Dougal found the doctor's office in Morro Coyo easily enough and gave his message. The doctor set off for the ranch right away and Dougal went into the saloon where he ordered a drink and sat down at a table to think out his next move. He needed to look around, listen, ask questions. Trouble was, his mind kept straying back to that ranch. Seemed like there'd be no hands back until late in the day or into the evening. And meantime there would be work to do. Dougal had worked as a ranch hand – heck, he'd worked as just about everything, one way or another – and he knew that even with most of the stock out at pasture, there was always something needing to be done. He pictured Jelly forcing himself to keep going, maybe having an accident because he was so tired. Or Miss Teresa trying to do the chores herself and tackling more than a woman could handle. And Murdoch Lancer worrying about them both, fretting, and doing his eyes more harm.
He wished he could stop thinking about them. Dougal had a task of his own to be getting on with, and he'd already helped them out enough. He had friends who said he was too soft-hearted for his own good; maybe they were right. He could almost hear his sister-in-law's words, "I declare, Dougal, if flies landed on your biscuits, you'd share the butter with them!" He smiled at the memory. Betsy, dead now these three years or more, along with his brother Ewan and their kids – all the family he'd had.
Dougal had been in Oregon when they died. Happier on the move, he'd always resisted Ewan's urgings to stay and work the farm with him, preferring to take any job that offered a chance to see somewhere new but generally he got back to see Ewan and Betsy and the kids once or twice a year. They were his only family and despite his wanderlust, they meant a lot to him.
When he'd returned to the farm that last time, instead of Ewan's warm welcome, Betsy's sisterly fussing and the kids clambering all over him, eager to see what presents Uncle had brought, there had been nothing but the blackened walls of the burnt-out cabin. The neighbours' sympathy, genuine and generous though it was, couldn't ease the desolation he'd felt when he realized there was no-one left to him, not one person in the world he could call his kin.
Not one? Well, perhaps there was just one. It was nothing certain Dougal had heard, just vague talk, but it had been enough to start him on a search for the man who could tell him whether he still had one living relative or really was alone in the world. He knew he was probably grasping at a straw but likewise he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until he'd found out.
He'd almost given up more than once. He had so little to go on that by any standards of common sense the quest was hopeless. But just often enough, he'd pick up something that would keep him going, keep him on the trail. The last clue he had got had led him here, to the San Joaquin Valley and the town of Morro Coyo. And now he needed to get on with his search, not be worrying about how Jelly and Miss Teresa and Murdoch Lancer were going to manage. He'd done his part there. Those folks weren't his responsibility, after all.
Dougal finished his drink and left the saloon. He retrieved his horse from the corral, mounted up and headed out of town, back towards the Lancer ranch.
When he got to Lancer, things were about how he'd pictured. Teresa, alone, was trying to herd a dozen straying cattle back into a pen. On horseback, he made quick work of it and she closed the gate, fastening it with twine to make good the broken catch that had enabled the cattle to get out.
"Thank you, Mr Renslo." There was more than just pleasant courtesy in her voice, there was relief. She was thankful to see him.
"Where's Jelly?" he queried.
"Fast asleep. He could barely stand up so I persuaded him to have a little nap, just for a few minutes," she told him.
"And that was a couple hours ago, I'm guessing?" he said with a quirk of the eyebrow. Teresa nodded.
"What about your father? How is he?" Dougal asked.
Teresa looked puzzled for a moment, then said, "Oh, Mr Lancer's not my father, he's my guardian. Dr Jenkins is with him now. I think he'll be alright, he could see when we took the bandages off for a while last night, but we don't want to take any chances."
"You sure don't, not with a man's eyesight," agreed Dougal. He could see the anxiety on her face, despite her confident words.
"I'll keep an eye on things out here," he went on. "You go on back to the house, see what the doctor's got to say. He'll likely want to give you some instructions about taking care of Mr Lancer."
"That's good of you, Mr Renslo. If you're sure it's no trouble…" Teresa responded, her deep-ingrained courtesy warring with her obvious wanting to accept the offer.
"Oh, this is as good a place to be as any." Dougal smiled as he said the words and Teresa smiled back at him. That smile and the gratitude in her eyes as, with another quick "Thank you," she turned and hurried into the house made Dougal think that this was the best place he could possibly be.
Dougal led his horse into the corral. Strange, there didn't seem to be any other horses on the place. Maybe they'd been spooked by the fire last night; that would explain why Jelly had been trying to get to town on foot. Well, the ranch hands would round them up when they got back, if that was the case. In the meantime, he could find things to do, he was sure. He'd start by fixing that broken catch. He jumped as a goose squawked behind him. The creature flapped its wings and hissed as he turned to look at it. All sorts of livestock they've got on this ranch, thought Dougal.
The sun was setting as Scott and Johnny rode back onto Lancer land and headed towards the hacienda.
"Think Murdoch'll be worrying about us?" Johnny asked his brother.
"Murdoch knows all sorts of things can delay a cattle drive. He'll know there's no need to worry," Scott answered.
"Think he will, anyway?" persisted Johnny.
Scott grinned. "Yes."
Johnny grinned back. After a moment he said, "Kinda nice, ain't it?"
"Little brother, we're going to have to do something about that grammar of yours," Scott returned, assuming what he hoped was a stern expression. Then the smile returned to his face. "Yes, it is kind of nice," he agreed.
It did feel good to have a father's care and concern but Johnny's words had triggered the puzzlement that still nested in Scott's mind. The puzzlement that came from trying to reconcile the care and concern he now got from Murdoch Lancer with the twenty-four years of neglect that had gone before. He wondered if he ever would understand or if that mystery would remain for all time.
Scott's thoughts were snapped back to the immediate moment as Remmie jumped and reared, dancing back in fear from a dark shape that had leaped snarling onto the trail in front of them. Barranca was doing the same but as the snarling turned into a savage bark there came the report of Johnny's gun. The bark became a yelping howl and the shape lay still on the ground.
"What is it?" Scott asked as he walked Remmie in a circle to calm him.
"Looks like that wolf cross-breed we saw in the saloon," Johnny answered. "Must have run off from that feller who had it."
"Well, I'm afraid I'll be offering him no condolences on the loss of his little pet," Scott declared. "Things like that we do not want jumping out at us – or wandering around amongst the Lancer stock."
"That's for sure," Johnny agreed.
They rode on, giving the carcass a wide berth. They'd only gone another half mile when Johnny pulled Barranca to a halt and pointed. "Scott, look! It's Toby!"
Murdoch's horse was grazing a couple of hundred yards from the trail. Johnny unwound the rope from his saddle horn and rode towards him. The big horse made no resistance to being lassoed and followed along easily behind Barranca as Johnny rejoined Scott.
"Wonder how he got out here?" Johnny mused.
"No saddle or bridle – he must have got out of the corral and wandered off," observed Scott.
Johnny frowned. "Scott, I'm worried."
"What about? How many pieces Jelly's going to be in when Murdoch finds out Toby's gotten loose? Especially if it was that watchdog goose of Jelly's that frightened him," Scott grinned. Johnny shook his head.
"I've got a feeling there's more to it than just a horse getting loose," he murmured.
"Why should there be?" retorted Scott.
"If it was any other horse, no, but Toby? You know how Murdoch takes care of him. And there was that wolf-dog…" Johnny's voice trailed off.
"No reason to think there's any connection," Scott returned, "unless maybe that thing was prowling around the corral and spooked the horse. It's dead now, anyway. Come on," he added, seeing his brother was still unhappy, "let's get back to the ranch and ease your mind." He urged Remmie into a trot and Johnny followed, Toby happily following behind his stablemates.
They were nearing the hacienda when Scott caught a whiff of something, faint but distinct.
"Johnny, do you smell anything?"
"No," his brother sniffed the air. "Or, wait, yeah, smells like… "
"Like something's been burning," Scott finished grimly. Without need for further words the brothers spurred their horses and headed at top speed towards the ranch house.