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CHAPTER THIRTEEN Johnny kept a
sharp eye on his brother as Hyahesh and the shaman prepared for the next step in
his plan. Scott had given in too easily, but from what he saw, his brother was
keeping his word to stay clear. It was a good thing because it was taking
entirely too much of Johnny’s energy to get his body to cooperate. When he first
strapped on his beloved Colt in the healing tent, Johnny felt only slight
pressure from the leather. Getting to his feet was harder than he’d imagined;
everything from the waist down was irritating tingle and numbness. When he
pushed aside the hide door, he hoped he wouldn’t fall into an embarrassing
heap at the threshold. Now, his hands
were free of the annoying tingle and only his fingertips lacked feeling. He
didn’t dare try to button his shirt because he did not want to fumble in front
of Hyahesh’s people or Scott, so it hung open like a forgotten detail. It
worked with what he had in mind, anyway. He’d rolled the rest of his clothes
and tied them to his back in a sling; there would be time to dress when he was
alone. “You can
walk there yourself?” Hyahesh asked. “Then let us
go.” Hyahesh turned and the Shaman led the way out of camp. Johnny,
surrounded by a small number of warriors, frowned when Scott joined the
gathering. “We had a deal,” he growled. Johnny
didn’t have time to argue. He needed to get to the spot he had in mind fast in
case his body staged a mutiny and became useless once again. The zing of fear
that raced up his spine charged a tight smile – the rare feeling was welcome
for once. Although it
was full daytime, the growing walls of the cut blocked the sunlight and they
crossed a shadow line into cold shade. The rock face felt clammy at first, but
that changed as the slope increased. The path was just as Johnny remembered. He could hear
Scott asking questions but the warriors did not answer and Johnny smirked at the
growing tone of irritation in his brother’s voice. If it didn’t take so much
of his wind, Johnny would reply. For the immediate moment, he had to concentrate
or risk falling on his face. The atmosphere
of the shadows changed with the next turn. When the strong smell of sulfur hit
him, Johnny knew they’d arrived. His face, already damp with exertion, blushed
with the rock’s moist heat. A final turn around a large boulder exposed the
open grotto he remembered and his body drooped from both relief and exhaustion. “Careful, Johnny sat on
a flat rock at the edge of the lower pool, put down the rolled bundle he’d
strapped across his back and started to remove his boots in a clumsy fashion.
The shaman chanted. “This pool
has a cold spring that mixes with the hot water from up there,” Johnny said,
pointing to the mineral hot spring above them. As he spoke, the warriors started
to leave in single file. “It’s a holy place of healing to them. It makes
sense for me to be here.” “I see,”
Scott said as he eyed the area with suspicion. “One way in, one way out.” “Yup.”
Johnny didn’t say anymore. He rolled up the thin buckskin pants to his knees
and put his feet in the hot spring as he spoke with Hyahesh. The Shaman made a
few motions then placed a necklace over Johnny’s head. A small bag hung
against Johnny’s bare chest. Then the
shaman removed a leafy substance from his own neck back and crumbled it in a
shallow mortero of a nearby boulder.
Chanting all the while, he scraped some minerals from the wall and sprinkled it
over dried leaves. He lit the pile with a flint which caught and smoked. Then,
he turned to leave and Hyahesh helped him up the steep path. When they drew
abreast of Scott, the Shaman placed an ancient, boney hand on his forearm and
looked into his face. “I hope that
isn’t the same stuff that burned in the hut,” Scott said, holding the
shaman’s gaze. The words, though, were meant for his brother. “It’s
not.” Johnny’s voice was a church whisper but the solid walls carried the
words with ease. “He wants you to go. This cleansing ritual is done alone.” Scott’s
expression was unreadable as he turned and gave Johnny a long look. Then, at the
shaman’s instance, he turned and followed the last of the clan from the
grotto. Johnny knew he
had a very short time to regain his strength. With the afternoon wearing away,
Barrajas would waste no time getting here. For now, Scott was safe with the
warriors around him in the village. Once Scott and
the others were out of sight, Johnny moved to dry land and started the arduous
task of changing his clothes. He unbuckled his gun belt after removing the gun
and placing it close by. The buckskin pants skinned off without much problem,
but Johnny’s fingers and limbs felt like fat sausages. He unrolled the pack
and was glad for the large conchos on his pant legs. They were easy for his
uncooperative fingers to manipulate. Next, he pulled on his boots. His feet
tingled. Johnny,
panting, felt like he’d climbed the ******** From his perch
high above the village, Barrajas saw everything. When he spotted Lancer’s
golden hair among the returning warriors, a predatory grin started. Realizing Careful to
keep out of sight, Barrajas moved with awkward stealth. The tight bandage around
his wounds had done its job to stop the bleeding but did nothing to cut the
pain. A growing excitement did that job and he made his way across the face of
the cliff at a quick clip. Using the
natural swells of the land, boulders and abundant growth, Barrajas stayed hidden
from the tribe and found the serpentine path into the valley he sought. A quick
check of the sun confirmed he had time to complete his task and steal away, but
he had to be very quiet – the walls would echo. Barrajas paused and stowed the
long rifle behind a tombstone-shaped rock before he pulled a long knife from his
boot. He checked the security of his grip and started up the narrow path. Soon he would
be a rich man. CHAPTER
FORTEEN As for his
legs, Johnny could trace the clinginess of his pants down to his boots. Below
that was a mat of numbness intertwined with spidery tingles. Inside his boots,
he worked his toes and frowned at the pain that shot up the back of his calf.
One at a time, he dug his feet into the fine layer of dirt that cloaked the
ground, pleased that he could detect the firm rock beneath with the balls of his
feet. The scent of
damp rock reminded him of a summer storm. He could feel where a slight breeze
from the valley cut across his cheek and heard the faint muttering of the
bubbling pond. He sat as still as the boulders and waited to hear the
interruption of the natural rhythm that would warn of Barrajas’ arrival. Time slowed to
the point of becoming hypnotic as Johnny allowed the atmosphere to envelop him.
He was unable to realize the actual amount of passed time when he heard the
faint, soft sound of leather brushing stone. Inwardly, Johnny smiled in
satisfaction. “You don’t
look so good, Johnny’s
eyes tracked in jarring jumps and fed his growing alarm. Barrajas was out of
focus when Johnny found him among the breathing rock of the upper pool. His eyes
refused to lock on target and he heard a short, raspy laugh when he pushed off
from the boulder to stand. He bobbled a step before gaining precarious balance. “Ya look
drunk, compadre. Holdin’ out on me again, are ya?” The wavering
figure slithered around the last turn that separated them and Barrajas stood at
the top of the steep rise. Johnny blinked hard and quickly shook his head to
clear his vision. He finally made out Barrajas’ arms held out to the side of
his body. The knife was large enough see through the fog and became Johnny’s
sole focus as his enemy raised his arm to throw it. Johnny knew
his opponent’s accurate skill with the weapon and his inner sense of timing
told him he was in trouble. Even as his traitorous hand finally obeyed and
gripped his gun he knew he was too late. Instinct took over and he cleared
leather as his body thrust forward to meet the expected blade on his own terms.
His arm jerked when he shot, and his ears rang with an echoed report followed by
a splash. Off
balance, he fell to his hands and knees and his brain screamed to roll aside and
take aim again. He heard a gasp followed by splashing and a gargled scream. His
own actions clumsy and awkward, Johnny finally got the Colt pointed in the right
direction. Barrajas, however, was gone and the grotto silent except for his own
hard breathing. The Colt
trembled in Johnny’s tingling grip. He blinked again and caught his breath,
but his gun sights remained clear. Johnny allowed his gaze to wander. There was
no sign of his adversary. Spent, Johnny’s arm dropped to the earth. “You okay,
Brother?” Johnny frowned
and rolled to his back. Looking up, his uncertain vision made out Scott’s head
and shoulders hovering from the edge of the eye-shaped hole above. He could
barely make out the rifle barrel’s long outline next to him. Johnny chuffed a
short laugh, and then swallowed hard to keep his stomach in place. The unfocused
scenery did not sit well so he squeezed his eyes shut to block it out. “You don’t
follow orders very well,” he croaked. “Must run in
the family. Don’t move. I’ll be right down.” “Sure,
sure.” The words whispered past Johnny’s dry lips and he allowed darkness to
take over. ******** Wakefulness
teased Johnny with soft conversation and the distant sound of feminine laughter.
Recalling past queasiness, he opened his eyes with caution, pleased that the
branches of the ancient mesquite tree above him swayed in time with the cool
breeze that caressed his face. The prior fog and undulating landscape were gone.
He took in a deep, grateful breath and turned his head to look around. “Well, look
who decided to join the rest of us.” Scott and one of the tribe’s women
parted. She walked toward the collection of huts and Scott, carrying a bowl,
came to Johnny’s side and squatted. He put the bowl down and helped Johnny to
sit up. “Here, you need this.” Scott offered the bowl. “It’s water.” Suddenly,
Johnny noticed the dry tickle in his throat and accepted the bowl, drinking the
cool, refreshing water without pause. Finished, he sighed and looked at the
bowl. He realized that he could feel the smooth wood on every part of his hands
and grinned. “How are you
feeling?” Scott asked. “Great,”
Johnny replied as he put the bowl down. Memory flashed and he frowned. “What
happened?” “You passed
out. Dehydration.” Johnny saw
vague pictures in his mind. He rubbed his stomach in memory. “Barrajas is
dead?” Scott frowned
with distaste. “Yeah. You were right about the hot spring. Not a pretty
sight.” “How long .
. ?” “You’ve
been out since yesterday afternoon. Hungry?” Johnny’s stomach chose that
time to demand sustenance and Scott laughed. “Guess so. You can start with
this.” Johnny
accepted the odd biscuit his brother handed him and examined it with raised
brow. “You make this?” “Don’t
judge. I had to use what I could find. Or would you rather have the mush they
made for you?” “I’d
rather have a steak,” Johnny griped as he took a bite and chewed. “Stew’s as
close as you’ll get and it’s on the fire. Eat that first. It’s easier on
the stomach.” Johnny
remained silent and finished the biscuit, which agreed with his gut and tasted
pretty good, but Scott didn’t need to know the latter. He brushed the crumbs
from his shirt. “Well, Teresa’s job is safe.” Scott snorted
and sat down beside him. Johnny began a self examination that started with his
fingers. “Still
numb?” Scott asked. “Nope. I
c’n feel all the way to the tips.” He wiggled his fingers and then stretched
his legs out in front of him. “Toes, too.” “That’s a
relief,” Scott breathed, ending with a short laugh. He put his arm around
Johnny and gave him an affectionate shake. “I wasn’t looking forward to
explaining any of this to Murdoch.” “Help me
up.” Scott helped
Johnny to his feet, but Johnny shouldered him away when he started brushing him
off. “I can do it.” Scott stepped back and crossed his arms, surveying his
stubborn sibling with sparkling eyes. Johnny shot him a sideways look. “Quit
starin’. I ain’t gonna fall down.” Scott just
laughed again and ignored the order. When Johnny straightened, he patted his
hips and glanced at his brother, but Scott silently pointed to the base of the
mesquite before Johnny could ask. He retrieved his gun belt and strapped it on,
then checked the Colt. Satisfied, he gave it a cocky spin before shoving it home
and smiled crookedly at his singular audience. “We can
leave as soon as you eat,” Scott said, again before Johnny could speak. Then
he turned and moved off. Johnny
followed, still grinning. “You a
mind reader now, “I just know
you too well. Especially after this trip.” Johnny
pondered if that statement bothered him or not. Unable to decide, he just stayed
quiet and followed his brother’s lead. Soon, the tantalizing smell of venison
stew washed all negative thoughts away. CHAPTER
FIFTEEN The brothers
said goodbye to the tribe and finished crossing the Tejon pass with little
fanfare, which satisfied the both of them to the bone. Moving along at a slow
but steady pace, it took a pair of days for Johnny’s strength to return. Atop
the final slope that marked the south end of the “I suppose
the first thing we should do is wire Murdoch. We’re over a week late.”
Tipping his hat back on his head, Scott swiped his wrist across his hairline,
squinted, and then readjusted his hat. Beside him,
Johnny leaned on arms crossed over his saddle horn as Barranca shifted and shook
his golden neck. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. He may not show it for
Teresa’s sake, but I’m sure he’s on the worry.” A faint
whistle caught their attention and the men turned to locate the distant train,
crawling along the edge of the valley like a line of ants. Scott tipped his head
in its direction. “Do you think they’ll remember that our bull tore up the
cattle car?” “I hope
not.” Johnny sat up and reset his hat. “Otherwise, those tickets you got are
gonna get a whole lot more expensive.” In an
automatic reaction to the mention of the tickets, Scott patted his pocket.
“They’re a bit worn and torn but they can’t charge us more if we’ve
already paid.” He narrowed his eyes in a sidelong glance. “If they try,
we’ll just give ‘em Barranca in trade.” “Oh, I
don’t think so.” Johnny fired back with a laugh. He nudged the horse in
question forward. “They’ll just have to hold you hostage at the other end
until I come up with the cash. Barrajas had a good idea there after all.” Scott chuffed
and trailed along behind Johnny. “Speaking of cash, we don’t have much left.
When we wire Murdoch, we could ask for more but we won’t get it until the next
stop at the earliest. It’ll depend on when he gets the wire. We may not get
any at all.” When Johnny didn’t reply or make comment on the situation,
Scott jogged his horse to Barranca’s side. “Did you hear me? Don’t plan on
any drinks or big meals for now.” “I heard
ya.” Johnny
didn’t look at his brother but Scott identified his devious expression quicker
than a sportin’ gal spots lonely cowboys. “I don’t like what you’re
thinking.” That netted a
glance. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.” “Then I
don’t like the idea of what you’re
thinking.” When Johnny
snorted and settled into the saddle, Scott recognized the motion and shortened
his reins in preparation to chase the palomino. Then Johnny gave him the
familiar, brilliant smile that always got him what he wanted and said, “I do
have a plan, but you gotta keep up.” Barranca
sprang away with Scott a curse behind and the Lancers galloped toward the tiny
collection of buildings that marked the train stop. When they arrived at the
edge of what could loosely be called a town, they slowed to a walk to cool the
horses down. Scott checked
his pocket watch. “Let’s find the train schedule first.” After a moment,
he added, “I’ll need to know the earliest we can escape from this plan of
yours.” He then looked at Johnny studying the town. “You hear me?” “Yeah, yeah.
I’ll wait outside.” They reined to
a stop next to the train platform and dismounted. Scott tried to hand off his
reins for Johnny to hold but noted that his brother was absorbed in studying the
town and its sparse population traveling the boardwalks, so he tied them to the
nearby hitch rail instead. It didn’t take long to find and consult the
schedule tacked to the wall in a once garish frame now covered with dust and
ash. When he returned to the horses, Scott paused to give the street a
look-over, especially since it still held Johnny’s full attention. Since it was
late in the day, Scott wasn’t surprised to see the largest collection of
horses tethered in front of a two-storied building where piano music tinkled
from the inside. The worn sign perched on the edge of the building displayed
faded lettering labeling it “Kitt’s Saln”. A ragged hole carved by bullets
replaced the double o’s that would make it a saloon. “Kind of
quiet for the number of horses outside,” Scott realized aloud. “So what do
the locals do? Those aren’t cow ponies. Farmers? Miners?” Scott turned to
his brother to continue his train of thought but Johnny’s calculating
expression and suspicious grin derailed it. Any chance of
an innocent track vanished when he thumped Scott’s chest with the back of his
hand and said, “It’s perfect.” Johnny spoke with a sure finality that gave
Scott pause. “It is?” “Yup.
Let’s go.” Johnny started walking with determination with Barranca following
like the obedient horse he occasionally was. Scott took a
moment to corral any rebuttals, tugged his reins loose from the rail and
followed, feeling that this might be his final glimpse of daylight. His mount
must have had a smidgen of good sense left because he seemed to drag his heels
as Scott pulled him along. Meanwhile, Johnny secured Barranca to an empty
hitching rail away from the equine gathering, mounted the boardwalk and
positioned himself to one side of the saloon doors. From there, he peered inside
the oddly subdued business for some purpose only Johnny knew. By the time
Scott reached his side, Johnny had the calmness of a kid promised candy and a
gleam in his eyes that raised Scott’s reluctance to a new level of alarming.
He didn’t have a chance to voice his unease because Johnny grabbed his elbow
and steered him to the adjoining alley. Once there, Johnny unbuckled his gun
belt and hiked it up high on his hips. “Just follow
my lead, okay? This’ll work. Just let me know when it’s time to go.” “What? Go?
You mean to the train?” Johnny rolled
his eyes and shoved his hat off his head so it dangled down his back by the
stampede string. “Just . . . come on. And don’t call me by name. Trust
me.” Before Scott
could interject his ideas on trust, Johnny ducked his head and shook it,
fluffing his hair with his fingers and pulling some of it to fall over his
forehead. Scott blinked as the dangerous gunfighter transformed before his eyes
into a youthful, green cowboy. Scott wasn’t
able to comment on the visual trick because Johnny then dragged him around the
corner and through the saloon’s swinging doors into a thick cloud of cigar
smoke and sweat-dried bodies. Scott had time to pull his arm free and tug his
cuff into place before Johnny nudged him into motion. As they maneuvered to the
edge of the crowded room, Scott knew his sibling read the bunch like Murdoch
read a book – each character scrutinized and dissected, their place in the
story precisely defined in his mind’s plan. Normally, Scott enjoyed watching
the exercise but this time he was too busy contemplating the dire possibilities
in his headlong path into the unknown. Their entry
didn’t go unnoticed and although Scott knew it was Johnny’s intention, he
still didn’t like it. He felt the suspicious curiosity following them as they
crashed the private affair, and that’s when it hit him - this was a private affair. These dirt grubbing locals worked side by side
on a daily basis and this was their time and place to unwind. Their sizes varied
but they all had a common lean-muscled physique with large, thick hands and skin
leathered by the sun. Even the piano player possessed ham-sized hands and Scott
marveled at his talent; the man’s fingers were thicker than the keys. One man,
however, stood out in the crowd and Scott didn’t notice him until Johnny
tugged him to a stop at the bar. Seated at the poker table farthest from the
door and just off Scott’s elbow, the large man held a smoldering cigar in one
hand and a fan of cards in the other. He was clean, older than the rest and his
clothes fussy neat. A black jacket hung on the back of his chair. His wolf-like
eyes were narrow with displeasure. This was a man of station, unused to
challenge “Are ya
takin’ me up on my offer, mister?” Johnny challenged, his eyes on the poker
player standing inches from him. The man’s hands tightened into fists but
Scott was surprised when he didn’t take a swing. Johnny maintained the open,
loose stance of an easy target. What on Earth
was Johnny thinking? The thick silence that followed Johnny’s question
expanded outward. The only person moving was Johnny’s neighbor. He shuffled
sideways to the poker table that was now the center of everyone’s attention
and stopped beside the gentleman. Then he leaned down said something too soft
for anyone else to hear. After delivering his message, the gentleman shoved him
away and into a passing saloon girl. The girl squealed as they both landed in a
heap. Under the natty clothes was a strong man, Scott realized. No one moved
and the air of tension rose, but oblivious to it all, Johnny chuckled the laugh
of the mentally deranged and hitched his elbows back on the bar. The man he
challenged clenched his hands and opened his mouth to reply, but the gentleman
spoke first. “I’m a
gambling man.” He laid his cards on the table with an air of shrewd
calculation. His calm tone spawned troubled expression on his tablemate’s
faces. Scott stiffened instinctively. “What’s
that?” Johnny chirped, switching his attention from the worker in front of him
as if he’d just noticed the gentleman. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you,
mister.” Johnny cocked his head aside at the new curiosity. “But money’s
money and you do look like you got more of it than this galoot.” He raked the
man in front of him with a quick head to toe glance. The gentleman
chuckled, a sound that didn’t help Scott to relax. He picked up his beer and
tried to force it down his dry throat. “You may be
a fool, but your instinct is correct.” The man crossed his arms on the poker
table. “These men work for me.” “No kiddin’?”
Johnny straightened and hung his hands on his hips. “Well, then, Mr . . ?” “Steele.
Robert Steele.” “Well, Mr.
Steele, nice ta meet ya. You c’n call me Murdoch.” Scott choked
on beer. “Well,
Murdoch, I’m going to challenge you myself, but I’d like to make it more
interesting, if you don’t mind.” “Interesting?”
Johnny said with a slight frown. “Second, I
get to pick the poison.” The big man leveled a hunter’s stare at Johnny that
made Scott’s heart race. Johnny laughed
as he replied, oblivious to the fact that he was viewed as prey. “Sure, Bob,
but you ain’t got much to pick from what I’ve tasted.” “You can
call me Mr. Steele,” the gentleman corrected as he signaled the bartender with
a single flick of his wrist. “Glasses
and tequila, Mikey.” “What?”
Johnny yelped as if poked with a sharp stick. “It’s supposed to be whiskey!
That’s what I was drinkin’!” Scott covered
his short laugh with a cough when Johnny’s intentional set up became clear. He
regarded his boot tips until his smile was under control and when just managing
to do so, he felt and elbow jab his side. “Well?”
His previously surly neighbor’s smile was predatory in nature. “You backin’
your friend?” “Oh,”
Scott started. “Uh . . .” he glanced at the hostile eyes locked on him and
feigned looking trapped. “Ah . . . sure, sure.” He patted his pockets
nervously before fishing out some coins. “I have a couple dollars here . .
.” The bet -
taken faster than a snake strike - caused spirits to soar at the bar and the
patrons broke into excited chatter. Scott, surprised with the crowd’s sudden
rowdiness, tucked his bill fold away and made sure his elbow held it close to
his body. When he finally looked to Johnny, the twinkle in his brother’s eyes
amidst the growing chaos assured him that, in his mind at least, his fabled
sibling had things well in hand. Typical The first five
shots went down in quick succession. Johnny grumbled after each one, his tense
face showing traces of fear that became more obvious as minutes passed. After
the sixth shot, the empty glass shot out of his hand when he slammed it down for
a refill. The crowd’s energy, swelling with each shot, spiked with the fumble
and there was a sideways shuffle of hands to enhance wagers. Busy with the
increased number of bets coming his way, Scott didn’t really look at his
brother until several minutes passed. By now, the ring of men surrounding
Johnny’s table was a half-dozen men thick and Scott had to duck and bob to get
a line of sight. At first
glance Johnny looked awful. His face, pinched in distress and clammy with sweat,
caused Scott alarm - until he watched his brother move. To the uninitiated,
Johnny looked in distress but Scott saw that his brother’s hands still had the
calculated and precise grace a dancer would envy. His grip was firm. Across the
table and after another pair of shots, Steele’s took on a glassy sheen and his
hands groped for the next shot as if he were blind. Or seeing double at the
least. Scott surmised that the next shot rising probably looked like triplets to
the staunch competitor. The following
shot took several stabs to find his lips. Johnny countered the move by missing
his mouth entirely. The crowd roared. Assailed by
the instant and numerous offers to up the stakes, Scott covered what bets he
could while keeping an eye on Johnny. Although he’d missed his lips, nary a
drop of his mother’s milk spilled and he downed the drink just as Scott ran
out of cash. Johnny swayed
in his seat. The odds upped. Behind Steele, hands flashed as coin passed. Steele
eyed Johnny with concentrated determination, smirking when Johnny lurched
sideways after downing the subsequent shot. Once upright, his body rotated in a
tight circle and across the table, Scott could see the finish line in Steele’s
bloodshot eyes. Johnny poured
the next shot, most of the liquor missing each glass and adding to the alcoholic
pool in the center of the table. The bottle slipped from his grip as he put it
down, causing a small splash. Steele grinned with satisfaction and found his
glass after three tries. Johnny fumbled for his shot and groaned. “Well,
boy,” Steele slurred with bravado as he waved his glass in front of him,
sloshing part of it into the tequila lake. “You done?” Johnny shook
his head and nearly lost his seat. The crowd cackled. Johnny finally found his
glass and it trembled as he raised it high in response. Steele
mirrored the motion and looked irritated. “You’re an insolent pup,” he
snarled. Or at least, that’s what Scott interpreted. It sounded like more like
“Urine upchuck,” but that didn’t make any sense at all. Johnny held
his glass to his lips and took two deep, quivering breaths which caused a ripple
effect of odds-making. He touched the glass to his lower lip, squeezed his eyes
shut . . . and paused. The audience
crowed and Steele grinned victoriously. He raised his glass, threw back the
amber liquid - and promptly tipped backwards and crashed to the floor. The
massive, well-dressed form was utterly still, resting peacefully in his
overturned chair and surrounded by surprised employees. “Where do
you think you’re goin’ with m’ money?” He yelled with warm beer breath.
Scott opened his mouth to speak but Johnny pushed the guy hard before anything
more was said. The drunk fell into another group and a fight erupted. Between
that and the attention focused on their fallen leader, the brothers made it
outside unscathed. A train whistle greeted them. “Your timing
is impeccable,” Scott commented when they hit the boardwalk running. Behind
them, the ruckus from the saloon grew louder. Johnny grinned
as he patted his bulging pockets and untied Barranca. “Just like I planned,
Brother.” Scott rolled
his eyes and jogged behind his brother toward the waiting train. EPILOGUE With a full stomach and the horses
safely tucked away in the stock car, Scott stretched his legs with a sigh and
settled back into his seat. Next to him, he marveled at how loose-limbed and
relaxed his brother appeared, leaning back against the small window with his hat
tipped over his face and arms crossed over his chest. In actuality, he knew his
sibling was well aware of his surroundings. “What’re ya starin’ at me for?”
Johnny grumbled from under the hat. “I’m not staring. I’m
examining.” “Oh, like that’s better.” “Fine. Call it thinking.” “Well, you’re thinkin’s keepin’
me awake.” After a few seconds he asked, “What are y’ thinkin?”
Scott grinned, expecting the query.
“First, I was thinking about when we first bumped into each other.” Johnny chuckled. “Then I thought about what I knew
about you before this trip and how much I know about you now.” Johnny grew still, and then tipped his
head just enough to reveal one blue eye, which was narrowed at his brother and
colored with suspicion. Scott faked a yawn and reached up, pulling his hat down
to cover is face as he slouched in relaxation. He felt Johnny’s evaluating
stare for at least a full minute before speaking again. “Now I’m wondering how much I should
tell Murdoch and Teresa about our time away.” Several long moments passed where just
the hypnotic song of the rails and the shimmy of the car dictated the mood. “You don’t need to tell ‘em about
Barrajas. Or me getting’ shot. I sure don’t need Sam or Teresa’s fussin’.
Or what Rivera thought about me. The ranch needs the business.” Pause.
“An’ it’s probably not a good idea to tell ‘em I used Murdoch’s name.
Other than that, tell ‘em what you want.” Still smiling, Scott let the train rock
a bit before responding. “Well, that certainly doesn’t leave much to tell.
How are we going to explain our lateness?” “You went to that fancy school.
You’re smart enough to come up with somethin’.” “No, no I don’t think I can.” “Sure you can.” “Let me rephrase that. I don’t think
I want to.” Scott felt the stare again and let a
good amount of time pass before peeking out from under his hat. Johnny’s
suspicious stare was now an irritated glare. “What do you want?” “Want?” “Yeah, want. Me doin’ your chores,
buyin’ drinks? What?” “Oh, I think the winnings from your
impressive acting gig should suffice.” “All of it? But that’s close to
seventy dollars!” Scott laughed and reset his hat becoming
a picture of contentment. “Well, that sounds about the right amount to cover
the consequences of your reputation, don’t you think?” Johnny muttered something too soft to
hear. “Excuse me?” Scott said. “I’m
sorry, was that a ‘yes’ I heard?” “I will get you back. You know that,
don’t you?” Chuckling, Scott said, “I have no
doubt about that, Brother, and honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.” “Me ‘neither, Brother,” Johnny
finally replied, his tone soft with affection. Scott heard him settle against
the wall once again. “Me ‘neither.” THE END Back
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