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CHAPTER THREE The light of the full moon made the flatlands ahead of them look like a crazy checkerboard of quicksilver earth and shadowy brush. When the ex gunfighter wasn’t altering tack for riding, his eyes were scanning the expanse for any signs of life. The sounds of owls and coyotes scavenging for a meal occasionally punctuated the air, the openness making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where they were. The occasional loose cloud that would drift across the moon’s face did little to dim the glow of the land. Johnny always liked nights on the open range. There was a sense of freedom that made one’s blood tingle, and adding a full moon only increased the feeling. Right now the danger that was out there was not obvious, but Johnny knew better than to be fooled by the inviting openness. Danger could lurk in any of the shadows. With a final splice to a shortened pair of reins, he had makeshift tack – minus saddles – for three horses. His inspection of the lame horse dashed the idea of using him as a pack horse once and for all, and he turned the bay loose. The horse didn’t go far, reluctant to leave his stable mates. Mark approached Johnny and hefted his bag. “Here’s my stuff,” he said. Johnny took the bag and whistled lowly. “You got any clothes in here at all? This feels like it’s all books!” “Ma’s got our clothes. This is all I need,” the boy said in a tone of finality. “I made a sling outta one of my shirts so I can strap it to my back. See?” He took the bag and slipped it on, holding his arms out to the side to show off his work. Chuckling as he slowly shook his head, Johnny handed the boy the reins to their horse. “Hold this while I make sure the others are as prepared as you.” Lise was ready, a similar bag strapped to her back. “I couldn’t leave his books,” she explained. “I have our clothes. We don’t need much.” Johnny gave her a leg up on to the bare back of the horse. The animal shifted uncomfortably, not used to this role. Lise calmed him immediately and Johnny nodded his approval. Finally, he faced Beeker. Johnny had felt the tension emanating from the man since the decision was made to cross the badlands, and knew a confrontation was coming. He just didn’t know when. Before now, Johnny hadn’t given the Colt Beeker wore a second glance. Unlike a gunfighter, the gun had been high and tight on the rancher’s waist, easily covered by his jacket. Now, Johnny saw that Beeker’s jacket was draped back, exposing the gun for easy access. Instinctively, Johnny moved aside to insure Lise and Mark were well out of any line of fire. Beeker’s eyes followed him as he made a half circle around, the man’s hands continuing to ready his horse. Johnny’s gut tingled in warning. The makeshift bag of any remaining food and water was at Beeker’s feet. Johnny stopped about six feet from the rancher. “Ready to go?” he asked in what he knew was his Madrid voice. Johnny had felt the persona overtake his posture with the gut instinct warning, and now stood in a deceptively relaxed pose with his hands resting on the double buckles of his holster. “I’m ready.” The rancher replied, his eyes flicking over the length of Johnny’s frame. “I’ll just take the . . .” he reached for the bag with his left hand, his eyes never leaving Johnny. “No,” Johnny said quietly. “I’ll take that. You take your things.” He motioned to another bag off to the side with a nod of his head. Beeker slowly straightened. “I don’t think so,” the rancher replied darkly and he shifted slightly to face Johnny. For a moment, they regarded each other. The sound of a coyote pack falling on its prey peppered the night, their yipping abruptly starting at the same time Johnny saw something in Beeker’s eyes. After a tense second the rancher’s hand touched the butt of his gun. In an instant he looked down the barrel of Johnny’s Colt. Beeker froze, realizing he’d never seen the motion. The coyotes' voice reached a crescendo as ownership of the kill was decided, then abruptly fell silent. “Wow!” Mark’s whispered exclamation carried easily in the suddenly quiet night air. “I’ll take the food,” Johnny said simply. “You take your personal things. And mind you, save the bullets for a real emergency. Are we clear?” The unsaid message implied that Beeker would not get a second chance if he tried to use his gun against them again. The rancher swallowed hard and nodded shortly, moving his jacket to cover the weapon. Johnny’s gun disappeared into his holster as quickly as it had appeared. He waited for Beeker to grab his personal bag and mount before the picked up the food. It was an alarmingly light load. As Johnny went through the motions mount up, he felt the eyes of his traveling partners follow his every move. His hopes that the previous encounter would simply pass were dashed when the boy reached his side. “Wow, Johnny, you’re the fastest gun I’ve ever seen!” Knowing he’d probably be chastised by his mother, Mark kept his voice in a low, but excited, whisper. Johnny prepared to mount. “And how many fast draws have you seen, exactly?” “Well, none, really,” the boy admitted, but his excitement was not quelled. “But I read all about ‘em! I bet you’re as fast a Johnny Madrid! He’s supposed to be the fastest gun alive!” Biting his inner cheek to keep from laughing, Johnny swung up on the jittery chestnut gelding. It took a moment to quiet the horse with a few, low Spanish words. That done, he instructed Mark to stand at the horse’s left shoulder, facing the animal’s rump. Then Johnny twisted, his right arm reaching behind his back. “Grab my forearm with your right hand, and I’ll grab yours.” Mark did as he was told, and then Johnny leaned slightly away from him. Before he knew it, the small boy was up behind his friend. Johnny nudged the chestnut toward the flat lands. Mark held Johnny’s belt and settled into the rhythm of the walking horse. Johnny glanced back and saw Lise fall in behind them, her face set in a puzzled frown. Beeker brought up the rear and fidgeted with his pack in a nervous manner. “Can you show me how to do that? Fast draw, I mean?” The boy kept his voice low so his mother wouldn’t hear. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Johnny replied. He tried to change the subject. “You need to keep your eyes open, Mark. I think we’ve seen the last of the Comanche for the night, but it don’t hurt none to be alert.” “OK. But I think you’d probably shoot any injuns before they could hurt us. Have you been in a gunfight before?” Johnny sighed, resigned to the fact that he was getting backed into a corner by a chatty eight year old. He was deciding how to dance around the facts of his gun fighting career when he heard galloping hooves retreating behind them. He pulled his none-too-happy horse into a half circle just in time to see Beeker’s form receding in the direction of the main road. The lame bay whinnied loudly and followed his harness mate in a rough canter. The remaining two horses danced in place, eventually taking comfort in their closeness and calming. Johnny’s chestnut champed his bit nervously. “Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise,” he drawled. “Best o’ luck to him.” Lise dropped her head for a moment, let out a sigh, then raised her chin and urged her mount onward. Johnny followed suit. They rode side by side, the horses more comfortable with that arrangement. Mark, however, was like a dog with a bone. “So?” he said just loud enough for Johnny’s ears. “You seen a gunfight before?” Johnny immediately jumped on the out the boy unknowingly gave him in the slightly re-worded question. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few.” “You said you grew up at the border. My book says there’s lotsa gunfights down there.” “Yeah, there were a few. They weren’t too pretty, Mark. Someone died most of the time, you know.” “Yeah, but didn’t they deserve it? I mean, a gunfight’s different than killin’ someone while robbin’ ‘em or something like that.” He hesitated a second. “It’s kinda like a fistfight, I think. They know what they’re getting’ into.” The image of at least a dozen gunfights flew through Johnny’s head; kids not a whole lot older than Mark calling out the infamous Johnny Madrid to get a reputation the fast way. Sure, they thought had an idea what they were getting into, but they hadn’t truly faced death before. They didn’t really realize the finality of the consequences. There was the occasion where Johnny could make them face their mortality with a severe wounding, but those chances were not only risky but downright dangerous. More than once, a wounded showoff tried to even the scales with an ambush. They wound up dead, lesson unlearned. While all these thoughts ran through Johnny’s mind in an effort to phrase a reply, Mark leaned heavily against Johnny’s back and said quietly, “At least they got to pick the way they wanted to die.” Johnny answered without thinking. “That’s true. But I would think they would be happier picking the way they wanted to live, don’t you?” Mark’s voice sounded tired when he replied. “Yeah, I guess. I’d like to live the rest of my life just like this,” he said sleepily. “Under the stars, free and havin’ an adventure. Just like in my books.” Johnny reached down with his right hand and lay his hand tightly over Mark’s to keep the boy from slipping off if he fell asleep. Johnny thought his partner had nodded off when he heard the question he dreaded. “Have you ever met Johnny Madrid? He grew up around the border just like you. You musta seen him.” Lise’s gentle voice interrupted. “Mark, you need to sleep. Johnny, is he all right there to sleep for a bit?” “Ma. . . .” he tried to sound indignant, but Mark’s voice sounded like he was losing his battle for wakefulness. “This horse has a back like a tabletop, m’am. Sleep for a little, Mark, I gotcha.” When the boy’s grip relaxed after a few strides, Johnny knew he was asleep. Lise rode quietly alongside for several minutes. “You’re him, aren’t you?” she said suddenly. Her voice so quiet that Johnny barely heard over the rustle of wind-tickled brush. “My daddy’s ranch was in west Texas, near the border. I’ve seen gunfighters.” He glanced sideways at her and saw that she was staring straight ahead between her mount’s ears, lost in thought. Johnny was glad that at least he didn’t see fear anywhere in her profile. He hung his head briefly and sighed, then also looked ahead. “I go by Lancer now. I found my family.” “You aren’t a gunfighter anymore?” “Nope. I’m a rancher, like I said. Haven’t been Madrid for a nearly two years.” They rode along in silence again, the sounds of the night surrounding them like a light desert wind. When she spoke again, Johnny could hear teasing in her voice. “And I must say, you are the fastest thing I ever saw, Mr. Lancer!” Johnny broke into a grin, and looked over to see her smiling at him. “Do you want Mark to know?” She considered that for about a half a second. “I think we’re in the makins of the adventure of his life and every adventure needs a hero, don’t you think?” “I . . . I ain’t no hero . . .” he stuttered, suddenly embarrassed. “You are in his eyes. And as far as I’ve seen, if there’s anyone out there that can get us to Dodge City, I have no doubt it’s you, Johnny Madrid Lancer.” Her smile was one of complete trust. Johnny squirmed at the compliment. “I promise I’ll do my best.” “I’m sure you will. You have so far.” She waited a few seconds then said jokingly, “And if those darn books are right, you’re good enough to take on the entire Comanche nation!” They both laughed out loud then shushed each other for the noise. The exhausted boy slept through the whole exchange. CHAPTER FOUR As soon as the light of the rising sun painted the sky in pinks and purples, Johnny's eyes surveyed their surroundings with purpose. With the sun came the true colors to the landscape and now he could find the suggestive greens that would indicate water. What remained in their pack would do for a breakfast on the move, and possibly even a midday meal, but if they didn't find any sign of civilization that could provide food, dinner would have to be caught. Although finding the second way station Davis mentioned would be nice, the map in Johnny's head told him that probably wouldn't happen. He also had a very strong gut feeling that the second way station had met same fate as the first. He hoped he was wrong, and that Beeker made it there in one piece, but Johnny doubted that would come to pass. While they were burying Davis' cousin, Davis had mentioned that the other body was one of the men from the second way station. They had speculated why the man was there; Davis said the man stopped by now and again to deliver supplies. Johnny's gut told him the man had arrived with a raiding party on his tail and a warning on his tongue. They were on their own all the way to Dodge City. Mark was oddly silent. Johnny knew he was awake by Lise's soft inquires and the boy's acceptance of the meager breakfast. He didn't eat much, but took the water without protest. By the time the sun was fully above the flat horizon, Johnny had already spotted two possible destinations for water. He pointed them out to Lise, discussing the possibilities of each, and had to smile when he felt the small body behind him leaning aside to see where Johnny was pointing. "Careful, kid, don't be over reachin' your balance." Johnny leaned aside to allow the boy a better line of sight. "Well? What's your opinion, cowboy?" "That one." Mark pointed off to the left. "That's east, right?" "Yup, it sure is. East we go. And keep your eyes open back there. We don't want anyone sneakin' up behind us, do we?" What Johnny didn't mention was his concern that the water in this area was probably being watched. "How long to get there?" Lise asked. "Oh, not long. About an hour, I'd say." Johnny's estimate was right on target. He motioned to pull up short of the thick stand of green brush that indicated a water source. The horses, smelling the water, shifted in place and refused to stand completely still, edging continually in the direction of the greenery. Johnny swung his leg over his horse's neck and dropped to the ground. When he moved to secure the dreadfully small bag of supplies to the horse, Mark slid to the ground. Surprised, Johnny dropped the bag and moved to catch the boy. As he did so, controlling the descent to the ground, Mark's pant leg shimmied up past his knee and Johnny saw the line of bruises that marked his pale skin. His attention was diverted by the boy's voice. "Why're we stopping here?" he asked, his voice more chipper than his appearance. In the harshness of full daylight, Mark looked much worse than he did the day before. "You should stay on the horse," Johnny said. "In case we need a quick get away." "I wanna go with you," Mark insisted, planting his feet and crossing his arms across his chest. "This is my adventure, remember?" "Mark," Lise started. "Ma, you've seen Johnny draw. Don't you think I'd be safer with him than trying to control a big old horse on the run or hanging on to you trying to do the same thing?" Johnny opened his mouth to speak, but found he had nothing to say in the light of they boy's logic. He snapped his mouth shut and tried not to laugh at the boy's expression as he looked at his mother. It was exactly like the one of extremely strained patience on Maria's face whenever she caught Johnny red-handed raiding the pantry at Lancer. Lise was momentarily speechless as she regarded her son. Then she turned her surprised face to Johnny and they both burst out laughing. Mark frowned. "What's so funny?" he demanded. Johnny grabbed his shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. "You sound amazingly like my know-it-all brother." The boy puzzled over that for a moment, then brightened. "You mean I can go?" "Your argument is better than mine," Lise said from her horse's back. It was obvious she had her hands full just keeping the animal still. "Give me your reins, Johnny, and I'll stay with the horses." Johnny handed them up to Lise and gave her a reassuring smile. She smiled tiredly back. Next, Johnny took Mark's book bag and tied it to the food bag. He slung the makeshift saddle bag over the withers of Lise's horse for safe keeping. When they turned to go, he flipped off the leather loop that held his gun firmly in the holster. Although it was a small, well practiced motion that was done in a fraction of a second, it wasn't lost on Mark. "How many can you take out?" he asked excitedly. Johnny shushed him and moved in the direction of the greenery. Mark stayed at his hip. "I'm hopin' I don't need to use it at all," Johnny whispered. "But if I do, be sure to get behind me and hide yourself, you hear?" The boy nodded and tried to keep up with his friend. Johnny noticed his difficulty and slowed to accommodate Mark's pace. The boy was weak, and it gnawed at Johnny's heart. To look at his body it was amazing he was on his feet at all. Mark was thin, pale beneath the sun's blush on his face, and the areas at his wrists and ankles that were visible were dark with bruising. Lean cheeks supported dark shadows around slightly sunken eyes, but it was the hazel eyes themselves that glowed with life. Bright and clear, they were the only thing that was a window to a still active mind; well, those and his voice, Johnny mused. Near the trees, Johnny dropped to his stomach and Mark copied him. The ground here was much sandier, indicating an old, dried up creek bed. They stayed low and quietly shimmied to a spot where they could see the feeble water source. Two painted Comanche braves squatted on either side of the meager pool. They spoke quietly to each other as they worked their hands in the small puddle. They were shirtless, their dark, red-toned skin shiny with wetness. Long, single braids trailed down their backs, leather strings holding the black hair in place. Slashes of red and yellow paint adorned their cheeks, and worn buckskin breeches covered their legs. Knives sparkled at their waists. Johnny gave Mark a sideways glance and saw that the boy's eyes were huge. The ex gunfighter didn't see any fear there and wasn't surprised at this point. The boy turned to him, and Johnny put his finger to his lips and motioned that they back away. Sure they were out of hearing range, Johnny squatted down and pulled Mark close. "I have an idea, but it's dangerous. You have to do exactly what I tell you, you understand?" Mark nodded, his eyes still huge but sparking with excitement. "If everything goes right I'll call you. In the meantime, you have to stay hidden." He took Mark's shoulders firmly and made the point clear. "You stay hidden until I call. It should be fairly quiet until then. If it gets real noisy or you hear me yell 'run', you find your ma and get out of here, pronto. Understand?" "Yes," Mark whispered. Johnny gripped Mark's shoulders and held the boy's eyes with his own for a long moment. Then, he made a decision. In a smooth motion, he removed his gun, spun it in his hand, and handed it, butt first, to Mark. Mark glanced at it and then met Johnny's eyes, waiting for a reason. "If I use this, every Comanche around is gonna hear and come runnin'. You get it to your ma if things go bad here. I have no doubt she'll use it if she has to." Mark carefully took the piece, avoiding the trigger. It took both hands to get a good grip with the smallness of his fingers. Johnny led him to a thick manzanita bush and dug out a hollow under the lowest branches which touched the ground. Mark wiggled in, and Johnny brushed away any evidence of Mark's presence. When he was done he wiped his hand on his pants and leaned in just close enough to connect with Mark's eyes. "You take care of that gun, now, you hear?" he whispered. "I mean, Johnny Madrid can't go around without his gun, can he?" With a quick wink, he stole away like a shadow in the sun. |