CHAPTER FIVE

Charlemagne leaped again and there was a long, heart-stopping moment of silence. Scott grabbed the saddle horn at the unexpected jump and dropped his arm from his face just as they splashed down.

Scott managed a surprised gasp before he was dunked completely under very cold water. His mount quickly pushed off the bottom of the pond, and in an instant they bobbed at the surface. Charlemagne paddled strongly toward the shore, his drenched ears flat against his crest and his face just out of the water as he sneezed a stream from his nostrils. Scott, hanging desperately on to the saddle horn, was finally able to twist around to see if Barranca had followed.

A sodden golden head snorted at Scott’s hip. Johnny’s arm was around the horse’s neck like a life preserver, his gun tangled in the silver mane as Barranca gamely pulled his unseated rider alongside. Johnny managed to maneuver his way back into the saddle before the horses clambered from the water.

The horses clattered to a stop on the rocky shore and shook their heads to empty their ears. Johnny immediately began the process of reloading his gun, shivering from the unexpected dunking. Scott holstered his weapon and noted the numerous nicks and tears, edged in pink, diluted blood, scattered across his shirt. He picked spiny bits of wild rose vine from Charlie’s mane and noted the red scratches on his skin and the stinging of several more on his arms, face and body. He urged the wet bay closer to the dripping palomino.

 “You look like you tangled with a string of barbed wire and lost,” Scott panted when he took a moment to survey his brother. Johnny’s shirt was in a similarly ravaged state, and the elder brother received a wry grin in return as Johnny dropped a round into his gun and flipped the cylinder shut with a snap

“That’s what happens when ya don’t go around a rose bush, Brother.” As Johnny slipped his well-worn pistol back into his wet holster, Scott noticed a twitch in his face.

“Are you all right, otherwise?”  Slipping into big brother mode, Scott reined the dripping bay around to circle the palomino and eyed the faded red shirt more closely.  The tears in the shirt were minor, and several were tinged pink just like his own, but there was one spot that seemed to be bleeding more freely and the hole, bigger. “Here,” Scott said briskly, legging Charley in close enough to pick at Johnny’s shirt near his left shoulder blade. “There’s a hole back here, still bleeding. Let me look . . .” He grabbed the collar of the worn shirt and pulled it back to see underneath.

“We don’t have time for this, Scott,” Johnny protested, nudging Barranca forward. “I think it’s from a ricochet. A chunk a rock hit me part way down. Ain’t nothin'. We gotta keep movin’.” Barranca broke into a jog with little urging and shook his head a few more times to release the water in his blond mane and ears.

The shirt collar jerked from Scott’s hand, but not before he saw the small hole in his brother’s skin, between the left shoulder blade and spine. He shook his head, and urged his bay to follow the palomino. “It didn’t look too big, but you do have a hole back there. And it’s still bleeding.” As Johnny rode off, Scott could see a bright red blossom of blood staining the shirt; the red tone was much darker than the diluted pink spots caused by rose vines. Persistent nudges extended the bay’s trot to pull up alongside Barranca. “Does it hurt much? We should wrap it.”

“I’m fine, but we’ll both be in a heap a trouble if we don’t put some distance between us ‘n Barrajas before they regroup. I just hope our ammo ain’t too wet to shoot.”

The pair broke into a slow lope. Scott’s saddle and reins felt slippery so he adjusted his grip and seat several times as they weaved their way up the rocky valley to follow the river. The desert air was cool against their wet skin, and when they entered the shade of the valley, they both shivered. “I don’t think Barrajas’s horse can keep up with us. It didn’t look in as good a shape as ours.”

“Don’t let looks fool ya, brother. That was a range smart mustang he was on, as sure-footed and full of stamina as they come. But he does need to wait for his boys.” Johnny threw his brother an amused grin that lit up his indigo eyes. “I don’t think the rest of ‘em were too keen on makin’ that first jump.”

Scott snorted. “I wasn’t too keen about that jump!” After a short laugh together, he asked, “So, Brother, when are you going to tell me why we had to take that particular choice of action?” He tried to sound light, but the question came out a little more flat than the older Lancer wanted.

The tone wasn’t lost on Johnny. With a sly tilt of his head and a sideways grin, he said, “What you really want to know is why I stuck my gun in your face, isn’t it?”

Scott had to grin in response. “Well, yeah. I’m obviously missing something.”

The canyon opened up into a flat plain and, with a not of his head, Johnny indicated the direction they should take. Beyond the plane were foothills and the choice of several valleys to follow. The pair loped across the open area then reined in on Johnny’s cue at the mouth of the northwestern-most trail. Slowing to a welcome walk, the horses dropped their heads and blew hard as the brothers talked.

Johnny glanced back. “I think we’re all right now. Let’s let them catch their breath.”

The blond head nodded shortly in agreement then he caught his brother’s eyes. “Well? What am I missing? About Barrajas?”

After pulling his hat back to his head, Johnny let out a sigh and absently rubbed his left hand with his right as he spoke. “Barrajas has a certain talent he’s known for. I never rode with the man, but I’ve been invited. I didn’t really take to his way of earnin’ cash.” The ex-gunfighter shifted slightly in an uncomfortable manner the way he always did when the subject of his old lifestyle came up. “Barrajas has had a lot of success south of the border with kidnapping. When he’s not hiring out his little group as guns, he finds the richest landowner in the area and grabs a relative and holds ‘em for ransom.”

Two blond eyebrows rose in surprise. After a moment’s reflection he said, “So what you’re saying is, for once you weren’t the target.”

“Nope,” Johnny grinned. “You were.”

“So, you were pretending to be in my employment as, what, a bodyguard?”

“Don’t matter what he thought I was just as long as he didn’t find out you were my brother. Otherwise we both would have been targets, and one of us would be dead as a warning to Murdoch.”

After a moment of thought, Scott’s eyes sparked in humor. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay you for your body guarding services.”

Johnny barked a short laugh. “Fine, but I may ask for reimbursement for ruinin’ my favorite shirt. Couldn’t you have gone around them thorns?” Johnny rubbed his left forearm as he complained.

“Sorry, but that shirt needs to be put to rest!” Scott looked at the trail ahead of them. “So where are we going now?”

Johnny followed his brother’s gaze. “Well, the shortest way to get to the train is back the way we came, so instead we’re headin’ through the Tejon pass and catch the train on the other side. It’s the only way unless you want to go back . . ."

Scott shook his head. “Not really.” He patted his shirt pocket. “I would like to use these tickets instead of riding all the way back to Morro Coyo. No sense in wasting train fare. How far, you think?”

“Oh,” Johnny tilted his head back in thought and surveyed the hills in front of him. “It’s about 20 miles, I guess. Mostly up.”

Scott snorted again, and tapped Charlemagne into a jog. “Well, I certainly have had enough of ‘down’ for awhile. We need to stop and wrap that shoulder, too.”

Johnny shook his head and tried to rub away the coldness of his arms. “I’ll be fine, Boston . We need to keep movin’.”

Not surprised by that response, Scott’s mouth twisted into a disgusted frown. “Fine. Just don’t come crying to me when you drop dead from blood loss.” He kicked Charlemagne into a trot and took the lead.

“Hey!” Johnny exclaimed as he urged Barranca to follow. “Have I come cryin’ to you for anything before?” he protested indignantly. “Have I?”

“There’s always a first time!” Scott yelled over his shoulder as he led the way up the pass.

********

The pass was grueling. At some points, the brothers had to dismount and lead their mounts up certain areas. Frequent breaks were necessary for the panting horses – and often, brothers - to catch their breath. By late afternoon, the animals were covered with sticky foam and slick sweat. The muscles in the animals’ haunches quivered with exhaustion. They’d topped the steep and rocky canyon wall and now stood at a boulder strewn lip. Before them the ground sloped gently upward. It seemed practically flat compared to what they’d gone over so far.

“You think we’ve put enough distance between us and them?” Scott panted, running his fingers down his bay’s legs yet again. “These horses are spent, as are my legs.”

“Barrajas’ll be hard pressed to regroup and follow, especially with night comin’.” After checking Barranca’s feet, Johnny absently rubbed his hands together then moved to rubbing his arms. The nagging tingling that had plagued his arms since their escape was getting worse and extending down the back of his legs. “I’ve probably pulled every muscle in my body,” he thought, rolling back his shoulders and stretching the small of his back. “A train ride’s never sounded so good.”

The men loosened the saddle cinches of their heavily panting horses.

“Isn’t there an army base ahead somewhere?” Scott asked as he started leading his tired horse north.

Johnny shook out his hands and followed his brother’s lead. “Yeah. Fort Tejon . But it’s mostly closed now.”

“ Fort Tejon ,” Scott said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the place that experimented with using camels?”

Glad for the distraction, Johnny laughed shortly. “Yeah, I heard that too. I also heard that some of ‘em got loose and run around wild. I haven’t ever seen any, though.”

“Well, that would be something to see. A herd of wild camels,” Scott chuckled and shook his head. “Guess we’d better be looking for a campsite. How much farther to the train, do you think?”

“Not far. Just gotta go down the other side. I’d say we’ll be there by mid-afternoon tomorrow. Should be easier goin’. I figure we can make camp for the night over there.” Johnny nodded toward a distant stand of trees. “And there’s Indians around here, too, but they’re pretty friendly. They rely a lot on trade at the old fort.”

Scott nodded mutely and started in the direction of the trees. Johnny fell in behind, commanding his tingling legs to keep moving.

The brothers walked in silence a little longer until their mounts’ breathing was steady and their coats a bit drier. When it came time to mount up, Johnny’s fingers fumbled with the cinch, but he managed to eventually get it snug. I need some rest, he thought grimly. Finally successful, he tossed the reins over Barranca’s neck a little less gracefully than usual and positioned himself to mount up. He found it difficult to raise his arms to grab the saddle but finally crawled into place, annoyed at his growing weakness.

A muffled groan from his brother caught Johnny’s attention and he grinned tiredly.

“Almost there, Boston ,” he said.

“Don’t patronize me. You’re as sore as I am.”

“Well, well. Aren’t we cranky,” Johnny chuckled. “And I will admit I’m lookin’ forward to a decent bed.”

“The taming of Johnny Madrid, huh?” Scott teased.

The pair moved toward the distant trees, riding in relative silence until they arrived in the welcome shade a couple of hours later. A small creek crawled lazily around muddy rocks as the brothers slid from their saddles. Both horses pulled anxiously on their reins toward the cool water.

“Hold on, let me get the saddle off,” Scott chastised his leggy bay.

Leaning against Barranca’s shoulder, Johnny eventually took a step back and swayed for balance. He went to raise his arms and grab the saddle for support, but found he couldn’t raise his arms above the height of his shoulders. Instead, he again leaned on the palomino and worked his fingers, puzzled. His hands felt numb and his arms heavy.

Scott began to loosen the cinch. “We still need to catch some dinner.” He glanced Johnny’s way.

Drawn from his thoughts, Johnny shoved aside the unease he suddenly felt and straightened, then stepped toward Barranca’s head. His legs wobbled dangerously, and he lurched into the horse’s side. He grabbed the stirrup to steady himself.

Scott laughed shortly and turned back to unsaddling. “Me too. My legs feel like overcooked string beans right now.”

Johnny knew this was more than that. He’d been physically exhausted before where every part of him hurt, but this was very different. He couldn’t feel anything in his arms or legs except the nagging tingling that had been steadily growing worse.

Quietly fumbling his way along Barranca’s side, Johnny concentrated on unsaddling his horse and ignoring the odd sensations in his limbs. His arms didn’t want to obey. He heard Scott’s saddle hit the ground with a dull thump and then heard his brother lead Charlie toward the creek. The sound of metal bumping tooth marked the removal of Charlie’s bridle. “There ya go, boy,” Scott said lowly.

Johnny’s grip on the stirrup turned desperate as he felt his knees quiver. “What’s wrong with me?” He thought as standing became nearly impossible. Then he staggered.

CHAPTER SIX

“I’ll gather some. . .” Scott began from the creek bank, turning to his brother.

From across Barranca’s back, Scott saw the deep furrow of Johnny’s brow as he lurched against his horse and began to fall. Scott crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, thankful that Johnny’s stalwart horse had the sense to keep still; the way Johnny hung onto the saddle, Scott was sure the horse was the only thing holding his brother up.

“What happened?” Scott asked as he reached his brother’s side. He moved in close behind and cradled Johnny’s elbows in his hands.  

“I don’t know,” Johnny mumbled as he slowly sank to the ground, dead weight in Scott’s arms. “I can’t feel anything . . ."

 Scott struggled to keep Johnny from hitting the ground hard, and soon had him laid flat on the ground as Barranca shifted his feet nervously. Next, Scott moved the horse, quickly unsaddling him and releasing the bridle. In the bare minutes it took him to return, Johnny’s voice had gone from puzzlement to near panic.

 “Scott, I can’t move. I can’t feel anything!”

 Gathering Johnny up in his arms was not an easy task. Johnny was smaller in stature, but thicker in frame and very solid. Scott finally managed to get Johnny into the shade and arranged on a sandy part of the ground.  “Take it easy, let me look at you.”

 Johnny’s eyes were wide and alive with fright, his breathing short and choppy. “What’s wrong with me? What happened?”

 Scott checked his brother’s hands and arms, and then moved to his legs. All he found was non responsive muscles. Next, Scott quickly removed the gun belt and loosened the waist of Johnny’s pants. Unbuttoning the shirt with shaky hands, he found it difficult to remove with the dead weight of Johnny’s arms. Finally, he had the damaged shirt off and he gently rolled Johnny onto his side. The small hole he’d noticed earlier was angry red and swollen. He bit his lip in worry.

 “I think you may have something in your back pressing on your spine, but I’m not sure.”

 “Get it out,” Johnny begged.

 “I don’t dare try that, Johnny! It’ll be dark soon and my knife is way too big and . . . and . . . well, I just can’t do it! I may hurt you more!”

 “I don’t care,” Johnny snapped, the fear quickly turning to anger. “You have to try, Scott, I’m a sitting duck like this. Do it.”

 Scott rolled Johnny flat to the ground again. “You need a doctor, Johnny. I can’t do it. Let’s get you settled . . .”

 “We’re in the open and I can’t defend myself,” Johnny growled, sweat coming alive on his skin. “By the time you get doc, I’ll be dead anyway. Take it out!”

 “I won’t leave you. I’m taking you with me.” Ignoring Johnny’s virulent protests Scott began to collect what he thought he would need before it was too dark. 

 Soon he had a small fire going, a pair of rabbits turning on a makeshift spit, and the parts for a travois gathered and shaped. Johnny’s angry protests had finally died off and his younger brother’s eyes reflected the firelight as he glared at Scott through the darkness. Using a saddle, Scott propped Johnny up as best he could and tried to feed him bits of the cooked rabbit.

 “Here.” He held the meat aloft. “Take it.”

 “Ain’t hungry.”

 “Just take it, will you? I don’t think I can handle the silence if you pass out from hunger.”

 “I said I’m not hungry!” Scott gave up and instead offered water, which Johnny sipped without complaint.

 “I’m thinking that we’ll try for Fort Tejon . You said some people are there.” Johnny didn’t answer. He’d turned his head to face the darkness beyond the trees, frightening thoughts surely stampeding through his mind. “We’ll start at first light.” He lightly brushed Johnny’s forehead and felt new heat of an expected fever.

 When Johnny spoke, his voice was barely audible. “You have to leave me, Scott. Just go. I can’t make it.”

 “That’s ridiculous. I can’t leave you.”

 “You have to.”

 “I won’t.” Scott’s voice was firm, but his resolve wavered when Johnny turned back to face him. His brother’s expression was that of fear and sadness and complete agony. “I won’t,” Scott repeated more for himself. “So don’t ask me again.”

 Huskily, Johnny replied, his woeful eyes glittering in the firelight, “I can’t let anyone see me, Scott, don’t you understand? I won’t allow it. I can’t allow it. No one can see weakness. It will be the death of me. Please. Leave me here.”

 Scott started to reply, but found his throat too constricted. He bowed his head, taking a moment to better organize his thoughts. Then he cleared his throat and spoke. “You’re not Madrid anymore, Johnny, and you need help. Everyone does sometime. I understand your trepidation, but I have to get you home. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that I can’t go home without you? You belong at Lancer with Murdoch, Teresa and me. And if I have to fight off half of Southern California to get you there, I will. Now shut up and get with the plan. You really have no choice in the matter.”

 A spark of anger lit Johnny’s eyes momentarily, hardening the fear into an unreadable mask. He turned away again and did not respond. Scott knew there wasn’t much more that made Johnny angrier than having the fact pointed out to him that he was helpless, and Scott wasn’t fool enough to think his independent little brother was accepting his argument lock, stock and barrel. This was not going to be an easy venture for either of them.

 The terrain itself was difficult. Thankfully, they were out of the steepest hills but the ground was littered with rocks, boulders and brush. Dragging a travois would be difficult; Johnny couldn’t feel anything and that was a blessing, but each bump and knock could move what ever it was under Johnny’s skin and make the injury worse. Or even permanent. His brother’s words about not wanting to be seen chilled him; that point Scott could understand, and he vowed to keep his thoughts positive.

 Then there was Barrajas. Had he broken off the pursuit? Scott figured he was down at least two men. Would he – or could he – re group? The train was a half-day away. Would it be worth it to the man to try?

 And now that he’d been indoctrinated into the ways of the West Scott also knew that those were only two concerns in a long list, but he couldn’t think of that right now. At this moment all he could afford to think about was the next step.

 ********

 The breaking dawn was just another event in a less than restful night. Johnny’s fever had worsened by midnight and showed no signs of abatement. Between keeping him cool with creek water and forcing water down Johnny’s throat, Scott managed to assemble the travois and hitch it up to Barranca. He decided to ride the palomino as well; the horse’s shorter stature would hold the makeshift device at a less severe angle and Scott felt he would have more control from the palomino's back.

 Johnny was barely conscious and mumbling incoherently as Scott loaded him up and secured him in the sling. The new day’s light was still feeble by the time Scott choked down the last of the cooked rabbit and hit the trail. Scott knew the night had been long; he also realized the day would be even longer. The horses fell into their new roles without much complaint, but Scott could feel the palomino's frustration at being held to such a slow pace. Always obedient, however, Barranca reduced his annoyance to an occasional head-toss.

 The morning wore on, burning into midday. Scott stopped frequently to force water into Johnny and wipe him down, and soon realized that it was going to take much longer to get to the train or a doctor at this rate; he began to toy with the idea that they just may not make it.

 CHAPTER SEVEN

 Johnny’s delirious ramblings became a welcome distraction from Scott’s negative thoughts, and he felt guilty about it. By the time the sun started to drop from its zenith, Scott was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll as well as the roughness of the terrain. Making a decision against the urgency driving him onward was not easy, but the lure of a cluster of shady oak near the creek was too much. He reined in the horses and dismounted, unhitching the travois before allowing the animals to drink.

 Ominous noises shrouded the travois. Scott could both see and hear that Johnny’s breathing was becoming short and labored; a sense of foreboding niggled his thoughts. In an effort to ignore the feeling, he set his jaw and kneeled to check his brother more closely.

 Johnny’s face had a shiny flush and his eyes were dull. His lips moved occasionally, his foreign words aimed at someone Scott could not see. Limp limbs were becoming less alarming; it was his brother’s breathing that heightened Scott’s concern now.

 “Come on, little brother,” Scott said lowly as he once again ran the cool, wet bandanna over Johnny’s skin. “Hang on. We’re almost there.” Other lies about their progress followed, the noise of his own voice covering the sound of that awful breathing. Scott struggled against collapse.

 His eyes felt hot, gritty and dry, the lids fighting to close down. Scott lost track of time. His thoughts began to center on the fragment in Johnny’s back. Should he try to get it out? Was the risk worth it? What were their chances otherwise? With an angry expletive, Scott threw the bandanna down in frustration and rubbed his eyes. Who was he kidding? It didn’t look like Johnny was going to make it any further than this desolate spot and it was about time he accepted that.

 With arms crossed angrily across his chest and his attention solely focused on his situation, Scott didn’t notice the horses. It was the sudden and dead silence when they stopped grazing that finally caught his attention. Even the birds were quiet – something was out there.

 Torn from his misery, Scott quickly moved forward and slipped his rifle from the sheath on Charlie’s saddle. Both horses were looking back where they had come from, giving Scott his only clue as to where the danger was. He whispered a curse then glanced around to see what he could use. Fortunately, the trees hung low and the trunks were thick. Between that and the one heavy branch that had recently torn itself free of its mother trunk, they were under some cover and concealment. Forcing the cobwebs from his mind, Scott quietly brought the horses in and tied them in the thicker part of the stand. After stuffing extra rounds in his pockets, Scott silently worked his way back up the trail and took refuge behind a sizeable boulder. Cautiously, he peeked around the gray mass.

 What he saw made him curse again. Barrajas and two others apparently had decided to take the risk and follow after all. Scott knew he’d left an easy trail to follow and it was only a matter of minutes until the trio would be on them. Scott leveled the rifle and took careful aim.

 His first shot found its mark. The outlaw leading Barrajas flew backward from his saddle and spooked the following horses. Scott’s second shot just nicked Barrajas as he and the remaining man broke for cover. The third shot brought Barrajas’ horse down, throwing the scruffy man hard to the ground. Barrajas scrambled out from under the writing animal, and then turned and used it as cover as he pulled out his handgun.

 The return fire was more accurate than he’d hoped for and Scott had to move if he wanted to keep between the two outlaws and Johnny.

 “Lancer!” Barrajas yelled. “I know you’re the only one out there! I know Madrid ’s hurt! You don’t have a chance!”

 Scott didn’t answer as he dashed to a new position and topped off the rifle’s load. He knew Barrajas was working to distract him; the second man was probably moving into a position to pin him down. Scott knew he had to find him and take him out quickly. Crouching amidst rocks and thick brush, Scott carefully scanned the direction the missing man had taken and ignored Barrajas’ comments.

 “Lancer! Come on out! My men have you surrounded!”

 “Men?” Scott thought. Were there more than just the two of them or was it a ploy to distract? Instantly, Scott’s neck began to tingle with the thought of it being in someone’s sights.  He tried to order his tired and frazzled thoughts and glanced nervously around.

 “No,” he said aloud to himself from between gritted teeth, refusing to doubt himself. He returned his attention to the area he last saw the second rider. “There’s only one other out there, I’m sure.”

 “Guess again,” said a low voice from behind. Scott froze. “Drop the rifle.” A series of desperate moves ran through his mind. “Try anything and your shoulder is gone.” Scott dropped the rifle and slowly turned to see a yellow toothed face grinning at him and two pistols pointed in his direction. A third man had crept up on him from a dry culvert.

 Raising his hands in the air, Scott blinked in confusion when he saw two other men in the brush behind his captor. What was odd was that the two men’s stealthy movements and manner of dress indicated that they weren’t with Barrajas’ gang. Hands in the air, Scott cocked his head in wonder at this bizarre turn of events and wondered if he was actually asleep and dreaming all of this.

“Barrajas! I got ‘em!” Scott’s captor yelled, standing clear of the brush. The two oddly dressed men behind the gunman silently closed in.

“Ah,” Scott started, still trying to figure out what was going on. Gut instinct told him to stand fast as the stealthy pair crept forward. Then Scott recognized that they were Indians when they broke from the cover of the brush. They were almost on the gunman, knives drawn, when Scott realized that his captor needed to be momentarily distracted for the Indians’ attack to be successful.  He said the first thing that came to mind. “You may want to look behind you . . .”

The gunman glared at his captive. “Just how stupid do you think I am?” he spat. They were his last spoken words as the pair of Indians dropped on him and cut his throat.

Scott’s stomach lurched at the bloody sight, but he took advantage of the action and recovered his rifle. He spun around and brought up the rifle. The outlaw and his second were striding confidently toward him then a look of surprise crossed their faces when they saw Scott's rifle aimed at them. Barrajas' companion died with a shocked expression on his face and his horse leaped away. Barrjas regrouped more quickly and was drew his gun. Scott was only able to wing him and the wounded man dashed into the brush. Before Scott could move to follow the outlaw, the two Indians raced past him in pursuit. Scott stood motionless, his mouth hanging open with this new turn of events.

Completely perplexed, Scott watched them disappear into the brush. Deciding that Barrjas was more than likely out of the picture, Scott turned and ran back to where he’d left his brother. He was stopped just short of his goal by four knife-wielding Indians just under the canopy of oak. Scott dropped his rifle and raised his hands, heart pounding. Beyond the line of men he could see that several more were huddled over his brother’s still form.

“Leave him alone!” Scott demanded, still unsure of what was going on or exactly where he stood with this bunch.

The braves in front of him were unmoved by his demand, but one of the Indians standing by Johnny stood up straight and appraised Scott across the short distance. Scott could feel the man’s penetrating gaze as he was being sized up.

“Don’t hurt him,” Scott said in the same tone, holding the Indian’s eyes in defiance. The Indian held the stare for a moment, then turned and spoke lowly to a man squatting next to him. Scott couldn’t hear the words, but they caused the squatting man to slowly rise. As the figure turned, Scott noticed the jewelry that adorned the man’s neck. He also appeared older than the rest so Scott assumed he held some rank. The Elder spoke shortly to the brave next to him, and the brave abruptly turned away and disappeared silently into the brush.  

The Elder pointed at Johnny as he addressed Scott. “You are with this one,” he said rather than asked. Scott found the words had an odd and unique accent, a mix of Spanish and something unidentifiable.

“Yes,” Scott replied with a nod.

“Come.” The Elder invited Scott over with a wave of his hand. The line of braves parted to let him pass.

Scott moved cautiously, keeping his hands in sight until he reached Johnny’s side. Once there, he dropped to his knees and turned his attention to his brother. He laid his palm on Johnny’s hot forehead and frowned at the labored breathing.  

“He is not well,” the Elder said softly. “We can help.”

“How?” Scott snapped, wetting the bandana and tending to Johnny. “But mostly, why? What do you want?”

 “This is Madrid ,” the man said, as if that was answer enough.

 “He goes by Lancer now,” Scott snapped, despair and fatigue shortening his patience. “And that doesn’t answer my question.”

 “Our people owe Madrid . Let us take him to our shaman. They are acquainted and Madrid is welcome.”

 Scott’s beleaguered mind whirled tiredly. Admittedly, he had no options left. They hadn’t hurt Johnny so far, so he acquiesced with a silent nod. The group quietly and quickly surrounded the supine form, gently forcing Scott to step back. They lifted Johnny effortlessly, using the travois as a stretcher. As they withdrew rapidly into the brush Scott and another brave gathered and saddled the horses. Bone tired, Scott collected the reins and noticed that the Elder had waited for him. Thinking it would be impolite to ride he walked to the older man and fell in beside him as they trailed the others.

 “You are Madrid ’s friend, then?” the Elder asked in his peculiarly accented English.

 “I’m his brother,” Scott corrected. The Elder turned his head and examined every portion of Scott’s outer and inner self and, strangely, Scott did not feel invaded.

 “I see it in your eyes,” the Indian leader said softly. “I am Hyahesh.”

 “Scott Lancer.” This was all beginning to feel like some surreal dream. They walked a few steps in silence before Scott asked, “How did my brother help you?”

 Hyahesh ducked his head a moment then looked heavenward as he spoke. “He took this land from the white man’s army and gave it to us,” he said. When he turned and saw Scott's surprised expression, a mischievous sparkle shined in the old man’s eyes.  “Does that surprise you?”

 Recovering from his shock, Scott laughed shortly and rubbed his eyes tiredly. After a moment he sighed. “Actually, nothing my brother does anymore surprises me,” he said. “When was this?”

 “Two full turns of season and eight moons. Not that long ago,” Hyahesh said with prideful certainty.

 Scott quickly thought back. “He must have been on his way home,” he realized, speaking out loud. “Before he knew about his family at Lancer.”

The aged Indian nodded as if that made sense. “He said he had no home. We invited him to stay with us. He said he was on a different path, and that we may not want him living with us after he did what he had to do. I told him that the gods would make it clear what the best course would be.”  

“He wanted to kill our father,” Scott said quietly. Every muscle in Scott’s body screamed for rest, but he carried on, anxious to help Johnny and see him through this. He locked his eyes on the group ahead gathered around Johnny. “Things didn’t go the way he expected. Didn’t go the way I expected, either. Neither of us knew we had a brother. It’s been an interesting and fulfilling time for both of us.”

 “And what of your father?” Hyahesh asked as he touched an icon hanging from his neck.

Scott grinned weakly. “He’s still alive. Murdoch wasn’t the man Johnny thought he was.”

Hyahesh bowed his head as he replied. “I told him the gods would show him the truth. He only had to listen.”  

Not sure how to reply, Scott instead moved closer to the men carrying his disturbingly still brother. When he was sure he couldn’t take another step, Scott heard voices relaying greetings up a green valley which announced their arrival at Hyahesh’s camp.

 CHAPTER EIGHT

 The next hours passed quickly, a blur in Scott’s eyes. Bone weary and still unable to convince himself that these people could help his brother Scott found it harder and harder to hold off total resignation and embrace hope. When they arrived in the main camp, Hyahesh issued orders in a rapid manner and the residents obeyed without question. Scott could feel the examinations from curious, yet cautious, eyes as he led the horses into camp in Hyahesh’s wake.  Seeming to appear from nowhere, a young boy ran to him and took the horses, enabling Scott to move in closer to Johnny.

The camp consisted of a circle of small, cozy huts made with branches lashed together to form the walls and roof. Outside the circle, Scott saw groups of women around scattered fires cooking as their children clutched their skirts. Their big, brown eyes followed Scott with intense silence. Hides hung on racks, drying in the sun.  Something roasted on a spit, the smell making Scott’s stomach growl as a young girl tended the fire below. Scott shook his head, realizing how tired he was by the way his mind wandered.

Johnny was taken into a hut set off from the rest. Scott entered just as the braves were lowering his brother to the ground. Hyahesh spoke to an ancient, stooped man with silver hair who oversaw the placement of the patient. The old man gently placed his palm on Johnny’s forehead and gazed into the fevered eyes. The light was poor in the hut so Scott moved in close enough to get a good look at the weathered Indian, finally realizing that this must be the shaman. Scott saw that the shaman’s forearms were stacked with silver bracelets, and his face painted with bright colored lines. One long braid ran down his back nearly to his waist and his thin frame was wrapped in an intricately beaded tunic. It was obvious that this man was revered by his people, but Scott seriously doubted his ability to help his brother.

 “He was shot in the back,” Scott said. “He can’t move.” Hyahesh spoke rapidly to the shaman, who nodded but did not acknowledge Scott’s presence. Scott pushed his way to his brother’s side, across from Hyahesh and the shaman. “I need water to cool him down.” He knelt.

 The shaman placed his palm flat on Johnny’s chest and frowned, his dry, weathered voice whispering observations in an ancient language. “His energy is blocked,” Hyahesh translated quietly. “Like a river blocked by debris. The flow needs to be established again.”

 A young man stepped from the shadows, his head bowed in respect as stood next to the shaman. He, too, was painted and had some jewelry, but wasn't nearly as decorated as the shaman. Scott couldn’t figure out how they were communicating, but the young man seemed to know what to do without the old man asking. Scott realized that he must be the shaman’s replacement in training. Together, they assembled a collection of items as another pair of boys began stripping Johnny and washing him down.

 “Wait a minute,” Scott blurted out after watching the preparations for longer than he intended. He blinked hard, realizing he’d been in some sort of trance watching it all. His head felt light. “I’m a lot more tired than I thought; I have to pay attention,” he scolded himself. He shook his head to clear it. “Hold on!”

 The others ignored him until he pushed one of the helpers aside and took his place. Scott picked up a cloth and dipped in the water bowl. The ancient shaman paused over the bowl where several dried herbs had been mixed and turned his head, taking in the tall blond from head to toe. Scott scowled at him and began wiping Johnny’s bare chest down with a wet cloth. The shaman’s face remained impassive.

 Hyahesh gently put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “He can help. Let him.”

 “I don’t know what he’s doing, but Johnny needs a doctor.”

 “The nearest town is days away. Madrid does not have the time.”

 “What about Fort Tejon ?” Scott asked as he continued to try and cool his brother’s raging fever.

 “It is mostly abandoned now.  No doctor.”

 Scott felt backed into a corner. He glanced at the herbs, knowing that some of them were for lowering fever. The others he couldn’t identify, but he didn’t recognize them as any poison he knew. He hesitated, damning the whole situation. The shaman went back to what he was doing, chanting in his feathery voice as his assistant began to burn something in another bowl.

 “We know you are concerned. Our holy man has magical powers, I have seen it. You have no other recourse.”

 Biting his lower lip, Scott finally gave in. In his exhausted state, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep going much longer. He needed help. Allowing himself to be pulled away, Scott, in essence, gave permission for the shaman to move in again where he began to work in earnest. The old man's wrinkled hands flew over Johnny in a complicated pattern, the bracelets clinking gently and flashing with the sparse light.

 Scott sagged to the ground and leaned back against the wall of the hut, his head spinning. There was a strange feeling of physical numbness as he mentally surrendered his brother to the shaman. As his gaze locked onto the slack features of Johnny’s face, he realized that the shaman was chanting, the rhythm hypnotic. Scott’s eyes were on his brother but it seemed that everything else around him faded away. Strangely unable to move, Scott noticed how the air seemed to become energized, reminding him of how it felt to stand in the path of a fast moving thunderstorm. His eyes stung and felt dry, but he was unable to blink. A peculiar, sweet, smoky smell touched his nose and lulled him deeper into himself. The constant song of the shaman became a buzz in his ears and soon Scott found that he was unable to move. His sight had narrowed to a small frame, his brother’s profile the very center of everything.

 Before he lost himself completely to the hypnotic cadence and embracing warmth, Scott’s last plea was that they help Johnny because he knew he couldn’t even help himself at this moment.

 ********

 Scott was awakened by a breath of cool, fresh air on his face and the sound of something rustling. He seemed to awaken slowly, his head taking a few long moments to clear. An odd whispering noise made him frown. Piece by piece, the memories fell in place.

“Johnny!” he gasped, the picture falling together in his mind. Scott snapped up into a sitting position and looked around wildly. The hut was dark, a small pile of embers in the very center the only color in the dark. The whispering came from a hunched form sitting on the floor facing Scott, and he realized the dark shadow on the floor between them was Johnny. They were the only other occupants of the hut. Scott scrambled to them on his hands and knees.

“How is he?” Scott panted. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but the cobwebs of his mind told him he’d done exactly that. His brother was lying on his side, facing him. Gently, Scott felt Johnny’s rough cheek. “He’s still hot.”

The shaman continued to whisper, his upper body rocking ever so slightly as he chanted, completely ignoring Scott. Scott noticed that the old man’s eyes looked glazed.

Another rustling noise drew Scott’s attention as someone entered the hut. As the hanging hide that was the door fell back into place, Scott had a brief glimpse of the outside and saw that it was either dusk or dawn. By the chill of the puff of air that came in with Hyahesh, Scott figured it was dawn.

“I slept the whole night?” he said, astonished. “What happened? Where is everyone?”

Hyahesh settled in next to Scott and set a bowl on the floor. “You slept as long as you needed. We have done what we could, and now it is up to Madrid . This is for him.” The Elder pulled a small, drawstring bag from inside his tunic. It had been hanging around his neck, and now he pulled it over his head and gave it to Scott. “It is said that if you keep that which is a danger to you close, you may use its power.”

Scott opened the bag and emptied the contents in his palm. It was a disfigured lump of metal. He looked at it closely. “It’s a bullet,” he said softly. “You took it out?” Scott’s voice rose in alarm as he dropped the slug back in the bag. Leaning over Johnny’s still body, Scott tried to see what they had done to his back. In the darkness, it was hard to see but Scott didn’t feel any bandages on Johnny’s bare back. “Is he going to be all right? Shouldn’t there be stitches or bandages?”

Hyahesh’s voice was low and calm. “The path must be left open. The energy needs to connect with the outside again, and then it will heal the opening.”

Scott frowned and leaned over Johnny to inspect his back. The heat emanating from his brother’s dry skin was disturbing, but Scott realized it wasn’t as hot as it had been. “Give me a torch,” he asked Hyahesh sharply. The Elder pulled a glowing stick from the fire. The shaman continued to chant, seemingly oblivious to the actions around him.

With the red ember close to Johnny’s back, Scott was able to examine the area. There were caricatures of some sort drawn on the skin around the injured area and some kind of salve packed in the wound, but the hole he had seen previously did not seem a whole lot bigger than he remembered. The area was red and raw, but not as infected looking as he’d last seen it. Looking closer, he had to admire the work. Scott knew if he’d had to use his knife, there would be a bigger wound than this. He wondered how the shaman removed the bullet with so little damage; Sam couldn’t have done a better job.  

Carefully, he probed the skin around the hole with his fingertips in amazement. He traced one of the drawn figures, realizing the designs incorporated many of the old scars that dotted Johnny’s back.

“The energy that healed the old wounds is being called upon to heal this new one. The chant is asking the gods to direct the energy.” Hyahesh’s explanation was voiced in a near whisper. “We must leave and let the gods work through our Holy One.”

Feeling slightly numb, Scott nodded. He ran his fingers quickly over Johnny’s temple, and backed away. Whatever they were doing was working. Or it was a coincidence. He felt the small bag still clenched in his fist and unfolded his fingers, exposing the small pouch. In the poor light, he could see a pattern on the soft leather and could feel the solid mass inside. Proof of the surgeon’s skill was right here in his palm; maybe what they were doing wasn’t chance and coincidence after all. He wrapped his long fingers around the pouch and rose to his feet.

“Come,” Hyahesh said as he pulled the hide door aside. “Come with me and I’ll tell you the story of Madrid and our people.”

Scott didn’t want to leave his brother, but between the Elder’s tempting offer and Scott’s protesting bladder, he couldn't help but step through the doorway into the dawn.

On To Part 3  |  Back to the Great Room  |  Back To Part  1     

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