The next afternoon I was surveying the burnt-out field with Cipriano and some of the other hands, assessing the damage. Johnny had gone into town in the morning 'to break up one of them gold pieces', as he'd told Teresa. No surprise there; a gunfighter with money in his pocket wouldn't be content lounging around on a ranch. Scott and Teresa had also gone into Morro Coyo after lunch. I'd been in time to witness an impressive display of horsemanship by Scott in the morning, reminding me that his army service had been in a cavalry unit. But his fashionable Boston outfit had been somewhat worse for wear afterward, and he'd gone with Teresa to buy himself some clothes more suitable for a working ranch. I was pleased – it was one more sign that he intended to stay.

As we looked across the stretch of blackened grass, there came a shout from the road.
"Señor Murdoch!" It was one of the Lancer vaqueros, coming at a gallop.
"Señor Murdoch! Isidro! ¡Es terrible!"
"What is it, man? What's the matter," I demanded as he jumped off his horse and ran up to me.
"I ride, I see smoke at Gaspar's place, I ride over there, I see... patrón!" The vaquero burst into tears, collapsing against me in distress.

Johnny, along with Scott and Teresa in the buckboard, had followed the vaquero up from the Morro Coyo road. I took Teresa's place in the buckboard and we headed to Gaspar's homestead at top speed.

What we saw at the neighboring ranch was past description; it was sheer barbarous brutality. The place was destroyed, the remains of fences stood blackened, one wagon was still burning. The rancher's body was strung up by the feet above the barn door. We all just stood and stared for a moment, appalled beyond any words. I thought of his family. Where were they? I climbed down from the wagon and limped to the house.
"Maria!" I called as I opened the door. Gaspar's wife was in the house, raped and murdered, the butchered bodies of her children beside her.

"The trail is clear. They rode for the San Benitos," Cipriano reported. I made up my mind.
"Isidro..."
"Si, Patrón"
"You keep a man here, take care of them. I'll send the others back, armed."

We returned to the hacienda. I gave my orders for the men to be armed and mounted, ready to go after Pardee, and was about to go upstairs to finalize the plan with Scott and Johnny when Teresa stopped me.
"Murdoch..." Her voice was hesitant and it was obvious that something was troubling her.
"What is it, honey?"
"When we were in Morro Coyo... oh, it might not mean anything..."
"Go on – whatever it is, it's better that I know."
"Well, when Scott and I were in the store, some of Pardee's men came in. They started a fight with Scott. I thought Johnny might be in town, I'd seen his horse as we drove in, so I ran out to find him. He was there, outside the cantina ... he could see the store; he must have known Scott was in trouble, but he didn't go to help. Even when I asked him, he wouldn't do anything. He just stayed where he was and watched. It might not mean anything..." she repeated, her voice trailing off, but the distress on her face said all that she was reluctant to put into words.

As I walked up the hallway towards Scott's room, I saw Johnny standing in the doorway and heard him and Scott arguing.
"Don't you think we oughta talk about this?" demanded Johnny.
"We can talk on the way, while we're after them," came Scott's response.
Johnny stepped into the room as he asked, "Did you ever think that that's exactly what they want us to do?"
"The thought did cross my mind," Scott's voice held controlled impatience, "but that trail could also lead us to their camp."
"Unless they double back through Morro Coyo, that way they can hit the ranch while we're miles away somewhere chasin' tracks."

I entered the room, Cipriano behind me.
"The men are all mounted and waiting. Cipriano!" I turned to Scott. "You said you wanted to talk to him."
"Cipriano, you said the tracks lead to the San Benito Mountains. You know them well?" asked Scott.
"Like my hand, Señor."
"Is there a pass up there?"
"A steep one. And narrow."
"Can you find it?"
"With my eyes shut, Señor."
"Good," Scott assented. He had stepped into the role of leader, taking charge of the maneuver as he must have done when a cavalry officer, forming a plan and executing it. He did no bragging – he didn't need to. He was simply doing a job that he knew he could do.

He looked over at Johnny: "Ready?"
Johnny stared at him and then turned to me. "You know what's gonna happen up there with a couple of cowhands and a tin soldier?" He turned back to his brother. "That sun'll be coming down in about half an hour, and you're gonna be stumblin' around up there in the dark blowin' each others heads off."
Scott looked over at me. "You call the tune, what do you say?"
"I say you go." My faith, I realized, was slowly shifting from Johnny to Scott. He headed for the door.
"Cipriano, tell the men we'll be right there."
He stopped in the doorway and turned back to Johnny, "Coming?"
Johnny said nothing. Scott followed Cipriano out. Johnny stayed.

I watched them leave then turned to Johnny. "Are you going or not?"
"Is that an order?" he queried, a touch of challenge in his voice.
"There's only one man that's going to run this ranch," I told him. I had thought I had made that clear already.
"Pardee is sucking you out in the open. He'll either cut your cowboys to shreds up there in that pass or go for you in this house when nobody's here. Now, you've got one chance. Hole up here and wait."
"For what?"
"'Til I've found Pardee." This was what I had wanted him to do when I sent for him; go out and get Pardee. So why did it sound so feeble now? A declaration that thirteen good men under competent leadership were useless and only he, Johnny Madrid, could counter Day Pardee. Was it sheer bravado? Or, a small niggling voice inside me asked, was there something worse? I just couldn't trust him, try as I might. I heard myself say,
"Maybe you've found him already." I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth but it was too late.
"Well, go on," he challenged.
"What were you doing in Morro Coyo?"
"Is that what you think of me?"
"I don't know what to think of you."
"Think what you like!" Johnny headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I never was much good at takin' orders."
He left.