Teresa, in rose, stood waiting impatiently until Johnny, with a good natured grin, finally did the same for her. Along with his familiar pants, Johnny was wearing a new pine green shirt that Scott had given him. Murdoch, seated opposite Melissa at the far end of the table, had put on a tie for the occasion. Playing the role of gracious host, Murdoch initiated the first few topics of conversation. He mentioned a letter which he had recently received from Melissa’s father, James. Murdoch also asked after Melissa’s Aunt Kate, and then talk turned to the city of San Francisco itself. Teresa listened in rapt attention as Melissa described the sights which she had seen there. Scott had not yet visited that city, but in response to Miss Harper’s descriptions, supplied comparisons with St. Louis, Philadelphia, and New York.
“You do sound as if you are very well traveled, Mr. Lancer,” she said in an envious tone.
“I have seen my share of cities, Miss Harper.”
“Please,” she smiled at him. “It’s Melissa . . . Have you been abroad?”
“When I was younger, I traveled quite a bit with my grandfather,” Scott replied.
Melissa and Teresa listened in fascination as Scott briefly outlined his travels on the Continent, including his tours of ancient ruins in Greece and Italy. He named the cities he’d visited: London, Paris, Madrid,--- looking across the table and smiling at his brother when he mentioned the Spanish capital. Scott had been about to add a comment on the recent efforts to unify the German states, when he noticed that Johnny was looking a bit glassy eyed. Murdoch too was silent----as he had been ever since Scott had mentioned his grandfather, although the blond man hadn’t noticed this.
“But of course,” Scott continued smoothly, “we have our own opportunities for sightseeing right here in the San Joaquin Valley, Miss Harper. And I’m sure that Johnny would be very happy to point some of them out to you tomorrow." Johnny shot his brother a grateful look, while Murdoch quickly added: “I assume that means you’re willing to take care of your brother’s work tomorrow in addition to your own?”
Scott nodded at the older man “I think that I can manage a day of that,” although in fact, he had already done so for the past two days. Johnny began outlining plans for an excursion the next day with Melissa. Hearing him inquire so solicitously of the young woman’s preferences regarding the lunch menu, Teresa rolled her eyes at Scott, who smiled at his plate and was careful not to look across the table at her again.
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His day of touring the ranch with Melissa Harper had not gone precisely as Johnny had hoped. The weather had been pleasant, as was Melissa, but nothing more. She seemed to enjoy riding, although she said that she hadn’t done much of it before. She’d talked on quite a bit about San Francisco, and the people that she’d met there. She admired the views that Johnny showed her, and when they stopped for lunch, she very carefully kept her distance.
It was at lunchtime that the conversation turned to Murdoch’s visit with Melissa and her Aunt Kate in San Francisco.
“Your father told my Aunt Kate a little bit about you and your brother--that neither one of you has been here very long.”
“That’s right.”
“He said that your brother was raised in Boston; I was very surprised that no one mentioned it to Daddy and me when we were here before.”
“Yeah, he’s from Boston, all right, Melissa.” <<And been just about every where else, sounds like. I sure don’t want to be sittin’ here talkin’ ‘bout Scott “City Boy” Lancer. >>
“And you, Johnny, you were raised in Mexico by your mother?”
“Yeah, Mexico, along the border. Then I’ve been around some.” This was another topic that Johnny wasn’t especially eager to pursue.
“Well, the two of you certainly seem to be very different.”
Looking at Johnny appraisingly, she added: “You seem to be very happy here. Settled.”
Johnny looked at her with some surprise. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “Guess you could say that.”
Before they remounted, Johnny did manage to get close to Melissa. It seemed like he was working pretty hard for just a few kisses--very different from Melissa’s previous visit. Different from his experiences with the local girls too-----not that he minded a bit of a challenge for a change. . . .
When they returned to the hacienda, Johnny helped Melissa to dismount and suggested that she go on inside while he took care of the horses. The young woman was agreeable and announced that she would be in the kitchen looking for something to drink. She found that Scott was already seated at the kitchen table with a glass of water in front of him. He stood as Melissa entered, revealing an untucked, and somewhat dusty, shirttail.
“Miss Harper. Did you enjoy your ride?”
“Its beautiful here, Mr. Lancer. May I ask what you’re drinking?”
“Only water, I‘m afraid. Let me pour you a glass. . . .”, as he did so, he continued to make conversation. “You must have ridden towards the southern end of the ranch----I’m sure that Johnny only showed you his favorite spots.”
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the glass. “So, now tell me, how does a Boston gentleman like yourself end up all the way out here?”
Scott looked down at his disheveled attire with an amused expression. “Now whatever would make you believe that I am a “Boston gentleman,” Miss Harper?”
Melissa directed her own smile at Scott. “When your father came to visit, he mentioned that you grew up in Boston.”
Scott looked mildly surprised. ”I see.”
“As to being a gentleman, let’s say that I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Lancer. Since, as I’ve discovered, there are many men here out West who are not in that category.”
Given what he knew of Miss Harper’s choice of a fiancé, Scott was at a loss to come up with a diplomatic response.
“In fact, I’m sure that you must think that I have very poor judgment when it comes to men,” she added, putting Scott squarely on the spot.
<<She certainly is . . . direct.>> “Well, Miss Harper,” he said , “that does seem to be improving.“
“How so, Mr. Lancer?”
He gave her a searching look. “My brother Johnny is certainly nothing like the Cooper brothers. . . . Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Harper, I think I’ll go get cleaned up before dinner.”
At dinner, Melissa Harper made a concerted effort to engage Scott in conversation. In response to her questions about his impressions of Western society, he was polite, but not effusive. When the discussion amongst the Lancer men turned to various tasks to be completed within the next few days, their young guest expressed an interest in seeing more of the ranch. But when Johnny asked Melissa if she were “up for another day of ridin’,” Murdoch pointed out that his younger son had a considerable amount of work which needed to be done.
Melissa Harper then looked expectantly at Scott.
When Scott failed to say anything, she allowed herself a pretty pout. “I did so enjoy riding today. I don’t get to do it very often.”
Now all eyes were on Scott. “Well, Miss Harper, I’m afraid that tomorrow, I ---
“I’m certain that Scott will be able to fit you into his schedule, Melissa,” Murdoch finished for him.
“Murdoch, you seem to be forgetting that--
Murdoch cut Scott off again. “Scott, you’re overdue for some time off.” The older man smiled, but the look in his eyes made no secret of the fact that he would brook no further argument-----not that his elder son could voice any additional objection without being rude to their guest.
After dinner, Scott carried his glass of wine outside. When Johnny followed him, Scott turned and gave his brother an apologetic look. “It seems I’ll be entertaining Miss Harper tomorrow.”
“Just so long’s you make sure you‘re not the one’s bein‘ entertained,” Johnny responded in a casual tone.
Surprised at his brother’s words, Scott looked at him quizzically. “Johnny, you heard Murdoch . . Its not as if he gave me any choice. . . . So if you have a problem with it, I suggest that you take it up with him.”
“I’m talkin’ to you,” his brother replied more pointedly. “And I didn’t ‘xactly hear you objectin’.”
“I could hardly do that.“
<<Right. Wouldn’t want ya to be “impolite“, now.>> But he made sure to keep his tone friendly. “Well, you just remember now to keep bein’ a proper gentleman.” Johnny started to walk away. “And Scott . .”
Scott looked at him, without expression.
“You be sure to keep those gloves of yours on, now won‘t ya.”
Scott shook his head and sipped his wine. Before he’d even had a moment to think much about that conversation, Murdoch came out and stood beside him.
“I would have expected you to be a bit more gracious towards Miss Harper," he said abruptly. “She is our guest.”
Scott wearily reminded Murdoch once more of his belief that Johnny had fallen in love with the young woman when the Lancers had rescued her from the Cooper brothers.
Murdoch was unimpressed. “It sounds as if you were the one who actually rescued her. Besides, I’m sure that you’re much more what she’s accustomed to," he said dismissively.
<<Now, what is that supposed to mean? >> Normally, Scott would bristle when he felt that Murdoch was being critical of his brother. Still somewhat irritated by the manner in which Johnny had addressed him, Scott let that aspect of the comment slide.
“Perhaps,” he replied, slowly. “But she’s not exactly what I’m accustomed to---- She’s very young. And probably quite . . . inexperienced. “
Murdoch looked grim. “Do I need to remind you that she’s the daughter of an old friend? A friend who gave me help when I needed it?”
“No, sir, you’ve ---"
“Good. Then I can be sure that you’ll behave like a proper Bostonian.”
The idea of Murdoch Lancer providing etiquette instruction to Harlan Garrett’s grandson . . . Scott almost smiled at that. Almost. Instead he nodded gravely. Murdoch turned and went back inside.
Alone with his wine, Scott leaned against a pillar and looked out towards the corral. << For once Johnny and Murdoch agree on something----they both expect me to behave like a “proper Boston gentleman.” >> He sighed. << As if I could be anything else. . . . So, now, Boston, it would appear that you and Miss Harper are going for a ride tomorrow. . . . And if it should turn out that a “proper Boston gentleman” is exactly what the young lady is looking for, well then, so much the better. >>
He emptied his glass and then waited a few minutes, just in case Teresa had any complaints to air. When the girl failed to appear, Scott went inside and headed to his room.
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“The mountainous region of the State of Maine stretches from near the White Mountains, Aroostook River. . . some hours only of travel in this direction will carry the curious to the verge of a primitive forest, more interesting, perhaps, on all accounts, than they would reach by going a thousand miles westward. “
Alone in his room, Scott stretched out on his bed with The Maine Woods, but hadn’t read more than a few paragraphs before he was thinking once more of his earlier interactions with his father and younger brother and the entire, strange, series of events which had brought them together.
Scott had come to respect Murdoch Lancer as a rancher, business man, organizer. He’d certainly built up the ranch and would by most any measure be termed a success. But as a man . . . The jury was still out. As a father, well, he simply wasn’t, in anything other than name. Not even that. Both he and Johnny called him “Murdoch”. Scott addressed him frequently as “sir”, though initially that had been a polite reflex rather than a mark of respect. Both he and Johnny had still attempted to be dutiful sons to Murdoch rather than insisting upon being treated fully as partners. The two brothers were very different, in their personalities, background, and what they needed from the man. It was quite clear that Murdoch Lancer had not the slightest inkling of how to be a father to either one of them.
More than anything, Scott was tired, ---weary of this unnatural and unbelievable situation. Three adult males, strangers, thrown together. Trying to somehow forge some sort of relationship-- a father-sons-siblings relationship--- despite their differences. All with the stipulation that this should be done while asking as few questions as possible and avoiding at all costs conversations about their respective pasts.
It was unreasonable. It was approaching ridiculous. Scott knew that. Yet he was no more likely to turn to Murdoch and say “tell me about my mother”, than he was to interrogate Johnny about his life as an orphan. Johnny appeared equally reluctant to broach such topics. For his part, Murdoch Lancer certainly did not seem compelled to offer any explanation for his failure to contact his older son for the first twenty four years of his life or to offer reasons as to why his second wife had taken their child and left him.
Of course, Scott himself had not, would not, reveal much of himself to Murdoch and Johnny. He’d said very little about his experiences during the war, his imprisonment at Libby, nothing about his childhood, and especially not a word about his feelings concerning his father. Why would he ever bare his soul to these strangers? He hadn’t shared those thoughts with anyone, not his grandfather, not Aunt Cee, not Julie Dennison, his former fiancee. <<That reminds me----she still hasn’t responded to my letters. I really should write to her one more time. >> On second thought, poor Julie had certainly heard, on more than one occasion, a recitation of how much Scott hated Murdoch Lancer.
Unlike Johnny, Scott had been fortunate to grow up with an attentive grandfather. But he’d still been an orphan. His mother was a woman with an eternally youthful face, in a portrait hanging in the front parlor. His father was a man somewhere in far-off California, who had apparently rejected his son without ever having laid eyes upon him.
True, Murdoch Lancer had finally sent for Scott---after he had served in the army as a cavalry officer and could therefore be expected to be of some use in helping to defend the Lancer ranch from land pirates. Murdoch knew nothing of Scott’s childhood, his interests, his travels, how he’d spent his summers up north . . . . Although his father seemed to be making an effort, now that he’d actually met the man, Scott was pretty certain that Murdoch Lancer was not the sort who would have been very much interested in a little blond city boy with good manners. . .
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Scott woke early the next morning, coming out of a dream in which he found himself standing once more in that back alley in Morro Coyo, facing Johnny Madrid. Being shot by his brother had obviously been a harrowing experience, even if Johnny had only done so in order to save Scott‘s life. It was fortunate that the ex-gunslinger was accurate enough to have inflicted only minimal damage. Strange, that in the dream sequences, Scott usually found himself standing in the street----because it was the memories of being a helpless prisoner that were the most painful to him in when he was in a waking state. Being given a gun loaded with one bullet had at least provided him the option of doing something. Being tied to that chair, with his brother---- his only source of help----- seemingly against him . . . thinking about that was . . . difficult.
Shaved and dressed for the day ahead, Scott appeared in the kitchen for breakfast as usual, ready to participate in the daily ritual of practicing his rudimentary Spanish with Maria. While Teresa was packing up a lunch for Scott’s excursion with Melissa Harper, the lady herself appeared. As the two younger women conversed, Scott idly stirred his coffee and wondered where Johnny was this morning.
Once underway, Scott and Melissa rode towards the northern end of the ranch. Initially somewhat reluctant to respond to Melissa’s efforts to engage him in conversation, Scott’s good breeding won out as he politely answered each of her questions. The young woman learned that Scott had attended Harvard and that he had served in the army during the War. He had studied piano as a boy and although it had been a very long time since he’d actually played, he was familiar with classical music. They discussed favorite pieces and Scott started to ask questions about Melissa’s musical studies at the institute in San Francisco.
Overall, Melissa Harper was very favorably impressed. Scott was older, more mature, than the young Bostonians with whom she had been paired by her father. He was clearly more adventurous than those Easterners, the proof being that he was living here in the West. He had traveled extensively and might be inclined to do so again. It occurred to Melissa that Scott Lancer was a man that even her father just might actually approve of . . . .
On his side, Scott was beginning to enjoy chatting with Melissa. She obviously had had the benefit of a more formal education than most of the local ladies had received. It was pleasant to have someone with whom he could reminisce about places back home. Scott had to admit that there were any number of topics of conversation which he would never even consider bringing up with most of the girls in town. He even recalled that one young woman had actually regarded him with deep suspicion when he’d tried to assist her with her seat. <<Perhaps she thought I was going to take it away . . >> Although it made him uncomfortable to hear the echo of Murdoch’s words, Scott had to admit that Melissa Harper actually was more like what he was “accustomed to” . . .
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. . . It was late afternoon and Johnny had completed, in record time, the chores which Murdoch had assigned to him, his goal, as ever, to save a few precious hours for himself. By now, he knew better than to return to the hacienda early-----if Murdoch were there, the Old Man would come up with just one or two more things for Johnny to do. He also didn’t especially want to be present when his brother returned from his day-long outing with Melissa Harper. So he settled into the newly replenished hayloft with the intention of catching a brief nap.
When Johnny woke from a light sleep, it was very warm in the loft, and he felt a little groggy. Then he heard Scott and Melissa in the stable below. Johnny swore softly to himself, but quickly decided not to reveal his presence, since he was uncertain of how long the couple had actually been there. It sounded as if Scott was unsaddling the horses; Johnny figured that it was Brunswick’s stall directly below him. His brother had certainly implied often enough that he had a way with the ladies: << Well, let’s just see if he‘s any wheres near as good as he thinks.>>
“Have you heard from your father lately?” Johnny heard Scott ask Melissa. Johnny relaxed, figuring he wouldn’t have to worry about overhearing anything too personal if the two were going to talk about that pompous fool Jim Harper. He grinned to himself as he thought << No wonder ol’Boston hasn’t gotten too far with the womenfolk ‘round here if that‘s what he picks to talk about. >>
“Yes,” Melissa responded reluctantly to Scott’s question. “He wants me to return to Boston.”
“That’s not surprising”, his brother responded in a neutral tone. “I’ve received numerous such invitations from my grandfather”. <<Well, why the hell don’t you just take him up on it? >> Johnny thought grumpily.
“I still feel as if I’d be buried alive there,” Melissa said with some emotion. “And my father will immediately want to marry me off to someone from the “right” family.”
That sounded a familiar to Johnny; Melissa had voiced those concerns during their first encounter. He’d been touched by the young woman’s expressed desires to be free to “love the man that I love“ and to raise her children “to breathe the fresh air of the whole outdoors”.
“Well, Melissa, “ Scott said with an arch look and neutral tone, “you seem to be a woman who knows her own mind . . . I do believe that your father is beginning to understand that. Otherwise he wouldn’t have allowed you to stay in San Francisco. And when the time is right for you to return home, I’m certain you’ll be the first to recognize it.” Johnny smiled at that. <<Pretty speech, Boston-----you sound like you should be HER big brother. >>
“I guess . .” responded Melissa doubtfully. Johnny could hear her strolling around the space.
Scott introduced another topic of conversation. “It appears that your father knew Murdoch, when he first arrived from Scotland.”
“Did he?”
“I also understand that your father knew my mother in Boston. . . Her name was Garrett, Catherine Garrett.”
Melissa’s footsteps stopped. Down below, the girl turned to face Scott, and, with her hands still clasped behind her back, she looked up at him. “Daddy’s never spoken to me about either of your parents, Scott. I wasn’t even aware that he knew anyone out here, not until you came searching for me at the mining camp. “
In the loft above, Johnny was struck by the fact that he had never, until now, known Scott’s mother’s name. The very few times that she’d been mentioned, it had been as “Scott’s mother”. Of course he’d snuck a peek once or twice at that small portrait on Murdoch’s desk. Boston sure did favor the woman. <<Catherine, huh? >>
While Johnny was thinking about this, he missed the next thing that Melissa said to his brother---as in the stable below, Melissa focused her most winning smile on Scott--”And I don’t believe that I’ve ever properly thanked you for rescuing me!!”
But Johnny did catch Scott’s response: “And what would you consider a “proper” thank you, Miss Harper?”
“Since you seem to be a very serious man, I’ll have to give that some very serious thought, Mr. Lancer.” << Its back to Miss Harper and Mr. Lancer, better ’n better>> observed Johnny. Melissa slowly walked towards Scott. Stopping in front of him, she slowly-----and seriously-----placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him towards her. Scott’s arms went smoothly around her and the kiss was long, lingering -----and completely silent. Then Johnny heard Melissa’s lilting laugh in response to Scott’s “I must say, Miss Harper, that I do like the way you think,” as she moved to the other side of the barn.
Now there was only the sound of Scott handling the horses. Johnny could picture his brother methodically hanging up the tack, placing everything just so. The man was meticulous. He didn’t know that Melissa Harper was sitting on a bale of hay watching Scott work, appreciating the view from behind as he moved efficiently about the space. She smiled each time he glanced in her direction. She liked the way that his eyes smiled at her, even when the lips did not. And she’d certainly enjoyed those lips . . .
His hand resting on Brunswick’s back, Scott turned to Melissa once more, and now those eyes----and lips---- were not smiling as he prepared to pose another question. Scott looked so very serious. She wondered what he was about to say, as he first looked down at the ground, as if gathering his thoughts, then finally addressed her: “Melissa, do you recall Murdoch saying that the last time he had seen you, you must have been 'all of three'?”
“Oh, yes,” she smiled, “And he said that Daddy claimed I was reading articles from the Boston Herald! I do remember your father saying that to me because I was so surprised. You see, Daddy doesn’t have a great many friends and I’d never heard him mention your father before.”
Johnny wasn’t at all surprised to hear that Jim Harper didn’t have many friends. Come to think of it, neither did Scott---must be a Boston thing.
“Well, I was wondering. . . Did your family do much traveling when you were younger?”
“Not really, why?”
“It had occurred to me that perhaps you’d come out here to California.”
“You think that I may have been here before? Oh, I really don’t think so . . . But I’ll ask Daddy.“
“Perhaps your family met Murdoch in some other city, St. Louis, Chicago . . ."
Johnny didn’t see why it mattered one bit where Melissa had been when she was three years old. The important thing was that she was here now. Not that he much minded it if the College Boy wasn’t able to figure that one out.
Melissa shook her head emphatically, setting her long hair in motion. “No, Scott, I really doubt that. . . Why, as far as I know, coming out here to be with Aunt Kate was the first time that I’ve ever been very far from Boston at all . . . I’m sure that your father must have come to see us while he was there.”
She smiled up at him, swinging her legs a bit. “So Mr. Lancer, when I was 'all of three', how old were you?”
Scott had turned his attention back to Brunswick once more. “I would have been about eight.”
Melissa got up and strolled toward Brunswick’s stall. “And you were raised by your mother’s family . . It must have been difficult for your father to leave this great big ranch and travel all that ways to see you . . . you must have been so excited when he came to visit.” <<What an adorable child, you must have been Mr. Scott Lancer, to grow up to be such a handsome man. >>
Johnny heard Scott’s quiet response, directly below him: “As far as I know Murdoch hasn’t been back to Boston since he and my mother left.“
Johnny considered this---it certainly confirmed his impression that Murdoch had far less knowledge of Scott than he’d had of Johnny himself. He was kind of surprised that Scott had shared this information with Melissa.
For her part, Melissa Harper found this information to be quite disconcerting. A father who never visited his son?? Definitely a sharp contrast to her own doting, often suffocating parent. She smiled again, but this time it was with sympathy. “It must have been so difficult--- trying to keep in touch through letters.”
Lying in the hay, Johnny willed his brother to make some response to that comment, but instead, after a short pause, Scott deftly changed the subject. “And speaking of letters, I have a few to write before dinner. Let me take you inside and we’ll find Teresa.” Melissa and Scott exited the barn.
Johnny thought about this, and swore to himself again. “Not one visit.“ He was pretty sure that there wouldn’t have been any letters either. Scott had told Johnny that he’d read Murdoch’s Pinkerton files on Johnny Madrid; it had been his new older brother who had assured him that “off and on,“ Murdoch had been searching for Johnny and his mother. But Murdoch Lancer had known where Scott was all the time. Seemed like he just hadn’t done anything about it.
Why hadn’t Scott just asked Murdoch these questions?? Well, Johnny knew the answer to that one----he hadn’t asked Murdoch anything about his own history for the same reasons. It was embarrassin’--made you feel like a little kid again, whinin’ for your daddy. And the Old Man probably wouldn’t give ya an answer, anyway. Johnny wondered, not for the first time, why Scott had even bothered to come to California at all, and why he had decided to stay.
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Not in any hurry to be seen leaving the barn so soon after his brother and Melissa had exited, Johnny chewed thoughtfully on a piece of straw. Even though he and Scott had been at Lancer for a while now, there still were plenty of unanswered questions . . . .
Despite Scott’s insistence that “Of course I’m staying," Johnny had had grave doubts that the serious Easterner would really last very long on the ranch. Sure, Scott could ride and he could shoot, and once he’d stopped wearing those fancy clothes and dressed like everybody else, you couldn’t tell by looking at him that he didn’t belong out West. Fortunately, Scott didn’t talk all that much, because every time he opened his mouth, his words and manner of speaking pretty much gave him away. His brother certainly hadn’t known the first thing about ranching, and part owner or not, some of the hands had been rather merciless in their assessment of the “greenhorn.”
The vaqueros who had witnessed Scott’s feat of jumping the just broken Barranca over fences and carts continued to tell stories about it for some time; those who had been scattered by the blond equestrian being good naturedly ribbed by their friends. The other, newer, hands were skeptical that the reserved Bostonian was really so skilled.
In fact, some of the wranglers had taken to watching Scott as their chief form of entertainment. Much as Johnny had, they expected someone from back East to be an “uppity” snob and viewed anyone who hailed from a city as “soft“. They would not be easily convinced otherwise. So, Boss’s son or not, these men were greatly amused to see Scott fail. Each error was duly noted and mockingly commented upon; they were clearly disappointed when he was successful. Of course, Johnny recalled, that hadn’t been all that often, not at first. But sometimes, his brother had had a little “help” . . . the wrong kind of help.
One day, Scott had saddled Brunswick and left him near the corral. When he returned and mounted, the horse had started bucking, white ankles flashing in the air as the horse reared up on its hindquarters. Scott had fought hard to hang on, but eventually had been unceremoniously dumped, landing hard on his backside. Cipriano had hurried to help him up, while Jose and Miguel tried in vain to contain the animal. Johnny had been standing with a cluster of men and had watched the events unfold from a distance. A couple of the cowboys hooted and one commented mockingly on his brother’s disheveled appearance as Scott stood slapping the dust from his black pants--”He don’t look so proper now!” His hat left lying neglected on the ground, hair and jacket in disarray, Scott stepped towards the still frantic horse. “Whoa . . Whoa . .” he murmured, his expression intense as he slowly approached Brunswick, gloved right hand upraised. The animal settled and finally Scott grasped the reins with his left hand, turned and led his horse towards the fence. He accepted his hat from Cipriano with a word of thanks. Uncinching the saddle, in one swift motion he gripped it, lifted it off of Brunswick’s back and hoisted it onto the top rail of the fence. Reaching under the saddle blanket, Scott finally located the offending object and pocketed it. Then with deliberate motions he replaced the saddle and slowly walked Brunswick around the enclosure a few times. Johnny had noted that his brother was moving very, very carefully; he’d landed pretty hard. << Gonna feel that tomorrow>>, Johnny had thought. He also registered that Scott did not once glance in the direction of any of the groups of observers. When Scott finally passed by, Johnny queried him with a friendly “Boston, you okay?” Tom Harvey had snorted at the label and the others grinned. Johnny realized belatedly that the use of the nickname had been a mistake. Scott looked at him without expression. “I’ll be all right,” was all he’d said.
That evening Johnny and some of his drinking buddies had headed off to town. Scott had said that he wasn’t interested; a good thing since Harvey and a few of his cronies had continued to have some big laughs about Scott landing in the dust. Although from the first, Scott had been willing to pitch in and work side by side with anyone, there was still a sizeable distance between his older brother and the men who worked on the ranch. There was just something about Scott that set him apart, made him seem like a “boss” even when he was the one asking how to do something. Quietly confident-----a natural born leader. But real self contained------ that made Scott pretty hard to get to know. Rather than make that kind of an effort, most of the men wouldn’t bother to try.
So Scott didn’t really have any friends. But it for sure wasn’t for the same reasons that Jim Harper didn’t have any, even if the two men were both from the same city. Well, on second thought, Scott had had one friend---- big Josh from the hill country. But it had been a pretty unequal relationship right from the start. Josh was big, strong, gentle---- and illiterate. Scott had worked with him patiently, night after night; Johnny‘d listened in a few times. Turned out that Scott was a natural born teacher too. Johnny figured he‘d be a heck of a better reader himself if he‘d had someone like Scott to teach him. And Josh, well, he’d thought the sun rose and set on Scott Lancer, though it’d been pretty easy to see that that attitude made Scott kind of uncomfortable. Made him feel obligated too-----like he had to be always looking out for Josh. And Josh was one of those people that just seemed to need looking after. Some of the hands had picked up on it, of course, calling Josh “Scott’s dog” or “mule” or other things, though never to the big man’s face.
One day, Johnny and Scott had been out with a crew clearing stumps from a field. Tom Harvey and Jake Mullen, another brainless drifter, both of them long since gone, had come up with what they figured would be a fine afternoon’s entertainment. They had hollowed out a stick of dynamite, lit the fuse, yelled “look out!” and tossed it at his brother’s feet. As Johnny started towards Scott, intending to pull him out of harm‘s way, big Josh had flung himself right on top of the explosive. The only “explosion” had been one of laughter, first from Harvey and Mullen and the others who had been in on the joke, then spreading through the rest of the crew as they realized that Scott had not been in danger and that Josh was lying there with his eyes closed and face tensed all for nothing.
Scott had crouched down beside the man, spoken to him so quietly that no one else could make out what he’d said, then helped him to his feet. The others continued to snicker as his brother led the big man away from the group. Johnny watched from a distance as Josh stood with his head bowed and Scott spoke to him with some intensity. As Josh headed off towards the bunkhouse, Johnny strolled towards Scott, carrying the “stick of dynamite“.
“It’s hollow,” he’d informed his brother. At first, Scott merely nodded at him, his face an impassive mask. Then he looked at Johnny appraisingly, not entirely certain whether the younger man would answer the question: “Harvey and Mullen?”
“You got that right.” Then Johnny looked at Scott, head tilted sideways: “You know, Boston, maybe you should just blow up----at them.”
“What would that prove?” his older brother asked him quietly.
“Maybe nothin’. Maybe make you feel better.”
“I doubt that.”
Johnny looked at the “explosive” in his hand, then eyed his brother speculatively: “You know, you kinda remind me of a stick of dynamite.”
Scott had started methodically removing the glove from the fingers of his right hand, but at that comment, he looked at Johnny sharply. “I’m hollow?” he asked in a “did I understand you correctly?” tone of voice.
“No,” responded Johnny, momentarily confused by that response. Then he looked down at the stick in his hand. “I mean a real one.” He looked at Scott with narrowed eyes as he continued his analysis. “You do a damn fine job of making sure that the fuse ain’t lit. But I’m thinkin’ one of these days its gonna get away from you.”
“And I’ll explode?” Scott asked carefully, looking down and working on the left glove now.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
Scott looked up again, meeting Johnny’s eyes. “I wouldn’t count on it, if I were you.”
Johnny stood idly tossing the fake stick of dynamite from one hand to the other and watched as his brother walked away. <<Maybe I won’t. Sure would like to be there to see it, if it happens though . . . Guess I wouldn’t be too anxious to be the target.>>
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