To The Eastern Gate - Part 2 of 3 (Lancer)

[gilda_elise]

“...surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

The preacher closed his Bible and stepped back, allowing Scott and Johnny, along with the four other men chosen to help them, room to work. While the ropes were pulled taut, the boards holding the casket up were removed. Slowly, as the men strained against its weight, the burial box was lowered into the ground.

Scott pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. The black coat he wore was sucking up the heat and he was perspiring heavily in the midday sun. He was glad it was almost over. Only one more duty to be done here.

He waited while the ropes and boards were moved. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Teresa sitting next to her husband. Jesse had his arm around her and her head rested against his chest. He, Scott and Johnny had all tried to talk her out of coming; it was hot and she’d taken Murdoch’s death hard. But she’d have none of it. She would be fine, she’d said, and so would the child she was carrying.

She had cried, of course. Soft, quiet sobs made more heartbreaking because they knew she was doing it for them, holding back as best she could, not wanting to be a burden or make things worse. So much a woman now. She’d quieted after awhile and taken on a stoicism that would have made Murdoch proud. It wasn’t the way Scott saw her but he couldn’t bring himself to reject her gift.

Finally it was time. Scott came forward and leaned over to grab a handful of dirt. As the oldest it was his place, though an honor he could have done without. He gazed down into the hole. So final, this last act of deference to his father. From this moment on, all that would be left were memories, even those a pitiful few to what they should have had. He knew it wasn’t Murdoch’s fault, yet Scott felt he’d been cheated once again. The nudge at his side drew him back to the living. Johnny stood next to him, the same tight look on his face that Scott knew was on his own.

“Go ahead. Everyone’s waiting.” Johnny nodded behind him. Townspeople, other ranchers, old friends, all stood in a group, seemingly removed and untouched, yet expecting him to follow through on the next step.

Scott gave a quick nod. He slowly let loose the handful of soil, so that it dribbled down onto the casket. There was no loud clump of earth impacting but rather a slithering noise as the dirt ran down the sides of the casket. Scott shivered and moved away.

There was no official cemetery on Lancer; Teresa’s baby had been buried in the churchyard, Jelly, near his favorite place next to a stream that ran along the ranch’s northern border. For Murdoch, there could only have been one place. So for Scott it was only a minute’s walk from the grave site to the ridge that looked down on the house his father had built. Gazing out at the expanse, he wasn’t surprised when he felt a firm hand settle on his shoulder.

“Looks exactly the same, doesn’t it?”

Scott didn’t have to ask his brother what he was talking about. He, too, was comparing this moment to the one so many years before, when, as strangers, they’d got their first, brief look at their new home. “But it’s not the same. We’re on our own now.”

Johnny leaned down and picked up a few pebbles from the ground. He began to toss them, one at a time, over the edge of the ridge. “It’s been a long time since either of us has been on our own but I don’t think it’s a skill you lose just because you don’t use it for awhile. Besides,” he let loose the remaining stones and swung his arm over Scott’s shoulder, “we’re on our own but neither of us is alone, are we?”

Scott looked at his brother and smiled. “You’re right, we’re not. But you’ll probably have to keep reminding me of that. Come on, let’s go home.”

They rode side by side on the way back to the house. Behind them snaked a long line of riders and buggies, though a respectful distance was kept. There was still the rest of the afternoon and evening to get through, as mourners and well-wishers alike descended on the ranch. Maria had spent most of the previous day preparing enough food to feed them all; she was probably setting it out just about now. After that, well, after that it would be just him and Johnny, the way it would be from now on.

§§§§§§§§§§

“You need help?” Johnny lounged against the entry leading into the kitchen.

Maria only glanced up for a moment at his question, shaking her head without taking her attention from the salad she was making. “No, but I think your brother does.”

“Scott?” Johnny approached the woman. He gazed at all the food spread out before her before grabbing a stalk of celery. “What does Scott need help with?”

Maria slapped his hand when he reached for a boiled egg. “Ay, muchacho, I need those for the salad.” She gave him an exasperated look and then handed one over. “Your brother isn’t doing too good. I think he’s letting his anger get the better of his sense.”

“We talking about the same man? Tall, thin blond, reads a lot, never raises his voice? That Scott?”

“You have not talked to him since the funeral. He is very angry.”

“Yes, I did. We rode back together. He wasn’t angry then.”

She sighed, putting down the knife she’d been using to chop the vegetables and giving Johnny her full attention. “Then maybe something happened later. I don’t know. But he was in here a little while ago. He’s,” she groped around as if trying to pluck the words she needed out of the air, “he’s like a wounded animal. He hides his hurt, afraid it will be seen as a weakness. But, at the same time, he’s so angry.”

“At who?” Johnny narrowed his eyes. “He’s mad at Murdoch, isn’t he? For dying.”

“Si, I think so. And he’s been drinking.”

“I guess I can’t blame him for that, Maria. I’ve had a couple myself.”

“Not like this. I could smell it on him.”

He gave a soft whistle. His brother rarely drank, and then only in moderation. “I guess I should have seen this coming. He was talking about being alone earlier.” He shook his head; sometimes, he just didn’t understand his brother. “Where is he?”

“He said he was going to take a plate of food to Teresa.” She snorted. “The woman can take care of herself. He’s the one who should be eating.”

Johnny laughed. He’d heard you should never have two women under the same roof. The years between Teresa reaching maturity and her leaving to marry had not been calm ones. He leaned over and kissed Maria on the cheek. “I’ll see what I can do.” He grabbed a couple of cups from the cupboard on his way out.

He took a detour upstairs to his room before starting to look for his brother. He’d stashed a bottle of tequila behind his headboard and now seemed the best time for it. He put one knee on his bed for balance and leaned over. Running his hand back and forth, his fingers finally found the cool glass. He grabbed it and hurried back downstairs.

From the foyer, he could see the back of Scott’s head through the people milling around in the room. The crowd had thinned quite a bit; most people had to get home early. Work didn’t stop for anyone. Johnny stopped and spoke to the few who remained, working slowly toward his brother and Teresa. Scott was sitting at one end of the large sofa, a plate of food balanced on his lap and a half-empty glass of wine in his hand. Across from him, in one of the overstuffed chairs, Teresa was talking intently, though Johnny couldn’t hear what she was saying.

He finally managed to make his way over to them. He sat down next to Scott and placed the bottle and cups on the table. “I hear you’re in a drinking mood, Scott.”

Scott made a noise of disgust. “Not you, too. You’d think no one had ever seen me drink before.”

“I tried to tell him, Johnny,” Teresa spoke up.

Johnny glanced at the plate on Scott’s lap then looked at Teresa. “This yours?”

“Yes, but he needs it more than I do. He won’t eat any of it, though.”

“I told you, I’m not hungry.” Scott smiled.

Johnny had seen that smile before. Scott used it to charm the ladies. They both knew it worked on Teresa. “Well, I’m not here to make you eat.” He turned his attention back to Scott. “Actually, I was thinking me and you could work on this.” He lifted the bottle off the table and waved it at his brother.

Scott grinned. “I like the way your mind works.”

“Teresa, you think you could look after what’s left of our guests?” Johnny asked. “Scott and I have an appointment out in the courtyard.”

She looked from one to the other with dismay. “Oh, Johnny, not you, too?”

“Oh, don’t worry about us, honey.” He grabbed the plate off Scott’s lap and handed it to her, then picked up the two cups from the table. “We’re two full grown men, isn’t that right, Scott?”

“Most certainly,” Scott responded as he pushed himself up off the couch.

Johnny studied him a moment. Scott wasn’t drunk, not yet. But he would be if he had anything to do with it. Johnny leaned over and kissed Teresa on top of the head. “Don’t worry, Teresa,” he whispered, “I’ll take good care of him.”

With that, he motioned with his head for Scott to follow him and started for the door.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§

They’d given up using the chairs; the wall of the courtyard didn’t move every time they leaned over to grab the bottle, but rather served as a nice support against their backs. The ground was softened by the pillows they’d taken from one of the benches, while the cups Johnny had brought sat abandoned on the table. It was dark in the enclosed verandah and they were both very drunk.

Johnny looked up into the night sky and shivered. It was so quiet. Everyone had finally left and the place felt deserted. He turned to Scott. Even on a moonless night, it surprised Johnny how well he could see him in the darkness. His brother’s hair, bleached by the sun, was only a little brighter than the fair skin beneath it.

“How you feelin’?” Johnny grabbed the bottle from Scott’s hand. Scott made a halfhearted attempt to hold on to it but then gave it up without a fight.

Scott seemed to think it over. “‘Bout the same. You?”

“Oh, I’m doin’ all right. Sort of lonely, though.”

“Well, get used to it, brother. It’s only you and me now.” Scott chuckled. “Not like he was ever really here for us.”

Johnny took a drink and then passed the bottle back to his brother. “Why do you say that?”

“Why? Johnny, when was he ever here for either one of us? All that ever mattered to him was this ranch.” He waved his arm in the air in an encompassing motion, sending the liquid sloshing in the bottle.

“I thought it meant something to you, too.”

“It does, it does. It’s just that,” Scott shook his head, confused. “It’s just not everything, that’s all. He made it his whole life...and then it took even that.”

“He didn’t die because of the ranch.”

“Didn’t he?”

Johnny didn’t like where this was going. “He would have had...whatever it was he had, whether he’d owned the ranch or not.”

“Maybe, but maybe if he’d been thinking about something other than the ranch he might have let us know he wasn’t feeling well. We might not have had to go through the last two days. He might even have lived.”

“Talkin’ doesn’t fix everything. A man’s got a right to his own thoughts, Scott.”

Scott stared at him for a moment. “That’s right, you’re just like him, aren’t you? Whatever happens, don’t let anyone know what you think. And God forbid you let them know what you feel.”

“I’m not like that,” Johnny responded indignantly.

“Like hell you’re not. When Lúpe left, you clammed up and didn’t say more than two words at a time for months.”

“Not all of us feel the need to spill our guts every time we’re hurtin’, Scott. It wasn’t anyone else’s business, anyway.”

“Is that what you really think?” Scott shook his head and took another drink. “If it is, then it’s no wonder it didn’t bother you that Murdoch never told us what happened between him and our mothers. It wasn’t any of our business. After all, it didn’t have anything to do with us, did it? So, mind your own business, Scott Lancer. Whatever goes on in your father’s or your brother’s life doesn’t concern you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Johnny ran his fingers through his hair in an impatient gesture. “I just figured you wouldn’t be interested.”

“Why? Because you’re not interested in mine?” Scott lunged up, trying to get his feet under him. “You are just like him. A law onto yourself, isn’t that right? You don’t need anyone and God help anyone who needs you.”

Johnny grabbed Scott’s arm and forced him back down. “Stop it. That’s not what I meant.”

“Get your hands off me!” Scott shoved him away and managed to get to his feet this time. “The hell with you, then; the hell with him. I’m so sick of all of it.”

“Sick of what? That we weren’t refined enough for you?” Johnny was angry now and all the old differences between them rushed to the surface. “Poor Scott, never got to know why he’d been abandoned. Grow up. At least you had a roof over your head and plenty to eat. If that wasn’t enough for you, too bad.”

“Oh, that’s right. It didn’t bother you at all. You just went out and became a hired killer. Yeah, you handled it just fine.”

“That’s right, I did. You don’t like it? Nobody’s telling you to stick around.”

Scott’s eyes went wide. He seemed about to speak but then suddenly noticed the bottle in his hand. With a force propelled by rage, he threw it against the far wall, where it shattered and rained glass and liquid on the dusty ground.

With that Johnny came up off the ground and threw himself at his brother. They went down in a tangle, both too drunk to do much damage to the other. Johnny tried to pin Scott to the ground, straddling him while forcing his arms up over his head but every time he thought he’d managed it, Scott would get free.

They rolled across the verandah, leaving broken pots and upturned chairs in their wake. Johnny saw stars when his brother’s fist managed to connect with his jaw but kept Scott from getting the upper hand by landing a punch into Scott’s midsection.

It ended as quickly as it had begun. One minute they were struggling for dominance, the next they were holding onto each other for dear life.

“Scott?” Johnny could hear the pounding of his brother’s heart from where his head rested on Scott’s chest.

Scott took a shuddered breath. “I’m sorry, Johnny. I didn’t mean any of that.”

“Me, either.” He lay there a few more seconds. “You figure we could get up now?”

Scott’s chest started shaking. Johnny couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Then he heard the humor in his brother’s voice.

“We are a pair, aren’t we?”

Johnny came up on his knees and pulled Scott up into a sitting position. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Here we are, taking out on each other what we felt about him.”

“Scott,” Johnny hesitated, “I really didn’t have a problem with Murdoch. Well, maybe not the same one as you did.”

Scott laid a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Maybe you didn’t. If not, I’m glad for you, Johnny. Because right now,” he looked away, as if uncomfortable with Johnny seeing so much of what he felt, “I’d give just about anything to be able to tell Murdoch just how much I resent him never telling me about her.”

“Your mother?”

“All these years and he never said a word.” He finally looked back at his brother. “It doesn’t bother you at all, that he never told you about your mother?”

Johnny stood up and then stuck out his hand to help Scott up. “Come on, let’s go inside. We both could use some coffee.”

Scott gave him a look but complied, allowing Johnny to help him to his feet. They picked up as best they could, the activity clearing their heads a bit. Johnny used his foot to push the broken bottle into a corner, while Scott picked up the upended chairs.

“All done?” Scott had the two cups clutched in one hand. At Johnny’s nod he started for the door. Johnny placed one of the flower pots that was still in one piece in front of the pile of glass and silently followed him into the house.

While Scott got the fire going, Johnny filled the coffee pot with water and spooned in the grounds. He placed it on the stove and brought out a cup and spoon for each of them. Once settled at the table, Johnny remained quiet, uncertain where exactly to begin, Finally, he picked up their conversation.

“I think I always knew what my mother had told me wasn’t the whole truth. Learning that maybe none of it was, well, she’s dead, what difference would it make now?” He fiddled with the spoons on the table. “I loved my mother, Scott. I didn’t want to hear that she’d lied to me, that she’d taken me from a good home and a father who wanted me and proceeded to hit every border town from Tijuana to Matamoros, picking up with some not exactly respectable men along the way. Maybe that’s exactly how it was but Murdoch’s staying quiet about it let me keep my memories of my mother the way they were.

“Somehow, though, I don’t think it was that simple. And maybe I did let Murdoch off the hook by not pressing the issue. I don’t know. All I know is, I can still think about my mother the way she wanted me to.”

“All the memories I had of my mother were ones my grandfather gave me. And even those were tainted with his own feelings against Murdoch.” Scott got up and went to the stove. He grabbed a pot holder and brought the coffee pot over, pouring them both a cup of the steaming liquid. “And before you ask, I did try to get him to tell me.” He put the pot back and returned to his seat. “He just wouldn’t.”

“When was this?”

“Remember when my grandfather came out? We’d been here about a year.”

Johnny chuckled. “How could I forget?”

“Yes, Grandfather wasn’t at his best that time. But I asked Murdoch then, and then again a few weeks later. Both times he put me off.” He gazed into his cup. “I suppose I should have tried again. But time went by and somehow I never got up the nerve.”

“Maybe it was for the best,” Johnny offered. “It’s hard for a man to talk about failures.”

Scott looked up and studied him. “You talking about Murdoch now or yourself?”

“Could be both.” Johnny took a sip of the scalding coffee, gathering his courage. “You want to hear about Lúpe and me?”

His brother leaned back, his expression of surprise quickly suppressed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

§§§§§§§§§§§§§

His head didn’t feel too bad in the morning. Scott lay in bed for awhile, cataloging how the rest of him felt. His stomach was fine, a miracle in itself considering how much he’d drank the night before. There was a slight twinge in his shoulder; teach him to roll around on the ground, trying to fight a battle he couldn’t possibly win. *Don’t go there.* He wouldn’t, either, because as long as he didn’t think about it, he could push his father and their unresolved issues to the back of his mind.

It had been worth it, though. Lord, he had been surprised when Johnny had opened up about Lúpe. Scott had tried for months after the woman had left to get his brother to let him in. Johnny had remained tightlipped. And in all the time since, Johnny had never mentioned her once, even though her picture still graced the top of his bureau.

If he had been asked, Scott couldn’t imagine anything could have brought him out of his dark mood yesterday. Yet, once his brother had started talking, all Scott had felt was honored and so very aware how much he’d longed for this. He and Johnny had grown very close over the years; the confession, for that’s what it had been, had affirmed to Scott that, whatever else he’d lost, he still had this most special of relationships.

He heard the sound of pots banging about and then a faint smattering of Spanish. Scott chuckled. Maria must be having trouble in the kitchen. But he could also smell a hint of coffee brewing. He pushed the covers aside and got out of bed.

Scott washed up, dressed and made it downstairs before his brother. With Maria still preparing breakfast, Scott poured himself a cup a coffee and sat himself down at the kitchen table.

The door to the verandah was open. The days were still hot but the nights had begun to cool off and morning’s were a refreshing respite from the heat. Outside, flowers trailing from hanging pots swayed in the wind and there was a cool breeze flowing through the kitchen.

Scott hoped it was sign of things to come. They were about to start separating out the cattle they hoped to sell; they’d been fooled before but they were hoping the crisis was over. The job would be easier if the weather decided to cooperate.

“Is your brother planning on eating this morning?”

Scott turned from the scene outside. “I’m sorry, did you say something, Maria?”

The woman brought a basket covered with a checkered napkin to the table. “I was wondering about Johnny. He’s usually down before you.”

“He should be down any minute; I could hear him moving around when I passed his room. Scott peaked under the cloth. “Muffins? Since when did you start baking muffins?” He grabbed one, tossing it from hand to hand to allow it to cool.

“Why not? A woman’s got to learn how to make new things if she wants to keep her men happy,” she huffed and walked back to the stove. She stirred the pot bubbling on top. “ Besides, tortillas don’t go with porridge.”

With a hoop of glee, Scott put down his muffin and made a lunge for the woman, grabbing her around the waist and hugging her hard. “Maria, you’re a gem!”

She smiled and turned her head long enough to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You need to keep up your strength. Teresa told me yesterday you like this stuff.” She eyed the glutinous mass doubtfully as she spooned some into a bowl. “Besides, maybe it will put some meat on those bones of yours.”

“Now, you’re asking for miracles.” Johnny sauntered in and took a seat at the table. He eyed the muffins. “Knew something smelled good in here.”

Scott chuckled and, bowl in hand, returned to his chair. “Cretin. You just don’t have an appreciation of the finer things in life.” He began drowning the porridge in cream and sugar.

“That stuff looks like something we’d feed the cows.” Johnny gave Scott a disgusted look then turned to plead with Maria. “Please, tell me you cooked something else.”

She placed a bowl in front of him. “Eat. I don’t want you getting skinny, too. Everyone will think I’m a terrible cook.”

Scott caught the wink she threw at his brother and realized that they were still watching out for him, still trying to humor him out of his depression. It occurred to him he should be rather indignant about it but couldn’t work up the energy. They loved him. Both of them. He wouldn’t throw that back in their faces because he wasn’t sure his father ever had. He picked up his spoon and began to eat.

§§§§§§§§§§

“God, he’s getting fat.”

Johnny looked down for a moment and tried to hide his smile. “That usually happens when they get fed as often as Maria’s been feedin’ him.”

Scott was on his knees, running his hands over the calf’s sides. He looked across at the woman on the animal’s other side, a bottle in her hand. “How much are you feeding him, exactly?”


“No sé. But I can’t help it if he eats so much, can I, ‘Cisco?” She cooed at the calf as she positioned the bottle at the its mouth. He took it greedily.

“‘Cisco’? You gave him a name?” Johnny laughed.

“And why not?” she shot back, indignantly. “He deserves a name just like anyone else.”

“I don’t care what you call him,” Scott got to his feet, dusting off his pants and shirt. “I just think you should cut back on his food.”

“Yeah, Maria, or he may become food.”

She gave Johnny a look. “He’s going to grow up to become the best breeding bull this ranch has ever had. St. Francis will look after this one, you’ll see.”

“St. Francis?” Scott looked at Johnny.

“Patron saint of animals.”

“Well, he certainly seems to have someone looking out for him.”

Johnny clapped him on the back. “That’d be you, Scott. So, what are you going to do with this prize bull-to-be?”

“Why, breed him, of course.” Scott studied the little animal. “He does have a certain regalness to him, doesn’t he?”

“If you say so,” Johnny responded. But right at that moment, he probably would have agreed with just about anything his brother said. Three days since the funeral, it was the first time Scott had actually sounded like his old self.

“Maria agrees with me, don’t you, Maria?”

The woman laughed. “He’s muy magnifico.”

“Mr. Lancer?”

Both men turned at their name. Standing at the entrance to the barn was one of the hands. Randy Aimes, if Johnny remembered right. The man’s hat was in his hands and he his gaze continually shifted.

Johnny got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He glanced at Scott; his brother had gone white.

“What is it, Randy?” Scott cautiously approached the man, as if afraid of spooking him.

“Mr. Lancer,” the man stuttered, “Cipriano done sent me in with a message.”

When the man didn’t continue, Johnny stepped impatiently forward. “Well, what did he tell you to tell us?”

Aimes looked from one to the other. “He said to tell you to come out to the northeast pasture, pronto. We’ve got us some more sick cows.”

§§§§§§§§§§§§§

They watched from a the ridge overlooking the pasture; Scott didn’t think he could stand being in the thick of it again. From the look on his brother’s face, he knew Johnny had felt only relief when he had suggested staying up here. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t see the black cloud of smoke half a valley away.

The slaughtered cattle had been piled six deep and the smell of burning carcasses clogged their nostrils, the wet handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths doing little to suppress the stench. The bonfires stretched across the field, in ghastly juxtaposition to the fiery streams of red caused by the setting sun.

He heard more than saw Johnny shift in his saddle. His brother cleared his throat. “You know no one’ll touch any of the rest of our cattle, don’t you?”

“If we contained it...”

Johnny snorted. “We’ll be lucky if they don’t demand we kill the rest of them, just on principle.”

Scott felt his guts crawl. He couldn’t imagine having to do this again. “They’ve got to give us time to find out if the rest of the herd is all right. These cows were the ones closest to the first outbreak. They might have even shared pasture.”

“Everyone’s scared, Scott. They’re not thinking straight. All they want is for this thing to be gone.”

“So what do we do?”

“Try to wait it out. The rest of the cattle never used these pastures. Murdoch was so hard-nosed about keeping them separate, he must have been worried about something like this happening. Then, if there aren’t anymore outbreaks and if we don’t have a mob of angry ranchers threatening to burn us out, we lay low for a year or two, keep the herd just big enough to have something to build on. It’ll be rough but we should be fine in the long run. But we’re talking about having to pay out expenses and nothing coming back in.” He looked at Scott. “We do have the money, don’t we?”

“Last time I did the books we did.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three months. I tried catching them up the other day but didn’t get very far. I was planning on going over them tomorrow.” It occurred to him he didn’t even know how much cash was stashed away at the ranch. “You were planning on going into town tomorrow for supplies, weren’t you?”

“That’s right. I thought I’d spend a little time with Teresa, too. I know it hasn’t been that long since the funeral but I thought, well, she’s bound to be still takin’ it pretty hard. Why you askin’?”

“Could you go by the bank? I think we should have some ready cash on hand, a couple of thousand or so, just in case something else comes up.”

“Sure.” Johnny’s gaze swung back to the scene below.

They quieted after that. A little while later Scott noticed a couple of men shoveling dirt on one of the fires; the devouring pyre had obviously done its job. A gust of wind blew the smoke their way, enveloping them in ash.

Johnny coughed. “I think I’ve had enough; you ready to head back to the house?”

Scott gave the conflagration one last look. His watering eyes made the fires look like candles on a birthday cake. If it hadn’t been so grotesque it would have been funny. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

They turned their horses toward home.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§

Johnny could feel the looks that followed him down the street. He sat straighter in his saddle and tried to pretend they weren’t there, that sometime between last week and now he and his brother hadn’t become the town’s pariahs.

What surprised him most was that it had surprised him. Having seen firsthand what something like this could do to a community, he had still allowed himself to believe their situation was different. Once upon a time, it would never have occurred to him to think anything but the worst of people.

*You’ve been away from it too long.* That was certainly true enough. It had taken a few years but he’d finally stopped looking behind him all the time, stopped sizing up every man he ran into. He’d become Johnny Lancer, burying Johnny Madrid under the weight of the security and affection he’d found with his father and brother. Madrid hadn’t gone easy but it had been years since Johnny had felt any life in the corpse of his other identity.

The rock that impacted against his forehead was small, small enough that Johnny didn’t turn to see who had thrown it. Whoever it was, would be long gone. *Lucky thing it wasn’t a bullet.* He let the drop of blood run down his face. He’d deal with it later.

Teresa was standing outside the store when he rode up. From the look on her face, she’d seen what happened. “It was the Myers boy.”

Johnny swung down from his horse and tied the animal up to the railing. “Kid’s only twelve. What does he know about what’s going on?”

“He doesn’t have to know. All he has to do is hear what everyone is talking about.” She took his arm in hers. “Come on. Let me fix that cut, then you tell me all about the ranch while I serve us lunch.”

She walked him through the store and towards the door at the rear that led to the living quarters. “Jesse, I’ll be in the back,” she called out.

“You going to make lunch?” A head poked up from behind the counter. “Oh, hi, Johnny.”

“Hey, Jesse.”

Johnny had always liked Teresa’s husband. The man was no cowboy; he’d come into Spanish Wells on the stagecoach one day and proceeded to set up shop. Dependable and honest, it had taken him less than six months to sweep Teresa off her feet and into his home.

“I’m taking Johnny to the back. You want me to bring your food out here or call you when it’s ready?”

“Got to finish inventory. Give me a holler and I’ll come get it.”

“All right. Come along, Mr. Lancer.” Teresa strengthened her hold on Johnny’s arm and pulled him along to the back.

Once in the kitchen, she had him sit down while she bustled about in the cabinets. She pulled out a couple of bottles, found some clean bandages and joined him at the table.

“Here, hold this.” She handed the roll of bandages over while she set to work cleaning off the wound.

“I don’t need a bandage. It’s not even bleeding anymore.”

Teresa studied his forehead and made a face. “That brat could have taken your eye out.”

“Well, he didn’t. It’s fine, Teresa, really it is.”

“Okay, no bandage but hold still while I put this on.” She took a square of cloth and soaked it in the dark liquid from one of the bottles and started dabbing it against the cut.

“Ouch! What are trying to do to me?” Johnny pulled back. His forehead stung more now than it had originally.

“Don’t be a baby. You don’t want it to get infected, do you?”

Johnny waved her away. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

She lowered her hand and turned her face away. “How can they be this way to you? As if you and Scott haven’t suffered enough.”

“Hey.” he firmly grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “This is nothing. Besides, me and Scott can take care of ourselves. You’ve got plenty of worries of your own; don’t be takin’ on our problems, too.” He studied her face. “You look tired.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes I can’t sleep at night, wondering what’s going to happen next.”

“We’ve had a run of pretty bad luck, haven’t we?”

“Doesn’t it worry you, Johnny? Aren’t you afraid? I am. It’s like I’m afraid all the time. Jesse tells me not to worry, that things can only get better, but I can’t seem to stop.”

“You and Scott are a pair, you know that? Always worrying about things you can’t do anything about.”

“And you don’t ever worry, is that it?”

He took both her hands. “You know what I worry about? I worry about you and I worry about Scott. I worry when I hear him pacing around at night and I worry when I hear you’re doing the same thing.”

“He’s taking this really hard, isn’t he? Murdoch’s death, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” It was his turn to look away. He wasn’t comfortable talking to anyone about Scott, even Teresa. Since their conversation the night of the funeral, he had felt as if they’d sealed a pact between them. Scott would keep his secrets and he would keep Scott’s. “I guess he’s handling it okay.”

“I miss him, Johnny, I miss him so much.”

He looked at her then and saw the grief she tried so hard to hide. “I know you do, honey. We all do.”

“Jesse hardly knew him. Sometimes, I want to talk about Murdoch with someone who knew him, too. It makes me feel so alone when I can’t.”

“Hey, I’m here now.”

She smiled at him. “Yes, you are.”

Johnny had a good time that afternoon. Between him and Teresa they managed to talk Jesse into eating his lunch with them instead of behind the counter. So he closed up the store and joined them in the kitchen and the three of them passed the time in the kind of conversation one only has with family. Even Johnny hadn’t heard all the stories Teresa told that afternoon.

When he walked out of the store a few hours later, Johnny almost laughed at the dark look the old biddy he tipped his hat to gave him. He had other things on his mind. As he mounted his horse and rode off toward the bank, all he was thinking about was that next time he ought to bring Scott with him.


§§§§§§§§§§§

He sat at the desk, his elbows propped up on its surface, his forehead leaning against his clasped hands. Of all the things Scott thought he’d find within his father’s papers, this total confusion would not have been it. After hours of backtracking and following clues that led to dead-ends, he had been no closer to figuring out exactly how much money they had and where it all was than when he had started.

And then he’d found this. Scott had never thought to rifle through Murdoch’s papers; why would he? The ranch had always made a profit, or so he’d always been led to believe; his going through the books had been merely to reacquaint himself with their financial situation. But the ledgers he had found buried in the bottom right-hand drawer of the desk had opened up a veritable Pandora’s box.

He brought his head up when he heard a door slam. Footsteps moved rapidly toward him from the back of the house.

“Scott? Scott, where are you?”

Johnny. “In here.”

His brother appeared at the entryway. He looked like he had been riding hard. “We’ve got another problem.”

“What happened?”

“I went to the bank, like you said.” He took off his hat, hanging it up on the rack near the front door and unbuckling his holster as he spoke. “They wouldn’t give me any money. Said Murdoch took out a loan awhile back and there hasn’t been a payment made this month.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Johnny walked over, clearly confused. “What do you mean, you’re not surprised? This is the first I’ve heard of any loan.”

Scott picked up the ledger and handed it to Johnny.

“What’s this?” He started skimming through the pages. With a frown, he sat on the corner of the desk. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But apparently the books I’ve been working with for the last year and a half don’t tell the whole story.”

“Where’d you find this?”

Scott opened the drawer. “In here. I couldn’t figure out why the numbers weren’t adding up. Money was coming in but I couldn’t tell from where, covering bills I’d never seen before. So I thought I’d start going through everything, old receipts, bills of sale, everything. That’s when I found them. As far as I can tell, Murdoch started keeping a second set of books about four years ago.”

Johnny flipped to the first page. “This was started this year.”

“That’s because there are four of them. That’s just the most recent. Whatever was going on, started then. At first, they almost exactly duplicate the books I was given. There’s a few discrepancies but mostly the two give the same accounts. Then, about eighteen months ago one set, that one,” he nodded toward the ledger in his brother’s hands, “starts showing us losing money. Did the bank tell you what the loan was for?”

“No, but Mr. Guthrie called me into his office. Told me he wanted to set up a meeting with the two of us. He said we both need to hear what he has to say.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d have to talk to you about it but that I didn’t see that it would be a problem. I figured we could both ride in first thing in the morning.”

“Damn him!” Scott shoved the rest of the papers away. “What the hell was he doing?”

“Whatever it was, it was eating him alive.” Johnny lowered his head in thought. “I used to wonder why you were so worried about him. I couldn’t see him getting that upset about the drought, not yet, anyway. I mean, it was bad but nothing like some I’ve seen. And Murdoch had probably been through worse. But this,” he tossed the ledger back on the desk and looked straight at Scott, “yeah, this must have been weighin’ awfully heavy on him.”

“Well, there’s no sense my continuing with this.” Scott stood, stretching to work the kinks out his back. “Have you eaten?”

“I had something at Teresa’s but I could do with a drink right about now.”

“I think there’s some chicken left over from last night. While I go get it, why don’t you serve us both a glass of something?”

“Whiskey okay with you?” Johnny started toward the liquor cabinet.

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

“Scott?”

Scott stopped at the doorway. “Yes?”

“What are we going to do for money?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Johnny. I guess that’s something else we’ll have to ask Mr. Guthrie.”

§§§§§§§§§§

They rode into town early the next morning, leaving the house just after dawn. If Scott said three words along the way, Johnny would be surprised. He gave up trying to get a conversation going even before they had gained the boundaries of Lancer.

He cast a worried glance at his brother. Scott has always been the levelheaded one, always so steady and sure. It was disconcerting to see him this way. Lost. It made Johnny feel strangely alone.

When they reached town they rode directly to the bank. It was something of an unpleasant surprise to find one of the clerks waiting for them as they entered the building. Without having to be told, he knew exactly who they were and escorted them directly to the manager’s office.

“Have a seat, gentlemen.”

Two chairs had been placed in front of the bank manager’s desk. Not seeing that it made much difference, Johnny took the one on the left. As his brother settled beside him, they shared a worried glance.

“Would either of you like something to drink? Coffee, perhaps?” Mr. Guthrie moved as if to stand up.

“No, that’s quite all, sir, thank you,” Scott replied.

The man nodded. “Very well. I imagine you’re quite curious as to why I wanted to see you.”

“Yes, sir, I am. And I was surprised to learn we no longer have an account with this bank.”

“That’s not exactly true.” Guthrie hesitated a moment. “The fact of the matter is, you do. It’s just not the type you thought. You see, Mr. Lancer, your father took out a loan from this bank,” he flipped through the file in front of him, “four years come September. Unfortunately, recent events being what they were, we were in the process of attempting to refinance the loan when your father passed away.”

“How much was the loan for?” Scott asked.

The banker cleared his throat. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

“What? Fifty thousand dollars?” Johnny could hardly believe it. What had Murdoch needed that kind of money for? And where was it now?

“I don’t understand.” Scott shook his head in frustration. “Why would Murdoch take out a loan, especially for that kind of money? The ranch was doing fine.”

“Have you ever heard of Jay Cooke and Company of Philadelphia?”

Scott looked at him warily. “The name sounds familiar.”

“It should. That bank takes much of the blame for the economic panic which ensued when it closed its doors four years ago.”

“What’s that got to do with Murdoch?” Johnny asked.

Guthrie looked from one to the other, as if reluctant to continue. “I suppose there’s no easy way to tell you this; your father invested heavily with them in their financing of the Northern Pacific Railroad. That apparently entailed depositing the bulk of his funds in an account there. When the bank declared bankruptcy, he lost all of it.”

“Why? Why would he do that?” Scott looked like he was having trouble believing any of it.

“He wasn’t alone, Mr. Lancer. Many astute businessmen were convinced into making the same rash speculation. What’s unfortunate is that he put all his eggs in one basket, as it were. That made his situation that much more extreme, but he wasn’t the only one by far. Quite truthfully, the economy has not yet fully recovered. Even the cattle industry was momentarily crippled because of it. That’s one reason we’re been forced to call in the loan.”

“What are you talking about, call in the loan? Are you saying that not only will you not give us any more money but you expect us to pay back this loan all at once, too?” Scott asked.

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m sorry, truly I am, but my hands are tied. I can probably give you a couple of weeks to come up with the money, but past that....”

Johnny leaned forward in his chair. “What happens if we can’t pay it back?”

“The ranch was used as collateral. It would be sold and the debt settled.”

“Wait a minute, how was it possible for him to get a loan without mine and Johnny’s signatures? We were part owners even then.”

“If the deed of title was set up a certain way, it would be more than possible for any one of you to do so. Your father probably had it written that way in order to retain a certain control over the ranch’s financial power. Especially since neither of you were seemingly aware of that resource, it appears to have worked.”

Johnny stared at his brother, stunned. “Can they do that? Can they take the ranch if you can’t repay the loan?”

Scott looked suddenly exhausted. “Yes, I’m afraid they can.”

§§§§§§§§§§§§§

On to Part 3