I do not own the rights to any characters to either Laramie or Lancer. Therefore, this was created for fun and not profit.

The sound of the TV turning off was what woke Mike up. "Dag-gum it, I hate being old. I missed the end of The Gene Autry Show again", he internally grumbled as he straightened himself up in the overstuffed armchair. Putting his boots off the ottoman he ran a hand through his mostly non-existent white hair and listened to the excited discussion about the recently ended show. As near as Mike could figure, Gene had posed as a famous gunfighter in order to catch the bad guys but had nearly gotten killed when they had discovered his true identity. Mike's attention was wandering a bit when one of the passel of children piped up, "Grand pa-pa could you tell us a story about the real Wild West?"

Another child chimed in, "Oh wow, that would be great. I bet you used to ride night herd with your guitar on your saddle just like Gene."

The children's mother, Mary-Sue, called out from the kitchen in a tone which did nothing to hide her amusement, "Oh grand-pa, that would have been just a sight with you and Grandpa-pa Jess or Grandpa-pa Slim all on horseback, wearing sequined shirts, and playing guitars."

Mike chuckled at the ridiculous scene which his grand-daughter and great grandchildren had just painted in his imagination. "Well kids, I'd have to say that I don't think we ever could have been called 'singing cowboys'. I don't recollect anybody playing guitar while riding a horse, and we never had as much silver on our saddles as Gene. But I do have a story in mind, if'n you'd like to hear it?" A chorus of affirmations and story line requests erupted in the living room.

"Let me tell you about the time we went to Texas," Mike began.

"Wow, I bet you rode down to Texas all wearing fancy tied down six-guns and fighting injuns all the way. Huh, Grandpa-pa, huh." Seven year old Jeff piped up.

"Not hardly, in fact I almost didn't even get a hand gun."

"What?"

"My packing a side arm was a big bone of contention between my two guardians."

Mary-Sue interrupted this time, "Let me guess Grandpa, Jess wanted you to have a hand gun and Slim figured that you'd do just fine with a rifle?"

You'd think that would have been the case but it wasn't. I guess I'd better explain what happened, and since you never met my foster fathers, let me tell you about them. Slim was a huge man, well over six foot. He had massive shoulders and stayed in shape by doing almost all the forge work around the ranch. He was a good fighter as well. If'n I recall correctly he once went up against a professional boxer and won. Now kids, Jess was about four inches shorter and not as heavily built as Slim but Jess was a scrapper. That man loved a good fight and the word, "quit" wasn't in his vocabulary. More than once Jess jumped into a brawl when the odds were three to one, against him, and came out on top.

I was about 16 when those two got into it with each other. We were used to them sparring just for fun, but that day it was obvious that they weren't playing. They had been working in the barn and I don't know who said what but all h- err heck broke loose. Slim was fairly even tempered, and was real slow to get a rise out of, but that day Jess had managed it. Slim was tossing blows at Jess that would have dropped a bull moose. Luckily, Jess was fast on his feet and was managing to duck, or block, almost everything Slim was tossing at him. Of course, Jess was giving back as good as he got.

At any rate, they wound up rolling around in the yard where Daisy was doing the laundry. She hollered at them to stop but they weren't paying her no mind. Next thing I knew she had me helping her pick up the wash tub still full of water, soap and clothes. Together we threw the contents on both men. That got their attention, and stopped the fight just long enough for me to get in front of Slim while Daisy got into Jess' face.

My Aunt Daisy was just over five foot and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet, but she'd take on a grizzly if she lost her temper. She informed them, in no uncertain terms, that they were to cool off and not to speak to each other until they were ready to settle whatever it was like gentleman - with words and not their fists. Slim stalked off to the forge and Jess attacked the wood pile. Both of them stayed at it until supper time. The meal was a quiet affair. I could tell they wanted to talk with each other, but weren't about to start with me around. So I announced that I was heading to bed. Sure enough, as soon as they thought that I was asleep they headed to the front porch with cups of coffee.

As soon as I heard the front door close, I snuck out my window and crept up to the front corner of the house so that I could listen in. I was surprised to learn that the fight was all about whether or not I was old enough to carry a side arm. I figured it was a given that I'd carry one someday. I was floored to find out that it was Jess who was dragging his feet. Their conversation went something like this:

"Jess, you know as well as I, that a man around here is expected to carry. It's just like wearing pants. So it stands to reason that it's about time for Mike to start packing. It's not like he doesn't know how to use one or can't use it safely. You taught him better than that," Slim reasoned.

"That ain't it Pard and you know it!" Jess fumed.

"What? Are you afraid that by wearing a gun he'll have to shoot somebody? You know that gunfights don't happen between cowboys. Sure, trail hands hit town firing off their six-shooters on a Saturday night, but it's in the air and just for fun."

Jess growled, "Yeah, I know."

"Then what is it that's got you so worked up over Mike's packing iron?" Slim asked with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

Just when I figured that Jess wasn't going to answer I heard him using his quietest drawl, "Do you remember Skip Whitaker?"

I heard Slim's startled question, "Wasn't that the boy whose Dad was Leo McCall?"

I remembered Skip. I also remembered that Jess had almost gotten killed by McCall when he took Skip to see him. I sure didn't see what Skip had to do with my having a gun. Neither did Slim.

Jess sounded real proud as he explained how Skip had done real well for himself in a St. Louis school. He had gotten his veterinarian's license and had set up a nice practice outside of Boulder. But then Jess' tone changed to the one he used whenever he was hurting on the inside, "He's dead now Slim. I found out last week. It seemed that somebody figured out that Skip's daddy was the famous outlaw, and that he had taught Skip to shoot. So the slime figured that he could make a name for himself by gunning an outlaw's kid. He pushed Skip into a fight, and killed him." Jess' tone became deadly somber, "So what do you think is going to happen to Mike if we start letting him wear a gun?"

"Dear God! You mean you think somebody might hunt Mike just 'cause you taught him to shoot?" Slim sounded aghast.

"That's about the size of it. I always knew that my rep would dog me until it more 'n likely killed me." Jess' baritone voice sounded a bit strangled when I heard him add, "I never thought it might paint Mike."

I could hear Jess stalk off toward the barn and Slim followed. I snuck back to bed figuring that the odds of my getting a handgun were about the same as getting elected President. The more I thought about Jess' reasons the more I was coming to the opinion that, if having a six-gun meant I was painting a bulls-eye on my chest, I didn't want one.

Shortly after I turned 18 we were sitting out on the porch; drinking our evening coffee when out of nowhere Jess handed me a gun and rig. Surprised didn't even begin to touch on how I felt. Shoot you could have knocked me over with a feather.

Jess just shrugged his shoulders and gruffly said, "You're man enough to know when to use this and when not to."

"Oh wow," little Jeff interrupted, "I bet it was one of those tie-down rigs like all the gunfighters wore!"

Not hardly. It was a simple straight across belt and slip on holster. It was a working man's rig.

I told them two, right there and then, "I want you to know how much I appreciate this. I figure that I'll just use this on the range and around the ranch. Laramie seems to be calming down some, so if'n it's alright with you, I'll just toss this in my saddle bags when we hit town."

Boy, Jess' face broke into the biggest grin I ever saw and he said, "That sounds just about right. I hear that's what every smart cowpuncher does, these days, even in Abilene and Dodge."

Slim just laughed and added, "Maybe especially in Abilene and Dodge; I hear tell they've gotten some really tough lawmen there!"

Shortly afterward, word came about a cattle sale down in Texas. Now Hal Kingman was well known for his prime breeding stock and his plan of selling 2000 head of cattle, in lots of 100 along with 10 prime bulls, attracted ranchers, from Calgary to California, to his spread.

Needless to say, I was excited as all get out, to be heading off of the ranch on a buying trip with Jess and Slim. Andy had come out for a bit and he agreed to let this young buck have a chance to 'see the world' while he took care of the ranch. By then the railroad had driven the local stage line out of business so we didn't have to worry about the relay station. I think Slim was looking forward to seeing Texas for himself as Jess' stories had raised Slim's curiosity more than a mite. Of course you'd have had to hog-tie Jess to keep him from going 'cause, sure as shoot'n, the big open was calling him out for another go round.

Mike grinned and stretched his legs back up on the ottoman, "You know, Jess never did completely out grow his wanderlust." Then he continued his story.

We planned on going down by rail, picking up a remuda, and driving the cattle back home. We figured that since a couple of other Laramie outfits were also buying everyone could work together to get them beeves home. Course we had plenty of folk on the drive that knew the cattle trails we would be taking north. Jess had worked several drives into Kansas and John Baker, of the Bar-T, had brought cattle to Laramie from Texas back in '66.

So we packed up our war bags and left by train. It was my first time traveling on a train and it was just as special as taking one of those fancy airplanes is now a days. Everyone dressed up in just about their fanciest duds. Why my foster fathers went all out and got me a new suit just for the occasion.

We looked mighty fine wearing our black frock coats and fancy vests when we stepped off that train. But I tell you, we looked down right plain compared to San Antonio's Mexicans. The vaqueros' shirts were sometimes normal colors, but many of them were wearing colors as bright as Miss Daisy's dresses. A number of them were wearing pants that buttoned up the side with either plain buttons or fancier ones made of bone or antler. Jess said that that style was called calzoneras.

Yet the men looked positively dull by comparison with the Mexican women folk. The most common skirt I saw had three tiers of ruffles and each layer was a different color. They also wore their hems a lot higher. Keep in mind; I was raised where women didn't let their hems rise off the floor. Yet those Mexican ladies liked to end their hems about mid calf. Provocative, that's what it was back then. Now, it's just normal.

The stock auction was as a mix of Anglos, Mexican vaqueros, and even a Spanish Don or two. There were all types of men there. Men in business suits and bowlers rubbed elbows with dust covered cowboys. There were all types of gun rigs as well. Most were like my new one that I'd left in the hotel, and several more rigs were like Slim's. Then there were one or two men who wore their rigs low and tied down like Jess. The tied down rigs gleamed with oil, to keep them slick, and were worn smooth from long use. I knew these men to be professional gunmen, or at least men who fancied themselves as such. I wasn't surprised in the least that Jess kept a careful eye on those individuals.

When the auction started, Jess wandered off to look at some horses as Slim was a better bidder. I remember Jess saying, "Slim thinks stuff through and I just fly at things head on. I get to bidding on something and just can't let go of the contest. At auctions, Slim keeps his head better."

The cattle sale went well. We got a couple of early lots and lost out on a few others. Slim really didn't mind as he had his eye on three batches that were up for sale later on. He figured we'd be doing well if we got at least one of them, and took 300 head home.

Well, the first batch came up and we started our bidding. Pretty soon it was down to us and this plainly dressed but funny talking cowboy. The auctioneer had trouble trying to keep Slim and this other man straight. In a time when really tall men were rare, both of these guys were well over six foot, and blond with blue eyes. The biggest difference was that Slim was a lot bigger in the chest than the other feller. Finally, the auctioneer asked where we were from and started calling us 'Wyoming' and 'California'. The two states went at it hard and heavy, but it soon became clear that, while plainly dressed, 'California' had deeper pockets than us.

We hoped that this funny talking blond wouldn't be so keen on the next batch of stock we were interested in and so we settled down to wait. As we leaned on the rail, a dark skinned man walked over to the blond. Shoot, it would have been hard not to notice the man. He was one of those vaquero types but much fancier in dress. His calzoneras were buttoned with silver Conchos all the way down the sides and dad-gum-it his shirt was PINK with burgundy embroidery down the front. It was the prettiest shirt I ever saw, but I wouldn't have dared to wear it.

Like me, most men wouldn't get caught dead in pink because of all the grief that others would give them. But I tell you what, nobody was bothering that man because of the way he wore his rig. It was low slung and the plain brown leather gleamed where it was polished near the holster. Anyone with half a brain knew that the only way leather got worn that way was from someone practicing to fast draw. The man moved with a cat's grace as he sidled up beside the tall man opposite us. I would have given long odds that the vaquero was the deep pocketed rancher's hired gun.

My suspicions were confirmed a short while later when Jess joined us at the rail. He was pretty relaxed when he asked Slim if we had gotten all three batches of cattle yet. He wasn't overly concerned until we pointed out who outbid us. Then his whole attitude changed. His jaw tightened up as his dark blue eyes flashed at the sight of the Mexican gunman standing to the right of the blond. The man who had caused the reaction in Jess saw it and touched his hat brim with two fingers, gave a slight shrug, and a casual grin. The only disconcerting feature about the man was that his sapphire eyes had turned as cold as the deep blue sea.

I watched as the dark man's boss turned to him and for once in my life I could read his lips as he asked, "Do you know him?" Of course my lip reading was helped along by Slim asking Jess the very same question.

"Yep, worked with him settling a fracas around Del Rio years ago," Jess replied never taking his eyes off the pair across the corral. "Thing is, I heard he got killed a long time back," he added, causally leaning his left arm on the top rail.

"Looks mighty healthy for a dead man," Slim quipped. Then his tone became more serious as he asked, "Is he going to be a problem?"

"I don't know. Given his rep we should have heard about him over the years. He must have decided to lay quiet. Kind of like me. Maybe he's partnered up on a ranch. 'Course if the guy he's standing next to has a big enough bank roll then he could be working exclusive for him."

"I'd say the guy has a big bank account. He's outbid just about everyone here on the best stock," was Slim's thoughtful reply.

Well, the auction just went right along and, sure enough, those two were interested in the next batch we were serious about. Given what happened the last time Slim had gotten into a bidding war with 'California', we weren't at all surprised when they beat us out. However, when they showed interest in the final batch Jess quietly told Slim, "Hold your final bid almost to the last second, and don't pay me no mind. I'm gonna try something." Jess started stalking around the ring toward the two men and 'California's' gunfighter moved to intercept him. It was like watching two wolves circling each other and I just knew that there was going to be trouble. Apparently 'California' did as well because he began paying more attention to his gun hawk then he was to the bidding. That was the opening Slim needed to slip in a last second bid which 'California' failed to counter.

The second that auctioneer's voice rang out, "SOLD to Wyoming," Jess' demeanor changed. His jaw relaxed, his eyes lit up, and he grinned at the man he was facing off with. Then he touched his hat with two fingers of his right hand, and I could have sworn he said, "Gotcha," to the guy. 'Course, that was only a guess 'cause Slim had ordered me to stay put as he high tailed it around that corral as fast as those long legs could carry him. He was more than a little worried at what Jess had gotten himself into with that dark haired gunman. I was guessing that 'California' was feeling about the same way since he was closing in fast from the other side.

Yet, by the time they had gotten to the pair those two were shaking hands and smiling at each other. As I moved over I noticed that the stranger's eyes had gone from cold blue to a much warmer shade. It was like he put all of his emotions into his eyes and you could see exactly where you stood with him. I arrived just in time to hear Jess say, "Johnny, this is my partner, Slim Sherman. I've been a rancher in Wyoming for almost 14 years."

Johnny smiled and said, "Heck Jess, I thought you would quit rambling only when you found yourself six feet under."

"Yeah, for a long time I figured that would be about the only ground I'd ever call my own. It's funny how things can change on a man." Jess turned his attention to the tall blond, "So who are you working for these days?"

"Not working for anyone that way anymore. This isn't my boss. He's my brother, Scott Lancer."

"Brother? You never mentioned a brother," Jess answered in surprise.

"Never knew I had one until '70. How we met is a long story in itself. Short version is I quit gun hawking and took up ranching. I'm partners with Scott, and our father, on a big spread out in California. So you see, I also know about how things can change on a man."

Jess and Johnny both laughed at that. Then Johnny asked, "So what other surprises you going to spring on me Harper? Got any family?"

Jess grinned, "In a way. I'd like you to meet Mike Williams. Slim and I adopted him after his folks got killed."

The look on Johnny's face was priceless, "Someone let YOU adopt a kid? Next you'll tell me you took up law dogging."

"Only part time," Jess laughed with his eyes twinkling in amusement, "Hey, it's not like I ever rode against the law!"

Johnny quipped, "No, I recall it was more like the law having something against you."

"That's something else that changed over the years."

"There is a story in there that I've got to hear. Why don't you join us for dinner? I've found a great place that has fantastic food."

"Ah Johnny, I'm not so sure Slim and Mike will agree with our version of fantastic." Jess' voice sounded doubtful, "Wyoming isn't famous for its chili."

Scott laughed, "Neither is Boston. Fortunately, Rosalita's cooks a very fine and habanera free steak."

"Not to mention the best chili rellenos this side of the border," Johnny added.

We found Rosalita's on a quiet side street just off the town square. The place was packed but we found the Lancer's sitting at a table in the back of the room. The food was every bit as good as Johnny had said. At least the things that Scott pointed out on the menu.

We never knew that Jess loved Mexican food until Slim decided that whatever Jess could eat, he could eat also. I'll never forget Slim trying a chili relleno. His face turned red, his eyes watered, and sweat broke out on his forehead. Jess just laughed at him, and Scott handed him a big glass of milk. "This will put out the fire faster than water," he explained.

Later, I tried some of them and they almost burned my tongue right out of my head. Yep, I learned firsthand what the old song meant when it said, "Just dine with a vaquero and then you will shout, I got hell on the inside as well as the out."

A smattering of giggles rippled through the room accompanied by Mary-Sue's admonishment, "Grandpa, watch your language!" Mike quickly apologized and then continued his tale.

It had been a great meal and stories just flew around the table. It turned out that Slim and Scott both loved to read. They got into a big discussion about different authors while Jess and Johnny caught up on old times. We finally took the party down the street for some liquid refreshment.

I had to leave for a little bit. On my way back inside I passed two old time cowpokes that were chawing and spitting weed on the boardwalk. I heard one say to the other, "I never expected the stock action to wake up that old feud between those two pistoleros."

"Yeah, that grudge has been simmering since they both worked for the Lazy 8 around Del Rio. I wonder when we'll see the fireworks." Needless to say that got my attention and I stopped to listen. Shoot I think half the street stopped to listen. Well the first guy comes back and says, "Can't be long now the way Madrid is acting." Now those two old coots really had my attention because the only gunfighter I knew named Madrid was Johnny Madrid.

"Wow, Grandpa-pa I've heard of Johnny Madrid. I read about him in a book on Western Gunfighters. I thought he was killed by a Mexican firing squad in the late 1860's," the eldest grand grandchild spoke up.

At the time so did I, but I was about to learn different when the second guy opined, "I've seen that Harper feller work, down Amarillo way, and he's fast. Yet I saw Johnny Madrid, near El Paso, and I've never seen anyone faster." I couldn't believe my ears. Was it possible that Jess had gotten into an argument with Madrid? I raced back to where I'd left Slim and Jess looking for the famous Mexican pistolero. I didn't see anyone that could have been him until I heard Jess growl at Johnny Lancer, "We'll just see who's fastest come the morning."

By now I was getting a real uneasy feeling about who those old coots were calling Madrid. Johnny's quiet laid back reply, "Stockyards, see you then," only confirmed that my bad feeling was 100% true. Lancer was none other than Johnny Madrid, and that just about scared the life right out of me.

The crash of a plate dropping in the kitchen was accompanied by Mary-Sue's shout, "Holy cow Gramps, you mean to tell us that Grandpa-pa Jess went gunning for Johnny Madrid!"

Everyone sure thought so next morning, 'cause a good chunk of the town was hanging out at the stockyards expecting a big time shoot out. Boy did they get a first rate surprise. See Jess and Johnny had an ongoing feud since '67 about who could rope the fastest. They'd finally decided to settle matters with a branding race.

The 300 prime head we purchased all needed both ranch and trail brands before we headed north. Those heifers awaited us in one large pen in the stockyard. The men had decided that they would use teams of three - the three of us versus the two Lancers and their Segundo, Cipriano. Since we only had three men from our ranch Johnny said that they wouldn't use any substitutions from the other men that they had brought. We got the auctioneer to act as tally man to keep straight how many cattle each team branded. Hal Kingman had taken a keen interest in the contest, so he provided all four men with prime cutting horses.

We commenced working, and the day fairly flew. I might have had the vigor of youth in my favor but that old vaquero could put a move on. He'd drop a brand on an animal with an economy of motion that was amazing to watch. Not that I had a bunch of spare time on my hands as Jess and Slim were dropping those critters faster than greased lightning.

The crowd got over their disappointment right quick and commenced betting on which team would win. I heard snatches of conversations, debating the finer points of roping, with some men favoring Johnny's dallying technique with others swearing by Jess' hard and fast method. All the while the men kept roping cows and we kept dropping the two different brands on their hides. The dust was making it hard to breathe, and I was glad that my bandana kept most of it out of my lungs.

About two hours into the festivities our tally man announced the score and we had a narrow lead. The announcement invigorated both roping teams and the cows started getting caught faster and faster. Then disaster struck! Scott made a single leg catch and he dropped her, but when Cipriano planted the first brand the animal got some slack and kicked. The vaquero was hit hard and went flying. I could see that both Lancers wanted to go to their man's aid but were too professional to dismount leaving the job half done. Since I had a hot iron in my hands I altered course, finished the job, and the pulled the Segundo safely to the side of the corral.

Lord a mercy, that crowd was sorely mad at me for branding the other team's animal! They only simmered down when Slim and Jess both gave me a nod that told me I'd done alright. Once I got our animal branded we joined the Lancers. Cipriano had a broken leg and kept apologizing, in both English and Spanish, at costing Johnny the contest. Johnny looked at his fallen friend and spoke softly, "We're not done yet. Scott, you take over for Cip, I've got the roping."

Jess looked at Johnny and asked, "You planning on bulldogging all those cows? Some of them are a might big."

"Nope, watch and learn amigo," he answered proudly.

We did just that, and let me tell you it was a sight that I can still see clear as day. Johnny rode his horse straight into the herd and cut out a nice heifer. Then bringing her straight out of the herd, he took his 80 foot reata and built a huge loop with two swings. When he let it fly, it sailed it right over her shoulders. As it started to settle, he twisted the loop into a perfect figure eight. The upper loop caught her head and the lower loop dropped in front of her so that she stepped right into it. Johnny was angling his horse away, and dallying the line down. Now I could see where that dallying trick of his worked better than Jess' hard and fast method, because Johnny dropped that animal as gently as you please. Well, his horse wasn't even fully stopped before he was off and tying a pigging string around that heifer's hooves. Scott slapped the brands on and Johnny was off for another catch.

Meanwhile, we were still with Cipraino and watching in amazement. Slim's admiring statement just about summed it all up for us, "That is the prettiest loop I have ever seen."

Cipraino remarked with pride, "Si, the San Benito Toss is a glory to behold when one throws it as well as mi jefe."

"Your heifer?' I asked shocked. "Why are you calling Johnny a heifer?" Jess purt near busted a gut laughing as he and Slim remounted and headed back to roping. Cipraino looked at me oddly then he too burst into laughter. "No, No, jefe not heifer! Jefe is Spanish for boss. Mi jovan amigo, you must visit us in California and learn some Spanish. El patron would welcome you."

The eldest grandchild laughed loudly, "You didn't know that Grandpa-pa?" Mike looked at him wryly, "I grew up in Wyoming, not California! T'weren't many Hispanics there." He paused and then continued, "Anyway, as I was saying."

I suddenly realized that it was time to get back to business. Needless to say the betting amongst the spectators just about tripled. By the time we finished we had about half the town watching that roping contest and everyone was laying odds in every direction. I've never worked so fast, before or since.

"It surely was a day to remember," Mike proclaimed leaning back in his chair. He gave out a happy sigh indicating that his story was finished. His audience was definitely not letting the old cowboy off that easy. There were cries of, "Grand pa-pa who won?" mixed in with shouts of, "I bet Jess won, and no way - Johnny must have beaten him." The old man cracked a grin and with a twinkle in his eye announced, "The winner that day was none other than Scott Lancer."

"Scott! How do you figure that, the feud was between Jess and Johnny?"

"It surely was but you see, in all the betting that went on that day, there was only one man who bet that our two teams would tie. That was Scott Lancer, and he made an absolute killing with the bookies."

*_* the end * - *

Author's notes:

The song Hell in Texas was collected by Robert W. Gordon between 1906 and 1939. It was possibly written in 1887 by E. U. Cook and given to Albert Friedrich. The original line reflects the rampant racism of the American West. I have used a more politically correct version of the line from a later version of the song.

The San Benito Toss was a name given to the Californiano figure eight loop in the 1930's by Will Rogers. It had been thrown by Californian vaqueros for 150 years prior. It almost became a lost art but has seen a revival in recent years. Slim's observation about it being the prettiest loop he'd ever seen is a quote from Will Rogers.

Chawing weed is to chew tobacco