Chapter 6
It was late the next morning and Johnny had already returned to the hacienda after riding fence lines for several hours. Now he was headed back towards the stable, but he stopped when he noticed Jelly pulling up with a loaded supply wagon, the new man, Andy, seated beside him. Johnny shook his head.
"Where have you been, Andy?" Johnny demanded, walking over to the buckboard as the young ranch hand clambered down. "I told you to go work with Chad today."
"Mr. Lancer sent me to town with Jelly," Andy Stovall replied, looking nervously up at him. He was a bit shorter than Johnny, stocky with black hair. "I told 'im you said I was suppos'd ta work with Chad and he said I should go with Jelly instead."
"Well, okay then, I guess you'd better help Jelly get the supplies unloaded," Johnny said frowning. He was wondering why Murdoch had overruled him on this. After all, Jelly frequently did the supply run to town on his own. Johnny started to walk away, but turned towards the wagon once more when he saw Scott and Will Hayford approaching. Scott and his lawyer friend were about equal in height, but the one-armed man was broader in the shoulders than the blonde haired Lancer. A hat that Johnny recognized as one belonging to Scott covered Hayford's brown curly hair.
Scott greeted Jelly, and asked him about his trip to town. "Waal, the trip never seems ta get no shorter, Scott," was the grizzled horse-wrangler's reply. "You'll have to let us know when that changes," Scott said in amused response. Then he turned to address Andy. "We'll help Jelly get the wagon unloaded, Andy. I asked Frank if he would show you how to do repairs on some of the harnesses- I believe he's in the stable."
"Okay, Mr. Lancer," Andy replied, and quickly headed for the large building nearby.
"Wait a minute, Andy," Johnny said quietly, as the young man walked past. "When you said "Mr. Lancer" told you to go with Jelly, who were you talkin' about?"
"Well…uh …Scott." Andy answered uncertainly. "He's in charge of who does what, isn't he?"
Hearing the question as well as Andy's reply, and noting his brother's displeasure, Scott quickly stepped in. "Andy, why don't you just go ahead and find Frank." Turning to Johnny, Scott started to explain: "I don't think that he meant----"
"He didn't mean what?" Johnny interrupted coldly. "He didn't mean that he thinks you're in charge around here?"
Scott pushed his hat back onto the crown of his head and looked his brother in the eyes. "Look Johnny, Andy's new. I know you wanted him to work with Chad but I just thought-----"
"You thought!" Johnny said, with emphasis on the pronoun. "This ranch is a three-way operation, Scott, and you ain't the one that calls the tune."
"I know that and I've never wanted it otherwise. I simply felt that it would be good for Andy to spend time with Jelly . . ."
"Or Frank? Or Walt? Anyone but Chad."
Johnny flashed on the memory of how Chad had backed him up in town. When Johnny had launched himself at Reno, Chad had quickly taken on Reno's buddy Lumas.
Scott stood for a moment, hands on hips, staring at the ground. He was painfully aware that Jelly and Will were standing by the wagon, within earshot of the brothers' less than friendly conversation. Will couldn't see them, as they were standing off to his right, but he was listening intently. Jelly was in the process of loading Will up with a stack of mail and a few small packages to take inside the hacienda, all the while shooting worried glances at the two brothers. Andy had almost reached the open stable doors. The young man turned back to listen as Johnny's voice increased slightly in volume with his next statement.
Johnny took a step closer to his brother. "I'd sure like ta know what the Hell is wrong with you," he said to Scott's profile. "It ain't like you to hold it against Chad just cause he sounds like some guard."
Scott's head snapped up at the word "guard", though his expression was unreadable; behind him, Will Hayford also reacted visibly to Johnny's comment.
"One of the guards at Libby?" Will asked in a concerned voice, looking directly at the Lancers and taking a few steps towards Scott.
"Leave it alone, Will," Scott said in a low voice, turning his head briefly in his friend's direction, without really looking at him. Scott started slowly removing the work glove from his left hand, focusing his attention on that activity.
"Who does Chad sound like--- Carter?"
"Will, I said, leave it alone."
Seeing Hayford's expression turn grim at being twice rebuffed, Johnny couldn't help but smile. He did sort of wish that he hadn't just brought up what Scott had confided to him about that prison guard, but it was pretty evident that Will Hayford already knew plenty about Scott's time at Libby, probably a lot more than Johnny did. The ex-gunslinger's voice was stone cold as he said, "Yeah, that's right, let's not talk about the past, huh, Boston? Not yours, anyway. . . though it seems like you and your friend think mine is fair game."
Will stepped up. "I'm the one who was asking questions. Don't think that Scott has revealed any of your "secrets"."
Johnny folded his arms against his chest. "So mebbe you're lookin' for something you can use against him? Well, it ain't gonna work. His grandfather already tried it."
Will began an heated retort: "Against him?! You're just . ." but Scott cut him off with a harsh, "Shut up, Will."
Hayford whirled away and moved angrily back towards Jelly and the wagon. The satisfied expression that was just crossing Johnny's face swiftly disappeared as Scott rounded on him. Holding his left glove in his still covered right hand, Scott gestured emphatically at his brother. "And you can leave my Grandfather out of this," he said with fierce intensity.
Johnny looked down and shrugged. Truth be told, just like Scott's time in Libby, Harlan Garrett's behavior during his visit to Lancer wasn't something that Johnny would have ever planned on bringing up. "Yeah, well, at least he wanted ya," Johnny offered.
Scott had started to walk away, but he now froze in place, then turned and fixed a searching, squint-eyed gaze on Johnny's face for a long moment. Then without saying a word, Scott turned his back once more.
"But hey, don't worry Boston, I'll still keep watching out for ya."
Scott bristled at Johnny's announcement. "I can take care of myself."
Johnny straightened up, looking Scott straight in the eye. "Fine. If that's the way you want it. You just better watch your back, cause I'm not gonna do it anymore."
"Well, since that's settled, I think I'll go back to work." Scott said, slipping his left hand back into his glove.
"Hey," Johnny said, stepping up and grasping his brother by the arm. "Maybe you oughta be careful who you listen to," he said, nodding in Hayford's direction. Scott's friend was headed towards the front door of the hacienda.
"I've known Will a very long time," was Scott's cold response.
Johnny couldn't help asking, "Just like your grandfather?" though he stopped himself from adding: "He turned on ya."
Scott shrugged his arm out of Johnny's grasp. "Well, neither one of them has ever . . ." His usually mild blue-grey eyes had stared hard into Johnny's sapphire colored ones, but he broke eye contact as his voice faded.
"Has ever what?' Johnny asked angrily, when Scott failed to complete his statement.
"Nothing." Shaking his head, Scott turned once more, this time putting distance between them with a few long strides.
Johnny stood with his hands on his hips. "They ain't never shot ya, like I did? Was that what you were gonna say?" Johnny demanded of Scott's departing figure. "Guess you really do think you can take care of yourself, if you're turning your back on me."
Johnny's words filled the silence of the yard. On opposite sides, Will Hayford and Andy Stovall each stood motionless in stunned surprise at Johnny's words. Jelly held onto the edge of the buckboard and bowed his head. He had heard something about that, how one time Johnny had been forced to wound Scott in order to prevent his being killed by some gunmen who were out to get revenge on Johnny Madrid. No matter what the reason, it had to be something between them, that Johnny had put a bullet in his brother.
Jelly stood there shaking his head in dismay after the brothers moved off in their opposite directions. He remembered when he first met Scott n' Johnny, he'd been just like pretty near everybody else, he hadn't been able to believe that they were brothers. The two of them sure didn't look anything alike. They didn't act much alike, neither; which was no surprise, them having grown up so different, on opposite sides of the country. But once he'd gotten to know em, Jelly'd seen what it was that they had in common, they were both just good men. The boys'd each been able to see through their differences to find that in each other, too. And from what he knew about their upbringing, they'd each needed a brother somethin' awful. Jelly had heard enough to figure out that Johnny's mother had taken off and left Murdoch, she taken Johnny with her and then she'd up and died on him. And Scott, well, he'd never had a mother or father a'tall, just that sorry excuse for a grandfather of his. Jelly didn't know all the details about why those two boys hadn't been raised right here at the ranch, but one thing he did know, if'n they'd been his sons, neither hell nor high water coulda kept him away from 'em. But it was something he sure hadn't ever asked the Boss about.
Murdoch slowly walked over from the front door of the hacienda and stood next to Jelly as they watched the boys walk away. Jelly wondered how much the Boss had heard of his sons' "discussion". Plenty of people on the ranch were noticing, and commenting on, the fact that the two of them hadn't been getting on too well lately. The grey-bearded handyman slid a comment over to the tall rancher. "Someone oughta talk to them two."
Murdoch stared out at the distance. "I'm going to send them out to check on that dam up at Grand Creek. Tomorrow, both of them." Jelly thought about that. The dam was a passable distance away, seemed like Johnny and Scott would pretty much have to do some talking to each other, if they didn't just decide ta kill each other first and git it over with. Jelly sighed, then glanced up at Murdoch Lancer's grim profile. For someone who'd never raised any boys, the Boss sure did seem to know just what to do most of the time.
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The next morning, Johnny was up earlier than usual. He already had plenty to do and now Murdoch was sending him and Scott out to check up on that dam. Since he didn't have to meet Scott there until noon, Johnny hoped to get out and take care of a few things so that he wouldn't have so much work to do later in the afternoon.
Shirtless, clad only in his boots and tight black pants, Johnny stepped over to the armoire and opened up the right hand door. Damn if he didn't have only one clean shirt again. Well, it sure made it a lot easier to get dressed in the morning, no big decisions to make. He slid his arms into his old familiar faded-to-pink embroidered shirt. As he started to button it, he stopped, shook his dark head in disgust, and then looked into the empty armoire once more. Johnny heaved a sigh, continued buttoning up his shirt and then opened the left hand door and reached for a belt.
His gun belt, was of course, hanging on the bedpost; he never liked to have it far away, even when he was asleep in his own bed. There were several regular belts hanging on the hooks inside the cabinet.
Johnny had recently been doing some leatherwork, tooling designs into the smooth surface, and had crafted a few belts for himself. Scott had been interested in what he'd been doing and had asked Johnny quite a few questions about how he'd learned the skill. Reaching for his favorite belt, one that was rather wide and covered with intricate designs, Johnny recalled asking Scott what he'd thought of it.
"It's a lot of work," had been Scott's mild response.
"Ya, but how d' ya like it?"
Scott had hesitated a moment before saying, "It's very . . . . decorative."
Johnny smiled sardonically at the memory. Well, this belt he was putting on just wasn't Scott's style, though of course his well-mannered city boy brother had been too polite to say anything that might sound critical of Johnny's handiwork. But while Scott had been off in Sacramento, Johnny had purchased two belts that were similar to the ones that Scott usually wore -a plain black leather belt and a matching gun belt with simple silver buckles. He'd incised some small star-like designs into the surfaces of each of them, and on the gun belt a Lancer "L" on the left hip. He had hoped that Scott might like them, since they were nothing too "decorative". Of course, Johnny had been planning on telling his brother that the "L" was for "left", just in case he got confused in the morning when he was getting dressed. But given how things had been between them lately, Johnny didn't feel much at all like offering his older brother a gift. In fact, if he thought real hard, he figured that he just might come up with a few other things to do with a couple of belts . . .Johnny shut the door to the armoire a bit harder than he had intended, and headed downstairs for breakfast.
He was none too happy about Murdoch sending him and Scott out to check on that dam. Scott hadn't looked any more pleased when Murdoch had announced the project the previous evening, but neither of them had objected in front of the assembled mealtime audience. Grand Creek was more like a small river and it was true that the dam had been a concern for a while now, but it was pretty plain what the Old Man was trying to do. There sure wasn't any good reason for both of them to ride all that ways out there just to take a look at a pile of logs. Any one of the hands could have done it just as well. Johnny was pretty certain that if they spent all that time together going out there and back, they'd just find something else to disagree on. Well, the ride back, anyway. Johnny was heading out to the north pasture first and Scott probably had some other tasks of his own before they met at noon, and then they were supposed to both ride back to the hacienda.
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Breakfasting on a slice of toast and cup of coffee, Will Hayford was reading in the Lancer Great Room when Teresa O'Brien entered, carrying a basket of mending. Will smiled at her and said "Good morning." Teresa returned his greeting and then set to work on one of Johnny's shirts, shaking her head in dismay at how hard he was on his clothing.
Ever the hostess, Teresa made friendly conversation with Scott's guest, answering his questions about ranch life. After several minutes of listening to Teresa's descriptions, Will expressed his frank surprise at seeing Scott so comfortable in this new and different environment.
Teresa smiled uncertainly at that; Scott seemed to have adjusted quite well to life here at the ranch, but she had often wondered how much his missed his family, his friends, his "other life" back in Boston. Rather than responding right away, she concentrated on threading her needle, and Will went back to his book. The needle conquered, the girl looked over at him. After momentarily contemplating his visible profile, with the dark circle of his eye patch, she finally ventured a question of her own: "So how long have you known Scott, Mr. Hayford?"
"It's Will," he reminded her with a quick smile. Hayford closed the book, and shifted slightly in his seat so that he could more easily focus on the young lady sitting across the way. "Scott and I grew up together, our houses were on the same street. If Scott hadn't been so blond, people would have mistaken him for the youngest Hayford, he spent so much time at our house." Will shook his head. "He was all alone with his grandfather--- and my brothers and I allowed him to tag along with us."
A shadow clouded the man's damaged face, and he lowered his gaze. "Of course, if it hadn't been for my example and my brothers', Scott might not have enlisted . . ."
Teresa was curious: "You all fought in the War?" she asked. "And how many of you were there?"
"There were three of us," Will replied. "My oldest brother George was in the cavalry; now he's in legal practice with my father in Boston. John was killed at Gettysburg . . . . .we were in the infantry there together."
"I'm sorry," Teresa murmured.
"I was home by the time we received the news about Scott being captured and imprisoned at Libby . . . .it was like losing another brother."
"But you knew he was still alive."
"Yes, but the conditions in the Confederate prisons were notoriously bad. We had no way of knowing if he was sick or injured. There was no guarantee that he would survive his time there."
"But he did," Teresa observed soberly.
Will nodded. "Thank God." He eyed Teresa speculatively. "Do you know about the escape attempt?"
"Yes. He survived that too . . . but it all must have been just a horrible experience."
"I'm sure that it was. When Scott finally got home, he was still pretty sick and very thin. He didn't have an easy time of it. And the memory of those sixteen men who died weighed very heavily on him."
Teresa looked down at the mending in her lap. "I'm sure that was very difficult," she said unhappily.
"It would have been much more difficult if I hadn't had the help of a good friend," was the quiet comment from a familiar voice. Startled, both Teresa and Will looked quickly towards the doorway, both wondering how long Scott had been standing there. Will recovered first, shaking his head ruefully. "I'd like to think that I was of some assistance," he said. "But you had to sober me up first."
Scott entered the room, placing his hat on a tabletop. "You had some difficulties of your own to contend with," he commented mildly.
Will looked at him searchingly. "And hating you was one of them," he stated flatly.
Teresa was startled by that remark: "Why??"
Hayford continued to keep his one good eye trained on Scott as he responded to the young woman's question. "He wouldn't allow me to get drunk, for one thing . . . For another, . . . he came back alive, and well."
Scott crossed the room and took a seat near Hayford, placing himself on Will's left side. Resting his arms on his thighs, he looked down at his clasped hands, then back up at Will. "Alive at any rate. And in one piece."
"Though not exactly whole. And definitely not the same," was Will's quiet comment.
Scott stared at his hands and uttered only one short phrase: "That's true."
"And true of a lot of men. Not whole. Not the same." Will laughed mirthlessly. "Though I guess that that was an improvement for some."
Partway across the room, Teresa sat motionless as she tried to fathom the hidden thoughts and meanings beneath the words of this conversation. She wondered whether the two men even remembered that she was in the room.
"No one could stay the same, Will. The War changed all of us."
"Some more than others," was Will's quick rejoinder.
"That's true," Scott soberly agreed. Then he looked up and smiled apologetically at the concerned expression on Teresa's face. Placing his hands on his knees, he slowly stood, announcing that he had a full morning of ranch work ahead of him.
Inclining his head in Scott's direction, noting his friend's apparently typical uniform of beige checked shirt and black pants, Will smiled. "I did notice that you weren't exactly dressed for a ni . . …….socializing." Scott, eyebrows raised, gave his friend a look, well aware of some activities that Will might have been tempted to mention if Teresa had not been present.
"Well, don't worry about me," the lawyer added. "I have a few letters to write, and it will take me most of the morning."
Scott nodded in comprehension. Will had had to painstakingly teach himself to write left-handed; while he could now do so with a fair degree of legibility, it was still a slow and tedious process.
Teresa rose and accompanied Scott to the entryway. "You're meeting Johnny later today?" she asked tentatively, when they had reached the front door.
"That's right," he assured her. "Murdoch wants us to check on the dam at Grand Creek," he added, quite unnecessarily.
"Scott…"
He fastened his serious pale blue eyes on her own darker, troubled ones. "Don't worry, Teresa. I do plan to talk to Johnny, square things." Teresa smiled and nodded.
The young woman watched the tall blonde stride away. Once outside he slid his hat onto his head and headed towards the stables. Teresa thought about that day at the river, when she and Scott had been returning from Morro Coyo. Both she and Scott had been so angry at Johnny for not helping his brother in town, when Scott had had to fight off three of Pardee's men. Then Johnny had shown up at the riverside and Scott had punched him, knocking him to the ground. Teresa recalled that when she had scolded them for fighting, Scott had apologized right away, but Johnny had still been very angry. "It would be so like Scott to apologize," she murmured to herself. "Even when he isn't entirely at fault."
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Hours later, Scott Lancer was riding along, unaware that he was being observed from a distance. His own telescope was used to track his movements as he and Brunswick traveled in the direction of the dam that needed to be inspected. Scott kept the horse to a leisurely pace, since he was still early yet. From past experience, he knew that his younger brother was not likely to be ahead of schedule.
Dismounting in the small clearing opposite the dam, Scott saw that the ground was covered with horse prints. Apparently Johnny had been early, he noted with mild surprise. Glancing around, he saw no other sign of either his brother or Barranca. Scott assumed that Johnny had ridden further downstream, and would be back shortly. Looking out over the racing water, he realized with dismay that the dam had, in fact, been breached, and badly.
Scott slowly untied his canteen and approached the water's edge. He stepped over some large rocks and pieces of "driftwood", the weathered and bleached wood that was called "dry kai" up in Maine. The water level in the creek was very high; the fast flowing current reminded him of some of the rivers that he had canoed up north. Glistening black rocks protruded from the swirling white water; at the moment it was certainly not a waterway that he would be anxious to navigate. Scott crouched down with his canteen in hand. Once the container had been filled, he removed his hat and leaned forward, putting his hand in the cool water and splashing it on his face. Hearing movements behind him, Scott half turned. "Johnny?" he asked. There was no response. Suddenly, he was stunned by a blow to the top of his head which caused his body to start to pitch forward. There was no other sound except for the loud splash as Scott Lancer hit the water, and quickly disappeared from view.
Satisfied, the assailant tossed the heavy piece of silvered wood to the ground. "Boston" had never seen it coming.
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CHAPTER 7
Late that afternoon, Johnny was riding back to the hacienda, keeping Barranca at a slow and steady pace, in no particular hurry to get home. Not surprisingly, his thoughts were focused on his brother and the recent hostilities between them. He shook his head, wondering how it had all escalated to this point. Yesterday's argument had started out just being about giving orders around the ranch and before Johnny had realized it they'd been talking about everything from Harlan Garrett's failed blackmail attempt to the time that Johnny had been forced to put a bullet in his older brother.
For all that Johnny had been told his entire life that he'd inherited his temper from his mama, he knew that Scott had one too. His brother might be able to hold a lid on things longer, keep a careful guard on his words, but every once and a while he'd explode into action. Johnny tended to be more verbally impulsive; it seemed he was too often saying things that he'd regret, but he was usually firmly in control of his actions. It seemed as if for the past week, maybe longer, the unexplained anger had just laid there between them, simmering, waiting to boil over. After yesterday's argument, the two of them hadn't said two words to each other; they had even managed to avoid spending much time in the same room. This morning, Johnny had left the house very early. Then, when he'd arrived at the river, he'd been waiting for Scott and . . ..
"Johnny!" Teresa's voice broke into his thoughts, greeting him as he rode past the front door of the hacienda. "Supper will be ready in an hour."
"All right," Johnny replied quietly, continuing on to the small stable where some of the family's horses were housed. He had plenty of time to feed and groom Barranca before he had to get himself cleaned up for the evening meal.
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Johnny and Chad entered the dining room together, both moving to their customary seats at the table. Teresa, wearing a blue dress this evening, was already seated to Murdoch's right, and Johnny settled himself beside her. Chad sat on Murdoch's left, in the chair that had formerly been Scott's. Will Hayford, wearing a jacket and tie, was beside Chad, and Scott's new place at the end of the table, opposite Murdoch, remained empty.
"Aren't we going to wait for Scott?" his friend inquired.
"I'm sure he'll be along directly," Murdoch replied. "It's time to begin."
Teresa commented in a concerned tone on Scott's uncharacteristic tardiness, but Johnny assured her that even Scott wasn't always on time. The company reached for their napkins in anticipation of the start of the meal.
Three long white tapers were lit in the silver candelabra in the center of the table. The surface was set as usual, with white dishes decorated with pale blue violets. The silverware had the Lancer "L" etched on the handle of each utensil. A crystal glass filled with water, a glass for wine, and a cup and saucer for coffee after dinner accompanied each table setting. Juanita bustled out of the kitchen to place a serving bowl filled with corn and another one of mashed potatoes on the table. Maria followed closely behind her carrying a platter of roast beef that she deposited beside Murdoch. In her other hand she had a dinner plate that she set down in the empty spot in front of Will. Senor Scott had requested that she please have his friend's meat cut up for him before it came to the table. Maria hurried from the room and quickly returned with a gravy boat and a basket of biscuits.
As the assembled diners began to serve themselves, Murdoch commenced his inquiry into the day's activities. "How did riding the fence line go today, Chad?" Murdoch asked as he lifted several thick slices of roast beef onto his plate. Johnny was ladling vegetables onto his plate while still listening intently for his cousin's response. He recognized that Murdoch was trying to build up Chad's confidence by giving him some tasks to perform all on his own.
"Shore looks like we need ta' replace a section of the fence up towards the Eastern line shack," Chad said putting a forkful of potatoes in his mouth.
"We'll get a crew out there tomorrow to work on it. Perhaps Scott . . ." Murdoch glanced again at Scott's empty chair. "Were there any other sections that you noticed needing repair?"
"Waal, there are some parts ta' the fence 'bout a mile past the road ta' town that could use some work," Chad replied. "That shore is mighty pretty country up there," he added. "The birds was a singin' and I even saw a coupla deer while I was up that way."
"We'll have to get a crew out there, before winter sets in, " Johnny commented as he accepted the meat platter from Teresa.
Teresa politely addressed a question to their guest. "Mis. . .Will, what did you do today?" she asked him with a smile.
"Oh, I spent most of the day in my room, getting caught up on some reading, and I wrote those letters to people back home," Will replied, taking a sip of wine.
"You must not have heard me then, when I knocked. I did some baking today and thought that you might like a taste."
"I'm very sorry to have missed that Teresa-both the baked goods and the pleasure of your company, " he assured her. "It was such a nice day that I did go outside for a walk." Then nodding in the direction of his friend's vacant place, Will added, "I had expected to see Scott this afternoon."
"Murdoch." Teresa said worriedly. "What do you think is keeping him?"
"Is he upstairs?"
Johnny supplied the answer. "He ain't back here yet. I just came in from the stable and Brunswick's stall's still empty." Johnny had spent more time grooming his palomino than he had planned and was still wearing the faded pink shirt that he had worked in all day.
"You didn't ride back from Grand Creek together?"
Johnny looked up from his plate and set down his fork. "Murdoch, Scott never showed. I looked around and checked out the dam. Waited half an hour or so for 'im. I figured when he showed up, he'd take a look and we could talk about it at dinner."
"He may have been helping the crew with the bridge," Murdoch mused aloud. "That group isn't back yet." He knew that it wasn't like Scott to ignore his "assignment", but perhaps voicing this possibility would keep Teresa from growing even more concerned. One thing was evident; wherever Scott had been, Murdoch's plan to force his sons to spend time together had been thwarted.
Will addressed Johnny across the table. "He did say that he would be back here after meeting you at Grand Creek."
"Like Murdoch said, he probably got busy helping the crew finish that bridge."
"Isn't it unusual for them to put in such a long day?" Will asked.
"Normally, yeah," Johnny replied, somewhat irritated by Hayford's probing tone. "But they were gonna to stay out til the bridge was finished. Without it we can't get to the cattle in the east pasture without having to go out of our way."
"Just the same, Johnny," Murdoch said seriously. "After you finish eating, maybe you should head out and meet your brother."
The dark-haired Lancer nodded, drained his glass of milk and then pushed his chair back. "Might as well head out now." He looked over at his cousin. "Chad, you wanna come with me?"
Neither of the young men noted the displeased expression on Murdoch Lancer's face as he listened to Johnny's invitation and Chad's quick response. Replying with a "Shore, Johnny," Chad stood up, grabbing a biscuit from the basket and snatching a piece of roast beef from his plate. Johnny strode over to the front entrance and paused to remove his gun belt and hat from the tree near the door. Just then there was a knock on the heavy wooden panel. Johnny opened the door and said, "Hi Sam, come on in."
Sheriff Sam Jayson entered, removing his hat. "Hey, How are ya Johnny? Chad? Hungrily eyeing the food on the table, he addressed Murdoch. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner, Mr. Lancer. I just wanted ta' drop this bill off for Johnny." He pulled a slip of paper out of his vest pocket.
"Bill?" Murdoch asked, his eyes narrowing as he slowly stood. "What bill?"
"For damages to the saloon. Johnny agreed to pay after he got in that fight with Lumas and Reno." Sheriff Jayson explained as Murdoch approached.
"Fight?! Johnny, how many times are you…." Murdoch started to say, but Johnny interrupted him.
"Murdoch, you can yell at me later." Johnny said, grabbing the bill out of the Sheriff's hand. "If we're going to go meet Scott before dark, we need ta head on out."
Murdoch started to ask Jayson another question, when Cipriano Sanchez appeared in the doorway.
"Senor Lancer," the Segundo announced solemnly. "The bridge is finished."
"Scott, was he out there with you?" Murdoch asked gruffly.
"No, Senor," the foreman replied, shaking his head. "I have not seen Senor Scott today."
"Cipriano, Scott didn't meet up with Johnny at noon." Murdoch explained, concern written on his face. "He's probably fine, maybe his horse went lame or threw a shoe." The big rancher paused, while everyone present considered that if something like that had happened to Scott at noontime, he would have to have been walking very slowly not to have made it back to the hacienda by now. "We'll follow both routes to the dam. Johnny, you and Chad head to the tree line and go along the river; Cipriano and I will cut across the pastures, meet you at the dam site."
"Hey, I'll come along," Sheriff Jayson offered. Murdoch nodded his acceptance. "Then you ride with me, Sheriff." He turned to his Segundo. "Cipriano, you head out with Johnny and Chad. You know where to check. The Sheriff and I will take the direct route to the dam."
Johnny moved towards the wall of shelves, then turned back to address the room, a puzzled expression on his face. "Anyone seen Scott's telescope? Thought it might come in handy . . ."
Murdoch's brow furrowed. "It's usually there on the shelf with my stereo-opticon," he said, referring to the instrument that Scott had purchased as a gift for the first birthday that Murdoch had celebrated after the boys' return home. It was actually the second stereo-opticon that Scott had ordered from "back East", after he had given the first one to the girl Trina so that the house bound young artist could "see the world".
Will Hayford rose from his seat and joined the discussion, Teresa following him from the table with an anxious expression on her face. "Look in the stable," he suggested. "Scott wanted to bring it along when he gave me a tour of the ranch, but then we both forgot about it, and it was left behind."
Johnny nodded. "Let's get saddled up," he said to Chad and the two of them headed for the door. Cipriano also prepared to depart, quietly stating that he would ready the patron's horse.
"Mr. Lancer, I'd like to come along also, if you don't mind," Will requested politely.
Murdoch looked at his son's one-armed friend. "Fine," Murdoch said, after a brief hesitation. "You can ride with the Sheriff and me." Murdoch reached for his own gun belt as he shouted out the door-"Johnny, saddle up Rambler for Mr. Hayford, he'll be joining us."
While Cipriano hurried towards the smaller stable to prepare Murdoch's mount, Johnny paused in the doorway of the larger building where Rambler was housed. Chad was already inside, heading directly to Buford's stall to saddle up the big bay. Johnny noticed Andy Stovall just unsaddling his horse; he didn't recall hearing that Andy had been assigned to the bridge crew and briefly wondered where the young man had been today.
"Hey, Andy, could ya saddle up Rambler and take him to the house for Scott's friend?"
"Yes, sir," Andy responded, heading for Rambler's stall. Johnny hurried off to the next building to get Barranca. A few minutes later, Johnny and Chad each exited their respective barns, joined Senor Sanchez and rode out to look for Scott.
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The sun was lowering when the two search parties met as planned near the Grand Creek dam site. As they headed towards the clearing opposite the dam, Cipriano rode alongside Murdoch Lancer. The Segundo informed his employer that he, Chad and Johnny had seen no sign of the rancher's elder son. As the group entered the small open area, those in the lead were surprised to see Brunswick standing there. The spirited chestnut reacted nervously to the approaching group of riders, and Cipriano quickly dismounted and walked over to calm the animal. Murdoch scanned the area, but there was no other evicence of Scott. Will reined Rambler to a halt behind Murdoch, but Johnny on Barranca continued past him, shouting his brother's name. Cipriano handed Brunswick's bridle up to Johnny and started towards the river's edge.
Chad tried to edge Buford past Will. "Wait!" Hayford exclaimed forcefully. "Wait . . . before we tramp all over the area, perhaps we'd better let the Sheriff take a look at the tracks on the ground?"
Murdoch Lancer turned in the saddle, pushing his hat back on his head to regard his son's friend. "Scott is missing, after all," Hayford explained in response to Murdoch's questioning look. "We wouldn't want to destroy any evidence . . that might help us find him." "Right, Sheriff?" Will asked, seeking support from the man on horseback directly behind him.
From his place at the rear of the company, Sheriff Sam Jayson appeared to be somewhat disconcerted by suddenly having everyone's attention focused upon him. The way was parted for the sandy haired lawman to ride to a position alongside Murdoch. He slowly dismounted. As Jayson stood staring at the ground at his feet, Johnny couldn't help but feel a grim amusement. He remembered the time when he and Sam had ridden out after Scott, Jelly and the Calhouns, father and daughter. Johnny had busted his brain trying to out guess Scott, to figure out what his brother would to do to throw him off the trail. It had been pretty evident that Sam hadn't known the first thing about tracking. If it hadn't been for Johnny, they would have never found the fugitive miners' hideout and all of those people would have died from eating the contaminated food that Scott and Jelly were unwittingly bringing to them.
It now fell to Cipriano to point out to the Sheriff the two sets of hoof prints-Barranca's and Brunswick's. The big foreman crouched down near the ground and calmly indicated Barranca's distinctive treads; Johnny's palomino had wider hooves than Scott's chestnut.
"Juanito said he was here, and here are his tracks." Then, Sanchez addressed Johnny in Spanish, pointing out that Barranca's front shoes seemed to be quite worn.
"Se, Tio,"Johnny replied. "Been meaning ta take care of that," he added in English. In response to the quizzical glances from the other men, including the already puzzled Sheriff, the Segundo indicated the rounded edge of one of the horseshoe marks. "These here are from Senor Scott's horse," he added, gesturing towards another series of prints.
"No other horse?" Will asked from his place behind Murdoch.
Eyes quickly sweeping the area, Cipriano shook his head. "No, Senor."
"What about foot prints?" was the lawyer's next question.
Sam Jayson looked around, trying to make sense of the tracks on the ground. "Hey, here's one set . . . and these over here are a little bigger."
"That'd be Scott," Johnny said quietly, indicating some of the clearer prints. He slowly dismounted. "These here are mine," he announced. Meanwhile, Cipriano walked once more towards the edge of the creek bed. Carefully stepping onto some of the large rocks at the shoreline, he bent down, with his back to the company. Straightening, he turned held up a canteen.
"That Scott's?" Chad asked.
"Guess so," was Johnny's response as he took a few steps to meet Cipriano and accepted the container. "It's full," he informed Murdoch as he handed the canteen up to his father.
"Any sign of him?" Murdoch asked his Segundo in a concerned voice. Cipriano shook his head in response and then returned to the river.
Chad awkwardly lowered himself to the ground and he and Sam Jayson followed Cipriano back over to the water's edge. Behind Murdoch, Will Hayford began to carefully dismount as well.
As the Lancer foreman scanned the waterway, studying the breached dam, Chad peered downstream. "I see something," the tall Kentuckian announced. As Murdoch watched from astride his big bay horse, with Johnny standing alongside him still holding Brunswick's reins, Chad ducked his head below some branches and moved off to the left, disappearing from view. Will moved into a position between Johnny and Murdoch, the three of them waiting to learn what Chad had seen. Although no longer visible, he could be heard splashing along the creek. When Chad came back into sight, he was holding an object in his hand. "Uh, . . looks like Scott's hat," he announced in a worried tone, holding up the damp piece of headgear.
Both Johnny and Will stepped towards Chad at the same time. Chad moved directly to Johnny and placed the sodden hat into his cousin's hands.
Behind him, Cipriano turned and addressed Senor Lancer. Johnny had already alerted the searchers to the condition of the dam; now the stolid foreman issued his own terse assessment. As he commented as well upon the force of the current, something to the right caught his eye. There, protruding from the branches of a thick bush, was one end of a piece of river "driftwood". Grasping the heavy, whitened chunk of wood, Cipriano pulled it from the brush and examined it carefully; he then grimly approached Murdoch. Even Sheriff Jayson registered that the log would make a fine club, before hearing Murdoch's verdict to that effect. Noting the dark stain on the silvered surface, the dour faced rancher shook his head in disbelief. "That could be blood," he stated flatly, handing the piece of wood to Johnny, who nodded his agreement. "I guess I'd better hang on to it then," Sam Jayson observed, a mixture of hesitation and self-importance in his voice. With a stunned expression on his damaged face, Will Hayford walked slowly over to the creek's edge and stood with his left hand in his jacket pocket, contemplating the racing current and the dark rocks looming in the fading light.
Not one of the men spoke. Apparently no one wanted to be the first to give voice to the possibility that Scott Lancer had somehow ended up in Grand Creek, let alone speculate aloud as to how that might have happened. Finally Murdoch Lancer forced himself to take charge, giving directions from astride his large horse. "Johnny, you and Chad head down stream on foot, see how far you can go. The under brush may be too thick to go any distance," he warned.
While Johnny and Chad headed downstream along the creek bed, Cipriano canvassed the clearing once more. In the deepening twilight, the other men could hear Johnny and Chad thrashing in the underbrush, slipping on the rocks and splashing in the water, all the while shouting out for Scott. There was no response, just the constant noise of the rushing water. The two young men hadn't gotten very far when Murdoch resignedly called them back.
When Johnny and Chad rejoined the others in the clearing, they looked damp and discouraged.
"There's no moon tonight, not much we can do after dark, Murdoch," Johnny said. "We're gonna have ta wait for daylight to do much lookin'". Chad nodded his head in emphatic agreement, while Sheriff Jayson started to offer to return early the next morning to assist in the search.
Will interrupted the lawman. "I think we'll certainly need you, Sheriff," he said from his spot by the water. "It looks as if Scott may have been attacked."
"Now whoever mighta done somethin' like that would be long gone by now," Chad pointed it out.
"Perhaps," the lawyer answered. "Johnny, I believe you said that you were here at noon?"
Johnny bristled at the emphasis on "said", but answered the question in a neutral voice. "That's right." "Like I said," he added, placing his own emphasis on the word, "Scott never showed."
"Well, obviously he was here at some point. And you never came back to look for him?"
"No," Johnny said, folding his arms across his chest. "I waited for 'im a while, then I went for a ride, til it was time to head back to the hacienda."
"Johnny already tole us alla this," Chad objected. Sheriff Jayson stood between Johnny and Will, his head twisting back and forth as he followed the discussion. Cipriano Sanchez stared grimly at Will Hayford. Murdoch Lancer did not seem to be following the conversation as he sat staring out over the water, his eyes gazing unseeingly at the remains of the dam.
Will looked down at the ground, apparently lost in thought. Abruptly, he glanced up at Johnny. "How long have you been missing that button?" he asked.
Several pairs of eyes focused on the front of Johnny's pink shirt. The second button was indeed missing. Under this scrutiny, Johnny replied in a voice that was deadly calm. "Well, Will, since ya think it's any of your business, it was missin' when I got dressed this mornin'."
"But you put that shirt on anyway?"
Under the circumstances, it seemed like a stupid thing to be asking, and Johnny was not about to admit to Scott's damnably inquisitive friend that he'd only had the one clean shirt to wear. Before he could offer any sort of retort, Hayford bent down and picked something up off of the ground. "Is this it?" he asked, approaching Johnny with his hand extended. Will was holding a small barrel-shaped white button similar to the ones on Johnny's faded shirt.
Johnny reluctantly accepted the object. It sure seemed to be the missing button all right.
Will directed his next comment up to Murdoch Lancer, who was still on horseback. "It could have fallen off in a struggle."
Johnny and the others stared at Hayford in disbelief. "You ain't suggestin' what I think you're suggestin' . . ." Johnny said menacingly, dropping Brunswick's lead as he clenched his fists and stepped towards the one-armed man. Cipirano placed a hand on the Johnny's shoulder as Chad exclaimed: "Johnny would neva do nuthin' like that!" Cipriano nodded his head in emphatic agreement while Murdoch regarded Will with a stone-faced expression. Behind Will, Sheriff Sam Jayson rubbed at his moustache, looking both apprehensive and concerned.
"It wasn't a random act-robbers would have taken Scott's horse or at least emptied his saddlebags," Will pointed out, gesturing towards Brunswick's back. The saddlebags did indeed appear to be full, the straps still secured. Even Scott's carbine remained in its sheath.
In the face of hostile glares from the men before him, Will Hayford stood his ground. Moving his head in order to fix his one good eye upon each of them in turn, he stated forcefully: "There were only two sets of prints here, Scott's and Johnny's . .. and every one of you is a witness to that."
Cipriano gripped Johnny's shoulders with both hands, speaking to him in a low voice in Spanish. Responding in the same tongue, the furious young man shrugged off the restraining hands and moved towards his horse. Leaping up onto Barranca's saddle, Johnny spurred the animal and quickly left the small clearing behind. Chad hastily clambered up onto Buford and noisily followed his cousin.
Murdoch Lancer glared down at Will Hayford. "Hayford," he said coldly, "You don't know Johnny, so you can't possibly understand how far off the mark you are here." He paused ominously. "All I can say is that if you weren't Scott's friend and our guest . . . "
Without completing his statement, Murdoch wheeled his horse and left. Cipriano hurriedly mounted his own horse, and taking Brunswick's lead, rode after the angry rancher.
In the growing darkness, Will Hayford, a determined expression on his face, laboriously climbed aboard Rambler. A thoroughly bewildered Sheriff Sam Jayson was the last man to leave the clearing.
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CHAPTER 8
Once he had put some distance between himself and the accusations that Will Hayford had made in the clearing, Johnny eased Barranca's pace. The shadows were deepening, and there was nothing to be gained in risking having the horse stumble. A few moments later, when he recognized the heavy tread of Chad's horse Buford coming up behind him, Johnny slowed Barranca to a walk. Chad reined in his own animal and the two young men rode side by side in silence.
Chad made several half-hearted attempts at conversation. His feeble assurances that Scott Lancer was bound to turn up unharmed, his stubborn insistence that no one with a lick of sense would think for one minute that Johnny had turned against his brother, even his angry castigation of the one-eyed "Yankee" lawyer, all were met with monosyllabic grunts from his dark-haired cousin.
It was only when Chad posed a direct question that he received any real response from Johnny. "So, Johnny, did I hear right that you and Scott had some kinda big argumint yestiday?"
"Yeah, you heard that right," Johnny replied with a heavy sigh. He didn't bother to ask his cousin just how he had heard about it. With so many people living and working together every day, there weren't too many secrets on a ranch. Johnny knew that Hayford, Jelly and the new man, Andy, had all been witnesses to the angry "conversation" between the brothers, but there was no telling who else might have also been within earshot. Evidently Murdoch had heard plenty, since he had been so determined to send the two of them off together to investigate the dam.
Murdoch and Cipriano, with Scott's horse Brunswick trailing behind them, finally caught up with Johnny and Chad. The two older men did not offer a greeting; the foursome continued on without a word. Further back, Will Hayford and Sheriff Sam Jayson were conversing; Johnny could hear snatches of the exchange as their voices carried over the sound of the hoof beats in the still night. It sounded as if Hayford was quizzing Sam about his experience as a lawman. Johnny smiled sardonically to himself; the Harvard lawyer was not likely to be much impressed. Sam was a decent enough man, he tried to do a good job, but he sure wasn't any great shakes as a lawman. No one would ever claim that Sam Jayson was the smartest person that ever pinned on a badge.
Although outwardly calm, as he sat in a relaxed posture, moving with Barranca's gentle rhythm, Johnny's mind was brimming with dark swirling thoughts. Chief among them was the cold fear that Scott had, somehow, ended up in the dark, flowing waters of Grand Creek. As infuriated as he had been by Will Hayford's insinuations, Johnny reminded himself that no one else was very likely to pay attention to that kind of talk. He certainly couldn't allow himself to be distracted by the man's accusations; he had to find his brother and then figure out what had actually happened. The thing that was the most disturbing was the discovery of the button. Johnny knew, he absolutely knew for a fact, that it had been missing when he put that embroidered shirt on early this morning. He'd checked several times since just to be sure that there was still only one missing. How could the button have gotten out here? He'd seen Hayford pick it up off the ground with his own eyes.
If that button raised a host of questions, well, on the face of it, the piece of wood with the dark stain was a lot less mysterious. When Cipriano had been holding the log, it had looked like nothing so much as a club. The rocks and the cold temperatures of the rapid current would be bad enough, but if a man went into the water already injured . . . . Murdoch had speculated that the dark spot could be blood and Johnny had quickly agreed with him, but now he considered that the whitened length of wood could have any sort of discoloration on it.
Johnny tried not to think about what it meant that Chad had located Scott's hat a little ways down stream. He shook his head now, suddenly wondering what had happened to that hat. Johnny could recall taking it from Chad, but then later he had been holding the piece of silvered drift wood in his hands, and still later balling them into fists, wanting very much to shut Will Hayford up by planting a punch on the man's jaw. At some point, he must have unthinkingly dropped the hat or passed it off to someone. Johnny half turned, about to question his cousin, then thought better of it. He didn't really feel like starting up any conversations. If no one else had picked it up, then his brother's hat would still be there in a few hours. Johnny didn't figure on getting any sleep tonight, just getting back to the hacienda and gathering some gear together, then heading back to the creek in time to be there by first light.
Imagining what they might find sent an unpleasant chill traveling down Johnny's spine, and he reflexively spurred Barranca to a slightly quicker pace. In an effort to avoid dwelling on that topic, he tried to direct his thoughts to more pleasant images of his brother, alive and well. But rather than a smiling Scott, his troubled mind instead latched onto grim faced recollections of the previous day's argument. As different as the two of them were, it really was kind of amazing that he and Scott argued so rarely. What bothered Johnny the most about yesterday's confrontation was that both he and Scott had simply walked away, neither one of them making the least effort to "square" things. They'd sat within arms length at supper last night, without saying one word to each other the whole time. Even when Murdoch had announced that the two of them would be riding out to Grand Creek to check on the dam, they'd focused their attention on him, hadn't even so much as glanced at each other.
What was most surprising was that, although usually Scott was pretty quick to apologize whenever he thought he'd done or said something wrong, he hadn't done so this time. Johnny's thoughts drifted back to that first day soon after the brothers had arrived at the ranch, the day that they'd fought down by the river. His new brother had been pretty angry that Johnny hadn't tried to help him when Scott had been attacked by three of Day Pardee's boys in town. That was the only time that Johnny could remember that Scott had ever actually struck him and ol'Boston sure had thrown a pretty strong punch. Unconsciously rubbing his jaw, Johnny recalled Scott saying that he couldn't resist "thanking you for your help, Brother." He shook his head; it was funny how Scott had started calling him that right away, "Brother", even when the Easterner probably hadn't been all that happy about the fact that they were related. Well, Johnny figured he'd had it coming then, even though a big reason why he hadn't helped Scott was that he just hadn't been ready yet for his old friend Day to know about his connection to Murdoch Lancer. And Scott must have managed to hold his own pretty good against Coley and the others, at least judging from the length of time that passed from when Day's boys went into the store after him to when the city boy had been sent rolling out into the street.
Anyway, when Teresa had gotten all fired up and scolded them about "brothers fighting," Scott had been real quick to offer an apology. He'd meant it too, no question there. Apologizing was always a bit more difficult for Johnny. He'd wait and worry. Of course when he knew he was in the wrong, he wasn't one to back off, he had every intention of accepting the responsibility. It wasn't that. He just hated that feeling of vulnerability, wondering whether the reason that he had to offer, if the regret that he had to express would actually be accepted by those he cared about.
Scott had never been one to let his pride or anything else stand in the way of the two of them being on good terms, or at least he hadn't up to now. If he was in the wrong, he'd step right up and say so. Even when Scott was right, he'd still like as not say he was sorry for getting angry, or for something particular that he'd said, which made it that much easier for the other man to come back with an apology of his own. Not this time though.
Realizing that things had gone too far, Johnny had been more than ready to make the first move. He'd made a point of arriving at the dam site early, determined to patch things up with Scott. He'd grown more and more irritated when his typically punctual brother didn't show, and after waiting until a good half hour past noon, he'd left in disgust, gone for a ride to clear his head. Obviously Scott had gotten there sometime later. And maybe someone else had turned up too, someone who had taken Scott by surprise. But it was true that there didn't seem to be any sign of anyone else, so perhaps his brother had simply slipped and fallen. Johnny bowed his head and expelled an audible breath. If only he'd waited a little longer. If only he'd gone back to check for Scott before he'd ridden for home.
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Having unsaddled Barranca, Johnny went through the grooming ritual once more. He'd already spent considerable time currying the palomino earlier, but he needed to go through the motions again. His own emotions were in such a state of upheaval that he was reluctant to go inside to face the concerns, fears, and unanswered questions of the rest of the household. In the past, he'd found that the rhythmic movements of brushing the horse's hide seemed to help smooth his own tangled thoughts.
But it didn't seem to be helping now.
"At least he wanted ya." As it had several times since yesterday, the phrase echoed in his mind. Johnny could once more hear those words, uttered in his own voice, what he'd said to Scott about his grandfather. "At least he wanted ya." Each time that he recalled the phrase, Johnny mentally berated himself once more. He never should've said anything about the man, but strangely enough, he'd really intended it as a compliment of sorts to Garrett. After all, Scott's grandfather had raised him, done a damn fine job of it too. Johnny had suspected that back at the beginning, there had been a decent length of time when Scott could have gone either way-decided to remain at Lancer or headed back to Boston; after all, his brother had family in both places. There was no question that his grandfather had been willing to fight for Scott. Even though there was no way around the fact that Garrett's behavior during his visit to the ranch had amounted to a betrayal of his grandson's trust, Johnny had to credit the old man for making an effort. Sure, he'd fought dirty, but at least he'd fought. Which was a lot more than Murdoch Lancer had ever done, even when his eldest son had been about to head back East. Murdoch hadn't put up any kind of fight at all; he hadn't even told Scott flat out that he wanted him to stay.
And evidently Murdoch hadn’t done much fighting when Scott was a kid, either. He’d always known right where Scott was, just hadn’t done anything about it. The brothers hadn’t ever really talked about that very much. Scott had made a comment once that made it sound as if he suspected that his Grandfather would have put up some kind of big legal battle to keep him in Boston, speculating that perhaps Murdoch hadn’t wanted to put his son through that. Johnny hadn’t been at all impressed with the theory, though of course he hadn’t let his brother know it. Hell, Scott had been just a kid, even if he had been badly “hurt” by a custody case, Murdoch could have had twenty years to make it up to him, instead of twenty years of nothing.
What Murdoch had done during those twenty years was to spend a lot of time and money looking for Johnny and his mother. Those Pinkerton reports were the proof of it. Johnny knew that his brother had read most of the documents on “Johnny Madrid”. At one point Johnny had even resolved to read what information Murdoch had on Scott, planning on giving his brother a hard time if the Bostonian’s history wasn’t as purely fascinating as his own gun slinging career. Well, there had just been a thin folder with a couple of pages inside, information that was only a year old. That had been it. It had been something they both had to have recognized--how much effort Murdoch had made over the years trying to bring Johnny back to the ranch and how he’d done nothing about Scott, but neither one of them had ever said anything about it.
When Johnny had uttered those words, “At least he wanted ya,” Scott had frozen in place. Then he’d turned and squinted at Johnny appraisingly. And that’s when Johnny had seen it, a flicker of pain, quickly masked. And he’d known, he’d just known deep down, that his brother had believed that he was being taunted with a reference to the fact that Murdoch Lancer had not wanted him. Well, Johnny had spent his childhood believing that his father hadn’t cared about him; Scott must have felt the same way. The difference was that Johnny now knew that hadn’t been true, but Scott, well, Scott didn’t. But Scott had obviously decided that the past was past and he was now trying to forge a relationship with Murdoch, man to man. Most of the time it seemed to be working too.
Johnny sighed. The disparity in Murdoch Lancer’s actions in respect to his two sons was something else he would never have planned on bringing up. He didn’t see how he was ever gonna apologize to Scott for something that he hadn’t really meant to say, that he only suspected that maybe Scott had taken the wrong way. Seemed like bringing it up would make it worse rather than better, especially if he’d been mistaken, misread that flicker he was convinced that he’d seen move across his brother’s face. Of course, he realized, he might never have the opportunity to bring it up at all. Johnny rested his head on his arms across Barranca’s broad back, while cold fear gripped his heart.
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Jelly stared sympathetically at Johnny’s motionless figure as he entered the stable with Brunswick. He knew that the younger Lancer had to be very worried about his older brother, but he resolved to wait and see if Johnny felt like talking about it. Hearing Jelly enter, Johnny resumed brushing Barranca, but failed to acknowledge the older man. Jelly led Brunswick to the adjacent stall and removed his saddle and bridle. Once each piece of tack had been hung in its designated spot, the grizzled handyman grabbed a brush and began working on Scott‘s horse.
“Come on now, Johnny,” Jelly finally said gruffly, pausing in his task. “Ya gotta keep yur hopes up.”
“Hope for what, Jelly, a miracle?“ Johnny asked dejectedly, “cause it looks like Scott’s gonna need one.” Turning away from his friend, Johnny directed his next words to the walls. “If there ain’t one, seems like some people think I could’ve…..” Johnny let the sentence trail off unable to say the words, “killed my brother”.
Jelly walked quickly around to the entrance to Barranca’s stall. “Aint’ nobody t’all gonna think ya could have done anythin’ ta hurt Scott,” he blustered. “Only darn fool who’d think somethin’ like that is that Eastern dandy.” He walked over to Johnny, pulling nervously on his suspender straps. “Sides, we’re gonna find yur brother in the mornin’. Probably he’s on foot somewheres after this persnickety horse of his threw ‘em.”
Johnny turned and looked up at Jelly with weary eyes, unable to voice his appreciation for the older man‘s vote of confidence. “I’m not too sure bout’ us findin’ Boston…..alive anyway,” he said softly, shaking his head. Johnny haltingly told Jelly about finding his brother’s canteen and hat, and about the piece of wood. Then the words flowed out of him in a quiet torrent as he proceeded to explain what they had seen at the dam site: the structure that had been badly breached, the rapidly moving water, the many large rocks. Although Johnny didn’t say it, they both knew that not far from the dam site the creek flowed into a deep gorge, which was why it just hadn’t been possible to do much searching in the dark. The plain truth was that anyone or anything that had been caught up in the current would most likely travel quite a ways downstream.
Jelly scratched his beard, trying to find a way to ease the young man’s pain. “Well, Johnny, I’ll tell ya’, that city friend of Scott’s did say one thing worth givin’ thought ta.”
“Now what’s he saying?” Johnny asked angrily, his eyes narrowing at the unlikelihood of Will Hayford saying anything that was worth listening to.
“Now, don’t ya’ start gettin’ yurself all in an uproar,” Jelly grumbled. “He said that yur brother is a darn strong swimmer. That he used ta’ go swimmin’ in th’ ocean.”
Johnny frowned; it seemed that even after two years of living together there were plenty of things that he still didn’t know about Scott. He tried to ignore the stomach clenching fear that he might never get another chance.
“I just can’t see anyone bein’ able to swim that Creek,” Johnny said quietly, concern evident in his voice. “And specially not if he was injured.”
Jelly just stood there, at a loss as to what he could possibly say to ease his young friend’s mind. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Johnny would never do anything to hurt Scott. He remembered how they’d all been so upset that time when Scott was gonna go back to Boston with his grandfather. Johnny hadn’t been willing to let his brother go without putting up a fight; it had been Johnny who’d gone to town and met the Degan brothers and then figured out Harlan Garrett’s plan.
Jelly stood with his hands on his hips and watched as Johnny slowly left the barn. The horse wrangler‘s own heart was heavy with worry. He knew the chances were pretty poor that any one could survive falling into Grand Creek; he had just been trying to give Johnny a little hope.
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The search party left on horseback at first light, heading for the creek even before dawn broke. Once there, they planned to split up into two groups. Johnny, Chad, and young Walt were going to attempt to cross the creek at the dam, and then work their way on foot downstream on the far side, while Cipriano, Jelly, and Frank would stay on the near side. Big Jose was driving a buckboard out to the clearing and would remain there with the horses. Conceding that his chronically bad back and leg would prevent him from being able to negotiate the rough terrain along the creek, Murdoch Lancer supervised the assembling of tools and provisions and then resigned himself to remaining behind. He was sending his best men to search for Scott; but there was still work to be done, a ranch to be run.
True to his word, Sheriff Sam Jayson caught up with the group right before they arrived at the dam site. The men surveyed the area around the breached dam, assessing the best route to employ to cross the rapidly flowing water. Cipriano and Johnny conferred and then motioned young Walt to their side.
”What do you think?” Johnny asked, pointing at a large tree stump on the opposite side of the river. “If you could get the lasso over that, there seems to be enough rocks sticking out of the water to try to cross here.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, Mr. Lancer,” Walt replied, gauging the length of throw that was needed. The dark haired young ranch hand made several attempts before his noose finally snagged the stump. He put his weight against the rope to test its hold on the stump. Walt then tied his end around a large tree, making sure it was pulled as tight as possible.
Johnny volunteered to cross first, securing a second rope around his waist. Moving slowly and carefully from rock to rock, keeping one hand on the line that stretched across the creek, he finally made it to the opposite bank. He then lashed the second rope around a tree, providing two handholds for the men who would follow.
Walt crossed next, carrying a pack laden with food, water and first aid materials. Chad followed, similarly burdened with supplies. There was a moment when each man held his breath as Chad’s foot slipped out from underneath him and he almost let go of the rope. He managed to hang on, and pulled himself up onto a large boulder. At Johnny’s insistence, Chad waited there while his cousin worked his way back out into the stream and relieved him of a few of the items that he was carrying. Johnny turned and slowly moved back to the shore again, with Chad close behind him.
Once safely across the creek, the three young men began moving down stream. The leader was prepared with a hatchet and a machete to use if necessary, while the other two followed carrying the packs. They had agreed to rotate their roles and positions as the morning wore on. On the opposite shore, Cipriano, Jelly, Frank and the Sheriff left Jose with the animals and set off as well. Their order, which would remain essentially unchanged, placed dusky skinned Frank in the lead, with the mustached Sheriff puffing along in the rear.
As with any search, the members of the party set out with hopes of making a quick discovery, eagerly scanning the water and the rocks. After twenty minutes of level walking, Johnny, Chad and Walt began a rugged ascent to the top of the rock wall edging Grand Creek on their side, while the older men were forced to continue to fight their way through thick underbrush.
There was little conversation on either side, as the men set about their grim task. By unspoken agreement, whenever anyone spied a shape in the water, he forced himself to wait until he could ascertain that it was only a rock, a log or some reflection on the water, and not Scott Lancer.
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Later in the morning, taking his second turn in the lead, Johnny looked up ahead and noticed that they were approaching a bend in the water. Pushing the pace, breathing hard with the unaccustomed exertion of spending so much time traveling on foot, he allowed himself to imagine what he hoped to see around that bend. In his mind’s eye, Johnny could picture his brother, seated on a rock midstream, patiently waiting for them. Elbows resting on his knees, Scott would be a bit battered and bedraggled looking, but he’d glance up at them, raise those eyebrows of his and make some mild comment like “It’s good to see you, Brother.” Johnny figured he’d have to come back with some question, maybe ask Boston something about how much he’d enjoyed the ride.
Of course, when he turned the corner and the creek came into view again, there wasn’t anyone in sight, perched on a rock or otherwise. There was a very nice view; Johnny could see quite a ways from atop the outcropping of rock. Off in the distance there was another bend in the water, where the creek widened and slowed considerably; there looked to be some kind of a sandbar formation as well. In the foreground, the swiftly flowing waters shone and sparkled in the bright sunlight and the dark rocks glistened. The branches of the trees around him moved with the light breeze and the birds were singing. It was a real pretty day. Which made it that much harder to face the fact that they were most likely looking for his brother’s body.
Johnny clenched his jaw and pushed on. No matter what, he wasn’t about to give up until he found Scott.
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On the opposite bank, the older men were moving at a slower pace, and had, in fact fallen further behind as they traveled around the outer edge of the bend. Now they came to a halt. Chad, trailing some distance behind Johnny and Walt, alerted his cousin.
“Hey, Johnny, looks like they found somethin’ over there.”
As all three of the younger men watched, Frank, directed by Cipriano, clambered down several feet of rocks on the lower side of the gorge, not stopping until he reached the eddy below. From his vantage point, Johnny could see that Frank appeared to pick something up. It was impossible to tell what it was, although Jelly seemed to have plenty to say about it. Scaling back up the rocks once more, Frank handed the object to Cipriano; the Segundo and the horse wrangler conferred, while Sam Jayson stood by. Then the foursome moved on to a position opposite Johnny, Chad and Walt.
“-----Scott------?“ Jelly hollered up at them. The creek bed was narrower here, but the water was still very deep and the noise of the current quite loud. The older man had to repeat his shouted question several times.
“What was Scott wearing yesterday?”
Johnny shrugged in an exaggerated manner and shook his head to indicate that he didn’t know the answer. He’d left too early; he hadn’t ever seen Scott. He looked askance at Walt, but the ranch hand shook his head.
“Johnny, ah saw ‘im, right afore ah headed out ta ride th’ fence line,” Chad volunteered. “He was wearin’ one a them tan shirts a his.”
Johnny relayed this information, shouting across to the others, concluding with a loud “Why?”
“------piece of ----“, Jelly yelled back, holding up what they assumed was a scrap of Scott’s torn clothing.
Johnny quickly turned away and continued walking down stream.
Jelly carefully tucked the piece of fabric into his pocket. He was growing more and more concerned about Johnny. He’d been watching how hard Johnny had been pushing himself; he was most frequently in the lead, with Chad and even young Walt trailing a ways behind him. The kindhearted man was almost beginning to hope that they wouldn’t ever find Scott. The further they went, the worse the missing man’s condition was likely to be. Jelly had seen men pulled out of rivers before and it hadn’t been pretty. It might be best if Johnny never had to see his brother that way.
Evidently Cipriano was starting to think along the same lines. When the men stopped for a quick meal, the stolid foreman suggested that it was time to turn back. Obviously, it would take as long to return as it had taken to follow the creek this far, and the Segundo also pointed out the difficulty of transporting Scott such a distance, should they find him. Frank agreed, suggesting that the next step would be to go to the spot where the creek entered the larger river and work their way upstream as well as downstream from there. Both men looked expectantly at Jelly, clearly assuming that he would be the one to convey all of this to Johnny. Reluctantly, Jelly stepped over to the edge of the banking and called up to the three men on the other side.
Johnny’s response to the suggestion that they head back upstream came as no surprise. “I ain’t stoppin’!” Even after Jelly had explained Frank’s suggestion that they go to the mouth of the creek, Johnny was still adamant. “That’ll take another day!” he shouted.
Jelly agreed, though it did occur to him that Murdoch Lancer was back at the ranch; perhaps Frank’s idea might also have occurred to the Boss. But Jelly wasn’t about to try to shout all that up to Johnny.
Across the way, young Walt kept quiet; he wasn’t about to disagree with Johnny. But
Chad took a chance. “Now Johnny, we’ve gone an awful long ways aready, and seen no sign of Scott, ‘cept mebbe a piece of his shirt,” Chad pointed out.
Johnny was about to insist that he wasn’t going to leave Scott out here another night, but then he looked at his cousin, and at young Walt. From the expressions on their faces, he knew what they were thinking, even if they wouldn’t say it to him; that it probably didn’t matter. Across the creek, Jelly and Cipriano apparently were of the same opinion. Feeling defeated, Johnny simply turned and began trudging back up stream.
Each member of the party seemed to share the same sense of discouragement. Since in retracing their steps, the men no longer were motivated by the anticipation of possibly discovering Scott Lancer or finding some clue as to his whereabouts, the return trip was laboriously slow and plodding.
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It was still very early in the morning when Will Hayford walked out of the hacienda and noticed Teresa hanging laundry. He quickly approached her.
“Good morning, Teresa. Where is everyone?” He asked with concern. “Aren’t we supposed to go back to the creek and look for Scott this morning?”
Teresa paused and gave him a long look. “They left before first light,” she replied coolly, as she resumed hanging the clothes.
“I wanted to go with them!” Will stated angrily.
“Lancer takes care of its own, Mr. Hayford,” Teresa informed him, bending down to take one of Johnny’s shirts out of the basket.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Teresa kept her attention focused on Johnny’s green shirt. “It means that Johnny and the others didn’t want you to go. They’ll find Scott and bring him home.”
“I take it that you are upset with me about the questions I was asking last night in regards to Johnny.”
“How could you accuse him?” Teresa asked angrily. “Johnny couldn’t….he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Scott. They’re brothers.”
“Brothers who haven’t really known each other very long,” Will replied quietly. “ I was just trying to figure out what happened to Scott. And although no one seems to want to admit it, the fact is that the evidence does appear to implicate Johnny.”
Teresa turned her back on him and fastened Johnny‘s green shirt to the clothesline.
“Teresa, if I’m mistaken, then of course I’ll be glad to apologize . . .”
“Just like that!” she spat without looking around at him.
“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be enough,” he said pointedly. “Because people here seem to much more upset about my suggesting that Johnny might be capable of wrongdoing than they are about the very real possibility that Scott Lancer is . .. dead.”
Teresa whirled around to face him, eyes welled up with tears. “They’ll keep looking, they’ll find him,” she insisted in a grief stricken tone.
“I hope so. But if Scott has been killed, I promise you that I’ll do whatever I can to ensure that the person who did it will not go unpunished.”
He slowly turned away. Teresa was surprised to see him head towards the bunkhouse. She watched for a moment as Will Hayford walked off and then turned back to finish hanging her laundry.
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