The Trigger - Chapter 8

Half cock ~ n. The position of the hammer of a firearm when it is raised halfway and locked by a catch so that the trigger cannot be pulled.

"If you aim to use that on me, old woman," Johnny warned with a tight smile, "you'd better cock it good because I don't keep a live one under the hammer. Only five bullets in it," he lied.

It only took a couple of seconds for the lady to glance down and pull back on the hammer, but the gun was heavy and her hands small and she had some difficulty with it.

Johnny slammed his hand down and clamped it over hers, stopping the hammer from retracting all the way. With a smooth motion he jerked his gun out of her hands and picked her up bodily. Esther screamed and caused a ruckus, but Johnny paid no attention to her cries. He dumped her unceremoniously in an empty, windowless pantry closet and shut the door on her. With a heavy kitchen chair jammed under the knob, there was no way she was going to get out on her own. Esther hammered on the door, begging for him to release her, but Johnny ignored her pleas.

He found his holster in her carpetbag and quickly strapped the gun belt around his hips, then glanced around the two downstairs rooms. Both the parlor and the bedroom looked like they hadn't even been inhabited, but he found his saddlebag and hat on the bare mattress. The whole house, Johnny now knew, had been a stage, and he and the Weatherbys, if that was their real name, were the principle players.

Wasting no more time, Johnny strode out the door and hurried to the stable at the back of the house. He threw open the big double doors, fervently hoping that the Doc and Bradley had left one horse behind, even if it was an old carriage nag. To Johnny's surprise and delight, there was a horse in the stable and it was his own palomino, his friend Barranca. "Mucho gracias, Dios," Johnny whispered. "Barranca, I never expected to see you here." He clung to his horse's neck for a few moments and then laughed. Barranca, apparently just as happy to be reunited with his master, let out a soft nicker and stood still while Johnny quickly threw a saddle on his back. The days he'd spent in bed had taken a toll on him and his head was swimming a bit, but Johnny gritted his teeth and mounted his horse.

Within minutes he was urging his horse up the farm track and away from the house in which he'd been an unwitting prisoner for three long days. When Johnny came to the end of the lane and found a small road, he wheeled his mount around, trying to get his bearings. He didn't have any time to lose, but he had no clue which direction he had to take to get to Atwater. In the end he went by instinct and set off south at a fast pace.

They had covered only a few miles when Johnny spurred his horse up a hill to get a better view of the country. It took a while for Barranca to take him to the top, but when they finally halted at the highest point, Johnny caught his breath while he stood in the stirrups to look around. Below him was a shadowed valley with a small river meandering down its center, and way at the far end he could see the clustered buildings of a small town, its church tower rising in its center.

Johnny couldn't believe his eyes. The town down in the valley was not Atwater but Morro Coyo! Although he was positive he was right, he needed a minute to convince himself his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. The Weatherby's men must have secretly carried his unconscious body out of the Atwater Hotel, then taken him by wagon all the way to their farmhouse. They had even retrieved Barranca from the Green River livery. Johnny would have been blamed for being in cahoots with Bradley and his men, and when he disappeared the authorities would assume he'd headed for the border.

The Weatherbys and their snake of a nephew must have chosen a location close to Lancer in the hope of getting a opportunity to discover the details of the Lancers' plans for President Grant's visit. They sure had gone to a lot of trouble on the slim chance he'd give away some important information.

He'd been only a short distance from home all this time. Maybe it wasn't too late to warn his family! Hopeful for the first time in days, Johnny urged Barranca down the hill and headed in the direction of Lancer.

As he hurried along his head cleared up considerably and something Esther had said came back to him.

/She said I was 'nothing like the man we were told to expect.' That's what she said. Who told them what to expect? How did they know I'd be in Atwater to meet Fox and his cronies? Or that Murdoch was given the job of finding a ranch for President Grant to visit? Someone must have known what we were up to, or known enough to waylay me. Someone from Lancer? No, that's not possible./

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Something wasn't right at the Lancer hacienda. In the fading light of day it was clear that there were no ranch hands to be seen, no sign of life at all. There was no indication that Murdoch and Scott had already returned and had the President safe inside the hacienda. They would have been concerned about his absence, been cautious, taken further steps to ensure the safety of their guest. Now Johnny worried that Bradley Trader and his team of assassins had bushwhacked the President's party on the road somewhere between the railhead and the hacienda.

Johnny cautiously circled at a distance and approached the back of the house. He slowed Barranca down to a walk then reined in and tied his horse out of sight behind one of the outer buildings. Johnny edged around the side of the stucco garden wall, his eyes skimming the roofline of the house. If there were any guards posted up there, he couldn't see hide nor hair of them. If there were, he hoped they wouldn't shoot him on site.

Keeping down low, Johnny ran for the house, sticking to the deep shadows cast by the hacienda walls. The side door was not locked - that was not a good sign. After slipping in and quietly closing the door behind him, Johnny stood in the dim hall long enough for his heavy breathing to subside. Through the thick interior walls he thought he could hear the sound of voices in conversation, but when he took a few steps down the hall and poised outside the door that led to the kitchen, the house was deathly quiet.

Maybe he'd imagined hearing voices. Maybe there was nobody home because they were all dead. Maybe he'd been unconscious for those four months, just like the Doc had said and it really was October and his father and brother and Teresa were dead and buried out in the family plot.

/No, you only lost three days, not four months. It was all a smokescreen. The Doc and his wife, they lied to you from the start. They lied! Just take it easy, easy! You have to warn them that Bradley and his men are planning an attack./

Even though his common sense told him he had only been away for a short time, Johnny felt the icy fingers of uncertainty clutching at his heart. He was scared that he was about to find out that he really was alone in the world and that his family, everyone he had ever loved, were all gone forever. Johnny broke out into a cold sweat, convinced that months had indeed passed since he'd been in this house. It just felt like time had lurched forward and he was now awakening after being in limbo. What if they really were gone? Perhaps Doc Weatherby was exactly who he said he was, and the President had already been assassinated. Johnny wondered, what if he had not made it home in time to change those terrible events? The past and the future were all mixed up and he couldn't get it straight in his mind.

Johnny told himself he had to open that door in order to find out the truth. He took a deep breath, reached for the knob and slowly opened the door to the kitchen.

The kitchen was not only warm and bright, lit by the big overhead lamp, but there were signs that someone had been cooking up quite a feast. Pots and pans, pastry boards, utensils, jars of all sizes, meat and vegetables, and large china serving dishes were occupying every surface. The smell of the food was enough to make Johnny's mouth water.

He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, relieved beyond measure that the house was not empty after all, when a noise came from beyond the door that led towards the dining room. Someone was coming. Alarmed, Johnny ran to the oversized lamp that hung over the work counter and hurriedly doused it, throwing the kitchen into near darkness.

He flattened himself against the wall behind the door and drew his revolver. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he watched the door slowly open. As soon as a figure stepped into the kitchen, Johnny jumped forward and grabbed his victim around the neck. A large serving tray fell to the tile floor with a resounding clatter and it took Johnny only another second to identify the person he had in a chokehold. He immediately released the person he had been choking - Teresa - and steadied her while she recovered from the rough treatment. "Dios! I'm sorry, Teresa! Are you all right? I didn't mean to hurt you-."

With her hands to her sore throat, Teresa stared at him and gasped, "Johnny! You're back. . ." She coughed and Johnny started to apologize again, but she grasped his arm and managed to say, "Everyone's been wondering. . . where you were, Johnny? We thought the worst!"

Johnny quickly drew the girl in his arms and held on to her, his eyes closing tightly. Such an immense sense of relief washed over him that he couldn't even speak. The door swung open and Scott appeared with his gun drawn. Alarm immediately turned into astonishment. The wide-eyed look on Scott's face was enough to tell Johnny that his brother's feelings mirrored his own.

Scott asked with a grin, "Damn it, Johnny, where the hell have you been?" He glanced down at the tray that Teresa had dropped. "I can see," he said dryly, "you're begging to be shot by one of the Secret Service men."

Johnny released Teresa and smiled ruefully. "Yeah, well I'm here now. Been sorta tied up." Then he grew serious. "Murdoch, is he. . . is he all right?"

"He's fine. He's in there, with our guests." Scott laid a hand on Johnny's arm in concern. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

Johnny swallowed hard and shook his head. "No time. Grant's in danger."

At that moment Maria bustled in carrying a tray of dishes, with none other than Mr. Fox right behind her. Fox must have heard Johnny's last words because he scanned the dark kitchen and asked brusquely, "What's going on in here? Who said Grant's in danger?"

Maria greeted Johnny in Spanish and bustled over to put her dishes down. She relit the lamp, muttering under her breath and casting glances of derision in Fox's direction. Teresa moved to the older woman's side but didn't take her eyes off the trio of men.

Fox looked Johnny up and down, frowning. "Where have you been, Lancer?"

Johnny had a hard time refraining from punching Fox in the face. Instead he stood only inches from the shorter man and growled, "You forgot to tell me something, Fox. Like about the team of assassins out to get the President?"

For a few seconds, it looked as though Fox was going to deny that he knew what Johnny was talking about, but then he took a deep breath and admitted, "We have been keeping an eye on some suspicious characters, but they present no danger. Nobody knows the President is here. My men haven't seen anything amiss."

"Then their eyesight must be mighty poor." Johnny turned to his brother. "We need to alert our men. Trouble's comin'. Maybe a dozen men are heading this way." He looked at Fox coldly. "I have to talk to Grant. Is he in there?"

Fox blustered, "You just waltz in here after being missing for three days and you think I'm going to let you anywhere near the President?" He prodded Johnny's chest with two fingers to emphasize his words. "Not likely, not until you tell me where you've been, young man! What have you been up to?"

Scott warned, "My brother doesn't answer to you, Fox."

"No, it's all right, Scott." Johnny said, with deadly calm, "I'll tell you where I've been, Fox. I've been in a place where I've seen the future, and the good news is you're not in it. So how about you back off, before you lose those fingers of yours?"

The agent removed his hand without needing any further incentive.

Johnny said, "There's a gang heading this way that I didn't invite for supper." He looked over Fox's shoulder and at Scott. "We need to move. Now, brother."

Johnny pushed past the Secret Service man as if he wasn't even there, but Fox took hold of his arm and hissed between his teeth, "You are not going to go in there!" Johnny's glance down at the hand on his arm was enough to make Fox release his grip, but the agent said tersely, "I can't allow you to alarm President Grant. He'll have my head if this dinner is ruined."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "You'd prefer him dead?"

Shifting his weight, Fox pulled at his tight collar with a couple of fingers. He looked from one Lancer brother to the other. "I'll inform my men of this possible danger," he allowed then left the kitchen.

"And we'll make sure ours are on alert," Scott added. "How about we go in and introduce you first, Johnny, and then we'll hustle Grant out of there."

Johnny asked his brother in a low tone, "How was it I got in here so easy? Nobody challenged me." He indicated the way he'd entered the kitchen.

Scott frowned. "That door was unlocked? It should have been secured. Isidro and Frank are on the roof, and our other three men are outside, guarding the south and west sides of the house. I'll go up to the roof first." He glanced back at Maria, who waited with a protective arm around Teresa. They were both wide-eyed and apprehensive. "Maria, bolt that door. Teresa, you come back into the dining room. You shouldn't be in the kitchen when we have a guest." He smiled. "It'll be fine. Take your seat until we get Grant up and to somewhere more secure in the house." He held out a hand in invitation and the girl stepped forward to take his arm.

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Murdoch was seated at the head of the dining room table, closest to the kitchen door. He half-turned around as soon as Scott escorted Teresa in, then did a double take when Johnny slipped in right after Fox. Murdoch immediately pushed his chair back, dropped his linen napkin on his near-empty plate and stood to greet his missing son. "Johnny!"

Even though Johnny could see that Murdoch was fine, his heart was in his mouth. He knew that there were guests sitting around the sumptuously laid dining table, but he only had eyes for his father. Johnny reached out and grasped Murdoch's forearm, although he badly wanted to hug the old man.

Murdoch smiled, but he must have seen something troubling in Johnny's eyes because he asked tersely, "What's wrong?"

Johnny was suddenly conscious of the intent looks from the people at the table, and his hand dropped away from his father's. Murdoch took the cue and introduced his second son to the man seated at the head of the table. "President Grant, this is my son, Johnny Lancer."

Johnny walked past a couple of neighboring ranchers who sat at the table in their best Sunday suits, and gave them a curt nod of greeting. Hoffsteader and Rockwell both looked a bit out of their element and somewhat overwhelmed by being seated at the same table as the President of the United States.

Next to the President sat young man of about twenty who made no attempt to disguise his curiosity about Johnny. Johnny took him to be Grant's son, the Harvard-educated boy. He wore a fancy suit with a Western cut to it, but his shirt boasted frills at the neck and cuffs. Johnny almost laughed, picturing Scott's similar mode of dress when he first arrived at Lancer.

The gentlemen rose a little from their chairs until Scott settled Teresa in her place at the table. Scott remained standing behind her chair, but his eyes wandered towards the French doors as if expecting trouble. Fox had a quick word with the two Secret Service agents who were on guard, one by the French doors, the other near the front entrance. He waited until they had pulled the drapes across the big windows before he positioned himself behind the President. Grant didn't appear to notice the man hovering over him.

When Johnny strode to the end of the table and extended his hand in greeting the President gave it a firm shake and cocked his head a little to one side. He fixed his pale gray eyes on Johnny and said in a rumbling voice, "So, young man, I finally get to meet you."

Johnny shifted his weight, anxious to leave in order to check the perimeter of the hacienda, yet uncomfortably aware that all eyes were upon him. "Sorry to be late, sir. Couldn't be helped."

When the President leaned back and looked him over, Johnny returned the inspection just as boldly. Grant, although a stocky man, evoked the kind of power that came hand in hand with intelligence and confidence. His face was broad, eyes deep set, and his mouth was down-turned as if he was displeased. "Your father and brother have been talking about your many merits, Mr. Lancer," the President said, "but I was beginning to think you didn't really exist."

Johnny took in a breath at Grant's words; the man didn't know how close he was to the truth. "I'm real enough. No disrespect intended, Mr. Grant."

Grant's frown changed into a smile and his eyes twinkled. "None taken, Johnny. This is my second son, Ulysses," he said with a wave of his hand to indicate the young man sitting next to him. "He's been itching to see a demonstration of some of the fancy shooting the West is renowned for, and I have a feeling you're just the man to demonstrate for us." He looked at Johnny's gun belt and said casually, "Samuel's a fine craftsman. Yes, indeed."

Grant didn't miss much, Johnny could tell. "Yes sir, but if you don't mind me saying, this might be a good time for you to sample a cigar in my father's study." Johnny turned to Murdoch and tried to convey the sense of urgency that was gnawing at his gut. They had to get the President into a back room or somewhere safer than the exposed dining room before all hell broke loose.

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