At least the rain had stopped, but not the wind; it slid down from the nearby mountains in a long continuous sigh. The dry autumn grass bent before it and it leached any warmth from the three horsemen who jogged steadily across the surly landscape.

With a bright sun overhead it would have been a pleasant journey, but under the influence of a gunmetal sky the landscape turned a cold shoulder and offered no joy to the travelers. It had been that way for the last day and a half, and they had one more day to go.

They had ridden three abreast for hours but as twilight approached, the dark haired rider on the palomino horse had loped ahead. Now he sat, huddled into his coat with his hat pulled down low, and watched his two companions approach.  

“Did you find anything?” one of them asked. His blond hair whipped across his forehead and he reached up and reset his hat against the wind’s persistent tug. 

“About a half mile back along that stream,” the palomino’s rider jerked his chin toward the small watercourse behind him, “there’s a rock outcropping with plenty of trees and brush to help cut the wind.”

“What do you think, Murdoch?” the blond asked.

“Sounds good to me, Scott.” He motioned to the dark haired youth. “Lead on, Johnny.”

Johnny nodded and turned his horse, all the while grumbling to himself. “Don’t know about good but it’s the best we’re gonna find, unless you two have a small town hidden in your saddle bags.”

Murdoch and Scott smiled at each other and fell in behind.

=============================

The camp went together with the ease of long practice and soon the horses were settled and the Lancer men were gathered, close around the campfire, waiting for the coffee to brew. Scott pulled out some jerky, a sack with a dozen of yesterday’s biscuits and a few apples. He passed it around then settled back to eat and watch the fire.

“Damn,” Johnny looked down at his piece of jerky and shook his head. “I hate this stuff. It’s like chewing on boot leather.”

“I thought you told me you used to live on it.” Scott reached for a biscuit.

“I did, jerky and dried beans. But that was then.” He pulled his blanket up around his shoulders and inched closer to the fire. “Now I’m a big shot rancher and I’m used to better things.” The firelight sparkled off his eyes as he grinned across at his father. “Pour me some of that coffee, Scott, I’m freezing to death.”

Scott passed the coffee around and then sat back and watched as Johnny shivered and shoved one foot forward till it was almost in the fire. “So, Murdoch,” Scott said in an attempt to distract Johnny from his misery, “you’ve never told us much about Scotland. What do you miss most about the old country?”

Johnny wrapped both hands around the warm tin cup and looked up with interest.

Murdoch smiled. “Oh my, what do I miss?”  His eyes got a distant look as he gazed at something in the fire that only he could see. Johnny and Scott exchanged a worried look but then he smiled. “I miss the hills and the color of the heather on a soft summer evening. I miss the sound of Gaelic being spoken. I miss the stamp of long history that the land here has never known.” His smile grew bigger. “I miss the beer! No one here really knows how to make beer.” 

Johnny chuckled.

“There are so many memories, but to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t trade what I have now for the whole of Scotland. Lancer holds everything I need.” Then his smile slipped. “It’s really only the people that I miss, and so many of them are gone now.” He fell silent and looked down to study the coffee in his cup.

Scott jumped in. “Johnny, what about Mexico? What do you miss?”

Johnny laughed and stretched a hand out toward the fire. “The heat, brother, the heat!”

Murdoch looked up and smiled.

Johnny tilted back his head and sighed. “Most of the places I remember were always warm. And even if it got cold, the sun came right back and baked it out of you. And the colors, the sun in Mexico touches the colors and brings them to life. Beautiful bold colors poured over the desert.”

Scott snorted. “Well, we know how you like bold colors.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Great comment from a man who only wears tan.”

That brought a chuckle from Murdoch.

Johnny was silent for a moment. “It seemed like every little village had a fountain or a well in the center of town. You could sit in the shade of a thick adobe wall and listen to the sound of the water. The girls and women would come to the well and their laughter would mingle with the falling water and. . .” He stopped and then sighed and gave Scott a rueful grin. “Course, the last time I was down there it got a little too hot for comfort, what with the Rurales and all.”  He laughed. “Nope, Lancer suits me just fine too. What about you, Scott? What do you miss about Boston?”

“Ah, Johnny, there is so much to appreciate in Boston. Some day I would love to take you there. I suppose one of the things I miss most is the music. The symphony, the opera, choral societies; there was always music if you wanted it. And Murdoch, I know what you mean about the sense of history. Boston doesn’t go back as far as Edinburgh but it’s full of American history. I loved the newspapers, and the bookstores, and the ocean, all right at hand. Oh, and here’s one for you, little brother, the confectionery shops, stores that sell only candy and sweets.”

Johnny’s eyes got big and a grin split his face. “Yeah?”

“I remember the last time I visited one of my favorites. I bought a tin of sweets all the way from France. It was the most amazing candy I’ve ever eaten, a divine puff of air dusted with sugar and tasting of something sweet and gooey and simply wonderful. They called it a marshmallow.”

Johnny looked down at his two day old biscuit and sighed. Murdoch laughed out loud.

“But,” Scott continued, “while it’s good to remember and while I wouldn’t mind visiting, I don’t belong in Boston anymore. I’ve found something here that Boston could never give me, and I don’t just mean the two of you.”

Johnny looked across and thought Murdoch’s smile would split his face.

“There’s a challenge to just living out here that makes me feel alive. And the thrill of building something brand new and putting my mark on this wild and beautiful land, well, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

The three of them sat in silence for a while and then Murdoch cleared his throat. “Boys, I just want to say . . .” his voice got rough and his eyes pulled them in, one at a time.  ". . . what I mean is that I think . . ." he dropped his head and cleared his throat again. He finally looked back up and swallowed. “Boys, I think it’s time we called it a day,”

Scott snorted and Johnny almost choked on his coffee.

Murdoch frowned. “Gentlemen, I suggest we go to sleep. The sun will come up early tomorrow . . .

“If we see it at all.” Johnny muttered.

“ . . .and I want to get an early start.” He glowered at his younger son.

Scott got up and started to straighten his bedroll.

“Wait,” said Johnny, “you need to move it over a little.”

“Why” Scott turned a puzzled look on his brother.

“Because I’m going to move the fire.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard me, I’m gonna move the fire.” And he proceeded to do just that.

Scott looked at Murdoch and the big man just shrugged.

When he’d pushed and chivvied the logs and embers about three feet to one side, Johnny carefully cleared the area where the fire had burned till there were no embers or ashes. Then, as Murdoch and Scott watched in amazement, he gathered up his bedroll and saddle and laid them out where the fire had been. He crawled in, pulled up his blanket, sighed in relief, and smiled smugly up at his family. “Goodnight – gentlemen.

=========================================

Scott lay awake for a while listening to the wind and watching the fire. He could hear Murdoch already snoring on his left. Across the fire he could see the gleam of Johnny’s eyes.

“Not asleep yet?”

Johnny looked up. “No, not yet.”

“Warm enough?”

A flash of white teeth in the firelight was his answer.

“So, what are you thinking about?”

Johnny turned a sleepy smile in his direction. “Oh, things. Things we were talking about. Mostly,” his smile grew wider, “I was thinking that I wish I had one of those marshmallows."

 

The end.

6/09