Lady Luck
By VKS & MJRod
Arizona territory, 1870s. The story picks up outside the High Chaparral ranch house at the end of the season four episode, "Too Late the Epitaph." The authors have taken the liberty of bringing back Reno, one of our favorite characters. Readers unfamiliar with the original episode will find that the chapter "Mano Talks" contains all that is necessary. VKS is from the UK, MJRod from Texas...this story represents a transatlantic friendship borne of our mutual love of "The High Chaparral." Special credit goes to VKS for the storyline and horse whispering sequences...and to Australia's WJSTG for reminding us to show and not tell. VKS & MJRod retain all rights to the plot but, of course, the characters are from our beloved "The High Chaparral" and this is our tribute.
Lady Luck Chapter One: Homecoming
"Riders comin'," the lanky hand Reno hollered from the roof of the Cannon home as he cocked and fired his rifle. The crack piercing the air caused a thin vaquero below to glance up. Dust clouds kicked up in the distance obscuring two men on horseback a quarter mile away.
John Cannon burst out of his adobe ranch house, throwing open the heavily timbered door as if it were a curtain. His frame filled the doorway. Under grizzled brows, his blue eyes squinted against the harsh Arizona sun as he marched into the dirt yard. John may have been in his fifties, but few hands on the ranch could match him in riding, roping. strength or size. And today he was not pleased.
Behind John sauntered his younger brother, Buck, who leaned his black-clad form against a post in the shade of the front porch and watched, a half smile creasing his leathery face.
"Looks like Mano. Someone's with him, Mr. Cannon," Reno called down.
"I toldya Mano'd be back, John," Buck said.
"Yeah," John Cannon scowled, arms folded. "About time he got back from his lollygagging. Late, as usual." John made no effort to hide his irritation... now that he knew Mano was alive. Shoulda fired that brother-in-law of mine a long time ago, he thought.
Hearing her brother's name, Cannon's raven-haired wife, Victoria, glided out, a graceful rustle of flowing pink skirt and sunflower yellow blouse. Smiling, she slipped a slender arm in that of her much older husband and looked up at him with shining dark eyes.
"That Manolito, thank goodness he is alive. I know I have been making excuses for him, John," she said. "I have not known whether to be worried or annoyed. But now that I know he is all right, I am going to be annoyed. Very annoyed."
John patted her arm. "Then I'll leave Mano's lecture to you." He withdrew from her embrace to stand with his hands on his hips and wait.
Buck Cannon just grinned.
Outside the rancho gate, Roy Lauder stared open-mouthed as Manolito Montoya and he rode at a leisurely pace past towering saguaros, wiry ocotillo, and scrubby cholla. Roy, a stocky young man in his twenties, paused his mount beneath a rustic wooden arch and sign marking the ranch's front gate.
"The High Chapa...chap…"
"Chaparral, hombre! I told you," Mano smiled. "This is where I live. We are home."
Roy clamped shut his mouth and looked wide-eyed at Mano. Mano, laughing, straightened his flat-brimmed black hat with its silver studded band and adjusted the knot of the red kerchief round his neck.
"Vamonos, Roy. Come and meet the family of my sister." The two nudged their horses inside the gate, past bunkhouse and barn, halting near the ranch house and the welcome committee...such as it was.
"Hey Mano, who's your friend?" Buck called.
"Oh, this is Roy," Mano, replied, smiling. "Ah, I mentioned to Roy the possibility of a job on the rancho," he announced with a grin, eyes twinkling as he ignored Big John's glare. Roy allowed himself the slightest hint of a smile.
"Oh, what do he do best?" Buck asked. "When he don't have that arm in a sling, I mean."
"Lately, robbing stagecoaches," Mano laughed, enjoying himself. He dismounted. Roy managed a sheepish grin. Victoria looked uncertain, but Buck liked what he saw in the young fella's face and reached up to help him off the horse before clapping an arm around Roy's shoulder.
"Well, c'mon then, boy. Welcome to the High Chaparral."
Even Big John Cannon smiled and nodded with satisfaction when Mano assured him that the price for cattle southeast of the ranch had been less than the nineteen a head he'd received from Henderson in Tucson.
"You see, John? I told you Manolito would bring us good news," Victoria pronounced, as if no other scenario had ever crossed her mind. Grasping her husband's arm again, she beckoned the family and Roy to follow her inside for the evening meal.
Roy smelled the roast beef before he entered the dining room, and his eyes bulged at the large round table spread with a cloth. He'd never seen dishes like these before—all blue and white and kinda purty. Why was there so many glasses and forks and knives? An' so much food? Greens and mashed potatoes. And a bowl of flowers in the middle to boot.
"Sit here, boy," Buck yanked out an extra chair while Victoria scurried to fetch two more settings for her brother and the newcomer. The men awaited her return before sitting down after John scooted out his wife's chair.
"I ain't seen so much food since Granny died," Roy said.
Victoria smiled. "I am happy you are able to join us, señor," she said, inclining her head toward the guest.
"You will find my sister a far superior cook than I, amigo," Mano added, grinning.
"I dunno Mano. You did a purty good job with Honch's beans," Roy replied.
"You cooked, Manolito? And when did you discover this ability?" Victoria asked with exaggerated interest.
"I am a man of many talents, hermanita mia."
"Well, who's Honch?" Buck asked. "Anyway, these shore ain't no beans. This looks good, Victoria. Real good."
"Gracias, Buck."
Grabbing the mashed potatoes, Buck slapped a large spoonful on Roy's plate, then speared him a slice of beef from the platter.
"Mano, did I hear right? Did you say a judge placed Roy in your custody?" John asked after everyone was served. "Why, may I ask?"
"Ah, well, John…"
"Mr. Cannon, I was robbing stages with my friend Honch. But Honch got killed. Then Mano took the stage money from me. Then Mano got arrested."
"Arrested?"
"Well, John, you said you were wondering where I was," Mano said in a quiet voice. "The near-sighted bruto of a stage driver could not tell Roy and me apart, and when I stopped to clean up a little before heading into Stokertown to return the money, the marshal and his posse apprehended me."
"Stokertown? Ain't never heared of it," Buck mused, chewing.
"It got worse, Mr. Cannon. An old friend of Mano's got him framed for murder."
"Whaaat?"
"Juano, it is complicated. Suffice it to say, all charges were dropped, the right hombre is now dead...and, oh yes, Roy belongs to me," Mano added with a polite, forced smile.
John shot his brother-in-law a "we'll discuss this later" look, eyed Roy and pointed a fork in his direction. "The High Chaparral is a place for second chances, son, but we'll have no stage robbing here. Your pay's twenty a month. No drinking. No gambling."
"Yessir, Mr. Cannon."
"You know anything about cattle, boy?" Buck asked.
"I know a little about horses."
"Oh? Good. Mano'll show you the bunkhouse after supper," John said as he put a forkful of beef in his mouth. As he chewed, he eyeballed Mano who looked down at his plate. Buck smirked.
Glancing once more at Roy, John turned to his wife. "Victoria, this is delicious."
"Gracias, John."
They ate their food in silence, which suited Mano. He felt a little warm. He had not thought this through. Events in Stokertown were ones he would rather forget. How to explain Dave Redmond anyway? Ay, contra. He still could not believe it. He did not wish to discuss the matter in the presence of either his brother-in-law or sister, at least not now. He looked for an escape before Big John grilled him.
All rose as Victoria began clearing the plates. As soon as John turned to assist his wife, Mano grabbed Roy's good arm and pushed him out of the dining room.
"Con permiso. Now, Roy. Vamonos. Andale."
"Ain't we havin' coffee?"
"No, we ain't! We'll have some with the boys in the bunkhouse. Come along, Roy. You're going to enjoy meeting them and besides, we need to find you a bunk."
Mano swept Roy out the front door before John turned around.
"Now where did he go?"
"I guess he took ol' Roy to the bunkhouse, John," Buck said with a chuckle. Mano was being cagey and if he knew Mano—and by now he figured he did—something more was behind the story he had almost told.
Mano hustled Roy across the yard to the adobe brick bunkhouse where a few of the hands sat outside drinking coffee.
"Hey Joe, compadre!" Mano called out to a moustached cowboy in a blue shirt.
"No, you can't borrow any more money. I'm broke till payday!"
"Amigo! How can you ask me this?" Mano asked feigning indignation while flashing white teeth. No one could stay mad at Mano long; that grin would almost disarm Cochise.
"Joe, this is Roy. He's going to be working here for a while. Big John just hired him."
"Welcome, Roy!" Joe offered a hand. "Nice to have you on board. You done much ranchin'?"
"Not really, not so's you could call it ranchin'. I know some about horses, at least that's what Honch used to say."
"Honch was his friend who was killed." Mano explained in a low voice. "Joe, why don't you get Roy a cup of coffee and show him where he will be sleeping?"
"Sure, c'mon Roy. This way." Joe motioned Roy toward the bunkhouse door.
Mano followed to watch.
"This bunk's yours. Stow your gear there." Joe nodded to an upper bunk and gestured toward a wooden crate on the floor.
Roy shook his head yes, then gazed wide-eyed at the middle of the room.
Four hands, among them Pedro Carr and Sam Butler, sat around a table piled high with poker chips. Pedro, a lanky Mexican, slouched lazily, holding his cards against his chest. Sam, sweat glazing his brow, leaned forward staring at the cards in his hand and chewing on the side of his upper lip.
"Amigo Sam," Pedro remarked. "We must get up at dawn to herd cattle. We do not have all night."
"Dang, Pedro. I can't tell if you're bluffing."
Mano watched with interest and smiled to himself. Pedro always rushed things when he was bluffing. If his hand were good, Pedro would savor each moment his opponent delayed. Now he wanted to get things over with fast.
"Aw Pedro. Dagnabbit," Sam groaned.
Roy hovered, watching the game. "I thought Mr. Cannon said no gamblin'," he said at last, failing to see Mano wince and shake his head no. Too late.
"And just who might you be?" Sam looked up from his cards, his deep voice filling the room.
"This is Roy," Joe said. "The boss just hired him."
"Well, Roy, this ain't gamblin'," Sam said. "This is card playin' and danged if that Pedro ain't got me in a hole."
Pedro glared at Roy, a withering look that did not escape Sam.
"You know, Pedro. I think you just might be bluffing. I call," Sam said, tossing two more chips onto the pile and laying out his hand: three tens. "Let's see what you got."
Pedro rolled his eyes, shook his long shaggy black hair, and threw his pair of queens on the table in disgust.
"Amigo, I would have had him if you had not interrupted. Dios mío. Bruto. No te metas en cosas!"
"I...I…," Roy stammered while Mano laughed.
"Kid, you did just fine." Sam rose, raked in the chips and slapped Roy on the back while Pedro rattled on in Spanish that only Mano and Arrigo could follow.
"I leave you in good hands, amigo," Mano said to Roy, then, drawing the younger man to one side, lowered his voice to add, "Momento, one favor I have to ask of you."
"Sure, Mano."
"Please be so kind as not to discuss our little, ah, Stokertown adventure with these gentlemen. And do not let them know you have been released into my custody."
"Okay, Mano."
"It could make things, cómo se dice, uncomfortable for me if they were to talk about it very much, and they would." And I'd never live it down, Mano thought. Mock heroics and an old friend almost sending me to the gallows like a common horse thief in a town without even a cantina.
Roy smiled and tapped the side of his nose with his finger.
"You kin rely on me, ameego!" he drew out the last word to savor it. Mano blinked and forced a slight smile.
"Adiós!"
"Where ya goin'?" asked Roy, crestfallen. "Don't you sleep here, too?"
"Ah, no, compadre. I, er, I sleep elsewhere." Mano said as he edged toward the door. He clasped a hand on Roy's good shoulder.
"Hasta luego, Roy. I will see you later. I have a, uh…." Mano grimaced and gestured to his head. "My head, ah...I must go think." He shot out of the bunkhouse door as if pursued by an angry father with a loaded pistola…which had been known to occur.
"Now, where'd Mano go?" Sam asked staring at the empty doorway.
"Search me," Joe said.
"Hey, I bet he has to 'check the herd,' no?" Pedro hooted at his own joke. Sam and Joe exchanged knowing glances and the other hands looked at the floor or their bunks, anywhere so they wouldn't catch the eye of the bewildered stranger now standing with his mouth open and one hand on the edge of his bunk.