To The Eastern Gate - Pt 1 of 3 (Lancer)
Dec. 15th, 2005 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilda_eliseTitle: To The Eastern Gate
Fandom: Lancer
Pairing: none
Notes: Not many of the large cattle ranches survived into the 20th century. Did Lancer?
He could hear a calf bawling somewhere off to the left, away from the rest of the herd. Leaving behind the haze of dust kicked up by the cattle, Scott Lancer reentered the world of color and made his way toward the shallow gully.
The cloudless sky should have been a welcome sight; at one time, it had been. But not anymore. Now, all it meant was another day without rain, another day of the sun blasting down on the already scorched earth. Scott wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve and resettled his hat on his head as he approached the struggling animal.
“Take it easy, little guy, I’ll have you out of there in a minute.”
The gully was only a few feet deep so retrieving the calf would be no problem; what little strength it had it had used up in its fight to get free. Scott got down on one knee, wrapped his arms around the calf and lifted as he rose to his feet. The animal lay docilely in his arms as he carried it back to the rest of the herd.
He could just see Johnny up ahead, a dirty silhouette against a backdrop of blue. His brother was covered in dust after a day of moving the cattle through the grassless pastures.
“Where you takin’ him?” Johnny motioned toward the animal. “Chances are, his mother’s dead or can’t feed him.”
Scott frowned. His brother was right. The calf had been left behind because either it couldn’t keep up or because there was no longer a mother to follow. Scott balked at leaving the poor thing out here to die, though. “I don’t know. I can’t leave him out here.”
Johnny shook his head and chuckled. “After all these years, you still ain’t learned, have you? You can’t be thinking of them as anything but a meal on hooves.”
“If I took him to the house you think someone there could look after him? He could be bottle fed.”
“Scott, there’s a hundred like him out here. We can’t save them all.”
The two men stared at each other for a minute; finally, Johnny sighed. “All right, give him here.” He leaned over and took the animal out of his brother’s arms and settled him across his saddle. “I’ve got to ride in to let Murdoch know we’re probably not going to get the whole herd to water, find out what he wants us to do.”
“I thought the stream was less than a mile away.”
“I thought so, too, but I sent one of the men ahead and the stream’s dried out. The next one’s another three miles. I don’t know how many of these animals have the strength to make it that far.”
“We need this herd, Johnny. Murdoch said if we lose this bunch we might not have enough to build on when the drought’s over.” Scott remembered how unnerved he had been by the look on their father’s face when he’d said it. Like the man was starting to lose hope.
“We’ll be okay. I’ve seen it worse than this.” Johnny pulled on the reins to turn his horse around and toward home. “Just keep ‘em moving. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Scott watched his brother ride off, the small animal nestled placidly against him. He hoped Johnny was right. In the seven years since he’d first called this home, Scott had come to love this land. Perhaps not with the passion of his father but certainly with the appreciation of one whose life now revolved around its open spaces. He looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.
§§§§§§§§§§
They came in hot, dirty and tired, their clothes stiff with a mixture of dirt, sweat and grime. It took everything Scott had to get off his horse and make his legs take up the weight of his body again. Sixteen hours, from sunup to well past sunset, they’d worked to get as many animals to water as they could. They’d lost twenty head.
As they left their horses to be tended, Scott noticed the small calf sleeping in one of the stalls. He walked over and gazed at the animal. “Who’s taking care of him?”
“Who’d you think?” Johnny stood next to him and rested his arms on the stall gate. “Maria said she’d try feeding him as often as she could. Looks like she got him to eat.”
The calf’s belly was slightly rounded and he looked somehow stronger than he had that morning. “I wish we could save them all. Dying of thirst is an ugly way to die.”
“There ain’t no good way to die, brother. Come on.” Johnny grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him away from the stall. “I’m ready for a bath, a beer and a bed...in that order.”
Scott laughed. “I don’t know about you but I could do with a meal, too.”
“Yeah, that, too. It’s just that the other three are more important,” Johnny agreed with a grin.
They walked to the house in silence. After awhile, Scott reached out and laid his arm across Johnny’s shoulders. It was still warm but he needed the sense of his brother only touch could bring.
“What’s the matter, Scott?”
“Nothing...everything.”
“That’s a mighty wide choice to pick from.”
Scott shrugged. “I suppose it’s the same thing everyone else around here is worried about. Drought’s gone on for three years now.”
“This isn’t anything; told you, I’ve seen worse. Ten year droughts aren’t unknown. You hunker down and ride ‘em out. That’s all you can do.”
“So how come Murdoch looks so worried all the time?”
“The old man always looks like that,” Johnny responded with a chuckle. “Has since the day we met him.”
“I guess so. Still, it makes me wonder.”
They reached the house and Johnny pushed open the door that brought them into the kitchen. “Well, don’t. Besides, I thought it was my job to read more into what Murdoch says or does than is really there.”
It was a running joke between Scott and his brother; it had taken Johnny years to finally accept that Murdoch had a habit of seeing the worse in a situation, even while at the same time hoping for the best. Especially those first few years when it was Johnny Murdoch was hoping for the best from.
“Go on,” he gave his brother a playful shove, “I’m commandeering the bath. Just leave me some food.”
Johnny turned and waggled his eyebrows at him before strolling over to the stove where Maria, their housekeeper and cook, aggressively rolled out the dough in front of her. He grabbed the tortilla from the top of the stack, rolled it up and dunked the end into the pot of chilé simmering on the stove.
Maria slapped his hand. When Teresa, their father’s ward, had married and left Lancer three years before, the older woman had taken on all the household responsibilities that once they’d shared between them. Somehow, she’d taken on the care of its two younger owners at the same time and come to rule their hearts as well as the house. “Wait, wait, I will serve you some. Go, sit.” She shooed him away and wiped her hands on her apron. “Some for you, too, Senór Scott?”
“Not right now, Maria, but is there hot water in the bath house?”
“Si, I knew you’d be getting here soon, so I got it ready.” She ladled out a serving of food and handed it to Johnny, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table.
“You didn’t haul that water in here by yourself, did you?” Johnny took a tortilla from the napkin Maria had placed in front of him and began eating.
“No, of course not. I had Eduárdo fill all the tinas for me. Lazy cabrón isn’t good for much else.”
Scott looked down, trying not to smile.
“I put some clean clothes in there for you, too. The green shirt. I like you in that one.”
God, the woman was even dressing them, now. “I hate that shirt. By the way, what happened to my beige one?”
“That thing? I’m using it as a trapo to polish the furniture.”
He heard a snort of laughter from Johnny.
“Maria, that was my favorite shirt!”
“Senór Scott, that shirt was old. I’ll make you another one, one you can wear to church. Your papa would like that. He told me you haven’t been going.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things Murdoch wants me to do,” Scott responded as he started down the small hallway which led to the bathhouse. He should have known he wouldn’t get the last word.
“Your papa also said you need to quit taking so many baths!”
§§§§§§§§§§§
Scott lowered his aching body into the steaming hot water with a sigh and let his head fall back against the folded towel he’d placed along the rim of the tub. He closed his eyes.
The room was warm and humid; the fires under the large tin pots were banked so that the water stayed hot but didn’t overflow, yet they still gave off enough heat to turn the small enclosure almost tropical. He grimaced slightly, remembering the one time he’d spent any amount of time in that sort of climate. The War had changed him in a lot of ways; his fixation with cleanliness was one of the more benign.
So long ago, now. Years and years. He’d shuffled off a lot of the baggage he’d brought back. Lancer had helped. Scott had never felt his grandfather’s house was home, not once he was an adult. Maybe because Harlan Garrett had been forever pushing him on: a career, a place of his own, a wife. Those were the things that signaled a man’s success.
Not here. Murdoch may have longed for grandchildren but he’d never once pushed Scott or Johnny into taking a wife. Perhaps because of his own history with wives and sons. It had taken Murdoch Lancer twenty years to get his sons back, the whys and wherefores of it never told, but it still might influence his actions toward those sons.
Whatever the reason, both he and Johnny were made to feel that their home was their home; they need do nothing more than live and work here. So, as women came and went from Scott’s life, there was always the knowledge that, if it was a problem, it was his alone.
His eyes drifted open only enough so he could find the wash cloth and soap. With lazy swipes, he cleaned his arms and legs, enjoying the roughness of the cloth against his naked body. He swept it lightly across his chest and abdomen, teasing his flesh. He was a sensualist and he knew it.
And that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? He’d recognized the pattern of his desires early. He didn’t want a tame woman, a woman who would walk demurely at his side and cater to his every whim. He wanted a woman whose appetites rivaled his own, who saw what she wanted and went after it. Unfortunately, that kind of woman rarely made for a good wife and mother.
Scooting slightly forward, he dunked his head back just far enough for the water to cover his hair. He sat up, the water running down his head and shoulders as he groped for the bottle of hair wash he knew was on the table next to the tub.
Once his hair was clean and rinsed, he got out of the tub and, using one of the oven mitts kept in the room, added the remaining water from one of the pots. It would give him another five or ten minutes.
He stepped back into the tub and sat down. Stretching out again, he let the heat of the water permeate through his skin to warm and relax his muscles. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could sleep in. No rush to bed.
Sunday. Sunday service. He hoped Maria had been teasing about church. He’d never really been a churchgoer. His grandfather wasn’t, so he’d never picked up the habit. He’d gone when he had first arrived at Lancer, mainly because Murdoch and Teresa did. It seemed the thing to do. Gradually, he’d started making excuses, missing once a month or so. Then every other week. By the time anyone had noticed, he hadn’t gone in over two months. He could pray for rain here just as easily as he could in church.
They all prayed for rain. It was going on three years since they’d had a normal rainfall. The first year hadn’t been too bad. The second, they’d lost quite a few head but had managed to have a decent-sized herd make it to market. But each year there was less water and less cattle. This year, this year didn’t look too good.
The water was starting to get cold by the time he pulled himself up and stepped out of the tub. He briskly toweled himself off and dressed in the clothes laid out by Maria. On the chair next to his was a clean set for Johnny.
When Scott walked out into the kitchen, his brother was asleep. Johnny’s head lay on his folded arms, the empty bowl pushed to one side. Scott stared at him for a long moment and then with a gentle shake, woke him up.
§§§§§§§§§§§
Johnny squinted against the morning sunlight that poured through the chink in the curtains. With a silent curse he pulled his pillow over his head and turned to face away from the window. It didn’t do any good. He’d learned long ago that, once awake, there was no sense trying to get back to sleep. He shoved his blankets away and sat up.
He took his time getting dressed. Murdoch wouldn’t have left for church yet and the less time spent around the old man, the better. He felt sort of guilty about that; it hadn’t always been that way between them. He had once enjoyed the time spent with his father. He missed it. Still, once he had his pants on, Johnny pulled open the drapes and watched from his window to pass the time, putting off going downstairs. He put on his shirt, rolling up the sleeves and buttoning it up with half his attention on the scene below.
Maria was out in the courtyard, cleaning off the area with last night’s bath water. Funny how the habits she’d learned as a girl were coming in so handy now. When you came from a place with little rain, you learned to improvise. On one of the benches was a small basket with a couple of makeshift baby bottles. *Must be on her way to take care of Scott’s stray.* He wondered if that meant she’d already made breakfast.
He sat down on the ladder-back chair against the wall and started putting on his socks and boots. He thought about the other conversation he’d had with his brother the night before. Johnny had brushed aside Scott’s concern over their father’s constant worrying but that didn’t change the fact that the man was a real bear when he did. And it seemed to get worse the older their father got.
It had been years since it had really bothered him, back when he and his father were practically strangers and willing to think the worst of each other. A lot had happened since then. Johnny’s gaze slid over to the small oval frame on his bureau. Lúpe had come in and out of his life. He had a lot in common with his father now.
He stood up and started for the bedroom door, tucking in his shirt as he made his way out of his room and down the stairs. He didn’t hear any voices; maybe luck was on his side and he’d have the place to himself for awhile. He was surprised and a bit disappointed to see Teresa sitting on the couch reading a book when he entered the great room.
“Don’t take this wrong, Teresa, but what are you doing here?”
Teresa looked up and put the book aside. “Jesse had some supplies he promised to deliver to the Hanson’s today so he dropped me off. I thought it would be nice to ride in with Murdoch. It’s been awhile since he and I have had some time alone together.”
“Shouldn’t you be halfway to church by now?” He poured himself a cup of coffee from the service someone had set up on the side table and joined Teresa in the sitting area.
“Normally, yes, but Murdoch was gone when I got here.” She toyed with her coffee, stirring it slowly but not drinking. “Maria said he headed out before the sun was up.”
“Did he tell her where he was going?”
“That’s the strange part about it; he didn’t.”
Johnny chuckled. “And knowing Maria, it’s not like she didn’t ask.”
Teresa took the spoon out of her coffee and took a sip of the cooling liquid before responding. “Johnny, I’m really worried about him.”
“Not you, too. Scott’s been like an old lady about it.”
“And you’re not worried?”
He took a sip of coffee, using the time to order his thoughts. “Not about Murdoch. I guess I’m of the mind that he’s a grown man. If there’s something bothering him, it’s up to him to figure it out.” He made a frustrated noise. “I’m not saying this right. I know he’s worried; we all are. But talkin’ about it never’s done any good as far as I can tell. Things will either work out or they won’t.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and folding her hands together as she stared out the glass-paned doors. “I suppose. I just wish he’d get it off his chest, whatever it is. He’s not a young man anymore, Johnny. This sort of worrying can’t be good for him.”
“Can’t be too good for you, either,” he gently responded.
Teresa blushed. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”
“And not a finer example of womanhood to be found,” Scott proclaimed as he walked into the room.
Johnny twisted around in his seat at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Well, morning. I was beginning to think you were planning on sleeping the day away.”
“It’s not even seven,” Scott shot back, though his tone was mild. He got some coffee and joined Johnny on the couch. He turned his attention to Teresa. “So, healthy as a horse, huh? You look really good, Teresa.”
“I am, so both of you quit worrying. The doctor says I’m doing wonderfully for a woman in my condition.”
Johnny had to wonder at her strength. Not a year gone by since losing her first to illness, yet, here she was, more than ready to bring another one into the world. “You thought of a name yet?”
She shook her head and gave a pensive smile. “Jesse wants to wait. Besides, we’ve still got six months to go.”
Nothing more really needed to be said. Teresa’s husband had taken the loss of his infant son hard. Maybe even harder than Teresa. But the influenza epidemic had cut a wide swath through the community, taking mainly the very young and very old. They’d almost lost Murdoch. They had lost someone almost as dear.
Scott cleared his throat. “Where’s Murdoch?”
“Not here,” Johnny quipped.
Scott gave him a look. “I hope he’s not out checking on the herds. I told him we’d got them all to water.”
“Is it that bad?” Teresa asked.
Johnny shook his head. “Not really. We’ve lost some but we lose some every year, drought or no drought.”
“Then why is Murdoch so worried?”
“Beats me.”
“It’s like he’s waiting for something,” Scott mused.
Johnny frowned at his brother. “Like what?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Quiet, there he is.” Teresa put her cup down and stood up. “He looks ready to go. I’ll see you two later.”
They both kissed her goodbye and then went to stand at the open door. Outside, Murdoch helped her into the buggy and, with a distracted wave at his sons, started the horses up.
“I wonder where he went.”
Johnny shrugged. He didn’t think Murdoch planned on telling them.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Dear Grandfather,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and doing well, especially upon reading your disturbing and startling news. The words brought with them a sense of sadness and loss; Matthew Lewis was a fine man.
Scott held his pen over the paper, pondering his next words.
I know you will miss him deeply, as he has been a part of your life for as far back as I can remember.
He stopped again, at a loss. Finally, he stuck the pen back into the inkwell. He hated when he had difficulty expressing himself. Usually, his letters to his grandfather flowed easily, the ranch a topic Scott never tired of. But Harlan Garrett had been hit hard by the loss of his business partner and oldest friend and his letter had hinted at how Scott’s presence might make the pain more bearable. He didn’t want to disappoint his grandfather but there was no way he could leave right now.
He rested his elbows on the desk as he rubbed his temples. After all these years, he was still being pulled in two directions.
“What’s the matter?”
He brought his head sharply up. His brother stood at the doorway, his weight balanced on one hip as he leaned against the entrance.
“Nothing. Just trying to write a letter to Grandfather.”
Johnny walked into the room and threw himself on Scott’s bed.
“Make sure you keep those boots off my bed.”
Johnny grinned. “Quit acting like Maria. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of mussing up your fine spread.” He seemed to notice Scott’s mood then and sobered. “So, what’s with your grandfather?”
“He wants me to go back to Boston for a visit. A close friend of his died and I guess he’s feeling lonely.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.” Scott turned in his chair to face his brother. “But I know I can’t leave now. With the cattle going to auction next week, we’re all going to have more work than we can handle.”
“That’s for sure. But at least it will cut the herd down to size. Water shouldn’t be a problem then.” Johnny sat up and then lay forward on his stomach, bending his knees so that his feet were dangling in the air and not touching the bedcover. “I saw Cipriano earlier. Seems he spotted Murdoch in town this morning.”
“At church?”
“No, earlier. Sun was just coming up.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “What was Cipriano doing in town at that hour?”
Johnny’s chuckle was downright dirty. “Seems he has a real yen for one of the girls who works in the cantina.”
“Really! Who?”
“Susie, the new girl.”
“Is he serious?” Scott couldn’t imagine the staid, older man giving his heart to someone like Susie.
“I don’t know, he appears to be. Maybe he figures he’s not getting any younger. Besides, she’s a fine looking woman.”
“I know but doesn’t it bother him, her being a working girl?”
“Doesn’t seem to. Anyway, he said he saw Murdoch coming out of the bank.”
“The bank’s not open at that hour, not to mention it’s Sunday.”
Johnny pushed himself up and swung his feet around to sit on the edge of the bed. “Maybe it’s not open for us. But Murdoch does a lot of business with that bank.”
“That’s true.” Scott thought about it for a moment. “I wonder why he didn’t mention anything to either one of us.”
“Yeah, that crossed my mind, too. Murdoch isn’t usually so secretive.”
“Maybe it’s personal.”
“Personal?” Johnny snorted. “Scott, since when has Murdoch had a personal life?”
Scott couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve got a point. But if it wasn’t personal, what was it? And why then? Bad enough it’s Sunday but why so early?”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, just what kind of business he was doing at that hour?”
It did make him wonder. Scott looked at his brother. Johnny only raised his eyebrows and then got up and strolled out of the room.
Alone, Scott found himself unable to think about anything else, his letter to his grandfather forgotten.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§
They were in the kitchen having breakfast when they heard the insistent knocking on the front door. Maria was busy at the stove, waiting for Murdoch to appear before serving him. With a mild oath, she pulled off her apron and left to see who it was disturbing their meal.
Scott looked at his brother across the table. They both started eating quickly, washing the food down with gulps of coffee. Something major had to be going on. Another fence down, another dried up stream, something. No one came pounding on the door before sunrise if there wasn’t. In any case, they knew this might be all they’d have to eat for hours.
They managed to finish most of their meal before Maria returned.
“It’s Cipriano. He looks worried.”
“Oh, that’s just great. I knew things were going too well,” Johnny groused.
It had seemed as if they were finally getting some relief. They’d had rain the day before; not a lot but they’d take what they could get.
“Well, we might as well get out there.” Scott stood and playfully shoved Johnny’s shoulder. “It’s too early in the day to get on Murdoch’s bad side.”
Johnny laughed. “I didn’t know he had a good one.”
When they got to the great room, their father was already there. Cipriano stood before him, hat in hand, nervously working the brim.
“Trouble?” Johnny asked.
“You could say,” Murdoch responded. “Cipriano just came in from the north pasture. We’ve got a couple of sick steers.”
“What’s the matter with them?” Scott aimed his question at Cipriano.
The segundo looked at Murdoch and waited for a nod of assent from the older man before answering. “They are listless and seem to be having trouble breathing.”
Scott was puzzled. “You noticed two listless steers in a herd that size?”
“They are next to three that have already died.”
“I’m hoping it’s not what I think,” Murdoch stated. “But I’ve seen this pattern before.”
“What pattern?”
“Years of drought after ones of heavy rains like we’ve had. It’s possible we’ve got an outbreak of anthrax.”
“Oh, hell,” Johnny swore quietly.
Scott looked at his brother. “Did you know about this?”
Johnny shook his head. “No, but I know what can happen when the disease takes hold. I’ve seen ranches go under because their entire herd is wiped out. What the disease doesn’t take, you’re forced to kill.”
“So what are we going to do?” Scott turned to Murdoch.
“All we can do right now is quarantine that particular herd and hope it hasn’t already spread. But most of the cattle have been in the same places because of the shortage of watering holes and springs, so it could have already infected some of the other herds.” Murdoch rubbed his shoulder, a pained expression on his face. “I need you two boys to get out there and start fencing that entire area. Get a couple of dozen men to help you.”
“Should I have the dead ones burned, Senór Lancer?” Cipriano asked.
“Yes, but be careful. People have been known to get sick after handling infected livestock. Make sure you wear gloves and cover your mouth and nose with something.”
“Isn’t there anyway to know for sure?” Scott interjected.
“There’s a test; it’s only been out about a year, so I doubt Doc Hildenbrand has it. We’ll have to get someone in from Sacramento.”
“Sacramento? Murdoch, that could take weeks.” Johnny ran has hand through his hair. “We’ve got to do something before then. Word gets out about our cattle being sick and you’re going to have half the valley on our backs, wanting us to destroy them all.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?” Murdoch scowled. “Now, get going. If there’s any chance of beating this thing, it’s making sure it doesn’t spread any further.”
As he and Johnny grabbed their hats, Scott looked back at their father. Murdoch was talking quietly to Cipriano; the Mexican’s head nodded from time to time. Both men looked worried but there was a look on his father’s face that unnerved Scott. Tired, he looked so tired.
“Come on, Scott.”
Scott felt his brother’s hand on his arm, pulling him outside. With a last anxious look, he followed Johnny out.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Scott stared at the line of figures in front of him. He thought he had finally managed to get the books to balance then this last discrepancy had showed up. It looked like he was going to have to start all over again. He picked up his cup and took a sip of the steaming hot liquid while he pondered the information. He couldn’t understand where he had gone wrong.
He’d started that morning, the first free day he’d had in a long time. Normally, Murdoch kept them up when Scott got bogged down with his work outside. You could tell he’d tried; here and there, there were notations in his father’s familiar scrawl. But by and large the accounts had been left to pile up, until catching up had become an all-day task.
Scott didn’t mind; well, not too much. Oh, he certainly liked the change from the backbreaking job that working the ranch could be. It was just that recently it had started putting him into conflict with Murdoch in a way they had never been before. He would find mistakes his father would only grudgingly accept responsibility for, and only after arguing about it. Scott knew a lot of it was Murdoch getting older; the years of physical toil had taken their toll. That didn’t help when you had to explain to the man why you were making changes to figures he swore were accurate.
Talking it over with Johnny would have helped but taking care of the books was one chore his brother had for some reason been spared. Scott often thought their father was still under the assumption that Johnny didn’t know how to do the work. If the questions his brother asked him about their finances were anything to go by, Johnny was more than capable of handling the job.
Scott took another sip of coffee. Well, right now Johnny was more than welcome to the task he’d been handed. Keeping watch over thousands of penned-up animals wasn’t something Scott envied his brother. They had put down the two ailing steers but it had taken two days of working from sunup to sundown to completely fence in the herd at the north pasture. In that time no more had sickened. Now they were holding their collective breaths, waiting to see what happened next.
A shadow passed the window and drew his attention. Johnny stood just outside, in what looked like a heated argument with Cipriano. Scott felt himself go cold. *Please, God, no.* His actions were deliberate as he put down his cup and got to his feet. Even as he opened the door Scott knew his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. There was an anxious look on his brother’s face as he turned Scott’s way.
“There’s about a dozen of them acting sick and two already dead.” Johnny was still trying to catch his breath from what must have been a frantic ride.
“They must all be destroyed.” Cipriano said it as if he were repeating himself.
“Where’s Murdoch? He’s the one who’ll be making the decision.” Johnny made to get by Scott.
Scott moved back, motioning Cipriano to follow them in. “He’s upstairs, I think. He mentioned something about lying down for awhile.”
“Now? What the hell is he doing lying down in the middle of the day?” Impatiently, Johnny started up the stairs. “He’s got to know about this.”
“Do you really think we need to kill them all?” Scott couldn’t imagine slaughtering all those animals.
“Si, Senór Scott. You must. If you do not, there is too great a chance it will spread to the other herds.”
“But we don’t even know for sure it’s anthrax.”
“I have seen it before. It is anthrax. El Patrón will know what to do.”
“Scott! Scott get up here!”
Scott bolted for the stairs, alarmed by the sound of Johnny’s cry. He had never heard that tone of voice from his brother. He sounded afraid.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Scott sat by the fireplace and watched his brother pace. It was done slowly, head down; he didn’t think Johnny was even aware he was doing it, making his way from the entryway and the bottom of the stairs into the great room where they now waited. Every so often Johnny would stop at the French doors that fronted the room and look out, as if expecting someone. There was only darkness outside; a darkness of another kind inside, too.
Maria scurried by, a large urn of coffee in her hands. How long was the doctor planning on staying? She didn’t look their way, as if they were only observers of the unfolding spectacle. Perhaps they were. Scott certainly didn’t feel particularly helpful right now.
He looked at his brother again. “Johnny, why don’t you sit down?”
Johnny did, much to Scott’s surprise, though his body continued to move. His legs bounced in a nervous counterpoint to the hands he tried to keep still by clasping together between his bent knees. “I don’t understand why we can’t go up there.”
“We’d just be in the way. I’m sure if the doctor needs us for anything, he’ll call us.”
“I wish he’d hurry up.” Johnny glanced over his shoulder, as if he could summon the doctor down with a look. “He’s been up there awhile.”
“It always seems like a long time when you’re waiting.”
“I suppose.” Johnny looked outside again. “Did you say anything to Cipriano while I was gone?”
“Yes, I did.” Scott cleared his throat. They hadn’t wanted to waste time looking for a hand to send, so Johnny had rode out for the doctor himself. But that had left Scott to make the decision on his own. “I told him to start slaughtering the cattle.” He studied his brother. “You don’t agree?”
“No, I agree with you. I trust Cipriano’s judgment. I just hope it’s the only herd we have to destroy.”
“God, don’t even think that. I just wish I knew what Murdoch would do, what he’d want us to do.”
Johnny shrugged and studied his hands. “What do you think, Scott? You think he’s going to make it?”
Scott leaned back into the couch. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what’s wrong with him.”
He had a pretty good idea, though. The slackness of one side of his father’s body, his inability to speak, perfectly mirrored symptoms his grandfather had mentioned when discussing a colleague. Scott shuddered. The man had hung on for months, a drooling, gibbering wreck.
“What happens if he dies?”
Scott looked at his brother, not sure if he should share his thoughts. Things were bad enough already. No sense telling Johnny it might be for the best, at least for Murdoch. “I don’t know, Johnny. I suppose we’ll go on as we are. What else can we do?”
“I can’t imagine him not being here,” Johnny whispered, as if to himself.
There was nothing to say to that, so they both sat quietly, each lost in his own thoughts. After awhile Johnny got up and continued his pacing. It was almost dawn by the time Doc Jenkins came down. Scott could tell just by looking at him the news wasn’t going to be good. He rose and, with his brother, met the doctor at the bottom of the stairs.
“Well?” Johnny glanced at the doctor but his eyes kept straying upstairs.
Jenkins hesitated a moment.
“Doctor?” Scott had to push the word out, his throat was suddenly so tight.
“He’s asleep right now but, boys, I think you need to prepare yourselves for the worst. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” Johnny was almost shouting. “Can’t you do something for him?”
“Johnny-” Scott made a move to grab his brother.
“No!” Johnny shoved Scott’s arm away. “What kind of a doctor is he?”
“There’s nothing anyone can do,” the doctor gently responded. “He’s had a cerebral vascular accident. There’s no known cure for something like this.”
“A what?” Scott hadn’t known what it was called.
Jenkins made a noise of frustration. “No one’s sure why it happens but the brain starts to bleed.”
“How long?” Scott asked, “How long does he have?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe days but I’m inclined to think hours.” Jenkins turned to start back up the stairs. “You should both come up. He’s not completely conscious but I think he’ll know you’re there.”
They followed the older man up the stairs and Scott suddenly understood that the decision he’d made the evening before was to be only the first of many. There would be no more looking to Murdoch for answers. Whether he and his brother were ready for this burden, it was theirs.
§§§§§§§§§§§§
On to Part 2
Fandom: Lancer
Pairing: none
Notes: Not many of the large cattle ranches survived into the 20th century. Did Lancer?
He could hear a calf bawling somewhere off to the left, away from the rest of the herd. Leaving behind the haze of dust kicked up by the cattle, Scott Lancer reentered the world of color and made his way toward the shallow gully.
The cloudless sky should have been a welcome sight; at one time, it had been. But not anymore. Now, all it meant was another day without rain, another day of the sun blasting down on the already scorched earth. Scott wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve and resettled his hat on his head as he approached the struggling animal.
“Take it easy, little guy, I’ll have you out of there in a minute.”
The gully was only a few feet deep so retrieving the calf would be no problem; what little strength it had it had used up in its fight to get free. Scott got down on one knee, wrapped his arms around the calf and lifted as he rose to his feet. The animal lay docilely in his arms as he carried it back to the rest of the herd.
He could just see Johnny up ahead, a dirty silhouette against a backdrop of blue. His brother was covered in dust after a day of moving the cattle through the grassless pastures.
“Where you takin’ him?” Johnny motioned toward the animal. “Chances are, his mother’s dead or can’t feed him.”
Scott frowned. His brother was right. The calf had been left behind because either it couldn’t keep up or because there was no longer a mother to follow. Scott balked at leaving the poor thing out here to die, though. “I don’t know. I can’t leave him out here.”
Johnny shook his head and chuckled. “After all these years, you still ain’t learned, have you? You can’t be thinking of them as anything but a meal on hooves.”
“If I took him to the house you think someone there could look after him? He could be bottle fed.”
“Scott, there’s a hundred like him out here. We can’t save them all.”
The two men stared at each other for a minute; finally, Johnny sighed. “All right, give him here.” He leaned over and took the animal out of his brother’s arms and settled him across his saddle. “I’ve got to ride in to let Murdoch know we’re probably not going to get the whole herd to water, find out what he wants us to do.”
“I thought the stream was less than a mile away.”
“I thought so, too, but I sent one of the men ahead and the stream’s dried out. The next one’s another three miles. I don’t know how many of these animals have the strength to make it that far.”
“We need this herd, Johnny. Murdoch said if we lose this bunch we might not have enough to build on when the drought’s over.” Scott remembered how unnerved he had been by the look on their father’s face when he’d said it. Like the man was starting to lose hope.
“We’ll be okay. I’ve seen it worse than this.” Johnny pulled on the reins to turn his horse around and toward home. “Just keep ‘em moving. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Scott watched his brother ride off, the small animal nestled placidly against him. He hoped Johnny was right. In the seven years since he’d first called this home, Scott had come to love this land. Perhaps not with the passion of his father but certainly with the appreciation of one whose life now revolved around its open spaces. He looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.
§§§§§§§§§§
They came in hot, dirty and tired, their clothes stiff with a mixture of dirt, sweat and grime. It took everything Scott had to get off his horse and make his legs take up the weight of his body again. Sixteen hours, from sunup to well past sunset, they’d worked to get as many animals to water as they could. They’d lost twenty head.
As they left their horses to be tended, Scott noticed the small calf sleeping in one of the stalls. He walked over and gazed at the animal. “Who’s taking care of him?”
“Who’d you think?” Johnny stood next to him and rested his arms on the stall gate. “Maria said she’d try feeding him as often as she could. Looks like she got him to eat.”
The calf’s belly was slightly rounded and he looked somehow stronger than he had that morning. “I wish we could save them all. Dying of thirst is an ugly way to die.”
“There ain’t no good way to die, brother. Come on.” Johnny grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him away from the stall. “I’m ready for a bath, a beer and a bed...in that order.”
Scott laughed. “I don’t know about you but I could do with a meal, too.”
“Yeah, that, too. It’s just that the other three are more important,” Johnny agreed with a grin.
They walked to the house in silence. After awhile, Scott reached out and laid his arm across Johnny’s shoulders. It was still warm but he needed the sense of his brother only touch could bring.
“What’s the matter, Scott?”
“Nothing...everything.”
“That’s a mighty wide choice to pick from.”
Scott shrugged. “I suppose it’s the same thing everyone else around here is worried about. Drought’s gone on for three years now.”
“This isn’t anything; told you, I’ve seen worse. Ten year droughts aren’t unknown. You hunker down and ride ‘em out. That’s all you can do.”
“So how come Murdoch looks so worried all the time?”
“The old man always looks like that,” Johnny responded with a chuckle. “Has since the day we met him.”
“I guess so. Still, it makes me wonder.”
They reached the house and Johnny pushed open the door that brought them into the kitchen. “Well, don’t. Besides, I thought it was my job to read more into what Murdoch says or does than is really there.”
It was a running joke between Scott and his brother; it had taken Johnny years to finally accept that Murdoch had a habit of seeing the worse in a situation, even while at the same time hoping for the best. Especially those first few years when it was Johnny Murdoch was hoping for the best from.
“Go on,” he gave his brother a playful shove, “I’m commandeering the bath. Just leave me some food.”
Johnny turned and waggled his eyebrows at him before strolling over to the stove where Maria, their housekeeper and cook, aggressively rolled out the dough in front of her. He grabbed the tortilla from the top of the stack, rolled it up and dunked the end into the pot of chilé simmering on the stove.
Maria slapped his hand. When Teresa, their father’s ward, had married and left Lancer three years before, the older woman had taken on all the household responsibilities that once they’d shared between them. Somehow, she’d taken on the care of its two younger owners at the same time and come to rule their hearts as well as the house. “Wait, wait, I will serve you some. Go, sit.” She shooed him away and wiped her hands on her apron. “Some for you, too, Senór Scott?”
“Not right now, Maria, but is there hot water in the bath house?”
“Si, I knew you’d be getting here soon, so I got it ready.” She ladled out a serving of food and handed it to Johnny, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table.
“You didn’t haul that water in here by yourself, did you?” Johnny took a tortilla from the napkin Maria had placed in front of him and began eating.
“No, of course not. I had Eduárdo fill all the tinas for me. Lazy cabrón isn’t good for much else.”
Scott looked down, trying not to smile.
“I put some clean clothes in there for you, too. The green shirt. I like you in that one.”
God, the woman was even dressing them, now. “I hate that shirt. By the way, what happened to my beige one?”
“That thing? I’m using it as a trapo to polish the furniture.”
He heard a snort of laughter from Johnny.
“Maria, that was my favorite shirt!”
“Senór Scott, that shirt was old. I’ll make you another one, one you can wear to church. Your papa would like that. He told me you haven’t been going.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things Murdoch wants me to do,” Scott responded as he started down the small hallway which led to the bathhouse. He should have known he wouldn’t get the last word.
“Your papa also said you need to quit taking so many baths!”
§§§§§§§§§§§
Scott lowered his aching body into the steaming hot water with a sigh and let his head fall back against the folded towel he’d placed along the rim of the tub. He closed his eyes.
The room was warm and humid; the fires under the large tin pots were banked so that the water stayed hot but didn’t overflow, yet they still gave off enough heat to turn the small enclosure almost tropical. He grimaced slightly, remembering the one time he’d spent any amount of time in that sort of climate. The War had changed him in a lot of ways; his fixation with cleanliness was one of the more benign.
So long ago, now. Years and years. He’d shuffled off a lot of the baggage he’d brought back. Lancer had helped. Scott had never felt his grandfather’s house was home, not once he was an adult. Maybe because Harlan Garrett had been forever pushing him on: a career, a place of his own, a wife. Those were the things that signaled a man’s success.
Not here. Murdoch may have longed for grandchildren but he’d never once pushed Scott or Johnny into taking a wife. Perhaps because of his own history with wives and sons. It had taken Murdoch Lancer twenty years to get his sons back, the whys and wherefores of it never told, but it still might influence his actions toward those sons.
Whatever the reason, both he and Johnny were made to feel that their home was their home; they need do nothing more than live and work here. So, as women came and went from Scott’s life, there was always the knowledge that, if it was a problem, it was his alone.
His eyes drifted open only enough so he could find the wash cloth and soap. With lazy swipes, he cleaned his arms and legs, enjoying the roughness of the cloth against his naked body. He swept it lightly across his chest and abdomen, teasing his flesh. He was a sensualist and he knew it.
And that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? He’d recognized the pattern of his desires early. He didn’t want a tame woman, a woman who would walk demurely at his side and cater to his every whim. He wanted a woman whose appetites rivaled his own, who saw what she wanted and went after it. Unfortunately, that kind of woman rarely made for a good wife and mother.
Scooting slightly forward, he dunked his head back just far enough for the water to cover his hair. He sat up, the water running down his head and shoulders as he groped for the bottle of hair wash he knew was on the table next to the tub.
Once his hair was clean and rinsed, he got out of the tub and, using one of the oven mitts kept in the room, added the remaining water from one of the pots. It would give him another five or ten minutes.
He stepped back into the tub and sat down. Stretching out again, he let the heat of the water permeate through his skin to warm and relax his muscles. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could sleep in. No rush to bed.
Sunday. Sunday service. He hoped Maria had been teasing about church. He’d never really been a churchgoer. His grandfather wasn’t, so he’d never picked up the habit. He’d gone when he had first arrived at Lancer, mainly because Murdoch and Teresa did. It seemed the thing to do. Gradually, he’d started making excuses, missing once a month or so. Then every other week. By the time anyone had noticed, he hadn’t gone in over two months. He could pray for rain here just as easily as he could in church.
They all prayed for rain. It was going on three years since they’d had a normal rainfall. The first year hadn’t been too bad. The second, they’d lost quite a few head but had managed to have a decent-sized herd make it to market. But each year there was less water and less cattle. This year, this year didn’t look too good.
The water was starting to get cold by the time he pulled himself up and stepped out of the tub. He briskly toweled himself off and dressed in the clothes laid out by Maria. On the chair next to his was a clean set for Johnny.
When Scott walked out into the kitchen, his brother was asleep. Johnny’s head lay on his folded arms, the empty bowl pushed to one side. Scott stared at him for a long moment and then with a gentle shake, woke him up.
§§§§§§§§§§§
Johnny squinted against the morning sunlight that poured through the chink in the curtains. With a silent curse he pulled his pillow over his head and turned to face away from the window. It didn’t do any good. He’d learned long ago that, once awake, there was no sense trying to get back to sleep. He shoved his blankets away and sat up.
He took his time getting dressed. Murdoch wouldn’t have left for church yet and the less time spent around the old man, the better. He felt sort of guilty about that; it hadn’t always been that way between them. He had once enjoyed the time spent with his father. He missed it. Still, once he had his pants on, Johnny pulled open the drapes and watched from his window to pass the time, putting off going downstairs. He put on his shirt, rolling up the sleeves and buttoning it up with half his attention on the scene below.
Maria was out in the courtyard, cleaning off the area with last night’s bath water. Funny how the habits she’d learned as a girl were coming in so handy now. When you came from a place with little rain, you learned to improvise. On one of the benches was a small basket with a couple of makeshift baby bottles. *Must be on her way to take care of Scott’s stray.* He wondered if that meant she’d already made breakfast.
He sat down on the ladder-back chair against the wall and started putting on his socks and boots. He thought about the other conversation he’d had with his brother the night before. Johnny had brushed aside Scott’s concern over their father’s constant worrying but that didn’t change the fact that the man was a real bear when he did. And it seemed to get worse the older their father got.
It had been years since it had really bothered him, back when he and his father were practically strangers and willing to think the worst of each other. A lot had happened since then. Johnny’s gaze slid over to the small oval frame on his bureau. Lúpe had come in and out of his life. He had a lot in common with his father now.
He stood up and started for the bedroom door, tucking in his shirt as he made his way out of his room and down the stairs. He didn’t hear any voices; maybe luck was on his side and he’d have the place to himself for awhile. He was surprised and a bit disappointed to see Teresa sitting on the couch reading a book when he entered the great room.
“Don’t take this wrong, Teresa, but what are you doing here?”
Teresa looked up and put the book aside. “Jesse had some supplies he promised to deliver to the Hanson’s today so he dropped me off. I thought it would be nice to ride in with Murdoch. It’s been awhile since he and I have had some time alone together.”
“Shouldn’t you be halfway to church by now?” He poured himself a cup of coffee from the service someone had set up on the side table and joined Teresa in the sitting area.
“Normally, yes, but Murdoch was gone when I got here.” She toyed with her coffee, stirring it slowly but not drinking. “Maria said he headed out before the sun was up.”
“Did he tell her where he was going?”
“That’s the strange part about it; he didn’t.”
Johnny chuckled. “And knowing Maria, it’s not like she didn’t ask.”
Teresa took the spoon out of her coffee and took a sip of the cooling liquid before responding. “Johnny, I’m really worried about him.”
“Not you, too. Scott’s been like an old lady about it.”
“And you’re not worried?”
He took a sip of coffee, using the time to order his thoughts. “Not about Murdoch. I guess I’m of the mind that he’s a grown man. If there’s something bothering him, it’s up to him to figure it out.” He made a frustrated noise. “I’m not saying this right. I know he’s worried; we all are. But talkin’ about it never’s done any good as far as I can tell. Things will either work out or they won’t.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and folding her hands together as she stared out the glass-paned doors. “I suppose. I just wish he’d get it off his chest, whatever it is. He’s not a young man anymore, Johnny. This sort of worrying can’t be good for him.”
“Can’t be too good for you, either,” he gently responded.
Teresa blushed. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”
“And not a finer example of womanhood to be found,” Scott proclaimed as he walked into the room.
Johnny twisted around in his seat at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Well, morning. I was beginning to think you were planning on sleeping the day away.”
“It’s not even seven,” Scott shot back, though his tone was mild. He got some coffee and joined Johnny on the couch. He turned his attention to Teresa. “So, healthy as a horse, huh? You look really good, Teresa.”
“I am, so both of you quit worrying. The doctor says I’m doing wonderfully for a woman in my condition.”
Johnny had to wonder at her strength. Not a year gone by since losing her first to illness, yet, here she was, more than ready to bring another one into the world. “You thought of a name yet?”
She shook her head and gave a pensive smile. “Jesse wants to wait. Besides, we’ve still got six months to go.”
Nothing more really needed to be said. Teresa’s husband had taken the loss of his infant son hard. Maybe even harder than Teresa. But the influenza epidemic had cut a wide swath through the community, taking mainly the very young and very old. They’d almost lost Murdoch. They had lost someone almost as dear.
Scott cleared his throat. “Where’s Murdoch?”
“Not here,” Johnny quipped.
Scott gave him a look. “I hope he’s not out checking on the herds. I told him we’d got them all to water.”
“Is it that bad?” Teresa asked.
Johnny shook his head. “Not really. We’ve lost some but we lose some every year, drought or no drought.”
“Then why is Murdoch so worried?”
“Beats me.”
“It’s like he’s waiting for something,” Scott mused.
Johnny frowned at his brother. “Like what?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Quiet, there he is.” Teresa put her cup down and stood up. “He looks ready to go. I’ll see you two later.”
They both kissed her goodbye and then went to stand at the open door. Outside, Murdoch helped her into the buggy and, with a distracted wave at his sons, started the horses up.
“I wonder where he went.”
Johnny shrugged. He didn’t think Murdoch planned on telling them.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Dear Grandfather,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and doing well, especially upon reading your disturbing and startling news. The words brought with them a sense of sadness and loss; Matthew Lewis was a fine man.
Scott held his pen over the paper, pondering his next words.
I know you will miss him deeply, as he has been a part of your life for as far back as I can remember.
He stopped again, at a loss. Finally, he stuck the pen back into the inkwell. He hated when he had difficulty expressing himself. Usually, his letters to his grandfather flowed easily, the ranch a topic Scott never tired of. But Harlan Garrett had been hit hard by the loss of his business partner and oldest friend and his letter had hinted at how Scott’s presence might make the pain more bearable. He didn’t want to disappoint his grandfather but there was no way he could leave right now.
He rested his elbows on the desk as he rubbed his temples. After all these years, he was still being pulled in two directions.
“What’s the matter?”
He brought his head sharply up. His brother stood at the doorway, his weight balanced on one hip as he leaned against the entrance.
“Nothing. Just trying to write a letter to Grandfather.”
Johnny walked into the room and threw himself on Scott’s bed.
“Make sure you keep those boots off my bed.”
Johnny grinned. “Quit acting like Maria. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of mussing up your fine spread.” He seemed to notice Scott’s mood then and sobered. “So, what’s with your grandfather?”
“He wants me to go back to Boston for a visit. A close friend of his died and I guess he’s feeling lonely.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.” Scott turned in his chair to face his brother. “But I know I can’t leave now. With the cattle going to auction next week, we’re all going to have more work than we can handle.”
“That’s for sure. But at least it will cut the herd down to size. Water shouldn’t be a problem then.” Johnny sat up and then lay forward on his stomach, bending his knees so that his feet were dangling in the air and not touching the bedcover. “I saw Cipriano earlier. Seems he spotted Murdoch in town this morning.”
“At church?”
“No, earlier. Sun was just coming up.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “What was Cipriano doing in town at that hour?”
Johnny’s chuckle was downright dirty. “Seems he has a real yen for one of the girls who works in the cantina.”
“Really! Who?”
“Susie, the new girl.”
“Is he serious?” Scott couldn’t imagine the staid, older man giving his heart to someone like Susie.
“I don’t know, he appears to be. Maybe he figures he’s not getting any younger. Besides, she’s a fine looking woman.”
“I know but doesn’t it bother him, her being a working girl?”
“Doesn’t seem to. Anyway, he said he saw Murdoch coming out of the bank.”
“The bank’s not open at that hour, not to mention it’s Sunday.”
Johnny pushed himself up and swung his feet around to sit on the edge of the bed. “Maybe it’s not open for us. But Murdoch does a lot of business with that bank.”
“That’s true.” Scott thought about it for a moment. “I wonder why he didn’t mention anything to either one of us.”
“Yeah, that crossed my mind, too. Murdoch isn’t usually so secretive.”
“Maybe it’s personal.”
“Personal?” Johnny snorted. “Scott, since when has Murdoch had a personal life?”
Scott couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve got a point. But if it wasn’t personal, what was it? And why then? Bad enough it’s Sunday but why so early?”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it, just what kind of business he was doing at that hour?”
It did make him wonder. Scott looked at his brother. Johnny only raised his eyebrows and then got up and strolled out of the room.
Alone, Scott found himself unable to think about anything else, his letter to his grandfather forgotten.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§
They were in the kitchen having breakfast when they heard the insistent knocking on the front door. Maria was busy at the stove, waiting for Murdoch to appear before serving him. With a mild oath, she pulled off her apron and left to see who it was disturbing their meal.
Scott looked at his brother across the table. They both started eating quickly, washing the food down with gulps of coffee. Something major had to be going on. Another fence down, another dried up stream, something. No one came pounding on the door before sunrise if there wasn’t. In any case, they knew this might be all they’d have to eat for hours.
They managed to finish most of their meal before Maria returned.
“It’s Cipriano. He looks worried.”
“Oh, that’s just great. I knew things were going too well,” Johnny groused.
It had seemed as if they were finally getting some relief. They’d had rain the day before; not a lot but they’d take what they could get.
“Well, we might as well get out there.” Scott stood and playfully shoved Johnny’s shoulder. “It’s too early in the day to get on Murdoch’s bad side.”
Johnny laughed. “I didn’t know he had a good one.”
When they got to the great room, their father was already there. Cipriano stood before him, hat in hand, nervously working the brim.
“Trouble?” Johnny asked.
“You could say,” Murdoch responded. “Cipriano just came in from the north pasture. We’ve got a couple of sick steers.”
“What’s the matter with them?” Scott aimed his question at Cipriano.
The segundo looked at Murdoch and waited for a nod of assent from the older man before answering. “They are listless and seem to be having trouble breathing.”
Scott was puzzled. “You noticed two listless steers in a herd that size?”
“They are next to three that have already died.”
“I’m hoping it’s not what I think,” Murdoch stated. “But I’ve seen this pattern before.”
“What pattern?”
“Years of drought after ones of heavy rains like we’ve had. It’s possible we’ve got an outbreak of anthrax.”
“Oh, hell,” Johnny swore quietly.
Scott looked at his brother. “Did you know about this?”
Johnny shook his head. “No, but I know what can happen when the disease takes hold. I’ve seen ranches go under because their entire herd is wiped out. What the disease doesn’t take, you’re forced to kill.”
“So what are we going to do?” Scott turned to Murdoch.
“All we can do right now is quarantine that particular herd and hope it hasn’t already spread. But most of the cattle have been in the same places because of the shortage of watering holes and springs, so it could have already infected some of the other herds.” Murdoch rubbed his shoulder, a pained expression on his face. “I need you two boys to get out there and start fencing that entire area. Get a couple of dozen men to help you.”
“Should I have the dead ones burned, Senór Lancer?” Cipriano asked.
“Yes, but be careful. People have been known to get sick after handling infected livestock. Make sure you wear gloves and cover your mouth and nose with something.”
“Isn’t there anyway to know for sure?” Scott interjected.
“There’s a test; it’s only been out about a year, so I doubt Doc Hildenbrand has it. We’ll have to get someone in from Sacramento.”
“Sacramento? Murdoch, that could take weeks.” Johnny ran has hand through his hair. “We’ve got to do something before then. Word gets out about our cattle being sick and you’re going to have half the valley on our backs, wanting us to destroy them all.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?” Murdoch scowled. “Now, get going. If there’s any chance of beating this thing, it’s making sure it doesn’t spread any further.”
As he and Johnny grabbed their hats, Scott looked back at their father. Murdoch was talking quietly to Cipriano; the Mexican’s head nodded from time to time. Both men looked worried but there was a look on his father’s face that unnerved Scott. Tired, he looked so tired.
“Come on, Scott.”
Scott felt his brother’s hand on his arm, pulling him outside. With a last anxious look, he followed Johnny out.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Scott stared at the line of figures in front of him. He thought he had finally managed to get the books to balance then this last discrepancy had showed up. It looked like he was going to have to start all over again. He picked up his cup and took a sip of the steaming hot liquid while he pondered the information. He couldn’t understand where he had gone wrong.
He’d started that morning, the first free day he’d had in a long time. Normally, Murdoch kept them up when Scott got bogged down with his work outside. You could tell he’d tried; here and there, there were notations in his father’s familiar scrawl. But by and large the accounts had been left to pile up, until catching up had become an all-day task.
Scott didn’t mind; well, not too much. Oh, he certainly liked the change from the backbreaking job that working the ranch could be. It was just that recently it had started putting him into conflict with Murdoch in a way they had never been before. He would find mistakes his father would only grudgingly accept responsibility for, and only after arguing about it. Scott knew a lot of it was Murdoch getting older; the years of physical toil had taken their toll. That didn’t help when you had to explain to the man why you were making changes to figures he swore were accurate.
Talking it over with Johnny would have helped but taking care of the books was one chore his brother had for some reason been spared. Scott often thought their father was still under the assumption that Johnny didn’t know how to do the work. If the questions his brother asked him about their finances were anything to go by, Johnny was more than capable of handling the job.
Scott took another sip of coffee. Well, right now Johnny was more than welcome to the task he’d been handed. Keeping watch over thousands of penned-up animals wasn’t something Scott envied his brother. They had put down the two ailing steers but it had taken two days of working from sunup to sundown to completely fence in the herd at the north pasture. In that time no more had sickened. Now they were holding their collective breaths, waiting to see what happened next.
A shadow passed the window and drew his attention. Johnny stood just outside, in what looked like a heated argument with Cipriano. Scott felt himself go cold. *Please, God, no.* His actions were deliberate as he put down his cup and got to his feet. Even as he opened the door Scott knew his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. There was an anxious look on his brother’s face as he turned Scott’s way.
“There’s about a dozen of them acting sick and two already dead.” Johnny was still trying to catch his breath from what must have been a frantic ride.
“They must all be destroyed.” Cipriano said it as if he were repeating himself.
“Where’s Murdoch? He’s the one who’ll be making the decision.” Johnny made to get by Scott.
Scott moved back, motioning Cipriano to follow them in. “He’s upstairs, I think. He mentioned something about lying down for awhile.”
“Now? What the hell is he doing lying down in the middle of the day?” Impatiently, Johnny started up the stairs. “He’s got to know about this.”
“Do you really think we need to kill them all?” Scott couldn’t imagine slaughtering all those animals.
“Si, Senór Scott. You must. If you do not, there is too great a chance it will spread to the other herds.”
“But we don’t even know for sure it’s anthrax.”
“I have seen it before. It is anthrax. El Patrón will know what to do.”
“Scott! Scott get up here!”
Scott bolted for the stairs, alarmed by the sound of Johnny’s cry. He had never heard that tone of voice from his brother. He sounded afraid.
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§
Scott sat by the fireplace and watched his brother pace. It was done slowly, head down; he didn’t think Johnny was even aware he was doing it, making his way from the entryway and the bottom of the stairs into the great room where they now waited. Every so often Johnny would stop at the French doors that fronted the room and look out, as if expecting someone. There was only darkness outside; a darkness of another kind inside, too.
Maria scurried by, a large urn of coffee in her hands. How long was the doctor planning on staying? She didn’t look their way, as if they were only observers of the unfolding spectacle. Perhaps they were. Scott certainly didn’t feel particularly helpful right now.
He looked at his brother again. “Johnny, why don’t you sit down?”
Johnny did, much to Scott’s surprise, though his body continued to move. His legs bounced in a nervous counterpoint to the hands he tried to keep still by clasping together between his bent knees. “I don’t understand why we can’t go up there.”
“We’d just be in the way. I’m sure if the doctor needs us for anything, he’ll call us.”
“I wish he’d hurry up.” Johnny glanced over his shoulder, as if he could summon the doctor down with a look. “He’s been up there awhile.”
“It always seems like a long time when you’re waiting.”
“I suppose.” Johnny looked outside again. “Did you say anything to Cipriano while I was gone?”
“Yes, I did.” Scott cleared his throat. They hadn’t wanted to waste time looking for a hand to send, so Johnny had rode out for the doctor himself. But that had left Scott to make the decision on his own. “I told him to start slaughtering the cattle.” He studied his brother. “You don’t agree?”
“No, I agree with you. I trust Cipriano’s judgment. I just hope it’s the only herd we have to destroy.”
“God, don’t even think that. I just wish I knew what Murdoch would do, what he’d want us to do.”
Johnny shrugged and studied his hands. “What do you think, Scott? You think he’s going to make it?”
Scott leaned back into the couch. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what’s wrong with him.”
He had a pretty good idea, though. The slackness of one side of his father’s body, his inability to speak, perfectly mirrored symptoms his grandfather had mentioned when discussing a colleague. Scott shuddered. The man had hung on for months, a drooling, gibbering wreck.
“What happens if he dies?”
Scott looked at his brother, not sure if he should share his thoughts. Things were bad enough already. No sense telling Johnny it might be for the best, at least for Murdoch. “I don’t know, Johnny. I suppose we’ll go on as we are. What else can we do?”
“I can’t imagine him not being here,” Johnny whispered, as if to himself.
There was nothing to say to that, so they both sat quietly, each lost in his own thoughts. After awhile Johnny got up and continued his pacing. It was almost dawn by the time Doc Jenkins came down. Scott could tell just by looking at him the news wasn’t going to be good. He rose and, with his brother, met the doctor at the bottom of the stairs.
“Well?” Johnny glanced at the doctor but his eyes kept straying upstairs.
Jenkins hesitated a moment.
“Doctor?” Scott had to push the word out, his throat was suddenly so tight.
“He’s asleep right now but, boys, I think you need to prepare yourselves for the worst. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” Johnny was almost shouting. “Can’t you do something for him?”
“Johnny-” Scott made a move to grab his brother.
“No!” Johnny shoved Scott’s arm away. “What kind of a doctor is he?”
“There’s nothing anyone can do,” the doctor gently responded. “He’s had a cerebral vascular accident. There’s no known cure for something like this.”
“A what?” Scott hadn’t known what it was called.
Jenkins made a noise of frustration. “No one’s sure why it happens but the brain starts to bleed.”
“How long?” Scott asked, “How long does he have?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe days but I’m inclined to think hours.” Jenkins turned to start back up the stairs. “You should both come up. He’s not completely conscious but I think he’ll know you’re there.”
They followed the older man up the stairs and Scott suddenly understood that the decision he’d made the evening before was to be only the first of many. There would be no more looking to Murdoch for answers. Whether he and his brother were ready for this burden, it was theirs.
§§§§§§§§§§§§
On to Part 2
