Dougal Renslo needed to get his horse back.
That was the reason he was doing this, he told himself, as he trudged across the fields, heading towards the glow on the horizon that was a dying fire. Whatever trouble was going on over there was none of his business and the well-being of the old man who had 'borrowed' his horse was none of his concern.
Hell of a nerve, the old fellow had, walking into Dougal's camp in the middle of the night and coolly stating that he needed to borrow Dougal's horse. Dougal had pulled his gun out automatically when the man first appeared, but it had only taken a moment to see that his late night visitor posed no threat. In fact, the old guy had seemed agitated, frightened. Dougal had felt sorry for him, given him a cup of coffee, tried to soothe him down a little. He'd said something about trouble at a neighbouring ranch; apparently he wanted to get away, and quickly. Dougal had been a little surprised. His visitor didn't look like the kind who'd be involved in any sort of evil-doing. But he must have gotten mixed up in it somehow and now was desperate to get away. So desperate that, when flames appeared on the ridge above, he had pulled his gun on Dougal and told him he was taking the horse. Dougal wasn't going to argue with a loaded gun, so he'd resignedly saddled the horse and handed it over. Then he'd had the real surprise. The old man, with a quick 'thank you', had mounted the horse and ridden off towards the fire. Dougal had misjudged him. He wasn't running away from the trouble; he must have been trying to fetch help.
So now Dougal Renslo was slogging across the fields in the dark with his bedroll and gear slung across his back, stumbling on the uneven ground and worrying about what he would find when he reached this ranch. Lancer, hadn't the old boy called it? Bad trouble to start with, culminating in a fire. And only one old man, it seemed, to deal with it. He'd need help, that's for sure, and somehow Dougal couldn't bring himself to walk away and leave him. Besides, he told himself again, he really did have to get his horse back.
He trod in a cow pat and cursed.
At the Lancer ranch, Teresa was insisting on rebandaging Murdoch's eyes.
"You need to rest them, Murdoch, let them heal properly. Jelly will go for the doctor when it gets light and we'll see what he says but meantime, there's no point in taking chances. And you should go to bed."
"You should get some sleep yourself, darling, it's been a hard night," Murdoch fussed in his turn.
"I got a little sleep earlier," she answered. "It'll be daylight soon and the chores have to be done. We don't want Scott and Johnny gloating if they come back and find we haven't been able to manage properly while they were gone." Bless her, thought Murdoch, knowing her efforts to get things back to comfortable normality stemmed mostly from her concern for him.
Closer than many a father and daughter, were these two. There had been a time, after Teresa's father had been killed and before Murdoch had been reunited with his sons, when all they had was each other: Teresa, left alone in the world after the death of the father who had been all-in-all to her, and Murdoch, barely alive after getting shot in the back, facing the possibility of being crippled for life, his closest friend dead, the gulf between himself and his sons too wide, as he believed then, ever to be breached and the ranch he had spent half his life building up about to be taken from him by the man who had put the bullet in his back. The need to look after the god-daughter left to his care had been one of the things which had kept him going. And Teresa, instead of letting herself be swamped by grief, had given a daughter's care and love to the one person left to her.
And still, even with Scott and Johnny now both sons and partners to Murdoch, and as good as brothers to Teresa, the bond forged between the rancher and the young girl held. It would hold for life.
Teresa went to the kitchen to make some fresh coffee. Jelly would be glad of it when he got back. Not a word had been said by any of them when he left the house but she knew he had gone to bury Gannett's body. A lawman turned murderer, Gannett's tale of how he had been left to die, and what he had had to do to survive, had made her blood run cold. She understood his desire for revenge but Jelly had had no part in those terrible actions and when she and Murdoch together had fired the gun, it had been the only thing to do. She knew it had been the only thing to do. Even so, thinking back to it now ... Teresa dashed out of the kitchen, crossed the yard to the muck heap and was very, very sick.
Dougal reached the ranch just after sun-up. He was relieved to see that although the remains of an outbuilding were smouldering, the main house, a sprawling white hacienda, was intact and unharmed. He was also relieved to see his horse in the corral. The old man had obviously got back safely and things must be settled enough for him to have unsaddled and looked after his 'borrowed' mount. Dougal would find him and make sure everything was alright, then be on his way.
"Hello there!" he called. The old man stepped out of the barn, clearly alarmed.
"Who's there?" he shouted. "Stay back!"
"Whoa, friend, it's only me," Dougal soothed him. Poor old fellow was still a bunch of nerves. "Just come to get my horse back, if you've finished with him." The old man relaxed visibly.
"Well, now, I'm real glad you're here. I was goin' to bring your horse back just as soon as I could. I'm real sorry about pullin' that gun on you, I'm no horse thief, but I had to get back here to take care of things." The old man really did look sorry.
"Ah, that's alright, I can see you've had some trouble," Dougal answered, looking towards the burnt-out shed. "Anybody hurt?"
"Mr Lancer's eyes got burnt," the old man replied. "He can see again now, but I'm going for the doctor just as soon as I get the stock fed."
Dougal thought the old man looked fit for nothing but going to bed, but he just said,
"Maybe I can give you a hand with that. My name's Dougal Renslo, by the way," he added, extending his hand.
"Jellifer B. Hoskins," the old man introduced himself, with a rather grand air, shaking Dougal's hand. "I wouldn't say no to some help, just seein' as how I need to get done quick and go into town for the doctor. And I'm sure Mr Lancer would be pleased to have you stay to breakfast."
"That sounds like a fair trade to me," smiled Dougal as he followed Mr Jellifer B. Hoskins into the barn.
Dougal quickly got the barn cattle fed and watered and the stalls cleaned out, his new friend doing his best to share the load but clearly tired out although striving to cover his fatigue. The two men were coming out of the barn when a woman's voice called,
"Jelly! Leave the chores, I'll finish off later. Come and get some breakfast!"
A young woman was coming out of the house. She stopped as she saw Dougal, wariness on her face. Whatever had happened here last night, it had sure left the folks nervous, thought Dougal. But his companion was saying,
"Chores are all done, no need to worry. And Teresa, I'd like you to meet Mr Dougal Renslo. He was good enough to lend me his horse last night, so I could get back here." He glanced at Dougal anxiously but Dougal wasn't going to start telling tales about the shotgun. "He came to get his horse and helped me just to finish off in the barn."
"How do you do, ma'am," said Dougal, taking off his hat.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr Renslo," she replied. "Won't you come in for breakfast?" There was still a touch of caution about her, it seemed to Dougal, but her smile was pleasant and her hospitality ready.
"Don't mind if I do. Thank you," Dougal answered. He followed her and Jellifer B. Hoskins – Jelly – into the kitchen.
A man was sitting at the table, a bandage covering his eyes. He looked weary and strained.
"Boss, this is Dougal Renslo," Jelly introduced him. "Dougal, this is Mr Lancer, the owner of the ranch. Mr Renslo helped me get back in time last night," he explained to the man.
"Mr Renslo lent Jelly a horse," Teresa added.
"We're grateful, Mr Renslo. Won't you join us for breakfast?" The rancher seemed less nervy than Jelly and Teresa.
"Thank you, sir," Dougal replied, sitting down. Teresa dished out ham and eggs and poured coffee. Dougal ate appreciatively; the walk to the ranch had given him an appetite.
"I'll just have this, then I'll be headin' into town and get the doctor for you, Boss," Jelly stated, eating quickly.
"Isn't there anyone else around for you to send?" queried Dougal. "Seems to me there'd be more hands around on a ranch this size." He was thinking that Jelly was in no fit state to be riding anywhere.
"My sons and most of the ranch hands are taking a herd of cattle to the railhead," Murdoch Lancer explained. "They'll be back tonight."
"But you don't want to be waiting until tomorrow for the doc to check them eyes o' yours," Jelly declared.
"Jelly's right," agreed Teresa, but she was looking worriedly at Jelly, obviously thinking the same as Dougal.
"Well, now, I'm on my way to Morro Coyo. Got a little business there," said Dougal. "I can stop by the doctor's office, let him know he's needed out here. Save you the trip, Jelly. I know you won't want to be leaving Mr Lancer and Miss Teresa alone more than need be. They're obviously depending on you."
He's sized up Jelly's character, thought Murdoch. Although he couldn't see his visitor's face, he could detect the touch of humour behind his voice. Jelly wouldn't, though.
"That would be wonderful, if you could do that, Mr Renslo," said Teresa, relief in her voice. "You're right, we do need Jelly here." Teresa knew Jelly's pride, too.
"It would be no trouble at all, Miss Teresa," Dougal assured her, thinking that for the grateful smile she was giving him, nothing on earth would be too much trouble. "I'll be getting along right away, if Jelly'll show me where he's stowed my saddle." He rose from the table.
"We're grateful to you once again, Mr Renslo," said Murdoch, extending his hand.
"Glad I can be of help, Mr Lancer," replied Dougal, and he meant it. He had to admire Murdoch Lancer – most men would be quivering wrecks if their sight was threatened, but he was calm, steady and still courteous to a guest. It felt good to shake his hand. As for Miss Teresa, any man would feel it was a privilege to help her any way he could, thought Dougal. And Jelly – well, somehow he just couldn't help liking the old guy.
"You seem to have stumbled across a good friend, Jelly," remarked Teresa as they watched Dougal ride away.
"Strange, but he puts me in mind o' someone," said Jelly thoughtfully. "Can't quite put my finger on who, though."