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CHAPTER 14 - THE TOWER

"Well go ahead and open it, Scott." Johnny's eyes were bright with expectation.

Scott turned the small box over in his hand. "You sure it won't bite?" he asked with narrowed eyes. Whatever it was, it appeared to be a present from both his brother and his father, from the way they were looking at each other.

Murdoch leaned against the bedpost and grinned down at Johnny. "It was your brother's idea," he said. "Go ahead, Scott."

"Yeah, but you knew where to send for it," Johnny acknowledged.

Slowly opening the hinged box, Scott peered inside. On black velvet folds sat a heavy gold signet ring, its face bearing the relief of a heraldic shield. He took it out, smiling with pleasure.

Johnny cut into his effusive thank-yous with an explanation of how to use it, but Scott wasn't really listening. He looked closely at the engraved shield and took note of what appeared to be the Lancer coat of arms. "I didn't think we had a family crest," he said.

Johnny rolled onto his side and reached over to point out the details of the incised crest. "That there's a fortress and those little guys are lions rampaging-"

"Rampant," corrected Murdoch under his breath.

"Yeah, rampant. They look like they're fighting over the tower, but I think they're just standing up on their hind legs 'cause they're proud. Like brothers," Johnny added.

Teresa stuck her head in and when she saw Scott had already opened his gift, her face fell. "Sorry I'm late. Be right back." She disappeared, only to return a minute later with a package wrapped in tissue paper and kitchen string. "Happy birthday, Scott," she said as she gave the blond man a quick kiss on the mouth.

"I really didn't expect this," he said as he unwrapped Teresa's gift to him. From the folds of the paper he pulled a box of sealing wax and a leather match safe, full of red-tipped matches. "I don't know what to say, except thank you all. And for baking the cake, as well, Teresa."

"I was happy to do it. You know I enjoy baking," Teresa said. "It would have disappeared in one sitting if Johnny hadn't been confined to bed." She grinned and gave Johnny's dark hair a ruffle, careful to avoid the place where he'd been struck only a couple of days earlier. She took hold of Scott's hand to inspect the heavy ring in his palm. "You can stick down all of your important papers with your own seal now."

"People will know letters come from you even before they open them," Johnny added. He grinned and teased, "It'll give your old girlfriends the chance to throw them out without having to open them to see who they're from."

"And the lawyers and bankers will sit up and take notice," Teresa said. "They'll see your sign and know it's an important letter from their biggest-ever customer."

Johnny looked at her curiously, but before he could ask what she meant, Murdoch ushered her out. "Let's go have some dinner, young lady, and let Johnny get some rest. Scott, you coming?"

"In a short while," he said. "I need to talk to Johnny for a few minutes."

When they'd gone, Scott offered his brother a drink, puffed up his pillows and did everything he could to avoid telling him about the money he'd inherited. He wasn't sure why, but he suspected that Johnny was not going to accept the news with good will. Not that his brother would begrudge him his good fortune, but he'd see it as something that set them apart. And there was nothing that Scott feared more than something coming between them, particularly money.

"You done with fiddlin' around?" Johnny asked. "Just sit and say whatever's on your mind. If this is about your grandfather. . . if it means so much to you, I'll tell the sheriff what I remember. Not that I can tell you who knifed me-"

"No, it has nothing to do with that. I need to tell you something." Scott eyed Johnny as he considered his brother's change of heart regarding talking about how he'd sustained his injuries. "You'll talk to Gabe, then? One of the men can take a message to him tomorrow when they're done with. . ." He couldn't face taking his grandfather to meet the stage, and had already asked Isidro and another man to do the task without him.

"You gonna try the ring on, already?"

Scott sat on the end of the bed and picked up the signet ring again. It felt heavy, solid, and warmed to his skin as soon as he slid it on his finger. He held up his hand to show it off. "It fits very well."

"Now you look the dandy," Johnny said, then slapped his brother on the knee, using his left hand. His right was still swollen and unusable. He'd been soaking it in cold tea-water, but he couldn't say with any certainty that it had helped, even if it felt better. He cajoled, "C'mon, out with it."

Taking a deep breath, Scott said, "On my birthday I not only gained another year, but a very large inheritance." A glance at Johnny showed his brother patiently waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"How large?" Johnny asked indifferently.

"Large."

"Hmmm." Johnny leaned back on his pillows and carefully adjusted his shoulder to avoid leaning on his tender wound. "So what's the problem?"

"I may have to go to Boston to-."

Johnny quickly sat up, the unwitting move causing him to flinch. Breath whistled between his teeth with a hiss. "You said you weren't going back with him!"

"I'm not. This has nothing to do with Grandfather."

"Like hell it hasn't! I told you that old bastard was going to yank at your strings, Scott, and damned if he isn't doing it already. I thought you were going to toss him out tomorrow. Be rid of him forever-"

"Hold your horses! You going to let me tell you about what's going on or not?"

"Fine." Johnny settled back with an exaggerated look of patience on his face. He waved a hand to indicate Scott should proceed, but he couldn't help the resentment showing in his eyes.

"My grandfather did come here with news and documents regarding this inheritance, but he has nothing to do with it. No control over it in any regard. I want to make that clear." Scott waited for Johnny to break in again, but no sharp retorts appeared to be forthcoming, so Scott continued, "This isn't my money to do anything I want with. It's communal property, really. Many members of my grandmother's family rely on the businesses and dividends that the family fortune makes."

Johnny asked, "You mean you're the boss of your family business now?"

"I suppose you could say that. I've been thinking about what to do about it. I can't see that I can make the right decisions for the family from so far away, but apart from an initial trip to settle the estate, I don't have any intention of staying back East."

"You're talking about something real big, aren't you?" Johnny realized that Scott had fallen, by default, into the position of the head of a remote family. "You know any of this Eastern family?"

Scott shook his head slightly. "I met some old aunties when I was a child. A second cousin or two in my college years, but my grandfather didn't get along with the maternal side of the family. He held them at bay, said they were all spongers." He shrugged, but the worried lines around his eyes gave his true feelings away.

"So. . . " Johnny said with raised eyebrows. "This all sounds mighty serious. Is this what got Garrett all twisted over? This is what he thought I'd interfere with?"

"What did he say to you?"

Johnny gave a half-shrug. "Something about how you were destined for greatness." He suddenly laughed. "Like we don't already know that, right?"

"I'm just a one-third owner of a ranch that needs all the help it can get to stay running smoothly," Scott said with a sideways grin.

"What's this business you inherited? Not ranching."

"No, not that I'm aware of. I haven't seen all the details yet. Shipping."

"Shipping? You mean. . . like a boat?"

"Uh, more along the lines of a shipping fleet. Transport of goods, I believe." Johnny was waiting patiently for him to continue, so Scott added, "Also ironworks. Some heavy industry. I think my maternal great-grandfather was the one who started that company. My grandmother's family was mostly girls, but they married well-off men, for the most part, and they acquired shares in various companies. It keeps growing and now is too large to handle easily. It's become cumbersome."

"And the family fortune is controlled by. . . by who?" Johnny asked.

"By the male successors. That's my role at the moment. Look, you're obviously tired, Johnny. We can talk about this later."

"No, no, you have to tell me the rest."

"There isn't much more to tell. There's a railroad, though. It's mentioned in the paperwork my grandfather handed over to me. Now that might be of some interest. It's not far from here, a spur that runs up to Salinas."

"Exactly what is this small fortune worth?"

Scott finally uttered the words. "Twenty million. Are you all right, Johnny? You need a drink or something?"

"What?"

"Do you need some water-?"

"What? No, I don't need water." Johnny brushed the offer away impatiently. "What was that amount again?"

"Twenty million," Scott said quietly.

In reply, Johnny shouted, "Dollars?"

"No, pesos," Scott retorted sarcastically. "Of course dollars!"

Falling back onto his propped-up pillows, Johnny stared at his blond brother, with mouth slightly agape as he digested the sheer size of the inheritance. When Scott started to say something, Johnny held up a hand to stop him.

Scott looked worriedly at his brother, afraid that it had been too much information, shocking in its scope. Johnny's head dropped forward until his chin hit his chest. With his features hidden, his body started to shake. Seriously concerned, Scott clasped a steadying hand to his brother's quaking shoulder. To his amazement, when Johnny raised his face, he was laughing. Not just a humorous grin, but a belly-shaking laugh, one that must be hurting him a great deal, the way it shook his entire body.

His arms gripping his stomach, Johnny hooted until tears rolled down his cheeks. "Whoo-ee!" he exclaimed. "You're as rich as a king! Who'd have ever thought?" His laughter was cut into by a coughing fit, and when it stopped, he lay back exhausted, still smiling.

Trying not to grin, but getting caught up in his brother's glee, Scott retorted, "Don't get too attached to the notion of me being a king. I've been thinking about this a lot the last couple of days and I believe the best thing for everyone concerned is for me to disburse the family holdings into smaller parcels."

With careful breaths, Johnny managed to ask, "You gonna. . . give it all. . . away?"

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I intend to do." Faced with an alarmed look from his brother, Scott added, "I'll get a share, and there is one business I just might retain."

"Which?"

"The railroad. It's the B.R. & F.C.G. Railway. Sort of a mouthful. Needs changing."

"Somethin' with "Scott" in it, you mean?"

"Maybe. I was thinking more along the lines of calling it the S.W.L. & J.M.L. Railway. No," he reconsidered. "That still sounds like an alphabet soup. Maybe just: the Lancer Line?"

"You mean it?"

"If it's going to be a Lancer railroad, we'd better make darned sure folks know who's running the show."

"My brother, the tycoon," Johnny said. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Lord, I'm tired."

"I'll leave you to sleep, then." The only reply was a mumble, so Scott headed out, leaving the door ajar behind him.

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Jelly had finished pulling up most of the rotted wood from the floor of the end stall, and it had been exhausting work. He'd been working by lamplight for some time, but hadn't realized it was so late until Scott poked his head in to let him know he was closing up the barn for the night.

"You get some sleep, Jelly. It'll still be here in the morning," Scott suggested.

Glancing out the open side door, Jelly nodded his head to the bunkhouse across the corral, where he could see the lights were still on. "Someone's gotta keep watch, just in case," he said sourly.

Scott looked at the bunkhouse, where the shadow of Harlan Garrett could be seen moving behind the blind. "He'll be gone tomorrow. Who's on guard?" He motioned towards a obscure figure sitting at the end of the bunkhouse's new covered porch. Even as he peered at the Lancer man who'd been assigned to keep an eye on Garrett, he saw a woman quickly cross the yard to join the man.

Jelly joined Scott in the open door of the barn. "That there is Cipriano's oldest. Lookee there, his sweetheart has come around again. Like clockwork. Men never get no peace," he bemoaned.

Scott slung an arm around Jelly's neck. "Some day, Jelly, you're going to have to tell me about the lady who soured you on all women."

"Aw, get on with ya." Jelly pushed the blond man away with a frown.

With a laugh, Scott moved across the corral, heading for the bunkhouse. He stopped at the gate to pick up the book he'd left there before he'd gone to talk to Jelly. As he thought about the task ahead of him, all his good humor evaporated.

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Harlan Garrett ignored the book his grandson proffered to him. "You've come to ask forgiveness, I hope?"

"No. I'm only here to tell you that there will be a carriage out front first thing in the morning to drive you to the railhead. Someone will bring you breakfast and you will be leaving an hour afterwards." Scott watched the hopeful expectation on his grandfather's face drop and turn to disbelief. He had no sympathy for the old man, and was surprised to find he had no feeling in his heart for him any more. Every vestige of familial connection had been severed, and he was relieved. No longer was he responsible for Garrett's behavior, even if in a tenuous way. "Your book. . . you left it in the house." He held it out at arms' length and Garrett snatched it from him without even looking at it.

"You must be pleased with yourself, Scottie, for bringing me to my knees. Is this what your inheritance has brought us to? You get grasp of a little power and you use it to manipulate-"

"Don't even start!" Scott warned. "You have spent your entire life twisting people and situations to suit your needs. Well, this is one man you can't manipulate, grandfather." Scott half- turned away, then pivoted on his heel to face the old man again. He leaned into Garrett, poking a finger at his chest to emphasize his words. "You won't ever come back here, " he ordered. "Not to this ranch. If I even get wind that you're in this state I'm going to hire myself a south-of-the-border gunman and set him upon you. You have harmed my family for the last time. And don't get any ideas about getting back at us from Boston. I'm going to make sure that you cause no more harm to anyone, if it's the last thing I do!"

Garrett was shaken, his face blanched of color as Scott threatened him. It was as if a stranger was standing before him, a tall, blond man with features twisted in hatred - a man who had somehow consumed his precious Scottie.

Scott moved for the door, but as he did, he caught sight of a piece of paper lying on the floorboards. Without thinking, he scooped it up and dropped it on the table as he walked out. Two steps outside the door, he stopped. Slowly, he turned back and, without entering the bunkhouse, reached inside to pick up the paper again. It was an advertisement postal card with fancy type over an engraving of a scenic picture.

Harlan hadn't moved an inch. He stood watching Scott, seeing the stern look on his grandson's face turn to wide-eyed realization. The gray-blue eyes raised to look straight at him, and on their surface was a mixture of shock and accusation.

Scott held up the postcard that had doubled as a bookmark.

Garrett recognized it as coming from the hotel in which he'd rested for two days on his journey to California.

"You were in Wyoming," Scott stated.

"What of it? I took a short respite in Jackson Waters. Is that suddenly a criminal offense? Please go now. I have to pack. After all, I'm being evicted at some un-Godly hour, as you may remember," Garrett said haughtily.

With an unmistakable aura of menace, Scott stepped forward, waving the card under the nose of the retreating man. "You hired those two men in Wyoming!"

"I don't know what you're referring to, but I certainly don't like your tone of voice, Scott." As Scott moved in on him, Garrett sidled backwards until he was forced up against a chair. Unable to take his eyes off the man who advanced upon him, Garrett felt around behind him, trying to find a way around the impediment. His hand discovered his walking stick resting across the chair, and his fingers clenched around the familiar shaft.

"You hired the two men to waylay my brother," Scott said angrily. "You arranged for them to hold him down while you knifed him. I knew you had suffocated Johnny, even if he didn't say so, but I'd hoped. . . I'd hoped you weren't the one who'd set those men on him in town. My God, how could you think you could get away with this? I was so stupid, so damned blind! I could kill you for causing so much suffering!"

Scott's accusations were spoken with murderous fury, and for the first time ever, Harlan Garrett was afraid of his own grandson. Without thinking, he raised his walking stick and brought it crashing down on Scott's head.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

Jelly stepped out of the hacienda's front door onto the verandah, a large slice of Scott's birthday cake in his hand. As he took a big, satisfying bite, he saw a sliver of light shining through a chink in the barn. Sure he'd extinguished the lamps when he'd finished working on the stall half an hour earlier, he went to investigate.

When Jelly was half way across the yard, the light went out, and a moment later a man slipped from the barn, then crept from one deep shadow to another. The furtiveness of the dark figure was enough to convince Jelly that it wasn't the young man guarding Old Man Garrett, but someone who was up to no good.

Jelly rushed to intercept the man, keeping low and moving as quietly as possible, trying to take him unawares. When he passed the bunkhouse, he spotted Cipriano's son, Juan, sitting on a rocker in a dark corner of the porch.

The young man stood hesitantly, then seemed to realize that Jelly was stalking a prowler. He left his job guarding Garrett to join forces with Jelly, and both men kept low along the adobe walls of the old guardhouse as they shadowed the stealthy man.

They were about thirty feet behind the intruder, yet apparently the man still wasn't aware that Jelly and Juan were closing in on him. Sprinting ahead, Juan took a leap, tackling him as Jelly warned, "Look out! Knife!" Together they wrestled the struggling man down to the ground, their fists finding their marks blindly in the darkness of the yard.

Their shouts alerted several of the ranch hands who came spilling out of the old bunkhouse. Not even stopping to pull up their suspenders, the wranglers pitched in, using their fists on the struggling man, disarming him with more luck than skill. Within minutes, the trespasser was hog-tied and subdued.

Murdoch emerged from the hacienda. He shouted, "What's going on out here?"

From the excited replies from the self-congratulating men, he gathered they had caught a dangerous criminal. "Let him up. Bring him into the light," Murdoch ordered.

It took seven men to do the task. The limp body was dragged forward by his arms, the man's dark head dangling close to the ground. One ranch hand brandished the seized knife in the air, its serrated blade gleaming wickedly in the light from the house. When the small mob reached the verandah, Jelly grabbed a handful of the unconscious man's hair to display his face. Murdoch immediately recognized the bloodied victim of the self-appointed vigilantes as their neighbor, Mr. Rinaldo.

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