CHAPTER 2 - THE SALES PITCH

Good clothes open all doors.
~ Thomas Fuller, M. D. 1732

Johnny stepped back and looked at Scott as if seeing him for the first time. "Oh. . . Oh, I get it." He let a breath out in a huff. "You're steaming because it's me out there earning a good living, doing what I want, and not you. This is because I got out of here." He stabbed Scott's chest with a finger. "You can't stand it that I've done well for myself. That I don't have to follow the old man's orders any more. That I have a big house I can call my own and a beautiful wife-."

Scott froze, his expression a mixture of hurt and deep regret. Johnny realized that Murdoch was right; Scott still wasn't over losing his wife, even after a year and a half. Immediately remorseful, Johnny took hold of his brother's arm. "Scott, I'm sorry, so sorry." Scott tried to shake him off, but Johnny refused to let go. "Don't. . .don't look at me like that. Come on, sit down. Sit."

At first he didn't think Scott would heed him, but he finally sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. Johnny perched next to him, sideways so he could see his brother's downcast face and asked cajolingly, "Tell me, what's the real problem? You don't want to be in control of this whole ranch? That's not what you told me just before I left."

Scott took a moment to reply, and even then it seemed that every word had to fight its way out of his mouth. "I didn't say I wanted total control. I said I wanted to work this ranch the way I saw fit without you fighting me and Murdoch every step of the way."

"What's the difference?" Johnny was annoyed. It wasn't true that he had fought Scott on every point. They simply never saw things the same way when it came to running the ranch, or not until they'd had a heated discussion over it. Then one of them tended to give way reluctantly. The disagreements became a ritual of sorts, it seemed, but in the end they always managed to find some common ground and worked together. "You're in command now, aren't you?"

"Johnny, I'm not in command of anything. Murdoch won't let go. When you left, Murdoch and I were going to be a team and make decisions together, but he runs this ranch just the same way he did forty years ago and gives me no leeway at all." Scott shook his head, giving up. "You don't understand."

Johnny rose to stand before his brother. "I don't understand? Don't pull that one on me, brother. I'm not some dumbass with no business sense. I've proved you wrong on that head, or maybe that's what's eatin' you?"

Scott stared at him for a moment. "Why are you itching for a fight all of a sudden?" He took a deep breath and said wearily, "I've always been the first one to say how proud I am of you. We're all proud of your success."

Johnny brushed his fingers over his mustache, unbuttoned his suit jacket then positioned his hands on his hips. He didn't want to quarrel with Scott, but it seemed there were some things they had better hash out before they festered, or else this was going to be one hell of a visit. He slowed his breathing and forced himself to calm down.

Scott crossed his arms and eyed his brother, waiting.

When Johnny felt more in control he said, "Back then I just wanted to prove that I could accomplish something on my own. I wanted to be better than I used to be. I was trying hard to shuck myself of that damned reputation that followed me here. Living at Lancer, it seemed to be impossible."

"So you just took off," Scott accused sardonically.

Johnny had trouble remaining composed but he was determined to explain himself to Scott. "When I got married and started out afresh, my aim was not to turn my back on you, or on Lancer. You gotta understand, I needed to be more than just the second son." He'd never said that aloud before, but it was true. He'd always believed that no matter how much room he was given to grow at Lancer, nothing he accomplished would ever be truly his. "Scott, I needed to do something on my own."

"You could have remained closer to home," Scott said stubbornly.

"I had to make a clean break. Look, you were newly married, too, and I figured you'd be fine running the ranch, raising your family here. . . ." Johnny halted. Someone was calling from downstairs that supper was ready. "Who's that?"

Scott looked up disinterestedly. "One of Maria's helpers. I arranged for some girls to aid her in the kitchen, even if she resents it. If she did the cooking alone, we'd all starve."

Johnny almost commented that Scott looked like he had been starved, but he refrained. "I know how hard the old man is, you know I do, but you're an equal partner with him now, Scott."

"He doesn't treat me like one," Scott said. "As soon as you left, Murdoch started to pull rank on me. We always got along before, but no matter what I did, he over-ruled it. At first I bargained with him, quarreled, tried to get my point across. But he always had his mind set and it was like pushing against a brick wall. It's hard because I know he cares about me. In fact we get along fine so long as we're not talking business. I'm not going to fight with him on every issue any more, Johnny."

"That's what it's come to?" He had always figured that their father had quarreled with him instead of Scott because Murdoch had found his older son closer in personality to himself. Johnny laughed a little. "And I always thought it was just me." He placed a hand on Scott's shoulder. "This isn't like you, Scott, You may not be a scrapper but you don't take guff from anyone."

Scott shrugged. "I guess I'm just tired."

Johnny could see that his brother needed some serious cheering up. "I tell you what. Tomorrow we go into town and buy me some new duds, then we go to that new gambling hall I saw on my way through Green River. Drop in on Val and the wife for a meal." He hit Scott lightly on the arm with his fist. "Is Baldomero still selling hats?"

A small smile crept over Scott's face, but when he looked up at Johnny standing in front of him, his expression changed to puzzlement. "Now what is this?" He pointed to a leather strap that ran diagonally across Johnny's chest. It hadn't been visible when his coat had been buttoned.

Johnny grinned and lifted the suit jacket's left breast to expose a leather shoulder holster secured under his arm. He patted it with his gun hand. "My gun belt is no more. This took some getting used to but it's real comfortable."

Scott's brow furrowed as he inspected the rig. Johnny's Colt was in what appeared to be a regular holster, but the leather flap behind it was larger than on a gun belt so it could lie comfortably against his ribs.

"The flap is big so it doesn't rub," Johnny explained. "At first I couldn't draw real fast, but I canted the holster forward and it works fine now." He had initially thought he would never get used to the shoulder holster, but after a great many practice sessions, it began to feel a bit more natural to him. So far, he hadn't been in any situations where he had mistakenly grabbed at the non-existent gun on his hip instead of reaching for the one under his arm.

"You carry a concealed weapon? Like a gambler?" Scott found something distasteful about walking around with the appearance of being unarmed, only to have a six-shooter strapped out of sight under a coat.

"You say that like there's something wrong with wearing it, brother. You can't carry a six-gun openly in the city." Johnny pulled his jacket back to show Scott how it the soft leather holster strap went over his shoulder and was secured by another that wrapped around his chest. "Doesn't get in the way when I'm riding, either."

Scott rose and snorted in disbelief. "I know you. You didn't just choose to follow the law, Johnny, even if you are a big city boy now. You'd never give up the old gun belt without a good reason-." He hit Johnny's right hip hard with the side of his hand, in the place where his Colt would have sat if he'd been wearing his usual rig.

Johnny flinched and staggered back a couple of feet. He bent sideways, his features screwed up in pain. "Auuugh! What d'ya do that for?"

"I'm sorry, Johnny! I didn't mean to hurt you," Scott exclaimed, his eyes wide. He had no idea that his playful hit was going to cause such a reaction. Despite himself, he let out a small laugh at the sight of his brother hopping about. Johnny seemed to be over-reacting. "I really didn't mean it. Is your hip injured? Let me see it."

"Well, I'm injured now!" After only a slight hesitation, Johnny launched himself at his brother, driving him back onto the bed as he got in a couple of well-placed punches. They struggled and wrestled, hitting each other in a brotherly way, grunting and tumbling around on the bed, nearly knocking over a lamp on the bedside table.

Neither one heard the door open, but when Murdoch's booming voice bellowed at them to stop, they heard that and stopped their roughhousing.

"If you two can stop causing a ruckus long enough, you might hear the dinner bell," Murdoch said gruffly, then turned on his heel. He was only a couple of feet down the hall when the sound of his sons laughing came to him. Murdoch progressed down the stairs with a smile on his face. Yes, he thought, they'll sort it out and everything will be fine.

The brothers stood on the verandah the next morning after breakfast. Although Scott protested that he had too much work to do, Johnny tried to convince him to ride along with him to Morro Coyo and then on to Green River.

Despite the pain Scott's casual blow had caused him on the previous day, Johnny exhibited no sign of anything amiss. Scott motioned vaguely towards Johnny's hip. "Are you going to be able to ride?"

Johnny made a noncommittal gesture. "Nothing to worry about. Murdoch says you can come with me. C'mon, Scott, you can play hooky. I need some ranching clothes if I'm going to help you out." He held out his arms and looked down at his fancy clothing. "I mean, I can't wrassle cattle in my good duds."

Scott surveyed his brother's clothes and agreed they were more suited to the city than to the ranch. He said caustically, "We'll have a stampede if the cattle catch sight of you in that getup." Johnny was wearing dark gray pants that fit him like a glove, yet another white shirt, and a fancy cravat. His frock coat was far too elegant for anything but a night out at the theater, and there were none of those to be had for over fifty miles in any direction. Scott asked, "What's wrong with your clothing up in your drawers?"

Johnny looked at him sideways and laughed. "I don't think so."

"They're not good enough?"

Seeing that Scott was serious, Johnny admitted, "Well, I tried on a shirt but the buttons sorta busted." He leaned close to Scott and said, "Too much good living." He patted his stomach.

"All right, all right. But this means you're going to be wearing off some of that fat with some hard work, brother, once we get back. I need every man I can get to just keep apace with the work around here."

He headed for the corral, leaving Johnny standing there, asking nobody in particular, "Fat? You're calling me fat?" He looked down at his belly. It wasn't as flat as it used to be, but nobody could call him fat and get away with it. Nobody.

They rode along at a good pace, as if Scott was in a hurry to get the trip over with. Even so, Johnny enjoyed the scenery. It was good to be back, to be among familiar places and things.

Eventually Scott slowed the pace of his horse, Victory, so he could converse more easily with his brother. He eyed the big horse Johnny was mounted upon. The big black shied at a small animal crossing the road, and although Johnny retained control over the horse, he was quite a handful. Scott thought he needed some training. The horse had a fine head and excellent proportions; he wasn't a working horse, that was for sure. "What made you buy that animal? He's a bit showy, even for you."

"Impulse, really." Johnny slapped the handsome black's neck. "He needs some work, but he's got promise. Lots of spirit. I was real sorry I didn't take Barranca with me when we moved to the city, but he wouldn't have fit in." Natalie had convinced him that it was more appropriate for them to drive a carriage in the city. At the time he'd believed he would fetch his palomino from Lancer at some point, but it just never came about.

The previous evening Johnny had enjoyed a fine reunion with Barranca out in the pasture. Cipriano had come out to talk to Johnny for a while, and they had discussed the horse's care. Johnny had wanted, very badly, to ride his palomino, but Barranca's rear hoof was still tender.

Instead, once Cipriano had left, he'd talked to the horse for a while, running his hands over the animal's shoulders and back. Johnny had always talked to his horses like the friends they were, but he hadn't established a close relationship with his new black yet. Barranca had nuzzled him in response and sought out the apple he knew must be in Johnny's pocket. As Johnny had sliced the apple and fed the pieces to the palomino, he told him what he'd been up to and, as always, he was glad that horses weren't judgmental.

As they rode along, Johnny asked Scott, "Barranca is happiest at Lancer, don't you think?"

"He's been fine," Scott assured his brother. "I ride him sometimes. Does this one have a name?"

"He's called Santiago." Johnny pulled a cigar out of his pocket and smiled. "Same as this. One of the smoothest cigars ever made."

Mr. Baldomero's store in Morro Coyo was stuffed to the gills with every household item imaginable. So stuffed that at first the Lancer brothers had a hard time finding the proprietor. Baldomero came out from behind his counter, greeted Johnny effusively and wanted to know everything that he had been up to since he'd last been to Morro Coyo, so it was some time before the pursuit of a new outfit began.

The shopkeeper admired Johnny's dark suit, but tutted at the dust that had settled upon it during the ride into town. Scott rolled his eyes and made for a table covered in men's shirts. Another customer came in and needed attention, so Mr. Baldomero reluctantly left Johnny to make his own choices.

Scott picked up a tan and blue checked shirt that looked about Johnny's size and held it up for approval.

Johnny frowned with dislike and started rummaging through the garments. "Move over, let me see," he said. Scott crossed his arms and watched him, occasionally shaking his head from side to side. After a few minutes, Johnny turned to his brother and inquired irritably, "All right, I can tell you're bustin' to say something to me, so out with it."

"Mister," Scott drawled, "I just have one question. What you have done with my little brother?"

"Just because I'm wearing different clothes than you're used to seeing me wearing? I'm the same man. I mean, look at the way you were dressed when you stepped off the stagecoach for the first time. A fancy Dan." As Johnny tried to decide between a blue shirt or a reddish one with embroidery around the collar that reminded him of one of his long-gone favorites, he asked absently, "Which one do you think?"

"No, you're not the same man, Johnny. Take the pink one." Scott didn't take his eyes off his brother as he waited for him to pay attention to what he was saying. Finally, Johnny looked up and met his eyes. Scott demanded, "Explain this fascination you have with the way you're dressed." He reached out to flick at Johnny's stiff collar. "You're all duded up. You used to make fun of me for what I wore, but just look at you."

"I always dress like this. . . now." Johnny shrugged a shoulder. "Nobody's gonna buy ten-dollar booze off a run-down cowboy in flat-heeled boots. Look the part, act the part."

"Is that what this is? An act? Because I'm not buying it."

"I'm not trying to sell you anything, Scott." Despite his better judgment, Johnny said, "You could do with a new shirt, you know. Maybe if you duded up a bit you'd stand a chance with that pretty gal over there. The one who's giving you some mighty enticing looks." He took Scott's arm and steered him around so he could see the lady in question.

Scott colored but raised a hand to his hat. Tipping it, he called a greeting to the woman, but as soon as she replied, he skirted around Johnny and crouched down to look at some pants on a low shelf. "Here, you need pants, too. Black seems to be your new color."

It didn't take long for Johnny to lean his back against the store shelving and prod at Scott's shoulder. "You know her, I take it?"

Scott straightened but he didn't look back in the lady's direction. "Stephen Crook's widow," he said off-handedly then added in an undertone, "He died a couple of years ago when he fell off his windmill and broke his neck."

Johnny remembered Crook, a hard-working man whose small spread was on the road to Lancer. "Uhuh. She doesn't look to be in mourning any more."

Scott glared at Johnny and replied curtly, "Well, I am." He moved away, clearly uncomfortable.

"C'mon, Scott, I didn't mean anything by it . . .look, she's gone now."

"Are you finished?"

Johnny took his meaning, but held up a couple of shirts and the dark pair of pants. "Just have to pay the man and we're on our way. And by the way, this shirt is not pink, it's red."

"I'll wait outside. It's too close in here."

Once his purchases had been wrapped in brown paper, Johnny stepped out on the wooden walkway to find his brother. He was not surprised to find that Scott had been waylaid by the attractive widow, and was pleased to see he was managing to hold a civil conversation with her. Johnny took his time tying his package on the back of his saddle, but Scott politely extricated himself from the lady and mounted his horse without any more ado. All he said to Johnny was, "Let's go and see Val."

***–*** TBC