Word Count 28, 935
Thanks to Cat and Chris for the beta
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The trail kept going up into the mountains to places he’d never been before. He separated from his brother as they desperately searched for the bastard that rode onto Lancer land and shot Cipriano as he mended a fence line. Cip had been working alone, tightening the badly sagging wire and righting posts, the result of the recent storm that caused more damage than Lancer had time to repair.
As the Segundo lay unconscious in a guest room at the hacienda, Scott and Johnny wasted no time in launching the search for the back shooter. The trail was getting cold; if the bastard was to be caught before he escaped into the rough country to the North, they had to leave immediately. The shooter stole Cip’s horse and rode straight into no man’s land, to the mountains that could be either sanctuary or death trap.
Johnny seethed; his rage boiled over as he contemplated the brutal assault, brazenly carried out with ruthless indifference. But it was the way of spineless, gutless cobardes; approach from behind, to not face a man, to look him in the eyes before he killed them. Just aim the gun at the unprotected victim, pull the trigger, and watch them fall dead.
But he would get the son-of-a-bitch responsible… Or die trying. Johnny had made his promise to Cip before leaving the ranch. If Cip died before Johnny returned, he would kill the shooter himself with his bare hands.
He and Scott left Lancer early in the morning ahead of the posse, which would follow as soon as Sheriff Val Crawford rounded up enough volunteers. Most of the Lancer hands stepped forward; Cipriano was a good friend and respected Segundo; everyone of them wanted justice for the man, their friend, their amigo.
Val and Green River’s best tracker, Russell Westin, were to join the men at Lancer and set off after Johnny and Scott, riding quickly over the rough terrain to the spot where Cip was attacked. Then, they would follow the trail left by the Lancer brothers wherever it took them.
Arrangements were made with Murdoch that Val would keep in contact whenever he could. Sending a wire to Lancer, letting Murdoch know of plans and progress, would allow communication between them, and, hopefully, they would join Scott and Johnny.
It was against Scott’s better judgment he and Johnny leave the ranch without waiting for the rest of the posse; he thought it best to wait for their support, but Johnny was going regardless, with or without his brother. Swearing under his breath, he knew that he had no choice. He had to go with Johnny and now was glad he did. The younger Lancer was an excellent tracker, and they were making good time, but good time wouldn’t hold off the rain that threatened now. If they had waited, there was a good chance that even Russell Westin couldn’t pick up a washed-out trail.
When they came to the river, Johnny went north, and Scott went west. A man racing for his life would try anything to stay ahead of those in pursuit, try to out-think, outmaneuver, anything to elude those after him and get away. Traveling through water would most likely hide a trail; however, the exit from the water should be plain as day. The brothers split up in hopes of catching the bastard who attempted to murder a man for his horse and bring him back to face the law.
The river was shallow and wide enough to prevent watching both sides simultaneously. Scott went down one side and up the other for a mile, found nothing, then returned, hoping Johnny had better luck. Johnny used a different tactic. He went up the river and branched off into a smaller tributary. About half a mile up the tributary, he found where a horse exited the water and kept the northerly direction straight into the wilderness.
The wind in the trees whispered and encouraged Johnny forward.
Scott would object to the decision, but Johnny chose not to go back and meet his brother, instead going ahead without him, knowing that, when he saw his brother next, he would be in for a tongue lashing of epic proportions. He smirked, thinking he could be in for a punch in the jaw, but he couldn’t let this go and would risk his brother’s anger, wrath, and rage; he had no choice but to continue.
Johnny wouldn’t let this hijo de puta get away, so he kept following at a fast and steady pace, putting more distance between him and Scott but closing the distance between him and the bastard he was following.
Johnny checked the surrounding terrain, realizing it would be rough going from here on out; if he had to turn around and find another route, he would. The thing he wouldn’t do was to put his horse in danger — at some point, he might have to backtrack. But for now, he was making up time; he was gaining ground and wouldn’t let up. The tracks were plain; the rain held off… for now.
The ground began to level out, making the trail easier to travel; the tracks Johnny followed traversed the side of the mountain instead of going up and over the top. He wondered if this was the plan or if the man he was after was only trying to get away, with no knowledge of where the trail led. It was unfamiliar territory, far from Lancer, and Johnny didn’t know what lay ahead. If the tracks were still visible, that was all that mattered. The tracks and listening to the wind.
Alert for trouble, Johnny scanned the area for signs that he wasn’t alone — more than one set of hoof prints in the mud, pine needles, and moss, a stone kicked from its resting place, or a broken branch. Anything that told of another that had passed this way. He struggled to rein in his volatile temper; he had to keep sharp and focused. One slip-up could spell disaster; Lancer stepped aside and allowed Madrid to take command.
A cold, calculating mind took control; thoughts became deliberate as Madrid contemplated the facts. Emotion can get a man killed. Ice formed in his veins, contradicting the easy slouch in the saddle; his body deceptive as it disguised his determination. The man who ambushed Cipriano had no idea what he started — the combined strength and perseverance of the Lancer brothers was a force to be reckoned with, and the thief had much to fear — Johnny Madrid was not far behind him. Should one tangle with him and live, that one did not come out the other side unscathed. Cross Madrid and you would be dead in a heartbeat, maybe less.
Johnny rode through the fading light of day, choosing to go ahead and not wait for his brother. If he had waited, too much time would have passed; waiting was not in the cards. If Scott was up for it, he could try and follow; if not, he would have to wait for Val and Russell Weston’s expertise, but Madrid forged onward.
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Johnny stopped for the night; Barranca needed rest, and if he would admit it, he did, too. He settled the golden horse, then scouted around; maybe he could pick up the glare from a distant fire in the dark of night. He circled around the camp, then stopped to watch and listen but picked up nothing.
Standing alone in the dark, Johnny recalled his lessons from his adopted Indian father, Red Wolf, lessons he’d learned while living as a member of the Apache tribe. The ways of The People had kept him alive many times, and he would put those ways to good use now.
Think like the enemy; what would I do if I were the one pursued? Where would I hide? If it was me, what would I do? … First, I’d get as far away from there as I could an’ get to a place where I could blend in. Hide with those who would cover for me…
To think like a coward went against Madrid’s character. He’d known plenty of cowards in his life, but he’d never been one. However, that’s what cowards did — they needed their own kind to help them, protect them.
The winds rustled the tree tops. Stay alert.
Johnny kept his eyes open for signs of human activity and seeing none, he returned to his camp, deciding against a fire. If his quarry was near, there was no sense in giving himself away. If the bastard he chased thought he was getting away and no one was behind him, he would start to get careless. And Madrid would be there, ready to haul him back to stand trial for attempted murder and stealing a horse.
The night was cold and damp; with no blaze for heat, Johnny’s anger would have to keep him warm. He would rely on his Apache wisdom; it sustained him through hazardous and life-threatening situations in the past, and would do so again. Madrid was in control and kept Johnny’s focus off the rage that threatened to boil over; he would keep Lancer in check and prevent any mistakes that could lead to a dead end and potentially end his life. He would keep Johnny balanced to see this deed through… for Cip.
Johnny left the tequila bottle in his saddle bags, taking the canteen instead, and with a handful of jerky, he leaned against a pine log to rest. Sleep beckoned, teasing heavy eyelids to close. Rest while he could; he had to be ready — for anything. Rule number one: expect the worst and be prepared to handle it. That was Madrid’s strength; his ability to adapt to a situation had served him well, an ability he had honed to a razor-sharp edge over the years. And it kept him alive.
Johnny spent time sorting out his options, discarding some and refining others to a workable solution, but whatever happened, Madrid would bring back the man responsible for the unprovoked attack on the Lancer Segundo. It was after midnight when he gave in to the exhaustion and slept.
Dawn broke; clouds were heavy and low in the sky. In the distance, rumbles of thunder rolled as lightning flickered in wicked, skeletal fingers as they scratched across the dark, rain-filled sky. Johnny quickly saddled Barranca and found the trail; he would go as far as possible before it washed away.
They crossed a stream and down a trail where the hoof prints were still clear; Pulling Barranca to a stop as he studied his surroundings. Rocks and boulders mixed with the thick, dark pine trees made speed impossible; heavy rain made it difficult to see what was ahead; he didn’t want to walk into a trap, but as long as the trail was still there, he had to continue on and hope for the best.
He was coming down out of the mountains, and with any luck at all, Johnny could find something to tell him that he was still gaining on the shooter. The day wore on, and his hopes of finding this bastard were beginning to fade as the rain continued to fall and wash away any tracks left on the muddy forest floor. But Madrid would not quit his search.
Thunder roared; deafening rolls bounced between the granite peaks, and more lightning split the sky as Johnny watched the trail fade away. Gradually, the hoof prints flattened out, blending into the surrounding mud and vegetation; the blanket of wet pine needles and moss hid them from sight.
Madrid again contemplated what he would do if running from a posse. Coming out of the mountains was still the best option; there were more chances to contact others, maybe hiding in a cabin or a town. Someone would have seen the man passing through, and Johnny would be right behind. Cipriano’s horse, Renegado, was a fine animal, an eye-catcher. The animal stood just over sixteen hands high, dark bay with black points consistent with a bay and a stunning white blaze zigzagged down his face. One couldn’t help but remember an animal like that.
Johnny hoped the description of the horse, with the Lancer circle L brand on the left flank, would nudge a memory and produce some answers, that is, if he came across anyone that he could ask…
The wind kicked up; it swayed the tops of the trees and whispered through the pine needles. Johnny, again, was taken back in time and heard his Indian father, Red Wolf, refer to the sound as the words of the sacred ancestors, revered and respected, ‘Listen to their words…’ Pay attention, Lancer, Madrid thought. Johnny listened and felt the spirits around him. He was not alone. He stopped Barranca again and sat still in the saddle; that’s when he smelled it.
Wood smoke. Someone was nearby. Johnny Lancer thought a sign for something from the ancestors doesn’t necessarily mean words or sounds. Trust in what you hear… and other senses. Your life depends on it.
He nudged Barranca and followed the scent of the smoke, faint at first but stronger the further he went. The trees opened into a clearing; a small creek ran through the meadow, and a cabin sat square in the middle. A railed porch ran the entire length covered by the shake roof, and a massive stone chimney pierced through the weathered roof, the source of the smoke. A barn stood behind the house with a corral that looked in need of repair; on second thought, forget the repair; it needed replacing.
Johnny skirted to the back of the barn, keeping hidden from whoever was in the cabin. He dismounted, walked quickly to the window, and peered through the dirty glass. There was no sign of Renegado, only an old horse in its stall munching on hay. He sighed. No, it would have been too easy to find Cip’s horse this early in the search, and Johnny knew from experience that nothing was easy. He mounted Barranca and retraced his path, then came into the small yard in front of the cabin.
Keeping his hands visible, Johnny approached the cabin and pulled Barranca to a stop twenty feet from the front door. He searched the ground for tracks, any signs of activity, but all he saw was the mud as the rain persisted in drenching the earth and turning it to mush. There was no window in the thick wooden door, but there was a gun-hole, just big enough to accommodate the barrel of a rifle, and that was what greeted Johnny now, except it wasn’t a rifle; it was a double-barreled shotgun.
“Hello, the cabin!” Johnny called out only to be answered with the snap from both hammers drawn back, oddly loud enough to be heard above the drumming rain.
“Name’s Johnny Lancer. Don’t mean ya no harm. Just wanna ask some questions. Have ya seen anyone ride through here lately? I’m lookin’ for a man that bushwhacked our foreman, shot ‘im in the back…” No sound came from the cabin, but neither was there the command to leave, so Johnny tried again.
“The man I‘m lookin’ for stole a horse, about sixteen hands high, dark bay with a white blaze down his face, got the Lancer Circle ‘L’ brand on his left flank…”
The barrel withdrew, and a stern response barked out in answer. “Keep yer hands where ah kin see ‘em an’ come closer ta the porch,” the command growled.
Johnny reined Barranca to the hitch rail, where he quickly dismounted and shrugged off the slicker, throwing it over his saddle, keeping it dry from the pelting rain. Then he waited as the heavy door swung open.
The barrels of the shotgun, trained directly at his chest, were enough to give even the most reckless person pause, but neither Madrid nor Lancer was reckless, and he waited until the man behind the cocked barrels was ready to talk.
Jake McCray did not get to be the age he was by being a fool, and he studied the young man standing before him. The pistol tied low on the man’s hip was the only thing to make him question the visitor. But the brand on the flank of the man’s horse, the circle L, seemed to enforce the young man’s case. Slowly, Jake stepped out onto the porch as he watched ‘Johnny Lancer’ or whoever he was, drawing on his instincts to determine if this man was who he said he was.
Finally satisfied, Jake bade him to enter the cabin. Following manners that would not end up with a chest full of buckshot, Johnny kept his hands away from his Colt and entered the log home.
The cabin was warm. A large stone fireplace burned with a cheery blaze; a kettle hung in the box with aromas that set Johnny’s belly growling. The cabin was comfortably furnished, just enough for two people. Decorated with Indian blankets and a bearskin covering the wooden plank floor in front of the crackling flames, the place was friendly and offered comfort. It spoke of home.
The door slammed shut behind him, giving him a better look at the old man holding the shotgun. Wrinkled skin covered the portion of what could be seen on the face that wasn’t hidden by a huge white beard and an equally bushy shock of hair on the old man’s head. Only then did Johnny see a small, white-haired woman who stood behind him.
“Don’t mean ta bother you folks; I just need ta know if you’ve seen the man I‘m after,” Johnny reassured the couple.
The old man squinted bright, alert eyes, reading what he could about the young whippersnapper before him. In his day, old Jake McCray could spot a dishonest, shiftless no-good in a matter of seconds and have him sized up accurately enough, but this one didn’t fit that cut.
Johnny reached slowly to remove his hat and sighed deeply.
“What’d ya say yer name wuz?” The old man asked as he scrutinized Johnny, watching closely at the deep blue irises that boldly held his gaze.
“Lancer, Johnny Lancer. My family has a ranch just north of Green River. Our Segundo was shot in the back a couple ‘a days ago. Whoever did it stole his horse, and I followed him inta the mountains ‘til the rain washed out the trail. Was hopin’ that ya mighta seen him.”
Jake saw the truth and the worry in those eyes; he released the hammers on the shotgun and set it aside; he knew of the Lancer Ranch, the largest in the San Joaquin Valley. He had met Murdoch Lancer before and knew him to be an honorable man.
“Take your coat off, Johnny, no sense goin’ out in this iffn’ ya don’t hafta.” Jake invited as he crossed to the hearth and threw another log onto the fire.
“Thanks, but I need ta get goin’…”
The old woman spoke for the first time; her voice was sweet and welcoming compared to Jake’s gravelly tones. “You look about done in, young man, and you’re not going to be of any good to anyone if you don’t get some hot food into you and some sleep.”
Her invitation was tempting, but Johnny repeated his question. “Have ya seen anyone yesterday or taday that could be the man I‘m after?” Johnny asked softly.
Jake saw the urgency in the distressed face; he understood the need to get moving and find the culprit responsible for the cowardly attack on an innocent man, but he also knew it was foolish to risk traveling in the storm that shrouded them.
“The man yer lookin’ for passed through here late yesterday, almost evenin’, but with alla this rain, he didn’t git far, ah kin tell ya that for sure. Ah bin up in these mountains fer over twenty years an’ know just ‘bout all there is ta know ‘bout ‘em. It’s gettin’ too dark ta venture out now, anyway. How ‘bout ya get yer horse stabled in the barn out back? Then come an’ join us fer supper an’ bed down in front ‘a this here fire for the night? The missus ain’t gonna let ya leave now, anyway.”
Jake McCray gave a toothy smile. He could see the wisdom of his words had gotten through as the young man before him shrugged and nodded.
“Don’t wanna put you folks out,” Johnny spoke, giving them another chance to send him on his way.
Ignoring Johnny’s ‘offer’, the old man continued. “By the way, name’s Jake McCray, an’ this here’s my wife, Anna.” Jake held out a large paw and shook Johnny’s hand; the grip was substantial. Johnny nodded in Anna’s direction.
Johnny had to admit the notion of a hot meal and sleeping in front of a warm fire on that bearskin was appealing. Seeing the wisdom of the invitation, Johnny’s smile slipped into place as he murmured his thanks, then turned to get Barranca stabled, but before leaving the cabin, he was halted when Jake spoke up.
“There’s feed and hay in the barn. Make that purdy horse ‘a yours comfortable.”
“Mr. an’ Mrs. McCray, I really ‘preciate this! Got no idea how good that food smells right about now!” Johnny said.
Anna was quickly taken by the stranger. “You just get your horse settled and get right back in here, young man! Looks like you’ve missed out on too many meals as it is! You need some meat on those bones!”
Johnny laughed as he replaced the hat on his head and turned to the door but stopped before stepping out to the porch.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” and flashed her the smile that won the hearts of others, then he closed the door softly behind him.
It took longer than usual to get Barranca settled in the barn; he was not happy when there was no treat after the brushing, food, and water. When Johnny left Lancer, he’d taken only the bare essentials and cursed himself for forgetting about the ‘extras’.
He stopped his ministrations, leaned on Barranca’s back, and wondered about Cipriano. How was he? Was he still alive? Would Johnny ever sit side-by-side on that hill overlooking Lancer with the man who had been so integral to them all and talk about the horses and cattle? Would he ever again help Johnny to navigate the complex relationship between him and his father?
Cip had been a source of comfort and understanding. Having been employed at Lancer just before pregnant Maria’s arrival, Cip, aware of the tenuous mindset of the younger Lancer son, shared information — facts Johnny hadn’t known.
Having a mother who had lied to him and a father who refused to talk about the past, Cip had filled in some of the gaps; answers to questions that haunted Johnny for all of his early life. Would he ever be able to thank the Segundo enough for all the help he’d provided, things that Cip probably never even knew that he’d done for Johnny when he first arrived at Lancer to take his rightful place with his brother, the Patrón’s sons, and heirs to the ranch?
So many things had to be worked out, first and foremost, the volatile situation between Murdoch Lancer and his young, undisciplined, reckless son, Johnny Madrid. But thanks to Cipriano, much had been resolved, more than resolved. Father and son were now on the long journey to understanding the other, largely due to Cip’s guidance to both Johnny and Murdoch.
Johnny would bring in the man responsible for the attempted murder of Cip, and justice would be served. Johnny would see to that. He owed the man much.
Johnny smiled as he stepped into the warm cabin as the aroma of a delicious meal waited for him; it reminded him of walking into the Lancer kitchen. Though the cabin was nowhere near the caliber of the hacienda, it did have its comforts.
Anna noticed the look on Johnny’s face as he walked through the door, unsure what was going on in the young man’s mind.
“Well, I’m sure this isn’t the accommodations you’re used to, but it beats sleeping on the wet ground!” she said with a hopeful smile.
Johnny met her stare; his smile widened, and Anna was sure he was about to bear his thoughts.
“Well, Ma’am,” he began when she interrupted him.
“Anna, my name is Anna,” she said with a warm smile as she saw the sparkle in Johnny’s eyes.
“Anna, won’t lie an’ say that Lancer ain’t comfortable, ain’t exactly what I‘m used ta anyway, but I gotta tell ya that on a night like this one, this cabin feels like Heaven ta me!”
Anna beamed at the compliment, but a question appeared in her eyes. “What do you mean ‘not what you’re used to’?” Uncertainty grew in her hazel green eyes.
“I only been there, at Lancer, for the last two years, still kinda new. Long story, but things are workin’ out now,” Johnny said quietly.
Anna knew there was a story there, but a story that he would have to share willingly; she would not ask. She put her hand on Johnny’s arm and squeezed it lightly.
“Come and sit, Johnny; you look too tired to still be on your feet. Have some dinner.” She guided him to the table, and the three sat in companionable silence as the meal began. Anna said a brief prayer, then cut the freshly baked loaf of bread and dished up the elk stew.
Johnny thought he would explode. Every time he finished the food on his plate, Anna would dish up more until he couldn’t eat another bite. He had to stop her, laughing as he extended his thanks but truthfully wondered if he would be able to get out of his chair. Can always jus’ roll over ta that rug… he thought with another smile.
Sleep tugged at his brain. The warmth of the cabin seeped into his body. Lethargy started to take over and make his limbs heavy, but he forced himself to stay awake as Jake talked of life in the mountains; company, a welcomed company that is, was rare, and someone to talk to was almost a guilty pleasure.
Anna cleared the table and watched as Johnny fought the battle, warring in his body. Jake seemed oblivious, but she suddenly yawned and finally won Jake’s attention.
“We should get to bed, Jake. I’m sure that Johnny could do with a little extra sleep tonight.”
Thankfully, Jake took the hint.
“Thank you for supper, Anna. Not sure if I can get off this chair or not, but it sure tasted good.” He again rewarded her with his smile.
“You’re very welcome, Johnny. Don’t you leave in the morning without breakfast! I make a good flapjack!” She winked as she retrieved blankets for him, then she and Jake retired for the night, shutting the door to their tiny bedroom, and left Johnny to enjoy the fire as he lay back on the rug.
It felt familiar as he lay there in front of the fire to watch the flickers dance over the logs, but any good memories were pushed aside as he thought over how he would go about finding the man responsible for shooting Cipriano. Jake said the man he was after came through yesterday afternoon. But where was he now?
Sleep claimed him soon after he let his mind start to wander. The mesmerizing blaze that danced across the logs subdued the wanderings in his brain into a haze, and he began to drift away, leaving Johnny relaxed and deeply asleep and recovering from intense fatigue as the food and rest nourished him amid the shadows that danced in the dark room. A new man would awake, and with renewed strength, the pursuit would continue.
Morning came, and with it, cold fog penetrated clothing and left a deep chill. Johnny went out to the barn and fed Barranca, then brought in several loads of firewood, enough to fill all the wood boxes.
Both Jake and Anna came into the main room, amazed to see their guest up and about, but knew he was anxious to be on his way.
Anna got the coffee brewing, and flapjacks browned in a large pan as the scent of sizzling bacon and cinnamon filled the cabin with aromas, once again, to rival that of Lancer’s kitchen. Anna pulled out a chair and motioned for Johnny to sit.
“I reckon that you’ll want to be on your way soon, so you just sit down here, and I’ll have breakfast served up in a jiffy,” Anna coaxed as Johnny slid into the chair.
Jake quickly joined him, knowing that the craved camaraderie would soon be over and took advantage of it while he could.
“Any tracks are gonna be washed out, but ah saw that fella ridin’ north, mebbe up ta Oroville, even ta Paradise. Don’t know of any settlements ‘tween here an’ there, so’s that’d be as good a guess as any. Unless he’s lost, that’s where he’d be goin’; no other way outta these here mountains.”
Johnny thought over his options and made his decision. “Did he say anything when he was here?” The more information he had, the better the chance of finding the back shooter.
“Nope, not much ta say when yer lookin’ at snake eyes…” Jake mumbled as he nodded to the double-barreled shotgun on a peg next to the door.
Johnny smiled, and Anna plopped the second stack of flapjacks on his plate before he could protest.
“My horse ain’t gonna be able ta carry me if I keep eatin’ like this!” Johnny laughed, and Anna beamed, knowing the young man would have a good meal in his belly before continuing on his journey.
Soon, breakfast was over; they stood on the porch as Johnny bid the McCray’s goodbye.
“I wanna thank ya for your hospitality. Didn’t count on findin’ any help up here.” Johnny extended his hand, and old Jake grasped it firmly.
“Ya just bring that bastard ta justice, young fella, an’ know that yer always welcome ta share our table and fire.” Jake pumped his hand in a strong grip.
Johnny then turned his gaze to Anna as she stepped forward and placed her hands on his arms. Her green-hazel eyes filled with warmth and kindness that pierced Johnny’s heart.
“Please be careful, Johnny, and I expect you to be stopping by here on your way back home! Godspeed!”
He was touched by her kindness. “Thank you, Anna.” And with a nod to Jake, he swung effortlessly onto Barranca’s back and headed north to Oroville.
Johnny estimated getting into Oroville by late afternoon; he would make it if he kept riding all day. The rain had stopped, and the sky cleared, leaving the day cold and damp, but at least it was sunny. If he was lucky, he could pick up a trail and hoped that bastard had found shelter from the weather to lay low until the rain stopped.
Traveling in the mountains presented its own problems; add in volatile weather, and a man just bought himself extra trouble. Riding, soaked with rain and chilled to the bone, was miserable, not to mention treacherous for horses and their riders. Johnny didn’t much care about injury to the rider, but Cipriano’s horse was a good animal.
He shuddered to think of the possibility of finding the horse crippled and lying at the bottom of a gorge because of a stupid decision to keep riding. In light of the fact Johnny was tracking a back shooter, the man wouldn’t care about the horse he was riding as long as it got him where he wanted to go.
Johnny pushed those thoughts aside and kept going. There was no sense in fretting about something over which he had no control, but if a careless decision rendered Renegado lame or, worse, dead, there would be Hell to pay, and Madrid would have no problem dealing the penalty for stupidity.
He scoured the ground for signs of a recent traveler, shifting his gaze from the rocky earth to his surroundings, and stayed vigilant. If the man thought no one followed, chances were that he wouldn’t be searching behind him, but staying alert for danger was second nature that allowed Johnny to stay alive, longer than what would have been normal under his former profession.
He wasn’t about to assume the man he trailed wasn’t watching. Another attempted murder would not keep this man awake at night. It came easy for him, and unless Johnny could catch him, the man would undoubtedly try it again if the opportunity presented itself.
Johnny stopped Barranca on an outcropping of rock; it was a risk but a necessary one as he got his bearings. Although they were coming down the mountains, there were still many miles to go, and the chance to see around him from high ground was an advantage he couldn’t pass up. He searched the area for a trail or road, anything to lead him into Oroville, but there was nothing.
Just the wind in the trees. Listen to the whispers… The voice in his mind was clear; Red Wolf advised him from the grave, and Johnny heard the words and understood; he knew their meaning. He saw nothing but nudged Barranca downward, hopefully into Oroville.
It looked clearer up ahead; the trees thinned out as bushes and brush formed a rough hedge lining the way. A little further would confirm or deny there would be a path or road, anything to verify Oroville was close.
Johnny scanned his surroundings as Barranca moved forward; the ground began to show signs of washed-out tracks, moss torn from the ground, ripped off the earth by sharp hooves; the prints continued straight ahead. It wasn’t a road but a path… and more tracks became clearer.
Johnny soon found himself on the outskirts of a town. Peeling paint on a sign indicated the Oroville Hotel; the building boasted ill care, and Johnny imagined that if he opened the front door, he would hear a decrepit plea for help, begging for repairs… or a match to put it out of its misery.
Oroville wasn’t exactly what Johnny would call a bustling city by any means; it was slightly smaller than Morro Coyo, but if a stranger had passed through, he would be seen, and possibly someone would know where he was.
Johnny kept a sharp eye open for Renegado but didn’t see the horse tied to any of the hitch rails; he continued to the livery. The building was run down, slivers of old paint blistered from the weathered boards to reveal the underlying gray wood; every rail of the fence forming the corral was chewed and left with deep gouges from the teeth of bored horses. Johnny thought that a good sneeze would cause the entire fence to collapse. It was no wonder why horses did not occupy the corral.
Johnny stopped Barranca at the wide, opened barn doors, and dismounted. He tied the reins around the corral rail with an order for Barranca to not breathe too hard — he didn’t want to have to pay for damages to the already damaged fence — and wandered into the stable.
“Anyone here?” he called into the darkness. The shuffle of dragging footsteps through straw interrupted the quiet, and Johnny watched as an old man with a scraggly beard came in from the rear of the building. The old-timer hitched up his worn and torn britches and offered a smile that revealed many missing teeth behind the shaggy mustache.
“Afternoon, young fella. What can I do for ya?” he asked with a voice that sounded more like a croak from a bullfrog. He eyed Johnny, not missing the rig tied low on his hip.
Johnny returned the smile as he posed his question and watched the eyes of the man before him. Eyes would tell you what words didn’t… and wouldn’t, but the rheumy, droopy-eyed gaze told him much and offered Johnny a shred of hope.
“Lookin’ for a stolen horse, a bay about sixteen hands high, with a white blaze. Has a brand, a circle with an “L” on the left flank. Don’t know what the fella ridin’ him looks like. Ya seen a horse like that come through here?”
Old Lenny snorted as he recalled the incident from earlier that morning. He met Johnny’s gaze.
“Yup, he come through here this mornin’. Looked like he’d been travelin’ pretty hard. The horse was in need of rest, but all the fella did was stop off at the saloon ta take care ‘a hisself, then rode out goin’ in the direction of Paradise.”
The blood began its boil again as Johnny thought about the lack of care for the horse, but it was replaced with a surge of hope, and Johnny knew he was closing in. He flipped the old man a coin and asked him to feed his horse. With the agility of a twenty-year-old, the man caught the coin out of the air, collected Barranca, and headed into the barn.
“Watch your fingers. He bites.” Johnny took a few steps, then turned to ask: “Ya got a telegraph office here?”
The old man gestured down the street. “End of the street on yer left. Gimme a yell when yer ready ta leave. Name’s Lenny.”
Johnny waved his thanks and set off to get a wire to Murdoch.
Headed to Paradise STOP Cip’s horse seen going that direction STOP Contact me there.
—J
The wire sent, Johnny headed to the saloon for a drink and a hot meal. He crossed the street and kept to the boards lying atop the mud as a temporary walkway. Johnny made it to the batwing doors of ‘The Last Chance’, wondering if the name of this saloon was an omen, then stopped, as was his habit, to observe the crowd before he entered.
There was nothing to set his senses on edge, so pushing the doors open, he made his way to the scuffed and bullet-scarred bar and ordered a beer and food. He then found a quiet table in the back corner. The food arrived, and Johnny ordered a second beer to wash down the surprisingly good steak. He watched the patrons’ comings and goings and did not pick up on anything unusual. Tossing a few coins on the bar on his way past, he stopped at the doors to look out over the street and left.
The sun would be going down in a couple of hours, and there was still time to get a few extra miles in before he would have to stop for the night. He was not going to catch the man he was after sitting here in the saloon.
The livery was quiet when he arrived. Hell, the whole town had been quiet, but that was alright. He couldn’t afford any unnecessary delays, no poker games, or the tempting offer of a trip to the cribs upstairs with a working girl. Resting his horse and getting a hot meal was all the time he could spare.
Barranca was in a stall nipping at the horse stabled beside him. Johnny whistled, stopping the shenanigans; the horse turned toward him with a defensive “He started it first!” flash in his eyes. Johnny laughed at the expression on the animal’s face, then reached for the saddle blanket and smoothed it over the horse’s back, slung the saddle in place, and tightened the cinch. The bridle slipped easily into place, and Johnny backed the horse out of the stall. He had to get moving.
“Hey, Lenny!” he called as the familiar shuffle was again heard as the liveryman came into view. There was a thick white bandage around one finger of his left hand, and Johnny raised a brow when he saw it.
“Yer right. He bites. Ain’t as quick as I usta be…” the old man admitted with a sigh as he inspected the bandaged digit.
Johnny shrugged as he apologized for Barranca’s bad manners, then asked if the old man would like to see the doctor.
“Naw, was my own blamed fault it happened. Left my fingers unprotected jus’ like ya told me not ta do!”
Johnny suspected that Barranca was showing his displeasure when the old man left him without offering a treat. He paid for the care plus a considerable tip for the old man’s trouble and looked down the street.
“How far’s Paradise?” Johnny asked as he mounted and prepared to leave the stable.
“Oh, ‘bout twenty-five miles as the crow flies, but it’s pretty rough goin’ from here on out.”
A thought occurred to Johnny, and he stepped down from the saddle. The old man had questions but held his tongue.
“I’m gonna need a different horse an’ saddle. You watch him for me till I get back? Shouldn’t be but a coupla days, a week at the longest.”
The old man smiled. “Sure can! Best mind my fingers, though!”
Johnny laughed, nodded once then followed the old man inside the stable.
The sorrel gelding had a smooth, easy gait, not like Barranca but acceptable, and the rented saddle wasn’t as comfortable as his own, but it would do. Barranca was an attention-getter, and the brand on his flank and the matching brand on the fender of his saddle was giveaway; discretion forced Johnny to leave him in Oroville and pay old Lenny handsomely for the rentals.
Johnny also asked Lenny to wire Murdoch should things go south and Johnny didn’t return to collect Barranca. If he wasn’t back in seven days, Lenny was to send the telegram. Then, with a reminder to watch the rest of his fingers, Johnny waved goodbye, and with an idea tickling in his brain, he left town, anxious to be on his way and headed north.
Once again, the wind picked up and sang through the pines; the Whispers of The People were strong in Johnny’s ears. He stayed vigilant as he went and felt the presence of many guarding him as he rode. He knew he was not alone, and it gave him comfort; The People always gave him support.
But what would really give him satisfaction would be to bring in the man who left Cip for dead and stole his horse. Not letting himself lose his concentration, Johnny kept watching for a place to bed down for the night. Staying the night in Oroville was out of the question; too much time and too many miles were between him and the man he sought. Keep goin’, for Cip…
The moon provided enough light for travel; he would be alright if he stayed on the road. The night sounds played their sweet songs that had, in the past, been a comfort; they would have been now if he wasn’t on this mission. Cipriano was a good friend; he was a good man, and, at this moment, Johnny wasn’t sure if he was even alive.
He felt the Apache spirits, their wisdom, their connection, all around him. At the same time, with senses on high alert, he listened for the sounds that shouldn’t be there or those that should… and weren’t. And he listened for the whispers.
Hopefully, the son-of-a-bitch he was trailing didn’t suspect he was being followed; it gave Johnny the advantage, and although he didn’t think it was needed, he would take it. One couldn’t count on a back shooter and horse thief to play fair, so any advantage he could get would be fine by him.
The night travel saved Johnny precious time; to stop and make a cold camp would waste hours he didn’t have. He had a fresh horse under him, food in his belly, and the full moon to light the way; he would take the opportunity and make up some miles. He kept watchful for a campfire but guessed the back shooter had continued on to Paradise.
With the decision made, Johnny held the sorrel to a steady gait, estimating arriving at his destination around seven in the morning. That suited him just fine. It would give him time to scout the area and maybe locate the shooter before the bastard knew he was there. If Lady Luck was on his side, he could drag his prisoner back to Green River shortly after he arrived.
Going back would be a rough trip, but there was no doubt in Johnny’s mind he could get it done without help; tie the cobarde to a tree at night, and Johnny would sleep as sound as a babe. No, that wasn’t true — Johnny didn’t sleep sound… ever. But he was a determined and resourceful man, and with those qualities, Johnny Madrid Lancer could get the job done regardless of what would happen.
His mouth twitched in a half smile. What had he told the Sheriff the night he, Murdoch, and the lawman waited at the state line for Teresa after she was taken by her mother and stepfather? Bein’ legal don’t get the job done. And that sentiment applied here as well.
It would have been better had he and Scott stuck together, but things didn’t always work out as planned. Johnny knew they had to split up or waste valuable time. He’d learned years ago you had to play the hand you were dealt or stand the chance of losing the pot. The stakes were too high; Johnny wouldn’t let the chance slip away. He was going to win the game… for Cip.
A thousand questions ran through his mind; would the man be alone? Did he live in Paradise, or was he just passing through? Could Johnny count on the law for help? Would the bastard even be there when Johnny got into town?
Johnny hoped the man didn’t live there, that he would spend a day or two and rest, then plan to move on. If he lived there, there was every possibility he had friends or family, and Johnny would have to fight the whole town. If he could slip in there, find the pendejo, and get the hell out before anyone was the wiser, he would count his blessings. Well, he’d done it before, but would circumstances allow him to do it again?
Avoiding trouble was paramount; however, he would be prepared for anything that came his way, but sometimes what a man wanted and what a man got were two different animals; there wasn’t always a choice, and one couldn’t count on luck. He would not hesitate to shoot the bastard if he had to — Johnny would do what he had to to get the job done.
Johnny fought to keep his mounting temper under control and would depend on Madrid to keep the lid on any ‘boiling pots’. Johnny Lancer’s mood wasn’t its best at the moment, but if combined, the Lancer–Madrid persona definitely spelled trouble.
It would be dawn in a few hours; he was making good time, and Johnny was anxious to get into Paradise and look for Renegado. Could he catch the back-shooting bastard while he slept? That would be too easy… he thought. Nothing was ever that easy. Johnny would have to improvise as he went until he found out what he was up against.
The sky turned a deep pink as dawn approached. Night sounds faded, and daytime birds and creatures began their songs, serenading the world with calls, chirps, and chatters. Johnny finished the food that Anna McCray insisted he take. Although he wouldn’t let her pack up as much as she wanted to send with him, it lasted a whole day, and he appreciated her generosity more than words could say.
Johnny ate in the saddle, not wanting to waste any time to stop. He kept the sorrel at a decent pace, conserving its strength. The last thing Johnny would do was jeopardize his horse, but fortunately, the destination was close. Johnny wondered how the situation would pan out. Was the back-shooter even there? He’d find answers to his questions soon.
The road into Paradise was muddy and full of ruts and puddles but offered no challenge for the sorrel. The gelding navigated the road without the benefit of Johnny’s guidance, gracefully sidestepping with an easy gait.
Large stands of pines covered the area; damp, chilly air seeped through Johnny’s clothes, but one thought kept him going, kept the internal burn hot. The thought he would possibly have the man, the coward he’d been searching for, and bring him to justice. As daylight spread its glory on the land, the air warmed, and the puffs of breath from the sorrel’s nostrils faded away.
The first stop would be the livery to check for Renegado, then a stop at the telegraph office for a message from Murdoch, and hopefully, there was good news about Cip. He could use a little good news right about now.
Johnny arrived in Paradise shortly after seven in the morning. Not many folks were out on the streets yet, which was fine by him. He looked around the town and wondered how it got its name because a paradise it wasn’t. Buildings, some with broken windows, lined the streets; a sense of helplessness seemed to hang in a vaporous cloud around them. Was it an illusion?
Johnny swore the buildings appeared to lean in defeat, relying on a spirit’s sleight of hand to keep them standing and prevent them from toppling onto the next. He strongly suspected that if he were to lay a hand on one building, it would fall, pushing on the next, and they would fall in shambles, one right after another, like dominoes. Many had not seen a fresh coat of paint in years, some cracked and peeling, bearing the summer heat and blistering cold of mountain winters, but Johnny got the feeling that if they could talk, they were asking for a change. Maybe a miracle.
Listen to The Whispers.
The livery was open; Johnny reined the sorrel to the fence and entered the stable.
“Anyone here?” Johnny called out but was greeted with silence. With no answer, he walked through the barn, checking out the horses in their stalls munching on hay; Cip’s horse was not among them. With no luck in the barn, Johnny took the opportunity to check the corrals on either side of the stable. Still no luck.
After checking the telegraph office and finding it locked, Johnny opted for a hot breakfast at the café; a steaming cup of coffee sounded good. After he ate, he would visit the telegraph office and, hopefully, there would be a message from Murdoch.
He straddled the sorrel and took his time going down the street; his eyes took in everything without seeming to do so. Second-story windows, alleyways, movement behind curtains — anything to indicate he was the object of prying and dangerous eyes. The early risers of Paradise on the boardwalks did not pose a threat; those who stood behind cover and did not want to be seen garnered his concern.
All the while, Johnny watched for the large bay with the Lancer brand on the flank. A few horses were lined at the hitch rails, but none of the animals he saw was the horse he desperately needed to find.
Madrid stopped at the café door, surveying the room before he entered. Two tables were occupied with customers; the rest were empty. Selecting a table in the back, Johnny settled in. Soon, there was a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of him, and the matronly waitress took his order with a polite smile. She was attentive and kept his cup filled as he waited; on her third stop at his table, she refilled his cup, then, with a smile, she made to leave, but Johnny stopped her, plying her with seemingly innocent questions. Funny what simple inquiries would divulge.
“It always this quiet ‘round here?” he queried with his most charming smile.
She stopped her chore, looked into the astonishing blue eyes, then returned the smile. “Yes, pretty much. We’re out of the way here; not exactly a place folks come to unless they have to. It used to be a nice place to live. A lot of folks left Paradise.”
“Too bad the town doesn’t live up to its name.”
Johnny wondered if she would take offense, and she could have considered it an insult, but the woman’s answer spoke volumes.
“It used to be before they…” Her words halted as pink stained her cheeks. She didn’t know him — didn’t know why he was there in Paradise.
Johnny nodded and sipped the coffee. Hot, strong enough to hold a spoon on end, or fill a hole in the road, good coffee. “Guess ya don’t see many strangers, huh?” he continued, his voice like velvet, soothing and soft. Seemingly vague, innocent questions, but the answers could reveal much.
“No, not many strangers. Just us locals, usually. You’re the first new face in weeks.” She left his table to serve an order to a table on the other side of the diner. First new face in weeks…
The meal was tasty and filling, prompting him to leave a generous tip. Johnny paid the bill, left the café, and located the telegraph office. He opened the door and was subjected to a tinny alarm that jingled, shrill and piercing, straight into his brain. Why did all the telegraph offices have that annoying bell hanging over the door? He walked to the window where the operator stood.
“Any message for Johnny Lancer?” he asked.
The operator stared at the newcomer, then stood and checked a small pile of papers on his desk as he mumbled to himself all the while he shuffled through the stack. “Yup, came in a few minutes ago.” He handed Johnny the wire, then deftly caught the coin Johnny flipped his way in thanks.
Taking the note, Johnny stepped away from the counter and read the words he had hoped were written there.
Cip fine STOP You’re not STOP Wait for Scott and Val STOP They are on their way
-M
Johnny had to smile. He knew Murdoch would not be happy that he and Scott split up, but he also knew The Tune Caller would have done the same thing under the circumstances.
“Ya wanna send a reply, young fella?” the bespectacled old man asked as he watched Johnny read the message.
Johnny looked up and smiled. “Maybe later. Thanks,” but decided to take a chance and ask a few questions.
“I’m lookin’ for a horse. Bay, a little bigger’n most with a circle ‘L’ brand on his left flank. Seen anything like that in the last day or so?” It was brief, but Johnny caught the flicker in the man’s eyes and the forced expression that crossed the clerk’s face.
“No.”
The negative reply that came too fast was a dead giveaway.
Johnny smiled again, went to the door, then turned back to the telegraph operator with a hard look and a cold smile that, this time, didn’t reach his eyes. He turned and left the office as the bell jingled its goodbye. Johnny smiled to himself as he thought about shooting it off the door.
Madrid stood in the shadows and watched, but the agent didn’t come out. From his position, Johnny could see both front and back doors to the building. He expected the clerk to leave; he thought the man would be warning someone; Johnny read something in those eyes before leaving the office, so he watched but was baffled when the telegraph operator did not exit the building.
Something was going on. The waitress at the diner said, ‘no strangers in town’; did that mean the man responsible for Cip’s ambush lived here? And the reaction from the clerk at the telegraph office alerted him of something; now he had to figure out what. The fact the man had not left the office could be a good thing, and he would soon find out, one way or another.
Johnny stabled the sorrel, having found the livery attendant on his return. After ensuring the horse was tended, Johnny walked to the door with a painted sign that said ‘Sheriff’. Before he entered, Johnny turned to catch a fleeting glimpse of someone watching him from the telegraph office. The face in the window quickly disappeared when Johnny turned around. Yup, gettin’ close…
He pushed the door open and stepped into the sheriff’s domain. Carefully closing the wooden door, Johnny noticed several things, quickly assessing the room without appearing to do so. The room was nothing like Val’s office in Green River — it was clean; the floor was scrubbed, no crumpled scraps in the wastepaper basket, and none of the cells were occupied. The mugs and coffee pot on the pot-bellied stove were clean. Was any business conducted in this room? The room felt staged like it was there for looks. The law of Paradise had a funny way of doing things…
The office would have been well-lit if shades hadn’t covered the windows. Was the sheriff keeping prying eyes out, or was he keeping secrets in? Johnny’s instincts were immediately on high alert. No law office he’d ever been in looked as unused as this one. Apparently, the good citizens of Paradise were law-abiding; that explained the empty cells. No, it was more than that. The nudge that something wasn’t right kept poking at him; Madrid could feel it, and he prepared for battle.
A well-dressed, thin man with a long, angular face sat behind the large, polished desk. The snake-like mustache perched on his upper lip reminded Johnny of Capitan Sanchez in Mexico — the Capitan that stood him in front of the firing squad. For a split second, Johnny’s eyes narrowed as he remembered the bastard, but he shoved the memory away to focus on the reason for being there and, more, the man before him.
A long, hawkish nose on the thin face separated small, black, beady eyes, giving the appearance he was stalking prey. Prominent cheekbones accentuated the sunken cheeks that made the man look ill. The black hair, graying at the temples, was neatly combed, and the fingernails on the large hands were clean. This man was not used to physical activity.
A black topcoat covered a matching vest over a spotless white shirt, and a shiny silver badge pinned on his chest completed the polished look, making him appear like he was campaigning for office instead of presently running one. The man could have been executioner gunman Sexton Joe Hughes’ brother.
But it was the cold black eyes that told Johnny everything he needed to know. All senses were on alert, and they rarely were wrong. He had to tread cautiously; one misstep would derail his mission, and if that were to happen, he’d never find the pendejo he was trailing.
But he was getting close; the look in the clerk’s eyes at the telegraph had told him much.
The introduction was interrupted when a voice called out from the back room, getting louder as a man stepped into the office, then suddenly stopped. “Sheriff, ya want me ta get the telegraph…” Flabby jowls jiggled with every movement, reminding Johnny of Russel Westin’s old bloodhound dog, Green River’s resident tracker. Johnny wondered if he threw this man a bone, he would drool like that old hound dog.
Johnny contemplated the two men: the sheriff, neatly dressed, and his deputy, slovenly, and… he smelled.
The sheriff’s eyes flashed a warning, stopping the man in his tracks.
“Ahh, sorry, Sheriff. Didn’t know ya had comp’ny. I, ah, guess I’ll talk ta ya later, huh?”
“Yes, you do that, Earl. Later.”
The ‘deputy’ left the office but not before casting a glower Madrid’s way.
Johnny didn’t hide the sharp exhale through his nose or the twitch at the corner of his mouth as it pulled a smile. But instead of making a remark regarding said deputy, he turned his attention to the Sheriff.
For Johnny, the subtle game of deception and outright lies was on, and knew he couldn’t tip his hand too soon. Where Madrid was straightforward and to the point, he knew the man before him wouldn’t be; Johnny was forced into the pointless pissing contest, but there was one thing in his favor. The ‘lawman’ had no clue who he was up against. Madrid would wait to introduce himself.
At the risk of jeopardizing his mission, he held his insolence to a minimum, instinctively knowing there would be time for it later — later when he had a few more answers. Still, no matter what he did or how he handled the situation, Madrid knew there would be trouble.
“Sheriff…” Madrid nodded and acknowledged the man with the shiny star pinned to his vest. The sheriff looked like he was having a bad day. Johnny wanted to smirk. It was about to get worse.
The sheriff’s black eyes bored into him, doing his best to intimidate the cocksure visitor who stood before him. Those eyes had seen young men like this one before. He didn’t like those in the past, and he didn’t like this one now.
“Who are you, and what business do you have in my town?” growled the lawman. But the sheriff was already suspicious.
Apparently, the lawman didn’t like newcomers in his town, making Johnny wonder why.
The ‘welcome’ was direct, leaving Johnny to fully understand how things would be. The cold look in his eyes grew hard, and a colder smile crawled across his face, knowing it would irritate the sheriff, and he was right. If the sheriff wanted to play this game, Madrid was ready… and skilled, but Johnny rathered Madrid stay hidden, at least for now.
Johnny sighed deeply, wanting to get the information he needed and be on his way. Being no stranger to trouble, he had that sneaking little suspicion things would not work out that way.
“Name’s Johnny Lancer. Lookin’ for a stolen horse… an’ the man that stole him.”
His stance told Sheriff Harv Barton that trouble had just arrived and was now staring him in the face and not about to go away.
“What makes you think the thief is here in my town?” The sheriff took a sip from the mug on his desk; his small, dark pig eyes never left Johnny’s face. He didn’t like this young man before him; he smelled of trouble. Well, he wouldn’t be around long…
“Didn’t say he was. I’m askin’ if you’ve seen anyone come through ridin’ a bay horse is all. I been followin’ him, an’ the trail led here.”
The sheriff raised his reed-thin body to full height, rounded his desk, and came to a stop. He needed to assert his position; intimidation was something he knew well. But he didn’t get far — the young man held his ground as the irritating smile grew, and the icy eyes held his.
Harv Barton fought to control the explosion that threatened; it was a challenge, like a bucket of icy water thrown over his head. “Are you trying to tell me that I have a horse thief in my town?” the sheriff railed in Johnny’s face; stale cigar breath washed over him, and Johnny couldn’t hold back the cough from the rank assault.
“Maybe more’n that. Whoever took that horse shot a man in the back ta do it. So, I‘ll ask one more time; have ya seen a large bay horse with a circle ‘L’ brand on his left flank? Simple question; shouldn’t be too difficult ta answer,” Johnny said, not resisting the urge to pour fuel onto the smoldering fire.
Inside, the sheriff boiled with rage but knew that soon, this upstart would learn a valuable lesson and, if he wasn’t careful, would pay the highest price for his mistake.
Johnny held the stare and kept the disrespectful smile on his lips. He wasn’t about to back down.
Johnny shrugged, not wanting this to turn ugly too fast, but he couldn’t resist the comment; he needed to keep the ‘lawman’ unbalanced. However, he had a few more pieces of the puzzle with that reaction, albeit he assumed some of the pieces, they fit together well enough, but he had to be certain.
“Guess ya woulda told me by now if ya had, huh… Sheriff?” Johnny leveled his stare at the man, then turned and left the office, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the sheriff alone and ready to explode.
Inside the office, Barton raged. He didn’t need trouble right now; the young man had pushed the limits, and there was only one way to deal with trouble. Tonight, tomorrow, or the day after, the newcomer would be gone… permanently. All he needed to do was inform his men and devise a plan.
As with the telegraph office, Johnny watched from the shadows of an alley that covered both front and back doors. Soon, the sheriff stalked out the back; Johnny watched as the sickly-looking man reached the livery with long strides and soon galloped out of town in a northwesterly direction. Time ta move, Madrid, he told himself.
Johnny kept to the shadows, hurried to the livery, saddled his horse, and left, following the lawman. He kept to the trees as The Whispers guided, ‘Leave the road; use the cover of the trees’. The Whispers were never wrong.
A ridge above the road, covered with old-growth oak, sycamores, and walls of rocks and boulders, provided safety, keeping him out of sight as he kept the sheriff in sight.
Again, Johnny saw a face in the window of the telegraph office when he’d ridden out of town. He would pay another visit to the clerk upon his return.
The sorrel proved to be a dependable animal. He was strong and carried Johnny up the mountainside, high above the road, enabling his rider to trail behind the target undetected.
The haste to get out of town was suspicious; what prompted the man sitting at his desk to suddenly hurry out of Paradise after the visit with Johnny if there was nothing to hide? Something was up, and the only way to find out was to see for himself. There was no way in Hell Johnny would trust the sheriff.
He followed Barton for an hour before the man left the path to continue through the trees. Traveling a short distance, he continued to a secluded clearing, then stopped in front of a cabin sheltered in a ring of oak and lodge pole pine that secured it from sight.
Smoke billowed from the stone chimney that crowned the tiny cabin. A rickety barn with broken doors suspended on single hinges stood in the rear, with an equally run-down corral attached that held one horse.
Johnny watched Sheriff Barton jump from the lathered mount’s back to take the stairs, two at a time, of the log structure, his long, thin legs resembling a spider scrambling after a bug. He strode across the covered porch, barged through the door, and slammed it shut behind him.
Johnny stepped from the saddle and went closer on foot.
The brush and undergrowth concealed his presence as he snuck around to the corral. The horse didn’t seem to mind the intruder and munched on hay while Johnny searched the barn for Renegado. The stalls were empty, and having no reason to stay, he returned up the hill to his horse. Johnny would wait out Sheriff Barton’s visit, then decide his course of action.
The cabin door opened abruptly, nearly torn off the hinges. Johnny watched as Barton stalked out, then turned and barked his irritation at the person in the cabin. Johnny made out a few words; ‘that jackass’ then ‘when he gets back here, keep him here! Someone came looking for that horse!’
The heartbeat quickened in his chest. Johnny knew it was a matter of time before he would find the bastard who ambushed Cipriano. He’d heard Barton’s instructions — the cobarde he was looking for would return to the cabin with orders to stay put.
Barton climbed on his horse and made his way toward Paradise; Johnny thought to follow, but instead, he hunkered down to wait. With the sheriff gone, he would wait to see who returned to the cabin and the mount he would be riding. With any luck, it would be Renegado carrying the trigger-happy thief.
Johnny Madrid had been outnumbered a time or two in the past; he’d been alone in his ventures and troubles. But, he wasn’t alone anymore — he was part of a family, a Lancer in every aspect. Scott and Val were on their way.
It would be like dangling a carrot in front of Val’s nose; he would be up for the challenge. Johnny knew there was no keeping Val away. Yes, all he had to do was dangle that carrot. He’d done it before. And there would be no way that Scott would stay out of the fray. With his military background, keen mind, and rock-solid bravery, Scott would see this through; he wanted Cip’s attacker brought to justice as much as Johnny.
Murdoch’s wire said they were leaving in the morning. Val’s expertise was invaluable. The scruffy, gruff hombre gave most people pause, but Johnny knew better. No one sheriffed like Val Crawford, and the feeling deep in his gut told him they would need the lawman’s benefit. The legitimate law, not Barton’s law. A smile sneaked across Johnny’s face, thinking Barton had no idea what awaited him.
Johnny hunkered down to wait; he stayed vigilant for the rest of the day, biding his time in the rocks on the ridge. There was nothing to do but wait and watch, and however tedious, the mind numbing duty was a critical step in gathering more information.
Secluded in the cover of brush, scrub trees, and boulders, the hours ticked away. Squirrels chattered, scolding the intrusion; hawks circled on the thermals, going ever higher until they disappeared from sight. Johnny watched a coyote search the rocks for a meal; even a rattlesnake visited as it slithered by him, tasting the air for a scent with its shiny black, flickering tongue.
The quiet peace of day was deceiving; vermin lurked behind the cabin walls — the human kind.
Patience. He’d learned patience from his Apache father. And those lessons served him well as he waited now. There was no rushing what would happen; his only choice was to wait.
Lucky for Madrid, he was out of the wind and surrounded by rocks; all he had to do was stay watchful, and three hours later, the wait paid off.
Late in the afternoon, a rider approached the cabin; Johnny noted the unmistakable mount: Renegado. Unknowingly, Sheriff Barton led Johnny directly to the heart of the hornet’s nest. Johnny couldn’t resist the smile. “Gracias for the help, pendejo,” he muttered.
Dismounting Renegado, the bastard climbed the steps and entered the cabin. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the man was not happy about the instructions to remain there until further orders were given. Raised voices spewed ugly and volatile words that tinged the air blue.
Johnny smirked at one particular remark, and he wondered if the act was even possible… Regardless, Mr. Back Shooter railed over Barton’s orders to confine himself to the cabin.
Johnny pulled his thoughts into a plan, considering the options open to him. Without much time to decide the course to follow, he gambled, leaving the cabin to go back to town, and, with any luck, he’d collect a few more pieces of information from Cyrus. He would place his odds that Barton’s men in the cabin to follow orders and stay put as ordered. He didn’t like it and normally wouldn’t have opted to leave, but if Barton suspected Johnny of bringing the law down around his neck, the man could get away and possibly never be found.
The return to Paradise was the right thing to do.
Scott and Val still had a two day ride. Johnny would gather as much information as he could and, given half a chance, he could apprehend Mr. Back Shooter and get him away before anyone was the wiser.
In the past, he would do things the ’Madrid Way’. Gallop into the fray, capture the man responsible, and bring the bastard to justice. If it had been only Cip’s attacker involved, there would have been no problem, but that was before Johnny realized how deep the cancer was embedded into the town. There were more involved than just Barton; one man alone couldn’t control a whole town. The brief conversation with the waitress at the café and the signals from the telegraph operator told volumes.
Given all who were probably involved in controlling Paradise, Madrid doubted he could handle the evil alone. The best course of action for Johnny was to get the man he was after to the law and wait for reinforcements to handle Barton and his partners.
But it occurred to Johnny that, while still in Paradise, he might gather more information to aid in the apprehension of those preying upon the innocents in Paradise. He would take the chance and return to town. A talk with Cyrus Becker was his next step. If Mr. Back Shooter followed orders, he would stay at the cabin.
Having made the decision, Johnny mounted the sorrel for the return trip to Paradise. Time was of the essence. Barton was in for a few surprises, and Johnny knew the man wouldn’t like any of them. A tornado was on the way — a tornado named Madrid.
Knowing the law was involved up to his crooked, hawkish nose, there was no chance for local help; Barton was calling the shots for now. Johnny was in for a fight if he were caught. Alright, Madrid, don’t let yourself get caught.
Val’s support and Scott’s military expertise would turn the odds in Johnny’s favor, but it would be two days before the help would arrive. Madrid would try his best to keep the surveillance going until his backup made it to town, and, in the meantime, he’d investigate, gathering information he didn’t have now. Who knew? Given enough time, he could handle the back shooter alone, but if things began to unfold before help arrived, Johnny would have to ‘escort’ his prisoner to the nearest law — the nearest legal law. Val’s help would make things a hell of a lot easier and not as messy. Easy was good… wasn’t it? But sometimes, messy couldn’t be avoided.
A few possibilities came to mind. Some were discarded quickly, but others held prospects. No definite plan ran smoothly. Experience was an excellent teacher; one had to improvise as he went. Johnny had improvised before and would do it again; it didn’t matter as long as he brought those responsible to justice. In his early days at Lancer, Johnny told Scott he had to ‘… do it to them before they did it to you.’ And that statement held true now.
Madrid slipped into town undetected using the less traveled trails and back alleyways. No one was the wiser. He off-handedly wondered if Barton was in good health; maybe Johnny would cause him enough troubles, and the man would have one of those apoplexy things Scott told him about. The man didn’t look well.
Johnny familiarized himself with the lay of the land. While traveling through the back country, he discovered several spots to keep out of sight if needed. Plans continued to come and go, all contingent on the events as they developed, but a few held promise and stayed with him.
The situation, when it came, would dictate his actions; he just hoped whatever happened, however it would happen, the outcome would result in justice. But Johnny Madrid Lancer was no fool; he knew anything could go wrong, and the tables could turn. Justice wasn’t always served…
Listen to the whispers; they will guide you…
Paradise was just over the ridge; Johnny tossed the ideas around in his head, discovering several weak areas, and weighed the facts against another. For now, he would watch Barton as the man struggled to keep the lid on the pot.
Johnny reined the rented horse slowly around the back of town behind the telegraph office. He secured the sorrel and slipped silently into the narrow hallway at the rear of the run-down office. Old Cyrus Becker jumped a foot, startled when the back door opened. No one ever used the back door.
Johnny smiled as he spoke his greeting, and something flickered in the clerk’s eyes when he recognized his customer. What had he seen reflected there? It looked like relief. Cyrus offered a greeting in return as Johnny paused to write the message to Murdoch.
Having a good time STOP Have S and V left yet? Hurry STOP Hunting good.
—J
Johnny handed Cyrus the message; the clerk began tapping out the wire. Cyrus met Johnny’s blue stare and smiled again. Johnny tossed a coin on the counter, thanked him, and turned to the door only to be halted by the bespectacled man.
“You be careful, young fella. It’s dangerous out there these days. One never knows the kind of hooligans are running in the streets! You let me know if there’s anything more you need, alright?” Johnny stopped and smiled at the man. Then he took a chance. Madrid could ‘read’ a man with accuracy, and the look the telegraph operator gave him was asking for help.
Cyrus’ words conflicted with Barton’s behavior, confirming there was more trouble in Paradise than met the eye. Cyrus was on ‘the other side’, the right side. Johnny wasn’t counting on help from the locals, but if he read the man correctly, the telegraph operator was not in the sheriff’s corner. Or on the payroll.
Johnny met his stare and returned the man’s smile. Would Cyrus be an ally? Could he trust the clerk? Cyrus knew Johnny was expecting men to meet him, making Johnny wonder if the fact would remain a secret. Wires were confidential, and where Barton was not the law, he was persuasive.
“Thanks, I will. An’ you do the same.” With that said, Johnny left out the back way and headed to the hotel.
Though brief, Madrid gained more information regarding Cyrus Becker and which side he was on; the man was not aligned with Barton, and Johnny was now fairly certain Cyrus was an ally.
After securing a hotel room, Johnny left for the café. It was getting late, and he was hungry. The waitress took his order and poured a cup of coffee, returning shortly with a basket of warm bread. She sent him a pleasant smile and left again to wait on another table. When Johnny looked her way, he caught her watching him, and her blush began to creep from under her collar up to her neck; it spread to her face, leaving her ears bright pink. He bestowed her with his best Johnny Madrid Lancer smile as she fought to breathe and maintain what was left of her composure.
She missed the customer’s order as her attention was on the handsome stranger sitting at the other table and stumbled over an apology to ask them to repeat it. She scribbled on the pad of paper and hurried into the kitchen.
The meal was not as good as Maria’s cooking at Lancer but no one cooked as well as Maria, plain and simple truth. Johnny ate his fill, taking his time; he had the feeling he was being watched, and he prolonged the meal as much as he could, ordering more coffee and dessert. Johnny made small talk every time the waitress came by his table, then, after she left, he relaxed in his chair and enjoyed sipping his coffee.
Perhaps whoever was watching would become bored, reporting back to Barton that Lancer took his time eating and wasn’t up to anything. Amusing thought.
He left the café and spotted a shadow lurking down an alley, then quickly ducked behind a stack of wooden crates. It was the sheriff. Johnny couldn’t figure out which Barton was worse at, sheriffing or being an outlaw? Either way, to whatever side, the man was an embarrassment.
Taking his time, Johnny wandered over to the hotel and as he passed the mercantile, he saw the reflection in the wavy glass window as Barton followed, trying to stay out of sight. With a deep sigh, Madrid opened the door to the hotel and entered. He was tempted to sneak out the back door, circle around, and scare the pants off the blundering sheriff, but he thought better of it. There would be time to put Barton in his place whenever Scott and Val arrived. At the moment, Johnny was ready to flop into bed; he hoped the mattress wasn’t lumpy.
Once in his room, he crossed to the window without lighting the lamp; he scouted the alley and neighboring buildings. The room was on the hotel’s back side, which sported a balcony with an outside stairway. Barton was watching him, prompting second thoughts about staying in the room. Damn, he was tired — even a lumpy mattress sounded good, but it would be a mistake to stay in the hotel.
Quickly, he grabbed his coat and saddlebags and left, locking the door behind him. Keeping to the shadows, he took the back stairs into the alley and the long way around to the stable to avoid detection. He collected the sorrel, saddled him in record time, then rode out of town to the secluded spot he’d picked out when he returned from the cabin. It was sheltered and private, a place where he could rest without being watched; he knew Barton would have his rented room under surveillance.
Bone tired, Johnny took care of his mount, then spread his bedroll on the ground and crawled under the blanket; he pulled it over his weary carcass and fell asleep listening to the wind blowing through the leaves and pine needles, singing the song of The People.
Young Man With Honor rests. We will protect him. And so, they did. The Spirit World of The People surrounded Johnny and kept him safe throughout the night.
Sleep came quickly, soundly, and he woke refreshed; a warm breeze kissed his face as the early morning sun rose in the pristine blue sky. The purity of the day in its fresh, clean glory contrasted starkly with the contamination of the rot growing in the town.
Johnny smiled, knowing that the Spirits had watched over him and kept him safe. The People had been good to him, good for him, and more than once, Johnny was grateful for their influence in his life. Johnny Madrid Lancer was a better man for it. He felt honored they had accepted him into their tribe and merited their trust instead of killing him. They saw something in the young man, a man worthy of them and noble; they adopted him, both sides benefiting from the union.
Johnny chewed on jerky as he pondered the next several hours. He planned to watch the cabin for the day while waiting for Scott and Val to arrive, but if the opportunity presented itself, Johnny would surely make the best of the situation and capture the back shooter-horse thief. If nothing happened today, he would have to go back to town and wait for his reinforcements; who knew, maybe old Cyrus would be of help.
When he left the telegraph office the night before, Johnny felt that the man was trying to tell him something without actually saying it. Johnny may have to engage the man in conversation and ‘explore’ the possibility of Cyrus offering information. But for now, he would wait.
The men in the cabin were quiet and stayed out of sight except for making a trip to the outhouse; there had been no effort to leave. As the day stretched on, Johnny suspected considerable drinking took place inside; fewer and fewer attempts were made to actually get to the outhouse. The men inside the cabin stood on the porch and relieved themselves into the weeds. Even pigs are choosy about where they piss… Johnny thought as he watched from his cover in the rocks.
The afternoon wore on, and the temptation grew, making Johnny wonder if he couldn’t hurry things along. Surprise would be on his side, and he’d overpowered multiple men in the past — he had no doubt he could take care of these two by himself. The thought of going down there, dragging the vermin out of that cabin, and heading to Lancer was starting to sound like a good idea — until he heard hoof beats coming from the road, and soon Barton rode into view. Well, at least the two idiots in the cabin hadn’t left; they stayed put just like Barton told them.
The thought occurred to Johnny that, had he moved to apprehend Mr. Back Shooter yesterday, Barton would now know his plans were compromised and might have left Paradise before justice could be served. Ultimately, he was satisfied that he had waited and not begun the trip back home.
Johnny was sure of one thing — he was getting awfully tired of trying to keep tabs on those in the cabin and Barton in town. Scott and Val couldn’t get there soon enough. But everything could easily turn south as Barton’s actions spelled his vexation. The man was getting careless as the tension grew.
Maintaining his position in the rocks and brush, Johnny watched Barton enter the cabin, then waited for the sheriff to come out. It was quiet; nothing happened for several minutes, then all hell broke loose.
He heard what sounded like an explosion of chairs, tables, and bunks breaking apart and curses that bellowed from Barton. The two men had obviously irritated Barton somehow; Johnny had to smirk — a disappointment associated with disappointments; after all, pendejos were pendejos…
The door to the cabin flew open, and Barton stormed out with a bucket in hand. Going to the pump, he filled it to the top and marched back into the small cabin; a minute later, the sound of splashing water filled the air, followed by shouts, sputters, and harsh, gravelly coughing.
Johnny smiled to himself. Hmm, must be bath day…
Barton, again, stormed out of the cabin, swiftly mounted, and rode back toward town. Taking a chance, Johnny worked his way down the hillside and catwalked to the back of the cabin. Gradually, he sidled to the window and ventured a peek through the dirty glass only to find the two men sprawled on the floor in puddles of water.
Could he afford to wait a bit longer? Would Scott and Val arrive soon? Johnny took the chance and headed back to Paradise. After all, the boys were being good and were staying put, just like Barton told them to do.
Once more, in the alley behind the telegraph office, Johnny entered through the back door, but this time, he was greeted with a grin from Cyrus, and Johnny caught the welcome reflected toward him.
“Evenin’,” Johnny said with his soft tone and smile. “Any messages come in for me taday?”
Cyrus beamed; the smile reached his eyes, and he turned to the desk. “Yes, sir, Mr. Lancer. There’s one.” Handing the missive to Johnny, he busied himself while Johnny read the words from Murdoch:
Hope the fishing is good STOP You know what bad sports S & V are
-M
Johnny smiled and chuckled. He was ready to pose his question to Cyrus when the man beat him to it.
“Don’t know what you’ve done to the sheriff, but he’s got his drawers in a knot…”
The satisfaction in the clerk’s words was impossible to miss. Cyrus’ face told him much without asking; the eyes would tell… if you looked. They spoke volumes. Johnny’s smile deepened as a laugh escaped his throat. He tipped his hat back on his head with a finger. “Well, whatever do you mean?”
Cyrus leaned over the counter and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, even though there was no other person in the office. “He’s been like a madman today! Traipsed all over town, formed a search party looking for you. He came in here and wanted to know if you’d sent any wires, then threatened me with jail if he found out I was helping you! Like I said last night, you be careful, Mr. Lancer!” Cyrus was getting riled; he needed to calm down.
“How long has Barton been here?” Johnny asked.
Cyrus answered, spitting out the words like a foul taste in his mouth. “Six months…”
Johnny swore Cyrus’ lips curled in disgust.
Johnny wondered if someone was giving Barton orders or if Barton was calling the shots himself. “Folks afraid ta fight back? Anyone stand up ta him?” he asked.
The sadness flooded Cyrus’ eyes. “Yes, but they ended up dead. Bullet in the back. We’re small business owners and farmers here. We don’t know how to fight this…”
Defeat was evident in the slump of the clerk’s shoulders as he whispered the last words. When he looked back to Johnny, he expected to see an expression of loathing in the young man’s eyes, but there was a deep grin on Johnny’s face and a twinkle in the eyes.
“Well, I do. Thanks for the warnin’. Ya don’t sound like ya like the sheriff much.” That was all it took; Johnny didn’t have to say another word. Cyrus took the bait in his teeth and ran.
“That thief and his pack of murdering wolves have been taking over for the last six months, and nothing we’ve done seems to work. Stealing whatever they want and running good, honest folks off their land. They’ve got us so scared! Anyone who tried to stop them has been found dead.”
The tale was all too familiar, and once Cyrus started, the floodgates opened. He would have talked Johnny’s ear off if he hadn’t stopped the man. This was not the time for sympathies; it was time for action, mounting a defense against the criminal activity suffocating the town and its citizens.
No, Cyrus was definitely not a fan of the sheriff, and neither were more than half the town’s folks. Johnny had to stop the ranting — he had no more time to listen, especially knowing that Barton had already threatened the old man and was probably watching every move the telegraph clerk made. Johnny would not put the man in jeopardy by frequenting the office.
“Ya be willin’ ta do me a favor?” Johnny leveled a deep stare at the man.
Cyrus stood straight and asked: “Will you need help working against the sheriff and his gang of rowdies?”
Johnny nodded his head.
The old man came right to the point. “Yup, you bet I would!” he said in defiance, glad to finally be doing something about the goings on in Paradise instead of sitting back and taking whatever Barton dished out.
Johnny nodded again, and his smile grew.
“I’m tired of being scared! Living under that man’s thumb is worse than dying! It’s about time we did something about it!”
With the confirmation of the clerk’s support, Johnny reminded Cyrus of the arrival of Scott and Val, and asked that they be told where to find his camp. They were to wait for him there. The agreement was made; Johnny asked a few more questions, and as his head spun in dizzying circles with Cyrus’s answers, he thought he would need more than Scott and Val. Right about now, he could use the U.S. Cavalry.
Astounded by the detailed events that Cyrus relayed, Johnny was now uncertain of how this should be handled; it was too big for him alone to resolve; Val and Scott could help, but now there was certainty reinforcements were needed.
As Cyrus talked, Johnny saw relief flood the man as the secret was finally out. Could the town return to what it used to be… before the cancer, in the form of Barton and his men, had reduced it to a nest of vipers? The pall that had settled over Paradise was horrifying as the folks there tried to live their lives under this cloud of murder, deceit, lies, and control with no hope of rescue.
Sheriff Barton and his band of outlaws rivaled what Pardee and his men attempted in the San Joaquin Valley. Johnny shuddered to think of the repercussions Barton’s hold could have if left unchecked in Paradise. Not only was the man in control of a large band of thieves and murderers, but he also stole and sold the goods of the families he’d run off their property, creating a huge profit for himself at other’s expense.
He had ruined ranchers, murdered those who stood against him, and threatened those who tried to stand together. The rustled cattle were sold, the belongings of families were looted, and homes burned to the ground. He and whoever he was working with would soon control a very large section of northern California. Johnny shook his head, knowing it was bigger than the three of them could handle.
The fire burned brightly, casting Johnny in a golden glow. He leaned on his upturned saddle and drank the coffee that steamed from the cup. He would like to talk with Scott and Val before he actually made any moves, but time was becoming an issue, especially now that Barton had his suspicions about him.
Could he afford the time to wait, or should he make his move now and haul the asshole that was riding Cip’s horse back to Lancer? Could he get the man to talk and possibly reveal the names of those involved with Barton’s lawless hold on Paradise and its citizens? There were ways of making a man talk… but Johnny doubted they were legal. Hell, being legal don’t get the job done… Johnny had the feeling that shooting Cip in the back and stealing his horse was a very small part of the man’s crimes.
Val could always alert the U.S. Marshall in Stockton or Sacramento and have him take care of Barton. With the help of citizens like Cyrus, they should be able to clean out the nest of rattlers that were terrorizing the land and its people. Yup, too big of a problem for just the three of us to get the job done… legally, anyway.
The Whispers, soft as the night breeze in the trees, had spoken.
With his mind made up, Johnny spent the night at his secluded camp. He planned to rise early and get started before the chance was gone. He couldn’t let it slip out of his grasp… for Cip. Scott and Val would have to take up any slack, but hopefully, they would connect with him soon. If they could get in and out of Paradise quickly and quietly, the three of them had the chance to begin the process of eliminating the cancer before it spread any further.
Murdoch had told him to wait for Scott and Val, but the current circumstances wouldn’t allow him that wait any longer.
If the problem was only one back shooter, Johnny could get in, grab the bastard, and get out of town without any trouble, but after Johnny talked with the sheriff, the ‘lawman’ knew Johnny could expose the hold he had over Paradise; Barton would be a problem. And Johnny knew he would be followed and, more than likely, ambushed at some point. Barton could not afford to have one of his men captured and questioned; he would sing like the proverbial canary, condemning Barton and whoever else was in on this scheme of plunder, theft, and murder.
Johnny hoped Cyrus would lay low and not attract any more attention; Barton would not hesitate to ‘eliminate a problem’, and Cyrus would definitely be considered a problem for the outlaw sheriff. With any luck at all, Scott and Val would arrive within the next day or so and begin the process of dismantling Barton’s hold on Paradise and be held accountable for the horrendous events of the last six months.
The morning sun started in a spectacular display of bright orange and pink but slowly darkened with the promise of rain. A lot of rain. There was nothing he would have rather done than crawl into a nice warm bed at the hotel and sleep the day away, but that wasn’t in the cards. His only option was to get to the cabin and escort the back shooter to Green River, and only then could Johnny think about sleeping in a warm bed.
Do not wait. Do not let the coward get away. Listen to the Whispers.
It wasn’t going to be easy. Stop thinkin’ an’ get the job done, Madrid… Last night, the idea of waiting for Scott and Val seemed like the right thing to do, but now he wasn’t so sure. The Whispers knew things he didn’t — they urged him to move. The sheriff had made two trips to the cabin since Johnny made his presence in town known; something was happening, and Johnny had a distinct feeling he would have to act alone and not wait for backup.
The coffee in the tin cup turned cold. Well, he was finished anyway as the rain began to fall. Johnny quickly broke camp and headed for the small cabin. His slicker protected him from most of the weather, but an occasional ice-cold drop found its way down his neck to dampen his shirt, just enough to be irritating and uncomfortable, putting him in the perfect frame of mind to handle the man he was after. No, Mr. Back Shooter had no idea what was coming his way.
He’d have to make the best of whatever happened, and so far, things were not going how Johnny wanted. The weather was a minor factor — a little rain would not deter Johnny Madrid; it could help in his attempt to bring justice and rid the town of Barton’s criminal hold, aiding his quick get-away and washing away his tracks was in his favor.
But he would only get one chance to bring this asshole to justice, and if Barton grew a brain and figured out Johnny had already found the cabin and the horse he searched for, any chance to get away might not be in the cards. Johnny wasn’t sure how many men were involved in Barton’s looting scheme, but if he were caught, there would be no doubt his body would never be found, and the back shooter would never be brought to justice.
If that happened, how many other innocent people would needlessly die?
Johnny would adjust his plans as he went; nothing was written in stone. Barton and his gang followed no rules, but then, Johnny never knew an outlaw who did. Memories of devastation left in the wake of marauding Rurales flooded through him as hopeless, lost survivors wandered in shock after an attack, left with nothing and dealing with the shock and loss of their families when they were murdered. Barton’s assault was similar to that same ruination. And it would stop, one way or another.
Alert to his surroundings, Johnny continued to the cabin. Using the weather to his advantage, he kept to the ridge above the road; an hour later found him looking down on the cabin as smoke billowed from the chimney and hung in a thick, heavy cloud over the log building.
Johnny led the sorrel off the ridge, coming silently around the back, and made his way into the barn. Renegado offered Johnny a soft whinny as he recognized the man who would often have a carrot or apple, but this time, he had to settle for an ear scratch.
Johnny hunkered down to wait and see if anyone came into the barn to feed or check on their horses. If nothing happened soon, Johnny would ‘help’ things along and force something to happen. Confident that Barton would not make the trip to check on the men, today was the day Madrid would make his move. Wet and chilled, Johnny stayed in the shadows to wait, but luck was with him — he had been there only a few minutes before opportunity struck.
It didn’t take long before a blue cloud of foul curses bellowed from the cabin; the heavy Southern drawl accented the dubious command of the impossible task that made Johnny smile.
Again, Johnny wondered how the ‘suggestion’ was possible; a man couldn’t possibly do that to himself, and again, he smiled.
Then he readied himself for the confrontation to come as he listened to the hurried steps of the curser as he approached the barn. The footfalls splashed into puddles, and apparently, the boots leaked, surprising their owner as cold water soaked through the worn socks. With explicit obscenities regarding the wet feet, the door was flung open, and a skinny, ragged man hurried into the barn, continuing to spew vile curses.
Johnny immediately recognized the coat that hung across the man’s too small shoulders — it belonged to Cip. The hat, too large for his head, sat on top of his ears, folding the tops down at an angle that looked uncomfortable. It dripped water onto the back of the coat. Unaware of the company in the barn, the man began to feed the horses. He stepped to Renegado, the horse he stole, filled the manger with hay, and dumped fresh water into the bucket.
“Ya been a purdy good horse. Glad that ah took ya ‘way from the Mex! He won’t be needin’ ya no more!” the back shooter said and watched the horse eat; he laughed at his words only to have them catch in his throat as Johnny stepped out of the shadows with his Colt aimed at his head.
“What… what’d ya doin’ here? Who’re ya?” The man’s heart hammered in his chest.
Johnny let his most intimidating, icy smile crawl from ear to ear as he answered.
“I’m the one that’s gonna bring you in for shootin’ that… Mexican gentleman, Back- shooter. Now shut up an’ do what you’re told, cuz I‘m wet, an’ I‘m tired an’ ain’t in no mood to fuck around with the likes ‘a you! So do what yer told an’ just maybe I won’t shoot ya. Now saddle that horse and hurry up,” Johnny ordered as if he were talking to an errant child.
The man was stunned; he stood, not moving as rain cascaded down his body and dripped on the floor, creating small puddles around his still feet. Johnny pulled the hammer back on his Colt; the brief motion prompted the man to snap out of his shocked state. Johnny quickly tied the man’s hands; pulling up a sleeve to secure the binding, a reddish tattoo was exposed on the dirty arm. Johnny shoved the cuff higher to reveal a Confederate flag and a heart shape with the name Edie in the center.
He searched for hidden weapons, discovering a small pocket knife, Cip’s pistol, and a second knife on the man’s person. Renegado was saddled, and the two men left the barn through the back door.
“Sure do hope that Edie ain’t waitin’ on ya ta get home.” The icy stare bore holes into the man’s soul, then Johnny shoved him onto the large bay. Mounting his rented horse, they headed back to Oroville. Chances of running into Scott and, hopefully, Val were slim to none, but he’d taken worse odds and won… Once he made it to Oroville, he could send a wire to Cyrus — the clerk would let them know where he was. It was the best he could do.
Johnny apprehended the cobarde who attempted to murder Cip; the remaining outlaws would soon find justice tightening the proverbial noose and, with any luck, literally, around their necks, ending their reign of terror.
If the circumstances weren’t so dire, Johnny would have been amused watching Barton as he frantically tried to keep his balance as the situation began to spiral out of his control. It would be interesting to see how the sheriff would cope as two more strangers would be coming into ‘his’ town. Scott and Val were close and Barton had no clue what was to happen. The man would undoubtedly explode with rage when he found himself a man down and two new faces in town asking questions.
Oh, what Madrid wouldn’t give to see that.
Johnny now had the prisoner in his custody and would start the journey back home. He held no illusions he was out of danger, but Madrid was with him and hopefully, Scott and Val would be soon. What could go wrong? Johnny had to smirk.
He would go to Oroville, collect Barranca at the livery, and perhaps get the prisoner to Lancer without trouble. Johnny sighed at the thought. When had there ever been ‘no trouble’ in Johnny Madrid’s life?
Listen to The Whispers…
They had been traveling for about five hours, the rain still fell, and Johnny was in no mood to listen to the pendejo’s nonsense. The back shooter, whose name was not important to Johnny, complained incessantly and refused to answer Johnny’s questions, so, left with no other option, Johnny put a gag in his mouth.
They continued for several hours, then the man suddenly reined the bay to a stop and mumbled to Johnny. Back shooter pointed to his gag, and when Johnny nodded, he pulled it out of his mouth.
“Gotta take a piss…” and he started to dismount.
Johnny, with Colt in hand, pulled the hammer back. “That’s far enough. Do it right there…” his tone brooked no argument.
The breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, causing Johnny to watch around them.
Back Shooter stopped, dismounted, and took care of business. He buttoned his britches and reached for the saddle horn when a shot rang out. Back Shooter’s head snapped back, and he fell to the ground and lay still; an ugly black hole appeared on his back; Johnny knew he was dead.
Madrid returned a few rounds of fire, then, with the reins of both horses in his hand, Johnny made for the cover of rocks. He scanned the hills above where the shot came from and saw the fleeting glimpse of a horse and rider racing through the trees on a direct route to Paradise. There was no other movement, and Johnny took the chance.
He broke from his cover and went to where the man lay, the lifeless eyes wide open. With no other threat of gunfire and relatively certain he was alone, Johnny wrestled the man, belly down, across the saddle, secured him with a rope, and continued into Oroville. Barton must have figured out what happened and sent someone to ensure the man Johnny had in his custody wouldn’t talk, but why had they left Johnny unharmed? All he needed to do was get the body back, and hopefully, Cip could identify it.
The rain stopped. The downpour faded into an irritating drizzle, just enough to make visibility difficult and a body cold and miserable. The hours spent chilled and wet hampered travel and left the road covered in mud.
The Whispers were talking; was it a warning? He felt Red Wolf’s presence from beyond the grave; Johnny had often sensed he wasn’t alone. And he knew it was his adopted father and The People.
The wind stopped in time for Johnny to hear a twig snap. He reined the sorrel off the road as the sound of horses met his ears. He didn’t think anyone was trailing him, but if he was a target, he would have died alongside the back shooter.
He waited several long seconds, holding the Colt ready in his hand. There were two riders just up ahead. He could see brief glimpses as they moved forward. Relief suddenly flooded over him as he made out the wet forms of Scott and Val.
Johnny whistled as only he could do, and the two men pulled up on their reins as the horses danced in the muddy road.
“Hey, Scott, look what the coyote coughed up!” Val cracked a broad, toothy smile as they recognized the rain-soaked man on the horse facing them. Johnny shrugged and offered a smirk.
Surprised, and appreciative at their timely arrival, Johnny greeted his backup. “Funny, Val, funny. About time ya two got here,” the relief of having reinforcements apparent in his tone.
Scott was having none of the joking. “Where’s Barranca, and who is that?” he questioned, motioning at the body, belly down, over Renegado’s saddle.
“Barranca’s at the stable in Oroville. Didn’t wanna raise any suspicions if someone saw the brand. An’ this is the asshole that shot Cip. How is he?” Johnny asked, anxious for good news.
“Gonna be fine. He can identify that man. Cip saw him, talked with him, too, then got shot in the back. What happened that ya had ta shoot ‘im?” Val asked Johnny.
“Didn’t. He was shot ta keep ‘im quiet. Long story. Let’s get outta this cold an’ I can tell ya about it. Durham’s a few miles this way. I could use a good hot meal an’ night’s sleep in a warm bed.” Johnny moved toward their new destination, looking forward to that warm bed and hot meal in his belly.
Why did things seem farther away in the rain? He felt they’d been traveling for hours when, finally, the little town was visible through the trees. Johnny let out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, Durham did not have an undertaker, but after a little convincing and a flash of the star pinned on Val’s chest, the man in charge of the local ice house allowed them to deposit the body there — temporarily, the proprietor made it plain.
The three soaked men changed into dry clothes in their rooms at the hotel and sat around a table in the café as Johnny told them what he’d stumbled on in Paradise. Scott and Val exchanged a side glance. This had turned into more than chasing down a back shooter and horse thief. Another attempt to control the land and its people was made by thieves and outlaws.
Had Pardee not already been dead, killed by Scott’s bullet, he probably would have thrown in with Barton and his crew. No, Pardee would have taken Barton down and assumed control over Barton’s men; there were raiders like Pardee, and then there were the likes of Barton. He wouldn’t last long, and that thought made Johnny smile.
“You stupid bastard! Why didn’t ya kill ‘em both? Rex can be identified; he didn’t have to be alive. All they need is a witness, and they’ll have the law breathing down our necks!” Barton roared as he stomped around the sheriff’s office, berating the man responsible for not completing the task he was assigned. “Get on out there an’ make sure Lancer doesn’t get away! And make sure the body can‘t be found!”
Jeb was tempted to ride out of town and not come back. He’d murdered Rex on Barton’s orders — an order that came easy to their leader; Rex was one of their own, and Jeb was ordered to silence him. The thought crossed Jeb’s mind that Barton wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in his back either. He’d better get some help if he was going to stop Lancer. Jeb left the office, hoping the sheriff couldn’t see how badly his knees were shaking.
“You get out there and track him down! I don’t care how ya do it, just get it done and don’t come back until ya do!”
“It’s gonna take more’n the three of us ta get things straightened out in Paradise. The sheriff’s in it up to his neck. He’s callin’ the shots; don’t know how many he’s got workin’ for him, either, but I got a feelin’ it goes pretty deep. Ol’ Cyrus, the clerk at the telegraph office, started tellin’ me some ‘a what’s goin’ on the last six months an’ whoever is in this with Barton is doin’ in Paradise what Pardee tried ta do in the San Joaquin.”
Johnny paused, letting his words sink in, then turned to Val. “I think it’d be a good idea ta get the U.S. Marshall in Sacramento or Stockton cuz it’s gonna get ugly an’ there’s a lotta innocent people could get hurt if it ain’t handled the right way.” Cyrus, for one… Johnny wouldn’t put Cyrus in any more danger than he already was. The things the clerk had confided to Johnny were enough to get him killed if Barton ever found out.
Val reached into his vest pocket, withdrew a deputy’s star, and tossed it to Johnny with a lazy flip of his hand. “Here, consider yerself deputized.” The toss skidded the star across the tabletop before coming to rest next to Johnny’s plate. Val leaned back in his chair with his elbows on the arms and tented his fingers in front of his face, deep in thought.
Johnny looked across the table to his brother, and a smile crept across his mouth. “Murdoch’s temper ready ta blow up?” knowing what the answer would be. The mental picture of the ol’ man, face red with rage, flashed in Johnny’s mind.
Scott returned the smile and rolled his eyes at Johnny before taking the time to answer. “Yes, yes, he is. I think you will have much explaining to do when we get home, little brother.”
“Well, just ta make things clear, I’d do it again, just like I did. Time was runnin’ out an’ the rain was washin’ away what tracks I did find,” Johnny explained, exactly as he would explain to Murdoch; the ol’ man would have to understand.
“But I think he was more afraid of something happening to you than being upset with how you handled things.”
His brother’s remark sent a spark into Johnny’s heart; he averted his eyes and looked down at his plate; he hadn’t expected that answer. He hadn’t considered the idea of Murdoch worrying about him. Their relationship always stretched to its limits, always strained — a battle of wills that made them clash.
What had changed for Murdoch to worry? Could Scott be wrong in his assessment of the Ol’ Man? But whatever happened, Johnny felt a sudden warmth, a twinge of belonging. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Scott caught the gesture before Johnny could pull it back. His brother needed to hear that and more. And Murdoch needed to express his feelings regarding both of his sons. Scott knew the cost Johnny paid bending to Murdoch’s will, to toe the line and abide by The Tune Caller’s rules. It was not easy for his brother, and it wouldn’t hurt Murdoch to show Johnny consideration — throw in a little compassion, and Murdoch just might have this father thing licked.
Val hadn’t missed the brother interaction and hadn’t wanted to interrupt, but they had to make a few decisions and come up with a workable plan. He spoke after giving the situation serious thought. “We need ta get that body back so Cip can identify it an’ that can’t wait too much longer. Good thing it’s cold outside cuz that carcass ain’t gettin’ no fresher. Scott, I think you should take it back ta Lancer; me’n Johnny’re gonna…”
“Wait a minute, Val,” Johnny intervened. “How about we bring Cip somethin’ he can identify besides a body? Don’t think that carcass is gonna make it that far ta Lancer. Scott needs ta come with us; we might need him an’ that rifle ‘a his.”
“What d’ya got in mind, amigo?” Val’s eyes squinted in hopeful anticipation. He knew Johnny as well as anyone else and better than most, including the Lancer family, but he wasn’t entirely sure what Johnny had in mind. Madrid had a good head on his shoulders; he usually made solid decisions, and Val would listen to his reasoning now.
“Meet me at the livery in twenty minutes an’ we’ll leave from there.” Johnny took a last drink from the cooled coffee at the bottom of his cup, then stood.
“Just what are you going to do, brother?” Scott’s brain was whirling; he never knew what Johnny had in mind, and if the churning in his belly was any indication, he wasn’t sure he would approve his brother’s actions now, but there wasn’t time to argue or debate the issue, and he couldn’t do anything except trust Madrid.
There wasn’t much time, but he knew he wouldn’t need much. The ice house was dark; no one was there, which suited Johnny just fine. The canvas-wrapped corpse lay on blocks of ice. Johnny reached for the knife in his boot as he pulled away the wrap and recovered the proof he was after. He needed to hurry.
“Johnny, you know the layout in Paradise; I think it’d be a good idea ta get ol’ Cyrus outta there. If Barton starts puttin’ two an’ two tagether, he’s gonna know Cyrus’ been talkin’. An’ if most folks won’t talk cuz they’re afraid, it’s gonna be mighty hard ta prove anything’s wrong if the one person who was talkin’ turns up missin’. I say we get Cyrus and head on over ta Highridge an’ let them handle it. You can back up Cyrus’ story if need be.”
They headed to the rooms at the hotel and turned in soon after sunset to get an early start in the morning.
The man walked into the morning sunlight; the narrow, pinched face formed what passed for a smile. Today, it would be finished. But he had to act quickly if he wanted his plans to continue. If those men got away, Barton knew he would have to kiss this place goodbye, as would Slater in Highridge and Vickers over in Pinegreen. They were not about to let their plans go up in smoke just because Cyrus Becker was suspected of talking to the law. They wouldn’t risk losing the comfortable den they had cultivated at the expense of others and would stop at nothing to salvage their clever setup — their den of thieves.
It was imperative that Barton find the man who had taken Rex, but the report that came back was not one he wanted to hear. It was not one man but three seen on the trail. He had to find out where they were going and what they were planning. Well, Barton knew what he had to do.
A few years prior, Barton had worked for Pardee and learned much from the man. One tactic that appealed to Barton was to bring your adversaries to you. But with the man’s untimely demise came certain ‘adjustments’, and Barton thought he’d put together a much better formula than Pardee had in his raiding days. His plan would work, and Barton would stop at nothing to see that it did.
His men should be back within minutes. Cyrus Becker didn’t know it yet, but he would bait the trap, bring in the threats that could set a burning match to the carefully laid plans, leaving them to explode in his face.
Then, he would round up his gang, ride after the troublesome men who left town, take them out of the game before they reached possible help, and cut them off at the knees. But getting to Becker was the key. Barton smiled, knowing the men would be dead by morning.
Barton had been successful in keeping his plans quiet, away from authorities who could shut him down and sentence him and the others to a long, long time in prison. There was a point to make here, and those three, four, including Cyrus, would be it. The outlaw ‘sheriff’ would not brook their interference.
Johnny, Scott, and Val left the hotel in Durham before dawn and started to Paradise. Johnny rode Renegado and led the rented sorrel for Cyrus to ride. No one saw the trio as they left, riding north, out of town.
The sun began to color the pink clouds in a creamy yellow hue, then turned a hazy shade of bronze that cascaded down the mountainside. It would have been enjoyable travel had their mission been something other than it was.
Scott spied Cipriano’s coat tied behind Johnny on the saddle and noted the charred bullet hole on the back, a macabre reminder of the evil they now faced. It made him shiver, thinking that piece of lead could have just as easily pierced his brother’s back instead of the bushwacker.
“Johnny, Cip described what the man looked like; both Val and I heard him and we can verify the body you were bringing in is that man.” Scott wondered why Johnny left them at the café and what was so important, so secretive, to make his brother leave on an… errand.
Not giving anything away, Johnny turned with a smile. “Well, I got another piece of proof, just in case there’s any question.” He focused on the trail ahead of them.
Scott wondered if he wanted to know what piece of proof his brother brought with him. But he didn’t ask.
They made good time to Paradise, arriving at the back side of town. Johnny, Scott, and Val took the alleyways to the telegraph office and entered through the back door. Johnny greeted the clerk as the bespectacled man eyed Val with suspicion.
“Cyrus, this is my brother, Scott, an’ this,” Johnny said, motioning to Val, “is Sheriff Val Crawford from down in Green River. They’re here ta help.”
The clerk’s eyes took in Val from head to toe, not sure if the man was trustworthy. The man before him looked like he belonged with Barton.
Johnny laughed. “Don’t think on it too hard, Cyrus; you’ll talk yourself right out of it!”
Val snorted at the jibe. “Mr. Becker, we need ta get ya outta here as fast as we can. If the Sheriff suspects ya been talkin’, he ain’t gonna hesitate gettin’ rid ‘a ya. Ya got a wife an’ family here in town?”
“No, she passed over five years ago now. It’s just me. But I can’t up an’ leave!” Cyrus balked.
“Yeah… ya can an’ yer gonna. We can’t afford ta have ya unprotected. Is there anyone else in town that’ll talk, ya know, testify against the sheriff?”
Cyrus Becker could not believe his ears. Could this be the beginning of the end for Barton? This was too good to be true. Cyrus suddenly beamed, and the toothy smile grew large across his narrow face.
“Oh, there won’t be any problem getting folks to testify, Sheriff! They’re fed up with the things that man’s done to this town. It used to be a nice quiet place to live until the last six months or so.”
They had to get Cyrus to safety; Val ran options through his head. He turned to Johnny. “I think the first thing we gotta do is get him over ta Highridge…”
Cyrus jumped like he’d been kicked, his eyes going wide. “Highridge? Why Highridge?” he asked as if in shock.
“Cuz the sheriff there is gonna hafta help us get this straightened out,” Val explained.
Cyrus adamantly shook his head no.
Val squinted his eyes, not understanding. “What’d ya mean ‘no’?” Time was running out; they had to move… now.
“Because the sheriff in Highridge is in cahoots with the sheriff here! They’re working together! The ‘law’ in Pinegreen is in this, too.”
Oh, fuck! Val cringed as he contemplated the ramifications of Cyrus’ statement. “What about the law in Yuba City? He in this, too?” Val didn’t know the sheriff well, but he’d met the man before. Ben Keller seemed to be a good man.
Cyrus shook his head. “No, don’t think it’s got that far.”
“Then we gotta get ta Yuba City; we start now! Let’s go!”
After sending a quick wire to Sheriff Keller in Yuba City, filling him in on the current events, they left Paradise. There was big trouble, and it would only get worse. The cancer ran deep and was more than they were able to handle. Legally, anyway. Val unknowingly echoed Johnny’s thoughts from earlier.
Guilt tugged at his heart; Cyrus felt he was abandoning the people of Paradise. He’d lived there for over thirty years; his friends were there. Paradise was his life. But the town was in trouble, and if he could help extinguish the undesirable elements that were reducing his town to nothing more than a den of thieves and murderers, he’d do all he could to save it.
Johnny checked the street. Damn! There was commotion; men were moving down the street; it looked like a lynch mob. It wasn’t going to be a social visit.
“That’s Barton’s men,” Cyrus growled, spitting out the words, unknowingly confirming Johnny’s thoughts about a lynch mob.
“Go out the back; we need ta get outta here, now!” Johnny ducked out of sight, crossed the street, untied several horses at the hitch rail in front of the saloon, then sent them galloping out of town in the opposite direction he and the others would be traveling.
He watched as the men stopped in their tracks upon hearing the hoof beats. As one, they turned and ran for their mounts. Like a swarm of enraged hornets, they followed the thunderous hoof beats of the escaping animals going out of town.
Johnny ran to his mount and followed Scott, Val, and Cyrus out of Paradise. Many miles lay between Paradise and Yuba City, and there wasn’t any time to lose if they wanted to live. Barton and his gang of cutthroats were out for blood.
Ben Keller read the wire again. There was trouble; he had to move out. There weren’t many details, but the urgent message spoke volumes. The trouble ran deep and was more than his posse could handle. Three towns to the north were under hostile control; the situation called for drastic measures. Sheriff Keller hurried to the telegraph office and sent a wire to Marshall Travis in Sacramento for backup. Help was desperately needed.
“You three keep goin’; I‘m gonna hang back an’ make sure we’re not bein’ followed.” Johnny pulled up on Renegado’s reins as Scott reined Remmie to a stop in objection to Johnny’s order.
“Do you think it’s a wise move, brother? Why don’t we stick together and keep going?”
“Cuz once Barton grows a brain an’ figures out we’re onta him an’ his gang, he’s gonna be on our tails in no time.” The worry in his brother’s eyes touched him, but there was no time for sentiment. “Nothin’ ta worry over, Boston. I’ll be careful.“
Before Scott could reply, Johnny turned his horse off the trail and out of sight.
Val couldn’t hold back the grin. Ol’ Johnny Madrid has a family to fret about him; he’s gettin’ good about smoothin’ out ruffled feathers.
“Alright, you two, let’s get goin’. Johnny’s right. No time ta sit an’ ponder over what is. Let’s get movin’!”
The three men spurred their horses down the trail to Yuba City, leaving Johnny to do whatever Johnny was going to do. Who knew what Madrid had up his sleeve, but whatever it was, it would get the job done… hopefully.
Val, Scott, and Cyrus kept going. Travel was hard — strenuous for a man not accustomed to this pace, but they had no other choice. Val kept a close eye on Becker for signs of fatigue. It was all he could do for the man. Crossing the mountains was the fastest way to Yuba City. Contacting the law and getting that support was critical. Time was of the essence, and with any luck, they would meet that support on the trail.
Johnny waited fifteen minutes, searching the countryside that they’d just ridden through, but saw nothing or no one. No sign of Barton’s gang…yet. But that would change, and soon. He turned the Bay around and quickly caught up with Scott, Val, and Cyrus.
“Somethin’ just occurred ta me, Val,” Johnny said as he thought about their conversation before they parted with Scott.
Val turned question-filled eyes to Johnny. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“We need ta be ready for more’n just Barton an’ his gang from Paradise. He coulda sent word ta Highridge an’ Pinegreen for reinforcements. R’member Cyrus told us they’re all in this up ta their necks.”
Val shrugged. “Ain’t no doubt ‘bout it, amigo, whatever we do, we’re gonna cut it close. We can put some miles between us b’fore Barton gets it in ‘is head ta get help. We need ta make some time.”
Possibilities swirled in Johnny’s head, a mad scramble to pick the best chance for Cyrus Becker to inform authorities of the desperate circumstances facing the citizens of Paradise. If he could lead the outlaws on a chase while Scott and Val got Cyrus to the safety of Sheriff Keller, their efforts would lead to success. If not, none of them would get out of this alive.
There was no sign of anyone following, but Johnny knew it wouldn’t last. There was no time to waste. Things happened fast, and maybe luck was on their side that Barton had no time to alert the nest of vipers in Highgrove and Pinegreen.
“You three get goin’ an’ fast. I’m gonna hang back an’ lay some false trails; maybe give us a little more time for ya ta get there. Ya know they’ll be coming once they realize Cyrus’ gone while they were off chasin’ their horses.” Johnny canted his head down the trail. “Ya best get goin’ before they come back.”
“Brother, I know there’s nothing I can say to make you change your mind and come with us, so you watch your back.” Scott’s eyes pierced his heart.
“Well, Boston, I promise ya that. Pretty good at watchin’ my back. Ask Val.”
Val’s grin split his face. “That he is, Scott; that he is.” The mood changed as Val, knowing the close relationship between Johnny and Scott, reiterated the time constraint they were under. “We can be there in the mornin’ if we get goin’. Scott, Mr. Becker, looks like we need ta move out.”
Val turned to Cyrus and smiled. “Mr. Becker, ya ready ta do some hard ridin’?”
Cyrus looked anything but ready.
“We’re gonna be alright, Mr. Becker, don’t you fret none,” Val offered with a smile.
Cyrus could only nod. Nod and trust the men at his side.
Val turned to Johnny. “You be careful, amigo! I don’t wanna hafta face Murdoch an’ tell ‘im any bad news!” With a grin on both their faces, knowing that Val had suggested a very real possibility, they parted ways, not knowing if they would come out of this unscathed.
Val had second thoughts as the trio rode desperately for Yuba City and the sheriff’s office.
The Whispers were quiet… for now. Johnny knew he didn’t have much time before trouble began to close in; he had to get going and put his plan into motion. Once Barton figured out Becker had been spirited out of town, he and his men would come after them, and it was Johnny’s job to make things a little harder for them.
Madrid wiped out the tracks left by the three horses with large clumps of brush, then laid down false trails in different directions, going through streams and over rocky terrain in hopes of stalling those who would follow.
He’d been going in huge circles for an hour. And time was running out; he had to make this real, make those after them believe it was the true escape path. Cyrus Becker had to get to Yuba City and tell the story before a lot of innocent folks would get caught in the middle of things and probably end up very dead.
The wind whispered in the treetops; Johnny pulled up on the reins, Renegado skidded to a stop, and Johnny listened. They were coming… He could hear them now, and he looked for cover.
Murdoch stood at the large, arched window behind his desk, staring out over Lancer land. The view that always gave him such peace went unseen. The tranquility of past dalliances was now obscured by indecision and fear. Fear for his sons. Were they safe? Were they alive?
Scott and Johnny were grown men; they’d proven themselves competent and capable many times over, but sitting alone in the quiet of the hacienda, the father agonized for the well being of the sons who had only recently come to live and love as a family. Murdoch Lancer bowed his head and prayed for the sons he barely knew but the sons he had always loved with all his heart and soul.
Life was not always fair, and evil had won many a day in Murdoch’s life. It can’t happen again… not now when they’d only begun to be a family.
The not knowing was unbearable, but what choice did he have?
Please let them be alright!
For the moment, Johnny was safe, but it wouldn’t last. He watched from above as the riders took the bait and raced down the false trails only to return to where they had started twenty minutes prior. They had been going in circles for some time now and were losing light. Soon, it would be dark, and in these mountains, traveling at night could be a death sentence. They would have to make camp and start over in the morning.
Johnny had the satisfaction of knowing he disrupted their plan of preventing his brother, Val, and Cyrus’s safe arrival to Yuba City. The fear was evident as Johnny watched those below him; Barton’s gang scrambled like bees, not knowing where to ride; they weren’t sure how far ahead their quarry had gotten, and they panicked, knowing they were falling behind and had to make camp.
Johnny could see it in their actions; their desperation was apparent as he watched them from his cover in the rocks above them. Arms flailed as the men verbally sparred in attempts to express their thoughts, and arguments erupted. It looked to Johnny that Barton’s men were not in agreement.
Sonuvagun, had they suddenly grown a collective spine and challenged their leader? Madrid could only hope. Dissension among the troops always led to failure, and Johnny could use all the dissension among the troops that he could get.
The whispers talked in the gentle rustle of the leaves.
Do what has to be done, then quickly get away.
He could make out Barton as the man stomped around and issued orders, berated his men, cursing them for losing the trail and taking up valuable time. Johnny couldn’t help but smile as he watched the ‘sheriff’. He was a coward at heart, took credit when things went well, and blamed his men when things turned sour. As long as he had his men to back him up, he was a mean, ornery son-of-a-bitch, capable of anything. But Johnny knew if the man was alone against an adversary, his spine would fold like a water-soaked turnip green and turn to mush if he didn’t have the upper hand.
Johnny contemplated escape routes, knowing that he would have to leave at first light. He had to stay ahead of the pack that made their camp below him. If they found him, he would be a dead man. He had a chance if he could make it down from his perch before they broke camp, but if they were diligent and posted guards all night, he would be in for trouble. There would be no hesitation to shoot him on sight, and an early demise was not in his plans. There were a lot of ‘ifs’ and too many variables. He had to be sure.
Words from long ago flitted through his brain. Words told to him by his mentor, a man Johnny held in the highest regard. Red Wolf, his Indian father, had taught him how to survive and use things around him to his advantage. Wind, trees, the terrain. What would Red Wolf do now? Johnny wondered. The Whispers in the trees spoke; their gentle rustle gave him strength… and a solution.
Johnny settled in for a long night. He would have a cold camp; a wayward gust of wind would spell disaster should Barton or one of his men smell wood smoke. If they caught him, well, all he could hope for was that Scott and Val got Cyrus to Sheriff Keller to relay the dire situation if Barton and his men were not stopped. If Johnny were found, he would not live to see the next sunrise. It was paramount that Scott and Val got Cyrus Sheriff Keller and put an end to the threat of the ‘land pirates’ and their reign of terror.
Johnny’s thoughts strayed back when Pardee tried to take over the San Joaquin Valley. They all sacrificed, and he almost died in the battle after taking Pardee’s bullet in his back. He couldn’t let the vultures descend and threaten innocent people. Too many law-abiding folks would die and end up as casualties as a result of the recklessness and greed that ran rampant in men like Barton. They gave no thought to the honest citizens who would suffer, the most vulnerable being the very young and the very old. As long as these men would benefit, pillage, and plunder, they did not care about the havoc they caused to those who would be ruined or the shambles caused by their wanton, self-serving actions left in their wake.
Johnny watched below as the men eventually settled in for the night. Guards were posted and changed every two hours. He would change his plans accordingly and dozed while he could. No real sleep eased his tired and aching body, but hopefully, it would be over today, and he promised himself that when they got Cyrus to safety, and the story was told, exposing Barton for the villain he was, Johnny would sleep for a week. Well, maybe a few extra hours… that is, if he lived through the day. More ‘ifs’.
He woke before the sun lightened the sky. It was too dark to move out. But he saddled Renegado to be ready when the time came to hightail it to Yuba City — he could be far ahead of the vermin that would follow. To Johnny’s disappointment, the guards patrolled the perimeter of the camp, diligent in their efforts, preventing him from scattering their horses.
Madrid doubted he could deter them with more false trails. They had to know where Cyrus was headed by now, and Johnny embarked on plan two.
He couldn’t help the smile as he thought about it. Plan two. He and Val always employed a ‘plan two’ when fighting the range wars. Plan two would work for him this day, as well.
Johnny sent up a word of gratitude to Red Wolf for the lessons he learned; the acknowledgment carried on the wings of the wind and drifted toward The Spirit.
The odds of stopping Barton and his men alone were too great; he revised his strategy. Johnny wouldn’t get ahead of them; he would follow, and given the chance, he would pick off a few at the end of the pack and whittle the cutthroats down to a manageable number.
Should events turn against him, he held no illusions of rescue. A well-placed bullet would take Johnny down, making his efforts for naught. He was acting alone, except for the wisdom of The Whispers, and he would use that wisdom to its advantage; it was all he could do.
There were seven men, and picking off a few would enhance his chances; the odds were more to his liking. He had faced five men alone before and come out of it alright. Not well, but alright. Madrid had always championed the less fortunate before, but now he had a family. Should he take these chances?
Listen to your heart —
Johnny didn’t have to think — he’d already made his choice. Working in tandem, Red Wolf’s whispers spoke through the trees; wind provided the cover of sound as Johnny moved in behind the men as they started the journey. They were faster today, knowing their time was running out, and they were careless.
One man struggled with his horse; the beast resisted with an ornery buck that provided Johnny the chance he needed. Rope snaked through the air, the loop swift and sure as it settled around the man’s body and suddenly jerked tight. Before the man could call out for help, he was yanked backward and landed flat on his back with a ‘whoof’ as the air was forced from his lungs. His compadres rode ahead in a crazy tide and rounded the boulder-strewn mountainside, oblivious of the downed man.
The outlaw lay stunned, and Johnny pounced as the man struggled to breathe; with a quick punch to the jaw, blackness surrounded him, leaving him blissfully unconscious. After tying and gagging him and leaving him hidden in the rocks, Johnny swung onto Renegado’s back in pursuit of the next victim.
One down, keep movin’ Madrid… Renegado moved silently through the trees. The men ahead had just passed through a maze of boulders; the trail narrowed, forcing a single file as they went. Johnny waited as the last of Barton’s men entered the narrow path; he swung the rope once again, then let go as the loop glided through the air to fall around the man’s shoulder, and he, too, was pulled to the ground with a grunt that was covered by the wind in the trees. Before the man realized he’d been caught, Johnny was there with a hammer-to-anvil blow to the jaw, rendering the pendejo unconscious. Two outta two… Just keep it goin’, Madrid.
The three men charged out of Paradise and spurred their mounts into a gallop that turned the heads of those on the boardwalks, leaving them to wonder what the vigilante ‘law’ was up to now.
The men knew their status in Barton’s gang was tenuous at best. No one failed Sheriff Harv Barton and stayed on the payroll… or alive. The night spent drinking and gambling, ending in a sprawl across sweat-stained sheets, would cost them — the boss would not tolerate indiscretions that could jeopardize the primary objective of gaining control over the territory.
Night prevented them from joining the rest of the gang, and knowing that Barton would most likely shoot them on sight when they finally found their boss caused a mad scramble of second thoughts stampeding through their heads. Would they survive Barton’s fury over their nightly indiscretions?
Taking a chance that Barton would overlook their dalliances, Connors, Styles, and Hanson leaned low over the necks of their mounts, each running plausible excuses through their heads as they rode hard to catch up to Barton; he would have their hides upon returning to Paradise if they made no effort to earn their keep; they knew the price for failure. Perhaps the excuse of watching behind Barton for trouble would keep them safe.
But one never knew with a man such as Barton. They had seen the man wield his power over those who had failed him in the past, and it was ugly. They would count themselves lucky if Barton didn’t dispose of them himself.
And now, unbeknownst to them but to their advantage, they were in the position to purge the recent threat to the stranglehold they held on Paradise and redeem their status with the boss man.
They were making good time when, ahead of them, a man on a horse raced in pursuit of their gang — he wasn’t one of them. Styles, Connor, and Hanson closed in, coming closer to the lone man. It was then they realized who the man was. They exchanged looks of surprise, then grinned. Perhaps their ‘thin-ice’ position with the boss wasn’t as serious as they thought.
Trees and brush grew dense between the rocks and boulders, prohibiting clear sight up the trail. They lost sight of Lancer for several minutes until they rounded a debris pile of broken logs of tumbled rocks, then saw their stalker yank on the rope as one of their fellow gang fell to land on his back; Lancer rushed in to render him useless. All three pulled their pistols and aimed for Johnny’s head.
Johnny heard the hoof beats pull up behind; his instinct flashed a warning into his brain. Had his luck just run out?
“Hold it!” Cal Styles yelled out just as Johnny drew back for the punch.
Mierda! Johnny swore, realizing his third victim would go free.
“Raise your hands an’ keep ‘em away from your gun!”
Johnny shrugged, then stepped away from the man on the ground as he tried to catch his breath and scrambled to his feet. The man pulled the rope from around his body and shook his head to gain his wits. Then, his temper set in, and he lunged at his attacker, who easily sidestepped the assault. Eldon Fox turned in enraged embarrassment; a strangled cry tore from his throat as he made another run at Johnny before a sharp retort from Connors stopped him cold.
“Fox! Get on your horse…now!”
Shame-faced, Fox complied, but only after a searing glare raked over Johnny, a glare intended to put the fear of God into him. It didn’t work, prompting Johnny’s cold, irritating grin. Fox had to settle for an animal growl, which accomplished nothing except to urge Johnny to laugh aloud.
He knew he would pay for his actions; idiots did not like to be reminded that they were idiots. But at times like this, Madrid just couldn’t help himself, although he knew retaliation would smack him in the face… quite literally.
With Johnny’s hands in the air, Cal slipped the Colt from his holster. “What’d ya doin’ ambushin’ one of our men?” Cal barked as he watched the prisoner, waiting for fear to settle in his eyes. But it wasn’t happening.
Johnny remained silent; apparently, the man couldn’t count. This was the third man Johnny assaulted, intending to take out more.
Cal motioned for his two partners to dismount. They grabbed Johnny’s arms and held him tightly as Cal stood boldly before him. The brute puffed out his chest, resembling a squawking banty rooster doing his best to intimidate its prey, and bellowed, “I said, what’re ya doin’?”
The intimidation failed, useless in its desired effect. Cal realized too late this was not a man to submit. No amount of coercion would deter him; to Styles’ mind, there was only one way to handle the threat. But he would let Barton decide the man’s fate.
Johnny let the glacial grin slide into place; the ice in his eyes shot through Cal’s body, slicing through bone and sinew to pierce his heart. Cal couldn’t stop the shiver that crawled down his spine.
Johnny’s wolfish grin grew bigger. “What’m I doin’?” he repeated the question intentionally to make the man lose control. “I’m gonna send ya ta Hell…” he smirked, “that’s what I’m doin’.”
What was he missing? What made this asshole think he could send them to Hell? He was in their custody. The prisoner put on a good show, Styles thought; he was not afraid… yet. He would change that now and wipe that irritating grin off the man’s face. Suddenly, Cal drew back with a meaty rolled fist with powerful force behind it, connected with Johnny’s jaw.
His head jerked violently to his right as stars exploded in his skull. He could taste blood from his split lip, but he kept the smile in place, infuriating his tormentor and prompting another punch.
Blood oozed into Johnny’s mouth from a cut to the inside of his cheek; still, the smile never wavered, although lopsided now due to pain and rapid swelling. The cold stare pierced into Cal’s brain, and before he could move, Johnny spat a mouthful of blood into his face.
The bloody saliva hung on Cal’s eyelashes and dripped down his cheek as he exploded, raining punches down on his victim, one after another, until Johnny hung limp and unmoving between the men that held him; then, they let him fall into the grass. Cal watched Johnny struggle to get back on his feet and lashed out with a savage kick to the ribs.
There was an audible crack of bone as a shower of stars ignited in his head; white-hot pain erupted in his chest. Johnny fought for consciousness while above him, Cal smiled as Johnny rolled onto his back, and his senses quickly faded. Time… more time! Johnny fought to stay aware, enough to cost them more time. Had they gotten to Sheriff Keller yet? Need more time!
“Get ‘im on his horse, quick! We gotta catch Barton!”
Johnny was yanked to his feet, hands tied in front, then thrown onto his horse. They thundered down the road with their captive after the rest of the gang.
Johnny fought against the assault on his body as it tried to shut down and cut off the torture of broken bones grating together, but his brain kept firing sparks that refused to turn off. Scott, Val… Help Cyrus… He pressed his knees against his mount, forcing the animal to slow and sidestep. Johnny held onto the saddle horn as Renegado began a disruptive dance into his ‘escorts’ mounts. Cal turned around as the guards around Johnny struggled to control their horses.
Barton’s doubts began to expose the ugly truth that was growing in the back of his mind. The failure to capture Cyrus Becker would ruin their chances of controlling this part of the state. It had seemed so simple when first making their plans; small, isolated areas with no law close enough to do any good would be easy to control. Take what you could, steal anything and everything, and terrorize the citizens to keep control, then move on before the law could be called in.
It was one of his own men who caused the sudden crack in the proverbial dam. He’d shot a man in the back and stolen his horse. That single move had been the beginning of the end… unless Barton could find Becker and those responsible for his disappearance. He wouldn’t let his plans crumble in a heap at his feet, not without a fight. The carefully planned scheme, hatched with two others of the same repulsive ilk, was now in great jeopardy of being destroyed. But all he had to do was prevent Becker from escaping. It was that simple.
But they had not yet intercepted those lawmen and the sniveling clerk, Becker. I should have shot him when I had the chance! Barton regretted, but regrets are like wishes — they didn’t mean anything. Those thoughts suddenly turned as the thunder of hooves behind them pulled attention over his shoulder.
He realized when he saw some of his own men, who weren’t with him when they started out, but now it looked to be an asset as he noticed a man with them who was not one of his gang. Someone who had followed them and probably was the same man responsible for the false trails. His grin crawled across his ugly face when he recognized Johnny Lancer, hands tied and looking a bit worse for wear.
It wasn’t long before his lagging men and their ’guest’ caught up with him. Barton recognized the horse Johnny rode and knew his carefully laid plans could easily go up in smoke if he made the slightest mistake. Lancer could bring the law down around their heads if he got away. Simple to fix that problem… Lancer wasn’t going to get away; he was going to meet with an unfortunate accident.
The ’sheriff’ indulged himself in the pleasure of shooting Lancer a cold grin, then he turned to his men.
“What’s the matter with you two back there? Can’t you handle him?” Barton growled, shaking his head as Renegado continued to dance. “You boys better get control of him and be quick about it!” Barton spurred his horse forward, leaving the men to catch up.
The irritating reprimand did not sit well with the guards. Barton was riding ahead, not having to deal with the uncooperative prisoner. Connors, the guard on Johnny’s left, let loose with a savage punch to Johnny’s ribs — the same ribs where he received the kick. The groan escaped his lips before he could call it back. Connors grinned in satisfaction; his lips pulled back over yellowed teeth as Johnny slumped forward in his saddle.
The distressing wire from Ben Keller set in motion an urgent call for action. Marshall Simon Travis of Sacramento immediately called a posse together, and they gathered outside the sheriff’s office as Travis briefed them on the critical and terrifying situation to the north; the bands of land pirates, thought to have ended with Pardee’s defeat, still threatened the country. It was right under their noses and this time would be eradicated.
Travis looked over the twenty men before him, satisfied with the count and the determined countenance of his force. He explained what they were up against, then they headed north to, hopefully, support Sheriffs Keller and Crawford and a witness who was willing to testify against those responsible.
Their horses needed water; he didn’t want to halt the travel, but they wouldn’t go anywhere without their mounts. Barton, his men, and Johnny Lancer stopped in the shadow of rocks and brush and dismounted.
The Boss Man glared at Cal and barked out his agitation. “What’s he doing here?” Barton motioned to Johnny.
Cal returned the glare, becoming increasingly resentful of Barton’s constant criticism and intimidation in front of the others. Barton considered all those who worked for him subservient.
The irritation was evident in his reply. “We caught ‘im takin’ out some of our men. He was waitin’ till one of ‘em lagged b’hind an’ knockin’ ‘em out an’ tied ‘em up. Ya should be happy we caught ‘im insteada takin’ our heads off!”
Barton then turned to Cal, the disgust written on his face visible for all to see as he reigned the mutinous remark under his control. “You forget your place, Cal, but I’ll give you another chance.”
Barton went to Johnny’s side and laughed. “Aren’t so tough now, are you, boy?”
Johnny turned his battered face toward the aggressor and smiled coldly. “Fuck you, pendejo!”
Barton exploded, lashing out with a vicious backhanded strike that sent Johnny backward into Renegado’s side, then falling to the ground.
“Shoot him!” Barton commanded. But there was no shot, and Barton turned around as he glared at his men in surprise. He searched the faces of each one; the fire in his eyes burned into them for disobeying his order.
“What’s the matter with you? I said shoot him!”
Cal spoke up, none of the others wanting to rile Barton any further.
Cal nodded to Johnny lying on the ground. “Ya sure ya wanna do that, Mr. Barton, he’s a deputy!” The jacket Johnny wore had opened revealing the star Val had given him pinned on his shirt, shining brightly in the mid-morning sun.
Harv Barton quickly recovered from the shock, and his eyes blazed into the faces of his men. Deputy, my ass… He stalked to where Johnny had fallen; his beady, pig eyes feasted on the asshole that would very soon be a dead asshole. Barton reached down, ripped the badge off Johnny’s shirt, and smirked.
“He doesn’t have a badge now… Shoot him!”
The men froze, none of them wanting to shoot a deputy. They’d done all of Barton’s dirty work up until now. But now, things were beginning to fall apart. Cyrus Becker was on his way to the authorities, and they knew their hold on Paradise was beginning to fray.
Barton exploded for the second time. He looked at each of his men, issuing a challenge, then reached for his pistol, aimed at the man lying on the ground, and pulled the trigger.
Just as Sheriff Keller and the posse left town, Scott, Val, and Cyrus Becker rode into Yuba City. Keller held up his hand to stop the posse, allowing Val to come alongside.
“Sheriff, ‘m Sheriff Val Crawford from Green River, an’ this here is Cyrus Becker, eye witness ta what’s been goin’ on in Paradise. We need ta get him secure here. I gotta get back ta see ‘bout my deputy. He stayed b’hind ta see if he could slow Barton’s gang down, an’ he’s outnumbered at least seven ta one!” Val and Scott made to turn around when Keller issued one of his men in the posse, Lem Miller, to stay with Cyrus and get him to the Governor’s office in Sacramento to give his statement.
As Cyrus and Lem went into town, the rest went with Val back up the trail. Madrid, ya’d better not’ve got yerself in any trouble cuz if ya have, I’m gonna kill ya!
Scott knew Madrid could take care of himself, but only to a point. Johnny was only one man against Barton’s gang. His brother was good, but even ‘good’ wouldn’t protect him from the danger he was in now.
Six miles outside of town, Scott, Val, Sheriff Keller, and the posse skidded to a halt at the sound of the shot. Keller watched Scott go pale.
“C’mon!” Val called as they spurred their horses into a gallop, stopping only at the big curve in the road that hid the trail. Val dismounted and crawled up into the boulders to see the tale spelled out below.
Barton had fired his gun; the bullet creased Johnny’s upper right arm. Then, he burst into laughter as he watched the fire burn in Johnny’s eyes.
Val held his breath, then scrambled down to where Keller stood.
“Me an’ Scott’s goin’ back up there ta cover Johnny; ya wanna split your men an’ come in on both sides?” he asked the sheriff.
Shaking his head affirmative, the posse split up as Val returned to his cover above.
“You’re not coming out of this alive, Lancer,” Barton snarled; the sneer twisted his mouth, prodding the thin mustache to slither across his upper lip like a snake.
Johnny forced his grin — the grin that set Harv Barton into a frenzy. He was hurting like hell, but it was worth the pain, knowing he was pushing Barton beyond his control.
Barton aimed his pistol once again at the man on the ground. His fury raced through him in a flood; his temper raged in white rapid recklessness. Never had anyone pushed him toward the edge as Lancer had — but that would stop and now. He paused, took a breath, then focused on the man before him. The malicious glare intensified, eyes squinted against the bright light of day. All he had to do was pull the trigger, and this man would no longer trouble him.
“Hurry up, Barton! We got no time for this!” Cal interrupted.
Barton held the gun on Johnny. “Make your peace, Lancer,” Barton advised.
The grin on Johnny’s face deepened. “I don’t think so, bastard!” Johnny snickered; he didn’t miss the tremble return in Barton’s hand.
Barton watched as Johnny’s line of vision passed him into the ridge behind and above them. He jerked around but didn’t see anything. “What kinda bullshit are you playing at? There’s no one up there!”
But Lancer’s smile didn’t waver. “Yeah, Barton, there is,” Johnny said softly as Barton turned once more to Johnny and aimed at Johnny’s head; his finger tightened on the trigger but froze just as the posse thundered through the whispering trees on either side of them.
“Throw your weapons on the ground! All your weapons! We have you surrounded!” Two of the outlaws tried to pull their pistols. Multiple shots rang out; the two men lay dead on the ground.
Barton’s plans crumbled to dust around him in crushing defeat. He was done.
Scott scrambled down from his perch in the rocks above, shoved Barton aside, and went to where Johnny lay on the ground.
“Cut that a little tight, didn’t ya, Val?” Johnny quipped. “Hey Boston, glad ta see ya.” He groaned as Scott helped him to his feet and steadied him with an arm around his shoulders.
“Are you alright, brother?” Scott asked as Johnny leaned into him.
The sigh hitched as the broken ribs snagged against muscles in his chest. “Yeah, I will be.” After a pause, he turned to face Val. “Cyrus?”
Val grinned a toothy smile at Barton as he spoke the words that Barton feared. “All safe an’ sound. Had a nice talk with the the US Marshall. They got along real good, too!” So what that talk hadn’t happened… yet. It was only one little white lie. What’s the hurt in that?
Barton paled. Sheriff Keller and his deputies took control of the outlaw and his gang. Had he not been hurting so bad, Johnny would have laughed as the realization of failure shadowed their features. They were herded to the horses and mounted up as the law, the legal law, took them into custody and started for Yuba City, where they would meet with US Marshall Travis.
Val’s brows went up, and he sniffed. “Sorry it took this long ta get back. Was the best I could do, amigo, the best I could do. Let’s getcha back ta town an’ have a doc patch ya up. I ain’t lookin’ forward ta explainin’ what happened ta Murdoch!” Val announced as he wrapped the crease in Johnny’s arm with his bandana. “Ya hurt anywhere else?”
Johnny took a deep breath but grimaced at the hot sear that shot through his chest. No, he wouldn’t do that for a while. “ ‘M fine…” he muttered as Scott and Val rolled their eyes and helped him to mount Renegado.
Val shook his head at his stubborn amigo.
Johnny settled as best he could in the saddle, then turned to Val. “Cyrus had a good talk with the Marshall, huh?” He couldn’t hold back the grin thinking about the plucky Cyrus Becker sticking his neck out for the town he called home. Becker was a good man.
Val snorted. “Oh, hell no. The Marshall’s not there yet. Just said that ta get a rise outta Barton. Worked pretty good. Marshall Travis should get ta Yuba City pro’bly tamorrow.”
So what if it wasn’t exactly true. But Johnny got a kick from seeing Barton’s face when he realized he was done, caught red-handed, with the testimony of a willing witness, and probably more to come forward. He and his men had wronged many people and would now pay for their crimes.
Cyrus Becker breathed a sigh of relief. It was over! They had their lives back, and folks were elated with the thought that their town was once again a decent place to bring up a family, with no more controls over them except what there should be. Highridge and Pinegreen had also been rescued, the scum rounded up and jailed. The nest of rattlers, with all due respect to snakes, had been rounded up to await their trial. Many townsfolk stepped forward to testify, ensuring the outlaws got what they had coming.
Johnny led the pack horse to the hitch rail and tied it alongside Renegado. He stepped up on the boardwalk and entered the General Mercantile as Hattie McCormack bestowed Johnny with her most beautiful smile. The old woman came around the counter, gently took his arms, looked into his face, and murmured her heartfelt thanks for his part in clearing the nest of vipers out of Paradise.
Blushing, he could only smile and muttered, “My pleasure, Ma’am…”
She thought it endearing. “I have your supplies ready here, Johnny,” as she waved her hand to a large pile.
Johnny thought he might need two packhorses when he saw the order. Scott and Val strode toward the store, wondering what was taking Johnny so long. They didn’t need much in the line of supplies. What was the delay?
Scott laughed. “There’s probably a pretty girl in there, Val. Should we give them a few minutes of privacy?”
Val snorted, impatient to be on their way home. They had already spent too much time in town, considering Johnny’s visit to the doctor’s office.
The two men entered the mercantile, their eyes wide with a ‘What the Hell is all this?’ look on their faces as they spied Johnny next to a mountain of supplies wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
Johnny smirked. “I gotta make a stop on the way home. C’mon, you two — help me get it loaded up,” Johnny said as he picked up the parcels he could manage with his injured arm and ribs and took them outside to the pack horse.
Scott and Val exchanged a glance, puzzlement etched on each face. They gathered packages and parcels and took them out to the pack horse.
“What?” Val sputtered when he realized the pack horse was theirs. “Where ya need ta stop with all ‘a this, amigo?”
Scott spoke up, supporting Val’s concern. “Johnny, what are you doing? We need to get home before Murdoch decides he has to come get us! We’ll never hear the end of it, and he’ll never let us off the ranch again!”
Johnny smiled as he secured the supplies and mounted his horse. They headed south out of town.
The stop in Oroville took only minutes, just long enough to return the rented sorrel pick up Barranca.
Liveryman Lenny shuffled from the back room when Johnny called out. The first thing he noticed were two more fingers swathed in thick bandages.
Johnny huffed out a breath and hung his head for a few seconds. “Damn, Lenny, I’m sorry.”
“Twas ‘m own fault, young feller. Ya warned me, an’ I plumb fergot. Don’t cha give no more thought to it!” the old man insisted.
“Well, the least I can do is pay your doctor bill.” Johnny added several extra dollars to the livery fee as Scott changed the saddle from Renegado to Barranca.
With the equine greetings now over as Barranca greeted Remmie, Renegado, and Amigo, Scott and Val followed Johnny into the mountains to the south, both wondered where the hell Johnny was going.
Smoke billowed out of the chimney just as it had the last time he was there.
“Hello, the cabin!” he called out and heard the triggers being pulled back; he saw the double barrels pointed at him through the slot in the thick wooden door.
“Jake, Anna, it’s Johnny Lancer!” Immediately the click of released hammers echoed in the crisp mountain air, and the McCray’s came out onto the porch, their faces beamed welcoming smiles. Johnny gingerly stepped out of his saddle, and Scott and Val followed.
“Jake, Anna, this is my brother, Scott, and this ornery critter’s Sheriff Val Crawford outta Green River. Scott, Val, this’s Jake an’ Anna McCray.” They shook hands as Johnny watched, then Anna sidled up to Johnny, scrutinizing the bruises and the way he held his body, protecting his ribs. She went up on tiptoes and placed a small kiss on his cheek.
“Are you alright, Johnny?” she asked with deep concern as she examined the discoloration on Johnny’s jaw.
He shrugged, then gave her his Johnny Madrid Lancer dazzling smile. “I’m fine,” with more enthusiasm than he felt. It was the same feeling he got when trying to convince his family he was fine where he wasn’t. But it felt good.
“Well, any brother an’ friend ‘a Johnny’s is welcome here!” Jake announced, extending his large paw to grasp their hands in bone-crushing shakes.
“Brought ya some supplies…” Johnny said as he handed the lead rope of the pack horse to Jake.
“What?” Jake boomed with shock taking over his face. “No, Johnny, ya don’t need ta do this! It’s too much!”
Johnny laughed and shook his head. “Well, I ain’t takin’ it back so you can figure out what ya wanna do with it!” He glanced at Anna. “What’s for supper?” and laughing, they walked into the cabin.
The trees swayed in the gentle breeze. The soft rustle sang a sweet melody of safety, of family, and protection. Everything would be alright. Young Man With Honor was safe now.
The details were left until after dinner, as they discussed the event from beginning to end. Val would stay the night, arriving home too late to continue into Green River. Lancer hospitality was offered and gratefully accepted. But there was another reason for the sheriff to join them. There was one last piece of evidence for Cipriano to identify to solidify their case against the man who made an attempt on the Segundo’s life, and it needed a witness to make it official.
After Johnny had seen a doctor when they got to Yuba City, he confided that he was in possession of proof Rex had attacked Cip. Scott had objected at first when the grisly evidence was made known, declaring that Cip had already given Val a description of his attacker but soon agreed it would seal the case and confirm the man killed was the man who had ambushed him, leaving him face down to die with a bullet in his back. It was critical proof.
Johnny had pressed the issue with an argument. “That description could fit a hundred men, Scott. Any lawyer worth his salt could tear that testimony apart seven different ways. He was shot in the back — there hasta be somethin’ definite he can identify.” Johnny reached into his pocket; Scott and Val waited, then noted the folded bandana in his fingers.
Val nodded. “Well, that’s jus’ fine, Johnny-Boy; what’s that?”
“The proof we need.” Johnny tossed the cloth to Val; the smile twitched the right side of his mouth.
Val picked the bandana out of the air, and his brow furrowed, not recognizing the feel of whatever lay between the layers of cotton. Taking the cloth in his hand, he began to unwrap the mystery. Finally exposed, the object sent a shiver up his spine — it was a tattoo of the Confederate flag and the heart with ‘Edie’ on human skin cut from the arm of the coward who had nearly killed Cipriano.
“That’s proof.”
A march of spider’s legs skittered down Scott’s spine with an identical and involuntary shiver. It was something he was not likely to forget… but now wished he could. The conversation of days ago ran through his head like it was yesterday.
With Teresa helping Maria in the kitchen, Murdoch, Cipriano, Scott, Johnny, and Val gathered in the great room for drinks. The fire was warm, casting cheery shadows to dance up the walls as gentle pops and snaps provided a soothing melody.
But the calm was broken when Johnny pulled a small bundle wrapped in a bandana from his shirt.
“Cip, I know you gave a description of the man that shot ya ta Val, but that description could fit a lot ‘a men. You told Val the man had a tattoo on his arm. Could you identify it if you saw it again?”
Murdoch watched Johnny, wondering what Johnny had in his hand. He was about to find out.
“Sí, I would know it. I remember what I saw.”
Johnny held the cloth-wrapped piece and slowly uncovered the patch of hide he had peeled from Rex’s arm in the ice house while it Durham.
Cipriano’s eyes blazed as he once again saw the inked skin. His breath hitched in his throat as, in his mind, he felt the fire of the bullet pierce his back before unconsciousness overwhelmed him in blissfully dark arms.
Cip tore his eyes from the gruesome piece of hide and nodded his head. “Sí, that was on his arm, his right arm, between the codo (elbow) and wrist.”
Val nodded once. “That’ll be one more brick in the wall of busted laws that gang committed. I’ll get a wire off ta Marshall Travis when I get back ta town tamorrow. Gracias, Cip, I know it wasn’t easy ta see that again, amigo.”
“De nada, Señor Val,” he said quietly, then turned to Johnny; his eyes softened, but no words were necessary. Johnny read the words in Cip’s eyes.
Val looked around the room at the Lancers and the Segundo. He clapped his hands together, then asked, “What’s a man gotta do ta get another drink around here?”
Outside, the whispers in the trees quieted. All was well.
Written April 2018
Edited November 2024
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PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT
Thank you for reading! The authors listed on this site spend many hours writing stories for your enjoyment, and their only reward is the feedback you leave. So please take a moment to leave a comment. Even the simplest ‘I liked this!” can make all the difference to an author and encourage them to keep writing and posting their stories here. You can comment in the ‘reply’ box below or email Buckskin directly.
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Well done.
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Thank you, Sandy – This was a long and tiring journey in getting this one completed. It’s an old story, consequently needing a lot of work. Re writing is not fun, and I hope my efforts made this story passable. I had my doubts!
Thanks again.
Diana
Buckskin
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Nice to see you writing again, Diana, even if it’s rewriting. This was a good yarn but needed more Scott (LOL). Please keep writing!
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Hey there, RonD! This is one of my first stories, consequently, my focus was on JML. In the last eight years or so of writing, Scott has been more of a prominent figure in my Lancer World. I have to admit my muse seems to have deserted me hence, rewriting an old tale. Thank you for reading and commenting. It’s much appreciated.
Diana
Buckskin
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Fabulous story Diana – I’m always delighted to see a new offering from your good self. Your hard work is much appreciated. More please.
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Hi Helen, and thank you for sending feedback. When inspiration strikes, be assured a Lancer tale will follow, but it seems to be quite slow lately. There are several stories whirling around in my head, so when I get them committed to paper or computer, I’ll get them posted. Thanks for supporting my Lancer World.
Diana
Buckskin
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Diana, you did a great job on this piece. The tension stayed high from the beginning to the end. All the characters were so well developed and interesting. You are so talented as a writer. I was thrilled to see this story. I hope you are already starting the next one.
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Thank you so much, Sherry. I appreciate the compliment more than you know. I guess I was wrong – this tale was almost filed away in the garbage bin.
Yes, there are more than a dozen stories started but my muse has taken a powder and not returned. Could I bribe her liberally with tequila? I’ll have to give that some serious thought~
Thanks again, Sherry!
Diana
Buckskin
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Loved this.
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Thank you, Jane-Louise! I’m happy you liked this tale.
Diana
Buckskin
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Gripping, well written, fast paced, action story featuring our favourite characters. What’s not to like? I throughly enjoyed it, thank you so much for posting.
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Thank you, Val! I’m happy you liked this story. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Diana
Buckskin
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Great story Diana! So glad you are writing again! Have reread many of your stories. Hope this lets me post this. Left comment before but it wouldn’t post
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Thank you, Katie. I appreciate you are rereading my Lancer tales! This is an old story that needed a LOT of work to post. The rewrite took longer than it did to write the story. It was in pretty bad shape.
I’ll have to fire my muse and get a new one. She’s not doing a very good job! Thanks again!
Diana
Buckskin
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I really love stories which Johnny can utilize his Madrid abilities. Having Val as part of the story was a bonus. I really liked it when Johnny, Val and Scott join forces. Congratulations on the great story.
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Thank you, Marie! Yes, you can’t beat Johnny, Scott, and Val together. If something needs to be done, they will do it! Glad you liked this tale!
Diana
Buckskin
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Thank you, Val! Glad you liked this Lancer tale and thank you for letting me know!
Diana
Buckskin
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Keep those stories whirling in your head! We love it when you share with us. Reading about Johnny, Scott, and Val on their adventures keeps Lancer alive! Thank you!
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Thank you so much! It is amazing that, after almost 57 years, there is still a huge fan base for Lancer. Scott and Johnny became more than brothers but best friends after not knowing of the other’s existence, Murdoch’s hopes and dreams were finally realized when his sons returned home, and with the added character and personality of Val, it’s no wonder why we still love this show. And now, for many years, fan fiction has kept Lancer alive. Someone else has said Long Live Lancer, and I support the sentiment!
Diana
Buckskin
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I loved reading Whispers In The Wind. As soon as I saw your title, I knew it would be something special. Thank you for sharing your great talent with us and doing the hard work. You’re very much appreciated!
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Thank you so much, drduke! I appreciate your support more than you know. The ‘whispers’ kept Johnny on his toes as he tracked Cipriano’s attacker and brought him or tried to bring him to justice. I’m happy you liked this Lancer tale.
Diana
Buckskin
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I always enjoy your stories, so thank you for rewriting this one. I’m sorry that your muse has deserted you lately. Hopefully you will get it back soon.
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Thank you, Lesley, for your support of my Lancer World. I appreciate it more than you know.
Yes, I think I need to fire that muse and find a new one. Grrr! Can’t find good help anymore!
Diana
Buckskin
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