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CHAPTER 16 - THE FOUNTAIN

Seeing the deserted and bloodstained bed, Murdoch immediately turned on his heel to leave and raise the alarm, but stopped short when he caught sight of Johnny leaning against the washstand, a sponge in hand. With its cabinet and basin hidden behind the partially open door, he'd almost missed seeing his son standing next to it. There was a pile of discarded bandages on the floor at Johnny's feet, the water in the basin was colored pink, and the sutured wound in his back was bleeding profusely.

"Johnny!" Murdoch took hold of Johnny's arm and pulled up a chair, none too soon. The dark-haired man dropped into it with relief. Murdoch caught sight of the back of his son's long johns, soaked dark with blood.

"I was just tryin' to clean up a bit," Johnny explained before Murdoch had a chance to berate him. Johnny turned his eyes to meet his father's, then both pair of eyes dropped to look at his hands. They were stained with drying blood.

Murdoch inspected Johnny's back and compressed his lips when he saw that at least four stitches had been torn from the swollen flesh. "What the hell were you thinking of?"

Johnny made a vague gesture towards his gun sitting nearby on the marble-top dresser. "Teresa ran outta here and I was going to rescue her," he said, as if he was capable of such an action. "I think I busted something back there," he added guiltily.

Murdoch wrapped Johnny up in fresh bandages as best he could, padding the open wound. By the time he'd finished and tied up the makeshift dressing, Johnny was looking ill, his eyes half-closed as he took ragged breaths.

When Murdoch tried to get Johnny standing, he found he couldn't do it on his own. His back and hip had been bothering him ever since Garrett had arrived. "You stay still, boy, you understand?" He had refrained from telling Johnny about Scott's injury, concerned that if he did so his impetuous son would probably cause himself even more harm by making a foolhardy attempt to join his brother in the great room. "I'll only be a minute," Murdoch said when he got no reply. "You sit right there, Johnny."

Johnny clung to the arms of his chair. "Yessir." As Murdoch stepped to the door that led to the hallway, Johnny suddenly called out, "Wait! What about Teresa?"

Murdoch assured him, "She's fine," even though he had no idea what had become of her. He only hoped that she hadn't fallen afoul of Harlan Garrett.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

Maria suggested they move Scott temporarily in with Johnny, and assured the Patrón that she would take care of everything. Cipriano took one of Scott's arms, slung it across his shoulder, ran a beefy arm around the blond man's waist and got him into Johnny's bedroom without breaking a sweat.

Alarmed at the sight of his injured brother, Johnny immediately started asking what had happened and reached for his gun, but Murdoch calmed him as best he could. "Son, Scott hasn't said much, only that Garrett hit him. It's a deep gash on his head, but I don't think he's in any danger from it."

Scott's eyes were half open and he made vague gestures of protest when his boots were pulled off, but once a blanket was pulled over him, he lay quietly, one hand to his head.

"He needs the doctor," Johnny insisted. He slowly stood up on his own and made a tentative step towards the bed, his gun still in hand.

"And so do you," Maria said, rushing over to help Murdoch guide him back to bed. Luckily, the mattress was large enough for the two brothers to lie on side-by-side, if only as a temporary solution. "You boys give so much work to poor Dr. Mendez. Maybe he will be tired and not come out here no more." She put an extra pillow behind Johnny's shoulder and fussed over him until he brushed her away.

Murdoch removed Johnny's gun from his grip and holstered it again, returning the rig to the table. "You're not strong enough to raise it even if you needed it and I don't want any bullets going astray by accident. I think it's safer out of your reach right now, Johnny. I know you don't agree, but we'll lock the doors and someone will stay with you."

"How can you say it's safe when Scott gets bushwhacked on our own property?" He looked worriedly at his brother, who hadn't moved since he'd been laid on the mattress. "You say Garrett did this? To Scott?" he asked skeptically. Johnny prodded his brother gently. "Scott?" he asked, eliciting a grunt but no real reply.

"It appears that Garrett has lost what little reason he had." Murdoch shook his head and signaled for Cipriano to leave with him. "We'll be back as soon as we find her," he whispered to Maria.

The housekeeper was worried about her little Teresa and frightened enough to retrieve Johnny's revolver for him when he asked for it. Once it was in his hand, he turned to interrogate his brother about what was really going on, but Scott had already passed out and was no help at all.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

It was Jelly who discovered Teresa. He had been having trouble with his lantern and set it down on the top of the wall that divided the patio from the yard in order to adjust the wick. When he glanced up he caught sight of the girl, only feet away. She was standing stock-still near the fountain, a stricken look on her face, and when he called out her name she didn't show any sign she heard him. Knowing that something was very wrong, he cautiously opened the gate and approached her slowly, much as he would a skittish animal.

She was trembling badly even though the night was no more than cool, so he removed his cloth coat and draped it over her shoulders. Her dress was soaked and dirty, and there was a graze on her pale cheek, but otherwise she appeared to be unharmed.

Jelly stepped forward with his lantern raised to get a clear look at what was she was staring at on the ground by the fountain. When he saw what it was, he immediately put his arm around her shaking body and turned her away. "We'll just git you inside, honey," he said soothingly.

Juan and Isidro hastened over when they saw that Jelly had found Teresa. The light from their lanterns caught the grisly scene, and both men made the sign of the cross. "Madre de Dios," they muttered in unison. "Qué se está encendiendo aquí?"

"The Devil's work," Jelly replied, and with a fearful look over his shoulder, he guided the girl to the safety of the house.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

"I went to look at the man you caught, then I went back. . . for my. . . my bag," Teresa said, her voice so small that Murdoch had to lean close to catch her words. "By. . . the f…fountain." She burst into tears and threw herself into the mothering arms of Maria. The housekeeper sat her on the couch in the great room, soothed her in Spanish while she stroked her hair and just her held close. Luckily, neither of the boys had awakened when Murdoch had summoned her to care for the upset Teresa.

Murdoch ran a hand over his face. The events of the past few days were wearing him down, but nothing had affected him quite as much as the sight of Teresa's distress. "Jelly, show him to me," he said. "Let's get this over with."

~ • ~ ~ • ~

The pleasant-sounding trickle of the fountain belied the gruesome scene in the courtyard. Murdoch took one look at the dead body of Harlan Garrett and ordered the gathering crowd of ranch hands and their families to return to their beds. He didn't want Johnny and especially Scott to be alerted to Garrett's demise at that time. He deemed it was better that his two injured sons, resting only feet away in the ground-floor bedroom, remained oblivious to the death that had occurred so close.

The first thought that had entered Murdoch's head when he arrived on the scene was that Harlan Garrett had suffered some sort of apoplexy, but upon turning the body face up, the wound in the man's neck told a different story. There were more lanterns lit and Murdoch crouched down to take a closer look.

The only apparent damage was a still-oozing round hole in the right side of Garrett's neck. Whatever the weapon had been, it had penetrated the throat and probably an artery as far as Murdoch could determine.

Garrett had been found with his head and shoulders immersed in the fountain's basin, the water dark with his blood. Now that he was laid out on his back, a pool of bloody water drained from his body and sodden clothing. As the seepage encroached upon Murdoch, he edged back.

Isidro stood at Murdoch's side and looked at the sopping wet corpse with distaste. "Who shot him?"

Murdoch replied, "Nobody heard a shot fired. It looks like he was stabbed. There's no exit wound." He got to his feet, one hand going to his sore hip. The twinges from his old wound seemed to get worse in times of stress, and the past few days could not be considered relaxing. At least his sons were both safe and Teresa was finding comfort in Maria's capable arms. "Has the sheriff been summoned?"

"Sheriff Stillwater's been sent for," Jelly said, eyeballing the dead body with discomfort. "The doc, too." He took a blanket from one of the men and held it aloft until Murdoch nodded in agreement.

"Cover him up."

Isidro fished around in the fountain and retrieved Garrett's walking stick. "I think it is broken, Patrón," he said, gingerly handing the dripping cane to his boss.

Upon inspection of Garrett's stick, Murdoch found that the end was loose, and then he realized that the silver handle pulled out to reveal that the walking stick was not as innocuous looking as it looked. Pulling the handle out of its sheath, he exposed a two-foot long rapier. "It's a sword stick," he explained to his men.

"You think that pig-sticker's what killed him? It sure weren't no accident, was it? Less he fell on it or somethin' outlandish. I once heard of a man that shot hisself when he-."

One look from Murdoch and Jelly stopped his morbid tale. "I don't think so, Jelly," Murdoch said, "but this for the sheriff to investigate. Isidro, let's get someone to watch over Garrett until he arrives. Make sure nothing is touched." He wanted to move the body out of sight, but thought it would be better for the sheriff to view an undisturbed scene. "Let's-"

Scott's voice startled Murdoch, coming from directly behind him. "Murdoch? What's going on?" Apart from the bandage that was wrapped around his forehead, Scott appeared to be his normal self. "I heard talking and . ."

Acting quickly, Murdoch held his arms out, shepherding Scott back, but his son had already looked around his father's shoulder, sensing that something was seriously amiss. From the widening of his eyes, Murdoch could see Scott had caught sight of the blanket-draped body, half obscured in the shadows.

"Who is that?" he asked with a sharp intake of breath.

Scott struggled to push past him, but Murdoch warned, "Go back, Scott, and keep Johnny-" Even as he spoke, Johnny appeared on the bedroom door's threshold. He looked to be in pain as he sagged against the doorframe, but he took a tentative step towards the small group surrounding the body.

It only took a nod from Murdoch for Isidro to step over to Johnny and strong-arm him back towards the safety of the house. Johnny resisted and directed a few sharp words at the wrangler in Spanish.

Isidro's reaction was to stand in the young man's way, with hands at the ready, indicating he wasn't going to allow Johnny to pass, no matter what insults were thrown at him. He glanced over his shoulder at Murdoch, who was occupied with keeping Scott from viewing the body.

"Scott, don't do this," implored Murdoch, even as he knew there was no way he could keep his son from discovering the ugly truth. Scott was in no condition to be out here, and the emotional toll once he discovered that Garrett had been murdered was going to be devastating. Even though Murdoch tried to keep his apprehension from showing, Scott seemed to instinctively know what had occurred.

Seeking reassurance from the dread that crept into his stomach, Scott looked intently at his father, searching for the answer that he didn't want to hear.

Murdoch released his hold on his son's upper arms. "I'm sorry, son. It's Harlan." Even though he did not physically restrain Scott, Murdoch didn't move from where he stood with his feet firmly planted. He wished he could shield his older son from the grief that was sure to consume him. Even if Harlan Garrett had done more harm than good, and Scott had renounced any connection to the man, it was inevitable that he would feel a great loss from his grandfather's passing.

"My. . . my grandfather?"

When Johnny heard his father announce the identity of the man lying under the blanket, he stepped forward until he staggered up against Isidro. He knew that Garrett hadn't died a natural death just from the way Murdoch was standing, from the way his father was trying to protect Scott.

But suddenly Murdoch gave up his futile attempt to raise a protective wall around Scott and he stood aside to let the blond man stumble past.

Scott fell to his knees beside the shrouded figure and slowly reached out one hand to lift a corner of the blanket. At the sight of his grandfather's features, frozen in a chilling mask of death, Scott inhaled sharply. Harlan Garrett's eyes were slightly open, their exposed whites reflecting the lamplight. His mouth was agape, lips pulled back in their final grimace to show teeth, red with blood.

With a flick of his hand, Scott tossed the blanket back to expose Garrett down to his chest. Although there was no doubt that the man was dead, Scott slid a hand inside his grandfather's jacket until it settled over the place where his heart lay.

Johnny reached out a hand to his brother, even though he was yards away from him. He just wanted to pull Scott away from the dead body, but Isidro stood his ground, arms like steel barring Johnny from getting to his brother's side. There was no way he could fight this man, not as weak as he was, and the frustration ate at him. "Scott, he's gone, just gone. Come on back with me. Please," Johnny urged, his voice cracking. Scott didn't look up, but Johnny was sure he was listening.

Murdoch tried not to look at Garrett as he waited to help his Scott to his feet.

Johnny implored, "Isidro, déjeme pasar. Mi hermano me necesita," but the big man shook his gray head. "No, Johnny, usted estará lastimado."

Desperate to get to Scott's side, Johnny entreated, "Él es el quién está lastimada. He's the one who's hurting, can't you see? Déjeme pasar. Usted sabe que esto es incorrecto."

But Isidro would not go against the orders of his boss, even if he felt compassion for the younger son. To him, the loss of the old grandfather was no loss at all, but to see the sons of the house so upset was hard on his heart. "No."

"Enough, Johnny," Murdoch called to him. "You have to get back inside. The sheriff should be here soon. Go and rest while you can." He put out a hand to help Scott to his feet when he started to rise, but the offer was ignored.

"But Murdoch-" Johnny finally gave in, but only because he was barely able to remain on his feet. By the time Isidro got him to the bedside, he was bearing all of Johnny's weight.

Scott stood alone over the body, his head bowed.

Murdoch was not surprised to see signs of tears glistening in Scott's eyes. He waited for some sign that his proud son wanted comfort from his old man, but there was none forthcoming. "Scott, come in now."

Scott bent to conceal Garrett's face with the blanket then stood erect. Gathering himself, he took a deep breath. "We need to move him."

"The sheriff will need to see him here, in the place where he died."

"Pardon me for saying so, Murdoch," came the caustic reply, "but Gabe is not exactly a Pinkerton detective. He won't be able to tell us anything we don't already know: that my grandfather has been killed with a sharp weapon. He won't be able to tell who did this any more than he found out the truth about who was behind Johnny's attack. I discovered the connection between my grandfather and those men, Flanagan and. . .what was his. . . Macon. They met somehow in Wyoming, where Grandfather stopped for a few days. I confronted him about it and that's what prompted him to hit me. Look, Gabe is great at rounding up rustlers, but he hasn't got a clue about how to handle something like this. So let's show some respect for the dead and move my. . . move his body inside."

The news that Scott had discovered that Harlan had premeditated murdering Johnny and had orchestrated the initial attack on him was not surprising to Murdoch. Trust the old bastard to have come visiting with a smile on his face and murder in his mind. Agreeing with his son that Gabe's skills were more suited to tracking rather than ferreting out facts, Murdoch yielded.

They arranged for Harlan Garrett's remains to be sheltered in the bath house, then Scott, drained and finally giving in to the dizziness that threatened to cause his own collapse, returned to the bedroom he was to share with Johnny.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

"What time's it?" Scott whispered to Jelly.

Jelly leaned forward to see the clock, the squeak of the springs in his chair enough to make Scott raise both of his hands to his wounded head in pain. "Goin' on two," Jelly said in an undertone.

"You don't have to shout," Scott complained. The pain in his head was making miserable, but he wasn't going to apologize. He had never felt so drained in all his life.

"I'm jus' doin' what I've been told to, not that I expect no thanks."

Scott stared bleakly at Jelly. "Just go home, Jelly."

Jelly moved with exaggerated stealth to the door. "I'm a-goin' to get somethin' to eat. If you're asleep when I get back I won't come in, but I'll hunker down nearby. Just in case," he intoned.

Scott didn't ask, 'Just in case of what?' though he was tempted to. There wasn't anybody to guard against. Not any more. He had killed the two men who had held Johnny down while Harlan Garrett had brutally knifed him. He had even been about to throttle his own grandfather when the truth was exposed. It didn't bear thinking about; his grandfather, the man who had brought him up, who had intended the best for him, even if in a corrupted way, was now dead. But the family was safe. They were damaged, but safe. That's what was important now and he tried to keep it in mind, just so the image of Harlan lying, cold and bloody on the patio, stayed away from his thoughts. He thanked God that nobody else had been killed.

He lay beside his brother, aware of every breath he made, hearing each snore, gasp and groan as the cycle of sleep and painful awakenings occurred. He wondered what had set Harlan off, if it had been some long-simmering hatred of Johnny, or possibly he'd despised losing his tenuous control over his grandson, and the inheritance had been the trigger. Finally, the thoughts running around his brain tired themselves out and he slept.

When Scott awoke the next time, it was dawn. He slowly sat up, holding his aching head, running his tongue around his cottony mouth. He reached for a glass of water that had been left on the bedside table and felt the mattress sag as Johnny turned over behind him.

"Get me some water, will ya?" Johnny got up one elbow and took a proffered glass. "Is it too much to hope it was all a bad dream?"

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