Word Count 34,536
Thanks to Cat, Rob, and Chris for the beta
The character of Buck Colby and references from the story
Tempting Fate are included in this tale.
The stage swayed back and forth as it hit every rut in the road, then bounced over rocks, jarring nerves, muscles, and bones. How many times had he bitten his tongue as he was thrown to and fro going over the rough terrain? Verging on regret for his decision to take this trip, Murdoch Lancer was a man in agony, but he wanted his family with him on this journey to meet the man who had been an integral part of his early years and had saved his life so long ago, the man without whom Murdoch would not have survived.
It was important to him, and when the invitation came, Murdoch knew it was an opportunity to not only renew the friendship but for his family to know the man that made their existence possible. Without Joe Truesdale, Murdoch would not have lived, and Johnny would not have been born. Scott would have been alone, compelled to live out his life in Boston, oblivious of his father and what could have been.
Now, the Lancers were on their way south to Tucson, leaving Cipriano and Jelly to care for the ranch with assurances that Murdoch not worry, that things would be just fine under their care, and to have a relaxing time away renewing an old friendship. But Murdoch worried regardless; he felt torn — it was his prerogative to fret, but he also wanted to spend time with Joe Truesdale. Many years had passed since they talked; the thought of catching up, face to face, wasn’t something Murdoch could or would ignore.
And now he found himself stuffed into a crowded stagecoach with his family as they traveled the long journey to Tucson. It was more than seven hundred and fifty miles, an insufferably long trip made in the bouncing, bone-jarring torture box, but it would be worth it to Murdoch — Joe Truesdale was a good friend.
A glance around the coach tempted the tug at the corner of his mouth as he watched his family. Teresa was excited as she anticipated the time away from home, and she rolled with the bounce of the ride in her attempt to watch out of all four windows of the stage; the fidget was non-stop, just as she had when he told the family of the impending vacation. Didn’t the stage bounce enough without adding to the discomfort? But then Teresa didn’t have the back issue that Murdoch dealt with every day. It wasn’t often the girl left the ranch, and Murdoch could do nothing but enjoy her enthusiasm and try to ignore the pain in his back.
The Lancer patriarch turned his attention to Scott, sitting on the coach’s opposite side. His long legs pulled tight against the hard wooden seat, and still, his knees bumped against those of the ruddy-faced man sitting directly across from him. Next to Scott sat a well-dressed elderly woman wearing a hat worthy of target practice, and Murdoch controlled the laugh that threatened to escape him, hoping that Johnny wouldn’t make a scene and offer to shoot the offending ‘critter’ on top of the woman’s head. Long thin feathers arched over the top to the left, incessantly poking into Scott’s ear.
But his worry over Johnny had been for naught as the younger Lancer seemed to be enjoying a nap. How his son could sleep while tossed about inside of the coach like popcorn dancing in a hot pan was beyond him. With his hat pulled low over his face, Johnny appeared relaxed, riding the stage as easily as he did while taming his beloved wild mustangs. Even in sleep, Johnny Madrid Lancer was fluid.
Murdoch smiled as he watched his sons; he would always regret missing out on their younger years, but he’d be satisfied with things as they were now. It would serve no purpose to mourn those lost years, and he would bask in the happiness and contentment of having his sons home with him at Lancer. Although late in coming, running the ranch with Scott and Johnny at his side was his dream come true.
Scott’s education and his business acumen astounded Murdoch in the beginning. His background in accounting had been an invaluable asset, much to Harlan Garrett’s dismay. Murdoch suspected Harlan thought that Scott was chasing something that couldn’t exist; a decent life in the wilds of barbaric California, living in a ‘mud hut’ Harlan said at one time, and that he would tire of the backbreaking work and dealing with dirt, grime and ornery cows, quit and return to Boston. But it wasn’t so, and much to Harlan’s dismay, Scott flourished at Lancer, and more, he had developed a close bond with his brother, ‘half-breed Johnny Madrid’, and that fact alone sent Harlan into a rage. And it made Murdoch smile.
Murdoch admitted to himself that he initially had reservations about bringing Johnny home. His reputation as gunhawk gave Murdoch pause, and he’d spent many hours contemplating the benefits and drawbacks, finally deciding that Dammit! This is my son, and I am entitled to know the man he grew to be — gunfighter or not! And the moment the battle with Pardee and the land pirates was over, Murdoch began to realize just exactly who Johnny Madrid Lancer was. It had not been an easy journey for the father and son, but time and patience won out, making Murdoch appreciate, instead of regret, Johnny’s return home.
And now they traveled south on a trip as a family, a pleasure trip, and a little business, too, but he was proud and anxious to share his family with Joe Truesdale, and he wanted to know Joe’s son, Philip. Perhaps spending time with Philip would be good for Scott and Johnny — Philip was married and had given Joe a grandchild. Would his boys take the hint? But Murdoch would not push the matter. He was glad to have them home with him now as they should have been all along, and enjoy whatever was to be, hopefully, a long life filled with love and family.
Teresa watched intently out the stage window, not wanting to miss anything. She’d never been to Arizona, had never been this far from home before, and would not let anything escape her attention.
Again, a smile graced Murdoch’s lips as the girl he loved as his own daughter took such delight in absorbing everything around her. Oh, to be so young! Murdoch thought.
As the patriarch watched his sons and the young woman that held a special place in his heart, he thought back to the conversation at dinner when he presented the idea that they accompany him on this trip.
Three weeks ago, Scott and Johnny walked into the house after a long, tiring day working ornery cattle —
“Scott, Johnny, I’d like to speak with you when you get cleaned up.”
Murdoch’s call from the French doors caught them unaware as the Lancer brothers dragged themselves out of their saddles and trudged toward the hacienda. The summer heat drained all energy and sapped the life from their bodies. They were beyond tired, covered in dirt from head to toe, and to make matters worse, they were hungry.
It all started the minute they reached the herd and found Clay Watkins had quit, telling Cipriano just as he finished breakfast in the bunkhouse. Now, down a man, they faced a broken fence, then discovered a ravenous mountain lion had staked out easy pickings as it followed the cattle from pasture to pasture. Easy pickings — the cat was crippled, leaving only the tracks of three paws, a dangerous predator. Scott and Johnny made plans to go after the cat the next day once the herd was now settled into a safer location. One more thing to add to an already long list of late summer issues. And now, Murdoch summoned them, no doubt with more work for them to do. But Murdoch had yet to hear about the trouble from the cat. Well, they’d talk it over and work things out.
The conspiratorial sidelong glances between Scott and Johnny built a formidable defense, but surely Murdoch wouldn’t object to them going after the cat before assigning them another duty… would he? It wouldn’t make sense to let a marauding carnivore take any more beef.
There was nothing like a bath and clean clothes to make them feel like new men. With the sweat and grime gone, Scott and Johnny sat with Murdoch as Teresa flitted around, a huge smile on her pretty face and humming a catchy little tune. The brothers exchanged suspicious looks, each with a raised brow — something was going on.
Murdoch cleared his throat, gaining their attention. “How are things looking out there? Any problems… other than Clay Watkins quitting?”
“We got the herd moved closer today and a fence mended,” then Scott turned the floor over to Johnny to let him say the rest.
“There’s a cat givin’ us grief — it’s taken a cow an’ a calf so far. We’re goin’ out tamorrow ta see if we can get it. Why? Ya said ya wanted ta talk when we got cleaned up. About what?”
Murdoch could see the questions swirling in both heads. The blond waited patiently, the man with dark hair, not so much.
Murdoch couldn’t help the smile when Teresa approached and announced that dinner was ready.
“Come on, boys; we’ll talk over dinner. I’m hungry!”
Johnny again looked at his brother as that funny feeling in his belly flickered. Or was he just hungry?
Teresa fairly bounced in her chair as the food was passed, prompting Johnny to speak.
“OK, Ol’ man, ya wanna tell us what’s goin’ on before T’resa explodes?”
“Johnny! I’m not going to explode!” she exclaimed in playful indignation.
The teasing light sparkled in his eyes. “Ya coulda fooled me. Ya haven’t sat still since we been at the table. If you’re not careful, you’re gonna fall right off that chair!”
Teresa grinned good-naturedly through her blush.
Murdoch chuckled, enjoying the banter. “I received a letter today from an old friend in Tucson, and he’s invited us for a visit and perhaps a little business arrangement. Without him, I wouldn’t be sitting here today, and you, Johnny, would never have been born. He has suggested we both might benefit by mixing our lines. He’s had sound stock, good quality, for as long as I’ve known him. I think it’s a good idea, but as we’re partners, I wanted to hear what you two have to say. Once we’re there, we make up our minds, and if we agree, we bring home his stock and send him ours.” Murdoch looked to one, then the other son, trying to get a read on their thoughts while Teresa held her breath, hoping they would agree.
Scott cut the beef on his plate, put the knife down, and speared a piece of meat with his fork. “I understand that’s a common practice out here, and I see no harm in doing business with him.” He turned to watch Johnny push food around on his plate. “What do you think, brother?”
For a fleeting moment, a spark of apprehension flared, and Johnny hoped his family hadn’t noticed. What did he think? He immediately had doubts, but he’d have to give them an answer that wouldn’t cause them to worry, or they would ask questions for which he had no answers; no, that wasn’t right either. He had answers, just not any his family would understand. Ingrained at a young age, Johnny learned to analyze situations, make sudden decisions, and go with his gut. That ability had saved his life in the past, and he suspected it would benefit him for the rest of his days as well.
“What’s your friend’s name, Murdoch?”
Murdoch smiled, thinking of the man he’d known all those years ago; the friend who had laid his life on the line for him during that storm they weathered together and pulled Murdoch to safety after the fall in the mountains. Broken ribs had rendered Murdoch incapable of travel and confined them in the cave until the worst of the storm was over. Without Joe, Murdoch would have died.
“His name is Joe Truesdale.” He deliberately met Johnny’s eyes, now wondering if there had been a connection between Truesdale and Madrid in the years before his younger son came to Lancer. “Do you know him, Johnny?”
“No… heard of him, though. He’s got what, about five thousand acres west of the San Pedro River, right?”
Why Murdoch was surprised, he didn’t know; he had tried to block Johnny’s past from his mind, and at times such as this, he was again reminded that Madrid was still there and probably always would be. He could push it from the forefront; however, it would never go away. Of course, Johnny would be familiar with the name if not the man himself after spending all those years living around the border.
But the Truesdale ranch was close to Mexico. Two years had passed since the boys returned home; would the Rurales still be looking for Madrid after two years’ time? To his recollection, he’d never mentioned to Joe in his communications that Johnny Madrid was his son, so would there be a problem? But he decided to let Johnny make that call, and Murdoch addressed the issue, not wanting to put it off.
“Johnny, what about being so close to Mexico? Do you think it will be a problem?”
The piercing stare from Murdoch deflated Teresa’s anxiousness. She hadn’t thought about that. In anticipation of a trip with her family, she’d forgotten the risk it could pose for Johnny; suddenly, she wasn’t excited about traveling, and shame crept into her conscience that she could so easily forget the risk it posed for her brother.
He saw the sudden change in her, and Johnny, uncomfortable with the attention now focused on him, looked at his plate; the fork in his fingers now still, the speared beef on the tines getting cold. He felt responsible for Teresa’s disappointment, for all the disappointments. Well, there was nothing for it; he’d have to answer Murdoch’s question.
“Dunno. Anyone at Truesdale’s ranch know I’m Madrid?” A question for a question.
Murdoch met the query head-on; there was no hesitation, no disappointment in his eyes, or ready argument waiting to be voiced — only honest answers. “I’ve not mentioned it to him, but there is always the possibility that someone will recognize you. It’s been two years — would the Mexican government forget about you after two years?”
The shrug of his shoulders told them volumes, and so did the little smirk that graced his lips. “You could go without me, ya know.”
“No, Johnny! I want you to go with us, but if you don’t think it’s a good idea, I don’t think any of us should go!”
Teresa’s defiance and loyalty were admirable, and Johnny appreciated her stand on the issue, but he’d seen the sparkle in her eyes when he and Scott came in the door, Murdoch’s as well, and he didn’t want his past to be the source of their disappointment… but neither would he jeopardize their safety. The Rurales wouldn’t care who got in their way; they were ruthless in getting what they wanted, and they wanted Madrid… or they used to want him. Would they still think of him as an enemy?
There were as many reasons for going to Tucson as for not going. If he went, it could put his family in grave danger. If he didn’t go with them, could he take the chance that the Rurales didn’t know he was a Lancer and would leave his family alone? If they knew about his family and they discovered the Lancers were there so close to the border, they could lure him in, holding them as bait. Either way, it was a gamble, and so was the potential that he would be seen there. He wouldn’t ask them not to go and knew he had to be there with them — he couldn’t protect them if they were there, and he stayed at the ranch.
It was a chance he had to take; Murdoch hadn’t seen his friend for years — the man had saved Murdoch’s life, and Johnny Madrid knew how deep those bonds went. Where would Madrid be if it hadn’t been for Val in the years they rode together? No, Johnny would see to it that Murdoch got this chance to reconnect with those ties from the past.
But he would have to watch his back. Johnny didn’t know Truesdale personally, and he hoped none of Truesdale’s ranch hands knew Madrid on sight. Of one thing he was certain, he would need to stay alert for danger — his family came first. He wouldn’t deny his father a chance to visit his friend or deny Scott and Teresa time away from the ranch, but he sure would watch his back and those of his family. What else could he do? He didn’t think the Rurales forgot about him, not for a minute, but whether Murdoch approved or not, Madrid would be watching out for them all under the thinly veiled guise of Johnny Lancer. Murdoch would arrive with his sons and ward, but Madrid would be watching… everything and everyone.
Johnny was aware all eyes were on him; they waited for him to say something, anything to indicate in which direction his thoughts led.
“We got a few things ta tie up first, Murdoch. That cat ain’t gonna stop takin’ our beef, waitin’ till we get back so that hasta be at the top of the list. After that, I think Jelly an’ Cip can take care a things while we’re gone. When did ya wanna leave?”
Johnny didn’t have to look at Teresa to see that sparkle return to her eyes; it brightened the room, and her ‘bounce’ returned. Murdoch pondered the question before he spoke.
“I’ll have a better handle on things after you two get back tomorrow from hunting that cat. If you’re successful and find it right away, I don’t see why we can’t leave in three or four days. But let’s wait until tomorrow.”
Johnny nodded and turned his attention to his meal. Murdoch was smiling, anticipating the visit with Joe Truesdales. Once again wrapped in her enthusiasm, Teresa continued her inquiry of the Truesdale family and Tucson, her excitement palpable to all at the table.
And Scott watched his brother. He knew Johnny was apprehensive about the trip, but he also knew that Johnny would do just about anything he could to make his family happy… and to keep them safe. He and Johnny would be having a talk — a serious talk, and soon. He would make it a point to tell him that he, Scott, had his back and would support Johnny in whatever could or would happen.
How many times had they stopped to change the team? Murdoch had lost count. He felt he’d spent a week cramped inside the coach and was ready for the trip to end and reach their destination. He would need these next weeks to work the stiffness out of his back and legs; then, it would be time for the return trip. But it was worth the pain and discomfort. Reconnecting with Joe and the time spent with Scott, Johnny, and Teresa on a pleasure trip, well, that was worth everything to Murdoch Lancer.
It had been years since he’d seen Joe, and was anxious to catch up with the friend who had saved his life. Joe seemed eager to reconnect and meet Scott and Johnny. Murdoch looked forward to meeting Philip, Joe’s son, and his family. Daughter-in-law, Jessica, and grandson, Joey, were the apple of Joe’s eye, and Murdoch wanted to know them, and maybe he would get to tell little Joey a silly story about his grandpa. It was going to be a memorable trip.
As Murdoch worked a kink from his back, he made himself a promise to petition California’s governor and good friend, Steve Bronson, to push for a railroad line south out of central California.
After four long days on the stage, even Teresa was getting tired of the rough travel, but with any luck at all, Murdoch estimated they would arrive in Tucson in another two days. In truth, he was surprised that Johnny hadn’t insisted on renting a horse and riding the rest of the way, and at this minute, it sounded like a pretty darn good idea to Murdoch as well!
Johnny Madrid made the most of the situation, feigning sleep for much of the time, but kept alert and ready to address any problem that might arise. Was it his imagination, or was he beginning to regret coming along on this trip? Johnny Lancer needed this time with his family, but Madrid would stay on his toes.
Johnny had experienced extended trips confined in a stale and stuffy stagecoach on occasion, but he did concede that when they left to go home, once they made it safely into California, probably Los Angeles, he would buy a horse and ride home instead of suffering through the torture of another prolonged stage ride. He thought even Murdoch would fare better riding than tossed about in a hot wooden box sitting on a hard seat.
Johnny looked over at his brother. He hadn’t missed Scott rubbing his backside at their last stop; his brother was suffering, too. But it was better now, once that woman with that stupid hat and those offending feathers got off in Yuma. I shoulda shot that dammed hat!
And so, their travels progressed; long hot hours passed in silent periods until Teresa became bored and began her chatter that compounded the discomfort for the men. But, true to their patient manner to pacify her, they tolerated the unending questions and indulged her curiosity.
In the late evening hours, the Lancers reached their destination, tired, hungry, and in desperate need to wash the road dust from their bodies. It was late when the stage arrived in Tucson, so procuring rooms for his family, Murdoch led the way up the stairs of The Bradley House to rest.
After bathing and a light meal, sleeping in beds with clean sheets for the night, they felt refreshed and ready to get to Joe Truesdale’s ranch. The two-hour ride out of Tucson through the chaparral wasn’t the daunting travel of the last several days. They rented a comfortable buggy for Murdoch and Teresa while Scott and Johnny rode alongside. Johnny thought to stay close. Teresa, in her excitement, continued her fidgeting as she had the entire trip to Tucson. Johnny smiled at the silly thought of his sister bouncing out of the buggy, that he would be near enough to catch her before she hit the ground.
Joe Truesdale’s Saguaro Ridge Ranch sat between two mountain ranges; the white adobe hacienda nestled in the low hills at the base of sandstone bluffs like a jewel resting on the earth. Cattle and horses dotted the land around the main house, creating a peaceful setting as the sun blazed brightly and clouds scuttled across the sky.
Johnny scanned the area around them. No dust clouds, no birds disturbed from their rest to suddenly fly from danger. It looked alright… for now. But he wouldn’t ruin it for his family and kept his private thoughts just that — private.
The solid plank door opened as Murdoch’s long-time friend stepped out to greet his guests. The smile on the weathered face was strained, making Murdoch wonder if the man had taken ill; he did not look well. But Joe extended his hand, taking Murdoch’s, and shook it in a strong grasp.
“Murdoch, it’s good to see you! How long has it been, you old goat?”
“Joe! Too long! I’m happy we could all make the trip. I’d like for you to meet my family.” Murdoch reached for Teresa and, circling her with his protective arm, made the introductions. “Joe, this is Teresa O’Brien, my ward.”
Joe nodded and smiled. “Teresa, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you, Mr. Truesdale; it’s nice to meet you, too,” Teresa said as her eyes shined with excitement.
“Joe, this is my son, Scott, and my younger son, Johnny.”
Scott stepped forward and shook hands with their host. “Mr. Truesdale, I’ve heard a lot about you. Perhaps you have some stories about our father in his younger years. I can’t believe that Murdoch doesn’t have a few… regrettable tales that he’d rather stay unknown.”
“Oh, I think I could enlighten you, Scott,” then Joe winked at Murdoch.
He then turned his attention to Johnny. “Johnny, it’s nice to meet you as well. I hear you are quite the horseman. Perhaps you’d like to see some of our stock. We are very proud of the horses we raise here. Some have bloodlines that can be traced back to the conquistodors.”
Johnny met the eyes of the man before him; they were filled with sadness and seemed to search deep into Johnny’s soul; they studied him intently, then quickly turned away. Murdoch told them that Joe had lost his wife of twenty-seven years right before he and Scott came home to Lancer. The grief was still raw in the rancher’s eyes. Stress lined the man’s face; grief was personal and manifested in many ways. The man was troubled.
“Nice ta meet cha, Mr. Truesdale. I’d like that.” He shook Joe’s hand and smiled.
“Joe, where’s your son and his family? I’d like to meet them!” Murdoch asked, wanting to know the Truesdale family as he wanted Joe to know his.
Joe turned and led the way into the hacienda. He cleared his throat, then said over his shoulder, “You’ll meet them soon, Philip will be here shortly, and Jessica is… away visiting friends. Come in, Murdoch, and I’ll show you to your rooms.”
Johnny leaned his arms on the top rail of the corral fence, looking out over the vast range and to the mountains beyond. How many times had he stood like this, analyzing a situation, and the potential for something to happen, then forming a plan of defense? Johnny shrugged and smiled to himself. Lookin’ for ghosts that ain’t there, Madrid! Although his fighting days were in the past, Johnny knew these habits would be with him for as long as he lived. But as Johnny stood, observing those going about their ranch chores, he had the unmistakable feeling that he would need the talents he had learned years ago.
He didn’t miss the glances cast his way by the hands. Most of them were seasoned cowboys of both Anglo and Mexican descent, but they all watched him, some discreetly and some not. An annoying prickle rasped his brain.
“Are you reminiscing, brother?” Scott asked as he came alongside to investigate what held Johnny’s attention.
“Yeah.”
The less-than-truthful answer was not lost on Scott, but he would listen to Johnny’s thoughts and try to piece together what was going on in his brother’s head. It wasn’t easy to do without hints, and more often than not, Johnny was reluctant to let them be known.
“Me an’ Val spent a lotta time around here. It makes me wonder if any of the others are still around. Tucson, an’ all the way ta the border inta Mexico, was home for us. I had some good friends here. Some didn’t make it, but maybe some are still kickin’.” Johnny watched as the sun began to sink below the distant mountains.
Scott held his breath, not knowing where the conversation was headed. He hoped Johnny wasn’t thinking of taking a trip to see old friends. “Are you going to look for them?” he asked tentatively.
Johnny snorted and gave Scott a half grin. “Nope. No sense in advertisin’ I’m here. C’mon, Boston, T’resa’s comin’. I bet supper’s almost ready, an’ we can eat.” Johnny slapped Scott’s back, then flung his arm around his brother’s neck and into a headlock. “If ya ain’t comin’, Boston, I‘m gonna mess up your clothes again like I did on that stage ride when we first met!”
Scott couldn’t hold back his grin. There was nothing like wrestling a brother, headlock or not.
The lamps were lit, bathing the dining room in a soft glow. A fire burned in the hearth and chased away the evening chill as bright flames danced across the logs singing with cheery pops and snaps.
“I don’t know what’s keeping Philip. He should be here by now.” Joe looked worried; he watched the door, waiting for his son to show. “Maybe I’ll go ask my foreman. I’m sure he could —” But Joe’s words stopped as the front door opened, and Philip Truesdale entered the house, pulled out a chair, and seated himself at the table. The young man looked haggard, and stress lines were etched on his face.
Murdoch had wondered over the absence of Jessica, Philip’s wife, and grandson, Joey. He’d not seen any sign of them since their arrival just after the noon hour. Perhaps they were visiting a neighbor.
“Sorry I’m late, Pa,” he acknowledged, his words short, annoyed at the world, then he acknowledged the guests sitting around the table. “Mr. Lancer, I’m Philip. It’s nice to meet you; Pa told me a lot about you and your time together.”
“It’s nice to meet you as well, Philip.” Murdoch noticed the strain on the young man’s face as he introduced Teresa.
“Miss O’Brien, I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”
“And these are my sons, Scott,” Scott nodded his head, “and my younger son, Johnny.”
Philip avoided looking at Johnny altogether.
It didn’t take a genius to know that something wasn’t right. Immediately wary, Madrid slipped into place, expecting the worst. The little things he’d noticed since their arrival were adding up. Joe Truesdale’s explanation for the absence of his daughter-in-law and grandson did not ring true, nor did his demeanor or facial expressions. One would expect to see love and pride when speaking of a cherished grandson. The love was there, but so were grief and worry.
Before coming in for dinner, he stood looking out over the land, the scrutiny of the hands set his senses on edge, and that little tingle of warning poked and prodded at his brain. And now Johnny knew why they had been invited. Had he let his family come here without him, they, too, would be in jeopardy, not just Jessica and Joey, as he suspected. And he had a good idea of what was to happen.
Scott did not miss the lack of acknowledgment by Philip, and he watched his brother as closely as he dared without raising any attention to the scene between the two men. Scott was no fool; something had happened, and whatever it was, he would support his brother.
There was nothing to be gained by waiting, and Johnny posed the question, urging things into the open. He needed to know what he was up against… besides deceit from the Truesdales. And he was acutely aware it would hurt Murdoch, but he had to know.
“Ya wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, Mr. Truesdale? An’ I mean the truth — where’s the woman an’ your grandson?” Johnny kept the question civil, though his belly was tied in knots for what his family would be forced to endure. At Joe Truesdale’s silence, Philip stood and met the question head-on. He felt no loyalty toward Johnny Madrid.
“I’ll tell you!” Philip railed.
“Philip! These are my friends! I’ll not have you talking to them in that manner!”
“Friends? Your friends are harboring a criminal! And in the meantime, my wife and son are held captive — hostages,all because of Madrid!”
Joe’s betrayal left Murdoch shattered, gut-punched. The blindside attack set his blood to boil, and he turned fear and rage-filled eyes on Joe.
“Joe, is this true? You intentionally lured us here under false pretenses?”
What could he say other than the truth? “Murdoch, please! You have to understand…”
“Understand what, Joe? That you are willing to sacrifice my son? You claimed it had been too long since we’d seen each other when the truth was you wanted Johnny here to bargain for your family! You sent for us to make a trade, knowing that very likely Johnny could die!”
“Don’t be blaming my father, Mr. Lancer! I sent those wires. It was me, and I can tell you right now that I’d do it all over again if I knew it was the only way to get my family back! They’re worth a thousand of him!”
“Philip! That’s enough!” The kidnapping of his daughter-in-law and grandson was disturbing, but Joe wouldn’t allow this talk to be thrown into Murdoch’s face.
“No, it’s not enough!” Philip railed, then he turned to Murdoch and continued his assault. “Because of Madrid’s murdering ways, my family is in danger!”
Teresa gasped and began to cry. Johnny put his arm around her shoulders and whispered something in her ear — something he hoped would calm her fear, but it didn’t work. He felt, rather than saw, as Scott’s body tensed, and he looked angry enough to jump across the table and grab Philip by his throat.
Madrid turned cold, penetrating eyes on the Truesdales; then, in a low voice, he said the words that left them shocked and speechless. “All ya had ta do was ask.”
“Joe, you’ll start a war going about it this way!” Murdoch shouted furiously.
“No war if I give myself up.” And steeling his innermost thoughts, Johnny rose from his chair then stopped before he exited the room.
“Tell me somethin’, how’d the Rurales know that you knew us? Someone had ta tell them; maybe ya oughta find out who that someone is.”
Madrid left the dining room without another word; he’d be damned if he would extend any courtesies and intentionally left the table, ignoring the usual request to be excused. He dismissed Joe and Philip with a cold and knowing stare, then went to his room, leaving his family to sit in stunned silence… except for Scott. He moved to follow his brother until the shout from outside snapped them out of shock.
The front door burst open as Cliff McDaniel charged into the room. “Mr. Truesdale, the barn’s on fire!” Then he left as quickly as he’d arrived. Joe, Philip, Scott, and Murdoch followed Truesdale’s ranch hand into the yard.
Bright orange and yellow flames lit the night sky; the brilliant colors would have been extraordinary on any other night — but not tonight. Tonight, they signaled death as the barn was swallowed in flames and the kerosene supply ignited.
From the window in his room, Johnny caught the orange flicker as it lit up the darkening sky and heard the shouts from men and the panicked scream of horses. Quickly Johnny buckled his rig around his hips and checked his Colt; his fingers moved of their own accord with no thought, only habit and instinct. He tugged on his jacket, then was out into the yard, not stopping when he heard Murdoch call his name.
“Johnny!” Murdoch yelled above the roar of the fire as he watched Johnny chase down a horse amid the turmoil of frantic hands racing for buckets to carry water.
And then they heard it. A voice from the darkness and depths of Hell.
“Señor Madrid! Come with us, and we will leave these good people alone! The woman and child do not have to die, but they will if you do not come with us!”
Murdoch froze as his brain grappled with those words that held death and destruction in their meaning. No! Please, no!
Scott ran toward his brother as his eyes found the familiar silhouette against the blazing yellow-orange flames. “Johnny! Wait!”
“Scott, there’s no time ta wait. The Rurales have that woman an’ kid, an’ unless I go with ‘em, they’re gonna kill them. That’s not anything I want on my conscience!”
Johnny pulled a saddle off the fence rail, silently thanking whoever put that saddle there left a bridle with it. He mounted the horse as it pranced, nervous with eyes rolling, then called over his shoulder, “I’ll stall ‘em as much as I can, Scott, but if they get me ta the border, it’s over. Don’t come lookin’ for me! Promise me, brother!”
Scott’s mouth went dry. Promise? Hell, no, I won’t promise that! He lunged at Johnny and tried to pull him out of the saddle, but Johnny kicked the horse into a gallop and rode out into the darkness.
Scott exploded — his brain screamed at him to get moving, find a horse, and go after his brother, who would once again sacrifice himself for others. What about us, Johnny? Your family! Don’t we count? His mind sizzled with blistering arguments he would throw in Johnny’s face when he saw him next. But would Scott ever see his brother again? Would he get the chance to blast his brother and accuse him of… what? Wanting to save innocent people? No, Johnny wasn’t at fault here, but he would have words, and not only with Johnny, hopefully, but with the Truesdales. They urged Murdoch, manipulated him to bring the family for a visit, an innocent visit veiled by an ugly ulterior motive.
“Scott!” Murdoch’s shout grabbed him, as did the hand that closed around his arm. “Scott, we have to wait until daylight, but we need answers, and it’s time we get them!” Murdoch’s hand tightened, not letting Scott go; Johnny was gone, but he wasn’t letting Scott out of his sight.
Murdoch’s rage coursed through him; he seethed with blistering anger and sought out the man he thought was his friend.
“Joe! How could you?” Murdoch’s ire exploded as the full impact of the consequences slammed into his brain as if hammered with a sledge.“You’ve just sentenced my son to death when you brought us here to intentionally turn Johnny over to the Rurales!”
Murdoch watched Joe pale in the dark of the falling night; the man could not meet his eyes as his guilt consumed him. Murdoch had never wished a man harm, but as of this moment, it wouldn’t take much to make him pile it on Joe Truesdale’s shoulders. The man Murdoch considered a close friend had mercilessly handed Johnny over to the Rurales, knowing the outcome.
“Murdoch, I… we had no choice! They kidnapped Jessie and Joey! I don’t know how the Rurales found out I knew you! But they gave me no choice! They wanted Madrid and took my daughter-in-law and grandson — I… I had no choice!”
“No choice, Joe? You could have come to us and let us help you instead of doing what you did! There’s a good chance that you just murdered my son!”
“I told you it wasn’t my father, Mr. Lancer. I made the deal! They had my wife and three-year-old son! You don’t understand!”
Murdoch turned on Philip with a murderous glare. “Don’t understand? I don’t understand? Boy, you get out of my way before I do something I’ll regret!” Murdoch shoved his way past while Scott lingered — but only a second. His eyes burned into those of Philip Truesdale, the man that ruthlessly sacrificed his brother to the Rurales. Why hadn’t they asked for help?
“I won’t regret it!” Then Scott Garrett Lancer drew back and landed a brutal punch to Philip’s jaw, knocking him cold, and watched as the younger Truesdale fell in the dirt. Scott glared at the unconscious man, stepped over his body, and followed Murdoch into the house to wait until morning when they could go after Johnny and hopefully find him still alive.
Murdoch, Scott, and Teresa sat in the nearly dark room. There was nothing they could do until daylight. Scott seethed over Truesdale’s treatment of his brother while Teresa cried into Murdoch’s shoulder.
“I wish we would never have come here, Murdoch! What’s going to happen to Johnny?”
Murdoch pulled her close and felt the tremors race through her slight form.
“We’re going to find him, Teresa, we’re going to find him!” he whispered firmly.
“But how?”
“Right now, darling, I don’t know, but we’ll think of something. Scott and I will think of something! Besides, I think we ought to give your brother a little credit. He’s managed to stay alive under odds that no gambler would ever take. Let’s hope and pray for the best, darling!” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.
“I’m scared, Murdoch! I wish… I wish Val were here! He’d know what to do for Johnny!”
With the mention of Val’s name, Scott turned his head toward Murdoch just as Murdoch turned to him.
Friends! Madrid had friends!
Scott nodded. “I’ll make some discreet inquiries.” And he left the room as Murdoch continued to hold Teresa as she cried.
Once out of the house, Scott sought out Manuel Ortega. He’d seen Johnny talking with the man earlier in the day and noticed the easy exchange between them, friendly and familiar. Perhaps Ortega knew Johnny from his years as Madrid. But he could also be responsible for notifying the Rurales of Madrid’s presence at Saguaro Ridge Ranch. He would have to take the chance and talk with the man. There was nothing to lose, and Scott approached Ortega now as he worked to settle the horses left skittish and agitated by the fire.
As Scott came close, he heard the soft ramblings, the same soft, easy tones he’d heard Johnny use as he calmed his beloved horses, and Scott couldn’t help but hope the man would know what needed to be done and who could help them in Johnny’s rescue.
“Señor Ortega?” he asked softly. The air was heavy with the scent of charred lumber and burnt kerosene.
Manuel stopped ministering the bay gelding and laid his hand across the horse’s face just above the muzzle. “¿Sí?”
Manuel’s eyes were wide, curious, but filled with apprehension.
“Please, I’d like to have a word with you. It’s important. It’s about my brother, Johnny. Please, we need help finding him, and I couldn’t help but notice that you and he seemed to know each other. Can you tell me anything? Do you know where the Rurales would take him?”
Manuel stared hard and studied the gringo before him. The slate blue eyes did not lie, and they were filled with worry. The man looked around, then nodded to Scott.
“Come with me, por favor.” Tying the bay to the corral rail, Manuel walked around the pile of ash and charred wood that was the stable and to the end of the corral, where they would not be heard by any that would report the private conversation to the Truesdales. Manuel was a devoted employee; the Truesdales had treated him and his family fairly, but Johnny Madrid saved their lives years ago. Manuel might be a mere peon, but his loyalty would forever and always be with Madrid.
Scott tried to make out the man’s face, but the moon, only a thin sliver in the sky, did not cast enough light to see the features to know if Ortega was truthful. Listen to the voice… That was something that Johnny would say, and Scott would listen to that voice now.
“Señor, I worry! I do not know where they took Johnny, but I hear cuentos, stories. They are bad men, those that took him! Muy malo! Do you go after him, Señor Lancer?”
“Yes, just as soon as we can. My father and I are going, but we have no idea where to look. Can you help us?”
“Lo siento, I cannot, but… I know someone who can!”
Was this the information Scott had waited to hear? His heart skipped a beat, then he asked, “Who? You know someone that can help us?” The words came out in a desperate rush.
“Sí, Señor!” Ortega hoped the man was still where he’d seen him. “There was a man in Nogales, a friend of Madrid.” Manuel was optimistic.
“What’s his name, Manuel?” The question was a curious mix of anguish and hope.
“Señor Colby, Buck Colby!” Manuel delivered the name and began to have a shred of hope. Madrid didn’t stand much of a chance without help, and the Rurales would not give him any opportunity to escape a second time. “Go to the cantina in Nogales, the one with the red door. The camerera, Concha, works there and will know where to find him, but, Señor, she will not give the information easily. You must convince her that you are no threat. She is… protective of both Señor Colby and Madrid.”
Scott roughly calculated the distance. “Thank you, Señor Ortega! Nogales, that’s what? About seventy miles, right?”
“Sí, that is right!”
“Thank you again, Señor Ortega, you’ve been very helpful, and I’ll be sure to tell my brother when I see him!” Scott extended his hand and grasped Manuel’s hesitant one with a powerful grasp.
Manuel Ortega hoped the Lancers would be in time to get Johnny Madrid free of the danger — the Rurales were, indeed, muy malo.
As Scott returned to their rooms in Truesdale’s hacienda, he thought about his brother. He agonized many times that Johnny’s life had been filled with so much death and destruction that Johnny had come to take it so lightly as if he was ready to face that firing squad again, and as long as it meant someone would go free, he would gladly sacrifice himself for the cause. Well, not anymore, little brother! I have just found you, and I will not let you go!
Memory was a funny thing. Sometimes places looked the same as when you had seen them last, and sometimes not. Mix in the nighttime, and a man could be so far off, mistaken enough to prove fatal. But, what the hell, if Johnny were to wager a bet, he wouldn’t count on an escape should the Rurales catch him on this night. But he noted the alleys just the same, the escape routes should he need them now, and they all looked much the same as he remembered. If the plan he had in mind panned out, he needed to know Nogalas was as he remembered.
The priority was to get the woman and that kid to safety, but the Rurales were notorious for not honoring any deal they made. How would he assure Truesdale’s kin would be returned unharmed as promised? That was simple. He couldn’t. But neither could Johnny let innocents suffer because of Madrid. Still, Madrid wouldn’t go easy. He would make the Rurales work to get him.
When he left Truesdale’s ranch, he drew the Rurales’ attention as he rode into the night; they took the bait and followed, then it was up to Johnny to make the next move. Eluding his pursuers wasn’t too difficult… for now; the problem would be staying one step ahead of them. But Johnny knew he could not prolong the cat-and-mouse game, not with that woman and her boy at stake. It wouldn’t make any difference to those chasing him that they were innocent. Johnny had seen too many burned-out, gutted villages in his lifetime to know human life meant nothing to the renegades.
But Johnny did have a plan; he didn’t know if it would work, but he had a plan. Could he get to the woman and her boy before it was too late? There was no way of telling, but if there was any chance at all, he was willing to take it. Saving Jessica and Joey Truesdale was paramount. Madrid had to be sure and make the right call.
The argument was pitifully short; however, a compromise was made. Teresa would stay in Tucson until John and Victoria Cannon of the High Chaparral Ranch could take her to stay with them while Murdoch and Scott went after Johnny. Teresa refused to stay at Saguaro Ridge with the people who betrayed the Lancers and signed Johnny’s death warrant. She walked out of the hacienda without acknowledging Truesdale’s ‘hospitality’ or the pleasure of meeting them. And it gave her no pause. She’d been brought up showing manners, but she, too, felt the betrayal of the highest form — her family. She owed Joe and Philip Truesdale nothing.
“Murdoch, wait…” Joe called out as his friend settled onto the carriage seat. “I want to say…”
Murdoch wasn’t listening. “Save your apologies and tell them to my son… if we can save him!”
But Scott couldn’t resist a parting shot; disgust glared out of his slate blue eyes as he spoke what he hoped were his last words to Joe Truesdale. “I want you to know, Mr. Truesdale, if you had been honest with us, with Johnny, that he would have been the first one here to help you get your family back. He would have knowingly sacrificed himself, ridden straight into the Rurale camp, and given himself to them to get Jessie and Joey back. But you took that option away from him; I hope you can live with that. But I’ll tell you something else, Truesdale, if something happens to my brother because of what you’ve done, I’m coming back here and will kill you with my bare hands.”
Then Murdoch Lancer, with Teresa sitting beside him, clutching his arm for support, and Scott on horseback leading the horse that Johnny rented in Tucson, left Saguaro Ridge and never looked back.
Joe Truesdale stood, rooted to the spot. Philip, in his panic, made a deal with the devil to get his wife and son back. How had this happened? Who was responsible for revealing to the Rurales Truesdale’s connection with Murdoch Lancer and his son, Johnny Madrid, ultimately luring the Lancers into this web of deception?
Miguel Ortega watched Madrid’s family as they left the ranch. They grieved. It was bittersweet to Miguel’s mind; Madrid finally found a family that loved and cared for him, and it occurred to him that there were many others that cared for Madrid. Perhaps they would help Johnny now. Miguel could only hope.
Tucson was quiet; it usually was until Saturday night rolled around as anxious cowboys and vaqueros ventured into town, desperate to spend every dime they’d made the previous week.
Murdoch secured a room at the hotel, and with the proprietor’s promise to get the written message to John or Victoria Cannon, Murdoch and Scott bought supplies, rented horses, then bid Teresa a tearful goodbye. It took all the Lancer patriarch had not to break down as the girl sobbed her farewells, but suddenly she pulled herself together as much as she could, stood tall, and smiled through her tears.
“Johnny needs us to be strong, so I won’t cry anymore. Just bring him back!”
Scott stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight hug as he whispered in her ear, “I’m not coming home without him!”
She bit back a sob. “Then I can’t wait to see all three of you again! Hurry back and be careful!”
Teresa O’Brien watched as they became nothing more than a speck on the horizon, swallowed by the heat waves. She turned and walked into the hotel lobby, up the stairs to her room to wait for the Cannons. With Murdoch and Scott now gone where they couldn’t see her, she struggled with the emotions; finally, she gave in and wept, fearful for all her family.
Johnny didn’t know if he should feel relieved or regretful, but he’d easily fallen into his life as Madrid. Gone were the thoughts of responsibilities and ranch-life decisions, as the life-and-death frame of mind, the range war strategist came out in full force as if the last two years at Lancer never existed. And he supposed that, in reality, his former life would always be there with him, guiding him and protecting those he loved. He had fought his whole life, figuring out what and how to benefit his cause the most. But he would do whatever it took to get the woman and that boy to safety.
The niggle in his head kept irritating his thoughts, leaving the constant question of how the Rurales knew that the Lancers were friends of Joe Truesdale. There was a connection somewhere, and if Johnny made it through this fight alive, he swore he would find out what the connection was. Someone had talked when they should have shut up. And once again, there were innocent people at stake.
From his cover in the rocks, Madrid watched the Rurales make camp. He’d left a trail that a blind man could follow, then let it fade away, forcing them to make camp for the night. If circumstances presented the opportunity to talk, he would make contact; if not, he would force something else to happen, and what that would be, he didn’t know yet, but it would be on his terms. And it had better be quick – the border was not that far away.
Chances were the Rurales had the woman and boy hidden in Mexico; they would try and lure him there under threat of their safety, and knowing the renegades never held to their end of a bargain, there were no guarantees the Truesdale family would survive. Renegades were like that. While at Saguaro Ridge, Johnny heard ol’ Poncho was still in charge, and Captain Francisco Sanchez, ha, Johnny insisted on using the name Poncho to show his disrespect, headed the vilest, most bloodthirsty band of renegades that Johnny had ever had the misfortune of dealing with. Well, he thought, two can play this game…
Fire. It mesmerized the mind and comforted the soul; it had the potential to kill, and that was what had happened. That fire held Johnny as if the flames had fed off his body. The fire at Truesdale’s ranch sent Johnny into the waiting arms of death.
Murdoch stared at the blaze within the circle of stones, wishing this night was something other than what it was. He should be sharing this fire with his sons at home in the Lancer great room or on a hunting trip instead of trying to follow a trail that disappeared into thin air. He should be making up for the lost time with Scott and Johnny instead of sitting here, freezing to death, waiting for word that couldn’t come soon enough. He wanted to be home at Lancer with his sons at his side.
Scott filled the cup in Murdoch’s hand; the hot coffee warmed his fingers, but he didn’t know it. He thought about home, his sons, and Teresa, preparing for another day at Lancer… but they weren’t at Lancer, the most beautiful place in the whole wide world.
Murdoch thought back to the day it all began. Could he have done anything differently — anything that could have altered the chain of events he now faced? Although he had not known Truesdale’s invitation was to intentionally draw Johnny close to Mexico, Murdoch did know the risk that someone would find out Madrid was in Tucson and alert the Rurales. And now he regretted that he’d accepted the invitation. Whatever happened now would be seared on his brain for the rest of his life. Why hadn’t he given Johnny’s apprehensions more thought? If he had, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this predicament now. He only wished Joe Truesdale had been honest and told them what had happened. Well, the man made his decision and gave neither Johnny nor the Lancer family a choice; he’d willingly jeopardized the Lancers and made that choice for them.
Scott leaned against his saddle, knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep this night. He watched over his father, concern for the man gripping his brain, wrapping around it in suffocating helplessness. And what of Johnny? Where was he now? Was he safe? Was he alive? Why hadn’t he given it more consideration during their talk while waiting for that mountain lion? He had felt Johnny’s unease…
The sun had yet to rise; why was he up so early? Oh yeah, damn cat! Johnny thought as he rolled out of his warm bed, struggled into his clothes, and tugged on his boots. The water in the pitcher was ice cold, but he poured it into the basin, knowing it would quickly wash away the last vestiges of sleep, doing its best to jolt him into complete consciousness. Yup, works every time! Only now, he was cold.
Coffee, that’s what he needed, and now! Stepping quietly into the hall, he met Scott coming out of his room and greeted him with a slurred “Mornin’,” then descended the back stairs into the kitchen.
The coals stirred quickly to flame, and the pot for the craved brew began to heat. Hastily prepared sandwiches of beef and ham were tossed into a bag; apples followed, and the leftover biscuits from last night’s dinner, a supply of jerky, and not forgetting his insatiable desire for sweets, Johnny wrapped the cookies Teresa made the day before, then pilfered two large pieces of cake from the pantry. He wrapped those carefully, then scanned the shelves for any other tidbits to bring along. Nope, they weren’t about to go hungry today.
Looking from the stuffed bag to his brother’s face, Scott couldn’t help but comment. “I thought you always traveled light? That’s enough food to last for three days!” He couldn’t stop the chuckle that followed.
“We’ll see who laughs when you’re hungry after chasin’ that ol’ cat all over hell an’ have nothin’ ta eat. Ya won’t be laughin’ then!” Johnny drank the last of the coffee. Then slung the bag over his shoulder, surprised at its weight; he’d never admit it to Scott, but it was heavy…
They left the kitchen on the way to the barn and started their search for the marauding mountain lion that feasted on Lancer beef.
The sun was high above the mountaintops when they reached the first kill site. There wasn’t much left of the calf’s carcass, but the cat wasn’t the only one feeding there. Tracks of various diners littered the ground, but no fresh tracks of the cat; they proceeded to the other kill.
The predator hadn’t returned to feed during the night, suggesting it would be back soon. With any luck, they could get the job done and be back at Lancer for dinner.
“Hey, Boston, what’d ya say we stay here an’ watch for that cat? We’re downwind, an’ the tracks around that carcass led off the other way. It’s no guarantee it’ll come from there, but we hafta start somewhere.”
Scott knew it was Johnny’s way of making his brother’s opinion count for something, to include Scott in decisions. He usually left these things up to Johnny, knowing his brother had more experience in these matters, but he suspected it was Johnny’s way to involve him, coming up with the solutions that produced results. Scott had to smile. Without seeming to do so, Johnny Madrid Lancer’s benevolence far exceeded the average man.
“Ya hungry?” Not waiting for an answer, Johnny tossed his brother a sandwich wrapped in a cloth napkin. They would have to remember to take them back to the Lancer kitchen or risk a swat from that dreaded wooden spoon that Maria so expertly wielded. Johnny smirked, remembering the attacks he’d suffered when he’d carelessly left the cloth under a tree or lying next to the creek after eating. And how many times had he found a stained and crumpled napkin at the bottom of his saddlebags?
Sandwiches finished, the apples tasted sweet as the juice rolled off the fruit and over their fingers. Johnny watched Scott, knowing there was something on his mind, and since Scott wasn’t talking, Johnny asked.
“What’s on your mind, Boston?”
Scott’s head snapped in his brother’s direction as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have done.
“Is it that obvious?”
Johnny snorted through his nose, then smiled. “Written all over your face.” Then he waited for Scott to speak.
“How do you feel about this trip, Johnny? I mean, deep down.”
For a beat, Johnny stared, then focused his attention on the ant crawling up his arm, attracted by the scent of the apple juice.
“Truth?” Johnny asked as he raised his brows.
“Yes, you’ve never given me anything but the truth.”
Johnny sighed, then looked out over the waves of long, thick grass. “Let’s just say I’ll be keepin’ my eyes open.”
“We’ll be keeping our eyes open, brother. I’ve got your back.” Scott had his answer in no uncertain terms, knowing then that he’d been right in thinking that Johnny wasn’t in favor of taking this trip.
Johnny met his brother’s stare as the corners of his mouth tugged with a grin. There was no way he could, in good conscience, deny his family this trip. He could let them go without him, but they would still be at risk. If he went, at least he might be able to protect them — they had no idea the things that could happen to them. And he relented. “Thanks, Boston… Now let’s go find that cat.”
It was dusk before the cat limped to the kill, half buried under a pile of dead leaves and branches. Both Scott and Johnny pulled the triggers of their Winchesters, and the cat fell dead as two bullets penetrated its brain. It would have been cruel to let it suffer through the winter; the mangled leg, either caught in a trap and chewed off to get free or the result of tangling with another cat, was nothing more than a rotting stump. The cattle were easy pickings, and it would attack again, eventually suffering an ugly death. They had done it a favor.
“We ain’t gonna make it back ta the ranch tonight; what say we bed down an’ start back in the mornin’?”
Scott nodded his approval. “It’s a good thing you brought along all that food, Johnny! At least we won’t starve!”
The fire put out enough heat to keep the chill at bay. They had eaten sandwiches and now enjoyed the cookies, most having been reduced to crumbs after traveling. The already squashed cake was consumed earlier in the day; there was no sense in ruining the treat any further. Why risk squashing it like a flapjack? Hot coffee added an element of relaxation as the Lancer brothers leaned back on the upturned saddles and enjoyed the quiet and the company.
“Do you think you’ve got Murdoch convinced everything will be alright? I know he worries about you being so close to the border.” Scott wasn’t entirely convinced they should make the trip.
“I dunno, but I can’t expect him or the rest of you not ta take a few days away from the ranch just cuz of me, cuz of who I am.” Would he ever stop paying for his past?
“Was, brother, was! Madrid is in the past, Johnny.”
Johnny shrugged, then looked at the piece of grass stuck to his wrist and flicked it off his arm. “No, he’s there, Scott, an’ he’ll always be there cuz if he ain’t, we’re all in trouble. The past doesn’t just go away — Madrid’ll be there as long as I draw breath.”
Scott saw the regret on Johnny’s face and wished he could offer something to convince his brother that none of it was his fault. Maybe they were worrying for nothing; maybe the Rurales had forgotten about Madrid, and this anxiety would be for naught…? Positive — think positive.
Johnny tossed the dregs from his cup onto the ground and sighed. “Let’s get some sleep, Boston. Mornin’s gonna come early, an’ I wanna get home.” Not waiting for Scott’s reply, Johnny checked his Colt, pulled the blanket over him, and settled his hat down over his eyes. He was done talking.
Scott sat there a moment, thinking on his brother’s words. ‘Madrid will always be there.’ Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing — Scott rather liked Madrid, what he’d seen of him, anyway.
And now, Scott damned himself for not digging deeper, pinning Johnny down for a more definite answer. Johnny had not lied, but in hindsight, Scott realized his brother had been evasive in his answers.
You just wait, brother! You and I are going to have a little chat when this is over!
And now Scott had to pray they would get that chance to chat when this was over…
The horse was not as good as Barranca, but it was strong and would get Johnny where he needed to go; they had managed to stay ahead of the renegade Rurales so far, and perhaps the animal had it in him to keep ahead of the danger. Johnny snorted. The Rurales — he wondered what Presidente Juárez would think of them now, had he lived. Sure, there were good and honest Rurales, but after Juárez’s death a few months ago, some were getting greedy, branching off and plundering in the name of justice and Mexico.
There would always be those that abused power, and now, as the peasants numbered the largest portion of Mexico’s population, they fell prey to the renegade’s greed. Well, Benito Juárez might be gone, but Madrid was alive and well… for now. Johnny smiled as he thought of the embarrassment he had caused the renegades, particularly Capitán Sanchez. It was no wonder they hated his guts.
It was time to push aside those thoughts and focus on what he had to do. The woman and child had to be rescued, and if necessary, Johnny Madrid would turn himself in. He would die to let them live… and all he could do was hope the Rurales would keep their end of the bargain they had made with Philip Truesdale. Damn the Truesdale’s! Had they been honest, Madrid would have helped them in a heartbeat, but they used deception, and if he lived through this ordeal, Johnny would have it out with them.
Nogales was known for Rurale activity; it was easy access to the American side and was not guarded by anyone other than the renegades. The raids were frequent, occurring whenever the urge to steal or plunder hit, and with no one to stop them, the pickings were ready and waiting — an open invitation and the renegades were becoming bolder.
After successfully losing his pursuers, Johnny wandered into Nogales after sundown, taking the backway through dark streets, and avoided detection. This path was familiar, having used it many times before; he hoped that nothing had changed since last he’d been there.
Would Reynaldo still be there? And more importantly, would Concha? Oh, Concha and her bruja ways! They had helped him in the past, just as he had helped them. It was worth a try.
Concha would never change, and for that, Madrid was thankful. He watched through the back window as the camerera walked across the cantina, a brazen prance as she made bold with her customers. Her skirts swirled around her ankles, showing off her pretty legs, and caught the eyes of the patrons. Her silky arms held platters of spicy Mexican food that she placed in the center of the table as she leaned low, advertising her soft charms. Nope, ain’t changed one bit… he thought with a grin upon entering through the back door of the kitchen.
Reynaldo ran the best cantina in Nogales, frequented by locals and Rurales. It was an honest, clean establishment, and he did his best to keep the Mexican soldiers in line. He also served the best food in town, and the rooms upstairs had comfortable beds. And best of all, Reynaldo was a good friend to Johnny Madrid.
Johnny leaned in leisurely contentment against the wood-plank pantry door, waited for the comely woman to notice him, and let his seductive smile slide into place.
“Es bueno verte, querida…” (It’s good to see you, sweetheart) The honey-soft whisper caressed her ears as she came close to throwing the trespasser out of the kitchen. Then she recognized the eyes, the lean, those sensual lips, and she squealed in delight, propelling herself into the familiar arms.
“Juanito! You came to see me again! I have missed you so, querido!” She held him close and pressed her body into his, letting him feel every provocative curve as she crushed her ample bosom against his chest and assaulted his mouth with hot, lusty kisses.
I wish I had the time… Then, with great control, Madrid pulled his scattered senses together and approached the problem at hand.
“Por favor, querida, I need help, and you are just the person to…”
His words were cut off as Concha planted another kiss on his lips, scalding as her tongue forced its way into his mouth and her fingers tangled in his hair.
“Concha, esperar!” (stop) The warring in his body didn’t make the decision to stop any easier, but time was running out, and he had to make Concha understand. “The Rurales, they’ll be here soon. They’re after me, and I need your help. Have they been around here?”
“Rurales!” Concha said with disgust, then spat on the floor. “Capitán Sanchez, he is a pig!”
“Yeah, ya won’t get an argument outta me on that! But, I’m gonna need you to… uhh, entertain him for a minute… or two, por favor.”
Concha did not like where the conversation was going. When she first saw Johnny, she thought her night would be spent locked in Madrid’s sweaty embrace, but that was not to be. Not tonight, anyway. But as he told her of his plans, with a passionate vow to return when this was over, she consented and offered her help. It was going to be a long night for them both.
Capitán Sanchez was not a happy man. He provided the chance for Madrid to give himself up, but the cobarde had ridden away in the cover of darkness like a thief. The perro couldn’t face his sins and would willingly let the woman and her son die because he was spineless! Sanchez snorted in disgust. Perhaps when he had Madrid in his grasp, he would make the dog watch as he made their hostages pay for his deceit. Sí, that would show Madrid who is in charge. Let him watch the humiliation of the woman before he dies and know it was because of him that she perished needlessly…
They had chased him for two days only to lose him in the desert rocks. He had been so close! How could the bastardo disappear like a spirit, a phantom that left no sign of his passing? Was he not of human blood? That thought inflamed the hatred that coursed through Sanchez’s veins. Madrid was the scourge of Mexico! But not for long. They would apprehend him, and then, they would make him pay… and pay.
Nogales was only a few miles away. The Capitán would call a stop for the night, order his men a well-deserved respite, and for himself, well, the thought of feminine company sounded like just the thing to ease his tensions. Yes, that’s what he needed.
The sign was the same; peeling paint flaked off the wood that blistered in the hot sun, day after day, year after year. But the cantina had not only the best food in town but other treasures as well. Sanchez hoped the brazen camerera was still working here; she had warmed his blood when he saw her last, and he had not forgotten the promise to himself to come back and ‘pay his respects’. Yes, she would warm his blood and his bed this night.
Thick blue haze from cheap cigarillos hung thick in the stale air and, in other establishments, turned the walls a dirty brownish-yellow. But this cantina was different. It was clean, unlike most around. And it was the perfect place for Sanchez to enjoy his evening. He deserved this.
A man playing guitar sat in the corner strumming Cielito Lindo for the patrons but stopped as Sanchez and his band of renegades pushed through the doors, noisily demanding drinks and food. Most of the locals decided it was time to leave rather than occupy space with those who did their level best to ruin the peaceful lifestyle they used to enjoy. The arrival of the renegades shadowed the town in grief and despair. The food supply was nearly depleted with every visit, stealing everything they could carry, leaving the people enough to survive and nothing more; killings were common, and the young women of Nogales were not the same when the renegades moved on.
Aware that her part in Madrid’s plan was about to happen, Concha strode boldly to Sanchez’s side and cocked a hip, placing her hands on her trim waist. She raised a brow, then huffed.
“So, you have come back! What is it you want from us this time, Capitán? You stole everything from us when you were here last!”
Sanchez let his grin crawl across his face; his eyes narrowed and brazenly traveled over her shapely figure and lingered longer than was proper on her breasts; he reached for her wrist and pulled her closer. “I would like to discuss something with you in private, Señorita! You will come with me!” He pulled her to the door that led into the kitchen and the back stairs.
“I have work to do! I cannot leave my job!” she argued.
“Your work is with me… upstairs, puta!”
Concha played the game well and portrayed the indignant and put-upon woman; she struggled as he dragged her into the hallway.
“Where is your room?” Sanchez demanded, giving her a shake that sent her hair in a wild dance around her shoulders.
With eyes that blazed fire, Concha jerked her head to the right toward a room, and wasting no time, Sanchez pushed her through the door, then kicked it shut behind him. She stood defiantly, chin out as if daring him to touch her. And he did. He pushed her onto the bed and knelt, straddling her body. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her peasant blouse off the creamy smooth skin.
“Do not play coy with me, Señorita, you have done this before… Get undressed, or I will do it for you!” Sanchez stood and slipped out of his clothes. Leaving them thrown on the foot of the bed, he slid under the covers and groped the skilled camerera.
Pig describes him pretty well, Johnny thought as he silently opened the door of the small closet, stepped into the room, and reached for the knife in his boot. It was too easy. Sanchez kissed the unwilling woman; he grabbed her hands as she struggled beneath him, fighting for control over his long-starved manly needs. It was no wonder he was not aware of the danger until he felt the cold steel blade slide into place at his throat.
Soft velvet words warned against making a stupid move, and Concha put forth a convincing terrified squeal.
“What are you doing in my room? Go before I scream and alert those below!” She felt Sanchez go flaccid against her body, and secretly she grinned to herself. Sanchez turned a sickly shade of gray behind his dark skin, having literally been caught with his pants down, in truth, completely off.
“What do you want? I’ll have you killed, you bastardo!” Somehow, the rank of Capitán didn’t seem to pull any weight in his disadvantaged position. He needed to change that, and now!
“What I want is a little help… Capitán, an’ you can forget about killin’ me; ya ain’t been able ta do it so far….” Johnny couldn’t help but smirk.
“You will have to kill me! I will not help you — my men are downstairs! All I have to do is…” And the words stopped as Johnny applied more pressure with the blade.
“All you hafta do is shut the hell up and do what I say. Now get outta that bed an’ get dressed, pendejo.” Johnny reached for the flimsy underwear and threw them at Sanchez’s head, then noted a hole in the seat, not only in desperate need of mending but a good washing as well. Maybe he should draw that to the Capitan’s attention. Apparently, the man needed help with his clothing. The Mexican soldier’s uniforms were quite distinguished looking when new and clean, but you never knew what was worn under them, and he imagined underwear was not present at all in some cases.
Madrid backed up as his shaken enemy pulled himself out of bed and threaded his legs into the thin cloth masquerading as undergarments. Madrid couldn’t resist taking liberties, using the man’s nickname to add insult to injury.
“Hey, Poncho, your ass is hangin’ out,” he said matter-of-factly.
Sanchez was livid and whirled around just as Johnny threw a punch that nearly separated the man’s head from his shoulders. Johnny then tied the Capitán’s hands behind his back and gagged him.
He turned toward Concha, and with his Madrid smile, he boldly kissed her mouth, then pulled back. “I’ll be back, querida!” and seared her lips again with another kiss. Madrid slung Sanchez over his shoulder and made his way carefully, quietly down the stairs and out through the back kitchen door.
Concha followed him out to the alley and stood watching as Johnny threw Sanchez on his horse and tied him to the saddle; then he swung onto his horse as Concha went to his side and placed her hand on his leg.
“Be careful, querido! I will tell his men he left during the night and never returned.”
With his promise to see her again, Johnny rode out of Nogales with Capitán Francisco Sanchez in tow and into the dark of night.
Concha wondered how long it would take the Mexican soldiers to realize their Capitán was no longer in the cantina, but the drug she slipped into their drinks would keep them senseless for some time. If they believed the story, she would feed them when the sobering rays of sunlight brought them to consciousness, then she would send them away, chasing the wind and the imaginary trail when Sanchez left her side during the night and did not return. He owed her no explanation; how would she know where he went? Would they be stupid enough to believe it? Maybe not, but that’s all she could do for now.
Johnny had taken the Capitán’s horse, making it possible for Concha to claim Sanchez had left her in the middle of the night, that she didn’t know where he went when the Rurales questioned her about his absence. Johnny hoped they would believe her. The woman was convincing when she wanted to be.
The guitar player continued his songs, picking lively tunes as his fingers danced over the strings and filled the cantina with music. The soldiers still awake wouldn’t remain that way for long. With glassy eyes and brains too scattered to realize what had happened, she refilled their glasses, anxious to have them all drift away in a drugged and drunken stupor. Perhaps she would tell them that was what they got when they raided the storeroom and helped themselves to tequila from a new source that had yet to be tested and, being the cerdos (pigs) that they were, they deserved what they got.
Concha gathered the empty glasses and pottery bottles that littered the cantina. She emptied the cigarillo butts and ash from the small clay pots on each table and collected broken fragments left after their drunken carelessness; there would be more come the morning; the soldiers were disgusting, and she was anxious to see them gone.
She excused herself, saying Capitán was waiting for her upstairs; they were drugged enough and could only offer leers and crude remarks instead of protecting their Capitán from danger.
Scott stirred the coals to life, added wood, and watched as the tiny flames devoured the kindling. His thoughts centered not on the fire but on his brother. Where was he? Could they find him, and would they be in time? Could he and Murdoch track down Buck Colby, the friend of Madrid, and enlist his aid? Questions swirled in his head, questions that had no solid answers, but perhaps today, they could narrow the number of questions down to only a few. They needed time, but time was not on their side; it was rapidly running out, thanks to Joe and Philip Truesdale. Their friends…
Neither Murdoch nor Scott had slept. Too many what-ifs flooded their thoughts; worry grew like a plague and made it difficult to focus on their perspectives and keep them rational and optimistic. It was Johnny Madrid at the center of the storm… and Johnny Lancer was there, too.
Murdoch turned inward, damning the circumstances that led his innocent son into the dark and dangerous world of gunfighting. If Maria had been honest, had she told him of her unhappiness, if she had left Johnny behind when she abandoned the ranch and her husband? If he, Murdoch, had searched longer, searched harder to find them… If… Two little letters with a world of agony in them.
Scott focused on the here and now, leaving the rage he felt toward the Truesdale’s for later; later, when they found his brother safe and had him back with them, they would deal with that rage together. The Truesdale’s had much to account for; how they handled it would be up to Johnny’s discretion.
But something was not right; Scott mulled it over and over in his head, and no matter how he looked at it, it wasn’t adding up.
How did the Rurales know that Johnny Madrid would be at Saguaro Ridge Ranch?
Someone knew something — but who?
Scott filled the pot with water and coffee and set it by the fire. He likened the current predicament to Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ and Odysseus’ journey between the whirlpool at Charybdis and the man-eating monster, Scylla. It was an appropriate analogy — Charybdis represented the border leaving the Rurales to portray Scylla… and the Truesdale’s, too. And monsters they most certainly were.
Remembering Manuel’s instruction, Murdoch and Scott would go to the cantina in Nogales, make contact with a woman named Concha, and she would help to locate Buck Colby. If the situation weren’t so dire, Scott would smile, thinking, ‘Of course, it would be a woman’! And he bet she would be pretty.
Nogales wasn’t that far away; perhaps mid-afternoon would see them at the intended destination. They would have time to think of a plan, knowing the arrival of two gringos would garner the attention they did not want. Well, mid-afternoon was siesta time, wasn’t it?
There weren’t many people moving when Murdoch and Scott came into town. No breeze to blow in the dusty streets, no one was walking through town, even the clothes that hung on the line behind the run-down dwellings were still and limp. The outskirts of Nogales reminded Scott of the desperation he’d seen during the war. Broken hopes and dreams, and nothing more. And Scott imagined the looks in the eyes of the peasants that lived there matched the despair he’d seen after troops, both North and South, sullied the land and its people as they waged war against the other. The hopelessness and defeat hung around them like black clouds that threatened suffocation. Was this how Johnny lived as a child? Had he endured these horrible conditions?
He shoved those depressing thoughts aside and gathered his wits about him; he needed to be ready to fight for Madrid, for his brother. Scott and Murdoch were the outsiders; could he persuade someone to believe that they were Madrid’s family and would trust them enough to direct them to the man named Buck Colby?
Taking a lesson from his brother, Scott glanced around, assessed the streets, alleys, and second-story windows as he’d seen Johnny do many times before, then entered the cantina seeking the information he needed to find Johnny Madrid. If he played his cards right, Concha would believe they were Johnny’s family and would offer help.
Murdoch and Scott Lancer opened the door to the cantina and noted the overturned chairs and tables, the floor littered with broken bottles, cigarillo butts, and the ash they produced. And they saw a beautiful young woman nursing a cut and dark bruise on her cheekbone.
Startled, Concha looked toward the door, ready to confront those Rurale pigs should they return. Gringos? What were they doing here in Nogales? They were not typical trail hands, cowboys, or drifters. These were monied gentlemen, probably ranchers, and she eyed them boldly from top to bottom.
“Buenas tardes, Señores. Is there something I can do for you?” She smiled, then lay the damp cloth she used to treat her cheek next to a bowl of water on the plank bar.
“Señorita, are you alright?” Scott stepped forward, extended his hand to her arm, and helped her to a table… he picked up the chair, then guided her into it.
Concha was impressed. The gringo’s gallantry was unexpected, not something she was used to, and the young man’s eyes were filled with compassion. The older man’s face held worry.
“Sí, I am fine… now. Gracias.”
Murdoch retrieved the bowl and cloth from the bar top, then helped to tend her bruises.
“What is it that brings you to Nogales, Señores?”
Murdoch and Scott exchanged glances, then Murdoch spoke. “We were told to look for a young woman named Concha. Are you Concha?”
The eyes narrowed. “Who told this?” Suspicion shaded her thoughts, and her instincts went on alert.
“A mutual friend; please, Senorita, we are in a hurry; my brother’s life depends on us finding him. We need to speak with Buck Colby; it’s urgent that we do!” Scott couldn’t lose his patience, but he felt it slip away.
“I will tell you nothing!” Then, eyeing the cut of their clothes, she changed her approach to these men — they smelled of money.
Murdoch began to lay coins on the table in front of her, only to have her eyes suddenly narrow, and she hissed like a cat.
“¡Nunca! (Never) Take your filthy money and get out! I tell you nothing!” Concha jumped from the chair, glaring at the gringos, expecting their worst.
The woman was not changing her mind; Scott had no choice. “A man named Manuel Ortega gave us your name. He works at a ranch in Arizona. He came to me and told me you worked here and said you would help us to find Mr. Colby. He trusted us by giving us your name. Please help us!”
Concha knew Manuel Ortega very well. He was Concha’s brother.
“Please, let us explain…” Scott was one step behind and grabbed her arm as she tried to wrench away.
“Please, we need your help — we’re trying to find my brother,” he nodded to Murdoch, “and his son, and we were told that Buck might know where he was. We do not mean any harm; I promise you that!”
The gringo’s eyes held her briefly, and she read their desperation. Should she hear them out? She didn’t have to tell them anything if she didn’t like their answer, but the money was still lying on the tabletop and very tempting, and if Manuel sent them, wouldn’t it be safe enough to help them?
“Who is it that you look for?” Now she was curious. There weren’t many around here that she did not know…
“We’re looking for Johnny Lancer, but you might know him as Johnny Madrid. We were told that he and Buck Colby know each other very well. Please, it’s important! The Rurales are looking for him, and we have to find him before they do! We need Buck’s help!”
“You lie! Madrid has no familia!”
Scott knew they were running out of time; someone was bound to enter the cantina — someone who should not hear this conversation. He had to make her understand and fast.
“Yes, he does. Ask Buck! Please, just talk to Buck, tell him what we’ve told you, and let him make up his mind if he wants to help or not. If he doesn’t, we’ll be on our way, but I will tell you this — if you don’t help us and something happens to Johnny, it will be on your head! We just want him back! So you get a message to Buck and tell him what we said. But you’d better make it quick! I don’t know how much time Johnny has left!”
Scott’s heart hammered in his chest; he felt like there was no air left to breathe; he closed his eyes and opened them again. Gaining control, he asked where they should wait for Buck.
Concha instructed them to wait two miles out of town; the creek by the grove of pinyon trees would keep them out of sight.
They were running out of time! Could they trust the girl? Murdoch began to think that if the girl knew Johnny and Buck, she was a devoted friend — he witnessed her inner struggle, the conflict in her eyes. Funny, he thought, ever since Johnny came back into his life, Johnny had taught him to ‘read’ what was in the eyes — you could tell much of what they were thinking. And Scott was learning that Madrid had loyal friends.
And now, they waited…
It was early evening when she felt eyes watching her; without hearing an approach, Concha’s instincts went on high alert. She whirled to face the probable threat but gasped in surprise as burly arms reached out to pull her into a bear-like embrace.
“It is good to see you, querido! I am happy you came. Two men are here looking for you!” Concha explained, eyes wide with concern.
Buck Colby feigned pain in his heart as he placed a huge paw on his chest. “Concha, you wound me with your words! I thought it would be you to seek me out!” He laughed, then looked around, questioning with his eyes if it was safe — were there Rurales hiding in wait to jump him?
“It is safe, but we must be careful. In here.” Concha cocked her head toward the kitchen; Buck followed, trusting her implicitly.
In the relative safety of the kitchen, Concha checked the back door and found it free from prying eyes and ears; she told of Johnny Madrid leaving town with Capitán Sanchez.
“Johnny?! Johnny was here?” Buck Colby’s gray eyes widened. He hadn’t seen Johnny since last year in New Mexico when he helped Johnny and Val deal with those calvary boys trying to track down renegade Rurales. Damn, it would be good to see them again!
“Was Val with ‘im?” Colby asked, not bothering to disguise his excitement.
“No, he was alone. But two men saying they are Johnny’s father and brother were here looking for you to help find him. Manuel sent them, or so they say.”
Buck then thought about Johnny’s family. Johnny said he was with them now, but Concha just told him Johnny was alone…
“What’s goin’ on? D’ya know?”
“No, but I think it is muy malo. Johnny pulled Sanchez from my bed and knocked him out, then carried him to a horse in the alley. They rode away. That happened last night.” Concha was worried. Her black eyes sparked with fear, clearly displaying her concern and anxiety. If Johnny was in trouble, she would do what was necessary to help and knew that Buck would also.
Buck couldn’t help the grin — Madrid always did have style, and hearing Johnny yanked the Capitán off a woman he was bedding proved Madrid had not changed. “Where’s Johnny’s family now?”
“I sent them to the grove pinyon pines by the creek. They should be safe there.”
“If they are Johnny’s family, we’ll be back. If they aren’t Johnny’s family, I’ll be back!”
Buck Colby brushed a quick kiss to Concha’s forehead, then left by the back door. After meeting with the Lancers, he would decide if they needed to contact the others.
Johnny watched as Sanchez struggled to open his eyes and focus. A frown wrinkled the Capitán’s forehead as Johnny knew he fought to understand why he was sitting outside, half-naked and tied. Well, he’d let the man wonder a while longer; maybe it would come back to him on his own.
The last Sanchez remembered he was with the feisty camerera, in her bed with her beneath him… but he wasn’t there now. What happened? And then he knew… that voice, that laugh… The bastardo Madrid! He looked across the fire, and there he was, grinning like a jackass! Sanchez flew into a rage, shouted into the gag, and demanded to be set free. How dare that murdering Madrid treat him this way! He wanted to wipe that infuriating grin off his mestizo face!
Capitán Francisco Sanchez was at somewhat of a disadvantage. Trussed up like a common criminal, gagged, and barely dressed, he could only glare at his captor. The mumbled threats through the old bandana tied tightly over his mouth distorted the vile curses heaped upon Madrid’s head and did nothing but make Johnny smile and grateful he had something with which to gag the leader of the Rurale renegades; he feared another blow to the head to keep him quiet would harm the pendejo, and that couldn’t happen. Johnny needed the man alive to get Jessica and Joey Truesdale back safe.
“How ya doin’, there, Capitán?” Johnny couldn’t hold back the chuckle and continued the verbal assault leaving Sanchez beyond control. “Ya sure got yourself in some trouble, didn’t cha, Poncho? I mean, gettin’ caught in that woman’s bed, an’ now, half-dressed in the middle of the desert… that’s gotta be pretty embarrassin’ for ya, isn’t it?”
The glare from Sanchez told Johnny the man was not willing to negotiate, but Johnny couldn’t waste much more time. “I’ll tell ya what, Poncho,” again Johnny laughed as Capitán Sanchez shot fiery glares at the informal and personal use of his name, but Johnny continued and paid the outraged Rurale captain no heed.
“How about we talk this over, huh? I mean, how long can you keep this up? You’re tied an’ helpless; on the other hand, I’m… not.” The long, wicked blade materialized as if by sleight of hand, and he held it in capable fingers, caressing it as if it were a sacred entity as the sun’s glare reflected off the steel.
The Capitán fought against the rising panic; his eyes flashed in fear before he could call it back.
“We could make a deal, Poncho; that’s if you’re willing to deal, but I hafta say that I ain’t fuckin’ around here. Either you tell me what I wanna know, or… I slit your throat, here an’ now.”
Poncho’s belly turned to ice. Madrid was not bluffing, but Sanchez was not about to make a deal with an outlaw and an enemy of Mexico.
“You could make this easy on yourself; all ya gotta do is talk. That’s it.” Johnny slid the cold blade along the Capitán’s face and cut the gag.
Francisco Sanchez spat the bandana from his mouth and growled a curse, damning Madrid with an oath that he would tell this enemy of Mexico nothing!
“I tell you nothing, perro!”
Johnny smirked, then stroked the knife blade; he caressed the cold steel with reverence, admiring it as if it were a living thing. Then, that mask fell away and revealed the glare, a terrifying glacial threat that went straight through to Capitán Sanchez’s heart.
Madrid let a cold smile crawl across his mouth as he whispered his response. “Oh, I think you will…” In a blur, Madrid straddled Poncho’s legs as he slowly pressed the blade into the man’s throat.
“Already asked ya this once, pendejo, an’ it’s gonna be up ta you if ya live through it or not. Answer the question. Think ya can do that?”
The knife bit deeper.
Sanchez grimaced as the blood trickled down his neck; he didn’t know if he would live through this day — Madrid was a murderer!
“It’s a simple decision, pendejo. Just tell me where ya got that woman and kid.”
Sanchez hesitated… and the knife went deeper — soon, it would be too late. And he made his decision.
He was going to die if he didn’t talk. The pressure on the knife blade increased, and the trickle of blood became more than a trickle.
“All ya gotta do is talk, Poncho. It’s as simple as that.” C’mon ya bastard; Talk!
And Sanchez nodded as his watering eyes squeezed shut and his teeth ground together against the pain.
Johnny huffed through his nose. “It ain’t that hard of a decision, an’ ya know what’s gonna happen if ya refuse.” He gave the Capitán a minute to gather himself together; then he grabbed the man by his hair. “Now talk! Where’s the woman an’ her boy?”
“Why should I tell you? You are going to murder me just like you did Capitán Medina in New Mexico!”
“I got news for ya, Poncho; Capitán Madina was shot by his own men. If ya don’t believe me, ask those pendejos that were workin’ with him. Tell me, Poncho, how could I be responsible for his death? I was chained in a pit with two rattlesnakes. How did I cause him ta die?” Time was running out. “Tell me what I wanna know, an’ hurry up, cuz I’m runnin’ outta patience.” The pressure increased… and Capitán Francisco Sanchez had no choice but to spill his guts.
They had chosen their camp well. It was out of the wind, surrounded by trees and rocks preventing any ‘backdoor’ visitors. Their position in the cover prevented glow from the fire, alerting prying eyes of their presence.
Buck Colby stood in the dark and listened to the quiet and private conversation between a father and son as they discussed their missing son and brother.
“I know this is how he lived before he came home, but things have changed for him now. He doesn’t have to handle these things alone anymore,” agonized the young man Buck thought to be Johnny’s brother.
Buck shrugged. If they only knew…
“This is how he is used to handling things, Scott. And there comes a time when we have to trust his instincts. I’m not saying it’s easy, but you just said it — this is what he knows; this was his life, unfortunately. But I’ll be honest, son, I don’t think you or I could negotiate his release from the Rurales. This has to be done his way. The Madrid way.”
Buck grinned. Confirmation. It was time.
“Hello, the camp!” And Buck Colby strode into the firelight.
Murdoch and Scott jumped to their feet as the tall bearded man with light-colored eyes walked with purpose into the camp, their hands on their pistols before Buck could say any more.
“Easy, Mr. Lancer. Scott, I take it? Ol’ Johnny told me about ya when he an’ Val were in New Mexico last year. Helped Johnny with that snakebite ta his leg, an’ helped that Army captain straighten out that mess with the renegade Rurales. Name’s Buck Colby. Concha told me where ta find ya.”
Scott scoured his memory, dredging up a few things Johnny had told him about Buck. He was a large man with brown hair and a beard; that description could fit a thousand men. But the fact that Buck knew about the events in New Mexico put Scott more at ease.
Murdoch, too, eyed the intruder with suspicion but came to the realization that he and Scott didn’t have any option but to take the man at his word and trust that he was who he said he was. Trust. Murdoch was coming to know firsthand why his son had difficulty trusting. He had grown up knowing that credence, faith that someone was telling the truth, was foreign; there was doubt first until proven otherwise. And Murdoch again regretted that Johnny had been forced to live the life he had — doubt and mistrust guided his every move. It had been a helluva education. But it had kept him alive.
And Murdoch Lancer felt that doubt now. All he could do was wait and hope for the best. If his apprehensions grew, he would terminate their association — immediately.
“Mr. Colby, you’ll forgive our apprehensions. It seems there are enemies in our midst, and until we are certain of your intentions, well, we will do anything in our power to keep Johnny safe. Anything!”
Buck read the turmoil on their faces. Johnny had finally found a family, one that loved him and was worthy of him; Buck felt relief and maybe a bit of jealousy, too. But pushing those thoughts aside for now, he got down to the seriousness of helping the Lancers get Johnny out of the clutches of the Rurales. He smirked; according to Concha, Johnny was not in the Rurales’ clutches, but that could change in a heartbeat. Better fill ‘em in on ol’ Johnny’s escapades…
“Did Concha tell ya what happened so far?” Buck questioned.
“No, all she said was to wait for you here”.
Buck sighed. “This’s gonna take some explainin’. Mind if I sit?”
Murdoch gestured for Colby to settle by the fire. “Coffee, Mr. Colby?”
“Thanks, an’ you can drop the ‘Mr.’. Makes me nervous. We ain’t much on formalities in this business.” Buck’s smile was genuine as he took the cup from Murdoch. “Thanks. I’ll tell ya what I know. Johnny rode inta Nogales figurin’ on gettin’ some information from the Rurales, an’ the best way he could do that was ta ask for Concha’s help. While she was… um… distractin’ the Captain, ol’ Johnny got the drop on ‘im an’ kidnapped ‘im. So, Johnny isn’t, or wasn’t, their prisoner. Do ya know why he wanted the Captain?”
Murdoch and Scott exchanged glances, enlightened that Johnny had not been captured… yet. Deciding they had nothing to lose in telling of facts up to this point, Murdoch divulged the deception by the Truesdales, luring them to Tucson for the sole purpose of turning Madrid over to the Rurales in exchange for Jessie and Joey Truesdale.
Digesting the information, Buck had conflicting emotions. Kidnapping was common among the Rurales, often resulting in the kidnapped victims never returning home as promised and often dying from the ordeal. But Johnny had turned the tables and kidnapped Sanchez, in a state of undress, according to Concha, which made Buck want to laugh. He would have to save his laughter for later when the woman and child were safe.
“I know this is… unfamiliar territory for ya ta deal with, but Johnny knows what he’s doin’, an’ it’ll be up ta us ta help ‘im, but we hafta play by his rules. What he says goes. You two up for that? It could get bad.” Buck held their eyes as he searched for the confirmation that would be there if they were serious.
Murdoch and Scott searched Colby’s eyes for the same. Johnny always said you could tell if a man is lying by looking into his eyes. Could they read this stranger — this man who knew Johnny better than they?
“Mr. Colby… Buck,” Scott began, “I served as a lieutenant in the war; I’ve been through days of constant fighting and spent a year in a Confederate prison camp. My father has fought off and survived attacks by land pirates and outlaws many times, so you can trust me, us, when we say we’re up for it. Whatever it takes to keep Johnny safe.”
“You’re gonna hafta trust me on this, but we’re gonna need help. I’ll put the word out. Last I knew, Sam Wade wasn’t far away. With any luck, he’ll still be around.”
Murdoch’s brow furrowed. “Who is Sam Wade? Can we trust him?”
Buck would have laughed if the situation had not been so dire, but he smiled and shrugged. “If ya can’t trust ol’ Sam, ya can’t trust nobody…”
There was confidence and strength in them, and Buck thought they would do just fine. The Lancers would need that strength now. He nodded, and the three men began to make their plans. Buck left the camp only to return before dawn, then Colby and the Lancers moved out. Buck picked up Johnny’s trail out of Nogales and followed it deeper into Mexico.
Sam Wade was ready to leave the cantina. More than ready. Nothing was happening, no money to be made, no excitement, no… anything. And that was dangerous. Boredom could be deadly. It lets a man get careless and sloppy. There had been no range wars for months, no fights or conflicts, no sides to pick or enemies to fight. Maybe he’d have to find another line of work. Damn. Had he and the others tamed the wildness, and now there wasn’t anything left? It was bound to happen sooner or later.
The boys had drifted apart — some went to Texas and New Mexico; some, like himself, stayed around the border, and some, well, some got themselves dead and were pushin’ up daisies. And some were still lookin’ for work. Damn.
Sam Wade, Tom McKay, and a few others were the last of the breed — Just last year, Reno and Tulsa were killed, ambushed by cowards, and shot in the back. But revenge had been swift, and those responsible for the gutless, chicken-shit crime paid the ultimate price. There weren’t many things in life that a man could count on, except for dying, but retribution was high on the list.
Wade pushed away from the table and walked to the door. Nothing moved in the street; it was too damn hot. If he had any sense, he’d be takin’ a siesta — it was the only thing to do at this time of day. Turning from the door, Sam Wade made his way to the back room he rented, pulled the ragged and stained curtains to shut out the light, then, with a sag and roll, he lay on the cot and closed his eyes.
Pounding on his door chased away the dream; Dammit! Ain’t had a dream like that in a long time… Pretty little thing she was… And reality set in as the pounding continued. Wade reached for his Colt as he stood to the side of the door.
“Who is it?”
“Señor Wade! It is Paco! I have a message for you!” The boy was handy to have around; nine-year-old Paco was a good kid, a hard worker… and devoted. Sam opened the door, flipped Paco a nickel, and took the note. It was from Concha… Funny, Sam wasn’t bored anymore. It was time to move out.
<><><><><>
Traveling was rough for one who wore nothing except a threadbare garment with holes in the seat. There was nothing to soak away the sweat, and it caused the skin to chafe and blister and ignited the rage he felt of his weakness at telling Madrid what he wanted to know. The perro Madrid will pay for this! Sanchez could not wait for his men to capture the bandito, the enemy of Mexico, and then Capitán Francisco Sanchez would shoot the bastardo himself! But not before he suffered under the Capitán’s knife, and Madrid would know the full extent of his ‘trespass’. Time; all Sanchez needed was time, and he would get it.
The blazing sun beat down mercilessly as Sanchez suffered without the benefit of decent clothes and no hat; his skin burned and blistered, but for every minute of his discomfort, Madrid would pay tenfold, and then some before Sanchez would relent and put him out of his misery. The man would die at Sanchez’s hands, and the Capitán would celebrate the day for the rest of his life.
The Capitán led Madrid straight into the Rurales camp — after all, it was where the Truesdale woman and her brat were held. Guards were stationed around the perimeter and would soon surround them and take the notorious Madrid as captive… and then they would kill him.
But it didn’t happen as Sanchez thought it would… or should.
“Hold up, Poncho. We ain’t goin’ that way.” The words were soft but brooked no opposition.
What was happening? We have to go that way! “But, the woman and her boy, they are this way!” And suddenly, Sanchez realized he was losing the edge he thought he had. What was Madrid doing?
“You’re not leadin’ me inta that trap, pendejo. We’re goin’ this way, an’ if ya ain’t quiet, I’m gonna gag ya again, so shuddup!” Johnny pulled on the reins and brought his horse to a stop; he reached for the gag deciding to use it anyway; he tied it around the man’s head and smiled wickedly. “Just in case you’re tempted ta do somethin’ stupid.” Then Madrid led the Capitán west to skirt around the canyon hidden in the mountains.
Buck didn’t hold back the chuckle as he studied the trail left by Johnny and Capitán Francisco Sanchez. Ol’ Poncho got himself in a heap a trouble! He, Johnny, and Val had ridden through this part of Mexico many times over the years, and they had heard of the Rurales camp deep in the mountains ahead. Maybe it was time to fill the Lancers in on what he suspected Johnny had up his sleeve.
“There’s a canyon up ahead — when we were ridin’ tagether, the Rurales used it kind of as a base of operations. It’s a good location for ‘em ta carry out some of their illegal dealings with certain undesirable business partners. I’m thinkin’ that’s where the Rurales are keepin’ that woman an’ her boy. It’s the perfect place for their… let’s just say less than legal activities. They ain’t exactly what I’d call honorable or scrupulous. Johnny can tell ya stories that’d curl your hair.” Buck took in the Lancer’s demeanor. Did they know or understand anything regarding Madrid’s history? “He talk much about his past?”
Murdoch shrugged. “No, he rarely brings up anything about his past unless there is something that he and Val let slip, and then it’s only something they can laugh about. What can you tell us about him?”
“If ya wanna know about who can drink who under the table, or the time we got thrown inta jail cuz we were fightin’, I’d be more’n happy ta fill ya in. The rest, well, it ain’t mine ta tell. Gonna hafta hear it from him. But I can tell ya one thing, an’ that is don’t ask him about it. If he wants ya ta know, he’ll say it. There’s a lot he’d just as soon forget, a lot we’d all like ta forget.” Buck turned his attention to the tracks on the ground. “Trail leads over this way.”
The disappointment in their eyes told Buck all he needed to know, and as they rode, Buck felt compelled to ease their frustrations. The family was desperate to understand, and Madrid was reluctant to talk. But they would have to wait for particulars. Where Buck would not reveal any specifics, he could reinforce what they should know already if they had paid any attention at all.
“When me an’ Val were ridin’ with Madrid fightin’ against those tryin’ ta keep the people of Mexico under their control, ol’ Johnny put his life on the line more times’n I can say. He fought harder’n any man I know an’ usually won. An’ there’s somethin’ that he’ll never tell ya, but ya need ta know. Johnny Madrid is a man of honor an’ integrity; he’s sacrificed himself ta keep these people safe. I’m mighty proud ta know him an’ call him my friend, an’ there’s others that feel the same. I put out the word an’ if any of ‘em are around, they’ll be followin’, so if ya see anyone behind us, an’ I don’t, lemme know. Don’t wanna shoot one of ‘em. I hope that you, bein’ his blood kin, can see what I see in Johnny. Just your bein’ here says a lot, but there’s more ta the man than most know, an’ there’s a lot of rumors an’ lies about him, too. But I guess you’re learnin’ that, aren’t cha?”
Scott couldn’t hold back the pride that flooded through him. He’d had no doubts about his brother, but to hear the praise and pride from Buck Colby reinforced in Scott what he already knew was there.
Upon hearing Colby’s validation of Johnny Madrid, Murdoch Lancer felt ashamed that he had shunned Madrid, to insist Johnny live as Lancer leave Madrid behind and forget about him. And now, more than ever, Murdoch wanted to know Madrid, but would Johnny ever tell him? Or had Murdoch burned that bridge and would be denied that he wanted, needed now to know? Could he claim that right to know Johnny’s past? Because he certainly had made plain his feelings for Madrid since Johnny had come home to Lancer. He had been wrong in his assumptions and now wanted to know, and it could be too late. But if God granted him the chance to make things right with Johnny, Murdoch Lancer vowed to listen, to give Johnny the chance he deserved from the moment he decided to stay and make Lancer his home.
Oh, son, I hope there is a chance to talk with you…
After securing the Capitán in the rocks and out of sight, Johnny began his search for the enemy camp, fairly certain this was the place. The renegade Rurales were arrogant sons-of-bitches, and probably thought Johnny Madrid would never dare to show his face there again, not with the price they still had on his head, and the thought brought a smile to his face. Well, boys, ‘m back. Ya ready for me?
He’d gotten soft living as Lancer, wishing he had the aid of the telescope Scott had given him as a gift, but it was in his saddlebags back at the ranch. Well, Madrid never had a telescope, and as Johnny retreated into the life of Madrid once again, he would do without that convenience now. He would live as Madrid had lived during the years before Lancer had changed his life and would continue to make the Rurales work for a victory over him. He’d survived close calls in the past and expected no less now.
The scent of woodsmoke caught his attention, and he knew he wasn’t far from what he hoped was the Rurale camp. Would this be the place he would find Jessie Truesdale and her boy? Ol’ Poncho talked a blue streak as Madrid’s knife pierced the skin at his throat, and Johnny would not think twice about ending the miserable bastard’s life if he lied and Sanchez knew it. Chances were this was where the hostages were kept, and there was only one way to find out.
But that flickering question in the back of his mind returned in an annoying tease — an itch he couldn’t scratch, and it wouldn’t cease its pestering. How did the Rurales know that the Truesdales knew him, or rather Murdoch? The kidnapping of the woman and her son didn’t surprise Johnny; he’d seen it hundreds of times before, but the fact that the Rurales knew of the friendship between Murdoch Lancer and Joe Truesdale enough to lure Johnny this far south was a mystery. He would find out who was responsible for the deception, and Madrid would hold them accountable.
Johnny pulled his wandering thoughts together, secreted them away… for now, and focused on the problem at hand. He needed to get down into that camp and find those hostages, but first, he had to find out how many Rurales were there and where the guards were hidden, watching from cover to protect and defend. Dusk was beginning to darken the sky; it wouldn’t be too long before he could begin the reconnaissance and know what exactly he would be up against.
Johnny made his way to the place in the rocks where Sanchez waited, trussed up like a sack of potatoes to bide his time. The man wasn’t fairing very well. The sun had burned his skin, and he shivered as he lay curled into a ball. Johnny gave him a drink and covered him with his bedroll; why did he care after what Sanchez had done? Then hunkered down to sit tight until it was safe to scout around the camp.
Jessica Truesdale clutched her son in her arms; he felt heavy, but she knew her strength was fading. How long had they been held captive in this tent? How many nights had she spent keeping Joey warm as the bone-piercing chill seeped into their bodies? She sacrificed herself for him, trying to keep him from crying and risking the fury of their captors. Why had she and Joey been taken from their home and family? She denied knowing Johnny Madrid or Johnny Lancer; she’d never met him, but she did know of him. Who didn’t? She heard talk among the Rurale soldiers as they cursed the man and blamed him for the sorry state of government and the unrest between it and the people. There was every possibility that she and Joey could die because of that man, and she wept; he had much to atone for, and she hoped Madrid would have the decency to give himself up to the Rurales, but she doubted that because of the man she thought he was, it would ever happen.
It was time. Sanchez was not a problem; he lay still and quiet under the blanket and had not spoken a word since Madrid settled him in the secluded shelter of the rocks. The sun could make a man plenty sick if he was not careful, and Johnny had taken no time or effort to see to the man’s comfort. That’s the price ya pay for messin’ with Madrid, Poncho. Knowing the man was not up for any escape effort on foot, Johnny left him secured on the ground with hands and feet bound. If he found the hostages and could rescue them without making a deal, the woman and her boy for Sanchez, he might let the Rurales know where the Capitán was; otherwise, he’d return to retrieve Sanchez and make the trade.
Testing the breeze, Johnny circled the camp and approached from downwind. There was no sense alerting a skittish horse that trouble lurked in the dark, waiting to pounce. He wanted to locate the guards and be able to avoid them or, if need be, take them out quietly. Then he would find Jessica and little Joey and get them safely away, hopefully accumulating no holes in his hide doing it.
Smoke from a cigarillo drifted past him, enabling Johnny to pinpoint the position of a guard by the red glow of burning tobacco. A careless, bored guard could end up being a careless, bored, dead guard if he wasn’t careful. Madrid memorized the Rurales’ location, then moved on. He couldn’t afford a mistake, not with the life of the Truesdale woman and her child; Johnny needed to take his time and get it right — he wasn’t getting a second chance.
Thickets of chaparral provided cover that allowed Johnny to watch the camp from different vantage points and take a rough count of the Rurales. He counted seventeen, knowing then that chances were slim he would come out of this alive if there was a fight. Slim at best — more like non-existent, but he had to try. There was no way Johnny could leave the captives in the clutches of Capitán Sanchez’s men. Before Johnny had come home to Lancer, he didn’t care if he lived or died. Living as Madrid sealed his fate long ago. But he was home now with a family that loved him, and he loved in return, and where his life had changed for the better, he wouldn’t hesitate to do what he needed for this cause. It looked like the devil would collect his dues unless Johnny could think of something to get them out of this situation and be quick about it.
A large fire burned in the center of the camp that cast a flickering glow for Johnny to see several tents, one with a man standing to the side; he knew that he would find the hostages there. All he had to do was go to the far side… and not get caught. If he could evade the sentries, he might be able to pull this rescue attempt off, and if not, well, he hoped his family would forgive him.
Circling the camp took more time than Johnny wanted to spend; the longer he was out there, the greater the chances were for not only his discovery but for that of Poncho as well. He was one man against seventeen if he counted them all; there could be more, but he would check things over, then decide what to do and how to do it.
Several years before coming to Lancer, Johnny had spent time with the Apache Indians, learning the ways of The People, and those experiences were of benefit to him now. Moving silently, he kept to the shadows, slowly worked around the perimeter, and avoided detection. No sound announced his presence; he slipped his knife from the sheath in his boot as he began the journey toward that tent outside the fire’s glow. Now that he was close enough, Johnny would take a chance after he heard the muffled cries that, no doubt, belonged to Joey Truesdale. Johnny could hear the mother’s soft, soothing hum as she attempted to settle the child back into sleep, but the cries became louder as he asked for water.
“Un momento hijo mio…”
She talks Spanish ta the kid… Johnny heard movement inside the tent, then listened to the conversation spoken fluently between Mrs. Truesdale and the guard.
“Necesito agua para mi hijo.” (My son needs water.)
The guard began to argue, telling her to quiet the child before the guard did it for her. Jessica Truesdale fought for her son, “Get me water, and he will be quiet!” The guard, with a disparaging comment, turned to do her bidding.
Jessica whirled around, incensed over the crude conditions under which they were held captive and why they were held at all. Because of that murdering Johnny Madrid! If he had been executed as he should have been, she and her son wouldn’t be here! The Rurales had every right to want him dead after what he had done to the Mexican government!
Turning back to her son cuddled under a blanket, she waited until the soldier threw a canteen of water into the tent, then gave the boy a drink, rocking him in her arms, humming a song for comfort. She gazed down at the cherub’s face and smiled. He was the only thing she could smile about lately. Then suddenly, she felt eyes upon her, and she was startled at the man standing in the back of her tent. He silenced her with a finger to his mouth.
“Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Truesdale, I’m here ta get you an’ your boy back ta your family.”
The smooth tone calmed her fears, but why? She didn’t know him; he was a stranger. Why had his words calmed her so quickly? Confusion shadowed her face.
“That guard is standin’ right out front; we need ta be quiet. Let’s go.”
Stunned at the intrusion, she couldn’t help the question that spilled from her mouth. “How did you get here?”
Johnny noted her accent, dark hair, and complexion in the low light. The woman was Mexican. She should know the renegade’s reputation and how critical it was to launch a successful escape. Time was of the essence.
“I’ll tell ya about it later, Ma’am, but right now, we hafta get goin’. Can you keep him quiet?” Johnny whispered urgently, hoping beyond hope that the child wouldn’t give them away in their escape.
“I… I think so…” Jessica Truesdale wrapped the blankets tightly around her son, and gently lifted him into her arms. Then it hit her. How would they exit the tent? How had this man gotten into her tent? And she hesitated. But he urged her into motion before she could put a voice to her thoughts.
Johnny hunkered down at the rear of the shelter and listened; there was no noise, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone there. Ain’t gonna get the job done sittin’ here. When assured no one was on the other side, waiting for them to exit and shoot him, he quietly lifted the canvas and cautiously looked around. Relief flooded through him when no threat appeared. Escaping with the woman was tricky enough, but escaping with a woman and baby was near impossible… but he had to try.
He held out his hand to take the baby and help Mrs. Truesdale out through the back of the tent, but she stepped back, not trusting this stranger, not with her son.
They had to get moving! “Lemme take him while you crawl outta here!” Johnny whispered; time was of the essence, and the woman would get them caught if she didn’t move. Johnny had had enough and growled, “Look, lady, I’m riskin’ my life ta get ya outta here — your family’s waitin’ for ya, now move!”
And she did.
Johnny took the sleeping baby, then helped Jessica out the back of the tent; they waited for a moment until Johnny was sure the way was clear, then led her through the dark and away from the Rurale camp and into the cover of rocks where the horses and Capitán Sanchez waited.
Jessica grabbed Johnny’s arm, then held out her hands wanting to take Joey from him, but Johnny hesitated. “I can carry him…”
“No! He’s my son; I’ll do it!”
Johnny shrugged, then passed the child into his mother’s arms. Jessica immediately held the boy to her chest and gently hugged him, then nodded for Johnny to proceed.
The way on foot was exhausting, and the woman stumbled but refused to let Johnny carry the child any further. Thankful for the deep and sound sleep that only children can achieve, Joey stayed blissfully unaware, safely protected in his mother’s arms.
Forty minutes later, the trio made it to the protection of the rocks. Jessica drew in a harsh lungful of air, panting and trying desperately to catch her breath. Johnny handed her a canteen as she balanced the child on her lap and drank. She closed her eyes, savoring the cool water as it quenched her parched throat. Giving the canteen back to her rescuer, she again cuddled her son to her body.
“We’ll rest a minute, then get on the horses and get outta here. Should be back with your family in two days or so… if everything goes alright.” Johnny drank his fill and rested. And it was then that Jessica saw the body under the blanket and gasped.
“Who’s that?” she asked, stunned at the unexpected sight. Her eyes widened in shock.
Johnny couldn’t help but smile. “He’s the man responsible for you gettin’ kidnapped.”
Sanchez mouthed a threat through the gag that went largely ignored.
“But we ain’t gonna be here long enough for it ta matter. We need ta go, now.” Though soft, Johnny’s words were firm, and Jessica, wanting nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the night, gathered Joey, got to her feet, and turned toward the horses, then stopped to face her rescuer.
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours… Mr. …?”
“Lancer, Johnny Lancer.”
Jessica Truesdale froze — And she screamed; the shriek could have woken the dead just as it awakened little Joey, startling him into an ear-piercing duet with his mother. There was nothing Johnny could do but grab the woman and throw her on the captain’s horse, swing onto his borrowed horse, and ride like the devil was on their tail.
Johnny, amigo, I hope ya ain’t goin’ where I think you’re goin’… He didn’t want to voice his suspicions to Johnny’s family just yet, not until he was sure, but the tracks on the ground were a good indication, and the only hope Buck Colby could hold onto was that Johnny would stop before he reached the canyon. Once there, there would be little hope of rescue. The Rurales had known for some time that Madrid would be lured south to Tucson and had sufficient time to set the trap. Once they captured him, it wasn’t that far to Mexico, but Madrid had, once again, foiled their plans and turned the tables, ruining the attempt for capture. But for how long? Time was on their side, not Johnny’s.
And now, Buck needed to put together a plan to get Madrid back and away from the camp in the mountains… in one piece.
The horses shied, making it hard for Jessica to handle it and the child in her arms; Joey sensed his mother’s distress and cried louder. And the louder he cried, the more scared the horse became. Knowing the time for a successful escape was quickly running out, Johnny urged his horse forward, grabbed the reins of the skittish mount, and with the warning “Hang on!” led them away from the camp and Sanchez, still wrapped and shivering on the ground.
Soon gunfire erupted around them; the Rurales were gaining on them, and Johnny knew they would not get away in time, but he resolved to fight to his last breath to keep the woman and baby safe from certain death, even at the cost of his own. This act would be the last in the life and rowdy times of Johnny Madrid Lancer.
But if that was the last to mark Johnny’s life, he would make it into one helluva fight! He urged the horses faster until a shot from behind crippled Jessica’s horse, spilling her and the child to the ground. The woman scrambled across the sand and rocks to her bawling toddler as Johnny threw himself from the saddle, grabbed the boy off the ground, and tried to help the stunned woman, shoving her toward the boulders and cover from the approaching hoard.
But Jessica was having none of it. She would take her chances with the renegades and would fight against the butcher claiming to rescue her and Joey. Madrid was a murderer! She’d heard the stories from her father, a supporter of the Mexican government, a General in the Mexican army, and her uncles, too! They knew the ugly truths surrounding Madrid!
And she fought against Johnny as he dragged her to the waiting cover… until the bullet knocked his leg out from under him, and Johnny Madrid Lancer fell into the dirt. Quickly, they were surrounded by renegade Rurales, and Johnny didn’t stand a chance in hell of escape. Once again, Madrid was staring Death in the eye.
“Take them back to camp and teach this one lesson!” A brutal kick to the ribs sent Johnny into oblivion.
“The trail leads this way,” Buck announced to the Lancers, and the three riders turned their mounts toward the rock-covered hillside to the west.
Scott turned the same thoughts over and over in his head. If his brother was hurt, or worse, dead, Scott Lancer would forget every gentlemanly thing he’d ever learned. He would come out with both barrels blazing, and God help anyone that stood in his way!
He knew he had to gather his emotions, corral and control them and not let the wild ramblings run — it could get them and Johnny killed. But the usual innate control of Scott Garrett Lancer scattered like a swarm of angry hornets when it came to keeping his brother safe. A threat to Johnny, Madrid, or Lancer would bring out the worst… and best of Scott.
Scott shivered in his saddle but found the anger, the unfairness of it all, building in his veins. With how he was feeling, he didn’t think he needed the warmth of a fire. His temper was doing a good job of that…
The ride back to the Rurale camp was swift. Jessica was thrown on a horse behind a renegade — a renegade that smelled worse than if he had lain in a pigsty. She had to fight with all her might to keep her son in her arms and not fall under the horse’s hooves. She was threatened with a beating if she didn’t quiet the child from his screaming, and also reminded that if she gave them any trouble, her status as hostage would be reduced to that of slave, with slave ‘duties’. Filled with revulsion, Jessica did her best to calm the boy in her arms.
She glanced in Johnny’s direction, hoping that the bastard would be punished for his misdeeds against her country’s government and for the predicament she found herself in now. If it wasn’t for Madrid, she and her son would be home with her husband…
He knew he was on a horse, but it was moving too slowly. They had to get going! The Rurales were right behind them and would be on them all too soon! Where was the woman and her son? Then Johnny pulled his senses together and working in tandem with his aching brain, he knew what had happened, and his belly rolled. He would need Madrid now more than ever to get them to safety. Could he do it? The bullet passed through his leg and was not life-threatening unless the bleeding couldn’t be stopped and the kick to the ribs hadn’t left broken bones; he’d be sore as hell for a while, but he could handle that. Now the question was, could he get Jessica, Joey, and himself away without getting them all killed? He would give it his best, even if the woman fought against him. And that made him wonder — why did she scream when he told his name? Why was she afraid of him?
Johnny had no more time to contemplate the predicament they now faced as he was dragged from his horse and thrown on the ground; then four renegade Rurales shoved him to a scrub oak and secured him, standing, as the rough bark gouged into his back. For the moment, he was left alone; he used that time to take in every detail that he could and assess his options. However, Johnny knew they were not through with him; soon, they would finish what they had started. Madrid always knew his end would come like this, but he thought it would be because of innocent peons, people who could not fight against the tyranny of the Mexican government. No, he never thought his end would come for attempting to rescue someone like Jessica Truesdale; she didn’t want Madrid’s help. Who the hell was this woman?
Mierda! They found Capitán Sanchez… The commotion at the other side of the camp drew Johnny’s attention as Poncho was carried into the largest tent as glares, bloodthirsty and ruthless, were cast his way. Madrid stood tall and proud and did not look away. He knew what was going to happen.
The wait was draining — it was designed to wear on nerves, to bring the strongest of enemies to their knees, and it worked. Johnny knew fear; he’d felt it many times, an unwanted companion that shadowed his every thought, every nightmare. And now that he had the love of family, that dreaded nemesis shrouded him again, and it was worse than before. He knew that Murdoch and Scott were out there looking, searching to find him, but if this was to be his end, he sincerely hoped they were far away and be spared the ugliness that would follow in the next hours and days; and would never witness the aftermath of what would happen here in this camp.
What’s the matter with ya, Johnny? You’re talkin’ like you’re givin’ up! Ya been livin’ too soft; time for ya ta start makin’ a plan if ya wanna get outta this alive…
But how was Johnny to get himself, Jessica, and her boy out of this alive? Mrs. Truesdale didn’t seem to want his help. Why? What had he done to warrant her disdain, her intense dislike of him? Well, he’d have to think about that later; if Johnny could figure a way out of this camp and escape the Rurales, she would be going with him, like it or not.
For over an hour, Johnny was left tied to the tree with the ropes cutting into his body when the tent flap was thrown aside, and Sanchez, clothed in borrowed shirt and pants and aided by two of his men, stumbled toward him. The man was weak, unstable on his feet but struggled toward Madrid as a growl erupted from his throat.
“You bastardo! You will die for what you did to me, and I will make you suffer!” Poncho turned to the man on his right. “Give me your knife!” The man obeyed and pulled a ten-inch blade from the sheath on his belt. Sanchez waved it in front of Johnny’s face as he touched the bandage around his neck that covered the lacerations, courtesy of Johnny Madrid, and he sneered, “By dawn, you will be dead, and the vultures will pick your bones clean!”
“Guess I’ll see ya in Hell then, won’t I, Poncho? Cuz if I’m gonna die, I’m takin’ you with me, cobarde!” Madrid let his infuriating smile slide into place, his eyes not on the blade that danced before his face but rivetted Poncho with a promise of certain death.
Capitán Sanchez stepped forward, shaking with rage, “You’re a dead man!” he screamed, sending spittle to spray in Madrid’s face.
“Tell ya what, pendejo, why don’t cha untie these ropes an’ we’ll see who’s the better man, or are ya afraid I’ll make ya look bad?”
An evil grin snaked across the saliva-coated mouth to reveal crooked front teeth not hidden by the shaggy mustache. “Do you think you would win, mestizo? Do you think you have the strength left with the blood you are losing that you could win a fight between us?”
“There’s one thing for certain, Poncho, without these pendejos ta protect ya, you’d be dead.”
Sanchez nodded to the burly soldier to his right; the man stepped forward and landed a brutal blow to Johnny’s jaw that slammed his head into the tree and prompted a shower of silvery stars to explode behind his eyes.
Poncho laughed as Johnny struggled to maintain consciousness. “It doesn’t appear that you are in any shape to challenge me, bastardo!”
Johnny delivered another infuriating grin. “How ‘bout you just untie me an’ we’ll find out what kinda shape I’m in? Or… are ya afraid that I’ll rip your head right offa yer shoulders?” One day he’d push his luck too far — his mouth had gotten him into trouble before, and he was headed in that direction again. What the hell, if they untie me, ‘m gonna do my best ta take a few of ‘em with me…
“What about it, Poncho? Let’s see who’s the best man!” Johnny provoked. Maybe he should light the fuse. “Ya sure didn’t do much for the camerera back in Nogales. She was glad ta be rid of ya — ha, she asked me ta come back! Looks like ya weren’t man enough…”
Sanchez exploded, shaking off the hands that steadied him and lunged forward, but not before Johnny kicked up, his boot catching Poncho under his chin; teeth flew from his mouth in a bloody splatter, and he screamed in white hot pain.
But they did not cut Madrid loose. The ropes held him in place as the fists from three soldiers rained down, his body sagged against them, and he knew no more.
Once again inside the tent, Jessica Truesdale paced her confines. Little Joey, blissfully unaware, lay sleeping while his mother fumed. Why hadn’t those men done their job and killed Madrid for his rebellion against Mexico? Her father and uncles had fought and died for the country, and banditos like Madrid remained free. But not anymore. It was common knowledge that Madrid was in California and now with a family, but after discovering her father-in-law, Joe Truesdale, knew Murdoch Lancer, Jessica, with loyalties to her country, had notified the authorities; the trap was set, and without her knowledge, she became a pawn.
Falling head over heels in love with Philip Truesdale had not diminished her support for her country. Having dropped her given name, Yesenia, she opted for the Americanized Jessica instead, but in her heart, she would always be Yesenia Maria de la Ruiz first and foremost. She loved being part of the Truesdale family, but her allegiance would always be to Mexico.
Although she was again a captive, she took solace in knowing Madrid would finally pay for his crimes. But Jessica had not considered that her plan could backfire, had backfired. She had not counted on the lack of loyalty within the Rurales, and the renegades had acted before the Mexican government; they had taken her and Joey hostage, disregarded her connections with the government, and forced Philip Truesdale to betray his father’s friend, Murdoch Lancer, leaving Joe no other option than to play along.
Had she ruined her marriage to Philip? If the Truesdales couldn’t understand her reasoning, she would take her son and return to the heart of her family in Hermosillo. She would not be punished for her devotion to her country and would raise her son as a Mexican.
Jessica pushed the sounds of the beating out of her mind. He deserved it! Everything they do to him, he deserved it!
Buck Colby held out little hope of reinforcements coming in time to rescue Johnny; chances of that were slim to none, but he had to try and get the word out. Not many of the old bunch were left, and Buck wondered if the summons he’d sent had reached them. If any of them were around, they’d come running to Madrid’s defense, just as Johnny had come to theirs at one time or another. There wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do for their amigo. Anything. The Rurales were the nemesis; time and distance decreased their chance of a successful rescue. C’mon boys, don’t let us down… Johnny needs ya!
Cold water invaded his senses. The shock flooded his sinuses, causing him to gasp, and choke, then a cough erupted that set off an explosion of pain in his chest and radiated throughout his body. Madrid pulled his feet under him, relieving the stress on his bruised flesh. Got yerself in a bind, don’t cha, Madrid? But he’d be damned if he’d let it show. His grin — he’d use that grin — they hated when he did that. He knew it wouldn’t help him; he knew it was over for him, and all he could do now was to piss them off. Well, Johnny was good at pissing people off. Hell, just ask the ol’ man… And Madrid’s heart began to shatter. Murdoch. Scott. Would they ever know what happened? And if they found out, what would they think? Could they ever understand why Madrid did what he did? Would they understand his need to help those who could not help themselves? Johnny had been in that place of desolation; he knew what it was like to live under the tyrannical rule where starvation and poverty dictated who would live and who didn’t.
Hafta stop thinkin’ that way. I need ta think ‘bout gettin’ outta here, not defeat! Hell, Madrid, what happened to ya? Yer losin’ your edge.
Johnny lifted his head and grinned into Capitán Sanchez’s face. Ha, Poncho got clothes on…
“Hey, Poncho, them… pants got holes in the ass like yer… underwear?” Why did he do that? All it did was provoke another beating…
His last vision before everything went black was Poncho grinning — wicked and toothless.
He sat at the table in the corner with the camerera perched securely on his lap, her peasant blouse sagged down over one shoulder as seductive eyes held his attention. And Sam had to smile, thinking Tom hadn’t changed one little bit. Then Sam thought that if the day ever came when Tom McKay wasn’t entertaining a pretty little filly, Sam would have to check his pulse — the man would have to be dead.
The cantina was noisy. Must be payday around here, Sam thought. The gringos outnumbered the peons by far; the more gringos, the more dinero to go around. That was the way it was around the border towns.
Wade sauntered across the dirty floor, yanked out a chair, and settled in as he watched McKay trail bold kisses down the woman’s neck and nuzzle the neckline of the drooping apparel that barely covered what was decent.
The entwined couple didn’t seem to notice the newcomer at their table.
Sam shook his head. “Ya oughta be thankful I ain’t out for blood, ya idiot! I coulda shot ya dead, an’ you’d a never known!”
Tom didn’t skip a beat; his words muffled as he talked against the soft creamy skin as the woman giggled. “ Go ‘way, I’m busy…”
“Yeah, we’re gonna be busy. Madrid’s in trouble.”
Tom’s eyes shot open and, snapping his attention on Sam, exclaimed, “Why didn’t ya say so?” Then he turned to the woman and delivered a lusty kiss to her open mouth. “See ya later, querida!” He lifted her off his lap and set her on her feet; her shock at Tom’s abrupt goodbye left her speechless. Tom plied Sam with endless questions but left the girl with nothing more than a kiss and a promise that he’d see her later.
Funny how a name can have that effect on a person…
It was as if he’d opened a can of questions; they spewed out of Tom’s mouth in a nonstop stream, beginning with ‘Where’s Madrid?’, ‘What’s the trouble?’, ‘Who was in on this besides himself and Sam?’ and a myriad of other concerns, and Sam had no answers for any of them.
“Look, all I know is what was in the message from Colby. Ya ain’t gonna believe this, but it seems that Johnny went on home ta live with his ol’ man in California.” Sam laughed when Tom’s mouth fell open, kind of like that bass he caught in that mountain lake. Coulda swallowed my hand in that big mouth, for cryin’ out loud! “Yeah, that’s somethin’, ain’t it? He’s got a brother, too; anyway, Buck’s guidin’ ‘em. They’re followin’ Johnny’s trail, and we’re s’posta follow ‘em. Hope they know what they’re doin’; at least Buck’s there ta help. They can’t get inta too much trouble. But we gotta make some time; it’s been two days, an’ who knows what kinda trouble Johnny’s in by now.”
“Hell, knowin’ Johnny, I just hope we ain’t too late. With the mouth he’s got, he can get inta more trouble quicker’n any three men I know! Let’s move out!”
Mid-afternoon saw Sam Wade and Tom McKay on the trail toward the campsite where Buck Colby said they would pick up the tracks, leading them to meet up with him and the Lancers and, hopefully, to Johnny Madrid. But would Johnny be in one piece when they got there?
Through the pounding in his brain, Johnny wondered why they were waiting to kill him. Poncho had threatened him with torture, and Johnny had taken several beatings; Poncho was a man that wanted to watch a man suffer; he liked to watch pain take over a prisoner and hear them beg for their lives. And he also wanted to be the one to end those miserable lives, witness the suffering he inflicted, then watch as the life faded out from unseeing eyes.
If they thought to make him agonize at his capture and beg for his life, they’d be old men before that would happen. Johnny continued the deception of unconsciousness, letting himself hang in the ropes that bound him to the tree, trying to recall what had happened. The last he remembered, blows rained down mercilessly, but the double kick, one to the ribs, the other to the wound in his thigh, were the deciding factors between mindfulness and senselessness.
Mierda, he hurt, but he’d rot in Hell before he’d give any indication of how he felt. When he let them know he was awake, he’d paste that smile on his face and let the bastards stare into his frozen blue eyes — they always turned away. Cobardes!
Giving no sign of consciousness, Johnny listened to the sounds around him. The night was quiet except for low muffled voices by the fire, an occasional grunt or snort of laughter, and his captors would glance his way, hoping he would wake, show discomfort and beg for his life. It’ll be a cold day in Hell and a helluva long wait for that ta happen, he thought. Looking through a screen of thick lashes and a swollen eye, he saw no sign of Sanchez and wondered if Jessica Truesdale and Joey were still in the tent or if they’d been moved while he was out cold from the beating.
And Johnny wondered how long it would be before the renegades tired of the game they played, and decide the time had come and shoot his sorry hide full of holes. He was getting tired of the pain; controlling it was becoming increasingly difficult, and he wondered just how much longer he could keep going.
Scott rode in silence, but his mind was screaming; his internal battle raged and volleyed between the determination to find his brother and protect him from the prejudices heaped upon him and the frustration of the incidents that continued to drag Johnny into impossible situations and force him to live in constant danger. And he could only hope and pray that Madrid’s luck had not run out. They had just melded into a family, and Scott, now that he knew his brother, was not about to let him go. He’d die first.
Scott had seen Buck’s expressions of fear, and though the man tried to hide them, he knew Colby was worried. Worry for his amigo, the amigo that was as close as a brother before Johnny Madrid went home to California. But Scott had to wonder how they would help Johnny now. What could Buck hope to accomplish? They were only three, and the Rurales outnumbered them many times over… Had Buck been successful in finding former friends of Madrid? He could only hope and pray that Colby put the word out… and that there were friends to answer the call.
One glance at his father told Scott what was on Murdoch’s mind. Not knowing where Johnny was or if he was alright was tearing him up inside. They had made great progress in overcoming their rocky beginnings, and now behind them, the relationship had developed into one of care, respect, and mutual love — just as it should have been all along. But at that moment, Murdoch Lancer looked as if he would explode.
Murdoch’s heart was in his throat as ice prickled in his veins. His younger son was out there, somewhere, alone and forced once again into a fight that should never have involved him. The Lancer family had been deceived — lured into traveling to Tucson and intentionally set up Madrid for capture. Joe Truesdale had much accounting to do, and Murdoch would see that the man was held responsible. Johnny’s life was in jeopardy, and if he were hurt… or worse, Murdoch would make him pay. What kind of man would do something that despicable?
Dear Lord, please let Johnny be alright!
“How much further do you think it is, Buck?”
Colby could feel the father’s anxiousness, and it made Buck smile. It would take some getting used to the idea that Madrid had family; he’d always thought Johnny was too good for the life of a gunfighter and range war strategist. Though more than capable in each profession, there was a decency in Johnny that most didn’t possess, and Murdoch and Scott Lancer seemed cut from the same cloth. The Lancers were good people — Madrid had done well for himself.
Buck pulled on the reins and sat still in the saddle, looking at the trail ahead. He knew where Johnny was going, and Buck also knew they were playing with fire. “There’s a canyon up ahead the Rurales use. The tracks Johnny left are headin’ pretty much in that direction. He’s skirtin’ around it, not wantin’ ta announce that he’s there, an’ it’ll give us a chance ta see what’s what. If we get goin’, we can get there just before dark and see what kinda trouble he’s in.”
Murdoch and Scott turned to stare at Buck, and Colby immediately regretted his words. He’d let it slip — and Buck knew he would have to consider the explanations before he put them to voice. It was Johnny’s father and brother he was with, not their amigos.
Buck led the way into the higher elevations where spying on the enemy camp would be easiest; they were close to the canyon and the Rurales camp; it was only a mile away, give or take. Was help close? Wade, where the hell are ya? Don’t know what we’re gonna do if we hafta go at this alone.
They had left him standing for twenty-four hours, tied to the tree all night and the next day, only taking him away from camp to tend to his needs, then he was again pushed against the rough bark and tied tightly. The bruises on his body from the beatings were aggravated as the ropes tied around him bit into his hide, his leg erupted in fiery pain when he walked, but he tried his best not to let the discomfort show; the pain in his ribs and head made him want to puke. The Rurales would use that to their advantage and had the wound in his leg not been kicked last night, attempting to cover the discomfort wouldn’t have been difficult. But now he struggled as he tried to keep the pain under control. Jus’ keep smilin’, Madrid, jus’ keep smilin’.
And now Johnny stood with his weight on the uninjured leg and couldn’t help but lean into the ropes. He didn’t know what was worse, the pain in his leg or the deep bruises on his ribs. The renegades knew what they were doing when they beat a prisoner; it was a talent they had honed into an art form — constant hits to a body to cause painful bruising but not break bones too soon. They could stretch out the punishment for days before a prisoner died, and Johnny knew that death was in his near future. He could deal with that; it had been his constant companion since he was twelve, but he couldn’t handle the risk of his family witnessing what had happened to him or seeing the aftermath. He didn’t want their grief on his conscience, but it might be too late to worry about that now. He remembered their faces when he rode away from Truesdale’s ranch; even in the dark night, he’d seen it in their eyes, in their stance. But there had been no time to talk, no time for goodbyes, no time for anything. He’d ridden out searching for Mrs. Truesdale, her three-year-old son, and away from his family.
Dammmit, Madrid, stop thinking about ‘em! Keep your eyes open an’ watch for a chance ta turn the tables, ya stupid sonuvabitch! You’re gettin’ soft, an’ it’s gonna get ya killed. So, Johnny Madrid watched… and waited. The sun was sliding behind the mountains and soon would be gone. It would take a miracle to get away now, but he had to try. He wondered at Jessica’s hatred toward him, and Johnny knew she would fight him, even if it were to get free, to go home. She had a son to consider — what the hell was she thinking?
Johnny thought back to earlier that afternoon when Sanchez summoned his renegade soldiers around him and ordered three of them on a mission. He couldn’t hear anything Poncho had said but saw the man point to the tent where Jessica and her son stayed, then swung his arm toward Johnny, and they all laughed. Johnny hoped it was worth it because they would pay for their crimes when he found a way out of this predicament. The men left the camp, going back the way they had come, and Johnny knew they were guards taking a position to watch behind them and would prevent anyone from following. Poncho’s orders were carried out, leaving fourteen men, not counting Poncho, in the camp.
Johnny had to make something happen. He was losing focus and needed a clear head to find a way to get them home. That thought made him laugh. It was a little late for that, but what the hell, something had to happen, and soon.
His thoughts were interrupted when Sanchez raised his voice, irritated when a soldier responded to something he said. Johnny made out the words Carbo and Hermosillo, well, more like Hermothio, speaking through the gap where teeth should have been. But Johnny pushed that aside as his stomach rolled. Carbo and Hermosillo were not good, both overrun with Rurales, renegade or not. C’mon, Madrid, make somethin’ happen!
Johnny watched through hooded eyes as Sanchez pulled the pistol from the holster and walked toward him with a wicked grin. He met the grin with one of his own and challenged Poncho, trying to provoke the renegade. Having made his peace with death years ago, Madrid would make Francisco Sanchez work for his moment of glory and make him look bad in the process.
The Capitán seemed to stumble, then with a visible shake, he stood before Johnny as he tried to gather his guts. The lisp made it hard to take the bastard seriously, but the gun in his hand made up for the impediment, and Johnny curbed the urge to laugh. The battle waged within Sanchez. The bastardo is tied! He cannot do anything to hurt me- why do I hesitate?
Poncho pulled himself together and forced those thoughts from his mind. It was time to remind Madrid who was in charge and how things would be from here on out.
The fiery flash from the pistol, bright and blinding in the dark, sent a slug into the ground at Johnny’s feet, then was followed by more as Sanchez emptied the gun, chewing up the dirt and covered Johnny’s boots with dust and debris. Sanchez looked up into the face of Madrid, and Madrid was still grinning…
“Hey Sam, you see what I see?” Tom McKay pulled on the reins, getting a better look into the rocks ahead.
“Yeah; let’s come in behind ‘em an’ have a look-see. If it’s Buck an’ Johnny’s family, we gotta let ‘em know it’s us, but I gotta tell ya, that bad feelin’ is startin’ ta crawl down my back… I’m thinkin’ it’s them stinkin’ renegades. Let’s get over there!”
The deepening dusk aided in their advance, but it limited their sight. Good and bad. They had seen three men in those rocks, and Buck and the two Lancer men added up, but they couldn’t take the chance it was them and not the enemy.
Sam Wade and Tom McKay left their horses and went on foot, closing the distance between them and the men that settled behind cover. The big question was, what were they waiting for?
Pedro Gonzales hunkered down between the boulders and resigned himself to a long wait. Would there be anyone to follow them? Madrid had many amigos, but time and unfortunate circumstances had a way of thinning out the odds. How long could men like them last? Perhaps no one would come to the rescue. That would be fine with Pedro. He had no desire to put his life on the line and die for someone like Madrid, the bastardo! Capitán Sanchez wanted the glory of being the one that brought Johnny Madrid to justice, yet the vision of finding Sanchez tied and cowering under a blanket, wearing nothing but underwear, made him laugh. The Capitán didn’t appear so gallant and important with his culata exposed for everyone to witness.
Pedro noted the positions of his amigos as they waited and watched. It wouldn’t do if they were shot by accident should any threat arrive.
It was like the old times. Sam and Tom covered the distance quickly, making it toward the rocks; it was almost dark, allowing the barest light to mark their passage, and then, they saw the Rurales waiting behind their cover. Yup, just like old times, and the same emotions boiled to the surface as they heard one of the three say to his soon-to-be-dead amigos, “That perro Madrid, he thinks he can outsmart us! Sanchez, sí; an idiota could fool him! Fool a fool!” And they laughed. It would be the last sound they ever made as Wade and McKay descended, knives in their hands, and took out the threat.
McKay huffed. “Ya know what, Sam? Them tracks we been followin’- they went more north- Buck an’ Johnny’s family’re prob’ly closer ta that camp an’ these lookouts already missed ‘em…” That thought made both men smile.
They left the bodies exposed; there was no time to bury them, besides, the vultures had to eat.
And then they heard in the distance a sound they’d heard many times before. Gunshots up ahead. Had Madrid’s time run out?
In the camp, not far away, reports of gunfire triggered icy tentacles that wrapped around his heart and forced it to seize, to skip a beat. Murdoch gasped as Scott and Buck jumped into action and quickly saddled their horses. Johnny… Stay alive!
“Let’s go get Johnny! Damn! Wish Wade was here…” Buck suddenly stopped and looked into the dark. A sound… The signal! Wade had made it!
“Buck, what’s wrong?” Scott, already mounted, impatiently waited as Colby looked into the night.
“Cavalry’s here! We got help!” He returned the whistle, and soon, two men rode into their camp. Murdoch and Scott reached for their Colts, not trusting the newcomers.
“It’s alright! They’re with us!” And with a smile that nearly split his face in two, Buck motioned Wade and McKay closer.
“Sam, Tom, this here’s Johnny’s family. Now let’s go see what kinda trouble he’s got himself in and get him the hell outta there!”
Rapidly fired shots had the child screaming, and nothing Jessica would do could stop the terror-filled cries.
The wails from the boy prompted recollections from another time, ugly times when riding through burned-out villages; those same chilling shrieks filled the air from orphans looking for their parents — parents they would never see again. Johnny’s belly began the familiar churn, and he fought against vomiting. But there wasn’t anything he could do. He’d struggled against the ropes that bound him securely, but they held fast. The only thing that began to loosen was the shredding skin on his wrists; the bruises on his chest and belly deepening.
Regret filled him; what could he, should he have done differently? If Jessica Truesdale had cooperated with his escape attempt, they would have gotten away and been at the border by now. Why had she fought him? But she had, and now they would die because of it.
Capitán Francisco Sanchez drew himself up, standing tall, and puffed out his chest. He was going to end the miserable life of the perro before him, shoot him down like the rabid, mangy cur that he was; he deserved no less. Though it was not how he planned the execution, he would maintain the notoriety of being the one that brought this enemy of Mexico to justice. He would be famous! It would have been better with a crowd to witness Madrid taking his last breath at the hands of the Capitán, but he would take what he could get; he had to be satisfied knowing that he had caused Madrid pain, however, the mental game had not worked as he hoped it would. The bastardo Madrid would not be intimidated.
Sanchez tossed his empty pistol away, held out his hand to the nearest soldier, and took the rifle from his grip. He made a show of checking the ammunition, sighting the weapon as he pointed it at Johnny’s head, then stopped and motioned to a guard.
“Get the woman. Thee thould be here… and thut that kid up!” Again, Sanchez pointed the rifle but couldn’t stop the shudder that sent prickles of ice into his brain as the blue eyes pierced into his soul.
It wouldn’t be long before the camp would explode into battle. Scott, determined to get to his brother, cat-footed just outside the perimeter of the camp and dispatched a guard in the process. Battle was ugly, and it sickened his gut to slit the man’s throat, but there was no other way, so he did what he had to do.
He stopped, not making a sound as another guard appeared, and went into the tent, coming out with Jessica Truesdale and her crying son. She struggled against the rough grip that held her as she tried to keep the grimy hands off her boy. Then Scott waited for the signal as his fear for Johnny and his nerves stretched to their limits. His hands were cold and sweating at the same time, and his heart hammered against his ribs as he waited agonizing, long seconds.
He wondered if the others had gotten into their places; What was taking so long?
Buck swore as Jessica was led into the light cast by the fire, and worse than that, the child was with her; she struggled to keep him quiet under the threatening glares from Sanchez. He hoped she had sense enough to duck when the shooting started. They needed to end this now while they still had the element of surprise.
Jessica stared wide-eyed around her, then stopped when she saw Johnny. Tied as a menace should be! She thrust her chin out, showing her contempt.
Johnny’s eyes narrowed, again wondering at her reasonings, but decided it was a little too late to consider them. If this were to be his last moments on earth, he would have liked for it to be a cause that appreciated his sacrifice, and this woman would just as soon see him dead. She was about to get her wish.
Buck noted where everyone was, their positions around the camp, and satisfied it was as good as it could be, he gave the signal.
“Theñor Madrid, you are going to die!” But the rifle Sanchez held took a blast, aimed with deadly accuracy by Scott, that knocked the weapon from his grasp. Sanchez screamed in pain as another bullet tore through his shoulder and left a large hole that spurted blood down the front of his shirt, then he crumpled to the ground.
Gunfire erupted from every angle as Scott raced to the tree and cut Johnny loose; he thrust a Colt in his brother’s hands, then began his assault on the renegades with a steady stream of bullets.
Tom McKay risked life and limb as he raced through the camp, running across open ground with no cover; he launched his body into the air and dove toward the woman and child, wrapped them in his arms, encircling them both, then hit the dirt and rolled with them, keeping his body over them, protecting them from the bullets that filled the air.
Men were falling; they were winning! Scott swept his eyes around the camp, peering into the darkness, daring any to come and fight like men, not cowards, taking women and children as hostages.
Johnny sagged, his legs struggling to hold his weight; he successfully took out two of Sanchez’s men before he hit the ground.
Murdoch’s heart thundered as Scott freed Johnny, then finding both sons on the opposite side of camp and alive, began to fire his rifle, finding his targets more often than not.
Buck covered them all, taking out the renegades, ensuring none got away. The plan, flimsy as it was, was working.
Johnny’s eyes caught the movement, then leveled the Colt at the man holding the rifle aimed in his face; once again, Poncho threatened Madrid. And once again, ol’ Poncho failed in his attempt to gain glory for relieving the world of the desperado Madrid. Johnny fired a split second before Poncho’s damaged gun flashed and exploded in his face, his shot wasted on Madrid. Capitán Sanchez’s body lay twitching uncontrollably as he felt the life drain from him, unable to call it back. Helpless. He would soon be dead… because of Madrid…
The firing ceased, shrouding the camp in deafening quiet as gun smoke hung in heavy, bluish clouds before dissipating into the chilly night air.
Though dizzy, Johnny forced himself to stand, refusing to show weakness as he stood over Sanchez. The burned face was unrecognizable, and blood bubbled out of the wound Johnny put in his throat.
Sanchez turned his fading sight on the man that stared down at him.
“Looks like ya lost again, Poncho.” Then Johnny turned and limped away; Sanchez sputtered as he cursed Johnny Madrid and the bitch that brought him into the world, then his life bled into the dirt.
“Get off of me!” Jessica railed. The man moved slowly away and left a trail of blood across her dress. “Get your hands off me!” Jessica held Joey, trying to comfort the boy; she suddenly screamed when she saw the blood! But it wasn’t Joey’s, and it wasn’t hers. “Look what you’ve done!”
Tom McKay couldn’t believe his ears. He’d just risked his life to save this woman and her kid, but all she could think about was blood on her soiled dress… the dress already in tatters and dirty beyond belief. He’d taken a bullet for her… And this was the woman that Madrid fought to rescue?
Murdoch hurried across the camp to his sons as Scott, with a strong hand, guided Johnny closer to the fire to tend him. The bruised face and pronounced limp dictated that help was needed, and Scott would do just that — he would tend to his brother.
Satisfied that Scott was in charge of Johnny, Murdoch hurried to Jessica Truesdale as Buck and Sam Wade rushed to Tom’s side. His shock at Jessica’s hostility shaded his face with more than a little concern.
“Mrs. Truesdale, are you alright?” he asked as the woman glared around her at the men that stormed into the camp.
She turned wide eyes on him, not sparing him her fiery glower. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Murdoch was taken aback. “I’m Murdoch Lancer. We are here to help get you home.”
Jessica exploded with rage. “You wouldn’t have needed to come for me if it hadn’t been for him!” She threw an accusing stare at Johnny, struggling to control his discomfort under Scott’s ministering.
It was a revelation that Murdoch had not considered. Jessica Truesdale blamed Johnny Madrid for her present situation.
“Young lady, I don’t think that you understand. Johnny put his life on the line…”
But Jessica wasn’t listening. “If it hadn’t been for Johnny Madrid, I wouldn’t be in this position!” She huffed her displeasure and stalked away to the tent that had recently been her jail cell.
Murdoch was stunned speechless. The woman didn’t want his help, so he turned to those that did. Reaching Johnny’s side, he hunkered down, offering his support to his sons.
“Johnny, are you alright?” Why did he ask? He knew what the answer would be. His son would say he was fine. Always, he was fine.
“Yeah, I’m …”
Both Scott and Murdoch said the word. “…fine!”
Johnny smiled. “So, how’d ya find me?” He looked from one Lancer to the other.
“The short of it is, after you left Joe’s ranch, Scott talked with one of the ranch hands, Manuel Ortega. He sent word to… Concha who, I don’t think she believed us when we told her we were family.”
Johnny chuckled. “Yeah, she’s kinda… protective of us,” and he nodded toward Buck and Sam, who were tending to Tom’s shoulder wound. If he was surprised at the presence of his amigos, he didn’t show it. But, damn! It’s good ta see ‘em!
“Yes. Well, she told us to wait, that she would get word to Buck, and he came to us. Apparently, Buck had gotten word to Sam and Tom. I’m very thankful for their help, and I am happy to know that Madrid had… has such good amigos!” Murdoch’s eyes sparkled, confirming the fact that he was accepting Madrid and his friends.
It was a strange, but a welcome flood of emotions washed over him; he’d never experienced that level of approval from Murdoch before. And though unfamiliar, it warmed Johnny in a way he’d not ever known. A father’s approval… and it felt good, more than just good.
It was as if someone had punched him between the eyes when he realized what was happening. He had a family, friends, and a home. And now he had trust. Could his life get any better? Trouble would always follow him, a result of his life as Madrid, and he’d always had amigos that were as close as family, but now he had it all.
“Alright, son, let’s see what damage has been done because I don’t believe for one minute that you are fine!”
Scott couldn’t control the bark of laughter that escaped as he handed Johnny the canteen, then began to check the leg wound.
Murdoch busied himself at cleaning Johnny’s face, then assessed the bruised ribs, and rope burns, then after an argument, which Johnny lost, the patriarch got him into a bedroll to rest, but not without a threat that he stayed down while the camp was rid of the dead.
It was a long night. The bodies were dragged out of camp, the fire stoked to produce enough heat and light to tend those needing medical attention; a light meal was prepared, and they all settled in to rest. Tomorrow would be longer still as they traveled back to Saguaro Ridge Ranch and the final confrontation with Joe and Philip Truesdale.
Eighteen men died needlessly for a cause that would glorify Capitán Sanchez’s desperate need to be the one responsible for the capture and execution of the notorious Johnny Madrid. And it was all for naught.
It wasn’t good sleep, but it was better than he’d gotten in the last two nights. The throb in his leg, ribs, and head persisted, and lying on the cold ground hadn’t helped, but after a few sips of laudanum-laced coffee, Johnny drifted off. Murdoch and Scott knew they would have to answer for their deception in the morning, but it would be worth the confrontation and had the support of Buck and Sam, with Tom suffering the same fate.
“Them two don’t know what’s good for ‘em,” Buck chuckled. “Always fight against takin’ that stuff.”
But Scott knew why. He’d had the conversation with Johnny before and now fully understood when Johnny relayed the facts of what happened in several instances when, after being given the opiate, he’d nearly met death as the effects left him incapable of defending himself. The lurid details were not only horrific in their accounting but convinced Scott that Johnny had more than sufficient reason for his apprehension and refusal to take the drug. But that was when Johnny was Madrid — and Scott physically jolted. He had to stop and rethink this situation through. As Scott looked around and recounted what had happened that day, it seemed that Johnny would always be Madrid. The only difference now was that Madrid had a brother and a father to watch his back. Would Madrid ever get used to that notion? Scott smiled as he watched his brother, Johnny Madrid, sleep.
Morning arrived in glorious splendor. The realization of the previous day flooded through them, leaving them empty thinking of the carnage but thankful for the outcome. The nighttime chill burned away, and the air immediately turned hot. A light meal was taken, then the group saddled up and left the camp.
Jessica Truesdale remained silent… silent and seething. Attempts made to see to her comfort, what little could be offered, were rebuffed, and what was meant as kind gestures were taken only if they benefited her boy.
Mid-day found them resting in the muted shade of ironwood trees. A stream provided much needed water. Sitting out the hottest part of the day and traveling when it cooled allowed them to make better time.
Scott handed his brother a cup of water and wondered at the look that emanated from Johnny’s eyes… until Johnny sniffed the ‘water’, then he knew the ‘why’ behind the look. Scott had the grace to blush.
“There’s nothing in the water… honest.”
Johnny’s sigh was heavy with disappointment. “Don’t do it again.” And that was it. No other words were necessary.
Tom McKay was doing well. The bullet had passed through his shoulder, leaving a bloody wound, but it wasn’t serious, other than a bit of blood loss. They’d been lucky, though none felt the need to discuss or press that point home with Jessica Truesdale. She was either sharp with her tongue or ignored any words spoken to her. And it was getting the best of Murdoch.
He would put an end to her ungrateful behavior before something happened as she pushed everyone in the camp beyond their control with her waspish condemnations. What right did she have to damn them for rescuing her and her boy?
Johnny offered her a plate of food, which she promptly threw at his feet, and Murdoch had had enough.
“There was no call for that, young lady! I don’t think you realize we are all here to help you…”
“Help me what, Mr. Lancer?” She leveled an accusing stare at Johnny, then continued. “What is he helping me to do? He murdered my father! He and his barbarian friends murdered my father and his men! So don’t you tell me that he is here to help me!”
Scott’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Johnny’s belly flipped over. His mind filled with questions, and he knew he was about to find all the answers.
“My father was an innocent man, but now he is dead! He will never meet his grandson because of him!” Jessica flung her arm and pointed an accusing finger at Johnny.
Murdoch was stunned, and he had to ask. “Who was your father, and why do you think Johnny was responsible for his death?”
Yesenia’s mind ran rampant, uncontrolled. She drew herself to full height, then proudly announced to all of the camp, assured they would agree in her view of the despicable Madrid.
“My father was General Javier Ruiz of the honorable Army of Mexico!” Little Joey began to cry at the raised voice, sensing his mother’s distress.
As if controlled by one brain, four heads snapped to attention and stared in disbelief. Johnny Madrid Lancer, Buck Colby, Sam Wade, and Tom McKay felt the cold hatred take hold and clutch their hearts. Buck shot to his feet and approached the woman, dwarfing her as he neared.
Although suffering in the heat, Johnny felt the shock; it was as if he’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. “It was you, wasn’t it? You told the Rurales that your husband’s family knew the Lancers… didn’t you?”
“YES! I did, and I’m happy that I did! I’d do it again! You’re a murderer!” Then she turned, with her son in her arms, and ran down the stream bank.
“Wait!” Murdoch wanted to follow until he heard Johnny call out.
“Let her go, Murdoch! Let her go! She ain’t gonna listen ta anything ya say.”
Turning back, Murdoch took in the haunted looks on the faces of Johnny and his friends; would more horrific atrocities be revealed? His gut churned when he thought about Johnny’s earlier life. It was something he didn’t like to dwell upon, yet found himself pulled in trying to know his son, to know his past.
Scott moved beside his brother, offering what support he could. He knew he wouldn’t ask any questions. If Johnny wanted to talk, he would listen but never ask… ever.
Buck stood, fury in his eyes, then Murdoch stooped next to Johnny. “What happened, son?”
Johnny bowed his head; there were no words of explanation — there were no words of anything.
Her temper raged as she stumbled along, struggling to keep her balance with Joey in her arms. She wanted to scream! How many times could that murderer escape the punishment he had coming? Jessica seethed as thoughts of Madrid assaulted her mind. Her father, General Javier Ruiz, had given his life for his country, and due to Madrid’s constant raids, her father died. She laid the fault squarely on Johnny’s shoulders and would make sure he would pay for what he’d taken from her and her son.
Jessica fisted her hands in frustration as she wondered what had gone wrong — why had she and Joey been taken hostage? She had notified her father’s successors of the opportunity to capture Johnny Madrid, which resulted in her capture. Why had that happened?
Once again, the opportunity to apprehend Madrid had failed. The only positive thing was that she would go home to Philip; he would understand her reasoning and support her.
It had been a long and tiring afternoon of hard travel. Jessica had refused help with Joey, rejecting the offers to hold the boy and give her a brief respite. Malicious glares warned them away, successfully eliminating any further consideration for her and, unfortunately, Joey. For the rest of the day, they left her to struggle alone.
It was nearly midnight when they stopped for a few hours of rest. Jessica had nearly fallen out of the saddle with exhaustion, and Johnny and Tom needed sleep; both men stubbornly fought their misery as they forced themselves to ride and not ask for help. Scott scouted for an appropriate site and soon found a spot protected from wind with water nearby. They quickly set up camp, allowing Jessica a space apart from the rest. No one would argue with her; ignoring Jessica was easier than challenging her reasoning.
The fire began to throw heat, and they settled in, each lost in their own thoughts. Scott had yet to calm his fraying nerves when he recalled that afternoon and Jessica’s cruel accusations about his brother. Though he didn’t believe the ugly and brutal attack on Madrid for one minute, he did wonder what had happened. If Johnny chose to tell him, he would gladly listen, but for now, they all sought whatever comfort they could find in the cool of the night.
Johnny wasn’t sleeping. Murdoch watched his son staring into the flames; he knew something was troubling him, but Johnny would never volunteer to talk things out, instead wanting to tuck them into that secret, private place where they would remain hidden and perhaps fade away. But the father in him wanted nothing more than to help, and he risked the chance.
Slowly, quietly, Murdoch sat by his son’s side; Johnny knew he was there but offered no acknowledgment of his presence. And now that he was there, Murdoch didn’t know how to proceed. But Johnny made that decision for him when he began to talk.
His voice was low, not wanting to disturb anyone lucky enough to find sleep this night; the words began, and Johnny didn’t know why or where they were coming from, but it was a relief to get them out — out of his mind, and hopefully, those memories would leave his heart alone.
“Came across it by accident. The trail they left, hell, a blind man coulda followed. I knew the Rurales were around, an’ I don’t know why I followed that trail, but it felt… wrong. Somethin’ was wrong. Mierda, I was alone — what did I think I was gonna do by myself against all of them?” Johnny sighed until the catch in his ribs halted the motion, then continued. “Ahead was a village, or what was left of it. Everything was burned. Those bastards attacked an innocent village, there wasn’t many left alive, only the padre an’ a few orphans, an’ the padre was wounded, his arm shattered by a bullet, but he was out there, carin’ for those k-kids.”
Johnny’s grief-stricken words stuck in his throat; Murdoch fought the urge to pull Johnny into his arms, afraid he would interrupt the horrific tale; he also knew the telling would help to purge the nightmare from his son’s mind. So, he kept quiet and let Johnny talk.
“There wasn’t much I could do except ta help bury the dead. He wouldn’t let me tend his arm, said others needed me more. He was goin’ inta shock but refused my help. He was gonna die but refused help, hopin’ ta save the kids.
“There was a little girl about the same age as Joey; she was hurt — probably a concussion thinkin’ back on it. I picked her up; she was so scared she was shakin’ an’ cryin’ — an’ once she got holda me, she wouldn’t let go; she never said a word, the only sounds she made were whimpers an’ her cryin’. Her arms wrapped around me an’… held on with the little strength she had left, for hours we sat like that, then… she just… just stopped breathin’ an’ was gone. I couldn’t put her down… held her an’ rocked her the rest of the night. She’d… she had my shirt fisted in her hands, an’ when I finally laid her down, my shirt almost ripped tryin’ ta loosen her fingers… That nightmare’ll be with me till the day I die.”
Murdoch’s heart broke hearing of the incident. The vicious, uncaring events of the Mexican soldiers were things of nightmares and Hell. How dare Jessica condemn Johnny when it was her father that caused the unforgivable!
Scott lay awake; not meaning to eavesdrop, he couldn’t help but hear his brother’s agonizing account; he held his breath as the sob threatened to tear from his soul — he knew, he had been in that place… helping someone to die, and not leave them alone to face it. And lying in his bedroll, Scott Garrett Lancer fought as he’d never fought before to control those memories, those hideous visions that would plague him during the darkest hours of the night. He wanted to reach his brother and tell him he wasn’t alone. Then he heard Johnny finish the tragic account.
“It wasn’t till later the priest told me it was Ruiz and his men responsible for the attack, an’ by then, they were so far ahead of me, I couldn’t have caught up with ‘em if my horse had wings. But I heard later that the next village they came across was ready for ‘em. The village had more’n just orphans an’ old priests ta protect ‘em. But that was one battle I wish I’d been there ta fight, cuz I woulda made him pay for what he did.” Johnny took a deep breath. He shifted his position and was too late to control the groan that escaped as fiery pain erupted in his leg.
But Murdoch listened without interrupting. He heard Johnny’s words — he heard the agony in those words. Words of helplessness, but that’s what Madrid did… he helped those in need. Murdoch Lancer had never felt so heartbroken for Johnny as he did at that moment… nor had he ever felt as proud of his son.
Murdoch’s hands felt cold. Jessica should have been there to hear, but he was sure she would have disregarded it and thought Johnny to have lied. He couldn’t help but voice his thoughts. “I only wish Jessica could have heard what you just told me…”
“Hell, Murdoch, she doesn’t know what happened. Her family was lied to, just like the Mexican government lied about it bein’ my fault that Ruiz was dead. She just doesn’t know the truth. Leave her be. Nothin’ you say is gonna change what she thinks now. I bet she ain’t even thinkin’ about the Rurales kidnappin’ her and her baby. All her loyalties just got thrown back in her face, an’ she don’t even know it. All she wanted was ta help the Rurales get Madrid, and it hasn’t hit her yet that she was put in danger because of somethin’ that she did. It’s the easy way out, blamin’ someone else for somethin’ that was her own fault.” Johnny shrugged. “Why didn’t they ask me, Murdoch? All Joe an’ Philip had ta do was ask, an’ I woulda helped them get her an’ the kid back. Just ask…”
“Yes, a bit of honesty would have gone a long way. But before we leave Joe, I’m going to tell him he was wrong… so very wrong. I thought he was my friend…”
Johnny visibly flinched. Murdoch had lost a friend because of Madrid. “Murdoch, do you regret callin’ me home? It doesn’t seem right that ya lost a friend because of Madrid.”
Murdoch turned a sharp eye on Johnny. “No, Johnny, I do not regret calling you home; I never have. And if Joe was truly a friend, he would have come to me and asked for help, not lure us into a trap! No, my son, I’ll never regret calling you home!” And then Murdoch did take Johnny into the circle of his arms. He held him tight and let his tears fall in his son’s hair.
Scott fought back the tears. His heart hammered against his ribs. Oh, brother, we need to talk!
Scott listened in silence; with eyes tightly shut and trying to close out those memories that haunted the nights, he breathed deep and held it as he listened to his brother’s heartbreaking account of his time in the village torn apart by merciless Rurale troops. And Scott Garrett Lancer knew the atrocities that Johnny faced when encountering those left behind by war. Scott faced the exact nightmare while fighting and held prisoner in Libby. Though coming from two different worlds, raised on opposite ends of the social spectrum, the Lancer brothers had much in common.
Morning found them enjoying one last cup of coffee before moving out. Today they would be back at Saguaro Ridge and confront Joe Truesdale. Though sad, no, more disappointed with Joe’s betrayal, Murdoch was anxious for this trip to be over and get back to Lancer. Lancer! The thought pulled at his heart, and at this moment, Murdoch doubted that he would ever leave it again! Not if this trip was any indication of what would happen or how it would turn out!
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard laughter from the men sitting around the fire.
“Yeah, Johnny, ya shoulda seen ol’ Tom when I told him ‘bout coming after you. When I found him, he was in the cantina, a lapful of the prettiest little brunette ya ever did see! Whisperin’ in her ear an’ her wigglin’ on his lap. Ha, it woulda brought a blush ta yer face watchin’ ‘em carryin’ on like they was. She was really enjoyin’ herself till I told him I was goin’ after you! Well, he all but dumped her on the floor an’ couldn’t wait ta leave…”
Johnny began to laugh as tensions were released; the more he laughed, the more he wanted to laugh, but the bruising, still too painful to weather the storm of uncontrolled tomfoolery, objected and reduced Johnny to gasp in pain. “Don’t… make me laugh!” And he fought the wince that tugged his mouth. But the picture burned in his brain of Tom nearly dumping a pretty girl on the floor was just too funny to ignore.
The merriment ended, and they saddled up for the last leg of the journey. No one was sorry to be rid of Jessica Truesdale. No one.
Scott stayed close to Johnny, lending support both physically and mentally, knowing their past linked them together, not only by blood but an experience that no one would understand if they had not lived through the same. No one could know unless they had lived it, seen it, smelled it, or touched the things that Scott and Johnny had during their time fighting against tyranny and cruelty. Scott knew just as Johnny knew; they had much in common.
It had not come soon enough. The gate to Saguaro Ridge stood before them; it was a relief, yet it signaled an ending as Murdoch knew in his heart it would take time to forgive Joe for what he’d done to the Lancer family if he could find it in his heart to forgive. The man willingly sacrificed Johnny without a second thought, and that was beyond Murdoch’s scope to forgive.
As the weary, travel-worn party walked their mounts under the gate, Jessica kicked her horse into a gallop, leaving the rest behind to battle the dust raised by the thundering hooves.
In the distance, Scott and Murdoch watched the joyful reunion play out, a touching scene for one family shadowed by betrayal and deceit for another. Scott wanted nothing more than to have another go at Philip, but he held his temper, deciding to let Johnny determine how they would confront the problem. He had all the faith in the world in Johnny; sometimes, the most powerful revenge was had with the least words or action, and Madrid was a master at delivering what needed to be said. It was Madrid at his best; both Scott and Murdoch were beginning to understand who that man was and were proud to know him.
Jessica wanted to be rid of these people, the ones who supported a murderer, but Philip held her tightly, unwilling to release her after weeks of wondering if he would ever hold her again in his arms. He smothered Joey with kisses as the boy, overjoyed to be with his father, giggled and squealed with the attention.
Joe Truesdale stood waiting for the confrontation he knew was coming… and deserved.
Six men stopped, side by side, before the Truesdale’s, and Joe offered the best he could.
“Murdoch, I’m glad to see you found Johnny…”
“Tell that to Johnny, Joe, not me.”
What else could he do? Joe turned sad eyes on Murdoch’s younger son; with the hat pulled down, covering much of his face, Joe knew by the expression that this would not end well. He also saw that Johnny had received a beating, and judging by the bandage wrapped around his leg, there were other wounds as well.
“I’m sorry, Johnny…”
“Save it, Truesdale, but tell me one thing.” Johnny waited a moment before asking the question he’d asked himself a thousand times, but for which he had no answer. “Why didn’t ya ask for help insteada lyin’ ta Murdoch?”
“I was… afraid.” It was that simple.
“Well, your bein’ afraid nearly got us all killed. Think about that before ya do anything this stupid again.” The words were silk, caressing ears in honey-velvet tones, but the meaning cut through the hide of his brain with the power of a Bowie knife.
Philip aggressively stepped forward ready to defend his father, but Scott nudged his horse forward and effectively cut him off, putting him and the mount between Johnny and Philip.
Joe hung his head in shame, then raised it to look into Johnny’s hooded eyes. “What happened?”
Johnny waited before he answered, all the while keeping Joe impaled with his stare. Nodding at Jessica, he said, “Ask her,” then turned his horse and rode away from the Saguaro Ridge Ranch. The other five men followed, ignoring Joe’s pleas to stay the night and begging for a chance to redeem himself.
Although Murdoch wanted to get Johnny and McKay medical attention, he bluntly refused. With a final cold remark that Truesdale’s horses would be left in Tucson, Murdoch, Scott, Buck, Sam Wade, and Tom McKay, with arm in a sling, turned their backs and rode after Johnny.
Joe stood there watching as his friend of many years rode away. What had he done besides lie and deceive? He would ask Jessica what happened but had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like or appreciate her answer.
They would send for Teresa in the morning; it was too late when they arrived in Tucson, and the Cannon Ranch was far enough away to go after her that night, so the decision to wait was made.
Murdoch watched the men around the table as they retold outrageous tales of misspent youth, and it seemed that they accepted him as one of their own, but he was certain the tales they told were… tamed to suit him. Was he appreciative of the effort? Maybe, but he was finally getting to know the facets of Johnny Madrid that, until now, were a mystery.
Scott was accepted and welcomed into their brotherhood, as brothers they surely were, though not of blood. Sometimes those bonds went deeper than blood, and Murdoch knew that Madrid did have a family to watch his back, to help him through rough times before he came to Lancer. And he couldn’t help the smile that tugged the corners of his mouth.
Boisterous laughter jarred him from his reverie, and he chuckled as his sons and their friends laughed. But suddenly, it went quiet when Johnny posed a question.
“What about it, you three need a job? Lancer’s hirin’.”
Beers stopped halfway to open mouths; eyes widened, and you could have heard the proverbial pin drop.
J-job? Like in work?” Tom sputtered.
“Yeah, about time ya settled down an’ left this kind of work for the younger guys,” Johnny said with a serious look as if attempting to straighten them out and steer them toward the right path. But Johnny couldn’t hold back the grin, and Buck, Sam, and Tom howled with mirth and pelted Johnny with the spent lime peels piled in the center of the table.
The Boston-bred Scott was having the time of his life, knowing he was now one of them and trusted. He felt honored and accepted as part of his brother’s life.
And Murdoch couldn’t have been prouder.
It was a cool night; the stars shimmered in the velvet sky, and the moon cast its glow over the land. It was good to be home. Spending time with old amigos was always a good thing, reminiscing over old times, but Johnny knew Lancer was where he wanted to be. He smiled as he remembered how Buck, Sam, and Tom accepted Scott — for some reason, it meant more than Johnny could say; there were no words to describe what he felt, but he just… did. Having them take to Scott as they did, well, it was important to him. Brothers — they were brothers.
Footfalls behind him told him he was not alone as Scott approached, undoubtedly with the after-dinner drink in hand, and Johnny hoped he brought one for him as well. This was their first night back at Lancer; their dinner had been a celebration, a celebration of family, and they all sensed a connection that was not present before the trip to Arizona and the ‘visit’ to Saguaro Ridge Rach Though it was two years since Scott and Johnny came home, it had never felt so much like family as it did now that they were home. Why was that? Johnny wondered.
“I saw you leave without a drink, brother, so I viewed it as my duty to ensure your evening was complete!”
Johnny pinned Scott with a stare, contemplating his answer, then shook his head and accepted the libation. “Hey, thanks, Boston! I think I’ll keep ya around!” Johnny snickered and accepted the glass of tequila. After a contented smile, Johnny offered his personal musings.
“Feels good ta be home, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Johnny, it certainly does!” Scott sipped the Talisker’s, then turned to his brother. “How long have you known Buck and the rest?”
“It feels like a lifetime. Been through a lot tagether. Saved each other’s bacon more times’n any of us can count. They’re good men; I trust ‘em with my life.”
Scott smiled again. “So do I, Johnny. It didn’t take long to know they’re good men. I know Murdoch likes them, too.”
At the comment, Johnny turned to face his brother, a smile threatened, its beginnings held back just in case he’d not heard correctly. “Did you say that Murdoch likes them?” It came as a shock, knowing his father wasn’t fond of anything connected to Madrid. Maybe this trip wasn’t all bad…
“Yes, that’s what I said. There’s nothing wrong with your ears, brother,” Scott joked, then he grew serious, knowing it was time to say what he wanted and let Johnny know he knew what Johnny felt. He’d been there, too, and now he needed to get it off his chest and chase the nightmares away. “When I was in Libby, death was a constant companion. There wasn’t a day that went by that someone didn’t die a horrific death. Starvation, gangrene, murder… It was every day. It was… normal.” The baritone words were soft in the still of the dark night. Scott paused, unsure why he needed to talk this out, but he knew Johnny would understand. If anyone could, it was Johnny.
Johnny recognized the need in his brother’s words. Scott needed this just as he, Johnny, needed to talk that night with Murdoch; he could only hope that his part as a listener would help Scott as Murdoch’s role had helped him.
“There was a kid brought in one day; he couldn’t have been more than sixteen — too young to be in a war; maybe it was the look in his eyes that made him appear so fragile, so helpless. He was wounded, scared and he wasn’t going to make it. You get to know who would be there in the morning and who wouldn’t. After watching death for so long, seeing it every day as they carried the dead only to fill those empty places with more prisoners, you learn to read the signs.”
It was as if Scott had penetrated Johnny’s mind and described in perfect detail the happenings in the Mexican prison…
“This kid was slipping away so quickly, and I thought he would have more time, but it was a blessing that he didn’t. He called out for his mother. It might sound strange, but I think, in his mind, he saw her as I sat by his side. He smiled, grasped my hand, and thanked her for everything she’d given him, and the sacrifices a mother makes for her son. He turned to me but saw her. It was a… comfort for him, and it made me sad but happy he found peace in it. As his sight began to fade, he stared into the night and asked me to stay with him until daylight, until he could see. He didn’t want to be alone in the dark. And I held his hand until it went cold. I know how you felt, Johnny. That boy’s face haunts me to this day.”
What was there to say? Scott knew exactly what he felt, how he felt. Mierda, life was hard sometimes. But he shook those troubling sentiments away. Oh, life was still rough at times, it always would be, but they knew each other’s darkest thoughts — the nightmares that plagued them into sweaty, white-knuckled, and fist-clenching fits, and now they knew that the other understood… understood everything.
Johnny nudged Scott’s shoulder — a brotherly gesture given in support. He realized that Scott heard what he told Murdoch that night at the campfire before returning to Joe Truesdale’s ranch. It had helped Johnny to talk about what had happened, and he hoped Scott found peace in his telling, as well. Talking things out did help, and that was only one thing that families did for each other. He was certain there would be more conversations in the future, but this was a good start.
“Did it help, Scott, talkin’ it out, instead pushin’ in the back of your mind?”
There was a slight hesitation, then Scott turned and smiled. “Yes, I think it did.”
They both smiled again. “I think we’ll be having more of these talks, brother.”
Johnny softly laughed. “Yeah, Boston, I reckon we will… I reckon we will.”
Had the curtain been lifted? Scott didn’t know, but it did feel right. Johnny understood.
Then he smiled. “Hey, do you think we’ll be seeing Buck, Sam, and Tom anytime soon? I’d like to hear more stories, maybe this time without Murdoch there. I have a feeling they were rather… tame because he was with us?”
Johnny exploded in laughter. “Yeah, Boston, they were the tamed-down version! Hey, when ya see again an’ the ol’ man ain’t around, ask about the time we spent in that bordello in Santa Fe!” He threw his arm across Scott’s shoulders, and the brothers left for the comfort of the hacienda.
End
April 2023
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PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT
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What an adventure for the whole Lancer family. Once again, betrayal from an old friend of Murdoch’s puts Johnny’s life on the line. The tension in this one kept me wanting to read faster, and I worried that Johnny might not be safe from retaliation even after the rescue, not with Jessica Trusdale’s misplaced loyalties. I loved this part, ‘What was there to say? Scott knew exactly what he felt, how he felt. Mierda, life was hard sometimes. But he shook those troubling sentiments away. Oh, life was still rough at times, it always would be, but they knew each other’s darkest thoughts.’ I love the relationship between Johnny and Scott. You spell out a remarkable strength of it in those sentences. I really enjoyed reading this story.
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Thank you, Sherry, for the great feedback! When this story began, I had no idea where it was going; it was nearly half-written when the thought struck me of having Jessica play the part she did. I love exploring the brother relationship. Both Scott and Johnny are strong and interesting characters, so you can’t go wrong writing a brother adventure!
Thanks for reading and sending feedback.
Diana
Buckskin
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Buckskin,
Great story with a wild twist having the kidnap victim be the snitch who brought the Lancers to the Ranch. Loved some of your lines especially this one about the experience of riding in a stagecoach for over 700 miles. “How his son could sleep while tossed about inside of the coach like popcorn dancing in a hot pan was beyond him. ”
Another rich exciting adventure story – keep writing – you only get better.
Cathie
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Hi, Cathie! Having Jessica as the heavy was a surprise to me, too. It wasn’t in the plans for that to happen. I never know where a story will take me. Glad you liked this one and thank you for reading and the feedback. It is appreciated!
Diana
Buckskin
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Awesome story! Absolutely loved it. Will definitely go on my list of favorites.
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Thank you, Carolyn, for reading and the feedback. It was fun to write as the whole family was affected by the breach of trust by the Truesdale family.
Thank you again!
Diana
Buckskin
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I really enjoyed this story. It was adventurous and exciting. I liked the twist of Jessica being the cause of it all. I especially liked the family interactions, the realization of the importance the family members place in each other, the new found trust coming into full blossom and their bonds being so strengthened by the ordeal. Great story. Thank you
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Thank you, Jude, I’m very happy you liked this Lancer tale. Watching the Lancer family come together as adults, and not growing together as children and parents, creates a different dynamic, so it was important to show, whether with words or actions, the ties that began to form between them. Thanks again for reading and the feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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I really enjoyed this, Diana. I galloped through it, eager to find out how Madrid managed this one. So glad his friends were there for him, and that his family was, too. Great job making Jessica the snitch, and helping Murdoch come to terms with his son’s heroism.
Thank you!
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Hi, Terri! Glad you liked this tale Yeah, Murdoch needed to know that Madrid was a good and honorable person, not the heartless killer of those penny dreadfuls. The betrayal by Joe and his family hit Murdoch hard as he came so close to losing Johnny. Thank you for reading and letting me know you enjoyed this tale!
Diana
Buckskin
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Wauw, this was a great story. It was hard to stop reading because I wanted to know if Johnny would be all right. It was also nice to see that the special bond between the brothers was now even stronger.
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Hi, Caterina! Yes, I love the growing bond between Johnny and Scott. They were great characters and it’s fun to create different situations and see where they will take them! Glad you liked this Lancer tale, and thank you for reading and commenting! I appreciate it.
Diana
Buckskin
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Great job with this one, Diana! It was action packed throughout and you covered a myriad of emotions and glimpses of the past and present. Poor Murdoch. He doesn’t have much luck with his friends. Thankfully Johnny’s are a rock sold bunch and they jumped into action when called upon. I loved Johnny’s kidnap of the captain and it was a great twist that it was Jessica who was the one responsible. I didn’t like her but I liked that she remained true to what she believed in – sometimes no matter the evidence in front of you, you believe what you want to.
It was lovely to see the closeness deepening between brothers and with Murdoch and Johnny.
I really enjoyed this – thanks for the entertaining read!
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Hi, Sam! Glad you liked this tale of betrayal. Yeah, Murdoch got hit hard finding out his friends had deceived them, and the situation with Johnny. Discovery that Madrid had friends that would stop at nothing to help was a shock to him. Jessica’s dedication to the ideas she believed in could have been admirable- if they were true. Too bad she didn’t what had really happened.
Thank you for reading and commenting!
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, another wonderful story. I really liked that Jessica didn’t want to get rescued. Then to find out she was the cause of it all! Lovely twist. As usual, I remain envious of your vivid descriptions of the settings
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Hi, RonD! What a nice thing to say! Thank you so much! Yes, that twist came as a surprise to me, too! I had no idea where the story would take me, and suddenly, there I was!
Thank you for reading and sending feedback!
Diana
Buckskin
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Many thanks for writing and sharing yet another great story. Please keep up the good work.
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Hi, Helen! Glad you liked this Lancer tale and thank you for reading and commenting. I’ll keep writing if you keep reading!
Diana
Buckskin
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Great story! Couldn’t stop reading because it was the perfect blend of adventure and sentiment. Thank you for sharing
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Hey there, Carol! I’m happy you liked this tale. The entire family was betrayed and dealt with it ‘Lancer-Style’! Thank you for reading and commenting!
Dana
Buckskin
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Really liked your story. Although I thought there should have been some kind of consequence for Jessica. Good to see that Murdoch liked Johnny’s friends.
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Hi, Lesley. I debated how to handle the situation with Jessica, and I couldn’t see Johnny pressing charges, although, at that particular time, I don’t know what the charges would have been. I can’t see Johnny wanting revenge on a young mother, not to mention the daughter-in-law of a friend of Murdoch’s. Maybe I’m wrong, but leaving her to explain to her family what she had done and giving them all the chilling Madrid look, seemed (to me) how he would handle it. Sometimes doing the least is better.
Thanks for reading and commenting. Sorry this is so late! It slipped past me!
Diana
Buckskin
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Hey Dana,
You did a remarkable job with this story, kept me involved the entire way through it. Just the utter betrayal of an old friend and all due to a selfish woman; so much hurt to an innocent man.
The best part was Murdoch finding out who Johnny Madrid really was and is… a good and honorable man.
Loved the three amigos coming to the rescue. Maybe a sequel with them coming for a visit and sharing some more Madrid adventures.
Elin
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Hi Elin and thank you for your compliment. I’m glad you liked this tale. Well, if Murdoch didn’t know before that Johnny was a good man, he did after Johnny was rescued. And he found out just how much of a friend Joe Truesdale was… or wasn’t. Maybe if I can convince my lazy muse to get to work, another story will be written, but who knows?
Thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate it!
Diana
Buckskin
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What a terrific story! You do such a good job of drawing the reader into the moment, the emotions – Murdoch realizing his friend’s betrayal, Scott’s iron determination to rescue his brother and exact revenge. All of Johnny’s hurt, physical and emotional. And the brothers’ sharing things only they could comprehend and could never speak of. I can’t understand what they experienced, but being married to a fighter pilot, I understand the not talking and the toll it takes. Thanks for a fantastic story.
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Thank you, zoeytbear, for the great feedback. Murdoch really paid the price in this story, first with Joe’s betrayal, then the wondering if Johnny had been captured by the Rurales and the subsequent rescue. Scott paid the price here as well, and of course, Johnny did. If Joe and Philip had only asked for Johnny’s help, but if they had, there wouldn’t have been a story… Hmmm. I have a favor to ask of you, please. Would you thank your husband for his service to this country for me? The brave souls in our military have my undying gratitude, and I am thankful for each and every one. Thank you.
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, I appreciate your comments more than you can know and will pass on your thanks. A few weeks ago, we were visiting my father’s grave at Jefferson Barracks and my husband also spent a few minutes with a squadron mate who was shot down – who never had the chance for a family and a life. There is no way to repay that sacrifice, but people like you remember. Thanks.
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I love the stories that stay true to the series characters. Great story that was hard to put down until the end.
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Thank you, Anne. I’m happy this story held your interest, and thank you so much for letting me know!
Diana
Buckskin
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I knew this was going to be a great story when the Lancers started out in a stagecoach with a lady whose hat feathers were poking into Scott’s ear and Murdoch was afraid Johnny might shoot at “the offending critter” in her hat. I loved this story from beginning to end-thank you for sharing it with us.
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Hi, Debra! I’m so happy you liked this story. Yeah, poor Murdoch never knew what would happen sitting in a cramped stage with his sons. Thank you for reading and commenting!
Diana
Buckskin
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Loved this one all the way through – great story to show the value and strength of family and friendship – that family isn’t always blood, but those who are there when you need them. Those who can understand and support and trust that you can give the same back. Jessica trusted her father’s morality, and that of those he served with – and paid the price (and so did little innocent Joey!). Joe trusted the Rurales to be honorable, and failed to trust that Murdoch could be a true friend, and paid the price. Johnny trusted his friends who came through for him, as he had for them – and gained their deeper friendship, Murdoch trusted in Johnny Madrid’s friends, and won a richer understanding of his son and his earlier life, leading to a deeper relationship and trust between them. Scott did the same and won, not only some new friends who accepted him for himself, not as Scott Garrett Lancer, and also help with the horrors in his own past, and that wonderful last conversation between Scott & Johnny, which will stay with me.
(Oh, and I’d love to meet Buck, Sam & Tom again – and how did the Cannnons met Murdoch? I’d love to see a fic with huge Murdoch, Big John and rest. )
Thanks for writing and sharing
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Oh, my gosh! I am so ashamed, Cornish Tam! I just found this response to my story – How did I miss it??? Thank you so much for this glowing comment, again, I’m so sorry I overlooked it!
Everyone gained in this story, except for Jessica. Hatred is a curse that will follow her for the rest of her life. Old Joe gained a bit of knowledge, albeit the hard way, but he lost Murdoch’s respect.
Buck, Sam, and Tom have been in past stories and will probably make other appearances from time to time.
I’m so sorry this one fell through the proverbial cracks!
Diana
Buckskin
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This is a really great read and for sure I will be reading it again. Thanks for sharing and keeping Lancer land alive. JML always ♥️
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Hi, Ruby! Thank you so much for reading and commenting. Glad you found this story entertaining. I’ll do my best to keep Lancer alive with more stories!
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I love all the stories! Please keep them coming! If someone knows more blogs with stories – let me know about them. Thank you!
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Happy reading, Tanja!
Diana
Buckskin
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