Night came. I told Teresa I'd sit up for a while and settled in an armchair, the mug of beer that was my excuse in my hands. I didn't bother with a lamp; the light of the fire was enough for my thoughts. My mind went back over the last two days – had it really been only two days?

Scott – I'd forgotten about his army service, or rather had simply not given it a thought until his comment about a 'military problem'. Perhaps because I only heard of him through the occasional mention of Harlan Garrett's grandson in the society columns of the Boston newspapers I got every month, I'd thought of him as a New England gentleman, cultured and refined. But he was a veteran of a war, a cavalry officer, as much a fighting man as Johnny Madrid. I wondered what made him come to California. It wasn't the money after all; he hadn't wanted it. Adventure, perhaps? Had he found Boston too tame after the years in the army? Maybe I'd find out some time. He was going to stay; I'd have the chance to get to know him.

Johnny – how had things gone so off course with Johnny? I'd intended to keep everything business-like, a straightforward transaction; from the way he spoke in Nogales, I'd assumed that was what Johnny would want. But right from the start, it was clear that Johnny saw me first and foremost as a father he resented. And for myself, I'd never been able to regard him as just a hired gun. At a distance, I could make myself think of him as Madrid, the gunfighter I'd watched in Yuma, but face to face he was my son, he was Johnny.

Towards midnight I heard someone come into the room.
"Who's there?"
"It's me." I wasn't altogether surprised to hear Teresa's voice.
"I suppose it would be no good if I told you to go to bed."
"I'll fix the fire." She picked up the poker and pushed the logs. Sparks flew up and the fire blazed. She turned to me.
"You're thinking about your sons out there, aren't you?"
"They're strangers to me."
"It'll take a little time, but once they get to know you ..."
"And stop hating me?"
"Oh they don't hate you, they want to love you!" Sweet girl, she always seized on the best way of looking at everything. I didn't know whether that was foolish, naïve, or the best way to be.
"I oughta get myself a dog, they don't answer back!" I said.
Teresa knelt beside my chair and rested her head on my arm.
"Miss your daddy, don't you?" I said to her, stroking her hair.
"Yes, but I've got you," she replied.
"You have, you surely have," I answered her. My sons might or might not stop hating me, my ranch might or might not be saved, but I knew at that moment the assurance of one thing I had – a goddaughter's love.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

As the sun was rising, Scott and the vaqueros returned. I heard Scott giving his orders, placing men on the walls and roof, ready for the probable attack. He came in to where Teresa and I waited.

"What happened?" I asked.
"Nothing ... yet." said Scott. "We rode just far enough to make them think we'd taken the bait, then we cut back through Cipriano's pass. They should be along soon. It'll be daylight in a few minutes." He poured himself a drink, taking a moment's respite. He exuded quiet confidence, satisfied with how things had gone so far and in control of the situation; a leader whom everyone, myself included, could trust. I realized that, ironically, it was going to be this son whom I had sent for as a mere token gesture who would save the ranch, if it was going to be saved.

"Teresa, get my rifle," I said. She left the room to fetch the gun.
"Where's Johnny?" Scott asked.
"Gone," I told him.
"Gone where?"
"What difference." Gone to join Pardee, gone back to Mexico, what difference? He was gone, gone as surely as I'd known him to be since that day in Nogales. I'd been a fool to ever hope for anything else.

We got our rifles ready and waited. Not for long; it was only a few minutes later that the ranch bell sounded. Scott ran to the window.
"Here they come!" A troop of riders were in sight, galloping towards the hacienda. Scott and I went outside and took up positions on the terrace. Teresa stayed closer to the door but she had a box of bullets with her, ready to do her part reloading the guns. The men started raising their rifles.
"Hold your fire, they're still out of range," Scott ordered.

One man was galloping in, well ahead of the others.
"Here comes the first one," Scott said, raising his rifle as the rider jumped the fence and headed straight towards the house, galloping hard. I raised my own gun then suddenly realized who the rider was.
"Wait!" I yelled. "It's Johnny!" My heart sank. Johnny had joined with Pardee. He'd not just left – he'd chosen to fight on the opposite side. There was one dreadful moment, but then as we watched, he turned in the saddle and fired at the men behind him. I had been wrong. He wasn't leading them in, they were chasing him.

Pardee's men were firing at Johnny as they rode. Johnny fired again and one man fell. Then Pardee raised his gun and fired and we saw Johnny tumble off his horse to the ground as the bullet struck. I closed my eyes for a moment. Johnny was dead. The years of separation, the antagonism, the past, all meant nothing in that moment when I saw my son killed. I heard Teresa scream "Johnny!" and Scott started down the terrace steps to go to him but I stopped him.
"Scott, it's no use." To myself more than to him, I added in bewilderment, "I don't understand what that boy was trying to do!" It was Teresa who understood what he was trying to do... at least, the only part of it that mattered:
"He was coming back to us!" There were tears in her eyes.
Scott looked at her, looked back at me, then turned and kept going down the steps.

Pardee and his men had reached the stretch of ground in front of the house and the fight was on now in earnest. At first our men had the advantage; they were in strategic positions and ready to fire, while Pardee's men had come on in a disorganized charge, intent on chasing Johnny. Our vaqueros picked off the front riders with relative ease but these were no amateurs; they were seasoned gunfighters and within moments they were off their horses, using the tree cover to best advantage and firing hard. We actually outnumbered them after the men they'd lost in that first charge and, as we found out later, to Johnny's gun on the way to the ranch, but it was no easy fight. Scott had reached ground level and was firing, looking for a clear way to get to Johnny. I was watching Johnny too as I fired. Suddenly, as I watched, Johnny raised his head and lifted his hand and I realized he was still alive. He rolled over enough to raise his gun and fire with deadly accuracy at one of Pardee's men who was running past him. The man fell.

"Look at that! Look at your brother!" I heard myself shouting. Even as I said the words, Johnny fired three more bullets from where he lay and three more of Pardee's men fell to the ground. He was fighting for us. But it didn't matter. Whether he did anything or nothing, all that mattered was that he was alive.

"Cover me, I'm going out after him," Scott yelled. He ran out to Johnny, firing his rifle as he dodged towards him. Isidro came out from the other direction and between them they grabbed Johnny and hauled him to the base of a tree that could give some protection. Scott swung around and with his next shot got a man who I knew to be one of Pardee's lieutenants. Then Pardee himself came within range.

I saw Scott get Pardee in his sights. He shot once and Pardee slumped; he shot again and Pardee slid to the ground, dead.

A shout: "They've got Pardee! Come on, let's get out of here! Come on!" We fired a few more shots but Pardee's men were already retreating, running for their horses, one or two whose horses had been lost jumping up behind their comrades. They galloped off. And it was over.

Johnny looked up at Scott. "That was good shootin'."
"Thanks, brother." Scott smiled. He paused then added, "We'd just about given up on you, boy."
"Well, you had your plan and I had mine." Johnny hauled himself to his feet.
"Take your time, take your time." Scott told him, putting his arm under Johnny's.
"I can make it." He shook Scott's arm off, but not roughly. Determined to walk back himself, he managed half a dozen steps before collapsing. I saw Scott catch him as he fell and put him over his shoulder. I watched as my first-born son carried his brother back to where I was waiting for them.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

It was a week later. Johnny was fully recovered and he, Scott and I were in James Randolph's office in Morro Coyo, signing the agreement of partnership. Teresa was standing beside Johnny as Scott and I signed.

"Sign... there." Mr Randolph handed Scott the pen and he signed the document. The lawyer then passed the pen over to me, saying "Just above your name." I put my signature where Randolph had indicated. I looked over at Scott and my son's eyes met mine. I had given away a third of Lancer and it was nothing, because I had given it to my son and that was everything.

"And you, sir?" The lawyer was addressing Johnny.
"Oh Mr Randolph, I should have told you," I said. "That last name should read John Madrid, not Lancer." I would honor Johnny's choice.
"I'll fix it in a minute." The lawyer moved to alter the document. Johnny drew a deep breath.
"No," he said. "Let it stand."

I had two sons.