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CHAPTER ONE Johnny began to wonder at the wisdom of trying to shortcut the route home from Carson City when he found himself in a strangely barren part of the Sierra Nevadas. He hadn't seen a ranch or road in sight since Jackson. By his calculations, this route would cut nearly two days off the trip but he was wondering if the speed was worth the loneliness. He’d about had enough of his own company, and although Barranca was a good ear to bend, his conversational skills were limited to snorting and the occasional whinny at feeding time. Johnny Lancer was missing his family and he smiled to himself at that idea. “Ya know, Barranca, five years ago if someone had tol’ me I’d be settled down with a family, I woulda laughed in their face!” A firm pat on the palomino’s neck accented the thought. Barranca just shook his mane and kept walking. The trail Johnny chose wasn’t quite a trail, but more like a rabbit path. He figured out quickly that the loose, shale groundcover was deadly slippery and it was best to follow either a deer or rabbit path that was a bit worn. The hills were literally zigzagged with these narrow paths and they were quite easy to find due to the very sparse ground cover, which was what perplexed Johnny most about this area. They had come from Carson City, thick with tall pines and healthy growth, and had slowly descended the Sierra Nevada mountains in a south west direction. Currently, Johnny put them somewhere just east of and in between Sacramento and Stockton in an area where he’d heard of a town called San Andreas. It was the strangest mountain area he’d ever seen outside the barren Sierra De Juarez range just south of the border. It was like all the trees suddenly disappeared with any semblance of friendliness gone along with them. It gave the rancher an eerie chill. He shrugged his shoulders and hunkered deeper in the saddle, suddenly craving another human being. “I bet Scott could give me some sorta lecture about why this place looks like this,” he mumbled out loud. The horse just twitched an ear. The rabbit run snaked around the hillside on a slow path downward. The pair found themselves in a rocky area where the boulders had been shoved from the earth by some unseen force. Varying in size, the large rocks erupted along the whole side of this particular mountain like some sort of geological plague. With a grunt of interest, Johnny raised his eyebrows at the sight and began to maneuver his mount between the rocks, a little uplifted at the slight change in scenery. “Well, at least it’s different,” he mused brightly. The sun had been dropping from its apex for several hours now, and with these high ranges Johnny figured they had about three more hours of light. He had to find some water, and soon. Just as he began to scan the nearby valleys for plant life, an odd roaring in the distance caught his attention. Barranca’s ears shot forward, and the horse jolted to a stop, staring down the long valley below them with nervously flared nostrils. The roar grew, rushing toward them like a flash flood or runaway train. Johnny couldn’t see anything, but in an instant realized what it was. “Quake,” he said lowly as the gold horse began shifting his legs in worry. Johnny held on tight and tried to keep the frightened animal from spinning and running, a sure disaster in this terrain. He spoke lowly and caressed the tense, sweaty neck, trying to keep their heads facing down their trail and the rushing roar. Suddenly, the earth around them sprang to life and Barranca danced in place, barely obeying the command to not bolt. When Johnny thought the worst was over, a sharp jar shook the earth around them and the shaking increased. Frantic, Johnny looked uphill for any sign of rockslide. His stomach lurched when he saw rocks bouncing like water on a hot skillet around the base of several larger boulders. He knew they were in trouble when the large, grounded boulders began to dance. Pebbles and stones flowed around Barranca’s hooves with a torrent of dust. He calmly asked Barranca to stay at a controlled pace as they moved onward. Drawing on his master’s cool, and with a determined arch of his neck, the animal chomped nervously on the bit but moved carefully. Ever so slowly, they managed to clear most of the boulder field before the dangerous chunks began their downhill roll. The ground settled. A glance up the valley showed a dust cloud rising from the face of the range that traced the path of the quake. If he wasn’t concentrating on getting off the mountain, Johnny would have found it interesting. Right now he just wanted to be on flat ground and his traveling partner was more than happy to expedite that plan. Almost clear of the boulder field, the ground shuddered again as an aftershock gripped the mountain. Thrown aside, the nearly panicked horse scrambled for footing, but lost the fight when a wolf-sized rock seized his hind legs and swept them out from under. They fell hard. The blast of pain from Barranca's crushing weight was short lived when the initial wave of rocks and boulders overtook them and it became a battle to simply breathe. Instinctively falling back on ingrained gunfighter reactions, Johnny rolled himself into a ball and tried to go with the downward motion. Even though he was being pelted from all quarters with debris, but he managed to keep in a tight curl for what seemed like eternity. Then a nasty strike to his head took away the light and with it, the last sight of his beloved horse flailing on his side fighting to keep his head above the maelstrom. CHAPTER TWO Caesar Arroyo knew he should be hurrying to get home, but he knew what he’d find when he got there. The heavy grief and sorrow that hung in the air in his once happy home was finally bringing him to the point of decision: leave or stay? It had been almost three months since the tragic death of his son, and he’d managed to hang on and deal with his sorrow by keeping busy. The farm was more than enough to keep his mind off the boy; he had to do all the chores now, alone, since his wife seemed to have lost any desire to keep living. She sat, day after day, by the small window that allowed her to see little Carlos’ grave. Caesar wondered if Maria had lost her mind forever. He didn’t ask his thick little horse to hurry. It was nearly dark, and if he timed it right she would be asleep when he got home. It was preferable to listening to her cry. The muscular bay’s neck suddenly jerked up and the oversized ears pricked forward. Ceasar peered between the alert ears and saw a black form on the path in front of them. “Dios, it is a man!” he whispered loudly, urging the stout horse into a ground pounding trot. When they reached the form, Caesar slipped from the saddle and knelt by the unconscious man. The still form was dirty and partially buried under a collection of rocks. Caesar brushed away the smallest of them and pushed aside a pair of large one to check the man’s neck for a pulse. His skin was warm and the blood rushed. When the concerned man pulled his hand away, it was sticky with blood. “Oh, Señor, we need to get you out of here.” Caesar pulled the limp form from the rock pile with a grunt and dragged him aside. He looked at his horse and saw that the animal was intent of something else in the growing darkness. He followed the horse’s gaze and saw a glowing patch of white not far away. Slowly, he rose and stepped closer to the white form and saw that it was a golden horse standing with his head low and on shaky legs. One hind leg was lifted in pain, but when Caesar tried to approach, the horse shied away into the darkness, limping pitifully with his head to one side to avoid the dragging reins. “Oh, caballo hermoso, you are easy on the eyes and quite scared. I cannot help you tonight. I am sorry.” He saw that his soft words had an effect, as the trembling horse stopped his retreat but did not show any inclination to come closer. Accepting the small victory, Caesar turned back to the man . . . young man . . . and decided to tackle one injured soul at a time. It was quite an effort, but Caesar managed to seat the limp form on the back of his patient horse. "We have to work together, Conejo, to get this young man home," Caesar explained to the dark horse. "We will work like you are in harness. Listen, caballo pequeño, and you will lead us home. Hup, hup!" The stout little bay ducked his head, and with a swish of his thick tail, started off with his master walking alongside holding the precious load steady. As they disappeared into the growing night, Caesar called softly into the darkness. "I will check on you when I can, dorado uno!" A soft, sad whicker from somewhere in the shadows bade them farewell. It had been dark for quite awhile when Caesar walked into the small yard led by his obedient horse. There hadn’t been any noise or motion from the unconscious passenger at any time during the trip. The worried Mexican checked often for breathing. As expected, the tired man didn’t smell any dinner cooking or see any lights in the windows except from the kitchen. That was where the prayer candles had been burning for months with the window framing their son’s final resting place. Caesar sighed wearily and asked God in a short prayer to help them through this dark time – and soon. He was tired of his own bad cooking, and wondered again if bringing this new problem home was more than they could handle. Caesar tied Conejo to the fence and stepped back alongside the motionless form hunched over in the saddle. He’d noticed the holster and gun on the stranger, and had been worrying about it during the entire trip. Knowing the fragile state of his grieving wife, Caesar had already hidden his shotgun and all the ammunition in the barn. They were Catholic, but Caesar knew that every person had their limits in handling grief. Decision made, he unbuckled and untied the holster and tugged it away from the body. After he was sure the unconscious man wouldn't fall from the saddle, he dashed into the barn and stashed the rig with the shotgun. There is only so much one can tempt fate with, he thought, satisfied with his decision. The stout farmer, strong from his hours of single-handedly tilling his small fields, returned to the quiet pair and managed to slide the limp form into his arms and carry him into the house. “Maria!” he called as he tried to keep from bumping furniture with the bulky load in the darkness of the house. “Maria, someone needs our help!” Caesar carefully lowered the young man onto their tiny, threadbare divan in the main room, maneuvering the legs to dangle over one arm of the too-short piece of furniture. “Maria!” Caesar called again as he checked for breathing. It was disturbing that the man hadn’t uttered a noise in hours, and the worried Mexican bit his lip as he wondered again if he’d done the right thing in bringing him here. He heard a quiet rustle of material and turned to see his wife in the doorway of the main room. Backlit by glowing candles, he noticed how her frame had thinned in the past months. Even in the poor lighting he could see the dark bags under her eyes and the rumpled state of her clothing. Her eyes were wide, watery pools of shiny blackness. Maria stood, motionless, save the constant movement of her fingers as they twisted her rosary. Caesar was amazed the rope of beads hadn’t broken from the seemingly non-stop worrying. “Come,” he said in the same soft voice he’d used on the injured horse. “The young mans needs help.” Caeser felt for a fever. The woman didn’t move. “Maria,” he said softly. “Imagine if this was our boy needing help. Somewhere, his mother is worried. He is very young.” The gentle words seemed to sink in and Maria shuffled to his side and knelt next to the unconscious form. Caeser busied himself with lighting lamps, and noticed that his wife’s shaky hand eventually reached out and brushed the dark hair away from the young man’s forehead. Her fingers traced his hairline across his brow as she studied his face, and then she lay her palm gently against his cheek. The rosary disappeared into her apron pocket and she began to unbutton his shirt. “He has some blood on his neck,” she said, her voice wavering. “Si, I know. I think he hit his head, but I have not checked closely. I’m sure there are other injuries, too.” Caesar’s comforting voice was like music as they spoke in their native language. Caesar and Maria spoke a little English, but had no reason to use it, as they lived on the outskirts of a Mexican community. In a soothing cadence, Caesar told of the earthquake, finding the injured man and the golden horse, and his suspicions about the pair being caught in a rockslide. As he spoke, Maria became more animated. “We need to check him thoroughly, Caesar. I felt that quake here, and it was not small. He must have broken bones. I will heat some water to wash him, and make some bandages. Undress him, and I will get a nightshirt.” She stood and clicked her tongue as she shook her head. “And this will not do. He needs a proper bed.” Caesar met her eyes meaningfully. “There is only Carlos’ room, unless you want him in our . . . “ “Carlos’ room will be fine. I know our boy wants us to help this man. I can feel it in my heart.” Maria hurried off to the kitchen, leaving a stunned Caesar to deal with moving their guest. He had not seen his wife this animated in a long time and he hoped this was a turning point. After pulling off Johnny’s boots, noting significant swelling in one leg in particular, he gathered the young man up again and, with another small prayer of thanks to God, carried him to his dead son’s room. Maria threw herself into caring for her patient. She chatted with him constantly as she carefully undressed and washed him with her husband’s help. They both determined his head had been struck many times, but the worst appeared to be the bloody knot buried under his thick hair on the left side of his skull. Caesar was sure there were some cracked ribs, but other than that and the numerous bruises, they were amazed he was mostly intact. Even the thick, swollen leg seemed to be only bruised. Maria deftly sewed several of the head wounds shut with a practiced hand and said quiet prayers for the young man. “He is blessed,” Maria said, adjusting the nightshirt on his freshly washed and bandaged body. “He should not be walking this Earth. But he is, and he came to us.” She sat on the edge of the bed and combed Johnny’s long hair with her fingers, careful to not disturb the stitched areas. “I think we cleaned the wounds well enough, but he may get a fever during the night. Sit with him while I make some coffee.” She stood, and Caesar took her place. “I will start a broth pot. He will need food when he awakens.” Caesar was pleased and surprised at the change in his wife, and thanked the quiet stranger and God. Soon, the smell of brewing coffee and beef broth wafted in the room and Caesar, with a growling stomach, knew his wife was on the road to recovery. He only hoped the young man walked the same road. CHAPTER THREE The next week was a flurry of activity in the Arroyo’s house. While Caesar worked in the fields, Maria clucked and chattered her way through cleaning and cooking. She was appalled that she’d let the small house get into such disarray. By the end of the week the house was in order and the larder restocked. All the while, the stranger lay unconscious. Maria found that with careful cajoling and soft urging he would rouse enough that she could get thin broth and water down her patient’s throat, but she worried about the way his bones were more prominent by week’s end. “We must pray that our boy wakes up soon,” she began to say. Caesar wondered about her reference to the man as ‘our boy’, but who was he to question God’s will? By the middle of the second week, she had altered a few of Caesar’s shirts to fit her charge when he woke up, and had redecorated the bedroom to look more like a young man’s room. The few toys and items belonging to their dead son were carefully wrapped and placed in the chest at the foot of the bed. Soon, all mementos of the dead Carlos Arroyo were nestled in the chest, and the lid locked. Maria hummed and rocked her chair contentedly next to the sick bed and mended clothes as she watched over her charge. A soft groan caught her attention. She dropped her work and moved to sit on the bed, taking his long fingers in her hands and stroking them gently; for the first time, she felt animation there, and her heart raced. He groaned again and rolled his head to one side. “Careful, mijo, do not move so quickly,” she said softly in soothing, rhythmic Spanish, her hand soft against his cheek. “I am sure your head hurts.” The dark head rolled to face the voice, and a grimace flickered over his features. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, revealing two blue crescents of half-open eyes that fuzzily tried to focus. Maria knew his eyes were blue, but now, with the spark of life behind them, their hue made her catch her breath. He was so beautiful, even in this depleted state! Her eyes swam with grateful tears as he gently brushed his unkempt hair from his forehead. “I am so happy you are with us again!” “M-m-mama?” he sighed, barely above a whisper. Tears flowed unabated down her cheeks as she took both of his hands in hers and squeezed them with affection. “Yes,” she choked. “Yes! Thank God that word has touched my ears again!” It had been almost three weeks since Johnny had wired home telling Murdoch that he was on his way back. He was overdue by four days now, and the family was worried. “Johnny should have taken the train to Carson City,” Scott grumbled again as he, Murdoch and Teresa sat at the dinner table and pretended to eat. Piercing a piece of steak with his fork, the older Lancer brother lifted the meat from his plate and twirled the utensil between his fingers, studying the beef but not really seeing it. “Your brother wanted to ride. He considered it a vacation. Besides, it’s been a long time since that area has been visited by any of us. Any information of town growth would be useful." Murdoch toyed with his water glass, spinning it slowly and leaving circular patterns on the table cloth until Teresa reached over and tapped his hand to make him stop. “Well, it made sense at the time when Johnny talked me into letting him go.” The Lancer patriarch guiltily pulled his hand back with an apologetic glance at his young ward. Instead, he snagged his fork and started to poke at his baked potato. “I can leave first thing in the morning to look for him,” Scott stated more than asked. “But we have no idea where he went,” Teresa said as she smoothed her napkin in her lap for the seventh time. “Have you heard back from the sheriffs you wired?” “Not all of them,” Murdoch answered. “But most of them. He definitely hasn’t been around Placerville, but I didn’t expect him to go that way anyway. He mentioned heading more south.” “I can start from Placerville and go south from there.” Scott’s voice brightened with the possibility of finally doing something. “I just can’t sit here, sir!” Murdoch shook his head. “I know it’s hard, Scott, but there’s a lot of area between Placerville and here. We need more information. And with Cipriano gone for the next two days, you’re needed here.” The eldest Lancer raised his hand to stop the anticipated protest from his older son. Scott snapped his jaw shut and his eyes glowed in anger. “This is what we’ll do: I’ll get an updated map from the Cattlemen's Association of that area; new members, new ranches and the like. At least we'll have something to work with instead of wandering around blind. Someone must have seen him; he needs supplies and water.” “What about the towns? Haven’t the sheriffs in those areas gone to the towns?” “There are not many towns in the foothills, Scott. Everyone is spread around in that area. We need more information before we head up there.” Teresa brightened. “Maybe Barranca threw a shoe or something. If there are not many towns, he’d have a hard time finding a way to fix that.” “Yeah,” Scott said, unconvinced. “Maybe that’s it.” He dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin, then pushed his chair back and stood. “Two more days, Murdoch, then we have to do something. Anything. I can’t sit here and do nothing.” Murdoch nodded with a sigh and dropped his utensil. “I know, and I agree. I’ll ask about that map tomorrow morning.” “How about tonight? There’s enough daylight left to get to Cyrus’ place, and I can bring it back in the morning.” Murdoch looked at the two hopeful faces waiting for an answer and couldn’t disappoint them. “All right. I’m sure Cyrus won’t mind an overnight visitor. Both Scott and Teresa’s faces shined with bright smiles. Scott grabbed his hat and immediately headed out the door as Teresa jumped up and began clearing the table of the uneaten food, hoping the time would pass faster if they kept busy. |