Word Count 25,925
Thanks to Cat for the beta
This story takes place the first year Scott and Johnny went home to Lancer.
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The sun settled low in the sky, staining everything it touched in a peaceful shade of muted bronze. The mountains in the distance stood guard over the San Joaquin Valley in their majestic purple-gray haze, sentinels in glorious splendor as jagged peaks covered with snow reached toward the heavens with defiance. Never had he felt so awed or so thankful. Johnny Madrid Lancer had never been a man to take for granted that which was before him. The peace and solitude washed over him and flooded his heart and soul, filling him with something he’d never had before. Serenity.
He worked for what he had; the long, hard hours finally paid off; father and sons began to meld into the family that had been denied them all for so long. It had been a challenge, but finally, they were there now, making it work, making a life together, and growing into the close-knit family they yearned to be. How’s that ol’ sayin’ go? ‘Better late than never’. Johnny had learned years ago that to lament the things you never had would do no good. Stop thinking about them; just let those thoughts go before they drag you down and into trouble.
Johnny nudged Barranca down the hill above the hacienda; he continued to watch the sun in its final descent as it slipped behind the mountains and relinquished its hold on the day. Bronze turned to soothing dark, filling the night with another light, one of a bright silvery full moon as it flirted with the millions of twinkling stars. The dazzling display of lights, setting sun, and rising moon with its partnering stars had always been an important part of Johnny’s life, and the nights here at Lancer were now filled with peace and contentment… for the most part.
In his earlier years, success was based on survival, where to go for cover from the weather, what direction to travel, whether it be pursued, in pursuit of, or help in the hunt for his next meal. Survival was outdrawing the man in front of you, wanting to put his bullet in your brain if you let him. Funny how just a few months could change everything for a man, make such a difference in the way he lived and what he felt, how he would think. Things that were important to him yesterday didn’t mean as much today, but today held a promise that was non-existent in the yesterdays of his past. Johnny couldn’t afford the luxury of forgetting past troubles; it could one day spell disaster for those around him who were now the center of his world; what filled his heart now were the things that most folks had always taken for granted — a sense of belonging, a family, people who loved him for who and what he was. Having grown into manhood without a family, Johnny knew now as a young man what it took most folks years and years beyond his age to realize. And some never did, meeting their maker wondering, ‘Just what the hell happened?’
Enough pondering on the whys and what-ifs, he needed to get home; he was already late, and that most likely meant he’d missed out on dinner because he had been standing on the hill, enjoying the sunset. But it had been worth it. The peace it inspired in his heart, body, and soul had been well worth skipping dinner besides, Maria, Lancer cook, had more than likely put food in the warming oven before she went home. She did tend to dote over her niño.
As he neared the barn, Johnny took the time to groom the horse he so dearly loved, and once the horse was cared for, he would then see to himself. The time spent with Barranca was a soothing balm, a time for contemplation, a peaceful time to think. Barranca was the perfect amigo; he didn’t pester Johnny with questions.
“Ya look like ya could use some food an’ a bath, Johnny. Why don’tcha let me take care a Barranca for ya?” Jelly asked as he watched Johnny come in from a long day of work.
Johnny awarded the bewhiskered man his dazzling smile, a tad crooked but endearing, and declined the offer.
“Thanks, Jelly, I got it. ‘Sides, don’t want him nippin’ at your fingers again for not rememberin’ ta give him his carrot!” It was well known on Lancer that Johnny had spoiled his horse, and there wasn’t a soul on the ranch that hadn’t received a nip from the animal at one time or another when they forgot the peace offering. The horse loved his carrots and apples.
Secretly relieved, Jelly shrugged, mumbling under his breath as he bid Johnny good night, and he shuffled off to the room attached to the great hacienda with his own private door that allowed him to come and go at his pleasure.
Johnny stripped the saddle from the horse’s broad back and filled the manger with hay, added an extra helping of oats and a bucket of fresh water, then set about brushing the golden coat until it glowed brightly in the lamplight. Barranca nickered his appreciation when Johnny scratched his ears, and with a gentle pat to his muzzle, Johnny left the horse to pursue his bath and dinner.
“Johnny, you’re late tonight. Is everything alright?” Murdoch Lancer spoke with concern in his voice instead of the irritation that Johnny expected. They were working through the confrontations and differences of their tumultuous beginnings; the arguments that prompted Johnny to take off on Barranca and gallop away from the ranch, leaving a frustrated and outraged Murdoch standing in disbelief, were less and less frequent and a relief to them both. Relations between the no-nonsense Scotsman and his wayward, impetuous son had improved as the two began to understand and accept the other. Murdoch let loose the tight rein on Johnny, and Johnny, in turn, responded by taking more responsibility, overcoming the urges that resulted from a life with no schedules or restrictions.
Skidding to a stop at the foot of the stairs, Johnny looked up at his father with a grin. “Yeah, everything’s fine, Murdoch. Just took longer’n I thought it was gonna ta clear that stream. But it’s done an’ the lake should fill up in a coupla days.”
Murdoch saw the fatigue on his son’s face and knew that he would be going to bed early. Returning the smile, Murdoch suddenly found himself wanting more time with Johnny. Their talks, instead of the earlier clashes, appealed to them both, and they found themselves looking forward to spending time together discussing issues instead of engaging in conflict.
“Maria left your dinner in the oven; when you come back down, I may even have a second piece of chocolate cake with you!”
The smile grew over Johnny’s handsome face as his blue eyes sparkled and danced, tired or not. “Be right down!” After a long day in the mud and muck, hauling branches and stumps out of the water, Johnny bounded up the stairs to his room.
Murdoch laughed to himself as he watched the enthusiasm explode when Johnny quickened his pace in the ascent to his room. Funny how the mention of the tasty treat motivated his younger son. Shaking his head and chuckling, he went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee, basking in the warmth flooding his body. He marveled at the feelings coursing through him, the feelings of peace and contentment shared with this son, hoping their battles were now a thing of the past. His smile grew, his heart was full.
Johnny pushed the plate away, not able to eat another bite. Maria had outdone herself with the roast, potatoes, and green beans, and Teresa’s cake was heavenly. The hot coffee topped off the meal, and Johnny could feel sleep tug him toward his bed; his eyes drooped as the heavy dinner sat in his stomach and nourished his tired body, lulling him into lethargy. He rubbed his full belly as he sat back in the chair; dare he let the belch rip from his core? His good sense luckily took charge, and Johnny refrained from the childish gesture as he held the linen napkin against his mouth. Been spendin’ too much time with Val… he thought to himself as the urge was released into the cloth.
“Would you join me for a drink, Johnny, or are you going to turn in?” Murdoch asked of his weary son. Johnny took the hint — his father seemed to enjoy his company, so he obliged the old man and agreed to the libation. Taking the dirty dishes from the table, he sat them in a pan of water to soak and followed Murdoch out of the kitchen.
Scott snapped the ledger shut and, throwing the pencil aside, rubbed his weary eyes as Murdoch and Johnny entered the room.
“Hey, Boston, ya look as tired as I feel,” Johnny joked as he made his way to the sideboard and poured a healthy portion of his beloved tequila.
Scott sighed deeply and joined his family with the traditional after-dinner drink. He smiled as he watched the amber scotch fill his glass and anticipated savoring the liquid comfort.
“Nothing a little libation won’t cure,” Scott responded as he took a sip and closed his eyes in pleasure.
Don’t know how they can drink that shit! Johnny thought, but then he knew they weren’t fond of tequila either. To each his own, I guess… Almost halfway through his drink, Johnny wandered to the doors that overlooked the patio and gazed past the flagstones out over the vast expanse of grasslands to the mountains beyond. No matter how often he looked out this window, it continued to amaze him as he beheld the splendor of the land. It was the same every time he regarded the view, but the wonder, the beauty, and the sense of happiness that comes with finding a home continued to captivate him, holding him a happy prisoner in their spectacular reverence. The thought that he was a partner of this magnificent ranch, even now, after these months, was unbelievable. He didn’t bother to halt the smile that slid into place. Who would have thought that Johnny Madrid would now be one-third owner of… this?
It was strange — hadn’t he admired the brilliance of the night sky before he quit work for the day? And yet, here he was, again gazing toward the heavens. The brilliant moon drew him out to enjoy the stars in the chilly night air. On nights like these, it was easy for Johnny to think of those amigos of years ago. Those who left him for the life beyond and who escaped the damnation into Hell. Those men whose influence on a young Johnny Madrid kept him safe, enabling him to avoid the fatal pitfalls that led many to an early and hellish demise. Ol’ Tanner. And he couldn’t stop the memories as they played over and over through his mind. Haven’t thought about Tanner in a long time. The man hadn’t been with Johnny very long, but he’d made one hell of a difference in the pistolero’s life. A difference that Johnny could not, would not forget.
It was cooling off — fall would come early; Johnny could feel a change coming; the air smelled different, earthy, and restorative. It was satisfaction knowing all the sore muscles, blisters, and backbreaking work he had invested yielded tremendous profits and gratification that his effort helped to continue Lancer’s success. Who would have thought that ol’ Johnny Madrid would take to ranching… and like it?
But would he ever get used to the cold? He’d experienced cold nights in deserts and mountains, but the dampness of Lancer made him ache and chilled him to the bone. The cold around the border was not the same as in the San Joaquin Valley; here, it seemed to attack him with a vengeance as if it were a hated enemy confronting him with a challenge, mocking him to say Pack up an’ head south, Madrid, or I’ll run you off! And his stubbornness kicked in, refusing to leave.
A shiver ran through his frame, and he took another swallow of the elixir that heated him from the inside out. As the warmth spread through his body, he smiled, letting the magic relax the tired muscles. He looked skyward and was rewarded with a breathtaking view of stars winking at the secrets only they would know and tease because he never would.
This is as close ta Heaven as I’ll ever get, Johnny thought to himself. And at that moment, Johnny could have sworn he’d heard a chuckle, and it made him smile. Shuddup, Tanner! He thought, pleased the spirit continued to visit him.
Scott watched his brother’s eyes as they sparkled brightly; even in the dark, he could see a special… What was it he saw in his brother’s eyes? They were alive and seemed to have lost the exhaustion they held a few minutes ago. Scott suspected an appreciation for the life he had now, knowing Johnny’s earlier years were filled with strife; no, it was more than strife, much more. It was life and death, and although Johnny never talked about his earlier days, unless it was something that had been silly or fun, Scott knew his brother’s youth was filled with dangers and incidents that no orphaned child should have ever experienced. His brother had been through much, most of which should never have happened. And Scott also knew that they were lucky that Johnny had made it out of those tumultuous years alive.
The view restored his soul and energized both his mind and body. He didn’t feel the exhaustion he did when he first came out here after dinner, partly because he realized his luck had held finding out that Scott had taken care of the bookwork this month. Johnny would rather deal with stubborn, ornery cows any day than sit at a desk inside and stare at mind-numbing numbers!
Bidding the velvet sky and sparkling stars a goodnight, Johnny left them and returned to the hacienda. His bed would feel good when he sacked in for the night, and he thought an extra hour of sleep would be just what he needed. But not before he enquired what his father had scheduled for him tomorrow.
“So, what d’ya think, Murdoch? Ya want us ta move them cows ta the south pasture tamorrow? The grass looks pretty good an’ there’s plenty ‘a water now,” Johnny asked as he waited for his father’s reply.
Murdoch thought a moment before he spoke, considering the best option. Moving the cattle too early could result in overgrazing the pasture before it was time to use the lower meadow. They could always move the cattle to lower elevations later, but if moved too early, they could not take the herd back north, not at this time of year. It was always a gamble; having to buy feed to sustain the herd would cut into the profits, so with that thought, Murdoch made his decision.
“No, I think maybe we’ll wait a week, at least. Johnny, I want you to check on the cows tomorrow and assess the situation. Then we can make the call. If there is enough graze for a while yet, we’ll leave them where they’re at.”
Johnny nodded in agreement. “Sounds good. In that case, guess I better get ta bed. I’ll be leavin’ early in the mornin’. ‘Night,” he offered to his father and brother in the soft velvet tones where Murdoch found such comfort as they reached his ears. Johnny turned and silently disappeared into the shadows of the great room.
How does he do that without those spurs making a racket? Murdoch wondered for the thousandth time. “Good night, Son,” Murdoch called after him as Scott held up his glass of Scotch in salute to his brother.
Murdoch occupied the space vacated by his younger son, looking out over the vast grasslands, the mountains beyond, and the heavens above. He contemplated his good fortune; however, he had paid a heavy price. The loss of two wives and two sons would be enough to put a man in the ground before his time, but Murdoch Lancer fought back and now had his sons at his side, and both turned into fine young men worthy of the name — men to be proud of.
The Lancer patriarch could not help but smile when he thought about his sons; they were opposite ends of the spectrum in looks and mannerisms, but both were intelligent and strong with a sense of right and wrong that filled Murdoch with pride he’d never known. He was proud of the ranch; Lancer became profitable, and the largest in the San Joaquin Valley, but Murdoch never knew what real pride was… until his sons returned home. They made a well-balanced team, one complementing the other.
Scott’s accounting expertise took a load off Murdoch’s shoulders and allowed him more time to tend the ranch, knowing the ledgers were in capable hands. Schooled from early on by a stern maternal grandfather and expected to take over that grandfather’s business when the time came, Scott knew well the necessity for keeping accurate accounts, and he excelled in every way… except for attempting to teach his recalcitrant brother the finer points of accounting. It seemed that the mind-numbing columns of numbers were a ball and chain around Johnny’s neck, and he bucked. Scott thought next time, he would hogtie his brother, sit on him, and force him to pay attention. Somehow, he knew that wouldn’t work either, but it made him laugh thinking about it. That was a big brother’s prerogative. If there was a ‘Big Brother Book’, it would be mentioned, and if there wasn’t a ‘Big Brother Book’, perhaps he should write one. The idea had merit and would make Johnny crazy. Scott would give it some serious thought.
Johnny’s prowess and proficiency with his beloved horses added another dimension to the already prosperous ranch. Johnny would rather be physically working; his talent with the horses was unbelievable; a work of art, a dance he performed with the animals, so fluid and graceful, surprising everyone with his communication and training abilities with the wild beasts. It was a thing of beauty and magical to observe. His ranch sense could not be denied. Though far from a favorite chore, stringing fences would be chosen over the books any day. His skill with firearms had also benefited the ranch on many occasions, and where Murdoch did not hold with gunfighting, that, too, had become an asset on occasion.
Both sons handled the physical aspect, the relentless routine of sunup to sundown, with little trouble. In truth, Murdoch had his doubts in their rocky beginnings, but it had worked out better than he could have hoped.
“Well, Sir, I think that I will turn in. If you have no objections, I think I’d like to go with Johnny tomorrow and check out the grazing situation.” Scott met his father’s eyes with a wink. “We haven’t had much brother time, and it’s slow here for the moment. I thought we could spend some time together.”
How could Murdoch deny the request? The fact that his sons had bonded so closely made his life perfect! He wanted to shout out and rejoice, but his staunch Scottish upbringing squelched the outward emotion, choosing instead to rejoice in the privacy of his thoughts. He could only smile and grant the request. Although of Scottish descent, he was doing an Irish jig in his mind. And that contemplation made him chuckle.
“Certainly, Scott. That would be fine! You two take your time but behave yourselves!” He couldn’t resist the last comment. His boys, as good as they were, had been known to get themselves in a jam on occasion. With a twinkle in his eyes, Scott bid his father goodnight and went to his room. Murdoch stood alone on the patio, not believing that there were two young men in this house and that he, the old man, was the last to retire for the night.
Morning arrived early, and somehow Johnny found himself awake and getting ready to start the day. He thought back to his days of fighting range wars, living by the gun, and sleeping until noon. Well, that ain’t happenin’ anymore… he thought as he eyed his bed longingly. But there was work to do; although riding out to check the grazing situation was not a difficult chore, it would be nice to crawl back into his warm bed. That idea vanished from his thoughts as he leaned over the wash basin and upended the pitcher of cold water over his head. Worked every time! He was now wide awake and ready to start his day once he’d had a few cups of coffee.
Maria, Lancer cook, was in the kitchen waiting for her niño. Her affection for Johnny was undeniable; she had been there when he was born, grieved when he had been taken from the ranch at the age of two, and rejoiced when he had returned to Lancer. She doted on him endlessly, fixing his favorite meals and hovering over him when ill or injured, much to his dismay. He didn’t like the hovering but soon learned it would be her way, not his, when he needed attention.
And here she was, again, fixing his favorite breakfast. Walking silently behind her, Johnny wrapped her in an affectionate hug around her ample frame, startling her as she swung around with the wooden spoon that seemed to be an extension of her body as she jumped with fright. He planted a big kiss on her cheek after fending off her weapon, and she ‘scolded’ him in rapid strings of Spanish as he danced away, avoiding her attack with the spoon. A healthy swat with that wooden tool was enough to raise a sizable welt. Finally over her scare, she pointed to the table with a stern order. “¡Sentarse! ¡Comer!” (Sit! Eat!) But she couldn’t hide the smile that sneaked into place when Johnny was around.
And now, with Scott home, Maria had both boys to dote upon, and she reveled in her ‘mothering’ role.
Her command was obeyed, and a large plate of food was set in front of him; she poured him a large mug of hot, strong, black coffee. Maria secretly smiled to herself as she caught Johnny from the corner of her eyes as he ate. She knew of his years alone, very young, too young to be without a mother. The mother that took him from his home and a stable life and subjected him to horrid living conditions and, ultimately, a solitary life, abandoned him at the age of ten. How had he survived? How many meals had he missed? Well, he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore! I will make sure he has enough to eat! And Maria more than fulfilled that promise to herself.
At a sound on the stairs, Johnny looked up to see Scott enter the kitchen and sit across from him.
“Good morning, Maria!” Scott greeted the cook, who, in turn, rewarded him with a huge smile.
With eyes bright from his surprise attack on Maria, Johnny watched his brother. “What d’ya doin’ up so early, Boston?” Johnny asked with a grin.
“Well, I just thought you could use some company today, not to mention I’ll be there to keep you out of trouble…” Scott left the statement hanging.
Feigning indignation, Johnny put his hand to his chest. “Trouble? Since when do I need someone ta keep me outta trouble?”
Maria harrumphed behind him, and Scott burst into laughter, then said nothing; he didn’t have to. Maria had done it for him.
They ate their breakfast in pleasant conversation before leaving by the back door and each planting a hearty kiss on Maria’s plump cheek, thanking her for the delicious meal. She handed them a sack of food she had put together for their day and sent them on their way, muttering about the sons of the Patrón and hoping that they both stayed out of trouble this day.
The dawn awoke and brought with it bright and beautiful colors as it promised a clear sky. It would be a cool day, but the sun was out in no time, and the air was crisp and fresh; the damp chill fading away. The horses created puffs of steam as they exhaled in great, billowed breaths after the race down the road, with their riders pulling up after running neck and neck as they crossed the ridge and started down the other side.
Johnny and Scott rode in companionable silence, the need to talk overcome by the beauty before them; they enjoyed the stillness of the morning, the beginning of another day. Spending leisurely time together was just the frosting on the cake. Johnny chuckled, and it caught Scott’s attention.
“What’s so funny?” Boston asked as he eyed his brother with suspicion.
“Trouble,” Johnny huffed and laughed again.
Scott rolled his eyes in disbelief. Johnny attracted trouble like moths to a flame, bees to a flower, and as certain as the turn of the earth. He thought that Sam Jenkins, Green River’s doctor, would soon be moving to the ranch in a permanent position as he had been called upon so often to tend to Johnny’s many injuries. Sensing his brother’s playful mood, Scott wasn’t going to let the issue pass without some good-natured ribbing. They bantered back and forth, each calling out the other for issues embarrassing to them both.
“What about the time old Sheldon kicked you in the leg? Oh, I am forgetting about your way with animals… You went down like a sack of bricks! Sam had to be called and patch you up!” Scott laughed as he recalled the event.
Johnny, too remembered, and somehow thought it was funny… now. “Well, it wouldn’ta happened if that bee wouldn’ta stung ‘im! You’re the one that pissed that bee off if I remember right!” Johnny laughed.
Scott recalled the pesky bee as it persisted in buzzing around his ear; he swatted at it only to have it land on the hide of the old horse with a sharp poke of the stinger to the flank just as Johnny was walking around him. Old Sheldon’s leg shot out from behind and caught Johnny right above his knee, knocking him off his feet in a split second. He thought his leg had been broken, and why it wasn’t was a plain miracle; Sam said that Johnny shouldn’t be walking on it and to take it easy. The bruise was hellish, but it healed with no issues… eventually.
Johnny thought not to be outdone and started to laugh with unrestrained abandon. “Yeah, well, what about the time we had ta call Sam out ‘cuz you had all them cactus spines stuck on your ass when ya fell off your horse? Now that was somethin’!” Laughter bellowed from Johnny as he rocked, barely able to keep his seat in the saddle as he recalled Scott landing in the cactus patch butt first and had to be rescued; a wagon was summoned to haul him home, and Jelly was in his element as he teased Scott, not letting the opportunity pass without embarrassing him. It was probably the most humiliation Boston had ever been subjected to in his life, no thanks to Johnny recounting the incident with much embellishment.
The first visit to the Angel’s Nest in Green River afterward had been a horrendous affair as both Cindy Middleton and Lilly, Scott’s two favorite girls, had offered to check his injuries, asking him so that the whole room of already inebriated patrons heard. The hoots and hollers had prompted Val’s assistance as complaints of excessive noise were filed, ultimately asking the Lancer brothers to leave town until they could behave without disturbing the peace. Val had a laugh over that one himself and found it hard to contain his amusement, leaving Scott red-faced and mortified. Actually, both ends were red, Johnny thought, and left with his brother, trying to ease his troubles but secretly found the whole situation more than a little funny.
The memory, all too fresh, continued to cause him emotional distress, and Scott conceded that Johnny had won this round and let the subject of ‘trouble’ drop.
The morning passed quickly as Johnny and Scott discussed the upcoming dance, with Scott confiding that he would ask the new dressmaker in town if she would care to go with him as his date. Johnny laughed at the comment, and Scott eyed him in suspicion. “What’s so funny about that, Brother?”
“Nuthin’, ‘cept ya might be a little late. I heard that Cletus Tate from the bank has his eye on her, so ya better not dilly-dally over askin’.”
Scott smiled. Cletus Tate, is it? He doesn’t stand a chance… Scott thought to himself. “Who are you going to take, Johnny?” Scott asked, but Johnny shot him a look of surprise.
“Not gonna ask no one. Probably won’t be there.” Now it was Scott’s turn to be surprised.
“What do you mean you won’t be there? It’s the social highlight of the whole year around here! You can’t not be there!”
Johnny slowly turned to face his brother with only a slight grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “You think ya can make me go if I don’t wanna?” Even though it was said partially in jest, there was a challenge issued. Only then did Scott realize his blunder. He shrugged and dipped his head before looking over at Johnny.
“I’m sorry, Johnny. I know how you feel about these functions; I should have thought before I opened my mouth.”
With that, Johnny laughed as a grin split his face, and he slapped Scott on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Boston. Hey, even if ya don’t ask the new dressmaker, there’s all them girls that are probably already standin’ in line ta dance with ya! Remember the last shindig? You were so tired from dancin’ all night that ya couldn’t make it ta church with Murdoch and T’resa the next day! ‘Course that was alright, too, cuz I know how they feel about your singin’ at church. Didn’t they ask ya ta not sing so loud? It was hard on everyone’s ears!” And Johnny suddenly set his spurs to Barranca’s sides and galloped ahead.
The sun was directly overhead as they sat under the tree and watched as the cattle grazed in the north pasture. Murdoch had been right; the grass would last another couple of weeks. Thankful for the food Maria packed, they had eaten their fill and now relaxed at the base of the massive oak tree, a tree that had been there since before either Lancer son had been born. Probably had taken root and grown substantially before Murdoch had been a twinkle in his Da’s eye.
The chill of the morning was chased away, leaving the day pleasantly warm with a slight breeze to gently sway the leaves in the trees. Johnny slouched with his hat tipped down low over his face shielding his eyes, and was almost asleep as he leaned against the gigantic trunk. Scott lay flat on his back in the grass, drifting in limbo of half-sleep and half-aware of his surroundings.
For a few minutes, Johnny watched as a red-tailed hawk circled above; his call reveled in his freedom and echoed as he played on the thermals going higher and higher until he was but a dot in the blue sky. Swallows skimmed over the small lake catching water bugs or an occasional drink off the surface, and the cattle contented themselves munching the sweet grass that was still plentiful.
The sun continued its trek across the sky, and just as Johnny opened his eyes, a bright glare erupted out of the grass in a sudden flash on the opposite side of the pasture. He sat up erect, now fully awake, pushed his hat back in place, and jumped to his feet.
Scott reached for his hat, lifting it from his face; he, too, was now awake and wide-eyed as he watched Johnny looking intently across the meadow.
“What, Johnny? What do you see?” Scott asked, looking in that direction but not seeing anything alarming.
“Dunno. Somethin’s layin’ in the grass… Son-of-a-bitch!” He swore as ran for Barranca.
Scott, trusting his brother’s instincts, bolted for Remmie, and soon both were riding to the far side of the pasture.
Lying in the grass was an empty bottle of rotgut carelessly thrown away after it had been drained; it had been recently discarded, the inside of the bottle was still wet with swill. The sun reflected off the glass had alerted Johnny as if it were a beacon, and after closely looking at the hill beyond the fence, Johnny saw what could only be the trail left by many hoof prints in the trampled but recovering grass.
Johnny and Scott inspected the fence and found where it had been cut and meticulously repaired in hopes of going unnoticed. There were rustlers, and they had stolen Lancer cattle. Quickly counting the cattle left grazing, they would make a report when they returned to Lancer. Neither had been present when the cattle had been brought to this spot; their suspicions not roused upon their arrival until the discovery of the cut then mended fence.
Johnny stooped down, inspecting the tracks left on the hard ground. The grass, now recovered from the sharp hooves that crushed the green blades, made it difficult to see.
“Mierda!” Johnny swore as he looked past the pasture and up into the hills. The cattle would probably never be found now, but we sure as Hell can prevent ‘em from takin’ anymore! With stubborn resolve, he had a plan formed, well, part of a plan. Plans had a sneaky way of going astray, and you ended up making revisions to said plan as you went along. Now all he had to do was convince the old man.
From the cover of rocks and brush, the two men watched as the Lancer hands discovered the ‘gate’ that had been cut into the fence and knew that their hopes of getting more Lancer beef would be ruined unless they acted and acted fast. The two hands left the pasture and quickly headed to the ranch to make their discovery known and gather reinforcements to prevent further loss.
‘Mac’ Mackenzie turned to his partner, shrugged, and spoke as regret laced his gruff voice.
“Guess we shoulda got more a them damned cows before this. Was hopin’ we’d have more time. Let’s get back ta camp an’ see what we can come up with. Maybe Sloan will wanna get one more raid; maybe he’ll wanna pull out now.” The two men retrieved their horses from the cover of the rocks and left, going in the opposite direction of Lancer and through the narrow pass farther up in the mountains, the pass that they had rigged with dynamite to cover their trail and stall for time should they be discovered.
“Ain’t good news, Murdoch. We got rustlin’ goin’ on up there. How many cattle did Cip drive up there last month, ya remember?” Johnny asked as he and Scott made their report.
“No, but Cip will know; he made that decision when he drove the cattle there, knowing about how many head the pasture would support. I’ll have him report to me when he gets back from the range. In the meantime, I want you boys to get some of the hands together, pull them from the closest jobs to the north side, and set up guards until we can get those cattle out of there. I’m going to talk to Val. I wonder if any other ranches have been hit. Aggie hasn’t said anything, but some of her stock is in higher, remote pastures, too, and she probably wouldn’t know yet if any are missing. I’ll stop by the Circle C on my way to town. You two watch yourselves!” Murdoch ordered and left for Green River.
Johnny and Scott hurried to the barn getting fresh horses ready to head back out. Remmie and Barranca stood waiting to go again but were unsaddled instead, both knowing something was afoot and looked like lost puppies when Scott and Johnny turned their attention to other horses. Johnny patted Barranca as he turned the horse out in the corral by the barn and fed him an apple he’d pilfered on his way through the kitchen. Happy with his treat, the steed nudged Johnny’s shoulder then watched him ride out on another horse.
Taking Walt, Joe, and Isidro from the ranch, Johnny and Scott made it as far as the north mesa before picking up Cipriano, not waiting for him to come up later after giving his account of the cattle that should be in the north pasture. He joined José, Sammy, Lon, and Wick, and laden with supplies to cover two or three days, they covertly made it to the north pasture, having kept out of sight of a potential rustler’s guard, to set up their surveillance. They were the best shots that Lancer had and would be ready should the rustlers strike again, having proved themselves on many occasions. They were adamant that not another Lancer cow would be taken. The men knew their duty, all seasoned hands and all devoted to Lancer, their Patrón, and his sons.
Dusk cast a copper light over the pasture nestled between the mountains. Darkness settled earlier in the higher elevations, with the tall peaks casting shadows as the sun slipped behind them, bringing with it the damp cold as the air turned chilly and frozen, but the men had been prepared and brought with them the heavy gear and other essentials for night duty. Johnny wondered again if he would ever acclimate to the cold as he watched his breath float above him in tiny ghostly apparitions to finally disappear. Hunkered down behind rocks and out of the wind, they waited, spaced out in twos to guard the cattle and hopefully catch some rustlers.
No fires were lit to ward off the cold that settled in around them; there was no sense in making it easy for the rustlers to detect their positions should they decide on another run on the Lancer cattle, and Johnny would like nothing better than to invite the bastards to the ‘party’.
Johnny and Scott had strategically placed the men around the area, hopefully, to catch them in a crossfire, then took their station slightly up the ‘escape’ route the rustlers would take back into the mountains where they had come from; there was no other place for them to go but into the mountains.
Johnny had taken another horse, an all-black gelding that he’d acquired two months ago when he and Val journeyed to New Mexico on a favor for Governor Steve Bronson. The black horse, named Intimidar, served well for nighttime ‘activities’ such as this. He also advised Scott to do the same in taking a different mount. If the rustlers struck, Johnny and Scott would be the first to give chase, and Johnny knew from experience that stealth and staying invisible as long as possible was critical, and one could not stay invisible on a flashy mount. Barranca objected with a shrill neigh when his compadre left the ranch without him, but it couldn’t be helped.
And now they waited.
With the night came boredom, an enemy that had been responsible for more than one untimely demise; therefore, the main reason for the men to be stationed in pairs. Sitting in the cold with no fires and no hot coffee could lull one into mind-numbing boredom faster than anything else known to mankind, other than drinking too much alcohol, but a well-placed shot between the eyes of a man who was not alert would make that sleep eternal if they failed to stay awake. The need to remain watchful was critical, not only to apprehend the rustlers but to stay alive. The men were fiercely loyal to Lancer, and they all pulled their weight. They were all happy at their jobs, were treated fairly, paid top wages, and they would all be there when things got rough, ready to lay their lives on the line; it was an honor to work at this ranch and for this family. If one wasn’t happy working at Lancer, then there was something wrong… with him.
With their combined battle experience, Scott’s time in the war, and Johnny’s conflicts working the range wars, they mounted a sound defense; strategically placing the men to catch the rustlers in a crossfire, Johnny and Scott settled in to wait; it would be an awfully long and cold night.
The nocturnal chorus began its monotonous serenade; coyotes howled their mournful songs to the heavens, owls hooted from their cover in the trees, and the drone of tree and field crickets reached a crescendo loud enough to wake the dead. The night dragged by, leaving those who waited in hiding longing for dawn and a hot meal in their bellies. There were only two more hours till the sky would give up the darkness. If the rustlers were going to hit, it would be soon, but it remained quiet, and still nothing happened.
Someone once said that ‘Patience is the virtue of the Western man’, Scott had heard it but couldn’t remember where; he could barely recall his own name at the moment, tired from the long hours and the chill that permeated his clothes, but he thought about those out here with him waiting, keeping their eyes open for anything out of the normal knowing that they were all as tired as he was. Patience. Oh, if Grandfather could see me now…
He knew they would be going back to the ranch soon, and when he got there, he would fall into his bed and not move until tomorrow. He looked over where Johnny sat hunkered down in the cover of boulders and brush and thought he looked as tired as Scott himself. As the sun started to peek over the mountains and its creamy soft yellow light crawled down into the valley, they knew it had been a wasted effort. The aches that seized their bodies from a long cold night on the ground made themselves known as they started to move and get the blood pumping again through their arms and legs.
Scott jumped as Johnny appeared out of nowhere. How his brother could move so silently sometimes sent shivers of fear through him. But there he was, standing straight, looking out over the mountains.
“Scott, ya take the boys back ta the ranch an’ send replacements. ‘ M gonna stay till they get here. I got a funny feelin’…” Scott looked at Johnny like he’d just grown another head.
“You’re not staying here alone…”
Johnny shrugged. He knew this would be a problem with his sibling. Sometimes he takes this big brother stuff too far… Johnny thought.
“Fine, leave Cip an’ he can wait with me but get the others back without lettin’ yourselves be seen. An’ tell whoever comes back ta keep outta sight. Somethin’ ain’t right here.”
Scott knew that was the end of their conversation and left, keeping to the cover of trees, and signaled for the others to follow. So well hidden were the Lancer crew the most observant eye would not have known there were men stationed around this pasture.
They came and went without disturbance, left no sign of their presence, and made absolutely no noise. Now, only Cip on the east side and Johnny on the west sat guard as what was left of the Lancer herd munched in lazy contentment on the grass in the pasture, completely unaware they were watched and they were still a target.
“No, we ain’t hittin’ that pasture again! Ya just told me that those two cowboys found out we were there an’ got some ‘a that beef. Why the Hell would ya wanna go back there? They’re prob’ly sittin’ in ambush waitin’ for ya. How stupid can ya be?” Sloan railed as Mac and Ross stood and scuffed at the dirt under their boots. Sloan stomped away and shook his head with a disgusted huff.
“Ya know, ‘m getting’ awful tired ‘a him always tryin’ ta make us look stupid! Hey, Ross, how ‘bout you an’ me sneakin’ out tanight an’ take a few more ‘a them Lancer cows? Sloan’s leaving this afternoon ta meet with Craddick ‘bout the cattle what we took so far. If he ain’t here, he ain’t gonna know we’re gone…” Ross watched as Mac’s eyes took on a crazed look. The man had a nose for trouble, that was for sure, and Ross wasn’t so sure that he agreed, but he would go anyway, just to keep him out of trouble.
It had taken more than six hours for the new men to get into place and stay out of sight. Johnny gave the orders, telling them what had happened up to that point and that he would return about midnight. He sent the men to their places then he and Cip started for Lancer. The thought of his bed was starting to sound better and better; a cup of hot coffee, a full belly when he got to the house, then up the stairs to his room, shuck his clothes, and flop in bed. Yup, that sounded like just what he needed. Until the time when he would get up in the middle of the night and repeat the process, hopefully with a better outcome.
The Lancer arch was a welcome sight; both Johnny and Cip were exhausted as the horses reached the hitchrail by the back door. Jelly was there before the horses stopped, taking both animals and mumbling something about some ‘folks lookin’ like Hell and not knowin’ when they need ta go ta bed.’ Johnny smiled as they went into the kitchen and sagged into chairs at the table. Immediately Maria and Teresa had food and hot coffee before them and watched as the two men ate in silence, their bloodshot eyes barely able to keep open as they slowly consumed the hot meal.
Murdoch entered the kitchen and stopped, taking in the sight before occupying the seat next to his son. Johnny and Cip had put in many hours out in the cold, and Murdoch would see to it they had enough rest before they went again. Or so he thought.
“Scott told me nothing happened. I talked with Aggie, and she’s sending someone out to check over her outer pastures to see if she’d been hit. Well, Johnny, go to bed and sleep in tomorrow. You can get a late start on the day.”
The hot food was settling in his belly, making the thought of sleep impossible to ignore. He rubbed at his eyes and then turned them on his father.
“Can’t. ‘M leaving ‘round midnight ta go back up there. Gonna catch a few hours ‘a sleep, though. If Scott gets up before I leave, let ‘im know ‘m goin’ back out. Cip’s comin’, too, so’s Joe an’ Isidro. We talked ‘bout it earlier an’ wanna give it more time.” Johnny stood and turned on his way upstairs, but Murdoch’s voice caught him before he could get away.
“Johnny! You’re not going back there tonight! Look at you two! You can barely stand upright; you need more rest than that!” Murdoch reasoned.
“Can’t help it, Murdoch. I got this feelin’ it ain’t over yet. One more night should tell us somethin’ an’ if nothin’ happens, then we need ta start looking up in those mountains an’ see if we can’t get them cows back. But somethin’ tells me we might be too late for that. That’s why I wanna get out there tanight an’ find out for sure.” Johnny turned back to Cipriano, still at the table. “Get some sleep, Amigo,” and he was gone up the back stairs.
Just past midnight, they were ready to go again, Johnny, Scott, Cip, Joe, and Isidro met in front of the barn. Johnny had saddled Intimidar, once again leaving Barranca stabled, much to his dismay. The palomino stomped and tossed his head in an equine tantrum, but a carrot and an ear scratch settled him down then Johnny left the barn.
Cookie in the bunkhouse had stayed up to fix the men a hot meal before they left and packed food for during the night as Maria had for her niños. Now they were ready to head out, andonce again, they thundered down the road covering the miles to the north pasture. There was a quarter moon tonight, not giving much light, and their travel was slow, but they were able to sneak in and relieve the men who stood watch during the afternoon and into the night until their arrival. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. The men had not shown themselves and had stayed still and quiet; now they snuck out as the new watch came in, taking their places to sit and wait through the long chilly night.
Night watch was difficult under ideal conditions, but when it was cold and one had to stay still and hidden, it was Hell. There was no moving around to get the blood to pump and keep limbs warm. The chilly air and ground seemed to drain every bit of warmth out of a body, leech it bit by bit, no matter what one did to stave off the shivers that shook them to their cores in uncontrollable spasms and set teeth to chatter. The night sounds kept up their symphony lulling those into boredom… until the sounds stopped.
The silence then turned deafening and alerted everyone to stay focused.
It was about half an hour until dawn when they ‘heard’ the silence. The crickets stopped their incessant chirp, and the owl flew to a more undisturbed location. Johnny tensed, knowing there was movement ahead, where the trampled grass had started to grow again. He couldn’t tell how many there were, only that someone was coming. He waited, knowing the dance was about to begin and he was ready.
Ever so slowly, Mac and Ross eased their way down the trail; Ross had second thoughts about this foray to steal more Lancer cattle, but Mac was bound and determined for another raid, and he couldn’t do it alone. Hell, it was too much for just the two of them, but Mac was only planning on taking a few more head of cattle. It seemed hardly worth the effort to Ross, but greed made men do things they shouldn’t. And Mac was a greedy man.
They’d watched for hours and saw no one; it would be like ‘shootin’ fish in a barrel,’ he said. Just one more raid, then they would clear out. They were coming down the hill nearing the fence, and a horse whinnied, alerting the rustlers to danger.
Sonuvabitch! Johnny thought as the rustlers quickly reined their horses around to gallop away. He ran to Intimidar, vaulted onto his back, and gave chase, keeping as close as he could, giving the horse his head. Johnny could barely make out the forms of two men, and that was all, but he was able to keep them in sight for three or four miles; ahead was a narrow opening into a canyon, and it appeared that’s where they were going.
“Johnny! Wait!” Scott bellowed into the night when he saw Johnny in pursuit.
He’d gotten to his horse faster than the others and flung himself into the saddle, kicking Intimidar’s flanks, and jumped into the lead, not letting the riders ahead out of sight. Scott fretted that if the rustlers saw only Johnny behind them, they would pick him off. His panic pushed away any other thought except that Johnny was a clear target. They had to get closer for backup. Scott always swore he’d have Johnny’s back, always…
Mac and Ross split up, one taking the left, the other taking the right path halfway up the steep mouth that funneled into the canyon. The lone rider was coming and fast. The only fish in the barrel, Mac thought. The black horse blended into the shadows and couldn’t be seen, but they could hear him coming — the hooves beat the ground, sounding like drums in the quiet of the night, coming after them, hunting them down. But they would have the time they needed and little to spare to thwart their capture. They scrambled up the rocky footpath and stopped at the spot where each took a match from his pocket and lit a fuse hidden in the rocks, a fuse that would ignite the dynamite and blow the canyon mouth, sealing it shut beneath tons of rock and dirt. The matches flared, and the fuses caught and began to burn; then, the two mounted their horses, rode into the canyon, and waited for the diversion that would ensure their escape.
Johnny rode ahead, but he lost sight of the men in the boulders and brush. He knew they had gone into the canyon, but where were they? Slowing Intimidarto a walk, he kept going forward, listening for anything that would tell where they went. Damn it all! He cursed himself for losing them, knowing this would probably be the only chance of catching them. At least it was getting lighter, and he wasn’t running blind anymore. Johnny dismounted, taking his chances, he left Intimidar and went on foot, searching for tracks.
The sun eased over the mountain peaks, shedding much needed light allowing Johnny to ferret out clues left in the dirt. He continued up the slope, picking out partial hoof prints among the rocks. Up ahead he could see… Suddenly he was tossed into the air, weightless, then slammed to the ground; rocks rained down around him, and pain flooded his body; he was pelted with debris from every direction, sending fireworks of bright hot explosions through his body, then everything turned black.
The explosion shook the ground and spewed rock and dirt high into the air. The four men trailing Johnny pulled the reins bringing the horses skidding to a halt. They bucked and sidestepped, neighed in their fright, and fought against the commands of their riders.
“JOHNNY!” Scott screamed and kicked Remmie into a gallop; he raced ahead but suddenly felt Cipriano at his side pulling up on Scott’s reins, a move the Segundo would only make under desperate conditions.
“Wait, Señor Scott!”
Scott fought the command to stop but realized Cip was right. There was nothing ahead but dirt and dust clouds; nothing was visible; they couldn’t ride in there blind. They would have to wait until the air cleared. Johnny! Brother, where are you? was all Scott could think as his heart beat wildly in his chest. Brother, where are you?
They scanned ahead for Johnny — he had to be there! After what seemed an eternity, they could discern movement ahead. Scott held his breath as he saw something struggle in the dirt that hung in the air. Moving forward, another large cloud of dirt and dust billowed into the air as Intimidar stood and shook his great body; the filthy shroud increased and swirled around him. And he was riderless. Cip could say to wait from now till Hell froze over, but Scott wasn’t wasting any more time. His brother’s horse could be seen, but his brother couldn’t, and Scott was going to find him. He reached the large black horse as the steed stood, shaking his great head as if trying to clear the cobwebs.
“Johnny!” Scott called out and waited, but there was no answer, only stillness and a slight echo of the word “trouble” whispered by his brother echoed in his brain.
“JOHNNY!” Scott was frantic; there was no sign of his brother, just the black horse with an empty saddle. He felt light-headed and knew if he dismounted, his legs would not bear his weight. Shock waves pounded through his body and bounced the length of his six-foot-one-inch frame, then reverberated back the other way. It can’t end this way! He has to be here, alive! But there was no movement to indicate that Johnny had made it through the explosion. He looked to Cipriano for support hoping the Segundo had seen something he didn’t, but the mournful black eyes told Scott a very sad story. Anger set in, and Scott fixed the man with a stubborn blazing glare.
“Cipriano, we need to scout around in these rocks! We have to find him!” Single-minded stubbornness took over, shoving aside the desperation and replacing it with blind determination to find Johnny alive.
“Joe, ride back to the ranch and bring back help and anything to dig with! We have to find Johnny, and if he’s under these rocks, it’s going to take more than just us to get him out! Get going!” Joe turned and left for Lancer, leaving the rest of them to search.
Jack Sloan was ready to burst at the seams. If those two assholes just got themselves caught or brought a posse in here, ‘m gonna fuckin’ kill ‘em both! The meeting with Craddick had not happened, Sloan came back to camp earlier than expected and in a foul mood. Damn Craddick! Then he found that Mac and Ross were not there. Then he heard the explosion and knew what transpired. The rest of the plans were now ruined, unsalvageable, and they were probably already being hunted down and, if caught, no doubt would hang. Just because those fuckin’ idiots didn’t have a half of brain between them! All ‘a the plans are up in smoke! Stupid bastards!
Sloan had contemplated leaving them on their own to get out of this mess but discarded the idea knowing that if caught, they would be ‘persuaded’ to identify who the brains of the outfit were. Implicating him would be as good as signing his death warrant. Any posse worth their salt would know those two were not capable of pulling off anything remotely successful. No, he would have to stick around and wait for them to get back. Maybe he’d shoot them himself and save the taxpayers money and avoid a hanging. So, Jack Sloan sat and waited, knowing that he had time; no one was coming into this valley from the south. There was only one entrance there, and it was now blown shut after the explosion. If Mac and Ross didn’t blow themselves to kingdom come, they would be here soon.
He remembered, as a boy, his step-daddy counting to ten when he did something he shouldn’t have. Ha, counting to ten wouldn’t get the job done with these two jackasses… but a bullet would. The two incompetent partners finally rode into camp looking like they’d rather be anywhere but where they were. Sloan was on his feet, staring fiery holes through them when they returned to camp.
“WHAT have you jackasses been doin’? I told ya ta leave them Lancer cattle alone!” Sloan railed as the two men dismounted, finding their boots very interesting.
“Well, we jus’ thought…” Ross began but was cut off.
“Ya just thought nuthin’! That’s the problem, ya didn’t think!” Sloan screamed. “Now we hafta find another place ta hide out!”
“Naw, it’s alright, Jack; there’s only one cowhand followin’ an’ he didn’t make it past the blast.”
Sloan stopped his pacing and stared harder, making the two underlings back up a step with his glare. He couldn’t believe he heard what he thought he heard.
“Ya blew someone up? I oughta fuckin’ shoot ya myself! Now we got a murder charge hangin’ over us! Of all the stupid…” The words did not come; he was too mad to speak. He turned to stalk away but couldn’t resist striking out at the nearest dimwitted partner and punched him in the face, then quickly turned back to face them again.
“Without gettin’ caught, you two get back there an’ find him! If he’s still alive, bring ‘im back here!”
Both Mac and Ross were puzzled. “An’ what if he’s dead?”
“Bury ‘im, ya idiot!”
What the fuck happened? His head felt like it would explode from his shoulders, and his eyes would not focus; his sight was blurred, and black dots danced in front of him. What was that noise? The ringing in his ears was deafening. He felt something trickle down his face and brought up a hand to touch his forehead. The glove came away smeared with blood. The ringing in his head caused him to stop and concentrate — it felt like his head was stuffed solid with cotton. Closing his eyes, Johnny thought to rest, then start again; maybe he just needed a minute to pull himself together, open them once more, and things would right themselves. Maybe.
He lay still, willing his senses to slow down, and tried to gather himself to start over. Alright, let’s try this again… He cracked one eye open to a slit and slammed it shut. Nope, not yet… Fuck, get it over with! GET UP, MADRID! His brain screamed as he tried to get his feet under him when a lightning bolt shot through him with agonizing white-hot pain. He groaned loudly as his right knee protested and stubbornly refused his command. Weight pressed him down; what was it that held him immobile? Johnny risked raising his head and saw the problem — half his body was buried beneath rocks, dirt, and a sizable branch; then he remembered. The explosion! Where was Intimidar?
He’d been chasing two men — they must have lit dynamite on both sides of the canyon entrance to blow it closed and get away. Sonuvabitch! It seemed they were successful and escaped, and here he was, buried like a damn turnip! He groaned in frustration.
This’s gonna take a while… He could move his right arm, but it hurt like hell; then, with deliberate, time-consuming efforts, he began to uncover and disentangle himself from the debris that threatened to shield him from sight. Boston, where are ya?
Sweat ran down his face as he fought the urge to close his eyes and not move; the exertion, compounded with the pain of his bruised body and lacerated head, grabbed him in a hard and wicked grasp; it dragged his body in a desperate attempt, to pull him under into the dark, safe arms of unconsciousness. Can’t let that happen, hafta keep movin’…
He knew his left arm and shoulder were badly bruised, he could move them, but it almost wasn’t worth the pain it caused. His head persisted pounding as he scrambled to pull his thoughts together. He swore his brain was blown into mush and suspected that his skull was only a pile of shattered bones. But he forced those thoughts aside and, ever so gradually, gained more freedom from the debris that held him captive. He pushed away rocks, dirt, and branches, gaining a modicum of freedom until he could battle the dizziness and sit up, but he still could not move his leg, and now he saw why. It wasn’t a branch, but a sizable log lay across it just below his knee, or was it two logs? His vision jumped, swirled, and turned his stomach in knots before the two logs became one, and the dancing sight settled. The log didn’t budge; it held him secure, trapping him as if in deadly jaws. Johnny again forced aside the urge to lie down, just for a few minutes to rest; he fought against the notion, the notion that beckoned, urging him to let it wrap around him in welcoming, wisp-like tendrils of ghostly fingers, tempting him to close his eyes, relax, lay back and go to sleep, just for a minute.
Then he found himself sagging backward, his eyes shot open, and he snapped to a sitting position that did nothing except send shards of white-hot pain racing through every muscle and bone and forced a loud hiss through clenched teeth as he waited out the agony.
He sat with head bowed and eyes clenched tightly shut, tried to even out his breathing and control the bolts of pain. Finally, he slowed it enough to shake the jumbled thoughts in his head. The ring in his ears faded. He had to get loose; he had to move.
The log that trapped him was more than what he could manage with one good arm, so the only option left was to dig out what he could from under his leg. He dug with the rowel on his left boot, dislodging some of the dirt and smaller rocks; he leaned forward, struggling to remove larger, more stubborn rocks. Sweat obscured his vision, forcing him to stop often and wipe away the salty wetness before it burned into his eyes. The heat from the sun was building mercilessly as the day began to warm. Sure could use a drink. His mouth was dry, and there was heat building in his body. His eyes were not focused, and he suspected there was a concussion, especially when suddenly he had to stop his digging and turned to the side as the involuntary spasm tortured him, and he retched violently into the dirt and rocks. Panting and exhausted, he closed his eyes again — he felt like he’d just turned inside out; he wiped away more sweat and resumed digging, forcing himself to concentrate on getting out of there. Boston, where… are ya?
“Senor Scott, we can’t get through this using just our hands,” Cipriano tried to reason as he watched Scott frantically work as he pulled at the rocks that blocked their path.
“Johnny’s in here somewhere, and I am not leaving here without him!” Scott stubbornly maintained his position without looking up. He would stay until Johnny was found, and nothing was going to change that. The explosion sealed off the entrance to the canyon, blocking the way with a solid wall of rock and earth. A sickening thought pierced into Scott’s brain, and he wondered if Johnny would ever be found. He quickly banished it from his mind. He and Johnny had been cheated out of growing up as brothers, and having just recently found the other, Scott was determined this would not be the way they would end. He would find his brother.
Looking around him, Cipriano thought he didn’t want to be around when they found the body. There was no way a man could have survived the explosion. The wall of rock and earth that now blocked the way into the canyon was impenetrable. If Juanito was buried under the debris, there would be no rescue, and the chances of recovering the body, well, it would take weeks, maybe months.
The debris beneath his leg started to move, lessening the death grip that had anchored him to the spot. With the pressure released, he could feel the blood rush through his system as the pins and needles pierced agonizingly like hot stings from giant bees in a savage attack, but he didn’t relent and was rewarded for his tenacious effort as soon he was free of the trap that held him secure.
Johnny gathered what strength he had and rolled on his right side, then quickly back to the former position as his knee screamed out in protest when his body twisted, putting pressure on the injured joint. His breath seared through his nose and left him huffing in and out with harsh gasps. He felt he’d been running for miles. Johnny sat and reached for a boulder to steady himself, then leaned forward and curled his left leg under him. He pushed off the boulder with his right arm as the leg stabilized, and he was standing, wobbling but standing on one leg. He gingerly tried putting weight on his right leg but found it too weak to support him. He would need to find something to use as a crutch if he wanted to move out.
It wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but Johnny recovered a stout limb, and after testing its worth and finding it passable, he then looked around him to scout out a possible route out of the canyon.
Knowing there was no way he could navigate over the mountain of rocks, dirt, and timber, he decided his best bet was to traverse the debris field and work his way either east or west while keeping an eye out for a chance to backtrack once he was further up the canyon slope. Hell, maybe the rustlers’ll find me an’ just shoot me, then I won’t hafta worry ‘bout it no more… But he was hopeful for a sighting of Intimidar and finding his way back to the others.
Madrid emerged as Johnny looked down at his hip and noticed that his pistol was still strapped in its holster. Now that was truly a miracle! Who’d a thought that gun woulda stayed there after being blown up?
The way was agonizingly slow as he picked his way across the debris hill, falling more times than he could count, the chore of getting back up was more difficult with every tumble, and every tumble produced more bruises and pain to excruciating proportions that he had to struggle to stay conscious. His sweat continued to run into his eyes, blurring his vision; his breathing was labored, making him question how much longer he could keep going. At least the ringing in his ears had nearly disappeared.
Coherent thoughts were fading into a confusing jumble — what was fact, and what was imagination? But he kept moving, and then he slipped; his good leg went out from under him, and he rolled down to the canyon floor, narrowly missing a large boulder. His limp body rolled and tumbled, bouncing down the side of the steep slope; a white-hot flash exploded before his eyes then everything went mercifully black.
“Hey! Ross, look down there!” Mac pointed through the trees as the two rustlers sat on their horses at the rim of the small canyon. Below they watched as a man moved slowly through the rocks; they observed the struggle and inevitable tumble as he fell, crashing his way to the bottom of the canyon only to land in a heap without moving.
“I’ll be damned! That’s gotta be the fella that was followin’ us! How do ya reckon he made it through the blast?” Mac shrugged, knowing that now they would have to bring the man back to camp instead of the easy way of burying the bastard.
The stampede through his brain brought him back to consciousness. Damn! He didn’t need that fall, but what were a few more bruises? He began to take inventory of his condition when suddenly, his sixth sense started to come alive, and Madrid stepped out of the fog. Instinct took over, the same instinct that had kept him alive for the many years he was alone and lived by his wits and gun. He slowly slipped the strap off the pistol on his hip and tucked the gun under his shirt in the small of his back. He heard a noise, the sound of voices, and knew someone was nearby. Who it was, he wasn’t sure, but he had an idea. He could hear them plainly now as they slipped and skidded down to where he lay, and he braced himself for the worst. He didn’t know who was there coming after him, but he made himself as ready as he could be.
The large paw-like hand clamped onto his shoulder and shook him. ‘Easy, boy, ah’m here with ya.’ Tanner? No, it can’t be… Tanner’s dead.
“Mister, ya awake?”
It was not a voice he knew; how would he play this hand? The cards he held wouldn’t win the pot, no matter how bad his opponent’s hand was. Not able to hold back the groan, Johnny wanted nothing more than to knock the hand away and punch the ugly face that loomed over him, but it was impossible.
Mac and Ross hauled him roughly to his feet and dragged him up the steep canyon wall to their horses. The groans of pain did nothing to slow their ascent. Johnny’s body screamed in protest at the throbbing tore through him as he was forced to move; his brain swirled in dizzying circles, then he was finally pushed to solid ground beside their mounts. Why hadn’t they found my gun? But choosing not to question any miracle that may have graced Johnny Madrid, he didn’t wonder about it for very long. He was thrown onto a saddle, then one of them climbed up behind him. He leaned as far forward as possible and could only hope the pistol would not be discovered.
Johnny didn’t know how long he’d been riding, time had ceased to be, but suddenly he found himself pulled by his left arm, and he crashed onto the hard ground as the massive bruising in his shoulder erupted in hot, excruciating fire and his right knee followed along behind it. His world nearly turned black when he was grabbed by both arms and dragged to a tree, where he was secured with a rope. It pulled tight, prompting another uncontrolled groan when his arms were yanked behind the tree trunk. The rope cut into the skin of his wrists and began to gouge the skin and rub them raw.
“Have ya seen ‘im around? Know who he is?” Sloan asked of his men. Both shook their heads no. “Well then, guess we should ask ‘im.” Jack Sloan walked to his horse and grabbed his canteen; his sadistic grin crawled across his face thinking of the entertainment that dropped into their laps. The thought of beating a person who couldn’t fight back had always humored him, and now he had the chance. He brought the canteen over to their prisoner, took a long drink, and dumped the cold water over the head that bobbed between the slumped shoulders.
At first, there was nothing, then he grabbed a handful of hair as he poured the water directly into the lax face. A cough erupted, followed by violent choking, and Johnny instinctively turned away from the water. With his hand still wrapped in Johnny’s hair, Sloan pulled his head back a second time so that he could see the face. The eyes were struggling to open.
“What’s your name, cowboy?” Sloan spat.
The eyes, only tight slits, peered through the fog at the face looming above him. “W-who wants ta know?” he ground out in a whisper.
Mac stepped forward and, knowing the prisoner could not defend himself in his present condition, punched the slack jaw.
Johnny’s head slammed into the trunk of the tree and exploded in a shower of stars, nearly sending him back into darkness as his lip split open and blood trickled down his chin. Sloan grabbed at Mac’s arm, preventing another blow. Johnny rolled his head against the tree trunk as he tried to make the six men that stood before him decrease back down to three. He suddenly smiled, then spat a mouthful of blood at the one that he thought hit him; the gobbet of spit and blood caught the rustler down the front of his shirt.
“You’re gonna be sorry ya did that, ya bastard!” and Mac drew a rolled fist back for another strike.
Ya best be takin’ it easy, boy, these fellas mean business… There it was again! He swore it was Tanner! Sure could use your help now, Tanner…
“Enough! Mac, settle down! We gotta find out who he is before we decide what we’re gonna do with him. Now, just settle down!” Sloan turned back to Johnny.
“Gonna ask ya one more time, what’s your name?”
Johnny gave them a chilling smile. “Lancer, Johnny Lancer.” He watched their faces as a myriad of expressions flooded them. If he didn’t hurt so bad, he would have laughed.
Ross looked terrified, Mac stared in disbelief, but only Sloan appeared pleased.
“Well, well, looky here, boys! We got us a Lancer! He don’t look too important now, does he?”
“Sloan, we gotta let ‘em go! We can’t be killin’ no Lancer!” Ross mewled.
Sloan laughed again, his eyes shined with a wicked gleam. “Kill ‘im? We ain’t gonna kill ‘im, ya idiot! We’re gonna hold ‘im for ransom!”
Ross looked more horrified than he did before, making Johnny laugh out loud, drawing their attention. Three sets of eyes turned on him, and now all three had the same look, was he crazy?
“What’s so funny, Lancer? Ya don’t think your ol’ man’ll pay for your hide?” Sloan asked in jest.
Johnny shrugged as best he could, then met their glares. “Nope,” he said with another smile.
Sloan began to lose the smug attitude that had cloaked him minutes earlier. “Why wouldn’t he wanna keep his own son alive?”
“Cuz he hates who I am, or was.” Johnny matched the challenge in Sloan’s voice.
He just had to ask. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who are you, or were you?” Just how bad can this be? Sloan thought to himself as the other two seemed to hang on every word.
Johnny let the wicked grin twitch the corner of his bloodied lips, and he took his time to answer. “Johnny Madrid,” he said quietly.
Ross’ involuntary whimper was comical; the color drained from Mac’s face, and Sloan did his best to hide his shock, but Johnny caught it before it vanished.
“Madrid, huh? This just keeps gettin’ better an’ better!” Sloan laughed outright as Mac and Ross thought him stricken with a serious case of loose brains.
“Better?” echoed Mac. “How is this better?” he asked incredulously.
“Madrid’s a wanted man! If Lancer don’t pay, we can collect the bounty! Either way, it’s extra money!” Sloan looked like a very happy man.
Stupid, Johnny thought, but happy.
Dusk began to settle; a fire was lit to ward off the chill. Coffee was boiling as the three rustlers ate their dinner. Sloan’s gaze wandered to Johnny as he sat secured to the tree.
“Guess we should feed ‘im. Lancer’s ain’t gonna pay us if ‘is son’s dead.” He glared at Ross, who reluctantly took a plate of beans to Johnny and untied his hands. It took several minutes to move his arms; the strained muscles had tightened during the afternoon, prohibiting movement. He paled as he slowly brought them to rest in his lap and flexed his fingers, forcing the blood to flow again.
Sloan watched his captive; the movements were strained and slow. He knew that Johnny not only suffered effects from the explosion but also the stiffness from being tied all afternoon. Sloan also noticed the lack of emotion on Johnny’s face, no sign of pain or discomfort; the emotion he knew was controlled and not allowed to give anything away. He knew what it felt like to have been tightly bound for hours; he knew that it would take a while for the sting of the blood returning to veins denied circulation to go away, yet this man before them refused to show any such reaction. He’s gonna be difficult ta control; maybe he’s hurtin’ too much ta give us much trouble. He sure looks like hell… Sloan thought, not taking his eyes off Johnny, trying to get a read on his prisoner, but he wasn’t coming up with much. However, he was hatching a dandy plan around holding their hostage for ransom. He almost had all the details worked out. Yes, Jack Sloan was pleased with himself, and soon he would be a rich man as well!
“You two! Over here! We gotta talk,” Sloan commanded. Mac and Ross joined him around the fire. The chill was deepening as the dampness seeped through their clothing. The fire felt good tonight. Too bad for Lancer he ain’t gonna be joinin’ us! Mac thought as he glanced Johnny’s way and saw that he had only just now picked up his plate to eat.
“One ‘a ya are gonna ride ta Lancer tanight an’ leave a note. We’ll give ol man Lancer a day or two ta get the money, then we’ll make the trade.” Sloan looked at his men and wondered why he’d settled for these two jugheads. Next time he’d be more selective about his ‘associates’.
“Now, just how are we gonna ride up ta that hacienda without getting’ our heads blown off?”
Ross couldn’t think his way out of a water trough, Sloan thought as he closed his eyes and shrugged. As if to control his temper, he looked at the sky, shook his head, then glared in disgust.
“You’re goin’ in the middle of the night after all the lights are out. Just ta let ‘em know we got this hostage; we’ll put the note in his gun belt. They oughta be able ta recognize it and know that we have ‘im. Leave the gun belt somewhere that they’ll find it.”
Johnny ate slowly as he listened to the plan. His impression of a seriously injured man was dead on, although he had much practice over the years. He would groan and lean his head to one side or the other, giving the appearance of one in physical distress; however, this time, he didn’t have to put much acting into his performance; it happened naturally.
That’s it, boy, start ta playin’, jus’ like ah taught ’cha an’ keep them ears open.
Though they talked in low tones, Johnny was able to pick up enough to know what they had planned. He sure wasn’t going to tell them about Dewdrop, Jelly’s goose. That damn bird was better than any watchdog, and Johnny held back the smile that threatened to slide across his mouth; he sure didn’t want to give away the surprise that was surely in store for the unlucky soul whose job it would be to go to the ranch, and he didn’t want his lip to split open again. It was sore enough as it was. He couldn’t believe these idiots had not found his gun tucked in the small of his back, nor had they found the knife in his boot. Guess they don’t make outlaws like they used ta, Johnny thought with a shrug.
Scott slumped, wrapped in a shroud of defeat and grief. He couldn’t move anymore. His muscles were strained, and fear and exhaustion stole away every ounce of energy. And now hope was fading. He couldn’t believe this was it. He’d found no trace of his brother, nothing. He thought he would be sick, his body was numb, and he felt dead inside. But he couldn’t give up the search. Tomorrow, he would make it to the other side of the mountain of debris. Intimidar made it out of the explosion, and that provided a shred of hope — hope he didn’t actually feel, but neither did he want to think… the unthinkable. Johnny couldn’t be lost to them.
He would still be out there searching if Murdoch hadn’t physically pulled him away. The crew out there now would be coming in shortly, but Scott decided he was going back out regardless that Murdoch insisted he stop for the night. In honor of his brother, Scott’s rebellious side kicked in; he knew that Johnny would be out looking for him if their roles were reversed. Murdoch was responsible for the hands, not that they would object to looking for Johnny during the nighttime hours, but he couldn’t ask them to risk their lives — it was dangerous in the daylight; footing was unstable, and there was no sense in risking them all. But they all had volunteered regardless.
Murdoch had arrived with a crew to help dig, but they had turned up nothing. His recurring thoughts of Intimidar surviving the explosion had given Scott hope, but as the day dragged on and they found no sign of Johnny, he was haunted by the notion it was an impossible task. How could Johnny have survived the explosion? One by one, the crew began to think in terms of recovery and not rescue. No one could have made it out of this amount of destruction alive. It was a solid wall of debris, but Scott couldn’t bring himself to think in those terms – recovery versus rescue, that maybe they wouldn’t even find Johnny’s body. This would be his grave. His grave! The words hit Scott like a lightning bolt, blazing hot and painful. Grave… NO!
He would not let himself think in those terms.
It was a long, quiet, and heartbreaking ride home. There was no way Johnny could have survived buried under the debris caused by the explosion… If he’d been buried. But the whole mountainside had been brought down, effectively sealing off the way into the canyon. Going up and over the loose debris field was dangerous. Nothing more could be done until daylight. The volley back and forth regarding rescue or recovery was taking its toll on Scott. He was going crazy.
Father and son made the bitter, lonely way home; riding under the Lancer arch suddenly became a horrific reminder of what had happened this day. Johnny was not with them. As a result of greedy, desperate thieves in search of easy money, Lancer was missing one of their own, a huge void in the family.
With Johnny in each of their minds, they sat in numb silence, barely able to hold together what little composure was left. But they mustn’t lose hope; as dire as it appeared to be, they mustn’t lose hope.
The walls seemed to close in for both Scott and Murdoch; they moved out to the patio and watched with empty hearts as the moon rose in the sky. Johnny always loved watching the sky; they could see it on his face, the sparkle in his deep blue eyes unmistakable as he took in all the beauty around him. They could feel calmness spread over his being as he observed the beauty before him; his entire body relaxed, and Scott remembered a feeling of serenity just standing next to his brother.
Johnny had the ability to make a person feel and experience things that they normally wouldn’t. It was a gift, an incredible gift that he shared with his family. They had each seen the stars and moon in the night sky; they had always been there, but until their life together at Lancer, they learned from Johnny to appreciate what they, up until then, had taken for granted. It was one of the first things Scott had learned about his brother after they let their bond take root and became friends, and it was only one of many, many things that he would miss for as long as he lived… No! Johnny can’t be gone!
How was it that one minute Scott had to believe Johnny was alive, and the next, he grieved as if Johnny was gone? The not knowing was torture.
Scott felt the hot sting of tears well in his eyes. If Johnny were dead, Scott could only hope that it had been quick and that he felt no pain. He’d had enough pain in his young life. More than most people suffered in a long lifetime, and he’d come through a better person for it, better than any other that Scott had ever met. Johnny had been the best man that Scott had known, and he would miss Johnny for as long as lived. How can he be gone? I still feel him beside me! No! He’s not gone! And now the tears fell. No words needed to be said. Murdoch turned to Scott and placed his arm around his oldest son’s shoulders, his only son, and they both desperately fought the wetness that flooded their eyes.
Johnny let his head sag between his shoulders, giving the appearance of pain and fatigue; he did not have to fake those as they consumed his body from head to toe. He surveyed many injuries in his life and knew the concussion and the right knee were the worst of his current condition, but the left shoulder was giving him fits as well, but if he could make it to a horse, he had a chance of escape. He just hoped his acting abilities were up to snuff; he had to be convincing enough to give the rustler-kidnappers the illusion that he was hurt too badly to give them any trouble.
Trouble. The word echoed through his head as he remembered, what was it? Yesterday? No, the day before when Scott said he had to keep Johnny out of trouble. Maybe it was two days ago? Hell, he couldn’t remember. He wanted to laugh now, knowing that he was, indeed, in trouble. So, he decided to act the part. Johnny sagged to the side with a groan and appeared to have passed out, shielding the gun from his captors. The pistol, still lodged in the back of his waistband, remained hidden.
Sloan stood from his place at the fire and walked to where Johnny sprawled in the dirt. He reached down to unbuckle the holster from the slim hips and pulled it away from his body. It was almost Johnny’s undoing as the rolling from side to side came dangerously close to sending his belly into a full-fledged eruption and more pain to thunder through his bruised and battered chest and shoulder. Giving Johnny one last look, he returned to his place by the fire. Writing the ransom note, he tucked it in the empty holster and gave it to Mac.
“Just be quiet when ya drop it off. The faster ya get in there an’ out, the better. Now get goin’!” Sloan ordered as Mac rode out of camp, taking the long way off of the canyon ridge now that the main entrance was blown shut and headed toward the Lancer Ranch.
And through it all, Johnny had to wonder why his captors had not discovered his Colt. Did Tanner have something to do with it? The gravelly, ghostly chuckle he heard gave him his answer.
It was late. The two men lost in their worry… their grief, gave no thought to the time. They sat in silence for an hour before they decided to talk, talk about the one they might have lost; their voices betrayed them, cracking with raw, bitter emotion. The mountain of rocks and debris was too much for anyone to survive, and Murdoch felt the familiar pain of losing a son; he’d felt it before, twice when the boys were taken as babies, but he’d never known that pain from the actual death of a son. He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and expect the worst, but how would it be possible for Johnny to come out of that explosion alive? He didn’t want to wake up in the morning, but he knew he’d never get to sleep.
Turmoil boiled over in his brain, and he looked heavenward. How can You take him away again? The fury he felt raging at that moment had pushed him to the precipice. It would be so easy to just let go… How much could one man take without crumbling to dust?
Scott watched the battle warring within his father, and it fueled his own gut-wrenching torture more than when the bugler sounded charge at the beginning of a battle. Had Scott known this pain at that time, he would have won the war single-handed. How was he going to live without his brother? The brother that had been so irritating, bothersome, had embarrassed him without mercy countless times, the brother that he had only known a short while… The brother that had grown to be so much a part of him that Scott thought he would wither and die without him. The silence grew heavy and suffocating around them as they thought about the magic of their lives that they had lost today. No one could have made it through that blast and lived.
Sloan knew he had to get in touch with Peter Craddick. Their meeting earlier had not happened; Craddick failed to show up, but Sloan knew that had been a possibility. He was certain he could trust Craddick — the man was as hungry for the rustled Lancer beef as badly as Sloan himself had been, and his hate ran deep for Murdoch Lancer. Just maybe, Craddick would like to see Lancer’s pup in person. It wouldn’t hurt to keep the kid around in case Madrid had lied, and he meant more to Lancer than he claimed. If he’d told the truth, well, there was a reward out on the kid. Either way, the prisoner was money.
Sloan knew Craddick’s brain boiled over with revenge. Maybe killing Madrid in front of his father’s eyes would be worth more than the reward the Rurales in Mexico put out for the capture of their enemy? Regardless of what Madrid said about Lancer not caring what happened to him, what parent would not be affected by witnessing a son’s death? They would do the state a favor by bringing justice down around Madrid’s head, and Murdoch Lancer be damned! Craddick’s hate for the Lancer ranch or, more specifically, Murdoch Lancer would be sated. Sloan knew the circumstances that brought about his boss’ need for revenge; the men had met years before during a legal case that Lancer won — a court case that Craddick desperately needed to win, but fate had it sealed, and Craddick lost almost everything; stealing Lancer beef was the beginning, a way back to recover, to claim what he maintained was his, and now with their prisoner, a way to repay Murdoch-Holier-Than-Thou-Lancer. Yes, this was gonna be interestin’, Sloan thought. Tomorrow he would contact Craddick with the good news.
He remembered the first time he saw Johnny as he traveled west to meet his father. The stage had stopped in the middle of nowhere as a dusty young man waved the driver to stop. Asking for a ride to Morro Coyo and receiving permission, the young man climbed aboard, but the stage took off before he was settled, propelling him to land in Scott’s lap. Johnny did apologize for getting Scott dirty, although he didn’t sound very sincere. Little did either one of them know they were brothers until Teresa picked them up in Morro Coyo with the buckboard.
Scott, averse to the filthy cowboy, did his best to ignore the wild and uneducated young man, but after finding they shared the same blood and fought together in the battle against Day Pardee, things began to change for all of them. The clashes between Murdoch and Johnny took the longest to straighten out, and where they continued to butt heads, the relationship between the two head-strong men was now much better. They went from battling the other to tolerating the other, and now to a less rocky road to being a family. But Scott and Johnny formed a bond shortly after Johnny got back on his feet from taking Pardee’s bullet in the back. They grew to trust and respect each other and sought each other’s opinions and advice. And they had come to love as brothers. Scott thought about the trouble they’d had in the beginning. There was that word. Trouble. They had laughed together about Scott having to keep Johnny out of trouble a few days ago. But he hadn’t done it. And now he never would be able to… ever. Stop thinking of Johnny in the past! We don’t know for certain he’s… gone…
Johnny should be here, where he belongs, with us. The words kept going through Scott’s brain. Again, he hoped that it had been quick; he couldn’t bear the thought of Johnny struggling to breathe under a mountain of dirt, crushed by boulders, and finally submit to the inevitable suffocation. He kept picturing Johnny choking, inhaling dirt into his lungs, unable to take a deep breath with the weight crushing him. How did this happen? Why did this happen to Johnny? Why? Stop it! Nothing is certain! But those thoughts would not cease and kept running over and over through Scott’s tormented mind.
A ruckus erupted in the front of the hacienda — deafening as Dewdrop honked in panic, then suddenly they heard the beat of hooves galloping at top speed as it ran away. Scott shot out of his chair, followed closely by Murdoch, out the front door as the goose, honking in fright, ran across the front of the house, frantically flapping his wings in vexation. Jelly appeared, hair standing on end, looking like he’d been on a three-day drunk, and the men came running from the bunkhouse. What had happened? Someone had galloped away but for what purpose?
Jelly held a lantern high as he took stock of the area; nothing seemed to be out of order. What was the reason for anyone to be on horseback up by the house anyway? Why… Then he saw something lying in the dirt.
“Boss, look… that what I think it is?”
Murdoch turned to where Jelly gestured at a bundle lying in the dirt. He moved to where it lay, then as he bent to pick it up, he cried out in anguish and shock; it was Johnny’s gun belt and empty holster. Something white caught his eye as he reached down into the holster. A note!
Bring twenty thousand dollars if you want to see your son again. Noon on Friday at Temple Creek by the dead tree. Come alone and unarmed or he dies.
Murdoch gasped loudly as Scott grabbed the note with trembling hands and read it aloud. A unanimous cheer went up as shock and disbelief spread through the men gathered in the yard. Confirmation that Johnny was alive! Scott felt his legs tremble with shock as they threatened to fold and toss him into the dirt.
“Anyone see who it was that rode through here?” Walt called out over the excited cheers. They quieted down, realizing that they couldn’t go chasing off after the rider in the dark. It would be dawn in a few hours; they would send someone for Green River’s best tracker, old Russell Westin. He’d been responsible for tracking down and recovering more lost and kidnapped people, apprehended outlaws, and stolen horses and cattle than anyone around. And Murdoch knew Russell was very fond of Johnny; he wouldn’t fail in this attempt to find the bastards that held him for ransom.
“I jus’ hope he lives long ‘nough for us ta collect that ransom,” Ross mumbled to Sloan as they watched Johnny lying on the ground. “Well, at least we got his daddy’s cattle all nice an’ cozy up at Pine Mesa…”
Johnny lay still and hadn’t moved from the spot where he landed when he ‘passed out’. He would wait, and hopefully, Sloan and Ross would sleep for a few hours while they waited for Mac to return from Lancer. For some reason unknown to Johnny, Ross picked up Mac’s bedroll and spread it across his prone body. Guess he really wants ta make sure that I make it till Friday…
It was critical that he stay alert, fight, and not give in to the pull, not let his senses slip away, and if he did, Johnny knew his plan would fail. He had to remain conscious after hearing everything they said, Craddick, Pine Mesa, hafta let Murdoch know… The longer he lay on the ground, the harder it was to stay awake. He felt the darkness calling to him and fought desperately not to slide into the beckoning warm, sweet arms; he fought the soft summons, but he failed. Closed his eyes for one minute, only one minute…
“Get some sleep, Ross. I’ll wake ya in a coupla hours. When Mac gets back, I need ta make contact with Craddick. I think he’d like ta be in on our plans seein’s how he feels like he owes Murdoch Lancer somethin’.”
Barely conscious, Johnny heard the name Craddick again. It wasn’t a name he knew, but it sure sounded like Murdoch did.
Ah got yer back, boy, jus’ rest a might…
Tanner? Watchin’ my back again. Thanks, amigo.
Murdoch was in town when the bank opened but stopped in to see Val first. After outlining the plan, he left Val’s office and went to the bank. It would take some time to come up with that kind of money. But he would do it. He had to do it. He remembered too vividly the emptiness in his soul when he thought he’d lost a son, and now to find out the son still lived, well, he would pay anything the kidnappers asked. He was concerned over Johnny’s condition shape Johnny was in, having been in the explosion. Sam would have to be ready for anything, and hopefully, no one else would be injured.
Murdoch made his way to the house after handing Toby into Jelly’s care and settled in. He spied Scott sitting on the patio, looking off to the mountains. Crossing over to his eldest son Murdoch took a seat next to him, surreptitiously observing the tense stance and nervous hands. When it came to his brother, Scott could not hide his anxiety.
Murdoch and Scott quarreled earlier; Scott wanted to head out to the designated spot where they would hand over the money and get Johnny but ultimately conceded that Murdoch was right in keeping the time the rustlers had set.
“Are you alright, Scott?” Murdoch asked softly.
Scott didn’t say anything for several minutes, upset and still raging over the position they were forced into, but when he finally answered, his voice was laced with misery, and his tones were barely controlled.
“I’ll be alright when we get Johnny back in one piece. Why do these things happen to him? When you think about Johnny’s life, it’s incredible that he turned out to be a good man; the horrible circumstances he endured after his mother took him away, the conditions and situations he was forced to endure, and, in contrast, the man he turned out to be. It is nothing short of a miracle,” Scott turned to his father.
Murdoch shrugged as he reflected on Scott’s words. Guilt flooded his mind as he thought of his role, and lack thereof, in his younger son’s life. If Johnny had been raised at Lancer — if Maria hadn’t taken him away, would he have turned to the gun, to the life of a pistolero? Was Murdoch partly to blame for Johnny’s earlier years? Maybe if he paid more attention to Maria, she wouldn’t have run off. Maybe he should have tried harder to find them after they left Lancer. There were a million what-ifs and maybes, but there were no answers. Murdoch shrugged again. Thinking of the maybes and what-ifs did no one any good.
“You are absolutely right. He’s an amazing young man,” Murdoch murmured softly, looking down as if ashamed.
Scott realized his blunder. “I apologize, Murdoch, I didn’t mean anything…”
Murdoch met Scott’s eyes then smiled. “It’s alright, Son, I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I need to get over it, Johnny has. I should take a lesson from him…”
Scott reflected on the humor he enjoyed with his brother. Johnny, once they got to know each other, revealed a wicked sense of fun; Scott learned much from his brother and much about his brother during these times. It had been an education of sorts watching Johnny ‘unfold’ as the many facets came to light… and life. Johnny Madrid Lancer was a complicated and extraordinary man. And Scott knew there was no one he’d rather have for a brother than Johnny.
Sloan left the camp as Mac returned and settled in to rest. They had a little over twenty-four hours before they would trade their prisoner for twenty thousand dollars! Even the reward for Madrid had notbeen near that much! Now all he had to do was make sure the two idiots that worked for him did not ruin the plans, but he was sure that Craddick would be pleased. As a matter of fact, Craddick just may have something more to bring to the game.
Damn it! He had fallen asleep or lost consciousness, regardless, it was morning, and Sloan was gone, but Mac was there again. Johnny’s head ached, pounding like thunder slamming into granite mountains. He’d never had a headache this bad before; it made his belly churn. He inventoried his injuries again, already knowing his brains were scrambled, and tried to move his shoulder, but it protested as he flexed the muscles, so he moved on to the knee. It didn’t feel as bad as it did yesterday.
Drums banged in his brain, and he knew if there was anything left in his belly, it would be lost if he made it to his feet. His best bet would be to wait it out, and between his gun and the knife in his boot, he might be able to take out these three idiots when Murdoch met them with the ransom. There was no chance in Hell that Johnny could escape on his own now, not with the way he felt. All he could do was to wait it out.
Ah’m still here, boy. Ain’t leavin’ ya now…
Johnny smiled. Nope, Tanner would never leave him… ever.
“He don’t look so good, Mac,” Ross whispered as the two kept watch on their prisoner. Taking a canteen, Ross went to Johnny’s side and helped him to drink.
He didn’t need to put much effort into his act when he opened his eyes, and the sunlight pierced through to his brain, igniting an explosion that nearly ripped his head from his shoulders. He gasped, clutched at his chest as bruised muscles convulsed and rejected the water he had just taken; he suffered through the indignities of an audience as he retched in the dirt. He couldn’t say for sure, but he thought his head had completely blown off his shoulders as he fought to stay lucid. A groan escaped his lips. Nope, this ain’t workin’… Sonuvabitch, Madrid, ya got a gun; use it! he screamed at himself as he fought the darkness closing in once more.
Ross rejoined Mac at the fire and poured a cup of coffee, leaving Johnny to lie in the dirt.
“What’d ya figure Sloan’s gonna do, Mac?” Ross asked as he hunkered down next to his partner.
“Dunno. Reckon he’ll do whatever gets ‘im the most money. Most likely, Craddick’ll have somethin’ ta say ‘bout it.”
“Wouldn’t count on it.” The soft voice startled the two at the fire as they blindly reached for the pistols on their hips.
“Uh uh. Both of ya take them pistols an’ throw ‘em over here, NOW!”
They stared, not believing what their eyes were telling them as Mac and Ross watched as their prisoner struggled to sit; however, the pistol in his hand was held rock-steady and deadly. The wicked blue steel, predatory with its one eye, was ready to spit fire and take them out, even though the man who held the gun didn’t appear to be capable of a good sneeze at the moment. Their bellies flipped over, mouths turned drier than dust, and their hearts hammered in their chests. What had just happened? Sloan would shoot them both if Johnny escaped, and Craddick would do worse. But how were they to get this under control now with Lancer holding that Colt on them?
“What’s the matter, boys? Ya gone deaf in the last minute? I said throw your guns over here, now!” Johnny struggled to unsteady feet but kept most of his weight on his left leg, not knowing if the injured right knee would hold him. If he could get his two guards tied up, he might stand a chance to get away.
He glared at them until they threw their guns at his feet. “Now, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?” he chided as if they were six-year-old kids. Johnny retrieved a coil of rope from the nearest saddle and threw it at Ross, then motioned to Mac, “Tie him up!”
Ross shrugged as Mac turned and put his hands behind his back.
“Not so fast, Madrid! Throw down your gun; ya got two rifles aimed at your head!” The shout came from the brush, and in seconds, two men rode into the camp on horseback with rifles at the ready. Sloan looked at Mac and Ross in disgust.
“He woulda killed you two an’ I gotta say, you’d a deserved it, ya worthless bastards!” Sloan railed. He rode into camp, rifle aimed at steadily Johnny’s head. “I said drop it!”
Johnny let the pistol fall from his fingers. The man with Sloan sat on his horse and smiled at the incompetent men. Shouldn’t be too hard to get rid of those two. With them out of the way, that will be more for Sloan and me. He looked over to where Johnny stood and noted the young Lancer, or Madrid, favored his right leg, keeping as much weight off it as he could.
So, this is one of Murdoch Lancer’s pups… Craddick thought as he studied the young man before him; he was impressed. Johnny stood, defiant, and met his eyes with a belligerent and stony stare. No pampered spoiled boy here, Murdoch must be awfully proud… but not for long. Craddick nudged his horse close to where Johnny stood, swaying, barely managing to stay upright. Peter Craddick dismounted, rifle still in hand, and came to stand before Johnny.
“You’re Murdoch Lancer’s son… Can’t say you favor him much.”
Johnny didn’t acknowledge the statement, and Craddick didn’t care for the insolence reflected in the eyes that stared back at him, eyes that seemed to mock him, the demeanor of one that wasn’t going to back down. Craddick turned to Sloan as if he would speak but whirled suddenly and slammed the rifle butt into Johnny’s ribs. Madrid’s breath whooshed out of his lungs with a deep groan, then stumbled backward and fell in a heap, lying still.
“We wanna keep ‘im alive, Craddick!” Sloan protested, not that he held any sympathy for Madrid, but he didn’t have the ransom money in his hand either. Madrid was no good to them dead. There would be no more accidents, not at least until they had Murdoch Lancer’s money in their hands.
Craddick turned a blazing stare at Sloan. The fire that erupted from the man’s eyes stopped Sloan in mid-step, and his icy words cut through into Sloan’s brain.
“Oh, he’ll be alive, and then Murdoch will watch him die! After what that man did to me, he’s got this coming. And more!” He glanced down at the man on the ground and viciously lashed out with his booted foot, catching Johnny in the same spot where the rifle butt hit. No groan or movement followed, and Sloan held his breath, thinking that Madrid was already dead. He bent down and felt for a pulse; it was there, but Madrid didn’t look good, no, not good at all.
He drifted in and out, coming to long enough to realize that he wanted to be out again. But he tried to clear the cobwebs that wrapped his brain in their thread-like trap — silken strands as strong as steel — a spider’s web; the lines strangled and suffocated and pulled tighter and harder, tugging at him to drag him under again. Then his mind would spark, fight back, not wanting to give up, and he was cruelly jolted back into his world filled with mind-numbing pain from head to toe. Could he fight the beast in whose web he lay?
Johnny forced himself once more to claw his way to the surface and break away from the spider’s fangs that could pierce his heart and end his life. But he couldn’t form a complete thought; the pain hammered at his skull like a bolt of hot white lightning that ripped through the sky; he fought to control the shards as they threatened to tear him in half, but it wasn’t working. Hell, he didn’t even know if his head was still attached anymore. He felt out of breath and tried to fill his lungs, too much! He heard a groan escape his lips as the stars exploded in his brain, and the fire built and spread in his chest; it burned out of control. He was falling, now, slowly drifting over the precipice, like a leaf, succumbed to the wind and tumbled in the sky, picked up and tossed about with another gust, and he could do nothing about it, and again, everything went dark. Merciful weightlessness and black nothing; the spider left him alone… for now.
“Hey, boy, ya got yerself in this fix, ah see,” Ol’ Tanner remarked calmly as if this was just another day.
He’d been there for Johnny throughout his violent and turbulent beginnings. He had gotten Johnny through some of the toughest days of his young life. But if Johnny listened to him, Ol’ Tanner could always help him, and Ol Tanner wouldn’t fail him now.
“Gotta start getting’ yer brain aworkin’, boy, without lettin’ ‘em know what yer doin’, don’t let ‘em know yer plannin’ somethin’, an’ if’n ya play yer cards right they might even tie ya with yer hands in fronta ya. A man could still do a lotta damage with ‘is hands tied in front. Ya push that pain away, push it outta yer head cuz yer gonna hafta get yerself tagether an’ yer gonna hafta move when the time is right. Ya done it b’fore an’ ah’m gonna see ya do it again. Ah’m stayin’ right here with ya, boy, jus’ like ah always done. Ah’ll be here, but ya know that ya gotta do what ya gotta do an’ no one else is gonna help when the time comes. It’s up ta you. Ya know what needs doin’.
The face faded away. Johnny wasn’t ready to let it go, but he knew he had to take those words to heart and listen to what Ol’ Tanner had said. He needed to pull himself together without his captor’s knowledge. Ol’ Tanner had been with him a long, long time, and Johnny was counting on that strength to get him through this day. His mentor had instilled in Johnny that, even though he may be outnumbered and the situation seemed at the time to be hopeless, there was always hope. Yourself. You play the right cards at the right time, and there was always what you need when you need it. Just play the right cards.
The will in his heart seemed to stir, come to life and was suddenly restless. It grew and spread through his body, the broken and bruised carcass lying on the ground that had been ignored. Johnny, with eyes still closed, felt his fingertips twitch, wanting to move, but he forced them still, still until the right time when he would fight. Ol’ Tanner was right; he was always right. It would be up to Johnny and Johnny alone.
As he lay on the cold ground all through the long night, he struggled, pushing the pain to the edges and willing his brain and body to work in sync. He pushed the soreness away from abused muscles, but when the time came, he would have to act as if he were the wreck that he appeared. Hell, he wouldn’t be acting — but he’d have to struggle past the beatings from the explosion and fists, and will his body to be strong and perform as if it were not. In the early hours of dawn, Johnny Madrid Lancer appeared to all as if he was broken, had given up, but deep inside, the fire burned hot and raged in his heart, and Ol Tanner sat near and smiled. He was proud. He taught the boy well.
The Lancer men and Val were in their places for hours before the scheduled time for the trade; then, they hunkered down to wait. Just like they had waited for the rustlers. Val wanted to be there long before the exchange was made. He wanted to make sure that they got to Johnny before anything had the chance to go wrong. Make sure that everything was as good as it could be. Murdoch would be well-guarded, and hopefully, they would get both Lancer men back in one piece. Val used the early time well, stationing the men to catch the rustlers in a crossfire from high above and out of sight; they would have all angles covered. They would protect Murdoch and Johnny, and just maybe, they could get it done without firing a shot. Not likely, but one never knew. All you could do was your best and hope everything worked out how you thought it would. But Lord help ‘em if they harm one hair on Johnny’s head! Val thought. It was his promise to Johnny.
“Get Madrid up an’ on ‘is feet. Time ta go. We need to be there b’fore Lancer is.”
Ross and Mac turned to Johnny as he lay where he’d fallen during the night. Ross reached out and tentatively nudged Madrid’s shoulder, but Mac grabbed his left arm and pulled Johnny to his feet. The groan could not be held back as the bruised muscles and ribs were rudely yanked upward.
Don’t hafta act much, Tanner… stay with me, por favor…
Craddick watched his prisoner’s knees buckle under his weight as Mac and Ross carelessly dragged Johnny over to the waiting horses, then the two hoisted the unconscious man into the saddle. A wicked gleam sparked in his eyes as bitter memories boiled over, knowing he was about to get his revenge. Just wait, Lancer, I am bringing you your precious son, and you will watch when I send the bullet through his brain! The realization suddenly hit him when he saw Johnny’s arms were not tied.
“Wait a minute, you two,” Craddick objected as he retrieved a length of rope from his saddlebags and approached Johnny slumped on the horse’s back.
“He ain’t even conscious, Mr. Craddick; he can’t do nothin’,” Ross protested.
Craddick shot him a withering glare. “I don’t trust him… At all!” He spat as he grabbed Johnny’s limp hands and tied them together… in front of his body.
Big mistake, Craddick ya bastard! If he wouldn’t have given himself away, Johnny would have smiled.
Craddick grabbed a handful of Johnny’s hair and yanked his head back to examine the lax features.
Act, Madrid, ACT! Johnny fought the urge to spit in Craddick’s face; he couldn’t let himself go down that path — it would get him killed. Peter Craddick had a lot to learn about Johnny Madrid Lancer, but he wouldn’t get the chance. Johnny forced himself to feign unconsciousness, and satisfied, Craddick let the hair fall from his hand as Johnny bonelessly leaned forward with his head flopped on the mane of the horse and, with no resistance, lolled to the side, nearly coming out of the saddle in an excellent imitation of a man whose life had already passed onto the next world.
Craddick laughed, happy with the way things were progressing. Murdoch Lancer was going to lose this one! And so would his son.
“He’s not so tough… Let’s get going!” Things couldn’t be any better! Today Peter Craddick would have his revenge as Murdoch Lancer would witness his son’s death, then find himself in the crosshairs of Craddick’s sights.
Johnny had held back the groan that threatened to rip out of his throat when he was carelessly grabbed and righted in the saddle, then steeled himself as they moved out to the designated meeting spot. He had to hang on for Murdoch and himself… and all of Lancer.
Sloan held up his hand to stop as they neared the dead tree by Temple Creek. He waited, listened intently, and took note of the horses. They were not nervous, not detecting that others were about; no testing the air for scents or head tossing, but he wouldn’t assume the area did not hold any threats. He’d learned long ago that nothing was certain.
Sloan positioned Ross and Mac to the left and right to wait; hopefully, they would remain quiet and not blow their cover when Lancer arrived. Yup, by the end of the day ‘m gonna be a rich man! Sloan thought. He would get rid of Ross and Mac once he had Murdoch Lancer’s money, and they killed the rancher, then take Madrid back south and collect the bounty on his head. Splitting the money with Craddick would be difficult, and he began to wonder how difficult it would be to eliminate Craddick along with Ross and Mac. Then it would all be his!
“You two!” Sloan motioned to Ross and Mac. “Take your places an’ cover us! An’ don’t make no noise! Keep an eye out for Lancer an’ make sure he comes alone an’ unarmed. If ya see anyone that ain’t Lancer, kill ‘im! But not with a bullet — we can’t let the whole world where we are!”
Ross and Mac split, each taking a side to cover the short expanse of land on both the north and south sides. Lancer would be coming from the east to get to the tree. Sloan and Craddick, with Johnny lying on the ground where they’d left him, kept out of sight and waited. There was still an hour before Lancer would be there.
Sloan was thinking about what he would do with his money. First, he’d buy enough whiskey to keep him liquored up for a whole week and enough female company to keep him happy, warmed, and exhausted but exhausted in a good way. The leer extended from one ear to the other.
“Hey, boy, ya ready cuz thing’s gonna be happ’ning soon. Yer doin’ good, so far. Jes’ keep yer head clear as ya can, an r’member, Ol’ Tanner’s here with ya.
Johnny stayed where he was and hadn’t moved, not a flick of muscle. Nothing.
Murdoch moved out astride his large bay, the largest horse on Lancer outside of Old Dan and Sammy, the draft horses; he was thankful to have Toby under him, a fearless mount during tense situations; he had carried his rider through many successful battles, and would do so again. This horse had transported both Murdoch and Johnny out of the mountains after Johnny had been seriously injured while Murdoch and his sons were on a hunting trip. Ambushed by thieves, Johnny had taken a bullet meant for Murdoch when his back was turned. While reloading his Colt, Johnny had located a man in hiding drawing a bead on Murdoch’s back — he knew there wasn’t any more time and jumped in front of Murdoch, taking the shot to the upper left chest, and saved his father’s life. After cauterizing the wound, they mounted Toby, and the noble steed got them safely home.
Now Murdoch went after his son, the same son, only this time he hoped Johnny was well enough to ride by himself. He couldn’t bear the thought of another serious injury.
He felt like a sitting duck. No cover, no weapon, only the saddlebag full of money, the money that would buy his son’s life. It was five minutes before noon; in another five minutes, he hoped to lay eyes on Johnny. Would he be alright? From Scott’s account of the explosion, Johnny had been close when it detonated. There had to be some injury, but Intimidar had survived, and that gave Murdoch hope. Add in the fact that Johnny had pulled off some miraculous stunts since he’d been at Lancer, stunts that had turned Murdoch’s guts to ice and had been reckless enough to send the patriarch into fits of rage afterward when he found out that Johnny was alright.
Scared. That’s what he’d been. Plain scared watching his youngest son lay his life on that fine line between living and dying, willing to sacrifice himself for ‘the cause’, whatever it might be. The day the boys arrived home, Murdoch told them that he had a gray hair for every blade of grass on Lancer. Since that time, there were more gray hairs caused by the selfless acts of not only bravery but acts of sometimes unnecessary bravery.
Johnny was always the first one to rush into a fray, not foolishly but the fastest to come up with a plan. And the plan did not always please Murdoch. Such were the conditions under which Johnny had been there when the explosion went off. He’d reacted first and not waited for backup. But Murdoch, on more than one occasion, felt unbelievable joy and was overwhelmed with pride at most of his son’s accomplishments. Not only Johnny but both his boys were men worthy of the Lancer name.
And now, he was near the tree. It was time.
Mac went off between the rocks on the south and found a spot to wait. It would be close to an hour before things would happen. The sun was hot, and a bee buzzed around his ear, but he kept his watch up the trail for Lancer. He was sick and tired of Sloan’s constant criticisms, accusing him and Ross of not having a brain between them and not having the ability to carry out the simplest of plans. He would not let Sloan do that again. Maybe he could find a way to get rid of Sloan, and Carrick, too, then he would divide the ransom with Ross… Wait! Could he get rid of Ross and take the entire ransom for himself? So intent he was that he never heard a sound until the snick of the hammer was pulled back behind his ear.
Likewise, Ross scrambled into his spot, hoping that he would be able to do his part. He really hadn’t wanted anything to do with taking Madrid and holding him for ransom. The rustling was alright, but he didn’t want any bloodshed. When this was over, he was going to…
“If anything happens to my brother, I will kill you,” the soft voice whispered in his ear, and Ross nearly lost control of his bladder.
Damn, he’s big! Sloan thought as he watched Lancer ride closer. He was glad the man was unarmed.
“Lancer! Get offa your horse and throw them saddle bags over here! Keep them hands in the air!”
Murdoch pulled Toby to a stop, dismounted with the saddlebags, and threw them as far toward the voice as he could. Then he stood with his hands up, presenting himself as a very large target.
“Show me my son! I want to see Johnny!” Murdoch called out; his authoritative baritone command reached across the distance and gave Sloan pause.
Well, Sloan had his gun, but the voice still touched off a spark of fear that prickled down his back.
Craddick heard that voice, and he was dragged back in years, remembering it, strong and unforgiving, damning him in the courtroom, echoing off the walls as Murdoch defended his side during the trial. It drilled into Craddick’s brain; he grabbed Johnny’s arm and viciously hauled him to his feet, ignoring the weight of the young man’s body as he stumbled along, swaying and staggering. Craddick held Johnny ahead of him, shielding himself from an attack; he pulled Johnny close to his chest, using Johnny’s body for protection.
Peter Craddick was a very stupid man.
Here we go, Madrid, time ta play like you’re close ta dead, that ain’t gonna be too hard… The hand that grabbed his arm yanked the sore shoulder; Johnny let loose with a groan of pain as he let himself be manhandled. To keep himself in check, rein in his temper, and let the abuse happen was taking every shred of control he had. No one manhandled Johnny Madrid Lancer — but it had to happen today. Act it out, Madrid! His head bobbed between his shoulders; he did not look up but kept watch through heavy-lidded eyes, thick lashes shielded his eyes. Almost there… Almost…
“Mac, Ross! You two there?”
The knife tightened at Mac’s throat as Cipriano pierced the skin, and a drop of blood welled bright in the sun. And, on the other side, the pistol at Ross’s spine dug deep.
Both men answered affirmatively, and Sloan could see the end in sight. He was smiling, thinking about all his money…
The same thought was in Craddick’s mind, but Murdoch’s demand brought him out of his anxiousness.
“Where’s Johnny? I want to see my son!” Murdoch again commanded. From around the brush, he could detect movement as Johnny was herded out, barely on his feet; a bloodied face and severe limp indicated injuries, but he was standing. The man behind him was not letting him go.
“Come and get him, Murdoch!” Craddick called out.
I know that man, his voice, I’ve heard it before… where? Murdoch was baffled and stunned, but he had to play this out despite the dreaded ice that formed in his belly; he had to get Johnny away from that man. The next second froze Murdoch to the spot as he watched Johnny’s captor bring his pistol up to hold it against Johnny’s head, then he stepped out from behind, and Craddick let himself be seen for the first time. Murdoch gasped as he recognized the vermin that held his son. Craddick!
“You’ve got your money — let Johnny go!”
“Sloan! Get over here and pick up this saddlebag!” Craddick, now full of confidence that he had the situation under control, began to needle Murdoch, anticipating the father’s agony of watching his son die before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The pain was overwhelming, advancing into his brain, and more than he could control, NO! Not yet, push it away… Tanner, help keep me on my feet… More ta do……
“I think that maybe you should watch when I put a bullet through Madrid’s head, sort of like sweet revenge after what you did to me!” Craddick smiled, his pinched face viper-ish and deadly.
“You did it to yourself! You were on my land poisoning Lancer water with your mining operation. MY LAND, NOT YOURS! Your greed was your own fault, so LET MY BOY GO!”
“I think not!” Craddick outright laughed.
Johnny sensed the finger tightening on the trigger — it was time. He came to life and elbowed Craddick in the belly. They both went down in a tangle of arms and legs, the struggle for control of the pistol paramount in the minds of both men.
Murdoch began to run toward the fight as Sloan stepped out with his rifle aimed at Murdoch’s head.
“DROP IT!” echoed out of the rocks as Val, Walt, Isidro, Joe, and Jorge scattered throughout the surrounding cover. Scott led Ross, and Cipriano covered Mac; they all converged on the area around the dead tree. Sloan dropped his rifle as he realized all the plans went up in smoke, all the work rustling the cattle for nothing!
The explosion from the pistol was deafening; everyone raced in the direction where the two men had gone down. Murdoch splashed across the stream on his way to Johnny, calling out his name over and over. Johnny, son, please be alright! Ice suddenly grew in the bellies of all present, and time slowed to a crawl; none could get there fast enough, like running through mud.
Hey, boy, ya kin git up now. Tanner stood from his place to lean over Johnny’s prone body and take stock, then, satisfied he was going to be in safe hands, he took his leave, for now.
Johnny shook his head, Oh, SHIT! Bad move, Madrid… as the stars exploded in a fantastic shower in his head, each of the five points on every star stabbed into his brain, piercing and tearing with blazing hot consequences. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the bright sunlight and rolled to his side with a soft groan as his body throbbed mercilessly, then struggled painfully to his knees, then to his feet where he stood, swaying, weight on his left leg. His breath came in hard pants, and kept his arms pressed to his sides as ribs screamed in outraged protest; black dots joined the party and danced in wild abandon in front of his eyes.
“Johnny!” sounded in his ears from close by. Kinda sounded like the ol’ man, Johnny thought. He hoped it was Murdoch because if it wasn’t, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight anymore. He turned as someone placed a gentle, steadying hand on his bicep to support the weaving as a comforting arm circled around his shoulders, and Johnny was looking into his father’s worry-filled eyes. He melted into the strong embrace.
“Hey, Murdoch…” he replied, attempting to smirk as his legs gave out. Murdoch caught him tenderly in his arms.
Murdoch could have sworn he heard Johnny say, “Thanks, Tanner…”
He had been here in this room many times before and knew in his heart he really didn’t need to be here now. Johnny was gettin’ good care. Hell, someone hasta do it! I ain’t got time ta do it, boy, ya know I got things ta do an’ places ta be. These folks, yer family, well, they’re real special. Ya stumbled inta a good thing here, boy. Reckon they kin take it from here on out. But I’ll be ‘round. Not like ya kin keep yerself outta trouble an’ it looks like it’s gonna take all ’a us ta keep ya on the straight an’ narrow. Ya watch yerself, boy…
Tanner had observed Scott as he sat by the bed, carefully tending his brother. Yes, he’d been here before, just to make sure; he had seen the care and gentleness and knew that Johnny was in capable hands. He’d known it from the beginning after Johnny had taken Pardee’s bullet in the back. Tanner had stuck around just to make sure he’d be alright; he now stood behind Scott and murmured, You take good care ‘a him…
“You can count on it…” Scott mumbled and shocked himself for saying that particular phrase. What prompted him to say that? Why had he said it? Tanner smiled and faded from the room.
The stars sparkled in spectacular display this night. There was a halo around the moon, and thin gossamer clouds streaked the heavens in accents as if in an ethereal benediction. A warm comfort enveloped him that left him feeling thankful… grateful? Get a holda yourself, Madrid, or you’ll be makin’ the sign of the cross on your chest. Johnny nearly laughed. But he’d been taught as a small boy when his mother took him to church; it was required.
The night sky, stars, and moon — they were his peace. His comfort. His… absolution. He held up his glass as if to toast those stars that kept his company and gave him the tranquility and solace he’d never had in those early years. Somewhere, a truce had been struck, and the once volatile life he led before coming home to Lancer was beginning to fade. He would be vigilant for all their sakes, but it was becoming easier.
The tranquility and solace that he craved then was with him now — was with him and his family. He remembered back to that day when the Pinkerton agent had tracked him down and saved him from the firing squad’s bullets. The man didn’t look like he could get out of his own way and had come so close to his own demise; Johnny wondered if the man knew how much danger he was in. But it worked out, and here Johnny was, at Lancer, looking up at the heavens and counting his blessings.
He sipped the liquid fire and felt it trail down his throat and into his belly. The warmth flowed through him and warded off the chill of the evening. He sighed as deeply as his bruised and broken ribs would allow, then thought of the trouble he was going to be in for when it became known that he was drinking. Damn, he hated this feeling, the restrictions set by Sam and carried out by his family. He knew it was because they cared, but he just didn’t deal well with staying in the confines of those boundaries… none of them. He couldn’t ride, he couldn’t work, he had to take it easy, wasn’t to overdo, he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, and a dozen more rules he didn’t even want to think about. Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to be out here! At least they had let him out of his room!
He shrugged. Just ain’t no good at takin’ orders… Johnny swore he heard a chuckle, but he was alone. What was it?
The explosion Johnny survived caused severe bruising throughout his body; the flying debris had nearly been the death of him. A rock bounced off his head, leaving him concussed with lingering headaches that would come out of nowhere and drop him to his knees. They had begun to fade, but the road to recovery was long, tiring, and tedious. Takin’ too damn long… The deep tissue bruising would take a while to mend; his shoulder was confined to a sling, which he had forgotten in his room. His knee was sore but would mend itself. However, his ribs ached as if he’d been kicked by a horse. After Craddick struck him with the rifle butt then the subsequent kick to the same area, Sam detected two broken ribs, enough to keep him restricted to the house for at least another week. And then we’ll see… Johnny huffed. Don’t know why they didn’t just fuckin’ shoot me…
He heard another chuckle as soft words floated to his ears. Thet kin be arranged, boy!
Tanner was with him, and it was a comfort his amigo still cared, even beyond the grave.
Johnny shrugged, then took a breath to clear those thoughts.
Hey, Lancer, ya got folks that care ‘bout ya, now, be happy ‘bout that cuz b’fore ya didn’t stand a chance in Hell…
Tanner was right, he thought to himself, and Johnny knew he had to be more patient and exercise some of the discipline he’d learned over the years, the discipline that had kept him alive. The stars winked in secret conspiracy holding onto some unknown mystery, teasing Johnny that they knew and he didn’t; he smiled. Yes, he really knew. He was lucky… only wish they wouldn’t fuss over me so much… He battled himself and his family in dealing with the restrictions.
Murdoch watched through the French doors that separated the great room and the patio. He had to keep an eye on his youngest son, and he’d noticed the absence of the sling and the fact Johnny wasn’t wearing a jacket. He thought he noticed a glass in his son’s hand and knew that Johnny wasn’t drinking water. Murdoch took a deep breath and looked up as if asking for divine help, that or an extra reserve of patience. Johnny would drive him to distraction and certainly test the saints!
As quick as his temper and exasperation flared, he remembered the explosion of the pistol as it discharged, and he recalled that his heart stopped in his chest as he watched Johnny wrestle with Craddick, thought he’d seen Johnny go slack as if the bullet hit him, but it was Craddick, the man filled with such vile hatred for Murdoch, that had taken the bullet. It had only creased his side, and Val had been able to apprehend him without a fight.
All three men had been taken to the Green River jail and were now awaiting trial. Trail that had been delayed as Johnny would be the star witness to their crimes when he was fit enough to testify. Murdoch huffed, thinking he would have to hogtie Johnny to heal first before he’d venture to town.
As Murdoch watched his son lean on the adobe wall that circled the patio, he was struck, and not for the first time, by the fact that Johnny was physically standing there, at Lancer, instead of stuffed carelessly in some unmarked grave and only God would know where. He’d had literally no chance in Hell to survive, yet he did. Murdoch held in check the conflicting emotions he battled. There were times such as these that he didn’t know whether to be ecstatic Johnny was alive or furious that he’d put himself in that extreme danger yet again. But he also knew that Johnny was not lacking in courage or determination; he was prone to trouble, even as a two-year-old toddler, insisting on visiting the horses and climbing into the corral with them. And now, as a young man, that impetuousness had grown one hundred-fold creating a bone of contention between the two men. But things were working out most of the time. Murdoch was proud of the man Johnny was, had become without Murdoch’s guidance and influence. Thinking back to the day when both his sons walked through his door for the first time, he secretly felt immense pride, albeit a bit of apprehension, too, as the two approached him, neither of them showing any signs of backing down. Yes, he was proud…
But now he needed to have ‘words’ with Johnny.
The door closed with a metal click. Oh, hell — Murdoch’s on his way out here, Johnny knew he was in for an ass-chewing and wasn’t ready to deal with it now. Huh. No sling, no jacket, drinkin,’ an’ God knows what else the ol’ man’ll hit me with… Making his best effort to cut off the argument before it could start, he summoned his best charming smile to help him wiggle his way out of the Tune Caller’s bad graces. It had worked before…
Murdoch approached his son to stand by his side. For a moment, no words were exchanged, and that in itself was a bit unnerving for Johnny. The waiting. Waiting for the ol’ man to let loose with his chastising, the rules, the reprimands, and everything else attached to the job of being a father. But that did not happen right away.
“Johnny, are you feeling alright?” Murdoch began as he watched Johnny’s eyes, watched for something to give him away.
If he would admit it, Johnny was wary. Who was this man, and where was the real Murdoch Lancer? “Yeah, ‘m fine.” And as planned, he bestowed Murdoch with the sweet smile that was designed to melt the heart of a saint. And it succeeded.
Murdoch returned his after reading Johnny’s face and knew that this was part of Johnny’s plan.
“May I ask you something, Son? It’s about something you said before you passed out after the fight with Craddick.”
Johnny was puzzled. It was a blur now. “Sure. What d’ya wanna know?” Curiosity took hold; he didn’t know if he could answer; he didn’t remember much.
Murdoch met his son’s eyes straight on. “Who is Tanner?”
And Johnny felt his stomach flip. He looked down toward the ground, the smile disappeared as he looked away over to the moonlit-covered mountains and knew that that’s where Tanner was now, but a spark flickered in his brain, and from deep down inside, a voice spoke. Tell ‘im, boy, he’ll understand… Tell ‘im, ‘e’s got a right ta know…
Murdoch watched as Johnny closed his eyes for a moment; the thick lashes spread a heavy shadow on his cheeks as they helped to hide the feelings that settled in his eyes; then, turned back to him, and again, a smile reappeared when he began to talk.
“Tanner, huh? Was I talkin’ while I was out?”
Murdoch could see Johnny loosen, the tension was draining away, and his eyes filled with a warmth that had been reserved for selected individuals, those whom Johnny held in high regard.
“Well, yes, I thought you murmured something about Tanner; it sounded like you said, ‘Thanks, Tanner’. Who is he?”
Johnny saw curiosity in the blue-gray eyes and wonder, too.
He let out a breath and took his time, trying to figure out what to say, how much to say. Maybe it would be alright to tell the ol’ man, let him know that not all of Johnny’s past, unknown to Murdoch, was filled with danger, that there were good people to help him.
Johnny took a breath, then, “Ol’ Tanner,” Johnny had to pause and collect his emotions. He thought about Tanner a lot. Probably every day, but to actually talk about the man caused his throat to close, a knot the size of Texas would form and prevent any speech, and did its damnedest to block off the airway, choking off the words. He didn’t want his voice to betray him, and he willed his eyes to stay dry. But he knew Tanner was with him now — Tanner wanted Johnny to tell his father, so he would. If Tanner wanted it, it was the very least Johnny could do.
He started again, and Murdoch watched the struggle wage inside his son. He suddenly held up his hand to stop Johnny as he witnessed the turmoil in the deep blue eyes.
“Johnny, if this is too painful, stop. I don’t need to know…” But he hoped Johnny would continue.
And he did.
“It’s alright, Murdoch, I can tell ya ‘bout ‘im.” Johnny let a smile tug the corners up on his mouth as he began again. “Ol’ Tanner taught me how ta survive. Wouldn’t be standin’ here taday if he hadn’ta took me in.”
Murdoch felt the familiar jealousy start to rise at the thought of someone else teaching his sons the lessons that were usually reserved as a father’s right, but he had learned to fight it back. What’s done is done.
As Johnny talked, Murdoch could see as he traveled back in time, recalling events and notable situations significant in the rights of passage to manhood for Johnny Madrid. The blue eyes deepened, turning dark. “He had an Indian wife an’ a son, but they were killed when fightin’ broke out between the tribes down ‘round Visalia.”
Murdoch’s eyes widened as surprise took him in a tight grip The fighting Johnny referred to was long, long ago. The man had to be quite old when Johnny knew him.
“Yeah, I know, not that far from here. Anyway, he found me wand’rin’ an’ kinda took me in, taught me ‘bout the Indians an’ even took me with ‘im ta the tribes he knew. He was responsible for teachin’ me honor, respect an’ ta be a man.”
Murdoch again felt the bitter sting of the implications, but they were suddenly washed away when he realized that if he couldn’t have been there for his son, he was glad that someone had been, and he’d done a good job of it. Murdoch felt his tensions fade, voluntarily letting them go, and opted instead for thanks that Johnny had someone to show him right from wrong, then sent up a prayer of thanks.
Johnny was quiet for a time and turned again to look out over the hills, his mind’s eye going back as he thought about ‘that day’.
“We’d been up in the mountains for a while, lookin’ pretty scruffy to most an’ Tanner was … shot by someone thinkin’ he was an Indian. I got ‘im ta the town doctor, but folks raised a fuss ‘bout an Indian bein’ in town that the doctor turned us away. Wouldn’t help. Wouldn’t even take the time ta look an’ see he wasn’t an Indian. Just ran us outta town. Had no choice but ta take ‘im back ta the mountains. He said that’s where he wanted ta be. He hung on till we got there; how he did it, I’ll never know, but he did. And I sat with him till it was over. He told me what he wanted, how he wanted ta be buried, an’ I did it for ‘im.” Johnny turned to his father and met his eyes. “You believe in spirits, Murdoch?”
“I… I don’t know, Johnny. I’ve never had reason to or have been in contact with one before.”
Johnny smiled. “They’re there… if ya look. Tanner’s with me at times. Like fightin’ with Craddick. An’ he was there when Pardee shot me. He keeps me… in line.” Johnny laughed as he remembered with great appreciation and reverence for the man who was largely responsible for the man Johnny turned out to be.
Murdoch was filled with boiling rage at a town that chased a wounded man away, refusing to help and anguish for the boy who was with him until he died. Once again, Murdoch cursed the fates that forced Johnny into the harsh and life-threatening beginnings he had faced and much of it alone. But Murdoch also found himself thankful for the man, Tanner, who gave Johnny a solid foundation to grow into his own, to find his way, and finally to take care of himself with honor, bravery, and a sense of goodness. A sense of right and wrong. And the man had shown Johnny how to stay alive. Murdoch felt helpless as he looked at his son.
“Johnny, I… I am so sorry.” He reached out a hand to cup Johnny’s shoulder.
Johnny looked up at his father, the surprise evident in his eyes. “Sorry? For what?” Why would the ol’ man be sorry? Johnny wondered.
“When you talk about… things, what happened in your life, especially so young, the things you went through, it all seems so drastic, tragic. Johnny, how did you survive it all?” Murdoch whispered.
With the usual casual attitude, Johnny laughed softly. He looked away, then back to his father. “I just figured if I can live through somethin’ without it killin’ me, it’s gotta be good in some way, ya know?”
Johnny was laughing; however, Murdoch was not. He remembered the sight of Johnny looking more than half dead, weaving dangerously as he stood on unsteady legs, then pitched into Murdoch’s arms after the fight with Craddick. Murdoch had to wonder if his son had just died clutched to his chest, the ache in his heart visible in his eyes.
“Awww, c’mon, Murdoch, it ain’t that bad. It happened, it’s over an’ ‘m here. It’s done. There ain’t nuthin’ more ta do ‘bout it. It happened an’ it’s done. Can’t let it eat at ya. This is one a the reasons I don’t like ta talk ‘bout my past. Both you an’ Scott have too hard ‘a time dealin’ with some a this an’… ‘m sorry, but I can’t change it. None of it. But ‘m still here…” Johnny whispered the last words.
Murdoch looked into the bright jewel-like eyes of his son and remembered the little boy that scampered through this house, the sweet baby boy with the thick mane of silky soft black-brown hair, his innocence so precious and pure. His heart warmed with those thoughts. And his heart shattered every time he learned something about Johnny’s past. The contrast was heart-wrenching at best.
But the young man that stood before him now was, again, as precious as that baby had been. Murdoch suddenly blinked the tears out of his eyes. Johnny was right. You can’t change what was, but you could get over it, and let it go; otherwise, it would kill you. It would pull you under and suffocate the life out of you, and Johnny had made the right decision to let it go. Remember the good but let the rest blow away in the wind.
Murdoch felt the grin start to spread across his lips as Johnny stared at him with those brilliant blue eyes, the same eyes that gladdened his heart and soul over twenty-three years ago. So bright and sparkling in the moonlight, and they melted his heart. He reached out and enveloped Johnny in his giant bear hug, caring not to squeeze too hard, knowing that the bruises were not healed and continued to be painful and ribs far from mended.
“You are an extraordinary man John Madrid Lancer! And I’m glad you’re my son!” He withdrew his arms but, on second thought, replaced one around lightly on Johnny’s shoulders.
“I have a few more questions for you, though.”
Johnny looked up into Murdoch’s face. Well, this ain’t been too bad… and he smiled. “Yeah? What else ya wanna know?”
Murdoch nudged him toward the house.
“Where’s your coat? Why are you drinking? You know Sam said ‘absolutely no drinking’, where’s your sling…” and the questions kept rolling off his tongue.
Johnny slowed his step, but Murdoch dragged him along. He looked heavenward and muttered, “Mierda!” as he went into the house with his father.
Ha! Time ta take your medicine, Lancer! Madrid laughed.
The patio was silent, washed in the sacred moon and starlight, the solace they all sought out and treasured. But there was one left, and you could see him if you really wanted to. He sat by himself in the corner. His fringed buckskins, worn but comfortable, looked a tad out of place there on the patio, but he sat as if on guard just as the young man had sat beside him on that painful day, faithful until he breathed his last. The steadfast loyalty had not been forgotten and was now being repaid; he would continue to be there for Johnny — he looked after Johnny, the surrogate son he’d lost years ago, and could only hope that his son would have been as good of a man as Johnny.
Yup, ‘m gonna watch over that boy as long as he needs me. With that there family ‘a his an’ me, well, we got it just ‘bout covered.
Written January 2018
Edited October 2023
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PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT
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I am making my way through your works and saw this was the most recently posted and thought it a good time to drop a word.
First, being an avid reader, it makes me happy that you have been quite prolific.
Secondly, it makes me even more happy that you are a prolific Johnny-centric writer—lol.
As much as I like all of the Lancer family and enjoy the family stories—the brother stories the best of those—the focus on the charismatic Johnny Madrid Lancer has made for many happy hours.
Your stories are quite engaging and draw the reader in with both the sense of adventure and the exploration of the personalities involved.
This story is no exception. The inclusion of Tanner’s spirit was a nice touch as he helped Johnny stay strong to face and overcome his enemies. Since I haven’t read all of your stories as I am making my way down the list, I don’t know if there is a Tanner backstory among those treasures, but I certainly would like to hear more about how those two met. I’m sure that they had some “trouble always finds Johnny” adventures along the way.
Keep writing and I will keep reading 😀
~ Shelly ~
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Wow, Shelly! Thank you so much for this glowing feedback! Yes, indeed – Johnny all the way! However, I like writing stories where the brothers are together the most. I had reservations about submitting this story. It was written very early in in my Lancer fan fiction ‘career’- consequently there were many rewrites, revisions and frustrating sessions sitting at the computer. This story came very close to staying in my personal collection and not making it onto the Gateway.
Tanner, as of this moment, has not made another appearance, but I’ll keep that in mind. It’s a great idea. Thank you for the thought!
Thank you for your support of my Lancer World – It means more than you could know!
Diana
Buckskin
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Ciao Diana,
Like always you kept us entangled in a plot full of action, suspense and family (Tunner included).
Even though I had planned to start reading today and then finish slowly, I couldn’t put myself away until the last word.
for the emotions that your stories give us.
Silvia
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Thank you, Silvia, for your kind words. Oops! Sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your entire day, but happy that you liked this story! But it’s fun to ‘get lost’ in a story, and glad you found this one to your liking!
Diana
Buckskin
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At least Johnny has a good ghost or kindred spirit watching over him, guiding and being beside him in his life’s journey in your story. I love your stories … another great one to read on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Thanks for writing such positive outcomes for Johnny as his troubled life of Madrid is his own true testament in becoming a good man with all the right qualities anyone could ever ask for – evolving into Johnny Lancer!
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Thank you, Carol, for reading my Lancer World. In the short time that Johnny spent as Madrid, well, short for us but a lifetime for a gunfighter, he experienced much, and not all of it was good, but I’d like to think there were those who were important to him, and Tanner was one. Yes, indeed, Johnny Madrid Lancer was a good man, that is for certain! Thanks again for the feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, this was a great story. You’ve accomplished a lot here. No Chance in Hell is an excellent piece, showcasing the close relationship between the brothers. That’s always been a favorite subject of mine. And your storyline is exciting and very tense. I also like seeing a glimpse of Madrid and hearing about Johnny’s past. And Tanner, he is a wonderful additional character. I know he has passed on, but he was an essential character in this piece. I enjoyed reading this very much. Thank you.
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Hey there, Sherry! Yes, I agree; I like the brother stories! Little tidbits of Johnny’s life as Madrid contribute much to a story, and as different authors have a different take on Madrid, it can get interesting. I’m happy you liked Tanner. He might make future ‘appearances’… who knows?
Thanks for reading and sending feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, I see this was written a while ago, and recently polished. It was worth the wait! I love the character of Tanner, and that Johnny is finally able to share this special man with his father. And Murdoch was able to change his jealousy into gratitude, and was able to express his love to his son.
Thanks for sharing this with us!
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Hey there Terri! Yeah, this was not only polished but dusted off and scrubbed clean! Ha, more like being exhumed! Anyway, I’m happy you liked it. Murdoch was learning to count the blessings he had. He couldn’t change what happened when his sons were little, and he missed out on those fatherly rights but was accepting what he had now. And he came to realize that he might not have had a son without people like Tanner in Johnny’s life.
Thank you for reading and sending feedback. I appreciate it!
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana,
Loved your story. I see it was orginally written 5 years ago. Thanks for finally sharing it with us. It also looks like Johnny has a guardian angel in Tanner now.
Lesley
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Hi Lesley, Yes, ol’ Tanner was there for Johnny when he needed him. I had forgotten about the character until I went over this story and found him again. I’m happy you you liked this tale and thank you for the feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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Thank you for this great story, Diana. I hope there will be a sequel.
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Hi, Caterina
Thank you for reading and commenting on No Chance in Hell. As of this minute, there are no plans for a sequel, however, Tanner might make another appearance in a future story.
Thank you again!
Diana
Buckskin
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Hello, Diana
I’m glad you exhumed this story for us. I see so much difference in how you describe things between this story and your more recent ones. Those newer stories are just as descriptive as this one but leaner and less wordy.
I really like stories like this that fill in the blanks between early episodes of the series with the curt, unforgiving Murdoch and the later characterization where he had a closer relationship with his sons.
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Hi Susan
Yes, it’s interesting to read the older stories now – trust me when I say there were many corrections and rewrites. But it is encouraging to see the progress. Thank you for mentioning that; I appreciate it!
It is so easy to vilify Murdoch, and in the beginning, I took advantage of it, but I have since decided on a more kind and gentle Murdoch. He was a good man and father. Once he learned to control his fears about his grown sons returning home and sorting out the truths and untruths of things that happened.
Thank you for reading and commenting, and I’m happy you liked this Lancer tale.
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, Another marvelous story! Tanner is a fabulous character, Johnny needs a guardian angel! The moments of Scott and Murdoch pondering Johnny’s huge impact on their lives were quite poignant. I love your stories!!!
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Hey there, Chris!
Tanner was a fun character – maybe he’ll come back for a visit in another story. Ha, Lord knows he needs a guardian angel! Thinking that Johnny was dead prompted Murdoch and Scott to travel the old ‘don’t know what you got til it’s gone’ path.
Thanks for reading and the feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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I’m so glad to read No Chance In Hell. I don’t think Johnny had a chance until Tanner came along to help him on the way. I’m glad he’s staying with him! I hope you keep finding more stories and writing new ones-they’re unputdownable.
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Diana, I don’t know how I missed this story – thought I had read all of yours. You and Sandy are my favorite Lancer writers with Suzanne right up there. in a Johnny girl and this was a great tale, getting down into Johnny’s quick (sometimes not so well thought out) reactions, his courage, and resilience. Loved Scott never giving up, always beside his brother in soul and person. Loved Murdoch, the merging of his memories of baby Johnny, his recognition of what a good man hos son was and his acceptance – thankfulness – that someone had been there when he couldn’t be. Tanner was a wonderful spirit, looking after our boy. This story was especially special today since tomorrow marks four years since my father passed. I very much believe he watches over us always. Thanks nor a terrific story.
SadieRose
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Hey there, SadieRose!
First, I’d like to express my condolences and sympathies for the anniversary of your beloved father’s passing. I hope the grief is easier to deal with now, but take comfort in knowing our loved ones never really leave us. They reside in our hearts each and every day and will be there as long as we let them.
Thank you so much for following my Lancer World! I appreciate it more than you know, and it’s an honor to be in such great company as Sandy and Suzanne. Thank you again!
Murdoch and Scott were faced with the harsh reality that Johnny could be gone from them forever, and where Scott knew and appreciated Johnny, this incident opened Murdoch’s eyes. Yes, Tanner was fun to explore. Who knows, maybe he’ll make other appearances.
Thank you again for reading and commenting. I am sending a Heavenly hug to your father!
Diana
Buckskin
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