I greatly appreciate KC’s role as beta. Her feedback is entertainment in itself.

This is an AR story dealing with how the Lancer men could have met.

This story was going to be about 20 pages long for a Lancer fanzine. It sort of grew a bit! Two whole chapters (Scott’s long conversation with Murdoch as to why he was left in Boston) were inserted after the beta process and were a result of WIP readers wanting some of the story to consider Scott’s viewpoint. I had been too focused on Johnny (can you blame me? vbg) to realize that Scott’s character would miss out if he did not clear the air with Murdoch.

About two years ago one of the writers prefaced her story with the words to The Eagles’ ‘Desperado’. I can never now hear this song without thinking of the loneliness Johnny Madrid experienced in his life. Then while stuck in a traffic jam the other day listening to the radio, I finally (after hearing it hundreds of times) actually listened to the lyrics of Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”. While a more modern and urban analogy, it epitomises the solitude of Johnny’s life pre-Lancer before he found his family, particularly his brother Scott.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams (“El Boulevar de los Suenos Rotos”) by Green Day

“I walk the lonely road

The only one that I have ever known

Don’t know where it goes

But it’s home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Where the city sleeps

And I’m the only one and I walk alone

I walk alone

I walk alone

I walk alone

I walk a …

My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me

My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating

Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me

‘Til then I walk alone …”

Feedback is always welcome.

Chapter One

Johnny trudged wearily through the parched countryside. His saddle weighed heavily on his shoulder and he hefted it, hoping to reposition it more comfortably on his aching frame. He had been walking for three hours now, he guessed. On cresting the last rise, he had spied a road in the distance and was making his way there purposefully. Just maybe there would be some passing wagons and he would be able to hitch a lift.

Heat radiating off the brown stubble covering the landscape shimmied a stultifying dance.  It beckoned him forward, but provided no solace from the relentless sun. He stopped, removed his hat and wiped his brow with his forearm. His canteen hung from the pommel of his saddle so he unwound the strings, uncorked it and put it to his lips. While far from refreshing, at least the tepid water was wet.

He stood, trying to get his bearings from the map he had imprinted in his mind, a replica of a map he had seen at a telegraph office three days ago. That road ahead should do the trick in his opinion. He took another gulp, winced, organised his gear and set out again. Twenty minutes later, a cloud of dust on the tree-dotted   horizon appeared to vindicate his choice of direction.

Hurrying a little, his coat in his left hand and saddle now under his right arm, he covered the last of the flat at a fast shamble and fairly scampered up the embankment to the road. The jangling of harnesses and the clomping of horses’ hooves thudding rhythmically on the hard track increased in volume before reaching a crescendo. Hailing the approaching stage, he was relieved, and a little surprised, to see that the team was reined in before him. The four brown horses came to a dusty stop just in front of him, waiting patiently as they enjoyed the unexpected rest.

He stood to one side, and casually enquired, “You going to Morro Coyo?”

“Unless I’m lost.”

“Mind if I get a lift?”

The stage driver looked at him, taking in his gun worn so low on his hip.

“Sure. We’ll take care of that gun of yours.”

Johnny paused, noting the shotgun trained at him by the co-driver. Johnny looked down at his rig and licked his lips in annoyance at having to hand over his gun. This gun that could become an extension of his arm in a fluid transformation too fast for the eye to detect. A pang of dismay hit him in the gut, but he could not expect a ride and ignore the request. With resignation, he removed it by the butt, hefted it once in the air before catching it, then handed it up to the driver and his guard.

He hoisted his saddle up on top of the stage, behind the driver, quickly checking that it seemed snugly placed and unlikely to fall off once the stage began rocking in earnest. A word of thanks and he opened the door to clamber in. A swift glance told him that the stage was full and that his presence would create a crush, squashing them all. To his right sat what could be a married couple. Well, he could hardly plonk himself in between, so he opted to squeeze himself onto the bench seat on the left. Not wanting to be rude enough to take the window seat from either man, the middle seemed the only logical option. He had only just manoeuvred his derrière into a hovering position above the seat when the stage took off with a lurch. For every action, Johnny found out that there was, indeed, an equal and opposite reaction. As the stage leapt forward, he was propelled backwards, awkwardly landing on the lap of a poker faced, dandified gent.

The priest to his left moved over a fraction, but the prim gentleman could only squirm a little in his endeavours to extricate his body from beneath its invader. He was not entirely successful, no stage ever seeming to sit three abreast comfortably.

Johnny nodded to the occupants, rapidly noting their reactions, then turned to the toff. The repugnance on his face was unmistakable and was therefore like waving a red rag to a bull. Johnny felt like he’d earned a little fun.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to mess up your outfit,” he offered, theatrically brushing off imaginary dust, which just might have been transferred from him to the immaculate suit of his travelling companion.

A muttered comment, sounding like an unconvincing ‘Can’t be helped’, reached Johnny. A boring journey could be livened up some if he could stir that formal gent up just right. Johnny managed to lean a little closer into the man. It was quite unnecessary, as there was a tiny space between him and the priest, but what the heck.

Out of habit, Johnny quickly sized up the other travellers. The couple facing him were a sober faced pair, both in dark travelling outfits. He was not quite sure whether they were a couple or not. The priest wore the customary long brown robe of the clergy, along with a skullcap. He sat quite contentedly, fingering a rosary as the miles went past.

Just the fancy dandy seemed to stand out from the group. He wore a snug fitting brown suit, but what struck Johnny most was his taste in frilly shirts. There were frills at both cuffs, as well as around his stiff neck, which was further constricted by a red bow tie. His red coat collar was co-ordinated immaculately with this colourful bow tie. One fine dude, indeed. He was the only fair haired person present. His ash blond hair vibrated with flashes of gold as the sun’s rays broke through the trees and reached his head next to the window.

It was this very passenger who broke the silence. “It looks like you’ve been on the road for some time.”

Johnny turned his face to regard the man more fully. He had a feeling that this was a polite way of saying that he was smelly.

“Yeah. Guess you could say that.”

There was a brief silence as the two strangers eyed each other.

“I guess you’re from a ways off, too?” Johnny in turn asked.

“Why do you think that?” the blond asked.

Johnny smirked. “Well, I ain’t never seen an outfit quite like yours before. So proper and stiff like. It don’t look like a man could properly breathe wearing something like that.”

The haughty look did not waver and the forthcoming reply was volleyed back without missing a beat. “And I’ve never seen an outfit quite like yours before, either. So … colourful, I guess is the word I am looking for. And it doesn’t look like a man could have enough hours in the day and still have enough time to get all those studs done up.”

The silence within the stage was profound. The clanking and jangle of the harnesses, the clomping of the horses’ hooves and the jolting of the stage were muted as the two men digested each other’s comments. The tension was broken by Johnny’s smile of acknowledgement.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to make a pact not to borrow each other’s clothes.”

The blond could not resist a tug at the sides of his mouth as he responded, “That seems inordinately sensible.”

The priest joined the conversation, looking at Johnny. “Where have you come from?”

“Down south.” Johnny was not used to sharing details with strangers. The less said the better.

The priest continued. “Why were you carrying a saddle when you have no horse?”

Johnny sighed. He was in no mood for any inquisition. “My horse went lame.”

The man opposite interjected. “So you shot him?”

Johnny’s cold look pierced the man, who visibly shrank back into the seat. He appeared to want to seep through into the leather of the backrest if possible, in order to escape that frosty stare.

Johnny leant forward, one arm braced on his knee. He breathed icily at the man in the dark suit, menace cloaking each word. “Now, what makes you think that?”

“Nothing, mister!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“The way you wear your gun, I suppose,” the man offered uneasily.

“Since when did that mean that a man would destroy an otherwise perfectly good animal?” The ice was now brittle.

The man squirmed. “I guess it doesn’t,” he squeaked.

“That’s right.” Johnny sat up. “I’m glad we got that settled.” He nodded his end to the conversation.

He attempted to wiggle his back so he could sit more comfortably, but his actions were interrupted by the priest, who did not seem to understand the hint that was obvious to them all: the newest passenger did not feel like talking.

“What brings you to these parts?” the priest queried.

Johnny glanced at him. His feelings about religion could be tumultuous, but he could not bring himself to ignore the man.

His reply was succinct. “A business deal.”

The priest nodded.

Johnny did not miss the priest’s eyes dropping to Johnny’s now empty holster. He did not miss Fancy Dan also checking out his empty rig.

Johnny’s eyes swivelled to the man on his right. Two pairs of blue eyes met. Both cool, both assessing, both unflinching. Both similar, yet both different.

“That all right with you?” Johnny challenged the young man.

A blond eyebrow rose and a dip of the head followed.

The priest was persistent in his endeavours to create a conversation to relieve the tedium. He did not seem capable of gauging the mood and demeanour of his companions very well, however.

“What about you?” he asked the blond. “What brings you to this country?”

“Business … family business,” was all that was proffered.

The lady chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the feelings of the reticent gentlemen seated opposite her.

“And where are you from?”

"From back east, Ma’am. Boston, Massachusetts.”

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed in wonder. “That’s such a long way away. How long have you been travelling?”

“Nearly two weeks. The railway crossing was just over a week.”

“Oh, how wonderful to come from somewhere so civilized! I’ve never been east of Stockton! I bet things are a lot different there!”

“Indeed, Ma’am, they are.”

“Just how are they different?” The lady was fascinated, waiting with bated breath to hear about this so distant lifestyle.

“Well, more of the streets are cobbled or paved, many buildings are made of brown stone or bricks rather than wood or adobe. Some streets are lit with gas lamps at night time. People don’t go about wearing side arms as a matter of course, and clothing, well, that has already been discussed.”

This last comment was accompanied by an angling of his head in Johnny’s direction, a slight smirk dangling off the edges of his lips.

The little he divulged had her hanging on every word.

“And I heard that there is live theatre and opera!” 

Her eyes sparkled with longing thoughts of a far off glamour not present in life out west. “And do you go to these spectacles very often?”

“Several times a month.”

The lady’s hands clasped to her bouncing bosom. “Oh, that must be thrilling!”

A snigger of derision from Johnny caused the easterner to turn to the source of the interruption, eyebrows raised quizzically. “I didn’t quite catch what you said,” he prompted. While a statement, it begged a response.

Johnny spread his hands as a gesture of negation. “Nothin’. I guess I’m just jealous that I’ve spent my whole life missing out on such thrilling events. Seems like I’ve been hard done by.”

Johnny maintained his steady gaze, but thought that he detected humour in the eyes of the Bostonian. He perceived the man composing a reply, but the unexpected slowing down of the stage drew their attention to the window.

Nothing could be seen at first, but the boulders to either side of the road caused that familiar frisson to travel up Johnny’s spine. The coach came to a stand still, as Johnny urged the occupants to get down on the floor away from the windows. He cursed his lack of firearm. Crouching low, he not only looked forward, but peered around in all directions trying to ascertain the extent of any danger facing them.

To Johnny’s surprise, the easterner did not cower down like the others, but was also endeavouring to decipher the origin of the interruption to their journey. The stranger in question abruptly asked, “See anything?”

“Yeah. Two men in front, with weapons drawn.”

Johnny was surprised further when the man commented rather impatiently, “Besides them! My guess is that there are more behind the boulders or up on that rise.” He had not thought that this man would have it in him to think laterally and see beyond the obvious.

“Nope, nothing besides them, but I have to agree. They are likely to have backup.”

Voices came to them from outside. “Throw that gun down real easy. Don’t get sudden!”

The clunk of what they presumed to be the guard’s shotgun could be heard hitting the dirt.

“OK! Put the brake on and tie off the reins!”

Silence reigned. It appeared as though these directions were being complied with.

“Now, get down! Both of you on this side!”

Noises of boots scraping on the side of the coach were easily discernible.

“Now, get over here!”

Sounds of boots scuffling in the dirt and some muttered curses were followed by determined footsteps marching to the stage door. The footsteps heralded the appearance of a man. What he lacked in cleanliness and dress standards, he made up for in aggression. His rifle was aimed steadily in the direction of the group in the coach. Leering anticipation cloaked his face.

“Your turn. Get out one at a time, slow and easy. Hands in the air so I can see ‘em!”

The occupants looked at each other, trying to find some comfort in their fellow passengers’ eyes. The priest descended first, then turned to assist the lady down the stairs. Her husband, or mere fellow seat occupant, followed. Johnny had not bothered to discover if there was any relationship between them, his conversation not having strayed that way.

The two remaining captives looked at each other. With a deep breath and a quirk of his eyebrows, the blond made the next move to leave the coach. Johnny followed, his mind clawing desperately for some sort of action plan.

The passengers were herded to one side. Like cattle to the slaughter, Johnny thought.

They all complied with the direction given, not really being able to do any different. Johnny was able to get his first sustained look at their assailants. The two men were both in their late twenties, both as scruffy and disreputable looking as the other.  Their clothes were filthy, bearing witness to long days on the trail without the amenity of a bathhouse. Both faces needed a shave, but even that would not improve their looks any. They were hard, malicious faces. They were faces bent on following their own agenda, without consideration to anyone else except for what they could get from other people. What they could get by fair means or foul. Mostly foul.

Johnny had seen their type too often before. No soul to offer any hope. No conscience to give someone an even break. No future except in hell. The worst type of person to come up against, as they possessed a tunnel vision which could not be rerouted. Minds beyond reasoning.  Immediate goals, which met their short term desires.

If they were to stand a chance, Johnny felt they needed to do something soon. But what? He couldn’t see him being able to trust any of the passengers to watch his back or to cotton on to any plan he hatched, with maybe the exception of the easterner. There was something beneath the surface of that man which contradicted his ostensibly foppish exterior. 

Johnny’s mind was racing, but even as he churned over various plots in his mind, a third man appeared from the boulders nearby. His rifle was aimed and steady. Aimed at them. He had obviously been watching the backs of the other two. Now he appeared, weighting the opposition further in favour of the bandits.

Johnny cursed silently. The odds of them getting out of this were even worse now.

The newcomer was a Mexican. About Johnny’s height, he wore the Mexican style of clothes favoured by Johnny. The conchos on the side of his pants flashed in the sun. His red embroidered shirt was tucked loosely into the waistband of his pants, and he wore an extra ammunition belt slung diagonally over one shoulder. His black hat was round, rather than oval shaped, but nowhere near as big as a sombrero. It, too, flashed silver as the studs around the hatband reflected the sun’s rays.

The Mexican guarded them, while the two gringos began hauling bags off the top of the coach. They rifled through the belongings, ransacking the contents quickly. Once completed, they stood up, both spitting mouthfuls of expletives. They looked at each other in fury, then turned their rage on the coach driver. One of them grabbed the unfortunate man by the shirtfront.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The payroll!”

“What payroll?” he asked, his voice quivering in marked fear.

“The one for the mine! It was supposed to be on this coach,” he was informed.

“Yes, it was, but it wasn’t ready, so it was going to be loaded on the next coach.” The driver’s reply was simply unacceptable to the highwaymen.

“Liar! Where is it?”

“I’m telling you the truth, Mister! We don’t have no payroll on board!”

The two thieves looked at each other. “Come on, Joe, let’s check this coach a bit more carefully!”

The driver was thrust aside as the grip on his shirt was released.  He rubbed his neck, sweat pouring from his face, consternation emanating from his being in waves.

The second search was lengthier and more thorough, but still yielded no treasure. The efforts of the bandits became more frantic and rough as the realization struck home that there would be no loot to abscond with.

It was the thief named Joe who slammed his fist into the side of the coach. “Dammit!” he hollered in defeat. He hung his head, but only for a second. A decision was made. His head snapped up and he marched over to the stagecoach guard. The man was hauled unceremoniously away from the group and pushed as he was released. The push sent him forward onto his knees. Throwing his hands in front, he prevented himself from falling flat on his face. He made to get up, but was stilled when the cocking of a gun resounded in his ear.

Joe turned towards the driver. “For the last time, where’s the money?”

“Honest! There ain’t none! We can’t give you nothin’!”

“That’s a pity.”

With that, the trigger was pulled. The defenceless man had no chance. He jerked and yelped in anguish as the bullet hit. He then swayed before slowly leaning over and collapsing onto the ground. A pool of blood stained the earth beneath him as the leg wound bled profusely.

Utter silence followed the reverberation of the bullet leaving the gun. The group was transfixed, staring at the gory scene in front of them. The priest crossed himself and began muttering prayers, then the first sound was heard. The woman screamed. A shrill, terrified scream that lanced through their ears and continued in a new wave to wash over and through them.

“Shut up!” Joe’s companion turned his gun on her, threatening to mete out the same punishment.

“Hey! Easy! She didn’t mean nothing. She’s in shock,” Johnny attempted to placate their captors. As he spoke, he noticed the blond put an arm around her and talk soothingly to her in an effort to quieten the distressed woman. Her screams had stopped, but her sobs were loud and raw. Fortunately, she was now ignored, but he had drawn attention to himself.

The Mexican approached him, a sneer etched into his face. “Well, mestizo, what’s the lady to you?” Johnny did not miss the emphasis on the second word.

“Nothing. She don’t mean no harm to you, that’s all,” he answered softly so as not to anger him any more than necessary.

“You like white women, do you? Or by the looks of you did your papa like white women? So what’s your story? Your papa find a white whore to suit his needs or was your mama only too happy to have a white Gringo’s seed planted in her?”

Johnny clenched his jaw so tight he thought it would snap. Anger, white hot anger, slashed through him. Madrid came to his aid, providing the familiar mask behind which he could hide his fury and hurt from these cruelly vicious eyes.

“You gonna answer me?”

Johnny was not prompted again. The Mexican leaned forward and spat in Johnny’s face. The globule of spit hung for a second before beginning its descent further down his cheek. Johnny detected an abrupt movement from the corner of his eye. As Johnny wiped his face on his left sleeve, he simultaneously grabbed hold of the Boston man’s arm with his right hand. His grasp was fiercely strong and stopped the Easterner completing his ill-conceived action.

Johnny glanced briefly in his direction. “Don’t worry on my account. It ain’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

He then returned his eyes to the Mexican standing before him, Johnny’s complacent stare seeming to ignite the Mexican’s ire. As the thug made a move, to do what Johnny did not find out, his compadres called him over.

Their attackers spoke quietly, but heatedly, to each other. An agreement was reached.

Joe turned his attention to the motley group again. “Hand over your valuables! Nate, use this hat.” Joe handed Nate the co-driver’s hat, while the other two men kept watch, guns trained and ready.

The priest had nothing bar a small money pouch dangling from his belt. Nate was clearly disappointed. “Hell, padre, it don’t look like you even got enough on you to buy us a beer!”

He turned to the man who had been sitting opposite Johnny. Not the lady’s husband, Johnny had now decided, as he had made no attempt to comfort her, that duty having fallen to the Bostonian. The man yielded a small wallet containing a few bills only and a silver fob watch. The woman passed over her bag with trembling hands. Nate seized her left wrist. “Give me that, too!” he ordered, gesturing to her wedding band.

"Oh, no! I never take it off!”

“You will today, lady! Get a move on or I’ll shoot your finger off!”

She jumped at his callousness, then hastily tried to comply, twisting and turning it until it gradually slid over her knuckles.  It was added to the booty in the hat.

Johnny was next. He gave them what little he had and it was plain that the scant pickings from him fed their antagonism. The last victim was the blond. His billfold was beautifully crafted. Soft leather tooled with finely embossed patterns. Nate seized it and his eyes lit up at the size of the wad of cash.

“Whooee! Looks like we got ourselves a rich fella!” he gloated with glee.

Joe’s interest was piqued. “Yeah?  What’s your name?”

“Scott.”

“Scott who?”

“… Garrett.”

Joe thumbed through the wallet contents opening out several pieces of paper. He read slowly, then stopped and stared. 

“Well, fellas, it looks like we hit pay dirt!” he exclaimed. “Come and get a look at this!”

The other two robbers approached, still covering the group with their rifles. Glancing at the latter, sly smiles spread over their faces like a contagion further contaminating an infection.

Joe approached Scott. “Looks like we don’t need no mine payroll after all. You’ll do nicely. If your pa is as loving and anxious to see you as he says in that letter, he’ll pay up. He’ll pay up good to make sure that this here reunion he’s talking about actually takes place. We’ve heard of him and his spread.”

Joe’s sneer sent a shiver down Johnny’s spine. He knew the odds of this man’s father getting his son back safe and well, even if he did pay up. Johnny cast a glance at his travelling companion, the man he now knew to be called Scott. Scott stood ramrod straight, his face devoid of expression. But Johnny noted that that same face was white and pinched. He realized that Scott was quick enough on the uptake to understand that his chances of survival were slim.

“We’ll take him with us. Tie him up!”

“We ain’t got enough horses, Joe,” complained Nate.

Joe stopped, thinking. “We can take one of them coach horses and use that saddle that was on top of the stage.”

Scott was seized roughly and hauled away from the group. As Scott’s hands were tied, Johnny was thinking furiously, but he saw no way to take on the three of them when he was unarmed.

One of the horses was unhitched and the saddle placed on its back. It was skittish and unhappy, making life awkward for the men. Once the saddle was in place, Scott was ordered into the saddle. His hands were further bound to the pommel, making it impossible for him to direct the horse. The reins were taken up by one of the bandits, and his horse led behind the others.

Scott locked eyes with Johnny as he passed. Johnny felt like he had let this man down. Let him down badly. And for some reason, he felt that if the situation had been reversed, Scott would have done his utmost to assist him.

The outlaws left in single file. The stranded group could do nothing but watch them silently until they disappeared behind a hillside and were lost to view.

Chapter Two

Galvanized into action, Johnny checked out the wounded man, who was coming to and moaning softly. He ripped the trouser leg and checked for an exit wound. Satisfied that the bullet had gone right through, he then asked the driver if there was any alcohol on board.

The driver was evasive, until Johnny leapt to his feet and grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket. Johnny brought his face menacingly close to him, hissing ferociously.

“Let’s get something straight. There is a wounded man lying at your feet in agony. That wound is likely to get infected. I need some alcohol to clean the wound and I don’t give two hoots whether you have whiskey on board for ‘medicinal’ purposes. I ain’t about to tell your boss. Get it and get it now!”

At the last word, Johnny thrust the man from him, contempt on his face.

Johnny turned to the others. “Find me some clothes you can tear up to make bandages,” he instructed.

The driver located a canteen under the seat and swiftly brought it down to Johnny.

Johnny glared at the canteen thrust at him. “I said whiskey!” Johnny complained.

“It is. I pour it in the canteen so no one knows.”

Johnny just shook his head slowly. He was not impressed at the careless attitude of the driver to his responsibilities, but ironically glad that the whiskey was indeed at hand.

Warning the man that he was going to feel his injury sting, Johnny poured some liberally over both the entry and exit sites.

Taking the makeshift bandages, he efficiently bound up the man’s leg. “That’s all I can do for the moment,” Johnny stated, as the man murmured his thanks.

Standing, Johnny quickly surveyed the scene. “I am going after them. I’ll take one of the horses. Which one would be the best to try riding bareback?” This last question was addressed to the driver.

“Well, you could try this one, but what do you want to go and follow them for? We’re well rid of them, I’d say,” whined the driver.

Johnny turned on him, clasping the back of his neck as he dragged him closer. “Because, while it may have escaped your notice, they have taken one of your passengers with them! He doesn’t stand a chance unless someone does something to try to help.”

In disgust, Johnny pushed the man away. “Are there any weapons they didn’t find?”

“No, they raided the strongbox and took our shotgun as well.”

“Damn!” Johnny swore.

Turning, he snatched a canteen from the driver’s seat. He held it up, a silent query clearly evident on his face.

“Yeah, that one’s got water in it,” the stage driver confirmed.

Next, Johnny unhitched the horse, hoisting himself on its back.

“If that wound of his keeps bleeding, you are going to have to use a tourniquet. Just remember to loosen it every fifteen minutes or he’ll end up losing the limb.”

Johnny nodded grimly at the group and set out after the kidnappers.

Heat shimmered off the ground’s surface and mirages beckoned him on to false promises of a watery paradise ahead. The blurred horizon was always too far and his quarry was always out of reach.

At first the going was easy as there had been no attempt to disguise the tracks, but as time wore on, Johnny had to draw on all his skills to stay on their tails. Towards dusk his instincts kicked in as that familiar tingling at the back of his neck began nudging his senses.

Dismounting before the next rise, he tied the horse up under a tree. He stood still to listen, ears straining for any unusual sound. Only the odd bird call was evident. Nothing else. He edged his way up the hill, taking cover behind clumps of bushes and rock outcrops.

He smelt their presence first. Smoke from a camp fire wafted his way. It was barely discernible, but definitely indicating a camp nearby. Johnny inched his way forward to a group of boulders. Squatting behind them, his senses were on alert. He knew they were close, but were they all together? He peeked around the boulder to his right and edged carefully further along. Then he saw it. Ahead was a clearing, a flat piece of land encircled by the odd tree and various rock formations. He couldn’t quite make out where everyone was positioned, so he decided that circling the camp in ever decreasing spirals would help him ascertain the bandits’ whereabouts. He did not want to get closer, only to find that he had missed someone on the perimeter who could sneak up on him from behind.

He continued at a painstakingly slow pace around to the right. After ten minutes he was rewarded by finding the remuda. The horses were there, nickering to each other, but not overly concerned at his approach. He noted that all the animals were accounted for.

Just as he was about to push on, he caught a movement. One of the men, Nate it seemed, was checking on the horses. Johnny watched, then, as a plan hit him, he manoeuvred himself into position. With the utmost care, Johnny withdrew his boot knife, then gradually crept noiselessly forward. A mountain lion could do well to study his actions, so light-footed and graceful was his advance.

Johnny surged confidently, one hand around the man’s mouth, the other at his neck with the knife. He whispered his instructions clearly. “Face that tree with your hands over your head. Move in any other way or speak and nothing will stop this knife from greeting your innards!”

The man had frozen at Johnny’s appearance. He moved to comply, shuffling forwards slowly to the tree trunk. It was as he made to put his hands on the trunk above his head that he reacted. His elbow to Johnny’s ribs was sudden. Johnny cursed his stupidity in wanting to catch the men alive and dispense with bloodshed.

The two grappled and fell to the ground, rolling over and over. Panting and grunting, they both fought for control of the knife. Johnny ended up pinioned under the other man. Nate grasped Johnny’s hand and twisted it downwards towards Johnny’s neck. They were virtually motionless as the knife hovered above Johnny’s face, the only movement being the quivering of their arms as each tried to overpower the other. Somehow, Johnny kicked his legs, giving him some leverage to roll over once more, this time with Nate ending up underneath him. As the movement ceased, Johnny took advantage of a weakening of Nate’s resistance. He pushed hard and the small, but lethal, knife penetrated the bandit’s chest. Nate jerked suddenly, sucking in air and then gurgling. His face registered surprise as he looked at Johhny. Eyes glazing over, his head lolled to one side and he lay still.

Johnny removed himself from over Nate’s body and sat back on his haunches. After a moment, he checked to make sure he really was dead, then withdrew his knife and wiped it on the man’s pant leg. Replacing it in his boot sheath, Johnny stared at his victim. Killing never got any easier for him. Bile rose in his throat and he found himself abruptly turning to dry retch. It had been so close as well. It could easily have been him lying dead in the dirt with no one to mourn his passing.

A few gulps of calming fresh air and Johnny took stock. He dragged the body out of sight, then reached for the man’s gun. After checking that the weapon was loaded, Johnny crept surreptitiously to the edge of the campsite. He paused behind a boulder and studied the scene before him.

The two robbers turned kidnappers were sitting side by side next to the fire. They were talking quietly and passing around a whiskey bottle. Unexpectedly, Joe stood and swaggered over to Scott, who was bound with his back to a tree on the edge of the camp and only half visible in the firelight. He stood over his prisoner, then bent to offer him a drink of the alcohol. Just as the bottle was about to reach Scott’s lips, he pulled it away and laughed raucously at some joke only obvious in his own imagination.

“So, how much do you reckon your daddy will pay up to have you returned to him? He sure seems to be looking forward to seeing you.”

Scott’s lack of answer cost him. He received a savage kick in the ribs which he could do nothing to prevent with his hands bound behind him. The thud of the booted foot on the man’s body sickened Johnny.

“When I speak to you, you will answer! Do you hear me, boy?” thundered an enraged Joe. “I asked you how much you think we can get out of your old man? That ranch must be worth a pretty penny.”

Scott was bent over groaning and gasping. He straightened his body slowly and looked his aggressor in the eye. Stoically, he panted a reply. “I really don’t know how much it is worth and I think you’ll find that whatever it is, I am simply not worth that much to him!”

Scott’s disdain enraged Joe further.  Joe drew his leg back to kick him viciously again. Johnny flew into action before the kick could connect. He drew on the man, who dropped immediately as two bullets struck him, then he swivelled to aim for the Mexican. Too late, unfortunately, for the Mexican was firing deliberately at the prisoner. Scott grunted a split second before Johnny heard a cry, followed by a curse, from the Mexican. His opponent moved swiftly. A bullet whizzed past Johnny and had him ducking for cover, while the man disappeared into the inky blackness beyond the fire.

Johnny hesitated between going after him and seeing to the prisoner. He was loath to leave the wounded man tied up like a sitting duck, but felt he needed to find out just where the enemy was lurking. He moved through the lightly wooded area, stealthily progressing and attempting to gauge the man’s whereabouts. Too late, he heard the horses whinny, then the sound of hooves receding in the night.

‘Dammit!’

Johnny had wanted to take two of the horses and tie them up elsewhere, while setting the rest free, but had not done so for fear of creating a ruckus. He had not wanted to draw attention to his actions as he didn’t know if there were just the three bandits at the campsite or whether they had linked up with other gang members. Now he would pay for it with one of the men running free. He could only hope he had wounded the man and wounded him badly enough to remove any further threat to them.

Johnny returned carefully to the campsite, taking pains to prudently check that the Mexican had not double backed to bushwhack them. Satisfied that all appeared safe, he swiftly made his way to Scott, who was slumped against the tree trunk. The Easterner was moaning softly, head lolling to one side and face grimacing in pain.

“Hey, Scott? Come on, buddy, let me get you untied.”

Scott did not respond to him. Johnny seized his knife and cut through the tight bonds. As they gave, Scott’s body sagged further. Johnny caught him gently.

“I got ya,” he soothed. As he lay him down on his back, he noticed Scott’s eyes on him.

Scott groaned and whispered, “You came after them. Why?”

“Well, I don’t take kindly to stage coaches being held up and schedules getting delayed. Besides, they took my saddle!” Johnny explained.

The stranger regarded him. His eyes were surprisingly clear and perceptive for someone in so much pain. Johnny had the distinct impression that this man saw right through him. His subterfuge had been seen for what is was.

Pain pulling at his mouth did not prevent the Bostonian both from using his manners and speaking from the heart. “Thank you.”

Johnny held his gaze a moment longer, then broke it as he began to check his wound.

“I’m gonna need to check this out and see how you’re doing, OK?”

Scott nodded grimly.

Johnny undid his shirt. The wound looked gruesome. It still oozed fresh blood, but crusts of already drying blood were spread over his shoulder and down his torso. His shirt and jacket were stiff and sticky with blood. Keeping his face impassive, Johnny explained that he would need to lift him and roll him over a little.

“Checking for an exit site, huh?” grunted Scott.

Johnny was a little surprised. He didn’t think that this man would even know that bullets left an exit wound, which was often worse than the entry point.

“Yeah. This’ll hurt a little,” he warned him.

Johnny handled him as gently as he could. Checking the back, he noticed no further holes.

‘Damn!’

"Nothing, I gather?”

Johnny looked at Scott and shook his head. “No, nothing.”

“Uh huh.” Scott nodded in comprehension.

“Just let me get something to put on the wound. Be back in a second.”

Johnny went to Joe’s dead body. He reached for his shirt and tore a large section off it. He then quickly returned to the injured man. Wadding up the material, he pressed down on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry this is none too clean, but there ain’t no other choice,” Johnny apologized.

“That’s fine.”

“Now, what I’m gonna do is go check their saddle bags and see what I can find. Can you hold that on your shoulder for a minute?”

Scott murmured his understanding as Johnny left to check as briefly as he could on the saddles and saddlebags. He was back in a few moments.

“Now, I haven’t found a great deal, but there are some more shirts in here that we can use for bandages. I also found some whiskey.” Johnny looked down at Scott. He saw pain in his eyes, but he also noticed the sharp intelligence. For a city slicker, this man was a host of contradictions. Johnny knew that Scott knew what Johnny was going to say next. It was evident in his eyes even before Johnny spoke.

“I’m going to have to get that bullet out. It’s lodged in there somewhere and if I leave it in there, infection will set in. Do you understand?”

”Yes, I thought as much.”

Johnny explained what he was going to do, but even so, he felt that explanations were superfluous. This stranger was surprisingly aware of the realm of bullet wounds. It seemed incongruous to Johnny, but he didn’t have time to figure it out just then.

“So, I’m gonna have to clean the wound, wash it out and get that bullet. And it’s gonna hurt some. Sorry I ain’t got no painkiller. We’ll have to make do with the whiskey. All right?”

Scott merely nodded, his mouth set in a straight line.

As Johnny prepared for the makeshift operation, he was aware of Scott’s eyes on him, taking in every detail of his movements.

Firstly, Johnny collected as much wood as he could so he could stoke up the fire and provide more light to see by. He also set up a pan with water in it to boil.

Next Johnny washed his hands as best he could in the warmed water. He set his knife on a rock next to the campfire so that it would heat and become as sterile as he could make it. He then washed the wounds with the lightest of hands, but still Scott jerked away from his touch.

“Sorry,” Scott muttered.

“That’s all right. Believe me, I know that this ain’t no fun.”

Johnny wiped dried and excess blood away. Unfortunately, his actions had started the bleeding again. He pressed a relatively clean piece of shirt on the site. Taking Scott’s hand, he moved it so Scott could press on it himself.

“Now keep some pressure there while I finish getting ready. He made sure that he had enough shirts torn into strips to use as bandages and placed them on a jacket found in one of the saddlebags.

Lastly, Johnny turned to Scott. “I think you might need a bit of this. Probably not the quality you are used to, but it was the best I could do.”

Lifting Scott’s head, he poured the liquor sparingly into Scott’s mouth. When Scott indicated that he had had enough, Johnny urged one more gulp.

“Take some more. I’m telling you, you’ll need it.”

Johnny poured whiskey over the knife, making sure to cover both sides of the blade.

“You ready?” Johnny asked.

Scott shook his head. “Your name. I don’t know your name.”

“Johnny.”

“Johnny. OK, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Here, place this in your mouth and bite down on it,” Johnny commanded, handing him a tight wad of cloth. “Ready?”

Scott nodded yet again this night.

Liberal amounts of whiskey poured onto Scott’s wound saw him recoil. A muffled groan emanated from his mouth. Johnny reached over him with the knife. Scott’s stoic acceptance of his fate unnerved him somewhat. He hoped that he could get that bullet out fast without dragging out the man’s agony.

Johnny continued to explain the procedure he was following. “I’m just gonna have to sit astride you so you don’t move unexpectedly on me and cause more damage. Try to stay as still as you can.”

He placed the tip of the blade into the wound, and as expected the man bucked and gave a stifled yelp.

“Stay still!” Johnny ordered.

His patient squeezed his eyes shut and tensed, but stayed miraculously still and relatively silent. Johnny probed and swore under his breath when he couldn’t locate the lead bullet. A suppressed moan emanated from the injured man as Johnny’s ministrations continued. Finally, Johnny felt contact with the metal. Gouging deeper, he sank the blade under the bullet and levered it to the surface. Scott groaned again and twisted as far as the weight of Johnny’s body would allow. Perspiration beaded his forehead, but he finally lay back exhausted when the invasion into his body ceased. Scott spat out the gag he had been biting on. His breaths came in ragged pants as he sought to recover from the pain that had been inflicted upon him.

Johnny glanced at Scott’s face. As quickly as he could, he irrigated the wound with water. Then, he paused. “Scott, I need to pour some more whiskey on. It really does a great job of cleaning it, but it’s gonna hurt.”

Scott opened his eyes and sought Johnny’s. “OK. I’m ready.”

Johnny acted fast. This man had suffered enough. And he had suffered bravely. A stifled groan was bitten back as the easterner concentrated on staying still and coping with the onslaught of fresh agony.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a needle and thread. You need a few stitches, but I can’t do nothing about it just yet.”

Scott opened his eyes again and focussed on Johnny. “I know. Can’t be helped.”

Johnny smiled at him. “Seems I’ve heard those words already today.”

Surprisingly, his wounded patient smiled back. Johnny was impressed by this man’s courage. An understated courage. Johnny had the feeling that he would like this man by his side if the chips were down.  And this feeling surprised him. Fancy Dan was a man who was not what he seemed. There was more to him. And Johnny could not help but like him for it.

Johnny made short work of organizing the bandages, addressing Scott as he spoke. “I’m going to have to lift you to wrap these bandages in place. I’m sorry if I hurt you in the process.”

Scott looked at him. His stare was unfathomable. “You do what you have to do.  And whatever that is, I am grateful.”

Johnny nodded, but did not speak. He leaned forward, putting his hands under Scott’s  shoulders. As gently as he could, he lifted him up. An ‘ooph’ escaped Scott’s lips. Johnny sat him up, but Scott did not have the strength to stay upright. He leaned forward onto Johnny’s chest, eyes flickering in disorientation.

Johnny paused for a moment before starting. Visible in the flickering firelight he could make out an old puckered scar. The disfigurement jarred with the image of the proper, protected dude.

Johnny wrapped the bandages around him awkwardly, but in the end he was finished. He tore the end of the strip down the middle and wound one half back the other way until it met with its other half. Johnny tied a knot, checked that the bandage was firm enough as well as being smooth, then ever so carefully laid Scott down.

He then hopped up. Fetching a bedroll which had been unrolled by one of the bandits, he brought it close to the fire and manoeuvred Scott onto it. Next he collected a blanket and wrapped it snugly around the wounded man.

“You need to drink to make up for the blood loss,” encouraged Johnny as he held a canteen to Scott’s dry lips.

Scott took several sips, but then turned his head away.

“No, that ain’t enough. You need more. Just take your time and sip it. We got all night.”

Scott was looking fatigued and Johnny insisted on forcing more water on him until he was satisfied that he had consumed sufficient for the time being.

Johnny laid him back down and considered this enigma. A foppish dandy on the outside, steel on the inside. And smart steel at that. This man had comprehended what was happening at the hold-up before it really happened.

Johnny reached for a pair of pants he found in one of the saddlebags. Folding it, he made a makeshift pillow for Scott. He worked his hand under his head and lifted it up fractionally so he could insert the clothing.

“Thank you,” murmured Scott.

‘Steel with manners’, Johnny thought.

Chapter Three

“So, how are you doing?” Johnny enquired.

“Not too bad,” answered Scott. “Thanks to you.”

“You’re welcome. It wasn’t your fault you got hurt. Don’t like to see an innocent man suffer, especially at the hands of scum like that.”

“What made you come after me? Or was it just the saddle you wanted?”

“Well, I’m mighty proud of that saddle. Otherwise I wouldn’t have lugged it for the last five miles before I came across the stage,” Johnny agreed.

Scott looked at him, knowingly. Johnny dropped his eyes.

Scott offered an observation. “You’re mighty quick with that gun,”

“Yeah, well it’s the quick and the dead where I come from.”

“Down south?”

Johnny smiled at him, in remembrance of their conversation on the coach. “Yeah.”

“Are you a gunfighter?”

“Yeah, gunfighter, gun hawk, pistolero. Take your pick.”

The Easterner nodded, but remained unimpressed.

“How about I see if I can find something for you to eat?” Johnny suggested.

Scott closed his eyes. A gasp escaped his lips. Johnny leaned forward, placing a hand on his good shoulder.

“Easy.”

Scott gritted his teeth and felt surprisingly comforted by this stranger’s touch. He opened his eyes and sought Johnny’s again. He nodded his appreciation.

Johnny left him, then. He stoked up the fire again and rummaged for some food in the saddlebags. He held his prizes up to Scott.  ”Hey! We got us some coffee and some jerky.” A moment later, he called out again. “I found some biscuits as well!” 

Johnny squatted by the fire and as he worked, he talked to Scott. He cut some jerky up and placed it in the water.

“There’s nothing like good jerky broth. Set you on your feet in no time. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Late morning, I think.”

“Well, you need something in your stomach.”

“To be honest, I don’t know if I could handle it,” Scott confessed.

Johnny turned to him, resting his forearms on his thighs. “You’re gonna have to. You need to keep your strength up. You lost a lot of blood and there’s a good chance your body will be struck by infection. I don’t wanna scare you none, but you probably ain’t never seen a bullet wound, and I’m telling you, they can cause some fearsome problems. The bullet wound itself can be relatively minor, but the infection can take a hold and be merciless. And it ain’t fussy about who it strikes.”

Johnny tensed as he perceived a colour change in Scott’s eyes. From blue grey, they turned dark and sombre. Haunted eyes where the ghosts still lingered, not having been laid to rest. He edged closer to Scott under the pretext of covering him up better. As he adjusted the blanket around his neck, he rested his hand on Scott’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I guess I called that wrong and spoke out of turn.”

Scott looked at him enquiringly, feigning ignorance, pretending to misunderstand Johnny’s intuition. But as he stared into his rescuer’s eyes, he saw that dissembling was of no use when dealing with this extraordinary man.

“I was in the war. I saw many bullet wounds.”

Johnny nodded sympathetically. “And a lot more, I’ll wager.”

Scott closed his eyes. Whether it was due to pain from the past or the present, Johnny was unsure. He was just about to leave him to his rest or to his memories, when Scott continued speaking. “Yes, bullet wounds, bayonet wounds, bodies mutilated by canon fire, amputations, starvation, betrayal. I guess you could say that I am no stranger to any of it.”

Johnny stayed stock still. It was not often that he was surprised by people, but this man seemed to constantly surprise him.

“You must have seen some sights that no man should ever see. I’m sorry. You seem to be a decent man. You shouldn’t have had to live through that.”

Scott surprisingly chuckled. “Yes, it was all quite different from my life in Boston.”  He then sobered, “I had seen men stabbing others in the back in business deals. Cutthroat paperwork. But I had never seen men do it to each other physically. Countryman against countryman. And they were so young. WE were so young”

There was a profound silence. Johnny noted the pain on the man’s face. He had a feeling it was memories, rather than the gunshot wound, which caused the tense lines marking his handsome face.

“If you were from Boston, and mighty rich at a guess, why were you in the war?”

“I suppose you could say that I felt an obligation.”

“An obligation to who?”

“An obligation to those who didn’t grow up with my advantages. To the slaves.”

“I’ll wager that not many other well-heeled men felt that same obligation.”

“Maybe not, but by the end the war I sure had a first hand understanding of what it was like to lose one’s freedom and to be treated as sub-human.”

“Were you taken prisoner?” Johnny ventured.

“Yes, I was captured. Spent a year in Libby prison.”

Johnny stiffened in surprise. But it all made sense.

“Is that where you got that scar on your back?”

Scott looked at him, nonplussed. They locked eyes, blue upon blue.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Why? Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. What happened?”

Scott sighed with the pain of remembering. “One of my men went crazy. He couldn’t take the incarceration any more. He just went beserk. He thought our soldiers were the enemy. I grabbed him so he wouldn’t hurt anyone and in the mêlée I was stabbed. He didn’t really register who I was. Anyone and everyone was the enemy for him by then.”

“So you were an officer?” Johnny surmised.

“Lieutenant.”

“I suppose I should salute before I speak to you, huh? You must have been pretty young to be a lieutenant?” queried Johnny.

Scott snorted. “Hell, everyone was young!”

Pain lanced through him, overcoming him as he moaned and curled on his side, drawing his legs up in agony.

Johnny washed a rag in some canteen water and wiped it over Scott’s face.

“Thanks. That feels good,” Scott panted.

“Any time. Can’t neglect my patient.”

Scott breathed deeply in order to regain his composure. He smiled thinly and studied this man. A contradiction if ever there was one. Gawdy, showy attire, and worn and dusty at that. A man who wore clothes to be noticed, but he was self-effacing at the same time. A brave man who would be a formidable opponent, yet who obviously had a gentle and kind heart. A man who hadn’t needed to come after him, yet he had risked his life to do so. For a stranger. For a stranger he may have even derided for his wealthy background. But he had done so. Scott knew the saddle didn’t come into it.

“So, why did you really come after me?” Scott asked.

Johnny played at stirring the jerky broth.

“Those men are no good varmints. You don’t deserve that. You seem decent.”

Johnny continued to concentrate on the jerky broth he was concocting.

Out of the blue, Scott asked a question which froze Johnny.

“Why did that Mexican spit on you? You are of Mexican descent, aren’t you? Why did he call you a ‘mestizo’?”

Johnny hunched his shoulders and even in Scott’s miserable state, he knew he had broached a forbidden topic. He could only imagine it was the pain that caused him to breech common etiquette. That, and the need to keep talking to hide that very pain.

“Sorry. It’s none of my business,” Scott apologized.

Johnny still had his back to him. Scott was surprised when Johnny answered. In fact, this man constantly seemed to surprise him.

“Racism ain’t confined to white people, you know. Many whites think that other races are beneath their contempt. They don’t like mixed marriages because it weakens the pure blood. Well, Mexicans, black people, Indians and Chinese don’t take it kindly when their own kind mix with whites. They don’t want no white blood tainting their race.”

Scott nodded his fledgling understanding.

“Well, you may have noticed that I have blue eyes. My mama was Mexican and my father was Gringo. That makes me a half-breed, a mestizo. So that means I don’t fit anywhere, at least not properly. I’m neither white, nor Mexican.”

Scott looked at him, aghast. Although he had fought in the war to end slavery, to condemn racism and to encourage freedom of choice, he had always approached his views as a white man, albeit one who promoted liberty. He had never thought that other races might consider the white man to be a lower class individual.

Johnny continued his explanation, a resigned mask settling on his features.

“The Mexicans don’t like mestizos because it means one of the parents had ‘relations’ with a Gringo. They don’t like to think that any woman would think that a Gringo was worth …um, going with, if you get my drift. Or it can mean that a Gringo forced himself on a Mexican woman. Or it worries them that a Mexican man might have preferred a white woman to a Mexican one. So, whatever the situation, nobody approves of the Gringo half.”

Here, Johnny snorted and gave a shake of his head. “Of course, the whites don’t like the thought that a white woman might choose a Mexican lover. Or they presume that a Mexican man raped a white woman and the lady was overpowered, with no say in the matter. Or yet again if a white man has relations with a Mexican woman and sows a few wild oats into the bargain, the resulting child is regarded as no more than a mistake to be gotten rid of.”

Johnny concentrated on the broth, then sighed deeply. “So, a mestizo, which is what I am, is accepted by no one and despised by both societies.”

Scott’s mouth gaped. He was appalled to the extent that he suddenly found his stomach retching in dismay and denial that mankind could be so cruel. He had seen it in wartime, but was horrified that this happened to Johnny in peacetime. And if he didn’t miss his guess, this had happened throughout this man’s life, from very early on in childhood.

Scott found himself held by Johnny as he retched foul bile. His stomach roiled and rebelled, then gradually settled to the calming litany of Johnny’s softly spoken voice.

Scott lay back, panting and perspiring. His wound felt like fire burning through his very being. Johnny wiped his face again, carefully.

“Settle down, hey amigo? Just relax and I’ll have this broth ready in a moment,” Johnny urged.

“Sorry,” Scott muttered.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a good puke. It happens to the best of us,” Johnny placated with a dazzling grin.

A weak grin was offered in return from Scott.

“I’m sorry for the way you have been treated. Was it like that all your life?”

Again, Johnny was quiet a moment. “Yeah, for as long as I can remember. I don’t suppose it was when I was a baby before my Mama left my father, but I’m not sure. He kicked us out, so maybe he couldn’t really cope with a half-breed son. Maybe it was all right having a Mexican woman, even a Mexican wife, but perhaps having a half Mexican son was harder than he thought. Maybe he found it too hard to hold his head up in the community, you know?”

At that, Johnny looked up. His piercingly blue eyes were matter-of-fact, accepting even. But this was on the outside. Scott felt certain that there was a world of hurt on the inside.

Scott locked eyes with this man who had risked his life to save a stranger. He had never felt so sure about a man as he did right now, yet he scarcely knew anything about him.

Scott could not withhold his thoughts about Johnny’s father. “More fool him. If he threw you out, I’d say it was his loss.”

Johnny’s smile was dazzling. The sort of smile that charmed and wooed. The smile of a man with a well-developed sense of humour. A smile that engaged the unwilling, that disarmed the antagonistic. A smile that made a person feel happy and calm.

“Thank you, but I got over that a long while ago. No sense in brooding,” Johnny asserted.

“Sorry, but I don’t believe you. Does a person ever really get over that?” Scott countered.

Johnny’s body jolted physically.

“A body HAS to get over that. No sense in wallowing in a past that you can’t change or yearning for a life that can never be. It’s a waste of energy.”

Scott pursued the subject doggedly. “So, how old were you when you were thrown out?”

“Two.”

Scott gasped in dismay. Who could do that to an innocent two year old?

“And you’ve never seen him since?”

”Nope.” Johnny gave assiduous attention to his cooking as he fielded these unremitting questions.

“What about YOUR pa?” Johnny deftly diverted the conversation.

“I’ve never met him.”

”But those bandits said that your pa was rich and would pay to get you back!”

“So they thought. I don’t know. I am actually going to meet my father for the first time. He has a ranch not too far from here.”

“So you grew up without your pa?”

Scott eyed him and sadly nodded.

Johnny’s irrepressible ability to see the good in any situation came to the fore again.

“Well, I guess you could say that we have something in common.” His grin was contagious. To Scott it acted like a medicine, chasing away sombre thoughts and ills.

Johnny persisted. “So your ma is from Boston?”

“Yes, but I was born here in California. She died giving birth to me.” Scott’s voice hitched. He had never known his mother and to be frank, he was somewhat dispassionate about her, never having any memories of her. Why the thought of her would distress him now, he didn’t know. But it did.

Again, his companion eased the physical and mental pain. “Hey, take it easy. Just relax. Try not to talk, eh?”

Scott’s shoulder was burning. And breathing hurt because of the battering he’d sustained in the rib area. He began panting and tried desperately to ward off groans of agony and anguish. He felt hot, then cold. For some reason, he wanted to keep talking to this man. Talking seemed to stave off the pain a little, giving him something else to concentrate on. Normally he wanted to leave things well enough alone, so he was surprised at himself.

“What about your mother?” Scott prodded.

“She died.”

“I’m sorry.” Scott offered.  “Looks like, unfortunately, we have even more in common. How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

“You said you haven’t seen your father since you left, so who brought you up?”

Johnny didn’t answer. He poured some of his jerky broth into a mug. Seizing a biscuit, he scooted back to Scott, blowing on the liquid to cool it.

Scott wondered if he would reply. He concentrated on his face. A good face, he decided. A warmth escaped when he allowed it. When it wasn’t hidden behind a protective armour. When he felt he could relax and trust. Scott didn’t think that Johnny had ever had many times in his life where he could confide and trust. Remembering him in the stagecoach, Scott thought that he seemed to wear his cloak of aloofness too well.

‘I suppose if you don’t relax and connect with people, you can’t get hurt’, Scott surmised.

Johnny surprised him by opening up further. “I guess you could say I brought myself up. You might have noticed I don’t have your polished manners and appearance!”

What surprised Scott was that Johnny was not being aggressive or negative. He was merely stating the obvious as he saw it.

Scott considered him for a fraction of a second before speaking. “Everyone I knew in Boston was well turned out and courteous in the extreme. On the surface, that is.” Scott stopped, locking glances with Johnny. “Yet, you know something? That means nothing. When the chips are down, I can’t think of one of them I’d like to have by my side. There’s a quote I once heard and I keep meaning to write it down for posterity: “The true measure of a man is not how he behaves in moments of comfort and convenience, but how he stands at times of controversy and challenges”. I might have just met you, but I get the feeling that you fit the bill.”

Johnny stopped blowing on the soup. He was immobile, face impassive, shocked even.

“You don’t know me,” he argued.

“I’ve seen enough of how men act under pressure to gauge a decent and trustworthy man when I see one.”

Johnny couldn’t speak as the steady gaze of his patient seemed to strip his soul bare and leave his emotions exposed. He swallowed, shaken with feelings normally best kept hidden. He didn’t know why this man’s opinion should matter so much to him, but it did.

Unsure that he would be able to speak, he offered the broth to act as a diversion. “Here, this should go down a treat.’

Johnny raised Scott’s head and shoulders. Supporting him with one arm, he tilted the mug so that Scott could sip the brew. After several sips, Scott wanted to stop. He averted his mouth and lifted his hand to push the mug away.

“Nope. Can’t let you get away with that. You need to drink it all. If infection strikes, you might be too ill to take anything.  So drink up!”

Johnny did not relent until Scott had consumed the whole mug. He then lay him back down carefully. Scott closed his eyes, but there was no peace on his face. His face was contorted into a grimace. As Johnny watched, the etchings of pain gradually died away and left his face smoother. Johnny hoped that he had fallen asleep.

This was not to be. His patient was in a talkative mood. “Didn’t your mother ever try to contact your father again?”

Johnny sighed. He had hoped that this topic of conversation had been concluded.

“Nope.”

“Did she remarry?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope.”

“So there was just you and your mother?”

Johnny did not feel that he could tell a total stranger about his mother’s many lovers, so he opted for the easy answer. “Yep.”

There was a silence and for some unaccountable reason, Johnny broke his life’s code of not offering unnecessary information to anyone about anything. Especially his past.

“Until I was eleven, as I said.”

“How did she die?”

Johnny was pensive with vivid memories. When Johnny did not at first answer, Scott broke into his thoughts with an apology.

“I’m sorry. I had no right to ask.”

Johnny continued his silence, but wondered what it mattered now. So he began hesitantly. “She was murdered. A man beat her to death.”

Scott’s indrawn gasp was of pain. Pain for the small boy that this man had once been.

“I’m so very sorry.”

They were both silent for a while. Scott moved to get more comfortable, and couldn’t stifle a moan of agony. Perspiration broke out on his face. Noticing it, Johnny wrung out a fresh cloth and applied it to his forehead. A sigh of what could almost be called pleasure escaped Scott’s lips.

“Thank you.”

“If you were eleven, you can’t really just have brought yourself up! Who looked after you?”

A wry smile toyed with the corners of Johnny’s mouth. “Well, the nuns and padres tried, but I guess I’m not much use at taking orders, you might say. I lasted about six months and then made a break for it. I suppose when I was at the orphanage, I felt like you must have in that prison camp you were in. I just wanted out so I could make my own decisions.”

“But you were eleven!”

“Nearly twelve!”

“Do you mean to say that you’ve really been on your own since you were eleven?”

The compassion in Scott’s eyes brought back the loneliness and misery that Johnny had thought he had suppressed many years ago.

“Believe me, it was better that way.”

“And what happened to your mother’s killer?”

Johnny couldn’t answer. He got up and squatted closer to the fire before stoking it up. His back was the Scott, his head bent. After some time, he turned and looked over his shoulder at Scott. But Scott’s honest stare was too hard to hold, and so he turned away again.

He finally stood up and bent over Scott to check on him. He rested back on his heels and leant his arms on his thighs. Scott eyes were still locked on his. Johnny swallowed, then bowed his head to examine his hands which were dangling loosely.

He then looked up into those magnetic slate grey pupils once more.

“I killed him. I was too small and too slow to protect my mother. He came for me, then. He’d left his holster hanging on a chair. I grabbed his gun and killed him before he got me first.”

Johnny held his stare. “And I decided then and there that no one was going to find me at a disadvantage again. I wasn’t gonna be anyone’s punching bag no more. I wasn’t gonna be a victim any more!”

Instead of the disgust he expected, Johnny found a nod of agreement and acceptance from Scott.

Scott’s response gripped Johnny. “That’s much the same as I felt when I escaped from Libby. There’s something about being helpless and at someone’s mercy which makes a person fight, if he has to, in order to make sure that he isn’t defenceless again. Makes him value freedom and the way he spends his remaining time left on this earth.”  

It was a revelation to him that this stranger could comprehend and acknowledge how Johnny felt. There were few people that Johnny ever considered who were on the same plane as him. Few that he connected with in the way he gelled with this Easterner with his unusual accent and his strange clothes.

The object of his scrutiny was looking more uncomfortable. Sweat was beading his brow and he squirmed in an effort to get more comfortable. Low moans broke through the man’s defences.

“Easy, Scott. I’ll keep an eye on you. Just rest.”

Scott glanced over with a weak smile, which did nothing to fulfil its intention of hiding his pain.

“Yeah, I guess I might at that.”

“Hey, before you drift off, where were you headed? You never said.”

Scott moaned. He was obviously experiencing troubles focusing. “Morro Coyo.”

“And who is your father?”

<<The true measure of a man is not how he behaves in moments of comfort and convenience, but how he stands at times of controversy and challenges.>>

The above quote is by Martin Luther King, but I have used Author’s licence to reproduce it here nearly 100 years before it was uttered! Thanks to Ros, who came across it.

Chapter Four

Scott’s head lolled languidly. His speech came out slurred and fatigued. “His name’s Mmmm…”

With a sigh, Scott lost consciousness.

Johnny contemplated the Bostonian. He looked pale and weak. A fever taking hold did not bode well.

Sighing with regret that this man had been caught up in a circumstance not of his making, Johnny adjusted the blanket around him. He attempted to cool him off with a damp rag, then made himself comfortable for what looked like a tiring vigil ahead.

While Scott was unconscious for the rest of the night, several times he roused enough to moan in pain and writhe in an attempt to position his body so as to alleviate his discomfort.

As the new day dawned and the grey ceded to a more golden light, Johnny reheated some more of his jerky broth for Scott. He knew that they couldn’t stay there. He was unsure if the Mexican would come back, but he also knew that they were not that far from help in Morro Coyo.

Johnny had retrieved his gun from one of the dead bodies and felt more at ease knowing that his customized revolver was sitting snugly ensconced in his rig at his right hip.

He woke Scott and managed to get him to sip his way through another cup of the broth.

“Scott, we are going to have to get going. We could be in Morro Coyo before noon, then we could get you to a proper doctor and get that wound cleaned up properly. But to do that, you’re going to have to ride.”

Scott glanced up at his saviour. Swallowing with effort, he nodded. “I think you should get going without me. Leave me behind. I’ll only slow you up.”

Johnny glared at him before responding. “I didn’t ride out to look for you, only to abandon you. You are coming back with me whether you like it or not.”

A weak smile played around Scott’s mouth. “You sure you weren’t in the army? You sound like officer material – used to giving orders!”

Johnny grinned back. It was a grin that lifted Scott’s spirits. Engaging, charming and conspiratorial. So much at odds with the way this man wore his holster. This man who could very obviously be dangerous in the right circumstances, but who at the moment was brightening the new day with his presence.

“I WAS in the army, actually, the Mexican army. But I don’t take kindly to being told when to spit and polish or being given orders in general. And that includes yours! So, can you ride? Do you think you can manage if we ride double?”

Scott chuckled weakly. “Well, if you are asking if I am well enough to ride, then yes, I’ll manage. If you want to know if I know how to ride, then is being a former cavalry officer a good enough reference for you?”

Johnny whistled. “Whooee! You sure are a hard man to pinpoint. It’s not often I get surprised. Cavalry, huh?

Scott began to laugh, but was quickly engulfed in searing pain. He could not suppress the groan which emanated from between clenched teeth. He lay down panting as Johnny sponged his forehead with cool water. Scott was beginning to burn up. Infection was a real threat. Johnny recognized this and knew that he needed to ready a horse without delay. As he moved to do so, Scott grabbed Johnny’s arm.

“I can manage my own horse. We’ll be faster that way.”

Johnny looked at him sceptically, but then nodded in agreement. “You just rest and I’ll saddle the horses.”

Johnny made short work of breaking camp and readying the mounts, but when he returned to Scott’s side, he was dismayed to see him decidedly woozy. He helped him up as gently as he could. The injured man had paled considerably and wavered on top of the horse before stabilising his seat.

With misgivings, Johnny gave a little hop and then mounted one of the bandit’s horses, onto which he had placed his own saddle. Both men kneed their horses into a gentle trot. Johnny could only imagine the jarring Scott was going through. Frequent glances at his companion reinforced Johnny’s opinion that he was suffering excruciating agony. What surprised him, though, was that Scott hung on tenaciously, a fierce look of determination on his face.

‘Guts, sheer guts’, thought Johnny.

Johnny tried to get Scott to take his mind off his pain.

“So, you got a girl back home, Scott, someone special waiting for you?” Johnny enquired.

“No. I used to.”

“What happened?”

”We were engaged.”

“And?”

“And I just realized that she seemed more intent on increasing her family’s wealth, than in building a life together with me.”

“So you were a good catch financially?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. I don’t think that deep down she loved me for who I was. It was more what I was. I had the right pedigree, I suppose.”

“What was her name?”

“Julie.”

Scott moaned and panted. He wiped his glistening forehead on his forearm. “What about you?”

“Nope.”

“There’s never been anyone special?”

“There have been.”

“And?”

“I’ve always been on the move. Women like to put down roots.”

“No one was willing to go with you, to follow you, wherever you went?”

“That wouldn’t have been fair, Scott, and, well … I guess you could say that I didn’t fit the bill as a prospective husband and son-in-law. I told you before, a mestizo just doesn’t fit anywhere. The opposite to you, I guess. My pedigree wasn’t acceptable in white or Mexican society.”

Despite his physical pain, Scott felt overcome by another pain. A pain of empathy and compassion for the slights inflicted on this man. How could life be so unfair to some people?

“Maybe you didn’t meet the right girl who was willing to fight for you,” Scott observed.

Johnny glanced sideways at him. “Maybe not.”

“You deserve someone special. You’ll meet her one day when you least expect it.”

Johnny chuckled. “You think so, eh, Scott? Well, maybe you’re right, but I ain’t holding my breath waiting!”

Scott offered a suggestion. “We could work our way through the valley. Compare notes. Help each other out. Keep on the lookout!”

They both laughed, but it was Scott’s undoing. He faltered alarmingly, groaned in agony and swayed dangerously. Johnny quickly reined in and dismounted. Hoisting himself on the back of the other horse, he sat behind Scott and reached around him to collect the reins. Clutching the now barely conscious easterner firmly, Johnny headed off again, leading the other horse in his wake.

“Just a little way to go, Boston. Hold on,” Johnny urged as encouragingly as he could.

Scott’s voice rasped, “Boston?”

“Yeah, well that’s where you said you were from and it kinda suits you in that fancy outfit and all,” Johnny assessed.

“Pot … calling the kettle …”

Scott’s riposte was lost in a fit of coughing that left him gasping.

Johnny grasped him tighter. “Well, I guess if you ignore your coat and frilly shirt at least your britches could be considered plain.”

“Anything would look plain next to your pants.” Scott’s reply cost him as he moaned in pain.

Johnny halted the mount. Unwinding the canteen strap from the pommel, Johnny uncorked it and offered him some to slake his thirst. Removing his bandana from his neck, Johnny poured some water over it and wiped Scott’s face before tying it around Scott’s neck. He hoped it would help cool him down and reduce the escalating fever.

“Let’s get you to a doctor, huh?” suggested Johnny, urging his horse on.

Scott leant heavily against Johnny, the effort to stay upright requiring too much strength.

It suddenly occurred to Johnny that he still didn’t know the location of Scott’s father’s ranch. “Where exactly is your father’s ranch? I still don’t know who your father is. I need to know who to contact,” he asked.

Scott’s breathing was ragged and pain-filled. At first, Johnny did not think that he would answer. Finally, and with difficulty, he panted, “Near Morro Coy …”

The sentence was left unfinished and Scott sagged, unconscious, like a loose bundle of bones against Johnny’s chest. Frustratingly, Johnny still knew no more than he had before.

Johnny was so engrossed in concentrating on managing his saddle mate, that he was unnaturally slow to react to the foreign sound. Hoof-beats could be heard. He cursed his carelessness. He steered the horses to some cover, but he knew that it was too late and that they had been spotted. And his options were few.

A confident voice called out. “Show yourself, Mister! And don’t try anything!”

The unmistakable cocking of a gun left him in no doubt as to their reception.

Chapter Five

Johnny hesitated, but then noted the sheriff’s badge glinting in the sunlight. He called out, “Don’t shoot! I’ve got a wounded man with me! He was shot in a stage hold-up.”

Johnny edged his horse forward until he faced the eight men comprising the posse.

“He needs a doctor real bad,” Johnny urged them.

“I bet he does. Drop your gun and then we’ll see to him,” answered the sheriff.

“You don’t need my gun. You need to help me get him to a doctor!”

“I said, drop it!” hollered the sheriff.

Johnny sighed, then reached for the gun he had retrieved from Nate. With two fingers, he delicately lifted it up and threw it onto the ground beside him.

“Now, get down!”

Johnny was becoming increasingly frustrated in his urgency. “If I get down, he’s gonna fall. We’re wasting time. We need to get to town to the doctor!”

“You deaf, Mister?”

Johnny sighed yet again. A furiously deep sigh. Then he did as he was told, all the while keeping hold of Scott so he didn’t slip and slide right out of the saddle onto the earth.

Four of the men approached him. Two checked Johnny for further weapons, finding his knife in the process. The other two lowered Scott to the ground.

After a cursory examination, they confirmed what Johnny had said. “Yep, he’s been shot, all right!”

The sheriff organized the men efficiently. “Right! You two hoist him up behind Zeke,” he commanded in reference to Scott. “Get that Mex back on his horse and tie his hands to the pommel. Tight. Real tight. We don’t want scum like that getting away.”

“Hey!” protested Johnny. “I saved him and got that bullet out. I didn’t shoot him!”

“Yeah, likely story. You’re wearing that rig mighty low and danged if you don’t fit the description of one of them bandits! Tie him up, boys!”

Johnny began struggling as he was held roughly. “I ain’t one of them!” he shouted.

He jerked his arm free of one of the deputized men, but this was open invitation to them to retaliate. He was slugged mightily for his efforts, the blow connecting with a resounding crack on his temple. He stood for a second. Bright lights flashed before being almost immediately extinguished as a blanket of dark oppressiveness descended on him.

******************************

Johnny became aware of sounds penetrating his consciousness. Vague sounds, but it was all too hard to focus. A weight was pressing on his skull, as though it had been caught under a landslide. It was impossible to move as even the slightest altering of position sent jarring thrusts which seemed to split his brain into fragments.

He moaned softly, but even that was simply too difficult to do. He slid back under the pain free shield of unconsciousness.

How long he was out for again, he did not know. The next time, unfortunately, his head did not feel substantially better. Voices could be heard with more clarity this time, but Johnny was disoriented and could not place them. Nor could he place just where he might be.

He forced his eyes open. The yellow bolt of agony pierced his whole being. Hastily closing them, he could not prevent the groan that tore from him.

Panting, he lay still. But not for long. He heard a metallic clanging sound and then the creaking of hinges. He risked opening his eyes again.

He discovered that he was lying on a hard cot, but what drew his attention were the bars. The unmistakable, iconic representation of jails the world over. A man stood in the open doorway of the basic cell. One arm was grasping a vertical bar, the other hand was resting on the man’s hip. It was the sheriff from the posse.

“So, about time! Been waiting for you to wake up!” the sheriff announced grimly.

Johnny breathed deeply, then drew his legs up so he could apply some leverage to push his back up the wall. It took all his willpower not to groan again. Resting his head against the wall behind him and leaning his arms on his knees, he regarded the sheriff.

The sheriff, having got his attention, continued. “OK, so how about you tell me your version of events. We found the bodies of the other two bandits. So you wanted all the spoils for yourself? Made sure you got rid of the other share holders in your little venture?”

Johnny sighed deeply. Closing his eyes for a moment, he then concentrated on breathing evenly and settling his churning stomach.

Taking one last fortifying breath, he felt that he could converse. He didn’t answer the question, though.

“No. Ask Scott what happened. He’ll tell you.” Johnny then snapped his head up straight as he remembered Scott’s injuries. “How is Scott?” he wanted to know.

The sheriff snorted in disgust. “So you want to know whether you are facing three or only two charges of murder?”

“No, I want to know how Scott is. Is he OK? He was developing a fever.”

Sarcasm dripped from the sheriff’s tongue. “Yeah, well that’s what usually happens when a man gets shot.”

“I asked if he was all right!” Johnny demanded angrily.

“No, he ain’t all right, thanks to you! He’s sick. Mighty sick! That fever has taken a solid hold on him. He didn’t have a doctor out there and infection set in! He’s still unconscious.” Disgust and fury were evident in the sheriff’s voice.

Johnny’s mouth set in a straight line and his shoulders slumped. He hoped that Scott would recover. In the short time that they had spent together, Scott had earned Johnny’s respect.

“Is he going to be all right?” Johnny queried hopefully.

“I guess that’s between him and his Maker … and maybe the doc. Now I asked you to give me the rundown on the events after the robbery.”

“I didn’t hurt Scott. I set out to rescue him. Ask the other passengers,” suggested Johnny.

“You don’t fool me, boy. The third member of the bandit’s gang, the only one still alive, was a Mexican wearing a red shirt and concho pants. Now if I ain’t mistaken, that shirt of yours is red and them britches have studs down the sides. So, don’t waste my time!”

Johnny shook his head, immediately regretting it.

“I was in the stage coach. We were held up. Scott was kidnapped because his father is rich. I set off after them. I found them. In the struggle to free Scott, I killed the bandits and wounded the Mexican who took off. Scott was wounded in the fracas. I got the bullet out and we were headed to Morro Coyo when you found us. Now, is that simple enough for you to understand?”

“Yeah, I bet you were pissing yourself that your prize hostage was shot. I’m willing to wager that you didn’t want him dying until you got your hands on his pa’s money!”

Johnny leaned forward abruptly and was rewarded with renewed agony gouging through his forehead.

“For crying out loud! Ask the other passengers. Ask the stage coach driver! They’ll recognize me!”

“Well, it just so happens that the driver went on with the coach when the replacement team arrived and so did the passengers. They were going further afield, so they wrote out their depositions and continued on with the stage.” The sheriff did not try to hide any smugness.

“Well, what about the stage guard who was shot?” Johnny persisted.

“The doc fixed him up. He’s from Modesto and decided to head on home on today’s coach despite his injuries. The doc gave him some laudanum to help him cope.”

“Did you get any description of the passenger who went to rescue Scott?”

“Nope. Didn’t need to. It weren’t him we wanted to arrest.”

Johnny expelled a lungful of air slowly and deliberately. “Have you got the passengers’ addresses?” Johnny asked.

“Yep. Of course.”

“Well, I suggest you send them a telegram. Don’t forget the stage coach driver and the guard. Ask them about the passenger who went to rescue Scott. His clothes and looks, and then ask them about his eye colour compared to the Mexican bandit’s.”

The sheriff looked at him, perplexed.

“What’s eyes got to do with it?”

Johnny’s fragile state did nothing but encourage directness from him. “What sort of moron are you? How many Mexicans do you know with blue eyes?”

“Not many, but that don’t mean nothin’. What I want to know is who you are.”

Johnny leaned his throbbing head back. “And what I want is a drink.”

“You’ll get nothing from me until you tell me a few details.”

Just then, the front door of the sheriff’s office could be heard being thrown open with a crash. Cries for the sheriff accompanied the din.

A man in his thirties burst through the rear door. “Sheriff, you’re needed real quick at the Johnston farm. Old Henry got stuck into the liquor again and he’s gone and shot up Roy’s place. He’s got Roy held at gunpoint. Won’t let him go. Reckons he ran off with his missus ‘cause he can’t find her anywhere.”

“But she died ten years ago!”

“Yeah, well you know that and I know that, but he doesn’t seem to remember that fact. I’m real concerned that he’s going to harm someone this time. You gotta come, sheriff!”

The sheriff nodded. “Be right along with you.” He turned to Johnny. “I’ll send someone in with some water and food for you, seeing I could be gone a while.”

Johnny smiled. “Yeah, take your time. I ain’t going anywhere by the looks of it. Just how about you send them telegrams before you go?”

“I’ll send ‘em later. Old Henry’s more important at the moment. You can wait.”

With that parting shot, the sheriff was gone and Johnny was left to contemplate spending some time in the cell. He hoped it would not be long, but the sheriff did not seem keen to sort out the mess he had landed himself in. It did not seem like he could rely on Scott by the sound of the extent of his fever and infection. Johnny was allergic to jail and he sure didn’t feel like spending time there when he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had itchy feet to get going. After all, he had an appointment that he had decided that he just might keep after all.

It was several hours before anyone came to see him. A meal appeared just when he had given up hope that he would be fed in any way whatsoever. The bearer of this most welcome sustenance was a well-endowed Mexican woman in her forties. She arrived humming cheerfully and accompanied by a man who kept an eagle eye on Johnny.

She pushed the tray in through a hatch located at floor level, all the time talking volubly to him. Introducing herself and her son as Juanita and Alfredo Lopez, she told him that they ran a small restaurant and she was the cook for the jail. Johnny bestowed his most charmingly dazzling smile on her and thanked her graciously.

“This meal is as enticing as the cook who prepared it. I am indebted to you, Ma’am.”

Reaching for her hand through the bars, and attracting a reaction from her son who reached for his gun, Johnny brought her hand to his lips.

Juanita brought her left hand to her ample bosom and blushed a vibrant bright red.

As she studied him, she found that she felt quite was nonplussed and needed to compose herself. This attractive and mannerly man could not possibly be accused of holding up the stage and shooting the young gringo. She withdrew her hand suddenly, not sure if she should trust her instincts with him.

“This looks delicious,” commented Johnny, gesturing to the stew. “Muchos gracias.”

She nodded. As she turned to leave, she appeared to come to a decision and halted. “Would you like something a little spicier tomorrow? Tomales and beans? Chilli and tortillas?”

“I would indeed, Juanita. Gracias again.”

“De nada.”

She ushered her son out of the cell area and headed back to her restaurant. Johnny heard the front door close. His brain was still banging against his skull, but he thought that he needed to make some effort to eat while the food was hot and available. The meal was appetising and it made inroads into re-establishing his general equilibrium. The coffee topped it off. A good, strong brew, just the way he liked it.

Johnny settled back. He was confident that he would be released, but there were vagaries to be considered. He was part Mexican and in California. He hadn’t spent enough time with the sheriff to work out what sort of man he was. He had been treated brusquely, which was understandable given the crimes the sheriff thought he had committed, but not cruelly. If Scott’s condition deteriorated, they could come gunning for him before the sheriff received replies from the telegrams. If he sent the telegrams, that is.

Johnny sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.

He thought about the man he had been forced to camp out with the previous night. Quite a remarkable man. It was not often that Johnny could not size people up accurately and quickly. He felt that he had misread Scott. He was not at all what he had expected. That constricting, prim suit and tie and his dandified appearance did not belong to the brave and perceptive man lurking beneath. An intuitive and trustworthy man. A man who had experienced some of the worst that life had to offer from man’s depravities. A man who had emerged from that brush with inhumanity with his self respect intact. A puzzle. A man Johnny wished he could get to know better. Which deepened the puzzle. He couldn’t ever remember meeting a man who struck such a chord with him.  A man he hoped to meet again under less difficult circumstances. He just hoped fervently that Scott beat the infection and recovered.

The sheriff did not reappear until after dark. He brought with him the still intoxicated Henry. Henry was thrust into the next cell and told to sleep it off. The sheriff glanced at Johnny and started to leave.

“Wait sheriff! Did you send those telegrams?” Johnny enquired anxiously.

He received a glare in response, before the sheriff gave further information. “It’s dark out. I only just got back with Henry here. What do you think? I ain’t had no time to send no telegrams! I’m hungry and tired and I’m gonna do something about it!”

“Tomorrow! Can you send them tomorrow?” Johnny pleaded.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. Telegraph office ain’t open. It’ll have to wait until Monday.”

“Well, can you at least call in on Scott and see how he’s doing? Please? I really want to hear that he’s doing OK.”

“Why would you want that? He’ll be putting you away for quite a few years when he comes to.”

“That’s just it. He can tell you that I didn’t do anything. I rescued him and was bringing him back to town. I really want him to make it. He don’t deserve to die because of them worthless bandits.”

Johnny stared at the sheriff. He detected some uncertainty on the man’s face, as if the sheriff wasn’t so sure that the scenario he had built up in his mind actually matched this new possibility. Johnny hoped and prayed that the sheriff would reconsider his version of the truth.

The sheriff eyed him, estimating just how desperate and how plausible his prisoner was. He nodded curtly. “I was goin’ out there after church, anyway.”

“Thank you,” uttered a hopeful Johnny.

Johnny heard no more after the sheriff left for the night. No more apart from Henry’s snoring that is. A locomotive was virtually noiseless when compared to the snorts and grunts coming from Henry’s mouth. Johnny tossed and turned. His head still hurt, he was concerned about his situation and most of all he contemplated the Bostonian and the effect this man was strangely having on him. He finally fell into an uneasy slumber. It could not be called restful as it was littered with the ghosts and lowlife elements of his past. Littered with the people he wanted to leave in the past for good. The people he hoped that he could one day finally turn his back on so that he could start afresh.

He had set out several weeks ago considering if he should take that chance. He was still considering it. He was so heartily tired of the killing and the loneliness, the risk and the chances, the death and the bravado. But he didn’t know if he could make the change. Maybe it was too late. Maybe he was damned to burn in a living hell. An infinite living torture, which could never erase his sins. How could he expect to live a normal life and take the step to live honestly and peacefully with normal people holding down normal jobs? This was an intangible goal for the likes of Johnny Madrid. One credo that had kept Johnny going over the years was plain and simply not to expect anything. He had realized as a young child that if you didn’t expect anything, you didn’t get disappointed when you got nothing.

Johnny was left to his tumultuous thoughts that long night. It was only at dawn that he felt some peace which wrapped a cocoon around him, cushioning his mind and body from the jagged pain of his past, allowing him to get some fitful sleep.

He was woken from his slumber all too soon. A slamming door and boots resounding on the wooden floor announced the arrival of the sheriff. Chair legs scraped before the rustling of papers indicated that the sheriff was attending to paperwork. A hacking cough, followed by a sneeze, interrupted several quiet minutes. Johnny wondered if the sheriff was even going to visit him and allow him to use the outhouse, let alone if he was going to be fed any breakfast at all. Finally, Johnny heard the sheriff get to his feet and walk to the adjoining door. Johnny looked up, but discovered that it was not the sheriff after all, but a man who was obviously his deputy.

“OK, I’m gonna open up and let you visit the outhouse. Before I do, get away from the door.”

Johnny found his options limited. Held at gunpoint, he was led outside under guard. The taciturn deputy was not going to fall for any conversational gambits and briskly hustled Johnny back to his cell. The cell locked, Johnny was left to his own devices for a short time before a breakfast of sorts was thrust into the cell.

Johnny attempted to engage the deputy in conversation again. “Hey, can you tell me how Scott is doing?”

“Nope.”

“But you must have heard something!” Johnny protested.

"Nope. All I know is that he is one sick pup.”

“What does the doc say?” persisted Johnny.

The deputy looked at him with scorn. “All of a sudden you got an interest in him surviving? Hoping to beat a murder rap against him, huh?”

“I’ve already told your sheriff! I was a passenger on the stage and I followed after him after he was kidnapped! I was bringing him back here!”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the judge!” countered the deputy. “He’ll be here next week.”

The deputy strode out, leaving Johnny contemplating the closed door through the bars he was resting his head against in despair.

He thumped the bars in annoyance. All this succeeded in doing was to cause a sharp bolt of pain to shoot through his hand and wrist. Nursing his injured hand, he moved back to the bed and sat, desultory and sullen.

He stayed there several hours, Henry’s snoring and muttering his only company. Through the small window he heard the church bells and the murmur of voices as people made their way from the morning service.

Johnny contemplated what could be a grim future. He understood that if the sheriff lacked integrity, he would be just another Mex on the wrong side of the law. If no attempt was made to seek out the witnesses, he was in dire straits. He well knew that both a different and indifferent justice system applied to Mexicans.

As he sank into his morose ponderings, he questioned his decision to come this far north. Maybe it was a mistake from the outset. He shouldn’t have been tempted. He knew that he couldn’t change the past and there was no point of dwelling there, so why had he chosen to ignore a stance that had sustained him all these years? His moment of weakness was one he just might live to regret. That is, if he wasn’t lynched first.

He also pondered the fate of the gutsy Bostonian. Damn, if he didn’t like the man!

His musings were interrupted by the opening of the outer door. Heavy footsteps sounded before a deep voice erupted into the silence. “Sheriff, you out back?”

There was a brief silence before the footsteps approached the back of the jail where the cells were located. They seemed hesitant at first, then picked up in confidence. The connecting door was pushed open.

In the doorframe stood a mountain of a man. At about six feet five inches, he was at least seven inches taller than Johnny. His face was chiselled planes, angling to a strong, square jaw. Greying hair framed his tanned face and piercing eyes projected sheer venom in Johnny’s direction. A venom that almost physically shrank Johnny further back against the wall. It was with difficulty that Johnny maintained a steadfast return gaze.

The two men appraised each other. Neither moved. Johnny’s mind was screaming something to himself, but whatever it was, he couldn’t decipher it. Just why was this imposing man staring so fixedly at him?

Chapter Six

The stranger finally spoke, his words filling Johnny with dread.

“Why does a man take pleasure in taking someone’s life?”

Johnny’s neck snapped rigidly. He slowly moved his boots off the bed and stood up. With a heavy heart, he took several paces towards his visitor.

“Scott? Are you talking about Scott? Didn’t he make it?” his voice almost betrayed him by cracking.

The man glared at him, before replying. “He’s fighting.”

Johnny heaved a deep sigh. He dropped his head and studied his boots, before abruptly lifting his gaze and locking eyes with his visitor.

“What are his chances?”

“What do you care?”

“I care. He’s a brave man. He don’t deserve what happened to him.”

“No, he doesn’t! So why did you do it?”

Johnny was exasperated. He couldn’t seem to get through to anybody around this town.

“I didn’t do nothing! I tried to rescue him!” he shouted.

“Well, that’s not what I heard. So what pleasure does a man like you take from killing and maiming innocent people?” Johnny was challenged.

“For starters, I don’t kill or maim innocent people.” Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “And secondly, what do you mean ‘a man like you’? A Mexican? A half breed? A non Gringo?”

The man before him looked a little surprised. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant a man who just takes what he wants and doesn’t care who he hurts in the process.”

“And what makes you think that I just take what I want?”

“The circumstances speak for themselves.”

Johnny shook his head dejectedly. “Listen, I am sick of telling people around here. Nobody wants to hear the facts. I was bringing Scott back to get medical help. I was a passenger on the coach. I wasn’t one of the bandits.”

“No, these are the facts! There were three bandits, two white and one Mexican. The two white ones are dead, no doubt at the hand of their accomplice. The Mexican was not with them. A Mexican is found with Scott. A Mexican matching the description of the third bandit, wearing a red embroidered shirt and studded pants! Now, how many men do you know who get around in an outfit like that? Face those facts like a man! Then again, a real man wouldn’t have done what you did”.

The last words were spat at Johnny in a chilling fury.  The man had slowly approached the bars and gripped them with both hands. Knuckles showed white and rage radiated from his eyes.

“My son was coming to see me for the very first time in his life. Thanks to you, I may never even get to speak to him. If he doesn’t recover, you will pay!”

Johnny stiffened in surprise. “You’re Scott’s father?”

“Yes.”

There was silence as the two men regarded each other. Johnny could not see much resemblance. Scott was certainly tall, taller than Johnny, but nowhere near the height of this man.

He thought of his own father. An unknown quantity. Then he thought about Scott and hoped that he pulled through to get to know this man. He would prove a formidable enemy, of that Johnny had no doubt, but he admired the gumption of the man to face the person he thought had wounded his son. And he liked that fact that this man took care of his own. Scott was in good hands. Johnny just hoped that Scott would make it and would get to establish a relationship with this father who had been so elusive in the past.

Johnny finally broke his scrutiny of his man. “Then you should be with him. Take care of him. I hope he makes it.”

Scott’s father stood straighter, and a brief, perplexed look flitted across his face, before the mask of disdain settled back down again.

“Yes, I should, but I needed to see the man who did this to my son.”

“That’s just it. I didn’t do this to your son. The sheriff was going to go out to your ranch about now to ask Scott about me. Ask him yourself. He’ll put you straight.”

“No, you got that wrong. He’ll put YOU straight … where you belong, permanently behind bars. I’ll see you in court when the circuit judge comes.”

One final look of disgust and he left, slamming the door none too quietly after him.

Johnny sat, staring into space, willing Scott to survive. He then spent quite some time wondering if his own father would care about him if he got shot the way this man already cared about Scott. And would Johnny care for him? Johnny supposed he would never know, and maybe that was for the best. He shouldn’t have left the border towns and come up on this wild goose chase. It was a pipedream and he shouldn’t have acted on it. He kicked out in annoyance at the metal bars with his foot. Not just annoyance. Disappointment, if he would only recognize it as such.

Hopping up, he began pacing and prowling, considering his options which did not seem all that great at the moment. If the sheriff acted, he should be cleared. If not and if Scott died, he would be hanged. There was no doubt. He snorted mirthlessly. Out of the frying pan into the fire. He had been wanting to leave his way of life behind and thought that maybe he could suss out his father and make contact. He had wanted to turn his back on his career. And ironically here he was in even more trouble, facing murder and wounding charges.  He shook his head. Why was his life just one big bad joke?

It was not until late afternoon that the sheriff returned. Johnny had been fed a midday meal, but no one else had entered the sheriff’s office. The sheriff did not make an appearance at the cells, but Johnny could hear him pottering around. It was about thirty minutes later that the sheriff ambled in to check on Johnny and Henry. He entered the back area and leaned casually against the doorframe.

“You been behavin’ yourself?” the sheriff enquired abruptly.

Johnny’s mouth lifted at the corners as he gave into the humour of the situation.

“Yeah, I’m being a model prisoner.”

“See that you stay that way.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” called Johnny. “Did you see Scott?”

“Just why would you care?”

“I just want to know how he’s doing.”

“Still worried that you’ll be charged with his murder, huh?”

Johnny slammed the bars with the palm of his hand. “No, dammit! I want him to make it! I took that slug outta him and I don’t want to have to think that he went through that for nothing!”

The sheriff straightened. He shook his head, again puzzled by this prisoner. He just couldn’t fathom him. He nevertheless offered what information he could. “He was unconscious when I was there. Still fighting that fever. The doc ain’t sure.”

Johnny sucked in some air and hung his head. He clenched his jaw, then gave his thanks to the sheriff.

The sheriff nodded in return and was about to leave when he once again turned to Johnny. “For what it’s worth, if it was you who removed that bullet, the doc said you did a good job.”

The sheriff left before Johnny could compose a reply. Once again he was left to his thoughts for the evening. Thoughts that were turning blacker by the hour.

********************************

Scott lay in a sea of torment. The smell of gunpowder assailed his nostrils before the screams of the injured assailed his ears. Blood was everywhere. Bodies were not whole. Body parts were strewn on the once luxuriant green grass. Mud and blood intermingled, forming a copper smelling substance which clung to boots and clothes. Shouts of encouragement were smothered under screams of fright, which in turn gave way to moans of excruciating agony. The moans increased to a crescendo and coalesced into a shriek of terror.

Scott jerked upright, eyes wide in horror. Panting heavily, he grasped the bedcovers tightly in his fists, while looking wildly around him.

“Hush!” a voice coaxed and soothed him.

Scott felt himself pushed back gently onto the bed. Cool bliss invaded his mind as the damp compress placed on his forehead seeped into his tortured soul.

His breathing calmed as he opened his eyes. He searched wildly for the evidence of his nightmare, but instead of the turmoil and gore of the battlefield, he found himself in a neat and ordered bedroom. He surveyed the room, disoriented. As he turned his head, his view settled on a man. A massive man seated next to the bed he was lying on. A man who was leaning forward, anxiety etched on his face. A man who was quite bizarrely holding his hand. A man who was smiling, hesitancy  and expectation jostling for supremacy on his face.

As he became more aware, he took in the man’s features. A craggy face lined with years of worry and determination. A strong face. A good face. Grey hair and blue/grey eyes. A man used to hard physical labour. A man silently urging some sort of recognition. It was the man who broke the silence.

“Hello, son.” He was proud to have said it. It was marked on his face.

Scott examined him further and liked what he saw. He licked his dry lips. “You’re Murdoch Lancer?” he whispered in a croaky voice.

“Yes, son. Welcome home. I’ve waited a long time for this day.”

Scott groaned as he moved and arrows of pain lanced his shoulder. Both physical and emotional pain washed over him.

“Easy does it. The doctor has checked out your shoulder. He’s cleaned it up and stitched it. It needs to be kept immobile to help the healing, so just lie easy.”

Scott sighed and nodded in acceptance. “So we made it?”

His father looked at him quizzically.

“The sheriff found you. He had formed a posse when the stage was overdue and he found out the whole story. He found that Mexican holding you hostage and rescued you.”

Scott scrunched his face in concentration.

“What Mexican?”

“The bandit”

Scott shook his head, wooziness threatening to claim him. “Did he come back?”

“Come back from where?”

“He fled. He was wounded.”

Murdoch looked at him, perplexed. Scott was obviously delirious. “He wasn’t wounded, Son. You’ve had a rough time of it. You’ve had a bad fever. Here, take some water and rest up. You are no doubt confused and mighty sore.”

Scott accepted the water eagerly. It slid smoothly down his dry throat. A touch of paradise.

“Where’s Johnny?”

“Who’s Johnny?”

“He was a passenger on the stage.”

“I don’t know, son. I believe that all the passengers have left town. All I know is that the third bandit held you captive. He had you on his horse so you couldn’t escape.”

Scott’s forehead wrinkled as his sluggish brain worked through the mire of information. What this man said did not make sense. He tried to work it out, but it was so very hard and he was so very tired. His eyelids drooped and he gave in to the beckoning fingers of sleep.

*********************************

Johnny had the fidgets. He was not used to being idle. He had always found something to fill in his time and all this waiting was getting on his nerves.

Inwardly, he laughed at his situation. All those years that Johnny Madrid had skirted the law and here he was in prison for something he didn’t do. Maybe he was fated not to meet up with his father and just maybe those very fates were trying to send him a message that if he ever got out of this fix, he should just saddle up and head back south again.

His increasing despair was interrupted by the sheriff who had come with a meal.

“Get by the back wall,” the sheriff ordered him brusquely.

Johnny obliged.

“I sent those telegrams. There probably won’t be any reply until tomorrow.”

Johnny sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

The sheriff merely grunted before adding, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

He was gone before Johnny was really aware of it. Alone again to face a solitary meal.  Henry had been released to the care of his brother under oath not to drink before his court appearance. So Johnny thought about the many meals had he eaten over the years and in far less salubrious circumstances. Better to be alone than to be with someone who could betray you. A lot safer.

Maybe he’d just give up on the idea of contacting his father. Hell, he probably had a new family now. Just how they would react? And where would his father’s allegiances lie? To a family he’d seen grow up under the same roof or to a vagabond gunslinger who was nothing to him other than his half breed mistake that was best forgotten? His father had probably not even told anyone of his existence. No matter how much Johnny looked at it, the idea of meeting his father must rank with one of his lesser brainstorms. It had been borne out of the intense misery of his dead end life and a realization that Johnny had to make a change before ‘dead’ became the operative word.

His thoughts kept him company for the rest of the day and continued to circle around his brain like two boxers manoeuvring for their jabs, but not quite committing themselves to the fight. The evening offered no firm solution. In the end he allowed sleep to claim him and remove him from his inner conflict.

**********************************

The flickering firelight danced in front of Scott’s eyes before the spurts of flame hurtled towards him in a burst of sharp reports. The red glow melted into the fire in his shoulder and he gasped in pain. His vision was blanketed by a haze which materialized into a red shirt leaning over him, supporting him, comforting him. Blue eyes framed by black hair above the shirt mesmerized him and kept him clinging to hope. A soft voice crooned, “Easy, Scott. I’ll look out for you.”

Scot groaned and gasped. He felt slick with perspiration from that damned fire. The smooth, gentle voice continued to coax and lull, but it gravitated into deeper and more gravely tones as black hair gave way to grey.

Panting, breaths heaving in painful rushes, Scott bolted upright. He screamed as the sudden movement tore at his stitches and wound. He felt arms around him, bolstering him, before gently lying him back down again.

His father’s eyes stared at him, concern etched into their depths. “You’re safe, boy. Just relax. You had a bit of a nightmare.”

Scott’s breathing slowed. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, attempting to settle down and gather his thoughts.

“Here, son, take a drink.”

Scott sipped from the glass of water held to his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

His focus became sharper and his mind uncluttered magically as if he had been spring-cleaned. He leaned back on the pillows and regarded his father.

“Welcome back, son. We were worried about you.”

Scott gave a weak smile. “It’s a pleasure to be back, sir. How long have I been out to it?”

“Today is Tuesday. You were found on Saturday. You’ve been floating in and out of consciousness and that fever really took a hold.”

“What about my wound?”

“It was infected, but already seems to be improving. The doc wanted to know who took the bullet out. Whoever it was did a neat job without damaging anything further.”

Scott answered with a touch of panic. “Johnny! What happened to him?”

“Who’s this Johnny? You mentioned him before.”

“He was a passenger on the stage. He was picked up about half an hour before we were held up. He came after me.”

“Oh, Scott, I don’t know about any passenger, son. But it sounds like the Mexican must have bushwhacked you both. I don’t know where this Johnny is, but I’m sorry to say that it doesn’t sound good.”

“The Mexican came back?”

Murdoch was confused with the thread of the conversation. “I don’t know. Did the Mexican go away?” This conversation was almost a repeat of the previous one, and still Murdoch felt none the more aware of the details.

“Johnny ambushed the camp site. He killed two of them during the gunplay. The Mexican was injured and got away. I don’t remember him coming back.”

”Maybe you passed out and he jumped Johnny when he was bringing you back?”

Scott squeezed his eyes closed. His heart raced. It constricted in his chest as though a vice was crushing his ribs and lungs.

“No! Please, no!”

Scott’s evident distress touched Murdoch’s soul. He was strangely proud of this son he did not know for caring so deeply about the stranger he insisted had saved his life.

He touched Scott’s arm in an attempt at useless reassurance. “I’ll get the sheriff onto it. He’ll arrange a search of the area to look for a b… for him. OK?”

Scott leaned his head back on the pillows. His bleak eyes registered comprehension of what Murdoch did not say.

Resigned and raging internally at the unfairness of it all, Scott nodded his thanks.

Chapter Seven

There was silence for a while as Scott remembered the man who had risked his life to save him.

Scott spoke suddenly. “Why can’t the Mexican show the sheriff where he left Johnny? Or is he too badly injured for that?”

“Injured? He’s not injured.”

“There was blood. He was wounded. Johnny thinks he got him in the thigh.”

“He was all right when I saw him,” contradicted Murdoch.

Scott lifted his head. He frowned, perplexed. “When did you see him?”

“On Sunday afternoon. I wanted to see the sheriff, but as it turned our paths crossed and I never did see him.”

“But the Mexican was shot. He couldn’t disguise that!”

“Well, unless there are more Mexicans running around with red shirts, then he must have,” joked Murdoch, in an attempt to ease the tension.

The look Scott bestowed on his father made Murdoch decidedly uneasy. He began wondering if this Eastern  raised son had no sense of humour, when Scott broke into his thoughts.

“A red shirt with studded pants?”

Murdoch confirmed this with a nod of his head.

“And what did the prisoner say to you when you spoke to him?”

“He said that he was a passenger, and that he followed to save you. He said that he wasn’t one of the bandits. He said that he was bringing you in to Morro Coyo to get some help. So I suppose he guessed what your Johnny had done and took on the story as his own alibi.”

Murdoch stopped there. He frowned, turned his head to one side, thinking deeply. He scratched his nose and breathed in deeply.

“It doesn’t make sense, Scott.  All passengers were accounted for.”

”Including the one who hitched a lift?”

Here Murdoch squirmed, a little uncomfortable. “The one who hitched a lift? Johnny? Well, you did mention him before, but I thought you were a little delirious still. I must admit, I didn’t know anything about any passengers getting on the stage between stops.”

Murdoch was strangely aware that facts seemed to have been overlooked and misconstrued. As far as Murdoch knew, the stage driver had not mentioned any passenger who had got on between regular stops. The local doc had been relaying information from the local sheriff, and was usually a reliable source of information.

Scott pursued the topic, eager to solve the riddle. “And this Mexican you spoke to, what was his name?”

“He didn’t give it.”

“And what coloured eyes did he have?” Scott persisted.

Murdoch looked at him. He was silent for a moment. His forehead was mobile, registering a series of conflicting thoughts.

“Blue,” he informed Scott. “A vivid, intense blue.”

This reply left Murdoch feeling even more pensive. There was something he could not quite put his finger on. Something that niggled at the deepest recesses of his mind.

Murdoch glanced at his son. He was surprised to see a smile gracing his son’s mouth. He was suddenly cognisant of how handsome his son was. He had a long, strong face, with expressive eyes radiating intelligence. It was a compassionate and sensitive face, too. A face he hoped to see for many more years to come.

“Son?”

Scott’s smile broadened. “You should have listened to him. That’s Johnny you’ve got in prison! He saved my life.”

Murdoch started in surprise.

Scott breathed a sigh of happiness. The pain in his shoulder receded as the good news sunk in.

“He and the Mexican were wearing the same style of clothes, but Johnny’s shirt was more faded,” he explained.

He looked imploringly at his father.

“Get him out of jail, please. Bring him back here. I’d like to see him.”

“The prisoner is Johnny?” Murdoch rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. “I see how the confusion could have occurred, then, if both men were wearing the same sort of clothes. And your Johnny does look Mexican, or partly, anyway.”

Scott nodded his affirmation. “His mother was Mexican.”

“I see. I’ll speak to the sheriff, then, and arrange things. He’ll want to interview you, as well. The doc said he has been champing at the bit to speak to you and find out the details.”

Murdoch sat in his son’s room, emotion seething just below the surface. Scott might just be out of the woods. His colour was better and he seemed so much more at peace when he had discovered that his rescuer was safe, albeit in jail.

“Murdoch, can you arrange it now? I don’t want him in there a minute longer!” Scott was suddenly tense and distraught, the previous calm evaporating under his anxiety for his new friend.

Murdoch rose. “Right now. I promise.”

Patting Scott’s shoulder, he smiled and left to put matters to rights.

***********************************

Johnny was moping on the cot in the cell. He had been considering his options ad nauseam, but no matter how much he considered taking that one final decision, he just couldn’t commit to it. No matter how much he wanted it. No matter how many times he played imaginary scenes over in his mind. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that there would be a happy ending taking that path.

But then again, maybe all this thinking was just a moot point. Maybe there was no decision to make. Maybe this time it was long term prison or the hangman’s noose for him.

He was alone and had been so for several hours. Just more hours in his short life spent in his own company.

He heard the door of the sheriff’s office open abruptly. Two sets of boots thumping on the wooden floor piqued his curiosity. The sheriff was speaking to a familiar voice, but it took Johnny several seconds to distinguish the owner. The connecting door was pushed open to reveal the local law officer and the stage driver from the ill-fated journey.

The latter looked through the bars, chewing thoughtfully on chewing tobacco. “Yep, that’s him all right.”

Johnny stood up, anxiety twisting his insides, but only bland nonchalance was evident on the outside.

“That’s the Mexican fella,” the driver confirmed again unnecessarily.

The sheriff urged him on. “You sure about that? Don’t want to make any mistakes.”

Johnny desperately wanted to know what the driver was confirming, but he dreaded finding out and for once he could not speak. He had the dismal feeling in his gut that he was going to be stitched up well and proper.

“Yep, sure is him.”

The sheriff nodded grimly.

“After we was held up and they took the fancy fella, this man tended to Walt’s leg and took off after them. He weren’t the Mexican bandit. That Mexican had the blackest eyes you ever saw. Same sort of gaudy clothes, but the eyes are real different. They were dead eyes, you know.” The driver continued to contemplate Johnny before offering his greatest revelation with a jerk of his head. “And his are blue, if you ain’t noticed.”

“Yeah, I noticed all right!”

The stage driver, having done his duty, was anxious to be off. “Can I go now, Sheriff? I got me a stage waiting.”

“First, I want to know why you didn’t tell us about this passenger heading out to rescue Scott?”

The coach driver had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Well, he weren’t on the official passenger list and I didn’t want to get into trouble with the boss or lose my job. I sometimes pick up strays for a short way and they pay me a little extra, you know? It helps me get by.”

“But nobody else mentioned him either!”

“Well, people like to mind their own business and they figured the quickest way to be on their way was not saying anything about it. They was afeard they’d be kept here for a few weeks. Plus he wasn’t supposed to be on the stage. We took his gun when he boarded, so he was unarmed. We all presumed he’d be killed by the bandits when he caught up with them, anyways. There weren’t no point in mentioning him.”

The sheriff was incredulous at their callousness. “Do you realize that we could have imprisoned the wrong man?”

“Yeah, I suppose, but he’s only a Mex and they’re a dime a dozen.”

The sheriff stared at the man, his loathing for him not disguised in the slightest.

“Git out of my sight before I throw up on you!”

The driver did not need a further invitation. He disappeared as though a pack of coyotes was on his tail.

The sheriff had one arm out, leaning it on the horizontal bar at waist height. His head was down and it stayed down a good while. A deep sigh made his frame shudder. It was only then that he raised his eyes to Johnny.

“Sorry, boy. Sorry you had to hear that and sorry we locked up the wrong man.”

Johnny offered a smile, a sad smile which did not reach his eyes. “Don’t fret none. I’ve heard it all before.”

Grim-faced, the sheriff unlocked the door. Still holding it, he spoke again. “You might have heard it all before, but you should never have heard it in the first place.”

He sighed again.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Johnny obliged happily. The sheriff passed him his rig and watched intently as Johnny checked it carefully. He spun the cylinder and checked all the chambers, before sliding it into the holster. Lastly, Johnny took both ends of the leather belt, jiggled the points to meet and efficiently buckled it with ease borne of much practice.

“It was a very brave thing you did going after them.”

Johnny looked up and met his gaze. “I couldn’t let them get away with it without trying something. And they were thugs. The sort to kill their own mamas if they thought they could profit by it. They would have murdered him, ransom or not. He seemed like a real decent man.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“How’s he doing, do you know?”

“I heard tell that he might just be out of the woods.”

The sheriff was dazzled by one of Johnny’s smiles. Such a spontaneous grin fairly brightened up the sheriff’s day. He pondered the surprising source and then smiled back warmly.

“Here.”

Johnny eyed the money held out to him. “What’s that for?”

“You was robbed, weren’t you? Thought you might need your money back. This is what was left over after I deducted everyone else’s loss.”

Johnny was surprisingly touched at this gesture. He’d known plenty a law man to keep the proceeds as a perk of the job. It was the correct amount, too. Only five dollars, but a much valued five dollars. His respect for the lawman grew further.

“Thanks. It’s much appreciated.”

“No need,” the sheriff told him, offering him his hat. “Well, you’re a free man, so off you go. You gonna call in on Scott?”

“Maybe. Bye, Sheriff, and thanks.” Johnny donned the hat he had been given by tilting his head back to capture any stray strands of hair and then jamming it on comfortably. Just as he turned to go, he swivelled around again. “You wouldn’t know what happened to my saddle, would you?”

“Your saddle?”

“Yeah. It was on top of the stage coach and the bandits took it. When I caught up with them, I put it on the horse I rode back with.”

The sheriff didn’t answer. He headed to a door in the middle of the side wall of the room.  Opening it, he disappeared for a moment and returned lugging a mound of moulded leather. “This it?”

Pleasure lit up Johnny’s face when he spied his saddle. “Sure is. Thanks, Sheriff.”  

“It weren’t no trouble. I just left it in the storeroom. I thought it belonged to the high riders.”

Hoisting the treasured saddle to his shoulder, Johnny waved casually and walked out into the sunshine he had so craved for the past few days.

*********************************

Johnny basked in the sun like a cat which had been cooped up too long inside. He threw the saddle over the hitching rail, then leaned on it, head thrown back to let the sun massage his face with soothing fingers delicately invigorating him.

The first order of the day was food. He stomach growled for something hot and spicy. The cantina beckoned, aromatic tendrils invading his olfactory senses and lassoing him in vines of seduction from which he was too hungry to escape.

Entering the cantina, he could see that it was clean and popular, with many tables full of patrons tucking in vigorously. Johnny placed an order for enchiladas, then asked for a beer. He gulped down half of it without even being conscious of it. Setting the mug down, he glanced around before selecting a table against the far wall.

His mind was contradicting his heart. He was unaccustomed to dithering, yet here he was doing precisely that. He wanted to check on Scott, but he was nothing if not realistic. Circumstances may have given Scott and him a shared experience, but he knew it was nothing more than that, no matter how much a curious mutual respect and liking had developed between them. Those circumstances had changed. The likes of Johnny Madrid did not go paying social calls on the likes of the well bred Scott Garrett.

And what of his own father? What action should he take? Should he kill him or try to inveigle Murdoch Lancer to give him a chance on the ranch? The urge to make the man suffer was still strong, but Johnny was tiring of bloodlust and death surrounding his very existence. Just what would Murdoch’s death prove and just how much better would Johnny feel as a result? But he owed his Mama, his conscience prodded him.

And yet if he tried to settle in California his common sense told him that he would no more fit in here than he did where he came from. Maybe less so, if that were possible. The reactions of the stage driver and of the passengers to him confirmed that. He was expendable. A nobody who didn’t deserve any consideration. Just another a dime a dozen Mex.

Besides, what did he know about ranching? Sure, he’d worked on ranches, but would his father even want him? Especially with his history, his godawful past. Looking for his father was just looking for more hurt. He didn’t need that. Not any more.

Decision made, Johnny scoffed his meal, eager to be on his way, and put this episode behind him along with all the other trash in his past.

He left the cantina and contemplated available transport. He didn’t have enough to buy a horse and waiting for the stage did not appeal, so he headed for the livery to examine the possibilities. Entering the building, he was pleased to see that it was clean. There was plenty of fresh hay and the animals were well cared for.

A man was saddling his mount with great difficulty, coughing intermittently but explosively, as he went through the ritual. Johnny cringed. That was one shuddering cough.

Another, older, man was mucking out one of the stalls. The pungent smell of manure assailed his nostrils, and while strong, overpowering even, he found some comfort in this earthy odour.

“Hey, Old Timer, how’re you going?”

“Fine, thanks, sonny. What can I do for you?”

“I’m after some transport, but I don’t have much on me. You got any jobs for a short while? Or maybe any horses I could hire?”

The old man stopped shovelling and rested his elbow on the shovel handle. He was a portly gent with wispy white hair flying in all directions. Johnny noticed that even his ear and nose hairs protruded uncontrollably from their respective orifices. His eyes were faded, but held a warmth and kindness that Johnny did not often see directed his way.

Johnny stepped back a little as the man with the cough led his horse and two other mounts out of the barn, throwing and a farewell and wave over his shoulder.

“What direction are you heading when you get enough money?”

“South.”

The old timer continued to peruse Johnny, then shook his head sadly.

“Sorry, boy, but I ain’t got nothing to offer you. No job and no spare horses. Perhaps if you ask around town you might find something.”

Disappointed, Johnny re-fixed his hat on his head and thanked the man.

Johnny exited the livery and stopped outside in the street, debating the best place to find some work. There was always swamping at the saloon, but he fancied outdoors work if he could get it. In the end he thought that he would try the saloon, anyway, hoping that someone from one of the local ranches might be inside sneaking a quick drink on the sly on the boss’s time while fetching ranch supplies.

Walking down the dusty street, he noticed that the man he had seen in the livery hadn’t got too far. He was seated on his mount, leaning over in some distress, seemingly coughing his lungs up.

“Hey, you all right?” Johnny enquired.

The man took a while to get his coughing under control, but then nodded.

“Have to be,” he answered breathlessly. “Need to get these two horses delivered to Modesto.”

“Why?”

“Because I need the money for the ranch and I signed a contract. If I don’t deliver by the deadline, my ranch is in danger of going under.”

The man barely uttered the sentence before he was once again consumed by wracking coughs.

“I don’t like to be negative, but you ain’t got a hope of making it there in one piece. Can’t someone else do it for you?”

”No, my son broke his leg and my wife is nursing him.”

The man’s face went red, then slightly blue around the lips as he again battled the congestion in his lungs. Johnny did not like the colour of him.

“Look, my name’s Johnny. I’m heading that way. I’ll take them for you.”

The man shook his head.

“I can’t pay you for your time. I’m broke. I’ve only got a couple of dollars on me.”

“Look. I need the ride.  I’ll deliver them for you.”

The man was looking fiercely dubious, but his mind was made up suddenly when he began swaying in the saddle.

“I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter. I’ll just have to trust that you are a man of honour.”

Johnny smiled a slow smile that confirmed to the rancher that he had made the right decision.

“Yeah, you can trust me, I swear it. I reckon that we might have what could be called a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he replied.

Johnny walked over to the animals, crooning softly in both Spanish and English. The rancher was witness to the miracle that was the reaction of horses to Johnny. Both nudged him happily, snorting soft bursts of warm air onto his face. It was as though they were greeting an old friend.

The man chuckled. “Well, it looks like they might enjoy a few days on the trail with you.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed happily, arm around the neck of the bay. “Nothing like a good horse for company. Much better than many a man I’ve had to share the trail with.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” agreed the man. “Come here and I’ll give you the address and all the details.”

Thirty minutes later, Johnny was finally on his way, turning his back on the past few days as well as on the new path his life could have taken.

Chapter Eight

Murdoch relaxed when he saw the township ahead.  Even riding to town caused twinges in his back these days. He longed for the time when he could spend hours each day and days each week riding the range and wrestling the cattle. He hated to admit it to himself, and there was no way he would do so to anyone else, but he was getting past the truly physical work which he had thrived on.

He wondered at his future. How much would change? Would Scott stay? It was hard to tell. He hadn’t had a chance to get to know him yet. Scott had been largely unconscious since he had been brought to the ranch, although he now seemed to be picking up and regaining his strength. He wanted to get to know this son so badly that it ached. ‘I had Johnny for such a short time. Please, God, leave me this one’.

He had had a quiet trip into town, not coming across any other travellers. He had welcomed the solitude to consider just how Scott’s arrival might impact upon him and Lancer. His thoughts had been sucked into a maelstrom of ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’, ‘whys’ and ‘wherefores’, and the very hardest of all possibilities: ‘if only’. He had traversed the land cocooned in his vacuum of ponderings, only his niggling back drawing him back from the recesses of his mind to the realities of the landscape around him.

As he commenced the final leg of the trip to town, the only other form of human life visible was the dust of one other horseman leading a bay, disappearing over the crest of a hill towards the south. He kneed his horse to a faster trot and ate up the remaining distance quickly. Slowing at the outskirts of the town, he allowed his horse to amble over to the sheriff’s office. He dismounted stiff legged and with far less grace than in his previous years.

Bashing his hat against his thighs to rid it of trail dust, he mounted the steps to the jail and entered the sheriff’s office. He called out a greeting as he entered. He was met with a rear view of the sheriff as he bent over stuffing paper and wood into the pot belly fire, in readiness to ward off the later evening chill.

“Hi, Gabe. How goes it?” he enquired.

Gabe sat back on his haunches, leaning his arms on his legs and wiping the dirt off his hands.

“Hi back atcha, Murdoch. How’s your son doing?”

“Much better. That’s why I’m here. That prisoner you’ve got is the wrong man. Scott can vouch for him. Scott said that he was a passenger on the coach and he saved his life. He wasn’t one of the bandits at all, although he was wearing similar clothes to the Mexican. You’ve got to let him go. He’s innocent.” Murdoch’s voice wavered a little, before strengthening and adding. “He saved my son. He didn’t shoot him at all.”

“Yeah, I know. The stage driver came back on his return trip and told me. If he’d fessed up about taking on extra passengers in the first place, that man wouldn’t have been imprisoned and we could have been after the Mexican bandit before the trail got cold. It’s gonna be mighty hard to find him now. He could be in Mexico.”

“He could be anywhere. Let’s face it, the odds are that he won’t be found by now at all. So, can I go out back and get Johnny? Scott’s anxious for me to bring him home.”

“No. Sorry, Murdoch. I let him go an hour or so ago.”

“Well, where is he then?”

“Don’t know, rightly. I saw him head for the cantina. I don’t know after that. He could still be in town. If not, check the hotel and the livery. He’s got a couple of dollars on him, but I know that he didn’t have enough money on him for a horse.”

“Thanks, sheriff. I appreciate it. If you run into him, tell him we’d like to see him at Lancer as our guest. Scott wants to see him again.”

“Sure thing, Murdoch. Good luck!”

“Thank you.”

Murdoch headed out, boots thumping heavily on the wooden flooring. He was disappointed for Scott, but would see if he could locate the man. A fruitless hour later he had to concede defeat. He had discovered only that the prisoner had had lunch at the cantina and had asked for horse hire and a job at the livery. No one else had seen him.

The livery stable owner had been all too happy to talk. Old and alone, he relished cornering the odd customer for a lengthy chat about pretty well anything. Murdoch’s patience finally gave and he steered him towards the purpose of his visit.

“The boy headed off straight away. He was going to see about getting himself a job. I didn’t see which way he went,” he informed Murdoch.

Murdoch thanked the man, then continued to ask around. It was a futile quest. The siesta hour was traditionally quiet and it had allowed the young man to leave town unnoticed. He ran his fingers through his increasingly sparser hair, before deciding that he had no option but to return to Lancer and tell Scott that Johnny had left town that afternoon.

*****************************

Johnny made good time with both horses. The horses ate the miles at a decent clip and as dusk gathered he realized that he was some distance away from Morro Coyo. His mind had been loitering on the unthinkable and the unattainable. So much so, that he had not been concentrating on the countryside surrounding him. That in itself was a worry to Johnny Madrid.

He was kicking himself for even contemplating starting afresh and broaching a future away from his gunfighting past. He was pleased that Scott was going to learn about his father and wished him well. But getting to know his own father was not an option open to him. No matter where he went, the worst was thought of him, and he couldn’t expect a father he didn’t remember to behave any differently, especially one that threw him out of the house in the first place.

Wherever he went, trouble just dogged him. The fact that once again he had ended up with the odds stacked against him, thrown in jail through no fault of his own, made him realize more than ever that he couldn’t hope for a normal life. That was for the likes of people such as Scott.

He made camp after checking over the horses, watering them and tying them to some nearby branches where there was plenty of grass to graze on. Collecting some wood, he made a fire and contented himself with a plate of beans and a cup of coffee. He contemplated his options. He could make plenty of money hiring out as a gun, but what was the point when each and every business contract had him weighted down even further by the relentless souls of those he had killed? He may never have been a back shooter and right had been on his side far more often than not, but he couldn’t help feeling that his very essence was being soured by this trade. A trade he was both ironically proud of and also disdainful of. A trade which mocked him. The better he got, the harder to leave it all behind, and not just through his own choice but by those who sought out Madrid to make a name for themselves. A quick name. A quick reputation until someone better came along. But there was always someone quicker and Johnny realized that the longer he stayed in the game, the closer he was to meeting up with that somebody.

Johnny felt a need to finish his days having done something worthwhile. He shuddered at the thought that his only legacy was in the transient brilliance of speed in the art of killing a fellow human being. He was being poisoned by all the killing. How many men had he shot who were simply taking on a job to feed a family? How many had been too young and stupid to see nothing but the glamour? Just sucked in by the excitement before a brain grew between their ears? And how many had not lasted a few more months or years to be able to have the luxury of looking back and seeing it for the existence it was. An existence as a fringe dweller. Well, Johnny had had a double dose of it. He’d been on the outer as a mestizo kid growing up along the border towns, and he had compounded this excommunication by committing to the folly of becoming a gunfighter.

Maybe he could find some honest work. It might pay a lot less, but his needs were simple and he began to crave for a future. Something he would never have if he continued his pistolero trade. He was good with animals and he wasn’t afraid of hard work. He mulled this over as he drank the last of his coffee. Just maybe the time was right. And maybe one day he’d finish the plans he’d been following when he went to Morro Coyo. Maybe, when he was more respectable and less likely to be rejected.

*****************************

Murdoch found his son on the settle on the verandah. His head was resting on a vividly coloured cushion, shouting vibrant life to the world as it lay trapped beneath Scott’s blond head.  Murdoch studied him for a moment. He seemed to be a tall lad, but not nearly as tall as Murdoch himself. A good four inches smaller or even more. It was hard to tell as Scott had been lying in bed since his arrival. He had fine features with high cheekbones, framed in a long face descending to a strong chin. His soulful eyes sparkled with life the few times Murdoch had witnessed them lit with humour or pleasure. He was slim to the point of having no excess meat at all. But it was a lithe, slim physique, not the fineness which comes from fragility or too much coddling.

Murdoch felt that this son might just hold some surprises for him – if he stayed, that is.

Scott stirred, then twisted his head around to find his father’s eyes investigating him.

“Examination complete? Have I passed muster?” Scott asked tersely, more tersely than he intended.

Murdoch started. He licked his lips and was about to reply when a quiet ‘I’m sorry’ was offered.

"No need,” he consoled Scott.

“Yes, there is. I was short with you for no reason.”

“Perhaps being captive is getting on your nerves?”

‘Captive’. That brought to mind some memories he’d rather stay buried.

Murdoch noticed the frown on Scott’s smooth forehead, but Scott spoke before Murdoch could decide whether it was pain or anxiety causing his son discomfort.

“Johnny? Did you get him out of jail?” Scott asked economically.

“Johnny’s gone, Scott. I’m sorry. The sheriff released him before I got to town and he doesn’t know where he went.”

Scott looked sharply at his father. Murdoch witnessed the flicker in his eyes. Those expressive eyes which registered sorrow, for some reason. More sorrow than would have been warranted in the situation, Murdoch would have thought. The man was, after all, merely a stranger who shared a coach with Scott, albeit a brave stranger who saved his son’s life.

Murdoch continued sharing the news he had garnered in town. “The sheriff said he gave him the money left over from the robbery, after everyone else’s loss was accounted for. Johnny had a meal in town, but then left. The stage had already gone, so I checked at the livery. He didn’t have enough money to buy a horse and there were none to be hired.”

Scott’s mouth tightened into a straight line and he turned his head slightly away from his father.

Murdoch sat in the wicker chair nearby, studying his new found son. “I’m sorry, son. I tried everywhere I could think of.”

Scott did not answer. He stared unseeingly into the distance.

“Scott. What’s on your mind?” Murdoch entreated.

“I don’t know. That’s just it. I just feel like I needed to thank him.” Scott faltered, shaking his head slightly. “But how do you ever repay a man for saving your life? He didn’t even know me, yet he risked his life to save me.”

Scott looked at his father, sad eyes seeking agreement. “I was thinking that maybe we could offer him a job here. I had an inkling that he was looking for something, but needed more time. Maybe we could have offered him that time. I know that doesn’t make sense. I …”  Scott stopped there and sighed a deep sigh, shaking his head. “Thanks for trying, anyway.”

Murdoch nodded in recognition. “Sure, son.”

Sensing that Scott needed some time alone, Murdoch stood and left him to his thoughts. He had wanted this reunion with Scott to be a happy one. Murdoch found himself frustrated that it had not only been clouded by his son’s injury and recovery, but also by Scott’s anxiety to meet up again with the stranger who had so fortuitously intervened to save his son’s life. Murdoch silently remonstrated with himself for feeling twinges of jealousy about this unknown man. Scott seemed more focused on him than on his new found father. Murdoch recognized what was happening and argued silently with himself that he understood his son’s need to meet this man and thank him.

He was as disappointed as Scott, and guilt played apart of it. He would have liked to have thanked the man himself, especially after his brusque conversation with him in the jail when Murdoch thought that the man was responsible for Scott’s gunshot wound. But now that it was not to be and he would not be able to apologize for his behaviour in the jail that day. Instead, he needed to move forward and concentrate on building a relationship with his son. He just hoped that Scott reciprocated his feelings.

Chapter Nine

Johnny arrived late afternoon in Modesto. He located the livery without any trouble and entered the building grateful to have the journey behind him. The owner of the premises was a man in his sixties. A spare frame belied his wiry physique. This very frame was engaged in mucking out the stalls. His fluid movements were economical and indicative of years of practice. He kept clean premises. Johnny noted the fresh hay in the stalls and the condition of the animals.

“Howdy,” he greeted Johnny succinctly.

“Hi, there.” responded Johnny as he removed his hat and wiped his forehead with the shirt fabric covering his forearm. “Are you Clyde Dawkins?”

“Yep. What can I do for you?” asked the livery worker.

“I’m delivering these horses for Josiah Adams from Morro Coyo. Name’s Johnny,” Johnny responded.

“You made good time. He wired me when you left. Let me get a good look at those critters and see what sort of condition they’re in.”

Clyde leaned the shovel against a stall wall and ambled over to inspect the animals. Practised hands felt their bodies and legs.

“They’re in good nick. I’ve seen some pretty flea bitten horses arrive in my time. I’ll let him know what a good job you did.”

Johnny smiled his easy smile. “Thanks,” he replied softly. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone who is hiring on, do you?”

“Not at the moment.” Clyde looked at him closely, weighing him up and trying to come to a decision. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just thought I’d find me a job to tide me over for a while.”

The man nodded to himself. “I tell you what, why don’t you come back here tomorrow and I’ll see if I can help you out.”

“I’m much obliged to you Clyde.”

“I’ll wire the money to Josiah in the morning then.”

“You do that. He needs it at the moment. Things ain’t going to well for him.”

“Sorry to hear that. I guess he was lucky that you were available to deliver the horses for him, eh?”

“Guess so, but it worked out well for us both.”

He retrieved his saddle and hoisted it to his shoulder before heading out the door.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Sure, Johnny,” Clyde replied as picked up some tack to clean. “If you’re looking for somewhere to stay, the ‘Premier’ is good value. It ain’t fancy, but old Clara keeps it spic and span and she puts on a mighty fine supper in her dining room.”

“That sounds promising, Clyde. How do I find it?”

“Just around the corner, then follow your nose for about 200 yards. Tell her I sent you,” suggested Clyde with a wave.

“Will do.”

Johnny hefted his saddle to his shoulder and trudged out the double doors and into the sunshine.

Walking to the corner, he paused and surveyed the town. Not too bad compared to many he had grown up in. Rough around the edges in places, he had noticed, but otherwise on the whole it was growing and a thriving service centre for the farms and ranches surrounding it. He spied the Premier’s sign and made for it. Suddenly, he had quite an urge for a good soak and a clean, soft bed for the night in a room not hemmed in by bars.

Mounting the steps with renewed vigour, he entered the foyer, deposited his saddle on the floor and slapped his saddlebags on the counter. He tapped the bell once and almost immediately a woman appeared. Small, almost wizened, she shuffled over to him. Her eyes, however, alert and humour-filled, were arresting. He found himself smiling at her.

“Hello, Mister. What can I do for you?”

“Afternoon, Ma’am. I’d like a room please.”

She looked at him. “You’re lookin’ mighty scrawny. You need feedin’ up.”

Johnny smiled disarmingly. “And I believe that you’re the one to do it. Clyde said that you set a fine table.”

“Humph,” she snorted. “Clyde just told you that so that he could curry favour with me. He’s been sweet on me for years. Seems to think that if he sends enough customers my way, I’ll fall into his arms.”

“Well, Ma’am, I’ve only just met him, but I’d say that there are a lot worse arms you could fall into.”

“Mebbe,” was her brief reply as she gestured for him to sign in. “But it keeps life interesting if I can keep him guessing.” 

Johnny smiled to himself as he signed the register. He secretly thought that she didn’t have all that much time left with which to play hard to get, but he wasn’t about to interfere in her little game with Clyde.

“Here, Mister…” she trailed off as she checked his name, “Madrid. Your room is on the next floor. You want a bath?”

Johnny regarded her intently. “Is that a suggestion, Ma’am?” 

Her quick eyes glimmered. “Suit yourself, but a fine lookin’ man like you is wastin’ his opportunities if he sits around after being on the trail without botherin’ to respect personal hygiene. And it’s Clara, not Ma’am.”

Johnny’s broad smile dazzled her. “Well, I don’t suppose I want to hinder them opportunities. Speaking of which, are there many decent ones around here?”

Clara took in his twinkling eyes and for a moment experienced a pang of desire for the cocksure virility of a younger man. “Oh, there’s plenty of opportunities, but not decent ones, I do confess. A fine feller like you shouldn’t waste his time with the local tramps. You can do better.”

Johnny was stilled by her talk. He was unused to being told that he deserved better. In fact, her words threatened to discompose him.

“Thank you, Clara. Maybe I could give Clyde a run for his money?”

Clara positively blushed. The coy smile she cast Johnny’s way allowed him to glimpse the younger woman she had once been.

“Oh, get away with you! What would a young whippersnapper like you want with an old girl like me?”

“Well, sometimes a more mature woman has a different perspective from the younger ones, Clara.”

Her blush of pleasure, and possibly vain hope, deepened further.

“I tell you what. If you want to take a long soak, there’s a tub here on the ground floor behind the stairs. There’s always plenty of hot water warmin’ in the drum. I just keep a fire goin’ underneath. Turn the spigot on the pipe and the water will siphon down into the tub. Old Bert rigged it up. I still miss him somethin’ powerful. While you’re in there, I’ll whip something up for you in the kitchen. It’s a bit early for supper, but I can find something to beat that trail food you’ve been eating.”

Johnny took in all this information. He swept off his hat and bowed. “Clara, you are not only a beautiful sight, but an angel,” he informed her.

She simpered in return, as she almost seductively tucked several stray strands of limp grey hair behind her ears.

“Oh, my, ain’t you got a charming way about you?” she giggled.

Johnny did as she suggested, sauntering up the stairs to the haven of a clean room and soft bed. He did no more than drop his gear and fossick in his saddle bags for a clean shirt, drawers and some basic shaving gear. Picking up the clean towel and face washer laid out on the washstand, he headed back down stairs for that enticing date with some warm water.

Entering the bath room, he tossed his clean clothes onto a chair.  He inspected the bath system and was immensely impressed, especially when hot water did indeed flow down into the tub. Johnny pulled out his shirt from his pants. One by one, he unfastened the toggles on his shirt, before reaching for the hem, grasping the bottom edges and drawing it up over his head. As his arms flexed, his shoulder muscles rippled. Of compact build, his broad shoulders emphasized his slim waist. His dark chest hair, narrowing to a thin line trailing down below his belt, made his tan seem even deeper.

Johnny was suddenly hit by a smothering tiredness which propelled him to a second chair. Johnny sat head bowed with his elbows on his knees for some time, before recouping enough energy to pull off his boots. They landed on the wooden floor with dull thuds echoing his weariness. His belts were next to receive his attention. Unlike his careless treatment of his clothes, his holster was placed carefully on the chair back. Standing, he slid the chair over to the tub. It was only then that he unbuckled his trouser belt and slipped his pants down, shucking them off when they reached his ankles.

Stepping over to the tub he dipped in a toe to check the temperature. He couldn’t help smiling then. ‘Johnny Madrid afraid of being scalded in his bath!’ He slid into the enveloping welcome of the water. He gratefully leaned his head back against the back of the tub and closed his eyes. The warmth invaded his skin and seeped into his bones, providing a comfort he so rarely experienced. As he relaxed, he allowed himself to drift into that intangible realm of semi wakefulness, into that limbo which suspended a person before they were committed to the safe embrace of sleep proper or projected back into the harsh realities of life itself.

That drifting took him to less restful destinations and he found himself frowning as he considered possibilities and regrets, decisions made and actions taken, opportunities offered and hopes crushed. His thoughts roused him and angrily he sat up and ducked his head into the water. Could he never get any peace? The peace of the bath destroyed, he grabbed at the soap waiting patiently on the soap dish and thrust it into the water. Lathering it up, he lustily swabbed his body in round rubbing motions, as if those very motions could scrub away his unsettling thoughts.

His hair was next as he massaged mounds of suds into his scalp before dipping it into the water to rinse it. His cathartic long breath held under water helped him regain some perspective, enough that he felt like he could muster his reserves and replace his armour well enough to continue the pathway he had chosen … or the pathway that had chosen him.

He stepped out of the cooling water and grabbed at the towel. It quickly soaked up the moisture as he mopped the hard contours of his torso, arms and legs. His relaxation having been spoilt, he just wanted to get dressed and get fed as quickly as possible.

But first of all he threw his dirty shirt and underclothes into the bath. He swished them around in the water and left them to soak as he shaved. Tired eyes reflected his weariness and lack of direction. He stared at his image in the mirror and pondered what he had achieved in his 22 years. And more importantly, where he was going. The mirror failed to communicate what he hoped, so he set about giving himself a much needed shave. Surprisingly, he felt better for the smoother skin and lingering perfume of the soap.

He finished his laundry by squeezing, pummelling and rubbing his clothes along the sides of the tub. He turned the spigot, rinsing his clothes in the fresh water and wringing them until his biceps bulged. He paused then. He was taking his uncertainty out on his clothes and he had scant few that he could afford to abuse in the process. He smiled wryly and hung his head as he sighed deeply.

He felt that he was at a crossroads. He had wanted to make a change, but then had lost heart and had backed out at the last minute.  His lack of courage to face this greatest of unknowns in his life disgusted him. To put it mildly, Johnny Madrid was afraid.

Hissing with annoyance, he pulled the plug, dressed, swiftly gathered his gear and headed back to his room. A cursory look around offered him the bed head and a chair back as acceptable clothes lines. Draping his laundry over them, he walked over to the window. He studied the street below, pondering all the comings and goings of the men and women down below. Shrugging himself out of his reverie, he reached to open the window. It was stuck and resisted his will. He put more effort into it and was gifted with some token movement from the stubborn wooden frame. Not enough for his liking, though. Giving it a miss, he locked the door and bounded downstairs for his meal.

He followed his nose to the kitchen. Here he was assailed by wholesome odours. Tantalizing smells wafted over him, fairly massaging his nostrils and promising him an edible heaven.

“There you are! How was the water?”

“Just bliss, Clara. So good that I just might head back there and become the cleanest guest you ever had staying here!”

“You sure smell a sight better. Look better, too, in them clean clothes. Sit yourself down … or would you rather eat in the dining room?”

“Here’s fine, Clara.”

He sat and watched as she fetched a clean willow patterned plate from the dresser. The blue was erased as Clara ladelled a hefty helping of stew on the plate. Not only a large helping, but an appetising one. The stew was thick with large lumps of meat and chunks of vegetables. She set the plate in front of him, then proceeded to cut some chunky slices of crusty bread for him.

“Here, dip that in the stew. Tastes mighty good. It’ll help bind your ribs together until supper time. You’re lookin’ mighty scrawny. I know what it’s like with you young fellas. Bottomless pits and hollow legs to boot. How long’s it been since you last had a good feed?”

Too long.

“Been on the trail bringing them horses here. Trail food ain’t the most tasty.”

She scrutinized him, before snorting in derision. “It’s been longer than that, boy.”

Johnny shrugged. “I’ve been on the move.”

“Even on the move, you can eat proper, young man!” she reproved him.

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Clara looked at him sharply.

Johnny scrunched up his forehead, puzzled, before enlightenment dawned. “Clara,” he amended.

Her nod of approval was all she gave.

The copious meal was downed before Johnny even realized that he had started. Sipping the strong coffee that Clara had given to him, he offered his thanks. “Clara, that must be the best meal I have had in years,” he complimented her.

“Don’t say much for whoever did your cooking, then!” she snorted, true to fashion. “You ain’t got no special woman?”

“No,” was all he offered.

“What about your family?”

What about his family? He had never known one. And he never would.

“Ain’t got none.”

“That’s a shame, a fine fella like you. A person would be proud to have you for a son or a brother.”

“But you only just met me, Clara. How could you possibly know what sort of man I am?” The dark shadows of his past lurked over his shoulders breathing their foul stench of decay all over him.

“Oh, I know, all right. Never been wrong yet. You’re a good man. But that sadness sittin’ on your shoulders is gonna bury you one day if you let it weigh you down the way it is. It’s gonna sink you in one of them sinkholes that suck you down like quicksand  if you don’t get out of it before it gets a real tight grip on you.”

Johnny balked at her blunt synopsis of his character. He sat straighter, face impassive, hiding how close she had got to the bulls eye. He opened his mouth to give her a retort, to set her straight, but she was too quick for him.

“Don’t get all shirty with me, young man. I told you, I’m never wrong. Do yourself a favour and make some hard decisions.”

This enigmatic statement concluded the topic, apparently. His plate was whisked away and she refilled his coffee almost simultaneously.

“So, what are you going to do here in town?”

Darn, that coffee was good! Johnny let another mouthful slide down into his stomach before he answered. “Look for a job.”

Clara looked at him over her spectacles. “Well, there’s jobs and jobs,” she prompted.

“I dunno. Ranching, cattle droving, wrangling. I’m good at breaking break horses.”

“You any good at choppin’ wood?”

“Yeah, I wield a mean axe.”

“Well, you can earn a few dollars to help you along choppin’ that woodpile out back.”

Clara was graced with one of Johnny’s brilliant smiles. “Clara, after a meal like that, the wood chopping’s on the house.”

“Oh, a woman could get a swelled head with those compliments! A man like you needs some filling with some decent food. And it’s a pleasure to see a man enjoy the good food prepared for him.”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it, Ma’am. Now, where do you want me to put all this wood I’m gonna be chopping?”

“If you could fill up the woodbox next to the hearth in the parlour and put some next to the oven, I’d be much obliged.”

“Sure, Clara.” Johnny passed her his cup, then stood and made his way out the back. Opening the door, his arms jarred as he caught the heavy panelled wood as it swung wildly on only one hinge and lunged at him. He grunted with the effort to get it back to perpendicular. Finally feeling it was safe to leave it propped back in it recess, he made for the woodpile where he located the axe embedded in the chopping block.

Removing his holster, he hung it over a branch from the tree standing crookedly by the mass of wood stumps and boughs. Levering the axe free, he swung the axe over his head and began his onslaught onto the woodpile. Swinging rhythmically, he split logs and chopped some finer kindling. He enjoyed the manual labour and seeing his strength transfer to shattered wood.

So he continued long past what was required of him. But as he swung and chopped his mood altered. The logs warped and wavered, before taking on a more definite shape again. Unwelcome shapes. Evil and threatening. Taunting. Hovering. Faces from his past. Faces from the wrong end of his gun. Faces owning fists hurtling towards his jaw. Faces that consumed his soul. He smashed these images of his past. He bludgeoned them with the swift axe blade. Pelted them with the steel wedge until the faces splintered, chips flying off in all directions, and fell disfigured with a dull thud to the ground.

Johnny lifted and swung that axe until he could physically continue no more. Until he was left with heaving sides, reminiscent of a horse after a hard gallop. Sweat poured down his face, drenched his back, glistened on his chest and made his armpits sticky as the perspiration clung to his shirt in a cloying mass of soggy shirt material.

Would he never be free? Would those faces ever leave his mind alone and desert his dreams?

He flicked the axe down on the chopping block. It stuck firm. Much the same as those memories stuck in his sub-conscious. Those scummy memories teaming with contagion. They spoilt every aspect of his waking life. Even in sleep he could not escape them as they invaded his search for peace.  He could just never get rid of them and create the room for new and untainted experiences.

Johnny placed both hands on the now still axe embedded diagonally in the chopping block. His head dipped and he waited patiently for his ragged breathing to quieten. He sighed. Why didn’t he go through with his plan? He was so close. What did he have to lose?

Another heartfelt sigh escaped his lips. Not one to brood over the unchangeable, he mentally shook his head and bent to collect an armload of the wood. Arms laden, he entered the building. For another thirty minutes, he replenished stocks in the kitchen and parlour and stacked split logs into a sizeable heap under the shelter of the purpose built lean-to in order to keep them dry.

Wiping his feet carefully on the mat, Johnny entered the kitchen once more. Clara had been busy. More tempting aromas tantalized his nostrils. Roasting beef jockeyed for attention from the sweeter scent of apple and cinnamon. Apple and cinnamon pie, if Johnny did not miss his guess.

“Hi, Johnny. Worked up an appetite?” Clara queried.

Johnny pushed his hat back off his head so it fell against his back, dangling from the hat straps. “Oh, I’ve always got an appetite!”

“Well, it will be about an hour before it’s ready for serving.”

“OK, Clara. I’ll just have a look around and then clean up some again.”

“That’s fine.”

He headed out the door to reconnoitre the town. Obviously a prospering place, the nearby streets were busy with people going about their business. Johnny had noted the new homes on the town’s outskirts as he had ridden in and reckoned that it was growing at a faster rate than that two bit town called Morro Coyo where he had rotted in that jail.

The livery stable was his first stop. Calling out for Clyde, he received a muffled holler in return. Following the sound, he found Clyde in the far stall hidden by a horse he was busy currying.

Johnny leaned his arms on the top rail and rested his head on his hands. He could see that the old man took pride in his horses.

“You back already?”

”Yeah, Clyde, just wondering if I could borrow me some tools to fix Clara’s door for her?”

“Sure, Johnny. In the back room. There’s a bench and I keep most of my tools in a box underneath. Borrow whatever you need.”

“Much obliged, Clyde. Shouldn’t be long.”

Johnny located the tool box without difficulty. Lifting the lid, he delved into the mass of assorted tools. Taking out various items, he put them on the bench and checked around for something to put them in. An empty hessian bag in the corner did the trick and in no time he had placed the hammer, chisel, drill, screwdriver and a small plane inside. He rummaged further before locating some screws and nails in some tin cans on the bench. Shouldering the sack, he headed back to Clara’s.

Johnny was a fast worker. Good with his hands and a quick learner, he had learnt the rudiments of woodwork merely by watching the people around him as a boy. The door was soon off its one hinge and in short order, after drilling some fresh holes, he had the other hinge plate reattached. Lugging the door with difficulty, he managed to reposition and rehang it.

Next stop was his bedroom window. He was determined to teach it some manners. No one and nothing got away with arguing with Johnny Madrid. He worked on it, planing away parts which had swollen over time with rain and weather. Downing his tools, he tried it. The self satisfaction of a job well done was his reward. He smiled. A dazzling grin was bestowed upon an empty room.

The banister drew his attention next. He hammered nails in parts which had become a little rickety, testing the whole length of the handrail and supports before being satisfied that Clara would not have an accident due to any insecure sections alongside the stairs. Then temptation beckoned as he decided on one final evaluation of its stability. Mounting the top stair, he positioned his behind on the banister rail and kicked off. The ride was all too short, but fun, and somehow the childishness of it wiped away some of the unpleasantness of the past week.

Once back on firm ground, he packed up his tools and quickly returned them to Clyde, before heading back for more ablutions.

The bath house was again put to use. Johnny heaved off his shirt and once more availed himself of the modern amenities.

‘At this rate, I’ll be the cleanest gunslinger in the state,’ he mused.

The evening meal was served in the dining room. Several other diners had come in while Johnny cleaned up. Two businessmen sat at one table in the corner and eyed him suspiciously before continuing with their meal. A couple in the corner were oblivious to anyone else in the room. The intensity of their absorption in each other had Johnny wondering whether they were a courting couple or in the full throes of an affair.

None seemed to pose a threat, so he gave his attention to the delicious meal set before him. Clara made sure that he had seconds of the main meal, but he had to turn her down at the offer of a repeat of the apple pie slab he had waded through. Waded through it not because it was a chore, but because the helping had been so monstrous.

He let the meal settle and sat back contentedly sipping his coffee. He could not remember when he had eaten so well.

Finally hoisting himself to his feet, he entered the kitchen. “Clara, that was a mighty fine meal! Thank you.”

Clara turned and gave him a hug. “Why, it’s me who needs to thank you for everything that you did for me. That was sure a fine thing to do for an old lady.”

“Clara, it was a pleasure. And you ain’t old!”

Johnny planted his hat on his head and headed for the door. Before leaving, he leaned one hand on the door jamb and looked over his shoulder. “Plus, I figure I can give Clyde some competition!” He waggled his eyebrows theatrically as she squealed in delight.

“Oh my, Johnny! You are a caution! Now off you go before I go all watery at the knees!”

He bestowed another radiant smile at her and headed outside.

Chapter Ten

Following the boardwalk, he turned a corner to the right and discovered the welcome sight and sounds of a saloon. A drink just might help chase some of those demons away. He paused at the doorway, his contained gaze sweeping the room. Sweeping and assessing. Considering any potential threat as was his habit for the past too many years.

Nothing but cowhands and errant husbands, he surmised, drinking and playing poker. Deeming the room to be safe, Johnny entered. Several occupants glanced up at the solitary figure entering, but soon paid him no mind and returned to their various occupations.

Wandering up to the bar, Johnny ordered a tequila and downed it quickly. The second, he took his time over. A familiar figure appeared at his side.

“What’ll it be?” he asked Clyde.

“A beer, thanks, sonny.”

The two men sipped contentedly after their drinks arrived.

“So did you get fed all right at Clara’s?”

“Sure did. I’m fit to bursting.”

“She’s the best cook this side of the Rio Grande.” Clyde boasted on Clara’s behalf. “It was sure good of you to chop that wood for her.”

“Uh huh.” Johnny grunted companionably and sipped further. “That Clara is one fine woman.”

“The best,” confirmed Clyde.

“Sure is a shame that she ain’t got a good man to look after her and to do all those pesky little maintenance jobs that keep rearing their ugly heads,” Johnny mused.

A slight pause ensued before Johnny heard Clyde agree.

“I suppose so,” was all that was offered on that subject.

The two men talked for a further hour before Johnny decided to call it quits. He returned to his lodging, content that he had eaten well and passed a pleasant evening. But as his head hit the pillow, it was tomorrow the loomed over him and smothered him. He needed to find a job and he needed to take stock of the direction his life had been heading.

****************************

The next morning saw him out of bed by six thirty, deliciously alluring smells reminding him that Clara was a darned fine cook. His stomach urged him on and after eating a healthy serving of bacon, eggs and pancakes, he thanked Clara and headed to the livery.

Clyde was there already, bending over the hoof of one of the horses.

“Morning, Clyde!” Johnny called.

Clyde straightened, releasing the hoof as he did so and patting the animal on the rump.

“Morning, Johnny. Sleep well?”

It suddenly struck Johnny that he had. “Yeah, I did. And Clara sure fussed over breakfast. A man could get real used to that. A pretty woman around the house, good cooking smells in the air, a nice clean bed.”

As Johnny had expected, Clyde stood up a little straighter at the last statement.

“That a fact, Johnny?” he asked.

“Sure is. Modern women don’t take care of a man the way a more mature woman does. I might just stay around a while if I can’t find a job.”

Clyde had grown another few inches as Johnny had spoken. “Well, while you’re on that subject, I got to speaking to the foreman over at the M bar E last night after you left. He said that he might have a job for you if you called in there this morning.”

“Hey, thanks for thinking of me, Clyde.”

“No problem, Johnny. He was in the saloon sussing you out anyway, seeing you’re new to the area. He don’t like drunks, so the fact that you left after a few drinks was in your favour.”

“And you didn’t put in a good word for me, did you?”

“Well, I might have said a few things.”

“I bet you did and I thank you for it.”

“A good man deserves a break. The rancher’s name is Watson. Elbert Watson. He’s known as a fair boss. He expects his men to work hard for their pay, but there ain’t no crime in that.”

Johnny dipped hid head in acknowledgement. Bringing his head up, he asked, “So, where do I find this spread?”

“Take the south road and turn left at the creek. The turnoff is about five miles outta town. Once you’ve turned left it’s another 30 minutes down the road. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you, Clyde.”

“No problem. And borrow Arrow over there. He’ll get you there safely.”

“How much, Clyde?”

“Don’t need no payment. He needs some exercise. If you don’t get the job, come back to town and drop him off. If you do get the job, they’ll supply a horse and you can drop him off next time you’re in town.”

Johnny was at a loss to explain Clyde’s kindness. Clapping him on the shoulder, he thanked him again.

“I guess I’d better go, Clyde, and see if they’ll have me.”

“You do that, Johnny. Take care.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

Johnny made short work of saddling his new mount. He headed out to the ranch, wondering just what he would find there.

************************************

The horse responded well and Johnny enjoyed the trip out to the M bar E. It was a beautiful day and it struck him forcefully that he was so lucky to still be alive to witness it. Just how did he last long enough to witness a glorious day such as this? Who was it who pulled the strings of his life? Who put him through hell, but who had never let him escape when he could bear it no more?

He basked in the sun warming his back and shoulders. His deep breath fortified him as he made an oath to himself to try this new venture … if only he would be allowed to do so unchallenged.

The entrance to the property proclaimed a solid business was being run. Fences were sturdy and the final entry way was lined with shady trees, lending an air of grandeur to the estate. On entering the yard, he found himself in front of an adobe structure. Quite massive, its upper floors would have offered an uninterrupted view of the lands surrounding the home.

Johnny made for the barn and corral. Here, he could see various hands at work. One stood out as being in charge. He was a man in his forties, average height and build, with a thin moustache on his upper lip. Johnny had seen him playing poker in the saloon the previous night.

Johnny’s casual posture in the saddle belied the tension he was feeling. The tension he always felt when meeting someone new and deciding whether they could be trusted or not.

“Howdy,” was all he offered by greeting.

“Howdy.” The man studied him for a long moment. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, maybe. Old Clyde from the livery stable said you might have some work for me to do. Name’s Johnny.”

“Yes, Clyde mentioned you to me. Seemed to like you.”

“No accounting for taste, huh?”

The foreman snorted. “Clyde don’t trust that many people, so I figured you must be all right. So, what can you do? He seemed to think that you’d be good with the animals.”

“Yeah, I’ve done some ranch work and been on a few trail drives. If you need any bronco busting done, I’m your man.”

“Well, why don’t you hop on down and we’ll get to business?”

Johnny nodded. Levering himself out of the saddle, he landed smoothly on the ground in front of the foreman who extended his hand.

“Name’s Buck Williams.”

Johnny swallowed, returned the handshake, and with the slightest of hesitations introduced himself properly. “Johnny Madrid.”

The handshake ceased, stilled in mid air, then finished half heartedly. Buck’s head skewed as his eyes raked Johnny, a knowing glint making it obvious that Johnny’s reputation had preceded him.

“Uh huh. He didn’t quite fill me in on all the details, then.”

“He filled you in on enough. You either want me to work for you or you don’t.”

“Why would a man with your … um … background want to work on a ranch? It don’t seem normal.”

“Well, a man can decide to branch out, you know. Try something different. Learn a new trade working at something new.”

“It’s one thing to give a man some work, but it’s another when a man has a whole heap of baggage called Trouble with a capital T shadowing him. Trouble that can break out at any instant.”

“And what makes you think I’m Trouble, with a capital T?”

“Oh, your reputation for one. If we put you on, we’re either gonna have you drawin’ on our men or others are gonna follow you here and start drawin’ on you and everyone else. It could turn out to be a right free for all.”

“Well, I guess that’s your call. I can find work elsewhere. I ain’t got no mind to work where I’m not wanted.”

“I didn’t say you’re not wanted, but I don’t want to attract any unsavoury types here. I got the welfare of a lot of people to consider on this property.”

Johnny hooked both thumbs in his belt and rocked gently backwards and forwards on his heels. Turning his head, he surveyed his surroundings. It was indeed a busy and prosperous ranch and no doubt many families were dependant on it for their survival.

“Well, I won’t keep you, then.”

A dip of his head and he was ready to remount.

“No need to get so touchy. We’re shorthanded at the moment. Our chief horse breaker  went and busted some ribs yesterday and we need the help. And we’ve had a few other injuries to our ranch hands as well. I guess you can stay as long as there ain’t no trouble.”

“With or without the capital T?”

Buck poised his head at that for a moment, before splitting his face with a grin. “Well, ain’t you got a smart mouth?” He shook his head. “Aw, hell, I like a man with a sense of humour. Drop your saddle bags in the bunkhouse and I’ll set you up with some chores.”

“Thanks, Buck. It’s appreciated.”

Johnny nodded his head and reached up to remove his saddlebags. Slinging them over his shoulder, he made for the building indicated by Buck.

He didn’t quite make it to the bunkhouse. Raucous and exuberant cheering from the corral drew his attention. His paces slowed until he stopped and then finally swivelled on his heels. Horse breaking was the object of the cowhands’ attention. Vigorous horse breaking. Johnny could see the stallion bucking and snorting for all its might. Its head was down, pulled down hard by the reins. Dust swirled beneath stomping hooves. Its nostrils flared with anger and anxiety and quite some fear. The horse was frantic and becoming more so with the din from the crowd and the yanking on the bit in its mouth.

Johnny made his way back to the corral and watched. Mouth clamped shut in a hard, straight line he absorbed the action. Bile rose up in his throat. Disgust hit him like a wave. As he slung his saddlebags over the top railing and started to climb over, there was a deafening shout. Arms and legs waved wildly in the air as the rider was bucked skywards and propelled towards the onlookers.

Johnny landed on the other side of the fence, reached for the man and dragged him swiftly to safety away from the flailing hooves of the stallion. Willing hands pulled the man under the bottom rail and out of harm’s way.

Johnny stood and waited for the horse to settle. He spoke softly to it, letting the cadence of his voice wash over the animal. English and Spanish in no particular mix or order continued to roll from Johnny’s tongue. Gradually it stopped rearing, but resorted to trotting around in desperate circles, looking for a way out. It snorted and rolled its eyes, simultaneously stamping its frustration on the dry earth.

And still Johnny remained looking at the beast. And still he talked.

Only when the horse’s heaving flanks slowed did Johnny approach it. It backed off and crossed to the other side of the corral. Johnny waited again. He just stood there patiently, studying the horse, which was studying him in turn. Johnny narrowed the gap a little, but after six paces, the horse again moved away. This was repeated, and repeated again, until finally he was able to reach for the trailing reins. The horse jerked in fright, then began to rear.

Johnny stood his ground, talking, soothing, coaxing. Once back on all four legs, the horse stared fixedly at Johnny. Slowly, Johnny reached up a hand and patted its neck. Long strokes, firm strokes, all the while speaking in his gentle, lulling manner.

Before the horse knew it, Johnny had slipped off its bridle. The horse received another pat and a rub on its nose before Johnny dropped his eyes to look at the leather and metal headgear in his hands. The bit was as he suspected.

He snapped his head up and glared at Buck. Marching over, he waved it under his nose and let fly. “You let your men use a bit like this? There are better ways than this sort of cruelty. If this is the way you treat your horse on this ranch, then I’m out of here!”

Thrusting the bridle at Buck, he made to move off, but was arrested by Buck’s firm grip on his arm.

Johnny wheeled around to face him again.

“No, this ain’t the way I like things done around here. And it won’t be happening again while I’m in charge.”

Seeing the hesitation in Johnny’s eyes, he continued. “So, what is it to you, that you care so much, anyway? It’s not like they are your livestock.”

“I don’t like animals to be mistreated. I don’t like them to have their spirits broken through cruelty and mistreatment or any other way. I don’t tolerate unnecessary viciousness to anyone or anything, especially when it can’t fight back. You can break a horse without doing it this way.”

“I know, and we’re still looking for a leading horse breaker. We got plenty that can do it, but none of ‘em are a patch on Herb. We’re lookin’ for someone who’s got that special touch.” Buck considered him, head on his side, before continuing. “You might be that man. You’ve got a way with them critters.”

Johnny looked him in the eye then. “Maybe, maybe not, but I don’t put up with fools and rough handling where horses are concerned.”

“Understood. Alf was just trying to show off and get some notice taken of himself. He’s hoping for Herb’s job.”

“Well, he’s sure got a strange way of applying for it.”

Buck laughed. “Ain’t that the truth. Get settled in, Johnny. I got a feelin’ we could use your skills. Come on, I’ll show you your bunk and introduce you around to a few of the boys.”

“Sure.” Johnny headed for the corral fence, picked up his saddle bags and once again headed to the bunkhouse, this time with Buck for company.

***************************

Johnny settled in quickly to the ranch work. Just as quickly it became apparent that he was the man in command of the corral when it came to horse breaking. While friendly enough, he kept to himself to some extent. The other hands were in awe of his bond with the horses, and this provided him with some privacy to start with as they tended to give him some space.

While he also strung fences and herded cattle, it was the horse work he liked. He was treated more as one of the boys when doing general ranch work, but put him in the corral and conditions changed. The men knew he had a special knack with the horses and consequently treated him with greater respect in this particular arena.

The weeks flew and Johnny began to feel comfortable. That very fact is what made him uneasy. Whenever he had felt comfortable in the past, things had gone wrong.

*****************************

There was a tentative knock on the French window of the Great Room.

Scott and his father looked at each other. Scott had only just come in from another hard day’s work and was about to discuss some issues with Murdoch before heading for a well earned bath. He was hot, dusty, dirty and thirsty and did not want any interruptions prolonging his day. With uncharacteristic bad temper, he flung the map he had been studying down on the desk and strode to the doorway. He opened the door abruptly, but his manner softened when he saw who was there.

One of the hands stood shuffling from foot to foot, twisting his hat awkwardly in his hands. Short and wiry, Ricky’s compact body belied his strength. He had befriended Scott and had been helping him out with the ranch chores, pointing out how to accomplish tasks to get the greatest benefit from the least effort. In the process he had saved Scott several times from suffering embarrassment due to his ignorance of ranching practices.

“Hi, Ricky. Is everything all right?”

“Sure, Scott. There’s no problem. It’s just that me and some of the hands are going to go to town to have a drink at the saloon and maybe play some poker. We were wondering if maybe you’d like to join us?”

Scott was surprised. He knew that the men were only just thawing towards him. A good part of that he owed to Ricky, but if he were frank with himself one incident had helped to start the ice melting.

Only the day after being given the all clear by the doctor to become involved in minor ranch duties, circumstances forced him to discard the doctor’s advice to take it easy. He had been talking to Murdoch and Cipriano near the barn, when whinnying from terrified horses interrupted their conversation. Shrieks of fear split the air. Looking up, the men could just make out the buggy Teresa had just driven out of the yard. It was being pulled at far too dangerous a speed over the hill crest by the spooked beasts. It was Scott who sprang into action before anyone else seemed to process what was happening.

He leapt onto Cipriano’s horse, and headed in a straight line towards Teresa. Jumping over two corral fences, Scott sailed effortlessly through the air. Each time the horse landed in a fluid motion, not even breaking stride. Scott had swiftly crested the hill, and ranch hands lagging several seconds behind had later recounted to Murdoch how Scott had drawn level with her buggy and had reached over to slow down the frightened animals and bring the wagon to a halt. By the time some of the ranch hands had reached Scott and Teresa, he had calmed her down with a reassuring hug and had managed to settle the horses.

His unhesitating action had impressed the ranch hands. Talk spread fast and was shared with those working further afield that day. From then on, Scott had perceived a different attitude from the workers. Their surliness was mollified and their smugness was less evident. And things were gradually getting better. He knew he wasn’t one of them, but he felt less of an outsider as each day passed.

And Ricky’s invitation was another step in the right direction.

Scott did not really want to go anywhere. Truthfully, he was beyond exhausted, but he recognized the hand of friendship offered to him. As the boss’s son, and a greenhorn at that, he needed to grasp every opportunity to get to know the men better.

And so he found himself answering in the affirmative. Ricky’s smile of pleasure greeted Scott’s response. Promising to be ready in thirty minutes to ride in with the men, Scott headed to his bath tub to clean up. His lethargy left him and he smiled in anticipation of a night which could promise much in relaxation and possibly some pleasures to boot.

********************************

The sun beat down mercilessly. It was early afternoon and heat stung the very air. Johnny had elected to leave the horses be until the weather cooled off some in a day or two and so was working at one of the fence lines.  He and Travis made a competent team digging poles and stringing the wire as they went.

Travis was a lean, laconic ranch hand who related well to all the other workers. About thirty years of age, he had worked on the ranch for the past five years. Sandy hair curled around his ears and over his collar, forming damp ringlets where perspiration soaked his skin. Freckles dotted his skin courtesy of his years working outdoors.

Johnny ambled over to the wagon to fetch more wire. His shirt was undone exposing his glistening chest and firm abdomen. Darkly sodden patches of perspiration were evident under the armpits and down his back. Reaching up to the hand brake, he unhooked his canteen. Pulling out the bung,  he took a long swig of the too warm liquid. It barely quenched his thirst as he was immediately craving more. He elected to pour a little over his hair instead. This had the cooling effect he wanted. Not bothering to wipe the water off, he let it dribble down his body.

“You want your canteen, Travis?” he called.

“Yeah. Sure could do with a drink, Johnny.” Picking up Travis’s canteen, Johnny whistled as he hurled it at him. Travis caught it deftly, then lifted it in salute to Johnny before taking a decent swig.

“Man, that feels good, but not half as good as a cold beer at the saloon tonight. You comin’ too, Johnny?”

Johnny looked over at him, then cracked a leisurely smile. “Are you asking me hoping I’m really gonna stay at the ranch so you can win at poker tonight?”

“Now, why would you think that?”

“Maybe because you still owe money after last time and if I hadn’t beat you, you’d have won that last hand.”

Travis looked down at the canteen. He studied it a while, then glanced at Johnny. “Well, seein’ as how you really want to know, yeah, I might have more of a chance without you there!”

Johnny laughed. “Well, I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. I’m gonna whip your hide!”

“Not until you finish this fence line, you won’t! Come on. Let’s keep workin’ so we can get into town sooner.”

The two men worked solidly. As the insufferable heat eased, they got a new lease on life and increased the pace. The thought of a beer also had something to do with their burst of speed, images of a cool, golden brew beckoning them on.

The sun slid lazily under the covers of the horizon as the two men headed back to the ranch for a clean-up and a quick meal. The bunkhouse was alive with activity as ranch hands jostled for space to spruce themselves up before their big night out. Available tubs were at a premium and after a fifteen minute wait, Johnny scored a newly vacated one. The water was an opaque grey. Almost sludge-like soap scum adhered to the edges. Johnny had a choice. Top it up and have a deep bath or empty it and make do with a shallow affair of clean water. Vacillation ceased and the latter option won out after he witnessed the actions of two of the ranch hands. Ray Whittaker cleared his throat noisily and spat a great globule of phlegm into his bath almost simultaneously to Ken McGonnell laughing uproariously at his ability to create bubbles from underwater. Johnny grimaced. He may not have always had the luxury of appropriate bath facilities, but he nevertheless had his own standards of cleanliness, ones he preferred not to share with others.

He removed the plug, emptied the tub, rinsed it and carted over buckets of hot water from the boiler. His clothes were peeled off and flung over the pegs on the wall with deadly accuracy. No ranch hand was afforded the luxury of privacy, the bath house being a shared facility. There was consequently no point in shyness. A naked Johnny stepped boldly into his tub. He sank into the water and allowed himself several minutes of blissful peace as he leaned back, head against the tub rim. The water lapped at his navel and warmed his tense muscles which had worked strenuously all day. Above the water line his chest enjoyed the luxuriant heat from the rising steam. His eyes closed, he breathed steadily, boldly defined muscles expanding with each breath.  Deciding that time was wasting, he reached for the soap and brush and got stuck into removing the dirt and stench of ranching. Soap foaming from his fingers was lathered into his torso, only to run in meandering trails down his chest and back, hugging the contours of his muscled frame.

His hair was next to receive some attention. He dunked his head under the water and then rubbed it vigorously with the soap. Further dunkings were required to wash off the soap residue. His hair stood out at all angles by the time he had immersed it and shaken his head, but he ran his fingers through the errant strands in a taming motion which left them remarkably well groomed.

Standing abruptly, Johnny let the water cascade briefly down his lean frame before towelling it off brusquely. He spent the minimum of time leaning into a mirror scraping his stubbly facial growth with a none too sharp razor, then donned fresh clothes. Bundling up his soiled garments, he exited the bathroom, brushing past those jockeying for the best position to claim his tub.

“Ready, Johnny boy?” Travis enquired as he thumped him good-naturedly on the shoulder.

Johnny turned, smiling in anticipation.

“Let her buck, Travis!”

“Whatever you say, Johnny!”

A cheerful farewell to the group and they were gone, knowing full well that the loitering group would catch up to them in town.

Twenty minutes later, they stopped at the saloon door. Johnny edged it open, scanned the activity and then entered. The saloon was the liveliest Johnny had seen it. Tinny music was being thumped out by a pianist to the left of the bar, several games of poker were in session and the saloon girls were in ultra friendly mode, hoping to find a bed partner with a full wage in his pocket.

Johnny and Travis made their way to the bar, wasting no time in placing their orders. Their first drink slid down their throats, barely touching the sides. Their second they held onto for longer. Their third they nursed as they talked and swapped stories.

“Hey, Travis!”

Travis turned to the call. A beckoning hand urged him over.

“Why don’t you and Johnny join us?”

“Sure thing, Will,” responded Travis, who ambled over and slid down into the seat as Johnny stood hesitating.

“Aw, Johnny! The night’s awasting,” grumbled Travis as he pulled over a chair for Johnny as well.

Johnny was not keen on joining Alf who was sitting with the group at the table. He was smugly leaning back on his chair offering a silent challenge Johnny’s way, daring him to take part in the game. Johnny just didn’t feel like dealing with Alf this particular night, but he was fed up walking on eggshells around the man. He hooked the chair with his foot, lowered himself down onto it and pushed his hat back off his head where it dangled down his back by the hat strap.

“OK, boys, let’s deal!” he invited.

The men played several hands with mixed fortunes, cool beer washing down the dust of a day’s work and lubricating their vocal chords. The game got rowdier and some decisions became more reckless, but it was three hours before things got out of hand.

One by one the men had thrown in the towel until Johnny, Alf and Travis were left. Johnny was next to fold. He studied Alf’s self-satisfied demeanour and pondered the thought that had been wafting around in his mind all evening. An elusive thought that was gradually taking concrete shape. Travis was keen to be the winner and as much as he tried to hide it, Johnny could detect the excitement mounting behind his eyes.  

Alf was fiddling with his coins, lifting them up and letting them fall down into a little stack. Alf’s other hand held his cards protectively close to his chest. His breathing was heavy, roughened by the alcohol he has steadily been consuming. Travis was sitting quietly, but was betrayed by a trickle of perspiration that beaded on his forehead and began its slow descent downwards, detouring around the mound of his eyebrow, before languidly continuing its path.

The table had quietened as those who had folded waited to witness the winner claim the pot.

Alf nodded slowly as he threw a couple more coins into the centre of the table. “OK, Travis, I’ll see you. Show us what you got.”

Travis laid his cards down face up, satisfaction evident in manner. The full house was there for everyone to appreciate.

“Whooee! Travis, don’t that beat all! Three queens and two eights!” claimed Jack, clapping him on the shoulder.

Will reached over and shook his hand.  “Dang it, boy! I knew you had something special!”

Travis shook his hand jubilantly. Leaning forward he embraced the money and hugged it to himself.

“Not so fast!” commanded Alf, cocksure and authoritative.

Alf laid his cards out slowly, fanning them out for all to see. A collective indrawn breath was all that could be heard around the table as the poker players stared at the straight flush.

Utter silence followed. Everyone was stock still and mesmerized by the series of hearts printed on the cards. Alf smirked.

“I believe you have my money, Travis!”

Travis’s face fell in disbelief, as he leaned back in his chair, relinquishing his sovereignty over the much desired prize.

Alf scooped an arm around and swept the coins into his hat.

“So, do you always have a spare pack of cards on you?”

The question fell into the void and hung there.

Alf narrowed his eyes and turned his head to face Johnny full on.

“What was that? I don’t know if my ears heard right.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with your ears. Your idea of the rules might be at fault, though.”

Johnny’s voice had been quiet and conversational, but no one missed the deadly nature of those drawled words.

“You callin’ me a cheat?”

“Yep.”

Alf leaned forward into Johnny’s space, a sneer projecting venom in his direction. “You get this straight, you scum. I don’t take kindly to be called a cheat, especially by a half breed reject like yourself!”

Alf lingered several more seconds merely inches from Johnny’s face, before leaning back and making a move to rise.

He didn’t get far.

Johnny’s hand reached out and grasped Alf’s wrist in a band of steel. Abruptly, Johnny twisted his arm and leapt up. Reaching with his other hand, he pulled up Alf’s jacket sleeve and groped under the shirt cuff. He withdrew three cards. All eyes were rivetted on the two aces and a king.

“You put it there!” Alf screamed in desperation.

“Liar!” Travis was on his feet.

Alf’s eyes darted around the group of angry men. He looked at them but slid his eyes away abruptly from each one. Panic gripped his features.

“It’s that Mex stirring things up. We ain’t never had a problem before he came along!”

“Maybe he’s just a mite more observant than us, Alf. Maybe you’ve been doing this all along,” suggested Will.

“Well, why haven’t I won more often then?”

“Because you’re stupid, but you ain’t that stupid!” spat back Travis.

Johnny saw the move before anyone else did. His revolver was in his hand pointing at Alf before Alf’s thought had even crystallised into action.

Alf stopped dead, the fear on his face just dominating over the loathing. He waited.

Johnny was quietly decisive. “Now, I suggest that you get back to the ranch while you’re still in one piece.”

Alf looked around him. Finding no friends there, common sense told him to go. And so he did, but not before allowing himself a last remnant of bluster. He defiantly picked up his beer and slowly drained the contents.

Slamming the glass on the table top with a resounding thud, he meticulously placed his hat on his head before exiting through the batwing doors.

The silence didn’t last long. Johnny was clapped on the back and had a fresh glass of beer pressed into his hand as everyone spoke at once. He returned the smiles half heartedly. He knew that he may just have made an enemy he could do without.

Johnny stayed a while longer, but his run-in with Alf had left a bad taste in his mouth. He made to leave, despite the encouragements of the other increasingly inebriated ranch hands.

“I’ll see you back at the ranch, boys,” he informed them as he reached for his jacket slung over the back of his chair. Travis caught up with him at the door.

“I’ll keep you company on the way back,” Travis offered.

“No need. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re always fine! Look, I don’t trust Alf. He was in a foul mood and you just might need someone to watch your back. So, let’s get going!”

It was Travis who opened the batwing doors and stepped out first. Johnny followed with a sigh. They ambled over to their horses, both resting comfortably at the hitching rail. A slight hop and Johnny mounted his horse, Travis following suit.

The two men began their trip back to the ranch. The moon’s face peeked out intermittently as clouds scudded by, shrouding it in wispy veils of grey gauze. The change from silver moonlight to obscure shadows and back unsettled Johnny. His instincts had served him well in the past and saved his skin on many an occasion. Something was going to happen in this eerie undulating semi light. But what this something was he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Then it came.

Chapter Eleven

A scream pierced the quiet evening, shattering the brittle atmosphere into shards of danger.

It came again as Johnny simultaneously oriented himself and sprang into action. He wheeled his horse around and headed for the alley by the side of the bank. Dismounting in a flash, he lunged for the boardwalk and hugged the side of the building. Travis, meanwhile, did likewise on the other side of the alleyway. Johnny inched his way along the wall, well aware that if he rushed in, he could be caught in a trap. Peering around, his eyes scanned the murky depths of the laneway, made more gloomy by the shadows cast by the walls and crates scattered down its length.

Grunts, gasps and desperate cries could be heard all too plainly. Johnny crouched and darted into the cavernous depths. Rounding a tall pile of crates stacked haphazardly about half way down, he stopped short.

“Stop right there!” he barked.

The movement in front of him ceased. Whimpering was the only sound audible until the scraping of boots in the dirt and panting drowned it out.

The man on top of the woman heaved himself clumsily to his feet before slowly turning around to face Johnny and Travis. He drew himself up, but his attempt to radiate composure was overshadowed as he stumbled on unsteady feet. The alcohol he had consumed permeated the air even over the distance between them. Hand hovering over his gun, he appeared to be considering his options. The thought process was laboured, however, sluggish blinking marking his decision making.

“Don’t even think about it, Alf! Now move aside real easy.”

Rather than moving as requested, Alf compounded his night’s folly with one more foolish act. He reached for his gun which was shot from his fumbling fingers before he even grasped it properly. He swore, his profanity ringing in the air as an echo to Johnny’s gun shot. His gun tumbled to the ground as he shook his hand violently and sucked on the blood oozing from the wound.

“You got him covered, Travis?” Johnny asked his friend.

“Sure have. One move and you are dead meat, Alf. Unlike Johnny, I won’t shoot to graze you.”

Johnny moved over to the girl to help her up. The bodice of her dress was torn, so she hugged the material shreds to her breast to protect her from prying eyes.

"Are you all right?” Johnny enquired gently.

The girl sniffed and wiped away tears from her cheeks with her forearm. “Yes,” she hiccuped. “You came just in time.”

Johnny recognized her as one of the saloon girls. “It’s Maybelline, isn’t it?” Johnny enquired.

She nodded and hiccuped again as she tried to regain her composure.

“What damage did he do to you?”

“He hit me and slapped me and twisted my arms behind me. He tore my clothes and was trying to … well, you can guess the rest, but he didn’t get far. Thank you for coming when you did.”

Johnny untied his kerchief and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. She flinched back.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

She smiled wanly back. “That’s all right. I’m just being a cry baby.”

“Would you like me to fetch one of the girls to see you home?”

“No, I’ll be all right.”

“No, you won’t. We’ll see you home.”

From the mouth of the alley, a voice barked out at them. “Just all of you stand still and don’t make no sudden moves! Drop your weapons!”

Johnny sighed. The law, he guessed.

Alf’s voice broke the silence.

“He shot me!” he squawked. “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ and he shot me! Shoot him before he draws on you, Sheriff. That’s Johnny Madrid.”

Johnny wasted no time. The sheriff wouldn’t remain idle with that news. He dived and rolled, landing behind some crates. Wood splintered and dust jumped around him.

“Stop!” screamed Travis and Maybelline simultaneously.

“Johnny stopped Alf from attacking me! He only shot Alf after Alf drew on him. Don’t shoot!” Maybelline yelled.

The sheriff hesitated, swivelling backwards and forwards between the crates and Alf who was sidling away towards the far end of the alley.

“I ain’t gonna shoot, Sheriff, but I don’t feel inclined to throw out my weapon. What they said is the truth. I was just helping the lady. I don’t want no trouble.”

Alf had nearly made it to the back of the building before the sheriff weighed up the information and took action.

“You, stop!”

Alf froze as he reached the corner.

“Just come on back here and stop being so unsocial!” the sheriff roared.

Alf turned, eyes darting furtively from one to the other before he finally advanced.

“So, Miss, would you care to tell me what happened here tonight?”

“Well, I finished my shift and was walking home. When I passed this alley, he … uh, Alf …reached out a hand and grabbed me. He put his hand over my mouth and yanked me into the shadows. He’s been drinking and he was pawing at me. When I struggled, he hit me and ripped my dress. If it weren’t for Johnny and Travis, he’d have forced himself on me good and proper. And, just so you know, Sheriff, Johnny only shot him after Alf drew on Johnny. Johnny didn’t start the gunplay.”

The sheriff looked hard at Johnny who had reappeared from his shelter. “You got yourself a reputation, boy!”

Johnny stared back implacably. “Yeah, that’s right. But it ain’t for back shooting and bush whacking. If I have to face a man I face him. I don’t go hiding in dark alley ways and I don’t hide behind a woman’s skirts.”

There was silence in the narrow alley as the sheriff digested Johnny’s remark.

Decision made, the sheriff nodded. “Yep, I must say I ain’t heard that you ever played underhanded.”

“Here!” The sheriff tossed his handcuffs to Travis. “Handcuff him behind his back.”

“You all right, Miss? Do you need the doc?” the sheriff finally thought to enquire.

“Yes, thanks to these two. I’m fine.”

“Ok, then, I’ll be on my way with the prisoner. I suggest you all make your way on home.”

The sheriff walked up to Alf and grabbed him by the arm and forced him back to the alley opening. As Alf passed Johnny, his malevolent glare bored into Johnny before he was ushered away. It was a glare which brooked no argument as to whom Alf blamed for his present predicament.

Johnny contemplated the venom in Alf’s look. Another enemy compounded manyfold. So many reasons for Alf to harbour ill feeling towards Johnny. And if Johnny surmised correctly that ill feeling would fester into a throbbing, putrid sore which would explode most likely when he least expected it. A chilling frisson shook his spine before he collected himself and replaced his gun safely in its holster with a wry smile.

“Well, the boss ain’t gonna be too happy. He was supposed to set off to deliver that stallion tomorrow. I can’t see the sheriff letting him out after what he tried to do to Maybelline here, can you?”

“Nope, I can’t and he shouldn’t release him, anyways.” Johnny turned to Maybelline. “Come on, if you’re sure you don’t need the doc, we’ll see you home.”  Johnny gently took her arm and set off, Travis by her other side.

******************************

A tangle of bedclothes, some of which draped over the recumbent figure and some of which drooped onto the floor, tried ineffectually to cover the prone body on the bed. One leg protruded from underneath them and hung slackly over the side. A naked torso totally missed the warming protection of the blankets. Well defined, tanned muscles contoured a broad shouldered back and contrasted with the white sheets beneath. The back of a head, covered in raven black hair, lay buried in a scrunched up pillow hugged tightly by the sleeping man.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air and greeted Johnny with a warm embrace. He rolled onto his back, twisting the blankets into even more tortuous patterns. His nose twitched and he licked his lips in anticipation. Swallowing the coffee rich air, he stirred and groaned in disappointment that no hot liquid brew actually appeased his taste buds and lubricated his dry throat.

He tossed his head seeking the soothing drink, before removing the arm flung over his eyes and lying it on the side of the bed to align with his body. Leaning on his elbow, he raised his shoulders and peered over to the pot bellied stove. It was an invitation too good to refuse. Sighing at the morning come too early, he sat upright and swung his feet to the ground. A yawn escaped and he rubbed his face in a vain attempt to erase the morning’s tiredness, clinging unusually snugly to his being. He stretched his body languidly before hoisting himself to his feet.

Looking around, he surveyed the room. It was past dawn, but being a Sunday, the crew were all taking advantage of the Sabbath for a lie in. More importantly, this was a necessity to give them the time needed to purge the alcohol from their systems and allow their bodies to recover normal function. It had been a big night out. A night away from the ranch celebrated in true style and dedication.

Travis was already awake. Sitting on his bed, he was reading a week old newspaper and sipping from his coffee cup. He saluted Johnny and jerked his head to the coffee pot. Johnny nodded his thanks.

Lazy steps brought Johnny within reach of his goal. Taking the towel from the rail, he wrapped it around the handle of the pot and poured a generous amount into a clean cup he found hanging from a hook.

The steam from the hot liquid massaged his nasal cavities in a peculiarly satisfying way. Unlike his ranch hand colleagues, he and Travis were not hung over, but nothing beat both the paradoxically seductive and invigorating smell of decent coffee. Nothing except maybe the first sip. Or maybe a bottle of tequila.

Several mouthfuls encouraged his sociability. Johnny hooked a chair with his foot and whisked it around to screech on the rough floor boards so he could face Travis. Plonking himself on it, he bent over, resting his elbows on his thighs and nursing the coffee cup in two hands. A few more swigs lubricated his tongue. “I swear you make just about the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. What’s your secret?” he addressed Travis.

“I dunno know really. Just one of my many talents. It always comes out of the pot like manna from heaven.”

Johnny snorted. “Yeah, well modesty sure ain’t one of your talents!” 

The other man joined Johnny in laughing. Laughter that was rudely interrupted as the door was flung open without ceremony.

Two men had entered their domain. Elbert Watson, the owner of the ranch and their boss, stood just in front of Buck.

“Gardiner! Madrid!” Watson barked.

This was not a tone to ignore. Travis and Johnny both stood to face the angry man.

“Yes, sir?” Travis queried.

“I want your version of last night’s events”

“What particular events, sir?”

“You know what I am talking about. The card game. Alf. The girl.”

Travis looked over at Johnny who cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. Licking his lips, Travis began nervously.

“Well, sir, me and Johnny was in the saloon playin’ poker with a bunch of the guys. Alf was cheatin’. Johnny here noticed it and called him on it … but not with his gun,” Travis hastily amended. “He just wanted Alf to own up to it. Alf drew on Johnny, but Johnny beat him to it. He told him to git back to the ranch.”

Watson had crossed his arms over his chest and was listening intently. He turned to Johnny.

“Why didn’t you shoot him if you drew on him?” he demanded.

“There weren’t no need. I had him covered before his gun cleared his holster. He just needed to cool down some … and get the hell out of our poker game and out of that saloon.”

“So what happened next?”

Travis again picked up the story.

“While we were headin’ outta town, we heard screamin’ coming from the alleyway. When we got there, Alf was forcing’ his attentions on Maybelline. Things got nasty and Alf drew on Johnny again. Johnny had no choice but to shoot and Alf should count himself lucky that Johnny didn’t shoot to kill. The sheriff arrested him and locked him up, but we don’t rightly know what charges he’s gonna press.”

The rancher was looking shrewdly at Johnny the whole time that Travis had continued his recount of the events.

“You got a name for yourself with that gun, son!”

“That’s right! I do. Because I’m mighty fussy how and when I use it.”

Watson’s deep and prolonged sigh was the only response he made.

“Damn it! Damn it all to hell!” he suddenly exploded, slamming his fist into the upright post of one of the bunk beds.

He paced the room and ran his fingers through his sparse hair. He was a portly man, his ruddy face attesting to his liking of the odd snort of whiskey. This did not prevent him from taking an active role in the running of his ranch, however. He did get his hands dirty when needed and he ran a tight ship.

He turned to address Johnny.

“Yes, by all accounts you are and from reports I’ve already received, you could have gunned him down twice last night and no one would have held you accountable. I’m sorry. I’m not too pleased with Alf. I’ve had enough of his shenanigans and I wash my hands of him. I was going to send Alf to deliver that stallion. That plan is now shot to pieces with Alf in the jail. So, I’m stuck.”

Here, he broke for a second and added. “You’re doing a good job with those horses. I don’t want to take you away from them, but Herb has recovered pretty well over the past seven weeks so we might just see how he handles them. He wired me from his sister’s and he should be back tomorrow. So, with him back I’ve decided to send you instead.”

He met Johnny’s gaze steadily. “Buck here tells me you can be trusted with that stallion. From what I’ve seen, I believe him.”

Johnny took a last mouthful of his coffee before placing the cup down carefully on the rough hewn table.

“I believe that horse is being sent north up the San Joaquin. I ain’t really looking to go back up there again.”

“Maybe you aren’t, but I need you to. That stallion has to be delivered before the end of the week.”

Johnny’s mind was whirling. « Dios! Not up there. It’s just too raw! »

His own contrary nature had been gnawing at him lately. Two months ago he had set out to meet his nemesis, but had withdrawn after getting cold feet. He had never backed down from a fight in his life, but this was just too powerful for him. It aroused too many tangled emotions which seared his very soul. It had taken him a lifetime to gather the guts to open up that door, but he had closed and locked it firmly just as he was about to ease it open. He just couldn’t go there again. It wasn’t worth it. He knew that if he headed north, momentum would carry him forward. And did he really want to carry out his original plan? Did he really even care any more to meet the man?

“So I’ll need you to go tomorrow.”

Watson’s words abruptly broke into his train of thought.

Johnny’s gut clenched and twisted, yanking at his heart and his thoughts. He considered his reply, made up his mind and opened his mouth to say ‘no’.

“What’s the name of the ranch that it’s been sold to?”

“It’s the Conway place, near Morro Coyo.”

“Fine,” his contrary mouth betrayed him. “I’ll head out at first light tomorrow. I’d like to finish off with a few of the mares today, if that’s OK?”

“Yes, good idea, Madrid. I’ll get the papers all organized so that you have the bill of sale ready in case you are challenged by any over zealous sheriff. And I’ll make sure that you have enough funds for your expenses.”

“I’d be much obliged,” Johnny’s traitorous tongue replied, further leading him in a direction his brain told him he should be avoiding like the plague. If he had any common sense, that is. But his common sense seemed to have deserted him too much lately. What the hell was he doing working on a ranch anyway? Six months ago he could not have imagined anything more ludicrous. He was no rancher as much as he had been trying to make himself and everyone else think so. Subterfuge was something that Madrid was good at and it had saved his butt more than once in his life. But how long was he going to kid himself that he could turn his life around? Long enough, it seemed to accept this new chore handed his way.

Watson nodded a curt goodbye, sealing the arrangements.

Johnny nodded back absently, wondering why he was suddenly no longer in charge of his life. He had made his own decisions since the age of eleven and here he was accepting decisions made for him, which he knew were going to lead him to dangerous ground. Rocky, uncharted territory with a high probability of landslide was Johnny’s guess.

In his mind, he decided to travel up, do the deal and head back immediately. Maybe if he avoided staying at a hotel and if he camped out after delivering the stallion, he could put a few miles between him and there. That way all temptation could be removed. Curiosity could be ignored. And he wouldn’t be drawn into the mistake of his life. The man was nothing to him. And never would be.

Johnny’s interest in a good breakfast waned. He readied himself and immersed his body and soul into a solid day’s horse breaking. His day consisted of bouncing saddles, thumping hooves, indignant snorting, aggressive stamping and bone jarring bucking. The noises swirled around along with the dust which eddied up from the ground and wrapped him in a blanket of familiar and comforting din.

Travis brought him some lunch, but the stew tasted like damp undergrowth mixed with soggy lumps of wood. Normally ravenous, he couldn’t stomach it. He mechanically chewed it for some minutes before he simply gave up and put the plate on a nearby plank.

He headed back to the horses. To the kinship they offered. They understood each other and he could lose the day with them without having to think of other issues.

By nightfall he was done in. He soaked the day’s grime from his wiry frame, he did his supper justice and then some, and to his surprise he fell into a dreamless sleep. The morning with its impending departure was soon upon him. Too soon for him to think about it and prevaricate. There was no time to reconsider. He was committed.

Chapter Twelve

Scott entered the town of Modesto tired and decidedly grubby from his two days spent on the trail. He pushed his hat up so as not to obscure his vision and to take in the amenities of the city. There was not a lot to be said for it apart from one heck of a lot of sand. The newly finished train depot was visible in all its glory and was possibly the one thing which could really put this town on the map at some stage, he mused.

At the moment, there were just the basic amenities: saloons, hotels, livery, some stores and a jail. The main thoroughfare was typical of most towns he had visited since coming out west.   Dusty main streets which would turn to quagmires at the first heavy downpour. Boardwalks offered some safety from incautiously driven carriages and ornery horses, not to mention some protection for the floor length dresses worn by the local ladies. Horses were tethered here and there at hitching rails or drinking from horse troughs interspersed along the street.  While neither a large and nor a salubrious town, at the moment it beat another night on the trail alone.

The contract was safely in his pocket, but it was too late in the day to do anything about that. Accommodation for the night, a bath, a meal and a cool beer to wash away all the dust he had swallowed along the way were priorities, but not necessarily in that order.

Scott sighed, partly pleased to have reached his destination and partly dismayed at the thought of having to repeat the return journey so soon. This was his first trip away from the ranch and he had been a little unprepared for the difficulties of the terrain. But he was determined to handle the business end of his assignment and complete the mission Murdoch had given him with some finesse. The simple delivery of a contract was easy enough to do and should not pose any problems. It would allow him to meet some of his father’s business contacts and get a feel for ranching matters.

Scanning the street, he passed through the centre of the township before he came across the livery. Scott rode Scout up to the entrance, then dismounted stiffly. Two months in the West were leaving an impression on his rump. He had got out of condition since his cavalry days, he decided.

The livery seemed well cared for. The straw was fresh and the stalls clean. He had seen some dismal excuses for stables in his time, but this was definitely one of the better.

“Anyone there?” he called.

“I’m out the back!” replied a disembodied voice. “Be right with yer!”

Scott patted Scout along his neck with long sweeps of his gloved hand. Scout responded with a nudge and snort when Scott’s hand momentarily stilled.

“Hey, boy! I can’t be coddling you all day!” Scott informed his horse as Scout blew softly in Scott’s face before again butting him gently on the chest. In his short time at Lancer, he had become deeply fond of his mount.

The two friends were suddenly interrupted.

“What can I do fer you, mister?”

The man who approached was somewhere in his sixties. He was wiping his hands on an already dirty rag which he poked back into his rear pants pocket.

“I’d like a stall for my horse for the night, please.”

“Sure, mister.”

“And could he have an extra ration of oats? I’ll pay. He’s been on the road for a few days.”

“No problem. I like to see a man who cares for his livestock. Are you staying just the one night?”

“Probably, yes.”

“Fine, then. I’ll put your horse over here. I’ve just cleaned out this stall.”

“Thank you very much, Mr …?” Scott wafted off to an uncertain ending.

“Clyde. Everybody just calls me Clyde, including the young pups like you,” responded the livery man.

Scott smiled inwardly at being called a young pup, but didn’t argue the point. “I don’t suppose you could recommend a decent place for the night, could you?” Scott queried.

“Well there are two hotels and some rooms over the saloons, but you are best to stay at the Premier,” Clyde answered.

“The Premier?”

“It’s a boarding house, but you won’t get finer meals in town. The rooms are clean and besides, it’s quieter than taking a room at the hotel or above the saloons. The hotels are right by the saloons and they can get mighty rowdy at night.”

Scott took no time to consider what the man had told him. The locals usually knew best and who was he to argue?

“The Premier it is, then. Thanks, Clyde.”

“You’re welcome, sonny.”

“See you in the morning,” Scott bade the man.

One final pat for Scout and he set out for the Premier and to see to his other needs.

The wooden steps resounded with the thump of his boots as he left the road and mounted the boardwalk. The Premier was set a little apart from the saloons, so Clyde had definitely made the right call, Scott decided. He dearly needed some sleep that night.

Knocking lightly, he opened the door and peeked in. The entry foyer was neat as a pin. Fresh beeswax had been applied to the furniture which gleamed dust free. The floor was covered in a well worn, but clean, blue floral rug fringed with golden braid. A vase of flowers stood on the hall table. Reflected in the mirror behind, it compounded the welcoming atmosphere.

“Hello?” called Scott.

“Hang on! Be right there!” The voice answering him grew in volume as the five words were uttered. The slight woman who appeared was wiping her flour covered hands on a towel.

“Why, hello there!” she greeted him as she brushed away stray wisps of grey hair from her eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Ma’am. I’d like a room for the night, please.”

“Certainly, but only if you call me Clara. I have a perfect room upstairs for you, Mr …?”

“Lancer. Scott Lancer.”

“Excellent! You’ll find everything you need in your room including clean towels. The bathroom is behind the stairs over there. There’s plenty of hot water. We have all the modern conveniences, thanks to a dear friend of mine. God rest Bert’s soul. Nothing like a bath for washing away the ingrained weariness of the trail.”

“Thank you, Clara. Can you recommend a good place to eat?”

“Well, there are several places. The hotels have quite good restaurants and the saloons serve food, but it’s only mush. Lord knows what they put into their stews. It’s a mystery to me. I serve dinner and breakfast. Dinner is in an hour.”

“It’s a done deal, Clara! I think an hour to bathe and rest would suit me fine.”

“I’ll make sure you get an extra big helping. You need feeding up. You young men never have enough meat on you!”

“Is that a fact, Clara?”

“Yes, it is, so I’d better get back to that pie for your supper!”

They parted company, Scott bounding up the stairs as Clara made her way much more slowly back to her domain.

*************************

Forty minutes later, Scott wandered down to the parlour. It was a small, but homely room. Lace curtains provided some privacy in the daylight and deep velvet curtains, tied back to the sides by golden ropes with dangling tassels, would offer the same privacy come nightfall. There were blue and gold table lamps as well as wall brackets. He passed a casual eye over the magazines and newspapers thoughtfully provided in a basket near a corner table between two plush, deeply studded armchairs.

Scott riffled through the magazines. There were a variety of magazines to suit various guests’ tastes. ‘The American Agriculturalist’ and ‘Gleason’s Monthly’ he cast aside. Scott considered the fiction and current affairs of ‘Appleton’s Journal’, but opted for a browse of ‘Harper’s Bazaar’. The edition was two years old, being dated 1868. The article on social calls and etiquette for gentlemen had him smiling. This may have been a part of his life in Boston, but here the art of calling on people was decidedly uncouth by eastern standards. Uncouth, but the casualness of it made it warmer and more meaningful, Scott thought.

Aromas from the kitchen invaded the parlour and made Scott realize just how hungry he was. He glanced around again and his eye fell on the empty fire place. It was odd how the days could be so hot, yet the evenings quite cool. The wood basket was empty and no fire had been set for the coming evening.  A frown creasing his forehead, he made for the back of the establishment and knocked on the door.

“Why, Mr Lancer, supper will be another fifteen minutes, I’m sorry,” Clara explained.

“No, it’s not that. I was wondering if you would like some wood brought in for the parlour fire tonight?”

Clara ceased her stirring and stared at him, spoon hovering over the saucepan. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t have any chopped, I’m afraid.”

Being the gallant man he was, Scott couldn’t help himself, despite the thought of undoing all the good his bath had done him.

“Would you like me to chop some then?”

Clara did not move at first, but then put the stirring spoon down on the counter and walked up to him.

“You know, people complain about young folks these days, but now twice in two months I can prove the old timers wrong. You’re the second young man to take pity on an old woman like me and to be kind enough to chop my wood. Both you boys must have been set a fine example by your fathers, is all I can say. They must be fine men.”

Clara stopped, expecting a reply. Scott licked his lips. Yes, his father, while not having the polish of Boston society, did exhibit good manners, courtesy and even chivalry when it came to dealing with the few females who had crossed his path since Scott’s arrival at Lancer.

But was Murdoch a ‘fine man’? From the little time he had spent in Murdoch’s company, he supposed he was.

“Yes, Clara, my father is,” he furnished by way of response.

His reply being granted approval, he was led outside and shown the wood heap.

Like Johnny before him, he regretted taking a bath before discovering the wood pile. Nevertheless, he chopped what he considered to be a reasonable amount in fifteen minutes. His stomach urged him to leave the job, but chivalry pricked his conscience enough for him to decide to chop a stockpile for her before he left in the morning.

Creating two piles inside the boarding house in the parlour and kitchen, he left it at that before a quick wash over the hand basin in his room. A substantial supper followed. Clara provided some lively conversation as she served him, a travelling salesman and a young family with two small children.

While pleasant dinner conversation had flowed, Scott was not in the mood to stay in and get an early night. This was his first outing away from Lancer, and he felt a need to get out of the confines of his lodgings. The saloon might help.

He still felt a stranger when it came to drinking in a western saloon. He found them so different from the gentlemen’s clubs he had frequented in Boston. There, padded leather armchairs, deep pile carpets, restrained behaviour, hushed voices and silent waiters were the norm. Business deals were conducted with murmured intensity and joviality was constrained.

Here it was the opposite. The noise and ribaldry of a saloon still jarred with the correct and proper Scott. The din was deafening at times as raucous laughter from the saloon girls scratched a groove through the strident and uncouth discussions amongst the drinkers and poker players. Furniture was serviceable and basic. No plush amenities were expected or provided. There was an earthiness to it, though, that was so much more real than what he had experienced in Boston.

Pushing on the batwing doors, he entered the saloon. Casting a glance around, he immediately considered that this was a mistake and not one of his better ideas. Still, he was here and he might bas well have that drink he had promised himself. Passing several poker games in progress, ranging from the boisterous to the quietly contemplative, he arrived at the bar.

“A scotch, thanks,” he ordered.

The barkeep leaned under the bar to fetch a clean glass. Not passing inspection, he breathed on it and then polished it with a rag lying on the counter. Scott cringed and considered changing his order, but it was already too late as the barkeep plonked the glass in front of him.

Almost nauseous, Scott stared at the smudged glass and its golden contents.

« Get a grip », he admonished himself, before depositing some coins next to his drink.

Nearly gagging, he took a sip, then another.

« Heck, » he pondered, « Alcohol can clean wounds, so it sure as hell should be able to clean a measly glass! »

A bare arm intruding onto his counter space interrupted his ruminations. This arm was bare right to the shoulder, where only thin straps held up a daringly low bodice revealing almost all of a delightfully feminine décolletage.

It was some moments before Scott’s eyes recovered enough from the pleasure of seeing her cleavage to remember their manners and to travel up to the owner’s eyes. One beautifully dark and alluring, the other scarcely visible beneath puffed up, discoloured flesh.

“Hey there, handsome! You look mighty lonely. You’re new to town, ain’t ya? I’m real good at makin’ people feel welcome in this here town.”

“Yes, I am, and I’m sure you could, Miss.”

“Maybelline.”

“Miss Maybelline.”

“And you are?”

“Scott.”

“Howdy, Scott. Ain’t nothin’ worse than bein’ alone in a new town. I could keep you company tonight, if ya want.”

“That’s very kind, Maybelline, but I’m not looking for company tonight.”

“Maybe you ain’t yet, but perhaps I could change your mind.”

Maybelline reached for Scott’s forehead and lightly brushed some stray strands of hair to one side. Her cheap perfume assailed his nostrils and, sadly for her, did not have the desired effect. Flashes of deep blue whisked past his eyes as she withdrew her arm. Quickly, but gently, he seized her wrist and pulled it to straighten her arm. The bruising was livid and undoubtedly caused by being held in a tight grip. Her split lip and black eye were the result of far more than a tight embrace, he realized.

“What happened to you?” he enquired softly.

Lowered eyes hid some of her discomfort from his view, but her blushing cheeks and fidgety hands told him what her eyes did not.

“Nothin’,” was her unhelpful reply.

“It looks like that nothing packs a powerful wallop.”

An uncomfortable swallow was her only comment.

“Is he still around here?” Scott pursued.

“I don’t know. The sheriff let him go.”

“What!”

“Yeah, well, he was stopped before he could … well, you know, so the sheriff decided that he couldn’t hold him.”

“But this is assault!”

“One of the perks of the job, as they say.”

“But your …er, job … doesn’t mean that you can be a punching bag for every bully who comes your way.”

Her sigh was heartfelt. “Well, it just comes with the trade. I gotta expect it, I guess. It could have been so much worse, so for that I’m grateful at least.”

“So the sheriff stopped this brute from attacking you?”

“Nah! He sticks mighty close to his desk and his coffee pot. He don’t go lookin’ for trouble and if he stays behind his desk often enough, he hopes it won’t see him.”

“So what happened?” Scott prodded, infuriated by a tale of yet another lazy sheriff not doing his job and compounding the lawlessness of this country. If the sheriffs had some backbone, then just maybe the state could be made safer for all its citizens.

“One of the customers wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He followed me and dragged me into an alleyway. If it weren’t for a couple of local ranch hands, he’d have … well, you’re a man of the world, so you know what would have happened.”

Scott knew all too well, but didn’t wish to dwell on the subject. It had happened too many times during the war. Happening upon one such act of bestiality, he had been seized by a rage he did not know he could possess. He had no time for men who could not respect women and he had even less time for those who inflicted their carnal needs on the weaker sex.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. Really sorry.”

His honest and heartfelt words soothed her wounds. Maybelline was not used to such innate kindness and consideration. His concern pierced the outer shell of nonchalance she had tried to cultivate. She swallowed convulsively and surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye as she turned her head briefly before resting it on her hand as she propped her arm on the bar counter.

Scott wished he could make things better for this girl, but he knew he couldn’t change the world’s problems.

“Barkeep!” he called. “A drink for the lady!”

A whiskey soon appeared and she took it gratefully.

“You know, I swear I don’t know what the world is coming to. You and Johnny are a right pair! You might not look alike on the outside, but on the inside you are two of a kind,” she mused.

Scott jumped involuntarily at the mention of the name ‘Johnny’. A frisson of expectation shot through him and then was immediately extinguished. The Johnny she mentioned was hardly the same man he had met two months ago.

“Just how am I like this Johnny?” he asked, intrigued by her response.

“You’re both kind. You care. Not many people do. Thank you,” she answered simply.

Scott blessed her with one of his slow, shy smiles. “You’re welcome. Here’s to this Johnny.”

He chinked glasses with her, his smile broadening as she grinned back.

“To Johnny,” she copied him, tilting her glass to take a good swallow.

Scott finished his drink and made to stand. “Well, I’m going to hit the sack now. I’ve been on the trail for a couple of days.”

Maybelline looked stricken by his words. She reached for his sleeve. “The trail can be awful lonesome and a strange town even lonesomer. Let me keep you company,” she suggested hopefully. “No charge,” she added as an extra incentive.

Scott studied her earnest face.

“Thank you, Maybelline. I do appreciate your offer, but I just want to go on back to my room alone. You’re a very pretty, and a very fine, lady. Perhaps another time?” he let her down gently.

“Sure, and thanks for the drink, Scott.”

“It was my pleasure. Goodnight,” he bade her.

“Goodnight, Scott.”

Her wistful voice followed him as he retreated through the swirling smoke and oppressive ruckus of the saloon. His bones ached for the promise of his soft bed, and just for a fraction he felt twinges of regret that he had not taken her up on her offer. He was tired, bone weary tired, though, and it was just too much effort to turn himself around.

He reached the Premier and headed for the solace of his room and the beckoning sleep he craved.

Chapter Thirteen

The bustle of the town centre gave way to the domesticity of homes and cottages. Housewives were hanging out washing and some were struggling with the unwinnable fight of beating all the stray sand and dust out of their household rugs. Three women were seated on a porch, shelling peas and nattering, the volume of their conversation reaching a crescendo as he passed. The giggling of two children playing with their dog drew a smile from Johnny as he delighted in their innocence. That ability to find pleasure in the moment.

Wrapped in the warm rays of the sun, the outskirts of the township faded behind him. He headed north on his assigned task. His skin basked in the heat and brought forth unbidden images of his life in Mexico and the border towns. He had thrived on that particular type of heat found further down south, but not on all of those memories. He gave an involuntary shudder as the warmth was suddenly evaporated, replaced by icy chills which froze his innermost core. Even his breathing was suspended as for a short time a myriad of horrific images whirled towards him and sucked him into its vortex.

One particular image rose unbidden, but perhaps prompted by the children he had seen earlier. He remembered back to a time when he was about ten years old. He had been playing in the village square with a dog of some indeterminate mixed breed. Not a brown dog like the one he had seen a short while ago, but a pure black one with two white front paws. It had turned up one day a few weeks beforehand, thin, hungry and looking for a friend. The two had adopted each other and for a short time he had experienced a special bond with a being he could trust implicitly, much as he expected it would be like with the brother he had always wanted but never had. He discovered to his cost, however, that happiness was fleeting. His companion was lost to him early on a Saturday evening as the sun lowered in a bright orange haze. Three men who had ridden into town that day had emerged from the cantina, drunk and mean. They then had set out to create some misery for someone else. Anyone else. And that someone had been Johnny. The men’s impromptu target practice had left the dog dead in seconds. In comparison, Johnny’s grief had never truly ended.

The whinny of his mount broke through his trapped mind enough to jolt him out of his sickening reverie. Throwing the cloying cape of memories back into the trash can of his past, Johnny looked around with a shudder of guilt. He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. Madrid had never before let the past suffocate him to the extent that he did not keep tabs on the present.

He was well and truly on his own, he realized with relief. The township was long gone and he was traversing the gentle rolling hills typical of the terrain heading north. Tall grasses were interspersed with sagebrush, oaks and cottonwood trees. He discerned a line of thicker, greener vegetation which he well knew would be sheltering water. He often marvelled that horses could sense water from so far and a smile broke his grim features when he realized that his compadre was telling him in no uncertain terms that Johnny had better not be riding past that cool watering hole without stopping for a break.

Johnny let both horses drink their fill in the stream, while he, too, took a breather under the willows lining the creek. He emptied his tepid canteen and refilled it with fresh water before dunking his head in the gurgling stream. He felt refreshed and revitalized as the coolness seeped into his flesh and bones. Shaking his head, he let the excess water dribble down his chest and back, further serving to lower his body temperature. Like his four legged friends, he also drank deeply. Then he sat and considered his options.

What he was doing was madness. He had nearly succumbed to it two months ago. Maybe that stagecoach hold up had done him a favour by intercepting him on his journey. It may not have done Scott Garrett any favours, but it sure stopped him from following that reckless path to doom which he had been following.

His tumbling thoughts came to a gentle halt for a moment. Scott Garrett. He was one plucky man for an eastern gent. There sure had been more to him than met the eye. And Johnny was still uncomfortable that he at first had misread this man so badly. He smiled, picturing the man in his dandified clothes, ruffles and all. He hoped he had recovered and was doing all right. And he hoped that Scott was succeeding in building a relationship with his father. It was never going to be all right for Johnny with his old man, but Scott and his father had a foundation to build on. Johnny silently wished him success.

His musings only temporarily diverted him from his predicament. Heading north was a mistake. There was no future for him there. He knew that, but he also doubted his willpower to conduct his business and then leave. Temptation would be too much, too overwhelming. Yet as much as he wanted to get even with his father for the contempt shown to his mother and himself, dealing with his father was only going to re-open wounds leaving a festering sore. Better not to expose himself to that lump of pus in the first place.

He glanced south, at the way he had come. The safer route. It was what he understood. It was a life he recognized. He might not have liked his life, and it may have been cruel to him, but determination to survive had ensured his survival. And control had grown from survival. Control in a precarious way, he amended with a snort.

Here he was at the crossroads, yet there wasn’t a trail in sight.  He was knocking at a door that he had closed firmly many years ago. Or which his father had closed for him. He was indecisive. This was not Johnny Madrid’s way. He had established a reputation for being astute and on the ball, capable of making abrupt choices if need be. Skillful at considering the options and selecting an appropriate path of action. At the moment, he felt incapable of mounting his horse. Once he did, he really wasn’t sure in which direction he would point it.

He had succumbed to nearly twenty years of pent up rage two months ago, but the incident with the stagecoach had hampered him in his intentions. The time he had spent in the cell had been enough for him to lasso his emotions and corral them safely out of harm’s way where they couldn’t escape again.  He had decided that he would not give in to that urge. He wouldn’t waste another minute of his life in that morbid contemplation and litany of “what ifs?”. Burying himself in the ranch work had not only helped him regain his control, but also to make inroads into changing his lifestyle. He was the first to admit, though, that it was unlikely that his past would leave him alone long enough to accomplish a transformation. But now the ranch had conspired against him by sending him up there again. To that very same neighbourhood. And would he withstand the urge to demand some retribution?

His deep sigh interrupted the horses, which stopped grazing to look quizzically at him, flickering their ears in interest. He nodded at the animals. It was time to move on.

********************************* 

Sun beaming onto Scott’s closed eyes woke him. He had pulled the blind down at the window the night before, but evidently not far enough. The horizontal gap allowed the bright sun’s rays to pierce his sleep weary eyelids, forcing them open to welcome the new day. Scott groaned, yawned and looked around the room. Shaking his head, he smiled wryly at himself. The only thing in the whole room that that shaft of light had fallen on had been his face. He reckoned that he could have stayed blissfully asleep if his blind drawing skills had been more accurate – or if he had slept the other way around in the bed. He determined to put it down to experience, before he swung his long limbs out over the side of the bed.

Scott had slept in his drawers, leaving his chest bare to the warm night air. His torso was lean and wiry. He was still thin, even five years after the war had ended. While always slim, he had never regained the bulk he had lost during the year that he had been imprisoned in that hell-hole that was Libby. Half starved and weakened from illness and lack of proper nourishment, he had emerged emaciated, but alive, from his ordeal. He did not emerge whole. The scars within and on the surface had taken their toll on him.

He walked over to the small mirror over the washstand and surveyed his unshaven face, unkempt hair and skinny frame topped by broad shoulders. Some muscles were making their presence felt, though, he decided. The ranch work he had started doing had toned him and he could swear that the odd bulge of muscle was beginning to make its appearance. His newest scar was noticeably visible on his pale flesh. Still quite livid, the purple, puckered skin branded his arrival in California. He was forever grateful to the man, a stranger, who had stood by him instead of fleeing and saving his own hide.  He was also behoven to his doctoring skills. Murdoch’s doctor, Sam, said that he could not have done better. Maybe not, Scott agreed, but at least Sam might have provided some sort of painkiller.

Scott winced at the memory and brought himself back sharply to the present. He did not bother washing or cleaning himself up. There was no point. Instead, he donned yesterday’s travel stained clothes and descended the stairs.

Once outside, he retrieved the axe he had left under the porch awning and proceeded to the wood pile where he attacked the pile of wood with a vengeance, permitting each swing and fall of the axe to assuage his pain and help obliterate the tortured memories which continued to haunt his being.

Both the parlour and kitchen stocks were replenished and an outside pile stacked neatly under cover before he returned upstairs for a wash, shave and a change of clothes.

Clara called to him from the kitchen when he returned downstairs. Her bright smile was contagious as she greeted him.

“You know, it’s the strangest thing! I went to take Clyde his breakfast like I usually do and when I got back all this wood had magically gone and chopped itself up into little bitty pieces! Now, don’t that beat all?”

“Sure does, ma’am,” Scott grinned in return.

She stopped, her wrinkled face canted to one side. “You have a good heart. It strengthens my faith in the future of this land to meet young people the likes of you and Johnny.”

There it was again. That name. Another Johnny. Just how many were there in this region?

“Johnny?”

“Yes. He was delivering some horses to Clyde and he spent a night here. A charming young man, much like you. He’s the man I mentioned last night.”

“Oh, so he was like me? Fair skinned and blonde?”

“Oh, my Lord no! He was dark, swarthy even, if it weren’t for his blue eyes. Not the same blue as yours, though. His were a deep blue, not like your grey blue.”

“So, he only spent the one night here?”

“Yes, just the one, but he fixed up a few things for me and he comes over every now and again when he can to say hello. And being the sort of young man he is, he usually chops some wood while I warm the coffee pot.”

“He’s been over since?”

“Yes, but he’s been working mighty hard at that ranch lately. Elbert expects his men to pull their weight.”

”Elbert? You mean Elbert Watson?”

“Why, yes! Do you know him?”

”No, but I have a contract I have to deliver to him today.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get to meet Johnny himself. He’s doing a fine job with those horses of Elbert’s. Getting quite a reputation, and not just around these parts. And if you do see him, say hello to him for me and tell him I’ve got some apple pie set aside for him.”

“Clara, you can rely on me. I’ll make sure that I deliver the message in person.”

Scott ate what he presumed was a hearty breakfast, but in truth, his mind was elsewhere. On Johnny. Was this the same Johnny? He couldn’t understand his feelings. Why was he actually excited like a little boy waiting for Christmas to be upon him?  He didn’t know, but he knew that he wanted to see this man again and thank him for what he had done for him. He did not give friendship easily, but if circumstances had been different, he felt that Johnny and he could have been firm friends despite their difference in upbringing and culture.

Clyde hailed him as he entered the livery.

“Hey, Mr Lancer, your horse is happy and rested, but he’s ready to get out for a run. He’s been prancing from one leg to the other wondering what’s been keepin’ you.”

Scott smiled warmly at the apt description of his mount’s habits. He had noticed the same thing. This horse was grateful to head to the barn every nightfall, but come morning he was anxious to be out and about investigating the new day.

“I hope he hasn’t been giving you any trouble?”

“No, he’s a good natured beast, but he’s getting antsy. So, you’re off for the day or off for good?”

“For good, Clyde. I should be able to wrap up Lancer business by lunchtime, so I may as well head on back to the ranch.”

“Well, I hope I see you again next time you got business back here.”

“Sure thing, Clyde. You keep clean premises and I can see that you like the animals. That’s good enough to keep Lancer business.”

“Thanks, Mr Lancer. Did Clara look after you?”

”She sure did. She’s one nice lady and she can cook up a storm.” And Scott couldn’t resist teasing, “And I believe that she brings you breakfast every morning?”

His remark hit the bulls eye. Clyde went bright crimson. A deep red which began at his neck and suffused his face. The man scuffed at the dirt, then intensely studied the mark his boot had made. He was like a little boy who had been caught out in a lie.

“We both get up really early, so she fixes me something to eat,” was all that he offered.

“Sounds like a good arrangement,” Scott volunteered.

“Yes, that it is.”  Clyde stopped, suddenly shy again.

Taking pity on him, Scott returned to the safety of business. He paid for Scout’s feed and quarters, then set about saddling him.

“Well, I’ll see you next time then,” he called to Clyde as he mounted.

With Clyde’s firm goodbye ringing in his ears, Scott turned his mount and headed towards the Watson ranch.

******************************** 

Below Johnny stood as graceful a home as Johnny had ever seen. Not the usual adobe structure he was used to, this home was stately and quaint at the same time. The land nearby was rich agricultural land. Undulating hills provided plentiful pasture for both cattle and horses. This ranch was prosperous and well run. It oozed established wealth.

He observed a man, an extremely large man, bend forward and kiss a woman on the cheek before mounting his equally huge bay and setting off in the opposite direction. The woman waved to him and turned to speak to a worker, who in turn hurried off to the barn.

Johnny swallowed his nervousness. These were not the surroundings he was used to and he would be out of his comfort zone. He guessed that he needed to stop delaying the completion his business, so he, too, could be on his way like the diminishing figure in the distance. Urging his horse on, he slowly descended the slope and made for the buildings.

There was activity around the corral, so he aimed his horse’s head in that direction.

As he neared the barn and corral, he took in the bustling business. Several hands were leading off some horses to a paddock, while three more were examining a bull in one of the corrals. Reverberating, clanging sounds told him that somewhere nearby a blacksmith was at work.

The woman he had seen earlier was talking to another ranch hand, who stood in front of her, rubbing his chin. Just who was in charge, he wasn’t at first sure, but something about the woman’s demeanour convinced him that this was likely to be Mrs Conway.

Heads turned his way as he approached. Appraising eyes took in his attire and the way he sat the saddle, then lingered on the horse he was leading.

The woman called out a greeting. “Hello! May I help you?”

Johnny doffed his hat out of courtesy. “If you’re Mrs Conway, yes. I’ve been sent by Elbert Watson to deliver your new stallion.”

“We were expecting Alf.”

Johnny’s face hardened at the mention of the man’s name. Mrs Conway’s eyes spotted his reaction, but waited.

“Yes, Ma’am, but plans were changed at the last minutes. Alf couldn’t come, so Mr Watson sent me instead. The name’s Johnny.”

“Johnny who?”

“Johnny Madrid.”

A slight pause, but only a slight one, preceded her reply. “Your reputation precedes you, young man.”

Johnny stiffened and his hand sought the comfort of his right thigh, lingering next to his holster.

“In what way, Ma’am?” His tentative question was accompanied by several darting looks around him as he tried to ascertain whether he was in enemy territory or not.

“Your horse breaking skills are becoming well known, even up here. You are making quite a name for yourself. Am I taking it that Elbert has come to his senses and hired you to assist Herb? He’s getting on some, you know.”

“I’ve never met him, Ma’am. Herb was injured, and I replaced him.”

“And just why didn’t he send Alf? Surely he can’t afford to waste your skills in the corral?”

”Well, Alf was unable to come. He was tied up, so to speak.”

“Oh, I was hoping to hear that Elbert had given him the sack. I’ve never taken to the man myself.”

Johnny smiled broadly in agreement. The lady bore the full onslaught of his restrained mirth. She was captivated immediately.

“I take it that you agree with me?”

“Well, far be it for me to put down another co worker, Ma’am. It wouldn’t be ethical on a business level.”

She nodded as she studied him. “But on a personal level?” she prompted.

“Well, on a personal level, I can’t stand the man. He’s got a lot of nasty traits that I just can’t abide.”

Johnny grinned again. This time she laughed outright.

“Ain’t that the truth! Hop on down and give your behind a rest. I’m mighty keen to check out that stallion and to see how well he travelled.”

Aggie was a consummate businesswoman who knew her animals. She checked him over, examining him from flanks to fetlocks, then stepped back to cast an appraising eye over the stallion as a whole.

“He’s a fine specimen and I see that you have looked after him well.”

Johnny had been standing next to the stallion’s head, gently rubbing his forehead and neck. “Yes, Ma’am. You got yourself a good deal here. He should do you proud.” Johnny’s eyes twinkled with amusement, before adding, “And those mares over there as well!”

She smiled smugly. “On looking at him again, I think he is even a better bargain than I had originally thought. I just wish Murdoch had stayed to see him.”

Johnny’s vision clouded. Movement froze around him as his heart seemed to stop. His breathing stilled but his ears still distinguished a blurred cacophony of noise: voices calling, horses nickering, cattle lowing, metal being struck, boots scuffing the dirt. The sounds zeroed in on him until his ear drums were bursting with the buzz and thrum of the surrounding activities. They paralyzed him as nearly twenty years of his past coalesced and swamped him.

Johnny swallowed and licked his lips. “Murdoch?”

Chapter Fourteen

“Yes, Murdoch Lancer, my neighbour. He just left just fifteen minutes ago. What I wouldn’t give to see the look on his face! I beat him to this stallion and he is rather put out!”

“He wanted the stallion?”

“Yes, but I moved quicker than him. He was going to send his son down to check it out, but he was too late.”

His ears continued to buzz and vibrate as a strange noise composed of nothing but shock grew to a crescendo.

Johnny could do nothing but continue his staccato questions.

“His son?”

“Yes. One of our neighbouring ranchers had seen you working the stallion and told us about it. I trusted his judgment enough to decide to buy it, but I didn’t realize Murdoch and his son had discussed going down to Modesto to check it out. Murdoch only told me just the other day and I kind of feel bad that I got there first… but only kind of. My, it felt good to have one up on Murdoch!”

She looked over at Johnny. He stayed silent, digesting the news. Aggie, however, misconstrued the silence.

“Murdoch and I, we’ve got a bit of rivalry going. Murdoch tries to outdo me and doesn’t take it too kindly when I outdo him.”

Johnny was still staring, oddly expressionless.

“So you don’t like him much?”

“Oh, I do! He is a dear friend. On of my oldest friends and one that I know I can trust implicitly. A person would never find a more reliable and kind neighbour, but the businessman in him likes to get a good deal. I just love getting the better of him. And my goodness, wouldn’t I like to see his face! This stallion is a beauty!”

All Johnny could focus on was “Murdoch’s son”. Murdoch Lancer had a son. So after he had ditched his mama and him, his father had taken a new wife and had sired another son.

His stomach churned and wrenched his gut.

He should have listened to his own common sense. He had known that he would be drowned in the depths of the past if he carried out this mission for Watson. Rather than acquiescing, he should have quit the job and gone on his way. He was in dangerous waters, carried along by a mighty current, which was eddying, gathering in power and threatening to develop into a whirlpool which would cling to him and suck him under.

It made perfect sense that the man would not remain celibate all these years. He would want a woman for conjugal comfort and to produce heirs to the birthright he had established twenty five years ago. He would want a family that fitted naturally into the fabric of white society, not one tarnished by Hispanic blood. He would want descendants he could be proud of. Ones which bore his mark, not children of evident foreign lineage.

All the while he and his mother had struggled to eke out an existence, Murdoch Lancer’s second family resided on a large ranch, surrounded by all the trappings such a spread would no doubt provide.

Johnny felt sick. His stomach was rejecting this new and unexpected information as much as his mind accepted the logic of this now obvious scenario.

A protective veil slid over Johnny’s features as he digested and attempted to cope with this new situation. He gave a mental shake as he hid behind the façade of business and the tool of aggravation. He’d found in the past that at times he needed to change the course of a conversation onto safer topics so he could push aside nagging issues that he couldn’t bring himself to deal with just yet. So he let his father drop for the moment and concentrated on the job at hand.

“Yes, you are right, this stallion is a beauty! He’ll serve the right owner well.”

Aggie Conway appraised him searchingly, the young man’s overly direct comment challenging her to beg to differ.

“And if I were the wrong owner?” she volleyed back at him.

“Then it would be a shame for such a proud horse, Ma’am. A horse like this deserves respect and not just the sort of respect that comes from fear.”

Johnny’s answer was again direct and again it held a hint of admonishment that this animal should be treated well. And it lacked the amount of respect that he knew he should be showing.

“You don’t mince words, do you boy? Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Mrs Conway. You own this spread. You had the readies that bought the stallion.”

“Damn right, so why do I get the feeling that you are lecturing me about the care and future treatment of MY horse and why do you think that you’ve got the right to concern yourself about it?”

“Because that’s precisely what I AM doing, Ma’am! I like to know what sort of person buys these animals, what will be expected of them and how they’ll be treated. I guess it just relieves my mind somewhat. And I guess that I am concerned because it’s me that broke this stallion and we got a connection of sorts.”

“Let me tell you something. A lot of ranchers don’t take kindly to arrogant hired help telling them what to do with livestock they’ve purchased with their own money!”

“Well, that about explains the reaction I get sometimes, then.” Johnny lazily smiled at her, pushing his hat up off his forehead with his thumb. “Thanks for pointing it out,” he teased, the gauntlet firmly flung on the ground between them.

Her hearty laughter caught him unawares. Throwing back her head, she laughed fully in enjoyment. There were no half measures about her amusement.

“I meant what I said about your reputation preceding you. Word is that you are brilliant with horses, but tetchy if things are not to your liking where your equine friends are concerned. Meticulous doesn’t come close, I believe.”

Johnny dipped his head in acknowledgement of her comments. His smile disarmed and charmed her. “I guess I can’t argue too much about that. I guess I am fussy about my livestock.”

Intrigue urged Aggie to do the unusual. “Lunch is nearly ready. Why don’t you see to the stallion, come on over to the house and join me for luncheon?”

Johnny stared, uncomfortable about the invitation. He wasn’t used to sitting with rich folks with their fine manners.

Apparently an answer was not expected. She turned back to the house, leaving her invitation in her wake. An invitation which had suddenly taken on the form of a decree.

After discussing the stallion with the Segundo and seeing to his horse’s needs, Johnny made for the main house. He hesitated, unsure which entrance to use.

“Just up the porch, Johnny!” the Segundo hailed him. “Then along to the side.”

Johnny followed the instructions and came to a wash stand sitting expectantly on the side porch. He washed his hands and face, dried them on the towel hanging on the hook on the wall and turned to knock at the door.

It was opened by the rancherwoman, who bade him enter. The room exuded comfort and good taste. Upholstery on the seating was thick and padded, lamp shades were subtle and the long drapes at the windows complemented the décor.

“Would you care for a drink?” she offered.

Johnny was nonplussed. He expected to be treated as one of the workers and being invited inside didn’t sit well with him. Nevertheless, a shot of tequila was mighty appealing at the moment.

“Tequila, if you have it, please, Mrs Conway.”

“I do.”

He watched her pour out the drink, cut up a lime and collect a salt bowl to offer to him.

“Take a seat there.” She vaguely waved him to a padded armchair with the salt bowl and proceeded to place the salt and lime on the table next to him.

Thanking her, he dipped the side of his thumb in the salt, licked it, drank a sip and gnawed at some lime. The liquor warmed his insides and settled his discomfort.

To his surprise, he quickly relaxed as she discussed horses and livestock with him. He was further surprised to realize just how far word of his horse breaking talents had indeed spread. He found lunch enjoyable, but wondered if there was an ulterior motive behind it all. His intuition served him well as she got down to tin tacks at the conclusion of the meal.

Aggie took a sip of her coffee, ready to assess his reaction. “I told you that your reputation had preceded you.”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. He shifted in his chair, but she continued before he could respond.

“I probably should amend that to reputations, plural. I know that Johnny Madrid is a gunfighter, but I’m puzzled to see him turn to horse breaker.”

“You got a problem with a man being versatile?” he challenged her.

“No, not at all, but that is a huge career change.”

“It’s just the way that things have panned out recently. If you’ve got a problem with my trade, why did you invite me in and why are you eating lunch alone with me?”

“I don’t have a problem with your profession per se. I am being up front and letting you know that I have heard of you in a non horse-related sense.”

“And?”

“And I have heard a mixture of good and bad. I am not sure what is fact, what is fiction and what is legend.”

Johnny snorted. “Mrs Conway, join the rest of the country! Only difference is, most people don’t bother trying to find out the truth. They believe the most exaggerated and the most gruesome. And they judge me on that.”

“I bet they do. But I was speaking to Elbert and his foreman Buck last month at the auction. They had nothing but good to say about you. Other people have heard about your ability with the horses.”

Johnny fidgeted, becoming annoyed at this pointless conversation. 

“And?” he enquired again, with growing brusqueness.

“I’d like to offer you a job here if you’re interested. Good pay and clean quarters come with it.”

Johnny tilted his head at her, then grinned. “Mrs Conway, you gotta be plumb loco. You don’t know nothing about me. You don’t know what trouble you’re inviting in the door.”

“I’ve heard that you have a good work ethic and that you have an uncanny knack with horses.”

“And I’m trouble.”

“Not from what Elbert and Buck said.”

“Not yet. For some reason, I’ve been lucky. No one has shown up to take me down … yet! But it’s gonna happen. I can’t stay at the Watson’s too much longer or I’ll just put everyone in danger. And much as I’d like to, I can’t accept your offer. I know I’m gonna have to move on and I know it’s gonna have to be soon.”

“You’d be safer here. It’s further north than the Watson’s. Further away from where you used to do your ‘work’.”

Johnny looked at her in amazement. Then he grinned his lively grin, warming his eyes and radiating humour.  “Don’t that beat all, Ma’am. You’re just trying to wrangle me away from Elbert. All this talk about me being further away from trouble. You should be ashamed of yourself trying to bribe another man’s workers! Don’t you know that poaching is illegal?”

Aggie laughed good naturedly. He liked the sound of her honest amusement.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, boy. It’s called tactics. All’s fair in love and war ... and ranching! It’s just another friendly rivalry, like between Murdoch Lancer and me.”

Johnny’s breath was suspended. There was that name again. That name he could have and should have avoided by not delivering the stallion.

But that name was like a cattle prod, poking, pulling and pushing him in a direction he did not want to take. He felt corralled in a pen, with his back against the fence and the only way out was to charge.

So, he took a breath and asked the question he had been avoiding all through the meal.

“So, have you and Murdoch Lancer been butting heads for long?

“Oh, over twenty years. But we don’t butt heads, as you put it. We just like to outdo each other on occasion.  We are actually dear friends and he has been like a rock to me since my husband died.”

Johnny couldn’t resist continuing to fish for information. “I heard that he was one difficult person to deal with?”

“Heck, no! His gruffness is just a façade. He is just pernickety about the way that things are done. There’s the Murdoch way and there’s the non-Murdoch way. And it doesn’t take a genius to work out which way he thinks is right! He is a stubborn man, but a fair man. His life has just been so darned empty without his offspring at his side, so I suppose life’s challenges have hardened him.”

“But you said that he has a son, so how could he be missing his offspring?”

“He might have the comfort of the one son with him, but he has ached for his little boy who was taken from him nearly twenty years ago. He never got over losing that little lad.”

Johnny could not prevent some snide derision dripping off his words. “He lost his boy? How does a man lose his child?”

“His wife left him, taking the boy with her.”

A vice squeezed his lungs. That strange buzzing was back in his ears as the room took to spinning around his head.

“Is that the story he told? The excuse he gave?”

Aggie looked at him shrewdly. “Excuse? Why would he need an excuse? Those are the facts.”

“The facts as you know them. I bet his wife would have a different viewpoint!”

Aggie appeared surprised by his obvious agitation and concern over her idle comment.

“She no doubt would have a different viewpoint and her account would indeed clash with Murdoch’s. That gambler turned her head and she turned her back on her wedding vows.”

Johnny’s head swam. He wanted to strike the mouth off her face for daring to speak ill of his mother. His stomach felt heavy and cumbersome as a brick. Bile rose in his throat, threatening to choke him with her lies. Or Murdoch Lancer’s lies.

Johnny could not quite hide the venom from his words. “Is that what he told everyone?”

A frown clouded Aggie’s attractive face. “It was common knowledge. Everyone could see her flaunting herself at that no good, smooth talking devil. He would swagger around town, thinking he was God’s gift to womankind. And she couldn’t see through him and his empty promises. Murdoch was the last to know. There’s not a one of us that doesn’t feel guilty for not telling him what we suspected. If we had, his little boy would never have been abducted. He would have grown up at Lancer with his father.”

Dizziness threatened to overcome him. What Aggie had told him was at odds with everything Johnny had been told by his mother. It just simply couldn’t be true, because that would make his mama a liar. 

Johnny took a mouthful of coffee to give him some thinking time. The swig was too hot, but he welcomed the burning sensation in his mouth.

“Maybe you shouldn’t feel guilty, Ma’am. There ain’t no way a happy woman would have run off with another man and left a ranch as prosperous as Lancer. Now, a woman who felt unsafe or threatened is another matter. So, rather than waste precious minutes and hours of your life worrying that you should have warned Lancer, maybe you should be thankful that you didn’t tell him anything. Maybe she was so dang scared, she left with the first man who offered her something better?”

“Why, that is out of the question, young man! This county had never seen a more doting husband and father than Murdoch Lancer. His wife enchanted him. Everyone knew that he only had eyes for her and he worshipped the ground she walked on. It was amusing to us all to see this big, gruff, dour Scot so gentle and devoted to his diminutive Maria. And he adored his son. His eyes shone with pride when he talked about him or when he would come to town with his little boy perched all the way up there on his father’s horse, safely wrapped in his father’s arms. I was there at the time, and whatever you are thinking, you are way out of line.”

“Well, as I said, no happy woman is going to leave her husband. People don’t know what goes on behind closed doors and in the marital bed. Just maybe she didn’t have any choice in the matter! And perhaps he spread that story to hide the truth of the situation!”

Johnny’s voice had risen with fervour as Madrid’s comforting and capable mask deserted him. This topic should not have been opened up. He should not have broached this subject. He should not have probed for information so long denied him. He should not have accepted the lunch invitation. And most of all he plainly and simply should not have come back to this area, dammit!

Aggie was a perceptive woman. She considered this young ranch hand cum gunslinger in front of her and wondered just how their conversation had reached this point. They were not talking merely about Murdoch Lancer, she realized that now. Someone had hurt this boy or his mother and her guess was that the circumstances may have just paralleled Murdoch’s painful past with his wife.

Hiding behind the solace of the coffee gave Johnny several more precious seconds. Not enough time, but he pulled himself together and shelved some of her words to be taken out later. Then he could dissect and examine them, and work out just how putrid his father’s lies to his mother had been.

Aggie decided to fish for more information to find out just where this man was coming from.  ”Just what is your interest in Murdoch Lancer?”

Madrid’s ice curtain descended over his eyes, creating an impenetrable shield. He cut off the topic of conversation, coldly and expertly.

“I have no interest in Murdoch Lancer at all. He’s your neighbour, not mine, and I don’t recall ever meeting him. He’s nothing to me whatsoever.”

Aggie noticed the change in his demeanour. The way he receded. The way he became aloof from the subject of their conversation. And she felt for this man who was suffering in some way. Aware that something in Murdoch’s history reminded the boy of some inner pain of his own, she tactfully changed the subject, reverting to her original offer.

“Well, that’s a relief, because I wouldn’t want someone as talented as you going to my opposition. So will you consider my offer at least? The pay’s good. The bunkhouse is clean. The food is excellent. We run a top team here.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Whatever you’re earning with Watson, I’ll increase it.”

Johnny’s ice masquerade thawed under the gaze of this attractive, in a mature sort of way, and charming woman. She was shrewd and she knew a good deal when she saw one.

He gifted her with one of his crooked, idiosyncratic smiles. The sort of smile which could burst a woman’s corset strings and warm her body in the most private and surprising places. The smile that defused and enticed. The smile that poured balm on troubled waters. The smile that engaged those who tried to deny the compassion of the man beneath the armour.

“I’ll think on it, Ma’am, but I had been thinking that it might just be time to head further south.”

“Why would you want to do that? It’s lawless down along the border. Life here is becoming more civilized and settled. A man can have a future here. An increasingly safer future. He could settle down and bring up his family here with the assurance that he would be creating a birthright for his children.”

Birthright. The word mocked Johnny. The birthright he was kicked out of. The birthright he should have grown up to love and manage. The birthright which should have afforded him a modicum of respect, unlike the reality which marred his real past.

Johnny swallowed. He swallowed her unfortunate choice of words and shut his mind to the repercussions of letting his thoughts roam over dangerous ground. Just a few simple sentences and he could be out of there.

“Yes, there’s no denying what you say, but it’s the south I know better.” His charismatic smile lit his features again, acting as a diversion from his true inner turmoil. “And, besides. Ma’am, I can’t see myself settling down with children any time in the near future.”

“Well, if ever that blessed state falls to you and you want a steady job, you know where you can come,” Aggie promised.

Johnny took this as his signal to depart.

“Ma’am …”

“Aggie,” she admonished him.

“Aggie, thanks for the lunch and you make sure that you look after that stallion, OK?”

“Thank you, Johnny. It’s been a pleasure to get to know the man behind the name.”

Johnny quirked his eyebrow, seeking clarification.

“Both the horse breaker extraordinaire and the gunfighter,” she amended.

“It’s been a pleasure, Aggie. I’ll see you around maybe. Thanks for lunch.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. Bye!”

Johnny nodded, then tilted his head back so his hat could capture his wayward locks and contain them away from his eyes. Planting his hat firmly on his head, he set off for his horse and an escape from persistent niggling questions which this lunch had evoked.

A final check of the stallion and a few words to the Segundo were the only delays before Johnny gratefully mounted his horse and fled this place which aroused in him such disconcerting imaginings.

The hour it took for him to reach Morro Coyo constituted nothing but a blur for him. A miasma of feelings swirled through his heart and mind, but the sixty minutes or so sitting in the saddle did not provide any enlightenment from the morose thoughts suffocating him.

His arrival in the town surprised him and was like a slap in the face. It was a wake-up call to him that he needed to get his mind out of the past and into the present. He needed to focus on his surroundings for his own safety and just maybe dredge up his Madrid persona if he was going to make it back in one piece.

The cantina appeared, step by equine jerky step closer, beckoning him in. A shot of tequila to calm him down and he would be on his way. Wearily pointing his steed to the left, he was soon at the hitching rail and mounting the steps.

The cantina was surprisingly animated for this time of the day. Some clients appeared to be lingering over a lunch of tortillas or tamales. Others were having a quiet drink, while a poker game amongst some elderly citizens was taking place in a corner table, their gamesmanship well lubricated by alcohol from the bar.

Johnny received only cursory interest from the occupants. Relieved, he slapped a coin on the bar and ordered a tequila. He downed it fast, then stood with one foot on the brass footrail, two hands on the counter and his head down. The liquor provided a warm and soothing lining for his over wrought gut. He debated a second drink, but a calmness descended as common sense took command. He could not ever afford to have his senses dulled, especially in unknown territory. So he headed back outside to reclaim his patient horse and hit the trail for the Watson ranch.

The reins were quickly untied and he was reaching for the pommel with his left hand when his whole world exploded to the sound of his name being called. Two gunshots vaguely registered in his mind as he was slammed into the horse’s flank, his face momentarily buried in the animal’s sweaty fur. Knees buckling, he slid down amongst the horse’s hooves into the dirt of the street. He lay in the filth, agony gripping his whole being as his body convulsed into a foetal position. Shouts, the scuffing of boots on the boardwalk, feet pounding the road, horses whickering nervously and the drone of a lone blow fly zeroing in on him all coalesced and assaulted his ears in a crescendo, before fading. He took the muted sounds with him as he was insistently pulled into a black and silent unconsciousness.

Chapter Fifteen

The warm day had accompanied Scott everywhere he went. The sun’s rays had followed him as soon as he mounted up that day, swiftly entering through the fibres of his coat and shirt. Shimmering sage bush and oak trees had lined the paddocks and hills on each side of the track he had taken. He had been assaulted from above as well by that fireball in the sky, and had it not been for his hat, his scalp would have been fried long ago. This was the same sun under which he had grown up in Boston, but it didn’t seem possible. He never remembered the sun attaining that firepower in Boston. A firepower capable of singeing the hairs off a man’s head and boiling the brains beneath. 

So it was with an immense relief, coupled with a deep frustration, that Scott rode into town late that afternoon. He had fulfilled his father’s mission by delivering the contract, but had left in unseemly haste. Common business sense instilled in him by his grandfather urged him to linger, to chew the fat and to look for any opportunities he could take advantage of. But on verifying that the name of the Watson’s horse breaker was indeed Johnny Madrid, Scott had just wanted out. He remembered back to his conversation with Johnny: “Yeah, Johnny Madrid, gunfighter, gun hawk, pistolero. Take your pick.” Johnny Madrid, now turned horse breaker, had worked there at the Watson’s and he had missed him by a day.

His own desire to see Johnny again, and to not let this lead run cold, had pushed him out the door with a speed which was only a vaguely polite. He knew the Conway’s ranch and he had hoped that he could find Johnny before he headed back south to the Watson spread.

The sun’s power was abating when he arrived back in town and he could taste the beer he was about to consume. But while relieved to be back, he also felt an extraordinary dissatisfaction in having missed out on seeing Johnny after all. After two months, he had finally got so close, but it had been a let down. Mrs Conway had told him that Johnny had already left. He had missed Johnny by only thirty minutes. He had missed his chance forever. Mrs Conway informed him that Johnny had gone and was heading south, possibly not even back to the Watson ranch. A very vague south and a very vast destination. Once again, Johnny was moving away out of Scott’s life. A long way away. And the fruitlessness of any pursuit weighed heavily on Scott.

He had still never got the chance to thank this man for coming after him and saving his life. And he felt strangely bereft at this omission.

Scott glanced around the township. Several wagons were trundling down the main street. The sight of ranchers loading supplies onto the backs of buckboards and the laughter of women walking down the boardwalk greeted him with friendly familiarity.

His eyes fell on the saloon, so he gave a gentle tug of the reins to direct his horse towards the welcoming bar. As he did so his glance strayed to the cantina further down the street. What he saw froze his whole frame.

Johnny! He was positive that it was him. Johnny was approaching his horse and untying the reins. Scott couldn’t believe his good luck. If he had arrived in town a minute later, he would have missed catching up with him.

Scott lifted a hand to wave and took a breath to call out, but at the same instant he saw a movement to the left, from behind a barrel placed at the entrance to an alleyway. The glint of a gun and the emergence of a man’s head and shoulders were visible to Scott from his vantage point on his horse. As Scott’s mind processed this, he was instantaneously aware of the man’s intended victim.

Scott shouted and drew on the man simultaneously. He was no stranger to guns, his stint in the war assuring that fact, and he was fast, but he was not quick enough to prevent the man from firing. Scott’s bullet hit the mark, but fractionally behind the bullet which caught Johnny unawares to plough into his back.

The horrific image of Johnny slumping down into a boneless heap onto the street and half under his horse bored into his eyes and seized his lungs in a vice.  That this sight was virtually duplicated by the assailant at the mouth of the alleyway was little comfort to him. It did, however, galvanize him into action. He dismounted and raced up the street, firstly to check that the gunman posed no more threat, then more slowly on to Johnny. He dreaded what he might find.

He reached him before any other onlookers braved the scene. Johnny’s back was a mass of bright red blood, which was blossoming all over his clothes and already pooling underneath him.  He gently rolled him over to check for an exit wound. None was visible. Johnny was already unconscious, but not, as Scott had first feared, dead. His heart still beat in his chest, but it wouldn’t do so for long if Johnny continued to lose blood at the rate it was streaming out of his back.

Tearing off his shirt, Scott bunched it up to make a wad to pack the wound, all the time screaming for the onlookers to stop gawking and fetch Sam.

Staunching the wound as best he could, Scott sat in the dirt and held him, watching out for him much as Johnny had done two months previously. And he prayed. He prayed that Sam could perform a miracle, so that Scott could deliver his overdue thanks in person.

The excited murmuring of the locals eddied around the two men, but Scott was in too much of a daze to take in individual comments. It was only Sam’s arrival which broke him from his reverie.

The injured man was brought inside and laid on Sam’s examining table as Scott briefed him on what had transpired. Sam was terse with concentration as he ordered everyone out except Mrs O’Malley, his part time assistant who also cooked at the hotel and cleaned the jail.

As Scott left the examining room, he grasped Sam’s arm.

“Please, Sam. Do your best. Johnny’s the one who saved me when the stage was held up. I owe him and I sure would like to thank him.”

Sam looked into Scott’s eyes, and he saw more than a debt requiring repayment.

“I’ll do my best. You can be sure of that, son.”

Scott closed the door behind him, the click of the handle a decisive sound as the door left him in quiet solitude. A sterile peace abandoning him to the mercy of remembrances. Flashes of Johnny on that day of the hold-up flitted through his consciousness. Johnny smirking when he dusted off Scott’s clothes, menacing the passenger who accused him of killing his horse, smiling with derision at the lady’s entrancement with Boston life, the total focus when they were under threat, his chivalry when the lady was pistol whipped, frowning with concentration as he dug out the bullet and grinning that easy grin which slid out unexpectedly to lighten up his whole face and to make his eyes dance with teasing mischief.

Sam had to fix him up. He just had to.

************************************  

Johnny knew he was in trouble, but he couldn’t summon the energy to get going and to take off. His back was on fire and he could not stay alert long enough to work out the details of what had really happened. He figured out that he was at the doctor’s, but disorientation dogged him when he tried to get himself under some form of control. Too often he felt some clarity tempt him, only to have it wash away as a strange warmth flowed through his veins, sweeping his alertness away along with the tide.

A voice would at times lure him, but the bait was evidently not enticing enough to shake off the cocoon which buffered him from the all too intense pain whenever he thought he just might try to investigate the situation further.

The voice was foreign to his ears, yet at the same time familiar in an odd way. But he was too weary and too sore to even try to work that one out. So that, too, just got filed away for later when the wildfire scorching a path through his back burnt itself out.

This worried him in his sometimes semi conscious state. He really felt that he ought to make more effort. He was sure that he normally would. He couldn’t put a finger on why he was not fighting harder to rouse himself. But, oddly, he didn’t seem to think that it mattered as much as it normally would.

But why? That niggled at his dull brain as well. Just why didn’t it matter so much at the moment? Why did he feel that he could let his guard down just a little? Or a lot really, if he thought about it. He didn’t know. It was simply all too hard and confusing. For once in his life, however, he just thought it was all right to succumb to the pain and the all encompassing tiredness.

So he slept a sleep of sorts. A sleep full of contrasting and jarring images. A sleep that lulled, then threatened, then soothed. A sleep filled with images of smoking guns, bodies falling dead before they hit the ground, fists thrusting into his face and body, the gnawing hunger pangs and the embrace of fiery tequila scorching his innards. All in all the hell clinging to his being, only tempered by his Mama’s gentle lullabies or the comfort of soft flesh yielding in the lamplight, which offered a short respite of solace from the vicious outer world. And finally there was that intermittent deep voice with which he had shared a fleeting companionship.

***************************  

Scott lay sprawled in a hard chair, the uncompromising back of which was scarcely softened by the cushion he had wedged between the wooden frame and his backbone. His long legs were casually flung forward under the side of the bed and his head was propped on one hand, which in turn was supported by his elbow. An elbow that protested the discomfort forced on it as the bone was rammed into a decisively resistant surface. The skin on his face was scrunched up and pushed askew by his fist, so his features appeared marred. One side of his face was dashingly handsome, with smooth skin taut over high cheekbones and a strong chin, the other side was reminiscent of a chimpanzee face, chimpanzee lips protruding and puckered into an O shape.

He watched the increasingly rapid movements of the patient’s eyelids. Johnny’s chest was heaving, less with the exertion of a sick man breathing, but more the desperate sounds of someone under duress.

Then came the words. Much of it in Spanish, peppered with sections in English. Whatever was happening in Johnny’s dreams, it wasn’t good and they offered no safe haven.

And Scott’s gut churned with the familiarity of it all. Of the men drowning in nightly nightmares in Libby and of his own sweat drenched torture each night. The gruesome memories which didn’t let go, but continued to fester, infecting even his waking thoughts and contaminating the pleasure of being alive to enjoy another day.

Johnny twitched and then started to toss around. Enough, Scott decided. His stitches would be ripped out in no time if he started that behaviour. So, he leaned forward and gently spoke to him, coerced him and dragged him back to the relative safety of Sam’s sick room where he could maybe chase those demons away from Johnny for a time.

“Johnny! Come on! Open up those eyes. It’s all right. Whatever you are thinking about, it’s all right. I’m here and no one’s going to hurt you while I’m on guard duty. Wake up! I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months. You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?

The abruptness with which Johnny opened his eyes startled Scott. He jumped a little, then smiled at his own nervousness. But simultaneously he tensed as he recognized Johnny’s fumbling for what it was. Of course, he should have expected a defensive move.

“Your gun is there, hanging on the bedstead.”

Scott smiled wider as he saw that Johnny was looking at him. Not vacantly now, but with some awareness.

“Scott!” Johnny breathed in surprise.

“Hey, Johnny! Good to see you again. You’re an elusive man.”

Johnny smiled wanly in acknowledgement.

“You really won’t need your gun,” Scott added. “I’m on watch, and I’ll make sure no one gets near you. Except Sam, of course.”

“Sam?”

“The doctor.”

“Uh huh.”

Johnny studied Scott for a minute. He tried to move to a more comfortable position, but was frozen by the sheer agony of it all. Unable to disguise the pain, he groaned.

“Keep still,” Scott admonished him, “Or you’ll tear out the stitches Sam put in. Here, take a sip of water.”

Scott held Johnny’s head so he could drink some of the cool water.

Johnny sniffed it suspiciously.

“There’s nothing in it. Sam said that when you woke up, I was to see if you could manage without anything for a while. It’s plain, unadulterated water. I don’t know whether it’s from a spring or a well, but it’s pretty good stuff.”

“Thanks, Johnny murmured. “That feels good.” He swallowed some more. “It’s good to see you again, Scott. You look recovered,” he added as an afterthought.

“I am, thanks to you. You’ll be pleased to know that you’re heading in the same general direction.”

“So, did you dig the slug out of me or did the doc?”

“The doc.”

Johnny nodded then grimaced at the pain caused by his movement.

“Is he a good doctor?” Johnny asked, before hastily adding, “Not that I’m all that fussy!”

“Yes, he’s got a good reputation and he’s a decent man.”

Johnny nodded again, then moaned as the fire in his back continued to rage. He took a steadying breath before studying his visitor, who was more tanned and casual in appearance than when they had first met.

“Do you know who shot me?” he asked.

Scott was flabbergasted. It had not dawned on him that Johnny may not have known who had come gunning for him. And he realized guiltily that Johnny had been mostly unconscious when they had discussed the issue in front of him.

“It was a man named Alf. Does that mean anything to you?”

Johnny took a deep breath and nodded, before adding a quiet “Yeah.”

“Who was he?”

“Was?”

“Yes, he’s dead.”

Johnny nodded grimly.

“We worked on the same ranch and he didn’t like me much. He wanted the chief horse breaking job, but they gave it to me. And then just before I left, he attacked a saloon worker in an alley. A friend and I intervened and he was locked up. That’s why I’m here. He was supposed to deliver the stallion I brought up with me. How’d you know who he was?”

“He had been in the saloon playing poker earlier on, apparently. He gave his name.”

“Who shot him? The sheriff?” Johnny asked.

Scott looked bashful and dipped his head for a moment before raising his eyes to meet Johnny’s.

”Well, I was in front of the saloon and saw you. I was just about to go over to you when I saw him pull his gun to shoot you. Unfortunately, he fired before I did. I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.”

Johnny gazed at him, his eyes appraising him.

“Are you telling me that it was you who killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Boy, you sure are full of surprises. So how many shots did you take? I only heard the two before I passed out.”

“One.”

Johnny gave a silent whistle, then a rakish smile blazed across his facing, lighting his eyes.

“As I said, full of surprises. A man would need to be real careful around you. I thought that the gun I see on your hip was merely decoration!”

“Well, my father has been drumming it into me that a man is naked hereabouts without one attached to one’s pelvis.”

“Ain’t that the truth. You must be a quick learner!”

“I have my moments.”

Johnny closed his eyes a moment as a wave of pain took his breath away. When it receded he looked back at Scott.

“Hey, Scott, I’m really happy for you that you got that chance to be with your pa.”

Scott considered his answer, wiping his hand over his chin.

“I wouldn’t have had it if you hadn’t risked your neck for me. I didn’t get the chance to say this earlier, so thank you, Johnny. Our relationship is still in its early stages, but I am finding that I like the man. He’s a hard man in some ways and he’s a hard worker who expects hard work from his employees … and his son, but I think that there is more to him, and each day I am beginning to see that his bark is worse than his bite. He’s a man I can respect, and that’s important for me.”

“I’m mighty pleased for you, Scott. I just wish I’d known about his bark. It seemed pretty vicious to me.”

“When did you meet?”

“Just before they found out they were holding the wrong Mexican, he came to see me in jail. He thought I’d shot you and he wanted a look at the scum who had done it.”

”Oh, I see,” Scott mused. “So he wasn’t at his gentle best then?”

That brilliant smile was aimed directly at Scott.

“Nope, gentle is not what I have in mind to describe him! Now, big, that’s more accurate. He is one big man. He just about had to duck to get under the doorway. How did he manage to have a shrimp like you?”

Scott’s deep baritone laugh rang out. “I do feel like short shanks next to him, I can tell you. And he uses that height as a tool. He’s very good at dominating a room by using his height to give him an advantage.”

“So, he likes being in control, huh?”

“Yes, he does. That’s what is so annoying at times. He knows what he wants and how he wants it done. And it turns out that he’s usually right. It would be nice to think he is fallible somewhere along the line.”

“Never met a man yet that was infallible. I guess you’ll just have to stick around and find that crack in his armour. If you look hard enough, you’ll find something. It will have been there all along and you’ll wonder why you never saw it. Nothing and no one is perfect.”

“I didn’t say he is perfect. Far from it. He’s a tough old bird, though. Guess he’s had to be out here.”

“Yeah, it’s tough here, but the West seems to agree with you, Scott. You’ve got some colour in you.”

“Yes, it does. I’m bone tired all the time, but I feel good after a day’s work, you know?”

“So you’re staying?” 

“For the moment, yes. I still have a few questions I want answers to. He’s not what I expected and there’s still a lot to find out about him.” Scott rubbed the back of his neck before sheepishly adding another reason. “I confess that I actually quite like it here, too. So, yes, I think I’ll stay on for a bit.”

Johnny nodded in understanding, but winced as the movement seemed to cause some discomfort.

Scott studied Johnny, wiggled into a more comfortable position on the chair and then folded his arms over his chest.

“Well, that’s me taken care of, so let’s get down to you! How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Oh, yes, I can see that! You’re paler than I am, and I don’t recall that being the case two months ago. Here’s a rundown of your condition, for your edification. You’ve had a bullet removed from your back, in which you have stitches. You bled like the Mississippi in full flood, and you’ve pretty well been unconscious for two days. Yep, I’d say you’re ready for a showdown on Main Street or celebrating a night on the town, whatever takes your fancy the most!”

“I’ve been worse.”

Scott leant forward and peered into his eyes. “By the scars on your body, I can see that that is the all too sad truth.”

Johnny’s face closed over, like a shutter pulled down to protect dwellers from the probing sun’s rays.

Scott twisted around sideways and poured another glass of water.

“Here, have some more of this.”

Lifting Johnny’s head carefully with one hand, he tilted the glass so that Johnny could have little sips. Finally, his thirst slaked, Johnny shook his head.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve had some laudanum, haven’t I?” Johnny asked.

“Yes, and some morphine.”

“I don’t want any more, understand?”

Johnny’s agitation surprised Scott.

“Well, I guess that’s up to Sam to decide.”

Johnny’s harsh tone interrupted, “No! I said no more!”

Scott was taken aback at Johnny’s vehemence, but thought he could mollify him with a compromise.

“I’m just going to heat up some willow bark tea, then. Sam DID say that I was to get some of that into you. You are still a little hot and it will help protect you from fever.”

Johnny’s groan stopped him as he turned away.

Scott leant over him anxiously.

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah, willow bark tea is real bad! You ever tasted it?”

Scott laughed, a full bellied laugh. Johnny turned his head back and regarded the Easterner. He liked his ability to guffaw unrestrained.

“Oh, yes! I had the pleasure of tasting that particular concoction as I recuperated from the hole caused by that slug you removed from me. Indescribable muck. Similar, to a mixture of cow pats blended with hog’s breath. With a touch of cowboy armpit added for knockout purposes, I warrant.”

And Johnny found himself liking his wit as well.

“Sorry, Johnny, but there’ll be no escaping your fate or Sam will have my hide.”

“I could shoot ya! You could tell him you were too incapacitated to give me the tea so you wouldn’t get into trouble.”

Scott tilted his head and considered this option.

“Nope! Then I’d end up having to drink that foul brew while I recovered from the wound. You’re out of luck, partner!”

Scott exited, effectively stopping the clowning around. Johnny was flagging, despite his brave front.

Johnny lay still, drowsiness and pain overcoming him. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and attempted to control the spasms of pain shooting up his back.

All too soon Scott was back. Back before he could fully compose himself.

Scott was carrying a large cup of the liquid. He took in Johnny’s pallor and the beads of sweat on his forehead and realized that Johnny still had a long way to go, despite his valiant efforts of a few moments ago.

Scott placed the cup on the bedside table and took up a cloth soaking in a basin of cool water. Wringing it, he wiped over Johnny’s face and neck.

The coolness refreshed Johnny, who opened his eyes to once again study the man nursing him.

“Feels good,” he commented.

“The calm before the storm. Now for the tea.”

Johnny grimaced as the revolting drink was bit by bit poured down his throat by an insistent Scott. It was all he could do not to gag and regurgitate the lot in his lap.

Breathing hard, his eyes clenched shut, it was several minutes before he spoke again.

“How come you got the job of looking after me? Doesn’t this doctor have a nurse?”

“Well, he uses the services of Mrs O’Malley, but there is a spate of births at the moment and he needs her to act as midwife, so you, my friend, lucked out on her charms.”

“Charms? Is she pretty?”

“Pretty? She is a beauty. All two hundred and twenty pounds of her!”

Johnny found himself chuckling again.

“Well, I’m sure all those new mamas need her more than me.”

Johnny gasped as a bolt of pain lanced through his back. Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes for a minute and lay still. After a deep swallow, he began speaking again.

“I see you’ve bought a new outfit.”

Scott laughed.

“Yes, I was informed by my father’s ward that my clothes wouldn’t do, so the first thing she did when I got up and about was to drag me into town to Baldemero’s.”

“Baldemero’s?”

“Yes, a local general store that sells everything from buckets to undergarments. They must buy all the previous decade’s leftover stock from the east coast. Some of their gear could do a museum proud. But that said if you want something, you’ll find it lurking on the shelves of their emporium. It contains a veritable gold mine of treasures.”

“Like that outfit you got on now?”

“The very same.”

“At least it beats what you were wearing on the stage.”

They both smiled in remembrance.

“Johnny, you had better get some rest for a bit. The sooner you feel a little stronger we’ll get you to the ranch.”

“Ranch?”

“Yes, our ranch. The doc and Mrs O’Malley are too busy to look after you, so the doc said to give you a day or so and then to move you to the ranch where Teresa and Maria can look after you.”

“I don’t need no nursemaids. And just who are Teresa and Maria when they are at home?”

“My father’s ward and the cook. Two tiny slips of the female sex and I tell you what, you do not cross either of them. They’ll leave a man to starve if he doesn’t wipe his feet before coming in to the house, but do the right thing and they will eat out of your hand.”

Scott stopped to assist Johnny with another sip of water.

“So when the doc gets back, he’s going to check you out to see if you are fit enough to be brought home in the wagon. And once you get there you can help me find all of my father’s foibles.”

“Furr balls?”

“Foibles. Funny ways. Strange behaviours. Quirks. Shortcomings. Imperfections. Any or all of these. I need some ammunition to fire at him when he is all too smug and omnipotent.”

“Do they speak another language back east? You sure know some strange words.”

“Well, sometimes I do think that there are two separate English languages spoken in this great country. I’ve learnt more than my fair share of new words since coming here.”

Johnny fingered the edge of the blanket, a frown marring his smooth forehead.

“Look, Scott, I can’t be staying in your home.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t, is all.”

“Well, you are not out of the woods yet, the doc can’t look after you and so you really don’t have much choice.”

Scott stopped to examine the gathering mutiny on his face.

“I never got to thank you for what you did. I’d be grateful if you would stay. Please?”

Johnny looked at him, absorbing his earnestness.

“All right, and thanks, but I don’t think that your pa is going to be any too happy about it.”

“My father feels as badly as I do that he never got to thank you for saving my life, so we’ll both be happy.”

Johnny shook his head slowly, a wry smile twisting his mouth. A shrug of his shoulders and he agreed.

“Somehow, I can’t see that, but it might prove interesting to see if this man is as omni whatever as you say he is!”

“Good! That’s settled, then.”

Scott noticed his flagging alertness. He kicked himself for talking so much to him instead of heating him up some food while he was conscious. He decided that he had better make up for his omission before Johnny once again succumbed to a healing sleep. Scott continued, “In the mean time, you need some broth to give you some energy.”

“Broth? No, I don’t think that I could stomach any. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not and you could fall back into a deep sleep. You need some nourishment to keep you going. You lost one heck of a lot of blood.”

Scott had stood up and was moving away as he spoke. He ducked into the kitchen before Johnny could voice any more concerns. The soup had been keeping warm on the stove, so Scott grabbed a ladle and poured some out into a mug as fast as he could. He had some sort of feeling that if he didn’t move quickly, Johnny would either be asleep or would think of some sort of semi plausible reason not to eat the soup.

Scott caught Johnny beginning to doze. Noisily setting the cup on the bedside table, he shook him gently and informed him that he would need to sit up a little. Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, he helped lift him to a more comfortable position. Johnny stiffened as pain shot through him and was unable to prevent a moan escaping. After stuffing some pillows behind him, Scott held the cup to his lips.

“Here. I thought it would be easier than eating it out of a bowl with a spoon.”

Johnny took some sips, but his heart was not in it.

“Come on! That wouldn’t keep a flea alive. Drink up!”

Wryly grunting, Johnny managed a little more before he clammed his mouth shut.

“It’s actually not bad, but no more. I feel mighty tired.”

Checking the half empty cup, Scot conceded that it hasn’t a bad effort. He set the cup on the table and watched Johnny’s eyes begin to droop.

Their peace was shattered by the opening of an outer door and noisy footsteps approaching the sick room.

The knocking at the sick room door was more restrained. Scott looked up as a head poked its way hesitantly around the corner.

“Come on in, sir!”

“Hello, son. How’s he doing today?”

“He WAS getting some shut eye until you decided to make enough noise to raise the dead!”

Johnny opened one eye, sighed and then opened the other. He had been hoping to put off meeting up with this man again. Scott might have felt that there would be no problem, but Johnny had felt the ire radiating from this man when he was in the jail cell. He really didn’t feel like having to work at being polite. This man’s attitude was the same as most bigots that he had come across throughout his life. And he had had his fill of them many years since.

“Johnny, I’d like you to meet my father.”

Johnny thought about baiting the man as payback for the resentment aimed at him the last time they had met in the jail, but he was unaccountably too tired to make the effort. Plus, he was Scott’s father, and if Scott was enjoying his time with the man, then he didn’t want to create any problem for him.

So Johnny looked the tall man in the eye, held out his hand and greeted him in as mannerly a fashion as he could muster.

“Hello, Mr Garrett. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

A raised eyebrow delineated the question, as the man turned to his son.

“Garrett?”

Scott was nonplussed for a second, his brow scrunched into wavering lines of concentration. Then abruptly, his expression cleared, and a smile graced his lips.

“I gave the name of Garrett, Sir, to the robbers. I didn’t want them to know my correct surname as you are well known around here. I thought that they might use that knowledge to coerce money from you. But they were going to do precisely that anyway once they discovered the letter I was carrying.”

”Hold you to ransom, you mean?”

“Yes, but my little subterfuge did not work. They latched on to your name like vultures around a dead body.”

The huge man grimaced. “I don’t know if I like your analogy, but that is unimportant.”

He turned to Johnny and shook his hand warmly. “What is important is thanking you for what you did for my son. He told me that you had come after him, even though you put yourself in danger. He also told me how you took out the bullet and cared for him. I’m just sorry for thinking that you were responsible for what happened to him. I hope you will accept my most sincere apology for that.”

The man’s earnest stare unsettled Johnny, but he didn’t understand why.

“Of course, no need to get your britches in a tangle. It was no big deal, Mr …?”

Johnny tapered off, not sure what to call this man, who was obviously not Mr Garrett.

“Oh, Johnny, how remiss of me. I forgot that I never got to tell you my real surname. It’s Lancer. And this is my father Murdoch Lancer.”

Johnny found himself gasping as the name tore through him like a tornado.

Concerned, Scott reached for the water and held it to Johnny’s mouth. Johnny turned his head and sipped gratefully, but not before the chill in his eyes turned Murdoch’s insides to a glacial mass of fear.

Chapter Sixteen

Johnny took the respite offered by the water. He was dazed and wondered if he had heard right. THIS was the man who had haunted his dreams? The man who had both cast a shadow over his life as well as shadowed his whole life. The man who had given him his life and then mercilessly condemned him to a living hell within that life.

Johnny could not process this unexpected news. He was not prepared for the confrontation. Two months before when he had decided in a fit of rage to head to this part of the San Joachin, he thought he had been ready. The uselessness of his life had eaten into his soul and he had vowed a confrontation before it was too late. Fate had intervened in the form of the stagecoach robbers and afterwards he had just wanted to get away from the area. To get away from any temptation he felt to make contact with his father. And now Fate had stepped in again when he least expected it.

He tried to get comfortable and closed his eyes to the truth standing in front of him. A low groan escaped his lips and he was surprised to find Scott immediately leaning over him. His back was agony, but his thoughts were causing him a far more excruciating pain. So he hid behind the shelter of his eyelids as he racked his brain to solve the problem he had found himself embroiled in. 

And then the pain stopped unexpectedly as a realization struck him.

A realization with extraordinary implications.

It wasn’t just a case of being confronted by his father. There was the question of Scott. Scott was Murdoch Lancer’s son. Johnny was Murdoch Lancer’s son. Didn’t that make them brothers? Half brothers, brothers of sorts, but nevertheless brothers?

Vertigo hit him even though he was horizontal. The room eddied around him and his stomach in turn was whirling around with it. Thoughts and denials swirled through his head as well until he felt like he had fallen into a raging torrent which was relentlessly tearing him apart.

Scott’s voice was calling him from the rampaging currents of his mind. He wasn’t too sure if he even wanted to respond. He did not know what was worse, the suppressed internal panic or facing the presence of the immense rancher standing near his bed.

The insistence of Scott’s voice won out and he opened his eyes.

“Johnny? Perhaps I should give you something for the pain? It looks like you need something to help you manage,” Scott suggested.

“No! I’m fine. Just a bit weak is all,” Johnny protested.

Breathing heavily, Johnny hoisted his body up a little against the backboard, vainly trying to give himself some height so he was not so disadvantaged next to this mountain of a man. Lifting his head, he met his father’s gaze full on.

His father seemed ill at ease and was shuffling a little, like a little boy being inspected by a school principal. Only there was nothing small about this man, Johnny knew. He had seen him that time in the jail, but this time the man’s details stood out as being more noteworthy than before. Johnny was awestruck by the man’s height as well as his breadth. Those shoulders would be more at home on a grizzly bear, he couldn’t help but think. And his hands were like enormous paws. And one was extended to him at that very moment.

Johnny stared at it in fascination. It both repulsed and beckoned him.

And he found perverse delight in shaking it. In seeing the man shake the hand of the boy he had disowned. The Mexican filth he couldn’t cope living with. That spawn which so revolted him that he had cast him out like some sort of leper. That seed of his loins which reminded him of his misplaced lust and impetuosity.

And as he shook this man’s hand, he let the Madrid mask descend, both to shield himself from the unwelcome thoughts assailing him and to prevent his emotions from being all too visible.

Murdoch was speaking before Johnny was aware of it. It was a formal voice and Johnny detected a note of strain.

“I need to thank you for what you did for my son.”

“It was nothing.”

“But it was. It was everything to me. I had waited over twenty years to see him and if it hadn’t been for you I would never have realized my dream. And from what Scott has told me, you put yourself at risk for a man you didn’t know.”

A moment’s pause filled the air before Johnny replied.

“Over twenty years, huh? That’s a lot of waiting.”

“Yes, it is.”

“So, why didn’t you do something about it earlier?”

Murdoch was clearly nonplussed. Scott was clearly intrigued.

“It wasn’t feasible,” he offered with obvious discomposure.

“It wasn’t feasible? For twenty odd years it wasn’t feasible? Don’t that beat all! Well, I suppose having children around sure ain’t much fun with them getting in the way and all. Plus they can’t do much in the way of useful chores.”

Murdoch drew himself straighter. “That’s not the case at all!” he protested vehemently.

Johnny had hit the mark. He could spy Scott in his peripheral vision. A contemplative Scott considering Johnny’s confrontational statements.

His satisfaction at having unnerved the big man was suddenly swept away by a dizziness which washed over him. Biliousness made a surprise attack and as he curled up to ease the nausea, his back protested sharply at the unexpected movement. Pain lanced up through his muscles and spine, leaving him gasping.

He was aware of Scott leaning over him, his father in the dimmer background. Then a door banged and a strange face was peering over him. He was being suffocated in faces. Being hemmed in was something he could not abide, but his strength ebbed as the pain swamped him.

The new face was grave and lined. Gentle hands held him back as he tried to escape the oppressive faces hovering above.

Dimly, he heard the new voice murmuring and Scott replying. He felt himself being rolled onto his side and gentle hands probed his wound. Accompanying this examination, that same voice spoke to Scott and his father.

“I need to head out again. I’ve got babies coming out of my ears, three farm accidents and I don’t like Jacob Jensen’s fever. I’ve just come back for supplies. I think that you are right, Scott. Take him to Lancer where he can be cared for. You won’t get better nurses than Teresa and Maria. I’ll call in tomorrow to check on him.”

He had news for them. He wasn’t going anywhere!

But it was all too hard. The agony of his searing wound was fearsome. Johnny was merely surprised that it had stayed in abeyance for so long. The unusually calm respite was over and the wound was now wreaking vengeance on his body.

The continuing conversation distressed him further. He began tossing to escape the pain and the plans being blithely laid out for him.

“Have you got that buckboard all ready, Murdoch?”

“Yes, Sam. I’ve put a mattress in the back so he can ride relatively comfortably back to the ranch.”

“Well, this young man is not going to be comfortable anywhere in a hurry without a shot of morphine. He’ll need the sedation to see him through the trip.”

Rustlings and movements culminated in firm hands grasping his arm. Johnny tried to yank it back, but found it held tightly in a vice before a jab stung him and that familiar warmth seeped into him, lulling him as it succeeded in dousing the agony. His body withdrew from the concrete certainty of the world around him and took refuge in a floating peace.

*************************************

Freshness. That’s what woke him. The smell of the sun. Fresh smelling material, not lingering medical odours. And lavender. He was sure it was lavender because his mama used to use it when even the cheap colognes were out of their reach financially. He couldn’t remember smelling this combination for far too many years. He was puzzled. So why now?

That very question forced his eyes open and had him desperately trying to focus and to make sense of his surroundings.

A young face leaned over him. A pretty and innocent young face surrounded by long brown hair which was pulled back from her forehead becomingly, before falling in cascades over her shoulders. And in the middle of all that dark hair was a smile so huge you could lose yourself in it.

“Good afternoon!” the young woman greeted him cheerily. “Scott is going to be so pleased that you are awake. He’s been fussing all night and this morning.”

He stared. Who was she?

“Here, you must be thirsty. Sam said I had to get both water and willow bark tea into you. Then if you can keep those down, you can have some broth.”

“Miss, I’ve yet to meet anyone who can keep willow bark tea down. If those are the conditions, I’ll never get to eat again. Why don’t we forget the tea part and just get on to the broth? Or maybe some coffee?”

The girl looked askance at him. “Oh no! If Sam gives instructions, he expects to have them followed!”

“And nobody bucks the system?”

“Well, those that try wish they hadn’t. And he knows what he is doing.”

“And you are?”

She smiled again. He didn’t know what she was so darned happy about.

“Teresa.”

“Ah, you are my … um, Murdoch Lancer’s ward? Scott told me about you.”

“He did? When?”

“It must have been when he was at the doctor’s sick room. So how long have you been his ward?”

Her face clouded over and he detected sorrow behind her eyes. Recent sorrow at that.

“My father was killed eight months ago. He was Murdoch’s Segundo and best friend. My mother’s dead, so Murdoch took me in like a daughter. I owe him so much. I’d be destitute without his kindness. He might be severe on the outside, but he’s a real softie underneath.”

“So, he took you in? Just like that?”

Johnny knew he was being unfair and he couldn’t imagine Murdoch doing any less, but this hurt. Oh, how it hurt. He could take in someone who did not share a blood tie, but could have the lack of compassion and humanity to throw him and his mother out of their home and into the streets. Or gutter, he mentally altered his thoughts.

“Well, I was born here and don’t know any other life, so I guess he just didn’t know what to do. Whatever the case, he is like a second father to me. I am the luckiest girl in the world.”

Johnny felt the bitter bile rise in his gullet. He was like a father to her? He put himself out for this girl, yet couldn’t even fulfill his role as a father to Johnny. His left hand under the covers clenched in fury and railed at the unfairness of it all. What a strange man his father must be to show such kindness to her, yet resent his own, albeit mestizo, son.

And she was born here, on Lancer? She was born here to grow up here and to know no other world. He had been born here, too, yet never got to know this world at all. He only knew the world of deprivation, hunger, racism and brutality. The total unfairness of this sliced through his heart and caused him to gasp out loud.

“Oh, dear! You are in pain. I’ll give you some laudanum and get Scott.”

“No! I’ll be fine.” He licked his lips and she recognized the signals. Turning to the bedside table, she busied herself with the water pitcher and a glass.

“Here take a sip,” she instructed as she gently lifted his head.

He sniffed suspiciously at the drink. A raised eyebrow directed at her, had her blushing.

“I said no laudanum!”

She was surprised at the vehemence of his tone and replied defensively, “It’s only a little bit. Just to take the edge off. It’s hardly any at all.”

“Well that’s all the more reason not to have any. If it’s that small a dose, there’s no point.” He softened his tone then. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the stuff. I really just want some water. I’ve had far worse injuries than this.”

She looked at his apologetic eyes and accepted his apology. “All right.” Taking a second glass, she poured the water for him and repeated the gesture of helping him lift his head.

The fresh liquid cleansed and refreshed him.

After several mouthfuls, he shook his head. “Thank you,” he murmured as she removed the glass from his lips and set it on a coaster so as not to mark the wooden table.

“Shall I get Scott for you?”

He looked at her earnest face. It was a good face, he decided, and his conscience pricked him for being jealous that his father should offer her a home.

“You said that Scott was fussing all night and this morning. Did he get any sleep?”

Surprise flicked across her face. “No, he didn’t, and he’s having a nap now, but I’m sure he’d not mind getting up.”

“Well, leave him be. I bet he doesn’t get too much of a chance to take a siesta during the day. I can’t see his father as being the sort of man who got this ranch established and got so powerful sleeping part of the day away or allowing his hands to do the same.”

Johnny was unashamedly fishing for more information, but he was keen to glean facts from someone who had known Murdoch Lancer for all of her life. Just as he should have done.

“No, you’re right. He has high expectations of himself and the men. But he doesn’t expect anything of them that he wouldn’t expect of himself. He can be hard, but he’s had to be to survive. Yet not a man on this ranch would say that he was unfair. They are all grateful to be working here. My father always said that the pay is good, the conditions are better, the quarters are clean and the food plentiful. He respected Murdoch as a friend and a boss. And Murdoch looks after the families who depend on the ranch, especially when there is illness.”

Johnny was fascinated. So his father was a saint? A paragon of virtue? A man who looked after everyone. Everyone but his son. Sons, he corrected himself. Scott had only just arrived. What was it with this man that he could relate better to others, apparently, than to his own flesh and blood? And just what were the circumstances of Scott’s return to the fold?

“That must have been something, having Scott turn up here after more than twenty  years,” Johnny commented.

“Yes, it was the most amazing thing. Mind you, with Scott getting wounded, it didn’t turn out the way we expected, but it was still such a special day.” She paused then, to study him. A solitary tear slid from one eye and trailed a slow, inexorable path down to her chin. “And if it weren’t for you, Scott would have died and we would never have got to know him!”

Her voiced hitched, then. And further tears sprang from her eyes. Unable to restrain himself, Johnny reached up and smoothed them away with gentle fingers.

“Hey, there’s a lot of ‘what ifs’ in the world. It don’t pay to take a lot of heed to what might have been, because you only end up hitting your head against a huge boulder that won’t budge and won’t change the circumstances. Scott did come back. He might have been a bit damaged, but he’s fixed up now and he’s fine, so just count your blessings such as they are and don’t dwell on twists of fate that you can’t do nothing about!”

Teresa gave him a tremulous smile and a purposeful sniff.

“You’re right, but I just can’t help wondering sometimes.”

Johnny could relate to that. He hung his head and was submerged in thousands of the same type of ‘what ifs’ and plain ‘whys?’. Giving himself a mental shake, he attempted to put those negative thoughts out of his mind and sit up a little higher. Pain was the result and he immediately regretted his rashness. His groan of distress was not smothered in time, resulting in Teresa leaning forward and urging him to try some laudanum.

“No! Could you just help me to sit up a little?”

This she did surprisingly easily. He was propped up with some pillows in no time.

“Hey, thanks. You’re mighty good at this nursing stuff!”

A pretty blush coloured her cheeks.

“Too much practice,” she replied with levity, but Johnny detected the sadness tingeing the comment. “I’ve helped the sick hands and I nursed Murdoch after he was shot. And then it was Scott just recently.”

“Murdoch was shot?

“Yes, when my father was killed. They were together. There were rustlers that stole some Lancer stock and my father and Murdoch went after them.”

“I am so sorry. That must have been so hard for you.”

“It was, but it’s easier now. I’ll never get over it, but I’ve learnt to live with my father’s passing. I still miss him dreadfully. At least there is a lot to do round here. It takes my mind off sad thoughts.”

“So, was Scott a good patient?”

“Yes, he was. Unlike Murdoch who got grouchier by the day! But then again, you removed Scott’s bullet and Murdoch has to live with his still stuck in there. He has intermittent, but sometimes constant, pain in his back and leg, but he bluffs everyone and puts on a show that he is fine.”

“How is Scott fitting in here? I mean, it sure is a change from Boston!”

“He’s actually doing quite well. He’s a hard worker. Some things are proving difficult for him, like lassoing the steers, but he’s got a lot more grit than we thought judging by first appearances.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. That suit with the ruffled shirt was really some piece of work, wasn’t it? I’m surprised he could breathe with that starched collar choking his neck. No wonder he sat so ramrod straight, all gussied and hog tied by them vest buttons and that fancy tie.”

Giggles escaped as they shared a common remembrance. Giggles that stopped abruptly at a knock on the door, which opened simultaneously.

Murdoch Lancer stood in the doorway, surveying the two of them. His dour face froze them both for a moment.

“Good day,” he greeted Johnny. “May I come in?”

“It’s your house, so I guess the answer’s yes,” Johnny responded.

“Feeling any better?”

“Some.”

Murdoch stood towering over the two of them, but apparently indecisive if his shuffling was anything to go by.

He cleared his throat. “Er, Teresa, I thought we had agreed that it was not appropriate for you to be alone in a room with a male patient with the door closed?”

“Well, he was sound asleep until a few minutes ago. And I’m perfectly safe in here with him!”

“Teresa, there are the proprieties to consider!”

A rebellious scowl plastered itself freely over Teresa’s features. “I was just about to fetch him something to eat, anyway!”

She stood up then, this little slip of a thing, and fairly flounced out of the room closing the door with what Johnny judged could be considered a slam. Being a good foot smaller than her guardian did not seem to make her in any way deferential to his commands.

An amused smile lingered on his face as Johnny turned his head from the door to Scott’s father. His father.

“So do those orders stand for all patients? Did they apply when both you and Scott were shot, or do they apply just to me?”

Johnny’s directness did not seem to surprise Murdoch. “That is quite different. I have known her since she was born and Scott is my son.”

“Maybe so, but he was still an unknown quantity when he arrived here. He might be your son, but you can’t have really known what sort of man you were inviting to share your home with her.”

“How dare you presume that my son would do her harm or not have her best interests at heart!”

“How dare you presume that I could not be equally trusted!”

Both men were angry and breathing heavily, so at first missed the door opening.

Scott glanced at both, before striding into the room. “What’s going on here?”

The silence was remarkable.

“I asked what was going on!” Scott further demanded, his head turning from one to the other, but resting his gaze mostly on his father.

“We were just discussing proprieties regarding Teresa, Scott. That’s all.” Johnny told him. “There’s nothing wrong.”

Scott was clearly skeptical and once again his searching glance fell on his father.

Murdoch finally volunteered some information, albeit by resorting to subterfuge to do so. “Teresa sometimes forgets that it is unseemly to be in a man’s bedroom. You know yourself how many times she has barged in on you!”

Johnny was surprised to see a small smile play at the edges of Murdoch’s mouth. Scott’s smile was much broader and accompanied by a vigorous scratch of his scalp as he ran his hands through his hair.

“That I do, sir! There have been some near disasters all right.” Scott then turned to Johnny. “So I’m giving you fair warning, Johnny. Don’t linger in a state of undress or you could be caught in an embarrassing situation showing all your shortcomings to her very observant eye! When I arrived she told me to treat her like a sister. However, it seems to have escaped her notice that we are not three years old. You have been warned, my friend!

Johnny couldn’t help but chuckle and he was surprised that Murdoch joined in.

Despite the shift in atmosphere, Johnny was no fool and knew that Murdoch had a problem with his presence at the ranch. While he just wanted to flee and leave his past well enough alone, contrariness kicked in. A part of him really wanted to rankle Murdoch and see what made him tick. Just for a while at least.

“So,” Scott asked Johnny, “How goes it today?”

“Fine.”

“Yes, you look fine. You are as white as that pillow. Only your black hair tells me your face must be there somewhere as well! Perhaps a more truthful account might let us know how things really stand with you?”

Scott’s acerbic response had Johnny smiling again.

“I’m sore, especially when I move. I’m hungry for some real food. Is that good enough?”

”How about some medication for the pain?” Scott proposed.

“I’ve been through that already with Teresa. I don’t need no painkillers. And that brings me to another point. That doctor had better not be so free and easy with that syringe of his next time I see him. He sneaked in a jab of morphine, didn’t he?”

“Well, how else could we get you here in comfort? It’s an extremely bumpy ride and you would have been in hell.”

Johnny’s quiet response drew sombre looks from both men. “I’ve been in hell before without anyone to help me and I’ve always come back.”

Scott swallowed, an expression of dismay on his face. “But this time you don’t need to be alone and you don’t need to suffer in hell if the morphine could give you just a little sample of heaven to help you through.”

His face bland, but purposeful, Johnny addressed Scott quietly. “I really mean it about the drugs. I can’t abide them. I would rather manage without, so please just humour me. I’m on the mend, anyway.”

“Yes, you are on the mend, but infection is still a danger.”

A rustling skirt and light footsteps heralded Teresa. “Here you go! Maria has made some beef broth for you. She’s the best cook in northern California, so even her broth is special.”

Scott assisted Johnny to sit up higher and stood back for Teresa to place the tray carefully on his lap.

“Can you manage or would you prefer me to feed you?”

Johnny looked at her askance, but immediately realized that she was only trying to be helpful, so he bit back the gruff retort he had been about to utter.

“Thanks, Teresa. This looks mighty fine. I’ll manage all right and you don’t have to stay if you’ve got chores to do. I’ve taken too much of your time as it is.”

“It’s a pleasure, Johnny. You saved Scott and you brought him back to us. Nothing is too much trouble.”

Johnny shared one of his most brilliant smiles with her. His teeth glowed even and white as the smile spread outwards and radiated up to his eyes. Deep laughter lines diffused the grin further, captivating the young woman.

If the truth be told, Johnny was starting to feel a little ill, but he couldn’t bear to show any weakness in front of Murdoch Lancer.

“If you’re sure then,” she replied slowly, lingering doubts as to his fitness to feed himself obviously nagging her. She made her exit, however, with a promise to return soon.

“Well, if you are sure that you can manage alone, we will leave you to it. Come on, Scott!”

Murdoch’s evident command took Scott by surprise. He looked up, puzzled, and was about to argue back when Johnny interceded.

“I’m fine. Honest. From what I hear you’ve given me too much of your time, anyway. You get going and I’ll see you later.”

With a barely suppressed sigh of annoyance, Scott made to follow Murdoch out the door. He couldn’t resist a parting shot, though. “Hey, eat up all that broth and we might be able to get Maria to give you something with a bit more backbone next time … and maybe a bit more spice!”

Johnny could not hide his gratitude. “You read me like a book, Boston!” Johnny produced another dazzling grin to hide his discomfort that this Easterner really did seem to read him better than most people.

Chapter Seventeen

Murdoch headed for the Great Room, Scott trailing inquisitively, and with some aggravation, after him. Once in the room, he did not hold back.

“What was that about? I was looking forward to talking with him. He was mostly unconscious at Sam’s and he was ‘non compos mentis’ this morning and last night!”

”I thought he might like a little privacy. That’s all.”

Scott thought that there was more to it than that, but humming from Teresa drifted in from the hallway as she rubbed some beeswax into the furniture. Hearing her, Murdoch summoned her in.

“Teresa, could you come here a moment?”

Rag in hand, she walked in, greeting them both with a smile.

“He looks so much better than he did yesterday, don’t you think?”

Scott answered her, a smile of his own playing around his lips. “Seeing he was in a drug induced slumber and totally unaware of his surroundings and therefore unable to communicate or react in any way, I would have to agree with you. Then again, anyone but a corpse would have to look better by comparison!”

An affronted Teresa swatted him with the dirty rag. “Scott Lancer, how can you be so cavalier when we are talking about the health of the man who saved your life?”

Abashed, he pulled a face. “I’m sorry, you are right, but it is just my way of expressing relief that he is not as badly injured as I first thought. When I saw him go down, I thought that my reactions had been too slow.”

“Be that as it may, we really need to look at things with a clear head,” Murdoch broke in, his authoritarian voice ringing out and breaking into their conversation. “We have a situation where a stranger is sleeping in this house. And that stranger is a gunslinger, and a well known one at that. I know that he saved your life, Scott, but I don’t think it is acceptable to have someone of his ilk here in the house where Teresa is often, to all intents and purposes, alone.”

Scott exploded. “So, it is all right for someone of his ilk to risk his own life for me, a man he doesn’t know from a bar of soap, but it is not all right for him to stay here?” He glared at Murdoch, then added, “And just what had you said to him before I arrived in the room?”

Murdoch looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Nothing, Scott.”

“I bet!” chimed in an indignant Teresa. “You gave us a look that could sour honey. I was tending to him as I have done for you and Scott.”

”Yes, but he is not related to you, and it wasn’t really suitable for you to be in his room with the door closed.”

“Oh, heavens, Murdoch. I closed the door because Scott had gone to bed and I didn’t want any noise to wake him. Any man with the ethics and bravery to save Scott is not going to harm me in my own home. AND if I may point out an obvious fact to you, neither of you are related to me either, and I didn’t see you worried when I nursed you both!”

“Nevertheless, he has a past, a dangerous past, and it behoves me to see to your security! I think that perhaps we could find room for him in the bunkhouse. That way he can still see Scott when he is better, but the proprieties can be observed.”

Scott was livid. His normally upright posture was rigid with anger. “Just you listen to me, Murdoch. This man is my friend. He saved my life. If I cannot invite people here of my own free choice then I can’t see this working out.”

Murdoch was brought up short. “What working out?”

“My being here on the ranch.”

“Nonsense, Scott! And he is not really your friend, anyway. You were brought together briefly by unexpected events.”

“Isn’t that how people make friends? Through circumstances which put them together? If you think that you can tell me how to run my life and who to make friends with, you have another thing coming! I say that Johnny is my friend. There is something about him that I trust implicitly. I don’t know why, but his saving my life is one darn good reason. I intend to offer him shelter and to see him get better, and hopefully get to know him better.”

“Look, Scott, I don’t deny that he must be a courageous man to come after you and save you, but I don’t know if we want his type staying here. We really know nothing about him or his morals. We don’t know if he is trustworthy to have in the house. We have Teresa and our valuables to think of.”

“His type? His morals?” Scott’s voice rose an octave and his voice shook with anger. He stepped forward until he stood right in front of his father, his nose just inches away and his index finger jabbing him in the chest. “I’ll tell you what his type is. He tried to get the robbers’ attention away from one of the women passengers. He went after me when he no one else would. He could have stayed with the others in safety, but he put his life at risk. And how did he get repaid? He was locked up in the jail until he was finally exonerated. I’d say that these attributes point to a man who respects women and puts other people before himself. Murdoch, I have let you run the show since I arrived here, but I am my own man, and on this I will fight you. I want him to stay and I expect him to be treated with respect and courtesy, the same as you would treat one of YOUR friends. I will NOT have him denigrated. And I am hoping to get the time to get to know him better, so don’t think you can work behind my back to frighten him off!”

Murdoch was dumbfounded. He stood slack jawed and in quite some shock. In the two months that Scott had been home, he had been the epitome of gentlemanly reserve, deferring to Murdoch’s better judgment and experience. He had been mild mannered and calm, formal even, in soldierly way. This was a Scott that Murdoch had not seen before and one that he did not understand.

His son was breathing heavily and was agitated. His furious scowl marred his smooth skin as he marched over to the fireplace and thumped the mantelpiece with his hand. Murdoch winced in sympathy. That blow must have hurt, but Scott did not react.

Murdoch swallowed. He couldn’t work his son out, but the arrival of Johnny had certainly upset Scott’s equanimity. Murdoch figured that they were stuck with the gun hawk for a while anyway, so he offered an olive branch to defuse the situation.

“All right, son. I guess I was speaking out of turn. I can see that you have very strong views on Johnny. He can stay, but I am only asking that we exhibit some common sense, especially with regard to Teresa’s wellbeing.”

Scott turned to Murdoch, quieter now, and nodded his thanks. “I appreciate it, Murdoch. I know that it’s late in the day, but I’ll get a few chores done while there’s some daylight left and then head back in, OK?” He turned towards Teresa.

“Teresa, will you keep an eye on him? Make sure he’s comfortable?” Turning away, he suddenly stopped and glanced towards his father, “And leave the door open, to put Murdoch’s mind at ease a little.”

“Of course, Scott,” Teresa agreed, “But, really there’s no need and I think it’s insulting to Johnny.”

“We’re only thinking of your well being, Teresa,” Murdoch consoled her.