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CHAPTER SEVEN Mark slept so hard during the break that Johnny wondered it he was actually unconscious. Finally roused from whatever state he was in, the boy insisted on going over part of the Madrid book before moving on. He didn't seem as concerned about getting to Dodge City as Johnny and Lise, and while Johnny patiently went through two chapters with Mark, Lise wrung her hands and tried not to pace in the background. At one point Johnny saw her staring at the sky, her lips moving in a silent plea to the heavens. Too weak to hold the book, the boy sat close to Johnny as his hero turned the pages. The recitation was punctuated with guffaws of disbelief, snarls of anger, blank looks of complete confusion and questioning statements of the heritage and morals of the writer. Mark usually ended up giggling with joy at the remarks or astounded by the truth. He was never again disappointed in the elaborations as before; he'd figured out something that made it all clear to him. "These writers were never there, were they?" Mark asked after one of Johnny's several diatribes. "Dios, no!" Johnny sputtered. That idea made him pause. "And I bet they've never left . . ." he inspected the inside cover for the printer's location. "Chicago, either. You'd do a much better job cause you've been here! Ever think 'o that?" He gave the boy a playful jab with his elbow. Mark's smile matched his glowing eyes. "Yeah, I could, but I won't." Johnny glanced over to him, not sure how to take that statement. "You won't?" "Nah. This is my own, personal adventure. I'm not sharin' it with anyone!" Johnny smirked. "That's my way a thinkin', too, partner." He shut the book and stood, wincing slightly as he stretched. He glanced at his right side. Well, at least it's stopped bleedin', he realized. "Let's hit the trail." By mid afternoon the ponies were starting to drag. They were crusted with dried sweat and their pace seemed to have slowed. They had taken some water after the encounter with the buffalo but it wasn't enough to maintain the horses for the remaining miles. They needed water once more before Dodge. Johnny was concentrating on the horizon ahead, looking for any indication of water. Mark sat in front of him, safe within the ex gunfighter's arms, holding the single rope rein of the pinto. The pony was so tired Johnny knew it wouldn't give the boy any problem. Mark, however, kept nodding off, so Johnny had looped the rope loosely around the boy's hand so he wouldn't drop it. They'd been like this for several hours. Then he heard Lise gasp. "Johnny!" He looked back to see her pointing off to one side behind them. Frowning, he tried to make out exactly what was producing the column of dust from the spot that shimmered on the horizon. It was smaller and moved much faster than the buffalo herd, and there was the occasional sparkle that must have been made by something metallic. Johnny pulled on Mark's hand and moved it to one side, stopping and turning the pinto to face the anomaly. Lise did the same. Squinting at the sight, he suddenly realized what it was and turned his attention to Lise. Her disguise had lasted very well and his appraising gaze told them they were in trouble. He jerked the pinto back around to face Dodge, and took over the rein as he pulled Mark in tight. "It's men on horseback," Lise said, squinting. "It's the Army," Johnny corrected. "We have to make a run for it." "The Army?" Mark said, awake and alert. "But they may have water," Lise objected, holding her horse at a standstill. The column was becoming clearer with every passing second. The standard for the unit was now easily seen rising from the cloud. As they watched, the column veered in their direction. Moments later a pair of gunshots zinged by their heads causing Lise's horse to rear in fright. "Run, Lise!" They wheeled around and kicked the ponies into a gallop. They leaped away without much urging, eyes rolling in fear. Another couple of shots rained around them like deadly bees. Johnny dropped back and let Lise take the lead. He took his gun from his waistband but knew the column was too far for any kind of accuracy - they were using rifles. Going up against a column of the Army was not something Johnny was willing to take on - especially since they looked like Comanche at the moment. After a couple of minutes, Johnny realized the column was back to their original course toward the last known location of the buffalo. He turned to yell at Lise to slow down and save the horses. He'd just yelled her name when, to his horror, her horse stumbled. "Ma!" Mark screamed. There was a sickeningly audible crack of broken bone as the horse tumbled head over heels. Lise was thrown clear, rolling and skidding in the unforgiving dirt. Johnny reined around, his pony shaking its head in resistance, and hauled back hard. His pinto slid to a stop in the rising dust. Johnny held Mark tightly to his chest and they slid to the ground as one. Lise's horse flailed on the ground, grunting and trying to stand, his right foreleg obviously broken. It blew hard and struggled gamely, eyes rolled back in pain. Johnny, carrying Mark, skirted the animal and sprinted to the woman. She was fighting to sit up as they arrived. "Ma!" Mark yelled, breaking from Johnny's grip. He took one step and fell, and then dragged himself the rest of the way to her waiting arms. "Lise! Are you all right?" Johnny kneeled by her side and put his arm around her shaking shoulders. "Don't get up, let's check you out first." As she held her son tight, he felt her arms and legs. All he could see was a few small torn and bloody spots in the buckskin and a raw cheek. Relieved, Johnny left them to calm their fears and put the ailing pinto down. The animal's struggles lessened with exhaustion as Johnny stood by with a firmly set jaw. He hated to see good horseflesh go to waste, but he hated suffering even more. He pulled his Colt, and checked the horizon to make sure the Army column was out of sight and hopefully out of earshot. Satisfied, he took the healthy horse's rein firmly in hand, and aimed the Colt on his suffering companion. Mark and Lise jumped when the shot rang out. The remaining horse danced nervously, ears twitching. Johnny holstered his gun and lay his hand firmly between the animal's eyes and spoke lowly. The cadence and tone worked wonders to calm not only the horse, but mother and son, too. When they all appeared calm again, Johnny gathered up the saddle bags from both mounts and put them in a pile. Then he tied up their last horse and sighed. "Looks like the last leg will be on foot," he commented. The sun half way to the horizon from its zenith and was sitting just off Johnny's left shoulder as he looked northward toward Dodge City. He only had a vague idea how much farther their final destination was; on foot, it would be daunting but not impossible. Unconsciously, he held his throbbing side as he gauged time, distance and daylight, deep in thought as he distributed the saddlebags. "Time to turn back into farmers and ranchers," he said, shaking out his own clothes. Johnny wasn't going to miss the buckskins one little bit, shedding the top stiffly and letting it drop to the ground. Finding a healthy stand of shrub and wild grass to shield him, Johnny stripped off the rest of the Indian clothing, as well as the blood soaked wrappings around his torso. He slipped on his pants and boots, then took the time to examine his wound. The long, bloody line was at least clean-edged. The brave's knife had been razor sharp. Starting shallow in the middle of his chest the slash traversed over his lower right ribs and downward to his hip. The deepest area was in the fleshy part above his hipbone. There, the edges of the wound were the reddest and most sensitive. Johnny knew there was a good chance it would become infected, and hoped that if he kept it covered, it would delay, if not avoid, that situation. He pulled out the only piece of cloth left in the bag - the shawl Lise had used for a pillow on the stage. Was that only yesterday? Suddenly weary, he let the fine material run through his fingers like desert sand. Johnny glanced up and saw his two traveling companions talking quietly in the tall grass. For some reason Mark was reluctant to leave his mother's arms, making it difficult for her to change clothes. Johnny could only see their heads. Feeling that mother and son needed some time together, Johnny decided to just go ahead and use the shawl as a bandage. Carefully, he wrapped the light material tightly around his body, sucking air between his teeth when he pressured the tender part. With a little fiddling, he was finally satisfied it would stay put and dragged on his shirt. Last came the worn rig. He'd missed it for the past few hours and finally felt like himself with it back on his hips. An exploratory glance told him Lise had finally managed to dress. When Johnny got closer, he saw that Mark had changed his shirt only, and it hung on him like the shirt of a scarecrow. On his arrival, the familiar, lively eyes belied his physical condition. "Ma says I can wear the pants!" Mark's voice sounded as frail as his body, but was again overshadowed by his bright eyes. Muddy streaks on his face indicated recent tears as he stood to model the clothes. When Johnny stood before the boy, he couldn't help but touch a telltale cheek with his finger. "You all right, Mark?" he asked quietly, holding the boy's gaze. Mark blinked, his expression instantly changing excitement to sorrow. "I . . . I'm okay, Johnny. I just thought ma was dead for a second." He dropped his quivering chin and studied his fingers, weaving an intricate pattern against his stomach. "She's not supposed to die. Not yet. It ain't her time." His heart heavy, Johnny squatted down to the boy's level and lifted his chin with a forefinger. The sorrow was gone now, controlled and replaced by an unreadable brightness that took the ex gunfighter's breath away. It took him several seconds to find his voice. "It ain't yours, either, Mark. And you got me to look after ya. That all right?" Mark nodded, and his smile was from deep within the heart and wholeheartedly sincere, but his eyes told a different story; Mark didn't believe the words just spoken to him. Not trusting his voice, Johnny just pulled the boy in tight and looked at the woman a short distance away. Did she know what Mark thought? Damn what he thinks! Johnny thought fiercely. I'll just have to show him he's wrong by gettin' him on that damn train. After a moment, Johnny stood. "Let's git a move on, all right?" He scooped Mark up, ignoring the boniness under the clothes, the feather weight riding on his hip and the resigned attitude of the boy's body as Mark rested his head on Johnny's shoulder. "You okay to ride?" he asked Lise in a light voice when he arrived at her side. "A little sore, but I can make it," she said gamely, shaking out her rumpled dress. It was terribly wrinkled from the hours of being stuffed in a saddlebag, and there was a spot of Johnny's blood near her hip. She brushed at it and laughed tiredly. "I'm not too sure I'll be able to stand to wear this again after this trip," she said lightly, "but it's all I got at the moment!" "Tell ya what," Johnny said as he plunked Mark down on the pinto's back. "When we get to Dodge, you get a new dress. My treat. Should be time enough for that, I'd say." "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," Lise said with a thankful smile. "We'll still make the train on time?" "No doubt. Now get up there behind your son." He offered his hands as a mounting block. Once up, she adjusted her skirts and took her son in her arms. Mark wiggled, and with a wobbly motion, pulled Madrid's book from under his shirt. Lise took it, seeing the tenuous grip of the boy's hand. "Here. Let me. Where were you two?" With her precious son settled intimately against her stomach, she held the open book in front of him and began to read. Johnny tossed one very light set of Comanche saddlebags over the pony's withers, picked up the rope rein and started walking with the horse in tow. They began the final leg of their journey with Johnny correcting the details of Madrid's encounters in Juarez, Mexico. CHAPTER EIGHT Johnny walked for a couple of hours, the pinto following with its nose close to the ground in exhaustion. He was amazed at Lise’s voice as she read the ridiculous book. She changed the cadence and tone to match the action of the story, and as a result made it mesmerizing to listen to. When Johnny corrected the action or added more information, she weaved it in like it was already on the pages. Mark was entranced and delighted. From his frequent glances at the boy, Johnny could see the little guy was too weak to speak, but as usual, his eyes were as bright and expressive as ever. As the hours crawled by, however, Johnny began to see a distant quality grow in Mark’s expression. The ex pistolero couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but it made his gut tingle in apprehension. They split the last of the water amongst them, including the horse, at their first stop. Huddled in the shade of a healthy manzanita, mother and son leaned against each other for support both physical and emotional. The pony nuzzled the boy’s ear; Mark smiled tiredly. “I think that pony’s adopted you, boy," Johnny said with amusement. He adjusted the wrapping under his shirt with a wince. The area just above his hip seemed to be getting more tender with each passing hour. Too weak to pet the horse's nose, Mark just smiled. Soon, he was asleep. Lise combed his hair with her fingers and hummed softly, the sound apparently comforted the pinto, too, as its eyes drifted shut as it stood with its head low and next to Mark's shoulder. Johnny plopped into the dirt in a pitiful circle of shade a few feet away, fighting to stay alert. His throat was dusty, his feet hurt and his side throbbed, but he was soon in a calm place in his mind. When he jerked awake, it was dark. The waning moon peeked from the horizon casting eerie charcoal shadows across the plain. A quick glance showed him that Mark and Lise hadn't moved. The pony had wandered a short distance, grazing. Johnny slowly rose and moved to collect the pinto, ignoring the burning in his side. He knew he had the start of a fever - that odd, floating feeling he connected with a rising temperature came over him as soon as he stood. Johnny spoke in low Spanish to keep the horse calm as he walked in its direction. He ignored the needles in his feet and his less than straight path; the pony just watched him with one ear cocked curiously in his direction. When Johnny bent over for the rein he thought he would keel right over but managed to keep his feet and return to his traveling companions. The pony followed obediently, dragging its feet. "Johnny?" Lise's voice carried easily in the still air. "I must have fallen asleep." "Me too," Johnny replied. "Is Mark awake? We should be movin'." "He's awake." Lise struggled to her feet and pulled Mark to his. The boy leaned heavily against her, holding her skirt tightly for balance. Johnny's attention was focused on the pair, noting their weariness even in the weak light of the moon. Mark's face was fully illuminated; his paleness made him glow in a ghostly fashion. Lise took a step away from the shrubs, and in his struggle to stay at her side, Mark’s eyes fell to the ground in front of them to see where he was stepping. That’s when Johnny saw the boy's eyes suddenly widen. Johnny was suddenly on alert. "Hold still!" Johnny barked at the same time the snake's rattling began. Lise froze with a gasp. There was a tense few seconds where nothing but the rattler's tail moved. Mark tore his eyes from the snake, less than a yard from his mother’s feet, and turned them to Johnny. It was the first time Johnny saw fear in the boy's eyes and he hated the way it looked on him. Johnny also saw the boy's knees start to give out, and the automatic motion of his mother's reach to keep him from falling - it was all the snake needed to zero in for a strike. The gunshot was loud in the night. The pony jumped and pulled on the rein. Lise abruptly screamed in surprise and hugged Mark tight as the smell of gunpowder stung their noses. The snake writhed in the dirt, its head blown from its body, as Johnny eased his gun back into his holster in a smooth motion. "Easy, pony, usted está caja." He spoke lowly to the horse and stroked the tense, arched neck until it relaxed. "You two okay?" Johnny cocked his head in Lise's direction as he soothed the animal. "Yeah," she shakily replied. Then in a lighter tone, added, "That's some shootin', Mr. Lancer. Thanks." Mark didn't speak but his grin could be seen as easily as the moon in the sky. When things had calmed, Johnny put the still smiling Mark back on the pinto. "Um, maybe I should walk awhile," Lise offered with an appraising eye on Johnny. He moved stiffly, obviously favoring his injured side. "Nah, you need to be with your boy. Comon'." Johnny offered to give her a leg up. Lise hesitated, and then slowly reached out and brushed his cheek with her fingers. "You're hot," she said quietly, her eyes bright. "I'm okay. Believe me, I've had worse. Now mount up." She did so easily, settling on the pinto with a familiarity of motion forged from experience. She leaned down and kissed the top of Mark's head. "It's too dark to read, honey. I'm sorry." " 'sokay," he said in a voice as faint as moth’s wings. "Can't think of anything more I need to hear or see, anyway." The words seemed to take the last of his energy, and the satisfaction in his tone held the same finality as an epilogue. He clutched his prized book to his chest with both bruised arms, trusting his mother's embrace to keep him aboard the pony. And so they walked. The night sounds of coyotes, owls and other unseen night creatures now offered its own kind of comfort. The noises told them they were not alone here, that there was life everywhere and it simply continued on no matter the circumstance. Lise's soft humming was as natural as the native noises to Johnny's ears. It was hypnotic in an energizing way and gave him reason to go on mile after mile, hour after hour. Just as Mark trusted his mother's embrace, Johnny trusted the night noises and his fine instincts to warn him of any trouble as he fell under the spell of her song. The night passed like every other night in the badland's past millennia of existence. It took the pony stumbling to break the reverie and jerk Johnny back into awareness. "Whoa!" he choked in a hoarse voice to stop the pinto, realizing in the same second that the mounted couple was slipping dangerously sideways. Johnny dropped the rein instantly and caught both of them in his arms, then eased them slowly to the ground. The three of them collapsed in a pile. Now loose, the pony veered away from them in a lurching gait. "Hey!" Johnny croaked, struggling to his feet and tripping after the pinto. He went about four steps before his legs gave out and he tumbled face first into the dirt. A little put off at his weakness and inability to get his balance, Johnny dragged himself to his feet and stumbled a few more steps before falling to his knees. Gasping for breath, he looked for the pony and saw it forging into a river, muzzle deep in the water as it drank. He barely noticed the faded stars in the horizon before him and the pink of a new day dawning behind him. Johnny blinked, momentarily dazed - Water! - and then he blinked in another realization. What took him aback for those few, confused seconds was the skyline on the other side of the river. Dodge City. "We made it," he whispered from cracked lips. He struggled to his feet and turned to Lise, announcing in a stronger voice, "We made it!" but the scene laid out in front of him forced him to pause. Frowning, Johnny swayed to keep his feet as his fevered mind found it difficult to absorb what his gut was screaming at his brain. Lise was unmoved by Johnny's proclamation. Her full attention was focused on the bundle cradled at her breast. She rocked gently with a peaceful expression of acceptance as she looked down at her still son. "No!" Johnny's voice was a plaintive plea edged in anger. "We're almost there!” He waved an arm at the skyline. “Look, Dodge City!" “I know.” Her voice was a feathery whisper. Venerated adoration cloaked her now as she lovingly stroked Mark’s pale, cold cheek with her fingers. "No,” Johnny shook his head in denial. “It can't be. We're too close." The words fell from his mouth with the last of his bravado as his legs wobbled under him. Stubbornness was the only thing that kept him upright; his heart, now both weary and broken, simply couldn't accept anymore. Johnny dragged his eyes back to their goal - the one he had convinced himself would save the boy - and realized it might as well be at the other end of the Earth. With an unaccustomed sting in his eyes, Johnny turned back to the quiet and calm form of a mother gently rocking her son in an intimate embrace. Her face was graced with the love a mother could only show a child combined with relief that his suffering was over. He couldn't hear the words she murmured; he didn't need to. They were private and personal, and just the tone was enough to rip his heart out. Johnny’s vision swam. It was a picture of what he imagined motherhood could be like; something he never experienced. And now it was wasted. Johnny dropped to his knees, suddenly too tired to go on; there was no reason to now. Anger smoldered deeply in his gut and he pulled his eyes away from the mother and son to glare at the heavens where quickly vanishing stars were erased by the light of a new day. "Why?" he growled between clenched teeth. He felt a warm tear trickle down one dusty cheek. "We were almost there!" The plea for reason fell on deaf ears as the Kansas badlands woke up from the night. “Thank you." The soft-spoken words made him look up. Lise held her boy close, her chin resting on Mark's soft hair, and smiled at Johnny. "Thank you for all you've done." "I haven't done nothin'," he said quietly. "I didn't get us there in time." He felt a light touch on his sleeve and closed his eyes in defeat. "You've done exactly what you said you would do and much more, Johnny Madrid Lancer. You let my son live." Her voice made him open his eyes again and look at her in confusion. "He's been more alive in the past two days than in the past four years," Lise explained simply. She smiled, and held his eyes as she squeezed Johnny's arm. "And for that I can’t thank you enough. This adventure will always be in my heart." Suddenly his arms were too heavy, much like his heart. On his knees in the dirt, his entire frame slumped and his head fell tiredly forward. He ignored the hot tears now running unabashedly from his eyes; he was too weary to wipe them away. Instead, he listened to the quiet murmuring of mother to child. Vicariously, the calm monologue eventually eased his hurt and ever so slowly brought him to the same level of acceptance as Lise. Anger drained away, the unanswered 'whys' dry on his tongue. EPILOGUE In the end, they didn't have to walk the rest of the way to Dodge City. Refreshed, the pinto had showed its true feistiness and refused to be caught. Then its spotted rump disappeared back to the badlands it called home when spooked by the arrival of a group of wagons on the opposite shore. On their way to Dodge City for supplies, the hands driving the wagons obligingly gave them a ride to town after quiet condolences and introductions. Lise held her son’s body in her lap while Johnny listened to the news of how the Army had put a halt to the recent Comanche uprising the previous day. It was the only reason the hands felt safe coming to Dodge for supplies. And word had it that buffalo meat was in good supply. The information had little effect on Johnny and Lise's hearts. It seemed the only way things could have ended - another chapter closed. Johnny stayed with Lise until everything was settled and she was ready to return home with her impossibly small wooden coffin. She refused to leave until Johnny's wound was cleaned and stitched, and the signs of fever abated enough to satisfy the mothering part of her. Each having the other for support, they were able to complete the steps that enabled them to depart from Dodge City. Albeit still in a surreal, dazed state, they were finally ready to go their separate ways. “At least your trip home will be safer,” Johnny commented. When they reached the side of the stage, he dropped his new saddlebags to the ground to help the grieving mother into the coach. Lise accepted his help with a wistful smile. "That’s true, but its going to be a lot more lonely, too.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard to collect herself before speaking again. “Then again, I don’t think I can handle an adventure like that none too soon," she acknowledged. “Farming has never looked so good.” Once she was inside, he climbed up to the top of the coach to make sure the pine box was secure. After testing the ropes, he momentarily laid his hand on the spot over Mark’s heart. “Finally got to ride up top, partner,” he said softly. “Guess the adventure continues, huh?” The busy bustle of Dodge’s main street suddenly seemed too loud and way too far from home. Johnny paused and looked down on the city as he gathered his thoughts for a moment, then carefully climbed down and secured the coach door. Lise leaned from the window and offered Johnny her hand. They shook solemnly, their eyes locked in a meaningful stare. “Thanks again, Johnny,” she smiled, pulling her arm inside. Johnny picked up his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. “My pleasure,” he answered. Then his eyes opened wide in sudden realization. “Wait, I almost forgot. . .” He fumbled with the buckle of his new saddlebags and fished about inside before pulling out a familiar, worn book. “Here’s some readin’ for the road.” With a warm, knowing grin he handed Border Tales of Johnny Madrid to the surprised woman. “It’s a signed edition now. May be worth somethin’ someday, ya think?” Lise looked at the worn cover for a moment then held the book against her heart. When she looked back at Johnny, her eyes glittered. “It’s worth somethin’ to me right now, Mr. Lancer.”. Johnny stepped back as the driver yelled an order to his team. Johnny waved, and Lise disappeared into the dark coach. He moved to the boardwalk and watched the coach disappear from the main street of Dodge City in a cloud of dust, wondering exactly how much of this adventure he would be able to tell his family. And then he smiled to himself, knowing immediately that every second of this story needed to be relayed in clear detail. The Adventure of Mark Sullivan deserved to be told and a young boy’s spirit remembered. In Memory of Cameron (1998 – 2004) |