Guilt
Chapter One
Johnny Lancer was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He tried to take a
breath but a sharp pain exploded inside his chest. Movement at the moment was
not an option. Sensations slowly awakened in his body. He was sprawled, face
down in the hot sand. A light wind tugged at his hair. His right cheek felt the
warmth of the sun. It was daytime. Slowly his mind deciphered more sensations.
Something heavy lay across his legs. He tried to move them but he didn't have
the strength. He heard excited voices droning in and out, and felt hands gently
turn him over onto his back. The pain in his chest was excruciating.
Where was he?
He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids were too heavy. He tried to reach out,
but someone grabbed his hand and forced it back down to his side. Something
pricked his arm and he felt what little grasp he had on reality fade away.
Scott stared down at Johnny, so pale, so fragile. They had spent the night in
Rockville to rest before heading to San Francisco. Johnny had never seen the
likes of San Francisco and Scott looked forward to showing his brother another
kind of life, a life he had enjoyed but now found sorely lacking after living at
Lancer. But he wanted his little brother to experience everything. Instead, he
had not left his side for a moment since Dr. McKenna had emerged from his back
room where he performed his surgeries. He had almost lost Johnny twice, but the
boy was strong and would not let go easily. Still he was not out of danger, and
with a heavy heart Scott instructed a boy he saw walking by the doctor's office
to send the telegram that he thought he would never have to send. Johnny
hurt badly. Come quickly. Scott.
He collapsed into the chair the doctor had provided, closed his eyes and
remembered. He had heard the two shots ring out, saw the rush of onlookers head
for the restaurant and followed them, curious. Johnny was still at the
restaurant. A pretty young waitress had fallen under the spell of Johnny's
boyish grin. He remembered being paralyzed by the sight of Johnny sprawled in
the street, blood oozing from beneath his chest, a woman collapsed over his
legs.
He reached
out and held Johnny's over warm hand in his. He was heavily sedated but
occasionally the pain would flare up through the drugs and he would moan softly.
He knew Johnny would be furious when he found out that Scott had allowed the
doctor to use the morphine. But the doctor had been at the scene before he got
there and had already administered the first dose. The first rifle shot had hit
Johnny dead center in the chest, precariously close to his heart. The second
bullet hit Helen Stern in the head. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Scott vowed he would find who did this and kill him with his bare hands.
That was twenty four hours ago. Murdoch sent a wire back saying he and Teresa
were on their way. And so he sat and watched and prayed. Dr, McKenna checked on
Johnny every thirty minutes, changing the dressing when needed, keeping him
doped up with the morphine. "It is the only kind thing to do." The doctor had
said at Scott's misgivings. "He will be in excruciating pain. While no vital
organs were hit," he explained, trying to give Scott a reason for the drugs that
his brother felt were so abhorred, "the bullet did a lot of damage, and I had to
cut a lot of tissue and muscle to extract it. If he starts moving around now, he
could tear any number of sutures and bleed internally. The morphine is needed,
Mr. Lancer, trust me." Scott looked at Dr. Brandon McKenna and trusted him,
reluctantly. He had no choice. They were a hundred miles from Lancer, and Johnny
lay at death's door.
Dr. McKenna looked up from his examination, his hand lying gently across
Johnny's forehead. "He's feverish. Not unexpected. But we will have to keep an
eye on it. Meantime," he turned to Scott and arched a critical eyebrow at the
young blonde, "you have not eaten or slept in the past twenty four hours. If you
want to be of any help to your brother when he comes round you had better get
both."
"I'm fine. I don't want to leave Johnny when…"
"He won't be awake for hours, I've seen to that. Now, if you don't want to
occupy that bed next to your brother you will go over to the restaurant and get
something to eat, Molly will see to it that you don't leave hungry, and then get
a couple hours sleep. I promise I will call you if there is any change."
Scott stood up grudgingly, brushing the black fringe of bangs off Johnny's
forehead. He looked so childlike as he laid there. He leaned down and whispered
in his ear, "Hang in there Johnny, Murdoch and Teresa are on their way. Hang in
there.” Not taking his eyes off Johnny he said to the doctor. "You'll call me
if anything…"
"I promise. Now go on."
Scott's order was taken by the same waitress that had come under Johnny's spell.
When she served him his steak and potato dinner he gently grabbed her arm and
nodded to the empty seat in front of him.
"Is Johnny going to be all right?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes. "He was
so nice to me."
"Dr. McKenna says he has a fifty- fifty chance. I know my brother," he smiled,
patting her trembling hand, "and he never drops below the odds."
She looked
back over her shoulder at the counter top and a freshly baked apple pie. "He
wanted a second slice of pie but it wasn't done yet. If I had put it in the oven
just a few minutes earlier…"
"Don't go there." Scott warned. "Whoever was out there would have waited for
Johnny to eat one or three slices of pie. Now, tell me exactly what happened."
Molly took a deep breath and let it out slowly as if it would release the demons
of guilt. "He finished lunch and said he had to meet you at the hotel, that you
were moving out today. He was so excited about seeing San Francisco for the
first time. He closed the door and I heard the shots. I couldn't believe it when
I saw him and Helen Stern laying…"
"You knew the woman?" he asked gently.
"Everyone
did. She was part time librarian and school teacher when Mr. Gibbs was under the
weather, if you know what I mean. I can't believe she's gone. A two year old and
all. I mean, Mr. Stern is gonna have a terrible time raising a little girl by
himself."
"I'm sorry." Scott said, his emotional energy spent. "I’ve got to get some rest
before Johnny wakes up."
"You let me
know if you need anything. That brother of yours is real special."
"I know," Scott said as he exited the restaurant, "I know."
Scott didn't rest long, only three hours, but it was enough to drive the
overwhelming fatigue from his body. When he returned to the doctor's office he
found McKenna hovered over Johnny and his heart sank.
"It's ok," McKenna smiled as he looked behind him and saw Scott watching in
abject fear. "I just skipped the last injection of morphine and I think he's
about ready to come to. Come," he gestured
Scott moved closer to the bed, "I think a friendly face is just what this young
man needs right now."
Scott took his place next to the bed and watched Johnny's right hand twitch,
then his eyelids fluttered. He was crawling his way up through the drug and the
assault on his body toward consciousness.
"Hey, Brother," he said softly, stroking his forehead gently as he pushed the
black fringe of hair from his eyes, "welcome back. You had us all worried."
"Hey…" Johnny whispered. Scott watched as he tried to focus. "You're safe." he
soothed, accepting the cool rag the doctor offered to wipe his brother's fevered
brow. "You're in the doctor's office. You're going be fine."
"What…happ…"
"Just relax, Johnny. We'll talk about it later, when you're feeling stronger."
"No…" Johnny grabbed at Scott's sleeve, his hand shaking from the effort. "…tell
me…"
Scott looked back toward McKenna who nodded. "You were shot, Johnny. In the
chest. But Doc McKenna says you're going be just fine. You just have to rest."
"…Who…" Johnny's voice was barely a whisper.
"We don't know yet." Scott answered truthfully. But he would. If it took him a
lifetime to find out, he would. "Now, you try to get some rest."
A sharp pain lanced through Johnny's chest and he arched his back, trying to
escape the burning inferno. Scott pushed his shoulders back down on the
mattress, talking softly, trying to sooth the pain. McKenna was beside him with
the syringe. He saw Johnny's eyes widen, he had seen it too. But he did nothing
to stop the doctor, it was what his brother needed right now. Later, when he was
stronger they would discuss this, but for now he only wanted to see Johnny rest
in painless sleep.
The doctor sighed heavily as he cut away the bandage around Johnny's chest,
tinged with fresh blood. "I don't want another incident like that," he growled,
"he stays under the morphine."
Scott nodded and sat back down in his chair. It would be two more days at least
before Murdoch and Teresa would arrive, and he knew his father would demand
answers. Who and why? He wanted those answers himself.
McKenna
turned to him, after he had redressed Johnny's chest and covered him with a
sheet, "You are not doing yourself or your brother any good just sitting here.
Sheriff Hawkins may be able to shed some light on what happened here. At least
it will get you from underfoot."
Scott began to protest, but to no avail. The doctor was adamant, and Scott had
planned on calling on the sheriff sometime today anyway.
"Alright. But if he wakes up or…" he left the sentence hanging.
McKenna
gently patted him on the shoulder, "Don't worry, Son, it looks like your brother
has seen his fair share of scraps in the past and survived. He's going to be ok
again."
Scott nodded, grateful for the doctor's sincere concern. He leaned over Johnny
and gently brushed his hair back from his forehead again. "Sleep tight,
Brother."
***
Sheriff Hawkins had little to offer Scott that he didn't already know. But they
did agree on one thing, it was not a random shooting. The shooter had laid in
wait, across the street on the roof of the Mercantile and waited for Johnny to
emerge from the restaurant. Scott's stomach tightened at the thought that Johnny
Madrid's past had once again raised its ugly, dangerous head. When would Johnny
be allowed to live free? The horrible answer was, probably never. The specter of
Johnny Madrid, gunslinger, would always be there.
Scott roamed
the streets of Rockville for the next two days. He would sit for short periods
of time watching his brother sleep. Johnny's fever had risen dangerously high
the first night and he and Dr. McKenna had stood vigil over him throughout the
night cooling him down with wet compresses. Now his fever was low enough that
his body wasn't racked with chills. McKenna had promised him that he would wean
Johnny off the morphine as soon as Murdoch arrived. He couldn't wait. He was
becoming more and more irritable simply watching his brother lay motionless
beneath the sheets. He needed to see Johnny's eyes open and hear him talk.
***
The stagecoach from Morro Coyo arrived late in the afternoon on the third day.
Scott let out a sigh of relief as he saw Murdoch and Teresa looking anxiously
through the windows. "How is Johnny?" Murdoch demanded, before he was completely
out of the coach.
"He's holding his own," Scott said. "Doc says another twenty four hours and
he'll be out of danger. It was close, Sir, to close."
"Can we see him?" Teresa asked as she too emerged from the coach.
Scott nodded,
"The doctor's office is down this way. Dr. McKenna's been waiting for you to
arrive before he reduces the morphine."
"Morphine…" Murdoch grabbed Scott's arm yanking him back, "You know how Johnny
feels about any kind of pain killer."
"I'm fully aware of that," Scott snapped, pulling his arm free, "but under the
circumstances it was either the drug or Johnny's life. I chose Johnny’s life. We
can all help him deal with the morphine later. Now, do you want to see Johnny or
not?"
Murdoch nodded, taken aback by his son's angry outburst. Few things rattled the
calm and collected Scott Lancer. Fear suddenly gripped Murdoch's gut and they
silently followed Scott's lead down the street to the doctor's office.
Murdoch was not sure what he expected to see when he finally reached Johnny. A
dozen scenarios presented themselves as they slowly made their way to Rockville.
But he was not prepared for the pale, motionless figure he saw lying beneath the
sheets in Dr. McKenna's back room. Johnny's pallor was as white as the sheet
that covered his chest. His breathing seemed easy but that would change with the
rebirth of the pain once the medication was lessened.
"He sustained a great deal of internal trauma." Dr. McKenna explained to Murdoch and Teresa. "With the help of the morphine we have been able to keep him still allowing the healing to begin. It is most important, however, that he remains quiet. He only needs to tear one of those internal incisions to bleed to death, and we would never know it until it was too late. So," he eyed the three seriously, "I am going to reduce the medication slowly. If you can not keep him calm, then I will have no chose but to put him under again."
All three nodded. "He is due for another injection in…" McKenna looked at the clock on the wall, "thirty minutes. I'll give him half the dose, enough to keep the pain manageable, but allow him to come to."
Murdoch
nodded. "We understand doctor. Now Scott," he turned to his oldest son, the
worry etched in the deep lines on his face, "tell me exactly how this happened."
"We don't know exactly. He came out of the restaurant and someone bushwhacked
him from the roof on the other side of the street. A woman was hit also. She was
dead before she hit the ground."
Teresa gently stroked Johnny's cheek, feeling the heat from the fever. He looked
so child like, so peaceful. "Does he know about the woman?" she asked.
"Not yet."
Scott answered. "He was only consciousness for a couple of minutes."
"What's troubling you child?" Murdoch asked, seeing the concern on her face,
concern that went beyond just Johnny's health.
"Johnny's going to blame himself for her death. I know he is."
"How could he? That's absurd." Murdoch snapped. "It wasn't his fault that she
got in the way of a bullet intended for him."
"She's right, Murdoch," Scott said, "that's exactly how Johnny will react."
"Then you must keep that information from him until he is strong enough to
handle it." McKenna ordered. He checked the clock and moved toward the bed, "Now
if you don't mind I'd like to check my patient before the medication wears off
too much. If you would like to wait outside."
"That won't be necessary Doctor," Murdoch said. "We'll stay."
The doctor glanced toward Teresa, "It won't be a pleasant sight," he warned.
"Bullet wounds seldom are Dr, McKenna, but Teresa has nursed more than her share
of injured men, Johnny being one of her more frequent patients. We will stay."
"Very well." McKenna began to cut away the bandage and carefully lifted the pads
that covered the seeping wound. Murdoch had seen far too many gunshot wounds in
his time, but somehow seeing the wickedly inflamed incision on his son's chest
nearly made him gasp. The bullet had come so very close to his heart, to
snuffing out the life of his son. He nearly jumped when he heard the first low
moan of pain from Johnny as the medication began to ware off. Quickly McKenna
began to redress the wound surprised when Teresa reached down and held the fresh
pads in place as he wrapped the bandaging tightly around the boys chest. "Thank
you." McKenna smiled, truly surprised, "It appears that your family is in
capable hands."
Teresa blushed then was alarmed by the sudden deep moan of pain from Johnny.
They watched as he struggled to lift heavy eyelids then waited until his blurry
eyes focused.
"You gave us quite a scare, young man," Murdoch scolded gently, taking his son's
hand in his.
"Murdoch…?"
"Yes. And Teresa's here too."
Johnny swallowed, his mouth almost too dry to talk. "…Lancer…?"
"No, we're
still in Rockville. We thought you'd like some company until you're well enough
to head home."
"Hmmm…" Johnny's eyes closed as he drifted for a moment, "…Then let's get
going." He raised a trembling hand toward Scott, "…help me up…Boston."
Scott smiled, "I don't think so little brother. Give it a few days."
"…Can't…Promised Murdoch I'd finish the fence on the…"
Murdoch gave
McKenna a worried look before bending down over Johnny. "Don't worry about the
fence, it'll keep. You just work on getting better."
"…No…can't stay." Johnny began thrashing his head back and fort, digging his
hands into the covers. "…Shot…someone…gun…where's my gun…?” He tried to
struggle up but three pairs of hands pushed him gently back down.
"Lay still, Johnny," Murdoch ordered. "You have to lie still."
McKenna hurriedly filled a syringe but Johnny saw him and grabbed at his arm,
"No."
"Johnny, it has to be done."
"No. Please…" He searched the faces leaning over him desperately looking for
Scott. "Scott…tell them….No…"
"I'm sorry, Johnny, it has to be this way." He gently pushed Johnny's arm down
on the mattress and McKenna injected the morphine. Johnny's eyes slid closed and
his body stilled. Scott stood up, emotionally drained. Teresa reached for
Murdoch, her hands trembling.
"Will he be all right?" Murdoch asked, his voice catching in his throat.
"Yes, I think so. But there will be no repeat of this episode."
"I understand." Murdoch took a deep breath, realizing his hands were shaking.
"But Johnny was right. He is too vulnerable here without a gun. Either I or
Scott will be with him at all times, in case some one is still looking for
Johnny Madrid."
"Who?"
"It's a long story, doctor," Murdoch answered. "And I’m afraid we will have more
than enough time to tell it. But for now, Scott, you stay here while Teresa and
I get settled at the hotel. Then I want to have a talk with the sheriff. I want
answers, and I want them now."
McKenna watched Murdoch usher Teresa out the door and knew he had met a man that
would get the answers he wanted, no matter what.
*
Chapter Two
Murdoch stood
in the Sheriff's office, berating himself for coming on so strong, but it was
Johnny laying over there in the doctor's office more dead than alive, and he
wanted answers.
"You listen here, Mr. Lancer, you may be big around Morro Coyo, but you're just
another saddle bum passing through Rockville as far as I'm concerned. So pushing
your weight around here will do you no good."
"My son is over at the doctor's office fighting for his life. I want to know who
put a bullet in him!" Murdoch roared.
"And I got a husband who's burying his wife this afternoon. An innocent woman
who's only crime was walking behind your son when the bullets started flying."
"If you're trying to say something sheriff, spit it out!"
Sheriff Hawkins slowly pulled a telegram from his desk, "I wired Morro Coyo
right after the shooting. I don't like strangers using my town as target
practice. I got this answer; Johnny Lancer, formerly Johnny Madrid, gunfighter.
I've heard of him, never thought I'd see the likes of him in these parts though.
So you tell me who I should grieve for more? That poor woman and her husband who
has to raise a kid on his own now, or your son?"
"I'm not asking you to grieve for Johnny, only help me find who shot him."
"You're wasting your time. Whoever did it is long gone. Probably thinks he got
the job done by the way your boy looked out there on the street."
"And if he decides to come back to finish the job?" Murdoch blared.
"What do you want me to do, Mr. Lancer? Take the only deputy I have and have him
guard your son?"
"We'll take care of Johnny," Murdoch promised, "I just want to know that you are
still doing your job and looking for the bushwhacker."
The sheriff stood up slowly, his anger in check, for the moment, "I will do my
job, Mr. Lancer. And as soon as that boy of yours if fit to travel I want him
out of my town."
"Don't worry, sheriff, we won't stay here a minute longer than we have to. If
you find anything new I'll be at the doctor's office."
"How is the boy…?" The sheriff asked, his bravado suddenly gone.
"Holding on."
***
Scott felt
uncomfortable in the small room. The smells of sickness and medicine reminded
him of the hospital tents in the war. He looked around the room, noting the lack
of so many medical instruments that were commonplace in Boston. How anyone
survived a serious trauma or illness was a miracle. He looked down at Johnny
laying on one of the
two beds in the clinic and prayed that Dr. McKenna had enough here to save his
brother.
He reached down and held the over-warm hand, felt the calluses that had not been
there when he had first grudgingly shaken the gunslinger's hand. How much had
changed in two short years. Before then, he didn't know he had a half brother,
especially one that was a famous gun for hire. Or a father who truly cared for
both of them, an emotion the old man often had a hard time showing. He often
wondered how different things would have been if they had met under different
circumstances.
When Johnny
Madrid first arrived at Lancer he was tough, unyielding and trusted no one. He
made no qualms about why he had accepted Murdoch Lancer's invitation to the
ranch; he wanted the thousand dollars his estranged father was willing to give
him for just showing up. At first, he was sure his half brother would take the
money and walk away, in fact he hoped he would. But when Day Pardee pushed too
hard, Johnny fought back. They became a family fighting a common enemy, even
though Johnny insisted on doing it his way, almost getting himself killed.
And now Johnny was an integral part of his life. At times it seemed that they
had never been separated, had not grown up in totally different lifestyles. They
had a common bond, born of love and respect.
"Johnny," he said softly, "you've got to hang on brother, because I don't know
how I could make it without you."
"He's a fighter," McKenna said from the doorway. "He's not leaving this life
without putting up one hell of a fight.”
"He's been through so much."
"And he's survived it all." McKenna lay a gentle hand on Scott's shoulder, "Son,
you don't doctor a town for more'n thirty years without learning to read people.
I know what kind of man Johnny is just by the people who love and care about
him. That he gives every bit as much as he receives."
"You don't know how right you are."
McKenna nodded, "Well," he cleared his throat, finding it hard to get past the
moment, "your father is out in the office and he's boiling mad. You go ahead,
I'll see to your brother."
Scott found Murdoch pacing the office floor. "Any luck with the Sheriff?"
Murdoch turned on him, "The man is an incompetent, ignorant …" He ran his hand
through his hair, his face mirroring his anger and his worry. "He knows about
Johnny Madrid. He figures that Johnny was bushwhacked by someone wanting to get
even with an ex-gunfighter and the shooter left town."
"That may well be," Scott conceded, "but it doesn't change the fact that someone
tried to kill him in cold blood, and that another person was killed."
"Yes. A young woman… a wife and a mother. It's all so senseless." Murdoch sat
down heavily into the doctor's chair, "When will Johnny's past ever leave him in
peace?"
"I don't know, sir. Maybe never. But no matter what happens, we'll always be at
his side to help."
Murdoch nodded. "Any change?"
"Doc says he's healing well. He plans on cutting the morphine in half tomorrow.
He says he can't stop it completely, it would be to rough on his system, and the
pain would be too much. But we should be able to talk to him soon. Maybe he
knows something."
Once again Murdoch, Scott and Teresa stood around the bed and watched Johnny
crawl his way up through the drug. Disoriented at first, he tried to focus on
the faces that hovered over him until he saw Scott's face and recognition filled
his eyes.
"Hey, Brother, how are you feeling?" Scott smiled
"Like I was kicked by a Brahma bull," Johnny said, his voice thick and slurred.
"Aptly put." Dr. McKenna smiled down at his patient. "And you're most likely
going to feel that way for a few more days."
"When can I go home?"
Murdoch leaned over and brushed the bangs off Johnny's forehead, "Don't push it,
Son. You have some healing to do first. Do you remember what happened?"
"I…ah…pie, the pie wasn't ready."
Teresa looked down at Johnny alarmed, but Scott chuckled, "Molly's awfully sorry
she didn't put the pie in the oven just a bit earlier."
Johnny shivered and hissed as pain grabbed at his chest.
"That's enough for now," McKenna cautioned. "Later on you can talk again. Young
man." He leaned over Johnny pulling the covers over his shoulders. "I want you
to get as much sleep as you can get. That is the best way to heal and you'll be
on your way home before you know it."
Johnny was feeling stronger each day. Doctor McKenna promised he would release
him in another two days if he continued the good progress, but not to go home,
not yet. The trip would be too rough on his injury. Another week at least.
McKenna had arranged for them to stay in a house just outside town that was
vacant while the owners were on a trip. Teresa had gone with Murdoch and Scott
to prepare the house and stock it with any stores they needed.
He carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited until the room
stopped spinning before he pushed himself off the bed and staggered like a
drunken man to the door leading to the outside office. Dressed only in a
nightshirt he peaked into the office to see if the doctor was alone, then took
as deep a breath as his throbbing chest would allow and carefully walked,
barefooted, up to McKenna's desk and sat down in a visitor's chair.
McKenna looked up, miffed, "I didn't tell you you could get out of be yet, did
I? Especially without help. You're lucky you didn't fall on your fool face."
Johnny smiled for the first time in too many days, "That's me, a born fool."
McKenna put his pencil down and sat back in his chair to study the young man
that sat before him. "You were pretty sick there for awhile, you know that don't
you?"
"Figured as much with all the long faces."
"And you've still got a lot of recovery time left."
Johnny nodded.
"Then you know that getting out of bed like that, alone, was a blame fool idea."
Johnny smiled
again and McKenna couldn't help but laugh. "You know, I haven't quite figured
you out yet. On one hand, I see a man with a quick smile and an easy manner who
could melt the ice off a frozen pond with his smile. Then I see that very same
man with more scars than I've seen on a man four times your age. You must not
have had an easy life, but you come from a well-to-do home with a father and
brother who love you without question. Who are you Johnny Lancer?"
"I'll tell you if you tell me," Johnny offered. He was beginning to feel cold
and sweaty, but he wanted, no, he needed, answers.
"Tell you what?"
"About Helen Stern."
McKenna caught his breath, "Why, son? It won't bring her back."
"I know," Johnny mumbled.
"And you weren't responsible. It was just pure bad luck."
Johnny nodded.
"Then why do you continue to punish yourself for something that you had no
control over?"
Johnny ignored the question. "Helen Stern."
"It was an accident, Johnny," McKenna insisted gently.
"I know that. Tell me about her…please."
"I'm not quite sure what you want to know."
"Who she was?" Johnny looked down at his hands resting in his lap. Who had he
met, who had he killed in a gunfight that drove the bushwhacker to try to kill
him? The pain in his chest from the bullet wound was mild compared to the pain
he felt in his heart for the innocent woman that had lost her life because of
him. He had to know about her. Who she was, what she was like. He didn't want
her to be just a name in an obituary column. "Please, I need to know."
McKenna studied Johnny, saw the sheen of sweat on his face and his pallor
increasing. But the boy seemed to be in so much need. Why it was important to
him, perhaps only he knew. The question was, would all the facts help or hurt
his recovery. He remembered Teresa's warning about the guilt he would feel. But
to deprive him of the knowledge he so desperately wanted could be just as bad.
"She was twenty-three."
"I know all that. Tell me about her."
"I'm not quite sure what you want to know, Johnny."
"Who was she? What was she like? Did she laugh all the time, or was she serious?
Did she like the wind in her hair or did she keep it tied up beneath a bonnet? I
want to know her."
"You are only hurting yourself, Johnny."
Johnny looked up at him, the pleading look in his eyes so desperate. "Why did
she have to be in front of that restaurant?"
"Just coincidence."
Suddenly the door burst open. A tall man stood in the doorway, his frame nearly
filling the opening. A look of pure rage frozen on his face. "You," he seethed,
"you killed her!"
"Russell!" McKenna tried to step between Johnny and Russell Stern, but the big
man pushed him aside as he if were a child.
Johnny tried to stand up, but his legs didn't have the strength. Stern was on
top of him in three steps. Johnny tried to fend him off but his weak arms were
easily brushed aside and Stern grabbed him by the nightshirt pulling him to his
feet. "You murdered her!" he screamed, shaking the injured man, "You murdered
both of them, you filthy gunslinger. She was carrying our baby. Why did you come
to town?" He shook Johnny violently, "Why?!"
McKenna tried to pull him off but he was lost in a fit of rage. "Russell, stop
it. Russell!"
Johnny was lost in a nightmare of pain and disbelief. The woman was pregnant.
"I'm sorry…" he whispered.
"You're what?!" Stern released Johnny's right shoulder and punched him in the
stomach will all his strength. "Sorry doesn't come close to making it all
right."
Johnny's world exploded and he crumpled against Stern, blood spreading across
his nightshirt. Stern raised his fist to strike again and his hand was snatched
from behind.
Murdoch gasped when he saw Johnny receive the blow. If not for Scott and the
Sheriff at his side he would have pummeled the man to death. Scott caught Johnny
as Stern let him go and hoisted him into his arms carrying him back to bed.
"I want this man arrested," Murdoch raged, "he nearly killed my son."
"And your son killed my wife and unborn baby!" Stern spat back.
Murdoch looked at the man helplessly, "It was not his fault that she was walking
behind him."
"Mark my words, Lancer." Stern vowed as the sheriff ushered him out of the
office. "Johnny Madrid will pay for my wife's death. And if anyone gets in my
way, they'll die too."
Scott gently laid Johnny on the bed, appalled at the widening swatch of blood on
his brother's nightshirt. He found a pair of scissors on the table next to the
bed and cut away the gown. Blood ran freely from the incision.
"Doc, get in here!" he yelled. "It's going to be all right Johnny."
He found a pile of bandages on the table and pressed them against the flow of
blood. "It's going to be all right, little brother."
"She was pregnant," Johnny moaned, trying to push Scott's hands away.
"What? McKenna, get in here!"
"She was going to have a baby…" Johnny felt all his strength drain out of his
body as if someone had pulled the plug. He sank back into the mattress and let
the encroaching blackness take over…Two lives taken by one bullet. He wasn't
strong enough to fight this anymore. He didn't want to feel this kind of pain.
He felt incredibly tired. He heard Scott call his name distantly through the
ringing in his ears but he didn't care.
*
Chapter Three
Scott sat in the corner of the restaurant and picked at his plate of steak and potatoes. He wasn't hungry, the events of the day had killed his appetite, but he found it almost impossible to spend even one more minute in the claustrophobic clinic.
Dr. McKenna
had to reopen Johnny's incision to re-suture the ripped stitches. It had been a
grueling ordeal, and if not for Teresa's capable assistance the outcome could
have been much different. The revelation that Helen Stern was pregnant was a
shock to all the Lancers. The guilt that Johnny had felt over her death would
now be tripled. He wondered if his brother would be able to overcome it.
It was all so tragic, so senseless. The bullet meant for Johnny had killed two
people and possibly destroyed another... his brother. He played it through his
mind again, as he had over and over since he came running back to the
restaurant. The sight of Johnny sprawled on the ground, Helen Stern slumped
across his legs… something was nagging at the back of his mind. Something didn't
add up, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what it was.
He heard snippets of conversations from the tables around him. The only thing
anyone could talk about was the shooting. "Such a horrible thing. Poor Helen…You
know, trouble always follows a man like Johnny Madrid…Someone had better get him
out of town before more trouble follows…a murdering gunslinger…Poor Russell, how
will he ever raise Amy?...Should strike him down like the rattlesnake he
is…Heard tell Russell nearly killed him this afternoon, too bad he didn't finish
the job…" Scott couldn't take anymore. He stood up slowly, feeling every eye on
him.
"What's it like having a murderer for a brother, Lancer?" One voice called out.
"Seems to me that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree…you a murderer too,
boy?"
Scott ignored them, finding the outer most aisle around the tables to exit the
room, but three men slowly sauntered up to the front door and stood waiting.
"Someone asked you a question, boy. You like your gunslinger brother?"
"I will not dignify that question with an answer. Now, please stand aside."
The taller of the three men, dressed in a sheepskin coat shot his hand out in
front of Scott, blocking his way, "You gonna make me, Mr. Lancer?"
Scott's temper was raw from the beginning and this was just a little more than
he could handle at the moment. Spurred on by the week of watching Johnny cling
to life and the goading of the three men, Scott barreled into them, fists
hitting their mark and one by one the three men lay sprawled on top of each
other. That was it! Scott thought a moment before his head exploded and he fell
forward adding to the pile.
Scott sat on the edge of the cell bunk holding his throbbing head. "I'm sorry
Murdoch, but they just pushed me a little too far."
Murdoch stood on the other side of the bars and watched his son pressing his
fingers to his temples trying to will away the headache. "To tell you the
truth," Murdoch nodded in
understanding, "I'm surprised it didn't happen before this."
Murdoch looked over his shoulder to see if the sheriff was watching. "We're
going to have to get Johnny out of this town as soon as possible. I smell a mob
brewing."
"I agree. But, can he be moved yet?"
"We may not have a choice. Once the men are stirred up enough nothing will stop
them. No, we've got to get Johnny out as soon as possible."
Scott nodded, regretting the movement. "How is Johnny?"
"Doc says he stopped the bleeding all right, but now Johnny's back at the
beginning. He has to heal all over again. But we don't have the luxury of
waiting for him to regain his strength this time."
"Murdoch, something's been bothering me about the shooting." Scott stood up and
wrapped his hands around the cell bars, leaning his forehead against the cold
steel.
Murdoch
waited for Scott to put his thoughts together. "When I found Johnny he was
sprawled face down in the street with Mrs. Stern on top of his legs."
"Yes. We all know that."
"Think about it Murdoch. Johnny would have had to be hit first, then Mrs. Stern,
right?"
Murdoch nodded. "The shooter used a long range rifle, probably with a scope. He
hit Johnny almost dead on, I figure Johnny made the slightest movement just
before the bullet hit or it would have hit his heart."
"We know the damage the bullet did, Johnny began to bleed out immediately. That
means the shooter would have seen the blood and assumed he made a killing."
Murdoch nodded again, but not seeing where Scott was trying to lead him.
"Then why take that second shot?" Scott asked, waiting as Murdoch digested the
information. "As far as the shooter was concerned, Johnny was dead."
The revelation nearly made Murdoch's knees collapse. "What…?"
"Murdoch, Helen Stern didn't get in the way of a bullet meant for Johnny…Johnny
got in the way of a bullet meant for Helen Stern."
"My God…"
"They couldn't just shoot down an innocent woman, it had to look like an
accident. So they take down a man first, any man. Nothing could have been more
perfect than Johnny Madrid being the accidental victim. It takes the suspicion
off everyone. Johnny Madrid was the target…end of story."
"Who…why…?"
"We'd better find out for Johnny's sake."
"But if
you're right and Johnny wasn't the target, then he should be out of danger,
except for the lynch mob mentality brewing out there."
"No, I think you're wrong. Don't you see? Now they have to finish the job.
Johnny Madrid, if he survives, is too much of a threat. If it ends here and now,
all is forgotten. The killer gets away with murder and another gunslinger is six
feet under."
"What do you propose we do?"
"At the moment, sir, I don't have a clue," Scott sighed. "I just know we've got
to get Johnny to safety."
"All right,
I'll talk to McKenna about moving him. Meanwhile you just keep a low profile in
here. The Sheriff only plans to keep you overnight to cool you off."
"Murdoch." Scott grabbed his father's arm through the bars, "No Lancer is safe
in this town right now. Watch your back, and Teresa’s."
"I know. I've already thought of that." He patted Scott's arm, "You try to get
some rest. I'll keep an extra eye out for her. Hopefully by tomorrow we'll have
a place to hold up until Johnny is strong enough to make it back home."
"Absolutely out of the question." Dr. McKenna stood firm against Murdoch's
demands. "He can't be moved, not yet."
"Listen, we don't have a choice. It's getting ugly out there. I don't know if
you've ever seen a lynch mob, but I have. Stable, God-fearing, self righteous
men turn into animals with only one thing in mind, murder. We've got maybe
twenty-four hours before all hell breaks loose. Find us a place where we can
hide Johnny until he's fit to travel."
"The Bender house. You and Teresa already have it set up."
"That's the first place they'd look. No, it has to be someplace where they would
never think to look."
"The caves past Riker's Corner." Murdoch and McKenna whirled around to see
Sheriff Hawkins standing in the doorway.
"Sheriff…" McKenna glanced toward Murdoch, "we didn't hear you come in."
Hawkins crossed the room to look inside the clinic at Johnny sleeping. Teresa
sat on a chair next to the bed her head resting on the mattress, sleeping. "I
may not like the likes of Johnny Madrid and his kind, but I won't have a
lynching in my town."
"Can you control them Sheriff?" Murdoch asked.
Hawkins shook his head, "No," he said honestly. "People are riled up. The
Stern's haven't lived here that long, but Mrs. Stern fit in like she was born
here. Everybody loved her. Especially the kids she taught. She was a fine woman.
And Russell Stern is out there right now fueling the fire. To be honest, I don't
think you've got twenty- four hours. I don't think you've got an hour."
"Sheriff, that's a rough ride up to the caves." McKenna warned.
"That's why no one would think to check there. How soon will you be ready to
head out?"
"Now wait a minute, Sheriff. I didn't agree to this, and it's too dark, we'll
never find the trail"
"You let me worry about that. What about it Lancer, do we do this now? Won't get
a better chance. By daybreak you won't be able to sneak a fly out of this
place."
Murdoch looked in at the sleeping form of his son. The decision was his. "How
soon can you have him ready?"
"Give me that hour," McKenna snapped.
Hawkins nodded, "You've got it. I'll get the buckboard hitched and bring it
around back."
"What about Scott?" Murdoch asked.
"I guess he's had time to cool off. I'll send my deputy on an errand and release
the boy."
"Sheriff." Murdoch grabbed Hawkins' arm, "Know this, I will kill any man who
tries to hurt my son. Any man."
Hawkins looked up into the steel gray eyes, knowing what Murdoch said was the
God's truth. "Never thought you wouldn't."
***
Scott hurried through the dark streets. Tension was in the air, he could feel
it. Groups of men huddled in front of the saloon and the mercantile, voices
raised in anger. Woman stood in front of the restaurant where Helen Stern was
killed. Some cried, others called for justice.
He slipped into the doctor's office. Teresa was rushing furiously packing
medical supplies in a carpetbag before they were forced to flee. Inside the
clinic McKenna and Murdoch were wrapping Johnny tightly in blankets.
Murdoch saw him walk in, "Scott, help us, Son." He grabbed a litter and placed
it on the second bed.
"It doesn't sound good out there."
"I know. It's happening much faster than I expected. Hawkins' got the buckboard
out back. Teresa, have you got all the supplies you need?"
Teresa nodded, her face flushed with fear. "Doctor, I only found one vile of
morphine."
"That's all that's left. Take the laudanum."
Teresa exchanged looks with Murdoch and Scott. "It can't be helped," Murdoch
snapped, "we'll deal with it later."
Gently they lifted Johnny onto the liter and waited for Hawkins to open the back
door.
"Blankets." McKenna remembered. "Teresa, find all the blankets you can. It will
be cold in the caves.
"Let's go!" Hawkins hissed, pushing the door open for them to carry the litter
out. Carefully they slid the litter to the front end of the buckboard, trying
not to jostle Johnny. Murdoch noticed a stranger holding the reins.
"He's a
friend, you can trust him,” Hawkins assured him. “I've got to stay here, there's
no telling what's gonna happen tonight. It'll take you about an hour to make the
caves. Crawford here, could find it in his sleep."
"Thanks," Murdoch whispered, piling blankets over his son for warmth and to hide
him from sight.
Hawkins nodded and disappeared back in the doctor's office. Murdoch looked at
his family and McKenna as they hunched low beneath the buckboard's sides. Angry
voices rang out from the street, a shot was fired and a cheer went up as they
slowly pulled away from the clinic. He could barely make out their faces in the
feeble light from the sliver of a moon, but he could feel their fear. He patted
Johnny's leg beneath the blankets, "It's gonna be all right, Son," he promised,
"it's gonna be all right."
*
Chapter Four
It took nearly two hours to traverse the rutted hills leading to the caves just
north of Riker's Corner. The driver coaxed and threatened the horses in turn as
they snaked their way in the near non existent light. The wagon bucked and
swayed over the rocks. Sometimes the wheels spun on the loose shale, or a horse
nearly stumbled.
Murdoch knew the moment they pulled off the main trail and started up the hill
that the trip was too much for Johnny, his body jarred against the wooden bed.
Hastily he ordered everyone to pick up one end of the litter and they hoisted it
up. Teresa struggled to lift her end high enough to slide her knees under the
frame to support it.
It seemed a lifetime to Scott before the driver finally eased the horses beneath
an outcropping of rock and wild grass. The night had turned wickedly cold and he
knew he could have seen his breath in the air if there was enough light.
"We go on foot from here." The driver called, jumping down from the seat. "It's
not far." He reached inside the wagon and lifted the litter off Teresa's knees
letting her scramble out from beneath.
Teresa could
barely feel her legs they were so numb from the weight. "Young lady, if you
could bring the lanterns we can come back for the rest of the supplies after we
have this boy settled in the cave."
The four men carefully carried the litter up the steep hill with its precious
cargo. Their feet slipped on the loose shale and Scott nearly went down once
before he caught his balance and righted the litter. Murdoch felt the chill
creep through his jacket and hoped Johnny was warm enough.
The driver stopped in front of what appeared to be a solid wall covered by scrub
grass until, with one hand, he pulled a handful of grass and like a blanket it
fell to the ground revealing a large opening into a pitch black cave. "Don't
light the lanterns yet," he warned, “let's get far enough back that the light
won't show."
A feeling of unbridled fear swept over Scott and he stumbled as he took the
first step inside. The pitch blackness closed in around him and for a moment his
instinct told him to run, to get out of the cave, no matter what. But a loan
moan of pain from Johnny brought him back to reality and he cursed the fear that
surged through him at even the thought of being inside a cave.
Murdoch shuffled along the dirt floor and his heart skipped a beat in the
blackness at the sound of his youngest. The morphine was wearing off and the
moans were coming more often. The thought that he might lose his son like
this…He lived daily with the fear that someone from his past would turn up to
destroy the new life Johnny had built with him and Scott. He could never have
imagined this…felled by a bullet meant to confuse and distract from the real
target…a woman.
"Right here," the driver ordered, and they gently laid the litter on the ground.
"You can light the lanterns now little lady."
Teresa fumbled for the matches in her pocket, that she had thankfully remembered
to bring, and struck the flame fumbling in the dark to find the wick and
lighting it, watching the light pool over the four men and Johnny, his eyes wide
open in fear and confusion.
"Johnny?" Murdoch dropped to his knee, gently touching his over-hot cheek. "Can
you hear me son?"
The blue eyes that looked up at him were glazed and unfocused. Pain registered
on his face but he didn't say a word.
"Johnny…?" Scott was on his knees too, carefully pulling the blanket away so
McKenna could examine his chest. "We just took a little ride outside of town."
He said conversationally. "Thought you might like some fresh air. I know how you
like the cold crisp nights, when the sky is so black that the stars look like
you could just reach up and grab one of them. Johnny…?"
Johnny moved his lips as if to say something but his eyes slid shut.
"Doc…?" Murdoch whispered, his trembling hand brushing the silken black hair off
Johnny's forehead.
"He needs rest and warmth."
"We need to start a fire." Scott looked around the cave and his stomach twisted
in fear, but he pushed it back, the need to help his brother was greater than
the claustrophobic terror that tried to envelope him.
"There's a natural chimney in the roof, we can burn a fire at night only when
the smoke won't be seen. During the day…"
"I understand." Murdoch struggled to his feet, his strength sapped by the
physical and emotional rigors of the past few days. "Scott and I will see to the
supplies and firewood while Doc and Teresa get Johnny settled. I'm afraid," he
said turning to the driver, "that I didn't get your name."
"Didn't give it." Murdoch got his first good look at the man, surprised to see
that he was well into his fifties with a mane of white hair that hung half way
down his back. "The name's Crawford."
"Well Mr. Crawford, I want to thank…"
"No need for thanks. I don't abide by lynch mobs. I was happy to help. And by
the way, it's just Crawford, no Mister in front."
***
They built a fire and moved Johnny as close as they could to it. McKenna gave
him half the morphine that was left. He had no choice, he explained, with the
rigors of the trip the boy had to rest through the night. The flickering light
pushed back the darkness in the small corner of the cave. Scott sat next to
Johnny, his nerves on edge. He feared for his brother and he feared the cave. He
caught Murdoch's eyes on him, studying him. Was it so obvious?
"We'll need more supplies tomorrow." Murdoch looked through what they had been
able to get in their hasty retreat, "but I don't think it will be a good idea to
buy them in Rockville, draw too much attention."
"It's a hard day’s ride from here to Vallejo," Crawford offered.
Murdoch nodded. "And while you're there," he turned to Scott, offering his son a
way out without loosing face, "you can wire Val in Green River and see if he
knows anything about Mr. and Mrs. Stern."
"Good idea. And I'll also see if I can pick up a couple horses."
"That's settled then. We had all better get some sleep tonight, it's been a long
day." But Murdoch knew as he looked around the faces that stared back at him
that no one was going to get any kind of sleep this night.
At the first hint of morning Scott and Crawford took off. Scott felt his own
measure of guilt. He had left his brother behind in the cave, albeit well taken
care of by Murdoch, Teresa and the doctor, but he should have been there too.
Johnny was in so much pain, both physical and mental. He wondered if Johnny
would believe them when they explained that the bullet was meant for him only as
a decoy. That the real target was Helen Stern. Unfortunately he knew the answer
because he knew his brother all too well. Johnny would require proof if he was
to believe that. Proof to alleviate the guilt that was more life threatening
then the bullet that had tore his flesh and ravaged his body.
Scott sighed heavily and continued to watch the landscape pass by slowly, the
dry grass of the valley turning green as they neared Vallejo and the waters of
the bay.
"For brothers, you two don't look much alike," Crawford suddenly said, the first
words he had spoken since they left the cave five hours ago.
"We're half brothers, different mothers. Does that offend you?"
Crawford pursed his lips and thought, "Should it?"
"No it shouldn't," Scott snapped, not knowing why he let out all his hostility
on an innocent man who had done everything to help them.
"You know, I'm no expert on brothers, ain't got any myself, but you two seem
closer than most. I seen you watching over him all night last night."
Scott wasn't sure if he liked this stranger prying into his life, but he
couldn't fault the man for wondering. They were an unusual pair. "Neither one of
us grew up on Lancer. I was raised in Boston. Johnny…he raised himself, down
around the border towns. Murdoch brought us together when he needed help
defending Lancer from land pirates. After that, we just stayed together."
"I was wondering how Johnny Madrid came to be called Lancer."
"You heard of Johnny Madrid?"
Crawford snorted, "You'd have to be deaf, dumb or blind not to know about Johnny
Madrid. Got ta say though, he don't look like what I expected."
Scott laughed ironically, "He's the gentlest man you'd ever want to meet. But…"
"But cross horns with him and you're a dead man." Crawford finished.
"Yeah. Something like that."
They fell back into their own reflective silence. The events of the past few
days had turned Scott's world upside down. He truly feared that Johnny would not
make it this time.
Three hours later they finally arrived in Vallejo. Scott had never visited the
port town before and was impressed by its beauty. Gentle green slopes, moistened
nightly by the fog that rolled in off the bay, were dotted by houses overlooking
the harbor. The streets were teeming with sailors from the boats docked at the
harbor, cowboys, men in business suits. Close enough to San Francisco to share
some of it sophistication, it was still rooted in its recent past, with saloons
and brothels and a Spanish Mission sitting at the edge of town as if it were
watching over the city as it grew.
"I'm gonna wash some of this dust down," Crawford said as he pulled the horses
into the livery, "you do what you need to do. Then we'll get them supplies and
head back."
Scott nodded. "How's an hour sound?"
"Should be enough time to get into some trouble." Crawford threw Scott the first
smile he'd seen on the old weathered face.
Scott slapped him on the back. "Just not too much trouble."
Scott left Crawford with the team and headed for the telegraph office. If he was
lucky he would hear back from Val in short time. What the sheriff of Green River
could tell them was questionable, but they were pulling at straws now. He sent
the wire and instructed the operator that he would be back in forty five minutes
to retrieve the answer. Then he headed for the sheriff's office. Larger than any
jail he'd seen outside of Boston, he noticed every cell was packed to the brim
with sailors and cowboys in different degrees of intoxication.
"Full house." Scott smiled as he closed the door behind him.
The sheriff looked up from behind his desk, "Usually is. Every night is Friday
night around here. What can I do for you?"
Scott shrugged. "Just wondering about the rumors I've been hearing about
Rockville. I was planning on stopping through there on my way to the high
country."
"You can do yourself a favor, boy, and stay clear of that place for awhile."
"Exactly what's going on there anyway?"
The sheriff studied Scott for a long minute, "Mind my asking why you're so
interested?"
Scott proudly blushed on cue. "I'm from Boston, Sheriff. Took the train to San
Francisco and thought I'd ride back, see the country, meet the people. I heard a
little bit about the trouble there. I thought I would check it out. But if
Rockville is as bad as you say."
"Son, its worse. Some gunslinger got himself shot and a poor woman took a bullet
meant for him. Seems the town went wild, tried to hang the kid but his family
got him out of town. They're still looking for him. The sheriffs doing the best
he can, but its nothing but a mob mentality there."
"Poor woman."
"Helen…? Yea, right shame. She was a fine lady."
"You knew her?" Scott tried to hide his surprise.
The sheriff nodded, "She lived here with her husband and baby for a few months
before moving on to Rockville. Couldn't say much for the husband, but Helen was
fine."
"I heard she was a school teacher and librarian. Makes it all the more
heartbreaking."
"Schoolteacher? Helen? Naw. You see there, how stories start to get pushed way
out of proportion? Helen a schoolteacher? The only thing Helen taught was how to
draw to an inside straight."
"I believe you have me very confused, Sheriff. In Boston, schoolteachers don't
teach their students how to gamble."
"Here neither. Helen's husband, Russell, he worked the tables over at the
Shanghi Saloon. Helen would come in once a night, in the middle of a big game
and plead with her husband to come home to her and their beautiful children. Got
the players at the table so flustered, Russell took `em every time."
"And you let it go on?"
"Didn't hurt no one, not really. Anyone sat at one of them poker tables deserved
what ever happened to them. And despite everything, Helen was still a fine
woman."
"Thank you sheriff, for all your advice. I think I'll heed your warning and stay
far away from Rockville." Scott smiled and turned to go but spun on his heel
with one last question. "By the way, where did the Sterns come from before they
got here?"
The sheriff raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Why you ask that?"
"I'm just trying to learn everything I can about this part of the country. It
always intrigues me how people migrate from one town to the other and if they
have a plan in mind or if they just happen to settle where their wanderings take
them."
"Don't rightly know, Son. I think Helen mentioned Laramie once. I think they've
been just about everywhere."
"Very enlightening sheriff. I may have to write a book about my travels. If I
do, would you mind if I’ll mentioned your name?"
"My name in a book, huh? Well…" He though about it for a moment, a smile
twitching at his lips, "Just as long as you spell my name right."
"You got it sheriff." Scott stepped out of the sheriff's office and his smile
faded. Mr. and Mrs. Stern were not who they appeared to be. He headed back to
the telegraph office. The answer he received was not what he expected.
Scott…Russell Stern wanted for questioning in bank robbery in Laramie…stop…Helen
Stern also wanted for questioning…stop…will send help for Johnny if
needed…stop…Val
Scott held the wire in his hand. Johnny was in more trouble than anyone could
have imagined. Whoever shot Helen Stern would do anything to keep the search
going for Johnny. The longer the mob mentality lasted the more likely no one
would think to search for the real killer. Who ever that was.
***
The next three days were a nightmare. With Scott gone to Vallejo with Crawford,
Murdoch and Teresa worked feverishly with McKenna to keep Johnny warm and
comfortable. Murdoch knew the price Scott had paid to enter the cave with them
and watch over Johnny the first night. The trip to Vallejo was a convenient
excuse to get Scott away from the terrors that haunted his memories.
Johnny tossed and turned through the first night, his moans of pain keeping
everyone on edge. With just a small amount of morphine left, McKenna decided to
hold it back until the time came when Johnny could not stand to be without it.
The doctor knew what lay ahead for the boy; in the next few days the pain would
be unbearable at times.
He laid another blanket over the shivering man and cursed the situation that
brought them here. Johnny needed to be in the warm dry clinic where medical
supplies were readily available and the bitter cold night didn't creep into his
bones. He looked at Murdoch, his face frozen in grief. He was a formidable man,
there was no doubt about the power he
wielded. Yet he was powerless to help his son, and that nearly destroyed him.
With a cry of pain that echoed through the cave, Johnny arched his back up,
trying to escape the fire that was eating away at his chest. Murdoch and Teresa
held him down, Teresa's face pale and glistening with tears. Reluctantly McKenna
injected the last of the morphine into Johnny's arm and he watched the boy's
body relax into the drugged sleep.
"That's all
of it." He said sadly.
"We have the laudanum," Teresa said.
McKenna nodded. "But it will not keep the pain away like the morphine."
Murdoch gently brushed his hand across his sons fever hot cheek, "He's a strong
boy," he said softly. "He won't let go that easy."
Johnny did sleep through the night but with morning came the excruciating pain.
With the morphine gone from his system the pain flared. He could barely breathe
it hurt so much. He felt someone's hand take his and he held on, squeezing it
with all his strength.
Other hands lifted his head and something trickled into his mouth and down his
throat. He knew what it was, the vile laudanum he detested and feared so much,
but he didn't resist. He couldn't take this kind of pain.
He allowed the medicine to pull him back from the pain, from the hurt in his
heart that didn't come from any physical injury…a woman and her child were dead
because of him. He wasn't sure if he could live with that kind of guilt. He
heard a familiar voice calling to him but he ignored it. He would allow the
laudanum to do its job and take away all the pain… if only it could last
forever.
***
Scott and Crawford arrived back at the cave mid morning on the third day. Scott
hopped off the buckboard eager to tell everyone the startling news he had found
about Helen and Russell Stern but at the sight of the grass camouflage hiding
the entrance to the cave he froze.
Old fears clutched at his heart and made his hands shake. He couldn't do it. He
could not step into the darkness of that cave. He looked at Crawford who stood
at the entrance, waiting.
"You go on." Scott ordered. "I'll take care of the team."
"No. I'll do it. That's your brother in there."
"No!" He clenched his jaw, trying to keep the fear from his voice. "Just tell
them that we're back and I'll be in shortly."
Crawford shrugged. "What ever you say. I thought you two was closer than that."
Scott was in front of the cave before he knew it, grabbing Crawford by the arm
and swinging him around, "Don't you ever suggest that my brother doesn't mean
everything to me. Johnny is the most important person in my life."
"Ok, ok. It's just that you're not acting like it. I mean, lets face it, when we
left we didn't know if he’d even make it. Hell, you don't even know if he's
still alive."
Scott slowly released his grip on Crawford's arm. "Just go in and tell them I
will be along shortly." He said as calmly as he could. "Please."
Crawford nodded, disappearing into the darkness.
Scott leaned back against the rocks and closed his eyes, damning himself for his
fear. Crawford was right, he didn't know if Johnny was alive or dead. At this
point though, he convinced himself, ten minutes one way or the other would not
make much difference. With purposeful slowness he began to unhitch the team and
settle the two new horses they had bought in Vallejo.
He looked back at the cave entrance, grateful that no one had come out to get
him. Murdoch understood, somehow the old man knew the fear that broiled inside
his son, and had the wisdom not to push.
Taking in a deep breath and sucking in as much courage as he could muster, Scott
stepped into the dark cave.
He wasn't sure how he made it, but up ahead he could see the faint light from
lanterns lit to ward off the blackness, and the exhausted forms of Murdoch and
McKenna slouched against the cave wall while Teresa sat next to Johnny gently
petting his hand, her head bent and her eyes closed. He could see the gentle
rise and fall of Johnny's chest. He was still alive.
"Murdoch…?" he whispered. "How's Johnny?"
"Why don't… you ask me…Boston…?" Surprised, everyone scrambled over to Johnny at
the same time.
Murdoch ran a gentle hand over Johnny's forehead, "How are you feeling, son?"
"…a…little cold…" Johnny smiled faintly.
Murdoch threw another blanket over his son tucking it in around him as carefully
as he could, but still causing a moan of pain from him.
"Sorry Son, we can't light the fire until dark."
Johnny looked around for the first time, not sure of what he was seeing. "Where
are we?"
Scott leaned over him, "There was a little trouble in town and we thought it
would be safer out here."
Johnny blinked his eyes trying to remember what had happened. The pain in his
chest told him he was hurt bad, and the heavy feeling in his limbs told him that
he had lost a lot of blood. Something nagged at the back of his mind, warning
him that he didn't want to know.
And then it was there, wrapping around him, smothering him. He remembered
stepping out of the restaurant, the pain exploding in his chest, then the weight
of something heavy on his legs as unseen hands moved him and more pain. The
woman, he didn't even know her name…she had died because of him. Her husband,
insane with hate, he had every
right to be. "Why didn't he just kill me and have done with it?" he muttered.
The words cut into Scott's heart and his anger grew. "Johnny…" Scott leaned over
him cupping his face in his hands, forcing his brother to look up at him, "the
bullet wasn't meant for you. It was meant for the woman."
"No…Johnny Madrid…always Johnny Madrid."
"Not this time. I found out things in Vallejo. Things that will prove to you
that I'm right. You just got to get strong so we can fight this together."
"…baby…she had…"
"Are you listening to me?" Scott jerked his head once and Johnny yelped in pain.
"You've got to listen. They needed a scapegoat, someone they could point a
finger at when the woman was killed. You were that scapegoat, nothing else."
Pain, radiating out from his chest griped his entire body and he shook with the
agony. He felt the vile liquid in his mouth again and he nearly cried. Did they
know what they were doing to him? More blankets were piled on top of him as he
began to shiver and his fragile hold on consciousness drifted away as he fell
back into the laudanum induced sleep.
The small group in the cave sat back, stunned, the light from the lantern
playing across their faces. The guilt that consumed Johnny would kill him just
as surly as the bullet would if it were left untended. But how were they going
to get through to him?
*
Chapter Five
The small group fell into a silent routine. Gather firewood and prepare for
another cold night, make Johnny as comfortable as possible and sit and wait. The
waiting was the hardest. Scott spent most of his time outside keeping watch. At
night when the fire's glow lit the back of the cave he could bring himself to
enter and sit next to Johnny as he slept. But during the day when only the
feeble light of two lanterns barely touched the blackness a few feet beyond
them, he couldn't. And it nearly tore him apart. He wanted to be with Johnny
twenty-four hours a day, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Crawford
disappeared for several hours and returned with two rabbits for dinner. To the
old man's surprise, Teresa took the animals without complaint and made herself a
small table out of rocks to clean them for cooking.
"I think," Scott said as he accepted the hunk of rabbit meat from Teresa, "that one of us should sneak back into town to check things out."
Murdoch shook his head, "You said it yourself, the town according to the sheriff in Vallejo is still in a lynching mood. I'm not sure they wouldn't gladly substitute one of us for Johnny if they could."
"He's right, Boston." Johnny smiled weakly at the group.
Scott crawled over to him, "How long have you been playing possum, Brother?" He grinned
"Long enough. Help me sit up a little, would ya?"
McKenna kneeled down next to him, his old bones protesting in the dank cave, "I'm afraid not yet, Johnny. I don't want any strain on those stitches. It took a lot of thread to sew you up."
"Please…" Johnny pleaded, "My back's getting blisters I've been down so long."
McKenna had to laugh, "Your Pa told me you were a handful to take care of."
Johnny searched and found Murdoch's eyes staring at him. Funny, he couldn't remember anyone ever referring to Murdoch as his Pa. Why was that?
"Listen to him, Son," Murdoch admonished. "The sooner you get well the sooner we'll be heading back to Lancer."
"Johnny." Teresa was by his side, a tin cup in her hand, "I've made you some broth with the rabbit Mr. Crawford trapped for us. Just a few sips…ok?"
Johnny shook his head, the smell from the cup revolting.
"Johnny, please."
"Tell you what, Johnny," McKenna said, feeling the boy's forehead for fever. "If you drink the broth now and some more in the morning then we'll see about letting you sit up for a bit."
Johnny looked at the offending liquid in the cup and wondered if sitting up was worth it. He'd been on his back so long now that he forgot what up was. "Two sips."
"Three." Teresa countered, and gently lifted his head to drink.
The energy it took just to take the few sips left Johnny exhausted and he cursed the weakness that left him shivering. He knew what he had to do, but his body was letting him down. He had to get back to that town and set things straight with Russell Stern. He had to make the man understand how sorry he was for his wife's death. If he had died, like he was supposed to, instead of her, then none of this would be happening. Sometimes his good luck was his worst enemy.
The shivering brought on the pain in his chest again and McKenna was hovering over him in the flickering firelight, his old face blurred by the tears of pain that welled up in Johnny's eyes. He suddenly felt himself falling backwards and he moaned, trying to grab on to something. Scott's hands clamped around his tightly, but he couldn't stop the descent. Someone was lifting his legs and propping them up. Damn it, he didn't want that, he wanted to sit up. He'd be fine if he could just sit up. He heard angry voices yelling at him and he wanted to yell back, but there was no breath left in his lungs. He tried to struggle against the blackness in earnest now, it felt empty and cold, it frightened him as it sucked every ounce of energy out of him. Scott's warm hands slipped away and he felt more alone than he had ever felt in his life. But the fight was useless and he had to let the emptiness take him, where there was no pain, no worries, no guilt.
Scott saw the look on Johnny's face and he froze. He had seen that look before.
"What's happening!" Murdoch shouted.
"His blood pressure is dropping too fast. Lift his legs above his heart. Quickly!"
Teresa scrambled down to his feet, her heart beating in her chest so hard she thought it would explode, as Crawford lifted Johnny's legs laying them across her lap. They felt so heavy and lifeless.
"Now what?" Scott demanded.
"We wait." McKenna said softly, his voice echoing eerily in the cave, "And we pray, if you're so inclined to."
The hours passed and no one said anything. They just watched the blankets move up and down, praying the body beneath them would find the strength to fight.
As morning approached McKenna gently pulled the blankets back and felt the warmth return to Johnny's body. Even his color looked better. He nodded, his smile was all that was needed. Johnny had won this round. How many more were there before this fight was over?
Scott watched as Murdoch covered the fire with sand to snuff it out for another day. By the time daybreak arrived, the smoke would be gone, and no one would be wiser that they were there.
But the inactivity was taking its toil on Scott and he had to do something. "I've got to get into that town." He announced.
"Scott we already discussed…"
Scott raised a hand to his father to wait, "I have a plan." He turned to Crawford, "Do you think you could go into town and find me some clothes that will fit? I’m talking about something that won't make me look out of place."
"Scott…"
"Murdoch, listen to me. We have to know what's going on down there. And we have to have some answers for Johnny. The only one who might recognize me are the ones I had the fight with in the restaurant, the rest of the town only knew me by my clothes. I promise, I'll get in and get out fast. Just a few questions, see what the climate is. We've got to do this. We can't hide up here blind."
As much as Murdoch hated the idea, it was a good plan, and it could work. "All right. But be careful."
Scott nodded. "And," smiling at Crawford, "try to get something that at least has a little fashion."
Crawford laughed as he crawled toward the opening of the cave, "You got it Scott. You'll be the best dressed man in Rockville."
***
Scott scratched at the louse ridden, sweat stained, brown shirt and woolen pants he wore, cinched at the waist with a length of rope. The hat he wore had a bite sized hole taken out of the brim, Scott could still see the teeth marks. For good measure Murdoch had rubbed a mixture of dirt and ash on his face then had Scott rub it off leaving his skin looking as if he had not had a wash in months. To think of it, it had been a long time since any of them had had a bath or fresh clothes. It was not exactly what Scott had in mind but Crawford had assured him it was the best he could do, besides, he would have no problem fitting into the saloon dressed like a down on his luck drifter. He couldn't, of course, have dinner at the fine restaurant, but Sally's was a good place to get a square meal, with enough leftovers to appease the hunger of the cave dwellers he was leaving behind.
***
Scott slowly rode down the center of town. It looked different than the last time he saw it. Storefronts were boarded up to cover broken windows, trash lined the streets. A hangman's noose still hung from a sturdy branch on a tree next to the livery stable. The sight of the rope sent a shiver down Scott's spine. They had come that close to losing Johnny.
He stopped in front of the saloon and pulled his hat down over his eyes before dismounting. In theses clothes he was sure even Jelly wouldn't recognize him.
The saloon was the only busy place in the town at one in the afternoon. Drifters stood at the bar, some slung over it, snoring. A gambler or two sat at the poker tables, waiting for the next poor sucker to walk in the door, brimming with money and bad luck.
Scott sided up to the bar and ordered a whisky and a beer. The whisky went down hot and hard and laid in his stomach like a brick on his near empty stomach. He decided to nurse the beer.
"Looks like you had quite a ruckus here," he said conversationally to the bartender. "That noose get a work out?"
"Naw…not yet." The bartender swiped at the bar top with a dirty rag. "But, it's just a matter of time."
"Waiting for the judge to get in town?"
The bartender snorted, "The last time we saw a judge around these parts was six months ago. We take care of our own justice around here. You seem awful curious Mister."
Scott laughed, "I've had nothing but my own voice to listen to for more `n eight weeks now. I just wanna hear another human voice. You wanna tell me what the weather's like in China I'll listen."
"Ya know the bath house is down the street."
"My next stop after a couple more of these." Scott lifted his beer and saluted the bartender. "So getting back to the hanging, what's this guy done that deserves a noose?"
"A woman was killed. A woman with child."
Scott whistled. "Any man kills a woman carrying a baby deserves to hang. How'd he do it?"
"He didn't exactly kill her himself. Look, you ever hear of Johnny Madrid?"
Scott thought about it long and hard then nodded slowly. "That the gunslinger down around the border?"
"Yep. Same one. He comes into town and next thing you know someone tries to put a hole through his heart, but instead Helen gets hit. She was a right fine woman. She came in every night to try to bring her husband home."
"Poor woman, married to a drunk then gets herself killed."
"A drunk? No way, Mister. Russell Stern never touched a drink the whole time I knew him. He's a gambler. He's sitting right over there in fact." The bartender pointed to the corner table where a well-dressed man sat shuffling cards.
"So why didn't you hang Madrid?"
"Doc snuck him out a town before we could get to him. But he's bad hurt. Took a bullet in the chest. It's just a matter of time `fore we find him. Got men out looking right now. We'll find him, don't you worry, we'll find him and give him the lynching he deserves."
Scott downed the beer and ordered another. "Ya know," Scott leaned over the bar top to whisper, "I heard the name Russell Stern some place before, just can't remember where."
"Funny you should say that, another feller said the same thing a few days ago. Seemed mighty interested in the both of them, the Mr. and the Mrs. Kinda like you."
Scott grinned, "I'm not interested, just curious. The more I know the more I can think about when I'm alone again on the trail."
"Around here, Mister," the bar tender whispered, "curious can get you killed."
"I'll remember that. Hey, he any good?" Scott nodded toward Stern. "I mean, can he play or is it all show?"
The bartender snorted, "He's good. Never leaves here a loser. Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. Thought maybe I'd try my luck." As the words came out of Scott's mouth he knew he meant more than the cards. It was a risk coming face to face with Stern, but he needed more. And Johnny's life depended in it. "Another beer, and what ever the gentlemen's having."
The bartender slid another beer across the bar to Scott and poured a glass of sarsaparilla for Russell. "Told ya," the bartender chuckled, "he never drinks."
"Thanks." Scott grabbed the two glasses and slowly approached the table where Stern sat. "You dealing or just keeping the chair warm?" he asked.
Stern looked up, his eyes cold as ice. He looked Scott up and down and sneered. "The flop house is down the street."
Scott hooked a chair with his foot and sat down placing the beer in front of him and the sarsaparilla in front of Stern. "Can't always judge a book by its cover." Scott said, staring the gambler down.
"Maybe not, but the pot starts at ten bucks."
Scott dug in his pocket and threw a wad of bills on the table. He didn't know at the time why he asked Murdoch for all his cash, he was glad he did now. "Will this do?"
A slow smile spread across Stern's face. "That'll do. What they call you Mister?"
"My friends call me Harris."
"And your enemies?" Stern stared at him, trying to gage him.
"They don't last long enough to even ask." Scott answered with a wicked smile.
"I like you, Harris." Stern said shuffling the cards, "Even though you need a bath."
"The bath comes later."
"You know," Scott said, three hours later and six hundred dollars richer than when he walked in, "It's too bad that bushwhacker wasn't a better aim. I mean, to lose your wife and baby like that."
Stern looked up from his cards, "What's it to you?"
Scott shrugged, "Nothing. Just trying to pay my sympathies."
"I don't need anyone's sympathy. You gonna play that hand or what?"
Scott nodded and laid down a King high flush. He reeled in the cash and stuffed it in his hat.
Stern slapped his hand across the hat, "Tell you what Harris…one more hand, winner takes all."
Scott studied the gambler. Here was a man who could not stand to lose. No matter what.
"You got that kind of money to back up a wager like that?"
Stern's sneer turned to a smile. "And then some."
Scott slowly pushed the hat to the center of the table. "Never could turn down a…"
An explosion of noise swung everyone's attention to the swinging doors. A dozen dust covered cowboys swarmed in, all heading for the bar.
"Sorry Mr. Stern," the leader turned to the table, "no luck today."
Stern slowly stood up, the smile turning to a look of honest gratitude. "I don't know how to thank all you men for what you have done for me and…and for Helen, God rest her soul. But I know you'll find him."
A cheer went up around the barroom.
"I know you'll find him and punishment him like he deserves."
Scott watched as Stern took the group into his hands, like a minister at a sermon, "I know no one here could ever stand by while a pretty young woman like my Helen is gunned down because of the likes of Johnny Madrid."
"Right you are Mr. Stern!" came a voice raised to a fever pitch.
"And I know justice will be served. Johnny Madrid will pay for his sins…all of them. All the wives and mothers of all his victims will thank you. But none more than I."
Voices roared with excitement. The hunt was on. Scott's stomach surged. Stern was keeping the fire lit. Johnny didn't have a chance in hell if they got a hold of him.
"We won't stop `till we hang the murdering gunslinger!"
"Here, here!" Stern raised his glass to the crowd. "Bartender, drinks on the house!"
Stern sat back down, his face flushed with excitement. "You staying around long enough to see the entertainment?" He grinned.
Scott shook his head. "I'll just collect my winnings and be on my way. I'm not much for hanging parties, even if it's a gunslinger who deserves everything he gets." Trouble was, Scott thought, few things that came Johnny's were ever truly deserved.
"Not so fast." Stern warned with a glint in his eye, "can you beat aces over queens?"
Scott studied his cards and shook his head slowly as he threw them face down on the table. All of Murdoch's money and then some. But he had gotten what he wanted. "You're good, Mister," he said dumping the money on the table and slipping his hat back on.
Stern nodded, pleased with himself. "Here," he said, holding out a ten dollar bill as Scott turned to leave, "get yourself that bath and a hot meal."
Scott accepted the money. "Thanks Mr. Stern. I won't be forgetting you soon." He promised.
He stepped out of the saloon feeling dirtier inside from having met Stern than the filthy clothes that hung from his body. Johnny was in a lot of trouble. Stern was doing his best to keep them in a lynch mob mentality. He couldn't help but think that Stern was behind the shooting. But what would bring a man to kill his own wife, especially one that carried his child?
He decided before heading back out to the caves that he would check in with the sheriff first. But as he walked toward the jail he noticed a house at the end of the street with a large black flag hanging from a porch post. Stern's house, no doubt. Without really thinking, he slipped behind the saloon where fields of tall grass stood just feet from the back wall. Hunched over, and hoping no one saw the grass move as the crawled past the sheriff's office, the bath house and Sally's Café he reached what he hoped was Stern's house. He watched the house for a long time, the sun beating down on him in the hot grass, but saw no movement and decided to make his move. He tried the back door but it was locked. Using his hat to protect his hand he punched at the window next to the door and held his breath as glass shattered to the floor inside. He heard nothing from inside and no one seemed to notice on the street so he quickly snuck inside.
The two-bedroom house was small but well kept. A woman's touch could be seen everywhere and he felt a stab of sadness that a woman had been killed so carelessly. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, if anything. He went from room to room, one eye and ear always looking toward the front door. The kitchen was neat and clean. Several bowls of food sat on the cupboard, brought over by the kind ladies of the town for the grieving widow. He wondered in passing where the child was. There didn't seem to be any clothing or furnishings you would expect to find if a child was present. And yet everyone said they did have an eighteen month old daughter. He searched through drawers in the kitchen and bedrooms, not knowing what he was looking for but desperate to find anything. He moved to the small living room and found a roll top desk. Rifling through old receipts, correspondence and a ledger carefully accounting all the winnings Stern had at the poker tables, Scott found a folded newspaper at the bottom of the drawer. Carefully opening it up he saw a small message in the Personnel’s circled at the bottom of the page. `Drexlier 2000.' Slipping the newspaper inside his shirt he closed the roll top desk and hurried out the back door. He passed by the sheriff's office and thought about telling Hawkins what he had just found, what he suspected, but a gun shot from the saloon and a cheer from the growing mob changed his mind. He had to get back to his brother. There was more danger here than any of them suspected.
Chapter Six
Johnny got his wish late the next day when Crawford hauled a saddle into the
cave and helped Murdoch and McKenna gently lift him back against the overturned
gullet.
"If you feel dizzy or sick you let us know," McKenna warned, "I don't like you
sitting up so soon, but a promise is a promise."
Johnny smirked, as only he could, and Teresa had to force back a tear. Johnny
was so sick, and this cave was much to cold and damp for an injured man. She
worried about pneumonia or bronchitis. They had nursed him through pneumonia
after Pardee's bullet two years ago and had almost lost him then. The thought
made her shiver and she felt Murdoch slip a blanket around her shoulders.
"It'll be dark soon and we can start a fire." He promised. Turning his attention
to his son he patted him on the leg, "Feeling better Johnny?"
Johnny nodded. "Just needed some of Teresa's good broth," he said, his voice
ragged. "Could have used some salt thought."
"Oh, Johnny Lancer." Teresa grinned, the tears spilling out no matter how hard
she tried to control them. "You are incorrigible. Next thing, you'll be
complaining about the mattress."
Dr. McKenna sat back and marveled at the family he felt so close to now, using
their strength and will power to carry on. He was scared, and he wasn't ashamed
to admit it. But these people, in the midst of all that was happening had not
lost hope, had not faltered in their love and devotion to the boy who was so
sick.
"Where's Scott?" Johnny asked, his eyes combing the darkness beyond the lantern
light.
"He went into town to check things out. He'll be back soon." Murdoch pulled off
the blanket he had around his own shoulders and laid it over Johnny as his son
began to shiver again. Soon darkness would return and he could start the fire to
stave off the bone numbing cold. He looked around him at the makeshift refuge
they had made. Crawford had brought in a supply of wood and kindling for the
nights when they could safely start the fire. The extra blankets and supplies
Teresa had gathered as they fled the clinic were stacked toward the very back of
the cave. Murdoch forced back the anger he felt at having to flee like animals
in the night to save his son's life.
"No!" Johnny was suddenly agitated. "It's too dangerous"
"Relax Johnny, or the doc here will have to give you something to make you. I'm
serious, Boy, you have to lay still. Now, Scott knows what he's doing. He'll be
back soon."
Johnny shook his head, Scott was so naive in so many things. He didn't know what
a lynch mob would resort to, to get their man. They were like a pack of wolves,
killing their own if they had to in their frenzy to hunt down their prey. "He
doesn't know. If they catch him…"
"They won't. Now, you relax, that's an order."
The shout of "Rider coming!" came from Crawford outside the cave.
Johnny instinctively reached for his gun on his hip. "My gun." He demanded.
"Johnny…" Teresa tried to pull his hand away, "you don't need…"
"Give the man his gun," Murdoch ordered. He watched Johnny's hand circle around
the gun as if it were a treasured friend, then laid it beside him. He nodded a
thanks to Murdoch before the older man disappeared beyond the lantern light.
"It's probably Scott," Teresa said, pouring some water from the canteen into the
tin cup and holding it to Johnny's lips. "You need to drink plenty of water.
It's the only way to keep the fever down."
She watched
him obediently sip at the water, the simple act of drinking making him flinch in
pain. She caught McKenna's look and saw him reach for the bottle of Laudanum.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly. She knew Johnny needed time.
Murdoch waited beside Crawford, gun drawn, until they saw Scott appear north of
the caves.
"Sorry it took so long." Scott dismounted and handed the reigns to Crawford. "I
circled around for a couple hours, just to make sure no one was following. How's
Johnny?"
"Sitting up and asking for his gun."
"Fever's down?"
"Some. But now comes the hard part, convincing him to stay quite so he doesn't
hurt himself more than he is already. You find anything in town?"
Scott nodded. "Town's still in an uproar, and its Stern who's keeping them that
way. Murdoch, he's not exactly acting like the grieving husband. You should have
seen him when he was giving his thank you speech to the mob that returned empty
handed. Don't give up he said, then bought everyone a round of drinks."
"Did you talk to Hawkins?"
"No. I didn't get a chance. But I did find this." He pulled the folded newspaper
from his shirt and opened it to the Personals add. "I found this hidden at the
bottom of his desk…"
"You broke into his house?" Murdoch asked incredulously.
"It seemed a good idea at the time. And I didn't get caught." He smiled. "Look
here." He pointed to the circled add. "Maybe hiring a gun?"
Murdoch arched an eyebrow. "Maybe. But you took a big chance breaking into
Stern's house, Scott. What if you were caught…"
"But I wasn't, now was I. And I noticed one other thing. There wasn't one thing
there for a baby. I mean not one single thing. Even if he sent the baby off to
stay with someone else, there still should have been something, a blanket, a
diaper…Something."
"Just what are you trying to say Scott?"
"That there's way more to this than meets the eye." He grabbed the paper from
Murdoch's hand. "I think Johnny should know about this…” He turned and his face
paled. The black cave entrance loomed in front of him and he took an involuntary
step back.
"Scott." Murdoch laid a reassuring hand on Scott's shoulder. "Why don't you get
out of those…" he couldn't find the words to describe the flea ridden clothes,
"and then relieve Crawford for awhile. It'll be dark soon and we can light the
fire."
Scott caught Murdoch's eyes and saw understanding there that he never would have
thought he would find from the older man. He knew, somehow he knew, that the
fear Scott agonized over was bigger than anything he could surmount. The only
one who couldn't understand and couldn't accept was himself.
"I'll tell Johnny you're here."
Scott nodded and slowly headed off to where his clothes were waiting. He damned
the war and the fear it had instilled in him.
Johnny watched as Murdoch started the fire and Teresa began warming what food
they had. Crawford had caught a couple more rabbits and the smell of the meat
cooking over the fire nearly brought up what little water he had been able to
take during the day. He was feeling terrible. The pain in his chest radiated
down to his stomach and out to the tips of his fingers with each breath, but he
would not give into the pain medication. He needed to stay alert, protect them
in any way he could if there was trouble. It was because of him his family was
in trouble, again. They were forced to hide here in this cold dark cave because
of his past, a past that would never leave him alone. He made a decision as he
laid there, one he should have made a long time ago. When this was over and he
was fit to travel he would go on his separate way. Never again would he put
Teresa in jeopardy. She was the sweetest most precious thing he had ever
encountered in his life and he would not be the cause of her suffering any more
pain. And Murdoch. He was tough as nails, but beneath his thick hide was a
caring person. He had seen it when he looked at Scott or Teresa. It had taken
the old man a long time to show the same affection toward him, but it was only
his instinct that was warning him. If he had only listened a little harder.
Something rustled in the darkness toward the mouth of the cave and Johnny lifted
his gun, his hand shaking under its weight.
"Whoa, Brother." Scott grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "It’s
only me."
Johnny let the gun fall to his side and tried to suppress a moan as the movement
sent a spasm of pain through his chest.
"How are you feeling, huh?" Scott was leaning over him now, feeling his forehead
for fever and straightening the blanket that had fallen off his shoulder as he
raised the gun.
"Better. I think I can ride by tomorrow." A wary shake of McKenna's head told
Scott that was not to be.
"Well, we'll think about that tomorrow." He turned to look back at Teresa as she
positioned the rabbit just above the fire. "Teresa, that smells almost good
enough to eat." he grinned.
"Thank Mr. Crawford for catching more rabbits. And," she handed Scott a cup of
the rabbit broth, "this broth will help Johnny regain his strength."
"How about it Johnny? I see you must have had some this morning cause you're
sitting up."
Johnny shook his head.
"Come on. You've got to get something in your stomach. Ok, what kind of
dickering is it gonna take for you to drink some of this broth this time, little
brother?"
A smile crept across Johnny's face. "Boston, you think I'm that easy?"
"Yes." Scott matched his smile.
"Alright." Johnny closed his eyes, willing his tired mind to stay alert. "Tell
me everything you found in town today. Everything."
Scott glanced up at Murdoch who nodded silently. "Let's see then." He gently
lifted Johnny's head just a little higher to make it easy for him to sip at the
broth. "How about…six good size swallows."
Johnny eyed his brother, "Three now," he said, "three when you tell me
everything."
"You got a deal there, Johnny." Johnny took the three sips and then lay back
against the saddle, exhausted.
Scott sat back, crossing his legs Indian style, looking between the fire and his
brother, never at the thick blackness just beyond them. "Remember when I told
you yesterday that the bullet that hit you was just a decoy for the real
target?"
Johnny turned his head away, he didn't believe Scott yesterday, he didn't
believe him today.
Scott leaned forward, gently pulling Johnny's chin toward him, "It was the
truth."
"What kind of man would kill his own wife, the woman who carried his child?"
Johnny asked coldly.
"A man who could callously go back to playing poker, just a few days after his
wife's death. Johnny, I was as close to him as I am to you right now, and I'm
telling you, he's as cold as they come."
"I saw his eyes in the doc's office."
"You saw a good actor. Think about it Johnny, you were hit first, dead center,
by all rights you should be dead." Scott saw Johnny take a sharp breath and
wince at the pain it caused. "Then why shoot the woman? Because she was the main
target."
Johnny shook his head.
"Damn it, Johnny, are you so wrapped up in your own lack of self worth that you
think every bad thing has to center around you?"
Johnny's eyes flared as he snapped his head back to look at Scott. "I just know
how things are."
McKenna watched Johnny carefully, ready to step in if things got beyond what his
weakened condition could handle.
"You do, do you? I found this in Stern's desk." He pulled the newspaper from
beneath his shirt. "Down here." He pointed to a circled personal add, the
flickering firelight making it impossible for Johnny to read. "It says… Drexlier
2000."
Johnny flinched at the name.
"You know him, Son?" Murdoch asked.
Johnny turned away again.
"Johnny!" There was no mistaking that tone of voice. Murdoch kneeled down beside
Scott. "Whether you like it or not, we've all in this together. We're all in
danger. Help us Johnny." In a softer voice he added, "It's time you stopped
trying to fight all your battles alone."
"Josh Drexlier. We rode together for a time. He's good. Expensive."
"Stern has money. I saw his ledger."
"Drexlier wouldn't shoot a woman."
"Even for two thousand dollars?"
"If someone hired Drexlier…it was meant for me, not an innocent woman."
"Johnny." Scott sighed, "This newspaper is dated four weeks ago. No one knew you
would be in Rockville four weeks ago. Not even you."
No. Johnny closed his eyes. It was getting harder to breathe. "Drexlier and I.."
his voice was coming in gasps now, "rode together in Ensenada…wanted me to do a
job…couldn't…"
"Johnny…" Murdoch looked toward McKenna, concerned.
"Not right…they were good people…caught…he was caught…spent three years in
Mexican prison…blames me…blames me…"
Cold…he felt so cold. He wanted this nightmare to end. He felt hands lift him
and pull the saddle free of his back and lay him on the hard ground. Something
trickled into his mouth, down his throat. He didn't have the energy to fight it.
He drifted off, his hand resting securely across his gun.
***
Three more days past and noting changed except Johnny's condition improved
steadily. McKenna was more than a bit surprised and suspicious at how quickly
the young man's health turned around. While he still had a low-grade fever and
the wound looked red and very painful, Johnny insisted it was nothing he
couldn't handle and wanted nothing more than to get some fresh air and sunlight.
McKenna
couldn't fault him for that. The cave was dark and damp and even with the fire,
everyone's bones ached from the cold.
Johnny found Scott standing guard behind an outcropping of boulders to the east
of the cave entrance and sauntered up to him as casually as he could. He didn't
want Scott to see the pain in his eyes or the weakness in his limbs. He had a
hard time accepting anything but one hundred percent from himself. And being
dependent on others, even his family, grated on his nerves.
"Hey Boston, found yourself a nice cozy spot, huh?"
Scott shifted aside so Johnny could share the boulder he was leaning against.
"Teresa know you're out here?"
"Teresa's sound asleep along with Murdoch and the doc. Thought it wasn't right
that you should be hogging all the sunshine."
"There's plenty of it, help yourself." Scott studied his brother; saw the beads
of perspiration on his forehead, the too pale face, and his hands shaking
despite his best effort to hide them. "Quite a mess we've gotten ourselves into
this time, isn't it Brother?"
"Thanks to Johnny Madrid." Johnny said tersely, his head hung low.
Frustrated, Scott stood up, "I'm not about to argue the point again, Johnny…that
bullet…"
Rock dust hit Scott in the face as a bullet ricocheted off the boulder next to
him. He dived for cover, hitting the loose shale and slipping before Johnny's
leg straddled him. Johnny was still on his feet, his gun shaking in his hand as
if it weighed fifty pounds.
"That's just a warning." A voice shouted down from the rocks above. "Now, move
out in the open, both of you. Hands where I can see them."
The sound of horses pounding up the hill made it abundantly clear that they
didn't have a chance.
"Come on, Madrid. The game's over. You lost. If you don't want the rest of your
family hurt you'll show yourself. Now.!"
Johnny looked at Scoot and knew there was no other answer. "Sorry Boston." He
said as he bolted into the open before Scott could snag him back.
"I'm here," he yelled. "Let everyone go and I won't give you any trouble."
"You're not making the rules here Madrid. Tell everyone to come out of the cave
or we'll seal them in." A man appeared on the ridge, a bundle of dynamite in his
hand. "There's more where that came from. Enough to bring down half this
mountain."
Johnny nodded and dropped his gun to the ground next to him. "Murdoch, bring
Teresa and Doc out. They've got us outnumbered."
He saw shadows moving in the darkness beyond the cave entrance then Murdoch
appeared, his arm tightly wrapped around Teresa's trembling shoulders. McKenna
followed behind, blinking in the brilliant sunlight.
"Everyone, throw down your weapons." A dozen men spilled out of the hills, guns
drawn, their face's flushed with the excitement of the hunt, and the capture. A
dozen more sat on impatient horses surrounding the cave.
"We got `em, Mr. Stern." A man grabbed Johnny and roughly spun him around, tying
his hands behind his back. Johnny didn't hear a thing, only the loud buzz in his
head from the searing pain in his chest as the stitches were pulled taut and his
vision blackened.
"Take it easy! He's hurt!" Scott tried to reach his brother and a rifle butt
slammed against his shoulder. He went down on one knee, his vision blurring.
"Don't matter none," a voice jeered from the crowd, "Johnny Madrid's got a date
with a lynching tree tonight." A roar of cheers went up and Russell Stern slowly
turned his back on the scene and trotted away.
Johnny staid on his feet, somehow, despite the agonizing pain. He would not give
this hungry pack of cowards the pleasure of seeing him wither on the ground in
pain.
Murdoch and McKenna's hands were quickly tied but Teresa was allowed to stay
unfettered. She leaned down and helped Scott back to his feet.
"Get `em all in the wagon." Scott recognized the leader as the man who had
apologized to Stern for not finding Johnny yesterday. Everyone but Johnny was
herded toward the wagon. Murdoch cautioned everyone not to make a move, not yet.
Scott was about to climb into the back when a length of robe was dropped at his
feet. "Don't forget this one."
Scott's stomach sank. He thought they had forgotten him. With is hands tied
tightly behind his back he clambered into the wagon and sat between Murdoch and
Teresa. They all watched as Johnny was led toward them, his legs barely able to
hold him up. Doc saw a small swatch of red on Johnny's shirt and cringed. What
more was this boy going to be forced to endure?
Johnny was unceremoniously dumped in the back of the wagon and only Teresa was
free to help him shuffle up toward Murdoch and Scott.
Silently he
turned on his side and laid his head on Murdoch's legs. It would be the last
time they would be together. He felt a sadness more profound than he had ever
felt before. Never had he had so much to lose. In the past, he left no one
behind, only those who paid for his gun grieved for him. Now he felt the pain of
loss and saw the mirror image in Murdoch and Scott's eyes.
Teresa leaned over him, her tears falling unabated on his face, "You rest for a
while," she whispered as she gently stroked his cheek. "You rest."
*
Chapter Seven
Night fell before the wagon finally reached Rockville. Johnny hadn't said a
word, nor had anyone else. What could be said? The inevitable was about to
happen and they were powerless to stop it. Even the men who rode guard beside
them, rifles held in ready in case Johnny Madrid tried a bid for freedom, were
silent. But escape was not to be. Johnny could only lay motionless as the wagon
bucked and lurched over the rutted road leading into town. As he laid there he
made peace with himself. He led a life that no one would ever truly know because
like most legends there were only half truths and the other truths he kept to
himself. To be honest with himself, he marveled at the last two years. After all
the pain, the loneliness, he had found a family and shared their lives. He had
been a fulfilled man for longer than he ever had a right to wish for. But now
they were caught up in this nightmare, because his past tried to claim him once
again. And an innocent woman had paid the ultimate price. He felt Teresa's hand
gently caress his cheek. His only one real regret, was that that same family
that had brought him the first true happiness in his life were about to see it
end. Would they ever be able to live with the image of him swinging from a rope?
The procession slowly made the last turn in the road and came upon the main
street of Rockville. Torches lined the streets casting elongated shadows of the
men and woman waiting silently as the buckboard passed them on its way to the
hangman's rope. A circle of torches rimmed the old tree next to the livery; the
hanging tree. Johnny struggled to sit up, Teresa's surprising strength helping
him.
They came to a stop next to a bare wagon chassis sitting beneath the hanging
tree, the noose waiting.
Johnny looked back at Murdoch and their eyes met with understanding.
"Vaya con Dios, mi hijo," Murdoch whispered.
Johnny's eyes fell on Teresa. The grief in her young eyes pained him to his very
soul. Tonight would be the end of her innocence.
He saw the tears of disbelief and loss spill down Scott's face. "No!" Scott
yelled, jumping to his feet, "This is wrong!" A lone shot rang out in the
darkness.
"Scott…" Johnny looked up at him, a sad smile touching the corners of him mouth.
"There is nothing you can do, Boston. Teresa and Murdoch will need you. Sit
down. Usted está allí fuerza, hermano."
McKenna thought he would never take another breath in his life time. He felt
Scott drop down next to him, his shoulder resting against him arm and he felt
the young man's body tremble with anguish.
How could this have happened? He knew these people, treated them for their
injuries, their illness, from grandparent to parent to child. They were good
people. But now as he looked out over the sea of hate he didn't recognize a
single one of them.
Russell Stern took his place atop a bale of hay next to the chassis, a torch
held high above his head. "Thank you all,” he called. "Justice is at last
served." A rumble went through the crowd. "Never again will another man, woman
or child stand before the grave of a loved one because of Johnny Madrid." The
rumble grew to a roar. "I will never stand beside my beautiful Helen, never hold
the child she carried. But I know she is looking down upon us tonight and
thanking all of you." The crowd surged closer, torches held high above their
heads, the light flickering on their hate filled faces. "It's time he paid for
his sins." Stern swept his torch down to point at Johnny. "Hang Madrid!"
The crowd rushed forward in a frenzy of hate and revenge. The wagon's tailgate
was ripped off and Johnny was dragged from the wagon bed. Teresa screamed as the
buckboard was rocked violently, nearly toppling over. She scrambled to the front
of the wagon and frantically tried to untie Murdoch's ropes but she was thrown
off balance as the wagon nearly fell on its side. She held on desperately as the
wagon teetered on two wheels before it came crashing back down on all fours.
Johnny felt as if he were suffocating in the mass of bodies that surrounded him.
The pain in his chest left him helpless to fight. If not for the strong arms of
his captors he would have collapsed in a heap on the ground. A discarded door
was shoved across the chassis and he was lifted up into the waiting arms of the
hangman. The rope was pulled over his head and the noose tightened until his
neck pulsed with every labored breath. He didn't know how, but when the hangman
released his grip, he found the strength to stand. He promised himself that he
would die with dignity, for himself and for his family.
"Are you ready to go to Hell, Madrid?" Stern screamed and held his hand up ready
to signal the two men posted at the chassis hitch to roll it free of Johnny's
feet.
Suddenly a figure jumped on the hay bale behind Stern pressing a knife to his
throat.
"Tell them the truth!" In the flickering torch light Johnny recognized Crawford.
"Tell them the truth or so help me God I will slit your throat right here and
now."
A hush came over the crowd.
"Tell them. Tell them how you hired Drexlier to kill your own wife."
Not a person moved. The only sound came from the roar of the burning torches.
"Tell them!" Crawford put pressure on the knife until he drew blood.
Murdoch watched, his heart in his throat. He felt Scott shift beside him.
"It wasn't me." Stern cried. "It wasn't me."
"Who then? Who!"
Stern tried to grab for Crawford's arm but received a kick in the back and the
blade sank a fraction of an inch deeper.
"Who!"
"No…Don't kill me…please."
"Who hired Drexlier!"
"Helen hired him."
Stunned faces stared up at him. Murdoch's breath caught in his throat. Scott
climbed to his feet, desperately looking from the crowd to Johnny. He could see
his brother's legs shaking. It would only be a matter of minutes, maybe even
seconds before Johnny's burst of energy would finally fade and he would
collapse, the rope strangling the life out of him.
"The truth!" Crawford hissed.
"She was dying. She couldn't face what would happen to her in the end so she
hired Drexlier to kill her."
"No!" a woman's voice rang out, tinged with hysteria.
"We robbed a bank four years ago. Helen was hit. The bullet lodged in the back
of her head. It couldn't be removed. The doctor said it would only be a matter
of time before it began to shift. When it did it would eventually kill her, but
not before the headaches would be unbearable and…before the end… she would go
insane."
"But the baby?" A woman broke free of the crowd, her face contorted in anguish
and incredulity. "The baby she carried."
"She made that up to explain her failing health."
"You piece of filth!" Crawford hissed. "Why Johnny?"
Stern looked over the crowd trying to find a sympathetic eye. He only saw
disgust and disbelief. "Drexlier said if someone else was hit it would look like
she was an innocent by-stander and I wouldn't be questioned. Please, you have to
understand. She was so frightened of going insane. I had to do it."
Johnny swayed and caught himself. The rope cinched tighter around his nick. He
couldn't make sense out of what he was hearing. The fringes of unconsciousness
pressed ever closer.
Teresa hurriedly began to untie Scott. Murdoch struggled to his feet, not taking
his eyes off his son. Johnny's strength was gone. "Cut him down!" he yelled.
Eyes glued to Stern suddenly turned to Johnny. In mass the crowd surged toward
him when a shot rang out and Stern slumped to the ground at Crawford's feet.
"Drexlier." Johnny gasped wordlessly.
"No one move." Drexlier pointed his gun toward Johnny. "You're a hard man to
kill, amigo." He grinned.
Johnny watched Drexlier through a haze as he parted the crowd with his horse,
the torch light bathing his face in grotesque shadows.
"I swore you'd pay for those three long years in that filthy Mexican prison."
Johnny felt numb. The front of his shirt was wet and sticky with blood that
continued to spread across his chest. He didn't know how he was still standing.
"You killed a woman?" he asked, his voice a ragged whisper.
"Easiest money I ever made." Drexlier laughed. "And when I saw you in town
Johnny boy…"
Scott couldn't take another second. He leaped from the wagon toward Drexlier.
The gunslinger turned and fired. The bullet caught Scoot high in the left
shoulder and he slammed into the ground, stunned.
Teresa screamed. Murdoch made ready to jump down to Scott's side when a second
shot rang out hissing past his ear. "Don't move." Drexlier warned. "Nobody move.
This is between me and Johnny Madrid. Ain't that right, amigo?"
Johnny didn't have the strength to fight anymore. He saw Scott go down and there
was nothing left.
Murdoch searched the crowd frantically for someone, anyone to step forward.
"Just another minute…" Drexlier laughed, "And ole Johnny Madrid will be meeting
his maker…"
Suddenly the sound of horses galloping down the street and shots fired filled
the air. The crowd dropped to the ground. Drexlier spun his horse around to see
a dozen men riding toward him. He raised his gun to fire and a bullet caught him
in the hand. He cursed as he held his gun hand in pain.
Murdoch stared in amazement as the group of horsemen pulled to a stop,
recognizing Val and Cipriano.
"Johnny!" Teresa screamed as she saw Johnny's eyes glaze over and roll back in
his head. He was suddenly hanging limply like a rag doll, his neck set at an odd
angle as the noosed cut off his air.
Cipriano bolted off the saddle and was on the chassis holding up the limp form
of the boy he loved like a son.
Hands reached down to help Scott up but he shoved them away. He didn't want
their help now. Murdoch jumped down from the wagon, their eyes meeting before he
ran to Johnny's side. McKenna was helped off the wagon and he pushed his way
through the pack of strangers he used to call friends.
"He still breaths, Patron" Cipriano said with a strained voice, loosening the
noose and pulling it free. Murdoch reached out to take Johnny and the old
Segundo gently lowered the boy into his waiting arms. Murdoch nodded and turned
back to Scott who had his arm wrapped around Teresa for support. The crowd
parted silently as McKenna led Murdoch back toward the clinic. One by one the
torches were snuff out as people came to grip with what they had almost done.
Someone called out, "Can we do anything to help Mr. Madrid?"
Murdoch turned back to face them before closing the clinic door, contempt on his
face. "My boy's name is Lancer, Johnny Lancer. And no, there is nothing you can
do, except try to live with yourselves."
***
Three days later Johnny lay staring up at the ceiling of the clinic. He had just
begun staying awake for more than five minutes at a time. Long enough to ponder
the question; why. He could understand, in a way, why Helen had done what she
had. Johnny himself didn't know what he would do with the specter of insanity
looming before him. But it didn't explain Russell Stern's actions. Was the
thousand dollars Drexlier promised to repay him from his wife's fee enough to
turn a town into a frenzied lynch mob? Or was it the feeling of power as he held
each and everyone of them in the palm of his hand?
Johnny smiled
ironically, it had almost worked. Helen had planned everything perfectly before
Drexlier arrived. Sent their eighteen mouth old daughter to live with her sister
in Laramie, carried on her life as if she didn't have a care in the world, while
all the while…he would never forgive Stern for what he had done, but Helen…he
could forgive her.
"Care to talk about it?" Scott's voice broke his reverie and he turned his head
to look at Scott sitting on the edge of a second bed in McKenna’s clinic, his
arm supported in a sling.
"Not much to say," Johnny answered, his voice heavy with fatigue.
"Oh, I'd say there was a lot to talk about. But for now I will settle on hearing
that you no longer blame yourself for Helen Stern's death."
Silence filled the room and Scott wasn't sure if Johnny had not drifted back to
sleep when Johnny said softly, "Guilt has been a companion for a long time,
Scott."
"Then isn't it about time you parted company?" Scott slid off his bed and sat
carefully on Johnny's. "You have a family now. Let us help you."
"Scott's right," Murdoch said from the doorway. "That's what families do...help
each other. Now," he whispered, “I'm going to make a concerted effort in that
direction and tell you both that McKenna and Teresa just got back and they will
both be livid to see you, Scott out of bed, and you Johnny, doing anything but
sleeping."
"Thanks, Murdoch." Scott grinned, climbing back into his bed, "We both owe you
one."
"And you Johnny?" But Johnny had already slipped back into a deep healing sleep.
"Do you think he will ever get past this?" Scott asked, studying his brother,
relieved to see his steady breath after all the pain he had been through.
"I hope so, Son. I hope with time, and the love of his family, he will finally
find the happiness he truly deserves.
Epilogue
Two long weeks passed before McKenna agreed Johnny was ready to travel. A
buckboard was set up with soft mattresses and plenty of blankets. The doctor
provided Murdoch with a bottle of Laudanum if the trip became too rough or the
boy got to rambunctious for his own good.
The good- bys were sad and heartfelt. McKenna had made new friends in the
Lancer's and their extended family, and had lost old ones. Things would never be
the same in Rockville. Sometimes things were just too bad to set straight with a
simple apology. It would take time to regain trust and friendships.
Johnny walked out of the clinic under his own power, feeling the sun on his face
for the fist time in a fortnight. But at the first sight of the wagon he balked.
"What in hell do you call that?" he exploded.
"That's your ride home." Scott grinned, happy he had only suffered a flesh wound
at the hands of Drexlier and could mount a horse for the trip back.
"Now wait a minute…I ain't…"
"You listen to me, Johnny Lancer." Murdoch rose to his full height puffing out
his chest in his best fatherly pose. "If you want to get home to Lancer it will
be in this. And I don't want any complaints. What's more…you will do as you are
told, when you are told to do so. Do I make myself clear? That means when Teresa
tells you it's time to rest, you rest. If she says its time to eat you eat. Any
questions?"
Johnny dropped his head, "No…but…" He peeked a look up at Scott from under the
brim of his hat. "I think Scott here is looking a bit sickly. I don't think
he's healed completely from that shoulder wound. Maybe best if he takes it a bit
easy too."
"Good try little brother," Scott grinned, "but I got a clean bill of health.
That wagon is all yours Johnny."
Johnny muttered under his breath but by the time he was settled on the mattress
and Teresa had covered him with a blanket he had to admit he was grateful for
the accommodations.
McKenna leaned over the wagon and did the last bit of ministrations on the boy,
smiling fondly down at him. "It was a pleasure knowing you Johnny. I just wish
it was under better circumstances."
"That invitation to visit Lancer was an honest one." Johnny clamped the old
man's hand in his.
"One I'll be sure to take up. Now you listen to Teresa, she's just about the
best nurse I've ever had the pleasure of working with."
McKenna climbed back down, his smile fading. "You watch him careful, you hear?"
He said to Murdoch. "He's still a very sick boy. By all rights he should still
be in bed in my clinic, but I know how important going home is to him…to all of
you."
"Thanks Doc. We'll take good care of him."
"I know you will."
As the buckboard slowly headed down the street and out of town, faces haunted
with memories of what had almost happened watched the wagon disappear in the
dust. Johnny Lancer would live with them for a lifetime. A lifetime of guilt.
The End
2003
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