A Lost and Lonely Man by SandySha

Word Count 4315

* I don’t own them.  ** A/R story inspired by the song “They Call the Wind Maria (Mariah)” from the movie ‘Paint Your Wagon’ written by Alan J. Lerner.    Correct spelling is Maria ** The story picture was taken on the set of Lancer by Gene Trindl while James Stacy was between filming on an episode.  Cathie Flynn painted it. ** Thanks to Alice Marie, Susan, and Diana for the beta

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‘A lost and lonely man without a star to guide me.’

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Lowering his head against the wrath of the wind, the lone rider urged his horse forward; his muttered words lost in the tempest. 

“Dios, make it stop.  Por favor, make the wind stop.”     

He thought he knew all the sounds of the wind.  There was the long, low soft sigh it made as it blew across the desert, or the way it whispered through the trees with leaves rustling overhead, or the way the wind made a telegraph wire sing.  He’d heard it blowing through willows sounding like the gentle flute of the shaman and through pines sounding like a sweet violin.    He’d listened to the wind whistle through mountain peaks and watched as it pushed clouds around.

He thought he’d heard them all, but he’d been wrong.   The relentless, high pitched howling, he heard now was more than his mind and soul could bear.  It was as if the hounds of hell were seeking him out, threatening to tear him to pieces.

On the trail for days, the rider was trying to get back home.  A home he should never have left in the first place and one that seemed a million miles away.  He felt so alone, so very alone.  It was as if even God had abandoned him, and maybe he had.  Maybe his sins had caught up with him.  Was this his punishment, to die here with the low clouds smothering him, lost and alone, never to see home again?

Stopping, he raised his face to the heavens, letting the blast bite his skin.  Overhead, the clouds flew like demons were chasing them.  To the west, blacker clouds were forming, moving down the side of the mountain.  

“Dios, por favor, help me.  Make the wind stop.  Help me to get home.”

With the prayer said and unanswered, the rider lowered his head again, giving the horse a slight kick.  The horse’s golden head bowed against the never-ending gusts and moved forward.

********

An argument.  A stupid, petty argument over … he couldn’t even remember now.  It had been only a few months, but he couldn’t remember.  It didn’t matter any longer.  Nothing mattered except getting home.

That day four months ago wasn’t the first time he’d ridden away.  Once before he’d left with Wes, but he’d gone back.  Even after the hurtful words his father used trying to save him from the Strikers, he’d stayed.

But the arguments never stopped, and the hurt never really went away.  No matter what he did, it was never right or enough.  There was never going to be anything he could do to make the old man proud of him.   He’d sealed his fate on that account long before coming to Lancer; long before using the name Johnny Lancer or becoming a partner in the ranch. 

The one word that Murdoch Lancer couldn’t live with drove a wedge between them.   Madrid.   Murdoch couldn’t accept Madrid and Johnny couldn’t let him go.   

When he rode away that day, he’d been angry.  Swearing to God above, he’d never go back. 

What had he told his brother when he’d left with Wes?  “I gotta lot of places to go before they box me in.”   That’s how he felt as he tied his saddlebags on the back of Barranca and swung into the saddle.

Four months.  Had it only been four months?  It seemed like a lifetime.

What were the words he’d used?

“I’m done, old man.  I’m tired of trying to please you; of trying to make you proud of me for something; anything.  You’ve got one son you can be proud of, a son that does everything right. You don’t need me.”

He left without saying goodbye to Scott or Teresa or anyone else.  He’d never forget the look on Murdoch’s face as he stomped down the stairs with his saddlebags and rifle.  Hesitating a moment, he gave his father one last angry look before slamming the front door behind him.

He headed south, stopping in Green River to say goodbye to Val, but Val wasn’t in town.  Not wanting to wait, he left Val a note saying he’d be in touch, but he hadn’t stayed in touch. 

When he got to San Diego, he turned east, skirting the border.   He was careful not to cross into Mexico, where he was still a wanted man.  The last thing Johnny needed was to end up back in the hands of the Rurales.  He knew he couldn’t count on Murdoch Lancer to save him a second time.

The first place he stopped for any length of time was Yuma.  He found out soon enough, the name Madrid hadn’t been forgotten in the border towns.  Three days and two gunfights later, he left Yuma, still moving east. 

His plans to stop over in Paloma, in the Arizona Territory, hadn’t worked out.  He was in town only an hour before he was recognized and called out.  The kid he killed in Paloma couldn’t have been older than 17.  He tried to talk him out of the dance, but the boy wouldn’t hear a word of it.   When the gunfight was over, Johnny mounted up and rode on.

There were a lot of lonely nights under the stars thinking.  The reason he’d wanted to get out of the game in the first place was that he was tired of the life.  Knowing he would end up in an early grave, he’d jumped at the chance the old man offered him.

But Murdoch’s offer meant he was dancing to the old man’s tune every minute of every day, and Johnny Madrid wasn’t good at taking orders.  There had been too many years of taking care of himself; of going where he wanted, when he wanted.  He ended up spending more time arguing with his father than not. 

Now he was right back where he started.  Yes, he had a lot of places to go before they boxed him in, but everywhere he went, someone was waiting to do just that.  Wanting to put him in an early grave.

He was riding free, but he wasn’t free.  He’d never be free of the name or the reputation.

********

Finding work in Tucson, the job lasted two long, bloody weeks, during which time he added more notches to his gun and lost a little more of his soul.  He found it was becoming harder and harder to wash the blood from his hands.

After leaving Tucson, he rode north toward Casa Grande, and he was in no hurry.  There was nothing for him anywhere he rode, except more of the same.

On one of those nights in the Arizona desert, alone next to a campfire, he realized he’d lost whatever it was that made Madrid, Madrid.   He was still good with a gun, the best, but his heart wasn’t in the game anymore.  

The one thing that had kept him going all those years as a gunhawk was the hate he carried for Murdoch Lancer.  Now, the hate was gone.  All that was left was a void in his heart where his father and brother had lived.

Watching a full moon rise over the mountains to the east, Johnny smiled, knowing it was the same moon looking down at Lancer.  When the night wind kicked up, making that soft, sighing sound, a wave of loneliness swept over him. 

What were they doing?  Were they missing him as much as he missed them?  Shaking it off, he steeled himself.  He had pride.  There was no going back.  Yes, that stupid pride kept him away.

He’d caught a bullet in Casa Grande and added another man to the long list of those he’d see again in his nightmares.   Being laid up for two weeks, he’d had a lot of time to think.  He wanted to go home but knew he couldn’t.  They’d never take him back…his father would never take him back.

After Casa Grande, he moved on to Phoenix.  Word had reached him that a nearby ranch was hiring guns. 

The day Johnny rode into the Double T, he met the owner, Mason Tucker. 

Tucker stood on the front porch of the house, watching the lone, dark-haired rider stop in front of him.

“What’s your name, young man?”  

Johnny straightened in the saddle and lifted the brim of his hat, giving Tucker full view of his face and dark blue eyes.   He wanted the man to see who he was hiring.

“Madrid, Johnny Madrid.”

Tucker gave Johnny a strange, knowing smile.

“I’d be proud to have you work for me, Mister Madrid.”

Mister Madrid?  Johnny chuckled.  Tucker had called him Mister. No one had called him Mister since he’d left Lancer. 

The job only lasted a week.  It turned out the name Madrid was enough to discourage the other side.   For the first time since leaving California, he hadn’t had to use his gun, and it felt good.

That last afternoon at the Double T, Johnny stood alone at the corral.  He had no idea where he was going, only that he would move on at first light.

Johnny heard Tucker leave the house and walk toward him.

“You’ll be leaving in the morning?”

Johnny didn’t turn to look at the man.  “Yeah, in the morning.”

“Where will you go?”

Johnny turned his head and looked at the tall rancher standing next to him, thinking, ‘ He’s almost as tall as Murdoch.’

“Not sure yet.  Wherever the wind takes me, I suppose.”

“I’d heard Johnny Madrid hung up his gun and became a rancher.  Guess I heard wrong.”

Johnny didn’t answer him as he gazed west, towards the setting sun and Lancer.

“Heard you found a family in California and ….”

“You heard a lot, Mister Tucker.”  Johnny cut him off.  Sighing, he continued, “Yeah, I found a family.  I tried to hang up my gun, but it didn’t work out.  So here I am.”

“You and your family have a falling out?”

“You could say that.”

“I had a falling out with my only son a couple of years ago.  He and I seemed to argue all the time.  He said he couldn’t do anything right in my book.   One day he packed up and rode away.  I never saw my boy again.  Got word he got himself killed over in Paloma a few weeks ago.”

Johnny’s head shot up. 

“No, son, it wasn’t you that killed him.  You killed the boy that shot my Davey.   He gunned Davey down the day before you got to town.  They sent word Davey was dead and I went to Paloma to bring him home.  Folks there told me what happened.   Davey’s buried up on the hill there.”

Tucker looked toward a hill overlooking the ranch house.    Johnny could see tears in the older man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry you lost your boy.  I’m glad it wasn’t me that killed him.”

Tucker nodded.  “The sad part was I don’t even remember what Davey and I argued about before he rode out that last morning.  I never got to tell my son how much I loved him and how proud I was of him.”

Johnny dipped his head.

“Madrid, don’t make the mistake Davey and I did.  If you can go home, do it.  Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

“I don’t think my old man’s proud of me, Mr. Tucker.  Matter of fact, I know he’s not.  Who’d love a man like me or be proud of having a gunhawk for a son, especially one with my reputation.”

“Johnny, take it from a man who’ll never get another chance; your father is proud of you. Whether he says it or not, he’s proud to have you as his son.  If he didn’t want you, why would he have sent word to every cattle ranch in Arizona to be on the lookout for you?”

Johnny pushed back from the corral and turned to face Tucker.

“Sent word?  What do you mean?”

Tucker pulled a telegram from his pocket and held it out.

“I’ve done business with Lancer for years.  Murdoch knew I was having trouble and figured one way or another you might show up here.   From what I understand, he sent the same telegram to all the big ranches in the territory.   Now, I ask you, does that sound like a man who doesn’t love or want his son?”  

Johnny held the telegram in a trembling hand, trying to read it.   When his eyes blurred with tears, he gave up.

Tucker took the telegram back and read it aloud.

Mason Tucker- Phoenix, Arizona

Searching for my son, Johnny.  STOP.  Goes by the name of Madrid. STOP.  If seen, please tell him to come home.  STOP. His family misses him.  STOP.  I miss him.  STOP.

Murdoch Lancer -Morro Coyo, California

Tucker folded the telegram and handed it back to Johnny. 

“You see, Murdoch is searching for his lost son. Go home, Johnny Lancer, before it’s too late.”

Johnny’s breath hitched. “You’re right, Mr. Tucker, I’m lost.  So lost, not even God can find me.”

Fighting the lump in his throat and a tightness in his chest, Johnny couldn’t look at Tucker.

“Mr. Tucker, it’s already too late.” 

“God knows where you are, son, and it’s never too late.  Well, not until…”  Tucker’s eyes rose to the hill overlooking the ranch, where the last rays of the sun caressed a lone white cross.       

Turning, Tucker walked back into the house, leaving Johnny alone with his thoughts.   He decided that night to head for California and Lancer.

********

It had been a week since his conversation with Mason Tucker.  He’d left the next morning thanking the rancher for the job and the advice.

Almost immediately, the weather changed.  The further west he rode, the worse it got. 

First, the rains came, slowing him down.  With the rain came the wind. He could handle the rain; it wasn’t so bad.  When the rain stopped, he breathed a sigh of relief.  But the winds kept blowing, cutting and biting into him.  He could stand being wet, but he began to hate the wind.  

Dios, he’d never known wind like this.  It was as if God was making him pay for every mile; punishing him for leaving home in the first place.   

Too tired to go on, Johnny found a rock overhang to make camp.  It wasn’t much, but it did provide some protection from the wind’s fury. 

Stepping from the saddle, Johnny looked around.   There wasn’t even a piece of dry wood for a fire.   Shivering, he unsaddled Barranca and used the blanket to wipe him down.  When he finished, he moved his friend as far out of the wind as he could.

Johnny shrugged deeper into his coat and pulled the collar closer to his neck.  Wrapping his bedroll around his shoulders, he leaned back against his saddle, preparing for a miserable night.  

The cold wind howled, and the mountains seemed to scream as he searched the cloudy night sky.  There were no stars; nothing to guide him when morning came.   

Closing his eyes, he’d never felt so alone.  Putting his hands over his ears to block out the deafening roar, Johnny prayed sleep would claim him, and if he dreamed, it would be of Lancer.

********

With first light, Johnny shoved the bedroll away.  He’d traveled into a valley with a river meandering through it.  Surrounding the valley were rolling hills on one side and a mountain range on the other.   Morning fog settled on the water and lower valley.  Above the misty fog, the clouds swirled, making the mountain tops seem like they were suspended in the dark gray sky.   

As he saddled Barranca, the winds picked up again.  Treetops whipped back and forth under the force of the gale.  A deep wail and whine came down from the mountain top, sending a shiver up his spine.  A violent gust caused the mountains to moan.  It sounded like some lost and helpless soul was up there dying.  

Mounting, Johnny looked around, searching for any signs of life.  There was nothing. It was as if he and Barranca were the only living things left in the world.    Pulling his collar around his ears and planting his hat firmly on his head, Johnny bowed his neck and said another prayer.   A prayer he hoped God would hear.

By late afternoon, his prayers were answered.  Relief swept over him as he cleared the valley leaving the moaning winds behind.   Smiling, Johnny watched the sun peek out, and the gray clouds move away.

A warm breeze came blowing in from the west.  Ahead, tall prairie grass came alive as it swayed and danced to the wind’s tune, sounding like waves he’d heard coming ashore in Galveston Bay.  

Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention.  Looking into the blue sky, Johnny saw an eagle caught in the wind’s updraft, winging its way west.

The wind whispered through nearby trees, calling his name.  It was as if they were saying ‘Follow him, Madrid. Follow him home.’

Riding toward the reddening glow of the setting sun, Johnny wasn’t lost any longer; he finally knew where he was and where he was going.   

********

Sitting atop the hill overlooking the white hacienda, Johnny’s emotions bubbled up inside him.  He was home.  Finally, he was home. 

Nothing had changed, and yet, everything had changed.  He’d left Lancer only to find he was a man who had nothing; a lost and lonely man living by his gun.   He’d discovered what he was looking for wasn’t out there; it was here, right in front of him.

Everything he’d ever wanted was down below, nestled in a valley surrounded by rolling plains and green grass.   

Making his way slowly down the hill, he hardly dared to breathe, praying they wouldn’t turn him away.  Praying, they’d let him come home again.

God, he wanted to come home. 

Riding under the arch, Johnny looked toward the barn and corral.  Men coming in for the night watched his approach.   One man recognized him, and then another.  The men started yelling and laughing.    One man ran toward the house, shouting as he went.

The front door flew open.  

Stopping at the edge of the yard,  Johnny watched and waited.  Murdoch was first through the door, followed by Scott and then Teresa and lastly, Maria.  

The men in the yard stopped talking and yelling.  An unnatural quiet fell over Lancer as everyone waited for the drama of the homecoming to unfold.

Johnny dismounted, dropping Barranca’s reins.  He took a few steps and then stopped directly in front of his father.    When Murdoch stepped forward, there was a smile so big on his face that left no room for doubt. 

“John.”

“Murdoch…Murdoch, I’m sorry.”

“No, son, I’m the one who’s sorry.”  Murdoch reached out, taking his son’s shoulders in his hands and pulling him to his chest.   

“Murdoch, I’m so sorry,” Johnny repeated, leaning into his father and putting his arms around his waist. 

Finally, Johnny pulled back.  His eyes met Murdoch’s. 

“I want to come home.  Can I…can I come home?”

Murdoch took a deep breath and let it out.  Fighting the tears that were forming in his eyes, he nodded. 

“You don’t know how I’ve prayed for you to come home.  It’s been so hard waiting to hear if you were…. well, to find…”  

“I know.  I know what you were waiting to hear.   I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“Johnny, are you sure this is what you want?  Are you sure there isn’t something out there you want more?  If there is, we need to know now.   I don’t think my heart could stand to go through this again.”

“I thought there was something I wanted more than this, but I was wrong.  There’s nothing out there for me now.  I wanted to come home sooner, but I lost my way for a while, and I was afraid you wouldn’t want me back.”

“What changed your mind?”

Johnny reached inside his jacket and pulled out the telegram Mason Tucker had given him.  Holding it out to Murdoch, he said, “This… this is what changed my mind.”

Murdoch took the telegram and opened it.

“You met Mason?”

Johnny nodded.  “I met him.  Helped him out some.  He gave me this when the job was over.  Told me not to wait until it was too late to come home; to make peace with you.”

Murdoch nodded.   Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped eyes.

“So, can I come home… Papa?”

 Murdoch smiled and nodded again.  “God, yes.  We…I want you home.”

Johnny laughed, tears running down his face.  Murdoch reached up and wiped a tear from his son’s cheek with his thumb.

Scott moved forward.  “Johnny.”

“Hey, big brother.”   Johnny wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Thank God, your home.”  Scott threw his arms around Johnny, hugging him.

Teresa ran to Johnny, throwing herself into his arms, signally the ranch hands and vaqueros to start yelling and laughing again.  

Soon the family was surrounded — everyone patting Johnny’s back, laughing and talking at once.

********

Johnny moved slowly across the garden.  When he reached the low adobe wall, he placed his hands on it and leaned forward.  Staring up at the twinkling night sky, he took a deep breath.

Hearing the door open, Johnny waited to see who it would be.  The footfall told him Murdoch was coming out to check on him.   It had been this way since he’d come home a week ago.  Murdoch didn’t seem to want to let him out of his sight.

“Are you warm enough?”  Murdoch’s question made Johnny smile.

“Yeah, I’m warm enough.”  Johnny turned to watch his father coming closer.  He noticed Murdoch holding two glasses.

“Thought you might like a nightcap.”  Murdoch held out a glass.

“Thanks.”

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at the diamond-studded sky.

“Are you happy to be home?”

“You don’t know how happy.  There were a few times I didn’t think I’d make it.”

“Scott says you have a new scar on your chest.  When…?”

Johnny cut him off, answering the question before it was asked. “Casa Grande.”

Murdoch nodded.  “Was that one of those times you didn’t think you’d make it?”

Johnny shook his head.  “No, not that time, but there were others.”

“Did you and Val talk?  I know he was as worried about you as the rest of us.”

“We talked.  Boy, he gave me an ear full.  Thought he was gonna tan my hide.”

“Good,” Murdoch replied with a laugh.  “You try leaving again, and I’ll be the one who tans your backside and I assure you, son, you won’t be riding for some time.”

Johnny dipped his head.

They stood together, silent for a long time before Murdoch spoke again.

“You know, I think the stars over Lancer are brighter than any place I’ve ever been.”

Murdoch’s words caused Johnny to stop and think.  He remembered the night he’d spent in the valley, listening to the howling wind.  The clouds had blocked the stars that night. 

“There was a time not too long ago when I couldn’t see the stars.  The clouds were too thick.  It had been raining for days and the wind, Dios, the wind … I’d never heard the wind like it was in those days.

“Scott told me some winds have names.  I don’t know what that wind was called, but to me, it was Viento del Diablo.”

“The Devil’s Wind?” 

“Si, the Devil’s Wind.  A wind that tore away at your soul.  It made a lonely man even lonelier.”

“Were you lonely, John?”

Johnny nodded.   

“Si, I was.  I’d been traveling for days. There was this one night I had no idea where I was.  I hadn’t seen anything but rain and clouds for two days. I can’t remember feeling so lonely.  You know what helped?

“I was hunkered down, wrapped in my bedroll, feeling like I was the only person left in the world.  The only sound I could hear was that God-awful wind.  When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of Lancer.  I dreamed of you and Scott, and this the ranch.  I was already on my way home, but that night, I knew I was making the right decision.  I knew Lancer was where I belonged.”

Johnny took a sip of the drink in his hand, swallowing hard.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said I wasn’t welcome; if you’d told me to ride on.”

“John, trust me, that’s never going to happen.”  

Murdoch could see the smile form on his son’s face.  Putting his arm around Johnny’s shoulder, Murdoch pulled him close. 

“Are you ready to call it a night?  Morning comes early and you, my son, have a lot of work tomorrow.”  Murdoch dropped his arm and turned to the house.

“I’ll be in soon, just want to enjoy the night.”

“Alright, be sure to lock up.”

Johnny heard the door close. 

Turning back to look out into the night, Johnny sighed.   All the worry he’d had over not being welcomed back was gone.

********

With the rising moon in the east, came the evening breeze and the song of the night birds.  It was a warm, gentle breeze bearing the smells of Lancer; roses and grass and cattle.

Johnny felt it brush across his face and ruffle his hair.   

Johnny Madrid had known the many sounds of the wind. He’d heard and felt them all now; from the long low sigh that caressed the desert, to the howling demons high in the mountains. 

What he sensed with this wind was something different. This wind felt like home and family. 

Yes, of all the winds he’d known, this one meant Johnny Lancer was no longer lost or alone.

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End
July 2019 

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