The Trigger - Chapter 10

Half-cocked
1. a firearm at the position of half cock.
2. lacking mature consideration or enough preparation; ill-considered or ill-prepared; half-baked.
3. go off half-cocked, to act or happen prematurely. Also, go off at half cock.

Indicating the dead man lying at his feet, Johnny said without feeling, "He's the Doc's nephew. . .he's the leader. He said his name was Bradley Trader but he was probably lyin'." He wondered if Doc Weatherby was among the men who had attacked the house. Johnny hoped the Doc would just give himself up when he learned that Bradley was dead. Last thing Johnny wanted was to fire on the doctor, even after everything the old man had put him through, but he would kill him if he had to. The sound of rifle fire from the roof snapped Johnny to attention. Without another word, he turned away from the bodies and headed for the stairs. He took them two at a time with Scott at his side.

Scott grabbed Johnny's arm when they reached the landing of the second floor. There were a few lamps lit, but they provided barely enough light to navigate through the house. "Johnny," he whispered urgently. "Be careful. One of them might have slipped past the guards."

Johnny flattened himself against the wall and peered cautiously around the corner. He could see that the heavy door, the last barrier protecting the stairs to the tower, was closed. There was nobody in sight, not even Walt or the Secret Service men who should have been on guard. The house was very quiet; even the sound of gunfire from the roof had ceased.

"Cover me," Johnny ordered as he slipped across the corridor and tried the handle on the stout door. It was unlocked. He jerked his head for Scott to join him and started up the twisting staircase, his gun at the ready. The stairs made a turn every six steps and Johnny couldn't see past the next landing but there was a faint glow from above - just enough to navigate by. His spurs jangled loudly, or he felt they did, even though he ascended with caution. Scott was right behind him, on the alert for any trouble to the rear.

They reached the top without hearing anything amiss, but Johnny sensed that there was something wrong. There was another door at the top landing, and it stood slightly ajar. Johnny could picture the tower room. It was only about twenty feet across, with windows on all four sides. There was no easy access to the tiled roof that lay about ten feet below those windows, so the only way out was down the stairs they had just climbed.

Johnny risked a glance back at Scott, and a nod was all he needed to make the next move. He pushed open the door and they both stepped into the tower room.

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The first thing they saw was Walt, right in the center of the tower room, standing so close to President Grant he appeared to be hugging him - except the ranch hand pressed his revolver's muzzle right into the President's neck. Grant stood stock still, his compressed lips and slightly trembling hands giving hint as to his fear.

The whole scene was illuminated by an overhead lantern. A sweeping glance around the room told the Lancer brothers that nobody had been seriously harmed; Murdoch was standing to one side, shielding Teresa and Maria with his body. The women huddled together, trying to make themselves small and Teresa was crying. Their father's eyes widened when he saw Scott's blood-soaked shirt, but Scott gave a small signal with his hand that he was unharmed.

The two ranchers, Hoffsteader and Rockwell were seated on the floor near each other. One was holding a handkerchief to a bleeding scalp and the other sported a bruised jaw. Scott was relieved that the President's son wasn't present and he hoped Ulysses would stay where he was safe - out on the roof with Cipriano.

Walt forced Grant to stand in front of him and act as a shield.

Johnny held his gun to one side, away from his body, in an attempt to indicate he didn't intend to use it. "Walt? Whatever you're thinking of, it ain't worth it," he said calmly. "There's only one way outta here and that's past Scott and me. I don't know how you got mixed up in this but-."

"Shut up!" Walt yelled. He was wild-eyed and sweating, his youthful face marred by a look of hatred that Scott and Johnny had never witnessed in him before.

Scott made a slight motion with his hand, only intending to make a plea for Walt to calm down, but it was enough to make the young man jerk the President back a step.

Walt backed against the far wall, dragging Grant with him. He pressed the gun barrel deeper into the President's flesh and caused the big man to grunt in pain. "Don't you try anything," Walt cried in warning.

Scott holstered his revolver and held out his empty hands. "See? No gun," he assured the nervous man. "I don't know how you got mixed up in this, but it's not too late."

"You get your brother to drop his gun!" Walt nodded his head in Johnny's direction. "Either of you make any move at all and I'll blow off Grant's head!"

Johnny never took his eyes off Walt, staring him down, and although Johnny still held his gun away from his body and his finger wasn't even on the trigger, the tension in the small tower room heightened a notch. He badly wanted to take a shot at Walt. He knew, just knew he could take him out before the ranch hand even pulled the trigger on the gun he held on the President. Johnny tensed and took a slow breath, but before he could move his father spoke up.

"Johnny, don't." Murdoch took a couple of cautious steps forward until he was at the edge of Johnny's line of vision. "Let him go."

Scott said in a low voice, "We can't let him walk out of here."

With a fast, vicious movement, Walt rapped his gun on the side of the President's head. Grant's knees buckled and he cried out, but he didn't fall. "Drop your gun now, Johnny or I'm gonna shoot him! I swear I will!"

Grant swayed a little and he closed his eyes for a few seconds, but he recovered. Johnny slowly placed his revolver on the floor and backed off a step. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the President sag in defeat, but Johnny never took his eyes off Walt.

Walt grinned in triumph that he'd disarmed Johnny. "Even I'm not gonna miss hitting a target as big as this man here, and I'll still have enough bullets to finish off your old man, too."

Scott's face reddened with anger. "Murdoch has given you more breaks than any other employer ever would, Walt, and you know it. We've treated you like family-."

Walt's expression hardened. "If it wasn't for your brother, I never would've got shot by them Strykers. My arm's never been the same since. You Lancers owe me for that!" With a twisted smile he added, "And I'll be sure to keep a bullet just for your brother, Scott. I'm gonna blow his arm clean off. What do you think of that, Johnny?"

Johnny let out a short laugh. "Hell, Walt, you don't want to shoot anyone. Do you, boy?" His eyes slid away from the ranch hand to look at his brother. "He couldn't do this on his own, Scott. He's expecting someone bigger than him to come walking in any minute to do the dirty work." Johnny turned back to Walt and smiled tightly. "But, you see, Bradley ain't coming to your rescue. You know why? Cause I shot him dead and he's lying downstairs with half his head missing. So much for his plot to take Grant hostage."

At hearing Bradley's name, Walt jerked and for a moment he forgot to keep a tight grip on President Grant. The President took the opportunity to shove an elbow in his captor's ribs, putting all of his considerable weight behind it, then got out of Walt's way as fast as he could. He stumbled across the room. Walt yowled and doubled up in pain, his revolver still gripped in his hand, but aiming at nobody in particular until Johnny made a move in his direction.

The gun came up and Johnny skidded to a halt a few feet from Walt. There wasn't any room to maneuver and lunging at the armed man was foolhardy. At least Walt hadn't started shooting. . . yet.

Murdoch took hold of Grant and pulled him back against the wall in an attempt to offer him what little protection he could afford. At the same time Scott grabbed Teresa's arm and pushed her towards the stairs. Maria, eyes wide with fear, followed the girl with a speed Scott hadn't expected of her. The sound of the women's feet clattering down the staircase gave the Lancer men a small sense of victory.

Johnny made sure he was standing between Walt and the remaining hostages. Scott moved in beside him to create a shield. The ranch hand had backed up to the far side of the tower, his eyes darting around in panic. Even if Walt's aim was poor, the room was so small that he was sure to kill someone once he started firing.

Walt pointed his gun alternately at Scott and Johnny, unsure of what to do. He was sweating and he had to hold the gun with both hands to keep it steady. Finally he found his voice. "You can't have killed all Bradley's men. . ." His words trailed off when he caught the looks on the Lancer brothers' faces. "But they're the best unit. . ."

Scott said softly, "Now how about you just put that gun down before you hurt someone."

Behind them came the sound of footsteps and a man's voice boomed, calling out, "We killed every last one of them. It's safe for the rest of you to come down now."

Scott and Johnny cringed inwardly at the sound of Fox's voice but they didn't turn away from Walt, whose eyes widened. The brothers could hear the sound of movement behind them as the rest of the hostages hurriedly made their way to the staircase. Walt did nothing to stop them. Johnny felt someone's eyes on his back. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the President still remained in the tower room, as did Murdoch.

Fox stuck his head through doorway but never left the small landing. "What is going on up here?"

Murdoch said tersely, "Grant, you go right now."

Walt cocked his gun and aimed in the direction of Murdoch and Grant. "Oh no, you don't go anywhere, Grant! Bradley wanted you-."

Both Johnny and Scott jumped Walt at the same time. Scott struck at Walt's arm, deflecting the bullet intended for the President. Johnny tackled the gunman, the gun roared and they went down in a heap. Another gunshot resounded in the tower room, glass flew everywhere and everyone dropped to the floor.

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Very slowly, Scott raised his head, coughing in the smoke-filled room. Grant and Murdoch were helping each other up; Fox appeared at their side, confused. Two of his Secret Service men crowded past him into the room, guns drawn, but the danger appeared to be over.

Scott raised himself on one elbow and checked out the damage. Bits of glass fell out of his hair and he brushed more off his shirt but he stopped in mid-action. He was horrified to see that Johnny was lying face down with Walt on top of him, both unmoving. There was blood and broken glass everywhere.

His brother's name slipped from Scott's lips in a raspy whisper. "Johnny?" Johnny didn't move. Glass cut into Scott's palms as he scrambled on hands and knees to his brother's side, but the sharp pain was nothing compared to the fear that pierced his heart. "Johnny!" With shaking hands he shoved at Walt until he got Johnny free. Scott was overwhelmed by anger and a need to get Johnny away from the body of the man who had turned against them - their own man. He wrapped his arms around Johnny's chest and heaved until he dragged his limp brother several feet away from Walt.

Murdoch was there, helping him, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe away the blood that was streaming down Johnny's face from a cut on his scalp. Murdoch shook his son as if to awaken him from a slumber. "Son! Wake up!" The young man's eyes were closed, his face a red mask, still as death.

Someone placed a rolled-up jacket under Johnny's head and it wasn't until later that it registered in Scott's mind that it was Grant. The President never left the tower room, not even when he'd had the opportunity.

Fox and his men turned Walt over and inspected him. It was obvious that the ranch hand was dead - there was a huge hole in his chest. Fox gave a satisfied smile. "That's the last of them. My men rounded up a couple of stragglers and we have them in custody." He turned to President Grant. "You're safe now, Sir."

Grant glanced up at his Secret Service man. "What about my son?"

"He's fine, in fact my men are bringing him up now," Fox assured him. "He was never in any danger. I saw to that."

Grant's gaze slid away from Fox as if he gave the man's words no weight. He laid a hand on Murdoch's shoulder in an attempt to instill some sense of comfort even as they looked down on Johnny's unconscious body.

Scott kneeled over his brother, and cried, "Damn it, Johnny! Don't you give up now, not after everything we've been through!" Then in a quiet voice he pled, "You never told me what happened. You can't go yet."

Murdoch put a steady arm around Scott's shoulder. "Scott, it's all right."

Scott jerked out of his father's grasp and turned on him angrily. "No, it's not all right! This is wrong, all wrong! He can't -."

But Murdoch said insistently, "Scott, listen to me! He just hit his head on the floor. Look, he's coming to!"

At that moment Johnny coughed and one hand feebly lifted into the air. Scott grabbed it and laughed with relief. "You're not dead!"

Johnny opened his eyes a bit and squinted at Scott. "No. . .but Walt had better be," he mumbled in a raspy voice.

Scott didn't even glance over at Walt's body. "Believe me, he is, brother. It looks like you banged your head up when you hit the floor."

With a sideways squint at his brother, Johnny said, "He fell on top o' me."

The sound of heavy footsteps came from the stairs and a flurry of Spanish words overwhelmed Fox's lesser voice. Cipriano appeared in the doorway, his Sharps rifle in hand, his bulk making the tower room suddenly seem much smaller than it was. Right behind him was Ulysses Grant, Jr., his face creased with worry. In a second, the young man was in his father's arms and being crushed in a bear hug.

Despite the protests of both Murdoch and his brother, Johnny raised himself on one elbow. His father assisted him up the rest of the way. Johnny gingerly touched the back of his head where he had a lump, and winced. A stream of blood trickled down his forehead; he wiped it away with his palm then looked at his bloody fingers with bemusement.

Murdoch handed Johnny a wadded up handkerchief, even though it was already saturated with blood. It was all he had. He shook his head. "You're lucky you were only cut by a bit of flying glass."

Cipriano clamped a hand on Johnny's shoulder and grinned. "I would have taken the shot earlier but your big head, it got in the way." He indicated the broken tower window and shrugged. "It took me a while to find the best position."

The Lancers saw that Cipriano had taken the shot that killed Walt from the highest rooftop, and he had to clamber along a slippery tiled ridge in the dark to get to the vantage point. Murdoch met Cipriano's eyes and nodded his thanks. He owed his segundo more than he could ever repay and any words of thanks he gave would never express what he truly felt, but Cipriano knew. He knew.

The President also looked through the broken window and took in the dangerous feat that Cipriano had accomplished. He held out his hand to the big segundo and shook it with heartfelt thanks. "If you're ever in Washington, you come and stay with us," he offered. "That goes for all of you, of course," he said, including the Lancer men.

Cipriano shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "Your boy here, Ulises," he said using the Spanish version of his name, "He gave me aid, every step of the way. He is a good soldier. He is nothing like his name," he added cryptically.

Ulysses smiled with admiration at Cipriano. He told his father, "Señor Cipriano says my name means to be angry, and I was quite angry when I saw that man holding you hostage. But now it is over all I feel is relief. And gratitude."

Murdoch saw that Ulysses had blood on his sleeve. "And it appears you've received your first battle wound, young man. Someone will have sent for the doctor by now, so get downstairs and have it looked at." Murdoch watched Scott bind a handkerchief around a glass cut on his left hand, but he said nothing. His son would have it taken care of after the President's son and everyone else was tended to. There were sure to be other injuries from the firefight, and there would be the dead to be seen to as well.

Grant began to fuss over his son's injury, but Ulysses shrugged his father off, saying that it was only a graze. Johnny saw that Ulysses was proud of what appeared to be a flesh wound, and he hoped, for the boy's sake, that that was the closest he'd ever come to any kind of danger. Cipriano and the young man left the tower and headed for the kitchen to wait for the doctor to arrive.

Johnny sought his gun and saw it lying near Walt's body. He was just bending to retrieve it when Fox stepped forward and pointed at him. "None of this would have happened," he accused, "if Johnny Lancer hadn't revealed our secret plans to the enemies of the country."

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