Chapter 4

Scott rode up to the Riley place just before mid-morning. Stepping down from the saddle he stood for a moment, taking in the mountainside at the back of the adobe cabin. The aspens were plentiful higher up the slope where the sun shone its full force. Before him lay the corral with its missing rails and the unruly barn door, but beyond those meager beginnings was the splendor of the sugar bush standing at the mouth of the valley. Vivid against the brown earth, the white blossoms peeked out of the green foliage in defiance of the heat and lack of water. There was something about those large bushes bobbing in the light breeze that gave him a sense of well-being.

An insistent bray echoed into the courtyard from the barn. He tied off his horse and rummaged in his saddlebags, finding what he wanted at the very bottom.

Lizzy was lipping the stall rail above her water bucket. Large yellow teeth reached out to nibble the wood, then set to grinding the top—she was enjoying herself. Her ears pricked, and she turned her head to look at him.

"Come here, girl," he said softly. The mule came halfway…and halted, then sidled away. "It's all right, Lizzy," he whispered and held out his hand.

Her nose extended, sniffing his fingers, and found the lump of sugar.

The thump of Ben's cane sounded at the door. "You have a way with her."

Scott went into the stall, with Lizzy snuffling at his shirt pocket. He grinned over his shoulder at Ben. "It's easy enough to do when you have sugar in your hand."

"Hmph, maybe."

Scott ran his hand down her leg, fingertips pulling apart the stained bandage. "A bit warm but nothing like yesterday. She's starting to heal all right."

Ben chewed on his lower lip, pulling it in and out of his mouth. His hand was busy on the cane handle, his thumb rubbing back and forth. Keeping an eye on him, Scott picked up Lizzy's brush and started to work. He flicked off the loose straw then began on her cream-colored withers raising puffs of dust with each swipe. He watched Ben nod to himself then walk inside the barn. The old man was moving slow and stiff this morning, reaching the hay bale with a soft moan.

Scott paused in his work and looked over Lizzy's back at him. "What is it?"

Ben worked the cane a few more times. "Been thinking on some things."

He slicked more dust from the mule's coat while waiting, then started to work around her ears. Lizzy made it difficult; her ears kept swiveling to take in the poor conversation.

"I'm beholden to you already, but I want to ask you a favor," said Ben.

Ben hadn't shaved again this morning and grey stubble marched across his jaw line, yet the shock of white hair falling across his forehead gave him a rakish look. He sat hunched over on the bale, hands curled on the top of his cane. His tired eyes were full of shadows and something else—Scott thought he saw hope.

"Fact is, I need your help with something," Ben paused and studied his hard-toed shoes, "but I haven't gotten the way about it figured out just yet."

"Do you need help figuring it out?"

"No, no, it'll come."

Scott slipped Lizzy the last sugar lump and left her in the stall, nosing around for more. He walked over to Ben and held out his hand.

The old man considered the offer with some hesitation. It was evident he wasn't used to help. But he was hurting, and he must have seen the sense in it. He gave a small grin and nodded.

"Appreciate it."

Riley tried to straighten up but couldn't unfold so he hobbled slowly to the barn door, looking older than Scott had seen him. He called out to him, "Ben, when you have it figured out...I'll be here when you need me."

#-#

Scott had cut a lot of wood during his stay at Lancer, and he leaned his ax against the back of the barn wall, stripping off his shirt, and set to work. Setting a smaller piece of wood atop a larger one, he halved it in a single stroke then turned the piece and halved it again. It was tiring work after a while, but his muscles hadn't started to complain just yet. Sweat was slick on his back and the breeze cooled his skin.

He stopped and listened. From the sound of clattering hooves, one horse was making its way into Ben's courtyard. And the rider was coming in fast...or a little careless. The hooves were quieted and Scott imagined the rider tying up in front of the cabin. There was a length of silence then he heard Ben speak. The old man's voice carried the same hard-edge bite to it Scott had heard when he brought Lizzy home. He hustled around the side of the barn, grabbing his holster along the way, then came to a sliding halt.

Riley was staring down Johnny from the steps of his porch. And his brother—for the most part—was taking it.

He couldn't see his face, but Johnny's tone was soft, his words spoken from under the brim of his hat. Riley shook his head and straightened further. Patience wearing thin, Johnny shifted his weight to one leg and slapped the reins against his leg. Scott shrugged with quiet laughter and looped the gun belt around his bare shoulder.

"Johnny!"

The dark head tipped up and turned. Johnny's shoulders relaxed, a quick smile clearing the previous frown. Scott strode to the front of the cabin.

"Having trouble?"

Johnny's answer was swift. "Nothing I can't handle."

Scott's smile grew wide, matching his brother's. "I saw you 'handling it."

"You know this boy?" asked Ben.

Scott nodded. "I'd like to introduce my brother, Johnny. But what he's doing here remains a question."

Ben locked his gaze on Johnny, looking askance—and puzzled. Then his face brightened and he pointed. "You're the second one. Murdoch had two sons who came to join him."

Johnny launched into a honeyed drawl. "Yeah, that's right. Old Scott here beat me to the punch. But age before beauty, you know."

Scott shot a warning look in Johnny's direction. "So, what are you doing all the way out here? I thought Murdoch gave you the day off."

"Well, Jelly went into town to pick up Pudge and the way I see it, you shouldn't have all the fun." He put two fingers on the brim of his hat, pulling on it. "Thought I could lend a hand, maybe supervise a job or two." The cocky smile was back.

"You'll have to get in line. Ben's the only ramrod here."

Johnny squinted up at the man on the porch. "Oh, I think between the both of us we could keep you in line, Scott. What do you say Mr. Riley?"

Ben nodded and a small grin edged into the corner of his mouth, easing some of the creases there.

Scott hefted the holster higher onto his shoulder and fought his own smile down. "You're just in time. I was going to get started on the barn roof."

Johnny's face lost some of its smirk. "The roof, huh?"

He wagged a finger in the air. "Oh no, it's too late now to back out, you're already here."

His brother let out a pained sigh. "Let's get to it, then."

#-#

From time to time Scott would stop and study the country. He and Johnny shared the work and helped each other. There was a rhythm between them, a comfortable pattern that had been forged over the last couple of years. They'd finished patching the roof and had moved on to the corral. But every now and then, he'd pause and take another look at those bushes.

Johnny hefted the railing into place. "It's nice lookin' land out here, isn't it? And good range. Riley should have plenty of water when that creek bed fills."

"Uh-huh." Scott shook the can of nails until he found the right one. Jiggling the board forward until it slid in the notch, he placed the nail square against the wood.

Scratching his earlobe, Johnny shot him a quick glance. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?" He sent the nail home with one quick thump of his hammer.

"Why are you helping out Riley so much?"

"Why not?"

"That's not what I'm asking. I've seen you chase after lost causes before…"

Scott stopped and put the hammer down. "Are you serious? Look who's talking."

Johnny bumped up the second railing with his foot and set it into place. "Like I was saying…what makes Riley so special? You have to admit this is a whole lot of work for one old man you didn't know a few days ago."

Irritated and not knowing why, he straightened the board with too much force and overshot the notch. "Maybe he's just somebody who needs help and I can give it to him. Or maybe it's just the heat that's made me soft…"

"What else, Scott? You got something rumbling around in that brain of yours."

He hammered at the nail and missed the head completely. Getting a better grip, he drove it in the second try.

Where did he start? Ben sparked memories, taking him all the way back to Boston…. Harlan Garrett had worked to make a life for them—a good life, one filled with privileges. But he'd never wanted out of life what his grandfather had wanted. That had been clear. He'd been young and headstrong, wanting adventure. The accounting firm only meant one thing: tied to a chair and rooted there like an old oak tree, condemned to live a life of ink-stained hands and boardroom meetings. He realized—as time passed—that old oak tress were solid and dependable, seemingly lasting forever.

He'd found his adventures upon the back of a horse, alongside the bottom waters of the Mississippi and in the forests of Yellow Tavern. He grimaced. The adventure hadn't turned out to be all it was cracked up to be. Other more important things pulled at him now. Things that smacked of permanence and belonging—like Johnny and Murdoch—and Lancer. Those oaks started to look good again about two years ago.

Scott dropped his hammer into the can of nails and shifted his weight into a half-lean against the corral post, watching his brother in profile. "Remember that day we signed the papers in the attorney's office, giving each of us one-third ownership of Lancer?"

The rail jiggled and bounced against his hip when Johnny braced his elbows on it. "Yeah, old Murdoch waited until I could get around then dragged all of us into town, even Teresa." He pushed his hat back to the crown of his head. "But what's that got to do with Ben Riley?"

"So when you told the attorney to let the name 'Lancer' stand instead of Madrid…did you mean it?"

Johnny turned to stare at him for a second, his look guarded. "What are you gettin' at? Maybe you have been out in the sun too long."

"Just answer the question."

"You know I meant it. Felt like I was signing my life away, though. But at least there wasn't any more wondering where my next meal would come from." Johnny's chin dipped lower to rest on his folded hands. "And no more border towns, no more moving on…I belonged somewhere."

Scott looked out past the corral. "Yeah." Those white blossoms on the sugar bush winked at him in the distance as a light wind worked its way through the foliage. "Ben doesn't 'belong' any more. That's why I'm helping him."

Both heads turned when they heard Ben call from the porch.

Johnny kicked off the railing and looked up at him; one eye squinted against the sun's glare. "You know what, Scott? That's a pretty good reason."

#-#

Ben was younger-looking with his beard gone, thought Scott. There was a certain quiet dignity in his face. But right now he was trying to bluff with a pair of fives. Scott looked over his cards at Johnny and raised his eyebrows. His brother was up thirteen dry beans to his seven. But they were both down to Ben. It looked like the Lancer pride would take it on the chin tonight, unless Johnny had something up his sleeve. They'd given Ben the benefit of the doubt, but learned quickly that the man was a ruthless player—and out for blood. They'd been trying to make up for their mistake ever since.

Johnny sighed at the cards in his hand and dropped them facedown on the table.

"Are you throwing in?" asked Ben.

"Not yet," Johnny replied, "I need some more coffee, though. Are you sure you didn't play with the sharps down in Sonora?"

There was a short bark of laughter from Ben.

Riley had made them beans and cornbread—or as he called it, Indian pone—and hot coffee, then insisted he and Johnny sit down at the table to eat "like the civilized". The rich smell of coffee still permeated the room with a friendly sense of comfort after the meal had been finished.

Scott looked around while Johnny fetched the pot from the back of the stove and filled it with water from the bucket. It was a cozy room with the stove on one side and the dinner table near the wall by a window. A counter ran partway against another wall, one that Ben had used for cutting and preparing the food. Two straight-backed chairs with faded velvet seat cushions flanked each side of the hearth and a hutch holding a few blue and white china plates hugged the wall near the food counter. A softer, overstuffed chair had a place beside the second window, completing the rest of the room. Scott could easily imagine Ben sitting there, looking out the window. But what intrigued him the most was the bank of books propped up on hard maple shelves behind the chair. A small writing desk was placed to the side, as if to keep it out of the way.

Although small and plain, the house appeared clean and looked after. But then it would for a single man living alone—provided the man was tidy.

"Ben, how long have you had this place?"

"I've been living out here proper about a year. But I've owned this land for a long time now, almost from the time I got to Green River. Saw its true value right off."

"Those sugar bushes?"

Ben smiled and nodded. "You remembered what I said."

"Was that the greenery you were starin' at all day, Scott?" asked Johnny from the stove.

Scott dipped his head briefly. "Yep, they're at the beginning of the valley. There's something about them. Like you said Ben, they pretty up the land."

"They do catch your eye."

Scott looked over at Johnny and winked. "Our father was telling us how you found the Monarch in Green River."

It got the old man's attention and he sat up straighter in the chair. "He was, huh? Which version?"

"This one had to do with something about being dead-drunk…"

Ben chortled. "That's the better story. The honest to God's truth is that I did stumble onto the Monarch, but I wasn't drunk."

"It's a simple tale. I'd taken a fishing pole along with my pan that day. Meant to catch dinner while I worked. Threw in my line and as I was waiting for the fish to bite, I looked down at the water. There were gold flecks in the stream. Didn't even have to dip my pan.

"The real money isn't in panning; it's sinking a shaft and digging, and that's what I did to build the Monarch. But I was always one for panning, instead of out-and-out mining. A mine is too closed in, after a while it gets suffocating. But I guess when you get the fever, any color is better than none…no matter how you get it.

"I had this place built up a bit then Lizzy and I came out to live here after some trouble in town. But I guess you might know about that, too." He looked down at the table. Ben's curled fingers couldn't span the breath of one card anymore, but his eyes were bright with remembering, a soft frown creasing his face. He half-turned to face the stove. "Say, is that Arbuckle's* ready yet?"

His brother's coffee had a strong flavor—christened cowpuncher coffee by Teresa—and earned a smacking-lips growl of approval from Ben. Johnny poured it out into their cups then sat down heavily and fingered his cards. "All right, old man. I'm here to play now. You'd better watch out. Scott, it's your turn."

Ben snickered again. His rheumy grey eyes held a lot of secrets, the cards included. Riley was bluffing, Scott was sure of it. He took a look at the infinitesimal amount of beans left on his side of the table then added up the cards in his hand. Rolling the beans under his fingertips once then twice, he caught Johnny grinning at him like a sinner.

Scott shrugged. "I fold."

Ben kept a good eye on the cards that were played. He and Johnny shifted from draw to stud and back again. Then Ben kicked it up, and Johnny raised. Ben met his raise with a cagey grin.

"Spread' em, Johnny."

Coolly, Johnny fanned out his cards—holding four queens and a trey, but held off raking in the pot. Puttering a bit like he was uncertain, Ben laid down his hand—four aces and a five—and smirked.

Johnny looked up sharply and a faint, wry smile hovered about his lips.

Ben quivered with laughter, his shaggy white brows coming together in one long line across his forehead.

"How'd you do it, Ben?" asked Johnny.

Riley took a long sip of coffee and sat back in his chair. "You just have to live and learn, son. And a good card player doesn't reveal any secrets. But I will say a poor mining claim leaves a lot of time to learn the tricks. And God knows I had more than my share of the bad ones at one time or another—left a lot of time for learning."

Johnny shook his head and tapped the cards together in a neat single pile. He yawned and picked up his coffee cup. "Well, you cleaned me out so I expect it's about time I go. Besides it's an early morning at Lancer." He stood and held out his hand to Ben. "Mr. Riley, it was a pleasure…at least the meal was…" If it had been anyone else, those words might have sounded snippy and irritated, but with Johnny it was all affable congeniality.

And Ben looked tickled. He got to his feet to shake hands and wavered a bit beside his chair, but his grin never left. "Anytime you want to get your stake back, you just let me know."

Scott stood and stretched out his back a little. Johnny cast him a glance.

"You stayin'?"

"I'm staying, if Ben doesn't mind. That way I can get an early start finishing the barn. I'll camp out with Lizzy tonight."

Ben raised his head, looking relieved, and his hand stilled on the cane handle. "That'd be just fine, Scott. I've got some blankets around here somewhere."

"Come on Johnny, I'll walk with you out to the corral," said Scott.

"'Night, boys." They left him sitting at the table with his lone coffee cup, reaching for the stack of cards.

Barranca was waiting for them, neck arched over the new railing in the corral. Johnny made short work of throwing his saddle on the gelding's back. He stopped and looked to the cabin. "I'd say there's nothin' wrong with that old buzzard's mind."

Scott leaned on the corral. "No, there certainly isn't."

Johnny tightened the cinch and led the palomino out of the corral. "I wonder what really went down between him and his nephew."

"Maybe we'll never know. Bet there's a story in there somewhere, though."

"Now that'd be easy money." Johnny swung up in the saddle. "All right, I'm for home."

"Tell Murdoch I'll be back in a day or so. And Johnny…thanks for covering me at the ranch."

He tipped his hat. "De nada. You'd do the same."

Scott watched Johnny ride off then turned his attention to the cabin. Yellow light flickered through the curtains at the window. He thought back to the card game…an image of Ben handily beating Johnny with those aces came to mind, and he wondered for the second time that evening what the whole story of Benjamin Riley would reveal.

tbc

**"Arbuckle's" is slang for coffee, taken from a popular brand of the time. "I need a cup of Arbuckle's."