Chapter Seven

Roger had now made his decision on who he would go after first. It had to be the dark-haired man in the green shirt. His confidence level was such that he believed he could pop up and shoot him without exposing himself to either the black-clad Pony's or the blond Madrid's positions under the wagon.

Roger shouted out defiantly, "You'll have ta come an' get me, if ya want me."

Then, without giving anyone the chance to think about it, much less actually do anything, the elder Fleming rose half way up from his crouched position and fired toward the man on the boardwalk.

Johnny, not used to being surprised during a gun battle, wasn't expecting the man to be so aggressive, especially not since he had just seen his brother killed and had also seen his plans fall to pieces. Johnny had no way of knowing that Roger's plans were far from destroyed, at least in his own mind.

But Johnny wasn't one to be so surprised he couldn't react. After an instant of shock, when Roger rose uip, Johnny, fired quickly. He saw his bullet hit the redhead in the left arm, as he rolled over the edge of the walkway.

The shot was just enough to throw Roger's aim off, so that his shot had missed Johnny by about three inches.

There wasn't time for Roger to fire again, as Johnny disappeared out of his line of sight.

To the dismay of both Lancers, Johnny landed squarely on top of Scott. Even if he had had the time to plan where he would land, the dark-haired young man had no more space between the boardwalk and the wagon wheels than his brother did. Atl least, he was able to fall lengthwise, avoiding the kind of blow to the head that Scott had suffered.

The two young men's faces were inches apart, as they each stared into the eyes of the other.

Scott grinned. "Nice of you to drop in and join me, Johnny."

"Couldn't keep away any longer," Johnny returned with a grin of his own. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he quickly asked, a slight frown replacing the grin.

"No," Scott returned through clenched teeth, not willing to let his brother know that Johnny's landing had hurt him more than he was willing to reveal. Fortunately, he had been able to use his grin to hide the pain he was feeling primarily in his ribcage. Johnny had had no choice but to drop down in an effort to protect himself. Besides, his brother had enough on his mind without adding more worry for him - or any guilt.

Luckily, the two weren't tangled up, so Johnny pulled himself off of Scott and slithered on his belly under the wagon, coming up next to where Pony was crouching beside the far-side rear wheel.

The man's main concentration was still turned toward Roger, however, he easily noted Johnny's presence to his left.

Scott turned over onto his stomach and crawled next to his brother.

Now, all three were side by side under the rear of the wagon. In a move that wasn't planned but seemed to come to each of them independently, they all aimed toward the water trough and fired simultaneously.

The deafening noise created by the three guns going off under the relatively confined space sent shock waves of agony through Scott's head.

Everything Scott looked at doubled and blurred for a few seconds. He blinked until there were only one of everything, but the blurriness remained. He closed his eyes and lay his head down on his arms, hoping that it would somehow ease the pain. It didn't.

Johnny, lying a foot or so ahead of Scott didn't see his brother's attempt to ease his headache.

Roger yelped at the barrage of bullets that had come his way, but the sturdy wood of the trough had kept him safe.

"There's got to be a way to get that son-of- a-bitch from behind that shelter," Johnny remarked in frustration. "He's only one man. There's three of us."

"Well, you just go right out there and take him on," Pony commented somewhat sarcastically. "I'll watch."

Johnny gave Pony a scowl and followed that up with his best Madrid stare. "Smart ass," he offered dryly.

Pony snorted but didn't say anything.

"So, you're just gonna sit here and let us do the work?"

"I ain't no coward, if that's what you're inplyin'," Pony snarled back in Johnny's face. "I'm not stupid, neither. I'm not goin' out there, so he can shoot me."

Scott's head had just come up when Johnny turned to look at him. The blond had become very adept at reading his brother's expressions, as well as his body language. He saw clearly that Johnny was about to do something that Scott consiered stupid. He shook his head, then winced, showing that both the movement and the reason for making it were very bad ideas.

"I have to," Johnny answered Scott's visual comment. He had become adept at reading Scott, as well.

"Then, we'll do it together."

"No, Boston, we won't." He could clearly see the way the blond's eyes were slightly unfocused. He didn't want to say it, but if it meant convincing Scott to stay out of it, he would. "You aren't seeing too good, are you?. You might shoot me instead." The attempt at humor fell flat. The message did not.

"Johnny..."

"No, Scott. You stay right where you are. We'll get Roger Fleming."

He didn't spare Pony a scathing look that clearly said his brother, who was in no shape to help was willing to, while Pony, who was fine, was not. Johnny hoped the look would shame Pony into changing his mind.

Pony hesitated while he mulled over the obvious challenge. He wanted Roger Fleming in the worst way, but was he willing to put his life on the line to do it? Then again, wasn't he after bigger game which would take even more nerve?

Johnny looked back at Scott. "You keep your gun handy but don't fire it, if you can help it."

As much as it galled the blond not to be included in Johnny's plans, his pride wasn't such that he'd risk shooting his brother by mistake. He reluctantly nodded, another mistake.

Johnny looked at Pony. "You've been watchin' him. He's still where he was when he shot at me?"

"Yeah. I don't think he's moved. Hunkered down and cowering most likely."

Johnny nodded, no so sure about the cowering part. "You go out around the water trough and come at him from behind. I'll draw his attention from this end."

Just before Johnny was able to move closer to the end of the wagon, Scott grabbed his arm. "Be careful, Johnny."

"Don't worry, Boston, I aim to do just that." He gave his brother a big smile and squeezed the hand on his arm.

The entire conversation, from the time Johnny rolled off the boardwalk, had been conducted in hushed tones, so Roger couldn't discern their words. He had the distinct feeling that a plan was being hatched. He didn't like it one bit, but since his last attempt to take charge and kill the man in the green shirt had failed, he didn't know what else he could do but defend himself when they made their move.

Johnny aimed his gun toward the trough and laid down covering fire to keep Roger's head down.

Roger did keep his head down, but he raised his hand up over the top of the trough and fired two answering shots.

While the only remaining Fleming was occupied, Pony slipped out from under the wagon and ran, hunched over, to the far end of the trough.

He snuck around until he was looking straight at Roger Fleming's back. He wanted to just shoot the bastard where he was, but even more, he wanted the man to see it coming. "Fleming!" he yelled.

Roger spun around on the balls of his feet, almost losing his balance and having to grab the top of the wooden structure next to him to keep from falling over. He raised his gun and fired.

Pony's gun was already raised in front of him, so his only response was to pull the trigger.

The one thing that made the difference in who ended up dead was that Pony was turning sideways and moving to his right, as he fired. Roger's bullet passed so close it actually made a rip in the red bandanna Pony wore around his neck.

Roger, on the other hand, was caught full in the chest by Pony's bullet. A look of total disbelief spread across his face, when he looked down at the spreading red stain on his shirt. He looked back up into the cold eyes of Pony Deal, before falling over dead.

That left Pony facing Johnny, who had crawled out from under the wagon when he heard Pony yell Fleming's name.

Johnny lowered his gun and grinned. "Looks like you got him, Pony."

"Yeah. Too bad he never learned the truth about which one of you is really Madrid. At least, the stupid bastard's just joined his brother in Hell."

"I knew when Scott and I first met 'em they were trouble Now, they've met a bad end. And, all for nothing."

"Nothing for them, not nothing for me."

When Johnny looked up from giving Roger a regretful look, he saw Pony aiming his gun straight at him. The confusion on his face was soon replaced with a knowing look. "You, too, Pony?"

"Sure. Why not? It's not why I came here, but when I saw you, I knew I had to give it a try. Your reputation, Johnny, is just too hard to resist.

"Those idiots didn't know the real Madrid. I do."

Johnny glared at Pony, the icy Madrid stare firmly in place. "So, you want to face me for my reputation." The words were softly spoken and all the more menacing because of it. "I'll gladly give it to you, Pony, but I'm not willing to die to make that happen."

"Well, I'm afraid that's the only way it will happen, Johnny boy. I never thought I could take you before. Now, with you goin' soft ranchin', I'm guessin' I just might be able to."

"Soft? Ranching?" Johnny scoffed. "You obviously never rode herd on a bunch of ornery cows or strung fence wire or cleaned out a stream bed. Gunfighting was a whole lot easier than ranching." Johnny had suffered through enough sore muscles, some he never knew even existed, to convince him that ranching was about the toughest job there was.

He did understand what Pony was saying. He evidently didn't think Johnny did much practicing, if any, like he had done in the old days, when it came to handling his gun. The younger Lancer was sure that Pony was underestimating him, not that he could have won a confrontation anyway, but it never hurt to have all the advantages you could get.

"We gonna face off like men, or are you planning on just shooting me and claiming it was a fair fight?"

"There won't be any gunfight."

Both men turned at the sound of Scott's voice. He was walking toward them, or more accurately, he was sluggishly weaving toward them.

Pony had never been a backshooter, so trusting that the man wasn't going to put a bullet in his back, Johnny holstered his gun and rushed over to Scott. He caught his brother just as the blond's legs began to give out, and he started to pitch forward.

TBC