I needed Johnny Madrid, but he was going to talk price. The question I had to face was: what price was I prepared to pay? Joe Carbajal had been right; land was the surest offer to get a commitment that would keep the gunfighter from switching sides, but how much land? How much would he want? I loved Lancer more than anything on God's earth. To lose control of what I'd given my life to, and that had given my life meaning for the past twenty years, was unthinkable. I had to make sure that I'd still be able to call the tune. In plain arithmetic, that meant that Johnny – no, Madrid the gunfighter; I mustn't think of him as my son Johnny – couldn't be offered more than half the ranch. In fact, it had better be less and just in case Madrid got ideas about forcing a deal for a larger portion, I had to put a cap on the offer that he couldn't argue with. But how? I'd offered Joe Barker a share in the ranch; if he answered my letter then there would be a perfect solution. I could tell Madrid that one third of Lancer was promised already, so the limit for his share was another third. But time was passing and still I'd heard nothing from Barker. I couldn't afford to wait any longer.

In the days spent in bed in a recovery that was frustratingly slow, my mind churned through the problem over and over, but only came up with more complications. Teresa rightly, though uselessly, tried to get me to relax.
"Mr Lancer, I know you're worried over everything but you need to get well. That's the most important thing right now."
"There are other important things, too," I answered her. Yes, there was another thing I had been thinking about, and now I broached the subject.
"Teresa, I want you to go somewhere safe. There's too much danger here."
"Leave Lancer? Where would I go?"
"I was thinking Sacramento. You have friends there, girls you went to school with, and your old schoolteachers. You could stay with Mrs Hawks; maybe even go East with Mr Hawks when he gets in with the next wagon train, to St Joseph or St Louis."
"Are you going to leave?" she asked.
"No. I won't let Lancer be taken away from me by those land pirates. I'll stay as long as there's any land to fight for."
"Then I'm staying, too." She knelt down beside the bed and took my hand.
"Honey, it's dangerous..." I began, but she interrupted me.
"The only things I have left are Lancer and you. I'll stay and fight for both."

Finally Doc Jenkins allowed me to get out of bed and sit in an armchair.
"So I'm going to live this time?"
"Yes, this time. My professional recommendation is not to get in the way of any more bullets."
"It's going to be a while before I get in the way of anything," I responded. "How long until I can walk again?"
"I'll give you an honest answer, Murdoch: I don't know. The bullet nicked your spine and did some damage to the nerve. A nerve injury can heal eventually but it may take a long time."
It was about what I had expected, and feared. Time – a luxury I couldn't afford. Well, there were a couple of things at least that I could get taken care of, while I was stuck in my invalid chair.
"Sam, would you ask Mr Randolph to come and see me?"
"Sure. I'll give him the message when I get back to town."

I was lucky in my professional men, both doctor and lawyer. I found out how just how lucky the next day when James Randolph was shown into my bedroom. I'd sent for him to get a partnership agreement drawn up, so that I would have the document ready to show Madrid. One-third shares was the best option, I had decided: one to Madrid, one for me and as for the third share, well, I would leave the name blank for the moment, until I could think of another prospective partner who Madrid would find credible.

The first thing I spoke to Mr Randolph about was altering my will. I needed to provide for Teresa; she was alone in the world now – the mother who had left when she was no more than a baby and never been heard from since didn't count – and her father had died working for me. Nothing could make up to Teresa for the loss of her father but I could make sure her future was secure. I owed that to Paul.

I instructed Mr Randolph on the stocks and investments I wanted left to her. He noted it all down and checked it through with me, then said,
"And the remainder of your estate is unchanged? Ownership of the ranch to be divided between your two sons, a half share each?"

I was silent for a moment. Stunned, in fact, as I realized what I had been about to do: offer Johnny Madrid one third of the ranch to fight alongside me when my death at the hands of Pardee would give him half! It could have been a fatal mistake: why should he go up against fellow gunfighters when he would end up better off by just standing back and letting them get on with their job?
Mr Randolph waited patiently, making allowance for a sick man.
"I'll be changing that," I told him. My mind was racing. "Could you draw up an agreement of partnership in the ranch: three equal shares."
"Certainly. An excellent idea, if I may say so. One third each to Scott Lancer and John Lancer, with you retaining control of the remaining one third plus executive direction, I presume?"

Bless his professional mind! In one sentence, he had solved my dilemma. The plan fell into place neatly and perfectly, all in a moment. Tell Johnny that I was making the same offer to Scott, one third each. Of course, I would have to actually make the offer to Scott, but that was academic. The Boston gentleman who was my elder son would have no interest in owning a California ranch.