The Ones We Trust The Most

A Halloween Story

PART ONE

The air was still. Totally, inexplicably still. Dead. There should have been a breeze. The sky had been darkening for hours, a thick canvas of billowing clouds filling the vista, threatening torrents of rain and a formidable wind. But instead it was calm. Too calm. Too quiet. But moist. Oppressively moist – like all the rain those clouds were threatening to release was already filling the air.

"Wish it would just go ahead and rain already," Johnny announced to seemingly no one at all, nearly a hundred cows between him and the closest vaquero. But he wasn't talking to himself. Barranca was listening, and just to prove it the horse shifted uneasily beneath his rider. Even if he didn't understand the words, the animal could sense the disquiet in his partner.

Horse and rider were out on the range today beginning to move a small portion of Lancer's vast herd to another pasture. Although it was already early October, the weather had been abnormally warm for weeks, and the smaller ponds were threatening to dry out completely. Even if the building clouds finally broke and released their moisture, it would be too late. They'd need a week of steady rain in this area of the ranch to ensure an adequate water supply for the months to come. Rather than having to start pulling cattle out of the mud puddles that would eventually form, Murdoch Lancer had decreed that they would just move those cows to other grazing land with better irrigation. Currently short handed, Johnny had been put in charge of seeing that the job was done fast and right.

Barranca was doing his part to help out. Johnny knew too much about horses to ever claim ownership over the magnificent palomino he always rode. He understood that finding an animal with the skills Barranca possessed was a rare thing, and not to be taken lightly. There was a well-established respect between the pair that was mutual. Some of the hands might joke about the relationship between Johnny and Barranca, man and horse, but Johnny took their partnership seriously. Barranca was the best horse he had ever claimed the privilege of riding, and the man trusted the animal with his life – no small consideration for an ex-gunfighter who often found trouble without even looking for it.

As Johnny was renowned throughout the area for his horse training skills, Barranca was of course held to a higher standard than any other mount on the Lancer ranch. The pair did not disappoint. Over the two years they had been partnered, Johnny had watched, felt, and analyzed every move Barranca made. And no one else was allowed – or dared – to ride the horse, so man and animal had therefore formed an incredibly close bond, each able to anticipate the others' movements with barely more than a bit of pressure or a shift in weight.

Scott had once said that they should charge admission just to let people watch his brother and Barranca work cattle together – and he hadn't been kidding. This horse and rider were mesmerizing to behold, like dancers on a stage decorated with live scenery – the dirt and dust and threatening rain just adding to the surrealism of the dramatic ballet ever ready to unfold.

As if to cue the start of a performance, Barranca's ears twitched, and his head cocked to the right. Those were just the visual signals the horse was transmitting. A whole other form of communication was being interpreted by the rider as Johnny felt muscles tensing, weight shifting, even a change in Barranca's breathing.

Riding drag on this stunted cattle drive, horse and rider were watching for those cows that inevitably tried to blaze their own trail. You couldn't beat Barranca as a cow pony – the horse seemed able to sense a cow's intentions before the animal had the thought itself. Johnny just let himself relax and gave Barranca his head, giving non-verbal permission to the horse to go ahead and take lead for this part of the dance.

Johnny knew which cow was going to cut and run a second before it made its move – but Barranca was already on it. All the way on the other side of the herd, Johnny instinctually shifted his weight in the saddle, naturally falling into the rhythm of the horse as it took off like a bullet out of a gun. Eyes intently focused on the recalcitrant cow, Barranca blocked its path before it could manage to get more than fifty feet away from the rest of the herd.

Pulled up short, the dance became interpretive, as Barranca and the cow vied for control. The animals faced each other performing their unrehearsed choreography, matching each other movement for movement, each direction and step of the cow mirrored perfectly by the horse.

Johnny knew full well who was going to win this dance contest – and the cow soon figured it out, too. Barranca successfully blocking every chance for the cow's escape, with a doleful bellow the animal admitted its defeat, gave up and turned to once again join the chorus line of the herd. Barranca dogged the cow all the way back, until Johnny finally gave an imperceptible pull on the reins. The horse backed off, immediately obeying the command.

Sitting atop Barranca while he worked a cow was one of the most exhilarating experiences Johnny had ever felt. The performance always left man and horse with too much pent up energy, so once again Johnny gave a silent cue, but this time Barranca took off, almost instantly moving at full speed across the field. Both relished the power they felt in the animal's long, confident strides, as the pair cut through the still air, creating their own revitalizing breeze.

All too soon however, the available ground had been covered, and man and horse were forced to refocus on their work. Reined to a reluctant stop, Barranca nevertheless obediently heeded Johnny's request. Knowing the animal would have much preferred a good run over the slow pace of the drive, Johnny reached down and patted him firmly an the neck, letting his own disappointment come through as he dejectedly promised, "Soon, compadre. We'll make time for some fun soon."

All the cows behaving for the moment, Johnny left Barranca to watch over them, as he once again turned his own attention to the still darkening sky.

"Wish it would just go ahead and rain already," Johnny repeated his plea – but the clouds refused to reply.

LLLLLLLL

Barranca's performance had not gone without an audience. High atop a rise, overlooking the flat land where the cattle were being driven, stood a lone figure. Another horse. A stallion. But not just any stallion – this was a superb creature that stood a full fifteen hands high, with a vividly striking blue-black coat.

But there was so much more to this stunning equine than what met one's eye. There was another presence within the beast who appreciated the symbiotic relationship of Johnny and Barranca perhaps more than any other man could.

//'Only, I'm not so much a man any more, am I,'// the being reflected resentfully, then laughed at "himself" for his bout of self pity. //'After twenty years you might think that I'd be used to this by now,'// the being suggested, not expecting a reply from the stallion he inhabited – unlike Johnny, who'd at least gotten an uneasy shifting from his "partner" in acknowledgement for his comment about the weather.

The spirit within the stallion had initially tried to maintain its hold in the earthly world by occupying human flesh. But even the dimmest human mind still held too much conscious thought for him to control as he liked, and overcoming man's strength of will had proved too daunting.

But animals . . . Even the brightest creature was no match for a human – alive or not. So he'd begun taking over the will of animals, easily controlling them from within. Using them to exact his own revenge on humankind who had so devastatingly betrayed him.

Full of arrogance and youthful exuberance, Ezra Shanks had tried to make his way west to earn his fortune, confident that he could take advantage of the business opportunities arising from the gold rush of 1849. But having been raised in relative seclusion and opulence in the big city of Philadelphia, the rich brat's safe passage had depended on the rough and ready pioneers who were already surviving in the western territories.

His trust was misplaced. Cowboy after cowboy recognized his naïveté, and took advantage of him, eager to teach the arrogant easterner a lesson, slowly stealing away the venture capital funds his self-made millionaire father had lent him – until finally one of those western scoundrels had taken his life along with his money.

Incensed beyond control, Shanks' soul lingered over the earth, until he'd realized that he still held power fueled by his anger – he merely needed a means to wield it. So he looked to the beasts. The strongest, smartest, most trusted animals ever owned by man. And from within them he found a feral intensity he craved and the ability to exact a satisfying revenge on mankind for its treachery against him.

Horses had become Ezra's preferred host – their size and strength and dependence on by humans unmatched. But dogs had proved useful – and once he had even inhabited a beloved pet cat. Feeding on the strength and skills of each carefully chosen animal, Shanks took advantage of the relationship between the beings, using his superior intellect to play a slow, deliberate, and always deadly game with the human, until it was time for the ultimate retaliation – a life for a life. A human life for a human life – at the "hands" of a trusted beast.

And Shanks had just found his next host. In the valley below him he had witnessed an alliance between man and beast such as he had never seen before. The display had left him spellbound, and eager, and wanting. He'd have to get closer to be sure, but right now anything had to be better than . . .

"There you are, you damned horse," the man called out from behind him.

Turning the stallion so he could see through the animal's eyes, Shanks quickly spotted the worthless wretch limping up the hillside. He'd been toying with this human for almost a month now, lingering longer than usual only because of the incredible strength he gained from inhabiting such a marvelous creature as the stallion.

"I'm gettin' real tired of havin' ta chase ya down," the man breathlessly exclaimed as he slowly trudged the last couple of steps up the incline.

If a horse could have ever smiled, the black stallion would be grinning now. But Shanks did the smirking for him. //'And I'm tired of you, Mr. McKinney,'// the spirit uttered maliciously from his ethereal world, adding ominously, //'and I've found another pet to play with.'//

Now standing right before the stallion, the man angrily promised, "I swear, you devil. If you throw me one more time I'm gonna send ya back to hell where you belong."

//'You first,'// Shanks silently countered, as he compelled the stallion to rear up, letting the hooves of the beast once again bring him the satisfying death of another insignificant human being.

LLLLLLLL

PART TWO

Murdoch wiped the sweat from his brow with an already drenched bandana. He'd been standing on the patio for an hour now, watching and waiting. He couldn't remember ever seeing weather like this. The thick, rain gorged clouds seemed to hover overhead like a giant broiling canopy, trapping the still air close to the ground.

Over the years he'd seen almost everything Mother Nature had in her arsenal to test both man and beast. Heat and dust. Rain and snow. Drought and floods. He had seen fog so dense a man would think he was the only living creature on the face of the earth, and snow so heavy he couldn't see his hand two inches from his nose.

But this was different. The unnatural stillness raised the hairs on his arms and he shivered.

"I've been here two years now . . ." Scott eyed the sky, leaning his shoulder against the patio's white adobe pillar, ". . . but I've never seen a storm quite like this one."

"Neither have I. It's like the world is holding its breath."

Scott felt it too. He glanced over at Murdoch and saw the lines of worry on the older man's face. "He'll be back soon."

Murdoch nodded. "I know. But I should have waited another day and sent you out with him. It's a big job for just three men."

"He's more than capable . . ." Scott stood up straighter, straining to see through the thick air as a dark shadow moved toward them then coalesced into the figure of a horse and rider. He heard an audible sigh of relief from Murdoch as the pair drew closer and he could recognize Johnny and Barranca.

Johnny walked the horse toward the stable and dismounted slowly. The weather had drained what little strength he had left and he handed the reins to Joe. Johnny was accustomed to taking care of Barranca himself at the end of the day, but today he knew his friend would understand. He was dead tired and thirsty. "Brush him down real good, will ya Joe? Then turn him out in the corral. It's too hot inside today."

"Sure thing, Johnny. You look like you could use some brushin' down yourself." Joe grinned.

Johnny nodded. "I feel like I'm carryin' 'bout fifty pounds of sweat." He eyed the sky and mumbled, "Wish it would just go ahead and rain already."

LLLLLLLL

Shanks hated the feel of the heavy saddle on the stallion's back. He yearned for the freedom of galloping unfettered. //'I'll take care of that very soon,'/ Ezra thought. //'Very soon.'//

He had been watching the palomino and the cowboy interact for the better part of the afternoon, and he now followed them as they slowly made their way back home. Shanks witnessed the concern the cowboy had for his horse, stopping to fill his own hat with water so the animal could drink. Ezra knew he would be well taken care of as soon as he made the palomino his.

He also knew he would be in for a challenge – something McKinney never gave him. The stallion's will had been too easily controlled as well. The strength he gained from the animal had been invigorating, but the enjoyment of playing with McKinney and the stallion had grown old after only the second week. That pair had barely interacted with each other, leaving him little opportunity for "amusement." He had just been biding his time until he found a new host and companion, a pair that would offer him not only a good fight, but many more possibilities for fun. The palomino and the cowboy showed a lot of potential. //'Very promising, indeed.'// Shanks savored the thought.

Finally the cowboy had stopped and spoken with the two riders working with him, and they headed off in different directions. Both the cowboy and the palomino looked spent. Shanks knew that was partly due to the oppressive air. He wished he could take credit for it, but alas, he was not that strong. //'Not yet.'//

LLLLLLLL

"Damn it's hot," Johnny swore as he walked toward his brother and father, every muscle in his body aching. "I swear a fish could breathe in this air."

"Any problems moving the cattle?" Murdoch asked.

Johnny lifted his hat and let it fall down his back on the stampede tie. "They weren't too happy bein' moved 'round in this heat, but they're all where they're supposed to be. But . . ." Johnny turned to Scott, tapping his chest. "The next time them brainless critters need movin', it'll be your turn."

Scott grinned. "I'll be sure to pick a nice balmy day."

"What . . . ?" Johnny's question went unfinished and unanswered as all three men turned at the sound of material swishing behind them. Maria appeared, carefully balanced a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses.

"Maria." Johnny grinned. "Bueno. Su son mi ángel."

"Sí, Juanito. It is very hot this day. You need drink to keep you safe."

"Hot ain't the word for it," Johnny said as he downed the first glass in three gulps.

Maria looked toward the mountains hidden behind the heavy air, her face mirroring the worry in her heart.

"There is much inquietud in the air. You must be cautious." She turned sharply on her heel to return to the safety of the house.

"Inquietud?" Scott looked to Johnny for a translation, but it was Murdoch who answered softly.

"Unease."

Scott chuckled. "More of Maria's superstitions?"

"I wouldn't laugh, brother," Johnny warned seriously. "I feel it too."

Scott sipped at his lemonade and contemplated the others' seemingly needless concern. But he couldn't deny that uneasy feeling he had himself. He just wished it would start raining. Even a torrential downpour would be better than this oppressive humidity.

"Hey, boss . . ." Jelly was making his way toward the trio. "What do ya think that is?" Jelly was pointing at a black shape moving just beyond the Lancer arch. The frightened mew of a cow in a distant pasture hung in the air, the dense air distorting the sound.

Soon the shape cleared the Lancer arch and Johnny whistled softly. He wasn't sure he had ever seen a more magnificent stallion. The animal's coat seemed to shine even in the heavy gray tinged air, and his jet-black tail flagged proudly as he cantered toward them. His nostrils flared in the heat, the membranes glowing a ghostly red.

"Where do ya think he comes from?" Jelly whispered, the humidity seemingly growing thicker around him.

"Jelly, tell Cipriano to form a search party. That horse has a saddle. The rider could be hurt out there."

"Sure thing boss . . ." but Jelly didn't move a muscle as the black stallion slowed to a walk in the courtyard and didn't stop until his nose was nuzzling Johnny's shoulder.

Surprised, Johnny combed his fingers through the long thick forelock, revealing a tiny dot of white between the animal's eyes. It seemed to be the only patch of extra color on the horse.

"Well, I'll be. He sure does like ya, Johnny." Jelly reached toward the stallion but his hand froze in mid-air as the horse slowly turned his head toward him, pinning his ears back. His deep brown eyes seemed to swirl to blackness for a moment, and fixed him with a dark threatening intensity that could only be described with one word: Evil. Jelly had just seen evil. The old man stepped back, his heart turning to ice.

"Jelly . . . are you all right?" Scott grabbed his elbow. "You're as white as a ghost."

"Ain't . . . ain't nothin'," Jelly stuttered. "Just the heat is all. I'll go tell Cip. And Johnny . . . you watch that horse, ya hear?"

Johnny nodded, moving around the stallion to un-cinch the saddle. He untied the saddlebags and handed them to Scott. "Maybe there's a name in there."

Scott made a search, finding a crumpled letter in the bottom of the second bag. "It's addressed to 'Arthur McKinney,' postmarked San Antonio."

"If the boys don't find anything out there we can give Val the name. He can take it from there."

Johnny pulled the saddle off the stallion and used the saddle blanket to rub the animal down. Whoever "Arthur McKinney" was, Johnny envied him. He would love to have a horse of this caliber in the Lancer's own stable.

LLLLLLLL

Shanks felt the weight of the saddle slide off the stallion's back and reveled in the feeling of freedom. He would only inhabit this horse for a short while longer, and he basked in the experience, greedily lapping up a last taste of strength and power from the beautiful animal – power Ezra would need to quickly exert control over the will of his new host.

He let the cowboy – who he now knew as Johnny – rub his hot skin down with the saddle blanket. //'You are the perfect one, Johnny,'// Shanks thought. //'An excellent horseman, a skillful ranch hand . . . possibly my greatest challenge. But your love for the beasts will be your undoing. In the end, I will win. I always win.'//

Thunder rumbled in the hills to the east as Shanks watched the golden palomino being led out of the barn, the glorious animal as different from the stallion as night and day. Shanks observed his imminent host begin to prance nervously, its ears pinned back, nostrils flaring. Already the palomino was showing more perception than the stallion ever had, sensing Ezra's spiritual presence with suspicion, even from a distance. The desire to feel the power and majesty of the palomino from within became instantly overwhelming.

//'It's time!'// Shanks roared inside the stallion's mind, as he charged forward to initiate his transition.

LLLLLLLL

PART THREE

Without warning the stallion reared up, its hooves missing Johnny's face by mere inches. Johnny jumped back, colliding hard into Murdoch. Father caught his son and the pair struggled to regain their balance, even as the stallion pivoted on its hind legs and charged toward his quarry.

The palomino had indeed sensed trouble emanating from the stallion as his handler led him out from the stable. Already wary, Barranca reacted immediately as soon as the black horse made its attack. Joe, however, was taken off guard as Barranca unexpectedly reared up, neighing loudly. Finally catching sight of the stallion bearing down on them, Joe realized that a challenge had been initiated between the horses, and dropped the reins to run back and watch from the safety of the stable doors.

Pulling up quickly within mere feet of Barranca, both horses pranced back and forth, their ears pinned back, nostrils flaring. The stallion expertly countered Barranca's every move as each animal tested the other, looking for weakness.

Teresa and Maria had been drawn out into the courtyard by the animal's frenzied cries, and Murdoch moved to stand beside the women, to ensure their safety and push them back into the house should the contest shift closer. Scott countered his own position, and reached out to grab Johnny's arm. He knew how protective his brother was toward his horse, and wasn't going to take a chance that Johnny would do something foolhardy in an attempt to help Barranca. The younger Lancer son felt the strong hand on his arm and briefly glanced over to meet the concerned eyes of his brother. Instinctually knowing each other's thoughts, both let the hold stand as they simultaneously turned to continue to watch the confrontation unfold.

Ezra was the first to tire of the game, needing but a brief distraction of the palomino's determination to protect itself from the pending invasion in order to transfer his spirit. Now in total control of the stallion, Shanks compelled the animal to lunge forward, stretching its neck out to bite Barranca – but his opponent was too quick. Again and again the stallion attempted to sink its teeth into the palomino, but failed. Finally Shanks changed tactics and the stallion reared up, its deadly hooves just missing Barranca's shoulder.

Then, as if in slow motion, Barranca turned his back on the stallion and kicked out with both hind legs. The black horse whinnied and snorted in shock and pain as Barranca's hooves caught him in the side.

Surprisingly, just as quickly as the encounter had started, it was over. The stallion retreated toward the corrals, obviously hurt. Barranca stood motionless for a moment, snorting through flared nostrils, his ears still pinned back, eyes glaring at the defeated attacker.

The humans maintained their patient wait just long enough to watch the two horses slowly withdraw from each other. Barranca calmed quickly, his ears straightening, his breathing settling into a normal rhythm. But the stallion appeared to die inwardly before their eyes. His head sagged limply toward the ground, his tail hung listlessly. Even the blue-black coat that had once appeared to shine despite the heavy air, seemed to drain of its vibrant color.

The magnificent stallion had not merely been defeated – it had been broken.

LLLLLLLL

Shanks felt the force of Barranca's kick to the stallion, but no pain. He only knew that the palomino's skillful maneuver had given him the opening he needed, an ever so brief lapse in concentration. Seizing the opportunity, Ezra rejoiced in the exhilaration of the ascension as he leapt from one being to the next.

For a moment Shanks was left stunned by the power within his new host, but he wisely settled quietly into the mind of the palomino. Ezra needed to control his desire. //'Must not raise suspicion too quickly,'// he reminded himself. But restraint was going to be difficult. He was already being emboldened by the strength of the animal, feeling a heady excitement in anticipation for the new game to begin.

LLLLLLLL

Johnny hadn't realized he was holding his breath. The fight had seemed to last a lifetime but took only minutes. Now shaking off his brother's hand, he raced across the courtyard, reaching Barranca just as Joe grabbed his reins.

"Check the stallion," he ordered the hand.

Joe nodded, knowing Johnny would want to examine Barranca for injuries himself. Catching Jelly's attention as the old man hurried toward the palomino, he instead steered him toward the stallion.

The pair approached the black horse slowly and cautiously, Jelly more wary than he was willing to admit. But on reaching the stallion they found him disturbingly docile, still winded from the fight with the palomino but with no aggression left within the animal. Jelly forced himself to face the black horse, eye to eye, but he saw no evidence of the malevolence that had been so clearly directed at him only a short time ago. No longer sure that he had ever seen anything at all, he muttered, "Musta just been seein' things."

The old man realized that he had actually voiced his thoughts as Joe asked, "What was that, Jelly?"

Shaking off his earlier mystical concerns, Jelly covered his admission as he redirected his attention back to the stallion's possible injuries. "I said I see some deep cuts from Barranca's shoes, but the way he's breathin', I reckon he's gonna live. Let's get him into that corral so's I can get a better look."

As Jelly and Joe walked the stallion away, they could hear Johnny continuing to talk softly and soothingly to Barranca. "Easy boy," Johnny crooned, his voice gentle and reassuring as he expertly ran his hands along Barranca's flanks and down each leg.

Not finding a single cut or any swelling, Johnny turned to his brother hovering nearby, and with astonishment informed him, "I don't think that stallion even touched him."

Scott nodded his approval for the positive report, even as Johnny turned back to Barranca. Patting the horse firmly on the neck he complimented, "You sure showed that stallion who was boss, didn't ya amigo?"

In reply Barranca nudged the man's shoulder and nickered softly – and the brothers laughed in relief.

Continuing to chuckle, Scott offered, "I'll go let Murdoch know and check on the stallion."

Now it was Johnny's turn to nod his approval, as he gathered up Barranca's reins and instructed, "Come on, let's get you settled."

Barranca followed easily as Johnny led him to the nearest corral, closing the gate behind them. Removing the horse's bridle, he lowered it to his side and left it to dangle lightly from his fingers. Watching Barranca sniff at the air, his keen horseman's eye caught an uneasiness in the animal's stance. Figuring that the oppressive weather and the stallion's attack were combining to keep the animal agitated, Johnny thought it best to just leave his horse alone to run off any remaining excitement within the safe confines of the corral.

Moving around the horse toward the gate latch, Johnny gave his friend one last pat on the rump. Suddenly Barranca made a quick step sideways, knocking Johnny forcefully against the fence. His back slammed hard into one of the tall solidly anchored posts that framed the closed gate, instantly knocking the air out of his lungs. Left stunned by the unexpected maneuver, Johnny was kept trapped in position by the unyielding beast. He tried to slap Barranca's rump to get him to move, but unbelievably the horse just leaned further into him, pinning him harder against the rough wood.

Johnny didn't panic easily, but as he felt the last bit of air forced from his lungs, the awful direness of his situation became painfully clear – if Barranca didn't step away soon, he was going to suffocate. 'Oh Dios, Barranca, get off of me!' his mind shouted.

He felt himself blacking out, his arms and legs losing their strength, the bridle slipping freely from his fingers. The only thing holding Johnny up was Barranca's weight, and the horse squeezed him tighter until he felt his heart pounding in his ears.

Making one last feeble attempt to get the horse to move, Johnny reached out with his left hand – but the intended slap proved little more than a pet, a mere pass of his hand over Barranca's side. Despite the lightness of the gesture, the horse seemed to respond, not stepping away, but looking back over his shoulder at the trapped man. For one brief second Johnny stared eye to eye with Barranca – and the blood in his veins froze. A look he had never seen before from his beloved horse registered in his mind as he beheld the darkened gaze: 'He hates me,' Johnny thought – and then he was unconscious.

LLLLLLLL

PART FOUR

Having guided the women into the house, the excitement seemingly over for the evening, Murdoch turned back toward the corrals from the great room door just in time to see Barranca slam and pin Johnny against the gatepost. "Scott!" he called out in alarm as he ran toward his struggling son, his long strides seemingly not long enough as he watched the drama unfold in horror, Johnny's arms finally going limp to his side as the horse continued to press its great weight against him.

Scott rushed past his father from the stallion's corral and vaulted the fence, immediately pushing at Barranca's rump to get him to move. But the horse merely snorted and ground his body harder against Johnny's chest.

"Barranca, no!" Scott shouted, leery of the horse lashing out at him with his hind leg, but unwilling to stand by and do nothing while his brother faced great injury – or death.

Incredibly the incident was suddenly over. Barranca calmly stepped away, leaving Johnny to sag to the ground as if there wasn't a bone in his body. Scott caught him before he hit the dirt and lowered him gently the rest of the way down.

"What the hell happened to that horse?" Murdoch bellowed, swinging the gate open and dropping awkwardly to his knees next to Johnny, relieved as he witnessed his younger son heave in a great breath and then continue to take in quick gasps of air.

Scott was already running his hands over Johnny's chest feeling for broken bones. "I don't know," he spat angrily, the ghastly episode leaving him unsettled. Finally sitting back on his haunches, Scott was reassured by the continued rise and fall of his brother's chest, and his father's strong arm on his shoulder. Taking in a deep breath of his own, he stated more calmly, "I don't feel anything broken, but maybe we should have Sam take a look at him. He could be hurt internally."

"No . . ." Johnny panted, his eyes fluttering open. "I'm . . . all right. Just got the . . . wind knocked out of me." He tried to sit up, but a deep groan escaped his lips as the pain forced him back down onto the dirt.

"Take it easy," Scott warned. "Just lie still for a minute."

Instead Johnny turned his head to search the corral for Barranca, spotting him standing in the center of the enclosure, his tail swishing nervously. "He must a been . . . spooked by that stallion . . . more than we thought." Johnny offered up the excuse, and then closed his eyes, waiting for the ringing to leave his ears. "Help me up," he finally requested, reaching his arms up. Despite his better judgment, Scott hauled his brother to his feet, holding him steady until he stopped swaying.

"Let's get you into the house." Murdoch wrapped his own strong arm around Johnny's back and, with Scott, helped lead him toward the hacienda.

Jelly met them on their way, running over from the other corral. "I seen what happened. You okay, Johnny?"

"I'm fine," the injured man hissed, irritated by all the attention he was getting. "Keep an eye on Barranca for me, will ya?" he requested, adding, "And Jelly . . . it wasn't his fault."

Jelly shook his head, offering up his own excuse. "It's this air," he said apprehensively. "It ain't fit for man nor beast."

LLLLLLLL

Ezra Shanks smiled triumphantly – the game had officially begun.

He had to give Barranca credit, as the horse had shown his mettle. The palomino had fought hard to keep Ezra from overpowering him. But in the end the human entity had proved too strong, and Ezra had been able to easily force the animal to pin his friend against the corral gate.

Shanks now turned Barranca's head so he could watch Johnny's family slowly walk the cowboy toward the house. He had almost overplayed his first hand, but the opportunity had just been too good to pass up. He would have to show more discretion. Ezra didn't want to injure Johnny too seriously too soon – the fun came in whittling away the man's strength and his trust in Barranca. But there had been such a rush of excitement in watching Lancer collapse beneath the twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh. Still, he admonished himself, //'Next time you must be more careful.'//

Ezra saw the funny old man the others affectionately called Jelly walk into the corral. He would have to be careful around this human. He had seen Jelly's reaction to his presence, and knew he had made a mistake by revealing himself within the stallion, as brief as the encounter had been. But the old man had come between him and his new toy – Johnny. //'Don't give me too much trouble, old man, or you will regret it,'// Ezra thought menacingly.

Having had his fun for the day, Ezra Shanks settled into a corner of Barranca's mind to wait. Time was of little consequence to him – it was Johnny Lancer's lifetime that was going to be cut short.

LLLLLLLL

The horrid stillness that had cloaked the land like a shroud gave way to a swift breeze and the sound of rain, as the clouds at last opened up to release their moisture.

Barranca stood motionless in the center of the corral as the storm's heavier early rain droplets began pelting at his back. Left profoundly alone, he watched as "Johnny" was slowly led away without a single backward glance. He had looked on as the other humans had cared for his friend, who had somehow fallen to the ground within the corral, obviously injured. The angry glances sent his way made him nervous, and told him he had caused the hurt – but how? He would never intentionally bring harm to his friend, his human herd partner, the man-beast he shared his trails with.

The mind of the animal processed these thoughts in its own way, the emotions of the horse just as strong as a human's, despite an inability to put labels or its own words to the feelings. Barranca was smart enough to have an intrinsic understanding of the value of "relationships," important for survival – be they between beast or man.

The horse had a special appreciation for his bond to the human "Johnny." This man did not demand obedience to his will, but instead had sought to nurture a mutually beneficial partnership. The hard work the man requested of the horse could be challenging, but somehow proved a satisfying release of energy, an interesting kind of excitement, a reasonable trade for any true freedom the animal might miss. Barranca had come to take pleasure in his service to Johnny.

And Johnny rewarded that loyal service with a kind of care that Barranca knew was special, different from how other men treated their animals. Johnny seemed to sense and share Barranca's needs and wants as an animal. The horse may be controlled, but he never lacked freedom. The pair worked together, using and testing each other's talents and abilities, finding pleasure and contentment in their co-dependence.

Trust. A weighty idea to perceive, but nevertheless necessary to any strong relationship. The animal might not know the word, but he understood the concept and trusted the human. And Barranca knew Johnny trusted him.

At least Johnny had trusted him . . . As Barranca stood in the ever-increasing rain, he felt a strange uneasiness within him that he could not control, a deep down sense of disquiet and a fear that something in his life had just been changed.

LLLLLLLL

"Madre de Dios . . ." Maria exclaimed, observing the full extent of Johnny's injuries as he gingerly removed his soggy shirt. She and Teresa had busied themselves preparing to care for the injured man, as his father and brother had gotten him settled onto the couch in the great room. She now carried a small bottle and a glass of water, and sat them on the table beside him. "I warned you Juanito . . . inquietud. Much unrest in the air today."

"Maria," Johnny sighed, "Barranca was spooked by the stallion, that's all. What's that?" he asked suspiciously, pointing at the bottle.

"It's tincture of cone flower," Teresa answered, stirring a few drops into the glass of water and holding it out to him. "It will help ease the pain from those bruises."

"I'd take it brother," Scott recommended, eyeing the angry discoloration that was already deepening over Johnny's chest and stomach. He'd had a good look at Johnny's back as well, and saw the ugly bruise from the impact with the post, just to the left of his spine and extending from the nape of his neck to his belt. 'Another couple of inches over and Barranca would have broken his back,' Scott thought chillingly.

"You're not looking at you from our angle," Scott continued to try to convince his brother. "I guarantee you're going to be hurting in a few hours. I still think we should have Sam take a look. You never know . . ."

"I'm all right," Johnny snapped, downing the medicine despite his resolve not to. "I think I'd know if something was broke inside."

Scott raised an eyebrow at Johnny's edgy reply, but let the statement lie. Experience told him he wouldn't get anywhere with his stubborn brother in that mood. "Well, the least you can do is lie down here on the sofa."

Johnny shook his head. "It's easier to breathe right now sitting up. I'll be fine by tomorrow." Ignoring the deepening looks of concern he was now receiving due to his admission, Johnny addressed his father, asking, "With this rain, do you think we'll still need to get that second herd moved?"

Murdoch grabbed a blanket sitting on the back of the sofa and handed it to Teresa. "I'm afraid so, son. But that work detail will not include you, Johnny. I want you to rest tomorrow. If Teresa says you can move around then you can take care of things that need to be done around here. And," Murdoch raised his hand to cut off the expected protest, "no arguments."

As Teresa draped the blanket over Johnny's shoulders, Scott walked to the French doors and opened them, watching the now torrential downpour already forming deep puddles in the courtyard. In the distance he could hear the low rumblings of thunder. Soon the storm would be overhead. Scott hoped the rain would not only alleviate the muggy heat, but wash away the last of Maria's inquietud.

LLLLLLLL

PART FIVE

Johnny gave his family a whole two minutes to fuss over him before he chased them all away. Already feeling tenser than he was willing to admit, the concerned-filled hovering just made his sense of disquiet worse. Johnny continued to try and excuse Barranca's actions as nothing more than an overexcited response to the fight with the stallion, but he had to admit – if only to himself – that the strange behavior had left him rattled.

The palomino had never before acted in a way that would have endangered Johnny. If anything the animal had been the man's protector, steering him clear of hidden obstacles along the trail and always providing a smooth, safe ride. Barranca could find his way home alone from any of the local towns, in the dark if necessary. Johnny had once been wounded and near unconscious, but Barranca had ensured that he made it home to the safety of his family. The Lancers might laugh right along with the ranch hands about the pampering that horse received, but they couldn't deny that Barranca was like a living guardian angel for Johnny.

Knowing Barranca as he did, it was still difficult for Johnny to believe that the whole incident had even happened. But the increasing discomfort in his chest and back was a harsh reminder that the violent act had indeed occurred. What he found harder and harder to convince himself of was what he thought he had seen just before he'd passed out. There had been a look in Barranca's eyes, a momentary flash of – what? Johnny couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly he thought he had seen. The gaze had been familiar, but Barranca had never . . .

That was it! It wasn't Barranca he had faced. During his rough life as Johnny Madrid, gunfighter, Johnny had stared directly into the eyes of many men who had been determined to kill him. Unbelievably that's exactly what he now thought he had seen reflected back at him in Barranca's eyes – the cold hard stare of someone who despised his very existence – absolute, unadulterated human hatred.

He had to be mistaken. Such a thing just wasn't possible. It had to have been a trick of light, or the angle of his view, or . . . No. Johnny had trained himself to be observant, the smallest detail often meaning the difference between life and death for a man who made his living with a gun. He knew what he had seen . . . or did he?

The bewildering notion and his self-doubt left Johnny feeling even more agitated than before. He had to move, had to do something, so he pulled the blanket off his shoulders and carefully rose up off the sofa, his muscles already tightening from the deep bruising.

He managed three steps before a stern voice questioned behind him, "Just where do you think you're going?" There was just enough humor reflected in his brother's inflection to tell Johnny that the escape attempt had been totally expected.

"I'm goin' to my room to wash up . . . if it's any of your business." Johnny answered without bothering to turn around, keeping his concentration focused on trying to walk with at least a modicum of grace and fluidity – and knowing he was failing miserably.

"Oh, it certainly is my business. I've been put in charge of making sure you don't do anything stupid before dinner. Looks like I have my work cut out for me already."

Johnny made it around the couch and headed toward the door, finally catching sight of his brother leaning against the entrance, holding a mug in his hand and smiling lightly. "Don't need no nursemaid," he protested as he continued onward, every step telling him he might just be mistaken about that.

He hadn't planned on stopping, but Scott blocked his way, holding the mug out to him. "Now what?" Johnny's asked, obviously annoyed.

"Willow bark tea," Scott answered, the small smile growing into a wide grin. "Teresa says . . ."

"Scott . . ." With a roll of his eyes Johnny started to protest, but quickly lowered his head and heaved a frustration-laced sigh instead. He knew they were only trying to help, but he absolutely could not stand being coddled. Raising his head, Johnny let his exasperation show as he asked the question he already knew the answer to. "She's gonna make my life miserable for the next couple a' days, ain't she?"

Scott couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Yes. Yes she is," he agreed, not without sympathy. "But it's for your own good and you know it.

"Come on." Scott turned and led the way. "You can drink this up in your room. The least I can do is see that you get there without falling down the stairs."

LLLLLLLL

The trip up the staircase proved slow going. Johnny continued a valiant effort to walk as normally as possible, but the exertion of climbing put a strain on his injured chest muscles and he had to stop half-way up to catch his breath. Scott realized how hard it was for his young brother to be laid up in any way, so he didn't say a word and he didn't push, just let his close presence act as a reminder to Johnny that he was there to help if needed.

The silence continued up in Johnny's room. Scott merely handed his winded brother the mug of tea, then moved over to pour water into the washbasin and pull the towel to within reach. Once again facing his brother, it actually saddened him to see Johnny sipping at the now tepid tea. Scott realized that Johnny must be starting to hurt pretty bad to willingly drink one of Teresa's concoctions.

Johnny made his way to the washbasin, handing the cup off to Scott, still not asking for assistance. The older Lancer son gave the younger some privacy and went to place the mug onto the bedside table and light a lamp, then moved over to the window, propping it open slightly to let in the cooling breeze from the storm. Scott knew Johnny would have preferred the window all the way open on such a warm evening, but the continuing rain prevented that. Somehow knowing that small detail about his brother's likes and dislikes made him smile. Taking up the chair beside the window, Scott just sat comfortably and waited.

It didn't take long. Johnny threw the towel onto the back of the washstand and gingerly made his way over to the bed where, with a barely stifled moan, he managed to sit. But from the deeply lowered head and the tight grip he had on the top-quilt, Scott knew that was as far as his brother was going. "You're not coming back down for dinner, are you?" he asked quietly.

The head shook slightly, so Scott rose, stood before his brother, and hoped that his patience would now be rewarded and Johnny would finally accept his help. "Lay back so I can at least get the boots."

With an exasperated groan, Johnny did as Scott requested and lay back on the bed with an arm over his eyes. "I hate this, Scott," Johnny stated simply.

"I know," Scott replied with equal brevity, then just went about the business of removing Johnny's boots for him.

Task completed, Scott stood back. "Anything else?"

"No."

Scott wanted to do more for his battered brother, but thought it best to just quit while Johnny was still talking to him. So he just turned to leave. "I'll bring you up something to eat later," he called back over his shoulder.

"Scott." Johnny stopped him and uncovered his eyes to share a look with his brother. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Johnny," Scott replied easily with a smile. "See you later." He left, closing the door behind him.

LLLLLLLL