Ch. 2.
The aroma of a freshly baked crisp apple pie delighted my senses. A woman's voice humming such a sweet tune danced off the clay walls. She twirled as she sprinkled sugar upon her creation. Beside the door, a man stood smiling. He grabbed at the woman and they danced in the kitchen. Great laughter filled the house as they tripped over the dog and fell to the floor. A small child stepped through the door from the outside covered in mud. Soon the entire family was smeared with mud as the child jumped onto the pile laying on the floor. A shot echoed throughout the house and the man lay gasping for air as blood exploded from his throat. It coated the inside of his mouth and spilled over on the grassless earth. The crying child looked up from the grave from which it had standing.
"Daddy!"
I breathed deeply and opened my eyes just a slit to observe my new surroundings. I could feel it, cold and wet, slowly appear from the corner of my eye. I let it fall for it had been some time since this feeling of sadness washed over. Upon a bright white pillow my head lay, above the brown clay ceiling reminded me how bland life was. I heard no noise, but the birds which flew free outside, singing their songs of hope. My mind attempted to erase the dream that plagued me and brought forth a tear that had been trapped within myself for years.
Pushing up upon the bed, the pain racked my body and I bit my lip causing blood to flow. A white bandage wrapped my side, a dark red stain just below my rib cage reminded me that I someone shot me. I looked around the room for my clothes, but nothing of mine was found. I looked once again at my bare chest and sighed. Throwing the covers off, I placed my feet upon the cold floor.
A doctor once told me when I was shot, from a buffalo hunter some years back, that I was bred to be stubborn. I say anyone who has Irish pumping threw their veins is going to be born stubborn. I shuffled my feet toward the drawer and smiled by what I found inside. The pants were quite itchy and were a size too big, but I did not care for I had to escape from this luxurious prison. Just as I had buttoned up the dark blue shirt, soft footsteps approached the door. A small white hand pushed through the door followed by a woman wearing a yellow blouse and black, floor-lengthen skirt. Her wavy brown hair covered one side of her face as she stopped abruptly as the bed that held a body when she left was now empty. My hands were still gripping the top button as she looked over at me. My eyes fell upon her and then shifted over to the unmade empty bed then back upon her.
"Morning!" She happily said while taking a step toward me.
"Morning." My voice was harsher then I meant it to be.
The young woman took another step toward me smiling.
"The doctor said you need to stay in bed for a least a week to heal up properly."
Without hesitation and with some sassiness in my voice I replied,
"Oh, I bet he did! But I have an appointment to make, so really I must be off." I grabbed the jacket from the hanger and stepped toward the door.
"The sheriff still needs to come by and get a statement. Again, you were shot and need to rest." Her voice was a little sterner this time and her eyes narrowed.
"I appreciate you patching me up. I won't press any charges against your brother for shooting me for the help. I just need to get my horse, my hat, and I will be on my way!"
"You press charges against us! If anything, we would press charges against you!" She cried back. An older white haired man appeared behind her. My hand slid down to where my gun belt should have been just out of instinct. He stepped into the room and grabbed the woman's shoulders.
"Teresa, Scott is waiting for you in the study." She wrinkled her nose at me and narrowed her eyes before turning and storming off. I obliged and stared her down as she went. Slowly my narrowed eyes returned to the old man. He sighed and sat down in the chair beside the bed.
"Six hundred head of cattle are missing. They were taken a few nights ago by a band of rustlers. As my sons and some of my hands went to go handle the situation, someone ambushed them. I have two men dead and many questions that need answers." He interlocked his fingers and placed them on his right knee. His eyes flicked on me.
"What were you doing on Lancer land when my son found you?"
"Wow, no introduction to who you are. Slightly rude Mr. Lancer, slightly rude. You seem to be a bright old man, I am sure you will figure it out." I paused and shifted my stance. "This is not my first interrogation, Mr. Lancer. Your fake caring demeanor can be shoved back where it came from." I stepped forward pointing my finger at him. "If you thought I did something, I would already be watching life behind bars. Yet, I see I am here." I walked to the window and placed my arm on the sill.
"You are here because you were injured and needed care." Murdoch replied anger spewing with his words.
"Yet, you said just a few seconds ago and I quote 'a few nights ago'. So why am I still here?" I yelled back at him. He stood up suddenly and clenched his fist. We stared each other down.
"Murdoch?" The soft calm voice broke the tension and we both looked at the new visitor. He had a rough personality, but his blue eyes revealed what lay underneath. For a brief second my anger disappeared and sense of relief rushed over me.
"Hello Madrid." He looked over at me. His eyes swept up and down me then went back to Murdoch.
"Yes, Johnny?" The old man replied.
"The count of stolen cattle has risen. We have lost close to nine hundred head."
I smiled and nodded my head much to the displeasure of the men in front of me.
"You think that's funny?" Madrid replied.
I looked at him smirking. "Funny? No, that's quite upsetting. I mean I would be devastated to learn that a bunch of rag tag cowboys stole almost one thousand head of cattle from right under my nose." I turned and smiled at Mr. Lancer. "But then again, I don't have that much cattle or that much money so I would call this daring feat magnificent!"
"Come on Johnny". They both turned and headed for the door. I stepped closer toward Madrid and raised my voice.
"Never thought I would see the day Johnny Madrid would hire out for a rich guy!"
He turned quickly and we squared up face to face.
"The name is Lancer, Johnny Lancer!"
"Good." I replied nodding my head. "Well, when you see Madrid give him this message for me then!"
I turned slightly away and then threw a right hook at his chin. He stumbled back and stepped up holding his fist up, hurt and anger in his blue eyes.
"If you anyone else." He whispered. Mr. Lancer grabbed his son and dragged him from the room.
"If I was what? A male? You still won't hit me you coward!" I grabbed my now sore hand as they exited the room. The birds, outside the window, had flew away, scared from the commotion inside. My mind flashed back to the little child. She was running down the hill, her little braids flapping in the wind. Her father lay on the ground, his legs twitching as he gagged on his blood. Tears streamed down her face as she ran to her father. He reached out and grabbed her braid leaving a smeared blood stain on them. He attempted to speak, but blood sprayed out upon her face. His legs stopped twitching and the gurgling, choking sound ceased. His brown eyes rolled toward her, but the father which she had known was gone.
She grabbed at the rifle at the ground and attempted to raise it at the rider as he cantered away. Only half way she raised it before it fell to the ground, the weight to much for a young child to bear. Her screams filled the empty fields and vacant house. Tears streamed down her face as she shook her father's limp corpse. Scream after scream for him to wake up was met with silence. She curled up next to her father and grabbed his cold, bloody hand. From the sky, the first snowflake of the season fell. It touched her pink cheek and melted.
"Daddy, please!" She whimpered.