WARNING SOME BAD LANGUAGE 

A Kind of Homecoming – a sequel to Irony

Part One

The air was still warm despite the late hour.  The sound of cattle lowing was carried on a gentle breeze that helped soothe and cool him.  He stood in the soft moonlight with a glass in his hand, reflecting on the events of the day.  God, he felt tired, and never had he felt the need for a drink so badly.  It had been an awful day.  He’d been nervous of meeting his elder son, afraid he’d ask questions about the past, but now, he knew that would have been a picnic compared to the reality.  He had been hoping against hope that Madrid wouldn’t come, but to have him turn up at the same time, well, it had seemed too much to bear.

What Scott must have made of the day he couldn’t begin to imagine.  Confronted by his two sons, he found he was speechless.  Scott had looked aloof, that was it, aloof but curious.  But Madrid.  There had been a brief second when he thought he saw a sort of strange yearning in the gunfighter’s eyes, but then it was gone and he knew he must have imagined it.  Instead he looked into the cold, hard eyes he’d heard men talk about.  And he’d tried to speak and all that came out was “Drink!”  And God, had he needed one then too!  And he knew Madrid knew why he needed one.  Madrid was the sort of man who could read another man’s eyes – probably why he’d survived this long.   And Madrid had made that smart comment about only drinking when he knew the man he was drinking with. 

And how smug and pleased he’d looked to hear that it was Pardee threatening the ranch.  Looked real amused by that, “some sort of trouble”!  And then, later, Madrid’s comment about how he expected a lot.

Of course that had given him the opening that he’d been hoping for.  Take it or leave it.  Hoping Madrid would take his $1000 and leave.  But the blasted fire bell had gone and they’d all gone out to fight the blaze.  He had to admit, Scott had surprised him.  He might have looked a bit of a fop, but he had rolled up his shirt sleeves and got stuck in.  Even got dirty!  And hadn’t seemed to mind.  Even accepted the partnership offer.  Well, he wasn’t to know that it had only been drawn up to frighten off Madrid if necessary – the prospect of hard work would surely send the gunfighter running in the opposite direction.  

But, to his surprise Madrid had got stuck in too, but then he’d made that smart arsed comment about hating to see HIS property go up in flames.  HIS property, dammit.  Who did he think had built it all up, given a lifetime of sweat and toil to the land that he loved more than anything else. 

But then there had been dinner to get through.  He cringed as he remembered the events of the evening, it had gotten worse and worse.

Madrid, he couldn’t bring himself to think of him as John, had of course been late for dinner.  Kept them all waiting and then came in as quiet as a cat.  They hadn’t heard him – he’d taken those damn showy spurs off, still had his gun on though.  And it seemed as though suddenly he just appeared, with those eyes looking very watchful and a sardonic smile.  But the eyes, those intensely blue eyes, well, the smile never reached them.

He had no manners of course.  Kept that bloody Mexican bolero jacket on and sat hunched over his food, almost as though he was afraid someone would steal it.   Who the hell did he think was going to steal his food? 

And shovelled it in like there was no tomorrow.  Scott had noticed.  Had been watching Madrid, looking slightly bemused.  But his manners were impeccable, trust Harlan to see to that.

And Scott had been kind to Teresa.  Answered all her questions about Boston so patiently.  Maybe he wasn’t too much of a dandy, despite those ridiculous clothes.  Totally inappropriate for the west. But Madrid, had just continued to shovel in food and watch them.  God, he was cold.  Called Scott “Boston” with a real sneer in his voice.  But then it had gotten even worse.

Poor Teresa, she’d only gotten up to take the dishes out.  And Madrid had watched her, looked at her like she was some sort of saloon girl.  Looking her up and down with lazy eyes and that smile playing around his lips, damn him.

He’d spoken sharply to him.  “Teresa’s my ward, like a daughter to me.  While you’re under this roof you treat her with respect.”

And Madrid.  Jesus Christ!  Madrid had drawled, “You sure you just see her as a daughter, old man?  Cos she ain’t your daughter, though, is she?  But she’s way too young for you, old man, however much you might want her.”

He’d wanted to hit Madrid for that, but shit, the man scared him.  He knew Madrid was trying to provoke him and dammit, he wouldn’t rise to it.  The way Madrid looked at him, God, it made his blood run cold.

Scott had just sat there, with an eyebrow slightly raised, no doubt wondering what the hell he’d come to.  Bit different to Boston, that’s for sure.

After dinner Madrid had prowled around the room, picking things up, looking at them, almost as if he was putting a price on each thing.  He’d tossed the most fragile pieces carelessly from hand to hand, even laughing and pretending to drop one when Murdoch had cautioned him to be careful, that it was his grandmother’s.

“Don’t you care about anything or for anything?  Don’t you enjoy anything at all?”

Madrid had seemed to ponder the question.  And then said coldly, “I care for my gun, and my horse when I have one.  Things that keep me alive.”  Then he’d given that damn smile, “And as for what I enjoy, well, I really enjoy fucking.  And my women sure seem to enjoy it too.  Yeah, I really like fucking!”

 And of course it was then that Teresa had walked into the room and heard.  She flushed bright red, didn’t know where to look.

God in heaven!   What sort of man talked like that?  But he knew Madrid was trying to get him to really lose his temper.  But to what end?

And then, when Teresa got up to turn in for the night, he’d said to his darling girl, “Sleep well, and don’t forget what I said earlier.”  But of course she’d forgotten and looked at him and said, “What Murdoch, what am I meant to remember?”  And he’d said, “Oh, it doesn’t matter, darling.”

But Madrid had looked up, amused, and said: “He wants you to make sure you lock your door tonight, after all, you’ve got a real dangerous hombre in the house.  You never know what I might do in the night!”  And Madrid had laughed.  Poor girl, she had just flushed and hurried out of the room.

Scott had just raised an eyebrow again and said then, he’d turn in too.  It had been a long day.  Well, no doubt it had been a pretty shocking one too, discovering a brother he hadn’t known existed.  He obviously hadn’t a clue what was going on.  How could he?  He didn’t know about Madrid.  Or what he was.

Thank God Madrid had then turned in for the night as well.  Walked up stairs silent as a cat, with that damn gun low on his hip.

The scent of the early roses seemed to hang in the air, but it was cooler now.  Tossing down the last of his whisky, he headed for his bed.

But sleep was elusive that night.  He’d tossed and turned and woken frequently from nightmares.  Madrid hadn’t left him to sleep in peace.  Instead, he’d invaded his dreams with the damn cold smile and his gun.  And the gun had been pointed at Scott and he’d laughed as he’d shot him.  And Teresa, with her clothes torn from her, had been sobbing.

He’d woken in the morning feeling exhausted.  He didn’t think he could cope with seeing Madrid at breakfast.  Instead, he’d gone out early to sort the men out, give them their chores for the day.

He’d stood by the corral and seen that the men had cut out some horses, including that damn crazy palomino.  The one that had injured one of the ranch hands a while back.  He was about to tell them to let it go, but..... He smiled to himself, what a good idea.  That would take the bastard down a peg or two.

But even that hadn’t worked out, he reflected much later, as he sat by the fire in the Great Room.  Madrid bettered him again.  Had to give him some grudging respect, though.  Seemed Madrid was a good horseman, a very good horseman.

And then Scott had surprised him too with that stunt of jumping the wagon.  Dammit, he’d produced two fine horsemen.

And then Madrid had ridden off, and he couldn’t help but hope that perhaps he wouldn’t come back.  But of course he had.  He, Scott and Teresa had all shown up when Miguel was telling them about what had happened at Caspar’s place and they’d all raced over there.  Scott had been obviously shocked and shaken.  And Madrid, well, he seemed, like what?  Sombre, that was it.

God, it had been horrific to see what they’d done to poor Maria.  Such a good, kind woman.  And to end up like that.... Odd though, Madrid had stood apart, like maybe he was lost in thought. Subdued it seemed.  It couldn’t be what had happened to the couple, after all, Madrid was a killer too.  He wouldn’t be shocked.  He and Pardee, they weren’t so different to each other.  After all, Madrid admitted he knew him.  They were two of a kind.

Still, he’d been very quiet – until Scott had suggested his plan.  Then Madrid had seemed angry.  Called Scott a tin soldier.  And Scott had said, respectfully, “You call the tune, what do you say?”  Scott always seemed respectful, decent manners.  Knew how to treat his elders.  And so he’d delighted in siding with Scott against Madrid.  “I say you go.”

But even then Scott had given his brother a chance to make amends, asking him if he was coming.  But the surly devil had turned away, and so Scott had just shrugged and left with Cipriano and some of the hands.

“Are you going or not?”

“That an order?”

“There’s only one man going to run this ranch.”  And Madrid had gone on about Pardee sucking him out into the open and how he had only one chance, let him find Pardee.

And he’d finally found his courage and said, “Maybe you’ve found him already.”  It came out strong too, not giving away how nervous Madrid made him feel.

And Madrid had said, “Well, go on.”  And again, he kept his nerve and asked Madrid what he was doing in Morro Coyo.

Madrid had looked odd then, looked away and down and sort of raised his eyebrows, and just said, “Is that what you think of me?”

“I don’t know what to think of you.”  And that had been true.  He found him, well what exactly? Frightening, yes, cold, yes, but, puzzling too. 

“Think what you like.”  And then, with that damn throw away line about not being good at taking orders, Madrid had gone.

Well, that was what he’d been hoping for.  That Madrid would leave.   So now he should feel relieved.  But he didn’t, he felt, God, what did he feel?  Odd, a sort of ache in his gut.  He didn’t understand that.   Dammit, he was well shot of Madrid.  He didn’t need his sort at Lancer.  Look how he’d behaved the previous night!

Yes, he was much better off without him.  The pain in his gut didn’t go though.  Must be something he’d eaten. 

He hoped Scott’s plan would work.  The young man seemed very bright.  Teresa obviously liked him, he’d seen them laughing together.  He certainly wasn’t the dandy he’d appeared at first glance.  Silly how you could misjudge someone so easily, just because of those ridiculous clothes.  So out of place out here.  He found himself hoping that the young man would stay.  And not just because he would be an asset, he found the young man interesting.  He found he was looking forward to getting to know him.

Catherine would be proud of Scott.  He favoured his mother.  He seemed like a determined type.  Held himself well.  Must be military service.  Pity the other one hadn’t had some military service – might have done him good.  That would have knocked the bravado out of him.  Maybe taught him a bit of respect.  Some manners.  Maria must have been too soft on him.  Odd that, she never seemed to bother much with him when he was little.  Well, he’d gone, and good riddance. 

He wished the pain in his gut would go though.

He sat watching the flames die in the fire.  It was getting chilly.  He should get up, add a log, stir the fire.  He took another drink.  Yeah, good riddance.  A man who dealt in death.  Sold his gun like a whore sold her body.  Maybe Madrid was on his way back to Mexico.  Maybe. . . . .the door opened quietly and he glanced up expectantly, hoping to see. . . who?  No matter, it was Teresa.  He suddenly missed the way things used to be, before his home had been invaded by strangers.

Teresa poked at the log on the fire.  “You’re thinking about your sons out there.”

“They’re strangers to me.”

“It’ll take time.”

“Before they stop hating me?”

“Oh no!” She rushed to his side, “They want to love you.”

He had to smile at that.  “Maybe I should get a dog, they don’t answer back!”

She rested her head against his arm.   He looked down at her.  “You miss your Daddy, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I’ve got you.”

“Yes, you have, you surely have.”

He jumped when he heard the front door slam.  Scott, safe, thank God.

 “What happened?”

“Nothing.  Yet!  We rode just far enough to make them think we’d taken the bait, then we cut back through Cipriano’s pass.  They should be along soon.  It’ll be daylight in a few minutes.”

“Teresa, get my rifle.”

 “Where’s Johnny?”  Johnny? Madrid, you mean, he felt like saying.  The gunfighter.  Dammit, how the hell should he know where he was?

“Gone.”

“Gone where?” 

“What difference?”  He shrugged as he said it.  He didn’t care.  But Scott looked almost like he was disappointed.  God, his gut was aching.  What the hell had he eaten to upset him?

Scott looked like he was about to answer when gunfire erupted.  It had to be Pardee.  Scott ran and drew the curtains and they ran outside.

The first rider came into view a few moments later, with a string of other attackers behind him.   It struck him as odd.  He would have thought Pardee’s men would have attacked from different sides but they seemed to be coming in a headlong rush.  Scott took command, cautioning the men to hold their fire until the last minute, until the first rider was well within range, until. . . .

“Wait, that’s Johnny!”  Jumping the fence.  Almost falling.  He heard himself telling the men to hold their fire.  What the hell was the boy doing?  It seemed almost as though he was drawing their fire to himself, sacrificing himself to bring them all out together.  It was crazy.   Reckless.  Suicidal.  The boy must be mad to be so damn reckless.

And then another shot rang out and everything seemed to slow down.  The boy dropped like a stone from the palomino and fell motionless into the dust.

He heard himself say to Scott that it was no use.  He felt strange.  A sort of relief.  There wouldn’t be a problem now.  But the pain in his gut seemed much worse.  Just keep shooting, fire the guns.  “I don’t understand what that boy was trying to do?”

And Teresa, turned a tear stained face to him.  “He was coming back.  To us!”

He tried to ignore the pain in his gut.  Just keep firing.  Pardee’s men were in chaos and falling.  Bullets were raining down.  One man was running past his fallen son.  And then he saw the boy move and raise his gun and shoot the man.  “Look at your brother!”

And then Scott was running out.  “Cover me!  I’m going out after him.”  Oh God, no!  What if he gets shot too? 

And then suddenly it was all over and Scott was carrying his brother over his shoulder, almost tenderly it seemed.

“I’ll help you get him upstairs,” he heard himself saying.

He was surprised at how light the boy seemed.  That was odd, he had looked quite stocky.  And strange, he was thinking of him as a boy now, not a man.

Scott helped him get the boy to his room and laid him on the bed.  They eased him out of his jacket.  It was full of some sort of padding, as if to make himself look bigger.  Or fill out the jacket which was too big.  His shirt was soaked with blood.  Christ, he was bleeding a lot.  So much blood.  Hell, he needed a doctor.  Badly.

Teresa was there, cutting his shirt away and then gave a gasp.  Her hand went to her mouth and she paled.

He heard himself gasp as he looked down at the boy.  He was far too thin, but that wasn’t it.  It was his back.  His scarred back that bore testament to savage beatings, age old scars.

“Mother of God! No!”

Part Two

He was jarred from his fitful doze as the stage jolted over a particularly rough bit of track  and he was forced to make a grab for Gibbon’s Decline and Fall, which lived up to its name by almost falling from his lap.  The sour faced lady sitting opposite him would not have been happy to have such a heavy tome fall on her feet, he thought as he sat back wearily.  He was just relieved that this nightmare journey was almost over. 

The farther west he travelled, the more uncivilised it became.  People who didn’t even seem to be on nodding acquaintance with any form of manners or etiquette.  And why did they all carry guns?  Overnight stops in dead end towns had become something to dread.  He was fastidious by nature, he readily acknowledged, but he all too frequently had cause to wonder when the bedding in the rough little hotels had last seen soap and water.  And as for the food . . . .

He wondered, yet again, why he had let his grandfather talk him into this visit.  Talk, that was a joke, his grandfather had ordered him out of Boston.  It seemed that the bizarre invitation couldn’t have arrived at a more auspicious time.  “Scotty, if you’re out of town for a while it will allow the gossip to die down.  People will soon bore of your indiscretions and find something else to occupy their attention.  And a trip to such an uncivilised part of the country will make you appreciate Boston more when you return.  Perhaps then, you’ll be less inclined to womanise and fritter away your time in such an idle fashion and more inclined to settle down to business and marriage.”

He wasn’t sure which annoyed his grandfather more, the fact that he failed to show any interest in the business or his innumerable dalliances.  His grandfather turned a blind eye to his seducing the serving girls in the various homes of their friends.  He simply paid them off if the affairs caused any “added complications”.  But when it was the daughters of his business colleagues, his grandfather was less impressed.

“I fail to understand, Scotty, why you persist with this reprehensible behaviour.  By all means have some woman you keep discreetly somewhere for such things, I can even tolerate the odd serving girl, they are of little consequence.  But the daughters of my friends are young ladies, and should be treated as such.”

But there was the rub, they were the ones that provided the biggest thrill.  Because they were out of bounds, it made the chase so much more exciting.  Anyone could have a whore, he wanted the forbidden fruit.  And if one or two, or three or four, he admitted, mistook his intentions for something more serious, well that was of little consequence to him.  Julie had come closest to catching him – simply because she wouldn’t surrender.  He had become obsessed with having her.  She was so self-contained and he had lain awake for nights on end visualising what lay beneath her exquisite silk dresses.  He would run his hands over the swell of her breasts when he bade her goodnight and return to his bed alone to work out his frustrations.  Thank God he had come to his senses in time.  Barbara had, in some ways, been his salvation.  She knew what game he was playing and was more than happy to play too.  She had taken his mind off Julie by giving herself frequently and with great enthusiasm.  She’d really missed her vocation, she was a very satisfying fuck.

And life had been so very dull since the war.  He couldn’t seem to settle.  He was looking for something, but what?  The thought of spending his days dealing with figures and stocks and looking at balance sheets. . . . But then Barbara’s father had raised such a furor.  The latest in a line of irate fathers . . .   At the very time that he had received his first ever communication from his father.

As far back as he could remember, he had wondered about his father.  Wondered why he never visited, or wrote.  His friends all had parents, but he had a grandfather, a nanny and servants.  When he was small, he thought it must be his own fault that his mother had died and that must be why his father didn’t love him.  Didn’t contact him.  His grandfather certainly never had a good word to say about his father.  Described him as a dirt poor Scottish immigrant who would never amount to anything. 

And then, out of the blue, that bizarre message from the Pinkerton Agency.  Where would a dirt poor Scottish immigrant get $1000 from, for heaven’s sake?  It was really rather insulting, offering to pay a son to visit.  A bribe, nothing more, nothing less.  He doubted that the money even existed.  Still, it had seemed like a diversion.  It would get him away from those damn balance sheets for a while.  But he hadn’t expected the west to be quite so rough and dirty.  It wasn’t just the bedding that needed a wash, most of the people he had encountered needed one too.

The stage juddered to a sudden stop.  It certainly wasn’t a scheduled stop so he leaned out of the window to see the cause.  A young man stood in conversation with the stage drivers, holding a saddle.  Looked different to most of the people he’d seen out here.  Darker, with strangely decorated trousers.  Some sort of cowboy, he supposed.  The man passed the saddle up for stowing and then seemed to hesitate before handing his gun up.

“It seems we’re picking up another passenger.”

The man climbed in and as he did so the stage lurched under way, sending him sprawling.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to mess up your outfit.”

“Can’t be helped.”

God in heaven, didn’t anyone out here wash?  The cowboy was distinctly smelly.  Sweaty.  He’d obviously walked a long way with that saddle.  But he still looked as though it was some time since he’d had a close encounter with soap or water.  He tried not to wrinkle his nose. 

The sour faced woman seemed to look even more sour as she surveyed the young man.  Her lip curled slightly with distaste.  The cowboy didn’t seem bothered though.  Instead, he looked at her, laughed and said with a soft drawl, “That’s right, ma’am, I’m a half breed, but don’t worry, it ain’t catching!”  The woman immediately looked away and the man laughed again.

Thank God they were almost there.  He just hoped his father had received his telegram and there would be someone to meet him.  He tried to ignore the cowboy who was now staring at the book.  “D’you actually read that?  Or is it for throwing in case you’re attacked?  ’Cos in those clothes, there’s a real chance . . . .”

“It’s one of the classics.  Decline and Fall, doubtless you are familiar with the work.”  That should shut him up.  He shut his eyes and feigned sleep.  Anything was better than conversation with these people. 

After what felt like hours, the stage rattled into an undistinguished little town announcing itself to be Morro Coyo.  The cowboy seemed eager to be out, pushing past the other passengers to retrieve his gun and then his saddle from the drivers. 

Stretching his aching limbs, which were stiff after hours in the coach, he retrieved his own luggage.  The monogrammed leather bags looked out of place in this dusty square.  He was sorting them out when a voice said, “Mr Lancer?” 

He looked up at a young girl wearing a most unattractive bonnet and replied, “Yes.” 

Odd, he could swear someone else replied at the same time.  The girl spoke again.  “I’m sorry, which of you said ....” 

“I did.”  Again two of them answered.  He turned and looked and saw the smelly cowboy from the stage standing behind him. 

The girl looked surprised.  She looked at the dark young man.  “You’re Johnny.”

 “That’s right.” 

She looked at him now.  “Then you’re Scott Lancer.”

Before he could reply the dark haired man said, “No, ma’am, he’s no Lancer, my mother only had one kid and that was me.” 

He was irritated now.  “Likewise.”

The girl looked embarrassed.  “Well, we didn’t expect you both at the same time but actually you’re right.  It’s Mr Lancer that had two.”

Why couldn’t the girl be more explicit, for heaven’s sake!  “Two, what?”

She smiled apologetically.  “Wives and two sons.  You two!”

He felt his stomach lurch, this was something he had never envisaged.  A brother!  But, please God, not this rude, smelly, cowboy.  The man just looked him up and down, and laughed.  As if he were the one God was playing a cruel joke on!  Rude didn’t come close to describing him.

He lugged his bags and followed the girl to the buckboard.  It was obvious that one of them would have to travel in the back.  He hesitated.  What was his name again, Johnny, was looking him up and down and then drawled, “Don’t look so worried, I’ll go in the back.  Like I said, I’d hate you to mess up your outfit.”  He hefted his saddle up and climbed up behind.  Strange, the girl seemed very nervous of the grubby cowboy, and relieved that he went in the back.

They left the town and followed the track around the shoulder of the hills.  The scenery was certainly spectacular.  More so than anything back east.  He spied a river meandering in a haphazard way through the valley against a backdrop of rugged mountains. 

He wondered about the girl sitting next to him.  She seemed very serious.  And badly dressed.  But then, nobody seemed elegantly dressed out here in the west.  Could she be another relative or did she work on the ranch?  It was obvious that the cowboy perched in the back had no intention of making conversation, and good manners dictated that they couldn’t travel the whole way in silence so he asked the girl if she worked on the ranch.

“I was born on Lancer.  My father was the foreman there for 15 years.”

He studied her profile. “Was?”

She seemed to struggle to hold back the tears as she explained that her father had been killed.  But when his brother asked who had murdered her father, she just shook her head saying, “Mr Lancer will tell you that.  What he won’t tell you is how much it means to him that you’ve both come here.”

He looked across at his brother - how strange that word seemed.  He looked into very blue, and very cold, unsmiling eyes.

The girl suddenly drew the buckboard to a halt.  She pointed out over the hills and valleys to the distant mountains and declared passionately, “There it is, as far as the eye can see.  The most beautiful place in the whole wide world – Lancer!”  God, this was something more than the dirt farm he’d envisaged.  It was, impressive yes, but also, as the girl said, beautiful, quite breathtakingly beautiful.  It seemed that his father had been far more of a success than his grandfather had ever let on.  But whether his brother was also impressed was difficult to judge; his face seemed to cloud over and become almost remote.

And then he saw the house in the distance.  The buggy rattled on along the rough track towards an imposing archway, which proclaimed the Lancer name.  It seemed rather incongruous, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.   They drove on towards a white, sprawling house – well, this was certainly no dirt farm.  Ranch hands were calling out a welcome in a language he didn’t recognise as they turned into the drive.  Presumably they were Mexican, there certainly seemed to be quite a few of them.  He had obviously been very wrong about his father, this was some set up.  That hour of his time could prove to be interesting after all!

As Teresa stopped the buggy outside the house, he jumped out and looked around.  His brother climbed out and stood staring at the imposing building.  He had a strange expression on his face, something between curiosity and bitterness.  Why would he look bitter, though? 

But this wasn’t the time to wonder about his new found brother, he wanted to meet the man who had sent for him.   They both walked into the cool of the house as Teresa pointed the way and came to a large and impressive carved oak door.  He noticed that his brother held back almost, seeming to choose to stand behind him. Second best.   Well, that seemed appropriate, he did seem to lack any social graces. 

He knocked sharply on the door.  A voice called, “It’s open.”  And he walked into a vast book lined room.  The room of a man who wanted the world to know he had arrived.  And there he was, his father.  A giant of a man.  Grandfather never said he was so tall.  The questions rolled through his head.  Where have you been all these years?  Why did you never contact me?  Did grandfather know about a brother?

“Drink?”  He was thrown by the abrupt question.  God, I travel all this way and all you can say is that? 

His father looked at Johnny standing behind, “You drink, don’t you?” 

Well, this should be an interesting answer.  By the look of him, he probably drinks a lot.

“When I know the man I’m drinking with, yeah.”

“You’ve got your mother’s temper.”  And then in a softer voice he said, “And you’ve got your mother’s eyes.”

His voice had definitely been softer when he said that, kinder.  Grandfather, too, had always said he had his mother’s eyes.

“You got something to say old man, say it.”  The aggressive statement shook him from his thoughts and it certainly got a reaction. 

His father strode to his desk and fished out two envelopes.  “$1,000 a piece.”  Johnny moved quickly to take it. 

“Maybe you’d better count it,” his father suggested in a tone that sounded very sarcastic.

 “I plan to.”  God, he is actually going to count it!  How incredibly rude.  He doesn’t seem to have any semblance of manners.  And where the hell had his brother been all these years he’d been in Boston? The two of them certainly didn’t bear any resemblance to each other, thank God!

“Come and get your money.”

The voice broke into his thoughts.  “I’ll settle for this drink.”

“You’ll do as you’re told!”

 God, another one determined to boss him around.  “Will I?”

He felt Johnny looking at him now, with more interest.

“I want no favours from either one of you,” his father said.  God, he is truculent!  Maybe that’s where Johnny gets it from!

He wondered what exactly he did want?  He smiled.  “Far be it from me to spoil a family reunion.”  He picked up the envelope.  “Thanks.  What do I call you?  Under the circumstances father hardly seems appropriate.”

“Call me anything you like.  We’re strangers to each other.  Maybe that’s my fault, maybe it isn’t.”

He shrugged, “No apology necessary. . .” 

His father cut him off abruptly.  “You’ll get no apology from me.  If the air needs clearing lets clear it.  Your mother’s family thought she was daft to marry me, not a year off the boat from Inverness.  Maybe they were right.  You were born, she died.  I left you in their hands. Period.”

And that’s it?  That’s all you have to say?  He barely listened to what the man said to his brother but it certainly seemed to annoy him.  So they had something in common after all.

Now, the man was going on about things being in the past.  Was the man too stupid to realise how the past affected the present?  Did he really not care?   Apparently not, he was going on now about his ranch.

“The girl, Teresa, said you were having some trouble.”

His father turned now towards him.  “Last fall, somebody made off with one of our horses.  My Segundo and I trailed him to a place called Morro Coyo.  We walked right into it.  O’Brien was killed and I ended up with this leg that’s gone sour on me.  Since then my fences have been cut, beef stolen, workers frightened off, burned out.  Three months ago I had 150 vaqueros, now I’ve got 18.”

He saw his brother smile at that.  Give a small laugh.  “Well then, that’s the ranch you’re worried about then, huh?”

His father looked at his brother, almost with contempt, before turning and looking out of the window again.  “I love this ground more than anything God ever created.  I’ve got a grey hair for every good blade of grass you see out there.  They’re trying to drive me off this place.”

He felt a little unexpected sympathy for his brother.  The man certainly seemed to have a down on him.  Didn’t make any effort to hide his apparent contempt.  But why should he feel like that?  It’s obvious that he doesn’t know Johnny any better than he knows me.

From what he was saying now, about people seizing land, this really was the wild west.  “Do you mean men can just come and drive you off your land?”  It seemed hard to believe.  “What about the law?” 

“There isn’t any.”

God!  This really was the lawless place his grandfather had told him about.  Uncivilised, he’d said, not like Boston.  “You’ll loath it Scotty.   No society, no culture, nothing to recommend it at all.  You’ll be only too happy to get back to Boston after a reasonable period has elapsed.”

He dragged his attention back to the conversation between his father and brother.  His father had turned towards Johnny and was saying some name his brother seemed to recognize.

His brother said softly.  “Day.  Day Pardee.”

“You know him?” asked his father abruptly.

“Oh yes, I know him.  He’s a gunfighter and he’s pretty good.”  The young man smiled, seemed to look pleased, very pleased, “Yeah, I’d say you have some kind of trouble.”

He wondered briefly what a gunfighter was, but felt it might be prudent to interrupt.  His brother was looking far too pleased about their father’s troubles – that wouldn’t go down well!  “Just how many men does he have, this Pardee?”

“Twenty or twenty five.”

That didn’t seem very many.  “That doesn’t exactly put him in a class with Attila the Hun.”

His father looked at him.  “Well, you’ve got the floor.”

“It seems to me that you have a simple military problem here.  One, find the enemy.  Two, engage him.   Three, destroy him.”

His brother was looking at him now, a small smile playing around his mouth and then turning away and laughing.

“Something funny?” he snapped. 

His father said, “He’s saying it’s not that kind of a fight.”  But he then nodded towards Johnny and added, “But you could be wrong.”  He sounded pleased at the prospect.  There it was again, he really did seem determined to, to what?  Antagonise his brother?  Dislike him?

What was it his brother was saying now?  Something about gun money.  What on earth is gun money?

The big man was again looking at his brother with something like contempt.  “I want more than your guns.”

“What more?”

“I want your arms and your legs and your guts, if you’ve got any.”

Johnny stared at him, “Alright, say I come up with all these arms, legs and guts you’re talking about, what do you come up with?”

“One third.”

“Of what?”

His father gestured towards the window and was saying something about beef.  Beef?  Surely they’re cattle.

A ghost of a smile seemed to appear on his brother’s face, who then walked towards the window. 

God, that would shut grandfather up if he stayed out here for a while instead of just rushing back to Boston like he expects.  In fact, it would irritate the hell out of grandfather and be a little bit of revenge for being sent packing from Boston just because of a little scandal. Did he really say 100,000 acres?   That’s a lot of land, not to be sniffed at, that’s for sure.  It could even be interesting.  More interesting than grandfather’s business, anyway.  His brother’s voice broke into his thoughts.  “One third, huh?  You wouldn’t mind putting that down on a piece of paper would you?  No offence.”

He watched in surprise as his father took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Johnny to read.  “This do?  Agreement of partnership.  Equal shares to each of us.  But I call the tune.  Agreed?” 

Before he could stop himself, he nodded his agreement.  But his brother just smiled and said softly, “You didn’t sign it.”

He couldn’t believe that his brother was actually doubting the man’s word.  And being so rude as to say it!  Didn’t he know that a gentleman’s word was binding? 

“Nothing for nothing.  You get your share of this ranch when you prove to me you’re man enough to hold it.”

He barely listened to their conversation.  He couldn’t believe that he had agreed to the deal so quickly.  It was crazy, but God, it would be a challenge.  He needed a challenge, he had been so very bored lately.

He was aware that his father was offering his brother something that sounded suspiciously like an ultimatum, almost triumphantly, “Take it or leave it.”

That seemed harsh.  He had the distinct impression that his father was hoping that Johnny would leave it.  Surely he could allow him a little time to reflect on the offer.  He opened his mouth to voice his thought but was cut off as a loud clanging suddenly reverberated around the room.

“Fire bell!”  And he and his brother followed the man outside.

                                   *****

It wasn’t until a lot later that he seemed to get any time to himself to collect his thoughts and review the events of the day.  Standing by the window, he peered out into the dark, barely making out the form of someone, his father, perhaps, standing in the rose garden.

With the sound of cattle lowing in the distance, it all seemed almost surreal.  And as for the evening’s dinner, well, that had been the most bizarre meal of his life.

Teresa had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to lay the table, setting it with silver and flowers.  He wondered about the silver.  Had it been his mother’s?  It seemed unlikely that Murdoch Lancer would have bought it.  Although, there were many aspects of the house which shouted new money.  A man who wanted the world to know that he was successful. . . . so, who could tell?  Maybe he had bought the silver.

And the girl had tried to lay on a grand meal.  Judging from her eager questions, she certainly seemed to think that Scott lived the high life in Boston.  And she wasn’t wrong, he thought ruefully.  He didn’t actually do much else at all in Boston.  But he’d noticed that nobody asked Johnny any questions.  He wondered about that, too.  He had tried.  Asked him where he grew up, where he went to school?   The question had seemed to amuse his brother a great deal.  He’d looked at him with those very unfriendly eyes and said, “Well, I s’pose you’d say I got my learning in the school of life.”  What the hell sort of answer was that?  Why couldn’t he just answer the question? 

“The border towns where I grew up, well, they’re sort of here today, gone tomorrow, kind of places.  But you’d fit in real well down there, ’specially in those fancy clothes.”  And he’d laughed again, but there didn’t seem to be any mirth in the laugh.

He’d been amazed by his manners too.  Or lack of them.  He’d sat hunched protectively over his plate, just used any piece of cutlery.  He volunteered no conversation, just shovelled food in and listened, but his eyes had seemed very, very watchful.  And why did he keep his gun on, for heaven’s sake?

And then of course there had been the really bizarre statement about how he cared for his gun and his horse, and how he liked fucking.  He’d almost choked on his food when he heard Johnny say that.  But why would anyone say something like that?  It had seemed that he was trying to provoke their father.  But why?  He could see his father struggling to keep his temper.  He wondered why his father hadn’t reprimanded him for that.  But it was odd.  It was almost as if Murdoch was frightened of him.  In fact, Teresa, too, had seemed very nervous of him.

Then there had been his very rude behaviour after dinner.  Instead of joining him and Murdoch in a drink and cigar, Johnny had prowled around the room, soft footed, like a cat.  He had picked things up, tossed them around carelessly and just laughed rudely when Murdoch asked him to be careful.

He could hardly believe that he could be related to Johnny, never mind being half brothers.  They certainly didn’t have any facial features in common, or, it seemed, anything else in common.  They couldn’t be more different.

But the oddest thing was after Teresa had gotten up to go to bed and his brother had made the offensive remark about her needing to lock her door.  The girl had flushed and hurried out, and he, himself, had decided to turn in too.  He didn’t think he could cope with any more of his brother that evening.  He had headed up to bed and was standing in the shadow about to close his door when he heard Teresa on the landing.  She was hurrying round the corner of the corridor when he heard her exclaim as she bumped into someone.

“Oh, you made me jump, Johnny, I didn’t hear you.”  The girl sounded very nervous.

He heard his brother’s voice.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.  I was just turning in.”  There was a pause, and instead of shutting his door, as good manners would normally dictate, he listened intently.  Then he heard his brother speak again, but gently, kindly, not at all how he’d been during the evening.  “There’s no need to be afraid of me, Teresa.  I ain’t gonna hurt you. You can sleep sound and you really don’t need to worry about locking your door.  You’re safe, I promise.  G’night.”

A moment later he heard his brother’s door close and Teresa walk on along the corridor.

Now, as he stood staring out of the window into the night, he wondered about Johnny.  He was certainly an enigma.  Aggressive and sarcastic, rude and ill mannered, but just then, he had sounded so different.  He had sounded kind and gentle with Teresa.  He had sounded – genuine.  It seemed there was a lot more to this strange new brother than met the eye.

Scott shook his head. It was too late and he was too tired to ponder it any more.  Perhaps tomorrow, things would be clearer.  Now, all he wanted was to sleep.  Thank God, the bed was comfortable, and clean sheets!  Bliss.  It would certainly surprise his grandfather that he wasn’t high-tailing it back to Boston.  Ranching would make a change from balance sheets, that was certain.  And, he had to admit, this intriguing brother he had suddenly acquired, well, that was going to be interesting too.

Part Three

After so many nights in dirty hotel rooms trying to sleep on lumpy mattresses, he slept the sleep of the Gods in crisp sheets that smelled faintly of lavender.  This was more like it, he thought, as he lay drowsily soaking up the early morning sun which cast slanting shadows across the room.  The scent of roses wafted in through the open window and he could hear the ranch hands calling to each other as they clattered about doing whatever ranch hands did.

He wondered what ranch hands did actually do.  Presumably cattle more or less looked after themselves as they just ate grass.  Or did they need hay like horses?  And why on earth had his father had 150, what had he called them, vaqueros?  What did they all do, other than eat the profits?  It occurred to him that he was singularly ill equipped to become a rancher.  Doubtless though, when you were the owner, other people did the hard work.  Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty working with cattle.  God forbid that he should have to deliver a calf!  If there was any dirty work to be done, Johnny could do it, after all he certainly looked grubby.  Very grubby!  Always assuming he stayed, which didn’t really seem very likely. 

He wondered again about his new found brother.  He had the worst manners he had ever come across and truculent didn’t begin to describe him.  It was almost as though he had set out to be as rude and aggressive as possible, certainly trying to antagonise their father.  There really could be no other explanation for his strange behaviour the previous day.  But Murdoch’s attitude towards Johnny had been very strange too.  He had looked frequently at his younger son with open contempt and yet he had tried to avoid reacting to his son’s worst excesses – almost as though he was actually frightened of him.  But why would he be frightened of a boy hadn’t seen since he was a toddler?  None of it made any sense. 

He had to smile to himself as he thought what his grandfather’s reaction would have been to Johnny’s behaviour the previous evening.  And as for his language. . . . . Well, he was used to such language in barrack rooms and under fire, but at the dining table!  And with a young lady present!  Judging from Johnny’s hair colour and skin tone, his mother hadn’t been quite . . .  . what?  What was it he’d said on the stage?  A half breed, that was it.  Yes, he could well imagine grandfather’s reaction.  He would doubtless say something about his mother being “a foreigner,” a polite way of calling him a half breed.

But then there had been that very odd exchange between Johnny and Teresa.  He had to admit that his own behaviour didn’t bear close examination on that point – he had quite deliberately eavesdropped.  Grandfather would be appalled!  The thought rather appealed, it was childish he knew, but he was still angry with the man for banishing him from the delights of Boston just for a few indiscretions.  Still, he was glad he had listened in to that brief exchange, it raised a question mark over his brother, although that was frustrating in itself.  Was he as bad as he seemed?  Or was it an act?  Somehow, he didn’t think the table manners were an act.  There was something about the way his brother had sat protectively hunched over his food that had looked like second nature.  He had looked like some of the young soldiers he’d seen in his unit – the ones from very poor homes where food had been in short supply.  Actually, he had looked worse than them, hungrier somehow.

His stomach rumbled and he wondered what time breakfast was served.  He should have asked.  Although, really, good manners dictated that his father or Teresa should have told him.  He just hoped that their idea of breakfast wasn’t as spicy as some of the dishes at dinner.  Perhaps he could get grandfather’s chef to send some decent recipes for Teresa.  Assuming she could even read.  Who could tell out here, it did all seem very different.

As his stomach protested again, he stirred himself into action and set about getting dressed.

He was still in his stockinged feet when his bedroom door burst open and his brother sauntered in, without so much as a by your leave.  No knock, just walked straight in.  God!  He really was rude.  He wasn’t even properly dressed, with his shirt undone and hanging out.  And he still didn’t look as if he had bothered with soap or water.  Or a comb, come to that.  He recalled that his brother hadn’t changed into clean clothes for dinner the previous night either.  He sounded very cocky and pleased with himself this morning though, saying something about always sleeping well.  Bet he didn’t sleep in a decent bed that often though.  But, if he was to be believed, he obviously enjoyed sleeping, or rather not sleeping, in other people’s beds. . . . .and he would wager that they were no ladies.

Johnny was going on now about the twenty dollar gold pieces.  He really was grasping.  Look at how he’d been so quick to count his money the previous day.  He told Johnny to keep the coin.   He noticed how quickly Johnny pocketed it.  He couldn’t resist adding, “Well, a third of it anyway.”

His brother strolled across the room, picking up a hat and trying it on.  “You talking ’bout that piece of paper he showed us?  Well, let me tell you something about paper, set a match to it and it burns right up.” 

Oh God!  Not my favourite hat.  He’s probably got lice.  And talk about cynical.  “You don’t give the old man too much credit, do you?”

“Well, I tell you, I don’t give anybody too much credit, saves a lot of disappointment.”

Yes, very cynical.  Just ignore him, carry on dressing and perhaps he’ll take the hint and leave.  God, now he’s got my photograph.  He’s going to put his great dirty fingerprints all over it.  Why can’t he just leave things alone?  It’s like having an irritating child around the place.

He answered his brother’s question.  “General Phil Sheridan.  I was in his unit during the war.”

“You’re very pretty.”

He felt exasperated with him now.  How to shut him up?  “I photograph well.”

Now Johnny was virtually hurling himself across the bed, tossing the photograph down, and making some comment about him being a “snappy dresser.”  God, what an expression.

He was about to answer another question from his brother when his bedroom door burst open.  Yet another incredibly rude intrusion.  And God in heaven, what was the girl wearing? 

“Does anyone around here ever knock when they enter a room?” He really was irritated now.  Could a man have no privacy when he was getting dressed?  What sort of people were they out here?

“Oh!  Think of me like a sister,” she responded cheerfully.

A sister!  No female relative of his would dress like that.  She did look most peculiar.  He couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman in anything other than a dress.  Or, out of a dress.  But certainly not in pants.

He noticed that the girl was avoiding looking at his brother, she was addressing all her remarks to him.  Saying something about “cutting out” horses.  What the devil did that mean?  Now she was fingering one of his hats.  He rather liked hats and had an impressive collection back home in Boston.  Why did people out here keep looking at his hats?  He wished they’d keep their grubby fingers off them.  She was saying something now about new clothes.  New clothes! 

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” he demanded crossly as Teresa left the room.

Johnny looked at him, with a rather disparaging expression, and was that a hint of amusement?

“Well, I mean, if you’re planning on staying in these parts, plaid just ain’t the style.”

“Course I’m planning to stay.”  His own vehemence surprised him.  Yes, he really did want to stay, and not just to irritate his grandfather.  He noticed that his brother was finally walking towards the door, seemingly very thoughtful.  Now he was standing fiddling with his shirt, which he still hadn’t done up.

“Get it said, brother.”  Did I really just call him brother?  Why did I do that?   I can’t imagine anyone I would want less for a brother.

He noticed though that his brother’s expression was a lot harder now, and so was the tone of his voice when he spoke.

“Just this.  What I got in mind is pretty much of a one man deal.”

Is it indeed?  That’s what you think.  He smiled smoothly and said, “Well, you’re going to make me feel left out of things if you’re not careful.”

His brother looked at him with those cold eyes.  “Better left out than in a ditch with ants crawlin’ across your eyeballs.  That don’t photograph too well.”

Was that a threat, he wondered as his brother finally left the room.  It had certainly sounded suspiciously like one.   There was something rather threatening about Johnny.  Something. . . . . dangerous.  He didn’t seem to miss a thing, as though he was highly tuned to everything around him.  And those watchful eyes.  He wondered again about the way Murdoch and Teresa had acted around Johnny.  Did they know something he didn’t?

Shaking his head in exasperation, he headed downstairs in search of coffee and breakfast.

He eventually found a pot of tepid coffee, and some congealed eggs.  It seemed he was rather late for breakfast.  What time did everyone get up around here?  Johnny certainly hadn’t looked as though he was used to early starts.  He wondered how Johnny made a living.  He should have asked him at dinner the previous evening.

The sound of cheering from outside broke into his thoughts so he followed the sound until he came to the corral where a lot of the hands were watching his brother riding a bucking palomino horse.  He had to grudgingly admit to himself that his brother was quite a horseman.  Maybe that’s what he did for a living.  With his total lack of breeding and manners, it was clear that he would only be fit for manual labour otherwise.  The thought of having a brother who laboured for a living made him shudder.  And Johnny certainly wasn’t the sort of man he could ever introduce to anyone back home.  They would be appalled by him and quite rightly.  Still, even Teresa seemed impressed by his horsemanship.  He took delight in deliberately misunderstanding her as she turned a glowing face towards him saying how he was really something.  “The horse?” he asked innocently.

She looked at him in exasperation.  “No! Johnny.”  Then she pointed condescendingly towards a solid and obviously very docile horse, telling him that one was his, before she turned to praise Johnny who had ridden over on the palomino.

He’d be damned if he would just accept this.  Dammit, he could ride too and he’d show these uncivilised people just how well he could ride.  Ignoring Johnny’s protests, he mounted the animal and kicked it straight into a fast canter and proceeded to jump everything in sight.  He delighted in seeing the ranch hands dive for cover as he headed the horse straight at the fence where they were sitting.  Then he turned the horse towards a conveniently located buckboard which he also cleared with ease.  He’d show them what a cavalry officer could do.  Feeling very pleased with himself, he headed back towards Johnny and Teresa, who, he was delighted to see, both looked surprised and impressed.  That should take the arrogant bastard down a peg or two.

“You were right.  He is a fine animal.  In answer to your question earlier, it was a cavalry unit I was in.”  God, that felt good.  Put him in his place, damn him.

His brother just gave him a lazy smile and drawled, “Well, I’ll say one thing Boston, you sure do know how to ride.” 

God, was he still calling him Boston?

His brother continued, “But that don’t make you ready for Day Pardee or you’re going to end up with a bullet in your back.”

He looked at Johnny.  “There’s an awful lot of back shooting going on around here.  Whatever happened to the code of the west?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “Well, that’s it.  You gotta do it to them, before they do it to you.”  And he rode off, saying something to Teresa about breaking up a “gold piece.”  He really was incredibly arrogant as well as rude.  He seemed to do everything with a kind of swagger.  Maybe he’s trying to make up for his lack of height, he thought, as he watched his brother ride into the distance.

He dragged his attention back to Teresa who was saying something about them going into town to get him some work clothes.  He couldn’t help but think that “work clothes” sounded rather ominous.  What sort of work would he be expected to do?  He hoped that at least the girl would change out of those dreadful pants before they went into town.  He really didn’t want to be seen with her looking as she did at the moment.

She joined him at the buckboard a few minutes later and he was relieved to see she had changed into a skirt.  Although it didn’t seem to be long enough.  People out here really had no idea of anything.  Still, a trip into town would give him the chance to try and find out a little more about his brother and father.

As they drove towards town, she chattered happily about his father and her own father, telling him what good friends they had been and how they had worked together building up the ranch.  She described how they always enjoyed Christmas together and she had always viewed Murdoch as a second father.

“Tell me, Teresa, what do you know about Johnny’s background?”

Now, she just clammed right up.  She pursed her lips together and shook her head.  “Nothing.  I really don’t know anything about Johnny.”

“I understand that he’s half Mexican.  Is that right?”

Teresa just shook her head again.  “You’ll have to ask Murdoch about him.”

“Well, do you know what he does for a living?”

Well that question certainly got a reaction!  She turned frightened eyes towards him.  “Why do you ask that?  What have you heard?  I told you, if you want to know about Johnny you must ask your father!”

He hastened to assure her that he hadn’t “heard” anything, but looking at her frightened eyes and trembling fingers, he hastily changed the subject.  He told her about fashions in Boston, but he found it difficult to concentrate.  Just what was the mystery surrounding Johnny?

As they drove into the town, he spotted a palomino horse tied up near the saloon.  It looked suspiciously like the one his brother had ridden off on.  It seemed as though his brother was having the drink he had refused on the previous day.  And a scruffy saloon would doubtless suit him very well.

He followed Teresa into the general store and shuddered at the sight of so many ill cut clothes.  Was he really expected to dress in things like these?  He didn’t feel at all reassured by Teresa’s assurances that she would pick him out some “very, very nice things.”  Looking at what she was wearing herself, he didn’t have a lot of faith in her judgment.

Spying a good selection of hats, he had started trying them on when two very smelly men pushed past him.  He didn’t think that he had ever encountered quite so many smelly people before, except during the war.  And when the men spoke, he almost recoiled from their breath.  Their manners reminded him of Johnny as they pushed past him.

“Am I bothering you?”

And their response of “not yet”, told him that they really were trouble.  It seemed easier to start the fight himself.  He liked having the element of surprise on his side.  He elbowed the one man and sent the other flying with a well aimed punch.  Amidst the flying punches, the thought flashed through his mind that it was just as well he had done some boxing at school.  It looked as though it was going to come in handy if he was planning to stay out here for any length of time.  He grunted as he was sent flying backwards over the counter, but he came back fighting.  He wasn’t going to let these two smelly thugs put him down.

He landed outside in the street. Running his tongue round, he was relieved to find that he still appeared to have all of his teeth intact.  As he struggled to find a little composure, the two thugs walked past him.  Teresa was at his side as he staggered to his feet, saying she’d help him to the buckboard.  But it was at that moment he caught sight of Johnny, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar outside of the saloon.  He’d obviously seen the whole thing.  Bastard.  He had that bloody self satisfied expression on his face and those cold eyes were watching him struggle to his feet.

Determined to recover a little dignity from the situation, he said, “I came to buy some clothes and some clothes I’ll buy!”  And he walked back into the store.

A few dollars lighter and several purchases heavier, he drove Teresa back towards the ranch while she told him how she had rushed to ask Johnny for his help during the fight.  Her tale did nothing to improve his temper and now, all he wanted to do was get back to the ranch and get cleaned up properly.  But he decided it might be prudent to clean himself up a little before they got back, so he stopped by the side of the river to wash the blood off his face.

He was walking back up the bank when he spotted Johnny riding towards them.  He noticed that Teresa had spotted him too and was throwing Johnny a furious glance.  It was obvious what she thought of his brother’s behaviour!

“I told you to stay out of it, didn’t I?”

God, he sounded smug and condescending.  “Well, you did anyway.”

“Well, if you want to get yourself killed that’s your business.”  Johnny slid off his horse and walking across looked at him, saying, “That’s quite a bruise you got.”

He sounded pleased about that too, damn him.  Scott felt a rage stronger than he’d ever felt.  He’d heard the expression, red mist, but never really known what it meant – until now. He landed probably the best punch he’d ever thrown on his brother’s smug face.  God, it felt good!  It sent his brother flying down the bank to the river.  “I just couldn’t resist thanking you for your help, brother.”

A punch like that should have flattened most men.  Would have flattened most men he thought crossly as his brother came charging back at him with his fists flying, telling him not to call him brother.  Teresa was there screaming at the two of them not to fight, but he noticed that she chose to stand next to him so that Johnny was on the receiving end of most of her ire.  Served him right, too!  But out of deference to Teresa, who was obviously distressed, he thought he’d better make the effort to apologise.  Good manners dictated that one of them should and he knew Johnny wouldn’t.  But his brother ignored the apology and just went to retrieve his hat – surly devil.

He tried again.  “We ought to be able to get along, after all, we both came here for the same reason.”  It was a lie, but he could think of nothing else to say.  But Johnny just took a coin out of his pocket and held it up.

“That’s why I came.”

“The money?”

“What else?”

He stared at Johnny and turned away.  “My mistake.”

“Why d’you think I came?”  And that was the crux of it, he thought.  Why had he come?  He barely listened to his brother’s tirade about what Murdoch had done to his mother.  He was just certain that there was a reason other than the money.  From the moment he had arrived he seemed to have been trying to push their father to . . . . .to do what exactly?  It was a mystery. 

Now Teresa was shouting at Johnny again, telling him that he had got everything wrong.  But he didn’t look as though he was believing what she was saying.  Although, just for a second, he had seen some hesitation in his brother’s response.  Almost as though he would like to believe it, but then the look was gone and his face was that surly mask again.  That was it, he realised.  It was as though his brother had a mask that stopped you seeing what he was thinking.  That odd habit he seemed to have of dipping his head before looking up to answer a question, almost as though he was taking a second to fix an expression in place.  It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen his brother smile, or at least, not as though he meant it.  And although he was still angry with him for not backing him up in the town, and that punch he’d landed on his brother’s jaw had been the most satisfying one he’d ever thrown, he realised he wanted to see his brother smile.  He wanted to know a little more about this angry, bitter, enigmatic man.

The sound of a horse galloping and a man shouting broke into his thoughts.  A rider was going hell for leather towards the ranch, yelling in Spanish.  Johnny jumped on his horse, while he ran towards the buckboard and they all headed for the ranch.  They arrived to a state of uproar.  The man was gabbling away to Murdoch.  He would have to learn Spanish, he realised, if he intended staying.  And then everyone was jumping on horses and riding out at a gallop. 

They arrived at a very small homestead where the first thing he saw was a man hanging.  There was smoke still hanging in the air where some of the outhouses had been burned and a trail of destruction lay all around.  It brought back vivid memories of the war, he’d seen too many burned buildings and dead people then.  He watched as his father walked calling towards the homestead and then saw him recoil in horror from what lay within.  Looking through the doorway he could see the savagely mutilated body of a woman lying on the floor and had to fight down the desire to puke.  Instead, he looked over at Johnny to see if he would allow any reaction to show on his face.  But Johnny just looked distant, remote and seemingly, emotionless.

One of the hands was saying something about tracks and the beginning of a plan started to form in his mind.  One thing was certain, they had to seize the initiative.  They couldn’t allow this Pardee to continue like this.  As they rode back to the ranch, he outlined his plan to Murdoch.  He noticed that Johnny, who was riding slightly apart from them, looked singularly unimpressed.  He found that Johnny’s reaction just hardened his resolve.

He gathered his things together at the ranch while Johnny stood watching him from the doorway. 

“Don’t you think we ought to talk about this?” Johnny asked.

He felt irritated by Johnny’s attitude.  “We can talk on the way while we’re after them.”

“D’you ever think that’s exactly what they want us to do?”

God, he was patronising and arrogant.  Now he was going on about how they could hit the ranch when they were miles away, as if he wouldn’t have thought of that himself.

Their father walked in saying the men were all mounted and ready.  He brought Cipriano in to answer his questions about the pass.

He looked over at Johnny.  “Ready?”

But Johnny just stalked towards Murdoch.  “D’you know what’s going to happen up there with a couple of cowhands and a tin soldier?”

Tin soldier!  How dare he?  He barely listened to Johnny going on about how they’d be blowing each other’s heads off.  Instead, he turned to Murdoch.  “You call the tune.  What do you say?”

“I say you go!”  There was a hint of triumph in his father’s voice.  Almost as though he was glad to side with his elder son against Johnny.  He couldn’t help but wonder briefly whether his father really thought it was a good plan, or whether he was going along with it out of spite?  Again, he felt just a slight pang of sympathy for Johnny.  And because of that, he gave him another chance to redeem himself.  “Coming?”

But Johnny just looked down and turned away.  He felt like throttling his younger brother, but now wasn’t the time, so instead he headed out to join the men.

They followed the trail towards the mountains.  He tried to engage Cipriano in conversation but without much success.  The men talked among themselves and he strained to listen to the parts of the conversation that were in English.  One name seemed to crop up repeatedly – Madrid.  He gathered that this Madrid they were talking about was a man, not the city.

He turned to Cipriano.  “This Madrid they are talking about, who is he?”

Cipriano looked at him strangely and then shook his head.  “This you will have to talk to the patron about.”

“But who is he?  One of Pardee’s men?”

But Cipriano just shook his head and rode a little faster.   He felt incredibly frustrated by the man’s behaviour.  Hell, by everyone’s behaviour out here.  He kept getting the impression that he was being kept in the dark about something that everyone was aware of but him.  And that was really starting to get on his nerves now.  He wondered if Johnny knew what was going on.  Probably not.  Nobody seemed keen to talk to his brother.  Was it just because he was of mixed parentage?  More likely it was just because he was surly, rude and argumentative.  But he couldn’t help wishing that Johnny was riding with them now.  There was something about his brother that suggested he would be a very good man to have on your side in a fight.  And there was also something about him which suggested he would make a very mean enemy.

He paused to separate the men, instructing some to ride behind, while he went ahead with Cipriano.  If they were being watched it would be as they entered this pass.  In fact he was sure they were being watched.  He could feel it, all the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.  Yes, they were definitely being watched by someone.  He found himself wishing again that Johnny had come with them.

They rode a little further before he slipped from his horse and scrambled over the rocks, giving him a good view of the next valley.  And there was Pardee and his men.  And they were riding out!  The plan had worked.  He waited till they were out of earshot before calling out that it was alright.  They could head back to the ranch. 

The moon lit their way back.  It was almost full so they could easily make their way back along the tracks.  The men were confident now, he thought, jubilant.  It had done them good, they were now looking forward to the fight to come.  And that, he thought it was safe to guess, would be at daybreak.

As soon as they got back to the ranch, he directed the men to various lookout points, so that all the approaches to the building were covered.  He thought they would be attacked on all sides and wanted to be well prepared.

He burst into the house where Murdoch and Teresa plied him with questions.  He described what had happened before glancing around and realising his brother wasn’t there.  “Where’s Johnny?”

“Gone,” responded Murdoch in a dismissive tone.

“Gone where?”

His father shrugged.  “What difference?”

What the hell happened here while he was gone?  He felt appalled by his father’s apparently callous attitude towards his younger son.  Did the man care about nothing except his precious ranch?  Seemingly not.  He supposed that he and his brother were, to use a military phrase, nothing but cannon fodder in the fight for survival.  He was suddenly certain that if Murdoch Lancer’s precious ranch hadn’t been under threat, he would never have received that visit from the Pinkerton agent.

The sound of gunfire broke into his reflections and he ran to the windows.

“Here they come.”

Calling to the men to hold their fire because the attackers were still out of range, he watched in surprise at the onslaught.  He thought they would have attacked from different sides but they all seemed to be following one rider who was out in front.  Ahead of the rest.

And then it registered, that the man right out in front was riding a very familiar palomino.  As the thought hit him, his father called out that it was Johnny.  What the hell was he doing?  Surely he hadn’t joined Pardee?  The thought horrified him for just a brief second before he realised that, in fact, the men were pursuing and firing at his brother. 

What the hell was he playing at?  He was setting himself up as such an easy target, but why?  It was crazy.  He could never make it back.  There were too many men firing at him.  He was crouched low over the horse’s neck.  Maybe he would make it.  God, he was almost safe.

As yet another shot rang out he watched in horror and disbelief as his brother dropped like a stone from the saddle.  Johnny fell motionless in the dirt as the guns started firing on all sides.  He had to get to him, pull him clear before he was trampled.  He heard his father saying, “It’s no use.”

Now he just started firing his gun in rage.  He’d never even had the chance to get to know him.  It wasn’t fair.  And he fired again and again at Pardee’s men.  He was damned if they would win.

And then, his father exclaiming, “Look at your brother!”

He was sitting up, firing his gun.  He’s alive! Thank God!  Shouting at the men to cover him, he ran to Johnny’s aid.  He dragged him to the relative shelter of a tree, surprised at how light he was, and started firing again.  He heard Johnny call “Look out” and saw another man aiming at them.  He fired first and saw the man go down.  And then suddenly Pardee’s men were in disarray and fleeing and it was all over.

He heard Johnny say something complimentary about his shooting.  Well, that’s a first, he thought delightedly.  He looked down at the younger man.  “We’d just about given up on you, boy!”  He couldn’t resist adding the boy.  It was bound to irritate Johnny.

But Johnny’s eyes looked glazed and strange and he was saying something about different plans.  Then his brother struggled to get up.  “Take your time,” he cautioned him.

“I can make it.”

But that look in his eyes told a different story.  He felt his stomach contract with fear, he didn’t want to lose him now.  He leant to catch his brother as Johnny’s eyes rolled upwards and he pitched forward.  Carrying him over his shoulder he headed quickly towards the ranch.  He could feel his brother’s blood soaking into his shirt.

His father moved to help him and together they got him into the house and up the stairs.  He really didn’t seem to weigh much.  And now he was bleeding heavily.  Laying him on his bed they eased him out of his jacket which seemed to be filled with some sort of padding.  He thought briefly how bizarre it seemed.  Was it to make him look bigger?  There certainly didn’t seem to be much of him.

Teresa was cutting his shirt away when he heard her give a horrified gasp.  He looked down and almost retched at what he saw.  His brother’s back was covered with scars.  The skin was dreadfully puckered and stretched and it was obvious that he had been savagely beaten.

He was aware of his father exclaiming in horror.  And he saw his father reel away and start to puke.

Part Four

God, he felt tired.  But then, he’d felt tired for a very long time now.  And he would swear he was 100 years old and that was too long for anyone to have to live.  He wasn’t afraid of dying, never had been.  You could only be afraid of it when you had something to live for and he wasn’t sure that he’d ever had that.

It had only been pride that kept him going.  When he was very young it was revenge and hatred that kept him alive but that had gradually changed to resignation.  Often thinking that death, when it came, would be welcome.  After all, he and death were old friends, he’d looked it in the face often enough.  It was probably his only friend.  He certainly didn’t trust any of his other acquaintances.  He would play a game of poker but his eyes would always be on the door.  Or watching the hands of his fellow players.  Making sure they stayed on the table and weren’t moving down to a gun.  And he was very careful who he drank with and even then, he would drink very little because really, he didn’t trust anyone at all. 

The only time he let his guard down was with his women.  He liked whores, he could relax then – a little.  He could respect them.  They hadn’t dreamed of becoming whores when they were young, circumstances had usually left them with no choice.  They might sell their bodies but they hadn’t sold their souls.  Not like him.  And so he would seek a little comfort from them.  A night in a stranger’s bed was as close to comfort as he was ever going to come.  But after a killing he would always take two or three of them to bed, it was easier, more impersonal.  And if he tired of the whole game, well, they could entertain each other.

And so when he was finally confronted by that firing squad he had felt as though a huge load was being lifted.  It would be almost a relief to just stop having to fight all the time.  The only reason he fought so hard was because if someone wanted his reputation, they could damn well earn it.  He’d worked hard enough in the early years to earn it, and he was too proud to just roll over and die for some new challenger.  And there were plenty that wanted his reputation.  And they all seemed so young, not like him.  Sometimes he would try and talk them out of facing him, offer them a drink instead.  But they mistook his reluctance to face them as weakness.  Trouble was, they were just too easy for him.  He could take no pride in gunning down a kid.  He enjoyed a more worthy opponent.

But a firing squad, well, there was no loss of  pride with that.  Nothing you could do but accept it with as much dignity as you could muster.  And keep your reputation.  Go out unbowed and unbeaten.  The thought had appealed to him.  He would have liked one last fuck, one last night of comfort somewhere but it hadn’t really mattered.  Nothing really mattered at all anymore.

But even that had gone wrong, he reflected as he sat against a tree thinking about the events of the past few days.  That man charging up on that buckboard, calling them to stop.  He remembered he had just felt a moment’s irritation at the man for interrupting his appointment with death.  And then bewilderment when the man gave him the message.  And then, the dawning realisation that he wasn’t meant to die until he accomplished what he had originally set out to do.

All those years, when it was just his pure hatred that kept him alive.  Determined not to give in, whatever life threw at him.  And that hatred was why he’d chosen this path in the first place.  And now, he was being offered the chance of revenge and even being paid handsomely for it.  It struck him as supremely funny that his father’s offer that had saved his life, had also signed his father’s death warrant.  It had been his one real regret, that final night before the execution, that he had never sought his father out to kill him, which is what he had always intended to do, right from the start. 

And now, here he was, with a dead horse, a saddle and a very long walk ahead of him.  Why the hell did the animal have to die on him?  He dragged himself to his feet and hefted the saddle over his shoulder and carried on walking.

The sound of horses and wheels on the track up the hill, gave him a burst of energy.  Despite the weight, he almost sprinted up the hill, maybe he wouldn’t have to walk so far after all.  He ran onto the dirt track and stood in front of the stage to stop it.  And for once things were going his way, even the stage coach.  He was reluctant to part with his gun, but he had another inside his jacket pocket and a knife in his boot, so he handed it up and climbed into the stage.

The driver gave him no time to take his seat, the stage set off again with a sudden lurch – to keep to its timetable.  And he was thrown sprawling over some fancy dan sitting by the window.  And God, did the man stink.  Kinda like perfume that some woman might wear.  Boy, honest sweat was one thing, but perfume?   Dressed in real fancy clothes too, bet he wouldn’t want those spoiled.

But none of the passengers looked to be a threat so he sat back between some sort of priest and the fancy dan, trying not to breathe through his nose so he wouldn’t have to smell the blond gringo.  He could feel the eyes of the woman sitting opposite boring into him.  She looked a real dried up old prune.  Probably never had a good fuck.  Hell, she’d probably never been fucked at all.  She was looking at his dark hair now, so he looked her squarely in the eyes so she could see what colour his were.  Yep, she’d figured it.  Looked even more disapproving now.  Probably thinking that someone like him shouldn’t be in the stage mixing with white folk.  The devil that sometimes sat on his shoulder was there now.  He couldn’t resist.  He laughed and said, “That’s right ma’am, I’m a half breed, but don’t worry, it ain’t catching.”

The woman flushed and looked quickly away and he felt the disapproval of the other passengers.  The fancy dan raised an eyebrow slightly and shifted in his seat.  Boy, did he stink!  And what the hell sort of book was that he had?  Surely nobody could read something that big if they spent a whole lifetime at it.  Come to that, who would write something that big?  He couldn’t see much point in reading, he’d never read a book.  It was useful if you could read the wanted posters, just to make sure no one was after you, but other than that, what was the point?  He couldn’t see much point in talking either, you could give too much away.  But that devil was still on his shoulder and he couldn’t resist saying, “D’you actually read that?  Or is it for throwing in case you’re attacked?  ’Cos in those clothes, there’s a real chance.....”

The gringo came out with some stuck up answer, just like he’d expected he would.  People were so predictable.  Now the fancy dan was pretending to be asleep, like that would fool anyone.

He sat back and wondered how to play things when he got to Morro Coyo.  Get a meal first, he figured.  He hadn’t had a decent meal since before he was captured.  And he knew he’d gotten real thin.  Hell, he’d even had to pad his old jacket out.  Hadn’t wanted it to hang on him.  It might be seen as a sign of weakness.  So, yeah, get a meal first.  Then a woman.  God, he needed a fuck.  Hell, he needed more than one.  It would give him time to figure out the right time to go and see the old man. 

The old man’d better have the money ready, or he’d just kill him straight out.  The only reason he’d even give him an hour was ‘cos he’d promised two men, a long time ago, that he would listen to the man before he killed him.  “Two sides to every story.”  Odd that they’d both said the same thing, three or four years apart he figured.  And because they were the only two men he’d ever really trusted, he’d promised.  Not that he thought there was any point.  His mother wouldn’t have lied to him about the old man.  And hell, he’d heard the story so many times of how they’d been thrown out on their ears.  And all because the old man didn’t want no half breed.  The old man had been happy enough to fuck her, so long as he didn’t have to live with the result.

What he couldn’t figure was why the old man had sent for him after all these years.  Why now?  The only reason could be he wanted his gun.  Sure as hell couldn’t be any other reason.  Well, the old man had waited this long, he could wait another day or two to see his long lost half breed.  The old man could wait till he’d done fucking.  The idea amused him, yeah, keep him waiting a while longer.

The stage rattled into some stinking town, and he reckoned this must be Morro Coyo.  Sure didn’t look much.  He pushed past the fancy dan, as much to get away from the stink as to retrieve his gun.  There was some girl standing by a buckboard.  She was obviously rich, had on real fancy clothes.  Not like the women he was used to.

He was hefting his saddle down when he heard the girl ask for Mr Lancer.  Shit, how did they know he’d be on the stage?  Lucky guess?  But as he answered the girl, he heard the gringo say yes too.  Typical gringo, couldn’t mind his own damn business.  The girl looked confused too and asked again.  But that damn fancy dan answered again.  If the gringo didn’t shut his mouth, he felt very tempted to shut it for him.  Permanently, if the gringo wasn’t real careful.

The girl was looking at him now.  “You’re Johnny?”

As he acknowledged his name, she spoke to the fancy dan.   “Then you’re Scott Lancer?”

Damn him, the man was claiming to be a Lancer now, well, he’d soon put a stop to that.  “No, ma’am, he ain’t no Lancer.  My mother only had one kid and that was me.”

The gringo just looked down his nose, real superior like and said, “Likewise.”

Likewise!  What sort of word was that?  Madre de Dios, the man looked so fucking stupid in those fancy clothes and smelling like some whore.  How the hell had the man survived this long?  Surely someone should have got rid of him a long time ago?

And now, the girl was saying what?  He could hardly believe what he was hearing.  Hell, someone up above was having a real good joke on him.  He couldn’t be related to this fancy gringo.  Surely not!  It was just so ridiculous he just had to laugh as he looked the man up and down in those stupid clothes.  And what the hell did he have in all those bags?  How could any man have enough belongings to need that many bags?  Surely he didn’t have more clothes like the ones he was wearing?  And as for that hat . . . . .

He dumped his saddle down on the buckboard and climbed in the back.  Tell the gringo he wouldn’t want those clothes messed up.  Truth was, he sure didn’t want to make small talk to some rich girl.  It had sure mucked up his plan to go and find himself a woman.  Damn Murdoch Lancer, that was another thing to hold against the man.  And he’d so needed a fuck.

He sat in the back barely listening to the smooth talking gringo.  Didn’t the man ever shut up?  Why couldn’t they just ride in silence?  It’d be a damn sight more peaceful than having to listen to him with his airs and graces and funny way of talkin’.  Shit, just shut the fuck up.  Still, what the girl said about her father was real interestin’.  He suspected this was why Murdoch Lancer wanted him all of a sudden, it had to be for his gun.  Though why he’d want the blond gringo, God alone knew.  Bet the old man would get a real shock when he saw the blond with all his ruffles and fancy hat.  Probably wouldn’t be expecting that.  It was obvious that the man knew no more about Murdoch Lancer than he himself did. 

Seemed the old man hadn’t wanted this son either.  Wasn’t sure he could blame him for that either.  Maybe the old man didn’t like blonds any more than he liked half breeds.  So there was some justice after all.

The girl drew the buckboard to a halt and pointed to the distant mountains declaring that it was Lancer, as far as the eye could see.  Shit, this was some spread.  The old man really was rich.  Bastard.  While he and his mother had virtually starved, this man had lived in luxury.  Well, now he was going to pay for what he’d done to his wife and son.  Madrid would make sure he paid.  He’d waited a long time for this and he was looking forward to every minute.  He wondered how far he would have to go before the old man snapped.  But he was sure looking forward to pushing.

The girl drove onwards and he could see a white, sprawling hacienda in the distance.  It was huge.  He thought of where he’d grown up, all those one room hovels.  And the old man had all this.  God, he was going to enjoy killing him.

Now they were going through some great archway.  His father was obviously a man who wanted everyone to know how rich he was.  There could be no other reason for such a gateway.  Ranch hands were calling out a welcome.  He felt surprised that the old man had so many Mexicans working for him.  Perhaps he saw them as cheap labour.  Or maybe it was just half breeds he hated.  And blonds.  They drew up outside the entrance to the house.  He noticed that the gringo made no effort to lift his own luggage out but just left it there for someone else to manhandle.  Obviously a man used to being waited on.  Having everything done for him.  Now the gringo was striding towards the door as though he didn’t have a care in the world.  How could men be like that?  He didn’t understand it.  He always noticed everything, that’s how he’d lived this long.

He hung back slightly, he suddenly felt, what exactly?  Unsure?  That couldn’t be right, he was never unsure of anything.  And he was certainly never scared of anything.  He’d stopped being scared a very long time ago when he knew he’d had things as bad as they could ever be.  Once you’d been there, you stopped being scared ’cos there was nothing left to fear. 

The gringo was opening the door and stepping into the room and so it was time.

And there he was, a giant of a man.  And thoughts went tumbling through his head.  Dios, Mama never said he was this big.  Why aren’t I taller?  She never said the place was so big either.  So grand and with carpets on the floor.  Shit and all those books.  Seems he and the gringo have something in common.  But does he read them or are they for show?  To show how rich he is. 

Mama never mentioned a brother either.  Did she know about him?  No, she couldn’t have known, she’d have told me.  Yeah, she’d have told me about some blond gringo.

Well, I only came for the money and to kill him.  It’ll feel good to kill him, see fear in his eyes before I pull the trigger.  Standing by that damn desk, does he think his size will intimidate me?   Shows how much he knows.  Johnny Madrid ain’t scared of nothing.

Drink!  Dios, I come all this way, all these years of waiting and wondering and all he can say is drink? Well, he don’t scare me.   But look at his eyes.  Oh, that’s good.  ’Cos he’s sure as hell scared of me.  It shouldn’t take too long to get him on the run and shittin’ himself.  As if I’d drink with scum like him.  And now, he’s talkin’ money.  Now that’s more like it. 

What did he just say?  Of course I plan to fuckin’ count it.  And now he’s giving the gringo orders, I wonder how he’ll take that?  Well, seems there might be a little more to this gringo than I thought.  I ain’t often wrong about folks either.  Looks like I’ll have to test him out a little.

What’s the old man saying?  Something about clearing the air?  God, he’s a cold hearted bastard.  What the hell did Mama ever see in him?  But I can sure as hell guess why she married him.  Listen to him stuttering and stumbling over where he met her.  Bet he just wanted to fuck her.  That’s all men ever wanted to do to her.  Yeah, this sounds right, goin’ on about his precious ranch now.  That’s all he’s worried about and I’ll tell him so.

Look at the way he looks at me though, like I’m a bit of dirt.  So why the hell did he send for me?  He could have hired any gunfighter if that’s all I’m here for, and it would have cost a lot less.  Although, I guess he reckons I’m one of the best.  But even so, don’t make no sense.  It’s almost like he wants me to turn round and walk out.

Day Pardee!  Oh that’s rich.  Yeah, he really has got some sort of trouble.  Bet the gringo don’t even know what a gunfighter is.  Oh, look at the gringo now, stridin’ around like he owns the place.  Simple military problem, what a way to talk.  Oh boy, he’s talking such crap.  But ain’t the old man pleased with himself, tellin’ me I could be wrong.  Yeah, he really has got it in for me.  So why send for me, it don’t make no sense.  Oh, here it comes, well I’ll tell him, this is just listenin’ money. 

“Now, you’re talking gun money.”

He wants more than my gun does he?  “What more?”

Arms, legs and guts?  Be interesting to see what he’s offering.  Shit, one third!  Of all this?  He’s bluffin’.  No way is he goin’ to give me a third.  Just look at his eyes, he hates me.  And he’s shit scared of me.  Kinda funny, really.  Well, let’s see this piece of paper.  Yeah, I’m right, I knew he wouldn’t sign nothin’.   He wants me to kill Pardee, well, no surprise there then.  And that statement of his, take it or leave it, kinda sounds like he’s hoping I’ll leave it.  Looks like the gringo wants to have his say now.   What the hell’s that noise?  Fire?  Oh, Pardee’s obviously having a bit of fun today, running true to form.

       ************

He walked over to the window of the room that the girl had said was his “old room.”  He found it hard to believe.  Hell, this room was bigger than the places he lived in with his mother.  The window looked east towards a distant mountain range.  One of the peaks caught his eye, it was an unusual shape and for some reason he felt particularly drawn to it. 

They’d all helped to try and beat back the fire, even, what was his name, Scott.  That had surprised him.  Scott had rolled his sleeves up and got stuck in, even gave sensible instructions to the hands.  Hell, he even got dirty.  Didn’t smell of that God awful perfume any more.  And then the old man had told them to give up.  Said they’d have to fight if they wanted to hang on to the land.  And then the old man had called him boy.  And that devil on his shoulder had kicked in and he’d deliberately tried to wind the old man up by telling him that he hated to see his property go up in flames.  Boy, had the old man pulled a face at that!  But had been too frightened to say anything.  Odd though, that Scott had accepted the offer so quickly.  Almost like he was a man runnin’ away from something.  Or to something.

The old man had said dinner would be at seven.  He heard the clock chime the hour and sat down on his bed.  He was hungry, but he’d be damned if he’d be on time.  The old man made it sound like an order so that alone was a good enough reason to ignore it.  Scott though, he could bet he’d be on time.  Where was it he’d said he came from?  Boston, that was it.  That was out east somewhere.  Be a good name for him that, Boston.  It would probably rub him up the wrong way, get a reaction, and that was what he wanted.  When people got riled, they gave themselves away in all sorts of ways.  Yeah, Boston and Old Man, that would do just fine for the coming evening.  He slipped his spurs off and then walked silently downstairs, he was good at going unheard.  Scared the shit out of people when he just suddenly appeared and it gave him the upper hand.

Dios!  Look at that table.  All that silver and lots of knives and forks.  Why does anyone need that many knives to eat a meal?  And being late has really pissed off the old man.  It shows in his eyes, but so does the fear.  Good.

God, Boston’s changed into more fancy clothes.  And he stinks again.  It’s enough to put a man off his dinner.  But it didn’t.  He couldn’t believe how much food there was.  It just seemed to keep coming and God, was he hungry.  He wondered why Boston kept staring at him, maybe he was using the wrong knife?  Why the hell did things like that matter to people like Boston?  And why did they have to talk so much?  Why couldn’t people just eat?

The girl, Teresa, was asking old Boston lots of questions about life in the East.  He thought it was amusing that no one asked him any questions.  Although, old Boston did ask him where he’d been to school.  What the hell sort of question was that?  It seemed he’d been to some fancy school that the girl had heard of, how could any school be that well known that you’d have heard of it on the other side of the country?  Now the girl was asking about fashions.  Why should she be interested, she seemed very well dressed.  But way too young to interest him.  And too innocent.  He liked a little fire in his women.  Still, he could maybe have a little fun at the old man’s expense.

He waited for her to leave the room.  She had her back to him so she wouldn’t see what he did.  He had no intention of upsetting her.  That wasn’t what was this was about at all.  But once she walked from the room, he let his gaze linger over her, eyeing up the curves of her body, like he might with a saloon girl.  He knew the old man would notice, which gave him his opening.  A chance to get the old man even more riled, question his relationship with the girl and really piss him off.  And boy, did it work.  But the old man was still holding back, yeah, he really was scared.

After dinner the old man and Boston had a drink.  They wouldn’t catch him drinking with them, letting his guard down.  Instead, he walked around the room, picking things up and tossing them around, watching the old man’s reaction.  Seeing him get more and more annoyed until the old man finally snapped, and demanded whether anything mattered to Madrid.

It gave him another opening, a chance to shock the old man again.  So he told him how he really liked fucking.  Old Boston almost choked at that.  It was just bad luck that the girl walked in just as he said it.  He hadn’t meant for her to hear that, it wasn’t quite right somehow.  And give Boston credit, he kinda recovered real quick and real smooth changed the subject immediately.  Obviously to try and spare the girl’s blushes.  Thoughtful, he liked that.

But that devil was still sitting on his shoulder ’cos when the girl said goodnight and the old man was obviously trying to remind her to lock her door, well, he just couldn’t resist.  Said the old man meant for her to lock it ’cos there was a real bad hombre in the house.  But he wasn’t proud of himself.  Didn’t think old Boston looked too impressed either.  Boston went on up and there was no way he was staying down here with the old man, who was looking daggers at him.  So he stood up and went upstairs too.

He was walking softly to his room when he bumped into the girl.  He saw the fear in her eyes.  She knew who he was, had obviously known all along the way she’d been acting since she first picked them up from the stage.  Poor kid, she was trembling. 

“Oh, you made me jump, Johnny, I didn’t hear you.”  The girl sounded very nervous.

He said softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.  I was just turning in.”  Then he added gently, “There’s no need to be afraid of me, Teresa.  I ain’t gonna hurt you. You can sleep sound and you really don’t need to worry about locking your door.  You’re safe, I promise.  G’night.”

She looked at him in confusion and he just smiled at her and turned into his room and shut the door. 

God, he was so tired and the bed looked real inviting.  He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept in one, the last time he’d had a woman and that was too long ago.  And right now, he was too tired for that as well.  He placed his gun carefully under the pillow and put another one next to the bed and then shrugged himself out of his clothes.  The sheets felt wonderfully crisp and cool against his naked body.  They smelled faintly of lavender he thought.  He could hear someone walking around outside, but he recognised the footsteps as the old man’s.  Cattle were lowing gently in the distance and he felt more comfortable than he’d felt in a very long time.  Tomorrow might be interesting, perhaps he would go and look for Pardee.  It was the one aspect of the whole thing that worried him.  He knew Pardee’s methods and although he didn’t care about the old man, he wouldn’t like anything to happen to the girl or the cook he’d seen in the kitchen.  No women deserved the things that Pardee and his men were known to do. 

If only he could sleep tonight.  He was so very tired, perhaps, just for once his demons would leave him alone to sleep undisturbed.  But somehow he doubted it.

Part Five

The demons didn’t leave him alone.  There was never any escape.  However tired he was, they still came visiting in the night.  Faces of men he’d killed.  Faces of his mother’s men.  Memories of childhood – things he never wanted to think of.  The killings were better than those memories.

And so he woke early as the golden dawn spread across the distant mountains.  He left the warmth of the bed and knelt naked at the window.  That funny shaped peak he’d noticed yesterday was suddenly flushed with pink as the sun hovered, momentarily partly hidden. And then the sun came full up, triumphant and brilliant like it was welcoming the start of a new day.  Touched with dew, everything looked clean and fresh.  Everything except him, he thought.  He just felt old and tired and wondered if revenge was worth the effort of coming here.  And what would he do with a thousand dollars anyway? 

He could buy a small piece of land, set up on his own.  But the challengers would find him.  They’d still come looking, whatever he did they were going to keep coming.  And it was only a question of time before one of them was fast enough and he could finally keep his appointment with his old friend.  No, he’d just fritter the money away.  Maybe get a decent horse, but he’d spend the rest on women.  Getting himself fucked as often as possible.  It was only then he could forget his demons.  That brief spasm of pleasure when everything else could be forgotten.  But it didn’t last long enough and he could never get enough of it ’cos apart from when he was fucking, life was just a living hell.  He wished he’d had a chance of a couple of days in town before coming out here.  He needed a woman.  Hell, his body was demanding a woman.  But he had no chance of finding one out here.  He’d have to think of an excuse to ride into town.

He couldn’t believe that the old man thought he’d fall for that piece of paper and the promise of one third of all that land.  He’d seen the look in the old man’s eyes.  The look that said he just wanted Madrid to get the hell out.  He’d seen the contempt.  But he’d also seen the fear, and that really pleased him.  He knew he’d had the old man on the run the previous evening.  Now he could look forward to scaring the shit out of him.  And then, when he had the old man just where he wanted him, well then he would kill him.  He was looking forward to it, pulling the trigger.  He certainly hadn’t heard anything to make him change his mind.  But he’d like to see the old man beg.  That would make everything worthwhile.  He would finally achieve what he had set out to do and then he could die happy.  Because then, he would have nothing left to live for.

He shivered at the open window.  The cold air had cooled his body, and it’s early morning desires, he noticed with a grin.  It would keep till he got to town.  He padded softly back to his bed and eased himself back under the covers.  He could still see his mountain from the bed.  His mountain, how fucking stupid was that?  Funny though, the peak drew his eye, almost like it was an old friend.

He couldn’t believe that old Boston would stop around long.  He still found it hard to believe they could be related.  They sure didn’t look alike, or smell alike.  Still, at least the man had been thoughtful when the girl had been embarrassed the previous night.  He felt kinda bad about that.  None of this was her fault.  Wasn’t old Boston’s fault either, but hell, anyone who dressed like that, well they were asking to be laughed at.  He just couldn’t stop himself.  Perhaps he’d pay him an early morning visit.  He was probably the type to lie in bed half the morning.  Probably even had fancy clothes to sleep in.  Why anyone needed clothes for sleeping was a mystery to him.  They would just get in the way of whatever a man might feel like doing.

But what the hell should he do about Pardee?  He knew Pardee was fast.  He’d seen him in action.  But he knew he was faster.  Oh he could take Pardee, no problem, but did he want to?  He knew what Pardee would do to the old man if he was taken alive.  Well, serve him right.  A very slow, painful death.  That would be justice for the living death of Madrid.  And the life his mother had been forced to lead.  But old Boston, he might smell like a woman and dress real odd, but that was no reason to kill a man.  But Pardee would really enjoy himself with old Boston.

And then there was the girl.  And the cook.  Pardee and his men would take turns at ’em, over and over and then over again.  All watching and laughing.  And if the mood took ’em they might cut the women too.  And finally, when the women were almost dead, Pardee’s men would finish them off.  Shit, shit, shit!

The old man was one thing, but the others, well, they didn’t deserve that end.  No woman deserved that end and not many men deserved a Pardee end.  Some maybe, but not many and certainly not old Boston.  Oh fuck it.  He’d have to do something.  But he’d be damned if he’d leave the old man to enjoy his ranch.  He would have to die, when the time was right, but he’d keep for now.  In the meantime, he could have fun riling the old man.  Get him on the run, get him scared. 

He could hear the hands moving about in the barns and corrals now, clattering buckets as they called out to each other.  He supposed he ought to get up but it was good to lie in a decent bed for once, even if he was alone.  Still, it might be fun to go and rouse old Boston.  He was probably still asleep, yeah, go and wake him up.  Catch him while he was half asleep, people gave themselves away then and maybe he could learn a little more about this supposed brother.  Just the word made him want to laugh again.  Like he’d own to him. 

He swung his legs from the bed and bent and picked up his things from where he’d dumped them the night before.  Pulling on his trousers he found he still needed to do his belt up a couple of extra notches.  God, he really had gotten thin in that damn prison.  What little food there was had been barely edible, made him gag trying to get it down.  But it was the rats and lice which had been the worst bit.  Lice, rats, fleas and cockroaches.  To go from that to all this comfort amused him, just for once he’d allow himself to enjoy the little bit of luxury.  He pulled on one of his boots and carrying the other boot and his shirt he headed for Boston’s room.

He burst in, pulling on his shirt, he didn’t want Boston to see how thin he was.  But to his surprise the man was already up, shaving by the looks of it.  And what the hell was he wearing?  Plaid pants!  What sort of man wore plaid pants?  Madre de Dios. 

“I always sleep well,” he lied smoothly to Boston’s question.   But God, how he wished it was true.   Bet old Boston sleeps well.  Bet he’s never had a day’s hardship in his life.  Never had nights on end with hunger like a rat gnawing away at his stomach.  Hell, not just nights on end, years on end as a kid.

And shit, there was another of those gold pieces.  Fancy leaving it lying around.  Old Boston’s got a lot to learn about gold pieces.  Hell, has he got so much money he really doesn’t care?  How could a man not care about that much money?  Sure I’ll keep it, it’ll pay for a few fucks.

How many hats has he got, for Christ’s sake?  This is even worse than the one he had on yesterday.  No I fuckin’ don’t give the old man too much credit, you sure got that right Boston.  I wouldn’t trust the bastard an inch.  An’ if old Boston had any sense he wouldn’t trust him either. 

“Well, would you look at this!”  Old Boston all smarted up with some guy in fancy uniform and another fucking hat.  “You’re very pretty!”  That should rile old Boston.  Yep, and look, don’t he hate me touching his things.  Probably thinks I got lice.  Least I don’t stink like he does. 

Wonder what unit he was in?   Oh, it’s the girl comin’ in now.  Oh boy, he really does worry about people knockin’.  I’ll remember now never to knock, whatever he might be doing.  That’ll get him. 

Still, I’ll make sure I get to the corral first, make sure I get the best horse.  Screw whatever I can out of Murdoch Lancer.  Oh boy, that’s rich, the girl don’t like his clothes any better than I do and he’s asking what’s wrong with them, like he really doesn’t know.

“Well, if you’re planning on staying in these parts, plaid just ain’t the style.”

So he’s still planning on staying.  I wonder why.  He sure don’t fit in out here and he obviously lives it up back in Boston.  It just don’t make sense.  He’s runnin’ from something but I bet it ain’t the law.  Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to tell him what I got in mind is pretty much a one man deal.  Too right he’s going to be left out.  It’s better than the alternative.

“Better left out, than in some ditch with ants crawlin’ cross your eyeballs.  That don’t photograph too well.”

Buttoning his shirt he went on downstairs and straight out to the corral without stopping to get something to eat.  He wanted to ensure he got first pick of these horses.  He spotted the palomino immediately and knew it was the horse for him.  It was certainly a horse that would get him noticed when he rode into any town.  A good looking horse like that could only add to his image and reputation.  It amused him that he was known for always taking several women to bed to celebrate after a gunfight.  No one was to know that it was just to try and blot out the memory.  And several was impersonal, it made no real demands on his emotions.  But yeah, a real good looking horse would be another thing to be known for.  Other than the speed of his draw.  And hell, in this game reputation was all.

The horse was certainly wild.  Independent, he liked that but he knew he could handle the animal.  You just needed the right touch and he knew he had that.  That, and his fast draw were really all he did have.  Although women seemed to like him too.  Yeah, he was good at keeping women happy, so there were three things he was good at.  But that was pretty much it.  He wasn’t much of a one for talking.  He’d spent too much time alone, even when he was a kid he’d had no one to talk to.  And anyway, he could never think of anything to say except when he was trying to get people riled.  He had a real smart mouth then.  He used it to his advantage.  A real smart mouth could get a man so riled he’d draw his gun on Madrid.  And then Madrid could kill them and say it was self defence.  And the law couldn’t touch him and that amused him too.

He sat out the bucks, determined not to come off in front of the old man’s ranch hands.  His pride ensured that he stayed glued to that saddle.  No horse was going to make him look less than impressive in front of all these cowhands.  He would have their respect and nothing would stand in his way.  Eventually the palomino gave in, finally accepting who was master and he spoke soothingly to it as they loped around the corral.  Yeah, a real good horse. 

He could see Boston standing by the girl, who had been perched on the fence watching.  As he rode over she called to him, delighted that he’d mastered the horse.  He could never think of it as “breaking.”   The idea of breaking anything’s spirits made him cringe.  Enough people had tried to break him when he was a kid and he wouldn’t inflict that on anything or anybody.

“That’s a good animal,” he started to say when old Boston pushed in front of him to mount the horse.  He started to warn Boston against it, but hell, if he wanted to kill himself that was his business.  But shit, it looked like old Boston really could ride.  Oh boy, look at those cow hands scatter.  Well, seemed like there was more to this gringo than he’d given him credit for.  He couldn’t help smiling as he watched the man take the palomino over the buckboard in a final impressive jump before heading back towards the fence where the girl still sat.   Unusually, Johnny heard himself praising the man’s ability, acknowledging that Boston “sure could ride.”  But neither could he resist adding that it didn’t mean Boston was ready to face Day Pardee.  And then, claiming his horse back he rode off, telling the girl that he was going to town to break up one those gold pieces.  And boy, did he know what he was going to spend it on too.

Part Six

He rode cautiously into the town, keeping a very careful watch on the roofs and darker alleyways.  Anywhere that offered a hiding place for a would-be bushwhacker.  What he wanted more than anything was to go and get himself a woman.  He knew Pardee would be around somewhere, but he would keep.  Right now, he needed a very different sort of release.  The sound of laughing and gunfire, though, told him that having a woman might yet have to wait a while.  The gunfire was unsettling his horse and then he saw an old Mexican man pleading with a bunch of men.   They seemed to be shooting holes at the buckets the man carried on a yoke around his neck.

Dios, he hated bullies.  And they looked a real mean bunch.  Had to be Pardee’s men.  That woman would definitely have to wait.  He took the bucket from the old man and walked towards the men who were standing around outside the saloon.  One of them shot another hole in the bucket as he led the palomino.  So they wanted to play, well that was just fine with him.  It was what he did best.  He tied the nervous horse and carried on walking slowly towards them, stopping a short distance away.

“You got bad manners.” 

The group of men stared back at him without expression, until one of them said, “You gonna teach us some?”

“Maybe.”

“I do believe we got us a hard one here,” said the largest of the bullies.

Well you sure got that right, probably the only thing you did ever get right.  One of the other men was saying something about making a good dog out of him.  Johnny smiled slightly at that and said, “Ok.”

The man stared at him and said, “That’s my water, bring it here.”

Johnny just smiled lazily as one of the men said something about dogs that didn’t fetch should be taught a lesson. He stared coolly then at the man who was claiming he meant to have the water for his bath.  He’d be easy to rile, he looked to have a real short fuse.  So Johnny just said, “I doubt it.”

Yep, that got him riled.  And as the man responded angrily, Johnny said, “Unless they got bathtubs in hell.”  And chucking the bucket at the man he drew his gun.  He had no intention of shooting, it was just a demonstration.  But it seemed that while he was chucking the bucket, the fat bully had gotten his gun clear too.  And now the bully was telling him that he was going to shoot him.  Well, that could be interesting.

Johnny squinted up at the sun.  “Well, I picked a good day for it.”   

“You’d better believe me sonny boy.”

Johnny smiled, a slow cold smile.  “I do, I do.  Only question is, how many of you am I taking with me?”    

As one of the men called to the bully to take him down, another voice broke in, the one Johnny had been waiting for.  He’d known he was nearby, knew he never went any distance without his thugs.

“I wouldn’t.  Been a long time Johnny Madrid.”

Johnny smiled.  “Yeah, a long time.” 

As he went into the bar with the other man, Pardee asked, “Madrid, are you looking for me?”

“No.  But I had a feelin’ I’d find you.”

He sat down at the table with Pardee and glanced at an Indian who had positioned himself close by with a rifle.  Typical Pardee, needs someone to make him look like the big man.  Johnny poured himself a tequila from the bottle.  He knew Pardee was curious, hell, more than curious.  Pardee was nervous too, he could see it in his eyes.  Worrying that Madrid was gunning for him.  It would be interesting to see what sort of deal Pardee would offer.  Least ways he’d get to find out what Pardee was up to.  Now Pardee was asking what his business here was.

“I’m just looking.”

“For your best shot?”

Here it came.  Pardee telling him he could use him.  He knew Pardee would try and get him on side.  He made Pardee way too nervous.  The thought amused him.

“You ain’t already tied up with someone else are you?”

Yep, Pardee was real nervous.  Johnny shook his head slightly.  “No.  I said I’d think about it and I will.”  He would too, but not in the way Pardee thought he meant.

Pardee looked at him suspiciously and went to call for more tequila. 

The fat bully walked in.  “That girl from Lancer just drove in.  Got some fancy dan with her, too.”

He listened as Pardee told the men to lean on the man.  It had to be Boston, no one else fitted that description.  This could be interesting, but he sure couldn’t afford for them to know that he knew “the fancy dan.”

Pardee’s voice broke into his thoughts.  “Don’t take too long John.  You might miss all the fun.”

Johnny could imagine what Pardee’s idea of fun was and just replied, “Yeah” before going back to turning things over in his head.  He really would have to do something about Pardee, if only for the girl’s sake.  He sighed to himself as he fiddled with the tequila bottle.  Nothing was ever straight forward.  He’d come here for revenge and now it looked as though he was going to get dragged into a battle over a bit of land he didn’t care about, where the only winner might be a man he hated.  And probably get himself killed into the bargain.  He was ready for death, had been for a long time, but he hated to think of Murdoch Lancer coming out on top.  But that sort of man always came out on top.  He’d have to think of some way of ensuring that if he did wind up dead, it would haunt Murdoch Lancer.  In some ways that might be a more fitting punishment than just killing him.  But in the meantime he had to think of a way to defeat Pardee.

He got slowly to his feet and went and sat outside with his feet up.  He thought he’d better see what they had in store for old Boston in case it got out of hand.  But otherwise he would stay put, if Boston could handle it.  Which he doubted.

He could hear the fight.  Then he saw the girl come tearing across the street to him.  He half stood.  He really didn’t want to be seen talking to her.  Luckily, Pardee and the rest of his men had ridden out.

“Johnny!  It’s Scott.”  She stood there, distressed.  Expecting him to help.

“Well, that figured,” he said casually.

“Aren’t you going to help him?”

“Nope.”  He sat back in his chair.  Not letting any expression show on his face.  She was staring at him now with open disgust.  Then she turned and ran back towards the store.  A second later old Boston came flying through the door and ended up in the dirt on the street.  Johnny stood and leaned casually, watching to see what happened next.  But Pardee’s men just stalked past Boston, straightening their hats as they went.  He watched as Boston struggled to his feet and the two of them locked eyes.  Johnny just stared, meeting his gaze unflinchingly before Boston turned away and returned to the store.

God only knew what they must both think of him now.  But he didn’t care, although he’d rather not have upset the girl, but it couldn’t be helped.  He returned to the saloon and sat with a glass of tequila.  His restless fingers tapped the table.  Pardee would have to be stopped.  Otherwise a lot of people were going to get hurt.  Shit.  It looked like he would have to wait a while longer for a woman.  Life never was fair, all he wanted was a fuck.  Instead, he was probably going to get himself killed for some people he didn’t care about and didn’t want to know.  Why did he do these things?  He knew he was a cold hearted bastard.  Did things he wouldn’t want anyone to know about.  And then, sometimes, he would go and do something that he knew was damn stupid.  Like getting involved in that revolution.  Or this.

He tossed down the last of his drink and went outside to his horse.  He’d better get back, see what the hell was going on at the ranch.  Stop Boston from doing anything too stupid, though why he should bother, he really didn’t know.  After all, the man wore plaid pants, for God’s sake.  And he smelled like a woman. 

He was riding alongside the river when he spotted the two of them ahead.  Boston was obviously cleaning himself up.  He smiled to himself.  Bet he don’t smell so sweet now.  Boston stood staring at him now.  Boy, he does look mad.  He gave a lazy smile and drawled, “I told you to stay out of it.”

“Well you did anyway.”

Yep, he’s real mad.    Bit of a bruise there too. 

Suddenly Boston threw a punch which sent him reeling down the bank to the river.  Shit, that hurt.  He didn’t think Boston had it in him to hit that hard.  And now Boston was calling him brother, well fuck that.  He tore back up the bank, his own fists flying now.  “Don’t you call me brother ’cos we share that old man’s blood!”  He landed a punch of his own on Boston, cursing ’cos his punch wasn’t as hard as the one Boston had thrown.  Now the girl was screaming at them to stop, telling them brothers shouldn’t fight.  Brothers!  He didn’t need no brother.  Didn’t want one.  ’Specially one who smelled like Boston and looked like a fancy dan.  They weren’t brothers.  He didn’t need anyone.

But trust old Boston.  He was trying to be real smooth now, saying they should be able to get along.  He ignored Boston and retrieved his hat.  God, now Boston was saying they’d both come for the same reason.  Well, he didn’t know why the fuck Boston had come but he knew it wasn’t the same reason as him.  But he wasn’t going to mention revenge.  He just took a coin from his pocket.  “That’s why I came.”

“The money?”

“What else.”

“Sorry, my mistake,” said Boston smoothly.  But he kinda looked, what exactly?  Contemptuous, but also like he was kinda disappointed.  Why would he look like that?  For some reason he felt the need to say something else.

“Why do you think I came?  Out of love for Murdoch Lancer?”  He had to say something about what the bastard had done to his mother.  Couldn’t leave it unsaid.  The words were pouring out, filled with the hatred that had eaten away at him for years.

Now the girl was telling him he was all wrong.  Like she’d know anything!  Some gambler, she said.  Well, he sure as hell didn’t remember any gambler.  And his mother wouldn’t have lied to him.  Her father was a friend of Murdoch Lancer, he would have covered for him.  Wouldn’t want him to look bad.  Dios, he was sick of lies.  Why was he even thinking of helping these people?  But God, it wasn’t the girl’s fault.

The sounding of a man shouting and galloping back towards the ranch caught his attention.  The man was screaming, hysterical, calling about something dreadful happening.  Johnny spurred his horse into action and raced back to the ranch where the hand was sobbing that he had been to Caspar’s place, whoever Caspar might be.  That Caspar was dead.

Boston was there now and joined him with the rest of the men as they raced to a small homestead.  As they clattered into the yard, the first thing they saw was the body, hanging.  A clear message from Pardee.   Some of the men were crossing themselves.  Johnny rode over to join the group cutting the man down.  It was obvious that Pardee was tiring of burning fields and was moving the action up a notch.  Getting ready for a big push.

He watched the bastard Lancer, he couldn’t think of him as a father, walk to the homestead calling to someone called Maria.  He couldn’t help but wonder if saying that name didn’t bring back memories to the man.  Of another Maria, one he had treated appallingly.  He watched as the man recoiled in horror from whatever lay inside.

He walked over, to see what the hell Pardee’s men had done and wasn’t surprised at the sight that met his eyes.  The naked and mutilated body of a woman lay just inside the door.  And he knew, that whatever it cost, he would have to stop Pardee.  He couldn’t allow it to happen to the girl and the cook.  But he cursed Murdoch Lancer for not having sent the women away to safety.  Was he really so stupid he couldn’t see what type of men he was dealing with?  Or was he so arrogant he believed he could beat them?   And that was it.  The man really was just an arrogant, selfish bastard who cared for nothing except his fucking ranch.

He rode back with the men in silence.  He listened as Boston outlined some stupid damn plan to follow the tracks.  Yeah, like that would work.  Pardee was a slippery bastard and shouldn’t be underestimated.

Back at the ranch he watched as Boston went rushing about the room, pulling on a jacket, picking up gloves.  What the hell was it with Boston and gloves?  The man always seemed to be fiddling with damn gloves.  Afraid of getting his hands dirty.  He felt angry now.  “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“We can talk on the way.”

So he pointed out that Boston was probably doing exactly what Pardee wanted him to do.  And Boston turned to the old man, asking him to make the decision because he called the tune.  Johnny wanted to puke at the thought, the old man calling the tune.  And he heard the triumph in the old man’s voice as he sided with Boston, well that figured too.

“Coming?”  The question from Boston caught him off guard and he just turned away.  Boston shrugged and walked out.

Now he felt the old man looking at him, asking if he was going.  No one was going to order him around.  Then the old man was virtually suggesting he’d joined up with Pardee.  Looking at him with contempt.

Johnny stared down at his boots, and then looked back up and said softly, “Is that what you think of me?”

And the old man looked almost thrown by the question and said, “I don’t know what to think of you.”

And spitting out the words that he could think what he liked, Johnny stormed out of the room, saying he wasn’t any good at taking orders.

Specially bad ones, he thought sourly as he rode back towards town.  How long would Boston be gone?  Would Pardee’s men ambush them?  Or would, as he suspected, Pardee bring his men back to the town and attack the ranch at dawn when he thought there wouldn’t be many people there?  Only trouble with that was that Pardee would still surround the place before an attack and his men still outnumbered the ones at the ranch, even assuming Boston did get back in time.  But if Pardee’s men were in disarray and attacking in a bunch, they’d be a lot easier to pick off.

He sighed, sometimes he wished he wasn’t quite so smart.  He could see the way this line of thought was taking him.  But there was no way he could let Pardee take the ranch with the women there.   But the thought of Murdoch Lancer surviving really pissed him off too. 

Shit Madrid, he spoke aloud to himself, if you survive just kill him and have done with it, straight after.  But he knew he probably wouldn’t survive, not if he had all of Pardee’s men chasing him.  But at least, he thought with a grin, when they cut me down it’ll be in full view of the old man, that sure will haunt him.  Hell, it’ll be the perfect revenge.  Me, being cut down to save his precious ranch.  Either way, I win.

He pulled his horse up briefly, ‘cos of course that was just it.  He really didn’t care any more if he lived or died.  He felt too old and too tired.  It was like the firing squad, this way he could go without losing his dignity or his reputation.  But this was even better, because it was of his choosing.

He rode on into the town, figuring he had a couple of hours before Pardee would be back.  And he knew exactly what he was going to do with those two hours, and not before time.  Ten minutes later he was heading up the stairs at the back of the saloon, pulling a giggling blonde by the hand after him.

A couple of hours later he stood holding a beer waiting for Pardee’s men to return.  He heard them before he could see them, galloping in on their horses.  Pardee walked up to him, asked him if he’d made his mind up yet.  And he could honestly say yes, because he had made his mind up.  He knew what he had to do.

He joined the men as they rode out shortly later, to have breakfast at the Lancer ranch, Pardee had said.  Well, Pardee, you sure got a shock coming. 

It promised to be a beautiful day.   The first fingers of dawn were stretching across the eastern sky, which was tinged with the colour of apricots.  The air smelled new and clean, yeah, it was a beautiful day to die.

They pulled up on a hill overlooking the ranch and Pardee started giving his men directions before walking over to the ridge to look across to the white hacienda.  Johnny walked over towards him and in answer to Pardee’s question about what he wanted, he just replied softly, “It’s not Madrid.”

And then he told him, “This is my land and I want you off it.”

He heard Coley go for his gun but he beat him easily to the draw and then fired at Pardee before leaping back on his horse as Pardee yelled at his men to stop him.

Johnny kicked his horse into action and galloped straight down the hillside, marvelling at how sure footed the animal was.  He really was a good horse.  It struck him as quite funny that it was a pretty dumb thing to be thinking about just then.  He could hear the men charging after him and he turned periodically to fire at them.  He was amazed he was still going.  He could see the men on the roof of the hacienda.  Good, he found he was glad that Boston had got back safe, even if he did dress kinda odd.  Hell, Boston even seemed to have enough sense to tell the men to hold their fire until they were in range.  He didn’t know why he thought that Boston would be in charge, but there was something about the man. . .

He headed the horse at the fence and slipped slightly on landing but they were almost there now.  Surely one of Pardee’s men would hit him. 

It felt like an express train throwing him from the saddle and then the heat seared through his flesh as he dropped to the ground with a thud.  He felt a huge sense of relief, peace almost.

Shit, it hurt, he came round to see chaos around him.  He was meant to be dead, he thought bitterly.  He didn’t know if he could get to his gun.  He struggled to sit up as pain seared through him.  He managed to get a shot or two off and was struggling to crawl away when he was aware of Boston dragging him to the shelter of a tree.  And although he wasn’t seeing too good now, he could make out Boston firing off his rifle at all comers.  The man really could shoot too, but God he felt so tired.  He could feel the blood soaking everything now.  He thought blood was warm but he was feeling very cold.  

Boston was standing in front of him, but he looked real blurred.  Saying something about just about giving up on him, but his voice sounded far away.  Suddenly it was very important that Boston should understand he’d had a plan of his own.  He didn’t want Boston to think he’d joined Pardee, that he was like Pardee.

He struggled to get to his feet.  Jesus, it was hurting now.  He wished it was all over.  He was so cold.  So very cold.

Part Seven

Doc Sam Jenkins sat in his buggy on the northern ridge overlooking the Lancer ranch.  He’d been driving back to town when he’d heard the sounds of a gun battle coming from his old friend’s land.  Urging his horse on, he’d driven quickly to the good vantage point and tried to see through the gun smoke that was rising from around the sprawling hacienda.  All he could do was pray that Murdoch’s men would triumph.  That, and bide his time until the battle was over and he could see who needed his help.

This fight had been a long time coming and in some ways it seemed almost a relief that things would finally be resolved.  One way or the other.  He just hoped to God that Murdoch and Teresa were safe.   It was a scene of chaos below.  Men riding in all directions, looking like ants from where he sat watching.  But it looked as though they were being put to flight.  God, he hoped so.

There seemed to be less shooting now.  And then suddenly the guns fell silent.  All he could hear was the sound of thundering hooves echoing across the valley.  He cracked the whip, stirring his horse forward, and drove towards the house.  The bodies of men lay sprawled on the ground like rag dolls.  Another hung limply across the balustrades of an upper balcony.  He spotted Cipriano moving among those who remained standing and hurried towards him, calling out, “Who needs me most?”

Cipriano looked at him impassively and said, “Inside, upstairs.  You are needed there.”

He ran to the house and hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  Again praying Murdoch and Teresa were safe.  He heard movement and voices from one of the rooms down the corridor and hurried in, before stopping abruptly at the scene in front of him.

His old friend seemed to be vomiting and Teresa and a young man he didn’t recognise were staring down at a dark haired figure on the bed.  He moved rapidly across the room and stopped abruptly as he saw the back of the wounded man.  He was obviously young and he was bleeding profusely, but his back was a mass of dreadful scars.

Murdoch’s voice broke in, sounding very shaky, “Sam, those scars, how old are they?”

He looked at his friend, and before answering the question said, “Teresa, go and bring me some soap and water, quickly.”  He looked again at the young man’s back, before turning to Murdoch as he opened his bag.  “I’d say they’ve occurred over a number of years from very early childhood.  You can see where the skin has pulled as he’s grown.  Some of them might have been inflicted when he was as young as five or six.  In places it’s as though the skin has been flayed off completely.”  He paused, staring down once more at the young man’s back. “To be honest, I’d say it’s the worst abuse I’ve ever seen.  Who the hell is he anyway?  He’s not one of your men, is he one of Pardee’s?  He’s in bad shape.”

He looked again at Murdoch, who seemed to be struggling to speak.  Then the big man said hoarsely, “No, not one of Pardee’s men.  It’s John.  He came home.”

Sam was too shocked to speak for a second.  He busied himself with getting out the things he would need to remove the bullet.  A torrent of thoughts poured through his head, but the one that recurred was that this was Johnny Madrid.  Not John Lancer.  He tried to think what best to say.  When he had heard that Teresa had sent for Murdoch’s sons when the man had been laid up with Pardee’s bullet, he had hoped that this particular young man wouldn’t come home.  He could only bring trouble and his old friend didn’t need any more of that.

He looked across at the tall, fair haired man standing by the bed.  “I take it then that you’re Scott.  Welcome home.”

“Some welcome,” he responded.

Sam nodded sadly.  “Well, do me a favour and take Murdoch downstairs and pour him a large Scotch.  Leave me to get on with my work here.  Teresa will help me, it won’t be the first time.”  He glanced across at Murdoch, who was still standing in the corner looking shaken.  “Go on, Murdoch.  Go with Scott now.  I’ll look after John.”

Teresa came in with cloths, and water, but she looked pale and drawn.  Sam sighed.  The last few months had been a dreadful time for her.  Losing her father, having to nurse Murdoch and now this.  He busied himself trying to staunch the flow of blood and to clean the area so he could get a better look at the wound.

“Will...  will he be all right?”

He glanced at the girl.  “It doesn’t look good.  And he’s lost a lot of blood.  He’s also very thin, he looks malnourished.  It’s hard to tell how strong he is.  It’s going to be touch and go.”

She bit her lip and he could see she was trying not to cry.  “How could somebody cause those scars on a child?  Who would do such a thing?”

He just shook his head and continued his work, trying to find how deep the damn bullet was.  It had torn through the muscle and tissue of the back, he just had to find it.  But he was wondering too about the scars.  Who the hell had beaten a boy to that extent?  And he had the unpleasant feeling that whipping wasn’t probably all this young man had endured.  In his experience, that level of abuse didn’t end with beatings.  It sickened him and he thought sadly that this must be why John Lancer  had turned into Johnny Madrid.

But when he thought of Madrid he couldn’t forget the words he had heard in a saloon when he sat with Murdoch and Paul one evening, so long ago, having a drink.  A man had told of how he had seen Madrid “gut shoot” another man and then stand over him, smiling, while the man died slowly.  The teller had even said that when the man had tried to get his hand to his gun, Madrid had shot him in the hand, rather than finishing him off quickly.  Sam shuddered at the memory.  He had thought then that Madrid had sounded an evil and sadistic bastard.  And the worst thing had been to learn that Madrid was none other than his old friend’s long lost son.

He glanced over at Teresa, who was still struggling not to cry.  He had to ask, had to know.   “What’s he like?”

The girl hesitated, uncertain it seemed.  “I’m not sure.”  She paused as if unsure of how to express herself.  “He’s strange.  He frightened me at first but then, later, he seemed different, kind almost.  It was like he was two people.  Two totally different people.  He was horrible the first night at dinner.  And he was very rude to Murdoch and to Scott.  He kept calling Scott, Boston, with a real sneer.   And I was really scared of him and some of the things he was saying were horrible.  But when they weren’t there, he was totally different, nice and polite and, well, gentle.  And he smiled at me and it was so different to how he’d been before.”

With a grunt of triumph, he finally found the bullet and removed it.   Then he set about trying to stitch his patient back together.   “I’m almost ready for the bandages now, Teresa.”

She passed them over and then blurted out, “I don’t think he’s all bad, like people say.  I,  I’d like to get to know him.  At least I think I would.   His eyes were different when he smiled, he looked younger then.  Kinder, somehow.”

Sam stared down at the unconscious man.  Man!  He looked very young at the moment, certainly didn’t look like a ruthless killer but...He couldn’t get the picture out of his head, of a young gunman smiling while watching someone slowly die.  He sighed again, the young man already looked flushed and his breathing was very shallow.  He doubted that any of them would have the chance to get to know him.  “Teresa, go and ask Scott to come and help me settle him in the bed.  I think you’d better go and get cold compresses ready, he doesn’t look too good.”

She hurried from the room and he set about finishing bandaging John, but he found it difficult to drag his eyes away from those scars.  The sound of footsteps brought his mind back to the job in hand and he looked up to see Scott.

“How’s Murdoch?” he asked Scott.

“In shock, I think.  It’s been one hell of a 24 hours.  Yesterday, one of his hands was murdered, Caspar I think his name was, and his wife, too, only…well, hers was particularly brutal.  Then we had the gun battle, and now this.”  He gestured towards John.  Scott moved quickly to help as Sam pushed pillows under John to prevent him lying on his back.  Then looking across at Sam he asked, “Will Johnny make it?”

He didn’t want to answer, instead he asked the same question that he’d asked Teresa.  “What’s he like?”

Scott looked surprised by the question but then seemed to ponder before answering slowly.  “He’s an enigma.  He was incredibly rude to Murdoch, but it was almost as though he was trying to provoke him.  And he doesn’t appear to have had any education to speak of but he’s obviously very smart.  But there’s something about him and I don’t know what it is.  Something I can’t put my finger on but I just think there’s more to him than meets the eye.

“What he did today was crazy.  It was as though he was using himself as a target to draw the fire of all Pardee’s men.  I cannot believe he is so stupid as not to realise he was bound to be shot.  It was almost like he was sacrificing himself, it just made so sense, it was totally reckless.  And although I think he’d make it difficult for anyone to get to know him, I suspect it would be worth the effort.”

The young man looked at Sam and repeated his question, “So, is he going to make it?”

Sam looked at Scott.  He liked what he saw.  A sombre, serious young man, a little too thin and pale perhaps, but with an open face.  Probably a man you could depend on in a crisis.  A man who deserved a straight answer.  “I doubt it.  He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s already starting a fever.  To be quite honest I don’t think he has much of a chance.  I’m sorry.”

He knew his words were inadequate, that Scott looked distressed.  It surprised him.  The man had only just met this strange brother, he couldn’t have formed an attachment in such a short period of time – particularly to a man like Madrid.

Scott said softly, “I hope you’re wrong, Dr Jenkins, like I said, I think he’s worth getting to know and I want to have the opportunity.”

Sam didn’t voice his thought that Madrid probably wasn’t the sort of man that anyone would want to get to know.  He felt puzzled, though, by the reactions of both Scott and Teresa to his young patient.  He wondered what Murdoch’s reaction was to John.  Well, no time like the present, he’d better go and talk to Murdoch.

Scott said, “I’ll stay with him for a while, Dr Jenkins.  Is Teresa bringing compresses?”

“Yes.  And it’s Sam, not Dr Jenkins!  I’ll go and see your father and I’ll come back up for another look at John before I leave.”

Sam left Scott and hurried down to the great room where he found his old friend nursing a very large whisky, staring out of the large window over the ranch.  Murdoch turned to face him, still looking ashen and shaken.  “How is he, Sam?”

“Not good.  I’m sorry, Murdoch, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Those scars, Sam.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  How could anyone do that to a child?  And how could that toddler we both remember change into Madrid?  I’m still telling myself that it’s not him.  That Pinkertons got it wrong.  Do you remember John’s smile, Sam?  There’s no trace of that smile in that young man upstairs.”

“So what is that young man like?”

Murdoch snorted.  “Rude, foul mouthed, truculent, cold, insolent.  Shall I go on?”

“But?” prompted Sam, gently.

“I just don’t know, Sam.  Yesterday, he and I fell out.. . Fell out, that’s all we have done!  Anyway, we had a falling out over the way the situation should be handled.  I more or less accused him of joining Pardee and the look he gave me.  Just for a second, I could swear that I’d hurt him with the accusation.  But then the look was gone and I thought maybe I’d imagined it.  And as for today, well, I don’t know what the hell he was doing today.  It was the most reckless and suicidal act I’ve ever seen.  Teresa said he was coming back to us, but I don’t know.  He seemed to be drawing all the fire on himself as he rode headlong towards the ranch.  He managed to bring all those men out together, it made it easier for us to deal with the attack.  To be honest, it probably saved us.  We’d have still been outnumbered if they had attacked on all sides and it could have been touch or go then.  But he started that ride a long way out, surely he’s not so arrogant as to think he could make it all the way to the ranch without being hit?

“I tell you something else, Sam.  That first night he was here, he scared the hell out of me.  And he kept trying to provoke me, but to what end?  It was obvious how much he hated me.  But if he hated me that much, why didn’t he just join Pardee?  I mean they’re two of a kind.  Both gunfighters.”

“What does Scott say about having a gunfighter for a brother?”

He noticed that Murdoch looked uncomfortable now.  “I haven’t told him about Madrid.”

Sam stared at him in disbelief.  “You haven’t told him?  You didn’t think that it was something he should know about?”

Murdoch interrupted, on the defensive now.  “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.  There hasn’t been any time.  The time hasn’t been right.”

Sam just shook his head.  “You mean, you hoped Madrid would leave and you wouldn’t have to explain him to Scott.  Well, I think you’re wrong.  However humiliating you find having Madrid for a son, you have to be honest with Scott at least.  Surely your son deserves the truth.  If it’s any consolation, Murdoch, I doubt Madrid will be around to be an embarrassment to you, I don’t think he’ll make it.”  It was a cruel thing to say, he knew, but he felt angrier with Murdoch than he could ever remember.

Murdoch raised his head and said, “I just don’t think I can handle Madrid and, yes, to be honest I’m not sure I want to.  He’s so hard, he scares the shit out of me, Sam.  You’ve seen him, but you haven’t met him.  And I can’t get the picture of him gut shooting that man out of my mind.  But why did he act like he did today?  None of it makes any sense.  And no, I don’t know what to say to Scott.  I’ve put it off, hoping I don’t have to explain.”

Sam felt a pang of sympathy for his friend.  Murdoch looked so defeated.  Sam sighed.  “Well, Murdoch, I really don’t see how he can make it and he’s so thin.  He certainly can’t have been eating regularly.”

“I suppose that would be the prison.  I don’t suppose he had much food there.”

Sam stared at him.  “What the hell are you talking about?  What prison?”

Murdoch looked distinctly uncomfortable now.  “I didn’t mention it?”

“No, Murdoch, you didn’t mention it.  Perhaps you’d like to fill me in.”

Murdoch sighed.  “When the Pinkerton man found him, John was in front of a firing squad in Mexico.  He was the next in line to be shot.  I understand he’d been held in one of their prisons before the... before the planned execution.”

“At times, Murdoch, I just don’t know what to make of you.  Didn’t it occur to you that I need to know as much about my patient as possible?  That it could help for me to know why he’s so malnourished?  Or don’t you care about him at all?  Dammit, he’s your son, whether you like it or not!”

“That’s just it, Sam, I don’t like it.  I hate it.  I am ashamed of everything he is.”

They stood glaring at each other, but a blood curdling scream shattered the silence.  They both took off up the stairs two at a time and ran to John’s room where Scott was trying to restrain the young man who was thrashing around, calling out in Spanish.  Teresa was trying to put damp cloths on him to cool his fever.  She raised frightened eyes to the men.  “He has a dreadful fever already, Sam.  How could he get a fever that quickly?  He suddenly gave that awful scream and started calling to his mother, telling her not to die.  It was awful to hear.”

Sam stared down at his patient.  He was burning up and muttering incoherently now, just odd words recognisable.  “Looks like I’ll be staying a while, Murdoch.  Teresa, you can stay and help me.  Scott, do me a favour and take Murdoch outside please.    Leave this to Teresa and me.”

Sam found the ensuing hours some of the most harrowing of his life.  In the end, afraid that the girl would understand the implications of some of the things that John was saying, he sent Teresa to cook a meal for the men.  His own Spanish was good enough to understand the fevered ramblings and he hated what he was hearing.  And although some seemed to be about gunfights, the worst were when John was reliving parts of his childhood.  He was just glad that Murdoch wasn’t there to hear the worst of it, for it turned his own stomach.  God only knew how Murdoch would cope with hearing these things.

What on earth had Maria done after leaving with the child?  Where had they lived?  And why on earth hadn’t she sent the child back to the ranch for his own safety?  It wasn’t as though she’d been the most attentive of mothers, he thought, somewhat sourly.  Never seemed to bother much with her young child.  He wondered how old John had been when Maria had died.  And from John’s garbled ramblings it was obvious that Maria was dead.  And at this rate, judging from the boy’s laboured breathing, the son would be joining his mother before very much longer.

But it seemed that John was stronger than he looked.   He was running a very high fever, but he was stubbornly clinging to life.  Sam laid more cool cloths over him, praying that the fever would break.  But he also prayed that if the young man had to die, that it would happen soon to put him out of whatever tormented world he was caught in.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Scott, bringing him a tray of food.  “How’s he doing?”

“Clinging on, but only just.  If this fever breaks, we have a chance.”  He watched as Scott laid a hand on John’s forehead.   He felt touched by the man’s obvious concern for the younger man, who lay fighting for his life in the bed.

“Not much of a homecoming for either of us,” Scott said softly.

“Is it home?”

Scott shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I was curious to meet Murdoch.  But I never expected a brother.  That was a real shock, especially one so different to anyone I’ve ever known before.  I have to say that he’s probably the rudest person I’ve ever met.  But I’ve told Murdoch I’ll stay.”  He smiled apologetically.  “To be honest, I said yes because it seemed like a challenge.  I have been bored stiff in Boston since returning from the war.  I don’t know, it...” he hesitated.  “I suppose the idea of being here interests me, it would certainly be different.   I think I need that.  I needed to get away from Boston.”

Sam nodded.  He liked Scott, he decided.  But he wondered what Scott would think if he knew the full story about his brother.  Still, it wasn’t his place to tell him.  Scott would find out at some stage and have to make his own mind up about the “enigma” of John Lancer.  Or Johnny Madrid. 

The sound of Murdoch’s heavy footsteps echoed along the landing and Sam watched as the big man entered the room.  He still looked drawn as he looked across the room at his wounded son.  “How is he, Sam?”

“Holding his own, just.  I’ve got no easy answers for you Murdoch.  Everything depends on how resilient he is and I have no way of knowing that.  But if it’s any comfort, he’s obviously survived a lot in his life so maybe he’s a lot stronger than he looks.  If the fever breaks he has a fighting chance.   I’ll do everything I can.”

Murdoch walked stiffly across the room, his leg obviously troubling him.  He stood at the edge of the bed and tentatively put his hand out to push the sweat-soaked hair from his son’s eyes.  He stood with his head bowed, leaving his hand on John’s head.  Then he looked across at Sam and said, “Save him, Sam, I don’t want to lose him.  He sacrificed himself today.  God knows why.  But I’ll never forget that image of him riding home with all of Pardee’s men behind him like the hounds of hell.  It’ll haunt me.  God help me.  That image will haunt me.”

Sam watched as Murdoch pulled a chair up by the bed.  “I’ll sit with him a while, Sam, you take a break.”

He walked downstairs and sat himself down in a comfortable chair.  It felt good just to relax for a few moments.  Not for too long though.

When he awoke he could see the first streaks of dawn in the sky.  He’d slept for far too long.  Looking across he saw Murdoch sleeping in the chair opposite him.  He left him to sleep and hurried upstairs to John’s room where he found Teresa sitting by the bed.  Scott was slumped asleep in the corner of the room, traces of exhaustion etched across his face.  Teresa smiled as he came in.  “I think the fever’s broken.  He’s cooler and he’s been quiet for some time.  He’s breathing a little better too.”

Sam felt his patient’s forehead.  He certainly felt cooler.  Checking his pulse, he was relieved to find that it felt stronger too. 

“Will he be all right, Sam?”

He smiled gently at Teresa’s hopeful face, “Well, it looks more hopeful now than a few hours ago.  But the fever could come back and there is a risk of infection, so it’s early days.  But yes, it is looking  better.”  He sighed.  He knew he should go and check on his other patients in the district.  He also had two expectant mothers he should see.  He didn’t want to leave his old friend, but it did seem that John was more stable now.  Perhaps he could be left for a few hours.  Teresa was competent, she’d cope for a while.

He hurried through his other visits before returning to the ranch later in the day.  He sighed with relief when he looked at his patient.  There was no sign of the fever.  John moaned in his sleep from pain when he moved but his breathing was better and the pulse was stronger.  Maybe he would awaken soon and take some proper fluids.

He returned again the next day and went to join Teresa in John’s room.  “How is he?  Has he taken some fluids yet?”

Teresa looked confused, “Well, he hasn’t woken up yet.”

Sam felt a stab of concern.  Dammit, the boy should have been awake, albeit briefly, long before now.  He should have been showing signs of coming round.  What the hell was wrong?  His pulse was stronger, his forehead was still cool.  It made no sense.  “What happens when you try and give him fluids?”

“He swallows them.  But he hasn’t opened his eyes at all.”

Why the hell not, he wondered.  He gave John another examination but there seemed to be little response.  Had he hit his head badly when he fell?  He opened John’s eyes and looked thoughtfully at the pupils before letting go.  A suspicion was starting to form in his mind.

“Teresa, what say you and I go and have a cup of coffee.  It’s been a long day and I could really use one now.  And if you’ve been here all this time, I’m sure you could use one too.”

“But what about Johnny?  I can’t leave him, what if he wakes up and there’s no one here?”

“Teresa, he looks sound asleep, I’m sure he’ll be fine for a while.”

Teresa walked with Sam to the door.  But then Sam put his finger to his lips and shook his head, signalling her not to speak.  “Come on, leave him be, Teresa, we’ll have a coffee.”  And he pushed the girl out of the room and shut the door firmly after her.

He stood absolutely motionless at the door and watched the dark figure in the bed.  He felt a stab of satisfaction as he saw his patient’s eyes open.  But he then felt a clutch of fear as he found himself looking into the coldest and most unfriendly eyes he’d ever seen.

Part Eight

“I thought you were faking.  Nice of you to join us.”  Sam glared back at the cold eyes of his patient.

“Oh, you’re real clever, Doc, ain’t you?”

“What I don’t understand is why?” Sam stared at him, puzzled.

“Ain’t much for talkin.”

Sam poured some water into a glass and put it to John’s lips for him to drink.  But John just pushed his hand away and snapped, “I don’t need no help.”

Sam held the glass out to him to take and watched impassively as John struggled to take it, wincing with pain as he tried to stretch his arm out and failing.  Lines of pain were etched across John’s face but he again tried to grasp the glass before his arm fell back to his side.  “I’m not thirsty.” There was defiance in his voice and in the look he threw at Sam.

A thought, unbidden, flashed through Sam’s mind.  That the boy was as difficult as his father.  Sam bit back a smile.  He suspected that his patient would be unimpressed by his thoughts.  Instead, he said firmly, “If you want to recover, you’ll have to drink lots of fluids and if that means accepting a little help initially, well, tough!  So shut up, and damn well do as you’re told.”

Sam wouldn’t have thought it possible, but those eyes looked even colder now, and harder.  It occurred to him that it wasn’t very sensible to push his luck too far with this gunfighter.  But this time, when he held the glass to John’s lips, the boy did at least drink some.

He watched as John struggled to raise himself up.  He seemed to be looking around the room for something.  Then, turning his head to Sam, he asked, “Where’s my gun?  I need my gun.”

Sam wondered if he was still a little feverish, and said gently, “John, you don’t need your gun.  You’re in bed, safe.  Everything’s fine now.”

The voice came back, cold as ice.  “I said, where’s my gun?  I need my fuckin’ gun.”

Sam stared at him, uneasy now.  “Why do you need it?”

John sighed, sounding exasperated.  “Well, I ain’t going to shoot you, if that’s what you’re worried about.  Leastways, not yet.”

Sam couldn’t decide if the last comment was an attempt at humour, or a threat.  He walked over to the chest in the corner and lifted the colt out of its holster and then handed it over to John.  He watched as the young man struggled to check his gun, wincing with pain at each movement.  John grunted with exasperation as he found it empty. “Well, it ain’t no good without any damn bullets.”

Sam sighed and went to get some bullets.  It was painful to watch as John struggled to get the bullets into the gun, but he finally succeeded and then pushed the gun under his pillow and fell back, looking exhausted.

Sam looked at him, bemused now.  “How long have you slept with a gun under your pillow?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

Sam was irritated now.  “Humour me.  How long?”

“An’ I said, none of your fucking business.”

Sam glared at him.  “Why won’t you tell me?  What difference does it make?”

“If it don’t make no difference, why should you care?”

“I asked a civil question.  How long?”

Johnny’s eyes flashed with fury as he spat out, “I dunno.  Maybe since I was nine or ten.  Now will you let me be?”

Sam was too shocked to speak.  Maybe that was what Johnny had intended, he wondered briefly.  Where the hell had he got a gun from at that age?  But he knew Johnny wasn’t likely to tell him that.  Instead, Sam asked, “Where’d you get those scars on your back?”

Those eyes, hell, they were as cold as ice.  And so was the voice.  “What scars?”

“What do you mean, what scars?  The ones all over your back.”

John just smiled coldly.  “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout, doc.  Can’t see my back, so I’ve no idea what you mean.”

Sam felt exasperated.  “Look, John...”

“It ain’t John.  He’s dead.”

“You mean John Lancer died, and Johnny Madrid was born?”

“Look, Doc, just cut the crap.  I’ll be outta here in a day or two.”

“Unless you start letting people help you to get better, you won’t be going anywhere.  Without sufficient fluids your fever will come back and you could die.  Now, are you going to let us help you or would you rather be dead?”  Sam knew he was being harsh, but he hoped that the words would have some effect.  Instead, though, his patient just smiled.  A smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

Johnny shrugged, “We all got to go sometime, don’t we?”

The words, spoken so casually, chilled Sam.  “John... Johnny, you’re a young man with your whole life ahead of you.”

“Young?  Shit.  Old.  I’ve already lived way longer than I planned.”

Sam just stared at him in confusion.  “Is that why you were so reckless?  Everyone says that the way you rode back to the ranch, with Pardee’s men behind you, was suicidal.  Didn’t you care if you were cut down?  Aren’t you afraid of death?”

Johnny sighed.  For a moment Sam thought that he wouldn’t answer.  He realised then how tired Johnny looked, not just the pain, but tired of something else?  Perhaps life? 

“Seemed like the best way to flush Pardee’s men out, an’ it worked.  And not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business, but no, I ain’t scared of dying.  That’s what gives me my edge, Doc.”  Johnny laughed.  “Scares the shit out of the man you’re facing when he realises you don’t care.  They can be there pissing themselves they’re so scared, but you see, I really don’t care if I live or die.  But anyone who wants my reputation can fuckin’ well earn it.  Like I did.”

Unbidden, the picture again came to mind of a young gunfighter standing over a man, watching him die in agony, with a smile on his lips. Sam tried to push the picture from his mind, but it hovered there, taunting him. 

“So, like I said, I’ll be outta here soon.”

“You won’t be going anywhere soon.  But if you do as I tell you, start eating and drinking, well, we might get you downstairs in a few days.”

“Downstairs!  I’m talkin’ ’bout riding outta here.  I’ve been shot up worse than this before now.”

And I bet that’s the truth, thought Sam sadly.  “While you’re my patient, you’ll do as you’re told, young man.  If you try and ride too soon, that wound will open up and could easily become infected.  Anyway, I thought you’d come home.  Why the hurry to ride?”

“’Cos I ain’t planning on staying in these parts.  Just need you to get me fit enough to get the hell outta here.”  Johnny paused, and gave another chilling smile.  “You get it right, Doc, hell, I might let you live to see another birthday.”

“Very generous of you.”

Johnny gave the ghost of a smile.  “See, Doc.  We understand each other perfectly.”

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed.  He was pleased to note that Johnny obviously didn’t like that, was trying to draw back, his face clearly showing the pain he was in.  Sam knew it was childish of him, but he liked having his patient at a disadvantage.  No patient was going to threaten him and get let off lightly.  “So why aren’t you staying for your share of the ranch?  I understand you’ve been offered a third.  With a hundred thousand acres of ranch to share, that’s a lot of land.  It would tempt most men.”

Still trying to draw away from the close contact, Johnny grimaced with pain again.  “Ain’t most men.  He ain’t  goin’ to give me a piece of his precious fuckin’ ranch.  He sure as hell don’t want me here.  Just can’t figure out why he sent for me.  Could understand him wanting my gun in a fight against Pardee.”  He paused as he seemed to fight another wave of pain.  “But, was like he didn’t even want my gun, so why the hell am I here?  Anyway, I didn’t kill Pardee so you can bet the deal’s off.”

“Do you want something to ease the pain?”

“No, I fuckin’ don’t.  Like I said, I’ve had worse.”

Johnny’s face looked grey now, beads of sweat trickling down his cheek.  Sam picked up his wrist to check his pulse, even as Johnny tried to pull away again.  “I think you’ll find that the offer stands.  You were instrumental in bringing down Pardee, and Murdoch is a man of his word.”

Johnny gave what sounded like a grunt of derision, but seemed too exhausted to speak.  Then he appeared to gather up what little reserves of strength he had left, to ask, “Any other words of wisdom to offer, Doc?  Anything else you want?”

“There is one thing.”  Sam stared at those cold eyes and wondered how to proceed.  “I wanted to ask you about a gunfight.”

“Any particular one, or just gunfights in general?”

“One in particular.  Down in Santa Fe.”

Johnny gave a cool smile.  “Might need a few more details, Doc.  Been in quite a lot of gunfights down there.”

“You were facing down two men.”

Johnny laughed.  “Still need a few more details, Doc.  Facing two men ain’t particularly unusual for me.”

“You shot one of them dead with a clean shot.  But the other... The other man... You gut shot him and then shot him in the hand when he was trying to reach for his gun.”

Sam returned the gaze of those icy blue eyes.  But then Johnny just smiled coldly again and said, “Sorry, Doc.  Like I said, I’d need a few more details.  One gunfight is pretty much like another.  Someone winds up dead, and so far, it ain’t been me.  Are you goin’ now, ’cos I’m real tired.”  And as if to signal that all conversation was over, he shut his eyes.

Sam berated himself silently.  What the hell had he hoped for?  He’d known what to expect, just a cold blooded killer.  But he knew, deep down, he wanted Johnny to be more than that.  That he’d hoped to see some trace of that young child with the most engaging smile he’d ever seen.  But then, given what he’d heard from Johnny’s delirious ramblings, how could there be any trace of that child left?  Sam suddenly felt very old, and tired.  He walked quietly out of the room, shutting the door gently behind him.  Obviously there had been nothing memorable about that gunfight, that to kill somebody in such a cruel way was nothing out of the ordinary.  To Johnny Madrid, it was just another dead man.

But a little voice in his ear said, if that’s the case, why does someone like Teresa think there’s a kind man beneath the veneer?  Why does Scott think he’s a man worth getting to know? 

“How is he, Sam?”  Teresa’s voice broke into his thoughts as he walked downstairs.

He smiled.  “Well, he did wake up, and he has had some water, but I think he’s sleeping again now.  Just go and wake him every two or three hours to get him to drink something.  But I wouldn’t try and talk to him too much, Teresa.  He is in a lot of pain and it’s better if he’s left quiet.”  He hoped that would keep the girl from bothering Johnny too much.  Otherwise he had a suspicion that his patient would lose consciousness again.

Murdoch stopped him as he was leaving.  “How is he, Sam?”

“In a lot of pain, but wanting to know how soon he can leave.”

“He’s talking about leaving?”

 Sam wondered if it was his imagination or did Murdoch sound hopeful at that prospect?  “It would seem so, Murdoch.  He does seem to think that you won’t honour the offer of a third of the ranch as he didn’t kill Pardee.  He’s also very puzzled as to why you asked him to come here.  Are you going to tell the boys that it was Teresa who sent for them?”

Murdoch looked annoyed at the question.  “I don’t think there’s any need for them to know that.  Anyway, if John leaves, I’m sure it would be for the best.”

“Best for whom?  You? Teresa and Scott? It certainly can’t be best for Johnny.  He’s on a fast road to nowhere and is going to wind up dead before much longer.  The real tragedy is that he doesn’t care.   And it would appear that you don’t care either.”

“Dammit, Sam, of course I care.  I told you I didn’t want to lose him, when he was so ill.  But you didn’t see how he was when he arrived.  I just don’t see how he could ever fit in here.   He doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone.  Although, Sam, just to give you a taste of what he was like, he did tell me he liked fucking!  For God’s sake, what sort of man says something like that?  How can I have him anywhere near Teresa?”

“Did it occur to you that he was just trying to shock you?  From what Teresa says, he was very polite to her when you weren’t around.”

Murdoch snorted.  “Pah!  I can guess what he had in mind.”

Sam felt there were moments when he didn’t even recognise his old friend, but it seemed that the man was determined not to even try and find any redeeming features in his son.  “Well, Murdoch, maybe you’ll get lucky and the wound will get infected.  He’s very weak, it might kill him!”

“I don’t enjoy this, Sam.  But anyone can see the boy is just like his mother, totally wild.”

“That’s odd, Murdoch, because I was thinking earlier how much like you he is.”  And with that parting shot Sam marched out of the house.

He went back the next day, hoping that he wouldn’t see Murdoch.  He didn’t feel up to another war of words.  He suspected that he’d probably get enough of that from his patient.

He walked into Johnny’s room.  The young man appeared to be asleep, but could just as easily have been feigning sleep.  Sam opened his bag and said loudly, “So, how are you feeling today?”  He watched as Johnny opened his eyes and glared at him.

“I was asleep.”

Sam laughed at that.  “Sorry, son, but I don’t buy that at all.  You don’t look bleary enough.  So how are you?”

“Fine.”

In fact, he looked anything but fine.  His face was flushed, and there were beads of sweat across his brow.  “I’m going to take a look at that wound.”  Sam undid the bandages and saw that the stitches had all pulled and the wound looked red and angry.

“Have you been trying to get out of bed?”

“No.”  The answer was sullen, and unconvincing.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?  Dammit, Johnny, I’m trying to help you but you’re going to make my job impossible if you pull stupid stunts like this.  Look at the state of you.  You’ve brought your fever back, pulled your stitches and are risking infection.”

“Just shut the fuck up, Doc.”

“And you can watch your language.  You can treat me with a little courtesy, young man.”

“And why the fuck should I?”

“Well, for starters, you’ve known me longer than anyone else in this life, so let’s say that entitles me to a little courtesy.”

“What the hell d’you mean?  I’ve only just met you.”

“Actually my face was the very first face you ever saw in this world, so technically you’ve known me longer than anyone else.”  He saw interest now in those cold eyes.

“What d’you mean, I saw your face first?”

“I delivered you, I brought you into this world, Johnny.”

And then, despite his obvious pain and fever, a huge smile spread over Johnny’s face.  Sam heard himself give an audible gasp, for there it was, the smile he remembered.  A smile to lighten the darkest day.  “You knew my mother?”

Sam smiled, he had to at the sudden enthusiasm.  “Yes, Johnny, of course I knew your mother.  I was here when she first arrived at Lancer.”

But the smile had gone as quickly as it came.  Now his eyes looked cold and hard again.  And Sam found himself staring down the barrel of the Colt.

“Then maybe you can tell me, Doc, why the old man threw us out?”  The voice was emotionless.

Sam stared at Johnny, confused by the swift change of mood but especially by the question.  “What on earth do you mean, Johnny?  Murdoch didn’t throw you out.”

“You got just one chance, Doc.  Now, if you’re lying you can change your mind now and I’ll let it go.  But if I find out you’ve lied to me, I’ll kill you.”  The words were said casually, but there was no mistaking the menace behind them.

“I’m sorry Johnny, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was a loud click as the young man cocked the gun.  “All you got to do is tell me why the old man threw us out.  It really ain’t that difficult, Doc.  Was it because I’m a half-breed?  Or some other reason?”

Sam stared at Johnny.  “Where the hell did you get the stupid idea that Murdoch threw you out?”

Johnny stared back, impassively.

“Surely Maria didn’t tell you that, did she?  It makes no sense.”

“Just tell me why he threw us out,” hissed Johnny.

Sam shook his head.  “I’m sorry Johnny, but you’ve got it all wrong.  I had to cope with Murdoch after Maria took off with you, he was in a hell of a state.  Half the town knew she’d been seeing someone when he was away on a cattle drive, but I thought once he was back, the affair would die a natural death.  I was wrong.  He woke up one morning to find her gone, and you along with her.  He spent years trying to find you.  Paul O’Brien and I were convinced you were both dead, but Murdoch never gave up hope.  He used to go down and trawl the border towns looking for you and he hired the Pinkerton Agency too, whenever he had enough money.

“And why do you think he would care about your mixed parentage?  He adored you.  He was so proud, he used to ride round with you sitting in front of him.  Everyone who came visiting had to be introduced to you.  I’m sorry Johnny, but you really have got it all wrong.”

Sam felt concerned, the boy looked so shaken.  Johnny just shook his head slowly.  “You’re lying, Doc.  I said I’d kill you if you lied.”

Sam looked at him sadly.  “Well, you can kill me if you like, Johnny, but it won’t alter the fact that I’ve told you the truth.”

“Well, the old man, did... did the old man knock her around?”  The question was so soft Sam had to strain to hear it.  But again, all he felt was confusion.

“You mean did Murdoch hit Maria?” 

Johnny nodded.  He looked dreadful, flushed and old.

“No, Johnny.  Murdoch didn’t ‘knock her around’.  I’d have known, I was her doctor.  Did Maria tell you these things?”

“Did she know about Scott?”

Sam nodded.  “Yes, Johnny, she knew about Scott.  Murdoch always hoped that he would be able to bring him home and you’d have grown up here together.”

He was appalled by the despair which now clearly showed in Johnny’s face.

“She never said nothin’ about Scott.  Never.  I want to go to sleep now, Doc.”

Sam shook his head and instead sat down on the bed.  “Firstly, young man, you’re going to have a drink, and no arguments.  Then I am going to dress that wound again.  And I’m not leaving until you are looking more comfortable.  I really don’t want you dying on me.  It wouldn’t do my reputation any good at all.”

He was rewarded by the ghost of a smile.  And so he added, “And neither do I want to hear that you don’t care if you die.  I care so you can just put up with it.”

He set about cleaning the wound again and put in some extra stitches.  His patient didn’t even flinch.  Sam felt as though Johnny had gone someplace where he could no longer be reached.  He didn’t react when Sam bandaged him once more.

“I’m really sorry Johnny, but what I’ve told you is the truth.  If you don’t believe me, there are a lot of people in town who remember those events.  They’ll confirm what I’ve told you.”

Johnny nodded.  “I know the truth when I hear it.  Trouble is, Doc, it seems I’ve based my whole life on a lie.  It’s all been a lie.  The things I’ve done, Doc...”

Johnny sighed.  “Just get me fit enough to travel and I’ll get outta their lives.  I got no place here.  They’ll be well shot of me.  Either that, Doc, or just let me die, I really don’t care, even though I know that’s hard for you to understand.  I’ve just had enough, ’specially now.”

Sam found he had no answer in the face of such hopeless resignation.  What should he say to the boy?  Because, hardened gunfighter or not, he suddenly seemed very much a boy.  Struggling for an answer, he took Johnny’s wrist instead, to check his pulse.  God, the boy looked sick.

When Sam spoke, his voice sounded gruff to his own ears.  “Told you, I’ll be damned if you’re going to die on me, boy.  I don’t like losing patients, particularly the ones I brought into the world.  You will stay in this bed and do as you’re told.  Understand me?  Now, get some rest and I’ll be back to check on you later.”

He turned and was halfway out of the door when Johnny spoke again, very softly.  “Doc, ’bout that gunfight.  I do remember it.  Just so you know, it’s not the way I would usually do things.”

Sam turned, to frame a question, but Johnny shook his head.  “Too tired, Doc.  Just didn’t want you to think...”  He left his sentence unfinished and looked away.

Sam smiled gently.  “Thank you, Johnny.”

Part Nine

Murdoch stood at Johnny’s window, glass in hand, looking out over the ranch.  It had been a dreadful few days and now he felt absolutely exhausted.  Not knowing if Johnny would live or die.  Not knowing if he even cared.  His emotions were in turmoil.  He still didn’t know what he really felt about the boy.  Boy or gunfighter?  But all he could see in his mind’s eye was Johnny, riding flat out towards the ranch, with all of Pardee’s men in pursuit.  He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget that.  That image would haunt his dreams.  Why had the boy done it?  Was he so stupid he hadn’t seen the risk?  And yet, the one thing he had felt certain of, in those first few hours of meeting Madrid, was that he wasn’t a fool. Madrid was a man who weighed everything up, of that he was certain.

And he still couldn’t get any answers.  He knew the boy had been awake at times.  Sam said he had spoken with him.  Teresa, too, seemed to have had brief conversations with Johnny when she had gotten drinks into him.  But whenever he had gone to Johnny’s room, the boy had always been sleeping.  He had found himself just standing at Johnny’s window, staring out at the mountains in the distance, lost in his own thoughts.  There had been moments when he thought perhaps Johnny had awoken briefly.  When he had felt he was being watched.  But whenever he had turned from the window to look at Johnny, those eyes had been shut.  He still slept.

He looked at the boy now.  God, he looked ill.  Certainly still very sick.  Sam had expressed concern about the wound.  Worried it was infected.  Murdoch walked to the boy’s bedside and looked down at him.  Searching in vain to see some semblance of the young boy he remembered.  He tentatively put out his hand to brush the unruly hair off the boy’s face.  Johnny seemed to flinch at the touch, although he slept.  His face was still flushed with fever, too.  He looked so young now.  So different to the gunfighter with the cold, hard eyes who had stood, such a short time ago, in the great room.  Then, those eyes had seem to challenge him, but now, closed and framed by those long, dark lashes which rested on his flushed cheek, one could almost forget that this was a killer.

Murdoch’s mind went back to that night, so long ago, when he had sat with Paul and Sam in the saloon in the town.  The night they had heard tales of Madrid’s exploits.  Of how he had gut shot a man and then stood smiling, while the man died slowly in the dust.  Murdoch shuddered.  And yet, he knew that he could well believe such a thing of that cold man who had arrived a few days ago.  But to believe it of this sick boy, who had risked his life for the ranch, well, that seemed a different thing altogether.

He wondered, for what felt like the millionth time, what had happened to the boy in those intervening years, before he had come home.  Who had whipped the boy so hard that the skin had been flayed from his back?  And what had driven that laughing toddler to turn into a hardened and feared gunfighter?  And what the hell had Maria been doing while someone had whipped their child?  He couldn’t believe that she would have done it.  She had never seemed to care much about the boy, which had made it all the more shocking that she had taken him with her when she had left.  But whipping?  No, she wouldn’t, couldn’t have done that.

And God, it still hurt to think of her leaving.  He hadn’t understood her, ever. He had just been besotted with her.  It was only when he married her that he realised that she had that effect on all men.  He had been proud of her.  He knew how other men envied him.  It had made him feel good – knowing that he could share her bed while others could only dream of it.

And then she’d gone.  Left him for another man.  The implication being that he couldn’t satisfy her.  God, that had hurt.  He had felt so humiliated.  Knew that men had sniggered behind his back.  Couldn’t keep his Mexican wife happy.  Wasn’t man enough.

He shook himself back to the present.  There was no point in dwelling on the past.  As he’d said to both boys just days before, it was now that mattered.  Well, they’d beaten Pardee, but what next?  Scott seemed inclined to stay.  He was already proving himself a good worker.  Working with the hands to try and restore some semblance of order to the ranch.  He wasn’t the dandy he had first appeared.  Even if he did wear ruffled shirts.

He had felt surprised that Scott seemed so concerned about Johnny.  Hell, he’d risked his life, running out under fire to drag Johnny to cover.  He wondered if Scott would feel the same way if he knew about Madrid.  He had managed to avoid telling him anything about Johnny’s background.  And Scott, seeming to sense that it was a delicate subject, hadn’t pushed him.  He was grateful for that.  Because what the hell could he say?  He recalled how he and Scott had sat below, waiting for news as Sam operated on Johnny.

“I want the chance to get to know him.  I suspect it won’t be easy, but I think it’ll be worth the effort.  He has to make it.”  Scott’s softly spoken words had surprised him then.  He had felt touched by Scott’s evident concern. 

“Scott, Sam’s a good doctor.  If anyone can save Johnny, it’s Sam.  He’s in good hands.”  His gentle words had surprised himself.  He realised he meant it, and was praying it would be true.  He hated everything Madrid meant, but Johnny was his son.  It had been easy not to care before he met the reality.  Madrid had just been a name, someone to be dreaded or despised.  But now, he was flesh and blood.  His flesh and blood.

He had stared then, out over his land, reflecting on their hard won victory.  For they had won.  Pardee was defeated.  Life could get back to normal.  Normal, that was a joke.  What was going to be normal now? 

He stood now thinking about the damn partnership deal.  He shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to offer that.  But he’d wanted something to wave in Madrid’s face.  And God, he’d been glad that he had the money ready.  He had a feeling Madrid would have just shot him if that hadn’t been ready.  He had been frightened by Madrid.  Those cold eyes.  But why had Madrid taken that huge risk for the ranch?  Madrid or Johnny?  He glanced once more at the figure lying on the bed.  Was it really his Johnny?  Could the Pinkerton Agency have got it wrong?  So many questions, so many doubts.  There was no trace of that wonderful smile he remembered in his young son.  He’d hoped to see something that would make him believe there was still a remnant of John Lancer.  But there had been nothing.  Just those damn, cold eyes.  And now, the picture of him galloping towards the ranch as though the hounds of hell were on his heels.

He looked again at Johnny, willing him to wake up.  Would he be all right?  Oh God, he had to be all right.  He was still so very young.  And there it was.  He did care, he had to admit to himself that he cared.  He hadn’t wanted to care.  Didn’t think he could.  But when he had stood with Sam, after the operation, seeing his boy burning up, perhaps dying, it had finally hit him, even if he was a gunfighter, he was still his son.  Since then he had sat frequently with the boy, praying that his laboured breathing would grow easier.    Please, God, save him.  He escaped the firing squad, surely you didn’t save him just so he could die here instead?

The door open and he turned to see Scott walking in.  “Has he woken up?”

Murdoch shook his head.  “No, he’s always sleeping when I’m here.  I’ll come back later, but it worries me, him sleeping so much.  Sam thought he should be awake for longer periods by now.  But there seems to be no change at all.  I’ll send Teresa up to sit with him.  At least then, there’ll be someone here if he wakes.”

He turned and followed Scott out of the room.  God, surely the boy would awaken soon?  He shut the door quietly and trudged heavily down the stairs.

It was much later when he had another chance to go to see Johnny.  He knew that Sam had been and gone again.  And Teresa said the boy had been awake and drunk some broth.  He opened the door quietly and saw Johnny lying, staring out of the window at the far peaks where the sun was already low in the sky.

“It’s good to see you awake at last, how d’you feel?”  His voice sounded forced to his own ears.  Why couldn’t he just relax?

“Fine, I feel fine.”  Johnny’s voice sounded flat, disinterested.

“That was a pretty damn stupid thing to do out there.”   Murdoch inclined his head towards the window.  “You could have been killed.”  He felt the cold eyes looking at him now, and forced himself to look at his son.

Johnny seemed to shrug.  “Well, I’m still here, ain’t I?  An’ it worked.  Brought Pardee’s men out didn’t it?”

“It was crazy, that’s what it was.  Totally reckless.  As I said, you could have been killed.”  Murdoch felt angry now.  Angry at the boy’s apparent disinterest in the conversation.  Angry that the boy seemed to have no regard for the possible consequences of his action.  But the boy just looked away again, out of the window.

Murdoch felt helpless.  Frustrated, angry and helpless.  How could he have a discussion with the boy?  He sensed that Johnny wasn’t going to give him an inch.  Well, perhaps this wasn’t the time.  Perhaps it would be easier when Johnny was feeling a little stronger.  He still looked very ill.

“Was there anything else, old man?”  Johnny had turned his head once more and was looking at him now.  “’Cos I’m real tired.”

Murdoch knew he was being dismissed.  Dammit, this was his house and if he wanted to stand here, he would.  Hell, he was entitled to feel concerned.  Johnny had almost died.  He just couldn’t understand the boy’s attitude.  Maybe, there was no Johnny, maybe he really was just Madrid.  But if that was the case, why had he risked his life?

“Well?” Johnny’s voice was cold.

“Why did you do it?  If you hate us so much, why did you risk your life?”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it for you, old man.  Now, will you just go?”

“Don’t you think you owe me an answer?  And Scott risked his life to drag you to safety.”

“I don’t owe you nothin’.  An’ if old Boston chose to risk his life, that’s his affair.  I sure as hell wouldn’t do it for him.”

“So why did you do it?”

Johnny looked very tired now.  His face looked grey and drawn.  Beads of sweat were starting to trickle down past his eyes.  “Please, just go.  Leave me be.”

Murdoch felt a twinge of guilt.   And concern.  “Shall I draw your curtains?”

“No, just leave ‘em.  I like being able to see out.”

“You always did.”  Murdoch smiled for the first time.  “I used to find you kneeling at that window, always looking out at your mountain.”

That got a reaction.  Johnny turned sharply now, the sudden movement causing him to wince with pain.  “What d’you mean, my mountain?”

“That’s what you always called it, that one with the funny shaped peak.  You always said it was your mountain.  I used to tell you, if I was ever rich enough, I would buy it for you.”

He looked at Johnny again.  But now the boy just looked stricken.  Pain seemed to be etched in every feature of the boy’s face.

“Please, go now.”  Johnny’s voice was so faint that he had to strain to catch the words.  The boy looked as though his heart was breaking.  But that couldn’t be so, not this hardened gunfighter.  There was nothing he’d said that could upset Johnny Madrid.  Hell, he’d only mentioned that silly mountain.

He turned stiffly, to leave the room.  “You’re sure there’s nothing I can get you?”

But the boy didn’t even look at him.  He just shook his head and stared into the distance, at that damn mountain.

He was almost out of the door when he heard Johnny speak again.  Very softly.

“I’ll be outta here as soon as I can ride.”

Murdoch turned sharply.  “You’re leaving?  What about the partnership, your share?  Why’d you risk your life for it if you didn’t want it?”

“I don’t want nothin’.  Just don’t belong here, that’s all.  Not anymore.”

Murdoch felt his gut clench.  Hell, the boy had only just come back.  He couldn’t leave all ready.  He thought of Scott’s words.  Saying how he wanted the chance to get to know his brother.  Funny, though, just days ago, he’d have felt delighted if Johnny had said he was leaving.  But now...

And if Johnny left, what the hell would become of him?  He’d just wind up dead in some dusty street in a meaningless gunfight.  And they’d learn about it from the newspapers. Somehow he had to convince the boy to reconsider.  He had to keep his boy safe.

“Look, Johnny.  You’re really not in any state at the moment to make any decisions.  Just let yourself get better.  Heal up a bit.  And then we’ll talk about it.  Scott’s hoping you’ll stay.  We, we all are.”  There, he’d said it.  Got it out in the open.  Admitted he wanted him to stay. 

But Johnny just looked at him.  The ghost of a smile playing at his lips.  “You told Boston about Madrid yet?”  The smile slowly faded.  “No, didn’t think so.  Y’might find he ain’t so happy about me stayin’ when he finds out about Madrid.  You go tell him, old man.  See how he feels then.”

“I’m sure that Scott will be just as keen to get to know you then, as he is now.”  His words sounded stiff and formal even to himself.  And unconvincing.

“Well, why don’t you go find out?  ’Cos like I said, I’m real tired now.”  And with that, his son  rolled over and shut his eyes.

Murdoch stood at the door.  He knew he’d been dismissed, knew he’d usually be furious at such behaviour. But instead he found himself looking at an angry but very weak young man, one who seemed determined to mask his weakness at all costs—even if that cost was his future. He felt an urge to break through the boy’s walls and hold him – like he used to before Maria had spirited him away. Maybe it was time to talk to Scott.

Part Ten

He walked slowly downstairs from Johnny’s room, pain shooting through his leg with each jarring step.  How the hell could he raise the subject of Madrid with Scott?  Scott probably didn’t even know what a gunfighter was.  But he’d know what a killer was.  And it amounted to the same thing.  A gunfighter was no different to a whore.  They both hired out for money.  Except with a gunfighter, someone wound up dead.  He didn’t think Scott would be too impressed by that.  It was one thing killing in a war, but a gunfighter. . .  But how to tell him?  Sam had been pretty scathing when he found out that Scott didn’t know, but he knew Sam wouldn’t say anything.   Sam was discreet.  Just like he didn’t know what Sam had discussed with Johnny, but he knew they’d talked.  He didn’t suppose Sam would tell him anything about that conversation.  Had Johnny been more forthcoming with Sam?  Shit!  What should he say to Scott?

Was Johnny right?  That Scott wouldn’t want to know his brother when he found out about Madrid?  But God, the boy had looked sick.  Who knew if Johnny would even make it?  Sam certainly didn’t seem very confident?  Maybe he shouldn’t say anything to Scott yet.  Leave it a while.  But that was the coward’s way out.  Damn.  Well, there was no hurry.  He’d think it over. Decide when the time was right.

“Supper’s ready.”  Never before had those words sounded so welcome.  He could worry about Johnny’s words later.

Scott was already at the table, pouring wine to go with their meal, helping Teresa to her seat.  He looked tired though.  Probably never worked so hard in his life.  Again, Murdoch found himself surprised that Scott seemed inclined to stay.  He wondered if it would last.

“We’re getting things back in order, Sir.  I spent the day working on repairing all the fences that Pardee’s men had cut.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve got some cuts to show for it.  Lethal stuff, that wire, but it does the job well, and it’s cheaper than fencing.”  He took a sip of his wine and looked at Scott.  Tired had been an understatement.  The boy looked exhausted.

“There is something I wanted to ask you though.”  Scott seemed to hesitate, as if unsure how to continue.

“Ask away, it’s the only way to learn.”  Murdoch smiled at him encouragingly.  He liked the fact that Scott asked so many questions, eager for information. 

“I want to know who this Madrid is.  I’ve heard the men talking about him and they are obviously afraid of him, but no one will tell me who he is.  Is he one of Pardee’s men?  And if so, how much of a threat is he?  How can one man create so much fear?”

He felt his gut clench.  Damn the men.  And now what the hell should he say?   He felt Teresa’s eyes on him.  She looked pale.  How could he explain Johnny with her sitting there, looking like that?

“Teresa, would you go and see if Johnny wants any supper, or a drink, please?”  That was it, get her out of the way first.  She didn’t look too pleased about it, though.  He watched as she got up, throwing him a scowl. 

“More vegetables, Scott?”  Play for time.  Think, man, think. 

“No, thanks.  People were talking about Madrid even before the showdown.  Who is he?”

“He’s a gunfighter.  Probably the best gunfighter there is.”

“And he’s still around?  So he is a threat.  I mean, will he try something against us now that Pardee’s gone?  How many men does he have?  You said Pardee was the threat, seems you omitted to mention this Madrid.” 

God, Scott sounded annoyed.  Very annoyed.  And wanted answers.  He suddenly felt very tired.  Tired and old.  He forced himself to meet Scott’s gaze.

“Madrid is no threat to us.”

“What makes you so sure?”  Scott was challenging him now.

“Because Madrid is lying upstairs recovering from taking a bullet in his back.”  He forced himself to hold Scott’s gaze.  He watched as Scott’s expression changed from puzzlement to comprehension.

“Johnny is Madrid?  You said he was my brother.  So you lied?”

“No, I didn’t lie.  He is your brother.  He just goes by the name of Madrid.  I’m not sure that he’s ever used the Lancer name.”

“Are you seriously saying that my brother is some famous gunfighter?  And just how long were you planning to keep me in the dark about this?”

“If he didn’t recover, I could see no point in telling you.”  It sounded lame, even to his own ears.  No sort of excuse at all.  By the looks of him, Scott didn’t think so either.  Shit.  He knew this was going to be tough and he still couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

“So you would have let me go on thinking that my brother was just the one who got the short straw.  I was feeling guilty about my privileged upbringing and all the time he’s just some cold killer?  Because that’s what a gunfighter is, isn’t it?  Do correct me if I’m wrong.  I admit that I don’t know much about the west, but my understanding is that gunfighters are paid killers.  Am I right?”

“I suppose so.  But gunfighting itself isn’t illegal.” 

“They are paid killers, yes or no?”

“Yes.  They are paid killers.  They hire out to anyone who will pay them, the faster they are, the more expensive they are.”

“So Johnny is a paid killer?”

Murdoch nodded.  What else could he say?  That Madrid wasn’t that bad?  But all he could see now in his mind’s eye was Johnny Madrid standing watching, smiling, as a man died slowly in the dust.  And maybe, that’s all he was.  Just a hired gun, no more, no less.  But, hell, he was still his son.  He looked over at his other son, who was sitting staring at him.

“Were you planning on telling me?”

“Yes.  I just didn’t know how.”

“And then you thought if he died, you wouldn’t have to tell me?”

Murdoch just nodded.

“How fast is he?”

Murdoch sighed.  “From what I’ve heard, he’s very fast.  When you hear the name Madrid . . .” He tailed off, uncertain of how to continue.

“When did you find out who he was?”

“A while ago.”  He was deliberately vague.  Didn’t want Scott to know just how long ago.  Didn’t want Scott to know that he had made a deliberate decision not to send for Johnny.  And certainly didn’t want Scott to know that, in fact, he hadn’t sent for either of them.

“I thought he would be worth getting to know.”  Scott sounded disappointed.

“Maybe, he still is.”  Murdoch was surprised that his own voice sounded so gentle.

Scott just stared at him, disbelievingly.  “How do you know he’s even safe to have in the house?  Look at how he behaved that first evening.”

He sat and watched as Scott sat silent, apparently lost in thought.  Then Scott spoke again.  “And yet, something else happened that evening.  Something you didn’t know about.  I mean, he really was behaving appallingly that first night.  And yet, later, I heard him speak to Teresa, and he sounded totally different.  Gentle almost...  I mean, was that an act, or was that real?”  Scott tailed off.

Murdoch shook his head.  “Look, I’m sorry, Scott, but I’m as much in the dark as you are.  I admit he scared me at first.  But the fact remains that he risked his life out there for this ranch.  Now, God only knows why he did it.  I certainly don’t know why.  But he did take a bullet, he could still die and I’ll be none the wiser.  I can’t get any answers out of him.”

Scott looked up sharply.  “So you’ve spoken to him?”

“Yes.  I finally caught him awake, a while ago.  He wouldn’t answer any of my questions.  Simply said that he didn’t do it for me.  And that he’s planning on leaving.”

Scott looked at him, obviously puzzled now.  “I was just starting to assume he must be planning to take the ranch for himself, but if what he said to you is true, that can’t be the case.  Unless he’s just saying he’s leaving to throw us off the scent.”

Could that be the case? Could Johnny be planning to kill them and keep the ranch?  He didn’t want to believe that.  No, that couldn’t be it.  Johnny had looked, what exactly?  Exhausted and sick yes, but there had been something else, despairing as well.  He had the look of someone who’d had enough – of everything.  The thought shocked him suddenly.  Hell, Johnny was too young to be like that.  He shook his head at Scott.  “No, I don’t think he wants anything from us.  I think he’ll take his money and leave.”

His gut twisted as he spoke.  He didn’t want to read of Johnny Madrid dead in a gunfight.  He was suddenly certain that Johnny needed some sort of second chance, but whether he would take it, was another matter.  But the least he could do was offer Johnny that chance.  He looked across at Scott again.  “How would you feel if he did stay?  He seems to think that you won’t want him here.”

“I don’t know!”  Scott sounded exasperated.  “I mean it was one thing when I just thought of him as someone who hadn’t had my good fortune, but this is something very different.  I don’t understand how you could even think of offering a partnership to a paid killer, even if he is your son.”

“I didn’t think he’d stay.”

Scott was staring at him now.  “You didn’t think he’d stay?  But you offered it anyway. Why?”

He sat staring down, he couldn’t look at Scott.

“You thought it would make him leave, didn’t you?  That’s why you offered it.  You figured the thought of doing a hard day’s work would frighten him off, admit it.”  Scott sounded angry now.  He still couldn’t bring himself to look at Scott.  Instead he got up and walked to the window. 

He could feel Scott’s eyes boring into him.  Then Scott spoke again.  “Did you think it would make me leave, too?  The prospect of hard, physical labour.  Did you want either of us here?  Or did you send for us just to help you fight Pardee?  Johnny’s gun and my army experience.  Is that what this was really about?”

“Dammit!  I didn’t send for either of you!  There, are you satisfied?  Teresa sent for you when I was ill.  I only found out later what she’d done.  She knew her father had thought I should send for you, she’d heard us discussing it.  For what it’s worth, I was going to send for you, but. . .”

“But not for Johnny?”  Scott finished the sentence for him.  Murdoch couldn’t look at Scott, he just nodded, in shame.

“And that’s why you were so antagonistic towards Johnny that first day.  You wanted him to leave?  He frightens you that much?”

He couldn’t tell if it was contempt or pity he heard in Scott’s voice.  Maybe both.  He nodded again, and now turned to face Scott.  “You don’t realise quite what a very infamous gunfighter he is.  You haven’t heard all the stories about him.  Yes, I was frightened.  I didn’t want him here.  I  didn’t want him anywhere near Teresa and I certainly didn’t trust him.  The name of Johnny Madrid is known from here to way beyond the border.  It’s a name that strikes fear in people.  He’s fast and he’s very deadly.  So when I heard he was coming I made damn sure I had his money ready and waiting.  And yes, I thought the partnership agreement would frighten him off.  I don’t suppose he’s ever done a day’s work in his life.  There, are you satisfied now?”

Scott looked across at him and said slowly, “He told me he came for the money.  But I didn’t really believe him.  I felt there was something else.  Some other reason.  What could it be?”

“I’m sorry, Scott.  I really don’t know.  Hell, I don’t know anything anymore.  I told you, I couldn’t get anything out of him.  He spoke to Sam, but for all I know they might have just been discussing the weather.  He doesn’t ever seem to let his guard down. One thing I am sure of, he’s no fool.   I guess it’s why he has stayed alive so long.”

“Well, he can’t have been a gunfighter for long, he’s not very old.  How has he acquired this reputation so quickly?”

“From what I have found out, he started as a gunfighter at about fourteen years old. . .”

“Fourteen!”  Scott looked and sounded horrified.  “Fourteen?  For God’s sake, how many men is he meant to have killed?  What the hell was he doing with a gun at that age?  Who was looking after him?”

Murdoch just shook his head.  He couldn’t cope with all these questions.  Dammit, he didn’t know the answers and it was pretty obvious that Johnny wasn’t going to be very forthcoming.  Teresa’s footsteps coming downstairs broke the silence that had fallen between them.  She hurried in, looking worried.  “Murdoch, I think you should send someone for Sam.  I think he’s gotten worse.  He looks awful and he’s not speaking.  I just feel really worried.  His fever doesn’t seem worse, but there seems to be something really wrong.  Please, send someone for Sam.”

Murdoch’s gut clenched again.  Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel as to save him from the firing squad just to send him home to die?  Dammit, he was so young still.  He looked at Teresa’s distraught face.  “Darling, if you think he needs Sam, I’ll send a man for him straight away.”

Scott stood up.  “I’ll go and take a look at him.  Sit with him, if you like, till Sam arrives.”  And with that, Scott headed off up the stairs.

Part Eleven

Dios, he felt ill.  Not that he’d admit it.  Ever.   His back felt like it was on fire and yet he felt cold.  That didn’t make sense.  He tried to focus on the window but even his mountain was all blurry.  Funny that it really was “his” mountain.  The old man had shocked him with that.  And yet, that first morning when he looked out at it, it had seemed then like an old friend.  Now, he knew why.

Trouble was, since talking to the doc, finding out that the old man hadn’t kicked him and his mother out, he’d lost his only reason for living.  It was the hatred that had kept him going, he knew that.  But now. . .  Hell, he had nothing left to hate.  No reason for anything, any more.  Well, he’d be on his way soon.  One way or the other.  One thing was certain, he couldn’t stay here.  Even if the old man did mean it about the share of the ranch.  But he was probably only offering it through guilt.  Hell, he wouldn’t really want someone like Madrid around.  Not now the trouble was over and Pardee gone.  No one would ever want Madrid around.

He struggled again against the feeling of nausea that kept coming over him.  He didn’t want to puke all over the bed and make work for the girl.  Surely he hadn’t felt this bad earlier?  The old man had worn him out, that’s what it was.  Dios, he felt sick.  Talking to the doc had been tiring, but not like this.  Shit, of all the gunfights for the doc to hear about, it had to be that one.  The one he’d rather forget.  He’d done a lot of things to be ashamed of, but that gunfight had to be near the top of the list.  But the fellow had deserved what he got, least that’s what he always told himself.  The bastard suffered for three or four minutes, well, those women would be suffering for a lifetime.  Women were always his weak spot.  Even so, he should have stuck to his rule.  Quick and clean.  But he hadn’t.  And, worse still, he’d enjoyed seeing that piece of shit suffer.  Well, it was yet another thing to pay for when he went to hell.  There’d be a lot of things Madrid would pay for one day.

He hoped the girl would leave him alone for a while.  She’d been in and fussed around.  Seemed concerned that he didn’t want a drink.  He couldn’t tell her he would puke it back up if he drank.  Anyway, she’d gone now.  So he could relax, for a moment.  At least he had his gun.  He could feel it under his pillow.  Had the doc told her to leave it alone?  She’d seen the gun but hadn’t moved it.  He felt safer with the gun.  Yeah.  Good to have it there, in case he needed it.  Though, at the moment he wasn’t sure he even had the strength to lift it.  Shit, his back hurt.  And if only he could get warm.  Should have asked the girl for a blanket.

The door was opening now.  Dios.  Why couldn’t they leave him in peace?  Don’t let it be the old man.  Shit, it’s Boston.  What does he want? 

“I thought I’d come and see how you’re doing. How do you feel?”

“Fine.  I’m doing just fine.”  No way was he going to give up how weak he was, not even to this so-called brother.   Why wouldn’t they just leave him alone?  Still, least it wasn’t the old man.  What the hell was Boston doing now?  Shit.  Pulling up a chair, sitting down.

He closed his eyes, hoping Boston would get the message and just leave.  Instead, Boston spoke.  “Murdoch told me you’re a gunfighter.”

Johnny opened his eyes at that.  Felt surprised that the old man had actually done it.  He looked at Boston, trying to read his expression, but his face looked kinda blurry.  Dios, if only he didn’t feel so ill.  “You gotta problem with that, Boston?”

“Well, I am curious to know why you became a gunfighter.”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“I rather hoped, as I ran out under fire to drag you to safety, you might feel inclined to tell me why.”

God, Boston did talk strange.  “That’s your problem.  An’ I tell you, Boston, sure as hell. . . wouldn’t have done the same for you.  Now, just get the fuck outta here and leave me be.”

“Do you always swear this much?”

“What?”

“Your vocabulary, you seem to swear a lot.”

What the hell was Boston talking about?  “Just. . . leave me. . . be.”  His mouth felt dry now and it seemed difficult to talk.  If only Boston would go.  Didn’t want people seeing him like this.  Never let anyone see your weak spot.  Never let your guard down.  And he felt so cold.  Maybe Boston would get him a blanket.  But couldn’t ask. . .

“Would you like a drink?” 

Boston seemed to be offering him a glass of something.  Johnny tried to focus on it and pushed it away.  “Not. . . thirsty.”  He swiped at the glass again, felt the water go all over his arm.  Now Boston seemed to be wiping him.  No, please, not that.  Why wouldn’t he just go?  But now Boston was lifting him and putting the glass to his lips.  He swallowed some of the water but it just made him feel like puking.  He lay trying to fight the new wave of nausea before losing the battle and puking the water and foul tasting bile all over himself.  He could feel himself choking on it, not able to breathe, before Boston pulled him up and propped him with a pillow.  He couldn’t focus on Boston’s face but felt Boston washing his face off.  Real gentle.  He felt like howling and he hadn’t cried since he was a little kid.  He fought the urge to cry.  Instead he said, “Leave... the fuck... alone.”

But Boston just pushed another pillow under him.  “Don’t touch... my gun.”

“It’s ok.  I won’t touch it.  Are you cold?”

He nodded.  He was too tired to talk.  Felt worse now, the puking had worn him out.

“I’ll get you another blanket.”

He felt Boston push the blanket around him.  Still felt cold.  He just wanted to shut his eyes.  His back was really burning now.  Just shut his eyes and not wake up.  But Boston was talking again.

“I think you need to stay awake, Johnny. Sam, the doctor, is coming to see you soon.  I think he would want you to stay awake.”

“What’s he comin’ for?  ’Fraid I’m gonna die on you?”

“He likes to check up on his patients.  That’s all.”

Johnny tried to think of something to say, but his head felt odd now.  Kinda muddled.  Hell, was that his mother standing by the door?  No, couldn’t be.  She was long dead.  Shit.  Don’t think of that. Not her dying.

Sure looked like her though.  And now seemed like she’d lied to him.  Or had he dreamed that?  Shit,  just wanted to sleep now. 

“Johnny, don’t go to sleep.  Try and listen to me.”

Who was that?  Oh, Boston.  Brother.  Didn’t know about a brother.  She never said nothing about a brother.  Everyone lied.  She’d lied.  Why was she at the door?  Thought she was dead. 

“Johnny, can you hear me?”

He tried to open his eyes to look at Boston.  So tired, though.  Felt like someone was wiping his face.  Who’d do that?  There’d been a girl, but she’d gone.

“Johnny, come on.  You’ve got to try and stay awake.”

Boston sounded odd.  Worried.  What about?  There was more noise now. Voices.  If only they’d shut up, let him sleep.

Now there was a new voice.  “Johnny.  It’s Doc. Can you hear me?”

Course he could hear.  He tried to nod.

“Can you try and look at me, Johnny?  I’m going to have to have another look at your back. Do you understand?  It’s  infected.  But we’ll sort it out, ok?”

He tried to speak.  “’Bout that gunfight.”

“Johnny, I can’t hear you, what’s that?”

“That gunfight, had... had... my  reasons.”

“Johnny, don’t worry about the gunfight.  We’ve just gotten to get you better, ok?”

“Let me... go... Doc.”

“Johnny, I don’t like losing patients, I told you that before.  You’ve just gotten to hold on, ok?  But what I’m going to do is going to hurt, I’m afraid.”

He tried to focus on Doc but everything was slipping.  He could feel hands on him.  But he was so tired and cold.  There was a glow by the door.  Looked warm there.  If only he could get there.  So cold. 

Part Twelve

Everything ached, his back, his shoulders, his head and despite wearing gloves, his hands were raw, too.  He had never realised quite what hard work ranching was.  He thought back wryly to his early thoughts that other people on the ranch would do the physical work.  He couldn’t have been more wrong.  But at least the hard work was taking his mind off Johnny.

He was surprised at how concerned he felt about his “brother.”  Particularly in view of what he had learned about Johnny Madrid.  Once the ranch hands had realised that he finally knew who Johnny was, they had been only too keen to fill him in on all the stories surrounding his gunfighter brother.  And they weren’t pretty stories. 

He had been unsuccessful in getting any more information out of Murdoch.  The man seemed very shocked by Johnny’s relapse and was often found sitting by Johnny’s bed, just staring at his very sick son.  And he really was sick.  Sam seemed to think they would lose him.  When Scott had asked what Johnny’s chances were, Sam had shaken his head sadly and said: “Virtually nil, I would say.  He was weak from the operation and this infection is very severe.  Add to that the fact that he doesn’t appear to want to live and that he was weak from being in prison. . .”  And Scott had then had to demand that Murdoch tell him about the “prison”, another snippet of information his father had omitted to mention.

Scott trudged upstairs.  Tired as he was, he wanted to see how Johnny was doing.  His brother was the strangest man he had ever met and he didn’t know what to make of him, especially now he knew about Madrid.  Strange that he had sensed Johnny was dangerous, but he’d also realised early that he was probably a good man to have around in a crisis – provided he was on your side.

He walked into Johnny’s room, where Murdoch was sitting.  The man seemed to be studying Johnny’s face intently.  “Murdoch, how is he?  Is there any change?”

His father didn’t seem to hear, he just continued to stare at Johnny, lost in thought.

“Sir, are you alright?  Staring at him like that, it’s as if you’re looking for something, what do you hope to see?”

Murdoch looked at him.  “Some trace of the child I once knew, I suppose.  He had an amazing smile, it could light up a room, but I haven’t seen that smile since he came home.”

Scott stared at him, before saying gently, “That was a long time ago, he’s a man now, he’s bound to be different.  People change, Murdoch.”

Murdoch shook his head sadly.  “I still hoped for the smile.  And if only I knew what had happened to him in the missing years.  Those scars . . .  I tried so hard to find him.  Spent years, on and off, searching.  Every time I had money, I started another search.  But those border towns, well, anyone can disappear in those towns.  But I tried so hard. . .” he trailed off.

You didn’t come and find me though and you knew where I was.  Scott bit down the response.  This wasn’t the time or the place to demand to know why Murdoch hadn’t ever made contact with him.  It would wait.  It had waited twenty five years, a little longer wouldn’t hurt.

Murdoch shook his head again.  “I really don’t know.  He looks dreadful.  His breathing is very shallow but I don’t think he’s worse than he was.  Holding his own, is the best I can say.  But Sam seems to think that he doesn’t even want to live.”  He sighed, heavily.  “How can someone so young be so tired of life?”

Scott looked down at Johnny.  He’d heard those words that Johnny had said to Sam, asking Sam to “let me go,” their meaning had been clear.  “I don’t think he’s as tough as he tries to make out.  When I came up to sit with him, when you sent for Sam, he was sick all over himself and I sponged him down and washed his face.  But the strangest thing was, it looked like his eyes were, well, he almost looked like he was going to cry.”  Scott wondered how to explain it.  “It was almost as though he couldn’t believe someone was doing something to try and look after him.  It. . ., well, the way he looked, it was just really sad.   Of course, he just told me to leave him alone, but not so politely.”

“I can certainly believe that.  His language is appalling.”

“I told him that, too!”

Scott stretched to ease his aching back.  He realised Murdoch was watching him, looking faintly amused. 

“Ranching’s hard work.  Any regrets yet about deciding to stay?”

He shook his head.  “No.  I was bored in Boston and I can honestly say that there seems to be no chance of the same happening here.  In fact, a little boredom would be very welcome right now.”  He glanced again at Johnny’s pallid face, before adding, “I wasn’t sure what to think when you told me about Johnny’s gunfighting.  The idea of someone making a living by being fast with a gun, it’s so alien to me.  Abhorrent, if I’m honest.  But then I tell myself that Boston rules don’t apply out here.”

“Scott, even out here, different as things are to Boston, gunfighting is considered abhorrent.  We’re not that uncivilised here.”

“I meant no offence . . .”

“I know, but make no mistake, if Johnny lives and if he decides to stay, he will not be considered a welcome addition to the neighbourhood by local society.  I suspect that a lot of my oldest friends will want nothing to do with him, or me, if I encourage him to stay.  They won’t want him near their wives, or their daughters, that’s for sure.  They will simply view him as a killer – a hired gun, not Johnny Lancer.”

“I’m sorry, Murdoch, I guess I never considered how difficult this is for you.”

Murdoch sighed.  “And his staying could bring other types of trouble.  Other gunfighters who want his reputation, when they find out where he is, they will come looking.  They’ll come to challenge him, because killing him boosts their own reputations.  And gunfighting’s all about reputation.  And believe me, Johnny’s is fearsome.  His being here brings danger to us all.  I want to save him from that life, if it’s not too late already.  But the way he was when he arrived. . .  He seemed cold, hard, almost brutal.  The things he said, his language, the way he looked at Teresa that first evening.  I’ll be honest, he frightens me.  But I am even more frightened of reading about his death in some seedy border town, gunned down in a senseless gunfight.  I dream now of that, when I’m not dreaming about him riding flat out back towards the ranch before he was gunned down.”

It was probably the first really honest speech he had heard from his father.  For the first time, he felt compassion for the man who looked so defeated.  It seemed that the ranch might be saved, but the battle was far from over, assuming Johnny lived.  But that looked far from certain, and if Johnny died, he suspected that his father would still feel defeated.  To have finally found Johnny after all those years of searching, it would be a very cruel blow for Murdoch to lose him now.

“For what it’s worth, Sir, I really do feel that there’s more to him than what we saw that first evening.  It was almost overdone that first night.  He was trying to shock you.  I told you, I heard him later speak to Teresa, and he was so different.  Did you know that he believes you threw him and his mother out?  Thinks you never wanted him?”

He felt alarmed as he saw the colour drain from Murdoch’s face.  “He told you that?  What did he say?  When was this?”

“Teresa didn’t tell you?”

“No,” snapped Murdoch.  “Just tell me what the hell he said.”

“It was the first morning, when he came back from town.  He and I, well, we . . . we had a slight falling out.  And I asked him why he came here.  He said for the money, which disappointed me I suppose, if I’m honest.  But then he said how you had thrown him and his mother out.  Teresa told him that wasn’t true, but I don’t know if he believed her.  He was angry and trying to ride off and then there was all the commotion over Caspar so the conversation never went any further.”

His father was looking white and shaken now.  “Who would have told him such a thing?  Surely Maria wouldn’t have told him such lies?  Oh my God.”  He held his head in his hands before suddenly looking up, with a dawning realisation on his face.  “My God,” he said softly.  “No wonder he hates me, if he believes that. Is that why he was trying to make me  angry, so  I would draw on him, so he could kill me?   It would certainly explain his attitude towards me.  But if so, if he really does hate me, why did he risk his life to save the ranch?”

Scott felt embarrassed.  What should he say?  What could he say?  He didn’t know what the hell Johnny had been thinking when he made his choice of that reckless ride in front of Pardee’s men.  All he knew was that it had been Johnny’s “plan”, which had apparently included probably getting himself killed.  And Johnny hadn’t cared about that.

And when he was honest with himself, it was that part of his brother he found most disturbing.  It was why he felt there had to be more to Johnny than just a cold blooded killer.  He was a man who was tired of life, and who had chosen to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the ranch, but for what?  It couldn’t have been for Murdoch, so why?

He stared again at the enigma lying in the bed.  Struggling to breathe, but holding on.  He wondered if Johnny would live to answer some of these questions.  God, he hoped so.  Heavy footsteps on the stairs dragged his mind back.  Hopefully it was Sam.  At least he would be able to tell them how Johnny was doing.

As Sam’s figure appeared in the doorway, Scott gave a sigh of relief and Murdoch lifted his head from his hands where he still seemed sunk in despair.

“How’s he doing?” asked Sam.

“We were rather hoping that you would tell us the answer to that,” Scott responded drily.

“Well, at least he’s still with us, so let me take a look at him.  Can you help me turn him, Scott, so that I can take a proper look at that wound?”

Scott hurried to help him and then stood back while Sam checked the bullet wound and checked Johnny’s pulse.

After a few moments Sam stood back, viewing Johnny thoughtfully.  “Well, he’s certainly holding his own.  His pulse is still very weak but the wound looks a lot better, no sign of new infection.  Seems to me that although he thinks he’d be better off dead, there’s a bit of him determined to fight to live.  I really didn’t think he had a chance.  I have to tell you, Murdoch, I rather like him.  As Scott said to me a few days ago, he’s a man worth getting to know.  I didn’t understand why Scott felt that, I was like you, just seeing the reputation, but there is a lot more to this young man than meets the eye.  I just hope we all have the chance to see what else is there, other than Johnny Madrid, gun for hire.”

“Sam, Scott has just told me that Johnny believed I threw him and Maria out, she must have lied to him about the past.”

The doctor nodded his head slowly and said, “I know, Johnny and I discussed it briefly.  He had some very strange ideas about the past . . .”

“And it didn’t occur to you to tell me about this?” Murdoch demanded angrily.

Sam stared at him in irritation.  “Murdoch, he is my patient, anything Johnny says to me is confidential.  I was going to speak to him about discussing it with you when he was stronger, but in case you hadn’t noticed, he had a relapse.  However, I did tell him that he was mistaken, and I told him that you had been searching for him for years.   But I am not telling you any details of what he said.  That is for him to tell you, when he’s ready.”

“And if he dies, I’ll never know.”

Part Thirteen

He managed to pull himself round and get his feet to the floor.  Now, if only he could walk.  Shit, that hurt!  Gritting his teeth, he managed to force himself to his feet and then stood swaying for a second, clinging to the bedpost.  The room spun and for a moment he thought the floor was coming up to meet him too.   He closed his eyes briefly until the feeling of nausea passed.  The next challenge was to reach the window.  Find out how strong he was.  How soon could he get out of here?  He had to get out, get away from these people.  He didn’t belong here and they sure as hell didn’t need someone like him around.

And they never left him alone.  Always someone hovering.  Why?  They couldn’t care about him so why wouldn’t they just leave him alone?  He found it easier to feign tiredness, it seemed to work.  They would nod understandingly and leave.  Trouble was it didn’t work with the doc.  He would just snort and tell him to pay attention.  The doc seemed surprised that Johnny had survived.  Hell, he was surprised that he had survived.  It hadn’t been part of his plan.  He’d been looking forward to meeting his old friend, Death.  It was time.  And now he knew Mama had lied to him all those years, well, there really wasn’t much point in anything, any more.

Of course, if he wasn’t so dumb, he would have seen through her lies.  He’d asked her sometimes why they were always moving?  She’d told him it was because of the men searching for them.  And he’d asked, why, if his father didn’t want them, he was trying to find them?  But she never answered that question, more often than not he just got a swipe round the head, or a push down the steps.  He’d soon learned not to ask.  He’d learned to do a lot of things real fast.  Like walking real quiet, so that if Mama had a man with her, they wouldn’t hear if he walked in by mistake.  That always led to a beating, or worse, depending on the man.

Still, no sense brooding on the past.  It couldn’t be changed, no more than the future could.  He couldn’t see a future.  Not like other people.  He was too far down the road he was travelling to hope for anything.  If only he could get the hell outta here.  Away from the old man, Boston and the girl.  He couldn’t think of them by their names, that would be too personal and he didn’t want anything personal.

He slowly let go of the bedpost, at least the room was staying still now.  Slowly, very slowly, he made his way to the window.  It was good to stand in the soft breeze.  And look at his mountain.  Fuck!  Stop thinking of the fucking mountain.  Why?  Why did he keep looking at the damn thing?  So what if he’d liked it when he was a tiny kid?  Think about the gun instead.  He still had the one gun under his pillow, but he want to check his other gun.  THE gun.  The killing gun.  Where the hell was it?  The drawer, maybe it was in the drawer.  He pulled it open and felt a huge sense of relief to see it lying there.  He lifted it out and it fitted into his hand, just so.  A part of him.  It moulded into his palm, an extension of him.  It was who he was.  The only thing he was sure of. 

He stroked it tenderly.  God, it felt good to have it in his hand.  To know it was safe.  Was the derringer in the drawer too?  Yes.  So long as his knives were still in his boot.  The boots stood against the wall by the chest.  It looked a long way down to pick them up.  Too far down.  Couldn’t risk falling over and not being able to get up.  Couldn’t risk anyone seeing him like that.  Just check the gun instead.  Check it’s loaded.  Shit!  There’s someone coming.  Maybe, they’ll go on along the passage.  Hell!

The door opened and his father stood there.  Didn’t look too pleased either.

“What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“Gettin’ my gun.  Not that it’s your business.  Gotta get up sometime.  I need to be outta here soon.”

“Where you need to be is back in bed.  Let me give you a hand.”

“Just leave me alone.  I’m fine.”  He wished he felt fine.  Sure as hell didn’t want the old man watching him struggle back to the bed.  Still, he’d got the gun, which was what he’d wanted.  Maybe if he kept quiet the old man would give up and leave.  Shit, his head was hurting now.  Everything was such an effort.  The old man still hadn’t moved.  Was just standing there, watching him.  Waiting.  Fuck. 

“Do you want a hand?”

“No!”  Johnny slowly started his slow progress back to the bed.  It felt like a mile.  The old man looked like he was ready to grab him at any second.  Why?  Why was the old man watching him?  He grabbed the bedpost and holding tight lowered himself down to the edge of the bed.  Just sit here now, like it was where he wanted to be.

“Shall I help lift your legs up?  Ease you round?” 

Shit!  It was like the old man knew how much he wanted to lie down.  Needed to lie down.  Not that he’d admit it.  “I’m right where I want to be, so leave me the fuck alone.”  That should rile the old man enough to make him leave.  Johnny fiddled with the gun in his hand.  Anything rather than look at the old man.  But he could feel those blue eyes boring into him.  Blue – just like his own.

God!  Now he was pulling up a chair.  Why couldn’t he just go?  Why wouldn’t they all leave him in peace?  Were they afraid he was going to steal the silver?

“I ain’t in the mood for a chat.  I’m real tired.”

“Well, then you’d better let me help you into bed as you quite obviously can’t manage it alone.”

The old man sounded pleased with himself about that – got the upper hand.  And the old man knew that Johnny knew who’d got the upper hand.  “I’m just fine, right here.”

“Well, in that case you won’t mind me sitting and having a talk.”

Dios.  There was going to be no getting out of this.  Leastways not if he wanted to keep his dignity.  “What about?”

The old man hesitated, like he wasn’t sure how to go on.  Here it came, an offer to pay him off no doubt.  The old man wouldn’t want him around.  And he couldn’t blame him for that.

“I heard that you think I threw you and your mother out.”

Shit.  Didn’t see that one coming.  Strange, thought the doc would keep things to himself.  Should have known not to trust him.  “So the doc told you that, huh?”

He was surprised when the old man shook his head.  “No, Sam didn’t tell me anything.  Hell, you’re one of his patients, no way would he tell me anything.  No, it was Scott and Teresa.”

Of course!  Funny, he’d forgotten all about that.  Hadn’t believed the girl.  Just thought her pa would have lied to her.  It seemed to be what parents did best.

He shrugged.  “Seems I might have heard things wrong.”

“I didn’t throw you out.  I woke one morning and found you both gone and I did everything I could to find you.  That’s the truth.  Did your mother tell you I’d thrown you both out?”

He sure as well didn’t want to discuss his mother with the old man, or how she’d made a living.  He shrugged again.  “Don’t remember.”

It didn’t sound convincing and he knew the old man didn’t believe him.  Instead the old man just sat silently, still watching him, waiting for more.  Well, he’d have to wait a long time, ’cos he sure as hell wasn’t adding anything.

“It seems she’d been seeing someone.  I. . . I knew nothing about it.  Other people did, but not me.  I was the last one to know.”

That was a tough admission to make.  And knowing his mother as he did, no surprise that she had a man on the side.  Johnny looked at him from under half closed eyes before glancing away and saying softly, “Husband’s always the last to know.”

“I tried hard to find you.  Hired Pinkerton men whenever I could, as well.  But there was never any trace.”

Johnny shrugged again.  “We moved ’round a lot.”  He wasn’t going to tell the old man that they were always trying to keep one step ahead of the Pinkerton men or an unpaid landlord. 

“Where?  Did your mother stay with him?”

“Don’t remember where and don’t remember no man either.”  Just hundreds of men.  Dios, his mama had liked men.  Not surprising she’d left the old man.  He’d never have kept her satisfied. 

“Well, how did the two of you live?  Did your mother work?”

“Yeah.  In a cantina.”  That was a joke.  She’d never have been seen dead working for an honest buck, not when she could make it on her back.  And any money she made went on tequila.  But the way the old man was nodding, well, looked like he had bought the lies.  Where was the point in telling the man his wife was a whore?  She was dead and seemed she was the one who’d lied, so, let it go.  Why upset the man?

“Your back. . .  Who whipped you?  Surely not your mother?”

“No!  Wasn’t her.”

“Well then, who?”

“Don’t remember.”  And that was the truth.  There’d been too many of them.  But the whippings were the least of it. . . Shit!  Don’t think about that.  God, if the old man knew, he’d be disgusted with him, ’cos it must have been his own fault, being a halfbreed an’ all.

He fiddled with the gun again, weighing it in his hand.  Feeling the smoothness of the handle against his hand.  Must oil it.  And the other one.  Maybe the girl would bring him up a cloth to cover the bed so he could oil the guns.  He’d ask her when they were all out working.  She’d be easy to get round.

“So, are you going to stay and have your share of the ranch?”

“Didn’t earn it.  Didn’t kill Pardee.”

“You took a bullet in the back saving this ranch, I’d say you earned it.”

Johnny looked at him.  Perhaps it was time for a little honesty.  Just a little.  “We both know I don’t belong here and I’d only bring trouble.  Best that I leave.”

The other man was staring at him now.  Looked put out.  “But you do belong here.  You were born here.  I built this place assuming that one day my sons would have it.”

“Well, I’m sure old Boston will be real pleased about that.  But he sure as hell won’t want me around.”

“He’s hoping you’ll stay, he said so.  And before you ask, yes I did tell him about Madrid.”

“I know.  But let’s face it, being from back east, he don’t realise what it really means.  You an’ me do though.  How would you introduce me to all your fancy friends?  An’ you really think your neighbours want someone like me around?”

“That’s their problem.  The fact remains that you are my son.”

“ ’Ain’t that easy, though.  What about when people come lookin’ for me?  Lookin’ to gun me, to get my reputation.  How you going to deal with that, old man?”

The old man looked really pissed now.  “I don’t know how I’ll deal with it.  I suppose we’ll just have to deal with it as a family, if and when it happens.”

“You don’t get it, do you?  Why do you want me to stay anyway?  You sure as hell didn’t want me here when I arrived.  You were shittin’ yourself, old man, you were so scared of me.  What changed?”

The old man just shook his head.  And then said softly, “I don’t want to read of your death in the papers.  Dead in some dusty street, killed in some pointless gunfight.”

“It’s what I do.  I don’t care, why should you?”

“Dammit!  I’m your father, of course I care.  You have your whole life ahead of you and you’re just throwing it away.  You’ve everything to lose.”

“Hell, I got nothing to lose.  I gave up caring whether I live or die a long time ago, old man.  I still don’t see why you should give a shit.  You couldn’t wait to get me outta here a few days ago.  An’ I tell you I still don’t understand why you sent for me, cos it sure seemed like you didn’t want my gun.  When did you find out who I was?”

The old man just shook his head. 

“When, old man?”

The man looked at him now.  “Almost two years ago.  I . . . I didn’t know what to do.”

“Until you needed my gun.”

“No, that’s not how it was.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me how it was?”

The old man looked real uncomfortable now.  Good.  He was getting his edge back, got the old man on the run. 

“I didn’t send for either of you.  Teresa did, when I was ill.”

Johnny bit back a laugh.  Oh boy, he’d love to have been a fly on the wall when the old man found out the girl had sent for the infamous gunfighter.  Still, give the old man credit, he’d had the guts to admit it.  He was looking like he expected Johnny to shoot him now. Well, he definitely had his edge back, now.

“Well, old man,” he drawled, “sure explains why you were real unfriendly when I showed up.  No wonder you had my money ready an’ waiting.  Well, you needn’t worry, like I said, I’ll be outta here.  But I’m keeping the horse.”

The old man looked puzzled.  “The horse?”

“Yeah, the palomino.  I’m keeping him, reckon you owe me the horse.”

“Never mind the damn horse.  Of course you can keep him, if you want him.  I’m offering you a third of this ranch and you’re just going to walk away from it and go and wind up dead.”

“We all gotta go sometime, don’t we?”

“What are you scared of?”

“I ain’t scared of nothing, and I sure ain’t scared of dying.”

“Just commitment.”

Commitment? What the hell did that mean?  Bet old Boston would know what it meant.  Hell, Boston could probably spell it, too.  Shit, these people made things difficult.  Sooner he was outta here the better.

“I said you’re afraid of commitment.”

“I heard you!”

“I’m offering you a chance of a different life, Johnny.  A fresh start, a family.  Land, a home.  Isn’t that worth having?”

“Like I said, you’ll be a lot better off without me around.  I’ll only bring trouble.”

The old man looked real mad now.  Johnny wished he had the energy to get back in the bed.  This talk was wearing him out.  He just wanted to lie down, and have a sleep.  And stop having to talk.

The old man stood up.  Dios, he’s finally got the message.

The man looked at him.  “I’m offering you a real chance here, Johnny.  The best you’ve ever had.  But it seems to me, you’re too much of a coward to take it.”  And the man walked out of the room. 

Part Fourteen

He felt like throwing something at his father’s departing back – preferably a sharp knife.  Well, fuck him.  Johnny Madrid wasn’t scared of nothing.  And he wasn’t no coward.  But what the hell was commitment anyway?  The sooner he got outta here the better.  He didn’t need these people.  Or their fancy words, which he didn’t understand.  As for Boston, well, he hardly understood anything that Boston said.  If he had the strength, he would walk out right now.  But he didn’t think he could even lift his legs into the bed.  Shit.  Just keep sitting right here.  If someone else comes in, an’ that’s all they fucking do, well, they’ll think he wanted to be sitting there still.  But Dios, his head hurt.

Still, leastways the old man had been honest.  Admitting he hadn’t sent for him.  Sent for either of them.  Why wouldn’t the old man have sent for Boston?  After all, he was the sort of son a man like Lancer could be proud of.  Educated, manners, polite, everything Madrid wasn’t.  The sort of man he could introduce to his friends and neighbours, everything Madrid wasn’t.  Hell, he could imagine what the reaction would be in town to the arrival of Johnny Madrid as a permanent fixture.  He grinned, they’d all be cowering in their houses and locking up their daughters.  Like he’d be interested in their dull daughters.  He liked fire in his women.  He must be on the mend, he was thinking about women.  If only he didn’t feel like shit.  He couldn’t imagine being much use to any woman at the moment.

He tried to lift his legs into the bed but still couldn’t manage.  Shit, he’d be sitting here forever at this rate.  Maybe if he sat just a few minutes longer, he’d manage it in a minute.  Footsteps were coming along the corridor.  Please let them go past.  Don’t come in.  But the door opened. Dios, it was old Boston with a tray.  What the hell did he want?

“I brought you some soup, I thought you might be starting to feel hungry.”

“Well, I ain’t.  Just sitting here, that’s all.  Fed up with lying down.”

He wasn’t too sure that Boston believed him, the way he just raised an eyebrow at that.  Just look real relaxed, look out the window.  Ignore him.  Shit, what’s he doing now?  Putting the soup down?  Does that mean he’s planning on staying?

“Would you like a hand into bed?  You look absolutely exhausted.”

“No, I don’t need a fucking hand...” But Boston ignored him and was lifting his legs up and gently supporting him into the bed.  Now he was propping him up with pillows.  Hell, if he could reach his gun out, he’d blow Boston’s head off for this.  But he felt too damn tired even for that.  Trouble was, he felt too tired for anything, had been for a long time now.

“Would you like the soup?”

“No!”  Truth was, even the smell was making him feel queasy.  And why the hell did Boston have to stand there, just looking at him?  Why wouldn’t they all just leave him alone? 

“So, have you decided to stay?”

“I ain’t staying here a moment longer that I have to.  Soon as I can ride, I’m outta here.”

“Why?”

“What the hell d’you mean, why?”

“Just that, why leave?”

What sort of question was that?  He tried to think of some smart answer, but his head was throbbing.  “No reason to stay now.”

“Don’t you think a hundred thousand acres is a good reason?”

“Is that why you’re staying then Boston, for the land?  Wouldn’t have thought it would mean much to you.”  That’s it.  Try and get the edge back.

But Scott just smiled at him, and pulled up a chair to sit in.  “Actually, it’s not the land I’m staying for.”

He had to admit, he was curious now.  “Then for what?”

The older man hesitated, looking real thoughtful.  “For the challenge, I think.  And curiosity.  I’m interested in getting to know our father.  Aren’t you?”

Johnny shrugged.  “No.  He’s nothin’ to me.”

“I think you said the same thing of me that day, by the river.”

Damn, something else he’d forgotten about that business at the river.  “Well, same’s true of you.  Ain’t none of you anything to me.”

“So why risk your life helping save the ranch?”

“None of your fucking business.” 

“Your language is atrocious, you know.  We’re going to have to do something about your appalling lack of more suitable adjectives.”

Was the man talking a foreign language now?  He felt wrong footed, he’d lost his edge.  Try a different ploy.  He yawned.  “I’m real tired, Boston, so if you don’t mind . . .”

“Oh, don’t mind me.  I’ll just sit and chat until you nod off.”

Dios, the man was stubborn, why wouldn’t he just leave?

“So, as I was saying, why did you risk your life?  I really am very curious, given your apparent disregard for our well being.”

Johnny wondered how many fancy words old Boston actually knew.  Even so, he had a feeling that Boston wasn’t going to let up on this line of questioning.  Hell, just answer him, then, maybe he’d go away.  “You an’ the old man really don’t have any idea do you, about what Pardee would have done to the women here?”

“You mean he’d have killed them?”

“You saw what he did at Casper’s place.  You think they did that just ’cos she was a Mex?  Wouldn’t make no difference who the women were, they’d have taken turns at raping them and then killed them, including the old man’s precious darling.  It’s what Pardee and his men always do.”

“But he was a gunfighter, like you.”

“No!  Not like me, Boston.  I might be a hell of a lot of things but I don’t make war on women and I ain’t nothing like Pardee.  Nothin’!  An’ I tell you, if you ever say that again, I really will kill you.”  He felt the blood pumping in his head, if he’d had enough energy he would have knocked Boston clean out for daring to suggest he was anything like that piece of shit, Pardee.

“So you did it because of the women?  Johnny Madrid, gun for hire, has a weak spot?”  Boston was looking at him now, curiously.  “I thought you were meant to be a really hardened gunfighter, it’s what everyone says.  Those men out there, they’re really frightened of you.  They say you’re as cold and hard as they come.  And yet you risked your life for some women you didn’t know, and, from what I’ve heard, you came here straight after being involved in helping some peasants in a revolution.  I can’t imagine they could afford your fee.”

Johnny shrugged.  “So, I got that one wrong.”

But Boston didn’t seem to be buying that one either.  He was shaking his head slowly.  “No, I don’t think you miscalculated.  You’re most definitely not stupid.  Which can only mean that you wanted to help them, even though they couldn’t afford to pay you.  You definitely have an Achilles heel, brother.”

What the fuck was an acklees heel?  “Don’t call me brother.  You ain’t nothing to me.”

“Yes, you said that already.  Actually, I always wanted a brother, although I never envisaged one quite like you.”

Envisaged, what the hell sort of word was that?  Did Boston use these words deliberately, just to try and make himself seem smart?  No, somehow that didn’t fit.  It was just that Boston knew these words and they came real natural to him.  Hell, look at that book he was reading on the stage.  Shit, that had been one big book.  But on the stage Boston had tried to put him down, but now, well, it was different.  He didn’t think Boston was trying to put him down.  Was just talking to him like he’d talk to anyone he knew, assuming Johnny would understand, ’cos he didn’t think Madrid was stupid.  It was kinda good not to be thought stupid, most folk seemed to think if you were a half breed you were dumb. 

“Did you ever think it would be nice to have a brother?”  The question broke into his thoughts.

“What the hell would I have wanted a brother for?”  No way would he tell old Boston how he’d longed for one when he was a kid.  An older one who would have stuck up for him, fought for him, maybe stopped Mama’s men... no! Don’t think about that.  Anything but that.  “So, sorry to disappoint you, Boston, but no.  An’ if I had, he wouldn’t have been nothing like you.”  He was amused to see Boston looked kinda disappointed.

“So, why don’t you want to stay?”

“Told you, nothin’ for me here.”

“You’d rather go back to being a gunfighter?  You might get killed.”

Johnny laughed.  “Yeah, but we all gotta go sometime, don’t we?”

“Most people envisage a long life first.”

Shit, envisage, he’d said it again.  “Well, Boston, I ain’t most people.”  What sort of word was envisage anyway?

“No, you’re certainly not.  I have to say, though, for all your hard, gunfighter image, you don’t seem very dangerous.”

Johnny looked at him and said very softly, “I am.”  He paused, let the words sink in.  “Don’t make that mistake, Boston.  Don’t go thinking it’s just an image.  I done things you can’t even begin to imagine, an’ believe me, they ain’t nice.”

The curtain billowed in the breeze at the open window.  Scott sat with bowed head and then looked up.  “I killed as a soldier, in the war.”

“That’s different.  Hell, people think you’re a hero in a war.  No one thinks I’m a hero.  Just a paid killer.” 

“How many men have you killed?” 

Why did people always ask that?  They were so predictable.  Hell, the old man had been dying to know, just couldn’t bring himself to ask.  Kinda funny, really.  He’d seen it in the old man’s eyes, but he couldn’t ask.  

“I haven’t been counting.” 

“I thought gunfighters had notches on their guns.”

“My gun wouldn’t be big enough.”  Good, that sure shut Boston up.  Briefly.

“You must know how many gun fights you’ve been in.”

“No, I don’t.”  He sure wasn’t telling Boston that every man he’d ever killed came visiting regularly.  Every damn night.  “Anyway, in a range war you never know if the people you shoot live or die.  Tend not to hang around to find out.”

“How old were you?  When you first ...?”  Boston couldn’t even say it.

“None of your damn business.”

“And this life of yours, it’s so wonderful that you’d rather go back to it than stay here?”

“It’s what I know.  It’s who I am.  You just don’t get it, do you?”

“I know you’ll end up dead before long.  When you could stay here and have a life, a future.”

A future.  That was rich.  It was the one thing he’d always known he didn’t have.  Futures were for other people, not him.  “It’s too late to change.  Even if I wanted to.”

That seemed to rile Boston, he looked real annoyed.  “Rubbish!  You’re young, you can have a whole different life, if you want it.”

He shut his eyes, hoping Boston would leave. 

“And don’t think that if you shut your eyes, I’ll just tiptoe away.  I want an answer.  Why won’t you stay?”

Johnny opened his eyes.  “I won’t stay.  Like I said, I’m dangerous, Boston, but I’m also dangerous to be around.  And believe me, people will come looking for me.  At some stage.  And that puts everyone near me at risk.  Including you, Boston.  So maybe you should start thinking about that.  Worry about your own skin instead of mine.  And you should realise how lucky you are that I’m just going to ride outta here.  Hell, you’ll get half a ranch instead of a third.”

“I’d rather have a brother.”

“Funny, you don’t seem stupid.  Except when you wear them damn stupid eastern clothes.  But believe me, you don’t want me anywhere near.”

“If people come looking for you, we’ll deal with it when it happens.”

Funny that, the old man had used the same sort of words.  Something about what families do.  “Just get the fuck outta here Boston.  I’m leaving, as soon as I can ride.  An’ that’s an end of it.”

“You still haven’t said why.  If you dislike us so much, you can’t be worried about our safety.  I’m just wondering what it is you’re so scared of, surely not us?”

“Just.. get.. the fuck.. outta here, NOW!”  He had his gun in his hand now.  He cocked the gun, and hissed, “Now, Boston.”

Boston stood up and picked up the dish, walked slowly to the door.  He turned again and smiled almost sadly.  “Calm down, I’m going.  But you’re wrong you know.  You’ve got to learn to trust someone and you might as well start with family.”  He closed the door behind him and Johnny fell back onto his pillows, feeling like someone had torn his guts out.

Part Fifteen

Sam drove the buggy through the Lancer arch and up the long approach to the hacienda.  It never failed to strike him that it was an impressive entrance.  An entrance that announced the presence of a successful man.  It always puzzled him.  Murdoch wasn’t an arrogant or boastful man.  He was a good employer and loyal to his friends.  Sam suspected that the arch had been Murdoch’s way of getting back at Harlan Garrett.  A desperate attempt to shore up his pride when he had been impotent to wrest Scott back to Lancer.  It was too out of character for him to have built it for any other reason.  Sam wondered if Scott knew of Murdoch’s battle with Harlan.  He suspected not.  From what he had heard of Harlan, he wasn’t the sort of man to be forthcoming with a youngster.  And knowing Murdoch as he did, well, taciturn was the best way to describe him.  Somehow he couldn’t see Murdoch enlightening Scott about the past.

Sam sighed.  What a family!  It was obvious how reserved Scott was, you’d never know what he was thinking.  Those cool eyes and carefully chosen words didn’t give a thing away.  Murdoch was no better, but had a hell of a temper.  And as for Johnny. .  .  It seemed he had inherited the temper.  And stubborn didn’t begin to describe him.  God knows what would become of him – if no one could convince him to stay.  He shuddered as he thought of the garbled ramblings he had listened to when Johnny had been feverish.  He had been sickened and filled with a murderous rage when he had made sense of some of it.  No wonder Johnny had turned out wild.  But he recognised that there was also a core of decency running through the young man, a miracle given the circumstances of his youth.  He wished Johnny would tell him more about the gunfight, he had a feeling now that there was a story behind it that would reveal a lot about Johnny himself.

What he couldn’t understand was what the hell Maria had been doing when Johnny was being abused.  Why hadn’t she sent him home for his own safety?  Had she really hated Murdoch that much?  To have allowed her son to be treated as he had been when she could have taken action.  Sam shook his head, and wondered sadly if Johnny now realised the implications of learning that he and his mother hadn’t been thrown out.  That there had been a place of safety for him all along.  That his life could have been very different.  But it was obvious that Johnny thought it too late to change course now.  Or no longer had the energy.  Sam couldn’t blame him for that hard shell or the cynicism but it tore at his heart to see the hard young man, knowing life could have been so very different.

He could see Murdoch and Scott standing outside the hacienda and wondered briefly if Murdoch had the faintest idea of what sort of abuse Johnny had suffered.  But somehow, he suspected that in Murdoch’s world, he wouldn’t even know about the sorts of things that could be inflicted on the young.  Murdoch could see the scarred back, but not beyond.

He reined in the horse and smiled at the two men.  “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?  And how’s my patient doing?”

Murdoch shook his head.  “That’s what Scott and I were just talking about.  His recovery seems very slow, Sam, but he’s still hell bent on leaving here as soon as he can ride.”

Sam looked at the two men.  “It may seem an obvious question, but have you tried talking to him?”

Murdoch glared at him.  “Of course I’ve tried talking to him.  It. . . it didn’t go very well.  I ...” He paused.  “I got rather irritated.  I just don’t understand the boy.”

“Murdoch, he’s not a boy.  Hasn’t been for a very long time, I would say.  And by irritated, I suppose you mean you lost your temper.  Why doesn’t that surprise me?”  Sam was gratified to see that his sarcasm had the expected response.  Murdoch looked even crosser.

“I tried talking to him last night, Sam.”  Scott smiled apologetically.  “I didn’t have any success either.  He actually pulled a gun on me.”  Scott said it as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.  Sam tried to hide a smile.

“But it seems you’re still in one piece, Scott,” he said gently.

“Yes.  I don’t think he had the strength to pull the trigger!  But what I find strange is that he doesn’t seem to care about his future, or what happens to him.  I mean, he’s being offered a wonderful opportunity for a new life and he doesn’t seem interested.”

Sam was silent as he reflected on what Scott said.  How could these two men ever understand someone like Johnny Madrid?  Scott had a privileged upbringing, living in luxury, and Murdoch, while he might have worked hard to build his ranch, had never known real hardship.

Sam sighed.  “He’s tired.”

“Tired!” snorted Murdoch.  “He’s young, why should he be tired?”

“I mean, Murdoch, he’s tired of life.  He’s seen more in his few years than all of us put together, I suspect.  You’ve seen his back, Murdoch.  Doesn’t that make you wonder what else has happened to him?”

“I know it’s not easy being of mixed race, growing up in the border towns.  But no one forced him to pick up a gun.”

Sam stared at Murdoch.  The man really had no idea what Sam meant.  And it wasn’t his place to tell Murdoch what he suspected.  It would be unprofessional.  And, besides, Johnny would probably shoot him for it, he thought wryly.

“Do you want him to stay, Murdoch?”

“Yes, Sam, I do.  And I told him so.  But I don’t know how to deal with him.  It’s like he’s built a stone wall around himself and I haven’t a clue how to get through it or over it.”

Sam smiled, it summed up his patient rather well.  “Perhaps then, Murdoch, we’ll have to sneak under his defences instead!  I know one thing, I haven’t gone to all this trouble of saving his life to have him walk out of here to get himself killed in a gunfight.  I don’t give in without a fight.”  And with that Sam walked into the house and up the stairs.

He walked straight into Johnny’s room without knocking.  Johnny was lying, staring out of the window, apparently at the distant mountains. 

“So, how are you today, Johnny?”

“Fine.”  The reply was sullen.  “I’m fine, just tell me when I can expect to get outta here.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re fine.  In that case, get yourself up out of bed and walk to the window.”  Sam was amused at the faint flicker of panic in Johnny’s eyes.  It was gone in a flash and he felt he could almost have imagined it.  But he knew that this exercise was going to prove interesting.  “Come on then, show me how well you’re doing.”

He watched as Johnny, keeping his face averted from Sam, swung his legs out of bed and grasping the headboard, pushed himself onto his feet.  He stood, with white knuckles clutching the bedhead, swaying.  “Just get my balance a minute, been lying down too long.” 

Sam watched as Johnny went to let go of the headboard and moved quickly to catch him as he fell forward.

“Feeling fine, are you?  Well, you go right on downstairs and ride out of here then, Johnny.”

“Just dizzy.  Got up too quickly.  I’m fine.”  Sweat trickled down Johnny’s face.

Sam shook his head.  “God, Johnny, you’re a hard one, aren’t you?  And of course, you have no pain whatsoever.”

He was treated to a full Madrid scowl.  “I said, I’m fine.  Just got up too quick.”

“Johnny, you can lie to Murdoch and Scott, but you don’t need to lie to me.  You are still in considerable pain and nowhere near ready to get on a horse and ride anywhere.  Are you eating properly yet?”  He helped Johnny sit back down on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah.”

“I will check with Teresa.”

“OK!” Johnny snapped.  “Sometimes I feel like I’m going to puke.”

“How often?”

“Sometimes.”  Johnny sighed, looking defeated.  “Most of the time.  Just the thought of food makes me feel sick.”

Sam nodded.  “Ok, I’ll give you something that might help with that.  But the best thing for you would be to relax a little.”

“What the hell d’you mean?  Relax.  That’s all I can do lying here.”

“I mean stop being so tense and angry and let these people look after you.”

“I’d be just fine if they’d all leave me alone.  Always someone coming in.  Either the old man, Boston or the girl.  They never leave me in peace.”

“They’re concerned about you, it’s natural they should come in.”

“Why should they care?  I ain’t nothing to them.”

“Johnny, you’re their family, of course they care.”

Johnny snorted.  “Family don’t mean nothing.”

“Why don’t you use their names, Johnny?  I’ve never heard you call them by their names.”

Johnny shrugged.

“Why are you afraid to call them by their names?  Are you afraid they’ll start to mean something to you then?”

“I ain’t afraid of nothing, Doc.”

“You don’t even use my name.  It’s Sam.”

“I know!”

“Where was Maria when you were being beaten?”

Sam’s abrupt change of tack seemed to throw Johnny.  “What?”

“I take it that it wasn’t her who beat you?”

“No!”

“So who?”

Johnny just glared at him. 

“Who were they?  It obviously happened over a number of years.”

“An’ how d’you figure that one, Doc?”

“I can tell by the scarring.”

Johnny just glared again.  God, he was good at glaring.

“Were they friends of Maria?”

A ghost of a smile passed over Johnny’s face, but it didn’t touch his eyes.  “Yeah, friends.”

“What else did they do to you, Johnny?”

There was a momentary flicker of panic in Johnny’s eyes and he seemed to shrink back into his pillows.  Sam felt guilty but it confirmed his suspicions.

“Dunno what you mean.  They didn’t do nothin’.”

Sam watched as Johnny again ducked his head before looking up again with an impassive expression on his face.  Like a mask, thought Sam, sadly.

“So, when can I get outta here, Doc?”

“Changing the subject, are we?  You won’t be going anywhere if we can’t get you stronger.  You’re not out of the woods yet, young man.  And although I know you don’t care, I do, and I’ve told you that I don’t like losing patients.  So, was Maria a good mother?”

He was pleased to see that the question again threw his patient.

“What the fuck d’you mean?  Yeah, she was my mother, like any mother I suppose.”  But Johnny’s eyes were evasive now.  He looked out of the window again, avoiding meeting Sam’s gaze.

Sam thought he’d try his luck with another question.  “So what happened in that gunfight?”  He thought Johnny looked almost relieved at the change of tack.

“Why the fuck d’you keep on about that damn gunfight?”

Sam decided to stay silent.

“Look, it was just a job.  Some men wanted him dead, OK?”

“Who and why?”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.   “I’m real tired, Doc.”

“Not that tired, Johnny.  Why?”

“I don’t know why I just don’t shoot you, Doc, it would make life a lot easier.”

“Ah, but then you’d miss me, Johnny, and who would help you get better?  So stop trying to change the subject and just tell me why?”

Johnny fiddled with the blanket, pulling at a thread.  “They came to me ’cos the law wouldn’t touch him.  He was white and wealthy.  But he’d raped their daughters.  An’ cut ’em.  He was real vicious.  The one girl, well, she went crazy.  Her pa said she had to be put away somewhere, she went so crazy.”  He stared down at the blanket again, unravelling more of the thread.  “He was shit.  I gave the other guy his chance.  He coulda walked away.  But he went for his gun, so I killed him.  An’ the other, well, I figured those girls were going to suffer for the rest of their lives, he suffered for two or three minutes.  He had it easy.”

He unravelled a little more of the blanket and looked up.  “I broke my rule, OK?  Quick and clean.  Just figured that was too good for him.  Satisfied?”

Sam stared at him, thoughtful now.  The boy really was a puzzle.  But Sam was also strangely relieved.  He’d known there had to be something, that the boy wasn’t just “bad.”  He wondered how best to proceed.  Somehow he had to make the boy understand that he had a place here, people to care about him.  Care more than Maria ever had, he thought sourly.

“Thank you, Johnny, yes.  So, why do you want to leave here?”

“You don’t quit, do you, Doc?  Let’s face it, I’m trouble and they don’t need the trouble I’ll bring.”

“Don’t you think that’s up to them to decide?”

“They don’t realise what it could mean, me being here.”

“You’re underestimating them, Johnny.  They’re not stupid, Murdoch for sure will know the risks, but he still wants you to stay.”

Johnny just snorted, derisively.  “Don’t believe that.  Anyway, if I’m here I put them in danger, so, best I leave.”

“I think you’re just afraid to admit that anyone wants you.”  Sam bit back a smile as he was treated to the full Madrid glare.  “Have you ever loved anyone, Johnny?”

The question seemed to puzzle him.  “What d’you mean?  Like women?  I’ve had lots of women, Doc, and I’ve sure as hell fucked a lot of ’em.”

“That wasn’t quite what I meant.  I’m talking about love, really caring about someone and trusting them totally.  It’s what families do, Johnny.  It’s why Murdoch spent years trying to find you, it’s why he wants you to stay.  It’s why he will take the risk, and deal with the consequences of your past if and when they happen.”

“Love!  No one would love me.  ’Specially if they knew the things I’ve done.  Now, just get the fuck outta here, Doc, I’m real tired.”

Sam turned and headed for the door but paused and turned again to look at Johnny.  “You’re heading nowhere fast Johnny.  But I think you deserve more than a bloody death in some dusty street.  Much more.  You’d better let somebody love you, before it’s too late.”

Part Sixteen

His fingers tapped restlessly on the table, inactivity was driving him crazy.  And now sitting here having to listen to Boston and the old man drone on about their day.  Surely there was only so much you say about cattle.  They were pretty dumb animals, ’nough said.  And he longed for some food which tasted of something, not this plain roast meat with some tasteless sauce called gravy.  He wanted chillis and tortilla and tamales.  Real food.  Soon as he could ride he was goin’ looking for real food and a woman.  He must be going crazy, he was needing real food before the woman.  His fingers beat a louder rhythm and he was suddenly aware they were all looking at him.

“Do you want to go and sit in a more comfortable chair, Johnny?” The old man sounded a touch sour.

“Yeah, think I will.”  He braced his hands on the table as he stood, trying to make it look real casual and not let any flicker of pain show on his face.  The next test was to try and walk like it was easy.  When really, his back was killing him.  Every single thing he did hurt.  He was even forced to admit to himself that there was no way he was riding out of here for another day or two.  He’d never make it on to his horse.  And it didn’t take no genius to work out that no one was going to help him.  All they did was go on about him resting up, taking it easy.  Dios!  Maybe he should go and get round the cook.  Get her to make him some real meals.  Trouble was, the doc had said plain food.  Well, they sure understood plain food in this house.

He deliberately chose to sit in a high backed chair with arms.  Make it easier to stand later.  Now they all seemed to be coming in.  The girl was sitting down with some sort of sewing.  The old man was going to the liquor cabinet and old Boston was ferreting around in some cupboard.

The old man was holding out a bottle.   “Whisky, Johnny?”

He just shook his head.  Like he’d said, he only drank when he knew the men he was drinking with.  And he sure didn’t trust these men enough to drink with them.

“I bought you some tequila, if you would prefer that?”

He was surprised by that.  Didn’t think the old man would even think about that sort of thing.  He almost felt guilty refusing.  Hell, he did feel guilty.  “I really ain’t fancying liquor yet.  But, thanks anyway.”  He felt awkward and the old man looked kinda surprised.  Probably surprised that he knew to say thank you.

Boston seemed to be getting some box out the cupboard and looked across at him.  “I wondered if you’d like a game of checkers?”

Checkers?  Dios, does he think I’m a kid?  He fixed Boston with his coolest stare.  Didn’t say nothing.  Just stared, see what Boston would come up with next.

“Perhaps you’re not familiar with the game?  I could teach you?”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Kind of a kid’s game, ain’t it.  I prefer chess, maybe I could teach you?”

That put old Boston in his place.  Boy, don’t he colour up well!

“I. . . I didn’t think you played chess.  Sorry.”

He kept his gaze on Boston, unblinking for a second, enjoying Boston looking even more uncomfortable.  “You mean you thought I was too dumb to play chess?  That only people who go to fancy schools play?  But then, maybe you do need me to teach you.”

Boston looked real put out now.  “I’ll happily give you a game of chess.  I’ll get the board.”

“Yeah, you do that, Boston.”  He sat back in his chair and watched the man go and get the set.  He was looking forward to this.

Boston’s game was good, solid and very predictable.  Dios, he was like all the people who played this game, took ages to make a move.  Johnny knew that his rapid style of reading the board in a flash would throw the other man.  As would his restless fingers tapping while he waited for Boston to make his moves.  If he could get out of the damn chair he would have walked around the room in sheer boredom.  But he knew once he got out it would be to get up the stairs to bed, best to save his energy for that.

The old man was watching their game from behind the book he was pretending to read.  Seemed amused too.

Boston looked irritated by the restless fingers.  “This is a game of strategy, Johnny.  One is meant to consider all possible moves.  You should take more time to consider your options.”

“Is one?  Check.”

He heard the old man snort with laughter from behind his book.  Boston was looking real irritated now, and Dios, he was going to take ages to consider his “options.”

He heard the old man snicker again.  It was kinda strange.  It was almost like the old man was wanting Johnny to win.  Like they were on the same side.  He looked across and caught the old man looking at him.  The old man smiled and gave him a wink.  Dios!  Johnny permitted a ghost of a smile to cross his face in acknowledgment.  He was almost tempted to ask for a tequila. 

The old man must have read his mind.  He got up to pour himself another whisky and held up the tequila bottle.  “Sure you won’t change your mind, Johnny?”

“Why not?  Just a small one then.”  He took the glass.  It was good tequila too.  Not like some of the gut rot you could get.

Boston finally made his move, sat back looking smug.  It was a bad move.  Johnny looked at the board, and swallowed the rest of the tequila.  Then, without taking his eyes off old Boston’s face, made his own move.  “Mate.”

The old man was laughing now.  Boston just looked real put out and was frantically looking to see if it really was check mate.

“You have to give me a return game.”

“Nope.”  Johnny pushed himself to his feet.  Shit, that hurt.  “I’m turning in.”

“Where did you learn to play, Johnny?  You play a very good game.”  The old man was looking real curious.

He walked to the door before turning.  This should be real interesting.  “Prison.”

The old man looked puzzled.  “You mean just before you came here, in Mexico?”

“Nope.  Prison.  Real prison.”

“When were you in prison?”  The old man looked shocked.  And the girl and Boston were just sat staring at him.

“Didn’t your Pinkerton men tell you that?”  He wondered briefly what the hell the Pinkerton people had told the old man.

“No, they didn’t.  When were you in prison?”

He sighed.  Boy, they did want to know everything.  But this was his own fault.  Shouldn’t have said anything.  But then, he’d enjoyed shocking them, so what the hell.  “I dunno.  Maybe about twelve, thirteen.  Can’t remember.”

“So not proper prison then.” The old man sounded relieved.  “They don’t put boys of that age in proper prison.”

Johnny smiled at that.  “Half breeds they do.” 

That shocked the old man.  “What had you done?  Why did they put you in prison?”

Johnny shrugged.  “Stealing.”

The old man stared at him, like he was disappointed.  “I didn’t take you for a thief.  What did you steal?”

Johnny wondered briefly whether to invent something that would really shock them.  But  might as well stick to the truth.  “A loaf of bread, ’cos I was starving.  Hadn’t eaten in days.  See you in the morning.” 

No need to tell the old man that the loaf of bread had just been the start of it.  That he’d been thrown in jail and knocked out the sheriff trying to escape.

He was halfway through the door when the old man spoke again.  “Johnny, I’m sorry.” 

He stared at the old man, puzzled.  What the hell was the old man sorry for?  Looked kinda pale too.  He just nodded and left the room.  Dios, he wanted his bed.  If only he could make it up the stairs without falling over.

He managed the stairs and thankfully shut his bedroom door.  The curtains blew gently in the breeze at the open window.  He stared out into the night.  The sky was almost purple and full of brilliant stars.  He could smell the scent of the flowers in the girl’s garden and the air was still warm.  The sound of the cattle lowing in the distance and the horses snorting in the corral were carried on the breeze.  A shooting star shot across the sky.  You were meant to make a wish on those, he remembered someone telling him that.  He wondered what he would wish for if he believed in such things.  He figured that to belong somewhere like this, to be able to call it home, was probably as good as it got.

He stripped his clothes off and slid between the sheets.  Thankful that now he was no longer confined to bed, he didn’t have to wear that damn nightshirt any more.  The moon was almost full and cast a brilliant light in his room.  It was strange how comfortable he felt here.  Could he have a future here?  It was tempting.  But somehow, he didn’t feel it was fair on these people.

No, as soon as he could get on his horse, he’d leave.  Least he’d got a good horse out of the whole thing.  And a thousand dollars.  A small fortune.  Maybe the old man would let him keep the money as well as the horse.  Maybe he should ride north, go some place where people wouldn’t know him.  Get a place of his own.  But it would only be a matter of time before someone showed up who’d recognise him.  An’ then it would all start over again.  No good blaming anyone.  He’d chosen this life and now he had to live and die with it.  But it was sure tempting to just stay.  Trouble was, when the old man realised what he was really like and kicked him out, it would be even harder to leave.  Better not to have it in the first place.  Easier that way.  Just take the money.  Forget about trying to get a place of his own.  Spend it on women, same as always.  They were always his downfall.

Women.  He smiled to himself.  Yeah, it would be good to be able to ride free and go get a woman.  Hell, who needed a home anyway?

******* 

He sat in the girl’s garden enjoying the feel of the sun on his face while he dismantled his guns.  They needed cleaning and he had found himself fretting over it.  Pathetic, really, he thought as he dealt with the derringer.  Worrying about the fact you hadn’t cleaned your guns for a few days.  But it made him feel better.  He was going to clean them in private, in his room.  But the warmth of the sun and the fresh air were too strong a pull.

He wanted to get the job done now, the old man had friends coming to visit later and he thought it would be better if he wasn’t around for that.  He watched the girl hanging washing out, humming to herself.  She turned and saw him sitting there and smiled.  “Can I get you anything, Johnny?”

He shook his head and busied himself with cleaning his ordinary gun.  It wasn’t his real one, not the killing gun.  She walked over and looked at the other gun in its holster lying next to him on the bench where he sat.  She looked at it curiously. 

“That’s a really strange holster, I’ve never seen one like it before.  Why’s it cut away like that?”

He shrugged.  Didn’t want to answer that question.  But like all women she was determined to press the point.

“Wouldn’t the gun fall out?  It really is cut right away.  Why?”

He sighed.  “Gun clears the holster quicker that way.”  He couldn’t look at her.  But he could feel her eyes on him, while she figured out what he meant.

“Oh!  Oh, I see.”

And he knew she did see.  God, he felt small.  What a dirty way to earn a living.  Suddenly he saw her start to take the gun from the holster.  “Don’t!  Don’t touch it!”

She jumped and looked at him fearfully as he grabbed the gun from her nerveless fingers.  “It’s a hair trigger, it could go off real easy.”  He felt clumsy trying to explain.  Hair trigger didn’t begin to describe how fast that gun would fire.  But just the feel of the gun in his hand calmed him.  It was such a perfect fit.  He loved the feel of it in his hand.  It was part of him.  Sometimes, when he lifted his arm he expected to see the gun growing from him.  He caressed the gun, unaware for a second of her presence.  Then he felt her eyes on him, watching him with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

“Sorry,” he muttered.  He couldn’t look at her now.  He just carried on cleaning his guns.  Resisting the urge to hold the one gun close to him.  To caress it.  It would make him feel safe.  It always made him feel safe.

“Did you alter that gun?  I’ve never heard of one that fires so easily.  And the handle looks odd, like it’s been carved.”

“Yeah.  It’s. . . modified.”  He knew that was the right word.

“Modified for what?  Killing?”

The abruptness of the question surprised him and he looked up, met her gaze.  “It’s what keeps me alive.”

To his surprise she smiled then.  “Well, I’m glad then.”

Her reaction puzzled him.  Why would she care?  He was nothing to her.  Just a passing stranger.  A very dangerous stranger.  But even so, it made him feel good, that someone cared.

She sat on the seat opposite him.  “Why do you want to leave here, Johnny?”

He wondered what to say.  He shrugged, to buy himself more time.  “Don’t belong here.”

“You were born here, of course you belong here.  It’s your home.”

He smiled at that.  “Just ’cos I was born here don’t make it home.”

“Is there some place you’d rather be?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.  Because right now he couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be.  But it didn’t make staying the right thing to do.

He looked at her.  “I got lots of places to go.”

“That’s not what I asked.”  He heard the reproach in her voice.

“Look, fact is, I’m trouble and I’ll bring trouble.  None of you needs that.”

“Families face trouble together Johnny.  It’s what they do.”

“You ain’t family.”

“I am sort of.  Murdoch’s my guardian, so that makes you my guardian brother.”

He sighed.  “Some guardian I’d be.  Like I said, I’d bring trouble.”

“What do we have to do to persuade you to stay?  We all want you to.  And Murdoch, well, right through my childhood all I can remember is him always searching for you.  He never gave up.  He always hoped he’d find you and bring you home.  And although it’s difficult for you to see, because you don’t know him, he is happy you’re here.  At least give this life a try, Johnny.  Don’t give up on us, we don’t want to give up on you.”

She smiled and suddenly leaned over and gave him a kiss on his cheek, before hurrying back into the house.

He stared down at his gun.  Swallowed the lump in his throat.  Dios!  The sooner he got outta here the better.

Part Seventeen

He stood up slowly, wondering how soon he could ride.  He’d stayed too long.  He fastened his gun belt around his hips, relishing the feel of it.  He’d missed it while he was sick, but now the feel of the belt soothed him.  Hell, there was only one other thing he liked wrapped rounds his hips, he thought with a grin.  It was strange, though, he’d put on his fighting gun, without even thinking about it.  It must be the girl’s fault.  She’d unsettled him.  All that talk about staying.  This gun made him feel safe.  Protected.  Nothing could touch him now.  Sooner he was outta here, the better.

He watched the bees hovering at the girl’s flowers, buzzing drowsily in the heat.  The scent of roses was heavy in the air and he shut his eyes briefly, soaking up the sounds and the perfume.  A man could get way too comfortable here.  Never want to leave.

The sound of approaching hoofbeats dragged him back to the present.  Two men were riding in.  Older men.  Shit, he’d forgotten about the old man’s friends coming.  Meant to be outta the way before they arrived.  They reined their horses in and looked over the wall at him.

“Boy.  See to our horses.”

He stiffened.  Narrowed his eyes and just looked at them.

The other man, with a swollen red nose that said he drank too much, a gut that said he ate too much, ordered, “Perhaps you didn’t hear what my friend here said.  Come and take our horses, damn you.  I’ll have your boss fire your half breed ass otherwise.”

“I heard.”  Johnny spoke softly and walked out from behind the wall.  So they could see the gun that sat low on his thigh.  He stood, relaxed, but with his right hand very close to his gun, just watching them.  Enjoying the looks on their faces as they realised who he was.

The first one looked at him with open disgust.  “Thought you’d have gone by now, Madrid.  Your kind has no place mixing with decent folk.  Murdoch’s a good friend of ours and he sure as hell doesn’t need you kind here, or anywhere near here.”

“And just what is my kind?”

“Scum, Madrid.  Murdering scum.  You’re not wanted in this valley and I warn you, if you go near anyone’s daughter, you’ll end up with a bullet in the back.”

The other man nodded in agreement.  “They’ll be standing in line to do that, Madrid.  So take some advice, and get out while you still can.  Murdoch’s a decent man and he sure as hell doesn’t need the likes of you around or anywhere near that ward of his.”

Johnny stood, letting no expression cross his face.  He just stretched his fingers, almost imperceptibly, and let his hand go a fraction closer to his gun.  He was enjoying this.  They looked nervous now.  The fat one was starting to sweat.

“We aren’t wearing guns, Madrid.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “That don’t make no difference.”  He allowed his words to sink in.  “’Specially to murdering scum like me.”   He continued to stand motionless, with gun hand just a hair’s breadth from his gun.  They were both sweating now.  Licking their lips nervously.  Any minute now they’d be pissing themselves. 

“I really should just put a bullet right between your eyes.”  He spoke very softly.  “It wouldn’t make no mess, ’cos it seems to me you ain’t got nothing between your ears.”

Before they could respond, he heard the old man.  Calling out, “Matt, Henry, I didn’t hear you arrive.”  And the old man was walking over smiling, real pleased to see ’em.

“I’d like to introduce you both to my son, Johnny.  He’s been laid up a while with Pardee’s bullet, but he’s on the mend now.  Johnny, these are two old friends of mine.  Matt Dixon and Henry Carter.”

“We met already.”  And Johnny turned abruptly on his heel and walked off, sensing rather than seeing the old man staring after him in annoyance.

He went to the barn where the palomino was stabled.  The horse nickered at him, seemed to remember him.   He laid his head against the horse’s neck.  “I think it’s time for us to leave, amigo.”

He heard the door to the barn creak and turned to see Boston standing looking at him.  Fidgeting a little, like he didn’t know what to say.

“What’s the matter, Boston?  Still not gotten over being beaten at chess?”

The other man smiled slightly at that.  “It was a rare occurrence.”

Dios, what the hell did that mean?  If only the man would talk English, they might get along better.

“I was in the house, Johnny.  I heard what those men said.  I’m sorry.  They were rude and ignorant and totally out of line.”

“What the hell are you sorry for?  You think they said anything I haven’t heard a thousand times before?  Dios, Boston.  It sure as hell don’t bother me none.”

Boston frowned.  “I thought from your reaction that they must have upset you?”

Johnny had to grin at that.  “No, Boston.  They didn’t upset me.  I just couldn’t resist scaring the shit outta them.”

The man stood looking at him.  Still bothered it seemed.  “Other people aren’t like them, Johnny.  The things they said. . . That’s not what people think.”

Johnny kicked at a bit of straw caught on his boot.  Seemed it was time for some home truths.  “Boston.  It’s exactly what people think.  That’s how it is.  Don’t bother me none.  Hell, I chose this life.  No one forced a gun into my hand.  I used to see gunfighters, they got respect.  I wanted the same.  Just too young to know the difference between respect and fear.”  He paused, looked at Boston, who was just sorta staring at him.  “See, thing is, Boston, folks round here won’t want to know me.  You seem to think I can just stay and fit in.  Life ain’t like that.  Leastways, not for me it ain’t.”

“Sorry, Johnny, but not everyone is like that.  Just let people get to know you.  And those men today, well, who needs them?”

“Who needs ’em?  The old man needs ’em, Boston, they’re his friends.”

“I don’t think he’d be too impressed if he knew how they behaved.”

“Yeah, well, I sure ain’t gonna tell him, Boston.  And neither are you.  Like I said, it’s what people round here will think.  I’m a killer, an’ that scares the shit out of them.”

“It scared me a little to see you in action, I admit.”

Johnny stared down at his boot.  The damn straw was still stuck in, where the sole was split.  He looked up slowly.  Boston was looking kinda awkward.  Johnny shook his head slightly.  “Boston, you ain’t seen me in action.  That, out there, that was just me havin’ a little fun.  Believe me, Boston, you don’t ever want to see me in action.  I told you once, I’m dangerous.  And I meant it.  The old man knows what it means, me being here.  Hell, we even talked about it.  Decent folk really don’t want me around an’ that’s the truth.”

Boston shook his head again.  Dios, the man was stubborn.  “You’re wrong, Johnny.  If you let people get to know the real you. . .”

“You don’t know what the real me is, so don’t give me that shit.  You don’t know me at all, Boston.  You know nothin’ about me, an’ you sure as hell don’t know what I’m really like.  Hell, I don’t know what you’re really like, so why the fuck d’you think you know all about me?  Just ’cos you went to some fancy school, don’t mean you know it all.”

“I didn’t say I knew it all, Johnny.  I just don’t think you’re as bad as you seem to want us all to think you are.  You risked your life for a group of Mexican peasants and then again for the women on this ranch.  I happen to think that says a lot about you.  Why do you want us to think the worst?  It really does seem at times that you want us to hate you or be scared of you.  It makes me wonder what you’re scared of?  Getting too close, maybe?”

Dios!  Why did everyone here think he was scared of something?  “I ain’t scared of nothin’ Boston.  But it seems to me, it would be kind of a pity if you all get your heads blown off  ’cos I decide to hang around.”

“Sorry, Johnny, but I don’t believe that’s the only reason.  I think you’re scared of admitting that you would like another life, a family, a home.  All the things you’ve never had.”

“Fuck you, Boston.”  Johnny turned on his heel and walked out of the barn.  Hell, fuck all of ’em.  They didn’t seem to realise what a favour he’d be doing them if he didn’t stay.

He walked into the house, but paused at the sound of raised voices coming from the great room.  He walked softly as a cat and stood at the door listening.  His father seemed to be arguing with his two visitors.

“Murdoch, why won’t you listen to sense?  He’s a killer and he’ll bring trouble to this valley.  There’ll be other killers looking for him and no one will be safe.  And as for the women folk...”

“Matt’s right, Murdoch.  I know you’ve spent years looking for him, but that was before you found out who he is, what he is.”

“He’s my son, Henry, that’s who he is.  As for what he is, well, I’m prepared to give him a chance.  He took a bullet helping save this ranch.  He damn near died and I think he’s earned his right to a chance here.”

“All he’s ever earned, Murdoch, is the right to the hangman’s noose, and you know it.  God, you’ve said yourself often enough what scum gunfighters are. . .”

He’d heard enough.  He walked up the stairs to his room.  He closed the door and took his money from under the mattress and put it inside the pocket of his jacket.  He picked up his saddle bags and slung them over his shoulder.   He checked the room, not that he had much to pack.  Always travelled light.   But he was drawn once more to the open window.  He could hear the vaqueros calling to each other and the sound of hammering.  The scent of wood smoke hung in the air.  It all seemed familiar and almost dreamlike.  His eyes were drawn again to that distant mountain range.  They looked almost purple against the blue sky.  God, it was beautiful here.  And it could have been where he belonged, if things hadn’t turned out the way they did.

He walked quietly back down stairs and out of the side door.  He made it to the barn without meeting anyone, and saddled the palomino and led it round to the back of the barn, out of sight of the main house.  If only he could manage to mount, it would be fine.  Dios, it hurt.  He could feel the wound pulling but he managed somehow to make it into the saddle and spurred the animal on as fast as he could, gritting his teeth against the pain.

He didn’t look back until he got to the ridge above the hacienda.  He stared back across the green valley and the river that sparkled in the sunlight.  Yeah, it really was beautiful.  As good as it got, probably.  He swallowed the lump in his throat.  He couldn’t stay, but he’d sure been tempted.  Until he’d heard what the old man really thought about gunfighters.  Who needed to be fenced in, anyhow?  There was freedom out here.  Hell, he’d go find a woman and start living again. 

Part Eighteen

He breathed a sigh of relief as he rounded the ridge.  He was out of sight of the ranch now.  And better yet, it was out of his sight too.  He could put the whole thing behind him, even tell himself it had just been a job, like any other.  He’d been well paid, and he’d got a good horse out of it.  What more could he ask for?  He rode on along a well worn track until he came to a fork.   Question was, which way to go?  He could toss a coin.  Heads, south to the border or tails, onwards to whatever town lay ahead.

If anyone from the ranch followed, they’d be bound to think he’d head for the border.  It was the obvious thing to do.  But hell, he needed a woman.  That was as good a reason as any for heading on to the town.  He was sure he remembered the doc saying that Green River was in this direction.  Well, if he ran into the doc, he could pay him for his treatment.  Though the doc would be mad as hell if he saw Johnny on a horse.  Still, he probably wouldn’t see the doc anyway.  He was a busy man and would be out treating patients somewhere.

One thing Johnny did recall, was that the doc had, after much pressing, said there was a bordello in Green River.  Which made heading for the town an even better idea.  Well run, and clean, the doc had said.  Johnny had enjoyed ribbing him about that.  But the old doc had just sniffed and said the woman who ran it was a friend.  And Johnny had ribbed him even more.  And the doc had said when he used the word friend, he meant just that.

Johnny kept the horse at a gentle pace.  His back was hurting way too much to go any faster.  And he was sure no one had seen him leave so there was no need to hurry.   He hoped that Green River was better that Morro Coyo.  He’d had to settle for a saloon girl there, didn’t seem to be much else.  But a bordello meant choice.  Yeah, Green River was definitely the right choice.  The border could wait.

The town stood shuttered and quiet.  Some tumbleweed blew along the sidewalk past a small trading store.  There was a bank, a saloon and a gunsmith.  It seemed a funny place for a bordello, there sure didn’t seem much life in this town.  Maybe it did all right at night.  With an unerring instinct that had never yet let him down, he spotted the bordello straight away.  Even though it looked almost respectable from the outside, it seemed the sort of place people could walk into without realising what it was.  Johnny grinned at the thought.  The owner must have a sense of humour.

He went to sling his leg over the saddle but a huge wave of pain shot through him, making him gasp.  Fuck!  That hurt.  Whatever he’d done had pulled the stitches too.  He paused for a few moments, waiting for the pain to ease.  Then still moving gingerly, he tied the palomino to the hitching rail.   He wondered idly what he should call the animal.  It had to have a name.  He always gave his horses names.  But right now he had other things on his mind.

He pushed open the door of the bordello and walked in.  It obviously wasn’t used to afternoon business because some girls looked up, surprised, from where they were sitting chatting.  But they sure were pretty, and it looked a real nice place, with a bar and piano and decent tables.  Seemed Doc was right, it looked clean and well run.  One of the girls called to someone sitting out back in an office.   He grinned at the girls and touched his hat.  “Ladies.”  It always tickled working girls to be called that and it seemed this lot were no different to all the others because they started giggling.  He was just toying with which one to pick when a woman came out of the back office. 

She was tall, as tall as he was, and had dark hair worn in one of the most unbecoming hairdos he’d ever seen.  It was scraped back off her face.  A hard face too, with a scarlet gash for a mouth.  He turned his most winning smile on her, that should fix her.  She just stared at him coolly and said, “Yes?”

Like she didn’t know what he was there for.  Dios!  “Ma’am.  I was kinda wondering, you open for business?”

She looked him up and down, like he was something real unpleasant.  “We’re open for business, but not yours.  I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking at the other end of town.”

She turned to go back into her office.  Dios, what the hell was wrong with his business?  “Ma’am, I was thinking of staying right here, seems just fine to me.”

She stared at him coldly.  “And I just said we don’t want your business.”

“ What’s wrong with my business?  Or is it the colour of my skin?”  His voice was hard now.  And the girls were looking nervous.  But the woman looked unmoved.  And certainly didn’t look nervous at the change of tone.

“The colour of your skin has nothing to do with it.  But the way you wear your gun does.  I don’t know who you are, but I know what you are and I don’t have gunfighters on my premises.  So, out, now.”

He stared at her in amazement.  Shit, why couldn’t he think of something smart to say?  Damn woman, just standing there, staring at him, unflinching.  She’d got guts, he had to admit.  Most people wouldn’t dare refuse a gunfighter anything.

Maybe a little charm would work.  “Ma’am. . .”

“I said out and I mean it.  Now, you can go easy or I’ll get the sheriff and you can go the hard way.  It’s really up to you, I have no preference, one way or the other.”  She sounded real bored now.  Used fancy words too, like she was educated.  Hell, she even sounded educated, bit like old Boston. 

“Ma’am, I ain’t never been thrown out of a bordello in my life.”

He could swear her mouth twitched slightly.  But then again, maybe not.  “Well, honey, there’s a first time for everything.  Now, out.”

He still found he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to this woman.  He couldn’t remember ever meeting a woman he hadn’t been able to charm his way round.  Charming the women and killing – it was what he did best.  Dios, she was sure of herself.  Looking at him now, like she was bored to death by him, and her, so superior. 

He opened his mouth, but the steely look in her eyes defeated him.  He knew it was pointless.  No one could beat him with a gun, but Dios, this woman. . .  Still, with a face like that, no wonder she was sour.

He gave her a mock bow and left with as much dignity as he could muster.  He stood outside wondering whether to go to the place at the other end of town that she’d referred to.  But somehow he was no longer in the mood.  His back was hurting like hell now, had since he’d got off his horse.  He moved his hand behind him to rub the area around the wound and his hand felt all wet.  Shit, he really had opened it up.  It was bleeding bad.

As his eyes scanned the street, he saw the doctor’s nameplate above one of the doors.  He sighed.  It would be the sensible thing to do.  Get the damn thing stitched again before he rode on.  He wasn’t usually very sensible, he had to admit, but hell, the doc’s place was right there. 

Slowly he walked over and knocked on the door.  Maybe the doc wouldn’t be there, and then the decision would be made for him.  He felt like running away as he heard the footsteps approaching, like some little kid.  The door opened and Doc Jenkins stood there, looking real surprised.  Shit, he looked pretty pissed off too.

“Johnny, what are you doing here?  You’re meant to be taking it easy on the ranch.”  He leaned forward to look outside, like he was expecting to see the old man’s wagon.  “How did you get to town?  I certainly don’t remember giving you permission to ride yet.”

“Was on my way through, Doc.  Thought I’d call in and settle my bill.”  Somehow, he didn’t think the doc was going to be too impressed if he saw Johnny’s back right now.

The doctor narrowed his eyes.  “On your way through?  Going somewhere, Johnny?”

“Yeah, well, thought it was time to leave, move on, you know?”

The doctor stood back and motioned Johnny inside.  Johnny could feel the way the doc was watching him move, looking for signs that all wasn’t as it should be.

“Well, if you’re so hell bent on leaving, Johnny, I’ll have one last look at your back, before you go.”

Johnny looked at the man, but the doc just stared at him unflinchingly.  Hell, could the doc see right through his jacket?  ’Cos somehow, he didn’t think the doc was fooled.  He sighed and went to remove his jacket.  He could feel the blood soaking his shirt.  The doc just stood expressionless as Johnny tried to pull the blood soaked shirt away from the wound.

“I think it’s kind of a mess, Doc,” he muttered.

“Kind of a mess?  That’s one way of describing it, Johnny, I suppose.  There are times, Johnny, when I wonder if you have any brains at all!  What the hell did you think you were playing at?  No way were you fit to ride yet.  We talked about this.  You agreed to let it heal, so why the sudden change of plan?”

Johnny could feel the doc’s eyes boring into him, demanding a straight answer.

He said softly, “I couldn’t stay any longer, Doc.  Had my reasons.”  He watched as the doc collected stuff together to clean the wound off.

“And would you care to share those reasons with me, Johnny?  Something must have happened to make you do something so damn foolish.  Did you have a row with Murdoch?”

Johnny shook his head.  Didn’t know what to say or how to explain.

“Well, if it wasn’t a row, something else happened.  What?”

The old doc just never gives in, does he?  Dios, he’s just going to push and push.  Might as well say something.  “Couple of the old man’s friends turned up.”  He tried to make his comment sound relaxed.

The doc looked at him sharply.  “Rancher friends of Murdoch’s?”

Johnny nodded.  But avoided meeting the doctor’s eyes.

“You had words with them?”

“They didn’t bother introducing themselves, if that’s what you mean.  But they weren’t too friendly.”  His face hardened as he thought of the insults, boy and half breed and then once they knew who he was...

He felt the old doc watching him.  He shrugged and said, “Then later, I heard ’em talking to the old man.  All about how much he hates gunfighters, thinks they’re scum...”  He paused, uncertain how to continue.  “So, I figured it’s best I leave.  Save everyone a lot of bother.  Then saw the track to town, thought I’d get me a woman and pay your bill.”

“In that order?”

Johnny grinned.  “Well, that was the plan.  But shit!  I went to that damn bordello you told me about, and the owner threw me out.”  He shook his head again in disbelief.  “Said she didn’t like gunfighters!”

Sam laughed.  “That sounds like Delice.  But I daresay, if I put in a word for you, she might permit you to use the amenities.”

Shit, another one intent on using real fancy words.  But Johnny got the message, and grinned again.  “Hell, they’d have taken one look at my back and thrown me out anyway, Doc!”

The man laughed.  “Somehow I don’t think Delice would have appreciated you bleeding all over the place, that’s for sure.  Now, for God’s sake stay still while I stitch you back up.”

He stayed still.  Gritting his teeth.  Dios, it hurt.  Still, he only had himself to blame.  He regretted his impulse now.  Should have stayed another day or two and then lit out.  But it felt that the longer he stayed, the more difficult it was to leave.  And now that he knew what the old man really thought of gunfighters, well...

“You’re not fit to ride, Johnny.  Will you at least agree to stay here for a day or two?”

“I don’t want the old man to know where I am.”  He might as well admit it.

The doc looked at him sharply.  “You did tell them you were leaving?”

He found himself unable to look the doc in the face.  He just shrugged, then wished he hadn’t ‘cos it hurt like hell.

“You didn’t, did you?”  Doc looked him up and down in a way that made Johnny feel like he could see through anything he might say.  He finally shook his head and started in on him like he was some dumb kid.  “You are the most stubborn and difficult man I’ve ever met, Johnny.  And do tell me what did Murdoch say, when these men were talking about how much he hated gunfighters?”

Johnny shrugged again.  Even with the pain it seemed easier than trying to come up with an answer.

“You didn’t stay to listen to his answer, did you?”  Hell, where did the old doc get so smart, then?

The man was standing shaking his head again.  “There are times, Johnny, when I despair of you.  And that father of yours, come to that!  Scott seems a little more sensible, but I’m not holding my breath.  What a family!”

Johnny stared down at his boots.  They sure looked scuffed.  Hell, that bit of straw was still stuck in the sole.   He rubbed it with the other boot. 

“Will you at least agree to stay here, Johnny, just for a day or two?”

“You won’t tell the old man I’m here?”

“No, I won’t tell Murdoch.  I’ll put your horse round in my stable, no one will know.”

Johnny bowed his head.  His back was throbbing and so was his head.  Wouldn’t do no harm to stay for a few hours, just till he felt better.  He looked up.  “Yeah, OK.  Thanks Doc.”

The doc nodded.  “I’ll go and put your horse away.  It’s the flashy palomino, yes?  Seems very appropriate for you.”  Johnny looked at him sharply, but saw the twinkle in the man’s eyes. 

****

When Johnny awoke it was dusk.  The scent of frying bacon wafted into his room, making him realise how hungry he was.  He made his way to the kitchen where the doc stood over a sizzling pan of bacon and eggs.  He looked at Johnny.  “How do you feel now?  And please don’t say fine, because that one never works on me.”

Johnny grinned.  “Well, better than I did, honest.”

“Well, you do look better now, I’ll grant you that.  Come and sit down and have some supper.  And you can tell me what your plans are.”

“Plans?”

“Yes, Johnny.  Plans.  As you seem able to toss away the prospect of a third ownership of one of the biggest ranches in California, I assumed you must have some other, more pressing plan for your future.”

Johnny pushed the bacon around his plate.  His appetite suddenly gone.

“Eat your dinner first, Johnny.  Then we’ll discuss your plans.”

“Never give up, do you, Doc?  And you say I’m stubborn.”

The doc just laughed.  “Eat your supper, Johnny, we’ll talk afterwards.  I’m willing to bet you went without having lunch.  How you think you’re ever going to get fit, I can’t imagine.”  

Johnny picked at his food, he was starting to regret coming here.  Doc Jenkins was no fool, and he seemed to have a way of seeing right through a man.  It was kinda disturbing, knowing that whatever he said the doc probably wouldn’t buy into it.  What could he say? That he hadn’t got any plans.  The only plan he’d ever had was to be the fastest and best pistolero.  He’d never thought beyond that.  It was all he’d ever wanted.  For people to know his name and to be afraid. 

Well, people sure knew the name of Johnny Madrid and all it brought was trouble.  Time was he’d enjoyed that.  Loved the rush he got when he stood facing a man, knowing that one of them wouldn’t be walking away.  Hell, he’d loved seeing the fear in people’s faces, the sharp intake of breath when they heard his name.  It had all made him feel good.  The women had found it exciting too.  Loved that Madrid had chosen them.  Hell, women had begged him to take them.  And that had made him feel good, too.  Hadn’t impressed that damn woman today though.  She’d just looked down on him, she knew a gunfighter wasn’t worth shit.

And the trouble was, she was right.  It was only a matter of time before some young pretender stole the crown, his luck was bound to run out sooner or later.  He supposed his plan would be to just keep doing the same as he’d always done.  Take a job and then take a woman to forget the killing.   Didn’t sound too good when he put it like that.  But he’d never apologise for Johnny Madrid.  Madrid had kept him alive.  And at some stage Madrid would get him killed.

“So, Johnny, what’s your big plan?”

He found himself shrugging, again.  “Gunfightin’ I guess.  It’s who I am.”

“It doesn’t have to be, you know.  You finally have a choice.  You can choose a different life.  A more rewarding one.”

“You don’t know shit about my life.”

“You think killing is rewarding?”

Johnny pushed his plate around the table.  Unable to look the doctor in the face, he answered, “It’s what I am.”

“You said that already.  As I said, for the first time you have a real choice.  Chance of a new life, a new family, are you just going to throw that chance away?”

“It ain’t that easy.”

“I never said it was easy, Johnny.  What it boils down to is whether you have the guts to make the change.  And even if it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know you tried.”

“An’ what if someone winds up dead because of me?”

“No one said life is risk free, Johnny.  It’s full of risks, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take chances.  You’re not responsible for making other people’s choices.  Murdoch’s not a fool, he knows the risks associated with you, but it seems he’s prepared to take a chance on you.  Don’t you owe him the same?”

“I don’t owe him nothin’.  An’ what’s so special about havin’ a family?  I don’t need nobody.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?  And as for family, well, I suppose until you have one, you won’t know what the rewards are.  I do wonder why you find the prospect of staying and getting to know your family so frightening.”

Why the hell was he sitting here listening to this shit?  But before he could say anything there was a loud knock on the door.   The doc got to his feet.  “Take the plates and go on into the kitchen.  Whoever it is needn’t know you’re here.  It’ll be a patient needing something.  Go on.”

Johnny picked up the plates and moved into the kitchen.  There was a comfy rocking chair near the big stove.  He settled himself down as he heard the doc opening the door.  And his heart lurched as he heard the doc’s words.  “Murdoch!  What brings you here, this evening?”

Part Nineteen

He shrank back into the rocking chair, praying that the damn thing wouldn’t squeak.  He knew the doc wouldn’t let on that he was there, but he sure didn’t want to give himself away.  Surely the old man couldn’t know he was here?  There had been no one around when he came in.  Damn town was so dead there’d been no one anywhere.

“Sam, can I come in?  I need to talk.  Johnny’s gone.  Just taken off without a word to anyone.”

“Of course you can come in.   Let me get you a drink and then you can tell me what’s happened.”

He could hear the clink of glass as the doc poured a couple of drinks.  “So, Murdoch, tell me, did you two have a falling out?”

“No!  I mean, I know he and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, but no, Sam, I hadn’t even seen him today.  Teresa said he was cleaning his guns this morning.  Then Matt Dixon and Henry Carter arrived for lunch.”

He heard Sam snort rudely at the names.  “Don’t know why you put up with those old devils, Murdoch.  Talk about intolerant...”

“I know, I know.  But I’ve always done business with them, Sam.  I wanted them to meet the boys.  I thought it would show that I see them both as part of the ranch.  But it seems they met Johnny before I arrived.  And when I tried to introduce them, Johnny just stalked off.  I just thought he was being his usual rude self.  Then Henry and Matt started on about how I shouldn’t have Johnny anywhere near here.  God, Sam, you should have heard them.”

“I can imagine.”  Old Doc didn’t sound too impressed.

“Oh hell, Sam.  They just went on and on.  How no women would be safe and he’d bring crowds of gunfighters to the valley.  I mean, it was just ridiculous.  And of course, they threw my views on gunfighters into my face.  Because of all the things I used to say.  But dammit, he’s my son.  And those two didn’t know when to stop.”

“They wouldn’t.” 

“I threw them out, Sam.”

“You did what, Murdoch?”

Johnny almost rose out of the chair in surprise.  Seemed the old man wasn’t a pushover.

“Threw them out.  Told them they could keep their narrow minded bigotry to themselves.  They said Johnny threatened to kill them, they both insisted that he threatened to blow their brains out.  But after they left, Scott told me he’d overheard them with Johnny.  Said they treated him appallingly.  So I went to look for Johnny and couldn’t find him anywhere.  I just assumed he’d gone to cool off.  It was only later we found the horse gone, and his room as empty as when he came.

“He didn’t have much, but it was all gone.  It was as though he’d never been there, Sam.  And now I haven’t a clue where he’s gone.  And of course Scott and Teresa both blame me.  Said I hadn’t made him welcome.”

There was a pause and Johnny heard the glasses being moved again. 

“Trouble is Sam, they’re right.  I was horrified when I found what Teresa had done.  I sure as hell didn’t want him here, not once I knew he was a gunfighter.  But, Sam, I just think there’s more to him.  At least, I hope there is.  I don’t know, he scared me at first, but he risked his life for the ranch.  And Teresa and Scott both seem to think he’s worth getting to know.  And the other night when he played chess with Scott...”

“Chess?”  The doc sounded real surprised.  Dios, why did everyone find it surprising that he could play chess?  Did they really think that all gunfighters were dumb?  Hell, two of the smartest men he’d ever known had been gunfighters, and the most trustworthy.

“Oh, it was great, Sam.  You’d have enjoyed it.  Scott asked Johnny if he wanted to play checkers and Johnny looked at him like he was stupid.  Told Scott it was a kid’s game and what about chess.  And I could see Scott thought he’d wipe the floor with Johnny.”

“And do I take it that Johnny was more than a match for Scott?”

“Wiped the floor with Scott.”  He heard his father chuckle at the memory.  “And I thought perhaps that evening, he and I had made some progress.  He even had a drink with me.  Believe me, that’s progress.  But now...”

“Now he’s left, just like that.”  Sam sounded very gentle.  It struck Johnny what a very kind man Sam was.  A man who just understood other people.  A good man.  He hadn’t known many of those.

“Yes.  Now he’s left.  It hurts, Sam, to think he didn’t even care enough to say goodbye.  Offer some sort of explanation.”

“Maybe he didn’t know how.  Maybe he couldn’t explain.  It doesn’t mean he didn’t care.”

“Doesn’t it?  I wouldn’t be too sure of that.  He never seemed to show he cared or thought about any of us.  He was always distant, cold.  You never knew what he was thinking.  He’d just look at you with those damn cold eyes.  Hell, Sam, I wanted to see him smile.  He came close, the night of the chess game, but that was it.”

“He didn’t want you to know what he was thinking, Murdoch.  He’s a very proud young man.  And a stubborn one.  And so like his father.”

“Like me!  Don’t be ridiculous, Sam.  He’s like Maria.”

“To look at, yes.  But he’s all Lancer, Murdoch.  He’s had a rough life and he’s b