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CHAPTER 4 - THE GAME

"Teresa, we need to make ready the bedroom. Downstairs," Maria said over her shoulder as she reached for medical supplies stored in the kitchen cupboard. Teresa nodded and went ahead to light the lamps and turn back the bed of the unused guest room. It would be convenient, being so near to the kitchen.

It appeared that Harlan Garrett must still be up in his room, sleeping right through all of the commotion, for which Teresa was more than glad. The last thing she wanted was to have his critical gaze on her as she went about her tasks. She also knew that Johnny wouldn't be at all pleased for Mr. Garrett to see him in his present condition.

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The ragged knife wound in his brother's lower back gave Scott a sinking feeling. "He's so pale. This must have been bleeding for some time," Scott said to his father in exasperation. "What were they thinking of? It must have taken an hour to get here from town in that wagon." He grabbed a towel and held it to the wound with a shaking hand. He took some deep breaths to calm down and forced himself to unclench his jaw.

Murdoch laid a hand on Scott's shoulder as he leaned over to assess the damage. "It looks like it may have cut in at an angle, so hopefully the blade didn't hit anything vital. The blood isn't very dark. Just keep pressure on it."

Scott knew that his father was only guessing and was probably trying to reassure himself as much as anyone else. "How could anyone do this to Johnny? How could they get so close," Scott asked as he helped Murdoch remove the remainder of Johnny's torn shirt. His father just shook his head as they checked over Johnny's body in case there were any more wounds.

"There are some bruises on his ribs and stomach, but he doesn't seem to have anything broken," Murdoch said. "His right wrist will need attention, too." He carefully supported Johnny's swollen, bruised forearm for Scott to rinse some of the grime and blood way.

Murdoch had felt a physical pain when he had first viewed his son's battered face and body in the light. It disturbed him that he hadn't been able to prevent the attack, no matter that he couldn't have possibly foreseen it. But ultimately he was responsible for the safety of his family.

He couldn't help thinking: If the boy hadn't been abandoned at a young age, if he hadn't grown up fatherless, if he hadn't been made into a creature of violence. . . perhaps this kind of trouble would not still be following him. Although people sometimes talked about Johnny's past following him, Murdoch, who was not the kind of man to dwell on such things, saw his own past actions as the origin of his son's troubles.

Maria returned, with Jelly close behind, loaded down with supplies. She efficiently handed Murdoch a bottle of medicinal powder, which he sprinkled liberally on the gaping cut. They covered the wound with thick pads of gauze and bound Johnny's torso with heavy strips of cloth, supporting his limp head and body as they worked.

"He sure did take a beatin'," said Jelly. He looked scornfully over his shoulder at Amos Whipple. "At least some men don't cut and run when there's trouble a-brewin'."

Whipple cringed a bit but didn't move, even if he eyed the doorway.

Only when they were almost finished did Johnny's eyelids flutter. He moaned, turning his head restlessly, breathing as rapidly as if he'd run a footrace. Scott soothed his brother as they laid him back down on the settee. "Hang in there, Johnny. You're at home now. We're taking care of you." He looked around and asked, "Where's Teresa? I need more water."

"She's already gone to fetch it, so don't get all in a pucker," Jelly said as he nodded towards the kitchen.

Teresa returned, wearing an apron over her nightdress. She bore a pitcher of fresh water as well as an empty bucket for disposal of the bloodstained clothing and rags. Accepting a clean blanket from Jelly, she draped it gently over Johnny's chest. "The bed's ready any time you want to move him, Murdoch." She knew what tasks to perform, and did what was required of her with a skill borne of necessity. Outwardly calm, Teresa silently cursed whoever had hurt Johnny. It was not enough to quell her anger, which grew as she watched Johnny shifting in pain.

Murdoch took her hand for a brief moment, grasping her fingers in recognition for what she was doing and for her calm demeanor. He turned back to Johnny when he moaned. "Stay still, son. You're fine, just fine," he said in a soothing voice.

Johnny, with eyes still closed, responding with wordless sounds, called out to somebody. Murdoch got closer, straining to hear, but Johnny's body went limp, his lips parting as his head lolled to one side.

Scott pulled a chair close to the settee, sat down and dipped a cloth in the basin of water. As he cleansed away some of the dirt and dried blood on Johnny's head and neck, he glanced over his shoulder at Whipple. "Mr. Whipple, you were in town? You have any idea who did this to my brother?"

Whipple told them the lawman seemed to know who had attacked Johnny, but he hadn't spoken their names. He only knew that Sheriff Stillwater was after two cowboys. "Maybe the same men this young fellow'd playing poker and drinkin' with. There was some strangers around town past day or so, mostly cowboys come in from a drive. They been carousing some. I saw this one," he said, pointing to Johnny, "having a good time with some o' them fellers earlier, over to the dance hall."

Jelly looked worriedly at the unconscious man on the settee. "You want me to ride out, Mr. Lancer, jus' to light a fire under the Dr. Mendez? I can look up the sheriff, too. See if he's back yet from huntin' down them yeller vermin."

"Thank you, Jelly," Murdoch said gratefully. He was anxious for the doctor to come, but knew that it was likely to be some time before he showed up. "Whipple, where is Dr. Mendez now?"

"Up yonder just a few miles. The Bar T Ranch."

Jelly didn't need to hear any more. He snatched a rifle from the gun cabinet on his way out.

"I'll just take my leave then," Whipple said to no one in particular. "Hope yer boy don't get gangrene or nothin'."

Scott glared at the driver, then he and Murdoch turned their attention back to the wounded man, allowing Whipple to make his escape.

Once Johnny's face was rinsed off, numerous bruises and a few small cuts were revealed. His hair was matted with drying blood at the back of his head, where he'd taken a heavy blow. Scott pulled some small bits out of the black hair. "Looks like he got hit with a piece of wood."

"Nothing appears to be as serious as the wound in his back. We should bandage up his head and then get him into the guest room," Murdoch instructed. They wrapped long strips of linen around his head to secure a pad of cloth in place.

Cipriano and another ranch hand who had been hovering in the doorway helped to lift Johnny off the settee. They carried him into the guest room without incident, then removed the rest of his clothes and arranged him as comfortably as they could in the large bed.

Now in a state of semi-consciousness, Johnny turned his bandaged head from side to side. His eyes, partially open, sought something they could not see. Agitated, Johnny fended off Scott when he rolled him onto his side. "It's all right . . .all right now," Scott said. "Take it easy, brother." Johnny's struggles ceased and he settled down with a sigh.

Murdoch nodded thanks to the two ranch hands as they left the room offering their prayers for Johnny's speedy recovery.

Teresa half-sat on the bed to put a compress on Johnny's puffy eyelid. "Going to get some shiner," she surmised. "Pass me the witch hazel, will you Scott?" Looking up at the two Lancer men, she asked in a hushed voice, "You want coffee? Maria is making an early breakfast for everyone. The doctor will most likely come with the dawn."

"I'm going to get dressed. Scott, you watch him?" Murdoch didn't expect an answer. He already knew that Scott wasn't about to leave his brother's side. "Teresa, can you bring us that coffee and food in here?" Teresa drew the curtains open, casting a worried glance at Johnny as she left with Murdoch. "You keep him warm."

Scott nodded. This ground floor bedroom was convenient for guests due to the French doors that led directly out to the side patio. Opening the double doors, Scott let in some fresh morning air. In the far corner the small fountain was gurgling. The sky was already filled with a pale early morning light and he could see a couple of men at work, pumping water for the stock in the barn.

Nothing interfered with the chores on a ranch. Birth and death and everything in between were part of the rhythm. People grew wise from experiences early on, and took any hardship that fate threw at them in stride. There was an acceptance of the ups and downs that life brought you out West, he thought. Even though at present he felt that there were more lows being dealt out than any of them deserved, Scott felt more alive and fulfilled here than he'd ever been back home.

Scott knew that his brother felt the same as he did. Johnny wouldn't give in easily; he'd struggled to find his place in the world and had only recently accepted that it was here at Lancer.

He saw Johnny stirring again and went back to his bedside. As he gently wedged a pillow beneath Johnny's shoulder to keep him from rolling onto on his injury, a hand reached out and caught hold of his sleeve. Pulling a chair close to the bed, Scott leaned forward. "Johnny?"

Johnny's eyelids fluttered but didn't open. A soft groan came from his parted lips, then a slurred word. "Gun."

"What gun? You didn't get shot, Johnny."

"Get . . . mah gun."

Scott held his brother's hand in both of his own. "You don't need a gun right now." He smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. "I'm going to watch over you and Dr. Mendez is on his way. You need to relax, little brother."

"They took. . . my gun. They took Barranca." The blue eyes opened and silently appealed to Scott for the recovery of his horse.

"We'll get him back." He gripped Johnny's hand, trying to assure him that everything would be all right,

Johnny nodded slightly, then licked his dry lips.

When Scott momentarily turned and reached for a glass of water, Johnny's hand slipped away to dangle limply over the edge of the bed. Scott carefully lifted Johnny's head off the pillow to offer him a sip of water.

Johnny seemed eager to drink but he was so weak some of it ran out of the corner of his mouth. He finished, then fell back as if he didn't have a bone in his body. "Tired," he murmured.

"You sleep. I'm right here."

"Two of 'em. . . drew on a pair," Johnny mumbled, with eyes closed.

"Two men who played poker with you, did you know them? Tell me their names, Johnny." Scott tried to catch the whispered words of reply, but they were mere breaths without substance.

Scott inhaled deeply then sighed, running a hand over his face. More than anything, he wanted to be out there riding down the men who had backstabbed his brother. They both expected the other brother to be watchful in times of trouble, to stand up for him, to exact justice on his behalf.

"Sheriff Stillwater is tracking them, Johnny," he explained. "He's the one who found you, when you were attacked in town. He went right after those men, though how he can track in the dark is beyond me." The feeling that he needed to be in on their capture was strong, but Scott had to be satisfied that the sheriff would do his job well. He knew Gabe Stillwater to be a methodical lawman, one who wouldn't rest until the job was done to his satisfaction.

Johnny turned his bandaged head towards the patio doors, blinking at the morning light. Scott reassured his brother with a hand on his bare shoulder. "Now it's daylight, the sheriff will be rounding them up, Johnny. We'll see justice done."

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Harlan stood in the doorway, wearing a silky dressing robe over a long nightshirt. "I heard a commotion," he said.

Murdoch brushed by, barely casting a glance his way. Dressed in his work clothes, he looked ready to start a normal day on the ranch. "My son has been hurt, Garrett," he said testily. "How about you go to the dining room and Maria will bring you breakfast?" Murdoch looked questioningly at Scott, who indicated with a slight shake of his head that there had been no improvement in Johnny's condition.

"He's in and out of consciousness," Scott said quietly.

Harlan peered at the figure on the bed and said peevishly, "It's rather early for all this activity. Not much past six, isn't it?"

For once, Scott didn't acknowledge his grandfather's presence with a greeting. All vestiges of courtesy suddenly seemed unimportant. As he placed a cool compress on his brother's bruised face, he could feel Harlan's eyes on the back of his head, but he didn't turn around to acknowledge him.

With downcast eyes Teresa edged past Scott's grandfather and stationed herself next to Johnny's bed.

Murdoch looked sternly at Scott's grandfather. "Early? The sun is up. We start work here as early as we can. You can have breakfast in the dining room." His tone left no room for any debate.

Without moving from the doorway, Harlan craned his neck to see past Murdoch's bulky shoulders. "What's wrong with the young man? He the one making all the racket?"

His patience wearing thin, Murdoch responded sourly, "Johnny was brought home before dawn, badly injured, but I'm sure if he'd known he was going to disturb your sleep, Garrett, he'd have made it later."

Turning his back on Harlan, Murdoch stood over Johnny's inert form and looked him over. His son was almost as pale as the bed sheets and he breathed in disturbingly shallow breaths.

Scott looked up from where he was sitting and caught his father's eye. "You watch him while I get dressed?" he asked. "I'll get Grandfather started with breakfast." As he stood, Johnny stirred and his eyelids raised slightly, just enough for the blue of his eyes to be visible.

The wounded man blinked rapidly as he tried to focus, but suddenly his eyes squeezed shut, his hands rising to press his palms against his temples. He emitted a moan, but when Scott tried to apply a cool cloth to his head, Johnny pushed him away. It took several minutes for the pain to recede, but eventually his body lost some of its tension and he slowly lowered his hands. Seemingly disoriented, he looked around, squinting at the sunlight that flooded into the room.

Murdoch drew the long curtains over the French doors to block the light but left the doors open. Later in the day the room would be kept cool by the shade of the tree just outside the door.

"Where'm I?" Johnny whispered.

Scott explained that he was in the guest bedroom, wondering if the blow to Johnny's head had affected him more than they had first realized.

With great care, Johnny turned his head to look around the room, stopping at the sight of Harlan, still stationed in the doorway.

Scott's grandfather just stared back at him.

Murdoch said, "Johnny, I have to look at the wound back here, so I need to move you onto your stomach. That's it, just a little bit more." He aided Johnny to roll slightly forward, stopping for a moment when his son stiffened. Even though Johnny clenched his teeth against the intense pain the movement brought, no more than a slight groan escaped from his lips. Very carefully, Murdoch peeled back the edge of the bandage to check the condition of the wound.

Johnny flinched at his father's touch, but he never took his eyes off Harlan Garrett.

Murdoch took a clean, folded cloth that Scott offered, and cleaned away the blood around the wound to gauge if it was still bleeding heavily. He looked up from what he was doing to see Johnny's hands gripping the bedding, his teeth biting into his lower lip. Finally the job was done, the bloodstained bandages replaced. Murdoch wiped his hands, asking, "Scott, have we got anything to give him? To keep him until the doctor arrives?"

Johnny was trembling slightly, his face stoic as he focused with wide eyes on something across the room.

Scott asked, "Laudanum? We haven't any as far as I know. Teresa, can you check in the medicine cabinet?"

Murdoch waited until she had left on the errand to suggest to Scott, "Maybe he can tell us what happened to him. He seems to be alert at the moment."

"Johnny, tell us what happened," Scott demanded. When he got no response, he looked closely at Johnny for a sign he was listening, then followed the direction of his brother's gaze. He glanced back at Johnny to make sure, but there was little doubt that his intense gaze was focused on the older man standing on the threshold. It was plain to see that Johnny's eyes, at first dark with the pain he was enduring, had changed. The blue eyes were now full of hatred.

Harlan Garrett appeared uncomfortable, dabbing at his mouth with his handkerchief, but then he straightened his shoulders and regained his composure. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left.

~ • ~

"Scott, this bandage I used isn't heavy enough. There's still blood seeping out. Hand me that cloth over there. Yes, that's the one." Murdoch took the folded bandage and tucked it under the binding that was wrapped tightly around Johnny's waist. Even though he was as gentle as he could be, Johnny cried out, rearing back as agony drove through him like a spike. The motion caused more pain to erupt, and his eyes rolled back under his lids as he blacked out.

Murdoch quickly reached out, holding onto his son's body to prevent him from falling off the bed. He cursed the men who had hurt his boy and vowed to bring them to justice if it was the last thing he did.

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