Not One Inch of Give
A Lancer son reflects on the similarity between his father and brother.
A short musing to stay in the game as I wrestle with a longer story. Includes dialog from "Chase a Wild Horse" by Paul Playdon.
Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.
"You don't give at all, do you? All pride and Johnny's cut from the same mold. Not one inch of give."
See, when Scott told me he said those words to Murdoch, I had to chuckle. The notion that I'm more like Murdoch than Scott just tickled my insides. Scott just looked at me wondering why I think it's so damn funny.
If you want to see no-give stubborn, just look at my brother. He'll do what he wants, what he thinks is right come hell or high water. I tried to stop him from going alone to help that Polly girl, but off he went like I hadn't said a word. He fought Murdoch over those McGloins too, and those Calhoun folks. It didn't matter how the rules were written in the law, it was how what everything was written into Scott.
And proud! He's got that in spades, but the right kind of pride that doesn't send a body crawling off to hide, and or talk his way out of it when he's wrong. Scott just keeps standing up as straight as before, takes the jokes, and sees that it doesn't happen again.
Except for when it did happen again, and he went off by himself the second time in the desert. He did his studying on the matter and went his own way, even when we lectured him about it. The third time though, taking Willie Sharpe to meet his abuelo, he finally figured it out.
He isn't too proud to do the dirty work of ranching, like Murdoch did before he was the patrón and when he was stuck in Blessing. Scott just does it, even if he's never done it before, until it's like he's been doing it most of his life.
Unless I'm maybe headed for a gunfight, when I get mad, I let everyone know it and commence to shouting to get my way. It doesn't work on Murdoch, and he doesn't have that long-winded yelling that I do. He either just wills me to do it, in a quiet steely eyed way with his words, or barks out the order to finish me off. That's like Scott too, except he can drop me even quicker when he fires those arguing words at me like he's fanning a .45. He can be more smooth too and moves people around like they're his own chess pieces, just like Murdoch does wheelin' and dealin' in those meetings, until people do what he wants.
Once in a while I see Scott and Murdoch get to shouting at each other, and let me say it can be entertainin'. One time they went at each other, then just stood up together and each threw his napkin on the table in the same way at the same time and stalked off.
That no-give and pride worked out well for Scott on that second day when I broke Barranca. Scott wasn't about to let me outshine him, he just took Barranca over those fences and wagon to show the vaqueros that he was someone to reckon with, not just some ignorant greenhorn.
There's plenty of fight in Murdoch and Scott. It makes you notice because you don't expect it. Big patrónes usually get soft and have others do it, and you'd never think a fancy Easterner could toss a local tough into the dust. The old man was some impressive sight to see in Blessing, throwing punches and yanking people off horses. I learned from Teresa that it took three people to toss Scott out of Baldemerro's, and then he just got up again and marched right back inside to buy his clothes. It took three again to take him before he got Teresa away from her stepfather.
Scott will never agree that I'm right about this. He's still giving that look about my chuckle. It's like I said. Proud. Not one inch of give.