Chapter Text
He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he just knows he has to get away. He has to get away from him. From them? From someone evil. He’s just so exhausted and everything hurts from his head to his toes and in places he’s never known he even had. His Pa’s tannings never left him so sore or wounded.
He doubles over as an intense wave of nausea slams into him, gagging as nothing comes up. It’s been about a day, maybe two since he’s really had anything to eat. He’s glad he hasn’t had anything to eat, or he’d definitely have lost it about two hours back in the bushes somewhere. As it is, he feels so sick still that the world spins. Or maybe that’s the tough wacks to the face he took. He’s been hit before by his brother and that has nothing on this.
A twig nearby snaps. He goes silent, listening to see if anyone is nearby. He can’t go back to them. He has to get away. Now.
Not bothering to look where he’s going, he stumbles out into the middle of a road somewhere. Or at least, he assumes it’s a road. He can’t quite tell, his heart beating so quickly that his head feels like a drum is smashing into his ears. He’s utterly exhausted beyond his limits, but he fights to run. The action makes everything hurt that much more, burning with the need to cry as fire lights up along his thighs and butt, as well as his throat. His mouth is so dry that it would hurt to swallow regardless.
One moment, he’s stumbling along. The next, a horse snickers, hooves beating aggressively against the dirt. Fright and dread hit him like a freight train as he books it as fast as he can. They’re coming to get him. They’re going to kill him for escaping. Or worse. Lots worse. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see the hole before his feet. With a small broken cry, he tumbles down some brush before something tightens along his neck. Trying to rub it off and wondering why his hands won’t work, he passes out just as boots rush their way up to him.
…..
Roy Coffee has been a sheriff for many good years, nearing about twenty being in charge of the law, 14 of them as the actual sheriff of the just growing Virginia City in the Nevada territory. He’s seen a lot more than most most men when it comes to violence, mystery, and murder. He’s also seen many hostage situations and bank robberies.
But never in his life has he seen such a sight.
He had been riding his horse, Bella, back from the Ponderosa, full intent on getting a posse together to search for the men who had kidnapped Ben’s youngest boy, Little Joe. The poor boy had been taken from school about three days before, kidnapped on the road back home. The boy wasn’t any more than 15, small enough to look about 12 with his size. His pony had been found, the poor thing startled and soaked with sweat, having run most of the way to the ranch house. So far, all they know is that three men had the boy. A note had come, wanting $30,000 for the boy’s safe return. That had been about five hours ago, Roy having made his own way out to the Ponderosa to check up on everything. Ben would be on his way to the bank in the morning, since it’s too late for a withdrawal. It was nearin’ dark, after all.
That’s why he was shocked to see someone stumble out into the roadway when he was nearing Virginia City. He didn’t see the small shadow until it was nearly too late. The person came stumbling out weaker than a newborn baby, walking and swaying every which way worse than a drunkard. Roy was about to stop the person and arrest them to make sure they didn’t cause no problems when he noticed something mighty disturbin’.
The man had his hands behind his back, at a rather awkward position. From closer in, the sheriff could see that the other’s clothes were ripped and dirty, streaked with sweat and blood. The man hurries like he’s being chased by the Devil, fire on his tail. And a string of rope hangs along the ground behind him, leading up to some type of noose.
And then the man stumbles, rolling all the way down the bank before coming to a stop on the dusty roadside. He doesn’t get back up, but Roy can see him trying to get free of something. Seeing the rope tugging against a tree branch, he understands what it is real quick, jumping from his horse before tearin’ to the other’s side just as he falls limp. He rushes to cut the damn rope of, knowing it’s likely to leave a rather nasty rope burn later, if the man survives.
As soon as he frees it off the other’s neck, the other coughs loudly, trying to get enough air in.
“That’s it, breathe,” Roy nods before glancing over the other. He tilts his head, disliking the dark as it makes it that much harder to see what he is doing or who it is before him. The sun shines down one last ray for the night, like a sign from God himself, sending his stomach plunging like he’s fallin’ off a cliff.
It’s Ben’s boy. It’s Little Joe.
And he’s in bad shape. With the fading light, Roy sees bruises littering the boy’s cheek, dried blood on the corner of his lip. The young man looks at him, eyes dazed and dulled with pain, like withered grass. Rope burns litter his throat along with smudges of other bruises, so familiar that the man knows it’s finger marks. The boy’s jacket is ripped and stained, shirt missing underneath. His pants ain’t in much better shape either. His curly hair is stuck to his head with grime and sweat. The older man reaches out, feeling feverish skin under his fingers.
"I'm going to get you to the doc, son," he starts grabbing the young one up into his arms. Remembering the awkward position, he frees Joe's arms from behind his back, noting the cracked and bloody wrists. He might be getting old, but the younger ain't heavy at all. The younger can out stubborn everyone Roy has ever known though, doing so now. The boy shouldn't have any strength left, but he tries to twist out of his arms, struggling something fierce. Roy nearly drops the boy the last few inches before the other starts to crawl away from him, obviously in pain and fright, not quite seeing him. Roy stops him, holding onto the boy who wrestles with him for a moment, looking off into the distance somewhere. The younger says something, but nothing comes out. Roy grabs onto the younger's face, forcing him to look at him, "It's me, son. It's Roy. I'm here for ya, Joe. You're safe."
The boy stops struggling after a moment, staring at him with eyes that don't quite see him still. The younger frowns in confusion, left hand moving up to feel against his face before dropping, tears coming to his eyes as he buries himself into Roy's vest. The sheriff's eyes cloud with unshed tears himself as the younger tries to talk again, gripping his arm weakly.
"P…" Joe chokes out before trying again, "A…"
"He'll be right here soon, son," Roy grips the young man up again, taking him to his horse. Luckily his gal ain't scared off by nothing so he carefully slides the boy onto the mare, climbing on behind him. He urges his horse to go into town, since it's only about half a mile away instead of nearly twenty back to the Ponderosa. And he's glad he chooses so. The boy in his arms stiffens at the first few steps Bella takes, crying out brokenly in pain. Roy stops the horse, letting Joe breathe it out. The younger man tosses his head,resting it against Roy's shoulder. A moment later, he relaxes in an unnatural sleep. Roy holds onto him before getting his gal to hurry them to Paul's home. The doctor should be at home at this time of night. The boy may not live long enough to see the sunrise if not.
It takes about half an hour to reach Paul's house. Roy runs across one of Ben's hands just before that, sending him off to get Ben and the other boys. The doctor wonders out onto his porch just as Roy brings Bella to a stop at his door.
"Roy," the man squints at him, bringing a lantern out, "Is that you? What do you have?"
"It's Little Joe. He's ah hurtin' something fierce."
"Little Joe!" Paul nearly shouts in alarm before racing to them, "Here, hand him down to me. We must get him in out of this chill before hypothermia sets in. Help me treat the boy."
They get him into the cozy home, placing him in the spare room that patients sometimes use if need be. The man lights as many lamps as he can, lighting the place up as bright as daylight. Nodding at Roy, he goes about examining the boy. Roy would normally leave for this part, but he stays to help out, holding the unconscious boy up.
"Nasty rope burns, likely infected from dirt," the older notes, quickly disinfecting the wounds before wrapping them. Moving on, he eyes the boy's abused face and throat, feeling along the younger's neck, "More bruises. Signs of strangulation. His throat will be very swollen for a while. Joe must have put up quite the fight. There's many bruises along his body. Nothing is broken, a good sign."
They get down lower. With the young man's jacket off, they can definitely see the bruises better. They sit along his shoulders, arms, and stomach, a darkening purple hue.
"I have to keep an eye on him to see if there is any internal bleeding, although it doesn't seem like it is."
Knowing that they must get him changed and washed, they remove the rest of his clothes to do just that. Paul gathers some washed rags and soapy water, another bowl for the dirty water.
"Paul, he's got some more wounds," Roy points out, noting the cuts along Joe's hip, as if he'd been dragged a bit over sharp jagged rocks. The wounds are red, leaking out blood and gunk, also infected. Paul cleans them thoroughly, picking out a few specks of needlepoint stones before bandaging up the wounds. Both of them frown when they notice the bruises along the other's legs. Turning him over, they note the bruises lingering over his hips and buttocks, not at all matching up to a paddling or fall.
Ice runs down Roy's spine.
Joe's loved by everyone in the Virginia City area. The 15 year old gets along real well with the townspeople, child or adult. The lady folk are always saying how cute he is now and handsome the boy is bound to be when he becomes a man. The men know that he's the best looking out of all the Cartwrights. All of the Cartwright boys are beloved. But Little Joe. He holds a very special place in nearly everyone's hearts, in some way or another.
"Dear Lord," Paul steadies himself against the bedside table. Roy sits in a chair nearby, gently holding onto Joe's hand. They sit like that for a moment, "I've seen a lot in my days as a doctor, Roy. Assaults like this aren't as rare as people assume."
"He's just a boy, Paul," Roy cringes before sighing, glancing into his old friend's eyes, "What possesses a man to hurt a child like this? To touch him in such a way?"
"I don't know," Paul settles the younger man on his uninjured side, tucking him in under the blanket, "And I highly doubt I want to know. I'll have to tell Ben, Adam, and Hoss when they get here. Would you be willing to keep watch on the boy? I want to tell them before they see Joseph. He could wake up at any time."
"'Course," Roy nods before scooting the chair closer. The doctor grabs two glasses of cheap brandy, pouring some for both of them. Roy takes a deep sip before sighing, looking at the sleeping boy's face.
What kind of evil would beat such a small boy and then...wound him so badly in this way?
He has no answer as he settles in to watch the younger.