~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

CHAPTER 17 - THE PRISONER

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

"Bad dream?" asked Scott. "How I wish it was, brother."

"No such luck, huh?" Johnny peered at Scott's drawn face, seeing the fine lines around his mouth accentuate the turned-down corners. He was tempted to poke fun at the tufts of pale blond hair sprouting from the bandage that wrapped around his brother's forehead, had the reality of the events of the previous night had not been so razor-sharp.

Scott was shirtless and there was a bruise on his shoulder from hitting the floor when Garrett struck him down. Wearing only long johns, Scott looked lean to the point of being bony, and Johnny wondered if his brother had eaten anything since the day his grandfather had arrived. He'd only seen him pick at his food the couple of times they'd had a meal together in the past several days.

Scott ran his hands over his face and sighed deeply. "God, I'm tired," he said.

Johnny sat up, grunting loudly when the action pulled at his back injury. "I'm sorry about your grandfather, Scott," he began, but Scott raised a hand to halt any more being said on the subject.

"I don't want to hear-"

Whatever Scott was about to say was interrupted when Murdoch peered in. "You're up," he said in surprise. His look of concern deepened when he stepped in and had a good look at his two sons sitting next to each other on the bed. "Johnny, you're bleeding again."

Even as Johnny reached his hand back to feel the bandage, Scott took over, pushing his brother's hand away to examine his back. "It's not bad." He added, "You'll live," but regretted the choice of words when he thought about how his grandfather had not lived. "Just lie down and try not to damage anything."

"It's not like I did it on purpose," Johnny retorted.

"Didn't do what?" Scott looked at him with narrowed eyes. He slowly pushed off the mattress and stood by the bedside to face his brother.

"I didn't go looking for trouble. I didn't plan on walking into the trap that your old granddaddy set for me, not on purpose." Johnny's voice rose with his temper. "That cabrón was gonna-"

"Johnny!" warned Murdoch. "Don't say something you'll regret."

"No, no, I want to hear what my brother has to say," Scott said defensively. "Go ahead, Johnny." He crossed his arms and waited.

Studiously avoiding his father's stern look, Johnny adjusted his position on the bed and said, "Fine. Right from the start I didn't jump to no conclusions about who knifed me. I didn't come out pointing my finger at nobody, and even when Garrett stuffed a pillow in my face and told me how much he was gonna enjoy killin' me, I didn't go lookin' for revenge when his plans didn't work out." He paused, but Scott showed no sign he was about to concede. "You know I why I didn't tell you he was the one who'd tried to kill me?"

Scott suggested tartly, "Because you wanted to deal with it yourself? Maybe you went out there last night and repaid his malice by knifing him."

Johnny's face fell, and it took him a few seconds to recover his disappointment. "If I thought you really meant that. . . ," he said softly. "I didn't accuse him because he means nothing to me and you mean everything."

Scott hung his head, and then by way of apology said, "Hell, Johnny, I know you didn't kill him."

"Oh yeah, what makes you so sure?"

With a short laugh, Scott replied, "Well, apart from the fact you couldn't have even made it a few feet across the patio without me to lean on, you'd never use a knife, not when you have your six-gun."

Johnny glanced over at Murdoch, who stood by the door with his arms crossed, keeping his thoughts to himself. With head on one side, Johnny let a hint of a smile slip out when he looked back at his brother. "So you think I need you to lean on, do you?"

"I think you'd fall over in a second, without me to help you up." Scott nodded, but the motion made his head swim and his hand went impulsively to the place he'd been hit.

Johnny reached over the bed to grasp Scott's arm. "You sit back down on the bed. If you hit the floor I ain't gonna be able to help you up." He was rewarded with a smile from his brother, who took his advice without demurring.

At that moment, Cipriano stuck his head in the room. "Sorry, Boss, but Sheriff Gabe just rode up and Dr. Mendez is here. He wants to know who is the worst injured." With a caustic look he added, "Oh, and the hombre in the guardhouse, he's awake and says he wants out."

Murdoch promptly ordered, "Johnny first. Then Scott."

Scott looked sharply at his father. "Who's in the guardhouse?"

"Rinaldo," Murdoch explained curtly, then said to Cipriano, "He can wait until I'm good and ready to send the doctor over."

"Rinaldo?" asked Scott. "You've got Martin locked up? What the hell did he do?"

Murdoch raised his eyebrows at the familiar use of the man's first name. "Martin?"

"Wait a minute," Johnny chimed in, "Isn't he the guy who rode in the posse with you? What did he do?"

"Let him out," commanded Scott. He rose from the bed, intent on heading out to the guardhouse to release the man himself.

"Now hold on, son. Mr. Rinaldo was skulking about last night with a very large knife in his hand, one that could very well be the one that was used on your brother. We couldn't just-"

"Why does he need a doctor?" Scott demanded of his father.

"He was hurt by the ranch hands that captured him." Murdoch said absently, then added, "Why should we let him out? He might have been the one who killed Garrett."

Scott looked dumbfounded, then said with conviction, "No, he's not the one. Release him."

"You'll have to tell me why," Murdoch said tersely, his chin raising at his son's defensive attitude.

Johnny joined in the protest. "He wasn't the one that knifed me, Murdoch."

"Just take my word for it. You have no business keeping him locked up," Scott insisted. He looked around and spotted his clothing hanging over the back of a chair. He quickly pulled on his pants, then struggled with his boots.

Although the doctor appeared in the doorway, Murdoch didn't seem to realize he was standing there. "I'm afraid I can't just take your word for it, son," he said.

Scott stood to face his father, eye-to-eye, rigid with suppressed anger. "What, my word isn't good enough?"

"Scott," Johnny cautioned, but his brother ignored him.

Murdoch didn't back down. "I'm not about to release the man who was on my property, carrying a dangerous weapon, without a damned good reason."

Scott hesitated and then took a deep breath. "You bring Rinaldo to the great room and I'll explain there," he bargained.

For a minute, it appeared that Murdoch was not to going to budge, but he relented. "Fine." He turned, only to find Dr. Mendez ready to enter. "Doctor," he acknowledged brusquely. "Johnny first."

Dr. Mendez peered at Scott's bandage-wrapped head and then at Johnny, whose hand was clutching at his back in pain. He asked smoothly, "How would it be if you just paid me a retainer, Mr. Lancer? Then I could bring my wife over and I could set up my shingle in one of the little houses down by the river. That way, I wouldn't have to wear out so many horses with all this back and forth."

Johnny chuckled, but his mirth was dampened when he saw the needle and thread the doctor unpacked from his medical bag.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

Martin Rinaldo sat stiffly in an upright chair in front of Murdoch's oversized desk. Scott occupied in its twin a couple of feet away, looking at the man for guidance. "May I have your permission?" he asked Rinaldo.

Their neighbor unconsciously touched his swollen and discolored nose as he weighed up Murdoch, but then he turned his gaze on Scott and relaxed a little. "Yes, but on the condition we keep everything that is said within these walls."

Scott looked from his father to the sheriff, who was out on the patio talking to Jelly and two other Lancer men.

Murdoch barely glanced out at Gabe Stillwater. "He won't mind waiting a few minutes." Turning his attention fully to the two men seated before him, and anxious to find out what was going on, Murdoch waved a hand to indicate his agreement.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

Johnny was in one of his least favorite positions: face down with a doctor poking sharp tools in his back. He bit the pillowcase and clenched his eyes shut, but a groan or two escaped unbidden. At one point, when he opened his eyes a sliver, he saw Teresa through his tears of pain. After that, he made no more noise while the doctor was working on him, but when it was over he let out a moan of relief.

Teresa's small hand went under his belly, guiding wide strips of bandage under his torso. He could sense that Maria was there, too, helping her work on fixing him up. Eventually, he was wrapped up and, exhausted, he almost fell asleep. He guessed that was due to the medicine he had been plied with, against his will, before Dr. Mendez had begun.

It wasn't that Johnny wanted to suffer any pain, but any time he was coerced into taking laudanum, a terrible gnawing grew in the pit of his stomach. He knew it was due to his loathing of being rendered helpless, even if it was only for a short while. He'd do almost anything to avoid forced oblivion, even endure agony in its stead.

But then he remembered where he was and that his family and the steadfast Lancer ranch hands were close, and that he had nothing to fear. If he was unconscious, he knew that they would guard him with a fierce loyalty. Now that Harlan Garrett was gone, he couldn't think of anyone in particular who would be around to cause him harm, even if Garrett's killer was still at large.

For the few minutes before he fell into nothingness, Johnny wondered who had done the old goat in. He couldn't pin it on any one person, but he hoped that when they discovered who had murdered Garrett, he'd get the chance to shake the brave man's hand.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

Scott explained, "I didn't recognize Martin when I first met him in town, back when he'd just moved into the old Grant place, a few months back."

"I had to remind Scott that we had previously met," Rinaldo added. "Back in '64."

With a sideways glance at the older man seated next to him, Scott leaned forward to explain to his father about their encounter. "Rinaldo was recruiting for a special unit. I was stationed near Washington, before my unit moved south, when he put my name forward as a candidate for. . . well, it doesn't matter now, but we crossed paths."

Murdoch asked, "This was before Vicksburg?"

For a moment Scott was lost in thought, but then he looked up at his father and nodded pensively.

"I asked Scott not to reveal that I was with the Secret Service," Rinaldo said. "I'm retired now, but it's best not to talk about it. I'm sure you can understand my position."

"This still doesn't explain what you were doing last night," Murdoch pointed out gruffly, "heading for this house with that weapon in your hand." He gestured towards the knife in question, which sat on his desk, looking deadly even in repose. Its blade of blue steel and toothed edge had been designed for hunting, not for cutting into human flesh, and its presence on his desktop made Murdoch feel vaguely ill.

Scott exchanged a glance with Rinaldo and said, "That's my fault. I asked him if he could look around a bit and see if he could find out who had knifed Johnny." Murdoch looked annoyed, and Scott wasn't entirely surprised. He knew he should have confided in his father, and together they could have joined forces against Garrett.

There was a long silence, during which the sound of Jelly back-talking to the sheriff outside came from the verandah. Although his exact words weren't discernable, the three men inside the house could tell that the ranch hand was defending someone vociferously.

Rinaldo broke the silence with a cough. "I talked with Mr. Garrett last night, just to feel him out, but didn't learn much. He told me a little about his trip out here. We talked about Boston and New York. Nothing worth repeating. Just before I talked to him I had a look around the barn. I thought that the owner of the knife might be reluctant to just toss it away. I had a good look around the barn and just happened to find that knife hidden under some hay in an old feed trough, but I was interrupted by your man-. " He pointed towards Jelly, who could be seen through the glass of the patio doors.

"Jelly Hoskins," Scott offered.

"Yes, he came in at that point. I left the weapon in the tack room, then came back later at night when I thought the coast was clear, intending to approach Scott with it, to see what course he wanted me to take. Unfortunately, I had the knife in my hand and it was visible when I walked to the house. It was entirely my own fault for being so careless. I had no idea that your ranch hands would be so zealous. The discovery of the weapon was entirely by chance and nothing to tie it to Mr. Garrett, although I could research its origin."

Murdoch leaned his elbows on his desktop and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, as he digested all of the information put before him by this stranger. He sat back in his chair and asked, "Why would you investigate Garrett? What led you to think he'd been the man behind the attempt to kill Johnny?"

Rinaldo replied, "Scott told me about Garrett's animosity towards Johnny, but I had no factual evidence that he'd done anything. I didn't investigate only Mr. Garrett. I went out to the Gunderson's farm as well. Nobody is above suspicion."

Murdoch slapped a hand down on his desk, rattling the silver letter tray. "The Gundersons are fine, hard-working folk, and certainly not about to come all the way over to Lancer just to murder an older man they didn't even know!"

Scott wondered what Rinaldo was thinking of, casting such a wide net of accusation. He sat sideways in his chair, and took in his earnest expression.

Martin Rinaldo, late of the Secret Service, forestalled any questioning by Scott by answering the question foremost in the Lancer men's minds. "It would take a fool not to see that Mrs. Gunderson was harmed in a most vile way by the men our posse chased down. Scott, do you know if her husband was aware she was violated?"

Uncomfortable being the one to say anything that might hurt the Gundersons, Scott hesitated, "I think…I can't be sure, but I believe he did know they harmed his wife. He was shot when he discovered them in his house, just as they were about to leave. I believe she told him. I overheard them quarreling a little when I was last there, about the fact he wanted to go out despite his wounded arm, but I still don't believe he was the one who killed my grandfather."

"But he couldn't know that we were suspicious of Garrett over the attempts on Johnny's life," said Murdoch dismissively.

"There was something he said to me," Scott replied, "that showed he'd heard that my grandfather had attacked Johnny." Gunderson had said, "Your brother, he was attacked with a knife. By your mother's father's own hand? This is true?"

Murdoch waved away the thought of Gunderson coming to Lancer and killing Harlan away as being ridiculous. "Based on some neighbor's gossip? That's not enough to push a man to murder."

Rinaldo raised one eyebrow. "He could have killed Garrett, Mr. Lancer. He had plenty of sharp tools on hand when I was there."

Scott asked, "You mean his leather-working tools? Come on. Even if he wanted to, Gunderson was too badly hurt to ride over here, Martin."

The man looked Scott in the eye. "But his wife wasn't."

Together both Scott and Murdoch voiced their dislike of such an idea. "This is preposterous," expostulated Murdoch, standing up behind his desk.

Scott objected, "No, I know her, she'd never! Not a woman like that! Next thing you'll be accusing Maria of stabbing my grandfather with a kitchen knife! Or Johnny, who can barely get out of his bed unassisted."

Murdoch added, with his voice raised, "We all know he should be at the top of your list, sir. What about my son here, Scott? He'd just been hit over the head by his own kin. Isn't that enough to make you look at him as a suspect? Or me? I'll be happy to be on your list! You won't find me grieving over the grave of Harlan Garrett, that's for sure."

Rinaldo, who didn't seem put out in the least by Murdoch Lancer's ranting, shrugged. "As I said, nobody is above suspicion, Mr. Lancer."

~ • ~ ~ • ~

Sheriff Gabe Stillwater entered the great room as Murdoch ushered Rinaldo out. Scott walked with their neighbor to his horse, thanking him for his help, even if he didn't think that he was on the right track.

"Look, Martin, I appreciate everything you did, and I'm sorry about your-" Scott pointed to the discolored nose of his old acquaintance. "And you know my father isn't really angry with you."

"No apology, please, Scott. Perhaps I've been out of the Service too long, if a gang of wranglers can take me down that easily," Rinaldo replied with a self-effacing smile. "I think I need to hone my skills a little. I'm sorry I wasn't more help, and that I wasn't able to prevent the untimely death of your grandfather. You have my sincere condolences, and if there is anything I can do. . . "

Just the kind words were enough for Scott's throat to constrict. He couldn't help having feelings of remorse over his grandfather's death, but he regained his composure and nodded his thanks. "You may be called upon to help the sheriff out sometime. He's overworked, you can see-"

Rinaldo gave a small bob of his head, almost a bow, in reply. "If my services are needed, you know where to find me," he said.

~ • ~ ~ • ~

Murdoch accompanied the sheriff to the scene of Harlan Garrett's death, and Scott joined them. Reluctant as he was to see it, even in broad daylight, he knew it had to be done. The water running through the fountain all night had cleansed its basin, but there was still a considerable bloodstain on the flagstones of the patio. The sheriff poked around the vicinity before he asked to see the body. At that point Scott hung back, unable to view the remains. Murdoch didn't glance back, but Scott knew his father was aware he'd dropped behind.

Not really looking for anything in particular, Scott had a cursory look at the place of his grandfather's death. His head was aching and he needed a drink badly. He decided not to wait around for Gabe and Murdoch to return, but as he turned to make for the kitchen, something shimmering in the water of the fountain caught his eye. Carefully leaning over, he dipped his hand in the cool water and retrieved the object he'd spotted. Turning the dripping item over in his hand, he stood deep in thought for several minutes. Scott finally came to a decision and walked quickly to the house.

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~