The Road to Change

by Sheryl

Ben Cartwright sat down at the breakfast table and immediately noticed the tension in the room. A glance at each of his sons, revealed three sullen faces. He unfolded his napkin, placed it on his lap and picked up the pot of coffee. "Good morning, boys," he greeted, forcing himself to remain cheerful in spite of their demeanor. He filled his cup with coffee then passed the pot to his right.

Adam met his eyes and gave his father a quick smile. The smile wasn’t the slightest bit genuine, however, and Ben wondered what in the world could have taken place so early in the day.

"Mornin’ Pa," Hoss answered without a trace of his usual cheer. Ben studied the boy for a moment, somewhat alarmed that his usually pleasant, enthusiastic middle son seemed equally as out-of-sorts as his brothers.

Ben took a long sip of steaming coffee, watching Joseph over the rim of his cup. His youngest son had his elbow propped on the table, his cheek resting against one hand while he traced the grain of the wooden tabletop with his left index finger.

"Good morning, Little Joe," Ben said more slowly, after setting his mug down on the table and reaching for the pot to pour himself a second cup. He predicted that he would need several more cups just to make it through the morning meal.

"Huh?" Joe’s head snapped up and he looked at his father with wide eyes.

"I said good morning, son."

"Oh, mornin’ Pa," Joe replied then sighed heavily and slumped down in his chair.

Surreptitiously he watched his three sons, hoping to gather a clue as to what was going on. Hoss’s shoulders were hunched forward, his hands folded in front of him. Ben noticed his middle son kept glancing from Adam to Joe then back down to his empty plate. His fatherly instincts told him that whatever trouble was brewing amongst his sons most likely originated from these two.

Hop Sing set a basket of warm biscuits on the table and sat down beside Adam.

"Little Joe, would you please say the blessing?" Ben asked, watching as his youngest son pursed his lips and considered refusing. "Joseph. . ."

The firmness of his father’s voice prompted the boy into action. Joe sat up and folded his hands, pausing briefly to glance at his older brothers before closing his eyes. "Dear Lord, thank you for this day and for this food and for my fam--" Joe paused and licked his lips then looked up through his lashes at his father.

"Joseph. . . ?" Ben prompted.

Joe’s mouth twisted and his eyebrows came together then he glared across the table at his older brothers. "Well, I ain’t thankful for them! Specially not him!" He pointed an accusing finger directly at Adam.

"Joseph!" Ben roared. Shocked by the outburst he slammed the palm of his hand down hard on the table. "How dare you speak that way?"

"Well, it’s the truth!"

"That’s enough!"

"I hate you, Adam! I wish you wasn’t even my brother." As the words came out of Joe’s mouth, some small part, deep inside, regretted saying them, but his temper was surging beyond his control and any traces of remorse were immediately consumed by his anger.

"Joseph, get to your room," Ben ordered, his voice dangerously calm. "Now."

Hoss rolled his eyes then shot his little brother a look of disgust. Adam, on the other hand, was obviously stricken by the declaration. "Joe --" Adam began, but his father cut him off.

"Now, Joseph!"

Joe looked at each of his brothers then stuck his chin out defiantly, stood up and hurried from the table.

He waited for the bunkroom door to close then looked to his older boys for an explanation. "Would somebody like to tell me what’s going on around here?"

The boys glanced at each other then Adam closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"Scout’s missin’," Hoss informed his father.

"Missing?" Ben served himself a helping of eggs and passed the dish to Hop Sing. "Since when?"

"Since this mornin’."

"It’s all my fault," Adam finally spoke up, his blue eyes filled with misery. "I let him outside and didn’t keep an eye on him."

Ben blinked in disbelief and tried not to laugh. It wasn’t that he felt the situation was funny, but compared to the other things that had been running through his mind, he found himself somewhat relieved. "So, you let the dog out and the dog took off?"

"Yep," said Hoss then grinned as the platter of bacon was passed to him.

"It’s not funny." Adam scowled at his brother.

Ben sipped his coffee, his expression thoughtful. "I’m sure he’ll come back. He’s old enough that he ought to know how to find his way home."

"That’s what I tried to tell him," Hoss assured his father. "But Joe thinks we did it on purpose."

"He thinks I did it on purpose," Adam clarified.

"Why would he think that?"

Both boys shook their heads then Adam shrugged. "I caught Scout chewing up the binding on one of my old journals yesterday."

"I see," Ben cleared his throat and gave his eldest an admonishing look. "How’d he get a hold of your journal?"

From the look on Adam’s face, he had expected his father to ask that question, which is probably why he hadn’t mentioned the journal until now. They’d learned months ago not to leave anything lying around where Scout could get hold of it. "Pa, I already know it was my own fault. I apologized to Joe for losing my temper."

"Losing your temper?"

"Yeah," admitted Adam, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks. "I kind of swatted the pup with the newspaper I was holding then. . . " he cleared his throat and suddenly looked very guilty. Nobody could do guilt like his oldest boy, thought Ben. "I told Joe that since he couldn’t keep the dog out of trouble like he’d promised, that I was gonna get rid of him myself."

Oh boy. "So, you tell Joe you’re going to get rid of the dog and the next day the dog goes missing. I guess I can’t really blame him for assuming you had something to do with it, can you?"

"I guess not."

"That’s still no cause for him to act the way he did this morning," Ben said, mostly to himself. Okay, now he knew what had set Joseph off, but he was still curious about one thing. "Why’s he mad at you, Hoss?"

Hoss shrugged and swallowed his mouthful of eggs. "I dunno?"

Ben found this puzzling. Although Joseph was known for being quick-tempered, his temper was seldom directed at Hoss.

"I honestly didn’t think Scout would run off, Pa," Adam said with concern. "I tried to tell Joe I was sorry, but he wouldn’t listen."

"I’m sure Joseph will come to his senses once he’s had a little time to cool off and think things through."

Hoss nodded in agreement with his father then shoved another forkful of food into his mouth. Adam however didn’t seem so sure.

~ * ~

After the breakfast dishes were cleared, Ben decided his youngest son had had long enough to get his temper under control. Although he could understand Joe being upset about his puppy, it was no excuse for his outburst at the breakfast table -- and no excuse to speak to his older brother in such a hateful manner.

Ben knocked on the bunkroom door before entering. Joe was lying on the top bunk, his arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He rolled to his side when his father approached him.

"Joseph." Ben leaned against the bedpost. "Are you ready to talk about this morning?"

Joe looked away with a frown. "Scout ran off, ‘cause of Adam."

"Because of Adam?" Ben questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Joe nodded, his jaw set stubbornly.

"I see." Ben glanced around the room, noticing a pile of dirty clothes that had been stashed behind a chair and three cups lined up along the floorboard. "Well son, I can understand that you’re upset about Scout." Joe looked at him, his expression suddenly looking more injured than angered. "But, that’s no excuse to speak to your brother the way you did this morning. Especially," he emphasized, "when you’re giving the blessing."

Joe met his eyes and Ben could tell the boy already felt guilty for the outburst. "I-I’m sorry, Pa. I thought about that a lot already and I know it was wrong. I should never have said anything like that."

Ben nodded with approval. "I’m glad we agree on that, son."

"I told God I was sorry too," he added, looking worried.

"That’s good to hear. " Ben patted him on the shoulder. "I think you owe your brothers an apology, too. They’re feeling pretty bad about what’s happened, especially Adam." He didn’t miss the flash of anger that crossed Little Joe’s freckled face. Had he really thought things would be resolved so easily? "Joe?"

"I’m not sorry," Joe replied, his jaw set stubbornly, "not to them."

Ben let out a long breath and leaned closer to his son’s face. "Joseph, it doesn’t mean much to ask forgiveness from the Lord while at the same time refusing to forgive your own brother. I expected you to know better than that, son."

It took a moment, but finally Joe’s angry expression faded again. "Guess I didn’t think about it like that," he mumbled.

Ben smiled and took Joe’s small hand between both of his own. "Son, do you really think it’s Adam’s fault that Scout ran off?" he asked reasonably.

A hint of stubbornness returned to the boy’s face. "Yes," he said, refusing to look at his father.

Ben looked to the ceiling before turning Joe’s face towards him. "Really?"

Sitting up on the bed, Joe dangled his legs over the side. "Adam hates Scout, Pa. He’s been wantin’ to get rid of him for a long time."

A snort of laughter escaped him at the thought of his intelligent, sensible eldest son plotting against the clumsy, slobbery, gangly-legged pup. "He does not hate Scout, Joseph."

"Yes he does! Adam and Hoss both do! They’re always sayin’ he’s a nuisance!" Joe complained piteously. "They’re always sayin’ if he does one more thing wrong he’s gonna get sent away!"

"Little Joe," Ben rested his hands on his young son’s bony knees and looked him in the eye, "they would never follow through on that threat. It isn’t their decision to make and they know it and I think you know it, too." He tapped Joe’s chin.

When Joe didn’t respond, he leaned in close, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think they’re both more attached to that little rascal than either of them would ever admit."

Joe gave him a dubious look. "You’re just makin’ that up."

"No, I’m not. As a matter of fact, I’ve also noticed that Hop Sing seems to have grown pretty fond of that dog too."

"Now I know you’re makin’ that up!"

"Where do you think Scout gets all those bones I find stashed in my slippers?" Ben asked with a knowing wink.

Joe thought this over for a moment then his lips twitched. "He just wants to fatten him so he can make Dog Stew."

Ben made a face. "That’s disgusting, Joseph."

Joe finally smiled, albeit reluctantly.

"Okay, who tied all those old socks together to make a toy?"

"Adam did, but that was only so he wouldn’t chew on his good socks."

"Maybe." Ben shrugged, confident that his son was working the information out appropriately, even if he was acting stubborn at the moment. "I think you know how your brother Hoss feels about all animals, and one that you cared about," he playfully poked his son in the belly, "would only mean that much more to him. "

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Ben raised an eyebrow. "Maybe?" he repeated, his eyes filled with mirth.

Finally, Joe’s face lit with a full smile and Ben lifted him from the bunk and set him on the floor. "Why don’t you go on out and make sure the chores are finished."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." Ben tapped him in the chest with his index finger.

"What about Adam and Hoss?" Joe questioned plaintively.

"Your brothers are out looking for Scout."

Joe’s mouth fell open. "They are?"

"Yes, they are." He ruffled Joe’s hair. "And, Joseph . . .."

"Yes, Pa?"

"One more thing." He waited until he was certain he had the boy’s full attention. "The whole time Scout’s been with us, we’ve always let him out in the morning and he’s never run off."

Joe thought about that for a moment and then nodded.

"Adam had no reason to think this morning would be any different," he said seriously. "He feels terrible that it happened. You might try putting yourself in his shoes and thinking how you’d feel if you had accidentally lost something that meant a lot to him."

"Yes, Pa."

"Oh, and Joe," Ben called out, halting the boy once again before he’d made it to the front door. "We’ll need to hitch the wagon up so we can make a trip into town after lunch."

"Yes, sir!"

~ * ~

Any forgiveness and understanding Joe had been feeling was quickly forgotten when his older brothers returned from their search empty handed. After Ben’s prompting, Joe had offered his brothers a begrudging apology. Ben could tell that Adam felt terrible that he hadn’t been able to hand Scout over to his little brother and he was sure that Joe could see that, too.

The trip into town was less than pleasant, in spite of Ben’s attempt to be cheerful. Once they arrived, he divided the errands, promising Joe that they’d make it home while there was still enough light to resume the search.

Hoss and Adam were sent to the livery stable while Hop Sing went to place their order at the mercantile. Ben took Joseph along with him to check in on the new marshal, Marshal Brady, and see how he was getting along.

Ben opened the door and gestured for Joe to precede him into the office. The marshal was seated behind his desk, a charcoal stick in one hand and a large tablet of paper in front of him.

When he noticed the Cartwrights his face lit up and he set the tablet down. "Mr. Cartwright!" he exclaimed, bouncing around the desk with his hand held out.

Grinning, Ben shook the marshal’s hand. "Marshal Brady, how are you?"

"Fine," he answered, continuing to shake his hand vigorously. "Just fine!" Finally he let go of Ben’s hand and leaned sideways to greet his other visitor. "You must be Little Joe!" He reached for the boy’s hand and shook it just as eagerly as he had Ben’s.

Joe grinned at his father then at the marshal, who had a black charcoal smudge beneath his nose that looked like a mustache. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Ooh! That’s quite a grip ya got there, big fella!" Marshal Brady winked at Little Joe and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Uh. . . thanks." Joe tilted his head to look up at his pa. He wasn’t sure whether the man was being condescending, but he seemed nice enough. "Whatchya drawin’?" he asked, walking over to the desk to inspect the tablet.

"Joseph," Ben called to his son.

"Oh, I don’t mind," the marshal said. "I don’t mind at all. I’m always proud to show my work."

Joe stared at the disorderly array of lines on the paper, unable to make odds or ends of the image. He was about to say so when he felt his father’s firm grip on his shoulder.

"Well, that’s very. . . interesting," Ben said with a smile, while at the same time squeezing Joe’s shoulder in warning.

"Thank you, sir. At one time, it was my fondest desire to be a world famous artist," the marshal explained with a wistful look in his eyes. "But alas, soon after graduating from art school, I realized that in order to become a famous artist one must first. . . be deceased."

"Deceased?" asked Joe, his face twisting in confusion.

"Dead," the marshal clarified bluntly.

"Oh." Joe nodded.

Ben patted his son’s shoulder and quickly redirected the conversation. "You graduated from art school?" he asked, then tilted his head to take another look at the drawing. "I would have never guessed that. " Ben coughed, suddenly looking stricken. "I-I mean -- Well, I just. . . what I meant to say was that I would never have expected that of a lawman. No, no, that didn’t sound right either. What I meant was --"

"No need to explain, Mr. Cartwright," the marshal assured kindly. "You see, my father was an inspector at Scotland Yard. He was killed while on duty."

When the marshal paused, Ben put a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. "I’m very sorry to hear that. Your father must have been a brave man."

"Did he get shot by a bad guy?" Joe asked, licking his lips and looking up at the marshal expectantly.

"Joseph!" Ben admonished with a warning scowl.

Joe glanced at his father and his eyes went wide. "Oh, uh, sorry."

"That’s quite alright, lad." The marshal winked at him. "No, he wasn’t shot by anyone. The story I was told was that he fell off a bridge and drowned." The marshal got a strange, bewildered look on his face.

"Must have been fighting some bad guys," Joe assumed, nodding eagerly.

"No, there were no bad guys involved. Apparently, me sainted father drank like a fish," he explained in perfect Irish brogue. He claimed it was for medicinal purposes -- something to do with the miserable British weather. Well, anyway, one chilly night while he was out on patrol he pulled out his flask of Irish whiskey, that was his favorite, and he tipped it up to take a swallow and then just tipped right over the side of the bridge and was never seen again. They searched the channel for days, but they never did find him."

Ben noticed that Joe’s mouth was hanging open, so he nudged the boy with his elbow then realized his own mouth was hanging open as well. He snapped it shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That’s. . . that’s a terrible tragedy," he said, unable to think of anything else that seemed adequate. "That must have been very difficult for you."

The marshal nodded, a distant, thoughtful look in his eyes. "Yes, well, I never did know him; he died before I was born. My mum said it was for the best. Luck o’ the Irish, she ended up married to a wonderful man and we all ended up in America."

Ben stood speechless, having absolutely no idea what to say.

"Marshal Brady?" Joseph spoke up, thankfully breaking the silence. "Can I ask you somethin’?"

"Why of course, young man."

"What is this a drawing of?" he asked, turning the sketchpad around to better see the image. "It just looks like a bunch of scribbling to me."

Ben closed his eyes, and prayed: Oh Lord, please just let me disappear. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the original purpose of their visit. He only knew he had to come up with an adequate reason for them to excuse themselves -- and fast.

The marshal smiled and gazed with reverence at his masterpiece. "Why, that, my dear boy, is the lovely and enchanting Miss Shelby Sterrett."

Joe puckered his lips before bursting into a fit of giggles.

Ben glanced heavenward then patted Joe on the shoulder. "Well, it’s getting late. We’d better go find those brothers of yours if we’re going to get home while it’s still light out."

~ * ~

A burst of loud laughter caught their attention as they stepped outside. Tugging the brim of his hat lower to deflect the bright afternoon sun, Ben looked across the street to see what was happening. Immediately he spotted Hop Sing facing three taller men who appeared to be blocking his way. Ben recognized the men to be Clay Parker’s sons, although he couldn’t recall their names. "Go find your brothers, Joseph," he said with a warning look then he pushed the boy behind him and crossed the street. "Is there a problem?" he asked in a casual manner as he approached the group and moved close to Hop Sing’s side.

The three men stood their ground, but Ben noticed they seemed more amused than dangerous. From what he knew of the Parker family, they lived on a small ranch about ten miles from Eagle Station; they weren’t often seen in town and mostly kept to themselves. The boys were older than Ben’s own boys and had lost their ma the winter before they’d lost Marie.

The eldest of the brothers straightened until he stood an inch or two taller than Ben then put his hands on his hips. "There ain’t no problem," he replied, looking down on him with a cocky grin.

"Hop Sing?" Ben reached out and put a hand on his friend’s arm then motioned with his head for them to move on. "It’s getting late. We better get going."

Hop Sing nodded, sending a look of gratitude as Ben attempted to lead him away. They were halted by one of the other men before they had made it two steps.

"Now, hold up there…." the smaller man said in a more menacing tone. This man seemed more nervous and angry than the other two. "We didn’t say you could go yet," he said, taking a step closer to Hop Sing.

"Yeah," another voice chimed in. "We ain’t done talkin’ with you, China boy."

Hop Sing cast his eyes downward, his posture seeming to deflate. Ben wondered how many other times the man had been forced to endure this type of cruelty. Just witnessing it made him angry and frustrated. It also made him admire Hop Sing’s patience and kind, gentle spirit all the more.

Moving closer, Ben draped an arm across Hop Sing’s shoulders, deciding he needed to be a little more forceful. "Move out of our way," he said slowly, giving each man a hard look.

"Now, hold on there," the first man addressed him, placing a big hand on Ben’s chest. "We ain’t got no quarrel with you, but we ain’t quite done with this yella."

Ben trained icy blue eyes on the man as he pushed the hand away. "I said, move out of our way."

With a quick glance upwards, Hop Sing shook his head minutely.

Ben understood that Hop Sing didn’t want the trouble to escalate, but he simply couldn’t allow this humiliating scene to continue. These men had no business treating his friend with anything less than respect.

"You aim to stop us?" The largest of the men pushed his way over to stand directly in front of Ben. The man was unshaven and his breath reeked of whisky, making Ben’s eyes water and he was almost forced to step back.

"Look," he attempted reasoning, "we don’t want any trouble. So, why don’t you let us pass and we can all just go about our own business?"

"I got a better idea," the man said, squinting his eyes. "Why don’t you and your youngun go about your business and leave us to ours?"

Youngun? Ben shot a quick glance over his shoulder and took a deep breath as he fought the urge to take the boy across his knee right there and then. He hadn’t even realized Joseph was standing behind them. "Joseph, go find your brothers," he ordered sharply then focused a steely gaze on the men in front of him. "I’m going to ask you one last time to move out of our way."

The tallest of the brothers snickered. "Like we said, nobody’s stoppin’ you. As for China boy here, well, we got some settlin’ to do with him."

"Settling?" Ben asked through clenched teeth. "I wasn’t aware of anything that needed settling."

"Yes, matter o’ fact, there is," the man replied, still seeming amused. "Why don’t you just tell him what you done, China boy?"

Ben watched Hop Sing purse his lips and struggle not to roll his eyes. "Today they say I walk on wrong side of street."

"That was jus’ today," said Parker. "Why don’t ya tell him about the other things?"

"Yeah." The younger boy stepped forward again. "Tell him how ya killed our ma."

Hop Sing closed his eyes; his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly. When he spoke his voice was quiet and measured. "Your mother was very sick. I try everything I know to help her."

"Help her?" the man scoffed. "It was you and your roots and herbs that killed her. You poisoned her just as sure as the sun’s shinin’ in the sky."

Hop Sing glanced at Ben then lowered his eyes, looking almost as if he questioned Ben’s faith in him. After everything the man had done for him and his family, and for a lot of other folks too, Ben hoped he knew how highly they all regarded him. Hop Sing was the of the wisest, most kind-hearted people he knew -- always willing to go out of his way to help someone in need, whether friend or not.

Ben wondered, not for the first time, how some people could be so fearful that they allowed themselves to be blind to everything but their own narrow-minded beliefs. It was like they just kept going down the same road their entire lives without ever bothering to consider that they might be headed in the wrong direction.

"Look," he said, wanting to be sympathetic, yet reasonable. "I’m truly sorry about your mother, but blaming Hop Sing is just. . ." Ben searched for the proper word, but all he could come up with was, "ridiculous." He stood there studying the men, wishing he could find a way to make them understand the wrongness of their thinking. When they refused to budge, he decided the time for talk was over. "Let’s go, Hop Sing."

This time when Ben attempted to leave with his friend, one of the men grabbed his shoulder and gave him a shove that was hard enough to send him sprawling on the sidewalk. Ben was a little stunned that they would take things this far, but if it was a fight they were looking for, he was ready to oblige.

As he pushed to his feet a sound from behind alerted him that his youngest son was still there. He gave Joe a glare that promised a good, long, hard discussion on obedience as soon as they got home. Joe’s eyes grew wide with fear and Ben realized his son was looking past him. He turned his head back toward the men and saw the object of Joseph’s fear. The youngest brother had drawn his gun from its holster and was aiming the barrel shakily in their direction.

"Lem, you put that away!" the oldest brother ordered, pointing a finger at him. "There ain’t no need for gun play." Lem’s eyes darted skittishly from Ben to Hop Sing then to his brother who stood on his left. "Lem!" his brother warned with more force.

In what seemed like slow motion, the taller man reached and took hold of the gun. Lem tried to pull his hand away. His eyes slid again to his brother. There was a loud blast of gunfire that shocked Ben. At the same time he felt his body being thrust backwards from the force of the bullet’s impact. From the look in the other man’s eyes, he was equally stunned.

Even as Ben’s legs gave out from under him he knew, yet couldn’t believe that he was shot. As the blackness encroached, he caught a glimpse of Little Joe standing in the middle of the boardwalk, his eyes filled with horror. Ben was able to call out one last word, a barely audible plea. He didn’t want his baby son to see this happening. "Joseph. . .."

The gun dropped to the ground and the man who had been holding it took a step back. "I didn’t. . .." He shook his head, looking at each of the men standing around him. "It was an accident. I didn’t mean it."

The three men stood, mouths gaping as the spot of crimson expanded outward across the front of Ben’s light blue shirt.

Hop Sing kneeled beside his friend. Once he’d found a carotid pulse he pulled a cloth from his pocket and pressed it firmly against the wound. The rest of the world faded away as he worked single-mindedly to staunch the flow of blood, and it wasn’t until he felt strong hands on his shoulders that he remembered where he was. His first instinct was to fight the hands, to push whomever they belonged to away, to protect the wounded man who lay before him.

"My God, what happened?" an anguished voice pierced the ringing in his ears, and he felt a wave of relief that he no longer faced this situation alone. But one glance at Adam Cartwright’s devastated expression and he was immediately filled with helpless remorse. Logic told him he was not to blame; but he couldn’t help feeling somehow, in some way, responsible. He had vowed if only to himself to always take care of this family; and now, because of him, this father was gravely wounded.

"Little Joe, you okay?" Hoss rushed to his younger brother’s side, took him by the shoulders and tried to turn him away from the scene.

Joe didn’t answer. He struggled against his brother, wanting to keep an eye on what was happening with his father.

"Adam?" Hoss sounded panicked as he called out to his other brother.

Eli Orowitz appeared and kneeled beside Adam. Carefully he pulled back the bloodied shirt to inspect the wound on Ben’s chest. "Take him to my house," he said, standing and gesturing for the crowd to step back. Hoss hurried to help as Adam and Hop Sing lifted Ben. A second later Marshal Brady was assisting them too. They carried the wounded man a short distance down the boardwalk toward the Orowitzes’ home.

"Come on Little Joe." Big Dan Larsson put an arm around his shoulders and tried to direct him away; but Joe stood firmly, staring at the man responsible for shooting his father. Dan followed his line of vision, and easily put the puzzle pieces in place.

"It was an accident!" one of the men exclaimed, before Dan could even question him. "I swear, I didn’t mean for the gun to go off! I didn’t mean for no one to get hurt! Ya gotta believe me!"

Dan took a step closer to the Parkers, straightening his spine until he was looming over all three of them. "Little Joe, you run along now and see to your pa," he ordered. "I’ll take care o’ these three."

"Come on, kid." Suddenly Shelby was there, guiding him away from the scene. "Don’t you worry, Big Dan’ll take care o’ them. And we’re gonna do everything we can for you pa. He’s a strong man. If anyone can pull through this he can."

Joe allowed himself to be led by Shelby, but he wasn’t at all reassured by her words. Ever since his ma had died, he’d had a terrible fear that something like this would happen. For a long time after she’d died, every night Joe had been wakened by nightmares -- the same scene repeating itself over and over. Joe and his brothers at the lake. The sounds of birds singing and waves lapping against the shore in the background, the invigorating scent of fresh pine filling his senses as the three of them shoveled dirt into a deep hole. When they would finish, they’d all take a step back to inspect their work and Joe would suddenly realize exactly where they were. And then he would notice not one, but two grave markers. Right beside the marker belonging to his mother, would be a fresh mound of dirt and second marker bearing his father’s name. Joe would wake up crying for his pa.

When they entered the house, Shelby patted him on the back and gave him a gentle push toward the parlor. "You go on over there and sit down now. I’m gonna go see what I can do to help your pa." Joe watched her go up the staircase two steps at a time, then he slowly walked over to the window and sat down. He felt cold and numb, detached from everything going on around him. If anything happened to his pa. . .. No, he couldn’t bear to think about that.

"Hey, Shorty." Hoss came up from behind him. Joe could tell he was only trying to sound happy. "Whatchya lookin’ at?"

As Joe watched out the window, the two older Parkers came out of the jail. Hopefully Big Dan locked the other one up where he belongs, thought Joe.

"Hop Sing told the marshal what happened," said Hoss as he squatted down next to Joe. "Marshal Brady says it don’t matter what Hop Sing says. Bein’ that he’s Chinese it ain’t likely to hold up in court." Hoss scratched his head then chuckled. "Ya know, it’s cause of folks like the Parkers that Hop Sing’s word doesn’t mean much. Maybe it’d do that Parker kid some good to sit a spell in that jail and think about that."

The look on the youngest Parker’s face flashed into Joe’s mind. He’d looked so shocked then so scared. Joe believed that he hadn’t meant to shoot his pa, but still. . .. He wondered what happened to a man if they accidentally killed someone. Did they get hanged? Certainly they didn’t get off free, or so he hoped. That man deserved some kind of punishment, whether it had been an accident or not.

He wondered what his pa would have to say about it all, if he was here, if he was able to talk -- then he tried not to think about it anymore. He rested his cheek against the window frame and continued to stare out the window, trying to think of anything other than the fact that his father was lying upstairs with a bullet in his chest. Because the more he thought about it, the more terrified and overwhelmed he felt -- just like he did in his nightmare.

Hoss stood up, tousled Joe’s hair and walked away. Joe was thankful for the quiet.

~ * ~

After what seemed like days, Joe heard the sound of voices and footsteps on the stairs. They were speaking very quietly, so he tilted his head a little, attempting to better hear what they were saying.

"I best get back to the office." Joe heard Marshal Brady’s voice. "If he wakes up, I’d appreciate it if someone would come and get me."

"Of course," Mr. Orowitz replied.

"Little Joe?" The marshal called as he came across the room. "How are you doing, son?" he asked placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder. "You feel up to talkin’?"

Joe continued staring out the window, wishing everyone would go away and leave him alone. The last thing he wanted to do was relive his pa getting shot. He could still picture it so clearly – too clearly. His pa standing there, trying to talk some sense into the Parkers and then the sound of a gunshot, his pa falling back and the blood. . .. No, he couldn’t talk -- not right now. It was too much to think about, much less talk about. Besides, he was afraid that if he even opened his mouth he might shatter into a million pieces, like a china teacup.

Marshal Brady waited a few seconds and when Joe didn’t reply, he nodded and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Maybe later."

"Perhaps that would be best," Mr. Orowitz said kindly. "Thank you, Marshal Brady. We’ll send someone to tell you when Benjamin wakes."

"Hey buddy." Joe felt Hoss’s hand on his shoulder, but he kept looking out the window. "How ya doin’?"

Joe took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Miss Sterrett got the bullet out with Hop Sing’s help. They’re just cleaning him up now. Adam says we might be able to see him soon."

Images of blood and bullet holes flashed through his mind and Joe nodded distractedly.

"Are you boys hungry?" Mrs. Orowitz asked from the kitchen entrance. "I have some soup on the stove."

"Thanks, but I’m not all too hungry, ma’am," Hoss said.

"I understand," Mrs. Orowitz replied kindly. "Maybe later."

"Little Joe?" Mr. Orowitz squatted down in front of the boy’s chair and placed a hand on his knee. "Are you hungry?"

Little Joe glanced quickly at the man and shook his head then turned his attention back to staring out the window. Mr. Orowitz smiled, patted his knee then stood up.

"He’s just worried," Hoss explained for his younger brother.

Worried? Try scared to death, Joe thought. He wished again that everyone would find something else to do and leave him be. At least when he was alone he was able to keep his mind on other things.

But Hoss wasn’t about to leave his brother alone. He was not only worried about their pa, he was starting to get a little worried about Joe as well. As far as he knew, Joe hadn’t even said a word since their pa had been hurt. He studied the solemn boy for a long moment, then moved closer to stand beside his little brother’s chair.

He’d been so worried about Pa that he hadn’t given much thought to what Joe must be going through. After losing their ma, how could he stand it if they lost their pa too? How could any of them? he wondered, then pulled Joe closer until he was leaning into his side. There were no words he could think of to make things okay, but maybe just being together would help. It always had before.

Joe kept looking out the window, thinking, remembering the sound of his pa laughing this morning, the warm feeling of safety and security he got whenever Pa rested a hand on his back, the way his pa always knew exactly the right thing to say or do, no matter how bad things seemed. Joe kept his thoughts focused on the good things and tuned out everything else.

~ * ~

"Thank you, Shelby," Adam said, looking up from where he was perched on his father’s bedside.

Hop Sing placed a cool, damp cloth on Ben’s forehead and nodded slightly to Shelby in acknowledgement of her efforts.

"No need for thanks," she responded as she dried her hands on a towel. "Just so happens that Ben Cartwright means a lot to me, too. Sometimes it’s like. . . well, he almost seems like a brother." She folded her arms across her chest obstinately. "Now, don’t ya go tellin’ him I said that, ya hear?"

Adam smiled. "Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me," he said. His smile was quickly replaced with concern when turned his attention back to his father.

"Aw, Adam, your pa’s gonna be just fine," she said quietly and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You’ll see."

"Yeah." Adam nodded, not taking his eyes off of his father. "You know, I just can’t help but wonder if. . .."

"If? If what?" Shelby prompted when Adam didn’t finish his sentence.

Adam turned to her, frowning. "If Pa had been carrying a weapon this never would have happened," he said vehemently.

"You don’t know that, Adam," she responded, shaking her head. "For all you know that could have made things even worse. Instead of one bullet there coulda been a whole lot more. Your little brother was standin’ right there. He coulda been hurt, or even killed."

The fact was she knew the town was becoming more dangerous every day; and her own opinion was that Ben Cartwright’s stubborn refusal to carry a gun for self-defense was just plain foolish. Out of respect for Ben she’d never admit that to anyone, especially his son. Besides, she’d learned over the past few years that even when she felt Ben was doing something outrageously foolish, he usually proved her wrong and in the end came out looking like a hero, which was exactly how she thought of the man. A true hero if ever there was one. Course she’d never admit that.

"Or the whole ordeal could have been avoided altogether," Adam contended. "You carry a gun, practically everyone carries a gun. If Pa would have had a gun I’ll bet the Parkers would have backed down."

"Well, you know your pa. He can be. . ." Shelby’s eyebrows drew together as he struggled to choose an appropriate description, "well, kinda stubborn, sometimes." Adam rolled his eyes at the understatement of the year and Shelby had to smile. "Okay, the man can be stubborn as a mule, but…" she folded her arms across her chest, uncomfortable speaking her feelings, "your pa is one of the best. . . one of the smartest people I know, Adam. He usually has a darn good reason for the things he does, even if nobody else understands at the time."

"I know that Shelby, but this time I think he’s wrong. I think he’s holding on to a belief that’s just not valid anymore, not out here anyway. It might have been in another time and place, but with the way this town is growing and with all the trouble that’s been going on around here lately, I don’t think it’s true any longer."

"Yeah," she admitted, nodding thoughtfully. "We do seem to be attractin’ more’n our share of no-goods lately."

"And, I have the feeling it’s only going to get worse," he said earnestly. "There are more people coming west than ever before."

Shelby nodded. Eagle Station was a convenient stopping place for all kinds of westward bound settlers, and while she had to admit it was good for her business, she also had to admit that a lot of these so-called settlers were nasty, disreputable characters. "Adam, as long as I’ve known your pa, I’ve never known him to let someone else force him into a decision he wasn’t ready to make."

"Don’t I know it," Adam said with exasperation.

Shelby raised an eyebrow and gave him a mildly reproachful look. "Your pa may be stubborn, but he ain’t generally known to be stupid. If more folks took the time to think before they acted, I think we’d all be better off."

Adam looked down at the floor. One of these days, hopefully, he’d remember that Shelby’s advice was always contrary to his expectations. Not only that, but more often than not she ended up sounding way too much like his pa -- an odd twisted version of his pa’s reasoning, but the outcome was pretty much the same. "I suppose so."

He glanced at the bureau where he’d placed his gun belt and not for the first time felt a spark of rage. Whenever he thought about the narrow-minded men who were responsible for shooting his father he felt a deep need to seek his own justice. Not only for his pa’s sake, but for Hop Sing’s as well. His conscience told him immediately that what he was thinking was wrong and he had no illusions as to what both Hop Sing and his pa would have to say if either of them knew. He took a deep breath and pushed away his thoughts of revenge then looked up at Shelby, his blue eyes filled with gratitude, and gave her a nod.

Shelby smiled and nodded in return then headed for the bedroom door. "Well, I best get goin’. If ya need anything just holler."

"Thanks." He watched her leave then turned back to his father and placed a hand on his father’s chest, relieved to feel the strong, steady heart beat. A hand on his shoulder reminded him that Hop Sing was still in the room

"Your father is very strong," he assured, seemingly offhanded as he resumed tidying up the room.

"Yeah."

"He will be fine."

He has to be fine, thought Adam. We need him. I need him.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and Hoss peered into the room. "Adam?" he asked, seeming hesitant to enter the room. "How’s he doin’?"

Adam sat back in the chair and looked at his brother. "He’s sleeping for now."

"Sleep is best medicine," Hop Sing offered. "His body needs much rest to heal."

"Mrs. Orowitz wanted me to tell ya supper’s ready, if anyone’s hungry."

"You and Joe go ahead," Adam told him. "I’ll just stay here for awhile longer."

"Well, okay, but as soon as I’m done I’ll be back, then you’re gonna go on downstairs and get somethin’ to eat, brother."

Adam smiled at his younger brother standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and barking out orders. "Alright, if you insist, brother."

"Good," Hoss replied with a look of satisfaction that faded a moment later. "Now, if only Joe would be so cooperative."

Adam frowned and rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been so worried about their pa, he hadn’t even thought about how Joe was holding up. "How’s he doing?"

Hoss shrugged his shoulders. "He ain’t sayin’ much. Guess I can’t really blame him."

Adam remembered a conversation he’d had with his pa awhile back. Pa had been lecturing him about the time he was spending with Isabella and trying to get him to spend a little more time with Joe. He’d explained how Joe was having a hard time after losing Marie and then Carlos and how he feared losing his brothers too. Right now, his little brother must be scared to death of losing his pa. "Why don’t you send him up here."

Hoss shrugged. "Well, I’ll try. He ain’t moved from that chair by the window all day."

"Just tell him that I’d like to talk to him."

"All right."

~ * ~

"Whatcha lookin’ at out there?" Shelby asked kneeling down beside Joe so she could look out the window and see whatever it was he seemed so interested in.

Joe shrugged a shoulder. He’d been watching Marshal Brady pace up the walk then spin around and draw his gun then he’d replace it in its holster and begin all over.

"Oh, good Lord," she said with disgust when she spotted the marshal. "What in tarnation does he think he’s doin’?"

Joe glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth twitching in spite of himself.

Shelby’s eyebrows were drawn together in a look of disbelief as she continued to watch. The marshal repeated the action, taking five paces up the walk then spinning as he reached for his gun, only this time he fumbled his draw and the gun went flying out of his grip and sailed right through the front window of the jail. "Oh, good Lord!" She slapped a hand to her forehead and burst out in laughter. Even Joe was unable to maintain a straight face. They watched the marshal take off his hat and scratch his head as he stood there considering the dilemma of his newly broken window. Still grinning, Shelby nudged Joe with her elbow. "Ya reckon we oughtta go over there and lock him up in his own jail, before he hurts himself?"

Joe let out a small giggle.

"Oh, brother! Here he comes! I can just hear him now. Miss Shelby," she said in a deeper voice that apparently was supposed to sound like the marshal’s, "I was wonderin’ if you would be so kind as to help me find a new windowpane?"

Moments later there was a knock on the door. Shelby grinned at Joe and shook her head, but stayed where she was.

"Hello, Marshal Brady," Mr. Orowitz greeted when he opened the door.

"Uh. . . I was wonderin’ if Miss Shelby was still here," came the marshal’s voice from the entryway.

"Yes, I believe she’s right in here."

"Uh, Miss Shelby, ma’am." Shelby rolled her eyes and Joe looked up to see the marshal standing there, holding his hat in his hand and looking like a nervous teenager. "I was wondering if you would be so kind as to help me. . .."

"Find a new windowpane?" she drawled, completing the sentence.

"Why, yes," he looked at her, shocked, "how did you know?"

"Never mind."

"Hello, Little Joe," the marshal approached the boy cautiously. "How are you?"

Joe looked down at his boots.

After an uncomfortable silence, Shelby stood up and patted Joe on the shoulder then turned to Marshal Brady. "Well, let’s get that windowpane before it gets too late. I’ll be back later on."

The door closed and Joe heard footsteps on the stairs. "Hey, short shanks," Hoss said, tousling his brother’s hair. "Adam wants ya upstairs."

Joe looked up, his eyes wide and fearful. He didn’t want to go upstairs. This chair, this space had become an odd sanctuary where he’d almost begun to feel protected from harsh reality. If he went upstairs he’d have to see his pa and face the truth and he wasn’t sure he was ready to do that just yet.

"Don’t’ worry," Hoss responded quickly. "It ain’t nothin’ bad. He just said to send ya up there."

Joe’s fingers plucked nervously at a loose thread at the seam of his pants. He’d almost made himself believe that as long as he stayed planted in the chair everything bad would be held at bay. Sort of like the boy who plugged the dike with his finger and held off the impending flood. But, he couldn’t sit here forever, he realized. Time did not stand still, no matter how much he wished it would. His pa would expect him to act like a man and so he would, for Pa’s sake.

~ * ~

Slowly Joe made his way up the stairs, as if he were headed for the gallows. Hoss sat down in the empty chair and watched, empathizing with his younger brother’s anxiety. His heart went out to Joe because no matter how scared and uncertain he was feeling, Joe had to be feeling like his whole world was about to crumble.

For a moment, Hoss had a sudden overwhelming fear that the world truly would fall apart if anything happened to his father. What would they do without him?

Hoss thought back on all the stupid mistakes, all the unwise decisions he had made over the past few months alone. Without his father’s patience and guidance he would have surely made a mess of his life by now. He often complained when his pa didn’t treat him like a grown up. He was at an age where he struggled to prove his maturity, to prove he was a man to himself and to his pa. The truth was that right now, he wasn’t ready to be without his pa. The thought of facing life without his father’s steadfast love, wisdom and support made Hoss feel young, helpless and hopelessly out of control.

Roughly he wiped the moisture from his eyes then propped his arms on the windowsill and began to plead with the one he knew was in control of everything.

~ * ~

Out in the hallway Joe paused before entering the room. He wasn’t sure what to expect and dreadful scenarios were assaulting his mind. Did Adam want to see him because Pa was doing bad? Maybe his pa was doing so bad that this would be the last time he’d ever see him?

Had it been just that same morning when he’d been mad at Adam and in trouble with Pa? It seemed like days had passed since breakfast this morning.

Steeling himself, Joe knocked softly then opened the door and peered into the room.

"Come in, little brother." Adam turned to him and smiled encouragingly.

Hop Sing smoothed the blankets covering Ben. "I will be downstairs if you need me," he told them then patted Joe on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway.

Joe took a few hesitant steps into the room, unable to take his eyes off of his father’s still form.

"Come here, Little Joe." Adam held an arm out. "How are you doin’?"

Slowly Joe approached the bed, leaning into his older brother when he felt his arm go around him.

Joe looked at his father’s pallid features, afraid to ask about his condition – afraid of what the answer might be.

"Hop Sing thinks he’s going to pull through." Adam answered the unspoken question anyway. He kept his arm around Joe and was mildly surprised when the boy perched on his knee. "We just have to keep a close watch on him and pray that he doesn’t get a fever."

Reaching out with a shaky hand, Joe touched his father’s cheek. It felt warm, but not feverish and his cheeks were not the rosy hue they always got when he was sick. But he was so still, and his face seemed almost as white as the pillowcase beneath his head. He couldn’t ever remember his father looking so weak and vulnerable. In fact those were not words that he’d have ever associated with his father. Ben Cartwright was the strongest, smartest, most caring person he could think of; and when he wasn’t being those things, he was being a prankster -– full of mischief and good natured teasing, with a lively twinkle in his eyes and a grin that would always make Joe and his brothers wonder what he was up to.

His vision blurred and he realized tears were spilling down his cheeks. How could his pa be so alive one minute and so. . . like this the next? "Pa!" he choked out, wiping his eyes roughly across his sleeve.

"Oh, Joe. Come here, buddy." Adam pulled his brother back and hugged him tightly. Joe buried his face in the crook of Adam’s neck and clung desperately to the older boy. He tried to hold back the sobs, tried to distance himself from the situation again, but found himself unable to ignore the reality of his father lying motionless in the bed.

~ * ~

Adam held onto his brother for a long time, until finally Joe quieted and his muscles relaxed as he gave into exhaustion.

Not too long afterwards, Hoss entered the room and slumped down on the floor with his back against the wall. "He hasn’t moved at all, has he?" asked the middle boy.

Adam shook his head. His pa hadn’t moved at all for a long time.

"How’s Little Joe?" he asked, looking up at Adam with tired, bloodshot eyes.

"Cried himself to sleep," he whispered, studying the tear-streaked face for a moment before turning back to Hoss. "But, he’ll be okay." Adam guessed that this brother too had spent a few tears over their father’s condition and he realized that Joe wasn’t the only one who needed him right now. He’d felt an awesome responsibility for both of these boys, since the minute each of them had come into the world. Hoss was nearly a grown man and hadn’t needed him quite as much lately; but right now, all Adam could see was the little boy who had looked to him and relied on him all those years before. If anything did happen to their pa,

Adam knew it would be up to him to take care of his brothers. He’d have to be strong, just like his pa. Ben Cartwright’s boots would be tough to fill; but if that’s what Adam was called to do, somehow he’d make his father proud. "We’ll all be okay, brother," he said earnestly. Hoss nodded and gave him a weak smile then leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Sometime later, both Adam and Joe were startled by a loud noise. Adam hadn’t realized he’d dozed off until he was jolted awake. Joe was still in his lap, blinking owlishly and looking confused. Adam sat up and was in the middle of a yawn when the offending noise assaulted their eardrums again. Both boys turned to look at their middle brother. Hoss was still sleeping against the wall with his head tilted back, his mouth hanging open and snoring like a lumberjack.

Adam rolled his eyes and Joe couldn’t stop himself from giggling. "He’s gonna wake the whole town," Joe whispered, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Adam grinned, finding his little brother’s smile infectious, as always. "The townsfolk are probably gonna forbid us to spend the night here from now on," he said, making Joe giggle again.

". . . ’s why they all pitched in to build our house," came a weak, raspy voice from the bed. "Wanted to get him out of town. . . get a good night’s sleep."

"PA!" Joe lurched forward to stand at their father’s bedside. "Pa! You’re awake!" He reached out and tenderly brushed the curls away from his pa’s forehead, letting his hand linger as he gazed adoringly at him.

Adam stood also, putting his hands on Joe’s shoulders as he looked down at his father with hope-filled eyes.

Ben was having trouble keeping his own eyes open, but he managed a mischievous grin for his two sons and reached for Joe’s hand. Unable to hold back the tears again, Joe leaned into the bed, pressing his face against the back of his pa’s big, calloused hand.

"Pa, you don’t know how good it is to see you," Adam said, still feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He sat down in the chair again and pushed it closer to the bed. "We were so. . ." He shook his head, deciding he shouldn’t burden his father quite yet. "It’s just so good to see you awake." Ben nodded, his eyes filled with understanding and Adam felt some of the weight lifted from his shoulders.

At that point, Hoss let out a particularly loud snort and startled himself awake. They heard a muffled giggle from Joe and Adam chuckled as he watched his middle brother look blearily around. Finally he seemed to get his bearings and pushed himself to his knees. He moved to the side of the bed to find his pa –- eyes barely open, but a big smile on his face. "Pa!" he cried. "You’re awake!"

Ben found the strength to open his eyes for his middle son. "Son, your snoring could wake the dead."

Hoss’s mouth fell open, but his face was beaming with hope and love. Then with a smile, he shook his head and informed them, "I do not snore."

~ * ~

Adam didn’t fall asleep after seeing his father awake. He was irrationally afraid he’d wake up in the morning and find that it had all been a dream. Right before sun up, he quietly made his way downstairs to find Mr. and Mrs. Orowitz and Hop Sing seated at the kitchen table drinking tea. "Good morning, Adam. Would you like some tea, or perhaps coffee?" Mrs. Orowitz asked.

He accepted her offer for coffee, sitting down with them and telling them about his father’s waking earlier upstairs. Hop Sing excused himself to go check on Ben; and after Adam finished his cup of coffee, he excused himself to go wake his brothers.

Up in the guestroom, he found his father awake again. Hop Sing had just finished changing the dressing on his wound. "It is healing very well," he assured them, beaming with optimism. "No fever or sign of infection."

Adam let out a huge sigh of relief and kneeled down to wake Hoss. "Hoss, come on buddy. Wake up. Breakfast time." The word breakfast was always sure to wake their middle brother. As expected, he yawned and stretched then stood up and declared he was starvin’.

Joe, on the other hand, was not so easy to rouse. "Little Joe," Adam shook the boy’s shoulder. "Come on, wake up." Joe had fallen asleep with his head resting on the bed last night. Adam had retrieved a pillow and blanket and settled him on the floor beside the bed. "Come on, Joe. Up and at ‘em." Joe rolled over, curled up in a ball and buried his face in the pillow.

Adam was just about to pull away the blanket and pillow when there was a knock at the bedroom door and Shelby poked her head into the room. "Hey there, how’s he doin’?"

"I’m doin’ much better," Ben answered, his voice still sounding weak, but better than it had the night before.

"BEN!" she exclaimed. By her expression she was obviously surprised and delighted to find him awake. Grinning, she hurried to the bed, stepping right over little Joe. "I just knew you’d be okay!" She playfully punched Adam in the shoulder. "Didn’t I tell ya he’d be okay?"

Adam rubbed his arm then smiled and nodded. "You sure did."

"Oh, by the way, Marshal Brady’s downstairs, he was wantin’ to speak to Little Joe, but maybe it’d be okay for him to speak to you, Ben?"

"No, that’s okay," Joe’s sleepy voice came from the floor. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I can talk to the marshal."

"You sure?" asked Adam, putting a supportive hand on his little brother’s shoulder.

Joe wasn’t looking forward to speaking with the marshal. He knew it would be hard to relive the ordeal -– even in his mind -- but he wanted to spare his father the unpleasantness of the duty. His pa was looking a lot better this morning and he didn’t want anything to hamper his recovery.

"How ‘bout I go with you?" Adam offered.

Joe nodded eagerly and after another glance at their father -– who nodded reassuringly --the two brothers left the room.

The boys found Marshal Brady seated in the parlor sipping tea. "Well, good mornin’ Little Joe! Adam," he greeted, setting his tea aside to stand and shake their hands vigorously.

Adam winked at Joe, who grinned up at the marshal. "Miss Sterrett said you wanted to speak to me."

"I sure would appreciate it, son," the marshal said, gesturing for the boys to have a seat. "Now, I already got the story from your friend Hop Sing. I just need to be sure I got all the details down right." He pulled out a small pad of paper and flipped it open. "Why don’t we start at the beginning? When did you all first met up with the Parkers yesterday?"

Joe swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. "Well, right after we got done talkin’ to you at your office. We went outside and saw them across the street. They were standin’ around Hop Sing, and it looked kinda like they were givin’ him a hard time, so me and Pa went over to see what was goin’ on." Joe continued, describing in vivid detail the confrontation they had intentionally interrupted, the hateful words spoken by the Parkers and how his pa had tried to reason with them. He told how Hop Sing had kept so calm and how he kept his so quiet trying to avoid making things worse. He became agitated trying to figure out how a person could be so hateful to Hop Sing and how Hop Sing could stand it. Adam put a calming hand on his back and Joe took a deep breath and moved on with the story. By the time he got to the part where the youngest brother had pulled out his gun, Joe seemed to have lost all momentum.

The marshal kindly prompted him with the details Hop Sing had given him. He had no doubts that Hop Sing had told the truth, but he had to do his job and that was making sure to get the story from the most viable witness. He also felt it would do the boy some good to get it out in the open.

"According to Hop Sing, the older brother tried to grab the gun from the younger one’s hand?"

"I-I guess," Joe answered quietly.

"You were there, Joe." Adam tipped his head to get a better look at Joe’s face. "Is that what happened?"

"Yes."

"The younger brother tried to pull away from the older brother," the marshal continued, "and that’s when the gun went off?"

Joe nodded.

"Do you remember anything else?"

Joe shook his head then looked up with a thoughtful expression. "After the gun went off, I remember he looked real scared and he kept sayin’ he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean to shoot no one."

"So, do you believe it was an accident," the marshal asked cautiously, wanting Joe to be certain of his answer. "Or do you think that boy meant to shoot your pa?"

Some small part of Joe wanted deny that it had been an accident. A little voice within him urged him to tell the marshal that Parker had done it on purpose. Who could blame him for wanting the man to pay for hurting his father? But another voice, this one much louder and sounding an awful lot like his pa, insisted that he be honest. "I think it was an accident. He -- he looked real surprised when the gun went off and like you said, him and his brother was kinda fightin’ over the gun. His brother told him to put it away and then tried to grab it out of his hand." Joe looked up at the marshal then at his older brother. "Why do you reckon he got the gun out in the first place?"

"Most likely he just wanted to scare your pa and Hop Sing. Some folks think that by flashin’ a gun they can intimidate other folks into doin’ what they want ‘em to. I think in the case of the Parker boy, he pulled the gun without even thinking about what could happen. Clearly he wasn’t using his head."

"Like Pa says," Adam couldn’t believe he was about to repeat this particular theory of his father’s, "’Sometimes carryin’ a gun is just asking for trouble’."

Joe’s eyes widened. "Adam, do you think maybe the reason Pa won’t carry a gun is ‘cause he’s trying to be an example for other folks?" Joe knew his father taught by example rather than by spouting off meaningless words. He’d heard his father say that carrying a sidearm was like asking for a fight, but he’d never really thought about it much before. "Maybe he’s hopin’ other folks will see that he can get along just fine without carrying a gun and they’ll think they can too? If less folks carried guns, there’d be less folks accidentally shootin’ each other."

"That’s true," the marshal agreed. "And, if folks had to go lookin’ for their guns every time they got riled, it would give ‘em time to think about what they were gonna do, and time to settle down."

"All this time I thought Pa was just tryin’ to keep himself and us from getting in trouble," Joe said, in revelation. "But, I think he’s been tryin’ to keep other folks from getting in trouble too."

"You’re absolutely right, little brother," the older boy answered. "The thing is, though, Pa might have the right idea, but I’m not so sure it’s going work. When people are scared they don’t tend to listen to reason. They’re more concerned with protecting and defending themselves, and you can’t blame them. I guess what I’m trying to say is – times are changing, and things might be past the point of our pa being able to do anything about it."

Joe’s eyes grew sad as he thought about his father stubbornly trying to prove to a bunch of wild, gun-carrying men that you didn’t need to wear a gun to be a man. Adam was right, times were changin’ and Joe had to agree that things seemed well past the point of one man being able to make a difference. He couldn’t stand the thought of his pa putting his life at risk to be an example for people who weren’t even payin’ attention.

~ * ~

Epilogue.

After spending five days at the Orowitzes’, everyone finally agreed that Ben was up to making the trip home. Most likely the decision was based on the fact that they were all sick and tired of putting up with his foul mood. Ben couldn’t help it though, he hated being laid up. He hated being coddled and treated like an invalid. He hated feeling weak and tired all the time. He hated being told what to do and what to eat and having to depend on someone else to help him do simple, ordinary, everyday things – especially when it came to simple, ordinary, everyday, private things -- things that a man didn’t need an audience for. He hated being the only one suffering, so he decided it was only right that everyone else suffer too.

They set up the wagon so he would be as comfortable as possible riding in the back and ignored him when he protested that he was well enough to sit up front. He hated being ignored.

The trip home was a pleasant one, painless for the most part, with the exception of a few deep ruts along the way. It was nice to get outside and get some fresh air after being held prisoner in a guestroom for nearly a week. As they pulled into the yard Ben smiled, thinking home never looked so good.

"Scout!" Joe shouted suddenly and sprang from the wagon before it had come to a complete stop.

Sure enough there was the pup, all long legs and big paws, bounding towards the boy. Ben wondered how long he’d been waiting for his family to get home. And more importantly, he wondered as he glanced around the yard, why was the chicken coop open?

"Here Pa," Adam reached for him, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Take it easy. Let me help you."

Ben sighed. "There’s nothing wrong with my legs, son."

Adam glared at him. "You’re supposed to stay off your feet for at least another few days."

"Oh yeah? Says who?"

Adam’s jaw gaped. "Says --" He waved a hand wildly. "Says Hop Sing and Mr. and Mrs. Orowitz and. . . and Shelby and everyone!"

Ben scoffed. "I don’t believe any of those names carry an MD after them," he pointed out just to be contrary, before allowing his son to assist him from the wagon.

"PA!" Joe called out excitedly. "Look! Scout came home!"

Ben paused on the porch and gave his youngest a scrutinizing look. "I see that, Joseph. I also see that the chicken coop is open!"

Joe turned to look at the coop then back at his father. "I didn’t do it, Pa! Honest! It was Hoss’s turn to feed the chickens last!"

Ben pointed a warning finger at Joe, then at Hoss who was leading the team toward the barn. "In case nobody’s noticed, the coop is not only open, but it is chickenless. A chickenless coop is not going to do us any good. I want to see chickens! A coop full of chickens before supper!"

"We’re having chicken for supper?" Hoss hollered back with a huge grin.

"You’re not too big to put across my knee, young man!" Ben threatened and Hoss doubled over with laughter.

Ben glared at him for another long moment then let Adam continue ‘helping’ him into the house.

Adam helped him straight into his bedroom and sat him on the bed. Ben looked up at his eldest, wondering if he should point out the fact that he was the father and didn’t have to go to bed until he said so. When Adam reached for the top button of his shirt, it was really too much. "Get out."

"What?"

"You heard me, son. Out." He pointed toward the door, just incase there was any question.

"But, Pa --"

"Look, son. I know you’re trying to be helpful and I appreciate that," he said, trying to sound patient and competent. "But really, I assure you I’m quite capable of undressing myself."

Adam frowned, not at all assured. "Are you sure?"

Ben smiled. "Positive."

"Well. . ." Adam reluctantly took a step back. "If you need anything. . ."

"Close the door behind you, son."

Adam hesitated a moment longer, but then finally left.

Ben unbuttoned his own shirt, his thoughts drifting back to the events of the past week. He couldn’t believe everything that had happened. He couldn’t believe he’d been shot. Yes, it had been unintentional, but that didn’t make it any less painful for him or his boys. So easily the incident could have turned out much worse, leaving three fatherless boys alone in the world to fend for themselves. No, they’d never be alone. They’d always have each other. Of that he was certain. But still, it was painful for him to think of the boys having to bury their father so soon after burying their mother.

His one consolation was that before they’d left town, the Parkers had apologized, not only to him and his sons, but to Hop Sing as well. Last week he would have considered that a victory of sorts, but right now he only found himself questioning their sincerity.

He stood up and walked around to the trunk at the end of his bed and painfully lifted the lid. Moving either arm pulled at his chest muscles, causing him a great deal of pain and drastically limiting the use of his arms – at least for a few more days. Reaching inside the trunk he rummaged around until his fingers touched the metal box buried beneath Hoss and Adam’s old clothing and assorted trinkets that had belonged to Marie. He pulled out the oblong box and opened it with the key he kept stored in the lining of the trunk. The box contained a colt revolver, untouched since he’d locked it away some years ago.

He ran his fingers over the metal barrel, gliding them over the handle. Had man become so uncivilized that it was no longer safe to leave your home without carrying a weapon at your side? The evidence suggested that the world had indeed come to that and it made his heart ache to think so. Instead of advancing, mankind seemed to going backwards.

For as long as he could remember he’d firmly believed that a man didn’t need to carry a gun and to do so was only asking for trouble, but unfortunately he no longer felt that conviction. Perhaps he was a man who needed to stop and consider whether or not he was headed in the right direction.

The only thing he was sure of at the moment was that he felt tired and disheartened. He knew he would have to come to a decision soon, but for now he simply replaced the box into the trunk and closed the lid. Allowing his shirt to slip from his shoulders, he left it where it landed and reclined on his bed, remembering a time when he’d felt young and bold and full of life – a time when he’d had no doubt that he was heading the right direction – a time when he’d been absolutely certain that he alone could change the world.

The end

Notes: Many, many thanks to Laura K. for all her help! She was amazing -- so patient and kind in helping me with my tragic comma/elipse compulsion. Thanks also to Cyndie for her helpful comments.