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CHAPTER SEVEN Scott was physically tired and spiritually weary, and he could tell by the hard lines on his father's face that he wasn't alone. Tomorrow would be one month since the missing Lancer was overdue, and it was like he'd fallen off the face of the Earth. They had been to at least two dozen ranches of various sizes between Jackson and San Andreas and no one had seen Johnny. They were on the wagon worn road to San Andreas when they saw a lone rider in the distance along the edge of the foothills. The pair exchanged a silent look, and understood the unspoken question between them. They reined their horses toward the rider in unison. When the man on the small bay realized the two riders were coming to him, he stopped and waited. "Hola!" Murdoch called when he saw the typical Mexican clothing of their target. "Cómo está usted?" The two Lancers reined in a comfortable distance from the man. "Bueno, gracias." Scott noticed that the small, stout horse had absurdly large ears. "Lata yo ayuda usted?" "Yes, you can help us," Murdoch said with a smile. "Do you have a farm near here?" "Si, up this canyon a little ways. Why?" "Just wanted to know if you knew the area and the people around here. We're looking for someone." "My brother," Scott interjected. "But he doesn't look like me. He's half Mexican, so he's dark, with blue eyes." "Yes," the eldest Lancer added. "And he rides a palomino horse." The man's face was impassive. He dropped his head and rubbed his chin with his rough hand, taking his time to answer. The long, brown ears of the horse relaxed sideways as the man thought. "I am sorry, señors," the man said slowly. After another silent moment he raised his eyes to them, his expression no different than when he first greeted them. "I cannot help you." Scott nodded tiredly and reined Charlemagne back toward the road. Murdoch managed a smile. "Gracias. Can you tell us how far to town and a bed for the night?" "Two hours," the man replied. "Go to Bonita's. Her cooking is excellent." "Thanks. We'll be on our way, then." The big man reined his sorrel to follow the departing bay. Caesar Arroyo, his heart racing in his chest, quickly crossed himself and looked to the heavens, feeling slightly sick. "Just a while longer. Please understand." His eyes teared as he spoke to God and asked forgiveness. "Just a little longer." The travel weary men visited two more ranches before riding into the small town of San Andreas and directly to the small, but brightly painted sign of Bonita's Boarding House. Murdoch took their bedrolls and saddlebags while Scott led the horses to the livery, both men working silently in a well-practiced dance of duties. Murdoch took a moment to stretch as he stood on the boardwalk in front of Bonita's. His body ached from head to toe, and he craved a hot bath. With a quick, practiced glance up and down the narrow street - hoping to see the familiar form of his younger son - he sighed and used his hat to slap some dust from his pants before stepping inside the establishment. The older man knew time was running out. He'd been away from Lancer far too long, and the long summer days had shortened with the approach of autumn. The nights held that familiar seasonal crispness that signaled the end of one season and the start of another. He would have to go back to the ranch and prepare for the winter storms; it wasn't fair to expect Cipriano, Teresa and Jelly to shoulder the burden. Murdoch knew he would have to bring up the subject to Scott; San Andreas would be the elder Lancer's last stop. He felt that quitting was accepting the fact that Johnny was not coming home and it was hard to swallow. Murdoch pushed those thoughts aside when he approached the small front desk and was greeted by a tiny Mexican woman he assumed was Bonita and got a room for the night. The livery was small and as neat as a barn could be and it made Scott slightly homesick for the barn at Lancer. By the time he got the saddles pulled the proprietor hustled in with a yellow-toothed grin and a sack of oats over his shoulder. "Yo lata hacer aquel para tí, señor. Está usted quedando largo?" Scott again damned himself for not being any better at his Spanish now than he was a few months after his arrival in California. His moment of confusion was enough for the lanky stableman to put two and two together, and he continued to speak in broken English. "I will do that, señor," he said slowly, indicating with a wave of his hand the action of brushing the horses. "How long?" "Oh," Scott replied, both relieved and embarrassed. "A couple of nights. Two," he held up his fingers. "Dos or tres?" The man nodded his head, dropped the grain in a corner with a smile and picked up a brush. "Bueno. Dos o tres noches, yo comprender." The bone tired Easterner stepped aside and produced some coins from his pocket. He patted Charlemagne on the neck and handed the money to the stableman. "Gracias," he said softly as he turned to go. San Andreas was in the process of shutting down for the night. Scott saw a man dragging display items back into the tiny mercantile and the smithy hanging up his tools. Piano music, however, tinkled from a small place that glowed with lamplight in the failing daylight. Scott, realizing the hour, sped up his step to the mercantile and asked where he could send a wire. The aproned man frowned for a moment until the fair skinned man made his intention clear, then nodded vigorously and led Scott inside to the back of the store. "Emilio!" The man called. "Usted deber enviar un mensaje! Emilio?" A dusty teenager trotted in from the back door and appraised the customer with a quick up and down glance. "Si, papa, le oigo," he said breathlessly. Then to Scott, "You wish to send a wire, señor?" Relieved, Scott nodded and smiled. "Yes, thank you." He dictated the message telling Teresa that they arrived, that they hadn't found any sign of Johnny, and they would probably be here for a few days. The boy scratched the message down on a paper then glanced up at his customer with a bright expression. "You are looking for someone?" Quickly, Scott told the story of his missing brother. Emilio nodded his head thoughtfully, and then made a suggestion. "Señor, we are having the annual Festival de la Cosecha . . . um, festival of harvest . . . next week. Everybody for miles around will be here in town for two days. It would be a good time to ask about your brother." Scott brightened. "That sounds perfect, Emilio. Thank you." He clapped the boy on the shoulder and paid for the wire, including a tip. Emilio smiled and nodded. "Gracias. I will get this message off right now." He disappeared into a small dark room which was softly lit by the time Scott stepped back outside. He couldn't remember the last time he had a full night's sleep; then again, that thought was a joke because he couldn't remember a whole lot of anything. Sitting up in the small bed, Carlos let the blankets fall aside to allow the coolness of the night to surround him. The sharpness of the air on his skin forced him to focus and get his mind away from the disturbing dreams that plagued him night after night. Before, he didn't remember what he dreamed and just woke up with a headache. Now, he could recall snatches of visions, none of which he wanted to remember. So much blood! Mama kept assuring him it was a normal process of healing, a mantra that calmed his heart and steadied his breathing in the darkness of night. He'd hoped that the physical work would help him get dreamless sleep, but it didn't work today. He rubbed his temple in an attempt to hold the growing pain at bay. With a smooth motion that was as silent as a shadow, Carlos slipped from the bed and into the kitchen. After a momentary pause by the brightly painted pitcher, he sat by the small window that overlooked the fields, a cool glass of water between his hands. Moonlight robbed the night of total darkness, spilling silver light over the fences and fields of heavy crops. His heart filled with pride at what he saw, but he was painfully aware of the feeling that something was missing, and that's what plagued him day after day and night after night. The black hole in his mind refused to be filled with color. The missing time made itself known obliquely through dreams and flashes of scenes during the day, and it was driving him to the edge of madness. He would be fine if the flashes would stop, but they persisted along with the feeling of . . . something. Something he craved to put his finger on and pin down. A sharp sting in his hand brought him back from his mental search. He dumbly looked at his hand and saw that he'd broken the glass with his grip and he was bleeding from several small cuts. As he looked at his hand, fascinated by the small chunks of glass protruding from it, the remaining water ran to the table's edge and dripped onto his lap like chilly fingers tapping, tapping, tapping. Finally coming to his senses, Carlos leaped to his feet and stared at the drops. The gentle beat of the water dripping on the floor matched the pace of the blood dripping from the worst of his cuts to the table; the syncopation momentarily hypnotized him. The tapping changed to the clopping of horses' hooves. In his mind's eye he saw a golden horse walking toward him with interested ears, warm, calm eyes, that glowed warmly with color. "Carlos!" His mother's voice made him jump, and the horse disappeared from his inner eye in a flash. "M-m-mama ! I-I-I . ." he didn't get a chance to say anymore before the whirlwind of a woman snatched up his hand and plucked out the glass, then wrapped the hand with a dish cloth. Carlos could only stare and quietly accept the ministrations, numbly silent in desperation as he tried to call back the horse in his mind. CHAPTER EIGHT That night, Scott and Murdoch indulged themselves with a hot bath and a barber's shave. The time on the trail had made them sore and tired, so they held off any conversation until they sat to dinner. Bonita proved to be the cook the man on the trail professed her to be, and they enjoyed the meal immensely. Murdoch decided to voice his plan over coffee. "I need to return to Lancer, Scott. I . . . we have been gone too long." "I'd like to keep looking, sir." Scott told his father about the Autumn Festival the liveryman had mentioned, and Murdoch agreed it was a good opportunity. "It starts next week, so that gives me time to check the area east of here a little more." "This is what I'll do, then. I can be in Sonora in a day. They know Johnny there, so checking the town should be easy. I'll wire you from there with what I find out then I'll ride to Stockton and take the train south. That will get me home in three days, at the earliest." Murdoch traced the rim of his coffee cup with his finger as he watched the steam rise. Softly, he said, "I don't want you to think I'm giving up, son. I still want one of us to keep on looking." Scott glanced up and smiled a sad smile at his father, knowing it had been a hard decision to make. "I understand. It's just that we don't have a lot of time until the first snow hits the foothills, and . . . " His voice trailed off. It was an unspoken thought that if they didn’t find the missing Lancer before winter, they probably wouldn't find him at all. "I know," Murdoch finished for him "There's still time. We'll figure out the next step after the Festival." Scott nodded, and returned to watching the trembling surface of his coffee. Maria was the one that brought up the Festival de la Cosecha to Carlos. The boy's sharp eyes had noticed the extra produce they had put aside, and how the nicest of the harvest was being carefully tended. And there was Maria's extra time in the kitchen. Around the dinner table one night, Carlos finally asked what was going on. "Oh, mijo, I am so sorry! You do not recall the Festival de la Cosecha; I did not think. It is a wonderful way to prepare for the winter. We may not see some of our neighbors for months when winter falls, so this is our way of saying goodbye for the season. I bet you were wondering what was going on!" The young man nodded, again embarrassed at his ignorance. At first, the idea appealed to him, but as the dinner went on and he listened to his parents' excited chatter of past Festivals, he began to feel apprehensive. He didn't know why, but the idea of being around so many people made his heart clench in his chest. Caesar picked up on his son's quietness. "It's all right if you don't go," he said softly. "It may be difficult." "He will be fine," Maria said with conviction. "There will be a lot of pretty girls for you to look at, and Señor Alvarado offered us a place to stay for the night." She reached over and patted her son's hand. "You will like it. Will you go for me?" Carlos glanced at her and smiled, then nodded in agreement before focusing on his fork. Caesar reached over in sympathy and patted his hand. “Just remember that you will not be alone.” His son nodded an acknowledgement. Apprehension for the upcoming event grew stronger with each passing day. Torn, the young man was curious about seeing new and different things, but he was also well aware that his speaking difficulties and headaches would set him apart. Carlos wasn’t sure he wanted to expose what he felt was a tremendous weakness to such a large crowd; the idea of staying home was becoming more and more preferable. It didn’t help that the nightmares seemed to be getting worse. There were so many flashes of so many different places it was dizzying, and all of them were washed in blood, red being the only color in his dreams. Except one place – it was white and grand and set in a rolling valley surrounded in green. The gold horse had led him there one night after a particularly violent episode startled him awake, awash in sweat. With his heart hammering in his chest and needle-like pain searing his head, Carlos had thrown himself from his bed and managed to wobble outside in the middle of the night for the brisk coldness to slap him into some kind of focus. As he stood just outside the doorway, facing the unmarked grave he’d never asked about, the horse had appeared. At first, he dismissed it as a crop-seeking deer, his sight somewhat blurred from the pain in his temple, but when a drifting cloud cleared the moon and the yard and field were splashed in silver, the animal seemed to glow. Pain forgotten, Carlos felt his breath catch in his throat as the white castle hovered like a fog around the horse that then turned and walked slowly under a white arch, away from the suffering man. “No!” he whispered, wincing. “D-d-on’t g-go . . .” Pain came back in a jolt, and Carlos had to hold his head between his hands to keep it from exploding. The beautiful vision faded before his tearing eyes, and was gone so quickly it made him gasp. With an anguished whimper, he sagged to his knees in the dirt and waited out the pain, wondering if he was awake or asleep, and what was real outside the agony. When it finally faded, he decided then and there to keep all this to himself; there was no reason for his family to know how much he was truly suffering. Caesar, however, could not be fooled. He noticed the subtle change in his young charge the very next day. Once, a couple of days before they were to leave for the festival, he saw Carlos standing shakily behind the barn, one hand on his temple and the other reaching out like he was trying to touch something. It was then the worried father really looked at his son, and didn’t like what he saw. The boy had stopped gaining weight, but the loose clothing covered that up. His face should have more color with the time he spent outside, and his speech had not improved. Caesar also suspected the headaches had returned with a vengeance, but the boy was a master at hiding his condition. Caesar tried to speak to his wife about the matter, and that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for Carlos to go to the Festival, but she would not hear him. “He is just excited. You just wait and see, mi esposo, he will make us proud.” Maria brushed his concerns aside like sand with a broom. Caesar, then, wondered about her frame of mind. How could she not see how their boy was suffering? Was she living in a world of her own hopes and dreams and not in this one? He quickly said a prayer for help, and left the happily humming woman to her chores. The east field needed attention, and it was a good opportunity to keep Carlos close by his side and try to keep his own rising concerns in check. Scott decided to visit one more ranch before the day was over. The Festival was to start in two days, so he decided to spend the next day in town and watch the preparations. He understood that most everyone in the tight knit Mexican community for miles around would be there. Since Johnny hadn’t been seen in Sonora, this was a great opportunity to cover most of the territory between here and Sonora at one time. Not able to sit and wait for the farmers to come to town, the fair haired Lancer decided to give some of the farms further out from San Andreas a visit. This one, the last on his list, wasn’t on the Cattleman’s Association map and he heard about it by word of mouth, which is how he found out about most of these small farms. The fields were ripe with produce and well cared for. A lone cow watched him from a snug looking barn and a pair of goats wandered around a neat pile of grassy hay. The small lane that led to the house was well worn and lined with native flowering plants that were fading with the summer. A small Mexican woman stepped out from the house to greet him, wiping her hands on a white apron as he approached. “Buenas dias,” Scott called, pulling Charlemagne to a stop near her. “Buenas dias,” she replied with a smile. “Do you speak English?” the tired Lancer asked hopefully. “Si, a little,” the woman replied with a heavy accent, nodding her head. “My name is Scott Lancer,” he started, the speech well rehearsed. “I am looking for my brother. My hermano.” “I have not seen any strangers for months, señor Lancer,” the woman said hesitatingly, struggling with the words. Scott’s shoulders sagged and he smiled tiredly. “Thank you. If you see a dark haired man with blue eyes riding a palomino, please let the sheriff or marshal in town know?” The woman smiled and nodded. “Yo comprender, um, yes. I am sorry you have . . . lost . . . su hermano. My son has blue eyes, also. I will watch for you.” “Thank you, ma’m. Adios.” “Adios!” The woman returned to her house as Scott reined around to leave. As he turned, he noticed a grave not far from the house and figured that the woman knew what it felt like to lose someone you loved. CHAPTER NINE Scott moved through the crowd feeling the infectious joy. For the first time in a long while he felt like smiling – the music in the streets, the bright clothing and happy people and the running, laughing children – he let it surround him and absorbed the good feelings. Recognizing many of the people from both his time in town and his trips to the ranches, the visiting Lancer felt welcome even though he still struggled with the language. The celebration was in full swing by late afternoon with the anticipation of the town wide barbeque set to start at dusk. Even with the thick atmosphere of good will, Scott could not shake the niggling that this was a wasted stop and he was wasting his time. Weaving between the happy people and trading greetings, the thought weighed heavy on his mind all the way to the stairs that lead to Bonita’s front door. Once he climbed them and he was on the boardwalk Scott paused and pulled his hat from his head as he gave the throng one last look, a wistful smile on his lips. As he turned to Bonita’s door, the flash of a profile across the crowded street stopped him cold. His eyes quickly found the face for a second before the milling crowd and joyous dancers closed around it, and the familiar forehead with the unruly lock of hair was undeniable. He held his breath and kept his eyes locked on the spot; the dancers swayed aside and he saw the face again, now ducked in what Scott recognized as a posture of shyness. “Johnny!” The whisper was hoarse as Scott’s throat went dry, and instantly he was in motion. Scott jumped from the boardwalk and fought his way through the crowd. What was once a friendly gathering was now a teeming mass keeping him away from his quest. Deaf to the protests he received as he pushed his way through the press of celebrating bodies, Scott found it impossible to keep his long lost brother in sight. AS he worked his way through the weaving, flowing crowd Scott saw flashes like individual photographs of Johnny’s actions- he looked up, he glanced aside, a hand brushed the hair from his forehead, then he turned and began to move away. “No! Johnny!” The frantic brother barely noticed the woman at Johnny’s side as he tried to close the gap between him and the retreating form. He’d almost broken free of the crowd when a strong hand closed on his arm and pulled him off balance. “Señor!” Scott tried to break free, impeded by the press of bodies, but the man’s grip was like iron. “Let me go!” he snapped, his eyes glued on his brother’s back. With an unsuccessful jerk to release his arm, Scott finally focused his angry eyes on the source. “Let me go! My brother . . .” “Señor, hear me! He does not know you!” Scott jerked his arm roughly. “Let me go!” he yelled. “Please!” The man was not particularly tall, but very strong and powerfully built. His sorrowful, pleading eyes and quavering voice were what stopped Scott in his tracks. “Señor, please hear me. Your brother does not know you!” “What?” Scott demanded as his struggle to get free ceased. “What are you saying? Who are you?” The small man’s eyes swam with pooled tears as he spoke. “Your brother, señor. He does not know who he is. He thinks he is that woman’s son . . .” Astonished, Scott’s jaw dropped and he glanced at the pair just now departing from his line of sight. He’d barely noticed the woman at Johnny’s side before, but he could see that she was guiding his brother by his elbow. Scott turned his wide eyes on the small man who then released his arm. “. . . and my son,” the man finished sadly. “What?” Wringing his hands, the small man nodded to a side street. “It is more quiet over there, señor. Can we talk?” Scott grabbed his arm and practically dragged him to the alley. “Tell me what is going on or I will get the sheriff. Now!” “Some friends told me you were looking for a man, so I was looking for you. Your brother thinks his name is Carlos Arroyo,” the man started. “And why would he think that, mister?” Scott demanded. “Caesar. My name is Caesar Arroyo, and he thinks that because that is what we told him,” Caesar replied sadly, dropping his eyes as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. The story came out in a rushed mix of Spanish and English, and Scott had to concentrate to understand. “I found him badly injured in a rock slide over a month ago. I got him to our hacienda but he did not wake up for many days. When he finally did, he did not know who he was. My wife and I did not know that for a long time because he did not talk much. For some reason talking makes his head hurt.” He tapped the left side of his head. “And he talks with much difficulty, even now.” A look of alarm crossed Scott’s features. “So why didn’t you tell him you didn’t know who he was? That he was an injured stranger?” The man dropped the frayed hem and began to wring his hands instead. “My wife . . . we . . .lost our son four months ago. He got hurt and died. Maria . . . she could not accept it. When your brother came, she came alive again.” A tear now trickled down the man’s face, the inner conflict of the decisions quite clear. “Now I am worried, señor, for your brother and my wife. She truly believes the boy is hers. She believes he is our dead Carlos.” Scott’s mouth was in a tight line before he spoke. He met the man’s eyes when he thought his anger was under control. “What about your neighbors and friends? What about your family? Didn’t anyone notice?” “This is our first time away from the farm with Car . . . you brother. I told anyone who asked that he was my cousin from Mexico, here to help us. They know he is not our son and have simply overlooked some of the things she says. They feel sorry for her.” Caesar’s voice became soft and husky. “They are good people. And they believe he is my nephew.” Blue eyes began to burn. “This can’t continue, Caesar. Johnny needs to come home with me.” Caesar’s head bobbed. “I know, I know. I have known for a while, since I first saw you on the trail.” A flash of surprise crossed the Anglo face. “We met on the trail and I said I could not help you. I am sorry." He paused, Scott's silence telling him to continue. "Something is wrong now, señor, and I fear for my wife and your brother. I fear for their . . .” At a loss for words, he tapped his head. “Their minds? Why?” Scott fought down the surge of alarm rising in his gut. “Carlos . . . I mean, Johnny, is having nightmares. And he sees things when he is awake. The headaches are coming back again. And I know I should never have let Maria call him our son, but she was so happy and he seemed to be so content.” Caesar’s voice cracked and wavered with emotion. “I am afraid what she will do to herself if we let the boy go. I am afraid the boy is going mad. I do not know what to do!” A parade of emotions rolled through Scott’s mind, but he kept himself in check as he sorted them out. At first he didn’t care about what happened to these two people that had simply hijacked his brother. Then he saw that Caesar and Maria were not malicious people, but ones put in the devastating position of losing a son, and the people that had ultimately saved Johnny’s life. He’d seen lots of physical and mental injures as a result of the war, and knew that the idea of treating mental illness, whether from injuries or from birth, was a vague, barely acceptable practice in these parts. What he didn’t know were the risks involved in any kind of treatment. Where should he start? The look of hope on Carlos’s face could not be ignored. Scott could tell that the soft spoken farmer wanted to do the right thing, and that Caesar saw himself right now where Scott, too, saw himself: What can they do and not do more damage? “Has Johnny been seen by a doctor?” Caesar shook his head. “There is no doctor here, señor.” “Scott,” the Lancer said. “My name is Scott Lancer.” A weak smile lessened the worry lines around Caesar’s face a little. “Señor Lancer. There is a doctor that comes through about four times a year, but we usually take care of our own here.” Scott nodded in understanding as he chewed his lower lip. He needed help. “I’m going to wire some people. Are you staying in town tonight?” Caesar nodded. “Tell me where. After I get some instructions, I will meet you at the barbeque or leave a note where you're staying. I can see Johnny is being taken care of, and that alone eases my mind. Thank you for that.” Caesar had the decency to blush at the compliment, knowing it was all that was good about this whole affair. “Where is your farm?” Scott asked softly. Caesar quickly sketched in the dirt where his farm was. “I’ve been there!” Scott said, realizing where it was. “Si. You spoke with my wife. Car . . . Johnny was with me that day, working in the east field. She told me that you had come by, and what she said to you.” The Mexican sounded embarrassed. “And she truly believed what she told you. That is what makes me so afraid.” Scott understood now how the man must feel. 'My son has blue eyes, also.' Maria Arroyo had no idea that the man living with them was a stranger and not her son. He only hoped Sam could help him deal with this, but for now all he wanted was to see his brother up close. Caesar read his face easily, and put a comforting hand on Scott’s arm. “You want to see him, don’t you?” Scott nodded. “This way. Maria was taking him to the stockyard to see the horses. He has a way with them. Oh,” he stopped Scott. “I know where his horse is. The palomino?” Scott brightened. “You have Barranca?” “No, I do not have him, but I know where he is. I could not bring him home at first because he was hurt, but later because . . .” a guilty look crossed his face. “Because you didn’t want the connection to Johnny.” “Si,” he said lowly, but then brightened. “But I don’t think the horse would let me catch him, anyway. He is very . . . sospechoso.” “Suspicious? Yes, he is. He only trusts Johnny. He’s fine now?” Caesar directed Scott into the crowded street. “Yes, he is doing well.” They moved through the dancers and revelers, the smell of barbeque heavy in the air. The stockyards were on the outside edge of the town, behind the meager collection of buildings that made up central San Andreas. The corrals were full of cattle and the horses on display were tied around the outside of the corrals. People milled around the animals, trying to get a last look before it was too dark to see. Scott and Caesar walked side by side for a few minutes then the smaller man pointed at a far corral. Scott could just barely see the figure in the plain white shirt, but recognized the frame of his missing brother. He started forward, but Caesar’s hand restrained him again. “Señor Scott, please. I am afraid if you startle him he will get one of his headaches and he will have to rest for hours.” “They're that bad?” Caesar nodded. “Si. We wondered about bringing him here, but he was very persuasive.” The older Lancer brother couldn’t help but smile, but he felt his throat choke up. “Yes,” he said quietly. “He can be that.” "I also do not know how my Maria will react." They quickly devised a plan where Caesar would get Maria to face him while Scott bumped his brother on the opposite side and issued an apology. Neither man voiced their concern as to what would happen after that. Scott mentally prepared for anything, knowing his brother’s somewhat explosive personality. Scott walked around where he could watch his brother’s profile while Caesar positioned himself to approach Maria. Johnny was standing by a good looking chestnut stallion, but his entire attention was on his toes at the moment. Two young girls about Teresa’s age were giggling and talking to him but Johnny appeared to be doing his best to disappear. Scott could see an embarrassed flush on his brother’s unusually pale cheek as he watched his brother dig at the dirt with the toe of his shoe and remain speechless. The lack of confidence does not suit him, the worried brother observed. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything but boots! Scott realized when he saw the simple shoes on his brother’s feet. Scott's gaze traced up his brother's legs as he studied him. The clothes he wore were so different; the plain white shirt was loose and untucked over plain, loose pants were a far cry from the snug, low slung outfit he usually wore. When Maria turned to speak to Caesar, Scott made his move. He walked forward and bumped his brother’s arm from the back then stopped immediately, his every nerve alive with anticipation. “Excuse me,” he said as he turned, barely hearing his own voice through his pounding heart. He found his brother’s eyes and smiled; the eyes that met his dropped almost immediately. “I -i-it’s-s-s alr-r-right,” Johnny said so softly in Spanish that Scott had to strain to hear him. “Are you all right?” Scott continued, his heart breaking inside as he took his brother’s elbow in an effort to get him to look up again. He wondered if Johnny could feel the racing pulse in his fingertips where he touched his arm. It took a moment for Johnny to raise his eyes again to meet Scott’s. What was in the dark blue Scott could not discern, but it wasn’t recognition. There was a measure of sadness edged in pain as his eyes squinted slightly - and a touch of fear. His long fingers rose to the left side of his head and the usually handsome face grimaced horribly as he spoke. “E-e-st-st-stoy m-m-m-multa , p-por favor. I -I’m f-f-fine!” he stuttered through gritted teeth, pulling his arm free and obviously embarrassed. The girls giggled again and one reached for his other arm with a quiet word, but Johnny quickly backed away from the three of them rubbing his temple. Then he spun on his heel and brushed against Maria in his haste to escape. “Carlos!” Maria fell in behind the hurting young man, and with an apologetic glance in Scott’s direction, Caesar followed. Scott was too shocked to move. He watched his brother fade away in the darkness like a ghost, the happy celebration now merely an obscene background to his sorrow. Getting the wire off to Lancer was both difficult and unsettling. Scott wished he could speak with Murdoch and Sam face to face; he needed the reassurance of friends and family that Johnny would be all right. As it stood the unconfident, fearful man he'd seen earlier was a far cry from the Johnny Lancer he'd come to know. With a hand still shaking from the encounter an hour ago, Scott went over the telegraph again in his head to make sure it was clear enough as he lifted a shot of whiskey to his lips: Located Johnny in San Andreas <Stop> He is well and being cared for. <Stop> Head injury caused amnesia. <Stop> Does not recognize me. <Stop> Have Sam advise. <Stop> Scott. He tried to imagine the reception that particular message would bring, and had to force himself to push the unsettling thoughts aside. Smells of barbeque wafted into the packed saloon, upsetting Scott's stomach. He tried to ignore it, but the desire to see his brother again was too strong. With a toss of his head, he downed the last of the whiskey and made his way through the crowded bar to the barbeque area outside. Knowing his brother's inherent dislike for crowds and sharply remembering his behavior this afternoon, Scott knew the Arroyos - and Johnny - would be on the outskirts of the crowd in a quiet location. After getting a small plate of food, which he didn't think he could eat, he moved to the edge of the smiling, laughing crowd and began look around. He checked several bonfires away from the area and finally found the trio seated on a blanket. Maria was chatting gaily, Caesar was eating and listening, but Johnny was pushing his food around with his fork, his head bowed. Scott began to wonder if he ever looked up anymore. The flames from the flickering fire highlighted Johnny's gaunt cheeks with inky shadow and Scott realized how thin he must be under the loose clothing. After a few moments, Johnny lifted his chin and glanced around as if he felt Scott's stare. Before Scott could turn away, two dark and shiny orbs found him and they both froze. The Johnny Scott knew could not only hold a stare but return it in spades, but this Johnny soon became visibly edgy. His glances toward Caesar told Scott his brother was becoming upset with the scrutiny, so he turned his back and walked back to his room without eating a bite. It was dark when the sounds of hooves caught the ears of those in the hacienda. Teresa was finishing up from dinner and Murdoch had just sat down with a brandy. They both made it to the French doors in time to see a young man jump from a horse and jog to them. "Billy! It's rather late, isn't it? Everything all right?" Murdoch called. "Yes, Mr. Lancer, but I thought you'd want this right away." Billy held out an envelope just as Jelly puffed up to the gathering. "What's goin' on here?" The whiskered man huffed. "Don't anyone sleep no more?" "It's a wire, Jelly," Teresa explained excitedly. "Thanks, Billy. Go check the kitchen. I'm sure Maria still has some pie left over." Murdoch began to tear the envelope as young Billy thanked him breathily and headed to the kitchen. The patriarch unfolded the message with trembling fingers. After a quick scan, he dropped his hand. "What?" Unable to read his face, Teresa's heart fluttered anxiously. She felt Jelly's hand on her elbow and appreciated the support. "Murdoch?" "He found Johnny. He's alive, but . . . sick." Teresa's face exploded into a smile and she turned to Jelly, expecting to see the same. Instead, she saw that the old man's forehead was furrowed with thought. "Whatcha mean, sick?" Jelly asked bluntly. That's when Teresa saw the odd look on Murdoch's face, and her own smiled faded. "It seems Johnny doesn't remember Scott." The worried father turned the message in his fingers as he spoke, his eyes not focused on anything in particular. "Doesn't remember Scott? How . . ." Words failed her as it idea sank in. "Does he remember us?" "I don't know, honey. Scott wants some advice from Sam." "Well, if Scott doesn't know what to do, then I'd say they're in quite a fix up there, Murdoch! We need to get up there! Where is he?" Jelly looked like he would leave that instant if given the word. "He's in San Andreas." Murdoch finally found Jelly's eyes as his mind began to form a plan of action. "I'll go. You and Cip need to hold the fort here." Jelly snorted in disgust. "You just got back yerself." Murdoch nodded, "I know, but I've been able to put together a list of what needs to be done, and the three of you have done a good job." He put his big hand on the older man's shoulder. "I need to go, Jelly. He was lost once before, and I found him. Now I have to help him find himself." Whiskers twitched in disappointment, but he understood. "I'll tell the hands. They'll want to know Johnny's okay. I think." Grumbling dire predictions to himself, Jelly left the house. "What about me?" Teresa pushed. "Without you, Scott or Johnny here Maria can handle this place easily! I need to see if he's all right, Murdoch!" She put both hands firmly on his forearm and forced him to meet her smoldering eyes. "Teresa, it's a long trip. We'd have to take the stage to Stockton then rent a carriage to get to San Andreas." "I don't care. I need to go. Please!" Murdoch thought for a few moments then nodded his head in agreement. "All right. We need to leave in the morning. We'll stop and talk to Sam then catch the first stage out." Teresa pecked her surrogate father on the cheek, and hurried to her room to pack. Murdoch called Billy from the kitchen. "Sir?" the messenger boy replied as he trotted into the room with his mouth full and crumbs on his lips. "Give this note to Sam." The ranchman scrawled out a short note, and folded it with the wire and some coins. "I hope he's in town." "He was when I left, sir," Billy replied, swallowing hard. He took the items with an eager grin. "I'll make sure he gets it." The young man dashed out of the door, and soon the sound of hooves retreated up the road. |
