Chapter 1

It was the same as any other saloon he'd been in. The same ragtag mix of cowboys, farmers, and stragglers. A couple of girls mingling to keep the money flowing. The bartender wiping down the counter with a white rag. No difference here. But Joe still couldn't get comfortable in his seat. Maybe it was the glances from the other men in the room wondering if he was even old enough to be served or the girls trying to decide if he had enough money to be worth their time. Or maybe it was the old man sitting in the corner and taking everything in like a hawk.

He was like an old oak tree, lean and withered, but hard, so hard you'd be liable to break your axe if you tried to hack it down. And his eyes traveled around the room in a circular patter; every time they flickered over him, Joe looked away. And every time they passed, he looked back. He couldn't help it. He had a feeling the man knew he was watching him, but he didn't seem to care enough to talk.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in here before." A dark haired girl smiled as she slid into the seat next to him. Her poison green dress rustled as she smoothed her skirt down. "Where are you from?"

"Sacramento." Joe didn't think there was any harm in telling her the truth; anyone looking for him would be back on their way to San Francisco, not here Placerville, but you could never be sure. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Sacramento? So a city boy." she smiled, her red lips stretching over perfect white teeth. "Where are you headed?"

"Not sure." Joe lied as he motioned to the bartender.

"I never drink with a man without knowing his name." The girl said as Joe poured her a drink. He jingled a couple of coins in his pocket. This drink would have to be a short one.

"Joe."

"Nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Jewel." She lifted her glass. "Planning on staying in town long?"

"Maybe."

"Well, you'll have to come back and see me again." She smiled alluringly and winked. "It's not too often I get such handsome visitors. Most of the men in this town are what you see here: rabble."

"So is that why the bartender didn't throw me out for being too young when I first walked in?"

"Too young? How old are you?"

"Old enough." Joe stood. Drinks were all well and good, but they didn't go very far toward keeping your stomach full. "I'll see you around."

"I hope so." She gave him a little grin and he smiled faintly before turning and walking out. He must be desperate if even a pretty girl like that couldn't get his mind off things. He jingled the coins again, not noticing as he nearly bumped into someone.

"Sorry." Joe tried to step aside, but the man grabbed him by his collar. He felt his feet leave the wooden boards of the porch.

"So where's a kid like you come off buying drinks for my girl?" the man growled. Joe's eyes traveled past a large blonde beard and a large nose to meet a pair of ice-like blue eyes. For some reason he was reminded of his brother Hoss when he got mad, which, although it wasn't often, was one of the most terrifying things a person could ever see. But usually whenever Hoss did get mad, he was on the same side as Joe. Now there was no one to defend him.

"She approached me." Joe managed to gulp out. The stranger's fist was pressing up against his throat through his shirt.

"Sure. And why would she go to a kid?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're not man enough for her." Almost before he'd gotten the sentence out, Joe gasped as a fist landed in his stomach. The man dropped him to the floor, and he felt a boot in his side.

"What was that?" the man leered over him as he gasped for breath like a fish on a riverbank.

That probably wasn't the best thing to say. Joe decided. He tried to inhale, but the boot hit his stomach again, forcing what little air he'd managed to draw in back out.

"Picking on kids, Johnson?" a voice creaked over Joe's head. He looked up to see the old man from the saloon standing over him.

"None of your business, Morgan."

"No, probably not. But you might want to leave him alone anyway."

"And why's that?"

"Just a thought. Besides, I think you're girl's waiting for you inside. Might want to go win her back now before she takes a liking to some other young pup."

"Sure." The man gave Morgan a glare like a young wolf losing its prey to a seasoned warrior and then gave Joe one last kick as he walked past into the bar. Joe didn't wait for Morgan to offer a hand as he stood up.

"Out here you gotta watch where you step; people don't like having their feet trod on." Morgan said.

"Thanks." Joe muttered. He brushed the dust off his shirt and winced as his hand brushed against his stomach. That would be tender for a while. The old man chuckled, a sound like a rusty wagon wheel.

"What?" Joe snapped.

"Ready for round two are ya?"

"I could've taken him."

"Not on your life. You may be high and mighty wherever you come from, but out here, you ain't worth more than the dirt on your jacket."

"I'd hardly say high and mighty." Joe turned to go.

"No? Well, maybe not, but I'll bet you've never been as hungry before in your life as you are now."

Joe waved a hand and kept walking. Just because he was at a low point didn't mean he wanted it rubbed in his face.

"Got enough money for some tobacco?" the man hollered after him. Joe sighed and turned around.

"Maybe, but I'm not giving it to you."

"Tell you what," the man caught up to him, hopping across the street like an old crow. For someone who was so formidable sitting down, it was amazing how harmless, and almost comical he seemed standing next to him. He was barely eye level with Joe.

"I'll buy you dinner if you buy be some tobacco. Deal?"

"What?" Maybe he'd gotten a kick in the head too because Joe couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Before my wife died I promised her I'd never buy tobacco again. So? Do we have a deal?"

Joe studied the old man. The last thing he wanted was to sit down and share a meal with those piercing eyes fixed on him and his casual statements that seemed to hit the nail on the head. But a meal was a meal, and his stomach was quickly winning against any fight his brain was putting up.

"Sure."

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"So," Morgan spread butter onto a piece of bread later in the hotel. "got a name?"

"Joe Cartwright."

"Where are you headed? And don't give me that bull you gave the girl, though I have to say, it was probably smart. You don't want to tell everything to the first pretty girl that looks your way."

"So why should I tell you?" Joe had already finished his first piece of bread. He eyed the basket, but he didn't want to look too much like a starved waif. Morgan seemed to read his mind and passed it to him.

"Well, I'm not exactly a pretty girl, am I?"

"New Orleans."

"Long way."

"I can make it." Joe snapped.

"Sure. And I suppose there's a good reason you're traveling alone so young." He glanced at Joe and then continued rambling when Joe didn't answer. "I mean, you don't strike me as the type of young man that would run away from home on a whim but not go back because you were too stubborn to admit a mistake."

"I'm sorry, are you trying to be aggravating?"

"It's a hobby, lad. Ask anyone and they'll tell ya. So am I right or wrong?"

"About what?"

"What you're up to."

Joe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. And he'd thought his older brother Adam was irritating. "What makes you think I'm running away?"

"A boy your age in a saloon means you're trying to prove you're a man. You're not some lad who's hard on his luck because then you wouldn't have been stupid enough to get into that fight. Clearly you have a short temper, which means you act on your emotions, but you've got a stubborn streak in you since you're not digging into the bread even though you look hungry. And you didn't tell that girl where you were going, so clearly you've got something to hide."

Joe clenched his jaw to keep it from opening slightly in shock. "You spend too much time staring at people, mister." He finally said. Then he took two more pieces of bread. After all, Morgan was paying, and the old man was getting on his nerves.

"Just making conversation. Of course we could sit here in silence and wait for the food to get here."

"We could."

"Or I could go back to my saloon and leave you in peace."

Joe felt a slight twinge of conscience. After all, the man had bought him lunch. And he hadn't said anything that wasn't true.

"So were you always this observant of people?" he asked in a slightly exasperated tone. Part of him wondered if he would regret extending the conversation.

"It comes from a life on the road. Always know who your enemies are, who to avoid, and who you can use, and the sooner you learn, the more likely your chances of survival are."

"So which am I? Someone to use?"

"Someone who has no idea what he's getting himself into."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." This almost wasn't worth the meal. Almost. But when their food arrived Joe changed his mind. And thankfully Morgan was so busy eating he didn't talk much more except to remark that Joe had better eat well now because it would probably be his last good meal for a while. When they left, Joe reluctantly held out his hand.

"Thanks, Mr. Morgan."

Morgan waved his own hand dismissively. "Don't bother. Have a good life!" Then he headed back down the street in the direction of the saloon. Joe shook his head and went the opposite way. It was getting late, and he needed to find a place to spend the night. Tomorrow he would head out to Sacramento. Hopefully from there he could find a job until he had enough money for a stage that would take him farther southeast.

'One step at a time. Gotta get there first.' He thought. It was a good forty-five mile walk to Sacramento. Joe moseyed over to the general store. He would have to skip breakfast if he wanted enough food to last him.

"Help ya, son?" the storekeeper asked. "We're just about getting' ready to close."

"I just need some jerky and bread." Joe glanced in the back room as he heard a loud crash followed by a muffled curse.

"Hang on." The shopkeeper disappeared through the doorway. "What the devil are you doing?" he shouted at whoever was back there. Joe couldn't hear the reply. "I thought I sent you to the bank. I wanted that money deposited tonight." Once again the reply was muffled, and the shopkeeper lowered his voice. "Because I don't want six thousand dollars sitting in here overnight; that's why! No, it'll be closed now. Just put it back here somewhere where it'll be safe until tomorrow." He reappeared through the doorway. "Sorry about that. Just hired a new boy; he's still learning the ropes. You said bread and jerky?"

"Yes, sir." Joe placed thirty cents on the counter. "Just however much this'll get me."

"Alright." The storekeeper wrapped up the food and handed it to Joe.

"Thanks." Joe left the store. He stepped into the street and then stopped. Across from the store was the livery stable, and the door to the hayloft was open a crack. Joe glanced around the practically deserted street and then went over to investigate.

A couple of barrels sitting beside the barn allowed Joe to climb up to the roof. From there it was an easy matter of slipping through the open door and shutting it behind him. Joe waited for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dim light before he cautiously stepped forward. The floorboards creaked slightly beneath his tentative feet as he made his way across the empty space to the stacked hay bales on the other side. Joe glanced down through the hold in the floor that led to the stable below to make sure it was empty and then climbed up the tower of hay. After manipulating a few bales so he wouldn't be noticed by anyone who came up into the loft, he settled down in the nest he'd made.

After a few minutes, he shifted, trying to rearrange himself so there wouldn't be hay prickling into his neck and arms. The movement reminded him of the few occasions he'd been sent to sleep in the barn when he was younger. A grin tickled the edges of his mouth as he remembered the most vivid of those nights. He'd been eleven and too wound up over the prospect of upgrading from a pony and the ranch horses to his very own, full grown horse to sleep. Finally Pa had had enough of his bouncing around and sent him to the barn for the night. Even that hadn't been enough to dampen his spirits. The thunderstorm had though. It was just far enough away for Pa not to see any need to rescind his punishment and just close enough to send him cowering under his blanket in the hay. He'd almost died of fright when he'd felt a hand on his arm.

"Thought you could use some company." his older brother Hoss had said as he settled next to his little brother.

"I'm alright." Joe said. Now that he wasn't alone, it was a lot easier to deny having been afraid.

"First storm of the summer. It's about time. Maybe now it won't be so hot out no more."

"So what'll you use for an excuse not to mend those fences then?" Joe asked.

"I'll think of something."

"I don't think you minded the heat. I think you were just being lazy."

"Lazy, is it? Just wait 'til you're out of school and see how you like working all day." Hoss had reached for Joe to put him in a headlock, but Joe, knowing Hoss' move, slid out of the way and jumped on top of his older, and much larger, brother. It was enough to send the two of the rolling in the hay until finally Hoss succeeded in pinning Joe down. It was the way their wrestling matches always ended, and probably always would, but Joe still fantasized about one day beating him. As they both lay in the hay, looking up at the boards of the roof, Joe glanced over at his brother.

"Hey, Hoss?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't tell Pa or Adam I was scared, ok?"

"Sure, little brother."

It was one of hundreds of secrets they shared, secrets that ranged from Joe's first kiss with Mary Swan to accidentally breaking a bottle of expensive brandy that Pa had bought for an important visitor. That secret had ended up involving Adam too as neither he nor Hoss had had enough money to replace the bottle. Joe remembered not wanting to tell Adam, the look on his older brother's face, the lecture, and the reluctant departure to Virginia City, leaving him and Hoss to sweat it out until Adam came back. Neither of them had thought he would make it in time, but he had, galloping into the yard not five minutes before dinner.

Joe didn't know whether to frown or grin as he remembered dropping on his knees to thank Adam. 'I told him I owed him my life.' He remembered. Adam had just playfully smacked him on the side of the head and pushed past him to get washed up. Joe wondered where that brother had gone. Then again, where had the playful kid gone too?

If only people didn't have to grow up. Back when he was a kid, he'd been comfortable with himself and everyone else. Life was clear and easy. But lately he had seemed to hit some sort of wall, and he didn't know how to get around it.

'I guess running away from it isn't the best answer.' Joe decided. He thought of Morgan in the hotel earlier. Too stubborn to admit a mistake and go back. That was him. Any time he made a mistake, he would much rather forge ahead and deal with the consequences, even though more often than not that was more painful than just going back and fixing it. But going forward didn't seem to be an option this time. Joe pictured in his mind what it would be like to go back and apologize to Adam. That was a conversation he'd just as soon avoid. Too bad it was one he'd have to face.

"Alright." He said aloud to whatever angel was on his shoulder bothering him. "It wasn't the smartest move anyway." He'd been feeling that for a couple of days, but it took Morgan calling him out on his pride to convince him to just face the facts. Joe stood up. He wasn't going to get any sleep anyway; he might as well get some miles under his belt.

He climbed out of the hayloft the way he'd come and jumped lightly down into the street. It was empty; the half moon lit up closed doors and blank windows. Joe glanced down the street towards the west. A yearning rose up in him to see the city his mother had lived in and the places she'd told him about, but he turned away. Someday he'd go there; at the moment, there was only one road for him. He turned east and walked through the town until the buildings fell behind him. The road to Carson City rose up in front to meet his feet as he walked. A soft wind skirted around his face, enough to keep the tree branches rustling. At first Joe kept turning to see if someone was there, but eventually he accepted the rustlings for what they were: simple sounds of the night. The moon cast only enough light to see the road, nothing else, but for some reason, Joe liked it that way. The darkness seemed to surround him like a blanket, comforting rather than menacing. Every once in a while he glanced up at what stars he could see through a few clouds. They seemed to point the way home.

He walked for several hours before his feet started to stumble. Then he went a little distance off the road, fumbling around in the dark until he found a tree to lean against. Within minutes, he was asleep.

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It was a long, jolting ride from Billings Montana to Virginia City. The fact that the stage had been packed almost to the brim hadn't helped, and when Ben Cartwright stepped out of it at the end of his journey, he felt like he'd been cramped down to half his size. He stretched his weary muscles and looked around for one of his sons. Instantly his gaze landed on his second son, Hoss, and very easily the largest man in the comstock. Ben stepped forward with a smile that faded when he saw the worried look on Hoss' round and normally gentle face.

"Hi, Pa." Hoss said.

"Hoss." Ben waited for Hoss to say whatever was wrong.

"How was the trip?"

"Hoss, what's wrong?" Ben cut to the chase.

"Well, I wanted to give you a couple minutes to relax before lettin' you know. But I guess you'd want to know right away."

"Know what?" Scenarios flashed through Ben's mind. The house burning down, robbery, one of his other sons being injured. "Tell me, Hoss."

"Yessir. Well, you see, it's like this… Joe's gone."

Ben's mind somehow couldn't process what Hoss was saying. "Gone? Gone where?"

"Just gone. Here, I'll explain to you on the way home, Pa. The buckboard's right over here." Hoss tried to guide his father to the buckboard, but Ben shook him off.

"Go home? Shouldn't we see the sheriff?"

"Not that kind of gone, Pa. He's… well, he's up and run away."

Ben felt as though as horse had kicked him in the stomach. He clutched Hoss' shoulder. "When? Why?"

"You know how he and Adam get after each other, Pa." Hoss said uncomfortably as he led the way to the buckboard and Ben unnoticingly followed. "Well they kept at it while you were gone, and one thing led to another, and they got in a fight. I don't even rightly know what it was about, I just come home to them two rolling on the floor trying to beat the tar out of each other. After I pulled them apart, Little Joe took off. Adam and I figured he just needed to cool off, but we ain't seen him since."

"When was this?"

"Three days ago. We asked around and found out he'd gotten on the stage to San Francisco. We wired out there to see about having someone stop him, and Adam went out there himself. I'd just checked the telegraph office before the stage came in."

"And?"

"He's on his way back." Hoss looked down, and his voice dropped. "He didn't mention if Joe was with him."

"Right." Ben felt lightheaded as he gripped the side of the buckboard. Hoss seemed to sense his tension.

"I… I'm sorry Pa. I know you told Adam and me to keep an eye on him."

"It's not your fault, Hoss." Ben said absentmindedly. As they drove toward the Ponderosa, he cast about in his mind for something to think of other than his youngest son alone and likely starving to death in San Francisco.

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