PART ELEVEN
Johnny pulled his socks on and shoved his aching feet into his boots, for once not even trying to fool himself into believing that there might be one single inch of him that wasn't in some kind of pain. Yesterday's walk had drained him of what little energy he had regained by taking another day off – and he knew he would not be going anywhere again today. That fact was confirmed by the lateness of the morning – he didn't need a clock to tell him that it was well past dawn. No one had disturbed him, allowing him to sleep as long as he needed – and he'd obviously needed a lot of sleep.
Johnny wondered just how long his family would put up with his inability to put in a full day's work. He'd made a great effort to hide his worsened condition from his family the night before, but hadn't succeeded in fooling anyone. Murdoch had clearly been the most disappointed, and Johnny really couldn't blame him. His father had been trying hard to accommodate his younger son's ill health, but Johnny was needed right now, there was no doubt about that. And for every day that he sloughed off someone else had to pick up his slack. More than likely that meant Scott was putting in extra hours. But Johnny knew he couldn't sit a saddle today, he was just too damn sore.
'You're getting' soft, Madrid. One more day and that's it, cowboy,' Johnny ordered himself.
He made his way down to the kitchen to find Maria busy, already preparing for lunch. As he eased his aching body into a kitchen chair, Johnny ignored her look of concern but gratefully accepted a hot cup of coffee.
"Oh chico you look malo. Your padre, he is right. You must see Señor Sam."
"I've had a rough week, Maria, that's for sure. But I'm starvin' right now, and that's a good sign . . . right?" An expert at diversion, Johnny favored the housekeeper with his most sincere smile – and she melted right before his eyes.
"Sí. You go to bed last night with not even a bite to eat. This is no good. No good. You sit right here and I will fix you something especial."
Johnny sat back and relaxed. Maria always made him feel better. She was so much like the mother he wished he would have had growing up . . . the mother he'd seen other boys had to take care of them. But Maria also elicited from him darker memories of his childhood, remembrances of superstitions he had learned as a child – things his mind knew were impossible . . . but that his heart was now having trouble denying. He looked out the window at the heavy clouds and his appetite faded.
He begged his mind to focus elsewhere but didn't find much solace, remembering that he owed Jelly an apology. The day before last the old handyman had dutifully drawn Johnny a hot bath as Murdoch had instructed, but they had barely spoken to each other. And yesterday the two men hadn't spoken at all. Jelly's friendship meant too much to him to jeopardize just because Barranca had run around free for a few hours and Johnny had lost a few nights sleep.
Silently, Johnny slipped out of the kitchen. He knew Maria would put his food into a warming oven and it would be waiting for him later . . . if he ever again felt like eating.
LLLLLLLL
Johnny found Jelly in the tack room, bent intently over a frayed cinch. The old man took meticulous care of all the tack and Johnny had been grateful on more than one occasion because of it. He cleared his throat and waited, but Jelly didn't look up.
Slowly he eased himself into a chair next to Jelly and pulled another frayed cinch toward him, silently beginning to mend it just as Jelly was doing.
"You know I didn't mean what I said on Sunday," Johnny said softly.
"I know . . ." Jelly answered.
"I've been a real grouch to be 'round lately."
"I know . . ."
"You gonna cut me some slack here, Jelly? I'm tryin' to apologize."
"I know."
Johnny suddenly started to grin. "You know a lot, don't ya?"
"I reckon I do."
"So are you gonna forgive me?"
Jelly continued to work on the cinch. "Don't know if there's anythin' ta forgive. Seems ta me that I was responsible fer Barranca bein' in that stall . . . but he weren't. That means any forgivin' otta be on ta other foot."
"I still shouldn't of bit into you like that."
Jelly finally looked up, and he sighed heavily. "Everybody's nerves has been a jangled 'cause of this weather and well . . . if yer willin' ta forgive me, then I say that's an end ta it all."
Johnny reached over to shake Jelly's offered hand, wincing at the pinch in his back.
Jelly hadn't missed the slight but obvious grimace. "You 'bout ready ta try some of my special liniment for them sore muscles? Fix ya right up."
"I thought you used it all up on the horses?"
"Nah . . . I always keep some on hand fer the likes of you."
The pair shared a mischievous look, and Johnny shook his head. "You know there ain't no help for the likes of me," Johnny stated with a grin.
"I know," Jelly replied – and both men laughed heartily, satisfied that their friendship was as strong as ever.
//'You do have a way with you, boy.'// Ezra smiled, carefully shifting within Barranca, moving forward in the horse's consciousness just enough so he could position the animal to hear better. But the palomino sensed him stirring and let out a plaintive whinny. Not wanting to draw attention from Johnny or the old handyman, he slid back into hiding.
The men had indeed both noticed Barranca's cry, and briefly turned an ear toward the horse before switching their attention back to the cinch repair.
"Ya know . . . some mighty strange thing's have been happenin' 'round here of late," Jelly ventured cautiously. "Things that don't make much sense."
Johnny nodded, but remained silent.
"One of the hands found one rung kicked outta each stretch of fence over in the back corral."
"A lot of animals been actin' strange. It's just this weather."
Jelly nodded. "Yep. I've said as much myself," the old man agreed as he continued to dance around his point. "Except we ain't had no stock corralled back there all week, and it was done by somethin' on the inside of the fence, not somethin' on the outside tryin' to get in. I also found a rabbit stomped ta death . . . and ya know that ole barn cat that's been hangin' 'round forever? Found him almost bit in two just inside the barn. Ugly sight."
Johnny set the repaired cinch down and looked directly at his old friend. "Just what are you tryin' to say Jelly?"
The old man stood up and adjusted his suspenders, then looked out the tack room door into the stable. "I'm sayin' ta watch yer back, Johnny," he whispered, although he wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to. "Somethin's just not right." Jelly turned back to the youngest Lancer, a man he had come to love like a son. "Johnny, when that stallion first showed up, I saw somethin' in his eyes I ain't never saw in a horse afore. I cain't exactly describe what it was, but it scart me. And things ain't felt right 'round this ranch since. Just watch yer back."
Jelly walked out of the tack room leaving Johnny alone with his thoughts. He felt a cold uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jelly had seen "something" in the stallion's eyes – but what about Barranca? Had he ever noticed anything wrong with Barranca? Surely Jelly would have mentioned it just now – wouldn't he have? Had Jelly just confirmed the feelings he had himself?
Slowly Johnny stood up, realizing every ache and pain he was feeling was a direct result of some action of Barranca's. Bad luck and coincidences? Or was Jelly right, and there was something more going on . . .?
Soon he might have to make a decision, but not yet. Johnny's instincts were telling him that Barranca would never do anything to intentionally harm him, and his instincts were almost always right. Despite his resolve, Johnny didn't feel like facing Barranca with such questions on his mind, so he took the side door exit and returned to the house.
LLLLLLLL
"You doing all right there, brother?"
Scott reined up beside Johnny, concern written all over his face. It was only mid-morning and they had already been in the saddle for three hours, chasing the last of the strays back to the herd. He'd kept a wary eye on his brother, watching him give Barranca the reins at times, seemingly trying to conserve his energy. The man did not belong in the saddle . . . his injuries were obviously still too painful, despite having done nothing more over the past couple of days than rest and drive a buckboard to town for some minor supplies. But Johnny was stubborn to a fault and just wouldn't stay down, insisting on continuing to try to keep up with his share of the work, which could be hard on a man in the best of health.
"Quit fussin', Scott. I'm fine."
"Sure you are. That's why you're whiter than Teresa's sheets. I'm taking a break, want to join me?" he fished.
Johnny didn't take the bait, and favored his brother with an impish smile as he whipped Barranca around to catch a straying cow. "You go right ahead, older brother," he called back. "I'll catch up with you."
Scott cursed beneath his breath as he watched Johnny chase the wayward steer. The boy was deaf when it came to his own health. But he had to admit that, even hurt, Johnny was a sight to behold. Horse and rider were so perfectly in tune they moved as one. He was hard pressed to remember anyone with the kind of chemistry Johnny had with animals. Scott considered that perhaps it was because people had treated Johnny so badly as a child that he began trusting animals more – and in turn those animals found equal trust in Johnny.
Another stray caught his own attention and he was off in the opposite direction, hoping that soon he might be able to at least get Johnny to take a long break for lunch.
Johnny was able to keep up an almost normal pace for another hour, but the heat and humidity finally caught up to him and he found himself swaying in the saddle. Startled, he realized that he had started to doze and Barranca had sought out the shade of a massive oak tree.
"Thanks, amigo," Johnny smiled, patting Barranca's neck. "I hope no one saw. I get caught nappin' I'll be ridin' that desk again before you know it. You make sure you wake me if I do that again."
As if he understood, Barranca snorted and moved out of the shade. Even though heavy clouds covered the sun and the air was sultry, the oak tree had provided a modicum of relief from the heat. Johnny missed it the moment he was once again out in the open. He'd grown up in towns in Mexico and south Texas where it was almost always warm, hot even. So he couldn't understand why this weather was having such an effect on him.
Johnny was never more thankful that Barranca was, among other things, the best cow pony he had ever ridden. The horse was performing perfectly today, so he gave Barranca his head and let the animal spot strays and herd them back in line. The movements of the pair were once again in harmony, and Johnny found himself more and more relaxed. Before he knew it he had dozed off again, his head sagging noticeably toward his chest.
Scott entered a thicket of trees and flushed out another wayward steer, spotting Johnny a dozen yards away. Even if his brother had not had his head slumped forward, obviously studying the backs of his eyelids, he would not have seen Scott, well hidden among the trees.
Taking the rare opportunity to study his young brother, he paused for a moment and just watched. It always amazed Scott how Johnny could become so relaxed in the saddle that he could even sleep while mounted. He could only manage that skill himself when he was dead tired, and even then would wake easily. A smile crept across his face as he thought of wandering over to tease Johnny about teaching him how to do that trick. He nudged Charlemagne forward . . . just as the unthinkable happened.
Barranca whinnied once as something seemed to smash into his mind, throwing him into a blackness that took away all thought, all feeling. Once again Ezra had taken over the animal's will, and the spirit was left staggered by the strength of the horse. Shanks could not get over how powerful he felt whenever he was in complete control of Barranca, and how hard it was not to take off at a gallop, to once again experience the freedom of movement from within this magnificent beast. But Ezra knew that there was power to be had in playing with the cowboy as well, so he resisted the temptation and focused back on the opportunity at hand.
Ezra had spotted a patch of grass that was camouflaging a pile of small boulders, and he couldn't resist leading Barranca toward it. He felt Johnny's knees clamp tighter around the horse's sides, instinctually adjusting to the horse's movements even while he dozed.
//'You mustn't become complacent, Johnny boy.'// Ezra smiled. //'Herding cattle can be a dangerous job. I'll just remind you of that.'//
Ezra stopped and waited, felt Johnny's legs relax, his body shift deeper into the saddle – and then he suddenly bucked. He felt Johnny lift from the saddle, followed by a harsh gasp as the man hit the ground hard.
In his exuberance, Ezra had failed to consider his surroundings carefully, and had missed noticing Scott as he watched from the stand of trees. Hearing a cry of surprise, Shanks saw Scott thundering toward him. Quickly he retreated, returning control to Barranca, leaving the horse staring down at a motionless Johnny on the ground.
"Johnny!" Scott jumped from his horse before he had come to a compete stop. "Johnny, are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Johnny sighed, but he didn't move.
"Where are you hurt?" Scott was kneeling beside him now, beginning to run his hands down Johnny's arms.
Johnny pushed him away, grimacing in pain. "I said I'm all right," he stated with exasperation.
"You don't look it," Scott barked back at him, frustrated that Johnny was once again trying to dismiss what could be a serious injury.
"I just got the wind knocked out of me." He didn't dare tell Scott that he had landed solidly on pure rock and his hip was now on fire.
"What happened?" Scott asked as he helped Johnny to sit up. Watching closely he noticed the pain etched on Johnny's face deepen as he paled, and that his young brother was now favoring his right side. Scott decided he would somehow have to get a look at Johnny before the day was over. If the boy was going to be stubborn about admitting when he was really hurt, he and Murdoch were just going to have to take Johnny's well being into their own hands.
Barranca had taken a step closer and was now leaning down to nudge at his shoulder with his muzzle. Big brown eyes met blue eyes, and Johnny saw nothing but confusion and worry from the horse. Johnny was feeling more than a little confused himself right at that moment, but he knew Scott was watching him closely so kept his uncertainty to himself. Hearing Barranca nicker at him nervously, he reached up a hand and gave the animal a quick pat. "It's okay boy," he crooned, reassuring himself as he calmed the horse.
Knowing he had to say something to appease Scott, Johnny offered, "I dozed and I guess a rabbit or somethin' spooked Barranca. It was my fault. You fall asleep in the saddle and you end up on your butt."
"Very true," Scott agreed – but that didn't mean he was convinced. "Can you stand?"
"Sure," Johnny stated too eagerly. Scott pulled the injured man carefully to his feet, and noticed that Johnny wasn't putting his full weight on his right leg. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I told ya to quit fussin' once already today. Now get back to work. I'll be fine."
"Why don't you head back to the house? I think we've got just about all the strays. I can pick up the stragglers myself."
"Nah . . . I'll . . ."
"No you won't." Scott had had enough, and leaned down to pick up Johnny's hat, placing it firmly on the younger man's head. "I'm playing big brother today, and I'm ordering you home."
"You're ordering me?" Johnny asked, but there was only humor, no threat, in his voice.
"Yes." Scott said definitively as he mounted his horse. "I'm ordering you."
"Fine, I'll head back," Johnny relented. "But you better come up with a better reason for sendin' me home than me fallin' off my horse 'cause I was nappin'. The old man'll kill me if he finds out." Under other circumstances Johnny's look of dread might have been amusing to Scott, but he didn't dare laugh or do anything that might change his brother's mind about returning to the hacienda.
"Don't you worry about Murdoch," Scott assured his brother. "I'll take care of him . . . you just take care of yourself. Please. I'll see you at dinner."
Johnny massaged his aching hip as he watched Scott ride away. He knew he was going to have a sizeable bruise, and that he'd once again aggravated his just healing back. But he felt lucky that he hadn't cracked a rib – or two. 'I'll also be lucky if I can make it upstairs to bed on my own tonight,' he thought ruefully. "Dammit, Barranca . . ."
The horse heard his name and nickered quietly as he stood attentively nearby. Johnny looked at Barranca and another bout of apprehension came over him. Jelly's words popped into his head and he took an involuntary step back from the palomino.
Had this just been more "bad luck?" Another "coincidence?" Or was there really something more going on?
He mounted Barranca slowly and painfully headed back toward the house, now unable to hold back the feeling of foreboding washing over him.
Johnny couldn't silence the din of his own thoughts. Something was not right with Barranca. He could no longer justify the horse's strange behavior as merely being a series of isolated incidents. The sudden behavior changes troubled him. He hadn't mentioned any of the other things that had happened during the week to anyone, including Jelly. But Scott had seen Barranca buck him off today, and that had him worried. Johnny had been able to come up with an excuse for the horse's action, and his brother had believed him – but he wasn't sure he believed the explanation himself. He needed to get a handle on what was going on before his family overreacted and Barranca was set out to pasture – or worse.
He had seen horses go "bad" before. It didn't happen often, but it was a sad thing to see a once perfectly good horse destroyed because it could no longer be trusted. Johnny promised himself he would do everything in his power to see that that didn't happen to Barranca.
"Tomorrow's Sunday, amigo," he said softly to the still air. "We both get a rest. We'll get this figured out. I won't give up on you, no matter what. You'll see."
LLLLLLLL
PART TWELVE
Scott rapped lightly a few times on Johnny's closed bedroom door and, receiving no answer, moved on. His brother was either feigning sleep or actually getting the rest he so badly needed. Either way, Scott decided not to disturb him further, although he had really wanted to see how his brother was faring this morning. Johnny had refused to answer any of Scott's questions the night before about his fall, and had forcefully pushed him out of the room, stopping just short of slamming the door in his face.
The family was headed for church. Johnny rarely went with them, preferring Catholic services when he did, but he usually at least saw them off. Scott figured there was no way his brother would have joined them this morning anyway, knowing that the hard pews and frequent kneeling would do nothing for Johnny's aching back after that spill he took off of Barranca.
He found Murdoch sitting in the front seat of the buggy waiting impatiently. To Scott's surprise he spotted Jelly sitting in the back with Teresa. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the handyman join them for church services.
"Jelly . . . ?" Scott peered dubiously at the old man, wearing his best – and only – suit, and looking woefully out of place.
The old man had his rehearsed excuse ready. "It cain't hurt ta remind the Good Lord that yer still a breathin' down here on earth. I figure this is as good a time as any."
Teresa reached over and patted his hand. "I think it's wonderful that Jelly has decided to join us. I just wish Johnny had felt up to coming. I'm worried about him."
'With good reason,' Scott thought, but he kept his particular concerns private, still trying to make sense of it all for himself.
He couldn't get the vision of Barranca bucking Johnny off out of his mind. Johnny had made all the usual excuses for the incident . . . "a rabbit or somethin' spooked Barranca," and it had been his own fault for dozing in the saddle. But something else bothered Scott . . . it was the way Barranca had acted right after Johnny had hit the ground. The palomino had stood totally motionless over Johnny, merely watching him. If a rattler or rabbit had spooked him the animal's instincts would have made him turn away from the danger. Instead the horse hadn't moved until he'd heard the sound of Charlemagne galloping toward him. Then Barranca had suddenly grown attentive, nuzzling at Johnny's shoulder.
Silence descended over the small group as Murdoch whipped the reins gently and the buggy pulled away from the house.
The thick clouds and heavy air continued to hang over the land like a shroud. The uncharacteristic dankness for this time of year seemed to permeate everyone and everything. Even the horses pulling the buggy seemed strangely lethargic. Half the trip passed before anyone spoke once more.
"I'm worried about Johnny," Teresa again ventured from the back seat, breaking the stifling stillness. "He hasn't really had much of a chance to recover from his accident."
"It didn't help getting thrown from Barranca yesterday." Scott allowed his own broiling thoughts to emerge. "I think he may have bruised a hip or leg," he added tightly.
Scott felt a hitch in the steady gait of the horses as they sensed a change of grip radiating through the reins Murdoch held in his strong hands. "He didn't mention getting hurt again last night," Murdoch stated, adding a stern, "and neither did you."
"He asked me not to," Scott explained, realizing he'd disclosed too much and broken his brother's confidence. "Said it was embarrassing getting thrown from his own horse because he'd dozed in the saddle."
"I don't like it," Jelly said flatly. "I don't like it at'all. Somethin' ain't right."
"He didn't belong in the saddle in the first place," Teresa snapped.
"It's more'n that Teresa."
Murdoch pulled the team to a stop and twisted around to look back squarely at the older man. "What's on your mind, Jelly? Spit it out."
Jelly looked around nervously, knowing he wasn't going to be believed no matter how he worded his concerns. But worry for his young friend gave him the strength to speak. "I cain't put my finger on it, but somethin's mighty wrong back at Lancer. Ever since that black stallion showed up, things a' been happenin' all over the ranch, 'specially ta Johnny. It's almost as if he had the curse of the devil over his head."
"Come on, Jelly, stop exaggerating," Murdoch sighed. "Everyone has a spate of bad luck. It's just Johnny's turn."
"You really believe that?" Scott asked, astounded.
"Yes. Yes I do."
"It's more'n that boss." Jelly sat forward on the seat, his voice becoming more insistent. "I don't trust that stallion. I think . . . I think it was him that brought on all the bad luck."
"I think you're letting your imagination get the best of you, Jelly. However, there's nothing to say we can't deal with that stallion. When we get back from church I want you to move him to the south forty. Let's keep him away from Barranca."
"And Johnny?" Teresa asked hopefully.
"We keep an eye on him . . . try not to let him do too much. But this is a working ranch, my dear, and a busy time of year. We need to move cattle onto grazing land that we should have had the whole winter to prepare. I need every man we have out working. Johnny's finally learned that lesson himself, and I'm proud of him for it."
"I have to agree with Teresa," Scott added, pressing the majority point. "Johnny needs rest."
"And he'll get it. Today. All day." Murdoch's strict edict drew obvious disappointment, and as he viewed the unhappy faces around him his resolve weakened – slightly. "Tomorrow we'll see how he feels. But if he can sit a saddle, then he'll be working. That's the way Johnny wants it, and it's also just the way it needs to be."
Murdoch indicated the subject was closed by facing forward and once more whipped the horses into motion. Silence again settled over the buggy, as each occupant retreated back into their own deep thoughts.
LLLLLLLL
Monday morning found Johnny limping slightly as he made his way toward the stable. He had slept most of Sunday away and throughout the night – but not without help. While the family had been at church he had painfully negotiated the stairs and found Teresa's medical supplies. There was always a bottle of laudanum kept for emergencies, and he had taken a healthy sip before going back to bed, the bottle hidden under his pillow.
It had been a hard decision to seek out that little brown bottle. Johnny absolutely hated the medicine and normally would do almost anything to avoid taking it. But he hurt so badly, and he couldn't let anyone know how much pain he was in. It was worth the deception for one good night's sleep – and to keep attention away from Barranca. Johnny really hoped the horse would return the courtesy today and behave.
"I think not!" Jelly stood before him, hands on hips, chin jutted out in defiance. "You ain't in no shape to go ridin' all over creation today. What does Murdoch say 'bout you bein' out a' bed?"
Johnny smiled. "It just so happens that I'm followin' Murdoch's orders. He wants me to oversee the projects, just stop by and make sure everythin' is runnin' smoothly . . . maybe tote some supplies back and forth. Nothin' tough at all . . . just a few hours in the saddle. Now, if you don't want the wrath of Murdoch ta come down on you for questionin' his orders, I think you should saddle Barranca here for me so I can be on my way."
"I'll do it," Jelly grumbled, taking Johnny's saddlebags and canteen from him. "But I think it's a dang fool idea."
Ten minutes later Johnny kicked Barranca into a gentle lope and tipped his hat to Jelly as he rode away from the hacienda, toward the Lancer arch and the open range beyond.
LLLLLLLL
An hour later Johnny found himself slowing Barranca down to a measured walk, each step of the palomino still jarring his tender back and bruised hip. He'd thought on it enough to convince himself that there wasn't anything broken, but Johnny knew his side had most likely been bruised down to the bone. Over the miles the sharp ache had developed into a constant throbbing, the pain now bad enough to make him sick to his stomach.
He reined up and dismounted slowly. Barranca looked back at him, searching for a treat. Instead Johnny reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the small bottle of laudanum. He hated the fact that he needed a dose so early, but he had to do something to be sure he made it through the day.
Johnny looked around carefully, then took a measured swallow of the foul liquid. He grimaced at the taste as he returned the medicine to the saddlebag. He knew it would take twenty minutes or more to have an affect, but then he could function for the rest of the day. Johnny washed the bitter aftertaste of the drug down with a gulp of water, then moved to mount up and get back to work.
//'Well, well, cowboy . . .'// Ezra had peeked out from his hiding place deep within Barranca's mind, and watched gleefully as Johnny had consumed the familiar pain-killing medicine. //'You're hurting more than you care to let on, and think you can make yourself feel better. But I have hundreds of ways to make you suffer. We'll just have to give you something different to think about. But not just yet . . . We'll play soon.'//
LLLLLLLL
"Oooeeee . . . It sure is a hot one today." Johnny reined Barranca to a stop, and once again dismounted – slowly. The laudanum had taken the edge off the pain but he knew he still had to keep himself moving carefully. "I'll sure be glad when this weather breaks. Strangest thing I've ever seen. You must be as hot as I am, boy."
Barranca answered Johnny with a quiet nicker and a lowering of his head. The pair had been checking watering holes all along the way, and every other one was now nothing more than a soupy mud puddle. Further evidence of the damage being inflicted on Lancer was clearly evident to Johnny as he constantly scanned the landscape, seeing the palette that normally indicated life quickly changing from light green to pale yellow, with brown patches already becoming widespread. What should have been good grazing ground for at least another month was already turned useless – even dangerous – by the oppressive and unremitting fall heat wave they'd been experiencing.
Johnny unhooked his canteen from the saddle and took off his hat, pouring the tepid water into the improvised vessel to allow Barranca to drink as he continued chattering on about their day. "We've got about an hours ride over to the mesa where Scott's workin'. Bet he's plenty tired stringin' fence line in this heat," he laughed lightly as the horse continued to drink eagerly. "Then we'll head over and meet up with that crew workin' on the bridge by the south line shack."
Barranca finally seemed satisfied, so Johnny settled his hat back on his head, relishing the feel of the water dripping into his hair. "Sounds like a full day to me," he added, then finally lifted the canteen to his own lips. He heard a strange whinny from Barranca just before the horse's head butted his hands and the canteen fell to the ground, the precious water streaming out and disappearing into the dry grass.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Johnny irritably questioned, leaning over gingerly to retrieve the canteen. But Barranca shifted and knocked Johnny off balance. He righted himself, but the water continued to pour quickly out of the canteen.
"Barranca, no!" Johnny shouted. But the horse continued to prance around nervously until his hoof finally came down on the canteen, crushing the container – and emptying the last of the water.
LLLLLLLL
Ezra watched with perverse humor as Johnny studied the ruined canteen.
//'Now new fun begins. That laudanum you took made you twice as thirsty, didn't it Johnny? Bet you really needed a drink. Just how long will it take you to find clean water out here, cowboy?'//
Ezra settled back and watched Johnny angrily toss the ruined canteen away before remounting. Shanks applauded his patience. There were so many games he knew how to play . . . so much enjoyment to be had. And Johnny was turning out to be the perfect toy.
LLLLLLLL
Johnny couldn't remember being more thirsty. His mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton and every breath caught in his dry throat. Barranca had kept up a steady gentle pace for the past hour, but the constant throbbing in Johnny's back and hip were back, and taking their toll. He was starting to feel sick from the pain again, and thought about taking another sip of the laudanum. But he was already so thirsty, and he didn't think he could stand the thought of that taste lingering in his mouth without something to wash it down.
Instead, he nudged Barranca onward toward the mesa. Scott would have water, and if need be, a strong arm to help him get back home. However Johnny really hoped that it wouldn't come to that. He couldn't spend another day in bed. He'd benefit, for sure – but everyone else would suffer. Even Murdoch was out working today. Johnny had to try to keep going. He couldn't – wouldn't – let his family down.
Everything would have been okay today if Barranca hadn't knocked the water out of his hand. Knocked . . . Johnny couldn't get past the feeling that the bump had been intentional. But why would a horse do that? Why would his horse do that? Barranca would never do anything to cause him harm . . .
Johnny shook his head at that last thought. It was getting real hard to deny that laying a heap of hurt on him was exactly what Barranca had been doing for days.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Johnny heard the sounds of hammering ahead and a loud curse that could only have issued from Scott. Johnny spurred Barranca on to find his brother nursing an injured digit in his mouth, while Cipriano continued working beside him and tried hard not to laugh.
"You're supposed to hammer the nail, not your finger," Johnny offered helpfully as he grinned down at Scott.
Scott looked up, but his own burgeoning grin faded as he caught sight of Johnny's pale complexion and sweat-drenched face. "You all right?" he asked, looking closer and noticing his brother's slightly unfocused eyes.
Johnny nodded, then casually readjusted his hat to avoid the scrutiny. "Just thirsty. Lost my canteen an hour or so back."
"How'd you do that?" Scott asked, quickly handing Johnny his own canteen.
Johnny explained around a series of eager gulps. "Oh . . . Barranca knocked it out of my hand . . . Then got all upset when I yelled at him . . . and ended up steppin' on it."
"He stepped on it?" Scott repeated, his voice full of suspicion.
Realizing how incriminating his explanation sounded, Johnny wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, and then flicked his hand in dismissal. "Was just an accident is all. I knew you'd have water, so it don't matter."
Scott shared a look with Cipriano, then they both turned and eyed Johnny carefully. "A lot of that happening lately . . . accidents, I mean."
Johnny shrugged, trying hard not to get into a confrontation that, in his condition, he just might lose. "It was just a canteen, Boston. Mind if I keep this?" He wrapped the strap of the canteen around the pommel of his saddle before Scott could answer.
"Looks like you're almost done here," he changed the subject. "Murdoch wants someone to sweep by the stream near the gap, make sure it isn't bogged down yet. I'm headed over to see how Joe is doing at the south line shack, so I'll check it on my way."
"Maybe you should call it a day," Scott suggested. "You look like you've had enough."
Johnny shook his head. "No need, brother. I'll meet you back at the ranch tonight." Johnny pulled Barranca around and headed them both south.
Scott watched his brother ride off as troubling thoughts gathered, and an uneasy feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach.
LLLLLLLL
PART THIRTEEN
Johnny waited for Scott to reach the bottom of the stairway and disappear toward the kitchen before he dared negotiate the steps himself. He'd hoped he'd feel a little better today, as the previous day's work hadn't been too strenuous. But the long ride hadn't done a thing to ease the tightness in his muscles or the pain in his hip. The injured man would have loved nothing better than to spend a nice leisurely day over by the lake, floating his battered body in the cool water, allowing his mind a chance to totally relax. 'Yeah . . . me and every other man on this ranch,' Johnny berated himself, chasing away the frivolous thoughts to ready himself for breakfast with his family.
He heard them all already gathered at the kitchen table, and had a mind to skip the meal. But Johnny knew failing to eat would only raise more questions about his physical condition, and keep the fire lit under suspicions about Barranca's recent behavior. Nope. Best to bite the bullet and show up – and try to act like nothing was wrong.
Truth be told, Johnny loved breakfast, finding comfort and solace in the daily ritual of the meal. Too many times while he lived as Johnny Madrid, breakfast had consisted of burnt coffee and hardtack with a horse his only company. Now he had more food than he could eat, with Maria hovering over him like an abuela. He enjoyed the attention and, if he was completely honest with himself, he needed it. It didn't – couldn't – make up for all the years he had lost being without family while on his own, a child trying to be a man. But what he had at Lancer helped ease the hurt and heal his soul. Until now . . .
How could he sit at the table, look those closest to him in the eye, and pretend that nothing was wrong? Johnny was hurting – so much physically that he had once again taken refuge in a dose of laudanum this morning. But Johnny's anguish was due to much more than just physical discomfort . . . he was suffering mentally from the uncertainty over what was happening around him.
The incidents with Barranca were random he told himself – just a spate of damn bad luck. But collectively the events had shaken him. And for some reason he felt the need to hide as much as he could from his family. Johnny had survived over the years by always being in command of his life. Now he felt like everything was out of his control. He couldn't allow that to happen.
Johnny straightened his shoulders, suppressed a hiss of pain, and walked into the kitchen, hiding his limp the best he could.
The smells of the kitchen were warm and inviting. Maria was instantly behind his chair, plate in hand, waiting for her chico to take his place. As always, she had prepared his meal with a little more spice than the rest of the family members could handle. But this morning there was no warming smile on her face, merely a look of worry and concern. 'Inquietud,' she had warned. Johnny was trying hard not to admit that she was right.
"You should not be out of bed, sí?" Maria scolded, as Johnny carefully slid into his chair. "You need rest to heal."
"I'm all right, mamacita." Johnny favored her with his most disarming smile as she set the plate in front of him. "There's lots of work to be done and plenty of easy jobs to go around. I won't have to do anythin' too rough. Right Murdoch?"
Murdoch had to smile at his son's enduring tenacity. "Johnny is right," he concurred, though his voice didn't quite hold the strong conviction of his words. "We need every able bodied man to . . ."
"I wouldn't call Johnny able bodied," Scott snapped. "He does need to rest."
"He's sittin' right here, and he feels just fine!" Johnny bit back, instantly riled by Scott's defense on his behalf, the overt attention exactly what he had hoped to avoid.
"Johnny, you always overdo. You can't . . ."
"I can handle myself," Johnny flared. "Always have, always will." He threw his napkin onto his plate, covering the untouched food, and jumped to his feet, too fast. Johnny's hip spasmed and he had to fight for balance, grabbing onto the table and forcing his legs to straighten beneath him. Embarrassed and angry, he stormed out of the kitchen, now openly favoring his right leg.
Scott had initiated the outburst, but everyone's eyes turned back accusingly toward Murdoch. The Lancer patriarch shook his head sadly – he'd kept himself blind to the fact that Johnny was indeed still in a lot of pain despite many opportunities to recover. The father wished he had the luxury of endless time and manpower to allow his younger son a more leisurely period to recuperate. But the boy was needed, and it was apparent that Johnny was going to remain adamant about his desire to keep working. He wasn't going to try to coddle his son any longer. As long as Johnny felt he could sit a horse, that was exactly where Murdoch would let him be – carrying his weight, just like everyone else.
LLLLLLLL
The sun this morning was doing its best to fight the ever-present clouds for supremacy of the sky, but the uplifting brightness did little to cheer Johnny. He made his way toward the barn, angry and repentant at the same time. He shouldn't have lost his temper. For once he understood that his father was just trying to run the ranch the only way he knew how. And Scott . . . well, Scott was just trying to be the over-protective big brother. Johnny normally appreciated the fact that Scott had come to like him enough to care about him. But right now the attention rankled.
Johnny entered the barn, still a little surly and already a lot sore. He wished that the day were at its end, not just beginning. Johnny concentrated on trying to massage the stiffness out of his hip as he walked slowly toward Barranca's stall, moving in and out of shadows as the early morning sun struggled to brighten the dark interior by creeping through the cracks in the old, seasoned barn wood.
He could sense the horse staring at him in anticipation as he approached, the animal waiting eagerly to begin his own day. Johnny glanced up and saw Barranca with his head familiarly stretched over the gate of his stall, outlined in a fusion of darkness and light, lingering shadows competing with slivers of sun to keep his beloved friend obscured.
The horse turned his head ever so slightly – and Johnny stopped dead in his tracks. A thin blade of light had cut briefly across the palomino's eyes and sent a cold shiver knifing down Johnny's spine. He'd seen it again! For just a moment there had been unmistakable pure hatred in those huge brown eyes that had been tainted black, so malevolent that Johnny felt his knees nearly buckle. Then it was gone, swallowed back into the shadows as Barranca twisted his head away.
Johnny took a step backwards. The ground beneath his feet felt off kilter. Had he just seen what he thought he saw? It wasn't possible. He swallowed hard, his heart beating too fast. Maybe the laudanum was playing tricks with his eyes . . . No. That explanation wouldn't fly any better as an excuse than the lack of air he'd considered once before. He couldn't deny that he had once again seen that look . . . that fleeting stare of malice he'd first glimpsed the day Barranca had nearly killed him in the corral.
He heard Barranca nicker, and out of the corner of his own eyes saw the palomino looking at him. 'Face him, dammit!' Johnny demanded of himself. 'Now! Don't wait.' And he did, turning toward the animal and taking the few steps forward to bring himself literally eye to eye with the beast. But there was no trace of the malevolence or darkness he had seen a moment ago . . . instead the horse looked confused, scared even. Johnny felt compelled to reach out to his friend, to comfort the horse – but he could not get his arm to move. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Barranca dropped his head over the gate waiting for Johnny to rub his head and scratch behind his ears, a daily ritual that reaffirmed the love Johnny had for the palomino.
"Sorry, amigo," Johnny whispered. "I can't. Not today."
Johnny heard Jelly moving around in the tack room and called out. "Jelly. Saddle me a horse."
The old man stuck his head out of the door. "Ya ain't planin' on ridin' agin, are ya?"
"Those fences didn't mend themselves overnight," Johnny snapped. "Just saddle me a horse."
"I ain't never seen nobody as mulish as you, Johnny Lancer," Jelly huffed. "One of these days you'll listen ta me. Stubborn fool . . ." he added under his breath, shaking his head as he moved toward Barranca's stall.
"Not Barranca . . ." Johnny looked at the golden horse and felt a pang of guilt, but he could not escape the image of those hate-filled eyes from only a moment ago. "He's been favorin' his left hind leg." The lie tasted bad on his tongue, but he couldn't take it back. "I want to rest him for a couple days."
Jelly looked at Johnny suspiciously. "I didn't notice him favorin' . . ."
"Just do as I ask, Jelly," Johnny sighed tiredly. "Please."
Jelly raised an eyebrow. Something was bothering the boy, and he had a hunch it was the same thing that was bothering him – things were just not right at the Lancer ranch, and Barranca was somehow, someway, at the heart of it.
"All right. I'll saddle Mosey. But ya take care of yerself, ya hear?"
"I will, Jelly."
Jelly had Mosey saddled in five minutes – satisfied that he had given Johnny one of the gentlest working horses Lancer owned. But he watched with a worried heart as Johnny mounted painfully, then slowly rode out of the barn, turning back to look briefly at Barranca. There was something mighty wrong between those two, and Jelly had a nagging suspicion that he knew what it might just be.
LLLLLLLL
Ezra settled quietly back into his hiding place inside the palomino, chastising himself. In his eagerness he had slipped up, allowing Johnny Lancer to glimpse his presence when there had been no good reason for the revelation. The excitement Shanks drew from commanding Barranca was making him careless. Now he'd have to lay low, bide his time, regain the cowboy's trust.
Lancer would question what he saw, but in time he would return to his beloved horse, there was no doubt about that. Johnny's initial reaction to pull away had been completely understandable. But then the cowboy had turned back quickly and faced his fear. That boded well for Ezra Shanks . . . very well indeed. Johnny would certainly ponder on what he'd seen and the horse's recent behavior. But Ezra knew the cowboy would reach no explainable conclusion. Who in the world would believe in a possessed horse? No man he had ever encountered – not until it was too late.
//'Things had been going so well,'// Ezra thought wistfully, adding with regret, //'It would be a shame to have to end this before the game really began.'//
LLLLLLLL
Johnny pushed himself hard, glad he was working alone today, no one along to weary him with worthless chatter or by incessantly asking him how he was doing. He worked intensely at a brisk pace, trying to keep his mind focused only on the sagging barbed wire as he strung it tighter around the fence posts. But the pain that assaulted his body was a constant reminder of his injuries . . . which led to thoughts of Barranca . . . which made him remember that undeniable look of malevolent hatred he'd seen twice now in the horse's eyes. Again and again he replayed the latest moment, seeing it clearly in his mind's eye.
He glanced over at Mosey, chomping on the tall grass, his tail swishing lazily at the annoying flies. Even when he was resting, Barranca seemed to be moving . . . there was a life about him that Johnny had not seen in any other horse. He felt a pang of guilt. Had he turned his back on his friend for no good reason? Had he left Barranca to languish in the barn unnecessarily when they could be out here together, like always? He didn't know . . . couldn't think. Between the gnawing pain of his body and the uncertainty in his mind he couldn't think anymore. Nothing in his life was making sense.
The sun that had struggled to remain bright in the sky all morning finally lost its battle, and humidity was building again as the sky threatened to unleash another downpour – that most likely would never occur. Johnny wished the rain would start now, for once altering the pattern of strange and disquieting weather that had been teasing Lancer for weeks. Something had to change.
He took a careful breath; his chest ached with each inhalation. Johnny had a fleeting thought that perhaps Barranca had done more damage than he wanted to admit when the horse had crushed him against the corral fence. But no, this pain went deeper than any bruises – he had an ache growing in his heart that was caused by the damaging effects of constant uncertainty, loss of trust, and the fear of an unknown but palpable danger he knew he would have to face on his own.
LLLLLLLL
Johnny had spent the day before working as hard as he could, ignoring his body, trying to tire his mind so he could have one night of uninterrupted sleep. He'd faced Barranca when he'd returned Mosey to the barn, and he'd seen – nothing. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
The hard work had done little to aid his sleep. This morning he had again faced Barranca, and observed nothing more than an old friend, peering at him from his stall, wondering what adventure they might share this day. But Johnny hadn't been able to bring himself to ride the palomino. He'd again taken Mosey out onto the range, assuring Jelly that he was just making sure Barranca was well before he rode him again. But Johnny knew it wasn't the horse that needed healing – it was his own heart that was breaking, and the only thing that was going to heal him was if he could once again find a way to trust his old companion.
Johnny sat at the dining table with his family, and just as he had the night before, mindlessly ate until he swallowed the last bite of steak, hardly noticing he had finished the meal. He excused himself from the table, too tired to even think – but that was exactly what he wanted, what he desperately yearned for. Johnny didn't want to see Barranca in his dreams tonight. He just wanted to sleep, like the dead, in peace.
"I want you to stay home tomorrow, son," Murdoch called out as Johnny headed for the stairs, finally seeing what the rest of the family had already acknowledged, unable to deny that his younger son was in trouble.
Without looking back Johnny called, "I'll be fine in the mornin'. I'll . . ."
"That's an order, Johnny," Murdoch said sternly, no longer willing to support his younger son's determined desire to keep active.
"I'll be up with some willow bark tea in a bit," Teresa added.
Before he could say another word, Johnny felt Scott standing beside him. Johnny didn't care – he just wanted to get up to his room . . . to still his troubled thoughts through sleep. The brothers silently ascended the stairs, Johnny accepting Scott's arm of support without a fight, anything just to be able to lay his head down in rest.
LLLLLLLL
Johnny sipped the last of the hot tea and fell into a deep sleep, unaware that Teresa had slipped a packet of sleeping powder into the brew, the bitter taste disguised within the equally unpleasant flavor of the young woman's herbal mix. Scott grabbed the mug from Johnny's limp fingers before it could tumble to the floor. He had agreed with Teresa's suggestion for helping his brother get a good night's sleep, and was thoroughly pleased to watch Johnny's eyelids close quickly as he drifted off into an obviously much needed slumber.
Scott pulled the light quilt up around his brother's shoulders. Johnny had fallen asleep fully clothed, refusing to undress in front of Scott, but allowing him to once again help get his boots off. Positioning a chair closer to the bed, Scott sat down and rested his feet on the edge of the mattress. He knew Johnny had not had a decent night's sleep since the incident at the corral with Barranca. His brother's disturbing lack of rest and obviously painful injuries worried Scott. But Johnny's increasing denials that anything was wrong were worrying him more.
LLLLLLLL
Scott didn't notice he had dozed until his head jerked up at the sound of a muffled cry. He quickly moved over to the lamp and raised the wick. Shocked, he saw Johnny dripping with sweat, his hands up beside his head twitching as if his wrists were tied to the bed, his head rolling back and forth. Most disturbing to Scott were his brother's quiet sobbing cries of " . . . no . . . no . . . " – over and over again.
Johnny saw Barranca slowly turn his head to look directly at him, the churning clouds in the sky growing darker, highlighting the palomino's golden coat. Something was wrong. He was wedged up against the corral fence again and he couldn't move. He looked around desperately for someone to help him but he was all alone. The hacienda appeared long deserted, the windows dark and cold. The barn door stood open, swinging in the rising wind. Not a soul was around, man nor beast.
Barranca shifted his weight and Johnny felt the pressure on his chest increase. He couldn't get his breath. He wanted to call out to Barranca, to ask his forgiveness for not trusting him, but his throat constricted . . . his voice died in the silence. Then their eyes met and Johnny's blood ran cold – Barranca's eyes were black holes . . . totally empty . . . dead.
"Johnny!" A frightened voice called to him from somewhere in the distance. "Johnny, breathe! It's all right."
Barranca turned his head and slowly stepped away. Johnny could feel himself slide to the ground, unable to break his own fall. But hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders . . . something cool touched his forehead and he felt the world that was his dream slip away.
Confused, Johnny opened his eyes to find his brother hovering over him, the light from the lantern on the bedside table casting heavy shadows on the ceiling above Scott's head.
"Johnny, wake up."
Johnny heaved in a huge intake of air, realizing he'd been holding his breath. He then shivered noticeably, partly from the chill seeping through him from his sweat-dampened clothes, but mostly from the sickening memory of Barranca's wrath.
Left totally dazed by the vivid nightmare, Johnny lay unmoving.
"Come on brother, sit up." Scott sounded worried, but he took full control over his unresponsive brother and pulled Johnny off the bed. "You need to get out of those wet clothes . . ."
"NO!" Johnny was suddenly fully awake. "No . . ." he calmed, pulling the quilt up to his chest. "Just leave me alone."
Scott reluctantly stood up, but he didn't leave. Instead he sat back down on the chair and gave his brother a moment. "You want to talk about it?" he finally asked.
Johnny shook his head and ran a hand over his face, recognizing the telltale source for the hazy cobwebs tangling his mind. "It was nothin'. Just a nightmare. You go on to bed, I'll be fine."
"Johnny, talking about it might . . ."
"No. I ain't dyin', so there's no need for you to hover."
"I beg to differ. Something is obviously troubling you so badly . . ."
"Get out, Scott." The words were uttered as a demand, but they were laced with a deep fatigue that Scott sensed came from a source other than the sleeping powders his brother had been given.
The pair stared at each other for a moment, trying to read each other through the flickering patterns of the dimmed lamp, one brother desperate for some way to compromise. "Please let me stay, Johnny."
"No." The reply was firm, the affect on Scott obvious as he dropped his head, struggling with a decision to continue the fight or let it go for the moment. Johnny knew his brother only wanted to help, so he softened, a little, and added, "Please, just leave me alone. I'll be fine."
Knowing that further argument would be pointless, Scott lifted his head and nodded, then stood and lowered the lantern wick until only a red glow remained. "Good night brother," he whispered and turned to leave.
"Scott." The older Lancer stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Tell Teresa never to drug me again. I thought I could trust the two of you. Reckon I was wrong."
"Trust goes two ways, brother. Don't forget that." With that Scott did exit the room, leaving Johnny as requested, to fight his demons alone.
