*For Southplains

One Bullet

XxXxX

One bullet. He had one bullet left.

Rolling it between his finger and thumb, he considered the value of using it at all. One bullet would make no difference. He would be dead soon, anyway. Why should he bother slipping it into the chamber?

"Because there is always room for hope," Pa said somewhere in his thoughts. "And no man is ever truly defeated, unless he defeats himself."

"But they're too many," he answered softly. "And I can't...I can't fight them anymore."

"You have a different fight now, Joseph. One that demands you must hold on, to hold to hope."

"How?" he gasped through the start of small, tired sobs. "How can I?" Clutching the bullet in a loose fist, he set his gun onto the cold sand and then gently prodded the warm, damp spot on his jacket. It was growing wetter. The threads torn loose by another man's bullet were no longer distinguishable from the rest of the soaked fabric. There was a similar dampness at his back, where that same bullet had first struck him.

"I'm already..." Already what? Succumbing to the darkness? To unfeeling nothingness?

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. He'd grown numb to the pain already. And his thirst no longer tore at his throat.

No; the darkness might not be a thing to be feared. Maybe it was more like a haven...like this cave he'd stumbled upon, offering him shelter from the sun, damp air to soothe his raw throat, and...a space to hide within, shielding him from vigilantes who demanded a target for their anger, with no regard for truth.

"We're coming, son," Pa said as Joe's thoughts began to come alive, despite—or maybe because of the fact that his body was dying.

"How?" he asked again, almost too tired to care. "You don't even know. You don't...You think..." He swallowed some of that blessed, damp air. "Should've stayed in Placerville. Should've...should never have..."

"Believe, Joseph. Have faith."

"But you don't know. How could you? I never told anyone. Not even..." He grimaced against a sudden resurgence of pain, and tried to shift his position. It did little good. The ground was too hard, the rocks at his back too unforgiving.

Unforgiving... Would his pa ever forgive him? Would he ever know what really happened?

"I know you, Joseph. I know your heart. You would never do the things they accuse you of doing. And you would never knowingly, willingly bring harm to a woman."

"You still might believe I did it, though. Maybe unknowingly. Maybe…unwillingly."

"I trust you, Joseph."

"I hope so."

"Hope, Joseph. Hold to that hope. Believe that we're coming."

"I want to," he cried. "Oh, God…I want to."

He heard voices, then. Other voices. Real voices. Someone was coming; but it wasn't his pa and brothers. No. It was Mr. Grainger and that no good foreman of his, the one who had accused Joe right off, just as soon as he'd laid eyes on him.

"He done it!" the foreman had said, his arm extended, his finger jabbing at the air. "He killed her!"

"Look, mister," Joe had angrily replied. "I don't know who you think I am, but I didn't kill anyone! I only came here to look at a horse Tom Shepherd told me about back in Placerville."

"No; you done it all right! You're the only one who could have done it! Everyone else here's a good man! Honest men, every one! You're the only stranger! You're the one who done it!"

Just because he was a stranger. That was all it had taken to get Grainger and his whole crew of ranch hands to believe Joe was a killer. And Joe would never have even been there if he hadn't decided a stallion he'd heard about over a few friendly beers was worth checking out.

He hadn't bothered to tell anyone where he was going, either. He'd just jumped on Cochise and headed out of town. No one knew. Not the hotel clerk. Not the sheriff. Not even old Rudy behind the bar. And if none of them knew, how could Pa? Joe's family had no reason to believe he was in trouble. No reason at all. For all they knew, he'd spent the last two days making preparations for the upcoming cattle drive, not running for his life from men intent on killing him for the killing of a girl he'd never even met.

And now here he was, hiding in a damp cave, bleeding to death and trying to decide if one bullet was worth the effort it would take to load it into his empty gun.

"He's close, I tell ya'," the foreman said.

And they were close; the man's voice was loud enough to make Joe believe he was standing just beyond the cave entrance.

"Believe, Joseph," Pa said from somewhere in the darkness. "Have hope."

"Blood trail don't go nowhere else." A rustling sound told Joe the foreman was closer still, close enough to see the black hole in the rocks. Joe knew it was only a matter of time before he pulled aside the overgrowth and discovered the cave.

"Believe, Joseph…."

"Sheriff's comin'!" someone shouted in the distance.

"About damn time!" Mr. Grainger hollered back. "See if you can't pick up that trail again while I go fill him in."

Joe held his breath, waiting to hear something else, anything else that might tell him if the foreman was still close. And then…more rustling….

"Well, I'll be," the foreman said in a low voice before hollering out, "tell Grainger I got 'im!"

"Believe…."

With hands that were shaking for no good reason—he wasn't cold and he was far too tired to be afraid—Joe loaded that last bullet, turned the cylinder to align it for firing…and waited.

"I know you're in here, boy. I can smell you."

A lighter shadow pulled away from the blackness of the others near the entrance. It slowly grew into the shape of a man.

"You're already dead, an' you know it," the shadow called out in a loud voice that echoed far into the belly of the mountain. "Now why don't ya' come on out and let me hasten you along? Make it easier on ya'."

Holding his gun in both hands, Joe aimed it toward the shadow.

"Just about ever'one 'round here loved that little gal. No one's ever gonna let you live long enough for a trial. I'll just plant one between your eyes, an' you won't have to worry 'bout it no more."

Several voices shouted back and forth outside. The sudden cacophony stopped the shadow. It turned to stand sideways to the entrance.

Keeping his eye on the man-shaped shadow, Joe tried to listen to what was being said; but he couldn't seem to distinguish one word from another, or even one voice from another, until….

"What have you done with my son?" That sounded like Pa.

"Believe…."

"We thought he killed Annie!" Mr. Grainger shouted back. "In fact, we were sure of it!"

"So sure you didn't bother with facts?" Adam?

"Where is he?" Hoss shouted next. Joe could imagine him grabbing Mr. Grainger's collar and hauling him up off his feet.

Relief loosened Joe's grip on his gun. His hands, still shaking, eased downward. And he found himself…smiling.

"You killed her!" the foreman said then.

Joe had already forgotten he wasn't alone. He looked back toward the shadow…and saw instead the man. The foreman was standing right in front of Joe. His gun was aimed at Joe's forehead.

"You tell 'em you killed her! Tell 'em!"

"Why?" Joe's voice sounded…odd. It was too soft, too…weak. "To protect you?"

"Tell 'em! Or by God I'll kill you!"

"Then they'll hang you for sure."

"Tell 'em!"

"No."

"You killed her! Say it! You wrapped your hands around that soft, satin neck a'hers and you squeezed the life right out a'her! Say it!" The foreman's gaze grew distant, as though he was remembering the feel of that soft, satin neck beneath his own hands.

"Why?" Joe asked. "Why'd you kill her?"

He looked at Joe, startled, maybe confused before his eyes flashed in anger. "That brat deserved it! She laughed at me! Called me ugly…and stupid!"

"You killed her."

"Damn right, I did!"

"You, Colby?" Mr. Grainger's voice pulled Joe's attention to a small group of shadow men who were now standing behind the foreman. "How could you? I trusted you! Damn you! How could you? You killed my little Annie!"

"Weren't me! Was him!"

"No," another voice answered. "We heard you. We all heard you."

"He made me say it, sheriff!"

"Don't be a fool," the sheriff said. "You're the one has your gun on him!"

"It's his fault, sheriff! It's all his fault!"

"Drop your gun, Colby."

"The hell I will! This boy needs to pay for what he's done!"

"He's done nothing," the sheriff said. "Now leave him be."

"You want to save this boy?"

"He's innocent."

"Yes!" Joe heard his pa say right over top of the sheriff's words. "He's my son!"

The sound of that voice, so close, so strong, renewed Joe's strength. He remembered his own gun; it was loosely resting in his hand. He curled his fingers around the handle.

"You want your son alive, you'd best get on out a'here! Get all these folks on out a'here and let me get on my own way!"

"You know we can't do that," the sheriff said.

"I know you'd better do it! Or I'll kill him. I swear I will!"

"Then you'll die, too. I'd have to shoot you down."

"Well maybe…maybe that beats hangin'!"

"Get away from my son!" Pa shouted. "Or I promise you will wish you'd been hanged!"

Pa? No. You've always said we have to trust in the law. There is no justice in vengeance.

The foreman took Joe by the collar, roughly pulling him upward. Joe's head swam from the sudden movement. He heard shouts echoing through the cave, but once again could make no sense of the words. There was only one thing he could do to stop it…to stop all of it…the pain, the enveloping darkness, his pa's threat of vengeance….

…Just one thing he could do….and….

…Just…one…bullet….

XxXxX

When the echoes faded, Joe felt other hands tugging at his shirt. A warm palm pressed against his cheek.

"Joe?" Pa called softly. It was a simple plea, one that drove Joe to open his eyes. "Joseph? You stay with us, son. You hear me? It's all over now. You're going to be just fine."

"Pa," Adam said even softer. "It's…."

When he said nothing more, Joe knew the reason why. He could see it in his pa's worried brow, and in Hoss's watery, blue eyes. His wound was bad, maybe even mortal—but only if he'd refused to believe in hope.

Joe turned his attention to Adam. His older brother looked frantic as he tried to stuff whatever cloth he could find against the worst of Joe's wounds. "Adam?" He waited for his brother to meet his eyes, and then smiled. "Believe," he said then. "Hope."

Adam paused in his efforts. Joe watched the stiffness in his shoulders loosen as he puzzled over Joe's words. He would figure it out, Joe knew. Confident, Joe looked to his pa again.

"I got him, Pa. Didn't I?" Joe was still smiling; that seemed to bewilder his pa just as it had Adam.

"Yes, son." Pa smoothed Joe's hair. "You got him."

"It only took…one bullet."

Pa still looked confused. "Easy now, Joe. You just rest."

"Hold to hope," Joe told him.

Pa's other hand gripped tightly around Joe's arm. "Of course, son." He blinked hard, turning his face away for a brief moment. "Of course."

"It's what…you told me…." Joe closed his eyes again. It was getting too hard to keep them open. "Why…I knew…one bullet…was enough."

"Joe?" Pa asked softly, still confused.

"Believe." And then Joe slipped off into a warm darkness, one that wrapped around him like Pa's comforting hand.

It was okay. He knew he would come awake again soon enough to find his family around him still.

Because his pa had told him to believe.

And he did.

XxXxX

end part 1