The Rogue's Company, Part One

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG

Summary: A cunning young thief matches wits with the Cartwrights...

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…I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal hath not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged.

~Shakespeare, Henry IV Part One

I leaned up against the bar and took a slow, lingering sip of whiskey. I had asked for one glass only—enough to put a fire in my gut, but not enough to dull my brain. I needed my wits in tact to work through this problem.

But I was confidant, mind. Wasn’t I the best in my field, despite being only nineteen? Granted, my field isn’t easily measured—but if there was a better safe cracker anywhere in the territories, I’d yet to hear of him.

After the three solo jobs I pulled, the papers reported that even the Pinkertons had been impressed by my skill. Not that they knew me by name, of course. To them, I was a shadowy burglar who wanted catching.

It was almost a pity, I reflected, that neither the Pinkertons nor the law knew who I was. I was a striking lad: lean and long-limbed, with a thick head of black hair, a voice like an angel and a pair of keen eyes that drifted between blue and hazel. Wouldn’t I look grand on a wanted poster?

But, as things stood, only two trusted fences knew my identity. Well, perhaps trusted is too strong a word: you couldn’t trust anyone in the profession, after all. But they had no call to betray me.

I sighed again as I set down my glass. Perhaps I should leave the trade now. I had set aside a pretty penny from my earnings. I could live comfortably for the rest of my life just on the interest. So why not call it a day?

But it wasn’t the money. It was the careful planning that went into each heist. It was the thrill of matching my wits against the nobs—the filthy rich, I mean—and the manufacturers of each safe. And it was the pleasure of baffling the authorities.

No, I had no intention of changing my profession. I was committed to my trade.

But I still had to puzzle through my problem. I knew which safe I wanted to crack: the safe in the main house of the Ponderosa. The Cartwrights were by far the richest family in the territories. And from what I had gathered, once a month that safe was brimming with the payroll funds.

It was the sort of job I loved—plenty of cash and no jewelry to fence. My hands itched just thinking of the snug safe that was waiting for me. But how to get close to it?

My usual method—although it required patience—had proved successful. I would get myself hired as a servant in a grand home. I would work there diligently for at least six months. I would wait for an evening when the family was out and the servants were at liberty before cracking the safe. (That made it look like a carefully planned outside job.) Once I had the goods, I would wait another three or four months before giving notice. Then I would part with glowing references.

But that method would fail miserably when it came to the Cartwrights. And for one reason: Mr. Benjamin Cartwright didn’t hold with hiring domestics. Oh, he had a cook—even old man Cartwright wasn't about to slave away in the kitchen all day. But his humble origins, coupled with his Puritan work-ethic, prevented him from hiring a proper staff.

I shook my head. That poor Chinaman who cooked for the Cartwrights was no doubt worked to the bone. Fancy being the only servant of such a large household.

Still, even if Mr. Cartwright didn’t want domestics, mightn't he hire a man for charity's sake? But perhaps not. He must have known of all the Irish and other immigrant folk who were desperate for such work.

But even if Mr. Cartwright wouldn’t come around, his sons might. I'd heard that the Cartwright boys were not as adverse to a proper staff. Especially the eldest—he was said to appreciate the finer things in life.

I was still pondering the potential of the boys when the youngest of them strode into the saloon. That was Joseph Cartwright—better known as Little Joe. He was about my age. Everyone greeted him as he tipped his hat at one of the girls and then sat down to a table.

“I just got paid,” he announced. “Anyone for poker?”

Now that invitation opened up a world of possibilities. I stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked whatever heavenly power had been kind enough to arrange this. Then I walked over to Joe’s table.

LINK TO PART TWO