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.

“Yes,” Johnny answered. The place he’d asked Hyahesh to take him was perfect. It would force Barrajas to come in close – close enough that Johnny couldn’t miss.

“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.

“I said I’d leave you alone. I didn’t say I’d let you get there by yourself.”

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.

The small troop started their slow climb into the hill in a bunch. Before long, they strung out into a single file line as they weaved along the tight space the rocks allowed. The path wended deep into a narrow cut in the hills. Johnny used the boulders to bear some of his weight as he passed.  His legs still felt clumsy and it took more concentration than he’d hoped to lift each step.  

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.

“What on Earth . . .” Scott started as he stepped into view. Breathless, he scanned the grotto before he crooked a curious eyebrow at the clear, sulfurous pond bubbling at his feet. “Wow.”  

“Careful, Boston ,” Johnny panted. “It’s hot enough to boil the meat off your bones.” The steam that rolled up the grotto’s curved wall made him dizzy. They trailed along a curved path that traced the edge of the steaming, natural well just before the abrupt slope to a lower pool.

 Here, below the moist grotto, the walls danced with etchings painted by natural minerals. Horses, hunters and game decorated the lower sections while celestial bodies and gods dominated the rocky, upper canvas. The walls concave shape created an open feeling, but the walls curved inward as they rose, allowing a narrow, eye-shaped opening at the top that framed the vivid blue sky. Scott felt like he was in a tropical fish bowl complete with water and God’s eye hovering above.

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 Rocky Mountains . He took a deep breath and pushed to his feet, leaning against one of the nearby boulders for balance. Blaming the shaman’s smoke for his dizziness, Johnny tried to button his shirt but abandoned the effort after a short battle. Instead, he tucked it in all around leaving the front to gap open. After strapping the gun belt back on and settling the Colt home, he took the opportunity to rest.

********  

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 Madrid was unaccounted for brought him to his feet. He’d heard rumors of mystical healing rituals and the hard smile grew – Madrid was alone.

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

Damp heat made the air heavy in the rocky cocoon. Johnny allowed his eyes to close as he evaluated the rest of his senses and if he could count on them as he’d hoped. A sheath of cold sweat clung to his skin and because of it, mapping the numb areas was easy. Feeling returned to his torso after the itchy tingling dissipated, but he still had the disturbing sense that he lacked fingertips. He wiggled his fingers and felt where they rested on his thighs, taking it as a good sign that he could pull a trigger.  

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.

 “It’s about time,” he said aloud as his hand trailed up his thigh and his thumb hooked over the back of his holster. His finger tapped the hard leather, but the fingertip was still numb and all he felt was a nudge of the holster against his thigh. Ignoring the weird lack of sensation, Johnny turned his head in the direction of his target and opened his eyes.

 The wavering vision that greeted him took him by complete surprise. The walls expanded and fell as if they were breathing. Johnny’s stomach rolled.

“You don’t look so good, Madrid .”  

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, Boston ?”

“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 San Joaquin Valley , they pulled their horses to a stop and surveyed the area side by side.

“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.

 “The next train’s in about an hour,” he said as his gaze swept the area.

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.

 “Locals. Not much else around.”

“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

 The man’s quiet scrutiny burned. And then there was Johnny.

 Johnny made no effort to stay in the shadows and with the youthful ignorance he projected, he looked as harmless as a day-old calf. He looked . . . innocent. Somehow, his brother managed to look as much like Madrid as baby resembled the bartender. This bunch had no inkling of who had just entered their midst. At the moment, Scott couldn’t decide if that was good thing or bad thing.

 Then Johnny shoved him between two bar patrons, forcing them to shift apart. Scowls greeted them, but Johnny seemed oblivious. Scott’s evaluation fell to the bad side of things.

  “’scuze me, friend,” Johnny all but hollered. “We need somethin’ to wash the dust down.” He wrinkled his nose at the shot glass in the hand of one of the displaced men. “Whoowee, I hope the whiskey ain’t all gone, ‘cos I can’t stomach that stuff. Tequila, right?” He waggled a finger at the liquid. “Boy, you musta got a gut a iron to take that poison. One shot knocks me on my ass, I gotta tell ya, but I got no problem with whiskey. Barkeep? A couple of beers and whiskies over here!”

 Wondering what scheme could possibly get Johnny to bad mouth what he usually called his “mother’s milk”, Scott made the wise decision to keep his mouth shut. He gave the other displaced patron to his left a weak smile of apology.

 Johnny poked him with an elbow. “Heya, pard, let’s get ta drinkin’! Pay the man!” Although the bartender produced the drinks, he held them back until he saw money. Scott obliged by digging from some coins and then tossed them on the bar. Johnny snatched the drinks. “Just a mite protective there, aren’t ya, buster? He always like that?” Johnny asked his perturbed-and-growing-more-so neighbor.

 Scott let out a nervous lap and raised his glass to the scowling men. The good intention ignored, he downed the shot and hunched his shoulder in hopes of appearing smaller or at least unconnected to the loud-mouthed stranger in his brother’s skin.

 Johnny continued his roll. “Never been to this part of the state. We’re from Arizona .” He turned around and leaned back against the bar to survey the poker games in progress and whistle at the saloon girls. “Hey,” he nudged his annoyed neighbor. “That all ya got here? Ain’t much for pretty, are they? This place sure ain’t very busy, either. This is like a Sunday afternoon where I come from.”

 “Why don’t you go back there?” his new not-friend snarled.

 “Uh,” Scott started, straightening a little. The plan wasn’t going very well. Or was it?

 Johnny elbowed Scott into silence and downed his beer, and then threw back the whiskey. “Aw, is this what you call whiskey?” Johnny said with a shudder. “ Arizona water’s stronger than this!”

 As Johnny carried on, Scott saw that many in the room glancing at the well dressed man, now paused in his poker game and nailing Johnny with a stern glare. As Johnny’s insulting tirade expanded, men inched aside until a path cleared, leading right to the gentleman’s table.

 “If this is all you got, then I’m feelin’ sorry for everyone here.” Johnny waved an arm and took a noisy sip of beer.

 Scott winced and tried to map a route for retreat. There wasn’t one. Then Johnny ratcheted his anxiety up to an unspeakable level with his next insult.

 “In fact, this whiskey’s so paltry, I bet I can out drink anyone here!” Johnny threw out an arm to indicate the room’s occupants and knocked the hat from one of the poker player’s head. The man shot to his feet, his chair scraping a chill across Scott’s stomach.

 Scott swallowed hard and tensed to fight but the gentleman stayed his tablemate with a soft word and a subtle nod.

“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.

 “So, what horse ya bettin’ on, then?” He nodded to the hatless employee in front of him.  “Him or me?” Johnny asked.

“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.

 “Yes. Two conditions. First, when I win, I get to kick your boorish ass out of my town.”

 The men at the table chuckled but Johnny looked thoughtful for a second before he nodded with a huge, condescending smile. “Like that’s gonna happen, but sure,” he said, yanking the chair out from under the man across from Steele. The dislodged player thumped to the floor with a squawk as Johnny took his seat. Steele spoke again.

“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 Madrid , he realized. Scott was now on a runaway horse and all he could do was hang on - not an unfamiliar feeling these past weeks.

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.

 Meanwhile, at the table, Johnny knocked back the final shot, slapped down the empty glass and rose to his feet, suddenly solid as stone. Scott scooped the piles of cash from the bar, stuffed it into every niche and pocket and acknowledged the cue to leave. Johnny met him halfway and they pushed to the door. Almost there, an angry worker grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him to a stop.

“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.

 As Scott watched Johnny’s chest rise and fall, he thought about all he’d learned on this trip. He’d learned more about Johnny’s past from the others they’d crossed paths with than Johnny ever spoke of himself. Madrid ’s reputation carried with it a weight Scott now understood a little better. He also knew that the consequences of his background have been, and could be, as varied as Madrid ’s colorful history.

“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

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