A/N: A pre-Lancer Johnny short bit, if that's not your thing.
The King
Johnny looked away from the rancher and saw three daguerreotypes on the fireplace mantle. He sidled closer. The first one had a large metal frame around it, with tarnished curlicues of silver. But that wasn't what grabbed his attention. It was Harmon, standing with the largest rifle Johnny had ever seen in one hand. His other hand placed on the skull of a huge, but very dead bear. The second frame showed the man beside the bank, a For Sale sign held high above his head in victory. The third had him and the Missus. She was beautiful for all that her veiled face showed, but her lips were pinched tight together, hands fisted at her sides, where Harmon wore a great grin.
Understanding grew in him. The bear, his real estate dealings, hell, even his wife were things that he had bought at one time or another. Things that propped up his throne.
"Did you hear me, Madrid?"
The man looked at him in contempt, his smile curling when Johnny's stomach growled from hunger, echoing in the cavernous room. Harmon was triumphant.
"You see?" he roared at Johnny. "I need you and you need this job." He rubbed his hands together. "I saw it on Bailey's face this afternoon. He's beat. Dead beat. I could have bought his place. Offered him fifteen thousand when I saw the starvation in his face, but the fool doesn't know how to bargain." He looked pointedly at Johnny's pistol, strapped low. "I figure you do. One way or another."
Johnny turned and stepped outside. Could feel each pebble through his thin, rotten boot soles. Harmon followed him. The loud edge in his voice made the trees tremble.
"There's only room for me. What do you say, boy?"
It was a warm June night, almost humid, but Johnny shivered a little.
He twisted around and felt the rancher shrink back from him. Backlit from the lanterns on the porch, Harmon's face colored a deep red.
Honesty, finally.
"I say no."
His stomach and boots could wait.
The End