The Gamble: Part Three Catch a wild horse

Murdoch pulled up the wagon. He could see Johnny and Wes up ahead, working on the fence.

It had been a few days since their talk in the barn and Murdoch felt it had worked, they were making progress. Johnny was putting in a full day's work and arriving at supper right on time. It also appeared as if he and Scott were beginning to find some common ground. Hope warmed him, his son had come around and he was pleased by the effort. He smiled, then, kissed the horses forward.

"Looks good!" He said as he looked down the line trying to quell the sound of pride in his voice. He then jumped from the wagon.

"Thank you," Johnny replied as he continued to work, pulling the wire around the post.

Murdoch's eyes traveled to Wes, seated on the wagon, feet dangling. The man was lazy and left him with an uneasy feeling. He wished Johnny had chosen a different hand to pair up with today. "Come on now, take a breather," Murdoch urged. Repositioning his hat, he looked from one end of the line to the other.

Johnny dropped the hammer into a bucket and kicked the wire out of the way. Pointing towards the wagon he stepped forward. "If you don't mind, I think I'll have some water."

"Sure, help yourself," Murdoch said as he walked past his son toward the fence. He leaned on the post, inspecting the fence's angle.

Pulling one glove from his hand Johnny grabbed the canteen then climbed into the wagon. Sitting, he bent deep, head between his knees and stretched.

Murdoch watched, still leaning on the fence post. "Sore, huh?"

A soft chuckle slipped through Johnny's lips. "Oh, boy, I ain't worked so hard in my life."

"Well, it shows it." Murdoch looked from one end of the fence line to the other. "You'll have this gully all fenced in by noon."

Johnny drank thirstily of the cool water and poured some over his face. "Ahhh," he groaned then rubbed the water from his eyes, breathing heavily. "Well, I thought I'd push hard, you know, and try and get a couple hours off before town tonight."

The gentle smile on Murdoch's face slipped away. "Ah, Johnny." He walked closer to the wagon.

"Yeah."

"A couple problems have, have come up. I'm sorry." Murdoch was leaning on the wagon now.

"Like what?" Johnny asked, wiping more water from his face.

"Well, at two o'clock this afternoon you have to help your brother with the surveying. That report has to go in by next week."

Johnny dropped his head in disappointment, rubbing his eyes with a gloved hand.

"Then tonight we've got bookkeeping to do."

Swallowing hard, Johnny asked, "Two o'clock, huh?" He put his glove back on.

"Yeah."

"And just how am I supposed to know when it's two o'clock?" He asked, jumping from the wagon.

The two men stood toe to toe for a moment. Murdoch fished into his pocket and pulled out a watch. "Here." He opened it. "It's old." then snapped it closed. "But it's still a good timepiece." He passed it to his son. "Keep it."

Johnny held it for a moment, bringing it closer to his face.

The look on Johnny's face kicked at that feeling of hope and Murdoch longed to say something to his son. "I ah…"

Johnny lowered the watch and the moment was gone. "What?" he snapped with one of those ice cold looks that sucked the hope right out of Murdoch's heart.

"Nothing. You just… be back at the ranch at two o'clock. Scott'll be waiting for you." He couldn't get in the wagon fast enough, snapped the reins and urged the horses on. He felt a fool.

Several hours later Murdoch was proven the fool when he looked at the clock. Three o'clock. Both he and Scott were in the great room, waiting. A hand knocked then rushed through the door with a report. Fifty head of cattle, caught in the south gully, where Johnny'd been working. Scott tried to defend him. "We don't know what happened out there."

Murdoch knew, full well what happened, Johnny was being Johnny again and it had worn thin. "Scott, maybe you better start the surveying by yourself." The disappointment in his voice evident.

"Right." Scott agreed. He grabbed his hat, gloves and left.

Murdoch fumed, angry with himself for believing anything could change and angry with Johnny for once again neglecting his responsibilities. Up until now Murdoch had struggled to control his temper, his words may have been harsh, but, he had yet to raise his voice. Figuring rage would do nothing to temper his wild son, but he could feel it building now and he had no desire to suppress the ever growing fury.

The sound of horses alerted him. He walked out the door just as Johnny and Wes rode in leading a black stallion with stringers to follow.

Johnny approached him, smiling, and to be truthful, Murdoch didn't hear a lot of what he said. He crossed his arms and asked the burning question. "What about the fence?"

The smile remained on his son's face adding to the older man's fury. He pulled out the watch and spoke but Murdoch still heard nothing but his own angry thoughts. It really didn't matter what Johnny had to say, the job wasn't done and there was no acceptable excuse. "That's not good enough, Johnny. You had a job of work to do here and you didn't do it."

The words and their fire stripped the smile from his son's face. Murdoch watched indifferently as Johnny dropped his head, looking visibly upset. "I'll do it tomorrow."

Murdoch's temper erupted. Words passed between them, angry words. Johnny slinked into the house.

Teresa attempted to defend Johnny, say he didn't know what time it was. Murdoch scoffed it off, Johnny was well aware of the time. Just then two men road in. Sam Stryker introduced himself, asked for what was his – the horses. Johnny claimed them as his. Murdoch really didn't care. "Take them," he said. Then, after Johnny's protest he relented. "Leave the stallion."

What happened next, boiled down to one singular event, an event, unexpected in its impact and its repercussions. The speed with which Johnny pulled his gun left a lump in Murdoch's throat. Clarity slammed into him, bringing the past months' events into a new perspective. He shook his head, wishing to release this new found fear, but its grip remained steadfast. The action of walking to the injured boy was dreamlike. He stood there, motionless, unable to utter a word. His nightmare flashed before his eyes and for a moment his heart saw Johnny. For the briefest of seconds this quieted Murdoch's racing heart, then he finally was able to move. He took a few hesitant steps as this father went to his son and helped him to his horse. They rode off.

Mouth set firm, Murdoch glared at his son, his son the gunfighter. It wasn't like he'd never seen a man gunned down before; there'd been plenty of death on this very spot, just a few months ago. But this was different, it hit with the fury of a bullet. The man before him didn't have to think about what needed to be done, this went beyond that, deeper than conscious thought. This was instinctual, from the gut. And that sent a shiver up his spine. Had he been fighting the wrong battle? Was this even a battle he could win? He swallowed hard. All this time, he thought it was simply a matter of defiance against obedience. But this was bigger. Murdoch truly had been the fool.

Johnny sat on the table by the couch in the great room. His arms crossed defensively, his head downcast.

Anger simmered in Murdoch as he paced the room. He walked to the fireplace, leaned on the mantle and studied his son's hunched back then moved around the couch and stood before him, waiting. Not sure what he was waiting for, an explanation? But for what? Johnny did what needed to be done, of that there was no question.

Catching his father's eye, Johnny looked up. "What do you keep looking at me for?" Looking down again, he added, "You saw what happened. He drew on me. What'd you expect me to do?" He raised his head in time to see Murdoch turn his back. "What's the matter isn't that good enough?"

Slowly Murdoch turned around "Scott's still waiting for you to help him with that surveying job. Maybe you better go join him." He turned away again, having trouble looking at his son, his son the gunfighter. But why? He knew what he was, that didn't seem to matter when he invited him here, when he needed him. Both eyes were wide open then, so why did this suddenly bother him now? It made no sense.

Johnny raised and dropped his arms in defeat. "I asked you a question."

Continuing to walk away, Murdoch stepped to the French doors and peered through the glass, the image of his son's prowess still fresh in his mind. But, was it that or was it something else he saw in that flash of movement?

"If it's about that fence I told you I'd finish it tomorrow morning didn't I?" Johnny looked down then up again, "Look, there's only a small section left. If it makes you happy I'll go finish it right now."

"Now is too late." He turned abruptly to face his son. "About 50 head of cattle strayed through that...that little hole in that section you didn't finish. What's left of them is now at the bottom of the south gully. That's what your time off cost." It was so much easier to make this about the fence, the slacking off. After all, that's been the battle all along. The struggle between an errant son and a father desperate for the upper hand that was it, wasn't it?

Johnny tensed "How was I to know that was gonna happen?"

Murdoch spoke matter-of-factly "Maybe you never will know. Maybe it takes twenty years of just living with this kind of land. Maybe it's not for you Johnny."

Visibly upset Johnny stood. "Look all right, I...I'm sorry about the cattle you lost!"

"We lost...Johnny." Unflinchingly Murdoch approached his son. "Not you. We! And all the responsibilities that go with it."

Desperation creased Johnny's face "I'd do fine. I'd just do fine if you wouldn't push so hard."

For that instant Murdoch felt that same surge of hope he'd felt at the fence, something was different in this plea. Something he'd rarely seen since his son returned. "I wish I had a chance to break you in easily but I don't. You've got to make up your mind who you are and where you belong and if it's not going to be here I want to know it now." Murdoch's words were steadfast.

The door opened and Wes entered, interrupting them. "Johnny! Just stopped by to say goodbye."

Johnny walked toward the door. "You leavin' for town, huh?"

"Nope. Quit. I figure two months is long enough to be locked up anywhere. I'm just gonna go out and catch hold of something' and go where ever it takes me. You know what I mean, Johnny? Just kinda go out and ride free."

Murdoch kept his back to his son, listening. Wishing they'd had more time, wishing the other night in the barn had never happened. Wishing he hadn't made the same demand just a few moments ago….

Johnny dropped his head. His sideways glance toward his father told him everything he needed to know. His back was turned. "Wes, you do me a favor? Get my gear together and wait up for me outside?"

This was it, the last chance. Murdoch's heart froze. When he said those words he'd hoped he'd never need them. They were so easy to say, but, Murdoch Lancer was a man of his word. He always did what he said. Always.

"I'm goin' with you." Johnny drawled.

Wes smiled "You bet!" He put on his hat and left, closing the door on his way out.

Hesitating, Johnny turned to his father, his voice soft, "Well, I guess you heard."

With the slightest turn of his head, Murdoch stepped forward, toward his desk. "You'll need some money." Why did this need to be the last chance? Why? But he'd said it, not once but twice. To change his mind now… no, - Last chance - if nothing else Murdoch Lancer was a man of his word.

Johnny returned to the table and picked up his hat, fingering the rim, "Only what you figure I got comin'."

Picking up the ledger, Murdoch marked its pages. "Haven't drawn anything in two weeks. I make that to be twelve dollars." He dropped the book to his desk "You better sign it. Receipt of wages."

Johnny crossed the room as Murdoch pulled the money from his pocket. He signed and his father threw the money on the table. "Count it."

One by one, Johnny picked up the bills. Briefly their eyes met, but Murdoch was unable to hold the hardened eyes of his son. Johnny spun and walked out the door, the music bouncing off his spurs belied the bleakness of the moment.

With the click of the door Murdoch felt his heart shatter. "Johnny."

"Murdoch?" Teresa spoke as she entered from the kitchen. The tall man leaned heavily on the desk, his head hung low. At the sound of her voice he straightened. "What just happened?"

He looked at his ward absorbing the innocent look of ignorance. "Johnny's leaving. For good this time," he barked. Then his voice softened. "Better hurry if you want to say good bye." He turned away quickly, not wanting to see the damage caused by his words.

The remainder of the day passed excruciatingly slowly. Murdoch spent it deep in thought. Scott approached him after dinner, expecting him to go after Johnny. What was the point? He'd made his decision. The words Murdoch spoke sounded so much like his own father. 'The matter is closed. It's not open for further discussion.' And it wasn't just those words, but ones used with Johnny, ultimatums, dictums. The very same words. Why had he used them? As a boy he hated them, vowed to never speak them to his own children. But here he was, sounding more and more like his own father every day. The father he was glad to leave behind in Scotland.

Another sleepless night. The afternoon was troubling, there were all the obvious reasons, but there was something else. Why did the speed of his son's gun suddenly send a chill up his spine? Was he that shallow? That hypocritical? The thought was unsettling.

His mind drifted to Teresa and the Johnny she described, playing checkers and laughing, and then unguarded, sharing a few painful moments. This certainly was not the same man who fired that shot today. And then the few glimpses of a face he had seen, not hardened by life and all its misfortunes but softer, more innocent. Finally, he recalled their talk in the barn. 'If I let my guard down'… that's what he said… his guard. Murdoch suddenly realized what he'd been doing wrong, why he hadn't been able to get through to his son. And with the realization came the prayer, for another chance.

Scott stared into the fire, uncomfortable and uneasy. The day was over, the Strykers gone and Johnny was upstairs in his room, at least for now. But Scott felt unbalanced. His arm was in a sling, and his
mind was in turmoil.

A noise from across the room caught his attention. He glanced up to meet his father's gaze.

"If you're hurting, Scott, maybe you should go to bed."

Scott shook his head and pinned his father with a questioning stare. "Teresa said you tried to get Johnny to leave this afternoon that you practically pushed him out the door. Why?"

"Why do you think, Scott?" Murdoch frowned. "I wanted to get him away from here. Away from the Strykers."

Scott's expression grew hard and unyielding. "That doesn't wash, Murdoch. You knew they were hidden out there, just waiting for him. But you tried to send him out with no warning at all. What in the name
of God were you thinking? Were you trying to get him killed?"

Murdoch's face paled.

In the hallway one shadow separated itself from the others, hesitated, and moved closer to the light. It was a question that Johnny couldn't ignore.

"I need a drink. You?" Murdoch snapped.

"No, what I need is an answer," Scott replied with a distinct edge to his voice.

Murdoch filled a glass, drank it quickly then poured another before standing in front of the fire. He propped one arm on the mantle the other held the glass which was pressed to his lips. His gaze, lost somewhere between his son and the glass.

"Are you sure, Scott? You may not like it."

"I don't like it already. What have you got to lose?" Scott spoke as he settled into the couch.

He sipped his drink, eyes still focused on the unseen. "I'm not sure you'll understand my line of reasoning, maybe if you had lived through those years…"

Several large gulps emptied his glass. Murdoch walked across the room to refill it, but instead, grabbed another glass and carried both the glasses and bottle back with him. He sat in his chair by the fire and thought for a moment before speaking. "I won't spend my nights not knowing. Not ever again, Scott. Do you have any idea what it's like? Not knowing?"

"No, Sir. I'm not sure I do."

"Yesterday, for the first, time I saw what your brother was capable of. Hell, he didn't even think about it, drawing his gun it's as automatic as drawing a breath. I knew at that moment he had to make a choice. There could be no middle ground, for if there was, there would always be something to run to."

Pouring the amber liquid into the glasses, Murdoch offered one to Scott. "Sure?"

With a groan Scott pressed forward accepting the offer.

His eyes raised, Murdoch tried to gauge his son's expression. "You've got to believe me. What I did did not come lightly. In fact, I hope it is the most difficult thing I ever have to do." He drank thirstily, starting to feel the effects of the whiskey.

"It's like I told you last night, if what he's running to is so important than let it happen, let it happen now." He paused for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was hushed. "Or for that matter, let it happen here."

The large man leaned back deeply into his chair with a grunt. "For years I didn't know where he was, if he was dead or alive." He paused, allowing those words to take hold, find root. "That is an unbearable feeling, a feeling I can't live through again. But, what would make it even worse would be watching both you and Teresa experience that pain for the first time."

Again he paused. "You need to know, I did not enter into this without reservations. It was quite possibly the biggest gamble I have ever made in my life."

"Murdoch, what are you saying? Were you trying to get him killed?"

"Killed? No, Scott, not killed. But I knew full well it was a possible outcome. I needed to know, to be absolutely certain this was where he wanted to be and there was only one way. If he stayed after my words, my hateful words, then I'd know this is where he belonged but, if he walked out that door…" There was a hoarseness to his voice, he tried unsuccessfully to clear it away. "If he walked out that door… at least I could take comfort in the knowing – not much, I know, but..."

Scott drank his whiskey in one large swallow. His eyes watered at the burn traveling down his throat. "I'm not sure I'll ever understand your logic, Murdoch, but at least, for the time being your gamble paid off. I suppose that will depend on what Johnny thinks of your tactics. When do you plan on letting him know?"

In silence Johnny stepped forward. "He just did."

Murdoch stood. Trying to gauge the expression on his son's face, but it was impossible. His face remained cloaked in shadows. His voice gave nothing away. "Johnny?" The name cracked as it floated passed Murdoch's lips. Fear gripped at his heart. He couldn't lose now. Not now. "You been there long, Son?"

"Long enough." the voice was flat, emotionless.

Scott began to squirm, thinking maybe he should heed his father's advice and go to bed. He started to rise.

"Stay where you are, Scott." He listened and followed his brother's order.

"Are you sure Johnny, this sounds like a private conversation."

"I'm sure. We both might as well hear what Murdoch has to say." He took a few steps forward but still hid his face in the shadows.

Murdoch swallowed hard. "It's just like I said Johnny, you had to decide. There was no secret there, we'd discussed it before. "

"That may be trued, Old Man, but I didn't think you had it in you."

"To be honest, I had no choice. I discovered something yesterday. Saw something in you that scared me."

Johnny sighed. His shoulders slumped. "You knew what I was. You had no problem with my gun when I came here." His voice betrayed him with a slight falter.

Murdoch gained strength from the betrayal. "That's what I told myself. I couldn't understand it either, at first. But then I realized… it's got nothing to do with your gun. It's Madrid, the man, I couldn't accept.

"Well, that's worse then isn't it, Old Man. Considering that's who I am." He took one more step forward, revealing all but his eyes.

"No, Johnny. Let me finish. " Murdoch raised his hands in conciliation. "I simply didn't understand him. The Madrid in you wanted me to hate you. It's so much easier to walk away from hate, but I can't hate you, Johnny. None of us can." He cast a quick glance at Scott then dropped his hands by his sides. He searched for the right words. The words that would make his son understand.

"I'd been trying to appeal to the wrong part of you and I couldn't see it. It was Teresa, she helped me see. She told me of a different person, a person that kept her company when we went after Ben. Do you remember, Johnny?"

"Ya, of course I remember." His voice lightened with the memory.

"I'd been wrong, because that was the part of you I was trying to reach, that part, the part long buried and hidden away. And how did I do it? By being the only father I knew how to be, the same father that drove me half way around the world. But as hard as those words were, they did nothing against my true foe. It was John Madrid I needed to reach, the hardened, angry young man.'' he drew a labored breath, the urgency in his voice faded. "The man, who, protected my son."

Murdoch took a tentative step closer. Johnny stepped back. "You came back today. And that was good. But I needed to know which part of you was the strongest, which part was in control. To do that Madrid had to see the hate he's worked so hard to get, the hate he expected. That would make it easier to walk away. And if he left… you left…" His face fell. His eyes took on a look of sorrow. "Well, if you left, I would have been too late. I'd have already lost you." Murdoch shook his head. "This was not a struggle between father and son, but between a father and his son's guard. You said it yourself in the barn. You couldn't let your guard down - without it you were exposed, naked."

Johnny's head dipped and he moved into the shifting glow of the fire. Murdoch stepped closer, reached out a hand but pulled it back. "He's not an easy man to be. Is he Johnny?"

Running both hands through his hair, Johnny looked up. "No, Murdoch, he isn't."

"I want my son. All of him. I can handle the hard part but only if I get to see what's hidden beneath."

Murdoch held his breath. Not sure if he made himself understood. "Did I reach him, Johnny?"

There was a long silence. Johnny's arms were wrapped protectively around his chest, his eyes lost on the flames. Murdoch and Scott waited. The fire crackled. The clock ticked off the seconds. Finally Johnny spoke, words muted, almost drowned out by the sounds of the silence. "Ya, Murdoch. Ya, I think you did."

Murdoch released his breath and felt his knees soften. He reached for his son and held his shoulders tight then pulled him in for a hug. It felt right, especially when his son's arms briefly returned the embrace.

Johnny pulled back and smiled. Not a full-fledged smile but enough for Murdoch to see the boy he'd lost all those years ago. The boy he had finally welcomed home.

Murdoch had long climbed the stairs to bed, confident he would get the best sleep he'd had in years. Johnny and Scott sat up discussing the finer points of Murdoch's gamble. As they themselves called it a night Scott offered his final observations. "Well Johnny, I have only two things to say."

"Only two, Brother, that doesn't sound like you."

"Very funny." He held up one finger and said "One, remind me never to play poker with our father. He is one hell of a bluffer."

They'd reached the door to Johnny's room. "And number two, Scott?"

"I don't want to be around when Teresa finds out what part she played in his little gamble."