Chapter Twelve

"I'm coming!" Murdoch yelled out to whomever it was that was pounding on his front door. The knocking continued, and it took a strong sense of decorum from the Lancer patriarch to keep from becoming irritated at the incessant noise.

He jerked open the door and was almost hit in the chin by the raised fist that was about to connect once more with the wooden door.

"Thomas," Murdoch exclaimed to the young man standing before him. After a brief hesitation, he asked, "Do you have a message for me?" It was the only logical reason why the telegraph operator's young apprentice would be at his door in the middle of the afternoon.

Thinking Mr. Lancer was asking about a telegram, Thomas replied, "No, sir." Then corrected himself. After all, he was bringing a message, just not a written one. "I mean yes, sir."

"Which is it?" Murdoch asked with a touch of impatience.

"A message, Mr. Lancer, sir."

When Murdoch held out his hand for the telegram he was expecting to be handed to him, Thomas shook his head. "Not a telegram, sir. Just a message."

Realizing that he was making Thomas nervous, Murdoch stepped aside. "Come in, Thomas," he said, in a slightly softer voice.

Once they were inside and the door was closed, Murdoch turned to the young man with a milder look of expectation. "What is the message?"

Thomas swallowed hard. "Well, sir, Sheriff Crawford asked me to come..."

"I thought Sheriff Crawford was out of town."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I mean, he was, but he's back now."

After a moment of silence to give the young man time to gather his thoughts, Murdoch urged Thomas to continue. "And what was it Sheriff Crawford wanted you to tell me?"

"Well, Mr. Lancer, there was some trouble in town, and Sheriff Crawford wants you to come as soon as you can." Thomas said the last words in a rush, as if wanting to get the message delivered, so he could go. The sheer size of Murdoch Lancer was intimidating in itself, but when he was impatient, which he obviously was now, it was much worse.

"Oh, no," Murdoch breathed out, his first thought being that his sons had gotten into some kind of altercation and that Val had been required to throw them in jail. Now, he was sure he was about to be asked to go to Green River and bail them out. He refrained from expressing his disappointment and anger that his two grown sons couldn't stay out of trouble long enough to get supplies and then get home.

It never occurred to him that only one son might be in trouble. If they were together, they were both involved. He knew that much about his boys. One would back the other, no matter what.

He felt slightly guilty that he thought it was Johnny in hot water and Scott backing him up. It was the kind of thought that he had hoped to be able to disregard but never seemed able to. Scott had his share of trouble, but it was his younger son that often tried his patience. Two years with them both had softened his rush to judgment where Johnny was concerned, but it had never truly been put to rest. 'Would it ever?' he wondered.

With a heavy sigh, Murdoch asked, "Do you know what happened?" He was expecting to hear that punches had been thrown and chairs sent flying, possibly a window or two broken. Add that all to the fine, he mused unkindly.

Thomas hung his head before shaking it. "I didn't see it, sir. I only heard..." The young man quickly shut his mouth. Sheriff Crawford had told him pointedly not to say anything about the gunfire. Only that he hadn't seen what took place, which was true enough.

"Gunfire?" Murdoch asked with a sudden feeling of dread.

Thomas realized he had said way too much in just mentioning the shooting. He stood frozen in place, afraid to say more. He didn't know who to be more afraid of, Sheriff Crawford or Murdoch Lancer.

"Gunfire, Thomas?" Murdoch asked again, this time louder and more insistent.

"I..I didn't see anything. Really I didn't. I was in the Telegraph Office, and the sheriff came and told me to come get you. That's all I know."

"But, you just said there was gunfire."

"Yes, sir, but...but I didn't see any of it, and Sheriff Crawford didn't explain. Just said to come get you." By now, his head was hanging down, unable to look the large rancher in the eye.

Murdoch was ready to grab Thomas by the shoulders and shake the truth out of him, but realized that even if he did know, he wasn't going to say any more. Val had seen to that. Probably threatened the boy with jail.

Actually, Murdoch did believe Thomas.

A brief flash of anger raced through Murdoch at the idea that Val was keeping vital information from him. Information that the sheriff knew would upset him more than not knowing would. Dear God, how bad could it be? He didn't want to answer that question. The possibilities were too frightening.

The dread in Murdoch's heart was quickly turning into all-out fear. There was only one reason Val would have sent someone to get him after there had been gunfire involving his sons; One or both of them were hurt, or worse.

Controlling his voice, he said, "Go in the kitchen and tell Maria I said to give you a piece of cherry pie and a glass of milk. Stay here until your horse is rested."

With those words, Murdoch Lancer opened the door and virtually sprinted to the barn.

Just before reaching the barn doors, he encountered Walt just riding in. "Walt, I'm going into Green River. I'm not sure when I'll be back. If you have any problems, Cirpriano is in the north pasture, working on that new fence line."

Walt was a valued and experienced Lancer ranch hand, and Murdoch knew that what he had just said was all the explanation the man would need to carry out what was expected of him.

"Yes, Mr. Lancer. Do you want me to saddle your horse for you?"

"No, Walt. I'll do it." At least, it would keep his hands and, hopefully, his mind busy for a short while.

Five minutes later, Murdoch Lancer was riding toward the Lancer arch on his way to Green River.

The eldest Lancer's mind was in turmoil, as he rode toward the town. It would take a while to get there, and with each mile he traveled, his thoughts and his mood became darker, in sharp contrast to the brilliance of the sunny, warm California day.

What if one of his sons had been badly injured in some kind of fight? Thomas had mentioned gunfire, though any details had not bee forthcoming. What if his other son had been similarly hurt backing his brother up? What if both were dead? He audibly groaned at that thought, but he knew that it was a possibility that couldn't be dismissed, painful though the very idea was.

Again, his thoughts took him back to the possibility that whatever had happened had been Johnny's fault. Well, he conceded, maybe not his fault but still because of him. No matter how hard he tried, Murdoch could never seem to get past Madrid. That name haunted him still, haunted all of them.

There was the chance that it was Scott's past that had reared its ugly head this time. After that whole affair with Dan Cassidy, it was as distinct possibility.

Another thought struck Murdoch, as his horse ate up more of the miles separating him from his boys. This new trouble may have been something completely new. Maybe, someone else in town had gotten into trouble, and Scott and Johnny had tired to help. Maybe, it was as he had first thought. Maybe, they had just gotten into an altercation after having a few beers at the saloon. He knew they wouldn't leave town after loading the supplies without cooling themselves off. That had to be it. If it was something worse, surely Val would have come himself and broken the news.

So much speculation swirling around in Murdoch's head was making it ache. His heart wasn't far behind.

"Please, God," he prayed aloud. "Don't let either or both of my boys be hurt. Let me pay a fine to get them out of trouble and get them home in time for dinner." It was a simple prayer, but Murdoch Lancer had no idea that that last request would be a long time in coming.

x x x x x

While the Lancer patriarch was making his troubled way to town, Johnny was sitting in Sam Jenkin's surgical room, in the same chair he had been in for over two hours. It was unusual to see him so still. The pacing he had done earlier, combined with the emotional turmoil he was in, had worn even him out.

He continued to stare at Scott, willing his brother to move, to twitch a finger, even to groan, as long as it gave him the appearance of life. Even the blond's chest barely moved under the blanket that covered him to his shoulders.

Sam Jenkins walked into the room for the tenth time during Johnny's vigil. He had quit asking if there was any change, usually a question he received, not asked.

"Johnny, you need to get some rest."

"I am restin'. Haven't moved in hours," he replied sullenly.

"You're staring too hard at Scott, which means your mind is working too hard." Sam knew the futility of asking the dark-haired young Lancer to go lie down and relax.

Johnny knew what was in Sam's mind just the same. "Not leavin' him."

"Murdoch should be here in an hour or so. You'll need to support each other, and you won't be much help if you're ready to fall flat on your face."

Johnny now looked up at the elderly doctor. "Can't rest, Sam. Not 'til I know Scott's gonna be all right. Can you tell me that?"

With a deep sigh, Sam said, "No, Johnny, you know I can't. Not at this time."

"Then don't ask me to go anywhere." Johnny's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Sam, I know you mean well, but Scott never left me when I broke my leg, and you had to do surgery on it. Remember?"

"Of course, I do. And, I told Scott the same thing then that I'm telling you now."

"He didn't listen, did he?"

"No, he didn't. I guess the Lancer stubbornness is too strong in both of you." That was a fact he knew well. If Scott made it, it was that stubbornness, as well as his family's support and a helping hand from God, that were going to get Scott through this.

"Will you eat something?"

"Not hungry," Johnny replied, as his eyes went back to stare at his brother's still profile.

"Then, let me get you some coffee, at least."

When Johnny didn't reply to that, Sam took his silence as acceptance and left to bring the youngest Lancer a cup of the very strong brew. He was tempted to put something in it so Johnny could get the sleep he so desperately needed but decided he wasn't going to deceive his young friend that way. He would only ever do that if it was Johnny who was hurt and refusing to get the rest he needed to get well.

x x x x x

Val Crawford was seated at his desk. He had talked to Simon Mosley, the undertaker, about the burial of Pony Deal and the Fleming brothers in the Green River version of Boot Hill, the town cemetery devoted mostly to nameless itinerants and those who had no family and no money to buy a plot in the better kept private cemetery.

No one knew where the Flemings were from, so there was no one to contact about their deaths. Pony Deal was hardly an unknown, but all Val knew was that the man was from New Mexico. He had sent out a few telegrams to other lawmen in the larger towns of that territory, who might have wanted posters on him in their area. Other than that, there was nothing he could do but see that they received a proper burial, courtesy of Green River.

When his door was suddenly flung open, he looked up to see Murdoch Lancer standing in, and taking up most of, the doorway.

"Where are my boys!" he asked forcefully without even a greeting.

Val took a deep breath. This wasn't going ot be easy, so there was no reason to beat around the bush. "Sam's," was all he said. He figured that was all he needed to say.

Hearing Val's one simple word, Murdoch's heart dropped to the floor, as all his fears came crashing down on him.

TBC