5

Teresa took the opportunity his absence provided to slip her book of verse and the journal back in her bag. It wouldn't do for Johnny to read her journal, no all her private dreams and wishes were in there as well as a few mentions of him. Then she cleared away the coffee mug by force of habit and rinsed it through at the pump. She hoped that Johnny would make out fine outside; he had seemed a little better since his nap. Maybe he wasn't as hurt as he had suggested to her. She gathered up the blankets from the rickety bed and took them to the door to shake them out. Who knew what kind of bugs the threadbare wool was harbouring. She didn't care to spend the night scratching. The shack had a very small porch with a rail over which she slung the blankets. She beat at them with a tree branch causing clouds of dust to rise up in the semi darkness, making her cough. When she was satisfied that they were clean enough to sleep on, she left one out on the porch and put the other back on the bed. By the time she had fed the stove fire with more sticks, dusted herself down and washed her hands and face, Johnny had returned. Wearing a smile of triumph, swaying a little, his face flushed and his hands hidden behind his back, he asked her to guess what surprise he had for her.

Her face lit up, "Oh Johnny, do say you caught a rabbit..."

"No!" he declared and brought his good arm round to display a small rattlesnake.

Teresa was far from pleased but tried not to let it show.

"Oh well, I guess I could roast it, maybe it won't taste so bad."

"I know it don't look much but I have eaten it before and it didn't make me sick." He took a step forward, not really steady on his feet.

Teresa looked over at the stove, "I don't feel all that hungry any more."

Johnny dropped the dead snake onto the table and collapsed into the chair looking disheartened. He stretched out his aching leg.

"I guess I don't neither." His voice was soft and weary.

Teresa crossed over to sit in the chair opposite him noting how he was rubbing his stomach with the palm of his hand, a slow circular motion.

"Tell me about the time you ate rattlesnake."

"Oh I've eaten it many times when I was a kid, when I was wild and free. But the last time I ate it was when Jelly's boys found me shot – remember?"

Teresa grinned. She certainly did remember, especially the way Jelly had her running herself ragged waiting on him. He seemed to have the hugest appetite. And then he'd had the gall to steal her jewelry.

He continued, "Those poor little mites cooked some for me, offered it me like it was prime steak. Nice to think they all got proper homes to live in now."

She nodded in agreement; she still saw some of them at church, at the store, with their proud new parents. How different those boys looked scrubbed up and clothed in decent shirts and trousers, how proud they looked too, of their shiny boots. She wondered if Johnny had been such a boy, on the run, barefoot, living off his wits. He rarely talked to them about his childhood, maybe because he was afraid of offending Murdoch or embarrassing Scott. Or maybe because it was just too painful to revisit.

"You want me to wash your jacket? It has blood on it. I could rinse your shirt. It would be dry by morning."

Johnny looked down at his stained shirt and shook his head.

"Don't think I could get it off anyhow. Everything aches too much. Just wanna rest."

Teresa indicated the bed and the fact that she had done her best to clean up the blankets. "I put a blanket out on the porch because I thought maybe I should sleep out there."

Johnny replied with a grunt that was almost a chuckle. "I'd hate to think of you sleeping out there, Teresa, could get a mite dangerous. Snakes, mountain lions, all sorts of wild critters out there. I can sleep on the table, done it before. You can sleep on the bed…and don't argue with me." He pushed the snake onto the floor, his weariness all too apparent.

Teresa was relieved to hear him say that. Truth to tell she had not relished the thought of sleeping outside. She would feel much more secure knowing Johnny was not far away from her, even injured, he would be a force to be reckoned with.

With her help, he managed to get himself onto the table with a few groans and complaints about his ribs and stretched himself out stiffly. She retrieved the second blanket from the porch and placed it on the table, smoothing it down over him. When he smiled gratefully at her, she could see the creases of pain around his eyes and mouth and his skin had a colorless cast. She smiled back at him and then, taking her bag with her she went to the bed and lay down. In no time at all she fell into a deep sleep.

Teresa bolted into wakefulness, her heart hammering against the wall of her chest, her blood chasing through her veins. What on earth was happening? She could hear noises like someone was moving around, and a man's voice, low but urgent. She lay still for a few seconds, concentrating on the sounds, focusing on them. When she was certain there was no threat, she opened her eyes slowly. It was still night. In the cabin the only light came from the stove, a warm fiery glow that was comforting. And through the drapeless window, a bar of weak moonlight illuminated the sod floor. The sound was coming from the far wall, where Johnny slept on the table. Swinging her legs over the wooden frame of the crude bed, she tried to ease the aches from her spine. Thinking about her own feather bed set forth another longing for Lancer and its comforts.

Peering through the gloom she could just make out the table, and the body of Johnny, tossing back and forth precariously. He was muttering something too indistinct for her to understand. As she approached him, she could see his eyes were still closed and there was sweat in his hairline, so she reached out to feel the temperature of his skin. Very gently, she placed the back of her hand on his forehead and found it too hot for her liking. How would he react if she got some cold water and bathed his face, would it startle him? She really felt there was a need to get him cooled down; she was just not so sure how to go about it. A long moan left his half parted lips and settled her resolve. Fetching her bag from the bed, she pulled out a silk scarf and took it to the pump to soak it in fresh water. If she was noisy enough, she might wake him slowly that way.

The pump was still quite stiff with disuse and she had to work hard to get the water flowing into the enamel bowl. She could hear his small agitated movements above the spurt of liquid then she heard a new sound, a slow creaking that she did not recognise.

Leaving the bowl and the scarf, she turned in time to hear a voice she recognised whisper, "Teresa" and to see the shack door begin to open tentatively. The next few moments seemed to her to unfold in slow motion. In the space of a breath, Johnny was on the floor crouched in defensive mode, pistol drawn in a shaky hand facing the door, which now stood open. Teresa knew she must act quickly in order to avoid a catastrophe. Shouting a warning to the intruder, she emptied the contents of her bag hastily onto the floor and selected the heaviest object, which she threw towards Johnny's right hand. She knew he could be lethal even when sick, even when unable to see properly. The book hit his hand just as the gun fired and both Johnny and the visitor fell to the floor. She stood still for a second, unable to move from fear of what had happened, trembling with the adrenalin rush. She observed both men, lit as they were by the shaft of moonlight through the open door, for a sign of movement. It was as if the world had stopped turning for a moment. There seemed to be no sound at all, no movement as Teresa took a hesitant step forward.

By the time she reached Johnny, he had started to stir. He was lying on his stomach, his glistening face turned towards her, his one visible eye wide open and looking at her. She could not tell whether he could see her properly for he neither spoke nor acknowledged her presence. He just fixed his blue eye on her as she knelt at his side. Keeping her own eyes on him, as if he were a wild animal caught in a trap, she placed her trembling hand over the warm gun and dragged it along the floor ever so slowly, away from his fingers. He did not even twitch in response to being deprived of his weapon.

"Johnny," she whispered tenderly and with concern, "can you hear me?" Even as she spoke, his long eyelashes closed slowly to shutter the blue eyes. Alarmed, she pressed her free hand against the side of his neck in search of the pulse of life. Her own breathing settled to a more even rhythm as, relieved to find a strong warm throb of heartbeat, she brushed away a recalcitrant strand of hair from his jaw line and in doing so revealed a red and sore looking cut behind his ear. Leaning closer, she could see signs of infection around it and yellow pus oozed from the raw edges. No wonder he had a fever. She knew she must try to clean the pus away with boiled water but first she needed to check on the other man.

Putting her dread to one side, she scooted over to the door where the man lay as motionless as Johnny in the white moonlight, praying that he was just stunned, not dead. She could not bear to think that Johnny might have killed him.

"Josiah," she whispered, her voice weak and breathy. "Please Josiah…"

In response to her pleas, the intruder moaned a little and started to move his legs around as if making to sit up. "Josiah, where are you hurt?"

As he pushed himself upright, blocking the light from outside and darkening his body with his own shadow, he raised a hand to his forehead and brought it away sticky with blood. "Grazed my head. Thanks for saving my life-you threw off his aim just enough with this-"

Chuckling sardonically, he lifted up the book and squinted through the darkness to make out the title, "Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus. By Mary Shelley. The best present I ever gave to any one, I am sure." He dropped his head towards his bent knees and sighed then sifted through his pockets and drew out a lacy handkerchief. He pressed this to his head wound to staunch the bleeding. "Sorry about the bloodstains on it - and the broken spine."

He placed the book carefully on the floor between them. Teresa looked at it and scowled. Her precious book – ruined, and she was less than half way through it. For some reason it made her feel unutterably sad and she felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away weakly with the back of her hand and sniffed.

"I'm so glad he didn't hurt you too badly. He has a fever and didn't know what he was doing. He has these reflexes…" Teresa shrugged and looked down at the pistol that was still in her hand, cooling now and heavy too, Johnny's pistol. She felt she needed to make excuses for her "brother" even though his actions had almost cost the life of her good friend. "He thought he was protecting me, you see, he used to be a gunfighter before he came to live with us. I did tell you."

"I remember. Still I never envisioned being the recipient of his not inconsiderable skills." She watched Josiah struggle up to standing and cross stiffly to the chair. He sat down with a sigh and stretched out his long legs, still pressing the handkerchief to his head. He was looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. Uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny, Teresa stood up, found a lantern, which she lit and set on the table with the pistol, then returned to the pump.

"I need to see to Johnny, will you be all right for now?" She could see him well enough in the lamplight, distinguished and handsome, as he nodded in reply.

Satisfied, she filled the bowl with water, the pump working somewhat better now and carried it over to where the ex-gunfighter lay showing no sign of returning to consciousness. He looked far from comfortable so Teresa pushed a blanket under his head to protect it from the hardness of the shack floor and allowed her trembling hand to rest a moment on his fine glossy hair as she gazed tenderly down. The tears started to fall now, soundlessly.

"Don't you need to boil that water first? It's thought that a lot of good men died in the war from dirty water. Boiling it-" She turned round in response to Josiah's melodious voice.

"I know -" Teresa snapped, " I can read."

"Teresa?"

She stood up, her whole body shaking in reaction, trying to work out why she could not concentrate, why her body was refusing to co-operate, wanting only to quiver like cactus in a windstorm, her knees threatening to buckle. Wondering why a damaged book should make her want to break her heart with crying.

Solicitous as always, ever the gentleman, Josiah stood, forgetting his own discomfort, and guided her gently to the chair, pushing her into it with just enough force to stop any resistance. He then placed the pot of water on the stove to boil before returning to stand behind her where he placed his large hands at either side of her head, smoothing her long hair away first.

Rubbing her shoulders in a soothing circular motion, he encouraged her to relax and to give in to her feelings. Teresa lowered her head and surrendered herself to the sensation and allowed herself to weep freely whilst Josiah recited poetry to her in a deep, mesmeric tone of voice.

The lamplight glowed warmly in the tiny shack lighting up Teresa's sad face as she finally stopped sobbing.

"I'm sorry Josiah, I was really trying to heed your advice. Thank you for helping me just then. I have to see to Johnny now."

She rubbed her stained face with a fold of her skirt and went to take the pot off the stove. The water had come to the boil so she wetted the silk with it and resuming a kneeling position by Johnny's head, wiped the dried blood and oozing pus away from the cut as delicately as she could.

She could feel Josiah watching her from across the shack. Finally, he spoke breaking the silence in the confined room.

"What do you mean you heeded my advice?"

"Remember you said I had to try to be less sensitive to others? That I was too kind for my own good? Don't you recall you commented on my love of romantic poetry and said that though my sympathetic nature was a wonderful thing, it would one day lead to someone taking advantage of me?"

Teresa leant back on her heels to wring out the cloth and watched the orange stained water drip back into the bowl. Then she wiped around the wound once more, and satisfied it was clean enough, brushed Johnny's hair back over it with her hand, and stood up. During all her ministrations, he hadn't moved a muscle. She shook out her skirt and pondered on why he hadn't roused yet. Maybe he was plain exhausted, or maybe he was hurt a lot more than it first seemed. She felt it discreet to leave him be, to try to rouse an unconscious man like Johnny could be dangerous.

She put the bowl down in the sink before continuing; "You said I had to be harder if I were to be able to keep the secret. So, I tried to be hard and unsympathetic and it was so difficult to do. I ignored Johnny's hurt and now look what's happened. Both of you injured and it's all my fault. And he still isn't awake, even though I cleaned him up. Why isn't he awake?"

Josiah rubbed at his sore head, messing the fine gray powdered hair. "Could be because it is the middle of the night when most folk are asleep anyhow. Let him be, he is exhausted. As am I. After all, I rode exceptionally hard to catch up with you. Tracking you wasn't that easy. Though it did help knowing you were on the way to Lancer. Just this little -" he waved his hand theatrically, long stained fingers waving like starfish feet, encompassing the shack in the gesture, "diversion was unexpected."

Teresa sat on the bed, weary, as she hadn't felt in a long while, not since Day Pardee threatened Lancer.

"Why? Why were you following us?"

He reached into his pocket, "Because, my dear Teresa, you forgot this."

Teresa did not have chance to look at the object in Josiah's hand because her attention was diverted by a noise from Johnny, indicating he was awake. She rose from the bed and went to crouch at his side. It was still quite dark in the room apart from localised light from the lamp for the moon had begun to set and no longer provided the extra illumination. Johnny was already beginning to sit up and look bemusedly in her direction. He was quite flushed and when she reached out to touch his cheek, she felt the heat before she made contact. She halted there, before him, her hand in the air in front of his face and they stared at each other. He had his feet planted on the floor now, still shod in boots decorated with his characteristic Mexican spurs. He rested his elbows on bent knees and rubbed the base of his skull by his ears, taking care not to touch the wound. She noticed how the light picked up the shine of the studs along the edge of his leg, and the shank and jinglebobs of the spurs. It seemed to her that light always picked something of Johnny out, illuminating him like water in a thunderstorm. His eyes shone too as he directed his gaze past her to the person behind. The expression on his face changed slowly from confusion to clarity, and something else – something that reminded her of the Johnny she had first known, the rootless Johnny who found life on a ranch confining; the look he had when he slipped into being Johnny Madrid. Teresa recognised that look now and it chilled her. Josiah had so far not made a move – she hoped he had the good sense to continue to remain frozen in place.

His mouth formed a thin line as he struggled to his feet, fumbling at his empty holster, swaying, and fighting his body's weakness. Seeing the sign of danger, Teresa rose; keeping herself between her brother and Josiah, creating what she hoped was an effective barrier. Her heart was pounding again and she could not suppress an involuntary shiver that traversed her spine. She tried to guess what his intentions were, what was going through his mind, as there was no indication at all on his face of what he was thinking. She reckoned he was not even thinking clearly, possibly was not even aware of where he was, yet the instinct to survive was clear in the way his hand had dropped straight to his holster.

"Gun?" he breathed, accelerating the tension more. His eyes did not move from Josiah still behind her, squinting as if to bring him into focus.

Automatically Teresa looked at the table where the pistol lay in the lamplight and immediately regretted it. Both Josiah and Johnny made a lunge for the gun, Johnny confounding them all by getting to it first. Supporting himself against the table, he pointed it in both shaky hands at a smiling Josiah.

"I know you," he grunted out, "What were you doing with my sister, you no good snake?"

"My dear man," Josiah spoke before Teresa could attempt to reason with Johnny. She was rooted to the spot anyway, far too scared to move. She watched as Josiah raised his hands carefully away from his body in an unthreatening gesture as if he were dealing with a cornered rabbit and not an injured gunfighter. His voice was reasonable, gentle and the smile did not leave his lips as he spoke. "You could not be more mistaken. I am a good friend of Teresa's, a very good friend who would only have her best interests at heart. I simply followed you out of town to return something to her."

Teresa hoped Johnny would believe her friend and accept the situation for what it was; entirely innocent. It hadn't escaped her notice when he relaxed his grip on the trigger. She could only begin to imagine what was going through his mind. She knew so little about his past and the people he mixed with - he had no doubt learnt caution at an early age. From his point of view, the scene must have looked very suspicious. She decided that it was up to her to intervene, no matter how afraid she was of igniting the spark that was the gunfighter's temper.

"Johnny, this is Josiah Rossetti, a friend from back east, from Boston. Josiah, this is my, my sort of brother – Johnny Lancer. "

She knew that as far as introductions went this was a feeble attempt, nevertheless she hoped it would serve its purpose – to lessen the tension in the tiny room and give Johnny an excuse to holster the gun before it went off.

Her brother, however seemed to have other plans and disregarded the introduction, or possibly, he had not even heard her, so intent was he on keeping his aim and his steely gaze on target. Then horrified, Teresa watched him approach her quite determined, his eyes still on Josiah, watched him bend his knees, transfer the gun to one wavering hand and scoop something up from the floor.

"You meant no harm," the tone was threatening, chilling her to the bone. "Then what is this?"

As he waved the object in the air, Teresa put her hand to her mouth and gasped. "No Johnny. No, you've got it all wrong."

Teresa stared at the garment in Johnny's hand, "It's not what you think, Johnny…"

He cut her off sharply, tossing the lace to the floor like it was garbage, "Oh no," there was steel in his voice in spite of his fever, or maybe even because of it, "Just what is the explanation then? What sort of a woman carries lacy nightwear in her bag, huh? And stuff like this- he gestured to the silk bandage that supported his ribs. "What have you been doing, Teresa? First off, I see you kissing this…this no-good, then I see you hiding stuff in your bag, keeping secrets. Sort of women who wear stuff like that are…well you know what they are."

Johnny repositioned his free hand on the gun butt.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, Teresa, I'm not gonna let you put me off my aim again."

Teresa could see he was having difficulty maintaining a grip as his palms greased up with sweat. He was working himself up into such a lather. Still she couldn't underestimate the serious nature of the situation, she needed to think quickly and pray he wasn't past all reason.

"Yes, I have been keeping a secret but it isn't what you are thinking. It is something for Murdoch that I don't want him to know about." Her voice quavered as she continued, "I didn't want you and Scott to know, in case you told him, accidentally, or on purpose even. I wanted it to be such a surprise for him and it would have been too if you hadn't been so persistent."

Johnny's voice still held a hint of suspicion about it; he screwed up his eyes at Josiah. "What about him? Huh? He part of your surprise?"

"Well yes, as a matter of a fact, he is. He-"

Johnny would not let her finish, "I knew it. He's spun you some web of lies and you fell for it. Charmed you into letting him…well, till he got your confidence. And you old enough to be her father. You planning on marrying her, Mister Josiah Rossetti? Or just abandoning her to her shame like you done other women? Huh?"

Teresa was unable to fathom what Johnny meant, what had angered him so much. Surely, he was delirious. "Josiah, tell him, tell him he is wrong." Teresa pleaded, hoping Johnny would come to his senses soon.

"I ain't listening to a word from his honeyed tongue, he'll tell all kinds of stories. I bet you are real good at that, telling stories, deceiving folk." The way he was tightening his grip on the gun, the trigger finger twitching, made Teresa's heart miss a beat. She frantically tried to distract him without provoking him into firing.

"Johnny, please listen to me, you are sick, you cut your head, your ribs are bashed up, and you have a hurt shoulder and leg. You need to lie down and let me have a look at you again. You have a fever and you aren't thinking clearly. Please don't do something you'll regret."

"Yes, Johnny, listen to her." Teresa marvelled that her friend's voice was so calm and even. He appeared to show no fear. If he knew Johnny as well as she did, he would be terrified.

Josiah continued in that same pacifying tone, "She has done nothing to be ashamed of. She just enlisted my services in order to make a wonderful gift for Murdoch. Something he could treasure for the rest of his life. You don't appreciate this beautiful, kindhearted sister of yours at all. And it is quite plain that you do not trust her either. And though I commend your brotherly vigilance and responsibility, I do think it is about time you gave her the benefit of the doubt. Now put that weapon down, do."

Johnny started to sway almost imperceptibly, yet his grip remained weakly on the raised gun and it still pointed at Josiah. Then through the open door Teresa spotted a shadow, which transformed into a person who very gently pushed the door open wider till he was completely visible to both Josiah and herself.

Scott, pistol drawn, looked meaningfully at her and put a finger to his lips, aware that Johnny had not heard his soft footfall as he sidled further into the shack. Teresa relaxed her shoulders, as the tension began to drain from her body. Scott would put an end to this madness.

By the time Johnny was aware of movement behind him and had swung around into a crouch, Scott already had his own pistol against his brother's temple.

"You sure are a dangerous man to be around brother."

Johnny raised both arms in acquiescence, loosening his grip on his gun, and then moaning in pain as the movement hurt his healing shoulder. Scott reholstered his own weapon and relieving Johnny of his, helped him sit down.

"You hurt, Johnny?"

Defeated, Johnny lowered his head to his chest, and mumbled a feeble, "Guess I am."

He added something else in a low tone, which Teresa could not hear.

"Why you're burning up, let me help you to lie down."

Teresa dropped into the vacant chair as Scott supported Johnny round his side and under his arm and helped him walk to the bed. Once there Johnny flopped down into the blankets and closed his eyes. Teresa closed her eyes, and leant back with a sigh.

She could hear the creak of the wooden bed as Scott sat on it. "Anyone care to tell me what's going on here?"

The tiny shack was silent apart from the heavy breathing of Johnny who lay still on the bed. Teresa opened her eyes to look at him but couldn't make out whether or not he was asleep or merely conserving energy. Then his soft voice, which chilled her, "Let her tell you."

The emphasis he put on the word 'her' endowed it with scorn. She hated him to think badly of her, Johnny was her guardian's son, and she had come to adore him.

Scott looked at her, furrowed brow underscoring his concern

"It was just a simple trip into town, what happened?"

Teresa looked down at her fingers. They seemed to have entwined themselves into the folds of her dress, almost without her realising. She was aware of Josiah at her side waiting to hear her response.

"Johnny got hurt in town, he was hurting too much for us to get to Lancer by nightfall and so we decided to stay over here. I left something at the hall and Josiah followed to return it to me."

From the direction of the bed came a peculiar sound, it almost sounded like a laugh, and a strangled one at that. Teresa frowned, why would Johnny react so when she was telling the truth. Really, his behavior had been very confusing all day. Even the business with the snake had been bizarre – she could tell a day old dead snake from one that had been freshly killed, what was he thinking of with a trick like that? Was it just another one of his pranks? She planned to tackle him about it as soon as he was better.

Scott asked her how Johnny came to be so hurt, had he got involved in a fight? Johnny interrupted the conversation at this point to remark in a voice laced with annoyance that he was able to answer questions himself and would they stop talking about him as if he were an idiot who couldn't understand them.

Scott, patient as always, concurred and repeated the question. From his position stretched out on the bed, Johnny related the story from his point of view filling in the details Teresa had omitted. He added that in his opinion, Josiah was a scoundrel and that between them, he and Scott should, "give him a pasting."

Scott seemed to be considering the story. He turned to Teresa for confirmation, "That right, Teresa? Did Josiah hurt you or cause you offence in any way?"

Teresa stood up again, wrinkled her face in annoyance and folded her arms across her chest. "Quite the opposite. He has been a thorough gentleman and far from hurting me has been a deal of help with a project of mine. Johnny's just cross with me because he was caught spying. He's been trying to find out my secret, which I don't want him to know because that's just what it is-a secret. And now it's all ruined. Why do you all have to interfere so much?"

Scott was conciliatory, "Teresa, we love you, we want you to be safe. You are still underage and you are Murdoch's responsibility. In his absence we are responsible for you." He nodded at Johnny who was still scowling. "You would need his permission to leave home or to get married-"

"Married!" Teresa could not believe her ears. "Why on earth would I get married? Who would I marry?" She waved her arms around in exasperation. "Really you men have no idea.!"

Johnny pushed himself up to sitting position on the narrow bed. It squeaked as the wooden slats protested. Teresa made a mental note to tell Murdoch that the line shacks were in need of some attention. "Who would you marry? Why him of course. After the way you both been carrying on. Ouch." He rubbed at his sore shoulder.

Both Teresa and Josiah snorted with laughter. "What are you talking about?" she grinned across at her friend.

Josiah in his turn, added, "We have not undertaken a romantic liaison, nor do we intend to. Rather our relationship is totally platonic. I am merely an artist and Teresa my-"

"Shh." Teresa cut him off before he could reveal her secret. "I don't want him to know. He doesn't deserve to know."

From the look on his face, it seemed Scott was trying to solve the puzzle too. "Do I deserve to know the secret, Teresa?"

"Haven't decided yet," she replied petulantly. She liked Scott, and admired the way he had thrown himself heart and soul into learning about ranching, but he and Johnny were far too close. Telling him would be almost the same as telling Johnny.

"Fine, your choice," he replied, standing and surprising her with his resignation. "Let's fill the canteens and ride back to the ranch where Johnny can have his hurts seen to."

"Suits me fine, but what about him." Johnny had begun to swing his legs gently over the edge of the bed and as he spoke, he inclined his head towards Josiah.

Josiah rose to his feet, "If it's all right by you gentlemen, I will return to town." He threw the stained handkerchief down, which had served as a pressure pad for the graze on his forehead. The bleeding had stopped a while since and he was obviously recovering well.

"Well now, don't be so hasty…" Teresa was disturbed by the hard threatening edge to Johnny's drawl. The situation seemed somehow to have gotten out of hand. Johnny was leaning over holding his sore ribs as he spoke. Then he looked up and revealed the menacing glint in his eyes as he stared directly at Josiah and continued, "We have matters to straighten out. For one – what you've been doing with Teresa and what your intentions are."

"I am sure Teresa can answer your questions. I have done what I came here to do and now I am going to take my leave of you good folk." Josiah bowed his head at Teresa, "Teresa," he said. Then indicating goodbye to Scott and Johnny, he walked backward to the door in long strides and slipped out.

By the time Johnny had stood, unsteadily and made his way out of the cabin in pursuit, Josiah was mounted and disappearing into the brush. The first sign of dawn, a steak of insipid light was painting the sky, low on the horizon and the early songbirds had started their chorus. The air smelt crisp and sweet to Teresa, standing in the doorway, watching the birth of the new day. She was relieved beyond measure that Josiah had managed to escape before Johnny had chance to do something really foolish. Neither man was in any condition for a fight. She offered up a little prayer for Josiah's well being then called for Johnny to come back into the cabin. When he failed to respond, she shouted for Scott and at the same time rushed over to where the ex gunfighter was swaying, barely keeping his balance. She no sooner got to him, her heart thundering painfully against her chest alarmingly, than he crumpled against her, the force of his fall tumbling them both to the dirt.