Summary: This is my take on what might have happened if Mark Twain had revisited the Ponderosa seeking inspiration. Thankyou to Russtics for her wonderful picture and to Wrenny for her helpful suggestions and for correcting my Englishisms. It is meant as a purely affectionate look at my favourite tv family. It mainly features Hoss and Joe although the whole family appear.

Rated:  K+  WC  6700

 

 

Huckleberry Friends 

Just supposing Mark Twain came back for a return visit. Now I’m not saying it did happen like this, I’m just saying it could have….

For such a lively town, Virginia City seemed unusually unruffled, you might even say lethargic that day. Roy Coffee wasn’t complaining though, he was enjoying a game of checkers in his office with his good friend Paul Martin.
It was midweek and it was hot and dry, just like yesterday had been and the day before that. No one was in any particular hurry to go anywhere or do anything that might stir up a little dust. A ginger tomcat lay curled up on a grain sack outside the mercantile and he idly stretched out a back leg and groomed himself contentedly. The stage was already in and the only two passengers had disembarked and were drifting off to their destinations. One of those passengers was a newcomer to town but the second man had been here before and had left quite an impression. He was hoping to see his good friends the Cartwrights but judging by how quiet it was, he guessed they weren’t around.

Suddenly the peace was disturbed by an explosive burst of energy as a young man tumbled noisily through the heavy wooden swinging doors of the Bucket of Blood saloon. He landed in a heap, rolled over and righted himself athletically before charging right back inside, eager to re-enter the fray. He didn’t even notice the helpful newcomer who had tried to give him a helping hand or the man that the stranger now addressed. Or the ginger tom that had leapt off the grain sack and run, startled, up the nearest alley.

“Say do you think that young fella needs a hand in there?” the stranger asked.

Mark Twain merely smiled back at the newcomer, who had been his travelling companion on the stage back to Virginia City. Virginia City, that ‘noisy, rough lady with a lot of pride’, as he affectionately called her. It had seemed a little too peaceful when he’d first stepped off the stage, but this was more like the Virginia City he’d been charmed by not so long ago. He thought back to his own strikingly similar introduction to the youngest member of the Cartwright family before he answered.

“Oh he’s fine I assure you. That’s just Little Joe Cartwright letting off a little steam.”

The stranger wasn’t convinced, “You know him? Shouldn’t we call the sheriff or something? Maybe he could use some help…”

Mark Twain, formerly Samuel Clemens and on occasion Josh, smiled knowingly.

“Well unless I miss my guess, any minute now either Adam or Hoss Cartwright will appear, dragging the boy out of there.”

Before the words had even left his mouth, sure enough, back out through the same swinging doors and very much against his will, came a feisty and extremely angry Little Joe Cartwright. One large, long suffering elder brother had him firmly by one elbow and a darker haired, not quite so amused older brother had him just as firmly by the other one. Mark chuckled. So it took two of them these days! Despite his struggles the boy’s feet hardly touched the ground. He was protesting loudly.

“I told you I could handle them, now put me down or…” Joe had no ‘or,’ he was in no position for an ‘or’ and they all knew it.

Hoss spared him having to think of one.

“An’ we told you little brother what Pa’d do to you if you got into another fight and we happen to need you all in one piece to help with that fencin’ we all got ta do tomorrow. Now simmer down young ‘un. This is fer yer own good…an’ you know it.”

Adam underlined the point,

” That’s right buddy, it’s your choice. You can ride home with some of your dignity still intact or we can drag you home every step of the way like this…now which is it to be?”

Joe didn’t really think they’d do that but he stopped struggling anyway and they eased their hold. As he adjusted his clothing back to where it ought to be, he knew he’d lost this one. But he wouldn’t give up without a parting shot at least.

“How’s a fella supposed to have any fun around here with his two ol’ maiden aunts always hoverin’ close by to spoil everything? It’s not like you two never get in any fights around here…”

Adam was about to explain that while that may well be true, their ‘extreme’ age and experience at least gave them the common sense not to pick a fight with two large, short-tempered and extremely muscular miners, but he was interrupted by loud raucous laughter. The Cartwright brothers looked across as one to see who it was that found them so amusing.

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!”

“Sam! Mark! Mark Twain It sure is good to see you again!”

“What a pleasant surprise! What happy circumstance has brought you our way again so soon?”

Mark Twain was engulfed in hand shakes and backslapping and he was very happy to discover that nothing seemed to have changed too much in Virginia City after all. He was made to promise that whatever plans he’d made, he’d change them since he would now be their guest out at the Ponderosa. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way since the Cartwrights really were the most stimulating company.

A few months previously he’d been unfortunate enough to get on their wrong side by suggesting in print and under his pen name of Josh, that there was a wild man loose on the Ponderosa. The resulting interest had caused a stampede of upwards of five hundred people all over the Cartwright land, ruining a field of hay and stampeding a lot of very frightened cows. Adam had insisted most forcefully that ‘Josh’ print a retraction, which he duly did. Soon after, he had ridden all the way to the Ponderosa to cement the peace. In fact ‘Josh’ went on to print damning and hilarious stories effectively laughing the very dishonourable Judge Billington out of town and thereby halting his proposed land grab of the Ponderosa. In this case the pen had indeed been mightier than the sword although when Billington had taken violent offence to his writings, Sam Clemens had been pretty glad to have the Cartwright guns as backup.

Once they’d all agreed that he was staying with them Joe couldn’t resist asking him,

“How do you like to travel these days, by mule, by horse or by carriage?”

Mark enjoyed the reference to his first arrival at the Ponderosa, by mule!

“Thank you kindly Joe, but with the luggage I have, maybe a carriage would suit me better this time!”

Tipping his newly replaced hat as he went, Joe set off to hire the carriage from the livery but not before firing one last little dig in his brothers direction.

“I’ll go rent that carriage for you…that is if my two ol’ maiden aunts here think I can be trusted to do that alone…”

Adam swatted him affectionately, all bad feeling between them forgotten.

Adding to his already clear vision of an old maiden aunt scolding her charge, Mark watched in amusement as Adam shouted after Joe in his shrillest school ma’am type voice,

“You just do as you’re told sonny and learn to respect your elders. Now hop to it or I won’t let you play with your covered wagon when you get home!”

Hoss roared and Mark smiled as an image of a very young Little Joe in scruffy dungarees, one shoulder always hanging loose, appeared firmly and unshakeably in his mind, right beside that of his old maiden aunt.

Soon the happy foursome was headed back home looking forward to surprising Ben. They weren’t disappointed; Ben was delighted to see Mark Twain again. Although Mark had promised to keep in touch they hadn’t really expected to see him so soon, especially now that he was fast gaining a reputation as a famous writer.

After a hearty meal where they caught up with each other’s news, the Cartwright’s and their guest sat around the great fireplace. Ben was reading one of Mark’s particularly humorous articles out loud when he glanced across at his youngest, who was also enjoying the fun. He’d noticed the bruising on Joe’s face as soon as they’d returned but had decided to wait before questioning him about it, not wanting to spoil the evening with their guest present. It was becoming harder to ignore though now as the redness turned to nasty shades of purple and blue. Ben peered at him over the paper. Mark was fascinated by this widower, single-handedly raising his boys. Ben Cartwright was a wonderful father who loved his sons more than life itself and one of the hardest things for him was to punish one of them. But when they needed it, he knew that if he didn’t, it could be the ruination of them.

Joe had caught his father’s ‘look’ and he knew just what it was for. When pa glowered it was scary…it was a glower to make you shake in your boots but it never quite hid the deep love that lay behind it. Everyone caught the change in the room and it was silent as Ben told his youngest,

“Joseph, you know sometimes you make me very angry.”

Joe respected the glower, that was plain for all to see, but he also understood the love that accompanied it.

“I’m sorry pa.”

“Well I hope that you are. You may be too old to go over my knee young man, but maybe some extra chores will show me how sorry you really are. Here’s one I know you particularly dislike. On your next day off… and the next if need be, you will be whitewashing the smokehouse… and Joseph…you will do it on your own.”

Joe groaned as Ben turned his attention back to the paper, but a few moments later he glanced across at his now very chastened son with a look that said, ‘the punishment is set son, I have forgiven you’. Before long Joe was back to his usual self, albeit ruing his lost time off.

The family enjoyed more of Mark’s articles and after a very pleasant evening he explained the reason behind his unexpected visit back to Virginia City.

The truth was that much as he was enjoying life in San Francisco, it just didn’t inspire him in the gritty way that Virginia City had. Lately he’d lost the urge to write, something that had never happened to him before. He’d had a hankering to write a novel but he just couldn’t get started, so he’d come back hoping that maybe a change of scenery would do the trick.
In fact he’d hardly been with the Cartwrights five minutes and already he had a story cooking. It had started with a little seed of an idea when Adam had teased his younger brother in town but it had already grown and implanted itself with wonderfully rich characters, woven together with his own childhood recollections of life by the Mississippi. The story had taken root in his imagination and his characters were jostling with each other, anxious to live out their stories on his written page. Mark’s creative juices were well and truly flowing and suddenly he was positively itching to write again.

And so it was that he made his surprising request. More than anything he told them, he’d like for Hoss and Joe to accompany him on a fishing trip the very next day. Both Ben and Adam raised surprised eyebrows but Joe and Hoss just beamed with barely suppressed delight, the silent words they mouthed to each other were easily read as,

“He wants to write about us!”

They were like excited little boys.

Who would believe that Mark Twain, the writer who was getting to be more famous by the day, was looking for inspiration and he wanted their company! On a fishing trip! The fence-building project disappeared into the future; surely Pa would allow it, of course Joe would still be firmly restricted to whitewashing on his days off.

Immediately both boys saw themselves as the hero in Mark’s new story. Joe pictured a gallant, strong fearless hero, much like himself, who made evil men gulp in trepidation, while the pretty ladies swooned with pleasure at his daring do and manly charms.

Hoss on the other hand saw himself as a gentler hero saving the day in the nick of time whilst always protecting his family from harm. Most notably he saw himself rescuing Little Joe from countless scrapes and misdeeds all caused by his youth and impetuosity. Unfortunately this was always bound to clash with his younger brother’s image of himself since obviously he thought that he rarely needed rescuing at all.

The next morning Adam smiled at their antics as they fairly buzzed around getting their necessary supplies together.

“Now are you sure you can manage without us for a whole day Pa?” Hoss asked diligently.

Ben pondered this while he watched Joe wrestling unsuccessfully with a ball of knotted fishing twine and he winked at Adam before answering,

“Oh, I think we’ll manage…somehow!”

Finally, having lost patience with the tangled mess, Joe surreptitiously switched it with his brother’s carefully rolled up fishing line. At that precise same moment Hoss was busy transferring two large sugary doughnuts from Joe’s lunch pail into his own. Mark didn’t miss a thing.

As Hoss licked his fingers clean of icing sugar and evidence he called to Joe in his most big brotherly tones, designed to emphasise his gentle heroic side,

“You ready boy?”

Now, normally Joe would baulk at being called boy, especially when he was so anxious to promote his action man image, but today he didn’t mind, not one little bit. After all he had the whole day to impress Mark with stories of his daredevil and heroic deeds.

“I’m ready Hoss, I got everything we need, line, poles, bait and plenty of Hop Sing’s fine cooking in case the fish ain’t biting.”

“Then what are we waiting for, let’s get going.”

As he patted the notepad in his pocket, Mark was hoping that just one notepad would be enough to meet his requirements for the day. Was there still time to fetch another one?

Chatting easily as they rode and in no great hurry on such a beautiful day as this, they searched out the perfect spot on the grassy riverbank. They soon found it, there were trees close by to provide shade and enough large boulders for them all to find one to comfortably lean against. After settling the horses down, Joe plonked himself down beside an especially Joe shaped rock and smiled with deep satisfaction as he leaned back into the warm sun- baked stone. He stretched his arms and eased himself against it letting the warmth of the stone massage his upper body deliciously. He may have a miserable day off ahead but for now he could just enjoy himself. This really was the life.

But he couldn’t sit still for long and soon he’d pulled off his boots, rolled up his pant legs and set about getting his pole and line fixed up. After all he had a writer to impress.

All the while Hoss watched him with a suspicious look on his face as he pulled at the ball of knotted fishing twine he’d found in his bag.

“S’funny I could a’ swore I rolled this up neat as you please…hey Joe…”

But Joe was too busy getting his bait on his hook to hear him so Hoss just shrugged and put his energy back into untangling the mess.

Joe breathed a sigh of relief.

“You gonna fish with us Mr Twain?” Hoss asked while he patiently got on with his task.

“No Hoss, if you don’t mind I’ll be a spectator today but I’ll be sure and help you cook them when you pull all those fish out of the river.”

“You’ll be too busy writing I expect?” Hoss asked hopefully.

Mark nodded and settled back contentedly against his rock, making notes but only when the boys weren’t watching. He didn’t want to give himself away too much.

Getting back to the chore at hand Hoss shouted across to his younger brother who appeared to have recovered his hearing now,

“What bait d’ya bring Joe?”

Joe pulled out some jars and pots and wrapped up goodies sure to tempt all manner of hungry fish,

“Now let me see, I got some leftover meat Hop Sing gave me, mostly ham, some bread, some corn, some cheese and for good measure some worms. You got some spare hooks?”

“Yeah I got me some hooks little brother, don’t you worry about that none. I’ll be ready just as soon as I get this twine untangled…say Joe are you sure it’s my tw…?”

But Joe was too busy asking Mark something to hear him,

“You do a lot of fishing back home Mark?”

Wistfully looking back to his own miss-spent youth, Mark answered him.

“Not for a long time Joe…a very long time.”

Once again Hoss let it go and besides he was soon ready to bait his own hook. He selected the biggest, fattest, juiciest worm and cast his line out expertly. The hook disappeared into the water with a satisfying plop leaving circular ripples and in their centre a cork remained, bobbing gently on the surface and acting as a float to alert the optimistic fisherman.

Despite the appetising feast of worms and sweetcorn dangled temptingly before them, the fish just weren’t too hungry today. This didn’t worry Hoss or Joe too much since fishing was not their primary objective. Being the hero in a brand new book was and this was an opportunity not to be missed. The only thing was of course; there could only really be one hero.

While the boys appeared to be concentrating hard on watching for the slightest movement on their line, their minds were buzzing deciding which of their past adventures was the most impressive and therefore most likely to attract the attention of a top writer. Every now and then they’d cast furtive glances to make sure that Mark had his pencil ready so he wouldn’t miss anything.

While Joe was tossing up whether to go with riding into an Indian camp to request the pleasure of a dance with a beautiful Indian princess or defying a group of evil silver ‘kings’ and dancing the night away with a beautiful actress, Hoss suddenly broke into the reverie and beat Joe to the punch by announcing loudly,

“Hey Joe, I was just thinking about that time I rescued Pa and Hemp and Johnny from being shanghaied that time in San Francisco. Boy, now that really was an adventure…”

Joe’s jaw dropped in surprise, but he soon regained his power of speech.

“Now wait just a doggone minute Hoss, you just happened to be thinking? And you rescued pa and Hemp and Johnny. I just happened to be there too you know!”

Smiling benignly Hoss adjusted his fishing pole before answering his extremely incensed little brother,

“Oh that’s right, so you were Joe, how ever did I go and forget that? Only it seems to me as I recall it now, you were more interested in making eyes at Quick Buck Kate at the time…..”

“Now that’s not true Hoss and you know it! I did my fair share of rescuing too and anyhow I had to talk to Quick Buck Kate to find out where they’d taken Pa…”

“Yeah but did you have to kiss her little brother?”

Hoss smacked his lips theatrically as he re baited his hook.

He actually had his little brother lost for words! Mind you that was partly because Joe was remembering the soft inviting lips of Quick Buck Kate. His momentary silence gave Hoss the opportunity to sneak in again, this time with the story of when he brought a prize bull back from Monterey while simultaneously rescuing his brother from an angry father set on marrying him off to his beautiful daughter, Cayetana.

Naturally Joe had a lot he wanted to say about his brother’s version of events since he felt sure he’d rescued himself from that particular situation, but he was suddenly struck speechless with the memory of the soft inviting lips of the very beautiful Cayetena.

Truth be told though, despite all their splendid storytelling efforts, Mark didn’t appear to be all that interested in them anyway. In fact Hoss and Joe were a little put out that their skills as raconteurs couldn’t even hold the interest of their illustrious friend. Oh he was scribbling away all right, but in that distracted kind of way he had, like he wasn’t taking any notice of them at all.

This only encouraged the boys to try even grander stories, each one trying to outdo the other with their courageous deeds. Joe finally got one good story out when he managed to interrupt Hoss with the tale of the time he’d fought the school bullies single-handedly to protect an Indian boy in school. Naturally, the way Joe told it the bullies were all three times his size and he beat them hands down coming out of the fight completely untarnished, merely dusting himself off afterwards as the cowardly ruffians made their timely escape. Hoss actually remembered them as being only slightly bigger than his brother. Little Joe had been outnumbered that was true, but he recalled him ending up with two shiny black eyes and a bloody nose to show for his troubles. When he tried to say that Joe shushed him loudly and snuck a look across to see if Mark had taken any of his latest adventure down. To his huge disappointment the writer never stirred. Joe scratched his head then looked across at Hoss who shrugged. As soon as the brothers looked away again Mark laughed softly to himself.

The two brothers grew more and more perplexed as the day wore on, especially when Mark sighed deeply and his face disappeared even further beneath his wide brimmed hat. Was it possible that they were actually boring him?

“Maybe he’s tired after the long journey.” Joe whispered, looking decidedly disgruntled.

“Could be I suppose.” Hoss affirmed, more than a little disappointed himself.

There was only one thing to do, after all the Cartwrights were not quitters. They just had to try even harder.

Joe contemplated this long and hard, his concern obvious by the deep frown that creased his brow. He was running out of ideas when suddenly a huge grin lit up his face… politics! That would get the writer to perk up and take an interest. So he announced importantly,

” I hear the elections for the new governor are creating a storm over in Carson City.”

Joe had no idea whether they were or not, or indeed if the elections were even imminent, that was the one flaw in his idea. Hoss was quick to spot it and show his amusement.

“Aww get outta here Joe! The only interest you’d have in the new governor would be if he had a pretty daughter…I’d swear if you could, you’d vote for whichever candidate had the prettiest daughter.”

The indignant look on Joe’s face and the bare foot kick aimed at his shin shut Hoss up quicker than words could, as did the realisation that he’d blown Joe’s latest idea for getting Mark Twain to show even the slightest bit of interest in turning the Cartwright brothers into the brave heroes of his new novel.

From then on their tales got even wilder as they exagerrated the details to greater and greater heights of glory. Neither boy was prone to outright lying of course, but a little embellishment never hurt a good story after all.

But then, out of the blue, Hoss started laughing. They’d been quiet for a while both staring blankly at their corks floating on the water when Joe suddenly thought he’d got a nibble. He’d jumped up in surprise and dropped his fishing pole into the water. When he’d rolled up his pant legs even higher and paddled out into the water to retrieve it, Hoss couldn’t stop laughing. A real deep belly laugh.

Joe stood in the water, fishless pole in one hand, scratching his curly head with the other and looking slightly bemused.

“Well it ain’t that funny brother!”

Hoss thought it was, he’d just about run out of tall tales anyhow and the sight had tickled him and brought back some childhood memories Joe might rather forget,

“Hey Joe, seeing you with your pants rolled up like that reminds me of when you was a little tyke always getting’ in scrapes and the like, you sure was a cute little fella…”

Seeing Joe’s cross expression as he clambered out and hearing his protests just made it seem all the funnier.

“Aww Hoss do you have to?” This was not the image Joe was hoping to project at all; he still hadn’t quite given up on his hero status. Hoss pretty much had by now.

“‘Member Pa made you wear Adam’s and my hand me downs ‘cos you was allus tearing holes in yer new pants climbing trees and such? Course they was allus two sizes too big, you were cute as a button in them dungarees with that curly hair….”

‘I knew it,” thought Mark.

Scowling deeply, Joe realised there would be no stopping Hoss now. As a seven year old he’d hated those dungarees, they’d made him feel like a little kid.

“You had ‘em on that time Pa caught you trying out his pipe.” Hoss was enjoying this hugely, even if Joe wasn’t, “You were a sight Joe, pretendin’ there was nuthin’ to this pipe smokin’ and tryin’ to be all growed up, only I never saw anyone so green around the gills! I swear you looked about ready to spill yer guts up when Pa came up behind and grabbed yer up by yer britches and snatched that pipe back.” Hoss nearly fell off his fishing perch he was laughing so much.

Hunched over his fishing pole, Joe glowered some more. It was a poor imitation of his father’s glower, more of a pout really but nonetheless impressive in its own way. Mark’s pencil scribbled harder and his eyes shone brightly beneath the wide brimmed hat. This was what he was waiting for.

When Hoss got his balance back he had more to say. Joe was afraid of that.

“I reckon maybe that was why Pa made yer wear them dungarees. Gave him something to grab a hold of. He never let go of yer britches that day ‘til he’d tanned yer scrawny backside,”

Joe slid down the rock in dismay, but Hoss still hadn’t finished yet.

“You sure was yellin’ up a storm that day and no mistake, but I reckon you never tried that pipe again. Come to think of it Joe, was that the first time Pa made you whitewash the smokehouse as punishment? I ‘member I thought you’d be doin’ that for days bein’ so small and all. How’d you ever do it so fast and what exactly did Pa mean last night by sayin’ you had to do it on yer own’?”

Hoss had been happily oblivious to his brother’s growing displeasure, about as oblivious as Joe had been to his questions about the fishing line earlier in the day.

Joe mumbled something incoherent. Mark leaned closer.

“What was that little brother?” Hoss prompted. He’d always figured there was more to that day than met the eye but Joe had never let on. Now that he thought about it, he realized that there was no way Joe could have done that job in the time it had taken him.

” I said I had some help.” Joe repeated, he was in a full-blown sulk now but he knew Hoss wouldn’t give up until he had the full story. He might as well get it over with.

“Some of the guys came by while I was doin’ it, makin’ fun of me doin’ my chores…I was boilin’ mad and my butt hurt soo…”

“So what little brother?”

“So I pretended I was really enjoyin’ it, whistlin’ an all. I bet them they couldn’t paint a side of the smokehouse as fast as I could. Well Seth and Mitch ain’t ever said no to a bet and before I knew it we’d got 3 coats done and I’d got a new set of marbles and a rabbit’s foot on a piece of string.”

Joe couldn’t quite keep the gleam from his eye at the memory, it had been quite a day. He hadn’t let on to his brothers since it had been such a fine plan that might be used again.

For a while Hoss was silent with respect. “Well I’ll be!” but soon his curiosity won over again.

“So how come you wanted to smoke that ol’ pipe anyhow? You musta known what Pa’d do if he caught you and it musta tasted plum awful.”

“I guess I didn’t plan that far ahead. I wanted to impress someone is all.”

Joe really wanted to get this particular story over with. After all he still had to remind Hoss how he broke a wild mustang when he was just sixteen and then there was his expertise with an epee and of course he had to throw in his successes with the ladies. All the best heroes were good with the ladies.

Hoss’ eyes lit up. “Trying to impress someone eh? It had to have been a gal then…I know! I bet it was that little golden haired angel you were so smitten with…Becky …Becky Hatcher that was her name…. The minute you laid eyes on her you were gone brother, like a lovesick puppydog. ‘Member when you got in trouble in class on purpose ‘cos the only free seat on the girls side was by her. You knew you allus got sent to sit with the girls when you got in trouble.”

Joe silently pleaded with Hoss to stop but Hoss was on a roll now…and Mark was silently lapping up every word. He was scribbling for all he was worth but the boys were too preoccupied to notice now.

“The teacher grabbed you by the ear and plonked you right down next to her! You got away with it too until he caught you passing her an apple and writing ‘I love you’ on your slate, you dang lovestruck fool….”

Planting a large hand across his heart for dramatic effect, Hoss swooned. Joe still didn’t see the funny side, this had to be nipped in the bud and now.

“You fell in love in school too Hoss, it wasn’t just me, there was Annie Wilson and Suzie Peterson…”

“That’s true little brother but no-one made a show of it quite like you did, doing one armed somersaults in the playground, swing mounting your pony…”

“All right, that’s enough….”

“Your face too, you looked so crushed when she walked right past you like she hadn’t even noticed any of yer showin’ off. Then you flushed bright scarlet when she crouched and picked a flower and tossed it to you.”

“I’ve still got it…”

“What the prowess with the ladies? Still doing those one armed somersaults? Now that’s sure to impress the governor’s daughter no doubt about it.”

It was Hoss’ turn to nearly drop his fishing pole he was laughing so hard again, but he settled down when Joe told him,

“The flower…I still got it, I put it in my school hymn book and it’s still there.”

Hoss smiled. Despite his bravado, his little brother really did have a soft heart.

By now even Joe had given up all hopes of becoming the leading man in Mark’s new story. His image of the all action, swashbuckling, heartbreaker of a hero lay in tatters around him, lost in images of an energetic boy with a penchant for trouble…in dungarees!! Now how in the world had that happened?

To both their disgust, Mark even appeared to them to be snoozing contentedly now.

Seeing as he might have his brother’s sympathy, at least for a little while anyway, Joe couldn’t resist asking him…

“Don’t suppose you’d consider helping a fellow with a job he has to do on his next day off… all the long hot day…all on his own…”

“You don’t give up little brother do you?”

Joe shrugged. Well a guy had to try after all. Shucks, it had been so much easier when he was small.

Wrinkling his brow, Hoss gestured across at their fishing partner.

“He just ain’t listenin’ to us at all is he Joe? Guess we just ain’t interestin’ enough fer him.”

Joe nodded his agreement.

“Yup Hoss, I reckon we tried everything a fella could. We must seem pretty dull compared to those city folks he mixes with now. Guess we just ain’t cut out to appear in no book.”

Mark chuckled inwardly, “If only you knew boys, if only you knew.”

“Say, what happened with that little gal anyhow Joe?”

“Becky? She moved away soon after. I did get to kiss her at that church picnic though.
That was just after…” a painful memory interrupted his thoughts, ” I don’t think her ma liked me much though.”

Hoss remembered why…

“That’s right she didn’t! Joe you sure do have a knack for getting in trouble with gals at picnics…. It was all over that pickle fork! You should have been more careful where you left it boy.”

“Well how was I to know her ma was going to sit on it?”

Even Joe couldn’t help himself from laughing now. Looking back, it had been pretty funny. Not quite so funny when Becky’s ma had chased after him with a wooden serving spoon. Even less funny when he’d tripped up behind the wagon and she’d caught up with him. Joe winced at that memory.
But right after that Becky had come up and kissed him, his first ever kiss on the lips so the day had ended in triumph after all.

As their dreams of being heroes in a best selling novel went up in pipe smoke they settled down to just enjoy the day. Fishing was a mighty fine past time after all.

“We had some good times as kids Joe and a few scary ones too. What about that time we went to the graveyard at night with a dead crow to try and cure your wart.”

“It wasn’t a wart Hoss, it was a scar on my thumb. I got it whittling with your knife when I wasn’t supposed to be playing with it.”

“So you got yer just desserts then.” Hoss playfully slapped his brother’s arm.

“I always did Hoss…” Joe agreed ruefully. ” Anyhow it was all your idea. You’d heard tell that you could go to the churchyard at midnight with a dead cat and it would make it go away…. Only we couldn’t find no dead cat so we had to use a dead crow instead.”

Hoss laughed, “That’d be why it didn’t work too good then….plus I forgot what we were supposed to do with the dang crow when we got there. You nearly gave us away to pa with your nightmares after that, but that churchyard sure was a creepy place to be at midnight. We got so scared imaginin’ injuns and grave robbers and ghosts and things, but it was all nuthin’ but shadows and our imagination.”

“The crow stank too…and I still got my scar…” Joe rubbed the spot, which was suddenly very itchy.

“Want me to find a dead cat?”

Joe shook his head and laughed, quietly, so as not to disturb Mark who he firmly believed to be snoozing. What neither of them could see was that he was scribbling away furiously on the notepad he had rested against his knees.

There was another incident Hoss wanted to ask his brother about.

“Say Joe, why was it you ran away that time when you were about six? Me and Adam found you out back…you’d left a trail of Hop Sing’s apple pie all the way across the yard so we found you pretty quick.”

“It was after pa had found me in the corral with the new horses…”

“Again!”

“They were just so beautiful and wild Hoss…I just had to see them up closer, especially the paint…pa pulled me outta there and we ended up having one of those ‘necessary talks.’

With a sympathetic nod Hoss remembered some of his own necessary little talks with his father.

“Well when I was bent over his knee I guess some dust must of gotten in my eyes or something. They were stinging like crazy and waterin’ a lot.”

Hoss nodded his understanding at the pride of a very young boy afraid to lose face in front of his brothers. Pa would have put the fear of God in him too to warn him against doing anything so dangerous again.

“I knew if you fellas saw me you’d think I was cryin’ so I ran away, I planned on making a raft and livin’ out on that little island on the lake. Only I got hungry so I stopped to eat the pie.”

“You poor little fella, but you’d only got as far as the far side of the barn in that little stand of trees when Adam and me found yer.”

“I know that Hoss, but when you’re six years old and you’re running away from home, any distance feels like a long one, believe me.”

The boys laughed heartily. Maybe if pa was amenable, Hoss would give his brother a bit of a hand with that smokehouse. And if he wasn’t, then he’d at least keep his little brother company part of the day. Suddenly they both felt a pull on their rods. And maybe there would be fresh trout or catfish for lunch after all.

Beneath his hat, Mark’s mind was racing. He could hardly get his pencil to keep up with his thoughts. After all, this was the man that could turn a frightened girl running loose on Cartwright land into the wild man of the Ponderosa and now he had riches a plenty to fuel his fertile mind. The only thing he lacked was a villain; a cold, cruel-hearted, mean and nasty villain; sure to chill the hearts of all children and most particularly two frightened little boys in a churchyard at midnight. He played with names in his head…

Coyote Sam? No that wasn’t it.

Black Toothed Ted? Not quite scary enough.

The Wolfman of the West? No, that was just plain silly.

Hoss and Joe interrupted his concentration and his ears pricked up once more.

“You know what little brother? So what if we ain’t story material.”

Joe shrugged, now happily resigned to their continued anonymity, “Yup guess we ain’t at that brother… but we sure are good fishermen and my these fish are gonna taste good.”

Hoss expertly pulled another fish off the hook.

“Think we’d better wake Mark, be a shame if he missed cookin’ em…say…’member before when you were talking about that fight at school?”

“Yeah, what of it Hoss?”

“I was trying to think, what was the name of that injun, Joe?”

Joe’s answer was lost in the sounds of the riverbank as Mark took on the far away look he always got when he knew he’d got it right…he repeated softly to himself.

“Injun’ Joe”

It was perfect.