ECLIPSE

CHAPTER SIX

Slate Meek took his oath and lowered himself to the witness chair assuming the look of a meek and innocent man being bullied by a system that targeted him because of the lack of coin in his pocket. As Yancy Jakes began a long series of questions, the façade faded into the cocky saddle bum Johnny knew. Slate just couldn't pretend to be a pawn in the system even with his life on the line.

Murdoch and Scott had returned to the seats behind the prosecution table, but Johnny resisted being penned in by those seats and claimed his leaning place against the back wall where he could see everything around him—as well as his vision allowed him to see anyway. He could hear better, too. Soft whispers as people couldn't wait to share their thoughts with the person next to them, coughs and burps as the lunch meal settled, the steady scritch of pencil to paper as M.H. de Young wrote in his pad just to Johnny's left, the rattle of guns being stored on the barrels in the vestibule, and Val's ornery shout to the folks in the street trying to push their way up the church steps to catch snippets of the testimony. Johnny was aware of it all, but his focus never wavered from the scroungy, unshaved cowboy pleading his case of innocence.

Knowing how particular Uriah Banks had been in preparing the Lancers with specific instructions of what to wear, how to stand, where to look and how to answer questions, Johnny knew Slate's rundown appearance was staged by Jakes. Johnny gave the man his due: Slate drew a sympathetic nod from many sitting in the gallery and a few in the jury box including Bert Smith. The former gunfighter was no fool. He had seen too much injustice in his life, more than enough firsthand. The prosecutor had already thrown Lem's life away saying he couldn't win the case and no one in this room cared enough to mourn the old miner. And no one cared that someone tried to kill the pistolero that sullied their streets pretending to call himself a rancher. In fact, a few were probably sorry the bullet hadn't finished him off. Though his eyes had never wavered from the witness stand, his thoughts had wandered back through some of his own dark days but were jerked back as Slate shared his story about the night of the dance.

"Me an' my brothers went to the fandango. Twas nice enough. Dancin' an' drinkin' with plenty'a food, but we knew the time had come to move along. We got our wages afore the party started along with the rest of the men, an' we decided that we earned enough of a stake to leave doggin' cows behind an' see what other kinda good work an honest man can find.

"We didn't have any bad feelin's or nothing. Ya know. Just time to move along an' as long as I had ma brothers with me, it was a good life. Now I suppose we shoulda told 'em we was leavin' an' all, but a fancy place like Lancer don't pay much attention to the likes of us, so we didn't figure it was causin' no harm to nobody to be on our way. Well, when we first saw Johnny Lancer trailin' behind us, we didn't think much ov'it. Figured mebbe he had business'a his own that weren't no business of ours, him being a rich rancher an' all."

"How did you know it was Johnny Lancer behind you, Mr. Meek?" Jakes asked as he leaned back on the raised half-wall of the choir loft, his arms crossed at his chest.

"Why anybody who knows Johnny knows that fancy horse a' his."

"You said you didn't think much of him behind you. What changed?"

"Well, he stayed behind us, an' the onlyest thing we could figure was he took issue with us leavin'. Tweren't no other reason we knew of why's he'd be doggin' us like that. An' just like ever'body knows 'bout Johnny an' his fancy horse, they knows 'bout his temper when he gets riled. Now don't git me wrong. Johnny ain't the type that does a lotta yellin' an' fussin' but ya sure know when you got on the wrong side a'the man. He's got a fiercesome look that tells ya that ya better duck yer head and lay low 'cause ever'one knows that gun hand'a his is faster than anyone around an' ya don't want him makin' ya draw agin him.

"So when he kept comin' an' comin', I gotta admit, we just got plain scared an' I ain't ashamed ta say it. We knew even the three'a us didn't stand a chance facin' the man an' we was afraid for our lives up against 'im."

"Mr. Meek, are you saying that you believed that your lives were in danger?"

"That's exactly what I'm sayin'. Facin' down Johnny Madrid, I mean Johnny Lancer. Well, whatever he calls hisself now. Drawin' against Johnny is jus' another way'a sayin' you're a dead man an' we didn't see no way to escape lessen we did the shootin' first. It was the only way to defend ourselves."

"Objection," Banks slammed his hand against the prosecution table. "I can only infer that the witness is no longer denying his part in the shooting of Mr. Lancer and is making a weak case that somehow, he had justification for pulling the trigger. Let me make clear to this court, the jury and everyone else in the room: shooting a man in the back, bushwhacking him while hiding in the rocks, can never be defined as self-defense!"

"It shows my clients' state of mind, your honor," Jakes argued. "The Meeks had done nothing wrong, but a known killer was stalking them!"

"Objection!" the prosecutor shouted, taking his feet. "Johnny Lancer was following the trail of the murderers of Lem Cable and the defense is attempting to once again ignore the men who are on trial by attacking the victim of their crime."

"Objection!" the defense countered. "Even the prosecutor could find no evidence to support the charge of murder against my clients and they have pled not guilty to all other charges."

As the objections were shouted across the transept of the church, the gallery churned and roared like a river in a spring storm fed by the frozen landscape pouring down the mountain. The slamming gavel could do nothing to silence the shouts and catcalls or pause the bodies flung back and forth trying to find a spot to capture a glimpse of what might be coming with the next wave. A few daring heads pushed their way inside the tumult despite the angry shout of a scruffy sheriff to "get your asses back outside" forgetting it was the church, not the saloon, he was failing to control.

Like a rock in the torrent, one man leaned against the wall, his only movement the fingers of his right hand tapping where his gun should be, catching a silver concho on the side of his leg. Still and quiet but seeing everything.

The scribbling hand of the young reporter who had dropped to one knee while using the other to support his notebook, unable to get all the words on the page fast enough. The pursed lips of Hester Lawson flapping her hands in frustration at the despicable presence that had sullied her house and demanding her husband do something to put the rowdies out starting with the devil himself at the back of the room, trying to hide in a good man's shadow. The increasingly red cheeks of Richard DuPont moving along the aisles demanding that order be returned under his watch. The hard set of faces dark with anger of both Scott and Murdoch on their feet, shouting complaints to Uriah Banks who pulled at the collar of his shirt offering assurances that this outrageous claim would be put aside. The quick wink from Slate to his brother. The rise and fall of Harrison's shoulders as he joined his older brother in laughter. Perhaps the most telling, the growing gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of Yancy Jakes as he scanned the jury box from one face to the next.

For a man who still struggled to see, Johnny saw it all. But then, he had seen it from the start but tried to look the other way, thinking he could live in a different world from the one that raised him. Mattie had done him a favor by walking out on him. Reminded him that the polite greetings and the appearance of acceptance was just a front hiding the true intent of every man for himself, stepping on another's man neck to get there.

Johnny was done.

The former gunfighter pushed himself off the wall bringing all around him to a stop. The quiet moved like a wave through the nave doing more than all the gavel banging and yelling to bring the room to a standstill. Johnny's spurs jingled as he slid to the open doors of the vestibule.

"Mr. Lancer!" Judge Ames shouted. Johnny stopped and turned to face the man. The judge lowered his voice realizing that order had miraculously been restored in his courtroom. "You were advised to remain available to provide additional testimony as needed."

"Judge, ya don't need me for you to hear what that man has to say and I sure as he…well, I've had all of that mentiroso (liar) I can stomach." Johnny accepted his rig from Deputy Sharpton, buckled it around his waist, was handed his Colt and spun the cylinder to check for bullets, and twirled the gun to drop it back into the holster. Placing his hat on his head, he lifted the rim with two fingers and gave a wicked smile challenging anyone to stop him. "The sheriff will know where to find me. Ya'll go on ahead with the show." With that, he sauntered away.

Richard DuPont stared at the suddenly gaping opening as light from the sun streamed in. After working his jaw, he remembered to announce, "Order in the court! Sit down! And anyone who speaks without Judge Ames's permission will be out on your ear!"

Testimony continued until the defense rested its case but the gossip in the saloon and sewing circles agreed that the trial ended when Johnny Madrid Lancer quit caring about it. The jury met into the early evening coming back with guilty verdicts for arson against Slate and simple assault for Harrison. Not guilty for the attempted murder of John Lancer. They were given four months in the San Quentin State Prison. Opinions were mixed. Except for Murdoch Lancer.

He was furious.

"What were you thinking?!" the large rancher barked at his son stretched across the hotel bed, his socked feet crossed at the ankles, his hat covering his face. Scott grimaced as he dropped next to Johnny on the bed. He didn't need to speak to his brother to know what he was thinking.

"I was thinkin' I'd like a drink," Johnny tilted his hat just enough that his mouth was visible.

"You know very well what I am referring to. Everything from your appearance to your attitude in the courtroom, John," his father growled.

"C'mon, Murdoch, it don't matter what clothes I wear or what I say when I'm wearin' 'em," Johnny pushed up to his elbows, his upturned hat dropping onto his waist. "My past is all anybody sees. They ain't gonna look past it or forget it an' it's about time that I get back to acceptin' it. Don't worry, I ain't givin' up my name for 'em. I'm proud to be Johnny Lancer, to be your son, but I can't pretend that a lot of these people will ever see anyone but Madrid. And I ain't ashamed of being him. Madrid is who they were lookin' for this mornin' an' since Madrid is all they see when I walk in, I might as well be who I am, court or no court."

"You looked very snappy," Scott uttered quietly, making Johnny try to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Scott stretched out on the bed next to his brother as Johnny scooted to the side to give him room. Murdoch rolled his eyes at the apparent unifying front of his sons.

"Are you even interested in the verdict?" Murdoch pressed. Johnny sighed loudly, removing his hat, and dropping it on the nightstand. He pushed back to slouch against the headboard.

"Why should I care, Murdoch? They got off easy. That was decided the second they got a free walk for killin' Lem."

"Four months, Brother," Scott broke the news, his voice sympathetic. He was angry at the jury, too, but realized Johnny had resigned himself to the judgement when he left the court.

"We need to get back to the ranch," their father announced. "As you so eloquently stated when you departed the court room this afternoon, I've had all of this trial I can stomach."

"Madr…Lancers don't run, Murdoch," Johnny pulled up straighter. "It's late. You could use another night letting Cipriano worry about the ranch. And Sam wants to see me in the mornin'. I'm going for a beer. Scott?"

"I could use another night in town," the older brother agreed.

"Good 'cause Sam wants to see you, too." Johnny tapped Scott's stomach giving him no time to react to that news or the father to attack that subject. "Dinner, Murdoch? Then join us for a drink?"

Eyeing his boys spread side-by-side on the bed, shoulders rubbing together, both watching him to see which way his temper might blow, reminded Murdoch that he was angry for Johnny, not at him. The patriarch walked along the side of the bed and leaned over laying his hands on the shoulders of his sons. "Dinner sounds like a wonderful idea. And you're right, Johnny. The Lancers don't run from a fight. We'll take on this town together."

"Does that mean you're buying…Pa?" The infectious smile of his youngest was quickly joined by a smug grin from his eldest.

Murdoch shook his head, his own smile creeping onto his face despite his intention to be stern. "Oh, my sons, I do see a lot of drag duty in your future."

.

xXxXx

.

The saloon aligned in sides spouting their opinion about the outcome of the Meek trial with Yancy Jakes surrounded by an audience near the batwing doors. Others drifted to the far side where Johnny sat at his usual table, his back to the wall, a bottle of tequila at his fingertips and a nearly full glass next to it. Scott was next to him to the left and Murdoch beside his eldest son, each with a mug of beer at differing levels. Johnny made sure no chair interfered with his gun hand or blocked his vision of the room.

Val Crawford pushed his way in. Stepping to one side of the swinging door, he scanned the room, taking in a story easy for the experienced lawman to read. He meandered through the room stopping to chat with men on both sides of the jury decision before sliding in next to Johnny giving him room to draw if he saw the need. He had ridden with his friend through too many troubles to interfere with his choices now.

"Ya allowed to be seen with me now, Val?" Johnny grinned a little, but the sheriff heard the melancholy tone.

"What makes ya think I wanna be seen with ya now, ya no good cuss? There ain't no other place to sit an' I'm stuck with ya."

"Here ya go, Val," Hank, the barman plopped a full beer in front of the sheriff. "Another for you, Scott? Mr. Lancer?"

"No thanks, Hank. We'll be headed back to the ranch in the morning." Murdoch pulled several bills from his wallet and pressed them in the barman's hand. "Keep the change."

"Thanks Mr. Lancer. For what's it's worth, Johnny, I don't think that there jury got it right. Those boys got off awful easy for what they did," Hank lowered his voice as he eyed the spellbound crowd around the defense attorney. M.H. de Young was in the midst of interviewing Jakes in the presence of his admirers. Their voices were loud enough to carry over the general noise of the saloon. Yancy regaled the reporter with stories of his successes taking on cattle and rail barons alike, fighting for the working man.

"The Meeks are pullin' some jail time. It's something," Johnny shrugged. "I ain't gonna give it no more thought."

"Let's hope they stay the hell away from here when they get out," Hank muttered before resuming his duties.

"The territorial marshal'll be by in a couple of days to pick 'em up and deliver 'em to San Quentin." Val leaned back in his chair raising his volume. "Good riddance. Stinkin' up my jail. Too bad he ain't takin' that one, too." Val jerked his head toward the opposite side of the room as he swallowed down half his beer.

"Val, sorry ya jus' barely got off yer feet but Scott an' me need to get the old man tucked into bed. He's got this fool notion 'bout dawn bein' the best time'a the day for a body to be startin' their mornin'." Johnny finally downed the glass in front of him.

"No worries, amigo. I ain't gonna rest easy 'til those pendejos are outta ma town. All of 'em." Val finished his beer and stood, stretching his back, mirroring Murdoch across the table.

"This old man doesn't even mind the thought of that bed tucking," the elder Lancer smiled indulgently at his sons.

"I'll carry this for you, shall I, Brother?" Scott grinned, taking the tequila bottle, leaving Johnny's hands free in the crowded room. His brother nodded his thanks and led the way toward the doors, keeping his family behind him.

As they neared Yancy Jakes's table, de Young suddenly jumped up, interrupting the attorney mid-story. "Mr. Lancer, umm, Johnny," he stepped in front of the dark-haired man. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Get your side of the story."

The vivid blue eyes raked the reporter up and down without speaking. Scott shook his head as he stepped up beside his brother. He was always amazed at how quickly Johnny could silence a noisy room. Even the long-winded attorney had managed to close his mouth. Johnny took another step without speaking when de Young laid his hand on young Lancer's right arm. M.H. snatched his hand back at the cold stare that otherwise froze him in place.

"J-j-just a question or t-t-two," he stuttered before he settled on the most inflammatory moment of the trial. "S-slate Meek claimed he was justified in shooting at you because he was in fear for his life. W-what is your response to his claim?"

Johnny narrowed his eyes as he scanned the group of men, his neighbors in name only, joining Jakes. Their faces held a mix of fear, disgust, revulsion, even hate before they were able to tuck it back into place, unseen, but hardly forgotten. "My response to a damn coward who shoots from the shadows?" he asked, his voice a soft drawl that carried throughout the large room. "Don't mess with me. You won't like what happens next."

As de Young took an involuntary step back, Yancy Jakes rose to his feet with an air of importance and extended his hand in Johnny's direction. An empty smile was painted on his face as he was determined to retain the support of the men who had gathered around him. Johnny looked at the hand, his eyes following the arm to the facial façade the man wore like every other liar he had ever met. His brown eyes were as dead as many of the killers Johnny had faced, but at least those men owned up to what they were when they called him out.

"No hard feelings, Madrid. I was just doing my job. It's nothing personal. Business is all."

"Nah. No hard feelin's, Jakes. And you shouldn't take it personal when I come lookin' for you after the next hombre thinks he can shoot me in the back and get away with it. Just takin' care'a my business." Johnny paused long enough for a chilling glare to settle before his spurs broke the quiet followed by the squeak of the swinging doors as he left.

"S-sheriff C-crawford," Jakes stammered, "I believe that man just threatened me!" The lawyer pointed toward the moving winged doors.

"I hardly think that was just a threat, Jakes," Scott smirked as he followed his brother, their father tipping his hat at the men he had thought friends and associates, some for years. Murdoch was already calculating how he could move Lancer business away from them.

"Sheriff," Jakes's voice rose with indignation. "What are you going to do about what he said?!"

"Said, Mr. Jakes?" Val scratched at his chin. "In all this noise, I didn't hear a thing."