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Torrential rain splashed up off the ground, hard and dusty from months of hot, dry weather. Joe Cartwright reached up and pulled his hat down lower over his eyes, feeling the uncomfortable trickle of rainwater making its way beneath his collar. He looked round at his father, riding alongside, and grinned widely. “I shouldn’t have complained about the hot weather yesterday.”
“Does seem to have tempted
fate.” Ben smiled back at his son. “I haven’t seen a downpour like this in
months.”
Joe cast a glance upwards,
the thick dark clouds showed no sign of dispersing and in the distance he could
still hear the rumble of thunder from the lightning storm that had passed
overhead a half-hour ago. The blinding flashes had panicked the horses and it
had been difficult for Joe and his father to keep the animals under control. They were fine horses, thought Joe with satisfaction, they’d been a good buy, but he’d be glad to get back to the Ponderosa and his own horse
Cochise. In Joe’s opinion there was no other horse that could compare to
his pinto.
They had ridden for another
mile or so when, glancing heavenwards once more, Joe was relieved to see the
edge of the storm, dark clouds giving way to clear blue skies. “Looks like
we’ll be dry again soon.” He remarked to his father, indicating the sky.
Ben turned to look and
frowned, towards the edge of the storm clouds he could make out the beginnings
of a funnel shape, moving slowly across the landscape. “We need to find
somewhere to shelter.” He scanned the terrain as he spoke. “And fast.”
Hearing the urgency in his
father’s voice Joe turned, he was shocked by what he saw, the funnel shape was
widening and strengthening rapidly, already he could feel the wind beginning to
displace the still air, carrying with it hard grains of sand.
“It’s a tornado.” Ben told
him unnecessarily, urging his horse into a trot. “We have to find shelter.”
“Over there.” Joe pointed
towards a shallow depression in the ground, it was just deep enough to provide
a refuge from the wind, though as they drew near they saw the six inches of
water at the bottom of the ditch and realised they were in for an uncomfortable
time.
“Come on.” Ben slid from his
horse, grabbing saddlebags and canteens. “We have to let the horses go.” He
told his son as Joe dismounted and stood hesitantly by the animals that they
had spent so much money on. “Perhaps they can get away, but they’ll stand no
chance if we don’t release them.”
Reluctantly Joe unhitched
the horses he had been leading, he knew his father was right, they had no
choice but to let the animals go. Slapping the creatures on their rumps he
shooed them away. Too late he remembered the pack of food and supplies that one
of the horses was carrying, he could see the animal but it was already some
distance away, the oncoming tornado frightening it into a gallop. Seeing Joe
standing watching the horse Ben grabbed his son’s arm and pulled him towards
the ditch, the wind was stronger now, small stones being carried along with it
bounced off the two men’s bodies as they dropped down into the furrow in the
ground.
“Use your arms to shield
your head.” Ben yelled as he lowered himself into the water. “And keep down.”
Lying alongside his father
Joe did as instructed. The wind overhead grew more ferocious but above the
sound of the gale Joe became aware of another noise, the terrified whinny of a
horse.
Raising his head, Joe was
horrified to see the horse he had been riding, her reins caught fast on a bush.
The animal was obviously petrified, head tossing frantically as she tried to
pull free.
Unthinking of his own
safety, Joe vaulted out of his hiding place. He couldn’t let the horse remain there,
facing certain death. Running for the scared animal he found himself fighting
to stay upright in the fierce wind. Debris swirled around him, tree branches
and pieces of fencing carried by the whirling tornado.
“Joseph!” Ben had made a
futile lunge for his son when he realised what the young man was about to do,
but he was too late and could only watch, heart in his throat, as Joe reached
the horse and freed the animal. Turning back, Joe was within feet of safety
when a large chunk of wood tossed effortlessly about by the wind hit him full
on the side of the head.
Fear for his son coursed
through Ben as he scrambled up out of the ditch and crawled to the young man’s
side. Reaching Joe he was concerned to find him unconscious, a large gash on
the side of his head. With the tornado almost upon them there was no time to
waste and Ben half carried and half dragged Joe back to shelter, unable to
stand in the teeth of the gale.
****
Regaining consciousness an
hour or so later Joe found himself seated in the ditch, cradled in his father’s
arms. He was aware of the heat of the sun on him, his wet clothing steaming
slightly in the warmth. Looking up he saw that the storm had passed, the sky
now a clear, cloudless, cerulean blue. He felt Ben’s hands on his shoulders,
pulling him around. Gazing at his father’s face, he saw the relief in the deep
brown eyes, saw Ben’s lips open to speak, but he heard no words. Momentarily
bewildered Joe’s mind struggled to understand, his father was speaking, but he
couldn’t hear him. The only sound was a high-pitched buzzing that seemed to
come from inside his own head. A cold sensation of fear trickled through Joe.
“Pa, I…” He began,
struggling to sit upright. The fear increased as he realized that he couldn’t
hear his own voice, he could feel the vibrations of the sound in his throat but
heard no words.
Ben saw the alarm in his
son’s eyes, deepening almost to panic as he spoke. His voice sounded odd, loud
and somehow toneless. “I can’t hear,
Joe saw his own alarm
reflected in his father’s face as he spoke and closed his eyes for a moment,
fighting back the rising tide of terror that threatened to engulf him, feeling
Ben’s grip on his shoulder’s tighten. Taking a deep breath he swallowed hard,
opening his eyes again and fixing his gaze on his father.
Ben looked down at him,
fighting his own panic. He must keep calm for both their sakes. They were many
miles from the nearest town with no horses, two canteens of water, very little
food and Joe in desperate need of a doctor. Looking directly at his son, Ben
spoke as clearly as he could, hoping Joe would be able to make sense of the
words. “We have to find help.” He said slowly.
Joe watched his father’s
lips, trying to understand what he said. Seeing his struggle, Ben repeated the
words again until finally Joe nodded in comprehension and attempted to get to
his feet. He swayed slightly as he stood, feeling a little dizzy and grabbed
for his father’s arm to steady himself. After a moment the dizziness passed and
he reached down to pick up his saddlebags and canteen. Feeling Ben touch his
hand he looked round and, seeing the worry on his father’s face, attempted a
confident smile.
“Let’s go.” He said and
scrambling up out of the ditch, turned to help Ben. His father pointed west,
the direction they had been heading in and the two set off together across the
barren landscape.
****
Straightening up Ben made his way over to where Joe sat and, lowering himself down beside his son, reached for his saddlebags. Rooting around inside the bag he withdrew a few strips of beef jerky. Reaching out, he touched Joe’s arm. Immediately his son’s eyes flew open, looking at his father enquiringly. Ben held out the jerky towards him but Joe just shook his head.
“You have to eat.” Ben told
him. “Keep your strength up.” The puzzled look in the young man’s eyes told Ben
he didn’t understand him and he sighed again as he handed over the canteen
which Joe took eagerly, swallowing a few gulps of water before handing the
container back to his father and closing his eyes once more.
The water had brought back
the nausea in full force and Joe fought hard to keep the liquid down as his
stomach roiled in protest. As the sickness began to abate a little he felt his
father grasp his hand and opened his eyes to watch as Ben gently began to trace
letters on his palm.
H-e-a-d H-u-r-t-?
“Like the devil.” Joe told
him, a slight hint of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth at being able to
‘talk’ to his father again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine after some sleep.”
C-a-n Y-o-u
H-e-a-r A-n-y-t-h-i-n-g-? Ben
spelt out laboriously and waited anxiously for the answer.
“Just a buzzing noise.” Despite
Joe’s assertion that he’d be fine a frightened look lurked in the depths of his
eyes. “Sort of high pitched like the noise an insect makes.” He leaned back
against the rock as he spoke, a wave of weariness washing over him and despite
everything he found himself yawning tiredly.
G-o T-o S-l-e-e-p His father
spelt, dark eyes filled with concern as he watched Joe’s eyelids flicker
closed, within minutes he had drifted into a deep slumber.
Squinting in the deepening
gloom of the evening Ben scanned the area, searching for something with which
to make a fire, already the air was growing chill and he knew that the night
ahead would be a cold one. There was little in the way of kindling lying about,
just a few stray branches probably deposited there by the tornado, but there
was an abundance of scrubby bushes. Pulling a few out at the roots Ben lay a
fire, lighting it with matches from his saddlebag.
The light from the flames
illuminated Joe’s face as Ben settled down beside his son. For a while he
watched him as he slept, mind filled with worry for the boy. Eventually he slid
across and putting an arm round Joe he carefully pulled the boy’s head down
until it was comfortably cushioned on his thigh. Then, calloused hand resting
gently on his son’s tousled curls, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
****
Waking, Joe lay still for a while, getting his bearings. To his great relief the headache that had plagued him last night seemed to have vanished and the frantic buzzing in his head had faded to a low drone. He moved slightly, smiling wryly to himself as he realised that his head was resting on his father’s leg and that Ben’s coat was tucked warmly around him. He felt a rush of affection for his father as he pushed the coat aside and slowly sat up, knowing that Ben had sacrificed his own comfort for him.
Experimentally he raised his
thumb and forefinger to his ear, clicking his nails together, then repeated the
process with the other ear. He heard no sound and for a moment grey despair
swept through him. A touch on his shoulder brought him round to face his father
and the question in the older man’s deep brown eyes.
“Nothing.” Joe said and saw
the sympathy on his father’s face, as Ben’s hand squeezed his son’s shoulder in
silent support.
Eventually, determined to
put his worries over the deafness aside and concentrate on getting out of here,
Joe stood up and looked around him. The sun was well up and in the distance a
slight heat haze shimmered above the ground prophesying a hot day ahead. “Which
way do you reckon we go?” He asked, turning round to look at his father.
Ben pointed westwards and
Joe turned again to squint off into the distance, as he did something caught
his eye and he paused, staring hard. It appeared to be a wisp of smoke, coiling
above the ground.
“Pa, look over there!”
Ben came to stand alongside
his son, following the direction of Joe’s outstretched finger.
“Look like smoke to you?”
Joe asked, eyes swivelling to his father to see his nod of agreement. “Think we
should head over there?”
Ben nodded again, but pulled
Joe back as he started forward, handing him a strip of jerky and one of the
canteens of water. “Eat first.” He said, enunciating the words as clearly as he
could.
Joe took the jerky with a
grimace of distaste, wishing he had grabbed the bag of supplies. Though it
hadn’t contained the greatest selection of food, there had been potatoes,
cheese, beans and a few apples, certainly more appetising than the smoked and
dried strip of meat that he held in his hand.
“Eat.” Ben repeated, touching
Joe’s face to bring his son’s attention to his word. Joe grinned suddenly and
held up his right hand, fingers together and slightly bent.
“This means eat.” He told
his father, moving his hand so that the tips of his fingers touched his bottom
lip, and then repeating the gesture. “That’s one sign I remember from the
book.” He took a bite of the jerky and chewed in silence for a while. “At least
I can speak.” He said eventually. “People will be able to understand me even if
I can’t understand them…”
He fell silent and Ben
longed to be able to tell him not to worry, that it was too early yet to know
if the deafness would last, that he needed to see a doctor, but to spell all
that out would take too long and he had to content himself with putting an arm around
Joe and pulling the boy to him for a moment before they began to move through
the gathering heat of the day toward the distant plume of smoke.
As the hour marched on the
sun rose higher in the sky heading for it’s noonday zenith, its heat was
merciless and around Joe and his father the air grew thick with it. Walking was
difficult, the ground so hot underfoot that they could feel it even through the
soles of their boots. They had long since shrugged off their jackets, carrying
them over their arms, and their shirts stuck to backs made sticky with sweat.
It seemed forever until they finally crested a small, sandy hill and saw before
them what seemed an oasis in the desert of heat. A trickling stream ran
sparkling in the sunshine, between grassy green banks. Contentedly grazing
beside the stream were a skinny looking white horse and a fat brown mule.
Beside them was the source of the smoke, a makeshift shelter throwing shade
over a tall, dark haired man who was busy stirring a pot that hung over a slow
burning fire. The man turned quickly as he heard their approach, hand going for
his gun.
“We mean you no harm.” Ben
called to him, putting his arms out to the side, away from his own weapon. “We
need your help.”
“What you doin’ out here?”
The man asked, his gun trained on Ben and Joe. “Where are your horses?”
“We lost them in the tornado
yesterday.” Ben explained. “Lost most of our food as well. We’re trying to get
to the nearest township.”
“That’d be Red Dust.” The
man told him, holstering his gun. “’Bout a half a days easy riding south-west
of here, if it managed to survive the twister. Gonna be a long walk though and
it’s real hot today.”
“Thank you.” Ben held out a
hand. “My name is Ben Cartwright, this is my son, Joe.”
“Aaron Jacobs.” The man returned
Ben’s handshake then turned to Joe who stood a little behind his father.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“He can’t hear you.” Ben
said hastily, seeing the baffled look on his son’s face and the hint of
frustration beneath it. “He was hurt in the storm and it’s damaged his
hearing.”
“Oh, right.” Jacobs turned
away from Joe as Ben spoke, ignoring him completely and there was no mistaking
the sudden fury that sprang into Joe’s eyes as the man turned his back on him
and addressed himself solely to Ben. “I wish I could help you more.” He said.
“But there’s not much I can do. I can offer you a decent cup of coffee and a
share in that pot of stew before you go though.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Ben turned to take Joe’s arm and lead him over to take a seat beneath the man’s
shelter. “We’d be very grateful, we’ve only beef jerky left to eat.”
“You’ll find this a sight
more tasty.” Jacobs grinned, busying himself serving up a plateful of food.
“Only got one plate.” He explained, handing it over to Ben. “Guess we’ll have
to take turns eating.”
Ben passed the plate to Joe
and when his son went to refuse it he carefully copied the sign for ‘eat’ that
he’d been shown earlier. A hint of a smile touched Joe’s mouth at his father’s
gesture and he took the food from him.
“Does Red Dust have a
doctor’s office?” Ben asked, turning back to Jacobs.
“Sure does.” The man
replied, pouring coffee into a cup. “It’s a real busy little township. Got a
bank and a telegraph office, couple of saloons and a hotel.”
Spooning up the stew, which
he had to admit was very tasty; Joe watched his father and Jacobs. He could
feel frustration building inside him as the two conversed and he understood
none of what they were saying. He felt isolated from them and the thought of
spending the rest of his life trapped in this silent world filled him with
apprehension.
Meal over, Ben went to
refill their canteens with water in preparation for the trek in front of them
while Jacobs tidied away the utensils he’d used and doused his fire. All the
time Joe could do nothing but sit and watch, frustration turning to anger as
neither his father nor Jacobs made any attempt to involve him.
“Sorry I can’t help any further.” Jacobs told
Ben as he returned from the stream. “I’ll let you have some hardtack and cheese
from my pack, got a blanket I can give you as well, but I need everything else
for myself.”
“You’ve been more than
generous.” Ben told him as the man packed the things into a bundle. “And you
must let me pay you for the blanket at least.”
“It’s a gift.” Jacobs told
him with a smile. “Good luck, Mr. Cartwright.”
****
Putting down the bundle of
goods and stopping for a moment to remove his hat and wipe the sweat from his
brow with his bandana Ben regarded his son. Since they had started walking
again Joe had made no attempt to communicate with his father and fury fairly
radiated from him. He didn’t look round now just stood to one side staring off
into the distance. Ben had seen his reaction to Jacobs’ dismissal of him once
he knew that he couldn’t hear and understood how hurtful that had been but
wasn’t sure why the boy seemed so very angry. With a sigh Ben replaced his hat
and reached for his son, he couldn’t let the situation continue.
“What?” Joe asked
sarcastically as his father grasped his arm. “Remembered I’m here?”
S-o-r-r…He began to spell
the word but Joe jerked his hand away. “Do you know how I felt back there?” He
said angrily. “Like I didn’t even exist! I didn’t expect that man to make much
of an effort but I thought you might have…” He broke off and looked away,
taking deep breaths to calm himself down. “Where are we going anyway?” He asked
eventually.
Guilt rushed over Ben, he
hadn’t even thought about the fact that Joe didn’t know they were heading for
Red Dust or how far away the township was. “No fool like an old fool.” He
muttered to himself and reached for Joe’s hand again.
T-o-w-n C-a-l-l-e-d
R-e-d D-u-s-t. He spelt out as
Joe watched in concentration.
“Will we get there today?”
Joe asked, looking up at his father’s face.
Ben shook his head. “I’m so
sorry, Joe.” He said slowly and saw the flash of comprehension in his son’s
eyes. F-o-r-g-i-v-e M-e? He spelt.
The remorse on his father’s
face showed clearly just how badly he felt about the situation and Joe smiled
ruefully. “I’m sorry too.” He said. “Guess it’s hard to get used to me not
being able to hear.”
Ben just nodded, unable to
think of an appropriate response that didn’t require words, but Joe seemed to
take that happily enough and grinned. “Guess I’d better teach you a few more
signs then.” He said, reaching for his canteen. “The few I can remember
myself.” He uncorked the canteen and took a long drink of the water. “Which
way?” He asked as he finished.
Ben pointed and executing a
mock salute Joe picked up the bundle from beside his father, shouldered it and
moved off.
The walking grew easier as
the heat of the day began to fade but as twilight started to fall Ben knew that
they would soon need to stop and find a place to sleep for the night. The
terrain was slightly less flat than it had been back near the stream, a few
small hills in front of them that would have to be climbed tomorrow. There was
no sign yet of Red Dust. Ben calculated that they must have walked around ten
miles and Jacobs had said that the town was a half a days easy ride, he’d guess
that to be between thirty and forty miles. Hopefully they should reach it the
day after next.
Joe was startled when his
father caught hold of his arm, he had been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t
noticed how dark it had become until now. Ben put his palms together, resting
his head on them as though sleeping and eliciting a laugh from his son as he
realised what his father meant.
Finding a place where the
ground dipped and formed a hollow that would protect a fire if it should grow windy
Ben and Joe set about finding kindling. Once the fire was alight Ben reached
into the bundle Jacobs had given him and withdrew the food. He hacked a couple
of chunks from the hard, round cheese and passed one to Joe with a piece of
hardtack. It was a fairly unappetising meal but the walk had made both men
hungry and they ate with relish, washing it down with water from their
canteens. Supper finished they settled down to sleep.
****
The sun was up when
Joe pulled aside the blanket that covered him and, moving carefully so as not
to wake his father, went to sit a little distance away. He had woken an hour or
so earlier, cold despite the blanket and the warmth of his father’s body next
to his. He had watched the dawn break, trying to return to sleep, but he found
himself unable to relax, his thoughts turning inevitably to the future and what
would happen if his hearing didn’t return. Despite having known a deaf person
Joe realised that he had had no real idea of what it was like living in
silence. Not that it was really silent, the low drone still filled his skull,
interspersed from time to time with other odd noises reminiscent of bells and
whistles. A couple of times the previous day he had almost looked around to see
where one of the sounds was coming from before realising they were inside his
own head.
He thought about
the Ponderosa, and his role in the running of the ranch. Could he still do it,
he wondered, without the benefit of hearing. What about the round up for
example when the shouts of the other drovers let him know what was going on
when all he could see was an ocean of beeves milling around him.
Back by the ashes
of the fire Ben stirred and opened his eyes. Finding Joe gone he sat up quickly
then relaxed as he caught sight of his son sitting a little distance way. Lying
back down Ben closed his eyes again for a few minutes, he hadn’t slept well and
found himself reluctant to get up and face the day. He was almost dozing off,
the sun warm on his face, when a slow, almost languid, rattling sound began to
infiltrate his senses. So close to sleep was he that for a moment the danger
inherent in the sound didn’t register and he just rolled over and yawned. The
rattle sounded again and this time Ben recognised it for what it was, the
warning signal of the poisonous rattlesnake. Adrenalin shot through him as he
opened his eyes and looked carefully around. He saw the reptile immediately, it
was just inches from Joe, its tail moving slowly to and fro. Obviously the
creature had just awakened, Ben knew that the snakes were less active in the
cool of the early morning, but the sun’s heat soon increased their speed and
deadliness. With his heart in his throat Ben reached cautiously for his gun,
keeping his movements slow and steady so as not to alarm the rattler. Raising
the weapon he took aim wishing that he could shout a warning to Joe, but there
was no point, his son couldn’t hear him.
He was just getting
the creature in his sights when, to his horror, Joe began to stand up. The
snake, startled by the sudden movement, launched itself forward just as Ben
pulled the trigger.
Something made Joe
whirl around, he heard no sound but there was a frisson of sensation that he
couldn’t explain, perhaps a vibration of the air, which startled him. What met
his eyes was the sight of his father, looking pale and shaken, holding a gun
that was still smoking slightly. Looking wildly around him, Joe saw the remains
of the snake, lying dead in the dust almost at his feet.
“Pa!” On legs that
suddenly felt unsteady Joe moved quickly to his father’s side. “I didn’t hear
it.” He said. “If you hadn’t…”
Ben stood up,
drawing his son to him and holding him tightly. Just for a moment he had
thought that he’d missed, that the snake was still alive and that Joe was in
mortal danger, but the loud rattle he’d heard had been the creature’s final
death throe and after a few seconds it had ceased.
“Guess the world
can be a pretty dangerous place for a deaf man.” Joe said with a hollow laugh
moving away from his father and going over to prod the dead reptile with his
foot. He grinned suddenly, looking at Ben. “Guess we could always cook it up
for breakfast.”
Recognising that
Joe was trying to make light of the situation, Ben made an attempt to return
the smile but he couldn’t stop the slight tremble that ran through him as he
realised how close he had just come to losing his youngest son.
****
Breakfasting on cheese and
water, not snake, Ben and Joe were soon on their way once again. The day was
just as oppressively hot as the previous one and Ben found himself longing for
a breeze to stir the torpid air, which seemed to encase him like a blanket,
making breathing difficult. They had just crested a small hill when Joe stopped
suddenly. “Look!” He pointed, his keen eyes picking out a cloud of dust in the
distance.
Ben squinted hard; it looked
as though the cloud was being raised by four riders heading in their direction.
Hopeful that the men might be able to help them, but wary of strangers, Ben was
in two minds about trying to attract the attention of the riders. The decision
was taken from him as the horsemen drew closer and it became apparent that they
had spotted the Cartwrights.
As the riders came to halt
Ben kept his hand on his gun, a glance at Joe showed him that his son was also
on his guard, his fingers poised above the butt of his own weapon.
“’Mornin’ stranger.” One of
the horsemen spoke up, his brown eyes looking Ben and Joe over curiously. “You
fella’s lost?”
“We’re heading for Red
Dust.” Ben told him with a smile. “Lost our horse’s in the tornado and we’ve
been walking ever since.”
“Well, you’re headin’ in the
right direction.” The man told him. He looked at the bundle Ben was carrying.
“You got water and food?”
“Enough to see us through.”
Ben said, beginning to relax at the man’s friendly manner. “We could really use
a horse though.” He continued, looking at the four sturdy animals the men were
riding. “If you gentlemen could spare one of yours I’d be willing to pay top
dollar for it.”
Sliding down from his horse
the man he’d spoken to appeared to consider the offer, scratching his head in
thought. “Would mean one of us riding two up.” He said. “We’d expect a real
good price for that much inconvenience.”
“Of course.” Ben assured
him. “Whatever you think is fair.”
“What do you say, boys.” The
man turned to his companions. “Think we should sell these fella’s a horse?”
There was no reply from the
others but they moved close to Ben and Joe, the three horses crowding in around
them. Beginning to feel uneasy, Ben took a step backward, bringing himself in
front of his son.
“You carryin’ a lot of
money?” Asked the man in front of Ben and now there was a hint of menace in his
voice.
Behind his father Joe looked
from one to the other of the men around him, he had no real idea of what was
being said but he could sense his father’s tension and moved his hand to grasp
his gun, ready to draw, his attention on the man in front of Ben.
“Don’t try it, kid.” The
horseman next to him growled as he saw the movement. Joe never heard him but
Ben looked round in alarm at the words and the men seized their opportunity.
Joe caught a glimpse of movement seconds before he was flung to the ground as
the rider behind him threw himself on top of him. Rolling over he hit out
angrily, his fist catching the man’s jaw. Punching back, the man hit Joe
squarely in the eye, Joe responded with another quick jab at the man’s chin.
Ben went for his gun,
drawing the weapon smoothly but he was forced to drop it as he saw that the
other riders had their guns trained on Joe. The man behind him bent quickly to
pick the weapon up. “Give it up, kid.” He called as Joe emerged victorious from
the fight and looked around. “If you don’t want to see your friend here dead.”
Even without hearing the
words Joe could see what was going on, Ben was being held at gunpoint and he
knew that there was no chance of getting away.
“Throw your gun down!” The
man ordered. Joe didn’t move and Ben could feel the man’s agitation as he
repeated the words. “Throw your gun down.”
“He can’t hear you.” Ben
said quickly before the man grew even angrier. “He doesn’t know what you’re
saying.”
“A deaf kid.” The man
sneered and looked across to where Joe’s attacker was getting groggily to his
feet. “Get the kid’s gun, Dan.” He called.
Despite a rapidly swelling
eye Joe caught sight of Dan in his peripheral vision as the man came up from
behind and reached out to take his gun from him. Momentarily Joe’s fingers
tightened around the weapon but a glance at his father stopped any ideas he
might have had of resisting the men and with an angry glare he relinquished the
gun to Dan.
“Right.” The man behind Ben
spoke again. “Hand over your money.”
Reluctantly, Ben handed over
his wallet. He had managed to get a good deal for the horses they’d lost in the
tornado and so he was still carrying a fair amount of cash though obviously not
as much as his captor hoped.
“This all you got?” The man
demanded, counting the notes. He gave a snort of disgust as Ben nodded.
“Billy.” He called to one of the horsemen, a lanky, red headed youngster. “Get
their saddlebags, let’s take a look in there.”
“You won’t find any more
money.” Ben told him. “That’s all there is.”
Dismounting from his horse
and picking up the saddlebags Billy rifled through them, tossing the contents
contemptuously aside. “He’s telling the truth.” He said as he emptied the bags
and dropped them on the ground. “There’s no money.”
“Then we might as well take
what we got and ride on out of here.” Dan said, putting a hand to his bruised
jaw and casting a baleful look at Joe.
“Guess so.” Ben’s captor
agreed, taking a step back towards his horse.
“Got me a score to settle
with the kid first, though.” Dan added, rubbing his knuckles in anticipation.
Angry at his helplessness
Joe had been trying hard to follow what was going on. Relieved to see that the
men appeared to be about to depart he was surprised when Dan advanced on him
with a nefarious grin on his bearded face. The big man stood right in front of
him, his posture threatening as he mouthed words that Joe could neither hear
nor understand but could tell were not pleasant.
Dan raised his fist drawing
his arm back, immediately Joe reacted, unable to prevent himself. As Joe struck
back at Dan, Billy came running to help his comrade, swiftly followed by
another of the gang.
“Joe!” Ben started forward,
shouting the warning even though he knew his son couldn’t hear him.
Through the melee of flying
fists Joe caught sight of his father running towards him and horror seized him
as he saw the man who had held Ben at gunpoint raise his gun. There was no
sound to let Joe know that the bullet had been fired, just the sight of his
father falling forward, a look of agony on his face.
“Pa!” Joe’s anguished cry
mingled with the sound of the gun’s report startling his attackers who stopped
fighting and looked round to where Ben Cartwright lay motionless on the ground.
Pulling free of Dan, who
still had one beefy hand on his shoulder, Joe pushed Billy and the other man
aside, dropping to his knees beside his father.
“Hey.” Billy grabbed Joe’s
arm, pulling him around. “You can talk. I thought you couldn’t hear anything so
how come you can talk?”
“Let me go.” Joe shook Billy
off, turning back to Ben.
“You can hear me, can’t you?
Why’d your Pa say you were deaf?” Billy asked, puzzled. “Why would he say
that?”
“Come on.” Dan said
impatiently, mounting his horse. “We’ve wasted enough time here. Let’s go.”
Kneeling beside his father
Joe watched the men ride away, hoping that their paths would cross again and he
could make them pay for what they’d done.
****
Among the discarded contents
of the saddlebags were a couple of spare shirts and Joe gathered them up quickly,
tearing them into strips, which he wadded together. Carefully removing Ben’s
vest he pulled away the blood soaked shirt and held the wadded fabric against
the wound in his father’s back, desperately trying to staunch the flow of
blood. The bleeding had just begun to slow when Ben shifted slightly, his eyes
flickering open.
“Keep still.” Joe commanded,
seeing his father attempt to move. “Let me get the wound covered.”
Obediently Ben lay quietly,
his teeth gritted against the pain while Joe tore more strips of material and
held them in place with his right hand, using his left to grasp his father’s
arm. “I’m going to help roll you onto your side now.” He said, looking down at
Ben anxiously. “Think you can do it?”
Ben nodded and with his
son’s help managed to get himself onto his side and from there into a sitting
position. The pain caused by the movements made his head swim and he sat
slumped over for a while, leaning heavily on Joe, pale and trembling from the
exertion.
“Just bend forward a
little.” Joe said eventually as his father made an effort to sit up straighter.
“I’m going to tie this wadding in place.”
Once the makeshift bandages
were tied around Ben’s chest, holding the pad securely on his back, Joe shifted
around to where he could see his father’s face. “Any idea how far this Red Dust
is?” He asked.
Ben nodded and reached for
his son’s hand. A-r-o-u-n-d 2-5 T-o
3-5 M-i-l-e-s, he spelt out with
a trembling finger.
“Can you make it?” Joe
asked, his eyes clouded with concern.
Ben shook his head, he knew
that there was no way he could continue walking. Y-o-u H-a-v-e
T-o G-o. He spelt.
“I can’t leave you here.”
Joe said and pulled his hand back as Ben started to spell out another word. “I
can’t.” He repeated. “Even if I didn’t stop it would take me up to eight or
nine hours, anything could happen.” He turned away from his father and stared
out at the inhospitable landscape. “I can’t leave you alone here.”
“What alternative do we
have?” Ben said softly to himself, knowing that he had to persuade his son to
go on. There was enough water and food to get Joe to Red Dust but if he stayed
here supplies would soon run out. Ben knew that he was badly wounded; the
chances of him lasting until Joe returned with help were slim but if Joe stayed
there was no chance at all.
Face averted from his father
and fighting hard to keep control of his emotions Joe was coming to the same
conclusion. The only hope for his father was to bring help, but would that be
in time? Dashing a hand across his eyes as he fought against the cold clutch of
fear that tightened around his heart at the thought of returning too late, Joe
turned back to face Ben. “I’ll go.” He said. “But first we need to get you
somewhere a bit more sheltered, out of this sun.”
Gathering up the canteens of
water, the blanket and the remains of the food Joe looked around for a suitable
place for his father to stay. He could see a couple of hollows in the ground
but nowhere that afforded much in the way of shade. “Over there.” He said at
last, deciding to try and rig up something over the deepest of the hollows. He
had to half carry his father the few yards and his fears grew as he realised
just how bad Ben’s injury was. Grabbing some largish stones he anchored the
blanket above the hollow so at least the top half of Ben’s body was in shade.
Then, reluctantly, he picked up a canteen of water and some jerky.
“There’s water right here,
Ben nodded, reaching for his
son’s hand. T-e-l-l T-h-e S-h-e-r-i-f-f
O-n-e M-a-n W-a-s
C-a-l-l-e-d D-a-n A-n-d
O-n-e B-i-l-l-y
“Dan and Billy?” Joe
questioned, making sure he had the names right.
Ben nodded again. B-e C-a-r-e-f-u-l. He spelt.
“I will.” Joe remained
kneeling, his eyes searching his father’s face, so afraid that this might be
the last time he saw him alive. There was so much he needed to tell him, so
much he wanted to say and yet words failed him. “
Ben raised a shaky hand to
his son’s face, gently touching his cheek. He knew the words Joe was trying so
hard to say, could see them in the boy’s eyes. A memory stirred at the back of
his mind and he smiled softly. Joe watched, puzzled at first, as his father
pointed at himself, then, making fists with his hands he crossed his arms at
the wrists and laid them on his chest to form an X shape. Comprehension dawned
as Ben completed the message by pointing at Joe.
Blinking hard against the
sudden stinging of his eyes Joe could only squeeze his father’s hand. “I’ll be
back.” He promised, standing up quickly and walking away.
****
The heat shimmered over the
land, forming false images in front of Joe’s squinting eyes. What looked like
silvery pools of water from a distance disappearing into just another sandy
stretch of earth as he drew near. He walked as fast as could, trying to ignore
the buzzing in his head which seemed to grow louder as the day drew on. By the
time the sun began to dip below the horizon and the cruel heat of the day gave
way to cool, night air his temples were throbbing with pain and the buzzing had
become more like a crackling interspersed from time to time by high pitched
whistling sounds. It seemed to reverberate around Joe’s mind and made it
difficult to concentrate, but the knowledge that he was Ben’s only hope spurred
him onwards.
The night was a clear one, a
pale crescent moon riding high in a black velvet sky dotted with the
incandescent twinkling of countless stars. Stopping for a moment to swallow a
few mouthfuls of tepid water Joe tried to figure out how far he had come. He
had been walking for around six hours and he reckoned that he must have covered
at least twenty miles. In front of him now were hills and he knew that they
would slow him down but hoped that they might also prove a vantage point from
where he might be able to spot the town of
Tiredness was beginning to
take a hold of Joe, his legs aching from the long walk, his eyes gritty with
sleep. Dogged determination was all that kept him going, pain and fatigue twin
enemies he fought to hold at bay. The way was uphill now and the calves of his
legs protested all the way. It was a great relief to reach the top and he bent
to massage his aching limbs then looked up to see the sweetest sight
imaginable. Beneath him in the valley, probably around three or four miles
away, he could make out distant lights and the dark shapes of buildings. He had
found Red Dust!
Suddenly his tiredness seemed
to drop away as hope surged through him and he began to walk faster, heading
downhill towards the flat plain on which the town stood. Even in the pale
moonlight Joe could see the reason for the town’s name, the earth underfoot
taking on a rich russet hue as he drew closer.
Reaching the first outlying
buildings of Red Dust, Joe found them in darkness and shuttered against the
night. His best bet, he thought, was to head for the centre of the town where
hopefully he would find someone who could direct him to a doctor. It wasn’t
long before he began to see signs of activity, a few houses where a light
burned in the window, a couple of men in the distance. As he drew closer to the
men he realised that they were standing outside of a saloon, lamplight spilling
from its doorway. ‘
One of the men looked up as
Joe approached, his eyes raking the dusty, sweat streaked young man. Joe saw
his mouth move and guessed he was being addressed.
“Is there a doctor in town?”
He said, watching carefully for the man’s reply. But when it came he found
himself unable to tell if it was a yes or no. “I can’t hear.” He explained and
cringed at the look of pity that appeared on the man’s face. “Is there a doctor?”
The man nodded and Joe sighed with relief. “Where’s his office?” He asked.
For answer the man turned to
say something to his companion then grasped Joe’s arm leading him across the
street to a white painted clapboard house standing back a little from the road.
Knocking on the door of the house the man waited until a tall, balding man with
a bushy moustache and kindly blue eyes opened it and spoke to him.
“Please.” Joe began as the
doctor turned towards him. “I need help, my father’s been shot.”
The doctor’s mouth opened
and closed and Joe could only shake his head in mounting frustration. “I can’t
hear.” He explained again. “Do you have a paper and pencil?”
The doctor nodded, drawing
him inside the house and leading him into a room containing a couple of
comfortable looking armchairs and with the walls practically lined with books.
As the doctor rummaged in the drawer of a desk that stood beneath the window
Joe couldn’t help thinking of his eldest brother, Adam, and how much he would
like this room.
With the aid of the pencil
and paper Joe had soon told the doctor, whose name was
Within moments, it seemed to
Joe, he had been introduced to the Sheriff of Red Dust, a horse had been
produced for him and a buckboard made ready. Dr. Wilson, it appeared, was a man
of action and it was less than an hour after Joe had first reached Red Dust
that he rode out again at the head of a small convoy, heading for the place he
had left his father. Now he just had to pray with all his heart that they would
make it in time.
****
Though the ride took much
less than half the time that it had taken to walk Joe still found it endless.
He was exhausted and his head hurt so badly it felt like it was ready to split
open, the interminable crackling and whistling only serving to make it worse. A
couple of times he felt himself sway and almost fall from the saddle. A quick
glance at his companions reassured him that the Sheriff hadn’t noticed, the
doctor had, however, and was watching him with a concerned frown. Setting his
shoulder’s Joe tried to push his pain aside and concentrate on the way ahead.
Moonlight lit the trail as
they progressed further from Red Dust, the three horsemen followed by the
rattling buckboard and its driver. Occasionally the Sheriff and the doctor
exchanged a few words but for the most part they rode in silence, following
where Joe led.
At last Joe saw the hollow
where he had left his father and the blanket stretched out above it. “Over
there!” He instructed the doctor, and spurred his horse forwards. Beside him
the doctor did the same.
Pulling the horse to an
abrupt stop, Joe slid from the animal’s back and with his heart in his throat
made his way to Ben’s side. His father appeared to be in exactly the same
position as Joe had left him. Closing his eyes for a moment, Joe said a silent
prayer before he knelt and peered beneath the blanket. It was too dark to see
and with trepidation he reached up and pulled the cover aside, revealing Ben’s
face. In the pallid light of the moon he appeared almost eerily pale and Joe
knew a moment of total despair before he saw the faintest rise and fall of his
father’s chest.
Feeling hands pull him aside
Joe surrendered his place to the doctor and watched anxiously as the man
examined his patient by the light of a lamp brought hurriedly from the back of
the buckboard and lit by the Sheriff.
“Well?” Joe queried as the
doctor completed his examination and reached for his bag.
“He will be all right, won’t
he?” Joe queried, standing up as the Sheriff went to move the buckboard closer
so that it would be easier for them to lift the injured man up into it.
With a sympathetic look the
doctor could only shrug his shoulders in reply.
****
It was early evening when
Dr. Wilson pushed open the door of his guest bedroom to see Joe still deep in
slumber.
Pulling the drapes aside and
allowing the rays of the setting sun to light the room, Dr Wilson stood
alongside the bed and gently shook Joe’s shoulder. Joe stirred a little but
didn’t wake until
Green eyes, foggy with
sleep, blinked open at last and looked up at the doctor. A puzzled frown
touched the youth’s brow for a moment until memory returned and alarm chased
the sleep away. “Pa?” Joe asked, sitting up quickly. “He’s not…?”
The doctor shook his head,
smiling reassuringly and Joe breathed a sigh of relief as he swung his legs
over the side of the mattress and reached for his boots, which had been neatly
placed side by side on the rug beside the bed. “Can I see him?” He asked and
Entering quietly he motioned
Joe inside, and watched while the young man settled himself in the chair beside
the bed, reaching for his father’s hand.
‘He’ll sleep for a while yet.’
“I’m up to it all right.”
Joe looked up as he read the words. “I want those men caught.”
The doctor reached for the
paper again. ‘I’ll take you over.’ He offered. ‘My assistant will take care of
your father.’
“Okay.” Joe stood up,
relinquishing Ben’s hand and turning to leave the room. “I need to go by the
telegraph office as well.” He told
Telegraph despatched, the
doctor led the way across to the Sheriff’s office where Joe spent the next hour
going over every detail of the attack. It was a long process, the Sheriff
needing to write down all of his questions, and Joe became increasingly
irritated as the time went on. The Sheriff’s writing was laboriously slow and
he formed his letters in a scrawling hand that was difficult to read.
The names Joe gave the
Sheriff meant nothing to him but he did produce a ragged pile of ‘Wanted’
posters and suggested that Joe look through them and see if he could see a
likeness to any of the men. It was a wasted
exercise, he found nobody even faintly resembling the attackers.
Eventually, with the Sheriff
promising to get out telegraphs to the nearest towns asking them to be on the
lookout, Joe and the doctor left the office and returned to Ben’s bedside.
****
Reaching across to
the bedside table Joe extinguished the lamp. It had burnt steadily all night
while he had kept vigil beside his father. Now the early morning sunlight was
filtering through the drapes but still Ben hadn’t stirred. With a sigh, Joe stood
up and stretched, the muscles in his back aching from sitting so long in one
position. Moving across to the window he pulled the drapes aside and rested his
forehead against the cool of the windowpane. Dr Wilson had told him that he was
confident that Ben would be fine but as the hours passed by and still his
father didn’t wake he found himself beginning to wonder if the doctor might be
wrong.
Movement outside in the
street caught his attention and he watched as the town began to come alive
before his eyes. It was odd to see wagons roll by silently, children on their
way to school obviously laughing and shouting but with no sound. At least the
buzzing sound in his head had faded down to a low hiss, he consoled himself,
and his headache had gone.
He was about to turn back to
his father when he was stopped by the sight of two horsemen riding by. A jolt
of recognition shot through him as the man nearest him pushed his hat back from
his head and raked a hand through wiry, red hair. It was one of the attacker’s!
Waiting just long enough to see the pair pull their horses to a halt outside
the saloon, Joe ran from the room. He found Dr. Wilson sitting in his kitchen,
a pot of coffee before him. The doctor looked up startled at Joe’s sudden
entrance and was alarmed at the look on the young man’s face. Immediately
fearful that his patient was worse, he jumped to his feet.
“I need a gun!” Joe’s words
took
“One of the men that
attacked us is over at the saloon.” Joe told him. “I need a gun, do you have
one?”
Wilson shook his head, he
didn’t carry a gun himself, considering that as a physician his job was to save
life and not wanting to carry a weapon that he had seen take lives all too
often. Even if he had had a gun in the house he wouldn’t have admitted it at
that moment, the anger in the boy’s face made him fear that Joe was about to
seek revenge for his father’s injury.
Joe turned to leave and the
doctor raced after him, grasping his arm and pulling him round. “Go to the
Sheriff.” He said, trying to form the words as clearly as possible while
frantically searching through his jacket pocket for a pencil. He couldn’t tell
whether Joe understood him or not, but regardless, the youth shook off the
doctor’s restraining hand and made for the door.
About to follow him Dr
Wilson heard a faint call and realised that his patient had woken at last. He
stood undecided for a moment, uncertain what to do until another call from Ben
sent him hurrying to the bedroom.
****
Despite his anger, a glimmer
of common sense asserted itself in Joe as he charged out into the street and he
made for the Sheriff’s office, first checking that the two horses were still at
the hitching rail outside the saloon.
His heart sank as he entered
the Sheriff’s office, a stranger was sitting behind the big desk that dominated
the room. The man wore a tin star on his chest and Joe assumed that he must be
the deputy.
“I’m Joe Cartwright.” He
announced, wasting no time with questions. “I want you to come with me, there
are two men in the saloon that attacked me and my father.”
The deputy stared up at him
but didn’t move. He said something and Joe shook his head in annoyance. “I’m
deaf.” He told him. “Just come with me, Dr Wilson can explain it all to you
later.”
In reply the man stood up
and walked round the desk to stand directly in front of Joe, he spoke again but
this time his lip movements were more exaggerated and Joe realised that he was
shouting at him.
“Write it down.” Joe said,
feeling his anger growing. “I can’t hear.”
The deputy dropped his gaze,
looking a little uncomfortable but made no move to get pen and paper.
Suddenly Joe had taken
enough, with a quick movement he reached forward and grabbed the deputy’s gun from
its holster, aiming it directly at the man who raised his arms in alarm.
“Come with me.” Joe ordered.
“We’re gonna go arrest the men that hurt my
As he pushed through the
swinging doors of the saloon behind the deputy, Joe saw the red headed man
immediately. The youngster was sitting at one of the tables, a bottle of whisky
before him, playing cards. His companion, Joe saw with a sense of grim satisfaction,
was the man who had first spoken to his father, the man who had then shot him.
“Morning.” He said, walking
up to stand beside the two men. “I was hoping to run into you two again.”
Engrossed in their game the
pair hadn’t noticed Joe and the deputy approach and they looked up sharply at
Joe’s words, dismay and fear crossing both their faces.
“This is the man who shot my
father.” Joe told the deputy, indicating the redhead’s companion. “And this is
one of his gang. Guess they thought I’d never make it here alone.”
Billy stood up, saying
something to the deputy, as he did Joe caught sight of the gun he was carrying
tucked into his belt. “You want any proof.” He said to the deputy. “That’s my
gun he has there, you’ll find my initials carved on it, and I’m guessing that
one of these two is called either Dan or Billy.”
The deputy said something,
reaching out a hand to retrieve his gun from Joe. As he did Billy made a move
towards his own gun but Joe was anticipating it and his aim was quick and
accurate. Shooting the gun from Billy’s hand, he ordered the other man to throw
down his weapon.
As the deputy took the two
off towards the jail Dr Wilson came running over, relieved to find Joe safe and
well. Grasping Joe’s arm he swiftly propelled the young man back towards his
house.
****
“Joseph.” Ben looked up with
relief as Joe followed Dr Wilson into the room. The doctor had assured him that
Joe was all right, though still unable to hear, but Ben had been impatient to
see his son, wanting to judge for himself how he was.
“
“We got the man who shot
you.” Joe said with a satisfied smile. “Deputy’s just taken him off to the jail
now, and one of others as well.” He looked at his father with concern. “How are
you feeling?”
T-i-r-e-d. Ben spelt out.
H-o-w A-b-o-u-t Y-o-u?
“Me?” Joe looked surprised.
“I’m fine now you’re awake.”
I W-a s
W-o-r-r-i-e-d A-b-o-u-t Y-o-u. Ben spelt. W-a-l-k-i-n-g A-l-l
T-h-a-t W-a-y A-n-d
N-o-t A-b-l-e T-o
H-e-a r.
“I was okay.” Joe’s smile
was dazzling and his father couldn’t help but smile back in response. “I
wouldn’t let a little thing like being deaf stop me from fetching help.”
“Rest now, Mr Cartwright.”
Dr Wilson interrupted, reaching out to take his patient’s pulse. “You can talk
again later.” He motioned to Joe to leave the room.
Standing up to obey the
doctor Joe felt his hand grasped once more by his father and looked down at
him.
P-r-o-u-d O-f
Y-o-u J-o-s-e-p-h. Ben spelt out,
and squeezed his son’s hand gently before lying back and closing his eyes
wearily.
****
It was four days later that
two very tired and trail worn cowboys rode slowly into the town of
“Adam, Hoss.” The door was
flung wide and Joe came out, throwing an arm around Hoss and reaching out to
shake Adam’s hand. “I’m glad to see you two.”
In response Adam raised his
right arm in a salute, then he brought his arm up again, his thumb and fingers
extended, making a motion as though tipping an imaginary hat and bringing his
fingers together.
Joe grinned. “And ‘Hello,
brother’ to you.” He said. “Come on in, Pa will be pleased to see you. Dr
Wilson reckons he’ll be fit enough to travel in a couple of days.”
Following Joe up to the room
where Ben was recuperating they found their father sitting up in bed, eager to
see them.
“By the way, Adam.” Joe
began once Ben had answered all their questions and Dr. Wilson had arrived with
coffee. “I don’t know how you knew about me being deaf, but you really didn’t
need to learn sign language.” He looked over at his father then back to his
brothers. “You see.” He said. “The last couple of days I’ve started to hear
things again. You all sound a little muffled but I can hear you.”
“And I’m sure Joe’s hearing
will be back to normal very soon.” Dr Wilson put in as Hoss jumped up to pat
his younger brother’s back with glee and Adam smiled his pleasure at the news.
“Dr Wilson wired us about
you just after you sent your telegraph.” Adam explained. “So I borrowed a book
from Dr Martin to read on the trail.”
“I sent a full report on you
and your father’s condition.”
“You think Dr. Martin would
mind if I borrowed that book of sign language?” Joe asked Adam later as they
walked along to the livery stable to make arrangements to buy some horses to
get them home, leaving Hoss to sit with Ben.
“I guess not.” Adam looked
at his brother in surprise. “But why would you want to?”
“Because I never really
realised what it’s like to be deaf.” Joe told him. “How isolated you feel, how
frustrating it is when you can’t understand what anyone is saying. I learnt
some sign language when I was teaching Ann and then as soon as she left I just
forgot about it. Forgot most of what I’d learnt as well.”
“And now?” Adam asked.
“Now I want to learn it
properly.” Joe said determinedly. “I may never run into a deaf person again but
if I do I want to be able to talk to them. I want to be able to help them feel
a little less isolated.”
Adam nodded in
understanding. “I think that’s a fine thing to do.” He said with a smile.
“Perhaps some day everyone will be taught to sign and no deaf person will feel
that way again.”
“Perhaps.” Joe agreed, and
the two continued amiably on to the livery stable.
© Kathleen Pitts 2001