(A sequel to Ace In The Hole)

“And freedom, oh freedom.
Well that's just some people talking.
Your prison is walking through this world all alone.”

Lyrics from Desperado by Don Henley

Part One

“Madrid!  Johnny Madrid.”

The voice, hard and challenging, stopped him in his tracks.  And he sighed.  Real soft, but the sigh came from deep down inside.  Just walking down the street.  That’s all he’d been doing.  But it was never going away.  Didn’t matter what he did.  The past always came back.  His sinning had a way of catching up, creeping up on a man unawares, real quiet and coming out of nowhere.

He turned slowly, his hand well away from his gun.  He didn’t recognise his accuser.  A kid, barely 18 or 19.  But the hungry look in the kid’s eyes told him all he needed to know.  And there was already a hard edge to this kid.  Wasn’t just someone who figured he was fast and would take out Madrid to prove a point to his pals.  No.  This kid was mean and hungry and looked like he might be able to follow through on the challenge.  And wasn’t going to be talked into having a beer instead.  He wore his rig like a pro.  And it wasn’t shiny.  Shit.

“Yeah.”  He kept his voice low.  Made the kid have to strain to hear him.  He could still teach kids like this a thing or two.  And everyone knew it.  The street was emptying real fast.  People scurrying all ways, like rats leaving a sinking ship.  “Well?”  Johnny kept the voice soft.  “What d’you want, kid?”  He emphasised the last word.  It would rile the boy.  Maybe.

But the kid didn’t react to the insult.  “Your reputation.  Old man.”

Old man?  He laughed at that.  Kid wasn’t far wrong.  He sure was old, by gunfighter standards.  They weren’t a breed known for long life.  The only thing that surprised him was that he’d ever lived this long.  But even though he’d had soft living on the ranch for nigh on eight months, he hadn’t lost the thrill.  Could feel it already starting to build.  Maybe this kid was a worthy opponent.  Just thinking on it made his blood quicken.  It was a long time since he’d faced anyone good.  Maybe the time had come.  Maybe his time had come...

“You want my reputation?  I’m out of the game now, kid.  Maybe you haven’t heard.”

“I heard, Madrid.  Don’t change nothing.  As long as you’re living, I don’t get the biggest fee.”

He felt a pang of disappointment.  Somehow, he’d hoped that maybe the kid was in this for more than money.  He’d wanted the kid to be doing it for pride in being fast.  Being good at his trade.  But money?  “You got a name?”  He paused a beat.  “Just so as we know what to put on your headstone.”

The kid didn’t flinch.  He was a hard one.  But the question was how fast was he? 

The kid smiled.  “Don’t much matter what my name is, Madrid.  Everyone will know it when they put you in the ground.”

Johnny held his gaze.  “Humour me.”

“Clay.  Billy Clay.”

The name rang a bell.  Triggered something in his memory.  Something he’d read about a new fast gun.  “Never heard of you.”  It worked.  The kid’s jaw tightened fractionally.  And the look in his eyes grew harder.  The kid really didn’t like that.

“So, Billy Clyde, you want to start this dance?”

“It’s Clay.  Billy Clay.”  The kid emphasised the last word.

Johnny just raised an eyebrow.  “Whatever.  Doesn’t much matter, does it?  You’ve just moved out of your league, boy.  If you want to walk away, you still can.”  Part of him hoped the kid would turn away.  Give in.  But part of him hoped he wouldn’t...  Seemed that part of him never went away neither.  His blood was really rushing now.  And it felt so good.  One of them wouldn’t walk away from this.  Was Madrid too old?  Had he lost his touch with the soft living?  Only one way to find out.  And he wanted to find out.  Just like he always had.  Maybe now, more than ever.

He smiled at the kid.  “So?  What’s it going to be, Clyde?”

“Clay!  My name’s Clay.”  The boy’s mouth was working furiously.  Yeah, he was really losing it.  And Madrid hadn’t lost his touch.  And now he knew the kid’s weak spot.

Johnny shrugged.  Stood real easy.  It always threw people.  Others, well, they’d tense up, look ready for a fight.  But not Madrid.  It was all part of the show.  Time the smile; that was important.  Hold it back a few seconds.  Wait for his foe to look real wound up like a spring in one of them fancy gold watches.  Then ghost the smile.  Maybe, just the softest laugh.  Damn, but it got them every time.  Every single time.  And it seemed that Clay was no different.  Might be fast, but he’d got one hell of a lot to learn if he wanted Madrid’s crown.  Have to fucking well earn it.  Madrid didn’t roll over for any man.

And now the blood was really pounding.  Yeah, he wanted this.  Needed this.  He’d prove Madrid wasn’t some worn out has been.  He raised an eyebrow, laughed softly again.  “Taking your time there, ain’t you, Clyde?  Changed your mind?  You’re kind of young to die.  No shame in just walking away, Clyde.”

“It’s Clay!  And everyone will know me when we’re done here.” 

Yeah.  The kid had a lot to learn.  Never get riled.  And the kid was nervous.  Good.  Things were going just the way Madrid liked.

He waited for the look.  They always gave themselves away.  There’d be a movement in their eyes just a breath before they made their move.  Johnny tilted his head slightly, sighed, like he was real bored by the whole thing.  That would trigger it. 

And it did.

His reactions hadn’t slowed.  The thought flashed in his mind even as his gun cleared his holster and he was fanning the trigger.  But damn, the kid was fast.  He felt a rushing sensation as a bullet grazed past him just as the kid fell back, a scarlet stain spreading across his chest.  But no point in being fast if you couldn’t hit the target.

The kid was jerking on the ground, like he’d lost control of his body.  Johnny moved swiftly to his side, kicked the kid’s gun away and crouched down next to him.  He already had the look of death, his blond hair plastered to the sweat drenched face.  The kid was clasping his wound, looking at the blood on his hand, like he couldn’t believe it.  And his pale blue eyes were wide with terror.  Johnny lowered his head, straining to catch what Clay was saying. 

“You’re real fast for an old man.”  The kid gave a shuddering moan.  “It hurts.  Christ.  Help me.  It hurts.”  The blood was bubbling up out of his mouth.

Johnny laid a hand on him.  Dios, he hated it when they didn’t die straight off.  “It’s okay.  It won’t hurt in a minute.  You’re real fast, Clay.”

The kid’s eyes flickered in acknowledgement.  And then the light went out of them. 

Johnny stumbled to his feet, aware now of the people crowding round to stare at the body.  Dios, they were sick.  Val was standing watching, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t stick folk any more than Madrid could stick them.  He caught Johnny’s eye, jerked his head towards his office like he wanted a word.  That figured.  Sheriffs always wanted a word with the survivor of a gunfight.  And Madrid had survived a hell of a lot.

Johnny followed Val into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.  Val slumped down into his chair but didn’t say nothing.  Just sat looking at Johnny, with a strange look in his eyes.

Johnny shuffled his feet, hating the silence.  And hating that curiously knowing look in Val’s eyes...  “What?  I didn’t start it, Val.  Kid called me out.  I only came into town to go to the bank for Murdoch.  Next thing I know, that kid is out on the street challenging me.  There’ll be a load of witnesses.”  Johnny glared at Val, who still didn’t seem in much of a hurry to say anything.  Johnny kicked the table leg.  “Go ask them if you don’t believe me.”

Val put his feet up on the table.  Leaned back.  “I know that.  I heard him.”

“So?”  Johnny ran his fingers through his hair, irritated.  What the hell was eating Val?  “If you got something on your mind, Val, just come on out and say it.”

Val raised his eyebrows and scratched his chin and still took his time to answer.  “I guess, Johnny.”  Val spoke real slow, like he was considering each word.  “What I got on my mind is how much you still enjoy it.  And that worries me boy, because you were loving it out there.  I saw it in your face.  You wanted that fight as much as the kid.  You didn’t care if you lived or died.  You just wanted that fight.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “You don’t know shit.  I tried to talk him out of it.  But he was a pro.  He might have been young, but he was a pro.  I had no choice.”  And when did Val get so smart that he could read Madrid?

Val shrugged.  “That’s as may be.  But fact is, you still enjoy it.”  He shook his head, like he was real pissed about something.  “I mean, what is it with you?  You got it all now.  You got a family, a home, a share in the biggest damn ranch in California but it seems that ain’t enough for you.  You only want the things that ain’t good for you.”  Val kicked viciously at the pile of posters on his desk, scattering them all over the floor.  “I mean, damn it, Johnny, what the hell is it you want from life?  You got a real chance now, first real chance you’ve ever had in your whole sorry life, and you’re there hankering after damn gunfights.  And don’t go saying it isn’t so.  I saw it in your face.”

“You done?” Johnny turned, walked toward the door.  “I didn’t start it.  I’m in the clear.”

Val was on his feet.  “Damn it, Johnny, don’t you just walk away from me.  Someone needs to tell it like it is.  And the way you’re going, you’re going to throw everything away.  You’ve been acting half crazy since we got back from Utah.  You been picking fights with your old man.  Don’t seem to settle to anything.”

The words stung.  And Val was right.  Just didn’t seem able to settle.  Utah had stirred everything up.  But he sure wasn’t owning to that.  “Like I said, Val, I’m in the clear.  And what happens between me and my old man is my business.  It sure as hell ain’t yours.”

Val shook his head, laughed, but it didn’t sound like he thought anything was funny.  “I know it ain’t my business.  But seems to me that someone needs to do some straight talking with you.  You’ve changed since Utah.  Ain’t no denying that.  But it’s your family who are suffering.  Anyone with half an eye can see that.  Anyone except you.  You got a family now who want the best for you.  Want to see you have a fresh start.  Hell, Scott put everything on the line for you back there, and this is how you repay him?  By pissing around having gunfights you could maybe have avoided, if you’d tried a bit harder.”

The sour taste of anger was starting to well up but he tried to push it back.  Didn’t want to fight with Val.  He’d been fighting with pretty much everyone else lately, didn’t need to fall out with Val too.  He took a deep breath.  Spoke real soft.  “Like I said, the kid was a pro.  He wanted a killing.  He damn well got one.  But nobody is going to take my reputation without a fight.   They want it, they earn it.”  It felt like Val’s eyes were burning a hole into his soul, looking right inside him.  And he could feel Val’s concern.  But fuck it, he didn’t need that.  Just needed to be left alone.  He turned toward the door.  “So?  Is that it?  Can I go?”

“Where?  The bordello?  Ain’t that what you usually do after a killing?”

Johnny swung back to face him.  “Yeah, the bordello.  And that ain’t your business either.”

Val held his gaze.  “Didn’t say it was my business.  But you need to take stock, Johnny.  I don’t know what’s eating at you but you’ve been a son of a bitch these last few weeks.  And maybe it’s time someone told you that.”

Yeah.  Like he didn’t know he was being a son of a bitch. But he’d be damned if he’d stay and listen to this.  Sure as hell wasn’t going to sit down and have some cosy chat with Val about why he was feeling so crazy all the time.  “See you, Val.”  He couldn’t get out of the office fast enough.  Slammed the door behind him and started walking up the street.

The crowd of people was still milling around the body.  The undertaker could hardly get through them.  Dios.  Folk just turned his stomach.  But the talking died away as he walked past, his spurs jingling, and they all turned to stare at him.  Every damn one of them was looking right at him.  Anyone would think they’d never seen him before.  And hell, what had they expected him to do when some gunslinger called him out?

He pushed open the door to the bordello.  All the girls were gathered together chattering, but their voices faltered when they saw him.  He had a brief glimpse of Sadie, her raven hair tumbling around her shoulders as she ran up the stairs.  Where the hell was she off to?

“Johnny.”  Delice’s voice sounded cool.  Edgy.  Like she wasn’t in the best of moods.  “I’d like a word, please.  In my office.”

He shut his eyes briefly.  He really didn’t need her going at him.  Had enough of that from Val.  But if he didn’t talk to her, she’d probably throw him out.  Wouldn’t put it past her.  Sighing, he followed her down to her office.  She shut the door behind him as he stepped inside.

“Are you all right?”  Her voice was crisp.  But it still had an edge.

He stared at the polished wooden floor, shrugged.  “I’m fine.  I’m guessing you saw the fight.”

“Oh, honey, the whole town saw it.”  She didn’t sound impressed.  “I thought for a second there, he hit you.  He was very fast.”

Johnny jerked his head up.  “But not fast enough.  Not as fast as me.”

She raised an eyebrow, like she always did when she thought he was being tricky.  “There’s blood on your sleeve.  I’d say that was fast enough.”

It was funny but he hadn’t even noticed the blood.  He shrugged.  “He got one off, it grazed me.  Not much point in being fast if you can’t hit the target.”

She pursed her lips.  “The target?  How delightfully clinical.”

And just what the hell did she mean by that?  “Well, I guess it wasn’t his lucky day.  Now, if there’s nothing else, Delice, I was going to go and get Sadie.”

Delice shook her head.  “No, you won’t be getting Sadie.  You’ll have to take one of the others.”

Johnny shrugged.  “What is it?  Wrong time of the month?”

Delice folded her arms, tilted her head to one side.  “No, honey, it’s not her wrong time of the month.”

“Then why can’t I see Sadie?”  He would have glared at her, but that would just make Delice tetchy.

“Because she doesn’t want to see you.”

The answer rocked him.  What the hell was that meant to mean?  Since when did whores get choosy about their customers?  Couldn’t quite believe it, anyhow.  Women always liked him.  He raised an eyebrow.  “She don’t want to see me?”

 Delice inclined her head. “That’s what I said.”

He had to laugh.  “Since when did the girls start picking and choosing their customers?  So why don’t she want to see me?”

It was kind of odd, because Delice still looked kind of distant, didn’t laugh when he did. 

“She doesn’t want to see you because she doesn’t like the way you’ve been behaving recently.  She said she used to be able to talk to you, but she can’t these days.”

Mierda.  “Delice, I’m paying her to open her legs, not talk to me.  Just want to fuck her, not date her.”  He regretted the words instantly.  Didn’t sound too good, somehow.  And judging by the look in Delice’s eyes, she didn’t think much of it either.

She raised an eyebrow.  “Believe me, honey, all the girls know exactly what they’re being paid for.  But whether you like it or not, she doesn’t want to see you.  And I’m not going to force her.  I’m sure one of the other girls will open their legs for you.”

The words stung.  It was strange, but he didn’t think he’d ever met anyone who could make him feel quite as small as Delice seemed able to.  “I thought we were friends.”  Dios.  He sounded like some little kid.  He tried to look her in the eyes but felt the colour flooding his face, so he kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot.

“Honey, we are friends.  And because we’re friends, I have to tell you that you have not been good company recently.  Not good at all.”  She shook her head, like she didn’t know what to think.  “What’s gotten into you?  You seem constantly on edge.  You bite people’s heads off and I have to ask myself why? “

She turned and lifted a bottle out of the worn oak cupboard in the corner.  Reached for a glass and poured him a couple of fingers of Scotch before pushing the glass towards him.  “You look like you need a drink.  Scotch is the best I can do.  The tequila’s behind the bar – I never touch the stuff.”

Her eyes were boring into him, like she was waiting for him to say something.  But what could he say?  He didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him of late.  If it had been anyone other than her, he’d have told them to mind their own fucking business.  But this was Delice so he couldn’t do that.  And if he tried to avoid answering the question by prevarying, or whatever the hell that word was that Scott accused him of doing, she’d just get mad at him.  And he hated it when she got mad.

He shrugged, sat on the edge of her desk, staring into the bottom of his glass.  “I dunno.  I just feel...”  What the hell did he feel?  How to describe this feeling of being lost in a thick fog, stumbling, feeling around blindly and not being able to find the way out?  If he told her that, she’d think he really was loco.  And maybe she wouldn’t be far wrong.  “I just feel...  I dunno, kind of trapped, I guess.”  He waited for her to laugh.  But she didn’t.  But he could sure feel her looking at him real hard.  And she’d probably guess what he was thinking.  She was too damn good at that.

“You’ve been like this since you got back from Utah.  What happened there?”

He looked up sharply.  “You mean you don’t know?”

She looked at him, her face expressionless.  “How would I know if you didn’t tell me?”

It was odd, but he felt a sharp stab of disappointment.  So the mystery woman at the trial hadn’t been her.  And it hurt, because for some reason he’d kind of hoped that Scott had been right and that she’d worried enough to travel all that way.  Though why the hell he should want her to, was beyond him.  He shrugged.  “Just thought maybe you’d heard about it.  They got the wrong man.  The judge threw the case out.”

“And how did your father react to all of this?”

He laughed at that.  Dios, he’d been dreading facing the old man.  “Oh, he yelled pretty good at Scott and me for a few minutes.  Got it off his chest, then said how he’d been worried sick.”  He shook his head slowly, still didn’t believe the old man had said that.  “We told him they’d got the wrong man and he just said we should have let Teresa know what was happening.  I guess he had a point.  We just didn’t think of it.”

“Because you both had a lot on your minds?”  She sounded kind of dry.

He shrugged, stared into his glass again.  Sure couldn’t look her in the eyes now.  “No.  I knew it would be fine.  Knew they’d gotten the wrong fellow and it just needed sorting out.”  Hated lying to anyone.  But he really hated lying to her.  Could she tell he was lying?  He shot a quick glance at her before examining the bottom of his glass again.  Couldn’t read her at all.

“So.”  She sighed softly.  “What has brought on all of this dissatisfaction ?  If what you say is true.”  She paused and he felt a pang of guilt.  “Then you should be feeling relieved.  You’re back safe and sound and your father was fine.  So, why are you feeling trapped, as you put it?”

Trouble was he hadn’t a damn clue.  But it was like everything was piling up.  Everyone wanting something from him.  Demanding things from him.  Like having to do the damn books.  Having to make small talk at mealtimes when all he wanted was to eat.  Having to go to damn meetings with people who pretended they were talking to a rancher, when really all they were seeing was Madrid.  And having all that forced cheerfulness at Christmas when he’d never known what he was meant to be doing.  Not being able to just go into town if the fancy took him.  And the never ending back-breaking work.  And knowing he had to work twice as hard as every other man on the ranch just to prove a point.  Shit.  It was a thousand and one things.  He wasn’t him anymore.  He didn’t recognise the man they were trying to change him into.  Johnny Madrid was being buried by a bunch of rules that he didn’t want.  And all the while the sweet voice of freedom was calling in his ear.  “I dunno, just tired I guess.”  Boy, did that sound lame.  And there was no way she’d let him off that easy.  “It’s just not easy learning all this new stuff.”

“Who said easy was good?”  Those emerald eyes didn’t miss a trick.  He had the uneasy feeling she knew exactly what had been going through his head.  How the hell did she do that?

“Like I said, maybe I’m just tired.” He hauled himself back to his feet, needed to get away from these questions.  Away from those eyes which could see way too much.  “And I guess I’d better find me a girl.  If any of them will go upstairs with me.”

She placed the bottle back in the cupboard.  “I daresay one of them will be happy to oblige you and open their legs.”

Shit.  Another pang of guilt stabbed into him.  “I didn’t mean it quite the way it came out...”

She tilted her head to one side, looked at him like he was some sort of problem she needed to deal with.  “The mood you’re in?  Yes, you did.”  She shook her head slightly, like he was some little kid being a pain in the butt.  “Honey, just take things one day at a time.  It takes a while to settle into a new life.  It was never going to be easy.  You’ll find your way.  If you’re prepared to look hard enough.”

The choice of words shook him.  Find his way?  Like she knew he was lost.  Trouble was he wasn’t sure he wanted to find his way.  He paused at the door, opening it slowly.  “Thanks for the drink.  I’ll go and find me a girl.”

Part two

His trembling hands could barely hold the bottle and the whisky sloshed over his desk.  But damn it, he needed a drink.  Cipriano’s words echoed in his ears.  “Senor Johnny was not hurt, patron.”

It never went away.  It sometimes felt as though the whole family was shackled by Johnny’s past, dragging it around after them like prisoners in chains.  He downed the drink in one gulp and swiftly poured another.

Thank God the boy was unhurt.  But it was only a matter of time before someone would come who was faster.  He’d thought they could leave the past behind but he’d been wrong.  And Johnny had been right.  He’d said right from the start that this would happen.

He stumbled to his chair and sank into it, swinging it around so he could look out at his empire beyond the glass.  So much wealth and power, but when it came right down to it he was powerless to halt the relentless march of Johnny’s past catching up with them.  And he felt lost.  If only Scott wasn’t away in Stockton.  At least he could have discussed this latest incident, tried to rationalise it.  He’d have been able to feign anger to cover his fears.  But left alone he would brood. 

He was still brooding over the whole business of Utah.  He’d arrived home from Sacramento, pleased to have done his best to help Joe Barker avoid the noose, and he’d found the boys gone.  He’d heard that Johnny had been dragged off in handcuffs, Scott had gone too and nobody seemed to know what it was about.  He’d been sick with worry.  And then finding Val had taken off as well, he’d feared the worst.  For Val to have decided to accompany them it had to be a very serious matter...   And despite the boys’ reassurances since they returned home that it had all been a case of mistaken identity, deep down he didn’t believe them.  Johnny had been evasive.  There was no other way to describe his behaviour.  And Scott had been even more suave than usual.  Slick.  Reserved and slick, like his words were rehearsed...  But he hadn’t pushed it.  He was trying to pick his battles more carefully now.  They’d arrived home safe and sound and that was all that had mattered.  And he’d been determined to focus on Christmas – their first as a family.

He shuddered and guiltily poured himself a top up.  Christmas had not been a joyous occasion.  It had been edgy with everyone behaving as though they were walking on eggshells.  Johnny had been bad tempered – hell, that was putting it mildly.  He hadn’t wanted to join in with anything and was constantly slipping away to be alone.  He’d muttered some thanks for his presents and then left the room.  And he’d done a total disappearing act when Teresa tried to organise a special dinner for their friends a couple of days after Christmas.  Lord only knew, he’d tried to make allowances for Johnny.  He realised it was all new for him, but Teresa had been hurt by Johnny’s behaviour.  She’d been so excited in the run up to the big day and the more excited she’d become, the more withdrawn Johnny had been.

Murdoch reached his hand out and picked up the intricately carved pipe stand, sitting in pride of place on his desk.  It had been a gift from his sullen son.  It was beautifully made, even now the breath caught in his throat as he looked at it.  Johnny could have taken the easy way out and just given a store bought gift, but instead he’d made this...  It must have taken hours and hours of painstaking work.  What a puzzle the boy was.  And he was no nearer to understanding him than he had been when the boys had first arrived home.

But these last few weeks it seemed that Johnny was becoming more difficult by the day.  He seemed to be spoiling for a fight.  Just constantly pushing and pushing.  Murdoch shook his head.  The number of times he had walked out of the room because he didn’t want to butt heads with Johnny were becoming too numerous to count.  And where would it end? 

He sighed, taking another sip of his malt.  Where would it end?  That was what frightened him most.  And that was why he was trying to keep a tight hold on his temper, why he wouldn’t butt heads, because he was so scared that Johnny would just ride out.  Ride back to the old life that just wouldn’t let go of his son’s soul.

Dusk was falling and the long shadows were fading as the sky started to turn a deep shade of mauve.  In some ways it was his favourite time of the day.  And at times he’d allowed himself the luxury of thinking that this land had hold of Johnny too.  Sometimes he’d glimpsed a certain look in the boy’s eyes, a softening as though he saw the beauty too.  A kind of peace would settle on the boy’s face, the tension seemed to leave and he would look suddenly years younger.  Murdoch banged his glass down, the contents spilling over the papers on his desk.  Years younger!  And wasn’t that the trouble?  Johnny was way too old for his years.  Damn Maria.  What the hell had she done to their son?  He shook his head.  What indeed?  Somehow he suspected he wasn’t going to find out any time soon.

Footsteps were echoing in the hall, click clacking towards him.  Teresa.  He pushed the stopper back in the whisky bottle, feeling a twinge of guilt.  He should set a good example and try not to look as though he badly need a drink after the latest news of Johnny.   But then again, maybe she hadn’t heard yet...

“Murdoch!  I just heard about Johnny.  There was a gunfight...”  Her voice cracked as she spoke. 

Murdoch moved swiftly to embrace her in a comforting hug.  “He’s fine, Teresa.  He’s fine.”  God, he was even starting to sound like Johnny.  Fine.  Seemed to him that the one thing Johnny wasn’t was fine.

“When will they leave him alone?”  She stared at him, tears glistening in her soft brown eyes.  A lone tear escaped and coursed a path towards her mouth.

It was a good question.  When would they leave Johnny in peace?  It seemed there was always someone coming.  And at some point surely Johnny’s luck would run out.  The thought of it brought a leaden lump of fear to his gut and a sour taste to his mouth.

“I’m sure people will soon forget about Johnny Madrid.”  He said it firmly, hoping it sounded more confident than he felt.  But from the dubious look in her eyes she wasn’t buying into that. 

“And what if they don’t?”

Why did the young always ask such direct and difficult questions?  He sighed, shaking his head.  He didn’t really know what to say.  Hell, what could he say?  “Darling, I don’t know.  We just have to hope that with time, people’s memories fade.   There will be other gunfighters down around the border.  People will focus on them...” 

She threw him a doubtful look.  “Do you really think so?  It scares me so much, just the thought that people could come looking for him.  What if...”

He interrupted her quickly.  He didn’t want her to voice his fear.  “We just have to come to terms with the fact that people do come looking from time to time.  Hopefully, that will gradually fade away.”  He paused as the icy fingers of fear traced the path of his spine.  Cipriano had said that the gunfighter who had come looking was quite well known and that didn’t bode well.  Word would get out that the gunfighter had been killed by Johnny Madrid.  People would think that Johnny was back in action and they’d be sure to come looking.  He tried to smile at her, but it was an effort.  “It’ll be fine, darling, you’ll see.”  He patted her on the shoulder to attempt to reassure her.  “Now, why don’t you and I have some supper and maybe a game of checkers?”

...................

He sat at his desk watching the dawn come up.  He’d long since given up any hope of sleep.  Instead, he’d raided the kitchen and made himself some very strong black coffee.  He wanted to see Johnny as soon as he rode in.  Doubtless he’d spent the night at the bordello.  Murdoch shook his head.  God alone knew what his parents would have thought about their grandson’s reputation for whoring.  Or his cussing.  Although that was slowly improving, probably as a result of Scott’s influence.  And, to be fair to the boy, he never cussed in front of Teresa.

He squinted through the glass, looking intently at the horizon.  Was that someone riding in?  He kept his eyes on the figure until he recognised the familiar palomino horse and his rider, finally coming home.  He was nervous now.  His leg ached more and he felt himself tensing up and a lump of dead weight, as heavy and indigestible as one of Teresa’s steamed puddings, seemed to settle in his gut.  But whatever he did, he mustn’t lose his temper.  It wasn’t Johnny’s fault that this gunfighter had come looking for him.  And Johnny would have had no option but to defend himself.  

He waited patiently until he heard the front door open slowly.  It was as though his son was trying to slip in without being heard.  And he’d taken his spurs off because there was no rhythmic jingle as Johnny, as silent as a thief in the night, walked softly to the bottom of the stairs, unaware that Murdoch could see him from the desk.

“Johnny.”  He saw his son’s shoulders tense up.  The boy hesitated and then turned slowly toward him.

“Yeah?  You’re up early, Murdoch.  Expecting something?  Or waiting for somebody?”  There was that familiar insolent tone in Johnny’s voice.  But he wasn’t going to rise to it.  He’d long figured out that Johnny used it to provoke him.

“Yes.  I was waiting for you.”  He kept his voice neutral.  “I was worried.  I’d heard that there was a gunfight...”

“Yeah, I bet you did.”  Johnny sounded scathing.  Sarcastic.

“Like I said, I was worried, I wanted to reassure myself that you were all right.  Hardly unreasonable, is it?”

He saw Johnny flush, as if embarrassed, and chew on his lip briefly, before sighing as softly as a welcome breath of wind on a baking hot day.  “I’m fine.  Just fine.”  Johnny shot him a sharp look.  “I didn’t start it.”  He sounded defensive, almost as though he expected his father to have heard something to the contrary.  Murdoch felt a twinge of concern, was there something he didn’t know about this fight?

“Who was he?  Someone from your past?”

Johnny glared through narrowed eyes.  “No!  Not someone from my past, as you put it.  Just some gunfighter, wanted to prove he was faster.  That’s all.  Why d’you always think the worst of me?  D’you reckon I got so many hombres after me they’re lining up to kill me?  Think I’m that bad, do you?”

Murdoch shook his head, confused by Johnny’s belligerence.  Surely it hadn’t been unreasonable to think it was somebody Johnny had known?  “No.  I don’t think you’re ‘bad’.  It was an innocent question.  I hoped you would confide in me, tell me what happened.  That’s all.”

Johnny laughed, but there was no mirth in it.  “Well, I bet all your friends will tell you exactly what went down.  They were all fucking watching.  And they’ll be just aching to tell you all about it.  So you don’t need me to explain it.”

Murdoch shut his eyes briefly, praying for patience, and then counted to ten.  “I would rather hear your version.  I suspect it will be more accurate and free of embellishments.”

Johnny’s brow furrowed.  “Embelly what?  What the hell does that mean?”

Murdoch breathed out slowly.  “I mean, your version will be straight to the point.  You’ll tell it as it is and not try to dress it up to make it sound worse.  Which is what the people in the town will do, as we both know.” 

A flicker of surprise showed in Johnny’s eyes, but it was so fleeting, he could have believed he’d imagined it.  He shrugged.  “He was out to make a name for himself.  And he wanted to be able to say he’d killed me.  So he called me out and I killed him, which I guess wasn’t the result he was hoping for.  Okay?”

“How did he find you?”  Dear God, if this man could find Johnny, so could other gunfighters.

“How the fuck should I know how he found me?”  Johnny shook his head as if exasperated.  “I didn’t stop and ask him.  Had my mind on other things, like him gunning me.”  Johnny paused, stared down at the floor before looking up with an unreadable expression.  “You hate this, don’t you?  Really hate it.  Hate my past.  Hate Johnny Madrid if we’re honest.  Why don’t you just admit it?  Tell it like it is, old man.”

It was a struggle to keep his temper, but he wasn’t going to rise to this.  He counted to ten again, before even trying to think of what to say.  And all the while Johnny stared at him, with a strange expression in his eyes.  Pain?  Anger?  He couldn’t read it at all.  He sighed.  If only Johnny would let them all get closer.  Let his guard down just once.   “No, Johnny, I don’t hate Johnny Madrid.  But, I’d be less than honest if I said that your past doesn’t worry me.  How can I not worry when things like this happen?  We all worry that someone, at some time...”  He tailed off, still couldn’t put his worst fear into words.  And all the while Johnny just stared at him with that odd expression.  “I mean, I just want you to be able to settle in here, and of course it would be better if you had a different past.  I mean, look at Scott.   Nothing is going to come up out of his past that will put him at risk.  So, yes, I worry about you.  Any father would worry.  Any family would worry.  We want to see you safe.  And when things like this happen we all fear for you.  And like when I got home and found you’d been arrested and taken to Utah, I was worried sick.  It gave me even more grey hairs.”  He attempted a smile, hoping Johnny would react to the poor joke.

Johnny stared at him, his face impassive now.  “Yeah, well, I told you what it was gonna be like.  People coming looking for me.  Seems I was right.  And what was it you said back then when we first talked it over?  Something about dealing with it as a family?  Maybe you ain’t got the stomach for it?   But leastways you don’t have to worry over Scott.  That must be a great comfort to you.”  Johnny’s voice was laden with sarcasm.

“All I said was that nothing would come out of his past to harm him.  It’s sad that we can’t say the same of you.  And yes, it’s a shame that you can’t be more like Scott.  But that’s how it is.  And nothing is going to stop us worrying about you.”  Was he saying the right things?  Heaven only knew.  He never knew what to say to Johnny.  And that odd expression was back in Johnny’s eyes.

“Be more like Scott?  Is that what you’d like?  For me to be more like Boston?”  Johnny’s eyes seemed to glisten in the early morning light.  “Well, let me tell you something, old man, that ain’t never going to happen.”  And Johnny turned away sharply, brushing his eyes like he’d got something in one of them and walked swiftly up the stairs.

Part three

He stood at his window, hoping to find some comfort in the familiar scene beyond the glass but he couldn’t see his mountain through the salty mist clouding his eyes.   Must have got some dust in his eyes on the ride back from town.

Turning away, he sank down onto the bed, Murdoch’s words ringing in his ears.  “Be more like Scott.”  Dios.  That had hurt, like a knife being twisted slowly in his chest.  It still hurt.  And if that was what the old man wanted, he was going to be real disappointed...   Except he was already disappointed.  And scared.  He’d seen the fear in Murdoch’s eyes.

Johnny slumped forward, his face buried in his hands, trying to shut out the dense spiralling fog of confusion filling his head.  This wasn’t working.  He never should have stayed.  All he was doing was hurting them.  Murdoch was worrying himself sick that Madrid was going to get himself killed.  And getting more grey hairs in the process.  Oh, the old man had tried to make out it was a joke; but there were more worry lines on his face these days.  And each of those lines was due to Madrid.  He was dead weight in this family.  They didn’t need the likes of him messing up their lives.  Oh, yeah, they might care a bit about him, but that just made it worse.  If the gunfight had gone the other way...  If Clay had killed him, they’d have had to deal with that.  And if Clay had come looking, it meant others would come looking.  At some time Madrid’s luck would run out.  And although he wasn’t too bothered about the outcome of a gunfight, somehow he didn’t think his family looked at things the same way as him.

And hell, who needed all this shit?  Be more like Scott.  He didn’t want to be like Scott.  And wasn’t that the trouble?  The old man was trying to make him into someone like Scott.  And trying to turn both of them into people like him.  Well, Johnny Madrid didn’t wear no man’s brand.   He was too old to change and he didn’t want to change.  Things had been so much easier before he’d come back.  Life was simpler then.  Didn’t have to answer to anyone.  Went where he wanted, when he wanted and only took work he wanted to do.  Didn’t have to spend days sweating his guts out digging damn fence holes.  Didn’t have to get chilled to the bone rounding up dumb cattle.  Didn’t have to sit through endless meetings or spend his evenings trying to do the books, making sure that everything added up right so that they didn’t think he was dumb.  Didn’t have to answer for where he’d been if he went whoring.

Was there anything good about this new life?  Anything good at all?

Scott. 

He loved spending time with Scott.  Riding with him.  Camping out with him.  He laughed softly, he loved beating him at chess too.  And he knew he could trust Scott.  He was a real good man and a good brother.  But God only knew what Scott’s grandfather would think about Madrid.  The man was always writing long letters to Scott.  Pages and pages long, and Scott would sit reading them, and not notice if anyone talked to him, he was so bound up in the letters.  It was like he couldn’t read enough about his old life in Boston.  And he always wrote back to his grandfather, which must mean he missed it...  So surely it was only a matter of time before he left to return to that life?  And if Scott did leave, where did that leave Madrid?  Alone with Murdoch?  Dios!

He hauled himself off the bed and went back to the window, leaning his forehead against it.  The glass was cold to his touch.  Spring was still some way off and the morning air still had a real bite to it.  Some mist shrouded the top of his mountain on the horizon, hiding its oddly shaped peak.  Looking at it always made him catch his breath.  The one solid link with his past.  The only vague memory of his early years here.  But it was another good thing about this life.  He really loved the land.  So different to where he’d grown up.  The grass seemed greener here from any grass he’d ever seen.  And the sky seemed bluer.  Yeah, Murdoch had really known what he was doing when he’d settled this land.  So yeah, he’d miss the land.   But he wouldn’t miss the disappointment in his father’s eyes.  Hated seeing that.  And every time he screwed up he could see it.  And because there wasn’t no way he’d ever be like Scott, his father would always be disappointed in him.

So, maybe it was time to move on.  Quit having to answer to people.  He could be his own man again.  Free as an alley cat.  That’s how it had always been, and that was how he liked it.  Riding over a hill and not knowing what was on the other side...  He’d missed that.  Seemed Wes had been right, they were trying to break him and he’d had enough of that.  There was freedom out there and he wanted some of it before they squeezed all the life out of him and left him wrung out and broken. 

And before he hurt them anymore.

Because it seemed that was what he did best to this family.  He’d hurt Scott in Utah.  He hurt Murdoch every damn day.  And he’d hurt Teresa at Christmas.  And it was like he couldn’t stop himself.  But they never left him alone.  Like Scott always wanting to know things, but he’d noticed that Scott never gave away much about his own past.  Maybe it had been so damn boring in Boston that Scott had nothing to tell.  And maybe he’d sat out the war in some cosy safe office a long way from the real battlegrounds and that was why he never talked about the war.

And the old man was always fishing, trying to make Johnny talk.  Dios.  Look how they’d gone on at Christmas: asking what he’d done in Mexico at Christmas.  Wanting stories.  Fuck that.  He could just imagine the looks on their faces if he’d told them that Mama was nearly always drunk out of her mind at that time of the year.  Even more drunk than usual.  Johnny shook his head remembering the scenes.  Mama used to get even crazier at Christmas.  Yelling and screaming at him for his blue eyes.  For being a half breed.  For being born.  Sometimes she’d smash up the shack.  Sometimes he’d tried to stop her, but other times he’d just run for cover and stay hidden until she passed out.  Then he’d crawl out and try and clean the place up.  Yeah, that was a story that would go down real well over the festive turkey. 

And Teresa asking what special meals they’d eaten when he was a kid.  Never been any money for special meals.  And Mama wasn’t any sort of cook even when she was sober.  They’d pretty much lived on frijoles and tamales.  And he’d done most of the cooking trying to think of ways of making their meagre rations stretch a little further, because Mama didn’t give a damn.  But Mama never went short of tequila or mezcal.  He sighed.  Poor Mama.  She couldn’t help the way she was.  And she sure had been beautiful.  A body men had lusted after and the face of an angel.  No wonder the old man had fallen for her.  And he wasn’t to know that she was never going to be satisfied by just one man.  She just loved fucking, and he couldn’t tell Murdoch that.  No, couldn’t tell the man his wife had been one real cheap whore.  And any man would do.

Leastways if he left he wouldn’t spend his life worrying over letting something slip.  Something he didn’t want them all to know about.  The many things he didn’t want them to know about...    It would be easier to walk through life alone.  And that way he wouldn’t hurt people and it would be better for all of them.  Far better. 

So, it seemed he’d made his decision.  Shit.  Just like that.  And maybe it was because deep down he’d known he’d have to leave one day that it suddenly didn’t seem to be a hard decision to make.  It was simple really.  All he needed to do was gather his few belongings together.  Like that would take any time!  And fill each empty sheath in the gun-belt.    Funny how he’d taken to wearing the fighting gun all the time since Utah.   He grinned at the memory of Scott complaining about the hair trigger.  Yeah, the gun had scared the shit out of Boston. 

He put the bottle of gun oil in the saddle bags wrapped in a couple of shirts.  And then he slipped the derringer down the side.  He had a supply of dried beans and some coffee in the bags and he crammed the rest of the space full of bullets and some rifle shells.  He put the other hand gun in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Leastways he’d just been paid, so he’d got some cash.  He lifted the mattress up, checked that his original listening money was still there.  He counted the crisp notes, and then slid the bulging envelope back in place.  One day they might find it. 

Should he leave a note?  But what could he say?  Wasn’t too good with words and sure as hell wasn’t too good at writing words. 

There was some paper on the table by the window.  And a pen and a kind of pot for the ink.  He’d always wondered why it was there.  Did people really spend their time in bed writing?  The same thing was in Scott’s room, so it wasn’t like anyone was getting at him, just that they figured this was a normal thing to put in a bedroom.

He chewed on the pen.  Then slowly, and with great care, wrote ‘sorry.’  He stared at it.  Somehow it didn’t look too good.  It was like there should be more of it.  Scott would write a damn book to explain something.  Same as when he talked.  Never use one word when he could use ten or twenty.  So maybe he should write something else to go with the sorry.  He chewed again on the pen.  He screwed up the paper and tossed it into the bin.  Try again.  ‘Sorry i carnt do this.  Its better this way.’  Was that better?  Should he sign it?  Scott always signed things, so it must be right.  He added his name.  But should it just say Johnny?  Or should it say Johnny Lancer?  Or even Johnny Madrid?  Maybe leave it at just Johnny.  Yeah.  He was sure that was better. 

He propped the paper up on the chest, and tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly grown and was choking up his throat making it hard to breathe.  He glanced once more around the room before quietly making his way down the back stairs and slipping though the side door and heading toward the barn.

Luckily there wasn’t anyone around to see him.  He saddled Barrancca, and tied his slicker behind the saddlebags.  He secured a tin mug and a battered old metal pan inside the bedroll.  He had everything he needed now.  And the sweet voice of freedom was calling in his ear.  

He didn’t look back until he was on the high ridge, near where he’d had his first glimpse of the ranch, all those months ago.  The hacienda sat nestling in the valley, almost like it was growing from the land itself.  But his vision was blurred by the salt mist.   Must be a lot of dust around today.  Yeah.  Dust.  That must be it.  He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.  Dust.  Only babies cried.  Mama said so.  Not boys and certainly not men.

With just the slightest touch of his spurs, he wheeled Barrancca around and headed south.

Part four

“Gone!  What do you mean, gone?”  Scott shook his head in frustration.  “I’ve only been away a week.  What the heck has been going on while I’ve been in Stockton?”  He shook his head again.  Bemused.  Bewildered.  Be-anything.  That was how he felt right now. 

He stared at Teresa’s tear stained face.  Her eyes were swollen and red.  She must have been crying for hours.  And Murdoch looked grim.  Grim and shocked.   Just what the hell had gone on here?  “I take it that you and Johnny had another fight?”  He glared at Murdoch, who just shook his head as though he was as bewildered as Scott.

“No.  We didn’t fight.  I was determined not to lose my temper, particularly after the gunfight.”

Scott felt his mouth drop open, but it took what felt like seconds to connect the words.  “A gunfight?  What gunfight?  Will someone please explain what’s been going on?”  He paused.  “And something tells me I’m going to need a drink while I listen to this.”

Murdoch poured him a large whisky from the almost empty decanter and passed it over before emptying the rest of it into his own glass.  “He’d gone into town, to go to the bank for me.  Some fellow called him out.  Apparently this man was quite a well known gunfighter, but Johnny beat him to the draw.  He...  Um... He didn’t come home straight afterwards... um... I think he wanted to be alone.”

Teresa’s head jerked up at that, her eyes flashing.  “I’m not a child, Murdoch, and I do hear people talking.  Do you really think I don’t know where he goes after a gunfight?”

Murdoch paled and then flushed.  “Yes, well, you shouldn’t listen to people gossiping.  Anyway, I couldn’t sleep so I got up early to wait for him.”

“Oh I’ll bet he just loved that.  A welcome home committee.”  Scott couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“I was worried.”  Murdoch sounded defensive and slightly aggrieved, as though offended that Scott could doubt his word.  “After that business with the saddle tramps, when he didn’t let anyone see he’d even been shot, I wanted to reassure myself that he really was all right.”  Murdoch paused, running his hand through his hair and looking curiously defeated.  “And so no, I didn’t yell, even though he was truculent.  I was determined that whatever he said, I wouldn’t rise to it.  You know how difficult he’s been of late.  And I really didn’t want to fight.”

“That’s true.”  Teresa blushed.  “I couldn’t sleep either so when I saw Johnny ride in, I crept downstairs to listen, because I was worried Murdoch would yell at him.”  She flashed Murdoch a guilty look, chewing on her lip.  “Sorry.  I know it was wrong, but I was worried about him too.”  Her lip wobbled.  “Honestly, Scott, Murdoch was really patient.  Not like he used to be.”  She shot an apologetic look at Murdoch.   “I just can’t believe he’d just go like that.  Without saying goodbye...”  The tears were welling up again.

Scott sighed.  “But how do you know he hasn’t just taken off for a couple of days?  How do you know he’s gone?  If you didn’t fight, why should he leave?”

Murdoch fumbled with some papers on his desk.  “He left a note.  Read it.”  He held it out.  His fingers trembled slightly.  Whether from shock or too much whisky, Scott couldn’t tell.  Maybe both.

“A note?”  Scott read the words on the slip of paper.  They looked as though they’d been written with great care.  There was nothing of Johnny’s usual slapdash scribbles here.  No, these words looked as though he’d made an effort to write them very carefully.   Scott felt the first serious twinges of misgiving.  At first he’d assumed it was one of the regular Murdoch and Johnny bust ups.  But there was something final about this note.  Johnny had never left a note before.  The twinge was turning into a heavy leaden ball sitting deep in his stomach and making him feel queasy.   “This makes no sense.  Something had to have triggered this.  You must have said something.”

Murdoch banged the glass down.  “I didn’t.  I was very calm, even though he was trying to provoke me.” 

Teresa nodded.  “Honestly, Scott, Murdoch was wonderful.”

Scott looked at her dubiously.  Wonderful wasn’t quite the word he’d use to describe Murdoch’s usual reactions to Johnny’s worst excesses.  “Well, try and remember what was said.”

Murdoch and Teresa frowned, as if trying hard to remember exactly.  “Johnny wasn’t very pleased that Murdoch was waiting.”  There was a note of triumph in her voice, pleased apparently to have recalled something.  “But Murdoch told him that he was worried.  And then they talked about the gunfight.  And Murdoch asked him what had happened.”

Murdoch nodded.  “Yes.  And then he said something about my friends would be sure to tell me.  And I said I’d rather hear his version, because it would be more accurate.  That I knew people in town would try and make it out to be worse than it was.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, surprised at his father’s tact.  “And what did he say to that?”

Murdoch frowned.  “He looked surprised.”

That figured.  He could well imagine Johnny’s astonishment at being given the benefit of the doubt.  “So?”

Murdoch’s brow furrowed, apparently trying hard to recall the exchange in some detail.  “He said that the man wanted his reputation, something like that.  And then he accused me of hating the whole business.  Hating his past, hating Madrid.”

Teresa nodded vigorously.  “That’s right.  And Murdoch told him he didn’t hate Madrid.  But...”  She paused, rubbing her forehead.  “But then Murdoch said he wouldn’t be honest if he said that Johnny’s past didn’t worry him.  That when things like the gunfight happened of course he worried.  That he just wanted Johnny to be able to settle in and of course it would be better if he had a different past.”

Murdoch nodded.  “Yes.  That’s right.  And I said that any family would worry.  And I said that I just wanted to see him safe.”

Well, that sounded perfectly reasonable.  Surprising, but reasonable.  Scott shook his head.  “Then what?”

“I said for example to take you, how nothing dangerous could come out of your past and of course I wished that his past could be like that.”

Scott’s head jerked up.  “You said that to him?”

Murdoch nodded.  “Yes, but then he started going on about how I wanted him to be like you, which I never said.  And then he stormed up to his room.”

Scott sank down onto the couch, shaking his head.  “Hasn’t it registered with you yet that Johnny misinterprets everything you say?  He will have taken that as a criticism that he isn’t like me.”

Murdoch snorted.  “But I never said that.”

“No, Sir, but that is how he will have taken it.”

“I never understand the boy.  I never know what he’s thinking.  He never talks to me or tells me anything about his past.”  Murdoch’s eyes narrowed, looking at Scott accusingly.  “And what did happen in Utah?  I know you’ve kept something from me.”

Scott kept his expression bland.  There was no way he would betray Johnny over that, he’d promised.  “As he and I told you, it was a case of mistaken identity.  The case against Johnny was dropped.”

Murdoch snorted again.  “Hmm.  Well, the fact is he’s gone and now I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Have you been into town to see if anyone knows anything?”

Murdoch stalked to the liquor cabinet and reached for a new bottle of whisky.  “Odd as it may seem, Scott, I am not a total fool.  Yes.  I’ve been to Morro Coyo, Spanish Wells and Green River.  I have talked to Sam and Val.  Cipriano went south for a day and a half before coming back to tell me that he hasn’t been seen.  He’s disappeared.  It’s as if he doesn’t want to be found.”

Doesn’t want to be found.  The words sent a chill down Scott’s spine.  Johnny had been odd recently.  To be honest, Johnny hadn’t been the same since Utah.  Although in some ways the experience had brought them closer together, in other ways it seemed to have changed Johnny.  Made him more restless.  More difficult and unpredictable.  And he’d been impossible at Christmas.  The only thing he’d done willingly was go to the mass on Christmas Eve.  Scott had gone with him, curious to see a Catholic mass.  It had been too long and sombre for his taste, but Johnny had spent a great deal of it down on his knees, which in itself had surprised Scott.  Somehow he’d expected Johnny to treat the service with his customary dismissive disdain.  But all it had done was to reveal what a total enigma his brother was.  Johnny had certainly been totally wrapped up in his communion with his God - a more vengeful God, Scott suspected, than the one he was accustomed to.

Scott looked up at Murdoch.  “Did you go to the bordello?” 

Murdoch’s face creased in disgust.  “Certainly not.  I wouldn’t dream of going in there.  What good do you think that could possibly do?”

How to answer that?  He could hardly tell his father that Johnny probably trusted the Madam more than he appeared to trust anyone else and if he was going to confide in anyone it could well have been her.  That would not go down well.  Neither would it be believed.  “I just thought you might have gone in to check...”  He tailed off, biting his lip.  “I think, Murdoch, I’ll go and talk to Val.  Maybe he and I can think of something between us.”  He gave his father what he hoped was a reassuring look.  “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll turn up.”  The trouble was he wasn’t sure.  He had a feeling of foreboding.  No, he was far from sure that Johnny would return.

...........

He’d never intended to go to see Val straight away.  Instead, he now sat in Delice’s office drinking a good malt whisky.  “So, how was he after the gunfight?”

She took her time answering, seemingly lost in thought as she stared into the bottom of her glass.  “He was...”  She paused again, a slight line appearing between her eyes as she shook her head slightly.  “Defensive.  Aggressive.”  She grimaced.  “Doesn’t that sound crazy?  Defensive and aggressive.  Total opposites.  But that was how it seemed.  He was grazed by the gunfighter’s bullet...”

Scott’s head jerked up.  “Grazed?  You sure he wasn’t hurt?”

Delice shook her head.  “The only thing hurt was his pride.  He didn’t like it when I suggested that the fellow, Clay, was fast. Snapped how it wasn’t much good being fast if you couldn’t hit the target.  He was very cold and detached over that.  Clinical.  That’s what I told him.”  She paused.  “He was very unhappy.  We talked about why he’d been so unpleasant to everyone recently.  I felt that somebody should talk to him about that.  He said he felt trapped.”

“Trapped?”  What the hell had Johnny meant by that?

Delice nodded.  “That was the word he used.  Then he tried to backtrack.  Said he was just tired.  But he meant it.”

Scott looked at her curiously.  She was as much of an enigma as Johnny.  She was a highly intelligent and perceptive woman.  And obviously well educated, so why on earth was she working in a bordello?  “What do you think he meant, Delice?”

She laughed softly.  “You want me to second guess Johnny Madrid?”  She leaned back in her chair, sipping her whisky.  “What did he mean?  I think he’s terrified of this new life and of you all getting too close.  It’s like a moth drawn to a flame.  On the one hand he longs to come closer and feel the warmth of a real family, feel love, because I’ll wager a year’s takings that he’s never had any love before, but he’s been getting too close and he can feel himself burning because you’re all getting under his skin and he hasn’t a clue how to handle that.

“Scott, I’ve seen girls from dreadful backgrounds in my line of work.  But, I suspect that he has a background worse than any we can imagine.  It’s as though he has never had any sort of guidance from anyone in how to interact with other people.  Oh, I know, he’s very charming when he wants to be.  And he’s very intelligent.”  She paused briefly to have another sip of whisky.  “And very devious.  But close relationships?  He hasn’t a clue.  He’s a lost soul searching for something but right now he doesn’t even know what he’s looking for.”

There was a lump in his throat.  Delice’s description of Johnny had the ring of truth to it but it also seemed ineffably sad.

Delice shook her head slowly.  “You know something?   I’ll bet he thinks he’s gone off to be free again.  Nobody to make demands on him out there.  He can do what he likes and not answer to anybody.  His tragedy is that he doesn’t see that freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.”

Scott swallowed hard.  Her words just added to his feelings of fear.  Deep down inside, a little voice was telling him that her reading of Johnny was right on the mark.  “What do I do?  How do I find him?”  If he didn’t find him, what would become of Johnny?  What future could he have if he went back to his old life?

She didn’t speak at first, just looked at him with eyes that said she understood his fears.  “Honey, you can look, but if he doesn’t want to be found, you probably won’t find him.  All you can do is hope that somehow he finds his way back.  Before it’s too late.”

Part five

Cigar smoke, sweat and stale booze.  The room smelt comfortingly familiar. 

He sat in the corner with his back to the wall, his hat tilted forward to cast a dark shadow across his eyes.  Dios, he’d missed this.  He felt...  safe.  That was it.  Safe for the first time in a long time.  His tequila sat untouched in front of him, but he pushed the glass around in circles on the stained table.  Occasionally he lifted it to his lips, but he never drank.  But anyone watching would think he was drinking. 

And he knew they were watching.

He’d been recognised straight off.  He’d seen surprise, shock, and a little fear register in the faces.  He allowed himself a whisper of a smile.  And they all thought he was dead.  But now, some of them were sweating. 

His gaze rested on the group of men playing cards.  But they weren’t relaxed.  He could see the tension in their shoulders because they knew who he was and they could feel him watching them.  And because it made them uncomfortable, he carried right on watching.  He allowed himself another smile.  Yeah.  This was what he did best.  He was back in the game.  He’d fitted back into it so easily.  It was like he’d never been away.

And he’d already been called out.  Been riding through a small town and someone had pointed him out to a smart ass kid who’d made the mistake of thinking he could make a name for himself.  It was the last mistake that kid ever made.  So, Madrid was back and the word was spreading faster than a forest blaze in August.

He tilted his chair back and looked across to the bar where a girl in a cheap purple dress was giving him the eye.  There was a rip in one of her stockings and her lips were overly rouged.  Delice would never have let her girls try come-ons to the customers looking like that.  He gave a soft laugh.  Delice would have booted the girl out to smarten herself up.  But then, Delice wouldn’t have let her girls wear cheap dresses ...  Delice had class.

But it looked like he’d have to get used to cheap girls again.  A man couldn’t be too picky down in the border towns.  Not that it mattered that much.  It wasn’t like he was looking for anything other than one thing from them.  An image of Sadie’s dimpled chin and creamy shoulders slid into his mind.  He pushed the thought away.  Hell, Sadie was just the same as this girl; it was just that Sadie was all scrubbed up.  Only difference.

The girl smiled across at him, then sucked slow and long on her finger, moving it slowly in and out of her mouth, before trailing it down towards her breasts.  He felt his dick stir.  He wondered what colour her eyes were. 

Two men, who’d been standing at the bar talking with their heads close together like they didn’t want anyone to overhear, walked toward his table.  Dios.  What a moment to choose to come and talk.  His dick would have to wait.

He didn’t speak.  Just let them stand there for a second.  Stared at them like they were irritating flies to be swatted away.  They were ranch hands by the looks of them.  One had greying dark hair and a rough beard which didn’t look none too clean.  The other was much younger with greasy blond hair and nervy darting eyes.

His silence seemed to throw them.  Like they’d expected him to acknowledge them.  He moved his chair a fraction, so he could carry on watching the poker players. That would piss off these two roughnecks.

“Madrid.”  Seemed the older of the two was the spokesman.  “You are Madrid?”   

Johnny made a show of slowly dragging his gaze back to the two men.  The younger one had little beads of sweat on his forehead.  “Who wants to know?”

“We’re from Mr. Mason’s spread.  He’d like to talk to you.”

Johnny looked across at the girl, gave her a brief nod.  “Well, I guess if Mr. Mason, whoever he may be, wants to talk to me, he’d better come himself and not send a couple of cowhands to deliver messages.”

The older man’s eyes narrowed.  And his jaw jutted out.  “That ain’t how Mr. Mason works.  If he wants to see someone, people go to him.  Not the other way about.”

Johnny pushed his chair further back.  So they got a real good look at his rig.  “Like I said, if he wants to talk he can come to me.  That’s how I work.  And if your Mr. Mason don’t like it, he can go screw himself.  Comprende?”  He stood up, his hand hovering close to his gun.  Their faces were a picture.  Their mouths hung slightly open like they couldn’t believe someone had the nerve to refuse their boss anything.  “Now.  If that’s all, I got more pressing business to see to.”  He walked across to the waiting girl, and jerked his head toward the stairs at the back before pausing briefly to look once more at the two hired hands.  He laughed softly and then followed the girl swiftly up the stairs. 

.............

She didn’t smell as good as Sadie.  But everything was in the right place so wasn’t much point in brooding on it.  He’d needed a girl to fuck and she fit the bill.  Felt sometimes like he was ruled by his dick because it sure wasn’t picky.  He fastened his gun-belt back around his hips and tossed the girl a few coins.  Then he felt a twinge of guilt and put a couple of notes on the battered table by the bed.  What a way to have to make a living. 

She lay naked on the bed, watching his every move.  She was old before her time.  Like him.  Both of them whores in their way.  Sadie always liked to talk after he poked her.  Except he hadn’t been talking to her of late.  He’d pissed Sadie off.  Delice had said so.  Did this girl want him to talk to her?  Was that what girls wanted after he’d fucked them?  “You been working here long?”

Her tired eyes widened.  They were a sludgy grey.  Not green.  “A year or so.”  She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes, like she didn’t trust his interest.  “Why?  What’s it to you?”

He tried to smile, gestured around the room with his hand.  “Oh, just wondered.  I figured maybe there’s better places you could be.”

She laughed at that but she didn’t sound like she thought it was amusing.  “Yeah.  Sure.  I could be working in some real fancy place earning good money, but you know,  I turned all those places down just so I could be here being poked by drunks and gamblers.  And if I’m real lucky some of them knock me around.  I’d really miss getting my nose broke.”

Johnny bit his lip at her bitter voice.  Dios but life was shit.  Some people had it so easy and then there were people like her.  Lots of people like her.  Who the hell decided who should be dealt a losing hand?  God?  The devil?  “I’m sorry.  Really.  You got a name?”

There was surprise in the sludgy eyes.  “Daisy.  Not many men ask me that.  The only talking tends to be telling me what to put where.”  She paused.  “Thanks for asking.  Makes me feel I’m almost human.”

The sharp blades of guilt stabbed at him.  Sometimes it felt like those blades could pierce his soul.  He fumbled in his jacket.  Took out some more notes and pressed them into her hand.  “Do me a favour.  There’ll be a stage heading north this week to a place called Green River.  It’s in California.  This will pay your fare.  There’s a bordello there, tell the owner, Miss Martin, that I sent you.  She’ll see you right.  Promise me you’ll do that.”

She looked confused but nodded slowly.  “Green River?  Miss Martin?  But it won’t be no different to here.  A bordello.  A saloon.  What’s the difference?”

“She looks after her girls.  I promise.  It’ll be better.”  He looked around at the grubby room.  It smelled of piss and sex and sweat, and hadn’t seen a coat of paint in God only knew how many years.  “Much better.  It’s clean and you’ll be well fed and nobody will knock you around.  You’ll go?”  Why?  Why did he care so much that this girl, who’d simply opened her legs for him, should have something better than this place?  Dios but Madrid was loco at times.

She nodded.  “Yeah.  I’ll go.  What is it they say?  A change is as good as a rest?  After all, if it ain’t no better it don’t make much difference.  Might as well be poked in California as here.  You want to do me again?”  She reached out and felt his dick through his leather pants.  “Kind of as a thank you for asking my name.  And the money.”

His dick stirred again.  She rubbed harder.  He shook his head.  “I really got to go...”

She cupped his balls in her other hand, squeezing them gently as she carried on rubbing his dick.  He unbuckled his gun-belt.

...........

The place was busier when he went back downstairs.  Men crowded around the bar and at the poker table.  And the air was thick with smoke and laughter.  But a kind of hush settled as they noticed him.  He walked back to his corner table.  Two men sat drinking but they scurried off like cockroaches when he jerked his head at them to tell them to get the hell out of his spot. 

The bartender hurried over with a bottle of tequila and a glass, which he set down with a nervous smile.  A smile that said he was trying to please but almost shitting himself with fear at the same time, poor bastard.  Johnny just nodded in reply and then settled his gaze back on the poker players.

Would the girl take the stage to Green River?  Somehow he thought she might.  God alone knew how Delice would react to having such a worn out girl turn up on her doorstep.  But his instincts told him that Delice wouldn’t turn her away.  Delice might seem as hard as nails to most, but she had a soft heart he reckoned.  And she sure looked after her girls.  Sadie had once told him how Delice paid Sam to come in and check them over every week.  Every fucking week!  And she never made them work when they were sick.  Not like some places he’d been in. 

The girl, what was her name?  Daisy - that was it.  Daisy had asked him if she’d see him maybe sometime at this place in Green River.  The question had unsettled him.  Even now, he felt a chill inside him as he remembered his reply.  “No.  You won’t see me.  I won’t ever be going back.”

He tossed his tequila back, forcing it down past the lump in his throat.  Maybe the fire of it would warm him, because he sure felt icy cold. 

He sat forward, pushing the glass around in circles, a soothing and familiar motion.  He had to forget about Green River.  Forget about everything back there.  He’d burned his bridges now.  Made his choice.  But he felt real bad about not seeing Scott first.  Should have said something.  Or left Scott a note.  But Scott would have talked him out of doing this...  And that was why he’d run.  Couldn’t face trying to explain.  Especially when he didn’t understand it himself.   But he still felt bad about Scott...

He had to stop thinking about it.  Concentrate on now.  Hell, he needed a job.  He’d given the girl most of his money.  He really must be loco.  But the work would come.  The work always came.  He’d lay good money that the two ranch hands would be back, sooner or later.  Even as the thought of them crossed his mind, the saloon doors swung open and the two of them walked in.  And they were coming right on over.  No surprises there.

He raised an eyebrow as they reached his table.  “Your boss send you back for another go, did he?”

The older one glared at him.  “He’s ridden in.  He’s waiting outside to talk to you.”

Johnny laughed softly.  “Maybe you didn’t hear what I said earlier.  I don’t go calling.  If he wants to talk to me, you can tell him where to find me.”  He then turned his chair slightly so he could keep right on watching the poker players.  The dumb assholes just stood watching him, like they didn’t know what to do next.  He ignored them, leaned forward and poured himself another shot of tequila.

“Madrid, you got to come...”

Johnny turned his coldest hardest stare on the man and spoke real soft.  “I don’t ‘got’ to do anything.  If your boss wants to talk, you know where to find me.  You go tell him that, because the stench of you is putting me off my drink.  And trust me, you really don’t want to piss me off.”

It did the trick.  The two of them backed off real fast.  Now it was just a question of how long it would be before their boss showed up.  He’d bet it would only be a matter of minutes.

Not even five minutes. 

Mason was heavily built and tall but nothing like as tall as Murdoch.  And maybe women of a certain type would find the man attractive.  The sort of women who liked their men brutish.  Because there was something brutish about the man.  Nothing a man could put his finger on, but it was there, that undercurrent of brutality.  This was a man who wanted his own way – in every way.

“Let’s get something straight, Madrid, you work for me, not the other way around.”  The accent was southern, almost certainly Texan.

Johnny raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t know what the job is yet, Mason, I might not want to take it.”

Mason pulled out a chair, snapping his fingers toward the bartender who scurried across with a bottle of Bourbon and a glass.

Johnny waited a beat until Mason was sitting pouring his drink.  “Why don’t you sit yourself down?  Make yourself comfortable.”

It unnerved Mason, the bourbon splashed over the table.  “It’s easy money in your pocket.  Nothing else matters in this life, Madrid.  Money is power and I’m a powerful man in these parts and I pay well for a job well done.  And I don’t think you’ll find this job too tough.”

“If it ain’t tough, why d’you want me?  I’m an awful expensive gun to hire.”

Mason leaned forward.  “I want you, because I want it done right.  Let’s say, I don’t want any repercussions.  I have connections in high places and I wouldn’t like them to...”  He paused, narrowed his eyes like he was thinking hard.  “I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea about me.  And I suspect that you’re professional enough to be discreet.”

Johnny rubbed his chin.  “Discreet, huh?  Yeah, I can be real discreet, Mr. Mason, so maybe you’d better tell me what it is you want done.”

Mason smiled, like he’d won first prize in a pissing contest.  “Now, I appreciate that a man of your particular, um, what shall we call them, talents?  Yes, that a man of your particular talents wouldn’t know much about ranching.  But you must know how it is when there’s a horsefly worrying away at you, they need swatting.  Irritations like that need to be swatted, I’m sure you agree.”

Johnny looked away, raised his eyebrow slightly.  “And just what is the particular irritation you want swatted?”  He paused.  “Or maybe I should say, who is this particular irritation that needs swatting?”

Mason’s smile grew wider.  “I knew you were the man for this job.  We understand each other perfectly.”

Johnny didn’t smile.  Just shrugged.  “So, who is it?”

“A homesteader.  He’s got 150 acres and he’s encroaching on my land.  And he’s been damming up my water supply.  Cattle need water, Mr. Madrid.  And I have a lot of cattle and he’s interfering with my business. “

“If it’s your water supply, why don’t you take out an injunction against him?  That would be the nice legal way of settling this.”

Mason shook his head.  “I said I wanted him swatted, Mr. Madrid.  And, the niceties of whose water it is, well they are not exactly cut and dried.  Like I said, the man is an irritation to me, always stirring up trouble, that’s all you need to know.  I want him stopped permanently.  With no way of tracing it back to me.  Hence the need for discretion.  And from what I hear, Mr. Madrid, your speciality is always ensuring that you act in self defence.  And always staying one step ahead of the law.”

“And how much are you offering, for my...” Johnny paused, “discretion?”

Mason leaned forward again. “Seven hundred and fifty dollars.  A tidy sum, I’m sure you’d agree.”

Johnny tilted his chair back.  “He must be one hell of an irritation, Mr. Mason.  Why do I suspect there’s something you ain’t telling me?  Is he a real fast gun or something?  There has to be a catch.  That’s a lot of money to swat one fly.”

Mason sure didn’t like being challenged.  The friendly smile vanished as fast as a bullet from a gun.  “He’s not a fast gun.  I just want him dealt with – discreetly.  In return I’ll make it worth your while.”

Johnny held Mason’s gaze.  “Then I guess you’d better tell me where I find the horsefly.”

Part six

He tilted the chair back, watching Mason through the haze of smoke as the man left to go back to his ranch.  The man was a bit of shit.  But very rich shit.  Dios.  Seven hundred and fifty dollars.  There had to be a catch.  But that was a hell of a lot of money.  Almost as good as an hour’s listening money...

Maybe the fellow just wanted the best.  Because although he remembered telling Scott once that he didn’t call himself the best, if he was honest, he knew he was right up there.  Could stand with the best.  Hell, he’d beaten many men who thought they were the best.  And Madrid was still here.  Just like he’d never been away.

Dios.  Seven hundred and fifty dollars.  Why?  Maybe Mason really did just want discretion.  But still...  seven hundred and fifty dollars...  That was a hell of a lot more than he was able to earn in a year back at Lancer.  For all the talk of partnership, he’d only ever been paid the same as the ranch hands.  The old man had said a profit dividum or dividend or divi something would be paid once a year – never did understand what that meant.  And anyhow, he’d never seen a dime of it.  And he didn’t have to break his back for this money.  Or bite his lip at the old man calling the tune.  No, he just had to kill somebody...  Well, that was nothing new.  He’d killed an awful lot of men.  What was one more dead man to Johnny Madrid?

Trouble was, everything about Mason stank.  He wouldn’t trust the man an inch.  And wanting a man killed over water rights?  It didn’t make sense.  Although it seemed that maybe it wasn’t Mason’s water.  Still, it was a job, and right now he needed a job, particularly after giving most of his money to the whore.  Just as well he’d paid for his hotel room in advance.  And the best room at that.  If Madrid was back he needed to be seen to be doing okay.  Not like he was scratching for a dime. 

So, he could take Mason’s job and earn himself a tidy sum of money.  And if the fellow was just some dumb homesteader, Madrid would be able to handle that blindfolded.  And yet...  Dios!  He couldn’t afford to be having doubts about taking the job.  Hell, over the years he’d worked for enough men he’d disliked, wouldn’t be the first time.  Do the job, take the money and move on.  Simple.

Except...

He pushed the chair back, angry with himself.  He needed his bed.  In the morning he’d be thinking straight and then he’d see he’d be dumb not to take this job.

He stalked out of the saloon, pausing to toss a coin to the bartender.   Sleep.  That was what he needed.  Everything would look different in the morning.

...........

Seven hundred and fifty dollars.  Easy money... always supposing that Mason was telling the truth and the homesteader wasn’t a fast gun.

He’d paid a visit to the barber earlier in the morning.  They were always the best people to go to for information in a new town.  Barbers loved to talk.  Maybe because they knew their customers couldn’t answer back.

He’d learned that Mason was a big man hereabouts.  A hard man.  A man who paid others to do his dirty work for him.  People like Madrid.

Now he sat back in his room cleaning his guns.  He spun the killing gun in his hand and then slid it back into its holster before starting on his rifle and checking its sights.  The motions were comfortable and familiar.  Checking his weapons and preparing for a job, it was what he did best.  How could he ever have thought he could settle to ranching?  He must have been loco.  This was where he belonged.  Down around the border, hiring out.  He’d done with trying to fit to what others wanted.  Done with wearing Murdoch Lancer’s brand.  And he’d done with being soft.  Look where being soft had gotten him.  In front of a firing squad.  And trying to be a rancher.  Well, he didn’t need none of that.

He hadn’t been too choosy about jobs when he was starting out.  And he sure as hell couldn’t be too choosy about them now he was starting over.  He’d been out of the game a while and he needed everyone to know he was back.  He could be a real mean son of a bitch and maybe people needed a reminder of that.  And for seven hundred and fifty dollars he’d pretty much do anything.  Including working for Mason.

He loaded the rifle and then spun the handgun again.  Yeah.  Madrid was back.

..........

The horsefly was called Clay Dodds and his place was in an isolated spot a few miles outside of town.  Isolated was good.

Johnny paid the livery man and collected Barranca.  He saddled him up and rode out of town – in the opposite direction from Dodds’ place.  He sure didn’t want to be seen riding towards Dodds’ homestead.  He touched his hat as he rode past a group of old women jawing outside the general store.  He gave them the benefit of his broadest smile, making sure they remembered him.  And the direction he was riding in.

He planned to ride to Mason’s place as soon as he killed Dodds.  Collect the balance of the money owing.  And if Mason didn’t have it ready, this town would have lost two of its fine citizens.

Once clear of the town, he skirted back around the northern edge, before heading out toward Dodds’ homestead, making sure he stayed clear of the skyline.  Didn’t need to be spotted and only a fool, or someone wanting to announce their presence, rode on the skyline.

He rode easy.  He needed Barranca to conserve his energy in case they needed to make a fast getaway.  All he needed was to push Dodds to draw.  Johnny grinned.  He was good at that.  And then it all came down to who was faster and he doubted that some two bit homesteader was faster on the draw than Madrid.  And if the man was alone, there’d be no witnesses to worry about.

He’d give the man a fighting chance.  It would be easy to take him out with a rifle but he never was no back shooter.  Didn’t hold with back shooting.  It was wrong, pure and simple.  But a gunfight was another thing altogether.  A man always had a chance in a gunfight.  But not much of one if he was facing Madrid.

Mason had told him Dodds had a wife.  But he’d dismissed her, saying the woman was an easy lay.  And there weren’t no kids.  Made it easier when a man didn’t have family...  But had Mason been telling the truth?  He’d looked elsewhere when Johnny had asked and it was hard to tell if the man was lying.

The terrain was rough.  Piss poor soil and stony.  Sure didn’t look worth killing over.  Still, it wasn’t none of his business.  Do the job and take the money.  And then move on.  It was that simple wasn’t it?

He released the holster catch on his hand gun and then eased his rifle out.  He wasn’t taking no chances on an unfriendly reception.  But the closer he got to the homestead, the more puzzled he became.  The roof of the house had been patched more times than was good, and the barn too.  There was a milk cow grazing near the house, but it had seen better days, the ridges in her hips showed clear in the sunlight.  And there were some scrawny hens pecking at the dirt in the yard.  And Mason wanted a killing because of this place?

There didn’t look to be anyone around, but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.  Someone, someplace, was watching.    He could sense it and his senses never let him down.  Question was - who was watching?

He eased himself out of the saddle, checking once more that the catch was off his holster as he did so.  He stood by Barranca and looked the house over.  Yep.  He’d swear he saw the drapes stir a fraction at the window near the door.  He stretched casually and then tilted his hat forward, casting a shadow across his face and hiding his eyes.  He walked toward the door and was about to knock, when it was flung open and he found himself looking down the wrong end of a shotgun.

The shotgun was shaking slightly, like it was almost too heavy for the woman at the other end to hold.  She couldn’t be that old, but her face was strained, lines etched across her brow above tired eyes.  There was something frail and worn out about her.  Sure wasn’t no fat on her.

“What d’you want, stranger?”  The gun wobbled again and her finger was trembling on the trigger.

“Ma’am, would you mind pointing that gun someplace else?”

“Not while I’m fixing to blow your head off, stranger.  Like I said, what d’you want?”

Johnny tilted his head to one side, eyeing her thoughtfully.  She sure didn’t look like the easy lay Mason had mentioned.  “Your man around, is he?”

Her eyes darted nervously to the horizon.  “He ain’t far away.”

Yeah.  Sure.  Like he was gonna believe that.

The gun shook again.  “What d’you want with him?”

Johnny sighed.  “You here alone, Ma’am?”

“My man’s close by.”  She sure was nervous.  Her finger was playing on the trigger and the gun shook some more.

He heard a scuffling inside the house and she half glanced behind her.  Johnny grabbed his chance and leapt forward, wresting the gun from her hands.  She stumbled backwards, her face pale and fear showing in her eyes.

“Works better, Ma’am, with the safety catch off.”  He flicked the catch off to show her, but kept a tight hold on the shotgun.  “How about you and I step inside, Ma’am, and let’s see who you got in there.”

“I’m alone.  Ain’t nobody here but me.”  She moved across the doorway to try and block him but he pushed her firmly to one side and then motioned with the gun for her to go in ahead of him.

“And, Ma’am.”  He spoke softly.  “Move real slow.”  As he stepped into the house, he pushed the door back hard.

“Ouch!”

It was a kid’s voice.  Johnny shook his head.  “Come on out, kid.  Let’s see you.”

A girl, maybe eight or nine, moved from behind the door, rubbing her nose where the door had struck it.  The woman grabbed the girl and stood protectively in front of her, trembling all over.

“How many more of you are there?” 

She shook her head.  “None.”

Johnny sighed softly as he heard a creak on the floor upstairs.  “Ma’am, you’re starting to irritate me.  How many more of you are there?  I really don’t like surprises.”

“None.”  Her voice came out as a whisper.

“Upstairs.”  He jerked the gun toward the stairs.  “You first.”

She went even paler.  Dios.  Did she think he wanted to rape her?  And this was the woman Mason described as an easy lay?  “Ma’am, I ain’t fixing to hurt you.  Just want to know how many of you there are.”

She led the way up the worn wooden stairs, pushing the girl ahead of her.  There were just two doors off the landing.  Johnny kicked open the first door and moved rapidly to one side.  He didn’t fancy a bullet in the gut.  But the room was empty bar a big iron bedstead covered in a patchwork quilt, and a heavily carved chest.

He moved swiftly across and kicked open the second door even as the woman gave a small cry of fear and pushed in front of him to shield a young boy lying in a child’s bed.  Even a quick glance at the kid was enough to make him realise that this was a real sickly child.  His face was the colour of chalk dust and he was coughing, bringing up spittle into a chipped enamel bowl.  The woman was biting her lip, shaking slightly and the girl rushed and tried to hide behind her mother’s skirt.  “What is it you want with us, mister?”

He eyed her, wondering a little about how she’d been when he arrived.  Did the woman always welcome visitors with a shotgun?  Somehow it seemed unlikely.  Much more likely she was expecting trouble.  Expecting someone like Madrid?  “Ma’am, like I told you, I ain’t gonna hurt you.  I’m just looking for your man.”

“He’s not here.  I told you.”

“When will he be back?”

The woman shook her head.  “I don’t know, maybe at supper time.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just settle down and wait.  Unless you can tell me where to find him.  But if not, we’d better go on down and just sit ourselves down.”

She led the way back down the stairs and into a big room which looked like it served as the kitchen and the sitting area.  There was a big wood burning cooker and a pot of something bubbling away.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?  That’s why you’re here.  Mason sent you.  You’re going to kill all of us.”  The words burst out of her, like she couldn’t hold them in no longer.  She tilted her chin up now, like she was defying him to deny it.

Johnny glanced at his boots briefly, wondering how to play this.  Fucking Mason never mentioned two kids...  “I ain’t going to kill you, Ma’am.  Or your kids.  I don’t make war on women.”

“Just honest, God-fearing men?”  She spat the words at him, her lip curling in disgust.

He bit his lip.  He couldn’t let this damn woman get to him.  Couldn’t get soft.  He knew he was a cold hearted bastard.  And right now he needed to start thinking like that again.  Maybe he should go find Dodds on the ranch.  Deal with the man someplace else.  Face him down.  Kill him.  Collect the money and move on.

Shit.  Didn’t figure on kids being around.  Damn Mason to hell.  An easy job...  For some men it might be easy.  Dodds probably wasn’t much of anything judging by the looks of this place...  But shit, there were kids here...  And the man’s wife, who looked more like a hard working woman than the easy lay Mason had described.  And right now she was looking at Madrid like he was something that crawled out from under a stone.  Shit.  But he needed the money.  Needed to be back in the game.  All he had to do was push Dodds to draw on him...   But not in here.   Some place away from the kids...

“I could use a cup of coffee, Ma’am, as it seems we got a long wait.”

She glared.  “Make it yourself.”  She paused, shaking her head at him.  “Men like you disgust me.  Scum, mister, that’s what you are.  You and that Mason.”  She tilted her head slightly as the child upstairs started coughing again.

“You want to bring the boy down here?  I’ll fetch him for you if it would make you rest easier to have him by you.”  Johnny waited for her to answer.

“You think I’d let the likes of you near my boy?”  She shook her head again, like she was disgusted by Madrid.  “I’ll fetch him myself.”  She turned toward the stairs before pausing to speak again.  “Or don’t you trust me to fetch him?  You scared I’ll find myself a gun up there?  Scared some weak woman will blow a hole in you?”

Johnny laughed softly.  “I don’t think you’ll be waving guns around with your kids here.  You ain’t too good with a gun, Ma’am.”

“Mister,” her voice was cold and hard.  “I’d blow a hole clean through you given the chance.”

“Just go get your boy, Ma’am, and I’ll make us some coffee.”

Grasping the girl by the hand, the woman hurried up the stairs, like she couldn’t stand to be in the room with him a second longer.  Shit.  What a mess.  And this was meant to have been an easy job.  He boiled up a pan of water and ferreted around in the jars for some coffee.  He could hear the woman crooning to the boy, and occasionally the sound of her thumping him on the back to help him cough easier.  Didn’t sound like she was searching for a gun.  But he wouldn’t blame her if she did.  Trouble was, he still couldn’t see why Mason wanted shot of Dodds.  The man was obviously dirt poor and scratching a living on this land.  Why not just buy him out?  Be a damn sight easier that having him killed, seeing as how Mason seemed so worried about what people might think.  But then, Mason was a bully.  Maybe he just wanted to put local people in fear of him...  Plenty of men like that around.  Not everyone treated folk as fair as Murdoch did...

He jolted the boiling water, causing it to splash over the floor.  Shit.  Quit thinking about Lancer.  That was all behind him now.  Dios but he needed to toughen up again.  Seven hundred and fifty dollars was a lot of money...

He could hear the woman coming back down, he put his hand to his gun, just in case...  But she walked down the stairs with the boy in her arms and the girl stumbling behind her.  Her lip curled again as she saw his hand near the gun and she looked at him like he was something unpleasant that she’d trodden in.

“You want some coffee, Ma’am?”  Johnny held up the pot.  

She didn’t bother answering.  Just gave him a nasty look and set to laying the boy out on the couch, propping him up with some cushions.  The boy was staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers.  “You really a killer, mister?”  The boy’s voice was wheezy and the exertion of talking made him start coughing.

Johnny shrugged, uncertain how to answer, and all the while the woman’s eyes bored into him.  “I’m...”  He hesitated.  “I’m a gunfighter.”

“Why d’you want to kill our Pa?”  The girl took after her mother.  Direct summed them both up.  “What did he ever do to you?”

Shit.  And why the hell was the family so sure he was here to kill the father?  Dios, he wished he knew what this was about.  Fucking Mason.  If the man had levelled with him from the start it would have been so much easier.  But Mason wasn’t the sort of man to level... 

“I asked you a question, mister.”  The girl was gutsy.  Either gutsy or dumb.

Johnny eyed the mother, curious now.  “Why d’you think I’m here for a killing?”

She narrowed her eyes.  “You mean apart from the fact you got the look of a killer about you?  The way you wear that gun of yours...   But Mason told us he’d run us off this land one way or another and if it meant hiring himself a killer then that’s what he’d do.  And it seems to me that’s just what he’s gone and done.”

“Why does he want you gone?”  Johnny shook his head.  He couldn’t figure this at all.  “Why does Mason want this land so bad?”

The woman opened her mouth to answer but stopped, paling at the sound of a horse coming in.  The girl suddenly made a break for the door, screaming out.  “Pa.  Be careful, there’s a man here wants to kill you.  Pa!”

Johnny moved to grab her but she slipped through the door and tore across the dirt yard to where a gaunt man stood, already reaching for a rifle.

Fuck.  What a mess.  Johnny dodged behind the door as the man pulled the girl behind a water barrel for cover and levelled the gun toward the house.

The woman made a movement behind him, as if to run for cover while he was distracted.  Johnny pointed his gun at her.  “Sit right there, Ma’am, you’re going to really irritate me if you don’t sit still.  I’m already in a bad mood, and trust me, you don’t want to make it any worse.”  Johnny crouched behind the door.  It was a stalemate.  Him inside with the woman and boy, and Dodds outside with the girl.  Shit.

Part seven

The only sound was the kid’s laboured breathing.

Johnny crouched by the window, his gun cocked.  Great, Madrid, really great!  He’d fucked up big time.  How the hell had he gotten himself into such a mess?  He was losing his touch - that was how.   Been living it up in comfort for too long.  Spent too much time hanging around on the ranch living in luxury; that was his problem.  And he’d ignored all his instincts on this job.  And his instincts had been screaming that this whole thing stank.  But had he listened?  No, he’d been too damn cocky.  Should have watched the place first, checking the comings and goings.  But oh no.  He’d just ridden right on in, thinking of the big pay out.  A mistake that could cost him his life.  And he had nobody to blame but himself.

If he’d been on top of his game he’d have watched the place, followed Dodds and then pushed him to draw...  And he could have collected his money and ridden away.  Job done.

The woman was still hugging the boy and looking at Madrid like he was something to squash underfoot.  And he sure couldn’t blame her for that. 

“What are you going to do with us?”  Her words came out in a hiss.  “Kill us?  Kill us all?”

He glanced back at her.  “I told you.  I don’t make war on women.”  Judging by the look on her face she didn’t believe him.  But it was the truth.  He’d never so much as raised a hand to a woman.  Seen enough men do that to his mother...  But this woman wasn’t nothing like his mother.  This woman was like a mountain lion defending her cubs.  And she looked furious enough to try something stupid... And he sure couldn’t risk that.  He could maybe think of just one way to get himself out of this...   But if she hollered she could mess things right up and someone would wind up dead.  Shit.

Keeping low, he ran across the room, whipping his bandana from his neck.  “Sorry, Ma’am, but I got to do this.”  And before she could squeak he tied it around her mouth as a gag.  She raised her hands to try and drag it off but he grabbed hold of her and using an old sheet from a pile of laundry, pushed her down and bound her firmly to a chair.  He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the red marks he’d left on her wrists from grabbing hold of her.  But it was better that she was bruised than killed by a stray bullet.

But he couldn’t gag the kid.  The boy wouldn’t be able to breathe.  Shit.

He crouched in front of the kid who was breathing hard and staring at him, his eyes huge in his ashen face.  “Kid, I ain’t gonna hurt you, you’ve got to believe that.  But, I need you to behave like a man now and keep quiet, for the sake of your family.  If you care about your pa and your sister and you want them safe, you keep quiet.  That’s the only way you can help them.  Understand?”

The boy nodded.  Looked too scared to talk even if he wanted to.  Shit.  A terrified kid and a woman who’d blast him with a shotgun given half a chance.  And looking at him with such hatred.  Was this rock bottom?  Had he sunk as low as he could?  All of this for a handful of money?  He tried to push the thought away.  This sure wasn’t the time to start brooding on things. 

Johnny moved back to the window, and still keeping low, called out.  “Dodds!  You listen and you listen good.  If you care about this family of yours, throw down your gun and come out with your hands up.”

Silence. 

God only knew what the fellow was planning.   He tried again.  “Dodds!  You got just one chance.  Come on out now.  Throw your gun down and your family stays safe.  That’s the only deal you’re getting.”

The fellow must have figured Johnny was bluffing because he still didn’t come out from behind the water trough.  Just fired off a round from his rifle. 

Johnny sighed softly.  There really was only one way to play this.  Raising his gun, he fired into the wall at the back of the room.  The roar of the gun was deafening in the small room.  And the woman and the kid jumped like he’d shot them.  The boy clung to his mother and both of them were as white as the sheet binding her to the chair and the fear showed plain in their eyes.  “Dodds!  That was your wife.  You want your kid to be next?”

It worked.

“Leave my son alone.  You bastard.  Leave my kid alone.”  Dodds stumbled out, throwing his rifle down.  “Kill me, but leave my family alone.”  The man was tripping over himself trying to get to the house.  Tears were streaming down his face. 

Johnny stood up cautiously.  If the fellow didn’t have another gun it might still work out.  He glanced over at the woman who trembled in the corner.  Bit his lip hard.  Yeah, maybe this was rock bottom.  Shit but Madrid was a bastard...  Tried to think of something to say to her.  Anything.  But whatever he said wouldn’t make it right.  Wouldn’t alter that he was just a son of a bitch who’d kill for a handful of dollars.  “Sorry, Ma’am, but it was the only way I could think of...”  He swung the door open, keeping Dodds covered all the while with his gun.  “You just stand easy there while I check you over.”

Dodds ignored him, tried to push past.  “If you’ve hurt my boy, so help me God, I’ll kill you with my bare hands, you bastard.  And my wife, you killed my wife in front of my boy.   You’ll burn in hell for that. . .”  Johnny raised his hand to restrain the man but Dodds struck it away.  The man stumbled into the house and then stopped dead for a brief moment as he saw his wife bound to the chair.  He threw himself across the room, seizing her in his arms, gulping out words.  “Sarah!  My love.  Oh, Sarah, I thought...”  He clung to her, holding her like he’d never let her go.

A creak on the porch set Johnny’s senses back on full alert.  Turning swiftly, he saw that the girl had snuck out from her hiding place and was creeping up the steps.  And she had the damn gun in her hands.  Johnny leapt clear just as the girl aimed it at him and pulled the trigger, the recoil throwing her back from the doorway.   And causing her to drop the gun.  It was a fucking miracle that she didn’t kill her own family, let alone him.

Dios.  What a family. 

He grabbed the gun and hauled her to her feet.  “You got a name, spitfire?”

“You hurt my pa and I’ll kill you!”  She almost spat the words at him, and her face was scarlet with fury. 

Johnny grunted.  “Come on, you firebrand.   Join the rest of your family.  We got some talking to do.”  He pushed her into the house and she ran straight to her parents.  Dodds was struggling, all thumbs it looked like, undoing the binds from his wife, and then gathering the boy into his arms.  Johnny shook his head.  How the hell could he have been so dumb as to get into this mess?  What the hell had he been thinking about? 

Seven hundred and fifty dollars.  He’d been prepared to sell his soul for that.  But no, that wasn’t true.  He’d sold his soul a long time ago.  But he’d never put a family at risk before.  Not like this. 

Dodds moved in front of his family.  “I dunno who you are, mister, but I’m guessing Mason sent you.  And I know I ain’t got a chance, but I’m begging you not to kill my wife and kids.  This should be just between you and me.  Ain’t no cause to hurt a woman and innocent kids.  For God’s sake, please...”

“Damn it!  I ain’t gonna kill any of you.”  Johnny ran his fingers through his hair.  Shit.  What the hell was he going to do now?  Because he knew he couldn’t kill them.  This was what rock bottom felt like.  He’d need fucking dynamite to sink any lower.  That or kill them.  “Okay?  I ain’t gonna kill you.”

Dodds furrowed his brow.  “You mean Mason didn’t send you?  You look like a gunfighter to me.  Who the hell are you?”

“Yeah, Mason sent me, and yeah, I’m a gunfighter.”  Johnny paused.  Hell, he owed them a little honesty.  “My name’s Madrid.  Johnny Madrid...”

The woman gave a small gasp, her hand covering her mouth, and stumbling back like she’d been struck by a rattler.  Dodds looked bewildered and the kids started whispering to each other.  Seemed like everybody had heard of Johnny Madrid.  It was like he’d never been out of the game.

“Look, Mason hired me, but just calm down.  I ain’t here for a killing.  Okay?  But I do want some answers.  Like why the hell Mason is so fired up to get you off this land?”  Johnny nodded to the woman.  “No offence meant, Ma’am, but this place don’t look like it’s worth killing over.  So why the hell does Mason want it so bad?”

“You really not going to kill us?”  Dodds looked at him doubtfully.

“Like I said, right now I just want to know what this is all about.  Why don’t we just all calm down, maybe have a cup of coffee and you tell me what this is all about.   And then we’ll figure out what to do about Mason.”  Johnny paused, shaking his head.  “Because right now, I really ain’t too happy with Mason.  And it doesn’t pay to make me unhappy.  So?  Any chance of a coffee?”  He tried a small smile out on the woman.  “Please, Ma’am?  And, well, I’m real sorry about being rough, but I couldn’t figure out any other way to stop all of this before it got out of hand.  I was never going to hurt you or your kids.”  But he would have killed her husband.  If he’d handled it differently he knew he’d have pushed Dodds to draw.  And Madrid would have killed him.  Dios, he felt dirty.  What a way to make a living.

She got to her feet, all calm, like she was used to dealing with gunfighters threatening her family.  Stood real straight.  Suddenly he envied Dodds.  What would it be like to have a woman of your own?  A  woman who stood by her man, no matter what...  Yeah, she was a real fine woman.  Proud and strong.  Dodds was a damn lucky man.  Might be dirt poor but he was one lucky man.  The woman reached out and grasped the girl’s hand.  “I’ll make the coffee.  Rebecca, come and help me.  Let Pa talk to Mr. Madrid.  And Samuel, you just sit quiet and I’ll bring you a drink too.”

Dodds motioned to Johnny to sit at the table.  But he still looked wary.  Couldn’t blame the man for that.  ’Specially after the stunt Madrid had just pulled...  He could feel the colour flooding his face.  What the hell had he been thinking of?  Dios.  He really was on a slippery slope and heading straight for hell.  And now he had to convince Dodds he was on the level.  And if he was Dodds he wouldn’t believe a word Madrid said.

Johnny sighed.  What a God-awful mess.  “Look.  I know you got no reason to trust me, but I need some answers and then maybe we can sort this out.  But you got to tell me why Mason is so fired up over this bit of land.  If I’m gonna help you, I need to know what’s behind all of this.”

Dodds narrowed his eyes and looked at him like he wasn’t fit to live with the dogs.  “And just why would the likes of you want to help us, Madrid?  You think I don’t know what sort of man you are?  A killer, nothing more.  Oh you can wrap it up fancy and call yourself a gunfighter.  Maybe it helps you live with yourself.  But what it boils down to is the same thing – a man who’ll kill if the price is right.  Well, let me tell you, I can’t afford to pay you, so maybe you’ll just take Mason’s money and kill me.  Like you said, I got no reason to trust you.  Those are probably the first honest words you’ve uttered in your God forsaken life.” 

The words stung.  A man who’d kill if the price was right. 

And wasn’t that the truth?  All he’d ever wanted was to be good at his trade.  But it didn’t sound too good the way Dodds put it.  He rubbed his forehead, trying to think of something to say.  Something that might persuade Dodds to tell him what this was about.  Trouble was he couldn’t think of a damn thing.  Not one good reason to give that might make Dodds open up.

The woman was standing leaning against the wall watching them.   “Paul, tell him.  He could have killed us, but he didn’t.  Maybe we should trust him.”

“Trust him?”  Dodds looked at her like she was loco.  “He’s a killer, Sarah.  Everyone has heard of Madrid.  And for all we know he could be planning on killing us as soon as he hears what we have to say.”

The woman shrugged.  “Then we have nothing to lose.  Just tell him, Paul, for the children’s sake.”

Dodds grunted in irritation, but nodded slowly.  “If that’s what you want.”  He looked across at Johnny.  “Mason wants us off this land because he’s convinced there’s gold on it.”

Gold!  Yeah, that made sense.  Mason was exactly the sort of man who’d be tempted by gold.  Some rich men were never happy with what they had.  Always wanted more.  And Mason sure fit that description.  “Why the hell does he think there’s gold here?  Do you think there’s gold here?”  Not that Dodds would tell him if he did figure there was gold on his land.  Dodds would see it as another reason for Madrid to kill them.

Dodds shrugged.  “No, I don’t, but even if there is I couldn’t afford to run tests to find out.  Ain’t never had gold fever.  But a small deposit was found in the stream a while back.  I reckon maybe it was dropped there or washed down from someplace else.  I ain’t never found any myself and believe me, I’ve looked.   But Mason is greedy.  And he reckons he can turn us off and look for it himself but he don’t want to buy the land in case it’s just a wild goose chase.  The land ain’t worth much but I reckon he’s worried I’d make a claim against him if it started coughing up gold.  And anyway, he ain’t the sort of man to pay for anything that he reckons he can take by force.”  He gave a bitter sort of laugh.  “And I guess now I’ve told you about the gold, you’ll kill us.  I reckon a man like you’ll want to look for it and take it for yourself.”

Johnny shook his head.  “Nope.  I don’t suppose you’ll believe me, but I’ve never had gold fever neither.  But it sure as hell explains why Mason wants you gone.”  He glanced up as the woman put a pot of coffee down on the table with a couple of chipped mugs.  “Thank you, Ma’am, much obliged.”

Dodds tilted his head, kind of like he was thinking things over.  “You really not interested in the gold?  Somehow, I don’t think I believe you, Madrid.  A man like you...”

Johnny flushed.  ‘A man like you’ - that was what he’d become.  A man who people believed the worst of.  And whatever they’d heard, it was mostly true.  He shook his head again.  “No.  Like I said, I’ve never had gold fever.  Found myself a gold nugget one time, but a man can waste a lifetime searching for gold and then up and die without ever having lived.  I ain’t interested in it.”  Johnny sipped his coffee, hating the way they all looked at him.  Their fear and dislike was like a heavy black shroud wrapping itself around him.  And his soul was turning as black as the night.  Shit.  Maybe this once he could try to do the right thing.  Had to try.  If he didn’t try, this family would be joining all the other ghosts that haunted his dreams.  “If Mason wanted to buy the land, would you sell it?”

Dodds gave another bitter laugh.  “Oh I’d sell it to anyone who’d buy it.  But who’s going to pay good money for land this poor.  I never had much and this was all I could afford.  I’d have been better just working for someone else.  Leastways I could have provided for my family better than I do right now.”

“Paul.”  The woman sounded real gentle.  “You look after us just fine.  You’re not to keep thinking like that.  You always do your best by us and that’s all anyone can ask.”

Johnny swallowed hard.  The note of tenderness in her voice brought a lump to his throat.  Dios but Dodds was lucky just to know the likes of a woman like her.  This family didn’t deserve to be bullied by the Masons of this world.  He hated bullies.  Always had.  Well it was time Madrid did something useful.  He knew he was just a cold-blooded killer, but sometimes, just sometimes he could do the right thing.  And maybe this was one of those times.  “So, if Mason will buy, you’ll sell?”

Dodds looked at him, shaking his head like he thought Madrid was dumb.  “I told you, Mason ain’t going to buy this land.”

Johnny grinned, pushing his chair away from the table.  “Maybe I can persuade him.  I can be real persuasive at times.  And then you can move someplace else, where there’s better land.  Start over.”

The woman stepped forward, a spark of hope shining in her eyes.  “You think you can persuade him to buy our land?”

Dodds grunted.  “Sarah, I think his idea of persuasion isn’t quite the same as yours.”  He narrowed his eyes.  “And just why would you want to help us, Madrid?  What’s in it for you?  There’s always a price, especially with people in your line of work.  What do you get out of this?”

Johnny bowed his head and sighed softly.  And wasn’t that a real good question?  Maybe one that deserved an honest answer.  He raised his head and looked Dodds square in the eyes.  “A good night’s sleep.”  He walked across to the door.  “I’m going to pay Mason a visit.  Reckon you might like to start packing your things up.  I’ll be along later.”

Part eight

He rode until he was out of sight and then stumbled from Barranca, the vomit already filling his mouth.  He kept puking until it was just sour bile.  He drained the last drop of water from his canteen, wishing he had more to take the bitter taste away and then staggered to sit in the shade of a small stand of scrubby oaks.  So he’d finally hit bottom.  The bottom of a big dark pit and there was no way back.

It was only days since he’d left Lancer and he’d been so desperate to escape it felt almost like the devil had taken over his soul.  Well, fate had sure turned the tables.  Johnny Lancer was already just a dim memory.  A shadowy remnant of a brief moment in time.  Had any of it been real? 

The ranch had been real and the people there.  But he’d never felt he belonged there. Always felt the outsider.  Standing outside their lives, looking in.  The way he’d been his whole life.   Johnny Lancer had died when his mama had taken him from the ranch as a little kid.  And he’d been fooling himself thinking he could bring him back to life.  It was too late for second chances.

‘Doesn’t have to be, honey.  If you want something badly enough you should grab it with both hands.’  The words echoed in his head.  And the memory flashed in front of him.  He could see it now.  Could see it as clear as he could see Barranca standing grazing next to him.  He’d been sitting eating pancakes in the bordello.  It had been his first ever proper conversation with her...  He’d told her it was too late to look for a different life. 

Funny how he could never get her voice out of his head.  And her damn voice always came back to haunt him at the strangest moments.  It was odd but he could recall the whole conversation, even though it had been months ago.  Yeah.  He could remember every word, from the moment he’d left Sadie’s bed and gone down to pay for his whores to when he’d ridden back to the ranch.

He’d told her he hadn’t quite hit rock bottom.  That he could still recognise a good man.

A good man...

Dodds was a good man.  Had a good wife and nice kids.  Maybe this wasn’t rock bottom?  Surely if it was, he wouldn’t recognise the difference between good and bad?  

And if he’d hit rock bottom, he’d have just killed them.  Wouldn’t he? 

One thing was certain; Delice would give him hell if she knew about the Dodds family and how close he’d come to screwing things up.  

Funny.  When he’d started out along this road as a kid, he’d been so full of dreams.  Now it seemed that the devil had stolen those and all he had left was a shitload of regrets. 

He tilted his hat down, shading his eyes from the relentless glare of the sun, as he looked out over the barren landscape.  What a place for a man like Dodds to have to scratch a living, poor bastard. 

Maybe, just maybe he could turn this one regret around.  Making Mason pay seemed a damn good place to start.  And although he knew he’d blown his chance of a fresh start, maybe Dodds and his family could have theirs.  Leastways there’d be some justice for them. 

He hauled himself to his feet, a smile pulling at his mouth.  Yeah.  Revenge had a real sweet taste.  He was going to enjoy making Mason pay.

.............

One thing was certain.  He wasn’t rushing in like he had to Dodds’ place.  This time he was planning things right.  He shifted, trying to avoid being speared by the branches of the scrubby bushes he crouched in, overlooking Mason’s place.  The hacienda was big.  Almost as big as Lancer.  And the vaqueros’ bunkhouse was some considerable way off.  Maybe Mason didn’t like the thought of having common ranch hands too close by.  And that suited Madrid very well indeed... 

There seemed to be a cook and some kind of maid.  He’d seen the maid shaking dusters out of the upper windows.  And the cook had been gathering vegetables from a small plot near the side door.  But he’d be prepared to bet they didn’t live in the house.  Mason wasn’t the sort of man who’d let Mexicans live in his home.  Nope.  He’d bet an hour’s listening money that the women would be leaving once they’d served dinner.

There didn’t seem to be no kids around but he’d spotted a woman he figured was Mason’s wife.  She’d been out picking some roses, wearing a big, wide-brimmed hat. 

And he’d seen Mason.  The man had been striding round the corrals, issuing orders to a fellow that looked like he might be the Segundo.  Except he was white.  Maybe Mason didn’t want a Mex Segundo.  He was the sort of man who’d think that a Mex should be kept in his place – which probably meant under the boot.   Yeah.  Those women would be leaving the house after dinner, escaping back to their own lives and leaving Mason wide open.

He grinned again at the thought of revenge, before moving quietly away to find a shady spot for a siesta.  He’d make his move after sundown.

................

He checked his guns for the second time.  Wasn’t taking no chances on anything going wrong.  He had no intention of dying for scum like Mason.  The man needed to be taught a lesson and Madrid was just the man to do it.  He could feel the excitement building in him.  The blood starting to pound in his body was making him feel more alive.  Dios, but it felt good.  He shut his eyes, relishing the surge, and it was going to feel even better when he confronted Mason.

As he’d expected, the two women had left mid-evening, presumably having served a meal and cleared up.  Now he only wanted to see a lamp lit upstairs.  He was willing to bet Mrs Mason would retire before her husband did.  And then Mason would be all his.

He led Barranca down to a small thicket not too far from the house, and settled down to watch and wait, certain that the gloom of the wood would make him virtually impossible to spot.  But judging by the laughter coming from the bunkhouse, nobody was going to be out looking for a lone gunman.  The vaqueros were having too good a time, playing cards and drinking from the sounds of it.

It wasn’t long before he saw a light moving upstairs.  The wife with a lamp.  He could see her shape outlined by the flickering glow as she moved to close the drapes.  He secured Barranca and, leaving his spurs in his saddlebags, slipped silently toward the house.

Keeping close to the whitewashed walls, hidden by the deep shadows, he followed the run of the house around until he came to a big set of glass doors.  He could see Mason, a glass in hand, reading through a big pile of papers.  The man looked like he wouldn’t notice anything.  He seemed to be concentrating real hard on his paperwork.  Johnny’s blood was running even faster now, sending a thrill right through his body.  Moving fast he slipped on past the window to a side door he’d noticed earlier.  He eased the handle down slowly, listening hard for the slightest sound that might betray him.  The door didn’t as much as creak.  So far so good.

Stepping into the corridor he could see the glow of light from Mason’s study.  He could hear a bed creaking from above.  The wife settling in for the night.  He smiled.  Things couldn’t be going any better.  He padded softly towards the study.  The door was ajar making it easy for him to step silently into the room.  Mason didn’t hear him.  Just kept reading through his papers.

“Good evening.”  Johnny spoke real soft but it sure as hell scared the shit out of Mason, who jumped about two feet into the air.  Johnny laughed softly as Mason’s papers were scattered everywhere as the man jerked around in surprise.

Mason’s mouth set briefly in a grim line.  “What the hell are you playing at, Madrid?  Why can’t you use the front door like other people?”

Johnny laughed softly.  “I don’t always like to announce my presence.  And you did say you wanted, um, what was the word?  Discretion?  I’m being real discreet, Mason.”

Mason narrowed his eyes, like he was wondering what Madrid meant by that.  “Well, did you do the job?”

Johnny smiled.  “I’ve come for my money.”

Mason got slowly to his feet.  “But you dealt with Dodds?”

Johnny laughed again.  “Yeah, I dealt with him.”

Mason grunted in reply and walked to a big safe standing in the far corner of the room.  “I’ll get your money.”  He took a bunch of keys and undid a series of locks.  Reaching inside he pulled out a wad of notes and counted out six hundred dollars.  “I paid you a hundred and fifty in advance.  Here’s the balance.” 

Johnny took the notes from Mason and as the man moved to lock the safe once more, Johnny spoke, real soft.  “I wouldn’t lock that up, we ain’t done here yet.”

Mason spun around, colour flushing his face a vivid red.  “What the hell do you mean by that?  We had a deal, Madrid.”

Johnny laughed.  “Well, yeah, we had a deal.  But I’ve cut us a new deal.”

“We agreed seven hundred and fifty for you to kill Dodds.”

Johnny smiled, enjoying the surge of power and the rush of blood.  “Well, that’s as may be, but I didn’t kill Dodds.”

Mason stepped back away from the safe, breathing hard.  “What the hell are you talking about?  We had a deal.  No killing, no payment.  Or are you just a common thief?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow.  “I ain’t a common anything.  Like I said, I cut us a deal.  Me and Dodds, that is.  You see, he and I had a little talk.  We talked all about why you want that scrubby bit of land so bad.  And you know what, he told me this is all about gold, not water rights.”

Mason snorted, like he thought it was all rubbish.  “And you’re going to take the word of some dirt poor homesteader?  He’s bluffing you, Madrid, and you’re a fool if you buy that shit.”

Johnny shook his head.  “Nope, he wasn’t bluffing, but you are.  And trust me, you really don’t want to piss me off, Mason.”

The man made a slight move toward an oak chest where a drawer sat slightly open.  Johnny drew his Colt.  “Don’t even think about it, Mason.  I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.  In fact, I’d enjoy it.  Probably be doing a lot of people a big favour.”

Mason paled.  His face was an unpleasant shade of grey now.  “What do you want, Madrid?  Just get to the point.  If it’s gold you’re after, I haven’t got any and if there’s any on that land of Dodds it won’t be coughing up gold for some time.”    Mason gave an oily smile. “I’d have thought a smart man like you would know it takes time to run tests.  And a lot more time to produce gold.”

His finger was itching on the trigger.  Could feel the cold metal against his finger.  Damn it but he’d like to kill this fellow.  He drew the trigger back a fraction...  It would be so easy just to finish the job.  And the blood was rushing and he felt so damn good.  He took a deep breath, tried to quell the urge to blast the man to hell.  “I don’t want gold.  I want you to buy Mason’s land.  He wants to sell and you want his land.  Simple.”

Mason’s mouth twisted in a sneer.  “That land is as good as worthless.”

“Not if there’s gold on it.  That would make it a real valuable parcel of land.”

Mason grunted.  “There may not be any gold on it.  I’m not laying out good money on some land which could well prove to be just another scrubby few acres. “

Johnny shook his head, still fighting the temptation just to pull the damn trigger.  “But you sure didn’t mind laying out good money for me to kill a man over those scrubby acres because you’re too fucking tight to pay a fair price.  Well, let me tell you, Mason, the price just went up.  Dodds would have sold you that land, fair and square.  But you’re just a greedy bastard who likes to bully folk.  The question is what am I going to do with you?”  Johnny aimed the gun at Mason’s chest and smiled. 

Beads of sweat trickled down Mason’s forehead, his bluster all gone.  “That would be murder, Madrid.”  His voice came out hoarse.

Johnny tilted his head to one side, scratched his chin like he was thinking real hard.  “But ain’t that what you wanted me to do to Dodds?  Murder him?  But it seems like the game just changed.”  He paused and cocked the gun.  “Start begging, Mason.  And you’d better beg good if you want to see another sunrise.”

The sweat was running down the man’s face now.  And Johnny levelled the gun between Mason’s eyes.

“How much for the land?”  Mason was panting.  Could hardly get the words out.  He’d be pissing himself any second.

Johnny gave him a slow smile.  “I thought you might come round to my way of thinking.  I reckon that whatever you got in that safe should just about cover it.”

Mason went even paler.  “That’s the wages for my men.”

Johnny shrugged.  “Well, I reckon you can cover their wages with whatever you’ve got stashed in the bank.  But I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that Mr. Dodds will be real grateful.  He wants to move on.  Find better territory for that nice family of his.”  Johnny held his hand out for the notes that Mason was scrabbling about for in the safe.

“And tell me, Madrid.”  Mason seemed to have some of his bluster back.  “Exactly how much of this money does Dodds get to see and how much of it is your fee?”

Johnny laughed softly.  “You already paid me.  I got my hundred and fifty dollars.  I don’t need no more.  We’re not all greedy like you, Mason.  Oh, I’ll get Dodds to make it legal.  There’ll be a deed making the land over to you, giving up all claims on any gold; he’ll leave it in the house.”  Johnny paused, stepping closer and pushing the gun against Mason’s throat, making the man grunt in pain.  “And you keep your men clear of the place for 24 hours while that family packs and leaves.  Then it’s all yours.  But if you set foot on that land any sooner I will kill you.  And that wife of yours.  It’ll be my pleasure.”

Mason’s mouth was working frantically and he was still sweating, his face brick red.  “You ain’t heard the last of this, Madrid.  One way or another, I’ll see you pay.  There’ll be no place you can hide.  Sometime, someday, there’ll be a bullet with your name on.  And you’ll never know when it’s coming, you son of a bitch.”  Mason spat the words out.

Johnny sighed.  “Yeah.  I reckon there will.  But hell, I never did figure on retiring.  But a word of warning, Mason, you’d better pray your hired killer does it right, because otherwise I’ll be back and I promise I’ll pull this trigger next time we meet.”  Johnny pushed the notes inside his jacket.  “So, I’ll see you in hell.  Unless we meet before then.”  He tipped his hat and moving to the glass doors, opened them and slipped into the night.

Part nine

The moon cast enough light for him to find his way back to the Dodds’ homestead, but he figured he’d make camp somewhere out of sight of the house.  It was too late to disturb them now.  And he was still coming down from the buzz he’d had when he’d threatened Mason.  He’d come so close to killing the man.  He’d wanted to pull the trigger.  Been itching to do it.  Trouble was he had an uneasy feeling that maybe he should have done just that and finished the job.  Mason’s threat rang in his ears.  And Mason was the sort of man who’d follow through on threats. 

Leaving Barranca to graze, he lit a small fire and settled himself against his saddle on the ground.  He fumbled in his pocket to see if he had any jerky left, but he was out of luck.  Still, he had some beans and coffee so that would have to do.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made do, and it sure wouldn’t be the last.

When he’d eaten, he fished Mason’s money out from inside his jacket to count.  Four thousand, eight hundred and seventy dollars.  He let out a whistle.  That was a lot more money than just Mason’s men’s wages.  Unless Mason was a real generous employer and he figured that wasn’t very likely.  Must be the sort of man who just liked to keep a packet of money in his safe.  Four thousand, eight hundred and seventy dollars.  He sighed, shaking his head.  He knew he’d end up rounding the figure up to five thousand for the family out of the down payment he’d been given.  Leastways the money would give then a decent shot at a better life.  Or maybe give the son a life.  Sure didn’t look like the boy was long for this world.  But it would leave Madrid just twenty dollars.  Not exactly a fortune.  But, hell, money always slipped through his fingers.  He’d always been broke.  Whenever he had money he either spent it on whores, bullets and tequila or ended up giving it away.  Except, if all he had now was twenty lousy dollars he wouldn’t be having no whores for a while.  He’d have to make this money last until he could find some work and couldn’t go spending it on women.  If he went into town would Daisy do him for free?  No, she’d probably already packed and gone off to Green River.

But what the hell was his next move going to be?  Because now all the memories were flooding back, crowding into his head like there was barely enough room for them all.  All the reasons he’d signed the damn partnership agreement in the first place.  He’d been so damn tired.  And tired of being used.  And tired of the killings.  The buzz of the gunfights was one thing but it was how he’d felt when the fights were over and he was left standing.  Always the last man standing, living on borrowed time.  It was that exhaustion which had been wearing him out.  He’d felt so fucking old.  Old and sinning.  The sin had been weighing him down and had been too heavy a load for any man to carry.  And today, in the Dodds’ home he’d felt ashamed.  There was no glory in gunfighting. It was just a dirty way to make a living.  And it seemed he was back where he’d started from before he signed that damned agreement.

Dragging his mind back over the events of the day, it struck him how much he’d envied Dodds his wife and his family.  What would it be like to have all of that?  A woman of his own.  A woman who loved him and stood by him come what may.  He shook his head.  Shouldn’t waste his time even trying to think what that would be like.  He hadn’t done too well with the family he did have.  And he’d been alone for too many years to change.  He’d never really understood what they’d expected or wanted of him.  Hell, he couldn’t even make small talk over the dinner table.  It had been so easy for Scott.  The man seemed able to talk to anybody about anything.  Madrid couldn’t do that.  And they were always poking their noses into his business and his past.  Asking so many questions.  Why did they always want to know so much?  His sinning wasn’t none of their business.  And they always asked him more questions than they ever seemed to ask Scott.  Why was that?  Shit, he was well out of it all.  There was freedom out here.  Could do as he liked now and go where he pleased.  And didn’t have to answer to nobody.  Who needed family? 

The night air had a real bite to it even this far south.  His feet were cold, and all the feeling seemed to have seeped from his bones.  He huddled closer to the fire, clasping his mug of coffee between his hands, trying to get some warmth into his fingers.  How many nights had he spent like this?  Alone, cold and listening to the wind stirring in the trees, the rustling leaves full of whispered reproaches.  Dios.  Where the hell did he go from here?

.......

He awoke drenched in sweat and crying out.  He’d shot Dodds and the family were wailing and keening over the man’s body and Murdoch had been there, shaking his head, eyes full of contempt.  Contempt for Madrid.

Johnny sat hugging his knees, still shaking.  He gave up trying to sleep and waited for the first fingers of dawn to etch their way across the night sky.  Barranca was restless and kept stamping his feet.  Must be as cold as his master and probably missing the warmth of the barn back at the ranch.   Damn horse would have to get used to living rough again.  They’d both have to get used to living rough again.  There was no turning back now. 

He brewed some coffee and saddled up, ready to ride to the Dodds’ place as the sky lightened in the east.  Time for them all to be moving on.  Leastways the Dodds could be moving toward something better. 

The homestead looked even rougher in the cold grey light of dawn.  A strand of smoke wisped its way from the chimney, but otherwise there was no sign of movement anywhere. 

He rode slowly into the yard.  Would anybody be up yet?

They must have read his mind because the door opened and Dodds stepped out, beckoning him in with a wave of his hand. 

Johnny tossed Barranca’s reins over a fence post and followed the man into the house.

“Coffee, Mr. Madrid?”  The woman held up the coffee pot, looking questioningly at him.  He felt another stab of guilt.  The kindly gesture was more than he deserved.

“Thank you, Ma’am.  That would be real nice.”

“Eggs?”  She had a battered old pan warming on the fire.  And four eggs on the side table.  One for each of the family.

“Oh, no, Ma’am.  Thanks, but I ate already.”  He tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach at the smell of food. 

Dodds gestured to a chair.  “Sit yourself down.”

He could feel their questions hanging in the air, wanting to know if there was a glimmer of hope of an escape for them.  He reached in his pocket and fished out the money.  “There’s five thousand dollars there, all you have to do is sign a deed giving Mason the land.”

The looks on their faces made it all worthwhile.  He could salvage something from the whole mess.  And casting a quick glance around the room he could see they’d been busy packing up, doubtless hoping against hope that he’d come through on his promise to them.  Though their trust in him was far more than he deserved.

Mrs Dodds was fingering the notes, like she’d never seen that much money.  But then again, she probably hadn’t ever seen that much money before.  He didn’t think he had either.  Well, not since he’d been involved in that bank job back when he was just a kid.  But that was yet another thing he’d rather forget...

Dodds looked at him through narrowed eyes.  “Mason gave you this for the land?”

Johnny ducked his head briefly, then looked Dodds square in the eye.  “I can be real persuasive at times.”  He scuffed the toe of his boot against the chair leg, his spur jangling.  “All you have to do is sign the land over and you got 24 hours.  You need to be gone by the end of today.”

Dodds grunted.  “That’s the amount of time you bought us, right?”

Johnny nodded.  “Sooner you’re out of here the better, I reckon.”

Mrs Dodds handed him a mug of steaming coffee.  “We don’t have much, Mr. Madrid.  We packed up last night.  We just need to load it on a wagon.”  She paused, like there was something worrying at her.  “We...  we will be able to leave safely, won’t we?  Without...”

Johnny nodded, clasping the mug between his hands, glad of the warmth.  “Yes, Ma’am.  It’s me Mason’s mad at, not you.”

Concern flickered in her tired eyes.  “Will you be all right?”  Her voice was gentle, like she actually cared about what happened to him.

There was a tightening in his chest.  Dios, but Dodds was a lucky man.  He laughed, real easy like he hadn’t a care in the world.  “Yes, Ma’am, I’ll be just fine.  Let’s get your wagon loaded.”  He downed his coffee and set about helping Dodds carry the few bits of furniture out to the wagon.

He was gathering the last few things from the bedrooms when she came trudging up the steep stairs.  Her footsteps paused at the top and he could feel her watching him.  He carried on gathering the last few remnants of their lives: a broken wooden train and a doll with a missing arm.

“Do you have family, Mr. Madrid?”

Her question threw him.  He scrambled up from the floor, catching his elbow on the deep window sill.  He stood awkwardly, staring down at his scuffed boots, uncertain of how to answer.

A few heart beats later she gave a laugh, kind of like she was embarrassed.  “I’m sorry.  I thought it was a straight forward question.  I had no idea it would prove quite so difficult to answer.”

He shrugged.  “Yeah, Ma’am, I got family but they’re a long ways from here.”  A world away from this life of his.

“Do you see them?”  She paused, flushing slightly.  “I’m sorry; it’s none of my business.  I was just curious as to what they felt about your choice of profession.  I wondered if maybe your father had been an outlaw.”

He had to laugh at that.  He shook his head.  “No, Ma’am.  My father ain’t no outlaw.  He’s a rancher.”

She furrowed her brow, like she was thinking hard.  “And yet you chose this life?”  Sounded like she couldn’t believe it.  “Did you not want to be a rancher?”

Johnny bit his lip, ducked his head, unsure of what to say.  “I... well... I didn’t grow up there.  I grew up around the border towns, Ma’am.”

“I’m sorry.”  She sounded it too.  “Perhaps you should visit your family.  Have a fresh start.”

Johnny shook his head.  “I already tried that, Ma’am.  I’m trouble and I bring trouble...”

“So they turned you away?”  She sounded shocked.   “I’m so sorry.”

He could feel the colour flushing his face.  Could hardly say they hadn’t turned him away, that he’d just walked out wanting something different.  And he didn’t even know what different thing he was searching for.  But he hated the thought of her condemning his family for turning him away, when it wasn’t the truth.  “No, Ma’am, they didn’t turn me away.  I guess I just didn’t belong there.”

He tried to hold her gaze, but ducked his head again, embarrassed.

“It seems to me, Mr. Madrid, that perhaps you don’t belong in this gunfighter’s life either.  It’s a sad world when we walk through life alone.  Perhaps you should give ranching another try.”  She turned and walked back downstairs, leaving him clutching the children’s broken toys.  As broken as the shattered remnants of his life.  And where the hell did that thought come from? 

He bit his lip hard, focusing on the quick stab of pain, hoping it would stop him thinking about the big lump in his throat which the mere mention of his family had brought.  But when the pain faded, the lump was still there.  Swallowing hard, he checked around the rooms making sure he had missed nothing, sure wasn’t the time to start thinking about Lancer.  He’d turned his back on it and that was an end of it.  He’d made his choice. 

.....

He helped Dodds secure the last few things on the wagon and tightened the ropes.  She’d said they didn’t have much but compared to his world in his saddlebags it looked like a hell of a lot.  He lifted Spitfire up on to the bench seat next to her brother, snug between their parents.  He raised a hand in farewell as Dodds picked up the reins, clicking to the mismatched pair of geldings.  Suddenly Mrs Dodds jumped back down, kissed him on the cheek.  “You’re a good man, Mr. Madrid, you did right by us and we’re thankful for it.  For the sake of our children we’re thankful.  Think on what I said.  It’s a lonely world when you’re all alone.  You can’t put a price on family – it’s God’s blessing.”  She reached out, touching his cheek lightly with her fingertips.  “I’ll pray that you find your way back.  May God keep you safe.” 

Dodds held his hand out to help her back into the wagon.  He nodded to Johnny.  “We’re grateful, Mr. Madrid.  May God go with you.”  And with a crack of the whip the horses trotted off pulling the wagon and the family out of his life. 

Through the salt mist in his eyes, he could see the children waving until they disappeared out of sight around the bend of the dirt track leading north. 

Almost dazed he stumbled back to the house for one last check around.  The deed for Mason was left on the draining board, propped against the wall where the whitewash had bubbled up from the damp.  The house seemed strangely empty, echoing to his footsteps and jingling spurs as he moved from room to room.  He stood at the top of the stairs, wondering if that was a faint echo of children’s voices he could hear in their old room.  Maybe the sound of laughter?  He cocked his head, listening hard, was that a man and woman making love? 

Listening in the silence he’d never felt quite so alone. 

Turning, he hurried back down the stairs, fleeing the echoes of a family’s lives and wondering where the hell he should go next.

Part Ten

Desperate to escape from the empty homestead and its ghosts, he headed a few miles north and found a place to camp.  There was a cheerful stream burbling down the hillside and some trees for shelter.  He killed a rabbit which he swiftly skinned and skewered on a small improvised spit over his campfire.

Ferreting in his saddlebags for some beans, he found a big hunk of meat pie, carefully wrapped in a cloth, together with some home-made cookies.  He stood staring at the offerings, the lump back in his throat.  Despite the way he’d treated the family, they had repaid him with kindness.  Mierda!  When he thought of the way he had threatened them...  Still, he’d kind of made amends and it seemed that they’d forgiven him.

He wrapped the pie again – it would keep for the next day.  He needed to make his rations last, but a couple of cookies would be real good after the rabbit.  Teresa had made good cookies...   and Maria had made great chilli verde.    Even thinking of her chilli made his mouth water.  He tried to push the thought of it away.  Good chilli was not enough of a reason to stay somewhere he didn’t belong.  He was trouble and it followed him around.  And his family didn’t need the sort of trouble he brought.  Look at that gunfight in Green River.  If Clay had found him, it was only a question of time before others would have followed.  All wanting to test themselves against Madrid.  No, he’d done his family a big favour when he left.  And they’d probably already figured that out.

He squatted by the spit, turning the rabbit, enjoying the smell of the sizzling fat.  His stomach was grumbling and it seemed like days since he’d last eaten.  He was going to have to get back in the habit of not having regular meals.  Funny how quickly he’d gotten used to eating regular at the ranch.  But he’d never forgotten what it was like to be hungry.  He’d been hungry for too many years for that feeling to ever go away.  And he’d been constantly surprised that there was always food in the kitchen and meals had arrived on the table at set times.  And if the meals were late the old man used to get real pissed.  And moaned like hell if they didn’t eat beef.  Johnny shook his head.  Murdoch needed to go hungry once in a while, he’d appreciate his meals a hell of a lot more. 

Had Scott ever known what it was like to go hungry?  He’d been in the army, but he’d been an officer so probably ate better than the ordinary men.  Probably had servants who prepared meals for all the fancy smarted up fellows.  Like the man in that picture in Scott’s room.  What was his name?  General something or other.  He’d looked a mean son of a bitch.

Funny how Scott never talked about the war.  He’d once mentioned killing men in the war.  But he’d never said any more.  Maybe he spent most of it in comfort at headquarters and that was why he never mentioned it.  Odd though...

Damn it.  He needed to stop thinking about the ranch and Scott.  He’d done the right thing in leaving and that was an end of it.

The rabbit was cooked so trying not to burn his fingers he took the spit and eased the rabbit off into the small pan he’d cooked beans in.   It always doubled as a plate.  Taking his simple meal he sat leaning against a tree looking out over the barren landscape.  All he had to do now was decide where to go next.

He still had the uneasy feeling that he should have killed Mason.  Probably would have done if he’d realised just how much money Mason had in that safe.  Because all his instincts said that Mason wasn’t going to be happy to have lost that much money.  Nope.  Mason wouldn’t be happy at all.  Trouble was, now the buzz had gone he didn’t feel inclined to hunt the man out just to put a bullet in him.  It was one thing when he was all fired up during a job, but hunting the man down afterwards just wasn’t the way he operated.  Only man he’d made an exception for, and had hunted down was Doe and he’d deserved to die.  But although Mason was a bully, he sure wasn’t like Doe.

Maybe he should head up north through Arizona.  There could be some range war brewing somewhere.  So long as he could steer clear of Apache.  A man need to be real careful riding through Arizona alone.  Sure didn’t do to relax out there.  He had no intention of becoming a scalp for some Apache brave. 

One thing he was sure of, he was going to be a damn sight more picky about what jobs he took from now on.  He’d grabbed Mason’s offer because he wanted to get back in the game.  Been afraid that people had forgotten about him.  But the truth was, nobody had forgotten about Madrid and there didn’t seem to be any challengers even close to stealing his reputation, so he could afford to be choosy.  But he wasn’t going to be soft neither.  He needed to hang on to his money instead of giving it away.  He’d never get himself laid if he didn’t have any money.  Sure didn’t look like he’d ever have a woman of his own.  The rate he was going he’d never have anything to offer.  And what sort of woman would want a gunfighter?  Nope.  Only women he’d get to fuck would be whores.  So, he needed money. 

He finished the last of the rabbit, and then buried the remains some distance from his camp.  He didn’t want the smell attracting bobcats or bears.  He needed an undisturbed night and he’d head north in the morning.  At least that was some sort of a plan.

He cleaned his guns methodically and spent the best part of an hour practising his draw.  Then he dismantled his fighting gun, cleaned it again and reloaded.  He always found the action soothing.  Just knowing he’d cleaned it and reloaded made him feel safe.

Safe from what?

The sun had sunk beyond the horizon and dusk was gathering.  They’d be enjoying coffee back at the ranch.  Murdoch and Scott would be sitting discussing their day.  Maybe wondering about the next livestock auctions.  Talking about introducing a new bull into the bloodlines.  Safe behind those thick adobe walls.

And Madrid?  Hell, so long as he had his guns he was safe too. 

Mason’s threat rang in his ears.  “There’ll be no place you can hide.  Sometime, someday, there’ll be a bullet with your name on.  And you’ll never know when it’s coming.” 

Maybe he should have killed Mason and had done with it.  But somehow, it had seemed a step too far.  The man didn’t have a gun...  And where the hell did the killing end?  He’d killed enough men to fill a cemetery.  And that was a heavy load to carry.  He’d answer for it one day.  Maybe it was best to leave Mason living and let fate take its course.

“You’ll be dead before you’re thirty.”

Boston’s voice echoed in his head.  Johnny laughed softly.  What was it he’d said to Scott at those words?  “Well, that comes to us all.”  And there was the truth of it.  Sooner or later men died.  When they died was in the lap of the Gods.  He’d take his chances against Mason.  What it boiled down to was he couldn’t have shot an unarmed man.  His only exception to that rule was Doe and he didn’t want to travel that road again.

...................

He rose early.  It had been too damn cold to get much sleep, so he brewed some coffee and then saddled his bad tempered horse.  Barranca was being damned awkward and side stepping attempts to get the saddle on his back and tried to nip him when he put the bridle on.  Seemed he’d got used to the soft life at the ranch.  “You’d better get used to it rough from now on,” Johnny hissed.  “It’s you and me, amigo. Comprende?”

They headed north, keeping in the shadows, blending in with the backdrop of mesas and towers and avoiding the exposed country.  Most tribes he could deal with, but not Apache.  There was no reasoning there.  Funny, he’d always fancied being an Indian when he was a kid.  Always figured it had to be better than being a half-breed.  And Indians treated their kids real good.  Not like Mama’s men...

He shook the thought away.  Last thing he needed was to start brooding.  He couldn’t afford to let his guard down for a second in this type of territory.  And he kept his eyes scanned on the horizon for any sign of talking smoke.  He’d make do with the pie today.  That way he could avoid the need for a fire.  It would be safer.  He’d spotted the occasional broken arrow head and pony tracks.  And the tracks were still fairly fresh.  Nope.  He wouldn’t be lighting no fires to announce his presence.  Times like this he wished Barranca was a sorrel or a paint.  Anything but a fucking palomino.

Later in the day he caught a whiff of something on the air.  There was a slight breeze so smells could carry and he’d swear that he could smell people.  Ever wary, he turned further downwind and headed deeper into the shadows of a bluff.

Cloud was building in the west and he could smell the rain before it arrived.  Slow at first and then growing stronger.  Hitting the dry land hard and turning what trail there was to mud.  Fuck. 

He pulled his slicker on and rammed his hat down but it did little to protect him from the biting wet stinging his face.  The wind was whipping the skirt of the slicker, and the rocks, lashed by the rain, glistened like steel under clouds that seemed just an arm’s length above his head.  The only good thing was that no self respecting Apache would be out in this, or if they were, they wouldn’t be able to distinguish him through the slanting sheet of rain and the water pouring from the hills.

.......

Two days later he hit Retribution, or that’s what the sign said at the edge of the two bit town.  He left Barranca at the livery and then found himself a cheap room before heading for a bath and a shave.  Even after soaking in the bath he still felt cold.  It was like the rain had gone right through his skin and chilled him deep inside the bone.  His head ached and he just couldn’t get warm.  Dios he felt old, old and aching.  But he was too fucking young to feel this old.  And he was too damn cold to go to the saloon.  Instead, he bought a cheap bottle of rye whiskey, and shivering, went back to his bare room with its narrow cot and a window so high up, he couldn’t see out of it.

It was two days before he felt well enough to head down for a meal.  A thin woman with a hatchet face who ran the place had brought him up some soup.  She’d offered to fetch him a doctor, but he sure couldn’t afford to waste money on some old sawbones.  He’d turned the offer down and sweated it out instead.   But now he found he was finally hungry again which had to be a sign he was on the mend.  And he needed work. 

He got himself a corner table in the saloon, where he could see everyone coming in and which was well placed with a view through a small window so he could see who went past.  The saloon was busy even though it was barely noon.  Some men, professionals by the slick way they handled their cards, were playing poker and a few idle cowhands were propping up the bar swapping tall tales.  A couple of drifters stood at the other end, making their drinks last a long time.  

A saloon girl, who’d seen better days judging by the lines on her face, sidled up to his table but he waved her away.  Couldn’t afford her and right now he didn’t have the energy for that.   Shit.  He must have been sick if he hadn’t got the energy for a fuck.

The barkeep brought him over the plate of stew he’d ordered because it was the cheapest thing on the menu.  “Anything else I can get for you, cowboy?” 

Johnny eyed the fellow.  He had an honest face.  The sort of man who folk probably confided in.  The sort of man who would know what was going on all over this little town.

“I was looking for work.  Maybe you know if anyone’s hiring right now?”

The barkeep scratched his chin thoughtfully.  “You mean ranch work?  I reckon we only got three around here and from what I hear they’re pretty much running at full quota.  What sort of work did you have in mind?”

Johnny shrugged.  “I’m real handy with a gun.”

The man smiled.  “I reckon there ain’t a cowboy in this saloon who doesn’t reckon he’s handy with a gun, mister.”

Johnny smiled.  “Well, that’s as may be, but I doubt there’s one in here who’s as good as me.”

The barkeep laughed, like he thought Johnny was joking.  “Well, I’ll say this for you, you got a mighty good opinion of yourself.  But if it’s range wars, that sort of thing you’re looking for, it’s all pretty quiet around these parts.  We don’t get much excitement.  Sometimes there’s work riding shotgun on a shipment.  If you like I’ll ask around.”

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah.  That’s real civil of you.  I’d appreciate that...  Sorry, I don’t know your name?”

The barkeep smiled.  “Charlie.  I been working here since I was a boy.  Started out swamping.  But I pretty much hear everything that’s going on.  If you’re sticking around, who shall I say is asking for work?”

Johnny smiled slowly.  Dios, but he loved this bit.  “Madrid.  Johnny Madrid.”

Part eleven

The first bullet hit Johnny dead centre, sending him reeling, a look of shock registering on his face as he clutched at his belly.  The second one threw him backwards off his feet, the scarlet stain spreading rapidly across his shirt.  He writhed on the ground in the dusty street, clawing at his stomach even as blood started to bubble up from his mouth.  He was trying to speak but the blood was pumping faster now, pooling around his body.  In one last wrenching effort the words came.   “Scott!  Help me...”  And then his eyes glazed as the life went out of them.

Scott came to, his heart pounding.  Sweating, he pulled himself up wrapping his arms around his knees to try and stop his body from shaking.  The same dream.  Every night he had the same dream.  Was it a premonition?  Some foreshadowing of Johnny’s fate? 

Stumbling to his washstand he poured himself a glass of water before moving to stare out into the black night.  Was Johnny out there now, sleeping rough under the sky?  Or in some dead end town in the arms of one of his never ending line of whores?

But maybe the dream was already a fact.   Maybe his brother was already dead and in those last few seconds of life Johnny had called out for Scott, recognising in those agonising last few seconds of life what he had thrown away.

Scott ran his fingers through his hair, and sank down heavily on the chair by the window.   He wished he could understand why Johnny had just walked out without a word to anyone.  Wished he could understand what was so damned important out there that Johnny had to go running back to it.  But he didn’t understand anything about his brother.  Nothing at all.  He thought they’d grown closer in Utah.  Thought they finally were moving forward in their fraternity.  Maybe it had all been a sham.  And now Johnny had gone.  Just like that.  As if none of the family mattered or had made any impression on him at all over these past few months.

And it hurt.  Even though he’d only known him for a few months, the fact that Johnny could dismiss them all so lightly, it hurt.

Murdoch was hurt too.  He didn’t say so.  But then neither would Scott admit that he was hurt by it.  One just didn’t talk about such things.    But mealtimes had become fraught with danger.  Johnny’s disappearance was no longer mentioned.  Instead conversation had become like some complex dance where they skilfully side stepped certain subjects and executed graceful pirouettes around topics that might reveal too much of their thoughts. 

And at other times conversations were like complicated codes.  If he said he was going into Green River, Murdoch would give him a list of jobs and then causally ask if Scott would be seeing anyone else.  What he meant was would Scott go and see Val to see if there was any news.  And then Murdoch would remind Scott not to forget the post, and then, almost as though it was an afterthought, remind Scott to be sure to pick up a newspaper, with the admonition that one should keep abreast of things in the Senate.

And when the newspaper was carried back, Murdoch would retire to his desk saying he needed to catch up on what was happening in the world.  His father would make a reference again to the Government and then proceed to scan the paper looking for just two words: Johnny Madrid.

Scott felt for Teresa too.  Her clothes seemed too big for her, and she looked suddenly older.  But she too avoided mentioning Johnny’s name, knowing it was off limits.  He guessed that the girl poured her heart out to Maria; girls could do such things.  But men had to be strong and just carry the load.  But there were times when he felt his back was breaking from the weight.

The sky was lightening in the east.  There was no point in going back to bed.  And even if he did he knew sleep would be elusive.  He lit the lamp, and pulled on his work-shirt.  In Boston he would have spent some considerable time deliberating over his attire for the day.  Even after arriving at the ranch he had kept the habit to some extent.  Now he no longer cared.

He supposed the hurt would fade in time.  Maybe it would be like an old injury which would twinge occasionally to remind him of another time and then would fade again.  Maybe the anger would fade with time too.  Because right now he felt furious with Johnny.  Furious that Johnny hadn’t talked to him first.  Furious that Johnny hadn’t left him a letter.  Furious that Johnny had left him to carry the load.  Or maybe just plain furious.

He trudged down the stairs, surprised that there was already a lamp glowing in the great room.  He paused in the doorway to see Murdoch sat at his desk staring into space and oblivious to Scott’s presence.  The man was dressed in the same shirt as the previous day...

“Sir.”   Scott paused, Murdoch still hadn’t noticed or heard him.   “You’re up and about early this morning.”  Scott walked closer to the desk.

Murdoch jerked around, as if suddenly aware of his presence.   “Um, yes.  Figured I’d get an early start on the day.  I thought I’d check the supplies at the line shacks on the southern boundary.”

So, this was the adage.  Scott nodded.  “Yes, it’s best to make sure they’re properly stocked.”  In case Johnny passes this way and needs food or shelter.

“What are your plans today?”  Murdoch glanced at him before looking back out of the window at the dawning light.

Centre practice.  “After I’ve sorted out the work parties, I thought I’d ride into town for a few supplies.  Order more wire, nails, that sort of thing.  We seem to be running low.”

Murdoch turned toward him.  The chassé.  “Into town?  I’m sure there are some things I’ll be needing.  I’ll work on a list.  And of course you’ll be able to collect the mail.  Were you planning on calling on anyone in town?”

“I will probably see how Sam is.”  A feint.  Scott sighed.  He might as well see this through to the end.  “I thought I’d better call in and check how Val is getting on too, as we’re still paying his wages.”  A fleeting look of relief flickered in Murdoch’s eyes.

“Yes.  Good idea.  Perhaps you could see if there’s a newspaper in.  We must keep abreast of the news.”  The coda signalled the end of their pas de deux.

Scott inclined his head.  “Of course.  I’ll go and make some coffee.”

.......................

He sank into the chair in Val’s office as the man poured him a coffee from a battered old pan. 

“So, Val, is there any news?”

Val shot a quick glance at him before handing him the mug of foul smelling liquid.  “Nope.  If there had been I’d have ridden in and told you.”

Val sat down behind the desk, swinging his feet up to rest on the one clear spot among the untidy piles of papers and wanted posters.  “I told you before, Scott, if he don’t want to be found, the chances of tracking him down are slim.  He moves around.  And he sure as hell don’t leave no forwarding address.   I thought I had a lead, but when I wired the sheriff he said Johnny had long gone.”

“A lead?  From whom?”  Scott leaned forward, any news was better than none.

Val shook his head.  “Just some girl, she’s new in town.  Said she’d seen him.  But like I said, that was a while ago and he’s moved on.”

“What girl?”  God, Val could be an irritating man at times.  He was almost as taciturn as Johnny.  Was it a trait in all Western men?

“A whore.  What other girls would Johnny know?  She’s working at Delice’s place.”

“Oh.”  Scott felt as though his heart had dropped a little closer to his stomach.  A whore.  Well, that figured.   “But if anything had happened, we’d have heard, wouldn’t we?”

Val didn’t answer for a few seconds.  The man seemed intent on pushing his mug in circles on the desk.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  Depends.”

Scott bit back a sharp retort.  No point in aggravating Val.  He needed Val’s help if there was any hope of locating Johnny.  “Depends on what, Val?”

Val shrugged.  “I reckon if Johnny gets himself shot in a gunfight, well, we’d hear of that.  But he could get bushwhacked or take a fall somewhere or be killed in someplace where he ain’t recognised so it goes unreported. “

Scott furrowed his brow.  “Is he likely to go unrecognised in those border towns?”

Val gave a short bitter laugh.  “If he was, he’d soon tell them who he is.  Never met a man who liked the sound of his own name as much as Johnny.”  Val gave Scott a quick look.  “How’s your Pa taking all of this?”

Scott shook his head.  “It’s aged him.  He’s worried sick but he won’t admit it.  He’s trying to carry on as though this is of no consequence.  But it really has hit him hard.  He knows only too well that Johnny can’t have a long term future – not if he’s gone back to gunfighting.  And that presumably is just what he has done.”

Val slurped his coffee noisily.  “I reckon.  The boy don’t know nothing else.  It’s too much a part of him.  And I tell you, Scott, that last gunfight here, when he killed Clay, Johnny was loving it.  I could see it in his face.”

Scott felt a cold clutch of fear.  “Loving it?”

Val nodded slowly.  “Yep.  When he was out there facing Clay, he had that look about him.”

Scott frowned.  “That look?  What look?”

“The Johnny Madrid look.  When he knows he’s doing what he does best and he’s in charge.  And he makes it look so damn easy.  And even the thought of getting killed himself don’t bother him because all he wants is to see who’s faster.  And he’s aching for a killing.”

Scott shut his eyes trying to quell the nausea in his stomach.  Aching for a killing.  How could Johnny be like that? 

Val sighed.  “I’m sorry, but I thought it was time you heard it like it is.  And there ain’t no point you tearing yourself up trying to figure him out.  I doubt there’s anyone who could figure him out.”  Val paused, shuffling the pile of papers on his desk, his face reddening slightly as if embarrassed.  “You coming from your sort of background ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of understanding him.  It’s different worlds.  And let’s face it, nobody with Johnny’s past is going to end up being like other folk.  He don’t know how to live around folk.  And I guess it was all too much for him.”

“He should still have said goodbye.”  The words were out before he could stop them.  The trouble was he had a feeling that Val’s assessment was right.

Val looked at him, sadness showing in his eyes.  “He wouldn’t know how.”  Val shook his head.  “Nope.  He wouldn’t know how.  If I hear anything I’ll ride out and let you know.”

Scott got slowly to his feet.  “Thanks, Val.  I appreciate your concern.  And thanks for the coffee.”

He left Val and walked down the street to the bordello.  He was curious about the girl who’d seen Johnny.  Maybe he could get more out of the girl than Val could.  She might have been nervous talking to him because he was the sheriff.

The bordello was quiet, but the day was still young.  Later the place would be busy.  A couple of drifters sat with girls on their knees, but there weren’t many girls in there.  Scott sat down and ordered a beer.   One of the girls, carried it across and set it down in front of him even as she ran a hand up and down his arm, a professional smile on her face.

He didn’t know her name, although doubtless Johnny would have known it.  He waved the girl away and sat drinking his beer, mulling over Val’s words.  What disturbed him most was Val saying how much Johnny had loved the last gunfight.  Was it really that simple?  That Johnny just missed the thrill of the gunfights and had simply wanted to return to his life of danger and killing?  He’d admitted to Scott once how he missed the thrill of gunfights.  What was it he’d said?  Something about it being a feeling “like when you’re fucking.”  But he’d also said he didn’t miss the killing.  So what was the truth of it? 

“Staring at the door won’t make him walk through it.”

Scott jumped at the soft voice.  He hadn’t noticed Delice’s approach.  He started to get to his feet but she waved him back down and pulled up a chair for herself.  She looked different somehow.  She seemed to have lost weight, or maybe it was the shadows under her eyes.  The bordello must have been very busy of late; she’d obviously been working too hard.

He laughed, embarrassed.  “Was I staring at the door?  I was just thinking about all the things I need to pick up in town, that’s all.”

She raised an eyebrow as though she didn’t believe a word of it.  “Hmm.  If you say so.”  She looked him up and down, as though appraising him for a suit.  “You don’t look yourself, Scott.  Not yourself at all.  Brooding over him isn’t going to make him come back.”

Scott grimaced.  He should have known better than to think he could fool Delice.  “That easy to read am I?”  He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.  “Val says that one of your girls says she saw Johnny.  Is the girl here?  What did she say?”

“I didn’t think you’d come in here this early in the day just because you wanted a beer.”  Delice paused as though uncertain of what to say.  “Yes, one of the new girls saw Johnny a while back.  She’s out today.  I sent her shopping for some new clothes.  She needed them.”

“Where did she see him?  When was this?  What did she say?  How was he?”

Delice shook her head at him.  “How about one question at a time?  She was working as a saloon girl down around the border.  It would have been two or three weeks back.  Johnny was one of her customers.”  Delice pursed her lips.  “It seems he hasn’t changed his habits!  But he gave her some money and sent her here for a job.”  Delice shook her head again.  “So thoughtful of him.”  Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“But did he say anything to the girl about us?”  Scott could feel the tension rising in him as he waited for her reply.  It had to be a good sign didn’t it if Johnny was thinking about Green River?  It had to be a good sign.

Delice bit her lip and he could see compassion in her eyes.  “The girl asked him if she would be seeing him here.”

“Well?”  Scott leaned further forward.  “His answer?”

Delice sighed softly, shaking her head.  “He told her no, he’d never be coming back.”

Scott slumped back in his chair feeling as though all the stuffing had been knocked out of him.  Never coming back.  Never was an awfully long time.  Never.

Part twelve

He was too picky, that was his problem.  If he wasn’t so picky he’d have some money in his pockets.  And he’d be able to go and get himself laid.  It was getting that all he could think about was his dick.  Trouble was he’d turned down the last three offers of work.  As soon as he’d told the barkeep his name, the word had gone out that Madrid was in town and looking for a job.  And it had sure brought in some offers.  But he hadn’t liked the men offering or he hadn’t liked the nature of the work.  Had he always been this choosy?  Seemed so long since he’d been in the game he couldn’t remember. He should have just said yes and then he’d have had the money for a fuck.  He needed to toughen up...

But look where that had gotten him last time – almost shooting Dodds.  And almost hitting rock bottom.  Shit.  Seemed he couldn’t win either way.  What he needed was a range war.  Then he could pick the side which seemed more “right” and he wouldn’t feel as bad as he did right now.  Even thinking about how close he’d come to hurting the Dodds family made him feel queasy.  What the hell would his family say if they knew...

And he needed to stop thinking of family.  He’d left that behind.  He didn’t need them and they sure as hell didn’t need him. 

And so here he was sitting guarding a damn bank while the money was being shipped out to a waiting wagon.  Johnny Madrid guarding a fucking bank.  Just as well the manager didn’t know about his earlier connections with banks when he was a kid.  Still those days was long gone.  And at least this would earn him enough money to pay for his room and food.  But it sure as hell wasn’t going to get him laid.

Maybe it would be better if he just moved on after this job.  Went to some other town where maybe the work would be better.  He grinned.  Yeah, that wasn’t a bad idea because it would save him the cost of some nights in the hotel and then he could get himself fucked before he left town.  Leastways it was a plan.  And it would keep his dick happy.

He tilted his hat to keep the glare of the sun out of his eyes and cradled the scatter gun in his arms.  A group of men had ridden in to move the money for the bank and they were all watching him with way too much interest.  Kept glancing over at him each time they staggered out of the bank with an iron box of money.  But then, they’d have heard his name and everyone was always interested in Madrid.

But leastways with a bank this size there wasn’t that much money to be shifted.  So their work was almost done and then they’d be gone and would quit staring at him, because it was starting to get on his nerves.

Squinting from under his hat he saw the sheriff coming toward him.  All things considered he’d known a lot worse sheriffs than this one.  At least this one seemed to have a brain.  And even seemed honest which was more than he could say about some sheriffs he’d met in the past.  They’d exchanged a few words.  The man had made it plain he didn’t want trouble in his town. Couldn’t hold that against him.   And they’d ended up having a drink together.  Dios.  His reputation was going to be shot to hell at this rate.

“Madrid.”  The man nodded at him and scratched his stubbly chin. 

Johnny bit back a smile.  The fellow was almost as scruffy as Val.  “Sheriff.”

“Everything going okay?  No trouble?”

Johnny leaned back, wiping his hand across the scatter gun to remove a speck of dirt.  “Nope.  Not with this little darling here.  I reckon folk know I mean business.  It really don’t do to argue with one of these.”

The sheriff shuffled his feet and scratched his chin again.  Looked down the street and then back at Johnny.  And then started shuffling his feet again.  The man was usually fairly relaxed.  Easy going.  But there was something eating at the man and somehow Johnny reckoned it wasn’t to do with the money being shifted from the bank.  The hairs on Johnny’s neck were on end and he felt suddenly tense.  It was real strange but it was almost like when he knew someone was following him or watching him.  Or pointing a gun at him.  Boston would probably know some fancy word for the feeling.  All he knew was he could smell trouble.  Dios but it followed him around.

“Something on your mind, Sheriff?”

The man nodded slowly, seemed reluctant now to look him straight in the eye.  “I guess you could say that.  Thing is, Madrid, there’s a lot of talk over in the saloon.  Seems these fellows who rode in had a story to tell.  And I reckon you might be interested in hearing it.”

What the shit was this about?  He smiled, real cool, gave the gun another rub like he was all relaxed but it felt like every nerve in his body was stretched tight.  Tight enough to explode.  “Well, you know, I’ve always loved stories, Sheriff.”

The fellow grunted.  “Don’t think you’ll love this one.”

“Oh, I think it might be interesting.”  Johnny leaned back in his chair, shifting the gun so that he could stretch his legs out.  Like he hadn’t got a care in the world.

The sheriff scratched his ear and then looked at him through narrowed eyes.  “Seems you’ve gotten yourself a price on your head, Madrid.”

His gut felt tighter now.  He laughed.  “Is that so, sheriff?  And does that mean you’re going to arrest me?”  He played the smile out, real casual.  Shit.  What the hell was this all about? And how a big a price was it?  Was it the law who wanted him or somebody else?

“Arrest you?  I never said it was the law who put a price on your head.”  The sheriff was giving him a real sharp eyed look, kind of like he was wondering if he’d missed some wanted poster with Madrid’s face on it.

Johnny shrugged.  “And just how much money am I worth?”

“Seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

He raised an eyebrow.  That was the only reaction he’d allow.  But shit, seven hundred and fifty dollars.  Everybody was going to try and take him for that much money.  That much money...  The figure set off alarm bells in his head.  A real familiar number...  It had to be fucking Mason.  Dios, he knew he should have killed the bastard and had done with it.  And doubtless it had amused Mason to offer the same sum for Johnny’s head that he’d offered Johnny to kill Dodds.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.  He grinned, real easy.  “Is that dead or alive?”

The sheriff didn’t return the smile.  “Dead.  Apparently the man just wants a body.  Your body.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow again, and shrugged.  Yeah.  That figured.  “Does this man offering all this money for my body go by the name of Mason?”

The sheriff’s mouth quirked.  “Thought you might know the man.  Yep, that’s what the word is.  And the thing is, Madrid, the word’s spreading like wildfire through dry tinder in August.  That’s a lot of money.  And when a man gets a drink or two inside him, he’s always going to reckon it’s worth trying to take you out – with a bullet in the back, most likely.”

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah, reckon they will at that.”  He paused and wiped another speck of dust off the gun, before polishing it with the sleeve of his jacket.  “Ain’t there a law against Mason doing this?”

The sheriff sighed.  “I reckon.  Trouble is, if the local law pays him a visit, he’ll just deny it.  He’ll make sure that when someone turns up with your body he pays them off real quiet.  It won’t be easy to prove anything.  I’ll send a wire to the sheriff down there, see if he can scare Mason off.  But it seems to me, that in the meantime, the best thing you can do is lay low.  Every hothead in Arizona is going to be after you.”

“I was thinking of moving on when I finish here.”  Johnny gestured towards the bank.  “There sure isn’t much work around.  So, I guess this makes my mind up.  Thanks for the information.”

“Well, like I said, watch your back, Madrid.”  The man nodded to him and then turned and walked back down the street toward his office.

Fuck.  This was all he needed.  Every jackass in the territory was going to be after him now.  He should have just killed Mason and had done with it.  Instead, he’d probably end up with a bullet in the back.  A fair fight was one thing, but this was just an open invitation for people to bushwhack him.  Fuck.

Maybe he should travel south and kill Mason.  That would sure make it tricky for the man to pay out.  But it would mean riding through Apache country again.  Hell, if a bushwhacker didn’t get him, some fucking young Indian brave would have his scalp instead.  Trouble was, he didn’t have much choice.  Mason had to be stopped.  Permanently.  And that would probably mean killing Mason in cold blood.  Could he force the man to draw on him?  It would keep Madrid on the right side of the law but if he couldn’t push Mason into drawing, he’d have no option other than gunning him down.  But killing the man in cold blood would be murder...  Dios but he’d screwed up recently.  Should never have accepted Mason’s offer in the first place.  Madrid was really losing his grip.  When the hell did he get so sloppy?

“That’s all the money loaded.”

He jumped at the bank manager’s voice.  Hadn’t even noticed the man walk up.  Dios, this proved he was getting sloppy.  Too busy thinking about that bastard Mason.

“Here’s your money, Madrid.”  The manager held out the three dollars pay. 

Johnny pocketed the money, nodding his thanks.  He handed the scatter gun over to the manager and headed toward the livery stables to collect Barranca.  He figured that the best thing was to get Barranca set for the journey ahead, check his provisions and then go find himself a girl before leaving town.  Not that finding a girl would be difficult, there sure wasn’t much choice.  But leastways now he could afford a quick roll in a bed and then try and cover some ground in what was left of the day.

...............

He’d had prettier girls.  But at least she was willing.  Very willing.  And if she wasn’t as young as she might have been, at least she made up for it in experience.  Lots of experience.  She knew how to please a man and that was what mattered.  And she sure knew how to please his dick.  Three times.

He rolled away from her, laughing.  “Enough.  You’ll kill me.  I got a long ride ahead of me.”

She pulled a disappointed face.  “I thought you was more of a man than that, Johnny.”

He grinned, aiming a slap at her backside.  “How many men you had lately who can do it three times?  I reckon I’m more of a man than most.  Hell, I know I’m more of a man than most anyone.”

“You sure got a high and mighty opinion of yourself.”  She gave a real cute kind of smile that made his dick twitch again.  “Just once more, then I’ll know you’re more of a man than anyone else.”

He never could back down from a challenge. 

.......

He fastened his gunbelt around his hips, doing it up real tight.  And then pulled it tighter still.  Catching the loop on the holster he secured it down to a concho and then checked his gun.  The woman was sliding into her dress which pushed her breasts up so high they almost toppled out.  Johnny grinned and shoved a couple of dollars down between them, and lowering his head kissed them lightly.  She giggled and passed him his hat which he swept down in a flourish with a bow.  “Ma’am, it was a real pleasure.”

She giggled again.  “The pleasure was all mine, Johnny.”  She sighed softly.  “Believe me, all mine.”

Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly on the lips, fighting the urge just to wrap himself around her and stay there forever, safe in her soft embrace.

With another flourish of his hat he left the grimey room and hurried down the stairs.  He needed to get going.  He couldn’t afford another night in a hotel, particularly after tipping the whore so generously.  He shook his head.  Whores were always his downfall.  He never could say no to the warmth and comfort they offered.  Had his mother provided that for her customers?  She sure as hell never gave it to him...

He pushed the thought away.  Barranca was waiting and he had a long journey ahead of him in rough country.  He needed to start planning what he’d do when he saw Mason. 

He paused in the doorway, looking onto the street.  It seemed strangely quiet.  Surely it was usually busier than this with more folk around?  The silence made him feel uneasy.  But Barranca was there waiting patiently, where he’d left him.  He was half way across the street when the men stepped out from an alleyway.  Three of them.  And by the looks of them they weren’t interested in passing the time of day. 

Their hands were near their guns, but he could smell the alcohol on their breath from where he stood.  That figured.  Only men who’d had too much to drink would think they could take Madrid, unless they were professionals.  And they didn’t look like professionals.  Still, drink made men slow.  He should be able to handle three amateurs.  He scanned the street, and caught sight of a man with a rifle crouching on a roof top.  So, four men.  Shit.  Damn Mason to hell. 

“Something I can do for you fellows?”  He stood easy, like he wasn’t expecting trouble.  Let them think it was going to be easy.

They laughed, like he’d made a joke.  Yeah.  Definitely amateurs. 

The biggest of the three, a bullet headed man with coarse yellow hair, laughed louder than the others.  “You’re going to make us rich, Madrid.  That’s what you’re going to do for us.”

Johnny smiled.  “I wouldn’t count on that.  I might make you dead instead.”

“There’s three of us, Madrid.  And one of you.  You ain’t got a chance.”

Johnny shrugged.  “Sorry, but I’ve taken out more than three before now.  If you want to live to see your next birthday, I suggest you just turn back now and leave town.  And I won’t kill you.  How’s that for a deal?”  He knew they were too dumb to take the chance he offered them, but at least he’d offered. 

They didn’t bother answering.  He could see in their eyes they were just going to go for their guns.  Even as they moved their hands his gun was clearing the holster.  He figured he could take out the rifleman before they’d got their guns up.  He fired at the man on the roof top but as he swung his gun round to take out the three, he was almost knocked off his feet by the slam of a bullet.  Christ, it hurt.  Trying to keep from falling he took the three out but where the hell had the bullet come from?  The next bullet knocked him sideways with a jolt that made him gasp in pain.  The street was swaying but was that a man crouched behind the water trough?  If only the man would hold still.  Johnny raised his gun and fired.  The man looked like he was falling but it was hard to see.  Waves of pain were sweeping over him.  And he wanted to puke.  His body. Something was wrong with his body.  Nothing was working.  His legs didn’t want to walk.  And there was blood.  Lots of blood.

Barranca.

Had to get to Barranca.

Didn’t want to die here. 

Wanted to die alone.

Stumbling, his hands flailing, he crashed into Barranca and with an agonizing heave pulled himself into the saddle.  His mouth filled with something welling up from inside of him.

Now he had a mouthful of mane too.  Why?

With a desperate kick, he spurred his horse forward, past the swaying buildings and toward the blurred open country beyond the town.

Part thirteen

“A whisky?”  Murdoch proffered the bottle.  “Dinner won’t be ready yet.”

Scott nodded.  He couldn’t remember feeling so tired.  Every muscle in his body ached, despite his long soak in the tub.  “In that case, yes please.  I need one after the day I’ve had.” 

Murdoch poured him a stiff measure into a tumbler and handed it to him, a look of concern on his face.  “Problems?”

Scott shrugged.  “Nothing we couldn’t handle but we had twenty cows stuck in a gully and it was just hard work getting them out.  What have you been doing?  Did you go into town?”  And if so was there any news?  The thought flashed through his mind but he sipped his drink, letting the question go unasked.

Murdoch shook his head.  “No.  I thought I’d better get the paperwork sorted out for the contract in Stockton.  I’ll ride into town tomorrow and lodge the papers with the lawyers.”

Scott nodded, letting the silence fall between them.  So many things unsaid.  Was this how it would always be?  Acting as though Johnny was of no consequence?  As if he’d made no impression on their lives?  Would Johnny write to them?  Let them know how he was?

He almost laughed aloud at the ridiculous notion.  It seemed that Johnny had dismissed them all too easily.  It was unlikely that he’d bother to contact them.  Well, he’d made his choice and Johnny could get on with it. 

A knock at the door broke into his thoughts.  He half rose to answer it, but Maria was already bustling down the corridor.  Scott sank back into his seat, glancing at Murdoch who was seemingly lost in thought and oblivious to the knock. 

He could hear muted voices and the sound of footsteps echoing along the hall. 

“Mr. Lancer, Scott.”  Val stood framed by the doorway, his face unusually pale, and twisting his hat in his hands.

Something in his stance and tone of voice caused Scott’s stomach to contract and he felt as though his body was turning to ice. 

Murdoch lurched to his feet, his face pale.  “Sheriff?  What brings you here this evening?”  Murdoch’s voice cracked slightly, as if he already knew that Val was not here for a social visit.

Val shook his head slightly, seemingly uncertain of what to say.  “I figured I’d best come and tell you myself.  Didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”

“Hear...  what exactly?”  Murdoch’s voice was more of a whisper.

Val swallowed hard.  “It’s Johnny.  I’m sorry...   He...  He was gunned down.  Down in Arizona.  He...  I’m sorry.”  Val’s voice faded, as if he couldn’t bring himself to deliver the message.   Scott shut his eyes tight.  He couldn’t bear to see the pain in Val’s face.  And maybe if he kept his eyes closed it would stop the tears he could feel welling up inside him. 

Val sighed deeply, and came into the room.  “There was a bunch of them.  I’ve had a wire from the local sheriff.  He heard I was trying to track Johnny down.  He said two of the men were hiding to bushwhack him, Johnny never stood a chance.”

“No.”   Teresa had come unnoticed to the door and stood shaking her head in disbelief.  “No.”  Her voice was barely audible.  She took a hesitant step toward Murdoch, her face deathly pale as tears started to trickle down her face.   “It’s not true, is it Murdoch?  Johnny can’t be dead.”  Murdoch moved unsteadily to pull her into an embrace while he clumsily stroked her back.  His face was ashen now and in those few seconds he had aged ten years.

All Scott could feel was a bewildering numbness.  His body felt heavy and even speaking seemed an effort as though each word weighed a ton and had to be levered up.  “There’s no mistake, Val?  The sheriff might be wrong...”

The compassion in Val’s eyes almost finished Scott.  He could feel the tears so close, but men didn’t cry and he wouldn’t cry.  He had to be strong now.

“No, Scott.  The sheriff was certain.  Seems Johnny had been in town for a few days, looking for work.”

“I want him brought here.  I want him home.  Where he belongs.”

Scott’s head jerked around to look at Murdoch, hardly recognising the strangely wooden voice, devoid of emotion.

Murdoch met Scott’s eyes.  “He should be buried on Lancer land.  Not in some strange place where nobody cares...”  His voice cracked, and he released Teresa and sank heavily back down onto the couch.  “He should be here.  With his family.”

Teresa just stood, shaking, the tears running down her face while she gulped trying to get in enough air to speak.  “It’s not true.  I don’t believe it.”

Scott stumbled to comfort her, his legs feeling as though they were made of lead.  It was his nightmare come true.  He’d known that this was how Johnny’s end would come.  That dream had been a foreshadowing...  And now his brother was dead.  And his family had to pick up the pieces and find a way to carry on.  He struggled to find his voice.  “You want me to go down to Arizona and bring him home?”

Murdoch nodded wordlessly.

“That might be kind of difficult.”  Val gave his hat a wrench.  “There ain’t exactly a body.”

The family turned as one to stare at Val.  Scott found his voice first.  “What do you mean – there isn’t exactly a body?  What’s happened to him?”  Fear crowded Scott’s mind.  Surely the townspeople hadn’t taken the body?  Or put it on display?  Or what...

Val shook his head sadly.  “The sheriff said that Johnny made it to his horse and it galloped out of town with him around its neck.   He’s been out searching but there’s no sign of them anywhere.  I know that area and it’s full of ravines and canyons.  Most likely they fell into one.”

A flicker of hope sparked inside Scott.  “Well, he may not be dead.  He might have just ridden away.”

Val sighed.  “The sheriff said Johnny was hit at least twice, in the chest and his side.  There was a huge amount of blood.  He couldn’t have survived, Scott.  I’m sorry.”

“I want you to go and find him, Scott.”  Murdoch hesitated as though searching for words.  “He’s alive.  I know he’s alive.  I feel it here.”  He thumped his chest over his heart with a clenched fist.  “All those years when he was lost and Sam and Paul thought I should give up looking for him, I knew he was alive.  I’d feel it if he was dead.  I’m sure I would.”  Murdoch’s voice trailed off, quavering slightly.  “I‘d know...”

“You’ve got to find him, Scott.”  Teresa turned her tear stained face to him.  It was an order, not just a plea.  “Go and find him and bring him home.  One of you should have gone straight after him when he left.  He’d be safe then.”  The reproach was clear and it stung.  “But you’ve all been pretending that it didn’t matter.  You’ve all been ignoring it.  Not even talking about it.”  She glared around at them with accusing eyes.  “None of you would even speak about him.  Not a single word.  And now look what’s happened.  You should have gone to find him.  But you’re all too stubborn.”  The tears welled up again, spilling down her face.

She was right.  He should have gone.  And now it was too late.  And he didn’t know how he would ever forgive himself.  He’d failed Johnny.  He’d failed to understand how this transition to a new life was too heavy a load for Johnny to carry.  And he had let Johnny down.  But the least he could do was find his body and bring it home and let it be finally laid to rest.

“I’ll get my stuff together and leave first thing in the morning.”  Scott met his father’s eyes.   “I’ll go and search for him.”

Val coughed, almost as though to remind them he was still there.  “If it’s all the same to you, Scott, I’ll come with you.”  He gave his hat another wrench.  “It can be dangerous territory down there.  I can watch your back.”  He paused, biting his lip.    “And I know Johnny would want me to watch your back.”

Scott inclined his head.  “I’ll be glad of the company.  Thank you, Val.”

He walked swiftly upstairs, desperate to be alone to try and collect his thoughts.  He felt nauseated and cold.  And Teresa’s accusation still rang in his ears.  She was right.  They were all too stubborn and maybe if they had played things differently, Johnny would still be alive.  And there it was.  He was certain that Johnny was dead.  Murdoch’s belief that Johnny was still alive was just wishful thinking, possibly a way of assuaging his own feelings of guilt at not having pursued his wayward son.  But perhaps a bloody death in some Godforsaken town had always been Johnny’s destiny.  Marked out from the moment Maria had stolen him away and raised him half-wild in those squalid border towns. 

But the thought of a mortally wounded Johnny struggling to his horse to ride out alone, tore at his guts.  Had Johnny known he was dying?  Had he been trying to come home?  Had he cried out for family at the end?

Scott sank onto his bed, slumped over trying to stem the tears filling his eyes.  If he hadn’t been in Stockton maybe he could have prevented Johnny from leaving.  Maybe he could have kept him safe.  But then, Johnny was never a man to toe the line or to bend to others’ wills.  In his heart he knew that if Johnny was set on leaving, nothing would have stopped him.  If only he could understand why Johnny had run.  If only he had some answers. But it seemed that Johnny had died in much the way he’d lived his life, in a hail of a bullets to the end.

........

Murdoch and Teresa saw them off in the morning.  He and Val had sipped half-heartedly at some coffee but neither touched the breakfast that a tearful Teresa had prepared.  Scott had tried a mouthful but it just stuck in his throat, feeling as though it would choke him.

They rode off with Murdoch’s final words ringing in their ears.  “Find him and bring him home safe.”  Scott offered up a silent prayer that they would at least be able to find the body. 

Val was a man of few words, and for that Scott was grateful.  He didn’t want to talk as they rode south.  And judging by the grim look on Val’s face, he had no desire for conversation either.  All they had was a common desire to reach their destination as quickly as possible and try to locate Johnny’s body.

The weather was kind to them.  Although spring hadn’t arrived yet, the day was mild with just a light breeze.  It was good riding weather and enabled them to cover the miles with ease.  They kept a steady pace, riding abreast and never breaking stride. 

Late in the day they stopped as if by some unspoken agreement at a spot that looked as though it would be a good place to camp for the night.  Val tethered the horses and unsaddled them before standing and looking around through narrowed eyes.  “I’ve seen worse places to spend a night.  I’ll go see if I can shoot us a rabbit or two for our supper.”  With a nod toward Scott he slouched off with his rifle at the ready and it wasn’t too long before Scott heard the crack of gunfire. 

They sat huddled around the campfire where the rabbit sizzled on an improvised spit.  He knew he had to eat, but never had food seemed so unappealing.

“Why do you think he left?”  The question came unbidden before he could stop it.

Val let out a long sigh.  “Scott, I barely knew Johnny.  You know that.”

Scott shook his head in irritation.  “But you had glimpses of him as he was, before he ever came home.  You at least knew Madrid.  I didn’t.  And it seems I didn’t know Johnny Lancer either.”  He could hear the bitterness in his own voice.

Val laughed but there was no mirth in it.  “Scott, nobody knew Johnny and that’s the truth of it.  He’d sometimes let you see a little part of himself.  But it was gone so quick you could almost think you’d imagined it.  He’d spent so many years protecting himself and just surviving he didn’t know how to change.  He sure as hell didn’t know how to live with people.  Never mind living in some big house with a bunch of strangers.”

A bunch of strangers.  The words stung, maybe because they were nothing but the truth.  But surely they’d meant something to Johnny?  In fact, he was certain they had.  There had been several occasions when he’d seen fear or concern in Johnny’s eyes.  They had mattered to him; he just didn’t know how to deal with it.  “And you think that was why he left?  Because he didn’t know how to live with a family?  He had his mother for a few years...”

Val grunted.  “His mother?  Pah!  She was never no mother to that boy, that I am certain of.”

Scott tilted his head, puzzled.  “But I thought you told me once that you’d never met her.”

“Didn’t need to meet her.  I heard all about her from folk in the town where I first met Johnny.  She sounded like she was crazy and not fit to mother a boy.  And he was always around when she had her customers in...”  Val broke off, chewing his lip and running his fingers through his hair.  “Do you know what she did for a living?”

Scott nodded.  “Yes, I know she was a whore, but Murdoch doesn’t know.”

Val let out a sigh of relief.  “Dang, I thought I’d blabbed too much for a second.  Johnny would kill me if let too much go...”  He shook his head slowly.  “Except, I guess, he can’t kill me now.  Poor son of a bitch.  He never had a fair chance in life.  Can you imagine that?  Seeing your whore mother with her customers.  You know what he said to me, when I first met him, and he couldn’t have been more than nine or ten.  Mind you, by the size of him he looked a hell of a lot younger.  Anyways, there we were and he offered me a go at his mother, by way of thanks for me taking him to a doctor to get his back patched up.  And he told me his mother was a real good fuck.”  Val shook his head again.  “God almighty.  What a thing for a kid to say about his mother.  I’d never seen such a wild eyed kid.  And I knew he’d had the worst of it.  The worst of everything in his short life.  But I asked around a bit after that, and believe me I heard some tales about that mother of his.  The thing that always gets me is how he ended up so decent.”

Scott nodded.  “I often wondered that myself.  I know he spent some time with a gunfighter called Luke who tried to give him a bit of schooling.  But I don’t know anything else about the man.”

Val shrugged.  “Yeah, Johnny mentioned that to me, one time.  I don’t think I ever ran into the man, but I guess they should give him a medal.  Reckon he took in a wild animal and turned out a pretty decent kid.  I guess it was always in Johnny to be good.  It just needed somebody to let it out.  Even so.”  Val paused, stroking his moustache as though lost in thought.  “Even so, he’s always damn dangerous.”  He paused.  “Was damn dangerous.”  He shot Scott a quick look before staring back into the flames of the campfire.  “I can’t believe he’s gone.  It’s odd though, your pa is so certain he’s alive...  It makes you wonder...”

Scott shook his head decisively.  “He feels guilty that he didn’t go straight after him to bring him back.  Now, he doesn’t want to face facts.”

Val flashed him another look.  “Fact is, we don’t got a body.  And unless we find one, your pa ain’t going to accept this.  And that’s going to make things real tough for him.  Shit.  I can’t believe it myself.  I’d gotten used to him being dead after the business with that damn firing squad.  Then he shows up as large as life in Green River when I come for the job.  And I guess I thought nothing could destroy him then.  And now he gets taken down in a damn ambush.  I tell you one thing: I intend to find the mean son of a bitch who set that up.  And I won’t rest until I do.  He’ll pay for this.”

Scott felt a sudden chill in his bones.  He remembered something now that Johnny had told him about the man who had tended to his back as a child and who he’d met years later.  Johnny hadn’t known then that Val would turn up for the job of sheriff, and he certainly never guessed that Scott had worked out that Val was the man from Johnny’s childhood.  But he remembered Johnny telling him that Val had been hunting for comancheros who had killed his family.  And presumably, as Val had eventually turned up looking for honest work, he’d had his revenge.  Val wasn’t a man to let savage deeds go unpunished, not when they involved people he cared about. And Val cared about Johnny, of that Scott was certain.  And now there was a real sense of menace in Val’s words.  Yes, whoever had set Johnny up had better look out.  Scott looked across the camp fire at Val’s face, his features barely discernible in the fading dusk.  “I’ll join you in that search, Val.  You can count on it.”

Part fourteen

Pain.  All he could feel was pain.  And all he could smell was the stench of vomit.  His vomit judging by the taste in his mouth. 

Where the hell was he?  And fuck...  The pain felt like it was wrapping itself around him, squeezing the life out of him.  And it tightened its grip when he tried to move.  Shit.  Wherever he was, he wasn’t in no comfy bed, that was for sure.  But every time he tried to open his eyes the world started swaying and crowding in on him.  Trees.  There were trees and they were coming in over him, reaching down to him.  Dios.  Shut the eyes again.

But yeah.  He was outside.  Lying on the ground.  But where?  And why?  There was water.  He could hear it splashing.  He risked opening his eyes again, wishing that everything wasn’t so blurred.  But although everything was swaying, he thought he could see Barranca, standing up to his knees in some kind of lake. 

He shut his eyes again.  It seemed easier.  Maybe things would stop moving in a moment and then he could start trying to figure out what the hell had happened.  Trouble was, lying here might not be such a good idea...  A man couldn’t be too careful...   And where the fuck did that thought come from?

Moving real slow he tried to push himself onto his hands and knees, letting out a gasp of pain as it squeezed him even tighter in its grip.  Shit.  He’d been shot.  He remembered now.   He’d been leaving town.  That was it.  And there’d been some fellow hiding with a gun.  Coward.  He hated bushwhackers. 

But now, the question was how bad was he shot up?  And how far had he gotten before ending up here?  And were the fuckers still looking for him?

Had he killed them?  He could remember three, no four, going down.  But there’d been a fifth man.  Hadn’t there?

But how bad was he hurt?  Needed to deal with that first.  Gritting his teeth, he struggled to get his jacket off.

It took forever.  Each movement sent shock waves of pain through his body.  It got so bad he retched, and that hurt even more.

After an age, with one last agonizing wriggle, he struggled out of the jacket, finally pulling it gingerly off over his left arm.  His shirt was soaked with blood and he knew that he had to get that off next.  And it was all such hard work.  Each time he moved, it left him panting with the effort and feeling like he’d been put through a mangle.  At least he was able to undo the buttons with his gun hand.  Thank God that hand seemed okay.

His shirt was sticky, clinging to his body like it had been pasted on.  But if the blood was sticky that was good too, it meant the bleeding must be slowing, or congealing.  And when the hell had he learned a word like that?

Slowly, oh so slowly, he peeled the shirt away.  It was sticking to the front and back of his shoulder and to his side, just below his ribs.

There’d only been two hits.  Or only two he could remember.  Another wave of pain and dizziness hit him as he finally pulled the shirt clear.  He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, hoping that things would stop spinning so he could get a look at what he was dealing with.

Reaching over his left shoulder he could feel a small sticky hole at the back.  And another at the front.  Squinting down at it he could see that it didn’t look too big.  Dios!  Talk about the devil taking care of his own.  He knew from experience that just occasionally a bullet could pass straight through a man without causing too much damage.  And it looked like he’d gotten lucky.  As long as none of the bullet had sheared off, it should be okay provided he could keep the wound clean.  And judging from the neat exit wound, the bullet had gone clean through.  Surely it would have torn the flesh more if any of the bullet had been left behind?

Now for his side.  It was hurting like hell and he needed to see the damage there.  It looked a hell of a lot messier than his shoulder.  Looked like the bullet had traced a path across him,  taking a chunk of him with it.  But leastways the bullet had gone.  He felt a surge of relief.  He hated trying to cut bullets out of himself.  He’d done it more than once and he didn’t want to repeat the experiences.  He was getting way too old for all this shit.

Peering down at his side he could see the wound was still weeping blood.  It wasn’t clotting.  Shit.  Didn’t even want to think about what he’d have to do if it wouldn’t stop bleeding.  He tried to push the thought away.  He needed to rest up.  That would do it.  He’d be fine.  Put a stitch in the shoulder; that would be sensible.  Even though he couldn’t reach the hole at the back, that wouldn’t matter.  If felt real small.  It would heal.  Put some tequila on it.  And hope that his side stopped bleeding.

He gave a low whistle, hoping Barranca would come.  If the damn animal wasn’t still in a grump.  He sure didn’t want to call out to him, just in case there was anyone around close enough to hear.  Although it did look a real private spot.  He glanced around, trying to take in his surroundings.  And although he knew it must have been the water that drew Barranca here, the horse couldn’t have found a better spot for them to rest up.  A steep stony trail led down to the lake which was surrounded by high rock faces on two sides and dense woods on the others.  It wasn’t overlooked and would be a good place to hide out while he tried to regain his strength.  Even better, Barranca ambled over to him at the second whistle.

He grasped hold of the stirrup leather and used it to haul himself, gasping, to his feet.  He leaned into Barranca’s side waiting for the dizziness to pass.  Johnny patted the horse’s shoulder.  “Hola, eres un buen amigo.  But I can’t take that saddle off you.  You’ll have to put up with it.”  He knew he’d never be able to lift the saddle back on.  Not in the state he was in.  And he needed to keep Barranca ready in case he had to make a quick getaway.

Even trying to move the saddlebags proved too much.  He gave in and fumbled around in them for the bottle of tequila, a spare shirt and some jerky for later.  He knew what he might have to do and he wouldn’t be up to moving around much afterward.

The effort of standing and searching the bags wore him out.  With one last effort he tossed his bedroll and canteen onto the ground, before collapsing, hissing in pain and doubled over on his knees.  He propped himself with his right arm while he waited for the nausea to pass.  But then he started retching again and that made the pain worse.  His side was wetter now.  The blood was running harder from the wound at his side.  Not pumping out but hard enough to worry him.  Fuck.

He shuffled over to his jacket.  Leastways he’d got his needle ready so he could fix the shoulder.  But he’d best get a small fire going before he did anything else.

The devil really was looking after him because there were enough broken twigs around to build a small fire next to where he lay.  He scuffed out a small trench around it with the handle of his knife so that there’d be no risk of it going out of control.

Then he uncorked the tequila and sloshed a bit over his shoulder and side, hissing as the alcohol stung his raw flesh.  It was hard stitching such an awkward spot, but it was the fleshy bit of his shoulder.  It hurt like hell and he struggled constantly against the nausea and blurring vision.  But finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he fell back, knowing he’d done his best.  Although he reckoned Sam wouldn’t think too much of his sewing.

He rested up for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to try and quell the feeling of sickness.  Keep taking deep breaths.  His heart felt like it was going to bust out of his chest.  Take more deep breaths.  Maybe if he could slow his heart down, the bleeding from his side would stop.

In and out.  In and out.  He fought to control his breathing.  It helped with the pain.  But it didn’t stop his side from bleeding.  Fuck.  At this rate he’d bleed to death.  There really was only one thing to do.

He’d done it to someone else once.  When he was a kid, and Pete had gotten shot up and they couldn’t stop it bleeding.  Luke had made him do it.  Told him he needed to know how to do it.  Said he might need to do it to himself one day.  At the time he couldn’t imagine ever being at a stage where he’d do it to himself.  Rather die.  Still had nightmares about it sometimes...  The way Pete had screamed... 

But now, faced with it, all he could hear was Luke’s voice in his head.  Luke telling him that if he didn’t want to bleed out his last all over Arizona, he’d stop being pathetic and get on and do it.

Luke telling him to wrap a cloth around a piece of wood to bite down on.  Better than biting through his own tongue...  Sloshing lots of tequila over it first.  Then get the knife and heat it up.  But not so much the metal turned red or white.  That did more harm than good.  Luke had said that.  He could hear him saying it now.  Like he was right here with him. 

Slowly, like an old man, he wrapped his shirt around a flat piece of wood.  Took the flat bladed knife.  He poured a bit more tequila over the wound, grunting at the pain.  And if tequila hurt that much...  Shit. 

He bit down hard on the wood as he heated the knife in the flame of the fire.  Would it be easier to just bleed to death?  No.  Wouldn’t give Mason the satisfaction. 

The metal was getting real hot.  If it started to glow he needed to let it just cool for a few seconds.

Carefully, he pulled the knife from the flame, and then, reaching sideways, trying real hard to make sure he only got it on the wound, he laid the knife flat against himself.

The last thing he heard before he passed out was his own scream as the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.

......

He came to, with Luke’s voice in his ears telling him that sometimes you needed to do it two or three times, just a couple of seconds each time, to make sure it stopped the bleeding.

Dios. 

Maybe once would have worked.

Peering down at the blackened flesh, it was still oozing blood from one side.  

And he’d thought the devil was on his side.

He picked up the knife from where it had fallen, and once more heated it in the flame.  Like the flames of hell.

.......  

He couldn’t have said how long he lay there afterwards.   He’d dragged his bedroll over him, because he was shivering uncontrollably.  His teeth were chattering and he felt chilled to his bones.

He could feel the old man’s pocket watch pressing against his stomach in the pocket in his belt where it always lived.  But he hadn’t got the energy to fish it out to check the time.  All he knew was that at least one night came and went and he was still cold.  He’d left a pile of sticks by him so he was able to chuck a few on the fire to keep it burning but it didn’t give out anything like enough heat.  Or maybe it was just that nothing would have warmed him that night.  Except the blade of his knife.   That had been hot...

He watched the sun creep over the ridge of his hiding place through eyes dulled with pain.  It lit the water in the lake, bringing it to life with dancing flashes that would have pleased him at any other time.  But the light just jarred and made his headache worse.  Screwing his eyes tight shut against the light he tried to sleep.

But sleep brought nightmares.  The faces of men he’d killed surrounded him.  They were closing in on him.  And Pete was screaming through it all.   And Scott’s voice was there telling him he’d not leave a ripple when he died.  And his father was looking at him with contempt.  And echoing in the background he could hear Delice telling him to grab hold of what he wanted and hold on.  Doe was there too; with a gloating smile saying as how he’d won.  Laughing and gloating even as Johnny shot him over and over...  

He was reaching out trying to grasp something, trying to hold on but he didn’t know what he was reaching for.  There was something just out of sight in a thick fog and he was chasing after it but he couldn’t see what it was.

Each time he woke sweat was pouring off him.  And then the shivering would start again and he drifted back into the same nightmares.  If only he could see what was just out of sight.  There was something there.  Something blurred but he didn’t know what it was.  If only he knew...  Delice would know.  She’d tell him.

Maybe another day came and went.  He wasn’t sure.  It all just merged into one long nightmare with a stream of voices talking at him.  And through it all his mother was laughing.  Telling him he’d never amount to anything.  And Doe was chanting that he’d finally won.  That he’d beaten Madrid.

There was another sunrise and this time when he saw it, he felt cooler but not icy cold.  A faint mist was rising off the water in the early rays of sunlight and Barranca stood in the dark shade of the forest, dozing on his feet.

He felt like shit but the world had stopped swaying and rolling.  Moving as slow as an old man, he struggled to his feet.  His shoulder didn’t feel too bad but his side hurt like the devil.  He grimaced.  He guessed that was only to be expected when a man put burning knives on himself.  But it had worked.  It didn’t look pretty but it wasn’t bleeding.  Main thing now was to keep it dry and clean.  He’d have to make up a pad from his shirt to put over it, try and stop it rubbing when he rode out.  Because he’d have to get moving soon.  Looked like Barranca had cleared most of the graze and would be getting real grouchy soon.

Moving slowly he walked down to the water’s edge and splashed a bit of water on his face.  Then, taking care not to splash himself, he rinsed out his blooded shirt and laid it flat on a rock to dry.  If he wore that one, he could make the pad out of the clean shirt.  It seemed safer doing it that way.  He had no intention of risking an infection and doing Mason’s work for him.

Question was where should he go next?  He was so fucking tired and he felt like shit.  It was all he could do to sit back down.  He sure as hell wasn’t up to hunting down Mason.  Just didn’t have the energy for it.  Even if he did hunt Mason down and kill him, he’d probably end up on the wrong side of the law and they’d hang him.  Maybe the best thing was to steer well clear of it all and let the fuss die down.  He could get his revenge later.  Mason would wait.  Trouble was, there’d still be a bunch of jackasses after him, all hoping they could claim the bounty on Madrid. 

Madrid.  He’d wanted Madrid so bad these past few months.  Wanted to escape back to the freedom of this life.  And it was kind of odd but he wasn’t so sure he wanted this life now he’d got it back.  It didn’t feel right.  Didn’t feel like it used to.  Though God alone knew why it should feel so different.  It didn’t feel like freedom.  Felt almost like a trap.  Funny really.  He’d been all hell bent on chasing after this life, desperate to get it back, and now he didn’t want it.  He’d been missing the gunfights but he sure as hell hadn’t missed the killings.  He’d missed the thrill of being recognised wherever he went.  But now it just got on his nerves a lot of the time. 

And he’d burned his bridges at Lancer.  They were probably relieved to be rid of him.  And he didn’t blame them for that.  So, there was no turning back now.  He had to move on.  But where to?

What if he went somewhere nobody knew him?   What would that be like?  Maybe he could start fresh.  Nobody would know about his past and he could be the same as other men.  Surely that would be real freedom?  The idea was appealing.  Especially right now when he felt so old and worn out.  Were there any places where people wouldn’t recognise him?  He laughed aloud at the thought.  Boston would accuse him of being arrogant.  But whether Boston liked it or not, it was a fact that Madrid was well known.  But he’d never been up north.  Maybe that was the best thing to do.  Travel north, get a job and see what panned out.  It would make a change at any rate.  And maybe he could put the past behind him and leave his ghosts behind too.

He set about preparing for the journey.  When his shirt had dried, he eased it over his left arm and shoulder before shrugging himself back into it.  Then, wrapping his other shirt into a pad, he positioned it over the burn and then did his shirt up to hold the pad in place.  Dios.  He was getting sensible in his old age.  Time was he’d have chanced it and hoped for the best.  But then he’d never had an injury like this one, and he could still hear Luke’s voice in his head telling him that you had to be real careful with these.

He wondered where Luke was now.  Probably dead and long gone.  People in this business didn’t make old bones.  Even so...   It would be good to see him again. 

He placed his few belongings back in his saddlebags and tied his bedroll back behind the saddle, wincing with pain at having to stretch.  Then, leading Barranca to a steeper part of the hillside, he took advantage of the added height and managed to scramble into the saddle without pitching right over.

The action brought on another bout of dizziness.  But it didn’t last long so he figured he must be on the mend.  Tilting his hat forward he spurred Barranca up the steep trail and onto the rocky plain above.  There were towering buttes and a big canyon ran northeast across the barren landscape.  Straining his eyes, and squinting in the sun, he could see dust rising in the distance.  Horses; judging by the speed, two maybe three of them, so not a herd.  Riders most like, heading south.  Grateful for the shadows from the bluff behind him, he turned Barranca north and headed for unknown territory.

Part fifteen

Were all sheriffs scruffy?  The thought flashed through Scott’s mind as he studied the man sitting opposite him and Val.  And the man’s office was as untidy as Val’s.  There were piles of wanted posters in the corner gathering dust, and several more spread across the coffee stained pine table that served as a desk.   Coupled with the dirty cups, and an old frying pan on a makeshift heater, it was no wonder that Val was looking so at ease; Sheriff Bannon’s office must seem like a home away from home to him.

Morton Bannon leaned back in his chair, his feet resting on the table.  “I’m really sorry, Mr. Lancer, it was a bad business.  You say Madrid was your brother?”  He gave Scott a dubious look as though he found it hard to believe.  “There sure ain’t no family resemblance.”

“Half brothers, actually.”  Scott tried to rein in his impatience.  If only the man would tell them what happened. 

“Ah, guess that explains it.”  Bannon scratched his jaw, apparently lost in thought.  “Yep.  It was a bad business.  I told Madrid that I’d heard there was a bounty out on him and it would be best if he left town.  He was guarding a shipment being moved from the bank.”  Bannon shook his head.  “Not much of a job for a man like Madrid.  Anyways, he said he was going to move on when the job was done.  Pity he didn’t.  Might still be alive.”

“So he didn’t leave?”  Val furrowed his brow, puzzled.  “I’d have figured Johnny was smart enough to get out of town when he heard about a bounty.”

Bannon shrugged.  “He was going to go, but he went whoring first.  And by the time he left the whore, there was a group of men waiting for him.  They were waiting outside the saloon for him to come out.”

A whore.  Scott shut his eyes and shook his head.  Johnny and his damn whores.  If he hadn’t gone whoring...   But his brother had seemed unable to ever resist the call of a brothel or saloon girl.  Women were like an itch that had to be scratched, with Johnny.  And now it had got him killed.  And there was something inevitable about the fact that it should have been a damn whore who inadvertently caused his brother’s death.

“How many men?”  Val’s voice had a steely edge to it.

“Five men.  Two of them were hiding.  Madrid took out the three challenging him before they cleared leather, and he got the man on the roof of the general store planning on picking him off with a rifle.  But I don’t think Madrid saw the fifth man until it was too late.  He took two, maybe three bullets, right in the chest and the gut judging by the blood.  How the hell he made it to his horse I’ll never know.  He was staggering, doubled up and hauled himself onto the animal and then collapsed slumped over the animal’s neck.  It was only the saddle horn stopped him falling back down.  And the horse took off out of town at a full gallop.”

Scott let out a long sigh.  He hadn’t even been aware that he was holding his breath, hoping against hope for some scrap of information that might give him something to cling to.  Something that could leave him a thread of hope that Johnny could have made it.  But the sheriff’s description of Johnny’s last moments sounded horribly final.  There was no hope.

Val grunted, like he wasn’t happy with the story.  “He might have passed out on the horse.  He’s a tough son of a bitch.”

Bannon nodded.  “Yep.  He was a tough son of a bitch, but nobody can take a bullet in the chest and gut and survive.  You know that.”

Val stared down at the floor, his jaw muscles working.  “You sure that’s where he was hit?”

“Sure as I can be.  From where I was standing, looked like that was where all the blood was.  I’ve been out looking for him.  Not a sign anywhere.  Didn’t see no vultures either, but then there’s a lot of coyotes in these parts.  But riding in, you must have seen what this country is like.  It’s full of ravines and gullies.  It’s treacherous riding.  The way that horse took off, they might have just run straight over and fallen into a ravine.  Chances of finding the bodies are pretty much nil.  But believe me, I’ve looked.”  Bannon shook his head.  “It was odd, because I kind of liked Madrid, which surprised me.  He sure wasn’t what I expected him to be like.  We had a drink together.  I figured he was all right.  It was why I made damn sure to tell him straight off when I heard about the bounty.”

Scott leaned forward.  “Who put a bounty on him?  And why?  And what happened to the five men?  Are they all dead?”

“Four of them are dead, and I reckon the fifth ain’t long for this world.  The sawbones here doesn’t reckon he’ll make it.  But if he does survive, he’ll stand trial.  As for who put a bounty up for him, it was a fellow called Mason.  He’s some big rancher, down south of here.  Got himself a real big spread.  And it seemed he got a real grudge against Madrid.”

Val’s eyes narrowed.  “How much of a grudge?  How much we talking about?”

Bannon laughed humourlessly.  “Seven hundred and fifty dollars worth of a grudge.”

Val let out a low whistle as Scott’s stomach lurched.  That was a hell of a lot of money.  He furrowed his brow trying to understand it.   “What had Johnny done to this man Mason?  Why would a man put up that much money for someone to kill him?”

Bannon looked at him levelly.  “You ain’t from this part of the world are you, Mr. Lancer?  Men like this Mason, well, if someone riles them enough, they pay somebody to do their dirty work for them.  Men like Mason would be the sort of people who would hire your brother.”  Bannon paused.  “Half brother.  And I guess Madrid did something to piss off Mason because that’s a hell of a lot of bounty to offer.  Rumour has it Mason reckoned Madrid swindled him out of a large amount of money.”

It didn’t make sense.  None of this made any sense.  Johnny was no thief, of that he was certain.  “Swindled?  In what way?  My brother is not a thief.”

Bannon shrugged.  “Nope, I don’t reckon he was.  It was to do with some land.  He persuaded Mason to pay something over the going rate, but I don’t know, that could be just talk.  You know how stories change with the telling.  Ain’t no way of knowing the truth of it.”

“Unless we go and speak to Mr. Mason.”

It got Bannon’s attention.  He narrowed his eyes.  “I would suggest, Mr. Lancer, you leave Mr. Mason to the law to deal with.  You might do things differently up in California, maybe you do things differently out east, but you’re in my territory now, and the law will handle Mason.”

Val scratched his jaw.  “No need for you to worry, sheriff.  I’m a lawman too, we just want to have a word with Mason, hear his side of things.”  Val’s voice was bland and his face was free of any emotion.  Scott almost believed him.  Would have believed him if he hadn’t heard Johnny’s story about the Val of old.

Bannon nodded.  “Fair enough, seeing as how you’re a lawman.  But if you want to talk to Mason, you’ll have to go through Apache country and that might be easier for you on your own, Crawford, rather than having a greenhorn with you.”  He nodded vaguely in Scott’s direction.

Scott tensed at the slight.  “I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Sheriff.  I did fight in the war.”

Bannon laughed humourlessly.  “Confederates ain’t like Apache, Mr. Lancer.  Ain’t nobody who fights like the Apache fight.  Trust me, you don’t want to tangle with them.  Not if you want to keep a tight hold on your scalp.”

“As I said, I am able to take care of myself, Sheriff.”  Scott tried to keep his voice level, but the term greenhorn rankled.   The man could certainly do with learning some manners.  And why the hell did all men out west behave as though nobody from the east was capable of taking care of themselves? 

Bannon shrugged.  “If you say so, Mr. Lancer.  Anyways, I am sorry about your brother.  Reckon he deserved a better end than he got.  Like I said, I kind of liked him.  But I guess if you live by the gun, you die by the gun.”

Val shuffled to his feet.  “Thank you for your help, Sheriff.  I reckon we’ll have a scout around ourselves out there and then head on down for a word with Mason.  Perhaps if the body does show up at some point, you’d be good enough to let me know.  Madrid’s pa is real set on having him buried back home.”

Bannon hauled himself to his feet.  “If anything shows up, you can count on me letting you know.”  

Scott waited until the door to Bannon’s office slammed shut behind them and he and Val stood in the quiet street.  “So, what do make of all that?” 

Val took a few seconds to answer, staring out toward the desert beyond the edges of the small town.  When he spoke, his voice was hard and cold.  “What do I make of it?  Johnny was murdered, that’s all I know and I’m sure as hell planning on paying Mason a visit.  Men like him make me sick.  If Johnny had died in a fair fight that would be one thing, but this?”  Val spat on the ground.  “Mason’s going to regret ever being born.”  He turned and looked Scott square in the eyes.  “You don’t have to come with me.  It’ll be a rough ride across Apache country and...  And you might not want to know what I got in mind for Mason...”

“I know he was you friend, Val, but he was my brother.  I’m coming with you.  I want Mason just as much as you do.”

Val’s face was impossible to read.  His eyes were remote, as though not really seeing Scott.   “Okay.  As long as you’re sure.  But I warn you, Scott, I ain’t taking no prisoners.  Being legal don’t always get the job done.”

Despite the chilling words, Scott nodded instantly, surprising himself.  Of one thing he was certain, he wanted revenge for Johnny.  And he felt no chord of pity for Mason, just a primitive yearning for revenge.  Old Testament justice of an eye for an eye. “But we must see if we can find any trace of Johnny first.  Agreed?”

Val nodded.  “Aye.  But I don’t reckon on finding much.  Bannon’s no fool and this is his country.  But we’d best get moving if we hope to find anything left of him...”  Val paused, biting his lip in embarrassment. 

Scott grimaced.  The thought of wild animals devouring Johnny’s body made him blanch.  “I know.  It’s okay, Val.  I understand.”

.....

There was no sign.  No sign at all.

Scott and Val sat on a ridge looking with bloodshot eyes and dazed weariness into the limitless distance.  Scott rubbed the back of his hand across his face, trying to wipe away the dust caking his nostrils.  They’d been searching for two days, the silence between them as gaping as the ravines they’d skirted in their quest.

“We could search for a month and not find him.”  Scott spoke quietly, hating himself for giving up.  And hating the thought of having to eventually tell Murdoch that there was no body to bury.  That they’d failed.

“I reckon.”  Val swept his hat off to scratch at his sweat drenched head.  His face was haggard and the dust had settled in the lines on his face and clung to his beard.  “Yep.  I reckon we could at that.  I guess we might as well head south and find Mason.  But I’m real sorry for your pa’s sake.  It’s always harder when there ain’t a body...”  Val sighed heavily.  “There’s always a niggle then.  Leaves a man wondering if just maybe there’s a bit of hope.”

Hope.  It was the one thing he didn’t have.  The only hope had been that they would find Johnny’s body.  But that had faded to a distant memory.  “He’ll take it hard.  But I don’t think we can do any more.  I suppose the only thing to do now is find Mason.”

Val shot him a searching look.  “You still want to come?  I don’t mind going alone.  Like I said, being legal don’t get the job done.  And I ain’t the forgiving type.”

Scott shook his head slowly.  He’d hated killing in the war.  But it had been part and parcel of being a soldier.  And he’d killed Carter because he had to.  That had shocked him.  It was the first time he’d killed for a personal reason.  He’d killed him to save Johnny.  And now he was going to kill again.  To avenge Johnny.  And he knew he wouldn’t rest until Mason was dead.  The savage need for revenge was growing stronger inside him.  He knew with a cold certainty that he would show Mason no mercy.  “I still want to come.  I want Mason to pay for this.  One way or the other Mason is going to pay.” 

Val turned his horse toward the south.  “Then let’s get going.  It’s going to be a tough journey.”

Part sixteen

The wood crackled and spat as the flames went licking up to the clear night sky. The stars looked brighter than he’d ever seen them.  Like God had thrown diamonds down from the heavens.   He pulled his collar up and shuffled closer to the fire.  Frost was settling in on the sage brush and a chill breeze was stirring through the valley.  But cold was better than rain.  Even so, times like this he had to wonder about the sense of heading north.  Spring was still some ways off and it was just fucking cold.   Should have waited till summer.  He blew out for the childish pleasure of seeing his breath suspended in the air.  And then clasped his hands tighter round his coffee mug for the warmth it offered.

There was still plenty of snow higher up but leastways he’d been able to find a path well below the snow line.  If it wasn’t for the pain in his side he’d have enjoyed the trail.  It sure was pretty.   Different to Mexico, that was for sure.  The birds were different here.  There were quite a few he’d never seen before.  And the trees were different too.  Scott would probably know the names of them.

Shit.  There he went again.  Always thinking of Scott.  Or the ranch.  Or the old man.  Or Delice.  He had to stop doing it.  He’d made his choice and there was no backtracking.  Even if he wanted to.  Which he didn’t.  Did he?  Nope.  He wasn’t wearing no man’s brand.  He was heading for freedom.  There could be a new life ahead, where nobody knew him and where he could be judged by his actions now.  Not by past actions.  Best thing was to move on and leave the past behind and leave his regrets behind.  It was a fresh start.  Maybe he’d finally find a woman who’d want him.  Even the thought of a woman all of his own warmed him.  A woman to make love to, not just to fuck.  A green eyed and long legged woman who’d love him for the now of it.  As long as she never found out about his past. 

He’d headed northeast for the past three days, wanting to skirt Utah.  No way did he want to go back there.  So he reckoned he must be well into Colorado territory by now.  Maybe tomorrow he could find a town.  And a doctor.  His side was paining him bad and he figured it would be wise to get it checked out.  He laughed out loud at the thought, startling Barranca and sending him skittering off his graze.  Since when had he done anything wise?  Of course the really sensible thing to do would be to rest up a while.  But he couldn’t afford that luxury.  He needed to keep moving.  And get as far away from where he was known as possible.  But yeah, he would get a doctor to check him over.  He didn’t have much money but it could work out cheaper to have his side treated than to risk getting really sick and having to pay for a room for a few days.  

Wyoming.  It had a nice ring to it.  Yeah.  That’s where he’d head.  Plenty of ranches which would mean plenty of work.  Hell, he could be his own man.  Wouldn’t have to answer to no one once he’d done a day’s work.  He’d be able to go into town, go whoring, play poker, or do absolutely nothing if that’s what he felt like doing and all without having to answer to the old man.  Wouldn’t have to explain himself to nobody.

After all, that had been part of the trouble.  The old man had always been sticking his nose into Madrid’s business.  Calling the tune.  Well, from now on, there’d be nobody to care what he did.  Nobody to care...

He shivered, feeling suddenly colder.  He threw some more wood on the fire causing the flames to leap higher and burn real fierce.  But it didn’t warm him like it should.  He could feel a chill deep down inside of him.  A chill that no fire was going to warm away.

He hauled himself to his feet and set about building a makeshift shelter next to the fire, using some long branches and his slicker.  Taking his saddle for a pillow, he spread his bedroll under the shelter and clambered into it hoping that he wouldn’t freeze to death.  Dios.  He should have waited until the summer.

.......

Well, it was a town.  But not much of one.  There was a rundown hotel, a couple of scruffy saloons with peeling paint and the doors hanging on broken hinges, and a handful of shops with dirty windows.  It had the look of a town that had maybe had money at some point but trade had moved on.  It had like as not been a mining town, but now all that was left were the folk who didn’t have the energy to leave.  But at least there was a doctor.  Unless the man had moved on too and left the swinging board behind. 

Johnny reined in and then gingerly eased his leg over the saddle horn, hissing as a bolt of pain from his side shot through him.  He slid none too gracefully off Barranca and tied him to a hitching rail. 

Dios, but it hurt to walk.  Hurt like hell because it felt like his side was on fire after all those hours in the saddle.  He needed a bed.  And some sleep.  Maybe he’d spend the night here.  Didn’t look like the hotel would be charging much for the rooms. 

He knocked on the door of the doctor’s house.  The way his luck was running, the doctor had probably moved on but he could hear footsteps so leastways there was someone there.  A thin man with a throat like a scrawny old chicken opened the door.  “Yes?”

He didn’t sound too welcoming, and he sure didn’t look it, but Johnny gave him his broadest smile.  The man might be a miserable old buzzard but Johnny needed a doctor, and this was almost certainly the man.  “You the doc?”

The man gave the smallest incline of his head as he looked Johnny up and down.  “And you look like a drifter.  If you’re looking for treatment, I’ll tell you straight off, I don’t treat people for free and it’s no good telling me you’ll pay me when you find work.  I’ve heard it all before.”

“I can pay.  I got money.”  Johnny took some notes from his jacket and waved them in the man’s face.  “See.”

The man made a hmph type of noise and then beckoned to him.  “You’d best come in then.”

Johnny followed him down a dimly lit corridor to a room with a long scrubbed top table and a cabinet with a few bottles of potions. 

He’d rehearsed a story.  Could hardly tell the man he’d been gunned down by a group of men wanting to collect a bounty.  “I had an accident a few days back.  I was on a hunting trip with some friends.”  Johnny tried to look real embarrassed.  “And, um, I sort of got in the way of the shooting.”

The man raised an eyebrow, kind of like he didn’t believe a word of it.  He’d probably heard all the stories before too.  “Hmm.  Well, we’d best take a look at it then.”

Johnny eased himself out of his jacket and then took his shirt off, wincing as the pad he’d made from his spare shirt fell away from the wound.   The man’s eyes widened with shock.  But whether he was shocked by the number of old scars, or the sight of the fresh wound, Johnny couldn’t tell.  “It wouldn’t stop bleeding, so they had to put a hot knife to it.”

The man grunted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  “So I see.”  He peered at the wound for a few seconds before straightening up.  “Well, it looks clean.  No sign of infection, which is a miracle.  I’ll put a salve on it which will help protect it from infection.  Then the best thing will be to keep it covered and keep it dry.  I’ll put a dressing on it.”  He paused.  “And I’d better dress the wound in your shoulder too.  Whoever those fellows were, I’d suggest you don’t go hunting with them again.”  He gave Johnny a long hard look. 

Nope.  The doc didn’t believe a word he’d said.  No matter.  As long as the man checked him over he didn’t care what he thought. 

The man busied himself with preparing the dressings while Johnny perched on the corner of the couch.  Sam would be proud of him.  Actually going to a doctor without being forced there at gunpoint. 

He winced, pulling away slightly as the man dabbed some sort of potion on the burn.   The doctor shook his head as if irritated.  “It would heal a lot quicker if you don’t ride for a few days.  Why don’t you look for some light work around here?”

Johnny shook his head.  “No.  I got to move on.  Just fix me up so that I can ride a little easier.”

The doctor shrugged.  “Not much work here anyway.  Town’s all but dead.”

“Why d’you stay here then?” 

“Too old and too tired to start again.  And there are people here who need me.”  He paused, taking a closer look at Johnny’s shoulder and the lousy stitchwork.  “I’ll put an extra stitch in there.  It’s pulling and will open right up if you’re not careful.  See a doctor in about ten days and by then the stitches can probably come out.”

Johnny bit his lip.  What would the doc say if he knew the only person taking these out would be Johnny?  Sure wasn’t paying no money to some old sawbones to do what he could easily do himself. 

Finally the doctor stepped back, apparently finished with prodding and pulling him all ways.  “Suppose I’d be wasting my breath if I tell you that you really do need to rest up a while.”

Johnny shrugged.  “Yep.  I’ll be moving on.  And resting up costs money.  I reckon I’ll be out of here by tomorrow. “

The doctor shot him a piercing glance.  “None of my business, but are you running from the law?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, spoke real soft.  “You’re right, it ain’t your business.  But no, I ain’t running from the law.”

The doctor sighed as he put the bottle of salve back in the cupboard.  “Then you’ve got mighty strange friends you go hunting with, young man.  One hit might be an accident, but two? Anyone would think they were trying to kill you.”

Johnny laughed softly.  “Well, I guess they just got trigger happy, being all caught up in the hunt and all.”

“Well, like I said, young man, what you need is rest.  I suggest if you’ve got family some place you go and stay with them.  Sleeping rough and riding isn’t going to help you get better.  You’re damn lucky that those wounds aren’t infected.  They are both serious injuries and if you want to recover you need rest.  Must be some place you can go.  Do you have any family?”

Johnny bit his lip hard, nosey old buzzard.  “I get by just fine on my own.  But thanks for the advice.  Now, if you let me know what I owe you, I’ll settle up.”

Johnny paid the bill and went back into the street.  Should he take a room here for the night?   It would sure be nice to have a proper bed to sleep in.  His back was aching.  Hell, everything was pretty much aching.  He was getting too old for camping out every damn night.  And in the normal way of things he wouldn’t have hesitated to just book a room.  But there was something here that was making the hairs on his neck stand on end.  A feeling of unease.  And it always paid to listen to that. ’Specially as he’d been getting so sloppy lately.

He glanced around the street, making it look real casual, but all the while he was noting everything.  A great hulk of a man he’d noticed when he’d ridden in was still standing in the shadows on the broken boardwalk across the street.  Although the man’s face was hidden he was sure the man was watching him.  Shit.  Didn’t look like he’d be getting a night in the hotel after all.  It would be best to move on.  He sure as hell wasn’t in any sort of shape for any trouble and all his senses screamed that this man could be trouble.

Johnny smiled briefly.  It could be he was just going loco and reading too much into everything.  That the man in the shadows was maybe just plain nosey.  Still, he’d bank on his instincts.  Get some supplies from the general store and move on.  He was playing it safe.

He bought some coffee, beans, hardtack and jerky.  And then gave in to a yearning for a small piece of cheese.  It seemed like a luxury, but hell, he wasn’t staying in the hotel and the cheese looked too tempting, creamy coloured and wrapped in waxy paper.  And then, he spent a couple dollars more on a thick blanket.  Looked like he’d need the extra warmth if he was heading north.  Sure didn’t figure on freezing to death.

When he came out of the store, the man in the shadows had gone.  Maybe there was nothing in it.  Maybe the man had just been standing watching the world go by.  But even so...   A man couldn’t be too careful.  Especially a man with a price on his head.

He unhitched Barranca and left town, to look for a sheltered place to make camp for the night.

He left the dirt track, riding across rocks and loose scree to make his path harder to follow.  He still felt uneasy about the fellow in the town and didn’t intend taking any chances.  He stopped several times to look back at the trail he’d taken, but he couldn’t see any telltale signs of dust rising.  Nothing to suggest he was being followed.  Urging Barranca on, he picked a route heading toward a small stand of trees in the lee of a sheer rock face.  It would provide better shelter if the weather turned. And judging from the clouds building up in the north, it might just do that.

He finally stopped at a spot which offered some shelter and some rough graze for Barranca.  He felt a twinge of guilt.  If he’d stayed in town Barranca could have had a night in the livery and a bag of hay.  Once they reached Wyoming then Barranca could have a rest.  Hell, they’d both need a rest.  A fleeting image of his bed at Lancer came to mind.  He pushed it away.  He’d best make do without a fire tonight.  Just in case anybody was following him.  Trouble was, when he was cold he seemed to ache even more.  He imagined the huge log fire burning in the great room and him and Scott sprawled in front of it playing chess.  And Teresa fussing over him because he was hurt and making him willow bark tea.  Right now even the willow bark tea would be welcome.

He felt a pricking at the back of his eyes and bit his lip hard.  For the first time since he’d left he was allowing himself to remember what life there had been like.  And he could feel a chill inside again even as he thought about what he had left behind.  The odd thing was he still couldn’t figure why he’d felt so trapped.  Why he’d suddenly been so fired up to leave.  He’d felt like it since he’d gotten back from Utah.  It had felt like something had been eating away at him, making every bit of family life jar on him.  It had all gotten too much weight to carry.  Like everything they expected of him had felt like a real heavy load.  And he’d worried about how much Scott had figured out about his past during the trial.  Not that Scott had said anything.  But sometimes he thought he’d seen a look in Scott’s eyes that said he knew too much.  He’d felt like he couldn’t control things.  They were all getting too close.  Wanting too much from him and wanting more than he could give. 

Delice had guessed he couldn’t cope.  What was it she said?  Something about finding his way if he looked.  Well, he’d blown it.  He hadn’t looked.  He’d just upped and left, thinking all he wanted was Madrid.  And now he knew he didn’t want that either.  He was proud of Madrid.  Proud of being good at his trade.  But he didn’t want all the stuff that came with that life.  And he was fed up with being used.  Fed up with fighting other people’s battles.  Fed up with their ugly world and their ugly deeds.  And somewhere in amongst all these muddled thoughts was Doe.  The man might be long dead but he sure hadn’t gone.  His gloating face was always there.  And his voice kept whispering how he’d won.

He hauled himself to his feet.  The burning in his side had settled to a dull sort of ache since the doc had treated it.  Leastways it was better than the pain.  He lifted his saddle bags from Barranca and tossed them to the ground.  Then he hefted the saddle off.

The crack of a twig made him jump, and half turning he dropped the saddle.

“Easy.  Keep your hand away from that gun or I’ll blow your head clean off.”

Fuck.  How could he have let his guard slip?  He wasn’t surprised to see it was the burly hulk from the town.  The man stood smiling like he’d won first prize in a pissing contest.  And the fellow had his rifle aimed straight at him. 

Part seventeen

“Just stand real easy, Madrid.”  The man paused and laughed softly.  In the fading light, his teeth showed white against his coarse grey beard.  He was even bigger close up than he’d looked in the town.  As tall as Murdoch and twice as wide.  He was wearing a heavy leather coat which looked like it would keep any weather out.  “Couldn’t believe my luck, Madrid, when I saw you ride in.  And you with a nice fat bounty on your head too.  I’d heard about that.  I was thinking of heading south to look for you and damn it if you don’t ride right on into town.”

Johnny sighed softly.  This fellow was really dumb.  If the man had any sense he’d just have shot Johnny straight off, but when they delayed like this, well, it opened up all sorts of possibilities.  Amateur.  “You’re a bounty hunter, huh?”

“Yep.  That’s how I make my living.”

Johnny smiled.  “Dying ain’t much of a way of making a living.”

“Ain’t figuring on dying, Madrid.”  He gestured with his rifle.  “Now, I want you to ease that old gun of yours out, and use your left hand, Madrid.  I don’t trust you too well.”

“My left hand?  You sure about that?”  Could the man really be so dumb as not to tell him just to unbuckle his gun belt? 

The man nodded.  “Yeah, your left hand, Madrid.  You don’t think I’m so dumb as to let you get your right hand near your gun.  Just ease it on out.  With your left hand.”

“Okay.”  Johnny paused.  “Am I allowed to know your name?  Seeing as how you’re probably planning on shooting me rather than taking me in.”

The man laughed at Johnny’s words.  “Well, I reckon you might be right at that.  Henson.  That’s my name.  Able Henson.  Now, you just use two fingers to take that gun of yours out, and Madrid, do it real slow.”

Johnny smiled again.  “Sure.  Whatever you say, Able.”  He slowly reached across to his holster and eased his Colt out, using just finger and thumb and then gently moved his hand back in front of him, still holding the gun lightly.

“Well, that was real good, Madrid.  Now just throw the gun down.”

“Whatever you say, Able.”  And even as he spoke he spun the gun in his hand and fired before Henson even got his finger to close on the rifle trigger.  Able fell backwards, a look of surprise frozen on his face in death and a neat hole in the centre of his forehead.  Yeah.  Very neat considering it was his left hand.  But he was always good with that hand too.

“Seems you weren’t so able, Able.”  Johnny shook his head slowly.  Dios he was tired.  There was no end to it.  Always somebody wanting to take him.  And now he had fucking bounty hunters to worry about.  Had Mason put a poster out on him?  Or was it by just word of mouth that Henson had heard about the bounty? 

Johnny crouched over him and started going through the man’s pockets.  There were a couple of very worn wanted posters, the creases wearing through where they’d been examined and refolded so many times, but they were for a couple of bank robbers.  There was a buffalo hide wallet with a few dollars stuffed in it, and some jerky.   But no wanted poster on Madrid and nothing to suggest where the man came from or whether he had any family.  There was a pair of thick, sheepskin gloves which Johnny tried on for size.  He could do with some warm gloves and they sure as hell weren’t going to be much good to Henson now.  But the gloves were like the man himself – huge.  They dwarfed Johnny’s hands and he threw them aside in irritation.

He squatted back on his haunches.  Perhaps the man had something in his saddlebags?  All he had to do was find where Henson had left his horse.  It must be some distance away because he hadn’t heard them approach.  The man had been a mean tracker though, he had to acknowledge that.  Johnny knew his trail would have been a tough one to follow so it seemed Able had been good at something.  And, to be fair, very few men could have spun the gun and fired with their left hand.  So maybe Henson had been successful as a bounty hunter.  He just wasn’t a match for Madrid.  But then, not many men were.

He stared again at the body.  It was too damn big for him to move but he could probably roll him and get the coat.  It was too good to leave to rot and he could use it as an extra blanket at night.  But leastways he could have a fire now.  Didn’t need to worry any more about being discovered.  And it was good to know that his instincts in the town hadn’t let him down.  Seemed Madrid hadn’t lost his edge.  He found the thought comforting.  Truth be told, he’d been starting to worry that he really had gone soft.  That he wasn’t the man he had been.  But it was all still there.  Only difference now was, he didn’t want all the shit that came Madrid’s way. 

With much puffing and straining, he finally got the coat off Henson.  He’d swear the man must have weighed close on two hundred and fifty pounds.  He got wearily to his feet.  His side was hurting worse now.  Dios but he needed some sleep.  But sleep would have to wait.  Get a fire going, and then look for Henson’s horse.

A rising Comanche moon made his search easier.  At least it lit a path for him as he trailed through the surrounding woods looking for the animal.  He only stubbed his foot three or four times on old tree stumps, cursing when he tripped and jarred his sore side, making it hurt even more.

Eventually, he found the horse, a big boned sorrel mare past the first flush of youth, more than half a mile or so from his camp.  And Able had approached over the softer ground where his horse’s feet would have made little sound.  Yeah, Able had known a thing or two about tracking.  Johnny rode her back to his camp and tethered her next to Barranca who nickered gently at her, possibly glad of some company.  He was probably still pissed with Johnny for riding him so hard for so many days without a good feed.

He took Henson’s saddlebags and sat with them, next to the fire, while he went through them methodically.  There was a flask of whisky, which he took a swift swig from, and spare gloves.  But the gloves were as big as the other pair, no use to him at all.  There were a couple of shirts, a small tin of coffee and some tobacco.  No poster. 

Johnny sat back by the fire, chewing on his thumb.  The fact there was no poster was good.  It meant that Mason probably hadn’t put any out.  Mason had been worried about the authorities knowing too much of his business.  What was it he’d said?  Something about not wanting people to get “the wrong idea.”  So, yeah, it figured that the business about a bounty had gone by word of mouth.  Easier for Mason to wriggle out of if people started asking questions.

But what was worrying was that Henson had heard about it so soon.  Still, word travelled fast for those who were listening.  But Wyoming was looking more attractive by the second.  Chances of anyone recognising him there were slim.  Yeah.  Wyoming made sense.  Just find a job and disappear into the background. 

He laughed at the thought of him fading into the background.  It would sure be different to how he usually played his hand.  He’d always loved being recognised wherever he went.  Loved the flicker of fear in people’s eyes when they heard his name.  Yeah, the fame had been real pleasing, but right now that fame could get him hurt.  Killed.  And he was hurting bad enough already.  He needed to get well and let the talk of a bounty die down.  Mason would wait.  He’d have his revenge, but that was always a dish best served cold.  He’d waited a long time to get Doe.  He’d have no trouble delaying revenge on Mason.  Madrid could be patient. 

So, it looked as though Wyoming would be his best bet.   It was a hell of a long way from his usual haunts.  And nobody would ever think of looking for him that far north.  What was that dumb expression Boston used?  A change is as good as a rest.  That was it.  He grinned.  Wyoming would certainly be a change.  No, wasn’t no-one alive who’d expect him to go to Wyoming.  Hell, it was cold up there for a good part of the year.  He shivered.  It was fucking cold here too.  He threw some more wood on the fire and looked up at the sky.  The bank of clouds he’d spotted earlier was moving in, covering up the stars.  Would they bring rain or snow?  Wasn’t sure which was worse.  Hell, he should have gone to South America. 

He set about rigging up a shelter for the night.  He took Henson’s slicker which the man had strapped behind his saddle, and used it as a cover.  It was a hell of a lot bigger than Johnny’s and he figured it would give him more protection from the weather.  And he could put his own on over his clothes for extra warmth and to keep the chill of the ground from seeping into his bones. 

A flurry of snow drifted from the building clouds, dusting the ground.  Shit.  He was going to need the extra layer.  And if necessary he could put Henson’s gloves on over his own for the night – it was going to be a cold one.

.......

He slept badly.  A combination of ghosts from his past and the freezing temperatures drove all hopes of sleep away and at first light he peered out from his makeshift slicker tent.  A blanket of snow covered the ground and lay thickly on the branches of trees as though it had been spread on each twig by God’s hand.  The snow had stopped but it sure didn’t look like he’d be seeing any sun.  The sky was grey and heavy, holding the threat of more snow to come.  Leastways the snow had started to cover Henson’s body. 

He felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at Barranca, huddled close together with Henson’s mare, their heads down.  He pushed it away.  Barranca was damn lucky to have something to huddle close with.  It was more than Johnny had.  How long would it be before he’d have a woman again?  A vision of Sadie’s creamy skin slid into his mind, and he shut his eyes briefly remembering the feather light touch of her fingers and the way her soft body had felt yielding to his will.  Shit.  He shook his head.  Wasn’t doing no good thinking of things like that.  There were plenty more whores in the world.  Sadie was just one in a long line of whores.  It was just that most madams didn’t run a whore house the way Delice did.  And the whores weren’t as sweet smelling as Delice’s girls.

His fire had died early in the night and he had no intention of lighting another one.  Instead he had another swig of Henson’s whisky and got Barranca and Henson’s horse ready for the journey. 

.......

Henson’s mare slowed him down but she was willing and friendly and he hadn’t the heart to leave her.  She was too old to start having to fend for herself in this weather.   He followed a route lower down the valley, still in the lee of the mountains but low enough to avoid the worst of the snow.  Even so, he was cold and hungry and his side hurt like hell.  Seemed the doc had been right, he should have rested up.  But now he had no choice but to keep going.

He found a deserted way station on the second night.  Even better there was some hay and straw in the barn next to it, so Barranca and the mare enjoyed some comfort and a decent feed.

He shot a rabbit for his own supper and figured he could rest up here for a couple of days.  The horses were happy, he was warm and he could follow the doctor’s orders for a day or two.

He stayed for longer, deciding to sit out the run of bad weather.  Wasn’t any point in pushing on and freezing to death when he had somewhere dry to rest up.   He fired up the pot bellied stove and found some old periodicals and a tattered, leather bound book.  He’d never read a book, never really seen the point of them.   But Scott and Teresa and Murdoch were always reading the damn things so they must have something going for them.  And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do right now.

The name of the book was tooled into the old leather in gold ink – Ivanhoe.  An odd name, but it sounded kind of familiar.  The name of the fellow who wrote it was there too.  Sir Walter Scott. 

And then the memory came flooding back.  The pictures clear as if he was there now.

He’d been stretched out on the floor in the great room, in front of a roaring fire.  He’d been dead beat but the old man had been sitting in his chair, smoking a pipe and reading some book.  Hell, the old man had been so taken with whatever he was reading he wouldn’t have noticed if Johnny had lit dynamite under him. 

“What’s that book, Murdoch?  You seem mighty interested in it.”  Hell, he’d had to ask three times, and kick the chair in the end, just to get the old man’s attention.

A smile crept across his father’s face.  And there was a faraway look in his eyes.  “It’s Ivanhoe.  It was written by a great Scottish writer, Sir Walter Scott.  And when I was a boy, it was always my favourite.”

Murdoch had smiled, shaking his head, lost in some distant memories of another land across the ocean.  “I was brought up on a small farm at the foot of the Monadhliath Mountains, not far from Culloden, where the final bloody battle of the Jacobite rising was fought.  The winters were long and hard and the days short.  So at night I would always settle down with one of Scott’s books.  I had them all, but Ivanhoe, that was my favourite.  I must have read it one hundred times and I never tired of it.”

“So it’s about Scotland?”

The old man laughed.  “No. Many of his books were set in Scotland, but this was the first he wrote which wasn’t based there.  No, this is a wonderful tale of life in medieval England when the knights were returning from the Crusades.  King Richard had been made prisoner  by the Duke of Saxony and the book plays out against that background.  It had everything a boy could want, adventure, romance, tales of chivalry and knights in armour.”

The old man’s eyes were shining as he’d leaned forward describing the people in the book.  People with strange foreign sounding names in a country so different from Mexico and so far away. 

Now, Johnny stared down at the book, a lump in his throat, remembering how the old man had said he should read it.  “It’s a wonderful story, Johnny, and it’ll take you back into another time when people lived by a code of honour that’s long since forgotten.”

Of all the books to be left in the old way station, it seemed like fate had played a part in this.  And just holding the book put him in mind of lying in front of that roaring fire and the smells of baking from the kitchen.  Scott snoring on the couch.  He shuts his eyes briefly remembering how it had all been real cosy and kind of restful.

Well, he didn’t know much about chivalry and honour, but he sure had time on his hands now, so maybe he should give the book a go.  He laughed softly.  It would please the old man.  And he hadn’t done that much when he was there, maybe he could do this one thing now.

He’d never had any real schooling.  Pretty much everything he knew to do with book learning, he’d learned from Luke.  And he sure wasn’t much of a reader.   Scott seemed to read books in no time.  God only knew how Scott got through books so fast because reading was hard.  And slow.  The print was small and he had to follow the words with a finger.  And the names were real strange but he found himself caught up in the tale.  Hell, he didn’t want to put it down.  Maybe this was why Murdoch and Scott liked books.  He felt like he was there in England, watching the action play out right in front of him.  

He liked the sound of archery.  He figured being so skilled with a gun he’d soon be able to handle a bow and arrow although it was kind of a shame they didn’t have guns back then.  Would have made things a lot easier.  He’d have just shot King John and had done with it.  And this Robin of Locksley sounded like the sort of fellow Madrid would have liked.   Not the sort of man who’d like taking orders.  The only thing he couldn’t figure was why Ivanhoe wanted to marry the Lady Rowena.  She seemed kind of dull but the girl Rebecca sounded like she had some fire in her.  She was the woman he’d have chosen.

And reading sure passed the time of day.  He only stopped when he was seeing to the horses, and hunting for something to eat.  He had a whitetail in his rifle sights, but hell, he didn’t need anything that big to eat.  It seemed like a waste of a good animal.  Instead he potted himself a wild turkey which would keep him fed for a couple of days. 

He read late into the nights too.  Just didn’t want to put the book down.  Hell, he wanted to know what would happen next.  It was strange, but he felt almost sorry when he finally finished it.  But it was time to move on.  The weather was on the turn for the better and he needed to get to Wyoming.  He packed up his few belongings and carefully put the book in his saddlebags, shaking his head as he did so.  Dios, the old man and Scott would never believe it, Madrid packing a book in his saddlebags, yet alone reading one.

He figured on selling the mare when he got to Wyoming.  He named her Rebecca, which was kind of fancy for her, but Barranca liked her so it seemed only right she should have a name. 

They made good time, finding a decent route to follow north.  He wanted to spend as little time as possible in Laramie.  From tales he’d heard, the town was pretty wild with a lot of gunslingers.  He sure as hell didn’t want to wind up attracting a lot of attention because he’d ended up shooting some well known local gun.  Best thing would be to ride in, sell the mare and saddle and get the hell out of there as fast as he could.   And then find himself a ranch to work on.

.......

He’d heard right.  Laramie was rough, but there were also signs of it being a growing town.  There was lots of building going on, and if there were plenty of saloons and dance halls, there were also churches and shops.  He found a livery stable at the quieter end of town and sold the mare and saddle for eighty dollars.  He could have maybe haggled for more, but the owner said he’d keep the mare for himself.  And because the man was real gentle with the mare, he didn’t argue the price.  “She’s called Rebecca.”

The man raised his eyebrows.  “That’s a mighty fancy name for a horse.”

Johnny shrugged.  “My friend, who died on the trail, named her after some girl he knew.”  He could hardly tell the man that he’d named her himself after a character in some fancy book.  Or that the horse had belonged to a bounty hunter.  It had been easier to spin the yarn of how his friend had got sick and died.  The hostler had nodded in sympathy, said how it had been a bitter spell of weather and a man he knew had died out on the Laramie Mountains.  He was also able to point Johnny in the direction of a ranch which might be hiring hands.

The ranch was about a day’s ride.  It sat nestling below a big range of mountains.  Built of wood like an oversized log cabin, it sure wasn’t as grand as Lancer.  There were a couple of low wooden buildings a little distance from the main ranch, probably bunkhouses.  And it had a couple of big corrals.  A group of hands were gathered around one of the corrals cheering on some fellow who was trying to ride a bronc.  He didn’t last long in the saddle. 

A few of them turned to stare at him as he rode in on Barranca, pointing him out to a tall lean man who might have been the segundo.

The man walked over, his brow furrowed, like he was puzzled by Johnny.  “Afternoon, stranger.  Something you wanted?”

“I’m looking for work.  You hiring?”

The man raised an eyebrow.  “We don’t see many Mexicans this far north.  You’re a long way from home.”

Johnny shrugged.  “There’re ranches here and that means work.  I just go where the work is.”

The man ran a hand over Barranca’s flanks.  “That’s a mighty fine horse you’ve got there.”  He paused, narrowed his eyes a touch.  “For a ranch hand.  You got a bill of sale for that animal?”

Johnny bit down a sharp retort.  It wasn’t surprising the man was suspicious.  Barranca was too good a horse for a ranch hand to afford.  “He’s mine.  I didn’t steal him.  Man I worked for gave him to me.  I broke him when nobody else could.”

The man nodded slowly, like maybe he was prepared to accept what Johnny said.  “We ain’t really looking to hire for a few more weeks.  You got a name?”

Johnny didn’t hesitate.  “Garcia.  Juan Garcia.”

The man smiled suddenly, like something had suddenly amused him.  “Well, I tell you what, Garcia.  See that horse in that corral?  You break him, you got yourself a job.”

Part eighteen

It was thanks to Val’s horse that they spotted them.  It had been pricking its ears and looking intently at some rocks, and then he and Val had seen the slightest movement.  Val had cursed softly.  “Apaches.  Don’t stare, just keep looking straight ahead.  Make like you ain’t seen nothing.”

It felt as if a ball of lead had settled somewhere in the region of where his stomach used to be.  Somehow he hadn’t believed the sheriff’s warning of Apache.  But now the words rang a chill reminder that this was wild country and nobody knew it better than the Apache.  “What do we do?”  Damn silly question really, but he had to say something.

“Keep right on riding toward that rocky overhang.  It’ll give us a touch of cover and then we stand and fight.”

Scott swallowed hard.  “Maybe they won’t bother us.”

Val laughed like Scott had made a very bad joke.  “They’ll bother.  They’re probably out hunting.  Ain’t too many of them I reckon.”

Too many for what?  Probably a damn sight more than two.  “You’ve faced Apache before?”  He had to say something as he fought the urge to stare towards the rocks where the Indians were hiding.

Val shrugged, but his face was remote.  “I’ve fought Comanche.  And yeah, I fought Apache.  Once or twice.  And they’re the toughest sons of bitches I’ve ever fought.  But at the best of times they don’t travel in big numbers.  Rarely travel more than twelve or eighteen at most.  And I don’t reckon we got anything like that number here.  Hopefully not enough to box us in.”  Val paused, his brow furrowed as he seemed to mull it over.  “Apaches are great waiters.  They’ll sit for hours waiting for a man to make a wrong move.  Then they go in for the kill.  But I reckon these may just attack, figuring as how they might think we ain’t spotted them.

“When we get to the rocks, get under cover but grab our horses.  I’ll take care of the Indians until you tether the horses.  We sure as hell don’t want to lose them out here.”

“I don’t want to lose my scalp either.  Are you sure this will work?”

“A man who says he’s sure of anything is a fool.  But I reckon we got a good chance.  Got to keep you alive.  Johnny would be pissed as hell at me otherwise.  Come to that, so would your pa.  And besides, I ain’t figuring to die until after I’ve dealt with Mason.”

Scott nodded agreement with that, at least.  Although he had to admit that the idea of Val thinking he needed to look after him was a little insulting.  He resisted the urge to peer back over his shoulder. 

Val looked over at him.  “They’re still on our tails, if that’s what you’re wondering.  I reckon they’re sizing us up at the moment.  Just so long as they don’t make a move before we’re a mite closer to them rocks.  Ain’t got much cover out here.”

Scott could see his point.  It was a barren landscape with scrubby desert shrubs and prickly pear, roughly strewn with low boulders and rocks, and not much of anything else.  Except for the higher outcrop of rocks to the east which gave way to a distant mountain range.  And the small stand of trees close to the hidden Apaches.  That was presumably where their horses were hidden.  “But they won’t have guns, will they?”  Scott found the thought comforting.  He visualised men in war paint brandishing bows and arrows.

Val gave another hollow laugh.  “If you’re hoping all they got is bows and arrows and axes and knives, you could be sore mistaken.  There’s many a man who’ll sell guns to Indians.  They got a weakness for Spencer rifles.”

That killed the comforting thought stone dead.  God, but the West was a savage place – inhabited by savages.  Well, he’d been in battles before.  It was just that the rules were different out here.  Or maybe it was more a case of there being no rules out here.  As Val said, they’d have to fight. 

“Is your gun loaded?”  Val was looking at him quizzically.  Presumably Val thought he was such a greenhorn he might go out with an unloaded gun.

“Yes.  My handgun and rifle are both loaded and ready.”  Scott wasn’t going to tell Val that Johnny had drummed this into him.  Or that Johnny had been furious on several occasions when he’d made a point of checking Scott’s guns in a singularly patronising manner and finding them unloaded and most definitely not ready for action.  And although Scott had felt at home with weapons in the war, civilian life was a different matter.  He’d spent too long in Boston to adapt too easily to carrying a sidearm.  But he was a fast learner and now he very rarely forgot to check his guns.  And to think he’d laughed at Johnny originally for being so fastidious about checking them.  But he’d never laughed too much because he’d sensed Johnny’s genuine concern for his welfare, and he’d respected the fact that Johnny knew far more about life out west than he did.

The crackle of gunfire echoed out and the bullet kicked up sand and gravel as it struck near Scott’s horse, causing the animal to skitter sideways in fright.

“Make a run for the rocks,” Val yelled, already with his head down by his horse’s neck and spurring the animal to a breakneck gallop.

More bullets were kicking up dust now.  Scott followed Val’s lead, crouching low over his horse’s neck to present a smaller target.  He weaved as well, knowing from the war that it could throw off a pursuer’s aim.  He reached down for his Winchester, drawing it from the scabbard ready to go into action the second he threw himself from his horse.  More bullets were kicking up grit all around him.  But he was almost at the rocks.  Val, just ahead was flinging himself from his horse and rolling into an eroded hollow basin protected by a low spread of boulders.  A good place to make their stand.

Scott made a grab for the reins of Val’s horse as he threw himself down to join him, feeling a bullet snatch at his hat as he did so.  He pulled the horses around behind him, his heart thumping in his chest.  Of a sudden an Apache came up from behind a rock and started to move forward, Scott’s Winchester came up, he took quick sight and let go.

Peering over the edge of the boulders on the higher ground, Scott could see just the one Apache. He was a good two hundred yards off and lower down, but the bullet had caught him full in the chest.  He stopped in his tracks and then Val got a shot into him even before the Indian could drop, but when he did drop, he just lay still, face up to the sun.

“How many do you think there are?”  Scott swiped sweat out of his eyes as he looked across at Val.

Val shook his head.  “Maybe five or six.  They ain’t putting up a smoke so they must be some ways away from their camp.”

The land beyond them was shimmering in the heat of the day.  Scott screwed his eyes up trying to see if anything was moving out there.  He caught a flash of an Apache moving but the fellow dropped down again before he could take aim.

“That’s how they close up on us.”  Val shrugged.  “You get a glimpse but then they drop away and edge forward.  Cunning bastards.”

A bullet kicked dust just ahead of where they lay … another ricocheted off a rock with an angry snarl; the flattened bullet so close that Scott jerked away, his heart hammering in his chest.  It had been too damn close.  He swallowed hard.  “Will they wait for nightfall to attack?”

Val shook his head.  “Doubt it.  Apaches don’t attack at night as a rule.”  He laughed bitterly.  “They got the notion that if a man’s killed in the darkness his soul will wander forever in darkness.  I’ll send them to darkness all right!”  He grunted in apparent frustration.  “Damn Apaches.  Most Indians, well, a man can reason with them.  But not Apache.  No, they won’t wait for dark; they’ll be creeping forward right now.”

Even as he spoke Scott saw one move forward, but no sooner did he get his rifle pointing toward the Indian than the man dropped down out of sight and then all of a sudden another one of them came up from where he’d been lying on the sand and started coming toward them, but when Scott swung his gun, another started up.

Scott gritted his teeth.  He could see their method now.  He settled down to wait and so the next time one started up he didn’t swing his gun and try to nail him, he just waited with his eyes on the place where the first one dropped. Although not exactly on the place, for he was learning fast that no Apache will ever get up from where he drops: he rolls over a few feet to the right or left, sometimes quite a few feet.

Another of them started up, but Scott let him come until he dropped, and waited for the first one. Sure enough, up he bobbed and Scott nailed him right in the chest. Before the Indian could fall Scott worked the lever on his Winchester and got him again.

“You’re learning fast.”  Val grinned across at him.  “Johnny told me you was handy with a rifle.” 

But Val was no slouch himself.  Without even taking breath, he fired off a round at an Indian who suddenly appeared no more than forty feet from where they lay.  The man dropped like a stone. 

Val’s eyes were screwed up, peering through the shimmering air to the pinkish land in the distance where the Indians’ ponies were now huddled together.  “I reckon I count seven ponies.  D’you make it seven?”

Scott shaded his eyes and again tried to swipe the sweat out of them, struggling to count through the heat haze.  “I think it’s seven.  Maybe just six.”

Val grunted.  “Well, we bagged ourselves three Apache, so that leaves three or four out there.  We’d best reckon on four.”

They both stared intently at the land, looking for any sign of movement.  But for now the land was still.  Too still.  And it was almost silent too.  Scott couldn’t hear quail or warblers, they’d taken fright at the gunfire.  The only sound was the chirping of crickets. 

They lay sprawled, just peering around for what felt like hours, the intense heat causing salty sweat to run down their faces, in their eyes and into their mouths.  Val lay still as a statue, never moving except for his jaw on his chewing tobacco.  Occasionally he’d turn his head just a fraction and spit a stream out, but otherwise he lay immobile, with an impassive face and watchful eyes.   Scott peered through the haze.  The shimmering land played tricks on his eyes.  At times he could swear he saw movement, but then realised it was just an effect of the light.   His shirt was sticking to his back and sweat was building up inside his pants making him itch.  But he knew if he moved to scratch, he would probably get a bullet through the head for his pains.  And if the heat wasn’t enough to contend with there was the forced inactivity itself.  Never mind not being able to move to scratch, Scott could feel every muscle cramping up.  He hated just lying there.  Surely there was something they could do?  But they had to play the Apache at their own waiting game.

Their patience was rewarded when they saw a stir in the scrubby brush a couple of hundred yards from them.  They settled to watch, their rifles ready and their pistols and knives in easy reach.

Scott saw a flicker of movement off to the left.  An Apache had been coming up the hill for the last half-hour, creeping, crawling, out of sight most of the time, but always getting closer. Now when he moved again…

Settling himself into the sand, Scott braced his elbow and took a careful sight. Then he waited. The Apache moved…   Still, Scott waited… Then the Apache lunged into view and he squeezed off his shot.  The Indian never even twitched.

Val’s rifle cracked at the same time, picking off an Indian who had been approaching from their other side.  “Two to go, I reckon.  Just don’t let your guard drop.  That’s when a man gets himself killed.  Feeling he’s on top of the job.”  Val paused, flashed him a quick grin.  “But then again, maybe I’m teaching my grandmother to suck eggs.”

Scott found himself grinning back, inordinately pleased by the subtle compliment. 

And then the waiting game started all over again.  The only thing to be said was that the ferocious heat was less intense now.  Dusk would come rapidly and suddenly, and Scott wasn’t sure if that would be a good thing or bad.  Would they have a chance to escape under cover of darkness?  Would the Apache confound Val’s expectations and attack during the night, or would they mount a sudden attack at dusk.  At least now the odds were evenly stacked.

A shot cracked through the air and Scott fired back in the general direction, desperate now for some sort of action.  Any action.  But the muzzle of his rifle must have showed a touch beyond the rocks at the edge of their hole, because an Indian fired again, hitting the rocks and spattering Scott with stinging rock fragments, one of which flew right into his eye.

Then they came, the two of them, shooting as they approached.  Scott dropped his rifle and, with his eyes full of water from the smart of rock fragments, grabbed for his pistol and momentarily blinded by the stinging pain, found just his knife.

The Bowie knife had a heavy blade, razor-sharp, and when the Apaches jumped into the hollow with them Scott took a vicious swipe at where he figured they were.  There was a cry of pain and he felt a body smash against him. He jerked his knee up, slamming it into his attacker and throwing him off.    He could hear Val cursing and the crack of his pistol.

The Apache was back on Scott now, making a grab for the rifle but Scott threw himself at him, knocking the barrel away with one hand and ripping up with the blade with the other. 

The Apache threw Scott aside, causing him to fall, all sprawled out, and then came again at Scott. The Indian had a huge slash across his chest but fought like a wildcat.   For the next thirty or forty seconds Scott didn’t know what was what until of a sudden the fight was over and he was lying there on the ground, sucking in great shuddering breaths even as Val’s pistol cracked once more.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position.  Val was lying close by panting with exhaustion and blood trickling into his eyes from a gash across his forehead.

Scott’s Apache was dead.  Scott’s Bowie knife still in the Indian’s chest and Val’s Indian was lying sprawled, shot straight through the middle. Scott reached over and pulled his knife loose, still fighting for breath.  Val met his gaze, a broad smile across his bloodied face.  “Reckon we palefaces showed them a thing or two.”

In spite of his exhaustion and the grit still making his eyes smart, Scott grinned.  “Reckon we did at that, Val, and a damn fine job we made of it.”

Moving as slowly as old men, they struggled to their feet and looked around.  The light would be fading soon and the question was what they should do next.  Val looked toward the mountain range which was turning red in the late sun.  “Let’s head for them mountains.  We should make ’em before night falls.  It’ll be a better place to camp and right now I’ve a mind to put as many miles between us and them Indians as we can.”

Scott nodded.  “I have no problem concurring with that sentiment.  Let’s move on out.”

Val looked at him, furrowing his bloody brow.  “Dang, but Johnny always said you used damn tricky words.  Come on, Boston, let’s go.”

Part nineteen

It was a damn stupid thing to do when he was still hurting so bad.  But he never could resist a challenge.  And he should have known that the Segundo reckoned he didn’t stand a chance of riding the animal.  But no way was Madrid backing down.  Madrid never backed down.  Ever. 

He stumbled as he tried to pick himself up off the ground for the third time.  A hand pressed gently on his shoulder.  “Stay down, boy.  Ain’t nobody gonna break that horse.  I was funning you.  I ain’t hiring at the moment.  Leave it.  You’ve proved you’re a tough son of a bitch, Mex.”

Johnny brushed the hand aside, staggering slightly as he breathed in deeply.  “I said I’d ride him, and I damn well will.” 

The Segundo stretched his hand out again, rested it on Johnny’s shoulder.  “Mex, he’s gonna kill you.”

Johnny looked at the man, giving him the benefit of his iciest stare until the man dropped his hand away.  “I said I’ll fucking ride him.”

The Segundo shook his head, kind of like he knew when he was beat.  “Your funeral, Mex.”

Johnny leaned forward, feeling blood running down his chest from his bullet wound.  And his side was on fire.  Burning like when he’d put the knife to it.  “And my name ain’t Mex.”  The words sounded like the hiss of a snake to his own ears.

The men had corralled the horse again, clamping it in tight between bars so that Johnny could climb up and drop into the saddle again.  He paused briefly, balanced over the horse while he sucked in another gulp of air.  Then he dropped down and the horse went rigid, would have bucked if he’d hadn’t of been held tight.

Johnny wrapped the rope reins tightly around one fist, and set himself in the saddle, toes pointed forward and his legs down straight.  “Let him go.”

The men dragged the bars back and Johnny waited for that split second when the horse committed, when its shoulders started to turn.  As soon as he felt it, he turned his toes out and set his spurs high on the horse’s neck, holding on tight with them.  Then after the first hop he tried to catch the rhythm of the bucks, dragging his spurs down through the arc and trying to keep his butt in the saddle, pulling it down and forward with his spurs dug in back at the cantle.  He kept his toes pointed out now, trying to keep his pressure on the stirrup.  If he blew a stirrup he was lost.  He’d end up in the dirt again.  Concentrate, Madrid.  Just keep up the rhythm.  Drag the spurs back with each buck.  Concentrate on the rhythm.  Spurs forward, drag back.  Spur forward.  Drag back.  Spurs... fuck it hurts...  Drag back.

He couldn’t do this for much longer.  He was hurting so bad...  Drag back...   Spur...  Drag.  Spur.  His fingers were slipping on the rope, losing his grip.  Spur harder.  Got to sit it out a bit longer.  Drag. 

Then suddenly, the horse lifted its head.  Shit...  It had given in!  He’d done it.  He’d fucking well done it.  The horse loped around the corral and Johnny reined it in and then slid from the saddle, his legs buckling slightly under him as he rested his head against the animal’s shoulder.  His side was burning up.   He sucked in slowly to take deep breaths; it would help slow his heart and maybe help with the pain.

The Segundo walked across the corral to him, carrying Johnny’s gunbelt that he’d hung on the gate before he rode the bronc.  The man just stood and looked real hard at him before speaking.  “That was some ride, boy.”

“You said I could have a job if I broke him.”

The man nodded slowly.  “Yep.  I reckon I did at that.  Seems you got yourself a job, Garcia.”

He watched as Johnny buckled the gun-belt around his hips.  “You wear that gun of yours real low.”  His voice sounded kind of even.

Johnny met his gaze.  “Yeah.  It just sits right there.”

The man raised an eyebrow, kind of like he wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not.  “If you say so.  But I guess you’d better get yourself a cot in the bunkhouse, and then deal with whatever is bleeding so bad it’s soaking your shirt.”  The man nodded to him and turned away.

.........

He found himself a cot in the corner farthest away from the stove.  The cots which would get any warmth were already taken.  The place was empty so at least he was able to take a look at his shoulder and see what fresh damage he’d done. 

He wasn’t real surprised when he found he’d opened the wound up again, pulling the stitches out.  Shit.  Seemed it was tequila and needle time again.  He was getting too old for all this shit.  Why did life have to be so fucking complicated?

..........

He wasn’t too popular in the bunkhouse.  The men bitched like hell the next day; claimed that he’d woken them up, calling out in the night.  Thrashing around.  And they voiced their objections to the Segundo real loud.  Along with objections to having a Mex in the bunkhouse. 

Except they didn’t call him the Segundo, he was foreman and the men called him Boss.  He stood and listened as they all bitched about Garcia, about the Mex, about the Breed.

Johnny marked out the ones who called him Breed, for future treatment.  He didn’t take that from no man.  He was a Breed but he wasn’t going to let other men call him that. Fuck that.  But there’d be plenty of time for getting even.  He’d got all the time in the world.

“Garcia.”  Boss beckoned him over.  “I don’t need all the shit these fellows are giving me.  We got a second bunkhouse.  It’s empty, get your stuff and move in there.”  The man paused, chewed on his lip briefly.  “Is that okay with you?  I ain’t a hard man, but I got to run a tight crew here, and if men can’t sleep they don’t work so good.”

Johnny shrugged.  “I can understand that.  And I’d rather be on my own.  Suits me.”

Boss nodded and strode off to sort out some other problem in one of the barns.

Johnny went and collected his gear, hardly able to stop from grinning.  The arrangement suited him far better.  He hated being in the crowded, noisy bunkhouse.  A man couldn’t relax with that many people around.  And it would make treating his wounds easier.  Leastways he hadn’t had to do any real hard work today, which was just as well because he was hurting like hell. 

Carrying his gear, he headed to the bunkhouse door, but one of the men, a broad shouldered fellow with big ears, stepped in front of it, blocking his exit.  “You might have impressed the boss with that stunt of breaking the bronc, but you sure as hell don’t impress me, Breed.  And if you want to go through that door, you got to ask me real nice.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes and spoke real soft.  “You want trouble?  Well, come on, try crowding me.”

The man hesitated.  Johnny just carried on staring right at the fellow, never blinking, and just the hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.  “Well, come on.  You started this, you want to finish it?”

Could have heard a flea fart it was so quiet in the bunkhouse while the others just stood watching to see how it would play out. 

“Break it up, you two.”  One of the older men stepped forward to pull the fellow back.  “Come on Hank, you’ll get your ass fired if you carry on like this.  Leave him be.”

Hank breathed in deeply, looked like he was about to say something.  Johnny leaned forward, so his face was just inches away and he could feel the heat of the man.  “Anytime you want to finish this, Hank, you just let me know.”  And with that, Johnny swung out through the door and headed to the empty bunkhouse. 

................

Wyoming was cold.  Fucking cold.  But it was kind of pretty.  Around the ranch there were wide buttes, not too high, but enough to break up the windswept plains.  The landscape was dotted with sagebrush before gradually giving way to towering snow capped mountains.  And he loved the late afternoons when the sun came down and the snowy peaks seemed to blaze with fire, turning pink and then deep red.  

The long narrow canyon, which led to the mountains, was deep sided and thickly forested but in places the forest gave way to towering, sheer rock faces.  A river tumbled down through the canyon, and it was like the water was filled with thousands of diamonds sparkling as it wound its roaring way over the rock strewn bed.  It was called Crazy Woman Canyon and while he never saw no crazy woman there, he saw plenty of deer, antelope and elk.  And once, from a distance he saw a grizzly, but Johnny turned and rode the other way, he hadn’t survived all these gunfights to get his head torn off by a bear.

Trouble was the sun wasn’t enough to warm a man.  And it didn’t take much figuring to reckon that spring would come late this far north.  He’d go out shivering early each morning onto the porch that ran round the bunkhouse and watch the wild turkey scratching for food while he rubbed his hands and arms, trying to get some warmth into them.

The ranch wasn’t as big as Lancer, but big enough.  The owner was a man called Slater.  Ike Slater.  A tall, muscular fellow who Johnny figured was maybe a touch older than Murdoch.  He had a pretty teenage daughter who’d probably break a few hearts in another year or two, a son of about 20 and another son who seemed to be off on business some place. 

Slater was a good employer and treated his workers well.  Johnny had exchanged a few words with him and found him sensible and pleasant.  Yeah, he reckoned he could have ended up in far worse places. 

The men left him alone, whether because of him being a breed or because they sensed his coldness was hard to judge.  And Hank Potter, the big eared ranch hand had kept his distance – for now.  It wouldn’t last.  Johnny could tell by the way the fellow looked at him that at some point they’d have it out.  Only question was when.

He rarely joined the men for their nightly poker sessions in the other bunkhouse.  He preferred to sit alone watching the night sky.  Once in a while he’d catch a glimpse of amazing colours in the sky, colours he couldn’t even put names to.  And they swirled and shimmered, and they changed shapes and looked like they were dancing across the sky.  Someone told him they were called the northern lights and it was rare to see them this far south.  Well, rare or not, he reckoned maybe they were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, and he’d sit gazing at them, and anyone could have crept up on him and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

There was a small settlement a few miles south of the ranch, where the men would head on a Saturday night.  There were a couple of saloons and some rough looking saloon girls.  The men would line up to fuck them because there weren’t enough to go round.

The first time he’d gone into town, Potter had made a point of telling him to keep his dick in his pants, because the girls wouldn’t want a breed fucking them.  The man had smirked as he spoke, looking around to make sure the other men all heard him.  “And I tell you something else, Breed, ain’t a man here who’d want to put his pecker any place yours has been.”  He made the mistake of using his finger to poke Johnny in the chest.

Johnny’s hand moved so fast the man couldn’t have seen it coming.  He grabbed the finger and flicked it straight back, so it faced the other way as the man let out a howl of pain.  Johnny moved in close, spoke real soft.  “Next time you touch me, it won’t be just your finger.  If you ain’t careful, I’m going to rip your dick off and shove it down your throat.  Get out of my face, Potter, and stay out.”

Johnny swung away and went and ordered himself a beer, but he made sure not to turn his back on Potter.  He wouldn’t trust the asshole an inch. 

The saloon was noisy and smoke hung like a thick fog making it hard to even see across the room.   A bunch of men sat playing poker, but it didn’t look a casual game.  They were playing for bigger money than he could manage on a dollar a day.  And he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in line for no saloon girl.  What the hell was he doing here?  Hated being surrounded by people.  Hated crowded saloons.  And he’d be a hell of a lot happier cleaning his guns or looking at the stars from the bunkhouse.  What the hell was wrong with him?  Time was he’d have gotten into the poker game somehow.  Or he’d have just gotten himself laid.  And he wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

He downed his drink and tossed a nickel down before heading back outside.  He wanted out of this town.  He paused in the doorway.  Some of the hands from the ranch were gathered around Barranca.  Potter stood among them and Johnny could hear the asshole’s voice echoing across the street.

“Think I’ll leave that damn breed to walk back.”  Potter was slurring his words, and unhitching Barranca.  “I bet he stole this horse off someone.  Where would a breed find the money for a horse like this?”

Johnny stepped away from the saloon, stood in the shadows, watching.  He laughed softly as Potter swung himself up onto Barranca.  He was going to enjoy this. 

Potter settled himself into the saddle, and then clamped his legs against Barranca’s sides, setting his spurs hard.  The horse leapt forward heading out of town toward the ranch.

Johnny stepped out of the shadows, so that he stood in the light shed from the oil lamps hanging outside the saloon.   One of the hands spotted him straight off, nudging his companions and pointing at him.  Johnny gave a piercing whistle.  “Barranca.”

The horse pulled up so short that Potter flew from the saddle straight over Barranca’s shoulder and ended face down in the dirt.  The watching hands started to laugh, and the laughter grew louder as Potter, made unsteady by the booze, slipped down again when only half back on his feet.

Barranca trotted back to Johnny, who took hold of the reins and smoothly stepped up into the saddle.  He walked his horse slowly up to where Potter lay cursing in the dirt.  Johnny paused, pulled his hat slightly lower over his eyes, and then without even glancing at Potter, gave Barranca the lightest touch of the spur, making him spring forward, kicking dirt in Potter’s face.

Potter’s voiced echoed along the street as Johnny headed out of town.  “I’ll kill you, Garcia.  I’ll fucking kill you.” 

Part twenty

Despite the chill evening air, they opted for a cold camp.  A fire would draw attention to their presence and the last thing they needed was another run-in with the Apaches.  But it also meant that their dinner would consist of jerky and not much else.  God, he hated jerky.

He looked at it with distaste.  Chewy and indigestible.  At this moment he would give anything to be back in Boston with Grandfather’s chef, Anton, cooking a delicious repast to be enjoyed with good wine and good conversation.  But that world seemed like something he had only dreamed, far away from this savage country.

“I got some whiskey in my saddlebags.  Would that help?”  Val sounded amused, and had obviously noticed Scott’s reluctance to eat the jerky.

“It might make the jerky a little more palatable.”

Val raised an eyebrow.  “Is that a yes or a no?”

Scott smiled.  “Yes.  It’s a yes, and the whiskey would be very welcome, thank you.”

Val grimaced as he hauled himself slowly to his feet.  “Dang, but my back is aching.”  He rummaged around in the bags and brought out a half empty bottle with a cork rammed in the neck.  He pulled out the cork with his teeth and passed the bottle to Scott.  “Hope to hell we don’t run into any more of them sons of bitches.”

Scott took a swig from the bottle before handing it back to Val.  “It was rather unnerving.”  He paused, shaking his head.  “Somehow, I couldn’t quite believe it when they attacked.  It’s hard to comprehend at times that I’m living in the same country as Boston.  It’s all so alien.  Do you think Johnny ever fought Indians?”

Val jerked his head around and gave Scott a searching look, before turning away again to look out into the dusk.  “Maybe.  Johnny wasn’t much of a one for talking.  And it ain’t like I ever passed much time with him.”

“And yet you’re so set on revenge?”  Scott shrugged slightly, wondering if maybe he could get Val to open up a little.  “I’m curious as to why you will go to such lengths for someone you claim you barely knew.  Or did you know him better than you’ve let on?”

Val gave a bitter little laugh as he stared out into the gathering inky darkness where the first stars were shining.  He shook his head.  “Nope.  Don’t reckon anyone knew him well.  But I guess I always figured he deserved a better shot at life.  No kid should live like he had to.  And then, to go the way he did.  Gunned down by a bunch of cowards and back shooters.”  Val snorted.  “And the biggest coward of them all is this fellow Mason.”

“I wish,” Scott hesitated.  “I wish I knew why Johnny left.  I wish I’d known him better.  Maybe if I’d gotten to know him better, he wouldn’t have left.  Maybe I could have stopped him leaving.”

Val turned toward him.  “Johnny wouldn’t want you thinking that way.  Wasn’t nothing you could have done.  He’d been acting crazy since that whole business in Utah.  I guess it got him all stirred up and, well...”  Val shrugged, as if uncertain how to continue.

Scott looked at him hard.  “This is all Doe’s fault?  Is that what you’re saying?  What do you think happened to Johnny in those early years?”

Val turned away, as if to avoid meeting Scott’s eyes.  “How should I know?  I’ve told you I didn’t hardly know him.”

Scott’s jaw set.  Damn it but he wanted some answers.  It felt as though Johnny’s life was shrouded in mystery and shadows, while Johnny himself hovered momentarily in view before sliding out of sight and changing, chameleon like, into someone totally different.  “I think he was one of Doe’s victims.  We both know he killed Doe.  So his being one of Doe’s victims is the only thing that makes sense.”

Val sighed heavily before turning to look at Scott, compassion showing in his eyes.  “I dunno.  But I do know that Johnny wouldn’t want you tearing yourself up over this.  Who knows what happened to him in the past?  We can’t be certain of...”

“He was one of Doe’s victims!”  Scott snapped the words out.  Something had made Johnny choose his lawless life.  It had to be Doe, didn’t it?  “Why else would he have become a gunfighter?”  It had to be something to do with Doe... or did it?  He turned accusing eyes on Val.  “Or is it your fault he became a gunfighter?  Maybe he was trying to emulate you – he saw you as a hero when he was a child.  He met you at an impressionable age.  Maybe this is all your fault.”

Val’s eyes flashed and his hands balled up.  For a moment he looked as though he might hit Scott.  But then the anger that had flared briefly died.  Val just shook his head.  “You’re wrong.  Johnny’s future was already mapped out for him when I first met him.  It scared the shit out of me, if you want the truth.  A kid that age so set on becoming the fastest pistolero.  This weren’t no childish fancy.  He was serious.  You should have seen the fire and hate in his eyes – made your blood run cold.  He was dead set on it.  He was going to be the fastest pistolero the world had ever seen.”  Val laughed bitterly.  “And damn but didn’t he go out and do just that.”

Scott snorted in disbelief.  “He was a child.  He couldn’t have known what he wanted then.”

Val laughed humourlessly.  “A child?  He wasn’t never a child, poor son of a bitch.  If Johnny hadn’t got tough, he’d have been dead years ago.  For him it was a case of get tough or die.  And he sure as hell got tough.  You wouldn’t never want to cross Madrid.  He didn’t take no prisoners.  And there wasn’t nobody allowed to get close to him.  And I don’t reckon there’s anybody who knows what he was really like.”

Scott tried to swallow the lump in his throat.  It wasn’t fair.  He’d had so much, and Johnny had grown up with nothing.  “But there must be something about him that you can tell me.”  He flushed, aware of how petulant he sounded.  But hell, he wanted, no, needed, to know something about his brother.  “Anything.  Anything at all.”  He was on his feet now, although he couldn’t remember standing.  He faced Val and turned his hands out, as if in appeal.  “Don’t you understand?  I need something to... to try to help me see him clearer.  It was as though he was a shadow always slipping just out of my grasp.  Every time I thought I was getting closer to knowing him, his form would change and I’d be facing a stranger again.”

Scott shut his eyes briefly, took a deep breath and then turned to face Val again.  “He was my brother and yet he was a stranger.  I never knew him, and now he’s dead.  What harm can it do to tell me something about him?  Anything.”

Val sucked in a breath, rubbing his beard as though thinking hard.  “Hell, I don’t know.  Johnny was kind of secretive.”  Val reached into his pocket and pulled out a plug of chewing tobacco before sighing softly.  “There was something he told me, that one time when I caught up with him when he was, oh, maybe seventeen, eighteen?  Something like that.  We was sitting jawing and I noticed how worn out his boots was.  Soles were real thin and the heels was all worn away.  It seemed kind of odd when he wore such flashy clothes.”

Scott sat down, resting his back against a tree, and drew his knees up, before leaning forward, listening intently.

“I mean, you know how Johnny was.  Couldn’t miss him, his clothes was so flashy.  He sure liked to make sure everyone noticed him.  And he sure as hell liked the sound of his own name.  But the boots, well, they just didn’t fit with all of that.”  Val paused to spit out a stream.  “I asked him why he didn’t get himself some new ones.  Wasn’t like he didn’t make enough money.  Always had money for whores.”  Val shook his head.  “Him and his whores.  The only surprising thing is he ain’t died from the clap years ago.”

Scott gritted his teeth.  He’d often wondered the same thing, but right now he just wished Val would get on with the story.  “So what did he say?”

“He was kind of quiet at first, and then he said as how I’d think he was loco if he told me.   But I pushed him over it.  I was kind of curious because it didn’t make no sense to be wearing boots so worn out when he could get himself new ones.”  Val paused to spit out another stream.  “It was the darndest thing but he said first time he earned decent money, he went straight out and bought himself the best boots in the store.  Real soft leather and all hand tooled.  Yep, real fancy.”  Val shook his head, apparently lost in his memories.  “Well, then he told me how he was real proud of these new boots.  Figured they made him look good and he wanted to show off a bit so he walked on into the saloon and ordered himself a drink.  But when he looked down kind of to admire them, all he could see was the face of the man he’d shot in order to earn the money.”

Scott leaned further forward, intent on Val’s words.  “What else?  What else did he say?”

Val shrugged.  “He told me he went whoring then, to kind of put it out of his mind.  But when he got up next morning and pulled his boots on, all he could see was the fellow’s face again.  After two days of it he’d had enough.  He gave the boots away and got his old ones back.  He said that after that he never spent blood money on things for himself.  Oh, he’d have his whores and sometimes buy himself a decent hotel room, but he never bought himself nothing that he had to look at.”  Val fell silent and Scott tried to absorb the strange tale. 

It was bizarre and if anything it seemed to make the conundrum of Johnny even more puzzling.  Scott leaned back against the tree, chewing on his lip while he attempted to make sense of the tale.  He furrowed his brow, trying to piece together the snippets of information he had about Johnny.  Maybe, though, Val’s tale did explain one thing which had always puzzled him.  He’d always wondered why Johnny had so few possessions and maybe this was why.  Johnny’s room had never had a sense of permanence.  There had been nothing in it to reveal anything of the character of the man.  No pictures or books.  No keepsakes.  But nothing in Johnny’s life had seemed permanent; that was his tragedy.

And then to have his life ended in such a senseless way, cut short by a bunch of cowardly bushwhackers to earn an illegal bounty.   Scott swallowed hard.  To have finally found a brother and then to have him snatched away in such a brutal fashion, it was damned unfair.  His eyes were pricking and he blinked hard.  “Who’d have thought Johnny’s life would end like this?  It was all so senseless.”

Val looked across at him.  “Scott.”  His voice was surprisingly gentle.  “It was always going to end like this.”

.......

He welcomed daybreak.  They took turns to stay awake to guard against a sudden attack.  But when it had been his turn to sleep, he dreamed of Johnny.  The dreams were full of too vivid pictures of Johnny dying in a hail of bullets and reaching out to him, imploring Scott to save him, to help him. 

Val looked bleary eyed too, with dark shadows around his eyes.  Scott suspected that Val didn’t have pleasant dreams either.

They pushed on with their journey, keeping in the shadow of the mountain range and never relaxing their vigil.  But they saw no sign of Indians and the following day they hit the town which they’d been told was closest to Mason’s ranch.

The first thing they did was leave their horses at the livery stables and then they went to find a barber and baths.  “Dang, but I reckon folk must be able to smell us from the other end of town,” muttered Val.  “And we must stink bad for me to notice.”

Scott bit back a smile.  Val had never struck him as the type of man to be too concerned about social niceties or personal hygiene.  “I would certainly welcome a soak in a hot tub.  I’m not sure which part of me is aching most.  In fact, I think I’ve got aches in places I didn’t know I had places!”

Scott luxuriated in the steaming tub, treating himself to a cigar while he wondered how all of this would play out.  Val had avoided discussing how they would deal with Mason once they found him, changing the subject none too subtly, but the cold look in his eyes had unnerved Scott.  Even so, Scott wanted his own revenge.  If it hadn’t been for Mason Johnny would still be alive.  Mason had to pay.  The question was how?

He guessed that Val would be looking for Old Testament justice, and if he was honest he did too.  An eye for an eye or a life for a life.  But now, the closer he came to the reality of carrying out such an action, he wondered how he would feel afterwards.  It was one thing to contemplate it, but another thing entirely to carry through.  But in his mind’s eye, he kept seeing an image of Johnny being gunned down in the street, all because Mason offered a bounty on his head.  And he still had to break the news to Murdoch that there wasn’t even a body to bury.  Not even a keepsake.  Johnny was as ephemeral in death as he had been in life.  And he knew Murdoch would take the news hard.  What worried him most was whether Murdoch would even accept the fact of Johnny’s death; he had been insistent before Scott and Val left for their journey that Johnny might still be alive.  But any lingering hopes that Scott had nurtured were crushed by the sheriff’s description of Johnny’s final moments. 

.......

He and Val found themselves a corner table in the saloon.  It wasn’t busy.  A group of men were playing poker, but it looked to be a friendly game.  The players appeared to know each other well and there was a lot of good humoured joshing between them.

Another small group of older men stood by the bar talking about the price of beef. Presumably they were ranchers.

Val sat with his hat tilted forward over his eyes.  He slumped in his seat as though relaxed, but Scott had the distinct impression that Val was listening intently to the conversation at the bar. 

A grey haired man in a dark check shirt with a face so tanned it reminded Scott of old leather, was talking of the increasing number of attacks by Apaches.  Scott smiled wryly at that; he and Val knew all about attacks by Apaches.

The man was holding forth at great length.  “I tell you, it’s getting so it’s hardly safe to travel.  And the attacks are coming closer to town all the time.  Be a damn good thing when the army gets here to sort them out.”  He looked at a big burly man with hard features.  “And I’m surprised to see you in town.  You should have stayed at your place, it’s dangerous travelling alone.”

The man laughed in response.  “Those damn Injuns don’t bother me none, Heale.  They always leave me alone and steer well clear of my place.  They always have.”

The man, Heale, shook his head doubtfully.  “I still think you should be careful.  Oh, I know you got the biggest spread around, but one of these days you’re going to find yourself in trouble, Mason, always going it alone.”

Scott jerked forward, staring openly at the man, but the only sign Val made that he’d heard, was a tightening around his mouth.  Scott started to rise from his chair but Val’s hand snaked out, grasping Scott’s arm with surprising strength and causing him to wince with pain.  “Ain’t ready for another drink yet, partner.  Just sit a while.”

Scott furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak but Val cut across him.  “Damn lucky my horse didn’t break a leg when he was spooked by that jackrabbit.  Wouldn’t have wanted to lose him in that sort of territory.  And it’s overrun by blasted Indians.” 

Scott ground his teeth in irritation as Val rambled on about invented occurrences on their journey south.  Meanwhile, Mason was saying his goodbyes and left the bar.  Scott leaned forward, speaking in a low voice.  “He’s gone.  We need to follow him, Val.”

Val’s eyes were cold and hard as he replied softly.  “We do this my way.  And I reckon seeing as how your daddy’s already lost one son, he sure as hell won’t be happy if he loses another.  If we go haring off after him, half the town will see us, and I sure don’t intend to hang for the likes of Mason.  We’re handling this my way.  Comprende?”

Part Twenty one

Sleep was elusive and he gave up in the end.  Instead he sat near the window, looking out at the night sky while Val snored in the far corner of the room.

His face was wet as the unaccustomed tears ran in a seemingly endless stream as he finally gave in to the grief which he’d fought so hard to keep at bay over the past few days.  Johnny was dead.  There was no getting away from it.  And all his efforts to become acquainted with his enigmatic brother had come to nothing.  As he sat there he tried hard to recall the happier moments with Johnny, but most of the past few months had been testing times and certainly not ones which had invited camaraderie and relaxation. 

There had been the fight with Pardee and then Johnny’s slow recovery.  There had been the cattle drive and the business in Bitterville where Johnny had given him a fleeting glimpse of Madrid in action.  And then just as they had been recovering from that, the cattlemen had made their ridiculous demands that Johnny be excluded from the Association’s business and Johnny had again been shot exacting revenge on the men who’d raped some girl from the bordello.

And as if all of that hadn’t been enough, there had been the interlude with Joe Barker – a precursor to Johnny’s arrest and the trial in Utah.   No, all things considered, there had been little time for relaxation or happy memories.  The only constant thing in that time was his faith in Johnny; the deeply held belief that under the many masks his brother chose to wear was an essentially good man with an innate sense of justice. 

Johnny had believed he would go to hell when he died.  Had he been right?  Or had God seen that core of goodness and forgiven his brother’s sins?  Scott shook his head, and then rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes in irritation with himself.  Thank God Val wasn’t awake to see him at such a low ebb.  But the thought of Johnny in purgatory...   No.  Johnny didn’t deserve that; surely he was more sinned against than sinning?  Scott preferred to think of a heavenly ledger book where surely Johnny’s good deeds would outweigh the bad.  But the trouble was that he knew so little of Johnny he couldn’t enumerate the good deeds, all he had was faith. 

But faith raised other concerns.  What of Murdoch’s essential belief that Johnny was still alive?  If he couldn’t take home a body to bury, would Murdoch accept that Johnny was dead? Somehow he suspected not.  Murdoch had been so emphatic that he would have felt it inside if his younger son was dead.  The whole thing was such an unholy mess.  If only Johnny had stayed at the ranch.  If only he hadn’t disappeared off without a word.  If only...

But life was full of if onlys.  Hindsight was a wonderful thing if only one had the benefit of it.  And maybe if he’d had it when he was at the ranch he wouldn’t have taken off on this crazy quest with Val.  Back then the thought of revenge had been so tempting.  The word had a sweet sound to it.  Now it was simply a bitter taste in the mouth. 

On the one hand he yearned for revenge against the man who was responsible for the bloody and brutal end to Johnny’s life, but there was another part of him which shied away from such action.  A part of him which wanted to see the law deal with this.  Except, he supposed, the law would probably have no grounds to take action against Mason.  It would probably prove impossible to link the man with the bounty offered or with the ultimate responsibility for Johnny’s death.

And God only knew what the coming day would bring.  Val had slipped away from the saloon and managed to ascertain that Mason was setting off back to his ranch at first light.  Val had then said that they would give the man three or four hours head start at least and then leave town in the opposite direction before doubling back and heading toward Mason’s spread.

And then, Val had given him a penetrating look and suggested that maybe it would be best if Scott returned ahead of him to Lancer, leaving Val to deal with Mason.

He’d been so tempted to just say yes.  The look in Val’s eyes scared him.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to see what Val had in mind for Mason.  But damn it, Johnny was his brother, it was only right and just that he should be there to...

To do what?  Exact revenge?  Break the law?  Curb Val’s worst excess – for what he feared Val might do?  If he was certain of one thing, it was that he wouldn’t be the same man come nightfall.  He feared that this day would change him in a way he wouldn’t want to acknowledge.

The stars were less bright now.  There was a faint flush of light on the eastern horizon and even as he watched he saw a man ride out, heading out of town.  Mason?  It had to be.  Scott’s stomach contracted into a ball of lead.  Mason.  Who, if they followed through with their desire for revenge, wouldn’t live to see another dawn.

His grandfather would be appalled at him even contemplating such a lawless deed, especially for a half-breed half-brother he barely knew.  And Murdoch was nothing if not law abiding...   And what would Johnny advise?  Scott smiled despite the tears.  He’d wager that Johnny would be none too impressed by Scott’s involvement in Val’s scheme.  But Scott was equally sure that if the positions were reversed Johnny would have no such qualms about killing a man.  But then Johnny tended toward double standards, always maintaining that his soul was already damned but expecting Scott to be an innocent.  What would Johnny have said about his brother’s actions in the war?  Maybe it was best that Johnny had known little of history or of General Phil Sheridan.  He was certain that Johnny would have been appalled. 

An image of his brother flashed into his head, as clear as if it was right in front of him.  Johnny was riding a bronc, but oddly not Barranca, a sorrel, and he was surrounded by a circle of men watching him.  And although in his mind’s eye it was obviously a ranch, it wasn’t Lancer, the scenery was wrong.  It was more mountainous, more spectacular.  He shook his head, trying to shake the picture from his mind.  He was going crazy.  This was what lack of sleep did to a man.  Maybe he should just go along with Val’s wishes and then get home as fast as possible.  But no, all things considered he didn’t have much choice.  He could either stay and see this through, or walk out on Val, and that seemed like letting Johnny down.  And that was never an option.

.....

Val didn’t seem in any sort of hurry to get going.  He insisted on a leisurely breakfast at a small cantina off the main square of the town.  And although Scott didn’t doubt that Val was grieving, it didn’t seem to affect the man’s appetite as he tucked into a plate of huevos rancheros.  Sipping his strong coffee, Scott wondered how Val could eat, knowing what lay ahead.

Maybe Val could read minds for he shot Scott a quick glance through narrowed eyes.  “You should eat.  We don’t want anyone to think twice about us.  We’re just a couple of fellows passing through.  Comprende?  We do this my way.”  Val beamed a huge smile at a passing waitress and called out to her.  “Fría traer unos huevos para mi amigo, por favor?”  He then forked in another mouthful of eggs. 

.........

They headed out of town in the opposite direction to Mason’s spread.  And then they kept riding until they were well out of sight before doubling back ground and heading west. 

Val eyed the country ahead.  “Reckon he’s got a five or six hour start on us.  But make sure you keep your eyes open for Apaches.  I can do without another run in with them.” 

They rode in silence for a couple of hours, alert and watchful, before Val pointed to a small group of vultures circling in the sky.  “They’ve seen something.  Maybe we’d best take a look.”

They veered north and rode down a slight incline before stopping dead in their tracks as both horses snorted, shying away with their ears flat back.   Scott blanched at the sight in front of him, feeling the bile rushing up and forcing him to spit it to the ground.  “God almighty!” 

A man was staked out on the ground, naked, but congealing blood oozed still from multiple slashes across his body.  Something had been smeared across his head which was covered with swarming ants.

The man called out hoarsely.  “Who’s there?  For God’s sake help me.”

Val slipped down from his horse and walked toward the man.  “Mr. Mason, ain’t it?”

“Yes.  Yes.  For God’s sake, please help me.”

Val crouched down next to the man.  “Looks like you’re in a spot of bother there.”  Val squatted back on his heels.  “Yep.  A real nasty spot of bother.  Them ants are going to eat away at your eyes.  Not nice.  Not nice at all.  Can’t help but wonder, Mr. Mason, just what them Apaches have got against you.  Thought they always left you alone.  Now why would that be, I wonder?”

The man was tossing his head violently from side to side, trying to dislodge the swarm of insects.  “For God’s sake...”  His voice was a high pitched scream.  “Help me.”

“I might think about putting you out of your misery if you tell me why them Apaches have taken against you.”  Val’s face was impassive.  Scott felt a sudden chill deep inside.  

“I was selling them guns, but my supply has been cut off.  Now for God’s sake...   Please help me!”

Val rocked back on his heels and sighed softly.  “Trouble is, Mason, I guess I just ain’t in a pitying frame of mind.  So I’ll be riding along.  Maybe them Indians will come back later and finish you off.  They’re real keen on lighting a fire on a man and watching it burn through to his innards.  They think that’s real entertaining.”  Val stood up and turned to walk back toward Scott.

“For Christ’s sake, man!”  Mason screamed.  “Why won’t you help me?”

Val paused and then turned back.  Leaning forward, he spoke so softly that Scott had to strain to catch the words.  “It’s like this, Mason, Madrid was a friend of mine.  A good friend.  A good man.  And he deserved a better end that the one you arranged for him.”

“For God’s sake…”  Mason’s voice echoed across the plain as he screamed out. 

Val walked back to his horse and swung himself into the saddle.  “Guess we’d best head north now and get a few hours in before nightfall.”

Scott stared at him open mouthed, his gut churning at the sight of the man on the ground.  “We can’t just leave him, Val.”

Val’s eyes were cold and hard.  “We can and we will.  You wanted revenge.  Well, you got it and you didn’t have to lift a finger.  Damned Apaches gone done it for you.”

Scott shook his head.  “But not like this, Val.  This is terrible.”

Val stared at him.  “If you want to piss them Apaches off, you go right ahead and kill him.  But it will bring them down on us with a wrath you don’t even want to think about.  I sure as hell ain’t dying for Mason.   And you can bet them Apaches is close by.  Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“But this is barbaric.  We aren’t savages for God’s sake, Val.”  Scott tried to catch his breath but he felt as though he’d run a marathon. 

Val narrowed his eyes.  When he spoke his voice was cold.  “We ain’t interfering in Apache business, not if we want to keep a close hold on our scalps.  I got to get you home to your Daddy all in one piece.  He’s lost one son and he sure as hell don’t need to lose another one.  Now let’s get moving.”

“Help me.”  Mason’s voice was getting hoarse from dehydration.  “Please.  Finish me off.  They’re in my eyes.  My ears.  For God’s sake!”

Val swung himself up into the saddle.  “Let’s get moving, Scott.  We got a lot of ground to cover.”

Scott shook his head.  “I can’t leave him like that.”

Val’s lip curled.  “Thought you wanted revenge.  Thought you cared about that brother of yours.  Mason’s too far gone.  He ain’t going to survive.  Now let’s get moving.”

Scott shook his head.  “I do want revenge.  But not this way.  No man should endure that.  We should end his suffering.”

Val leaned across, grabbing at Scott’s arm, pushing his face up close.  “And you don’t reckon Johnny suffered when he rode out of that damn town full of bullets?  He’ll have suffered, Scott.  You can’t even begin to imagine how much he’d have suffered.  Bullets in his chest.  In his gut.  He’d have been hurting real bad, riddled with bullets and not nobody to help him.  And all because of that bit of shit.”  Val gestured wildly toward Mason.  “There ain’t no place for your fancy Eastern ways out here.  It’s a hard and bloody land and if you’re going to be any use to that Pa of yours, you’re going to have to toughen up.”

Scott tried to quell the rising anger.  “I’m tough, Val.  Never forget that.  But I’m also human.”  He fumbled at his belt for his pistol, and drawing it, he took careful aim at Mason’s head and fired. 

Val grunted in irritation.  “Johnny always said you was awkward.  Come on.  Let’s get the hell out of here before we have the entire Apache nation out for us.”  And spurring his horse he took off at a gallop heading north.

………

They didn’t stop until the light was so bad that carrying on would have been foolhardy.  Then they made a hasty camp but Val insisted that they just ate jerky.   “Sure as hell ain’t announcing our presence to any damned Indians by lighting a fire.”  He glared across at Scott.  “Johnny would have my hide if anything happened to you.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Johnny is dead.”  Scott snapped the words out.  “We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Val grunted derisively.  “Wouldn’t put it past him to come at me from the grave if I let something happen to you,”

“Except he doesn’t even have a grave.”  The words were out before he could stop them.  He bowed his head before looking back at Val.  “That’s why you wanted Mason to suffer, isn’t it?  Not just because of the bounty and the killing, but we can’t even bury him.  We don’t even have a body.”  Scott paused, swallowing hard.  “But if we’d left Mason like that, we’d have been stooping to his level.  It’s not the way I do things.  I have to live with myself.”

Val sighed.  “Well, now you got to live with the fact that you shot an unarmed man.  God.  Johnny would have my hide for getting you into this mess.”

The words grated.  “I’m not a child who needs to be taken care of, Val.  I’ve fought in a bloody and vicious war.  I’ve killed before and I can make my own decisions.”

Val shrugged.  “You might have fought in the war, but trust me, in this territory you’re a babe in arms.  Oh, you done real good against them Apaches;  Johnny always said you were real handy with a rifle.  And hell, seems you’re handy with a knife too.  But you don’t know how to read Apache signs or how to survive in this type of country.  It’s different to the area you’d have fought in.  Out here you’re fighting the land, never mind damned Indians.”  Val shook his head.  “We’d best try to catch some sleep.  I’ll take first watch.”

…………

By the following night Val seemed a little more relaxed.  He seemed less edgy, less worried about Indians.  He even permitted them a small fire.  Scott crouched over it, turning a rabbit slowly on an improvised spit.  It smelled good and for the first time in what seemed ages, he felt hungry.  Was it because his need for revenge was sated?  And yet, he’d shown Mason mercy.  Johnny hadn’t been granted that.   What was it Val had said?  That Johnny would have suffered dreadfully, shot full of bullets and alone.  Scott screwed his eyes tight shut, willing away the tears.  He couldn’t bear the thought of Val seeing them.

Val sat cleaning his gun.  He glanced aross at Scott.  “That’s the trouble with damn fires, always make my eyes water too.” 

Scott bit his lip, and then nodded gratefully at Val.  “Yes, damn smoke does it every time.”

Later, as they shared another bottle of whiskey from Val’s saddlebags, the sheriff raised his mug in a toast.  “To Johnny.  A good man.  The best.”

Scott nodded, raising his mug.  “And a good brother.  I just wish I’d known him better.”

“He thought a lot of you.”  Val’s voice was gentle.   “He admired you.   But he was never jealous of your good luck.  Wasn’t in his nature to be jealous.  His approach was always that a man just had to play his hand as best he could.  Johnny made the most of his talents.  It’s how he survived.   I mean, a half breed in those border towns, with a whore mother, poor devil had a hell of a life.  And I guess these past few months brought him a little peace.  I guess he couldn’t  believe his luck.  Hell, a real bed to sleep in, food on the table and a real brother to call his own.  Reckon he’d never had it so good.   He’d have been proud of you fighting them Indians.  And hell, he’d have probably even been proud of you for killing Mason.  Showing mercy.  There was a lot of kindness in him.  Helping those people against the rurales.   He knew they didn’t have no money.  But Johnny always did the right thing.”  Val paused, shaking his head.  “Yeah, he always did the right thing, and that’s kind of an odd thing to say about a gunfighter.”

……………

Scott could see Murdoch waiting as they rode in.  He must have spotted them through the window by his desk and hurried to the door.   He was using his stick.  He seemed to suffer more from his back when he was worried.  Scott felt a pang of guilt.  Murdoch would have been worrying about him too.  Not just about Johnny.    And now he had to tell him they’d failed. 

Murdoch limped toward him.  “Well?”  He looked at their horses, as if expecting to see a body slung across the saddle.   

Scott swallowed hard.  “I’m sorry, Sir.  We couldn’t find him.  There was no trace.”

Part twenty two

Someone had been going through his things.  He knew because he always stuck a couple of hairs across the lid of the box he kept stored under his cot in the bunkhouse.  And the hairs had gone. 

Whoever it was hadn’t taken anything.  But then they wouldn’t have found much either.  He kept a couple of shirts in it, ammunition, a derringer, and some long johns.  His gold nugget was safe in his saddle bags, and his killing gun was hidden under the mattress of his bed.  That hadn’t been disturbed.

He sank down onto the cot and lay back against the wall.  Life was never easy.  He couldn’t even just get a job and be the same as other folk.  He guessed it would have been Hank Potter who’d done it.  He couldn’t be sure, but it was who he’d put his money on if he had to place a bet.  The man was constantly trying to needle him, like he was pushing for a fight the whole time.  One of these days they’d have it out.  Either with fists or guns.  He hoped it would be fists.  If the other hands saw what a fast gun he was they’d be bound to get to wondering.  And then he’d be back where he started – having to move on again. 

He’d been trying hard to settle at the ranch.  Trouble was he was starting to wonder what the hell he was doing working on a ranch.   He’d been so fired up to leave Lancer because he was sick of working on a ranch...  So it didn’t make no sense that he’d gone straight back to work on one.  But if he didn’t do ranch work he couldn’t think of anything else he could do.  All he knew was guns and horses.  And women.  He was good with women but he couldn’t see anybody paying him to spend his life fucking.  Unfortunately. 

And he was getting that he needed a woman real bad, but he was damned if he’d queue up for a girl in the saloon.  Maybe he should head down into Laramie one weekend.  There’d be lots of women there.  But Laramie also meant too many people.  Too much chance of trouble in a town like that.  And it seemed no matter how hard he tried to stay clear of trouble, it sure had a way of finding him.  Hell, even wandering into the small church in the nearby town had brought a sort of trouble.  Trouble in the form of some priest who’d wanted to hear his confession.  Yeah, right.  Like he was going to start confessing his sins to some fellow who’d probably go blabbing to everyone how they’d got a gunfighter on their hands.  Confession was meant to be secret, but he sure wasn’t about to go trusting some priest.

All he’d wanted was to be left alone.  He’d been sitting there minding his own business, kind of thinking things over, when the fellow had cornered him.  Dios.  What was it with priests?  They always told him that confession was good for the soul, but on the few occasions he’d tried it out, they always told him he was beyond redemption.  So what the hell was the point?  Maybe they only saved the souls of men rich enough to put some money in the priests’ pockets.  Kind of buying their way to salvation.  Still, he reckoned even if he did give lots of money to the church, his soul was pretty much damned.  He just wasn’t repentant enough. 

A memory slid into view – him and Scott talking about sin and redemption.  Funny how he used to talk about all sorts of things with Scott, and yet he’d never been much on talking.  And now he was back where he used to be, keeping everyone at arm’s length and barely exchanging two words with anyone from one day to the next.  He used to talk to Delice too.  Did Scott go to the bordello on his own now?  Did Scott still go and see his redhead?  Did Scott ever talk about him with Delice?  He shook his head.  Dios but he was dumb.  Why the hell would they talk about him?  Scott was a smart fellow – he’d have figured by now that the ranch was better off without Madrid. 

Shit.  He had to stop thinking about his family.  He’d put all of that behind him.  The only thing was they’d stolen their way into his dreams too.  So even if he could block them out during the day, it seemed they had a way of creeping up on him at night.  What with them, his ghosts and Doe invading his dreams it was no wonder he was so damn tired.  And he looked like hell.  He ran a hand over his unshaven chin.  He ought to go and wash.  Dinner would be ready in the other bunkhouse soon. 

He hauled himself back to his feet.  Maybe he’d feel better after he’d eaten.  But if fucking Potter said a word to him, he might just shoot the man and have done with it.

.......

“Garcia.”  Boss beckoned to him after supper.  “Mr. Slater’s son needs someone to ride up Crazy Woman Canyon with him to check the line shacks before we start driving the cattle up there for spring grazing.  You leave tomorrow at dawn.”  He paused, looking at Johnny through narrowed eyes like he was considering some sort of problem.  “Have you got a warm coat?  If not, take one from the porch of the ranch house.  Chances are there’ll be a fair amount of snow higher up.  Don’t want you freezing to death up there.” 

Johnny nodded and turning away collided with Potter who’d been listening to them.  He sneered at Johnny.  “Boss’s favourite ain’t you?  Well, breed, let me tell you, you’ll freeze your Mex nuts off up there.”

Johnny sighed and leaning toward Potter he jabbed a finger in the man’s ribs.  “One of these days, Potter, you’re going to push me a little bit too far.    But if you want to move that day forward, just try crowding me.  I’ll take you any time you’re ready.”

Potter bristled, started squaring up but one of the men pushed him away.  “Cut it out, Potter.  You know the boss don’t stand for brawling in the bunkhouse.”

Potter shrugged the man off.  “Then I’ll take the breed outside.  He needs teaching a lesson, and I’m in the mood to do it.”

“Fine by me.”  Johnny turned toward the door.  “Come on Potter, let’s get this over with.”  He stalked out into the yard, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it to one of the other hands.  The only light came from some lanterns hanging outside the two bunkhouses but they cast enough of a glow for Johnny to see Potter coming at him with fists raised.

Potter had a good two or three inches on Johnny and a longer reach, but he wasn’t so quick on his feet.  Johnny dipped away from the first punch, jabbing out with his fist and catching Potter below the ribs in the gut.  But Potter just grunted and came back in hard, his left fist giving a glancing blow to Johnny’s cheek, causing Johnny to stagger backwards almost losing his footing.  He brushed away the blood even as Potter ducked his head and charged like a bull, but Johnny threw himself to one side and stuck a foot out, sending Potter sprawling in the dirt.

Potter scrambled to his feet and they circled each other, breathing hard.  Johnny feinted with his left fist and as Potter dodged it, Johnny caught him a heavy blow to the nose with his right.  There was a satisfying crunch as the bone caved in. Potter growled with pain but it seemed to drive the man on and this time he charged at Johnny and the two of them fell, rolling in the dirt.  They grappled, each trying to get astride the other.  Potter struck out again, his fist catching Johnny a blow to the eye.  Johnny grunted with pain and tried to dodge away. 

Then Potter fumbled at his belt and the next thing Johnny saw was the flash of a blade as Potter made a vicious swipe at Johnny’s gut.  He threw himself to one side and brought his knee up violently, catching Potter hard in the balls and causing the man to scream in pain.  Johnny grabbed the advantage and finished Potter off with three swift jabs at his head.  As Potter collapsed unconscious in the dirt, Johnny lay gasping for breath, his chest heaving and his heart thumping as though he’d run ten miles.  As he rolled over and dragged himself to his knees he saw the boss standing close by.  And he didn’t look too pleased.

“Go and clean yourself up, Garcia.  And keep away from Potter.  If there’s any more trouble between the two of you, I don’t care who starts it, you’re both fired.”  The man turned and stomped off.

Moving slowly, Johnny retreated to his bunkhouse and gingerly undid his shirt to see what damage had been done to his old injuries.  He let out a slow sigh of relief.  It looked as though the other side of his body had borne the brunt of Potter’s attack.  That and his face.  Peering at himself in the chipped mirror by his cot, he figured that maybe it was a good thing there weren’t many girls in town – he sure didn’t look too good right now.  His lip was bleeding, his cheek was still oozing blood and his eye had already swollen so much he could barely open it. 

Still, at least he’d be off with Ike Junior for a couple of days.  Maybe Potter would have calmed down by the time he got back.  He laughed aloud.  Yeah, and maybe Barranca would grow wings. 

........

He hurt like hell the next morning.  The area around his eye was turning a real interesting shade of purple – Teresa would have probably liked a dress in that colour.  And he felt as if he’d been put through a mangle.  Moving very slowly, he saddled Barranca and followed Junior toward the narrow, rocky path that led up through the canyon.  Junior’s mouth dropped open when he got his first proper glimpse of Johnny as the sun came up.  “Jesus! What happened to you, Garcia?  Get attacked by a bear or something?”

Johnny smiled, but he sure didn’t feel too cheerful.  “Yeah.  A bear called Potter.”

Junior gave a snort of laughter.  “That figures.  Potter always has a go at the new fellows.  And I guess you being a Mex kind of brings out the worst in him.  Pa will be taking on some more hands soon for the drive.  Potter will pick on them then and probably leave you alone.”

Johnny shrugged.  “I can handle myself.  If you think I look bad, you should see Potter.”

Junior gave another snort of laughter as he led the way up the steep trail, their horses’ hooves sliding on the loose shale.

................

Boss had been right about one thing; it was fucking cold at the top of the canyon.  Johnny huddled down inside the blanket coat that he’d borrowed for the trip.  He must have been crazy coming to Wyoming.  It might be real pretty but Dios it was cold.  And Potter had been right about something too: it was cold enough to freeze the nuts off a man. 

They didn’t talk much, bundled as they both were with scarves around their necks.  But Junior did point to the northeast and say something about a real strange area of the state which was full of hot bubbling springs that could burn a man alive if he fell into them.  It sounded strange.  Wyoming sure had lots going for it, except for being fucking cold.  Mountains, plains, rivers and gorges and bubbling springs.  And those real pretty lights that lit up the sky some nights.  But there was one thing that had struck him as odd about Wyoming.  The sky just didn’t seem as blue as it was in California. 

They spent the night at a line shack, having carried out a survey of the others and made a list of what supplies would be needed.  They got a fire going in the old iron stove and heated up some stew that Junior had brought with him  in a couple of tin cans slung over his saddle bags.

Junior produced a flask of whiskey and offered Johnny a swig.  “I’ll say one thing, Garcia. You’re a long ways from home.  You sure aren’t used to our cold weather.  You should have stayed further south.  There are plenty of ranches in California where you could have found work.”

Johnny laughed softly.  “Yeah.  Well, I guess we all make mistakes.”

Junior grinned, settling himself more comfortably in front of the stove.  “It gets warmer, don’t worry.  Mind you, it’ll still be cold at night when we drive the cattle up in a couple of weeks.  My brother will be heading that drive.  You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

Johnny shook his head.

“He’s away on business at the moment, but he should be back in a couple of days.  Pa tends to get him handling the business side, him being older and all.  You got a brother, Garcia?”

It felt like a punch in the gut.  And for a second he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  “I...  I had one once.” 

He shrugged, hoping that Junior wouldn’t ask any more questions.  But Junior was the sort of kid who always wanted to know more.  “Oh, heck, I’m sorry, Garcia.  That must be tough losing a brother.”

Johnny bit his lip and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.  “Yeah.  It is.”

“You got any sisters?”  Junior sounded interested, not like he was just making conversation.

Johnny shook his head, trying to block out the memory of Teresa telling him to treat her like a sister.  “No.”  He paused.  He had to get Junior off the subject of Juan Garcia’s family.  “Your sister seems nice.”

A look of alarm crossed Junior’s face.  “You aren’t sweet on her, are you?  Pa never stands for any of the hands making eyes at Clarrie.”

Johnny grinned.  “No.  I ain’t sweet on her.  She’s a bit young for me.  I like...”  He hesitated.  “I like girls with green eyes and a bit older than your Clarrie.”

Junior sighed with obvious relief.  “Phew.  That’s okay, then.  Pa would have your hide otherwise, and Clark, my brother, is mighty protective of her, too.”

“That’s as it should be.”  Johnny stretched, wincing as he did so.  “I’m beat, Junior.  I think I’m going to sack in.  Thanks for the whiskey.”  Johnny spread his bedroll out on one of the low iron cots in the corner of the shack.  He was scrambling in when Junior spoke again.

“Sorry about your brother, Garcia.”

Johnny sucked in a breath, before sighing softly.  “Yeah.  So am I.”

.................

They arrived back at the ranch late the next day.  Junior was keen to get back so they rode hard and made it before sundown.  As they rode into the yard Junior gave a whoop.  “Looks like my brother’s back.  That’s his sorrel mare in the corral.”

Johnny smiled at Junior’s obvious delight.  He was a nice kid.  Although, really, Junior couldn’t be that much younger than Johnny himself, but he sure made Johnny feel old.  “I’ll take your horse, Junior.  Go find your brother.”  He was rewarded with a huge grin and Junior tore off toward the house.

He led Barranca and Junior’s horse to the barn and gave them both a rubdown before preparing their feed.  The place seemed pretty much empty, but one of the few remaining hands said that most of the men, including Potter, were out preparing areas for separating the bulls from the cows and calves.

He was shutting up the barn for the night when he came face to face with Junior and his older brother.  The fellow was a good five or six years older, but his face paled as he looked at Johnny and turned angrily to Junior.  “So what the hell has been going on here while I’ve been away?  Pa never said anything about preparing for a range war.”

Part Twenty three

He sat, as he did so often these days, staring out of the window behind his desk, scanning the horizon hoping to see the boy riding home.  How many hours had he spent doing this over the past few weeks?  He knew Scott and Teresa worried about him; he could see the concern in their faces.  And Sam had told him he needed to eat more.  But everything tasted like dust in his mouth and he had trouble forcing any food down.

Were they right?  Was Johnny really dead?  Logic said yes.  But his heart said no.  He’d feel it if Johnny was dead.  Wouldn’t he?  Just like all those years throughout Johnny’s childhood when he’d tried to track the boy down.  All those years searching in squalid border towns, believing that the boy was alive.  He’d felt it deep down inside.  And he felt the same way now.

Sam said it was because that’s what he wanted to believe and that he was wrong this time.  That the facts told a different story.  Sam had tried pointing out that a town full of people had seen Johnny gunned down.  That it was an indisputable fact. 

But if that was how it had been, why hadn’t there been any sign of Johnny’s body?  Or any sign of his horse?

Scott had all the answers.  He’d said that the area was full of deep canyons and ravines.  That obviously they’d fallen into one...  That nobody would be able to find one body in such a wild and desolate area.  But damn it, that palomino of Johnny’s was as sure footed an animal as he’d ever seen.  Not the sort of horse to lose his footing.  Scott had an answer for that too.  Said that even if they hadn’t fallen into a ravine, someone had probably made off with the horse, possibly even Apaches. 

All he knew for sure was that he had an ache and an emptiness deep down inside of himself.  Like part of him was missing and the ache wouldn’t go away.  And he felt guilt too, because he didn’t understand why Johnny had suddenly taken off the way he did.  Surely he should have understood Johnny better?  But then, he never had understood Johnny; the boy was a total mystery to him.  And then there was that damn note he’d left.  That hadn’t explained anything at all.

He knew Johnny had been more unsettled since he’d come back from Utah.  He’d been distant and even more taciturn than usual.  And more irritable. 

But God alone knew what had gone in Utah. Well, God and Scott and Val.   But they certainly hadn’t chosen to enlighten him; they had both been dismissive saying it had been a case of mistaken identity and that Johnny had been acquitted.  But if that was the case, why had the events in Utah sabotaged what little peace of mind Johnny appeared to have found over the previous few months?

What was it out there that had such a hold on his son that he’d been unable to settle into this new life?  Surely the boy should have been pleased to have found a home and a family?  Judging from Johnny’s behaviour, he’d never had much of a home before.  He had no table manners, no idea of how to pass the time of day with their neighbours or how to behave in company.  It seemed that Maria had given him no guidance at all.  Neither had she even ensured that he’d attended school regularly.  She’d obviously indulged him and let him run wild.  There was no other explanation for Johnny becoming a gunfighter.  The boy had needed a father’s guiding hand.  And a father’s discipline. 

He often wondered exactly what had happened to Maria.  When he’d pushed Johnny for information, the boy had told him that she got sick and died.  But Johnny had been very evasive about it and Murdoch couldn’t help but wonder if there had been more to the story than that.  But he’d soon learned that asking questions got him nowhere.  The boy just clammed right up when pushed for details of anything from his past and became even more remote.

It was hard to believe now, looking back to the events of last spring, that he had been so worried initially about Johnny’s presence in the house.  Laughable to think that he had actually feared for Teresa’s safety.  But all he had known then was the reputation of Madrid.  In all honesty he had to admit that he was no closer now to knowing Johnny than when he’d first arrived back.  But he did know what his son wasn’t.  He wasn’t the cold killer portrayed in lurid newspaper stories and dime novels.  He was... an enigma.  A puzzle.  A puzzle he couldn’t solve because there were too many missing pieces.    

Murdoch shook his head.  He needed a drink.  Just like he had that first day when the boys had come home.  It had been such a shock when they’d arrived together.  And it seemed that his words of that first meeting had struck a chord with Johnny.  When he’d told the boys that the past was dead and gone, he’d never expected that later he would feel so desperate for any information about his son’s past, nor that Johnny would take the words to heart and never divulge anything about his childhood.

He poured himself a stiff measure of malt and returned slowly to his desk.  He was drinking too much, he knew that, but it meant that he did at least get some sleep.  He feared the long nights when he was plagued by imaginings of Johnny’s fate.   The whisky just helped him cope better.

Footsteps echoed in the hall.  Scott.  Coming to check up on him.  If only Scott would tell him more about the man Mason who’d placed the bounty on Johnny’s head.  All Scott would say was that the man had been killed by the Apaches.  No.  That wasn’t true.  Scott had said the man had been tortured by the Apaches and was now dead.  The choice of words had puzzled Murdoch at the time.  He’d been going to ask more but something in Scott’s eyes warned him against it.  There had been an unfamiliar hardness there that had scared him sufficiently to stay away from the topic.  Now he wondered about that subtle difference in interpretation of Scott’s words and the look in Scott’s eyes.  Could Scott have killed the man?  Surely not.  No.  Val had been with him and Val was a lawman; he’d never have countenanced such an action.  And Scott took after his father and had a great respect for law and order and doing things by the book.  Scott would have done nothing illegal.  Would he?

“Dinner won’t be long.  Do you want a drink before...”  Scott paused in the doorway.  “Ah.  I see you already have one.”

Murdoch could hear the slight reproach.  He knew Scott thought he was drinking too much.  But he’d noticed that Scott was drinking more too.  Another trait he’d inherited from his father, no doubt.  Dear Catherine only ever had a very occasional glass of wine. 

Scott walked across and poured himself a whisky.  The bottle of tequila that used to stand next to the decanter had long been put away.  But whenever Murdoch went to the cabinet for another bottle of malt to top up the decanter, the tequila stared at him accusingly.  But he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.  When Johnny came home he’d want it.

When Johnny came home...  He turned quickly and stared through the window into the dusk.  He cleared his throat.  “So.  Did you have a good day?  Did you clear that stream that was damming up?”

Scott slumped down wearily, his glass in his hand.  “Yes.  All done.  What sort of day have you had?  Did you go into town?”

Murdoch turned back toward Scott.  “Yes.  I collected the mail.  Picked up a newspaper...  we must try and keep abreast of the news.”  He tailed off.  He’d read the paper from cover to cover, but there had been no mention of Johnny.  Maybe he should use the Pinkerton Agency...

“Murdoch.”  Scott’s voice was surprisingly gentle.  “You need to come to terms with this.  You’re making yourself ill.  He’s dead.  He’s not coming back.  And scouring the newspapers isn’t going to bring him back to life.”

The words hurt.  Why didn’t Scott have faith?  He just seemed too ready to believe in Johnny’s death.  “You’re wrong, Scott.  He’s out there.  I know it.  He’s out there, and someday he’ll come home, where he belongs.”  Murdoch blinked rapidly, and turned to stare once more into the gathering darkness.

Part Twenty four

He shut his eyes briefly, laughing softly.  It never ended.  It never fucking ended.  Hell, if he went half way around the world he’d be prepared to bet that it would only be a matter of time before someone recognised him.  But shit, this was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it?  What he’d dreamed of as a scrawny kid.  The dream which had kept him alive, fighting all the odds.  For people to know his name.  Well, he’d sure achieved that.

Opening his eyes, he saw that Clark didn’t look none too impressed.  Was looking at Madrid like he was something that had crawled out from under a stone.  And Junior furrowed his brow.  “What?  What’re you going on about, Clark?  There isn’t a range war brewing.  I was just about to introduce you to one of our new hands.  This is Garcia.  He and me have been up checking the line shacks ready for the drive.”

“Garcia?  Is that what he calls himself?”  Clark’s lip curled and he looked at Johnny with eyes which said he knew exactly what Johnny’s real name was.  “But that’s not your real name, is it, Garcia.”

Junior just looked confused, shaking his head slightly.  “He’s called Juan Garcia.  We took him on because he’s real good with horses.”

Clark laughed, but he didn’t look like he thought it was funny.  “Horses, eh?  Well that isn’t all he’s good with, is it, Garcia?” 

Johnny ducked his head briefly, and then looked back at Clark.  “Guess I’d better get my gear and clear out.”

Clark shook his head. “No, you aren’t going anywhere.  Not until you tell me who paid you to come and spy on us.  Because I guess that’s what you’re doing here, isn’t it, Mr. Madrid?”

Junior’s eyes were like saucers.  “Madrid!”  His voice was a squeak.  “Madrid?  The gunfighter?”  Junior shook his head, laughing.  “You got it all wrong, Clark, he’s just one of the hands.”

Clark held Johnny’s gaze.  “I’m not wrong.  I recognise him.  He might have a black eye, but I know him all right.  I saw him in action a couple of years ago when I had to go down to Santa Fe for Pa.  He gunned down a man in the street and then walked back into the saloon like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.  I’d never forget his face.”

Junior turned toward Johnny, eyes wide open and not believing anything.  “That’s not true?  You’re not really a gunfighter are you?”  He jerked his head toward Clark.  “Go on, Garcia, tell him he’s wrong.”

Clark cut in before Johnny hardly got his mouth open to reply.  “He’s a gunfighter, Junior, and I want to know who he’s working for.  Figure maybe someone’s paid him to get information on us, prior to starting some sort of range war.”

Johnny shook his head.  Dios, he was so damn tired of all of this.  “No.  I ain’t spying.  Just like Junior said, I’m working for your father.  I just wanted a job, that’s all.”

Clark snorted, like he didn’t believe a word of it.  “And why would you be all this way off your usual territory if you aren’t spying on us?  You’re usually based down south.  I know the way men like you work, Madrid.  You go where you’re paid to go.”

And he was right.  That was the way it worked.  Johnny sighed softly, couldn’t blame the man for thinking that.  “I’m this far north because I didn’t think anyone would recognise me up here.”  He paused, reluctant to admit how he’d had enough.  But hell, wasn’t like he’d got anything left to lose.  “I’m tired of it all.  Just wanted a fresh start, that’s all.  I was trying to get out of the game.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “I’ll go get my gear and clear out.”

Clark glared at him.  “A fresh start?  And why the hell should we believe that?  You turn up here on our land, you’ve lied about your name, lied to the men and lied to my family.  And you expect us to believe that Johnny Madrid has decided to hang up his gun and become a ranch hand.”

Johnny nodded.  He felt so fucking tired and worn out.  “I don’t expect you to believe it.  But it’s the truth.”  Dios.  He’d always known this was a crazy idea.  Like Madrid could ever expect to fade into the background and go unnoticed.  There was no getting away from the past.  It had a way of getting hold of a man and never letting go.  And he dragged his past around like it was shackled to him.  Like a prisoner in chains.

Junior’s mouth was hanging open, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Johnny shrugged, couldn’t think of anything to say so he might as well go gather his things together.  He turned to trudge back to the bunkhouse.

Clark frowned.  “Not so fast, Madrid.  Hired hands don’t turn their backs on me and until I give the word, you’re still a hired hand.”  He shook his head like he couldn’t figure something out.  “When I got back, my father mentioned that he’d got a new top hand.  Seems that you’ve impressed him and the foreman.  Impressed them or fooled them, one or the other.  But they’re tough men to impress.”  Clark looked at him.  “Real tough men to impress.   But I guess if a man really was looking for a fresh start, Wyoming’s as good a place as any.  But for a gunfighter...”  He shook his head again.  “I’m going to have to talk to Pa about this.  God only knows what he’s going to say.  Johnny Madrid.  Here on our ranch.”  He shot Johnny another look between narrowed eyes.  “You swear nobody paid you to come here?”

Johnny grimaced.  “Yeah.  I swear.  Like you said, this is a hell of a long way from where I usually base myself.  Just wanted a job.  That’s all.”

Clark turned to Junior.  “Come on kid, I think we’d better go talk to Pa.”  He looked at Johnny again.  “You’d better either go in your bunkhouse if you really do want a job, or get the hell off our land.  And I promise you, if you’re lying, I’ll put a bullet in you myself, if it’s the last thing I ever do.  The Slaters look out for their own and I don’t like folk lying to my family.”

“I’ll be here.”  Johnny turned away, feeling the man’s eyes boring into him.  Shit.  Who the hell had he been trying to kid?  Should have known it was only a question of time before someone spotted him.  He needed to go a hell of a lot farther away than Wyoming if he wanted a fresh start.

And it felt like his whole life was a trap.  And he had no one to blame but himself.  He’d got what he’d always wished for, what he’d dreamed of; everyone knew Madrid. 

Time was he’d loved that everybody knew his name.  It had given him a thrill.  He’d stood taller.  Told the world that he wasn’t just some dumb mestizo to be kicked aside.  He was Madrid, someone to fear, someone to respect.  But in reality it just meant that he was alone.  He was still a mestizo, he just happened to be fast with a gun.

He trudged back to his bunkhouse.  He might as well pack his things together. Not that there was much to pack.   One thing was certain; Ike Slater wouldn’t want the likes of Madrid around.  The man would see how having Madrid would bring trouble.  And nobody needed Madrid’s kind of trouble.  It was kind of funny really.  All those years spent working to get himself to a point where everyone knew him and never seeing that he was walking into a trap.  It had always been a trap.  And he’d been too dumb to see it.

And where the hell did he go next?  Because he didn’t want to go back to Madrid’s life.  Of that he was certain.  Trouble was, he knew what he didn’t want, but he hadn’t got a clue what he did want.  Should he go to Canada?  Shit, but it would be even colder up there.  South America?  At least it was warmer there.  But maybe not warm enough to drive away the chill that had settled deep inside of him these past few weeks.  And if he went south what would he do?  End up as an outlaw more likely than not.  North, south, east or west?  The only thing he was sure of was that he’d never felt so lost.  And all through those years of being alone, he’d never felt quite as alone as he felt now.  And yet that made no sense at all.  So what had changed?  Had he changed? 

He hefted his saddle bags up over his shoulder.  There was no point in worrying at it.  It was what it was.  For now, he needed to go and get Barranca ready.  He needed to be ready when they sent him on his way. 

He walked out past the corral, where all the bulls were penned, toward the barn.  Barranca would be pretty pissed to be off on the trail again.  He’d been settling in here, same as his master.  Johnny shook his head.  Nothing lasted.  He’d always known that. 

Potter was working up on the barn roof, repairing a hole.  He called out as Johnny headed inside.  He couldn’t hear what Potter said above the hammering, but he figured it was something rude.  The man had never said anything that could be taken for pleasant. 

He went and brushed Barranca down and checked his feet before making him up a big feed.  Barranca deserved a last treat before they set out on the trail again.

Johnny rested his head against Barranca’s neck.  “It’s you and me again, amigo.  Same as always and we’ll be heading out but God only knows where to.”

Glancing through the open doors of the barn he could see Junior walking across the yard coming from Johnny’s bunkhouse.  He was looking for Madrid.  Seemed that the jury had reached its verdict and doubtless Junior had been sent to find him.   He’d best go and speak to him.  It was a shame it had ended so quick.  He’d been starting to feel easier here and there were far worse places he could have ended up.   

He shut the door of Barranca’s stall and walked to stand in the opening to the yard, raising his hand to attract Junior’s attention.  The kid hurried toward him.  Just as he drew level with Johnny, there was a blur of movement above them. Grabbing Junior’s arm, Johnny pulled him violently to one side and they both toppled over even as three heavy bales of hay crashed to the ground from the hay loft...

“Shit!”  Junior’s face was ashen.  “I’m glad we weren’t standing under those.  They’re heavy enough to kill a man.  How the hell did they fall down?”

Johnny scrambled back to his feet and brushed himself down.  “Reckon they didn’t do it without some help.”

Junior shook his head.  “But who would...”

He broke off as Boss hurried over, his face creased up with concern.  And something else.  Anger?

“You okay, Junior?  Garcia?”  Then Boss looked up at the barn roof, his face red now with anger.  “Potter!  I saw that.  Get your gear and go.  You’re fired.  And you’re lucky nobody got killed because, believe me, I’d see you swing.”

Potter.  Well that figured.  Except Potter couldn’t have expected Junior to walk over just then.  No way would he have wanted to injure Slater’s son, just the half breed hand.  And shit, Slater was running across from the ranch house, like he’d seen the whole thing.  Probably blame that on Madrid.  Because if Johnny hadn’t been standing there, his son wouldn’t have been there and almost been killed.  Another reason to fire Madrid.

Boss was getting into his stride and yelling real good at Potter, and Slater was fussing around Junior, checking his kid wasn’t hurt.  And right now Johnny wished he was anywhere but here with all the hands gathering around as well.  Felt like he couldn’t breathe with this many folk so close to him. His fingers were itching to draw his gun and tell them to get the hell away from him.

“Garcia.”  Slater beckoned to him.  “I’d like a word with you.”  The man moved away from the hands, and turned to wait for Johnny close to the main house...

Johnny followed him and then removed his hat as he came to a halt in front of the man.  He held Slater’s gaze, waiting for the man to tell him he was fired - especially now Clark had told him about Madrid.

“Reckon you saved Junior’s life just then, Garcia.  You’ve got fast reactions.”

Johnny bit back a smile.  It was certainly an unusual way to work around to saying he knew Johnny was a gunfighter.  “Yeah.”  Johnny spoke softly.  “Real fast.”

Slater narrowed his eyes, looked at Johnny like he was considering some sort of problem.  Well that figured.  Madrid was a hell of a big problem.

“Clark tells me he recognises you from his visit to Santa Fe.  He seems to think that Garcia isn’t your real name.  And with those fast reactions of yours, I’m wondering if maybe he’s right.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow and ducked his head briefly.  What should he say?  Tell the truth.  It was always easiest to just be honest.  Wasn’t like he was ashamed of Madrid.  And he’d certainly never tried to keep it quiet until he’d come to Wyoming.  He shrugged.  “He ain’t wrong.  I guess he could have seen me in Santa Fe.  And maybe I was using a different name when he saw me.”

Slater scratched his chin, eyeing Johnny thoughtfully.  “And might that name have been Madrid?”

Johnny sighed.  “Yeah, I guess it might.”

“What is it you want here, Madrid?  Did someone pay you to come here?”  It was odd because Slater didn’t sound mad, just curious.

“The only money I’m getting is my wages, Mr. Slater.  I came here because I wanted a job.  But I reckoned that you wouldn’t have been too happy about employing Johnny Madrid as a ranch hand.”  He shrugged again.  “So, Juan Garcia asked for a job instead.”

“You running from the law?” 

It was a fair question.  He could understand Slater thinking that.  Johnny shook his head.  “Nope.  Just wanted...”  He hesitated, wondering how best to explain.  “I just wanted something different.  And some place different.  Somewhere I could walk down the street without some kid calling me out.”  He blew out a big breath, almost like he’d been holding it in.  “Anyway, I’ve packed my things, I’ll get going.”  He paused and smiled briefly.  “But I reckon I’d best head a different direction to Potter.”

“You giving your notice?”  Slater was looking at him hard.  “Because I haven’t fired you, Garcia.”

Johnny furrowed his brow and confusion swirled like a thick fog in his head.  It was true, Slater hadn’t fired him.  But why the hell not?  “I reckoned you would.  I mean, you surely don’t want Johnny Madrid working as a ranch hand.  Do you?”  He could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.   

A faint smile flitted across Slater’s face.  “Well, the thing is, Juan Garcia is a good hand.  And I reckon his fast reactions might well have saved Junior’s life.  And if Juan Garcia really does want a job then maybe I’ve got a mind to give him one.”  He shivered as a gust of icy wind blew across the yard stirring up the dirt and sending it flying.  Slater brushed some dust off his face.  “Perhaps you’d better come in the house and we’ll talk about it.  I sure as hell don’t intend standing out here in the cold discussing it.”

Could hardly believe what he was hearing.  Slater wasn’t firing him?  But it didn’t make no sense.  No sense at all.  Or did it?  Maybe Slater wanted Madrid around for some other reason?  That had to be it.  Nobody would want him around if they didn’t want to make use of his gun.  “You expecting some kind of trouble, Mr. Slater?  Is that why you want me around?”

There was a deep furrow between Slater’s eyes, like he didn’t know what Madrid was talking about.  “No.  I’m not expecting trouble.”  He shot Johnny a questioning sort of look.  “But I do know a good ranch hand when I see one.  And someone who’s good with horses.  Come on in the house.”  He smiled.  A smile that crinkled his eyes.  “The least I can do is give you a drink for saving Junior’s life.  And we’ll talk about you having a job too.”

Shit.  The man was serious.  He actually meant what he was saying...  The fellow must be loco if he was seriously thinking of keeping Madrid on.  But surely there had to be a catch?  There was always a catch.

Johnny followed him into the wooden ranch house, slamming the heavy door shut against the wind.  It was cosy inside with big fires in the grates and jugs of flowers and pictures on the walls.  Clark and Junior were inside, leaning against a big carved cupboard, waiting for Ike Slater’s lead on how this was going to play out.

The man led the way into a big room which was divided up with one half filled with comfortable chairs set opposite a blazing fire where the logs were spitting and crackling as sparks flew up the chimney.   The other side of the room was obviously where the family ate.  Johnny couldn’t help but stare.  The table was all laid up for the family’s meal.  Laid for the family of five.  With a chair for Ike Slater at the head of the table and then two chairs on one side and a single chair on the other...  He swallowed hard.  There was something very familiar about the scene which stabbed at his memories.

And then he looked at the plates...  He could feel the blood draining from his face.   The plates were the same.  The same pattern.  The same colours.  He tried to swallow, but the lump in his throat felt like it was choking him.  It was exactly the same... 

Part Twenty five

It was almost as if his heart stopped beating, and his blood stopped pumping as he stood frozen in time, just staring at the damn plates.  And all he could think of was all those times they’d sat around the table at Lancer and eaten off those same plates while he’d felt tongue tied and awkward.  The memories were crowding in, jostling for space.  And he just kept staring at the table.  Couldn’t speak.  Hell, he couldn’t breathe.  And there in his picture book memory was Doe; laughing and crowing about how he’d finally won.  He’d beaten Madrid.

“You okay, Madrid?”  Slater’s voice sounded a long way off. 

He tried to swallow.  Dragged his gaze away from the table and saw the Slater family looking at him, like he’d gone loco.  A nice family.  A real nice family. 

There was just one thing wrong with them: they weren’t his family. 

Oh shit!  They weren’t his family...  He bit his lip hard, tried to drag his mind back to the present.  Tried to block out the image of Doe and concentrate on what Slater was saying, but his voice still sounded some ways off.  “Like I said outside, Madrid, there’s a job here for you.  I never turn away a good hand.  So if you’re serious about trying something new, I’m prepared to give you a chance.  What do you say?”

Prepared to give him a chance...  But now there were other voices in his head.  All talking at him.  Delice was there telling him if he wanted something badly enough he should reach out for it and not let go.  Teresa telling him not to give up on them because they didn’t want to give up on him.  Sam telling him he should let somebody love him before it was too late. 

Shit.  What the hell had he done?  How could he have been so stupid?  So blind?

“Madrid?”  Slater’s face was creased with worry.  “Are you okay?”

Johnny tried to focus on Slater’s face but an image of Murdoch was crowding in.  Murdoch giving him the old pocket-watch.  Murdoch and him chasing the herd of wild horses.  Murdoch offering him and Scott a drink that first day.  And the look on his father’s face when Johnny signed the partnership deal.  Yeah, Slater was a good man.  A real good man.  But he wasn’t family.

And because Madrid was really dumb he’d walked away from all of that.  Walked away from his family without as much as a backward glance.  And that had to be the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

Johnny shook his head trying to think of something to say.  Anything to say.  They must all be thinking he was just crazy.  “I’m sorry...  It’s just...  Well, my things are packed now and I’ve remembered there’s some place else I ought to be.  So, thanks for the job offer, but no.  It ain’t that I’m not grateful...   But...  Well, like I said, there’s some place else I should be.”

He was vaguely aware of them looking bewildered as he stumbled blindly from the room.  He just needed to get to the barn.  Needed time to think.  But shit.  What had he done?  There was a sick feeling in the base of his stomach and a voice was shouting in his head.  Shouting that he’d walked away from the best thing to ever happen to him.  And he’d let Doe ruin his life. 

It was as though the fog had lifted and he could finally see clearly.  And now it hit him as he  looked back over the past weeks that it didn’t matter where he went or what he did, and no matter where the wind blew, the voice in the wind which echoed in his ears was Lancer.  And out of everything he’d done in his life, of all his regrets, the only thing he’d change was leaving Lancer.

He buried his face in Barranca’s neck as everything seemed to finally fall into place.  The thing he’d been searching for in the fog of his dreams was his home.  A home and a family to finally call his own.  It had been Utah which had got him so mixed up.  It had brought back all those memories of Doe.  And memories of the prison.  And the memory of all those people touching him and tormenting him had made his skin crawl.  And the thought of his family finding out...  But in walking out on his family he’d let Doe win.  He’d let Doe ruin his first chance of a different life.

He heard a footfall behind him and swung around, his hand reaching to his hip.  But it was just Junior.  The kid’s eyes opened wide as he registered that Johnny had almost drawn his gun.  Junior smiled weakly.  “Didn’t mean to startle you.  It was just that you seemed kind of odd when you left us, just wondered if you were okay.”

Johnny ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed softly.  “Yeah, Junior, I’m fine.  Like I said, I realised there’s somewhere else I should be.”

Junior looked puzzled.  “Where?  I thought you wanted a job.  A fresh start?  Isn’t that what you said to Clark earlier?”

Johnny nodded slowly.  “Yeah, that’s what I said.  Trouble is; I reckon I need that fresh start someplace else.  I got family, Junior, and I reckon maybe I’d best go see them.”  Shit!  He couldn’t believe he’d said it.  Said it out loud, like it was something he was really going to do. 

“You said you lost a brother.  I guess your pa would be glad to see you if he already lost a son.”  Junior leaned on the wooden partition between the stalls.

Johnny stared down at the straw and sighed heavily.  “I guess he lost his son a long time ago.  I don’t know if he’ll be glad to see me.  I ain’t much of a son.  I ain’t much of anything to anyone.”

Junior furrowed his brow, kind of like he was thinking things over.  “I reckon a pa is always glad to see a son.  It’s what families do, isn’t it?  Accept each other.  I reckon families are the same the world over.  It’s just how it is.”  He flushed, as if embarrassed by what he’d said.

Was it?  Was it like that? Maybe that was how it was meant to be.  Trouble was, he knew damn all about families.  He’d never had any sort of family life.  Hell, his own mother had never forgiven him for being born.  She’d never accepted him.  There’d been no forgiveness there. 

But maybe things could be different.  Or maybe not.  But there was only one way to find out.  He held his hand out to Junior.  “Thanks, Junior, I’ve enjoyed it here.  But I think I really do need to head south.”

“To Mexico?”

Johnny shook his head.  “No.  California.  I’ve got unfinished business there.  But thanks for everything and I appreciate the job offer. “

Junior grinned.  “The job offer’s always there if you need it.  If you change your mind, Pa said we’d always have a place for you.”

Johnny ducked his head, embarrassed by the words and the gesture.  But somewhere in the deep chill inside of him it felt like somebody had struck a match and lit a candle.  And that felt good.

He hefted the saddle onto Barranca’s back, and tightened up the cinch.  “I’ll remember that, and thank your pa from me.  I’m real grateful.”

He secured his bedroll and saddlebags and then led Barranca out into the yard before swinging himself into the saddle.  Raising a hand in farewell, he spurred Barranca into a lope and set off heading south.

............

He made camp that night near a rushing stream, swollen with melting snow from the higher ground.  He was sheltered from the chill wind by a small dense stand of lodgepole pines.  He tethered Barranca and built himself a small fire and set about brewing some coffee. 

Clasping the mug tightly for a little warmth he stared at the black sky which was filled with glittering stars sparkling like diamonds.  It was kind of odd, but the stars looked clearer than he’d ever seen them.  Scott had once pointed out some strange shapes that a man could make out of lining the stars up.  Scott had said that the shapes had names.  He’d told Johnny some of the names; he vaguely remembered that one was called the plough, and another had something to do with swords.  It was strange to think that Scott had known all the odd names of stars, but even odder to think that someone had ever gone to the trouble of naming them.  But maybe on a night like this, when they were so clear, it wasn’t so strange that someone had wanted to give them names.  Once things had names it kind of fixed them in place.  Like a family having names.  Once a man started giving things names it made him closer to them.

He stretched his legs out to move his cold feet closer to the fire.  Dios.  This life he’d chosen was as much of a prison as the one he’d been in when he was a kid.  There might not be any locked doors or bars, but he was still held prisoner.  And as long as he carried on alone, he was letting Doe win.  And he was damned if he’d let that bit of shit ruin his life.

And the first step had to be going home.  They probably wouldn’t want him but if he didn’t go back he’d always wonder about what might have been.  And if they told him to get the hell out, at least he’d know that he had to start again someplace else. 

Yeah.  Home.  He’d never really known a home before.  Maybe that was why he didn’t know how to handle it?  Didn’t know what was expected of him.  And he sure as hell didn’t understand why they all kept poking their noses into his business.  But from what Junior said, this was the sort of thing families did.

And Junior had also said that families forgave each other when they screwed up.  Would his family consider forgiving him?  It was odd how Scott had stuck by him all through the court case, even though Madrid had pushed him away.  Was that the sort of thing that Junior meant?  Delice would know.  Madrid had been a real bastard to Scott back in Utah, but in spite of that Scott had still backed Madrid and presented what he’d called “a united front” to Murdoch when they’d got home.  Because they were family?  Because family looked out for each other.  Clark had said something about that. 

Leaning forward he poured some more coffee into the mug, grateful for the warmth of the fire.  Yeah.  The whole business in Utah really had screwed him up.  Thank God Scott had never found out what had really happened in the prison.  Hadn’t found out what sort of things had gone on there.  Hell, if Scott had known the things they did to him...  Shit, he couldn’t never go home if Scott knew about that.  But as it was Scott didn’t suspect nothing.  Madrid’s secret was safe.  And Scott didn’t know about how Johnny had met Val so that was okay.  That secret was safe too.

So maybe he really should go home.  Home.  Funny how even the word home made him feel good.  Now he was letting himself say it, he knew he had to go back.  Had to find out if there was a way back for him.

But if they didn’t want him, he could understand that.  But least ways he’d know that he tried to make things right.

Make things right...  He had to laugh.  They were probably counting themselves lucky that he’d ridden out.  But going back was the right thing to do, whichever way things panned out. 

........

Despite the cold and the hard ground, he had a better night.  A few of his ghosts came calling but there was no sign of Doe.  Maybe that meant something.  Maybe Doe realised that Madrid wasn’t going to be beaten.  Maybe it showed that reaching the decision to head back to California was the right thing to do.  Time would tell.

He saddled Barranca and headed south.  He needed to stock up on some supplies, but otherwise he figured on avoiding towns if possible.  Just wanted to think things through and he sure didn’t need the sort of problems that towns could bring.  People meant trouble more often than not, and right now he’d had enough trouble to last him a life time.  And he sure as hell didn’t want to run into someone trying to collect on Mason’s bounty.  At some point he’d have to do something about Mason.  But Mason could wait too. 

............. 

He stuck to his decision and avoided towns over the next few days after an initial trip just to get some essentials.  And at least the weather was getting warmer as he went south.  Felt like spring was running to meet him and grasping him in a warm and welcoming embrace. 

And all around him the world was slowly coming back to life after a long hard winter.  There were bright green shoots on the trees, such a fresh green it was like they’d come back from the laundry, and other trees were starting to blossom with buds opening up and scenting the air.  And flocks of birds were heading north from wherever they’d spent the winter.  They had more sense than to be freezing to death in Wyoming.  Flowers were pushing their way through the ground in the meadows, carpeting the land in a blaze of colour which brought a smile to his face.  It sure was pretty.  And even the weather was being kind to him as he rode under cloudless blue skies.  The nights were cold but he snuggled down inside his bedroll and managed to keep warm enough.

Even Barranca had a spring in his step.  It was like he was happy that the weather was getting better, or he approved of Johnny’s plan to go back south. 

He found himself talking to Barranca a lot.  But then he’d always talked to his horses.  Looking back over the years he reckoned he’d spent more time with horses than people.  And on the whole he’d take the horses for company any time.  But women were good too...  He liked women...  Hell, he liked women a lot.  And it was way too long since he’d fucked one.  Maybe he’d stop at the next town.  Get himself a bath and a shave and then get himself laid.

Trouble was he wanted to get back.  But then, he couldn’t travel at night so what harm would it do to spend a few hours whoring?  Shit.  It would be just his luck to wind up in some gunfight...   No.  Keep on travelling.  Avoid towns and avoid trouble. 

And that in itself was crazy.  Since when had he ever worried about avoiding trouble?  He laughed aloud, sending Barranca skittering sideways and startling a jackrabbit which shot off through the brush.  He really had changed.  There was no getting away from it.  These last few months had brought a change in him and it was time he faced up to it.  He’d had a glimpse of a different life to the one he’d been used to, and he wanted to give it a go.  Yeah, ranching was hard work.  Harder than he was used to, but it was honest.  It left him bone tired, but it didn’t leave him worrying over whether he’d hit rock bottom or whether he’d chosen the right side in a range war or worrying about whether he’d committed yet another sin to ensure his place in purgatory.

Ranching was simpler.  And despite the sweat and the dust and the dirt, it was cleaner.  The dirt was just skin deep, it washed off at the end of a day and it didn’t get down to his soul. 

He scanned the horizon, picking his trail carefully, and then his heart lurched and made him catch his breath.  There it was.  Unmistakable.  His mountain.  It was partially hidden by hazy cloud but he knew it was his.  Its strange shaped peak beckoning to him, calling him home.  Another day’s riding and he should be there.  Home.

He made camp near a clear lake fed by a small river tumbling down the hillside.  It would be a good place to wash the journey’s grime from himself and shave off the rough growth of beard; the result of more than two weeks on the trail.

He heated some water in a tin can and used the blade of one of his knives as a makeshift mirror while he scraped off the growth.  He hardly recognised himself  in its reflection.  He’d lost weight and his skin was wind tanned making him look even darker.  Dios, just as well he’d thought to shave – nobody would recognise him the way he looked right now.

He cooked himself some supper but he felt strangely queasy now.  Didn’t really want to eat anything.  He could feel a tightening in his gut and the small flutterings of fear.  Home was so close now.  A day’s ride.  And then he’d have to face them.

He’d been fine on the trail.  Excited almost.  Certain he was doing the right thing. 

But now?

What would Murdoch’s reaction be?  Would he be cold?  Angry? 

Or could Junior be right?  And Murdoch would be forgiving.  But Murdoch was a hard man.  A man who’d spent his life building up a ranch.  He wasn’t the sort of man who’d take off without a backward glance.  He wasn’t like Madrid. 

Shit.  And how could he explain why he’d left without giving away too much about the past?

Shit.

..........

He had a bad night when all the ghosts of his past seemed to do battle with his fears for the future.  Murdoch was there, larger than life, and angry.  “I don’t know what to make of you.”  The reproach kept ringing in his ears and he gave up all efforts to sleep.  Instead, he sat and watched the dawn come up until, on the far horizon through the misty grey light, the tip of his mountain was suddenly flushed pink by the sun and it blazed bright as though it was on fire. 

Was it a sign?  If it was he sure as hell couldn’t read it.  The only thing he knew for sure was that the knot was back in his stomach and all his muscles felt tight as if they were close to snapping.  Didn’t even want coffee.  Felt like it might stick in his throat and choke him. 

He dragged himself to his feet and saddled Barranca, but he couldn’t ever remember taking so long to do such a simple task.  Or taking so long to clear away the remains of his camp, scuffing out the ground where he’d lit his fire.

But if he was slow, Barranca wasn’t.  It was almost as if the horse knew where he was and couldn’t wait to get back to the comforts they’d left behind all those weeks ago when they’d set off on this journey.  But even as Barranca covered the miles and the land around him became more familiar, Johnny could feel everything inside of him tightening up.  Dios, he felt sick.

And now, below him, he could see the winding track which followed the hill and led to the ranch.  And then, as he crested the hill, there it was, nestling in the valley as though it had taken root and grown out of the land that his father loved so much.

He reined Barranca in and gazed down at the sprawling hacienda basking in the late afternoon sunlight.  The lump in his throat felt even bigger as he watched the activity below.  Ranch hands, looking like ants from where he sat watching, were working in the corrals.  And the fear which had been growing all day was screaming at him, asking the same question over and over.  Was there room for anything in his father’s stern heart other than this land, this ranch?  The man had said he loved it more than anything God had created.  More than family?  More than his sons?

And if he rode down, what should he say to that mountain of a man?  Trouble was he hadn’t a clue.  Not a fucking clue.

He pushed his hat back, running his fingers through his hair while the lump pushing its way up into his mouth felt like it was choking the breath out of him.  And there was a pain deep inside of him that felt as though it was tearing his guts apart.

And the questions were still pounding in his head.  Would they want him?  What would his father say?  And what should Madrid say?  And what the hell would Scott say or do?

Questions.  So many questions.   And he hadn’t got a single answer.

It was a struggle to turn Barranca.  Damn horse knew which way it wanted to go.  But Johnny finally pulled him around and rode away.

Part twenty six

Nothing had changed.  It was exactly the same as when he’d last seen it.  But although it seemed like an eternity since he’d last stood here, he supposed it wasn’t really that long. He was glad there weren’t any customers.  It was too early for the cowpokes to be coming in. At first nobody noticed him standing in the doorway, and then one of them caught sight of him, her eyes huge and startled and her face white as chalk.  Anyone would think she’d seen a ghost. And then all hell broke loose.  The girls swarmed round him all talking at once and he couldn’t hear a damn word they said.  They were dragging him into the room, all pawing at him, as if to check he was real or something.  It was crazy; he hadn’t been gone that long.  But it was good to know they must have missed him so much. 

He could feel her eyes boring into him even before he saw her.  He turned, quickly taking his hat off, and met her eyes.  Her face looked thinner than he remembered; paler.  She was leaning against the doorway to her office, her knuckles gleaming white, almost like she was holding on real tight.

He spoke softly, almost afraid of frightening them all, they seemed so surprised to see him.  “Delice.”

He fidgeted with the stampede string on his hat as she continued to stare at him wordlessly.  She jerked her head at the girls, as if signalling them all to go elsewhere and they instantly melted away into the background.

Was she going to say anything?  Or were they going to stand here forever while she stared at him?

She drew in a deep breath as she raised an eyebrow.  “Well, my oh my.  It’s quite remarkable.”

“What’s remarkable?”  Hell, he never knew what she was going to come out with.

“The resemblance.  Really quite astounding.  It’s the strangest thing but you look remarkably like somebody I used to know.  I believe the term is a doppelganger.”

A doppel what?  Shit.  So she was going to be tricky.  He should have known this wouldn’t be easy.

“Yes.  The similarity really is quite uncanny, you could be twins.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “In my office.  Now!”  She moved to one side and held the door open for him.  There was a steely look in her eyes and a real hard tone to her voice which said she wasn’t in any sort of mood to tangle with.

With a deep sigh he walked in and stood awkwardly by the desk, fiddling with the string on his hat.  She slammed the door shut behind them and continued to glare at him, her eyes flashing.

“Where the hell have you been?” 

He sighed again.  So much for the friendly greeting he’d hoped for, a kind of ‘how are you, Johnny?  Nice to see you’ greeting.  Dios, but she looked real mad at him.  He shuffled his feet and shrugged.  “Around.”

She breathed in deep and then pursed her lips. If anything she looked even angrier. “Around?  Around?”  Her voice grew louder.  “Everyone thinks you’re dead and you swan in here and all you can say is you’ve been around!”

He furrowed his brow.  What the hell was she talking about?  “Dead?  But I ain’t dead.”  He slung his hat down on the leather chair at the side of the desk.

She gave an exaggerated sigh.  “Well, if you are dead, you’re the healthiest corpse I’ve ever seen.  But surely your family must have told you everyone thought you were dead.”

He shook his head.  “I ain’t been to see them yet...”   Shit, she looked even madder now.

“You mean to tell me,” she hissed, “that you’ve come here whoring even before you went to visit your family.”  The disgust on her face shocked him.

“No!”  He felt a stab of pain that she should think that of him.  “No.  I ain’t come here to whore.  That’s not how it is.”

She raised an eyebrow, kind of like she didn’t believe a word he said.  “No?  Well why don’t you tell me how it is?”

He ducked his head, embarrassed to admit the truth.  But hell, what had he got to lose?  “I went there.  I was...  I was going to go down and talk to them...”  He ran his fingers through his hair and shot a quick glance at her before ducking his head again.  “But then I realised I didn’t know what to say.  So I came here.  I hoped...  I thought maybe you could...”  He shrugged, uncertain of how to put it.

She let out a long sigh, kind of like she’d been holding it all in.  “That maybe I could tell you?”  Her voice was calmer now.  And she didn’t look quite so mad at him.

He nodded.  “Yeah.  I just don’t know how to do this.”  He paused, as the meaning of her earlier words finally hit home.  “They think I’m dead?  Why the hell would they think I’m dead?”

She gave him one of her looks that she seemed to keep for when she thought he was being especially dumb.  “Because that’s what they were told.  We heard you were gunned down in a town in Arizona.”  A small line appeared between her eyes.  “So it wasn’t you, it must have been someone else.  You weren’t in that town.”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly.  “Yeah, I was there...”  His voice trailed off.  Shit, now she’d want to know about the shooting.

“But they said you were shot in the chest and the gut.”  She was looking at him real hard now, almost like she was looking for signs of blood on him or gaping holes.

He shrugged.  No way was he admitting how bad it had been.  “It was nothing.  Really.”

She raised an eyebrow that said she didn’t believe him.  “Leaving aside the fact that you were reported by the sheriff no less as being covered in blood and slumped, apparently dead, around the neck of your horse, where exactly have you been?”

“Wyoming.”

If he’d said the moon he reckoned she couldn’t have looked more surprised.  In fact, for a few seconds it was like she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  Chalk that up as a first.

“Wyoming?”  She didn’t sound like she could believe it.  “Wyoming.  I have to ask.  Why Wyoming?  I mean they have really cold winters up there.  And it’s way off your usual territory...”  She paused, nodding slowly.  “Oh, that’s why Wyoming.”  She turned and went to the cupboard in the corner and reached in for a couple of glasses and a bottle of whisky.  She poured them each a generous measure and handed him a glass.  “So, you went to Wyoming looking for anonymity and yet here you are large as life.  What changed?”

He wondered what ano whatever it was meant, so he took a sip of his drink while he tried to figure out what to say.  But hell, this was Delice, the one person he could be honest with.  “I missed it.”  And there it was.  That simple really.  He missed his home, he missed his family, and he missed talking to Delice and Sam and Val.  Dios, but he’d changed a lot in the last year.  Who’d have thought that he’d end up caring about so many people?

Her mouth quirked.  “It?  You mean you missed your home?  And your family?

He grinned.  “Yeah.  And my friends, Delice.  I missed you, too.”

She turned away, reaching for the bottle before turning back and pouring a drop more in his glass.  “So what were you doing in Wyoming?  You obviously weren’t working as a hired gun.”

“Working on a ranch.”

Her mouth dropped open.  Dang, but he’d got her speechless again. 

“A ranch?  You’ve been working as a ranch hand?”

He nodded, trying to bite back a laugh because she looked so surprised.

The emerald eyes hardened a touch.  “So let me get this straight.  Johnny Lancer who happens to own a part of the biggest ranch in California, and who kept complaining about the tedious nature of the work and the long hours, threw it all in to go and take a lowly job as a ranch hand with the same tedious work and long hours without the benefits of being the boss.  Ah, yes.  Now I understand!  That all makes perfect sense.”

It did sound kind of dumb when she put it like that.  But heck, that was why he liked her.  She never went pussy footing around, she just said what she thought and got straight to the point.  Not like any woman he’d ever met. 

He let out a big sigh.  “Okay, so it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

She sat down and leaned back in the big chair behind her desk.  “And did Wyoming bring you the anonymity you craved?”    

There it was again, that word.  But she must have seen that he didn’t understand, because she spoke again.  “Anonymity.  Somehwere nobody recognised you.”

He laughed.  “Well, yeah, that was the idea.  But I tell you, Delice, I reckon I could go half way around the world and it’d only be a matter of time before someone showed up who knew who I was.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “It’s the price of fame, honey.  You should be more careful what you wish for.  So, you left Arizona and took off to Wyoming where you promptly started doing the thing you’d been running away from.”

“Yeah.  Kind of dumb, isn’t it? And hell, I don’t even know why I did it so don’t bother asking because I sure don’t know the answer.”

Her lips twitched.  “Oh honey, you really are hopeless. You were lost.  You were lost from the time you got back from Utah.  But I did tell you that you’d find your way if you looked.  But you just didn’t even try to look; you just went rushing off without a word to anyone.”

He scowled, snatching his hat up from the leather chair and slumping down into it.  “I didn’t go without a word.  I left a note.”

She tilted her head to one side and gave him another of those looks.  “Ah yes.  The Note.  Sorry, honey, but writing ‘sorry I can’t do this.  It’s better this way’ doesn’t really count as an explanation.  Did it never occur to you how much it would hurt your family?”  She paused, as if thinking things over and then gave a little sigh.  “No, I don’t suppose it did.”  She was silent for a few beats.   “But you did hurt them.  Not that I suppose you’ll believe that.”

He furrowed his brow.  “I figured maybe they’d be glad to see the back of me.  What with the gunfight and all and me being trouble.”

She shook her head in irritation.  “You’re their flesh and blood.  Family.  Of course they were going to be worried sick.  And hurt.  Everyone was trying to find you, and Val was contacting everyone.”

His eyes widened in surprise.  Shit.  They’d all been looking for him?  He’d never have figured on that.

Delice narrowed her eyes.  “Yes, you may well look surprised.  But the fact remains that they were worried sick.  And then Val heard that you’d been gunned down in Arizona.  He and Scott went down to bring your body back.”

Johnny’s head jerked up, the cold fingers of shock clutching at him as he tried to find his voice.  “You ain’t serious.  Please tell me that’s not true.”  He shut his eyes briefly.  “You really saying they went down to get my body?”

She nodded.  “Your father wanted you brought home and buried on Lancer land. Except of course there was no body.  That rather put a damper on that plan.”

He flushed.  Shit.  What had he done?  Couldn’t even begin to imagine what that trip had been like for Scott and Val.  Thank God they hadn’t met any Indians.

“And so, your family has been left in limbo while you’ve been playing at ranching in Wyoming.  Scott tells me that your father doesn’t want to believe you’re dead, poor Val is trying to come to terms with this being the second time he’s had to deal with news of your demise and Scott is mourning the loss of a brother he’d only just met.”

Dios.  The thought of his family going through all of that...  And all because he’d gone haring off without a thought for anyone else, looking for God only knew what.  He shook his head and he could barely raise a whisper.  “I didn’t know.  If I thought they’d been thinking that I’d have got in touch.  I really didn’t know.”

“Honey, if I thought you were cruel enough to subject your family to that, I’d have kicked your sorry ass out of here a long time ago.”  She shook her head, but she didn’t look pissed with him, more like she didn’t know what to do with him. 

“So what do I say to them?  I mean, what should I do?”  How the hell could he make this right? 

“The first thing you do is go there and tell them that the prodigal son has returned yet again, and that you are alive and well.”  She shot him a doubtful look.  “Or as well as can be expected for a man who was obviously seriously wounded when he was shot.”

He flushed.  “I told you it was nothing.”

She made a sort of noise that sounded like pffffttt.  “I know what you told me.  I just don’t happen to believe you.  But leaving that to one side, you need to go and put them out of their misery and let them know you’re alive.”  She paused, and then looked at him so hard it was like she was trying to see into his soul.  “But I’ll tell you one thing, Johnny.  If you’re going to stay, make sure it’s what you really want, because you can’t put them through this again.  It’s the second time you’ve walked out and at some stage you have to make a decision and stick to it.  Make a commitment.  Do you really know what you want?”

He bit his lip.  “Yeah,” he spoke softly.  “I want to go home.  I want to try and make it work.”

There was a flicker of relief in her eyes.  “Well, that’s a good start.”

He swallowed hard, trying to voice his biggest fear.  “What if they don’t want me?  What do I do then?”

She smiled.  “Honey, they’ll want you.”

He shook his head.  “But what if you’re wrong?  What if they tell me to get the hell out?  What do I do then?”

Her mouth twitched.  “Well, in the very unlikely event of that happening, I tell you what you won’t do.  You won’t go rushing off in a temper and disappearing again.  If they throw you out, you’re to come here, and then we’ll figure it out together.  It’s not going to happen, but I want you to promise that’s what you would do.”

He grinned, feeling the tension ebbing away.  “Yeah, okay.  I promise.”  He spun the bracelet around on his wrist before shooting her a quick look.  “But I still haven’t a clue what to say.”

She shrugged.  “Well, here’s a clue.  How about sorry?  I take it that you are familiar with the word?”

He held his hands up in mock surrender.  “Okay.  But then what?  I don’t know what to say about why I left.  I mean should I say that I felt hemmed in or what?”  He ducked his head.  He could hardly tell Delice that most of the problem had been caused by the trial in Utah which had brought back a flood of memories of a living hell in prison as a kid.   Or his fear that his family would learn too much about what had happened to him.  Or that he’d killed a man in cold blood as a result of what he’d suffered in that prison. 

He could feel her gaze.  He looked up to try and meet her eyes, but he flushed and stared back down at the bracelet.  It felt sometimes like she could see right inside of him.  Like she knew all his secrets.  But that was crazy.  She couldn’t know nothing.  If she did she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. 

“I think,” her voice was like a caress.  “I think all you should say is that it’s been difficult for you to get used to the constraints of this type of life.  That it just suddenly all seemed too much and you couldn’t cope with it.  I think though it might be an idea at some stage to discuss with your father the possibility that if it all starts crowding in on you again, you take a couple of days out at a line shack.  That should be long enough for you to start missing your family.  And I suspect he will find that prospect preferable to you walking out.”

Johnny shook his head.  “He ain’t going to agree to that.  He expects me to pull my weight.  Shit, he tells me so often enough.”

She smiled.  “Maybe you’ll find that he’s softened a touch.  Just try it.  He might surprise you.  But leave that conversation for another day.  They’re going to be mad as hell at you when they see you.”

He shook his head, confused.  “But you just said they’d be pleased to see me.  Now you’re saying they’ll be mad as hell.”

She tilted her head and made an exaggerated kind of sigh.  “They will be pleased to see you.  But the natural reaction when someone turns up safe and sound when you’ve been worrying yourself sick about them is to yell at them.  Surely your mother did that when she was worried about...”  Delice bit her lip, gave him a long hard look.  “But no, of course she didn’t.”  She paused again.  “Anyway, the fact remains that they will very probably yell at you and you will have to stand and take it like a man.  Do not lose your temper.  They will need to let off steam.  Let them.”

He nodded slowly.  It sounded kind of crazy to him.  Why yell at someone if you were pleased to see them?  Still, if Delice said that’s how things were, it must be right. 

“There is one other little matter to be discussed.”  Her voice had a sort of edge to it.  “The matter of Daisy.”

He stared at her.  “Daisy?  Who’s Daisy?” 

“Who’s Daisy?”  She didn’t sound too impressed.  “You mean you’ve forgotten her so soon?  And there I was supposing she was the love of your life.” 

Yeah, a real sharp edge to her voice.  Sharp enough to cut him.  But Daisy?  Who the hell was...  “Oh, Daisy!”  He grinned, suddenly remembering the girl in Arizona.

“Yes, honey, Daisy.  Who you so thoughtfully sent to me for a job.”

“She needed a break.  I thought you’d help her out.”  He felt a twinge of concern.  “She did need a change.”

“That’s as may be.  But I would prefer that you didn’t send all your cast off whores to me for work.  I choose my girls very carefully and I do have standards to keep up.  I am not running a charity.  Broken noses are not in the job description.”

“She was very good at her job.”  He snapped the words out.  Couldn’t believe that Delice would have turned poor Daisy away.  Shit, and he’d sent the girl here thinking she’d do okay.

“Well, nobody would know better than you if she was up to scratch.”  Delice’s voice was very cool.

“So what happened to her?  Where is she?”

Delice bit her lip and suddenly seemed to find her hands real interesting.  “Didn’t you recognise her out there earlier?”

He could feel his smile spreading.  “So you did give her a job.”

Delice sniffed.  How could anyone say so much with just a sniff?  “Just don’t make a habit of it.  I cannot give work to every stray whore you come across on your travels.  The building isn’t big enough.”

He grinned.  “Oh hell, Delice, you’d be proud of me, I’ve become almost clean living in Wyoming.”

She raised an eyebrow and pulled a face.  “Then there must have been an absence of bordellos, because don’t try and tell me you’ve changed your habits.  I won’t believe you.”

He had to laugh.  She knew him far too well.  “Yeah.  You’re right.  There was a hell of a shortage of girls in those parts.  The men used to line up for a go at the saloon girls, and you know that just ain’t my style.”

Laughing, she pushed her chair back.  “Go home, Johnny.  Go and see your family.  And I’ll expect you in on Saturday night.”

He drew in a deep breath.  “You’re sure it’ll be okay?”

“Yes, honey, I’m sure.  But if it wasn’t, you’re to come here, you promised.  But it will be okay.  Trust me.”

And the odd thing was, he did.  More than pretty much anyone he’d ever known.

He slipped out of the side door, with a quick wave to the girls.  There were a few customers in now and he didn’t want to get caught up in chat with anyone.  Just wanted to go home, and try and put things right.  And if Delice said it would be okay, then the chances were that it would be.

He unhitched Barranca from the rail in the side street where he’d tethered him.  “Come on, boy, we’re going home.”

He hesitated at the edge of town, the road was the most direct route, but the back route was pulling at him.  It had always been his favourite way, and it would be real pretty at dusk.  There’d be a moon rising and it always lit the paths through the wood.  Yeah.  It would be good to ride home that way.  And he’d be able to avoid meeting anyone on the road.  Sure didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.  Just wanted his family.  The thought brought a smile to his face.  Family.  It did have a real good sound to it.

There were a few clouds scudding across the darkening sky, and the first stars were peeping out, coy as virgins.  He grinned.  Yeah.  It was going to be a real pretty night. 

The moon was rising and starting to light a route through the woods, her soft light dusting all the branches with silver.  An owl glided on silent wings just above his head hunting for an early supper, and the mildest breeze stirred the newly budding leaves. 

The blur of movement caught him off guard.   

Part twenty seven

Murdoch set his coffee cup down with a clatter as they finished their breakfast.  “Perhaps you could take a work party to clear the stream feeding the south pasture.  It’s been damming up through the winter.  And then Cipriano can take some men to repair any damaged fences towards the south mesa.”

Scott nodded, pleased that at least Murdoch was trying to concentrate on ranch business.  It was a small step, but an important one.  Even so, he couldn’t help but notice that most of Murdoch’s breakfast had gone untouched again.  His father was looking very haggard and he seemed to have aged a good ten years over the past few weeks.  Scott tried hard to keep the man focused but it was an uphill struggle.  If only Murdoch could just accept that Johnny was dead.  They needed to get on with their lives but until Murdoch accepted the cold hard truth, it was as though they were existing in limbo.

Teresa veered between hoping that Johnny was still alive and weeping over his death.  And Scott suspected that she held him, Murdoch and Val jointly responsible for not finding Johnny and bringing him home immediately after he left all those weeks ago. 

He flung his napkin down and pushed his chair back.  The work still had to be done and somebody had to try and keep the ranch together.  Thank God Cipriano was so reliable.

He followed Murdoch outside and headed toward the corral where the hands were gathering for the day’s orders when he saw a rider approaching fast.  “Someone’s in a tearing hurry.”

Murdoch squinted in the morning sunlight as he tried to identify the rider.  “It’s Val.  He certainly does look to be riding flat out.  I hope it doesn’t mean there’s trouble in town.”

He raised his hand in greeting as Val reined in by the corral.   “Morning, Val.  You’re out early.”

Judging from the smile on Val’s face it seemed that it wasn’t trouble in town which had brought him haring out to the ranch.  Scott couldn’t recall having ever seen the dour sheriff so cheerful. 

“Well, I headed out as soon as I heard.  So where is he?”  Val was beaming; there was no other word for it.  The smile stretched from ear to ear and he was craning his neck as if searching for a face in a crowd.

Murdoch furrowed his brow.  “Where’s who?”

Val laughed.  “No call for play acting!  I couldn’t hardly believe it when I heard the news, and you must be like a dog with two tails.  So, come on, where is he?”

Murdoch turned toward Scott, raising an eyebrow.  “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Scott shook his head but Val laughed again.  “Dang but the two of you do like to fun a man.  Come on, where’s Johnny?  Don’t tell me you’re letting him have a lie in when there’s so much work for him to catch up on?”

Murdoch sucked in a breath, paling, even as Scott felt his own breath hitch.  Scott shook his head.  Had Val gone crazy?  Had he had a bang on the head and forgotten that Johnny was dead?  “Val, what are you talking about?”

The smile on the sheriff’s face faded.  “You mean he didn’t come here?”  Val pushed his hat back, studying their faces intently.  “You haven’t heard, have you?  You ain’t funning with me.”

“Heard what?”  Murdoch’s voice was hoarse as he snapped out the question.

Val sighed and flushed as though embarrassed.  “Well...  Johnny was in town yesterday.  Quite a few people saw him.  I was out of town, so I only heard this morning.  I figured he’d have been straight out to come home...”  He jumped forward to put a steadying hand on Murdoch, even as Scott jumped to catch his father’s arm as the man swayed unsteadily, his face ashen.

“He’s alive?”  Murdoch’s voice was barely a whisper.  “There’s no mistake?  You’re sure?”  Murdoch shook his head as though unable to take the news in.  “I knew he was alive.  I was right.  I told you all he wasn’t dead.  But you didn’t believe me.”

Scott opened his mouth but nothing came out.  Could hardly think, never mind speak.  There had to be a mistake.  It couldn’t be Johnny.  Johnny was dead.  A whole town had seen him gunned down...

“But...”  Murdoch’s face contorted, as if in pain.  “But if he’s alive, why didn’t he come here?  Surely he’d let us know he was safe?  He would.  He would have come and seen us.  Maybe it wasn’t him at all.”  Murdoch’s shoulders sagged, as if unable to even contemplate that.

Val shrugged, as if uncertain what to say.

Scott shook his head.  What did it all mean?  It had to be a mistake.  “Who saw him, Val?  I mean, where?  Where was he seen?  Maybe they were mistaken.”

Val flushed again.  “Lots of people saw him.”

Scott cut him off.  “But who saw him?  How can they be sure it was him?”

 Val took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Dang it, Scott.  Like I said, lots of people saw him.  Bob Corby.  Lou Harris.  They all saw him.  He was in the bordello.  It’s the talk of the town.  I’m sorry.  I just assumed he’d have come on here.”

Murdoch’s head jerked up.  “The bordello?  No.  He’d have come and let us know he was safe.  Wouldn’t he?”

Val scratched at his chin.  “I’m sorry but that’s where he was.  Enough people saw him for me to be sure it was Johnny.”

Murdoch furrowed his brow.  “No.  Maybe it was some imposter.  Johnny wouldn’t do that.  He’d have come here, wouldn’t he?”  There was the first hint of doubt in his voice.  “He would, surely.  He wouldn’t have gone to the bordello.  Would he?  I mean, I know he was always whoring but...”  Murdoch’s voice tailed off as he stood shaking his head.  Then his mouth set in a thin line.  He pulled his shoulders back, stood straighter than Scott had seen him in weeks.  “He was always whoring...”  He laughed bitterly.  “The bordello?  Are you saying he was seen in the bordello?”  Murdoch’s voice grew louder.  “Are you telling me that my son was whoring, when his family was here worried sick about him?  My God.  And to think we’ve been making ourselves ill because of him.  And he doesn’t give a damn.  Doesn’t give a damn about anyone.  We’ve been fooling ourselves.  All this time...”  Murdoch broke off, his face red with anger.

Val shuffled his feet awkwardly.  “I don’t know, Mr. Lancer.  I don’t think you’ve got Johnny pegged right...”

“Don’t tell me what I should think of my son, Sheriff.”  Murdoch rounded on Val.  “It is self evident that my son holds this family in contempt.  If that really was him in the bordello then it proves that he has no sense of duty or responsibility.  And he certainly doesn’t care who he hurts.  And after all this time he turns up like a bad penny, and does he come and see us?  No.  He goes whoring!  It seems the only thing he does care about is whoring.  Well, he’s not wanted here, and if you see him, you can damn well tell him so.”  Murdoch turned, shaking with rage, and strode back toward the hacienda.

Scott watched him as he slammed the door shut behind him.  His stomach was churning and his thoughts were racing in all directions.  Johnny was alive.  He was really alive!  But if so why wasn’t he here?  Why hadn’t he come to tell them that he was safe?  Or called in to at least say hello?  Because if he’d come to Green River he’d have known that his family was bound to get word of his visit.  But despite that Johnny hadn’t bothered to come and see them...  His brother who he’d been mourning had been more concerned with his dick than with his family...

Scott gestured towards the door of the hacienda.  “He’s right, you know.  If that’s how Johnny treats this family we’re better off without him.  Johnny is thoughtless and selfish.  Look how he went without a word to any of us.  Just took off without a second thought as to how this would affect everyone.  And now he does this.”

Val sighed, a long deep sigh as though he’d been holding his breath for eternity.  “You got him all wrong, you know.  He ain’t selfish.  Johnny would give his life for anyone in trouble, without a second thought.  But he sure as hell wouldn’t have known how to say goodbye, and I reckon he wouldn’t have even thought that you’d all miss him.  But fact is he was in town, and heck, we both know what Johnny’s like for the women; always worrying about his dick.  But it’s odd because I’d have bet my life Johnny would have come out and seen you.  If he came all the way to Green River...”  He shook his head.  “Yep, it’s real odd.”

“I killed a man because of him!”  Scott clenched his fists close to his sides.  He was shaking all over, and that made him angrier.  That Johnny could have got this much power over him.  Well, no more!  Damn him.  “I killed a man.  We fought Indians.  We risked our lives, Val.”  Scott snorted in disgust.  “And for what?  We traipsed all the way to bloody Utah for him.  And this is how he repays us?  Quite frankly, I’m amazed that you still seem to have a fondness for him.”

Val narrowed his eyes.  “Well, maybe I see him clearer than you do.  Reckon he must have got dealt the worst hand life could throw at him.  He ain’t had all your fancy schooling and that cosy life of yours back in Boston.  He’s fought his way up from the bottom of the barrel.  Fought every damn inch of the way, and he never gives up fighting.  He’s a damn dangerous man, but I’ll tell you one thing, he’s a damn good man too.  But you’re too busy feeling upset because your feathers got ruffled to remember what a good man he really is.”  Val turned back to his horse and swung himself into the saddle.  “I’ll be heading back to town.”  He gave Scott a curt nod and spurred his horse into a lope.

Scott gritted his teeth.  Damn Val to hell.  He and Johnny were two of a kind.  And Lancer didn’t need their kind. 

It seemed he’d misjudged Johnny right from the start.  He’d been so entranced by the novelty of having a brother he hadn’t seen Johnny for the man he really was.  Johnny was supremely self-centred.  Heck, he was probably the most selfish person he’d ever met.  He was cold and hard.  But then, what else would a paid killer be? 

Scott shook his head.  He had been such a fool.  He could well imagine what his grandfather would say about this state of affairs. 

How could he have ever expected a gunfighter to be able to care about anyone?  Anyone who chose to live by the gun had to be from the dregs of society.  He ground his teeth thinking of how he’d been so thoroughly taken in by Johnny.  And after all he’d done to support Johnny this was how he repaid them.  One thing was certain, he wanted no more to do with him.  And perhaps it was time to tell him so. 

He was bound to be somewhere in Green River.  Either in some girl’s bed or maybe in the saloon.  And his fists were itching to connect with Johnny’s face.  The time had come.

He called to one of the hands to tell Murdoch that he was going to town.  He hurried to saddle his horse and rode toward Green River, his mind flooded with memories, but the foremost image was the Indians.  Fighting Apaches.  The knife fight.  How close he had come himself to losing his life and all because of Johnny.  He pushed his horse on faster.  He could feel the heat of anger rising even as he felt colder toward his so-called brother.

He rode first to the livery but there was no sign of Johnny’s palomino.  But maybe he had a different horse now?  Maybe Johnny had sold the animal to have extra money for his whoring.  Nothing about Johnny would surprise him now.

He peered through the swing doors into the saloon, but there were few customers.  No sign of Johnny.  So, presumably he was at the bordello. 

He left his horse tethered outside the saloon, and hurried down the boardwalk towards Delice’s place.  Pushing the door open he saw her standing at the bar polishing glasses.  Her eyes widened in surprise as she glanced across the room.   “Scott, how nice to see you.  I can’t begin to imagine how surprised you must have been when Johnny arrived yesterday evening.  I couldn’t believe it when he walked in here.”

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “And I assume that he is still here.  He certainly didn’t bother coming to tell us that he was alive and well.  The only reason we found out was because Val rode out to see him.

“What?”  Her eyes opened wide as if startled.  She set down the glass she was holding and threw the cloth onto the bar.  “What do you mean he didn’t come to see you?”

“Exactly that.”  Scott struggled to sound cool and disinterested.  “My brother didn’t grace his family with his presence.  And quite frankly if I never see him again I won’t be sorry.  The fact that he came here whoring rather than let his own father know that he was safe is, quite frankly, contemptible.  I assume he’s upstairs wrapped in the arms of one of your girls.  I’ve come to tell him not to bother coming home.”

Delice’s eyes narrowed.  She glared icily at him.  “Johnny is not upstairs.  And he did not come here whoring...”  There was a hard edge in her voice; uncompromising.

“He was seen here.”  Scott snapped the words out.  “So don’t lie, Delice.  Lots of people saw him.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to look even more glacial but she managed it.

“I am not in the habit of telling lies.  I didn’t say that he wasn’t here.  I said he did not come here whoring...”

“What else would he come here for?”  He could do glacial too.

“He came to ask my advice.”  Delice looked at him with distaste.  “He had ridden to the ranch but was unsure of what his reception would be.  Frankly, I can now see why.  But he came to ask how he should deal with it.  He did not sit in the bar.  He did not go upstairs with a girl.  He sat in my office.  And then he left to ride to the ranch to see his family.  Namely you.”

“Well, he never showed up.  He obviously found something better to do.  Maybe he went and got drunk or found some saloon girl for the night.”  Scott shrugged.  “But he certainly didn’t care enough about us to bother riding out.”

“He left here to go straight to you.”  The sharp tone was still there, but there was something else too.  Concern?  Delice furrowed her brow.  “And I am absolutely positive that he had no intention of getting side tracked.  All he wanted was his home and his family.  He was distraught when he heard that you believed him to be dead.”

Scott snorted disbelievingly.  “Maybe he was fooling you, too.  It seems he’s done a good job of fooling all of us.”

She sighed as if exasperated.  “Oh don’t be so ridiculous!  He was going home.  I have no doubt whatsoever that that was his intention.  Something must have happened.”  She leaned against the bar, her eyes wide with worry and ran her hand over her hair.   “He must have had an accident or something.  Johnny does not get drunk.  Have you ever seen him the worse for drink?”  Her voice was insistent, full of concern.  “For a start it would make him far too vulnerable and Johnny never lets his defences down, not ever.  He is far too careful to do anything so foolish.  And he certainly wouldn’t go with some rough saloon girls when he knows that my girls are clean.”

Scott huffed. “Delice, I don’t like to disillusion you, but I don’t believe he’s that fussy.  And as he didn’t show up we have to assume that he’s either tucked up in some girl’s bed or he’s left without a backward glance.” 

She shook her head angrily.  “You’re wrong.  You’re angry and hurt.  And you’re not listening to me.  He was going home.  And you should go and look for him, because he’s out there, Scott, and he must need help.”

Scott bit his lip. It was sad that she had such faith in Johnny.  If only she realised that his brother just wasn’t worth it.  “You’re wrong.  If he’d had an accident I would have found him on my way to town.  I’m sorry, but he fooled you too.”  He paused.  “And when I do find him I’m going to delight in knocking him cold.  After I’ve told him that he’s not welcome at home.  But I am sorry, Delice, that you’ve been misled.  Thanks for the information.”  He turned to leave, but as he opened the door she spoke again.

“Oh for God’s sake, Scott, I haven’t been misled, I’m not a child.  I am quite capable of forming my own opinions about people.  Your brother included.  He was coming home!  And if someone here is wrong it’s you.  You’re being petulant instead of thinking.  And stop talking such nonsense about knocking him cold.  He’s out there, lying hurt somewhere.  And right now he needs you.  So what are you waiting for?  Go and look for him.”  It sounded like an order.  He didn’t bother to reply.

He stepped out into the street.  Poor Delice; if anyone was misguided she was.  Johnny had fooled everyone.  He just hoped he got the chance to tell Johnny exactly what he thought of him.  But for the time being it seemed that he was unlikely to find him in Green River.  He could be anywhere: in someone’s bed or he may already be on his way to Mexico.

Scott mounted his horse and headed back to the ranch.  Of one thing was certain, if Johnny had ridden to the ranch and had an accident, he would have spotted him easily.  Delice was wrong. 

Murdoch was leaning over the corral rails when he rode in but immediately hurried to meet him.  “Well?  Did you see him?  Did you find him in the whorehouse?”

Scott shook his head.  He hated having to admit that he’d failed.  “The woman there insists that Johnny only went in to talk to her and that he was on his way here.”

Murdoch grunted dismissively.  “Well, we know that a woman like that certainly can’t be trusted to tell the truth.  You looked in the saloon?  Maybe he’s drunk somewhere.”

Scott shook his head.  “No.  He wasn’t in the saloon.  There was no sign of him anywhere.  I suppose he just headed on out.”  He felt a sudden twinge of doubt.  Johnny would have tried to see Val wouldn’t he?  Or left a message?  No.  He probably didn’t care about Val any more than he did anyone else.  Unbidden, a memory came to mind of the look in Johnny’s eyes when he found that Scott had been shot by Al Evans.  He pushed the memory away. 

“Well, if he comes here I...”  Murdoch broke off as some of the ranch hands started calling out and pointing. 

A palomino horse was struggling toward the ranch, reins trailing and the saddle hanging under its belly.  And as it drew nearer, Scott felt his breath hitch.   The horse had gouges down its haunches and was covered in streaks of blood.

Part twenty eight

Murdoch paled at the sight of the bloodied horse.  He turned to Scott, his face ashen.  “That horse...  It is, isn’t it?  It’s Johnny’s horse.”

Scott nodded; he couldn’t speak.  Dear God, maybe Delice had been right after all.  Johnny had been coming home...

But this was no time for speculation, and he joined the hands already hurrying to the aid of the animal.  The horse was lathered up and foaming at the mouth, stumbling as though barely able to make the last few yards home.  Home.  Yes, this horse had most definitely been coming home, knowing where to head for safety.   Cipriano reached it first and ran his hand gently over the horse, talking in a soothing voice in an effort to calm it.  He deftly removed the saddle from under its belly, murmuring to it all the while with soft words of comfort. 

The hands moved aside to let Murdoch and Scott get a better look at the horse.  The gouges were deep but the blood had dried to hard streaks caking its legs and haunches.  If only it was just the horse’s blood.  The thought flashed through his mind.  Please God, not Johnny’s.

Murdoch’s brow furrowed as he looked closely at the wounds.  “It looks like a cougar attack.  Those gouges...  It has to have been a big cat.  Nothing else could have done that.  But if it was a cougar...”  His voice tailed off and he clenched his fists as though in an effort to stop his hands from shaking.  “If it was a cougar, where’s Johnny and...”  He paused, swallowing hard as if unable to speak.  “We need to find Johnny.  And fast.” 

Scott nodded; his mind whirling trying to work out what could have happened.  “Yes, but where do we look?  If what the woman at the bordello said is true, Johnny left to come here yesterday evening, so surely I’d have seen some sign of him on the road when I went to town?  Or I should have seen the horse.  Something!”

“Unless he rode through the woods.”  Murdoch’s tone was doubtful.  “But no, that’s not possible, it was dark.  It would have been a crazy route to take in the dark.”

“There was a moon last night, it was almost full.”  Scott considered the possibility.  Murdoch was right; it would have been a crazy route...  But then, Johnny never seemed to behave like other people.  “You know, now I think about it, he did very occasionally take that route so maybe...”  Scott nodded, decisively.  “We’ve got to start someplace so let’s start with the woods.  He has to be out there somewhere.”  But even as he spoke he felt the chill of fear.  As the horse had gotten away, maybe Johnny had borne the full brunt of the attack.  Dear God...

Why the hell hadn’t he listened to Delice?  She’d told him to go and look for Johnny.  She’d said that Johnny must be in trouble but he’d dismissed her warnings so lightly.  He’d been so quick to believe the worst of Johnny. 

“For God’s sake!”  Murdoch snapped.  “Let’s get moving then.  There isn’t time for us to hang around.”  He strode off and started yelling directions at the men.    

Murdoch was right; there wasn’t time to dwell on things.  Scott hurried to the barn to saddle their horses.  He tried to ignore the nagging voice in his head which kept saying that the woods were large and there was no defined route through them; Johnny could be anywhere.  Even assuming he had come through the woods...

He was tightening the cinch on Murdoch’s big boned bay mare, when Cipriano came and stood by him, twisting his hat in his hands.  “Senor Scott, I have sent one of the young hands to town to fetch the doctor.  The horse was attacked several hours ago.  If Senor Johnny has been lying out there all this time...”  Cipriano gave the hat another wrench.  “He will be in desperate need of a doctor.”

It was such an obvious thing to do and yet he hadn’t even thought of it.  He patted Cipriano’s shoulder.  “Thank you.”  He tried to smile.  “Thank heavens somebody is thinking straight.   How well do you know those woods, Cip?”  

Cipriano held his hands out toward him.  “Like the mountains, Senor, like the back of my hand.  We will find him.”  The man paused, his brown eyes full of compassion.  “Senor Johnny, well, he’s tough.  Some may say too tough.  But if anyone can make it, he can.”

Scott shut his eyes briefly as Cipriano turned away to help Murdoch organise the men.  He prayed that Cipriano was right.  But to think that Johnny had finally been coming home and this had to happen...  What was it that Delice had said?  That Johnny was distraught when he heard they believed him to be dead? 

He dragged his mind back to the present.  This wasn’t the time to start dwelling on things.  Action was needed now.  Reflection could wait.

........

The men divided into groups and Cipriano and Murdoch allocated each group an area of the woods to cover.  Murdoch shoved bandages and some neat alcohol into his saddlebags, before giving the men the final instruction that anyone who found Johnny should immediately fire three shots into the air.  And keep firing at two minute intervals to bring all the rescue parties to the right spot.

.......

He’d never realised quite how big the woods were.  It would be all too easy to overlook sections in the search.  It was like looking for a needle in a haystack as the men combed every foot of the ground, searching for any sign that Johnny had passed that way.

But maybe he hadn’t come this way.  Maybe the lion had attacked him on the road and dragged him off...  No!  That couldn’t have happened.  He refused to believe such a thing.  They would find him.  And Johnny was tough...  Johnny survived everything...  Johnny never gave up fighting...

His spirits suddenly soared as he glimpsed something ahead.  A flash of colour?  Squinting, he peered ahead into the dark thicket.  Yes!  There was movement in among the trees.  Maybe... just maybe everything would be all right.  There was somebody there.  And surely that was a voice?  He pushed forward, impatiently brushing the branches to one side, hope growing inside him.  It had to be Johnny. 

His heart plummeted as he recognised the sheriff’s familiar tones and the voice of one of the ranch hands.  He called out; still half hoping that maybe he was wrong.  “Val?”

Val emerged from the dense thicket of trees with the ranch hand following close behind.  “Yeah.  Thought I’d come and search for Johnny.  Figured that maybe you weren’t going to bother.”

The reproach in the words stung.  Scott could feel his face flushing.  “His horse came in...”

“Yeah.”  Val cut across him, his tone very cool.  “Your ranch hand here just been telling me about it.  Just as well the horse come in, reckon you didn’t believe anything else that you were told.  I saw Delice in town, she was real worried.  I told you he’s a good man.  Pity you won’t believe me.”

Scott swallowed hard, biting back a sharp retort.  Val was right.  They had been all too quick to believe the worst of Johnny.  So what did that say about them?  All this time and they didn’t know him at all...

Val gave him a curt nod.  “I’ll sweep the section over there.”  He turned abruptly and headed back towards the thicket behind him.

“Val.”  Scott called out, stopping the man in his tracks.  “If you find him, fire your gun three times.  We’ve worked out a signal, so that we can get help to him as fast as possible.”

Val nodded and headed back into the dense stand of trees.

........

The weather turned against them.  Dark clouds swept in from the west, bringing the first drops of rain and blocking out the meagre light that penetrated the canopy of trees.  And then the downpour came; a sheet of slanting rain which stung his flesh.  It swiftly turned the ground to mud and away to his right he could hear the roar of the river which cut through the woods.  It sounded like a raging torrent.  He prayed that the river wouldn’t burst its banks, and tried to block out an image of Johnny overwhelmed and carried away by flood water.

Gritting his teeth, he turned his collar up and pulled his hat down low.  Johnny had to be here somewhere.  Didn’t he?  Or were they wasting time looking in the wrong place?

He’d almost given up hope when he heard the shots.  Three sharp retorts of a gun.  He turned his horse toward the sound, stopping once with his heart pounding, uncertain of which way to turn and then the shots came again.  He followed the echo until he came to the small clearing in the trees where he flung himself off his horse and ran toward Val.

Val was kneeling on the rain sodden ground almost blocking the view of the curled up figure...   And the figure was lying frighteningly still...  Scott lengthened his stride before sliding on the damp ground to a halt.  To one side of Val was the cat, sprawled out. Dead.   A gaping wound showing where a bullet had torn into it.  And a gun lay close by.  Johnny’s gun.

“Is he...”  Scott swallowed hard, unable to voice his worst fear.  “Val?”

“He’s breathing, if that’s what you’re asking.”  Val glanced over his shoulder, the rain cascading off his hat.  “But he’s in a bad way.  We need to get him to a doctor.  Fast.”

“One of the hands went for Sam.  He should be at the ranch by now.”

Val grunted.  “Leastways someone used their brains then.”  The stinging reproach was as clear as the previous one.  “Get out of my light,” Val snapped as Scott tried to push past to Johnny.  “I’m checking him over.”

Scott’s breath hitched as he caught his first glimpse of Johnny.  His brother was deathly pale with blood over his face and his jacket was shredded from his body.  The shirt was ripped too, revealing exposed and bloodied flesh.  Scott fell to his knees next to Val, even as Murdoch and several of the hands arrived.

“How is he?”  Murdoch’s voice sounded hoarse and fearful.

Val snorted.  “So now you care.  Told you he was coming home, but you didn’t believe me.”  The sheriff muttered something to himself.  Scott could have sworn Val said asshole. He hoped Murdoch didn’t hear...

“I asked how he was, not for a lecture.” Murdoch crouched beside them, his face paling rapidly as he took in the sight before him.  “My God...”  His voice was barely a whisper.

“He’s been lying out here for hours.  He’s as cold as death.”  Val shook his head.  “Poor devil.  Come on, let’s get him onto a horse and back to the ranch.”

“You’d best put him on my horse with me.”  Murdoch nodded to his big mare.

Val just glared at him.  “He’s coming with me.  You think I’d let him go with either of you two jackasses?  Right now I don’t trust the lot of you not to drop him or lose him again.”  Val bent and lifted Johnny with apparent ease and carried him to his own horse while Murdoch looked on open mouthed as though he couldn’t think of a single retort.  Val glanced at him.  “Don’t even think of saying something.  Right now I’m so mad I’d happily lock you in my jail.  And throw away the damn keys.”

Murdoch’s jaw set and his mouth compressed in a tight line.  “I said I’ll take him with me and I’ll thank you to remember he’s my son.”

Val gave a bitter laugh.  “You were quick enough to forget that earlier.  And I ain’t arguing about this.  He’s coming with me.”

Murdoch’s face hardened.  He opened his mouth as if to speak but then he turned away abruptly and swung himself into the saddle.  “I’ll go and get them organised at the ranch.”

“First sensible thing you done all day,” muttered Val.

Scott moved to help Val lift Johnny onto Val’s sorrel gelding and then held his brother in place while Val swung up behind him.  Val pulled Johnny back and slipped his arm around him to steady him as Johnny’s head lolled to one side.  “I got you, buddy.  You’re safe now.  Ain’t nothing going to hurt you.  And now I’m gonna take you home.  We’ll get you fixed up as good as new.”   Val nodded to Scott.  “You’d best ride alongside me, in case I need a hand.”

“I was intending to.”  Scott hurried to mount up and then followed Val out of the clearing back toward the ranch.

Val was murmuring away to Johnny, but Scott couldn’t distinguish the words above the sound of the rain.  And there was certainly no sign of response from Johnny.   His face was more grey than white.  And it was only now that Scott could see how thin Johnny had gotten.  No wonder Val had been able to pick him up so easily.  What the hell had Johnny been doing all these weeks?  Had it been someone else who was shot in Arizona, or had Johnny somehow survived?  And what had brought him home?  Or was he just passing through?  Scott shook his head, angry with himself; there really was no point in speculation.  And his brother was a mystery beyond understanding.

Their progress was slow.  At times Val’s teeth gritted with the effort of keeping Johnny steady.  Once, Scott shot his arm out fearing that his brother would slip from Val’s grasp.  Val glowered.  “You needn’t fret.  I ain’t gonna drop him.”

Scott grunted in irritation.  “Are you going to calm down at some stage?  It’s hardly surprising that Murdoch and I assumed he was whoring...”

Val cut across him.  “Seems to me you should have just been pleased to hear he was safe, never mind worrying over what he was doin’.  Anyways, Delice said he wasn’t whoring.  And I believe her.”

“We were pleased he was safe...”

“Could have fooled me.”  Val shook his head angrily.  “Seemed you were all real quick to believe the worst of him.  Poor devil.”  Val clicked to his horse, sending him on just a touch faster.  “And right now I just want to get him seen by the doc.  And that’s all the talkin’ we’re doing.”

Scott clenched his jaw.  There was no point in talking to Val in his current mood.  They just needed to get Johnny back as fast as possible, he looked really sick. 

Even as the thought went through his mind, Johnny stirred slightly and muttered incoherently.  Val squeezed him gently.  “What’s that buddy?  You trying to tell me something?”

“Home.  Got to get home...”  The effort of speaking seemed to exhaust Johnny.  He slumped further forward as Val spoke soothingly to him, telling him they were heading home right now.

The ranch was in sight and Scott could see people waiting outside the hacienda.  His spirits lifted when he saw Sam’s buggy near the front door.  At least Johnny would get instant attention. 

Sam was standing with Murdoch and a couple of the hands.  They rushed forward as Scott and Val rode in.  Sam moved straight to Johnny’s side, feeling for the pulse in his wrist and opening the wounded man’s eyes even while he was still in Val’s firm grasp on the horse.

“Get him inside, now!”  Sam snapped out the order. 

The hands helped Scott and Val carry Johnny inside, placing him gently onto a makeshift bed that had been set up ready so that Sam could examine him properly. 

Sam eased Johnny out of the tattered remnants of his jacket, and then cut away his shirt.  “Now let’s see what we’re dealing with...”  He paled and gave a grunt of surprise as he looked at Johnny’s body.  They all pushed forward to see what had shocked Sam. 

“Shit.  What the hell has the boy done to himself now?”  Val’s voice echoed Scott’s thoughts as they looked not at the bloodied lacerations where the cougar had struck him, but at the ugly blackened flesh on his side.

Part twenty nine

Noises were crowding into his head.  And pain was crowding his body.  But at least whatever he was lying on was soft.

He wanted to open his eyes but they felt heavy.  Like a weight was pressing down on them.  And his throat was parched.  Dry as the Mexican desert. 

And right now he couldn’t remember what had happened.  But something had happened...  He’d been trying to stop the bleeding.  Was that it?  He’d heated up the knife...  But no, that was a while ago. 

He swallowed and tried again to open his eyes.  But a noise close at hand stopped him.  There was someone nearby.  He needed to work out where he was before he risked being seen awake.  Needed to know what danger he might be facing...  But the bed sure was soft.  Yeah.  He was lying in a bed.  And it was kinda strange because the bed felt safe.  How dumb was that?

If only he could remember where he’d been.

Delice.  He’d been talking to Delice.  How could he have forgotten that?   And then he’d left to ride home... 

Home.

He forced his eyes open.  Dios.  He was in his room and someone was standing by the window, blocking out the light.

“Murdoch?”  His voice was barely a whisper but it sure got the man’s attention.

“Johnny!”  The man covered the room in two strides and sank down onto the bed next to him.  Crowding him. 

He tried to swallow again, tried to shift over but it hurt too much; if only the man wouldn’t sit so close.  “You going to yell at me?”  He would have laughed at the look on his father’s face, but he hadn’t got the energy.  But hell, Delice had said they’d yell.  He remembered that all right.

His father sucked in a breath.  Maybe he was getting ready to yell real loud.  Not too loud, he hoped.  His head was hurting way too much for that.

“No, Johnny, I’m not going to yell at you.”

Well that was kind of strange.  Didn’t make no sense...

Murdoch sighed, soft as a whisper of wind on a warm evening.  “I probably should, for causing us so much worry.  But in view of your current state, I really don’t think you’re up to taking a bawling out.”

Man had sure got that right.  “Sorry.  I didn’t...”  But the words wouldn’t come.  Shit if only he could talk right but his mouth was so dry.

“Have some water.”  His father held a cup of water to his lips, supporting his head with one of those huge hands.  But the water tasted good.

Johnny nodded his thanks.  He closed his eyes briefly.  This wasn’t how it was meant to have happened.  He was going to just walk in on them.  That way he’d have kept his edge.  But the cat had put a stop to that.  He remembered grappling with it.  Remembered the pain as its claws had dug into his flesh.  And now he’d lost his edge.  Hated that.  Hated being at a disadvantage.  He opened his eyes again.  “I didn’t know you thought I was dead.  I would have let you know I was all right.  But I didn’t know.”  He tried again to move away from the man.  Dios.  If only his father would go and stand somewhere or sit somewhere else.

Wished he could read the look in his father’s eyes.  But the man was looking down, scratching at his neck.  Was he just going to sit there?  Or maybe he was thinking about yelling after all...

“Johnny.”  His father’s voice was soft.  Kind of cautious, like he was searching for words.  “I guess this isn’t the time to talk about this, but I want you to know I’m glad you’re home.  I just wish...”  He paused again, scratched his neck harder.  “I wish I knew what your intentions are.  I mean are you home to stay or just passing through?”

His gut clenched up.  The old man didn’t piss about.  Just said what was on his mind.  Well, it was better this way.  Get it said.  “I guess that’s up to you.”  Wished his voice sounded stronger.  But it was such a fucking effort to talk.

“No, son.  It’s not up to me.  This is your home.  It always will be.  But this has to be your decision.”

His home.  Always would be.  Even after all he’d done...  He drew in a breath, as deep as he could without it hurting too much.  “I want to stay.  I want to make it work.  That’s why I came back.”

He could see the smile now.  Not a real big smile, but still a smile.  Maybe he should say something else.  But something that didn’t give too much away.  “I’m sorry.  It was all getting on top of me.  I had to get out.  But now, well.”  His breath hitched as a spasm of pain shot through him.  He licked his lips and tried to breathe easy.   “Now, I know this is what I want.  But I find it real tough at times...”

“Son.”  Murdoch held up one of those huge hands, kind of to stop Johnny from talking.  “This isn’t the time for explanations.  You’re not up to it right now.  But...”  Murdoch pulled a face, like he felt real awkward about something.  “I was bringing your saddlebags up here, and something fell out.”  Murdoch reached over to the table and held something up. 

He tried to focus.  A book?  Oh, yeah.  The book from the way station.

“I remember suggesting you should read this and then I found it in your saddlebags...”  The man sounded puzzled.  Well, that figured.  Probably couldn’t believe that Madrid would read a book.

“I came across it.”  Johnny winced at another wave of pain.  “And I remembered you talkin’ about it.  I liked it.”  He tried to shrug but it hurt.  “First book I’ve ever read.”

It was odd but the old man looked sad, like something Johnny had said had touched a nerve.    “It was my favourite always.  I’m glad you read it.  I always saw books as an escape.  My father, he was...” The old man hesitated, chewing his lip.  “He was a stern man.  He drove us hard.  Maybe it’s why I needed to leave.  Make my own way.”  He looked Johnny in the eyes.  “I guess I could say that all his rules became too much for me.  So maybe I understand better than you think that you needed to get out and work out what you wanted.”  Murdoch stood up, kind of stiffly, like his back or his leg was paining him.  “I’m glad you read the book.  But I think now you need some rest.”  His father walked to the doorway and paused again.  “It’s good to have you home, son.”

He relaxed some as the door closed.  Damn but he hadn’t expected the old man to be like this.  Why wasn’t Murdoch mad at him?  Was it just because he was lying here all beat up?  Would the old man have yelled at him otherwise? 

Well, it wasn’t worth worrying over.  He felt too rough to worry at it.  But leastways they’d talked.  And all without yelling.  Despite the pain, a smile pulled at his mouth.  Who’d have thought it?  His old man wanting to escape from a strict father.  He’d often wondered what had driven his father to travel so far from home.  And now he knew...

............

He slept a lot for the next couple of days.  Sam came and went.  Teresa fussed.  Fussed a lot.  And then fussed some more.  And the old man kept on coming in to check on him.  But Scott...  Something was eating at Scott.  They’d barely exchanged a word. 

His brother had stuck his head around the door a couple of times.  Been real polite.  Said he hoped Johnny was feeling better.  But he didn’t step into the room.  Shit, anyone would think Madrid had got something catching. 

But he couldn’t deal with whatever was plaguing Scott.  Not right now.  It was enough dealing with their father. 

The old man was fishing.  No doubt about it.  And if he was honest with himself, he didn’t blame the old man for wanting to know more about why Madrid had taken off without a word.

He’d pointed out to Murdoch that he’d left a note.  But oddly his father seemed to act like Delice had when he mentioned the note.  They both seemed to think it didn’t count.  Shit.  What the hell did they expect?  A fucking book?  Johnny Madrid had left a note and they didn’t seem to realise how big a thing that was for him.  What was it Delice had said?  Something about the words not really counting as an explanation.

Well, maybe not.  But it was the only explanation anyone was getting.  He was sticking with the words Delice had suggested.  How it had all become too much and had got on top of him.  And he wasn’t going no further than that. 

But he had taken her advice on asking about the line shack.  He figured that seeing as how the old man still hadn’t yelled at him it was worth a go.  Damn woman had been right about that too, as it turned out.

The old man had rubbed his chin thoughtfully and given Madrid a real piercing look.  “I’d like to hope, Johnny, things won’t pile up on you like that again.  But, yes, if they do, I would find that a far better solution than you taking off without a word to us.  Maybe a few days of solitude out at a line shack would make you appreciate your home without having to travel to half the states in America.”

He almost burst out laughing at that.  He bit back the laugh but he let go a grin and the old man smiled too.  “I think that I am still stunned by the fact that you felt the need to travel as far north as Wyoming.  To work on a ranch.  When there was a perfectly good one here.”  The old man said the words kind of extra firm, like he was making a point. 

Johnny grinned again.  “Yeah, but I wanted to check whether the pay was better.”  He pulled at a loose thread in the blanket, unravelling it slowly.  He laughed softly before shooting Murdoch a quick glance.  “And I met some nice people.”

And the old man walked out looking kind of cheerful. 

But Scott still hadn’t come to visit.

.....

Four days he’d been lying there.  Sam still wouldn’t let him get up.  Teresa had even hidden his clothes.  She was getting way too full of herself.  But hell, he could get even when he was up and about again.   Sam said this was all Johnny’s own fault.  If he hadn’t gone haring off after the shooting...  If he’d taken time to get well...   And Sam had given him a kind of knowing look when he treated the cauterised wound.  Like he knew that some passing stranger hadn’t treated it, which is what Johnny had told the old man.  No.  Sam knew the truth of it.  But he didn’t press the point.  Sam was good like that.  Always knew when to leave well alone.

Alone.

Scott was sure leaving him alone.  And he hadn’t a clue why.

........

“How are you feeling?”  Scott poked his head around the door, same as every evening.  But he didn’t sound like he cared to hang around and hear the answer.

“Fine.  I’m doing just fine.” 

“Good.”  Scott turned to leave.  

Fuck this.  He wanted to know what was eating Scott.  “Scott.  Why don’t you come on in?  I ain’t got anything catching.”  He tried to make his words sound light. 

Scott hesitated in the doorway.  “It’s been a long day.  I just want to go and sit down with a drink.”

“You could sit down with a drink in here.”  Johnny sucked in a deep breath.  “And then you could tell me what’s eating at you.”

Scott tensed right up.  Hell, he even heard Scott’s breath hitch.

Scott pursed up his lips and then shrugged.  “I don’t think it’s appropriate while you’re still recovering.”

And what sort of answer was that?  Dios.  “Well, I reckon this is a real good time, Boston.  So how about you say what’s on your mind and making you so mad and get it out in the open.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed.  “Very well.  If that is your wish.”  He walked further into the room, closing the door behind him.  “I suppose, what is eating at me, as you put it, is how incredibly selfish you’ve been.”

“Selfish?”  Johnny raised an eyebrow.  “You want to explain that?  Seeing as how I ain’t even been here...”

“And that’s precisely the point.”  Scott snapped the words out and there was a muscle working in the side of his face.  “You went off without a word, without a thought for anyone else.”

“I left a note.”  Johnny glared at Scott. 

“You call that a note?”  Scott laughed but he sounded real pissed.  “You disappeared off without explaining yourself to anyone...”

“Why do I have to explain myself to you all?  If I chose to leave that was my business...”

Scott cut across him, his face red with anger.  “Why do you have to explain yourself?  It’s what civilised people do.  Thoughtful people don’t just walk out on their families without even saying goodbye.  Hell, I wasn’t even here...”

“So this is about your hurt pride?  Because I didn’t wait till you came back?”  Dios but Scott could make him mad too.

“No, Johnny.  This is not about my hurt pride...”

“You sure about that, Boston?”

Scott’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head as though disgusted by Madrid.  “This is about leaving your family not knowing if you were alive or dead.  About the fact that you never stopped to consider how your behaviour would affect them.  About the fact that you are so damned selfish that all you could think about was what you wanted.  About the fact that even after you were shot it never occurred to you that maybe your family would hear about it and presume you dead and have to deal with grief over that.” 

Scott paused and sucked in some breath before starting over.  “I came all the way to Utah with you to support you...”

“And I remember telling you I appreciated that.”  Johnny clenched his fists to try and stop his hands from shaking.  “I never asked you to go to Utah.  But I was grateful and I told you so.  But that don’t mean I have to tell you everything about my life.  I had my reasons for leaving and I sure as hell didn’t need your permission.”

Scott glared and leaned against the big oak chest by the window. “This isn’t about your needing permission.  It’s about realising that you have responsibilities toward other members of your family.  It’s what being a family is about.  Looking out for each other and respecting each other.  And being honest with each other.  Talking to each other.  Discussing things.”

“I ain’t much of one for talkin’, Scott.  My business is my business and that’s how it’s staying.  I sure as hell ain’t discussing it over dinner.  And while you’re so busy nosing into my affairs, I don’t notice you telling us much about yours.  Hell, you ain’t never told me anything about your past, but you’re real nosey about mine.”   And wasn’t that the truth.  Boston had never said anything about his time in the war.  Nothing.  Or about his life in Boston.

“Do you have any idea how much your actions hurt Murdoch?”

So Scott wasn’t going to take the bait.  He was back having a go at Madrid.

“I didn’t know you all thought I was dead.”  Dios.  How many times did he have to explain this?  Surely the fact that he didn’t know they reckoned him dead had to count for something?    “And I guess what Murdoch thinks about this is between him and me.  It ain’t your business, Scott.  Murdoch and me have talked some.  And we got an agreement now.  But I don’t see as that’s your business either.”

Scott threw his hands up, looked real mad.  “You still don’t get it, do you?  It’s nothing to do with whose business is whose.  It’s about civilised behaviour and showing consideration and having some regard to other people’s feelings.  Things you seem to know nothing about.  Or don’t care to know about.”

If he’d been feeling stronger he’d have hit Scott for that.  Who the hell was Scott to judge who Madrid cared about?  Or what Madrid thought about things.  Hell, he never got a decent night’s sleep because he cared about things too damn much.  But he wasn’t telling Scott that. 

“And, what’s more.”

Dios.  Once Scott got wound up there wasn’t no stopping him.

“Have you any idea how Val and I felt having to go and search for your body?”

Johnny grunted in exasperation.  “For God’s sake, Scott, I didn’t know you were going to go taking off looking for my body.  I’m sorry.  Okay?  I’m really sorry.  Does that make you feel better?  Hell, maybe it would have been easier if I’d just died.  Leastways then you’d have had the body you wanted.”

Scott shook his head.  “You really have no idea, do you?  Val and I had to listen to the details of how you were gunned down and then trawled the desert looking for your remains.”

Johnny glared at him.  “Val should have had more sense than to let you ride through that territory.”  And wasn’t that the truth!  Val should have known better, and he’d damn well tell him so when he saw him.  Hell, they could have met Apaches or anything in that area.  “There are Apaches down around there.  You could have both gotten yourselves scalped.”

Scott narrowed his eyes.  “I know there are Apaches there.  We had to fight off an attack.”

Johnny jerked his head up.  Shit.  Damn Val could have got them both killed.  “You fought Apache?”  Somehow he couldn’t quite believe it. 

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “Yes.  We fought Apache.  Because of you.”

“No, Boston.  Not because of me.  You ain’t going to make me feel guilty.  Anyway, you should have been able to get to Retribution from here without crossing them.”  Yeah.  That was true.  No need for them to have come up against Apaches.  Val must be losing his touch.  He wouldn’t have figured Val on running into them between here and that dead end town.

Scott smiled.  But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.  “But it wasn’t between here and Retribution that we ran into them.  It was when we were on our way to a ranch belonging to a Mr. Mason.  Does the name ring a bell?  Strike a chord?”

Fuck.

He felt icy cold.  What the hell did Scott know about Mason?  Did this mean he knew about the bounty?  But yeah, Val was bound to have wheedled that out of the sheriff in Retribution.  But why did Val and Scott go in search of Mason?  It was crazy.  They’d never have proved Mason was behind it.  Val should have known that.  What did they reckon on doing?  Arresting the man?  Mad.  They were both loco. 

But what had Mason told them?  Dear God, he hoped they hadn’t learned about that family.  Maybe that was why Scott was mad at him.  Because he’d figured out that Johnny was hired to kill a family man.  Could that be why he was angry?

Shit.

He shrugged.  Tried to look relaxed.  Like he wasn’t too bothered.  “Why would you bother going to see him?”

Scott rubbed his chin.  Looked him straight in the eyes.  “We were planning on killing him.”

Fuck.  Fuck. Fuck!   Shit.  Don’t give nothing away.  Don’t let anything show.  “Killing him?  Val was going to kill him?”

“I said we were going to kill him.  Both of us.”

Johnny ducked his head.  Dios.  The pair of them really had gone completely loco.  He looked back up.  “Well, reckon it’s just as well it was only a plan.  I don’t need nobody to take care of my business.  I’ll see to Mason when I’m good and ready.”  Dios.  He really would have to deal with Mason.  Should have done it straight off.

“No.”  Scott gave another of those smiles.  The sort that didn’t reach his eyes.  “You won’t need to see to Mason.  He’s dead.”

Johnny eyed him warily.  “Dead?  How did he die?”

Scott turned and walked slowly to the door.  He opened it before pausing and looking back. “I killed him.”

Part thirty

Reckoned his jaw must be down by his knees and by the time he’d got himself together, Scott had gone, closing the door on Johnny and their talk.

Shit.  Scott had killed a man and all because of him.  If he’d never left, Scott wouldn’t have had to fight Indians.  Wouldn’t have had to travel to Arizona looking for a body.  And he sure as hell wouldn’t have had to kill a man.  Madre de Dios.  Scott killed Mason. Because of Madrid.  Just like he’d killed Carter in Utah.  Because of Madrid.

Madrid always screwed up.  All of this because he’d turned tail and run from the best thing that had ever happened to him.  Or leastways that was what Scott had called this new life that day before Wes got killed.

Still couldn’t decide if that was right.  It was... different.  But better or not, leastways he knew now that he wanted this life.  And even if he did miss the thrill of gunfights, he didn’t want all the crap that went with that life.  He didn’t have to spend his time worrying about which side was the lesser of two evils in range wars.  All he had to worry about here was whether it was the right time to plant alfalfa or whether it was worth sending for a veterinarian.  Pretty boring stuff but it didn’t leave dirt on his soul.  Or leastways, that was how it had seemed.  But now he’d got to carry the guilt of Scott killing Mason.

Was there a limit to how much guilt a man had to carry?  Did there ever come a point where maybe God said ‘enough’?  And how was a man meant to deal with it?  There was no point in asking a priest.  All they did was lecture him.  Tell him how sinful he was and how he should repent.  But he couldn’t repent of it all, because he wasn’t sorry about all of his sins.  Some, yeah.  Hell, he was sure as hell repentant about his mother’s death.  That was the sin that weighed heaviest on his soul.  But there were lots of sins he couldn’t and wouldn’t repent.

But this.  This was a hell of a big one to weigh him down further.  His back would break at this rate.  And the way Scott had looked at him; Scott would probably be pleased if Madrid’s back did break from the weight.

Or maybe not.  Scott wasn’t like that.  Not really.

But right now he was mad as hell with Madrid. 

Fuck.  And he’d thought things were finally going okay.  But it was always that way.  Whenever he thought he’d turned a corner, something always came back to bite him.

And what the hell had Val been thinking of?  Dios.  He was meant to be a lawman, not the sort of fellow who went haring off to Retribution for retribution.   

He shook his head.  Damned town was well named.  But still, Val should have stopped Scott...

He could hear the clicking of feet on the stairs.  Teresa.  Bringing his supper.  And right now he felt like the food would choke him.  But none of this was her fault.  He forced a friendly smile as she bustled in with the tray, carrying some steaming soup and fresh tortillas.  Just the sort of thing that would normally tempt him to eat when he wasn’t feeling too good. But if he didn’t eat, she’d tell Sam and then he’d have the doc bending his ear.  

But if he was honest, it was kind of nice having people fussing over him.  And everyone was fussing.  Everyone except Scott.

.......

He was just itching to get moving again.  Just to be able to go downstairs would feel like freedom.  But until Sam said he could get up, wasn’t nobody going to let him have his clothes.  And he didn’t want to upset the old man by fighting over it.  Reckoned he’d put Murdoch through enough grief without adding to it. 

The old man had brought him another book to read, and in the normal way of things he’d have been grateful.  Murdoch seemed to think that the book would appeal to him.  It was by some fellow named Dickens and was about a kid called Oliver Twist.

He could certainly see how the kid had a rough life.  Hell, his own childhood hadn’t been no pushover...  But he wished the kid would do something.  Things happened to the kid, he didn’t make things happen.  And when your life was shit you had to do something about it yourself, get off your ass and make a life for yourself and not rely on other folk.  Maybe Oliver should have taken up gunfighting.

In the end he’d put the book to one side.  He wasn’t in a mood for reading.  What he really wanted was to see Scott.  But his brother hadn’t come back.

And that was pissing him off, because Scott knew that Johnny couldn’t go looking for him, and that wasn’t playing fair.  And that was pissing him off even more...

........

Freedom was in sight. And it had never looked more appealing.   Sam had finally given him the say so to get up the following day.  Didn’t want him doing much more than heading  downstairs and making a nuisance of himself.  But leastways he’d be up.  And that meant he’d be able to corner Scott. 

He got his chance the following afternoon.  He’d been watching for Scott coming in from a day spent checking water holes.  Lying in wait for him.  Wasn’t no way that Scott was getting away from him.  And Murdoch was still in town with Teresa getting supplies.  Things couldn’t have worked out better.

He’d sat himself in Murdoch’s big old chair, facing away from the door so that Scott wouldn’t see him.  Scott would come in and go and get himself a drink and then slump down on the couch.  Same as always.

And he did.

He listened as the liquid splashed into the glass, and then there was a clink as the stopper was placed back in the decanter.  Soft footsteps and then the slight creak of springs as Scott sat down.

Johnny smiled.  Yep.  He’d got his edge.  Just let Scott have a couple of sips.  Give him time to relax a little.  And then swivel the chair around. 

He waited for the sigh.  Scott always gave a little sigh after his first sip of Murdoch’s malt.

He spun the chair about.  “Boston.  Have a good day, did you?”

The result was all he could have hoped for.  Scott jerked forward, spilling the malt down his shirt and over his hand.  Yep.  Madrid had got the edge.  And he intended to keep it.  He wanted some answers.  “Sorry.”  He spoke real soft.  “Didn’t mean to startle you.  I was just sitting watching the world go by.”  He gestured toward the view through the window.  “Kind of missed all of this.  Real pretty, ain’t it?”

Scott glared.  His face was red, and the muscle in his temple was pulsing, just like Murdoch’s did when he got mad.  “If you missed it all so much, I’m surprised you didn’t take the trouble to let us know you were alive.”  Scott sounded as sour as a whole tree of lemons. 

Johnny smiled.  A real easy smile.  All relaxed.  He sat back, lifted one leg up and rested his heel on his knee.  “Now, you see, there you go again, Boston.  Telling me what you think I should or shouldn’t do.  But the thing is, like it or not, I ain’t the same as you.”  He laughed at the idea of it.  “Nope.  I sure ain’t the same as you.  I didn’t have that real fancy upbringing or go to your fancy school.  Didn’t have no servants neither.  There’s them that does the kicking and them that gets kicked.  And we were on different sides.  So, I guess that’s why you don’t understand me and I don’t understand you.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

Scott’s muscle twitched faster, but he didn’t seem to be able to think of anything to say.  Yep, Madrid had got the upper hand.  “So, the thing is, Boston, I’m real sorry that you had all this trouble because of me.  But I didn’t ask you to go haring off and killing people.  If that’s what happened?  I didn’t kill Mason because I reckoned he wasn’t worth wasting a bullet on.  Seems I should have just shot him in the first place.  Then I’d have another notch on my gun and you’d be in the clear.  But after he put the bounty out on me, I guess I’d have had to have gone and killed him.  You saved me the trouble.  But like I said, I didn’t ask you to do that.  Does the old man know you killed Mason?”

Scott’s head jerked up, his face flushing.

Johnny laughed softly.  “No.  I thought not.  So, seeing as it’s just us and there ain’t nobody here to overhear, why don’t you tell me all about it.”  Johnny’s voice hardened.  “Because I want to know exactly what happened, brother.”

Scott held his gaze, his face still flushed.  “What if I don’t want to tell you?”

Johnny ducked his head.  It was time for a bluff.  He looked back at Scott, keeping his face expressionless.  “I’d hate to have to ask the old man to persuade you to tell us.”

Scott’s lips compressed into a thin line and his breath hitched.  “You wouldn’t do that.”

Johnny shrugged.  “There’s no telling what I might do.  I might.  I might not.  But I guess you don’t want to take that chance.  Do you?”

Scott got slowly to his feet and walked over to the decanter to pour himself a top up.  He looked like he needed it.  Yeah.  Madrid was running this show. 

Scott turned to face him.  “Val was after revenge and so was I.  We were angry and distressed by the news of your death.   Is that so impossible to believe?  Or don’t you care?”

Johnny tilted his head back relaxing deeper into his father’s chair.  “I ain’t going to rise to that, Boston.  You don’t have the first idea of what I think about or care about, so stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

Scott shrugged.  “You’re right that I don’t have the first idea of what you think about or care about.  I haven’t a clue.  I can only presume that it isn’t about your family.”

Johnny rubbed his chin.  Boy, Scott really was mad as hell.  “It might interest you to know, Boston, that I thought about you all a lot.   Why the hell do you think I came back if I didn’t want to be here?  It sure as hell wasn’t to own a part of this ranch.”  He paused.  Maybe he’d give Scott a bit of honesty here; it could work to his advantage.  “It might also interest you to know that I left because I thought I missed my freedom.  I was wrong.  The life I was looking for wasn’t freedom.  It was just another trap.  A prison.  And a damned lonely prison.  Hell, I ain’t even sure I believe in freedom.  Maybe it’s just some folk talking about some fancy idea they dreamed up.  I don’t know that I believe in anything very much, except hell.  But I did miss this life.  This family.  And I know I ain’t got much of an idea about what you all seem to expect of me.  Maybe in time I’ll get the hang of it, but leastways I came back, and that seems to have pleased the old man.  So as long as he’s happy for me to be here, I guess I’ll stay.  Whether you like it or not.”

Scott scowled.  “I never said I didn’t want you here.”

Johnny shrugged.  “No.  You didn’t.  But you’re sure as hell acting like it.  So, what the hell happened between you and Mason?”

Scott took a sip of the malt, and took a real long time to swallow it.  “Val and I were riding to his ranch.  We’d had a glimpse of him in the town.  Val wanted to give him a good head’s start.  He didn’t want us to be seen talking to Mason or heading out in the same direction.”

Oh boy, Val hadn’t changed any.  Real careful, old Val.  But even so, he sure has hell shouldn’t have had Scott along on his jaunt. 

Scott took another sip of the malt.  “I don’t know what we were going to do with Mason when we confronted him.  I suspect Val knew, but I wasn’t easy about it by then.”

Johnny felt like the load had lightened a touch.  At least Boston hadn’t been baying for blood.  Except now he felt even madder with Val.  He’d just bet Val knew what he was planning on doing with Mason.

Scott sighed.  “I had to kill Mason.”

Johnny cocked his eyebrow.  “Had to?  What was he doing?  Running away?

Scott took a sip of whisky.  “No.  It was worse than that.  He was staked out.”

Johnny leaned forward with both feet back on the ground.  “Staked out?  Like by Indians?”

Scott sucked in a deep breath and nodded slowly.  “Yes.  The Apache had taken him and staked him out to die.”

Shit.  Seeing a man staked out must have been a hell of a shock to old Boston.  Johnny shot him a quick look.  “So did you have to chase the Apaches off?”

Scott shook his head, but the hand that held his glass was trembling.  Johnny could see the movement of the whisky.  “No.  Val said they’d left him there to die.”

“Was there any chance of letting him go?”  Almost certainly there wouldn’t have been, but he still had to check.

Scott laughed but not like he thought it funny.  “No.  Val reckoned they were nearby.  Almost certainly watching.  He said they’d bury us along with Mason.  Mason was begging us to finish him off.  But Val said not to kill him because the Apaches would take it out on us for spoiling their fun.  He wanted us to leave Mason.”

Johnny nodded.  Val was right in thinking that the Apaches would be pissed.  Apaches were real cruel when it came to killing.  They took pleasure in making white men suffer.  They sure hadn’t heard of quick and clean.   But even so...  Val must have been mad as hell with Mason to be so keen on letting the man suffer.  “So you could have left him to die slow?   But you didn’t?”

Scott shook his head.  “I shot him through the head.  It was a no win situation.”

Johnny shrugged.  “Killing usually is.”

Scott breathed in deep again, and took another swig of whisky.  “Kind of like war.”

Johnny watched him through narrowed eyes.  Kind of like war.  That was a kind of interesting thing for Scott to say.  Especially as he never talked about the war.  Johnny shook his head, pushing that thought to one side for now.  Instead he leaned forward in the chair, fixing Scott with a hard eyed look.  “So he was dying, he was begging you to kill him, and you put him out of his misery.  So where do I fit into all of this?  You been trying to make me feel guilty over something that we could call a kind thing to do.  Dios, Boston, you got one hell of a nerve...”

“I wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for you.”  Scott snapped the words.

Johnny sighed.  “Well, then it was Mason’s lucky day, I reckon.  But you ain’t blaming me for this, Scott.  I got enough sinning weighing me down.  I sure as hell don’t need yours too.  Not that I reckon it’s much of a sin.  Hell, we could call it mercy.  But you ain’t laying it on me.”  Wincing with pain, Johnny got to his feet and walked slowly to the liquor cabinet.   He poured himself a generous measure of the best sipping tequila before turning to face Scott.

“You never talk about your past, Boston.  And that makes me real curious.  You’re so interested in mine that I got to wonder whether there’s something in yours that you’re keen to cover up.  You killed people as a soldier, that’s as clear as day.  Did anyone ever get in the way who you shouldn’t have killed?”

“We’re not talking about me.”  Scott sounded real stiff.  And edgy.

“We are now.”  Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “Is your conscience clear, Boston?  Or is there something you’re real keen to keep quiet.  Kind of covering up your secrets while you try and get me to spill mine.”

Scott’s ears turned red.  The old man’s did that when he got tripped up on something he’d said.  So, it seemed Boston had got something in his past he wasn’t too keen to talk about.  And Madrid was still in control. 

Scott waved his hand, kind of like what Johnny had said didn’t matter.  “We all do things in wars that we wish we didn’t have to do.  We are under orders.  We have no choice.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow.  “I didn’t say that you did.  What is it the bible says?  Something about he who is without sin casting the first stone?  I sealed my fate years ago; I know which way I’m headed when I die.  Do you?”

Scott stared down at the glass in his hands.  Almost like he thought he’d lost something in it.  “You’re right.  I made the choice to kill Mason.  And it was an act of mercy.  I couldn’t leave him to suffer.  I wish I hadn’t been so keen to hightail it down there to look for the man.  But I was...”  Scott paused and sighed.  “I was hurting so much that I wanted revenge.  But the nearer we got to Mason’s spread the more circumspect I felt about it.  I don’t believe that Val had any such qualms.”

Johnny eyed Scott over the brim of his tequila glass.  It was real neat how Scott had sidestepped Johnny’s questions.  Yeah.  Real neat.  But he’d let the subject drop for the time being.  It was enough that Scott was starting to sound more like Scott again.   Like it was registering that maybe he’d done the right thing in putting Mason out of his misery.  “For what it’s worth, Scott, I am sorry that I put you all through this.  I thought I’d done okay too, leaving a note and all.”

Scott gave a ghost of a smile.  “Yes, your note.  It didn’t exactly explain much.”

Johnny grinned at that.  “That’s what Delice said.  I went to see her.  It was after I’d left there that the cat attacked.”

Scott looked kind of odd again.  Why?  He’d only mentioned going to see Delice.

Scott stared down into his glass again.  “Yes, we heard you’d visited the bordello before coming out here.” 

Scott sounded real embarrassed.  And that was strange.  Unless, maybe they’d all thought that Johnny had been whoring...  Dios!  He could imagine what the old man’s reaction to that would have been.  “I dropped in to ask for her advice.  I didn’t go whoring, if that’s what’s been eating you.  I’d come here first.  Then I didn’t know what to say so I figured she’d tell me.”

Scott laughed, gentle and kind of awkward, but still a laugh.  “Yes.  She is a good friend to you.  I forgot that.”

Forgot it when?  It was kind of an odd thing to say, almost like Scott didn’t want to admit to something.  Still, it didn’t matter.  He was home.  And it was okay with Murdoch.  And it looked like it was going to be okay with Scott.

Scott looked deep in thought, his brow all furrowed like he’d got a bad headache.  He suddenly looked across at Johnny.  “What had you done to Mason?  Why was he so angry that he put a bounty on your head?”

Johnny grimaced.  No way was he admitting how close he’d come to hurting that family.  “I persuaded him to buy a parcel of land for maybe a touch more than it was worth.”

“Persuaded?”  Scott looked at him.

Johnny kept his face blank.  “Yeah.  Persuaded.  He was pissed with me.”  Johnny shrugged.  “It happens in my line of work.”

“You mean your former line of work.”  Scott cocked his head to one side.

Johnny’s mouth quirked.  “Yeah.  My former line of work.”  He relaxed back again into the big chair. 

“And you’re now content to settle for this life?  You’re no longer interested in the pursuit of this elusive freedom?”  Scott sounded hopeful but still like he wanted some reassurance that everything would be okay.

“Yeah, Scott, I’m settling for this life.  I want to make it work.”  Johnny paused and took a sip of tequila.  Freedom .  Was that really what he’d been chasing?  Or was it something he’d been running away from?   He raised his glass toward Scott, kind of like a toast.  “And that elusive freedom?  Hell, Scott, that’s just some people talking.”

The end