Untold Secrets

"There are two kinds of secrets.

The ones we keep from others

And the ones we keep from ourselves."

Frank Warren

The round up was into its second day, as roundups went there were very few surprises. Cattle were still ornery beasts the best place for the big smelly things in Johnny's opinion were an inch thick and on a plate served with potatoes and onions.

Sitting astride his palomino the younger Lancer son pulled the horse to a stop to uncork his canteen of water and take a deep drink of the cool liquid.

Pouring a generous amount on his bandana, he wiped his face, and then draped it across the back of his neck.

Replacing the cork and giving a smack with the heel of his hand, he sighed and looped it around the pommel of his saddle.

He heard a shout and looked up as a cowboy on a big bay hazed a handful of heifers back into the confines of the herd, his brother Scott.

Crossing his hands over the flat of his saddle horn, Johnny shifted in the saddle making the leather creak.

The brothers had not grown up on their father's ranch, they had never known of each other's existence until fate, luck or divine intervention, Johnny was never sure and now did not matter.

What was important, was that they were here and getting to know the joy and anguish of being brothers.

It had not been six months after that clandestine stagecoach ride that each young man decided to stay and see if the three estranged men could forge a familial bond.

The start was rocky with distrust, anger and untruths, enough to fill a man with regrets.

With persistence and will power and the calming effect of a surrogate sister, the men were becoming comfortable with each other.

Johnny straightened in the saddle and shifted his weight to find a comfortable position. After two days of pounding, shifting and sliding against the unforgiving leather his butt was ready for the big deeply padded sofa in front of the fireplace back at the hacienda.

Scott, never having ever done this sort of riding in Boston, was sure to be feeling the discomfort and saddle burns on his lily white as… Butt.

The older man was a curiosity to Johnny. Their backgrounds so different, he was a rougher more go to hell type of character and had lived his life in the saddle.

Drifting, no place to hang his hat, always moving having to see what was on the other side of the mountain or turn in the road.

Living life by no ones timepiece or orders just day by day on a quest to see what was out there.

As well as the brothers so different professions Johnny sighed and pointed Barranca's nose to the gathering herd, he had lived his youth as a gun for hire from the age of sixteen.

He had killed his first man before that, defending his life before he even really knew which end of the gun the rolling, speeding piece of lead came from.

Good thing he had paid attention to the gunfights in the border towns he ghosted through and survived during his childhood.

Good thing the feel of the wood butt and cold steel of the pistol felt natural in his hands and that he was an instinctive shootist.

So with the speed and accuracy came the recognition and offers of jobs. He was no longer an abandoned half-breed with sun darkened skin and vivid blue eyes he was Johnny Madrid, pistolero. He was young, cocky and on the road to nowhere.

Now Scott, born in California, his mother dying in childbirth and the baby secreted away to Boston by an emotionally distraught grandfather had never known the true reasons their father never came for him, Scott had grown up with the opportunities afforded someone ensconced in the top echelon of the wealthy and powerful.

The polite and cultured man, scholar and the center of an old man's need to control and show off had been at a breaking point.

Enlisting against his grandfather's orders Scott served in the Union army during this country's bitter civil war, fought, captured and imprisoned.

Johnny had been in a Mexican prison before and if Scotts ordeal was even half of what a fourteen year old mestizo experienced then the younger man knew his big brother had scars and nightmares secreted away in his blond head.

Johnny joined up with his brother and glanced up at the lowering sun, "Bout time ta make camp for the night. I'll tell Cipriano ta start circling tha herd."

Seeing the silent nod Johnny knew his brother was hurting in places one did not openly discuss.

"We'll call it an early day; we could all do with rest,"

Johnny smiled and saw his brothers face relax, "See ya," he shouted over one shoulder the horse under him responding as he shifted his weight and smoothly moved off to find the Lancer Segundo.

Truth around a Fire

The tin cup of coffee stopped half way to his lips as he watched his big brother slowly and carefully lowered his butt to the sparsely padded bedroll.

"I told ya brother; if you're hurtin' ya gotta let someone know. Won't do for tha boss ta be ridin' standin' in his stirrups." Johnny took a sip of the hot strong brew and then motioned with his cup, "Cip give ya somethin'?"

Scott nodded his blond head and looked up into his brother's face, "Yes he did, thank you for your advice."

With a point of one slim finger Scott inquired, "Is that coffee any good?"

"Not as strong as I like it, but it'll pass."

Pushing another cup towards his brother, "here got ya a cup while ya were ah indisposed."

Scott accepted the hot drink and pressed his fingers around the cup taking a tentative sip as the liquid touched his tongue and the bitter strong taste assaulted his taste buds he leaned forward, "My God did Jelly send paint thinner instead of coffee?"

Johnny chuckled and reached behind his saddle, "Hang on brother, I got tha stuff ta make it right."

An amber colored bottle appeared in Johnny's hand and Scott smiled, "I am indebted to you brother."

Handing the bottle over to his brother Johnny watched as the Bostonian pulled the cork and tilted a hefty dose into the coffee cup. Taking another sip of the doctored coffee a smile lit the features of his face, "Now that little brother is manna from the Gods."

Corking the bottle, he handed it back, "Murdoch aware you filched his good sipping Scotch? His expensive, imported sipping whiskey?"

Johnny took back the bottle and sat it beside him, "Tha Ol' Man has more bottles of the stuff than Bill at tha Green River saloon."

"'Cides it is for medicinal purposes, should make your butt easier ta live with," Johnny hid a grin behind his own coffee cup.

The brothers were silent for a minute as each enjoyed the medicated coffee. Sounds of men quietly talking and laughing, cattle settling in for a long night's sleep and the yipping of coyotes in the distance were comforting.

Scott sighed and leaned back on his saddle, "I knew this would be very different than anything I have ever known. Even when I was in the Calvary and would spend days in the saddle, didn't prepare me for this."

"Hell Boston, ain't nuthin' that can prepare a man's butt for this," Johnny crowed and passed the bottle back.

After medicating his coffee with a generous amount, Scott handed the bottle back to his little brother, "But you traveled around quite a bit didn't you brother?"

Johnny nodded, "Yeah, but when I got tired I'd just find a good place ta camp an' sit a while. Less I had a job ta get to I was in no hurry."

Scott smiled, "Aside from my cavalry days the most I did was ride on the weekend hunts with friends."

Scott critically glanced at the younger man beside him, "Johnny I know you've seen a lot and experienced life in an unforgiving environment and you have ghosts that manifest in your dreams. I guess what I want to ask you how do you put them aside so you don't jump at every sound or smell that reminds you of the past."

Scott chuckled to himself, "Look at me Harvard scholar, ex-soldier and older brother asking my little brother about psychology and …"

"Ya just push it back to tha back of your head an' go on, everyone has demons brother."

Scott nodded and held both hands on the nearly depleted coffee cup, "I agree we all have demons. Can they be put to rest I mean, when I returned from the war I had demons, demons no one in my circle had ever experienced or wanted to hear about. Grandfather didn't want to listen; my friends thought the best way to forget was to drink your self into a stupor and party all night."

Sitting up straighter the Easterner looked across to his brother, the ex-gunfighter, "How do you do it?"

Johnny didn't react in as much as he remained silent, leaning back against his saddle Scott could see the emotions racing across the young face, firelight reflecting back.

"Well I tell ya Boston each man is different. They have different personalities, different circumstances. What works for one man won't work for the other."

A silence between them and Scott was sure his brother was finished.

"Now you take us brother, different in a lot of ways, but the same in others. You were in a war I was too. Not a battlefield like you but a war."

With a little chuckle Johnny sat forward, "My battleground was whatever border town I ended up in. As a kid I ran, used sticks, stones my fists to keep from getting' pounded inta dust. Cause of my gringo eyes I was the butt of every cruel joke or trick you could think of."

Looking over at his brother Johnny tilted his head the firelight dancing in his eyes, "A person might say I had luck on my side, well let me tell ya Boston, Luck had nuthin' ta do with it, I was only surviving."

Scott bowed his head and nodded, "Survival sometimes that's all there is, a day to day survival."

Johnny scooted back to lean once more against his saddle, "Ya know Scott a man will do anything to keep breath in his lungs and blood in his veins."

Knowing his big brother was a private person and denied the demons in his past he pushed forward, "I was barely fourteen when tha Ruales threw me inta prison. Somethin' stupid like stealin' a loaf of bread, I hadn't eaten in a while an no one would hire a mestizo."

Giving a little laugh, "but hey they may have saved my life. Oh gruel twice a day with what ever meat fell into it and a piece of fry bread, I was set."

He rested his forearms on his drawn up knees, cup dangling from lax fingers, "I was set until the Ruales decided they was bored an' needed some entertainment."

As Johnny became quiet Scott had his own ghost's rear up in front of him, "I was imprisoned as a prisoner of war, but nothing I experienced on the battlefield prepared me for what I found in that prison." Wiping a hand down his face Scott tilted his head towards his brother, "My God Johnny, you were fourteen I was almost nineteen."

"How, I mean, how did you come out without the fear, resentment the shame," Scott had to look away.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders, "Well I felt a lot of that, but I learned well. I didn't have anyone ta pick me up, dust me off, and get me going. I had to believe I was done that way for a reason. It made me look ahead an never look back, made me trust in myself and roll with whatever life threw in front of me. But I ain't forgot what brought me here to this point. I could have gone another direction, but guess someone or something else had other plans."

"Yeah I got my demons and nightmares, but I had a good friend an' he made me see it was better ta get it out than in. Val got me ta talkin' said, 'boy ya can choke on what was dun ya or ya can spit it out an' get it said, then go on with livin' ,so Boston ya ready ta spit it out and get on ta livin'?"

The brothers talked quietly the empathy between them began to heal the wounds and lessen the scars.

Cipriano, though not eavesdropping, smiled into the night. Experience would trump fancy education any time. Love will dominate hate, brothers will become friends, and nightmares will dissolve with the dawn.

A New Life

Johnny grinned at his brother as the older man nicked his chin with the blade of his razor, "I told ya brother, these beeves could care less what ya looked like after three days on tha trail."

Scott dabbed at the nick and frowned at his annoying little brother, "I for one do not intend to have a prickly beard itch my face all day." Scott silently reminded himself of the promise he had made while in the confederate prison.

He would never give up the chance for a clean shave and a clean shirt. Placing his razor and accoutrements back in the leather kit, he turned to his brother.

Johnny grinned, "You are pretty," he emphasized each word. "I seen a nice plump heifer just eyein' ya want I should introduce ya all proper like?"

Scott tucked the tails of his clean shirt into his jeans and smiled up at his brother, "Wouldn't want to step between a man and his intended."

With a wave of his hand, "Oh no bother to me brother, she bein' a fickle kinda female."

Cipriano and Frank watched the brothers approach the campfire arms across shoulders, hip to hip, the elder son of the Patron waggling a finger into the face of the younger hijo.

They were shaping up very well, sons to be proud of, "Senors if we break camp soon we can be that much finished with the work at hand."

Johnny stepped out from under his brothers' grasp, flicked a backhanded slap to Scott's stomach, "Yeah, if you hadn't taken so much time getting' all…"

Scott took a menacing step towards his brother, a grin turning his lips into a promise of retribution, "Ah ah little brother; seems to me Senor Cipriano, our young future Patron needs lessons in proper decorum."

Cipriano bowed his head hiding the smile beneath the bushy mustache, "See jefe the Niño perhaps needs to be reminded and ride drag today."

Johnny stood with a cup of coffee in his hands looking between the two older men, turning to Frank, the Lancer foreman, and opening his mouth to make a snide remark Frank shook his head.

Throwing up his hands his dark face broke into a smile, "Don't be getting' me in tha middle of this, I done rode drag too many times when I was younger. Not ta be rude I'll go help Walt and Mike get 'em up and ready ta move."

Johnny grinned at the retreating foreman and took a sip of the hot coffee, looking back at his brother and the Segundo his hands slowly lowered the cup.

Scott stood arms across his chest, Cipriano hands on hips both men with impassive faces.

"Oh come on I'm more use to ya at hazing' than draggin'," Johnny felt relief when Scott smiled.

That relief was short lived when Scott walked towards him, patted him on the shoulder, and kept walking, "Hurry little brother we don't want to be late," the elder Lancer brother threw back over one shoulder, "We have the most important job today."

Johnny bit back a retort as he looked at the Segundo, "so how's Mitch an' Tom doin'?"

The two newest Lancer hands were young, inexperienced and eager to learn the ins and outs of ranching. Brothers with a dream of owning land and cattle; smart enough to know they needed help.

They wanted to learn the trade from the best and in the valley and that was Lancer.

Cipriano put a gnarled hand to his chin, "They are learning. The Patron sees them one day doing business with Lancer."

"Yeah well they're still young," Johnny, sighed. Cipriano, his smile hidden by his mustache thought, the Wilkin brothers were a few years older than Johnny was. His smile turned down, only they may never have the experiences that the Patrons younger hijo has endured.

Tossing the remaining coffee from his cup into the fire, Johnny helped Cipriano douse the flames and secure the pot and cups.

Scott impatient with his brother rode up to the Segundo and his stalling little brother leading both men's horses, "You do know the Patron would have a surly lecture for you little brother as to the wasting of good daylight."

Johnny looked at Scott, "Damn brother I could'a swore tha Ol' Man was right here in front o' me."

"Well little brother I suggest you mount this fine animal of yours. I always said Murdock has eyes in the back of his head," Scott watched as Johnny walked over to his horse and vaulted into the saddle.

"Yeah an' you ever seen him swivel that head like some one possessed. Dios, sometimes I think I could just see it rollin' across tha compound. All the while lookin' me right in tha eye an still givin' me a lecture till my ears fell off."

"Well little brother our father is a formable man and he wants you to conform to standards."

Johnny snorted as he watched Cipriano settle into his saddle, "If that means I gotta toe tha line an' follow orders…"

Scott could feel the tension growing in his brother and had to nip it in the bud, so to speak, "It means us riding drag will remind us that we are no better than Mitch and Tom or any other man on Lancer. And you do know our father wants only the best for us, a little discipline never hurt anyone."

Scott turned his horse towards the herd, "Some of us need more discipline than others."

Watching his brother ride away, "Hey," he shouted.

Johnny turning his horse to chase after his brother Cipriano shook his head as he heard the whoop as Johnny caught up to Scott and the brothers took up position at the rear of the herd.

They were good sons, and learning quickly. It was not so much the everyday physical labor but the experience of leadership.

Cip knew some of the elder sons' service in the army had prepared him for leadership and he was good at issuing orders and listening to the men.

Johnny had a different upbringing not as structured or compassionate.

However, the boy was quick in his gauging of any situation, it was sometimes the temper and hidden concern of the boy that would do battle.

The brothers also knew they had a life here at Lancer and the opportunity for the Wilkin brothers to learn and one-day make a go of it, was in their hands as well as their fathers.

So good heartedly the Lancer sons wrapped bandanas around lower faces. Johnny held his hand up finger pointing as if he held a gun and Scott good-naturedly slapped it aside with his own finger pointing at his hermano and giving it a good shaking.

'Si el Patron had dos hijos to be proud of, and Cipriano was just as willing to impart his knowledge to the muchachos.

The faithful Segundo of Murdoch Lancer would hear many more secrets of the sons of his amigo around a campfire, as he had last night.

His soul saddened by the revelation of such pain and degradation. His heart gladdened that the brothers felt secure enough in their bond to trust such hidden secrets to one another.

The Segundo would keep the secrets of the hermanos and keep his councils to himself.

He pushed his horse to the front of the herd and with a wave of his hand got down to business.

The brothers would talk more late at night around a campfire, one day they would let their father in.

However, for now it was good to tell each other about the hurts, and fears they each held within festering in the darkness. Release of the nightmares and ghosts into the brightness of the day lightened the burden enough to hope that one day they would be empty of secrets.

"But some secrets are better left at that

As secrets"

(Candace Bushnell)

solista

August 2014