The Ponderosa was entertaining a visitor.  Ben Cartwright had been delighted when his old friend, Dan Gordon, had written to ask if he could stop by for a few days.  Gordon, a full colonel in the U.S. Cavalry, was on an inspection tour of western posts.  He had managing to squeeze in a visit to the ranch before crossing into California to wind up his survey.

He arrived at the ranch house in time to join the family for a lunch of tender venison roast carefully marinated by Hop Sing and fresh spring vegetables.  Pleasantly full the two old comrades settled comfortably in rockers on the front porch to enjoy the late May sunshine and catch up on each family’s latest doings.

“How are Lucy and the children?” Ben asked.

“They’re just fine.  Lucy asked particularly to be remembered to you.”

“She’s a marvelous woman, Dan.  You’re very lucky.”

“I know.  And Tom – you remember Tom don’t you, Ben?”

“I sure do,” Ben chuckled, “the little hellion.  Remember when you visited us last, and he put those burrs under our saddles just before the Fourth of July parade?”

Tom’s father laughed fondly at the memory of a parade scattered by wildly bucking horses and flying riders.

“Well, he’s twenty now, Ben and a little better behaved.  He graduates from West Point next month.”

“Going to follow in his Dad’s footsteps, eh?”

The colonel’s face crumpled in momentary disappointment, but quickly brightened again.  “No, no.  You know how it is – the cavalry is old hat to him.  Says he wants to be an artillery officer.  Thinks it’s the coming thing in warfare.”

“I’m sure he’ll do well in anything he undertakes.  After all he is your son.”

The colonel looked hard out into the ranch yard where Adam and Hoss were at work erecting the last of three wooden arches.  The arches were nine feet high and were set in a straight line about twenty yards apart.  As they watched Little Joe rode underneath the arches and placed a metal ring about two inches in diameter on a hook that depended from the center of each arch.

“Speaking of sons, Ben, what on earth are your three up to out there?”

“Oh that’s something Adam read about somewhere.  He claims it’s been done since the days of the Round Table – a sort of modified form of jousting.  He’s been pestering us for weeks to try it.”

As the two proud fathers spoke, Adam and Hoss straightened from planting the last arch as Joe rode up to them.

“Well, it’s all set up, Adam – whatever it is.  Now what do we do with it?”

Adam picked up one of the six-foot lances resting in the grass at his feet and handed it to Joe.  “It’s quite simple.  You take this lance and ride under the rings at a run.  The object is to catch all three rings on the lance in a single pass without breaking stride.  In case of ties the fastest time wins.”

“That doesn’t sound too hard,” Joe commented.  “Let me have a try at it!”

Adam bowed and gestured at the course with a flourish and a grin.  “Be my guest.”  He and Hoss moved off to get their mounts.

Joe swung his horse around and trotted back some distance in advance of the first arch.  He settled the lance under his left shoulder in a grip that looked awkward to right-handers, but which was perfectly natural to Joe.  He set spurs to Cochise and charged down on the course.  His lance wavered at the first ring, and he missed it.  He steadied his grip and caught the second ring dead center lifting it off its hook and onto his lance.  At the third arch Cochise shied, broke stride and veered off.  Joe pulled up in disgust and swung back to return the one ring he had captured.

Hoss was laughing good-naturedly.  “Man, that was fine as frog hair, Little Joe.”

“Son of a gun!  That’s trickier that it looks.  Think you can do any better, Hoss?”

“I couldn’t hardly do no worse.  Here, gimme that pole!” Hoss heaved his big frame into the saddle and took the lance from Joe.

Hoss lined up for the charge through the course and kicked Chubb, but the horse broke into a rough gallop rather than a smooth run.  By flinging up the lance Hoss managed to catch the first ring, but his aim was far too high at the second arch and the lance struck the top arm of the arch.  Hoss was lifted out of the saddle and back onto Chubb’s rump. The frightened animal reared and Hoss slid backward onto the ground.

Joe spurred to catch Chubb as Adam hastened to help Hoss up.  Laughing softly he extended a hand to his brother.  “I’m sorry Hoss.  It’s rude to laugh, but you should have seen your face.  Are you hurt?”

Hoss got slowly to his feet rubbing his tender rump.  “Nothin’ but my pride I reckon.  Dang!  This is gonna take some practice.”

Joe cantered up leading Chubb and Adam’s horse, a handsome Appaloosa stallion.

“All right Lancelot, this whole thing was your big idea.  Let’s see you perform,” Joe demanded.

“Sure, I’ll be happy to show you boys how it’s done.”

Adam stepped lightly into the saddle, took the lance and swept out in a wide circle coming into the course at a smooth, flat run.  The lance stayed rock steady as he took all three rings cleanly and pulled up abruptly at the end of his run.  He tapped the gleaming Appaloosa with his spurs and the horse reared dancing on his hind legs as Adam saluted the colonel and his father with the ringed lance.

His success was rewarded with smiles and a round of applause from the porch.  His brothers were less pleased.

“Doggone it Adam!  You’ve done this before.  Come on; admit it!” Joe clearly thought there was trickery afoot.

Adam’s deep, warm laugh washed over them.  He was flushed with victory and his eyes sparkled with good humor.  “Okay, okay, I’ll confess.  I set up a run on some trees back in the woods a bit.  I’ve been practicing whenever I could sneak off from you two for about a week.”

Hoss and Joe both started for Adam, but he swirled his mount around deftly and galloped away from them.

The colonel’s delight in the exhibition he had just seen was plain on his honest, open face as he spoke to Ben.  “Adam has the seat and eye of a first class cavalryman.  It was a loss to the service when he resigned his commission right after the war.  I know he’s needed here, but the service would benefit from more officers of his caliber.”

Ben’s tone was serious when he replied.  “Adam’s introduction to war was almost too much for him, Dan.  He got into it late – after any idea of chivalrous warfare was long dead, and he saw some of the most brutal action.

“I had hoped when the war began that Nevada, and my sons, could avoid the conflict, but it was soon evident that no one was going to be spared that terrible decision.  After the Territory declared for the Union, the war seemed to press in on Adam more and more, and he and Little Joe were going through one of those rough spots that just develop sometimes no matter how much people basically care for each other.  One morning Adam came down with his saddlebags packed, and told us he was sorry, but he had to go.  That was the last we saw of him for nearly a year and a half, and he really had me worried for a while when he finally did get home.”

“Seems like I remember getting a wire from you not long after the surrender asking for my help in locating him.  All I was able to tell you was that he’d been discharged in Goldsboro, North Carolina at the end of May, and that all his superior officers rated him as outstanding.  What was the problem?  Did you fine him all right?”

Ben’s thoughts focused on his oldest and most enigmatic son.  Adam’s boyhood had been difficult.  His own dear mother lost at his birth, he had wandered the long road West at his father’s side never staying in one place long enough to make it his home.  Along the way they had found the woman Adam regarded as the mother of his heart, big, tender, caring Inger.  She had died at his side while he sheltered his baby brother in his arms.  The bond he had formed with his half-brother Hoss over the long and terrible winter that followed had never been broken.

Adam’s second love was knowledge.  He had always been a child who asked ‘why,’ but true revelation had come when he discovered books.  His was a wide-ranging intellect with a strong analytical turn.  Each of his sons had their own special gifts, but Adam’s was for learning – learning and doing.  He had the drive to see through to completion even the most complex project, and delighted in planning new enterprises.

Under the vast trees and among the high mountains of the Ponderosa, Adam had found a home at last.  Longing for stability and security, his roots had struck deep into the land.  He had labored beside Ben constantly to create the vast enterprise that was the Ponderosa. He did the full day’s work of a grown man by the time he was fourteen.

Adam had resented Little Joe’s mother at first – jealous of his father’s time and attention, but Marie’s warm, gay nature had won him over more quickly than Ben had thought possible.  He was just rediscovering a love of music and laughter that had submerged somewhere in the struggle for the ranch, when Marie’s horse fell. He lost a third mother only to be left with much of the responsibility for a curly-headed bundle of energy designed by some mischievous spirit to drive older brothers mad.  He and Hoss had formed a unit dedicated to protecting Little Joe, largely from himself.

As always, Adam had done what was needful, but he had retreated again into his books.  Some years later when he pleaded to be allowed to go east to college, Ben lacked the heart to refuse, much as he needed his son’s help on the ranch.  He had never regretted his decision from the moment of Adam’s return.  Although Adam would always be sufficient unto himself, he had breached the shell of isolation.  Teachers and comrades with whom he could discuss anything and everything, vast libraries of learning, the East Coast world of music and art and literature had challenged his mind to compete.  He had done so brilliantly.

There too Adam learned for the first time of the attractive power of his stunning good looks.  Formed by the land, he was as tall and supple as a high mountain pine, with a lean, muscular body sculpted by hard work and self-discipline.  He moved with grace and a bold, rolling gait that riveted women's eyes.  Dark in coloring like his mother, heavy waves of dark hair topped the face of a fallen angel – or perhaps that of a risen devil.  With his sun-bronzed skin and high cheekbones he was sometimes thought to be part Cheyenne or Arapaho, considered by many to be the most beautiful of all the Indian peoples.

But women looked into the depths of his smoldering, ever-changing eyes sheltered by black lashes of heavy silk and knew they had found the substance of their dreams.  Enriched by women, gentled by their love and laughter, taught the secrets of pleasure, he matured into a complex, confident, highly capable human being.

Ben was almost surprised when Adam returned home from college, delighted as he was to have his son beside him again.  He might wander, but the majestic and demanding land was in his blood, and it would always draw him back. Taking on many of the administrative burdens of operating the ranch, he found time to design and supervise the building of the Ponderosa Ranch House – a showplace of quiet luxury and comfortable living in a time of ornate palaces.

Adam’s fires burned deep. He tended to let his intellect rule both his heart and his temper.  He was slow to anger except in the presence of injustice, but once fully roused he could flare into dark and deadly action.  A crack shot he had saved all their lives more than once.  No stranger to injury almost to the point of death, Adam, when very tired, could be silent and somber.  Ben protected him in these times from the jokes and jibes of his brothers.

Pulled from his thoughts by Dan’s quiet cough, Ben turned to answer his friend’s question.  “No, we didn’t find him.  In spite of your help and all we could do, the first news we had of Adam was when he came riding up one afternoon late in November.”

Adam had ridden in one cold, gray evening just before supper on a slab-sided gruella mustang looking as if he had been dragged through a knothole backwards. Joe, who had been warming his back at the fireplace, heard the soft thud of hooves outside and asked, “That’s odd.  I think somebody just rode up.  Are we expecting company, Pa?”

“Not that I know of, son.  Take a look if you will.”

Joe walked to the window and froze.

“Pa!  Pa!  It’s Adam!”

“Adam!” Ben and Hoss shouted in unison as they all bolted for the door. They fell on him like ravenous youngsters on a birthday cake hugging, patting, laughing, crying, questioning, demanding, overjoyed and angry at his long silence all at once. Staggered by his welcome, Adam made his way inside enclosed in a roiling ball of humanity. He had Joe tucked firmly against his side and his father’s arm across his shoulders while Hoss half-carried them all.  Even Hop Sing ran out to add his hugs and high-pitched chatter of Chinese to the uproar.

When the jubilation had died down to a mild uproar, Adam was dragged to the dinner table and thrust into his accustomed place.  He smiled broadly at the sight of the family table with its load of crisp linen, good china, crystal, silver and steaming dishes of delicious and familiar food.

He tried gamely between hungry bites to respond to his brother’s intertwining flow of constant questions and comments until Joe threw in a conversation stopper.

“Where’s Hero, Adam?  You were riding him when you left here.” The 17 hand half-thoroughbred gelding had shown astonishing speed and stamina.

Adam dropped his fork with a clang and said in a voice like a bronze bell rung in hell, “Dead.  Dead along with half-a-dozen other mounts I rode to death or had shot out from under me.”

They all stared open-mouthed until Adam sighed and lifted an open palm in a sign of peace.  “Sorry, Joe,” he said gently.  “I need to ask you all for a huge favor?”  A round of nods met his questioning glance.  “It was a long, mean ride home, and I feel like I’ve been in the saddle since the day before Columbus set sail. I’d dearly like a reprieve on telling the whole, sorry story until I can catch up a little on my sleep and God knows how many missed meals.  My mind is all shadows and smoke right now.”

Ben stared closely at his oldest son.  Adam looked tired beyond words.  His big frame was gaunt and battered and his usually glinting hazel eyes were dark and inward looking.  Was that slight flush on his cheek excitement or a fever?

“Adam” his father asked into the silence, “were you wounded?”

“No, Pa; not really.”

“What do you mean ‘not really?’  Have you been in hospital somewhere all this time?”

“No sir, truth.  I was nominated once or twice but never elected.”  No need now to mention the long furrow gouged by a minie ball along his left side.  The wound had oozed blood for hours until his first sergeant heated a cleaning rod in the fire and laid it in the cut.  Time enough to explain when someone noticed the scar.

Anxious as they were to learn where Adam had been and why he hadn’t written for almost seven months, they agreed to his request.  They would grant him a brief period of grace.

Ben directed that Adam be allowed a complete rest before he resumed his normal responsibilities on the Ponderosa.  He was to do only what he want to do for at least two weeks.

Adam spent much of his first days home trying to rid himself of some taint that was invisible to his family.  He kept the bathhouse steaming with vast tubs of boiling water and scrubbed himself with strong lye soap until he was almost raw.  He even had Ben clip his hair close to the scalp.  He directed Hop Sing to burn the tattered remnants of his uniform and reveled in his own comfortable, well-cut clothing kept fresh and aired in his wardrobe throughout his long absence.

He went to bed early from choice and lazed in bed late at Ben’s insistence.  He was even served his breakfast on a tray the first few days.

The abundant clear, cold water, sunshine and clean, dry, oxygen-rich air of the Ponderosa coupled with rest and his own native resilience quickly flushed the dysentery and errant fevers from Adam’s system. Ridiculously cosseted by his family and with his appetite tempted by Hop Sing’s wholesome, well-prepared food – all his favorite dishes appeared regularly – he regained his strength and energy and began to put on some much needed weight.  Only his nights were troubled.  Sleep came slowly and was broken by disturbing dreams.

During his second week home, Adam rode out to the remuda with Little Joe to rebuild his string of work horses.  With the faithful Sport happily turned out to pasture and Hero dead there wasn’t much left.  The buttermilk gray, Cloud, his intelligent, sure-footed night horse was there and seemed glad to see him.  He selected a young, bright bay quarter horse with good Texas lines that could turn on a dime to be trained as a cutting horse.  Adam was happy to add the big black, Blazer, a top-notch rope horse to his string.  Blazer’s original rider, old Rusty Williams, had retired to a town job.  Joe added a couple of green-broke broncs he wanted Adam to work on, but a mount to replace Sport seemed to elude him.  The ideal horse would combine strength, speed and endurance with intelligence and good disposition.  A soft mouth wouldn’t hurt either.

About to give up for the day, Adam spotted a flash of color in a stand of trees and rode over to have a look. As he neared a magnificent Appaloosa stallion trotted out into the afternoon sunlight.  His conformation was a horseman’s dream.  A gorgeous spotted blanket covered his whole rump and spread down his flanks.  The rest of his coat was a dark, smoky gray that gleamed with blue highlights.  Adam’s whole face lit with delight.

“Damnation Joe, where did you get him?”

“I talked Pa into buying him to improve some of our stock.  His sire belonged to a Nez Perce chief and his dam was a pure blooded Arabian.”  Joe could read the longing in his brother’s entire frame as he leaned urgently forward watching the horse trot around the pasture, and he was reluctant to disappoint him. Adam’s eyes had sparkled with real enthusiasm far too seldom in the days since he had come home.

“He’s a beauty Adam, but it would be a crime to cut him.”

“I don’t see any reason to do that.  I can turn him out when the mares come in season, or you can bring them in to him.”

“Well, now,” Joe said slowly.  “When did you turn into a stud horse man?”

“Since I began spendin’ about twice as much time ahorse as I did asleep.  You don’t think I can ride him?”

“Oh, I expect you can.  He ain’t mean, but he’ll need some work, and riding a stud can create problems.”

“I know that, Joe, but I’m willing to deal with ‘em.  I want him!”

It was wonderful to see Adam truly eager and smiling.  If the stallion would help to ease the memories of the war that seemed to gnaw at him, then by God he’d have him.  “He’s yours,” Joe said and shook out his rope.  “His name’s ‘Whiskey.’”
 
 
 

One night shortly before the two weeks were up, Adam told them part of his story.  He knew it couldn’t be delayed much longer, and he had mentally edited his account to cover the facts and omit the source of his worse nightmares.

They had concluded an excellent dinner and settled around the fireplace on a blustery evening when Adam made the offer to recount his war experiences.  It was accepted immediately.  Adam leaned back in his favorite chair, took a substantial pull at the well-aged brandy he was holding and stretched his long, black clad legs toward the fire that burned sweet with the few sticks of applewood Ben had added.

Adam looked up and met their eyes one by one and then offered them a smile of such mingled affection and sadness that Ben reached out to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze.  Adam sighed and spoke.

“Let me begin by saying that there are no words adequate to tell you how glad I am to be home – to be sitting here in the house we built together with you all close about me.  You have no idea what it means just to be clean and dry and warm, to have an abundance of food that isn’t wet or wormy or half-rotten, to sleep in my own bed with my books within reach.”

Ben understood the source of Adam’s pleasure in these simple things; he had lived very rough in his years at sea.  He doubted if Joe or Hoss could really appreciate what it meant to be without even the most basic comforts for long periods of time.

“I know I left my decision to join in the fighting until very late,” Adam began.  “We were all opposed to slavery, but state’s rights were a different sort of question, and until we got word that cousin Julian had been killed at Spotsylvania, it was hard to believe it was all real.  That news made it personal for me.  I wish now, Pa, that I had taken your advice and contributed in other ways, but hindsight is always perfect.”  It was a very wry grin that crossed his features.

“Well, as many good stories begin, ‘little did I know’ what I was getting into when I left the Ponderosa at the first of July.  I traveled by train where I could and on horseback where I couldn’t.  I went from here to Salt Lake City, on to Denver, across Kansas to Kansas City and down to St. Louis.  From there I got on to Nashville and Chattanooga and managed to pick my way into Atlanta just a couple of days after it fell on September 2, 1864.  I was just in time to see Gen. Sherman order the evacuation of the city.  Women, children, the sick and the elderly were turned out of their homes with winter coming on and escorted to Hood’s lines to find food and shelter as best they could.  Maybe I should have taken the hint and come home then.”  Adam fell silent for some moments.

“In any case, when I presented myself at headquarters complete with saddle horse, pack animal and personal weapons, they seemed pleased to see me.  A lot of the men and officers whose three year enlistment’s were up had elected to return home, and they were short handed.  I was commissioned as a junior lieutenant in Gen. Judson Kilpatrick’s cavalry and assigned to Troop C under Capt. Morse.  I was issued uniforms and equipment and told to bunk in a tent with the troop First Lieutenant, ‘Boots’ DeVane, a West Point man.

“They had a lot of green remounts to get ready for action.  I believe they intended to have some fun with a new man when they put me in charge of the troopers assigned to train them.  I expect they were a mite disappointed.”  A flash of humor and a sly wink brightened Adam’s face briefly.  “The first morning they offered me a wall-eyed outlaw as a mount with the comment that ‘he just needed a little polish.’  I had to ear the brute down to get on him.  Luckily, I got my spurs hooked into the cinch and managed to ride him to a standstill.  After that the men seemed willing to cooperate with me.  We got the mounts smoothed out and steady under gunfire, and I didn’t lose a man or a horse.”  Adam paused and took another swallow of his brandy.

“Picked on the wrong vaquero there didn’t they, Adam?” Joe laughed.

“Well, it caused ‘Boots’ to ask about my background and when word got around it went a little easier.  I got a lot of laughs about my saber work, but I could shoot with their best marksmen.”

Adam went on to describe the month of preparation while Gen. Sherman urged Grant to approve his plan to ‘make Georgia howl.’  He proposed to sweep through the center of the state from Atlanta to Savannah on the Atlantic with 60,000 men of all arms.  The object was to create utter destruction of the state’s railroads, businesses, homes, crops and people that would cripple their military resources beyond any further participation in the war.

Sherman got his orders at last, and they moved out on Nov. 14th.  The General sat his horse atop Bald Hill on the morning of the 15th and watched Atlanta burn in his wake.  They rode into beautiful fall weather across a state ripe and fat with the harvest fruits, following instructions to “forage liberally on the country.”  Foraging was supposedly restricted to authorized personnel called ‘bummers.’  But despoilment had a place in Sherman’s calculations just as it did in the hearts of his tough veterans.  Soldiers were ordered not to enter dwellings or commit trespass, but devastation was to be ruthless where met by hostility.  ‘Hostility’ had a liberal definition.

The march was made in two columns with Gen. Slocum on the left feinting toward Augusta with his two divisions formed from what was left of the Army of the Cumberland.  Gen. Howard with another two divisions proceeded on the right toward Macon screened on his right by Kilpatrick’s 5,000 cavalrymen.  On the second day out Howard’s right wing veered southeast from Jonesboro to converge with Slocum’s left wing on the state capitol at Milledgeville

Kilpatrick’s forces were left to keep up the feint down the Macon and Western railroad to just 20 miles short of Macon where they too swung left, crossed the Oconee River and moved out beyond Sandersville to screen the left of Solcum’s column should an attack come from Virginia or the Carolinas.

There was little resistance to the march beyond skirmishing with Joe Wheeler’s 3,500 Southern cavalrymen and some mounted butternut militia.  Adam’s troop was involved in several of these hit and run engagements.  Casualties were light, but tension was high.  A well-entrenched unit of Howard’s rear guard south of Griswoldville fought the only real battle of the Georgia campaign.  A southern infantry column attacked three times uphill across open fields to be blown back each time by heavy volleys from the hilltop breastworks.  When evening fell and the Confederates withdrew. the victors counted some 600 old men and young boys dead on the field before them.

Adam found he was part of a contact squadron that rode constantly, probing for enemy resistance, scouting the route ahead of the main force, carrying dispatches and exchanging shots with distant Rebel horsemen.

“As much as we ride here, I thought I was hardened to the saddle,” Adam said ruefully, and his brothers nodded agreement.  “But there were days when I was stuck to my clothes and even the saddle with fluid and blood from the blisters on my butt.”  His family groaned in unison.

He went on to describe one of their missions.  Kilpatrick, a tough, bandy-legged fighter whom Sherman described as “a hell of a damn fool, but just the sort of man to command my cavalry on this expedition” was ordered to take the lead and try his hand at effecting a break in the railroad installation at Millen where a branch line ran north to Augusta.  Thundering into the sleepy village in force they swamped the minimal resistance, burned the railroad station and facilities, plundered the stores, terrified the locals and ripped up miles of track carrying out Sherman’s orders to “let it be more devilish than can be dreamed of” to perfection.

“Destruction for the joy of it,” Adam’s voice was deep and bitter.  “Many of the troops had been fighting for two or three years.  Southern forces had offered them some sharp rebukes along the way.  They thought it was a great lark to wreak havoc on the homelands of the Confederacy.  Sherman even slowed the rate of march so destruction could be more complete.”

“What did you do the most of, Adam?” Joe asked.

“Scouting,” he replied.  “I’d ride ahead with a small party to determine the lay of the land, check the depth and flow of streams the infantry would have to cross, look for bridges and roads, spot plantations to be stripped, select secure sites for bivouac, probe for the enemy and hopefully spring any ambushes before the full column blundered into them.  I seemed to have a knack for it, and it wasn’t bad duty.

“Then there was foraging.”  Adam’s voice dropped an octave as he ripped at his own tender core with scathing sarcasm.  “Thirty gallant warriors would ride into some isolated plantation occupied only by the wife of an absent Rebel soldier and maybe her children or old parents.  We took all forage – corn, hay, and grain for our mounts.  Cotton and tobacco were taken and sold abroad at fantastic prices to finance the war.  Horses and mules were added to our remount.  Cattle, swine and poultry became part of the Army’s rations.  Stored foods like sweet potatoes, hams, preserves and butter were all consumed by the foragers and the closest troops. The men probed flowerbeds for buried jewelry and silver.  The slaves were set on the road after our columns and the dogs were shot.  It was work for thieves and cutpurses – I loathed it!”

“But what did them poor women do, Adam – after you passed by I mean?”  Hoss was concerned for the helpless as always.

“Went hungry, Hoss, they went hungry if they weren’t burned out completely.  They dug withered turnips and potatoes out of their fields, picked wild greens and berries, tried to shoot turkeys in the woods if they managed to hide an old muzzleloader from us.  If there were children, I always tried to leave a few hens and a milk cow behind, but most foraging parties didn’t bother.  My men blamed the Southern women for urging their men to fight and thereby prolonging the war.  It made them hard to control, but I’d have shot a trooper out of hand rather than condone rape, and they knew it.”  Adam’s tone was rough and hard.  He came from a long line of sea captains, and what is bred in the bone comes out in the flesh.  He could command.

He let another deep swallow of brandy ease down his throat.  “Let me press on; there’s a long way to go yet.”

Sherman’s columns closed on Savannah’s outlying defenses on Dec. 9 and 10.  Ft. McAllister fell after a fifteen-minute onslaught and Federal supply ships sailed into Ossabaw Sound unopposed with 600,000 rations and mail.

Savannah’s Confederate commander with barely 15,000 troops to Sherman’s 60,000 crossed the Savannah River on planked over rice floats covering his retreat with heavy shelling. The city surrendered on Dec. 21st.  Sherman spared the city and allowed markets to reopen and had firewood hauled in to warm Christmas hearths.

“Do you remember John Geary who was mayor over in San Francisco some ten years ago?” Adam asked his father.

“Yes, son, I met him once or twice, why?”

“His division was assigned to garrison the city.  He made a good job of it – well organized and humane.  We had a fine Christmas.  I received half a dozen letters from home.”  Adam smiled at them all.  “There was plenty to eat.  Lots of fresh oysters.  We ate ‘em on the half shell, fried and in oyster soup.  Had a real feast with roast goose, ham, rice and raisins, sweet potatoes and blue crabs.  We rested and refitted.  I think I wrote you several letters from there.  Did you receive them?”

“It took a while, but four got through,” Ben told him.  “Son, I seem to remember something from the newspapers where quite a few of the ex-slaves following the army were drowned at a stream crossing.  Were you there?”

Adam shot from his chair as if it were spring loaded.  “Ebenezer Creek!  Oh God, you don’t want to know!”  He paced wildly across the room and back.  “I can’t, Pa, I can’t!”  The anguish in his voice was heart wrenching.

“It’s all right, my boy; it’s all right,” Ben said calmly.  You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to discuss.  Come back and sit down.”  Ben refilled Adam’s brandy glass and gestured him to his seat.  Adam sank into the chair reluctantly and drank deeply from the crystal snifter.  He sat hunched and miserable for the rest of the account spitting it out in long streams heavy with self-disgust and broken by brooding silences.

“If Sherman made Georgia howl, he set out to make the Carolinas shriek in agony,” he began.  “You will recall that South Carolina was the first state to withdraw from the Union, a hot bed of secession and filled with wealthy, influential slave owners who would be ruined by emancipation.  Our men and officers hated the state, its people and everything for which it stood.  They saw themselves as crusaders for the Union destined to impart a wisdom that began with fear to the Carolinas.  It’s been called the ‘Smoky March.’  Nothing could be more apt.

“In our final briefing Gen. Kilpatrick suggested we stuff our saddlebags with matches and said, “when travelers passing through South Carolina shall see chimney stacks without houses, and the country desolate, and shall ask, ‘who did this?’ some Yankee will answer ‘Kilpatrick’s Cavalry.’”  We were under orders to signal our whereabouts on Solcum’s left flank by setting things on fire along the way. Sherman said to ‘make a smoke like Indians do on the plains.’”

Sherman’s plan was to march north the 425 miles from Savannah to Goldsboro in two columns and to feint toward Augusta on the left and Charleston on the right and then swing inland to overwhelm the capitol of Columbia as he had done in Georgia.  He would end up well positioned in Lee’s rear to assist Gen. Grant in the final destruction of all major Confederate forces.

The set out Feb. 1, 1865 in the dead of winter – the rainiest in living memory – into a land where they had nine major rivers, already overflowing their banks, to cross along with numerous creeks, bayous and swampy bogs.  Much of the water was rimed with ice, and the mud was calf deep.  Crops here had already been gathered, and cattle were few and scrubby.  Kilpatrick’s troopers led the way on the left.  Their commander shouted to waiting infantry as they drummed across the pontoon bridge at Sister’s Ferry,  “There’ll be damned little for you infantrymen to destroy after I’ve passed through that hell hole of secession.”

Slocum’s column, accompanied by Kilpatrick’s horsemen, had to cross the Coosawhatchie Swamp; three rain-swollen miles across belt buckle deep liquid muck and crackling skim ice.

“I’ve never been so cold or so wet in all my life,” Adam told them.  “Our clothes rotted on our backs, our boots fell apart and the horses got thrush.  I’ve been caught in the mountains in Northerners that dumped six feet of snow and not been half so cold.  I would have killed cheerfully for a pair of good winter moccasins, my beaver fur poncho and a couple of buffalo robes.

“’Boots’ came down with a raging fever.  I did all I could for him, but within a couple of days he couldn’t lift his head let alone cling to a saddle.  I had to turn him over to the sawbones and the ambulance wagons.  I tried to keep track of him, but as the march strung out it became impossible.  He was from a little town in Indiana.  When I get up the nerve, I’ll write his family and ask.  I pray he made it. He was good to me; kept me on scout as much as he could.  Capt. Morse had me breveted to his position.”

Sherman’s two columns merged after crossing the Edisto River and struck for Columbia.  The town had swelled from 8,000 souls to 20,000 with refugees, money and supplies pouring in from the coastal cities to the ‘safety’ of an inland town. The streets were filled with bales of cotton that were to have been taken to open ground and burned before the Union forces could seize them.  The cotton was abandoned in the rush to evacuate the city and a stiff wind blew it everywhere.

Columbia’s mayor surrendered the town when Sherman arrived on Feb. 17th. The first troops in took what they wanted, stripping liquor shops and gleefully accepting fine wines and brandies offered by newly freed slaves from the cellars of their former masters.  Gen. Slocum was disturbed by the danger posed by the drunken brigade and tried to replace it, but the men were so scattered that it only resulted in two brigades hoorawing the town.

By shortly after dark the town was burning in a dozen places from the red light district to Wade Hampton’s fine mansion.  Churches and the Ursuline convent were burnt with women and trapped cattle screaming.  Sherman had promised the city’s safety, and he turned out with his staff and officers to fight the flames, but it proved hopeless.  Eighty-four of the city’s one hundred and twenty-four blocks had burned completely by the time the wind died down the next morning.

Two days later the columns moved out feinting right and left as usual but aiming for a fast march on Cheraw in route to Fayetteville and Goldsboro.  Here things began to bog down as the driving rains continued.  Howard’s wing made it across the flooded Wateree River on Feb. 23, but only half of Slocum’s division was across when the pontoon bridge collapsed and was swept away.  The XIV Corps and Kilpatrick’s Cavalry were left behind.  Even the troops that got across safely were mired in thin red mud, slick as grease.  They covered only 20 miles in four days.

The sun came out on the afternoon of Feb. 26 and the river began to fall.  The next day engineers improvised a bridge and got across followed by the cavalry.  Meanwhile Union forces had overwhelmed the seaport of Wilmington and were moving inland to join Sherman in Goldsboro and resupply him.

“After we got across the Riveree,” Adam said, “we slogged on making maybe ten or twelve miles a day but riding three or four times that far.  It was still pouring rain and the wind was icy with mud up to the horses’ hocks. After we crossed the Pee Dee River, we were in North Carolina and the orders changed.  There were a lot Union sympathizers in the state, and Sherman wanted to keep them sweet. We posted guards to protect homes and shops and burning was prohibited.  But the men were determined to keep making the Carolinas pay.  They burned the pine forests all along the route of march.  Those trees burned like huge torches.  The sky was red with them at night and you couldn’t breathe for the smoke everywhere.

“Wheeler’s Cavalry began to hit us hard.  They were trying to slow the rate of our advance so the Rebel forces could gather.  We exchanged a lot of shots with them in the half-light of sodden swamps, and casualties on both sides started to mount up.”  Adam stopped here and seemed to drift away for several minutes before he resumed.

Sherman’s forces took Charlottesville on March 3 and reached the major Confederate supply base of Fayetteville by mid-day on March 11.  Here a steamer that came up the Cape Fear River bringing dispatches and mail from Wilmington met them.  It was the first communications they had received in many weeks.

“I wrote then.  I doubt if it made much sense.  I wasn’t in very good shape.”

“It was the last letter we received from you.  I’ll show it to you, son, when you’re ready,” Ben told Adam quietly.  The letter was a barely coherent, deeply moving elegy of despair, and it had distressed them all greatly.

By this time Sherman’s army was in rags and many were barefooted.  Resupply was desperately needed, and it was sixty miles away in Goldsboro.  Old Joe Johnson’s Confederate troops hit them twice on the way there.  Slocum’s column with the cavalry in support ran into entrenched positions on the Raleigh road on March 16th.  It took three divisions to break through.  Well-positioned Rebs who had a good plan, but lacked the strength to carry it off hit them again on the 19th two miles beyond Seven Pines.  The result was some 1,500 Union casualties who filled the wagons and slowed the column even more in the mud and rain.

They reached Goldsboro on the 22nd of March, fifty days out of Savannah.  When joined by the troops from Wilmington they had almost 90,000 effectives.  The ‘bummers’ were relieved of foraging duties and returned to their units.

“I guess I had some sort of pneumonia when we got to Goldsboro,” Adam admitted.  “I’d been coughing my lungs out for days and was reeling in the saddle, but I’d be damned if I was going to give myself up to the ambulance corps.  Better to shoot yourself and be done with it.  When we went into bivouac, my men dredged up a good tent and floored it with old crates.  They found dry blankets somewhere and kept a fire going in an old iron cookpot.  They boiled pine needles to help me breathe, made a god awful potion of mullein leaves for the cough, and stole chickens to make into broth that they forced down me.

“I was out of my head for two or three days there, but Capt. Morse kept me with the troop.  Eventually I sweated the worst of it out and started to come around.  By the time I was back on my feet, Lee was surrendering to Grant at Appomattox.  I fought my way through the paperwork and intimidated the idiots in charge of the quartermaster depot until I got boots and new uniforms for the troop – even got good wool coats, clean blankets and fresh tack for the horses.

“I knew the war was essentially over when Gen. Joe Johnson surrendered all the Confederate forces from the Potomac to the Rio Grande to Sherman on April 26th.   I resigned my commission a few days later and used some of the gold coin I still had with me to throw a big feed for my outfit.  You could get anything for hard money – the whole place was afloat in worthless script.  I even found eggs and real cream and brandy for a huge bowl of eggnog.  When they were all full to bursting and happily asleep, I slipped away and never looked back.”

The fire was low, the hour was late and Adam was very hoarse as he stopped and looked at his stunned and saddened family.   “Dear hearts, that concludes my small part in the late, great conflict,” he ended.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s almost midnight, and I’m very tired.”  He arose with slow grace and turned toward the stairs.

“Wait Adam!” Hoss said.  “That was the first of May, this is the end of November, where have you been?”

Adam turned back, his eyes dark with pain, and said only, “Another night, brother, another night,” and continued up to bed.

When they heard his door close, Hoss spoke sadly.  “He’s hurtin’ bad, Pa.”

“We ought never to have let him go,” Joe insisted.

“What should we have done, Joseph, locked him in the storeroom, tied him to his bed?” Ben asked.  “You know your brother; could we have held him against his will?”

Joe found no answer.

“Adam is a grown man; he’s entitled to make his own decisions.  That right implies living with the consequences of your choices.  I tried to suggest to him that there were other ways to help the Union cause, but he was determined to see action.  His mind was set.  It seemed better that he go to war knowing that there was a home and family behind him where he was loved and wanted.  It was certainly possible that he would never come home again – many thousands died.  I didn’t want our last words to be angry ones.”  Joe turned away and looked into the fire.

“But Pa,” Hoss asked, “can’t we help him someways?”

“He has to work it out, Hoss.  About all we can do is give him our patience and support.  Time always helps, and work and friends.  Interest his mind in new projects if you can.  Encourage him to get out and renew old friendships.  And boys, no matter how curious you are, don’t try to pry open his memories with a crowbar; you’re likely to strike a volcano.  Let him know you’re glad he’s back. Listen if he wants to talk.  There’s little more anyone can do.”
 
 
 

Adam gradually resumed his accustomed duties in the great enterprise the Ponderosa had become.  He began with the accounts and correspondence lifting a major burden from his father’s shoulders.  He raised his eyes and looked ahead planning the work for the coming spring and summer.  When the weather permitted, he rode the whole ranch refreshing and updating his knowledge of every building and fence, each tree and ledge.  He chatted with old hands and made the acquaintance of new workers.

He was quietly amused at how gently his brothers treated him.  Their jibes and jokes lacked much of the old edge.  He regained his normal weight, and his work with his new string of horses and other chores kept him fit and hard.  He went into Virginia City occasionally and played a little poker with old friends.  Only the nights were difficult.  Ben’s room was at the head of the upstairs hall, and Adam’s stood next down the corridor.  He tried hard not to disturb the others, and Hoss snored on obliviously, but Ben was often aware that Adam was not sleeping well.

He would hear his son get up in the night and sit in his old rocker by the window gazing out into the starlit sky for hours.  Other evenings he would tiptoe down stairs brew a cup of tea and sit before the dying embers in the huge fireplace his face drawn and distant.  Ben let him alone at these times, but the nightmares were different.  When Adam tossed, moaned and cried out, Ben would get up and wake him.  He never wanted to say much.  He would apologize for disturbing his father and urge him to return to bed.  Ben didn’t press him, but he knew Adam seldom went back to sleep.

Things finally came to a head one evening late in February.  Adam had caught a touch of the influenza that had felled half the men in the bunkhouse, but was stubbornly refusing to give in to it.  Ben was concerned, knowing his son had suffered through a bout of pneumonia less that a year earlier.  Adam retired early that night, but shortly after midnight, Ben heard him cough, moan and then cry out sharply.  Jamming his feet into his slippers, Ben lit his lamp, pulled a warm robe around his shoulders and headed for Adam’s room.

He threw open the door and the lamplight fell across the bed where Adam lay tangled in the covers.  His face was flushed and his hair fell heavily across his forehead as he tossed.  For the first time his words were clearly audible.

“No.  No!  Fire and rain, and death.  No!  Somebody stop him.  Joe!”

Ben gripped his son’s shoulder firmly and shook it.  “Adam!  Adam, wake up!  You’re home, son.  It’s only a dream.  Wake up!”

Adam sat bolt upright, startled and dazed, but still lost in another reality.  “It’s a charge!  Form on me!”  It was a clear command.

Ben shook him again, hard.  “Adam, wake up!”  Adam slumped and murmured, “It’s so cold, so cold.”  Ben felt his forehead.  It was damp, but not unusually warm.  He suspected that Adam’s fever had just broken in a heavy sweat.  Ben pulled a blanket around his son’s shoulders and poured a glass of water.  He held it to Adam’s lips instructing, “Drink, you need it.”

Adam surfaced into the dim light and took the glass.  “Pop?” he asked.  “Go on, son, drink.”  Adam did as he was told.  He finished the cool water and sank back against the pillows.

“I did it again, didn’t I?”  Ben nodded his agreement.  “This is the second time this week I’ve gotten you up.  You must be about ready to have me committed somewhere so you can get some rest.”

“Being disturbed doesn’t bother me, Adam, but your state of mind does.  You’ve been home for some while now, but half the time you aren’t really with us.  We speak to you and you don’t seem to hear – much less answer, and these dreams aren’t getting any better.  I’ve seen some fighting too in my life.  I’d like to help you, but I can’t until you are ready to stop bottling it all up inside yourself, and let me share it with you.”

Adam mulled over his father’s words and reluctantly agreed.  “I thought I could work this out by myself, but it looks like I am going to need some help.  Do you feel like talking tonight?”

“Hoss and Little Joe are still asleep.  I assume you would rather talk privately?”  Adam bent his head in acknowledgement.  “Fine, suppose I go down and stir up the fire and put on some coffee.  Wrap up warmly before you come down, son.  You don’t need another dose of pneumonia.  And just for the record, you are staying in for the next couple of days until that cough clears up.”

Adam chuckled.  “Yes, sir.”

A few minutes later they were seated before the renewed fire nursing mugs of coffee as much for the comforting warmth of the cup as for its contents.

“You have to begin somewhere, Adam.  You told us the official history of Gen. Sherman’s march.  What is it that you didn’t tell us?”

“With Sherman in Georgia and the Carolinas,” he whispered then flung his head up with a sudden flare of violence.  “With the Devil in Hell!  A hell I was creating complete with fire and plague and violent death.  We truly sowed the whirlwind and reaped destruction.  There was no end to it – ever!”

Ben gripped Adam’s arm hard and spoke sharply.  “Adam, get a hold of yourself!  This won’t help.”

Gradually Adam relaxed.  “I’m sorry, Pa.  It was like one long nightmare with no way out.  I’ll try to make some sense.”  Adam drew a deep, steadying breath and began.  “When I left the Ponderosa, I felt I had to give more than beef and timber and money for what I believed was right.  I couldn’t wait to join up.  I’d been home ranching while everybody got into it but me.  I was full of the glory of the cause and the nobility of the struggle for the Union.”  He paused, “what a fool you must have thought me.”

“No, the Union was and is important, but I knew you had a brutal awakening coming as to the real nature of civil war.”

“I think I began to get an idea that first night when I saw the pall of flame and smoke hanging over Atlanta. The remnants of Atlanta’s people were standing in the fields homeless and stripped to what they could carry.  People no different from our friends and neighbors were turned out like cattle.  I think I knew even then.

“I was put in command of a foraging party.  I didn’t want the assignment, but the Colonel overrode Capt. Morse.  He thought I was an ideal officer for the job.”  Adam mimicked a nasal New England accent.  “A Westerner – independent and self-reliant, used to living off the land.”
He dropped back to a mocking tone.  “And he was right.  I was good at it.  We brought in horses and cattle by the hundreds, wagonloads of cotton, tons of grain and meat and preserved foods.  Every ounce of it we took out of the mouths of women and children while they pleaded with us to spare them something.  We tore up railroads and burned military stores and anything else in our way until the route was marked with pillars of fire.

    “There was even some fighting.”  Adam’s face twisted.  “Sometimes a few old men and some boys from a local military academy would decide to take us on.  We were all experienced field troops.  It wasn’t a war – it was a massacre!

“Once we moved into the Carolinas, Capt. Morse was able to pull me off foraging, thank God!  The Colonel had lost interest by that time. I went on scout like I told Joe.  At least it was honorable duty, but you never knew what was around the next bend in the road.”  Adam rubbed at the scar along his ribs.”

Moving into the most painful part of his account, Adam began slowly in a level tone but was swept into the violence of the action as he went along.   “One evening about dusk in a swamp we were hit by a company of Wade Hampton’s Cavalry.  Canister shot from the artillery took out almost the whole first wave, but there was one boy who just kept riding on – he was almost blown in half – his guts trailing, but he kept coming, yelling like a banshee!  I shot him in the head at about 10 yards.”  Adam stopped and then said brokenly, “He looked so much like Joe, Pa.  I threw up all night, and that fool sergeant kept asking me why!

“The cold and the rain and the mud soaked into your bones, eroded your soul, destroyed your will and still we went on.  Finally there was Goldsboro and the surrender.  It was over at last, but I don’t think it will ever be over for me.”  Adam covered his eyes with his hand and pressed hard on his temples.

Ben’s heart overflowed with compassion.  Adam was the last person in the world equipped to deal with such massive injustice.  He was just opening his mouth to speak when Adam rushed on determined to have it all out at last.

“You want to know why I didn’t write, Pa?  I was afraid to.  I was afraid that if I put it all down on paper, it would make it too real to endure.  Can you understand that?”  Adam was none too sure he really understood it himself.

“I know, son. I know.”

With a sudden, self-accusative urge Adam continued.  “And would you like to know where I was from May until November – why I didn’t come straight home?  You might as well hear it all.”

“I thought that was why we came down here,” Ben told him calmly.

“After I resigned my commission, I rode back through that country.”  Adam empathetic involvement with these shorn, defeated people was agonizingly apparent.  “I wanted to help – to do something, anything to make up for some of the suffering I’d caused.  There were women pulling plows, sensitive, cultivated women who a year before had wealth and servants.   Their children stumbled through the broken ground behind them planting what little grain they had left.”  Adam lifted his eyebrows to ask sardonically, “Do you think they would have my help?  They’d have starved at my feet before they’d have taken anything from a damn Yankee lieutenant.  I was lucky to get out alive.”  He gave a snort of dry, humorless laughter.

“There was nothing more I could do, so I started home.”  Adam hesitated.  He was still uncertain about sharing this last humiliating incident with his father.

“Go on, son,” Ben said very gently.

Adam plunged in quickly.  “I stopped one night in Durango and took a drink to see if it would help me sleep without dreaming.  As near as I can figure out, it was about a month later when I sobered up.  I was completely broke, sick, dirty and utterly disgusted with myself.”  The self-contempt in his voice was painful to hear.

“There was a big rancher there, Pa – a lot like you in some ways.  He’d lost a son in the war, and when he saw the mess I’d gotten myself into, he paid my bills and took me home with him.  After I’d dried out a bit, I went to work breaking horses for him until I could pay him back and earn the price of a fare home.  So here I am.  Not very much for you to be proud of I’m afraid.”  Adam let his head fall into his hands unwilling to meet his father’s eyes.

“You’ve never done anything to make me ashamed of you, Adam,” Ben spoke evenly and gently.  “And you’re not the only man who ever went on a drunk after fighting a war.  Why didn’t you wire for money?  You know I would have sent you anything you needed.”

“Yeah, Pa, I know.  Guess I was just too ashamed and embarrassed.”   It’s all out now, Adam thought, no more hiding.  Pa knows the worst.   “Well, there it is, sir.  What can you, or anybody, say that will blot out the flames, and the faces of hungry children, and the bodies in the swamps?  Adam pressed his fingers into his red-rimmed eyes to blur the burning pictures of memory.

Ben thought carefully.  He had to try to answer Adam, to help him someway, and it is never easy to explain suffering.  If he could make his son understand some of the reasons for his mental anguish, perhaps he could free himself from it eventually.

“Adam, we both know you had to grow-up too fast.  You understand why that had to be, but you had too much responsibility too soon.  I demanded more of you than any youngster should be asked to give.”   Adam shook his head.  “It’s true son; neither of us can deny it.  When I could send you east to college, you were a little older than the other students and some of the ideals of glory and honor and chivalry you were taught took a little harder.  You still had them when you went to war.  You have matured, and you know how empty glory is and how terrible it can be when a country fights within itself.  But a man should know that there’s a time to remember and a time to forget – and you have got to begin to forget some of the awful details of this.”

Adam watched his father closely hoping, just barely, that there was a road out of the wilderness.

“You were in very poor shape when you got home, son – gaunt and battered and ill.  The whole time you were in the Cavalry you were probably up before dawn and in the saddle ten and twelve hours a day.  You spent half the night making out reports and planning the next day’s raids.  There were days on end when you never had your clothes off or even saw a bed or a hot meal.  You were constantly cold and wet in fever-ridden swamps.  You’re young and strong, but nobody is that strong.”

Adam listened intently fully aware of the truth of what Ben was telling him.

“As you used up the last of your physical reserves, it also broke down the mental barriers we all have to build up from childhood to protect ourselves from the raw shock of the cruelty and injustice in the world.  Your mind absorbed all the awful things you saw and were involved in, and now it’s slowly poisoning you.  But you have to remember that there was a purpose.

“Sherman himself said that no one could qualify war in harsher terms than he would, but that he fought it only to reach peace through union.  That campaign broke the back of the Confederacy, Adam, and shortened the war by perhaps a year or more.  Basically it saved many lives.  It was terrible, and it’s left a heritage of hate and mistrust that will hang on for generations to come, but it was necessary so that we can stand united again as one country.”

Ben drew a deep breath conscious of Adam intense gaze on him as he reached out to press his son’s arm.  “You have to make the effort to turn away from the past now and begin to live again for today and for the future – just as the whole country must do.  If you can do that, then time will blunt the razor edges of memory. Will you try, my boy?”

“I have to do something, Pa. I don’t want to go on like this.”

Ben smiled.  “Fine!  That’s all I wanted to hear.  Now, how about getting some sleep?”

Adam chuckled dryly.  “I expect you could use it after this session.”

Ben put his arm about Adam’s shoulders as they started back up the stairs.

The sun stayed longer now, driving back the dark of mid-winter. Days were warmer, and the heavy work of spring was beginning.  Adam and Hoss had been out all day with a crew clearing scrub brush that had grown up around a valuable stand of timber.  It was necessary to have a broad firebreak around the trees in case a lightening strike started a grass fire.  Both Hoss and Adam had worked alongside the men, as was their custom.  No Cartwright lounged in comfort while the paid help worked.  It was one of the many reasons Ponderosa hands were loyal sometimes even to death.

The job was finished by mid-afternoon and they were all hot, tired and filthy.  Adam sent the hands back to the bunkhouse to clean up before supper, and turned to Hoss.  “Can you stand to ride over to the south meadow with me and have a look at the herd there before we head home?  I want to see if they have enough feed to hold them for another week before we have to move them.”

Hoss grunted.  “I’m mighty hungry, Adam, but I reckon I can stand it if you can.  Come on – sooner started, quicker done.”  Hoss headed for the patient Chubb tied with Whiskey under a nearby tree.

They found the herd near a favorite water hole.  They were gaining weight after the winter and looked peaceful.  Grass was still plentiful.  They were about to turn away when Adam spotted an animal down in the long grass and rode toward him.  Hoss followed.  The steer tried to lunge to his feet, but crashed back as a hind leg collapsed with shattered bone exposed through torn flesh.

“Damn,” Adam muttered.  “Hate to see that.  Wonder how he broke it?”
“Can’t tell now, brother, but you’ll have to shoot him.  Can’t leave him to suffer until the buzzards get at him.”

“Yeah, I know.”  Adam stepped down and drew his carbine from its saddle sheath taking careful aim.  After a minute he lowered the rifle, took a deep breath and re-aimed.  He held until the rifle began to shake and then let his arm drop.

“I can’t do it, Hoss.  You’ll have to.”

“Dang Adam!  I don’t like it none either, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

“No, Hoss, you don’t understand.  I literally can’t pull the trigger.”  Adam’s head sank, and Hoss could see his long body quiver.

Taking the rifle from his brother’s unresisting hand, Hoss returned it to the saddle boot and guided Adam to the shade of a gnarled oak with a gentle pressure on his elbow.  “Set, Adam and rest a minute.  I’ll be right back.”

Adam slid down supporting his back against the tree’s rough bole and drew his knees up to his chest as his brother walked away. Struck with a sudden, blinding headache, he cradled his head in his hands.  A single shot rang out, and he flinched.  In a few minutes he felt Hoss settle close beside him.  His brother was big, and Adam leaned wearily against him, comforted by Hoss’s solid bulk.

“Ah, Hoss; my head.”  Adam massaged his pounding temples gingerly.  Hoss put his arm around Adam and pulled him closer.

“Rest on me, Adam.  Your head aches?”

“Like they were driving a railroad through it.”

“That can happen when you don’t sleep nights and work like a crazy man all day.”

Adam simply grunted an acknowledgement and moved closer letting his head rest on Hoss’s shoulder.

“Adam, I ain’t sure how you do it, but I know you’ve poured your own strength into me when I needed it.  Seems like it’s time for some payback.  You go ahead and take all you need.  I got plenty for both of us.”

Adam sighed and continued to rest enclosed in the safety of Hoss’s strength, soothed by his unconditional love and acceptance.  As Hoss watched, Adam’s tense features gradually relaxed into the unguarded innocence of sleep.  His tough, no-nonsense elder brother looked remarkably fragile.  The war hurt Adam more than he’s let on to any of us, Hoss thought and held him a little closer. Half an hour passed in silence.  Hoss ignored the ache in his arm, reluctant to wake his brother from his much-needed rest.  Presently Adam said quietly, “It’s better now,” and sat up.  He did seem stronger.

“Adam, look at me.”

Adam shook his head and stared fixedly at the ground.

“Look here at me, Adam.  It’s important!”

It was Hoss asking.  Adam reluctantly met his gaze, unwilling to hurt this brother who gave him so much.

“Something bad wrong here partner.  Talk to me.”

“Ah Hoss, you don’t want to know.  I thanked God at the end of each terrible day that you weren’t with me.”

“I’m beginning to think I should have been.  Something is eating you alive.  You think I don’t hear you walk the floor at night?  Adam, all our lives you went first, sorta takin’ a lot of the rough edges off of life for when me and Little Joe come along.  Lots of times you done it by sanding ‘em down with your own hide.  You stood up to Pa for us – even took lickings for things we done.  You looked after us when Pa had to be away, and thick as our heads are, you even pounded in some learnin’.  I ain’t never reached out a hand for help that you didn’t give me both of yours.  Ain’t it my turn yet, Adam?”  He sounded like a child pleading for his turn with a much-loved toy. “Dump some of your grief on me.  Maybe it will help lift it off your shoulders.”

“Don’t make me do this, Hoss,” Adam pleaded.

“You’re my brother.  I remember you once said to me ‘a brother’s back is never bare.’  Well, let me give you a little shelter.  I don’t remember when our Mama died, and we didn’t know if we’d survive the winter.  But I do remember having you to hang on to ever since I was knee high to a cricket.  I reckon I was a terribl’ pest, but you never let me down. Let me help now.”  Hoss’s voice rang with sincerity.

Adam reached for his brother’s arm and squeezed so hard the big man winced.  A drop of moisture glinted in Adam’s thick, dark lashes.  “Our Mama, thank you Hoss.  Thank you for sharing.”

“Well shucks, Adam.  I thought you knew that.  She was the only Mama you ever knew as a little nipper.  Course she’s our Mama.  Now tell me why you couldn’t shoot that poor hurt steer?”

“I suppose Pa told you about me shooting that kid in the swamp – the one that looked so like Little Joe?”  Hoss nodded his agreement.  “Told you not to mention it to me too?”  Again Hoss bobbed his head.  “Like I said, I can’t pull a trigger.  It’s been this way ever since that day in the swamp.  I don’t seem to be able to kill anything – no matter what.  At the last I was ordering my men to fire when I couldn’t have shot if the devil himself were riding down my throat.  You probably think I’m completely crazy, and I’m not real sure that I don’t agree with you.”  Adam tried to make it sound light, but didn’t quite succeed.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Adam,” Hoss said seriously.  “I can understand.  Life is something that’s mighty precious to men and animals alike, and you saw it poured out on the ground like water.  It just scares me that you might not be safe.  Suppose you meet up with a grizzly or some dang outlaw.  What’ll you do?”

“Run like hell I guess, Hoss.  Run like hell.  Listen, can you do something for me?”

“Anything, Adam.”

“I need to get away for a few days so I can think this through, maybe get my head on straight.  I’m going to pick up a packhorse and supplies and go up to the lake for a while.  I’ll camp out.  Let the peace of the mountains soak in; try to get some sleep.  Can you explain it to Pa when he gets back from Reno?  You know what has to be done.  I think you can manage without me for the rest of the week, yeah?”

“Shore, Adam.  I’ll tell Pa, and don’t you worry none, the work will get done.”

Adam stood and moved to where Whiskey stood ground hitched.  He started to mount and then turned back.  “Hoss, thank you.  It’s an honor to call you brother.”  He swung easily into the saddle.

“Take care of yourself now,” Hoss called after him.  Adam raised his hand and lifted the big appaloosa into a gallop.
  

Little Joe stood with his foot on the bar at the Bucket of Blood having a beer and some laughs with a group of friends.  It was mid-afternoon, and he should have been on his way back to the Ponderosa with the mail in his saddlebags and the banking done, but Joe always managed to squeeze in a few minutes of fooling around on these trips.  Ben turned a blind eye to these delays, so Adam and Hoss tolerated them.  A boy was entitled to have some fun as long as he got home before dark.

Recounting a recent incident on the ranch, Joe held the interest of his audience.  “So when Hoss dropped the log, it hit the other end of that board old Pete was standing on and flipped him top over teakettle about eight feet away into the horse trough!”  There were loud guffaws and some friendly slaps on the back with pleas of “Tell us another one, Joe.”  Just as he was opening his mouth to speak the saloon door swung to with a loud slap, and they all swung around to look at the newcomer.

The man in the doorway was a stranger to Virginia City.  He was about Adam’s age with handsome features and an erect carriage topped by a heavy shock of sandy hair in much need of a trim.  His clothes had once been good, but were now worn and dusty.  He might be down on his luck, but he appeared capable of dealing with any trouble that might come his way.  A big Navy Colt looked perfectly at home on his hip in its smooth, tied-down rig.  Conscious of the many eyes fixed on him the stranger strolled nonchalantly to the bar, tipped his flamboyant hat with its curled feather in the band and said in and honeyed drawl, “Good day to you gentlemen.”  Turning to the bartender he ordered a drink.  “Bourbon if you please, good sir.”

He put down a coin, and the drink was poured.  He picked it up, turned with it in his hand and leaned his back against the bar with one heel hooked over the rail.  As he surveyed the room with a neutral gaze, Joe decided to speak. “No offense, mister, but aren’t you new in town?”

The stranger replied pleasantly his gray-green eyes bright as he looked at the cocky youngster.  “Yes, I am.  You might say I’m here on business.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I’m Beauregard Wesley Langhorn, the third.  My friends call me ‘Beau.’”

“I can see why.”  Joe’s friends slowly drifted away as conversation between the two men progressed.

“May I assume, sir, that you are well acquainted locally?” Beau asked.

“Huh? Oh – ah, yeah.  Guess I know must folks hereabouts. You looking for somebody special?”

“Yes, I am.  A former Lieutenant in the Union Cavalry named Adam Cartwright.  Would you happen to know him?”

Something in Beau’s voice and expression roused sudden suspicions in Joe, and he decided to stall.  “Ah – seems to me I’ve heard the name.  Why are you looking for him?”

“I intend to kill him.”  The shocking reply was stated calmly and coldly.

“Kill him!” Joe was stunned by this sudden murderous declaration.  “Do you always just walk into bars and announce you’re going to kill somebody, mister?  Murder is against the law!”

Beau flushed with anger as he snarled.  “So is what Cartwright did to my sister and my home!  Against all the laws of human decency!   He led in one of Sherman’s foraging parties to Three Oaks when Anne was there alone except for one old slave too crippled to run.  He burnt the place to the ground, and then attacked and killed my sister.”  His voice dropped. “She was only nineteen.”  After a pause he said forcefully, “Yes, I’m going to kill him – and the devil take the law!  All I want from you is where I can find this bastard!”

Joe was so surprised that he almost betrayed his brother.  “Good Lord!  Adam never did anything like that.”

Beau pounced.  “Then you do know him?”

“Well, yeah, sorta.  But I don’t know where he is just now,” he added quickly.  “I’ll have to check around and see what I can find out.”

“Will you try to locate him and arrange a meeting for me?”  Beau was calmer, but still eager.

“So you can kill him, right?”  Joe knew he had to keep control of the situation somehow.  It was vital to exclude anyone else who might know either Adam or himself from the mix.

“Of course, honor demands it. Will you help me Mister …,” he trailed off.

“Joe, ah – Joe Little. I’ll have to see what I can work out.  Listen; leave this entirely up to me.  Don’t talk to anybody else about it.  The Cartwrights are pretty well liked in this town, and you might get into big trouble.  Just sit tight until I contact you.”

“I’m very grateful for your help, Mr. Little.”

“Huh? Oh yes, sure, sure.  I’ll be seeing you soon.”  Joe slammed his hat on his head and rushed out of the saloon.

Adam had indulged himself with the luxury of a good camp.  On the level top of a small knoll overlooking Lake Tahoe, he had pitched a dry, roomy tent and built a stone firepit covered with a heavy wire mesh.  A small fire burned merrily in the pit and a coffeepot simmered at its edge adding an enticing fragrance to the pine scented air.  He had also erected a small brush arbor and under it built a thick bed of springy fir tips covered with a soft tanned buffalo robe.  He was stretched out lazily there with one arm under his head and his eyes fixed on the lake as his mind picking at the sore places in his memory.  Roused by a sudden whinny from Whiskey picketed with the packhorse in a nearby meadow, he sat up just as Joe thundered into camp.  He was barely in time to catch his gunbelt when Joe heaved it at him.

Joe began to rattle at high speed even before he dismounted.  “Adam!  Quick!  There’s a man in town – some Rebel – swears he’s gonna kill you.  I brought your gun; you forgot it.  Come on!  We’ve got to get back before he finds out who I really am.  You better be ready to shoot on sight!”

“Whoa Joe. Hold on a minute; take a deep breath.  I’m not going to shoot anybody. What’s this all about?”

Joe rushed ahead.  “There’s this man in town, a Southerner, what’s his name?  Ah – Beau, Beauregard Langhorne from some place in South Carolina.  Three Oaks I think he called it.  He claims you burnt his plantation and raped and killed his sister.  He’s followed you clear out here to get you for it.  Come on Adam!  You can’t let that lunatic run around town saying things like that.”

Adam pointed negligently at the fireplace.  “Have some coffee, Joe.”  He stood looking through his brother for a minute and then spoke reflectively.  “Langhorne, Langhorne and Three Oaks.  You know Joe; I probably did burn his home – though not on purpose.  But his sister – I gave her food and a pass.  Good Lord!  Do you suppose that sergeant…?  Joe, I’ve got to see this man, talk to him.  Can you arrange it?”

Joe realized at this point there was to be talk rather than immediate action.  He moved to the fire and filled a cup with coffee and squatted down to look closely at his older brother.  Adam sank down bonelessly into a cross-legged seat on his buffalo robe absently putting his gun aside.

“If you want to talk to this Reb, you are as crazy as he is.  All I’d be arranging would be your sudden demise if you take him on without a gun, and somehow I don’t think Pa’d be too pleased with me.  Adam, use your head!  What’s the matter with you?”

“Joe you have no idea how important this is to me.  Can’t you see that I’ve done enough killing and destroying to sicken me for a lifetime!  This is my chance to help somebody, to make up for some of the harm I’ve caused.  I’ve got to see Langhorne – hear his story.  Maybe together we can find McKeon.”

“Whoever the dickens that is.  I think you’re out of your mind, but I know I haven’t much chance of getting you to change it when you’re like this.”  Joe gave up in resigned disgust.  “If it’s what you really want, I’ll go back to town and set up a meeting with Langhorne at that old deserted nester’s cabin below Twin Forks tomorrow morning early.”

“That will do fine, Joe, thanks.”

Joe hesitated and then combined one final plea with something that has bothered him for a long time.  “Look, big brother, I know we had our differences before you joined up, but I was almighty glad to see you ride back still all in one piece.  Particularly after spendin’ nearly half a year wondering if you were somewhere hurt, alone and three thousand miles from home.  And remembering that the last words I gave you were awful bitter ones.”  Joe uttered a dry laugh that was more a croak.  “I ought to know.  Guess I ate ‘em all about a thousand times.”

Adam held up his hand.  “You don’t have to apologize, Joe.  I knew at the time that you didn’t mean what you said about never coming home again.  Your temper’s like a flash fire – blazing hot while it lasts, but soon over leaving nothing but ashes.”

Joe groaned.  “Never again, Adam.  Never again between us.  You’re home safe now.  Let’s keep it that way if we can.  Please be there tomorrow wearing your gun,” he pleaded.

“I’ll be there, without the gun, but thanks, Joe, thanks a lot.”

“Thanks?  For what, helping you commit suicide?”

“No, for caring whether I do or not.”

Joe lifted his hands in not quiet mock despair and glanced heavenward for some explanation of human behavior.  He looked back at Adam with both affection and irritation mingled in his expression and started to speak again.  Thinking better of it he caught up Cochise’s reins and mounted.  He looked again at Adam and lifted a hand in farewell.

“In the morning then.”

Adam nodded his understanding and watch Joe ride dejectedly away.  After a few minutes he picked up his gunbelt and slowly unrolled it.  He slid the big pistol from its holster and turned it in his hands.  Presently he returned it and carefully rewrapped the familiar rig setting in aside once again.  He stretched out and gazed quietly into the sapphire blue of the lake.

It was just after dawn when Joe and Beau rode out of a wooded trail and drew rein before a tumbledown cabin.  Beau stepped down and drew his Colt to examine it.  Satisfied he returned it to his holster.  Pacing a few steps back and forth he asked suddenly, “You’re sure he agreed to meet me here?”

“I’m positive,” Joe replied, “but there’s just one thing first.”

“What’s that.”

Joe drew his own weapon and leveled it at Beau.  “Let’s have that hogleg. I can’t let you shoot my brother, particularly when the crazy fool is riding in unarmed.  Come on! I mean it!”  Joe gestured sharply and Beau reluctantly handed over his pistol snarling as he did so.

“Your brother!  Then you’re a Cartwright too.  You tricked me!”

“Afraid so, but it was in a good cause.  Adam didn’t do the things you claim – he couldn’t – but I think he has an idea who did.”

As Beau glared at Joe, Adam rode quietly into the cabin clearing.  Whiskey snorted, and they both swung to look at the tall, dark man sitting his horse so calmly before them. Beau immediately focused his whole attention on Adam.

“Are you Lt. Adam Cartwright?”

“I was.  I resigned my commission over six months ago.”

“Are these yours?”  Beau snatched a pair of standard cavalry issue saddlebags from his saddle and heaved them at Adam.

Adam caught the bags and examined them with interest.  They were clearly stamped ‘Lt. A. Cartwright, U.S. Army.’  “Yes, they were.  Where did you get them?”

“From beside the body of my dead sister after you’d attacked and murdered her.”  His voice was like a lash.  “You’d be dead now if your brother hadn’t tricked me and taken my gun!”

“Mr. Langhorne, I didn’t touch your sister.  In fact I tried to help her.  I think I can convince you of that if you’ll listen to me for a minute.”

“There’s no explaining what you did!  All I want is a gun.”

Adam turned to Joe and said quietly, “Give Mr. Langhorne his weapon.”

Joe shook his head.  “Adam, are you plumb loco? He’ll kill you.”

Beau watched this side play between the brothers with interest.  The smallest shadow of doubt began to creep into his mind.

“Joe, the gun.  This is between Langhorne and myself.  Put it down and ride out.”

“I can’t do that, Adam”

“You will!”  It was his command voice.  From babyhood Joe had known that when Adam spoke in this tone it was deadly serious. He tossed the gun onto the ground near Langhorne’s feet, pulled Cochise around and rode slowly into the trees.

Beau snatched up his gun and leveled it at Adam.  The big rancher sat perfectly still on his horse looking squarely at Beau.  It was so silent you could hear the breeze sighing through the pines.  After an eternity Beau broke the stare and slammed his gun into its empty holster.

“I can’t shoot an unarmed man!  I saw all the slaughter I could stand in the war, and somehow, Cartwright, I believe you.  You just don’t look like the sort who could do that.”

Within the screen of trees, Joe lowered his carbine, slipped it into the boot and kneed his horse silently away.

“Why did you come here to face me without a gun?” Beau asked.  “Your brother must have told you what I intended.”

Adam swung down and walked a few steps closer to the distraught Southerner.  “For the same reason that you couldn’t shoot me just now.  We fought on opposite sides in the war, but we’re both glutted with killing. The war’s over, and we need desperately to find a new basis for living.  You’ve lost everything you cared about, and in a way, I’m partially responsible for it.  Maybe together we can find the answer, and succeed in giving our own lives some meaning again.”

“Your brother said something about you knowing who killed Anne.  Do you?”

“No, I only have an idea.”  Adam gestured toward a large log lying in the clearing, and they moved to sit down there.

“Suppose you tell me what you know first,” Adam suggested, “and how you came to be looking for me.  Then I’ll try to explain.”

Beau hesitated still unsure of Adam but aware of the aura of decency and sympathy that surrounded him.  Deciding to trust his gut feeling, Beau launched into his story.

“I was wounded at Spotsylvania, and after about nine months in the hospital was released as unfit for further service.  I made my way home dodging Sherman’s patrols at every turn and finally got there the afternoon of the day after your foraging party had gone through.  There was nothing left…”

Beau looked inward and saw himself standing outside the great stone pillars with ‘Three Oaks’ deeply cut into the rock.  He was thin and exhausted, dressed in the rags of his Confederate officers’ uniform and hobbling on a half-healed leg.  He looked down the tree-lined entrance road to the smoldering ruin of the great plantation house.  Little beyond the stone chimneys and fire darkened earth remained.  Beyond the house one shanty still stood.  He had started to run as best he could, calling his sister’s name.

He threw open the shanty’s door and stopped stunned at what he saw within.  A white haired old black man who had been badly beaten huddled in broken rocker.  A ragged blanket covered something on a battered cot.  Beau knelt beside his former slave.  “Uncle Ep!  What happened to you?  Where is Anne?”  The old man gestured feebly toward the cot.

Beau limped slowly to the humble bed and with great reluctance lifted the blanket.  With a wrenching sob he dropped to his knees and took the slender body into his arms.  “Anne, Anne – my little sister.  As God is my witness I’ll find who did this!  I’ll make them suffer the way you have.  I will; I promise you darlin’.”  He held her as tears streamed through the dust on his face.  When he could bear to let her go, he turned again to the old man.

“Uncle Ep,” he cradled the bloody head on his arm.  “Try to tell me.  Who was here; who did this?”

“Was horse soldiers, Massa Beau.”  He could barely whisper.  “They come a riding in a burnin’ – Miss Anne, she…” He broke off as his mind began to wander.  “An officer with black hair, he…  night, came back --hurt her.  Oh Lordy, Massa Beau – Miss Anne she dead!”  The former slave slumped in death – free at last.

Beau stood, his eyes wild, looking frantically around the humble room.  A pair of saddlebags tossed into a corner caught his eye.  He scooped them up and examined the stamp then spoke aloud in a voice heavy with menace.  “Lt. Cartwright, somewhere, somehow I’m going to find you, and when that time comes, I’ll know what to do.”

Beau returned slowly to the present where he was still seated beside Adam on the log.  “An old man I knew and trusted all my life condemned you, Cartwright.  Hatred of you was the only thing that kept me alive those first few weeks, but I survived and got well and sought you out.  I had you in my sights, and revenge was suddenly as cold as yesterday’s ashes.  Tell me why?”

“You have more than enough reason to hate, Beau, but hatred isn’t a good enough reason for living.”  Adam paused to gather his thoughts.  “I was at Three Oaks during the day, but I didn’t come back that night.  I can find witnesses to that if I must, but I think I know now who killed Anne.  Tell me, when you found her, was she wearing a pin?  It was a black cameo set with diamonds.

“No, it has been ripped off her dress.  That pin was our Mother’s; Anne loved it and always wore it.  How did you know about it?”

“I saw her wearing it while she was still alive.  You see my men had ridden on ahead of me into Three Oaks.  The Captain caught up with us on the road and held me back to relay the next day’s orders…”

When Adam rode into Three Oaks, the plantation house with its towering white columns and groomed plantings stood regal and impressive under the gray skies and heavy clouds that seemed ready to pour even more rain.  His men looked shabby in tattered uniforms, worn boots and bits of non-issue gear.  Adam looked little better.  His blue uniform had been on his back for days and his first lieutenant’s bars were tarnished.  Unshaven for two days, heavy stubble darkened his cheeks, his hair curled long behind his ears and, had anyone looked closely into his magnificent, expressive eyes, they would have seen infinite sadness.

His troopers were scattered around the estate chasing chickens, ducks and piglets that they stuffed in sacks and tossed onto their horses.  Some men probed the ground near the house with long cleaning rods searching for buried valuables.  Adam drew rein beside a corporal standing idle watching the activity.

“Corporal, take two men and search the stable and then the woods for horses.”

“Sir,” a hasty salute and he was gone.

Adam called out to another soldier as he passed by after a wildly honking goose.  “Bucks, bring everything out of the smokehouse and then search for cotton bales.  They’re probably well hidden.”

Bucks followed the corporal to carry out his orders as Adam leaned an arm behind him on his horse’s rump and sat easy watching his men at work.  He was jerked erect by a woman’s scream from within the plantation house.  Dismounting he strode through the main entrance into a lavishly decorated hallway where the burley, bearded Sergeant McKeon was wrestling with a spirited young woman trying to rip a pin from her dress.  Adam disliked the man and considered him a foul-mouthed slacker always on the verge of serious trouble.

“Come on, girly,” the Sergeant snarled.  “Let’s have that gaud.  You won’t have no more use for it.”  The girl slapped McKeon hard and pulled away from him.  Delicate and lovely she looked barely out of her teens.

“Get your hands off of me!” she demanded.

“I like spirit!”  McKeon caught her hair and bent her head back intent on planting a kiss on her full lips.

Adam drew his Army Colt and slammed it into the Sergeant’s ribs.  McKeon released the girl and whirled on Adam his fist raised to strike.

“Go ahead!” Adam grated through his teeth.  McKeon heard the hammer cock and dropped his hand.

“Sgt. McKeon you are under arrest.  You are fully aware of the orders forbidding entry into private homes and molesting civilians.  This isn’t your first offense either!”

“Ah, Lieutenant,” he whined.  “These Rebs deserve anything they gits.”

“We don’t make war on women, McKeon.  Outside!”  Adam forced the man through the door at gunpoint to find his First Sergeant standing on the porch about to enter.  “Ah, Sgt. Grimes, McKeon is under arrest.  Tie him on his horse until we make camp.  Then I’ll prefer charges.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grimes led the surly McKeon away as Adam turned to Anne who had followed them onto the porch.  Adam spread his hands in a gesture of apology.  “Please accept my apologies for his behavior.  Are you all right, Miss…?

Anne ran her fingers through her mussed hair and pulled her dress straight.  “Langhorne,” she answered.  “Anne Langhorne.  Yes, I’m fine thanks to you.”  The girl suddenly noticed the provisions being carried off by Adam’s men and the four horses that are being led up by the corporal Adam sent to collect them.  “Oh, oh!  You’re taking everything, and my horses.  I’ll starve here!”

“Surely you’re not here alone?” Adam asked with concern.  “You must have people, friends?”

“My parents are dead, and my brother lies wounded somewhere.  The servants all ran off when they learned Sherman’s columns were near.  I have friends of course, but they are beyond your lines, and I couldn’t reach them on foot even if they weren’t.”

“We’ll have to try to get you out of here.”  Adam called to the corporal with the horses.  “Tie those three off and bring the bay mare over here.”  As the soldier obeyed Adam stepped to his own mount and removed his saddlebags.  He handed them to Cpl. Weems and instructed him to take his things out and put in rations for three days. Adam pulled pencil and paper from his pocket and began to write as the man went to do as instructed.

Weems returned with the saddlebags bulging and Adam handed them to Anne along with the note he had written.  “Keep the mare, Miss Langhorne, and there’s enough food for three or four days in the bags if you are careful.  This pass will get you through the Union lines. I wish I could spare you an escort, but it’s impossible.  Don’t move until tomorrow.  Our columns should have passed by them.  Keep to side roads and stay out of sight as much as you can.”

“I – I suppose I should be grateful…”

Adam turned half away from the girl and looked out coldly at the foraging men of his command.  “Not particularly,” he answered.  “I don’t enjoy this kind of warfare either.”

A soldier ran up to Adam.  “Lieutenant! Cotton, about forty bales stored in the loft over the barn!”

“The wagons are mired up miles back.  Burn it,” Adam ordered.

Anne cried out in alarm.  “Oh, must you!  It’s all we have to start over with if this terrible war ever ends.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I have no choice,” Adam replied wearily.

“I know!  You just carry out your orders and never think of the suffering you leave behind you!”

Adam closed his eyes in pain at this thrust for it was this very fact that was tormenting him.  “You can’t imagine how much I wish that statement were true.”

They stood staring at each other for a moment – a man and a woman with the merciless wedge of war driven between them.  He looks so tired she thought as Adam suddenly passed his hand across his eyes and caught at the porch rail for balance.  Anne put out her hand.

“You’re ill.”

“A little fever; it’ll pass.”

A shout rang out from the area of the barn and flames shot into the air.  Adam recovered himself and said abruptly to Anne.  “You’d better watch for flying sparks.  If the wind get up the fire could spread.”  He crossed quickly to the edge of the porch and called to his patrol.  “Prepare to ride!”

The men collected the last of the loot and began to mount.  Adam turned back to Anne for a moment.  “Goodbye and good luck.  I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”  She reached out tentatively toward him then let her hand fall back and walked into the house.

A trooper led up Adam’s horse, and he mounted from the porch making the high circling arm motion that signaled ‘Fall in on me.’  “Column forward.  At the trot!”  The force moved out rapidly through the stone pillars that had failed to protect Three Oaks.

Beau was still seated on the log. Adam had risen and was pacing in front of him.  The memories he had laid before the Southerner were like burning coals trapped in his mind.

“After we made camp that night, McKeon murdered his guard and disappeared.  I reported the entire incident, but we weren’t allowed to lose time searching for escaped prisoners.  He must have cut back to Three Oaks and killed Anne for the horse and the pass and made good his escape.  If I could have known – God help me, in a way you are right about my responsibility.”

“You said you could prove you didn’t go back?’

“My fever got worse. First Sgt. Grimes sat with me all night spooning quinine and boiled water down me.  By morning I could ride.  Grimes survived the campaign.  He could be located.”

“I see.”  Beau made up his mind quickly.  “You only meant to help her, Cartwright.  I’ve been under orders too, and it’s never easy when civilians are involved.  The man we want now is McKeon.  How do we find him?”

“Well, if anybody knows where he is it will probably be the Army.  They don’t like deserters who murder their own men.  Let’s go talk to my father and see if he can tell us the best man to contact.”

The two men began to move toward their horses.  Suddenly Beau stopped and swung to face Adam.  “If you’ve been lying to me…!”

Adam folded his arms and stood steady.  “I haven’t.”

“I want to believe that, but God help you if it should prove otherwise.”

“You’ll still have your gun, and I’ll still be around.”

“Yeah, guess I’ll know what to do when the time comes.  Let’s go.”
 
 
 

“We should make it before nightfall,” Beau said.  “Let’s hope that Colonel your Pap wired in the Bureau of Military Justice was right when he said they’d had a report McKeon was riding with this gang of cutthroats.  I’d hate to have made this trip for nothing, and your family wasn’t any too happy to see you takin’ off again either.”

“I think they understand that we had to try this.  We’ll slip into town after dark and talk with the sheriff – see if he can give us any leads on how to establish a contact with the bunch.  You’re going to be stuck as front man, Beau.  If McKeon sees me, it will blow the whole thing.

“That suits me just fine.”  Beau’s face creased in a wicked grin.

“There’s one more thing you’d better know before we get into this,” Adam told Beau reluctantly.  “If it comes to a gunfight, I probably won’t be much use to you.  I haven’t been able to pull a trigger since the war.”

“Uh huh, I know that, Adam.”

Adam’s eyes widened in surprise.  “You do?  How?”

“Well now, I had a pretty good idea when you rode in to meet me unarmed, and then I saw your freeze on that deer a few days back.  You’ve been around this country too long for buck fever.  Besides,” Beau added lightly, “you talk in your sleep you know.”

Adam met this news with a wry chuckle.  “Talk?  I rave.  You don’t miss much do you?  Sure you don’t want to call this off while you’re still ahead?”

“I’m not worried.  You’re not the only one that ever had this happen.  I’ve seen it before with men who’d suddenly had a violent dose of combat.  You’ll be all right when the time comes.”

“You’re taking a big chance on me, Beau.  Why?”

Beau thought for a minute before answering.  “Your side won the war, Adam, but you lost.  I lost my family and my home, but you’ve lost yourself.  You want to help me find the man responsible for my losses.  Maybe I’d like to help you find your way back.  Just to prove that the war is over, and that two men can be friends again without being Billy Yank and Johnny Reb.

Adam’s face relaxed in relief and gratitude.  “Well, come on then compadre!  What are we waiting for?”   They collected their horses and rode on toward Lawrence.

Long after dark Beau and Adam were seated in the Lawrence sheriff’s office behind closed blinds.  The sheriff was a man of middle years who had seen hard times in his strife torn county.  He listened to them patiently while puffing on his pipe.  Adam concluded their account.

“That’s our story Sheriff Jenkins.  This man McKeon is wanted by the Army and in several states.  Do you think you’ll be able to help us locate him?”

The sheriff took time to knock out his pipe and stretch his legs before replying.  “I’d like to help you fellows, but any kind of law is mighty hard to enforce in these times.  You know what the war did to Kansas and Missouri – what with town fighting town, one family against another – vigilantes and guerrillas raiding and plundering everywhere.  The hills are full of little gangs – mostly young men with no homes no more who grew up to nothing but hatred and fighting, and there are some real hard cases leading them.  I do well to keep the peace here in town.  There just ain’t enough men willing to go trailing through the badlands for weeks in a posse trying to catch some wild bunch.  We’re still trying to get over Quantrill’s raid in 63’.

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and bent his head.  Beau started to speak, but Adam help up his hand.  “Look sheriff, maybe we can make a deal.  We want McKeon, and you want the gang.  If you can put us onto the right outfit, maybe Beau here can work himself in with them.  I’ll trail him from a distance, and when we get the proof we need, I’ll bring you word where they are.  Then you can organize your posse and take the whole lot of them at once.”  Beau nodded his enthusiastic agreement.

The sheriff pushed his lips in and out as he thought.  “It might work, but I don’t envy you, young fellow, if they should git onto you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Beau insisted.

“All right, fellows.  If you two are willin’ to try it, it don’t cost me nothin’ to go along with you, but you’re pretty much on your own.
“I believe the man you want comes into town now and again to do some drinking at the Lucky Seven.  As long as they don’t make no trouble here, I don’t ask too many questions, but you might run into him if you hang around there.”

Beau stood up grinning widely. “Thanks, we’ll give it a try.”

Adam collected his hat and shook Sheriff Jenkins’ hand.  “You’ll be hearing from us.”

“I hope so boys; I purely hope so.”

Outside the sheriff’s office Beau and Adam put their head close together.  Adam spoke first.  "“Better part company here. We want them to think you’re alone.  Good hunting, Beau, and remember, I’ll be around somewhere pretty close if you need me.”

“So long, Adam.  Take care of yourself.”  They separated and walked away into the darkness.
 

Adam sprawled completely relaxed and apparently asleep with his hat tilted well down over his face in a chair on the porch of the hotel across the street from the Lucky Seven saloon.  The last two days had passed slowly but there was no way to hurry the process.  Just as Adam’s eyes were about to close in fact, McKeon rode quietly through the town and dismounted in front of the saloon.  He tied his horse and stepped inside.

In the cool, dimness of the Lucky Seven, Beau was playing cards with one of the saloon girls.  She looked up as the outlaw entered and then glanced quickly back at Beau giving a barely visible jerk of her head. Beau pushed the kitty across the table and stood up saying, “Thanks, honey.  Looks like you win this hand.”

Beau strolled casually to the bar and put his foot up on the rail alongside McKeon.  He put a dollar on the bar and pushed a bottle in McKeon’s direction.  “Have one on me.”

McKeon looked at his suspiciously. “Why should I drink with you, stranger?”

My name’s Wesley if it will make you feel any better.  Go ahead, drink up.”  McKeon shrugged and poured himself a drink.

“Much obliged.  You new in town?

“Yeah,” Beau answered.  “You might say I’m looking for a job.  I understand you and some friends got a nice little transfer and haulage business.  What’s the chance of getting on with you?”

“Well now, things are running pretty smooth as they are.  We don’t often take on new men.  Besides, where’d you hear of our outfit?”

“Oh, word of a good firm always gets around.  It got a little too hot for me out in Nevada, and I decided to give this country a try.”

“What kind of trouble were you in?”

“I killed a man – an ex-Yankee lieutenant named Cartwright.  My reasons were personal ones.”

McKeon roared with laughter.  “Well, well, well!  So the lieutenant finally got his.  I wish I’d of knowed where he was myself.  You know, Wesley, this changes a lot of things.”

Beau was a picture of surprise.  “Did you know him?”

“Know him!  I served under the bastard in the war.  He always was a stickler for regulations.  Had me arrested once and was gonna court martial me.  But I sure surprised him!  I think we might be able to use you after all.  Have a drink!”  McKeon pushed the bottle back to Beau, and they both took a drink.

As the day lengthened Beau and McKeon wove their way out of the saloon and mounted.  They rode slowly away to the south.  As they disappeared down the street, Adam stretched indolently, ambled across the hotel porch, untied Whiskey and rode leisurely in their wake.

Adam was located on the backside of a cutbank well above the sturdy, four-room cabin half-hidden in a swell of the prairie where Beau and McKeon had led him. Screened by low shrubs that grew along the top of the bank, Adam kept his field glasses trained on the cabin.  His carbine lay nearby, and he wore his pistol.  More for show than go he thought ruefully.  Sort of like a toad frog swelling up to threaten you.

Inside the cabin, McKeon was making Beau known to his followers.  “This here’s Beau Wesley.  He’ll be working with us for a while.  Him and me had a mutual acquaintance.  Ain’t that right, Beau?”

“Sure is,” Beau replied.  “Pleased to meet you gentlemen.”

McKeon pointed at one of the men who was busy cleaning a rifle.  “This hombre here’s Pete Blanco.  He’s a real expert when it comes to blowing a safe.”

Blanco looked up and nodded pleasantly toward Beau.  “Howdy,” he said and went back to his work.

McKeon next indicated a very young, but tough looking boy who was wiping his pistol fondly with a soft rag.  “That young devil calls himself the Montana Kid – he’s mighty handy with a gun.”

One look and the chemistry of dislike flared between Beau and the Kid.  “Yeah, I’ll bet he is,” Beau said dryly.  The Kid merely grunted.

“Them two are Bill and Wade Floyd.”  McKeon jerked his head at two men with similar features who were playing cards at a rough table.  “There’s just the five of us – six now with you.  We got a real smooth operation – banks, gold shipments and a train now and then.  We plan each move real careful before we start.  It ain’t a bad life.”

“Sounds fine, and I’m mighty broke.  When do I get a chance to start earning some money around here?”

“You’re awful anxious for a greenhorn,” the Montana Kid snapped.  “One thing sure, McKeon, I ain’t gonna wet nurse this Johnny Reb for you.”  Beau’s slow, Southern drawl was hard to miss.

Beau let his accent thicken and spoke slowly.  “Kid, didn’t anybody ever tell you about Southerners.  We’ve got real mean tempers when somebody gets smart with us.  The only reason I don’t take that fancy pistol away from you and knock your teeth loose with it, is because I don’t believe in pickin’ on children.”

The Kid shot to his feet and dropped his gun into the low-slung holster.  “Anytime you’re ready to try, Reb!”

McKeon jumped between them. “All right you two!  Cool it off.  I’ll tell you who to shoot and when.  I don’t want no trouble here.”

Beau and the Kid continued to glare at each other, undecided whether to fight or back down.  The spell broke when a girl entered from another room with a pot of stew and a stack of bowls.

“Here’s your vittles – oh!”  Suddenly aware of the tension in the room, she began to back away.

“Come on, gal, put down the food,” McKeon demanded.  “These two young roosters was just trying their spurs.”  The girl, who looked very young in her drab brown linsey-woolsey dress and bare feet, set the dishes and stew pot on the table and glanced up shyly.

“This one here is Beau Wesley,” McKeon told her.  “He’ll be joining up with us for a while.  Beau, this is Lindy Ann.  She cooks and cleans for us – mighty handy.  Just a word of warning though – hands off – she belongs to me.”

Beau bowed politely.  “A real pleasure, ma’am.”

Unused to any sort of courtesy, Lindy turned away in confusion.  “How-dee.”  Her accent was pure Tennessee mountain twang.

McKeon’s men settle around the table as Lindy brought in a rounded loaf of soda bread, butter, cheese and pickles along with a big pot of coffee.  As the others filled their plates and began to bolt down the meal, Beau spoke quietly to Lindy.  “Won’t you join us, ma’am?”

Lindy appeared frightened as McKeon looked up with a growl.  “She eats in the kitchen.  Stick to your own business, Wesley, and you’ll get along a lot better here.”   Beau shrugged and began to eat.

The hour was late and only the dying fire lighted the cabin room when Beau slipped quietly from his bedroll by the fireplace and looked around.  Bill and Wade Floyd snored peacefully in bunks along the wall. McKeon had retired to one room pulling Lindy with him, and the Montana Kid has slammed the door behind him as he entered the small back room.  Beau picked up his boots and eased to the front door.  Opening it a crack he peered into the moonlit night and then slipped out.

Beau pulled on his boots and strolled leisurely toward the outhouse looking right and left to be sure he was unobserved.  Once at the privy, he ducked around it and drifted silently up a draw. He heard a night bird whistle twice.  “Adam?” he called softly.

Adam melted out of the darkness near Beau and answered in a low rumble.  “Here, Beau.  How did it go?  I was getting worried.”

Beau relaxed.  “No trouble.  He took the bait like a starvin’ trout.  I’m positive McKeon’s my man, but after almost killing you on the basis of those saddlebags, I’d like some real proof first.”

“Are you still determined to go through with this, Beau?  You’ve done enough.  Why not let the law take care of them all?  We can get the sheriff tonight.”

“I can’t let it go at that.  I promised Anne.  It’s something I have to finish myself.”  Beau hesitated.  “And we got troubles, Adam.  There’s a girl in there.  Some poor mountain kid McKeon picked up somewhere and turned into a drudge.  We’ll have to get her clear before the shooting starts.”

Adam groaned softly.  “Man, that is all we need!  You’re a hothead bent on personal vengeance; I can’t shoot to save my life, and between us we’ve got to protect a woman.  What now?”

“I don’t know.  Hang on until I can get some proof, I guess.  Then we’ll do what we have to do when the time comes.”

“Be careful, Beau,” Adam said fervently.  “I can’t afford to lose you.”

Unaware of the pain and passion behind Adam’s last statement, Beau was already headed back toward the cabin and said over his shoulder, “Yeah, sure.”

Adam shook his head and slid back into the shadows and made his way to his camp. His set up was a basic cold camp with ground sheet and bedroll and a sack of jerky, hard biscuits, cheese, canned tomatoes and fruits and a water bag.  Whiskey was picketed nearby in a shallow draw that featured rich grasses and a tiny trickle of water.  Frustrated and deeply worried, Adam stretched out and pulled a blanket over himself but found little sleep that night.

The next day seemed to progress normally as Adam watched from his vantage point.  He had seen Lindy come out with a stack of bedding and hang it on a line to air before returning to the house.  The Montana Kid had set up a shooting gallery of empty tins and bottles on a fence and was indulging in some fancy pistol practice.  Bill and Wade Floyd watched him, making occasional wise cracks.  Beau and Pete Blanco were grooming their horses in a lean-to behind the cabin.

Adam pulled some jerky and hard bread from his supply sack and munched slowly without taking his eyes from the scene.  Presently Lindy stepped outside and called, “Noontime.  Come and eat ‘fore I throw it out!”  The men broke off their activities and headed inside.  Adam took advantage of the break to drink and answer a call of nature.  The endless waiting was beginning to rub him raw.

After lunch the Floyd brothers organized a card game.  Beau and Pete Blanco joined them around the table, but the Montana Kid refused.  He sat apart from the card players moodily polishing his gun and sipping from a quart of whiskey.  McKeon was not in sight.

Beau was dealer in a game of blackjack.  “Hit me,” Pete Blanco said.  Beau dealt him a card and the older man nodded in satisfaction.

“I’ll stand,” Wade Floyd decided.  His brother Bill asked for a hit.  Beau dealt.  “Hit me again,” was the call.  Beau complied.  “Damn! Busted.”  Bill threw in his hand.

Beau had an eight down and a two up.  “Dealer takes one,” he said and dealt himself a jack.  “Pay twenty-one,” he announced.  Pete threw in his hand.  Wade turned up his hold card and said, “Blackjack!”  Beau paid Wade and took the remainder of the pot.

“Where’s the boss,” Beau asked.

“He’s out having a look around,” Pete answered.  “Said he’s had a feeling all day that we were being watched.”  A shock of cold fear ran down Beau’s spine.

Bill Floyd turned to the Montana Kid with a piece of friendly advice.  “Better lay off that snake oil.  You know he don’t like it when you get liquored up.”

A surly frown darkened the Kid’s youthful face.  “I’m big enough to take a drink without his say so.”

The door opened and Beau suppressed a jump.  It was only Lindy her arms filled with the aired bedding.  As she passed in front of the Kid, Montana grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap spilling the laundry on the floor.  “Come here, baby,” he crooned.

“You let me go!”  Lindy struggled to get away. They all froze, gripped by the sudden scene.

“Come on now, girl, be nice.”  Montana tried to quiet her.

“You’re asking for real trouble, Kid,” Pete Blanco advised.

“Shut up, old man!”  Montana bent Lindy back and leaned in to kiss her.  Beau threw his chair aside and started for Montana.

Lindy’s struggles ripped open the top buttons of her high-necked dress and a long chain with Anne’s jet and diamond cameo attached fell free.  Brew stopped stunned, then reached down and lifted Lindy away from Montana and pushed her behind him.

Beau jerked Montana out of his chair with one heave, knocked aside his arm as he reached for his gun and dropped him with a powerful one-two punch. Uncertain what to do the other men held their places.  Beau swung on Lindy.  “Lindy – that pin – where did you get it?”

“Why, why – Mr. McKeon he give it to me.  It’s the only present I ever had,” she stammered.

A look of violent anger reddened Beau’s face as he whirled to leave the cabin.  They all flinched as rifle shots sounded from outside.  Beau raced out hotly followed by the others.

Prowling like a wolf around the cabin, McKeon had headed for the cut bank and stumbled across Adam’s camp.  Adam saw him coming and made for better shelter, but McKeon had seen him move and pinned him down in a shallow gully with rifle fire.   Adam wore his sidearm and carried his carbine but was unable to return fire.  Completely blocked, his face twisted and sweat drenched him as he struggle to break free.  His cover was minimal.  Once reinforcements arrived he would be trapped and finished.

McKeon continued to fire regularly in Adam’s direction as Beau charged up behind him.  “McKeon, you bastard, I want you!” he screamed.  Beau’s long dive hit McKeon from the rear before he realized he was under attack.  They went to the ground rolling and fighting like two wildcats.

Adam took advantage of the distraction to break for cover in an outcrop of rock.  He was in the open as the other three men ran up.  McKeon, fighting for his life against the enraged Beau, shouted to his men.  “Get Wesley! He’s a ringer!”  Pete drew and aimed for Beau as McKeon managed to roll clear for an instant.  Adam halted in mid-stride and without a moment’s thought or hesitation threw up his rifle and fired offhand toward Pete Blanco.  The shot struck Pete full in the chest and threw him back hard onto the ground.

Bill Floyd saw his friend drop and fired at Adam who was again running toward cover.  A blow like being struck with a heavy hammer took Adam’s leg out from under him and he rolled behind a tree snapping off another shot toward his assailant.  The shot connected, and Bill slid slowly to his knees.

Wade Floyd, torn between going to his brother and finishing the fight, was just about to drop the hammer on Beau when Lindy ran up carrying a shotgun that she leveled at Bill and Wade in a businesslike manner.   “Wade Floyd, don’t you move; you neither, Bill.  I’ll shoot you; I mean it!  You ain’t gonna hurt Beau.”  The men froze under the menace of the heavy gauge shotgun.

Adam scrambled up from behind the tree and limped toward Beau who was strangling the exhausted McKeon with his bare hands.  Adam dragged his friend free having to more than half-fight him to stop the slaughter.  “Beau,” he shouted.  “Beau!  Let him alone.  Not like this!”  As Adam got him away from McKeon some of the wildness died from Beau’s eyes, and he began to take in the scene around him.

Lindy had forced the Floyd brothers to throw down their guns and Adam kicked McKeon’s forty-four beyond reach.  “What are you doing here, Lindy?” Beau demanded as he took the shotgun and covered the remaining gang members.

“Well, I shore weren’t gonna let them shoot you, what with you being so nice and polite and all.”

The sudden fight, his psychological breakthrough and the shock of being shot caught up with Adam.  He holstered his pistol and leaned against a tree for support. Blood poured down his right leg from mid-thigh.  Beau was stunned to realize his friend was wounded.  “Adam!  You’re hit.”

“I’m okay,” Adam said, then closed his eyes and slid quietly to the ground.

Adam came to in a bunk in the cabin with Lindy dressing his wound.  Embarrassed to find himself practically nude before a strange young woman, he turned his head away.  Lindy, practical to a fault, and used to a house full of brothers, was not embarrassed in the least.  She took in the deep chest, lightly furred in crisp, dark hair, the powerful shoulders and arms corded with muscle, the slim waist and narrow hips, the impressive package and long, hard legs.  “No need to be shamed. I thought Beau was mighty good lookin,’ but you’re a right fine figure of a man.”

The expressive face with the compelling eyes and lips that cried out to be kissed turned back to her.  “Thank you, Miss Lindy.  Do you think I’ll live?”  His leg ached, and he felt a little lightheaded.

“It’s a clean flesh wound.  You lost some blood, and you’ll be sore for a while, but it should heal up just fine.”  Adam smiled up at her and turned to look around the room.

Beau was patching up Bill Floyd who was tied to a chair.  McKeon, Wade Floyd and the still unconscious Montana were stoutly tied, gagged and braced against the wall along the floor.  Pete Blanco’s body was laid out and covered with a sheet in the other bunk.  Beau finished up his work on Bill and crossed to stand beside Adam as Lindy finished his dressing.

“How you doing, partner?” Beau asked.

“Not bad all considered.  I seem to be able to shoot again.”

“One dead, one winged.  When you go, boy, you go all the way.  Told you that you’d be okay when the time came.”

Adam was less than delighted to learn that he had killed Pete, but knew it was useless to agonize over it.  It had been a choice between Pete’s life and Beau’s.  “Yeah, as you say.  I’d have preferred to just slow him up a little, but it was a snap shot.  What happened to him?”  Adam pointed across the room to the Montana Kid who showed no signs of recovering consciousness.

“I had a set-to with him before McKeon opened up on you and knocked him out.  When he started to come around again Lindy slugged him with the frying pan, grabbed his shotgun and came to help us.  She’s quite a girl.”

“She sure is.”  Adam favored her with a slow, sassy wink.  “And we were worried about protecting her.  How did you get in a place like this, Lindy?  You sound like a Tennessee girl.”

“When Mr. McKeon come by home, I thought he was mighty fine with that there fancy mare of hiss’en, and what with givin’ me presents and talkin’ so fancy.  I was seventeen, and Paw said as how I’d never be nothin’ but an old maid, so I ups and run off with him when he asked me.  After we’uns got clear out here, I found out what he was like, but I didn’t have no way of gittin’ on home.  I had to stay – until you came, Beau.”  She smiled winningly at the big Southerner.  “Nobody ever took up for me before.  I couldn’t let ‘em kill you.”

Lindy eased closer to Beau, holding out Anne’s pin in her work-roughened hand.  “Here’s the pin.  I didn’t know it was your sister’s.  I’m real sorry about her, and what you tole me ‘n all.”

Beau smiled at Lindy and closed her hand over the pin.  He glanced quickly at Adam who nodded yes.  “You keep it, honey.  You’ve earned it.  I think Anne would like you to have it. And I’m going to see to it that you get home to your folks too.”

“Paw will whup me for being gone so long,” she stated.

“Well, we’ll do what we have to about that when the time comes.”

This was more than Adam had bargained for and he groaned.  “Oh no!  Famous last words.  Come on, Beau, help me up from here, and let’s get this bunch to the sheriff before you find us some more trouble.”  Beau extended his hand and pulled Adam from the bunk.

Adam, Beau and Lindy exited the sheriff’s office a few days later and stood together on the boardwalk. Their horses were tied at the rack behind them.  Lindy was glowing after a good bath, a visit to a hairdresser and some new clothes.  She wore a navy blue split riding skirt, a good white linen blouse, a matching vest and sported brand new boots.

“Adam I shore do thank you for these here things.”  She ran a hand down her skirt enchanted with the touch of the fine wool fabric.  “You’re a real gentleman.”

“It’s thanks enough to see how lovely you look in them,” Adam said his eyes alight at her pleasure.  He moved a bit stiffly on his injured leg, but otherwise looked better than he had for some time.  He turned to Beau.  “Are you sure you won’t come back to the Ponderosa with me?  I think Pa would like it, and we can always use help.”

“Thanks, Adam, but no.  I want to take Lindy home, and then I’ve got my own world to rebuild.  I hope I can do as well as you have in the last few days.  No more dreams, huh?”

“No more dreams.  I think Pa was right when he said I had to learn to live in the present again, and with you in action, I didn’t have time for much else.”

Beau started to turn away but swung back to say, “Thanks for pulling me off McKeon.  I couldn’t see it then, but you were right.  It’s best to let the law take care of vengeance.”

“I guess we’re about even then, Beau.”  The two men shook hands.

“If you ever need anything…” Adam began.

“I know, but that reward money you insisted I keep will get me off to a good start.”

“You watch this crazy Rebel” Adam told Lindy.  “Don’t let him get himself killed on the way home.”

“Oh, I’ll make him mind all right.”  Beau and Adam laughed.

“I’ll bet you can, honey; I’ll bet you can.”  Beau grinned at her fondly.

They untied their horses and mounted.  Beau and Adam looked at one another for a long moment and then both snapped off a salute.  The pair of Southerners turned and rode off waving back at Adam.  He watched until they were out of sight.  Whiskey whickered and looked back at his rider.  “I know, son, I know.  Your mares are waiting, and it’s about time I got home from the war.”  Adam touched the big stallion with his spurs and they headed swiftly for the Ponderosa.
 
 

Notes on “WHEN THE TIME COMES”

Several Bonanza episodes skirted the Civil War rather cautiously. Since I implied in the fanfic script “The Price of Courage” that Adam has seen actual fighting, I felt like I should go on and tell his story.  This has been converted from a script to a short story.

It seems obvious that Ben and Adam’s moral convictions would have forced them to support the North.  Hoss, being sensible, would have figured it was none of his business and stayed home.  Little Joe’s sympathies have already been established.  I believe, however, that Adam eventually would have found it necessary to take a more active part in the conflict.  This is his story.

All the factual data included is accurate and can be verified in standard texts and reference works.  The Civil War is often viewed today as a very romantic and dramatic conflict.  To the people actually engaged in fighting it this was not so.  Letters and diaries of the period reveal that the war was a tragedy dividing families and bringing grief, hunger and destitution to hundreds of thousands.  The numbers killed and wounded are astounding.  Both sides suffered greatly, and by and large the men who fought were delighted when the war ended.  I have attempted to show some of this and its effect on Adam in this story.

Tilting at rings is an actual sport practiced at Renaissance Fairs, etc.  The lance is 5 ½ feet to 6 feet long and made of polished oak with a steel ferrule and cord bound butt.  The rings are mounted about nine feet above the ground.  The best form consists of bracing the lance under the armpit and resting it along the forearm. The knight rides standing in the stirrups, elbows high and shoulders braced with the head to one side sighting down the level lance like a rifle.  The horse is controlled largely with the knees.  It requires accuracy, speed and practice.  Nine seconds is very good time for a charge on a fast horse.