Part One

His back was a good excuse to avoid a family celebration.  He didn’t feel like celebrating.  What the hell had possessed him?  He felt an unfamiliar knot of fear in his stomach.  Dios!  He must have gone mad.  But the place had gotten to him and the thought of finally having something to call his own had been too tempting.   Not that it ever would be his because he sure didn’t believe that the old man would really let him share in this place.   A piece of paper didn’t really mean anything.  Hell, the old man had admitted that it was the girl who had sent for him and Boston.  The old man hadn’t really wanted either of them, it seemed.  And now, here they were, three total strangers with nothing in common, held together in some crazy partnership.  With the old man calling the tune.  Well, it wouldn’t, couldn’t last.  Nothing lasted.  The old man would see through him and that would be an end of it.  But at least he would know that he had tried.  Just like Doc had said he should. 

Yeah, the doc had looked really pleased when he’d seen them outside the lawyer’s office.  And not too surprised either that Johnny was there.  Like he’d expected his rough words of earlier in the day to have the effect of forcing Johnny to make the choice to stay.  And refusing to shake hands earlier.  That had hurt.  But now, well, Johnny figured it had all been part of the doc’s plan.  He was a cunning old devil and Johnny liked him all the more for it.  Just so long as the doc put in a word for him with the woman at the bordello, life here might be interesting.  Make a change anyway for a while.  Until someone showed up looking for him.  And they would.  It was just a question of time.

He could hear footsteps now, walking along the passage towards his door.  Shit.  They just wouldn’t leave him alone.  He wished now he’d got into bed.  He could have pretended to be half asleep.  There was a sharp rap on his door.

“Yeah?”  Don’t sound too welcoming.  Maybe they won’t stay long.

The door opened and Boston stood there with a tray.   “I thought you might be hungry.  I know you didn’t feel up to lunch earlier.”

Dios!  The man meant well, but if only he’d just leave him alone.  “No.  Ain’t real hungry.”  Johnny paused before adding, “Thanks.  Just need some rest today, I guess.”

“You are going to come to Teresa’s celebration dinner that she’s planning for this evening?  You know she wants us to have ...”

“No!”  He paused, knowing how rude he must sound.  “Look, Boston, I’m sorry, but I really just want to be left alone today.”

“Sam said you’ve opened your back up again.  Is it hurting a lot?”

Before he could answer, Boston added, “And don’t say it’s fine, somehow I never believe your fines!”

Johnny had to smile at that.  “Actually, Boston, if you must know, I feel like shit.  And I sure as hell can’t cope with some fancy dinner tonight.”

“Well, that’s a first!  You finally admitting you feel less than your best.  But I give you due warning, if she doesn’t have the pleasure of your company this evening, she’ll delay the whole thing until you’re feeling better.  If it’s any comfort, Sam’s coming tomorrow evening, maybe you could cope with it better then.”

Seemed old Boston was not as stupid as he looked.  It would be easier with an outsider there.  And Sam would keep the old man in check.  He nodded slowly.  “Yeah, tell her to make it tomorrow then.”

He sat, waiting for Boston to leave, but instead the man stood there, fiddling with the damn tray.  “Was there something else, Boston?”

“I guess... I suppose I just wanted to say I’m glad you decided to stay.  Even if you did cut it a little fine.  What decided you in the end?”

Shit, why did Boston always want to know about everything?  Always asking questions.  Hell, he didn’t know the answer anyway.  Didn’t really know why he’d decided to take a chance.

“The horse was being mule headed.  Wouldn’t turn towards the border, that’s all.”

Boston grinned at that.  “Ah, so at least one of you has some horse sense.  But really, why?”

Johnny shook his head.  “Shit, Boston, I don’t know!  Just figured I’d give it a go.  Doesn’t mean I’m staying long.  You got a lot to learn, Boston, and you might feel real different when someone turns up looking to gun me.  You’ll wish me gone then.”

“That might never happen. You can’t be sure that anyone will come looking.”

“They will, Boston, believe me, they will.”

Boston stared at him now, looking kind of  thoughtful and serious.  “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“No.  If I was scared of dying, I’d have been killed a long time ago.  It’s what gives me my edge.  Hell, Boston, I seen men piss themselves and shit themselves, they been so scared in gunfights.  But what they see in my eyes, well that really scares ’em, ’cos they see I don’t care.”

“So why do they challenge you?”  Boston’s brow was furrowed, like he had a headache or something.

“Dios! You sure ask a lotta questions.”  He paused, trying to figure how to put it so that Boston would understand.  “Look, Boston, life ain’t been too hard for you, I guess.  You ain’t been poor.  But for people who got nothing, gunfighting can be a way to make your mark.  And the faster you are, the more money people will pay you.”

“To kill.”

“Yeah.  To kill.  Do their dirty work for ’em.  Cos they ain’t got the guts to do it themselves.  No different to politicians, I guess.  They get soldiers to do their killing for them.”

“So these people will come looking for you because you’re the best?  And they can earn more by killing you?” 

“I never said I was the best,” Johnny snapped.  Boston sure knew how to rile a man.

“It’s what all the ranch hands here say,”  Boston said, waving his hand towards the window.

“Well, it ain’t what I say.”

“So who is the best?”

Dios!  “I dunno, it’s whoever’s fastest on any particular day.  Who knows, you get dust in your eye, you’re dead.  Anyone who says they’re the best is just dumb.”

“OK.  So you’re one of the best?”

Johnny sighed, exasperated now.  “Yeah, OK, I’m one of the best.  Happy now?”

Boston was frowning now.  “But the fact remains that someone really is the fastest...”

“Oh, shit, Boston!   Just leave it.  If it keeps you happy, I’m the best, OK?”

“So I can say I have a famous brother.”  Boston was grinning at him now, like he’d won a contest or something. 

Johnny stared at him, giving him the coldest look he could.  “Yeah, you got a famous half brother.  Famous for killin’.”  He watched as the smile on Boston’s face faded.  “Now, if you don’t mind, Boston, I’d like to be left alone.” 

But instead of leaving, the man just stood with his head bowed. 

“I said, I’d like to be left alone now, Boston.  Perhaps you don’t hear too good?” 

Boston lifted his head and looked at him.  “I’m sorry, it’s not a game.  I shouldn’t have asked you about it.  The trouble is...  I just want to get to know you.  We’re brothers and yet we know nothing about each other.  Aren’t you at all curious about me?  My past?”

“Nope.  Ain’t my business.”  Dios.  The man did like to make a meal of everything.  He still didn’t look like he was leaving, just kinda standing there looking awkward.  This rate, the only way he’d get Boston to leave would be to pull a gun on him.  After all, he’d done it before.  He tried not to smile at the memory. 

“It’s nothing to do with whether it’s our business.  We’re brothers and that should mean something.  It does to me.  I suppose it’s why I went to help you during the showdown with Pardee.”

“An’ I seem to remember telling you, I wouldn’t have done the same for you.  Being brothers don’t mean nothing.  We’re partners in this ranch, that’s it.”  He knew he was being hard, but no way was he getting too friendly with anyone.  Wouldn’t be here too long and he didn’t want it to be any harder to leave when he finally had to go.  He was already regretting his decision to sign that damn paper.

“Partners?”

“Yeah.  Partners, that’s all.”

The man sighed and turned slowly towards the door.  Dios! He’s finally leaving.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you then, partner.  I’ll make sure you’re left alone.”

There was something in the tone of his voice.  Offence taken?  Hurt? Johnny felt guilty.   No need for him to be so unfriendly, the other man meant well.

He spoke softly.  “Boston?” 

The man turned, his hand resting on the door handle.

“I’m... This ain’t easy for me, OK?”

“I don’t think it’s easy for any of us, Johnny.  It’s a daunting prospect, finding a brother I never knew I had and trying to get to know our father and learn about ranching.  At times it all seems too much.  Overwhelming.  And I feel as though I’m stumbling around in the dark, trying to find my way.  But if I don’t try I know I’ll be missing out on something.  A chance of a totally different life to the one I had before.”

“Thought you had it all back in Boston.  Fancy house, fancy school, money...”

“Those things aren’t everything.  They don’t mean much if there’s nothing else.  I was discontented back there.  Totally wasting my life.  All I did was socialise and womanise.”

Johnny smiled at that.  “Womanise?  Now that’s more like it, Boston.  Maybe we got something in common after all.”  He paused.  “You ever been to a bordello, Boston?  I mean, you do know what a bordello is, right?”

“I am familiar with the term.”

Dios!  Why couldn’t the man just say yes?  “Ain’t you never been to one?”

“I have been known to venture into one, yes.”

“Well, when the doc says I can ride again, I was going to pay a visit to the one in Green River.  Maybe we could ride into town together.”

“There’s a bordello in Green River?”  Boston sounded real surprised at that bit of news.

“Yeah, I know.  Don’t seem very likely, but yeah.  An’ they’re real pretty girls, too.”

“I take it that you’ve already paid the establishment a visit?”

Johnny shuffled uncomfortably.  No way would he admit that he’d been thrown out, and by a woman too.  But the doc had said he’d fix it, so doubtless the woman wouldn’t throw him out next time.  “Yeah, I paid it a visit.  So, if you want to ride in with me, that’ll be OK.”

“I would like that.  Thanks, Johnny.  And now I will leave you in peace and I’ll tell Teresa to arrange things for tomorrow.”

As the door closed, Johnny lay back on his bed, with an uneasy feeling that perhaps he had just made yet another mistake, let his guard down too much.  Must be getting soft or something.  Why did he keep doing these things?  But hell, Boston wasn’t so bad.  And he’d sounded, well, sad almost, when he’d heard Johnny describe them as just partners.  And there was something about the man that said perhaps he was more than just a fancy dan.  And the man could fire a rifle.  That had been some shooting the day of the showdown.  Maybe, just maybe, the man was worth getting to know.

Part Two

What the hell he was meant to wear to this fancy dinner?  He’d removed his spurs, even put a clean shirt on.  But he couldn’t go down without a gun.   He felt naked without it.  Exposed.  But he knew the old man would hate it.  He stared down at his boots, maybe if he’d cleaned them...  No, the old man wouldn’t notice the boots, but he’d sure as hell notice the gun.  Well, tough.  The old man would have to get used to it.  No doubt Boston would have put on some fancy clothes.  And would know which knife and fork to use.  Though why that mattered to anyone he couldn’t imagine.  It would matter to the old man though.  And this big thing they made of talking at the table.  He could never think of anything to say.  But if he just ate, they stared at him like he was doing something strange.  But no one ever said what he was doing wrong.  Hell, why was life so complicated? 

He sighed.  No way was he going down without the gun, they’d have to put up with it.  At least Sam would be there, that would help.  What did any of it matter?  He didn’t care what any of them thought, damn them all.  Just go on down and get the whole thing over with.  He opened the bedroom door and headed off downstairs.

He turned towards the dining room.   Candles flickered and all the lamps around the room were lit, all glowing softly.  And the table was laid with flowers and silver.  Lots of flowers.  It all looked incredibly grand.  And there were even more knives and forks than usual.  Shit!

“Johnny, aren’t you going to change for dinner?”

He turned to see her standing in some fancy dress, not at all like the things she usually wore.  The fabric looked all shiny, and kind of rustled when she moved.  And her hair was all piled up in some fancy style.  What the hell did she mean?  Change for dinner?    And just as he was thinking it couldn’t get any worse, the old man walked in.  All dressed up in some sort of suit with a tie.

“You are changing for dinner, Johnny?  You’d better hurry up, Sam will be here soon.”

Change into what, he wanted to shout.  Fancy clothes?  And just where did they think he had these fancy clothes?  In his fucking saddle bags?  But he didn’t shout.  He just turned and trudged back upstairs to his room. 

He was standing looking out of the window when there was a knock on his door.  “Yeah?”

Boston came in and looked around the room, casual like.  “I just wondered if you’d got everything you needed for tonight.  I think Teresa’s really putting on some sort of grand dinner and I figured that you didn’t seem to have much luggage so might not have anything suitable to wear.”

He stared at Boston, trying to see if the man was making fun of him.  But really, he knew that wasn’t old Boston’s style.  More likely the man realised he really didn’t have anything suitable and was trying to help.  Kinda thoughtful really.  He’d noticed that before about him.  That he tried to put people at their ease.  Must be that fancy school he’d been to.  Probably the sort of thing they taught you there.

He shook his head.  “No, Boston, I ain’t got anything suitable!   I went down there a minute ago, and  they’re all dressed up like they’re going to a wedding or something.  I think they’re really pissed with me.”

“They just didn’t think Johnny.  Come on, I’ll loan you a shirt and tie.  Or perhaps you’d prefer a cravat?”

What the hell was a cravat?  “Whatever you think best, Boston.”  And he followed him to the other man’s room.

He watched as Boston went to a cupboard and got out a shirt and tie.  “Put those on and hurry up, otherwise Murdoch will be mad at both of us.”

Johnny pulled the shirt on but stood holding the tie out.  “I ain’t never worn one before. How the hell do I put it on?”

Boston looked kinda startled at that, but took the tie.  “I’ll tie it for you.  I could loan you some pants but I don’t think they’d fit.  Although I suppose we could cut the bottoms off, no one would notice...”

He thought of those plaid pants.  Dios!  “No!  I’m wearing my own pants.  And tough if they don’t like it.”

Boston was looking him up and down now, like he was sizing him up for a coffin or something.  “You can’t wear the gun belt, you know.”

Johnny glared at him.  “I ain’t going down without my gun.”

“It’s just not done to wear a gun at this sort of dinner.  And it’s not like you’ll need it.  It’s only us and Sam.”

He glared again at his brother.  “I ain’t going anywhere without my gun.”

Boston gave an exaggerated sort of sigh.  “Fine.  How about a derringer?  If I lend you a jacket, you could have a gun inside it and no one will know.  That could be a compromise.”

A compo what?  Still, it did seem like it might be one way to stop the old man getting mad.  “OK, I’ll wear a jacket.”

A few minutes later Johnny stared at his reflection in Boston’s mirror.  You couldn’t see the gun, he had to admit, but he looked really odd and kinda dumb.  Boston was looking at him kinda odd too. 

“I never thought I’d say it, Johnny, but bizarre as your normal clothes are, they suit you a lot better that that.  Still, it means you have made an effort to conform and that will please Teresa and Murdoch.  Come on, before he gets really mad at both of us.  He seems very good at getting mad – seems to be what he does best!”

And with a broad smile, Boston opened the door and led the way downstairs.

***

It was an awful evening.  He never did figure out what bit of cutlery he was meant to be using at any given time.  He tried to copy what Boston did but there was so much of the damn stuff, he just got confused. And he was trying to resist the urge to pull the tie off.  It felt so damn tight.  It was probably what a noose felt like, just before they hanged you.   He kept trying to stop himself from fiddling with the damn thing.  The others all seemed to be enjoying themselves though.  Talking and laughing and sipping their wine.

God, he wanted a tequila.  Or a beer.  What was it with wine?  Why did people want to drink it with food?  And he still couldn’t think of anything to say.  They talked about all sorts of things he knew nothing about.  Sam did his best to include him but Johnny felt past caring.  He just wished it was over.  Perhaps he could feign tiredness because of his wound?  But he knew Sam would see straight through that one.  Shit!   Now they were talking about galleries in Europe for God’s sake. What was a gallery?  Who cared?  And how did they know all this stuff anyway?

“Johnny?”  He looked up at Sam, who was watching him with a twinkle in his eyes.  “I think, Johnny, you should call it a night.  You opened that wound up and you really shouldn’t be overdoing things.  I’m sure the others will forgive you if you turn in, as it’s doctor’s orders.”

He tried to stop his face breaking into a grin.  “Well, if you really think so, Sam, I’ll take your advice and head on up.  G’night all.”  And trying to stifle a huge sigh of relief, he headed to the door.  He’d forgotten something, he was sure he’d forgotten something.  Shit!  Then he remembered.  “Thanks for the dinner, it was real nice.” And then he fled to the security of his bedroom.

He ripped off the jacket and tie, which seemed to have been set on choking him all evening.  How could people eat properly wearing the damn things?  He went and stood at the open window and breathed in the scented evening air.  Deep breaths, trying to calm himself.  He wished he was camped out somewhere under the stars, away from everyone.  Some place where the only sound was of a lone coyote howling and the crickets chirping.  When did life get this complicated?  He didn’t belong here, he couldn’t imagine ever belonging here.  Hell, he was used to stirring his coffee with a bit of wood, not some fancy silver spoon.  And a bed was fine occasionally, when he needed some comfort from a woman but not every night like this.  He felt more at home in his bed roll than this fancy bed with its scented sheets. 

The bed roll was stashed in the corner of his room.  It looked comforting and familiar.  He looked at it for a second and then stretched it out on the floor next to the window.  Blowing out the lamp, he went and climbed in and lay with the breeze ruffling his hair.  It helped – a little.  And curling up, he settled down to sleep.

Part Three

He gave his brother a surreptitious glance across the table.  He did look most uncomfortable and he hadn’t stopped fidgeting with the tie since Scott had tied it for him.

He had been amazed when Johnny had admitted that he’d never worn one before.  How could someone reach that age without ever wearing a tie?  But of course, his brother’s life had been so different from his own.  It had been a shock to find out that he was a gunfighter but once the initial shock had worn off, he wanted to know what had pushed Johnny into that life.  Why had he turned to a gun?  What had his childhood been like?  Certainly, the scars on his back bore testament to the fact that life had not been kind to him.  And he didn’t appear to have had any sort of schooling.  How could anyone not have any schooling?  But despite his lack of education, he was very sharp, and was one hell of a chess player!  Scott smiled to himself.  This new found brother was certainly an enigma, but he was looking forward to getting to know him better.

He tried to pay attention to the questions that Teresa was firing at him, wanting to know what Europe was like and which cities he had visited.  And it seemed that Murdoch wanted to know just as much as Teresa.  But Johnny was just looking more and more uncomfortable.  But try as he might to steer the conversation to territory where Johnny might join in, it seemed that his father was not to be thwarted. 

He could see that Sam was doing his best to engage Johnny in conversation but his brother seemed to be becoming more withdrawn with each course.  He felt furious with Murdoch.  Surely the man wasn’t so insensitive as not to see how out of his depth Johnny was?  But now the man was regaling the table with stories of Scottish clans and Scottish poetry, yes, he was that insensitive.

He tried to catch Sam’s eye and was in despair of doing so, when Sam gave Johnny his excuse for escape.  Scott saw the relief flood his brother’s normally impassive face as he excused himself and left the room.  But Murdoch just seemed irritated by Johnny’s swift departure.

“Sam, I’m sure he could have stayed up longer.  It’s good for him to join in family occasions.”

Sam looked blandly across the table.  “Johnny has had a very close call, Murdoch, and he’s opened the wound up, he needs plenty of rest.  And I felt he was looking tired.”

“He was looking bored,” snapped Murdoch.  “He makes no effort to join in conversation at the table.”

Scott sighed.  “I think, sir, he would be more inclined to join in if the conversation related to something he knew about.  Quite frankly, talking about art, politics and literature was akin to excluding him.”

Murdoch snorted derisively.  “He made no effort.  He’s going to have to knuckle down and make an effort to fit in, now that he’s decided to stay.  I hope he isn’t thinking that this is going to be an easy ride.  He’s going to have to learn to do an honest day’s work and pull his weight.”

Scott looked across at Sam who just shook his head, almost in exasperation. 

Scott looked back at Murdoch.  “It’s going to take time.  He hasn’t had the advantages of a proper education.  From what you say, he’s been on his own for a very long time.  And that must have been very tough for him.  You can’t expect him to just fit in instantly when he’s lived the sort of life he has.”

“All the more reason for him to take an interest in our discussions so he will learn how to behave in civilised company.  What happens when we have people for dinner?  He’s got to learn to fit in,” snapped Murdoch.

Sam cut in.  “Murdoch, give him a chance, he’s only just arrived.  Unless, of course, you really do want him to leave, because if you aren’t careful, that’s just what he will do.  He might have signed the agreement but it doesn’t mean that he won’t still throw it in if you push too hard and don’t give him some time to settle.  Have you even read the Pinkerton Agency reports yet to find out more about his childhood?”

Scott looked up sharply.  Somehow, it had never occurred to him that the Pinkerton Agency would have provided a report.  He’d assumed that they were just paid to deliver a message.  Did his father have a report on him?  And if so, what exactly did it say?

“No, Sam, I haven’t read it.  I told you before, it sickened me.  I... I don’t think I want to know.”

Sam shook his head sadly.  “Murdoch, take it from me, the only way you’ll ever understand that boy of yours is to find out about his past and his childhood.  Until then, you might as well be strangers.”

“The past is gone, Sam.  It’s now that matters.”

Scott listened to the words and thought back to the first day, when they had all stood in the Great Room together.  He’d thought then how ridiculous it was to dismiss the past as though it had no bearing on the present.  God, what a stubborn, difficult man Murdoch was at times.  And remote.  He longed to ask his father why he’d never come to visit him in Boston, or sent as much as a letter, but somehow, the time never seemed right to broach the subject.  There was something about Murdoch’s demeanour that didn’t invite questions of a more personal nature.  Well, he’d waited this long, a little longer wouldn’t hurt.  Surely at some point the man would unbend a little?  Seem more approachable? 

He smiled his thanks to Teresa as she poured him a cup of coffee and tried to drag his attention back to the conversation.  He suddenly envied Johnny his early escape.  The long days and back breaking work were taking their toll, he would have given anything to head upstairs to bed.  Instead, with a fixed smile he started to ask Teresa questions about the local families he could expect to meet.  It was going to be a long evening.

It was several days later before Sam gave Johnny permission to ride, an event which caused the entire household to heave a collective sigh of relief.  As Johnny had become more bored by the restrictions, everyone had tried to find ways to occupy him.  Scott had been amused by their father’s efforts to show Johnny how to do the accounts.  The man had obviously been unsure as to how to find out if his younger son could read or write and had hedged around the subject.

Scott had enjoyed watching Johnny, who with narrowed eyes, had listened impassively as Murdoch had tried, not very tactfully, to raise the subject.   Johnny had surveyed their father coolly, watching the man become more and more uncomfortable, before finally saying, “Why don’t you just ask outright, old man?  Yeah, I can read and write.  And yeah, I can even add up.  If you want me to do the fucking books I will, they just won’t be as pretty as if old Boston had done them.”

Scott had watched Murdoch turn an interesting shade of puce.  “I will not tolerate that sort of language in the house.  You’re living with civilised people now, it’s time you started acquiring some manners.”

Johnny had just shrugged and picked up the accounts book and walked over to the desk with them.  Then looking at Murdoch again, he’d said, “Well, you going to stand and watch me or will you leave me alone to get on with them?”

And so Scott had dragged a reluctant Murdoch outside, leaving Johnny slouched in the chair at the desk.

Much later, a thunderous looking Murdoch had gone to inspect the accounts, which had been discarded in an untidy pile on the floor.  Picking them up, he had proceeded to check them, with pen in hand ready to correct the errors.  But Scott was interested to see that not once did his father have to alter the entries.  He couldn’t resist commenting.  “So Johnny did a good job of the accounts?”

Murdoch looked at the books, now stacked neatly.  “There were spots of ink everywhere, they were a dreadful mess.”

“But they added up right?”

“Yes.”  Murdoch sounded grudging.  And Scott wondered for what felt like the millionth time quite what Murdoch wanted of Johnny.  And why couldn’t the man ever give Johnny a single word of praise?

And so, Sam’s pronouncement that Johnny could ride again seemed like a reprieve for the whole household.  And Johnny had reminded Scott of their pre-arranged trip to town.  “We’ll go Saturday night, unless you’re chickening out, Boston.”

“On the contrary, I’m all agog.”  And Johnny had looked at him very oddly and asked if that was catching.

And so, on the first Saturday night of Johnny’s freedom, the two of them saddled up and headed to town.

Part Four

He breathed a huge sigh of relief as they rode out under the arch.  It felt so good to be back in the saddle and getting away from the ranch for a few hours.  He just hoped that Sam really had cleared things with that damn woman.  The thought of her throwing him out in front of Boston didn’t bear thinking about.  Hell, maybe he should have gone in on his own the first time, just to make sure.  Shit!  Well, it was too late now.  Old Boston was all agog, whatever the hell that meant.  

No, it would be fine.  Sam had said he’d sort it out.  And he trusted Sam.  Strange, that.  He didn’t normally trust anyone.  But he instinctively knew that Sam one was of the very few people he’d ever known who he could trust.

He eyed Boston riding along next to him.  What was the man running from?  Or searching for?  Sounded like he had it all back in Boston so why opt for this tough life?  And ranching was a tough life.  Back breaking work and up at dawn and working to dusk.  Hard labour.  He couldn’t imagine Boston putting up with it for too long.  Dios, the man never even got his hands dirty!  He was always wearing those damn gloves.  Or fiddling with them.  Or tucking them in his belt.  Then two minutes later he’d take ’em out and pull ’em back on again.  And then there was his hat.  He never seemed able to decide where to wear the damn thing, always pushing it back on his head or pulling it forward. 

But Boston was a hard man to read.  Those eyes didn’t give much away.  And Johnny knew he could read most men, but old Boston, well, he was a tough one.  Still, if he was running from something, wasn’t no one’s business but his own.   But what the hell did agog mean?

He could hear the town now, laughter, singing and raucous music were coming from the saloon.  How anyone could bear to live there?  Towns were fine, now and again.  Like when you needed a woman or a drink.  But to have all those people around you all the time.  It was too tiring having to be so alert all the time.  Because he could never relax in a town.  Had to watch your back and every dark alleyway all the time.   Even this far out of town, he was getting ready.  And it was always best to avoid saloons on a Saturday night, always some jerk who thought he could take Madrid.  And ending up killing someone tended to put a dampener on a night out.  Unless he’d planned to kill someone, which was another matter altogether...

“What’s the matter?”

Boston really did have to know everything.

“What d’ you mean?”

“You’re acting differently now we’re near town.”

“Just lookin’ out for trouble, Boston, that’s all.  One of us needs to be sharp.”

“Do you always expect trouble?”  Boston sounded real curious.  And Johnny always found it strange that some men, like Boston, just went through life without seeming to expect any trouble at all.  What would that feel like?

“Yeah, I always expect trouble.  And you know, I usually find it.  Or it finds me.  But tonight, I just want to get myself fucked, OK?  I ain’t looking for trouble, just a woman to fuck.”

“Boy!  I bet the women find you really charming, brother.  You have such a romantic turn of phrase.   So eloquent, so...”

“Just shut the fuck up.  Brother!”

“Well, I suppose that’s an improvement on Boston...”

“What?”

“You called me brother, albeit somewhat sarcastically, still a vast improvement on Boston.  Unless, of course, Boston is a term of endearment.”

Dios!  If only he understood half of what Boston was going on about, things would be easier.

“Just shut up, Boston.  One of us needs to watch our backs.” 

They rode through the centre of the town, while Johnny scanned the street, holding his reins lightly in his left hand and his gun hand resting on his thigh, very close to his gun.  Johnny reined up outside the bordello and almost laughed out loud at the expression on Boston’s face.

“You sure this is the right place, Johnny?  It doesn’t look like a bordello.”

“Yeah, kinda funny ain’t it?  I mean it looks like a real respectable hotel or something, guess folk could get a bit of a surprise if they went inside.”  He walked to the door and listened to the sound of music coming from inside.  “Coming, Boston?”  And he pushed open the door and walked in.

Shit!  The damn woman had spotted them right off and was coming over, with that damn superior expression on her face.  Dios, she looked hard.  He noticed that old Boston had taken off his hat and was preparing to greet the woman with a charming smile.

“Well, Mr Lancer, I assume, how nice to meet you.  Sam has told me so much about you.  You’re from Boston, I believe.  You must find things rather different out here.  A little more uncivilised, I imagine.”  She was turning towards him now, the welcoming smile gone.  “Mr Madrid, it seems we meet again.  Please, Mr Lancer, go and get yourself a drink, I just want a quiet word with Mr Madrid.  In private.” 

His heart sank, her voice had a real hard sound to it.  Surely she wasn’t going to throw him out again.  Shit, shit, shit!  Maybe, a smile would work on her.  He almost grimaced as he tried to pull his lips into a warm smile.  She didn’t look impressed.

“Mr Madrid, let me make myself very clear.”  Her voice was soft now, so that no one could hear her words other than him.  “You are here under sufferance.  As a special favour,  because Sam is a good friend of mine.  I do not like gunfighters, I despise them.  I think they are the lowest form of human life and quite frankly I would love any excuse to throw you out of here.  So I give you due warning, I will not tolerate any gun play in here, any drunkenness and if you hurt any of my girls or lift a hand to them, I promise you, you really will wish you had never been born.  Do I make myself clear?”

He felt the blood rushing to his face and fought to bite back a smart retort.  “Crystal clear, ma’am.”  But he couldn’t stop himself.  “And let me tell you, ma’am, I have never hurt a woman in my life.  I have never felt like hitting a woman in my life – until now!”  And he stalked to the back of the room and settled himself in the corner with his back to the wall.  Dios!  He couldn’t remember ever feeling so angry.  How dare she say those things, without a shred of evidence.  Even now, he could feel her gaze, boring into him.  He lifted his eyes and stared straight back at her across the room.  Damn woman, and God she was ugly.  Funny though, how she sounded real educated.  Not like women in her line of work usually sounded.

“I got you tequila, was that right?  Do you really want to sit right back here?”

He dragged his attention back to Boston, who was standing with two glasses in his hands. 

“I always sit in the corner, so you’d better get used to it, Boston.”

“Why always in the corner?”

Was the man stupid or what?  “So I can watch the room, and keep my back to the wall.  That way no one can shoot me in the back.”

Boston looked shocked, and odd, kinda sad too.  “Is that really how you live?  All the time?  Don’t you ever relax?”

He thought about that.  Did he ever relax?  He smiled briefly.  “Why d’you think I like bordellos, Boston?”

“And that’s it?  The only time you let your guard down is when you’re with a woman?”

“I didn’t say I let my guard down, I never let my guard down, Boston.  How d’you think I lived this long?”

“It seems a pretty sad way to live your life.”

He stared down at his tequila.  “It’s the only way I know, Boston, the only way I know.”

They sipped their drinks in silence.  Then Johnny looked around, “The girls don’t seem overly friendly in here.  You must be putting them off.  I never have any trouble getting the girls around me.  Women always like me.”

“I was just thinking exactly the same – it must be your terrifying reputation that’s making them stay away.  I never have a problem, in or out of a bordello, brother.  And let’s face it, Johnny, attracting girls in a bordello isn’t exactly difficult, so this must be your fault.”

“Look, Boston, I spend half my life in bordellos, and believe me, I never have no problems.  This is your fault.  It has to be your fault.  It’s that fancy accent of yours, an’ all those fancy words.  And fancy clothes and manners.  That’s what’s putting ’em off.”  Or was it that damn woman?  Shit, had she ordered the girls to stay away from them, to try and humiliate him?  He glanced across at the woman, what was her name, Delice?  She was standing at the bar talking to some of the customers.  As he looked, she glanced across and caught his eye.  Raised an eyebrow, and looked amused, like she knew all the girls were avoiding him.  Bitch.  She must have told the girls to keep their distance, it was the only explanation.

Boston had got up and was talking now to a redhead.  Looked real smooth, like he needed to bother.  The girl would go upstairs whatever he said.  Yep.  There they went now. 

He glanced again in the direction of a pretty, raven haired girl he’d noticed when he first walked in.  She immediately looked away, deliberately avoiding meeting his gaze.  He sighed, and stared down at his tequila.  Maybe he should just go, leave Boston to his redhead and head back to the ranch.  Sure as hell didn’t fancy the saloon on a Saturday night.  And he didn’t want some rough saloon girl either.  Seemed though, if he was staying in these parts, that’s all he would get.

He noticed the woman, Delice, beckon the raven haired girl over.  He’d got very sharp hearing and he strained his ears to hear the short exchange.

“Sadie, honey, I’m sorry but it looks like you’ve drawn the short straw.  Mr Madrid seems very interested in you in particular, can’t take his eyes off you.  Anyway, why are you all avoiding him?  You’re all acting as though he’s got the plague or something.”

“He scares us, Ma’am, him being a famous gunfighter an’ all.  We ain’t never had a gunfighter in here before.  You’d never let one in anyway.”

“Honey, he’s just a customer, same as all the rest.  Brains in his balls.  And believe me, he’s only got one thing on his mind, and it sure isn’t his gun.  So go do your job, there’s a good girl.”

The girl walked slowly towards him, real reluctant.  As she looked at him, he could see the fear in her eyes.  Shit!  Had he really got to that stage, sunk to such a level where his reputation, instead of thrilling girls, just scared them? 

“Would you like another drink, Mr Madrid?”  She sounded scared too.

“It ain’t Madrid, it’s Johnny.  And no, but thanks, I don’t want another drink.” 

“Was there... was there anything else you wanted, Mr Ma..., Johnny?”

Dios, she sounded real frightened.  He pushed his glass in circles on the table for a few seconds, looking at the damp marks it left.  Then he looked up at her.  Her dark hair cascaded onto her shoulders and she licked her lips nervously.  Full, pouting lips and she had a dimple in her chin.  “Yeah, there was.  How about you and I go and get better acquainted?”

She swallowed.  “Upstairs?”

“Yeah, upstairs.”

She turned and slowly led the way up the stairs and along to a large room all done out with velvet and lace.  Real fancy.  He closed the door behind them and watched as she swallowed hard again.  She smiled, a little too brightly. “So what do you fancy, cowboy?”

It sounded a well tried line.  He smiled slightly, poor kid.  She really was scared.  “How about we talk?”

She looked puzzled now.  “Oh, you mean you want me to tell you what I want to do to you?  Talk dirty like?”

He shook his head.  “No. I meant, talk.  Tell me about yourself, Sadie, is it?”

She nodded, slowly.  “Yeah, Sadie.”

“Why you so scared of me, Sadie?  I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“I’ve never met a gunfighter before.”

“Well, you met one now, but there’s no need to be scared.  I don’t bite, you know.  An’ if you like we’ll just talk, OK?  And I won’t tell the sour faced old cow that you were too scared to do anything else, OK?”

Sadie gave a small smile.  “She’s fine, really.  She’s real good to us girls.  Looks after us.”

“If you say so.  Now, tell me, Sadie, where you from?”

It was some considerable time later that he headed back down the stairs, feeling rather pleased with himself and a lot more relaxed.  He could see Boston deep in conversation with the old cow.  Yeah, that figured, they’d get along real well.  They both sounded like they’d had fancy educations.  He paused in the doorway.  They hadn’t noticed him and he was curious to hear what they were talking about.

“I really don’t know why you don’t head back, Mr Lancer.  It’s obvious from the time he’s taking that although Mr Madrid is very good at firing his gun, it’s probably all he can fire.”

He saw Boston smile at the jibe.  “Well, Miss Martin, I do think I ought to stay and wait for Johnny.  He’s still recovering from getting shot and I feel I should be around to keep him out of trouble.”

“If you really think you can keep Johnny Madrid out of trouble, you have a lot to learn about gunfighters, Mr Lancer.  Particularly one as infamous as Mr Madrid.”  She turned as Johnny stepped through the doorway and looked at him with that damn superior look again.  “Mr Madrid, we were just talking about you.”

“Yeah, I heard.  And just for the record, Ma’am, I don’t have any trouble firing my gun.  Or anything else.  Just like to take my time, particularly over the second and third ones.”  And he put his hat on and sauntered towards the door.  “Coming, Boston?”

He swung himself up on the horse, wondering again what to call the animal and headed out of town, while old Boston was still sorting himself out.  He waited until Boston had almost caught up before pushing the horse into a lope.   So Boston had to go even faster to catch him up. 

“What you said back there?  About the second and third times, did you really...”

“Yeah.  Doesn’t everyone?”  God, he felt good and the look on old Boston’s face was priceless.  “See you back at the ranch.”  And he spurred the horse into a gallop.  Barrancca, that was it.  He always called his horses after rivers or mountains, why not a ravine? 

Part Five

Murdoch stood in the rose garden and took a sip of his Scotch.   God, how it would all pan out?  And why was Johnny so good at irritating the hell out of him?  He just couldn’t understand the boy.  He was surly, his language was truly appalling and he seemed to slope off at every opportunity.  What had made the boy decide to stay?  And for how long would he stay?  It just wasn’t going to work.  The boy was wild.  Boy. . . Trouble was, he wasn’t a boy, he was a man.  A very dangerous man. 

He’d never believed that danger could be tangible, but sometimes he would look at his son and feel it emanating from him.  Those eyes might as well have had shutters over them for all the emotion they gave away.  He could never tell what Johnny was thinking, he just always seemed cool and remote.  Untouchable.  And then there were mealtimes.  He dreaded mealtimes now.  Scott and Teresa would chatter away but Johnny would just sit looking tense, like some wild animal ready to run at the slightest crack of a twig.  A dangerous wild animal.  There it was again – dangerous.  Had he done the right thing in encouraging Johnny to stay?  Would it not just have been better to let him leave?  But then, what would have happened to the young man?  He would have ended up dying a bloody death in a hail of bullets.  But he probably would end that way anyway.  He couldn’t see him staying for long.  He was too far down whatever road he was travelling to change now.  

And then there was the damn Pinkerton Report.  It sat in the bottom drawer of his desk, unread.  He’d started it, but he had been unable to read further than the first page.  It turned his stomach – a catalogue of killings.  Impersonal and no effort to put the events in any sort of context.  Just a report, which was, after all, what he’d paid for.  He knew there was probably information about the boy’s childhood and, no doubt, the prison, and yet more killings.  He knew he should read it.  But he was afraid of what it might contain.  He kept thinking about the gunfight he’d heard about, when his son had apparently stood smiling while he watched a man die slowly in a dusty street.  He hadn’t found the courage to ask Johnny about that gunfight.  To try and discover if gut shooting someone was something his son had made a habit of. . .  He took another sip of his Scotch.  Just go inside, sit down and read the damn thing, that’s all there is to it.  Maybe it would help him to understand the bitter young man.  Maybe there would be some clue as to why the hell he’d ever picked up a gun in the first place.  Because one thing was for sure, he couldn’t ask Johnny and it was obvious that Johnny wasn’t going to volunteer any information.  Dammit, he barely said anything at all, ever.  Conversation, it appeared, was not one of his son’s stronger qualities.  Just go and read the damn report.  He swallowed the last of his drink and headed back into the house to his desk.

He sat down heavily in the chair and fumbled in the bottom drawer for the report.  God, he needed another drink.  He poured himself a large Scotch and sat back down and opened the large document.  It seemed to be split into various sections: there was a list of gunfights and killings, a list of range wars, the suggestion of some robberies that his son might have been involved in, another very scanty section on his childhood which seemed to show that the Agency had found next to nothing on that, and a list of associates in his early teens who were known to have schooled him in the art of gunfighting.

Gunfights and killings.  He just didn’t know if he had the stomach for it.  Gunfights and killings.  Perhaps it was better not to know.  But then he’d be constantly wondering.  He considered just hurling the document into the dying flames of the fire in the hearth.  But that would be like burning money – look how much this damn report had cost.  But he ought to read what the report said because he had a duty to protect Teresa and perhaps Johnny was a danger to her, to them all.   Think how cold he always is, even now the boy still didn’t call any of them by their names.  What went on behind that impassive expression?  Never knew what he might be thinking about, he could be so damn cold at times.  But then, sometimes, there would be some brief flicker of emotion, gone so quickly that he would wonder if he’d imagined seeing a fleeting expression of pain or interest before the mask of indifference was back in place.  And then there was that damn gun.  He never appeared without it.  It was like a festering sore between the two of them.  He told him time and again that it shouldn’t be worn in the house.  And Johnny would just spit back venomous words about how he was “no fucking kid” and would do what he “fucking liked.”  His insolence and arrogance left Murdoch speechless at times, with no idea of how to counter it.  And his language was foul, and yet, Murdoch had noticed how Johnny’s language improved dramatically when Teresa was around.  Out of deference to her?  Or because he feared what Murdoch would do to him if he didn’t?

Thank God Scott was an easy ride by comparison.  Although he never knew what Scott was thinking either.  But at least his manners were impeccable.  Never had to worry about his language, he was the perfect gentleman.  Pity it didn’t rub off on his brother.  He knew he should be pleased that at least Scott and Johnny appeared able to get along together, they’d even gone out together that evening.  Into town, Scott had said as the two of them had left.  Just so long as that didn’t mean trouble, with Johnny there, God only knows what could happen.

He stared down again at the report.  He should read it, before the two of them got back.  Or lock it away again.  But it would lie there and torment him. 

He stared again at the list of gunfights.  There was a lengthy list of locations including Santa Fe, Abilene, Nogales, Sonora and far too many more.   Written next to the names of the towns were details, he tried to focus on one.  Santa Fe, November 1869, killed three men in a shoot out – self defence.  Santa Fe, November 1869, killed two men in a shoot out – self defence.  As he scanned the list it seemed that many of the gunfights listed had self defence posted by them.  But it also said to see notes at the start of the report.  He turned back to the beginning and found the appropriate place.  It stated: “Although many of the gun fights listed are technically self defence, we understand that Mr Madrid is very skilled at goading his opponents to become so angry that they move to draw first, enabling him to plead self defence.  It is a ploy used so frequently that it seems to be way beyond coincidence.  One witness is reported as saying that “Madrid has such a mouth on him and knows how to use it to play on his opponents’ weak spots.”  We have a report from another witness, although uncorroborated, which says that on one occasion Madrid used the ploy in a man’s house and then gunned him down in front of his wife and children.”

He felt the bile rising in his throat and hurled the report to the floor as he tried to stop himself from vomiting.  Please God, don’t let it be true.  Not in front of a man’s family.  But  then came that damn recurring image of his son standing smiling while he watched a man die in agony on a dusty street.  He had spent hours brooding over what he’d heard of that gunfight, even dreamed of it.  Now there would be another nightmare image to haunt his dreams – his son killing someone in front of a sobbing family. 

And yet Sam, sensible, good, kind Sam, said how much he liked Johnny.  Had Sam seen another side of the young man or was his son just playing Sam along?  And Teresa had warmed to him too.  He had occasionally heard them laugh together, but as soon as he walked in, Johnny’s face would turn impassive and he would usually stalk off.  What did Johnny and Scott talk about?  Scott was about as forthcoming as Johnny when it came to volunteering information.  Scott would always answer questions, but somehow, it didn’t seem quite right to ask what the two of them talked about.

The sound of galloping hooves startled him, and he quickly fumbled with the report and pushed it back into his desk.  He could hear voices.  Two voices.  Thank God they were back.  He had feared trouble in a Saturday night saloon.  The combination of Johnny Madrid and drunken ranch hands could all too easily have led to trouble.  God!  Was this what it would be like every time they went out?  Fearing that the one son would either get himself or his brother killed in some drunken fight?

He could hear Scott now, saying, “Three times?”  And the other one replying, “Well, Boston if you don’t believe me you can always come and watch.  You might learn something.”

He wondered what they could be talking about, but at least they sounded cheerful.  But he knew that as soon as Johnny saw him, the good cheer would disappear like an early frost in the first heat of sun.

“Still up, Murdoch?”  Scott stood in the doorway.  “I thought you’d have gone to bed hours ago.  Johnny and I were just going to have a drink.  Will you join us?”

He found himself fumbling for an answer.  “A drink?  Um, well, that would be very nice.  Um, thanks.” 

Johnny stood now framed in the doorway, no trace of a smile now.  “On second thought, Boston, I might just turn in.” 

Well, no surprise there then, sloping off as usual.  But it seemed Scott was not going to let the boy off so lightly.

“No, you don’t, Johnny.  You said a drink and a drink we’ll have.”

Johnny stood now with a sullen expression on his face, but he accepted the glass of tequila that Scott thrust into his hand.

“Well, boys, good night out?  Was the saloon busy?”

Scott started to say something but Johnny interrupted.  “We didn’t go to the saloon.  We’ve been whoring.  Even old Boston, here.”  There was a challenge in the statement.  And he was aware of Scott closing his eyes and shaking his head briefly as if in exasperation.

“Whoring?”

“Yeah, old man, whoring.  Well, we might have got into trouble in a saloon on a Saturday night.  Figured you wouldn’t want old Boston here caught up in no brawls or gunfights, so I took him whoring.”

There was a self-satisfied smile now on Johnny’s face and Murdoch felt an urge to knock him across the room.

“Another Scotch, Murdoch?” Scott was fumbling with the decanter and waving it around in an obvious attempt to cause a diversion.  Now Johnny was prowling around the room, pausing momentarily at the desk to stoop and pick up a couple of sheets of paper. 

God, no.   Not the report, surely it was all safely put away in the drawer?  But he’s looking way too interested in them.  Please, don’t let it be the report.  The boy seemed to be engrossed in what he read, was biting his lip and running his hand through his hair.

Now, he was turning towards Murdoch.  He felt poleaxed by the accusing look in his son’s eyes.  And something else, anguish?  “This what you been doing, old man, while we been whoring?  Sitting reading about all the bad things I’m meant to have done?  Makes me look a real mean hombre, don’t it?  And this ain’t the bad stuff.”  Murdoch tried to meet Johnny’s eyes and now saw only contempt.

“Yeah, real good to know that you can trust your family.  An’ everyone telling me how great it is to have family.  You wanna read it too, Boston?” His voice seemed to crack slightly and he waved the sheets towards Scott, who just shook his head.

“Don’t it make you wonder, Boston, what he’s got on you?  Mind you, don’t suppose it’ll be as interesting as mine.  Well, unless you killed a lot of people too.  Now, you see, I suspect this is just a tiny bit of a report he’s got on me.  Hell, I bet it’s got pages listing all the things I’m meant to have done, ain’t it, old man?  Does it tell you how many men I’ve killed?  ’Cos I know you been just dying to ask that since I first got here.  Or how old I was when I first killed a man?  Tell you that, does it?  Hell, you didn’t even know about the prison.  Shows what shit your report is.” 

Now Johnny was walking straight towards him, crushing the papers into a ball and stopping just inches from him.  He could feel the heat of his son’s breath, he was so close.   He tried to look him in the eyes.   To not show the fear he felt.  Or the sudden sense of shame.  And he tried to read the strange expression in his son’s eyes which were glistening.  “You know, old man, I should take your fucking report and ram it down your throat.  Lucky for you I got myself fucked tonight, kinda puts me in a good mood.  So I’m gonna do you a big favour and give you a bit of advice.  You got questions, ask ’em instead of believing every story you ever heard about me.  Trouble is, you ain’t even got the guts to ask me, have you? You’d rather believe your fucking report.”  And as his voice seemed to break once more, Johnny suddenly pushed the crumpled ball down Murdoch’s shirt and turned and walked towards the stairs.

Murdoch swallowed and found his voice.  “If I ask, will you answer me?”

Johnny paused at the foot of the stairs, smiling wolfishly.  “Well, partner, I might, but on the other hand I might just leave you wondering.”  And with that he headed up the stairs.

Part Six

Scott watched as Johnny headed off upstairs.  Lord, is this what it’s going to be like?  What he really wanted to do was knock their heads together.  Johnny and Murdoch were as stubborn as mules and both far too quick to make snap judgments.  Throw in Murdoch’s temper and the two of them really were a recipe for disaster.  And they both seemed to say whatever came into their heads, without ever weighing up the consequences of their words.  The irony was how alike they were.

“Well, that went well,” he commented as he watched his father stumble across the room and pour himself another drink.  Scott couldn’t help but wonder how many drinks he’d had already.

Murdoch gulped the drink down in one swallow.  “Now, do you see why I wasn’t easy about having him here?  You can see what he’s like, wild and dangerous.”

Scott considered Murdoch’s words before answering.  “He wasn’t wild or dangerous the night I played chess with him.  The two of you seemed fine that evening.  And I’ve found him fairly amenable.  Not forthcoming, I grant you, but hardly wild or dangerous.  It seems to me that you almost go out of your way to annoy him.  Or to hurt him.  Are you trying to make him leave?”

Was there a momentary hesitation, he wondered, before his father snapped, “Of course I’m not trying to make him leave.  I just don’t see how he’ll ever fit in here.  God only knows what our neighbours will make of him.  There’ll be trouble, mark my words.”

“Sam likes him well enough,” Scott responded coolly.  “In fact, Sam seems remarkably fond of him.  He seems to think there’s far more to him than just Johnny Madrid, gun for hire.  And, as I’m sure you’ll agree, Sam is no fool.”

He watched as Murdoch seemed to reflect on the words.   When it didn’t look as though he was going to respond, he thought he’d goad him a little more.  “And what on earth were you doing with that report on Johnny?  Were you really sitting here reading up on him?”  Scott shook his head in exasperation.  “No wonder he was so angry and I can’t say I blame him.  If you have any questions, why don’t you just ask him?  Look at the other day when you were trying to find out if he could read and write.  If you’d just asked him outright, he’d have been fine.  I mean, I know he’s not easy, not at all forthcoming about his past, but you just seem to make him even worse, even more reticent.  And, I can’t help but wonder if you’re doing it deliberately.”

Murdoch gave an angry snort.  “I can’t talk to him.  He’s as cold as ice.  You can see the way he looks at me and the way he clams up whenever I’m around.”

“He’s not exactly talkative with any of us so I wouldn’t read too much into that, if I were you.  But you’re avoiding the issue.  Why were you sitting here reading up on him?  That is what you were doing?  Correct me if I’m wrong.  I mean, has that report really been sitting in your desk, unread, all this time?”  Scott leaned against the liquor cabinet.  He couldn’t help but feel that his father had drunk enough and that blocking the cabinet might be a wise move.

Murdoch glared at him without responding.  But Scott didn’t feel inclined to let him off the hook.  “Well, has it?”

Murdoch threw up his hands.  “Dammit!  Yes.  It’s been sitting in the desk all this time.  I couldn’t bring myself to read it.  I’ve tried, but it turns my stomach.  And believe me, every time I look at it, I seem to find something even worse than the last time I looked at it.  And if you saw it, you’d know exactly what I mean.”

“So you’re focusing on the bad bits?”

His father banged his fist down on the desk.  “You don’t get it, do you?  There aren’t any good bits, Scott.  Madrid is a cold and calculating killer.”

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “Madrid?  Not Johnny?  And it seems to me that if you haven’t read the entire report, how can you know that there aren’t any good bits?  The fact remains he helped a bunch of very poor people in Mexico try to overcome their oppressors.  He was prepared to sacrifice his life for the sake of the women on this ranch, women he didn’t even know, just because he knew what would happen to them if Pardee won.  That doesn’t sound like a cold and calculating killer to me.  More like a man with a core of decency running through him, who tries to do the right thing.”

“Well, tell me this, Scott,” Murdoch said, sounding defeated,  “would you call gunning down a man in his own home in front of his wife and children the act of a decent man?”

He felt as though his father had hit him in the stomach.  Surely Johnny couldn’t have done that.  Could he?  He tried frantically to remember things Johnny had said to him.  Warning him, maybe?  Johnny telling him once that Scott would never want to see him in action – that he was dangerous.  That Scott shouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him.  God in heaven, could his brother really have gunned someone down in front of their family?

“Now maybe you see what I mean,” his father said.  “And something else, I know of at least one gunfight where he gut shot a man and stood smiling while he watched him die in agony.  That’s Johnny Madrid.”

Scott tried to quell the feeling of nausea.  “You can’t be sure that isn’t just gossip.  How do you know that?”

Murdoch looked at him steadily.  “One of our hands, Buck Carter, saw him do it.  That’s how I know.  Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

God almighty.  What sort of world had he come to?  Life out here seemed so totally alien.  Could Johnny really have done these things?  Surely not.  Could he?  He shut his eyes briefly, struggling to remember details of conversations with Johnny.  How he never let his guard down and always expected someone to be gunning for him.  Well, no wonder people were gunning for him if he went round shooting people in front of their families.  But no, somehow that just didn’t fit.  He was sure that Johnny wasn’t all bad, that there was a decent man hiding behind that cold, cynical exterior.  Wasn’t there?

“You haven’t asked him about the gunfight?”

“No.”  His father sounded very tired.  “I haven’t asked him anything.  I... I suppose, I’m afraid of what he might tell me.”

Scott felt a stab of sympathy for him.  He could understand Murdoch’s fear if Buck’s story was to be believed.  And presumably there was no reason for the man to lie.  But to gun down a man in front of his family, what sort of man did that?  He shook his head slowly.  “Murdoch, it just doesn’t seem to make sense.  I mean, the report doesn’t say that he’s wanted by the law does it?”

“It would seem not.”

“And leaving aside the gunfight that Buck saw, how can you be certain that the Pinkerton Report is accurate?  Because I still think there’s a decent man in there.”

“Scott,” Murdoch’s voice was gentle.  “Don’t you think that’s because it’s what you want to believe? I have to be honest here, Johnny’s reputation is fearsome and long established.  Even if he does sometimes do the decent thing, you don’t get a reputation like his by being nice.  We have to be realistic and assume that he has a murky past, to say the least, and that he has committed some appalling acts.”

Again, Johnny’s words echoed in his head, telling Scott not to underestimate him, telling him how dangerous he was.  Was he being naive?  Wanting to see the best in Johnny just because the idea of having a brother was such a novelty?  Was he really just deluding himself?  If only he could raise the subject with Johnny, but even if he did, the chances were Johnny wouldn’t reveal anything.  Johnny never seemed to give anything away, never showed any emotion.  He kept everything well hidden...  Even when he was really sick when he’d been shot, he’d fought to hide any emotion.  A proud man...But this evening, for a few brief seconds, Scott had seen pain in Johnny’s eyes.

Hell, this wasn’t getting him anywhere.  He looked at Murdoch, who stood watching him with an expression of what, exactly?  Compassion?

“I still think you should speak to him, Murdoch.  Maybe he’d respect it if you just asked him outright.”  Scott shook his head again as he stifled a yawn.  “I don’t know, I think I’ll head on up, maybe things will seem better in the morning.  I’m sorry, I don’t think I can handle all of this right now.  Goodnight.”

He heard his father bid him goodnight as he headed up the stairs to his room.  As he walked along the passage he saw that there was a glow of light under the door to Johnny’s room.  So he was still awake.  Scott paused, uncertain, and then rapped on his brother’s door.

“Go away.”

The tone of the voice gave no quarter, but damn it, things couldn’t be left as they were, so Scott opened the door and walked in.  Johnny was standing by the window, staring out into the night.  He turned and stared coldly across the room.  “Exactly which part of go and away didn’t you understand, Boston?”

“I saw your light.  I. . . I wanted to check that you were OK.”

“OK?  Why shouldn’t I be?  Sure there wasn’t something else you wanted?  Brother.”

God, he sounded colder than ever now. 

“The old man show you my report, did he?  You been reading up on your bad brother?  ’Cos you know, you look kinda pale, Boston.  Even paler than usual.”

“No, no, I didn’t read your report.  But . . .”

“But the old man filled you in.”  Johnny gave a mirthless laugh, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes.  There was something else there, shame?

“He mentioned a couple of things.”  He stumbled over the words, not sure what to say.

“Oh, yeah, I bet he did.  So, Boston, what dreadful deed have I done that’s scared the shit outta you?”  Johnny sounded defiant but the look in his eyes wasn’t.

“I didn’t say I was scared.”

“No, but you sure as hell look it.  He been telling you what I’m really like?  Telling you I’m a real bad hombre?”

Scott shook his head, suddenly doubting the wisdom of trying to talk to Johnny in his current mood.  “He doesn’t know what you’re really like.  None of us does and we won’t if you don’t talk to us.”

Johnny laughed again.  “So, do tell, Boston, what exactly is it you want to talk about?”

Why does he always revert to sounding so damn cocky?  And so irritating with that superior smirk of his.  “OK, how about a gunfight where you apparently shot someone in the gut and stood smiling while they died.”  He couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud, but dammit, he wanted to know.  Surely Johnny couldn’t have done something like that.  He’d deny it.

Johnny stood motionless, with a strange smile playing around his mouth.  “I been in a lot of gunfights, Boston, but I believe I do remember that one.  It was down in Santa Fe if I remember right.   What about it?”

Scott felt the colour drain from his face.  It wasn’t meant to go like this.  Johnny was meant to deny it, but instead he sounded so casual and callous.  “What do you mean, what about it?  Is that normal for you, to shoot someone in the gut?  To stand smiling while they die?  That couldn’t have been you, you’re not like that.”

“Boston, I told you before, you don’t know what I’m like, you know nothing about me.  And yeah, it was me, OK?  I was wondering when the old man would ask me about it, but I guess he just ain’t got the guts.”

Scott was puzzled, now.  “Why did you think he’d ask you about that gunfight in particular?  No way would you know that he knew about it.”

Johnny was silent for a few seconds, as if deciding what to say. 

“Well, maybe I knew it would be in his report, or maybe, just maybe, it’s ’cos Sam asked me about it weeks ago.  So I figured if Sam knows about it, chances are the old man does, too.”

Scott felt a surge of relief.  If Sam knew about it and seemed so fond of Johnny, there must have been a reason or somehow the story had got muddled.  Whatever, it meant it must be all right.  “What did you tell Sam about it?”

“That ain’t none of your fucking business, Boston.”  And then he smiled again, “Maybe I just told him a pack of lies to shut him up.”

Scott shook his head, disbelieving.  “Sam’s no fool.  And I don’t believe you’d lie to him.”

“You got a lot to learn about me, Boston.  You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

And that was the trouble.  He didn’t know what Johnny was capable of, he only knew what he wanted to believe and what his instincts told him to believe.

“So what else the old man tell you about me, Boston?”  Johnny’s tone was casual, but Scott could see concern in those cool eyes.

“What makes you think he told me anything else?”

“’Cos it’s written all over your face.  And I figure it’s something much worse than that gunfight.  So I’m just dying to hear what it is.”  Johnny rubbed his hands together.  “Hell, Boston, this is fun, ain’t you having a good time?  Just think of the stories you’ll be able to tell your fancy friends when you run back to Boston.  All about this real evil gunfighter called Johnny Madrid you ran into when you visited California.”  He paused briefly and glanced down before looking back up with a strange, challenging look on his face. “Bet you won’t tell them we’re related though, will you? Brother.”

Scott stared at his brother’s face, trying to read the expression, before saying slowly, “His report says that you gunned down a man in his own home in front of his family.  The man’s children were there.”

Johnny glanced down at the floor briefly before looking back at him with a totally impassive face.  Putting his mask in place, the thought flashed through Scott’s mind before Johnny said, “I’d need a few more details than that, Boston, to narrow down which one they’re talking about in the report.  I mean, there’ve been so many killings. . .”

“I don’t believe you did that, Johnny.  Not in front of his children.  I know I don’t know the real you, as you’re so fond of reminding me, but although I’ve known you just a few weeks, I know you wouldn’t do that.  In fact, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.  You didn’t do it.”  And as he said the words, he knew they were true.  Whatever his brother may be, this story just didn’t fit.

A ghost of a smile passed across Johnny’s face.  And something else, relief?  Gratitude? “Well, Boston, you sure got a lotta faith.  Misplaced, maybe, but a lotta faith.  Tell you one thing, I bet there’s a whole lotta shit in that report.” Johnny sounded very tired.  “Never fails to amaze me how I can be in two places at once.  You know, there I am thinking I’m in Sonora but I see something in the paper saying I’m in Abilene or Tuscon.  Hell, sometimes I’m in all three.  I guess I just got real talent for spreading myself around.”  He shrugged.  “Now, Boston, if you don’t mind, I’m dead on my feet and I’m turning in.”

Scott watched as Johnny picked up his bed roll.  “Where are you going?”  He asked and watched, surprised, as Johnny shook the roll out and laid it down by the window without answering.  “You sleep in your bed roll?  What’s wrong with the bed?”

“A man don’t want to get too comfortable, Boston.  Makes it harder when you have to move on.”

“You don’t have to move on, Johnny.  You live here now.”

Johnny looked at him, and there was no smile.  He suddenly realised how bleak Johnny looked.  “I’ll have to move on sooner or later.  The old man’ll want shot of me at some point.  He ain’t got your faith, Boston.  He’ll believe his report, all of it, whether it’s true or not.  And let’s face it, some of it’s true.  And the only person who knows which bits are true is me and somehow I don’t see him asking.  Do you see that happening?”  Johnny laughed, but there was no mirth in it.  “Fact remains, I’ve done some things I wouldn’t want no-one to know about.  Including you.  Yeah, sometimes, just sometimes, I did what you might see as the right thing, but believe me, when I was starting out I was more concerned about getting me any reputation than worrying about what sort of reputation it was.  And I guess now I got to live with that.  I told you before, I’m dangerous and you’d do well to remember that.”

Scott walked to the door before pausing and turning back.  “And I remember telling you, Johnny, that I don’t think you’re nearly as bad as you want us all to believe.  I believe you have plenty of redeeming qualities.  Strange as you may find it, I have faith in you, and you’d do well to remember that.  Goodnight, Johnny.”

He was just closing the door when he thought he heard his brother reply.  He could have sworn he heard Johnny say, “Goodnight, Scott.”

Part seven

Murdoch trudged down the stairs with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He dreaded facing Johnny at breakfast.  Would Johnny mention the previous evening?  Or would it be just another thing to hang, unresolved, between them?  Another thing eating away at their relationship.  Relationship?  That was a joke, they didn’t have a relationship.  And right now, he couldn’t see them ever having one - wasn’t even sure if he wanted one.  Not after reading about that man gunned down in front of his family.  How could any son of his do such a thing?  But it wasn’t like he could ask Johnny about it; after all, the two of them seemed unable to have even the briefest of civil conversations.  Johnny was taciturn at best and mostly monosyllabic.

He paused now and stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Teresa bustling around making coffee and chatting to Scott, who was leaning against the cabinet laughing at something she’d said.   They were both all dressed up ready for church.  It looked a happy scene.  And it could be like this all of the time if it wasn’t for the other one. 

“Murdoch, I’m just making coffee, come and sit down.”  Teresa was smiling at him, and patted the chair at the table.  “Come on.  Sit down and have your breakfast, otherwise we’ll be late for church.”

“How are you this morning, sir?”  He met Scott’s cool gaze and muttered a reply about being fine.  God, fine.  That was what Johnny always said.  The boy would doubtless say he was fine as he drew his last breath.  And where the hell did that thought come from? 

“Have you seen your brother this morning?”  Easier to call him your brother, easier than saying his name.

“No.  He was up and out early.  Anyone would think he was trying to avoid us.  I wonder why?”  Scott’s tone was sarcastic.

“It’s a pity that Johnny won’t come to church with us.  I mean I know he’s Catholic, but I don’t see why he couldn’t come sometimes.  It’s not as though he goes to the Catholic church either.”  Teresa sounded puzzled.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Teresa.”  Scott’s tone was smooth.  “It’s just not Johnny’s thing.  And it’s not as though our church is his religion.  You shouldn’t expect him to come.  Now, are we all ready?”

Murdoch swallowed the last of his coffee and followed the others out to the buggy.   He barely noticed the journey there or paid any attention to their idle chatter.  He had a vague impression that it was a sunny day.   But he felt anything but sunny.

He tried to concentrate on the sermon.  And then wished he hadn’t, as the minister pontificated on the nature of evil.  He could swear that some of the congregation were looking at him, reflecting on the latest addition to the neighbourhood.  The prodigal son?  Or was it Cain and Abel?

He was stood after the service, waiting for Scott and Teresa to join him, when some rancher friends  approached him.

“See that other boy of yours never comes to church, Murdoch.”  Dan Mitchell gave a phoney sort of smile. 

Murdoch had the urge to punch the rancher in the mouth, but he managed to hold his fists to his side and keep his voice casual as he answered.  “No.  Johnny’s Catholic, so no, he doesn’t come here with us.”

“From what I hear, he doesn’t go there either.  Can’t believe they’d want someone like him anyway,” Joe Donovan added.  Trust Joe to have to butt in.

“If you’ve got something on your minds, why don’t you just spit it out,” snapped Murdoch, losing his battle with his temper.

“Just this, Murdoch.  There are decent folk living in these parts.  The sort of folk that don’t want someone like Madrid around.  The fact he don’t go to church shows he ain’t changed, Murdoch.  People are scared.  A man like that, well, who knows what he might do.  I tell you, folks are scared to sleep in their beds ’cos of that boy of yours.  You keep him at your ranch, otherwise he’s likely to end up with a bullet in the back.”

“Is that a threat, Dan?” Murdoch asked coolly.  Damn, Scott was coming over now.

“You better believe it, Murdoch, there’ll be no shortage of people prepared to do it.  No one wants his kind near their daughters and no one wants to mix with him.  He’s scum, Murdoch, an’ we both know it.  Not saying it’s your fault.  You’re not to blame, we know that. You didn’t raise him so you don’t owe him nothing, Murdoch.  You’d be better looking to keeping your own family safe.  Specially with a nice girl like Teresa in the house.”  The man suddenly noticed Scott, standing behind him.  “So, young man, how you settling in?”

“I find some of the neighbourhood is not to my taste.”  Scott looked very aloof.

“Probably thinking of that half brother of yours, I imagine.”  The man was smirking now.  Murdoch thrust his hands deeper in his pockets.  It wouldn’t do to hit the man outside the church.

“On the contrary,” Scott said, sounding very smooth now, “I’m very taken with my brother.  It’s some of the neighbours I find hard to take.  Ready, sir?” He glanced across and Murdoch nodded.

Scott tipped his hat at the ranchers.  “Gentlemen.”  Something in the tone of his voice seemed to imply he thought they were anything but.

As the two of them walked towards the carriage, Scott said, “Well, you did warn me what the neighbours would think about him.  But, I can’t say I think much of your friends.”

Murdoch snorted.  “They’re not friends, Scott.  But, given some of the tales you’ve heard, you must at least have some understanding of why he’s not welcome.”

Scott sighed.  “Yes, I do, but they’re not even prepared to give him a chance.  I’m certain that he’s essentially a good man, Murdoch.  I know what your report says, but I just don’t buy into all of that.  There’s far more to Johnny than meets the eye.”

Before he could answer, Teresa came hurrying up.  “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were ready to leave.”

As they headed back to the ranch, he thought about Scott’s words.  The young man really did seem to have faith in his brother.  So did Sam.  Could they both be wrong?  Was their faith in Johnny misplaced, or was there more to him than the Pinkerton report suggested?  Well, only time would tell, always assuming Johnny stayed around long enough for anyone to discover the truth.

As Scott put the carriage away, Murdoch walked with Teresa towards the house.  He could see Johnny now, sitting outside in the sun, surrounded by cleaning paraphernalia and his saddle and his guns.  Easy to see how he’d spent his morning.  But cleaning guns on a Sunday?  He knew it was a challenge, that Johnny would expect him to be angry.  Why else would he do it in full view of everyone?  Well, this was one challenge he wasn’t going to rise to.  If Johnny was hoping to see his father lose his temper, he was going to be disappointed.

“Hi, Johnny,” called Teresa.  “Isn’t it a lovely day?  You should have come with us.  All my friends are longing to meet you.”  She looked at him critically.  “You’re a mess!  You’re covered in gun oil.   And just look at those boots!  Don’t you dare wear them in the house.  Go on, you’ve got half an hour to get yourself looking respectable.”

He watched as Johnny grinned at her, a relaxed open smile.  “You really are a nag, you know.  Pity the poor man who ends up with you.”

She flicked Johnny across the head with one of the oily cloths.  “Go on with you, Johnny Lancer.  Half an hour!”

Johnny hauled himself to his feet and gathered up the guns, sliding one back into the holster on his hip.  His face had become expressionless now as he looked at Murdoch.  “Fun sermon, was it?”

“It was about the nature of sin.”  He tried to keep his voice neutral.

A ghost of a smile passed over Johnny’s face.  “I should have come then, I know a lot about sinning.”  And with a laugh he carried his saddle off in the direction of the barn. 

Murdoch sighed.  Well, at least they hadn’t started another argument.  He didn’t think he could face that at the moment.  No, they would have a peaceful day.  He would bite his lip and not rise to anything.  And filled with resolve he headed into the house.

Johnny made it to lunch on time, and in a clean shirt, too, much to Murdoch’s amazement.  The boy seemed to have made a real effort.  But dammit, it seemed that there was always something to upset the even keel.  This time it was, of all people, Teresa, who looked at Johnny critically and said,  “I asked you to change your boots, Johnny.”

“I cleaned them.”  Johnny looked down at his feet and kicked at a bit of mud still clinging to one of them.  “Sort of.”

“But I asked you to change, Johnny.  Couldn’t you have just done as I asked for once?” Teresa sounded plaintive.

“I couldn’t.”  Johnny said irritably.  “They’re the only pair of boots I got, OK?”

“Well, you’d better get another pair, next time you’re in town,” she said, sounding just as irritated.

“Why would I want another pair of boots?  I only got one pair of feet.”

Scott let out a snort of laughter.  “He’s quite right, Teresa.  He can only wear one pair.”

“Well, what happens if they get wet?” 

Murdoch had to smile at the note of triumph in her voice, even so, he found himself sympathising with Johnny.  A new and unusual experience.

“I just wear ’em until they ain’t wet.”  Johnny looked exasperated.

“Well, you shouldn’t.  You can catch a chill doing that.  Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

Johnny looked at her coolly.  “No, she didn’t ever tell me that, but then, I never had any shoes so maybe that’s why she never mentioned it.”

Teresa flushed bright red while Murdoch tried to stifle a sigh of irritation.  He just wanted a nice easy lunch.  Was it really too much to hope for? 

“I’m sorry, Johnny, I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”  Teresa looked apologetically across the table.

“I think that’s enough discussion of feet, Teresa,” Scott said with a grin.  “Leave the poor man alone.  If he only wants to have one pair of boots it’s up to him.  Now, how about passing some of those potatoes around?”

Murdoch cleared his throat.  “I thought it would be a good idea if you two boys go with Cipriano and some of the hands this week and move the cattle from the pasture on the south boundary before it’s overgrazed.  There are about a thousand head down there and it’ll give you both a chance to get the lay of the land.”

Scott looked up from his meal. “You won’t be coming?”  

“No.”  He tried to ignore the look of relief that he saw flash briefly in Johnny’s eyes.  “Once you get to my age, sleeping out on the trail loses its appeal.  I do it on the cattle drives and that’s quite often enough, thank you.  I enjoy the comfort of my own bed these days.  No, this is just moving one of our herds to new pasture so you don’t need me, anyway.”

“You want us to check the lines at the same time?”

He tried not to register his surprise that Johnny had actually asked a question.  “Might be a good idea.  I mean, we’ve got men out riding the lines but with a spread this size it takes a while for them to cover the distance.  It’ll mean you staying away longer.”  That, of course, was probably why Johnny had suggested it, he suspected. 

“When do you want us to go?” asked Scott.

“I suggest you head off later tomorrow, once you get everything organised.  Cipriano will show you both the ropes.”

“Yeah, well, moving a herd and checking fence lines is real difficult.”

Count to ten, bite your tongue.   Murdoch made a supreme effort to sound friendly.   “I meant he’ll show you what’s what.” 

“And where’s where.” 

“Something like that, yes, Johnny.”  He concentrated on cutting up his meat.  He was not going to rise to the bait.

“We should have a party when you get back,” said Teresa suddenly.  “So you can both meet all our neighbours.”

Murdoch shuddered inwardly, thinking of the comments of two of their neighbours that morning.  He noticed that Scott looked slightly alarmed too.

“I don’t like parties.”  Johnny’s tone was sullen.

“Oh, you’ll like ours, Johnny, and we have such nice neighbours and they’ll all want to meet you and Scott,” Teresa said happily.

“They might want to meet old Boston, but I can promise you they won’t want to meet me.  And I sure as hell don’t want to meet them.”  Johnny had put down his fork and was looking mutinous.

“But of course they’ll want to meet you, too, Johnny.  Why wouldn’t they?  I know all my friends are dying to meet you.”

“Presumably just before their fathers shoot me and I do the dying?” Johnny sounded very sarcastic. 

Teresa’s face fell.  “Murdoch, tell him he’s wrong.  Everyone will want to meet him, won’t they?”

He thought briefly of that damn report, his son shooting a man in front of his family. . . Dammit.  He looked across the table at Johnny, who was looking at him expectantly.  “I’m sure there’s plenty of time for parties later in the year, Teresa, when both the boys have had a chance to settle in.”  He saw Johnny throw him a look of contempt.  Well, what the hell did the boy expect him to say to her?  All he’d wanted was a peaceful lunch.  He wondered if he’d ever be able to enjoy a meal again.  Was it always going to be like this?  Worrying about what to say, avoiding certain subjects, having an image of his son killing someone hovering in his mind? 

Scott came to his rescue, asking Teresa how she had prepared the sauce and complimenting her on her cooking.  Telling her about meals he’d eaten in Europe.  It was comforting to know that Scott would always cover any awkwardness, always knew what to say.  So different to Johnny.  He couldn’t imagine ever being able to rely on him.  He looked up to see his younger son sitting watching him and had the unpleasant feeling that Johnny knew exactly what he’d been thinking.  How the hell did the boy do that? 

They were sitting drinking coffee when Cipriano came in, apologising for interrupting.  The man looked embarrassed and asked to speak with Senor Johnny.  Johnny looked at the man with narrowed eyes and got slowly to his feet.  Murdoch felt irritated. “Cipriano, what is this about?  Why do you need Johnny?”

Cipriano looked even more embarrassed and threw a worried glance towards Teresa before shaking his head.  “Sorry, Senor Lancer, but I need to speak to Senor Johnny.”

Murdoch watched with growing irritation as Johnny left the room with Cipriano.  “This is ridiculous.”  And he got up and followed them outside.

“Now, what’s this about, Cipriano?” he demanded, only too aware of Johnny looking at him coldly.

“There are two men, Senor Lancer, in Green River looking for Senor Johnny.  They are asking for Madrid.  One of the hands just came in and told me.  He thinks they are gunfighters, he was worried they would come here looking for Senor Johnny.  That there would be trouble.”

Murdoch snorted.  “I think that’s a given, Cipriano, where my son is concerned.”  He turned to look at Johnny, who met his gaze, unflinching, with not a trace of emotion showing.  “Well, what are you going to do?  We can’t risk men like that coming here.”

“I told you this is what it would be like, didn’t I, old man?  And this is just the start.  What was it you said?  We’d deal with it as a family?  Well, I got news for you, we ain’t a family and the only person who’ll deal with this is me.  But don’t worry.  They won’t come near your precious ranch.  I’ll deal with it in town.”

“You can’t take them both on.”

Johnny stared at him in disbelief.  “Didn’t your fucking report teach you anything?  Two’s nothing, I faced two lotsa times.”

“What if they’re faster than you?”  What a damn stupid question to ask, he thought as he said it.

“Well, if they’re faster, I wind up dead.  If I’m faster, they wind up dead.  That’s how gunfights tend to work, in case you didn’t know that, old man.”

“Why are we talking about gunfights?”  They both turned together to see Scott standing looking at them.

“Dios!” Johnny exclaimed, as he pushed past his brother to go back to the house.

“Where are you going?”  Murdoch felt a knot of fear in his stomach, the bile rising in his throat.

“I’m going to get my fucking gun and then I will ride into town, OK?”

Murdoch looked at him in confusion.  “You’ve got your gun on.”

“The other gun.”  Johnny paused, and gave him a chilling smile.  “The killing gun.”  And with that he went into the house.

“Would someone tell me what’s going on,” demanded Scott.

Murdoch stared at him, wondering what to say.  Well, there was little point in sugar coating it. “There are two men in town looking for your brother.  Cipriano says they’re gunfighters.”

“Gunfighters.  Looking for Johnny.”  The colour drained from Scott’s face.   “Murdoch, we can’t let him face this alone.  Two to one isn’t fair.  He’s been laid up, he’s still not strong.  He’s probably out of practice.  I mean, he’s had no chance to practice or do whatever it is he needs to do.”

Murdoch shook his head, feeling compassion for his son.  “Scott, you’ve got to understand, for Johnny Madrid two men is nothing out of the ordinary.  And this really is something he has to do alone.  We can’t help him with this, Scott.”

“But we should, Murdoch.  At some point someone will be faster.  We can’t let him do this.”

“Seem to remember telling you I was the best, Boston.” 

Murdoch and Scott stared at Johnny as he came back out of the house.  He was wearing a different holster now and a different gun.

Scott shook his head.  “No, you said only someone dumb says they’re the best.  You can’t do this alone, Johnny.  You don’t need to do it alone now.  You’ve got family.”

“Family?”  Johnny sounded puzzled.  “No, Boston, I got partners and I sure as hell don’t need ’em for what I gotta do now.  I’ll be back later.”  He lifted his thumb in a type of salute and walked off to get his horse.

“Scott, let him go.”  Murdoch was gentle.  “He has to do this alone.  We would only get in his way, possibly get him killed.”

“Don’t you care at all?” Scott turned furious eyes on him.

“Of course I care,” he snapped.  “But we can’t help him, Scott.  This really is something he needs to do alone.”

But Scott strode off to where Johnny was just swinging himself up onto his palomino and grabbed hold of the horse’s bridle.  Murdoch followed.  Dammit, he wasn’t going to let Scott get killed.  This was Johnny’s fight and he would have to deal with it.

Johnny was glaring down at Scott.  “Let go my horse, Boston.  I’ll be back later.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Johnny sighed.  “No, I can’t be sure of that, but it don’t matter none.”

“It matters to me.”

“Look, Boston.  This is what I do, OK.  A gunfight don’t bother me none.  Someone wins, someone loses.  None of it matters anymore.  I guess you can only be scared when you got something to lose and I don’t think I ever had that.”  He paused, and then grinned.  “But hell, I ain’t never been beaten yet.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Johnny.”

“I guess, but what the hell, this is what I do.”  He stared at Scott for a second, almost it seemed to Murdoch , like he was memorising his face.  And then in a surprisingly gentle voice he said, “Scott, let go my horse now, I’ll see you later.”

Murdoch watched as Scott released the bridle and with a raised hand, Johnny spurred the horse into a lope and set off towards Green River.

Scott turned an anguished face towards him.  Murdoch didn’t know what to say to him.  Nothing could make it better. 

“Don’t try and stop me, Murdoch, but I’m going after him.  This is something I need to do.  He won’t see me, I’ll stay out of sight in town.   I just need to be there, in case . . .”

Murdoch sighed.  “In case of what, Scott?  What do you really think you can do to help him?  I think you want to see Johnny Madrid in action.  But I warn you, you might not like what you see.”

Scott smiled, but it was a sad smile.  “Yes, I suppose there is a bit of that. See the famous gunfighter in action.  But Murdoch, I also hope that I might be able to understand him better then.  And apart from anything, I want to be there in case he needs me.  I couldn’t bear for him to die alone.”

Murdoch watched as Scott saddled his horse.  “I’ll stay here with Teresa,” he said gruffly.  One thing he was sure of, he couldn’t stand and watch his son die. 

Scott nodded as though he understood, and turned and rode off towards the town.

Part Eight

Scott rode to town at a gentle pace.  The last thing he wanted was to catch up to Johnny.  He knew Johnny would be furious at being followed.   But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave him to face whatever he had to face, alone.  He might have to keep his distance, but he would be there if Johnny needed him.  How could Johnny be so casual about the possibility of dying? Did he really not care? 

He’d seen enough men die in battle, some of them in agony, calling out for their mothers, screaming in pain.  He still had nightmares about those men and the anguish they had endured in those final moments when he had been helpless to alleviate their suffering.  If Johnny was to lose this gunfight, the least he could do was be there to hold him, so he wouldn’t die alone.

But if Johnny survived, was this what it was going to be like?  Just waiting for people to come looking for Johnny, to kill him?  The thought made him feel sick.  How could anyone live a normal life with that threat hanging over them?  And what would the effect on the family be?  No wonder Murdoch had voiced doubts.  He’d realised only too well what Johnny’s presence could mean.  For the first time he felt some sympathy for Murdoch.  The man was being realistic and if Johnny’s past was half as bad as Murdoch seemed to think, no wonder people would be looking for Johnny.  He might travel light but he carried a lot of baggage.

He could see the town ahead now.  It looked strangely deserted.  He took a detour so he could approach it from the side and slip in unnoticed.  He hadn’t even thought what he would do when he reached it.   He slid down from his horse and tied the animal to a hitching rail out of sight of the main street.  He was looking for somewhere to hide when he caught sight of Sam watching him from the back window of his house.  He hurried over and Sam opened the door and dragged him into the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing here, Scott?  Surely Johnny told you to stay away?”

Scott looked at Sam’s worried face and smiled apologetically.  “I couldn’t, Sam.  What if he needs me?”

“Just what use do you think you can be to Johnny out there?” Sam gestured towards the main street.

“He’s there?”

“Yes.  He’s there, but answer the question, Scott.  How on earth do you think you can help him, or are you trying to get him killed?”

“Of course I’m not,” Scott glared.  “I, I wanted to be here in case. . .  I couldn’t bear the thought of him dying alone.”  He stared at Sam sadly, hoping that he’d understand.  But Sam just shook his head in irritation.

“Are you sure, Scott, that this wasn’t partly about you wanting to see Johnny Madrid in action?”

He was silent.  Murdoch had said the same thing.  How much of his rash action was just that and how much was genuine concern for Johnny’s welfare?  He sighed and leaned against the table.  “It’s a bit of that I suppose, but Sam, I do want to be here for him if he needs me.  I saw too many men die in the war, calling out for someone, for family.”

“Scott,” Sam said gently, “are you sure that Johnny even sees you as family?  And to be brutally honest, if he realises that you’re here it will affect his concentration, and that could cost him his life.  I realise that you know nothing about gunfights, but he doesn’t need any distractions and that includes you.”

“I never even thought of that.  I’m sorry, Sam.  I just followed him.  He told me to stay at the ranch.  But Sam, he called me Scott.  Do you realise that’s the first time he’s actually used my name?”

Sam nodded, looking thoughtful.  “I know that he never uses any of your names, he’s afraid to get too close, Scott.  But, it’s possible that he just used it for effect, hoping that you would do as he asked.”

Scott shook his head.  “No, I think he said it last night too, when he said goodnight, but it was so quiet, I wasn’t quite sure.  But where is he now, what’s happening?”

Sam shrugged.  “He’s sitting in a rocking chair opposite the saloon with his hat over his eyes.”

“He’s what?”  Scott wondered if he’d heard right.

“You heard.  Come and look, but don’t get close to the window, we can’t risk him getting a glimpse of you.”

He followed Sam to the surgery and took a cautious look out.  Sure enough, Johnny was sitting rocking, with one foot resting on his knee, lounging back, looking very relaxed with his hat over his eyes.

“What the hell is he doing?” he demanded of Sam.

Sam just shrugged his shoulders.  “I have no idea.   I’ve never seen Johnny Madrid in action.  I just hope he hears the men when they come out of the saloon, because he sure as hell isn’t going to see them.  As you gathered, everyone knows what’s going down, it’s why everyone’s hiding inside their houses.”

As they watched, the saloon doors swung open and three men emerged.  They stood looking down the street and appeared not to even notice the figure in the rocking chair.  Just as they turned to walk towards the livery, Johnny spoke, the hat still over his face. 

“Well, if it ain’t Ed Shilo.  Heard you was looking for me.”

The men stopped dead and looked towards the figure in the chair.   As he watched, Scott realised that one of the three was barely more than a boy, just a young kid really.  And how did Johnny know who it was when he still had the damn hat over his face?

“Well, well.  Johnny Madrid.  Heard you was dead, shot by some firing squad down in Mexico.  Then I got real bad news.   Heard you wriggled out like the slippery bit of shit you are and were up here, alive and well all along.  Well, you won’t be living much longer, Madrid.  Your time has come and I’m going to enjoy sending you to hell for what you did to my brother.  I hear you been living it up on some ranch, but got yourself shot up a while back.  So it seems to me, Madrid, that you’re gonna be a bit outta practice.”

He heard Johnny laugh and say, “I’d have to be a lot more out of practice for you to stand a chance against me, Shilo.  Who’s your fat friend, need him to help you, do you?  And the kid there, barely outta diapers.”

“How does he do that, Sam?  He hasn’t moved the damn hat?”

Sam didn’t reply, just shook his head and continued to watch the street.

“Don’t you underestimate the kid, Madrid, he’s fast and looking for a reputation.  Your reputation.  And this here is my cousin, so you see the two of us got a score to settle over my brother.”

Johnny pushed the hat back, and gave a strange half smile.  “Your brother was a bitta shit, Shilo, and we both know it.  He deserved what he got, so why don’t you just get back on your fucking horses and get outta here, before your mother loses another son.”

“We ain’t going anywhere, Madrid, until you’re lying in the dust.”

Johnny just smiled and looked at the kid.  “You’d better get outta here, kid, while you still can, ’cos I promise you, I will kill you.    Hell, you don’t even look old enough to shave, you sure you ready to die, boy?  ’Cos I tell you what, I won’t make your killing clean.  I think I’ll make it real slow for you, kinda to warn off other dumb kids who think they can take me.”

Scott stifled a gasp of horror at the callous words of his brother.

“Believe me, kid, you’ll be begging me to finish you off.  And there you are, just a kid, I bet you never even had a woman to fuck yet, have you?  Kind of a waste, to die before you’ve even had your first fuck.  There’s a bordello down the street.  Lots of pretty girls there who’d show you just what to do and how to do it.  But I guess you’d rather stay here and die.  Slowly.  Might take your knee cap off to start with, while I do the other two, so you can see ’em die.  Then maybe a bullet in the gut, now that is painful.  I seen a lot of men die that way.   Hell, I killed a lotta men that way, it can take a real long time, an’ all the while they’re screaming in agony, screaming for me to finish it.”

Scott watched in horror as a pool of urine spread round the kid’s feet.  “What’s Johnny doing, Sam?”  And as he said it, the young boy suddenly turned and fled, followed by Johnny’s mocking laughter.

“Reducing the odds, Scott, that’s what he’s doing,” Sam said.

“Think you’re real clever, don’t you, Madrid?” sneered Shilo.

“Well, I figure I’m a lot smarter than you two.  That kid’s a lot smarter than you two, as well.  Mind you, my horse is smarter than you two.  Now, you see, if you’d got any brains you’d get on your horse and ride outta here.  Because you can’t take me, Shilo, not even with your fat friend there to help you, and I promise, I will kill you both.  Up to you, what’s it gonna be?”

“We ain’t going nowhere, Madrid, so let’s get this over with.”

Johnny stretched, and got casually to his feet, yawning as he did so, and looking rather bored.   Scott suddenly had an image of a cat playing with a mouse, and he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.  He suddenly understood what Johnny had meant when he’d described himself as dangerous.

“Well, Shilo, it’s your funeral.  I guess if you want to die, we might as well get this dance over, ’cos I want a beer real bad.”  Johnny sauntered to the middle of the street and stood facing them now, with the sun behind him.  But even now he seemed relaxed.   Never had Scott felt quite so tense as he felt now.  How could Johnny be ready?  He looked far too casual, surely he should be looking. . . well, something other than how he looked.

Then the fat man moved slightly and there was a blur of movement from Johnny.  His gun was there in his hand, firing, and as Scott watched both men fell to the ground, but Johnny had whirled around and was firing at the roof of one of the buildings.  A man with a rifle fell and hit the ground with a thud.  Now, Johnny had straightened slightly, still scanning the buildings as he walked towards the two bodies lying in front of him.  He kicked at them with his foot, keeping his gun pointed at them and then, seemingly satisfied that they were dead, he walked over to the man he’d shot off the roof, and again tested him with his foot.

It was over so quickly.  Scott felt stunned by the speed at which it had all happened and now there were three men lying dead in the street.  And how had Johnny known about the man on the roof?

He was suddenly aware of Johnny walking towards Sam’s house.  Flinging the door open and looking absolutely furious. 

“You trying to get me killed, Boston?  What is it, third of a ranch not enough for you?”

Faced with such fury, Scott felt defensive.  “You couldn’t have known I was here, I was really careful because I didn’t want you to see me, but I wanted to be here in case..”

But Johnny cut off his words.  “I heard you coming from half a mile away, Boston.  D’you really think I’m fucking stupid?  God, you made as much noise as the fucking cavalry.  Oh, but I forgot, you are the fucking cavalry.”

“Johnny,”   Sam sounded very calm.  “Just simmer down.  Scott shouldn’t have come, but his intentions were well meant.”

Johnny rounded on Sam.  “No, Sam, he just wanted to see the great Johnny Madrid in action.  Well, Boston, did I put on a good enough show for you?  Enjoy the entertainment, did you?  ’Cos it’s what you wanted, ain’t it?  See the killing machine in action?  Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint you.  Only three dead bodies, sorry it wasn’t more for you.”

He knew he deserved his brother’s rage.  He looked at Johnny’s furious face.  “Will you listen, Johnny, please?  I saw so many men die in the war, they would cry out for someone.  It was dreadful to hear them crying out like children.  Even now, I dream about them screaming.  I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but I just wanted to be here in case you needed someone, like they did.”

Johnny closed his eyes briefly, before shaking his head slightly, as if in exasperation.  “Look, Boston, I know you don’t know much about gunfights, but take it from me, the dying’s usually quick.  But the point is, Boston, a man’s got to be able to concentrate and believe me, if there’s someone you care about watching, well, it makes it a lot more difficult.”  Scott could swear that a ghost of smile crossed Johnny’s face as he allowed the implication of his words to hit home.

“Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to the bordello to get myself well and truly fucked.”  And turning, he walked out of the house and up the street, not even glancing at the bodies of the men that lay in pools of blood in the dusty street.

Scott hurried after him, puzzled, and followed Johnny into the bordello where the girls were gathered round, chattering like a flock of starlings.  “Aren’t you riding back with me?”

Johnny turned to him with a remote expression on his face.  “No, Boston, I ain’t riding back with you.  I’ll be back tomorrow.  I told you, I’m going to get myself fucked.”   He looked across at the girls, “Sadie, come on upstairs, honey, and bring a couple of your friends with you.”  And then he turned back to Scott, “Didn’t you know?   This is how I always celebrate a killing.”  And he walked upstairs.

Scott watched as the girl Sadie glanced across at Miss Martin, who’d watched the entire scene from the bar.  She nodded slightly at Sadie, who immediately followed Johnny up the stairs with another couple of girls in her wake.

Scott walked slowly to the bar, surprised to find that he was shaking now.  The woman looked at him appraisingly and silently poured him a large whiskey, which she pushed into his trembling hand.

“Your first gunfight?”  Her tone was cool.

He nodded.  “You saw it?”

She laughed.  “Honey, the whole town saw it.  Everyone was watching from behind their shutters.  Hypocrites.  They condemn but don’t they just relish the bloodshed.”

“You don’t mind him going upstairs with three of your girls, to celebrate?”  Celebrate, God, what a notion.

“I’d heard that’s what Madrid did.  I was expecting him in here straight after.”

“But to celebrate?”  Scott felt light headed and nauseous.

“Honey,” her voice was gentle now.   “Didn’t look like a man celebrating to me.  More like a man trying to block something out.  Trying to forget.”

He considered the implication of her words as she topped up his glass.  A man trying to forget.  He thought of the bleak look in his brother’s eyes.  No, there had been no look of celebration in those eyes, just exhaustion and pain.   He realised that the woman was far more astute than he was and wondered idly what on earth an educated woman like she was doing running a bordello.  She certainly seemed to understand Johnny better than he did.

“And this is what he’s known for?  Taking women to bed after shooting people?”

She nodded.  “Oh, yes, people always say that Johnny Madrid celebrates his killings by going whoring.  And, from what I hear, always the same number of girls as the number of men he’s killed.”  

“And you don’t mind him taking three up there?”

She shrugged.  “Makes no difference to me, if he wants three girls, it’s all money in the till.”  She looked at Scott thoughtfully.  “Honey, you’ve got a lot to learn about life out west.  And you’ve certainly got a lot to learn about that brother of yours.  Boston rules don’t apply out here and there are a lot of men like your brother.  Men who don’t value life in the way to which you’re accustomed.  You’re trying to apply your code of behaviour to him and that’s as alien to him as his way is to you.”

“You don’t like him do you?”

She shrugged again.  “Honey, I sure as hell wouldn’t trust him.  But so long as he treats the girls OK and doesn’t make trouble then I’ll continue to let him visit here, but it’s only because it’s a special favour to Sam.  Sam and I are old friends and he asked me to make an exception to my rule about not letting gunfighters over the threshold.”

Scott stared at her in surprise.  “Does Johnny know he’s here under sufferance?”

She smiled.  “Yes, he knows and he’s none too happy about it either.  But Sam seems to like him and I have to admit that puzzles me.  Sam’s a pretty shrewd judge of character and if he likes Johnny Madrid, well, I have to ask myself if I’m missing something.   So for the time being, I’ll give Mr Madrid the benefit of the doubt.   Now, I would suggest, Mr Lancer, you go on home and let your family know that the black sheep is alive and well.  And I’ll send him home to you in the morning.  OK?”

Scott smiled wryly and chuckled.  “OK, Miss Martin, and thank you.”  He walked slowly towards the door, and then turned.  “How did you get to be so wise?”

She smiled, raising a painted eyebrow.  “Just years in this business, honey.  Now go on home.”

He raised his hand in a mock salute to her and walked out into the street.

Part Nine

The sunlight woke him, casting shadows across the room.  At least the activities of the previous night had briefly blocked out the gruesome images of yet more spectres to haunt his dreams.  Three more men dead by his hand.  At times he felt as though he was suffocating under the weight of the bodies of the men he’d killed.  They were piling up on top of him, crushing the life from him as he sank into some black abyss. . .  And there was never any escape.  There would always be more men he would have to kill or be killed himself.  And he knew his soul was damned.  There could be no redemption for Johnny Madrid.

He could feel the presence of a girl pressed against him.  She sighed as she turned over but she still slept.  He saw it was the girl Sadie.  The other two had obviously left in the night when he’d eventually slept.  He didn’t even know their names.

What would it be like to have a woman of his own?  He couldn’t imagine that.  A woman who didn’t fuck any man who paid for it.  Who wanted only him.  Boston would be able to get that.  Settle down with just one woman and put the whoring behind him.  Like it had never been, like he’d never paid for a quick fuck.  But for Madrid?  It wasn’t a quick fuck, it was a little comfort and you took it where you could find it, because you knew, in the end, that’s all there would ever be.

He stretched his arm over the girl and cupped her breast in his hand, caressing it as he pulled her towards him.  He needed her now, needed her to hold him so he could lose himself briefly as he possessed her once more.  She stared at him through sleepy eyes, her make up, so carefully applied, smudged and grubby on her cheeks.  He pushed himself, hard and erect, against her, muttering, “I ain’t finished with you yet, Sadie,” as he sought her lips once more.

The sun had risen higher by the time he walked downstairs.  He hoped that the old cow wasn’t up, that it would be one of the girls manning the desk to relieve him of his money.    He was disappointed.

The woman, what was her name, Delice, was standing by the bar.  None of the girls were there.  Shit.  It was just him and the old cow.  And why did he always feel so uneasy with her? No one had ever managed to make him feel quite so unsure of himself before.  Well, fuck her, but then, who’d want to?  Imagine waking up next to that.  He tried to force himself to look relaxed, but she just looked at him with one eyebrow raised, like he’d crawled out from under a stone.  Cow.

She pushed a piece of paper towards him.  “Your bill, Mr Madrid.  Three girls, all night.”

He glanced at the bill as he got some money out.  “They didn’t all stay all night.”

She looked at him without a flicker of emotion.  “Honey, if you aren’t man enough to keep them all night, that’s not my problem.  You took three girls upstairs, and you leave in the morning, that’s the bill.”

He clenched his jaw as he pushed the money across the counter.

“Did you want breakfast before you go?”

He didn’t know why, but the question surprised him.  He looked at her.  “Is it included?”

She smiled slightly, like he’d said something real funny.  “It’s a dollar.”

“A dollar?  That must be some breakfast.”

“Oh, it is.”

He looked at her.  “Ma’am, I just been screwed upstairs.  I don’t need to be screwed downstairs as well.”

There wasn’t a flicker.  She stared at him without any expression.  “Do you want coffee?”

He laughed.  “How much is coffee?”

She looked him up and down, sizing him up it seemed.  “Honey, you look like shit, so you can have the coffee on the house.”

“You’re all heart.”

“Oh, don’t I know it.”  She took a coffee pot from behind the bar and poured him a cupful.  “Milk?  Sugar?”

He shook his head.  “No, just black.”  Like his soul.  The thought flashed briefly in his mind that the woman was thinking the same thing.  He wondered again why he found her so disturbing. 

“Did old Boston stay long?”  It seemed easier to try and make conversation.

“Boston?”  She furrowed her brow, puzzled.  “Oh, you mean your brother.  I calmed his shattered nerves with a couple of whiskies and sent him on his way.   He seems like a man out of his depth out here.” 

Johnny looked at her sharply.  Those green eyes were surveying him coolly.  Impossible to read.  He shrugged.  “I guess it’s pretty different from what he’s used to.  He went to some fancy school out east.”

“While you were educated in the school of life?”

He smiled at that.  She was pretty shrewd.  Even if she was an old cow.  “Yeah, something like that.”

She topped his coffee up before asking, “Are you jealous of the life he had?”

The question surprised him.  Gave him pause to think.  And although it was none of her business, he found himself answering it seriously.  “No,” he said slowly, “I guess everyone gets dealt a hand and you just play your cards the best you can.  And, hell, can’t imagine that I’d ever have wanted to go to some fancy school.  Poor sod, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”  He shrugged.  “Old Boston is OK.  But you’re right, he sure as hell finds life different out here.”

“He cares about you, you know.”  Her words were casually spoken, but he looked at her sharply.  And found himself shrugging again.

“I dunno why he should.”

“Neither do I,” she replied smoothly as she polished the glasses stacked by the bar.  “But oddly, Sam seems to care about you, too.  Why is that, do you think?”

Her eyes were fixed on him now.  He felt as though she was looking inside his head, at his thoughts, at his soul.  And he felt ashamed because he didn’t want anyone to know what he was like, especially her.  Though why the hell he should care what she thought of him was beyond him.

“I like Sam,” he said, knowing he hadn’t answered the question.  Her mouth twitched slightly, like she was amused that he was avoiding the question.  “He’s a good man,” he muttered.

“So you can recognise a good man, then?”  Her tone was cool.

He glared at her.  But she didn’t seem bothered.  Just poured more coffee in his cup and went out the back leaving him alone.  She was back after a few minutes with a big plate of pancakes that she set down in front of him.

“On the house.  You look like shit, you’d better eat something.”  Again, her mouth twitched slightly,  and he found himself wishing she’d just smile at him.

He looked again into those green eyes that he couldn’t read.  “Thanks, they look good.  And, yeah, Sam’s one of the few good men I’ve met.  But I can recognise one when I meet one.  I ain’t that far gone.  I ain’t quite hit rock bottom.  And for what it’s worth, Boston seems like a good man too.  Deserves a better brother than me, I reckon.”  He tried to concentrate on the pancakes, feeling her gaze resting on him, considering him, it felt like.

“Well, I suppose he’ll have to make the best of what he’s got.”  She sounded amused now.  “I have to say, Mr Madrid, you’re not quite what I expected.”

He looked at her now.  “It ain’t Madrid, now.  Not here, at any rate.  I’m trying. . .”

“To change?  Honey, until I believe different, you’ll be Mr Madrid.”

He wondered how to explain that it might not be wise to use the name.  But she really did seem able to read him, for she said, “For what it’s worth, I won’t use the name if there are strangers in here.  But let’s face it, all the locals know exactly who you are.  And what you are.”

Again, he felt a stab of shame.  He tried to change the subject.  “Sadie seems like a nice kid.  Don’t deserve to be in this kind of game.”

“Honey.”  He looked up at her as she spoke.  “None of us deserves to be in this kind of game.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he shook his head sadly.  “I bet there ain’t any whores who dreamed of doing that for a living when they were little kids.”

“Whereas you dreamed of being a gunfighter?”

“All I ever wanted.  Grew up hating.  Spent all my time learning to use this gun.  Wanted to be the greatest pistolero.   Wanted everyone to know my name.”

“And now they do.”  Her tone was cool.

He nodded slowly.  “Yeah, and now they do.  And I find that a bunch of girls in a bordello are so shit scared of my name they don’t even want to fuck me.  Yeah, everyone knows my name.”

“Except your brother.  I suspect that even the legend of Johnny Madrid hasn’t quite made it to Boston.”

Johnny smiled.  “No, not quite.  But it seems like I’m working on it.”

“And what does your father make of having Johnny Madrid for a son?”

Johnny pushed the last pancake around the plate.  His appetite suddenly gone.  Her eyes were on him, watching his every move.  Shit, wasn’t none of her business, nosey cow.  He looked up angrily, ready to insult her.  But the steely look in her eyes stopped his retort.  And he dropped his gaze down again.  Dios, how did she do that to him?

He sighed heavily.  “He ain’t none too impressed, I guess.  He sure as hell don’t trust me.”

“There’s no reason why he should, is there?”

“I took a bullet in the back saving his fucking ranch for him.  That seems like it deserves something.”

She tilted her head to one side, surveying him through those damn cool eyes.  “From what I hear, he gave you a third of his ranch.  Seems to me that’s probably more than you’ve ever had before – for all the money you must have made from your killings.  What have you spent that on?  Have you saved it all up for a rainy day?  Or squandered it all?  Somehow, I suspect the latter.”

“Not much point in saving it,” he snapped.  “I don’t expect to live long enough to retire.”

“So, what did you spend it on?”

He knew that she guessed the answer already.  But he might as well own to it.  “Getting myself fucked, as often as possible, OK?”

“Your father must be so proud!”

He had to laugh.  And he found himself wishing she’d laugh with him.  She might be as ugly as sin, but there was something about her that he kind of liked.  And she seemed real smart.  And she knew lots of fancy words, same as old Boston.  “Yeah, real proud.”  He shook his head slightly.  “Only a matter of time before he kicks me out, I reckon.  It’s like he can’t stand to have me around.  I dunno, maybe I remind him of her, or maybe he just figures I’m gonna be too much trouble.  Or bring trouble, like yesterday.”

“Her?”

“My mother.  Sam says she ran off with someone when I was a kid.  I guess that must hurt a man, losing his woman to another man.”

“And losing his son, too.”

He nodded slowly, he’d never really thought about that.  But from what Sam said the old man had tried real hard to find him.  But he knew he couldn’t ask the old man about it.  The man was so damn cold.

“So, Mr Madrid, you ever had a woman of your own?”

He grinned at that.  “Who the hell wants a gunfighter?  No.  I thought there was someone once, hell, even got myself engaged.  But we were way too young.  And she was a real lady, way too good for me.  But I guess I fancied myself in love for a while, never had a lady before.”  He sipped his coffee, remembering.  “And I guess, if I’m honest, it was probably the only way I was going to get to fuck her, by getting engaged.  And I sure wanted to fuck her.”

She raised a painted eyebrow.  “Such a gentleman you are, Mr Madrid.  So you took her virginity and dumped her?”

Hearing it put so bluntly, he felt embarrassed.  But he shook his head slowly.  “No.  She dumped me.  Couldn’t cope with the killings.  Can’t say as I blame her.  Like I said, she really was a lady.  You know, educated, fancy accent, been all over the place, too.  Funny thing is, she and Boston would get on real well.  I ought to introduce them.”

“Yes, I’m sure your brother would love your cast offs.”

He smiled at that.  The idea rather appealed to him, but he sensed her looking at him disapprovingly.  “So, what about you?  Do you and Sam . . .?”

“Fuck?  No, honey, we don’t.  Odd as it may seem to you, it is possible for men and women to enjoy a platonic friendship, and Sam and I are old friends.  That’s all.”

He wondered what the hell plonic meant, but he kind of got the message.

“Your family will be worrying about you.  You ought to be getting back.”

“Worrying?  Why the hell would they worry?”  He felt puzzled.  “Boston knows I was OK.”

She shook her head at him, seemed exasperated.  “You really are clueless, aren’t you?  Worrying is what families do.  You were in a gunfight, the first one they’ve had close contact with.  They will be concerned about the effect on you.”

“Don’t see the old man worrying about me.”

She looked at him levelly.  “Don’t you?  Funny, I didn’t take you for a fool.”

He pushed his cup away and glared at her.  “Told you, he don’t trust me at all.”

She picked up the cup and looked at him like he was dumb or something.  “Honey, we’re not talking about trust.  We’re talking about the natural reaction of a father when his son is in danger.  Just because he doesn’t trust you, doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.  Now, why don’t you go on home and try and keep your temper when they ask you lots of damn fool questions.  Which we both know they will.”

He smiled, in spite of himself.  “You mean, play nice?”

“Yes, honey, play nice.  Otherwise, you’ll end up having some big fight and walking out in a huff.  And  that might be kind of a shame, as it seems this is the first chance of a different life that you’ve ever had.  You’re not stupid, so don’t blow it.”  Her mouth twitched again.  He could have sworn she almost smiled.

“Because, you know, honey, I think you do want a different life, don’t you?”

The sudden question rocked him.  He felt a lump in his throat.  Bit his lip, hard.  “I think,” he spoke very softly, “it may be too late for that.”

The expression in those green eyes was softer now.  “Doesn’t have to be, honey.  If you want something badly enough you should grab it with both hands.  Now, run along home, and play nice.”  And carrying his cup and plate, she walked through the swing door into the kitchen, giving him a wave of her hand.

Play nice.  Well, maybe it was worth a go.  He really didn’t feel like a row today.  He’d bite his tongue until it was time to leave with the men to move the cattle.  And putting his hat on, he headed out into the sunlight.

Part Ten

A light breeze ruffled his hair as he rode out of town, basking in the warm sunlight.  It felt like the distant mountains beckoned him with the promise of freedom.  He could picture himself galloping on the palomino, flat out across the range to those far lavender peaks where no one would question him or doubt him.  Where no one would care about his past.  Where no one would care...  And that was what it boiled down to.  Where no one would care.  Because, although he found it hard to believe, it seemed that here people did care.  Sam seemed to care about what became of him.  Though God only knew why he should.  And the woman, Delice, had commented on how his brother cared about him . . .

A brother.  He still couldn’t quite believe that.  And still couldn’t quite come to terms with the fact that Mama had known about a brother and never told him.  How could she have done that to him?  Still, it hurt too much to think about that.  But he believed Sam’s version of events.  Now, if only the old man would talk to him about the past.  He’d give anything to hear the old man’s telling of it.  But there seemed to be little chance of that happening.  And he was damned if he was going to ask.  If he was honest, he knew that he was making it tough on the old man, testing him, though he didn’t know why.  Hell, pushing him to see just how far he could go before the old man snapped.  But that way lay danger and there was the rub.  He liked danger, it gave him a buzz, made him feel alive.  Perhaps if he just knuckled under, said yes sir and no sir, the old man would accept him.  But he had too much pride for that.  Couldn’t be less of a man than he was.  Wasn’t changing for nobody.  And if old Boston and Sam could accept him, then the old man would have to accept him too.  Or not.

He reined Barranca in as he rounded the ridge overlooking the ranch and slid easily from the saddle, settling himself down on a mossy knoll, with his back against the hillside.  One way lay freedom and it felt as though the other way could lead only to disappointment.   As some point he would push the old man too far.  He didn’t seem able to stop himself pushing.  Why did he do that?  Like throwing the whoring in his face when common sense dictated it would have been more sensible to let the old man think they’d just gone out for a game of poker and a beer.  But then, to find the old man had just been sitting there, reading up on him, well, that had hurt.  No one would want Johnny Madrid for a son.  He didn’t blame him for that.  But he wished the man would just ask him about the past, instead of blindly accepting everything in that damn report.  Trouble was, most of what was in the report would probably be true. . .  A lot of men had died at the hands of Johnny Madrid and that was the problem.  When the old man found out the scale of the killings, he wouldn’t want Madrid anywhere near his precious ranch or his precious ward.

But if he was honest, the thought of owning something, if only for a short time, well, it kind of appealed.  And it was real strange to have a brother, but that was kinda good, too.  And yet he knew he wasn’t making it easy on old Boston, either.  But it still seemed like the man wanted to get to know Johnny Madrid.  God only knew why.  What was it Boston had said? About having faith in him.  That felt good, too, even though he knew the faith was misplaced.  That he didn’t deserve that level of belief.  Presumably it was only a matter of time before old Boston saw through him, just like the old man seemed to. 

If only Mama had sent him back here when he was young, life could have been so different.  But wondering why the hell his mother hadn’t sent him home for safety hurt like hell.  Tore at his guts, like something was eating away at him inside. And thinking like that didn’t do any good.  He couldn’t undo the past, like he couldn’t undo what some of Mama’s men had done to him.  Dios!  Don’t start thinking about that, it was bad enough to relive it in his dreams.  The old man would be so disgusted with him if he knew...  Shit.  Just stop thinking about it.

The sun was climbing higher and there was a heat haze across the land, so that the grazing cattle seemed to shimmer in the bright light.  If he rode on towards the ranch, what was the old man going to say about the gunfight?  Three more men dead by the hand of Johnny Madrid.  But he’d had no choice, had to kill or be killed.  And trust Shilo to have had someone hiding on the roof, to put a bullet in the back of Madrid.  But as soon as he saw it was Shilo, he’d been scanning the roofs, knowing that there was probably someone up there.  The three of them deserved what they got.  They’d come for a killing, well, they got three.   But he couldn’t see the old man seeing it in the same light.  Johnny Madrid would be the talk of the town, and that sure wasn’t going to please the old man.

What was it Delice had said?  That they’d ask him a lot of damn fool questions.  But she also said his father would be concerned.  Couldn’t believe that.  But she’d seemed pretty sure of herself.  Play nice.  Maybe it was worth a go.  If only because he was kind of curious to know more about old Boston.  Find out what the man was running from.  Might as well enjoy owning something for a little longer.  It wouldn’t last, but it would be good for just a short time.  Yeah, play nice.  Nice-ish.

He swung himself back into the saddle and rode towards the ranch. 

He hoped that maybe no one would see him coming, but shit, the old man and the girl were standing outside, watching his approach.  He stopped at the barn and slid off as the girl ran towards him, flinging her arms round him, almost knocking him over.  Startled, he grabbed at his hat to stop it falling to the ground.

“Johnny, we were so worried.  Thank God you’re safe.”  She clung to him, like he was going to go somewhere.

He thought of saying that God had nothing to do with it, that it was down to his fast draw, but didn’t think she’d appreciate the humour.  “Boston told you I was OK, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but I was still worried.  You didn’t come home.  He said you just needed a little time alone, but I was scared you wouldn’t come back.”

He tried not to grin at Boston’s explanation of his absence.  Time alone – well, yeah, him and three whores.  “I told him I’d be back and I’m here, so quit fussing.”

He could feel the old man’s eyes on him.  Just look straight at him, don’t matter what he thinks.  Fuck him.  Stare him straight in the eyes.  “Well?”  He knew his own voice sounded like a challenge.  But it was odd, ’cos the old man didn’t look real angry.  He looked. . .what exactly?  Tired?  And kinda sad. 

“Are you alright?”  There was a look almost like concern now on the old man’s face.  Why?  Why should he care?  What was it Delice had said?  Something about a father’s natural reaction when his son was in danger.

“I’m fine.  Why shouldn’t I be?”  He could have bitten his tongue off.  Why did he always have to be so prickly with the old man?

“Scott said there were four of them.”  The old man sounded like he was fishing for more information.

He shrugged his shoulders.  “I’ve faced more than that before.  Anyway, one of ’em vamoosed, too shit scared to face me.”  He saw the old man clench his jaw at the expression and then remembered that the girl was there and wished he’d not said that.

“Sorry.”  He muttered the apology, and the old man’s expression seemed to soften.

“But you are alright?”  The old man sounded real insistent now.  Dios!  Anyone would think the old man really was worried about him or something.  Maybe Delice was right after all.

“I said I’m fine.  What’s another three dead men to me?  They came looking for a killing and that’s what they got.  I didn’t ask ’em to come, you know.  But if they come looking, I’ll kill ’em, OK?   Or would you rather I just stand there and let ’em gun me?”  He felt guilty as he spat out the words.  Saw a look of something like pain in the old man’s eyes.  Play nice.  He took a deep breath.  “Look, I’m fine.  It’s over.  They drew first, it was self defence.”  As he said the words he saw a strange flicker of emotion in the old man’s eyes.

“You didn’t goad them into drawing on you?”  The old man sounded real nervous.

“No.  I didn’t.  What the hell gives you that idea?  I gave ’em plenty of opportunity to leave.  And believe me, there’s plenty of witnesses to that.  But don’t worry, I put on a real good show for the town.”  Yeah, he’d certainly done that.  People were real shit.  They said how they hated gunfighters, but boy, didn’t they just love to watch someone wind up dead.  Sick, really.  Hell, he should sell tickets, wind up rich.

“Johnny.”  The girl stretched her hand out and touched him gently on the face.  He tried not to flinch away.  “We were worried about you.  Don’t be angry with us for that.  We were just so frightened you’d be hurt.”

He felt an unfamiliar pricking sensation in his eyes as he tried to avoid meeting her concerned gaze.  “You see, Johnny, we really do care about you.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat.  “Look, I’m fine, really.  Now, I’d better go and get my stuff together if I’m going off with the men to move the cattle.”  He pushed past them both and headed into the house and the sanctuary of his own room.

He picked up his bed roll and then hesitated over which gun to take, staring down at his modified gun as he caressed it.  He felt safer with it and closed his eyes briefly as he felt how it moulded to his hand, loving the smoothness of the wood against his skin.  It felt so good just to hold it and he rested his face briefly against the cool metal barrel.  God, he loved this gun, it was the one thing in his life he knew he could rely on.  People, they just let you down, disappointed you in the end.  But there was something honest about a gun.  It was better than any friend, more reliable.  And probably better than family too.  It was odd though, how old Boston had come rushing to town after him, saying he was worried.  Still, he was sure that some of that had been a desire to see the famous gunfighter in action.  But, it had seemed that he was kinda concerned too.  Boston couldn’t have faked that look in his eyes.  The eyes didn’t lie and there had been fear and real concern in those eyes.  Still, he’d trust his gun before he trusted any blond gringo and, making a decision, holstered the fighting gun.  The fight was too recent, too raw, this was the gun he wanted with him on this trip.  And if it made the ranch hands nervous, well, fuck ‘em.  That wasn’t his problem.  Slinging his bedroll over his shoulder he headed back outside.

He spotted Boston, standing talking to Cipriano, and went to join them.  “You ready, Boston?  I got everything I need, so I’m ready to ride when you are.”

“You sure you’re up to this, Johnny?  I mean, after that gunfight and everything?”

Johnny stared at him in amazement.  “What the fuck you talking about, Boston?  Why the hell would I not be up to moving some cattle?  Gunfighting is what I do, just like reading books is what you do.  I told you, it don’t mean nothing.  So quit fussing, Boston, and get mounted up.”

As he turned he almost ploughed into his father, who had come up behind them.  Dios!  Now he’d be for it.  He shut his eyes briefly and waited for the fury.

“Johnny.”  Odd, his father didn’t sound mad.  Just kinda sad.  “A gunfight might be nothing out of the ordinary for you, but for us it’s different.  Odd as it may seem to you, we were worried.  We can’t take the possibility of your death as lightly as you appear to take it.  You might as well start getting used to the fact that you’ve got people around you now who care what happens to you.

“I might not like your past, but I care about your future.  And I happen to want you to have a future.”  The man turned to walk back towards the house, before turning briefly again.  “Now get on that horse, young man, and be sure to do what Cipriano tells you.  And try to stay out of trouble. Otherwise you’ll have me to answer to.” 

Johnny stood watching the man’s departure in amazement.  Dios!  He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  Not a single smart remark.  And oddly, that felt kinda good.  He realised he was grinning like some dumb kid.  So just for once, he did what he was told and mounted up.  He looked across at Boston, who was standing looking kinda surprised too.  “Well, Boston, you heard the man.  What’s keeping you?”  And with that he spurred Barrannca into a lope and set off after the rest of the men who were already heading out.

Part Eleven

The men were some way ahead by the time Scott caught up with them.  Johnny was riding slightly apart from the rest of them or they were avoiding Johnny, Scott wasn’t sure which.  But he cantered over and settled his horse in alongside Johnny’s palomino.

Johnny, however, just ignored him, seemed intent on scanning the territory ahead.  Scott thought briefly about what Johnny had said the night they went to the bordello, about never letting his guard down.  He certainly seemed to be on his guard now, and silent.  Would they just ride for hours in silence if he didn’t start the conversation himself?  Figuring the latter, he gave in.  “Murdoch was worried about you.  We all were.  When I got back from town though, he and Teresa bombarded me with questions about whether you were safe.”

Johnny didn’t turn his head.  “Notice you didn’t tell the old man I went whoring.”  His tone was level and Scott wondered just what Johnny was really thinking about.  He certainly wasn’t giving much away.

“I felt it was politic not to tell him that.  But I think he was worried about whether you’d actually come back at all after the fight or just take off.”  Scott paused, wondering how best to phrase his words.  “I know he isn’t exactly demonstrative, but, as you just saw back there, he does care.”

He looked at his brother’s impassive profile.  And yet back at the ranch, just briefly, Johnny had grinned like a kid when Murdoch had ordered him onto his horse.  Just for that second, Johnny had let his guard slip and Scott felt elated to have witnessed it.  He wondered if Johnny was going to acknowledge his words.  Well, he wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.  “I said he does care.”

“I heard.”  Johnny’s tone was still level, and still giving nothing away.

Scott pushed his hat back in exasperation.  “Are you still mad at me?”

“Some.”

God, he could be so damn irritating.  If they’d grown up together he was prepared to bet he’d have throttled him at some stage.  “Johnny, I truly am sorry for putting you at risk.  I know nothing about gunfights and. . .  I don’t know, I just wanted to be there for you.”

Johnny didn’t turn his head.  “Why can’t you just admit that part of it was about wanting to see me in action.  You wanted to see what all the fuss was about.  Maybe, even wanted to see a killing.”

Scott clenched his jaw.  “Oddly enough, Johnny, having been in a war, I’ve seen killing before.”

“Not a gunfight.  A gunfight’s personal, war is more removed from a man.  Hell, you got the law on your side in a war.  But a gunfight, well, that’s different.  It’s close and it’s bloody.  Real bloody.  And law don’t have much to do with it.”

“War’s bloody, too,” snapped Scott.  He stared with irritation at Johnny, who still hadn’t glanced at him.

“Ain’t saying war’s not bloody.  Just saying gunfighting’s different and part of why you came was to see me in action.”

Scott pushed his hat forward now, sighing with exasperation.  “OK.  I admit that a part of me was very curious to know what all the fuss was about.  I wanted to see the great Johnny Madrid in action.  Satisfied?  But my overriding feeling was fear.  Fear for what might happen.  When Cipriano said there were two men, I couldn’t imagine how you would be able to take on two.”  Scott shook his head in wonder.  “To find you were facing three, well, I...  Dammit, I was terrified for you.  I thought I was going to see you gunned down.”

Johnny gave a humourless laugh.  “Take more than those pieces of shit to outdraw me.  And I knew Shilo would have someone on the roof.”

“How?”  Scott was curious.

“Like I said, he’s a piece of shit.  That’s how.”

Scott didn’t feel that Johnny’s laconic reply clarified the situation.  Still, at least Johnny seemed to be thinking of something other than accusing him of just going to watch for entertainment.

“Don’t alter the fact that you wanted to see me in action.”

Damn.  Scott shut his eyes briefly.  “I’m not denying it.”

“Anyway,” Johnny looked at him now and gave a chilling smile, “what you saw, well, that was nothing.  That was me on my best behaviour, being as how I knew you were watching.”  And with that, Johnny spurred the horse on into a lope, leaving Scott covered in a cloud of dust.

Scott ground his teeth in frustration.  Why the hell was Johnny always so difficult?  And irritating?  He’d been hoping that a few days like this, away from the ranch, and more importantly away from Murdoch, would make Johnny a little more forthcoming.  It didn’t feel like they were getting off to the best of starts.

Scott pushed his horse on to catch up with Johnny, who looked at him in irritation. 

“But that’s another thing, Johnny, how could you see them when you had your hat over your face?”  It had been gnawing away at Scott, wondering how his brother appeared to have seen everything while relaxing in his rocking chair with his hat over his eyes.

Johnny sighed with exasperation.  “Why do you always ask so many damn fool questions, Boston?  Is this what going to some fancy school does to a man?  Well, as you got some fancy education, you figure it out.  Give you something to think about over the next few days.”  And with that he rode off again.

Scott shook his head.  If they’d grown up together, Johnny would never have made it to adolescence.  He would have strangled him, possibly soon after birth.  But then there was that comment of Johnny’s after the fight, about how someone you cared about being there could be a distraction.  He smiled, it seemed he’d made some impression on his brother after all.

The men made camp under the shelter of a ridge near a meandering river.  Cipriano organised them into building a fire and soon the smell of cooking mingled with the scent of wood smoke.  Scott was fascinated to see how wary the men were of Johnny.   No one sought out his company or ventured any remarks towards him.  He still found it bizarre that a gunfighter’s reputation could engender so much awe in people.  Or fear.  And he couldn’t help but notice that the men’s attitude certainly suggested that they were afraid of Johnny and were reluctant to relax in his presence.

But Johnny appeared to be oblivious to the atmosphere.  Or just so used to receiving that sort of reception that he accepted it as natural.  He ate apart from them all.  While Scott sat and chatted with Cipriano about the plan for the following day, Johnny ignored everyone, remote and seemingly unapproachable.

It was only later, when they were settling down for the night, that Scott realised that Johnny had disappeared along with his horse.

“Cipriano, have you seen Johnny?”

Cipriano pointed to the west, where the last glow of day could still be seen on the horizon.  “He rode in that direction.”

What the hell was Johnny up to now?  Scott saddled his horse again, cursing Johnny as he did so, and headed off after his brother. 

He could smell the fire before he saw the faint flicker of flames, about a mile from the main camp.  Johnny was sitting huddled by the small fire, while his horse grazed nearby.

“What do you want now, Boston?”

“I wondered where the hell you’d gone.”

“Just prefer my own company.  And I can hear things better away from that crowd.”

“What things?” Scott furrowed his brow, puzzled.

Johnny lifted a small mug from the heat of the fire with a gloved hand and sipped at what Scott presumed was coffee.  “Like someone creeping up on a camp.   Dios, Boston!  You born yesterday or something?”

“You really don’t ever let your guard down do you?”  Scott smiled, amused by his brother’s caution.

Johnny looked at him impassively.  “We ain’t out east, Boston.  You get all sorts of outlaws in this territory, and I don’t want my throat slit in the night.  How do you think I lived this long? Because I tell you, I spent more nights sleeping under the stars than I ever have in a nice safe bed.  We didn’t all grow up in Boston, you know.”

Was there a reproach in his words?  Resentment?   Oddly, he thought not, it was more that Johnny was just stating a fact.  “You must have slept in a bed as a child, you can’t have been out sleeping under the stars then.”  Scott slid off his horse and squatted by the fire.  “Mind if I join you?”

Johnny looked at him without expression.  “Seems like I don’t have much choice.  Unless of course I shoot you.”

Scott grinned.  “Somehow I don’t see you doing that.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate me, Boston.”

“Oh, I don’t, Johnny.  But I don’t think you’d shoot me either.  Or at least, not just for coming up to your camp.  I think you already have too many dead men on your conscience.”  He could have bitten his tongue off.  What a damn stupid thing to say.  He was trying to make progress and all he was doing was making things worse.

But it was odd, because Johnny didn’t snap his head off.  He just stared down at his coffee mug briefly, before looking back up and with a curiously bleak expression in his eyes.   “Ain’t that the truth, Boston.   And now there’s three more.  It never ends. It just never fucking ends.”

“You’ve got a future now, Johnny.  A chance of a different life.”

Johnny shook his head.  “I don’t know, Boston.  There’ll be others like Shilo.  How long do you think the old man’ll put up with it?”  He gave a short laugh.  “And just wait till he hears about how the gunfight went down, ’cos you can bet everyone in town will be just itching to tell him.  I dunno.  And I just can’t seem to stop myself pushing him.  Why the hell do I do it?”  His voice was almost pleading, like it was more than just a rhetorical question.

Scott stared at him, the flickering flames casting shadows over his brother’s face.  “I think you’re just testing him, Johnny, maybe trying to find out if he cares.  I think he does.  Mind you, he’s the most remote individual I’ve ever met.  He doesn’t really have a clue how to talk to either of us, if that’s any consolation.”

Johnny shrugged.  “He knew where you were, Boston, ever wonder why he never looked you up?”

The question floored him.  He knew he should be pleased, it was the first time Johnny had expressed any curiosity in him, but such a painful question.  One he asked himself every damn day.  “I don’t know, Johnny.  I want to ask, but, maybe I’m afraid of the answer.  I just figured I’d get to know him better before I start asking too many questions about the past.  We both know he doesn’t want to discuss it.”

Johnny nodded.  “So what sort of house d’you live in?”

Scott smiled.  “You mean while you were living under the stars?  Just a house, a big house with a grand staircase, me, my grandfather and the servants.”

“Servants?”

“Well, there was the housekeeper, the butler, parlour maids, the cook, groom. . .”

“Shit!  Where did they all live?  In the stables?” 

Scott was about to laugh at the preposterous notion that the servants lived outside, when he realised that the question was serious.  “No, Johnny.  They had their own rooms in the house.”

“Rooms?  You mean more than one?”

“Well, the house keeper had her own parlour and bedroom.  So did the butler.  The cook certainly had her own bedroom, but I think perhaps the two parlour maids shared a bedroom.”

“Your servants had their own rooms?”  Johnny sounded amazed.  “Dios, Scott, I never had a room of my own till I came here.  Should have come and been one of your servants, I guess.  We had just one room when I was growing up.”

Scott looked at him.  “You mean you shared a bedroom with your mother?”

“No, Scott.  I mean we had one room.  Cooked in it, slept in it.”  Johnny grinned.  “When I wasn’t sleeping under the stars.”  His smile faded.  “Or under the porch.”  He shook himself, as if to bring himself back to the present, and stirred the fire with his booted foot. 

The glow in the west had disappeared and the sky looked deep violet as the first stars appeared.  “So what did you do for fun, Boston, growing up out east?”

Scott smiled.  “I liked the winters.  I loved skating on the frozen lakes, tobogganing.  Seeing the ice on the windows when Jack Frost made wonderful patterns there.”

“Who’s Jack Frost?”

Scott grinned.  “He’s not a person.  But frost does make wonderful pictures and people tell the children that Jack Frost has visited in the night.”

“Sounds cold.  I hate the cold.  What’s bogganing?”

“A toboggan is a sort of seat on runners that carries you really fast down snowy hills.  It’s great fun, even when you fall off.”

“Snow?  Dios!  Cold enough here.”

Scott smiled.  “I find it hot here.  I guess it’s different for both of us.  What did you do for fun, when you were growing up in Mexico?”

“Fun?”   Johnny sounded puzzled.  “I dunno that there was much fun.  More worried about getting enough to eat.”

Scott eased himself round, so he could see Johnny’s face better by the light of the fire.  “There must have been some fun?  What about birthdays?  How did you celebrate those?”

But his brother’s face was blank.  “Dunno when my birthday is, sorry.  Don’t remember ever celebrating it.”

How could someone not know when their birthday was?  He realised how totally alien Johnny’s life was to all of his own experiences.  “There must be something good.  Come on, what was the best day, ever?”

Johnny furrowed his brow, as if desperately trying to recall something.  Then he gave a huge smile.  “I remember one thing, best day of my life.  Couldn’t have been that old, maybe nine, ten.  I dunno.  Anyway, I know my back had been whipped up real bad.  Must have been bad ’cos normally I could outrun the other kids, but this time they’d got me on the ground and were kicking me.”

Scott interrupted.  “Johnny, this is meant to be a happy story?”

“Yeah, it is.  I’m getting there.  Anyway, I’m there on the ground and I’m kind of aware of some guy riding in.  Could hear him asking about a bordello.  But then he called to these kids and got off his horse and came over.  Pushed ’em all away and leant over me and looked at my back.  He made a kinda odd noise an’ the next thing I know he picked me up and sat me up on his horse and asked where there was a doctor.  Then we rode down the street with me up on his horse and I could see by the way he wore his gun he was some kind of gunfighter.  Dios!  Up there on his horse, I felt like I was the most important person in the world.

“He took me into the doctor.  Told him to see to my back.  An’ the doc just said how I was only the whore’s halfbreed so wasn’t worth the trouble.”  Scott suddenly felt sick but bit back the question on his lips.  He didn’t want to interrupt Johnny.  He’d never known him talk so much.  “And this gunfighter, he drew his gun on him, and he ordered him to treat my back.  So the doc treated it, put all these creams on it.  Felt really good.” Johnny smiled to himself at the memory.  Scott wondered if Johnny had even forgotten his presence.  He seemed to be talking to himself now.  “Then he asked the doc how much he owed him.  And the doc was real scared and said the man didn’t owe him nothing, but this gunfighter said he always paid his debts so how much.  And then he paid the doc and then he took a great stack of notes out and said he was going to pay the doc to treat my back in the future, if I needed it.  But he told the doc he’d be back to check up on him.  And if he found the doc hadn’t looked after me, he’d kill the doc’s family.  Dios!  I felt so good.

“Then he took me for a meal.  I’d never seen so much food.  And he asked me what I wanted to do with my life.  So I told him I was going to be the greatest pistolero anyone had ever seen.  An’ he kinda looked odd at that and said he hoped that wasn’t ’cos of him.  So I said no, I’d always dreamed of being a pistolero.  Said I was going to use another name and when I was real famous, I was going to go and find my gringo father, who’d be real scared ’cos he wouldn’t know why this great pistolero had come for him, and then I’d tell him, just before I killed him, who I was and how I was killing him for what he’d done to my mother.”  Johnny kicked the fire again with his boot and stared into the glowing embers.

He had to ask, couldn’t stop himself.  “The whore’s halfbreed?  Your mother. . .”  Scott paused, uncertain of how to continue.

Johnny looked at him now, his eyes colder.  “Yeah, Boston, whore.  But if you repeat that to the old man, I will kill you.”

The words were said casually, but Scott felt a sudden chill, he realised Johnny meant what he said.  “I wouldn’t tell him, but...”

“She was a whore, OK.  But no point in telling a man his wife was a whore.  Seems like it was her who did the lying.  So, no need for him to know.  I mean, I don’t mind whores, but somehow, I don’t think the old man would see it in the same way.”

Scott looked at Johnny, who sat still clutching his coffee cup tight as if to get every last scrap of warmth from it.

“I said to this gunfighter that I’d heard him asking for the bordello.  Told him my mother was one cheap whore and how all the men liked her.  Then I said, being as how he’d seen to my back, she’d probably do him for free.  Told him she was a real good fuck.”  Johnny shook his head slowly, lost it seemed, in the memories.  “But he looked kinda sad, said as how he’d got to be moving on.  But he put me on his horse again and rode with me back to near where I lived.  Gave me a silver dollar.  Hell, I’d never even seen one before.  Told me to keep it, hide it from my mother.  Then he rode off.”

Scott smiled at the thought of a skinny little boy gazing wide eyed at his first ever silver dollar.  “What did you spend it on?”

Johnny laughed.  “Oh, my mother found it.  Hit me round the head, wanted to know what I’d had to do to earn it and kicked me down the steps.  I expect it went on tequila.”

Scott shivered.  The night air was chill but it was more than that.  God, and this was Johnny’s happy story.  The best day of his childhood.  How the hell had he ever survived?  He looked across at his brother.  What a strange word it still seemed.  “But this was a good day, right?”

Johnny looked back, bewildered.  “Shit, Boston, don’t you get it?  That day, I was somebody.”  Johnny stood up and picked up his bed roll.  “I’m turning in now, Boston.”

“May I share your camp?”

Johnny looked at him levelly.  “S’pose you’ll have to now.  You’ll only go and get lost in the dark or something going back to the other one.  Then I’d have to go and fucking look for you.  So, sack in and just shut up, OK?”

Part Twelve

As always, the dreams woke him.  There never was any sleeping through them.  Instead, he woke sweating and fearful, thrashing out at those ghosts with their lifeless eyes.  Why couldn’t they leave him in peace?  Just for one night.  All he wanted really, just one night when they didn’t all come visiting.  Shit.  He could make out the form of Boston in the moonlight, sitting, watching him.

“Are you all right? You were calling out in your sleep.” 

Johnny shrugged.  “Bad dream, that’s all.”  He laughed, tried to sound casual.  “Ain’t like me, normally I sleep real well.  Go back to sleep, Boston.”

But the other man didn’t move.  Just sat, still looking at him.  “I’ve heard you call out at night before, when we’ve been at the ranch, Johnny.  Seems to me you don’t sleep as well as you claim.”

Shit!  He knew he shouldn’t have let Boston stay in his camp.  Should have sent him back to join the men.  What the hell should he say?  He wasn’t going to tell anyone about the dreams.  Wasn’t no- one’s business.  “Go back to sleep, Boston.  Like I said, I sleep just fine.”  He glared at his brother, who looked like he was about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it and lay back down.  Johnny huddled closer to the embers of the fire, but there was little warmth there.  It would be good to be back in Sadie’s bed.  Feel the heat of her body and her legs wrapped around him.  A woman could always provide some fleeting comfort.  Blot things out for a while.

Why the hell had he told Boston about that gunfighter?  Didn’t even know why he’d thought of it earlier.  Hadn’t thought of that in a long while.  And Mama sure hadn’t believed that the man gave him the silver dollar for nothing . . .  That had hurt, because he never lied but he still got punished, just the same, even though he’d been honest about it.  Told her that the man was just being kind. . . Kind.  That was something else she couldn’t understand.  Why would anybody be kind to a halfbreed, she’d demanded.  People weren’t kind, she’d said.  Well, wasn’t that the truth, there were few enough kind people around where he grew up.

He shivered, Dios, it was cold here.  If only there was still some warmth in the fire.  He lay back down, pulling his bed roll round him.  If only he could get some sleep without the dreams.  And the latest gunfight just made it worse.  Dios.  Three more men.  Would it never end?  Even if he stayed at the ranch, there’d always be someone coming for him.  And he felt so fucking tired.  Still, the old man had surprised him.  Funny, that.  He thought the old man was going to go crazy at him when he went back after the gunfight.  Seemed the woman, Delice, was sharp.  She’d said the old man would be worried.  Funny, he was very rarely wrong about people, but it seemed like he’d been wrong about her.  He’d thought she was a real cow, but now he kinda liked her.  Wasn’t sure she liked him too much, though.  She sure didn’t like gunfighters.  But probably no one liked gunfighters, she was just more honest. 

Shit.  If only he could sleep.  Trouble was, he was afraid to sleep now, with Boston there.  Afraid that Boston would hear him again.  Last time he’d let anyone share his camp.  His dreams weren’t no one’s business.  He pulled his gun closer, hugging it to him.  Felt better like that.  He rested his face against the barrel. Dios, he was so tired.  Just wanted to sleep.  A deep sleep with no fucking ghosts.

He woke again at first light, striking out at one of Mama’s men who was . . .  Shit.  He sat up, sweating and shaking, clutching his gun.  He took some deep breaths, tried to slow his heart which felt like it was trying to jump out of his chest.  He hated that dream, it was worse than all the ghosts together.   Why did he have to remember these things?  If only he could forget it all.

It felt like someone was watching him and looking up he saw Boston, leaning up on one elbow, a look of concern on his face.  Johnny shut his eyes briefly before glaring at the other man.  “Don’t say it, Boston.  Just mind your own fucking business.”

He felt a pang of guilt as he saw Scott flinch slightly at the aggressive statement.

Johnny was turning away as the other man spoke.  “I have really bad dreams, too.”

Johnny gave a short laugh.  “What do you have bad dreams about, Boston?  Getting lost in that big house?  Or not knowing what to choose for dinner off some fucking menu?”  Even as he said it, he regretted it.  He knew it was a cheap jibe, but he just needed to push him away.  Didn’t want no talk about what had just woken him.

Scott just looked at him steadily.  “About the war.”

Johnny sighed.  He knew it had been a cheap shot.  Why did he do these things?  And why did old Boston keep coming back for more?  “Sorry,” he muttered, unable to look his brother in the eyes. 

It’s OK.”  Scott gave a short laugh.  “I sort of expect it from you, now.”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly, felt a pang of shame.  Tried to think of some way to explain.  Trouble was, he didn’t know why he was like this, so how could he explain?  He looked up, tried to look Scott in the eyes, but he couldn’t read the expression there.  And he couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say.  Hell, whatever he said would only make it worse.  Maybe, if he’d been to some fancy school, he’d be better with words.  “I. . . I just don’t want to talk about some stuff, OK?”

Scott nodded his head slowly.  “OK.  But I just wanted you to know that there’s no need to feel embarrassed about your bad dreams.  I have awful dreams about things we had to do in the war.  Things I’d rather forget.”  He gave a humourless laugh.  “And then there are the dreams about the battles.  The cries of men in pain, they seem to stalk my dreams.”

Johnny chewed on his lip, trying to think of the right thing to say.  To get it right, just once.  Then he grinned at Scott.  “Seems we got something else in common then.  Other than womanising.”

And to his relief, Scott grinned back.  “It would seem so.”  He shivered.  “Shall we light a fire, make some coffee?”

“No.  Be easier to go and join the others.  They’ll have kept the fire going all night.”  Johnny hefted his saddle across Barrancca as he watched Scott get ready to mount up.  They couldn’t be more different, it was real strange to think they were brothers.  Well, half brothers.  He knew Murdoch was impressed by Scott, he could see the pride in the way the man looked at his older son.  Well, the old man sure as hell didn’t look at him the same way.  But he didn’t blame the old man for that.  And it had felt so good to see the concern in the old man’s face after the gunfight.   Seemed the man did care about his younger son, even if he didn’t like Madrid.  “Scott,” he spoke softly, not sure how to say what he wanted to, but enjoying the look of surprise on Scott’s face.  “I am sorry.  Just always seem to bite your head off.”  He shrugged.  “Dunno why I do it, just can’t seem to help myself.  Ain’t used to talking much and I sure as hell ain’t used to trusting anyone.”  He shrugged again, embarrassed, and turned quickly back to Barrancca, to tighten the cinch.

“Can I take that to mean that you’re starting to trust me, Johnny?”  Scott sounded real tickled, and Johnny had to smile.

He glanced over, grinning mischievously.  “Well, I guess as we’re business partners, Boston, I’ll have to start trusting you.   Even if you do invade a man’s camp at night.”

Scott grinned.  “I was thinking of doing the same tonight and I give you due warning, I want another story.”

“Dios!  Another one?  You must sleep real bad if you need my bedtime stories.   Now, you ready to get moving?”  And Johnny spurred his horse into a gallop, kicking dust all over Scott as he raced past him.

It was odd, he thought later, how he did feel he could trust Scott.  He’d never have expected it from his first impressions of the man on the stage.  Then he’d thought Scott stank like a woman and was just a stuck up fancy dan.  Well, things had sure changed since then.  Here they were, riding the range, rounding up the old man’s cattle.  Because, of course, they were the old man’s cattle – didn’t feel like they belonged to him.  He’d done nothing to earn them.  And surely the old man would just kick him out at some point?  Because although the old man hadn’t wanted him killed in the gunfight, it would only be a matter of time before he tired of people gunning for Madrid.  Would want him far away from his precious ranch.

He reined Barrancca in and sat just watching the men working and rounding up the cattle to drive them on to the next good graze.   Scott was trying to persuade a cow and her calf to join the main herd.  Cows might be dumb but it seemed like this one was a hell of a lot smarter than old Boston as it kicked up her heels and trotted off in the other direction.  Johnny grinned, seemed Boston still needed to learn which side of the cow to ride on to push it the way he wanted it to go.  So much for fancy schooling.  Grinning, he took off at a gallop and delighted in pushing the cow and calf back onto the herd while old Boston sat watching.  “Gotta lot to learn yet, Boston,” he yelled as he galloped past.

Dios, it was dusty.  The dust got in his throat and felt like it was choking him in the heat.  And he couldn’t remember having worked so hard in his life.  What a way to earn a living.  And again, the thought flashed through his mind as to what the hell Scott was doing out here when he could be living it up in Boston.  It wasn’t like Scott had lived life on the edge of the law and was trying to salvage what was left of his soul.  So why was he here?  Maybe the man would open up a bit, in return for another bedtime story.  Johnny grinned, he’d already chosen the story for that evening, one he thought Boston might actually like – and there were few enough of those.  And because he still felt guilty about his cheap jibe, he really had tried to think of a story the man would enjoy.

By the time the hands made camp for the evening he felt as though he was going to snap in two.  And Dios he was tired.  There had to be easier ways of making a living that didn’t involve gunfighting.  But punching cattle sure wasn’t one of them.

He sat apart from the men when they all ate.  He knew he made them uncomfortable but that was their problem.  He certainly had no intention of buddying up.  The only thing a man could rely on was his gun.  And whilst he was starting to trust Scott, he sure as hell wouldn’t be relying on any blond gringo either.  Because his instincts told him that there was trouble ahead on this trip, although for the life of him he didn’t know why he felt that. 

He stretched his aching back and went and saddled up again, to go and make his own camp.  Amused, he saw that Scott was quick off the mark this time and riding not far behind.  Johnny headed off for about a mile before choosing a quiet spot.  He and Scott set about making a fire and then just as Scott settled down next to it, Johnny took more branches and went and scattered them around their camp.

“What are you doing?”  Scott’s brow was furrowed in puzzlement.

“You really are an innocent, ain’t you, Boston?  This way, anyone approaches the camp at night, they tread on a twig, you hear them coming.”

A smile spread across Scott’s face.  “I have to say, that’s very clever.  Unnecessary, but clever.”

“Unnecessary?  Better than getting your throat slit or a bullet in the head, Boston.”  Johnny shrugged.  “A man can’t be too careful.  Now, what about that coffee?”

Scott handed him a mug of steaming and somewhat foul smelling coffee.  “What about my story?  And make it a good one.”

“You better make the most of it, Boston, it’s the last one you’re getting.  And in return you’ll have to give me a straight answer to a question, agreed?”

Scott nodded.  “Anything you say, partner.  But it’s got to be a good story.  About something that mattered to you.”

Johnny hesitated, before nodding his head slowly.  “Yeah, you’ll like this one.  I guess it happened about two, maybe three years ago.  I was sitting in a saloon in Nogales.”

“That’s down on the border, right?”

“Yeah, Boston, down around the border.  Like I said, I was in the saloon.  I’d had two gunfights in two days.  I was. . .”   He paused, trying to think of a way to describe how drained he’d felt, without giving too much away.  “Fucking exhausted.  I figured I’d get me something to eat and then go and get me a couple of women, same as always.  Anyway, I was in the corner. . .”

“On your own?  Or with friends?”

Johnny stared at Scott.  Was the man really dumb?  “Friends?  Boston, ain’t any people hardly I’d call friend.  Gunfighters like me don’t trust too many people, y’know.  Now, are you going to let me tell this story or not?”

Scott grinned.  “Sorry.  Pray, continue.”

Johnny closed his eyes briefly.  Pray continue, what a fucking stupid expression that was.  Could they really be related?  He glared at Scott.  “Like I said, I was in the corner, watching the room when this guy walks in.  I didn’t know him, but I could see he was a gunhawk, and of course he spotted me straight off but he walked to the bar and stood there, both hands on it.  So he’s sending me a message right, that he ain’t looking for no trouble.”

“But if you’d never seen him before, how did he know who you were?”

Johnny smiled slightly, kicking at a spark that flew from the fire too close to his leg.  “Boston, believe me, everyone knew who I was.  He’d have heard straight off that there had been two gunfights.  Hell, it was the talk of the town, and he’d have recognised me for what I was and who I was straight off.  Any rate, he’s at the bar and I dunno, I just got to thinking I knew him from some place, but I couldn’t figure where.  So I just sat watching him.”

Johnny grinned.  “Made him feel real uncomfortable, too.  He could feel me watching him.  He glanced over at me, nodded at me and then turned his back again, making sure he kept both hands on the bar.”

Scott stared at Johnny, curiously.  “What was he doing?”

“Sending me a message again.  He wasn’t looking for no trouble.  Hell, he knew he was way out of his league and me watching him was scaring the shit outta him.  He ordered himself a meal and sat there trying to eat.  Then it came to me.  I knew where I’d seen him before.

“So I got up and walked over and stood right next to him.”  Johnny grinned, remembering the fear he’d seen in the man’s eyes.

“I told the guy behind the bar to put the man’s meal on my bill.  That made the barman look kinda surprised.  I wasn’t known for being too friendly.  And this gun hawk looked even more nervous.  I think he was wondering if I paid for people’s meals before I shot ’em.  He looked at me an’ said ‘That’s real generous of you Madrid, but I’m wondering why you want to pay for my dinner.’  So I looked at him and told him I owed him, an’ I always pay my debts. 

“He looked puzzled and said that perhaps I was confusing him with someone else.  And he looked at me, and just for a second hesitated, like he was wondering if there was something about me he remembered.  But then he shook his head and said how he was sorry, but he thought I was mistaken.  Then he said ‘Hell, Madrid, I sure wouldn’t want you to find you’d paid for my dinner  thinking I was someone else and then get mad and shoot me.’  So I told him, I wasn’t mistaken, and I picked up his dinner and said I’d be real honoured if he’d come and share my table, and I turned my back and walked back to my table with his plate in my hands.”

Scott furrowed his brow again, looking real confused.  “What’s the significance of that?”

Johnny sighed in exasperation.  “Well, if I turn my back on him an’ I got something in my hands, I’m telling him I ain’t gonna shoot him.  Hell, I’m giving him a chance to shoot me in the back.  Dios, you’re dumb, Boston.  Any rate, he comes over and sits down.  Still staring at me, trying to place me.  Then he shook his head and said, he was real sorry but he was sure he’d never met me before.  Then he said, ‘Hell, I sure wouldn’t forget meeting Johnny Madrid.’  So I looked at him and said I didn’t expect him to remember me.  I told him, last time he saw me I was being kicked around like a ball on the ground in a dusty street.”

A smile spread across Scott’s face.  “You mean it was...”

Johnny cut across him.  “Anyway, he stared at me for a second, like he was trying to remember.  Then he stared at my eyes again like they reminded him of something.   So I reminded him he’d bought me dinner too.  And then he said ‘My God, the greatest pistolero anyone’s ever seen.  I’ve never forgotten the fire that burned in your eyes when you told me that.’  Then he paused and added ‘Seems like you achieved your ambition.’”  Johnny shook his head as he remembered the stunned look on the man’s face.

“Told him then, I owed him for taking care of me.  And he wanted to know if the doctor had kept his promise to take care of me, if I needed it.”

“And had he?” asked Scott.

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah, he did.  Mind you, if the doc was away for a day or two, I made sure to tell him when he came back that the man had ridden in to check on him, so it kinda encouraged him to keep doing the right thing by me!”

Scott grinned.  “Johnny, you are positively Machiavellian!”

“Maccky what?”

“Devious, scheming.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m all of that.  The guy thought it was kinda funny, too.  Wanted to know if I’d spent the silver dollar on something good.  So I told him my mother had found it and taken it, he said he’d kinda expected that.  But it was strange, ’cos he’d always remembered me.  He figured I’d be long dead.”  Johnny smiled as he remembered the evening.  “It was real good to find someone to talk to.  We spent a couple of days in the town together.  He thought it was real funny ’cos everyone started stepping outta his way and being real respectful, ’cos he was with me.

“I had a job I had to go on to and he was heading off for a job, but before he went he asked me if I’d make him a promise.  I figured he was worried about ever having to face me, so I told him no way would I ever gun him.  He said he’d taken that as a given.  So I asked what he wanted from me.  He looked kinda serious.  Asked if I was still planning on gunning my old man.  So I said yeah, I was still planning to hunt him down and kill him.”  Johnny paused as he remembered the conversation.  Felt like a lifetime ago.  “Then he said he wanted me to promise to hear the old man out first.  Two sides to every story, he said, just give the man an hour of your time.  So, to keep him happy, I promised.  Couldn’t see no point, was sure my mother wouldn’t lie to me.”

Johnny shook his head sadly as he stared into the flames of the fire.  “Hell, even he could guess my mother was a liar.”

Scott was looking at him now, concerned.  “Is that the only reason you didn’t shoot Murdoch when you first arrived?”

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah, I’d promised someone else once that I’d hear the man out.  I still find it hard to believe that she lied.”  He swallowed hard, before adding softly.  “She never even told me about you, Boston.  But Sam says she knew all about you.  And you know, I believe old Sam’s telling of it.”

“Have you asked Murdoch about it all?”

Johnny laughed at that.  “You ain’t asked him why he never came to visit, and you get along a whole lot better with him than I do.  So no, Boston, I ain’t asked him.  Don’t matter none, anyway.  It’s all too late now.  I chose my life and I gotta live with it.”  He shook his head.  “And die with it.”

Scott sat with his head bowed, the fire casting shadows over his face as the moon came up behind him.  Then he looked at Johnny.  “This man sounds like a decent, good sort.  Why did he become a gunfighter?”

“Kinda sad, really.  He was a family man, but some comancheros came, tied him up and raped his wife and then killed her and the kids.  Left him there next to the bodies.  Took him over a day to get himself free.  He was hunting for them comancheros, that’s why he became a gunhawk.”  Johnny paused, looked across at Scott.  “And I tell you something else, Scott, if he came now and asked for my help, I’d kill them for him.”

Johnny sighed.  “Shit, Scott, I killed a lotta men, but sometimes, I think some of them fucking deserved it.   So, I guess I’m damned, ’cos I sure as hell ain’t repentant over all of them.”  He stared again at the flickering flames, that’s what hell would be like.  One day, Johnny Madrid would pay the price.  He shook himself back to the present.  “I’m beat, Boston, I’m turning in.  My question will keep.”

“Johnny, what happened to the man?  Did you ever see him again?”

Johnny looked across at Scott.  “No.  Wish I had.  Least I could tell him I kept my promise.  Hell, he’s probably dead by now.  But I’d like to have seen him.”  He shrugged and then shook out his bed roll and huddled down inside it.  Dios, he needed some sleep.  Maybe tonight. . .

“Goodnight, Johnny.”  Scott’s voice was soft.  “And thanks.  I did like the story, I’m glad you had the chance to thank the man at least.  He sounds a good man.”

“G’night, Boston, and try not to snore.”

Part Thirteen

He felt like he’d been through a mangle.  Every muscle of his body was crying out for a long soak in a hot tub, and Johnny had woken him frequently in the night, muttering incoherently or calling out.  And whilst he felt rough, Johnny looked a hell of a sight worse.  Scott was sure it wasn’t just the disturbed nights taking their toll.  But when he’d asked Johnny what was bothering him, he’d shrugged and said he wasn’t sure, he just knew there was trouble ahead. 

And so Scott had hauled himself back into the saddle for another hard day’s work.   No wonder Murdoch hadn’t wanted to come.  Sleeping on the trail was rough even for young men, although Johnny seemed less bothered by the hardness of the ground than most.  Presumably he was more used to it.  From what he’d said, he’d spent a lot of time ‘sleeping under the stars.’

And although Scott felt inclined to be dismissive of Johnny’s unease about trouble ahead, a part of him had to admit that presumably it was his brother’s sixth sense which had kept him alive all these years.    He was still surprised that Johnny had opened up as much as he had.  But he also realised that if Murdoch had been there, Johnny’s lips would have been sealed as tight as a drum.  He hoped that Murdoch’s parting words to Johnny would have a lasting beneficial effect, but he wasn’t holding his breath.  They were both as stubborn as mules.  But even so, he had been delighted by Murdoch’s effort to actually say the right thing for once.  To put his fears about Johnny to one side.  Perhaps if Murdoch knew more about the circumstances of Johnny’s childhood, he would be more sympathetic about his past.  Not that he would be betraying Johnny’s trust and telling Murdoch – his brother would probably shoot him for that.  He smiled to himself.  He suspected Johnny was more than capable of shooting both of them. 

“Stop sleeping on the job and get after that damn cow.”  The yell broke into his thoughts and brought him back to the present.  Guiltily he took off after the recalcitrant cow.  He was starting to agree with Johnny’s view that they were really dumb animals.  Why did one always want to go off on its own instead of sticking with the herd?  Or else they would get themselves stuck in thick undergrowth or just do anything that would make life more awkward for everyone.   Dumb animals – ’nough said.  He was even starting to sound like Johnny, he thought wryly.

He looked across at Johnny who was riding on the far side of the herd.  But it was odd, because instead of doing his usual job of keeping right on top of any stragglers, Johnny was sitting still in the saddle staring off at the distant plain.  He took advantage of a break in the herd to cross over to Johnny.  “Falling asleep on the job?”

Johnny gave him an icy look.  “No, Boston, watching our tails.”

“Sorry, what are you talking about?”

“Just wondering who finds our drive so interesting that they’ve been following us for miles.  And they were watching us yesterday too, I reckon.”

Scott peered into the distance, but damn it, he couldn’t see anything suspicious.  “Where?”

“They give off a trail of dust, and it’s definitely following us.”

“Who do you think they could be?  Indians?”

Johnny shook his head.  “No, they aren’t hereabouts and wouldn’t be bothered by us, anyhow.”

“Comancheros?”  He felt pleased that he could roll the name out.  He suspected that Johnny wouldn’t have expected him to remember the term which he’d used in his story of the previous night.  But Johnny looked singularly unimpressed by the suggestion.

“No, too far north for them.”

“So, who, Johnny?”

“Well, Boston, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to figure it out.”  Johnny sounded very irritated.

“Well, maybe it’s rustlers.”

Johnny was looking at him now as if he was stupid.  “Boston, rustlers tend not to hit moving herds surrounded by ranch hands.  No.”  He chewed the end of his stampede string.  “No, Boston, this is trouble, take it from me.”

Scott looked once more at the horizon.  He thought Johnny was fussing unnecessarily.  Chances were it was just people headed the same direction.  He was faintly amused by the reactions of his brother.  Come to that, everyone out in the west seemed to overreact wildly to everything.  Life was far more civilised in the east.  Still, if Johnny wanted to fuss and worry, it was up to him.  He would enjoy ribbing him when the drive passed off without incident.

He turned his horse to move on again with the herd, leaving Johnny chewing his stampede string, still staring intently at the horizon.

It was later in the day when Johnny started arguing with Cipriano about the best place to make camp.  Cipriano had chosen a sheltered site with a bank of wooded hillside behind it.  And Johnny was far from happy.  He was rattling away in Spanish at the man, while the hands sat around, obviously uncomfortable at the tirade.

“Johnny, what the hell is the matter with you?”  Scott felt embarrassed and annoyed by Johnny’s truculent attitude.

“This ain’t a good spot for us, Boston.  If someone’s going to attack this camp, we can’t see ’em coming with all these trees.”

Scott gave an exasperated sigh.  “You’re just being ridiculous.  You have no reason to believe that the camp is going to be attacked.  Just because you saw a trail of dust in the distance.  And your supposed instincts.  Murdoch said we were to follow Cipriano’s instructions, so I suggest we do just that.”

“Cipriano ain’t a fucking owner of this ranch, Boston, and we are.  Leastways on paper.  And you might sneer, but there’s trouble coming, and I for one don’t want my fucking throat slit or a bullet in my gut.”

“I suggest, Johnny, that you and I discuss this quietly and in private,” Scott hissed.  He was angry now.  Arguing in front of the hands was totally inexcusable.  Why did Johnny have to be so damned awkward at times?

Johnny looked even angrier now.  “You backing Cipriano, Boston?  Against me?”

Scott walked out of hearing of the men and stood waiting for Johnny, who stormed over with a face like thunder.  “OK, Boston, happy now?  So, you backing Cipriano?  Just give me a straight, fucking answer.”

“Yes, Johnny, I am.  This seems a good, sheltered spot for the camp.  There’s water for the herd and protection from the weather.  Set up a guard if you’re that worried, but I am backing Cipriano.  It’s what Murdoch would expect.”

Johnny’s eyes were icy now.  “Oh, well, we must do what the old man would want.  Can’t possibly be allowed to make a decision of our own.”  He paused.  “In case you ain’t noticed, Boston, the old man ain’t fucking here.  And this is a fucking stupid place to make camp, given what we know.”

“We don’t know anything, Johnny.  All we have is your hunch, your supposed sixth sense, well, that’s not enough to convince me.”  And he turned away and walked back to tell Cipriano to go ahead with making camp.

Johnny had stalked over to his horse and was mounting up.  Scott stood and waited till his brother was turning the horse away towards the trees.  “Where are you going?”

Johnny gave him another icy stare.  “I’m going to see if I can spot anything and decide where to set up guards.”  And with that he rode off into the trees.  Scott gave a sigh of exasperation and pushed his hat back.  God, Johnny could be stubborn and pig headed.  Always had to have the last word and always thought he was right.  And if the men repeated these events to Murdoch when they got back, there would be hell to pay.  And that would only lead to another row between Johnny and Murdoch.  Life in Boston suddenly seemed a very long way away.  At least there life was calm and orderly.  And very dull.  He sighed and pushed his hat forward to keep the low sun out of his eyes.  Hopefully the men would have forgotten all about this by the time they got back.  But he had a nasty feeling that Cipriano would say something.  Johnny had openly challenged Cipriano, putting the man in a difficult position in front of the hands.  It would only be natural for the man to go to Murdoch to seek clarification of his position.  Damn.  And damn Johnny for his “instincts.”  He was too suspicious for his own good.  If only he would relax a little, life could be so much simpler for everyone.

He took his gloves off and walked over to join the men where the cook was heating up a pan of beans.  Again.  He longed for a proper meal, one without beans.  And served on a proper plate and coffee out of a proper cup.  He’d known enough hardship in the army but here he was, actively seeking out a tougher life.  What did that say about him? 

He felt Cipriano’s gaze upon him.  Wondered what the hell to say to the man.  Something that didn’t put Johnny in a bad light.  Damn Johnny, he had really complicated things with his behaviour.  And it had been such a good trip until now.  And Johnny had been really opening up, they’d actually made headway.

“Senor, this is a good place to camp.  I don’t expect to be insulted for doing my job.”

He looked at Cipriano.  “I’m sorry, Cipriano.  Johnny wasn’t insulting your ability to do your job, he was just concerned because he thinks there is some sort of threat to us.”

Cipriano stared at him impassively.  “You do not speak Spanish, Senor, you do not realise what your brother said.  And if there is some danger, which, Senor, I doubt, I would say it has more to do with your brother himself, than this herd.”

Scott felt a flash of irritation.  No, he didn’t speak Spanish and didn’t understand what exactly had been said during the short exchange between the two men.  But neither did he like the inference that Johnny was just trouble.  “Cipriano, I am sorry if you were offended, I am sure that wasn’t Johnny’s intention, but he is concerned, so we will post guards if that is what he wishes.” 

Cipriano looked as though he was about to say something else, but just gave a curt nod before turning away.

Scott sighed and hoped that Johnny would be back soon so that they could sort out sentries before dusk fell.   The smell of the beans heating was making him feel queasy.  Or maybe it was just the upset, but at that moment he felt like strangling Johnny.

The sun had sunk very low by the time Johnny returned.  Scott watched as Johnny, without any reference to him, set about posting guards and organising shift changes.  Considering Scott was the one with military experience, he found Johnny’s behaviour doubly irritating and when Johnny was standing alone a little later, he went over to tell him so.

Johnny stared at him coolly.  “I might not have been in the cavalry, Boston, but I’ve run enough range wars to know how to organise men.  Trouble is, I ain’t convinced this bunch of innocents are up to the job.  Maybe, if my brother had backed me up, they might take the threat a little more seriously.”

“Well, Johnny, it must make us even, then.  I remember I didn’t get any back up from you in my fight in town with Pardee’s men.”  He could have bitten his tongue off.  Because he knew Johnny’s reasons for not helping him that day.  Knew it had been because Johnny hadn’t wanted Pardee to know they were connected.  “I’m sorry, Johnny...”

But Johnny just turned away, but not before Scott saw a brief flash of pain in his brother’s eyes.  He put his hand out to touch Johnny’s arm, but his brother shook it free and stalked off.  No.  Please, God, he didn’t want to lose ground with Johnny.  Just when things had been looking better, he’d gone and blown it.  Damn, damn, damn.

He walked over to where Johnny was standing scanning the trees.  “Johnny...”

“Fuck off, Boston.”

“I’m sorry.  Really sorry.  I shouldn’t have said what I did, it was totally uncalled for.  Both over criticising you for organising the men and for the business with Pardee.  The former was patronising of me and as for the business with Pardee, well, I know exactly why you couldn’t let him know that you were connected with me.  Please, Johnny.”  He held his hand out, hoping his brother would take it and shake.

Instead, Johnny just stared at it, bewildered almost, as if not knowing what Scott expected.  “Said fuck off, Boston.”

Scott shook his head.   “Johnny, I made a mistake and I’m sorry.  Haven’t you ever said exactly the wrong thing?  I don’t want to put us back to the beginning again.”

Johnny’s face was impassive now.  “You just did, Boston, except this time I’ve learned not to give any credit.  Seem to remember telling you once, saves a lot of disappointment.”

He was turning away when they heard the click of guns being cocked.

“Easy now, boys, and no one need get hurt.” 

He and Johnny stared at the men who had stepped from the shadow of the trees.  Johnny made the slightest move of his hand and one of the men said, “I wouldn’t do that, boy.  Not if you want to see another sunrise.  And don’t go thinking your guards are going to help.  They won’t be helping anyone again.”

Scott shuddered and glanced across at Johnny, whose face looked as though it was carved from stone.

Feeling he should say something, he looked at the men, saw that another three had guns on the ranch hands in the camp.  “What do you want from us?”

“The money, and then we’ll be gone.”

Scott stared at him, bewildered.  “We’re moving a herd, we’re not carrying money.”

The man who seemed to be in charge, smiled, showing blackened teeth.  “Yeah, you do.  You got a nice tidy sum of money here.  And we’re going to relieve you of the bother of having to deliver it.”

“Seems like you men are in for a disappointment,” drawled Johnny.  “We sure as hell ain’t got no money with us.”

One of the men suddenly stepped across and struck Johnny hard across the face with his rifle.  “Shut up, half breed.  Now you stand good and still while we relieve you all of those guns you’re carrying.  Then we’ll have the money.”

He took the gun from Johnny’s holster while another took the other guns and threw them into the edge of the woods.  “Now, just give us the fucking money and we’ll be gone.”

“And we told you, we ain’t got no fucking money.”

The black toothed man went and put his gun against Johnny’s head, cocking the trigger.  “I count to three and the half breed gets it – unless someone produces the money.  One, two...”

Scott’s gut clenched.  “We aren’t carrying money.  For God’s sake, let him go.”  Scott was struggling now against a man who held him.  “Please, I’m begging you.  We haven’t any money other than the cash in our pockets.  Please, you have...”

“It is here.”  Cipriano’s voice broke the tension.  And Scott stared at the man in disbelief.

“What money are we carrying, Cipriano?  No one mentioned money.”

Cipriano didn’t reply, just undid his saddle bag and handed over a great thick pile of notes to one of the men who grabbed it with a yell of glee.

The leader stared at Scott through narrowed eyes.  “You’re lucky I ain’t gonna shoot you, Blondie, for that.  Maybe the half breed will shoot you for messing with his life.  But we’ll be taking one of your men with us, for security you might say.  Follow us, and we’ll kill him.”

One of his men grabbed hold of one of the younger ranch hands, Scott realised he didn’t even know the kid’s name.  “You’ll let him go later?”

“Yeah, so long as you don’t follow.  We’ll let him go later.” They bundled the kid onto a horse and rode out.

Scott tried to take a deep breath.  His heart felt as though it was going to explode in his chest.  He stared across at Johnny who had moved swiftly to retrieve his gun from the edge of the trees.  “Are you OK, Johnny?  God, I thought he was going to shoot you.”  He could hear his voice shaking.  He knew Johnny must hear it too, but he didn’t care.  So long as his brother was safe.

But Johnny didn’t reply.  Instead, he had walked over to Cipriano with his own gun cocked now.  He pushed the end of the barrel under Cipriano’s chin.  “You got some talking to do, Cip. And you’d better have the right answers, ’cos otherwise I’m going to take great pleasure in blowing the brains out of the back of your head.” 

Part Fourteen

The man had guts, he had to give him that.  The thought slid into his head as he stared into Cipriano’s eyes, he looked uneasy but not terrified.  Well, he’d do his best to change that.  Because he wanted some answers, and he wanted them now.   He grabbed the back of Cipriano’s head, jerking it back as he rammed the gun in hard under the man’s chin until he gasped in pain.  He heard Boston exclaim in protest but ignored it.

“Now, Cipriano, s’pose you start telling us what the fuck is going on.  What the money was for.  Who it belongs to. And more to the point,” and he jammed the gun harder against the man’s throat, “just how those men knew we was carrying this fucking money.”

Cipriano grunted with pain at the pressure.  Seemed to struggle to breathe.  Johnny smiled.  “And don’t go thinking I won’t use this, Cip.  Because, believe me, right this moment, I’ve got a real ache to shoot someone.  And you’ll do just fine.”  He cocked the hammer.  Dios, he felt good now.  He could see fear in the man’s eyes.  This was what he was good at.  Not punching cattle.

“I cannot speak,” the man whispered hoarsely, “with that gun in my throat.”

Johnny stared into the man’s face, keeping his expression ice cold, but easing the pressure just slightly.  But not too much.  “Talk.”

The man swallowed hard again.  “It is the patron’s money.  He ask me to deliver it to a rancher friend of his, later on our drive.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, pushing the gun again, enjoying the feeling of power.  God, he’d missed this.  “He ask you to do this a lot?”

Cipriano tried to shrug.  “It is not first time.  His friend doesn’t trust bankers’ drafts.  He like cash.”

“So, Cip.  Just how do you think those men knew we had the money?  You see, I’m wondering if you didn’t have something to do with that...”  Johnny smiled coldly at the man, pleased that the man was sweating slightly.  And, he noted, Boston wasn’t interfering either.  Just standing watching.  That surprised him.  He thought Boston would have tried to stop him doing this to Cipriano.  Maybe Boston had a little more respect now for Johnny’s instincts.

“I do not know, Senor.  I have often carried money for the patron.  He knows I am loyal. And honest.  He would not be pleased at your treatment of me.”

Johnny gave a mirthless laugh.  “Well, Cip.  I guess the patron wouldn’t be too pleased by anything I do.  But I do think he’ll be kinda worried about that money.  So who the fuck were those men?”  He watched Cipriano’s face closely, looking for some flicker to indicate guilt.  But all he saw was wounded pride.

“I tell you, Senor, I do not know these men or how they knew about the money.”  His voice had the ring of truth to it.

“Who else knew you had the money?”

Cipriano stared back, grimacing as Johnny suddenly jerked his head back by the hair again, even as the gun dug deeper into his neck.

“The men know that sometimes we take money if we are riding in this direction.  It is not the first time we deliver it.  But these are good men, Senor.  These are not outlaws.”

Johnny glared at him, the meaning of Cipriano’s words not lost on him.   But, he did believe the man.  Whoever had tipped off the thieves, it sure wasn’t Cipriano.  Dios!  He could have kicked himself.  It was obvious who the guilty man was.  “That kid, Cipriano, the one they took as hostage, how long’s he been working for the ranch?”

Cipriano furrowed his brow, puzzled, but relieved as Johnny let go of his head.  “A few weeks.”

Johnny turned away, thoughtful now.  He holstered his gun. Things were starting to make sense.  The kid had to be a plant.  There to tip the others off.  Because someone, maybe a former hand, knew that sometimes money was carried on drives like this one.

“Johnny.”  Boston’s voice broke into his thoughts. 

He looked at him coldly.  “Yeah?  Come to preach at me Boston?  Still think you know best?”

Scott looked at him steadily.  “You were right, I’m sorry I doubted you.  Question is, what do we do now?”

“Well, Boston, I suggest you go on with the cows.  If you’re sure you can manage that.  But I’m going to find those men and get our money back.  ’Cos let’s not forget, it’s our fucking money too, even if the old man didn’t see fit to mention it to us.  Hell, a man could get to thinking that that the old man don’t trust us.  Or me.”

“We’ll send Cipriano on with the hands and the herd then.”

“We?  I don’t recall asking you along on this jaunt, Boston.”

“You’re not going on your own, Johnny.”

“Why?  Afraid I might take off with the money, are you?”  Johnny gave Scott a push. 

Scott just sighed and shook his head slightly.  “No, Johnny, I am not afraid that you will take off with the money.  But I am coming with you, as your back up.”

“Back up?  You? Don’t make me laugh, Boston.”  Johnny stared coolly at Scott, looking for some sign of his brother giving up the damn stupid idea.  Like old Boston could be any help for what he was planning.  Just get them both shot, more like.

But Scott just stared right back at him, holding his gaze.  “I can watch your back, Johnny, if nothing else.”

Watch his back?  That was a joke.  “Don’t think you’ll like what I got in mind.”  Johnny’s voice was hard.  “Ain’t going to be pretty.  An’ seeing as how you don’t trust my instincts, might make you real uncomfortable.”

“I dare say I’ll survive.  But I am coming with you, Johnny.  You’re not going to do this alone, not this time.  We’re a team.”  Scott smiled slightly.  “But you call the tune, OK?”

Johnny grunted in exasperation.  “Dios!  You could get us both killed, Boston.  Have you thought of that?  I don’t like amateurs.  They get in the way and someone winds up dead.  Why don’t you just stay with the hands and do what the old man wants?  Leastways then you can be sure you’re still the apple of his fucking eye.  ’Cos believe me, Boston, he ain’t gonna like my plan.  And he sure as hell ain’t gonna like what I got to say to him later.”

But Scott just smiled again.  “I’ll take the risk, Johnny.  I’m backing you on this one.”

Dios, the man was stubborn.  Very stubborn.  But the stubborn fool was backing him...  Shit.   Why did he let Boston get to him?  Fuck.  How did the man do that?  Shouldn’t have let his guard down with the man.  Shouldn’t trust nobody, Madrid.  Fuck.  Oh, fuck.  He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.  And Boston just stood there, giving him that sort of level look he used.  All calm.  But like he wasn’t going to budge, no matter what.  Shit.

Johnny sighed in defeat.   “OK, Boston.  You can come, but you do as I fucking well say, otherwise I will shoot you.  That’s a promise.  You want to get killed that’s your business, but you ain’t playing around with my fucking life.”

Scott smiled.  “I thought you weren’t afraid of dying, Johnny.”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.  Dios!  “I ain’t afraid of dying, Boston.  I just prefer to be in control of picking when I do it myself, not letting some tin soldier do it.  OK?  So, if you come, I run the show.  You’re just coming along for the ride.”

“OK.  Your show.  So, when do we leave?”

“We sort out the men, bury the dead guards.  Give Cipriano his orders, whether he fucking likes it or not.  And we’ll leave just before dawn.”  Johnny smiled as he made another decision.  “Tell you what, Boston, you can give Cipriano his orders.  He might just take it from you.  I reckon he ain’t too keen on me just at the minute.  So, see how kind I am, already giving you a job to do.”

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “You’re too kind.”   But he did turn and walk over towards Cipriano who was standing with the rest of the hands.

“Oh, and Boston.”

Scott turned towards him, a questioning look on his face.

“Find out where all the surrounding towns are.  Cipriano should know that.”

Scott nodded and started talking to the men.

Johnny went and got his saddle bags.  He wanted to check how much ammunition he had with him.  Not that he needed to check, he always carried far more than he could ever need.  He wondered sometimes why he did that.  He worried constantly about ammunition.  Always bought some when he went to town.  Sometimes he wasn’t even aware of having done so.  He had a drawer full of the stuff at the ranch, enough to start his own private war.  But he kept buying more.  Kept filling up the damn drawer.  And when that had gotten full he’d found he started filling a second drawer.  And even now, he couldn’t relax till he’d checked the bags.  Checked his gun.  Checked his rifle.  And he knew he’d do it all over again later.  Maybe he was just plain loco.  Would Scott have plenty of ammunition too?  Better check.  And check his guns for him.  Boston might not do it right.

He went and got Scott’s saddle bags.  They seemed to be full of all sorts of junk.  A razor and shaving soap?  Dios!  This was a cattle drive not a town social.  Extra shirts?  Why couldn’t the man just wear the same each day, like everyone else did?  A book?  No, two fucking books.  Madre de Dios!  Spare socks?  He felt tempted to set fire to the whole lot.  There didn’t seem to be any extra ammunition other than half a dozen shells for the rifle.

“Looking for something in particular?”  Scott’s tone was mild.  But he didn’t look too pleased.  Good.

“I was checking your kit for this trip, Boston.  And all you’ve got is a load of fucking junk here.  I mean, a razor but no ammunition.  We’re on a cattle drive, Boston, we ain’t going to no churches.  Or meeting fancy women.  If you’re real lucky, best you can hope for at the end of a drive is fucking some saloon girl and they won’t turn you down ’cos your shirt ain’t clean.  But oh no, old Boston, with his fancy fucking education takes books and spare socks on a cattle drive.  Dios!”

“What do you suggest I take next time, Johnny?  Pray, do enlighten me.”

If only the man would talk normal like other people.  Enlighten?  What the hell sort of word was that?  “Bullets, Boston, bullets.  They tend to come in handy because of situations like this.  Did you sort out Cipriano?”

“Yes.  He’s not too happy with you at present, but he’ll take the rest of the men and move the herd on.  I also asked him to check the farthest fence lines when they finish moving the herd.  I was hoping it might delay them sufficiently for us to get back and see Murdoch before he does.”

Johnny shook his head and gave Boston his coolest look.  “Won’t matter who gets back first, Boston.  The old man is going to be mad as hell.  With me.  Because all of this is going to be my fault.”

“That’s just stupid though, Johnny.  It’s not your fault we were held up.  Far from it.  You were the only one with enough sense to see the risk.  He won’t think this is your fault.”

“Wanna bet, Boston?  Because one way or the other, he’ll turn it so it’s my fault.”  Johnny kicked at the ground as he thought of the row ahead.  Assuming they got back.  ’Cos one way or the other, he was certain the old man would turn this on him.  Well, he’d got quite a lot to say to the old man, too.  About not trusting them to know they were carrying money.  And how much money had they been carrying?  Shit, they didn’t even know.

“You better see if one of the hands can give you some extra ammunition, Boston.  I sure as hell can’t spare any.  Then try and get a bit of sleep.  We got a long ride ahead tomorrow.”

He watched as Scott scrounged ammunition from the men.   Dios, why had he agreed to let Boston come along with him?  He really was losing his grip.   Getting soft.  Well, that was all about to change.  No one was taking his money and getting away with it.  And he could bet the gang of men would be shitting themselves now that their plant had doubtless told them who they had just been messing with.  Yeah, shitting themselves.  Good.  He was going to enjoy payback time.

Part Fifteen

He tried to sleep but the damn ghosts came calling, same as always.  Lying with his gun cradled against his face, he listened to the snoring men around him.  What would it be like to sleep like that?  Felt like the only time he got any real sleep was when he was with a whore, and then the sleep was all too brief.  Boston was curled up and sound asleep in a cosy spot near the dying embers of the fire.  His face, lit by the moon, looked real peaceful.  Like he didn’t have a care in the world.  A real innocent.  And it was probably best he stayed that way.  He had no place in what was ahead.  Because it was going to be real bloody, Madrid would see to that.

Looking at the position of the moon, he figured it must be about an hour before dawn, so he got quietly to his feet and moved swiftly and silently over to the horses.  Barrancca nickered softly at him as he hefted the saddle onto the animal’s back.  “Hush, amigo,” he whispered, as he secured his saddle bags and rifle.

He was swinging himself up into the saddle when the crack of a twig made him whirl round, gun in hand.

“You’re going to make me feel left out if you’re not careful.”  Boston stood, hands on hips, a faint smile on his face.  “Surely you weren’t thinking of going without me, Johnny?”

Johnny holstered the gun, with a grunt of irritation.  “Shit, Boston!  You could get yourself killed creeping up on a man like that.  Why don’t you go back and stay with the men?  Ain’t no place for you on this trip.  What I’m planning is going to be real bloody.”

Scott stared back at him, all calm, still like he hadn’t got a care in the world.  “As we agreed, I’m coming along for the ride.  Don’t worry, it’s your show.”  He smiled slightly.  “But I am coming.  Partner.”  And this time, there was a real hard tone to his voice, like it was made of steel or something.

Dios!  He was one stubborn son of a bitch.  Who wasn’t about to change his mind in a hurry.  Johnny sighed.  “OK, Boston, I give in.  But hurry up, we need to get going.”

At least the man moved quickly.  He was mounted and ready in a minute.  Didn’t make no noise either.  Maybe he’d learned one or two tricks in the cavalry.

“Come on then, Boston, let’s move out.”  Johnny turned Barrancca and headed out of camp.

They rode in silence towards the farthest ridge where they’d last seen the thieves disappear.  In the east the first glow of dawn was spreading across the sky.  It was going to be a good day, make it easier to follow the trail.  But would the men try and lay a false trail once they heard who they’d messed with?  Well, they could try, but Johnny knew not many men could fool him like that.  He was a mean tracker and he didn’t think the men had seemed too bright.  Dios, he was looking forward to getting even.  Payback was going to be fun.  He’d missed this feeling.  It was all very well trying to settle for a nice quiet life, but hell, this was what he was.  And if he was honest with himself, he knew that it was what he always would be.  Yeah, the killing had gotten to him, and at times he wanted nothing more than to leave it all behind.  But his ghosts were never going to let him forget so maybe he should just settle for this life – doing what he did best.

But there was the other part of him too.  The part that felt ashamed when that woman, Delice, had spoken of how she hated gunfighters.  And how, when she’d made him feel that she could see inside his head, he’d felt ashamed then.  Life sure wasn’t easy, but then, who said easy was good?  But the toughest bit was realising Mama had lied to him.  And it was because of those lies he’d grown up hating.  Still, no one had forced a gun into his hand, couldn’t blame no one for that.  Like he’d told Delice, it was all he’d ever wanted, to be the best.  Well, now, here he was, real fucking fast with a gun and those bastards who’d made off with the money would be shitting themselves at the thought of having tangled with Madrid.  He grinned.  He was going to have himself some fun.

“What are you smiling about?”  Boston’s voice broke the silence.

“Just planning on getting me some revenge, that’s all.  But it’s going to be real sweet.”

“And legal, I trust.” 

Johnny laughed.  “Legal, Boston?  Let’s just say the law won’t be able to touch me.  Like I said though, you’re just along for the ride.  This is my show, just you remember that.  And I warn you, don’t get in my way, ’cos that just makes me real mad.”

“Well, that would never do.”  Boston sounded real cool.  “Never do at all.”

Johnny reined in Barrancca and slid down to examine the tracks.  The ground was giving way to rough rocks and stony outcrops and the tracks petered out.

“We can’t track them over rocks, Johnny.”

“They won’t have gone far over them.  That money will be burning a hole in their pockets.  This is just a false trail, they’ll double back off these rocks and head towards a town.”

Johnny threw Barrancca’s reins to Scott and clambered up across the rocks, looking for signs of the odd broken bit of weed sprouting haphazardly in the cracks.  He was right, the men were stupid, they hadn’t stayed on the rocks for much more than quarter of a mile before they’d taken a path heading off to the north east.  Dumb sons of bitches.   Dios, he was going to enjoy this.  The feeling of power made him feel almost light headed, gave him a real rush and he loved that feeling.  Looking forward to what was ahead and the looks on their faces when he got even.

It was a fairly easy trail to follow.  The men must have assumed that they’d lost any would be trackers on the rocks and not made much effort after that.  And there was nowhere they could set up an ambush ahead so Johnny relaxed slightly.  Looked across at Boston who at least had held his peace.  He’d been really mad at Boston the previous day, hurt too, if he was honest, when the man didn’t back him.  Trouble was, old Boston really was an innocent.  He might have been in a war, but he knew nothing about life out west, so he probably really couldn’t understand why Johnny had been concerned.

Even so, Boston’s jibe about the fight in Morro Corro had struck home.  But he knew Boston had instantly regretted it.  Johnny had seen the guilt in his eyes.  And he had apologised.  Often.  Seemed he really was sorry.  Johnny sighed, he wasn’t really the forgiving sort.  Trouble was, he kinda liked old Boston, even if he was real odd.  And despite everything, he still felt he could trust him.  If anything, more than ever now, which seemed real strange.  Couldn’t figure that at all.  And somehow, he didn’t think Boston was too impressed by the fact that the old man hadn’t mentioned the money to them.

He looked again at Boston.  Why was the man out here?  Well, he’d warned Boston that he would want an answer in return for the stories, so maybe now was the time.

“So, Boston.  What I want to know is why you came out here?  Bit different to Boston, and I can’t help but thinking that you’re running from something.  Can’t be the law, so what?”

Boston turned and looked at him, one eyebrow raised in surprise.  “The law?  Well, you’re right there, Johnny, I’m certainly not running from the law.”  He looked real amused at the thought.

“So, what?  And don’t say it was just ’cos you wanted to meet the old man.  I figure there’s more to it than that.”

Boston was eyeing him now, real thoughtful.  “You’re very astute, Johnny.  You certainly don’t miss much at all.  In the future I will always listen to your instincts.”

He fell silent again, but Johnny just waited.  Still, it felt good to hear Boston’s words.  To know that the man didn’t think he was dumb.  Yeah, real good.

“You’re right, of course.”  Boston spoke real soft.  “If you must know, my Grandfather ordered me out of Boston to allow for a bit of a scandal to die down.  But of course, he didn’t expect me to stay.  He thought sending me out to the uncivilised west would make me appreciate the delights of Boston.  Make me want to return and settle down to a more serious life.”  He smiled.  “No, the last thing he expected was for me to want to stay here.”

“Scandal, what scandal?”  Johnny was looking forward to this, it sounded real interesting.  And he noticed that old Boston was looking kinda embarrassed now.

“It involved a young lady.”  He pushed his hat forward, and then started fiddling with his damn gloves, same as always.

“Now, I think I’m gonna need a bit more information than that.  Hell, you’ve had two stories from me and you know, I gotta feeling that your story might be real interesting.”  He could hardly keep from grinning at his brother’s discomfort.  And boy, was he colouring up real good. 

“The young lady and I... Well...”

“What was her name, come on, you ain’t being let off the hook.  We had a deal.”

“She was called Barbara.  I was in her room.”

“I take it you mean her bedroom, Boston?”

“Her boudoir.  I mean there was a sofa and table and my intentions were misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?  In her boo dwah?  And just who misunderstood your intentions?”

“Her father.”  He pushed his hat back.

“And what were your intentions, Boston, in her boo dwah?”  He’d heard bits of ladies called all sorts of things before but he never knew that they had a bit called a boo dwah.

Boston grinned now.  “Well, maybe my intentions weren’t too honourable, but I assure you she certainly wasn’t objecting.  She never had before.”

“So this wasn’t the first time you’d been in her boo dwah?  Just her Pa never caught you before?”

Boston nodded.  “It was somewhat unfortunate.  I made my getaway out of the window over the balcony.  I was just comparing myself to a frustrated Romeo when I bumped into the Pinkerton agent.  God knows why he was hanging around outside the house, he must have been following me all evening.”

Johnny started laughing.  He could hardly keep from falling out of the saddle.  The thought of old Boston making his getaway out of a window and bumping into a Pink, well, it was just too good to be true.

Boston seemed to look a bit offended by his laughter, which set him off even more.  Grinning broadly, he said: “So, her Pa kicked up a bit of a stink, did he?”

“Somewhat, the trouble was there had been other fathers...”

This new bit of information made Johnny laugh even more.  “So, Boston, you’d been putting it about in Boston, had you?”  Johnny snorted as he said this, tears rolling down his face.

“I’m really glad that my misfortunes amuse you so much.  To answer your somewhat crude inquiry, I had enjoyed one or two dalliances.”

“Dally ounces?”  That was another new word for it that he hadn’t heard before.  He snorted again and grabbed hold of the saddle horn as he almost slid from the saddle.  He could see Boston was struggling now to keep a straight face, and trying hard to look real offended.  And that just made Johnny laugh all the more. 

“Yes, brother, dalliances.  Unfortunately, the ladies concerned misunderstood my intentions for something more serious.  Marriage was mentioned.”  Boston shuddered as he said the word.  “Barbara, however, never misunderstood, it was her father who proved the problem.  Along with a few other irate fathers.”

Johnny let out a snort and a splutter together.  Dios, he was glad that he’d let Boston come with him.  This was too good to have missed.  “So I take it, that your Grandfather, ain’t too impressed by all this.”

“That, Johnny, is something of an understatement.  If I kept a mistress he wouldn’t have minded, and he didn’t mind me enjoying the odd servant.  The problem was that these were the daughters of his business acquaintances...”

Johnny stopped laughing now.  “So it’s OK for you to fuck a serving girl and maybe put her in the family way, ’cos they don’t matter.  But not to fuck ‘ladies’, ’cos they do matter?”

Boston looked kinda awkward now.  “I suppose that is how he saw it.”

“And you, Boston, how did you see it?”  Johnny looked at him coolly.  “Did you think the servant girls mattered?”

Scott sighed.  “I admit that some of behaviour doesn’t bear close examination, and I’m certainly not proud of myself or my indiscretions.”

Dios, if only the man would use normal words like other people. 

“And of course the serving girls mattered.  But I just seemed to go crazy when I came back from the war, almost wanting to risk losing everything.  My behaviour was appalling but I couldn’t bear the thought of fitting into some role carved out by my grandfather.  I found it all so dull, I was looking for something but I certainly didn’t know what.  And you can’t begin to imagine how rigid and claustrophobic that level of Boston society is...  I felt...”  He paused, seeming to struggle to find the right words.  “I felt as though I was drowning under all these layers of pompous people.  They were set on squeezing the life out of me, pigeon holing me and I wasn’t ready for that.”

Johnny was silent, funny thing was he knew in a way what Boston meant.  He sometimes felt like he was drowning under the weight of the bodies of the men he’d killed.  “I guess then, you were real pleased to see the Pink?”

Scott shook his head slightly.  “No, oddly enough, not at first.  I was dismissive.  But all the fathers raised such a furor that my Grandfather thought it was a good way to get me out of Boston until the gossip died down.  He used to call Murdoch a dirt poor Scottish immigrant.  So it seemed strange to be offered the money.  I was offended because it seemed like a bribe but also where would a dirt poor Scottish immigrant get the money from.  Still, it seemed as though it would be a diversion.  And of course now, I wonder if my Grandfather knew about you.  He never told me that I had a brother.  And now our relationship is not particularly civil because I’ve told him I’m staying here, so I don’t feel it’s a particularly appropriate time to ask him if he knew of you.”

Johnny smiled at that, be funny if Scott had been misled by his grandfather, just like Mama had lied to him.  “Well, Boston, seems like we got a lot more in common that we ever thought.   Except you’ve fucked a lot more ladies while I’ve probably fucked a lot more whores.”

“You really do have a delightfully colourful vocabulary, Johnny.  Limited, but colourful.  And please, do tell me, just how many ladies have you had?”

Johnny grinned, wishing he could understand half the words Boston used, but he kinda got the message.  “I’ve had just one lady, Boston.  And trust me, you’d really like her.”  He thought of his conversation with Delice about the ‘lady’, grinning more as he remembered the Madam’s disapproval when he’d suggested introducing Boston to the girl in question.  “But she was a real lady, and you and she would get along real well.”

Boston was giving him a disbelieving sort of look about that.

“So, yeah, just one lady but a hell of a lot of whores.  I like whores.  They’re kind of honest.”  And Dios, there’d been a lot of them over the years.  Yeah, a helluva lotta whores. 

“You’ll have to raise your expectations now that you’re a partner in one of the biggest ranches in California.”

Johnny stared at him, what the hell was Boston talking about now? 

“I mean you’ll have to put your promiscuous life behind you and start courting young ladies, instead of spending all your time in bordellos.  At some point you’ll have to make a suitable marriage.”

“A suitable marriage?  What the hell is that?”

Scott laughed.  “Well, to a nice young lady, preferably from a family with a little money, possibly the daughter of a rancher.  Someone suitable to bear you future heirs for Lancer.”

“Dios, Boston, I hope you ain’t serious.  And ‘nice’ girls ain’t any fun, not for the sort of things I got in mind.  Shit, Boston, you reckon that’s what the old man’s got in store for us?  Well, no nice young lady is going to get her claws into me.  Mind you, can’t imagine any respectable ranchers letting their daughters near me anyhow.”  He found this thought soothed him.  Yeah, no one would want him near their daughters, he should be pretty safe.

Boston was grinning now.  “Oh, give them time, Johnny, give them time.  We’re both probably fated to turn into copies of Murdoch over time and be considered very respectable, even you.”

“That, Boston, ain’t even funny.  And, I think it’s time we stopped pissing about because I can smell a town.”

Boston looked at him, surprised.  “What do you mean, you can smell a town?  I know that sailors can smell land before they see it, but I’ve never heard of someone being able to smell a town.”  He scanned the horizon but there was no sign of life.

“We ain’t far, Boston.  I can smell it, the stench of folk gets carried on the air.  So, time to start concentrating.”  And Johnny pushed Barrancca on, while he did what he did best and slid back, it felt like, into Johnny Madrid. 

Part Sixteen

How did Johnny do that?  It was like he could just change into a different person.  Because almost as soon as he’d made the comment about being able to smell a town, he’d seemed different.  Watchful and, well, dangerous.  That was it, he suddenly seemed dangerous again.  Just like he’d been so dangerous in the run up to the gunfight.  Then danger had seemed to emanate from him, it had been almost palpable.

He couldn’t help but wonder what Johnny would have done if Cipriano hadn’t come up with some answers.   Although he hated to admit it to himself, he suspected that Johnny was more than capable of shooting the man.  Would he have shot him?  With all the hands watching?  No.  Johnny was too smart for that.

He was certainly an enigma.  Given the tiny glimpse he’d been permitted of Johnny’s childhood, the only surprising thing was that he was as decent as he was.  Like helping those people in their revolution.  Or risking his life for the women at the ranch to stop Pardee...

His horse stumbled slightly, jolting him out of his thoughts.  “You sure there’s a town ahead?  I know Cipriano said there was one in this direction but I got the impression it was farther away.”

“Cipriano’s a fool, Boston.  Honest, but a fool.  He should have known that we could be at risk when he was carrying that money, but he’s so dumb the thought didn’t enter his head.  I guess he knows about punching cattle but not much else.”

“Would you have shot him?”  Scott tensed, waiting for the answer.  Almost holding his breath.

Johnny looked across at him through narrowed eyes.  “Well, like I said, I was aching to shoot someone.  What do you think?”

Johnny was watching him intently now, like everything depended on the answer to his question.  Scott picked his words carefully.  “I don’t think you’re so stupid as to shoot him in front of all the ranch hands.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, seemed to glance away, before he looked back at Scott with a totally impassive expression.  “Well, you won’t ever know, will you?”

Scott smiled.  “Not for sure, but as you once said, I’ve got a lot of faith.”

Johnny shook his head slightly.  “I done a lot of things, Boston, I wouldn’t want anyone to know about.  A lot of things.”

“Have you ever shot an unarmed man?”

Johnny looked at him.  “A man not wearing a gun?  It don’t make no difference.  Not if I want him dead.”  He smiled, more to himself, it seemed.  “No, no difference.”

The look in Johnny’s eyes was unsettling.  Perhaps it would be prudent to change the subject.  He had a feeling that he really didn’t want to know the worst of Johnny’s excesses.  He would content himself with the thought that there was a core of decency running through him.  Just focus on that.

“So, how far to this town?  Does your nose tell you that?”

Johnny looked amused.  As though he had guessed the reason for the sudden change of subject.  The thought that Johnny could see through him so easily made him feel strangely uncomfortable.  But presumably, it was that very ability to read people so well that kept his brother alive this long.  That, and the speed of his draw. 

“It’s a few miles, but I can smell it and we won’t go in till dusk.”

“Why not until then?”

Johnny gave him a withering look.  “Well, for starters that kid will recognise our horses.  It’s a hell of a lot easier to slip in once the town gets jumping.  Until then, we’ll bide our time.   Hell, you can even tell me some more about your lady friends while we’re waiting.”

Scott smiled.  “I suspect that yours are more interesting.”

Johnny nodded, apparently acknowledging the truth of that statement.  “And I expect I’ve had more, too, Boston.”

Why did everything have to be a competition with him?  It was just like he always had to have the last word.  Always prove he was right.  He was so damn cocky and arrogant.  God, it would be so good just to put one over on him, just once.  Still, having a saddle bag packed with a change of clothes and books hadn’t perhaps been the best way to convince Johnny that he could cope with all eventualities.  But he’d never expected trouble on this sort of a trip.  Hell, they were only meant to have been moving some cattle.  But it seemed that Johnny always expected trouble, and that was the difference between them.  Johnny had a very suspicious nature.  He didn’t appear to trust anyone.  Had he ever trusted anyone?  Somehow, he suspected not, or at least, not for a very long time.  What was it Johnny had said that first morning?  Something about not giving anyone too much credit, it saved a lot of disappointment.  Well, he certainly didn’t appear to give anyone much credit, but he had opened up a little on this trip and even seemed to have forgiven him for not backing him earlier.

He looked at Johnny’s profile as they rode on.  It was impossible to read any expression there now.  The difference in him from just a few minutes before was remarkable.  How could anyone change so quickly?  And it was odd because he had the strangest feeling he was riding with a different man now...  Johnny Madrid, perhaps?

“How old were you when...?”

He didn’t get a chance to finish the question.  Johnny just looked at him coldly, saying, “Ain’t none of your damn business.”

“You don’t know what I was going to ask you.”

“Well, I guess you were going to be like all the rest, and want to know how old I was when I first killed someone.  And it ain’t none of your business.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask.”

Johnny looked at him coolly.  “Want to know how old I was when I had my first woman then?”

“Wrong again.  I was going to ask how old you were when you got your first gun.  I was wondering how long it takes to become as fast as you.”

“Tell you one thing, Boston.  If you’re hoping to become a fast gun you’ve left it a lot too late.”

Scott smiled slightly at that, as if he’d want to be a fast gun.  “No, I’m just curious, that’s all.”

Johnny shook his head slightly.  “None of your business, Boston.  Let’s just say you were probably still playing with your fancy toys.  Now shut up and let’s just concentrate on the job in hand.”  He pushed the palomino into a lope, covering Scott in a cloud of dust.

Scott sighed.  God, what an irritating man he was.  And patronising.  He reined in his horse suddenly, drawing level where Johnny had paused ahead.  It seemed that Johnny was right again, for there, spread out beyond the ridge was a small town.  He glanced over at his brother who was gazing down at it with a strange expression, like he was almost excited by the thought of something.  Scott felt a chill down his back, like someone had walked over his grave.  He shook himself, he was being fanciful.  Johnny still had the same look though.  But there was a cold look about his eyes.  What was he planning exactly?  Scott was getting a very bad feeling about this.  Damn, what was Johnny planning?

“We’ll hole up here until dusk, Boston.  Make the horses comfortable and then, I think I might have me a little siesta.”

“A siesta?”

“Yeah, Boston, a siesta.  A short sleep.”

“I know what it is, Johnny,” he snapped, feeling irritated.  “I just wondered if it was wise, this close to the town.”

Johnny stared at him, looking bemused.  “Why the hell not?  Think those hombres are going to come looking for us, Boston?  They’ll be hell bent on spending that money, and they’re so dumb they think we can’t track ’em.  And I’ve got a busy night ahead of me so I think I’ll have a nap.”

Scott felt even more uneasy.   “A busy night?  What have you got in mind?”

Johnny looked remote now.  “Like I told you, Boston, you’re just along for the ride.  If you don’t think you can handle this, you just stay up here and I’ll go into town alone.”  He paused.  “Be for the best, anyway.”

“We just want to get the money back, nothing more.  Otherwise we just hand them over to the sheriff, agreed?”

Johnny just smiled, but God his eyes looked cold, very cold.

“We’ll do this legally, OK?”

“They weren’t being too legal when they killed those two hands we had on guard.  Those were men with families, Boston.  Kids who depend on ’em.  And I don’t have too high a regard for the law.  Seems like it only looks after folk who can afford to pay for protection or depends on the colour of your skin.  Not that you’d know about that.  ’Spose in your world, the law always looks after folk like you...”

“We rely on the law here, OK?  Let it do its job.  It’s what Murdoch would want, and it’s the right thing to do.”

But Johnny just stared back with narrowed eyes.  “I warned you, Boston.  You ain’t going to like what I got in mind.  And I couldn’t give a damn what Murdoch Lancer thinks.  Seems he didn’t trust us enough to even tell us about this money, I sure as hell ain’t going to worry now about keeping him happy.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a nap.”  And tilting his hat over his eyes he settled back against a tree.

The hat struck a chord.  Dammit.  The business with the rocking chair.  He’d forgotten that he was still trying to figure out how Johnny had seen the events leading up to the gunfight. He stared intently at the hat.  Looked like a perfectly normal hat.  God!  And for what seemed the millionth time he thought what an enigma his brother was.  And although he felt distinctly uneasy about whatever Johnny was planning, he still felt certain that his brother was essentially a decent man.  It was just that occasionally he seemed to have scant regard for the law.

He held his peace, waiting for Johnny to doze off.  It was tempting to shut his eyes.  The sun was very hot and there wasn’t a breath of wind, just the faint buzz of flies and the scent of sage laying heavy in the afternoon air.  He struggled to keep his eyes open.  Just wait for Johnny to fall asleep, and then he’d check that damn hat...

He came to with a start.  Johnny still slept, more relaxed than he’d been at night when his demons seemed to plague him.  Moving cautiously, Scott moved across and lifted the hat from his brother’s face.  He was examining it when he heard the gun cock, and he found himself staring down the barrel of Johnny’s gun. 

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, Boston?  You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

He smiled, apologetically.  “I just wanted to look at your hat.”

“My hat?  What the hell for?  Oh.  The gunfight.  You mean with that fancy education, you couldn’t figure it out, and I thought you were smart.”

Johnny fell silent, watching him as he examined the hat.  Then he found the small flap of leather that folded back and the dark mesh that lay underneath.  Scott tested it and putting the hat over his eyes was treated to a dark and shadowy view of his brother, who was watching him with a half smile pulling at his mouth.

“You know, Boston, I knew someone, called Shelley, now Shelley didn’t take half a second to figure out how I did that.  But then, I guess Shelley hadn’t been to that fancy school of yours.”

“It’s very clever, looking at the hat you’d never guess.”

“Now, can I go back to sleep, Boston, or are you going to start inspecting my boots or something?”

Scott grinned.  “No, you can sleep in peace now.”

Johnny grunted and tilted his hat back over his eyes.  Scott sat and watched him for a few minutes as his brother, looking very relaxed, seemed to doze off.  It would be fine, Johnny wouldn’t do anything stupid, he was far too smart.

When they woke, the heat of the sun was going.  Scott stretched his limbs, he was longing for a proper bed.  No wonder Murdoch had stayed at home.   He was aware of Johnny, sitting watching him, amused. 

“Sore?  Missing your bed?  You ain’t cut out for this life, you know.  You’d be better off in Boston, Boston.”

“Don’t let it bother you,” Scott felt irritated by Johnny’s superior attitude.  “I’ll get used to this and give you a run for your money.  Brother.”

Johnny just cocked an eyebrow.  “We’ll see, we’ll see.  Now, I suggest we think about getting ourselves ready and riding into town.”

They readied themselves with the horses, and mounting up started the descent down to the town.

Johnny led the way to the side of the settlement and slid off his horse, leading it through a narrow alleyway between two large buildings.  They could hear noise coming from a couple of saloons in the main drag, music and raucous laughter.  Farther down the street, lights shone out a welcome from a hotel. 

“We’ll put the horses into the livery stables and go get us a room, Boston.”

They handed the horses over into the care of a gnarled and wizened old man at the livery stables, with legs as bowed as a Queen Anne table.  Then, keeping in the shadows, Johnny led the way towards the hotel, pausing to glance cautiously into one of the saloons over the batwing doors.  A malevolent smile crept over his face as they saw a couple of the group from the hold up drinking at the bar.

“Let’s go get us that room, Boston, then I’m going to have me some fun,” Johnny said softly.

They walked into the hotel, saddlebags over their shoulders and after securing a one dollar room, headed up the stairs.

Scott stared around the room as Johnny pushed open the door.  Well, the best that could be said was that he’d seen dirtier on his journey out west.  But not much.  Still, it would be a place to lay their heads.  He was suddenly aware of a blur of movement in his peripheral vision and a searing pain as he fell forward and the world seemed to go black around him.

Part Seventeen

He felt a slight pang of guilt as he looked down at Scott’s unconscious form.  He could already see the start of an ugly bruise where the butt of his gun had smashed into the back of his brother’s neck.

“Sorry, Boston,” he said softly, as he checked his gun again.  “But it’s better this way.  Ain’t no place for you in this.”  He took the gun from Scott’s holster, checked it for ammunition and slid it into his own jacket. An extra gun was going to come in real handy.  Yeah, much better this way, because he sure didn’t  want his brother to see Madrid in action, not at his worst.  He didn’t want Boston to know quite how bad Madrid could be ...  He paused at the door, and then moved back into the room, stooping to gently ease a pillow under the man’s head.  He studied his brother’s face for a moment.  Dios, the man was some greenhorn.  And shaking his head, he left the room, locking the door behind him.

Once outside, he turned to the business at hand, his senses on edge as he moved swiftly down the stairs and out into the street.  He tuned out the normal town sounds, listening past the two badly tuned pianos from the saloons either side of him vying for patrons.  He could feel the blood coursing through his veins now, giving him that buzz that he always got before a showdown.  It never failed to excite him and he loved the feeling, it was almost as good as when he was with a woman.  It was the aftermath he hated, when he was ashamed and disgusted with himself.  Shit.  Why was he thinking of that already?  Just enjoy the feeling now.  After all, those men deserved what they had coming.  Was no call to kill the lookouts.  Wasn’t like it was a range war.  Then, it was part of the game to kill lookouts – went with the territory, but this had been different.  The lookouts had just been ordinary ranch hands trying to do their job.  Simple men with wives and kids.  No, there’d been no call to kill those men and now the bastards would pay for it.

They’d broken the rules so they deserved everything Madrid had in store for them.  Yeah, revenge could be real sweet.  Just focus on that.  He paused in the shadow of a doorway.  Shut his eyes briefly as he felt all the nerves in his body seem to come to life and felt the blood pulsing through him.  He’d felt like this in Green River before the gunfight, knew then how much he missed this thrill.  And it wasn’t like he hadn’t given those men a chance to walk away.  They’d come for a killing and they’d ended up with three.  And now these men were going to see some killing – they shouldn’t have tangled with Madrid. 

He walked along towards the saloon where he’d seen the men earlier, pausing just once more in a doorway.  The hairs on his neck stood on end, it was almost like someone was watching him.  He scanned the buildings around him but there didn’t seem to be anyone who was taking even a passing interest in him.  Must be losing his grip, starting to imagine things... even so, couldn’t be too careful.  So he stood very still back in the shadows for a few minutes, watching the street.  And all the time, the prospect of what was ahead exciting him.  He checked his gun again and moved on slowly, his spurs jingling slightly as he walked.

He stopped at the doorway into the saloon.  It wasn’t as busy as the other.  Smoke hung heavy in the air. A group of rough cowhands were playing poker and the piano player thumped out an off key version of some song he vaguely recognised.   The men he sought stood at the bar, downing drinks like there was no tomorrow.  Good.  Drink made men slow and stupid.  More unpredictable, but definitely slower.  He smiled to himself.  Yeah.  He was going to have himself some fun.

He pushed open the batwing doors and stepped inside.  And then just stood by them, absolutely still with his hand hovering near his gun and a faint smile as he surveyed the room, waiting for people to notice him.  Didn’t take the poker players long.  They stared at him, real uneasy, sensing the menace.  He let his glance flicker briefly on them before returning to stare at the group standing at the bar.

The poker players pushed their chairs back uneasily.  “Yeah,” he said softly, “best you leave.”  They all sidled out looking real nervous, but relieved.

As he spoke, the men at the bar turned and stared at him, colour draining from their faces.  The kid was there too, the ranch hand they’d “taken as hostage.”   Johnny narrowed his eyes, nodded at him.  “G’ evening.”  The kid paled, and then suddenly went for his gun.

It was the last thing he ever did.  In death there was a look of stunned surprise frozen on his face as blood oozed from the hole in his chest.  Johnny smiled at the other men.  “So, who else wants to take me?  Ain’t this fun?”  And he spun his gun and returned it to its holster.  “Well, what you waiting for?  Anyone would think you was scared or something.”  And he smiled a slow smile as he scanned the men.

“Now, there is the little matter of my money.  You see, that kinda pisses me, that you took my money.  An’ you know, if I find that you been spending my money, hell, I’m gonna be even more pissed.  So, where is it?”

The men’s leader spoke.  “I got it right here, Madrid.”  As he went to put his hand in his pocket Johnny spoke, very softly.  “You better not try anything, ’cos ain’t nothing gonna give me greater pleasure than blowing your brains out.”

The man stopped.  Pulled his hand away.  “Give him the money,” he ordered one of the other men.

“Yeah, you do that, but make it real slow.”  Johnny watched as the other man took a wad of notes and threw them down on the table.   Johnny shook his head.  “Now, you trying to irritate me, ’cos you know, that don’t look as much money as you took.  Where’s the rest of it?”

The men shifted uneasily.  The bartender moved carefully to one side.  Johnny stared at him.  “You want to leave?” 

The man nodded nervously.  Johnny smiled slightly.  “Might be a good idea, I wouldn’t want you to get caught in any cross fire.”

The bartender beat a hasty retreat while the men at the bar shifted uncomfortably.  “Now, just where is the rest of my money?  You gonna tell me you spent a pile of it already?  ’Cos you see, if you have, someone’s gonna have to pay – in blood.”  Johnny sighed.  Shook his head, as if in sorrow. “So, who’s first?”  Dios!  He felt great, loved the buzz, he was so good at this.  Loved seeing them sweating.  Licking their lips nervously.  Hell, one of them was already pissing himself.  And one of them moved slightly, his hand going for his gun.

The smell of cordite hung in the air.  Johnny smiled as he spun the smoking gun.  “Well, two down, only six of you to go.”

“Look, Madrid, we can only give you what money we got.  We didn’t know it was you when we took it.  Only afterwards the kid told us who you were.”  The man was sweating now, looking grey, shaking slightly.

“Well, trouble is, you see, you gunned two of our ranch hands.  An’ their wives an’ kids ain’t gonna be too happy about that.  So you see, this ain’t just about the money.”

“For Christ’s sake, Madrid.  We’re sorry.  They were only ranch hands, we weren’t to know.”  The man was pleading now.

“You gunned ’em, and now you’re going to pay.”

“What ya gonna do, Madrid?  Just gun us down?  Just turn us over to the sheriff...”  He was begging now, his face grey and terrified.

Johnny just smiled, raised his gun but as he did so there was a fumbling at the doors of the saloon.  He turned fractionally and saw Scott stumble in.  “Johnny, what the hell is going on?”

And that was all it took for the men to go for their guns.  Johnny flung himself to one side as they fired, and the thought flashed through his head that he should have bound and gagged Boston.  He got the man whose gun was levelled at Scott, knowing that he was leaving himself wide open.  And it was then that a rifle shot crackled through blasting into the chest of the men’s leader.

Johnny took advantage of the moment to fling himself down, taking out two more in rapid succession while the remaining two threw down their guns in terror, screaming for him to stop.  He looked across at the door where Scott stood, looking stunned, and another man with a rifle winked at Johnny .  “Johnny boy, saw you in the street earlier, thought you was going to have yourself some fun.  Seems a lucky thing I was here.”

“Wes!  You’re a sight for sore eyes.  Guess I owe you one, now.”

Johnny looked at Scott, who still stood, looking confused, reeling slightly.  “What the fuck did you think you were doing, Boston?  Trying to get us both killed?  I told you to stay out of it.”

“And if I had, they’d all be dead.”  Scott’s voice sounded slightly slurred.

“Yeah, maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t.  But as it is, you nearly got us both killed.  Dios, you’re dumb at times.  Well, now, you want to hand it over to the law?  You got so much faith in your laws, here’s your gun.  Take ’em to the sheriff.”  Johnny angrily pushed Scott’s gun into his hand.  “Well, go on.  You wanted the law to handle it.  Take em.”

Scott stared at the gun, like he’d never seen one before, looking kinda dazed.  “Where are you going?” 

Johnny smiled coolly, sweeping up the pile of money off the table.  “Well, Wes here is an old friend of mine.  So I reckon Murdoch Lancer owes us some beers, and then, hell, old Wes and I might go and get ourselves fucked, courtesy of Murdoch Lancer.”  And pushing the money into his jacket, he swept his arm around Wes’s shoulders and left the saloon.

Part Eighteen

His head was throbbing and he couldn’t remember ever being quite as angry as he was now.  He added the milk to his coffee, but pushed the food away.  Breakfast this morning would be coffee only.  He’d been up half the night talking to the sheriff.  Filing the reports and sorting out the tedious paperwork, while all the time his head felt as though it was going to fall off his shoulders and roll across the floor.  Luckily, the pianist had said that each time Johnny had drawn his gun, the victim had gone for his gun first.  Thank God the pianist had been there...

Or had that been part of Johnny’s plan?  Had he manipulated the whole situation but ensured that he had a witness who could vouch for him?  Had Johnny played the scene in such a way as to ensure that the men drew first, knowing he could beat them?  What was it Johnny had said to him on the ride there?  Something about the law not being able to touch him?  And that look he’d seen in Johnny’s eyes, it had been really chilling.  Oh hell, he was sure that Johnny had manipulated the whole thing.  The man was too damn clever.   Machiavellian didn’t come close to describing how devious he could be.

And right now, he had a splitting headache and he wanted nothing more than to knock Johnny senseless.  Except, of course, Johnny hadn’t come back last night.  When Scott had awoken in the morning, Johnny’s bed hadn’t been slept in.  Presumably he had gone whoring with his friend Wes, whoever Wes might be.  Another gunfighter?  Certainly neither of the men had seemed at all concerned by the rifle blast that virtually splattered the one man across the room.  Scott shuddered at the memory.  So much blood.  It had reminded him of the battlefield and scenes he would rather blot out. 

He’d really thought that he and Johnny had made some progress on this trip, but maybe Johnny had just been spinning him a yarn.  Maybe nothing that Johnny had divulged during their chats could be believed.  It hurt though, even to think that might be the case.  But then...  He furrowed his brow as he tried to remember the way events had played out once he had stumbled into the bar.  He’d come to in the hotel room, feeling sick and disorientated, but he knew he had to find Johnny.   The door had been locked so he’d yelled and banged on it.  It was just luck that the housekeeper had been passing and had been able to unlock it with her key.  And he vaguely remembered stumbling up the road.

Hell, he was still feeling sick and disorientated.  Shouldn’t have drunk the coffee.  If only his head would stop throbbing long enough for him to think straight.  Perhaps some fresh air would help.  He pushed the table away and went and stood outside, blinking in the sunlight.  There was a breeze and it just felt good to shut his eyes and stand still while the nauseous feeling subsided.

“Morning, Boston.”

Did he always sound so damn cocky and arrogant?  He opened his heavy eyes and peered blearily at his brother, who seemed to be looking particularly smug and pleased with himself.

“So, get your prisoners to the sheriff, did you?  All nice and legal?  Keep the old man happy, won’t it?”

Scott glared at him.  “Yes, I did.  I was up most of the night going through the paperwork with the man.  No thanks to you.  Where were you?”

“Well, Wes and I were having ourselves a little fun and then we got ourselves laid,” Johnny drawled.  “Should have let me and him finish the job, then you could have come with us.”  Johnny paused, tilted his head to one side and looked at Scott as if considering him.  “Have to say, Boston, you don’t look too good this morning.  Not pretty at all.  Yeah, you definitely look as though you had a rough night.  Looked a lot prettier all smarted up in that picture.”

Scott stared at the self satisfied smirk on his brother’s face, remembering seeing the same look on it the day they had stood down by the river...  He felt the same fury that he’d felt that day, it seemed no one was better able to make him this angry than this damn man.  And although he was feeling far from his best the urge was just too strong.  Putting all his strength behind it, he threw a massive punch at his brother’s smug face.  Johnny was thrown backwards onto the ground, totally poleaxed.

Scott stood waiting for Johnny to come back at him, fists flying, like he had the day of their previous fight.  But he didn’t, just lay there rubbing his jaw.  “Guess I had that one coming.”

“Well,” snapped Scott, “Come on, because there’s more than that coming.”  And growing impatient he grabbed hold of Johnny by his jacket and thumped him again.  There was a satisfying crunch as his fist connected with the side of Johnny’s face.

But still Johnny didn’t come back at him.  “Well, come on,” snarled Scott, “fight me, damn you.”

“I ain’t fighting you.  Like I said, I had it coming.”  He grinned and then winced slightly as he gingerly tested a tooth.  “Shit, Boston, I’ll say one thing for you, you do pack a mean punch.”

Scott stared at him, still angry but now feeling more frustrated than anything else.  Why wouldn’t his brother fight him?  Because he was sure he’d feel a lot better if he gave Johnny a real beating.

Still rubbing his jaw, Johnny got slowly to his knees.  The temptation was too much. Scott hooked him again, sending him sprawling backwards.

Johnny glared up at him.  “Had your fill now?  ’cos you’re sure as hell going to piss me off if you do that again.”

“Just fight me, dammit.”

“I don’t want to fight you, like I said, I had it coming.”  Johnny stared down at his own fists which were tightly clenched.  “I was trying to keep you out of it, last night, OK?”

“We had a deal, I was your back up.”

“No!” Johnny exploded.  “We didn’t have a deal.  I said you could come along for the ride.  You being involved coulda got us both killed.  Seems like I didn’t hit you hard enough, you came round way too quick, and let’s face it, you nearly did get us both killed.”  Johnny ran his hand through his hair as if in exasperation.  Then, watching Scott warily, he stumbled to his feet. 

“I wanted to keep this legal, Johnny.  Instead we ended up with a blood bath.”  Scott still felt furious.  His hand was just itching to punch Johnny again.

Johnny looked at him with narrowed eyes.  “It was legal.  It might not suit folk back in fancy Boston, but you’re out west now, and everything I did was legal.  They had their chance.  They could have taken me.  Hell, it was eight to one.  What more do you fucking want?”

“Rubbish.  You knew you could outsmart them and out draw them, you manipulated the whole thing.  It was tantamount to...”  Scott stopped, could have bitten his tongue off.  He’d gone too far.

“I might not be too good with words, and I sure as hell don’t know what tanta-mount means, but are you accusing me of murder?  I ain’t no back shooter, those men had their chance.”  Johnny’s eyes were very cold now.

Scott closed his eyes briefly and shook his head slowly.  “No.  No, I’m not.  But... Hell, Johnny, you knew you’d come out of this OK.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Boston!”  Johnny threw up his arms in exasperation.  “Of course I didn’t know.  Dios, you talk horseshit at times.  I gambled, OK?  I figured I might outsmart ’em but I could just as easily have wound up dead.  It’s what I do.  You just don’t get it, do you?  Every gunfight is a gamble.  Yeah, I’m good.  Hell, I’m real good.  I’m fast and I keep my cool.  That’s what gives me my edge.”  Johnny sighed.  “That, and not caring if I live or die.”

“How can you not care?  You’ve got something to live for now.  You own a third of the biggest ranch in California for God’s sake.”

Johnny rubbed his forehead, as if considering how to answer.  He gave a slight laugh, as though what Scott had said amused him.  “You really want me to answer that?”

“Yes.” But even as he said it, Scott felt his stomach contract.  Did he really want to know?

Johnny raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked down at the ground and scuffed his boot.   Then he looked up again.  His eyes looked curiously bleak.  “You know, I get a real buzz out of gunfights.  Love that feeling.  Not knowing if I’ll walk away, well, it gives me a thrill.  Excites me.  Makes me feel really good for a while.  Real good.  But later...”  He shook his head slowly.  “Hell, later, makes me feel sick inside.  Ashamed, if I’m honest.  And you know, every man I’ve ever killed comes visiting at night.  Every damn night.  And, it gets to me.  I don’t never get no peace.  And I’m so damn tired.  So fucking tired.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “I mean, I know I’m a cold hearted bastard.  I know I’ll wind up in hell an’ all, ’cos of the killings, but can’t seem to stop myself.  I just figured those men should pay for what they done to those two cowhands.  It wasn’t right what they did, weren’t no call for it.  Someone had to make sure they paid.” 

A wave of compassion swept over Scott.  The cocky gunfighter had disappeared.  It suddenly struck Scott as incredibly sad that Johnny didn’t even recognise the innate core of a sense of justice within himself.  Could only see himself at his blackest.

“Johnny, you could have left it to the law to deal with those men,” he said gently.  “You didn’t need to take it on yourself to mete out justice.”

Johnny gave a short laugh.  “Justice?  There ain’t any justice, Scott.  Not for poor folk.  Who’s going to care that a couple of Mex cowhands got killed?  Oh, be different if it was some rich white guy, maybe it’s even different out east, maybe the law there protects poor folk, but it sure as hell don’t out here.  Leastways not that I’ve ever seen.   Anyhow, how you going to prove which of those men pulled the trigger?  No, they’d have wriggled out of it and all the time those cowhands’ wives and kids going to go hungry now.”

“Lancer will make sure that they’re provided for.”

Johnny stared at him, in disbelief it seemed.  “Provided for?  How you going to replace a husband or a father?  And whatever sum of money Murdoch Lancer decides to hand out, how long do you think that’ll last ’em?   At least the kids won’t go looking for revenge now.  No point in them becoming killers too.”  Johnny was silent for a second.  “Trouble is, rich folk like you, can’t even begin to imagine what life’s like for other people.  It ain’t your fault, I’m not saying it is, but you can’t ever understand, not unless you’ve grown up like that.  Years and years of an empty belly, being walked over, treated like dirt ’cos you live in some shack or ain’t got any shoes.  And all the time, folk who’ve got more look down on you.”

Johnny shrugged.  “Anyway, some bits of shit wound up dead.  What’s another dead man to Johnny Madrid?”

“Sounds to me, Johnny, as if it’s just more ghosts to haunt your dreams. “

Johnny gave a short, humourless laugh.  “Hell, what’s a few more.  Don’t make no difference, I never get any damn sleep anyway.  Least it’s stopped those kids ever looking for revenge, so...”  He shrugged again.  “Still, Boston, you do pack one hell of a punch, I got to hand it to you.” 

Scott had to smile at Johnny’s effort to change the subject.  “Tell you something, brother.  Never has throwing a punch felt so good!  I have a hell of a headache because of you.”  Scott paused, remembering the events of the previous evening.  There was one question he had to ask.  “Why did you put a pillow under my head?”

Johnny looked affronted.  “A pillow?  Think I’m soft or something?  Didn’t do nothing of the sort.  Must have been on the floor and you just fell onto it I guess.”

Scott nodded, trying to keep a straight face.  “Ah, that would explain it.” 

Johnny kicked at the ground and then gave Scott a sudden smile.  “For what it’s worth, I really was trying to keep you out of all this.  Couldn’t think of any other way to do it.  Figured I wasn’t going to talk you out of tagging along.  And it ain’t that I don’t reckon you with a gun.  You showed you could handle yourself against Pardee’s men.  But this was a job for professionals.”  Johnny shrugged, glanced quickly again at Scott.  “And, well, sorry about your head.”

Scott couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face.  Maybe they were making progress after all.  And then, he remembered something else from the previous evening.  He’d known there was something, hovering on the edge of his memory and now it came back.  Johnny firing his gun at a man with his gun aimed at Scott.  Johnny leaving himself wide open to being taken down.  Putting Scott first.  “I believe I also owe you thanks for saving my life.  And if it hadn’t been for your friend Wes and his fortuitous arrival, you’d have died saving me.”

Johnny laughed.  “Think you must be confused, Boston.  Must be that bang on the head.  You got things all muddled up I guess.  Why don’t we go get ourselves a coffee and I’ll explain to you how life is out west?  Oh, and I meant to tell you, I’ve offered Wes a job.”

“As what, exactly?  A guardian angel?  Marksman?  Slayer of would be assassins?”

Johnny stared at him, bemused.  “I guess not, I just figured we’d be a couple of hands short now and Wes is between jobs.  He’s done a bit of droving.  I mean, he ain’t the hardest of workers.”  Johnny grinned.  “Sort of guy who’ll sit back and take a breather and leave you to do his share if he can get away with it.  But old Wes, well, he won’t stay long.  He don’t like to be fenced in, but I figured I owed him.  It’ll help him out for a few weeks.  Kinda hoped you’d clear it with the old man.  He might take it from you.”  Johnny sighed, “Hell, we both know I just piss him off.”

“He was fine when we left.  And it seems to me that he owes you a debt of gratitude for at least getting most of the money back.”

Johnny grinned.  “Well, Wes and I kinda took our fee outta that last night.  I was in the mood for a few girls and old Wes had a girl and then there was the beer...”

“I get the picture.  But I assume that there is still some money left?”

“Yeah, not even old Wes and I could get through that much money in one evening.  Well, not unless I’d let him play poker.  He is one useless poker player, he’s way too dumb.”

“Is he a gunfighter?”

Johnny started laughing.  “Wes?  Hell, no.  He hires out as a gun in range wars, that sort of thing.  He’s real handy with a rifle, but a gunfighter?  No.  Wes is fine, you know, you don’t need to worry about him gunning you or slitting your throat.  Leastways, not if you’re on the same side.  He’s a nice kind of guy, just ain’t overly bright.  Yeah, I like old Wes.  And, we do owe him.  So, will you clear it with the old man?”

Scott grinned.  “I think it’s the least Lancer can do for the man who saved the lives of two of its partners.”

“That’s how I figured it.  So, what you say, Boston, how about we go get a cup of coffee and maybe a cold compress for your head.  Or do you want to hit me again?”

Scott grinned.  “Well, I don’t want to bruise my knuckles and it does seem that you have a particularly thick head, so coffee will do just fine.  So long as you’re buying.”

Johnny gave a snort of laughter and throwing his arm round Scott’s shoulders, led him to the hotel.

Part Nineteen

Johnny eyed his two companions as they all rode out of town the next day.  Wes had gone out drinking the previous night and looked pretty rough.  Johnny had left him to it, staying with Scott instead who still didn’t look his normal self.

Johnny sighed.  Trouble was, he still felt guilty about Scott.  But hell, he’d needed to keep him out of the way somehow.  Maybe if he’d been to some fancy school he’d have had a better idea...   But probably not.  At least Scott seemed to have forgiven him.  He knew it was more than he deserved, he’d gotten off light with just three punches.  If someone had done that to him, he wouldn’t have let ’em off with three punches.  But then, Scott was the better man, whereas he wasn’t worth shit.  Why the hell Scott wanted to get to know him was beyond him.  ’Specially after seeing the end of the fracas in the saloon.  He really hadn’t wanted Scott to witness any of that.  Felt ashamed now, same as always.  Loved the buzz and then came the disgust.  Why did he do it?  Just more dead men to come visit in the night.  Shit.  But someone had to make those men pay and he figured he’d got nothing left to lose.  It was too late for Johnny Madrid.

“Doesn’t have to be.  If you want something badly enough, grab it with both hands.”  The words of the madam at the bordello echoed in his head.  Funny how he kept thinking about her or things she’d said.  Now, if she’d been young with dimples and long legs he could have understood it.  But hell, he couldn’t get those cool green eyes out of his head.  It wasn’t like she was young and pretty.  Hell, she was old.  An’ kind of ugly.  But maybe not as ugly as he’d first thought.  Must be just that she talked sense.  She’d been right about the old man.  Maybe, just maybe, she was right and it wasn’t too late for Johnny Madrid.  Though what the hell the old man was going to say about all of this when they got back. . .  But if the old man had been straight with them about the money, none of this might have happened.  Seemed the old man hadn’t trusted them – or hadn’t trusted Madrid.

Wes was prattling away in the background about some prank he’d played.  He didn’t spend all his time tearing himself apart.  Just said whatever came into his head and never gave a thought to the past or the future.  Life would be so much simpler if he could be like Wes.  But oh no, Madrid had to go brooding over everything.  Worrying away at everything like a dog with a bone.  Couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been like this.  Even as a kid, when his mother would tell him to make himself scarce for a few days, he used to sit at his little hideout in the desert and worry over things.  Shit, here he was, worrying about his worrying.  Loco or what?  Maybe that was it.  Maybe he was just crazy.  Look at the drawers of ammunition.  Now that wasn’t normal.  Kept buying the stuff though.  And didn’t even know he’d done so sometimes.  Would find himself stashing it away with all the rest.  Then there were the knives.  How many knives did a man need?  Most men would be content with one, but no, not him.  Kept two in his boot usually and often another in his jacket.  But hell, you could only throw one.  He sighed.  Maybe he really was loco. 

He looked across at Scott.  The man still looked very pale.  And was riding with his face sort of creased up, like he still had a real bad headache.  He felt another twinge of guilt.  Hadn’t wanted Scott to feel as rough as this.  He’d really miscalculated on this one.  Screwed up.  He just wasn’t any good with coping with people.  Like not knowing what to say to try and make things right.  Well, leastways he could maybe shut old Wes up.  The man’s voice had a way of getting to you after a while, and he could bet it was getting to Scott.

“Hey, Wes, give it a rest will you.  Just want to enjoy the peace and quiet.  Be little enough of it when we get back to the ranch.”

“Whoooeeeee, Johnny boy, still can’t believe you own a big place like that.”  Wes shook his head, laughing.

Johnny just smiled slightly and nodded.  Luckily Wes took the hint and settled back in his saddle.  Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny noticed Scott give what looked to be like a sigh of relief.  Yeah, well, old Wes could sure grate on a man.

They rode in silence for a few miles.  And it seemed a whole lot more restful.  Never had been much of one for talking, leastways now he could just enjoy being at one with his horse.  It was a real fine animal, probably the best horse he’d ever had.  He was going to enjoy training it and teaching it some tricks.  It was obviously smart and it could come in real handy if it did things like come when he whistled, yeah, real handy.

In the distance he could see the outline of the now familiar mountains by the ranch.  They’d be back tomorrow, without the herd their progress was much faster, even allowing for not travelling too fast because of Boston’s headache.  Trouble was, he couldn’t figure how to play it with the old man when they got back.  He was furious that the old man hadn’t told them about the money.  He guessed it was because the old man just didn’t trust Madrid.  And truth was, that hurt.  Madrid was a lot of things, but he sure as hell wasn’t no thief.  The way the old man had been when they left, well, it had made him feel real good, and if he was honest he didn’t want to have a fight with him.  But he couldn’t ignore it.  Two good men had died, for no good reason, just because Murdoch Lancer hadn’t trusted Madrid.  Play nice.  Delice’s words echoed in his head, but he couldn’t, not over this.  He and the old man would be butting heads and it would probably be the final time.  Oh shit.  Well, nothing lasted, he’d known that.  Still, at least he’d tried.  But he’d miss it, might as well admit it to himself.  The place had gotten to him.  Old Boston had gotten to him too.  Still, he’d play it out now, right to the end when the old man would throw him out.

“Shall we make camp here?  It looks like a good place, what do you think?”

Boston’s words broke into his thoughts.   He glanced around him.  “Yeah, this’ll do just fine.  How you feeling?”

Boston gave a weak sort of smile.  He really did look pale.  “Well, to tell the truth I’m ready to call it a day now.  But, better than I did.  Even so, I think I might just sit back and let you build the fire – I believe that you still owe me.”

Johnny laughed.  “Reckon you’re right at that.  Come on, Wes, you see to the horses and I’ll do the fire.”

A little later they all sat around the fire eating the rabbit that Johnny had caught and cooked.  Or leastways, he and Scott ate, seemed like Wes just never stopped yacking.  Dios, the man could talk.  Still, it was damn lucky that Wes had turned up.  They both owed him, so if the man wanted to talk, let him.  The thought had no sooner flitted through his mind when Wes stood up, stretching.  “Well, boys, I’m going to go and make myself a little camp somewhere.”

Johnny stared at him, surprised.  “Something wrong with this camp, Wes?”

Wes grinned.  “No offence, Johnny boy, but a man can’t get a decent night’s sleep with you yelling and hollering.  You forget, I’ve shared camp with you in range wars and boy, I sure as hell didn’t get too much sleep.  So, I’ll be seeing you both in the morning.  If you want, Scott, you’re welcome to come and share my camp.  You’ll get a better night, I don’t even snore.”

Scott smiled across at the man.  “Thanks, Wes, but I’ll take my chances.  Someone’s got to keep him out of trouble and I’m not sure he should be left alone.  Not too sure I can trust him to stay out of mischief.”

Wes gave a laugh.  “Rather you than me, Scotty boy.  Ain’t no-one I’ve ever known could keep Johnny Madrid outta trouble.”  And with a cheerful wave he ambled off into the trees.

Johnny shook his head.  “Boy, I’d forgotten how that man talks.  Made my head feel like it was going to drop off earlier.”

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “Now you know how I’m feeling.”

“Ain’t apologising again, Boston.  Just hope I knocked some sense into you.”  Johnny grinned as he spoke. 

“Will you answer a question?  There is something I’m very curious about.”

Johnny eyed him warily.  “Depends on the question, Boston.”

“I just can’t help wondering when you got your first gun?”

Johnny stared at the fire.  The charred remains of the rabbit lay in the embers.  He threw some more sticks on and watched the flames catch on the dry wood and go licking skywards.   The sun was dying in the west, going out in a blaze of colours.  More colours than he could even put names to.  Made him think of ripe peaches and apricots, when they got so ripe that their skins split and they dripped their juice down his chin.  He felt Scott’s steady gaze on him, waiting for his answer.

Johnny sighed.  “Does it really matter, Boston?”

“No.  But I’m curious.  You’re so fast.  Hard to believe anyone can draw a gun that fast.  And I can’t help but wonder about it.  So, really, how old were you?”

Johnny sighed.  Ran his fingers through his hair.   “About nine, I guess, certainly no older.”

He heard Scott’s sharp intake of breath.  Then a long silence.

“You got a problem with that, Boston?”  Figured old Boston was thinking that he’d been bad from the word go.  And he probably wasn’t far wrong.  “Wonder where you got yourself such a shit brother?”   He said the words lightly, but he felt his gut clench as he waited for the answer.

“Why do you think I would think that?”  Scott’s voice sounded gentle.  “I’m just amazed you were so young.  At nine I was lining up toy soldiers in battle formations, and any guns were most definitely toys.  How on earth did you get it?”

It was odd but Scott didn’t sound disgusted, just curious.  Shocked like, but real curious and he didn’t sound like he was judging him. 

“When my mother had men in, some of them, well, she’d tell me to get lost for a few days.  Sometimes it was better that I wasn’t around.”  Johnny fell silent.  Dios, better not to be around.  That was putting it mildly.  Shit, don’t go there.   Don’t even think about what those men did...

“Anyway, I had a hide-out in the desert.  Used to go there to be away from people.  Most folk in those towns didn’t like half breeds, ’specially a whore’s half breed.  So it was easier just to go off on my own for a few days.”

“What did you do out there?  It must have gotten kind of scary out there at night.”

“Used to it.”  Johnny shrugged.  It had been a hell of a lot more scary to stay around some of Mama’s men.  The whippings were OK, it was the rest of it...  He shook himself slightly, trying to block out the memories.  “Anyhow, this one time, I was in the desert and I found this fellow and his horse.  Guess they’d been dead a while judging by the state of them.  Looked like the horse had fallen and the man must have banged his head or something.  Maybe he’d broken his neck.  But they sure were dead and stinking.

“So I just sat nearby staring at them.  Watching the flies on ’em and the vultures overhead.  And I was sitting staring at his saddlebags wondering if maybe there was any food in it.  And I couldn’t stop thinking about his gun either.”

He kicked the fire with his foot and threw some more sticks on, all the time feeling Scott’s eyes watching him, looking kinda serious.

“You see, all I ever wanted was to be a pistolero, the greatest pistolero, so one day, I could go and kill Murdoch Lancer.  Scare the shit out of him and then kill him.”  Johnny shook his head as he remembered the hatred, it had been like it was eating away at him.  “And so, there I was sitting looking at this man and his gun, thinking how was I ever going to become a great pistolero without a gun.  Seemed the sooner I started practising, the better.  Anyway, I managed to open the saddle bags up to look for some food, and shit, couldn’t believe what was in them.  I mean, there was all this money, great piles of notes, all in separate tied bundles.  And all I could think was how rich this fellow was.  He was a gringo and I thought all gringos were rich but he must be really rich.  Never occurred to me then he’d probably robbed a bank or a stage.”

He grinned as he remembered his amazement.  “So, I figured if he was so rich, people would come looking for him.  He had a bit of jerky and some food, so I just had a little of the jerky ’cos I thought maybe if his family came looking they might be hungry when they found him and would need something to eat.  And I did up the bags real tight to make sure none of the money could blow away so it would all be there for them.”

“You didn’t think to take any?”

“No.  Ain’t a thief.  Never was.  Only thing I ever stole was a little food here and there.  My mother used to send me out to steal food if she’d spent all our money on tequila, but I never stole anything else.  But I just carried on sitting there, looking at that damn gun round his hips.  And then I got to thinking that by the time anyone found him out there the gun would have seized up, gone rusty and be no use to anyone.  And his family would be rich and all have their own guns.  And I figured they’d be so glad to find him, and all the money safe, they wouldn’t care about his gun because they could buy lots with that much money.  So, I set about trying to get his holster off him.  When I pulled it away he kind of broke up a bit, which made me puke.”  Johnny shook his head slowly.  “God knows how long he’d been there.  Anyway, I got the holster and the gun, then I was worried about the ammunition.  I checked his other saddle bag and took all the spare ammunition, figuring it would only go rusty anyway.  Then I took it all back to my camp.”

“What did you do then?”  Scott sounded real interested now.

“Tried to figure out how the gun worked.  Lucky I didn’t blow my balls off.  Damn gun went off, scared the shit out of me.  But I kinda figured it all out, and took the ammunition out so I wouldn’t shoot myself.  Then I made a hole in the holster so I could make it small enough to fit me, ’cos I wanted to practice drawing.  And boy did I practice.  Just drawing the gun, not firing it.  For hours and hours.  Then I set up some old cans and practiced shooting at them.  But then, I just used the gun without drawing it, which is actually the right way to start.  I didn’t know that, I was just scared of wasting the ammunition, figured if I tried to draw and fire I might waste some.  I was so scared I’d run out and I didn’t know how I’d replace it so I had to try and make it last.

“I practised drawing for days, until I was so damn hungry I had to go back home.  Before I went I wrapped up the gun real careful, and hid it all away to keep it dry and where no one could find it.  I used to go back and practice drawing whenever I needed to make myself scarce, and any money I earned, I’d buy just a few bullets – always at the far end of town – say I was running an errand for someone so they wouldn’t question why I needed them.  Used to go without food to make sure I could buy a handful of bullets for that gun, just so as I could keep practicing.  I was skinny anyway, but shit, I got even skinnier then I reckon.”

He kicked the fire with his boot, smiling as he remembered how the gun had ruled his life.  “I used to sleep out there with that gun in my arms.  Like I guess some kids will cuddle a soft cloth or something, I had that gun.  Dios, I loved it.  Made me feel safe too.  So long as I knew I’d got some bullets and that gun, I felt safe.  When Mama decided we were moving on somewhere, I’d run off, which would really annoy her, but I’d have to get the gun and the ammunition and hide it somewhere in our stuff where she wouldn’t find it.  And first thing I’d do in a new town was work out where I could get ammunition from and go find a hiding place for that gun.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what your life was really like.”  Scott was shaking his head.  “I’m really sorry, Johnny.”

Johnny stared at him, puzzled.  “What you sorry for, Boston?”

“What do you mean, what am I sorry for?  I had such an easy life and you had it so tough.”

“Ain’t your fault.  Hell, Boston, I mean, glad life was better for you.  We all get dealt our cards, that’s life.”  He shrugged, still puzzled as to why Boston seemed so bothered.  Didn’t think he’d ever be able to figure the man.  Strange to think they were brothers.  He kicked at the fire again.  The flames had died away leaving just the glowing embers but there was little warmth in them.  He shivered.  The sun had long gone and the night air was chill.  Dios.  How many nights had he spent like this camped out by the remains of a fire wishing he was somewhere warm.  Wrapped in the arms of a woman.  Enjoying a little fleeting comfort.

“Johnny, when we get back, let me handle things with Murdoch.”  Scott’s voice was quiet.  “Trust me on this at least.  I can handle this and believe me, I’m not going to let him off lightly over why he didn’t tell us about the money.  Or the deaths of the two men.  But let me do this, please.”

Johnny was silent.  Boston did have a way with words.  He could imagine the man could be icy cold, demolish the old man with some clever words, all strung together right.  Whereas he knew he’d lose his temper with the old man, handle it wrong more than likely.  End up walking out.  Play nice.  The words rang in his head, making him smile.  And hell, he did owe Boston. 

He nodded slowly.  “How you going to explain the fracas in the saloon?”

“Trust me, I’ll handle it.  Please, we do things my way over this.”  Scott smiled suddenly.  “Let’s just say, brother, you’re along for the ride.”

Part Twenty

It was odd.  He felt kinda sick but relieved at the same time.  He really hadn’t wanted a fight with the old man, though why he felt like that was a puzzle.  But now he figured he could sit back and let old Boston deal with it.  He knew Boston needed to do something to try and show he was just as much a man as Madrid.  But hell, everyone had different talents, it was just that he was good with a gun.  Well, old Boston was good with words, so it seemed only fair to let him tackle the old man.  So long as he was going to be tough.  And somehow, Johnny had the feeling that Boston was going to be tough.  And not just ’cos he had a point to prove.  Seemed he really was mad at the old man.  Hell, they could all have been killed, that would have pissed off Murdoch Lancer.  He’d have been left without his segundo.  Somehow, he felt that the man would have missed Cipriano more than his two sons...

Even so, the words of Delice still stuck in his mind.  About how not trusting Madrid didn’t mean his father didn’t care - he couldn’t imagine anyone caring about him.  Hell, even his mother hadn’t cared, so why should anyone else?  Still, Delice seemed pretty smart.  Pity she wasn’t young and pretty with real long legs to wrap around a man.  She was tall though.  She probably had long legs...  Shit!  He was going loco, wasting his time thinking about some ugly old woman when he could be thinking about Sadie and her friends instead.  He moved his hand down under his bed roll...

“Good morning.”

Boston’s voice made him jump.  Dios, the man was a pain in the butt, always interrupting things.  He’d needed a little relief.  It would have to wait.  Still, they’d be back at the ranch later in the day.  Maybe he could ride into town this evening, get some real relief.  From some girl with long, long legs.  Legs up to her armpits and green eyes.  Strange.  Normally he just thought about their legs.  Since when did he start worrying about the colour of their eyes?

“You will doubtless be relieved to know that my head is feeling somewhat better this morning.  It feels as though it is less inclined to sever itself from my neck and part company from the rest of me.”

Sometimes, he wondered what language old Boston was talking.  “What?”

“I mean my headache’s better.”

“Oh.  Good.  Well, yeah, really pleased about that, Boston.” 

“I had rather assumed that you were still consumed with guilt about your unprovoked assault on my person.  I assumed that you would like a progress report on my condition.”

Johnny stared at him.  He reckoned he didn’t understand more than a quarter of the things old Boston said, why couldn’t the man just speak normal, like everyone else?

“On the hand, little brother, maybe you’re just more interested in what’s down your bed roll.”

Johnny grinned.  “A man has needs, you know.”

“Hm.  Well, I suggest you put your needs to one side, as it were, and we get moving.  We’d better go and find Wes and then push on.  I’m starting to look forward to my talk with our esteemed father.”  Scott grinned across at Johnny.  “And don’t worry.  I won’t be letting him off lightly.”

Johnny watched as Scott busied himself with gathering up his bedroll.  He felt the need to remain where he was for a few minutes longer, while he waited for things to return to a more suitable position for riding.  And hell, he grinned to himself, he wouldn’t want poor old Boston to feel inadequate.

“Are you coming, or are you going to lie there all day?”

Johnny gave an exaggerated sigh and heaved himself to his feet.  It would be good to sleep in a proper bed again.  Shit.  He really was getting soft.  Or old.  He tied his bedroll onto the saddle just as Wes appeared in their clearing, and for once the man looked ready to ride.  Johnny sometimes felt that old Wes was too idle to even get himself on his horse.  How long would he last at the ranch before the hard work got to him?  Two months at the outside he reckoned.  That would be the most Wes would ever stay in one place before the desire to be out riding free became too much.  It was how Johnny had always been, but now, could things be different?  He was starting to admit to himself he wanted it to be different, but somehow, he couldn’t see the old man putting up a fight if he walked out.  Madrid was trouble, and they both knew it.  Seemed it was only old Boston who still didn’t seem to grasp how much trouble Madrid could be.  He smiled to himself as he swung himself up into the saddle.  It was kinda nice.  No one had ever believed in him before, but old Boston, despite everything, well, seemed he had faith.  He knew he didn’t deserve it, but it was still good.

They kept up a good pace now that Scott’s head was better, stopping occasionally to rest the horses.  But it seemed like even the horses knew that home was close and put on an extra spurt of energy.  He loved this, riding free, smelling the sage and no one ordering him around.  And yet, here he was riding towards a life of backbreaking hard work.  And orders.  Lots of orders.  Shit.  Just enjoy the ride, Madrid.

He could see his mountain now, standing out in sharp relief against the purple backdrop.  One mountain among a load of mountains but it pulled at him and he didn’t know why.  But each time he looked at it he felt good, like he belonged with it.  Dios, he must be loco, just because he’d liked it when he was a little kid, what the hell had that got to do with things now?  Because deep down, he knew, that sooner or later he would have to leave.  Still, with Boston tackling the old man over the money, perhaps he would be able to stay a little while longer.  It would save him from butting heads with the old man.  And he was looking forward to seeing Boston in action.  Even though he knew he probably wouldn’t understand a word the man said.  Still, be fun to see the old man’s reaction.  Bet he’d understand all those fancy words.

They were approaching the ranch now.  Johnny could see the hands going about their chores, including the ones who’d been on the drive.  Shit.  They obviously hadn’t gone on as instructed to check the furthest fence lines.  Cipriano had ignored Scott’s orders.  Bet he couldn’t just wait to get back to complain to the patron about Madrid’s treatment of him.  Son of a bitch.

He looked across at Scott, who was riding next to him.  Yeah, he’d seen it too.  The man’s jaw had clenched, and his face looked kinda harder now.  Johnny grinned to himself.  He was going to enjoy watching this showdown.  He’d just make sure he tried to steer clear of the crossfire.  Hell, he was just along for the ride.

He pointed out the bunkhouse to Wes and sent him over to introduce himself to the men.  As he turned back to ride on with Scott, he spotted the old man standing outside the hacienda, watching them ride in.  With a face like thunder.  Yep.  Boston was welcome to this one. 

“Well?  What the hell have you two got to say for yourselves?”

Scott glanced across at Johnny as they slid off their horses.  “Don’t forget, Johnny, this one’s my fight.”

Johnny grinned.  “Believe me, Boston, you’re welcome.  I’m going to sit back and enjoy the show.”

“Sir.”  Dios, Scott sounded cold.  “I believe we have something to discuss.  Inside.”

“Damn right, we have something to discuss.”  The man turned and strode into the house.  He poured himself a large drink before turning to glare at them.   “I told you two to follow Cipriano’s orders.  But no, that would be too easy.  Instead I hear that Cipriano was insulted, threatened with a gun – and no guesses as to who by.  And then the two of you ride off and get involved in a blood bath in a saloon.  And you should know better, Scott, with your background, than to be led astray by your irresponsible brother.”

He’d always known that the old man would turn this on him.  He stared at the floor, bit at his lip and kicked at the rug.  Just leave it to old Boston.  Keep a lid on your temper.

“My irresponsible brother?  My irresponsible brother?  If anyone is guilty here of irresponsible behaviour, it’s you.  You neglected to tell us that we were carrying a large sum of money.  You treated your two partners in this enterprise as if we were nothing more than lackeys to do your bidding.  You expected us to kowtow to your Segundo.  It is your behaviour which culminated in two good men being killed as a direct result of your arrogance and high handedness.”

Scott sure knew a lot of fancy words, and shit, he sounded cold.  Calm and cold.

“Two men died on this trip.  Two men with wives and children.  They should be alive now, but because we were left in the dark we had no idea that we were carrying cash.  The only man smart enough to sense the danger was Johnny, but because of your inability to trust us with the knowledge that we had that money with us, I, to my eternal regret, failed to take any account of Johnny’s misgivings.  And if Cipriano’s feelings were hurt, well, quite frankly, I really don’t care.”

“I wasn’t to know...”

“Sir, I haven’t finished yet.”  Dios, the man sounded icy cold.  “Johnny acted in the best interests of the men to find out as quickly as possible how much Cipriano knew.  I absolutely supported his actions.  I believe you owe both Johnny and myself an explanation as to why you didn’t see fit to entrust us with the knowledge that we were carrying the money.  We also expect, as we believe it is our money too, to be told for what purpose the money was there.  And furthermore, we expect Lancer to make provision for the wives and families of those two ranch hands.”

The old man was turning a real interesting shade of purple.  “I don’t consider that I have to inform you of every decision I make.  I call the tune here, as you agreed.  You were quick enough to agree when you were being tempted by a share of 100,000 acres.”

“By calling the tune, I take that to mean that in a dispute between the three of us, you have the final say.  A not unreasonable condition given your years of experience.  However, a dispute would imply that we all have at least a discussion of any possible issue.  Here, you have blatantly neglected to consult either Johnny or myself.  And whether you call the tune or not, it is still our money too.  And quite frankly, 100,000 acres was not the reason I chose to stay.  I could make considerably more money from my family holdings in Boston.”

“I bet it was the reason he stayed.”  The old man gestured at Johnny, who stared back impassively.  He was not going to rise to the bait.

“I feel that speculation about Johnny’s motivation for accepting the partnership deal is simply a diversionary tactic to deflect our attention away from the main issue here, which is the matter of your irresponsible action.”  Boy, old Boston could sound real smooth.  God only knew what he was talking about but it sounded real good. 

“So, why were we carrying the money, what was it for and why did you neglect to tell us about it?”

The old man banged his fist down on the desk.  “It was simply cash for a rancher I do business with, who doesn’t like bankers’ drafts.  Cipriano was to deliver the cash and arrange collection of a couple of bulls I wanted to purchase along with a small parcel of land he and I had agreed on which has a good watering hole.  Satisfied?”

“You neglected to discuss either the transaction or its conclusion.  Why?”

Johnny stared impassively at the old man, watching the vein pulsing on the side of the man’s head.  Any minute now it would burst.

“I forgot, damn it.  All right?  I forgot.  It was that simple.  With your brother and his damn gunfight before you left, it put the business side of the drive out of my head.  There was the little matter of your brother gunning down three men in Green River to consider.  Which leads us to the blood bath that the two of you had on this trip.  I’ve heard all about it.  The sheriff there wired here to check up on the two of you.  Why the hell didn’t you leave it to the law to deal with?  My God, six dead men.  And I can guess who was to blame for that.”

“I think it would be more appropriate to keep your concerns for the two ranch hands we lost.  Johnny and I were endeavouring to recover the stolen money.  We acted as a team, and if those men chose to start a gunfight, that is hardly our fault.  You surely don’t believe that Johnny and I would be so foolish as to look for trouble with eight men?”

Johnny looked quickly down at the floor, trying not to start laughing.  He had to hand it to old Boston, the man really had the upper hand here.  And it even sounded believable too.

“Johnny and I are not fools.  We were being totally responsible.  We gave the men very specific orders about their next duties.  Orders which, it appears, Cipriano has chosen to totally ignore.  It might be more to the point if you reminded him that Johnny and I are now equal partners in this ranch, and therefore, inexperienced or not, entitled to have our instructions obeyed.  Johnny and I then jointly made a decision to pursue those men, bring them to justice and retrieve our money, which is precisely what we did.”

Johnny took the remainder of the money out of his jacket pocket and threw it down on the desk.

“Unfortunately, the thieves spent some of the money before Johnny and I caught up with them, but at least we have something to bring back.  No thanks to you.”

“That’s not the way I heard things went in that saloon...”

“I really don’t care what you heard, I was there, you weren’t.  Are you calling me a liar?”

The old man huffed at that and strode across the room and poured himself another whisky.

“Good,” said Scott, sounding real smooth.  “Now, there remains the matter of the fact that even if you forgot to tell Johnny and I that we were carrying the money, which I hope we really can attribute to lethargy or absent mindedness rather than strategy, you neglected to tell us when you originally agreed to the deal.  There is also the matter of the two men’s families.  What are you proposing to do for them?”