Hunter
The sun beat down, unmercifully it's heat traveling through layers of skin, down to the blood that flowed beneath, and heated it. So hot, and it felt like there would never again be a cool moment to enjoy, or a cold drink of clear water. He had been without for so long, and his tongue had begun to swell, and his mouth was as dry as a pan of parched corn meal. To have one drop of water on his lips, to lap up. What he wouldn't give for such a treasure. But it was not to be. He walked on, He had lost his hat, and the sun was slowly cooking what senses he had left, he found it hard to think clearly. He had stopped perspiring, and he knew he was running out of time.
One foot in front of the other, his feet on fire, through the leather of his boots. The boots he had been given in place of his. They were old, and well wore, holes as large as silver dollars, gave him blisters, and hot sand to burn his tender feet. His shirt was torn and sleeveless, and two sizes too large for him. His pants were more like cut up long johns, cut to the knees. He pushed forward, stumbling over the dry earth, the sun bright, and blinding. He knew he had to find help, water, and a weapon. He would not give up. No, he would not, and could not. A Lancer would not give up.
The tall man dressed in cream colored pants, and jacket, with a white Australian hat on his head stood. His arms crossed and a rifle rested in them. Sharp eyes looked out across the desert. He was the best, a professional hunter. He had hunted the meanest, deadliest animals on three continents. Now he hunted the ultimate animal.... man. His craggly face, with cold piercing eyes, and thin cruel lips and thin handlebar mustache revealed a man as ugly as he was inside. A man who only lived for the hunt. The thrill, and challenge. He bent down and touched the ground, the prints there. Then stood and moved with the grace of a panther, tracking his prey. He would win, he always did.
The mentioned prey was moving with as much speed as he could make. He stopped now and then to remove what sand he could from his boots, and rub his feet. He took off his shirt, and tore it, and used strips of it, to tie around his feet, making a sort of sock. Tied on strip around his head. Then he got to his feet and continued in the opposite direction of the man who hunted him.
Meanwhile in a room, in a nearby town, was a man. He was with a young woman. He held her in his arms, his kisses sending shivers down the girls spine. His hands were almost as talented as his lips. For awhile she would forget who and what she was. What her life was. In the arms of the handsome man, who knew how to heat her blood. Make her feel, really feel. He smiled down at her, and he rolled them over.
An hour later, he went outside to wait for his brother, who was to meet him. He was apparently going to be late. He stood there for awhile, then sat down in a chair in front of the saloon. Time passed, and still no sign of his brother. Where was he?
Several hours later, found the man on his horse riding out of town, in the direction, his brother would have been coming. He would wait no longer. He had a feeling that something was wrong.
He could feel the heat frying his skin, and he began to feel like a fried meatskin. He couldn't stand the increasing heat, knowing that the man who followed him, had water, and thereby he would have to find a way to kill him first, and get that ambrosia in the canteen. He stumbled into the cactus before he realized that it was there. The pain of the woke him from his half daze. He pulled the long sharp needles from his arms, and his stomach. Small spots of blood marked the entrance wounds. But now he could think more clearly.
The hunter watched for the signs of the prey he stalked. He could feel the excitement building inside, he could not wait till he raised his gun, sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger, and killed the man. He hoped that the man would put up a fight, and would last a little while. Otherwise he would be disappointed.
The man on the horse rode, he picked out the signs easily, and followed them. He cut across a patchy area, and headed north. He saw a man in the distance, staggering about. He rode towards the weaving man. As he came closer he saw that the man was the one he sought,.... his brother. "Scott!" He jumped from his moving horse, and ran to the other man. The blond head turned and looked at the dark-haired man. Blinked and rubbed his red burning eyes.
"Johnny?" Scott moved towards him, and was engulfed in strong arms that pulled him close and hugged him. Scott's knees gave way and Johnny helped him down gently. "It's really you?" He croaked through a hoarse throat. Johnnys' eyes misted, as he roze, and went to his horse and took down his canteen. He returned to his brothers' side. Scott grabbed for the canteen. Johnny pushed his hands away and poured water gently on his face, and then let Scott take a couple of sips, that at first would not go down. Johnny wondered how his brother could have gotten into this mess.
An hour later, Scott had cooled down enough to think clearly, and to talk. He had explained what he knew, and watched his brothers' temper ignite into a all consuming fire. "Scott, that animal dare to try and hurt you?" Scott touched his arm, and held on.
"Johnny lets get out of here."
"I am going after that man, he wants to hunt does he? Well Johnny Madrid knows how to hunt too. Let the hunt begin. " Scott saw the calm look overcome the fire that had burned bright in his brothers eyes moments before. The hunter was in trouble now. Probably the most deadly, sat on his heels now beside him. One who knew all too well how to kill. He would not want to be that man. But he worried for Johnny anyway.
Johnny stood, and helped Scott to his feet. Johnny mounted Barranca and pulled Scott up behind him. "Johnny, let me go with you. It's my fight."
"I am taking you someplace safe,then I am going after him. I will take care of him for you. He made it my fight, when he went after you. You stay put and wait for me." Barranca moved out and headed toward the nearest town, at a gallop. Johnny was in a hurry.
The hunter was still searching for his prey, unaware of what had transpired. He was not aware of the other hunter who had joined the hunting. For not an hour behind him, tracking him was a man named Madrid. His ultimate challenge.
Scott sat in the chair at the table, drinking another cold glass of water, and a plate of stew in front of him. A old lady stood over the stove, and her husband sat across from him. He watched the young man, seeing the sunburnt skin, and the cracked lips. The young man had been sitting there for twenty minutes drinking water. His brother had left him there, till he returned.
" I have some pants and a shirt you can have. It was my sons. He left them behind. You will feel better after you change, and rest for awhile." Scott turned to the older man, and smiled a tired smile of thanks.
"Yes, I would. But I can't rest. I must go after my brother."
"From what I saw, your brother can handle himself. Why did that other man, go after you?"
"He wanted, what he called the ultimate hunt. He wanted to hunt a smart man, who was young, and could give him a challenge. I just happened to run into him."
"Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, huh?"
"Yeah. This guy is crazy. I need to get out there, and help my brother." Scott stood up, and his head began to spin. He sat back down. He picked up the glass again, to drink. He glanced at the food, and decided to eat as well. Then he would go after Johnny.
Sharp blue eyes focused on the desert, and the tracks. He was getting closer. He was in full Madrid mode. He watched the sun, begin to decend, and knew darkness was not far away. But he would continue the hunt. For once he wasn't chewing on anything, and he was calm, not figgiting.
The hunter was looking at the ground, seeing the signs of a horse and another man. Someone had taken his prey. He wasn't letting anyone get in the way. He had his horse tied not far from there. He could track them, and began again. He moved on silent feet, moving like a shadow.
He felt a twitching on the back of his neck, and he froze. Someone was watching him. He could feel it. He ran, as a bullet whizzed by his ear. A sharp voice rang out, as he reached a tree for cover.
"You like to hunt, so do I. You are now the hunted. I will give you twenty minutes before I come after you. Then I will kill you." The hunter listened and he knew it wasn't his prey talking, who was this man. Who was he to interfer? Out west most people minded their own business.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"I am Johnny Madrid. I do not like people who try to hurt my brother. Now you deal with me, and my justice." He had heard of this Madrid, and he smiled. Well he liked this much better. This man was like him. A worthy opponent. Fine he would play the game. He would win, and this would be the best hunt ever. He would retire after this to his ranch in South America. Let the game begin. He had no fear of being shot, as he moved out, and across the desert. A large smile on his face, a rare thing indeed.
Johnny sat, checking his gun, and sharpening his knife, and his stilleto. He looked at his pocket watch. When he finished, he took a drink of water, and ate a sandwich. He was ready. He stood, and he glanced at Barranca, before moving out. Canteen over his shoulder. He began to stalk. Aware that he was both hunter and prey, as was the other hunter. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the man. What he would do....
Johnny moved across the ground his steps silent as any Indian brave, his tracking as sure. He walked and was totally unaware of the heat that beat down on him. His thoughts clear and he felt the old feelings boil up inside him, the thrill of the challenge, the confrontation, and the inevitable showdown. Sharp blue eyes looked out from the shadow of his brown hat, looking for any sign of his quarry.
The older hunter, moved quickly, and tried to hide his trail the best he could. He did not know if the man who hunted him was a tracker or not, or how good a hunter he was. But he wasn't taking any chances. He broke a branch off, from a bush off the trail and tried to brush away his trail, then threw the branch away. He jumped up into the rocks, and tried to stay on the few he found. He found himself a little thirsty.
Johnny froze for a moment prepared for anything, when he spotted a slight movement off to the side of some rocks and bushes. But a skinny jack rabbit came jumping out, and looked up at Johnny with it's gentle eyes, and wiggled it's nose and ran back the way it had come. He was not more than a half hour behind him, and he knew he would catch him soon. Then the fun would begin. He would show him, the error of his ways. Yes, he would.
Scott sat upon the borrowed horse, and he rode back to where he had been found. He pulled out the canteen, and drank some more of the cool water. It felt so good, to his parched throat, that was still a little sore. He had to find the hunter, and his brother. He had his rifle, and he would settle this himself. Hopefully before his little brother got to the man. For then he knew that there wouldn't be anything to take back to town to stand trial.
Johnny came upon the place where the tracks ended. He stopped and looked around. He spotted off to the side a sparse bush with a branch broken from it. He smiled at it. He moved up aways and found the branch laying in the dirt. He knew he was on the right track, when he spotted a overturned rock. Ah yes, he thought, not bad. But not good enough. Johnny moved on, cautious and alert.
The hunter felt something on the hot shimmering air. He knew that the young man was getting closer. He knew he had to do something. He looked around and his eyes picked out what he saught. He began to gather the things he wanted. He had a plan.
Scott came upon Barranca, and he knew his brother was on foot. He could catch up with him quickly, and get him to return to town, and let him finish this. If not, at least they would go together. He followed the clear trail, as his brother was not covering it.
Johnny came up through the pass, and moved out into the open again. He followed the trail left by the hunter. He searched for any signs of a trap. He took another step and he stumbled slightly over something, and a sharp pain radiated through his lower leg. He looked down and there was a sharpened stick, as thick as his thumb going into his leg. Johnny reached down, seeing the blood trinkling down his black pants, and he grabbed the end, and pulled. It came out with a gush of blood. Johnny looked around for the hunter. As he took out his handkerchief from his pocket, and tied it around the wound. Okay that is one for him. But the game has just begun. Moving with a slight limp, he followed.
The hunter was thinking of back tracking as taking his prey down. He had turned in a circle and was coming through the pass. He saw the blood and knew he had hurt the other man. He moved through, and looked around, seeing the clear trail. He walked out and picked up the bloody stick. Well he wasn't finished yet. He still had a few more tricks up his sleeve. He had to be careful, cause he knew a wounded animal was dangerous. But he was not concerned about the outcome.
He moved down towards the open ground. When he heard a whistle, and he turned and brought up his rifle. White hot pain ate at his thigh, and he looked down at the dagger sticking out of his flesh. It was three inches deep in his leg. He looked around and found no one, and knew that his prey-hunter was not in the same place he had been moments before. He reached down and pulled the dagger out. It was a point for the other man. Good, seems this was to be his best hunt ever.
Johnny had gotten ahead of the other hunter, and he waited, he was as still as a rock, and he was well hidden, he was hidden in the ground. Like a trap door spider. He had learned it from the Indians. He could see, and hear, and he could pop up easily. He waited for his prey to come. He had left a trail that a beginner could follow.
The hunter came along, watching the signs and moving easily, except for the soreness in his thigh, that he refused to acknowledge. He came into an area that he thought might be a place he could catch his prey and kill him. He moved over to the thorn bush, and he took out something he had in a bottle, he had an idea. He took another step, and suddenly a hand came up and grabbed him by the leg jerking him off his feet. Johnny sprang from his hiding place and jumped on the other man. Knocking the rifle from the man's reach. Johnny pulled out his favorite knife, the one he kept on him. He raised it, and grabbed the mans' head, as the man tried to stop him. He swipped the blade across the man's head, a long line of blood began to pool. He then took his blade as the man reached for his throat, trying to choke him, and he sliced a layer of skin from the mans' arm. Which fell to the ground. The hunter cried out, and reached for his arm. Just as Johnny cut him again, his blade cutting into the mans' ear. It hung by a small piece of flesh. The man looked at Johnny with terror in his eyes. When he looked into Johnny's eyes he saw the cold, cunning, killer looking back at him. He knew that this man was his equal, and though he knew he would die, he would know he had faced the best. He grabbed for his pistol that was in his waist band. He would take the man with him. Johnny saw the hand, and as the gun began to come out of the waist band, he moved his hand with the speed he was well known for, and drove the blade deep down into the mans' chest, he felt it hit bone, and heard a crack as he drove it deep, as blood spirted into the air, and onto his hands. He sat back, as the man fell back, and he eyes glazed over. He looked up with the strong emotions still in his eyes and in his face, to see his brother standing there. Scott noted the look, and a slight shiver went through him. It scared him, even though he knew Johnny would never be his enemy. He would never want to be.
"Johnny?" He came over and reached out a hand, and put it on his brothers' shoulder. "Come on, let's go to town. Get some tequila, and some rest." Johnny focused on him, and smiled. Getting to his feet.
"Scott. You should be resting. Let's get to town. He reached down, and pulled the knife from the mans' chest, and wipped the bloody blade on his shirt. Turning away he put it back in it's sheath. He walked over to where Scott had the horses. On the way to town, he would again become Lancer. But for now he was Madrid.
THE END
The sun beat down, unmercifully it's heat traveling through layers of skin, down to the blood that flowed beneath, and heated it. So hot, and it felt like there would never again be a cool moment to enjoy, or a cold drink of clear water. He had been without for so long, and his tongue had begun to swell, and his mouth was as dry as a pan of parched corn meal. To have one drop of water on his lips, to lap up. What he wouldn't give for such a treasure. But it was not to be. He walked on, He had lost his hat, and the sun was slowly cooking what senses he had left, he found it hard to think clearly. He had stopped perspiring, and he knew he was running out of time.
One foot in front of the other, his feet on fire, through the leather of his boots. The boots he had been given in place of his. They were old, and well wore, holes as large as silver dollars, gave him blisters, and hot sand to burn his tender feet. His shirt was torn and sleeveless, and two sizes too large for him. His pants were more like cut up long johns, cut to the knees. He pushed forward, stumbling over the dry earth, the sun bright, and blinding. He knew he had to find help, water, and a weapon. He would not give up. No, he would not, and could not. A Lancer would not give up.
The tall man dressed in cream colored pants, and jacket, with a white Australian hat on his head stood. His arms crossed and a rifle rested in them. Sharp eyes looked out across the desert. He was the best, a professional hunter. He had hunted the meanest, deadliest animals on three continents. Now he hunted the ultimate animal.... man. His craggly face, with cold piercing eyes, and thin cruel lips and thin handlebar mustache revealed a man as ugly as he was inside. A man who only lived for the hunt. The thrill, and challenge. He bent down and touched the ground, the prints there. Then stood and moved with the grace of a panther, tracking his prey. He would win, he always did.
The mentioned prey was moving with as much speed as he could make. He stopped now and then to remove what sand he could from his boots, and rub his feet. He took off his shirt, and tore it, and used strips of it, to tie around his feet, making a sort of sock. Tied on strip around his head. Then he got to his feet and continued in the opposite direction of the man who hunted him.
Meanwhile in a room, in a nearby town, was a man. He was with a young woman. He held her in his arms, his kisses sending shivers down the girls spine. His hands were almost as talented as his lips. For awhile she would forget who and what she was. What her life was. In the arms of the handsome man, who knew how to heat her blood. Make her feel, really feel. He smiled down at her, and he rolled them over.
An hour later, he went outside to wait for his brother, who was to meet him. He was apparently going to be late. He stood there for awhile, then sat down in a chair in front of the saloon. Time passed, and still no sign of his brother. Where was he?
Several hours later, found the man on his horse riding out of town, in the direction, his brother would have been coming. He would wait no longer. He had a feeling that something was wrong.
He could feel the heat frying his skin, and he began to feel like a fried meatskin. He couldn't stand the increasing heat, knowing that the man who followed him, had water, and thereby he would have to find a way to kill him first, and get that ambrosia in the canteen. He stumbled into the cactus before he realized that it was there. The pain of the woke him from his half daze. He pulled the long sharp needles from his arms, and his stomach. Small spots of blood marked the entrance wounds. But now he could think more clearly.
The hunter watched for the signs of the prey he stalked. He could feel the excitement building inside, he could not wait till he raised his gun, sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger, and killed the man. He hoped that the man would put up a fight, and would last a little while. Otherwise he would be disappointed.
The man on the horse rode, he picked out the signs easily, and followed them. He cut across a patchy area, and headed north. He saw a man in the distance, staggering about. He rode towards the weaving man. As he came closer he saw that the man was the one he sought,.... his brother. "Scott!" He jumped from his moving horse, and ran to the other man. The blond head turned and looked at the dark-haired man. Blinked and rubbed his red burning eyes.
"Johnny?" Scott moved towards him, and was engulfed in strong arms that pulled him close and hugged him. Scott's knees gave way and Johnny helped him down gently. "It's really you?" He croaked through a hoarse throat. Johnnys' eyes misted, as he roze, and went to his horse and took down his canteen. He returned to his brothers' side. Scott grabbed for the canteen. Johnny pushed his hands away and poured water gently on his face, and then let Scott take a couple of sips, that at first would not go down. Johnny wondered how his brother could have gotten into this mess.
An hour later, Scott had cooled down enough to think clearly, and to talk. He had explained what he knew, and watched his brothers' temper ignite into a all consuming fire. "Scott, that animal dare to try and hurt you?" Scott touched his arm, and held on.
"Johnny lets get out of here."
"I am going after that man, he wants to hunt does he? Well Johnny Madrid knows how to hunt too. Let the hunt begin. " Scott saw the calm look overcome the fire that had burned bright in his brothers eyes moments before. The hunter was in trouble now. Probably the most deadly, sat on his heels now beside him. One who knew all too well how to kill. He would not want to be that man. But he worried for Johnny anyway.
Johnny stood, and helped Scott to his feet. Johnny mounted Barranca and pulled Scott up behind him. "Johnny, let me go with you. It's my fight."
"I am taking you someplace safe,then I am going after him. I will take care of him for you. He made it my fight, when he went after you. You stay put and wait for me." Barranca moved out and headed toward the nearest town, at a gallop. Johnny was in a hurry.
The hunter was still searching for his prey, unaware of what had transpired. He was not aware of the other hunter who had joined the hunting. For not an hour behind him, tracking him was a man named Madrid. His ultimate challenge.
Scott sat in the chair at the table, drinking another cold glass of water, and a plate of stew in front of him. A old lady stood over the stove, and her husband sat across from him. He watched the young man, seeing the sunburnt skin, and the cracked lips. The young man had been sitting there for twenty minutes drinking water. His brother had left him there, till he returned.
" I have some pants and a shirt you can have. It was my sons. He left them behind. You will feel better after you change, and rest for awhile." Scott turned to the older man, and smiled a tired smile of thanks.
"Yes, I would. But I can't rest. I must go after my brother."
"From what I saw, your brother can handle himself. Why did that other man, go after you?"
"He wanted, what he called the ultimate hunt. He wanted to hunt a smart man, who was young, and could give him a challenge. I just happened to run into him."
"Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, huh?"
"Yeah. This guy is crazy. I need to get out there, and help my brother." Scott stood up, and his head began to spin. He sat back down. He picked up the glass again, to drink. He glanced at the food, and decided to eat as well. Then he would go after Johnny.
Sharp blue eyes focused on the desert, and the tracks. He was getting closer. He was in full Madrid mode. He watched the sun, begin to decend, and knew darkness was not far away. But he would continue the hunt. For once he wasn't chewing on anything, and he was calm, not figgiting.
The hunter was looking at the ground, seeing the signs of a horse and another man. Someone had taken his prey. He wasn't letting anyone get in the way. He had his horse tied not far from there. He could track them, and began again. He moved on silent feet, moving like a shadow.
He felt a twitching on the back of his neck, and he froze. Someone was watching him. He could feel it. He ran, as a bullet whizzed by his ear. A sharp voice rang out, as he reached a tree for cover.
"You like to hunt, so do I. You are now the hunted. I will give you twenty minutes before I come after you. Then I will kill you." The hunter listened and he knew it wasn't his prey talking, who was this man. Who was he to interfer? Out west most people minded their own business.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"I am Johnny Madrid. I do not like people who try to hurt my brother. Now you deal with me, and my justice." He had heard of this Madrid, and he smiled. Well he liked this much better. This man was like him. A worthy opponent. Fine he would play the game. He would win, and this would be the best hunt ever. He would retire after this to his ranch in South America. Let the game begin. He had no fear of being shot, as he moved out, and across the desert. A large smile on his face, a rare thing indeed.
Johnny sat, checking his gun, and sharpening his knife, and his stilleto. He looked at his pocket watch. When he finished, he took a drink of water, and ate a sandwich. He was ready. He stood, and he glanced at Barranca, before moving out. Canteen over his shoulder. He began to stalk. Aware that he was both hunter and prey, as was the other hunter. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the man. What he would do....
Johnny moved across the ground his steps silent as any Indian brave, his tracking as sure. He walked and was totally unaware of the heat that beat down on him. His thoughts clear and he felt the old feelings boil up inside him, the thrill of the challenge, the confrontation, and the inevitable showdown. Sharp blue eyes looked out from the shadow of his brown hat, looking for any sign of his quarry.
The older hunter, moved quickly, and tried to hide his trail the best he could. He did not know if the man who hunted him was a tracker or not, or how good a hunter he was. But he wasn't taking any chances. He broke a branch off, from a bush off the trail and tried to brush away his trail, then threw the branch away. He jumped up into the rocks, and tried to stay on the few he found. He found himself a little thirsty.
Johnny froze for a moment prepared for anything, when he spotted a slight movement off to the side of some rocks and bushes. But a skinny jack rabbit came jumping out, and looked up at Johnny with it's gentle eyes, and wiggled it's nose and ran back the way it had come. He was not more than a half hour behind him, and he knew he would catch him soon. Then the fun would begin. He would show him, the error of his ways. Yes, he would.
Scott sat upon the borrowed horse, and he rode back to where he had been found. He pulled out the canteen, and drank some more of the cool water. It felt so good, to his parched throat, that was still a little sore. He had to find the hunter, and his brother. He had his rifle, and he would settle this himself. Hopefully before his little brother got to the man. For then he knew that there wouldn't be anything to take back to town to stand trial.
Johnny came upon the place where the tracks ended. He stopped and looked around. He spotted off to the side a sparse bush with a branch broken from it. He smiled at it. He moved up aways and found the branch laying in the dirt. He knew he was on the right track, when he spotted a overturned rock. Ah yes, he thought, not bad. But not good enough. Johnny moved on, cautious and alert.
The hunter felt something on the hot shimmering air. He knew that the young man was getting closer. He knew he had to do something. He looked around and his eyes picked out what he saught. He began to gather the things he wanted. He had a plan.
Scott came upon Barranca, and he knew his brother was on foot. He could catch up with him quickly, and get him to return to town, and let him finish this. If not, at least they would go together. He followed the clear trail, as his brother was not covering it.
Johnny came up through the pass, and moved out into the open again. He followed the trail left by the hunter. He searched for any signs of a trap. He took another step and he stumbled slightly over something, and a sharp pain radiated through his lower leg. He looked down and there was a sharpened stick, as thick as his thumb going into his leg. Johnny reached down, seeing the blood trinkling down his black pants, and he grabbed the end, and pulled. It came out with a gush of blood. Johnny looked around for the hunter. As he took out his handkerchief from his pocket, and tied it around the wound. Okay that is one for him. But the game has just begun. Moving with a slight limp, he followed.
The hunter was thinking of back tracking as taking his prey down. He had turned in a circle and was coming through the pass. He saw the blood and knew he had hurt the other man. He moved through, and looked around, seeing the clear trail. He walked out and picked up the bloody stick. Well he wasn't finished yet. He still had a few more tricks up his sleeve. He had to be careful, cause he knew a wounded animal was dangerous. But he was not concerned about the outcome.
He moved down towards the open ground. When he heard a whistle, and he turned and brought up his rifle. White hot pain ate at his thigh, and he looked down at the dagger sticking out of his flesh. It was three inches deep in his leg. He looked around and found no one, and knew that his prey-hunter was not in the same place he had been moments before. He reached down and pulled the dagger out. It was a point for the other man. Good, seems this was to be his best hunt ever.
Johnny had gotten ahead of the other hunter, and he waited, he was as still as a rock, and he was well hidden, he was hidden in the ground. Like a trap door spider. He had learned it from the Indians. He could see, and hear, and he could pop up easily. He waited for his prey to come. He had left a trail that a beginner could follow.
The hunter came along, watching the signs and moving easily, except for the soreness in his thigh, that he refused to acknowledge. He came into an area that he thought might be a place he could catch his prey and kill him. He moved over to the thorn bush, and he took out something he had in a bottle, he had an idea. He took another step, and suddenly a hand came up and grabbed him by the leg jerking him off his feet. Johnny sprang from his hiding place and jumped on the other man. Knocking the rifle from the man's reach. Johnny pulled out his favorite knife, the one he kept on him. He raised it, and grabbed the mans' head, as the man tried to stop him. He swipped the blade across the man's head, a long line of blood began to pool. He then took his blade as the man reached for his throat, trying to choke him, and he sliced a layer of skin from the mans' arm. Which fell to the ground. The hunter cried out, and reached for his arm. Just as Johnny cut him again, his blade cutting into the mans' ear. It hung by a small piece of flesh. The man looked at Johnny with terror in his eyes. When he looked into Johnny's eyes he saw the cold, cunning, killer looking back at him. He knew that this man was his equal, and though he knew he would die, he would know he had faced the best. He grabbed for his pistol that was in his waist band. He would take the man with him. Johnny saw the hand, and as the gun began to come out of the waist band, he moved his hand with the speed he was well known for, and drove the blade deep down into the mans' chest, he felt it hit bone, and heard a crack as he drove it deep, as blood spirted into the air, and onto his hands. He sat back, as the man fell back, and he eyes glazed over. He looked up with the strong emotions still in his eyes and in his face, to see his brother standing there. Scott noted the look, and a slight shiver went through him. It scared him, even though he knew Johnny would never be his enemy. He would never want to be.
"Johnny?" He came over and reached out a hand, and put it on his brothers' shoulder. "Come on, let's go to town. Get some tequila, and some rest." Johnny focused on him, and smiled. Getting to his feet.
"Scott. You should be resting. Let's get to town. He reached down, and pulled the knife from the mans' chest, and wipped the bloody blade on his shirt. Turning away he put it back in it's sheath. He walked over to where Scott had the horses. On the way to town, he would again become Lancer. But for now he was Madrid.
THE END