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CHAPTER SEVEN Teresa moved through the hacienda with a mental checklist, knowing full well she was avoiding Scott’s room. She paused at the door, wishing Maria was here for support like she had been when the room was cleaned days before. With Harlan arriving later this morning, the room would be needed. A soft sigh accompanied the opening of the door. Taking in the gloomy darkness, the young girl was slightly taken aback that she could still feel her sister-in-law’s essence in the air. Her heart quickened. Before she could make herself take a step into the room, she heard heavy footfalls behind her. The slightly uneven gait told her who it was before the steps fell silent behind her. There was a slight pause before she felt the big hand of her father figure on her shoulder. “The room needs some light, don’t you think?” Murdoch asked quietly. “Let me.” Grateful for the company, Teresa stepped in and aside, allowing her guardian to pass. She made it to the dresser when a rustle of material allowed the morning light to flood the room. It helped, and she was able to turn her attention to what needed to be done. Murdoch threw open the window, and a waft of early morning summer air, heavy with the perfume of roses and jasmine, rolled in on a light breeze. Teresa couldn’t help but smile at him. “That’s much better. It’s what this room needed,” she said, beginning to check for dust. At the sound of her voice, the big man turned his attention from the window to his ward and watched her swipe the furniture with a small rag. She seemed much older than her nineteen years, and he wondered if it was fair that she had so much responsibility on her small shoulders. “Teresa,” he started. “Why don’t you take a break today? You and Maria have done so much this week. When was the last time you took a ride?” “I’ve only done what’s been needed, Murdoch,” the young woman replied. Her exam of the furniture had brought her beside him by the window. She glanced outside, and a tiny smile graced her face when she felt the breeze. “I couldn’t just sit. That meant I had to think . . .” Looking down from his substantial height, he felt nothing but pride at what a remarkable woman this girl was becoming; or according to Jelly, had become. She and Alexandra had quickly created a bond that he knew she must have craved; one with a woman worthy of emulating. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “We all need time, Teresa, and I’m sorry you already know that.” The reference to her father made her duck her head, but she bravely raised it again to take in the neat room. “Take some time. Get out for awhile.” Gratefully, she looked up to him and nodded. “All right,” she said. “After Scott and Harlan arrive and we’ve all had lunch, I’ll go. I’ll take something to Johnny.” Murdoch chuckled and gave her a quick hug. “I know he’d appreciate it. He’s had only Jelly’s cooking for days.” Teresa smiled back and felt the sorrow and grief fall away a little, allowing her to see the homey room that surrounded them in a brighter light.
Scott and Harlan arrived at Lancer a little before noon. Teresa and Maria kept busy right up until their arrival. When the dust swirl and squeaking rig pulled up and stopped by the front door, Maria gave the girl a sour look. “Go hide in the kitchen,” Teresa offered with a knowing smile. “I’ll handle lunch.” Maria nodded. “Gracias,” she said. “I’ll return to clean up when la vieja cabra is upstairs.” Teresa’s jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide. “Maria!” she scolded none too convincingly as she giggled, placing her delicate hand over her mouth in an effort to stop. The older woman’s eyes glittered for just a moment then she lovingly patted the girl’s cheek. “Eso suena agradable,” she said with a gentle smile. “Your laugh has been gone too long.” Maria disappeared to the kitchen and Teresa felt better able to face the disagreeable old man. She went to the front door and stepped outside, joining Murdoch on the front porch. She noticed that a touch of sun to Scott’s face had chased away some of the dark hollows, but the aura of sorrow still clung to his frame as he moved about. Taking Murdoch’s elbow helped her affirm her feelings that soon everything would be all right. It had to be.
Settling Harlan in the guest room and preparing lunch kept the young girl busy, but she was able to hear most of the condolences and platitudes that the elder Bostonian uttered. She marveled at how perfect the words were, but wondered at the sincerity. The men collected in the great room before the meal and the banter became light, focusing on local politics. Teresa thought Garrett was fighting to look interested, while his real attention was on his fair-haired grandson who sat with a dejected air, spinning his lemonade glass between his hands. Conversation paused, the silence heavy. Teresa cleared her throat. “Mr. Garrett, I’m going on a ride after lunch. Is there anything you need before I go?” Scott’s head turned up at the revelation. “No, no, my dear, I’ll be fine.” Scott’s gaze caught her eye. “Are you going to the house?” he asked in a shaky voice. Teresa shifted. “Yes, I am.” Hope sparked in her heart. “Would you mind if I joined you later? I’d like to show Grandfather around a little first.” She managed to contain the urge to leap up and hug him, and instead smiled and rose to her feet, her heart fluttering with joy. “I think that would be wonderful, Scott.” Teresa knew that if she didn’t excuse herself now, the happy tears she felt building would make everyone uncomfortable. “Lunch will be ready in a minute. Excuse me, please,” and she swept from the room with a lighter step.
Scott counted five requests for him to return to Boston in the hours after lunch with his Grandfather. They were cleverly worded and woven expertly into the conversation at the time, and Scott found himself trying to outwit the older man by bringing up subjects that were far away from that line of thinking. The fifth request had been included in an exchange about taking Lancer bulls to auction in Stockton, and Scott threw in a mental towel. Trying to outwit his Grandfather was something he wasn't quite up to, he decided. He imagined himself telling Johnny how ‘ol' Harlan' managed these feats of invitation and managed a weak smile at the response he knew he'd get. Now that he’d committed himself to seeing his brother, he felt a little better. "Something humorous, Scotty?" They were walking back to the estancia after the promised tour, and Harlan still didn't seem at all impressed. He hid it well, but Scott could see easily through the false interest. "No, no, I was just thinking about Johnny. I really need to go speak with him, Grandfather. I should be back in time for dinner. Will you excuse me?" "Certainly, my boy. I think I’ll retire to my room for a bit. Be careful, won’t you?" Scott left his Grandfather at the French doors to the great room. "I will. See you in a little while." He broke away, feeling strangely freed of a burden he didn't know he carried. The idea of riding to the construction site chilled him, but he knew it had to be done. He had to talk to his brother. Scott felt unexplainably driven in this duty and knew he had to overcome the sentiment of the location to see Johnny face to face. Murdoch met him in the barn but didn’t say much. Just his father’s presence was all the young man needed to gather strength, and Scott appreciated it. Quickly saddling Charlemagne, he mounted and loped under the familiar arch before his nerve fled.
Scott pulled up at the turnoff to South Point, surprised at what he saw. Teresa's horse was tied to a tree, resting quietly with a hind leg cocked, ears calmly pricked in his direction. Many things raced through his mind in that moment as he paused, but he honestly didn't think anything was seriously amiss. After a few moments of consideration, he nearly rode on to meet his brother, but found himself reining toward the relaxed gray in an automatic response. As Charlemagne got closer, Scott felt his hand tighten on the reins; something wasn't right. Only when he was close enough to see the piece of paper secured to the saddle horn did his heart begin to beat faster. The feeling that something was very wrong set his senses on alert. When he was close enough, he snatched up the folded missive and looked around. Seeing no one, he finally looked at the paper. The outside was blank, so he unfolded it and read the short message. What he read made his stomach clench in cold fear and the emotions of the past week washed over him like a wave. He felt sick. Crumpling the note in his fist, he wheeled Charlemagne in the direction of his last happy memory with Alexandra and spurred him onward. Scott's arrival at the site was far from subtle. Hauling the powerful bay to a rough sliding stop next to the Lancer wagon, he yelled for his brother before his feet hit the ground. Boiling emotions drove him through the framed door about the same time Jelly appeared at a run from the depths of the building. "What the hell is wrong with you?" the old man sputtered at the sight of the normally level headed Scott wild-eyed and enraged. Jelly was pushed aside without a second thought as Scott stormed toward the heart of the framework. Johnny was mostly on his feet, crouched, with his Colt firmly in his grip and pointed directly at the source of the disturbance. Scott stopped abruptly, shaking in rage. Calmly, but with the burning coolness of Madrid's eyes, Johnny slipped his weapon back home. “Care to fill me in, brother?” he said in his gunfighter flat tone, his hand unusually heavy on the butt of the gun as he stood and leaned against the framework. “Now what, Johnny?” Scott yelled, thrusting the note towards Johnny’s face. “Who’s mad at you now? Who did this?” Not waiting for his wary brother to reach for the note, Scott threw it at him. With cat-like reactions, Johnny snatched the note from the air, his eyes still locked on the tall blond. After a second, he stood up straight, dropped his eyes and began to unfold the message. “Scott, what’s goin’ on?” Jelly maneuvered to Johnny’s side, glancing nervously between the two of them. “Someone has Teresa,” Scott said sharply, still glaring at his brother. The words were barely out of his mouth before Johnny was on the move. “What? Who?” Jelly blubbered. “That’s what I would like to know!” Scott said icily as Johnny brushed past him. He grabbed Johnny’s elbow in a vise grip, causing the ex-gunfighter to stop and partially turn back to him. “Let go,” Johnny growled lowly, his right hand falling back to the Colt. “I will when you tell me what’s going on,” Scott said in the same tone. “Or would you rather shoot me instead?” Time stood still for several heartbeats as brothers locked eyes and wills. Jelly stood in a ready stance to one side, holding his breath at the standoff. Finally, the younger sibling let his right hand drop. Scott loosened his grip and Johnny pulled his arm free. Jelly exhaled in relief. “We don’t have time for this, Scott,” Johnny said evenly as he turned to go. “Then tell me while we ride.” The lanky blond fell in behind. “Ride?” Jelly yelped. “He can’t ride! He kin barely stand without fallin’ over!” Trailing the pair, he followed them out to where Johnny gathered his palomino. Without a word between them, Scott grabbed Johnny’s saddle and they worked together to ready Barranca. As Johnny put the final pull on the cinch, Scott retrieved Charlemagne and mounted up. Jelly made his doubts known as they worked. “This is crazy! Scott, he can’t do anything! Look at him!” Jelly waved his arms at the dark-haired brother who was just jamming his foot in the stirrup to mount. Scott didn’t reply, but he did take a moment to really look at his brother; he hadn’t seen him for a week, and what he saw at that moment shocked him. Do I look that bad? he thought. Then Jelly’s words struck home. Johnny, comfortably mounted, reined Barranca toward him. “Can you do this?” Scott asked sharply, his emotions still raw. “I have to,” Johnny snapped in return as he urged his mount onward. Scott spun Charlie around and they rode out side by side. “Where are ya goin’?” Jelly yelled angrily at the receding backs. “Will ya at least tell me that so’s I can pick up the pieces?” When he didn’t get a reply, he hurriedly began hitching up the wagon. “Murdoch’s goin’ to be furious, an’ I ain’t got nothin’ to tell him. Dang boys got no sense a tall!” CHAPTER EIGHT Gagged and tied, Teresa fumed first at herself for being so stupid and then at her captors for doing this to her. She had an idea of where she was, even though they had blindfolded her as soon as they’d grabbed her at the South Point turnoff. The younger one had waved her off the road saying his horse had thrown him. She had stopped, but was smart enough not to get too close or dismount. The kid wasn’t much older than she was and had limped convincingly enough, so she told him that she would send one of the hands to help him intending to send Jelly his way. When the second, older man emerged from the scant stand of trees, she knew she was in trouble. He had a rifle pointed at her and she had no choice but to dismount when told. They immediately trussed her up like a roasting turkey and she was forced to ride double with one of them. By their voices, she was riding with the younger one. He sat behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist and his dusty, sour smell made her stomach roll. Teresa thought they were still on Lancer land when the horses finally stopped and the other man spoke. “I need proof.” “Proof?” The younger man sounded confused at the statement. Teresa heard the faint swish of a knife being pulled from a sheath and suddenly a strong hand grabbed a fist full of her hair. “Hold still!” the older man barked, and then she felt a tug and the crackling noise of a large lock of hair being cut. Once free, she pulled away, but then felt a hand on her waist. She began to struggle. “I said hold still! Hold her still!” A hand on her throat convinced her. She felt her blouse being tugged from her riding pants, then a ripping noise. “There. Tied together they can’t deny we have her. I’ll leave this for Madrid and wait. You take her to our hide out.” “But the note said for him to meet us tomorrow,” the younger man said, puzzled. “I know Madrid, boy. He’s not waitin’.” “What if he does wait? You gonna be out here all night?” “I won’t be out here all night. Madrid will show today and he’s gonna be on edge when he sees that I know how he thinks. It’s part of the game, kid.” “Game?” The kid’s voice was almost squeaky. “I’m serious about killin’ him, Dawson!” The man’s voice was steely sharp when he responded and Teresa felt the boy tense at the tone. “You wanted a pro, Josh, and you got one. I’m only puttin’ up with your whinin’ because your brother was a friend. Don’t question my way of workin’, you understand?” There was a heavy moment of silence before she felt the kid nod, and then say questioningly, “So it’s like poker?” Dawson chortled, “You’re trainable after all, boy! Now get goin’.” Their horse turned, and Teresa was alone with the kid for a very long time. Her captor never said anything, and she couldn’t speak, so she spent a lot of time wondering what this was all about. Fear kept raising its ugly head in her mind, and as time passed, she found it more difficult to keep it at bay. Finally, the horse was steered along a more winding trail and his hoof beats sounded on harder ground. Teresa began to wonder where she was. An odd mix of fear and anger had made her emotions rockier by the minute, but she realized that she had to keep control if she was to gather any information she could use to escape. She forced herself to settle down and listen carefully. She needed a plan, and first on the list was to find out where she was, second, why she was here and third, to get untied. With her mind engaged, she found it easier to stay in focus. The horse was finally stopped, and she was dragged off and slung over the kid’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. In a few moments, it was much cooler and smelled musty. When she was dumped to the cool, dirt floor she confirmed she was underground. But was it a cave or a mine? “Don’t be movin,’ girl. I’m just outside.” Teresa concentrated on the way the kid’s voice echoed, and determined it must be a mine. All the caves she knew around here were much more cramped. A mine, then. First thing on the list answered. She knew it was a small victory, but the good thing was that the mines around here were usually near roads, and all roads around here led to Lancer. She heard the kid return and drop some items on the floor. “I don’t mean for ya to get hurt, but it don’t mean I won’t hurt ya. Once Madrid delivers the money, you’ll get turned loose. Madrid's gotta die, though.” Item two answered. Kill Johnny? Her heart leaped in fear. She knew he would give his life if it meant her freedom, and she couldn’t live with that. Teresa began to squirm, and when the kid grabbed her shoulder to keep her sitting, she kicked at his legs. “Hey! That hurts, girl!” In an instant, she was shoved to the ground, face down, with a knee in her back. Trying to breathe through her nose to dispel the white flashes in her eyes from lack of oxygen, the frightened girl stopped fighting. Panic threatened to swell out of control, and her world narrowed to the carefully controlled intakes of air. Teresa O’Brien swore to herself that she wouldn’t pass out. Another item to add to her list.
“So what does it mean?” Scott asked shortly, riding abreast to his grim brother. “The note says to wait at Taylor’s stake. What’s it mean?” “The note said for me to wait at Taylor’s stake,” Johnny replied quietly, his hat pulled low over his eyes to accommodate the white bandage around his head. “You shouldn’t even be here.” “Quit playing games, Johnny!” Scott snapped. “The note also says not to be there until noon tomorrow. That’s where we’re going now, isn’t it? What does it mean, ‘Taylor’s stake’?” He knew how he sounded but couldn’t make himself stop. The feelings that had crashed over him when he first found the note were still whirling through his mind as an uncontrolled vortex. He saw the sideways look his brother gave him; he also noticed the way Johnny sat Barranca. Usually, the horse and the man looked like one. Right now, Johnny looked like he was using extra energy to stay upright. He also looked tense, and that niggled something within Scott. “I know this has something to do with . . . that day.” He grabbed Barranca’s rein, and pulled both horses to a stop. “Tell me what happened, Johnny,” Scott demanded, burning anger threatening to fan into a flame. “I have to know!” “Why?” Johnny demanded, jerking his reins from Scott’s hand. “Why do you have to know? So I have to see it all again? So I have to prove myself to you? What do you want from me, Scott?” Barranca nervously danced in place, reacting to the wave of anger emanating from his unsteady rider. If the older Lancer had not been looking right at his brother’s eyes at that moment, he would have missed the rare, unguarded echo of sorrow that resounded in Johnny’s fever bright eyes. The shock of seeing it dampened the flame that had started to consume him, and Scott found himself both speechless and surprisingly empty. Johnny’s jaw was locked tight, the muscles in his jaw standing out as undulating ridges as he ground his teeth. “I don’t have time for this,” the ex-gunslinger growled, gaining control of his fever loosened emotions. He sharply spurred the palomino, and Barranca leaped forward. Scott fell in behind feeling like he was galloping right into a nightmare on a runaway horse. They had reached the spot where Teresa’s gray was tied up and the horse watched them curiously. Johnny rode past it to the top of the hill with Scott following. As they dropped down the other side of the rise, the gray whinnied plaintively about being left behind. “Jelly will get her,” Scott said flatly when Johnny glanced back in the lonely horse’s direction. With a sharp nod, Johnny acknowledged the comment and kept on. The pair of horses picked their way down the slope that led to the south pasture. They followed the fence line at the bottom westward, the only direction Taylor and his gang could have come. And now, Johnny looked for signs that this was the way Teresa was taken. Scott rode quietly behind his brother, unable to speak just yet. He found the task of looking for signs to be a needed distraction to the tumble of thoughts in his mind. Unbeknown to the Lancer brothers, their progress was being watched from a nearby ridge. Dawson sat his horse with confidence and grinned crookedly when he saw the motion below him. Upon seeing Madrid, even at this distance, his hand automatically went to his low-slung holster. His thumb tapped the wooden grips of his weapon in a staccato rhythm as he nodded knowingly. “The game’s afoot, Madrid. And you brought company. Well, I hope you like your next little message.” Laughing softly to himself, the rider leaned back and pulled a well-worn but exquisitely cared for rifle from the saddle scabbard and dismounted. Dropping the reins to ground tie his horse, he positioned himself behind a tree in the shadows, well aware that a metallic flash could give him away. Dawson lifted the rifle to his shoulder and rested his cheek on the stock with intimate familiarity. “Should be ridin’ up on it just . . . about . . . now . . .” As he finished speaking, he had his target in his sights.
“What’s that?” Scott said, pointing to something dark fluttering in the wind from the top of a fence post ahead. Johnny lifted his head from studying the ground. Scott nudged Charlemagne into a jog and passed Barranca, and then reined in next to a post. He had just plucked the item from the wood when a solid thud - followed instantly by the sound of a gunshot – made Charlie twitch sideways and suddenly bolt. When the big bay raced past, Barranca sat back and reared against the snug hold on his head. Freeing his gun as he released the palomino, Johnny automatically scanned the ridgeline on the run. “The ravine!” Johnny yelled, letting Scott keep the lead while he fired off a pair of rounds in the general direction of the ridge. The racing bay veered right toward a dry creek bed with the golden horse close on his heels. Soon they were in a water cut ravine lined with thick brush, well out of sight. They pulled up, breathing hard. Scott’s bay refused to stand still and danced in place, hopping with one hind leg lifted. “Charlie’s hit,” Scott snapped after glancing down at the favored leg. “Just below the hip.” He jumped off and ran his hand down the left, hind leg. “Leg’s all right. You’re okay, boy.” He stroked the horse’s neck and spoke lowly in spite of the raging anger he felt growing once again. The bay responded to the controlled voice and stood quietly, the tender leg cocked to relieve the weight on his hip. Blood trickled in a narrow stream from the small hole in the meaty part of his rump just below the hip bone. Johnny kept watch, gun ready. “Guess he weren’t too keen on me arriving early and with company,” he said lowly with no trace of emotion. It was stated like a fact, as if he were talking about the weather. When he turned back to Scott, was met by a pair of icy blue eyes glaring at him. Johnny ignored them. “What was on the post?” Scott pulled the item from under his belt where he’d stuffed it while on the run. He kept his eyes focused on Johnny as he held up the lock of hair neatly tied with a strip of very familiar pale yellow material. Well aware of the adrenalin-laced emotions he felt burning through his veins, Scott barely kept any comments from erupting from his mouth as he watched Johnny’s reaction. There was none. None visible, anyway, and that further fueled the raging anger barely controlled inside. All Johnny did was stare at the hair for a moment as it danced in the light breeze. Then, without a word, he slipped his gun away and turned Barranca around. “Where are you going?” Scott growled through tightly clenched jaws. “It’s clear he wants only me, Scott. That shot was a warning,” Johnny said over his shoulder as he rode away. “I won’t let anyone get hurt because of me. Not again. Stay out of it.” “Stay out of it?” Scott yelled at his brother’s back, unable to contain himself anymore. He pulled on Charlie’s reins and the horse limped behind him as Scott attempted to follow his brother. “I can’t stay out of it! I’m right in the middle of it, Johnny!” Johnny didn’t look back as he loped in the direction of the shooter’s ridge. Scott cursed a blue streak, causing Charlemagne to back away and roll his eyes in fear. The angry young man realized what he was doing and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. A thought crossed his mind that he almost preferred the numbness of the past few days to these wildly undulating emotions. He also admitted to himself that being out of control was not going to help Teresa. And this time, he intended to be there and make a difference. "Come on, let's get you home," he finally said in a civil tone after calming the horse. With his head dropped low for balance, Charlemagne fell in behind his conflicted owner at an uneven, painful pace.
Johnny followed the fence line to the west for about a mile until he was able to cut around to get to the shooter’s position. Whoever it was had used the lay of the land and the fence well; it had given him a clear view of the pair of them but no direct path to his spot. Johnny was sure he was being watched the entire time; the shooter had plenty of time to reposition. He also knew that if his nemesis wanted him dead, he would have been so long before now. The shot at Charlemagne was at least 600 yards in a steady wind; not the score of an amateur, and Johnny felt the bullet had ended up exactly where intended. He found the shooter’s position rather easily as the shell casing had been left behind. It wasn’t lying on the ground, but was carefully placed so it was standing upright on a flat rock. Beneath the casing was another folded paper with ‘Madrid’ written on the outside. Johnny pocketed the casing and carefully looked around before picking up the paper. It was as quiet as death; even the breeze had ceased. The rustling of the paper seemed unusually loud as he unfolded the missive.
Saddleback Mesa – Johnny knew the spot. It was just off the most southeastern corner of Lancer land. It was open, easily watched and had dozens of escape routes. It was also far enough from town that it would make getting the money from the bank in the morning impossible. Johnny knew that the instigator here – the lone survivor of the shootout with Taylor at South Point – wanted Johnny to have little time to plan. He would have to get the cash today, and the bank closed very soon; there was no time to get Murdoch’s permission or any backup from the ranch, not that he planned on doing either of those things anyway. Johnny mounted up and headed to town at a pace almost too brisk for the terrain. He would have to push Barranca hard on the flatlands to make it in time. As he worked his way out of the rolling hills, Johnny recalled the features of the man that escaped that day. He was young, but obviously not without some smarts if he’d planned this. That rifle shot at Scott’s horse was one of an experienced gunman, and that made Johnny pause. He wasn’t convinced the shooter and that boy were one and the same. It was possible, he supposed, but something about this planning seemed too sophisticated for the nervous young man he recalled. A new partner, perhaps, now that Johnny had killed the others? Was this revenge or just taking advantage of an opportunity like Taylor would? What would his foe expect, and how could he use that? With such problems to occupy his mind, he could easily ignore the headache and wooziness from his wound’s effects. He could also push aside the obligations he felt after three years of being a part of family. This wasn’t about a rancher protecting what was his anymore. It was well veiled in demands, but Johnny Lancer knew when Johnny Madrid was being called out. CHAPTER NINE Two hours had almost passed before Scott made it to Lancer with his wounded horse. He’d hoped to get Teresa’s mare, but Jelly had picked her up before Scott got there. Cipriano spotted the older Lancer son as he topped the horizon visible from the ranch, and rode out to meet him. The senior hand took Charlemagne and gave Scott his horse to ride to the hacienda. The walk had done little to settle Scott’s mind and he felt his blood beginning to boil again. When Murdoch burst from the barn, it was clear that he was in the midst of organizing a search party. An explosion was inevitable from the older man’s expression. “Where’s Teresa?” Murdoch roared. “Where’s Johnny?” “I don’t know!” Scott bellowed right back. “Someone has her and Johnny won’t talk!” He waved an arm behind, indicating where he’d come from. “She’s out there, somewhere, and Johnny went off, as usual, to take care of it!” A motion in the doorway of the hacienda made Scott look up. Harlan Garrett paused in the doorway with a surprised look on his face. Scott threw the horse’s reins to an approaching hand and stormed up to his grandfather. “Do you know anything about this?” he hotly demanded. The connection between his grandfather and ranch trouble was the first thing that entered his mind when he saw the older man. Harlan’s eyes squinted and he pulled himself up to his full height, still falling short of his grandson but appearing uncowed. “You will not speak to me in that tone, Scotty. I have no idea what is going on! Miss O’Brien is missing, I understand? It sounds to me like that gunfighter’s the cause of all this, not me!” Scott managed to pull himself together somewhat, but his hands were still clenched in fists of rage. His gaze did not waver. “His name is Johnny,” he barked, defending his missing sibling. “And I apologize for my tone, but if I find out you had anything to do with this, grandfather . . .” Harlan’s features softened a little. “Apology accepted. And I tell you, I have no idea what is happening. Do they want money?” That made Scott pause and turn back to Murdoch. “I have no idea what they want except for Johnny, and only Johnny, to meet them. They shot my horse to make that point clear,” he said bitterly. Murdoch signaled for his horse. “I’m going to talk to the Sheriff. Scott, take the hands I’ve called in to search the area where you last saw Johnny,” he said gruffly, his own anger reined in for the moment. Recalling Johnny’s physical shape when he last saw him, he added, “Take Jelly with you.” Father and son turned and strode into the barn, their tempers cooled but their blood still hot. “Teresa can’t be far,” Murdoch noted. “It wasn’t that long after she left here that you found her horse. What did the note say?” “All it said was ‘Madrid: Tomorrow, noon, Taylor’s stake, alone’,” Scott said grimly. “I guess Johnny knows what it means.” They stopped just inside the barn and the eldest Lancer threw a glace at the lean blond. He knew the meaning of the name Taylor; obviously, Scott did not. “Taylor was at South Point that day,” he said quietly. “Besides Johnny, there was one other survivor. The sheriff may know who that boy was. It’s a start.” Murdoch motioned to have two horses brought out. “Johnny can’t handle a gunfight right now. We have to find him, or we’re going to lose both of them.” Scott felt his mouth tighten into a line. The sound of his brother’s name made his emotions fly all over the place, and he desperately tried to get them under control. Some feelings were still just too raw to acknowledge, and pushing them aside was most difficult. Suddenly, the idea of being here without his brother and sister-by-heart seemed impossible; it was already almost that way without Alexandra. For the first time in a week a calmness settled on the new widower’s mind. At least he could try to do something about it this time. The hand brought up the horses. Murdoch took his sorrel, and Scott took the reins of a strong buckskin that Johnny had been working. They lead the animals outside. Murdoch spoke lowly as they tightened the cinches. “This family will not be destroyed like this, Scott.” The deep, unspoken feelings they shared at that moment was the base Scott needed to ground his emotions, and instantly he found the control and sense of purpose he’d been missing. “Not if we can help it, sir,” he replied in a strong, even tone.
“I tell you, Johnny, you really have to try Gaye’s Steakhouse when you get to Stockton. Best meal in town. It’s down next to the . . .” “I’ll find it, thanks.” Johnny’s outer cool belied the urgency he felt inside. He smiled politely at the bank clerk, when in reality he wanted to tell him to hurry up and shut up. He was finding it more difficult than usual to center himself and concentrate. “Gee, Mr. Lancer usually uses bank drafts for this kind of purchase. You feel safe carrying this kind of cash all the way to Stockton?” The clerk’s hands paused, and he glanced up at the dark haired Lancer and smiled. “Though I guess of all of you Lancers you’re the best qualified to protect yourself, huh?” It was difficult, but Johnny managed to maintain the smile even though his head was pounding. “Guess so. You about done?” “Five thousand. There you go. Do you want a bank bag?” Johnny’s insides were telling him to run, but outside he nodded calmly. “Sure, good idea, Neville.” Neville reached under the counter and began stuffing the bills inside. “You going to the dance next week? I mean, if you’re up to it? You still look a little. . .” Neville froze when he saw Johnny’s smile disappear. “I’m sorry. Are you all right, Johnny?” Johnny slowly reached for the bag and forced the smile back on his face. “Yeah. Headache, that’s all. Thanks, Neville. Thanks Mr. Barnes!” Johnny waved at the older man standing near the safe. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Lancer. Tell your father and brother hello.” “Will do. ‘Bye.” Bag in hand, Johnny walked from the bank making a concerted effort to walk with his back straight and showing no sign of pain. Stepping from the bank into the late afternoon of Green River, Johnny's mind was whirling with plans and discarding them one after another. Before setting out, he knew he needed some provisions so he bought some jerky and licorice at Baldormoro's as well as extra oats at the feed store. Barranca still looked weary from the rushed journey to town and Johnny felt bad pushing him again, but he also knew that it was imperative for him to get back to the mesa tonight - the kid wouldn't be expecting that. "Hey Johnny!" Johnny's head snapped up at the greeting, sending a sharp pain shooting across his temple. He clamped his teeth together and forced a small smile. "Hey, Val," he answered lowly. Carefully, he seated his hat firmly on his head to cover the bandage as much as he could. The sheriff put his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "I'm surprised to see you in town. How are you?" "Fine, fine," Johnny nodded. "Well, I could be better, actually. I think I'll head on home." "I was gonna offer ya a beer, but you look like you need to hit the sack for awhile." "Yeah, mebbe so." Johnny gathered up Barranca's reins from the hitching post. Val turned serious. "I still need to talk to you, Johnny. I got an idea what went on, but I still need your statement. Those two men that came in to the undertaker with Taylor? One was wanted for a shootin' in Colorado. Killed a rancher." Johnny looked up. "The one with the scar?" He touched his cheek to indicate the area on the cocky kid. "That's the one. Derek Coleman. The other one was from Los Angeles. Robbed a bank and fled the area with his little brother." "What was his name?" Johnny asked casually, trying not to grimace from his growing headache. "The brothers were Josh and Terry Stedman. Josh's the one that got away." So the kid had a name now. Johnny touched his tender temple with a fingertip and casually asked, "He been in town?" "Don't know, but I've been gone a day." Johnny moved to Barranca's side. "Well, I'd like to talk with ya, Val, but I really should be getting' back." Val slapped Johnny's shoulder again. "Think you're right. Get some more rest, will ya?" "Sure, sure. Bye now, Val." "See ya later, Johnny. We'll talk when you're feelin' better." Johnny mounted, and then with a nod to his friend, reined the palomino out of town at a walk. Once they were clear, he pushed the tired horse into a slow lope and turned him east. It would be several hours to the mesa, and the sun would be set before he got there. The game horse was going to be pushed to the limit.
Murdoch rode into town hot and immediately found Val at his desk as he was going through wanted posters. The eldest Lancer spoke without preamble as soon as he closed the door behind him. "Val, someone's kidnapped Teresa." "What?" Val barked, jumping to his feet. "When?" "About three hours ago. Scott's out with my men looking for a trail. We're pretty sure she was taken at South Point." The big man turned to lead the way out. Val scowled. "That place is cursed." He grabbed his hat and a rifle. "Did you tell Johnny?" Murdoch stopped with his hand on the door knob, and slowly turned back to Val. "Johnny?" "Yeah. He left just about an hour ago. Didn't you see him on the road from the ranch? He was going home." "He was here in town?" Val paused, and nodded. "Yeah. I spoke to him just outside the bank." Murdoch looked out the window and saw Melvin Barnes locking the doors to the bank. Immediately, he yanked open the sheriff’s door and strode across the street, hailing the banker. "Murdoch! Good to see you again. I hope you're here to accompany your son." The older man's voice dropped for his and Murdoch's ears only. "I know he's good with a gun and all, but I'd still be nervous having my son riding around with that kind of cash." The Lancer patriarch bit back his surprise as he came to an abrupt stop. "Yes," he said evenly, mind whirling. "I was rather surprised. You usually use bank drafts. I hope this doesn't become a habit. $5,000 is a lot of cash to be riding all the way to Stockton with. Far be it for me to tell you your business, though." Barnes smiled. "No, you're right," Murdoch replied, stymied, but going along with the information. "It's a one time thing." "That’s good to know. Well, I'll see you later, Murdoch. Watch out for your boy. He didn't look too well. Good evening." "Good evening, Melvin." Murdoch watched the banker walk away, alarm rising in his heart. Val stood in the doorway of his office, rifle in hand and a puzzled look on his face as Murdoch slowly returned. "Did you see which way Johnny went?" "Sure. That way. Toward home." Val pointed north. "What's going on, Murdoch?" Murdoch Lancer wondered that very same thing. After a moment’s thought, he met Val’s eyes. “We have about an hour of daylight. Can you track Johnny?” “Sure,” Val replied, heading to the livery. “But he’s got an hour’s head start. You don’t know where he’s goin’?” “That’s what we need to find out. I’ll get my horse and fill you in on the way.”
Saddleback Mesa fell short of the rolling hills that surrounded it, and had a table-like flat top devoid of any growth taller than the mesquite bushes that dotted the surface. Sun dried golden grass and wild oats filled most of the open space, struggling to survive in the hard-packed soil. The gold ocean rustled softly in the occasional dry breeze coming through the twin peaks known as Saddleback Ridge to the northeast. The mesa was just flat enough that one could almost see the entire area from any one point. Josh Stedman could be holding Teresa in any one of the surrounding hills and could approach the mesa from any direction. Tiredly, Johnny surveyed the mesa from the western most view point as Barranca breathed heavily with his nose hanging low. Night had fallen quietly as he pushed his horse to this point, and right now the only thing that made the mesa visible was the pale, dried grass; it reflected the very meager moonlight more efficiently than the surrounding dark green mesquite and manzanita choked hills. He could see the ink black outline of the hills against a star-dazzled sky and wondered briefly how his adopted sister was faring. She was tough, he knew, but everyone had their limit and he hoped she hadn’t found hers yet. Johnny shoved the unpleasant thoughts lurking in the corners of his mind aside and made himself focus on the lay of the land. His head throbbed constantly, but at least the sharp pains that stabbed his temples earlier had receded a little since sunset. Putting together what he knew so far, Johnny figured that the kid would come from the north; it was closest to South Point. Teresa must be somewhere between South Point and the mesa. He also knew that traveling with a horseless hostage would slow them down. But if he had a partner and another horse or two – Johnny blew out an exasperated breath. His intuition was usually good, but a few more facts sure wouldn’t hurt at this point. He tilted his head and surveyed the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight so far, which was good, but the moon was barely quarter full and didn’t offer much light hanging at the hilltops like it was. Instinct told him that his opponent would expect to see him arrive from the west, which was the direction of town. If he rode in from the north instead, he might catch the kidnapper earlier than expected – perhaps even come in behind him. Johnny reached down and patted Barranca’s crusty neck. “Lo siento, amigo,” he said quietly. “I know you’re tired. We’ll take a break an’ let the moon get a bit higher. I’m gonna need your eyes to find the trail down from here and every bit of light’ll help.” He dismounted and loosened the cinch, feeling the heat of exertion radiating from the golden coat. “I’ll feed ya when you cool a bit.” The horse seemed to understand and cocked a rear leg to relax. Johnny squatted and thoughtfully chewed on some jerky. He memorized what he could of the night-shrouded terrain surrounding the mesa and tried to ignore the feeling of loneliness he felt creeping into his soul.
Under the same moon, Scott paced near a dying fire. They had managed to push on for awhile after sunset, but Cipriano insisted they stop before the darkness caused them to disturb any of the faint marks he’d managed to find on the hard ground. The shooter’s spot and Barranca’s prints were quickly found. The imprints didn’t follow the same path for long, and when Cipriano realized that Johnny was heading for town, Scott refocused their attentions to the other path. They had been steadily heading south and east. As Jelly repacked the ominous assortment of medical supplies he had hastily shoved into his too fat saddlebags, Cipriano and some of the other hands familiar with the area discussed mines and caves and any abandoned buildings or line shacks trying to discern where Teresa would most likely be held. The list was dishearteningly long. By the time night fell, the familiar double peak of Saddleback Ridge could be seen far to the southeast as spilled ink against scattered diamonds. Somewhere out there, Teresa was living a nightmare. Scott tried to at least rest a little, knowing it would be impossible to sleep. He could hear the half-dozen hands around him, also not sleeping, and decided to try and plan their next move without knowing where they were going or who they were dealing with. All he could do was pray they would get there in time, and that vexed him to no end. After an hour of restlessness, Scott got to his feet. The lookout nodded in his direction once, and returned his gaze to the darkness. He turned his back on the sentinel and found his feet walking in the direction of Saddleback Ridge, his eyes cast to the ground in front of him hoping to find a clue. The slice of moon was high in the sky and the brightest it was ever going to get. Scott patiently walked in a sweeping pattern, back and forth. He didn’t know what he was looking for and was surprised when he found it. He’d wandered over a half-mile when he saw it. If the moon had been at a lower angle, or the night overcast, he probably wouldn’t have seen it because of the shadows thrown by the shrubs. Stopping, Scott stared at the play of light and could see parallel lines on the ground. The lines weren’t in the dirt, but instead, were lines of dry, golden grass unbroken by the heavier, thicker brush that surrounded them. Old wagon wheel ruts, overgrown with the years. Scott’s heart jumped. The grassy lines were headed directly toward the low mountains between where he stood and Saddleback Ridge. Without a second thought, Scott turned on his heel and returned to the horses. As he saddled up, the sentinel approached and asked what he was doing. “I’ll be back in a little while. I just want to check something out. I don’t want to risk damaging the signs Cip’s following, so I’ll go alone.” He swung up and pointed the buckskin’s nose in the desired direction. “I’ll be back in a little while.” Scott set the horse into a fast walk and set out into the night.
Teresa tried to wiggle into a position that would help relieve the pins and needles shooting into her limbs, but wasn’t very successful. She hadn’t been able to feel her hands for a while now, and wondered what they looked like. Again, she tested the bonds tying her wrists to her beltline. They held fast. Instead, she concentrated on working the blindfold up just enough to see. Breathing raggedly around the gag, she settled to the dirt floor once again until her breathing leveled out. The young woman heard the murmur of the two men, but no specific words. She smelled a fire, and saw a flickering orange glow in the slice of outside world she had under the bottom edge of the blindfold. Teresa tried to figure out how that information could help her, and the only thing that came to mind was that they wouldn’t light a fire deep inside a tunnel. That must mean they may be near an exit. Teresa then concentrated on what she could feel, and got a small thrill of victory when she felt the hint of a cool breeze brush her cheek. Then the sound of footsteps made her freeze. “Time for some water, my dear.” She recognized the voice of the older man and the power of his grip as he pulled her to a sitting position by her bicep. A squeak of pain escaped her throat and stalled at the gag, resulting in a gasping sound. Teresa sat still as she felt hands loosen the knot at the nape of her neck. When the gag was pulled free, she took a deep breath. Before she could exhale, a canteen was shoved to her lips and tepid water poured into her mouth. Teresa gagged, choked and shook her head; water coursed down her chin. The man laughed and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Hold still, girl, you’re wastin’ water.” He jerked her hair back, raising her chin, and poured more water into her mouth. She choked shortly, but managed a pair of wild gulps. The man released her hair. “That’s enough for now,” he chuckled. Teresa felt him grab the gag hanging around her neck. Before the only opportunity left her was taken away, Teresa screamed as loud as she could. She felt the hand on the gag jerk in surprise. “Holy Moses!” the man yelped in surprise. Teresa’s scream continued until her lungs were drained, and she immediately started again, taking full advantage of her only, desperate opportunity and ignoring the sound of scrambling feet. Then something struck her cheek, and she hit the ground hard. She took a sobbing breath, readying another scream, but was brutally stopped by hands on her face. Mercifully, the second slap knocked her into darkness. |
