CHAPTER 9
Once the members of the search party had returned to the dam site, Johnny, Chad and young Walt still had to work their way across the swiftly flowing creek waters. They did so with extra caution, unwilling to allow their fatigue from the extensive ground they had covered throughout the day to cause a miss-step that they knew would send them all too quickly downstream.
Johnny was the last of the three to make the crossing, and as he stepped from the final water-washed boulder onto solid ground, he looked immediately for Jose. Before setting out, Johnny had made a private request in Spanish to the vaquero. He was hopeful that Jose might have some information for him now.
Walt and Frank were occupied taking in the ropes, but the other men –Chad, Cipriano, Jelly and the Sheriff--were moving around the clearing, placing their gear in the back of the buckboard, checking on their horses. Unconcerned about the rest of the group hearing the answer, what ever it might be, Johnny posed his question to the big man out right. “So Jose, you find anything? Any sign of anyone being here, ‘sides me—and Scott?”
Jose shook his head. “I looked every where, Senor. Nothing.”
Expecting Johnny to be dismayed by this response, Jelly stepped up quickly. “Now, Johnny, you already know no one here’s gonna be fool enough to think ya had anythin’ ta do with it. If there weren’t nobody else here, then Scott must have slipped and fallen into that there creek--“
“And he couldn’t get back out?” Johnny asked with some emotion.
Jelly shook his head. “Now Johnny, look, could be we won’t never know what happened, exactly . . .”
“Coulda hit his haid on one a them rocks,” Chad offered.
Johnny forced himself to choke back his angry reaction to that suggestion. He turned away and tossed his gear into the back of the buckboard. Frank and Walt silently followed suit and the rest of the group moved soberly in the direction of their respective mounts. Once he was astride Barranca, Johnny glanced over at Jose, now seated in the buckboard. Beside the driver on the bench seat was Scott’s hat. An unfamiliar feeling of rage mixed with despair washed over Johnny again and he fought the urge to spur the palomino to a gallop, to just get away from that clearing.
He knew that what Jelly and Chad were saying must be true. If no one else had been here, then Scott hadn’t been attacked. Which meant he had simply fallen into Grand Creek and been swept away. And a part of him wanted to shout that that just wasn’t right. Scott had survived the War, he had survived a year—an entire year—in a prison camp, and he had been the only man not shot dead in that escape attempt. Hell, Scott hadn’t been shot down when he’d stood in front of that damned Gatling gun. But here he’d stood on the banks of a mountain stream and fallen in? It just wasn’t right. Most of all, Johnny could not accept that only two years after his brother had entered his life, he might have been lost so quickly, all because of one careless step.
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Murdoch Lancer rode slowly back towards the hacienda. It had been a long day, one filled with lingering dread. He knew that, good news or bad, it might still be too early for Johnny and the others to have returned from the dam site. The terrain along the banks of Grand Stream was largely unexplored territory; there was no telling how far downstream the search party had been been able to go. Late morning, Murdoch had sent out a well-provisioned crew, including Walt senior, Miguel, and Cipriano’s oldest son Alfonso, on the long trip to the spot where Grand Creek emptied into the Green River. Once there, the men were to break into two groups, one moving up stream, the other down, looking for some sign of Scott. With all of his most experienced, trusted, men participating in the search for his elder son, the determined rancher had taken it upon himself to visit each of the far flung work crews in turn, checking on their progress. His aching body was already paying the penalty for the day’s effort.
And there was still work to be done. Once he was back at the main house, Murdoch would first and foremost need to find out if there had been any word about Scott. Then he intended to find Mr. William Hayford, Esq. and have a few well-chosen words of his own with his son’s friend.
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One of the hands, the newest man, dark-haired young Andy, hurried over to take charge of Murdoch’s horse as he wearily dismounted at the front door of the hacienda. Teresa came running out, calling his name.
“Have you heard anything?” they asked each other simultaneously.
“Johnny’s not back yet?” Murdoch inquired. The girl shook her head sadly and then rested it against her guardian’s chest as she entered his embrace. After a moment, Murdoch slowly pushed her to arm’s length. “We have to keep our hopes up, honey.” Teresa nodded her agreement, not trusting her voice, certain that it would betray her by revealing how very little hope she had.
“You go on in the house; I need to clean up.”
Teresa reluctantly nodded again. She slowly entered the hacienda through the glass paned double doors and sank into one of the easy chairs facing that entrance, so that she would be able to see Johnny, Jelly and the others when they returned. When she heard footsteps enter the room behind her; she turned and looked over the back of the seat. It was Will Hayford, who came to a standstill to gaze out of the large window behind Murdoch Lancer’s desk. She wasn’t able to tell whether Scott’s friend was coming in, or on his way out; he wore a tan jacket, the lower portion of the right sleeve fastened to his shoulder, but no hat. Since Teresa was partially hidden from view by the chair back, and additionally, was seated on the man’s blind side, Hayford was unaware of her presence. Having successfully avoided him since their angry exchange earlier that morning, and having no wish to converse with him now, Teresa shrank further into the big chair and kept silent. She continued to remain so when she heard Murdoch Lancer come into the room a few moments later and start to pour himself a drink.
“Mr. Lancer, is there any news?” she heard Hayford ask anxiously.
“No news about Scott, no,” Murdoch responded heavily. He limped over to one of the sofas and stiffly lowered his body into it, then sipped his drink contemplatively before glancing back at his son’s friend. “I understand you’ve been keeping yourself busy, Hayford.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Murdoch Lancer, his voice rising in volume, “that I hear you’ve been bothering the hands with a lot of questions about my sons.”
Before Will Hayford could reply, everyone in the Great Room heard it: the sound of a buckboard and numerous saddle horses. The search party had returned. From her secluded vantage point in the blue chair, Teresa peered anxiously out the glass paneled doors, willing herself to see the familiar figure of Scott Lancer seated alongside Big Jose in the front of the buckboard. But Scott wasn’t there. From the somber expressions on the faces of the members of the group, she concluded that either they hadn’t found him or that he was dead. In despair, the young woman buried her own face in her hands.
A few moments later she heard, someone shouting “Murdoch?!” It was Johnny’s voice, calling for his father as he passed through the front door. Allowing Cipriano, Jelly and the others to tend to the horses and gear, Johnny hurried inside to report on the search. Sheriff Sam Jayson followed the young man into the Great Room; neither of them was very pleased to see that Will Hayford was there with Murdoch.
The weary rancher struggled to his feet, giving his younger son a searching look, but refraining from asking the obvious question. It was Will who spoke first, dejectedly, “You didn’t find him.”
Ignoring Hayford, Johnny focused his serious blue-eyed gaze on his father’s face, as he quietly outlined the day’s efforts. Murdoch Lancer listened in grim silence, his own visage becoming more and more furrowed as Johnny’s account continued.
“We found this, “ he said finally, holding out the scrap of beige checked fabric, “quite a ways downstream.”
Hayford stepped forward, “Is that a piece of Scott’s shirt?” Barely acknowledging him, Johnny merely nodded.
“You found that, and then you turned back?”
Murdoch bristled at the words and was about to issue an angry retort, when Johnny held up his hand. Rather than a recrimination, in Hayford’s tone he had clearly heard an echo of his own sense of loss and discouragement. “Yeah,” Johnny said softly, “we turned back.” Then bowing his head, thinking of the distance they’d traveled, the speed of the current, the number of rocks, he added, “I guess it ain’t looking too good.” Instead of the overwhelming sense of pain that he would have anticipated feeling when he heard himself utter those words, Johnny only felt numb. He continued to feel nothing, other than a sense of detachment, as Murdoch explained about having sent Miguel and the others to Green River to search from that end of Grand Creek. As if from a distance, Johnny heard Sam Jayson ask Murdoch a few questions, about how many men had gone and who, heard Murdoch say something about how it would take that group most of today just to get to the spot where the Creek emptied into the river, so they probably wouldn’t get to any real searching until morning. Then it would take them most of another day to get back. Johnny was relieved to know that someone was still out there looking for Scott; he wished he was with them.
“If I had known, I would have gone with them,” Will announced in an aggrieved tone. “I would have gone this morning . .”
“It was my decision, who to send. My ranch, my son,” Murdoch stated emphatically.
“He was my friend . . .” Will started to say in protest.
“I stayed behind .. “
“That doesn’t surprise me!”
“I stayed behind for the same reason you did—“
“Which was—?” Will addressed Murdoch in a challenging tone, glaring at him defiantly.
“No one was going to slow down the search. No one,” was Murdoch’s harsh response.
“Of course not, Mr. Lancer,” Hayford said bitterly, crossing his good arm across his body and turning away from the other three men. “Forgive me. You must be so concerned about Scott.”
Murdoch Lancer stared in consternation at Will Hayford. Behind Johnny, Sam Jayson shifted his weight uncomfortably, started to try to say something optimistic about the second search party maybe finding something. Johnny stepped up. “Everybody here’s worried about Scott.”
Hayford looked around sharply, biting back another sarcastic remark. “I hope so,” he said instead. “But you don’t exactly have much of a history, now do you?”
Johnny’s temper flared. “Now what’s that supposed to mean? You got something ta say, just say it!”
“All right, I will. Apparently no one here cared anything at all about Scott until rather recently.” As he voiced this accusation, Hayford directed his one-eyed gaze straight at Murdoch Lancer, who glowered back. “At least not until you needed his help, that’s when you sent for him.”
Johnny pointed angrily at Will. “Now that’s between Murdoch and Scott; ain’t your place to say anythin’ about it.”
Will shifted his gaze to Johnny. “There’s no one else to say it,” he stated tonelessly. “You don’t know how it was for Scott growing up, I do.” Murdoch Lancer continued to remain silent; Johnny was concerned to see how his father’s expression had slackened, but he just didn’t know what to say.
Will sat down wearily. When he started speaking again, it was without looking at any of the other men in the room. “Scott was a friend to me my entire life and he was there for me when I most needed him. To think that he survived the War, and a year at Libby, that he came out here and faced that Gatling gun, and now he ends up in a river . . .”
Johnny was disconcerted to hear in Hayford’s words something that so closely paralleled his own thoughts. But he was stunned to learn that Will Hayford knew about the Gatling gun. Johnny could tell from the expression on Murdoch‘s face that the older man was equally surprised. The two of them only knew about the incident because the loquacious outlaw Drago had gone on and on about it. Neither of them had ever broached the subject with Scott; Scott had never said a word about it to either of them. Somehow, realizing that his brother must have shared the story with Hayford felt akin to a slap in the face.
“What’s this about a Gatling gun?” Sam Jayson asked in a puzzled tone.
Will Hayford kept talking. “If we’ve lost him now because of one careless step, then there is no justice in the world.” Johnny nodded woodenly in agreement; the words were again an echo of his own thoughts. Then Hayford continued, his voice growing stronger as he rose to his feet and stared directly at Johnny. “But if, as the evidence indicates, some one pushed him into that water, there will be justice, at least if I have anything to say about it.”
Johnny took one quick step towards the man, before Murdoch held out a restraining arm. “No one pushed him,” Murdoch asserted loudly.
“How do you know he wasn’t attacked? What about the piece of wood with the bloodstain on it?”
Johnny fielded that question. “Ain’t no way a knowin’ for sure if that was blood.”
Then Murdoch jumped in to address Hayford’s assumption. “You just heard Johnny say that there was no sign of anyone else having been there.”
“Oh yes, I did hear him say that.”
“Scott must have slipped on a wet rock and . . . . fallen . . . I don’t like it neither, but that’s what musta happened,” Johnny concluded, avoiding direct eye contact with either his father or Will Hayford. He left the room quickly as the impact of his brother’s loss finally hit him.
Murdoch watched his younger son depart then lowered himself into a chair. “Sam, go ahead and pour yourself a drink,“ he said to the sheriff, who was still standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room. Then Murdoch turned his attention to the man in the eyepatch. “I’m trying very hard to remember that you are Scott’s guest,” he ground out. “But you need to understand that Johnny would never have harmed his brother.”
“Are you that certain, Mr. Lancer? Because it’s not likely that Scott simply slipped and fell. His footprints near the canteen were in sand, he was not standing on a ‘wet rock’,” Will stated firmly. “If you don’t believe me, ask the Sheriff here, he knows, I pointed it out to him before we left the clearing last night.”
Pinned by Murdoch’s inquiring gaze, Sam Jayson reluctantly nodded his head.
“Scott’s a strong man, Mr. Lancer. If he’d simply fallen, he would have been able to get out of the water with no harm done, except for some wet clothing.” Hayford concluded his case: “The fact that he was carried so far downstream indicates that he was injured; that he was attacked.”
“Not by Johnny,” Murdoch stated firmly.
“I do know something about his past; I’ve seen his temper . . .”
It was only with great effort that Murdoch Lancer was managing to restrain his own temper. “It was not Johnny. There has to be some other explanation.”
“The only other person who was at the site was Johnny,” Will replied coldly. “But I guess that if you have to choose between your sons, well, we all know which one it will be.”
“That’s it!” Murdoch thundered as he rose to his feet. “I want you to pack your bags and get out….now!” Murdoch turned to Sam, anger blazing in his eyes. “Sam, you go find one of the hands, tell him to harness a buckboard. Tell him to come get Mr. Hayford and his bags and take him to town.”
“Sure, Mr. Lancer. No problem,” Jayson said worriedly, looking from one angry man to the other. Glad of the opportunity, he quickly made his escape.
Murdoch gave Will one last look of angry contempt then limped out of the room.
Instead of heading immediately to his room to pack, Will Hayford hurried out the front door to catch up with the Sheriff. “Jayson!” He called loudly. “Sheriff, wait a moment!”
Sam, en route to the stable, paused and turned as Hayford caught up with him.
“Before you leave, I’d like to talk to you.”
“Go ahead,” Sheriff Jayson said frowning, clearly not eager to converse with the young lawyer.
“It’s about Johnny. How much do you know about his past?”
“Well, I guess I know about as much as I need ta know,” the round-faced Sheriff replied doubtfully. “Johnny came right on in and had a talk with me right after I signed on for this job.”
“You must see that there are indications of foul play in Scott’s disappearance. I assume that you will be considering Johnny as a suspect.”
“You really think Johnny Lancer could kill his brother?” Sam asked incredulously.
“Sheriff, we both know that Scott Lancer didn’t just stumble into that creek or throw himself in.”
“But . .well, I dunno, Scott and Johnny always seem ta get along so good . . . “
“Apparently, they’ve been having a number of disagreements lately. Look, Sheriff, Johnny had opportunity, he had motive. He admits he was there,” Will pointed out.
“Yes, but why—“
“Ownership of this ranch, for one reason. And Johnny’s the primary beneficiary of Scott’s will, there’s your motive.” Hayford paused, giving the discomfited Sheriff a moment to try to consider all this. “I’ll stop by your office in the morning. I’d better get my things packed, before Mr. Lancer comes out and demands that you arrest me for trespassing.” He headed back towards the front entrance.
Sam Jayson stood for a moment, shaking his head in bewilderment. He looked up as Andy Stovall came out of the stable. The Sheriff roused himself to approach the young ranch hand and relay Murdoch Lancer’s message. Andy nodded and quickly set off to hitch up a team.
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Once upstairs in his room, Will placed the larger of his two bags on the bed and began taking items out of the dresser drawers and tossing them into the suitcase in a haphazard fashion. Suddenly Teresa O’Brien pushed open the door and stormed into the room.
“How dare you!!” Teresa exclaimed, hands on her hips.
Hayford briefly paused in his task, and calmly addressed her. “Now what did I dare to do, Miss O’Brien? Are you still defending Johnny? Because it’s completely unnecessary, I assure you, he has plenty of partisans it seems.”
“How dare you say those things to Murdoch! That he never cared about Scott!! You . . . you don’t know how happy he was when he found out that Scott was coming to Lancer!! I do know, because I was here!”
Hayford kept his eye attention on what he was doing, responding in a tight voice. “Oh, I believe you. I’m sure that he was very happy that someone with military experience was on his way to help him save his precious ranch.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? Hayford inquired, gesturing with the shirt he was holding in his hand. “Then tell me, why did he wait until Scott was twenty-four years old to contact him?? Why not years earlier? Why when he turned twenty-one, when Scott was expecting it--- hell, he was still hoping to hear from the man, even then. And I know that, Miss O’Brien, because I was there.”
Teresa stood in the center of the room, glaring back at him and trying to think of an answer. She had none. She had never understood what her guardian’s reasons might have been for not communicating with his older son.
Will closed the now empty drawer and leaned against the dresser. “The fact is Teresa, that Murdoch Lancer never gave Scott the time of day until he needed him. And I’ll never understand why Scott did it, why he came out here and risked his life to help the man.”
“But he did come! And he did stay, he stayed, because he wanted to!” Teresa insisted.
“Yes, that’s all true,” Hayford acknowledged. “Apparently Scott was willing to give his father the benefit of the doubt, that there was some explanation for his years of silence. But to my knowledge, Scott was never informed as to what those reasons might be.” He paused, picking his shaving kit up off the dresser. “Now he may never know.”
At these words, Teresa turned away, a sob escaping her lips. Hayford sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the leather case in his hand, a sorrowful expression on his damaged face. When he spoke again, it seemed as much to himself as to the tearful young girl.
“Just after Scott’s twenty first birthday, he actually got drunk with me. He told me that he’d always thought that if he was ever going to hear from his father, it would be on his birthday. I guess when he turned twenty one and didn’t . . . I guess he gave up hope then. I remember he made a toast to Murdoch Lancer . . .Scott said he wished the man might some day have an idea of just how much he hated him.”
Her face streaked with tears, Teresa turned and looked down at Hayford. “Scott doesn’t feel that way any more.”
“No, I suppose he doesn’t.” Staring at the floor, Will recalled other moments from the past that he had shared with Scott. “You know, Teresa,” he began slowly, meeting the girl’s eyes once more. “Scott’s mother died a few days after he was born. . . and that, that made his birthday a difficult time for Mr. Garrett. Some years, he’d go all out, plan an elaborate party, other years, almost nothing. One year . . . Scott must have been eight or nine, his grandfather was planning something special. I don’t remember what it was, but Scott was very excited; he was at our house and he was telling us, my brothers and I, all about it.” Will paused and sighed a bit. “Well, at one point he said, “everyone will be there.”—I think he was talking about his aunt, Mr. Garrett’s sister and her husband, coming down from Maine. My older brother George, cynical adolescent that he was, he just couldn’t resist making a comment. “Everyone except your father,” he said.” Will paused again. “I can still remember that, the silence in the playroom, the look on Scott’s face. My other brother John, he started to lay into George for that, but Scott interrupted him, said that maybe his father was coming. And George, he just laughed, kept asking questions about when he was coming and how did Scott know, things that Scott couldn’t answer of course.” Will shook his head. “He even asked Scott how he’d recognize his father if he did show up. Scott did finally back down, said that maybe his father wasn’t coming, but that he was sure he’d be sending something, a special present of some kind. Of course that never happened either. Never. And you know what I think?” he concluded forcefully, “the loss was all Murdoch Lancer’s.”
Will rose and resumed filling the suitcase once more. When Teresa continued to stand there motionless, silently watching him, he addressed her once more. “Mr.Garrett should be informed that Scott is missing. You can let Mr. Lancer know that I’ll send a wire to Boston as soon as I get to town.”
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Andy Stovall drove Will Hayford into town, and willingly stopped at the telegraph office in compliance with the Boston lawyer’s request. Hayford sent several wires to Sacramento and to Boston, before checking into the local hotel..
Early the next morning, Will appeared at Sheriff Jayson’s office. “Is there any word?”
“You mean about Scott? I haven’t heard anything.”
“Are you ready to listen to me now, Sheriff?” Will asked as he entered the office, closing the door behind him.
Sheriff Jayson looked up from cleaning his rifle, sighing, his sandy colored brows furrowed with concern. “Well, you can go ahead, tell me what you’ve found out.”
Will took a seat beside the Sheriff’s desk. He quietly repeated his assertions about Johnny having both opportunity and motive. The young lawyer also reminded the Sheriff about the button that had been found at the dam. “He lied, he said it had been missing when he got dressed in the morning.” Sheriff Jayson paused for a moment to consider that, then returned his attention to his gun.
“He was a gunfighter,” Will stated, in a tone that implied that this fact was the most damning piece of evidence of all. “A good one. A killer.”
Sam Jayson smiled at that. Maybe there were a few things this well-educated Easterner didn’t comprehend about life out West. “Johnny was real good, you’ve got that right, Mr. Hayford. But you see, what you maybe don’t understand is that round here, being a gunfighter ain’t all that bad a thing. Most of the good ones manage to stay on the right side of the law.”
“Oh, I think I understand the “ethics” involved, Sheriff. A trained gunman calls out his victim and forces him to draw first. Then he can claim self-defense.”
“Yeah, well, somethin’ like that,” Jayson replied uncertainly.
“Sheriff, did you know that Johnny shot Scott once?”
Sam’s head jerked up and he stopped his work. “Johnny shot Scott? You’ve got to be mistaken.”
“No, I’m not,” Will stated firmly. “Several of the hands know about it; he shot him down in the street, right here in Morro Coyo. Of course, he claimed that he was trying to ‘save’ Scott from being killed by someone else.” He paused for a moment, then pressed on. “If Scott doesn’t turn up soon….you may have no choice but to charge Johnny with murder.”
“Now hold on, ah….I—I think I’ll wait to start chargin’ anyone until that other search party Mr. Lancer sent out comes back. They’ll have to come through town on their way back to the ranch.”
Will shook his head in frustration. “Sheriff, with each day that passes the chances of finding him grow more slim.”
“Just the same, I’d feel better if I waited for ‘em to get back.” He stood up and carefully replaced the rifle in the gun rack on the wall. “In the meantime, I’m gonna head over to the hotel and get me some breakfast.” He picked up his hat and placed it on his head and waited while Will slowly stood up and walked out the door ahead of him. “The search party won’t be comin’ through here til tomorrow or the next day. I’ll let ya know when I hear something.” With that promise, Sheriff Jayson quickly took his leave of the lawyer and headed across the street.
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Two days later, the stocky Sheriff had word that some of the Lancer hands were in the saloon. Pushing his way through the swinging doors, he saw the older Walt, Miguel, Alfonso and two other men seated at a large front table. It appeared that Walt had just made a toast, as his solemn faced companions raised their glasses. All five of the men downed their whiskey. As the bottle was passed around for refills, Sheriff Jayson approached the group.
“Well, did you find anything?” Sheriff Jayson asked hopefully.
“No,” Walt said shaking his head. “No sign of him.” The senior Walt was a silver haired man with a receding hairline. “Searched up and down both sides of the river, and up into the creek too. Came across a cabin, but the man living there said he hadn’t seen anyone.” He paused, reaching for his hat. “If you don’t mind, Sheriff, I think we’re going to head for home.” He looked around at the other members of the search party, who joined him in pushing back their chairs and preparing to leave. “We have a ways to go yet, the men are tired and I know Mr. Lancer is waiting for us.” Then, evidently feeling that some explanation was in order, he added, “It’s been a hard coupla days. We wanted ta stop and raise a glass to Scott.”
The sheriff watched as the men slowly rode out of town. He had seen the disappointment on each ranch hand’s face. They had hoped to be able to bring Scott Lancer home to his family…..one way or the other, but here they were returning empty handed. He didn’t envy them at all.
He turned to head back to his office, intending to send one of his deputies to notify Mr. Hayford. As he looked up he saw the one armed man standing across the street, watching the departing Lancer hands. The significance of the determined look on Hayford’s face was evident to even the simple-minded sheriff. Will turned and walked down the street and Sheriff Sam Jayson reluctantly followed him.
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As it had been the previous evening, mealtime at the Lancer hacienda was once more a somber affair. Scott’s empty place was a stark reminder of his disappearance, not that any of the family members had managed to forget for more than a few moments throughout the long day. The second search party, led by Walt senior and Miguel, had returned only a few hours before, to report on another fruitless effort. Johnny had immediately announced his intention to spend the next day along the banks of Grand Creek, and both Jelly and Chad had quickly volunteered to join him. Johnny was relieved that his father had not raised any objection to the plan. The younger Lancer had acceded to his father’s insistence that he not spend a second sleepless night riding out to join Walt and the others, and had reluctantly agreed that heading out the next day would have only meant joining the men on their return trip. Johnny knew that the next day’s search would simply be a recovering of the same ground, but he needed to do something.
Finding himself pushing his food around on his plate, Johnny looked across the table at his cousin. Nothin’ ever seemed to put much of a damper on Chad’s appetite, that was for sure. But Johnny hardly knew how he would have gotten through the past few days without Chad’s quiet support. Johnny knew he hadn’t been anything like fit company, but Chad had stuck by him, been willing to listen whenever he’d felt like talking about Scott.
Glancing around the table, Johnny noted that neither Teresa nor Murdoch seemed to have much enthusiasm for the meal that Maria had prepared. As for Maria herself, it seemed that every time he entered the kitchen, he was interrupting her murmured prayers; he knew she was praying hard for Scott. They were just about to finish the meal; Murdoch had just risen up from the table and poured himself a stiff after dinner drink, when there was a knock on the door.
“Hello, Sam,” Murdoch said as he opened the door. “Come on in.” Teresa came up came up to stand behind her guardian.
Sam walked in, nervously looking around. “Ah…..Murdoch…..”
“What is it?” Murdoch asked, concerned by the look of apprehension on Sam’s face. “Do you have some news?”
“Ah….Mr. Lancer..” Sheriff Jayson stammered edgily.
“What is it!” Teresa cried, dreading what she was sure the lawman was about to tell them. “Did you find him? Is he…..” The young woman found she couldn’t say the words.
“No, we didn’t find Scott,” Sam replied, holding up the paper in his hand, looking toward the table. “I…..I ah….I’m here to …..see…Johnny.”
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CHAPTER 10
“Hello, Sheriff, . . is Johnny in trouble?”
Seeing Sam Jayson standing in the doorway reminded Johnny of Scott coming into the Great Room to get a couple of bottles of Murdoch’s good sherry, “for medicinal purposes”. When he’d seen Johnny, Jelly and Sam talking, Scott had smiled and made the joking remark as he’d walked by. Scott hadn’t known yet that Sam had come to tell them that those people, the Calhouns, the ones who had rescued him in the desert, were wanted for murder, for what had happened up in Cripple Creek. Johnny hadn’t been at all anxious to give his brother the bad news.
Now it seemed that Sam was here with worse news. Johnny sighed, pushed back his chair and strolled over to the door, Chad following behind. "So what did ya want ta talk to me about, Sam?" he asked with studied casualness.
Sam Jayson looked around at the group clustered in the entryway. "I'm awful sorry, folks," the mustached lawman said. He belatedly removed his hat with one hand while extending the paper in his other hand towards Murdoch Lancer.
Murdoch reluctantly unfolded the single sheet and started to read. "An arrest warrant!" he exploded. "You cannot be serious!" Chad seemed stunned: "Who's he arrestin'?" Teresa looked stricken. A concerned expression settled across Sam Jayson's round face, his cheeks were flushed and a few beads of perspiration were faintly visible on his forehead. "I'm guessin' that's for me," Johnny said quietly, reaching for the paper. "What's the charge, Sam?"
Chad looked over Johnny's shoulder. "Attempted murder?!" he asked in surprise. “Waal, . . . I s'pose that's better'n murder," he added lamely.
"But Scott's not dead!" Teresa cried out. "And Johnny wouldn't ever hurt him! You know that, Sam Jayson!" Murdoch Lancer glared at the hapless sheriff. Sam shook his head and held up his hands. "Now, I'm just doin' my job, it was the judge that signed the charges."
"Well, who was it that asked the judge for the warrant, if it wasn't you?" Murdoch demanded angrily.
It was Johnny who supplied the answer, in the same calm, quiet voice. "Somethin' tells me that maybe it was our friend Hayford."
Sam nodded his head emphatically. Murdoch swore and stalked over to the side table where he had left the drink that he had poured just before responding to the knock on the door. Tossing back the liquid, he slammed the glass down hard on the tabletop. "I should have kept him here," he growled. He addressed Jayson, gesturing to the sofa. "Come on in, Sam, sit down, let's talk about this."
Sam hesitated. Again, Johnny interceded. "Ain't nothin' ta talk about, Murdoch, he's got that paper,” Johnny said nonchalantly. “I'll just go with 'im, sleep in town tonight," he added, smiling reassuringly at Teresa, before looking directly at Murdoch again. "Mebbe you can have a talk with the judge in the mornin'."
"Of course, Son. We'll get this straightened out."
"Shore thing, Johnny," Chad chimed in. "Don't you worry none." Johnny gave Teresa a quick hug, then grabbed his hat off of the tree by the door and headed out. Sam started after him, only to stop when Johnny turned back to say that it would take him a few minutes to saddle up his horse. Left standing by the door, Sam Jayson looked apologetically from Murdoch, to Teresa to Chad. Seeing no sympathy or understanding on their faces, he hurried outside.
Sam Jayson clambered aboard his horse while the rest of the family filed out of the hacienda after him and waited silently for Johnny to emerge from the stable leading Barranca. He mounted the animal and rode up to the front of the house. Reining his palomino to a halt, Johnny looked down at his father. "Murdoch," he said seriously, "You gotta keep lookin' for Scott." Murdoch nodded in solemn agreement. "You know," Johnny added slowly, "I'm thinkin' that lawyer friend of his sure has been kinda anxious ta pin somethin' on me." Seems like he's pretty set on the idea that Scott didn't just have an accident. Could even be he knows somthin’ the rest of us don’t."
"Well, he's the one that said that he hated Scott!' Teresa blurted out. Every man's head turned towards the dark haired girl. "He said that?" Murdoch demanded. "When?"
Teresa haltingly explained about the conversation she had overheard between Scott and Will Hayford in the Great Room the morning that Scott had disappeared. "They were talking about what happened . . . after the War. Will Hayford said that Scott stopped him from drinking. Then, well, I think they both forgot that I was there. It . . it sounded as if he was saying that he resented Scott, because he came back home in . . .in one piece." Johnny nodded his head; it made sense to him that Hayford might be jealous of Scott.
“Are you listening to this?” Murdoch asked Sam Jayson harshly.
Teresa thought of something else. "He had a brother too, that died, maybe that has something to do with why he's accusing Johnny."
Chad shook his head in evident dismay. "That lawya fella's gonna be hard ta shake." Murdoch drew himself up to his full height and looked Johnny in the eyes. "Don't worry, Son. We'll shake him. You'll be back home tomorrow." "Tomorrow, " he repeated, reaching up and grasping Johnny's hand. Casting a baleful glance in Sam Jayson's direction, Murdoch bid the sheriff a caustic good night, and stalked back inside. Teresa spoke with forced cheerfulness. "We'll have a special dinner tomorrow night, Johnny," she assured him. "That'll be real nice, Teresa," was all that Johnny said in reply. It meant a great deal to know that he had his family's support, though of course he couldn't tell them how grateful he was.
"You jist take care now, Johnny," Chad said as Sam and Johnny rode off into the night. He and Teresa stood and watched even after the two men had disappeared into the darkness, listening to the fading hoof beats. They stood for a few more moments in silence, Teresa supporting herself with her hands on the hitching rail and Chad leaning one shoulder against an archway support. When Chad snapped one of his suspenders and let out a loud sigh, Teresa cast a worried glance up at him. "It'll be all right, you know that, don't you? He didn't do it. Johnny will be home tomorrow."
"Ah hope so, T’resa."
"But you don't sound as if you believe it," she said in a sad voice.
"Waal, that Yankee lawya fella shore seems ta have some things ta use ‘gainst Johnny. Leastways he was able ta convince tha judge."
"What sort of things?" she asked, turning to face him.
With the night sounds as a backdrop, Chad slowly recounted some of what Will Hayford had said and done at the dam site that first evening that Scott had gone missing. He also explained what Teresa already knew, that Scott and Johnny had had some kind of big disagreement the day before, that Johnny was supposed to meet Scott at the dam, that there was no sign that anyone else had been there. It appeared that Scott had ended up in the creek, and, according to Hayford, Scott must have had a little help.
"But Johnny would never hurt Scott!" Teresa protested.
"Ah know that," Chad responded patiently. "Ahm jist tellin' ya what all that Hayford'll be sayin' ta try ta prove it was Johnny that killed Scott.
"I'm sorry, " she murmured. "Go on, tell me again."
Chad listed once more what the men had seen at the dam site: Scott's horse, all of his things left untouched, his canteen on the ground, his hat a short ways downstream. When he mentioned the club-like piece of wood with the stain on it. Teresa's eyes welled up at the thought of Scott being hit. "But none of that proves it was Johnny," she said impatiently.
"Waal, there was that button."
"What button?"
"Off'n Johnny's pink shirt. It was lyin' there on the ground."
"So it just fell off of Johnny's shirt while he was waiting for Scott."
"Mebbe. But that Hayford said it coulda come off in a . . in a struggle."
"It wasn’t like that! It couldn’t have been!"
"Mebbe not."
Teresa wondered about the funny look on Chad's face. "What is it?"
"Johnny said the button was missin' from his shirt that mornin' . . so how did it get all tha way out there, less'n he weren't tellin' the truth?"
Teresa stared at him. Pinned by her gaze, Chad Lancer shifted his weight uncomfortably. "T’resa," he ventured, "Ah know ya ain’t eva gonna wanna hear this, but . . .waal, Johnny does have himself a temper and mebbe . . ."
"Chad Lancer! You can't think that Johnny would . . ! Don't you dare say anything like that, Chad!"
"Sorry," he mumbled. He sighed and stared at the ground. "I .. I jist don't want ya ta git yer hopes up any more T’resa. I know yer still thinkin' Scott's gonna turn up and now ya don't wanna believe that Johnny coulda ever done nothin' wrong. . .I don't neither, but . . .."
Teresa put her hand on Chad's arm, tears flooding her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. "Scott will turn up," she said with conviction. "And Johnny didn't do it. We both know that." Chad nodded, but the hopeful expression on his face, quickly clouded over.
"So how'd tha button git out there then?"
Teresa thought about that. "Chad couldn't someone else could have put it there?"
The big man looked down at her doubtfully. "Ya mean laike mebbe that Hayford fella? Teresa nodded emphatically. "Now T’resa, how would he eva get ahold of a button off'n Johnny's shirt? And, well, if’n he did, he’d kinda hafta know that Johnny'd be wearin' that same one, right?"
Teresa pondered those questions for a long moment. "Johnny's always running out of clean clothes,” she said, thinking aloud. "There have been lots of times that he has only had one clean shirt to wear. And a lot of people have probably heard me scolding him for not putting his things in the laundry."
"Yeah, I rememba that nice new shirt ya made 'im, tha red one that he spoilt workin’ in it, cause he didn't have no other ones ta wear."
"So, someone could have taken a button off of Johnny's shirt and put it there."
"I s'pose,” Chad said doubtfully. “Still, shore seems laike a lot of trouble for someone ta go to.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Very late the next morning, Murdoch Lancer arrived at Sheriff Jayson’s office. Frustrated from his encounter with Judge Roy Hill, the tall rancher greeted Sam Jayson curtly, and without another word removed his gun belt, dropped it on the desk and proceeded through the door to the back part of the building that contained the jail cells. Johnny was stretched out on the cot with his hands behind his head when his father entered; he quickly got to his feet, grasping the cold bars with both hands. From Murdoch’s expression, it was pretty obvious to Johnny that he wasn’t going home anytime soon. Instead of interrogating the older man on his visit to the judge, Johnny posed another question, one that was of more immediate concern. “Is anyone still out there lookin’ for Scott?” he asked.
“Yes,” Murdoch responded, sighing heavily, “Jelly and Chad headed out again this morning. But Son, I’m afraid it’s no use.” Johnny looked down at the floor; each of them silently contemplating that statement for a long moment. When Johnny finally spoke, it was with a quiet intensity. “You still gotta find ‘im, Murdoch, bring ‘im home. Can’t just leave ‘im out there.” Murdoch nodded in grave assent, but Johnny, still staring at the floor, didn’t see. When his son finally looked up at him, Murdoch repeated his assurance. “Johnny, we’ll keep looking . . . .”
Sighing, Johnny folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the black iron bars. “So, I guess I ain’t gettin’ outta here anytime soon. . . .”
Murdoch wearily shook his head. “I spoke with Judge Hill. He won’t cancel the warrant.”
“So now what?”
Reluctantly, with a lingering note of disbelief in his voice, Murdoch explained that since a process had been set in motion that could very well mean a trial, he had sent a wire to Jarrod Barkley. Johnny nodded his acceptance. He didn’t have that high an opinion of lawyers in general, but he knew that Murdoch had been friends with the Barkleys for a very long time and that Jarrod was a good man.
“Where’s Hayford?”
“Gone back to Sacramento, evidently, “ Murdoch replied in disgust. “And, I understand that he sent some wires of his own ---including one to Scott’s grandfather in Boston.”
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The next several days were a flurry of activity once it became evident that there would in fact be a trial in Sacramento. The Lancer ranch, which has been silently reeling from the impact of Scott Lancer’s sudden disappearance, now became a beehive of rumor and speculation. The lingering question of Scott’s fate, the suppositions about Johnny’s gun fighting past and the accusations leveled against him were all topics of conversation amongst the men. Conjecture as to what had happened was rife as well, but the inevitable conclusion was that if Scott Lancer had not yet been found, then he must surely be dead.
This was certainly Murdoch Lancer’s conviction as well. The veteran rancher had sadly identified a quiet spot on one of the overlooks and quietly instructed his Segundo that should his older son’s body be recovered, it was to be buried there rather than in the small ranch cemetery. Instructing Cipriano as to what should be done, Murdoch added, “It isn’t necessary to send word to Sacramento.” Initially puzzled, Sanchez nodded in understanding as comprehension dawned and he recognized the impact that such news might have upon the trial. “There will be time to plan a memorial service after we all get back from Sacramento,” Murdoch concluded despondently, thinking aloud.
The sympathetic expression on Cipriano’s face clouded over; he was still very angry that he would not be making the trip to the capital to testify in “Juanito’s” behalf. Murdoch droned on, giving his foreman detailed instructions concerning what should take place at the ranch during the family’s absence, an absence that might prove to be quite lengthy.
Sheriff Sam Jayson had already left for Sacramento, with Johnny in custody. The others from Lancer would be departing early the next morning. Murdoch had also received a wire from one Wade Garrett, writing on behalf of Scott’s grandfather. Apparently, the Boston businessmen had been in the midwest when Will Hayford’s communication had been forwarded to them there and the Garretts were even now en route to Sacramento as well. The wire addressed to Murdoch announcing this had concluded with a blunt “answers expected.”
Murdoch wanted answers as well. It was an unbelievable situation, Johnny on trial for killing Scott. Murdoch had had his own disagreements and tensions with each of his sons, but he had long been envious of the brothers’ seemingly instant rapport with each other. After the initial difficult introduction and period of adjustment, the boys had gotten along very well, or so Murdoch had believed. Upon reflection, he now had to admit that their seeming closeness had not been a constant; there had of course been tensions, arguments and competition between the two, in addition to the friendly banter and other signs of genuine mutual affection that he had witnessed. But there had been nothing between his sons that could have prompted this nightmare of a murder charge, of that Murdoch Lancer was certain. No matter whether the charge was murder or attempted murder, both were hanging offenses. Jarrod Barkley had expressed a reluctance to take on the case, citing his lack of extensive trial experience in defending against such serious charges. The Barkley family’s long association with Murdoch Lancer and Jarrod’s recent friendship with both Scott and Johnny had prompted the Stockton attorney to contact one of the pre-eminent defense lawyers in the state, his mentor, Nicholas Reed. Murdoch had yet to meet Reed, although he had, of course, heard of the man. To everyone’s relief, once he had understood that Jarrod would still sit as co-counsel, Johnny had promised to co-operate fully with the big city attorney.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Nicholas Reed welcomed Murdoch, Johnny and Jarrod once more to his well-appointed office. Reed was a patrician man of average height, expensively dressed and well-coiffed, with an elegant head of prematurely white hair. An Easterner and a Yale man, he thought very highly of Jarrod Barkley and had completely rearranged his schedule, distributing casework amongst his associates, in order to comply with his young friend’s request that he take on the Lancer case. Reed, quite frankly, had been intrigued by the brief Lancer family history that Jarrod had provided: the story of the father and his adult sons who had become acquainted only two years previously. Equally interesting were the differences between the two young men themselves. Although Jarrod had spoken highly of both of the brothers and had assured Reed that he would be representing an innocent man in Johnny Lancer, it had been evident to his mentor that young Barkley had had a stronger affinity for the elder son, Scott, and was greatly saddened by his friend’s demise. But it was Johnny Madrid Lancer, and his career as a notorious gunfighter, which Reed found utterly fascinating—and challenging. How best to defend such a man?
At each of their meetings, Reed was polite and professional, clearly eager to forgo pleasantries and focus upon gathering information and plotting trial strategy. His plan, as he had presented it to Johnny, Murdoch and Jarrod, was to confront the issue of Johnny’s past as Madrid, and to openly acknowledge the recent disagreements between the two brothers. “Not in detail, you understand, but to address these facts in the hopes of decreasing their effectiveness as a weapon to be used by the prosecution.”
Murdoch Lancer was apprehensive about references being made to his younger son’s past, but Johnny was agreeable. “I got nothin’ to hide. My past is my past, I ain’t gonna lie about it.” He looked the white haired lawyer directly in the eyes. “There’s things I’ve done . . things I ain’t proud of. But I did not kill my brother.”
Reed nodded too quickly, somewhat dismissively. Most defendants proclaimed their innocence; some, he knew, were even telling the truth. Reed was a firm believer in the concept of “burden of proof”, innocent or guilty, every accused man deserved a vigorous defense. He said as much now: “That isn’t quite the essential issue, Johnny. No matter if you are innocent or guilty, you still deserve---“
His posture in the chair remained relaxed, but Johnny’s blues eyes glittered harshly as he interrupted the self-assured man behind the large desk. “It matters,” he said forcefully. “I didn’t kill Scott.”
Reed smiled. Even after all these years, the dedicated defense attorney still greatly preferred to do battle for those he truly believed in, and he found that he believed in this young man. “Then shall we go over what happened one more tim?” he suggested. “The jury will be impaneled tomorrow, the trial begins the day after. I have a list of the prosecution’s witnesses, we need to talk about what we think they are likely to say . . .”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The day of the trial dawned and Johnny Lancer was dressed in the new dark jacket and matching pair of pants that Teresa had picked out for him. He was seated at one end of the defense table next to Jarrod Barkley, with Nicholas Reed at the opposite end. He didn’t look around, but he knew that his family was seated behind the rail and that most of the other people in the courtroom were strangers.
The courtroom was called to order and Judge Timothy Blackwell, a large, imposing man, entered the chamber. Both Reed and Barkley had assured the Lancers that the judge had a reputation for fairness and for running his orderly courtroom with a great deal of efficiency. True to form, the Judge had barely taken his seat when he motioned for the prosecutor to make his opening statement.
Johnny steeled himself as he watched Marcus L. Webster, the tall, lanky prosecutor, slowly and deliberately approach the jury box. Jarrod had tried to prepare him for the day’s events, which would feature the opening remarks from each of the opposing attorneys. Whenever Johnny allowed himself to think about Scott’s absence, the pain was still sharp and raw; hearing himself characterized as his brother’s would be killer was going to be like rubbing a salt block into that wound.
The panel of twelve jurors, most of them middle-aged and moderately well-dressed, many of them associated with businesses in the city, regarded Webster attentively as he began to speak. Marcus Webster was a middle-aged man in glasses, with a mustache and receding dark hair. Tall and angular, there was an austere, ministerial aspect to his appearance that coincided with his reputation for having an evangelical zeal in seeking harsh punishment for evildoers. There were those in Sacramento who regarded Marcus Webster as a champion of justice, an avenging angel seeking retribution for the victims of heinous crimes, a reputation that the dedicated prosecutor cherished.
Clearly, concisely, Webster outlined for the court the case against one Johnny Madrid Lancer. He eloquently drew the contrast between the two brothers, depicting Johnny, “the defendant here present before you” as a dark haired, hot tempered young gunslinger, the infamous Johnny Madrid, widely known along the uncivilized Mexican border region, renowned for his deadly prowess. On the other hand, blonde haired, blue-eyed Scott Lancer was described in some detail as a mild mannered and well educated Easterner, a concerned and caring civic minded individual, a Union army veteran and a decorated military hero. Webster sorrowfully reminded the members of the jury that the crime of fratricide, brother killing brother, as unfortunately not a new occurrence in the history of mankind, drawing comparisons between the Lancer brothers and the Old Testament siblings, Cain and Abel. Johnny glanced sideways at Jarrod, who was jotting notes on the sheet of paper before him. Jarrod had written those names in large letters and then circled them in recognition of the accuracy of Nicholas Reed’s prediction. Beyond Jarrod, Johnny could see Reed, seated with his arms crossed and his head bowed, listening intently to Webster’s every word. A small smile flitted across the white haired lawyer’s face in response to his opponent’s anticipated Biblical reference.
So Reed was good, and Johnny took some comfort in that. But there was no question that Webster knew his business pretty well too. The prosecutor described the clearing near the dam site as if he’d been there himself; from the looks on their faces, he was able to make the men on the jury see it too. The spare lawyer movingly described Scott in this idyllic setting, crouched and dipping his canteen in the water, then brutally struck from behind and plunging to his death. Behind him, Johnny heard Teresa attempt to stifle a small sob. He kept his own gaze on the table before him, as Webster gestured in his direction, identifying Johnny Madrid Lancer as the man that Scott Lancer had expected to meet on the banks of Grand Creek that day, the day that “the unsuspecting Scott Lancer was so cruelly betrayed by his own brother.” Webster carefully explained to the enthralled jurors that the defendant had both motive and opportunity to commit his horrible crime and assured them that the prosecution would present evidence to clearly demonstrate his guilt.
When his turn came, Nicholas Reed proceeded with his plan. He looked the jurymen in the eyes and announced that “Yes, the defendant, Johnny Lancer, now a successful businessman, a rancher, was, in his past life, a skilled gunfighter. Yes, the Lancer brothers have only known each other for two years. Yes, on the surface, the two brothers are very different from each other, and yes, like all brothers, they have sometimes disagreed. But did Johnny Lancer kill or attempt to kill his brother? No, he did not.”
“Is Scott Lancer dead? Let me remind you that no body has yet been found . . . There is, sadly, admittedly, some indication that Scott Lancer may have fallen into the rapid flowing waters of the mountain stream so eloquently described by my colleague Mr. Webster. A tragic accident, which Scott Lancer is unlikely to have survived. He may have slipped, struck his head---- we may never know. The prosecution will try to persuade you that Scott Lancer was attacked; they will present circumstantial evidence to that effect. He may well have been struck from behind and pushed into those waters; again,----- we may never know. What we do know, is that Johnny Lancer would not, could not perpetrate such an act against his own brother.”
Reed paced back and forth in front of the jury box. “The prosecutor would like you to view this alleged crime as a modern day Cain and Abel story, casting Johnny Lancer here as Cain, with Scott Lancer in the role of Abel.” He stopped still in front of the jury. “The defense freely, eagerly, stipulates to fact of Scott Lancer’s sterling character. His loss is deeply felt.” Reed paused for a moment, turning to indicate Johnny, who sat with his eyes lowered, and the visibly sad faces of the family seated behind him. Facing the jury once more, he continued with his remarks. “But the fact that Scott Lancer was a good man does not by default, make his brother an evil one. It cannot. For we will show you that Scott Lancer, even after only a relatively brief acquaintance, held his younger brother in high regard; Scott Lancer accepted Johnny “Madrid” Lancer as his brother, past and all.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Johnny thought to himself, the feeling of intense loss threatening to overwhelm him. He continued to sit with his head bowed, staring hard at the table as Reed described his own good qualities, “characteristics which are recognized by all those who know him”, including his late brother. Inwardly wincing at the use of the term “late” to describe Scott, Johnny listened to his attorney talking about a young man who had demonstrated his own personal sense of honor, and who was loyal, caring and kind; Johnny wondered whether the members of the jury would ever believe that he was that young man.
Reed concluded his remarks. “One son has been cruelly taken from this newly created family. Do not, gentlemen of the jury, allow the prosecution, on the basis of flimsy evidence and hasty, biased accusations, persuade you to deprive them of the second son as well.”
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CHAPTER 11
Prosecuting attorney Marcus Webster called as his first witness, Sherriff Sam Jayson. The sandy haired small town lawman was sworn in by the bailiff and, with a nervous look in the direction of the defense table, he took his seat on the witness stand. After first asking a few introductory questions that allowed the Sheriff to identify himself, the prosecutor quickly began to interrogate the man about the events that he had witnessed.
“Sheriff, you rode out with the search party the night that Scott Lancer first came up missing, is that correct?” Webster asked as he paced in front of the witness stand, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Yes…ah,” Sam wiped his brow with his handkerchief nervously. “I’d stopped out at the Lancer Ranch to drop off a bill to Johnny and…”
The tall prosecutor stopped abruptly and focused an inquisitive gaze upon Jayson, causing the Sheriff to falter in his recitation. With the eyes of the jurors upon him, Webster waited a moment before posing his next question. “What was this bill for?” he asked.
“Well, . . . Johnny got in a fight at the saloon in town,” the sheriff explained reluctantly. “He was real sorry and since he’d thrown the first punch he agreed to pay for the damages.”
“I see. Does the Defendant get into fights very often, Sheriff?”
“I object!” Nicholas Reed stated firmly from his seat at the defense table. “Your Honor, this line of questioning has no bearing on the case.”
“Your Honor,” Webster replied, sweeping his glance over the jurors, “I contend that it goes to the fact of the Defendant’s temper and impulsivity.” “But,” he added smoothly, “ I’ll withdraw the question.” Reed’s eyes narrowed at that and he jotted a few notes on the piece of paper in front of him. Beside him, Jarrod Barkley scribbled furiously as he attempted to record the prosecutor’s questions, as well as Sam Jayson’s answers. The prosecutor turned back to the lawman. “Sheriff, please tell us what happened when you joined the search team.”
“Well, we split into two groups and headed out to the dam site.”
“And when you arrived at that spot, Scott Lancer’s last known location, what did you find there, Sheriff?”
Sam Jayson looked down at his hat, lying in his lap and back up at Webster. “When we got there we saw Scott…….ah Scott Lancer’s horse. We didn’t see any sign of him. Someone, I think it was Mr. Hayford told everybody ta stay where they were so that we could look at the tracks on the ground.”
“And Mr. Hayford would be?”
“Umm, he’d be Scott Lancer’s lawyer friend from Boston. “
“From Boston?’
“Well, I guess he lives out here now. He was visitin’ at the ranch.”
“I see. And who were the other members of the search party, Sheriff?”
“Well, now, let’s see, there was Mr. Lancer—Murdoch that is, and a coupla men that work for ‘im, Jelly Hoskins and Cipriano . . I think his last name might be Sanchez. And Chad Lancer, he’s a cousin. And, um, well, ah, Johnny, a course.”
“So you looked at the tracks and how many sets did you see?”
“There was only two sets of tracks in that clearing. Brunswick’s, that‘s Scott’s horse and Barranca’s—that would be Johnny’s horse.” Rubbing his mustache, Sam looked over toward Johnny apologetically. Seated beside Jarrod Barkley at the defense table, Johnny Lancer was listening intently, but kept his gaze fixed upon the bare surface of the table in front of him. Jayson shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the prosecutor continued his questioning.
“Sherriff Jayson, would you explain to the Court how those tracks could be identified as belonging to those particular horses?”
“Well, you see, Johnny’s horse had front shoes that were kinda worn, so they left distinctive marks on the ground,” Sam explained, his chest puffed out with importance. “Scott’s horse’s shoes left narrower prints.”
“You’re certain that there were no other tracks?“ Webster asked with deliberate emphasis.
“No, sir,” Sam said shaking his head. “We all looked around and there just weren’t any other tracks.”
“Sheriff Jayson, could you describe the other significant items which were found at the scene?” the prosecutor continued, one hand resting lightly on the rail next to the witness.
The Sheriff paused to gather his thoughts, thinking back to that night. “Well, first thing we found was a canteen full of water which we were sure was Scott’s. And then we found his hat a little ways downstream.”
The prosecutor introduced into evidence the canteen and the hat. He turned back to Sheriff Jayson.
“Please go on, Sheriff. What else was found?”
“Well, there was a piece of wood, kinda like driftwood, stickin’ out from some branches. We looked at it and there was a dark stain on it that we all thought coulda been blood.”
“This piece of wood looked like a club, did it not?”
“Objection,” Reed said calmly, “leading the Witness.”
“Sustained.”
Marcus Webster allowed himself a small smile. “Sheriff Jayson, could you describe the size, shape and appearance of this piece of wood, the once which the members of the search party believed might have a blood stain on it?”
Sam Jayson gestured with his hands to indicate the size of the stick. “Well, it was about this long and that big around . .it did kinda look like a club,” he concluded lamely.
“Sheriff, were the members of the search party concerned that Scott Lancer might have been attacked and robbed?”
“Well, not robbed, cause his horse and all of his things were still there.”
“But they feared that he might have been attacked?”
“Yeah, cause of that piece of wood and where his hat was.”
Webster walked over to his associate at the prosecutor’s table and picked up a small white envelope. The eyes of the jury members were trained upon the item that he held in his hand as the lanky prosecutor approached the witness stand once more. Removing a small object from the envelope, Webster extended his open hand towards Sam Jayson. “Sheriff, was this button also found at the scene?”
Sam Jayson leaned forward and studied the prosecutor’s palm. “Yes sir, it was layin’ on the ground,” he said, nodding his head.
“Were you able to identify the source of the button?”
“Well, it sure looked like it came offa the shirt Johnny was wearin’,” Sheriff Jayson replied, again looking apologetically towards the top of Johnny’s dark head.
“One of his buttons was, in fact missing?”
“Yes.”
“Did the Defendant admit to losing the button at the dam site?”
“No,” the lawman replied uncomfortably. “He said it was missin’ when he put his shirt on that mornin’.”
“Sheriff, if it was already missing then how did it get to the crime scene?” the prosecutor demanded.
Sam Jayson struggled to come up with an answer. ”I’m not really -----“
“Objection,” Nicholas Reed insisted, rising this time. “Calls for speculation.”
“I’ll withdraw the question, Your Honor,” was Webster’s quick rejoinder, “And I’ll turn this witness over to the defense.”
Nicholas Reed stood slowly and deliberately approached the witness stand. The eyes of everyone in the courtroom followed the movements of the distinguished looking attorney, including those of his client. “Good morning, Sheriff,” he said with a smile.
“Good mornin’,“ the round faced lawman replied.
“Tell me, Sheriff Jayson, are you a trained investigator?”
“Well, no, I guess I can’t say that I am . . “
“Are you experienced in identifying tracks, for example?”
Sam Jayson looked nervously over at Johnny, who coolly returned the perspiring man’s gaze. “Uh . .no, not really.” Jayson glanced down and shifted in his seat. “It was Cipriano who showed ‘em to me, “ he admitted.
“So can you personally be certain that there were only two sets of tracks in the clearing and that those tracks did in fact belong to the horses which the Lancer brothers were riding that day?”
“No, I guess not, but . . . .”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Reed said, holding up one hand, halting him. “Now, Johnny Lancer admitted that he had been at the dam site, correct?”
“Yes sir, he said he’d been waitin’ there for Scott.”
“So the tracks aren’t proof of anything, really,” Reed said musingly.
Marcus Webster was polishing his eyeglasses. “Is that a question, your Honor?” he asked looking up from his seat at the prosecution table.
Reed quickly addressed the Judge, “I’m sorry, Your Honor.” The defense attorney regarded Sam Jayson thoughtfully. “Sheriff, did I understand you to say that it was Mr. Hayford who was concerned about stopping to examine the tracks when the search party initially first arrived at the clearing?”
“Well, yes, yes, sir he was.”
“And when it appeared that Scott Lancer might have fallen into Grand Creek, who was it who first suggested that it might not have been an accident?”
Sam Jayson thought about that. “That would be Mr. Hayford, I think”
“Hmmm, that’s interesting . . . Sheriff, who found the button on the ground?”
“Mr. Hayford,” Jayson replied confidently.
“And I assume that it was also Mr. Hayford who noticed that Johnny’s shirt was missing a button?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Sheriff, who was it who urged you to consider Johnny Lancer as a suspect in his brother’s disappearance?”
“Mr. . . .Hayford,” Sam Jayson answered a bit more hesitantly, in belated recognition of the fact that it might appear that he had been led astray by the Eastern lawyer.
“One more question, Sheriff—I think that perhaps there might be a pattern here--who was it who went with you to obtain the arrest warrant from Judge Hill?”
“Uh . .Mr. Hayford,“ Sam replied in a somewhat embarrassed tone.
“I wonder if anyone else sees a pattern . . .” Reed murmured.
Before Marcus Webster could voice an objection, Judge Blackwell looked over the top of his reading glasses to offer a mildly pointed interrogatory of his own: “Mr. Reed, is there a question for the witness?”
“No, Your Honor, I have no further questions for this witness.”
Webster promptly rose to his feet and strode towards the witness stand. “Sheriff, you said that you were not an experienced investigator. Did you therefore appreciate the assistance that you received from the other members of the search party?”
“Well, yes . . .”
“Sheriff Jayson, who found Scott Lancer’s canteen?”
Sam considered this. “It was Cipriano, Mr. Lancer’s foreman.”
“And who helped you to identify the tracks as belonging Scott Lancer’s horse and that of the Defendant?”
“That was Cipriano again. He found the piece of wood, too,” Sam added helpfully.
“Who was it who suggested that the stain on the wood could be blood?”
“That was Mr. Lancer . . Murdoch.”
“And who found Scott Lancer’s hat downstream?”
“Chad Lancer,” Jayson said confidently.
Webster strolled away from the witness stand, positioning himself so that both he and Johnny were in the jurors’ line of sight.
“Sheriff Jayson, besides Scott Lancer, who is the only other person who was known to have been present in the clearing prior to the search party’s arrival?“ Noting the lawman’s confused expression, Webster rephrased the question. “Who had been there earlier in the day?”
“Johnny Lancer.”
“Who was known to have argued with the victim?”
“Well, Johnny, I guess. . “
“Objection! The Sheriff has not testified to having first hand knowledge of any disagreements between the brothers,” Reed explained.
Judge Blackwell nodded his agreement. “Sustained.”
“Sheriff,” Webster began again, “whose button was found on the ground at the dam site?”
“Johnny’s.”
“Sheriff, you sought an arrest warrant because you were presented with evidence of a suspect having both motive and opportunity to commit a crime. What was the name on that warrant, Sheriff?”
Sam Jayson sighed. “Johnny Lancer.”
“Sheriff, who is the only person that you are aware of who had both the opportunity and a motive to attack Scott Lancer?”
When Sam Jayson did not answer, Marcus Webster stepped nearer to the witness stand and repeated his question.. “Sheriff, I repeat, who is the only person that you are aware of who had both the opportunity and a motive to attack Scott Lancer?”
“Johnny Lancer,” Sam Jayson said reluctantly.
“No further questions.”
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