The List by Styzgal

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A WHIB scene for Chase a Wild Horse.
Johnny muses over the events leading up to the shoot-out with the Strykers.  Occurs before the final scene when Murdoch and Johnny ride off together.
Written and submitted quickly (for a change!), with no beta.  I own all the mistakes but nothing else.  Warning – Some cussing!

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Johnny lay on his bed, boots and gun belt removed, with his hands interlocked behind his head.  He stared at the ceiling and thought about everything that had happened over the last couple of days.

It was dark and his room was illuminated only by a small sliver of moonlight.  This lack of visual distractions gave Johnny the space he needed to really consider all the actions (and reactions) that had contributed to his leaving Lancer and ultimately caused the showdown with the Stryker family.

Johnny felt the need to analyse every aspect of the latest cause of conflict between himself and his father, just as he would analyse each aspect of every ‘job’ he hired on to do in his previous life as a gunhawk.  That way, in theory, he could avoid future conflict (with his father) or getting a bullet in the back (if he was working).

The youngest Lancer liked to think that he was a meticulous kind of analyst and with that in mind he started a mental list, which he entitled ‘Johnny’s Fuck-Ups’.  For he knew, at the back of his mind (even at the front of his mind) that pretty much all the blame for almost everything that had transpired could be laid firmly at the door of Johnny Madrid Lancer.

Starting the list Johnny thought back to when he was working with Wes and the fracas had begun.  Even though he knew that Wes was basically a waster and a chancer he had still listened as his ‘friend’ had baited him about being ‘broken to the plough’ and trashed his plan of working faster and harder so that he could get finished sooner and enjoy a trip into town.  Why, oh why didn’t he have the strength of character to tell Wes to shove it and follow through with the plan?  He was a gunfighter by trade for Christ’s sake!  He could stand up to any amount of goading, couldn’t he?

Then Murdoch, with perfect timing, had shown up with details of Johnny’s next assignment, which put paid to any chance of an early evening sojourn into town.  The considerate father even gave his son his old timepiece so that he wouldn’t be late. 

Having to shelve his plans for a bit of enjoyment would ordinarily have caused Johnny’s heckles to rise just a bit. However, the knowledge that Wes would be right there, ready to give him more grief, meant that instead of manning up and just getting on with it he had allowed his discontent to take hold.  How many times, as a child, did he have to pick himself up from rock bottom and accept bigger, heavier burdens when he already felt as if he was on his knees?  Too many.  So how come he couldn’t just grow a pair and take on one more task, not demanded but reasonably asked of him by his sire, this one time?  Spineless Madrid, Johnny thought.

It was the horse’s fault (of course)!  That beautiful black stallion had shown up just as Wes had started to needle the boss’s youngest son about having some fun.  He’d blathered on about catching that stallion being a ‘once in a lifetime’ opportunity and then he’d ridden off like the lazy good-for-nothing that he was.  And what did the boss’s son do to prove his worth as third-owner of the Lancer holdings?  He had mounted up and followed the lazy good-for-nothing.  Basically, Johnny Lancer’s stickability had upped sticks and left and the consequences be damned!

What a buzz it had been to rope that horse!  At the time it felt well worth any wrath he would incur from his old man.  That sure as hell soon changed, thought the formerly ‘free as an alley cat’ Lancer son.

The initial run-in with the Strykers had definitely not been Johnny’s fault (and therefore wouldn’t feature on his Fuck-Ups list).  The Strykers were no good, plain and simple, and they had been looking to make good on Johnny’s hard work and take Lancer property from Lancer land.  No matter where the horses had previously strayed, they had ended up within spitting distance of the Lancer boundary.  Therefore, Johnny had every right to want to put the Lancer ‘L’ brand on them and tell the no-good Strykers to take a hike.  Right?  Chalk up one for JML!

Then came the really hard part.  Being told by the chief tune-caller, in no uncertain terms, that he had royally messed up and then having to accept that all of the horses, except the stallion, were being given away to none other than the no-good Strykers. 

The final straw came when the knot-headed Stryker son had decided to take the stallion by force and put a bullet into Johnny at the same time.  As Johnny later explained to his stone-faced father, what was he supposed to do?  Let the idiot shoot him?

His father had no answer to the question.  Instead he had once again calmly asked his son to finish the work assignment that had been given to him.  He didn’t even raise his voice when he explained to the whining boy (for that’s how Johnny now saw himself) that 50 head of cattle had strayed because of his desire to throw his rope over that stallion’s neck.  Looking back Johnny wondered why the older man hadn’t shaken his recalcitrant son and rattled the teeth in his head to try and make him see how stupid he had been. 

Murdoch’s ability to hold onto his temper in the face of his son’s irresponsibility now seemed to that son to be unaccountably too fair!  In the past he knew that a couple of his so-called ‘step-fathers’ would’ve done that and a lot more.  The Old Man did try to be reasonable.

At that point the situation could probably have been salvaged if it hadn’t been for that jackass Wes sticking his head in the door and announcing as bold as brass that he was heading out.  The man seemed to know just how to yank Johnny’s chain and his talk of riding free was all that the humiliated son needed to make him follow the same path.  Once again listening to Wes and kidding himself that the feckless cowboy had the right idea, when actually Johnny knew the idiot had shit for brains.

Johnny had taken his wages and signed for them, like any other hand being given the keys to the road.  Now the ‘meticulous analyst’ considered this particular ‘reaction’ and could’ve kicked his own butt from here to next Christmas!  What the hell was he thinking?  Was he thinking at all?  Obviously the ‘arms, legs and guts’ that had been required to get him a third share of the biggest spread in the San Joaquin had mysteriously disappeared.  Probably blown away by the hot air coming out of Wes’s big mouth! 

Yes, Johnny was drowning in his own self-pity and Murdoch could’ve tried harder to persuade his son to stay by throwing him some form of lifeline, but to what end?  If that olive branch had just delayed the inevitable what would’ve been the point?  No point at all, answered the now rational Madrid.

Theresa’s tears and Scott’s pleas were difficult to ignore and Johnny knew that he didn’t convince either of them when he said he was going to start living again.  How did he harden his heart and walk away so easily from two of the three people that were most dear to him?  Again, no answer came to mind.  Nada!  The sheer magnitude of his own pig-headedness was proving to be a heavy load to carry indeed.  By the time he’d finished pulling the whole disastrous affair to pieces Johnny wondered if he’d be able to get out of his bed and stand tall again.

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The list continued to include the disastrous trip with Wes. 
Sitting in the pissy-smelling saloon, drinking weak beer and listening to the guffawing cowboys and saloon girls around him, Johnny did at least start to question whether he’d done the right thing.  No wonder Scott had sauntered in, looked around at the squalid surroundings and proceeded to tighten the thumb screws on his brother’s already weakening resolve. 

The elder Lancer son could be a ruthless opponent, with his unflappable exterior and his fancy ten-dollar words.  He effortlessly rubbished every reason that Johnny had given for getting away from Lancer and then walked out the saloon doors with a self-righteous air that set Johnny’s teeth on edge.  Johnny admitted to himself that he’d nearly run after his brother.  Whether he would’ve grabbed Scott in a friendly headlock and had a good laugh at his own expense, or, alternatively, punched him in the teeth, he couldn’t say for sure.  What he could say though was that his smart-ass, straight-for-the-jugular brother had been one hundred percent right in his observations.  That should’ve been a particularly bitter pill to swallow.  However, in retrospect, that was perhaps the easiest part of the whole sorry escapade to accept. 

No analysis required there; Johnny loved and respected Scott.  No question.

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Wes continued to live down to expectations and, after spending the day drinking, womanising and drinking some more, had ended up being totally tanked and incapable of throwing himself down on a bed of straw.  Johnny made sure his partner-in-incompetency had made it to their five-star accommodation and also dissuaded the numbskull from trying to break the spirited stallion whilst totally pissed out of his brain.  Johnny wasn’t about to take the rap for the fact that Wes was a worthless drunk.  That blame could be laid squarely at Wes’s own feet.

Johnny couldn’t watch Wes’s every move so inevitably the fool thought he would give the stallion a try.  Too late to stop him, Johnny had watched in despair as the horse reared and squealed then brought his mighty hooves down and stomped the life out of poor Wes.  The horse had tried to do exactly the same thing to Johnny when he first roped him, but speedy thinking and a healthy respect for the animal’s power had saved him from suffering the same fate. 

Anger at the horse overpowered Johnny and he almost took the stallion’s life in an act of revenge.  Thank God I didn’t, he thought to himself.  The horse was just being a horse and Wes should’ve known better.  It could never be said that Wes was talented when it came to handling horses, but even a greenhorn knows not to further enrage an already skittish wild animal.

Wes had lived by the sword of stupidity and unfortunately, he died the same way. 

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Johnny was reaching the conclusion of his list.  His brain felt like mush but he was determined to finish the task that he’d set himself. 

The less-than-triumphant return to home and hearth had proved to be even more disastrous than all the preceding mistakes added together.

First Murdoch’s scathing words had turned Johnny’s heart to stone.  ‘The only thing wrong around here has always been you’.  Of course, after the event it was obvious that his father was only trying to protect him.  But by sending him out to face the Strykers’ guns?  Now that was going to take a bit of time to get his head around.  Johnny knew that he would either have to have it out with his father, and most likely have another big bust-up, or let it go.  For now, the latter seemed the most sensible approach.  Watch this space, he thought.

Johnny’s list had turned into a book and self-loathing engulfed him as he forced himself to consider the final chapter. 

When Scott had stumbled in clutching his wounded shoulder and Theresa decided that her ‘brother’ deserved to know the truth a cold rage gripped Johnny.  Madrid emerged and gave Johnny the means to finally send the no-good Strykers packing, as only he knew how.  The desire to put a bullet into another of Stryker’s sons was strong.  So strong that, had Murdoch not called his son’s name, thereby pulling him from the depths of his red haze, the trigger could so easily have been pulled.

Now, looking back, the fact that Scott was hurt surely ranked as the biggest and worst of the consequences of Johnny’s actions.  The elder Lancer brother, who all through the sorry saga had tried to soothe ruffled feathers and mediate between father and younger son, was the one who was shot from his horse.  And for no reason except he was there and he was another Lancer.  Johnny took the entire blame for this particular event and the regret and shame that he felt as a result almost crushed him down to nothing.  How could he ever look his brother in the eye again?  He’ll hate me now for sure, he thought.

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Dawn was a couple of hours away and Johnny had spent the whole night painstakingly putting his list together.  Now he felt the need to see his brother and check that he was OK.  The bullet had carved a furrow across the top of his shoulder and, although the injury wasn’t serious, Johnny knew from bitter experience that it was the kind of wound that would be painful and difficult to heal.  Plus being shot off a horse, and the resulting aches and pains, was something that Johnny was also all too familiar with. 

Scott’s bedroom door was ajar, probably because Murdoch had left it that way when he had checked on his son before retiring for the night.  Johnny quietly stepped into his brother’s room and carefully lowered himself into the chair by the bed. 

Scott was sleeping peacefully with no sign of distress on his face, to Johnny’s utter relief.  ‘Gracias Dios’, he whispered, and put his head in his hands.  The thought that his brother could have been seriously hurt or worse overwhelmed him.  Johnny knew with certainty that if he had lost his brother as a result of his petty desires, he could not have lived with himself. 

Johnny felt calmed and comforted by Scott’s presence and the fact that he was mostly unharmed.  Maybe there was still a chance that he could make things right with his big brother.  Scott was a forgiving man, of generous spirit and maybe he would cut his ‘baby’ brother some slack.  Or maybe not, thought the once-again morose Lancer son.  He heaved a huge sigh and kept his hands over his eyes, hiding from the possibilities that rose up to haunt him.

‘That’s a big sigh brother,’ came the voice from the bed, startling Johnny and causing him to sit upright in a hurry.  The voice sounded croaky from sleep but there was no anger in it.

Scott looked into his brother’s face and frowned at what he saw there.  Johnny’s eyes were red-rimmed and tired looking, his face was pale and drawn. 

‘You look like hell Johnny, have you slept at all brother?’  Scott asked.

Johnny said nothing and sat looking at his brother like a hoot owl.  He looked at Scott’s injured shoulder, then back into his face.  He took a breath and looked as if he was about to speak but then he blew out the breath and kept silent.  He shook his head, whether in answer to his brother’s question or just as a gesture of defeat Scott couldn’t tell.

‘Cat got your tongue?’  There was humour in the voice this time.

‘Yeah, I guess so.’  Johnny said with a weak, lop-sided grin.  ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Oh, I’m feeling just fine, thank you little brother.  Probably a sight better than you, I would hazard a guess.’  And there it was, that same tone that Scott used when he told Johnny that he wouldn’t ‘leave a ripple’. 

‘Good, that’s good’, said Johnny, feeling more like the village idiot every minute.  He was so tired he couldn’t think straight and he knew that Scott could rip him to shreds and not even raise a sweat!  And he wouldn’t blame him if he did!

Scott stared hard at his brother for a good couple of minutes but finally felt that he should put him out of his misery.

‘Everything will be OK Johnny.  We’ll work it all out together.  You, me and Murdoch.  Nobody said it would be easy and this was probably the first of many stumbling blocks that we’ll encounter as we try and adjust to living and working with our father.  We’ll get there though brother.  Next time you stumble I’ll be there to catch you, because that’s what big brothers are for.’

Yes, a man of generous spirit indeed, thought Johnny.  He couldn’t express the gratitude that he felt towards Scott at that moment so he decided not to try.  Instead he just nodded and rubbed at his brow as he felt a monster headache starting to form.

‘Get some sleep Johnny,’ Scott said softly and laid his hand on the back of his brother’s bowed head.

Again, Johnny just nodded then bent forward and laid his head on his arms on the bed, grasping his brother’s forearm as he did so. 

As the youngest Lancer started to snore softly Scott’s bedroom door was quietly opened and Murdoch entered, ready to check on his son once again.  Scott looked from his brother to his father and put his finger to his lips. 

Murdoch looked over at the large rocking chair in the corner of Scott’s bedroom and raised his eyebrows to silently ask his son’s permission to sit.  Scott smiled and nodded.

For the next hour, while the rest of the ranch still slept, Murdoch sat and watched over both of his sons.  Like Scott he knew there would probably be more difficult times to come but now they were all under one roof they would face the difficult times together. 

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~ end ~
22 March 2019

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