The Lancer Fanfiction Archive

The Devil's Own series:
Irony
A Kind of Homecoming
An Uneasy Alliance
Hypocrisy

 

Prologue

Not a drop of moisture was left in the baked, red dirt.  A lizard sheltered from the sun in the shade of some low growing bitterbrush, its tongue flicking occasionally to catch an unwary fly.  At least the lizard had some shade.  It didn’t have to sweat its guts out under a sun hot enough to burn your eyeballs.  He wiped the sweat away from his forehead and looked forward to sundown.  It would bring some relief from this stifling heat, so dry it was almost painful to breathe.  The dust got in his nostrils, caught the back of his throat, making him cough. 

He took a step back and looked at his handiwork.  The small house was coming on well.  And it was far enough out of town to suit his purposes.  He smiled.  The house had no near neighbours and that was just the way he liked things.  There was nobody to see when he came and went.  And, even more important, nobody to hear anything.  Yes, the house would do very well indeed.  And the cellar... well, that was a triumph.  He’d sweated buckets digging the damn thing, but nobody would ever suspect its existence.  He laughed out loud.  Things were panning out extremely well, all things considered.  It had been time to move on and have a fresh start.  People had been looking at him and whispering.  They were starting to wonder about him and ask too many questions.  But here, nobody knew anything at all about him.  Yes – this new place would do very well indeed.

Turning to go in search of a cool drink, he tripped over a long handled hoe which had been left by the newly planted vegetable bed.  He fell awkwardly against the picket fence, cutting his hand, even as he cursed Joshua, the handyman he’d taken on for a few days’ extra help.  The silly old fool was always leaving things lying around, making the place look untidy.  The old man would be halfway home before he’d remember the hoe and come shuffling back to collect it.  He picked up the hoe and tossed it nearer the house.  It would make it more difficult to find and it would force the old buzzard to have to look for it.

He pushed open the front door, which smelt of new paint.   Still nursing his cut hand, he went to pour a glass of lemonade before stretching slowly.  Hell, his back was hurting from all the work and using muscles unaccustomed to hard labour, but it was almost finished now.  Maybe tomorrow he’d start putting his plans into action.  He’d waited long enough.

He turned to go into the living room and dropped the glass with a start of fright.  A kid, maybe 17 or 18, was standing leaning against the door, a gun in his left hand.  The kid didn’t move a muscle, just stood watching him with a strange half smile on his face.

“Who the hell are you?  And what the fuck d’you think you’re doing in my house?  How long have you been standing there?”  His voice sounded more like a croak, revealing his fear.

“Long enough.”  The kid spoke very softly and he didn’t sound aggressive.  That was a good sign.  He was probably just some drifter who wanted money.

“I asked what you wanted, you little shit.”  That was better, his voice sounded stronger now. 

The kid just continued to look at him, not moving.  How could anyone looking so relaxed stay that still?  It was a pity the kid wasn’t younger.  He’d probably been pretty when he was younger. He pushed the thought away.  He couldn’t let some kid get the upper hand here.  “I said what do you want?  If it’s money you’re after, I’ve got fuck all here.”  He smiled thinly.  “I keep it in the bank so that little pricks like you can’t steal it.”

“Steal it?”  The kid sounded amused.  The odd smile still seemed to play around his mouth but his eyes were icy cold.  “It ain’t your money I want.  Although I guess, in a way, some of it’s mine.”

He felt a sudden stab of fear.  There was something about this kid that disturbed him.  It wasn’t just that curious stillness.  Maybe it was something about the eyes.  Yes, it was the eyes, they were... predatory.  There was something wild in them.  Wild and dangerous.  “What the hell d’you mean by that?  Let me tell you, kid, I’ve earned my money, every damn cent of it.  Worked fucking hard all my life, but I guess kids like you don’t understand the idea of working hard.  You want everything easy and you’ll take whatever you want without doing a stroke of work.  But I earned my money, dealing with shit like you.”  Yes, that was the way to act.  Be aggressive and don’t let the kid see he’s got you rattled.

“Like I said, I don’t want your money even though I earned some of it for you.  Wouldn’t even want to touch it.   I guess it’s dirty, just like you.”

He could feel the sweat starting to trickle down his face.  He swallowed hard.  The kid just continued to watch him with those cold, feral eyes.  Who the hell was this kid?  He’d swear he’d never seen him before.  “If you don’t want my money, what is it you do want?”  His voice was croaky again.

The kid looked him up and down, real slow, like he was sizing him up for a suit.  “You.”

“Me?  Who the hell are you?”  He brushed the sweat out of his eyes with his arm.

“You don’t remember?”  The kid gave a short laugh, but his eyes looked even colder and more remote.  “You should remember me.  I sure as hell remember you.”  The kid paused, his face seemed older now.  Harder.  “Yeah.  I remember you, every waking hour and every fucking night.”  The kid motioned to the living room with his gun.  “So you might as well go in there.  Make yourself comfortable because I’m gonna be here a while.  We’re gonna take it real slow.”

“Take what slow?”  His voice was barely a whisper now.  There was something about this kid which scared the shit out of him.

“Killing you.  I’ve waited a long time for this moment.  And I intend to enjoy it.  Every second of it.  Every hour of it.  By the time we’re through, you’ll be begging me to kill you.” 

He shuddered, suddenly icy cold except for the gush of warmth as his pants grew wet.  “Who the hell are you?” 

The kid smiled again.  “You’ll find out.  All in good time.”  He paused.  “I’ll tell you before you die.  My name will be the last thing you ever hear.”

 

Part one

The wind in his face and the sun on his head, his hat flapping behind with just the stampede string to stop it flying away.  He loved riding like this, flat out, like the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.  Laughing aloud, he crouched lower over Barranca’s neck as they approached a big old oak tree blown down by a winter storm.  Barranca sailed over it with distance to spare and Johnny let him have his head as they galloped on in their wild rush.  Times like this, life seemed too damned good to be true.

As they crested the hill, he caught sight of Murdoch and Teresa ahead.  He reined Barranca in.  Really pissed off the old man when he saw Johnny riding like that.  Seemed to worry him.  Seemed to think he’d kill himself.  He patted Barranca’s neck.  “Buen amigo, pero ahora lentamente.”  No point in irritating Murdoch just for the hell of it.  The man just couldn’t help fussing.  He grinned.  Fussing.  Who’d have thought anyone would ever fuss over him?  Not that the old man wanted him to know he was fussing.  Usually just sounded real mad and yelled.  But he was getting to read the old man better these days, and he could see concern in those eyes even when the man was yelling.  And it wasn’t like he’d completely given up trying to wind up the old man.  Still did it real often, couldn’t help himself sometimes.  But no point when the old man was just fussing.

He shook his head.  Still couldn’t believe how much had happened these past few months.  To own a part of something like this.  To have a compadre in Scott.  And an old man.  And a real fine horse.

He urged Barranca forward.  Might as well go and see what Murdoch and Teresa were up to.  Dios, she’d been in a real bad mood at breakfast.  Complaining that all she did was cook and sew.  Shit, she was a girl.  What else would she do?  Well, at some point she’d do something else besides that, but for now, if he caught any young cowboy sniffing round Teresa, like a dog after a bitch on heat, he’d whip his butt.  Trouble was, the old man was a real pushover when Teresa got at him.  Always gave in to her.  Which was why she was acting cowhand today.  And not making too good a job of it neither, by the looks of her struggling with the back half of some damn calf.

Girls.  They were just about useless at anything that mattered like riding and shooting.  Or playing cowhand.  Any minute now she was gonna go face down in the dirt and that calf would walk right over her.  Maybe then she’d go back to cooking, cleaning and sewing. 

He rode slowly over, still grinning at the sight of her struggling.  She’d got twigs sticking in her hair and looked real messy.  “Oh boy, you got troubles, Teresa.” He couldn’t stop from laughing, she looked so mad.

If looks could kill he’d have died right there in the saddle at the look she threw him.

“Why don’t you come down and help me?”

He shook his head, still laughing. “Oh no.  Every hand around here has to carry his own weight.”  She wanted to play cowhand so she could get on with it.  But he’d lay money  she’d appeal to Murdoch now, who rode closer like he wanted to hear what was going on.

“Murdoch, you heard.  Make him help me.”

Yeah.  Typical girl, use any tricks to get a man to help ’em.  ’Cos they were fucking useless on their own.

Murdoch looked at him and jerked his head towards her.  “Help her.”

Johnny grinned and scooted down to help her pull the calf free, which trotted off to join its mother.  Dios, cows were dumb animals.  Not like horses.  Horses were smart.  Look at Barranca, he was a real smart horse and a good friend. 

The sound of galloping hooves dragged his mind back to the present.  A man was riding flat out with three other men pursuing him.  What the hell was going on there?  Running forward for a better view, he could see that the man out front had his hands tied or cuffed or something.  Any second now his pursuers would shoot the poor devil.  If he didn’t fall from his horse first.

He leapt forward to slow the galloping horse and then launched himself at the rider, wrestling him to the ground.  Told him to take it easy.  The fellow was rolling around, struggling to get free, but as he looked up, Johnny started back with surprise.  The man looked real familiar and then the fellow spoke.  “Madrid!  Johnny Madrid!”

His stomach lurched with shock.  He felt kind of cold.  “No.  It’s Lancer.  Johnny Lancer.”  What else could he say with the old man and Teresa standing there?  Who was this man who seemed to know him?  He just couldn’t place him, but he knew he’d seen him somewhere.  And if there was one thing he hated, it was someone having an edge on him.  Never could tell what they might know.  Things he wouldn’t want his family to know.

The three men were reining in, and they were all wearing tin stars.  One of them, a big older fellow, was calling out to him.  “Well now, thank you young man, that’s a fine job you’ve done.  I guess you must be about the best doggone bulldogger in the whole place, ain’t you?”

“Joe!  Joe Barker!”  Murdoch was greeting the fellow like he was some long lost friend.  Judging from the hugs, he figured this Joe Barker was just that.  Johnny stepped back to watch them, grinning, like he was real relaxed.  When really he was sweating, trying to figure out who the devil the runaway was. 

The man, Joe, was saying something about how the old man had fleshed out, that he used to be real skinny.  That the old man looked younger than ever.  Seemed Barker was full of bullshit.  He gestured toward Johnny.  “I want you to know you’ve got a real fine hand in this boy.”

Murdoch smiled.  “Hand?  This is my son, Johnny.”

Something flashed in the man’s eyes as he looked at Johnny.  Shock?  Whatever it was, the man didn’t look none too happy.  Barely listened as Murdoch introduced Teresa, before speaking again.  “Did you say, your son?”

Murdoch nodded, with an odd sort of lost look in his eyes.  “Maria’s boy.  He came back.  It’s been a long time...”  He trailed off.  Then he nodded again and smiled.  “And you weren’t wrong, he’s a good hand.”

Barker said something about being real pleased to meet him.  Held his hand out to shake, but he sure didn’t look too pleased.  What was it with this fellow?  There was something...  something wrong with him.  Now he was asking Johnny if Murdoch had told him any stories about him.

“Some.”  Johnny tried to concentrate as the man started on about when the old man had been his deputy in Abilene.  He tried to look interested, but all he could feel was the runaway staring at him.  Thought he’d better say something to please the old man.  It seemed to matter to him that Johnny should try and make conversation, but it sure never came easy.  “I can’t imagine Murdoch wearing a badge but you know he does everything else pretty good.”

The man in cuffs called out.  “Johnny.  I’m Al Evans.  You gotta remember.  Sonora. Pasca”

“You know him?”  Murdoch sounded curious.

“No, no.”  Johnny hesitated, before speaking more firmly.  “No.”

The prisoner was calling out again.  Sounded kind of desperate.  “Hey, Johnny, don’t turn your back on me.  They’re going to hang me.  I, I didn’t do anything.  I’m innocent.  Hey, look at me.  You’ve got to remember.”

Shit.  He tried to remember.  But no.  There was something... but Sonora?  “Look, I’m sorry.”  Johnny shook his head, feeling helpless.

Barker called out.  “Get him on the horse there, boys.  Mount up.”

Murdoch nudged Barker.  “Come on. Let me show you the old guardhouse.”

The deputies manhandled Evans onto a horse, before following Murdoch in the direction of the Spanish guardhouse.  Shit.  If only he could remember where he’d seen the fellow.  But it wasn’t Sonora.  No, he’d swear it wasn’t Sonora.  But the man had asked for his help.  Pleaded with him.  Said they were going to hang him.  Shit.  No wondered the man looked scared.

He couldn’t imagine anything worse than hanging.  People gathered round watching, like it was real good entertainment to see a man hang.  And then poking the hanging body with sticks and jeering when the piss and shit came out.  Anything was better than hanging.  He shook his head, trying to get the pictures out of his head.  And the memories of when Mama had died and he’d thought they’d hang him if they found him.  Dios.  He’d been scared then.  Started running and it felt like he’d never stopped running since.  Until now.  And just when he figured wasn’t nobody coming for him and maybe he could relax a little, something always came from the past to bite him.  Who the hell was Evans?  If only he could remember...

He mounted up and followed the group back towards the ranch.  Stop brooding over it and maybe he’d remember where he knew Evans from. 

The two deputies hauled Evans off to the old jailhouse while Murdoch led the way back to the hacienda.  He sure seemed happy to see his old friend.  He was like a dog with two fucking tails, talking about old times they’d known.  And Barker kept slapping him on the back and calling him Murdo.  But there was something not right about Barker.  The man was real oily, smiling at everyone, but the smiles didn’t reach his eyes.  Wouldn’t trust him an inch.  Not one fucking inch.  And what the hell had he been doing bringing a prisoner in this direction if he was going to Sacramento?  It was way off the route he should have followed.  There had to be a reason for it.  And somehow he didn’t think it was just to pass the time of day.  The man had to be after something.  It was in his eyes, something hungry and grasping.  He’d seen the look before.  He’d know it anywhere and Barker had it in spades.
He left Murdoch to swap stories with the man, and headed off to his own room for a quiet place to think.  He threw himself down on the bed and stretched out trying to recall Evans.  If he cleared his mind of everything else it would come.  He knew the face.  Even remembered that he’d never particularly liked the man.  But he hadn’t disliked him enough to want to see him hang.  There’d been very few people he’d have wished that on, even if he did think most folk were shit.

He could hear footsteps.  Boston’s.  He’d recognise that measured tread anywhere.  The footsteps paused at his door and then there was a short double rap on it.

“Yeah, come on in, Boston.”

Scott pushed open the door and came in, smiling in a kind of embarrassed way.  “How did you know it was me?”

Johnny looked at him through half-closed eyes.  “I recognise how you walk.  Everyone walks different.”  He paused.  “You met Murdoch’s old friend yet?”

Scott nodded, but slowly, like he was thinking real hard about something.  “Yes.”  He hesitated, chewed on his lip.  “I was introduced down in the barn.  He seems very full of bonhomie.”

Johnny shook his head.  Boston always talked strange.  “What the fuck is bonnomy?”

Scott smiled.  “Full of free and easy manners, cordial benevolence, if you like.  It’s French.”

Johnny grunted.  “Fucking French.  Arrogant shits.” 

Scott furrowed his brow before nodding.  “Ah, yes.  They ruled Mexico for a while.  You obviously don’t hold them in high esteem.”

Johnny glared at him.  “If that’s a fancy way of saying I don’t think much of them, you’re right.  They were right bastards.  Used to execute prisoners of war.  Let’s just say they weren’t very nice.”

Scott grinned.  “The master of understatement, that’s my brother.”

Dios.  Why couldn’t Scott just act normal?  Talk normal.  He sighed.  “So, what d’you think of Barker?”

Scott stood at the window, like he was lost in thought.  “I would rather spend an hour with him than a day.”

Johnny laughed.  Good old Boston.  He did have a certain way of saying some things.  Sounded real fancy, but he managed to hit the nail on the head.  “Yeah.  Real full of himself, ain’t he?”

Scott stared out of the window, still kind of thoughtful.  “Murdoch seems pleased to see him.” 

Johnny inclined his head.  That was true enough.  Trouble was, the old man seemed to have lousy judgement when it came to friends.  Look at Carter and Dixon.  Look at Donovan...  “But I’m guessing you don’t think too much of Barker then?”

Scott turned with a shrug.  “I don’t know.  He’s probably fine, just not to my taste.  But Murdoch’s happy to see him.  It’s nice for him to see old friends.”

“Nice?”  Johnny shrugged.  “I guess.  Just keep him out of my way.  I ain’t too partial to sheriffs.  Most of them are shit.  And you know, something tells me that Barker ain’t any different.”
Scott grinned.  “You really are a cynic, aren’t you?  OK.  I will endeavour to ensure that he doesn’t bother you.  It was strange though, when I met him, he seemed very surprised to find me here.  And assumed I was just visiting.  Looked almost put out to find that I was a permanent fixture.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  Yeah, there was something odd about Barker.  He was after something.  “Yeah, Boston.  I got that from him too.”  He swung himself round to stand up.  “You know, I think we should keep an eye on him.  I don’t trust him an inch.”

Part two

He needed a drink.  But Barker and Murdoch were in the Great Room, knocking back whisky like there was no tomorrow.  Shit.  He either had to put up with Barker or go without.  Maybe Boston had a bottle in his room...  He turned to head back upstairs when the old man spotted him.  Waved a bottle at him, like he’d already had more whisky than was good for him.

“Come on in and join us, Johnny.  Whisky?  Tequila?”

Seemed Murdoch was full of that fucking French bonnomy too.  Dios, he must have really been knocking it back.  Barker looked up, his eyes meeting Johnny’s for just a second before glancing away, an odd expression on his face.  Kind of like he resented Johnny.  And that made no sense.  Wasn’t like he knew about Madrid.  All Barker knew was that Murdoch’s long lost sons were back home.  A good friend would be pleased.  So, maybe Barker wasn’t as good a friend as Murdoch thought.  Wouldn’t do no harm to sit a while and listen to them talk.  Maybe it would give him an idea of what Barker was up to.

“Yeah, OK.  I’ll have a tequila.”

Barker laughed like it was a great joke.  “You don’t drink that gut rot, do you?  Murdo, you should be educating him, getting him to appreciate good Scotch.  Maria can’t have brought him up right.” 

Johnny bit his lip hard and shoved his hands down in his belt.  Barker was lucky he didn’t get a fist in the face for that.  Nobody, but nobody, was going to criticise his mother.  And what was wrong with tequila, anyhow?  Fucking gringo.

Murdoch laughed.  “Nothing wrong with this tequila, Joe.  It’s good stuff, and growing up round the border, it’s hardly surprising that Johnny has a taste for tequila, is it son?”

“The border?”  Joe Barker looked thoughtful.  “That’s rough territory to grow up in, Johnny.  Some real bad characters down there.  The sort who should be locked up behind bars.  Or hanged.  Gunfighters, desperados, all sorts.”

He wasn’t gonna rise to this.  Say nothing.  Just let the man talk.  Seemed to be what he did best because he figured that Barker would be good at letting other people do his work and then taking the credit while he talked and talked.  Johnny glanced at Murdoch.  His father had turned an unpleasant sort of red, like he didn’t know what to say to Barker’s words.

“That’s what we did with people like that, wasn’t it, Murdo?  Anyone who strayed into our territory was taken in front of a judge sharpish and then dealt with in the right manner.”

All of a sudden the old man seemed to find the contents of his glass real interesting and avoided meeting Johnny’s eyes.  But the tips of his ears were red too.  Always a sign that Murdoch felt real awkward.

“So, Johnny, you grew up in the border towns.  This place must seem like heaven to you, coming from down there.  What were you doing when Murdo found you?”

What would Barker say if he told him he’d been in front of a firing squad when the Pinkerton agent found him?  It was real tempting to tell him that, if only to see the man’s reaction.  Yeah, real tempting.  Too tempting. 

“Johnny had done some droving, some ranch work.”

Ranch work.  Johnny choked on the tequila.  Only ranch work he’d done was working in range wars.  And trust the old man to spoil a golden opportunity to shock Barker. 

“And Johnny’s excellent with horses, he’s got a real talent for that. He can ride anything and break anything.  And as you saw today, he’s a top hand.”
Johnny looked at Murdoch, met his eyes.  Could see the silent appeal not to say what he’d been doing before he came home.  So, the old man was ashamed.  No surprises there.  He could feel the bile rising in his throat.  The old man was ashamed of him.  Didn’t want his old friend to find out the truth about his long lost son.  Because people like Johnny should be behind bars or hanged.  Maybe they were right.  But leastways he was honest, not like fucking Joe Barker.  There was something about the man which screamed that he shouldn’t be trusted. 

Barker laughed. “Yep, he’s a real top hand, Murdo.  No business experience though, but I guess that can come.  Even so, must be a bit different to life around the border, eh, Johnny?”  He raised his glass, smiled like Johnny was his oldest friend.  “Ever see any gunfights down there?  The area is teeming with desperados, like that Johnny Madrid people talk about.  Your Daddy and I had no time for men like that.  Only good for hanging, aren’t they, Murdo?  That’s what you always said, isn’t it?  Oh the tales I could tell you, Johnny, about your old daddy.”

A bullet in the gut would be too good for this piece of shit.  Way too good.  Kind of interesting, though, to hear what the old man had thought of gunfighters, back when he was a deputy.  “Only good for hanging?  Is that what he used to say, Joe?  What else did Murdoch used to say when he was a deputy?”  Johnny glanced at Murdoch, who was shuffling his feet and fiddling with the bottle of scotch.  “I’d be real interested to hear what else he thought.”

“That was a long time ago.”  Murdoch sounded strange, like he’d got something stuck in his throat.  Like his foot.  “People’s views change over time.  We get a new perspective on things.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  Yeah, the old man was really wriggling like a fat, juicy worm on a hook.  Sweating, too.  There was a slight sheen across his forehead.  Murdoch had his handkerchief out, was mopping at his brow.  Yep.  He was real uncomfortable.  Johnny smiled, enjoying the rush of power he felt.  Loved having an edge and he figured he’d just got the edge over Murdoch.  And once he got the edge over Joe Barker, life would be just about perfect.  If only he could remember where the hell he knew Evans from.

Johnny could sense the tension in his father.  Hell, it was coming off the man like fucking waves crashing on a beach.  Maybe he could play all of this out to his advantage. 

The sound of Scott’s footsteps ruined the moment.  “Good evening, gentlemen, I thought it might be time for an aperitif.”  How the hell did Scott do that?  Always looked relaxed, like he hadn’t a care in the world.  But then, maybe he hadn’t.  And always smiled like he meant it.  But maybe he did.  Like he always knew how to pass the time of day with the local ranchers when Johnny couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say. 

“You want a drink, Boston?”

Scott grinned.  “That was the general intention.  I wouldn’t say no to a small scotch.”  He glanced at the two older men.  “No, on second thought, I’ll join you in a tequila.”

Johnny didn’t flinch.  Just nodded and turned to pour Scott the drink.  Good old Boston, must have sensed the mood, or Johnny’s mood, or maybe the crafty old devil had been upstairs listening...

“Don’t tell me you drink that gut rot too, Scott.”  Barker was all oily smiles.

“Oh, I find it excellent.  I’m quite converted.  Cheers, gentlemen.”  Scott raised his glass to Barker, but as he turned to sit on the couch, he winked at Johnny.

“Are we getting any dinner tonight?”  Murdoch sounded real tetchy.  But then maybe he just wanted to get the talk onto matters away from the border.

Johnny shrugged.  “That’s what happens if you let her play cowhand all day.  Dinner suffers.  And then we suffer.”

“Johnny, I heard that.”  Teresa stood with her hands on her hips looking real pissed.  “And anyway, dinner’s ready if you’d all like to come and sit down.”

It didn’t get any better.  He had to sit next to Barker while the old coot droned on.  Teresa bustled around like she was trying to make up for dinner being late.  She was all smiles and asking Barker to stay another night. “We’re having a social, you could meet some of our friends.”

Shit.  He’d forgotten the damn social.  Friends.  That was a joke.  An evening for the ranch workers and their families, and maybe a few folk from town, but most of the ranchers wouldn’t be coming because they wanted to avoid contact with Madrid.  Probably afraid they might catch something.  Or that he’d attack their daughters.  Like he’d be interested in their dull daughters.  He’d take the girls at the bordello any day over all the local girls.  They were far more fun and knew just how to please a man.

Barker was going on about how he should get Evans delivered, like the man was some kind of a parcel.

Johnny looked at Barker.  “What’s Evans accused of?”

“Murder.  Held up a stage, killed the driver.  You’re still puzzling about where you know him from?”

Johnny shrugged.  “He did mention Sonora and Pasca.”

Barker laughed.  “Well forget him, Johnny.  Nothing you can do to help him anyway.”

Dios.  Barker was shit.  “Kind of hard to forget a man that’s going to hang.  Who begs for your help.”  He couldn’t stand another moment of sitting next to this dick.  “If you don’t mind.”  He stood, pushing his chair away with a clatter, and headed out for some fresh air.

He took some deep breaths to try and clear his head.  Either Murdoch had a whole bunch of really shit friends, or Barker had changed some over the years.  People did change...  Shit, Evans, a range war - that was where he knew him from.  They’d been signing on to fight on the same side, and Evans had sported a moustache back then.  That was why he couldn’t place the man at first.  Maybe it was time to go and have a talk with Evans.  Hear what the man had to say.  It would be pretty fucking lonely stuck in that cell with nobody to talk to and knowing that you only had the hangman’s noose to look forward to.

The deputies, Thompkins and Gibbs, looked up as Johnny opened the old guardhouse door.  “I’d like to see Evans.”

They sure were an unfriendly pair.  Just looked at him like he was shit and then one of them spoke. “You do know him, eh?”

Johnny didn’t bother to answer.  “Come on, open the door.”  He looked through the grill.  Evans was sitting hunched over.  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

He wrapped his arms around himself as he walked into the small cell.  Dios.  He hated fucking cells.  They stank of piss and shit and a man couldn’t see a patch of daylight, more often than not.  But even in this bad light he could see that Evans had been worked over pretty good.  Had a few bruises and was holding himself like he was in pain. 

Evans met his eyes.  “You remembered.”

“Yeah.  I remembered, only it wasn’t Sonora or Pasca, it was Cordova.  A range war.”

Johnny sank down onto the cold stone bench as Evans nodded eagerly.  “That’s right.  We tried to sign up together.”

“Who beat you up?”

Evans pointed through the cell door.  “Barker.  Them.”

“Why?”

Evans hesitated, like he was trying to think of what to say.  “Well, what happened this morning, when you stopped me.  As soon as they got me alone they worked me over.  Johnny, you’ve got to help me.  I didn’t hurt anybody.  I didn’t do anything.  I’m innocent.  I don’t want to die for something I didn’t do.”

Johnny looked at him.  Was he telling the truth?  Who could tell?  “If you’re innocent the jury will free you.”  He didn’t believe that, but maybe it would make Evans feel better.  You could never rely on juries for anything.  They’d often made their minds up long before they heard all the evidence.

Evans shook his head.  “No.  I’m not going to see any jury.  He’ll kill me before we get to Sacramento.”

“You mean Barker?  What’s he want to kill you for?”

“Johnny, you’ve run into lawmen like him before.  They don’t wait for juries.  This is Barker’s last job.  He got fired.  All he wants to do is get rid of me so he can cut himself in for a piece of this ranch.”

Johnny felt his gut clench.  “What d’you mean?  Cut himself in?”  How could he?  What the fuck was this about?  Whatever it was about, Evans was telling the truth.  Was looking him in the eyes, nothing shifty or evasive.

“Murdoch Lancer offered him a piece of this place.  Johnny, don’t you see, this place isn’t on a route between Portland and Sacramento.  I’m telling you, they’re going to kill me.”

Johnny tried to clear his head but it felt like he was in a fog.  Just say something, Madrid.  “No one’s going to kill you, Al.”  The words were automatic, but shit, Evans had a point, repeated what Johnny had already figured for himself.  The ranch sure wasn’t on any route between Portland and Sacramento.

“You are going to help me?”  He could hear the appeal in Evans’ voice.

Johnny spun the spur on his boot before slowly getting to his feet.  “I got a couple of friends in Sacramento, I don’t mind taking a ride.”

Relief flashed across Evans’ face.  “Yeah, that might do it.  It just might do it.”

The cell door rattled and Barker was stood there.  He moved aside as Johnny walked back into the guardroom.

“So, it is the guy, Johnny?”

What the fuck was Barker talking about?  Johnny eyed the man, yeah, he’d been right not to trust him.  Barker was sweating slightly.  Johnny nodded back toward the cell.  “He’s been pretty badly beat up.”

Barker looked wrong footed.  “Sure.  He tried to escape.  Put up a pretty good fight.”

“I don’t want nothing more to happen to him.”  Johnny kept his voice hard, and real cold.

Barker shuffled uncomfortably.  “What did he tell you, Johnny?”

“Nothing.  Nothing.  He didn’t tell me nothing.”  Johnny turned toward the door, before pausing again.  “You just make sure he stays alive.  Alright?”

Barker’s reply was muffled as Johnny slammed the door shut.  Shit.  He walked angrily toward the house.  What the fuck had Murdoch been doing offering a piece of shit like that a bit of this ranch?  Could he do that?  Could he go back on the deal with him and Scott?  When had Murdoch offered it? 

He could feel his blood surging through him.   Could even hear his breathing coming in heavy bursts.  His fists were clenched tight and right now he had a real urge to smash one into somebody’s face and he didn’t much care whether it was Murdoch or Barker.  How dare Murdoch try and give away his share!  The only thing he’d ever owned and it looked like it could be taken away.  But hell, they’d signed an agreement.  In front of a lawyer and all.  Wasn’t that agreement final?  Maybe Murdoch couldn’t take it away. 

His mouth and throat were dry with the heat of the anger rising inside him, threatening to take over.  He’d never owned anything ’til now.  And nobody, but nobody was gonna take it away from Johnny Madrid.  He’d kill to keep this land.  And no fucking Joe Barker was going to get a piece of what was rightfully Madrid’s.  He’d taken a bullet in the back fighting for this land.  No way was Barker going to waltz on in and have a piece without having shed a drop of blood for it.  He knew Barker was after something, right from the start.  But to find out from Evans of all people just what Barker had his eye on was too much to bear.  Why hadn’t Murdoch come clean with him and Scott earlier in the day?  Unless he was planning on springing it on them?  Was Murdoch that devious?

Johnny paused in his pacing.  Somehow, deep down, he felt Murdoch wasn’t that cunning.  The man had seemed genuinely surprised to see Barker.  Maybe...  Oh shit, the only way to find out was to have it out with Murdoch.  And he wanted to be calmer when he did that.  Needed to be in control.  He leaned over the corral fence, taking deep breaths.  The night air was clear and the sky looked like it was painted with a million glittering stars.  The moon was rising full and coloured a brilliant orange, casting light over his mountain.  Making it stand out in sharp relief against the dark sky.

This was his land and nobody was gonna take it away from him.  He straightened up and with measured steps walked towards the hacienda.  He felt calm now, in control again.  He smiled.  Yeah, he was ready to do battle with Murdoch Lancer and fight for what was his.

 

Part three

 

His spurs jingled.  Shit, that would never do.  He didn’t want anyone to hear his approach.  He stopped short of the heavy oak door of the hacienda.  Leaning down, he slipped the spurs off his boots and shoved them down behind a great pot of Teresa’s flowers.  Usually he thought the flowers were damn stupid, but just this once they were useful.

The drapes were drawn but light flickered from the lamps in the Great Room.  Moving into the shadows, he could just glimpse Scott and Murdoch sitting with drinks in their hands.  Scott was sitting, hunched over, on a low stool by the fire and Murdoch was leaning back on the couch, waving his glass around as he talked.  Yeah, the old man looked real relaxed.  Johnny smiled.  He was going to change all that.  Nobody fucked with Madrid.  And if you gave something, you didn’t take it back.  And Murdoch Lancer sure wasn’t getting Madrid’s share of the ranch back to give to a prick like Barker.

It wasn’t like he’d gone begging Murdoch for a share.  It had been offered and he’d signed the damn partnership agreement figuring that was final.  He’d always figured he could choose to walk away but he couldn’t be kicked out.  Could he have been wrong?  There’d been a lawyer there.  Did that make it all tight and legal?  Boston would know.  Boston seemed to know the answer to just about everything. 

The sound of laughter dragged his attention back to the Great Room.  Both of them laughing at something.  Looking relaxed, easy in each other’s company.  Not knowing he watched from the shadows.  Sometimes it felt like that was how he’d passed his life – always on the outside.  Watching families play and eat together when he was a child, peering into their homes.  Watching his mother as she fucked and bucked under strangers.  Watching men through saloon doors.  And now, here he was, watching again.   Watching and planning his next move.  Nothing changed.  He just used a different name now.  But he wasn’t any different.  Was he?

He turned away, silent as a snake before it strikes.  He was good at going unheard.  It was one of his talents.  And it always gave him the edge he craved.  He eased the handle down on the heavy oak door, pausing half way through the motion to avoid the creak it made if pushed in one swift movement.  Must be losing his touch.  He’d oiled the hinges just days before and forgotten the damn handle.  He slipped into the house, pushing the door closed behind him.  He walked softly across the hall and stood at the door of the Great Room.  They still didn’t notice him.  Too busy drinking and jawing.  Talking about the damn social.

“Thought you’d be telling Boston about all those things you used to do when you was a deputy.”

Murdoch jerked forward, spilling his drink down his shirt and Boston almost fell off the stool he was perched on. 

“Do you have to creep around like that?”  The old man sounded real pissed.  “Made me jump out of my skin.”

Johnny shrugged.  “Not my fault if you two are so busy jawing you didn’t hear me come in.”

The old man gave him one of those looks.  The kind that said he didn’t believe a word of it.  “You always do that.  Creep around the place and I never hear you coming.  One of these days you’ll give me a heart attack.”

“That would be a real shame.  ’Specially when you haven’t told me all your stories about when you was a deputy.  And about all those gunfighters you couldn’t wait to hang.  I’m real excited about hearing those stories.  What’s that word of yours, Boston?  Agog?  That’s it.  I’m all agog.”

The old man narrowed his eyes, gave him a real cold sort of look.  “That’s not amusing, Johnny.”

Johnny stared at the floor, kicked at the rug, before giving the old man his coldest look.  “Well, I guess the men you hanged didn’t think you were amusing.  Hang many of them, did you?  Just gunfighters?  Or weren’t you that choosy?”

“Johnny...”  Scott sounded real controlled.  Icy cold.  Hell, it was enough to make a man feel chilled.  “I don’t feel that this is the time to discuss that.  Why don’t you come and sit down and help us plan the entertainment for tomorrow evening?”

Johnny laughed softly.  “Sorry, Boston, but I won’t be joining the party tomorrow.  Never did like my fun organised.  No, I’m much more interested in Murdoch and his old friend.  Barker. The charming sheriff, Joe Barker.  Must have been a real good friend, the way you welcomed him today.”  He locked eyes with his father.  “Yep.  You were real pleased to see him.  Expecting him, were you?”

Murdoch stared back, his brow furrowed, like he was puzzled.  “No, Johnny, I was not expecting him.  But it’s always nice to see old friends.  It’s been a good few years since we saw each other last.  Lots to catch up on.”

“Notice you didn’t tell him what I used to do for my living.  Droving?  Ranch work?  The only ranch work I’d ever done was running fucking range wars and we both know it.”

Scott sighed.  So soft it was almost a whisper.  Shook his head, like he thought Johnny was being a damn fool.  Maybe when he knew about the old man cutting Barker in for a share of the ranch, he wouldn’t be so calm.

Murdoch leaned forward on the couch.  Looked pretty riled up now.  The pulse was going in the side of his head.  Just like it always did when he got mad.  “No, I didn’t tell Joe what you used to do for a living.  I didn’t really feel that just before we all sat down for a family meal was the right moment to do so.  If you...”

“You ashamed of me?  Is that it?  Couldn’t face telling your old pal that I’m one of those people you liked to see hanged.  Hell, even my choice of drink ain’t good enough for him.  And he had the fucking nerve to criticise my mother for not bringing me up right.”

The old man gave a big sigh.  Kind of exaggerated.  Like he thought his son was being real dumb.  “I am not ashamed of you, Johnny.  In fact, I can recall at least two occasions when I have told you how proud of you I am.  I think Joe meant his remarks in a light hearted manner which was not meant to be taken too seriously. ..”

“Bullshit.  He meant them.  I saw it in his eyes.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, how could you tell that from his eyes?”

Johnny tilted his head to one side and shot his father an icy smile.  “How d’you think I stayed alive this long?  I can read men.  And I know bullshit when it’s under my nose.  And your friend Barker is full of it.  And he’s one of those lawmen who’s too fast with his fists.  If you don’t believe me, go ask Evans.  He’s wearing quite a few bruises tonight, courtesy of your friend Barker and his deputies.”

“Evans?  The man’s accused of murder.”  The vein in the old man’s head looked fit to bust.

“I thought in this great country of yours, a man is innocent until he’s proved guilty.  Hell, you’ve convicted him already and got the fucking gallows built.”

“Before this degenerates into a fistfight or a free for all, can I suggest that you both calm down.”  Scott was glaring at both of them.  “Johnny, why don’t you go and get yourself a cup of coffee and calm down.  Now.”

Johnny laughed softly.  “Coffee?  Is that the answer, Boston?  That’ll make everything OK?  You ain’t heard nothing yet.  The best bit’s to come.  But, OK, I’ll go pour myself a cup of coffee.  To keep you happy.”

“What do you mean, I haven’t heard anything yet?” 

Yeah.  That had got Scott’s attention.  He was rubbing his chin, looking puzzled.  Johnny picked up the coffee jug, real slow.  Poured a cupful.  Stirred it slowly.  Then stirred it again.  Yeah.  He’d sure got their attention now.  Both of them. 

“You sure you weren’t expecting a visit from Barker?”  He looked at Murdoch.  Looking for a flicker of guilt.  But the man just looked puzzled. 

“Why the hell do you think I was expecting him?  I had no idea he was coming by.  It was only because he was passing this way that he thought he’d drop in.”

“Because this ranch is on the route between Portland and Sacramento?  Like hell it is!”

Murdoch opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, looked puzzled, like that was something he hadn’t thought of.  “Well, no, when you put it like that, the ranch isn’t on the route but I guess he thought he was close so would come in and say hello.”

“With a prisoner in tow and two deputies?”  Johnny shook his head.  Dios, the old man was sure acting dumb.  “You don’t drop in on old friends for a visit when you’re delivering a prisoner for trial.  You really that dumb, old man?  You really believe that?”

“What other reason would he have for coming?”  Murdoch was glaring real good now.

Johnny paused, just long enough to have them hanging, waiting on his words.  “Did you ever offer Barker a piece of this ranch?”

Scott’s head jerked up in surprise. Looked even more surprised when Murdoch nodded.  “Yes.” 

“Well, that’s what he wants.  And he wants it now.  In fact, he needs it.”  Johnny settled himself on the arm of one of the chairs.  Dios, he loved this.  Knowing this was his game and it would play out just as he intended it to.  “He didn’t quit his job. He was fired.  Evans thinks Barker wants to kill him and stick around here for his piece of pie.”

The old man gave another of his exaggerated sighs.  When he spoke he sounded like he didn’t believe a word of it.  “Johnny.  How could you take Evans word for anything?”  Yeah, that figured.  Evans was just a murderer who should be hanged while old Joe was as pure as the fucking driven snow.

“You did offer him a piece of...”

Murdoch cut across.  “Yes. Yes!  I offered him a piece.”  He stood up, started pacing.  “But that was a long time ago.  That’s before you boys came back.  He can’t... must understand that it’s all off now.”

His voice had the ring of truth.  He hadn’t expected Barker.  Seemed genuinely surprised by the notion that Barker had come rooting round for his share.  But maybe the first thing to do was ensure that Evans got to Sacramento in one piece.  “Look, I know it’s tough for you this time of the year, but I’d like to go to Sacramento with him.  Just to make sure.”

Murdoch turned towards Scott, who was sitting like he was weighing everything up, before he put in his two cents worth.  “Would you take care of your brother’s work, just for a couple of weeks?”

Scott nodded.  “I think so.”

Murdoch nodded slowly.  Real thoughtful.  “All right, Johnny.  Under one condition.  Really get acquainted with Joe.  Know him as I know him and bring him back here.”

Dios.  Know him?  He’d got him pegged already and the man was a slimy piece of shit.  He gave Murdoch an icy look.  “If he’ll come back for just a job.”  Not that he’d even want the man around for that.  Didn’t trust him an inch.  Him or his fucking bonnomy.  “Because he ain’t getting a share of this ranch.  And whatever you promised him, it ain’t yours to give no more.”  He wished Scott would say something.  Agree with him.  Back him up.  Dios.  Was Scott just going to sit there? 

“Johnny is right, Sir.  Any offer you made isn’t binding, and obviously circumstances have changed substantially since you extended that offer.”

About fucking time, Boston.  But boy, he sure put things in a real fancy way.  Always sounded good. 

“I’m well aware of that, Scott.  As I said, Joe will realise that things have changed.  But I’m sure it had never entered his head to even think about the partnership offer when he called in.  I dare say he’d forgotten all about it.”

How the hell had the old man ever managed to build such a successful ranch when he was so useless at reading people?  Dios.  The man was just too trusting.  That was his problem.  Thought everybody was as honest as him.  Unless they were gunfighters...   Shit, Madrid.  Don’t start thinking like that now.

“I’ll speak to Joe tomorrow.  I’m turning in now.  Tomorrow’s going to be a long day with the social in the evening.  Goodnight, boys.”  He paused in the doorway.  “And, Johnny, get to know Joe.  You’ll see then that you had nothing to worry about.”

Johnny turned and looked at Scott as Murdoch headed off upstairs.  “So, Boston, what do you make of all this?”

“I confess, I was puzzled as to quite why you were so worked up when you came in, but in the light of your revelations, I can understand it now.”

Could Boston ever answer a question like normal people? Never use one word when he could use ten or twenty.  “So?  What d’you make of it all?  Him offering someone he hadn’t seen in years a share of his ranch.  And don’t say nothing about us not being here.  Fact is, Boston, he always knew where you were, but he didn’t offer nothing to us until Day Pardee was breathing down his neck.”

Scott gave a soft laugh.  “It’s what I like about you, Johnny.  You always go straight for the jugular.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Boston?”

“Scott smiled.  “It’s your killer instinct – and no, before you start thinking I’m getting at you because you were a gunfighter.  What I mean is, you get straight to the point.  Don’t mince your words.”  Scott paused.  Stared down into his glass like he was looking for a silver dollar in the bottom.  “You have, of course, hit the nail on the head.  Whereas he could be excused for not knowing where you were, he always knew exactly where I was.  For twenty five years he knew where I was.”

Johnny bit his lip and shook his head.  If he was Boston, he’d have demanded some answers from the old man about that.  Twenty five years.  But not a word to his son in all that time.  Until he needed help.  The old man was stubborn, though.  And God only knew what went on in his head sometimes.  Seemed a bit simple at times.  All that faith in his fellow man.  When everyone knew that most folk were shit.  “So, you going to ask him about it?”

Scott laughed, but it was a kind of sad laugh.  “Let’s just say I don’t feel the time is right yet.  Or, alternatively, we could just say I’m afraid of the answer I’ll get.  But you can sleep easy tonight.  The partnership agreement is binding and he can’t give anything away.  That’s what you’re really worried about, isn’t it?”

Scott was no fool.  Johnny grinned.  “Well, I have to admit that I was starting to wonder if it was all nice and tight and legal.  After all, you know how I like to make sure I stay on the right side of the law.”

At least Scott laughed then like he meant it.  “Yes.  I know!  And Barker?  What do we make of him?”

Johnny poured himself a shot of tequila and raised his glass.  “What do we make of him?  Hell, Boston, we don’t trust him an inch.”

Part four

 

No matter how hard he tried to make himself scarce, Teresa kept tracking him down to do some odd job to get the place ready for the damn social.  He thought he’d be safe in the barn or out in the corral but out she’d come, being all bossy.  Seemed to be what she did best.

She’d had him draping damn bits of coloured cloth around the place.  Called it bunning or something like that.   He felt like he’d spent the day teetering at the top of ladders while she issued orders from the ground.  “No, Johnny, not like that.  I want it in cascades and swags.”  What the fuck were swags anyhow?  Do this.  Do that.  He’d be glad when the damn thing was over.

He’d even tried to sneak off to town.  Go and see Delice and the girls, but Teresa had spotted him and dragged him back.  “You’re not showing any interest in this evening.  Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

“I told you, I ain’t coming.  No way am I spending an evening with a load of folk I don’t want to talk to, and a band playing that God awful music.  Sounds like a catfight.”

“But you’ve got to come, Johnny.”  Shit, any second she’d burst into tears and that would be his fault too.  “All my friends want to dance with you.”  Her lower lip trembled but it wasn’t going to work.

“I don’t dance.”  A picture of all Teresa’s friends floated in front of him.  Dios.  Those pasty faced girls with their giggles and whispers, all batting their eyelashes at him.  They looked like sheep, but not as smart.  “You listening, Teresa?  I don’t dance and I ain’t coming.  Your friends can all dance with Boston.  Any rate, their fathers sure wouldn’t want them dancing with me.”
“But it’s you they want to dance with.”  The lip was wobbling again.

Course it was only natural that the girls would prefer him to Boston, but they were just kids and no fun at all for what he liked doing.  “Like I said, all their fathers wouldn’t want me nowhere near them.  And I reckon that them shooting me might kind of spoil your social.  So, ain’t coming and sure as hell ain’t dancing.”

She went off in a sulk.  Dios.  Girls.  They sure were dumb.  One moment they wanted to play cowhand and the next minute they were playing at being all helpless.   ’Specially when it came to putting up fucking bunning or whatever it was called.

“Johnny!  A word, please.”

He closed his eyes briefly as his father strode across the yard.  Was he going to chew his ear off too?  Order him to attend the social? 

“Johnny, I just wanted you to know I spoke with Joe.  Had a long chat with him to explain how the partnership wasn’t mine to give any more.  It was much as I thought, he didn’t come here looking for a share of the ranch, just wanted to catch up on old times.  He’s got several ideas for his future and certainly doesn’t seem to have been fired.  He’s even talking about carrying on as a sheriff.  You should know better than to take the word of a man like Evans.”

He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  Catch up on old times!  Oh yeah.  Go way out of his way from fucking Portland, with a prisoner and two deputies in tow, to catch up on old times.  Dios, the old man could be real dumb at times.  If ever a man was after something it was Barker.  The old man was waiting, looking at him like he expected Johnny to admit he’d been wrong.  It would be a cold day in hell before that happened.  “Well, he ain’t going to admit to being fired, not to you, is he?”

Murdoch grunted like he was trying to keep his temper.  “Why can’t you just admit, Johnny, that you were wrong?  I know Barker and when you get the chance to know him as I do, you’ll see what sort of man he really is.”

He bit back a laugh.  Hell, he knew what sort of man Barker was.  It was the old man who had a shock coming.  Sooner or later.  Because he’d bet a month’s wages that Barker would spring something.  Why couldn’t the old man just trust his judgement?  Just this once?  He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot.  Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. 

“Anyway, Joe is going to stay an extra night, join us at the social this evening.  You’ll have a chance to get to know him a little better.”

“I ain’t coming to your social.”  He stared down at the ground, waiting for the old man to lose his rag.

“You’re not coming?”  He sounded real surprised, but not mad.  Which was kind of strange.  “We’ve been planning this for quite a time, Johnny.  It’s a good opportunity to mend some fences with our neighbours.”

Yeah, like he cared about that.  “You ain’t really expecting me to come and be friendly with people who’d rather see me dead, do you?”

Murdoch sighed.  “I do understand how you feel, and I can’t say I blame you for feeling like that.  But the fact of the matter is we still have to do business with these people, rub along with them.  I was hoping this evening might be a start along that road.”

Johnny laughed softly.  “I guess the ones that hate me most won’t come.  And the rest?  Well, it’ll be better if I ain’t there.  Scott can sweet talk them, he’s good at that.  Hell, it’s what he does best.  Let him sweet talk ’em, give them lots to eat and drink and I’ll stay out of the way.  Leastways then some people might have a good time.  ’Cause you can guarantee that me being there will really mess up the evening.  I’d be about as welcome as a rainstorm at a fancy wedding.”

“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

“You’re learning, old man.  Nope, I ain’t.  But don’t worry, I’ll have a chance to get to know your friend on that ride to Sacramento.  When I’m making sure Evans gets there in one piece and without anyone working him over again.  Or killing him.”

Murdoch shook his head.  “Joe’s not like that.  I worked with him.  I was his deputy.  I know the man.”

Johnny shook his head.  “No.  You knew him.  People change and believe me, it ain’t always for the better.  And he’s bad news.  I know he is.”

“I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with you.  I’ll see you at dinner.”  The old man turned and stomped off towards the house. 

Johnny hauled himself up onto the corral fence and sat with his feet on the lower rail.  What did Barker want?  He’d probably figured he wasn’t going to get no share of this spread, but he was staying another night.  Why?  The man was sure up to something, staying around for something, but what?  Hell, he reeked of dishonesty.  Could always smell crooked people.  Smell them a mile off and Barker stank.

A cloud of dust rose up on the horizon.  Screwing his eyes up against the sunlight, he could see a rider heading back in to the ranch.  Coming from the direction of the big rocky outfall, where the cliffs were dotted with caves.  No cattle out that way because there were so many rock falls, so what the hell was a vaquero doing out that way?

The rider slowed as they neared the ranch, his features becoming clearer.  Barker.  Fucking Barker.  What the hell had he been up to?  There was nothing out that way.  Just rocks and hard soil with no graze.  What was it Boston called it?  A strange geelogic feature, or something like that.  But it was different to most of the land on the spread.  Not much good for anything, except maybe hiding in.  Or hiding something in.  And Barker had been snooping round out there. 

Teresa’s voice broke into his thoughts.  Calling him.  “Johnny!  I need your help.  Now.”

He shut his eyes briefly.  Fucking socials.  He’d make damn sure he was away for the next one.  Anywhere.  Hell, he’d even go to San Francisco and put up with the damn lawyers and bankers.  Anything was better than this.  He jumped off the rails, and slowly, very slowly headed over to see what she wanted doing now.

******

He slunk into the kitchen to try and scrounge some of the scraps that weren’t being carried out to all the guests.  He’d done pretty well at avoiding them all.  Except for a small band of Teresa’s friends he’d collided with when he slipped in the side door.  They all turned bright red.  Kind of like beetroot after cooking.  Real red.  And they didn’t seem able to talk right or get their words out.  They must be simple or something.  How could so many of them be simple?  Scott had told him once that interbreeding produced idiots.  Interbreeding?  Was that what Scott had called it?  Wasn’t too sure what interbreeding was but maybe that was why the girls couldn’t talk normal.  Kind of sad really.  And the way they all stared at him, like he’d got two heads or something. 

He glanced around the kitchen to make sure that Maria wasn’t there.  She’d been in a real grumpy mood all day, complaining loudly and to anyone who’d listen how much cooking she had to do.  She sure wouldn’t be happy if she caught him thieving food.  But it seemed it was his lucky night.  She wasn’t anywhere to be seen and somebody had left a huge meat pie on the table.  Kind of a shame to leave it there to go to waste.  He hacked off a big chunk and scooted out before there was any chance of her catching him.  She’d probably tell him to go and join the dancing.

From the sound of the music and voices, the thing was in full swing.  He stood in the shadows, near the door, listening to the music.  The band only seemed to know two tunes.  Still, by the time people had a few drinks and some of Scott’s punch, whatever that was, they probably wouldn’t mind about the music.  He’d sneaked some tequila into the punch earlier.  Old Boston had been fussing about over it like it was a newborn foal.  Insisting the recipe had to be just so.  Well, now it was just so with some added punch.  He grinned.  Yeah, the punch would pack a punch now.  And maybe it would taste better too.

Footsteps echoed along the path by the house.  Boston looking all smarted up and carrying his hat.  Why the fuck did he need a hat?  You couldn’t dance in a hat.

“How about it, Johnny?”  He gestured towards where all the noise was coming from.

Johnny slid down the wall he was leaning against and squatted.  “No.”

He could feel Boston’s eyes boring into him like he was trying to read Johnny’s mind.   “Are you still worried about Evans?”

“No.  I just don’t feel much like dancin’.  Haven’t got my dancing shoes on.”  He gave a brief laugh, but Scott just looked real uncomfortable.  Awkward, like he didn’t know what to say.

“Well, I’ll see you later.”  He put his hat on as he walked off.  Him and his hats.  Always putting them on and taking them off.  Same with his gloves. 

Had Murdoch held socials like this when Johnny had lived here as a young child?  Had his mother danced here?  She loved dancing.  Was always telling him how popular she’d been and how men had always wanted to take her in their arms.  Had that been here?  He shut his eyes, picturing her.  She’d been so beautiful.  Sometimes she would whirl around their shack snapping her fingers and stamping her feet in time to some long remembered music in her head from another, happier time.  Maybe from here?  She’d lift her skirts up and show her legs as she twirled about.  And sometimes she just danced naked, because she felt like it. 

He loved watching her dance, but was always afraid that she’d pull him out from wherever he lay watching her, to join her in a dance. She’d tell him he was no good.  And if he trod on her toes, her mood would change and she’d scream at him. He’d loved watching her brush her hair too.  He shut his eyes again briefly, remembering.  He could see her now, when she would sit brushing her hair, the sunlight through the window making it look as glossy as a raven’s wing, while he crouched in the corner, watching her.  Such beautiful hair.  He always wanted to touch her hair. But more often than not, when she saw him watching her, she’d throw something at him.  Tell him to get lost, to fuck off out of it, she had a man coming to see her.  But other times, she’d demand he brushed her hair for her, and then she’d want him to rub her shoulders and neck real slow and plant kisses wherever she pointed...  Now, he couldn’t help but wonder what else she’d have wanted him to do to her if she’d lived till he was just a little older.  He let out a brief laugh.  Shit.  Some mother.

Strange, he was standing and making shuffling half steps.  Couldn’t even remember standing up, he’d been so lost in those memories. 

The crackle of gunfire broke his memories into pieces, dragging him back to the present.  Shit.  The shots had come from the direction of the guardhouse.  But even as he turned to run towards it, his gun already drawn, he saw a figure in the moonlight heading for the corral, running flat out.  Leaping onto a horse.  He fired at the man but misjudged the shot and missed.  Boston’s fucking punch must have thrown his aim off.  The fellow fired back before jumping the rails and galloping off into the blackness as Johnny fired another useless shot at the fading figure.

Was it Evans?  Or somebody else?  Breathing hard, and cursing himself and the fucking punch for missing the shot, he tore toward the guardhouse.  Through the door he could see someone lying face-down on the floor in a pool of blood.  With his gun cocked he moved forward and bent to see who it was, even as he was aware of a slight movement and blackness as he felt a crashing pain in his head.

He forced his eyes open, trying to ignore the thumping and roaring in his head.  He was lying next to the body.  One of the deputies.  He pulled himself up.  Shit, his head was hurting.  He scrambled to his knees and leaned over to see if the man was still breathing.  But as he did so, a voice cracked out telling him to drop the gun.

The other deputy was levelling a gun at him.  Why the hell was the man pointing a gun at him?  His head was throbbing and nothing seemed to make sense.  He tried to speak, told the man it wasn’t him who shot the deputy.  But Thompkins, that was his name, just looked at him real cold and said, “Drop it or I’ll kill you.”

And something in the man’s eyes said he wasn’t kidding.  Fuck.  Moving slowly, he slid the gun across the floor.  This wasn’t quite how the evening was meant to have panned out.  He really should have gone to Green River. 

He could hear voices now.  Lots of voices as half the people from the social seemed to be rushing to see what had happened.  There were faces at the door, people pointing at him.  And the name on everyone’s lips seemed to be Madrid. 
Fuck.

Part five

There were people everywhere.  Pushing and jostling and peering in through the doorway.  Pointing at him and talking.  All saying the same thing.  “It’s Madrid – he’s killed a man...”

“Madrid’s killed a lawman...”

“Madrid’s shot someone...”

The deputy, Thompkins, motioned with his gun for Johnny to back into the cell.  “Don’t try anything, Lancer.  Right now there’s nothing I’d like more than an opportunity to kill you.”  The man cocked his head, as though listening to the clamour of voices, like what they were saying had only just struck him.  “Madrid?  Why are they talking about...”  The colour drained from his face, like he’d just figured what it all meant.

Johnny could see Murdoch and Scott pushing through the crowd and the thought flashed through his mind that it was kind of lucky that they arrived right then, before Thompkins had a chance to do any more thinking.  Trouble was, fucking Barker was tagging along behind Murdoch and Scott.  He just knew that Barker was involved in this mess, right up to his damn neck in it.

“What the hell’s going on here?”  Murdoch, red faced and frowning, pushed through to the front.  Kind of handy being that big.  “Get all these people out of here.”  He called one of the ranch hands over.  “Frank!  Move these people away and send them home.  Now!”  He sounded real tense as he slammed the guardhouse door shut so that the crowd couldn’t see inside.  God only knew how pissed he’d be when he heard the whole story, and Thompkins was just itching to tell it.

The old man and Scott were pale faced as Thompkins described how he’d found Johnny leaning over the body.  Really laying it all on, loving that everyone was listening to him.  And it didn’t sound too good.  And all the while Barker had his eyes fixed on Johnny, a real strange look in his eyes.  Kind of like he’d won the jackpot at the gaming tables.  Fuck.  Any second now Murdoch would start yelling because he’d believe it all.  His son – the lawman killer.

“Johnny, can you tell us what happened?”

Johnny jerked his head up feeling a rush of surprise.  The old man wasn’t yelling.  Sounded kind of gentle.  And he wanted to hear Johnny’s side of things.  Shit.  He hadn’t expected that.

He looked his father straight in the eyes.  “I heard shots, saw a man running off from here.  It must have been Evans.  I chased after him and got off a couple of shots.  But he grabbed a horse and rode off at a gallop.  So I came in here and saw the body.  I bent down to look at him and someone cracked me over the head.  Next thing I knew, I was coming round and Thompkins there had his gun trained on me.”

“There are two bullets missing from his gun and two in the body.”  Thompkins sounded real mad.  “I want him locked up.  Now.”  He pushed the door shut.  It made a dull clang as it banged into place.

Johnny sighed, staring out through the bars at Scott and Murdoch.  They looked real pale and the old man was running his hand through his hair, all worked up.  Murdoch gave Thompkins a long hard look.  “We need to catch Evans.  And find out who helped him to escape.  Because whoever it was, cracked my son over the head and shot the deputy.”

Shit!  The old man believed him.  He really believed him! 

Thomkins snorted, like he thought it was all shit.  “Your son helped him, Mr Lancer.  The business about a hidden man hitting him on the head, it’s just a cover and I don’t believe it.”

“Well, how d’you explain this?”  Johnny ran his hand through his hair, wincing at the pain and then showed them the blood on his hand.

“Maybe Evans did that to you, to make it look like he had outside help.”  Thompkins had an answer for everything.  Trouble was, it sounded all too believable.

Barker walked across to the cell door.  Looked like he was trying to act like Johnny was his best friend.  “It’s going to be alright, Johnny, you take it from me.  It’s going to be alright.”

Dios!  If they hadn’t taken his gun away he’d have shot Barker and all his fucking bonnomy.  The man was full of shit and he was still talking.  “Johnny had no reason to break Evans out of there.”

Thompkins glared, looked icy cold.  “They were friends.”

Barker laughed.  “Friends?  They knew each other, that’s all.”

Thompkins gave Barker a real dirty look.  “What is it, Barker, you still trying to buy your way in here?”

Johnny bit back a smile.  He was warming to Thompkins.  At least the man knew a bull-shitter when he met one.  But Barker didn’t smile.  Thompkins had hit a sore place and Barker looked real pissed off.  “I warn you, Thompkins...”

The deputy interrupted.  “I don’t want to fight you.  But Lancer had a reason and he had a clear field when we were all at the dance.  There are two bullets in Gibb’s body and there are two bullets missing from Lancer’s gun.”

Barker shrugged.  “Johnny’s explained all that.”

Thompkins gave Johnny a piercing look.  “Well, try letting him explain it to a judge.”

The old man was looking all stirred up, like he didn’t like the talk about judges.  Couldn’t blame him for that.  No judge was going to believe what really happened.  Much easier to believe Thompkins’ version.  “The only way to clear Johnny is to catch up with Evans.”

“We’ll have a posse out of here first thing.  And you’re,” Barker paused, pointing at Thompkins, “going to be on it.”

Thompkins looked at Murdoch.  “If Murdoch will guarantee a guard for his boy.  If not, we go to Sacramento right now.”

The old man nodded, looking over at Frank.  “You take the first shift.”  He walked slowly to the barred door, met Johnny’s eyes.  “You’ll be out of here by tomorrow night, Johnny.”

Maybe.  Maybe not.  Johnny just inclined his head, unable to think of anything to say.  Couldn’t say that he’d been set up and that Barker was mixed up in it somehow.  Scott stood with his arms folded, watching everything but not saying a damn thing.  What the hell did he think about all this?

Barker smiled another of his fake smiles.  “Johnny, I know you wouldn’t pull a stunt like that.”  Like he knew anything about the stunts Madrid could pull.  “Everything’s going to be alright.  You believe me now.  You hear?  Everything’s going to be alright.”

Did the stupid fucker think he was some little kid?  It was all he could do not to start laughing.  The man was so full of shit.  Still, leastways he was finally leaving.  And about fucking time.  He was finally alone with Scott.  “Hey, Scott, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Scott looked at him, straight in the eyes.  “Don’t trust Barker.”  And with a nod, Scott followed Barker out into the night.

Johnny grinned.  Funny how he could always rely on Scott never to let him down.  A real good compadre.  And it was good to know that Scott distrusted Barker as much as Johnny did.  Barker had to be behind all this.  Maybe Evans had offered him a bribe to break him out.  And once Barker figured he wasn’t getting no share of Lancer, he thought some easy money would solve his problems.  Yeah, that made sense.  And it must have been Barker who’d hit him.  Another reason to hate the man.

Trouble was, without Evans, who was going to believe it?

The stone bench didn’t look too inviting.  Shit.  How many nights had he spent in fucking cells?  Too many.  He figured he’d spent a month in the cell in Mexico before facing the firing squad.  Dios, it had been rough.  And filthy.  Lice and cockroaches and they’d all been crammed in together. 

Town jails weren’t so bad.  Least they usually gave you a decent meal.  But the border prison, when he was a kid, had been the worst of all.  Hell on earth.  Or maybe even worse than Hell would be.  He closed his eyes.  Shouldn’t have thought of it.  He wouldn’t get any damn sleep if he started thinking of the prison.  Shit.  He could hear the voices now.  Jeering, yelling, calling out and placing bets.  And that bastard walking among them, collecting the money.  Smiling.  All the time smiling.  And the pain and the humiliation.  Shit.  He angrily swiped the sweat off his face, but his hands were shaking now.  Hell, he was shaking all over like he’d got the ague.  Why did he start thinking of it?  Why couldn’t the memories go away?  He’d keep all the other ghosts willingly if he could only forget that fucking prison.  Dios.  Wished he could just wipe it all away with the sweat on his face.  His hands still shook and his breath was coming in short bursts.  He hauled himself to his feet but his legs were shaking too.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.  There’d be no fucking sleep tonight, that was for sure.  All he’d see would be that smiling face and all those men.  And how that smiling face had looked later.  Much later.

The humour of it all suddenly hit him.  Be kind of funny if they hung him for this.  Something he hadn’t done.  Instead of hanging him for something he had done.  It was kind of like God having a joke on Madrid.  What was it that priest had said?  About your sins finding you out?  Something like that.  Well, there probably wasn’t nobody a bigger sinner than Madrid, so maybe God had finally caught up with him.  Giving him his just desserts and all that stuff.  Pity God didn’t catch up with Barker.  He was sure that Barker was in this up to his eyeballs.  But unless that posse caught Evans, it would be Madrid heading for the noose.

Except he wouldn’t.  They might find the one knife in his boot but they’d never find the other one.  It was too well hidden.  What was it Delice had called it?  Scalpel?  Something like that.  But if it came to it, he’d cheat the hangman.  A firing squad was one thing, but no way would he hang.  Not with people watching, jeering, like it was entertainment.  Just like before...  Shit.  Don’t think about the damn prison.

He could try to escape.  It wouldn’t be difficult to overpower some ranch hand who was meant to be guarding him.  All he’d have to do was pretend to choke, or be ill, and they’d come in real quick.  But then he’d be on the run and all for something he hadn’t done.  And it would make him look guilty.  Shit.  Didn’t want some family thinking he’d killed their lawman son...  No, he couldn’t run.  Just wasn’t his style.  Madrid didn’t run.  He’d face his accusers and fight to the end.  But not the end of a rope.  If it came to it he’d use the knife on himself.  The ultimate sin.  But it was better than hanging.

He shivered.  Dios, this cell was cold.  Needn’t worry about hanging.  He’d die of fucking pneumonia before they got him to trial.  He felt his way around the dimly lit cell and found some blankets piled on a shelf.  They were thin and worn but better than nothing.  He huddled down and then huffed out, to see if he could see his breath.  It hung briefly in the damp cell, like it was hanging from a rope, before breaking up and fading away.

Dios.  He’d kill Barker if he got the chance.  And fucking Evans.

It was a long night.  And despite the chill, he woke frequently bathed in sweat and fighting his past.  A child again in a place worse than Hell.  And all those men who watched him suffer.  Just laid their bets and jeered.  They paid the piper but it wasn’t to see him dance.  But he never made a sound.

The sound of bolts being drawn dragged him from sleep.  They were coming for him again.  He thrashed out.

“Johnny, I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

A female voice.  Where was he?  A hammer was pounding away inside his head and he couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t fucking breathe.  He swiped the sweat from his eyes, tried to focus and his heart was thumping so hard it was like it was going to burst out of his chest.

He could see her now.  Frightened eyes watching him.  Soft eyes.  And full of kindness and tears.  Not like the others. 

He looked away.  Couldn’t look at her.  He fought to get some control over his breathing and clenched his fists tight so she wouldn’t see how bad they were shaking.  He shook himself, kind of like a wet dog might.  “Bad dream.  Must be sleeping in this hole.”  He grimaced.  Trouble was, it wasn’t a dream.  It was his past except it wasn’t past and probably never would be.

“I brought you ham and eggs and things.”  She sounded upset, like seeing him had shaken her up.  “I’m so sorry, Johnny.  It’s awful in here.  You shouldn’t be here.”  The tears weren’t far away.  Shit.  He couldn’t cope with that.

“Hey, Teresa, it’s OK.  I’ll be out of here by tonight.”  He grinned at her like he hadn’t a care in the world.  “Tell you one thing, it sure makes me appreciate my bed more!  And breakfast looks real good.  Now, go on and make sure that old Boston goes out on that posse.”  He grinned again.  “And Teresa, wipe your nose.”

He was rewarded by a smile.  A small smile, but still a smile.  She suddenly leaned forward, gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning and rushing out.

He shut his eyes briefly.  Hell.  It was all such a mess.  If only he’d ridden into town earlier to see Delice and the girls.  Or gone to the damn dance.  If Evans had any sense he’d be on a fast horse by now heading for the border.  And there wasn’t no way a posse was going to catch him.  Shit.

He fingered the knife in his boot.  He could make a run for it.  When they came for the breakfast tray, he could overpower the guard...  But why should he spend the rest of his life on the run for something he didn’t do?  Shit, all he was doing was going over the same things over and over again.  Who was he kidding?  He wouldn’t run, he’d face the damn jury.  Even though they wouldn’t believe his story and they’d see him hang.  Right now he’d happily kill Barker and Evans, because he wasn’t holding his breath on no posse. 

He stared at the food.  Teresa would be upset if he didn’t eat it.  Pity there weren’t any rats, he could have given it to them.  As it was he’d have to try and force something down.  But the coffee was welcome.  He drew his knees up on the bench and grasped the mug between his hands for warmth.  God, he hated the cold.

Later, one of the hands came to take the tray.  It would be real easy to overpower him.  Make a break and run.  No.  Only cowards ran and he’d never been that.  Cowards and the guilty ran.  And he wasn’t neither of those.

Footsteps echoed across the guardhouse and he looked up as the bolts were drawn back again.  It was his father, and somehow, he didn’t think it was good news.

 

Part Six

Murdoch sure looked uncomfortable.  Made a kind of grimace, but maybe it was meant to be a smile.  “Hey.”

Johnny nodded at him.  “Murdoch.  What’s happening?”  If he was honest he was desperate to know what was happening beyond the walls of his cell, and maybe his father had known that and come to reassure him.  Murdoch walked towards him, towering over him.  Dios, the man was big.

Murdoch gave a slight shake of his head.  “Nothing.”  He hesitated, but instead of coming right out with whatever he’d come to say, he just asked if Johnny had his breakfast.  Like he was killing time and not like he was just being a kind of father and concerned.  Why the hell didn’t he just get to the point?

It was almost like a game.  They take turns of saying something and they’d have to play it until his father spat out whatever was on his mind.  Johnny nodded.  “Oh yeah.  Teresa woke me up with it.  She had ham and eggs, coffee.  The whole works, you know.”  He couldn’t look at his father now.  Seemed easier to sit and fiddle with his bead bracelet while he waited for the man to say what was on his mind.

Didn’t have to wait too long.   “Scott’s still out with the posse.  He ought to be back pretty soon though.”

The colours of the beads were almost like the jewels he’d seen in windows of fancy shops in Stockton.  He rolled them round on the string.  Would he ever see Stockton again?  He had to say something though.  His father was shuffling his feet, looking real awkward.  Johnny sighed softly.  “Don’t you think he’d be back a lot sooner than this if they’d found him?”

His father looked even more uneasy now.  “You know, there’s a chance they won’t find Evans.  I think we ought to face up to that and if they don’t find him, it’s going to be awfully hard to prove your innocence.”

Dios!  Try telling him something he didn’t know.  That it would be hard to prove his innocence would be fucking obvious to anyone.  He fingered the beads again, rolling them around in his fingers.  Why wouldn’t Murdoch say whatever he’d come to say?  Because somehow he didn’t believe this was a social visit.  “You sound like you’re trying to tell me something.”  Maybe that would boot the old man into action.

But Murdoch wouldn’t meet his eyes.  So whatever he was gonna say had to be bad.

“I just...”  Murdoch paused again.  “I want you to understand fully how bad it will be if they don’t find him.”

Shit!  Did his father think he was some dumb kid?  Or plain stupid?  Like he couldn’t figure out for himself that he’d hang for this.  Had to say something.  “The chances are looking pretty slim.  You know, with a fast horse, Evans could be in Mexico in a couple of days.”

“So could you, Johnny.”

It felt like somebody had punched him real hard in the stomach and knocked all his stuffing out.  So that was it.  That was what the old man had wanted to say.  And Madrid was fucking stupid because he hadn’t seen it coming.  He’d allowed himself to get too comfortable here when he should have known at the first sign of trouble the old man would want shot of him.  Easier to get rid of Madrid than risk having the Lancer name dragged through the mud in a messy court case.  Hell, no, that would never do.  Couldn’t have no Lancer hanging.  Except, of course, he wasn’t Lancer.  Not really.  He was Madrid and always would be.  He knew it and the old man knew it.  And the old man wanted him gone.  Trouble was, it hurt.  It fucking hurt.  How could he have been so dumb to kid himself he could ever belong here?  A part of him had hoped that maybe, just maybe, his father had come in to check he was OK.  How dumb was that?

“Is that why you came here?  To give me a chance to escape?”  To get out of your life. The words were screaming in his head.  Because you wish you’d never found Madrid?  Don’t want the trouble?

His father shifted, uncomfortably, like he didn’t know what to say.  “It’s your decision.  You have to make it.  Think about it.”

Maybe the old man really thought he had killed the deputy.  That he was guilty.  Or maybe he thought Madrid a coward who’d run.  Well, he wasn’t a fucking coward.  And he sure wasn’t going to run just to save the old man from the embarrassment.  Fuck that.  “No!  I already have.  I’m not gonna run.”

He’d barely spoken the words before Barker came pushing into the cell.  The bastard must have been standing outside listening.  Probably him who’d put the old man up to getting shot of Madrid.

“You’re a fool, Johnny.”  Barker was real worked up, red-faced and angry.  “A lawman was killed last night.  Don’t you know what that means?”

Like he didn’t know a lawman had been killed.  Johnny clenched his jaw tight as Barker carried on with his sermon. 

“You know how much of a chance you would have when they get you to Sacramento?  Why, with Thompkin’s testimony, they’ll railroad you onto that scaffolding so fast it’ll make your eyeballs rattle.”

Fucking Barker.  Yeah, it would suit him real well if Madrid was gone.  Leave him a clear field to grab his share of the ranch.  He gave the man an icy look.  “Barker, you make it sound like you’ve already given up on Evans.”  Because it had to be fucking Barker who’d helped Evans to escape.

Barker turned to Murdoch, like he was hoping the old man would back him.  “Murdo, if you’ve got any sense, you’ll hustle that son of yours onto a horse and beat his tail out of here.”

The old man started to speak but Barker wasn’t done.  “But he doesn’t know what’s right for him, Murdo.  Can’t you see that?”

If he’d had a gun he’d kill Barker right now.  Piece of shit.  Just out to cover his own tracks and cut himself in for the ranch.  And the old man would fall for it.  Keep his old pal and get rid of Madrid.  Well, he’d got a shock for the both of them.  Madrid wasn’t playing that game.

His father spoke, sounded stronger now.  “He knows what’s right for him.  We both do.”

So the old man had suddenly changed his tune?  What was he up to now?  Barker turned and stamped out of the cell looking mad as hell.  But Murdoch just looked uneasy again.  Stared at Johnny, almost like he was pleading.  “I had to ask.  You understand that, don’t you, Johnny?”

His head felt muddled.  What did his father really think?  Did he want him gone?  Did he want him to stay?  Couldn’t look at the man and couldn’t figure out what to say.  “Sure.”  It seemed like the best thing to say until he got things straight in his own head.

The old man gave him a slap on the leg, like they were great friends, on the best of terms.  All cheerful now.  “We’ll clear you of this.  I know we will.”  And then he turned and just walked right out and the cell door clanged shut behind him.  There was a metallic scraping sound as the bolts were drawn, locking Madrid in.  Again.

He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms round himself, rocking slightly.  Felt like he’d been put through Teresa’s mangle and the tight feeling in his gut made him feel like puking.  And whichever way he looked at things, it seemed like his father took him for a coward.  Or someone who would kill a lawman in cold blood.  Hell, he knew himself for a bastard but shooting a lawman to help someone he barely knew to escape...

He’d told the old man that all he wanted to do was get Evans to Sacramento in one piece and see he got a fair trial.  And that had been the truth.  But his father just saw him as a killer.  He buried his face in his knees, hunching right over.  Seemed whenever he tried to do the right thing it went wrong.  Look at that fucking revolution.  All that did was land him in front of a firing squad.  And who was he trying to kid?  Himself?  His new-found family?  Seemed family meant fuck all if his father was so quick to suggest Madrid should run and clear off out of their lives.  Yeah.  All the old man had wanted was to be shot of Madrid before he could bring any shame on Murdoch Lancer’s fucking family.

Had Scott thought him guilty too?  Shit, even thinking about that made him feel worse.  The bile was rising in his throat.  He stood and tried taking some deep breaths, to swallow it back down.  Boston hadn’t been to see him.  But then Boston had gone out early with the posse.  Yeah, that was why Boston hadn’t come in to see him.   But he could have come in quickly before leaving with the posse.

He shook his head angrily.  He’d go fucking crazy if he kept on like this.  But he couldn’t help himself.  It was all such a mess.  And Barker.  How could the old man be taken in by him?  The man was such a phoney.  But his father trusted him.  Didn’t trust his own son but he trusted fucking Barker.

And Evans was probably halfway to the border already, having a real good laugh that it would be Madrid facing the gallows.  Dios!  He shut his eyes tight to try and block out thoughts of the hangman’s noose.  He could take pretty much anything, but not that.

Maybe a jury would believe his story.  He laughed aloud at the idea.  Like hell was a jury ever going to believe a half-breed, ’specially one as famous as Madrid.  Shit.  And there wasn’t nothing he could do about any of this, but still he was worrying at it like a dog with a bone.  Same as always.

Maybe Scott would find Evans.  He wasn’t the kind of man to give in easy.  And Scott had recognised that Barker was full of shit.  Maybe he had believed Johnny’s side of things.  Even if the old man didn’t.  “I had to ask.  You understand that, don’t you?”  His father’s words were ringing in his head.  He shut his eyes trying to remember how his father had looked when he’d said them.  What did his father really think of Madrid?  If only the old man would trust him.  But he couldn’t blame him for not trusting Madrid.  If he knew some of the things Madrid had done, he’d be only too quick to throw him out.  Wouldn’t want Madrid anywhere near his precious ranch.  Madrid was poison and family meant nothing.

The cell was awful small.  But outside there was all that range and big skies.  No grass greener and no sky bluer than here.  Would he ever ride free again?  With Barranca galloping flat out while he felt the sun on his face and the wind ruffling his hair.  Was this it for Madrid?  And all for something he didn’t even do. 

He stretched back on the bench.  Maybe he could catch some sleep.  There wasn’t anything else to do.  He’d have liked something to read.  Shit, if it’d been Boston in here they’d all have been bringing him books. But hell, they probably forgot that Madrid could read.

He tried to sleep but it seemed every time he dozed off his ghosts came visiting, bringing all his sins with them.  The sins he’d have to answer for one day.  No redemption, no peace and no damn sleep.  Easier not to sleep.  And his back was aching from the hard bench.  He winced as he stretched.  He needed some exercise so maybe he should pace out the cell.  Like all prisoners did.  It sure hadn’t been built for comfort.  Five paces by three.  And no fucking window.  Not a patch of blue sky to remind a man that there was a world out there.  A place where free men could breathe fresh air, make love and walk free.

Five paces by three.  Three by five.  Didn’t matter which way he paced it, it wasn’t going to grow no bigger.  And it had real thick walls so you couldn’t hear a damn thing.  The ranch could burn down and he wouldn’t know it.

He aimed a savage kick at the door, before looking through the grill at the guard.  A young cowhand dozed in the corner.  Real restful, like he hadn’t a care in the world.  The sleep of someone with a clear conscience and no fucking ghosts.

He might as well count the number of stones in the walls.  And then count them again.  Just like prisoners always did.

He was on the fourth count when he heard voices.  Lots of noise and commotion as someone opened the outside door of the old guardhouse, letting the sounds of the real world in.  Heavy footsteps ringing out on the stone floor.  His father’s measured tread.  He scooted up onto his bench and slouched in the corner.  All relaxed like he hadn’t a care in the world.

 

Part Seven

“Murdoch.”  He kept his voice level, not giving anything away.  And he covered his mouth like he was yawning and might have been dozing.  Tried to read the old man’s face but it was strange.  It was like there was a real mixture of emotions racing over the man’s face.  And was that good or bad?

“It’s over.  You’re free.  I said we’d clear your name and we have.” 

Johnny narrowed his eyes, even as he felt a surge of relief.  He felt lighter, like a load had been lifted from him.  And even though it seemed like maybe everything was going to be fine, he was sure that there was more to come.  The old man hadn’t done yet.  What the hell had been happening out there? 

Murdoch was looking all round the cell, anywhere it seemed but at him.  “It...  I’m sorry...”

“Just get it said.”  He didn’t mean to sound so snappy but shit, if only the old man would get to the point.

Murdoch sighed heavily, and carried on peering into the corners of the cell, like he figured there was a bottle hiding somewhere.  Sure looked like he needed a drink.

“You were right.”  The old man’s voice shook slightly and he stumbled over his words.  “Joe was involved in all of this.”

Well that figured.  No surprises there.  “And?”  It seemed like he was going to have to prod the old man to get any details.

Murdoch sighed again, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was saying.  “It seems he helped Evans to escape.  I think Evans had promised him money.”

Johnny allowed a ghost of a smile to flit across his face.  Yeah, chalk one up to Madrid, it was just as he’d figured.  “And where’s Evans now?”

“He’s dead.  Joe shot him.”

Johnny swung his legs round off the bench, and leaned forward.  That didn’t make no sense.  “Barker shot him?  Why?”

“Evans was taking a shot at me.  Barker saved my life.”

Fucking hallelujah, so Barker did one good thing.  And of course now the old man would forget how Barker had let Johnny be set up to take the blame for all of this mess.  “He’d have seen me hang.”  Johnny made his voice as cold as he could.  Wasn’t going to let the old man off easy.  Not when Madrid had been right all along and Barker was just a crooked sheriff who’d gotten greedy.

Murdoch finally looked him in the eyes, looked like a damn dog begging for scraps.  “I’m sure he’d have done the right thing, Johnny.  I can’t believe he’d have let that happen.”

Johnny shook his head, couldn’t believe what a pushover the old man was.  “Well, I tell you, I don’t have your faith.  Barker’s shit and it would have been my neck in that noose.  And don’t waste your breath trying to change my mind.  I told you what sort of man he was, but you didn’t believe me.  Seems you never believe me.  Course, if Scott had said that, it would have been different.  You always listen to old Boston and you never fucking listen to me.”  He took a deep breath, tried to rein in the angry words before he said too much.  Shouldn’t let the old man see how riled he was.  Just keep cool, Madrid.  Never let them see they’ve scored a hit.

Murdoch shook his head, like he didn’t believe that.  “That’s not true, Johnny.  Surely you can see ...”

“It is true!  And I tell you something else, old man, Scott agreed with me about Barker.  He didn’t trust him an inch, pity he didn’t tell you that.”  Johnny took a breath, had to calm down.  “Anyway, what the hell’s been happening out there?” 

Murdoch sighed, looked at the floor and then around the cell, like he didn’t want to look at Madrid.  “I rode out with Barker, I hoped we could find Evans.  Scott had gone ahead, on his own, up to that rocky area with all those hidden caves.”

Yeah!  That’s why Barker had been out there, snooping around.  Looking for places where Evans could hide out.  All made sense now.  He threw his father a sharp look, seemed the old man was real reluctant to get on with the rest of his tale.  The man was shuffling his feet and chewing on his lip.  Dios.  “And?”

“I... we found Scott lying there.  He’d been shot...”

It was like his body turned to ice at his father’s words and his guts clenched up like someone had punched him hard in the stomach.  Shit, no!  Not Scott.  He couldn’t lose Scott.  The words came tumbling out, hot with rage.  “Scott’s been shot and you’re standing there defending fucking Barker?”  Couldn’t remember being so angry.  Or so frightened.  He tore out of the cell, even as his father put out a restraining hand.

“He’s OK.  Just a flesh wound.”

Johnny turned briefly, looked at the man.  “Take your hand off me.”  His voice came out as cold as he felt.  And as soft as falling snow.  His father stepped back, like he sensed the real threat behind the words.

“He is going to be fine...”

Johnny didn’t stop to hear more.  Pushed past him to go and find his compadre.  The bright light stopped him in his tracks.  He’d gotten used to the gloom of his cell.  He raised his arm to try to shield his face from the brilliant sunlight.  Screwing his eyes up, he could see Thompkins leading a handcuffed Barker towards the guardhouse.  It felt like all the rage inside him was going to burst out.  That he was going to burst into flames.  Thompkins paused with Barker as Johnny moved to block their way.   “If my brother doesn’t make it, Barker, I promise I’ll kill you.  You won’t ever get to Sacramento to face a jury because I’ll fucking kill you first.  And I tell you, I’ll enjoy it.  So you better start praying that my brother’s OK.”

Barker stepped backwards, looked pale and shocked.  Thompkins leaned forward with a grin and spoke low to Barker.  “Yeah, you’d better start praying, because he’d follow through on that threat.  I told you, he’s Johnny Madrid.”

Johnny pushed past Barker.  He ran to the house, praying that it was only a flesh wound. And even praying to God.  And he hadn’t done that in years.  Please God, let Scott be OK.  Just let him be OK.  He pushed the door open and heard voices coming from the Great Room.  His heart seemed to leap into his mouth - it was Scott’s voice.  He tore into the room, breathing fast.  Scott was sitting on the couch while Teresa bathed a wound on his arm.

“Let me see.” He pushed Teresa to one side ignoring her squeak of protest.  “Just let me look at it.  I know about bullet wounds.  Believe me, I know all about bullet wounds.”

Scott gave a muffled snort of laughter.  “Never a truer word, brother.  But, in your vernacular, I am fine.  It’s only a flesh wound.”

“Flesh wounds can turn real nasty.”  Johnny paused, looked closely at the wound.  Wound?  Barely a graze.  His body felt lighter again and he found he could breathe better.  “Dios! Boston.  I thought you’d been shot.”

“He has been shot, Johnny! And he’s had a very nasty bang to his head.”  Teresa sounded real crotchety.  Tried to elbow him out of the way.

He grabbed the bowl of water and the cloth out of her hands.  “I’ll see to it, Teresa.  You go and make him some of that nice tea of yours...”

Scott made a kind of wailing noise.  “No!  Please!  Not the willow bark tea.”

Teresa put her hands on her hips, looking all put out.  “Scott Lancer!  That’s downright ungrateful...”

Johnny grinned at her.  “Go on, Teresa, make him some of your tea, like you do for me when I’ve been shot.  I’ll tend to his bullet wound.”  He pushed her, still protesting, out of the room, before turning back to Scott.  “Bullet wound!  I thought you’d been fucking shot!”

“I was shot.  Luckily it just grazed me.  Were you worried?”

Johnny curled his lip and waved his hand in the air.  “What?  Worried about you?  Hell no, but I figured I might be in for half a ranch.  Still, I guess it just wasn’t my lucky day.” 

Scott leaned back, grinning.  “Sorry to disappoint you.  Looks like you’re stuck with me.  Ouch!  Careful with that stuff, it stings.”

Johnny grunted as he swabbed away the last traces of blood.  “Shoot you myself one of these days, Boston.”

“So, I hear Barker was involved in this right up to his neck.”  Scott’s expression was serious and he was looking at Johnny real hard as he spoke.

Johnny paused with the swabbing.  “Yeah.  We were right about him.  And the old man was wrong.  You know he thought I must be guilty.”

Scott pulled away sharply.  “No, I’m sure he didn’t.  Look how he was when we were all in the guardhouse when Gibbs was shot.  Murdoch was backing you all the way.”

Johnny sat back on his haunches and looked at Scott.  “Then why did he come visit me this morning to give me a chance to escape?  Unless he thought I had something to run from.  Can you explain that?  He just wanted shot of me.”

Scott eyed him, like he was considering a problem.  Didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then shook his head slightly.  “Why do you always imagine the worst?  It is possible to interpret his actions in a totally different way.  But you always leap to the conclusion that you’re not wanted.  That he wants to get rid of you.  And what makes it stranger, is that in every other respect you always consider things very carefully and weigh up all the possible connotations.  But never with our father.”

Johnny furrowed his brow.  Why did Boston always use such tricky words?  Was Scott saying that maybe the old man didn’t want to get shot of him?  All very well for Scott.  The old man respected him.  Trusted him.  Listened to him.  But not Madrid.  Not that he could blame him.  Nobody would want Madrid around except when it suited them.  Like when a ranch was threatened by Day Pardee.  Madrid was useful then.  But after the shooting was over?

“He does want you, Johnny.  And, although I don’t know him any better than you, I do think that offering you a chance to escape speaks volumes.  It would go against all those principles he holds so dear.  To him the law is sacrosanct.  So, to break it?  To help somebody escape instead of facing a court?”  Scott cocked his head, raised an eyebrow.  “I would say for him to take that step, to offer you that chance, is a huge gesture of affection and concern.  Love, even.”

Johnny turned away.  Didn’t want Boston to look at him.   Tried to swallow the huge lump in his throat that felt like it was going to choke him.  Love?  Nobody would love Madrid.

Scott laughed softly.  “Even now, you can’t accept it, can you?  Even when he has made such a huge gesture of faith and trust in you, broken with every moral standard he has.  You still have to see it all wrong.”

“Nobody would want me.  Not if they knew what I’ve done.  The things I’ve done.”  He spat the words over his shoulder.  Couldn’t face Scott.  Not till he figured things out.  His head was buzzing, like there was a huge swarm of flies in it.  Or a thick fog.  Love?  Dios.  He doubted even his mother had ever loved him, never mind a father who was a stranger.

Scott’s voice, soft as a butterfly landing on a flower, broke into his thoughts.  “You haven’t finished cleaning my bullet wound.  I’m still bleeding here.  And I need a sling for my arm.”

Johnny blinked his eyes rapidly.  Tried to clear his mind, before turning back to his brother.  His compadre.  “Bleeding?  You don’t even do that right, Boston!”  He kept his eyes down, fixed them on the graze as he put a small dressing on it.  Made a sling out of the cloth that Teresa had left there.

“What the hell happened to you, Johnny?  What was it that makes you doubt everything?  Everything is black with you.  But out there.”  Scott gestured towards the window.  “Out there, there’s a world full of sunlight.  And people who care about you.  Including Murdoch.”

Johnny sat back on his haunches again.  Stared down at the floor.  Funny, he’d never noticed how threadbare the rug was.  When he’d first arrived here, he’d thought everything looked incredibly grand.  It had seemed that way.  But lots of the things were kind of worn out, just like him.  And yet all these things belonged here.  Could he?  Could Scott be right about the old man?  That to make such an offer had been a huge gesture of affection.  Trouble was, if the old man knew about Madrid’s greatest sin, if he ever found out...  Dios.  But maybe he’d never find out.  It could be just between Madrid and God.  He knew there’d be no redemption.  Didn’t deserve it.  But maybe he could belong here for a while.  A little peace.  A chance to rest.  So long as they never discovered the worst of him.

“So?  Do you believe me?”

Johnny shrugged.  “Never let up, do you, Boston?  Even when you’ve been shot.”

Scott grinned.  “I thought you said it didn’t qualify as a gunshot wound.”

Johnny stretched slowly, getting to his feet.  “It ain’t.  But I bet that won’t stop you milking it for all it’s worth.”  He paused, and shook his head slightly.  “You really believe all of what you just said?”

“Or did I just say it to make you feel better?” 

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah.  D’you really believe it?”

“Yes.  I do.  And, I’d lay money on the fact that you stormed out, leaving him wondering what the hell he’s done wrong.  He’s not the sharpest knife in the block when it comes to judging others or their reactions to his words.”

“He’s sure lousy at choosing friends.”

The sound of voices and horses outside broke the moment.  Thompkins calling for Barker to be put on a horse.

“Come on, I think we’d better see the man off.” 

Johnny followed him out to where Murdoch and Teresa stood watching Barker being helped, with handcuffed hands, onto a horse.  Johnny hauled himself onto the wall to watch.  Dios, he was tired.  It would be good to sleep in his own bed again.  In a room with no bolts or bars.

Barker was sitting shaking his head, staring down at his handcuffs, kind of like he was amazed at the turn of events.  Like it wasn’t of his own making.  “Twenty years.  Twenty years and I finally know how it feels.  You know, there are plenty of people who would have paid a lot of money to see me this way.”  The man laughed briefly before looking back up.  “Just think, Murdo, if I’d answered your letter everything would have been different and never would have wound up this way.”

Murdoch seemed to be finding the ground around his feet real interesting.  Looked real stiff and awkward.  “Sure, Joe.”

Barker sighed.  “Why am I kidding myself?  It would have happened.  One way or another it would have happened.”

Murdoch seemed to be getting more of a grip now.  He looked up.  “Well, I’ll go to Sacramento.  We’ll do everything we can.”

We?  That was rich.  Madrid wouldn’t be lifting a finger to help Barker.  Fuck that.

Barker was smiling that oily smile, ’cept there wasn’t much heart in it.  “Sure, Murdo.  Sure.  You, er, write me a letter sometime, huh?”

Thomkins interrupted.  “Joe.”  The pair of them rode away as the old man stood looking kind of lost.  Johnny hopped down from the wall, his spurs breaking the silence.

Scott stood by Murdoch.  “How do you figure that?  A man devotes his entire life to law and one day he smashes everything.”

Murdoch chewed on his lip, shook his head.  “Maybe it doesn’t happen that fast, Scott.  When a man’s alone, when he’s got nothing, there’s probably no one to have faith in him.  Maybe then he loses faith in himself.”

Scott and Teresa followed Murdoch back into the hacienda, leaving Johnny alone outside.  When a man’s alone, when he’s got nothing...  His father’s words played over and over in his head.  Felt like Madrid had been alone and with nothing for too long.  But maybe Scott was right, and here there were people to have a little faith in Madrid.  Because he sure hadn’t got any faith in himself.  His father’s words could have been for Johnny, never mind Barker. 

He swung himself back onto the wall and watched Barker and Thomkins until they faded into the golden landscape.  His landscape.  His ground.  Maybe, just maybe, where he could finally belong. 

So long as his past never caught up with him.

 

Part Eight


"The date has come through for Joe Barker's trial. It didn't take long for them to move on that." Murdoch took another sip of coffee while he carried on reading the letter.

"Were you thinking of going?" Scott kept his tone neutral but even as he spoke he could still feel a slight twinge from where Evans' bullet had found its mark. What his brother had dismissively described as a scratch. Scratch or no, he certainly didn't feel any sympathy for Barker. And he was certain that the man would have happily stood by and seen Johnny hanged. No. He had no sympathy at all.

He glanced across the table at Johnny to guage his reaction to their father's announcement. But Johnny's face gave nothing away. It was almost as if he wasn't listening to the conversation or didn't know who they were talking about. But Scott suspected that Johnny's apparent disinterest was very far from the truth.

Murdoch set his coffee cup down with a clatter. "Oh of course I'll be going. I must support him and do whatever I can to help him."

Scott stole another glance at Johnny but his face was still an impassive mask.

"Joe was a good friend over the years. He and I go back a long way and he's not a bad man. It was circumstances that were against him."

Circumstances? Scott almost choked on his own coffee at that little gem. Would he ever understand his father, nevermind understanding Johnny? Quite how Murdoch could be so accepting of Barker's dangerous subterfuges but so quick to criticise Johnny, was beyond him. While he appreciated that Murdoch didn't intend to be callous or insensitive, it was hard to believe that the man could be so oblivious to the possible consequences for his own family if Barker's plans hadn't gone astray or to recognise that his sons had very different opinions of Barker to himself. He could be quite breathtakingly blinkered at times.

"I gotta go check on that sorrel mare. She's about ready to drop her foal." Johnny pushed back his chair with a clatter. He walked swiftly from the room, pausing only to grab his hat which he pushed forward, casting a dark shadow over his face.

Scott waited till he'd gone, slamming the door behind him. "Sir, it might be advisable to exercise a little tact and diplomacy when discussing Barker in front of Johnny."

Murdoch's eyes narrowed slightly and the man clenched his jaw before appearing to compose himself. "What point exactly are you trying to make?" There was just a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Scott ignored it. He wasn't going to rise to that. Instead he kept his voice level and moderate. "Just that Barker would have let Johnny hang and done nothing to prevent it."

Murdoch snorted derisively. "Nonsense, I don't believe that for a moment. I'm sure that he would have stepped up and done the right thing. He's not a bad man. He just got into things above his head."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Well, I hope Johnny shares your faith in Barker being an honourable man. Seeing as how it was Johnny's neck in the noose."

Murdoch clenched his jaw again and swallowed hard. "He was prepared to help Johnny escape, although you know I didn't approve of that plan. But it was a gesture. And who knows what would have happened."

"What indeed."

Murdoch threw him a sharp look, before speaking in a voice which almost sounded like he was pleading. "I have to stand by him. I've known him for years. He was a good friend. Surely you can understand that?"

Scott sighed. "I understand that you feel loyalty to the man, but I'm afraid that I don't share your belief that he would have done the right thing for Johnny. And I'm sure that Johnny shares my views."

Murdoch bowed his head briefly. "Barker shot Evans. He saved my life. He could have let Evans shoot me. But he didn't."

There'd be no reasoning with his father over this. And while he admired loyalty, he couldn't help but feel that this time it was misplaced. He was just wasting his breath.

"How long will you be away?"

Murdoch's face cleared, as if relieved that Scott wasn't going to push him further. "I thought I'd tie it in with a visit to an old friend in the south of California. Bob MacDonald. He always has excellent breeding bulls and I'd be interested to see what he has coming through. But it does mean I'll be away for some time. However, I'm sure that you and Johnny can hold the fort in my absence."

Scott nodded. "Of course. When do you plan to leave?"

"I thought the day after tomorrow."

Scott left Murdoch fussing over organising his packing for the trip and headed out in search of Johnny. He was in the largest barn, cradling a mare's head in his lap and talking to her in soothing tones. He glanced up as Scott walked in but looked away almost immediately. It never failed to amaze Scott how good Johnny was with animals. All animals, it seemed, but he had a particular affinity with horses.

Johnny spoke in a low voice, but avoided meeting Scott's eyes. "So he's going to Sacramento to help Barker. That'll be nice for him. Give him a chance to see his dear friend."

Scott scratched his chin, wondering how to respond to his brother's bitter tone. "He's loyal. I suppose that's an admirable trait."

Johnny grunted in obvious disgust. "Loyal! To that fucking asshole? What about you? Evans shot you, and Barker would have still covered for him if he could have gotten away with it."

"And he'd have seen you hanged." Scott studied Johnny's face, searching for some reaction to his statement.

Johnny was silent for a moment, as if pondering how to reply. He stroked the mare gently, fondling her ears, before sighing softly. "Yeah, I guess. Kind of funny really, to hang for something I didn't do."

Scott didn't think it funny. He might have lost Johnny and all because of Barker. "Murdoch's going to combine the trip with a visit to some old rancher friends farther south. He'll be away some time."

His words were rewarded by one of his brother's broad grins. "Now you're talking, Boston. Sounds like we might have some fun."

"Teresa will be here." Scott spoke mildly but was heartened to see how Johnny's mood had improved.

"Teresa? We'll send her off to stay with her friends." Johnny waved his hand dismissively. "She won't be here all the time, it'll be easy to get shot of her for a while. Just think of it, we'll be able to make our own decisions without having to constantly ask for his approval." Johnny's eyes lit up. "I can wear my spurs in the house, drink tequila with dinner, go to town without him moaning. Hell, Boston, we'll have fun!"

Scott shook his head, laughing at Johnny's glee. "You're a man of simple tastes, Johnny, and easy to please."

Johnny grinned. "Yeah, Delice's girls know just how to please me. Oh boy, just think, I could go into town twice a week and he'll never know."

.........

He had to wonder if Murdoch trusted them at all. In the two days leading up to his departure, the man drew up countless lists of instructions for every possible eventuality. And issued orders. Lots and lots of orders. In fact the only bright spot was watching Johnny become more and more irritated with each new directive that emerged from Murdoch's desk. He started grinding his teeth, and his fingers twitched constantly, as if he was having trouble restraining himself from shooting Murdoch.

Teresa, wisely, left them to it, announcing her intention of going to stay with friends south of Morro Coyo. Scott almost envied her, even though he thought the friends in question were crashing bores. But at least her departure brought a brief smile to Johnny's face before the scowl returned. One down, one to go.

"Ain't you done yet, old man?" Johnny's fingers tapped ominously on the table at breakfast on the day their father was due to leave. Murdoch had been outlining the numerous reasons for calling a veterinarian out, in addition to detailing the numerous occasions when such action would be a shameful waste of their money.

Murdoch frowned, his brows drawn close together, and then gave Johnny the dubious benefit of one of his sternest glares. "These things are important, young man. Even if you don't think so. We cannot afford to fritter money away on luxuries."

"Yeah, yeah. I know, and you sure as hell don't trust us not to mess things up while you're away."

Murdoch sighed, obviously exasperated by his son's attitude. "It's just that this is the first time you and Scott have run things on your own for any length of time."

"And you don't trust us." Johnny sounded very scathing. Scott tried to smother a soft sigh as it seemed that the two of them were about to start yet another row.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I trust you both."

Johnny leaned back in his chair and smiled sardonically. "Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe we'll sell it all out from under you while you're off seeing your good friend Joe Barker."

Scott gave a soft sigh. An audible one this time. Why did Johnny do it? He really seemed to go out of his way to annoy Murdoch. Constantly pushing him. Never letting up. Was he testing Murdoch in some way? But if so, why? One thing was certain – it was incredibly wearing and he was fed up with being caught in the middle of the two of them. The sooner Murdoch left for his trip, the better.

Murdoch seemed to think so too. Pushing his chair back, he gave Johnny another thin lipped glare. "Johnny, I have a stage to catch. I am not going to rise to this. I must get going."

As Murdoch stomped upstairs, his heavy footfall echoing around the house, Scott shook his head in despair. Johnny sat sipping his coffee, but the fingers of his gun hand still tapped incessantly on the table.

"Why do you do it? You know he fusses about the ranch. He was bound to behave like this when he's leaving his precious baby in our care."

Johnny shrugged. "Just don't see why he's so fired up to help Barker, is all." Johnny paused, biting his lip. The fingers tapped faster. "Would he support me like that? If it was me in Sacramento, accused of killing that deputy, would he be there then? All fired up over me?" There was a flash of pain in Johnny's eyes. Gone almost as quickly as it came, but there just the same.

"You know he would. And you know he believed you when you told your side of the story in the guardhouse that night. He accepted your version of events straight away. Why do you doubt him?"

Johnny shrugged, pushing his chair back with a clatter. "Just don't see why he's so fired up over Barker is all." With a curt nod Johnny stalked out of the room, pausing only to grab his gunbelt.

His brother was jealous. That was the only explanation. Jealous of Murdoch's loyalty to an old friend. And hurt that Murdoch felt loyalty to someone who had set Johnny up for a fall. God, Johnny was a complex man. All bravado and swagger on the surface, but underneath the veneer was a very different man. A man who seemed to doubt everyone and everything and was painfully unsure of his place within his newfound family. Certainly one who was unwilling or unable to believe that he could be wanted.

Scott didn't see him again until much later. Johnny had been out with a work party mending fence lines when Murdoch had finally departed. Scott had heaved a huge sigh of relief when the stage left. He smiled at the memory of his father's final instruction to be sure to look after his brother. As though Johnny needed looking after? What a ridiculous notion. But perhaps now he and Johnny could relax a little and settle down to working at running the ranch together.

"Peaceful, ain't it?" Johnny grinned as he rooted around in the liquor cabinet searching for something to his liking. "Drink before dinner, Boston?"

"I'll have a Scotch, thanks." He reached out to accept the proffered drink. "I thought he was never going to leave. I don't know why you should mind him going to see Barker. It means we can have a bit of peace! And you can go into town whenever you like."

Johnny grinned over from where he now sprawled, stretched out on the couch, with his spurs much in evidence. "Yeah, that had occurred to me. 'Specially while Teresa's gone. Don't have to make up any excuses."

They enjoyed a leisurely dinner, sharing a bottle of Burgundy from the cellar. Although dismissive of wine, it amused Scott to see Johnny was more than willing to partake of the Aloxe Corton while they planned the work schedule for the coming week. He seemed far removed from the hardened and bitter gunfighter who'd hitched a lift on the stage all those months ago.

"How about a game of chess, Boston? Or can't you cope with being beaten?"

"I'll rise to the challenge and give you a run for your money!" Except, of course, Johnny would beat him. He always won and the concept of being magnanimous in victory hadn't apparently occurred to Johnny. Competitive didn't come close to describing him.

Johnny was dozing and Scott was pondering his next move when he heard the sharp rap on the door. Before he could haul himself to his feet to answer it, he heard Maria bustling to open it and the sound of muted voices.

Curious to see who could possibly be calling this late in the evening, he struggled to his feet from his prone position on the floor by the chess board, even as Val came into the Great Room, with two strangers close behind.

It seemed a strange time for a visit, but politeness dictated a warm welcome. So he smiled as though delighted to have his evening interrupted. "Val! This is a surprise."

Johnny's eyes opened in surprise. "Val? What the hell you doing here this time of night...?" His voice tailed off as he eyed the two strangers.

"Um, a drink, gentlemen?" Scott felt that whatever the reason for the visit, he should play the perfect host.

Val shuffled his feet awkwardly and twisted his hat in his hands. Scott couldn't recall seeing anyone look quite so embarrassed and ill at ease. "No, thanks. This ain't exactly a social visit." As he spoke he looked at Johnny with a strangely hurt expression. "It's business. These two fellows here," he gestured towards the two hard faced men. "Well, they're marshals and..." He paused, looking again at Johnny. "Well, they've got a warrant to arrest Johnny. On a charge of murder."

Part Nine


Funny really. He'd always known this moment would come. Sometimes he'd allowed himself to think that the past really was just that – past and gone. Tried to kid himself that everything would be OK. That at worst, the only thing he needed to worry about was people wanting to gun him. Yeah, tried to tell himself those things, but he'd never really believed it. So he'd known, the second he saw the men with Val, that it wasn't past and it had just come back to bite him – just as he'd always thought it would. Men with hard faces. Tired faces. Like they'd travelled a long way for this moment. Searching for Madrid. And now they'd found him. And that warrant was their trump card.

Scott had stopped trying to play the good host. He looked kind of stunned. White. Even paler than usual. And even though he'd opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. Like the words had got stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. He was swallowing real hard too, like he was trying to force himself to say something.

"What do you mean? Murder? A warrant? For Johnny? What the hell is this all about, Val? You waltz in here at this time of night to arrest Johnny, all on the say so of two strangers?"

Val shook his head, kind of like it was all too much for him. "They're real marshalls, Scott, and they got a real warrant. It's all legal, believe me. It's signed by a judge an' all."

"There must be a mistake. Did you really say murder?" Scott sounded like he just couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Val looked at Johnny for a moment. Kind of looked like a whipped dog when its owner kicks it. "Yeah, Scott, I said murder. Ain't nothing wrong with your hearing."

"Murder." There was a vein pulsing now in the side of Scott's head. Just like the old man had when he got riled. "And just who is he supposed to have murdered? And where for heaven's sake? There must be a mistake. Johnny's a gunfighter and my understanding is that gunfighting is not illegal. Am I right?"

One of the marshalls stepped forward. "Gunfighting ain't illegal when the players follow the rules. But this ain't nothing to do with any gunfight. This is cold blooded murder, we're talking about." The man paused. "And trust me, you don't want the details."

"And just where is my brother supposed to have committed this cold blooded murder?" Scott didn't sound too impressed.

"In Utah. That's where we've come from. Four years ago, it was. We thought Madrid was dead, but when we heard he was alive and kicking, well, we got the warrant. Murder ain't something we ignore. 'Specially one like this."

"Utah!" Scott looked kind of pleased. "I wouldn't think my brother has ever been to Utah. It's far too far from where he's been raised. Isn't it, Johnny? Tell them, you've never even been there, have you?"

He couldn't look at Scott. And he sure couldn't look at Val who was still looking like a whipped dog. It was easier to look at the marshalls. He shrugged. "Sorry, fellows, but as anyone who knows me will tell you, I've always been working around the border. Ain't nobody ever paid me to go to Utah."

"See!" Scott sounded like he'd just won a battle. Was he dumb enough to think the men would just go away?

"We got a warrant to arrest you, Madrid, and that's just what we're going to do." The man had taken his gun from the holster and had it trained on Johnny.

Johnny's stomach seemed to have got itself into a tight knotted ball but he shrugged again, and laughed softly, like he was real relaxed about it all. "Well, I guess you fellows just got the wrong name. But, if you got a warrant, well, I guess we'd better go and sort it out."

Val wrenched his hat again. Any second he'd tear it in two. "Yeah, Johnny, you'll have to go with them. You gotta go to Utah. And," he paused again, shuffling his feet. "You gotta stand trial. Nothing I can do to help you, boy. Not this time."

"I want to see this warrant." Scott held his hand out.

The man who hadn't yet spoken reached inside his pocket for a piece of paper. Just one sheet of paper. Heavy sort of paper, but still just paper. Madrid's death warrant. All on one little piece of paper. That it should come to this. Shit. All those men who'd tried to face him down and failed. But one little piece of paper...

Scott was reading it, real careful, like he didn't want to miss anything. Except he didn't need to use a finger to follow the words. Then his shoulders kind of sagged. "It looks legal to me, Johnny. Seems we haven't got any choice but to go to Utah with them."

His gut clenched, the knots had suddenly gotten a lot worse and he felt chilled all over. He glanced down at the floor trying to get himself together before looking across at Scott. "We?" Johnny curled his lip. "I think I'll manage this on my own, Boston. Don't need both of us to sort this out." Dios. The last thing he wanted was Boston tagging along. Hell, no. God only knew what Boston would find out about Madrid. Too much, far too much, that was for sure. Couldn't take that. No! Couldn't bear the thought of Scott's disgust when he found out the truth about Madrid. Anything but that.

"I said we, and I meant we." Scott's voice was kind of steely. The sort of voice he used when he'd made his mind up. Well, old Boston had a shock coming, because no way was he coming along for the ride this time. And Madrid would do and say whatever it took to make sure that Boston stayed put on the ranch. And as far away from Utah as possible.

"Someone needs to stay here and run the place so that's an end of it." Johnny could do steely too. Except it sounded even colder when he did it.

The first marshall interrupted. "You can argue about that later. Right now, we're taking you to Green River and locking you up. We leave the day after tomorrow. Search him, Carter. On your feet, Madrid, and move real slow."

Johnny got slowly to his feet, and raised his hands. Somehow, it felt worse because of being in the house. Raising his hands outside wouldn't have seemed so bad. But in his own fucking house... And all the while Val was looking at him with that whipped dog look. Like he felt Johnny had let him down. No surprises there – Madrid let everyone down. Sooner or later.

Carter ran his hands over him, searching for any weapon. "He's clean – nothing on him."

The first marshall rubbed his chin, like he was thinking hard. Dios! He hated lawmen who actually thought for themselves. Never a good idea. "Check his boots. People like Madrid usually have a knife. Take your boots off, Madrid."

"His name is Lancer and is this really necessary?" Scott was looking really pissed and the vein was still pulsing.

The marshall ignored him. "Take the boots off. And move nice and slow. No sudden movements. I'd hate to have to shoot you. Can't cheat the hangman, can we, Madrid?" He smiled around at them all, like he'd made a real funny joke.

Johnny sat down on the couch and tugged at his boots. Carter felt inside them before looking real pleased with himself and pulling out the fighting knife. "You were right, Ford." He tossed the boots back and Johnny moved swiftly to put them back on. He could feel Val's eyes boring into him. Shit. Did Val know about the other knife in his boots? Had he told Val about it at some time?

He gave Val a quick look. Val's eyes were narrowed and he was looking way too hard at Johnny. Now he was looking at the damn boots again and back at Johnny. Shit. "Can I put my boots back on, now? Or ain't you done yet?" He sounded real relaxed and kind of bored. It worked, because Carter tossed him the boots.

"Yeah. Put 'em on and then we're heading into town." Carter took a pair of cuffs out of his jacket.

"My brother will need a coat. You can't expect him to ride into town at this time of night in just a thin shirt. Val, surely Johnny can have a coat?" Seemed Scott was going to behave like a fucking mother hen. Dios. Like Madrid was some little kid.

"I'm just fine, Boston, and I don't need no coat..."

"Get him a coat, Scott." Val glared across at Johnny. "And you, just pipe down. Seems to me you're in enough trouble already, without catching your death of cold."

"Yeah. Can't cheat the hangman." And Carter laughed again.

"I understood that in this country a man is presumed innocent until proved guilty." Scott sounded as cold as a north wind in the winter, but kind of polite at the same time. "I'll ride into town with you. I'd like to ensure that my brother gets there safely."

Johnny shut his eyes briefly and sighed. Scott didn't have the first idea how to treat lawmen. All he'd do was piss them off. Val was looking all upset already.

"I'll be riding into town, Scott. It's my jail that Johnny will be in and I swear no man ever comes to harm in my custody." Yep. Scott had upset Val, too. Real smart.

The other marshall was butting in now, Ford was it? "Mr. Lancer, while Madrid is in my care, everything will be done by the book. I'm charged with getting him back to Utah to stand trial, and that's just what I intend to do."

Scott didn't look too bothered that he'd got them all riled up. Just curled his lip. "See that you do. But I'm still coming to town now."

"Ain't no need for that, Boston. I don't need a fucking baby sitter." Maybe, if he was real nasty, Scott would back off. But Scott just went and got the jackets – his and Johnny's. So much for that idea.

Carter ran his hands through the pockets of Johnny's jacket before tossing it over. "OK. Put it on, then I'll cuff you. And get a move on. "

He shrugged himself into the jacket and then held his hands out. His stomach lurched as Carter clamped the iron cuffs around his wrists, the metal cold on his skin. He glanced at Scott. "Well, I guess if you insist on riding escort into town you can bring my saddle bags. I'll need them for the trip to Utah. And I'll sure as hell need them for the journey back."

Nodding, Scott scooted off to ferret out the bags and Johnny followed the men outside where they had their horses ready and waiting – including an extra one for him. Carter and Ford bundled him, none too gently, onto the horse and they headed off towards Green River, leaving Scott to catch them up.

The marshalls were riding either sideof him as Val led the way into Green River. The new moon didn't cast much light and the trail was hard to follow in the dark. Would this be the last time he ever made this ride into town? His horse stumbled slightly, but despit the cuffs he was able to keep his balance. But how the hell was he going to stop old Boston coming to Utah? Because one thing was certain, he had to be stopped. Knew he couldn't handle Boston being there for a trial – or a hanging. And if Boston found out about his past, how could he ever face him again? Boston was too smart by far. He might put two and two together and figure things out. And even figure out what had happened when he was a child. And Madrid couldn't face the shame of that. He knew it was his own fault. That he'd asked for it in some way. His mother had always told him it was all his own fault. Shit. He had to stop Boston coming to Utah. And he could only think of one way of doing that...

The sound of hooves dragged him back to the present. Scott had caught up now, and had the saddle bags with him. "Can you manage with your hands cuffed, Johnny?" He sounded real concerned. Johnny tried to swallow the lump in his throat and quell the nausea in his belly. He hated the thought of what he'd have to say to Boston, but couldn't see no way round it.

"I'm fine." He kept his voice real cold. He'd talk to Scott once they'd locked him in his cell. Scott was bound to stay and talk to him alone. Hell, he even knew what Boston would say. He be full of telling him how it would all be OK. That they'd get a good lawyer. That they should send for Murdoch... Shit. Anything but that. It'd be even worse than Boston finding out about him...

He could see the lights of Green River ahead. Faint strains of music from the saloon were carried on the breeze. He could picture the saloon and the bordello, full of smoke and people laughing and drinking. Folk who could leave to sleep in their own beds. Or Sadie's bed. Would he ever see the girls or Delice again? It was dumb, but he wished he'd had a chance to say goodbye to Delice. One last visit to her and the girls, in case he really didn't come back. In case this ride to Utah was the last ride he'd ever make... Dios! He had to stop thinking like that. He needed to start planning. He sure as hell didn't intend to hang...

They reined in outside Val's office. As the others dismounted, Johnny swung his right leg across the saddle horn and then steadied himself before sliding down. He stumbled, but at least he didn't fall. He'd be damned if he let them see him fall. By the time he got into the office, Val had already gone through to the back and opened up the cell. Ford unlocked the cuffs and pushed him in. At least it had a tiny window high up to let in a patch of light in daytime. But it was real small. Bars on three sides and a low metal framed bed with a straw mattress, so thin it could hardly be called a mattress. The only other thing in there was a bucket to piss in.

Val looked kind of awkward. "Ain't up to much, I'm afraid. I'll get you some blankets and stuff." He pushed the cell door closed with a clang and turned the big key in the lock. "You staying a while, Scott?"

Scott nodded. "Yes, I'd like to talk to Johnny, if that's OK?"

"I'll leave you to it." Val left them alone and went to join the marshalls in the office, closing the door behind him.

Scott still looked pale and real uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. If he was waiting for Johnny to say something, he'd be waiting a long time. Johnny sat on the edge of the bed. He could wait. He wasn't going nowhere. Not yet.

"I know you said you would sort it out, but I am coming with you." Scott sounded real determined. "Firstly, because I want to ensure you arrive there safely, and secondly to find you a good lawyer and make sure you get a fair trial." Johnny could feel Scott's eyes fixed on him, but he didn't bother answering. "Did you hear me? Johnny, are you listening to me?"

Johnny stared down at the stone floor. Big slabs of cold stone.

"Johnny, did you hear me?"

He looked across at Scott, hating himself for what he was going to do. "Yeah, I heard you, Boston. And I seem to remember telling you I don't need you to come. But maybe you got something wrong with your hearing. I don't want you to come and I sure as hell don't need you. Why the hell should I? I ain't a kid, so stop treating me like one. Just go on back to the ranch and stay there." Scott didn't look too bothered by his words. He was going to have to be more brutal.

"It's not a case of treating you like a child. I want to come and support you for all the reasons I mentioned, and because you're my brother and that means a great deal to me."

Johnny swallowed. Narrowed his eyes. "Brother! Don't make me laugh, Boston. So, we share the old man's blood. That don't mean nothing. You don't mean nothing to me and I sure as hell don't want you tagging along looking like the dumb prick that you are. You should see yourself now. Dios! What fucking use do you think you'd be? You're just a Boston Dandy who sure as hell ain't much good for anything. You've given me a few laughs, now why don't you just fuck off back to your books at the ranch and leave me alone?"

Scott flinched, almost like he'd been struck, and he took a step back, kind of like he had no control over his body. His mouth looked clamped shut in a thin line. And the pain in his eyes... He turned abruptly to go into the outer office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dios, he felt sick. Shut his eyes tight because all of a sudden they were stinging. And his cheeks were wet. He scrubbed angrily at them with his fists. He hurt inside. It was like a real pain, tearing away at his guts. He should never have stayed here in the first place. Should have taken his money and left. And how had Scott done this to him? Got to him the way he had? Dios, it hurt. He'd been so scared when Scott was shot, scared that he'd lose him. Well, he'd sure as hell lose him now, because even if got off at the trial, no way would Scott ever want to have anything to do with him again. And who could blame him? But better to have Scott hate him, than be disgusted by him... Shit, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much and he felt like howling like a little kid.

He sat slumped over. Val would be in with blankets and stuff. Couldn't let Val see that his face was wet. Keep the mask in place. How many times had he told himself that? Never let them see you hurting...

The door swung open, and Val staggered in with an armful of blankets and a couple of pillows. "It can get real chilly in here so I went and got you some extra blankets." He paused, looking at Johnny real hard. "Where was Scott rushing off to? He almost knocked me over in his hurry to get out of here."

Johnny shrugged, playing for time. "Dunno. Back to the ranch, I guess."

Val scratched his chin, like he was thinking hard. "Well, it looked to me like he was kind of riled up over something. I thought maybe you'd had words."

Shit. Since when did Val get so damn smart?

"What I want to know is whether you were expecting a visit from Utah sooner or later? You told me you weren't wanted anywhere." Val had got his whipped dog face on now.

Johnny glared at him. "If you want to know if there was a wanted notice out for me that I knew about, the answer's no." He'd suspected there may be, but he wasn't telling Val that.

"Just you didn't ask those fellows any questions, which makes me wonder if it's because you already knew the answers." There was an edge in Val's voice, like he wouldn't take no bullshit.

"I didn't know they were coming, OK? And I figure I'll hear all the details of what they're accusing me of on the way to Utah. I can wait."

"Thought maybe you didn't want your brother to know about it."

Dios! Val just had to be so fucking clever. Johnny gritted his teeth, could feel himself tensing up. "Just leave it alone, Val. I don't want no visitors in here, neither. That's my right, isn't it? Don't have to see people, do I? Well, I don't want to see anyone, including my brother. Got that?"

Val was silent for a few seconds, scuffing up the toe of his boot, before looking across at Johnny. "No visitors? Yeah, it's your right. But that brother of yours is OK. You told me that yourself. About the same time you told me that nobody was after you." Val paused again, chewing on his lip. "I don't like being lied to, Johnny, 'specially by you."

"I didn't lie!" Well, bent the truth but not an outright lie. "You so sure I'm guilty, Val? I worked down around the border, you know that and you know me."

Val shook his head slowly. "No, I don't know you, Johnny. I wonder if anyone does. But I tell you something, you're going to need that brother of yours. It's going to be rough and you're going to need all the help you can get."

He turned to leave, but paused again. "Something else. You once told me you always carried two knives."

"Notice you didn't say so in front of them lawmen."

"I thought about it. But figured I'd give you a chance. I ain't going to ask you if you still carry two, just want your word that you wouldn't use one on a lawman just doing his job."

Johnny gave a brief laugh. "You mean you'd trust me?"

"Just want your word, Johnny."

Johnny looked at Val, he felt oddly moved. The man still put some trust in him, even though he'd done nothing to earn it. "No, Val, I wouldn't use a knife on a lawman just doing his job. I ain't sunk that low. But, if it came to it, Val, I ain't going to hang. I sure as hell ain't going to hang."

Val nodded. "That's what I figured." He opened the door to go back to his office. "No visitors, I know. But you need to think on whatever you said to that brother of yours, because I'd bet good money he didn't deserve it."

The door slammed shut after him and Johnny fell back onto the bed, feeling like his guts had been torn from him.

 
Part Ten
 
He stumbled from Val’s office.  All he wanted was to ride back to the ranch as fast as possible.  It was as though he was being swept down a mountain in an avalanche of emotions and right then the strongest one was rage.  And if he didn’t get out of town, he might be tempted to shoot Johnny and save everyone the bother of an expensive trial.
 
Rage and pain were wracking his body and he resented the pain.  Had he really been totally taken in by Johnny, all these months?  To think that Johnny had been laughing at him all the time hurt more than he could bear to admit.  His brother’s insults still rang in his ears.  The tone of his voice, that sneer, the curl of his lip, the disdain and mockery, they were like arrows piercing his soul.  He knew that was melodramatic but that was how he felt.  And angry.  Angry with himself that he’d allowed himself to be so taken in by Johnny that this so-called brother had the power now to hurt him so much.
 
Throughout his isolated childhood he’d always wanted a brother.  He’d been very lonely in that huge house, with just polite servants for company.  And he’d always been acutely aware of the fact that they were paid to be kindly.  He’d longed for someone to play with who cared about him just because he was him and not an indulged grandchild of a wealthy man.  And finally discovering that he had a brother all along had meant so much, but now it seemed that Johnny’s friendliness had all been a sham.
 
He spurred his horse on, riding far faster than was wise over the rough terrain at night.  But he was past caring.  The lights of the hacienda shone out a welcome in the distance and he just needed to get back as quickly as possible.
 
The house was deserted when he got there.  Maria had obviously left to go home and tell her family that men had taken her precious Juanito away.  She’d always indulged his brother: cooking him extra spicy tamales, giving him extra helpings of meals and cooking him special Mexican biscuits which she kept hidden away for him alone.
 
Scott went straight to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a very large measure of Scotch.  The bottle of tequila stood next to it, the top still off from where Johnny had casually slapped it down before lounging on the couch earlier.  Scott picked the bottle up and hurled it at the fireplace.  It smashed into pieces and the liquid spread over the floor, just like Donovan’s blood had spread across the floor when Johnny had moved so fast to protect Murdoch, just weeks earlier.
 
He sank onto the couch.  His head was thumping now, the pain concentrated above one eye.  And there was a twinge from where Evans’ bullet had grazed him.  Evans’ bullet.  The memory gave him pause to think and to calm down.  He leaned back, taking a swig of Scotch, remembering how Johnny had reacted when he’d heard that Scott had been shot.  He remembered the way Johnny had looked when he’d torn into the room, pushing Teresa to one side, wanting to reassure himself that Scott was OK...  And although Johnny had been dismissive of the wound, he’d been very gentle bathing and dressing it.  Not the actions of someone who professed to despise everything about his Boston raised brother.
 
Other memories seemed to flood his mind now.  Johnny leaving himself wide open to take a bullet in the shootout in the bar in Bitterville in order to save Scott – the night that Wes had fortuitously arrived and saved Johnny’s life.  And how when, very early on in their relationship, before Johnny had ridden into town for a gunfight, the way he’d looked at Scott as though he was trying to memorise his face and the brief admission afterwards that it was difficult to concentrate in a gunfight if there was somebody watching who you cared about.
 
Had all of that been a pretence?  He shook his head slowly.  No.  If there was one thing he was sure of, when Johnny had rushed in to check on him after Evans had shot him - that fear he’d seen in Johnny’s eyes had been real. 
 
He took another sip of his drink.  And if that had been real, what was he to make of his brother’s words earlier that evening?  Such cold, cruel words.  Cruel enough to drive anybody away...
 
He heaved himself out of the couch and trudged up the stairs and along the corridor to Johnny’s room.  It was large and impersonal.  There were no books piled on the table next to the bed.  No personal pictures or photographs.  A well-worn boot had been thrown down in one corner of the room but there was no sign of its mate.  And a work-shirt was bundled up and lay under the hard wooden chair.   But the shirt and the boot were the only signs that anyone even used the room.  It was almost as though Johnny Lancer had never been there.
 
The second drawer of the heavy chest next to the window protruded slightly and Scott moved to close it.  It jammed awkwardly causing him to pull it out to set it firmly on the runners.  His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened with surprise.  The drawer was full of boxes of bullets.  Lots and lots of boxes of bullets.  More than any man could use in a lifetime.  Each box immaculately in place as though laid there carefully and with thought as to how each should be placed.
 
Curious, he opened the small top left drawer to find that filled with boxes of rifle shells, again all meticulously laid out.  On further investigation, the right hand drawer contained what he knew to be Johnny’s “fighting” gun, together with its special cutaway holster.  Both were carefully wrapped in chamois cloths and a bottle of gun oil was stored in such a way that it couldn’t tip over.  The other two drawers contained just two spare shirts and some long johns.

Stunned, he sat down on Johnny’s bed.  It was crazy.  How could anyone need that many bullets?  The answer, of course, was they couldn’t.  It certainly couldn’t be normal to stockpile bullets like that.  His brow furrowed as he sat remembering the numerous occasions that Johnny had visited gunsmiths because he “needed a few bullets.”   And whenever they had to buy ammunition for the ranch, Johnny always got an extra box for himself, almost absent-mindedly as an afterthought.  It was as though his brother couldn’t walk past a gunsmith without buying bullets, and although he’d always thought that Johnny seemed to buy a lot more than other men, it had never really registered quite how many Johnny bought.  Why would he do it?  Did Johnny see it as a sort of hobby?  Some men collected stamps or coins, maybe Johnny collected bullets...  No, that made no sense whatsoever.
 
He was surprised to find that he no longer felt angry with Johnny.  His rage seemed to have dissipated and now he just felt bewildered.  He leaned back against the headboard, taking in the appearance of the room.  It struck him suddenly as sad that after all these months there was nothing of Johnny’s character imprinted on the room, it was as though it was unoccupied.  Until, of course, one examined the contents of the drawers.  And that in itself was disturbing.  Was Johnny mad? 
 
He shook his head slowly.  No, Johnny was eminently sane - cynical, clever and calculating, but definitely sane. Clever and calculating?  Now there was a thought.  Because if Johnny had wanted to stop Scott going to Utah with him, his words were calculated to force Scott to abandon the idea.  Johnny was shrewd enough to know that Scott wouldn’t feel that his first duty was to the ranch.  No, Johnny would have guessed that Scott would insist on going with him.  And so he said what was necessary to ensure that Scott did indeed abandon his plan.
 
Quite why Johnny didn’t want him to accompany him to Utah was harder to fathom.  Johnny wouldn’t commit cold blooded murder, of that he was certain.  Johnny had never been to Utah.  Was Johnny frightened that they’d convict him anyway and didn’t want Scott to see him hanged?
 
He sighed.  This wasn’t getting him anywhere and his head was hurting even more.  He struggled to his feet, resolving to talk to his brother the next day and sort things out.  He gave the chest of drawers another puzzled glance but didn’t feel up to solving the conundrum of why Johnny needed his own private arsenal. 
 
.............
 
“What do you mean, he’s not seeing visitors?”  Scott stared at Val in disbelief.  “He’s in jail, for heaven’s sake, he’s not some aging king from a bygone age holding court and deciding whether or not he’s in the mood to receive visitors.”
 
Val scratched his head as though confused by Scott’s analogy.  “I don’t rightly know about bygone ages, all I’m saying is he ain’t seeing anyone.  Thought that would be clear enough.”  Val paused, screwing his face up as if reluctant to say what was coming next.  “And he was real strong minded about you being the person he’d least like to see.”
 
“And you intend to pander to him over this?”  Scott couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.
 
Val narrowed his eyes slightly as he stomped across the room to make himself a mug of coffee from water bubbling in an old battered frying pan.  “Ain’t a question of pandering to him,” he growled.  “He’s a prisoner, and if he don’t want no visitors, that’s his right.”
 
Scott tried to quell his rising irritation.  There was little point in annoying Val.  Val wasn’t the sort of man to cave in to bullying.  Val – who’d known Johnny in the old days, before his brother had come home.  Quite suddenly he remembered something Val had said the previous evening, which had intrigued him at the time.  “Last night, Val, when you came to arrest Johnny, you said you couldn’t help him.  ‘Not this time’ were your words – what did you mean?  When did you have to help him before?”
 
Val busied himself with adding sugar to the foul smelling coffee.  His shoulders were hunched over but he seemed very tense and reluctant to answer.
 
“I know you and Johnny were friends, so what did you mean?”
 
Val shrugged.  “Don’t rightly remember.”
 
Scott gave a short laugh.  “Come on, Val, you don’t think I believe that, do you?  So, how well did you know Johnny?  Were you close friends?”
 
Val banged his mug down, spilling the coffee over a pile of wanted posters.  “I hardly knew him at all.  Happy now?  I met him once when he was a kid and I spent two or three days in his company when he was older.  That’s it.  So he’s as much of a puzzle to me as he is to you.”  Val turned away, looking almost distressed, as though regretting his outburst.
 
Val’s words triggered something in Scott’s memory.  It was like alarm bells going off, telling him these words were important.  Why did those words sound so familiar?  He chewed on his lip as he wracked his brain trying to bring whatever it was to mind.  Spent two or three days in Johnny’s company but hadn’t seen him then since Johnny was a kid.  Why was it so familiar?  There was something, just out of reach in his mind...  Why?
 
“Good God!  It was you!”  The words burst out of Scott as the memory flooded into his consciousness even as he felt almost stunned by the realisation. 
 
Val looked across at him.  “What the dang are you talking about?  What was me?”
 
“The best day of Johnny’s childhood.”  Scott spoke softly, enjoying the look of bewilderment on Val’s face.
 
“Just what the hell you talking about, Scott?”  Val sounded irritated.
 
Scott smiled.  “I’m talking about a man who rode into a border town and found a young kid being kicked on the ground.  And that man picked up the kid and took him to a doctor and got his back treated.  Ring any bells, Val?”
 
Val flushed, and busied himself with straightening his pile of Wanted posters.  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 
“Yes you do.  But what you might not know is that Johnny described that day as the best day of his childhood.  A gringo sat him on a horse and took care of him, and even bought him a meal afterwards.  Wouldn’t have been much of a day to most children, having to go to a doctor and being kicked around, but to Johnny it meant everything – because on that day he felt like he mattered.”
 
“Shit.”  Val spoke quietly, and sat down heavily in the chair by the desk.   He gave Scott a sharp look, before staring down at the floor, shaking his head.  “What else did he tell you?”
 
“That he met the gringo years later, bought him a meal in return and spent two or three days in the man’s company.”
 
Val looked up, concern evident now in his face.  “But he ain’t told you it was me?  Shit.”
 
Scott furrowed his brow, slightly puzzled by Val’s reaction.  “No, he didn’t tell me it was you.  Does it matter?”
 
“Shit, yes!  Of course it matters.  Ain’t you learned anything about that brother of yours these past few months?  Just don’t... just don’t tell him you figured it out.  And for God’s sake don’t tell him we’ve spoken about it.”  Val sighed, before adding gloomily, “I’d like to live a few more years.”
 
Val looked genuinely concerned and Scott suspected that it wasn’t an act, but it puzzled him just the same.  “Johnny wouldn’t hurt you, Val.  He’s far too grateful for what you did for him.  That day stands out in his memory as the best day ever when he was growing up.  He felt he mattered, that he wasn’t just some poor half-breed.”
 
Val grunted.  “Didn’t stop him threatening me.  He sure as hell didn’t want you to know it was me.”
 
“He threatened you?”  Scott could hardly believe this.  It was crazy.  Why should Johnny mind?
 
“Yeah, he threatened me.”  Val sighed again.  “He’s a secretive bugger and he’s always planning his next move, staying one jump ahead of folk.  Guess it’s how he stayed alive so long.”  Val paled slightly, a far-away look in his eyes now.  “When I first saw him...  Christ!  The state of his back...”
 
“That bad?”  Scott tried to quell the first signs of nausea in his stomach and the rising bile.  He hated to think of what Johnny might have suffered as a child.
 
Val looked at him.  “Yeah, that bad.  Hell, it was so whipped up and he had maggots crawling in it.  And thin...  Could see every dang bone in him.  Don’t believe anyone had ever done a damn thing for him.”  Val shook his head in obvious distress.  “And that mother of his...”
 
“Did you meet her?”  Scott was curious to learn anything about Johnny’s mother.  Certainly he’d never heard Johnny say a word against her.
 
“Nah, never met her.   But I did ask around a bit and heard a few things...  Let’s just say there’re better mothers in this world.”  Val shrugged.  “But like I said, he’s a secretive bugger and he’d be mad as hell if he knew we’d discussed this.”  Val jerked his head, nodding towards the heavy oak door.  “Good thing that door is so heavy and he can’t hear us.”
 
“But surely he wouldn’t mind?”
 
Val glared at him.  “Like I said, you don’t seem to have learned much about him.   But he sure as hell don’t want to see you right now and he don’t want you going to Utah with him.”
 
“I don’t understand that.  Why wouldn’t he want me to go?”
 
Val stared at him, his mouth slightly open as though amazed by Scott’s words.  “Why the hell d’you think he don’t want you to go?  For starters you’d learn way too much about Johnny Madrid.”
 
“He’s never even been to Utah.  He said so.”
 
Val looked at him through narrowed eyes, and shook his head slightly as if he thought Scott was stupid.  “No, he never said that.  He’s real clever.  Think on it.”
 
Scott thought back to the previous evening and his brother’s words.  What was it he’d said?  That nobody had ever paid him to go to Utah.  That was it!  “That was just his way of expressing it, Val.  I don’t suppose it even occurred to him that the words could be interpreted differently.”
 
Val gave a sardonic laugh.  “Believe me, Scott, Johnny Madrid thinks of everything.”
 
“You think he’s guilty, don’t you?”  Scott shook his head in disbelief.  “You think he did it.”
 
Val looked at him, a strange expression in his eyes, almost pity?  “I dunno, Scott, but I sure as hell wouldn’t underestimate him.  I like Johnny and I know better than most what a rough life he had.  Rougher than he ever deserved.  But a life like that, well, it leaves its mark on a man and Johnny is a very tough hombre.  The toughest son of a bitch I ever met.”
 
Scott glared.  “Well, I know Johnny wouldn’t commit murder and I don’t believe he’s ever been to Utah.  And whether he likes it or not, I’m going to Utah too.  I intend to see that he gets a good lawyer and we clear his name.  And I don’t give a damn what he thinks about me going.”  Scott turned on his heel, pausing only at the door as Val spoke again.
 
“I’m glad you’re going, for his sake I’m glad.  But I tell you, he ain’t gonna be happy about this.”  Val paused.  “For what it’s worth, if he did do it, he must have had one hell of a good reason.”
 
Part Eleven
 
“Your brother was in.”  Val handed him a mug of coffee through the bars.  “But I told him you weren’t seeing nobody.  He didn’t see too impressed and stomped out a while ago.”
 
Johnny grunted and reached out for the coffee.  Least it was hot.  Something to warm his hands around.  “Tough.  Don’t want to see anyone, Val.  Just so long as you understand that.”
 
“He says he’s going with you no matter what you say.”
 
Despite the steam coming off the mug of coffee, he felt icy cold all over.   And the knot in his stomach felt like it was going to rip his gut in two.  What the hell did he have to do to make that dumb fucker stay at the ranch?  Surely he’d been brutal enough to make Scott never want to see him again.  What the hell was wrong with that man?  Anyone else would have gotten the message but no, not Scott, he had to be a fucking pain in the ass.
 
“Can’t you arrest him or something?  Lock him up, that’ll stop him going.”  Johnny looked angrily at Val.  “If I got the right to say no visitors, don’t I have the right to say he can’t come?”
 
Val didn’t look none too impressed.  “It’s a free country, and trials are open to all – even your brother.  Anyways, you should be grateful that someone cares enough to go with you.”
 
“I don’t want him to go.  I sure as hell don’t want him around on this trip.  I don’t need nobody, Val, you hear me?  ’Specially some dumb Boston dandy.  I done OK all these years on my own and I sure as hell don’t need nobody now.”  Johnny slammed the coffee down.  Dios, even his hands were shaking.
 
Val looked him straight in the eyes.  “Who you trying to convince?  Me?  Or you?”
 
“Why don’t you just piss off and leave me alone.”  Johnny slumped down on the cot, glowering at Val who looked unconcerned by Johnny’s words.  He sure as hell wouldn’t look so easy if Madrid wasn’t locked in a cell.  Be different then.  But as it was Val just strolled out like he didn’t have a care in the world.
 
He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, hunched over.  Dios.  Only just got out of that damned guardhouse and here he was back behind bars again.  If only he could sleep.  He needed to sleep while he had the chance because he knew he couldn’t risk sleeping on the journey ahead, not with two marshals there.  He might talk in his sleep and that would never do.  Couldn’t chance whatever he might give away.  He’d have to stay awake as best he could for the journey.  But he was so damn tired.  Tired of fighting.  It just never stopped.  The past never went away.  Maybe he should just give in, take what he had coming, because he was too tired to fight any more.  He’d have liked to be laying out somewhere, with the sun on his face and a woman in his arms.  His own woman.  His very own woman.  Someone smart and funny with legs up to her armpits and maybe green eyes.  Like that was ever going to happen!  Who the hell would ever want him?  Only time he’d had one, she’d upped and left.  She’d seen through him.  But Scott would have it all one day.  A woman of his own.  He’d be a good husband, a good father to a whole bunch of kids and have a real good woman who didn’t fuck for money.  But then Scott deserved all of that.  But Madrid didn’t deserve nothing.  Hell, Mama had told him often enough he was no damn good, that he’d never amount to nothing.  If she could see him now she’d laugh and say how she’d been right all along.
 
The cell was suddenly flooded with light.  The sun must have reached a point where its rays finally reached the tiny window.  He shifted so that he could feel the warmth of it on his face and shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation.  If he tried hard he could imagine he was riding Barranca with the breeze ruffling his hair and the sun warm on his back.  Riding back to the hacienda for a good meal and maybe a game of chess with Boston...
 
He shook himself angrily.  Boston.  He had to think of some way of stopping Boston coming on this trip.  One thing was certain, Boston wouldn’t never want to play chess with Madrid again, not after the things he’d said to him.   Odd though that Val said Boston was still planning on coming along.  Why the hell would he want to come?  Unless now he just wanted to see Madrid swing. 
 
He shook his head slowly.  No, that wasn’t Scott’s way.  He wasn’t a man who’d be happy to see someone else in trouble.  Which still left the question of why he was coming to Utah.  Couldn’t figure that one at all. 
 
The heavy oak door creaked open and Val shuffled in, looking real nervous.  “You got a visitor.”
 
“Shit, Val.  I told you I wasn’t seeing anyone.  I don’t want any fucking visitors.  You too dumb to understand that simple instruction?  Dios.”
 
Val flushed as though he was angered by the accusation.  “This one wouldn’t take no for an answer.”  Val shrugged his shoulders like he hadn’t had any say in it.  “I’ll leave you to it.”  He stood back to let the visitor in.
 
Johnny jerked his head up ready to hurl a few more insults at anyone who’d come to jeer at him, to see a pair of cool green eyes watching him.
 
“Delice, what the hell you doing here?”

She pursed her lips and tilted her head to one side.  “Oh please, honey, don’t get up on my account.”

He could feel the colour flooding his face and he swung his legs off the cot and got slowly to his feet.  “Told Val I didn’t want to see anyone.”

She raised an eyebrow and her lips twitched like she was trying to stop herself from laughing at him.  “Oh I know, honey.  He told me so.”

“So how come he let you in?”

She shrugged.  “How come?  I guess he just didn’t dare say no.”

Johnny had to smile at that.  It was true.  Val was scared to death of Delice, same as most men seemed to be.  “What you got there?”  He gestured towards the small box she was carrying.

“I’m like the Greeks, I come bearing gifts.”

Johnny furrowed his brow and stared at her.  What the hell was she going on about?  She was as bad as Boston, may as well have been talking Greek for all he understood.  “Greeks?”

She sighed.  “Just a classical reference.  When the girls heard about your...”  She hesitated, like she was trying to decide what to say.  “Your unfortunate predicament, they decided to bake you a cake.”

“A cake, now you’re talking.”  He grinned.  A cake would be real nice.

“Oh don’t get your hopes up, honey.  They made three and managed to burn all three.  Just as well they’re whores and nobody will ever want to marry them – they’d make lousy housewives.  So, sorry, no cake, but there are homemade cookies.”  She held the box out, pushing it through the bars to him.

Lifting the lid he could see at least three varieties of tempting cookies and not a burned one amongst them.  “Thanks, who made them?  They look real good.”

She waved a hand as if it wasn’t important.  “Oh, just someone in the kitchen.  At least they’ll be easier for you to take on this trip.”

And there it was.  The first mention of what lay ahead.  He couldn’t look at her now.  He turned away and put the box down by the bed.  “Yeah, I guess so.”

He could feel her eyes on him.  Felt like she was looking right inside him, in his head and in his thoughts.  Shit, why did he always feel that she could read him?

“Murder, they say.”  She made it sound like a question, fishing for more information.

He shrugged.  “Dunno what it’s all about.  I’ll hear soon enough.”

“You mean you haven’t asked them?”  She sounded like she found that real hard to believe.  She shot him another piercing look.  “Unless, of course, you already know what it’s all about.”

He glared at her.  “Told you, they’ll tell me soon enough.”

“And you’re not remotely curious?”  The way she said it sounded like she didn’t believe a word he’d said.  Shit.  Never could fool her.  She was way too smart.  He shrugged because it was a hell of a lot easier than looking at her or saying anything.

“I saw Scott earlier.  Bumped into him on my way here.”

His gut tightened and he tried to swallow the lump that came suddenly in his throat.  He turned away, determined that she wouldn’t see that her words bothered him any.  And he didn’t say a word, just fiddled with the box of cookies.

“He seemed somewhat agitated.”

Dios, she just wasn’t going to leave it alone.  He shrugged.  “Dunno why.”

“Well, you wouldn’t would you?  Seeing as you’d refused to see him.”  She struck her head with her fingers like she’d just thought of something.  “Oh, silly me, maybe he’s upset because you won’t see him.” 

He clenched his jaw and glared at her.  “OK, so we both know exactly why he’s pissed with me.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

He glared again, irritated by the tone of her voice, like she thought he was dumb and didn’t know what was best for him.  “Nothing.  OK?  Nothing.  I ain’t gonna do nothing about it.  Not my problem.”

“Just let him sweat?”  She didn’t sound too impressed.

He shrugged.  “Like I said, it’s not my problem.  Don’t have to see him...”  He almost added that he didn’t have to see her either, except it seemed that he did, ’cos Val was too chicken to bar her from coming.

“He’s worried about you.”

Johnny looked at her briefly, but looked away quickly.  Those cool eyes were way too good at seeing inside him.  “Don’t know why.  Anyway, that’s his problem.  I sure wouldn’t worry over him.”

“Ah, yes, because Johnny Madrid doesn’t care about anyone or anything.”  She was using that voice again, like she always used when she thought he was talking bullshit.  “So, why won’t you see him?”  He opened his mouth but she held up a hand.  “And please don’t tell me it’s because he doesn’t mean anything to you.  We both know that’s a lie.”

He could feel the colour flooding his face again.  Wasn’t fair the way this damn woman always saw through him.  How did she do that?  She was only a woman, damn it.  She was way too smart, ’specially for a woman.

“Well?”  Her voice sounded steel-edged and as sharp as the knife in his boot.

“Just don’t want to.”  He sighed.  The look on her face said he wasn’t getting off that lightly.  “OK!  This ain’t no place for someone like him.”

She shook her head.  “No.  Sorry, honey, but your brother isn’t some frail little flower who would find it too distressing to visit a man behind bars.  So, let’s talk about the real reason.”

“Don’t know what you mean.”  He sat back on the bed.  Maybe if he lay down, she’d leave.  He stretched himself out.  She pulled up a chair and sat looking in at him.  So much for that idea.

“And do sit up when you speak to me.  I don’t relish addressing the soles of your feet.”

He looked at her and scowled.  “You just don’t give up, do you?”  With a sigh he hauled himself back into a sitting position, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around himself.  He glared at her.  “Well?”

She didn’t answer for a moment.  Just watched him in silence like she was considering the worth of some damn horse at an auction.  “You really are a very difficult man.”  Her voice was soft, and kind of gentle now.  “You really hate the thought of Scott seeing you in here.  And you hate the thought of him finding out too much about you, so you push him away.  It won’t work.  He’s very determined and single-minded under that suave exterior.”

Dios!  The words she used.  Where did a whore learn all those fancy words?

“He’s going to go to Utah whether you want him to or not.  He’s determined to get you a good lawyer and a fair trial.”

“I ain’t a kid.  I can get myself a lawyer.  Don’t need him hanging around.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.  “Hmm.  Hanging.  But there’s the crux.  Does the thought of him seeing you hang scare you more than the hanging itself?”

The question rocked him.  He had to say something.  “They ain’t found me guilty yet.”  He glared at her again but she didn’t seem too bothered.  Why?  People usually backed off when he gave them his coldest looks. 

“I’m well aware of that.  But I would bet good money that in the event of you being convicted, you’re more scared of Scott being there than you are of the hanging itself.”

“I ain’t scared of nothing.”  He wondered how many times he’d said that.

She smiled.  “Honey, we’re all scared of something.  And I’d say in your case it’s allowing yourself to get too attached.  Or to let people get too close to you.  And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re afraid of disappointing them.”  She sat back, like she’d had her say and was waiting for him to say something.  Except he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.   He fiddled with the beads on his wrist.  Why did she always wear that ugly grey dress?  And scrape her hair back like that?  She sure didn’t do herself no favours.  Did she ever wear jewellery?  Funny, she was the whore but he was the one with the bracelet. 

“Well?” 

He couldn’t look at her.  Just shook his head.  “Just don’t want him to go.  Maybe you could talk him out of it?”  Why the hell did he ask her that?  Knew what the answer would be.  And there was a huge lump in his throat and he felt so fucking tired.  He ran his hand through his hair.  Dios, he was tired.

“No, honey, I won’t try and talk him out of it.  You’re going to need somebody with you and he’d be a good man to have by your side.”  She sighed.  “Not that you’ll accept that.  You’ll spend all your time pushing him away.  Be careful.  One day you might push too hard.”

It hurt.  The thought of Scott hating him really hurt.   But the thought of Scott despising him for his past was even worse.  “Why did you come?  Wasn’t just to bring me cookies.”

She smiled, but she looked kind of sad.  “I came because we’re friends.  I’ve told you that before.”  She gave a soft laugh.  “And of course to tell you to hurry back, I really can’t afford to lose a good customer.  Even difficult ones.”

“And you think I’ll be coming back?”  He said it casually, trying not to give away how much he needed to hear her say yes.  That everything would be OK.  Pathetic.  God, he was pathetic.  But it was like all the fight had gone out of him.  Maybe if he could sleep... 

“I certainly hope so.  The girls will sulk terribly if you don’t.  I find it very trying when they all sulk. They flounce around and it gives me the most blinding headache.   Really, it plays on my nerves most dreadfully.  And, like I said, I always hate losing good paying customers.  And heavens, just imagine if the girls all sulk, en masse as it were, it might cause me to lose other customers who’ll take their business to the saloon at the other end of town.”  She leaned forward, like she was telling him some big secret.  “And believe me, honey, the girls there are not nice.  Not nice at all.  Between you, me and this cell door, I do swear that a man could pick up some very nasty infections there.  Very nasty indeed.”

He could feel the smile threatening to break out, so he gave in and started to laugh.  She smiled back at him.  “That’s better.  I swear you were starting to depress me.  I was feeling positively maudlin.”

“Delice, I reckon you know as many fancy words as Boston.  D’you go to some fancy school too?”

“None of your business.”  Her smile faded.  “Just make sure you come back to us.  The place is a lot more boring when you’re not around.”  She paused, as though she was trying to figure out the best way to say something.  “Seems to me that Utah is a long way from Johnny Madrid’s usual haunts.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I told them.”  But he couldn’t look at her as he said it.  He spun the beads on the bracelet round and round, making them go fast so that all the colours merged and he couldn’t tell one from another.

She stood, pushed the chair back and walked slowly to the door.  He could feel her eyes watching him.  “Seems to me, honey, that Utah is pretty much a long way from anywhere and if someone had made a trip there he’d have had to have had a very good reason for doing so.”

His head jerked up, even as the colour flooded his face.  She smiled and winked.  “Take care of yourself and be nice to your brother.  And don’t be gone too long.  Hurry back to us.  Have some consideration for my poor nerves.  And my business.”

He sat back as she left with a cheerful wave of her hand.  And he realised he was smiling.  And he didn’t feel so tired.  How did she do that?  Because all of a sudden it felt like he’d got his fight back.  It was time he stopped mopin’ around feeling sorry for himself and started planning.  Because he was damned if he’d swing for this.  Fuck that.  Johnny Madrid wasn’t through yet.

Part Twelve

“On your feet, Madrid.  It’s time to go.”  Carter’s rasping voice startled him.  Must have been dozing. 

He struggled slowly to his feet.  Maybe he’d been at Lancer too long anyhow because he was sure getting soft.  His back was aching from sleeping on the narrow cot.  He winced as he stretched and moved his head from side to side trying to ease out the crick in his neck.  His neck.  Kind of funny really.  Maybe he wouldn’t be needing to worry about his neck for much longer.

“You can wipe that smile off your face, Madrid.  Believe me.  You ain’t got nothing to smile about.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking Carter up and down real slow.  The man was a bit puny for a marshal with watery blue eyes and a thin straggly beard, like he wasn’t man enough to grow a proper one.  “I reckon I’ll have the last laugh, when I walk out of your courtroom a free man.  You’ll look like a real dickhead then.”  He paused.  “You got my saddlebags?  Like I said  earlier, I’ll be needing them for the ride back.”

Carter smirked and scrabbled in his pocket like he was looking for something.  “Yeah, I got your saddlebags – had to check them for any hidden weapons.  And looky here at what I found.”  The smirk grew bigger as he held the gold nugget close to Johnny’s face.  “I found me a big piece of gold hidden away in the bottom.”

Pity he’d promised Val he wouldn’t use his knife on no lawman, because right then he was tempted to slit the grinning man’s throat from ear to ear.  He clenched his fists tight to stop himself taking a swing at the man.  It would feel real good to smash a fist into that fellow’s face and splatter his nose right across it.  But probably wouldn’t be too sensible.  He needed to get to Utah in one piece.  “That’s mine.”  He spoke real soft and easy.  “And if you got any brains you’ll put it right back where you found it.”

Carter laughed.  “How do I know you didn’t steal it, Madrid?  Maybe you’re a thief as well as a killer.  After all, a killer like you wouldn’t think nothing of helping himself to other folk’s belongings.”

“That’s enough, Carter.”  Ford was standing scowling, by the cell door.  “Give Madrid the nugget and let him check his saddle bags.”  He glanced at Johnny, raising an eyebrow.  “You found that nugget, Madrid?  Is it yours, fair and square?”

Johnny nodded, looked him right in the eyes.  “Yeah.  Messing about doing some panning, I found it.  Carried it in my bags ever since.”  And the day he’d found it, he’d sworn that one day, if he ever had a woman of his own, he’d make her a ring from it.  Kind of dumb, really.  Chances were nobody would ever want him, but if they did...

Ford nodded.  “That’s good enough for me.”  He turned as Carter stomped back in carrying the bags.  “Give them to Madrid, let him check them.”

“Ain’t much in them...” 

Ford sighed like he’d had enough of his companion.  “That’s not the point.  Just give him the bags, Carter.”

Johnny grinned.  “Real obliged, Mr Carter.”  He tried not to flinch as Carter thrust them at him, whacking him in the stomach in the process.  Instead, he took the nugget and pushed it back down into the corner of the bag where he always kept it and had a quick glance through the other things in his bags.  Nothing else had been disturbed.  But trust a prick like Carter to ferret out the gold.

“I’ll see your bags go on the stage.  Carter, get him cuffed and bring him on out.”  Ford walked out, slinging the bags over his shoulder, leaving Carter to snap the cuffs round Johnny’s wrists.  Dios, they were tight.  Too fucking tight, but if he said anything Carter would make ’em tighter still.  He was that type.

Carter gave him a hefty shove in his back out of the cell and then drew his gun.  “Outside, now, Madrid, and don’t try anything clever because I will use this gun if I have to.  In fact, it would be a real pleasure.  Except I’d hate to cheat the hangman.”

Johnny walked through into Val’s office and out onto the street, his spurs sounding like a fucking death march.  There was a small group of town folk huddled together whispering and pointing at him.  He recognised some of them as the ladies of the sewing circle who spent most of their time sniping at people they didn’t approve of.  So he gave them one of his broadest smiles.  “Now don’t you ladies go worrying yourselves about me, I’ll be back real soon.  So you just all rest easy in your beds.”

It shut them up.  They turned away, looking like angry old hens when the rooster gets too close.  Then his gut tried to tie itself in a knot, because riding right on down the middle of the street was old Boston.  Shit.  What the hell did he have to say to that man?  Dios, he must be thick skinned.  Why couldn’t he just back off and leave Madrid alone? 

Scott reined in and dismounted real smartly like he was still in the fucking cavalry.  Everything he did was like a kind of reminder that he’d served in the army.  Everything was just so with him.  Never a hair out of place.  Always kind of clean and tidy.  Yeah.  Fucking officer and gentleman, that was Boston.  Could feel the dry heat of rage now, growing inside himself.  It was easier to say what he had to say if he was angry.  And he was angry.  Tired of telling Boston to butt out.  He breathed in deeply, went to clench his fists but the damn cuffs were cutting into his flesh and there were damn all links between them so his hands were so close together it pulled on his shoulders.  Could hardly even walk upright. 

Boston was walking over, standing straight like the damn soldier he was.  Johnny sneered.  “Come to wave me off, have you?”

Scott raised an eyebrow, just a touch, like he always did.  Any minute now he’d start with his damn gloves.  “No, Johnny, I haven’t come to wave you off.  I believe I’m heading in the same direction.  I have a ticket for the stage.” 

“Why don’t you just piss off, Boston, and leave me alone?”  His voice came out like a hiss.  But Dios!  He had to stop Boston coming.  Couldn’t cope with Boston finding out...

Scott just raised his eyebrow again.  And leaned forward to whisper in Johnny’s ear.  “It won’t work.  Sorry, brother, but I can see right through you.  And I don’t believe a word of it.”

No!  Why didn’t Scott hate him?  What did he have to do to make him stay away?  He swallowed hard, stared down at the ground because he couldn’t let Scott see the fear.

“So, I’m coming too.  Unless, of course, you’d prefer me to send for Murdoch?”

His head jerked up.  Felt like he didn’t have any control left.  And he had to be in control.  Had to be...

“No?”  Scott smiled, like he was hoping Johnny would say something.  But he couldn’t say a word.  The words just wouldn’t come.  “I’ll take that as a no, then.  And it seems you’re stuck with me.  Whether you like it or not.”  He turned away and tossed a saddlebag onto the rest of the luggage on top of the stage.  “I must say, I’m glad the first bit of this journey will be in the stage.”  He glanced up at the threatening clouds.  “Because it looks like it’s going to pour down at any second.”  He hopped up into the stage and took a corner seat and proceeded to take a book out.

A book?  A fucking book?  Dios.  He was just going to sit and read?  Johnny sucked in some air and stood straighter.  Be damned if he’d let anyone see that Scott had gotten to him.  Fuck that.  Still, least things couldn’t get no worse. 

“You got room for another passenger?  I don’t mind riding up top.” 

He’d been wrong.  Things could get worse.  He glared at Val, all wrapped up in his big tartan coat, talking to the stage coach driver. 

Johnny shook his head, almost in despair now.  What was wrong with them all?  Why wouldn’t they just leave him be?  “Not you too, Val?  I don’t need a fucking baby sitter.”

Val shrugged.  “Figured your brother could use the company.”

Dios!  Why?  Why did these two stubborn men want to come?  Pity he hadn’t got a gun!  What good did they think they could do?  Bribe the fucking jury?  And God only knew what they’d think when they heard the details... Oh shit!  It couldn’t get any worse than this.  Yeah it could.  It would be worse if the old man was there.  Thank God for Barker.  Which was kind of funny really.  Never thought he’d see the day when he was grateful to that slimey bit of shit.  Oh boy, and here was Mayor Higgs puffing his way along the street.  Damn man would be crowing like an old rooster at seeing Madrid in a scrape.

“Sheriff Crawford.  Sheriff Crawford!  Where do you think you’re going?”  Higgs was all red faced and breathing real hard from the effort of getting off his fat butt and hurrying for once.  Made a change from sitting in his store, counting his money.

Val didn’t look too bothered.  “I’m taking a few days leave, Mayor Higgs.  What is it to you?”

“What is it to me?  I’m the Mayor and you have a responsibility to this town.”

Val laughed, like Higgs had made a real good joke.  “Well, as the town ain’t paying my wages, I reckon the town can’t complain if I take a few days off.  It managed to struggle along before I came, so I reckon a few days won’t make no difference.”

“You’re not planning on accompanying that... that... desperado... that ruffian?”  Higgs pointed an accusing finger at Johnny, who promptly smiled.  A big wide smile which would really irritate the hell out of that tub of lard.

“Now don’t you go fussing yourself, Mayor Higgs.  I’ll be back real soon and be able to sort out any of them desperados you get so bothered about.  A man your age.  You’re getting yourself in a pickle.  Don’t you fret none.  Soon as I sort out this bit of bother, I’ll be right along back to this nice little town of yours.”  Johnny gave him another broad smile.  “I know that’ll be a real comfort to you.”

“Why, Madrid...  Madrid... I...”

Johnny gave him another broad smile.  “Now, I know you’re lost for words, but don’t worry, there ain’t no need to thank me.  I know how grateful you are.  And I know how much all you folk will miss me.  Like I said, I’ll be back real soon.”  Higgs looked like a big old fish.  Opening and closing his mouth.  Dios.  Never thought he’d see the day, but he reckoned old Higgs really was finally lost for words.  Almost worth getting arrested just to see that.  Maybe life wasn’t so bad.  He turned to clamber up into the stage, which was kind of tricky with his hands cuffed, but he’d manage with no help.  Wouldn’t take no help from anyone.

He’d got one foot in, when Ford pulled him back.  “Those cuffs OK, Madrid?  They look kind of tight.”

He shrugged.  Be damned if he’d complain.  Ford was looking at him real hard.  Reaching for the keys.  “I’ll ease them off a bit.  They look too tight to me.”

Johnny stared at him, confusion fogging his mind.  In his experience marshals were usually right bastards.  Didn’t give a damn about the comfort of prisoners.  And why should they?  So what was it with Ford?  He sure wasn’t like most marshals.  He was kind of thoughtful.  Maybe he bought into all that shit of Boston’s, about a man being innocent till he was proved guilty. 

Ford leaned over and loosened off the cuffs, then jerked his head towards the stage.  “Go on and get in now.  It’s going to be a full house on this ride.  You might as well get yourself comfortable.”

The confusion still seemed like a fog in his head.  Couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, so he just climbed up.  Scott had taken the corner seat on one side, so he sat on the opposite side, knowing the two marshals would want to be either side of him.  Scott glanced up, looking all casual.  “Ah, you’ve arrived.  I imagine we’ll be off soon.  Did I hear Val asking for a place too?”

Johnny stared at him, suddenly knowing how Mayor Higgs had felt when he couldn’t think of anything to say.  “Yeah.  I guess so.  I, um, I think he’s got to ride on top.  I guess we’ve got other passengers.”

“Yes, I believe the others joined the stage earlier.  They’re taking refreshments at present.”  And then Scott buried his nose back in his book like he was just heading off for a bit of business.  Not to see his brother hang.

Madre de Dios.  How did the man act so cool?  And Scott didn’t even seem to notice that Johnny was staring at him.  Shit.  Maybe Scott and Madrid had something in common after all.  And that was kind of worrying.  Because maybe it meant that old Boston would come all the way to Utah, and whatever Madrid said wouldn’t make no difference.  If only he could figure out why old Boston was so set on coming.  And Val.  Why the hell did he want to come?  Johnny shook his head slowly.  Seemed like too much to worry about right now.  He needed to plan ahead, and quit worrying about Boston.

Ford and Carter were getting in now.  And two sour old biddies.  Dried up as old prunes.  Oh boy.  He hated stages at the best of times, but he had a nasty feeling that this was going to be a real shitty journey.

 

Part thirteen

The stage set off with a jolt, clattering along the street, throwing him against Carter and causing Boston to make a grab for his book which started to fall from his lap.  It looked an awful big book.  Kind of like the one Boston had been reading the first time they ever set eyes on each other.  Even as the memory flashed into his mind Scott looked across at him, his mouth quirking in a kind of half smile, like he was remembering too.

Johnny bit his lip and looked away quickly, trying to ignore the sudden pang that the memory brought.  And trying to ignore the sudden lump in his throat and the tight pain in his chest.  Wasn’t fair the way Boston had gotten under his skin.  How the hell had Madrid allowed that to happen?  Funny how he’d sensed exactly what Boston had been thinking then.  Wasn’t the first time either.  They often seemed to think the same things.  See things the same way.  Was it because they were brothers?  Bound by blood?

But what the hell would Boston think when he heard all the details about what had happened in Utah?  Be disgusted?  Yeah.  Disgusted.  Johnny swallowed the bile that started to come up from his gut.  He hated the thought of letting Scott down.  Of disappointing him.  Disgusting him.  But now it was all going to come out.  Every sickening detail would be bandied around that courtroom.  And there was nothing he could do to stop it.  Felt like he was on a runaway horse.  Everything was outside his control.  And he hated not being in control.  All that was left now was to play his hand as well as he could and hope that his ace in the hole was enough.  Enough to save him from the hangman.

“What crime has he committed?”  The sour old cow sitting next to Boston was looking at Johnny with the kind of look she’d have if she stumbled over a rotting steer.  She had straggly grey hair which was fighting to escape from under an ugly brown bonnet.  And her thin lips were pressed together around a mouth that he’d wager had never sucked a cock.  Not surprising though.  She’d probably been real ugly even when she was young.

Carter leaned forward, real keen to share the details.  “Murder, Ma’am.  He’s a cold blooded killer.”

She let out a little cry and fell back in her seat fanning herself.  Pity the shock didn’t silence her permanently.

The other woman, who looked like a school-marm, was made of stronger stuff.  “Who did he kill?  Is it safe for him to be travelling with good, decent, law abiding folk?”

Carter smiled, showing the gaping holes where his teeth had once been.  Probably some pissed off prisoner had punched ’em out.  He’d sure like to buy that man a drink, whoever he’d been.  “Well, Ma’am, there’s no need to fret yourself.  He’s cuffed good and solid.  And me and my friend here are both marshals.  We’re taking him back to Utah to hang him, even though there’s some that say hanging’s too good for him.  He deserves worse than that.”

Ford snorted at that.  “No.  We’re taking him back to Utah for a trial.  He ain’t been convicted of nothing.”

“Who did he kill?”  The woman leaned forward, clasping her hands together and licking her lips, almost like the idea of a killing excited her.  Old hag.

And Scott paused in the middle of turning a page, kind of like he was waiting on the answer too.

“Oh, a real nice gentleman.  Quiet and real amiable, he was.  Hadn’t been in our little community long, but was real keen to get involved and even offered to help out at the local orphanage with the little kiddies.  He built himself a nice little house on the outskirts of our town, and then this fellow.”  He paused to jab Johnny with his finger.  “This fellow killed him.  Poor man was in his own home when this desperado came along and brutally killed him.”  Carter shook his head.  “Yep, real brutal it was.  In all my years as a marshal I ain’t never heard the like of it.  But I can’t tell you more, Ma’am, the details ain’t fit for a lady’s ears.”

“Oh.”  She sounded real disappointed and her shoulders drooped.  He almost wished Carter would tell her.  It would sure shut her up.

“Of course, he’s a half-breed.  You can’t expect anything else from his type.”  The first old prune seemed to have recovered from her shock.

The other woman nodded, real hard.  “Oh, my dear, I so agree.  It’s bad blood.  It’s what comes of mixing blood.  Half-breeds, well, they’re not like normal people.”

Scott slammed his book shut, making them all jump.  “Madam, firstly, this young man has not been convicted of any crime and is therefore to be afforded the right to be presumed innocent until proved guilty.  Secondly, the matter of his parentage is hardly your concern, but the fact that he is of mixed heritage certainly has no bearing on his character, which, I might add, is wholly admirable and will easily withstand close examination.”

Dios!  Old Boston might use ten dollar words but the meaning was clear enough.  And it felt good to hear it.  Trouble was, he wouldn’t say all that if he knew the truth about Madrid.  And he was going to find out the truth all too soon.

“You are acquainted with this unfortunate creature?”  The school-marm sounded real surprised.

Scott looked at her, didn’t say nothing for a second, almost like he wanted his words to count more.  “Yes, Ma’am, I’m proud to call him my brother.”

The looks on their faces was priceless and it shut them up.  And he couldn’t blame them for that.  He was kind of speechless himself.    He stared at Scott, trying to sort things out in his head.  Boston held his gaze briefly and then winked at him as he opened his book once more.

Shit.  Johnny furrowed his brow.  Would he ever understand Scott?  He knew he didn’t deserve his brother’s support but it had sounded so good to hear Scott defend him.  Real good.  Be nice if he had the chance to get to know Boston better.  Maybe Scott wouldn’t believe the things he was going to hear in Utah.  Maybe Madrid would get lucky and get away with it.  After all, everyone knew the devil looked after his own.  And the devil had kept him alive this long, maybe his luck would hold a while longer.  Maybe.

He sat back, trying to get comfortable.  His eyes felt heavy and he’d have loved to doze but it didn’t seem worth the risk.  Didn’t want to give nothing away.  Couldn’t take the chance of talking in his sleep.  Not with a coach-load of witnesses.

The coach jolted over a particularly bumpy bit of track, throwing Ford, who’d been dozing, against him.  “Sorry, Madrid.”  The man settled himself back in his corner and shut his eyes again.  Funny how Ford looked out for him.  Unusual in a marshal.  Seemed a nice enough fellow.  Not like Carter – he was a real piece of shit.  Ford didn’t seem to like Carter either.  Acted like he wanted nothing to do with the man.

The nervous old prune was staring at him.  Her eyes wide open like saucers.  Acting like she thought he was going to attack her or something.  He grinned at her.  “Ma’am.”  He spoke real soft and easy but the way she jumped was like he’d leapt at her and held a knife to her scrawny throat.  One thing was certain, she’d never been a beauty.  She fanned herself with a tattered handkerchief.  “Marshal, stop him talking to me.”

Carter jabbed him hard in the ribs.  “You heard the lady, Madrid.”

“Madrid?”  The school-marm sat forward.  “Did you say Madrid?”  She gave Carter a real piercing look.

Carter nodded.  “That’s right.  Johnny Madrid.”

She gasped, her faded blue eyes suddenly shining with excitement.  “Mildred.  That’s Johnny Madrid.  He’s famous.”

Johnny bit back a smile.  Mildred didn’t look none too impressed.  Confused more like.

“You know, Mildred.”  School-marm sounded real irritated.  “The gunfighter.  We’ve read about him.  He’s very famous.”  She looked at Boston, kind of puzzled looking.  “I wouldn’t have expected him to have a brother.”

Boston sighed and put his book down.  “Why ever not?  Why shouldn’t a gunfighter have a family like other people?”

Mildred was looking more interested now and had to have her say.  “He’s the spawn of the devil, that’s what he is.  A cold blooded killer!  Hang him, that’s what I say.”

“Ladies.”  Ford had opened his eyes.  Maybe he hadn’t been sleeping.  Just didn’t want to talk to nobody and who could blame him?  Just looked real pissed off now.  “Mr. Madrid has not been found guilty of any crime...”

“As yet,”  Carter butted in, smirking.  Dios.  He’d love to wipe the smile off that man’s face.  All in good time, Madrid, all in good time.

Ford scowled at Carter.  “As I was saying, Madrid hasn’t been convicted, and as such, deserves to be able to travel in this stage without being abused.  Now, if you’ve all quite finished, I would like to get some sleep.”

The old prunes flushed an ugly brick red and sat back whispering to each other.  He could make out some of the words, like disgraceful and offensive, and how they’d expect a marshal to be more civil.

Scott glanced out from behind his book and winked at him again.  And almost like he couldn’t help himself, Johnny found himself grinning back.  Shit.  He really was getting soft.  He’d been so set on scowling at Boston all the way to Utah but it was harder than he expected.  If only he could figure out why Boston was so set on coming too. 

The rain, which had threatened, had set in as a steady downpour.  Poor old Val.  Bet he was regretting his decision now.  But why the hell had he come along anyhow?  Johnny shook his head.  Couldn’t figure any of this at all.  First Boston.  Then Val.  What was it with those two?  Just as well Delice hadn’t decided to come along for the ride.  That would have been too much to cope with.  Damn woman.  Always thought she knew best.  Still, the cookies were good...  Surely she hadn’t baked them?  No. Why the hell would she waste her time making cookies for a gunfighter?   After all, she didn’t like gunfighters – she’d told him that when they first met.  And where did she learn all them fancy words she was always using?  How come she became a whore?  Smartest whore he’d ever met.  And he’d sure known a lot of them.  And fucked a lot of them over the years.  Would he ever have another fuck?  At least he’d done more fucking in his short life than most men managed in a lifetime, so he shouldn’t complain.  Still, he’d have liked one last visit to Sadie...

The rain was coming down harder now.  Splattering in through the rough covers at the windows.  And the wind was getting up, buffeting the coach and making it roll from side to side.  Boston closed his book with a sigh, like he just couldn’t read in these conditions.  Johnny studied him through his half-closed eyes so that Scott wouldn’t realise he was being watched.  Funny how he’d taken him for a real dandy when they’d first met.  But now he could see that the outlandish clothes and fucking stupid hat had almost been like a disguise, masking the man beneath.  Back then, Johnny hadn’t noticed the determined set of Scott’s jaw and those steady eyes.  Which was odd, because he could usually read a man real well.  But he’d been too busy laughing at Scott to notice that he wasn’t a man to back down or give in without a fight.  A loyal man.  And right now it seemed that Scott figured his brother needed his loyalty. 

Couldn’t remember anyone who was so... so...?  True?  Maybe that was the word?  Loyal and true.  Even the thought of it brought a lump to his throat.  Couldn’t remember anyone having such faith in him before now.  And that made it all worse somehow.  The thought of Scott finding out what Johnny had done...  Madre de Dios!  The shame of it...  What in God’s name was Scott going to think when he found out? 

A deafening crack of thunder spooked the horses, and must have sent them skittering sideways because the stage gave another lurch and the women squealed in fear as they were thrown violently sideways before the coach steadied and carried on.

“Surely this isn’t safe, Marshal?”  Mildred trembled as she spoke, and more of her untidy hair made a bid for freedom from her sludgy brown bonnet.  She looked a real bad colour too.  Kind of like she was going to spew her guts up at any minute.  Johnny moved his feet in closer to his seat.  Didn’t want her puke all over his boots and spurs.

Carter didn’t look none too good either.  Shit.  That was all he needed.  Carter and the old dame spewing over him.  He’d known this would be a shitty journey. 

Carter leaned out of the window but whatever he yelled at the stage driver was lost in the still strengthening wind.  Lightning was forking across the dark sky, casting an eerie and ever changing pattern of flashes of light in the gloom.  And the air seemed too heavy to breathe.  Probably because it was full of dust... But it almost stuck in his throat, choking him, like a hangman’s noose.  The hairs on his neck were standing on end and the air seemed to sting.  It was like some dark force of nature had taken over and everything was out of control.  Once, when he was small, someone told him that storms occurred when God and Satan battled over a soul.  They sure as hell wouldn’t battle over his.  God wouldn’t want him...

Another violent crack of thunder sent the horses skittering again.  The coach lurched violently, the women screamed again and then the world went tumbling over.  He glimpsed the white staring face of the school-marm, her mouth forming an O before they hurtled into each other, thrown together as easily as rag dolls.  And Scott’s book, almost hung in the air before thudding into Carter who was thrown half out of the window as Ford and Scott seemed to fall through the air and then everything went still.  Except for the wind. 

 

Part Fourteen

“Any last requests?”  The man, reeking of sweat and whiskey, placed the noose over his head, taking care to position the knot so it would break his neck when they opened the trap.  Made from coarse fibres, it irritated and rubbed his skin.
 
He couldn’t speak.  Just shook his head a fraction, hating that coarse rope rubbing against his throat.  And looking down at the sea of faces, all he could see was Scott watching him.  His eyes full of contempt.  Madrid finally getting what he deserved. 
 
The hangman positioned him over the trap and lifted his hand to give the signal.  The drop seemed to last forever and then all he felt was cold water, like someone had thrown a bucketful over him...  And his head felt like he’d been kicked by a mule.  And his mouth was full of dirt.  He struggled to open his eyes even as he pulled his face away from the choking mud.  Where the hell was he?

A clap of thunder overhead brought him to with a jolt.  Shit.  The stage.  He’d been on the stage and then the world had turned upside down.  With a hiss of pain he struggled to his feet and stood swaying as he tried to focus on the wreck.  And what a wreck it was.  The axles and shafts were smashed and the coach itself lay crushed on its side with one wheel still slowly spinning.  The luggage was scattered all around and God only knew where the horses were.  How the hell he’d survived seemed like a miracle.  But then, the Devil looked fter his own.

He stumbled closer for a better look, wishing the world would stop spinning, never mind the damn wheel, before stopping abruptly.  The school marm was lying wedged in the door staring at him from sightless eyes.  Her skirts were bundled up by her head, exposing a pair of faded grey bloomers stretched across her ample backside. 

Memories flooded his mind now.  Scott.  Where the hell was Scott?   He tugged at the woman with his cuffed hands, trying to see past her into the wreckage.  Maybe Scott was in the stage.  He had to move the woman so he could see in.  He raised his cuffed hands to try to pull her free from where she was wedged.  Her head lolled sideways on her broken neck and her eyes looked at him accusingly.  Dios, she was heavy.  Dead weight.  But leastways he didn’t need to worry about being gentle.  Gritting his teeth he gave another big heave, wishing he had the full use of his hands.  Another back breaking heave and he’d have her clear.  He grunted with the effort and fell back to the ground as he finally tugged her clear.  He staggered back to his feet and tried to pull her skirts back into place to make her decent.  Seemed wrong to leave her uncovered.

He stumbled back to look in the stage.  Scott had to be okay.  He had to be...  His heart plummeted with a sickening jolt as he peered inside.  Ford was slumped over, his arm twisted at an impossible angle and the other old dame was sprawled across the seat.  But Scott wasn’t there.  Where the hell was he?  Had he fallen clear? 

Screwing up his eyes to see through the driving rain he scanned the ground around the stage.  “Scott.  Scott!”  His voice sounded strange to his own ears.  He strained to hear some reply, but there wasn’t a sound except for the wind and the rain.

He looked again in the coach.  Had he missed something?  No.  Just Ford and the woman.  He fell to his knees peering under the coach but there was nothing there.  Scrambling to his feet he retraced his steps, stumbling as he kicked the luggage out of his path trying to get a clearer view of the ground.  Scott had to be here somewhere. 
 
His heart felt like it was coming into his throat and was going to choke him.  And he could feel fear coming over him like water closing over his head to drown him.  Scott had to be okay.  He couldn’t lose him like this.  Please, God, make him be okay.  He shook his head.  This was what God did.  Anytime Madrid started to care for anyone, God took them away.
 
“Scott!”  It came out as a scream this time. 

He vaguely remembered Carter falling from the stage but Scott had been sitting on the other side.  Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath and then another, trying to slow his racing heart.  He needed to get back in control.  When he opened his eyes he found he could focus better and the world didn’t seem quite so wobbly.  He lifted his cuffed hands to wipe the wet from his face.  Damn rain.  But when he dropped his hands back down he saw they were covered in blood.  Moving slowly he made his way round to the far side of the stage and then he saw him, lying crumpled with part of the axle resting across him.  He felt lighter, warmer and his legs worked better and he found himself running to Scott’s side.

He fell to his knees beside Scott, bending over him before his heart lurched again.  Scott was lying awful still.  God, no.  Johnny stared at Scott’s chest, hoping for some movement.  Some sign.  And then it moved.  He was sure it moved.  The shirt rippled even as he watched.  But his heart plummeted once more as it hit him that it was the wind moving the shirt. 
He lowered his ear to Scott’s chest, listening for something.  Anything.  But all he could hear was the sound of his own fear rushing in his ears.  And the damn wind.  And then a beat?  Maybe? “Scott?  Can you hear me?  Scott?”  But Scott made no sign of having heard. 

A flash of lightning lit up the sky as another clap of thunder shook the ground he crouched on.  Johnny tried to fight his rising panic but he felt sick, and his chest felt like tight like it was being crushed.  What if Scott didn’t wake up?  Shit, no, not that.  He shook Scott by the shoulder.

“Why did you come?  Why couldn’t you have stayed at the ranch?”  He was yelling, but Scott still didn’t move.  “Why?  You shouldn’t be here.  You should be safe at the ranch.  You had to be fucking stubborn.  Why?” 

“Hell, is he hurt bad, Johnny?”
 
The voice startled him.  Johnny swung round to face Val who’d come up behind him.  “I don’t know... I think maybe... You check him.” 

Val grunted.  “Shift over.  Let me get a look at him.  And clear some of that damn wreckage away from here.  Can’t see what I’m doing.” 

“He ain’t moving, Val.   He ain’t moving.  You hear me, Val?”  His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

“Yeah, Johnny, I hear you.  Just get out of the way, damn it and let me see him.”  Val ran his hands over Scott and then bent so he could listen to Scott’s chest.  “Well, he’s breathing okay.  Heart don’t sound bad at all.”  He looked at Johnny, narrowing his eyes.  “Dunno why you couldn’t hear that.  Anyone might think you were panicking.  Ain’t like Johnny Madrid to panic.”

He bent again, running his hands along Scott’s arms and legs.  “Well, I ain’t no doctor, but I don’t think he’s broke nothing, or nothing too serious any way.”  He gently tilted Scott’s head to one side.  “It looks like he’s had a mighty crack to his head, though.  Look.”  He pointed to a bloody patch on the back of Scott’s head.

“He’s awful still, Val.”

Val sighed in irritation.  “Course he’s still, he’s unconscious, you dumb son of a bitch.”  Val leaned down and, grunting with effort, hefted Scott over his shoulder.  “Reckon he’ll be okay.  I’ll put him in the stage.  Leastways he’ll be out of the rain.”  He shot Johnny a piercing look, his lips twitching slightly, like he was trying not to smile.  “Like I said, it ain’t like you to panic.  Seems to me that for someone who didn’t want his brother to come on this trip because he means nothing to you, you’re awful worked up about him now.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, glaring at Val.  “Just look after Scott, Val, and stop trying to be so fucking clever.  Not much wrong with you, at any rate.”

Val grinned.  “I jumped clear as it started to roll.  Hurt my ankle, is all.”  He limped off, bent almost double under Scott’s weight, before easing Scott gently into the shelter of the stage. 

Peering inside, Johnny saw Ford had come round and was looking kind of green and the old dame was sitting huddled in the corner, shaking like she’d got the ague or something.  And now Scott was moving too.  Letting out a sigh of relief, Johnny pushed forward to lean over Scott who let out a low groan as his eyelids flickered.  Johnny dropped to his knees.  “Boston.  Hey, Boston.  Can you hear me?”
 
Scott winced and opened his eyes slowly.  “Johnny?”  He struggled to sit up, and then went even paler.  “Hell.  You look awful.”

“Me?  I’m fine.  More worried about you, Boston.  Just stay still for a moment, will you?  We need to check there ain’t nothing broke.”  Johnny raised his arm trying to brush the blood and water from his own face so he could get a better look at Scott.
 
“I’ve just got a pounding headache, and I feel a bit bruised.  But nothing worse.”  Scott pushed Johnny’s hand away.  “I’m more concerned about your head than mine.  You’re covered in blood.”

“Damn it, Scott, I’m fine.  Just take it easy and don’t move too fast.  Don’t want you passing out again.” 

He could feel the old dame watching him.  He glanced at her.  “You hold still there, Ma’am.” 

Her eyes opened wide like saucers and she looked real nervous.  What was it she’d called him?  Spawn of the Devil?  Yeah, spawn of the Devil.  “You got a name, Ma’am?” 

She jumped like she’d been burned.  She turned to Ford.  “Shouldn’t he be tied up or something?  He could escape.”

Ford sighed softly.  “He’s wearing cuffs.  I don’t reckon he’ll be going too far.”  He screwed his eyes up, looking harder now at Johnny.  “You’re bleeding bad, Madrid.  You okay?”

Johnny grunted in irritation.  Why did people make such a fuss about a bit of blood?  “I’m fine, just fine,” he snapped.  “I’d better go see if I can find the others.  Val, you rest up here if your ankle is troubling you.  Look after these folk and I’ll be along.”

“Someone should go with him.”  The old dame didn’t trust him at all.  “He may try to escape.  And my friend is out there somewhere.  He may frighten her if she sees him loose.”

Johnny shook his head and sighed.  “I’m real sorry, Ma’am, but your friend...  Well, she didn’t make it.  She was hurt real bad falling from the stage when it rolled.  If it’s any comfort I don’t think she suffered.”

The old dame paled and shrank back into the corner, looking frail and smaller suddenly.  Her lower lip started to tremble and her eyes filled with tears.  “We’d known each other all our lives.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”  He shifted awkwardly.  “I’d best go look for the others.”

“Hold up a minute, Madrid.”  Ford fumbled in his pocket.  “Let me undo those cuffs.  Be easier for you to manage with your hands free.”

Johnny felt a rush of surprise.  And confusion.  For a brief moment he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  Couldn’t remember a lawman ever trusting him in the past.  “Ain’t you worried about me escaping?” 

Ford shrugged, wincing with pain.  “Don’t reckon you for a coward.  Cowards run.”  He nodded towards Scott.  “And you got your brother here.  Nope.  I ain’t worried about you escaping.  Reckon you’ll be back.  Besides,” he paused, smiling weakly.  “I guess the horses have long gone in this storm.  You won’t get too far on foot.”

Johnny nodded briefly and headed back into the storm.   Shit.  What a mess.  At least one dead, and God only knew what had happened to the stage driver and his sidekick.  Or Carter.  He gritted his teeth as he thought of Carter.  The man was a nasty son of a bitch.  If there was any justice it would be Carter lying with a broken neck instead of the old school marm.  Justice?  Dios, he’d seen little enough of that during his lifetime. 

He pulled his jacket collar up round his neck.  Maybe he’d find his hat.  Fucking rain.  God, he hated rain.  Keeping his head down, he scanned the ground ahead and could just make out the shape of two figures on the ground.  And they weren’t moving.  He crouched down, gently turning the men over to get a better look at their faces.  The driver and his friend. They were both dead.  They must have taken the force of the impact as the stage went over.  Poor devils.  But it meant that Carter was out there somewhere.  And Madrid would probably catch his death of cold looking for the damn man.

A flash of lightning forked down striking a tree close by him, startling him and causing him to jump sideways.  It burst into flames lighting up the gloom.  It was too damn close for comfort.  Never mind catching his death looking for fucking Carter, he’d probably get struck by lightning instead.  Shrugging down into his jacket he retraced the path of the stage.  Another flash of lightning lit up a gully falling away from the main track.  Straining his eyes he tried to see how deep it was.  He could see that some of the low growing brushwood was broken and crushed.  As if someone had rolled down there.

He grimaced.  Fucking Carter had to be down there.  It was tempting to just return to the stage and say he couldn’t find the man.  Very tempting.  He shook his head briefly and with a sigh started making his way down the gully.

The sides were steep and slippery and he lost his footing, sliding down several feet before grabbing at some branches to slow his descent.  Should have brought a rope.  Scott would have thought of a rope.  If Carter was injured it would be damn near impossible to get him back up without a rope.  Maybe Carter would be dead and he wouldn’t have to bother.  The thought cheered him and he scrambled down the last few feet.  He stood trying to catch his breath when he heard the crack of a twig behind him.  Whirling round he found himself face to face with Carter and looking down the barrel of the marshal’s gun.  Carter gave a low laugh and cocked the gun.

 
Part fifteen
 
“Well!  I guess I just got real lucky.  Got me a killer on the loose.”  Carter was smiling like he’d won at the poker table.
 
“I was looking for you.”  Johnny kept his voice real casual. 
 
“Is that so?  Planning on finishing me off, were you?  I got news for you, Madrid, think I’ll finish you off and save the hangman the trouble.  And it’ll be a real pleasure, you sick son of a bitch.”  He cocked the hammer.
 
Shit.  The fellow was mad enough to do it too.  “They know I’m here.  Ford let me loose to look for you.  He figured you were lying hurt somewhere.”
 
Carter narrowed his eyes.  “Ford would have looked for me himself.  He’s a fool, but I don’t reckon he’d have let you go.  Kill him too, did you?”
 
Johnny shrugged.  “He’s hurt.  His arm’s broke.”  Could he take Carter?  It had to be worth a try.  The bastard was going to shoot him either way.  Leastways it was better than hanging.  And if Carter killed him, Scott would go back to the ranch and never find out about Utah...  He’d never know how bad Madrid really was.  It was a way out.  Maybe the best way out.
 
“Start saying your prayers, Madrid.”
 
Johnny smiled.  “I told you, his arm’s broke.  He sent me to look for you.”
 
Carter laughed.  A real big laugh showing the gaps in his teeth.  “I don’t give a damn if that’s true or not.  I killed you when you went for me.  That’s all anyone needs to know.  Hell!  I’ll be a hero.  The man who killed Johnny Madrid.  And trust me, when folk hear about what you did in Utah, ain’t nobody going to be bothered you’re dead.”
 
Carter aimed the gun at Johnny’s chest, even as he hurled himself at Carter.  The explosion almost deafened him as the bullet seared a path across his hip.  Trying to ignore the pain, he wrestled Carter to the ground with a bone crunching thud that knocked the breath from him.  He heard Carter’s breath hitch too, but Carter still had hold of the fucking gun and was struggling to bring it around while Johnny fought to grab hold of it.  Shit.  Johnny felt the barrel push against his ribs and threw himself sideways as Carter fired again.
 
Johnny tried to scramble sideways but Carter’s fist aimed a blow at his head, throwing him backwards against a rock.  Johnny took a step to fight back but his feet were wobbling and the world was spinning around. But not enough to blot out the view of Carter grinning and levelling the gun at his head.
 
“Drop it, asshole.” 
 
Val?  Val’s voice?  Or maybe he was imagining things.  His head felt like it was full of Teresa’s knitting. 
 
“I said drop it, asshole.”
 
He could hear rocks sliding as someone scrambled down the gully.  Screwing his eyes up he could make out the shape of a man.  Two men.  Except they both looked like Val.  And the two Vals had their guns trained on Carter.
 
“Madrid was trying to escape.  He went for me.  I was protecting myself.  Ain’t no law against that, Crawford.”
 
The other man grunted like he didn’t believe it.   “Went for you?  When he didn’t have a gun?  You really are a slimeball, Carter.  Ford’s injured and Johnny came to look for you.  If he wanted to escape he sure as hell wouldn’t have bothered coming down here to try and save your sorry ass.”
 
Johnny tried to get to his feet but stumbled back as the world went spinning around him again.  His head was hurting bad and his hip felt like it was on fire from Carter’s bullet.  He could feel blood soaking his shirt.  Dios.  What a mess.  Should have let Carter kill him.  Would have made life a damn sight simpler.  Life?  Death?  He laughed out loud.  It seemed real funny now. 
 
“Shit, Johnny.  You look real rough, boy.  Just hold still and let me look at you.”  Surely that was Val’s voice but it seemed to come from a very long way off.  He tried to focus but dammit, now there were three Vals.  And he wanted to puke.  Could feel it rushing up from his gut.  Hell.  What was wrong with him?  Wasn’t like he’d taken a bullet.  Shit.  He was going to puke.  And his head was hurting.  
 
He was gagging on a mouth full of vomit.  And the world was spinning again.  And there was something in his head hammering to escape.  Pressing real hard to get out.  Had he been shot?  Maybe Pardee’s bullet had got him.  Or was it Coley?  Yeah.  Coley had got a shot off at him.
 
But why was Val here?  Maybe it wasn’t Val?  He puked again.  Smelt like last night’s dinner but worse.  And the thing inside his head was still trying to escape, hammering at his skull.  Dios.  Just wanted to close his eyes and have everything go away.  He fumbled at his hip.  Where was his gun?  Where the fuck was his gun? 
 
“Johnny.  You just sit back there while I look at your head.”
 
Somebody was pushing him back.  Shit.  He needed his gun.  Where was his gun?  How could he have lost his gun?  He needed to stop Pardee.  Had to stop him.  And the world was spinning awful fast.  If only it would stay still.  But it was going faster and faster...
 
............

He could hear voices.  Where was he?  He could feel blankets.  Yeah, seemed to be lying on some blankets.  He guessed he should figure it out but it seemed too much trouble.  All he really wanted was to sleep.  If only they’d all stop talking.  Just shut the hell up.  Dios, his head hurt.  He tried to open his eyes but everything was swaying and it made him want to puke again.  Easier to keep them closed.  If only they’d all quit talking....

...............

The bed sure was hard.  It wasn’t his bed at the ranch, so where was he?  His head felt fuzzy.  And there was something inside it pounding away like it was trying to get out.  Any minute now his head would explode.  Had he been shot?  If so where had he been?  And who the hell shot him?  If only he could remember...

“Johnny?” 

Strange.  That sounded like Boston.  He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the figure next to the bed.  Yeah.  It kind of looked like Boston.  If only the man would stand still maybe he’d be able to get a better look at him.

“You’ve had us all worried, little brother.”

Brother?  Yeah.  Had to be Boston.  Johnny tried to speak but his mouth felt as dry as the desert in the badlands.  He licked his lips and tried again.  “Pardee.”  It came out as whisper.  “Did he get me?  What’s happened?”  Yet even as he spoke the words he had a feeling he’d got things wrong somehow.  Maybe if his head stopped thumping and the pain in his ears would go away, he’d be able to figure things out.

“Pardee?”  Boston sounded puzzled.  “Johnny, where do you think you are?”

Why did Boston have to ask such a damn silly question?  Didn’t Boston know where they were either?  If Boston didn’t know, and he was awake, how the hell did he expect Johnny to know?  Dios, his head hurt.  Everything was all muddled.  And it felt like someone has a long knife and was stabbing deep inside his ear.  Flinching, he tried to pull away from the stabbing pain.  Yeah, like that was going to work.

“Johnny.”  Dios, Boston was talking again.  Didn’t the man ever shut up?  “Where do you think you are?  Can you open your eyes and look at me?”

“Sleep.  Want to go to sleep.”  Johnny rolled over.  Shit!  His hip hurt real bad.  Had he been shot in the hip?

“Don’t go back to sleep yet.  I need to know what you can remember.”

Boston’s voice sounded like it was coming from a long way off.  Sleep.  He needed to sleep.  Maybe he’d be able to figure it all out later...

...............................

He opened his eyes slowly.  They felt like they were being kept closed by heavy weights.  A figure was snoring softly in a chair by the bed.  Boston.  But where the hell were they?  He didn’t recognise the bed or the room.  This was a plain room.  There were no pictures and it sure didn’t look like the ranch.  He gave a hiss of pain as the thing in his head launched another attack on the inside of his skull, like it was still trying to escape.

Boston stirred, opening his eyes and sitting forward sharply as he met Johnny’s gaze.  “You’re awake at last.”

Trust Boston to state the obvious. 

“You’ve been out of it for a couple of days.”

Shit!  Two whole days?  What the hell had happened to him?  “Pardee?”  But even as he said the name he knew it didn’t feel right. 

Scott furrowed his brow and looked all worried.  “Pardee was killed months ago, Johnny.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I knew that.”  He tried to make his voice sound casual.  All relaxed, like he really had known that.  If only Boston would just tell him what had happened.  But he wasn’t going to ask.  Fuck that.  It would show weakness.  Never let anyone see your weakness.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Johnny?”

Shit.  Why did Boston have to ask these questions?  Specially ones Madrid didn’t know the answers to.  He shut his eyes briefly, struggling to remember something.  Anything.  He had to remember...   Rain.  That was it.  Surely it had been raining?  He’d been wet.  Soaked through.  Yeah.  It had been raining real hard.

“Well?”  Boston never knew when to quit.  Damn man should have stayed at the ranch.  Stayed at the ranch?  Where did that thought come from?  Felt like bells were ringing in his head now, telling him this was important.  Should have stayed at the ranch.  Damn it.  If only he could remember why it was important.  If only thinking didn’t hurt so much.

“Was I shot?”

“Carter’s bullet grazed you.”

Carter?  Who was Carter?

“But you had a very bad bang on the head.”  Scott paused and smiled, kind of like he was joking.  “I rather hoped it would knock some sense into you.”

Carter?  The old man had a rancher friend called Carter.  Had it been him?  No.  That didn’t feel right.  This was a different Carter.  So who was he?

“So, what do you remember?”

Seemed Boston wasn’t going to give up.  “Um... well.”  Play for time, Madrid.  He shrugged, and then wished he hadn’t because it hurt.  “Um, Carter shot me.”

Scott gave a big sigh.  Like he was irritated.  “I just told you that.  What happened before that?”

“I got a real bad headache right now.  Can we do this later, Boston?”

Scott shook his head.  “No.  We need to establish what you can remember.  So?”  He folded his arms and sat back in his char.

Johnny sighed softly.  “It was raining.  Wasn’t it?”  Suddenly he even doubted that.  Maybe the rain was from some other time.  Life seemed very confusing right now.  He felt a surge of relief as Scott nodded and smiled like Johnny had just won a prize. 

“Yes, it was raining.  Quite a storm, in fact.”

A storm.  Thunder.  Shit.  He’d been on a stage, hadn’t he?  Yeah, he’d been on a stagecoach.  Maybe.

“We were on the stage.”  He tried to sound certain, not like he wasn’t sure about things.

Scott looked pleased.  “Yes.  We were on the stage and it crashed.”

It crashed?  Well, maybe that little snippet would help.  The stage crashed.  He furrowed his brow, trying to remember.  A woman.  There’d been a woman who died.  “One of the passengers died.  Some old woman.”  Even as he said the words he could see her face.  The way she’d looked in death.  Those eyes staring at him.

“Yes.  One of the passengers died - an elderly woman who’d been travelling with a friend.  What else do you remember?”

Dios, no!  The memories came tumbling into his head, flooding it, threatening to overwhelm him.  To drown him.  He shut his eyes trying to block out the horror.  Not Utah.  And he could feel the colour rushing to his face, making it feel like he was on fire, as the shame swept over him, wrapping him in its clinging shroud.  He couldn’t look at Scott.  Hell, Scott shouldn’t be here.  He should have stayed back at the ranch. 

Carter.  Damn it.  He remembered Carter now.  One of the marshals.  There had been two marshals and Carter was the asshole.

“So?”  Scott was watching him.  “What else do you remember?”

Johnny shrugged, wincing with pain as he did so.  “I know you should’ve stayed at the damn ranch.  I ain’t a kid and I don’t need no babysitter.”

Scott sighed.  “We’ve had this argument before, but I take it that you remember everything now.  You had me worried when you were asking about Pardee.  I was concerned that you might have amnesia.”

Amnesha?  What the hell was amnesha?

“In case you’re wondering, we’re in Stockton.  A fellow came along with a wagon.  That’s how we got you here.  Ford has had his arm set and Val is limping around mad as hell with Carter.”

Val.  Shit.  He’d forgotten about Val. Dios.  Val and Scott.  Could things get any worse?  He ran his fingers through his hair, and then wished he hadn’t.  His head was so tender it hurt to even touch it with the tip of his finger.  He sighed.  “Is Ford fit to travel?”

Scott grinned.  “Probably not, but he’s a damn sight fitter than you are right now.  The doctor doesn’t want you moved.  You had a bang to your head when the stage crashed but then you gave it another severe bang in the tussle you had with Carter.  You’re very lucky it didn’t fracture your skull.  But I guess the old saying is right: where there’s no sense there’s no feeling.”

Another pain shot through his ear, causing him to flinch away from it.  He could see concern flash across Scott’s face.  Dios.  Why did Scott have to come?  He didn’t want Scott here.  And he certainly couldn’t bear the thought of Scott coming to Utah.  “Scott, will you do me a favour and just go on back to the ranch?  I’ll get myself a lawyer.  I’ll be fine and somebody needs to be at the ranch making sure it all runs smooth.”  He spoke real soft.  Maybe if he asked like this, all gentle, maybe Scott would agree.

Scott’s shoulders were hunched up and he was staring at the floor like he’d lost a silver dollar down there.  Then he shook his head real slow before looking up, meeting Johnny’s gaze.  “No.  Sorry, Johnny, I know you don’t want me to come, though for the life of me I can’t think why, but I’m coming anyway.  Like it or not, I’m coming.  My place is with you, not back at the ranch.”

“Why?”  The question burst out before he could stop himself.  But he had to know why the hell old Boston was so set on coming too.

Scott smiled, tilted his head to one side.  “Maybe for the same reason that caused you to panic when you thought I’d been seriously hurt in the crash.  Val mentioned that you were a little overwrought.”

Over what?  He’d kill Val one of these days.  Him and his big mouth.  And what did Boston mean anyhow?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”  Scott sounded real gentle.  “You’re the only brother I’ve got.  And I don’t intend to lose you.”  He paused, screwing his face up like he’d just remembered something.  “Funny thing, when Murdoch left his last words were to tell me to look after you.  I never imagined it would be necessary.”

The confusion was back, fogging his brain.  He couldn’t figure any of this.  “That the reason then, Boston?  You’re doing this because the old man told you to?”

“You’re not listening, Johnny.  I’m doing it because you’re my brother and I care about you.  I certainly don’t need our father to tell me to look after you.  I’m doing it because I want to.”

There was a lump in his throat.  God only knew where it came from but it sure was big.  And his eyes were pricking.  Dios.  He couldn’t look at Scott so he picked at a loose thread in the blanket, watching it unravel and wishing the lump would get smaller.  “I ain’t worth it, Boston.  Trust me, I really ain’t worth it.”

Scott laughed.  “I’ll beg to differ.  You’re stuck with me, Johnny, so you might as well give in gracefully and accept that I’m coming too.  I’ll brook no arguments so you might as well save your breath.”

Why did Boston use such odd words?  And so many of the damn things?  “I mean it, Scott.  I don’t want you to come.  I really don’t want you there.”

Scott sighed.  “Why?  What are you so afraid of?  I wish you’d confide in me.  Carter and Ford wouldn’t give me any details of what you’re accused of, other than it’s murder.  But I know you’re innocent, Johnny, that’s all that matters.  And we’ll clear your name together.”

Innocent?  That was a joke.  He’d never been innocent.  Not since he was a tiny kid.  And if Scott knew half the things he’d done he’d never want anything to do with Madrid again.  And yet it felt so good to have someone believe in him.  Made him feel warm.  Wanted to grab the thought and hold onto it real tight to stop himself from drowning.  But Scott would hate him when he heard what happened in Utah and it would make losing Scott’s friendship even worse.  But there didn’t seem to be any way out.  Scott was going to come no matter what Madrid said.  Because he cared.  Did Val care too?  Was that why Val had come along?   Val hadn’t told the marshals about the knife in Johnny’s boot.  Had trusted him not to use it on Carter and Ford.  And seemed to understand that if it came to it, he’d use it on himself rather than hang.

Maybe it was a good thing that Val was there.  Leastways he’d be able to help Scott when they learned the truth about Madrid.  And they would learn the truth...   He sighed.  “I guess it’s better you than the old man, Boston.”

Scott grinned and stood up, stretching slowly.  “I was tempted to try sending a telegram to try to track Murdoch down, but I thought you might shoot me if I did that. “

Johnny grunted.  “Hmph.  I would have done.  Believe me, Boston, I would have done.”

“I’ll go and tell the doctor that you’re awake.  And I’ll see if I can rustle up something for you to eat.” 

Scott turned and strode out of the room.  Johnny’s eyes were pricking again.  Damn it.  He rubbed them with the back of his fist.  Must be the bang on the head that was making him so pathetic.  But it looked like he was stuck with Boston and Val.  For the time being.

He glanced around the room.  It wasn’t a welcoming room.  Kind of bare, really.  A small table stood in the corner and there was a chair next to it where all his clothes were laid out.  His boots were stood next to it.  A feeling of unease crept over him.  There was something wrong.  Something was missing.  If only he could remember but his head still hurt like hell and the stabbing in his ear was back.  But something was missing.  Maybe if he slept he’d be thinking better when he woke up.  He huddled down under the blankets.

Fuck no!  His saddlebags.  His saddlebags weren’t there.

Part sixteen
“He’s awake.”  Scott grinned at Val who was sitting resting his injured foot on a stool.

Val scratched his chin before tilting his head and looking up.  “He remember anything or is he still carrying on about Pardee?”

“He remembers the crash now.  I’ve told the doctor that he’s awake so he’s going to check on Johnny and decide when he’ll be fit to travel.”  Scott sank down into a chair.  “I’ll admit, Val, he had me really worried.”

Val smirked.  It was the only way to describe the look on his face and it was enough to irritate anyone.  “What?”  Scott glared at him but Val didn’t seem bothered.  The smirk just got bigger.  “Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind, Val, instead of sitting there looking pleased with yourself?”

The smirk got even bigger.  “Worried?  Don’t think I ever saw a man in such a state about his brother.”  Val laughed.  “Except maybe the way Madrid was when he thought you were hurt.”

Scott felt the colour rushing to his face.  “You say he was in a state but you should have heard the things he said to me before we left Green River.  You wouldn’t think he had any feelings at all if you’d heard that.”

Val shrugged.  “Just Madrid’s way.  He don’t let anyone get too close.  He’s one tough son of a bitch.  And he sure didn’t want you along on this ride.”  Val paused and looked across at Scott.  “And don’t that make you wonder why?”

Scott didn’t answer immediately.  Johnny’s words in Green River had been cold and cruel but he was certain that they had also been calculated to try and to force Scott to stay behind.  Why wouldn’t Johnny want someone with him?  It made no sense for him to face whatever lay ahead alone.  “Why do you refer to him as Madrid?  He’s Johnny Lancer now.”  He knew he was sidestepping Val’s question but he wasn’t sure he knew the answer.

Val looked at him with a strange expression on his face, almost like pity?  “Right now, he’s Johnny Madrid.  I guess he left Johnny Lancer back at the ranch.  And I’ll put my money on him staying Madrid until all of this is over.  One way or the other.”

Scott felt an icy clutch of fear in his stomach.  “One way or the other?  You really think he’s guilty, don’t you?  You think he’s going to be found guilty and they’re going to hang him.  Well, I know Johnny wouldn’t commit cold blooded murder.  I know it.”

Val wouldn’t look at him now.  He seemed more interested in studying the contents of his coffee cup.  “Don’t you find it kind of odd that Johnny hasn’t asked for any details of what he’s accused of?  Don’t you find that just a bit strange?  Ain’t natural.  A man always asks what he’s meant to have done.  What he’s being accused of.”

“Johnny wouldn’t commit cold blooded murder.  Maybe he’s spoken to Ford about it when we haven’t been around.  All I know is my brother is not a murderer.”  Scott could feel the heat of anger in his face but damn it, Val was supposed to be Johnny’s friend.

Val shook his head slowly.  “I asked Ford.  Johnny ain’t asked him nothing.  And Ford’s no fool, Scott.  He’ll recognise the ...”  Val paused, his brow furrowed as if  he was searching for the right word.  “The significance of Johnny not asking.  It’s time you faced up to the possibility that there’s something behind this accusation.”  He held his hand up as Scott opened his mouth to protest.  “I understand that you don’t want to believe it, but Madrid ain’t no angel.  He’s not a man to cross.  He’s a real hard son of a bitch.  Oh I know he can turn on the charm and don’t get me wrong, I like Johnny, but I sure as hell wouldn’t underestimate him.”  He paused, giving Scott a hard stare.  “And neither should you.”

Scott took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger building inside him.  “Johnny Lancer is a good man.”

Val shook his head as though exasperated.  “That’s as maybe, but we ain’t talking about Johnny Lancer.  We’re talking about Madrid, and I ain’t too sure you’ve ever met him.  I have.”

“You talk about them as if they are two totally different people.”

Val sighed.  “Trust me, they are.  You’ve seen just one side of Johnny...”

“I’ve seen Johnny in gunfights so don’t sit there telling me that I don’t know what he’s like.”  Scott contented himself with glaring at Val, although his hand was itching to hit him.  How dare he speak of Johnny in this way?

Val grunted dismissively.  “Yeah, that’s as maybe, but fact is Johnny knew you were there so I doubt you’ve seen how dangerous he can be.  I know you don’t want to hear this, I understand that, but damn it you didn’t know him when he was younger.  And this business in Utah happened when Johnny was a kid, maybe about 16 or 17.  And believe me, when Johnny was that age he was wild and real dangerous.”  Val paused and scratched his chin again, his eyes narrowed as though remembering the past.  “Yeah, even back then he seemed to be real controlled, but he was damn dangerous too.  No mistake.”

Scott sat with his head bowed, unable to look at Val.  What had Johnny been like when he was younger?  Not capable of cold blooded murder, of that he was certain.  Johnny had grown up the hard way without any of the trappings of luxury that Scott had enjoyed, but he was a good man.  So, it followed that he must always have been good.  QED.  “I know he had a hard time of it when he was young...”

“Hard?”  Val shook his head.  “You got no idea.  I told you about the state of his back but it was more than that.  I don’t believe anyone had ever paid him much mind since the day his Mama lit out from your ranch.  He hadn’t been taught anything.  He was like a wild animal.  The kind that’ll let you pet it if it thinks you’ll give it food but’ll turn and bite your hand off as fast as a rattler striking if you ain’t careful.  He was full of more hate than I’ve ever seen in anyone.  Guess it was that which kept him alive.  Sure wasn’t love and devotion from that mother of his that kept him living.”  Val ran his fingers through his hair.  “He was already old when I first met him – but he couldn’t have been more than nine or ten then.  But his eyes were old.  And I guess there wasn’t anything much he hadn’t seen by then. “

“I’ll grant you that he’s cynical...”

“Cynical!  When are you going to stop kidding yourself?  Oh I know you served in the war, Johnny told me, and I reckon you think you’ve seen most things.  But Johnny...” He paused, shaking his head.  “He’s seen it all, life at its worst.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him that well.”  Scott felt resentment flooding over him like a wave.  How could Val know so much if he’d only met Johnny a couple of times?

Val sighed softly.  “Scott, it’s in his face.  You must see it.  Anyone who knows what to look for can see it and I don’t think you’re that dumb.  You just don’t want to see it.  But you need to start facing up to things.  He’s had the luck of the devil for years but it could be that this is payback time for Madrid.”

Scott sat with his head bowed, staring down at the worn wooden floor.  Was Val right?  Was he really kidding himself and only seeing what he wanted to see in Johnny?  Why was Johnny so set on Scott staying at the ranch unless he had something to hide?  Scott shut his eyes briefly and tried to quell the seed of fear growing inside him.  Johnny was a good man...  Wasn’t he? 

All his brother’s past warnings flooded his memory.  Warning Scott that Madrid was dangerous, that he’d done a lot of things he would never want anyone else to know about...  Done things he couldn’t even tell a priest...  Oh hell, no.  Johnny couldn’t have meant murder.  

Other memories came back now like a deluge.  Johnny fretting over what might have been in the Pinkerton report.  Johnny saying that when he started out he hadn’t been too fussy how he got a reputation so long as he got one.  But Johnny had put his life on the line for a bunch of poor people down in Mexico and faced a firing squad as a result.  And he’d risked his life for the women on the ranch when he took on Pardee.  There was a core of goodness running through Johnny, he was certain of it.  Wasn’t he?  Damn it, he wasn’t going to have Val planting seeds of doubt in his mind.  Johnny was his brother and he was innocent.

He stood up.  “I’m not discussing this, Val.  You’re wrong.  I thought you were Johnny’s friend, maybe I was mistaken.”

Val gave a grunt of irritation.  “I am his friend.  But I ain’t afraid to face facts.  Seems to me that you are.”

Scott bit back an angry retort.  There was no point in falling out with Val when they still had a long journey ahead of them.  Instead, he tried to sound calm and controlled.  “If you were a friend, you would believe in him.  You’d believe he was innocent.”

“I ain’t saying whether he’s guilty or not.  I do know if he’s guilty, he would have had a damn good reason for killing a man.  Johnny ain’t a cold blooded killer.   He don’t kill for the sake of it.  That I’m certain of.”

“Johnny was a gunfighter.  Not a murderer.  And that’s an end of it.”  Scott paused, his heart feeling as though it was going to burst out of his chest as he fought to keep his temper under control.  “I’ll go up and see how he’s doing and hopefully find out what the doctor had to say.  Are you coming?” 

Scott led the way through the doctor’s house to the room occupied by Johnny, with Val hobbling along after him.  It appeared that scrambling down the bank to help Johnny and restrain Carter had made his injured ankle worse.  Scott couldn’t deny he felt inordinately grateful to Val for saving Johnny from Carter’s bullet, for having heard Val’s account of what happened in the gully, Scott was certain that Carter would have shot Johnny.  Proving it was another matter altogether.  And Ford and Val had both agreed that they could do nothing about Carter’s actions because there had been no independent witnesses.  Val had come on the scene too late to be able to insist that Carter be arrested.  It was Carter’s word against Johnny’s and Scott was realistic enough to realise that no jury would take the word of a gunfighter over that of a sheriff.  All in all it was a damnable mess.  It looked as though there would be no alternative but to continue the journey with Carter in tow and Scott didn’t trust him an inch. 

He pushed open the door to Johnny’s room and stopped dead in his tracks, causing Val to walk smack into him.   Johnny looked far worse than earlier in the day.  His face was ashen and he was sitting shaking on the edge of the bed.  “You are not meant to be out of bed, little brother.”  He tried to sound light hearted, but his stomach clenched at how sick Johnny looked.

“I’m fine.”  Johnny was staring fixedly at his clothes and boots in the corner of the room.  “You got my saddlebags, Scott?”

Scott’s brow furrowed.  “Your saddlebags?  No, I haven’t.  I shouldn’t worry.  If they’re lost I’ll buy you some more...”

“Damn it, Scott, I don’t want new ones, I want mine.”  Johnny tried to stand but stumbled back onto the bed flinching and holding his ear.

“Maybe Ford has them...”  Even as Scott hurried to Johnny’s side, his brother interrupted his words.

“He hasn’t, he was in a while ago.  He ain’t seen them.”  There was an unfamiliar note of desperation in Johnny’s voice.  “I need ’em, Scott, I got stuff in them.  Stuff I need.”

Scott placed a hand on Johnny’s shoulder hoping to calm him.  It must be the head injury causing his brother to fret.  “I’m sure we can replace anything that you need, Johnny.  It’ll be fine.”  His words didn’t seem to reassure Johnny who sat shaking with hunched shoulders and staring again at the clothes in the corner.  Johnny turned his head as though noticing Val’s presence for the first time.

“Have you got my saddlebags, Val?”  There was a note of urgency in his voice and a spark of hope in his eyes.

Scott turned toward Val who just shook his head.  “No, sorry, I don’t rightly recall seeing them.  I thought we got all the luggage scattered around and brought it to town.”  He shrugged.  “Ain’t worth getting all fired up over some saddlebags, Johnny.  Probably time you had new ones.  They looked like they’d seen better days.” 

His words didn’t seem to reassure Johnny.  Scott felt a knot of fear again.  Maybe the head injury was more serious than he’d thought.  Johnny was behaving most oddly, his hands seemed to be shaking and his brow was glistening with sweat.

“I think you need to get back into bed, Johnny.  Did you see the doctor?  He said he was going to look in on you.”

Johnny stared at him, apparently confused by the question.  “The doctor?  Yeah, I think so.  But my saddlebags, Scott...”

Val sighed.  “What the hell is in these bags, Johnny, that’s got you all fired up?”

The question seemed to throw Johnny.  He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair before flinching away from his own touch.  “Just stuff, Val.”

“Stuff?”  Val raised his eyebrow sardonically.  “Stuff.  Well if it’s just stuff, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.  Unless there’s something special in them bags of yours that you ain’t telling us about.”  He limped over to the chair by the bed and sat down heavily.  “Dang, my ankle is damn sore.”

“No.  Nothing special.”  Johnny’s voice was barely a whisper.  Scott moved closer and lifted Johnny’s legs to help his brother back into bed.  He felt another pang of concern.  In the past, even when he’d been very badly hurt, Johnny would never have accepted help without a fight but right now it seemed that he had no fight left.  Scott shot a look of concern towards Val, who just shrugged.  Fat lot of help he was.

“I think you need some rest, Johnny.  I’ll go and have a word with the doctor.  Did he say anything about when you could be moved?”  Scott spoke gently, hoping maybe he could get Johnny’s mind off the damn saddlebags.

Johnny fumbled with the blanket, unravelling the wool and twisting it around his fingers.  Had he even heard the question?  “Johnny?  Did the doctor say anything about you moving?”

Johnny looked up, his eyes glazed as though he was hardly aware of Scott and Val.  “What?”

“The doctor, did he say anything about your travelling?”

Johnny furrowed his brow and shrugged.  “I don’t recall.”  He bowed his head and continued unravelling the blanket. 

Defeated, Scott turned away.  At this rate there wouldn’t be a blanket left.  “I think I’ll go and have a word with the doctor myself.  Coming, Val?”  He jerked his head toward the door.  “I think Johnny needs some sleep.”

Val muttered an oath as he struggled back to his feet and hobbled over to join Scott by the door.  As they left the room Johnny spoke again.  Scott strained to catch the words.  “Nothing special.  Nothing important.”

Scott closed the door behind them.  “I’ll go and see the doctor and find out what I can.  To be frank, I can’t believe Johnny will be fit to go anywhere any time soon.  He does seem very confused.  And he’s getting himself in awful state about his saddlebags.  I guess I’d better go and buy him some new ones.”

Val shot him a sharp look.  “And you think that’ll make everything okay?”

“Do you have to be so perplexing?  Can’t you just say what you mean?”  His patience was fast running out where Val was concerned.  Damn man acted as though he always understood Johnny better than anyone else. 

Val shrugged.  “Ain’t my place to say what I think.”

When did that ever stop him?  The uncharitable thought leapt unbidden to Scott’s mind.  He bit his lip.  “You volunteered to come on this journey, Val, nobody forced you to.  Right now, my primary concern is Johnny.  I’ll go and see the doctor and talk to Ford.”  Scott turned on his heel, leaving Val standing as though lost in thought outside Johnny’s door.

.........

It was sometime later before he sought Val out back at the hotel they’d checked into.  He’d had frustrating talks with the doctor and Ford.

“The doctor feels that Johnny could travel if we get a wagon for the first part of the journey.  I can’t say that I’m happy about it.  I think he’s far from ready to travel but I know Ford is keen to get going and he feels that he can cope despite his broken arm.  I suspect he’s simply anxious to be rid of Carter’s company as quickly as possible.”  Scott paused, glancing around Val’s room.  It struck him how tidy it was, with none of his gear strewn around as there had been on previous occasions when Scott had called in for a talk.  Then he spotted Val’s things piled in the corner next to the door.  He raised a quizzical eyebrow.  “Going somewhere, Val?”

Val shrugged.  “My ankle is paining me real bad.  I don’t feel up to the journey to Utah.  You’d best go on without me.  I’m heading back.”

Scott felt a twinge of guilt.  Was this really more to do with the way he’d spoken to Val earlier?  “Look, Val, I’m sorry if I was a little sharp before.  I guess my worrying over Johnny is making me short tempered.”

Val hobbled across the room, his limp more pronounced now than earlier.  “Understandable.  But I’m still heading back.  Like I said, my leg’s bad so you’ll be best off without me.”  He stooped to pick up his bags and with a nod left Scott alone in the drab little room.

Ace In The Hole
 
 
Part Seventeen
 
 
The wagon jolted violently as it struck yet another deep rut in the track, throwing him off balance and against the canvas cover, jarring his shoulder.  He felt sick and his head felt real odd.  At times it was like there was something inside it trying to escape and at other times like there was something outside pressing to get in.  And the stabbing pain in his ear came and went in waves.  Along with the dizzy spells.  Dios, he felt like shit.  And this wasn’t a good time to be feeling like shit.  Not that there was ever a good time to feel like crap but right now he needed his wits about him and he could hardly even think straight.
 
He needed to figure out how he was going to fight the murder charge, ’specially now everything had gone wrong.  Losing the saddlebags had thrown all his carefully laid plans out the window.  Fuck.  And he’d thought he’d got it all figured out as well as he could.  Life was a real bitch and it sure didn’t help when he didn’t have God on his side, not that that was anything out of the ordinary.  But it seemed even the Devil was letting him down now and surely he was meant to take care of his own. 
 
What he really wanted was to lie down and rest his aching head and sleep but he couldn’t take the risk of talking in his sleep and giving something away.  Although anything he said might not mean anything to Boston, he’d bet that Carter or Ford would make something of it.  Carter never stopped watching him.  Every time Johnny glanced up, Carter would be there watching him with a real unpleasant smile on his ugly face.  Bastard.  Looked like Madrid would have to make do with naps.  Oh well, he’d be a long time dead, there’d be plenty of time for sleeping then – if it was possible to sleep in hell.  And it looked like it wouldn’t be too long now till he got there.  Unless he could come up with a new plan.
 
He flinched away from a new wave of stabbing pains in his ear.  Sure made it hard to concentrate and plan his next move.  Like how to play the jury.  Trouble was, juries didn’t pay much heed to gunfighters.  They tended to think the worst.  And more often than not they were right.  And they sure wouldn’t think much of a half breed gunfighter especially when there was some hard assed fancy lawyer prosecuting.  Best thing was to destroy any witness.  But that was easier said than done.  And then a lot depended on the judge.  Some judges were just assholes. 
 
He screwed up his eyes as another wave of pain swept over him.  Shit.  He really didn’t need this.  Opening his eyes once more he met Scott’s concerned gaze. 
 
“Are you all right?”
 
Dios!  Boston did ask damn stupid questions.  Of course he wasn’t all right but he’d never own to it.  Fuck that.  He scowled.  “I’m fine, Boston.  Just fine.”
 
“You don’t look fine.”  There was a deep furrow between Scott’s eyebrows, like he was real worried.  “I knew you weren’t fit to travel, especially on a journey as bumpy as this one is.  I spoke to the driver we hired and it’s not going to get any easier.”
 
Johnny shook his head and wished he hadn’t.  “Like I said, I’m fine.” 
 
“Don’t much matter how he is, they’re going to hang him whatever state he’s in.”  Carter snickered, like he’d just made a joke.  “No jury’s going to let you off, Madrid, you sick son of a bitch.”
 
Johnny gave a soft laugh.  “Wouldn’t count on that if I were you, Carter.”  It came out more cocky than he felt, which was just how he wanted it to.  “And then, Carter, when I walk out of your court a free man, you and me, we got a score to settle, don’t we?”  And he gave another soft laugh.  He was pleased to see Carter pale, just a touch, but enough to show that Johnny had gotten to him.  That the veiled threat wasn’t lost on the bastard.  Yeah, Madrid sill had the touch, even when his head felt like shit.  Hell, he had to walk out of the court just so he could make sure that Carter got what he deserved.  He smiled.  He was going to enjoy payback time.
 
“You got nothing to smile about, Madrid.”  Carter was trying to sound all full of himself, but there was an edge now to his voice.  Yeah, seemed Madrid really had gotten to him.
 
Johnny laughed again and leaned back, shutting his eyes.  The light made his head hurt more so it was easier to shut his eyes.  Just so long as he didn’t fall asleep.
 
“Why don’t you do us all a favour and just keep quiet, Carter?”  Scott sounded real tetchy.  “I think you’ve caused enough trouble on this trip.  It’s your fault my brother is injured and I’d like to remind you that a man should be presumed innocent unti...”
 
“Innocent!”  Carter laughed.  “Trust me, Lancer, when you find out what your brother did, you’ll be wishing I had killed him.”  Carter laughed again.  “Yeah, you’ll sure be wishing I’d killed him and you won’t want nothing more to do with this half breed brother of yours.”  Carter paused.  He had a kind of sly look on his face, like he was enjoying baiting Scott.  “Ain’t you curious, Lancer, to hear what he done?”
 
Johnny’s gut felt like it was tying itself in knots.  He tried not to react but watched Scott’s reaction through half closed eyes.  Half of him was hoping Scott would ask for details and the other half was praying he wouldn’t.  Some ways, it might be better.  Get it out in the open now.  Scott could see Madrid then for real.  Not some painted picture of a gunfighter from a dime novel, but the real Madrid – for the bastard he was.  But somewhere deep inside a tiny part of Madrid was screaming that maybe, just maybe, he could get away with all of this.  That he could fool Boston into believing he’d been right all along – that Madrid was okay.  Not a rotten and maggoty apple to be squashed underfoot as Boston turned away and headed back to hearth and home.
 
What the fuck was Boston thinking?  Wasn’t he gonna say anything to Carter? 
 
“I’m really not interested in hearing your warped views on this so called cold blooded murder of which you say Johnny is accused.  You have the wrong man, as we will ably demonstrate when we get to Utah.  So, Carter, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself and stop trying to stir up trouble.”  Scott sat back and closed his eyes, like he was going to take a nap.
 
Carter sniggered.  “You got one heck of a shock coming, Mr. High and Mighty Lancer.  We got us an eye witness, ain’t we, Ford?”
 
Scott didn’t stir, but Johnny could see Scott’s body tense up, like Carter’s words had finally gotten to him. 
 
Johnny could feel the bile rising.  Dios.  Couldn’t puke up here.  Just act calm, Madrid.  Never let them see they got you on the run.  Play it cool, same as always. 
 
“Hear that Lancer?  We got ourselves a witness.  And he can’t wait to testify.”  Carter was laughing like it was a real good joke.

Scott opened his eyes and looked at Carter but kind of like he was bored.  “An eye witness?  We’ll see.”  Boston sounded like he wasn’t interested, but just for a brief moment his gaze flickered over Johnny.  And Johnny saw the glimmer of shock in his brother’s eyes.  And something else.  Maybe doubt?
 
“Yeah.”  Carter laughed again.  “Bet you didn’t know you was seen, did you, Madrid?”
 
Johnny yawned, a real big yawn, and rubbed his eyes like Carter had woken him up.  “Don’t you ever stop jawing, Carter?  I’m trying to get some sleep here.  I got a bad head.  Some dickhead of a marshal hit me.  So, just shut up and let a man sleep, why don’t you?”
 
“I second that.”  Ford aimed a kick at Carter.  “I’m sick of the sound of your voice, Carter.  If I could fire your sorry ass, I would after the stunt you pulled back there.  And even though I can’t fire you, I will be giving a full report on your actions to those who do have the authority to kick you out.”
 
Johnny allowed himself a small smile.  Good.  Carter was the sort of man who should never wear a marshal’s badge.  God only knew who’d appointed him in the first place, but whoever it was had sure made a bum decision.
 
He settled back against the canvas, wishing the damn wagon would stop jolting around.  But he noticed that Scott was sitting staring into space, like he was deep in thought.  And there was a big frown on his face.
.....
 
Johnny breathed a sigh of relief when in the late afternoon they finally stopped at a small way station.  They’d be able to change the horses and spend the night in some comfort.  A hotel with a nice soft bed would be better but this would have to do.  His head was pounding and the stabbing in his ear seemed to come and go.  And every time he stood up he had a dizzy spell.  Right now he’d like to plug a bullet between Carter’s eyes. 
 
He sat in the corner of the small room set aside as a kind of dining room, picking at the rabbit stew.  He didn’t feel hungry but he knew Boston was watching him like a hawk.  Dios, the man never seemed to take his eyes off him.  Pity it wasn’t Boston who’d lit out instead of Val.  He could have coped with Val.  Val.  Odd that Val had lit out the way he had.  Probably didn’t want to be anywhere near Madrid.  Val would see through him.  He knew way too much about Madrid.  Shit, now Boston was walking over. 
 
“You’ve got to eat, Johnny.”  Dios.  He was like a mother hen.
 
“Ain’t hungry, that’s all.  I guess that journey wore me out.”  Shit, Madrid, why say something like that?  Only going to make Boston fuss even more.  Yep.  Now he’s sitting down like he wants to talk.  Maybe when he stops fiddling with the buttons on the sleeve of his shirt, he’ll say whatever’s bugging him.
 
“Carter says they have an eye witness.”
 
His stomach felt like it was shrivelling up into a tiny ball.  If it got any tighter he’d puke all over the floor.  How to play it?  What the hell should he say?  Act relaxed, not interested.  “Yeah?  Is that so?”
 
Scott took a real deep breath.  Fiddled with the damn buttons again.  Then he took another breath, like the first one wasn’t big enough.  What the hell was he plucking up the nerve to say?  “Why haven’t you asked them about the circumstances surrounding this accusation?  Surely you want to know what you’re accused of?”  Scott’s face was pale.  Even paler than usual.  And sort of tight.  Like there wasn’t quite enough skin to cover all those worry lines.
 
“Guess I’ll find out when we get there.”  Johnny tried to sound casual, like he was bored by the whole thing.  Even though every nerve in his body felt like it was pulled tight to bursting point.
 
“Men always ask, Johnny.  They always want to know what they’re being accused of doing.”  When did Boston get that smart?  No way would he know anything about what men asked when they got arrested.  Someone had to have put that idea in his head. 
 
“Well.”  He spoke real soft, emphasising his drawl.  “I guess I just ain’t like other men.  I got all the time in the world.  I’ll find out soon enough.  But right now, my head’s aching, so if that’s all Boston...”
 
“Johnny, they say they have an eye witness...”
 
“I heard you the first time.  So?”  Johnny paused, sat back and stuck his hands in his belt.  How to play this, that was the question.  Relaxed.  He had to seem relaxed.  “You got something to say, Boston, say it.”
 
Scott bit his lip, and then his face hardened, his mouth set in a grim line.  He glanced around, as if to make sure that nobody could hear what they were talking about.  “I want to know if there’s something you’re not telling me about this business in Utah.”
 
Madre de Dios.  Something Madrid wasn’t telling him.  If he only knew...  God almighty.  Even if he could bring himself to own to what happened there was no way he could tell Boston.  Couldn’t plead not guilty then.  And Madrid would fight this all the way.  No way would he let that bastard win.  And if they hanged Madrid, that piece of human shit would have won.  Human shit.  The word animal was too good for that bastard.  Johnny stared down at the floor.  Couldn’t show any expression, couldn’t risk giving anything away.  He looked at Scott, gave a soft laugh.  “I told you before, Utah’s well off my territory.  Ain’t nobody ever paid me to do a job there.”
 
Scott swallowed hard, like he’d got some of that damn stew still stuck in his throat.  “The question is, Johnny, have you ever been to Utah?  Maybe you’ve been without being paid to go there.”
 
Felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.  It was bound to come.  Scott could see through him.  He had to have seen through him.  Finally seen Madrid for what he was.  And it hurt.  It fucking hurt.   Worse than any knife or bullet.  But he couldn’t let Scott see the pain.  Keep up the pretence.  After all, it was all his life had ever been and he wasn’t going to cave in now.  A lifetime of pretending.  So he smiled, all easy.  Except it wasn’t easy and he couldn’t remember ever hurting quite as bad as this.  “Is that what you think of me then, Boston?  That I’m just a cold blooded murderer?”  Except it hadn’t been cold blooded.  That aching for revenge had been hot blooded, burning into his very soul.  And even though it meant he was damned, he could never repent.  So many things he regretted, but not Utah.  Never Utah.
 
“I don’t know what to think of you.” 

Johnny glanced down at the floor, anything to avoid Scott reading his eyes.  Those words, an echo of what Murdoch had said to him when they’d stood face to face arguing about Pardee.  At times he thought he’d travelled a long way since then.  But that had been a pretence too, because here he was right back where he started.  He should have taken his money and gone.  But he’d let himself be seduced by this lure of family and a different life.  This sham of a life.  Sam had once told him that he had to take a chance on this new life.  Well, he’d taken the chance and all it was doing was leading him straight to the hangman’s noose.  Well, fuck them all.  Who needed family?  He sure didn’t.  Did he?
 
He looked up, feeling the fire of rage flooding his body.  “Think what you like.  Nobody asked you to come on this trip.  Now get the fuck out of my face.”

 

Part eighteen

Well, he’d wanted Scott to stay away from him on this trip and it sure looked like he’d succeeded in driving him away.  They’d barely exchanged ten words since the night at the way station.

Scott had asked about his head a couple of times.  But that was it.  End of story.  He’d expected to feel relieved when Scott finally backed off.  But instead, he just felt empty inside.  Like there was a big gaping hole or a part of him missing.  And it hurt.  Really hurt.  And he hated himself for his behaviour but there hadn’t seemed to be any way out.  Part of him seemed to be screaming that Scott’s questions didn’t necessarily mean he’d finally seen through Johnny.  That all Scott had wanted to do was get things clear in his head.  Get the facts.  Because facts and logic seemed real important to Scott.

But another part of him said Scott had seen through him and Madrid had to protect himself.  Just like he’d been doing ever since he could remember.   Not that he’d always made a very good job of it.  Hadn’t stayed out of the way of some of Mama’s men as often as he should have.  And he sure hadn’t been able to protect himself in the prison.  But that had been the turning point for him.  It was then that he’d sworn he’d never trust anyone, ever again, and that nobody would ever hurt him again.  He’d already been well down the road to Johnny Madrid when he was thrown in the prison, but by the time they let him out...  He shook his head slightly, lost in the memories.  By the time they let him out, he knew he was going to be the hardest and fastest gunfighter ever.  There was no turning back then.  It was the only way to be sure that nobody ever hurt him again.  He’d spent his life being everybody’s whipping boy.  But prison had changed him.  Made him harder than ever.  Never again would anyone use him.  For anything. 

But of course they had.  Every time he hired out someone was using him.  Not in the same way as before, but still using him.  The only difference was they paid him.  Just like they’d pay a whore.  Funny, it’d taken him a while to see it.  Dios, he’d been so damn cocky.  Thought he was finally calling the shots.  But he wasn’t.  People were still using him for their own ends.  Making sure someone else did their dirty work.  The work they hadn’t got the stomach for.  So, yeah, they paid him, but they were still fucking using him.

He glanced around the way station.  It was much like the last two they’d stayed at.  The most he could say about it was it was dry.  He wanted his own bed.  How soft was that?  And when did he let Scott get through his defences?  He sighed.  It was time he admitted just how much Scott had come to mean to him.  He’d finally met a man who he really trusted.  A good man.  Honourable.  And look how Madrid treated him.

He looked across to where Scott was dozing.  He was slumped, snoring softly, in a big, sagging armchair close to the pot bellied stove.  Yeah.  A good man.  And still here.  Even after Johnny had spat the hot words into his face two days before, Scott had just retreated, like a wounded cub.  But he hadn’t lit out.  He was still here, obviously determined to stay with his brother no matter what.  Because he cared.  Johnny shook his head again.  Who’d have thought this educated Easterner would care about a no-good half breed brother?  Especially one as sharp tongued as Madrid.

And they’d been getting along so well before all this had come back to bite him.  He’d felt easier with Scott than he’d ever felt with anybody.  And Scott didn’t seem to notice that Madrid hadn’t got the fancy education or that his skin wasn’t quite the right colour.  He just treated Madrid like he would a brother...  Dios, life was such a bitch.  Madrid had finally had something good within his grasp.  Even recognised it was good and worth having and holding on to.  He’d touched it for a brief moment in time before God swept it away from him.  Your sins will find you out.  The words of some long forgotten padre echoed in his ears from some half remembered preaching in a dim adobe mission where the sun had lit the dust floating in the air.  He could see it in the picture book of his memory.  He’d hidden in the back, a child sheltering from some forgotten foe, and tried to catch the dust in his fingers. 

Well, seemed the padre was right.  Madrid’s sins had sure found him out.  But he couldn’t tell Scott the what or the why of it.  Couldn’t tell anybody about his personal perdition.  He lived with it.  But he’d never tell a living soul about the purgatory he suffered in prison.  And if Scott knew about it, he’d be disgusted.  Johnny shook his head and sighed.  Scott would be revolted when he learned at the trial what Madrid had done.  But he’d be more disgusted if he ever learned the reasons why.

If only Val hadn’t lit out.  Johnny had a feeling Scott was going to need someone to lean on when this was over.  And even if Madrid succeeded in fooling the jury, chances were he wouldn’t fool Scott and the man wouldn’t ever want anything to do with Madrid again. 

“Do you ever sleep, Madrid?”  Ford’s voice shook him from his thoughts.  The man jerked his head towards Carter and Scott who were both sleeping.  “I don’t believe I ever see you sleep.”

Johnny laughed.  “Plenty of time for sleeping when we’re dead, wouldn’t you say?”

Ford looked at him for a long moment.  “You should rest.”  His voice was surprisingly gentle.  “You’re going to need to be sharp for what lies ahead.  I’ll...”  The man paused and bit his lip, like he couldn’t quite decide to say whatever was on his mind.  “I’ll wake you if you talk too much.  So get some rest.”

 

Time stopped.  He could hear his own heart beating.  He opened his mouth but all he could hear was his own breath.  No words.  Just his blood pulsing like the world had stopped turning and he was suspended in time.  Why would Ford say that?  What did he know?  But he couldn’t ask...  That would leave Madrid exposed.  Never let the defences down.

“Like I said, Madrid, get some rest.”  Ford picked up a book, turned away like what he’d said meant nothing.  Except it did.

Johnny slumped down on the couch.  He was so fucking tired.  Did Ford mean what he said?  Was it a trap?  No... Somehow Ford didn’t seem like the sort of fellow to lay a trap.  He’d played fair right from the very start.  Looked out for Madrid, if Johnny was honest.   Which could only mean...  Shit.  All this thinking made his head hurt more.  He could feel the pressure building inside it, starting to push on his skull, trying to escape.  Maybe, just maybe, he should stop trying to outsmart everyone and get some rest.   Even though it meant trusting someone he barely knew.  A smile pulled at his mouth.  It would sure be a first. 

He awoke in the early grey light of dawn.  He’d actually caught some sleep.  Could hardly believe it.  He must have crashed out almost straight after Ford’s words.  And that seemed strange.  Normally he’d have lain awake for hours over-thinking everything, worrying away at it like a dog with a bone.  Must have been the bang on his head making him careless.  He glanced across the room.  Ford was busy brewing coffee and Scott and Carter were still sound asleep.

Ford turned as though sensing he was being watched.  He raised the pot up in a questioning sort of way.  “Coffee?”

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah, coffee would be good.”  He stood, stretching to ease the crick in his neck, before taking a mug of coffee in his cuffed hands.  He eyed Ford thoughtfully as he sipped the strong brew.  Who the hell was this fellow?  And why would he be watching Madrid’s back?  “You been a marshal long?”  It seemed as good a question as any to ask.

Ford’s mouth quirked, like he was amused by the question and knew what lay behind it.  “Almost nigh on twenty years, I reckon.”

Johnny frowned.  Somehow he hadn’t expected that.  Didn’t know what he had expected, but somehow not that.  It meant Ford was established.  Recognised and accepted as a steady lawman, not somebody new to the job with a personal motive or score to settle.  But he’d lay money that Ford wouldn’t tell him anything so asking would be a waste of breath.  So, play it cool, Madrid, same as always.  “How much farther ’til we get there?”

“A couple of days’ hard riding.  You think you’re up to it?  We can take a day to rest up, if you’re feeling too rough.  I reckon I agree with your brother, the doctor was a quack and you weren’t fit to travel.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “I’m fine, just fine.”  He felt a pang of guilt.  No need to snap at the man.  Ford had sounded like he was genuinely concerned.  Johnny spoke softer now.  “Really, I’m ready to ride.  I guess I just want to get there now.  Get on with it all, if you know what I mean.”

Ford nodded, all thoughtful and scratching his stubbled chin.  “Okay.  If you’re sure.  But I can’t take the cuffs off.”

“Don’t expect you to take ’em off.”  Johnny grinned.  “Carter would go crazy.  He’s mad enough to shoot the both of us.”

Ford grunted.  “Ain’t that the truth.”  He glanced across to where Scott and Carter were starting to stir.  “I’ll make some more coffee.” 

Johnny sat back in an easy chair, watching Ford go through the motions of brewing fresh coffee while Boston sat forward sniffing the air.  “Coffee, I smell coffee.” 

“Coming right up.”  Ford passed him a mug.  “Don’t be too long getting sorted out.  We need to press on.  I’d like to be there by tomorrow night.”

Scott glanced over at Johnny.  “Are you sure you’re up to making this ride?  How’s your head?”

“My head’s just fine, Boston.  Just want to get this journey over with.”

Carter sniggered.  “Shouldn’t be in too much of a hurry, if I were you, Madrid.  Sooner you get there, the sooner they’ll hang you.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?  But I wouldn’t bank on it, Carter.  And you and me, well, we got a score to settle, don’t we?”  Johnny smiled, raised his mug in a salute to Carter, all easy like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Fuck you, Madrid.”  Carter glared across at Johnny before shuffling over to the door.  “Ford, I’ll go and get the horses ready.  Make sure that bastard, Madrid, is well and truly cuffed.”  

Johnny smiled as Carter slammed the door.  Yep, Madrid was really getting to the man.  Pay back would be real sweet.  No way was Madrid going to hang.  That would never do – not when he needed to get even with Carter.  He’d think of some way of getting off.  But it sure would have been a mite simpler if he’d got his saddlebags.

........

The next two days were hell.  The only high spot was Ford and Carter falling out over whether Johnny should have his hands cuffed in front or behind.  Scott had gotten involved in that, too.  Arguing that his brother couldn’t possibly be safe riding if his hands were behind his back.  Ford agreed with him.  In the end his hands were cuffed in front of him.  Even Carter had to admit that it meant they could move faster that way.  But Carter had fixed them on real tight, with a nasty smile on his face.  Johnny didn’t flinch, even though the cuffs hurt like hell.  Wouldn’t give Carter the satisfaction. 

The first signs of the onset of winter were all around them.  The leaves had disappeared from the trees, their bare branches reaching out to the leaden sky as if begging for warmth and sunshine.   But instead of sunshine the rain fell more like sleet than rain.  And it was cold.  Fucking cold.  Dios.  If they had to take him all the way to fucking Utah, couldn’t they have waited until the spring? 

He rode with his hat pulled well down to try and to keep the stinging damp from his face.  Any minute it would turn to snow.  Who the hell would want to live in Utah?  Scorching hot summers and bitter winters.  The heat was one thing, but the cold...  He hated being cold.  It seemed to eat into his bones and flesh, gnawing away at him like scavenging rats.

If only he had a warmer coat.  No need to worry about the trial.  He’d fucking freeze to death before they got there.  The cold didn’t seem to bother the others much.  Ford and Carter must be used to this weather and Boston had once told him how cold the winters were out east.  Well, wasn’t that just fine and dandy for them?  He hunched his shoulders over, shrugging himself deeper into his jacket.  He thought of Val’s big tartan coat.  He always thought it was damn stupid, but right now he’d give anything for a coat like that.

It was carried on the wind, just a whiff, but he could smell a town.  Couldn’t be too far now.  He could always tell when he was close to a town.  Could smell the stench of people and their dull little lives.  He wanted it now.  Wanted to get on with the whole business.  Take his chance, play the jury and hopefully play a winning hand.  He wasn’t done yet and he’d be damned if he’d let that bit of shit win.  The man had tried to break him, but Madrid didn’t break that easy. 

He sat straighter in the saddle.  Didn’t give a damn now about the cold.  Madrid was riding in to win. 

The smell was stronger now.  The town had to be real close.   And there was wood smoke now mixing with the other scents.  They were almost there.  He realised he was smiling.  He was looking forward to this.  Madrid was getting his edge back.

He could see the smoke now, rising from a small settlement nestling in the curve of the hills.  It had been a few years, but the place looked the same as it had before.  Didn’t seem to have grown much.  But then it was pretty much a dead end kind of a place.  Bigger than Green River, but Green River would grow, this place would probably never change. 

They slowed the horses to a walk as they approached the main street.  Town couldn’t get many visitors because they seemed to be creating a lot of interest as they rode in.  People came out of the shops – the word must be going out that the marshals were back with Madrid. 

People were lining the boardwalk now.  And all the eyes were on him.  He kept his eyes straight ahead, just a whisper of a smile playing at his lips.  If these folk thought they were going to get a hanging they had a shock coming.  He knew he could do this.  He knew he could win.  Madrid was back in control.

Part nineteen

He could feel the colour flushing his face.  He tried to block out the faces of the people gathering to watch as they rode in and attempted to keep his eyes focused straight ahead.  But it was odd.  Even though he couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so self conscious and embarrassed, when he looked across at Johnny he’d swear that his brother was smiling.

Not an obvious smile.  More like the ghost of one playing around his mouth.  He felt a pang of concern.  Of fear, if he was honest.  It was as though Johnny was enjoying the attention.  No.  That wasn’t possible.  Johnny couldn’t enjoy being the centre of attention in circumstances like this.  Could he?

The whole thing was obviously the most dreadful mistake.  Wasn’t it?  Johnny wouldn’t commit cold blooded murder.  Would he?  

Val’s words were echoing in his head.  Why hadn’t Johnny asked for more details of the murder charge?  Every time he thought about Val’s words he felt a heavy lump of dread in his stomach, weighing him down.  Val was right.  It wasn’t natural.  Any man would want to know what he was being accused of doing.  Wouldn’t he?

Ford had reined in outside a building marked as the marshal’s office.  The man had done well to make this journey considering he had one arm out of action.  Scott had been impressed by Ford’s steadiness throughout.  He had an air of quiet confidence and Scott suspected that he would be a very good man to have by your side in a battle.

Scott glanced once more at Johnny.  His brother didn’t seem to be in any hurry to dismount.  He was just sitting on his horse with the strange half smile pulling at his mouth as though amused by the whole ghastly business.  It was almost as though he wanted to draw attention to himself.

Scott dismounted and went to stand by Ford and Carter, who were hitching the reins around the rail running the length of the building.   Johnny swung his leg over the saddle horn and paused briefly before jumping gracefully to the ground.  Scott had the distinct impression that Johnny had waited until he was certain that he was the centre of attention before completing the showy action.  Most men wearing cuffs would have been more hesitant, careful.  But Johnny was all show.

“Just get on inside, Madrid.”  Carter gave Johnny a hard push.  Johnny didn’t move.  He just turned toward Carter, smiling, but the smile sent a chill down Scott’s spine. 

“Don’t push me, Carter.  You and me, we’ll settle things when this is over.  And trust me, you don’t want to piss me off any more than you already have.” 

How did Johnny do that?  He could smile and speak so softly but seem so deadly and menacing at the same time.  However he did it, it seemed to have quite an effect on Carter.  The man paled and took a step back, bumping against the door post.

Johnny paused, seeming to scan the crowd before turning and walking into the office.  Scott followed him in, shutting the door behind them.

It was a fair sized office.  A row of rifles were locked and chained to a gun rack and a heavy oak door separated the office from the cells at the back.  Ford jerked his head towards the cells.  “Come on, Madrid, in the cell and then I can take those cuffs off you.”

Johnny strolled into the cell, looking for all the world like he was just heading into a bar for a drink.  As Ford clanged the metal door closed, Johnny bent and tested the mattress, before springing onto it and stretching himself out with his hands behind his head.  Just like he stretched out on the couch at the ranch.

Scott couldn’t figure his brother’s mood at all.  Johnny seemed far too relaxed about the whole business.  It was as though everything was just a minor inconvenience , an irritation that would be swept away in no time.

“Something you wanted, Boston?”  Johnny sounded amused.  “You’d best go book yourself into a hotel if you’re figuring on staying in these parts.”

“Of course I’m staying.”  The words seemed horribly familiar as he snapped them out.  The first morning on the ranch when Johnny had walked into Scott’s room.  When Johnny had told him that what he had in mind was pretty much a one man deal.  He wondered if Johnny was remembering that morning too.  Scott took a deep breath.  “I will go and find you a lawyer and then I will check into a hotel.  Is there anything you need?”

Johnny gave him that strange half smile again.  “No, I’m just fine and dandy.  I got everything I need right here.” He waved his hand around the cell, as if to emphasise the point.  “But Boston, I don’t need no lawyer.”

Scott could feel anger building inside.  Why the hell wasn’t Johnny taking this seriously?  “This is not a game, Johnny.  There’s going to be a trial.  You will be on trial, for your life.  And, if I recall correctly, you have not qualified as a lawyer.  And it is, oddly enough, advisable to have a lawyer fighting your case when you’re on trial for murder.”

Johnny laughed.  “Murder?  It’s just a mix up.  They got the wrong man is all.  I’ll clear it up.  I don’t need no fancy assed lawyer.  They charge a fortune and they’ll screw you as soon as look at you.”

Scott glared at him through the bars of the cell.  “Stop being so obtuse.  I am here to ensure that you get a good lawyer and a fair trial.  And that is exactly what I intend to do.”

Johnny returned the glare.  “And I just told you I don’t need one.  Don’t trust lawyers.  And I sure don’t trust no fancy lawyer to be worrying about my skin.  The only person who’s going to look out for me in that court room is me.”

“Tough.”  Scott felt the last vestiges of his patience disappear.  “You’re having a lawyer whether you want one or not and that’s it.  The matter is not negotiable.”  He stalked to the door, secure in the knowledge that just for once he could have the last word.  “I’m going to go and organise it now, so you’d better start getting used to the idea.   I’ll see you later.”  He slammed the door shut behind him. 

Ford looked up at him from the desk, where he was sorting through a pile of paperwork.  “Anything you need, Mr. Lancer?”

Scott grimaced.  “More patience!” 

Ford grinned.  “Giving you a hard time, is he?”

Scott perched on the edge of the desk.  “That’s putting it mildly.”  Scott hesitated.  How to phrase the question that was gnawing away demanding to be answered?  He sighed.  The easiest thing was just to spit it right out.  “Has Johnny not asked you anything about this murder charge?  Anything at all?”

Ford bowed his head, seemingly intent on shuffling the paperwork.  “Not that I recall.”

Scott frowned.  “You’re certain you haven’t forgotten anything?  It seems most...”

“No.”  Ford’s response was abrupt to say the least.  Scott eyed the man curiously.  There was something in his demeanour which struck Scott as evasive.  It was obvious that Ford wasn’t going to be drawn on the subject.  Now the man was getting up and checking the locks on the rifle stand.

“So, anything else you need, Mr. Lancer?  There’s a hotel just along on the right.  It’s not too smart but it’s clean and the food isn’t too bad.”

No, he definitely wasn’t going to be drawn into conversation about Johnny.  Scott sighed.  “I need to know where I can find a lawyer for my brother.  Does the town have one?  I should have thought of it when we on the trail and wired ahead.  But with the stage crash and Johnny’s injury, I totally overlooked the matter.”

Ford nodded.  “Yeah, we got a lawyer.  Far end of the town.  The other end from where we rode in.  He’s not...”  Ford hesitated.  “He’s not an easy man, our lawyer.  A bit of a law unto himself, if you ask me.”

Scott felt a twinge of misgiving.  If the lawyer was difficult, it would make Johnny even more difficult, and he really didn’t think he could cope with his brother being even trickier to handle than he was at present.  He sighed.  “Right, thanks for the warning.  I guess I’d better go and pay him a visit.”

Scott strode to the far end of the town, only too aware of the interest he was attracting.  He could hear whispers as he walked, and Johnny’s name seemed to be on everyone’s lips.  A big brass plate on the wall announced the lawyer’s office.  A Mr. Horatio D. Wilson. 

Scott pushed open the door to see an elderly man putting some papers into a worn leather bag.  “Mr. Wilson?”

The man peered at him in a short sighted fashion, fumbling in his pocket for a pair of spectacles.  “I am he.  What can I do for you, young man?”  He continued to fill the bag with more papers, before looking up impatiently.  “Well?  I am a busy man, get on with it.”

“My name is Scott Lancer.  I’ve travelled here from California to accompany my brother.  He’s to go on trial here, he’s accused of murder.  I would like you to represent him.”

Mr. Wilson looked up, his shaggy white brows drawn close together.  “Murder?  You mean your brother is Madrid?”

Scott nodded.  “Yes, but his real name is Lancer, and, as I said, he needs a lawyer.”

The lawyer gave what could only have been described as a snort of derision.  “Hmph.  You can say that again.”  He adjusted his spectacles.  “But, young man, however much your brother may need the services of a lawyer, he won’t be receiving mine.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to lock up.”

For a brief moment Scott couldn’t think of anything to say.  But then the words tumbled out, as though falling over themselves in a headlong rush.  “What do you mean, he won’t be receiving your services?  You’re the town lawyer and my brother needs a lawyer.  We can afford to pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Whether you can afford to pay me is of little consequence.  I am choosing not to represent your brother.  Good day.”  The man picked up his bag and then pointed with his hand for Scott to leave.

Scott moved across the doorway, blocking it.  “No!  I’m not just going to leave.  You have a professional duty to represent my brother...”

The man seemed to bristle with indignation.  “I have no such thing.  I am not a doctor bound by a strict oath to treat people, whatever their morals may be.  I am entitled to turn down a case and believe me, I am turning this one down.”

“Every man is entitled to a defence.  To be presumed innocent until proven guilty.  Do you have so little concern for justice?”  Scott could feel the heat in his face, but the man’s attitude was insupportable.  He was not giving up without a fight.

“Justice?”  Mr. Wilson spat the word out.  “Justice for whom?  The victim?  Mr. Lancer, I do not have to explain my motives to you.  Let us just say that this is one case I prefer not to accept.  Now, I am leaving town for a few days and I wish to lock up.  Good day to you.”

There was a look of steely determination on the man’s face.  Scott knew instinctively that nothing he said would change the man’s mind.  And who wanted a lawyer whose heart wasn’t in the job?  Particularly in a case such as this.  “Well.”  Scott couldn’t keep the note of sarcasm from his voice.  “If it’s not delaying you too much, perhaps you would be good enough to tell me if there are any other lawyers in this area?”

The man inclined his head as though prepared to concede an answer to that question at least.  “The nearest lawyer is a good three or four day ride from here, but he’s usually drunk.  Good day, Mr. Lancer.”

He knew when he was beaten.  Scott just nodded and walked wearily back to the sidewalk.  Dusk had fallen fast and lamps were being lit, shining out a welcoming glow from the windows of the houses.  But Scott had the feeling that there was no welcome for him in this small town of small minded people.

He trudged toward the hotel, stopping to collect his saddlebags from the livery where the horses were already bedded down in comfort and enjoying what looked like steaming bran mash.  The sight of it made him realise how hungry he was.  At least the hotel food would be okay if Ford was right.

The hotel was quiet.  There was nobody manning the reception desk so he rang the bell and waited patiently until a coarse looking blonde woman emerged from a back room.  “Sorry to keep you, dearie.”  She paused, her hand flying to her mouth and her face paling.  “Oh my!  You rode in with the marshals and that killer.  Are you a lawman too?”

“No, I’m...”  He bit back the words that would declare him as Johnny’s brother.  The woman would probably refuse him a room if she thought he was connected with “that killer.”  He smiled.  The most charming smile he could muster when he was tired, dirty and hungry.  “No, Ma’am, I’m not a lawman.  I’m a businessman in need of a room and your establishment has been highly recommended.  And from what I hear, I understand that you serve excellent fare.  I am full of eager anticipation and even on first glance I can see that your establishment can equal anything that cities such as Boston and San Francisco have to offer.”

It worked.  She positively preened.  “Oh, my, you’re too kind.  Boston!  Oh my goodness.”  She fluttered her hand in front of her heavily made up face.  She leaned forward, resting her ample bosom on the counter.   “You mean you are familiar with Boston?”

Scott inclined his head graciously.  “Familiar?  Madam, I was raised there and I assure you, your hotel is charming.”

Her smile grew wider and the flush started on her quivering chest and worked its way up over her face.  She reached for the registration book and then a key.  “I’ll put you in number five.  It’s our best room.  What name is it?”

He hesitated.  “Garrett.  Scott Garrett.”

He followed her up the stairs, trying to avoid staring at her vast backside which appeared to be trying to escape from its prison of pink silk.  The dress was straining so tightly that he feared her buttocks would make a successful bid for freedom and the dress split wide open.  He shuddered as he conjured up the picture in his mind’s eye.

She left him in “the best room” promising that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes.  He shut the door, leaning weakly against it as he took in the full horror of the room.  Pink was very obviously her favourite colour.  Pink satin drapes framed the window and a vast pink canopy covered the bed.  There were vases filled with purple and pink feathers and a pink velvet chaise longue stood at the end of the bed.  In one corner there was a statue of a large pink bird, standing on one leg.  The overall effect reminded him of a tart’s boudoir.  But not as classy.

He breathed a sigh of relief that at least Johnny couldn’t see the room.  His mouth quirked in a rueful smile as he thought of what Johnny’s sardonic comments would be about the accommodation. 

....

Ford had been right about one thing.  The food wasn’t bad at all.  In fact, it was a surprisingly good meal which he would have enjoyed under any other circumstances.  Instead his mind was filled with a maelstrom of ideas while he tried to formulate a plan to help Johnny.  The trouble was, he couldn’t think of any way to do so.  He sat back, sipping his coffee, reflecting on Val’s words.  And Val’s horrific description of his brief glimpse of Johnny’s childhood.  Scott shuddered, suddenly visualising a starving, blue eyed wild boy – so thin that Val had sworn he could see the shape of the food in the child after it was eaten.  And the maggots crawling in the cuts on his back.

He set his coffee cup down with a clatter, feeling suddenly sick.  Johnny had been beaten and starving while Scott had lived the good life.  Their respective childhoods couldn’t have been more diverse.  Childhood.  He shook his head slowly.  If Val was right, it didn’t sound as though Johnny had ever had that.  And the more he thought about it, he realised that the snippets Johnny had divulged about himself were like crumbs thrown to a dog.  Johnny had told him very little while giving the impression of letting Scott in.  Hell.  Johnny was so damned difficult to figure.  And Val acted as though he knew so much about Johnny, but in fact, Val barely knew him at all. 

The question was, did anyone really know Johnny?

Or what he might be capable of?

Scott pushed his chair back with a clatter, trying to push the disturbing questions from his mind.   He needed some fresh air to clear his head.  He grabbed his coat from his room before heading out into the lung chilling night air.  He walked along the boardwalks with his hands thrust deep in his pockets for warmth.  There were few people around.  Anyone with any sense was inside in the warm.  Laughter echoed from the saloon, but even that was barely doing a brisk business.  Looking through the steamy windows he could see a couple of worn out saloon girls and a few die hard drinkers.  The laughter came from a group of young cowboys playing cards.   They were joshing each other good naturedly.  None of them seemed to be weighed down by worry that their brother might hang.

Almost unknowingly he found himself standing outside Ford’s office.  He grimaced.  Might as well admit to himself that all he really wanted to do was check that Johnny really did have everything he needed. 

Pushing the door open he saw Ford sitting back in a big chair with his feet on the desk reading a newspaper.  Ford raised his eyebrows slightly.  “Something I can do for you, Mr. Lancer?” 

Scott shrugged, embarrassed.  He didn’t want Ford to think that he didn’t trust him. 

“He’s fine, Mr. Lancer.  He had dinner and he’s got plenty of blankets.  It’s as comfortable a cell as you’ll find in most town jails.”  Ford’s mouth quirked slightly, like he was biting back a smile.

“I’m sorry.  I know that you’ll see he’s treated well.  It’s just...”

“That you’d like a word with him.”  Ford stood up and gestured towards the door.  “Be my guest.”

Scott nodded his thanks, opening the heavy door that led through to the cells.  Johnny didn’t look as though he’d moved.  He was still stretched out with his hands behind his head, a picture of a man at ease.  And he still had that damned irritating half smile on his face.

“You forget something, Boston?”  There was an edge of insolence in the question.  Scott scowled at him.  Johnny really knew how to irritate him.

“No.  I didn’t forget anything.  I just wanted to check you had everything you needed.”

Johnny gave a soft laugh.  “I told you before, I got everything right here.  Hell, I had a good dinner and I got me a nice big pile of blankets.”  Johnny looked at Scott with a speculative sort of look in his eyes.  “You get checked into a hotel, did you?  I was wondering if maybe they’d refuse to let you in, being as you’re my brother an’ all.”

Scott met Johnny’s gaze.  “I didn’t tell them.  I used the name of Garrett.”

There was a flicker of something in Johnny’s eyes, but it was so fleeting, gone so fast he couldn’t read the emotion.

“So, is it a nice comfortable hotel?  You got a nice soft bed?”

Scott smiled.  “You’d like my room.  It’s all pink.  Just like your shirt.”

Johnny turned his head away with just the merest hint of a smile.  “It ain’t pink.  It’s red.”

“If that’s what you prefer to think, I won’t argue.  Except it is pink.”

Johnny didn’t bite. “Anything else, Boston?”

Scott grimaced.  “The town lawyer, he didn’t want to take your case.”

A broad smile spread across Johnny’s face.  But it didn’t reach his eyes.  “Now that is good news.  Told you, I don’t need no fancy lawyer.”

Scott sighed in irritation.  “I will find you a lawyer.  It just might take a little time.”

“Maybe I don’t have much time, Boston.  What you going to do then?”

Scott bit his lip.  He’d never met a man who could sound quite as arrogant as Johnny. 

He didn’t bother answering.  Instead he moved to the door of the office and called to Ford.  “I’d like your advice please, marshal.  I went to see the lawyer but he’s refused to represent Johnny.  Can you recommend somebody else?”

Ford walked slowly to the door, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  “Circuit judge arrives the day after tomorrow.  Reckon he’ll want to crack on with this case.”

Scott quelled the urge to snap at Ford.  “A man is entitled to a defence.  Surely the circuit judge will be happy to adjourn the case until I find a lawyer for Johnny?”

Ford sighed deeply, staring down at the floor.  “Wouldn’t recommend that, Mr. Lancer.”

Scott furrowed his brow.  “Why ever not?  That has to be the best thing for Johnny.”

Ford shook his head.  “Nope.  The circuit judge arriving this week is Judge Brooker.  He’s a fair man.  Sound.  Steady.  He doesn’t jump to conclusions like some judges are minded to.  But if you go gallivanting off trying to track down a lawyer, Brooker will move on.  And the next circuit judge due here is Jeffries.  Trust me on this.  Madrid will be better off with Brooker.”

Scott shook his head.  “I can’t believe he’d be better off without a lawyer.”  He glanced over at Johnny who was lying back, still looking totally at ease.  “You need to have a lawyer.”

Johnny didn’t answer immediately.  He turned his head and looked hard at Ford.  Raised his eyebrows in that odd way of his like he always did when he wanted a second to think something through.  “Brooker?  That’s the best man?”

Ford nodded.  “Better than Jeffries.  You really don’t want Jeffries.”

Johnny shrugged.  “That settles it, Boston.  I’ll go with Brooker.  And no fucking lawyer.”  And as if to signal the end of the conversation, he rolled over with his back to them, pulling a blanket over himself.

Scott followed Ford into the office.  “He needs a lawyer.  Wilson said there’s one a few days ride from here.”

Ford shook his head, as though exasperated.  “Yeah, there is.  And the man’s a drunk.  And you’ll end up with Jeffries as the judge.  Do you really care what happens to your brother?”

“Why the hell do you think I’m here?  Of course I care.”  Scott took a deep breath, trying to keep control and not lose his temper.

“Then trust me.  Your brother’s best chance is with Brooker.  Unless you want to guarantee that he hangs.”

Part twenty

So, it had begun.  As the door slammed behind Scott, he rolled over onto his back and lay staring at the ceiling.  Scott Garrett.  He laughed softly but he sure didn’t feel too happy.  But it wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected.    And he couldn’t blame Scott.  The only surprise was that Scott hadn’t given up on him a long time ago.

He hauled himself up and swung his legs around over the edge of the iron framed cot.  No point in brooding over things.  He needed to concentrate on how to wriggle out of the murder charge.  Because he sure didn’t figure on being found guilty.  Madrid hated to lose and he wasn’t going to lose his life over this.  The court case had to play out the way he wanted it to.  And it would be a hell of a lot easier to manage that if he hadn’t got some fancy windbag of a lawyer.  Seemed to him that all lawyers were in love with the sound of their own voices.  Never met one who’d just do as he was told in a court of law.  So, even though it would be kind of handy to have someone around who knew the way it all worked in court, he’d probably be better off without some slimey gringo who’d treat him like shit.  Because he’d bet good money that even if some lawyer took his case, they’d look down on the half breed gunfighter.

Leaning back against the wall, he started to plot.  Going over everything that happened in that shiny-as-a-new-pin house, so that he could prepare for anything the court might throw at him.  No.  He had no intention of just rolling over dead for this.  He was going to win.

....

“We need to have a serious talk.”  Scott had sure been up early.  Dios, hardly given a man a chance to have his breakfast before he’d turned up at the jail.

“Serious?”  Johnny cocked his eyebrow. 

“Yes.  Serious.”  Scott sure sounded snappy.  Didn’t look too good either.  There were lines of worry across his brow and big shadows under his eyes.

Johnny shrugged, pushing away the twinge of guilt.  “I told you to stay out of it.  But you were so hell bent on coming.  Should have stayed at the ranch, Boston.”

“So you have said.  On numerous occasions.”  Scott sounded like vinegar.  A whole bottle of vinegar.

Johnny shrugged again.  “Told you I could handle it.  And I can.  They got the wrong man.”  Except they hadn’t. 

“They have an eyewitness, Johnny.”  Scott sounded real pissed off.

Johnny scowled.  “In case you’ve forgotten, Boston, I was there when Carter said it.  But it won’t be the first time eyewitnesses have gotten confused.  So, like I keep telling you, I can handle this.  Why the hell can’t you just keep out of this?  Go on home, Scott.  Murdoch would want someone there running things while he’s off trying to save Joe Barker’s hide.”

“I think he’d be a damn sight more concerned about saving your hide.  If they find you guilty, they will hang you, do you understand that?  It’s not a game, Johnny.  They could hang you.”

“I know that, I ain’t dumb.”  The words felt so hot it was like spitting venom.  Dios, Scott could be an irritating son of a bitch at times.

“So?”  Scott’s words were kind of hot too.  “Doesn’t that thought bother you at all?”

“We all got to go sometime, don’t we?”  Probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say.  Scott was turning a real nasty shade of red.  Johnny took a deep breath.  “It ain’t gonna happen, Scott, they ain’t gonna hang me.”

“You need a lawyer, Johnny.  We can delay the trial while I track one down.”

“No!  I told you, I don’t want some fancy-assed lawyer.  I’ll look after myself and take my chances with this Judge Brooker.”  Johnny sat back on the cot, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“Take your chances?  Take your chances?”  Scott’s voice was getting louder by the second.  “Does your life mean so little to you?  What about how this affects your family?  Did you ever stop to consider that?   Have you spared a thought for them while you’re being so downright arrogant about looking out for yourself?  Have you stopped for a single second to consider anyone else?”  Scott was pacing up and down outside the cell, like he was trying to wear a trench in the floor.

Johnny cocked an eyebrow.  “Getting kind of worked up there, Boston.”

Scott stopped pacing.  Stood totally still for a beat, before turning his head and staring real hard at Johnny.  “Getting kind of worked up?  Yes, Johnny, I am getting kind of worked up.”  He shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t quite believe something.  “God, but you can be a selfish bastard at times.  Do you never stop to think of anyone else?”

Johnny stared down at the stone floor.  It was kind of funny really.  He’d never had to think of anyone else before.  Hell, there’d never been anyone else to think of.  Just himself.  Alone.  Like he’d been for more years than he could remember.  But no way was he telling Scott that.

“Well?”  Scott was looking all riled up and wanting an answer.  “Do you?  Have you thought how it would be for Murdoch?  He goes off on a trip thinking he’s leaving the ranch in safe hands and comes back to find you’ve been hanged for murder.  Maybe I’d better try and contact him.  Maybe...”

“You do, and I promise it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”  His voice came out real soft.  It felt like there was an icy hand wrapping itself round his guts.  Didn’t want Murdoch to know about this.  Dios, no.  Madrid couldn’t take that.

“Are you threatening me, Johnny?”  Scott ‘s eyes were wide open, like a rabbit looked when it was caught in the light of a lantern at night.

“Yeah.  I’m threatening you, Boston.”   The dry bitter heat of anger was rising and felt like it was going to choke him.  “I told you to stay behind.  I knew you couldn’t handle this sort of business.  Oh, I know you think you’ve seen everything because of being in the war and all.  But let me tell you, you ain’t seen nothing.  So stop fucking telling me what to do all the time.  I ain’t dumb.  I ain’t a kid.  I sure as hell don’t need the old man dragged into this.  Just like I didn’t need you dragged into it.  I told you to stay at the ranch, but you wouldn’t fucking listen.  Just had to come too, didn’t you?  And now I have to put up with all this shit from you when I got other things to think about.  Like avoiding getting a fucking noose around my neck.

“I ain’t gonna hang.  I don’t need no fancy lawyer.  I don’t need the old man.  And right now, Boston, I don’t need you.  So get the hell out.”

Was Scott going to move?  Or was he just going to stand there, with his mouth open like he was trying to catch flies?

“All I wanted was to help you.”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly, hearing the pain in Scott’s voice.  Felt ashamed now.  And it wasn’t like Madrid to lose his cool like that.  He bit his lip.  He didn’t want to lose Scott but right now he couldn’t deal with him.  He had to keep his edge.  Keep his mind on the job ahead.  He looked up, meeting Scott’s gaze.  Could see the pain there.

“Look.”  Johnny spoke softly.  “I know you wanted to help.  And it ain’t that I don’t appreciate it.  But right now, Scott, I want to handle this my way.  Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“Trust you?”  It was the tone of voice.  Johnny felt his guts shrivel up.  He’d blown it.  He’d lost Scott. 

“Trust you?”  He sounded even colder now.  “You’re asking me to trust you, when you won’t tell me anything?  And why do I get this nasty feeling that you know far more about this business than you’ve let on?  Is that it, Johnny?  Did you kill this man?”

It felt like a punch in the gut.  Felt that all the wind was knocked out of him.  Couldn’t lie.  But he couldn’t tell the truth either.  What to say?  What the hell should he say?  Couldn’t think straight.  He sighed, shaking his head.  “Go home, Scott.  Go on back to the ranch.  I’ll handle things here.”

“Tell me you didn’t kill him.”  The vein was pulsing in Scott’s temple, just like it always did with the old man.

“I ain’t telling you anything, Boston.”

“Which leaves me to think...”

Johnny cut across him.  Didn’t want to hear Scott say it.  “You think whatever you like.  I told you, they ain’t gonna hang me.  Go home and leave me alone.” 

His heart was thumping real loud.  Surely Scott must hear it?  Was the man going to say anything or was he just going to stand staring?  And the way Scott looked.  It was like he’d gone a long way off somewhere.  What the hell was he thinking about?  Because the expression was impossible to read.

Scott turned and opened the oak door before pausing.  “You want me to go home?  Trust me.  It’ll be my pleasure.”

The door closed with a bang which echoed through the cells.  Like the sound when they hammered the last nail in a coffin.  There was a wrenching in his gut and before he could even make it to the bucket, he puked his breakfast up all over the cell floor.  It still looked like his breakfast but it stank.  And that made him puke again.  He puked until there was nothing left.  He was just gagging and dry and the pain in his chest felt like it was going to rip him in two.

He stumbled to the cot and sat rocking with his arms wrapped around himself.  Rocking back and forth.  And he hurt more than he’d ever hurt.  He bit on his lip hard because otherwise he felt like he’d start howling like a little kid.  And he knew he had to pull himself together.  He had to hold it all together and win.  Because otherwise the bastard would have won.  The man might be cold in his grave but he’d still have won.  And Madrid couldn’t let that happen.  Not just for himself, but for the kid too. 

He shook his head.  Nothing lasted.  He knew that.  Nothing ever lasted.  Never give anyone too much credit.  Saves a lot of disappointment.  He’d lived by that rule for so many years and these last few months he’d let it slide.  And he hadn’t even noticed it slipping.  When did it happen?  When did he let Scott get under his skin?  And Murdoch?  And the ranch and the land... Home. 

Delice’s words echoed in his ears.  The words she’d spoken just before he left for Utah.  The words warning him to be careful.  That one day he might push Scott too hard.  Seemed that day had come.

The big oak door opened and his heart seemed to lift in his chest where the hole had been.  He looked up, barely hoping.  But hoping.

“Just checking if you needed anything, Madrid?”

And he felt empty again.  Ford was looking at him hard, looking at the puke on the floor.  “Looks like you need to wash up.  I’ll get you some more water.”  He gestured at the floor.  “And we’d better get that cleaned up too.” 

Johnny didn’t move.  Couldn’t move right then.  It was like he was forged to the bed.  Cast in iron and forged to the iron cot.  Scott really had gone.

Ford was back with a jug of water and a mug.  He passed them through the bars, setting them down on the bench.  “You’d best drink something.  I’ll get a bucket and mop.”

Johnny watched him.  But it was like he was watching from a long way away.  Like Ford wasn’t talking to him but somebody else.  Nothing seemed real.

Ford was inside the cell.  Which was odd, because he hadn’t noticed the marshal unlock it.  But it had been locked before so he must have unlocked it.  It was strange that the marshal was swamping out.  Prisoners always had to swamp out.  Clean up after themselves.  Odd.

“Guess your breakfast didn’t agree with you.”  Ford sounded kind of level.  No tone in his voice.  Flat. 

Johnny shrugged.  “Maybe it’s my head.  I was sick when I hit it, I remember.  Yeah.  I was sick then.  Must be my head.  Probably ain’t quite over the bang yet.”

Ford met his gaze.  Didn’t say a thing for a few seconds.  “Yep.  Figure you must be right.”

Johnny watched him through dulled eyes as he carried on swamping.  “Where’s Carter?  I ain’t seen him since we got here.”

Ford’s mouth quirked in a smile.  “I gave him a few days off.  I didn’t want you shot trying to escape.”

Johnny laughed softly, even though he felt like shit.  “Yeah.  I guess there was a chance of that.”  He paused.  “Who the hell ever made him a lawman?”

Ford grunted as he put the mop and bucket back in the corner beyond the cell.  “Oh, some dumb mayor we had here.  Wanted a pet dog with a badge.  So they got Carter.  But, we got a new mayor now, and Carter’s going to be on his way shortly.  I don’t hold with men who abuse their position.  Not when people are paying good money to men who are meant to uphold the law.  Nope.  Don’t hold with it at all.  There’s a sight too many people put in jobs of trust, who ...”  He paused, running his fingers through his hair and looking like he’d gone far away.  “Well.  Anyway.  Some folk are just...”

“Shit?”  Johnny figured maybe he should help him out.

Ford nodded.  “Yeah.  I guess that sums up quite a lot of folk.”  He narrowed his eyes, looked hard at Johnny.  “You going to be okay now?  Anything I can get you?”

“No.  I’m ... fine.”

Ford pushed the cell door closed, turning the key.  “Your brother.  He left in kind of a hurry.  You want me to give him a message?”

Johnny shook his head, staring down his boots.  The sole was peeling away from the left one.  Needed fixing. 

“Madrid?  You sure you don’t want me to give him a message?”

“No.  No message.”  His voice came out as a whisper.  Like it had got stuck down his throat somewhere.

Ford looked at him for a few more heartbeats.  Funny how his heart was still beating when it felt like it had been ripped out of his chest.  Ford sighed, shaking his head kind of like he was irritated over something.  “Well, if you change your mind, call me.  I’ll be in the office.”

Johnny shook himself as the door closed after Ford.  He had to get a grip.  So Scott was headed back to the ranch.  Who cared?  Anyway, it was what Madrid wanted.  It was for the best.  And when the court found Madrid not guilty, well, he could go back to the ranch too...  He sighed.  Somehow, it wouldn’t be the same.  Maybe when this was all over he should just head back for the border.  And never let anyone get close again.

....

It was some time before the door opened again.  “You got a visitor.”  Ford was holding the door to let someone in and Johnny could feel his heart starting to beat fast, hoping against hope...

“Who the hell are you?”  His heart felt like it had sunk right down to his boots as he spoke the words, looking at some scrawny kid who’d walked in.

The kid wasn’t that much of a kid, whoever he was.  Probably about 19 or 20, but real puny.  And pale.  Like he spent too much time indoors and not enough time working up muscle.  Had he come because he wanted a glimpse of a gunfighter?  Wouldn’t be the first time.

The kid coughed.  Kind of like he couldn’t quite decide what to say.  And cleared his throat a couple of times.  Shuffled his feet.  And cleared his throat again.

“You got something to say, kid, say it.”

He cleared his throat again.  “I was hoping I could be of some service to you.”

Just for a second, Johnny couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  He opened his mouth but, the words seemed to get stuck somewhere.  “Sorry?  What the hell use do you think you can be to me?”

The boy swallowed real hard.  “I’m... I was the clerk to Mr. Wilson.” 

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “Wilson?  Who the hell is Mr. Wilson?”

The kid shuffled his feet.  “Sorry, I thought you knew.  Mr. Wilson is the lawyer here in town.”

Johnny laughed.  “Well, kid, from what I hear, your Mr. Wilson don’t want nothing to do with me.”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain.”  He paused, kind of like he was trying to figure out the way to say whatever was on his mind.  “I have been offered an apprenticeship with a firm of lawyers out east.  And I’m leaving town in a few days time.  But, it seemed to me that you might need some help.  Mr. Wilson doesn’t care much about people having lawyers, unless he has a mind to act for them.”

Johnny shook his head, trying to figure the kid out.  “Let me get this straight.  You ain’t a lawyer but you want to pretend to be my lawyer?”

The kid’s shoulders squared up.  He bit his lip.  Looked pretty pissed off.  “I don’t want to pretend to be anything.  But I am a legal clerk.  I do know how the courts work.  And I am bright enough to be offered a really good chance with a big Eastern law firm.  And there isn’t another lawyer for miles.  Mr. Madrid, I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

The kid was serious.  He really was serious.  Johnny bit back a smile.  “And how much do legal clerks cost?  In these parts?”

“I’m more interested in results.”

Johnny felt the smile spreading.  Couldn’t stop it.  The kid had something.  Wasn’t sure quite what, but he had something.  “Hell, kid, you won’t never do well in the law if you don’t worry about the money.  Seems to me that’s what lawyers worry most about.  Never met one who wasn’t more interested in his bank account.”

The kid looked him square in the eye.  “It might be an old fashioned notion, Mr. Madrid, but I think I care more about the idea of everyone being entitled to legal representation than personal remuneration.”

Shit.  The kid knew as many fancy words as Boston.

Johnny eyed him curiously.  “You from round these parts, kid?”

The boy nodded. 

“You know anything about this eyewitness they’re supposed to have?”

A puzzled look crossed the boy’s face.  “Yes, I know him.  Everyone knows him.”

Maybe, just maybe, things were looking up.  Wouldn’t do no harm to have someone who knew how the system worked.  And if he knew the eyewitness, well, things couldn’t get much better than that.  “If I hire you, kid, we do it my way in court.  You ask what I want you to ask.  It’s my game.  My show.  Would you go along with that?”

The kid nodded slowly.  “I would be taking your instructions.”

Johnny grinned.  “Well, in that case, kid, you got yourself your first ever client and we got a deal.”  He paused, enjoying the open mouthed look of sheer amazement on the kid’s face.  “Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about this eyewitness.  And I mean everything.”

 

Part twenty one

He dropped the key.  His hands were shaking and the damn thing just didn’t seem to fit the lock.  Third time lucky, after much fumbling, he managed to unlock the door.  Slamming it shut behind him, he staggered across the room and fell onto the bed.  It wasn’t just his hands that were shaking.  He was trembling all over like an aspen leaf in a fall breeze.

Biting his lip, he tried to hold back the feeling of impotence that threatened to engulf him.  His hands still shook and his legs had barely carried him to the room.  For the first time in his life he understood the phrase of turning to jelly.  And rage was building in him.  Fury.  He could feel it welling up.  How could he have been so naive as to be taken in by Johnny?  Taken in from the very start.  How could he have never noticed what a very cold, selfish bastard his brother was?  Well, Johnny could go to hell.  Scott had managed for 25 years without a brother – he certainly didn’t need one now.  Particularly a cold blooded killer.  That was what Carter had called him.  A cold blooded killer. 

It was odd that Ford hadn’t been as quick to condemn Johnny, but from the muted gossip he’d heard around the town, it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Johnny would hang.  It was a fitting end for a cold blooded killer. 

Yes.  Johnny had fooled them all.  It seemed that Murdoch’s first gut instincts about Johnny had been right all along.  Heck, Murdoch had even warned Scott early on that Johnny didn’t acquire a reputation like his by being nice.  His father’s words echoed in his head.  ‘Johnny’s reputation is fearsome and long established.  Even if he does sometimes do the decent thing, you don’t get a reputation like his by being nice.  We have to be realistic and assume that he has a murky past, to say the least, and that he has committed some appalling acts.’

Appalling acts.  And that was the crux of it.  It seemed that Murdoch had been right and now Johnny’s past had finally caught up with him.  And everything else about Johnny had been a sham. 

He ground his teeth thinking how amusing Johnny must have found it all while he was busy charming them.  Fooling them.  He’d certainly fooled Scott.  And Johnny had probably enjoyed a good laugh at Scott’s expense, thinking how easy it was to sucker the Boston dandy.  Scott shook his head.  God it hurt now to think of all the times he’d defended Johnny and stood by him, implicitly believing that Johnny was a good and decent man.

Scott hauled himself up from the bed.  His legs still felt wobbly but he stumbled to the washstand and splashed some water over his face.  Looking in the mirror, he barely recognised the face looking back at him.  He seemed to have aged ten years.  There were lines and shadows around his eyes and the creases between his eyes seemed to have set into deep furrows.  He turned away sharply, cursing Johnny for doing this to him.  Right now he’d happily do the hangman’s job for him and send Johnny to hell.

Scott’s saddlebags were lying on top of the chest of drawers, the pink chest of drawers.  He needed to get out of this room.  Out of this town.  Out of the damn state and back to Lancer.  He needed to be there in case Murdoch returned sooner than expected.  Murdoch needed to hear what had happened.  Scott shut his eyes briefly, his gut churning at even the thought of having to explain all this to Murdoch.  How would his father take the news?  Would he take it badly or would he merely think that all his worst fears had been realised?  That Johnny was nothing better than a killer.

And what would happen if they acquitted Johnny?  If he got away with it, as he seemed so certain he would?  Scott shuddered.  Right now he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere near his brother, never mind trying to run a business and be in partnership with him.  Scott shook his head.  He knew he’d have no option but to return to Boston, to do anything else would be rank hypocrisy.

But first he needed to leave here.  And that meant he needed a horse.  Yes.  That was the obvious thing to do.  Go and buy a horse and leave this damn town as quickly as possible.

Even making a small decision seemed to calm him.  He grabbed the key, and locking the door behind him, hurried down the stairs and out into the town to buy a fast horse.

A biting wind was blowing down the main street.  Tumbleweed was whipped around on the currents, blown this way and that like ships floundering in heavy seas.  Which was exactly how he felt.  Except he wasn’t floundering now.  He was sinking fast and the only way to save himself was to get as far away from Johnny as possible.

Closed.

With a sinking heart he read the sign on the door of the livery stables.  It was clear enough.  And the sign beneath said it would be open again the following day.  Which meant he was going to have to stay in this damned town for another few hours.  It seemed that the fates were all conspiring against him. 

Turning on his heel, he pulled his collar up and trudged back toward the hotel, his head down in an effort to keep the damn dust out of his eyes. 

“Mr. Lancer.”

Scott faltered as he stumbled slightly against Ford.  “Sorry, Marshal, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Guess you got a lot on your mind right now.”  Ford shook his head slightly as he spoke.  “It’s a sorry state of affairs right enough.  But I thought I’d better let you know that the trial should start late morning.  The judge will deal with some trifling matters and then crack...”

“I won’t be coming to the trial.”  Scott interrupted, knowing he must sound cold, but he really didn’t want to be drawn into any conversation about his brother’s sordid affairs.

Ford pushed his hat back, sighing softly.  “Not coming?”

“No, Marshal, I shall not be coming.  I intend to return home in the morning.  Now, if there’s nothing else I’ll be getting on.”  Scott moved to step around the marshal when the man spoke again.

“So, just like that, you’re heading back to California?”

Scott gritted his teeth, but couldn’t stop the sharp retort that sprang to his lips.  “Yes.  I am heading back to California.  Just like that.  Although I fail to see that my actions are any of your business...”

“He was sick earlier.  Really sick.” 

“Sick?”  Scott felt a pang of unease.  He pushed it away. He didn’t give a damn about Johnny.  “I’m really not interested...”

“He was in a really bad way.”  Ford was looking at him hard, as though searching for some reaction. 

Scott bit his lip.  So what if Johnny was in a bad way?  Although that head injury had been serious...  “It must have been that head injury.  Perhaps he should see a doctor.”  What a damn stupid thing to say.  It wasn’t as though he cared whether Johnny was sick or not.

Ford narrowed his eyes with an impatient shake of his head.  “This was nothing to do with his head injury.”

“Well, in that case, I’m sure that it’s nothing you can’t handle.”  Scott moved swiftly now, anxious to get away.

“It was straight after you left him.”  There was a certain tone in Ford’s voice, as though he was trying to make a point.

“Marshal, I’m really not interested.  I am returning to California tomorrow.  Good day to you.”

Scott wasn’t quick enough.  Ford blocked his path.  “So, you’re running out on him.”  Ford was looking at him now almost with a look of distaste.  “Fine.  You run out on him.  But Madrid’s okay.  Trust me, he’s okay.”  With a curt nod, Ford carried along up the sidewalk leaving Scott staring after him in bewilderment.

What the hell did the man mean?  He’s okay.  How was he meant to interpret that?  That Johnny was no longer sick?  Or something else?  Scott watched the man striding up the street, acknowledging some of the townspeople as he passed.  Damn man.  None of this was any of Ford’s business anyway.  Hell, he’d probably been fooled by Johnny as well.

Scott hurried back to the hotel.  It was too cold to stand around wondering about Ford’s enigmatic remarks.  He’d get a horse in the morning and head home.

“Oh, Mr. Garrett.  Mr. Garrett.” 

He paused with his foot on the first step of the stairs leading up to his room.  He shut his eyes briefly, before turning with a forced smile as Mrs Nixon, clad in yet another violent pink dress, leaned across the desk in reception waving at him.  “Will you be dining in this evening, Mr. Garrett?  I do like to know my numbers.  The stage has come in and we’re a lot busier.”

Scott nodded, forcing another smile.  “I’m sorry.  I should have let you know.  Yes, please, I will be dining.”  He moved to one side as a tall woman in a heavy veil brushed past him hurrying up the stairs.

He turned to carry on back to the sanctity of his room as he heard Mrs Nixon again.  “Judge Brooker, how nice to see you.  Did you have a good journey?”

Curiosity got the better of him, even though he knew he shouldn’t stare.  A dapper grey haired man with a neatly trimmed goatee beard was bent over, signing the register.  The sort of man who wouldn’t have looked out of place in Boston.  There was something reassuring about his precise movements...

Reassuring?  What a ridiculous notion.  Irritated with himself, Scott returned to his room.  Perhaps he could read to fill in the time until dinner.  Or take a nap.  God only knew he needed one.

He tried to read but he found he kept reading the same line over and over again.  He slammed the book shut.  The Count of Monte Cristo would have to wait.  The sooner he got away from this place the better.  And he couldn’t get Ford’s words out of his head.  Madrid’s okay.  The words were echoing in his head.  And they wouldn’t go away. 

Maybe he’d have better luck sleeping. He might as well attempt a nap before dinner.  But that was no more successful than the reading. When he tried to settle to sleep, Johnny’s face kept drifting in front of him.  And the look in his eyes when he’d heard that Scott had used the name Garrett.  The look that Scott had been unable to read.

It had been an odd look.   Scott shook his head angrily.  He didn’t care anyway.  The very fact that Johnny had refused to deny killing the man told Scott all he needed to know.  Didn’t it?

Val’s voice was in his head now.  “I do know if he’s guilty, he would have had a damn good reason for killing a man.  Johnny ain’t a cold blooded killer.   He don’t kill for the sake of it.  That I’m certain of.”

Scott tried to push the words away.  What did Val know anyway?  It seemed he’d barely known Johnny, so he was hardly a reliable character witness.  And anyway, it had been Val who’d said how wild and dangerous Johnny was when he was younger.  That sounded closer to the mark.  And after all, it was Johnny himself who had frequently warned Scott how dangerous Madrid was.  It seemed he should have paid more heed to his brother’s remarks.

The room was chilly now so he pulled the heavy drapes, shutting out the dusk.  A fire had been laid in the grate; it needed but a match.  Striking one off his boot, he held it to the paper and twigs watching the flames go licking up the chimney.  Slumping in the chair at the fireside, he couldn’t remember feeling so downhearted for a long time.  If ever.  The misery of the prison had been different.  In a perverse way there had at least been a kind of justice to it.  It was the unfortunate lot of a soldier to be taken prisoner and you had to grit your teeth and get on with it.  But this...  This despair he felt now seemed deeper than anything he’d encountered before.

Madrid’s okay.  What the devil had Ford meant?  The words were ambiguous.  They could mean that Johnny had recovered from whatever had ailed him earlier in the day.  Just after Scott had stormed out of the jail.  But there had been a certain tone in Ford’s voice, as though he was trying to make a point.  Scott shook his head in disgust.  If Ford wanted to say something he should just have come right out and said it.  Damn it, Scott wasn’t a mind reader.

What else could Ford have meant?

He tossed another log on the fire, watching the flames and the sparks flying as the dry wood caught.  When he was a child he had loved watching fires and seeing pictures in the flames.  He’d sat mesmerised at times, dreaming up pictures of the father he didn’t know, riding up on a big white steed to claim him.  But there were no horsemen in these flames.  No knights in shining armour.  All he could see was Johnny on a gallows with a rope around his neck. 

He wished now he hadn’t said that he would dine that evening.  His stomach was queasy and he felt nauseous.  But maybe it was because he’d been unable to enjoy his meal the previous night.  And that had been Johnny’s fault he thought bitterly.  All in all, Johnny had caused him nothing but grief since the day they’d first met.

All those months ago.  Before the battle with Pardee.  When Johnny took a bullet in the back leading Pardee’s men to the waiting guns.

All those months ago.  Before the shootout in Bitterville when Johnny had gone in search of revenge for the Mexican hands who’d been killed.

Before he’d gone looking for revenge for the men who’d raped poor Lizzie.  And made the town folk pay so that Lizzie had a chance of a fresh start.

And before Johnny had shot Donovan when the man had pulled a gun on Murdoch.

Scott swallowed hard.  There was a pattern emerging in these thoughts.  But no.  The man who’d been murdered had been unarmed in his own house.  And there was an eyewitness to it.  An eyewitness who had identified Johnny as the killer.

“I do know if he’s guilty, he would have had a damn good reason for killing a man.”  Val’s words echoed again in his head. 

“Trust me, Madrid’s okay.”  And now Ford seemed intent on invading his head too. 

Well, they’d all been taken in by Johnny; that was all.  If Johnny had indeed had a good reason for killing this man, he’d have told Scott what it was.  He would have explained, tried to justify his actions.  But he hadn’t explained anything, which could only mean that Johnny was guilty as charged.

The clock chiming broke into his thoughts.  He might as well attempt to eat something.  He had a long journey ahead of him and at least the food here was good.
.....

He couldn’t eat.  He’d sat in the corner of the dining room watching the other guests tuck in to their dinners with gusto.  The judge appeared to be greatly enjoying his meal and then teased Mrs Nixon good naturedly.  He was obviously a regular guest and there was an easy familiarity in their manner together.  The only guest missing was the woman in the veil.  But then maybe she was a relative of the victim and wasn’t in the mood to eat in company.  The woman was obviously dining in private.  He’d seen a tray carried upstairs by a maid.

Scott sighed.  He‘d turn in early and try to capture some sleep.

He tried and failed miserably.  He spent the night dozing as images of Johnny slid in and out of his mind.  Johnny’s eyes when he thought Scott had been badly hurt by Al Evans’ bullet.   Val laughing about the state Johnny had been in when he thought Scott was hurt in the stage coach crash...

And Johnny’s eyes in the cell when Scott had told him he’d checked in under the name Garrett.  That look in his brother’s eyes at that moment.  The look Scott couldn’t read, didn’t have time to read because it was gone so fast.

That look of...  shame.  And pain...

Scott threw the blankets off and sat up, sweat pouring off him.  Damn Johnny.  Damn him for this mess.  This God-awful mess. 

If only, just once, Johnny had talked to him and been straight with him.  Explained what on earth this was all about.  But no.  That would be too obvious, too straightforward.  Johnny seemed to delight in being so damn tricky and secretive.  Always so damned secretive.

Well, whatever it was about, Johnny could get on with it.  Scott wanted no more to do with it.  He’d had enough.  And if they hanged Johnny, it was doubtless deserved.  Murder was murder.  And if Johnny had killed this man, he deserved to hang.

“He would have had a damn good reason for killing a man.  Johnny ain’t a cold blooded killer.”  Val’s words were back, echoing around his head.  And the picture of Johnny dressing Scott’s wound after Evans’ bullet had grazed him.  And the words and the pictures wouldn’t go away.

Scott shook his head, angry with himself and hating the cold leaden ball of fear that seemed to be growing in his gut.

Damn it.  Johnny didn’t want him here, he’d told Scott often enough.  Well, that was fine by Scott.  He’d get a horse and ride out and Johnny could go hang...

 

Part twenty two

He tried to unclench his fists.  And release some of the tension building in his shoulders.  He needed to be loose.  And cool.

He rotated his head to try and ease out the cricks in his neck.  Shrugged his shoulders up and down and then tried once more to unclench his fists.  Before they balled up again right after...  He stretched his fingers right out, studying them closely for any sign of a tremble.  They were rock steady.  Nothing to betray him.  And if he could keep the mask in place during what lay ahead...  That would be the toughest part.  Not reacting when they spelled it all out.  When they spelled out his sins.  But he couldn’t let anything show.  Because if he did, he wouldn’t need to be worrying about cricks in his neck...  Just a noose around it...  And he had no intention of dying over this.

It was kind of odd.  There were lots of things he’d willingly die for.  And things where he didn’t really care one way or the other if he lived or died.  But this...  No.  He was damned if he’d hang for this.  He bit back a smile.  Kind of funny really.  This was the one thing he would be damned for.  Well, this, and a lot of other things.  But the Devil could wait.  Johnny Madrid wasn’t going to swing for this.

But even if he got away with it, what should he do next?  He shut his eyes, trying to block out the memory of the way Scott had looked when he’d stormed out of the cell.  But it didn’t work.  Whether his eyes were open or closed, Scott’s face and all that hate kept showing right up.  It wouldn’t go away.  The look in Scott’s eyes...  Dios.  Hate and pain and anger all coiled around each other, like a nest of vipers.  One thing was certain: Scott would never want to be around him again.  No, Madrid had finally blown it. He laughed softly.  Nothing ever lasted and these last few months were the closest to heaven he’d ever get.  And now it was over. 

He shook himself.  He had to stop thinking about Scott.  Deal with the court case first.  Worry about the future later.  If he had a future. 

Would the kid do okay?  What was his name?  Tom Sweetfoot?  That was it.  A clerk, just a lawyer’s clerk.  But the kid was hungry.  It showed in his eyes.  Wanted a name for himself.  A bit like Madrid when he was younger.  Except the kid wanted to make a name with words and Madrid had wanted to make a name with his gun.

Which was why he was the one behind bars and the kid was walking free and could go off fucking if he had a mind to.  Except he didn’t look like he’d had that particular pleasure yet...  Still, he seemed to know the way things would work in court, and right now that was all that mattered.

It was this waiting that was the worst bit.  Gave him too much time to think.  To brood.  Scott must be well on his way back home right now.  Scott had finally seen through Madrid.  The only surprise was it had taken the man so long to see through him.  But, yeah, Scott would be on his way home, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and Madrid.

Johnny sighed, grasping hold of the bars on the high window and pulling himself up to look out.  Yeah.  Boston would be well on his way by now.

The street was busy.  Folk seemed to be hurrying along, all going in the same direction.  And it didn’t take no genius to guess where they were all headed.  Leastways Scott wouldn’t be in the courtroom to hear all about Madrid’s sins.  And that was a good thing.  Wasn’t it?  It was what Madrid had wanted.  To keep Boston as far away from this as possible.

He threw himself back down on the bed.  And then hauled himself up again and started pacing out the cell.  And tried to unclench his fists again but no, they just kept balling right back up.  Dios.  He just wanted to get on with things now.  Get the damn thing started.  It was time to throw the dice and see how they’d fall.  If only he’d still got his saddlebags.  It was gonna be touch and go without those. 

He could hear footsteps so he threw himself again on the bed, stretched out, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“It’s time to go, Madrid.”  Ford held up a pair of cuffs.  “The judge is dealing with the last of the other matters.  You’re on next.”

His legs felt like they wouldn’t work.  And his stomach had shrivelled to a tight ball of lead pushing down into his guts.  It was real.  It had finally come.  Somehow he hadn’t really believed this moment would come.  And his mouth felt as dry as the desert he used to hide out in as a kid.  Bone dry.  Please God, let the voice work.  Let the legs work.  Mustn’t stumble.

He yawned, like maybe he’d just woken up.  Stretched, real casual.  And then yawned again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.  “About time too.  Ain’t nothing to do in this cell except sleep.”  He hauled himself to his feet, and stretched again, holding his hands out for the cuffs.

They snapped around his wrists.  Heavy and cold against his skin.  Somehow they robbed a man of his freedom even more than a cell did.  Made a man smaller.  A man couldn’t defend himself in cuffs... 

He smiled.  “Well, I guess we shouldn’t keep the judge waiting.” 

Ford looked at him, long and hard, before nodding and taking hold of his arm.  “No.  I guess not.”  Ford paused, chewing on his lip like there was something else he wanted to say.  But then he shook his head, like whatever it was didn’t matter none.  “Come on, then.  I guess we’d better get moving.”

The icy wind made him catch his breath as they walked into the street.  Dios, it was cold.  Tore at his skin, like it was pitting it full of holes and eating into him.  There were people on the sidewalks and standing in the doorways of the stores, all watching him.  And they were all silent.  He walked casually, not hurrying, despite the fucking cold wind.  And he held his head high, with just a small smile quirking his mouth.  Like he had nothing at all to worry over.

Ford led the way to some sort of meeting room which served as a courthouse when the judge was in town.  There were a hell of a lot of people in there.  All ages and all shapes and sizes, but he was scanning the room for just one face. 

One face in a hundred.

He swallowed hard and felt his heart sink.  He wasn’t there. 

And fuck it.  That was what Madrid had wanted, wasn’t it?  Didn’t want him there.  But somehow, now, there was a pain twisting at his guts.  Because, one tiny part of him had been clinging to the hope that his brother wouldn’t turn his back on him...

But he had.  He really had.

“You need to sit over here, Madrid.”  Ford was pushing him to a chair, by a table where Sweetfoot was already waiting.  Johnny nodded at the kid.  But still kept scanning the room.  Carter was there, smirking, and pointing Madrid out to the people standing with him.  There was a woman in a bright pink dress, which looked like it was too small for her.  There were some middle aged farmers and their wives.  Some old biddies and some young ones, all staring at him and whispering.  There was a woman with a thick veil.  How the hell could she see through that?  Some old men with big curving pipes filling the room with thick, choking smoke.  And lots of other folk.  But he wasn’t there.  And looking hard wasn’t gonna suddenly make him appear.

He sat in the chair.  Tried not to slump.  Ford was saying something, but he sounded a long way away.  And now Sweetfoot was talking at him.  Had to pull himself together.  This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?  For Boston to be as far away as possible.  And now he was. 

He could see him and Boston, slouched over, playing chess.  Joking together.  Working together, rounding up a herd...  He forced his mind back from where it was drifting.  He had to get a grip.  He forced a smile. 

“I was thinking maybe I should offer to leave you all to it.  Hardly seems room enough for me in here.”  He grinned, like it was real easy.  Hell.  It was what he did best: hiding the pain.  Always hiding the pain.

Ford was laughing.  “I think it might be best if you stay put.  The judge’ll be mighty pissed off if you ain’t here.”  He nudged Johnny with his elbow.  “And this is him now.”

Johnny got to his feet, stood straight, staring right ahead.  It was only now he noticed his jury, all lined up across the room from him.  A mixed bunch, by the look of them.  A couple of them looked like they’d rather be someplace else, but the others were staring right back at him.  Sizing him up.  Not knowing yet what to make of him. 

He turned his eyes now to the judge who was settling himself in his chair and balancing a pair of spectacles on the edge of his nose.  Kind of like he could see through them or over them.  And now the man was surveying the packed courtroom, like he wasn’t used to a full house.

“Order.”  The judge banged the table with a small tool that looked like a type of hammer, but too small to drive a nail in.  “Order.”

Brooker.  That was his name.  Well, he didn’t look like no devil incarnate.  Kind of mild looking really.  Tidy.  And maybe a touch fussy.  The type who’d be particular.  Want to get things straight.  Yeah.  Madrid could have done worse.

“Before these proceedings begin, I wish to make one thing very clear.”  Brooker rubbed the side of his nose.  “I shall have no interruptions.  This is a court of law and we are here for a serious purpose, namely to find the truth.  And to serve the cause of justice.”

The door to the courtroom creaked open.  All heads turned to see who the latecomer was.  Johnny glanced over and his heart seemed to stop beating.  Everything stopped. 

The latecomer looked right at him, acknowledging him with the briefest of nods, before struggling through the mass of people to lean against the wall in the corner.

And Johnny still couldn’t breathe.  A huge lump was blocking his throat.  And his heart felt too big to fit in his chest.  Felt like it was going to burst right out.

And even though he’d been telling himself this was the last thing he’d wanted, he found he could stand a little straighter now.  It was like he’d grown an inch.  And he gave a brief nod back, just to acknowledge the man he needed so much to believe in him.  The man who hadn’t left Madrid to face this alone.  A man in a thousand.

And it suddenly struck him that even if they did find him guilty, he was still the luckiest man alive to have a brother like Scott.

“Mr. Madrid.  Do you have any legal representation?”  Brooker was peering at him, his brow furrowed.  “I do not see Mr. Wilson in the courtroom.”

Sweetfoot was up now.  “I’m representing the accused, your honour.”

Brooker looked at him, even more creases in his brow now.  “Sweetfoot, is it?  I did not know you were a lawyer.  I thought you were clerk to Mr. Wilson.”

Sweetfoot didn’t flinch.  “I was Mr. Wilson’s clerk, your honour, but I am leaving shortly to be apprenticed to a major law firm in New York.”

Brooker pursed his lips.  Didn’t look none too happy.  “Where exactly is Mr. Wilson?  This is a very serious charge and a man’s life is at stake.  He should have proper legal representation.  I mean no offence to you Mr. Sweetfoot, a defendant may have anyone represent him if they are of good moral character.  But given the very serious nature of this charge, I can’t help but feel that Mr. Madrid would be better represented by someone qualified to do so.”

“Mr. Wilson is out of town.  He declined to represent my client, whose name, your honour, is Mr. Lancer.  Not Mr. Madrid.”

Brooker turned toward Johnny.   Dios, the man had sharp eyes.  The sort of eyes that would see through anything.  “Mr. Madrid.  You are entitled to proper legal representation.  If Mr. Wilson has declined to represent you, I am quite happy to adjourn your case while you seek an alternative lawyer.  Another circuit judge will be here in a month’s time.  He would be able to hear your case then.”

Johnny inclined his head.  “Thank you for the advice, your honour, but I am quite happy to proceed with Mr. Sweetfoot talking for me.  And the name is Lancer not Madrid.  Sir.”

Brooker sat back in his chair, shaking his head.  “This is most unconventional.”

“I ain’t a very conventional type of man, your honour.”

Laughter echoed round the courtroom.  Brooker banged the table lightly with the hammer thing.  “So it would appear, Mr. Madrid.  Mr. Sweetfoot, do you believe your client to be of sound mind?  Do you believe him to be rational enough to make this decision?”

Sweetfoot nodded.  “I do, your honour.  And his name is John Lancer, not Johnny Madrid.”

The judge took his spectacles off and rubbed them with a big red spotted handkerchief.  “Is there anyone else who can vouch for Mr. Madrid?”

“I can.”  The smooth Boston voice carried over the heads of the people.

The judge put his spectacles on and peered towards the back of the court.  “And who are you, sir?  And what is your relationship with the accused?  Do you know him well?”  The judge sounded kind of doubtful, like he wouldn’t expect someone so educated to know the likes of a half breed gunfighter.

“My name is Scott Lancer.  I am the defendant’s brother.  I can vouch for him.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny noticed the woman in the pink dress getting all agitated and whispering to the person next to her.  What the hell was her problem?

“You believe your brother to be of sound mind, Mr. Lancer?”

Scott nodded.  “My brother is perfectly sane, your honour, and more than capable of making a decision like that.”

Brooker sighed.  Took his spectacles off again and gave them another polish before balancing them back on the end of his nose.  Johnny eyed them.  How the hell did they stay put?  “This is most unconventional.”

“As my brother said, he’s a most unconventional man.”  Scott sounded real smooth and another wave of laughter echoed round the room.

Brooker sighed.  “Very well.  But in the event of you being convicted, Mr. Madrid, no appeal would be allowed on the grounds of you not being properly represented.  You understand that?”

Johnny smiled.  “Perfectly, your honour.  And it’s Lancer.  Not Madrid.”  Get the jury thinking of him as Lancer.  That had to be the first move.  Keep plugging away until nobody used the name Madrid.

“I take it, that you wish to answer the charge under the name of Lancer?”

Johnny smiled again.  “I do, your honour.”

“Mr. Lincoln, before you start the proceedings, would you be good enough to note that?”

A thin fellow stood up.  “I have made a note, but I would like to confirm that the accused has also used the name of Madrid in the past.”

Sweetfoot was up, quick as a flash.  “My client did use the name Madrid at one time, but he now works on his family’s ranch in California where he is an upright, respectable, and law abiding member of the community.  His name is John Lancer.” 

Upright, respectable and law abiding?  That was news to Johnny but it sure sounded good.

Lincoln didn’t look too happy.  The tip of his nose turned red.  “The defendant is accused of the murder of Joseph Doe on July 14 1866.  How does the defendant plead?”

Johnny looked straight at the jury.  “Not guilty.”  And that was the truth.  It wasn’t murder, more like putting down vermin.  Or seeing justice done.

Brooker nodded to him.  “You may sit, Mr. Lancer while Mr. Lincoln outlines the case against you.”

Lincoln shuffled his papers.  Coughed.  And then shuffled the papers some more.  “I wonder, your honour, if perhaps we shouldn’t clear the courtroom before I outline the details of this heinous crime?”

Brooker grunted in irritation.  “I have read the papers concerning this case, Mr. Lincoln, and I do see where you are coming from on this, but this is a free country and trials are open to the public.   Whether you like it or not.”

Lincoln’s nose turned red again.  “The details of this case against Mr. Madrid are not fit to be heard by the fairer sex.”

Sweetfoot was on his feet.  “Objection.  The defendant’s name is Lancer.”

Brooker narrowed his eyes.  “Sustained.  Mr.  Lincoln, don’t force me to repeat myself.  So long as there are no disturbances in my courtroom, it is open to all.  Anyone who is of a more sensitive nature may leave now.” He looked around the room.  Nobody moved.  Not a muscle. 

The only movement was Scott’s eyes.  Johnny could feel them boring into him.  He crossed his legs, relaxed.  Like he hadn’t a care in the world.  Like he didn’t know what was coming.  Like none of this was anything to do with him.

Brooker sighed.  “Get on with it, Mr. Lincoln.”

Lincoln’s nose turned a deeper shade of red.  “Very well.  The prosecution will prove that on the fourteenth day of July 1866, Mr. Joseph Doe was brutally murdered in his own home on the edge of this small town, by the accused.”  He paused and pointed across the room.  “Johnny Madrid.”

“Objection.”  Sweetfoot was on his feet.  “My client’s name is John Lancer.”

Brooker sighed again.  “Sustained.  Mr. Lincoln you are going to irritate me if you continue with this ploy.  I do not expect to have to mention it again.  I would also remind you that your four year term of office is approaching review.”

Lincoln gave a slight bow.  “An unfortunate mistake, your honour, I apologise.”

Brooker grunted, kind of like he didn’t believe a word of it.  Like he knew exactly what Lincoln’s game was.  “Just get on with it, Mr. Lincoln.”

“The prosecution will produce a witness who will give evidence that the accused went to Mr. Doe’s home and brutally murdered him.  But this case isn’t a straightforward murder.  Mr. Doe died as a result of a gunshot to the head.  But that was not the full extent of the barbarous nature of this crime.”

Lincoln paused.  Johnny looked straight ahead.  His stomach was churning now.  And his heart was pounding.  Surely everyone could see it thumping against his chest?  He forced his shoulders to relax.  Stretched his legs out and crossed his feet.  A man at ease.

“The victim had been...”  Lincoln faltered.  “Shot repeatedly in the area of his genitals and his male organs were shot off.”

 

Part Twenty three

Two women passed out there and then, even as gasps of horror filled the room.  And then another woman swooned and then there was fucking uproar.  Men calling to give the women room.  People pushing at each other.  Women standing and fanning themselves, kind of like they might be thinking of fainting but looking like they were enjoying the attention of their men folk fussing round them.  Dios.  People.

Part of him was itching to look to see Scott’s reaction, but he couldn’t.  Because the other part of him wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it.  But he was sure of one thing, if he met Scott’s eyes, Scott would recognise the guilt.

He sat back, trying to ignore the chaos.  Tried to ignore old Judge Brooker banging with that damn silly hammer.  Everything around him seemed to fade out.  To blur and then all he could see was himself in that tidy little house.  That fucking house.  Everything in it had been all new and shiny.  Yeah, squeaky clean and it had made him feel old and dirty.  He hadn’t been old.  Just a kid really.  But boy had he felt old.  And that had made him feel mad.  He’d been too damn young to feel that old.

Dios.  He’d wanted that bastard to suffer.  Dreamed of it.  Even now he could taste the hate.  And surely that should have gone away by now.  After all this time.  But, hell, the hate tasted as bitter now as it had back then.  And he’d thought killing the bastard would end it. 

He’d had it all planned out.  Dios, he’d had it planned for years.  Killing him slowly.  Making it long and painful.  But when it came to it, and the man was there whimpering in front of him, he couldn’t do it.  Not that way.  Madrid had failed.  He’d stood with his gun in one hand and the knife in the other and suddenly he’d felt even grubbier.  It had overwhelmed him.  Disgust.  At Doe.  But mostly with himself.  And what he should have done was walk away.  But he couldn’t do that either.  He’d promised...

“Order.”  Brooker was bright red and banging his old hammer down real hard.  “Order.  Gentlemen, please help any ladies who are indisposed.  Help them out of this courtroom and everyone else can either sit down and keep silent or leave now.  Otherwise I will hold them in contempt.”

Had to hand it to the old boy, he sure had a way of dealing with folk.  Seemed most of them weren’t planning on going anywhere and they all sat right down except for the men carting the fainting women out.  And they weren’t doing it none too gently.  Kind of like they couldn’t wait to get back in to hear all the details.  Didn’t want to miss nothing. Dios, but most folk were shit.  He’d bet they were the same the world over. 

Brooker took his spectacles off and gave them another polish.  Then he perched them right back on his nose and looked around his courtroom.  Because it was his courtroom and everyone in there knew it.

Brooker fingered his little goatee beard as his gaze roved around the room.  Didn’t miss a thing.  It was like he was waiting for everyone’s attention.  Johnny bit back a smile.  Seemed the judge was a bit of a showman. 

The man banged his hammer suddenly, making most everyone jump.  Yeah.  A real showman.

“Mr. Lincoln, now that order has been restored, perhaps you would continue with your outline of the case.”

Lincoln got slowly to his feet.  Didn’t seem in no hurry to get on with anything.  Dios.  Now he was shuffling his papers.

“Mr. Lincoln, in your own time.”  There was a certain tone in Brooker’s voice that said he didn’t think too much of Lincoln’s carryings on.

“Just collecting my thoughts, your honour.”  Lincoln gave a whisper of a bow towards the judge.  “The disturbances interrupted my train of thought.  But, yes, the case against Mr. Madrid...”

“Objection.”  Sweetfoot was up.  “Your honour, I must protest about Mr. Lincoln’s repeated use of that name and insist that you take him to task...”

“Mr. Sweetfoot, I will thank you to remember that I do not need reminding of my duties.”  Brooker’s beard bristled, he looked so riled.  “However, I sustain your objection.  Mr. Lincoln, I have warned you repeatedly about this.  I will not stand for it.  You have made your point to the jury.”

Lincoln made a bigger bow.  “My apologies, your honour.  An unfortunate oversight.  As I said, the disturbances interrupted my train of thought.”

“How very convenient.”  Brooker glared at Lincoln, whose ears turned red.  “Now, can we get on?”

“Yes, indeed.  We will return to the events of the fourteenth of July in 1866.  Mr. Joseph Doe was a fairly new resident of this small town.  He had worked for his country as a prison warder, with the unfortunate and unpleasant task of dealing with the dregs of society.  Thieves, arsonists, gunfighters and other people of the lowest moral standards.  And having worked hard all his life, he was looking forward to a quiet retirement.  He built his own home on the edge of this town, and had made overtures indicating that he would indeed be a boon to this growing society by offering to help out in various aspects of the town life.

“He had indicated his willingness to help out at the town socials, to help out at the orphanage and even to take small groups of the more troublesome boys in the town on hunting trips and such like to try and raise their moral standards.”

Yeah.  He could just bet that Doe had been keen to take the troublesome boys under his wing.  And then he’d have set about sorting out the bullies from the weakest...  Yeah, Doe would have had himself some of his own special brand of sick fun...

“So, I think it is apparent to all what a very good type of man Mr. Doe was.  But coming from a prison where he’d have had to deal with all sorts of scum, including gunfighters, it is all too easy to conclude that one of those former charges would have taken it into his head to come looking for Mr. Doe.”

“Mr. Lincoln.”  Brooker held his hand up, to pause the man.  “Are you intending to produce evidence that the accused was in the prison where Mr. Doe had been a warder?  I don’t recall seeing that in the papers relating to this case.”

“No, you honour, I wasn’t.”  Lincoln’s ears were turning red again.

“Do you have any evidence to suggest that the accused was in the prison?  Or is this pure conjecture on your part?”

Lincoln shuffled his feet, like he thought he’d been caught out in something.  “No, your honour, I have been unable to find any evidence that the accused has ever been in prison.”

Brooker half turned in his chair, like he wanted a better look at Madrid.  “Do you have anything to say about this, Mr. Lancer?”

Johnny got swiftly to his feet, with the most charming smile he could muster.  “Well, your honour, I’m not at all surprised that Mr. Lincoln couldn’t find anything.  But I will confess that I’ve spent a few nights in town jails.”

Laughter echoed around the courtroom.  Brooker banged his hammer.  “Town jails?”

Johnny grinned.  “Yes, your honour, ashamed as I am to admit it.  But I have, occasionally been thrown in jail for the odd fistfight.”  He paused, looked around the courtroom and then right at the jury.  “I’m sure there’s many men in this room who’ve taken a drink too many as a young fellow and spent a night sobering up.”

The lead weight was back.  Pressing down in his gut.  But it was the only way to play it.  He’d known they’d find no record of him in that prison’s records.  Couldn’t remember now what damn name he’d been using, but it hadn’t been Madrid and it sure hadn’t been Lancer.  He smiled as he held Brooker’s gaze for a few heartbeats.  Shit.  Could the old fellow see through him?  The old boy seemed to have very sharp eyes...

A small furrow set between Brooker’s eyes.  “Mr. Lincoln, is there anything you wish to ask Mr. Lancer?”

Lincoln shook his head.  Johnny could feel a little of the tension ease up, he felt lighter again.  Brooker was going to leave it to Lincoln to do his own work.  Johnny sat down even as another thought slid into his head.  Shit.  Boston knew he’d been in prison.  He’d made the mistake of letting it slip, way back when he’d been recovering from Pardee’s bullet.  The first time they’d played chess.  Shit.

He didn’t dare glance across to where Scott stood.  But he could feel Scott’s eyes boring into him.  Shit.  Shit.  Shit.  But maybe Scott wouldn’t remember...  No.  Scott always remembered...  Shit.

“Well, Mr. Lincoln.”  Brooker sounded very smooth.  “If you have no evidence to present on that score, I would suggest that you do not dwell on the matter of precisely who Mr. Doe may, or may not, have met in prison.  Now, may we get on?”

Lincoln gave another of his odd half bows.  “I was just coming to the matter of the events of that day in July, your honour.”  He shuffled his papers again, even as Brooker gave a very loud sigh.

“The heinous crime that was played out in that small house must have been terrifying for the victim.”

Yeah.  He’d been terrified all right.  Shitting himself.  Johnny felt the old familiar twinge of shame.  He’d enjoyed it at first.  Seeing that bastard so scared.  He’d felt powerful and for a few minutes had loved that feeling of power.  At first, revenge had tasted so sweet.  Sweet as honey.  And he’d enjoyed the look of terror in Doe’s eyes when the man had caught sight of the knife in Johnny’s right hand.

But when the man had been on his knees sobbing and begging and pissing himself, all Johnny had felt was horror and disgust.  Quick and clean.  That had always been his rule.  And he’d only broken it on three occasions.  But this was far and away the worst thing he’d ever done...

“But, unfortunately for Mr.  ...”  Lincoln glanced down at his notes.  “Lancer, there was a witness to his presence in that house which Mr. Doe had worked so hard to build.  And I will call that witness now.”

All Johnny’s senses seemed to spring to life.  It was like everything around him seemed brighter and louder and he prayed that everything Sweetfoot had told him about the witness was right.  Otherwise Madrid could well be on his way to the scaffold.

“I call Joshua Jackson.”  Lincoln and everyone in the courtroom looked towards the door as an old fellow was shown in by someone to do with the court.

The old man shuffled across the courtroom, peering about him like his eyesight wasn’t none too good.  Johnny bit back a smile.  Maybe, just maybe, this at least might play out okay.

The old man fumbled in his pocket as he took the stand and pulled out a pair of half moon spectacles before peering at the court officer.  “You’ll have to speak up, young man, my hearing isn’t as good as it was.”

The officer had to repeat the oath to Jackson twice before the old man was able to get it right.  Johnny sat back in his chair, his cuffed hands resting in his lap.  A man at ease.

Lincoln got slowly to his feet.  Did he do everything slowly?  “Mr. Jackson, would you like to tell the court about the events of July 14 in 1866 and what took you to the house of Mr. Joseph Doe that day?”

The old fellow glared.  “Well, that’s why I’m here, in’t it?”

Lincoln’s ears had a pinkish tinge to them and Brooker was polishing his spectacles again.  Lincoln smiled, but it didn’t look like it came easy.  “It is indeed, Mr. Jackson.  Now, in your own time.”

“Own time?  If this was my own time I wouldn’t be here.  Doing my civic duty, that’s what I’m doing.”

Lincoln’s smile looked like he was having an even harder time forcing it out now.  “Quite so, Mr. Jackson.  Now, you had gone to Mr. Doe’s house?”

The old man nodded real hard.  “Yep.  I’d been working in his garden all that day.  He was planning a small area for vegetables.  Mind you, wasn’t in the right place.  But he wouldn’t listen.  He knew best.  Or thought he did.”  Jackson shook his head as if in sorrow.  “I knew them beans wouldn’t do well there, but you couldn’t tell him anything.  He always knew best.  Why, there was the time we were discussing where his onions should be set...”

“Quite so.”  Lincoln interrupted.  “So, you had been working on Mr. Doe’s garden.”

“That’s what I just told you.”  Laughter rolled around the courtroom like a wave.  Jackson shook his head as though irritated by Lincoln.  “I’d left my hoe behind, you see.  Almost home before I realised I’d left it back there.  And I needed it for my own patch of garden.  My beans are always a treat to the eyes.”  He nodded more to himself it seemed like.  “Yes, sir, my beans always do well.  That’s because I understand how things should...”

“So, you’d left your hoe at Mr. Doe’s house and were returning for it.  What did you find when you got there?”

Jackson had cupped his hand around his ear, straining to hear Lincoln’s words.  “What did I find?  Well, I didn’t find my hoe straight away and that’s a fact.  Looked all over the place I did.  And then I hunted near to the house, though how it could have got there I just don’t know.  But that’s when I heard him.”  Jackson nodded real hard.  “Yes, sir.  That’s when I heard him.”

“Heard what exactly?”  Lincoln looked like he was having a hard time of not yelling at Jackson to get on with it.

“Well, him.”  He pointed a finger in Johnny’s direction.  “I heard him talking.  And Mr. Doe was... well, not sounding like a man should sound.  I’d say he was blubbering like a girl.”

All the folk started whispering.  And even though they were only whispering, with so many of them going at it, it was real loud.  Brooker banged his hammer.  “Order.  If the public cannot keep quiet, they shall be removed.  Mr. Jackson, please continue.”

“So, I peeped in, careful like, through the window, and that’s when I saw him.”  He swung an accusing finger in Johnny’s direction.  More or less in Johnny’s direction.  “I saw him, standing with a gun pointing at Mr. Doe.  Oh, I saw him all right.  I thought mebbe best thing I could do was go and get some help.  So I hurried away.  But I heard him say he was Johnny Madrid.  And as I went away from the house I heard his gun go off.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jackson.”  Lincoln was real smooth now.  “So, you saw the accused with a gun and you heard him declare himself to be Johnny Madrid.”  He glanced at Sweetfoot.  “Do wish to question the witness?”

Sweetfoot smiled.  “I most certainly do.  Mr. Jackson, you seem to recall all these events very clearly.  You have a good memory?”  Sweetfoot didn’t raise his voice the way Lincoln had, just talked at a normal sort of sound.  Just like Johnny had told him to.

“You’ll have to speak up, young man.  My hearing ain’t so good.”

Sweetfoot repeated the question but much louder.

“My memory?  Well, I ain’t getting no younger, that’s for sure.”  Jackson had his brow all creased up, like he didn’t understand the question.

“Well, what did you have for dinner last night, Mr. Jackson?”  Sweetfoot smiled.

“My dinner?  What’s that got to do with anything?  I don’t know.  I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning, never mind for dinner last night.”

Sweetfoot’s smile grew.  “And yet your memory of events which happened four years ago is so precise.  I put it to you, Mr. Jackson, that perhaps your memory of events then is not as clear as you would like to suggest.  That perhaps the story has become embellished over time?  I’m sure people locally have wanted to hear your recollections, and stories tend to become exaggerated.”

Embellished?  What the fuck did that mean?  And judging by the look on the old fellow’s face, he was wondering the same thing.

“I don’t know anything about that bellish thing, all I know is that’s the man over there.  Johnny Madrid.  That’s what the man said his name was and that’s Johnny Madrid.”

“So, as your recollection of these events is so clear, perhaps you would care to tell the court in which hand the gunman was holding his gun?”

Jackson screwed his eyes up, scratching his head.  “Well, I don’t recall...  Yes.  It was his left hand because he was on the right as I looked into the room and the gun was in the hand nearest the window.”  Jackson beamed like he was real proud of himself.

Sweetfoot nodded slowly.  “Well, that’s a very interesting thing, Mr. Jackson, because if this man was indeed Johnny Madrid as you assert, he wouldn’t have been holding his gun in that hand.  Everyone knows that Johnny Madrid is a right handed gunman.”

Jackson snorted in disbelief.  “Well, young man, that may be so, but the gun was in his left hand.”

Sweetfoot smiled.  “Which leads me to think that whoever this gunman was, it couldn’t have been the famous Johnny Madrid.  He was, quite indisputably, a right handed gunman.”

Jackson huffed.  “You ain’t going to make me say that the gun was in his right hand.  It was in his left hand.”  The man nodded.  “And I’ll tell you something else.  He had a long scar on his arm.”

Brooker was polishing his spectacles again.  But now he leaned forward.  “Perhaps Mr. Lancer would roll his left sleeve up so we can inspect his arm.”

He’d known this would come.  And his gut felt tight and there was an iciness between his shoulder blades and the hairs on his neck were on end.  He nodded and smiled at the judge.  “Your honour.”  He rolled up the sleeve and held his arm out.  Gasps of shock echoed around the court as they looked at the scar which looked vivid and red.

Brooker looked at him long and hard.  “Would you care to explain that scar, Mr. Lancer?  How and when you came by it.”

“With pleasure, your honour.  I was whittling, making a pipe rack for my father a couple of months back.  The knife slipped and I cut it.  I had a witness.  A Mrs. Aggie Conway, she is the widow of a respected rancher down near Spanish Wells and now runs the ranch herself.  She is a well known lady in those parts.  She can vouch for me.  She had to tie a ...”  He hesitated, stumbling over the word.  “Tour-ne-kay or something like that, to stop the bleeding.  And the local doctor, in Green River, he stitched it up.  If you send a cable to Mrs. Conway she’ll confirm that.”

Just don’t send a cable to Sam.  Sam had noticed something wrong with the cut.  Asked if there was a scar there before?  Just don’t contact Sam.  Whatever they did, they mustn’t contact Sam...

Brooker chewed on his lip and fidgeted with his little beard.  “It certainly looks to be a recent thing.  Marshal Ford, would you be so good as to send a wire to Mrs. Conway and ask her to confirm Mr. Lancer’s story?  I would like it corroborated by an independent witness rather than by the defendant’s brother.”  He reached into his pocket to pull out a gold watch.  “I feel that we should adjourn until tomorrow now.  Court will resume at ten.  Gentlemen.”  With a brief nod to Lincoln and Sweetfoot, Brooker stood and walked briskly out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the room was full of voices.  He couldn’t even see Scott because folk were on their feet and swarming like flies on a rotting steer.  The noise was enough to give anyone a headache.  And he had one hell of a headache.  Sweetfoot was busy talking to Lincoln, and Jackson was still fumbling his way out of the witness stand.  Ford leaned over.  “Come on.  Let’s get you back to the jail.”

Johnny followed Ford, who cleared a path through the crowd of people and out into the street.  Even the cold wind seemed welcome after the airless courtroom and the stench of sweating people.  There were more folk in the street, pointing at him, talking among themselves.  He inclined his head towards them with a brief smile.  That would puzzle them.  Get them wondering if maybe he was a man with a clear conscience.  And not a cold blooded killer.

The jail seemed almost welcoming.  And peaceful.  Even the iron cot looked inviting.  Shit.  He was tired.  Felt like he’d been put through Teresa’s old mangle.  All he wanted was to stretch out and sleep.  For a hundred years.  And then wake up and find out it was all over.  And he was free...

But without his saddlebags it wasn’t going to be easy.  Jackson hadn’t been as dithery as he’d hoped.  Stuck to his story.  No, it wasn’t going to be easy at all.

He stood by the cot as Ford unlocked the cuffs.  Dios, it was good to be shot of the damn things.  He rubbed his wrists trying to rub the marks away.  God only knew what it was like for men marked by leg irons – those marks never went away if a man had worn them long enough.

“Can I get you anything else?”  Ford put a pitcher of water on the shelf by the cot. 

Suddenly the question struck him as odd.  Why was Ford always so pleasant?  Always looking out for Madrid.  It didn’t make sense.  “You treat all your prisoners this well, Marshal?” 

Ford didn’t say anything at first.  Seemed to find his scuffed boots real interesting, then he laughed softly.  “Let’s just say, I believe in treating prisoners like they’re human beings.”

Johnny looked at him thoughtfully.  Somehow, he got the feeling that there was a lot more to Ford than met the eye.  Something he wasn’t telling.  Still, he was a decent man.  Not like Doe.  He’d never treated anyone like they were human... 

Ford clanged the cell door shut and turned the key in the lock before heading back to his office in the outer room.

The cell felt cold and clammy and there was damn all to do except try to catch some sleep.  Johnny stretched out on the bed, pulling a couple of blankets over him, even as the outer door creaked open.   Ford called out, “You got a visitor, Madrid.”

He sat up, feeling a surge of relief when he saw Scott in the doorway.  But it faded real fast.  There was an odd look in Scott’s eyes.  Something that said maybe this wasn’t a social visit.

“Johnny.  I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

 

Part Twenty four

 

“Scott.”  At least his voice came out normal.  But inside his gut was churning.  That look in Scott’s eyes... Nope.  Scott wasn’t here to pass the time of day.  He nodded to the chair in the next cell.  A cell with an open door that a man could walk in and out of.  “Why don’t you pull up a chair?”

“I prefer to stand.”

Dios.  Scott sounded cold enough to freeze an ocean.  Johnny stared down at his hands.  Wished he had a bracelet to fiddle with, but they were back in the cell in Green River.  “I thought you were leaving.  Going back to the ranch.  That’s what you said.”

“That is precisely what I intended to do.”  It was still pure ice.

Johnny couldn’t look up.  His fingers were starting to tense right up now. “Why d’you change your mind?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself since I sat through that travesty of your honesty in court.”

Travesty?  What the fuck did that mean?  Well, whatever it meant, it sure didn’t sound good.  And what the hell was it with Scott, anyway, that made him use such fucking tricky words?  Was he trying to get one over on Madrid?  No.  He knew Scott wasn’t like that.  Scott used them because he thought Johnny was smart.  He’d told Johnny that once.  Sometimes Johnny took that memory out to hold on to when everything else seemed to be slipping out of reach.  It had made him feel real good.

“Well?”  Scott was standing with his arms folded, like he was waiting for Johnny to explain himself.  How the fuck could he explain anything when he didn’t know what Scott wanted to hear?

“Well, what?”  He knew he sounded sullen, but he wasn’t going to ask Scott what he meant.  To hell with that.

“Why did you lie?  Why didn’t you admit you’d been in prison?”  Scott sounded like he was talking through clenched teeth.  Or like he was trying to stop himself yelling.

“I didn’t lie.”  And that was the truth.  He hadn’t, he’d sidestepped the question, and Lincoln, being a dumb asshole hadn’t noticed.  But Scott had noticed.  Just like Johnny had known he would.

“It might have slipped your memory, Johnny, but you once admitted to Murdoch and I that you had been in prison.  It’s where you learned to play chess, if my memory serves me correctly.” 

Yeah, like he didn’t know that his memory was serving him correctly.  Damn stupid expression.  “I didn’t say I hadn’t been in prison.”  The words snapped out like a rattler’s tongue.

Scott didn’t say anything for a second, kind of like he was thinking it over.  “No, I suppose you didn’t.  You were too clever for that.”  Scott gave an odd laugh, but it didn’t sound like he thought there was anything much to laugh about.  “Just like you were too clever when Ford and Carter came to arrest you and you went on about working around the border and nobody had ever paid you to go to Utah.  Yes, you were clever then, because my guess is you came to Utah without anyone paying you.  You came to see someone you’d met when you were in prison.”  He gave Johnny a long hard look.  “Do tell me, am I getting warm here?  Any of this ring a bell in your very selective memory?”

“I guess it slipped my memory.”  Yeah.  Like Scott was going to buy that.  Dios, surely Madrid could come up with something better than that?

Scott laughed again, like before.  Real cold.  “Yes, I guess it slipped your memory.  It certainly is a selective memory.” 

Johnny risked a quick glance at him, before staring back at his fingers again.  They were making fists, and every time he opened them up, they tensed right back in again like they had a life of their own.  And he felt so small.  But he couldn’t tell Scott.  Couldn’t tell anyone about it. They’d be disgusted by him.   And Scott had the look of a man who’d taken about as much as he could.  Why had he stayed?  He said he was going to go back to the ranch, but he hadn’t.  Just for a while back there in court, Johnny had allowed himself to hope it was because they were brothers.  Because it meant something.  Because he mattered to Scott. 

“And then of course, we have the little matter of your arm.” 

Johnny’s head jerked up.  What the hell could Scott know about his arm?  “What about my arm?  You saw it the day I did it.”  It came out strong, like he thought Scott was crazy.

“What about your arm?”  Scott still had that sort of amused tone in his voice, but not like he thought it funny.  “You know, something always bothered me about that cut.  There was something niggling away at the back of my mind that there was something not quite right about it.”

“I told you I did it whittling.”  Johnny cut across Scott. 

Scott just raised an eyebrow.  “Oh, I know, I remember only too well the amusement and disbelief of everyone over the thought of you whittling.  But today, in court, it came to me.”

Johnny eyed him uneasily.  He’d been careful to cover his tracks.  What the hell could Scott know?  “What came to you?”  He tried to sound like he wasn’t really interested, but he couldn’t look at Scott.  Might give himself away.  Scott might see the concern.

“When you were shot by Pardee and were unconscious all that time, I used to go and sit with you sometimes.  I’d sit there, still amazed to find a brother I didn’t even know existed, yet alone one who turned out to be a gunfighter.  And although you were all bandaged up, I remember being appalled at the number of scars you carried.  Not just the ones on your back, but others too.”

Johnny’s guts were tying themselves in knots, and he suddenly felt very cold. 

“And I noticed some old bullet wounds.  And guess what, Johnny?”  Scott sounded like he was real surprised about something, except he wasn’t, and he knew that Johnny knew he wasn’t.  “There was a long scar on your arm.  It was a fairly old scar, but by some strange coincidence, it was exactly where that new scar is.  Isn’t that strange?  I mean, brother, don’t you find that very surprising?”

The blood in his veins felt like ice now.  And if he’d wanted to stand up he couldn’t have because his body felt like a lump of lead.  What could he say?  Waste of his breath to deny it.  And Scott didn’t deserve that, anyway.  He couldn’t lie to Scott.  But he couldn’t tell him the truth of it all either.

“Well?”  Scott was pacing now, up and down outside the cell.  “Are you going to say anything?”

Johnny wrapped his arms around himself, slumped over.  “No.”  His voice sounded like a whisper from someplace else.  But Scott deserved better than that.  He raised his head, met Scott’s gaze.  “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“At least tell me how you got the scar.  Tell me something.” 

It was odd, but Scott sounded almost like he was pleading.  “A fight.  A knife fight.”  And that at least was the truth.  And the damndest thing but he’d only got into the fight because of the kid.  Been minding his own business in a saloon near the border and some fellow had been picking on the kid...  Hadn’t even noticed the kid in the corner, wasn’t the sort anyone would notice.  But the bully at the bar had noticed the kid.  And if there was one thing he hated it was bullies...  Funny though, he got the scar because of the kid, and if he hadn’t met the kid...

“A knife fight?  Where?  In Mr. Doe’s house?”

“No!  If you must know, I got in a fight down near the border.  Fellow pulled a knife on me.”

“What happened to him?”

Johnny laughed softly.  “I knifed him in the gut.  Let’s just say I won.”  Except, in the long run, maybe he hadn’t.  The jury was still out on that one.  And right now it wasn’t looking too good.

“But this knife fight was before you went to see Mr. Doe?”

“I never said I’d been to see Doe.”  Johnny stared down at the stone floor.  Wasn’t admitting to anything.

Scott gave a soft sigh, almost like a breath of wind on a warm night.  “But you did see him, didn’t you?”

It came from nowhere.  The heat of anger welling up.  “What do you want from me, Scott?  No, I didn’t tell fucking Lincoln that I’d spent a while in prison, might as well put the noose around my neck myself, if I did that.  And any rate, he didn’t ask direct.  Brooker just asked if I had anything to say.  So I didn’t lie and I’m sure as hell not going to help them hang me.  Shit, Scott, I was a kid when I was in prison.  I stole some bread, got thrown in jail and then knocked the sheriff out when I tried to escape.  I wasn’t put in prison for some fucking evil crime.  I was hungry.  Fucking hungry.  And you wouldn’t understand that.  Hell, I’m glad that you can’t understand that.  I wouldn’t want you to know what it’s like when you’re so fucking hungry it’s like rats gnawing away at you from the inside.  And it never goes away when you’re that hungry.  Invades your dreams and every waking minute.” 

He was on his feet now, pacing up and down the cell, but he couldn’t remember standing up.  “So yeah, I’ve been in prison, but I don’t reckon what I did was so terrible.  I just wanted to live a little longer.  Is that a crime?  But yeah, I guess it is, because I wound up in prison because of it.  And trust me on this, Scott, no kid that age should be in prison.  Whatever they’ve done, they shouldn’t be in prison.  And they sure as hell shouldn’t be there just because they’re fucking hungry.”

He was shaking now.  And Scott looked kind of pale. But maybe it was time Madrid told it like it was.  And it was almost like he couldn’t stop the flood of words.  They just kept right on spewing out.  “And I’ll tell you something else, Boston, there’s too many kids out there like that.  Hungry.  Alone.  And nobody gives a fuck.  They carry on with their nice comfortable lives and they go to church and call themselves God fearing folk.  But they don’t give a damn about anyone except themselves.  They don’t want to get their hands dirty.  Don’t want to risk soiling themselves by as much as talking to some kid scratching to stay alive out on the streets.  God fearing!  They don’t give a damn.  Hypocrites.  And God help you if you’re a half breed.  Because then you’re even worse.  It ain’t just gringos who hate you then.  No.  You get double the hate. And you stand there, and criticise me for not telling them I’ve been in prison?  Maybe you want me to go and build the scaffold myself while I’m at it.  Because if they find out I was in prison, they’ll have me up there so fast my eyeballs will rattle.  I ain’t doing their job for them.”  He slumped down onto the cot, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to try and stop himself from shaking.

He shot a quick glance at Scott but he couldn’t figure out what Scott was thinking.  Scott’s head was bowed, so there was no way of reading his eyes.  “So, why didn’t you leave, Scott?  Yesterday you were all fired up to go, but you’re still here.  Why?”  He needed to know.  Needed to know if he had ruined everything with Scott.  Or maybe there was still a chance for the two of them.  When Scott had walked into court earlier in the day, Johnny couldn’t believe the huge relief he’d felt.  But now the doubts were back.  And he just wanted Scott to level with him.  If only he could do the same for Scott.

Scott turned and pulled up a chair, next to the bars, and slumped down on it, before lifting his head and meeting Johnny’s eyes.  Dios.  He had the look of a man who’d taken as much as he could.

Scott ran his hand through his hair, like he didn’t know what to say.  “You know, yesterday I was trying really hard to hate you.  I couldn’t remember ever being so angry with anybody.   And I knew you were...”  He paused, like he couldn’t quite figure how to describe something. “I felt you were being less than honest with me.  And I thought you were being staggeringly self-centred.  And there was a point when I’d have happily done the hangman’s job for him.”

Johnny swallowed hard.  The words felt like a punch in the gut.

Scott shook his head slowly.  “I went to the livery to buy a horse, but it was closed until today.  And so I spent the night going over everything in my head.  Everything you’ve ever said and done since we first met.  I thought maybe you’d been fooling me right from the start.  That it had all been a sham.”

Johnny bit his lip hard, shame wrapping itself around him.  Holding him tight in its clinging web.

“But you know, I kept seeing all the good things you’d done.  And I kept hearing the words of something that Val said to me.  That you’re not a cold blooded killer.  You don’t just kill for the sake of it.  And I remembered all the times I told Murdoch that there’s a good man under that cold exterior, that armour you hide behind.  And when it came right down to it, I couldn’t bring myself just to ride on out, leaving you to whatever your fate is.”  Scott sighed.  “And then, today, sitting in court, hearing all those things...  Watching you evading questions, sidestepping things... I don’t know what to think anymore.”   Scott looked right at him.  “I guess I was foolish.  I saw you as good.  All these months I was so convinced you were a good man.  Then yesterday, I saw you as bad.  And what’s the truth of it?”

Johnny swallowed again.  Shrugged.  “Scott, there ain’t anybody who’s all good, and I guess there ain’t many who are all bad.”  Except maybe Doe.  Couldn’t think of a single good thing about that man.  “I guess most folk fall somewhere in between.”  Except most folk in his experience were nearer bad than good.

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “So the world is grey?  But the question is, how deep a shade of grey are you?”

Johnny looked down as his boots.  The sole had come away a bit more.  But maybe it wouldn’t matter none.  If they decided to hang him he wouldn’t be needing his boots for much longer.  “I done a lot of bad things, Scott.  Some of them I regret and some...”  He shrugged.  “I’m a gunfighter.  I’m good at my trade.”

“You’re meant to be a rancher now.”  Scott sounded pissed with him.

“Yeah.  But life ain’t that simple.  My past is always going to be there.  It’s not going to disappear like it never happened.  And it’d be a fool who thought it would.  And I tell you, Scott, every now and then my past is gonna creep right up and nudge me.”

“Like this?”  Scott was looking hard at him now, like he wanted to look right inside Madrid.

Johnny shrugged.  “Witnesses get confused.  This fellow says the gunman was holding his gun in the left hand.  You know I’m a right handed gunman.”   But he could use his gun in his left hand whereas he couldn’t use a knife in that hand.  Always needed his right hand for the knife, and God knows he’d planned to use that knife on Doe.

“There you go again.”  Scott sounded all riled up.  “You sidestep everything.  I just want a straight answer.  Is that too much to ask?”

Johnny laughed, but it sure wasn’t funny.  “Right now, Scott, maybe that is too much to ask.  I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”  He ducked his head briefly.  “I don’t blame you if you can’t, but I guess, if I’m honest, I’m still hoping that you’ll try and trust me.  And for what it’s worth, I was real pleased to see you when you walked in this morning.  Despite everything I said to you about wanting you to leave.”

Scott’s head jerked up at that.  “Well, that at least is quite an admission from you.”  Scott paused, shaking his head.  “Like I said, I just wish you’d level with me, Johnny.  Is it really too much to ask?”

Johnny nodded slowly.  “Yeah.  Right now it is.  Sorry.  But...”  Johnny tailed off, didn’t know how to put things.  If only he was better with words. 

Scott was chewing on his lip, fidgeting like he was struggling too to find the right words.  And he looked kind of red faced.  “Johnny, I’m not a total innocent.  I mean, I know the things that some of the older soldiers did to young, weaker soldiers.  Did Doe...   I’ve been wondering, well...  What I mean is... Did he do things to you?”

Fear was back.  His guts coiling around into an icy ball.  “No.”  And that was the truth.  He wondered what the hell Scott would think if he knew what Doe’s game had been.  ’Side from being disgusted by Johnny.  “He never laid a finger on me.”

“So you did know him?”  Scott was fishing.

“I didn’t say that.”

Scott shook his head, kind of like he was irritated but didn’t know what to do or say.  “No, you didn’t say that.  See what I mean, Johnny, you’ll never give me a straight answer.  You’re so damn tricky at times.  Sometimes, I think that you’ve become so used to that mask you wear that you don’t know how to drop it.  It’s too much a part of you now.  I’m trying to find the man behind it, but I don’t think you know who he is any more.”

What the hell was Boston talking about?  And he accused Madrid of being tricky.  Dios.  If the man would only talk like other folk, Johnny would understand him a whole lot better.  But he had to say something.  But what?  “Sorry.”  His voice came out like a whisper.  “I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t.  I really can’t.”

“Are you giving evidence?  Taking the witness stand?” 

Johnny shook his head.  “No.” 

Scott’s head jerked up.  “That’s not a wise decision, Johnny.  You need to take the stand and tell the jury that you’ve never met Doe.  That you didn’t kill him.”

Johnny shook his head.  He felt very small now.  Scott would crush him underfoot if he had any sense.  “I’m not taking the stand.”

Scott leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed like he was deep in thought, trying to figure things out.  And then his face went kind of pale, like he’d just thought of something he wasn’t happy about.  “Oh, God.”  His voice was real soft and kind of shocked.  “You’re not taking the stand because you’d be on oath.  You don’t want to stand there and lie.  When someone pleads guilty or not guilty, they’re not on oath, but when you’re giving evidence...”  Scott’s voice tailed off and he just sat there, pale and staring.

He hadn’t thought Scott was that smart.  Never thought Scott would figure it out.  But what the hell should Madrid say now?  Could hardly say, yep, that’s exactly why he wasn’t going on no witness stand.  He drew the line at lying on oath.  It would be a step too far.  He’d done enough sinning, didn’t want to do any more than he had to.  Fuck that.  “Just no point in me taking the stand.  Ain’t got anything to say.  They got the wrong man.  They got themselves a left-handed gunman, and that’s the end of it.”

“And so you’re relying on them not believing Joshua Jackson’s account of things?  Is that the best you’ve got?  You were so certain back in Green River that you’d be acquitted.  What changed, Johnny?  Because if you’re relying on the jury doubting Jackson’s word, your defence stinks.”  Scott didn’t sound none too impressed.  And he didn’t sound like he could believe it. 

Of course, it should have been different.  If he’d had his saddlebags he’d have been in with a chance.  But right now it wasn’t looking too promising.  And Sweetfoot had slipped up on a couple of things.  Should have made a bigger issue of Jackson’s hearing.  Maybe Jackson didn’t hear the gunman right.  And made a bigger issue of Jackson’s eyesight.  Maybe Jackson didn’t see the gunman as well as he thought he’d seen him...  Yeah, Sweetfoot had made some mistakes.  He was too young, that was the trouble.  “Guess we’ll just have to see how it all pans out.”  Johnny shrugged.

“How it all pans out?”  Scott sounded like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.   “Johnny, are you aware of what the penalty is for murder in Utah?”

Johnny glared.  “Yeah, Scott, I ain’t dumb.  I guess they hang people for murder.”

“Hanging isn’t their only option.”

Johnny stared.  “How d’you mean?”

“Well, they can execute you by shooting you.”

“Shooting?  Like a firing squad, you mean?”  Well that wouldn’t be as bad as hanging.  Hell, he’d faced a firing squad before.

“Or beheading.” 

“What the hell d’you mean by beheading?”  Johnny stared at Scott, puzzled.

“They cut your head off.”  Scott’s voice was kind of even.  But he was looking at Johnny real hard.

“Shit.  They cut people’s heads off in Utah?”  Couldn’t quite believe that somehow.  How sick were folk in Utah?

Scott nodded.  “It is one of the options open to judges when they decide how the death penalty should be carried out.”

Dios.  Beheading.  That would sure cure a crick in the neck.  Mierda.  The knife in his boot was getting more attractive by the second.

“So, Johnny, you do take my point about needing to improve your defence?”  Scott’s voice was still kind of even.

“I ain’t taking the stand, Scott.  Just have to hope that Sweetfoot can use the fact that Jackson’s eyesight ain’t too good or that his hearing isn’t up to much.  But I ain’t taking the stand.”

“Because you killed him and you don’t want to lie under oath?”  Scott said it like it was a question, but the look in his eyes told a different story.  Scott knew he’d killed Doe, as sure as the sun would rise the next morning.

“I never said I killed him.  I just don’t want to take the stand.”  How pathetic did that sound?  Who was he trying to fool?  His fingers were making fists again.  “Are you staying for the rest of the trial?”  And as he asked the question he knew, without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted Scott at his side during what lay ahead. 

Scott didn’t say anything for a few beats.  And Johnny tried to swallow the huge lump coming into his throat.  It was like his heart was forcing its way up and out of him...

“Do you want me to stay?”  Scott was looking at him, his eyebrow slightly raised, like he wasn’t too sure what Johnny would say.

Just once, Madrid, be honest.  Say it like it is and to hell with pride.  Because Scott deserved one honest answer, especially when he had to put up with so much crap from Madrid.   “Yes, Scott, I want you to stay.  Please.”  His voice was barely a whisper and now, he held his breath waiting for Scott’s response.

Part Twenty five

He was afraid to breathe.  Afraid to hope.  And he could feel his heart thumping in his chest.  Dios, but Scott was taking his time.  Just standing there.  Staring down like he was lost in thought.  Was he going to stay or go?  Couldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to stay.  Not after everything Madrid had done and said.  Everything he’d done to keep Scott as far away from here as possible.  But now, he knew he needed him.  It would be a little easier to face whatever lay ahead if he had Scott by his side.  Could stand taller then.

But fear was starting to wrap its icy fingers around his guts.  Scott was taking too long.  Madrid had blown it.  Ruined everything.  No, not just Madrid.  Doe could carry some of this blame...

“I confess to being astounded.”  Scott’s voice broke into his thoughts. 

The moment of truth.  And now his guts were just like a tight ball of ice.  But heavy.  Cold and heavy.  He swallowed hard.  “Astounded?”

“Well, you saying please.  I think it’s a first.”

Johnny’s head jerked up.  He could see it now.  A softening in Scott’s eyes.  Still had the frown lines between them, but they looked softer.  Hope was blooming now, like a cactus flower in the heat of the sun.  He could feel it growing inside him.  Like the sun was coming out after a long cold spell and warming his bones.  “So?”  His voice was still a whisper though. 
Scott raised an eyebrow.   “So?  Well, I will say that I think you are the most frustrating and confounding individual I’ve ever met.  And I wish I knew what went on inside that head of yours.  But I think, as I started this journey with you, I’d better finish it with you.”

Did that mean he was staying? And if so, why didn’t he just say so?  Dammit, he found Scott a puzzle.  But it was a yes... wasn’t it?  He chewed on his lip.  “Is that a yes, Boston?”

Scott gave a soft laugh.  “Yes, Johnny, it is a yes.  But we are going to have this out at some stage.  I just wish you could find it in yourself to trust me.  If you did, maybe we could fight your battle together.   We’re brothers.  It means we’re on the same side.”

The sun inside of him was doing a real good job of heating him up.  On the same side?  Like in a range war.  But more so.  Because they were brothers.  Even the word brother felt good.  When they’d first met, it hadn’t meant a damn thing.  Nothing.  And now it meant everything.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.  I do.  But...”  Johnny sank down onto the cot, shaking his head.  “But sometimes, Scott, it’s better not to know things.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, like he wasn’t buying that.  “A sort of ignorance is bliss approach?  I’m afraid that isn’t quite how I see it.  I think families should be able to be honest with each other.  I grant you that we don’t exactly fall into the conventional family mould, but we have to strive to become a family.  It’ll take a lot of work and trust.  I’m going to trust my intrinsic belief that you are not a cold blooded killer.  I do think you killed Doe, but I also think you must have had a damn good reason for doing so.  Because, try as I might to see you as a black hearted villain, I know that you’re not.  And believe me, I tried awfully hard.”

Scott paused, like he was thinking hard what to say next.  “And you, Johnny, need to learn to trust someone.  You’re not on your own anymore.  It’s not just you against the world.  You have allies.  They’re called family.”

Johnny breathed out real slow.  The words sounded so gentle, curling themselves around him like a soft, soothing breeze on warm evening.  It sounded so tempting, this trust thing.  But he didn’t know how to do it.  Spent his life keeping everything from touching him.  He lived life at arm’s length.  Always on the outside.  Always standing in the shadows.  Never trust anybody, because they hurt you in the end.  But it was the damndest thing, because even though Scott had figured out that Madrid had killed Doe, he still seemed to have faith in Johnny.  Yeah.  Trust sounded real good, but it would take some learning.  But maybe if he survived all of this it was something to reach toward, if it would only stay within his grasp.

He ducked his head, trying to think of something to say.  But that was something else he needed to learn.  Never was much good with words.  But then sometimes simple was best.  He looked across at Scott and met his serious gaze.  Nodded an acknowledgement.  “Thanks, Scott.  I’m glad you’re staying. 

Scott’s mouth quirked.  “I tell you one thing.  Fraternal loyalty doesn’t mean I’m going to spend the night in the cells.  I had better go and see if Mrs. Nixon, who runs the hotel, is prepared to let me have my room back now that she knows I’m the brother of the infamous Johnny Madrid.”  His smile faded.  “I wish you’d think again over your defence, Johnny.  If you don’t take the stand...”

Johnny cut across him.  “I told you, I ain’t going on the stand, Scott.  And that’s an end of it.”

“It could be the end of you if you don’t take the stand.  Have you thought of that?”

Dios.  Scott sure knew how to give him pleasant dreams.  “I ain’t dumb, I know how juries like to hear the man on the stand telling them how it’s all a mistake, that he’s innocent.  But I ain’t got anything to say.  They’ve got themselves a left-handed gunman.  I ain’t a lefty.”

Scott was pacing up and down, running his fingers through his hair.  “But you were so certain when we were back in Green River that you would walk away from this.  You must have had some reason for being so positive, unless that was all bravado.  What changed, Johnny?  You were being so cocky, telling me how you’d need your saddlebags for the ride home...”  Scott’s voice trailed off.   His face paled, like he’d had a big shock.  Or something had struck him.   Shit. 

“Your saddlebags.”  Scott’s voice was barely a whisper.  “Why were they so important to you?  You were set on not leaving them at the ranch.  And then, after the stagecoach crash... “  Scott’s eyes were wide with shock.  Like all the pieces of a puzzle were falling into place.  Shit.

Scott shook his head.  “What was in those bags, Johnny?  What was in them that was so damned important?  Something you didn’t want to leave behind at the ranch because you thought you’d need it...  What was it?”

Johnny shrugged.  “Just like my own saddlebags is all...”

Scott narrowed his eyes.  The colour was coming back in his face now.  Except it was looking kind of pink, like he was getting riled up again.  “Don’t lie to me, Johnny.  I don’t deserve that.”

Johnny swallowed hard.  Scott was right.  He didn’t deserve that.  And Madrid didn’t want to blow this.  Scott was staying and whatever Johnny said, he didn’t want to push Scott away again.

He sighed softly.  “Yeah, there was something in them that I thought might be useful.  But it don’t matter none now.”  He shrugged again.  “The bags have gone and that’s all there is to it.  I can’t do much about it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Scott still looked kind of angry.  “I could have gone and looked for them.  Why didn’t you tell me, damn it?”  Scott paused, and then laughed, but it didn’t sound happy.  “But of course you couldn’t tell me, it would have meant admitting that you’d killed Doe.”  Scott started pacing up and down again before pausing by the chair.  “Damn it, Johnny, I wish you’d just level with me.  Don’t you understand I want to help you?  God, I wish I knew why you killed Doe.”  Scott held his hand up, kind of like he wasn’t going to let Johnny butt in.  “And don’t go denying it.  I won’t believe you.”  Scott sank back onto the chair again.  “But I suppose you wouldn’t deny it, you’d perform one your clever evasions.  It’s that rather perverse sense of honour you have.  You won’t lie to me, just like you won’t lie on the witness stand but you’ll wriggle like a worm on a fish hook to avoid answering direct questions.”

Johnny kicked at the cracks in the stone floor with the toe of his boot.  Couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  Scott was getting pretty good at reading him.  But there was no point in brooding over the damn saddlebags; they’d gone and that was the end of it.  And maybe the end of Madrid too.  He could feel Scott watching him.  Could feel Scott’s hurt, like it was his own.  And he hated hurting him.  But what could he say without making Scott a part of Madrid’s guilt?  He sure as hell didn’t want Scott carrying that weight.  Or having the nightmares if he ever learned what Doe’s game had been.  “Scott, why don’t you go and get that hotel room sorted out?  Just trust me on this.  It’s better that you don’t know too much.  If I could tell you, I would.  I’m...”  He paused, feeling the colour flood his face.  “I’m real glad you’re here.”

Scott hauled himself to his feet.  “Well, I suppose we have made some progress.  At least we appear to be on the same side again, even if you are being damned difficult.  It seems I will have to be content with this for now.  I don’t even know where the damn bags could have gone to.  We picked up all of the luggage.  There wasn’t any left.”  Scott paused, shaking his head like he was real irritated.  “You should have told me.  God, but you’re an awkward individual.  But I won’t be letting you off the hook, Johnny, at some stage I want to know what the hell this is all about.”

Yeah, when hell freezes over.  “I hope you get your room back, Scott.”  Johnny gestured around the cell.  “This ain’t exactly got many home comforts.  But the food’s okay.  So, it could be worse.”

Scott gave him the ghost of a smile.  “I’ll take the hotel for preference.  The food there is excellent.  Is there anything you need me to do?  Do you want to see Sweetfoot?”

Johnny sighed.  “Yeah, I guess he and I had better talk about how we play tomorrow in court.”

Scott nodded.  “I’ll send him over.  And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah.  See you tomorrow.”

.............

His demons wrenched him from sleep that night.  Same as always he was striking out, sweat pouring off him and all he could see was Doe’s face.  Smiling and laughing.  Walking through the crowd of jeering men, collecting the money as they placed their bets.  And then the faces all merged and he was back in that house with Doe whimpering on his knees.  And Madrid shooting him straight between the eyes, like the mark of Cain.  And then the unimaginable rage boiling over, because he’d failed to kill him slow, like he’d promised he would.  Rage because, in the end, Doe had it too easy.  And so Madrid had just blasted away with his gun, emptying the gun into Doe’s balls.  And the red mist of anger clouding everything.

Johnny struggled up, still striking out wildly at the memories.  His breath was coming in short bursts, so he sat on the edge of the cot, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking gently to try to calm his racing heart.  What would it be like just to sleep?  Couldn’t imagine that any more.  A woman.  He needed a woman.  It always helped a little.  He could lose himself then.  Those few seconds of ecstasy always drove everything from his mind.  Just the scent and touch and feel of a woman.  He shook his head.  God only knew if he’d ever have another woman.  Maybe the jury would find him guilty and that would be it.

Sweetfoot hadn’t seemed too happy.  Kind of awkward really.  Knew he’d messed up.  But heck, Sweetfoot was only just starting out, he was bound to make mistakes.  Johnny had tried to make out if didn’t matter, but they both knew it did.  Best they could hope for was the jury not having much faith in Jackson.  Yeah.  Like that was going to happen.

Johnny pulled himself up by the bars on the window.  It was dawn.  But it sure wasn’t going to be a sunny day.  The sky looked heavy and threatening with banks of clouds building in the east.  Dios, he missed the sun.  He threw himself back down on the cot and waited for Ford to bring breakfast.

..........

The courtroom was full to bursting.  Folk were cramming in, their faces pink from the biting wind.  Least all those bodies produced some warmth.  He’d got damned cold walking to the courthouse earlier, but he’d still taken it slow.  Walked down real casual, like he hadn’t got a thing to worry over. 

Scott had gotten there early.  Had a seat instead of standing at the back.  He met Johnny’s gaze, gave a nod, a slight smile.  Johnny nodded back and felt some of the tension go from his shoulders. 

It looked like the same bunch of people as the day before.  The woman in the thick veil seemed to have the best seat, where she could see every damn thing.  And the man with the pipe was still puffing out clouds of smoke.  The woman in pink had settled herself down next to Boston, like she was an old friend.  Kept nudging him and talking to him.  Johnny bit back a smile.  It looked like the smile on Scott’s face was kind of frozen there, like he was struggling real hard to be polite and good mannered. 

Sweetfoot had a pile of books in front of him.  Real big books.  Take a lifetime and a half to read those.  And Lincoln was looking all smug, like he reckoned he’d got it all sewn up.  Which he probably had.

Everyone who’d got a seat shuffled to their feet as Brooker walked in and sat himself down with his little hammer at the ready.

“Marshal, were you able to contact Mrs. Conway?”

Ford  nodded.  “Yes, your honour.  I got a wire off and by good luck Mrs. Conway was in town when it arrived.  She sent a telegram back confirming the story.  She says that Mr. Lancer lost a lot of blood and required several stitches.  I’ve got the wire here.”  Ford passed the telegram over to Brooker who sat and read it before passing it over to Lincoln.

Brooker fiddled with his spectacles again.  “Mr. Sweetfoot, do you have any more questions for the witness?”

Sweetfoot nodded.  “I haven’t quite finished my line of questioning, your honour.”

Brooker nodded.  “I thought perhaps you hadn’t.  Mr. Jackson, will you resume your place on the witness stand, please?”

Jackson cupped his hand behind his ear.  “What’s that?  My hearing ain’t so good you know.”

One of the court officers guided Jackson to the stand and Sweetfoot stood patiently waiting while the old man got himself settled.

Sweetfoot smiled across at Jackson.  “Just one or two more questions.”

“What’s that?  You’ll have to speak up.  I told you I don’t hear too good.”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to ask you about, Mr. Jackson.  Your hearing really isn’t very good is it?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”  Jackson glared as laughter rippled around the court.

“But although you admit your hearing isn’t good, you are very convinced that you heard the left-handed gunman say his name was Johnny Madrid.  I put it to you, Mr. Jackson, that you were so alarmed by the horror of the situation in which you found yourself, and were so understandably frightened and keen to get away, that you misheard the gunman.  That you picked on the name of Johnny Madrid because it was a well known and familiar name.  I put it to you that with your poor hearing, and your panic, you could not have been certain what name the gunman gave and that the name of Madrid simply sprang to mind.”

Jackson leaned forward.  “My hearing might not be as good as some folks, but I know what I heard that day.  You young whippersnapper.  And I know what I saw.  I saw that scar on his arm.”

Sweetfoot shook his head.  “Mr. Jackson, we all saw yesterday that you have poor eyesight in addition to your poor hearing.  Can you really be so sure, that in what by your own admission was only a quick glimpse, the man you saw was the man sitting here today accused of this crime?  I put it to you that your glimpse of the man with Mr. Doe was too brief for this court to be able to accept your testimony with any degree of certainty.”

Jackson snorted.  “I know what I heard and I know what I saw.”  He pointed across the court.  “I saw him and I saw that scar on his arm.”

Sweetfoot smiled real smooth.  “I believe that everyone here accepts how Mr. Lancer got the scar, Mr. Jackson.”

Jackson snorted again.  “The killer had a scar in that exact same place.  Maybe he’s cut that arm more than once.  It happens.  I often get cuts in the same place when I’m gardening...”

Dios.  Was Sweetfoot going to let the man rattle on putting ideas in the jury’s minds.

Sweetfoot was on his feet, speaking soft.  “Well, thank you Mr. Jackson.”  

Jackson cupped his ear again.  “What’s that?”

“I said thank you, Mr. Jackson.  That will be all.”

Brooker polished his spectacles.  It was a different handkerchief today.  “Mr. Lincoln, do you have any further questions for your witness?”

Lincoln shook his head.  “No thank you, your honour.  No more questions.”

Brooker perched the glasses back on the end of his nose.  “I take it that you will be calling Mr. Lancer to the stand, Mr. Sweetfoot.”

Sweetfoot shook his head.  “No, your honour.  My client instructs me that as he has never been to Utah and was a right handed gunman, he feels that there is nothing he can say which will contribute to this hearing.  It is simply a case of mistaken identity.”

Brooker leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands.  “Mr. Sweetfoot, I would most strongly advise you to put your client on the witness stand.”  He looked over at Johnny.  “Mr. Lancer.”

Johnny sprang to his feet.  “Your honour.”

“Mr. Lancer, I feel it is my duty to point out to you the possible ramifications of not taking the stand.  I appreciate that Mr. Sweetfoot is inexperienced and he might not have fully clarified your situation to you.  Mr. Lancer, if you are convicted you will be executed.  And as things stand at the moment we have an eyewitness to this crime who is standing by his story that it was you he saw in that house in July 1866.  Juries always pay more heed to evidence given on oath, and I would strongly advise you to take the witness stand and give evidence on your own behalf.”

Johnny inclined his head briefly before giving everyone in the room the benefit of one of his biggest smiles.  “Your honour, I really appreciate your advice.  But there’s nothing I can add.  Everyone who knows me would tell you that I spent all my time around the border.  Utah is well off my territory and everyone knows I was a right handed gunman.  So, I’m afraid whoever Mr. Jackson saw that day, well, it wasn’t me.”

Brooker shook his head.  “I feel this is most unwise.  Mr. Sweetfoot, do you have any other evidence you wish to call?”

Sweetfoot flushed.  “No, your honour, we don’t.”

A chair scraped across the floor.  Everyone turned to see who the hell wasn’t interested enough to stay put.   Ford was on his feet, twisting his hat in his hands.

Johnny’s brow furrowed.  What the hell was Ford up to?

“Your honour.”  Ford’s voice came out strong.  “If I may, I have some evidence for the court to hear.”

 

Part Twenty six

It was a fucking uproar again as everyone started talking but this time the name on everybody’s lips was Ford.

“Order!”  Brooker banged his hammer.  He was bright red and his spectacles were jigging up and down on the end of his nose.  “Anyone who doesn’t keep quiet immediately will be removed from the court.”

That sure shut them up.  Nobody wanted to miss whatever Ford had to say.  Including Madrid.  Dios.  He always knew there was something about Ford... but what?  Nothing he’d ever been able to put his finger on.   A sudden pang of fear turned his guts to ice.  Had he said something when he was sleeping?  Had he given himself away?  Would the ramblings of a sleeping man be accepted as evidence?  Mierda.  But no.  Somehow that didn’t sit right.  Ford knew something but he’d been good to Madrid.  Fair.  Always fair.  Not like fucking Carter. 

Johnny glanced across the court.  Carter was sure looking all riled up, his brow furrowed and talking like he was real agitated, to some fellow sitting next to him.  No.  Carter was as much in the dark about this as Madrid.

Johnny stretched his legs out, tried to look relaxed.  Like he wasn’t too bothered about whatever Ford had to say.  But shit, how was Ford involved in all of this?  He tried to push away the feeling of unease.  Didn’t like surprises.  ’Specially when it was his neck on the line.

Sweetfoot was looking puzzled too.  And so was Lincoln.  Maybe that was a good thing.  If Lincoln wasn’t expecting this, maybe Ford wasn’t talking up for that side.  Which meant that maybe he was talking up for Madrid’s side?  But no.  That didn’t make sense.  Ford would have said something to Madrid.  Wouldn’t he?

“Order.”  Brooker banged his hammer again and then started cleaning his spectacles.  Dios.  Did the man never do anything else? 

Brooker balanced them back on the end of his nose and then started rubbing his beard, like he was thinking hard.  “Marshal, you have information that you believe could enlighten the court as to the events at Mr. Doe’s house?”

Ford wrung his hat a bit tighter.  One thing was certain; he’d never be able to wear it again.  “I have some information, your honour, about the victim.  It might prove helpful.”

Brooker sat back in his seat and stared real hard at the ceiling.  Dios.  The man was a real showman.  And boy did he know how to make sure everyone was paying him heed.  And he was going to keep ’em all waiting too.  Didn’t seem in a hurry to say anything.

Brooker rapped the table with his fingers, like he was still thinking.  “So, Marshal, you wish to make a statement?  Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Sweetfoot, do either of you have any objections to that?”

Sweetfoot rose.  “I would like to take instructions from my client.”  He turned to Johnny.  Looked kind of panicky.  Johnny shrugged, before leaning forward to speak quietly to him.  “Might as well hear what he has to say.”  Wasn’t going to tell Sweetfoot that Madrid couldn’t wait to hear what Ford had to say.

Sweetfoot turned back toward Brooker.  “We have no objections, your honour.”

Brooker pursed his lips.  “I thought you wouldn’t.  Mr. Lincoln, are you happy about this?”

Lincoln nodded.  “No objections, your honour.”

“In that case, Marshal, perhaps you would like to take the stand and tell this court whatever is on your mind.”  Brooker sat back with his arms folded.  But although the fellow looked like he was easy, there was a real sharp look in his eyes which said he wanted to hear this too.

Ford walked slowly to the stand.  “Do you want me to take the oath?”

Brooker fingered his beard again.  “No, I don’t think that will be necessary, as this is not exactly a part of the formal proceedings.”

There wasn’t a sound in the courtroom.  Could have heard a horse moulting it was so damn quiet while everyone waited for Ford.

Ford cleared his throat.  “As most folk in this town know, I’ve been marshal here for getting on for four years.  I came up here from down south in Arizona.  But what most folk don’t know is that the reason I came here was to hunt for Mr. Doe.”

Excited whispers came from all around the courtroom.  Brooker banged his hammer.  It shut them all up. 

“I’d been tracking him for some time.  He had settled in another small town, much like this one, over in Texas, but he’d moved on when I got there.  I followed his trail to here.  But when I arrived, I heard that he’d been killed, so I suppose you could say I’d had a wasted journey.”  Ford twisted the hat again.  “And the town needed a marshal so I took the job and stayed on.”

Brooker leaned forward.  “And so why were you tracking Mr. Doe?  My understanding is that he was a guard in a prison.  Were you being paid to trace him?  And if so, why?”

The hat got another mighty wrench.  But what the hell had Ford been up to?  He sure wasn’t looking too happy about telling his tale.  Nervous.  That was it. 

Ford cleared his throat again.  “Mr. Doe had indeed been a guard in a prison.  He’d been appointed because he knew the right people and it was well paid employment.  But unfortunately, Mr. Doe appears to have not been satisfied with his wages.  He...”  Ford faltered, like he couldn’t decide how to say something.

But it sure seemed he knew a lot about Doe.  Maybe too much...

“He abused his position as a guard.  He...  he manipulated people and was involved in accepting bribes.  He was also involved in the mistreatment of prisoners.  He was a brutal man who enjoyed seeing other people suffer...”

And everyone started talking again.  Except this time they didn’t even bother whispering.  Brooker was banging with his hammer and everyone was ignoring him now.  And Johnny could feel Scott watching him but he sure as hell didn’t want to look him in the eyes.  Didn’t want Scott to start figuring things out...  Not that he’d ever figure out exactly what Doe’s game had been.  Scott was too much of an innocent to even imagine what Doe had been up to...  Unless Ford knew...  But no, Ford would never tell it, not in an open court with women there. 

He glanced around again, avoiding catching Scott’s eye.  The woman in the veil was watching Madrid.  Who the hell was she?  But she sure seemed very interested in Madrid.  A relative of Doe, perhaps?  She didn’t seem to talk to anyone.  Wasn’t with anyone.  But she didn’t miss much, he was certain of that. 

“Order.”  The hammer came crashing down with a big bang.  “This is your final warning.  Anyone who can’t keep quiet will be removed from the courtroom.”  Brooker gave them an icy glare, kind of like he really meant business.  It shut them up.  “Marshal, perhaps you could continue, please.”

But Lincoln was up on his feet now.  “Your honour, I must object to this most unorthodox situation.  I do not believe that whatever the marshall has to say can have any bearing on the case against Mr. Lancer.”

Brooker grunted like he was running short on patience.  “Mr. Lincoln, I note your comment but I will thank you to sit down.  I am most curious to hear what the marshal has to tell us about Mr. Doe.  Then and only then, will I decide if it has a bearing on this case and will so instruct the jury of my decision.”  He paused, like he was waiting for Lincoln to sit back down.  “Marshal, please continue.”

Ford shuffled his feet like he was real uncomfortable with the whole thing.  Yeah.  Uncomfortable.  Ford sure didn’t want to be doing this.  So why was he?  And what the hell was he going to come out with next?

Ford wrung his hat a bit more.  “Like I said, Doe was responsible for the ill treatment of many prisoners.  Not that he ever touched them himself.  He got other prisoners to do the hurting.  He was real good at manipulating people.  And he really enjoyed seeing people suffer.  He used to take bets from the other prisoners on how long it would take for the victims to scream out.  He sure liked to see them scream, the louder the better.  And he made a lot of money out of that.  Many of his victims were very young.  And as this is a mixed court, I’d rather not go into the details.  They ain’t fit for decent folk to hear.”

Johnny shut his eyes even as there were gasps of horror in the courtroom.  His guts felt like they were tying themselves in knots.  And he felt icy cold and wanted to puke.  Didn’t know how long he could sit and listen to this.  Didn’t want it raked up.  Didn’t want Scott sitting listening to this and he knew Scott was watching him.  And somehow he mustn’t show any emotion.  Try and look like none of this was of interest to him...  But fuck, it was easier said than done.

“The thing is, your honour.”  Ford’s voice came out stronger now.  “There would have been any number of men who would have wanted to see Doe dead.  That’s what I’m trying to say.  Any one of them could have come to kill him.”

Thank God.  Looked like Ford wasn’t going to say no more about Doe. 

Brooker was tapping his fingers again. “And you, Marshal, what was your interest in Doe?  What were you intending to do with him when you found him?”

Ford’s face was blank now.  No expression.  “Bring him to justice, your honour.  I had been asked to find him and bring him to justice.”

“By whom?”  Brooker was looking real hard at Ford.

“By the family of one of the victims.  But like I said, when I got here, Doe was dead.  Had been dead for a few weeks.  And an awful lot of people would have had a darn good motive for killing him.”

Brooker leaned back in his seat again.  “That is a fair point, Marshall.  But the fact remains we have an eyewitness who states that the person who came and killed Mr. Doe was Mr. Lancer, who sits in this court accused of murder.  I accept that your information does open up possibilities for many people wanting Mr. Doe dead, but we don’t have any evidence that anyone did come here with that purpose in mind.  It is my duty to point that out to the jury.   At the moment, all we have is Mr. Jackson’s testimony.”  Brooker looked at his pocket watch.  “It is a little early, but this seems an appropriate juncture to adjourn until after lunch.”  He glanced across at Sweetfoot and Lincoln.  “Gentlemen, I will expect your summing up this afternoon.  Perhaps you might like to make one last attempt to persuade Mr. Lancer to give evidence, Mr. Sweetfoot.”  With a nod to them, Brooker stood up and left the court.

Scott was struggling through the mass of people to get to Johnny.  And Sweetfoot was heading toward him too.  Dios.  If only they’d all leave him alone.  Just wanted to try and figure out where Ford fitted in all of this.

“Mr. Lancer, I think perhaps you and I should discuss your case.”  Sweetfoot’s brow was all creased up.  “Things are not looking good for us.”

Us?  That was rich.  Since when was Sweetfoot’s neck on the line?  Dios.  But right now he just wanted to get away from everyone.  Escape back to his cell.  Have some peace and quiet.  And think things over.

“Johnny.”  Scott looked kind of pale.  Shocked.  Yeah, shocked by what Ford had been saying.  That figured.  “We need to talk.  You’ve got to rethink your defence.”  He looked at Sweetfoot, like he was hoping Sweetfoot would back him up.

“That’s what I was just telling your brother, Mr. Lancer.  This isn’t going well and I can see no alternative but for him to go in the witness box and give evidence on oath.”

Johnny shook his head.  “No.  I ain’t got nothing to add.  It’s up to the jury.  If they believe Jackson, nothing I say is gonna make a damn bit of difference.”  No way was he going to lie in that witness box.  Couldn’t do it.  Not to save his own skin.  Wouldn’t be right.  Hell, he’d been living on borrowed time for a long time.  At least now he could die knowing what it was like to have family.  He’d had a little bit of heaven for a time and that was as good as it was ever going to get.  Nothing lasted.

“Damn it, Johnny...” Scott didn’t get no further.  Ford was butting in now.

“Mr. Lancer, I think the best thing is for me to take your brother back to the cell for some lunch.  Then maybe you and Mr. Sweetfoot can talk to him before the afternoon session.  Why don’t you go and get something to eat, and just calm down a bit?”

Scott chewed on his lip, looking like he wanted to say more.  Then he nodded.  Didn’t look none too happy but leastways it looked like Madrid could have some peace for a short while.

“Come on, Madrid.”  Ford steered Johnny through the folk still milling around the courtroom.  He knew the woman in the veil was watching him walk out.  Could feel her eyes boring into him.  Who the hell was she?

They walked back to the jail through the biting wind.  Tumbleweed was blowing along the sidewalks and the dust made his eyes sting.  Maybe now he’d get the chance to pin Ford down.  Because something told him that Ford knew a lot more than he’d let on in that courtroom.

Ford let the door slam behind them in his office and Johnny went back to his cell as Ford reached for the keys to take the cuffs off him.

“I wouldn’t mind a few answers, Marshal.”  Johnny spoke softly, watching the colour flush the man’s face.  “You never let on to me that you’d been hunting for Doe.”

“Hoped I wouldn’t need to.”  Ford sighed and pulled up the chair outside the cell.  “Not that it did you much good.  I thought maybe it would put some doubt in the jury’s minds.  But I got to tell you, Madrid, your brother’s right, it ain’t looking too good.”

Johnny tried to ignore the cold hand of fear inside of him.  He shrugged.  “We all got to go sometime, don’t we?  But I’d rather not go this way.  Not for the sort of man you described today.”  Keep playing dumb.  It was the only way.  Still didn’t know what Ford’s game was.  Would the man let on?

“The sort of man I described?”  Ford smiled, like Johnny had said something real funny.  “Between these four walls, Madrid, we both know that you know exactly the sort of man Doe was.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, gave a ghost of smile.  “Sorry, Marshal, I don’t know anything about the man.  But I do wonder who asked you to hunt him down.  And what you were planning on doing with him when you found him.”

Ford sat with his head bowed, studying the floor real hard for maybe a minute before he replied.  Johnny leaned back against the wall and waited.  He’d got all the time in the world.  Sure wasn’t going anywhere right now.  Not being as how he was locked back in the damn cell.

“No one asked me.  I was hunting him for personal reasons.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow.  “Personal?”

Ford nodded.  “Yeah, personal.  And I was going to bring him to justice.”

Johnny smiled at that.  “Justice?  You think the law would be interested in one of their own?”

Ford laughed, but not like it was funny.  “I didn’t say the law.  I said justice.  Maybe like your version of justice, Madrid.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “My version?”

Ford nodded.  “Yeah.  Doe was an animal.  Sometimes, an animal is so dangerous it’s up to man to destroy it.  Wouldn’t you agree with that?”

Johnny smiled.  “I’ve heard people say it.”  But no way was he letting his guard down with Ford.   And if Ford was hoping Madrid was suddenly going to admit to something, the man could think again.  “So, you said personal?  Just how personal?”

Ford stared down at the floor again, shook his head kind of like he was sad.  “You know, my brother had a son.  Wasn’t too bright, but he was a nice enough lad.  But the sort that gets in with the wrong group.  You know the kind.”

Johnny nodded.  And waited.

“Always got in with the wrong kind.  Easily led.  And he wound up in trouble.  Wasn’t no age but he got sent to prison.  No kid that age should be in prison.”

“And that’s where he met Doe?”  Johnny could feel Ford’s sorrow.  It was wrapping itself around the marshal like a cloak.

Ford nodded.  “Yeah.  That’s where he met Doe.  And Doe liked the weak ones.”

Dios, that was true.  Doe loved ’em weak.  Made his game so much easier.  Yeah.  Always singled out the weak ones.  Just like he picked the tough ones to dance to his tune.  And then stepped back to watch and take the bets.  But Madrid had never made a sound.  Never gave Doe the satisfaction.

“The things that happened to Dougie in that prison, well, he never got over it.”

Johnny’s head jerked up.  “Dougie?”

Ford inclined his head.  “Yeah.  Dougie.  You know, it broke Dougie.  Couldn’t live with what had happened.  He went out one day, down in the orchard.  Found himself a tree and he hanged himself. “

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.  Fucking Doe.  How many people had he destroyed?

“But you know, Dougie and I did talk a little before that day came.  He told me how he was in a saloon one day, trying to drink himself into a state where he couldn’t remember how much he hated himself.”  Ford shook his head.  “Dougie did that a lot after the prison.  Drinking to block it all out, I guess.  Anyway, some fellow was picking on him, but another man came to Dougie’s aid.  They got talking and it turned out they’d both been in the same prison.  This fellow guessed exactly what had happened to Dougie.  Anyway, he promised Dougie he’d take care of Doe.  Make sure the man never hurt nobody else ever again.  And Dougie believed him too.  Said he was the sort of man who’d follow through.  Not the type to make empty promises.”

Johnny swallowed hard.  Tried to look relaxed.  Yeah, like Ford would believe that.  “Dougie tell you anything else about this fellow?”

A ghost of a smile passed across Ford’s face.  “I reckon he did give me a name.  But you know, Madrid, I got one hell of a bad memory so I guess it’s slipped my mind.”

“You think that name’ll come back to you?”  Johnny held Ford’s gaze.

Ford gave a soft laugh.  “Tell you one thing, it sure as hell won’t come back to me in no court of law.”  He scratched his head thoughtfully.  “You know, I reckon that fellow did follow through and I guess I owe him.  And even though Dougie killed himself, I think he found a little comfort from meeting that fellow.  Trusted him to keep his word.  Died knowing that probably nobody else would become one of Doe’s victims.  And I guess the fellow saved me from killing Doe myself.  Because I sure as hell would have done.”

Johnny let out a long sigh.  “Well, seems that Doe’s killer did everyone a favour.”

Ford nodded slowly.  “I reckon he did.  Trouble is, favour or no, your case ain’t looking too healthy right now.  Best chance you got is taking that stand and telling that jury what a good upright rancher you are and how you’ve never been to Utah.”

Johnny shook his head.  “I can’t do that, Ford.”  He sighed.  “Wish I could, but no, I ain’t going on that stand.”

Ford grunted in irritation.  “They’re going to find you guilty, boy.  I never wanted to bring you in for this, but Carter had Jackson’s testimony and he went and got himself that damn court order without telling me.  Reckoned the least I could do was bring you here safely.  Carter would have shot you and not bothered bringing you to trial.”

“Yeah.  I reckon he would have done.”  Johnny swung his legs up and sat on the cot with his knees drawn up, resting his chin on them.  “Well, I guess I’ll just have to take my chances.”

“Right now, boy, they ain’t looking too good.”

Johnny shook his head.  “Tell me something I don’t know!”

The door to the outer office slammed.  “Best go see who it is.  Probably Sweetfoot or your brother.”  Ford stood and pushed the chair back into the next cell before going back into the main office.

Dios.  Last thing he needed right now was Scott or Sweetfoot.  They were both going to start in on him.  And right now he was likely to bite both their heads off.

He could hear muffled voices in the outer office and then Ford calling out.  “You got a visitor, Madrid.”

Johnny’s heart sank down into his guts.  Dios.  If only folk would leave him alone.

 

Part Twenty seven

 

Johnny’s head jerked up in surprise.  “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Running around trying to save your butt, I reckon.  And not for the first time.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.  “Saving my butt?  How?  I thought you’d gone back to Green River.  With a sore leg.”

Val grunted, leaning down to pick up something from behind the open door.  “Figured you might be needing these.”  He held up some saddlebags even as Johnny’s heart felt like it had leaped right up into his throat.  “And they’d better be worth the effort I put in hunting for them.  My leg is paining me real bad, Madrid.  If I spend the rest of my life limping, it’ll be your doing.”  Val sank down on to the chair next to the barred cell.  Didn’t look like he’d seen soap or water or a razor in some time.  Johnny bit back a smile.  Nothing new there.

But his saddlebags!  Dios.  Felt like all the Christmases he’d never celebrated had suddenly all come at once.  Good old Val.  But how the hell had Val known?  “Why’d you go looking for them, Val? I never asked you to hunt for them.”

Val gave him one of his looks, the kind that said he thought Madrid was being dumb.  “You were real steamed up about them back in Stockton.  And don’t try telling me it’s because you’ve had ’em a long time and are real attached to them.  I figured, knowing what a slippery son of a bitch you are, that maybe there was something in ’em that you wanted.  And I tell you, if it ain’t there, I sure as hell ain’t going back to look again.  I searched high and low for those in the damn rain.  Lucky I didn’t catch my death of cold.  Not that anybody would have cared if I had upped and died.”

Johnny grinned.  “Don’t be such an old grouch.  You got no idea how pleased I am to see you, Val.”

Val snorted.  “Huh.  Don’t give me that bullshit, Madrid.  You mean your God damn saddlebags, not me.”

Johnny bit back another smile. “Settle for you and the bags, okay?” 

Val grunted again and pushed them through the bars.  “Here you are.  Best check them.”

Johnny shut his eyes briefly at the touch of the worn old leather bags.  Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance now.  Because he really didn’t want to die because of Doe.  So long as he still had his trump card.

He opened them slowly, like he wasn’t bothered one way or the other, trying to ignore Val’s raised eyebrow and sigh of irritation.  “You really are one irritating son of a bitch, Madrid.  How the hell nobody’s shot you before now, I’ll never know.”

Johnny flicked through the contents of the bags before setting them back down.

“Well?”  Val had the grouchy tone back.  “You got everything you need?  Is everything there?”

Johnny shook his head.  “Nope.  There’s a gold nugget missing.”

“You think I stole it?”  Val sounded real pissed.

Johnny laughed softly.  “No, Val, I don’t think you stole it.  But I tell you who did know it was in my bags.  Fucking Carter.”

Val sighed.  “That figures.  Those bags had been hidden.  There was no way they got where they were by accident.  I found them down a crevice between the rocks, some way from where the stage crashed.  That’s why I’ve been gone so long.  Took me two days scouring that area before I found the damn things.  Then my damn horse went lame.”

Johnny looked up.  “Two days...”  He felt warmer inside, like the sun had come out again.  Val had spent two whole days searching because he wanted to help Madrid?  “Val...  I do...   I mean, well...”

Val grunted, and waved his hand to shut Johnny up..  “Yeah.  Yeah.  I know.  Thing is, was the gold important?”

“Hell, yes.  Of course it was important.  I found that gold when I was messing around panning.  Carried it ever since.  Kind of like a lucky charm, I guess.”  Wasn’t going to tell Val that he was planning on making a ring with it if he ever found a woman dumb enough to want to marry him.  Val would reckon Madrid was really soft if he knew that.

Val stood up, pushing the chair back so hard it fell over.  “You know damn well that ain’t what I meant, Johnny.  Hell, you’re one tricky...”

“Son of a bitch?”  Johnny grinned.  “Let’s just say that the gold is the only thing missing.”

Val shook his head.  “You ain’t gonna tell me are you?  After all the trouble I went to...”

Johnny laughed softly.  “Val, it ain’t good for you to go getting so worked up.  The gold’s the only thing missing.  And trust me, if I get off the hook for this, I’m going looking for Carter and he’ll wish he’d never been born.  He’s sure as hell not going to get away with my gold nugget.  Fuck that.”

Val glared.  “Oh, wonderful.  Yeah, great idea.  And then you can end up locked back in here again.  You don’t never learn.  Take a tip from me, sometimes, Madrid, it’s better to walk away.  Especially seeing  as how Carter’s a lawman.”

Johnny shook his head.  “I already needed to get even with that bastard.  Told him we’d got a score to settle.  He’s just given me another good reason.  And I got a long memory, Val, a very long memory. “

Val looked at him steadily.  “Leaving that to one side for a minute, you said ‘if you got off the hook for this’.  Is that gonna happen?  When I spoke to Ford a few minutes ago, he said things weren’t looking too good.  Is that right?”  Val paused, kicked at the chair leg with his worn old boot.  “I mean, what the hell has all this been about?  Ain’t like I’ve been here to hear the trial.  Running around after you, I missed all the good stuff.  From what he just said I’m back in time to see you climb the steps to the gallows.”  He looked across with narrowed eyes.  “And if it’s all the same to you, Madrid, I’d rather not see that happening.  So?  What’s all of this about?  And don’t go telling me you didn’t kill this fellow, because I know damn well you did.”

Good old Val.  He just never changed.  Never pussy footed around.  Just spoke straight.  It was one of the things he liked about Val.  Some people might mistake him for a fool.  But if they did they were the fools.  Val was sharp as a razor, even though he didn’t often use one.  Maybe because he was so sharp he might cut himself.  Johnny grinned at the thought. 

“Well, you gonna say something or just sit there grinning like a cat that got the cream?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow.  “Kind of impatient there, ain’t you, Val.  Ford gave the court a bit of background on Doe.  You missed that.  He was a guard in a prison.  According to Ford, Doe abused the prisoners and took bets on things while all the other prisoners stood and watched...”  Johnny tailed off.  His heart was starting the thump harder.  Didn’t even want to think about those jeering men.  Block it out.  Maybe if he kept telling himself it never happened he might be able to forget it all.  He tried to drag his mind back to now.  Could feel Val’s eyes boring into him.  Seeing inside of him.  Seeing all that dirt on his soul.

“Anyway, that’s what Ford told the court.”  Yeah, cut it short.  Don’t give any more details.  “And this eyewitness they got themselves, says he saw a left-handed gunman.  And you and me both know I always use my right hand.”

Val gave him another of those looks.  “Well, I know for a fact you’ve been in prison, you told me so once.  Did you tell the court that?”

Johnny shrugged.  “Didn’t see any point.  I was just a kid then.”  He tried to look Val in the eyes, but damn it, couldn’t do it.  Instead he fiddled with the catches on his saddle bags.

Val grunted in irritation.  “Yeah, well, probably for the best that you didn’t mention it in court.  No point in helping them put a noose around your neck.  I’m guessing you met this fellow, Doe, in prison then.”

Johnny looked up sharply.  “I never said I knew Doe.”

Val raised an eyebrow.  “I know you didn’t say it.  But I’ll bet my badge you did know him.  Sorry, I reckon I know you better than you think.  I always figured you knew more about this case than you’ve let on.  I was there when they arrested you.  In case you’ve forgotten.”  Val looked at him in the sort of way he did when he was trying to make his point.  “And you was clever then about avoiding the question of whether you’ve ever been to Utah.  You are a slippery devil, Madrid.  And you ain’t never asked on that journey what you were accused of doing.  But you slipped up there.  An innocent man would have been demanding to know.”

He had to keep his face blank.  Wasn’t admitting anything.  Trouble was, Val knew him too well.  “If you’re so sure of all this, Val, why ain’t you running to tell the judge?”

Val looked at him hard.  Didn’t say a thing for a few beats.  “Let’s just say I never took you for a cold blooded killer.  And this fellow you say they described in court... “  Val shook his head slightly.  “Sometimes, Johnny, being legal don’t get the job done.”  Val gave a soft laugh.  “But don’t tell that old windbag of a mayor in Green River that I said that.”

Couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.  And it was real odd, but it seemed that the two men who’d figured out that he was guilty, were both lawmen and both on his side.  And yet, surely they were meant to be on the side of the law?  But maybe that was it.  They knew how shit the law was.  That it didn’t do much to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.  That it tended to work best for people with power and money.  Dios but the world was full of small ugly people.  

“Will the saddlebags help?”  Val had a funny sort of half smile on his face like he knew Johnny was figuring everything out.

Johnny laughed.  “Val.  I ain’t got a clue.  Don’t think I know anything anymore.  Seems to me that everyone’s full of surprises.  But they might, they just might.  Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Which means you still ain’t gonna tell me what’s so all fired up important in them.  Dang, but you’re a stubborn devil.  Don’t know how that brother of yours puts up with you.”

Johnny grinned at that.  “Between you and me, Val, I haven’t figured that one either.  See you in court.  You’d better go get a seat.  It’s been a full house since it started.” 

Val turned toward the door with a grunt.  “You’ll be the death of me one of these days, Madrid.  See you in court.”

“Val.”  Johnny moved closer to the bars, his voice soft.  “Thanks.”

Val paused and then gave a wave of his hand as he walked back into the outer room.

Johnny slumped down onto the cot.   It was almost like his legs wouldn’t hold him.  So much had happened so fast.  First finding out about Ford and where he fitted in, and then hearing about poor Dougie.  And now Val showing up out of the blue with the saddlebags.  Dios, how fast his luck had changed.  He’d thought it was all over.  That Doe was finally going to win.  The jury would find him guilty and that would be an end of it, he’d been all out of aces.  But now the wind was shifting.  Lady Luck had settled on his side of the table.  And he had a ghost of a chance.  Maybe more than a ghost.  A chance to raise some doubts in the minds of that jury.  Would Brooker buy it?  Brooker was clever.  Real sharp.  But, surely Brooker would have to think real hard about Madrid’s trump card.  Maybe it would turn out to be his ace in the hole.  Thank God for Val.  Good old Val.  Seemed he made a habit of saving Madrid’s hide.  Johnny grinned.  Yeah, Val was a good friend.  And he sure wasn’t used to having friends but he seemed to be getting the knack of it now.  Val, Scott, Sam, Delice.  Dios.  Life sure was changing. 

He never brooded on the hand life had dealt him.  You just played your cards the best way you could.  He was happy that Scott had been dealt a better hand.  Funny.  He’d said that to Delice once.  Least she’d be pleased that he’d sorted things out with Boston.  She’d warned him not to push Scott too hard.  He grinned.  Damn woman was always right.  Too smart by half.  Especially for a woman.  Back in Green River he’d had the feeling she’d figured he was guilty.  But he’d also had the feeling she’d figured he must have had a damn good reason for committing murder.  He shook his head.  Hell, seemed that quite a few people seemed to see the best in him.  Who’d have thought it?  If that Pinkerton man had turned up just five minutes later...

“Sweetfoot’s here.”  Ford’s voice broke into his thoughts.  “I’ll send him through.”

Johnny looked up with a grin.  “Yeah, send him on in, Ford.”
....................

The court was a heaving mass of people.  Seemed even fuller than usual.  Johnny shook his head.  Damn but folk were shit.  They were cramming in because they knew that the jury would be having to consider its verdict.  And on what had come out so far, everyone knew the jury would find him guilty.  Dios but people were sick.  They just wanted to hear the old judge hand out the death sentence.

Johnny bit back a smile.  Maybe he could upset the best laid plans of those folk.  Sure would be a pleasure.  He glanced across at Sweetfoot.  The kid had a spring in his step now.  Looked eager to be getting on with things.  And who could blame him?  The kid had finally got something to work with.  And Johnny had drilled him good.  Told him exactly how to play it.  What to say.  Told him what to say to everything Lincoln might throw at them.  If the kid kept his cool, maybe, just maybe, Madrid would be sleeping in a proper bed before much longer.  Preferably with some long legged, green eyed girl.

Scott was pushing his way through the crowd, his brow all furrowed up and looking older somehow.  “Johnny, have you reconsidered your defence?  You’ve got to do more.  Say more.  Things don’t look good.”

Johnny felt a pang of guilt as he looked at Scott’s face.  Dios, but Scott never had that many lines before.  And there were black shadows under Scott’s eyes.  He looked real rough.  “It’s okay, Scott.  Sweetfoot and I, we had a long session over lunch.  We’ve got something different lined up.”

Scott gave him a look which said maybe he didn’t believe that, but kind of hoping he did.  “Well, I certainly hope so.”  Scott gave a start of surprise, pointing across the room.  “Good Lord, there’s Val.  I thought he’d gone back to Green River.  He’s the last person I would have expected here.”

Johnny grinned.  “Yeah.  Last person I’d have expected too.  But it seems he came up trumps.”

Scott furrowed his brow.  “Came up trumps?  How?”

Johnny smiled, all innocent like.  “Oh, I just meant coming here to support me.”

Scott looked about to say something but Brooker was in now, banging his hammer and Scott shot off to take the seat he’d bagged.

Lincoln was seated at the lawyers’ bench, looking all smug, like he’d got everything sewn up.  Boy, it was going to be fun wiping the smile off his face.

“Mr. Sweetfoot.”  Brooker had his glasses balanced and was peering at Sweetfoot over the top of them.

“Your honour.”  Sweetfoot bounced to his feet.  Yeah.  Bounced.  Boy was Sweetfoot keen.  Couldn’t wait for what was about to happen.  Johnny grinned.  Always knew Sweetfoot was sharp and hungry.  Maybe now the kid would get a real chance to show the court what he was made of.

“Mr. Sweetfoot, I trust that you took advantage of the adjournment and have succeeded in talking some sense into your client.  This is a matter of the utmost gravity.  A man’s life hangs in the balance.  Over lunch I considered whether there would be any benefit in recalling Marshal Ford and putting him under oath, but I reluctantly came to the conclusion that it would have little benefit to your client.  His information is interesting, and perhaps the people of this town should be considering themselves fortunate that Mr. Doe didn’t spend any longer enjoying their hospitality, but the fact remains that Mr. Jackson has proved to be a convincing witness.  You have apparently failed to shake his testimony.  So, Mr. Sweetfoot, where do we now stand?  Is Mr. Lancer going to take the stand?”

Sweetfoot gave a slight bow to the judge.  “Your honour, I very much appreciate your taking so much trouble to consider Mr. Lancer’s position, but in fact, it will be unnecessary for Mr. Lancer to take the stand.”

Brooker narrowed his eyes and Lincoln turned towards Sweetfoot, looking all riled up.

“Unnecessary?”  Brooker didn’t sound like he believed that.

“Yes, your honour, unnecessary.”  Sweetfoot paused, glanced all around the court kind of like he was making sure he’d got everybody’s attention.  Not that there was much doubt of that.  There was absolute silence while everyone just seemed to stop breathing.  It was almost like the world had stopped turning.  “Over the course of the lunch hour, new evidence has come to light which will prove, conclusively and beyond all reasonable doubt, that Mr. Lancer is innocent of the charge against him.”

Part Twenty eight

 

He grunted at the sudden pain in his ribs.  Mrs Nixon was elbowing him excitedly, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling.  “Do tell.”  She probably thought she was whispering but for heaven’s sake, surely everybody must have heard her?  “What’s the new evidence?” 

He struggled to smile politely.  What indeed?  Damn Johnny.  He was such a secretive devil.  And he’d left Scott out in the cold.  Again.  “Hush.”  He raised a finger to his lips, hoping she’d take the hint.  But the courtroom was positively humming with whispered comments and asides.  And Johnny, damn him, was sitting looking like the cat that had got the cream, a small smile playing around his mouth as though secretly amused by the effect Sweetfoot’s pronouncement had made on everyone.

Scott gritted his teeth.  One day he would take great delight in flooring Johnny.  Even now his hand was itching.  And his head felt as if it was spinning.  What the hell was this amazing new evidence anyway?  And where had it come from...  And why the hell hadn’t Johnny told him?  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Val leaning against the wall, a look of long suffering resignation on his face.  Val.  It had to be Val.   Val, who’d supposedly gone back to Green River.  So what the hell had Val been up to? 

“Order!”  Judge Brooker was banging the desk with his gavel, even as Scott remembered Johnny’s damn saddlebags. 

“Order.  I will have no more disturbances.  Anyone who is unable to keep quiet will be held in contempt.  This is a court of law and shall be treated as such.  I will not tolerate any further interruptions.”

Brooker polished his pince nez and then settled back in his chair as the throng of people quietened down.

“Mr. Sweetfoot, you say that new evidence has come to light?  I take it that you are asking the court to allow this new evidence to be admitted?”

Sweetfoot was back on his feet instantly.  It was as though the young man had grown springs.  He was brimming with enthusiasm, it was emanating from him in waves that surely everybody in the room must feel.  “Yes, your honour.  As you just pointed out, this is a matter of the utmost gravity, and this new evidence sheds a very different light on the matter.  As I said, it will prove my client’s innocence.”

Scott could have sworn that Brooker’s lips twitched.  It was as though the man was struggling to stop himself from smiling at Sweetfoot’s unbridled enthusiasm.  The lad bore an uncanny resemblance to a friendly and excitable puppy rushing everywhere wagging its tail.

Brooker fingered his goatee beard as if deep in thought.  He nodded slowly.  “Well, Mr. Sweetfoot, if this startling new evidence is that convincing, of course it must be presented to the court.”  His voice was grave but Scott was sure that there was something else there, as though he was entertained by the amazing transformation of the young clerk.

Scott tried to stop himself from grinding his teeth.  It seemed that Sweetfoot and Val were both party to this amazing new evidence, while he was to be excluded.  Didn’t Johnny trust him?  He pushed the thought away.  He didn’t want to believe that.  And if it had only come to light during the luncheon adjournment when Val had turned up with the missing saddlebags, Johnny hadn’t really had time to enlighten him.  Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he might eventually believe it. 

But if he was honest with himself, it probably came down to the fact that Johnny was the most devious man he’d ever met.  And was relishing springing this on everyone – Scott included.  Johnny had been devious from the very start of this whole ghastly business.  And he was also convinced that Johnny was guilty.  He bit his lip, it hurt that Johnny hadn’t just been honest with him although Johnny had admitted that there was something in those damn saddlebags that could be useful in the trial.  But he hadn’t admitted killing Doe.  He’d evaded that issue.  But, of course Johnny couldn’t possibly admit his guilt to anybody without compromising himself and the person he divulged the confession to.  No, Johnny really had no choice but to keep professing his innocence.  To keep lying.  But from what Ford had told the court, Doe didn’t sound as though he was any great loss to anybody.  But the big question was had Johnny been one of his victims?  The idea of Johnny being treated in that way was sickening.  What was it Johnny had said when Scott had asked him if Doe had ever touched him?  That Doe had never laid a finger on him.  Which meant one of two things: that Johnny had never had any dealings with Doe, or that Johnny had indeed been one of the victims abused while Doe looked on.  Scott shut his eyes briefly, trying to quell the feeling of nausea.  God only knew what he would have suffered at the hands of brutal men.  And Johnny had been just a child when he was thrown in prison...

“So, Mr. Sweetfoot, perhaps you would be so kind as to share this startling new information with us all.”  Brooker leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

Sweetfoot inclined his head.  “Your honour, it will be my pleasure.”

“Oh I have no doubt of that, Mr. Sweetfoot.”  Brooker sounded very dry.

The only sound in the room was from the papers that Sweetfoot adjusted in front of him.  It was as though everybody was holding their breaths. 

Sweetfoot cleared his throat.  “Since the start of this trial, I have been at great pains to point out that Mr. Lancer is now a respectable rancher, living an upright and law abiding life.  And this is indeed the case.  But perhaps now is the time to dwell on Mr. Lancer’s past.  As my learned colleague went to so much trouble to point out,” Sweetfoot paused and made a slight bow to Lincoln.  “Mr. Lancer has not always led a respectable life.  For several years he was better known as the notorious Johnny Madrid.  His speed and deadly accuracy were legendary.”

Sweetfoot paused again, glancing across at Johnny who was leaning back in his seat, apparently totally at ease.  “Yes, there, gentlemen of the jury, is the most infamous gunfighter of them all.”  Sweetfoot pointed dramatically to Johnny whose face was impassive.    “Take a good look at him because I doubt that any of you will ever again get the opportunity to see such a notorious character at such close quarters.” 

Sweetfoot moved his papers around again.  Damn it, would the kid never get to the point?  Scott ground his teeth.  The kid certainly had the entire room hanging on his every word.  And now there seemed to be just the faintest suggestion of a smile playing around Johnny’s mouth.  Scott sighed.  There was no doubt about who was pulling the strings in this performance.  But what the hell was the kid going to conjure up to get Johnny off the hook?  What on earth was this mysterious item from Johnny’s saddlebag?   Val must have gone looking for the bags and not returned to Green River.  He remembered all too clearly now Johnny’s insistence before they started the journey to Utah that Scott should fetch the bags for him.  What was it he’d said?  That he’d need them for the journey and he’d “sure as hell need them for the journey back.”  Scott shook his head.  He’d be prepared to bet his share of the ranch that Johnny had been all prepared for the possibility of this trial and kept whatever it was in those damn bags, possibly for a very long time. 

“And, as I’m sure everybody here can appreciate, people always pay attention to Mr. Madrid.  When Johnny Madrid arrived in town people noticed.  In fact, I would go so far as to suggest that people would travel in from outlying settlements just to get a glimpse of Mr. Madrid.  And human nature being what it is, part of his mystique, the reason people want to see him, is that they always hope they will see him in action.”

Brooker sighed.  A long deep sigh and rapped his fingers on the desk.  “Mr. Sweetfoot, is there a point to this discourse and are you ever going to come to it?”

Sweetfoot beamed.  “Indeed there is a point, your honour, and I am coming to that.”

“Well, I’m very glad to hear it.  Perhaps you could speed it up and put us all out of our misery.” 

Sweetfoot inclined his head.  “Mr. Madrid’s reputation being what it is, there is always somebody wanting to test him.  Young guns who want to prove they’re faster to the draw.  And although Mr. Madrid usually tries to talk them out of their lust for a gunfight, he sometimes has no option but to defend himself.”

Brooker sighed.  “How very trying for Mr. Madrid.”  The judge’s tone was heavily laden with sarcasm.

Sweetfoot ignored it.  Instead he bowed slightly to Brooker.  “It is very trying for him indeed.  I’m so glad that your honour appreciates that.  But although Mr. Madrid finds such situations most vexatious, he is not above vanity.  He prides himself on the speed of his draw, his precision.  By his own admission he was good at his trade.  When he was working as a gunfighter he was a very expensive gun to hire.  And a very vain one.”

Scott furrowed his brow.  Where the hell was this going?  And although he’d agree that Johnny was very vain when it came to women, he was never boastful about his prowess with a gun.  He was matter of fact about it.  It was just a part of him and certainly something he never boasted about.  Quite the opposite of what Sweetfoot was claiming.

“And such is Mr. Madrid’s vanity that he enjoys reading about himself and his exploits.  He is the hero of many a dime novel.”

Reading about himself and his exploits?  Well, that was hogwash!  Johnny hated dime novels.  In fact it would be hard to find anyone more scathing about them.  Johnny always said they were a “load of fucking crap” and he had been particularly rude when he’d once come across Scott reading one which featured Johnny as the hero...

“He also loves to read of his exploits as they are reported by the gentlemen of the press.  And Mr. Madrid liked to collect such articles if they alluded to him.”  Sweetfoot paused and cleared his throat.  Then he took a sip of water from the glass on the table.  “And it is Mr. Madrid’s vanity which shall prove to be his salvation.”  Sweetfoot bent forward and with a great flourish produced a slip of paper from the pile of documents and books in front of him.

“I have here, a newspaper cutting from The Weekly Arizonian which is published in Tubac.  It is dated July 17 1866.  I will read this to the court.”

“I rather thought you might.”  Brooker leaned back in his chair, his arms folded.

“Our readers will already be aware of the lamentable events of Saturday, July 14.  There was much excitement among the more undesirable element of our town at the news that the notorious gunfighter Johnny Madrid had ridden in the previous day.  His arrival attracted the attention of a number of hands from the Bar C ranch.  These same young men will already be known to many for spending a disreputable amount of time in the town’s saloons at the weekends.  Two of their number, W. McKinley and J. Adams , had over imbibed and endeavoured to start a fistfight with Madrid.  The unfortunate incident degenerated into a brawl and the McKinley and Adams challenged Madrid to a gunfight.

“The three men faced each other in the street and lively fire commenced.  When the smoke cleared McKinley and Adams both lay dead.  Madrid returned unharmed to the bar where he remained until leaving town on Monday morning.”

Sweetfoot pointed again at Johnny.  “I would ask your honour to accept my submission that my client, Mr. John Lancer, couldn’t possibly have been here in our town on that fateful Saturday because he was, in fact, engaged in a gunfight in Tubac, Arizona, as this newspaper cutting ably demonstrates.  I put it to this court that Mr. Doe was killed by an unknown left handed gunman.  We have been at pains to point out during this trial that Mr. Lancer is a right-handed gunman.  We have also pointed out on numerous occasions that Mr. Jackson has poor hearing.  We believe that Mr. Jackson misheard the name given by the assailant on that dreadful day.  But one thing is certain, that assailant was not my client.  He has a demonstrable alibi for the crime.  And therefore I would ask that the charge against Mr. Lancer be dismissed.”

Everybody started talking as Sweetfoot sat down and had another drink of water.  Scott felt as though his head was swimming.  This was just too incredible.  Surely the judge would have to free Johnny now?  And all because of a newspaper cutting.  Newspapers...   There was something about all of this which was wrong, if only he could figure out what it was.  There was something at the back of his mind, some memory just out of reach.  Damn it.  If only he could remember.  Something to do with newspapers.  Something Johnny had said...

“May I see this newspaper clipping, Mr. Sweetfoot?”  Brooker held his hand out for the slip of paper.  He adjusted his pince nez and read it carefully before handing it across to Lincoln.  Brooker pursed his lips, and sighed softly.  “This was a most fortuitous discovery for your client, Mr. Sweetfoot.”

Sweetfoot sprang to his feet.  “It was indeed, your honour.  As I said, Mr. Madrid is a vain man and carried this and other cuttings in his saddlebags.  These were mislaid on the journey here when the stagecoach crashed, but a friend of his, who is himself a sheriff, returned to search for the bags and only arrived with them today.  Mr. Madrid was checking that his belongings were all there when he came across this cutting.  It was happy chance indeed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Scott noticed Carter hurrying from the courtroom.  What was he so fired up about?  Surely the man would wait to hear whatever happened next?  Especially now that according to the slip of paper Johnny had been in Tubac...   And even as the thought flitted into Scott’s mind, so did the memory.  Hell, he could even hear Johnny saying it.  The night when he and Johnny had ridden into town and upon their return Johnny had discovered Murdoch reading the Pinkerton Report...  And Johnny and Murdoch had argued.  And later, Scott had gone to talk to Johnny about the report and now the conversation came flooding back.

‘Tell you one thing, I bet there’s a whole lotta shit in that report.  Never fails to amaze me how I can be in two places at once.  You know, there I am thinking I’m in Sonora but I see something in the paper saying I’m in Abilene or Tuscon.  Hell, sometimes I’m in all three.  I guess I just got real talent for spreading myself around.’

That had to be it.  Johnny had seen that newspaper report and been shrewd enough to realise it could save his life.  Because if there was one thing Scott was certain of, Johnny had killed Doe.  And had not been in Tubac that day.  God, but he was devious.  Devious and very clever.

 “Mr. Lincoln thank you for your presentation of the facts as you understood them, but this throws an entirely different light on the matter.  In the light of this latest evidence, Mr. Sweetfoot.”  Brooker paused to polish his pince nez.  “I believe that I must uphold your submission and dismiss the charge against Mr. Lancer.  It would appear to exonerate him.  He is released from the custody of the court.”

An excited clamour erupted all over the room.  Sweetfoot rushed to shake hands with Johnny before remembering to shake Lincoln by the hand which he did in a peremptory fashion before turning back to Johnny.

Mrs. Nixon was chattering loudly to the person sitting on her other side as Scott stood to push past to make his way to Johnny.  He collided with the veiled woman who was hurrying toward the door.  He uttered an apology, but she ignored him.  He battled through the throng to Johnny who was having one of his cuffed hands pumped up and down by a very excited Sweetfoot.

“We did it.  We did it.  And my first ever case.”  Sweetfoot’s face was flushed with pleasure.  “We did it.”

Johnny winced as he finally managed to release his hand.  “Yeah.  You did real good, Sweetfoot.  Not bad at all for a greenhorn.  Be a real feather in your cap when you join that Eastern firm.”

Sweetfoot’s smile was so broad, Scott half expected the young man’s face to split in half.

“It really will, won’t it?  Oh my, I can’t believe it, we did it.  Oh my!  And I really thought this morning that we were going to lose...”

Johnny shrugged.  “Yeah, well, we got lucky.  Good old Val came through.  So, you best get me your bill, Sweetfoot.”  Johnny jerked his thumb towards Scott.  “He’ll pay it.”

Scott sighed.  “I knew I was here for something.”

Johnny flashed him a quick grin.  “Yeah, I know how you like to feel useful, Boston.  And so far on this trip you ain’t had much to do.  So just go pay the man, will you?”

Scott raised an eyebrow.  “So nice to know I have some use.  And when I’ve paid him, you and I are going to have a little talk.  Brother.”

 

Part Twenty nine

 

He’d done it.  He’d got away with it.  Shit!  He’d really done it! 
 
Scott was saying something in his ear.  Something about needing to have a talk.  What the hell did they have to talk about that was so fired up important?  And Sweetfoot looked like a rooster in a henhouse, and Val was yacking away in his other ear.  And everybody in the damn room was talking at once.  He felt like everything was closing in on him.  He needed some air.  He needed to get out of this courtroom.  Get away from all the people.  He hated crowds.  And he hated them even more when he wasn’t wearing his gun.  He needed a gun.  Was there a gunsmith in this town?  That was it.  Buy a gun and then get the hell out.  Out of this town and out of fucking Utah.  Before the judge could change his mind.
 
He tried to move away but Scott pulled him back, saying something about getting rid of the cuffs.  Yeah.  Get rid of the cuffs and then go buy a gun. 
 
Ford was fumbling with the key and then the cuffs were gone.  He felt lighter without their dead weight pulling on his arms.  He rubbed at his wrists and Sweetfoot grabbed his hand and started shaking it all over again.  Dios.   He needed to get outside.  Breathe fresh air.  Feel free again.  Feel a gun on his hip.
 
He stumbled toward the door.  Collided with the woman in the veil and he muttered an apology but she ignored him.  And other people were talking at him but he shut out the noise.  Just wanted some air.  Couldn’t ever remember losing control like this.  But it was over.  All the nights he’d sweated over this and now it was gone.  Unless the judge changed his mind. 
 
It was snowing heavy, blowing in all directions and it burned his face and stung his eyes but he didn’t care.  Just lifted his face up and took deep breaths.  Deep breaths of free air.  Felt like he couldn’t get enough of it.  That there wasn’t enough air in the world to fill his lungs. The snow was blowing onto his neck but it felt real good.  He’d escaped the noose and that would have felt a hell of a lot worse around his neck.  Dios.  He was free.  He was fucking free.  Shit but that felt good.
 
“Are you all right?”  Scott was by his side.  Worry lines creasing between his eyes.
 
“Yeah.  Course I’m all right.”  Johnny stood straighter.  Maybe nobody would notice that his breathing was harsher than usual.  That his heart was thumping hard enough to burst out of his chest.  “Just don’t like crowds is all.”
 
He scanned the people pouring out of the courtroom, all gawking at him.  How the hell had they all managed to fit in there?  “Let’s get out of here, Boston.  Is there some place quiet we can go?  Just want to get away from all these fucking people.”
 
“We’ll go to my room.  You can wait there while I go and pay Sweetfoot.”
 
Johnny followed Scott toward the hotel.  But he couldn’t relax and walk normal.  Felt like he was naked.  Dios, he needed a gun.  Had to get a gun.  Anyone could take him out.  There could be somebody waiting right now just to level a gun at him...
 
Ford and Val were already at the hotel, standing talking under the overhanging eaves, keeping out of the snow which was swirling in thick circles in the wind.  Reminded him of the way a woman’s dress would twirl around when she danced.
 
Ford shot him a piercing look as they drew closer.  The sort of look that saw right inside a man.   “You okay, Madrid?  You don’t look too good.”
 
Dios!  What was it with everybody?  He shrugged.  “Damn cold, that’s all.  How the hell do you stick living here?  Freezing cold in the winter and hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalks in the summer.”  Johnny paused, bit his lip.  “So I’m told.”
 
Val and Ford exchanged looks, the sort that said they could see right through him and Val grunted like he was irritated.  “Just get the hell inside, Madrid.”
 
A wall of heat hit him as they pushed open the big heavy door leading into the hotel.  Or maybe it just seemed hotter than hell because it was so damn cold outside.  There were some big old leather chairs near a big roaring fire.  It would be good to sink right down into one and let the fire heat his bones.
 
“Come on, I’ve got something for you upstairs.”  Scott looked kind of pleased with himself.  Smug, that was it.  Kind of smirking like he’d won some contest.  Johnny sighed and followed him up the broad staircase.  The hotel was kind of grand for such a small town.  Some sort of sparkling glass thing covered in candles hung from the ceiling. 
 
Scott was opening the door to a room at the end of the corridor.  Looking at him, grinning and waving his arm like he wanted Johnny to go on in.  “I told you the room went with your shirt.”
 
“Holy shit!”  Johnny put his hand across his eyes, pretending he was dazzled.  Everything was pink.  Every single damn thing.  “It’s like a bordello, Boston.”
 
“Well, you should feel right at home then.”  Scott was smirking. 
 
There was a vast pink bed and Johnny threw himself down on it, closing his eyes as he sank into the feathery embrace.  Dios.  It would be good to sleep for a week.  A year.  He opened one eye and grinned at Scott.  “You sure this ain’t a bordello?”
 
“Sadly not.  There isn’t one in the whole town.  This is Utah, they’re a bit strict about things like that.”  Scott was ferreting in a drawer as he spoke.  “I have a surprise for you.  And you’d better damn well be grateful.”  Scott took out a package, wrapped in a soft cloth.  The cloth looked oddly familiar...  It couldn’t be, could it?
 
He sat up slowly, hardly daring to hope.  His heart feeling like it was choking him.  He held his hand out for the package...  It was.  It really was.  His gun-belt.  His gun.  His fighting gun.  Scott had brought them all this way, because he believed in Johnny.  Even after the way Madrid had treated him back at Green River, Scott had still had faith.  The words caught in his throat.  Didn’t know what to say.  Instead, he ran his fingers over the well worn supple holster.  And the gun.  Just the feel of it in his hand seemed to calm his rapidly beating heart.  He shut his eyes briefly, relishing the touch of the cold metal and the way the wooden handle fitted his hand.  Like it was part of him.  All this time it had been like a part of him was missing.  Now he felt whole again.
 
He stood and fixed the gun-belt around his hips.  Real tight.  And then pulled it a notch tighter still.  Then he carefully loaded the gun.  All the while feeling Scott watching him.  He looked up and met Scott’s eyes for a beat before speaking real soft.  Struggling for the words.  “Thanks, Scott.  You couldn’t have brought anything better.”
 
Scott shrugged before flashing him a sudden smile.  “Tell you one thing, I wished I’d brought the other gun.  Almost blew my nuts off with that one.  Damn thing just went off.  Scared the living daylights out of me.”
 
Johnny bit back a laugh.  “Kind of a hair trigger.  It does go off if you don’t know how to handle it.”
 
“And you certainly know how to handle it.”  There was something in Scott’s tone.  Cooler now.
 
Johnny spun it in his hand a couple of times.  Making sure the action felt real smooth before slipping it back into the holster.  “Yeah, Scott.”  He spoke soft again.  “I know how to handle it.  I thought you were okay with that.”

Scott stood with his head bowed, like he was thinking real hard.  He looked up. But Johnny couldn’t read his expression.  Scott opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again.  Like he’d changed his mind.  Instead, he turned suddenly toward the door.  “I’ll go and pay Sweetfoot.  As you say, I have to serve some purpose.” 

It was his tone.  Johnny felt a pang of guilt.  “I’m real grateful for the gun...”  But Scott had gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Johnny sank back down onto the bed.  Dios!  Why was life so damn tricky?  And why did he always mess up?  He was useless at handling people.  Never knew what to say and he always put his foot in it.  And it seemed he’d done it again.  And he didn’t even know what he’d said wrong.  Hell, he’d only thanked Scott for the gun. 

He thumped his fist into the pillow.  But it didn’t help.  What the hell did Scott want from him?  Because whatever it was, he didn’t think he could give any more.  And he was so fucking tired.  Worn out.  No.  He hadn’t got any more to give. 

He hauled himself up.  Right now he just wanted to get out of Utah.  But he wasn’t leaving without his gold nugget.  He’d got a score to settle with Carter.  His head still ached from where Carter had thrown him back against the rock.  So, two scores to settle.  And Scott would have to put up with it.

The door creaked open as Scott came back in.  “I saw Sweetfoot downstairs.  Your debts are paid.”

It was still there.  That tone of voice.  What the hell was Boston’s problem?  Johnny bit his lip.  Maybe it would be best to ignore it.  Not rise to it.  He had other, more pressing things to deal with.  Like Carter.

He glanced at Scott’s bags by the door.  “So, we can go?  You all ready?  Because I want to get the hell out of here now.”

Scott narrowed his eyes.  His jaw looked kind of set.  “All in good time.  I think I’d like a few answers first.”

His heart felt like it bumped right down and landed around his stomach.  What was it with Scott?  Why did he always want to talk about things?  Dios.  “Answers to what?”  He knew he sounded aggressive but shit, why now?  Why did they have to fucking talk now?

“Like how long you’ve been carrying that newspaper cutting around?”

Johnny stared down at his boots, raised an eyebrow while he tried to figure what to say.  “What the hell does it matter, Scott?  I don’t know.  I came across it.  Thought I’d keep it is all.”

“Came across it?”  Scott sure sounded like he didn’t think much of that answer.  “You just came across it.  Presumably that was seconds before you realised how it could provide an alibi for when you killed Doe.” 

Johnny shut his eyes briefly.  Bit his lip hard.  Because otherwise he might just bite Scott’s head off instead.  And he didn’t want to fall out.  Not after everything they’d gone through.  But if Scott thought Madrid was suddenly going to roll right over and confess everything, well, he could think again.  “I never said I killed Doe.  The cutting says I was in Tubac in a gunfight.  Now, are you done, Scott?  Can we go?” 

Scott shook his head.  “No.  I’m not done.  You see, I remember a conversation I had with you once.  You told me that you’d often seen reports of you being in places when in fact you were somewhere else.  That’s what happened here, isn’t it?”

He mustn’t rise to this.  He didn’t want to butt heads with Scott.  So he smiled, real easy.  “It’s happened sometimes, but I never said that was the case here.  Now you ready...”

“Damn it, Johnny!”  The vein was pulsing in the side of Scott’s head as he slammed his fist down on the table.  “Just once.   Just once, damn you, give me a straight answer when I ask you a question.  I have had as much as I can take of your prevarication.  You never answer a question.  Never.  And I am sick to death of it.”

It was rising now.  That dull dry heat of rage.  Tried to keep a lid on it but shit...  “What is it?  What the fuck is it you want from me, Scott?  You want me to stand here and tell you how many men I’ve killed?  Is that it?  You want me to tell you how sorry I am for all the things I’ve done wrong.  Well, yeah.  I’ve done lots of things I regret.  A shit load of things I regret.  And I’ve done things I won’t ever regret.  But I sure as hell ain’t telling you about them.  You think I’m going to lay my soul open for you?  My sins are my business.  Mine.  God’s business.  The devil’s business.  But they’re sure as hell not yours.”  His heart was thumping wildly and his breathing was coming in short bursts.  “So get off my back, Scott.”

Scott swallowed real hard.  “Were you one of Doe’s victims?”

His guts shrivelled to an icy ball.  And it felt like there was a tight band around his chest squeezing the air from him.  Couldn’t speak.  Even if he’d known what to say.  His mind felt like it was reeling, being tossed one way and another and his thoughts wouldn’t come straight.  And he had to fight the desire to puke all over the floor and fall to his knees.  And he didn’t want to lie.  Shit.  Why now?  Why did Scott have to do this now?  He had no right.  No fucking right to know anything.  “I told you before.  He never touched me.”  He didn’t recognise his own voice.  It sounded like a snake hissing.

And Scott just carried on looking right at him.  Like he was trying to look into Madrid’s soul.  “From what Ford said, Doe didn’t touch any of his victims.  He left that to others.”

The foul tasting bile was rising in his throat.  Was in his mouth but he swallowed it back down.  Picked up his saddlebags and flung them over his shoulder.  “I don’t know nothing about it.  Just leave it, Boston.  Leave it alone.”

He met Scott’s eyes briefly before looking away.  Scott’s eyes looked sad.  Pity.  They were full of pity.  Fucking pity.  Didn’t want that from no one.  And he sure as hell didn’t want it from Scott.  He’d expected disgust but not pity.

Maybe Boston hadn’t figured it?  Maybe he hadn’t guessed what happened to Doe’s victims?  Maybe he thought that the prisoners had just beat up on him.  Yeah.  That must be it.  Scott must think that he’d been knocked around.  That would explain the pity.  Thinking of Johnny as a kid being beaten up.  Yeah.  That made sense.  Because if he’d figured out what had really happened there would have been disgust. 

Dios.  If it had only been that clean.  He could take any amount of scars on the outside.  They healed.  It was the ones on the inside that never went away.

“You can tell me, Johnny.  It’s okay.”  And Scott’s eyes were still sad, like it was overflowing.

“Let’s get moving.  I need to find Carter.” 

Scott shook his head, kind of like he knew he was beaten.  Madrid had won the battle.  And Scott knew it.

Scott sighed.  “Why do you need to find Carter?”

Johnny smiled, but not like he meant it.  “Because Carter and me got a score to settle.  And besides, he took something of mine.  And I want it back.”

Scott furrowed his brow, lines creasing up between his eyes.  “A score to settle?  I don’t like the sound of that.  And surely whatever he’s got of yours can’t be that important?”

“It is.”  Johnny spoke softly.  “And he ain’t keeping it.”  He turned and hurried out of the door, calling back over his shoulder.  “I’ll see you in the lobby.  Ford told me where Carter lives.  I won’t be long.”

He took the stairs two at a time.  Needed to get away from Scott.  Away from his questions and his fucking pity.  And hell, he could take all his frustrations out on Carter.  Yeah.  Take it out on Carter.  He breathed in deeply.  Concentrated on revenge.  Because revenge had such a sweet taste.  Like honey on peaches.  He was going to enjoy this.  Glancing across the lobby he spotted Ford talking to Sweetfoot.  Looked like they were getting on real well, jawing away together and they sure didn’t notice Madrid slipping out.  But Val spotted him.  He would.   And looked like he wanted a word, hurrying across toward him.  Johnny bit back a laugh as Val, in his haste, collided with the woman in the veil who was heading to the reception desk like she was about to check out.  She went flying and Val landed on top of her.   Seemed lady luck was still sitting Madrid’s side of the table because now nobody was paying him any mind at all.

He slipped through the door and headed out into the biting wind and snow.  The icy blast almost knocked the breath from him.  Could feel it in his lungs.  Cold enough to turn his insides to ice.  He took another breath and tried to concentrate on the job in hand.  He had a pretty good idea of where he was headed.  Ford had said Carter lived on the outskirts of the town, the last house heading east.  Oh boy.  He could feel the old familiar rush of the blood surging through his body.  Felt so good.  He was going to enjoy getting even.

He pulled his collar up and his hat down low to keep the driving snow out of his face.  And to avoid the gaze of the few people still milling around who didn’t seem to have any place better to be.  Just hoped he could catch up with Carter before the piece of shit took off.  He’d sure had the look of a man worried about his own skin when he’d shot out of the courtroom earlier.

Johnny smiled.  Yeah.  Carter had been almost shitting himself when he realised that Madrid was about to walk.  Well, one way or the other, he was about to get even.  Just like he’d promised Carter he would.  And Madrid always kept his promises.

He knew the house as soon as he saw it.  He laughed softly.  House was too grand a name.  It was more of a shack.  Run down.  Broken hinges on the windows and cracked paint.  The home of someone who didn’t give a damn.  Someone like Carter. 

He felt good now.  The weight of the gun resting against his thigh.  The gun-belt tight enough to crush his guts.  If he’d only had a chance to clean the gun and check it, life would be pretty much perfect.

The shack looked deserted.  Maybe he was too late to catch up with Carter here.  Maybe he’d have to track him.  And yet...   There was something.  Something that was screaming at him that maybe it wasn’t deserted.  The hairs on his neck were standing on end.  And he could smell something.  Just the faintest trace of fear.  He smelt it often enough to recognise it.  There was someone in the shack.  Someone who was afraid.  He smiled.  Didn’t look like he’d have to track Carter after all.

He moved quickly into the shadow of the ramshackle porch and edging sideways glanced through the grubby glass window.  There was a worn old table and a couple of chairs.  And a doorway leading to another room.  And he was fucking certain there was someone in there.

Moving real slow and careful he opened the door and slipped into the room, easing his gun from the holster.  Wasn’t taking any chances on Carter getting the drop on him. 

There was a blur of movement from the doorway and he brought his gun up.  It jammed.  The realisation that his gun had jammed hit him as something struck his head and knocked him off his feet.  And everything was spinning around as he crashed to the floor.

 

Part Thirty

 

Silver stars.  There were fucking silver stars everywhere.  They were darting all over the place.  And they sure as hell weren’t badges on Val’s chest.  These were smaller and filling his eyes.  Felt like they were in his ears too.  Because his ears were buzzing like hell. 

Fuck.  How many knocks to his head could a man take?  Leastways the silver stars were sorta fading a bit now...

Shit. 

All things considered he’d rather have the stars than what he was looking at right now.  Which was straight up the barrel of a fucking shotgun.  With Carter’s ugly face at the end of it.  No wonder his head was hurting if Carter had whacked him with that.

And where was his gun?  And why had it jammed?  Boston.  Had to be Boston’s fault.  Wasn’t safe to be let out.

“You’d better start saying your prayers, Madrid.” 

Dios, but Carter was fucking ugly.  He made a slight movement but Carter pressed the shotgun hard into his chest.  Groped around, feeling for his gun.  Carter laughed.  “It ain’t anywhere close, Madrid.  I kicked it to the other side of the room.  You’re all out of aces.  I finally got you right where you belong.  At the end of my gun.  Ain’t such a hot shot now, are you?”

“You and me, we got a score to settle, Carter.  How about you fight it out with me like a man?  No guns.  Just fists.  Or ain’t you any sort of man at all?”  Shit, Madrid.  That wasn’t the smartest thing to say.  Seeing as Carter had a gun stuck in Madrid’s chest .

Carter smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “You know what?  I think I’ll turn that offer down.  I got me a gun and I reckon that gives me the upper hand.  Ain’t nobody coming to rescue you this time, Madrid.”

Man had a point.   Nobody was coming looking for him this time.  Funny really that it should end like this.  Sitting on the floor looking along the barrel of a fucking shotgun.  That would sure blow a big hole in a man.  Big enough for an eagle to nest in.  He’d rather go down fighting.  But with that gun sticking in him, he sure wasn’t going to be fighting for long.  He laughed softly.  It had its funny side.  Escaped the noose.  Escaped a firing squad.  Survived God only knew how many damn gunfights.  And he was going to be sent to hell by some crazy coot of a marshal. 

“Looks like you’re holding all the trump cards, Carter.  So, you just going to kill me in cold blood?  That’ll make you a murderer.”  Play for time, Madrid.  Play for time. 

“I don’t reckon so.  I’ll just say you broke in here and I killed you in self defence.  Ain’t nobody going to say different.”  Carter’s smile spread.  His finger was on the trigger now.  Pulling the trigger back.

Fuck. 

He knew he’d got no chance.  But what the hell, he’d die trying.  Johnny threw himself to one side as the explosion of gunfire shook the small shack. 

There was no pain.  Surely the stupid fucker couldn’t have missed? 

And then he saw Carter.  Slumped at an odd angle with his eyes wide open.  And blood oozing from a hole in the side of his head.
What the hell...

“Is he dead?”

Johnny swung around.  His heart lurched as he saw Scott leaning against the doorway, ashen faced, his arm hanging limp against his side and a gun still hitched on his fingers.  Even as Johnny watched, the gun dropped from his brother’s hand and Scott slid slowly to the ground.  “Is he dead?”

 “Yeah.”  Johnny spoke softly.  “He’s dead.”

“Are you... are you sure?  Maybe he’s just injured...”

Johnny glanced down at Carter.  “No.  He’s dead, Scott.  You got him right in the head.  That tends to be pretty final.”

“Oh my God.”  Scott went even paler.  “I...  I’ve never killed someone up close before...”

Johnny squatted down next to him.  What the hell should he say?  Dios but Scott looked rough.  “Hey.”  He rubbed Scott’s shoulder.  “You were in the army.  In the war.  You must have killed lots of men.  And when Pardee’s men attacked, you killed then.”

Scott just shook his head, licked his lips before raising wild eyes to look at Johnny.  “Different.  That was different.  That was war.  This... this was...”

“War too, Scott.  You did what you had to do.  No different.”

Scott shook his head.  “No.  It is different.  You told me that once.  In war the law’s on the soldier’s side...  But this?   I didn’t mean to kill him.  Just wanted to stop him.  I had to stop him.  He was going to kill you.”  Scott was shaking, his hands were trembling and his face looked paler still.

What the hell should he say to Scott?  If only he was better with words.  Never could think of the right thing to say.  Could hardly say killing got easier after the first one.  Johnny bit his lip.  Shit.  Could hardly believe this.  Scott had killed a man to save him.  He’d really gone and killed a man for Johnny.  Perhaps he should focus on that.  Yeah.  That would be best.  “Like you said, Scott, he was gonna kill me.  You saved my life.”

But Scott shook his head, looked kind of numb.  “I didn’t mean to kill him.  Just wound him. But I had to stop him.”  His eyes were wide with fear.  “Will they hang me?”

Dios but that brought back memories.  Even now, after all these years, he could remember the taste of fear when his mother died.  How scared he’d been that they’d hang him...

He shut his eyes tight.  Tried to block out the picture that always came back to haunt him.  “No, Scott, they won’t hang you.  You ain’t done nothing wrong.  He was going to kill me, you shot him.  It’ll be okay.  You’ll see.  They’ll believe you.  It’ll be okay.”  He patted Scott clumsily on the shoulder.  Knew he wasn’t much good at this sort of stuff.  “Honest, Scott, it’ll be okay.”  Scott was kind of shocked.  That was all.  He’d be okay.  Wouldn’t he?  Just wasn’t used to killing.  Not like Madrid.  “It’ll be fine, Scott.  Trust me.”  He gave Scott another pat on the shoulder.  Tried to think of something to say.  Anything.  Couldn’t keep patting Scott on the shoulder.  He’d wear a dent in it.

“What if they don’t believe me?”

Johnny frowned and then smiled.  “We’ll tell ’em I shot him.  They’d believe that.”

Scott gave him the ghost of a smile.  Not a big smile, but at least it was an attempt.  “I think we’ll stick with the truth.”  Scott paused, chewing on his lip.  “He really was going to shoot you.  I had to stop him.  I’d followed you.  I was worried you’d get into a fight with him – end up back in jail...”

Johnny sighed.  “I was planning on getting in a fight with him, Scott.”

Scott held his gaze.  “What sort of fight?”

Johnny bowed his head.  Scott deserved some honesty.  Specially after saving Madrid’s life...  “Any kind of fight, Scott.  But, I guess if I’m being honest, I was hoping he’d draw.  He was a piece of shit .  And he stole something from me.  And I guess I was mad about that.  He’d tried to steal it before.”

There were deep frown lines between Scott’s eyes.  “What was this thing that was so important?”

Johnny moved over to Carter, felt around in the man’s pockets before turning back toward Scott.  “This.”  He held up the big nugget of gold.  “I found it years ago, when I was panning for gold.  Carried it ever since.”

The lines were still there.  “But, surely a piece of gold isn’t worth killing for?”  Scott sounded real puzzled.  Leastways Scott wasn’t still brooding about the fact he’d killed Carter.  No.  He was thinking that Madrid would have killed Carter over a gold nugget.  Still, it was better he should be thinking like that.  “You’ve got money now.  You don’t need that bit of gold.”

How could he explain it?  Scott really couldn’t understand what that gold had meant.  He sighed again.  “Thing is, Scott, you’ve pretty much always had everything you need.  Big house, food on the table.  A bed to sleep in and warmth when it was cold outside.  I was raised dirt poor.”  Dirt poor.  That was putting it nice.  “I never had nothing.  And finding that gold for myself, guess it was like finding a crock of gold at the end of a rainbow.  I know it ain’t worth a lot of money, but I found it fair and square.  It’s clean.  Didn’t kill nobody to earn it.  It’s solid, it’s real and it’s honest.  And it’s mine.”  He paused again.  He’d gone this far and Scott was looking at him real serious.  And hell, Scott had killed Carter.  “And, I always told myself that if I ever get a woman of my own, I’m gonna make her a ring from this.”  He paused, half expecting Scott to laugh.  But it was kind of odd, because Scott just nodded slowly, like maybe he understood.  “And, Boston, I ain’t ever told anyone else about that.”  Johnny paused, met Scott’s gaze.  “And if you ever repeat that to a living soul, I might have to shoot you.”

Scott grinned now.  Looked more like Scott.  “Quite right, Johnny.  We can’t have anyone suspecting that Johnny Madrid has a warm heart beating under that cold exterior.”  Scott looked across at Carter and shuddered.  “I had to stop him.  Whatever the cost, I had to stop him.  I saw him there with his finger on the trigger, pulling it back.  He was going to shoot you in cold blood.  For no reason.”

Johnny shrugged.  “Some folk are like that.  I reckon he was pissed because they let me go.  Which reminds me, I really do want to get out of Utah before that Judge Brooker has second thoughts.”

Scott grinned again.  He did look better.  Had a bit of colour now.  He looked like Scott again.  “Johnny, you can relax.  You can’t be tried for the same crime twice.  It’s over.”

Over?  No.  That would be too easy.  Madrid never had things easy...  Scott had to have that wrong...   But Scott did know a hell of a lot of stuff...  “It’s over?  Brooker can’t change his mind?”

Scott smiled, shaking his head.  “No.  Brooker can’t change his mind.”  Scott’s brow furrowed.  “One thing puzzles me.  Why didn’t you tell the court that there was a newspaper clipping that could save you?  You never gave as much as a hint.  But if you’d told the court about it, they could have got in touch with the newspaper.  Newspapers keep all their old editions on file.”

How to answer this?  Wanted to give Scott something but he couldn’t give too much.  “I knew I had a few clippings from around that time but I don’t remember all the dates on them, Scott.” Shit.  Madrid was doing what Scott had accused him of earlier.  Prevarying or some long word like that.

Scott raised an eyebrow.  Nodded sort of knowingly.  Like he knew Madrid was prevarying again.  “Ah, of course.”

Johnny bit his lip, felt a twinge of guilt.  Hell, Boston had saved his life.  “And the paper closed down.  The editor was a drunk.”

“And you just happen to know this?”  Scott raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Johnny wriggled, felt like a god damn worm on a hook.  “Yeah.  He was a drunk.  And it seems he sometimes printed stories that weren’t too accu... acar...  right.  Got things wrong, if you know what I mean?”

Scott nodded.  “I think I am getting the picture.”

Johnny nodded.  “Yeah, well.  Seems they printed something to say the gunfighter in town wasn’t Madrid.  They got it wrong.  Didn’t really think that if the judge found that out it would help my case.”

Scott nodded kind of seriously, but almost like he was struggling not to smile.  “Sound.  Very sound.  Good move.”

Johnny grinned.  “Yeah.  I thought so.  But I was sure relieved to see Val.”  He held out his hand and hauled Scott to his feet.  “And before I forget, Boston, what the hell have you done to my gun?  Damn thing jammed on me.  Do you really think Carter would have got the jump on me otherwise?”

Scott looked kind of surprised.  “Done to your gun?  I haven’t done anything to it!  I emptied it and shoved some cloth in it to stop the damn thing firing while I did so.”

“Shoved some cloth in it?”  Johnny shook his head.  “Shoved some cloth in it?  Dios, Boston, you got a lot to learn about fucking handguns.  It ain’t a rifle where you pull something through to clean the barrel.”  He shook his head again.  “I can see I got my work cut out with you, Boston.”  He sighed.  “Come on, we’d better go tell Ford what happened.  Shouldn’t worry about it.  You’ve done Ford a real big favour.  He hated Carter’s guts.  So did most people, I reckon.  Probably loads of people out there who’ll be real pleased to see him dead.  Folk love baying for blood.  You just given them what they want.”

“You really think so?”  Scott looked kind of puzzled now.

“Yeah, Boston.  I think so.  Trust me.  It’ll be fine.”  Johnny stooped to pick up his gun from the corner of the room.  “Shoved some cloth in it.  Dios.  Cloth.  Pity it didn’t blow your damn balls off.”  He dismantled it quickly and blew in it.  Didn’t know if it would do any good.  Sooner he got back to the hotel and cleaned it, the better he’d feel.  “Shoved some cloth in it.”  He shook his head again before grabbing a cloth from the table and throwing it over Carter.  “Come on, Davy Crockett, let’s go see Ford.” 

He grabbed hold of Scott’s arm and pulled him from the shack.  It had stopped snowing.  And the clouds were scudding across the darkening sky.  The first star was out.  It always cheered him.  Specially today.  Back in the cell he’d got to thinking maybe he’d never walk free again.  Never see the stars or feel the sun on his back.  Never have another fuck.  Pity there wasn’t a bordello in this town.  Another good reason for getting out of Utah as fast as possible. 

At least all the people had gone now.  And he was relieved that the gunfire in the shack hadn’t brought them all running.  Scott couldn’t have handled that.  Lucky the shack was right on the edge of the town.  But then again, Carter probably wouldn’t have tried anything if it had been in the town.  Johnny glanced at Scott.  Was he okay?  He’d gone real quiet again.  Looked lost in thought and was frowning.  “Are you okay, Scott?”

Scott pulled a face and shrugged.  “I was just wondering about Carter.”  Scott stopped walking, his face half lit by a lamp glowing in a window.  “I mean do you think he had family?”

“I dunno, Scott.  Look, he brought this on himself.  It don’t do no good for you to blame yourself.  It’s just one of those things.  It happened.  You did the right thing.”

Scott sighed.  “I know all of that.  And I couldn’t let him shoot you.  So I had no option.  But it doesn’t help.  I’m here repeating all that to myself.   But this was too close.  It wasn’t like a war.  That I can deal with.  Maybe it’s because a war doesn’t seem so...  so personal.”

Johnny stared up at the sky.  Dios.  Boston did like to worry away at things.  “Scott, this has only just happened.  I mean like minutes ago.  It’ll get easier.  You know you did what you had to do.”  Johnny paused.  “Look, Scott, I killed a lot of men in my life.  Some of those things I regret.  And some things I don’t regret.  Hell, I guess there are quite a few things I never will regret.  I just have to live with it.  Good and bad.  But Carter, well, he’s one of the killings a man doesn’t regret.  Okay?”  He scratched his chin, kicked at the snow.  “I guess the fellow who killed Doe doesn’t regret that killing either.”

Scott didn’t speak at first.  Just looked at Johnny, real thoughtful and then nodded slowly.  “Thanks, Johnny.  Come on, let’s go and see Ford.  And I suggest we leave this damn town first thing in the morning.  I will be very glad to see the back of the place.  And I’m sure you will be too.”

Johnny grinned.  “Well, there are places I’d rather be.  Like Sadie’s bed.  What the hell do the men here do?  No bordello.  No saloon girls.  Shit.  Life just wouldn’t be worth living here.  Probably why Carter was loco.  Now can we please get moving?  It’s fucking freezing standing here.”  He pulled his collar up and headed on back toward the jail.  See Ford and then go find a bed.  Any bed, in any room, so long as it didn’t have damn metal bars around it.

 

Part Thirty one

“Well, that all seems pretty straightforward.”  Ford put the pen down.  He’d listened to Scott’s story and scribbled some notes.  Asked one or two questions of Johnny, but didn’t seem bothered about his dead deputy.  Which was just what Johnny had expected.

“Wouldn’t bother yourself over him, Mr. Lancer.  He’s no great loss.  He was going to get fired later this week.  The business after the stage crash was the last straw.  He’d have killed Madrid then if Crawford hadn’t turned up when he did and it seems you were only just in time today.  You’ve saved us the trouble of firing him.”  Ford shrugged.  “Never could stand the son of a bitch.  Don’t need two lawmen in a town this size anyway.”

“Are you staying on, now it’s all over?”  Johnny regretted the question.  Scott didn’t know about Ford’s involvement with Doe.  Only that Ford had “been paid” to hunt him down.

Ford leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.  “Yeah, I like this town.  I’ve settled in.”  He smiled. More to himself it seemed than at Scott and Johnny.  “Got me a nice young woman I’m courting.  Figure it’s time I settled.  A man needs roots, a wife and family.  And now, well.”  He paused and shrugged.  “It seems like a good time to take her to the altar.”   He shot a quick glance at Johnny.  “Maybe it’s finally time for you to settle down, Madrid.  You got a nice home back there in California.  And a nice family.”  He nodded at Scott who sat clasping a mug of strong black coffee.

“Settle down?  Shit.  I ain’t getting married yet.  I got a whole lot of whoring left in me.”  Johnny glared as Scott and Ford started laughing.

 “Respectable rancher.  Isn’t that what Sweetfoot called you in court?   I know it’s none of my business,  but maybe it’s time you lived up to it.”  Ford was looking at him real hard, like he was trying to make a point.

Johnny stared at the blackness out of the window.  Respectable?  Him?  Trouble was, folk had long memories and somehow he didn’t see the people of Green River or Morro Coyo welcoming him with open arms any time soon.  And settling wasn’t proving easy.  The work was hard and repetitive, and at times he missed his freedom so much that it became a physical ache deep down inside of him, ripping him in two.  So many rules to live by now.  Too many rules, if he was honest.  Sometimes he needed to just run wild and free like the horses on the range.  And then he’d find himself wondering whether this new life was worth all the sacrifices.  Didn’t always seem better.  Just different.  He shook his head.

 “It ain’t that easy, Ford.  There’s always going to be someone coming looking for me.  Don’t see that changing any time soon.”  He could feel Scott’s concern at his words.  Scott didn’t need to say it aloud, just that sudden tensing of the shoulders gave it away and the worry seeped out of him like blood from a wound that wouldn’t close up.  Had to say something else.  Something to ease Scott’s mind.  “But I guess I just have to take whatever comes.”  Was that the right thing to say?  Maybe not.  Scott still looked kind of tight, hunched over, clinging to that coffee cup like his life depended on it.  “Any rate, I’ll be glad to get home.”  Yeah.  That should do it.  Sounded better.  But wasn’t that half the trouble?  Felt like he spent his life now worrying about what to say, when to say it and saying it right. 

“When are you leaving?”

He gave a start, he’d been miles away.  Ford was watching him through narrowed eyes, like he could see what Johnny had been thinking.  “Um.  Tomorrow morning, I guess.  Make an early start, won’t we, Scott?”

Scott nodded.  “Yes, we need to get going, before the weather gets worse and winter sets in with a vengeance.  But I’d like to thank you, Marshal, for all your help.  You’ve been fair from the beginning, and I’m grateful.   You’ve made a very unpleasant experience a lot more bearable.”

There he went again.  It came so easy to Scott.  Just said what he wanted to.  He envied Scott that way he had of being able to talk to anyone and put them at their ease.  Was that the sort of thing they taught kids in school?  Or just fancy schools out east?  It was what other kids had done.  Gone to school, learned how to live with rules.  And all the while he’d run as wild and free as an alley cat.

“Just doing my job.”  Ford and Scott were shaking hands.  But Ford hadn’t been just doing his job.  He’d been looking out for Madrid because he knew what sort of man Doe had been.  Yeah, Ford was a decent man.  One of the few good men Johnny could remember meeting.  He sure hadn’t met many.  But leastways he’d have two good men for company on the journey back.  Scott and Val.  Good old Val.  Saved Madrid’s skin again.  Just as long as Scott never found out that it had been Val who’d got his back seen to when he was a kid.  Shit.  Didn’t want anybody finding out about that.  Scott might ask Val questions.  Ask what Johnny had been like as a kid.  He might find out just how rough things had been...

“Shall we go and see if there’s a room for you at the hotel?”  Scott stood at the door, ready to go.

“Yeah.  Sure.  Thanks, Ford.”  Johnny clapped Ford on the back.  “You just hurry up and marry that gal of yours.  No point in waiting.  Life’s too short.”

The night sky had cleared, with millions of stars showing bright as diamonds glittering in the cold, clean air.  The wind had dropped and the moon was rising.  Johnny huddled down into his jacket.  If he headed south it would be warmer.  Shit.  He had to stop thinking like this.  He wouldn’t be heading south, leastways not yet.   He loved the ranch and the land.  Just had to keep fighting the pull of freedom.  He’d thought it would fade.  But it didn’t.  If anything it was getting worse.  It was always there snapping at his heels.  Or blowing in the breeze just ahead of him.  Taunting him.  Tempting him to just reach out and grab it or chase it.  And much as he loved the fact that he was getting to know Scott, he still half expected Scott to decide to go back to Boston.  Surely someone as smart as Scott would get bored by a dumb brother and a difficult father.  And the hard life of ranching.  Who’d be a rancher if they hadn’t been born to it?  Hell, Scott had been raised rich in Boston.  Surely it was just a matter of time before the call of that life became too much.  Because it must be calling to him.  If freedom was calling so hard to Johnny, surely that cushy old life was calling Scott?

What was it Wes had said?  About never riding over another hill without knowing what was on the other side.  Yeah.  That was it.  And Wes, just for once in his short life, had got something right.  It had been a real smart remark.  ’Specially for Wes, who wasn’t the sharpest knife in the block.  But sharp or not, he’d seen the lay of the land.  He’d got Johnny pegged as being “broke to the plough” and he wasn’t far wrong.  Hell, he couldn’t even go whoring when he felt like it.  Always had to wait for the weekend because otherwise it meant butting heads with Murdoch.  They always butted heads if Johnny didn’t just toe the line.  Wasn’t allowed to think for himself...

“Come on.”  Scott was standing at the door of the hotel.  “It’s freezing out here.  Get a move on, Johnny.”

He followed Scott into the lobby.  Val was sprawled in one of the big armchairs by the fire, his legs stretched out, snoring softly.  He sure looked like a man at ease.  What the hell would it be like to just relax like that in a public place?  Val didn’t worry about someone creeping up from his past to gun him.  But then, Val wasn’t Madrid so he could afford to just relax...

“Shall we wake him?”  There was a hint of mischief in Scott’s eyes. 

Johnny grinned.  “It sure is tempting.  You were out saving my butt, and he’s in here, all snug and warm, without a care in the world.”  Johnny paused, his mind replaying the events of the last couple of hours.  “Maybe he got lucky with that woman he cannoned into when I was heading off to see Carter.  Maybe that’s why he’s so exhausted.”  Johnny snorted with laughter at the thought.  Val wasn’t too good with women.  “Anyways, who the hell was that woman?  She didn’t miss a trick at the trial.  Paid more attention than the damn jury.”

Scott shook his head.  “I assumed she was something to do with Doe.  She never ate in the dining room with the hotel guests and I never saw her speak to anyone.”

Johnny grinned again.  “Well, if old Val here got lucky with her, I reckon he’ll tell us.  Trouble is, Val ain’t too good with women.  He...”

Val opened his eyes, looked pretty pissed with them.  “I ain’t got cloth ears.  And, Madrid, just so as you know, I get along just fine with women.”

“So how come you’re still on your own?  A man your age...”  Johnny backed away, still grinning, as Val stood up with a mean look in his narrowed eyes.  “So, Val, tell us.  Who was the mystery woman?  You seemed to be getting to know her real well when I went out earlier.”

Val scratched his beard.  Damn, but the man could use a shave.  And he had a kind of smug look on his face.  Yeah.  That figured.  Val would love knowing he’d got an edge.  “The woman?  What woman?”

Johnny glared at him.  “The woman in the veil.  You were lying on top of her when I left earlier.  Getting on real well.  Looked real cosy.”  He felt the smile starting to break out as he remembered the look of surprise on Val’s face when he’d collided with the woman.

Val shook his head, like he didn’t remember no woman.  “Woman?  In a veil, you say?  I ain’t too sure that I recall any woman.”  Val smirked.

“Aw, come on, Val.  Who was she?  Scott and me, well, we’ve been wondering who she was.  You got to tell us.”  Johnny gave Val one of his broadest smiles.  “So.  Come on.  Who was she?  A relative of Doe?  Who?”

Val had a real irritating, smug look on his face.  Looked like a cat who’d got a bellyful of cream.  “Oh!  The woman in the veil.  That woman.”

Johnny sighed in exasperation.  “Yeah, Val.  The woman in the veil.  Who was she?  You talked to her.”

Val shrugged.  “Yeah.  Me and her, we had a real nice chat.  And you know something, Madrid?   Seeing as how you’ve caused me so much trouble these past few days, and I’m dead beat, I think I’m off to my bed.  Got me the last room in the hotel.  Guess you’ll have to bunk in with your brother.”  Val limped towards the stairs.

Damn it, but Val could be an irritating son of a bitch at times.  “Val.  Who was she?” 

Val started up the stairs without looking back.  “You know, I don’t think I’m going to tell you.  Man has to have some secrets.  G’night boys.  Get some sleep.  We got an early start in the morning.” 

Johnny turned to Scott.  “He ain’t going to tell us.  You heard him, Scott.  Can you believe that?  He ain’t going to tell us!”

“So it would seem.  Although, I must admit that I’ve been wondering a lot about that woman myself.  There was something vaguely familiar about her.  It’s been niggling away at me since I first saw her.  The way she walked.  Her posture.”

Posture?  What the fuck was that?  Johnny stared at Scott who was seemingly lost in thought.

Scott laughed suddenly.  “You won’t believe this, but she reminded me of Delice.  Same sort of height.  Delice is unusually tall for a woman.”

“Delice?”  Had Scott gone loco?  “What the hell would Delice be doing coming all this way?  And why would she hide herself away under a veil?”  Johnny shook his head.  “That’s crazy...”   He paused, ran his fingers through his hair as he remembered the cookies she’d brought him.  And he’d wondered if she’d baked them herself...  But yeah, Delice was real tall.  And kind of elegant the way she walked. 

Scott shrugged.  “It would certainly be a long way to come, but I always get the impression that she’s a good friend to you.  Maybe she really did want to come along to support you if the case had worked out differently.”

Well, yeah.  Delice was a good friend.  Scott had got that right.  But heck, even so.  Utah was a hell of a long way from Green River.  Didn’t make no sense for it to be Delice.  Did it?  Although she always seemed mighty interested in what he was up to and usually tried to give him advice on how to handle the old man, but travelling all this way...  Johnny shook his head slowly.  No.  The whole idea was loco.  But the woman had been tall, just like Delice...    He sighed.  “I guess when we get back we’ll have to see if she’s been away on a trip.  That would settle it, because something tells me Val ain’t going to come clean and tell us.  And I sure as hell ain’t begging him to tell us.  Won’t give him the satisfaction.  He’s just loving having one over on us.”

Scott grinned.  “I think you’re right about that.  We won’t ask him.  It’ll drive him crazy.  And to add insult to injury, he’s got the last room.  He’s right: you’d better bunk in with me.  At least I’ll know where you are.  It might keep you out of trouble.  I’m really not sure that you’re safe to be let out.”  Scott looked better now, more like himself.  “Don’t you get tired of people trying to shoot you?  It must become very tedious.  It certainly wears me out.”

Johnny laughed, following Scott up the wide staircase.  “Hell, no.  Keeps life interesting, Boston.  Stick around and you’ll get used to it.”

...............

The journey back was the hardest slog he could remember.  Bitterly cold with icy winds clawing at his face, felt as though it was eating the flesh off his bones.  And every time he breathed in, it was like his lungs turned to ice.  The only good thing was it stopped Scott from talking.  They all had scarves pulled right up around their faces, so only their eyes showed.  Made them look like a bunch of outlaws. 

They didn’t talk much at night either.  And the only high point was the look of irritation on Val’s face that they didn’t question him any more about the mystery woman. 

They always broke their journey at a way station, but they were always deserted.  Nobody else was loco enough to be out in this weather.  Dios, it would be good to get out of Utah and back to a town with a saloon and women.  He needed a woman real bad.  It was getting that it was all he could think about.  A green eyed woman with real long legs would be best, but right now, anything would do.  He’d give anything to be stretched out in Sadie’s bed with her tending to his needs.  But he’d stopped mentioning it to Scott and Val after Scott had said that if he mentioned his needs once more, he’d put a bullet in him himself and finish what Carter had started. 

“We’ll be back in California tomorrow.”  Scott warmed his hands over the pot bellied stove in the way station.  Val was already asleep, snoring in his bedroll in the corner of the room.  “You’ll be able to find yourself a woman.” 

Johnny eyed him cautiously.  But Scott looked more relaxed this evening.  Maybe he hadn’t liked being in Utah any more than Johnny.  Perhaps now was the moment to ask Scott the thing that had been bugging him for the past couple of days, the worry niggling away at the back of his mind.  When he wasn’t thinking about needing a woman.  It was as good a time as any.  “You know what you said, about Brooker not being able to change his mind?  Is that true?  Are you sure about that?”  He tried to sound casual.  Like he wasn’t bothered about it one way or the other.  But he knew there was a note of something in his voice.  Fear?  He didn’t want to go through it all again.

Scott looked at him, real serious for a few beats.  “Yes.  I’m sure.  You can’t be tried for the same crime twice.  It’s written into our constitution.”  Scott’s mouth quirked.  “The constitution you were so scathing about when Turner was killed.”

Johnny felt a twinge of guilt.  ‘Our constitution.’  Like Johnny belonged.  Wasn’t some half breed who didn’t belong either side of the border.  But how could Scott be so certain?  “Did you learn about things like that at your fancy school?”

Scott looked real serious again.  “You mean Harvard?  I guess we covered it there.  But I had already learned about our constitution before then.”  Scott paused, reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a flask of whisky which he passed across to Johnny’s already open hand.  “Does my education bother you so much?  You always refer to it as my ‘fancy school.’  I can’t help but wonder whether you resent it.”

Johnny took a swig from the flask, the mellow malt warming him as it coursed through his body.  Did he resent it?  Resent all the opportunities Madrid had never had?  The warmth, the food on the table, a place to lay his head at night without wondering if one of his mother’s men...  Shit.  Why did those memories always come back?  Why couldn’t he just bury them? A man just had to play the hand life dealt him.  Whether it was a high card or a full house.  Just seemed that Scott had been dealt a royal flush.   He laughed softly.  “No, Scott, I don’t resent it.  Kind of proud to have a real smart brother.”

He kicked again at the stove, as his other worry started to wriggle in his gut.  Bit his lip trying to figure out how to voice the fear that he kept trying to push away.  Because if he was honest, it was fear.  Even the thought of it made his guts shrivel up.  “What’s Murdoch going to say when he hears about this trip?”

Scott took a swig from the flask.  “We just tell him.”  He paused, looked hard at Johnny, real hard.  “We tell him that it was a case of mistaken identity.  They got the wrong man.  Didn’t they?”  Those eyes looked right into Madrid.  Into Madrid’s soul.  “Brooker freed you.  Mistaken identity, Johnny.  It’s over.  It’s not coming back to haunt you.  You can move on.”

The lump in his throat felt like it might choke him, filling him up so it was hard to breathe.  And his eyes were pricking.  Not coming back to haunt him?  The memories damn well would.  But hell, it would be good if Scott was right and he could forget about the law coming after him.  Because he couldn’t forget Doe.  What was it he’d said to Doe that day?  ‘You should remember me.  I sure as hell remember you. Yeah.  I remember you, every waking hour and every fucking night.’  And there it was and there it would always be.  Move on.  Dios.  If only life was that simple.  Simple as dirt.  But it wasn’t.  It was fucking hard. 

But leastways Scott believed in him.  Stuck by him through all the crap Madrid had thrown at him.  Stayed at his brother’s side to the end.  And even killed a man for him.  Could hardly believe that.  Scott gunning down Carter because he cared.  Dios, but that felt good.  Just to know that at least one member of his family cared so much.  But what about his father?  He’d bet Murdoch wouldn’t have been so loyal and true.  No.  Look how Murdoch had gone rushing off to support Barker.  Yet Barker would have stood by and seen Johnny hang for something he didn’t do.  But Murdoch couldn’t see that.  Stuck by his old friend over his own flesh and blood.  What was it the old man had said about Barker?  ‘Joe was a good friend over the years. He and I go back a long way and he's not a bad man. It was circumstances that were against him.’  That was it.  The old man excused Barker’s behaviour as fucking circumstances. 
 
 “Johnny.”  Scott’s voice was gentle.  “We put it behind us and we present a united front to Murdoch.  Okay?”

Johnny shrugged.  “Whatever you say.”  But the knot was back.  The knot that turned his insides all ways whenever he thought of his father’s disapproval.  And the look of disappointment in the old man’s eyes.  And he’d bet his last cent that the old man was not going to be happy about Madrid’s latest adventure.  And at times like that, the urge to just cut and run became overpowering. 

“We’ll find you a woman tomorrow.”  There was laughter in Scott’s voice.  Yeah, it was fine for Boston.  He wouldn’t be tearing himself apart over what lay ahead.  United front.  End of story as far as Scott was concerned.  Dios, why couldn’t Madrid be so easy about things?  Be more like Scott?  But for now, Madrid would content himself with a woman to fuck.  Fuck hard.  Block everything out.  Lose himself in a few minutes of ecstasy when everything else faded away.  Same as always.

“Just make sure she’s pretty.”  Hell, who was he kidding?  So long as she’d got legs to open, right now he didn’t care.  Any woman would do.  “I’m beat.  I’m turning in, Boston.  Need my energy for this woman you’re going to find me tomorrow.”  He shrugged down into his bedroll and tried to block out pictures of Murdoch’s eyes. 

.............

Scott had been true to his word.  Found them a small scruffy town with a saloon and women.  He and Val had even given Madrid first pick.  Not that there was much choice, but he’d been grateful for the gesture.  So he’d spent a night in grubby sheets, sweating and grunting in the embrace of a woman who’d seen better days.  And he’d longed for Sadie’s touch, her fingers soft and gentle as butterfly wings on his body. 

..............

They left Val at the fork in the road.  He waved as he headed to Green River.  Johnny tried to squash the urge to ride right in with him.  To go and see Delice.  See if she’d been away.  Could it have been her in Utah?  No.  But it would be real good to listen to her words of wisdom in that crisp tone she always used when she thought he was being dumber than usual.  She’d tell him how to handle his father...

Now they sat looking down on the ranch nestling in the valley, lights shining out a welcome in the dusk.  He had a lump in his throat again.  Times he’d wondered if he’d ever see it again.  The white washed walls were tinged gold by the lanterns lighting the courtyard.  Smoke drifted from the chimneys, hanging almost suspended before slipping away on the whispering breeze.  Maybe the old man wouldn’t be back from his trip yet.  Maybe it would be just Teresa.  Sick with worry for them, ready to pull them into a warm embrace with no reproach.

Barranca would be waiting, munching an evening feed in the barn.  He’d nuzzle Johnny, pleased to see him.  No reproaches from him.  Maria would cook them something special.  Maybe tamales for her Juanito.  Spicy tamales.  No reproaches from her. 

They didn’t gallop down, like they did after a good day on the range.  They walked the horses slowly.  It had been a long journey, their mounts were worn out.  Bone tired.  Just like their riders.  Yeah.  Ride in slow and have a good meal.  Figure out what to say to Murdoch later.  He’d still be away on his trip.  No need to worry.

A couple of vaqueros hurried out as they rode into the yard.  Warm, welcoming, kind words in that oh so familiar language of his childhood that sometimes made him ache for those lost and fearful days of discovery and danger.

They smiled their thanks before walking together toward the hacienda.  The door swung open before they reached it.  His gut clenched and his heart seemed to fall down into his bowels.  Tried to fight the rising nausea.  And he was too tired for this. 

The face was stern, as if it had been carved from the land the man loved more than anything God had created.  More than his own sons.  Was there any softness in those eyes?  Any welcome?  It was too dark to tell.  Too dark to read him right.  Scott squeezed his arm lightly.  Just the lightest touch, meant to comfort and reassure. 

“Boys.” 

Dios, the man sounded cold and kind of tense. 

“You two had better come inside right now.  Because, believe me, the two of you have got some explaining to do.  I go away, trusting the pair of you, leaving the ranch in your hands.  Not too much to ask, I thought.   But what do I find when I come home?  That you’ve neither of you been here.  Johnny has been dragged away in handcuffs by US marshals. Presumably something else from his past which never seems to leave this family alone.  And I find, you’ve high tailed out after him, Scott.  And not a word from you to let anyone here know what the hell has been going on.  I want some answers and I want them now.”

 

~end~

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