Chapter Two
"Danny," Roger said, a warning edge to his voice, when his brother asked about Johnny Madrid.
The younger man just shrugged and replied, "Just askin'."
Jim Bently had stiffened up at the mention of Johnny's name. He was good friends with the Lancers and knew, as just about everyone in Green River did, that Murdoch Lancer's youngest son and the notorious gunfighter, Johnny Madrid, were one and the same. Johnny had never tried to hide his previous life, but now he went by the name Johnny Lancer, a rancher, who was working hard to put his imfamous past behind him. And, Jim Bently had no intention of revealing that fact to strangers.
Johnny had done his best to bury Madrid, and the gun shop owner was not going to be the one to dig him up. Besides, he liked the youngest Lancer, liked both of Murdoch's sons, in fact. They were good young men, who deserved to live in peace, doing what they chose to do with their lives.
"I heard that Johnny Madrid was killed a couple of years back," Mr. Bently stated firmly, looking both young men in the eye and hoping to dissuade them form sniffing around Johnny. It was the truth, after all. He had indeed heard that rumor. He just wasn't going to reveal that it was a false one.
Danny frowned. "You don't mean it. Johnny Madrid's dead? If that don't beat all. I sure was hoping..."
Before Danny could finish his sentence, Roger, who had finished stuffing their purchase in a worn saddlebag he had carried into the store for that purpose, grabbed his brother by the arm and dragged him out of the gun shop.
Once they were alone on the boardwalk and away from the gun shop owner, Roger rounded on the younger man. "One of these days, Danny, yer gonna open yer big mouth once too often an' git us in real trouble."
"I didn't say nothin'," Danny protested petulantly, rubbing at the spot where his brother's fingers had dug into his arm.
"Well, keep yer mouth shut and make sure of it."
Roger was in no mood to have to explain to the sheriff of Green River why they were asking about the likes of Johnny Madrid. They'd have no chance to get what they were after, if they got thrown out of town now.
"Maybe Madrid is dead," Roger stated, while tying the saddlebag onto his saddle. "There are plenty other gunfighters."
"Yeah, but I wanna take out the best." Danny grinned. "Ya git a better reputation that way."
His arrogance didn't allow him to think about the fact that he would have a better chance of getting dead, as well.
"Well, if Madrid is gone, then that means someone else is the best. Right?" Roger reasoned. "We can do a little checking 'round town and then see where to go from here."
The Flemings stood and stared down the street for a moment, trying to decide the best way to proceed toward their goal.
"Maybe there's someone else we could ask," Danny suggested. "Someone who won't go runnin' to the sheriff." Danny was quite pleased with his idea.
Roger did him one better. "How 'bout if we say we come to see Johnny Madrid's grave. Sorta like payin' our respects to a famous man. 'Course we gotta be careful not to ask too many people or someone might git suspicious."
"Wortha try," Danny agreed and grinned, showing yellowed teeth that looked more like they belonged to a much older man, who hadn't taken very good care of them through the years.
"I reckon the saloon's a good place to start, since I'm sure a lotta information gits passed 'round there," Roger remarked.
With the decision made, the two men headed across the street toward the nearest saloon. The sign above the front read The Golden Nugget, a nod to the Gold Rush days of northern California's past. The name was lost on the two Flemings, however, since neither one could read.
When they got closer, they noticed that the big well-worn wooden doors behind the smaller batwing doors were closed.
Roger snorted. "Don't folks 'round here git thirsty afore lunch time?"
Just then, Roger noticed a wagon slowly rumbling down the street. On the bench sat two men. One was fair-haired while the other looked Mexican.
"What about askin' them two?" Roger said, as he elbowed his brother in the ribs. "If they're inna wagon, they must be from 'round here. They'd surely know somethin' 'bout Madrid."
With a big grin on both of their faces, the Flemings moved toward the wagon, as it came to a stop in front of the general store.
Scott, who was on the street side of the wagon, wrapped the reins around the brake handle he had just set and jumped down just as Roger and Danny Fleming approached. It soon became apparent to the older Lancer that they weren't merely crossing the street but were coming directly toward him. Scott turned to face the newcomers.
Johnny had remained seated on the wagon bench, looking over the list Murdoch had given him. But, as the two strangers came near, he eyed them closely, even though, to the casual observer, he looked like he was paying them little attention.
At first glance, they looked like the dirt farmers they had been raised to be, wearing rough, well-worn and slightly dingy clothing. Yet, there was something about them that made the hair on the back of Johnny's neck rise. Something wasn't quite right with these two. It was a feeling he had often had about people that could potentially be dangerous. Even his recent life as a rancher hadn't dimmed his instincts. In fact, he kept them honed just as he did his expertise with a gun. A rancher he may be, but he knew that at any moment his past could rear it's ugly head, and he'd be called out. It paid to stay sharp.
With deliberate ease, Johnny slipped the list back into his pocket and slid over to jump down beside his brother. Only Scott was aware of the tension in Johnny's body, clearly telling the tall blond that his younger brother was ready for trouble, if any was forthcoming.
"Is there something I can do for you?" Scott asked the two red headed men, who stopped in front of him.
"Well, we was in town and heard that Johnny Madrid is buried here abouts. That true?"
"Johnny Madrid?" Scott repeated, somewhat surprised. That name was the last thing he expected to hear from these men. They hardly looked like gunhawks.
"Why would you want to know about him?" Johnny asked, his voice not betraying the increased caution that had taken up residence inside him.
His hand slipped down to rest on the butt of his Colt, though the smooth, easy nature of the move appeared to be non-threatening.
Scott glanced sideways at Johnny to see if there was recognition on his face. All he saw there was the cool, appraising stare he had seen on more than a few occasions, when Johnny was facing someone he didn't necessarily trust. Not reacting to his brother's expression, Scott looked directly at the men and asked, "Were you friends of his?"
"No, sir," Danny answered with mock politeness. "We jest heard 'bout him bein' killed 'round here. Thought we'd go look fer ourselves. See the grave of someone famous like."
He tried to make his voice sound innocent, so Roger wouldn't get on his case again about opening his mouth too much.
In a soft voice, Johnny said, "He died all right. But that was in Mexico, or so I heard tell. He's not buried around here." That last statement was spoken with the knowledge that he was telling the absolute truth, at least in a physical sense. Though in an entirely different sense, Madrid had unofficially died in Mexico, when that Pinkerton agent arrived to unknowingly offer him his future as a Lancer.
Though Johnny was hardly an uncommon name, Scott wasn't about to give these men even the slightest chance to start thinking about trying to make a connection between Johnny Madrid and his brother, so he avoided calling Johnny by name. He simply turned to his sibling and said, "You go get started on the supplies, brother." He emphasized the last word, hoping to further discourage any hint of who his brother might be, since it was well-known that Johnny Madrid had no family. "I'll meet you back here after I've finished our other business." The blond Lancer wasn't going to give them any ideas about the bank, either.
Johnny nodded. Though he hadn't taken his eyes off of the two strangers during the entire conversation, his demeanor appeared to be bordering on disinterest.
Roger stared at Scott and Johnny for a fraction longer, wondering at how two brothers could look so different from each other. However, not willing to spend any more time on that puzzle, he turned to leave, pulling Danny with him.
It wasn't until the strangers were back across the street that Johnny was able to breathe a little easier, though he was far from relaxed.
"You don't know them, do you?" Scott asked. Despite the fact that Johnny had done nothing to indicate he idd, that didn't necessarily mean he didn't. Scott had leaned that a long time ago.
"No, but I know their kind." The words were uttered with disdain.
"Which is?" Scott inquired with raised eyebrows.
"They are far from professionals, but judging by the way they wear their guns, and the fact they asked about Madrid, they appear to be looking to make a reputation for themselves. My guess is, they were hoping Johnny Madrid was alive and well and living right here in Green River or, at least, somewhere in easy reach."
A shiver went down Scott's spine. He hated it whenever anyone even mentioned the name Madrid. Couldn't people just leave his brother alone?
Johnny didn't bother asking himself that same question. He knew that as long as people remembered the name Johnny Madrid, there would always be someone itching to make their own reputation at his expense.
He also knew how much it bothered his brother. He patted Scott on the shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. He hated that there was nothing he could really do to ease Scott's mind, and that bothered him more than any challenge he might get from a would-be gunhawk.
He knew that Scott trusted him and his instincts and that he could handle the challenges he was sometimes forced to face, but in the back of Johnny's mind resided the nagging fear that something could always go wrong, and Scott could suffer as a result.
Johnny also knew that Scott would risk his own life to keep him safe, and that, too, could bring his brother to harm. Johnny tried to shake off those troubling thoughts. He reminded himself that he had accepted that possibility when he agreed to stay at Lancer with his new-found family. But, it still gripped his heart with a fear he could never quite shake.
Johnny was sure that they hadn't seen the last of the two men, who had reached the other side of the street and were walking down the boardwalk away from them. He was sure there would be trouble from those red heads before the day was out.
The youngest Lancer turned and headed into the general store, glancing down the street once more before entering the darker interior of the building.
Scott stood for a few seconds longer, also looking in the direction the two strangers were moving in. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He hoped that those men wouldn't be questioning anyone else in town about Johnny Madrid. They just might run into someone who would be all too willing to enlighten them on the ex-gunfighter's whereabouts.
Shaking his head, Scott could only hope for the best. He let out a deep breath and then headed down the street before crossing over to enter the bank.
TBC