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CHAPTER ONE The desolation of the Kansas badlands was obvious, and one reason Johnny Lancer didn't like coming to this part of the state; plus the fact it was a bit too close to Dodge City, a place devoid of happy memories for the ex gunfighter. When Murdoch had requested his younger son take the trip to inspect some bulls and one particular stallion, the only reason Johnny grudgingly went was because the ranch in question was well south of Dodge. True, he still had to pass through the dreaded city and skirt the badlands - a dry, unfriendly place thick with Indian unrest - but Johnny's interest in the stallion negated those concerns. And his father knew that, much to the young Lancer’s chagrin. When did Johnny Madrid become predictable? He thought to himself, smiling. Probably at the same time I became part of a family. Comforted with the thought he pulled his hat low over his eyes. It was a good feeling. And the stallion had been magnificent; the trip had been worth it after all. Arrangements were made to ship a bull and the stallion by the end of September, and all Johnny had to do now was wait for the coach ride to Dodge City, where he would catch the train home to California. This was a sparsely populated area due to the harshness of the land and the unpredictable Comanche - the two day coach ride would be hard. The trip down here was one he wouldn't forget too soon. He'd heard this small collection of buildings - the coach office, a mercantile, a tiny saloon and a livery, set on Kansas’ western edge of civilization - had been burned down and rebuilt twice in the past three years. He had to admit, these people were tough if not resilient and determined. When Johnny heard the arrival of the coach and stepped from the office, the first thing he noticed was how heavily armed the driver was. The second thing he noticed was that no one asked him to turn over his sidearm. Johnny Lancer’s eyebrow rose curiously as he contemplated these things on his walk from the lonely office building to mount the coach. The driver looked edgy. Johnny’s curiosity became overpowering, and he sauntered over to the driver and squinted up at him. “Expectin’ trouble?” he asked quietly, not wanting the other passengers to overhear. The driver’s eyes flicked in his direction. “Been some trouble with the Comanche at the nearby ranches. Just not takin’ any chances.” Johnny nodded. “Good to know. Want me to ride up top?” “Nah, I think we’ll be all right. It’s been quiet for the last couple a days.” The driver shifted stiffly. “Maybe after the noon stop? That’s when we cross a section of the badlands.” “Noon it is.” Johnny tapped the coach with a knuckle and headed for the door. He was the last one to board, glad they weren’t uncomfortably packed in. On one bench was a woman and a pale young boy Johnny estimated to be around five years old. A wiry, mustached man dressed like a rancher shared the second seat with Johnny. Johnny greeted the man and tipped his hat and smiled at the woman. “Looks like there’s room to stretch out. I’m Johnny. Johnny Lancer.” "My name is Lise Sullivan and this is my son Mark.” She weakly returned the smile. “Yes, it’s about as comfortable as it can get, isn’t it? Nice to meet you.” The rancher, Stanley Beeker, grumbled his name then turned his full attention out the small window as the stage lurched forward. Mark leaned against his mother, his eyes bright and active beneath his long, blond bangs. He studied Johnny with interest. “Are you a vak . . . vakero?” he asked, stumbling over the word. “Vaquero?” Johnny corrected, laying the Mexican accent purposefully thick. “Well, no. I’m a rancher from California.’ The boy frowned. “You don’t dress like no rancher.” “Mark!” his mother chastised. “That was rude!” Johnny laughed. “It’s alright, Mrs. Sullivan. He’s right.” He turned to the boy now cuddled, embarrassed, tightly against his mother’s side. “I was raised in Mexico, but have lived in California for over two years now.” He fingered the lapel of the embroidered bolero jacket. “I still dress like they do in Mexico. It does look different, doesn’t it?” The boy nodded shyly, but Johnny could see more questions in the boy’s eyes. “Mark reads a lot,” the woman explained. “He hasn’t seen a lot of folks outside of our farm, I’m afraid.” “So you live around here?” Johnny tilted his head toward the window, directing the question to Mark. “No,” the boy said quietly. His eyes darted to Johnny’s gun, his curiosity obviously piqued. “Our farm’s just outside of Well’s Crossing. It’s south of the river.” “That's about two days south, right? Well, you’ve come a long way already, haven’t you?” Johnny’s curiosity was also piqued as he wondered why this tired looking woman and boy were traveling unescorted in such rough territory. Beeker had arrived at the coach station well after Johnny and the woman, and hadn’t uttered a word to anyone at the station apart from the station master. Mark nodded. “We’re goin’ to Boston.” “Boston? Really? My brother’s from Boston. He says it’s a nice place.” The boy looked skeptical. “You’re not from Boston.” It was more of a statement than a question. “No, no, I’m not. My brother and I weren’t raised together. You have a brother?” “Yup. One older 'n me and an older sister. They’re at home.” “You miss 'em?” Johnny was having trouble figuring this pair out. They did not belong out here. He nodded. “Yeah. A little.” His mother gave him a quick hug and a reassuring smile. Johnny didn’t miss the flash of sadness in her eyes. “I miss my family, too. I’m going home now.” Johnny stretched his legs. “So tell me, Mark, what kind of books do ya read? My brother reads poetry.” Mark wrinkled his nose at that comment, and his mother let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I agree!” Johnny chuckled and reached over to playfully slap the boy’s knee. As he leaned forward, he noticed numerous bruises on the boy’s inner arms. Mark didn’t notice Johnny’s surprised look and began to tell Johnny all about the book on the Alamo he’d just read. Johnny’s eyes shot to the woman. She had a small, haunted smile on her face as she watched her son speak. She seemed to be taking in every detail of the boy’s face as he talked, and Johnny doubted she heard any of Mark’s words; Lise Sullivan’s thoughts were a million miles away. Johnny could see a disturbing mixture of fear, weariness and hope in her hazel eyes and he began to wonder what she was running from – or to. Johnny realized he’d been asked a question, and he turned his attention to the boy. “What?” Mark sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “I said, have you ever seen Mexican soldiers?” Chuckling, Johnny settled back into the hard seat. “Oh, sure. More than I care to admit. I used to be one. How old are you, anyway? You seem to know a lot of things.” “I’m eight. I’ll be nine next month.” Johnny was surprised; the boy looked much younger. “Well, happy birthday a little early. You’ve never been out of Well’s Crossing?” “No. I don’t leave the house much. Mama’s afraid I’ll get hurt.” “Well, it’s a mama’s job to worry.” As Johnny and Mark chatted amiably about Mexico and the war, the woman took the opportunity to rest. She’d folded her shawl and used it as a pillow against the coach frame. Johnny could see the tiny veins in her eyelids when she closed her eyes, adding an overall impression of frailty and weariness. Johnny wondered not so much where they were going, but why. Johnny regaled Mark with stories of the trail and ranching in California and Mexico that were somewhat embellished, and the boy absorbed it all in wide eyed wonder. Even his mother, finally looking a little rested, and the rancher chuckled occasionally at the fabrications. Mrs. Sullivan looked much more relaxed with a little laughter, and watched her son interact with Johnny with loving eyes. Mark started running out of steam shortly before the noon stop and fell asleep. They had been traveling over three hours and everyone was anxious for the break and an opportunity to move around a bit. When the coach started to slow up, Johnny glanced out the window and frowned. “Something wrong, Mr. Lancer?” Beeker asked, reading Johnny’s expression. “I don’t see why we’re stopping. There’s no buildings.” The ex gunfighter was immediately on guard as the driver called to the team of horses to stop. “Stay here,” he ordered the mother who cradled her sleeping son. He quickly and silently slipped from the coach. He scanned the area as soon as his feet hit the ground, his hand automatically falling to rest on his weapon. “What’s the problem?” he asked quietly of the driver. The driver was chewing his lip and looking ahead. “Something’s not right,” he replied. The road ahead dropped steadily and curved to the north, leaving a flat, wide valley for open plain. Far ahead, where the curve of the road straightened out, Johnny could see a small stand of trees, corrals, and a building. “There’s usually smoke from the chimney and I don’t see any horses. There’s supposed to be a replacement team there.” The driver’s voice was flat and quiet. They studied the station for a long minute. “There’s no movement at all,” Johnny said lowly, fingering the butt of his gun. “When were you by here last?” “Four days ago. I come through here twice a week.” The driver caught Johnny’s eyes. “My cousin runs the place.” “I’ll ride up with you. Let me tell the others.” Immediately, Johnny’s worries were for the woman and the boy, and again he wondered what pressed the woman to take such a dangerous journey with a small boy. He poked his head in the stage door and smiled. “I’m ridin’ up with the driver for a bit.” “Can I?” Mark asked, now awake and instantly sitting up straight. “Not this time,” Johnny chuckled. “But I’ll see what I can do. You folks just hang on, all right?” He could tell by the tense set of the adults’ shoulders that they knew something was up. Mrs. Sullivan gathered Mark up in her arms and tried to sound cheery. “Hey, this means we’ll get to get out for a bit. You hungry?” Mark was not doing a very good job of hiding his disappointment at having to stay in the coach. “I guess,” he sighed. Johnny nodded an acknowledgement and climbed up next to the driver. “Grab the rifle, there.” The driver indicated the weapon at his feet with a nod of his head. His hands were full with the restless team of horses. The animals seemed to feel his nervousness. Johnny checked the weapon. “Let’s go,” he said lowly. "Indians haven't been a real problem for awhile. Seems there's a small band of Comanche boys that want to get back at the settlers in the area. The railroad scares 'em, I think, and now they're fightin' back. Usin' hit and run tactics. Not the raids and sieges they've done in the past." Chatter seemed to calm the driver's nerves, so Johnny simply nodded acknowledgement and kept his eyes open. The driver relaxed the reins and the horses moved off with little urging. He kept them at a trot, saving a little of their energy and giving the pair of men time to study the area as they approached. At first, nothing seemed to be wrong. As they got closer, however, Johnny pointed out the corral gates lying on the ground. “They’re broken from the hinges,” he noted in an icy calm voice. Next, they noticed the shattered windows to the building and the heavy scent of something burned. “Oh, Louis,” the driver whispered fearfully. “Louis and Carolyn are my cousin and his wife.” He swallowed hard. Johnny’s eyes scanned constantly, and he was confident they weren’t being set up for an ambush. Instead of pulling into the yard area, he had the driver pull up on the roadway that passed in front of the house, just short of the yard entry gate. Johnny patted the driver’s arm reassuringly. “Hold here. I’ll check it out.” The horses danced nervously in place as Johnny jumped down. With the rifle at his hip, he walked through the entryway. The yard gate was lying aside in the dirt, and as soon as Johnny passed it he could see the back of the building. The sight of two bloody bodies made his heart pound faster, but he kept his outer cool and kept on. When he got closer, he saw they were two men that had been thoroughly knifed. Part of the house was scorched in an unsuccessful attempt to burn it down. That wasn’t the case with the barn; it was a pile of blackened timber beyond the stand of trees. Johnny sidestepped to the building and skirted around the bodies on the porch. He carefully entered the building and checked every room. The house had been completely ransacked, and most of the furniture broken and torn apart. There were no other bodies; Johnny knew Carolyn wouldn’t be found here. He found a pair of tattered blankets and threw them over the bodies and then quickly checked the rest of the compound. Satisfied they were alone, Johnny waved to the driver, who then pulled through the gate and stopped. “I’ll water the horses,” Johnny said, taking the reins of the lead horse. “See if that’s your cousin. They’ll need to be buried. There’s no woman here.” The driver’s eyes were shiny with shock as he accepted the shotgun Johnny offered. The coach door opened and the banker stuck his head out. “Can we come out now?” Johnny nodded, and the man was immediately followed by Mark and his mother. The woman looked scared, and she held Mark’s hand firmly. She found Johnny with her eyes as Beeker moved off to help the driver. “You want to help me water the horses, Mark?” Johnny was already unhitching the horses to give them a much needed rest. Now that they had to take the group the rest of the way, Johnny wanted to be sure they had a little time to recover. Mrs. Sullivan gave him a grateful smile and they followed Johnny to the watering trough. Mark led the smallest horse with his mother’s help, insistent he could manage on his own. The woman stopped fussing and let the boy handle the horse, worry creasing her forehead. “Don’t let ‘em drink too much. They’re pretty hot,” Johnny cautioned. “Maybe you and Mark should go sit in the shade, Mrs. Sullivan.” “Please, call me Lise.” She glanced warily at the charred building, then at the pair of men digging graves in what was a small vegetable garden. “I . . . I think we’d rather stay with you, if you don’t mind.” Her weak smile was a small indication of the fear Johnny saw in her eyes. “Okay, but we do need to eat something. It may be awhile before we get another chance.” Lise glanced back at the bodies. “When they . . . clear the porch, I’ll see what’s left behind.” Johnny tied the horses in the shade while Mark found something interesting in the exposed roots of a gnarled tree. Lise, with a glance that confirmed that Mark was out of range, approached Johnny and lay a trembling hand on his forearm. “I really need to get Mark to Dodge City. It’s important that we catch the train. Do you think we’ll make it?” Her voice was full of desperation, and at that moment, all Johnny wanted to tell her was that everything would be all right. But he knew better. They were in dire straights, and he knew it. Johnny hesitated a moment, trying to decide the best way to tell her. Again, he wondered what drove her to bring such a frail boy into these elements. “Lise.” He gently took her elbows as he spoke to her. He could feel her trembling. “I’d like to say yes, but I can’t. We’re in dangerous country with spent horses. If we continue on, we’ll be caught by darkness because we can’t push the horses. On the other hand, we can’t stay here, either. I don’t know what we’ll end up doing, but I can tell you that we are going to be late getting to Dodge City.”
When the horses were watered, Johnny secured the animals in a shady spot and put Mark in charge of watching them. Then he helped the driver and Beeker bury the two dead men. The driver - Davis - was obviously concerned about the whereabouts of Carolyn, his sister-in-law. "Comanche are known to take white women and make them like servants," he said flatly as they worked. "I almost hope we find her dead instead." "If they took her into the badlands, your wish may come true," Beeker said lowly. Davis fashioned two crude crosses, and everyone gathered to say a prayer. Mark leaned tiredly against his mother's side during the short service. "I've put together a small meal," Lise said quietly when the prayers were done. "There wasn't much." "Comanche looted everything," Davis mumbled, still shaken. "We'll leave as soon as we eat." Johnny stayed in the background and observed his traveling companions with an appraising eye during their stop. He'd been in the badlands and knew what it was like. What he didn't know was the constitution of these people he may have to depend on for his life. He didn't like the odds so far, and hoped the rest of the trip would be uneventful. Davis was on the edge emotionally and revenge against the Comanche was quite a possibility. Beeker seemed to be more concerned about his own safety and Johnny wouldn't put it past him to bolt if it came to a fight. Then there were Lise and Mark; Johnny still couldn't believe they were even here. As they readied the horses to continue onward, Johnny said a silent prayer for an uneventful trip. CHAPTER TWO Davis didn't push the horses and they ended up stopping right after sunset. "We normally would have been at the next station by now," he said as he unhitched the team. "I'd say we have about ten more miles to go, and the bay is startin' to favor his off foreleg. I'm gonna have to take it real easy on him tomorrow or we'll be in a bad way. They should notice we're late, but no one's gonna look for us until at least tomorrow afternoon." "Guess we need to stop for the night," Beeker said, clearly annoyed. Johnny scouted the area and found a secluded spot for a small fire while Beeker and Lise set up a campsite. Johnny found he had a shadow as he checked the area. "You seen a rattler before, Mark?" he asked with a teasing glint in his eye. "Aw, sure, Mr. Lancer. Tons." Johnny gave him an amused, skeptical look and Mark began to kick a small rock with his toe. "Well, I've seen 'em dead. Like I told ya, I don't get out a lot." "Well, that's okay, because ya don't really want to meet 'em out here." The ex gunfighter checked the rocks around the campsite. "Usually they just want to get away, but when you're sleepin', well, ya don't really want one in your bedroll." "They'll really crawl in your bedroll?" he asked, wide-eyed. "You think I'll see one?" Johnny smiled. He had to admit, the boy sure didn't scare easy. "Nah, I think we're all right here. Haven't seen any scorpions, either." "Scorpions? Really?" Mark eagerly began looking around the rocks. "I read about them. They crawl in your boots." "That they do," Johnny said as he threw a blanket on the ground. "Just be sure to check your shoes before you put 'em on in the mornin'." "Mark?" Lise's voice called from the other side of the fire. "I want you to rest a bit before we eat. Get your bag from the coach." "All right, ma." He looked at Johnny with bright eyes. "Come with me?" "Sure. Gotta get some more bedrolls down anyway." Davis prowled around the edge of the campsite with the rifle, tense and ready to shoot at his own shadow. Johnny hoped he didn't accidentally shoot one of the horses, and decided to try and keep Mark's attention away from the nervous driver so the boy wouldn't become scared. Although he sure don't seem scared of anything, he thought with a smile. Johnny hauled an armful of bedrolls while Mark hauled a bag that seemed to be heavier than it should. When Johnny threw down a blanket near the fire for the boy, he saw why the bag was so heavy - it was loaded with several small books. Johnny sat down next to Mark and indicated the load with a nod of his head. "You read all of those?" Even though Mark's eye's looked like hollows lined in black against his pale face, his enthusiasm for the books lit his eyes in a way that made him look less tired. With a huge smile, the boy handed Johnny one of the books with the title Southwest Stories embossed on a cracked leather cover. "My ma calls 'em 'penny dead fulls' but I like 'em fine." Mark dug deeper into the bag and pulled out another volume. " 'Penny dead fulls' huh?" Johnny kept the laugh at bay and reached for the second book. His brow raised in surprise at the title. Border Tales of Johnny Madrid. "That's my fav'rite," Mark said absently, pulling two more from the bag. "If ma knew I had these, she'd probably have a conniption." He showed Johnny Bat Masterson Stories and Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday. "But I hide 'em behind pages of the books she wants me to read." The two books that obviously fell into that category were shoved aside and ignored. Johnny didn't hold back the short laugh this time as he quickly thumbed through the tome bearing his name. "Why d'ya like these?" Mark's eyes grew wide. "Oh, they’re full of adventures! The places they go and the things they do! I've never been outta Well's Crossing." He picked the book from Johnny's grip. "See? It talks here about Mexico City and San Diego and Nogales. They sound so far away." He began to read. "'Madrid's eyes pierced his opponent before his bullets. The icy blueness cut deep into Suarez's soul and he felt the chill of doom invade his heart. Doubt raised its ugly head, instant death to a gun fighter. His hand twitched a hair’s breath before he tried to clear leather and Madrid cut him down in. . ' " "Gimme that!" Johnny snapped, snatching the book from the boy. "Who the heck is Suarez?" He flipped the pages. "I never heard a him. . . ." "Suarez was the scurge of Tecate! Men feared him and women and children cowed at his . . . his pr . . prow. . ." Johnny picked up the thread from the book's introduction. " '. . . his prowess for evil.' Who writes this stuff?" He searched the cover. "Ain't they great? I knew you'd like 'em!" Mark said excitedly. "Looky here . . ." he reached for the book but froze at his mother's call. "Mark! You're supposed to be resting!" Quickly the boy stuffed the books in the bag and threw Johnny a wide eyed look of fear as he scrambled. "Ah, it's my fault, m'am." Johnny looked at her, his body hiding Mark's frantic movements. He gave her his winningest smile. "We were lookin' at this book about the, uh . . ." "Alamo!" Mark whispered. "The Alamo! Very interesting." Two sets of innocent eyes turned to the woman standing with her hands on her hips. She looked skeptical. "That's very nice of you, Mr. Lancer, but Mark does need his rest." Johnny rose to his knees and ruffled Mark's hair affectionately. "Yeah, partner, you do need rest before continuing on this adventure." Mark's eyes followed him with a dawning look of realization. "Guess I am havin' an adventure, huh?" He settled down on the blanket with a happy expression. "I'd say so." Johnny stood and brushed off his pants. "See ya later, kid." Lise fell in beside him as they walked to the fire. "He loves those horrible books," she said with a short laugh. "So you know about 'em, huh?" Johnny's eyes glittered in the firelight as he grinned. "He's a good kid, though." "Yeah," she sighed. "He is." Beeker and Davis squatted by the fire starting coffee and heating some beans for their meal. Lise veered away from the fire to watch the stars emerge from the thinning silver clouds. "He's aching for adventure, all right. I just hope . . ." her voice hitched and she hugged herself tighter as she watched the sky. "What's wrong with him, Lise?" Johnny asked quietly. "I saw the bruising and he tires pretty quick." It took her a moment to speak. When she did, her voice was pitched so it wouldn't carry. "The doc in town doesn't know, but he does know that there ain't much hope for him in Well's Crossing. He said some docs in Boston may be able to help. It's like he’s withering away." Her voice caught again, and she covered her mouth with a hand. Her eyes became shiny as she stared at the heavens as if looking for an answer. With her tears under control, she continued. "He was normal until he was almost six. Then he began to lose weight. The doc says there's probably something wrong with his blood. There's a hospital in Boston that knows more about it. That's where we're headed." Johnny rocked on the balls of his feet and stared at his toes as he listened to the anguish in Lise's voice. To watch your child simply wither away before your eyes without knowing why; he put a sympathetic arm around her shoulder, and she quickly wiped the gathering tears from her eyes. "As soon as we heard about the train coming through Dodge, we started to put away money. We've saved for over a year. There's only enough for Mark and me. It was so hard leaving Len and Krista and Billy. We have to make it to the train, Johnny. If we miss it, we can't wait for the next one. Mark doesn't have the time and we don't have the money." She turned her distraught eyes to meet his. "We have to make it to Dodge on time." He gave her a quick hug. "He'll be on that train, Lise. I'll see to it." Lise gave him a tired smile, thanks in her eyes. "Let's go see if those two can cook," she said lightly. Johnny laughed and they returned to the fire.
Johnny elected to stand third watch that night. Their campsite was away from the road and on enough of a rise to see anyone approaching. There was a pair of boulders large enough to obscure the horses’ outlines. It was a near full moon and the territory that surrounded them was awash with enough light to see clearly for miles. They kept the horses close to them, but the coach was left alongside the road and quite visible. Davis was nervous about the coach being away from the campsite, but realized it did stick out like a sore thumb out here. They all hoped that any roaming Comanche would consider it abandoned. Mark was enthralled with the whole situation, and Johnny was glad. He didn't want the boy to be afraid. "Does he know how sick he really is?" Johnny asked Lise as they watched Mark set his bedroll as close to his new friend's as possible. Lise sighed. "We haven't told him directly, but somehow, I think he knows. I think that's why he shows no fear. He's already facing death." Her voice caught on the last words as she pressed her knuckle to her lips. She finished in a whisper. "He hasn't had a normal childhood for the past few years. I hope we can still give him that." Johnny bowed his head and pursed his lips as he resolved to do what he could to give the boy a chance. "Well, ma'm, we'll do our best, won't we?" She nodded, and turned to make her own bed. Johnny joined Mark by the dying fire. "We ain't gonna keep the fire going all night?" Mark asked, adjusting his blanket. "Too dangerous. It can be seen too easily." "Oh. Didn't think of that. I've never camped out before." Lack of a campfire didn't seem to dampen his spirits. "I feel like a real cowboy!" Johnny had to smile as the boy settled down. His eyes, although bright with excitement, were still surrounded by deep shadows of weariness or pain. Johnny couldn't figure which, and at that moment realized that this boy probably didn't distinguish between the two. He'd lived with this for a long time now. Lying next to Mark, they studied the stars together and listened to the sounds of the night. Johnny quietly named off each of the animals he heard and told the boy a little story about each one. It wasn't long until even breathing told him that his audience was asleep. Johnny heard Lise and Beeker settle down, and waited until the fire was just an undulating orange glow within the circle of rocks before he allowed himself to relax. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep before being jerked awake by the sounds of cursing and stumbling feet. Instantly, he was on his feet and crouched in a ready position, Colt in hand. "Damn Indians!" he heard Beeker hiss. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lise move quickly to Mark's side and pull him in close. The boy mumbled sleepily, still half asleep. Johnny moved like a shadow to Beeker's side where they overlooked the road. A tower of flame marked the location of the coach. "I saw two riders runnin' from the fire," Beeker said quietly. "I think they were scouts." "Where's Davis?" Johnny snapped. "I spelled him a couple of hours ago, but he didn't seem to be able to sleep. I think he went to guard the coach." Johnny's eyes were burning with anger when he turned them on Beeker. "You let him go?" "Hey, I couldn't stop him," the rancher shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? Tie him up?" "Stay low and quiet," Johnny barked. "I'm checking on Davis." Johnny didn't give Beeker a chance to protest, and figured he wouldn't anyway. He was right. Stealing from shadow to shadow, Johnny made it to the coach in a zig zag pattern, quiet as the night. The flames crackled and spit eerily in the quietness of the night. The coach had been pulled to the center of the road. Due to the stillness of the air, the fire stayed contained to the coach’s framework. The flames’ arms reached skyward like a greedy waif. Momentarily averting his eyes from the conflagration to regain his night vision, Johnny began to scan the surrounding area for any sign of Davis. Finding none, he circled around to the other side of the fully engulfed coach. The light of the fire showed that the door was standing open. That's when Johnny saw a pair of legs sticking out of the doorway. The only things not alive with flame were the soles of Davis’ boots. Johnny tightened lips to keep his stomach from lurching into his throat, and quickly retreated back to the campsite. The horses shifted nervously on his arrival, uneasy with the smell of fire and the tense atmosphere now surrounding them. Beeker's expression was unreadable, which made the ex gunfighter's instincts tingle. The rancher would have to be watched. "Let's grab some food and hit the trail before dawn," Johnny said quietly. "We're gonna have to ride bareback with minimal supplies. "Mr. Davis?" Lise queried softly, Mark tight against her hip, blinking away sleep. Johnny's eyes flicked from her eyes to the boy's, then back. "There'll be four of us," he replied, "but only three horses. Davis was right - the little bay is favorin' a leg. We could use 'em as a pack horse, but he's gonna slow us up. We'll just cut him loose." "You plan on followin' the road?" Beeker asked in a neutral voice. Johnny ran his hand through his hair, uncomfortable with the whole situation. If he was on his own, he knew what he'd do. Could he take the gamble with these badland greenhorns? "I'm not sure the road is any safer at this point," he admitted, reluctant to toss out his other thought. "So what are our choices?" Lise said bluntly. Johnny hesitated before speaking. "Well, the road is probably the safer way to go - and like I said, I can't guarantee that - but the faster way is to cut through there." He raised his hand a pointed directly into the flat treachery known as the badlands. "The road skirts the flatlands and Indian territory, which adds a lot of miles. We can save nearly a day cutting across." "Mr. Lancer, that's the most ludicrous suggestion I've ever heard!" Beeker's voice held the most animation any of them had heard to date. "You can't go through Comanche territory like that! Look at that coach!" Lise's head automatically tilted in the direction of the flaming coach, whereas Johnny held his stare on Beeker. "I've done it before and I can do it again," Johnny said lowly. "I know what to expect." "Well, I don't, but I know what I’ve heard! I refuse to go along with this idea!" Johnny turned his steely blues to Lise. When she turned to look at him, he noticed how her eyes reflected the moonlight like still pools of cool water. He looked closely, experienced at reading people, and was only a little surprised at what he saw. Lise Sullivan's eyes showed a quiet desperation without a trace of fear. That's where Mark gets his fearlessness, he thought instantly. "I'm willing to go which ever way is fastest,” she said flatly. “I don't have the luxury of time, gentlemen." Johnny quietly approved with a short nod. Beeker sputtered in anger and opened his mouth to speak. "Two to one, Beeker. The lady's vote counts. Let's pack up." Mark had been as quiet as a jackrabbit during the discussion, his eyes darting from one speaker to another. As soon as he realized the decision was made, the boy grinned crookedly at his new friend. "I get to ride?" he said. "I haven't ridden a horse since I was four!” Johnny was amazed at the boy's reaction and chuckled shortly. Then, with an affectionate ruffling of the boy’s hair, sent him off to pack. Johnny stopped Lise with a hand on her arm as she turned to follow her son. "He can ride with me," Johnny said. "The horses aren't really saddle horses and may be a little difficult. Can you handle that?" She gave him her first true smile since they'd met and her eyes sparked with life. "Used to help daddy break the horses on our old ranch. I can ride, Johnny, I just haven't done it in awhile!" Finally, something's goin' our way, Johnny thought with a quick grin. "How's he taking all this?” he asked Lise quietly. “I mean, three dead men so far and he hasn't blinked an eye." The familiar haunted look came to Lise’s eyes and she ducked her head, regarding her braided fingers as she spoke. “I've come to realize that Mark and death have an understanding. I think they've made their peace." She hesitated, and again turned her determined eyes on Johnny. "It's me who won't give up." |
