. Little Joe pulled at the trellis to make sure it was strong enough to hold his weight. Seems sound enough. Another spasm ripped through his leg and he gritted his teeth to fight the pain. But am I? When the pain lessened he looked up to the second floor again. If that happens while I'm climbing…Joe didn't answer the question, even to himself. He already knew the answer. If it did, he'd fall for sure and even though it was only from the second story there was no way he'd be able to sneak back home after.

Joe took a deep breath and banished all bad thoughts from his mind. He grabbed the white-washed trellis and slowly began his ascent. The thorns scratched his forearms but he managed to ignore the pain, intent on reaching the window itself before his sore leg began to protest too loudly for him to ignore. The windowsill was a welcome sight and luck was with him because the sash itself was unlocked. Joe gritted his teeth as he slid up the sash, hoping the creaking sound wouldn’t wake the other tenants of the boarding house. Grabbing the sill for balance, he slowly climbed inside. Joe pulled a candle stub and match from his jeans pocket and lit it. Holding it high above his head, he surveyed the room. Eli was as neat as he was mean. The bed was carefully made without a wrinkle and the memorabilia that sat atop the bureau was all neatly lined up at a 45 degree angle.

Little Joe walked over to the closet and pulled open the door. He held his candleup hight to survey the contents. Five sets of identical black suits greeted him, with shoes, coats and hats to match. Off to the corner of the sea of black, a lone white garment stood out. Little Joe tentatively reached for it and pulled it out of the closet, wondering if this was some insight into his teacher's personality. A ladies' white silk dressing gown, marabou feathers surrounding the shawl collar and sweeping cuffs. Little Joe had to hold it almost over his head so the hem wouldn't touch the floor. What does he have that for? Does he have women come here? While he thought of the possibilities for why a single man would have such a frilly garment in his closet, he began to stroke the soft feathers absently. No, the Widow Hawkins wouldn't allow that, at least according to what he’d overheard in town. So what possible reason would he have to… "Eww," he exclaimed in horror and dropped the gown immediately.

Joe's mind drifted back to Sacramento and just one of the stories Josh Dayton had told him. About men that liked to… He wiped his hand on his pants frantically, to erase any thought of the garment, then swallowed hard. To dress up in women's clothes and... He swallowed deeply and shut the closet door, willing any further thoughts out of his head. Yuck.

He backed up to get as far away from the closet as he could and bumped into a small table, on which sat the sought after diary. "Whew!" he said softly and grabbed the book. He walked over to the bed, considered sitting on it, but decided against it. Knowing how picky his teacher was, he'd probably notice a wrinkle and be suspicious. Instead he chose the settee and propped his sore leg on the adjacent coffee table. He opened the dog-eared volume and began to read.

Little Joe skipped through several pages, which seemed to random rantings about loneliness and despair. The diary wasn't giving him the informatin that he needed and instead he found himself in unfamiliar territory. Yes, he'd seen the women who frequented the saloons, and surmised they were the like the whores Eli wrote about.

Eli was first aware of how cold the night had become, then of his empty whisky bottle. He'd fallen asleep in the hayloft and the livery owner was long gone. The only sounds left in the stable were the random skitterings of rodent feet and the occasional sound of a horse passing gas. "Oh, joy. Just a wonderful Friday night." He tossed the bottle to the side and climbed to his feet, hoping he'd be able to make it home without too much trouble.

Little Joe fought back a yawn and marked the page with his thumb. The long day was wearing on him and he knew sleep wasn't far off. But falling asleep here could be fatal. Just a few more pages, he promised himself. Then I'll head for home.

Footsteps in the hallway jolted Little Joe from the diary. Keys jiggled in the lock, then were dropped on the floor. A deep voice swore and picked them up, and once again began the assault on the lock. All tiredness was banished from Little Joe's being. He blew out the candle, tucked the diary in his waistband and ran to the window. He vaulted out quickly and slid down the trellis, not heeding the protests from his sore leg. Once he hit the ground he took off at a dead run, not stopping until he hit "E" street.

New 1/30/02

More to come soon!!!