Chapter 6

Scott watched his brother take a swig of beer. He observed Johnny in profile because Johnny did not like his taller brother obscuring his line of vision by sitting directly across the table in a saloon. In this case, it suited Scott to give Johnny less chance to see that he was being observed. Five days! Five days since Havers and Curthers left and not one of us has said a thing! Scott took a sip of his own beer. Johnny had returned in the early hours of the morning and been to breakfast on time. No one had mentioned the previous night or their departed guests at that meal nor at any time since. The Lancer family motto must translate into something that means if you're not certain what you say will improve the situation, just ignore it and say nothing. The thing is, nothing we ignore ever leaves the room; it just goes and sits behind the screen in the corner, and that corner is getting extremely crowded.

"Madrid!" The voice that brought Scott out of his reverie was trying for authority but achieved only volume. It came from a young man who had strode through the door and was headed straight for the Lancer brother's table. Scott saw his brother's instantaneous transformation even as Johnny answered.

"Name's Lancer, boy."

The intruder's hand moved, and Scott pushed back as something landed on the table. Johnny had made no obvious movement, but both brothers' eyes focused on the dime novel that had come to rest in front of them. Johnny Madrid, Scourge of the Border blazed across the cover.

"I'm calling you out, Madrid!" The only tone achieved was one of belligerence.

"Well..." Johnny drawled the word and managed to give the impression of looking down his nose at the standing speaker even though he himself was still seated. "Since the sun's hot and my beer is still cool, I'm thinking I'll decline your kind invitation to dance." Then with a subtle movement that had his challenger taking a single step back, Johnny picked up his beer and gestured in dismissal. "It's better that way, son, since you'd be the one paying the piper."

Scott was still amazed, each time he watched Madrid, at the level of intimidation his little brother could achieve with seemingly no effort. Scott switched his gaze from Johnny to the man challenging him. He was young, but no younger than nineteen, perhaps eighteen. Boy and son. He can't be more than four years younger than you, Johnny. Yet…

"You chickening out, Madrid!" The taunt sounded like it belonged in the schoolyard.

"What I'm doing is finishing my beer." The total unconcern in Johnny's voice was dismissive.

"I'll be waiting in the street."

"Like I said, sun's hot and the beer's cool, but it's your choice."

Scott and Johnny both watched as the challenger turned on his heel and strode out of the saloon.

"Johnny..."

"We'll drink slow, Boston; just maybe that fool will let some reality sink in."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then the Old Man's gonna be a bear at dinner tonight." Johnny took a long draw from his glass.

"We could leave through the back."

"Wagon's out front. Can't avoid going into the street."

"I'll go bring…"

"No, you won't!" Johnny voice cut Scott's off.

"Why not?"

"Same reason you're gonna drink slower than me and stay right here when I get up." Johnny sent a Madrid glare Scott's way.

"No way, brother, I…"

"Still don't get it, do ya, Boston? Madrid can't afford any brothers." Johnny drained his glass and stood. "It's gonna be hard enough to do what I got to do. Stay put and out of my way."

Scott's eyes followed his brother, but he stayed in his chair. A distraction! He's telling me I'd just be a distraction. But I… Johnny stepped out of the door, and Scott's gaze fell and settled on the book lying on the table. He reached for it, picked it up, and then in one swift motion was on his feet and headed after his brother.

He stepped outside in time to see that brother dance.

Johnny had appeared to ignore the man standing in the middle of the street as he walked nonchalantly toward the Lancer wagon, but he was aware of everything around him. He heard the challenge, he heard his own retort, he processed the tiniest pieces of information from each of his senses, and he knew when his opponent decided to take down the great Johnny Madrid even if it meant shooting a man who, though his back was not turned fully toward him, was most definitely not facing him. Johnny drew, turned, fired, and ducked. His bullet found the challenger's shoulder as the gun hawk's shot went over Johnny's head. Johnny stood with his gun pointed.

"Just drop it, son, and call it a day. No good reason for dying."

His opponent stood, grasping his shoulder in one hand and pointing his gun at Johnny with the other. Johnny stood quietly and did not give any reaction. Suddenly Val Crawford was behind the injured, would-be gun hawk bending his wrist so that the gun fired into the air and then dropped to the ground. Bending both arms behind the man's back, he encircled the wrists with handcuffs.

"Couldn't let me get through ma lunch in peace, now could ya, Johnny boy?" Scott could hear a different question in the lawman's voice.

"Well, now, Val, maybe it's best you skip a meal here and there. Looks like ya had to let that belt out a notch." Johnny had holstered his gun and pushed his hat back on his head.

"Ya got only one reason to worry 'bout my belt, Johnny boy."

Johnny's response was a grin. "Ya taking him to the doc or jail?"

"Doc then jail. Ya headed home?" Val made the question sound more like an order.

Scott had reached his brother's side and answered for him. "We're leaving now, Val. Murdoch's waiting." He looked down at his brother who shrugged and headed once more toward the wagon.

They were well out of town before Scott spoke. "You're shot wasn't off, was it?"

Johnny shrugged. "Val don't like dead bodies blocking the road so early in the day."

"That's what you meant by hard, isn't it? You could have…"

"That could have's there no matter what. He was just a fool kid. 'Sides the Old Man's worse about dead bodies in the street than Val, at least the ones I put there."

"But…"

"Leave it, brother. What's done is done, and I'm gonna be hearing enough about it from the Old Man. He's gonna be chewing nails when we tell him."

"I suppose you're right." Scott let a few seconds pass. "We could fail to mention what happened."

Johnny took some time to consider before he answered. "He's gonna ask how things went in town; you know he always does. Somebody's bound to tell him sometime or other, and when they do, he's going to be spitting nails instead of chewing them."

"Right at us." Scott's acknowledgement held a trace of a whine. "He views simple equivocation as full deceit."

Johnny turned his head to grin at his brother. "Of course, there'd be some comfort in the fact that he'd be spitting them at both of us not just me."

"On second thought, it might be best to tell him."

"Yeah, we might as well let her buck." Johnny urged the horses to a faster pace and fell silent.

That's what you always say when you think it's going to be bad. Just how much do you dread our father's anger, little brother? You really did everything you could. Unknowingly Scott sighed. I'm not any surer than you that Murdoch will appreciate that fact.

They spoke a few times about inconsequential things as the miles passed, but the majority of the trip was silent. As they approached the Lancer arch, Scott reached for the reins. "Let me drive."

"What the..."

"I'll drop you at the breaking corrals. You can get started..."

"And I walk back after we finish?" Johnny's question held a sarcastic edge.

Scott rolled his eyes. "You could. It's not miles after all, but I'm sure there will be an available horse around, or you can ride double with one of the hands."

Johnny started to bluster and then stopped. "You're gonna tell the Old Man without me." Scott shrugged. "Now see here, Boston, I'm not some blame little kid that you have to..."

"No, you're not a little kid, but you are my little brother." Scott reached out and pushed Johnny's hat over his face. "It'll give him a chance to cool down and see that it could not have been avoided."

Johnny pushed the hat back onto his head. "Wellll." The word was drawled out to its fullest. "If ya want to play big brother that badly, who am I to complain?" Johnny's mouth displayed a wide and mocking grin; the smile in his eyes was a great deal warmer.

(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)

"He didn't walk out to meet him. He was leaving! Did you want him to just let that man shoot him in the back?" Scott's ire had grown as he listened to Murdoch's reaction to the tale of that afternoon's gunplay.

"Don't be ridiculous! What I want is to have some hope that when my sons go into town a gunfight is not inevitable." Murdoch's voice had dropped in volume but increased in vehemence.

"Sons or son?"

"Since you have yet to be called out by any up-and-coming pistoleros, son it is."

"It was not Johnny's fault." Scott spoke each word slowly and with a clipped enunciation. "He did everything he could to avoid drawing his gun and then increased the risk to himself to avoid killing. Just what more did you want him to do?"

Murdoch drew in a deep breath and turned to stare out the large window. "He wasn't hurt?"

"No, no, not at all." Scott drew in a deep breath of his own. "He tried, Murdoch; he truly tried."

"Well, then what's done is done. There's no sense in going on about it." Murdoch's statement was an obvious dismissal, so Scott simply studied his father's back before turning on his heel and leaving.

Dinner that evening was quiet with only an undercurrent of unease. The afternoon's events were not discussed but simply went to sit behind the screen in the corner.