NOTE: Once again, thanks for all of the reviews and comments - I'd love to be able to respond to the many guests but can't unless you are a FF member, apparently. I haven't written in the Lancer fandom for a while but as I cast an eye over some of my 'old' fics, I remember how much I enjoyed writing them. I am not making corrections or edits unless something catches my eye, and hopefully my writing has improved since I wrote this and other Lancer gen fics, but in looking them over it does make me think about getting back into writing Lancer stories. It's good to know that someone is enjoying them, so again, thanks!

CHAPTER 17 - THE OLD PATHS

The old paths lead me back
As I try to interpret this dream
Walking through walls no matter
How many times they close
I have to keep pushing
And pushing them open.
~ Joanne Hotchkiss

When Scott came in from work, Johnny was still ensconced with the lawyer. Murdoch told his older son the little he knew about what was going on. He suggested they stay away from the great room until Johnny and Pierson had concluded their business, so Scott accompanied him to a small room at the back of the ground floor that they sometimes used as a study.

Later on Johnny located his father and brother back there, sitting with drinks in their hands, relaxing. There were books and newspapers strewn about, but Murdoch was quick to clear a chair for Johnny.

"Sit here and tell us about Mr. Pierson," Murdoch suggested. The closed off look on his son's face did not suggest he was the bearer of good news.

"He's gone," was all Johnny said. He dropped into one of the leather armchairs with a big sigh and folded his hands over his stomach. "Pierson took his time going over every detail of a contract, that's all." He glanced up to see the dubious looks his explanation had garnered but he avoided going into any further detail by saying, "I, uh, I have to go back to San Francisco as soon as I can."

Scott leaned forward in concern. "Is everything all right?"

Johnny tried not to fiddle with his thumbs and wondered why he was able to control his features but not his hands. "It's just. . . just business." He stood abruptly and moved restlessly around the small room. He shouldn't have come into the study. It was too confining a space, especially when he was under the watchful eyes of his father and brother. Determined to act as if nothing had upset him, Johnny stopped fidgeting and sat on one of the deep window's sills and leaned back on his palms. "It's time I got out of your hair. Scott has the spring roundup soon. I'll just get in your way."

"Of course you won't, Johnny. Scott was telling me how you've been helping the men. That's good. They enjoy having you around." Johnny nodded in acknowledgement then Murdoch added, "But in my opinion, you're not ready to leave yet, son." Although he spoke softly, his manner was firm and offered no latitude.

Johnny smiled at the old man with understanding. What his father really meant was that he wasn't ready for Johnny to leave yet. It was a touching but ineffective attempt to keep him at Lancer. "I've recovered, Murdoch. I can ride and walk and even run, so there's no more excuse for me to stay on here. I should be long gone," he said mostly to himself, not quite disguising his longing to stay at Lancer.

"I agree with Murdoch," Scott said. He rose and confronted his brother. "It's still too soon."

"I think I can be the judge of that," Johnny was quick to retort.

Scott didn't back off. "Do you, now? Your judgment has proved to be somewhat impaired recently. You're just taking off, are you? Got any plans?" Johnny looked away and didn't reply, so Scott repeated his question. "I said have you got-."

Johnny's head snapped around and met his brother's unrelenting gaze. "I heard you the first time. Yeah, I got plans." He saw the hope die in Scott's eyes, so he slapped him lightly on the stomach. "Thanks anyway, brother."

Reluctantly breaking into a smile, Scott replied, "At least you're walking out on your own two feet."

Murdoch eyed his two sons and noted the undercurrents within their conversation. He felt a little like an intruder. "Johnny, are you still planning on taking a trip down to New Orleans? Maybe you can stop here on your way back."

Johnny stood, all signs of humor disappearing. "I guess I didn't make it clear. You see, sir, about my decision to open up an office in New Orleans?" He cleared his throat. "Well, my business plans include me moving there on a permanent basis."

Murdoch made an effort to keep his dismay from showing. Johnny's announcement was a surprise to him and it hit him hard. "I thought Mr. Leeds was the one. . . " His voice trailed off as Johnny shook his head to say no. All of a sudden, Murdoch was afraid that once Johnny left California, he would never see him again, and the thought caused his chest to tighten. He recovered and said, "The move sounds like a good idea, son. It's important to be right in the transportation center when you're an importer." Murdoch stood and laid a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "But don't forget us, will you?" Within a couple of seconds, Johnny was in his arms, clapping him on the back. The embrace didn't last long, but it was so heart-felt that amid the sadness Murdoch experienced a deep sense of fulfillment.

That evening, the Lancer men sat in front of the fire and played chess. Murdoch occasionally read sections of the newspaper aloud and they engaged in small talk. They resolved to enjoy the time they had left and at no time did they bring up the subject of Johnny's imminent departure.

Before settling in for the night, Johnny put on his shoulder holster and his jacket and strolled down to the Lancer gate in the dark. He leaned against the big archway and rolled himself a smoke and cleared his mind, then slowly ambled back. He was looking forward to retiring for the night, as the day's events had taken their toll on him. He had decided to leave in two days, and every time he thought too hard about it, his throat constricted. The sound of footsteps alerted Johnny to someone approaching, and his hand slipped under his jacket and touched the hilt of his gun until he realized the dark figure was only Scott.

As Scott walked down to meet his brother, he called out, "Nice night." They talked for a few minutes, then stood with their eyes looking skyward in the hope of catching sight of a falling star.

"None tonight," Johnny said with disappointment. He took one last puff, stubbed out his cigarette on his boot and tucked the remainder in his breast pocket. Gathering up his resolve, Johnny said, "I don't want you to think I'm running out on you, Scott."

"I know you're not. You have our own life to lead, Johnny. Anyway, this visit of yours has given me a bit of a kick in the pants. You know, I was beginning to hate this ranch, much as it pains me to say, but you made me realize that my problem doesn't lie with Lancer. It was misdirected. The hate I feel is for what Jenny did to herself." They turned and slowly walked back towards the lights of the hacienda, their boots crunching on the gravel of the drive. "I went around blaming everyone, including myself for her death, but there is no fault to find. My wife made a choice, and a very bad choice as it turned out. I wasn't looking for anything to be wrong, so I never saw her quandary. I didn't want to see it." He looked at Johnny and touched his shoulder briefly. "Promise me you'll take a good, thorough look at Natalie and don't ignore whatever it is that she needs."

"I will, brother. Promise."

Scott stopped and said something that had been bothering him for some time. "Johnny, you never really said why she shot at you." At first, he thought his brother wasn't going to reply, he was so quiet, just standing in the dark with his body all tensed up.

Johnny bowed his head for a moment, then shoved his hands in his pockets and continued walking towards the house. As he passed Scott, he said, "No. No, I didn't."

Scott had expected Johnny to balk but he had not expected to be completely rebuffed. He sighed and hurried to catch up with his brother. It looked like he'd never know what had instigated Natalie to shoot at her husband.

After a few paces, when Scott was in step with him once again, Johnny suggested, "What would you think of us two making a little trip up to Cooper Canyon before I go? Just for one last look at it." He hesitated then said, "Unless the big rancher can't find time for some pleasure?"

"That's a fine idea, Johnny. I'd like that a lot."

Cooper Canyon wasn't a hard ride, but the brothers took it easy. Johnny felt stronger every day, and had felt no pain issuing from his back for a while, but for a change he wasn't tossing all caution to the wind. Their time together was almost up so the brothers savored every moment they had left.

The canyon was one of the most beautiful spots on the ranch, and in the spring, with the grass green and fresh and the wildflowers blooming, it took the viewer's breath away. Johnny and Scott ate the lunch they'd packed, of cold meat, bread and beer, sitting on the bank of a rushing stream. They didn't discuss Johnny's plan to leave, or their wives, or even the ranch business, but just basked in the sun and related tales of their past exploits and shared some old memories.

Sam waited in his large, new buggy for the Lancers to say goodbye to Johnny. Johnny's bags were safely stowed away and his black horse was tied on a long leading rein to the rear. Once more, Johnny was leaving Barranca in the care of his family. It seemed fitting to Sam that the palomino stayed in Johnny's stead, like a placeholder.

Sam still thought it was a bit premature for his patient to be traveling, but the young man had insisted. Sometimes the doctor reluctantly accepted that there was just no holding Johnny back. At least the whole family, including Val and Teresa and their little ones had come to a farewell supper on the previous evening. Sam had turned up just in time for dessert and had enjoyed being included in the family gathering.

The boy looked as right as rain in his dark suit, his black Stetson grasped in his hand. Sam corrected himself - Johnny was not a boy any more, but a mature man with a whole different set of concerns than those he'd come to Lancer with seven years earlier. Sometimes there was a flash of Johnny Madrid in him, especially when he grinned or when he looked defenseless. But the youth had developed into a handsome man who commanded attention when he walked down the street. Not the same way that the gunfighter had, not with an unmistakable aura of something dangerous lurking beneath the surface, but more along the lines of a man who was confident that his choices were the right ones. The doctor smiled to himself when he realized that Johnny was not so unlike his father in spirit.

Murdoch admonished Johnny as he crushed him in a farewell hug, "Just remember, son, that we expect to see you back here with Natalie very soon."

"Yes, sir." Johnny looked up at his father, afraid he'd never see him again. "You know I. . ."

"I know, son," was Murdoch's understanding reply as he gave his younger son a final embrace.

Scott smiled at his brother fondly and held him close, albeit briefly. "You always say you're fine, Johnny, but this time I know you will be just fine. Good luck with everything. Don't be a stranger."

"Make sure you write," Murdoch ordered.

Johnny bowed his head and jumped in the buggy next to Sam. Earlier, he had dodged getting too emotional simply by not talking about leaving, but now the time was upon him, he was all choked up.

Murdoch waved and called after him, "The door is always open, Johnny."

After the buggy had navigated through the Lancer arch and turned onto the road, Sam pulled a large, white handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Johnny without even turning his head. He studiously watched the road. "This buggy," he said conversationally, "was Scott's bright idea, you know. I was reluctant to get rid of my old rattletrap at first, but your brother convinced me to invest in a new vehicle."

Johnny turned his head away while he wiped his eyes, but a few minutes later he was able to look forward again. He held out the piece of white cloth. "You want this back?"

"No, you keep it." Sam grinned. "Seems you must have an empty pocket somewhere in that fancy coat of yours."

Johnny gave a slight smile, put the handkerchief away then pulled his right jacket breast aside to reveal a flat flask tucked in an inside pocket. He pulled it out and offered it the doctor. "I have something better than an empty pocket." Sam Jenkins didn't hesitate to take a swig, and that set Johnny laughing. Once they'd had enough, Johnny returned the flask to his pocket. He then pulled an envelope out and offered it to Sam.

The older man glanced at the envelope, but returned his gaze to the road ahead. "What's that?" he asked gruffly.

Johnny shrugged a little. "I figured it was about time we settled up the bill, Doc."

Sam made a guttural noise. "You put that away, young man. I don't need-."

"Yes you do," retorted Johnny. "Scott tells me you don't bill half your patients and when they do pay, the majority pay in livestock or grain. This is green, Sam, and you're earned it." He shoved the envelope towards Sam, who reluctantly accepted it.

"You must be real good at mathematics to have figured out the correct sum," Sam said with a straight face.

"The truth is I made a wild guess, so if it isn't enough, make sure you send a bill for the balance to my father." Johnny smiled affectionately at the old doctor. "We both know I owe you a heck of a lot more than what's in that envelope."

Sam reached a gnarled hand out and patted Johnny on his knee. "The reward comes from seeing you up and about again, son."

They made it to the railway depot a little late and Johnny had to rush to get his horse settled in the stock car. In a way it was a good thing because he didn't want another emotional scene, this time with the doctor. When the train pulled out a few minutes later, Johnny Lancer stood on the little metal platform between two railway cars and waved to Sam until he could see him no more.

Several months later, on a bright October day, Scott stopped at the freight office to pick up the mail. He dropped the pile of packages and letters in the back of the buckboard along with the supplies he'd just purchased, but kept one letter in his hand. Sitting on the high seat, all the sounds of the town disappeared as he focused on the words Johnny had written to him.

His brother had only dropped a line one other time in the past six months, so Scott was torn between being mad about the infrequency of the letters and being excited to finally get another one. In the previous correspondence, Johnny had said that he had returned to San Francisco and had a sit-down with Natalie, and that he had reached an understanding with her. He wasn't specific about the details. Scott and Murdoch had been happy for him, knowing that the love of a good woman was what Johnny needed.

The tone of the newly arrived letter that Scott held in his hands was different. Johnny wrote that he and Levi Leeds had opened the new office in New Orleans. He described the heat and humidity, the stench of the city and the overwhelming number of brothels in the city. His words were full of humor with an acidic bite to them, Scott thought.

Scott turned the envelope over to see the date. It was a month old. There was some lively description about Johnny's business and characters he'd encountered in Louisiana, but little about his well-being; Johnny wrote that he was fine in such a scribble that he appeared to be rushing just to get it said.

Johnny then dedicated half a page of things he asked Scott to relate to the other family members: tell Teresa the ladies all wear bustles and he even saw one with a live butterfly in her hair; tell Murdoch that the Society of Stockmen has a painting of California's coastline in their clubhouse and that the members know and respect the name of Murdoch Lancer; tell Val that the lawmen wear shiny new uniforms that make them stick out like sore thumbs. Then Johnny asked for news of Lancer and especially wanted to know if Teresa had borne the new baby yet. Johnny had signed off with only a J and even that was smudged.

Scott smiled. Teresa had indeed delivered a boy, and he had been named Terrence Scott Crawford. Suddenly, even in the midst of the bustle of Green River, Scott was overcome by a feeling of lonesomeness. How he wished he could be with his brother, even if Johnny and Natalie were living in New Orleans. They were not likely to come back to Lancer for a visit any time soon, but even so, Scott wished that Johnny and his wife would come for Christmas this year. That was only two months away, he told himself. He'd write back as soon as he got home, and make Johnny promise they'd come. Then he could tolerate the wait more easily. Scott put Johnny's letter with the other mail and headed back to Lancer.

Scott had taken the advice of his brother and had taken Steven Crook's widow out to a dance, and although he had enjoyed their time together, he had not called upon her again. He didn't know if he'd ever be ready to look at another woman with his beloved Jenny still so close to his heart. These days he was able to see her as she used to be when they were happy together.

He had no sooner stepped in the door of the hacienda and called out to Murdoch to tell that there was a letter from Johnny, than one of the vaqueros warned of an incoming rider.

"Hay un hombre en un caballo que viene abajo del camino."

Murdoch came from the kitchen, not having heard the vaquero's shout, and instructed Scott, "I want you to ride over to Jensen's this afternoon. He's still mouthing off about the water rights and how we've caused his brook to dry up. I've told him half a dozen times the water table is getting lower all over the district and we're in the middle of a drought. Maybe we can help him out and allow his cattle to use the water hole. . . Scott, are you listening to me?"

But Scott was not listening to his father. He held up a hand to indicate the old man should wait a minute, then strode to the front door and opened it wide. There, dressed in a calico shirt and Mexican pants with brass buttons down the legs, his old gun belt buckled around his hips, covered in dust from the road, stood Johnny, grinning from ear to ear. Almost as surprising as his sudden appearance was that fact that Johnny was clean-shaven, his mustache gone.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Ain't you gonna let your own brother in?"

***–***TBC