Word Count 35,058
My sincere thanks to my dedicated betas, Cat and Chris
Thanks to Char for the great dialogue
And a special thanks to my dear friend, Cathy, for
lighting the fire under my muse to get this story written.
Credit William Shakespeare for the quote.
I was stricken with a severe case of tinkeritis after my Beta’s performed their magic.
Any and all mistakes are mine.
.
Time away from the ranch was always enjoyable, satisfying the urge to cut loose and leave behind the boring routine of chasing cows, pulling them out of mudholes, then pulling them out of the same mudhole an hour later. Those habitual and frustrating chores threatened to choke the life from his body and soul. He’d grown up without the restraints that tied a rancher to his land, to his life; he’d described himself as ‘drifting like an alley cat’, but those days were gone. It’s amazin’ what signin’ your name on a piece ‘a paper did to a fella, he thought. The simple act changed everything. Well, it was time to get out of the game anyway; Murdoch had done him a favor and saved his life, first by rescuing him from the firing squad, then by offering him a third of the largest ranch in the San Joaquin Valley.
Johnny had been out of the ‘game’ for over a year; he continued to practice as though he was Johnny Madrid, gunfighter, good at his trade. Had he pursued that career, sooner or later, there’d be some smart-mouthed kid just a mite faster, leaving Madrid lying face down in the dust. It was bound to happen no matter how much he fought against the thought. But Johnny was and always would be Madrid; the gunfighter in him would be in the background, ready and waiting to appear when he was needed. Forever. Always. Time would not change that no matter what name he used — it was part of who he was and would be until he no longer drew breath. Yeah, rancher or not, Madrid was there to stay.
Since Murdoch relented and gave Johnny and Scott the freedom to raise horses, not limiting the Lancer Ranch to raise strictly beef, the profits began to speak for themselves. The Old Man was learning to trust his sons, no matter how much it hurt; in the beginning, their arguments were monumental, and the rows between them gained legendary status among the hands as they overheard what was meant to be kept private. But the family’s discord and clashes sometimes carried in the quiet of the evenings and, on occasion, found the Lancer hands taking bets on who would win the argument that night.
Before long, the hands realized what Mr. Lancer had not. Slowly, his boys were winning the battle.
Branching out into other business ventures and diversifying… to grow Lancer bigger and better had been the right thing to do. And it was the reason for this trip that found Johnny traveling through the mountains; the new aquisition would provide the ranch with a wealth of breeding stock, ensuring strong lines of healthy animals. Excellent stock at a good price was a win-win for the ranch.
The opportunity came suddenly, and, as luck would have it, Murdoch was sending Scott to attend to urgent business in San Francisco; he was to leave in two days. Johnny was not about to wait for his return and with no other option, he left the ranch early Monday morning, alone. Jake McAndrews’ stock was in high demand and worth the solitary ride.
Casting a critical eye across the rugged terrain around him, he blew out a harsh breath — weather conditions hampered the trip, and where the need to buy the stock was paramount, it wasn’t worth risking his life. However, with Johnny’s slow travel, Scott should conclude Murdoch’s meeting, join him at the McAndews’ ranch in Placerville, and together, they could see the quality of the horses Jake was putting up for sale. McAndrews wasn’t the only horse rancher in the North, but he had a good reputation, and Lancer had done business with him before; Johnny and Scott did not want to miss out on the opportunity.
But the storms had other ideas and limited travel through the mountains, delaying attempts to be first in line to buy the breeding stock. Drenching rain and high winds impeded safe passage; rivers were swollen, raging at flood stage. The ground was saturated and began to give way as muddy mountainsides, no longer stable, broke from the anchors that had held them in place for centuries. As the torrent plunged downward, trees were ripped from the earth, and boulders rolled in a deadly tide, burying everything in their path. And worst of all, the backtracking forced Johnny further to the east and away from his destination.
Piles of vegetation, rocky mountainsides, and tons of muddy earth blocked the trails and prevented those who traveled from navigating cross country. Johnny Madrid Lancer was one of the lucky ones. He’d learned the hard way; survival was second nature. Not that it couldn’t be a problem, but he had managed to look after himself all his life. Travel was treacherous at best, leaving Johnny with little doubt that he and Scott would miss out and this chance would slip from their fingers. But he had to try.
He would regret the delay because of bad weather, but Johnny would make the best of it and enjoy a few extra days away. Then, as quickly as that appealing thought sparked in his head, it suddenly gave him pause. He’d been getting used to that comfortable, warm bed and a good hot meal every night. Who was he kidding? Johnny wanted to return to Lancer after being away for a week or two, and he was struck by the conflicting contemplation; however, as long as Scott could join him, they would spend quality brother time together and do their best regardless of whether they were in time to make the purchase or not. They’d lost out on promising deals before and probably would again; it was the chance one took in the horse business, but it was a bitter pill to swallow when it happened; Johnny Madrid Lancer did not like to lose out on buying good, sound horseflesh.
“Scott, when you see George Daniels at the bank in San Francisco, ask him…” but the statement was downed out when a pounding on the door interrupted Murdoch’s instruction.
Scott rose from his chair in front of the Tune Caller’s desk, his long strides taking him to the entry in seconds. He pulled open the massive wooden door to reveal Val Crawford, sheriff of Green River.
To the unsuspecting eye, Val Crawford was underestimated. The man took no pride in his appearance; he wore ripped, and sometimes dirty clothing, and the hat that perched atop the shaggy head of hair bore three holes due to bullets that had missed their mark… but not by much. There was a constant three-day growth that covered his face, giving the appearance of the resident town drunk. To the average person, Val Crawford was not worthy of a second thought. A hasty glance would easily promote a wrong and perhaps deadly conclusion, a careless disregard that could potentially render the contemplator very dead, for behind the deceptive appearance lay a keen and wily mind.
Scott had to smile. The scruffy exterior was expected, but the wide, toothy smile was not; however, it told Scott there was no trouble, and he greeted the sheriff with a grin and an outstretched hand.
“Johnny’s not here, so whatever has happened isn’t his fault! Come in, Val. Would you like some coffee?” Scott joked, knowing full well his comment wasn’t all that far off the mark.
“Mornin’, Scott. Yeah, coffee’s good. Thanks! An, no, I ain’t here about Johnny, but I do need ‘im. Where is he?”
Scott then detected a look of concern on Val’s face.
“We received word from Jake McAndrews in Placerville about some horses. He left two days ago.”
Val’s brow wrinkled. “An’ you didn’t go with ‘im?”
Scott shrugged with regret, then remembered Murdoch’s presence. “No, I have some business in San Francisco to take care of. Jake’s telegram came suddenly, and others were interested in the stock, so Johnny left early to get first pick.”
“Dang! I was gonna ask ‘im ta help me escort a prisoner up ta Sacramento… Oh, almost fergot…” Val reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “This come for ya just as I was leavin’ town, Mr. Lancer.”
Murdoch took the telegram, ripped it open, then frowned. Scott’s heart plummeted to his feet. “It’s not Johnny, is it? He’s alright, isn’t he, Murdoch?”
Murdoch raised his eyes, then smiled. “No, Scott, it’s not about Johnny. The meeting at the bank has been canceled. George had an accident and broke his leg; he won’t be able to help us for a couple of weeks.” Murdoch smiled, then continued with humor in his voice. “It seems he’s apprehensive about handing our appointment over to a subordinate and feels he needs to attend to it himself.” Murdoch pushed away from his desk and stood by Scott’s side. “It seems, my son, that you are off the hook. Sheriff, will Scott do in Johnny’s absence?” he asked with a grin.
Val’s eyes squinted, making the frown deepen. “You gonna meet up with yer brother now that ya don’t hafta go on business?”
“As I am not needed in San Francisco, I think it’s a good idea,” Scott volunteered without checking with Murdoch.
“Well, good! I wanna get that prisoner ta Sacramento an’ outta my hair. I need a deputy, an’ you’re it! Here…” he announced, fighting to keep the chuckle under control, as he reached for the deputy’s badge from his pocket and flipped it to Scott, who caught it in midair.
“Hey, now wait one minute! Don’t I have any say in this?” Scott asked in mock indignation, fighting equally hard to prevent the jesting from ending too soon.
Murdoch’s “No!” and Val’s, “Nope, ya don’t!’ sounded in unison, and the sheriff issued plans of what would take place. “Gimme a coupla hours ta git back ta town an’ make arrangements. Johnny gonna stay at McAndrews place?” he asked, turning his feigned ‘guess I’ll hafta make do’ expression on the younger man.
Murdoch watched the act progress and shook his head as he laughed. “No, he wasn’t planning on it. Scott was to meet him at The Mountain Ridge Hotel in Placerville if things worked out. He’ll want to get going as early in the morning as possible, but Maggie McAndrews isn’t about to let him leave without stuffing him full of breakfast first, so if you get there early enough, you should catch him at the hotel; otherwise, he should be at the McAndrews ranch.”
Val grunted. “I’ll send a wire an’ let ‘im know we’re on our way when I get back ta town.” He looked at Scott, then issued his order. “Be ready ta leave when I get back here.”
The corners of Murdoch’s eyes crinkled as Val said his thanks.
“I don’t mind contributing a son to help out law and order.”
Val raised a brow, then eyed Scott. “Ya know, since yer brother ain’t here, it’s up ta you ta take up the slack an’ act as deputy, but don’t worry, Johnny can play deputy on the way back.”
Now, it was Scott to frown. “Val, you won’t have a prisoner on the way back…”
“That’s alright — you can play the part. We’ll even cuff ya if ya want. See ya later.” Val left as Murdoch desperately tried to pull himself together; Scott sighed deeply as he went upstairs to pack his saddlebags.
For the second time in as many days, Johnny retraced his steps, reining Barranca back the way they had come to find a different path through the mountains, hoping he would make the right call and not stumble into more trouble. He had no desire to risk Barranca because he was too stubborn to go back and try another way. Pride had no place in trying to stay alive in the conditions they now faced; there was no shame in turning back.
The sky began to lighten; clouds turned from threatening gray to a lighter ashen haze, just thin enough to filter the sun, keeping the land in light shadows. But dark, angry clouds lurked, moving in a suffocating, thick ooze between the mountain peaks — the rain would begin again. Johnny knew he had to make time and get out of the mountains. But that was the catch; the lower in elevation he went, the more treacherous the ground became; water from above continued to flow downward and created unstable footing. It would take both his and Barranca’s wits to get them out of this mess in one piece without breaking their necks.
Johnny focused on the trail but let Barranca pick his way, trusting the steed’s judgment and instincts. The palomino was the smartest horse Johnny had ever seen; if a horse could get them on safe and solid ground, it was this one. But he wasn’t infallible, and Johnny would do nothing to risk either of their lives.
Long hours passed, but the rain held off, and Johnny thought perhaps they’d been spared the storm. Time would tell; hazardous weather struck fast and hard in the mountains, and now he was caught between scouting out a safe place should they need to stop and take cover or keep going before the rain began its assault on everyone and everything foolish enough to let themselves be subjected to the onslaught.
The thought occurred to Johnny that maybe he should have stayed another night in Jackson, but the urge to see the stock was strong, not to mention the rowdy miners and their propensity for drunken brawls in the streets during the night that prevented much-needed sleep. Well, he’d better keep his mind on the trail; one misstep was all it would take to find himself and Barranca at the bottom of a ravine, buried under tons of mud and debris. And now he had the added worry of Scott following. Johnny wondered if he should wire his brother and tell him to return to Lancer and not risk traveling to meet him. But wire Scott from where? There was no town for fifty miles in any direction.
Timing had not been in Johnny’s and Scott’s favor. Jake McAndrews needed to sell the horses, and Johnny wanted the first pick, so he had to move and not waste precious hours or days. However, there was ranch business that couldn’t be ignored. Murdoch’s back was giving him fits, so that left Scott to deal with the business, forcing Johnny to go alone. Scott was to meet him at the hotel in Placerville after the meeting at the bank, then they would ride out together to see Jake McAndrews. Now, it didn’t look like their plans would work as they thought.
The late afternoon air had taken on a chill; Johnny knew he had to find a place to stay for the night; getting caught without proper shelter in this weather would be a stupid mistake. His biggest problem would be finding enough dry wood to burn for a fire — he had no intention of having a cold camp.
A rifle shot echoed between the granite mountain walls, bouncing off one, then returning repeatedly from others. His right hand instinctively went to the butt of his Colt, pulled the weapon from its holster, and was ready should the need arise. Then, there was silence.
Mierda! If someone was in these mountains, Johnny needed to know who it was and where they were. Dammit! he thought. It could be hours before he had any answers, and he’d be forced into that cold camp by the time he found out what was going on.
With no other option open, he began the search, but as he went, he heard voices as they carried across the vast distances in the fog-laden air.
Whoever was in the mountains with him was disruptive; excessive noise drifted to his ears, and judging from the clamor, there were at least three; one was a woman… and she wasn’t happy.
It didn’t take Johnny long to track down the source of the commotion, and soon, the escalating conversation turned ugly; arguments and harsh words became discernable. A high shriek assailed his ears as the woman railed on, lashing out, demanding that someone supply her with food. The screech prompted Barranca to sidestep; his ears laid back against his head as he displayed his displeasure of continuing onward. Johnny took in the situation, murmured soothing assurance, and patted the golden neck.
“It’s alright… easy, boy.” The steed settled somewhat as Johnny contemplated the scene before them.
They advanced, and soon, the displeasure and discord became plain — a quarrel among family. Well, Johnny knew a thing or two about that, he thought with a smile, but the smile disappeared with the barrage that followed.
“If you had hired a guide who knew what he was doing, we wouldn’t be in this dreadful predicament!” the woman shouted. “The thief ran off after you paid him and left us stranded! Why didn’t you wait until we were someplace civil before giving him any money? At least we wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of nowhere!”
Johnny thought the ‘guide’ the young man hired knew exactly what he was doing — lure these people into the middle of nowhere and steal them blind.
“Oh, sister dear, I suppose you would have found a better guide! With your waspish tongue and poor judgment, any help you hired would have slit our throats in our sleep… that is, after you finished sleeping with him!”
“Enough, you two!” the older man demanded. “I suggest you stop your bickering, settle down, and figure a way out of this mess instead of acting like the children you tell me you are not! Peter, Cassandra — you know better than that! Now, let’s discuss this like the adults you pretend to be.”
“Peter, you and Blair find food. There must be something in these mountains that we can eat. Cassandra, you and I will set up camp and make do with whatever your brother can provide.”
Peter Treadwell, Sr. managed to command the attention of his grown offspring, desperately hoping they would stop blaming the other for everything that happened. He had no doubt now it would have been better if Cassandra stayed home in Philadelphia; Treadwell shook his head, wondering why she had insisted she accompany them. But then, she had thrown down the gauntlet, saying she could do anything her failure of a brother could do and be better at it than Treadwell Junior.
Remiss in parental obligations, Treadwell’s intentions were designed to bring him and his son closer, to form a relationship they’d never developed. Perhaps a father-son trip might induce a connection he’d let escape years earlier. He’d never dreamed his daughter, Cassandra, would want to come — but perchance, she might finally learn that the world did not revolve around her. Was there hope for her as well? There were no servants here to see to her every whim, and her happiness would be up to her and her alone.
His most fervent wish that his offspring would finally grow up was not turning out as he hoped it would, and he wondered, albeit too late, what made him think this time together would have made any difference. And now, they were in trouble, trouble that had the potential to destroy them all.
The Treadwell name was well known back East, but here, in the mountains of northern California, the rocks, trees, and rain didn’t care one little bit. Treadwell hoped it was not too late for both his children to learn the valuable lesson of doing for themselves without having things done for them — if they made it out of the mountains to civilization.
Mr. Treadwell had overcome much in his life, working long and hard to make a name for himself and provide a good life for his family. He now realized that, ironically, his success was the heart of his failures. He married Elizabeth, the spoiled daughter of a prominent Philadelphia businessman who had everything that money could buy. After Peter and Elizabeth wed, he left raising their two children to her, a responsibility she claimed using her own upbringing as a guide, and Peter suffered the consequences.
Recognizing too late the damage done, he was now reaping the seeds sown of his neglect. While he was working night and day, building his business, a chasm grew between him and his wife as she spoiled Cassandra and Pete, spending copious amounts of money to keep them happy. They wanted for nothing and demanded more than any child should, and Elizabeth indulged them; nothing was denied, and nothing was expected of them.
By the time Peter recognized his mistake, it was too late. He hoped this trip with his son could somehow amend blunders made years ago. And for what it was worth, he had to try and repair the current situation with young Peter. A parent owed it to his children to see them grow into responsible adults — adults to be proud of to carry on the family name. Could he accomplish that feat now that it was so late in coming?
His shock over Cassandra’s announcement that she would be traveling with them quickly turned into an opportunity to make things right with her. Treadwell had almost grinned at the thought. In his years of building his company, he began to view ‘problems’ as opportunities to change things and make them better and more advantageous. However, he was quite certain his spoiled daughter had no clue what she was in for or the obstacles and potential dangers that could arise. And what were the odds they’d meet Peter’s friend, Blair Grayson, in the frontier town of Carson City, Nevada? Delighted, Peter Jr. promptly invited his friend to travel with them on their journey. They would hire a guide from Carson City for the rest of the trip, stopping in Sacramento and other places of interest then ending the adventure in San Francisco.
No matter what happened or how it would happen, Peter Treadwell vowed this trip would produce a suitable outcome. It had to – he would never get this chance again. He had dreamed of young Peter taking over Treadwell Industries but failed to instill those dreams, the importance of carrying on the family legacy, in his son. Not only did Pete lack interest in taking on the family business, he had much to learn about people, responsibility, and life. And Treadwell now faced the crushing weight of his mistake. Would life fade out of Treadwell Industries upon his passing?
Young Peter and friend Blair Grayson picked up the rifles and trudged their way out of camp in search of food while Cassandra flounced away toward the wagon, attempting to shirk any duties assigned to her by her father.
“Cassie, are you forgetting something, dear? You are to help me set up camp. We will need firewood and lots of it.”
Cassandra Lynn Treadwell stopped in her tracks. What did he say? She whirled around, her long coat swirling dramatically at her ankles. “Excuse me? Papa, you can’t expect me to…”
“We need firewood, Cassie, and you will gather it. We have to work together and don’t forget that it was you who wanted to come with us on this trip. You will pull your weight.” Treadwell’s stern eyes held those of his daughter and did not relent, something Cassandra had not experienced before. Secretly, Treadwell was both delighted and distressed; the emotions were conflicted. Was it too late to make amends? If only he could go back in time… If I knew then what I know now. He gathered those thoughts and, finding them useless, issued the challenge to himself — Not problems, but opportunities!
“In case you haven’t noticed, Father, everything is wet!”
“Then you will have to find something that isn’t wet,” he challenged.
Before Cassie could voice her displeasure and waste more time, Treadwell reiterated the request, which was now an order. “Firewood, Cassandra, now.”
Her stare seared over him, blistering with resentment, but with great determination, Peter Treadwell, Senior, brushed it off, then nodded his head toward the brush to get her moving and complete the task assigned to her.
Johnny watched the scene unfold as he stood just outside the clearing, as two young men went off carrying rifles. Then, he witnessed the exchange between a father and daughter and knew it was trouble. Johnny avoided family battles at all costs. Since arriving at Lancer, he’d learned to navigate the sometimes complex issues within his family but made it a point to avoid others’ familial problems. A man could get himself in a lot of trouble doing that, and trouble was something that Johnny could do without. But there was something else, too. He couldn’t in good conscience leave these people to fend for themselves in these mountains — they would die. From their speech, Johnny knew they were Easterners and, quite obviously, out of their element. That left him with no other recourse; he had to help them. Blowing out an exasperated sigh, he made his decision and announced his presence.
“Hello, the camp!” he called out and watched the surprised reaction from the old man and the paralyzing shock from the young woman. She gasped loudly, then placed her hand high on her chest, just below her neck, as if to keep the stranger’s stare off her person.
Walking to the edge of the campsite, Johnny stopped, keeping his hands away from his Colt and in plain view. “Don’t mean ta scare ya, but it looks like you folks could use some help. Name’s Johnny Lancer.”
Treadwell gathered his senses. “Mr. Lancer, I’m Peter Treadwell and this,” he extended his hand toward the slender, strawberry-blond woman who stood stock-still and wide-eyed, afraid and concerned for her safety, “is my daughter, Cassandra.”
With a two-fingered touch to the brim of his hat, Johnny nodded. “Ma’am,” then turned back to Treadwell, dismissing her. “How’d ya get up here? I mean, there’s no clear trail, an’, ‘scuse me for sayin’, but ya don’t look the type ta be travelin’ rough. The two that just left, they with you?”
Treadwell sighed. “Yes, my son, Peter, and his friend, Blair Grayson. They went off in search of food.”
Johnny huffed. “Well, they’ll be gone for a while. That shot I heard a while ago, that was your son?”
“Yes, he saw a rabbit and tried to kill it.”
Cassandra’s laugh was biting, sarcastic. “Yes, with Peter’s vast knowledge of surviving in the wilderness, I’m sure he will see us safely out of these dreadful mountains!”
“Well, I wouldn’t count on him findin’ a meal very soon. Chances are any animal worth eatin’ was scared away with that shot.”
Hearing the bad news, Cassandra flew into a rage. “I knew Peter would ruin it and endanger us all!”
Johnny wasn’t sure exactly what ‘it’ was and pinned the woman with a cold stare. There was no way in Hell he felt like putting up with a spoiled brat; he didn’t mind helping folks in trouble, but the dissension displayed by the young woman was more trouble than Johnny was willing to take. He’d always given aid to those in need, but if he was going to help these people, he expected their cooperation; having to contend with a spoiled woman-child in desperate need of a spanking was definitely not in his plans.
“You folks ride up here without supplies?” Johnny stood, looking around the meager campsite, noting two saddle horses, a wagon with no team, and no provisions. Even the most ignorant person would not have begun a trip without supplies.
Mr. Treadwell shrugged. “Our guide absconded with the money we paid him and anything of value we brought. Thankfully, we found our horses, but that is all we have.”
Turning to Mr. Treadwell, Johnny spoke. “When did ya eat last?”
The old man smiled; creases wrinkled the skin around his eyes, and his discomfort shadowed his face. “Yesterday morning was our last meal.”
Johnny whistled, and soon Barranca’s large form ambled to the edge of the meager camp. Cassandra gasped at the intrusion, and the old man marveled at the scene he witnessed of the mystery man and his well-trained horse.
Opening the saddlebags, Johnny brought out a rawhide pouch filled with strips of jerky and handed it to the woman. Suspicion flashed in her eyes, and she looked at the leather bag in disgust.
“What is that?”
Johnny moved closer, extending the bag toward her. “Jerky… dried meat.” He took another step forward, offering the meal.
Anger flared in Cassandra’s eyes as she lashed out and knocked the bag from his hand. It landed in the dirt, spilling the contents on the ground. “I’m not eating dried meat!” she spat.
Johnny didn’t bother to call back the grin that tugged at his mouth, knowing that sooner or later, this girl would have no choice but to climb down from the pedestal she placed herself upon and act like a reasonable adult. And then, maybe not. If not, she could go hungry.
“Guess ya ain’t too hungry,” he said as he bent to collect the food, then handed it to Mr. Treadwell.
“Thank you, Mr. Lancer. Unlike my daughter, I am hungry!” The older man announced, took a piece of the meat, and chewed the tough but flavorful meal. He watched as Cassandra turned and presented her back with haughty indignation.
These people were in a serious situation; without cooperation from all, they wouldn’t make it out of these mountains. It was time for the girl to grow up.
“Where y’all from? Not around here, I can tell.” Johnny hoped getting the answers he needed wouldn’t be a problem. He had to know what was happening before getting involved in trouble he didn’t need.
“We are from Philadelphia and, unfortunately, ran into trouble.” The man turned to his daughter as she stood and ignored her assigned chore. “Cassandra, are you forgetting the firewood? Because if you want to stay warm, it won’t happen unless you pitch in and help. You’re the one who wanted to accompany us on this trip, so you will have to do your part. Now, I suggest you get to it.”
There was no harshness, only tones of disappointment and regret in the old man’s words, and Johnny witnessed the shroud of defeat wrap around the father’s shoulders. The man had sired a hellcat, or maybe she-wolf was a better description. Mierda, he didn’t know, but whatever she was, he would do everything in his power to stay as far away from her as he could.
It was comical, in a pathetic sort of way, to watch as Cassandra carried one or two pieces of wood at a time into camp with a two-fingered grip, not wanting to get any dirtier than possible. The wood she brought into camp was rotted, soaked, and wouldn’t burn.
Johnny was looking at buzzard bait; that was certain. The girl had no idea of their situation or how to escape it. Without help, she was not going to survive. Johnny had to speak up and risk her ire.
“Ma’am, stop,” he spoke gently, but she jumped as if he’d bellowed a criticism. “That’s too wet, not gonna burn.”
Well, the response wasn’t ire, Johnny thought — it was far beyond ire; it was venomous, verbal poison; the response spat with lethal fire.
“Then you can do it yourself!”
Yup, hellcat and she-wolf! “Yeah, I could, but I figured it’s gonna take all of us ta get outta here, so we need ta work tagether. Now, I can show ya how ta…”
“What you can do, Mr. Lancer, is to find us food and show us the way out of these god-forsaken mountains and to civilization!”
“Cassandra! Stop it right now! You have no right to talk to Mr. Lancer that way and in that tone! You listen to me and do what you’re told, and keep a civil tongue in your head!”
The look on the young woman’s face told volumes. This was the second time her father reprimanded her, and her resentment was plain to see.
A rifle shot echoed, interrupting Cassandra before she could respond to her father’s words. Her eyes widened as they filled with optimism. Johnny glanced toward the rebounding report, then turned his attention on Treadwell. The man looked hopeful.
“Wouldn’t be expectin’ much if I were you. Hafta make do with jerky until mornin’; everything’ll settle down by then, an’ maybe I can find somethin’ ta eat.”
“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.” There was no mistaking the disappointment in Treadwell’s voice. “You know about survival, Mr. Lancer?”
“Enough ta get by. Call me Johnny.” He scanned the mountains, then let his gaze sweep across the sky as the frown settled into place. “Hope we don’t get any more rain. Mudslides are already a problem. Had ta go around two of ‘em yesterday.”
Cassandra stood searching the mountains and waiting impatiently for the food her brother would bring to camp; her anxious expression prompted Johnny to speak.
“Ma’am, standin’ there won’t do ya any good even if your brother managed ta find somethin’ ta eat. It’ll need ta be cooked, an’ ya don’t have a fire goin’ yet.”
The words, though spoken softly, stung. Cassandra pursed her lips and glared as the remark inflamed her growing rage but wisely chose not to engage in a war of words with the man before her. Knowing there was no support from her father, Cassandra huffed as she went about the assigned chore.
Peter Treadwell sighed as his daughter’s back disappeared through the brush and rocks. “I do apologize, Johnny, for her behavior. I’m afraid I didn’t do her any favors in giving her whatever she wanted. I made the same mistake with her mother.”
Johnny read the regret in the father’s eyes, but not wanting to let him become distracted by mistakes made long ago, he turned the conversation toward a more constructive path. “Well, we best get ta work in case your son got lucky an’ found somethin’ we can cook.”
The fire was small… and smokey. Cassandra complained as her eyes began to sting. She would move to another place around the fire, then, as the smoke followed to her new position, she huffed and moved again.
Johnny grinned, and it triggered her temper.
“I’m happy you find this amusing, Mr. Lancer. But I can’t imagine you sympathizing with my plight!” she snapped.
“Wasn’t laughin’ at ya; I was thinkin’ on what my mother used to tell me about the smoke not leavin’ me alone. Wanna hear what she told me?”
“No, I don’t want to hear…”
“I would, Johnny. What did your mother have to say?” Peter Treadwell asked, trying to defuse his daughter’s vile temper, and again wondered why, in Heaven’s name, she wanted to come on this trip.
“Mama was superstitious an’ in Mexico…”
“Mexico? You mean that you’re a Mex…”
“Cassandra! That is enough! You apologize this minute!”
Johnny leveled a cool smile at the girl, then turned to the old man. “That’s alright, Mr. Treadwell. Bein’ Mexican ain’t a crime. A lotta good people are Mexican. But I been called worse’n that all my life.” He chuckled and focused again on Cassandra. “She said that the smoke is a lot like an evil spirit. It follows ya, tryin’ ta find out your secrets. You have secrets, Miss Treadwell?”
Johnny couldn’t help but grin, knowing he’d hit a nerve.
The spoiled girl jumped to her feet, intending to set the ignorant Mexican straight and give him the tongue-lashing he so rightly earned! How dare he? She took a breath, then smoke began to choke her before she had the chance to deliver that tongue-lashing. Her words, intending to put Johnny in his place, exploded but were quickly curbed by the need to clear the toxins out of her lungs before she couldn’t breathe.
“Best you get outta that smoke if ya wanna talk, Miss Treadwell. Hafta be careful out here. It ain’t like you’re back in Philadelphia in some fancy house with a fireplace that draws the smoke up the chimney. Why don’t cha sit over there,” Johnny pointed to a sheltered place by the rocks, “the wind won’t take the smoke there.”
Catching her breath, she was about to tell Johnny she didn’t need any help from him in selecting a place to sit when he held his hand up for silence, then lowered it to linger on the butt of his Colt. Johnny caught the fear that flashed in her eyes.
Voices were heard, and rustling through brush interrupted Cassandra’s vitriol as two men trudged into the campfire’s light.
“Peter! Blair!” Cassandra turned immediately from bitter harridan to concerned, hungry sister and caring friend. “I’m so glad you’re back! Did you find any food?”
The change in the girl’s demeanor was not unexpected, but he had no time for her childish behavior; Johnny’s attention was now on the two men who entered their camp. Both were young, and neither was dressed for mountain travel. One was blond, slight of build, and resembled the girl. Johnny knew them to be siblings. The other man was taller, broad through the shoulders, and dark with a thin mustache that reminded Johnny of a rat’s tail.
“Mr. Lancer, may I present my son, Peter, and his friend, Blair Grayson. Peter, Blair, this is Johnny Lancer.”
Peter Jr. became suspicious. “Where did you come from, Mr. Lancer?” The tone suggested Junior was of the same class as his sister — and that he was too good for the likes of Johnny.
The remark made him smirk; Johnny found that delaying his answer usually caused the one asking to betray his intentions… or fall victim to Madrid’s savvy questioning. Questioning without asking any questions at all.
He gave it several minutes after assessing the younger men before him and noting they had not been lucky in finding food. “I take it ya missed what you were shootin’ at?”
Peter had the grace to blush. “Yes, I… missed. It was the biggest crow I ever saw, and I missed it!”
Johnny smiled. “Not a crow.”
Peter took offense and would let this… this mountain person know who he was dealing with. He pulled himself to full height. “Look, Mr. Lancer, I’m not stupid! I know a crow when I see one!”
Not one to abandon her brother, but only when it suited her, Cassandra crossed to him and took his arm. “Of course, you do, Peter!” She turned a retaliatory raised brow to Johnny, thinking her ‘two-against-one’ argument would certainly win the battle against this ignorant person. Her declaration of loyalty to her brother would be more than this ruffian could overcome, and he would naturally back down and recognize the right and wrong of the silly argument.
“Nope, no crow. What you saw was el cuervo.”
Peter frowned. “I don’t understand. What is el cu – cue whatever it was you said?”
“El cuervo, raven. Ya saw a raven.”
Peter huffed. “What’s the difference? Raven or crow?” His exasperation was beginning to take control.
Johnny smiled. “Guess it depends on where you‘re raised. In some places, they’re important ta have around; parents use them ta keep their kids in line. If a kid lied or misbehaved, that old raven knew it an’ told the parents. Then El Cuervo dealt out the punishment. Sometimes, the parents told the kids it would fly them ta Hell for lyin’.”
Cassandra gasped. “That’s cruel! How awful to tell the children that rubbish!”
But Peter Treadwell, Sr. wished he had known about those tales when his children were young; it might have been beneficial, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Maybe,” Johnny snorted. “But those kids grew up well-behaved. Ya heard that once, an’ it was enough ta keep ya in line.”
“Tell me, Mr. Lancer, were you ever threatened with that nonsense?” she asked as she tilted her head back and lowered her eyelids in a superior gesture.
“No, Ma’am. My mama never had any trouble with me. I knew better than ta act like a spoiled kid.” Would Miss Treadwell realize that Johnny had just insinuated that she was spoiled? He highly doubted it. Oh, Johnny-Boy, ya just told one helluva lie! He half expected a bolt of lightning to wipe him off the face of the earth… or El Cuervo to come flying into camp and whisk him away. It took all the control he had to not laugh at the thought.
“This is ridiculous! Raven, crow, what does it really matter… in a civilized world?” Cassandra spat, determined to have the last word.
Blair Grayson remained quiet through the conversation but mirrored the doubt and apprehensions of the younger Treadwells.
Grayson didn’t participate in their conversation, which was fine by Johnny, but he didn’t think Blair was any more trustworthy than Peter or Cassandra and would bear watching. The old man seemed to be the only reasonable person in their party.
Johnny said nothing, but the little grin that tugged the corner of his mouth screamed volumes as he turned away and retrieved the bag of jerky to share with the two young men. Having much the same reaction as the girl but deciding it was better than going hungry, young Peter and Blair accepted the meal. Then Johnny went to Cassandra. He extracted a piece of jerky from the bag then wiped it against his shirt sleeve.
“Sorry, ma’am, there was dirt on it.” Johnny was not usually one to pour fuel on the smoldering fire, but he couldn’t resist and caught the smirk on Mr. Treadwell’s face at the remark. He felt sorry for the old man and decided to hold back and not exacerbate the situation… well, only a little. Johnny found himself liking the man, and he wasn’t going to let the girl’s waspish tongue make their circumstances any worse.
Cassandra huffed, then glared at the smiling face before her, and only then did she realize this man had blue eyes. Mexicans didn’t usually have blue eyes, not the striking blue color of his… She gave it no more than a passing thought, then settled on the ground between her brother and Grayson.
Johnny returned the ‘soiled’ jerky to the bag. “Save it for later, I guess.” The smile reappeared as he turned his back and walked away.
What the hell was he going to do with these people? It would make for a long trip, but Johnny would have to help get them to a town. In the morning, he would set them on a westerly course and hope for the best. Eventually, they would come to a town; if he was lucky, it would be Placerville.
One did not confuse the man’s cunning without suffering dire consequences, and the prisoner, Hank Morrison, was no different, but he learned quickly as his insults earned him a gag and the promise of vile consequences should he not wise up and shut his mouth like a good little prisoner should. Chastized as one would an errant child, Val succeeded in getting his point across, but before they rode off Lancer range, Val had changed their plans.
“Hey, Deputy, what’d ya say we get on the train at Cross Creek an’ take it ta Sacramento? It’ll save us a lotta … headache…” as he glared at the prisoner.
“I think that’s a good idea, Sheriff. We won’t be tempted to do anything rash to delay his arrival. After all, we want to ensure he reaches that jail cell unscathed.”
The prisoner looked from one to the other, wondering if he would make the trip in one piece. By the looks of the peace officers, peace was not first and foremost on their minds. It might not be in his best interest to stir the pot with these two, and Hank Morrison decided he’d take his chances with the judge in Sacramento.
Two hours later, they arrived at Cross Creek and boarded the train, settling in the back of the car and away from other passengers. The conductor made his way between the rows of seats, wearing a pleasant smile, stopping to converse with passengers; then he noticed the sheriff and deputy sitting in the back with, he presumed, a prisoner.
“Sheriff, you let me know if I can be of any help. It could be a long trip.”
The words ‘long trip’ sparked immediate concern.
“What’d ya mean, long trip? There trouble?” Val asked with an arched brow as he searched the man’s face.
The conductor smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure we will get through without incident; however, there are reports of heavy rain and mudslides in the mountains, but so far, all the bridges are holding that we know of. There shouldn’t be any trouble before we reach Sacramento, though.” The kindly expression did nothing to dispel the sickening feeling that filled their bellies. If there was trouble, Johnny had the uncanny ability to find it.
Val’s stare met Scott’s. They could only hope no trouble befell Johnny and that he was alright. Now, all they could do was wait.
The ride was agonizingly long. Why could time stretch out to intolerable lengths, leaving one to grapple with things beyond their control, seeming to last for hours, days, or weeks? Yet time could also rush past on hawks’ wings, seen, then out of sight if one wanted to hold on, making the moment last as long as possible. There were no hawks present in the sky to whisk them away.
After what seemed an eternity, the train pulled up to the Sacramento station platform. Val escorted the prisoner to the jail and the care of Marshall Taggart, with Scott watching all angles should they run into trouble. That was almost funny. Trouble — that word was usually connected to Johnny.
In less than half an hour, Val and Scott were headed toward Placerville. They purchased supplies, hoping they wouldn’t need them but if they did, they were a step ahead of the game. With any luck, Johnny would be at the McAndrews and not stranded in the mountains, navigating around mudslides, or worse, caught in one.
Johnny took the first watch and contemplated the present predicament. Why was he always getting himself involved in others’ problems? What was he… one of those magnet things Scott told him about? Why did he attract trouble all the time? Was it a cruel twist of fate that he dealt with disreputable people and questionable situations so Murdoch would never run out of reasons to be upset, and hesitant to allow Johnny’s judgment to make decisions? Would Murdoch forever be disappointed in him? But he couldn’t, in good conscience, ride away and not help them. Especially the old man.
It made him wonder why these people were alone in the middle of nowhere. Not that an explanation would do him any good, only ease the curiosity. Mr. Treadwell might be open for a talk, but neither Peter, Cassandra, nor Blair seemed willing to divulge information. And that was fine with Johnny. He’d rather talk with the old man anyway.
At midnight, Johnny nudged young Peter awake or tried to. Neither Peter nor Blair seemed to think having anyone sit through the night watching was necessary. Watching for what exactly, they asked. Greenhorns, Johnny thought, but he held the insults to himself and did his best to assure them it was the right thing to do. Most of his questions went unanswered and left Johnny wondering if anyone in the Treadwell party had let it be known they were traveling through the mountains, making them an easy mark for robbery. It wasn’t difficult to figure out they were monied people, and a kidnapping and ransom plot was not unheard of.
Johnny blew out a breath. These folks had no idea what they were doing, and that thought led him, again, to wonder why they were out here in the middle of nowhere. Their guide obviously spotted the easy mark and took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself; he took their money and left them there in the mountains.
Peter refused to rouse, leaving Johnny to resort to more forceful measures to get him out of the blankets, or Johnny would have to take a second watch. Well, he wasn’t taking a second watch. Had it been the old man’s turn, Johnny would have gladly taken his place but wouldn’t cut the less-than-responsible son and daughter any slack. That Blair fella, neither.
A more aggressive nudge to the young Treadwell’s feet brought him awake and ready to fight… fight anyone other than the man standing over him. Though he’d never admit it, the stranger scared him more than anyone he had ever met. He watched as Johnny settled into his bedroll and cleaned and oiled his Colt, thinking the gun seemed as much a part of the man’s body as his arms and legs. He wondered just who the stranger was — who put that level of intense concentration and attention on a symbol of such violence? The man’s touch was deliberate; he handled the iron with the utmost respect and seemed to caress the symbol of death. Who was this man, other than someone to stay away from. He was dangerous; did they really need him to get out of the mountains?
Pete shook himself awake and grunted as the dreaded words, “Your watch,” grated on his brain, making it sound as if hordes of armed demons would be upon them, threatening their lives.
“There’s nothing or no one here! Why do we have to guard the camp?” he grumbled.
“Ya might not see anything, but there’s bear an’ mountain lions up here. If you wanna tangle with one a them things, that’s fine. Me? I don’t want nothin’ ta do ‘em. Besides, it’s not gonna hurt ya ta watch over your father.” Johnny leveled a cool stare at Pete. The young man rolled out from his blankets and stood. Pouring himself a cup from a fresh pot of coffee, courtesy of Johnny, he took his place and began his turn on guard. Now the question was, would the idiot stay awake and guard the camp?
It had been a long night. Johnny finished his watch and dozed while young Pete took his turn, sleeping through much of the time. Had the irresponsibility not been so pathetic, Johnny would have laughed as he noted the bobbing motion of the kid’s head as sleep pulled him under its influence, and after Pete’s watch, Blair Grayson was worse. Yup, he was looking at buzzard bait.
Treadwell senior told him about the guide who had taken off after he was paid to get them through the mountains; it was a mistake that young Pete made the business deal; Johnny knew Mr. Treadwell was wise enough not to have fallen for the deception. One never paid in full for services until those services had been rendered. Now, they all suffered for Junior’s lack of experience in matters of life … and common sense. Cheating and stealing were a way of life for some, and one needed to learn to spot liars and thieves or risk everything they worked for with good, honest sweat and blood. Nope, young Pete hadn’t learned… yet.
Not surprisingly to Johnny, Mr. Treadwell was the first to wake. Johnny had a pot of coffee going and was saddling Barranca in preparation to find food. He approached, and Johnny greeted him with a smile, offering an explanation before the older man posed the question. The old man needed proper food, and Johnny saw the shiver under his heavy coat.
“Coffee’s hot if ya want some. ‘M going after something ta eat. Ya might wanna get them three awake an’ start peelin’ the wet bark off those branches so they’ll burn,” Johnny pointed to a large pile of firewood… wet firewood, “or we won’t be eatin’ anything … cooked, that is. Don’t know how your daughter’s gonna take ta eatin’ raw meat, but it’s the only other choice.” He watched the older man’s face as it fell with disappointment.
“Mr. Treadwell, I ain’t gonna lie ta you. If we’re gonna get outta here, it’s gonna take all of us ta work tagether. This ain’t Philadelphia an’ no one’s gonna be waitin’ on them, askin’ what they want for breakfast. It was bad enough neither one a’ them boys could take their turn on guard duty, an’ I ain’t doin’ it again tanight.”
“I do apologize, Mr. … Johnny, I cannot speak for Blair, but I admit to failing desperately with young Peter and Cassandra. They’ve never had to do anything…”
“Well, Mr. Treadwell, there comes a time for everyone ta learn what’s important. Their time is now. They’re gonna hafta step up an’ help out.” Johnny smiled at the kind old eyes of the deflated father.
“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right.”
“I’ll be back soon’s I can. Ya might wanna see to it they’re awake an’ ready ta get on the trail — we need ta get movin’ an’ dependin’ on what I find ta eat, I don’t think we have much time ta waste cookin’. Storm’s come outta nowhere up here an’ if that happens, we’re gonna need ta find shelter, so we can’t waste any time.” With a touch to the brim of his hat, Johnny mounted Barranca and left the camp.
Mr. Treadwell watched as the young man rode off on his beautiful horse, thinking how proud Mr. Lancer must be of his son. Sighing deeply, Treadwell turned toward camp to rouse his indolent offspring. He couldn’t speak for Blair Grayson, but he had often wondered why his son and daughter were so quick to cast aspersions upon others yet expect those ‘beneath’ them to comply with their demands. The thought quickly brought a smile to his lips. He didn’t think Johnny Lancer would take any more of their haughty ways.
It was time, rather past time, to put his foot down. Peter and Cassandra would begin to pull their weight and help with whatever tasks were needed to get them out of these mountains.
Rolling it repeatedly through his mind, Johnny pondered how to get the Treadwells and Blair Grayson to safety. Grayson — he didn’t fit in, and Johnny had to wonder what the young man’s story was. Something about Grayson gave Johnny pause. Then he chuckled; maybe it was that rat-tail mustache. It reminded him of the many ruthless Rurales that tormented him over the years.
His thoughts again turned toward Mr. Treadwell’s son and daughter. He was not about to tolerate the arrogant, pretentious behavior they displayed, and one night spent with Pete and Cassandra was enough for him. Thinking over the situation, Johnny felt that little tickle crawl up his back and knew something wasn’t right; there was more to it than the uppity Treadwell offspring finding themselves in a dangerous position, not knowing how to get out of it — why were these people out here? Obviously, the family was financially well-to-do, so why were they traveling rough? Why hadn’t they taken a train to wherever they were going, and exactly where were they headed?
The only person in the party Johnny thought he could look to for answers was the old man. The other three… well, they hadn’t acted too friendly and expected Johnny to do everything for them instead of working to help themselves. He could ride away from them and not look back, but he wouldn’t leave the old man. He’d done the right thing, stopping to help, but mierda, sometimes doing the right thing wasn’t easy.
Johnny pulled his wandering thoughts together and focused on the chore at hand — getting food. It wouldn’t do to have young Pete traipsing off again, shooting at anything that moved, scaring away a potential meal to keep them from starving. Get movin’, Johnny, and he urged Barranca forward. Luck was with him, and he snared two fat grouse in short order. On the way back to the meager camp, another opportunity presented itself that changed his plans to leave after they’d eaten breakfast. A crippled mule deer limped pitifully on three legs along a swollen creek.
“Hey, boy, would ya look at that — Lucky for us, we came this way. That buck ain’t gonna make it through the day, not with that busted leg.” Johnny moved quietly and settled behind the rocks. He raised his rifle, sighted on the buck, and pulled the trigger. The injured mule deer dropped with a clean shot through the heart. His suffering was over.
Now, he wondered how Cassandra, Pete, and Blair would feel when he told them to collect more firewood to cook the venison… much more.
The Senior Treadwell had given considerable thought to the predicament he inadvertently created with his family. As his thoughts wandered a maudlin path, Treadwell gathered his strength and pushed them from his mind. He was determined to make this a good trip, determined to connect with his grown children — if it wasn’t too late. Perhaps he would feel better when Johnny returned, and they would be fortified with the food he brought to them. He then focused on the young man who was essentially their savior — Johnny Lancer. How did he grow into the man he was? Then Treadwell knew the answer. Johnny hadn’t been handed everything on a silver platter. He worked for everything he had and had not been spoiled.
This’s gonna be a long trip… Johnny thought as he entered the camp, noting the pathetic fire that burned. Even though the grouse were small, it would take a good, hot bank of coals to cook them, and the pitiful flames that flickered in the ring of stones would not get the job done.
Johnny sighed and looked at the expectant faces watching him. He met their eyes, one by one, before he spoke.
“Need more wood for that fire. Hasta be a good bed of coals ta cook the meat.” He turned to Cassandra. “You need ta find more,” then he tossed the grouse at the feet of young Pete and Blair, not waiting for the objection he knew was coming. “These need ta be cleaned. I’m gonna skin out the deer.” With orders issued, he turned and walked away. If they wanted to eat, they would have to pitch in and help.
Dressing out a deer was the last thing Johnny thought he’d be doing as he shivered in the chill of mountain air; he should be on his way to make the deal with Jake McAndrews and get those horses to Lancer. And what was he doing? Gutting out a deer for people who wanted him to wait on them, spoon-feed them, and tuck them into bed at night. Yeah, sure. Wait for me ta do that. See how long it takes before ya realize that it ain’t gonna happen. Then the thought slammed into his brain that neither Pete nor Blair would know how to prepare the grouse, and the scent of raw meat would attract every meat-eating critter for miles around.
Mierda! The probability of getting out of these mountains before tomorrow was now gone. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Dammit all ta Hell!
Even though he was hungry, he would bide his time — he’d been hungry before, many times. He would let them wait. But it was the old man that made him reconsider. Well, he would sneak jerky to Mr. Treadwell. However, the thought of predators with an excellent sense of smell made up his mind not to dally.
Sunuvabitch!
Johnny stopped and shrugged. He stared at the toes of his boots, blew a breath, then turned back to camp.
At the rate Pete and Blair were going, they might have plucked the feathers from the grouse in a few hours’ time. But neither had Cassandra gathered firewood. He let the Madrid glare wash over them, then turned to the old man.
“Mr. Treadwell, it seems that these three ain’t willin’ ta do much for themselves, so why don’t you an’ me saddle up an’ get outta here? Can’t seem ta get it through their heads that unless they’re willin’ ta work at survivin’, they ain’t gonna make it.”
Cassandra’s head turned toward Johnny so quick he thought her neck would snap. “You wouldn’t leave us out here!” Panic flared in her eyes.
A cold smile tugged at the corner of Johnny’s mouth, then soft words floated to her ears. “Don’t count on it.” The silky tone clashed with the threat and kept her off balance; the confusion in her eyes was almost laughable. He was beginning to think seriously about taking the old man and leaving the three young people to fend for themselves.
He grabbed the grouse from Pete and Blair, and as feathers swirled in the air, he firmly ‘suggested’ they help with the firewood and headed out of camp. It would be the fastest way to make things happen. He bet himself that he could have the grouse cleaned before the firewood had been collected. In the end, he was right.
Two hours later, with a thick bank of red coals, the grouse sizzled on the spit above the flames. Johnny sincerely hoped at least one of the people left in camp was watching so the game wouldn’t burn and rode out to gut the deer. Without proper supplies, there was nothing to protect the raw meat. It was cold enough to keep for a few days, but beyond that, well, it wouldn’t last them long. Then a thought sparked and made him smile, and a huge smile it was. Miss Treadwell would not appreciate what Johnny had in mind. No, she would not like it one little bit.
Johnny returned to camp without bothering to change the bloodied shirt he wore, he politely made his request, which was immediately and vehemently denied. The smile did not waver as he disregarded Cassandra’s condemning glare and helped himself to the needed items.
As expected, Cassandra railed against the invasion, claiming theft of her personal belongings, and demanded her father and brother do something to stop this backwoodsman from stealing what wasn’t his to take. Blair Grayson stood suspiciously quiet until Johnny reached for his valise, then relaxed as it was passed over in favor of a slightly larger leather bag. Blair had been gifted the leather bag by his father, and he would hate for something to happen to it, but the smaller one was more important. However, the young man had remained quiet since Johnny arrived at their camp. Maybe, Johnny thought to himself, that it was a good thing.
And though Grayson hadn’t said much, the glances between him and Cassandra were enough to let Johnny know they were more than friends. Funny, he didn’t envy either one of them. He let the thought pass, then went about his mission.
He dumped the contents of the luggage in the wagon bed, ignored the objections that vehemently accused him of thievery, and retraced his steps to the deer carcass hanging from the tree. The valises would have to suffice as containers for transporting the meat; the canvas tarp that covered their belongings in the wagon was cut into pieces and wrapped around the meat for protection.
Damn! It was his favorite shirt, but it was worth the sacrifice as he surveyed the stains that covered the sleeves and down the front. Under normal circumstances, Johnny would have removed his shirt and dressed out the deer while half-naked; however, it was just too damn cold for that to happen. Nope, he would do this the easiest way he could, and to hell with Miss Treadwell’s sensibilities and proprieties when he returned to camp before cleaning away the blood and gore of his efforts. There was no controlling the smile that crawled across his face, but then, he really didn’t try.
The gasp of shock and disgust brought the grin back to his face as Cassandra grasped her brother’s arm for support. Johnny entered the camp and eyed the grouse that began to char over the bed of coals, and the grin faded. With a tired sigh, he let his glare settle on Pete, Blair, and Cassandra, standing pathetically, waiting for someone to prepare their meal and feed them. He had watched from the cover of brush and trees as Mr. Treadwell did his best to tend the meal before the old man stood, putting a hand to his back to ease the ache that persisted as the three younger people stood and waited for the meat to cook.
Johnny shook his head in disgust and ignored the young woman’s displeasure. Where he came from, the elderly were to be honored, especially a parent.
Chagrined, Mr. Treadwell apologized. “I’m sorry, Johnny; a cook, I am not! Our dinner is a bit overdone.”
“’ S’ alright, Mr. Treadwell. Seems that you’re the only one willin’ ta work ta eat.” The glare issued to the man’s children and their friend hit its mark, and as one, they averted their eyes for the first time in embarrassment and maybe a little guilt.
He removed the grouse from the fire and put them on plates. He then proceeded to add wood to the fire while the others took their share, more than their share. Johnny couldn’t resist taking a portion off Peter’s plate as he walked by and took a large bite and though too dry, he chewed enthusiastically. As ridiculous as the situation was, humor settled in as young Pete’s eyes widened, resembling a large owl, but he said nothing as the food was pilfered from his plate.
Again, Cassandra gasped, but it didn’t end there.
“I see you have the manners of a…”
“Enough, young lady!” Mr. Treadwell bellowed loud enough for the reprimand to echo off the nearest mountainside.
Johnny knew her outburst was an attempt to cover her humiliation. “Nothin’ ta worry over, Mr. Treadwell. Won’t take long for her get weaker an’ weaker after I stop findin’ food an’ she goes hungry. That way,” Johnny paused as the grin crawled across his face again, and his blue eyes reflected the dancing flames as he favored her with a menacing Johnny Madrid glare, “we won’t hafta listen ta her complainin’.” As he turned his stare to the girl, she broke the contact and looked away. “Ya know, starvin’s an awful way ta die.” He then dismissed her before she could rail against him.
Cassandra blanched in the yellow light of the fire. And her temper exploded.
Recognizing the potential for things to get ugly, Grayson placed a hand on the woman’s arm, hoping to distract her from another blistering rebuke. “Cassandra, perhaps it would be better if we all settled down and eat the food before it gets too cold. Come here, my dear, sit down and eat.” Blair steered her to a place near the fire, and the young woman, barely under control, let herself be guided by the gentle hand.
Johnny didn’t give it a second thought, letting them conspire in private; he would watch her closely, already knowing she wasn’t to be trusted. Something else began to take root in his head about the woman, and he didn’t like where that thought took him and didn’t like where his feelings for Grayson took him, either.
Still smarting from the invasion of her personal belongings and Johnny’s remark about leaving her to starve, Cassandra couldn’t help another attack as she desperately fought to elevate her status to its rightful place in the small group. No one had ever talked to her in such a deplorable manner, and she would not abide it for one minute longer despite her father’s chastising.
“Do you find it amusing, Mr. Lancer, stealing food off another’s plate?” The smug, condescending smile did nothing to compliment the young woman’s face; it unveiled a waspish characteristic promoting an older, unflattering mask; pinched and narrow features resembled that of an insect. There was no concealing her contempt.
Johnny’s smile never wavered, and he accepted the challenge, for a challenge it was, and Cassandra was about to lose… but she wouldn’t realize it until later. He couldn’t resist the urge to keep her waiting for his answer.
She barked a short laugh, thinking she had caught him unable to continue the sparring contest. “What? Have you no witty answer, Mr. Lancer?” her smile grew wicked. “Aren’t you ready to fight for your point of view? Surely you had enough to say with your threats to let me starve!”
“Wasn’t stealin’. I caught the grouse. I got the fire goin’ an’ started it ta cook. Didn’t see anyone givin’ me a hand, so, far as I see it, it’s mine, an’ I’m sharin’ my food with you.” Ice froze the look in his eyes, but his words remained calm as he responded. “Besides, it wasn’t a threat, Ma’am; wasn’t a threat. Far as fightin’, I fought for everything all my life.”
Cassandra’s glare matched her smile — wicked. “Oh, so you like fighting?”
“Didn’t say I liked it.”
“But you fought all your life; why wouldn’t you stop if you didn’t like it?” She knew she had him caught; how could he say otherwise?
“I learned ta fight cuz there wasn’t anyone ta help me, so if I was gonna make it, well, it was up ta me an’ me alone.” Johnny couldn’t stop the cold smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He remembered the first serious fight, knowing he could be killed, and laughed. “When I was a kid, these boys came after me thinkin’ I was an easy target. I was small an’ scrawny, an’ they liked ta chase me down an’ beat me up. It happened once before, but I wasn’t gonna go through that again, so I fought ’em; they weren’t expectin’ that ta happen.”
“And just how many boys were chasing you, Mr. Lancer?” Cassandra asked as she listened through a mantle of boredom. She rolled her eyes, then asked, “Ten, maybe twelve? And you beat them all, didn’t you?”
Johnny met her eyes, piercing her with a softly spoken, truthful answer. “There were four of them, Miss Treadwell, an’ they left me facedown an’ senseless in the dirt.”
Cassandra laughed and turned a cold stare his way. “What is the point of this… pathetic story, Mr. Lancer?”
Johnny snorted, and he shook his head. “Point is, Miss Treadwell, I faced the trouble, an’ I learned ta fight against it, ta stand up for myself.”
Cassandra’s harsh laugh rent the chilled air. “They left you facedown in the dirt! And you are proud of that outcome?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I am. See, I mighta got the stuffin’ kicked outta me, heck, I was only about nine at the time an’ seein’s how all four ‘a the boys were a few years older’n me, they were all bleedin’ more’n me when it was over. Guess that ain’t anything you could understand, but when ya hafta fight for every meal, fight for the right ta breathe, ya start ta take pride that ya can take care of yourself an’ not have ta rely on anyone for help. Ya might think I lost that fight, but I gotta tell ya, none of them boys bothered me after that. I don’t think you could understand what it’s like unless ya been there an’ lived it.”
Johnny waited for more argument and attitude but was surprised when Cassandra went strangely quiet. He said no more about his childhood, then went about suspending the venison over the bed of coals to cook as much of the meat as he could. Chances were that most of it would spoil before it was roasted and not be edible, but he would do what he could.
He stood from the task and faced the three young people as he laid out the camp ‘rules’. “It’s gonna take all of us ta keep this fire goin’ and get this meat cooked. That means no one fallin’ asleep while on guard. If ya don’t pitch in an’ help, ya don’t eat. All ya hafta do is keep awake, watch an’ listen for any threat, an’ keep this fire burnin’ low. Don’t let the meat char, cuz if ya do, that’s what you’re gonna eat.” Three sets of eyes glared, and he struggled to not laugh at the hostility but held himself in check and issued one more ‘suggestion’. “Mornin’s gonna come early. I’d get as much sleep as I could.” Johnny nodded to Peter and Blair; “Decide between the two of you who gets first watch an’ I’ll take the last one.”
“Sleep? It can’t be much later than seven or eight in the evening! It’s too early to sleep!” Cassandra complained.
Johnny leveled a cold stare her way. “Ya got someplace ta go, Miss Treadwell?” At her hesitation, Johnny smiled.
Not bothering to wait for more objections he knew were coming, Johnny settled in his bedroll and pulled his hat down over his face. Then, he listened as the three huddled to conspiratorially fume and sputter over the orders issued to them by the ruffian, who probably couldn’t read his own name.
Johnny held back the chuckle at their indignation and wasn’t alone. Mr. Treadwell didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he observed their reaction. Rising from his place at the fire, he wandered into the brush before taking Johnny’s advice of retiring for the night. As he passed the young people on the way back to his pallet of blankets, he offered a helpful comment. “I suggest you three settle down for the night. Mr. Lancer is right — morning will be here all too early.”
And, to their dismay, it was.
Apparently, the Treadwell offspring and Blair Grayson weren’t early risers. The sun peeked between the mountains long before the three young Easterners opened their eyes. The repeated calls went unheeded and warranted a more drastic measure.
Johnny shrugged. Dios, he didn’t need this! He turned to Mr. Treadwell and spoke his mind.
“Mr. Treadwell, I don’t mean no disrespect, but I can’t afford this delay. Can you trust me ta get them movin’?”
“Mr. … Johnny, do what you think necessary. Perhaps I might learn something!” Peter Senior was anxious to see what Johnny had in mind. And he didn’t have long to wait.
Johnny pulled the rifle from his scabbard and fired two shots into the thin mountain air. The horses danced and tossed their heads as Peter, Cassandra, and Blair came out of their bedrolls as one, all wide-eyed and gasping.
“What… what’s going on?” Peter sputtered breathlessly.
Johnny did not stop his chore as he secured the travel bags containing their food on the saddled horses.
“Mount up. We’re headin’ out,” he said calmly, ignoring their stunned faces.
“You… you can’t expect us to…”
“Then y’all can stay here. Me an’ Mr. Treadwell are movin’ out.” The blunt announcement prompted shock on the three faces; Johnny and Treadwell mounted their horses and started down the trail, leaving the irresponsible trio scrambling to catch up.
The McAndrews Ranch looked like a picture; the house nestled in an oak and pine valley. Smoke rose from the chimney, signaling warmth within. Scott and Val rode to the front porch and dismounted, then quickly climbed the steps onto the large porch and under the protection of the roof. Rain would begin soon.
Scott knocked on the door and waited. Voices were discernible behind the thick log walls as the heavy portal opened, and Jake’s smiling face beckoned them in.
The man appeared puzzled. “Where’s Johnny? Scott, don’t tell me you came without him!?”
It didn’t need the cold rain to cause Scott to stop short as if frozen to the spot. Jake’s statement had already done it.
“What?! You mean you haven’t seen him?”
“No, Johnny hasn’t been here yet. I got your wire sayin’ you’d be here, but I haven’t seen him yet.”
Scott turned worried eyes to Val. Where was his brother?
The thought of losing out on the sale of Jake’s horses was more than disappointing. It lay in Johnny’s throat like a thick clod of sticky mud threatening to choke him. What did Murdoch say about doin’ somethin’ good? No good deed goes unpunished, and it applied to his current situation. There was no changing the way things were now, so stop looking back and figure out how ta get these people outta these mountains.
Johnny’s thoughts turned toward the gentleman riding beside him. Mr. Treadwell’s intentions were admirable in trying to make up for his mistakes, but this was a poor choice of options to make that happen. Or was that what the senior Treadwell had in mind? Johnny wondered. There was much at stake here — their lives, first and foremost.
Why had the old man allowed his daughter to come along? Johnny had known many women capable of traveling through the mountains, but Cassandra Treadwell was far from one of them. Sometimes, the road one chose as the quickest and easiest was the one with the most risk. And Johnny was sure Miss Treadwell would find that to be true if she hadn’t already. It was becoming painfully obvious there was a reason for her to make this journey other than spending time with her father; his thoughts kept returning to his guess that this was more than just a family trip. Irritating suspicions prickled in his brain, and he could have sworn he’d been tossed on his head in the middle of a cactus patch.
Keeping an occasional eye on the three young people behind them, Johnny, with Mr. Treadwell beside him, led the way between mountains, around mudslides, and along raging rivers that tumbled in loud cascades over rocks and downed trees. Low-hanging clouds oozed over the mountaintops and soon covered them in a thick fog. Johnny noticed a paleness cover the old man’s face and stopped long enough to wrap his slicker around Treadwell’s shoulders; it would not do him any good should he become chilled. The commiserating trio suffered as the dampness seeped through their clothing, leaving them cold and uncomfortable.
“Johnny, I fear I am leaving you unprotected against the elements. We were unprepared to make this journey, and you should not have to pay the consequence of our ignorance. Thank you for lending your… what do you call it?”
Johnny smiled as he took his eyes from the trail to briefly glance at the gentleman beside him. The sincerity was plain to see.
“Slicker. It don’t look like much, but it keeps the rain and wind offa ya. Out here, we don’t travel without one.”
Treadwell appeared embarrassed. To ease the man’s discomfort, Johnny steered the conversation along a different path.
“Tell me, Mr. Treadwell, how’d you all get out here in the middle of nowhere?” He’d heard the woman’s explanation of hiring a guide before he entered their camp; maybe the old man could shed a different light on what happened that they found themselves alone and stranded.
“Oh, Johnny, it’s a long, sad story. Call it fate, if you will. Perhaps penance for my parental incompetence.” Treadwell saw Johnny frown and gracefully clarified his admission.
“I wasn’t there to raise my children, and this is the price I must pay. I’m not getting any younger; I took a chance, asking my son along on this trip, thinking it might draw us closer. An entire change of scenery, going somewhere we’d never been before. An adventure!” Treadwell huffed. “Yes, an adventure, alright. I thought we might bond as father and son. Before long, Cassandra declared she was going with us. I have to tell you, Johnny, I was shocked! Cassandra, of all people, wanted to travel with us!
“We left Philadelphia on the train, across country to Carson City; we were to continue through the wilderness in hopes of making a connection — a connection that fathers and sons make in earlier years of their relationship. I’m sure you know what I mean about father-son alliances.”
Johnny sighed, not about to divulge the rocky beginnings between him and Murdoch and the differences between their father-son kinship.
“I must admit things were fine, even with the presence of Cassandra. But I’m afraid that young Peter hired a guide with other intentions. He stole the money we had and left us to perish. It was only luck that we found our horses.”
It was a common enough tale. Trusting souls paid for a guide who left their ‘employer’ high and dry. But the unexpected decision by the haughty daughter to make this trip did not fit in. “So your daughter decided she was gonna tag along no matter that you were gonna be travelin’ rough?”
Treadwell shrugged. “Yes, Cassandra has always claimed to be better than her brother in every respect. And in many cases, she is. There was no denying her this trip. But I do not think she realized how rough it would be.”
Johnny wondered why a man of Treadwell’s age and background would choose to travel on horseback through the rugged territory they found themselves in now.
“I think I know what you’re sayin’ about you an’ your son, but this’s dangerous country. One step in the wrong direction up here can land ya in big trouble.”
Treadwell’s soft chuckle found its way to Johnny’s ears. “In the words of William Shakespeare, ‘For though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.’ I think that sums it up quite well.”
“Ya sound like my brother. He talks about that Shakespeare fella a lot, too.”
“Johnny, this trip was intended for me to know my son for the man he is, not the boy I neglected. If dire circumstances dictate the final outcome, I will accept them as the answer I seek. Age is not a friend to me; I am running out of time, and unfortunately, I realized that fact too late. And perhaps these dire consequences just might produce the connection I seek. I view this as my last chance.”
“Well, Mr. Treadwell, like I said before, there’s a time for growin’ up and takin’ responsibility. I can’t give ya any advice about how ta raise your kids or tell ya what ta do with them, but I can tell ya it’s gonna take all of us workin’ tagether ta get outta these mountains, an’ ya might get an answer ta your question before too long. Sometimes answers have a way of walkin’ up an’ smackin’ ya in the face when ya least expect it.”
Treadwell wondered if Johnny’s father knew exactly what kind of man he had for a son. The old man would give anything he had if young Peter were half the man as the one riding beside him.
“So, tell me, Mr. Treadwell, where’s Grayson fit in in alla this?” Johnny asked, puzzled that this was a father-son trip; it was unusual for a young woman like Cassandra to accompany them but more than a little unusual for a friend to tag along with a family searching for a personal connection.
“Yes, it was quite a surprise when we met Blair in Carson City. He and my son attended Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut, together, and is the son of Samuel Grayson, the curator of the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts. It’s a wonderful museum hosting prestigious exhibits from all over the world. Historical artifact exhibits are quite popular in the East. Young Blair is following in his father’s footsteps and has been offered a position at the museum.”
Johnny wondered why questions kept running through his mind; the Treadwells were family, and Grayson was a school friend of Pete’s. Why should he be concerned? But he was. Every person around him concerned him. That’s how Madrid stayed alive.
Although it had not rained, the low clouds kept the cold and damp in a heavy fog, cloaking them in misery. Johnny suffered the discomfort in silence. His main concern being Mr. Treadwell’s comfort. The brief stops allowed the horses to rest and their personal needs attended, but before long, they were on the trail, traveling around the destruction of swollen rivers and mudslides.
“Can’t we travel any faster? We’ll never get to civilization at this pace!”
“We are retracing our steps! We can’t go back that way again!”
“Are you sure you know where we’re going?”
Johnny swore that had it not been for Mr. Treadwell, he would have left the others long ago. He pulled on Barranca’s reins, then turned to face the complaining trio. He measured his words carefully as he met their dissatisfied, accusing glares.
“I ain’t gonna be puttin’ a bullet in the brain of one ‘a these horses because you don’t have the sense ta listen ta what I’m sayin’. There’s mudslides everywhere an’ the ground ain’t stable; you force your mount someplace he don’t wanna go an’ it breaks a leg, you’re walkin’. An’ no one’s ridin’ double – can’t expect an animal ta carry double the weight in the mountains. We’re travelin’ slow cuz the ground’s saturated; if it starts ta crumble out from under their hooves, you’re goin’ down an’ most likely, end up buried. Ya wanna get outta these mountains, ya take care ‘a your mounts. Ya don’t hafta follow my advice… but if ya don’t, I’m takin’ Mr. Treadwell an’ the food an’ leavin’ ya here.” Maybe it was cruel, but this wasn’t the time for coddling. Johnny turned Barranca, retraced their path around the dangerously sodden patch before them, and found safer passage.
And the day wore on.
The fire crackled and produced heat. Four figures huddled close; the fifth scouted the perimeter of the camp, collecting dry wood and listening to the night sounds. Breaks in the clouds allowed occasional moonlight and created spectacular patterns in the black velvet of the night. Johnny wondered if any of the travel companions would notice. He doubted it, but in all truthfulness, it had taken Johnny time to appreciate that which was before him.
The struggle to survive in his early years did not promote recognition of much around him; however, as the circumstances around Johnny Madrid Lancer began to change, especially finding a place with his family, he began to notice more of the physical surroundings — the beauty and its significance. He wondered if Scott or Murdoch were watching the sky at the moment. The thought made him smile.
Johnny settled in for the first watch. Though harsh glances were directed his way, the complaints were minimal. Johnny held back the grin and, with indifference, poured a cup of coffee.
Cassandra and Mr. Treadwell were asleep in minutes; Pete and Grayson mumbled in low tones, but soon, their conversation went quiet, leaving Johnny alone with his thoughts that something wasn’t right. Sooner or later, it would make itself known… sooner or later. He contemplated his traveling companions; he understood Mr. Treadwell’s need to know his son and daughter, too, but Blair Grayson was the wild card, and he sure as hell didn’t fit in. Johnny suspected a clandestine affair between Cassandra and Blair if the furtive glances they shared were any indication. Sooner or later, everything would be known.
The night was quiet and peaceful, and soon, Johnny could turn in and rest after another long day of trying to keep the others safe. He was exhausted from the effort. Casting a furtive glance in young Pete’s direction, Johnny closed his eyes and hoped that if something happened during the night, he would wake in time to take action.
There was no conversation other than, “Your watch,” as Johnny woke young Treadwell, and he thankfully crawled under the blanket. He didn’t trust the young man, but there was only so much one man could do. Now, it was time for him to rest… if he could. Without disturbing Grayson, who slept with his head pillowed on the traveling bag, young Pete was roused and left to stand watch.
The hours dragged painfully slow. Pete was tired; he’d sat by the fire and kept the blaze going and the coffee warm. His gaze swept over the sleeping man who had marched into their camp and began giving orders, assuming command — like he was somebody other than what he truly was — an ignorant, backwoods, uneducated tramp! Pete snorted in disgust. Tomorrow, Pete would take control and let Mr. Johnny Lancer know who was in charge. Yes, tomorrow, things were going to change.
But tonight, Pete was still on guard duty. Why? There was no threat, no wild animal that was about to rip them to pieces. He pursed his lips, resenting the authority Lancer assumed over them. No, the man was only trying to scare them. He snorted again. The coffee in his cup was cold, and he reached for the pot. He was hungry; the meat he’d eaten before they settled down for the night was not enough, and he quietly walked to the tree where their food supply dangled twenty feet above him. How silly to put the food in a tree. There was nothing here that would take it. The thought was ridiculous.
Pete untied the rope, lowered their food store to the ground, opened a valise that Johnny confiscated, and ripped off a sizable chunk of meat. Cold meat was not what he hoped to be eating, but it was all that was available. He took a bite and chewed, finding the snack palatable. Once again, he took his place by the fire; Pete ate his fill, drank the coffee, and contemplated their situation.
His already bruised ego had taken a beating, having to abide by the rules set upon them by the stranger. Mulling the words over in his head, Pete had it figured out. Yes, he would straighten things out and establish his dominance in the group; he was through giving in to ridiculous demands.
A subtle snore reached Pete’s ears — he was thankful that someone in his party was getting sleep even though it wasn’t him. Well, so be it. Tomorrow would tell another story; if the stranger didn’t like it, he could just ride away. Wait! What was he thinking? Peter was ignorant, but he realized their precarious position — without Johnny Lancer, they would perish, and he knew it.
But it was annoying when Lancer started ordering him, ordering them around. The man didn’t need to be so … so commanding, so overbearing when he said things. He talked like he was in charge! The man was quite audacious, throwing his authority around like he was … somebody when he was nothing more than a … what were they called? Saddle tramp! Yes, he was nothing more than a mere saddle tramp!
The snores drifted in the thin night air, and the breeze brushed his face. A small branch snapped when it blew out of the tree and hit the ground. But Pete didn’t hear it, too fixed on his mounting tantrum, the snit that put them all in danger as, suddenly, the snores were not snores, and the branch snapped not from hitting the ground but from the weight of the paw that stepped on it. Slowly, young Pete turned to stare into two yellow eyes and a snarling face that held him frozen to the spot. The wicked fangs, glistening with saliva, were exposed as the lips pulled back, wrinkling the hide above a flaring muzzle and paralyzing him as the realization hit him, and he was certain he was going to die.
It could not be named a shout, but a strangled, panicked yelp escaped his throat as the wolf lunged, then snatched the meat-filled valise Pete left lying on the ground. Johnny rolled out of his blanket, Colt in hand, and fired twice into the air. With the bag in its jaws, the animal wisely turned and made her way into the trees beyond the camp.
Pete scrambled to his feet, breath coming in pants, as the rest in the camp did the same; shocked, pale faces stared as sleep-clouded brains struggled to make sense of what had happened.
Johnny quickly glanced around and, seeing the lowered food cache glared blue ice at young Treadwell.
Pete desperately tried to pull himself together, then attempted to turn the tables and remove the attention from his mistake.
“Why didn’t you shoot it?”
“Why should I shoot it? You invited it inta camp,” Johnny nodded toward what was left of the food on the ground.
Cassandra turned livid. “Don’t you care, Mr. Lancer? It could have killed my brother, and all you did was scare it away!”
Johnny arched a brow as it pulled a cold, lopsided grin across his face. “That mean you’re gonna take a turn on guard duty, Miss Treadwell? Don’t think you’d have any trouble at all scarin’ a predator away. Besides, you’re lucky it was a wolf; they ain’t so inclined ta attack like a bear or mountain lion.” The thought occurred to Johnny that one bite of Miss Treadwell would be enough to scare the hungriest predator away.
The insult stung, but before Cassandra could respond, Johnny ordered Pete to hoist what was left of their food into the tree where it should have stayed.
Mr. Treadwell hadn’t spoken a word and, once again, marveled as Johnny put his daughter in her place. Yes, he would have to sit and have a long talk with that young man. Perhaps he could pick up a few pointers in handling his offspring.
Grayson stood wide-eyed, clutching his ‘pillow’, holding it to his chest like it would run away.
The morning was pleasantly quiet as they prepared to leave. Peter, Cassandra, and Blair talked in hushed tones amongst themselves, casting hateful glances in Johnny’s direction. Mr. Treadwell talked softly and with ease as Johnny relayed the plans for the day.
Barring any unforeseen incidents, they should begin a descent through the mountains in the next day or so, and with no more delays around mudslides, Johnny made an educated guess as to where they were and their proximity to the closest town. He almost smiled. The closest town — it sounded too good to be true. His desire to be rid of young Pete, Cassandra, and Blair Grayson was strong and getting stronger, but the old man was a different matter.
Mr. Treadwell sighed, and Johnny knew the man had something on his mind; he waited until the old man gathered his thoughts, then listened.
“Johnny, I’d like to thank you for your help in rescuing us in our time of need.”
Johnny huffed a breath. “Well, we ain’t outta these mountains yet, Mr. Treadwell. Might be another coupla days till we are.”
“Yes, I understand that. Still, you have put up with much… difficulty; it isn’t easy, I know.”
Johnny had said enough in the last few days, letting them all know where he stood, what was expected of them, and what he wouldn’t tolerate. He didn’t want to hurt this man. Who knew the particulars of past mistakes? Johnny had enough of his own to condemn anyone else, and he thought this man had already paid a steep price for his parental blunders.
The corner of his mouth twitched as Johnny ducked his head, then captured Treadwell with the sparkle in his eyes.
“I’ve had worse, believe me.” The sparkle faded away before he proceeded. “But I hafta tell ya, those three have no idea of the danger we’re in. That wolf that came visiting last night, it coulda been a bear or mountain lion, an’ I’ll guarantee we woulda been buryin’ young Pete instead’a him just havin’ a scare. I can’t say it enough ta be careful, but they ain’t listenin’, an’ I can’t keep them safe if they’re not willin’ ta take me seriously.”
Mr. Treadwell nodded; he knew Johnny had gone out of his way to warn Pete, Cassie, and Blair of the perils they faced, and the warnings had gone unheeded.
Johnny led the way as the small party followed behind him, having no choice but to trust his judgment, and though the three young people objected to the demanding and sometimes rude orders, they knew they were at the mercy of this guide — but only for a while. When they reached civilization, they would send the ruffian packing with his tail between his legs.
Each step of the horses’ hooves created sucking noises as they walked over the sodden earth. Rain from higher in the mountains saturated the ground, pulled to the lower elevations, and framed the potential for disaster. How many times had Johnny warned them of the dangers? And yet, there was young Pete, edging too close to the side of the trail.
“Y’all watch your step here. The water’s soaked the ground an’ the trail’s unstable…”
The words had barely left his lips when Pete yelled in shock and fear as the trail beneath his feet broke free, tumbled into a ravine below, and Pete disappeared from sight.
Cassandra screamed and dismounted, kneeling at the edge to look down, scouring the rocks for a sign of her brother.
Johnny grabbed the rope off his saddle and raced back to the horrified sibling as she cried, thinking her brother was gone forever. Her sobs were heartfelt but hindered the rescue attempt; Johnny roughly moved her aside as he shook out the rope, then tossed the end to Blair as he stood frozen and silent on the muddy trail. In a move that belied his age, Mr. Treadwell was off his mount and at Cassandra’s side, a worried frown covering his face as he did what he could to console his daughter and be closer to Pete. It would not occur to him until later that he felt every confidence in Johnny’s ability to bring Peter to safety.
“Tie this around the saddlehorn!” Johnny ordered Blair as he leaned over the edge to see Pete below. Pete lay unconscious on the rocks, making the recovery treacherous. Undeterred, Johnny calculated his move as he looped the rope around his body. He checked Blair’s progress and found the young man fumbling to secure the rope as he clutched his traveling bag in his hand.
“Drop the bag an’ tie off the rope!” Johnny ordered — the young man continued to grapple with the knots. Johnny closed the distance between them, furious with Grayson’s delay and the careless disregard for the seriousness of their situation.
“I have it! I’ve got it tied! Go get Peter!”
Regret that he didn’t check the rope would haunt Johnny afterward. He rappelled down through rocks and broken tree trunks; then, suddenly, he was in a freefall, crashing into outcropping boulders and broken trees. A blazing flash of light seared his eyes, then there was blackness.
Val and Scott discussed the possibilities of where they thought Johnny could be, neither man sure of anything regarding their friend and brother; the unknown had raised its ugly head and kept them in its stranglehold; they could conceivably be chasing their tails if they made a wrong decision and ran the risk of never finding him. That thought scared Scott more than he would admit. No, they would find Johnny; they had to.
Val pulled Amigo to a halt and looked out over the dreary scenery before them. A wall of mist hampered their sight; cold permeated their clothes, yet they would not quit. If the situation was reversed, Johnny would not give up until he found them, and he deserved the same consideration.
“The way I figure it, yer brother must be south ‘a Placerville, but that covers a lotta territory. Mudslides are gonna make for backtrackin’ and goin’ outta his way. It ain’t like we can make a sweep of all them mountains ta find ‘im.” Putting his thoughts to voice helped Crawford think — to devise a strategy and come to a conclusion. He remembered that it used to make Johnny crazy as he stated the obvious then waited for an answer to pop into his head. And he remembered something else.
Scott watched as Val grabbed his rifle from the scabbard, wondering if he sensed danger. Then, an ear-to-ear grin split the sheriff’s face as he fired two quick shots, waited a few seconds, and fired a third.
Turning to Scott, he explained. “That’s a signal we usta have in our fightin’ days. If he’s within earshot, he’ll answer back. You can count on it!”
What the hell happened, and what was that noise? It was like wind blowing through pine trees or the rush of water, loud, blocking out all other sounds. Then he heard the loud voices above him, urging him toward consciousness; he forced his eyes to open and took in his surroundings. Johnny stared at trees and rocks as they danced around; three visions went into two, then two went into one as he pulled his scattered thoughts together and realized what had happened upon seeing the tangled rope beneath him. The rope was intact and not broken. Grayson — he was to tie the rope… Sonuvabitch!
How far had he fallen, and would there be enough rope to haul his ass, along with young Pete, up to the trail?
Johnny forced himself to shake the cobwebs from his brain. He shook his head, then regretted the action as stars exploded behind his eyes, along his ribs, and across his back. The groan slipped through his lips of its own accord as he tried to roll over, but his body stopped when the movement was blocked. Damn, he hurt, then felt the warm wash of blood as it dripped down the side of his face from the gash on his head when he tried to sit up. Opening his eyes, Johnny realized that he, along with young Pete, was lying on a ledge twenty feet down from the trail.
Sonuvabitch! When he got back up there, he was going to throw that fucking bag that Blair refused to put down into the rocks, trees, and mud and grab the bastard by the throat! He’d talked until he was blue in the face, and still, the pendejo refused to listen!
Well, he had better figure out how to get out of the misery in which he currently found himself before he could make good on his promise of retribution. Maybe ol’ Madrid‘ll put in an appearance an’ scare the idiot straight… Yup, that’s gonna happen… after I get back up there.
Damn, that hurt! He didn’t think any ribs were broken, but they were badly bruised, and his head felt like it had split in two. Mierda, that greenhorn’s gonna have some explainin’ ta do, an’ it better be good!
Johnny checked Pete’s pulse. It thumped a normal beat in the young man’s neck, but he was out cold. With a quick exam, Johnny found no further injuries other than a lump on the back of Pete’s head. He would have to wait until they joined the others for a more thorough examination.
He wished they would shut up. Their calls drilled into Johnny’s brain, but he understood Mr. Treadwell’s panic. Cassandra’s, too, if he was honest, but her voice was shrill; it pierced into him, sending waves of misery slicing through his head like a dull knife.
Johnny looked up into the worried, expectant faces of the Treadwells. Blair was reticent and stood off to the side and still holding that fucking bag.
“Mr. Treadwell, can ya throw me a rope?” And leveling a cold, biting stare at Blair, he added, “Tie it onta the saddlehorn.”
The old man began the request but couldn’t bear the wait any longer. “Johnny — Peter, is he… alright?”
Feeling the senior Treadwell’s anguish, he answered. “Yeah, I think so. Just knocked out. We need ta get him up on the trail, though.”
“What about you, Johnny? Are you alright?”
He threw Blair an icy look. “I’ll let ya know after I get back up there an find out what happened.” Johnny watched as Blair took an involuntary step back from the ledge.
Mr. Treadwell secured the rope, then tossed it to Johnny, who caught it though pain shot through his body as his arms stretched upward. Wait’ll I get my hands on him!
Scaling up the steep slope would be difficult enough without carrying Pete’s dead weight across his shoulders; Johnny wasn’t in top condition to lift anything climbing in rocks and mud. But there was no other choice. Just get it done an’ stop thinkin’ on things ya can’t change.
Johnny picked up the rope that dropped with him in the fall onto the ledge, caught the rope that Treadwell lowered, and knotted them together. Stooping by Pete’s side, Johnny fashioned a loop under Pete’s arms and around the young man’s body to prevent a fall out of the harness; however, with both ropes around Pete, Johnny would be forced to climb up, aided by only one loop around his chest and shoulders and prepared, mentally and physically to scale up the dropoff.
“Got the rope tied off, Mr. Treadwell?” The effort cost him as a burst of pain flashed through his body, but he forced himself to continue. They had to get Pete up on the trail… and Johnny needed to confront Grayson.
“Yes, Johnny! I’m ready!”
“Lead the horse slow, an’ stop when I call out!”
The slack pulled out, and the rope went taut; Johnny and Pete rose slowly. Johnny kept his feet to the wall of rocks, pushing off and protecting Pete and himself from slamming into the unforgiving barrier. He didn’t think a collision with a granite boulder would do either of them any good.
Pete hung limp and helpless as Johnny struggled with their ascent. His muscles were pulled beyond their limits; a loud hissing sounded in his ears. Would he be able to hold on and get them to the top? He began to wonder; then, the thought of Grayson, standing perfectly safe above them, crossed his mind, and the fire in him burst into an uncontrolled fury. He sure as hell would make it! That was business that needed to be finished.
Johnny kicked out, effectively pushing them away from a protruding rock, and they spun in mid-air until, finally, they were at the edge of the dropoff.
“Stop!” Johnny called out as he shifted his hand from its hold to grab the rope above the cliff rim; to leave them where they were would have resulted in broken fingers as they dragged over the sharp rock edge. He felt hands take Pete, then a gentle hold on his arm as Mr. Treadwell helped him up onto the trail, and gave him a cursory going over and held his handkerchief on Johnny’s head.
“I’ll see to you in a minute, Johnny. Take this and hold it… here.” Mr. Treadwell ordered as he found the wound that bled profusely covered by his thick, shaggy hair.
Mr. Treadwell then went to his son; Cassandra and Grayson were bent over Pete, doing what they could for him. Pete fought to regain consciousness as his sister held a canteen to his lips.
Johnny lay panting, catching his breath, then caught Grayson’s concern as he watched Pete try to focus his eyes. He struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain he felt in his chest and bleeding head, he stalked over to Blair Grayson; without a word, he ripped the bag from the firmly clutched hand and viciously threw it against the boulders, ignoring its descent to the muddy ground.
He grabbed Grayson by the collar of his coat and slammed him, back-first, against a tree. Blair’s head connected painfully with the trunk. Eyes wide with shock and filled with terror, he looked into the face of Johnny Madrid.
“You stupid sonuvabitch! Ya coulda killed us! Next time I tell ya ta do somethin’, do it, an’ do it right! Another mistake like that, maybe it’s you that’ll end up dead.” The icy words hit their mark as Grayson paled; his heart thundered, feeling like it would burst from his chest as he was impaled with the glacial stare and bloodied face.
In a pathetic attempt to save face, Blair decided it would be best to concede and confess. “I’m… sorry! It was an accident!”
“Accident’s get ya buried if ya ain’t watchin’ what you’re doin’!” Johnny snarled, then shoved him away. Blair struggled to stay upright and not fall, then stood, appalled that the apology was ignored. He quickly picked up his bag, thinking to avoid that man at all costs and to stay out of Johnny’s way.
Cassandra glared at Johnny and abandoned her thoughts of Blair to focus on her brother.
“Father, will Peter be alright? Look! He’s opening his eyes!”
“Yes, Cassie, he’s coming out of it!” Mr. Treadwell said, filled with relief. He stayed by his son’s side until Pete could talk, and detecting no slurred words, he helped Pete to his feet, thankful his son was alive. Pete faired much better than Johnny in the fall.
Fifty feet up the trail was a suitable place to camp for the night. It was too early to stop, but Johnny knew young Pete would need to rest; He could use rest as well. The first thing to do was get a fire started and a pot of coffee brewing; with a cold look thrown at Grayson, Johnny ordered the man to look after the horses; maybe, with any luck, Barrance would bite him. No, there was no way in hell Johnny would trust Grayson with his horse. He then turned his attention to settle Barranca for the night. And swore under his breath. In his mad, he left the ropes lying on the ground where they’d fallen after scaling up the rocky mudslide.
Taking his time and hoping to clear the ache in his head, Johnny walked back, thinking about the near-fatal fall. The sooner they could part ways, the better off he would be. Knowing he’d missed out on McAndrews’ horses was like rubbing salt in an open wound. Well, there would be other chances; it was time to stop beating himself up over it. It seemed that Grayson was doing that for him.
The ropes lay where they had fallen. Johnny bent to pick them up, and a harsh groan escaped his lips. Yeah, he’d be sore in the morning, that was certain, now glad he called a stop to the day’s travel. Would he feel bad enough to use Jelly’s foul-smelling liniment? If it would irritate Miss Treadwell, he’d be tempted to do it.
An object on the ground caught his attention; risking another groan as his battered body bent and stretched, he stooped to pick it up. Then, a smile crawled across his mouth, and he walked back to camp.
Arriving at the campsite, Johnny walked to Blair, who took a few steps back as Madrid approached him. Then, without hesitation, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the object he’d found lying in the mud, and tossed it at Blair. Reflex took over as Grayson caught the dirt-encrusted piece, juggling it, nearly dropping it again.
“This fell outta your bag. Ya best take better care of your things before ya lose ‘em in the mud.”
Blair opened his hand — there in his palm lay a large bejeweled ring smudged with blood from Johnny’s hand. His eyes widened, and he turned pale under Johnny’s cold stare; then, without a word, Madrid walked away.
The bruise began to show its colors on Pete’s face as he sat covered with a bedroll and drank his coffee. A dark shadow began to blossom on his forehead around a shallow, red abrasion, telling of a blow to the head. It didn’t appear to be troublesome, but would bear watching. Head wounds didn’t always announce trouble immediately. Mr. Treadwell, upon Johnny’s advice, monitored his son’s actions and speech, watching for signs of trouble.
Pete knew he should say something but found the words bitter on his tongue. He’d seen the looks his father had been giving him, urging him to do the right thing. Orders issued had been disregarded, viewed as overbearing and tyrannical, instructions that were not welcomed from a man who was obviously not of Pete’s social standing. It all seemed so trivial, so unimportant; now Pete realized that Johnny was right in his decrees and had, in fact, not been ordering but looking out for their welfare. Edicts that would, if followed as directed, have kept them safe. The throb in his head was now only an ache; he would be fine, thanks to Johnny. And as he sat there, safe, he knew he had to try and make things right.
Pete took a cleansing breath, then began. “Mr. Lancer,” he began.
Johnny looked up from cleaning his Colt when he heard his name, said nothing, and waited.
Unnerved now that he had the man’s attention, Pete forced himself to say the words that a man would say — an apology and appreciation.
“Firstly, I owe you an apology, Mr. Lancer, and my utmost gratitude for saving my life. You have warned of the many dangers in these mountains, and I have done nothing but disregard your well-intentioned direction. I am truly sorry for my behavior. Secondly, thank you for risking your life to save mine. Again, I am sorry for my actions.”
The weight lifted from his shoulders, a huge burden washed away, leaving Pete feeling like a new man. How could so few words make that difference? The look on his father’s face spoke volumes, and Pete knew he’d made his father proud.
Johnny was surprised but didn’t let it show. Had Pete actually offered an apology? At first, he thought he imagined the offering; his head was pounding — but had he heard right? There was a plea in Pete’s eyes that confirmed the statement had been issued; Johnny nodded, his acknowledgment, knowing Pete meant what he said. “Da nada. Apology accepted.”
Johnny grabbed his saddlebags, then spoke with a cold stare that blanketed Blair, daring him to object. “I’ll take first watch — wake ya in three hours.” Not waiting for a response, Madrid walked out of camp and to the welcoming company of Barranca.
The signal, again, went unanswered. There were thousands of square miles around them, and Scott wondered if they would ever find his brother. No! If there was the slightest chance to find Johnny, they had to take it. Sound traveled far in the mountains — they would find Johnny. They had to.
Scott kept a furtive eye on Val, gleaning what he could from the man’s demeanor. Johnny and Val were alike, not letting much show on the outside. Scott was learning to read expressions and body language. Or he would be left with no clues or answers. The sheriff might not realize it, but he said much without saying anything at all. Val and his brother made a good pair.
Johnny sat down with a sigh. Mierda, he ached. He knew by tomorrow, he would be covered with bruises and stiffen up, making travel miserable. The blaze of pain that splintered his skull was bad enough now; what would the morning bring? There wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. Well, he had a small bottle of Jelly’s liniment for the bruises, but… Then he smiled. Maybe he’d make Blair put some on and keep all the wild animals away while he slept instead of standing guard. The thought made him chuckle.
A branch snapped, causing Johnny to turn quickly as his hand hovered over his Colt, fighting off the discomfort the move set into motion. His senses told him it was Mr. Treadwell. The old gentleman showed surprise on his face as he realized his mistake.
“Johnny, I am sorry! I did not mean to startle you.”
Johnny smiled. “Everything alright, Mr. Treadwell?”
“Yes, thank you, more than alright. May I sit?”
More than alright? Johnny thought. The man’s son was almost killed today, and ‘everything is alright’. He nodded, then watched as the man rested upon a boulder.
“I wanted to thank you, Johnny, for saving my son’s life. Though traumatic, the events of this afternoon were of some benefit to him. But I also wanted to see how you were faring. Are you truly alright?”
The twitch tugged the corner of Johnny’s mouth. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”
Treadwell sighed. “I’m happy to hear that, Johnny. Sometimes, when things happen, no matter how severe or traumatic, they happen for a reason.”
A frown creased Johnny’s brow, and he listened as Treadwell explained.
“Peter learned a valuable lesson today. He couldn’t, of course, have experienced anything comparable in his current life in Philadelphia that would have affected him as what happened this afternoon. Oh, there are dangerous areas of Philadelphia, just as there are in any large city, but facing a hungry wolf and tumbling down a mountainside helped put things into perspective for him. Johnny, the fact that he apologized is significant, and I am hopeful. You see, it is my fervent wish to make things right with my children, particularly Peter.
“I fear that I will die before correcting my biggest failure; it is hard for a father to admit, but I wasn’t there when my children needed me, and I have great concern for Treadwell Industries. Peter has no desire to take over, and I’m afraid it will be squandered, wasted if young Peter and Cassandra are allowed access to the finances. I allowed Peter to make traveling arrangements for this trip, and, well, you see how that worked out. It’s like listening to distant thunder, knowing a storm is approaching, but it hasn’t reached me yet. A warning, if you will, that is telling me I need to make things right between us.”
Johnny shrugged; he knew many ways that Treadwell’s fortune could be used, in fact, was desperately needed. He had seen the pitiful looks on the faces of innocent children with nothing more than thin gruel to eat or whatever the orphanages could provide and families left to starve after raiders plundered their farms. But it was not up to him to make any calls on another man’s money or the mark the man would leave in this life.
Treadwell detected the tiny smile on his companion’s face. “Did I say something amusing, Johnny?”
Johnny met the old man’s wide-eyed stare, then smiled in earnest. “No, not… amusing — it’s just, well, there’s a lotta good people that could use the kind of help that money could buy.” Johnny hesitated, not sure he should say anymore. What a man did with his money was his business, and his alone.
“You think Peter and Cassie would…” Johnny began but was interrupted when Mr. Treadwell deeply sighed.
“Oh, Johnny, I would laugh if the situation weren’t so piteous.” The old man raised his gaze from the moon shadows that speckled the ground to search Johnny’s face.
Johnny again felt for the gentleman. He was a fine, genuine man whose only mistake in life was that he wasn’t there to spank his children when they were growing up.
“Is there anyone you trust ta run the company until Pete learns how ta do it?”
The Senior Treadwell turned sad eyes to Johnny. The weight of his mistake was unmistakable as it shrouded him in regret.
“I am afraid that neither of my children is interested in working for a living; if they aren’t given the opportunities that my wealth brings, they haven’t any idea about how to manage on their own.” The old man sighed. “The incident today might be a new beginning for Peter, but I don’t think he will truly understand he has to work for what he has, that he is not entitled to wealth because his name is Treadwell, and that is the burden I must bear.
“Yet, there are times when I look at Peter and see in his eyes a plea as if he’s begging for help, and I can’t ignore it. Perhaps it’s my imagination, a hope he will understand what I am trying to do.” The old man smiled sadly.
“I’m sure if you give it some thought, you could come up with an idea of what ta do with your company.” The conversation was turning uncomfortable; he wanted no part of discussing the man’s personal information. However, Treadwell kept talking as if he wanted something from Johnny, some validation. So, Johnny took the chance and made a suggestion.
Recalling his days as Madrid, Johnny had donated to certain missions where he knew the Padres would use the money he left to benefit those who needed it most. There were many ways Mr. Treadwell could leave his mark in this life and still provide for his children’s futures. Not about to divulge any more than he already had regarding the early years, Johnny substituted one of the most benevolent men he knew. Kindness and consideration came in many forms, and Sam Jenkins was a man Johnny admired; perhaps taking a page from Sam’s ideals would appeal to Treadwell.
“Back home, Sam, he’s the doctor in Green River, said people make donations to charities, an’ he always sent money ta the school he went to. Ahh, Boston… Boston Medical College, I think it was. An’ maybe an orphanage, too; I know for a fact those places always need help. If you’re sure your son an’ daughter don’t want your company, sell it an’ donate some of the profits. I know ya wanna do well for your family, but that seems like a good thing ta me. An’ helpin’ people that’re havin’ a rough time of it, well, that’s always a good thing, too. It gives ya a warm feelin’…” and he stopped before he revealed more than he wanted.
Treadwell was still for a moment. His gaze turned soft, and he blinked back the water that began to well. His smile grew, and he looked away, then cleared his throat. Turning back to the young man sitting across from him, he nodded. “Thank you, Johnny, thank you!”
A frown creased Johnny’s brow when he asked, “Thanks? For what?”
“For restoring my faith, young man. You see, I began to lose sight of what was important; that was the main reason for this trip — to try and connect, for lack of a better word, with my children. It’s been a difficult undertaking, I assure you. They are grown, agewise, but I fear they might never gain the wisdom, the maturity they should.” Treadwell cocked his head and looked into the clear blue of Johnny’s eyes. “You, Johnny, are young in years, but I see a wealth of knowledge, a lifetime of profound intelligence that most men triple your age cannot claim.”
The night was closing in and wrapped Johnny in an uncomfortable cloak of self-consciousness. Treadwell didn’t know him; how could the man be so sure of him? He began to fidget.
Treadwell read the signs and smiled. “I’m sorry, Johnny. My intention was not to embarrass you; quite the contrary, in fact. Perhaps I see things that you do not. You are a fine man. Your father must be very proud.” And he wondered if Peter would ever grow to be like the young man before him.
As much as he would have liked nothing better than to lay next to the fire in his bedroll, Johnny kept moving. Yeah, he’d be sore in the morning, but for now, he needed to move. He wondered if Pete would be up to traveling, then he sighed, knowing it would mean another delay. For some reason, he was not supposed to buy Jake McAndrews’ horses.
He wondered what Scott was doing at this moment, probably all tucked in his bed at the fancy hotel in San Francisco. Probably had a big meal and a bottle of good alcohol, maybe even had the company of a warm and willing lady friend.
A wolf howled in the distance, and Johnny wondered if it was the same animal that made off with the meat the night before. A smile tugged the corner of his mouth, and he hoped the critter enjoyed the meal. The funny thing was that the bag holding the meat belonged to Miss Treadwell. Little did the wolf know she was traveling in style.
He poured himself a cup of hot coffee and leaned against a tree, trying to control the pounding in his head while contemplating his sleeping charges. The day proved difficult for everyone; nerves stretched to their limits, tempers ready to explode, and uncontrolled words ready to fly made for a tense, volatile situation. Recounting the day made Johnny anxious to return to Lancer, where everyone knew the dangers and things didn’t have to be explained just to stay safe. Yeah, home sounded pretty good at that moment.
The second nudge to Grayson’s foot brought him awake. With a heavy sigh, then a groan, Blair rolled out from his blanket, retrieved a cup of coffee, then sat at the edge of camp to watch the night pass. His efforts were worth the trouble, and he knew his worries would be over once he made his way to San Francisco. He just had to get there. The deal he struck would keep him living in luxury for the rest of his life.
But until he reached civilization, he would bide his time and not draw any unwanted attention. It would not be easy, but he had to do it. Thoughts of a lavish lifestyle occupied his mind as he watched tendrils of smoke and sparks rise from the fire. A snort from one of the horses brought him back to the present. It had been a traumatic day, and he again felt the sting of Lancer’s blistering rebuke. He remembered the contact with the tree and the glare from those vivid, cold eyes and wished Johnny would have fallen further down to land in a broken heap amongst the rocks. Yes, Blair would be happy to get out of these mountains and away from the man whom Blair thought could see right through him and read what was in his mind.
He blew out a deep breath, contemplating the slow passage of time. Blair Grayson didn’t like to be alone; he wished Peter would wake — they could talk and make his guard duty easier. But that wasn’t to happen. Not tonight. Regretfully, Pete had taken a bad fall and needed what rest he could get.
Sleep tugged at him, and he rose to pace around camp, leaving his valise in his bed roll. He sighed, thinking how close he had come to being discovered, but Johnny hadn’t said a word when he retrieved the piece that had fallen out of the bag earlier in the day, and he simply returned it with no questions. Blair wondered if the uneducated man even knew what it was that he held.
Deciding that trail coffee was awful, he took a drink from a canteen, hoping to clear the fuzz from his brain and promote clearer thoughts. How much longer could he keep this up? He blew out another breath.
“Blair?”
The whispered words sounded sweet in the thin mountain air, and he whirled to see Cassandra standing behind him, wrapped tightly in her coat.
“My dear, why are you awake? You should be resting.”
“Yes, I know, but we’ve had so little time to talk, and I thought perhaps we could rectify that now he is asleep.” She canted her head toward Johnny.
“Yes, he has been an … inconvenience, hasn’t he?” Blair muttered in low tones. “Let us talk over here,” and he led her past the string line.
Away from the camp, Blair pulled her into his arms, whispering into her hair as he felt her heartbeat against his chest.
“Oh, my darling, how desperately I’ve wanted to hold you! It’s torture having you so close yet keeping this horrid distance between us!”
“But you realize no one can know about us! No one must suspect! We must maintain our distance, Blair, even from my family. You know that to be true.” Her breathless words had the desired effect as they stood together, and she felt the embrace tighten.
They might have gotten away with their clandestine rendezvous had Cassandra not stepped on the twig. It snapped beneath her boot, the sound sharp in the cool air. Sleeping light had saved Johnny’s life on more than one occasion, and where he didn’t feel threatened, he knew something was happening. Before he moved, he peered through his lashes as he surveyed the camp.
Blair was not in sight, leaving them undefended and vulnerable. Damn. Johnny waited, giving the young man the benefit of the doubt if a call of nature forced him to take care of personal business. Then he saw Cassie’s empty bedroll, the blanket tossed carelessly aside. Damn, damn, damn! If that pendejo can’t stand watch an’ keep his hands ta himself…
They weren’t hard to find, and Johnny did not try to keep the harshness out of his voice.
“What the hell’re ya doin’ away from camp? Ya think this’s a game? After what happened last night, ya still think it ain’t dangerous out here? What’s the matter with you?” Johnny reined in his anger as he leveled his glare on the two who stood before him.
Cassandra’s returned glare fought to overcome her embarrassment of being caught with Blair. And it held fear that Johnny might have heard too much of their conversation. But they hadn’t divulged much… had they?
Johnny ordered Blair back to camp then met Miss Treadwell’s cold stare.
“I can’t stop you from makin’ a stupid mistake, ma’am. But to ease your father’s concern, I will. Ya best get back ta camp.” It wasn’t a position he usually took, but Johnny couldn’t help but sympathize with Mr. Treadwell. The man didn’t deserve the disrespect shown to him by his spoiled daughter.
With a heavy sigh, Johnny walked back to camp without waiting for her response, leaving her to contemplate her actions.
Then something Mr. Treadwell said flashed in his brain. Distant thunder were the words he used to describe what he felt. Johnny had not wanted to get between the man and his family, but now the rules had changed, and he knew Blair and Cassandra were the oncoming storm.
He knew he couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. Too little sleep would dull his senses, and Johnny couldn’t afford to let that happen, but how much longer could he stay awake? He hurt like hell from the fall earlier in the day; it would be worse tomorrow, and with his suspicions sparking warnings of potential trouble, there was no way he could get the rest his body craved.
Young Peter needed to sleep; there wasn’t any chance Johnny would trust Cassandra, and he refused to ask Mr. Treadwell to help with guard duty. Madrid was on his own. When was this nightmare going to end? Johnny would regret saying goodbye to Mr. Treadwell when the time came, but he anxiously anticipated the moment when he would see the others walk away, never to be seen again.
With any luck at all, tomorrow, they would see some sign of a town. What Johnny wouldn’t give to have a hot bath, a comfortable bed, and a good meal.
The signal continued to go unanswered, and Scott was beginning to lose hope of ever seeing his brother again.
“Scott, this’s a lotta ground ta cover. We could be chasin’ our tails for days before we see any sign or hear a answer from Johnny.”
Scott shrugged, then nodded. “Yes, Val, I know. You’ve already said that. It’s just I can’t bear the thought of him buried under this debris — imagining him struggling to breathe…”
“Then don’t think about it. Look, Johnny knows what he’s doin’, an’ he ain’t gonna end up buried. Trust me. Now, we only been out here a coupla days lookin’; ol’ Johnny’s been out here just a day or two longer. He’s been havin’ ta backtrack, jus’ like us. We could be goin’ one way an’ he’s goin’ t’other. We jus’ hafta keep firin’ that signal an’ hope he answers it.”
Scott knew Val was right, but it was damn hard waiting. Scott would consent to another few days looking for Johnny, but what if his brother had ridden into Placerville after he and Val left in search of him?
“Val, what do you think of returning to Placerville in the slim chance that Johnny got there after we left? If he isn’t there, we can get help to search. Like you said, we could be looking for a long time, and I have a feeling we’ll need more than just the two of us combing through these mountains.”
Val grinned; his toothy smile said it all. “Usin’ yer head for somethin’ more’n a place ta put yer hat.”
Nothing was said of the happenings of the night before, and Johnny suspected that neither Pete nor Mr. Treadwell knew of the clandestine affair between Cassandra and Blair Grayson. The recurring thought was troublesome, but where he drew the line at becoming involved in others’ family issues, he knew with certainty he would be drawn in and forced to face those headaches he tried to avoid. Still, Johnny had developed an affinity toward Mr. Treadwell and didn’t want to see the man hurt. The old man had made his mistakes and was paying for them, but was trying to make amends the only way he knew how — to find out what kind of a man his son was and begin to build on that foundation. Johnny thought the man could be right when he said ‘before it was too late’.
The morning passed with little conversation, which was fine with him. Johnny was not up for idle talk. It hurt to breathe, and the headache persisted, but he knew it would, so he made it a point to not encourage any talk between him and the Treadwell party. He expected whispered words between Cassandra and Grayson but was surprised when there weren’t any.
They stopped to let Peter rest, though he insisted he was “not as bad as I must look!” But Mr. Treadwell assumed his parental duty and, as Murdoch would have done, called the tune. Inwardly, Johnny chuckled.
How many days had they been riding? It seemed forever, but Johnny attributed his anxiousness to losing out on McAndrews’ breeding stock. They were fine animals, just what was needed to improve and further the Lancer line. A tug at the corner of Johnny’s mouth twitched — The Lancer part of him was nudging at Madrid. Looking over his shoulder to ensure the Treadwell party was following, one glance at Grayson brought Madrid back, front and center, and he wondered if Blair and Cassandra were successful in deceiving her family. If he were Mr. Treadwell, Johnny would have a few objections over Grayson joining the family or coming between Treadwell and his daughter.
Since moving out at dawn, Johnny observed more stability in the earth beneath their feet; the ground was more solid, leaving the treacherous footing behind them. No rain had plagued them for two days now — could it be the weather would hold until they reached a town? Maybe they would reach Placerville in one piece. Johnny was hoping for the best.
They were making decent time; the horses found better footing, and young Pete seemed to handle a faster pace. Johnny’s eyes took in everything around them, focusing on signs of a road or anything that could guide them. It was impossible to tell exactly where they were, considering the backtracking they had to do. Sooner or later, they would find something to mark their location; all they could do was keep going west.
“Can you tell where we are, Johnny?”
The man had impressed him; Treadwell had admitted his mistakes and fought to bring himself and his son closer. Before surrendering to sleep the night before, the two engaged in quiet conversation, and Johnny furtively watched the look of hopefulness in the senior Treadwell’s eyes. He had seen the same look on Murdoch’s face when they took those first tentative steps to close the chasm that once divided them. It took guts to face the fears of your mistakes, and Peter Treadwell Sr. was doing just that.
“Close as I can tell, we’re east of Placerville. If we keep goin’ in this direction, we should be close in the next day or two.”
The old man smiled as he sat in the saddle, happy to watch the passing scenery, then his demeanor began to change from contentment to an expression of mixed emotions, and Johnny’s senses went on alert.
“This journey has not been easy on you, and I need to apologize for not only the injury and the inconvenience our meeting has caused you but also the way young Peter and Cassandra have treated you. Their behavior is inexcusable, and I am deeply sorry. You have done nothing but your best to see what comfort you could provide, and they thwarted you at every turn.”
Johnny did not respond, letting the old man vent as he needed. Knowing it would ease his conscience, he remained silent until Mr. Treadwell finished his confession.
“If there is a bright side to this adventure, it is that Peter has shown signs of taking responsibility for himself. You will never know the huge step he took in his apology to you last night. It might seem trivial, but believe me when I say it is a major forward move, and I am grateful to you for everything you’ve done. However, I am regretful that you were injured.”
The tug at the corner of Johnny’s mouth alerted Mr. Treadwell he would deny the hurt, and he quickly continued.
“I know you were hurt, Johnny; I can see it on you. Is there anything that I can do?”
“’ M fine, Mr. Treadwell. Gimme a good night’s rest and a decent meal, an’ I’ll be good as new. Thanks.”
A sideways glance at the old man told a bittersweet story, but Johnny conceded that, though tired, Peter Senior looked better than he had at their first meeting. The man smiled and had spoken with a civil tongue, a more than civil tongue, but a fire smoldered in the old soul, a desire to know what kind of man his son truly was — the reason for this venture. Johnny saw it, hung like a suffocating wrap around him, an old man’s troublesome mantle, ragged and moth-eaten. Had Murdoch felt that way upon finding the cherished blue-eyed cherub of years ago with the silk-soft dark hair was the notorious Johnny Madrid?
Peter Junior’s apology last night was a small step forward, but it was a beginning; the signal Mr. Treadwell hoped for. Johnny witnessed the father and son speaking in low tones as they rode together in deep, quiet conversation with no harsh words. Yes, it was a new beginning. Johnny hoped so for the old man’s sake.
“How far do you think we are from Placerville, Val?” Discouraged when the last rifle shots brought no response, Scott was anxious to return to town to see if his wandering brother was there; if he wasn’t, he and Val would organize a search party to bring him back. No other man on the face of the earth was as irritating and bothersome as Johnny, and neither was there another man that Scott respected and loved more.
Scott didn’t know if he wanted to hit his brother for the trouble he caused or hug him when he found Johnny alive and unhurt.
Had Scott been privy to Val’s thoughts, he would have found them entirely different. He knew Johnny’s capabilities; Madrid’s survival sense went beyond average knowledge, beyond ordinary effort, and he half expected to find Johnny lounging in the saloon after receiving the wire he and Scott had sent earlier. Yeah, ol’ Johnny’s prob’ly relaxin’ while he’s waitin’ for us ta get there…
“Mr. Treadwell — there’s a trail ahead. ‘ M gonna go ahead an’ see where it goes. Just stay on the trail an’ I’ll find ya.” Without waiting for confirmation, Johnny nudged Barranca into a trot, leaving the others behind.
“Where’s he going?” Cassandra shrieked as she rode beside her father. “I knew he would desert us! Father, what…” she sputtered as she was interrupted.
“Settle down, Cassandra; Johnny’s just checking the trail. Daughter, it seems you are unhappy no matter what that man does. You don’t want him with us, but you are worried if he leaves. You are a most discontented young woman and should consider changing that characteristic. It is terribly annoying… and childish.” Treadwell felt strangely liberated in the rebuke of his daughter; he didn’t wait for the undignified gasp he knew was coming and gently urged his horse ahead, leaving Cassandra to sulk and smolder alone.
Young Peter and Blair watched as Johnny rode off; Cassie approached the Senior Treadwell — after a brief talk, he, too, rode away from her. They watched as her spine stiffened and expected to see her body shake with rage.
Blair emitted a snort. “It seems, Peter, that your sister is vexed. Do you suppose we should try and enlighten her?”
“Not unless you fancy your hide flayed by her sharp tongue. I’m keeping my distance from dear Cassie, and if you are wise, you will as well, my friend.”
Blair laughed. “I believe you are right, Peter! I believe you are right!”
Johnny smiled; the trail headed west toward Placerville. He would be sad to part ways with Mr. Treadwell, but, truth be told, he would not miss the others. What was that saying Murdoch said? You have to take the good with the bad. In this case, it was more like taking the bad with the good. But knowing Mr. Treadwell was worth the effort.
He pulled his wandering thoughts together, then turned Barranca back toward the others. Mr. Treadwell greeted him with a smile while Pete managed an apprehensive grin and Cassandra and Blair brought up the rear, giving Johnny no notice.
“How does it look ahead, Johnny?” The question was asked, hoping for good news.
Johnny sighed. “Close as I can tell, we have about another day of travel. Some ‘a the tracks are washed away, but that trail ahead has seen more’n its share ‘a horses an’ wagons. Placerville shouldn’t be too far. Most of the tracks are goin’ ta the northwest, so that’s the direction we’re gonna go.”
Treadwell nodded, feeling safe with Johnny’s decision. It made sense.
Cassandra was going to ask how he knew, but given recent past remarks, she decided to hold her tongue. Whenever Cassandra thought to outwit him, he beat her at her own game and she was tired of losing. But it was a bitter pill to swallow.
The day wore on, and though they knew they would soon be in a town with food and civil amenities, mainly a bathtub, they weren’t arriving fast enough. Not surprisingly, Cassandra was the first to complain; thankfully, Treadwell put her in her place.
“Unless you have the money to pay for a room, daughter, you must work for your keep.” The father was enjoying his newly found power; why hadn’t he used it before?
It took a moment for the realization to set in before her stunned mind responded; shock and panic seized her in a stranglehold, and she sputtered words, not making any sense.
“Father! You wouldn’t! Why do you… abandon me?”
Treadwell met her horror-filled face with a smile. “To help you grow, Cassie. To help you grow.”
It took control, but Johnny did not even smile; he kept the explosive laughter tucked away; however, young Pete did not feel the need and chuckled openly. Blair Grayson silently wished they would get to town; he was more than tired of this ordeal.
The sun was setting when the weary travelers rode down the main street of Placerville and stopped in front of the hotel.
Johnny dismounted and, with a casual flip of his wrist, tied Barranca to the hitchrail. “I’ll see if they have some rooms,” he quietly stated.
“I’ll go with you,” Treadwell stated, not waiting to help Cassie from the saddle.
“Wait! We not staying here, are we?” Where were the porter and the doorman?
Johnny stopped in the doorway and turned with a smile. “Well, if ya want, there’s a stable over that way; prob’ly have a spare stall for ya ta sleep in, or maybe the saloon over there has a room upstairs they’d rent to ya.”
She’d done it again and sat fuming, heaping vile thoughts upon Lancer’s head. Tears stung behind her eyes. Oh, Blair, take me away from here!
Johnny sauntered across the lobby of the Mountain Ridge Hotel and approached the man behind the desk. “Don’t expect ya ta still be holdin’ my room, but a coupla a days ago, I had reservations for Johnny Lancer. Ya wouldn’t still have it, would ya? The rain an’ landslides in the mountains held me up.”
Mr. Lancer appeared a bit worse for wear, but the hotel clerk understood. The weather had been wicked for the last week, and few risked venturing out, especially through the mountains.
“Yes, I do, Mr. Lancer. Are there more in your party?” The clerk asked hopefully as he eyed the older man at Johnny’s side. Business had been slow lately.
“Yeah, there are. I guess what, Mr. Treadwell, four rooms?” Johnny asked as he considered the old man.
“Oh, Mr. Lancer, I almost forgot, there’s a wire for you.” The clerk reached into the pigeonhole for the reserved room behind the desk and withdrew an envelope. “Here you are!”
Johnny took the envelope, “Thanks,” he said and ripped it open. His smile grew as he read that Val and Scott were on their way.
“Yes, I believe four rooms should cover it. Peter and I will share a room.” Treadwell smiled. Perhaps he and Peter could talk privately — it was another step toward a successful outcome. One more precious step… “Could we order a bath in our rooms?” He hoped it wasn’t too much to ask.
The clerk over the top of his spectacles. “There is a bathhouse two doors down. We don’t have the accommodations in the hotel.”
“That will do. Thank you.” Treadwell chuckled, knowing Cassandra would not be happy with their arrangements. And he was right.
With keys in hand, the hotel clerk led them up the stairs, opening the assigned rooms as they proceeded down the hall. Johnny took the room near the back stairs at the end while the others occupied the rest. He quickly closed his door when he listened to Cassandra rail at the idea of bathing in a public establishment. The last he heard was Treadwell’s voice issuing a firm but optimistic reply.
“It is this or nothing, dear; take your pick. Or… I am sure there is a river where you could bathe…” The old man ushered Pete into their room and quietly closed the door behind them, cutting off any further remark.
And there were many. Cassandra stood glaring at her accommodations, dissatisfied, disappointed, and disgusted. Certainly, she was not to be expected to sleep in this room! They must have something more to her liking! Pulling her dignity together, she left her room, descended the stairs, and approached the desk clerk.
Taking in her filthy clothes and disheveled appearance, the clerk gave her a brief acknowledgment. “Yes, Miss?”
“I cannot stay in that room! Don’t you have anything better? I will not stay in squalor!”
The desk clerk drew himself up and looked down his nose, responding quickly, wrinkling his nose as if she reeked, “I’m sorry, Miss, but the Presidential Suite was rented out minutes before your arrival.” He looked away, then added, “The bathhouse is two doors down.” He turned his back and walked swiftly through the door behind him, leaving Cassandra alone, insulted and furious, standing at the desk.
Red with rage, Cassandra left for the bathhouse. Perhaps it would be enough to soothe her injured pride. Holding her head high, Miss Treadwell walked to the establishment and waited intolerably long minutes for someone to help, then waited an equally intolerable time for her bath to be prepared. Once escorted into the tiny, curtain-sectioned bay, she stared in disgust at the wooden tub filled with steaming water. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and fought the scream she felt welling in her throat. Blair, take me away!
No matter how hard she tried to ignore the fact that other people had sat in this tub, she did admit the water felt amazing. She scrubbed herself clean with soap she was sure would leave her skin dry and rough. But the dirt was gone.
A young girl brought another bucket of hot water to warm the bath as the night air chilled the water quickly. She stepped over the pile of Cassandra’s dirty and discarded clothes that lay in a pile on the floor.
“Uh, Miss, do you want me to wash your clothes?”
“No! Burn them immediately!” Cassie hissed.
“Yes. Ma’am.” The girl picked up the clothes and left.
She leaned her head to rest against the tub. Relax… just relax…
The soak felt like heaven, even in the public tub, but Cassie knew she needed to finish and get back to her room. The folded towel on the bench beside the tub looked clean, and she picked it up, inspected it closely, and begrudgingly began to dry her body. And it slammed into her brain that she had nothing to wear! What was she going to do? She had nothing! Not for the first time, Cassandra cursed Johnny Lancer for making them leave their belongings in the mountains. Everything she brought with her was left behind!
“Oh, when I get back to the hotel, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind! Now, where is that girl? She was here just a minute ago!” The towel-wrapped Miss Treadwell was steaming mad. “Girl! Girl!”
She came at a run, tearing through the curtained partition, cheeks pink and hair escaping her efforts to pin it back.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“My clothes! I need them!”
The girl looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “You told me to burn them, Miss!”
“You stupid girl! What am I to wear? I have nothing!”
“But, you told me to burn them…” Would she be in trouble that she did what was instructed of her to do? The lady said, “Burn them.” And Millie did.
“Well, I can’t walk around in this towel! Get me something to wear! Something clean!” Cassie ordered.
With a meek, “Yes, Ma’am.” Millie left Cassandra clad in a towel and shivering.
Several minutes later, Millie returned with a garment in her hands. “Mama washed and dried this today. I took it off the line…”
Cassandra snatched it from the girl’s hand, then ordered her away so she could dress without anyone watching. Only then did she see the garment and exploded with rage.
“You can’t expect me to wear this! Get me something else! I demand to see the proprietor!” Oh, no! I can’t let anyone see me in a towel!
What else could happen? Well, it was a short walk to the hotel; she would use the back stairs and risk the chance that anyone would see her. Reluctantly, Cassandra Treadwell pulled the unfashionable, drab gray dress over her head and felt another scream in her throat. She could have fit two other people in with her!
The hinges of the back door screeched loudly as she pulled it open, hoping to get up to her room unnoticed; it made her cringe. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this! She would be so embarrassed! Quickly, she ascended the stairs; relief flooded her that the risers did not squeak… until she reached the top. The boards under her feet announced her presence as she stepped into the hall. A door opened, revealing the last person she wanted to see.
Johnny lay on the bed contemplating getting a bath before sleeping for the night. Damn, he was tired. Maybe a good hot soak would ease the ache in his chest and back. The discomfort was manageable but barely, and he was putting off checking out his chest and back; the bruising would be bad… He almost hoped he would miss Scott and Val; they would make sure he saw the local doctor. But he was fine. He didn’t need to see no doctor. The trip down to the front desk had been worth it. The extra pitcher of water allowed him to wash away the dried blood that matted the hair to his head. Gentle fingers explored the area, deeming it as not serious. The swelling was minimal, albeit still tender.
He rolled off the bed, grabbed his saddlebags, then stopped when squeaking floorboards alerted him of someone lurking just outside his door. Who would be in the hall outside? He held the Colt in his hand, then quietly turned the knob and eased the portal open to see Miss Treadwell sneaking past on her way down the hall. Oh, this was too good to pass up, and Johnny quickly opened the door, catching Cassandra in her most embarrassing moment.
She stopped, anchored to the floor as she stared into the face of Johnny Lancer. A gasp escaped her throat; she blushed profusely, then tripped when she tried to run to her room. As she passed by, she heard his audacity as he muttered, “Nice dress.”
“Oh! Oh, no!” Her feet couldn’t move fast enough, but she reached her room, nearly breaking her wrist as she tried turning the knob and pushing the door open in one movement. But it wasn’t to happen. The door was locked; she hadn’t taken her key with her when she asked the desk clerk for a better room.
Her indignities compounded as Johnny sauntered down the hallway to her side; the smirk on his face said it all. Then he cleared his throat.
“You, uh… ya got a problem… Miss Treadwell? Anything I can help ya with?”
The humor and sparkle in his eyes did nothing to endear him to her. Her jaws clenched tightly as her teeth ground together and her lips pursed.
Johnny could have sworn he saw smoke coming from her ears, but he took the high road, almost, and volunteered his help. “Locked out, huh? Well, that’ll happen when ya get careless. I’ll see if they have another key.” But he held back the laugh threatening to tear from his throat.
The clerk was at the desk when Johnny approached. His smile was telling, and Clerk David smiled in return.
“Can I help you, Mr. Lancer?”
“Well, not me, but the… lady has a problem. Locked herself out of her room. Ya happen ta have another key?”
“Yes, I do,” David said, thinking he would love to make the ‘lady’ wait for the key. She was a most unpleasant woman.
Johnny nodded, then left the lobby for his room, having decided a good night’s sleep was calling his name louder than the bath. At the top of the stairs, he met the embarrassed, enraged, and impatient Cassandra as she waited for her room to be opened.
Johnny smiled and did not hold back his remark. “The desk clerk’s gonna get ya another key ta your room, Miss Treadwell… soon as he finds one.”
Johnny left her standing in the hallway, ready to explode. The snort of humor escaped before he could shut his door.
Blair Grayson paced in the small room. What should he do first besides getting cleaned up? Would he find any decent clothes in this town? Perhaps he would forgo style until he reached his destination. The informal western wear would aid in his plans. Yes, that was it; he would masquerade as a local — it would be easy! Blair picked up the traveling bag and held it tightly against his chest. Everything would be alright!
Morning sun blazed through the window, bright and cheery. Johnny slowly rolled out of bed and dressed, assessing his pain, then deemed himself alright, he left the room and knocked on Treadwell’s door. Muffled voices behind the portal told of progress in their relationship, making Johnny grin. Mr. Treadwell deserved another chance, and it looked like he was getting it. The door opened to reveal both Treadwells smiling back as they bid him a good morning.
“Just wanted ta make sure you’re alright. Ah, I don’t wanna make ya feel uncomfortable, but how’re ya fixed for money? If ya want, I can get ya some new clothes an’…”
There was a light in Treadwell’s eyes that Johnny had not seen before. “Johnny, I cannot thank you enough for all you have done! But, no, I’ll wire my office, and they will send the funds we need. My attorney will expedite the transaction, so sometime today will be fine. I will have to break the news to Cassandra, though. Her patience for such matters is sadly lacking…”
There it was again. That laugh that needed liberation. “Oh, she, ah, she found a dress last night…” Johnny said as innocently as possible, knowing the woman most likely spent the night stewing in the toxic cauldron of her own vile disposition; her contempt over the present situation in which she found herself would, no doubt, take her to heights of fury not yet known. The colorless dress, four times too large, could push her over the proverbial edge.
Though surprised, Treadwell didn’t pick up on Johnny’s humor.
“Splendid! I trust she will be in a better frame of mind then.”
Somehow, Johnny didn’t think so.
Scott Lancer and Sheriff Val Crawford rode down the middle of Placerville’s main street and stopped in front of the Mountain Ridge Hotel, hoping beyond hope that Johnny had already checked in and was safe and sound. Knowing it was Johnny they worried about, anything could have happened and probably did.
Stepping into the lobby, they proceeded to the desk where clerk David smiled at potential new customers. The five who checked in last night were a surprise; two this morning were more than he expected.
“Yes, gentlemen, do you need rooms?” The smile stretched across his face as he eyed the newcomers — the bathhouse would certainly have more customers. Business was booming!
“Has Johnny Lancer checked in?” Scott asked hopefully.
The smile stretched further across David’s face. “Yes, they checked in last night!”
In unison, Val and Scott spoke. “They?”
“Yes, Mr. Lancer checked in with the Treadwell party.”
The surprise clouded their features, and they turned to face each other; Val and Scott, again in unison, said, “The Treadwells?”
“Yes, the Treadwells. Do you wish to have rooms?” Davis asked again, hoping the two newcomers would sign the register. He had only expected one new customer, Johnny Lancer, but David suddenly now had six other people in his establishment.
“What room is Johnny in? I need to talk with him first before we reserve any rooms.”
David’s smile slipped, thinking business might not be as good as he thought.
“He’s in number seven at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you!” Scott and Val mounted the stairs and hurried to room number seven.
The razor scraped against his face, shearing the irritating whiskers off his skin. Madrid had often sported several days of growth, but adding the mud and grime caused him to itch like a mangy dog, and he could no longer stand it. Once his beard was shaved and floating in the soapy water in the bowl, he planned to get the bath he had postponed last night.
Although there were separate sections for men and women at the bathhouse, there was no way in hell he wanted any more contact with Miss Treadwell than necessary last night. He’d gladly spend the night in need of a bath rather than endure her shrewish remarks. And it was worth it. Catching her sneaking up the back stairs in the oversized dress caused him to laugh himself to sleep… though he remembered a nightmare of a fanged Cassandra attempting to sink those wicked teeth in his flesh. Hell, it was still worth it…
The knock on his door pulled him back to reality; he tugged it open, expecting to see Mr. Treadwell, but it wasn’t, for there, looking as muddy and needing a bath as he, stood Scott and Val. Their eyes widened as they took in Johnny’s appearance.
“Hey, Boston! Val! What’re you two doin’ here?” He stepped aside and let them enter, then it registered he stood shirtless, and they witnessed the hellish black bruising on his torso and back.
“Johnny, what happened?” Scott moved forward, reaching out as concern for his brother took him in its grip. “Johnny, I think you need to see a…”
“’ M fine, Scott, leave it alone,” Johnny said as he backed out of Scott’s reach. “Just sore an’ nothin’s broke. ‘ M fine,” thankful his brother was unaware of the crack on his head from falling down the mountain.
Val said nothing but shook his head. He knew better than to argue.
“Johnny, what happened? Did you get to see McAndrews? The desk clerk said you checked in with the Treadwells. Who are they?”
The rush of questions made Johnny smile. Boston was worried, and where Johnny thought it humorous, he was also touched that Scott cared so much. Being part of a family was the best thing that ever happened to him. Would he ever get used to it?
Scott tossed his hat on the table beside the bed while Val settled in the only chair to listen.
“Yeah, the Treadwells, Mr. Treadwell and his son an’ daughter; there’s another with ‘em — Blair Grayson. They’re all from back East somewhere. Philadelphia, I think. They got stranded in the mountains when their guide took off with the money they paid him; he probably thought they’d never make it alone. Guess I was the lucky one ta find ‘em.” Johnny shrugged. He needed a bath, and his belly was growling. “Look, I’m headed ta the bathhouse, then goin’ ta get breakfast.” Smirking, he added, “You two look like ya could use a good scrubbin’ too!”
Johnny, Scott, and Val entered the bathhouse and occupied three of the four tubs; the sighs of comfort floated into the steamy air. He was happy that neither Scott nor Val was prone to singing while indulging in their morning ablutions; the canvas walls separating the compartments did nothing to block sound… and Scott could not carry a tune to save his life; come to think about it, neither could Val.
Johnny scrubbed himself clean from head to toe, feeling like a new man. The water soothed his aches and limbered the tight muscles in his torso. Yup, he felt like a new man.
He hated to wear his dirty clothes but had no choice. The general store was not yet open, so purchasing new pants and a shirt would have to wait. He dried off and swore he felt ten pounds lighter than when he climbed into the hot water. He would bring his clothes back to be laundered — would he find anything at the general store to his liking? Regretfully, he tugged on the dirty calzoneras and shirt he’d worn for days; well, new duds would feel good, no matter what they looked like.
“You two about done?”
“Hold yer horses, amigo. I’ll be out in a minute!”
“Yes, brother, I’m right behind you!”
They settled the bill with the caretaker and were about to leave when Mr. Treadwell and Pete entered the bathhouse.
“Johnny! I was hoping to see you before you left!” Mr. Treadwell greeted Johnny with a pleasant smile. Young Pete extended his hand, and Johnny shook, willing to let past and harsh words between them slide. Second chances, yes, Johnny was all for second chances.
“Mr. Treadwell, Pete, did ya sleep alright last night?”
“Yes, thank you, Johnny! It was the best I’ve slept in quite a while!”
“This’s my brother, Scott, an’ this hombre here is the sheriff of Green River, Val Crawford.” He nodded to Scott and Val, “This’s Mr. Treadwell an’ his son, Pete.”
Scott held out his hand, as did Val, to shake with the Treadwells; however, Val had to first wipe his hand on his pants after catching the drip of water that ran down his face from his tousled hair. The Treadwells witnessed the ‘true’ Val Crawford.
Greetings were exchanged then Johnny commented they were going to the café for breakfast if they would like to join them.
“We don’t want to keep you from anything, Johnny. You had business to attend to, or… is it too late?” Mr. Treadwell was ready to apologize for detaining Johnny more than he already had.
Johnny caught the apprehension written on the man’s face. “Mr. Treadwell, another hour ain’t gonna make a difference. Come ta the café when you’re done.”
The old man looked like a weight had lifted from his shoulders, and he smiled. “Thank you, Johnny! We will be there!”
The night’s sleep, bath, coffee, and food had done wonders. Johnny, Scott, and Val occupied a corner table by the window where he could watch for Mr. Treadwell. They would leave town after saying goodbye to Treadwell and his son, hoping to make it to the McAndrews Ranch and buy the breeding stock after breakfast. If Johnny couldn’t get there, maybe no other prospective buyers did either. Bad weather had swept through the mountains and covered a wide path. Not wishing anyone bad luck, Johnny wanted to be the first to get there.
The waitress, a middle-aged woman with rosy cheeks and a pleasant smile returned to their table with more biscuits, refilled the coffee in their cups, then departed as the three handsome men flirted and made her cheeks color bright crimson, and she loved it!
The three chuckled good-naturedly with her when the door opened, and Mr. Treadwell and Peter entered, spied Johnny, nearly finished with his meal, and walked to the table to join them.
Val retrieved another chair allowing them all a place at the same table. Movement out the window caught Johnny’s attention as he watched Blair Grayson hurry across the street, then out of sight. Guessing Grayson was after new clothes before a bath, Johnny gave it no further thought, but he did wonder about Cassie sitting in her room, not daring to be seen in the oversized gray dress.
“Have ya seen your daughter this mornin’, Mr. Treadwell?” Dammit! Don’t laugh; Johnny struggled again to control the humor before it escaped him. Mr. Treadwell’s lookin’ like he can’t hold it back either…
“Well, yes, I’ve talked with her. She’s… contemplating what to wear…”
Johnny quickly grabbed for his cup to divert the laugh that was fighting for liberation.
There it was! The Stage Station! Blair burst through the doors, nearly knocking over an elderly woman exiting the building. With barely an acknowledgment of “Excuse me, Madam,” Blair hurried to the counter and blurted his question before the clerk was finished with his current customer.
“When is the next stage for Sacramento?” he rudely asked.
The savvy clerk had played this game before. He could tell the customer he’d just missed the stage or there wouldn’t be another one to leave for three days, but he didn’t. He’d be truthful just to get the belligerent man out of Placerville.
“You’re in luck, Mister; next stage leaves in forty minutes,” he responded without making eye contact.
Blair tossed the fare on the counter. “One ticket, please.” Grateful he had sufficient funds left after the guide had taken most of their money, Blair pushed the thought of empty pockets from his mind. Soon, my pockets will be full!
The clerk grabbed the money and presented Blair with one ticket to Sacramento. If he hurried, he could clean up before he boarded the stage. If he hurried.
The general store had just opened for business when Grayson charged through the door. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, but perhaps it was good there were no civilized clothes to choose from. He had to keep reminding himself the working-class garments would help him travel undetected. He would look like a local… one of them!
Entering the bathhouse from the alley, Blair cleaned up, shaved the rat-tailed mustache from his upper lip, and dressed in his newly purchased clothing. He wanted to laugh but felt degraded at the same time. He would look like a normal farmhand.
He stood inside the stage station to avoid being seen by the Treadwells, and especially Johnny Lancer; it wouldn’t do to be seen here, in this disguise and clean-shaven face. Then, ten minutes later, Blair Grayson climbed into the stage that would take him to Sacramento to start his new life. His plan was working!
“Well, Mr. Treadwell, I guess this’s where we part ways.” Johnny extended his hand, and Treadwell grasped it tightly.
“Thank you doesn’t seem like enough, Johnny. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate what you sacrificed for us, and I can’t apologize enough for the inconvenience. And more than anything, for the despicable way my daughter treated you. I will have words with her about her actions, trust me! I regret that you were injured and sincerely hope you will recover completely. But through it all, it was a great adventure, and I believe the relationship between my son and me will flourish. Thank you for saving his life!” Treadwell couldn’t hold back the tears that flooded his eyes. He would miss Johnny Lancer.
“If ya ever find yourself back here, let me know — I’d like ta see ya again, Mr. Treadwell. You too, Pete.”
“Mr. Lancer… Johnny, I can’t say how sorry I am for treating you so badly when you first came to our rescue. I am appalled when I think back… I am truly sorry. I hope that you can forgive my shortsighted behavior. I had much thinking to do after you brought me safely up that cliff. I hope you are feeling alright and have no after-effects of that fall.” Pete’s eyes searched the face before him, waiting for an answer.
“’ M fine, Pete. There’s only one thing I can tell ya, an’ that is, ya got a good father here. He’s a good man, an’ a good man deserves a good son. It’s the best mark he can leave when his time is done. Make him proud, Pete.”
Johnny was never good at saying goodbye. He’d grown to like Mr. Treadwell, developing respect for the man who had acknowledged his mistakes and who was ready to make amends. Though small in stature, Peter Treadwell, Senior, was a big man who needed his son alongside him.
After leaving the restaurant, Johnny felt two sets of eyes pierce through him. He turned to Scott and Val, uneasy with the attention.
“What?” he asked, his eyes going from one to the other.
It was Scott who pressed the issue that Johnny wished would drop.
Remembering the bruising on his brother’s body, Scott’s big brother obligation took over, and he searched for answers.
“Fall, cliff? Johnny, what the hell happened? Are you alright?”
Johnny laughed, although it hurt. “’ M fine, Boston. An’ don’t start fussin’!”
They left the father and son at the café. Scott and Val accompanied Johnny to the general store to purchase new clothes; while there, Johnny noticed the proprietress selecting dresses from the rack; she draped them over her arm and collected a package from the ladies’ section that, if he ventured a guess, contained underthings, then she headed toward the hotel. Johnny wanted to laugh, knowing that Miss Treadwell would not step one foot outside her room, and he really couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be seen in the awful gray dress.
The last stop was to check on Barranca at the stable. The liveryman could talk a wolf out of its howl and kept the three newcomers engaged in conversation for longer than any of them wanted. They discontinued the talk with the congenial and long-winded man then returned to the room where Johnny changed into the new, clean clothes. It was quiet at the hotel, and no sheriff was present, leading Johnny to think the storekeeper’s wife made it out of Cassie’s room alive.
Waiting for Johnny in the lobby, Val slouched in a chair while Scott picked up an old San Francisco newspaper and began to read. Even old news was interesting. Well, two weeks isn’t so bad.
An article caught Scott’s attention: There had been a theft and murder at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts. Scott read further, his curiosity piqued, having visited the museum while he lived back East with his grandfather. A collection of jewels was stolen, and the security guard was killed while trying to apprehend the thief. Absorbed in the article, Scott wasn’t aware Johnny had joined him until his brother spoke.
“Must be good readin’ if ya don’t know I’m standin’ right beside ya.” Then Johnny wondered if Scott had heard him. “Boston… ya alright?”
Suddenly aware, Scott turned to Johnny with an apology. “Johnny, I’m sorry, I was… I was just reading this article… it’s several weeks old but quite interesting nonetheless.”
“Yeah? What’s it about?” Johnny asked, not overly eager to hear of an opera or other social event that always captured Scott’s attention. Big city news didn’t have the appeal for Johnny as it did for his brother.
“This article written in the San Francisco paper states that a museum in Salem, Massachusetts, was robbed, and the night guard was murdered. An exhibit of jewels was stolen…”
The words Salem and Massachusetts sounded familiar, but he didn’t give it much thought until Scott read the museum’s name. “The seventy-two-year-old Peabody Essex Museum suffered the only theft since it opened.” A spark ignited in Johnny’s brain. Wasn’t that where Mr. Treadwell said Blair Grayson worked with his father?
Scott continued to read, “Samuel Grayson, curator for the museum…”
Flashbacks ignited in Johnny’s brain — Blair was never without that bag — Johnny saw the large, bejeweled ring lying in the mud where the bag had fallen and picked it up, later handing it to Blair… the man never let that bag out of his sight…
“Scott! When did the robbery happen?”
Noting the seriousness on his brother’s face, Scott wondered why Johnny was now completely interested when, only moments prior, he seemed distracted, not caring about some article in the paper. Johnny’s demeanor changed in a heartbeat.
“What’s the matter, brother?” Scott asked, baffled by Johnny’s turnaround.
“When was the robbery?” Johnny repeated.
Scott scanned the article. “A little over three weeks ago. Why? What’s…”
Johnny didn’t wait for more questions. He motioned for Scott and Val to follow. They had a man to find.
Though not his preferred mode of transportation, Blair Grayson settled into the corner of the bouncing stagecoach. It had been close, but he made it. The stage pulled out of Placerville bound for Sacramento, where Blair would purchase different clothes, clothes befitting a man of means.
He couldn’t help but smile, then held his handkerchief to his bleeding lip when it split open. In his haste to leave that filthy little town and be on time when the stage left, Blair shaved his mustache, hoping to alter his appearance. The blade slipped, nicking the skin, and continued to seep. Maybe no one would notice. The new clothes he’d purchased, the clothes of an ordinary Californian, disgusting though they were, would allow him to travel without detection. Once he made it to San Francisco, the other set of new clothes would ensure he would not be recognized.
Grayson couldn’t help but feel pleased with his plan and how things were working out. For the last year, he orchestrated the robbery and strategized the moves needed to lay the successful groundwork to escape undetected.
The Treadwell’s trip had fallen neatly into place. Teasing Cassandra with tantalizing tidbits, not telling her exactly what he’d done, only that they, as a couple, would never have to rely on their families again, that together they would have ‘it all’. Together! And she had blindly pledged herself to help in whatever she could. Anything to ‘get away’ from the mind-numbingly dull existence of Philadelphia’s upper-crust society. She craved… more.
She was instrumental in convincing her father and brother to let Blair join them on their trip; unknown to them, it was part of the plan, a staged ‘coincidence’, to meet the Treadwells in Carson City, and it was for that reason alone that Cassandra insisted she accompany her family. There was no interest in spending time with her father and brother, only the desire for excitement and to escape with Blair. But Blair had no intentions of spending his life with that shrew. He left her as he had planned all along, using her and the Treadwell family in his escape. No one would suspect that he traveled with them. And Cassandra would eventually pay a high price for her part in the deception.
Yes, everything was working out splendidly!
It had taken months to find the right person, but he did; two weeks before the robbery, Blair cleverly hired a young man to impersonate him, paying him handsomely to pose as Blair Grayson, board the train West, then disappear upon arriving at Carson City, giving Blair the alibi he needed; he wasn’t in Salem when the robbery occurred and was seen on the train and in Carson City. He’d found the perfect young man of the same height, weight, coloring, and build to play the part of Blair Grayson traveling West. For all practical purposes, Blair was seen on the train headed West, while in truth, Blair Grayson hid until it was time to rob the museum.
The only problem Blair faced was old Eddie Hanson got in the way. Blair had known the man for years and had joked with him often. When Blair was a child, Eddie had taken him to see the treasures not yet on display in rooms where cleaning and construction of new displays were progressing. Blair had often watched as the man took a nip… or two from the bottle he kept hidden from his superiors to help pass the long, quiet hours. But Eddie had foregone the nips that night and caught Blair taking the jewels; Blair had no choice but to dispose of the threat.
Why couldn’t Eddie have just ignored the sounds he heard? Why did he have to investigate and see me standing there, dressed in dark clothing, with the jewels in my hands?
Blair acted quickly and brutally, dispatching the night guard with a knife plunged deep into the man’s chest. Perhaps in time, the shock, horror, and recognition reflected in Eddie’s eyes would fade from Grayson’s mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Eddie’s, and they haunted Blair’s every moment. He pushed Eddie out of his thoughts and concentrated on the new life that awaited him once he left the country.
Grayson gathered his thoughts and fought against the smile that threatened to snake across his face. He didn’t want anyone to ask what was so amusing that made him grin like a jackass.
Johnny, Scott, and Val searched Placerville, scouring the town, looking for Blair Grayson. Grayson was nowhere to be found. Running out of options, Scott suggested the stage station; it was the last place to look.
The clerk frowned when the three men came through the door. These were no casual customers; they had a purpose as they boldly walked to the counter. He already had one difficult customer this morning, and this certainly looked like trouble to him.
“Anyone come in here this mornin’, my height, dark hair an’ a rat-tail lookin’ mustache…” Johnny began the questioning as the clerk gaped openly and hoped these three weren’t as disrespectful as the man earlier had been.
“Why yes. A rude young man demanding a ride to Sacramento. He had that mustache when he first got here but had shaved it off when he returned; he’d cut himself doing it, left a nasty-looking gash.”
Was it Grayson? Johnny continued with the questioning. “The clothes he had on, were they fancy city clothes?”
“Yes, but he had new clothes when he came back. He looked to have traveled and was quite dirty, but the new clothes weren’t anything fancy, just everyday pants and a shirt when he boarded the stage for Sacramento. He was…”
“When did the stage leave?” Val butted in.
“An hour and a half ago, but…” and he was left talking to air. The three men were gone, but he had noticed a sheriff’s badge pinned on one of them. What was happening? He wondered.
Placerville’s sheriff’s office was empty. With no deputy to help, it was Val’s job to take charge, and take charge he did. Scott was deputized when they left the ranch. Johnny never put much store in ‘bein’ legal’. Right was right, and wrong was just that… wrong. He’d always been that way, but, as sheriff, Val had an obligation and told Johnny he was deputized.
“Yeah, fine,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes.
“You two git our horses saddled. ‘ M goin’ to send a wire ta Marshal Taggart in Sacramento ta be ready an’ hold Grayson for questionin’. Johnny, ya think that Treadwell an’ his boy know anything about this?”
“Ya wanna ask ‘em before we leave for Sacramento? Maybe Pete has an idea.”
“Let’s go.”
The only other place they hadn’t looked was Cassandra’s room. Johnny knocked softly; the door was yanked open as she stood there railing about, looking like some farmer’s wife and ready to spit nails. Scott and Val took an involuntary step back, fully expecting the woman to attack. Johnny smirked at the girl, then thought about the storekeeper’s wife and the abuse she must have endured. Though bathed and wearing a new and clean dress, it was not to her approval. Her attitude exploded when she saw who was standing on the threshold.
Ignoring her tantrum, they asked if she had seen Grayson and watched as her expression changed; the waspish disposition vanished in exchange for ghostly pale features and shocked wide eyes as she grabbed for the doorframe to steady herself. And for the first time since Johnny had met her, she was speechless.
A sinking feeling of abandonment washed over her. What had she subjected herself to besides humiliation?
The ‘invitation’ to gather in Mr. Treadwell’s room did not make her happy, but Cassandra didn’t have a choice. Although she regarded the man with the badge pinned to his shirt as nothing more than a person of low class, she had to obey his order.
She was late joining them, prompting Johnny to knock on her door and threaten to kick it open if she didn’t come immediately. Again, raging to cover her embarrassment, she railed over his lack of manners but did as told and marched into her father’s room, ready to vent. But wasn’t given the chance.
“Sit down, Cassandra, and be quiet until you are spoken to.” Mr. Treadwell was exercising his parental authority, and she didn’t like it.
Val took command of the questioning and wasn’t wasting time doing it. “I’m lookin’ for Blair Grayson. Any ‘a you got an idea what he was doin’?”
Mr. Treadwell frowned; why was the law concerned about Blair? “What has happened, Sheriff Crawford? Is Blair in trouble?”
“Depends. What was he doin’ travelin’ with ya?”
Cassandra began to squirm; the heartbeat in her chest hammered as never before. She knew Blair had a plan, but he never confided in her what that plan entailed. Did she have cause to be worried? No! Of course not! Blair hadn’t done anything wrong… but it seemed he left her. Cassie’s stomach flipped over. Had he used her?
Young Pete’s smile was strained. “It was a wonderful coincidence that we met Blair in Carson City; I invited him to join us. He’d taken the train two weeks before and happened to be in Carson City when we arrived.”
Suspicion tickled Johnny’s brain, and he watched as Cassandra suddenly found the floor very interesting, but he said nothing.
Treadwell was confused. “Are you saying Blair is in trouble?” He asked a second time.
Val met the old man’s questioning stare. “We dunno, Mr. Treadwell, but we do need ta talk ta him. Do ya know what his plans were?”
Treadwell looked to Pete, then Cassandra, then back to Val. “I don’t know. I assumed he would be with us. Why don’t we ask him?”
Val cleared his throat. “That’d be kinda hard ta do right now, cuz he’s on a stage ta Sacramento as we’re standin’ here talkin’. Left almost two hours ago…”
The gasp was loud in the room as Cassie jumped to her feet. “No! He can’t leave…” Once again, the color drained from her face, her knees buckled, and she sagged into the chair as tears began their race down her cheeks.
Johnny’s suspicions were right. Blair and Cassie were in this together, but she was never aware she would be left behind.
“Don’t make another mistake, ma’am; ya need ta tell us what cha know about Grayson.” Johnny couldn’t help but sympathize with Mr. Treadwell. This venture exposed his daughter at her worst, exposed her not privately but publically, even though it was only Johnny, Scott, and Val who witnessed the disgrace.
But this wasn’t strictly a family matter. A crime had been committed, and a man had been murdered; if Blair had anything to do with it, they would find out.
Johnny sighed, then asked the question on his mind since first meeting Grayson, watching Cassandra’s reaction carefully. “That bag he was always carryin’, what was in it?” He knew Grayson was up to something, but did Pete or Cassie know? He needed to see their reactions. Pete stood, confusion written all over him, and not sure what was happening, but Cassandra knew something. Johnny had the distinct feeling that she knew something of Blair’s plans, but not all of it. The shock on her face was genuine.
Mr. Treadwell watched his daughter, as well. “Cassie, look at me, dear.”
The red, watery eyes of his daughter turned to him, making him want nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and comfort her hurts. But he didn’t; instead, he firmly coaxed her answer. “Cassie, what do you know?”
Was her chance gone? How would she deal with the consequences of her involvement with Blair? How would she deal with the humiliation and embarrassment? She hadn’t done anything against the law, had she? She didn’t know exactly what Blair had done; he’d kept the details to himself, used her as a plaything, and traveled safely with her family. He used her and her family! She glared at Johnny, knowing he would not allow her to play the innocent as she could with her father and brother. If she hadn’t done anything wrong, nothing would happen to her. She would go home and continue her stagnant lifestyle as before.
“Blair said he found an opportunity he couldn’t afford to pass up. He asked me to go with him, but never told me any details. He said he loved me, that he’d always loved me from our first meeting. We were going away together, but I didn’t know…” The tears began in earnest.
Treadwell looked questioningly at the three men before him. “What is that you think Blair has done?”
“He’s the prime suspect in the murder of a guard at the museum where he worked and stealin’ a million dollars’ worth of jewels.”
Cassandra’s eyes rolled back in her head as she sagged forward and landed in an undignified pile on the floor.
Leaving the father and brother to care for Cassandra, Johnny, Scott, and Val mounted their horses and headed toward Sacramento. Marshall Taggart would take Grayson into custody once the stage pulled in… unless they could intercept the stage first. If Grayson thought about his predicament, he would realize that, sooner or later, someone would figure out what happened and come after him. His best chance for escape would be to do the unexpected. But did he think about that? It was what Johnny would do if he were in that position; throw off any following his trail and do the unexpected. Did Grayson think he could get to Sacramento, board the train for San Francisco, and not get caught? Val sent the wire to Taggart, but they would go after the stage to ensure Grayson wouldn’t get away.
Grayson almost regretted parting ways with Cassandra; she’d been a willing enough partner and encouraged him to complete his ‘plan’, though she was unaware of any details. He thought it amusing that she committed herself so completely; her child-like enthusiasm made him laugh, and her woman’s body kept him entertained. However, she had outlasted her usefulness, and he left her behind with no second thought. All that mattered now was that he got away with his prize, for which he had killed… Poor old Eddie, the fool.
The stage hit a bump, and Blair’s teeth snapped together. How much further was it to Sacramento?
Suddenly, the stage was slowing down; what was going on? It stopped, the door opened, and he heard the voice he never hoped to hear again.
The liveryman still wanted to talk, but it was worth the extra time spent in conversation; he had lived in the area all his life and knew every canyon, every meadow, and river for hundreds of square miles. And he shared that knowledge with the three lawmen before they left Placerville.
“Thet stage, it hasta stay on the road, but if ya wanna catch up ta it, I’ll tell ya how ta shave off a few miles an’ get ahead of it. Now listen up…” The information was invaluable — they only hoped they would get there before Grayson decided to change his plans.
The shortcuts did indeed shave miles off the trail, and soon Johnny, Scott, and Val could look down into the valley below, and there, snaking through the trees, was the coach. The six-horse team running at a steady pace was no match for saddle horses, especially Lancer-bred stock.
Val grinned. “C’mon boys, we got a stage ta stop!”
The three men nudged their mounts and charged down the hilltop into the valley ahead of the coach by a half mile. They waited, Val on point in the middle of the road as Scott and Johnny each came at it from opposite sides; the driver would think it was a holdup. It was almost funny — Scott, Johnny, and Val holding up a stage… The thought enticed a laugh, knowing that Scott and Johnny had held up a train; a stage was nothing compared to that!
Val pulled his jacket aside, exposing the badge as the driver brought the team to a stop; Scott and Johnny closed in, watching for the doors to open and be ready to chase Grayson if he was stupid enough to try an escape on foot.
“No trouble, driver. I’m Sheriff Crawford. I need to see your passengers.”
Johnny approached the right side door, yanked it open, and grinned. “Grayson, ya need ta come outta there. Now. Oh, an’ bring that bag with ya.” Johnny stepped back, Colt in hand, and waited. He wasn’t up for any nonsense from Grayson; his head hurt, and his body ached because of the pendejo, and Madrid was through taking any more bullshit from him.
Blair’s mind spun in dizzying circles. Could he talk his way out of this? Could he bribe Johnny with some jewels? Maybe just the ring — he wouldn’t know the value; he was just a backwoodsman… He looked around at his fellow passengers; perhaps he could grab one and threaten to harm them if they didn’t let him get away! But his plan to run died before it was put into motion when Johnny advanced and roughly pulled him out of the coach.
Grayson hit the ground and rolled… but he didn’t let go of the bag until it was wrenched out of his grasp. Scrambling to his feet, he wrangled the fire shooting from the glare into a smolder when he saw the man; there was a badge pinned to his shirt; he must be a lawman and gambled for his freedom.
“Sheriff! This man — he attacked me! I want him arrested!”
Val turned to Johnny with a smirk. “How many times I gotta tell ya, Johnny… Oh, hell, never mind, jus’ don’t mess ‘im up too bad.” Val tossed the cuffs to Johnny, who plucked them out of the air with an easy grab and snapped them on Blair’s wrists; Val informed Blair he was the prime suspect for robbery and murder. The middle-aged woman inside the coach nearly fainted… so did Blair.
“You have no proof! You have no right to hold me!”
Johnny held the bag like he would open it. “What’m I gonna find in here, Grayson?” The man stared, not saying a word. “Ya wanna ride with him inside, Val, or on top?”
“Driver, I’ll be ridin’ with my prisoner inside. The State’ll cover the charges.” Val handed Johnny his reins, then shoved Blair onto the hard bench seat and settled beside him. He leaned out the window, telling Johnny and Scott he’d see them when they stopped to change the team.
“Sorry ta inconvenience ya, folks, ever’thin’s fine,” Val said.
But the passengers weren’t so sure. A young girl openly stared at the sheriff with his prisoner. A real-life bad man! Wait until I tell Susie!
The driver slapped the reins on the sweat-slicked backs of the horses, and they started their run to the next way station.
The way station was only a few miles down the road. The terrain was rough; rocky drop-offs sliced through the mountains, making the way treacherous. Staying on the road was paramount; one wrong step could lead to disaster.
With any luck, they would change the horses without any problems and get back on the road to Sacramento. As marshall, it was Taggart’s problem now, and his jurisdiction. Grayson was the prime suspect in the crime; a man had been killed, an innocent museum guard doing his job, and a fortune in jewels was stolen. Blair Grayson, though not yet charged, was dangerous, and they wouldn’t give him an opportunity to get away.
Billows of dust clouded the yard as the stage rocked and shuddered to a halt beside the well-stocked corral. Val and Grayson were the first to jump to the ground. Val’s brief apology to the other passengers barked in typical Val-fashion, short and gruff.
“Sorry, folks, official business,” he ordered, then escorted Grayson away before anyone could “… ask stupid questions they got no business askin’…”
Johnny and Scott reined their horses close and dismounted, keeping Grayson closely guarded.
“Sheriff, please! I can explain…”
Val dragged the man toward the outhouse as he explained how things would be. “We’ll be alright, but one ‘a ya needs ta watch that bag,” Val called to his deputies; Scott led the three mounts to the trough and let them drink while Johnny watched the valise that contained the jewels. Val had the distasteful job of seeing to the prisoner’s needs.
The other passengers disembarked, walking around to stretch their cramped legs. It was good to be out of that rattling coach!
“I told ya before, it ain’t me ya need ta convince. Talk ta the judge when we get cha ta Sacramento. Now, shuddup, or I’ll make good on the promise ta gag ya!” Val shoved him to the door, then nodded.
“Ya best get yer business done; we’re leavin’ here soon’s they get the horses changed.”
Grayson looked down at his cuffed hands, then held them out, expecting Val to uncuff him.
Val’s harsh laugh told Blair he was out of luck and would have to manage as he was; Val opened the door for him to enter.
Blair looked at the well-used interior and shuddered. With a not-so-gentle nudge to his shoulder, Grayson was ‘encouraged’ to ‘get the job done’, and Val shut the door behind him.
It was not easy with cuffed hands, but finally, he finished and walked out.
A scream shattered the stillness, and Val took his eyes off the prisoner.
Mrs. Carpenter watched as her daughter explored this new world. Olivia had never been further west than Denver, and the invitation from Mrs. Carperter’s sister for them to visit San Francisco was accepted. Olivia couldn’t take it all in fast enough. Her fourteen-year-old, naïve mind swirled with questions and curiosity, soaking up everything she saw like a dry sponge. She had seen a ‘real, live prisoner’!
“Olivia, don’t go too far, dear!” Mrs. Carpenter called after her wayward child.
“No, Mama, I won’t! I’ll stay…” and the scream ripped out of her throat when the fat horned toad ran across the top of her shoe in pursuit of a large, juicy bug.
The scream, shrill and terrified, cut straight into the hearts and minds of all around, effectively shredding them to ribbons; Johnny and Scott came running to her defense.
Val’s belly filled with ice… and Grayson took the gift presented to him. The scream meant nothing to him except for the chance it provided. He was going to be changed with the horrible crime… the crime he committed; he had to try and get away. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect!
Blair slammed his head back, catching Val in the temple. The impact blasted an explosion of bright stars behind Val’s eyes, leaving him stunned and senseless. Blair grabbed the sheriff’s gun and ran; his life depended on it. If he escaped, he wouldn’t have the jewels, but he would have his life.
The girl was scared but alright; her mother held her tightly and soothed away the fear, murmuring soft comfort into her ear.
Scott and Johnny blew out a breath, relieved it was only a harmless horned toad that scampered across the girl’s shoe instead of a rattlesnake and turned their attention back to the horses.
“Ya see Val, Scott? Don’t take this long ta take a piss…”
Suddenly, they stared at each other and took off running to the back of the way station. Rounding the corner, they watched as Val tried to get his feet under his body while blood dripped down the side of his face.
“Easy, amigo; what happened?” Johnny asked, concerned when Val didn’t answer. “Val?” No answer. “Scott, watch Val, Grayson couldn’t a gotten too far.”
Scott leaned down, wrapped an arm around the sheriff’s waist, then steadied him as Val struggled to his feet.
Blinking like an owl, Val realized what happened. With a muttered “Damn!” he reached for the pistol that was no longer in the holster and muttered another “Damn!”
“Let’s get you some water, Val. Johnny’s gone after Grayson. They’ll be back before you know it!” Did Scott believe his own words? Blair was a dangerous man, and now he was armed.
Johnny followed the tracks in the dirt; he entered the tree line behind the waystation and stopped, listening for sounds that shouldn’t be present. And the sounds that should have been there weren’t. The man didn’t know where he was; he wasn’t familiar with woods and mountains and was trying to escape to stay alive. That alone would have made him dangerous, but he had Val’s gun. The man had proven that if he had to, he would kill — had killed and wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
The tracks led deeper into the trees. Where’d Grayson think he was goin’? There was no way Grayson was capable of staying alive in the wilderness. He’d proved that to Johnny when traveling with the Treadwells through the mountains. The man didn’t know how to survive; he could not find food by himself. Hell, Johnny wondered if the idiot knew where the kitchen was in his house.
And then he heard it. A branch snapped, then, the inevitable cry, “Help!”
With a good idea of what happened, Johnny took his time following the tracks and stopped when he saw Val’s Colt lying in the dirt. He picked it up and brushed it off, ignoring the grunts and gasps up to him from the rocks over the steep decline. He peered over the edge to see Grayson struggling to keep his gasp firmly on the dirt-covered rock without slipping.
Blair looked up, seeing Johnny staring at him, the man’s hands on his hips and a cold smile crawling across his mouth.
“Looks like ya got some kind ‘a trouble, Grayson; looks like ya didn’t learn anything from bein’ up in those mountains. How many times I gotta tell ya ta stay away from the edge of the trail?” Johnny said, taking much too much enjoyment from the situation. He took his time as Grayson squirmed, trying to better grasp the slippery dirt-covered hold, having difficulty with his cuffed hands.
“Help me! I don’t want to die! Please, help me!”
Johnny frowned, then pursed his lips. “Oh, ya mean like you helped me up in them mountains? Was tyin’ that rope on the saddlehorn too much for ya? Maybe I should just let cha hang there for a while…”
The casual comment sent Blair into a panic.
“No! Please! Help me!”
Damn! Now he’s cryin’… Johnny shook his head in irritation, dropped to his belly, and extended his arm over the cliff.
“Grab my hand, pendejo…” and Johnny began pulling Grayson onto higher ground. The strain on his ribs and back was almost too much, but he forced the pain away.
Johnny wondered if Grayson had the bag in his possession, would he have dropped it down into the ravine to save himself. He pushed the notion aside, thinking Grayson would pay the ultimate price for his crime by standing trial for murder and theft. Johnny had an idea spark in his brain to drop Blair down the mountainside, just like Blair did when he was trying to get to Pete, but it would have ended Grayson’s fear and anxiety too quickly. Blair Grayson needed to face the family of the man he killed; he needed to face the embarrassment he had caused his own family and needed to take responsibility for his actions.
“Ya oughtta be glad I ain’t takin’ ya inta Placerville. They used ta call it Hangtown…” Johnny laughed to himself when Grayson visibly shuddered.
Val was ready to spit nails, and his head felt like it would split in two. Johnny teased when returning to the stage, commenting on the shiner that would improve Val’s looks.
Val growled… just like Homer Beasley’s mongrel dog back in Spanish Wells. Hell, the wolf that stole their food in the mountains didn’t sound as bad as Val did. But Val was always mean when he was hurting, especially when he was hurt by a stupid criminal. The long, hot ride into Sacramento wouldn’t help either.
With the long-anticipated meeting with Marshall Taggart finally over and Blair Grayson in custody and out of their hair, Scott, Johnny, and Val sat around the table in the back corner of the saloon.
Scott observed each man, both of them looked a little ragged. Perhaps after a few drinks, he would suggest a rest before dinner — in the meantime, Scott thought a visit from the doctor would be a good idea. The blow to Val’s head was cause for worry, and maybe something could be done for the bruising Johnny suffered several days ago. Maybe not, but Scott was amused by his brother’s adverse reaction to medical help. He thought Johnny could use a doctor’s attention. After all, what was a big brother for?
Johnny read the name on the envelope, neatly penned and addressed to Mr. Johnny Lancer, Lancer Ranch, Morro Coyo, California. The letter was postmarked Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He smiled, knowing it was from Peter Treadwell. Tearing the envelope open, he couldn’t help but wonder how the old man was doing. Treadwell and his son had come West hoping to build a relationship, to grow closer, gaining the father-son connection never established in the family’s early beginnings.
He removed several pages of written text and began to read.
Dear Johnny,
I hope this letter finds you well. It has been two months since we bid you, your brother, and Sheriff Crawford goodbye. I sincerely hope you made it home safely and your lives are well and happy.
Our journey home was quite interesting. Fulfilling for Peter and me, not for Cassandra. She confessed her reasons for insisting that she come with us, and I am heartbroken knowing she felt the need to engage in illegal activity to find happiness. Truthfully, she hadn’t any knowledge of Blair’s intentions and knew nothing about the murder or robbery; she was wrong with the clandestine approach to find what she thought she wanted. I should have sent her abroad years ago to study music. She is an accomplished pianist but gave it up, not wanting to pursue that path.
However, I am ecstatic about my relationship with my son, and I want to thank you for your role in its evolution. Now, don’t shrug it off as if you had nothing to do with it! I can see you in my mind’s eye, not taking any credit for starting the process. Johnny, you didn’t let Peter take the easy way out; you made him account for his actions and see the right and wrong of things, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. It is my failure, and mine alone that I wasn’t there to teach him what a father should teach his son, and I take full responsibility for that unforgivable blunder.
But, I must tell you about the agreement we struck between us as it is the solution to my fears regarding the futures of Peter and Cassandra. Neither of them has any interest in Treadwell Industries. Do you remember that day we talked and I described my family problem as distant thunder? Like a problem that was building until suddenly you are consumed, overpowered, and helpless.
Upon our return home, and apparently after reevaluating his life, Peter expressed the wish to further his education and enrolled in Harvard. I am considering selling Treadwell Industries and investing with my son in his business ventures. He has an interest in accounting, which is an honorable profession. I have to wonder where his ambition has been hiding all these years — I’ve not been aware of it until recently.
Since we began to talk, we have grown as father and son; we are aware of the precious time we wasted and will never recover. His apology to you the morning after you risked your life to rescue him from the fall down the mountain was the beginning of his transformation into adulthood. The night we checked into the hotel in Placerville, Peter and I talked nearly all night. Though exhaustion claimed our bodies, our minds were full, and differences were resolved. Johnny, whether you know it or not, it was because of you, your words that gave me back my son, and I will never be able to repay you for the things you have done for us.
I cannot abandon my hopes for Cassandra, though I fear it will take some time before she will recover from the betrayal of Blair Grayson. I must be positive and keep trying. It is my duty as her father to guide her through dark times, and I can only hope I don’t let her down now as I did in the past.
I will leave you now with these thoughts. You are a fine young man; your father must be very proud of you and Scott. I know that I would be. He is a lucky man.
I am forever in your debt.
With deepest respect and admiration,
Yours truly,
Peter Treadwell, Sr.
The newly purchased stock from the McAndrews ranch grazed peacefully in the pasture beyond. Johnny and Scott had not lost out, and this time, the bad weather benefited them — they were the first to buy Jake’s horses.
Johnny looked out over the mountains. It would rain soon. Clouds were gathering, and thunder began to roll. Distant thunder. Sometimes distant thunder wasn’t all bad. He smiled to himself, then walked to the hacienda. He would sleep well tonight.
End
July 2024
.
PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT
Thank you for reading! The authors listed on this site spend many hours writing stories for your enjoyment, and their only reward is the feedback you leave. So please take a moment to leave a comment. Even the simplest ‘I liked this!” can make all the difference to an author and encourage them to keep writing and posting their stories here. You can comment in the ‘reply’ box below or email Buckskin directly.
.
Great story! Loved how Johnny was able to bring father and son closer together while Treadwell Sr thought it must have been because Johnny had been raised by a caring father. Thank you for writing and sharing your story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much for the comments! I’m happy you liked this Lancer tale. Although Johnny couldn’t ‘reach’ Cassandra, he succeeded in bringing Treadwell Senior and Junior together. Hmmm, two out three ain’t bad!
Thanks for reading and sending feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
What a wonderful long story. So different – adventure, excitement, drama, soul searching, redemption…I could go on. Thank you so much and please keep up your amazing work.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Helen, so much for reading and taking the time to send feedback. I appreciate it more than you know. We never know what kind of trouble the Lancers will find, but whatever they do, there’s trouble!
Thanks again!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
Excellent story, Diana. You hooked me from the first paragraph. Your descriptions of the rain and the treacherous travel through the mountain trails were incredible and very believable. I could imagine the cold, damp ride and how good a campfire would feel after riding that way all day. Good job with developing the additional characters. I felt like I knew them by the end of the story. Thanks for an enjoyable read.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi, Sherry
I’m glad that you could feel the conditions that Johnny was traveling through. For some reason, I like bad weather, but then, that’s what we authors do to the poor guy. Make him deal with the worst for our enjoyment. Uh, oh- does that make me a bad guy?
Thanks for reading and commenting!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
Johnny saves the day but has to deal with the lives of a tormented, fractured family. I like that Val and Scott show up in the end to help recover the stolen jewelry. The capers solved by all three are always the best! It is an entertaining and an enjoyable read.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi, Carol, and thank you for reading and your feedback. I appreciate it. Somehow Johnny finds himself in so trouble, whether it be familial (his or other families), chasing catching outlaws, or injuries. But he does things his way – JM’s way. Thanks again , Carol!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLiked by 1 person
Johnny saves the day but has to deal with the lives of a tormented, fractured family. I like that Val and Scott show up in the end to help recover the stolen jewelry. The capers solved by all three are always the best! It is an entertaining and an enjoyable read.
LikeLike
Twice the love 💕!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for this great story ! Sometimes I could almost see Johnny’s smile when answers Cassandra or Blair or when he thinks what he could do to them. I am glad it was a happy ending.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey there, Caterina! Johnny was not going to take any nonsense from Cassandra or Blair. A favorite part for me was the smoke following Cassie around the camp, and Johnny asked if she had secrets. You’d think she would have learned… but if she had, there wouldn’t be a story. Thank you for reading and the feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
Great story Diana,
I love the way how Johnny could get past all the Cassandra’s bad mods . He will be a good father!!!Lol.
But then I love better when Madrid shows up.
thank you so much!!
Silvia
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi, Silvia! Glad you liked this little tale! Yeah, Madrid knew how to handle Cassandra. The more she thought that she could win an argument with him, the more he proved she was wrong. Thank you for reading and the feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
Oh, my, where to start? Johnny’s soft heart and bad luck get him into a mess. The smoke, don’t bet on Johnny not leaving the twits, all the times he cut Cassandra off at the knees, usually with that little smile that isn’t. Of course, he went down that cliff and rescued Peter even after he was hurt. I LOVED Johnny catching Cassandra in the gray dress.Too bad he had a shirt on. She might have had an apoplexy right there in the hall. Scott and Val were a bonus. Those three together are always good. I can see Gray son’s face when Val started in with “How many times… don’t rough him up too bad.” I’d lay odds Val and Johnny both saw the doctor and probably laid over a few days. Older, wiser brother has his ways. Altogether, a great tale!!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey there, zoeytbear! If Johnny only knew how many secrets Cassandra had when he asked her… Ha, the word ‘twits’ always makes me laugh, but a great description! Yeah, Cassie had to get caught wearing the oversized, drab gray dress, and I have no doubt that had she seen Johnny shirtless, she would have suffered an apoplexy!
Thank you for your feedback – I loved it!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
Another enjoyable adventure for Johnny…well, I enjoyed reading although he certainly wasn’t having fun!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey there, janbrac! No, I don’t suppose Johnny was having much fun, was he? But it was worth his effort to help Mr. Treadwell. The man admitted to his mistakes, and it is Johnny’s nature to help him. Thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate it.
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLiked by 1 person
Loved your story as always. Mr. Treadwell certainly needed his help.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sorry for the delay in answering your comment, Lesley! Thank you for reading and the feedback. Yes, Mr. Treadwell benefited from Johnny’s survival skills and camaraderie. Cassandra could have if she let herself, but… I’m glad you liked this Lancer tale!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
I knew this was going to be a great story when I saw the author and the title. It’s a true adventure, so well written with never a dull moment. Johnny stopping to help people in a hopeless situation but for him is so true to his character. Thank you for writing and sharing your talent with us.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much! I am happy you liked this Johnny-trouble tale. He seems to attract those in need, or those who are up to no good, but in true Johnny fashion, he saved the day for the Treadwells… except for Cassandra.
I appreciate your support of my Lancer World.
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
I love the way you always develop deeply layered stories with twists and intrigue. Your characters are well-thought-out, although all but Sr Peter were terribly annoying! Poor Johnny! So glad Scott and Val were able to help out in the end. Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey there, Chris! Thank you for the feedback. Sorry I am late to respond! Deeply layered or simply writing about Johnny getting into trouble? We authors put the Lancer brothers through all sorts of trials and tribulations, don’t we?
Thanks for commenting, I appreciate it!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
Too bad Johnny didn’t leave Cassandra in the mountains… oh, but that wouldn’t have been fair to the wild animals there. At least Peter learned his lesson. Grayson got what was coming to him. A good read. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yeah, there were no rabies shots for the poor animals living there, and leaving Cassandra would have put them at risk.
Thanks for reading and commenting. I appreciate it very much!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike
I re-read your great story !
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Caterina, for letting me know you liked this tale enough to re read it! I appreciate it very much!
Diana
Buckskin
LikeLike