A Leopard's Spots

By Ella

"I’m old enough to do this, Pa!" Adam crossed his arms as he turned from the fireplace to face his father. Ben stared back at him from the long bench, slowly lowering his book to rest it on his knee.

Hoss and Joe traded glances across the checkers board, then stole a look at Hop Sing, who was bent over his abacus at the opposite end of the dining table. The cook didn’t need to look up from his figuring. He could picture Adam’s thick black eyebrows set in a determined V and Ben’s forehead creased in response - one bushy eyebrow slanting down, the other arched, as he tilted his head to one side.

Ben’s voice dropped in warning. "I beg your pardon?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Adam exhaled it slowly through his nose. He responded in a quieter tone, but couldn't hide his annoyance. "I’m sorry, Pa. I didn’t mean to raise my voice." He lowered his gaze for an instant, shaking his head, ever so slightly, knowing full well he’d meant to yell, and that his father was all too aware of it.

Making eye contact once more, Adam flicked out his hands, fingers splayed. "She’s a friend, Pa. I want to help her get through this one night. Can’t you understand that? I just want to do my share."

Ben gazed back, 'no' written firmly across his face.

Adam’s eyes narrowed slightly, as he pressed his lips tight against hot words on the tip of his tongue. I’m an adult. I can do as I please. He turned back to the fire and released an audible sigh.

Humph. Sure, I could say that. And quick as that, I'd be hearing a familiar lecture, the one each of my brothers knows by heart as well - the one reminding us whose roof we're living under. Even if I wanted to strike out on my own, the only roof I can afford right now is one with stars in the ceiling.'

He placed another log on the fire, then concentrated on the flames as they leaped to claim it. A glint of inspiration suddenly sparked his intent blue eyes. He cleared his throat and challenged carefully, "All the other men in town have offered to help."

Joe kicked Hoss under the table, then twitched his eyebrows up and down, when his sibling looked his way. Hoss bunched up his lips as he shook his head. Adam hadn’t won yet. Not by a long shot.

Ben crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the arm rest. "Is that so? Do you really expect me to believe that Ruth is allowing

Eli - "

Adam smiled to himself, but didn’t turn. He picked up the poker, to jab the log he’d just added to the fire. Sparks crackled in answer. It was all he could do to keep triumph out of his voice.

"Yes, Mrs. Orowitz has agreed he may contribute an hour -- as long as it's before midnight. In fact, each of us … men … has volunteered for an hour shift. Frenchy, Big Dan … Jack Wolf ...."

Ben rolled his eyes, grunting as he stood abruptly, his tone incredulous. "Jack Wolf? What possible reason would he have to be so magnanimous?"

Joe scrunched his face as he looked to Hoss for a definition of the word, but the older brother just shrugged his broad shoulders.

Adam cleared his throat, then turned to face his father. "Christmas, perhaps?"

Ben’s eyes traveled up and down his son’s face, several times. He grunted again, then allowed, "Perhaps." Sweeping away the point away with the back of his hand, Ben jumped back to the topic of dispute. "But we’re talking about New Year’s Eve, are we not? New Year’s Eve, in Shelby Sterrett’s saloon? And while I'm sorry that Shelby is ill, I will not have you tending bar on what is probably the busiest and rowdiest evening in her place - even for an hour."

Slapping his hand to his thigh, Adam let his temper loose again. "An hour, Pa! An hour! A one hour shift." He tossed his hands toward the ceiling. "How much could happen in that saloon, in such a short time?"

Ben strode to within inches of his son's face. He tapped Adam's chest, his sharp index finger punctuating his every word. "How much can happen in an hour? It takes only seconds to fire a gun, young man. Seconds."

Adam threw his hands into the air again, his voice reaching a new pitch. "I don't own a gun, Pa!"

Ben shook his finger under his son's nose, his voice climbing with his exasperation. "You know as well as I do that Shelby keeps a gun under her bar. Her patrons know it too." Ben closed his eyes briefly, against a suddenly too vivid picture. He snapped them open, his jaw tightening. "The very idea of you being shot by some drunken - "

"Pa!"

"What!"

Adam paused until Ben unclenched his jaw. The younger Cartwright held up a pacifying palm, his voice calm. "Pa, there were only two shifts left unspoken for, and I volunteered to take the one from five in the morning until six. All the drinkers will likely be unconscious in their chairs at that point, if not in a heap on the floor. I’ll just be standing behind the bar, in the unlikely event that anyone is still capable enough to ask for a drink - or sensible enough to request a cup of coffee."

With a frustrated sigh, he grumbled, "Don't worry, Mr. Larsen promised to come by at the end of my shift, to make sure I'm still in one piece. He said if anything did happen to me, he’d feel ‘obliged to warn everyone in town to evacuate,’ knowing you’d come through like a tornado and interrogate every man, woman and child until you got to the truth."

Hoss rolled his eyes. 'Boy, for a smart guy, older brother, you sure can say the wrong things at times. Pa ain't no tornado jes now. More like a tiger, with his ears back, and a big old paw ready to knock you on your rear.'

Ben propped his hands on his hips, his eyes once again crawling over his eldest son's face, this time boring right through him. "I wonder, Adam, how you would feel if I did the opposite?"

Adam had the good grace to look ashamed of himself, biting the corner of his lip as he mentally kicked himself in the butt. "No, sir, I wouldn’t want to think you would ever do the opposite." His voice dropped so low, that the audience across the room could barely hear him. "But then, I know that would never happen."

Nodding with satisfaction, Ben concluded, "And there won’t be a need for it to happen, tomorrow, either. There are more than enough folks living in town, who can cover for Shelby on New Year’s Eve. You don’t need to be one of them."

Adam’s mouth dropped open.

Ben shook his head, adamantly, eyes narrowing. "I mean it, Adam, I will not allow it. It’s too dangerous."

Hands closing into fists of frustration, Adam bit his tongue. He’s being unreasonable. He can’t watch over me forever. Doesn’t he know that? With a silent sigh, Adam shook his head. No, it is I who am being unreasonable, to think he’ll ever change. He’s Ben Cartwright. He’s been my father for twenty-one years. How can I expect him to ever be anyone else?’ He nodded with conviction. ‘I can’t. But Ben Cartwright can be reasoned with. It’s just a little trickier, when you’re one of his sons.

Marshalling his thoughts, Adam squared his shoulders and harnessed his temper. He spoke quietly, reasonably. "Any one of us could die at anytime, anywhere, Pa. The risks are greater, under certain circumstances, to be sure. Sometimes we are forced to take risks; sometimes we choose to take them. You chose to come West and accepted the risks that came with that choice. You brought me with you and risked my life as well as your own to get here. You married, twice, along the way, and both the women you married chose to join you in risk."

Adam held his father’s gaze. "Tending bar for someone can’t be compared to our hard trek West to come out here and help build this great country we live in. But my reason for wanting to tend bar is what this country and this life is all about. It’s one of the many things you taught me, Pa. That doing a good turn for another, is part of being a good … man. It’s also part of building a good town or a good country. It’s something a man or a woman can be proud of. When you give of yourself, no matter how small the contribution, you ultimately make a mark."

Adam could see his father wavering and played his final card. "I want to do this because I respect the lady I’m doing it for. Shelby has also risked, a lot, to be the person she is. One hour, Pa. I’m asking for the least riskiest hour on the clock. Please understand. Please give me your blessing in this."

Ben's eyes traveled over his son's face once more. Yes, he’s a man. And perhaps, more to the point at the moment, he's a Cartwright. My blood. My son. He shot a glance heavenward. His mother’s son too -- persistent in making a point. Running his fingers through his hair, Ben knew he could not deny his son this chance to join the other ‘men’ in this gentlemanly gesture, for a woman they all loved and respected. He lifted his chin. Then again, my own Cartwright blood won't allow me to just give in ...

Nodding, Ben raised a warning finger. "All right, Adam, you have my permission … on one condition …. "

*****

"What'llyahave, Corky?"

Adam grinned as his father juggled three shot glasses in front of two very bloodshot brown eyes, then laughed aloud, when Corky Little’s eyes crossed as he tried to simultaneously focus on both the spinning glasses and on who was actually juggling them.

Eagle Station’s blacksmith put his hands over his eyes and begged, "Stop! Yer makin' me dizzy." When Ben obliged, Corky trailed a hand down his face, then scratched the red stubble on his chin as he stared across the bar in disbelief.

"Ben Cartwright? Can it really be you? Or do I need another whiskey, to clear my head?"

The two Cartwrights shared a glance and Adam rolled his eyes, widening them in the process. Ben chuckled, setting the glasses he'd been juggling in a line on the bar. "Yes, Corky, it’s really me."

"Then, does this mean I ain't been seein' things, the whole time I been settin' on this here stool?"

Ben shrugged. "How do you mean?"

"'Cause, each time I woke up, someone diff'rent's been swayin' – um, standin’ - behind that counter. I seen Frenchy ... Big Dan … Chris Benson ... And somewheres in there, I swear, I seen Jack Wolf." The smithy waved away the notion, with a wild sweep of his arm, nearly toppling from his bar stool. Ben and Adam both reached out across the counter, to catch hold of a beefy arm, righting the hefty man.

Corky gave a wobbly nod of appreciation. "But I knew that that was jes cause I’d had one too many shots of that there fine whiskey Shelby serves up – not the watered down stuff that sly, grinnin’ coyote thinks he’s foolin’ folks with."

Patting at the top of his head, Corky felt around for his hat. Adam plucked the missing item up off the bar and handed it to the man.

"Oh, thanks." Tossing the headgear back to its resting place, Corky continued, "But now yer tellin' me, fer sure, it's you and yer boy standin’ there ... What in the Sam Hill is goin’ on?"

Adam suggested with a sympathetic smile, "Mr. Little, could I get you a cup of coffee, sir?"

The man jerked backward, but managed to right himself before the Cartwrights had to rescue him again.

"Coffee? Tarnation, boy, no! I ain’t done celebratin’ yet. Why, it’s only … it’s only …" He struggled to pull out his pocket watch, then fumbled with it until it popped open. He blinked several times at the face, until the hands came into focus. "Why, dang, it’s only five in the afternoon. This here party is jes gittin’ started."

Ben grinned when Adam turned away to snatch up a towel and dry off a few of the glasses he’d washed when they first arrived at four o’clock. The Cartwright team relieved Wilson Barkley at that point. Barkley left the saloon muttering about what his wife was going to do to him when he arrived home.

Ben patiently explained, "No, Corky, it’s five in the morning and the party ended for most folks, many hours ago."

The blacksmith turned on his stool, to survey the remains of the New Year’s Eve shindig. Henry Watson was slumped on the stairway to the second floor, his right hand still clutching the bottle he’d emptied down his gullet, on a dare. His challenger, Wade Peters, lay in a pool of whiskey, the remains of his bottle, which had been poured over him by Wendell Townsend. Townsend had promised a howling audience, as he collected their wagers, that the loser would wear whatever he didn't drink from his bottle by the time the winner emptied his.

Corky assured them, "I put my money on Henry. He and I come out West, on the trail together, and I had occasion ta celebrate Independence Day with ‘im. Let me tell ya, that man must have hisself a sponge fer insides. Why, I can still picture 'im, settin' round our campfire, long after most of the men were snorin' in their beards. Henry was drinkin' a toast ta every woman he ever knowed." He gave Adam an exaggerated wink. "Let me tell ya, there was plenty of ‘em - "

Ben frowned.

"Sorry, Ben, but yer boy’s a man now. I'll wager he knows a little about women." He gave the boy another meaningful wink. "Enough ta know they’re worth the trouble they give a fella. Right, son?"

Adam blushed, feeling his father’s eyes on him. He nodded at Corky. "Yes, sir, Mr. Little, they’re worth the trouble."

The blacksmith surveyed the room once more, then smacked his lips. "Speakin' of toasts, whatdaya say ya fill up my glass, Ben? I wanna toast you two barkeeps." After slapping a coin to the counter, Corky ran a finger in front of the line of shot glasses Ben had been juggling earlier. "Go on, fill one a them up fer you and yer boy, too. If I'm gonna toast ya, ya gotta have somethin' in yer glass, ta raise ...."

Ben rubbed his chin, then cleared his throat, surprising Adam, when he filled all three glasses. He handed one to his son, then took one for himself. When Corky raised his glass, the Cartwrights mirrored his gesture.

"To a man who knows what counts in life, and to his son, who's growed up to be as good a man as his pa. Happy New Year to ya."

His chest full of warmth and pride, Ben met Adam's eyes as he touched his glass to his son's. Turning, he clinked glasses with the blacksmith. "Happy New Year to you, my friend."

Adam did likewise. "Happy New Year, Mr. Little."

The three men downed the contents of their glasses in one gulp, then slammed them to the countertop. Corky twisted his lips in distaste, then smacked them noisily as he slipped his tongue along them, confirming his assessment. Ben cocked his head, then turned to Adam, who was looking suspiciously at the three glasses.

But even as Ben opened his mouth to question his son, Adam grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the counter, shaking it in emphasis as he declared, "This isn't Shelby's whiskey." He scrutinized the pale liquid within. "It's ... it's been watered down." He shuffled through the bottles lined up under the counter, accusing, "Every bottle here has been -" he shared an understanding look with Mr. Little – "rigged!"

Drawing his head back, Ben propped his hands on his hips. "Oh? And how would you know what Shelby's whiskey tastes like, let alone that it’s been watered down, young man?"

Adam sighed heavily, then answered matter-of-factly, both hands out, palms up, "Pa, I'm twenty-one - "

Ben rubbed his chin, nodding. "Yes, you seem to be reminding me about that a lot lately."

The younger Cartwright gave his father such a look of exasperation, that Corky slapped the bar, laughing heartily, despite his annoyance at being gypped.

Ben raised a hand, to dismiss the subject, then waved a finger at the bottle in Adam’s grasp. He looked at the blacksmith. "Corky, you mentioned earlier that you thought you had seen Jack Wolf in here?" The blacksmith nodded. "Well, you weren’t having hallucinations. Like my son and I, and a whole host of Shelby’s friends, Jack Wolf made the gentlemanly gesture to help run Shelby’s bar, since she was just plain too sick to stand up, let alone serve whiskey and listen to a bunch of rowdy men bringing in the New Year. Much as I tried to give Jack the benefit of the doubt, I have to admit, I questioned his motives."

Corky’s look of disgust deepened. "Ya mean ta tell me, that snake of a man doctored up Shelby’s whiskey, while he was grinnin’ and makin’ small talk with all of us here?"

A familiar voice of indignation blared from midway down the steps, drawing all eyes away from the watered down booze.

"Are you tellin’ me, that some fool gave Jack Wolf permission ta stand behind my bar? Ben Cartwright, how could ya allow such a thing ta happen?"

Both Cartwrights scrambled toward the disheveled blond teetering on the stairs.

Ben reached her first and slipped an arm around her. He shook his head, scolding gently, "Shelby, you shouldn’t be up. Besides … I … I thought you were spending the night at the Orowitz’s place? Ruth said you’d never get any rest in your room - "

With an exasperated sigh, Shelby blew the loose strands of hair out her eyes, then slowly slid out of Ben’s protective arm to sit down on the steps. Pulling a cigar out of her bathrobe pocket, she lit it, before answering, "Aw, dang it, Ben, I ‘preciate what Ruth was tryin’ ta do, really I do, but … Well, hell, I couldn’t sleep in that comfy bed she made up fer me. I cain only sleep in my own ... sack … don’t ya see? That sounds finicky, I guess, but … well … I am what I am."

As Ben sat down beside her, she slapped him in the chest. "Jes like you cain only be who you are." She winked at Adam, "Ain’t I right?"

Adam smiled, first at Shelby, then at his father. He nodded at the barkeep, his blue eyes filled with complete understanding. "Yes ma’am, you are."

"’Spect that’s true of most of us." Shelby blew a puff of smoke into the air. "I always say, a leopard cain’t change his spots. And dang it all, neither can a snake." Punching Ben in the arm, she scolded, "Ben Cartwright, I jes cain’t fer the life of me understand … how could ya let that snake behind my bar?"

Adam interrupted, "Miss Sterrett …" Shelby rolled her eyes and Adam corrected himself, "Shelby. My father didn’t have anything to do with Jack Wolf tending your bar. Fact is, it was Mr. Larsen who arranged to have your saloon manned around the clock. Guess he figured Jack was trying to do the neighborly thing, in keeping with the season and all. Guess a lot of us agreed with him."

Shelby tipped her head to one side. "Ceptin’ yer father, eh, Adam?"

Ben shook his head. "Being suspicious of my fellow man, is not something I’m particularly proud of, Shelby - "

Wrinkling up her nose, Shelby corrected, "Well Jack Wolf ain’t never gonna be no fellow man of yours, or nobody’s. Cause once a snake, always a snake."

Her eyes traveled over the bodies slumped all over the saloon. When she found the one she was looking for, she hollered, "Hey, Wendell! Wendell Townsend, wake up! I gotta job fer ya."

Ben admonished, "Shelby, you really should go back to bed."

"Aw, Ben, don’t be such a mother hen. I’ll go, jest as soon as I take care of some necessary business." Ben whispered something to Adam as he rose and disappeared into Shelby’s kitchen.

The saloon owner’s attention had shifted back to the large groaning man struggling to his feet in the center of the floor. Wendell wavered, still uncertain of his whereabouts.

Shelby ordered, "Adam bring me all them bottles of watered down booze."

"Yes ma’am."

"Wendell, is that coat yer wearin’ the one with all the special pockets on the inside?"

Wiping a hand over his bleary eyes, Wendell nodded.

"Good! Adam, put all them bottles inside his coat."

Adam opened his mouth to question the woman, but she shot him a look that told him there was no sense in doing anything but what he was told. He walked over to Wendell, opened his coat, and slipped a bottle into each of the inner pockets that were just the right size to hold a whiskey bottle." Adam walked back to Shelby’s side just as his father emerged from the kitchen, taking in the scene with a suspicious look on his face.

Shelby ignored him and concentrated on the still wavering Wendell. "You go over to Jack Wolf’s place and you trade them bottles in fer ones he ain’t had time ta tamper with yet. You know where he stores ‘em." With a sour look, she added, "And ‘fore you come back, you make shore and tell him Shelby wishes him a Happy New Year."

"Yeah, okay, Shelby."

"And Wendell?"

"Yeah, Shelby?"

"You cain keep my share of the winnin’s on the booze drinkin’ contest ya staged last night - fer yer trouble. Glad to know Henry’s still the champion." She cast a sympathetic eye on Henry’ body, still slumped at the bottom of the stairs. "Even if he is gonna be payin’ fer it fer the rest of the day – or so."

She turned her attention to Ben and the cup he was holding out to her. "What in blazes is that?"

"This, my dear Shelby, is some of Hop Sing’s remedy, that he left behind in one of your cupboards. My son and I are going to escort you upstairs and you are going to drink this tea and go back to bed. We will then escort the various bodies strewn around this place outside and close your saloon. I think most of these folks have imbibed enough whiskey to last them until you’re ready to stand behind your bar again."

With a Cartwright hand on each elbow, Shelby rose to her feet. She eyed the cup in Ben’s hand with a cynical eye, then looked in questioning brown eyes. "You shore that uppity cook of yers would want me usin’ his precious herbs? I ain’t his best friend in the world, ya know."

Ben sighed. "Yes, yes I do." They started up the stairs. "But I actually do think a leopard can change a few of his - or her – spots. And while I doubt you and Jack Wolf will ever be friends, I hold out hope for you and Hop Sing."

Shelby stopped, arching a blond eyebrow. "Oh? How come?"

Brown eyes shining, Ben grinned down upon her. "Because you and our cook have at least one thing in common."

Shelby scoffed, "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

"You both have a big hearts – and there’s room in each of yours for the other."

Shelby rolled her eyes, then let out a big sigh of surrender. She looked at Adam, giving him an elfish smile. "You know what your Pa is, Adam?"

Adam took a long look into his father’s eyes, then looked back at Shelby. He nodded. "Yes, ma’am, I do, and I like his spots right where they are."

The End.

(December 2005)