Part ten
Murdoch could do nothing but pace the cell, his fear being played out in every step. The gravity of the warnings, delivered by the barrel of the guard's gun into Scott's ribs, had not been an idle threat. While every parental instinct told him to fight, he ceded to the more powerful persuader and watched as Scott was led away. Now, both his sons were in a situation over which he had no control. And he didn't like it. If he only knew what was happening to his boys.
The guard sat on the sheriff's desk. Half on, half off with his right leg on the floor to keep him balanced. Knowing he was in no real danger from his prisoner, he closed his eyes and began to pick at his discolored teeth with a broken match, giving the task his undivided attention. While in-mid cleaning, he found himself distracted by a noise coming from the back of the jail. Reaching for his rifle which laid beside him on the desk, he headed toward the sound to investigate, pausing briefly at the cell door. "Now, don't you go anywhere, old man," he chuckled as he continued on his way.
Feeling helpless, Murdoch rubbed his fingers through his grey hair and was about to continue to do the only thing he could do, which was pacing, when he heard the sound of scuffling and a muffled noise from the back of the room.
Moving to the bars, Murdoch leaned into the cold iron, his eyes following the direction he had last seen the guard heading.
"Guard!" Murdoch tentatively called, as he wondered what else could go wrong. "Who's there?"
The only reply to Murdoch's questions was an occasional grunt, followed by a scrapping sound. The rancher continued to watch as the noisy grunts came closer and was astounded to see the rear end of a man as he dragged the now tied and gagged guard into the next cell and locked the door.
"Who are you?" Murdoch asked, gratefully, but was curious as to the identity of the disheveled man who stood before him.
Stuffing the guard's pistol into the top of his trousers and laying the 'borrowed' rifle against the bars, the stranger used the unconscious guard's keys, to unlock the cell door. "Mr. Murdoch?"
"Lancer, Murdoch Lancer. To whom am I indebted to?" Murdoch asked as he waited for the stranger to gather his thoughts. The rancher could see by the dark circles under his eyes and the ripped sleeve ringed by a dried bloodstain, that the unshaven face man hadn't slept for days. Or cared for his wounds for that matter.
"My name is Sam Beaudine, Mr. Lancer. I am--was the Banker here in Los Almos. Though, I can't rightly call myself much of a man anymore, either," Sam said somberly as he opened the door.
Confused as to what the banker was talking about, Murdoch moved quickly to the window in search of his sons. "What happened here, Mr. Beaudine?"
"Hell happened, Mr. Lancer," Sam answered bleakly as he joined Murdoch's search with spiritless eyes. "Cale and his men rode in a week ago. I guess they would've taken the money and kept riding, but--"
"But what?" Murdoch asked, unable to hold back a relieved sigh when he caught sight of both his sons standing out in the street.
"My wife, Solana," Sam whispered as he nodded to the obviously distressed woman in the street. "She and Cale have a history. Not one my wife should be ashamed of, mind you, but a history none the less. I'm the one who should be ashamed," the younger banker whispered as he closed his eyes in attempt to block out the memory. "I let Cale take her."
"You look like you put up a fight," Murdoch said as he gestured to the bloodied sleeve.
"This is nothing compared to what Solana has suffered because I wasn't man enough to keep her safe," Sam said as he dismissed his wound.
"What about the rest of the town?"
Sam's laughter was hollow as he turned to Murdoch. "What about them? They had even less courage than I did. Not one of them tried to help us, not one. I was hoping when I heard about you and your son that you'd be able to help me."
With only half of his attention focused on the banker, Murdoch frowned as he tried to figure out why everyone was out in the street. "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure," the banker shrugged, his own attention centered solely on Solana. "Though, by the look of it, it's got something to do with that dark-haired stranger and my wife."
"That dark-haired stranger--is my son,"
"I thought--"
"They're both my sons," Murdoch exhaled as he rubbed his chin apprehensively.
"I'm sorry," the banker said softly as he stared sadly into the street.
"I'm not," Murdoch answered without thinking. "Johnny's a good boy. A good son."
"Johnny?" The banker body jerked as he gazed at the dark-haired stranger more intensely than he had before. "I thought I heard he was-- Not Johnny Madrid?"
Murdoch sighed deeply, wondering if that name would ever stop shadowing his son. "He was. He's Johnny Lancer now."
"Then, sir," Sam turned and offered his hand to Murdoch. "I am in your son's debt. He once saved my Solana from a life no woman should be forced to endure and I will be forever grateful to him for that."
Murdoch took the offered hand, and was oddly surprised to be proud of the man Johnny Madrid had been. "It's not me you should be thanking, Mr. Beaudine, but in Johnny's stead, I'll accept. Now we need weapons " the elder man frowned as he made a frantic search of the room. Spying the rifle Sam had left against the cell door, Murdoch moved instantly to pick it up. Checking the weapon's chambers, he was disappointed to find it nearly empty. "Only two rounds left. What do you have?"
Sam pulled out the guard's pistol and checked it out. "Five. What do you have in mind, Mr. Lancer?"
Quickly moving back to his position at the jail window, Murdoch pointed to the other side of the street. "We didn't get a proper introduction, but I take it the man in the white shirt, black vest, and coat is Cale, right?"
"That's right, yes." Sam agreed, even though his deepening frown gave away his sudden uneasiness. "You're not thinking-- Mr. Lancer? Not counting your sons, there are six men out there. We can't-- Not with just the two of us. And not with just these." He gestured to the weapon in his hand as he shook his head.
"We're not going to," Murdoch replied as he calculated the risks of his plans against his son's lives. "Tell me, which man is Cale's right-hand man?"
Unsure whether to put his trust in this unspoken plan, Sam tore his eyes away from the rancher at his side to point to the Mexican standing with his rifle aimed at Solana's back. "That's him--The Mexican. His name's Chavez. Please--" the banker begged as he tore his eyes from Solana in an unfinished plea for his wife's survival.
"Mr. Beaudine, we haven't got time for me to be gentle about this." Murdoch stared gravely into the banker's eyes. "Look out there. You wife has a gun aimed at her back. My sons are seemingly being forced to face each other with guns. If the people we love are going to have half a chance, we have to act now. I have a clear shot of Chavez. You should be able to take out Cale from where you are. The rest should scatter."
"And if they don't scatter? Or if we miss? I can't risk-- I just can't," Sam's voice shook, his body trembling under the strain as he turned away.
"Well, I can, Mr. Beaudine, and I will." Murdoch's voice was firm and determined. "I was given no say to live when my boys were taken from me once before. This time, I will die keeping them."
TBC
Murdoch could do nothing but pace the cell, his fear being played out in every step. The gravity of the warnings, delivered by the barrel of the guard's gun into Scott's ribs, had not been an idle threat. While every parental instinct told him to fight, he ceded to the more powerful persuader and watched as Scott was led away. Now, both his sons were in a situation over which he had no control. And he didn't like it. If he only knew what was happening to his boys.
The guard sat on the sheriff's desk. Half on, half off with his right leg on the floor to keep him balanced. Knowing he was in no real danger from his prisoner, he closed his eyes and began to pick at his discolored teeth with a broken match, giving the task his undivided attention. While in-mid cleaning, he found himself distracted by a noise coming from the back of the jail. Reaching for his rifle which laid beside him on the desk, he headed toward the sound to investigate, pausing briefly at the cell door. "Now, don't you go anywhere, old man," he chuckled as he continued on his way.
Feeling helpless, Murdoch rubbed his fingers through his grey hair and was about to continue to do the only thing he could do, which was pacing, when he heard the sound of scuffling and a muffled noise from the back of the room.
Moving to the bars, Murdoch leaned into the cold iron, his eyes following the direction he had last seen the guard heading.
"Guard!" Murdoch tentatively called, as he wondered what else could go wrong. "Who's there?"
The only reply to Murdoch's questions was an occasional grunt, followed by a scrapping sound. The rancher continued to watch as the noisy grunts came closer and was astounded to see the rear end of a man as he dragged the now tied and gagged guard into the next cell and locked the door.
"Who are you?" Murdoch asked, gratefully, but was curious as to the identity of the disheveled man who stood before him.
Stuffing the guard's pistol into the top of his trousers and laying the 'borrowed' rifle against the bars, the stranger used the unconscious guard's keys, to unlock the cell door. "Mr. Murdoch?"
"Lancer, Murdoch Lancer. To whom am I indebted to?" Murdoch asked as he waited for the stranger to gather his thoughts. The rancher could see by the dark circles under his eyes and the ripped sleeve ringed by a dried bloodstain, that the unshaven face man hadn't slept for days. Or cared for his wounds for that matter.
"My name is Sam Beaudine, Mr. Lancer. I am--was the Banker here in Los Almos. Though, I can't rightly call myself much of a man anymore, either," Sam said somberly as he opened the door.
Confused as to what the banker was talking about, Murdoch moved quickly to the window in search of his sons. "What happened here, Mr. Beaudine?"
"Hell happened, Mr. Lancer," Sam answered bleakly as he joined Murdoch's search with spiritless eyes. "Cale and his men rode in a week ago. I guess they would've taken the money and kept riding, but--"
"But what?" Murdoch asked, unable to hold back a relieved sigh when he caught sight of both his sons standing out in the street.
"My wife, Solana," Sam whispered as he nodded to the obviously distressed woman in the street. "She and Cale have a history. Not one my wife should be ashamed of, mind you, but a history none the less. I'm the one who should be ashamed," the younger banker whispered as he closed his eyes in attempt to block out the memory. "I let Cale take her."
"You look like you put up a fight," Murdoch said as he gestured to the bloodied sleeve.
"This is nothing compared to what Solana has suffered because I wasn't man enough to keep her safe," Sam said as he dismissed his wound.
"What about the rest of the town?"
Sam's laughter was hollow as he turned to Murdoch. "What about them? They had even less courage than I did. Not one of them tried to help us, not one. I was hoping when I heard about you and your son that you'd be able to help me."
With only half of his attention focused on the banker, Murdoch frowned as he tried to figure out why everyone was out in the street. "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure," the banker shrugged, his own attention centered solely on Solana. "Though, by the look of it, it's got something to do with that dark-haired stranger and my wife."
"That dark-haired stranger--is my son,"
"I thought--"
"They're both my sons," Murdoch exhaled as he rubbed his chin apprehensively.
"I'm sorry," the banker said softly as he stared sadly into the street.
"I'm not," Murdoch answered without thinking. "Johnny's a good boy. A good son."
"Johnny?" The banker body jerked as he gazed at the dark-haired stranger more intensely than he had before. "I thought I heard he was-- Not Johnny Madrid?"
Murdoch sighed deeply, wondering if that name would ever stop shadowing his son. "He was. He's Johnny Lancer now."
"Then, sir," Sam turned and offered his hand to Murdoch. "I am in your son's debt. He once saved my Solana from a life no woman should be forced to endure and I will be forever grateful to him for that."
Murdoch took the offered hand, and was oddly surprised to be proud of the man Johnny Madrid had been. "It's not me you should be thanking, Mr. Beaudine, but in Johnny's stead, I'll accept. Now we need weapons " the elder man frowned as he made a frantic search of the room. Spying the rifle Sam had left against the cell door, Murdoch moved instantly to pick it up. Checking the weapon's chambers, he was disappointed to find it nearly empty. "Only two rounds left. What do you have?"
Sam pulled out the guard's pistol and checked it out. "Five. What do you have in mind, Mr. Lancer?"
Quickly moving back to his position at the jail window, Murdoch pointed to the other side of the street. "We didn't get a proper introduction, but I take it the man in the white shirt, black vest, and coat is Cale, right?"
"That's right, yes." Sam agreed, even though his deepening frown gave away his sudden uneasiness. "You're not thinking-- Mr. Lancer? Not counting your sons, there are six men out there. We can't-- Not with just the two of us. And not with just these." He gestured to the weapon in his hand as he shook his head.
"We're not going to," Murdoch replied as he calculated the risks of his plans against his son's lives. "Tell me, which man is Cale's right-hand man?"
Unsure whether to put his trust in this unspoken plan, Sam tore his eyes away from the rancher at his side to point to the Mexican standing with his rifle aimed at Solana's back. "That's him--The Mexican. His name's Chavez. Please--" the banker begged as he tore his eyes from Solana in an unfinished plea for his wife's survival.
"Mr. Beaudine, we haven't got time for me to be gentle about this." Murdoch stared gravely into the banker's eyes. "Look out there. You wife has a gun aimed at her back. My sons are seemingly being forced to face each other with guns. If the people we love are going to have half a chance, we have to act now. I have a clear shot of Chavez. You should be able to take out Cale from where you are. The rest should scatter."
"And if they don't scatter? Or if we miss? I can't risk-- I just can't," Sam's voice shook, his body trembling under the strain as he turned away.
"Well, I can, Mr. Beaudine, and I will." Murdoch's voice was firm and determined. "I was given no say to live when my boys were taken from me once before. This time, I will die keeping them."
TBC