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CHAPTER 5 - THE INFORMANT

Fastidiously wiping his hands clean on a towel, Dr. Mendez entered the great room. He settled in a comfortable chair and thanked Scott for a whiskey when it was promptly handed to him. Before giving the waiting men Johnny's prognosis, he took a much-needed sip of the pale amber liquid. Peering at the anxious looks on the faces of the Lancer men, Dr. Mendez announced, "Gentlemen, my diagnosis is that Johnny will live."

Murdoch gave a sigh of relief and clasped the doctor's hand. With overstated care, Scott placed the bottle on a table within the doctor's reach, then perched on the arm of a nearby leather chair. "Let's hear the rest of it."

"He's lost a lot of blood," said Mendez. He stretched his arms, then relaxed into the chair with a grunt. "That's the worst of it. I prescribe you feed him on beef broth and warm ox blood soup to renew his vigor. Build up his blood again. It will take time, but. . . "

"His head took a heavy blow," Murdoch said with concerned.

"Hmm, not life-threatening. A slight concussion, perhaps. The wound to his scalp isn't as bad as it looks. I cleaned the area but it didn't even need any stitches. His wrist isn't sprained, but the arm is badly bruised. He won't be using that hand for a while." He sighed. "What else? Oh yes, his neck is bruised, as well as his ribs. Nothing broken, which is amazing considering the blunt force that was used."

Scott asked sharply, "And the knife wound?" He had assisted the doctor, but most of the time he had refrained from looking at the procedure. Seeing the needle piercing his brother's flesh and watching the heavy thread drawn through the edges of the rough-edged, gaping wound was almost too much for him. Images of battle-torn men had come unbidden to his mind. Luckily, either the pain or the laudanum had rendered Johnny unconscious throughout the operation.

"Yes, well . . . that's not so good. Although the blade didn't hit anything vital as far as I can tell, it is nasty. It wouldn't have bled so much if…" Dr. Mendez ran a hand over his face. He was dead on his feet, but this was his last call before heading home. He was glad he only lived a few miles down the road. He'd have to remember to ask the Lancers to loan him a fresh horse before his buggy nag expired from overwork.

When the doctor took his time pouring himself another drink, Scott said defensively, "Amos Whipple and the sheriff tied a makeshift bandage around the wound and got Johnny here as fast as they could. We staunched the bleeding as soon as we got him inside. We did what we could."

"They should have left him in town, if that's where they found him." Mendez cast an exasperated look at the Lancer men, then softened at their looks of remorse. "Gentlemen, Johnny is still alive due to your care. He's one lucky young man." The doctor hesitated then added, "Look, I don't know what kind of man would harm another in this manner. I've seen plenty of terrible things in my practice, but this knifing was the act of a very vindictive person."

"What do you mean?" Murdoch lifted the whiskey decanter to pour himself a glassful, but stopped in mid-action. "What makes this worse than any other knifing?"

"From what I can see, the blade wasn't just stuck in your boy's back." The doctor made a jabbing motion. "Whoever stabbed him," he explained as he demonstrated a vicious screwing motion, "twisted the blade as well. He sure wanted to cause as much damage as possible, using a serrated blade. Good thing the angle was off. Missed any vital organs, though. If your boy hadn't been discovered right away, and received care, he'd have bled to death within a short time."

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Teresa sat on a bench under a big tree that cast its shade across the patio, enjoying the tranquil sound of gently trickling water from the fountain. She was trying to knit using four needles but kept dropping one needle or another, losing stitches. She glanced up occasionally to keep an eye on Johnny, asleep in his temporary bedroom. A light afternoon breeze stirred the curtains of the open French doors, affording her a view of his sleeping form.

Jelly had brought the doctor back with him hours ago. They had made her leave the room when they worked on Johnny, but she had heard his cries of pain, even through the thick hacienda walls. The doctor must have given Johnny something to quiet him because he had been sleeping soundly ever since.

She retrieved a wooden knitting needle that had dropped to the flagstones and rolled under the hem of her skirt. She was about to pick up the stitches again, but a movement in the bedroom alerted her that Johnny had regained consciousness. Moving his legs restlessly under the sheet, he weakly called out Scott's name. As she quickly rose to go to his side, galloping horses rapidly approach the house. It looked like the sheriff, accompanied by another, unfamiliar man. Dropping her knitting into its bag next to the bench, she went in to tend to Johnny.

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"What do you mean you lost them?" Scott faced Sheriff Stillwater. He hadn't intended to shout at the man, but his frustration had got the better of him. "You're supposed to be the best tracker around here."

Jelly held up his hands to halt Scott's angry words. "Just listen to him, will ya?"

Stillwater's eyes narrowed at Scott's stinging words. "You want to hire yourself an Indian tracker, well, you're free to do so. I'll gladly take any help I can get, but I aim to run down these men even if I have to do it on my own."

Murdoch cut in, "Do you know who these men are, Sheriff? Drifters?"

"Hard to say. Nobody seems to know who they are. Could have come in off the range, been let go when they got their cattle to the railhead. Seen some wranglers passing through recently, headin' back to Texas after deliverin' their herds." He pulled a revolver from the back of his belt and handed it to Murdoch. "I recovered this, on the street, not far from where your boy was bushwacked."

Murdoch accepted the gun and verified it was Johnny's. It was disturbing to realize that his son, always so alert to danger, had been disarmed.

Scott reached out and took the six-gun from his father, staring at it as if it could tell them what had occurred.

Stillwater said, "As soon as I get back to Morro Coyo, I'll find the folks who were at the saloon last night and see what they know."

"So you don't know who they are," accused Scott angrily, "and you don't know where they went." He held out Johnny's gun. "Don't you understand? My brother would never give up his sidearm. These men attacked him from behind. They're the lowest form-"

"Now you calm down, Scott. There's more to tell you." The sheriff removed his hat, wiping his brow. "I couldn't trail those two men that attacked Johnny in the dark, but I searched in the direction I figured they'd headed. When daylight came and there was no sign of them, I headed over here to see if some of your men could join me in tracking them." Indicating the man standing in the entryway, he explained, "That's when I met Señor Rinaldo on the road."

Murdoch motioned for the man to join them and offered his hand in welcome. "Rinaldo." He knew the man only slightly. Rinaldo and his family ran a small ranch on the other side of the valley but he was better known for his fine orchards than for raising cattle. Seemed decent enough, though not the kind to speak aloud at a town meeting.

"I was out on Morro Ridge," Rinaldo said, pointing in a northerly direction. "Early this morning I saw, maybe two miles away, two riders heading for Gunderson's farm."

Scott cut in, "How do you know these are the two men the sheriff is after? They could have been anyone. Maybe one was Gunderson."

Murdoch turned to Scott and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Give him a chance to say his piece, Scott."

Scott leaned against his father's large desk and crossed his arms.

Rinaldo cleared his throat. "It wasn't until I met the sheriff later that he told me what happened to your son, Mr. Lancer, and I understood what I had seen."

"Go ahead, man," urged the sheriff. "Spit it out."

"Yes, uh, these two men were leading a riderless horse by his reins. I was too far away, you understand, to recognize them."

Murdoch nodded. "Towards Gunderson's."

"But," Rinaldo said, "I recognized the horse they were leading. I'd know him anywhere. It was Johnny Lancer's palomino, Barranca."

Scott immediately strode across the room to the coat tree and grabbed his gun belt. As he briskly buckled it up Murdoch moved to his side. "You can't just go off half-cocked, Scott."

Turning on his father, the blond man pointed in the direction of Johnny's bedroom. "My brother is lying back there, mighty close to dying, while the men - the animals - who cut into him are getting away! Don't you even suggest that I not go."

"Easy, easy, son," Murdoch said as he raised a calming hand. "I was just going to suggest that you take my Sharps rifle and some extra ammo." He smiled grimly. "I'll hand-pick the men to ride with you and have them ready in five minutes."

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Scott decided to take a moment to slip into Johnny's room. There was no time to waste, yet he couldn't leave without having a last look in on his brother.

On his way down the hall he passed Harlan Garrett. Catching hold of Scott's sleeve, the old man said tersely, "If you're going to look for trouble on account of this half-breed half-brother of yours then I'm going to be very displeased, Scottie."

Scott stopped only long enough to remove the grip on his arm. "Damned right I'm going looking for trouble, Grandfather." Closing the bedroom door behind him, he shut out Harlan's irate face. He carefully sat on the edge of the mattress and looked at his sleeping brother. To him, Johnny would never be a half-brother. Johnny never did anything by halves.

Scott surveyed the damaged face that was framed by a wide, white strip of bandage across the forehead. There were wisps of dark hair, caught by the bandage, sticking damply to his face. Much of the hair on the top of Johnny's head was standing up as if it was trying to escape. Whatever Teresa had applied to the bruised eye seemed to have taken some of the swelling down, yet it was severely discolored. A massive bruise had appeared on the side of his neck and there was congealed blood in one damaged ear.

Johnny's lips moved then his eyes opened. They slowly focused on Scott, then suddenly widened as he became alert. He opened his mouth to speak but his first attempt only brought forth a dry rasping noise. He gave a slight cough, swallowed and winced, a hand going to his ribs. "You . . . goin' after them." Johnny had spoken the words, not as a question, but as a certainty.

Scott had decided not to tell Johnny where he was going, only because he wanted to spare his brother the unnecessary worry. He considered lying about his plans but Johnny was watching him too closely. "What makes you think I'm going after anyone?" Scott asked.

"Man walks different when he's . . . he's packing a full load," he replied, smiling slightly at Scott's surprised look.

"If you can tell that when you're lying here, wounded and barely conscious," Scott asked carefully, "how is it that you let someone sneak up on you?"

Johnny tried to raise his head a bit, but the pain drove him back onto the pillows. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then took a breath and looked back at Scott. "I was goin' home." He spoke in a near whisper, but the room was so quiet that his words were clear. "Been playing for some time with 'em. Drinkin'. Other men, too. We went . . . dance hall for a while. Back to cards. Nice enough fellows." He stopped to cough and Scott fetched him some water. Johnny drank a little, then continued, his left hand pressing to his wounded side, looking paler by the minute. "Late. Had enough. These two jus' left wi' me. . . laughin'. Carousin'. Then my head got hit so hard I saw stars."

"These men got names?"

"Um . . .Macon . . . other called . . ." Scott thought that was all that Johnny could recall, but suddenly he blurted, "Flanagan. He was called Flanagan I think. They . . . robbed me."

Scott said, "Your pockets were empty, but if it was only a robbery why would they beat you, Johnny?" And why knife you so brutally, he asked silently.

Johnny shook his head. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the lids were too heavy. "So I couldn't go after 'em? They held me. . . one was behind me. . . I don' 'member much else. My gun was gone when I . . . reached for it." He suddenly opened his eyes wide. "Barranca!"

"It's all right, Johnny. He's been spotted and we're on our way to bring him home." He didn't add - and bring the men to justice - but it must have been clearly visible in his eyes because his brother looked at him sharply.

"Jus' don't turn your back on anyone," Johnny warned as he closed his eyes.

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