Through the broken window Scott heard the elder Velasquez--Diego--speak: “So, Johnnee Madrid. We have your brother.”
This announcement was followed by a response uttered in Johnny’s familiar drawl: “Well, that would be my half brother,” he said, placing the emphasis on ‘half’.
“When we hear that you have a brother, we think that it is now our chance to repay you for the loss of our Eduardo.”
“He called me out. I didn’t draw first,” Johnny patiently explained.
“That’s not why we come, Johnnee Madrid.”
“So why? ‘Cause it wasn’t as clean as it coulda been?”
“Si. And because we had to watch. Our mother and sister, too. And we wish for you to have the same opportunity.”
“Okay,” Johnny said slowly. “So now, you boys think that you’ll be gettin’ some kind of revenge on me by killin’ that blond gringo. Well, that’s no loss to me----he’s pretty useless. He can’t ride, he can’t shoot and he sure can’t keep himself out of trouble. . . . You actually got him in there?”
“Si, yes, we have him.”
Scott froze when he heard his brother’s next words. “Well, you boys have come a long ways for nothin’-- ‘cause he ain’t nothin’ to me. We just met. And I ain’t had time to get too attached. In fact, you get rid of him, you just might be doing me a big favor.”
A few moments later, the door creaked open. Johnny entered the room first, and did a quick survey of the interior. His brother was to his left, tied to a chair. Scott’s right profile was visible; he did not turn his head to look at Johnny. There was an old table, some boxes and barrels. The dirty window let light filter in through its broken panes.
“So, Boston, you hear all that?”
“I heard enough.” Scott still did not look at Johnny. He heard footsteps on the wooden floor, coming closer. Johnny was walking around him, stopping when he saw the left side of Scott’s face, letting out a whistle. “These fellas messed you up a little.” Scott didn’t look at him, but kept staring straight ahead. Gordon and the Velasquez brothers watched intently.
Suddenly, Johnny reached out, grabbed Scott’s hair and jerked his head back-- “You oughta look at me when I’m talking to you.” Scott set his jaw, but still didn’t make eye contact. Johnny roughly let go and stalked away.
Then Gerardo was standing at Scott’s left shoulder, and Scott could hear a gun sliding out of its holster. “Now that Madrid’s here, we can do it.”
Diego reprimanded him in Spanish “Not in the head, that’s too quick.” Scott only understood “head” and “quick”. Gerardo didn’t answer, but Scott heard the gun cock. He closed his eyes and tried not to breathe.
Johnny perched on the table, in a relaxed manner. With all eyes -- except his brother’s--locked on him, Johnny held up his hands. “Now whatever you boys decide is fine with me--I figure I get a bigger share of the ranch if you get rid of him. It’ll be just me and the old man, and . . . anyway I always figured on it being a one-man deal . . . . “
"‘Course," Johnny added slowly, “if you were interested in holdin’ off --it might be worth your while. Like say maybe a few thousand dollars each.”
Gordon spoke from the doorway. “I’m interested.”
Johnny turned towards him: “Our old man’ll pay plenty to get him back.”
Diego asked the question: “And why would you do this for us?’
“Well, ‘Diablo’, maybe ‘cause I’m sorry ‘bout your brother, how things turned out. Or maybe ‘cause I’d like some of that money myself. The old man holds the purse strings pretty tight.”
“So Lancer’ll pay that much?” Gordon asked.
“For him? Yeah. See, he’s the fair haired boy. Now if it was me, it’d be a different story. But ol’ Murdoch, he paid $1000 just to get Scotty to come out west.”
Gerardo eased his finger off of the trigger. When Scott sensed the lowering of the gun, he started breathing again.
The Canadian was still skeptical. “Are you playing us, Madrid? Is this is just you trying to keep him alive, after all?”
“Well, you boys will still have to kill him-----just not ‘til after we get the money.”
“You want us to kill your brother?” asked Gerardo, with some disbelief.
“After we get the money. See, now, there’s only one thing my old man really loves, and it’s that ranch. To come up with the kind of cash we’ll be asking for, he might have to sell something, and if he’s gonna do that, Murdoch’s gonna want some proof that ol’Scott here’s still alive. He ain’t gonna pay a penny for a corpse.”
While Gordon and the Velasquez’ exchanged looks, Johnny turned his attention back to Scott: “So what do you think you’re worth?” He aimed more questions at Scott’s impassive profile. “Five thousand? . . . Eight?” Hearing no response, he addressed the others: “That would be two thousand for each of us.”
For the first time since Johnny had entered the room, Scott looked directly at his brother. In a level voice he said, “It’s always been about the money for you.”
Johnny looked right back at him and shrugged: “Yeah, you got that right.”
Gerardo still had his gun in his hand. He spoke insistently, addressing his brother: “We should do what we came to do, and be on our way. How can we trust Madrid? Even if he truly wants this one dead, its still a problem for him to explain to his father . . . ”
Diego interrupted with: “If we do this, we can’t wait too long for this money.”
“We got a price on our heads,” Gordon explained.
“Oh, you boys run into a little trouble, did ya?”, Johnny asked.
Diego nodded: “A little trouble.”
“You hear that, Boston? These are bad hombres--they got a price on their heads, got nothin’ to lose.”
“They may have a price on their heads,” Scott replied evenly. “You just have a price.”
Johnny slammed Scott across the face. Coming on the right side, he could see it and braced for it, lips pressed firmly together. There was no sound except the crack of Johnny’s backhand across Scott’s face.
As Scott sat with his head lowered, Johnny coldly addressed him: “I told you to stay out of it, to go back East, but you wouldn’t listen. Then I thought for sure I was rid of you when that Cassidy fella showed up. I just stood back waitin’ for him to kill you and save me the trouble. “
Johnny turned to the Velasquez‘: ”See, you boys each got yourselves a brother who you know’ll back you up----I got me one that turned traitor in the War and got a bunch of good men killed.” Scott’s breathing was audible, but he didn’t look up, or say anything in reply.
Gordon turned the discussion back to the ransom. “So we get the money and you get rid of him--"
“I get my share of the ransom too, “ Johnny reminded him.
“And if the old man gets suspicious of you . . .”
“I’ll make sure he don’t. No matter what, I still own one third, and I can always just take off for a while.”
Scott spoke softly, as if to himself: “Right . . . ’Just take off’--- that’s . . .original.”
Johnny walked over to him. “You better not be referrin’ to my mother.”
Scott quickly lifted his head----“Why----did she have a price also?”
With his half-closed eye, Scott never saw this one coming------ as Johnny struck him on the left side. The chair tipped and Scott toppled over, landing hard on his right shoulder, his head bouncing off of the floor. The chair legs were pointed towards Johnny, and he kicked viciously at them. Diego and Gerardo moved in to restrain him from doing further damage. Johnny shrugged them off, and looked angrily around the room: “Remember, you just keep him alive until we get the money-----and not a minute longer. I‘m going out to the ranch to give the old man the message. Since we‘re all in a hurry, I‘ll see what he has for cash on hand. Then you three can be on your way and I‘ll be rid of him. "
Picking up his hat, Johnny stalked out, leaving Scott dazed and lying on the floor.
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Gordon headed back to the bar for another drink. He hadn’t been overly enthused about the Velasquez brothers’ insistence upon this detour, to settle a score with Johnny Madrid. He didn’t see where Johnny was at fault for what that fool Eduardo had done, against all good advice. But Gordon had been riding with the Velasquez’ for a long time, so here he was. And now, with this ransom plan, it might be worth while after all. The bearded man was in a pretty good mood, humming an old song to himself. When he overheard a couple of vaqueros talking and realized that they were from the Lancer spread, Gordon went on over and struck up a conversation. Even told them that he knew Johnny Madrid. The men weren’t too anxious to talk about Madrid and his past, but had plenty of interesting things to say when Gordon asked about Johnny’s new brother.
Miguel greatly enjoyed telling this friendly stranger about Senor Scott riding a horse that Johnny had just broken and jumping over fences--- scattering the other men, including his friend Jose. Jose chimed in with an account of Senor Scott shooting down Day Pardee and a number of the land pirates as he went to help Johnny. Both men were indignant when Gordon asked if there was any truth to the rumor that Scott Lancer had been a traitor during the War; insisting that he was no such thing and that everyone knew the true story. They also said that the Lancer brothers seemed to get along quite well, despite having known each other for only a short time. Gordon absorbed all of this information, then asked two more questions----had they just come from the Lancer ranch and had they passed Johnny on his way there? Hearing a “yes” to the first and “no” to the second question, Gordon decided that he’d better head back and share this news with Diablo and Gerardo. Promising to return them soon, Gordon borrowed a pen and ink from Gus, and then stopped at the general store for an envelope and sheet of writing paper.
“Madrid lied, " he announced to the Velasquez’ when he entered the building at the edge of town.
The brothers stared at him. Gordon quickly filled them in. Gerardo glanced over at Scott, who was lying on an old blanket on the floor with his hands still tied, apparently asleep. “Let’s finish him. Leave him for Madrid to find,” Gerardo urged the other two men.
“No!” Diego and Gordon both spoke at once. Diego insisted that that wouldn’t be punishment enough for Madrid. Gordon was still hoping to get the money: “Since Madrid didn’t bring a ransom message on out to his father, we’ll have to send our own.”
Gordon wrote out a brief demand for cash. Then he walked over to Scott and shook him awake.
Before he’d drifted into a light sleep, Scott had thought hard about the statements that Johnny had made, first and foremost being: “He ain’t nothin’ to me.” <<My mistake, but I ‘d thought perhaps that had changed.>> Even if they were still strangers, his brother’s avid interest in money certainly seemed familiar. But Johnny calling him a traitor, and the comment about Dan Cassidy, well, that had been new, and quite surprising. Scott kept dwelling upon that, at least until he slipped from consciousness.
While the Velasquez’ watched, Gordon untied Scott and escorted him to the table, where the paper, pen and ink were waiting. “Now, listen,” Gordon said, “if you were thinking there’s any chance of Johnny-boy changing his mind and deciding to help you, well, after what you said, you can forget it.” Scott looked at him without comprehension. “Madrid’ll be more than glad to shoot you down himself, for what you said about his mother.“
<<About his mother? ? . . . what?. . . taking off? . . . A Price . >> Scott’s heart sank, as realization dawned. << I certainly didn‘t mean . . . But maybe she . . . >>. Gordon interrupted Scott‘s jumbled thoughts, pushing the pen and ink towards him. “Write something, so that your old man knows you’re still alive. . . But you’d better be smart about it if you want to stay that way a while longer.”
Scott was very sore, very tired and his head was throbbing. With only one good eye, it was difficult for him to read the words that Gordon had already scrawled on the page. Scott realized that he needed to focus, that this might be his only opportunity to send a message. Finally, picking up the pen, he very carefully added: “Murdoch: I am all right. . . . Johnny seems to be working with them. . . . I received a letter from Dan Cassidy, you should read it.” Then he signed it: “Scott Lancer.”
Gordon read Scott’s message. It was fine with him if both Scott and Murdoch Lancer thought that Johnny was working with him and the Velasquez brothers. But the Canadian wondered what this Dan Cassidy letter was about.
“I received a letter from an old friend. I have it here.” Scott pulled the two sheets of paper from his shirt pocket, and held them up, one in each hand. “He says some kind things about me, and I wanted my father to read it-------in case I don’t see him again.” As he said this, Scott placed one page on top of the other, refolded them and handed the letter to Gordon.
Gordon shrugged, and put Cassidy’s letter into the envelope with the ransom note and hurried off to find Jose and Miguel. He caught up with them just as they were about to head back to the Lancer ranch and asked them to give a message to Murdoch Lancer, saying it was from an old friend of Johnny‘s. When the big Canadian returned to the building on the edge of town, he found that the Velasquez’ brothers were much more interested in inflicting their revenge on Johnny than in waiting for ransom money. It was Gordon’s own comment to Scott: “Madrid’ll be more than glad to shoot you down himself,” which had given them the idea for their new plan.
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When Johnny finally returned much later that afternoon, Diego Velasquez stopped him at the door. “You have the money?”
“Not yet--its gonna take some time for the old man to come up with it.”
“Time we don’t have, " Diego responded. Gordon moved in: “Especially when you haven’t gone out there and asked him yet.”
Johnny stared hard at Gordon. “Okay . . . So maybe I decided it’s a good idea for him to have some time to get real worried about his Boston boy.”
Diego was stonefaced. “This is not what you told us you would do, Madrid.”
Johnny shrugged. “I ain’t used to working with anybody.”
“’Cept maybe your brother”, drawled Gordon. When Johnny snorted in response, he continued: “Well, John, I was drinkin’ with a couple of vaqueros who claim that your brother’s one hell of a fine horseman, and not a bad shot either. Why they even seem to think that the two of you get along just fine.”
“Well, Gordon,” Johnny drawled back. “I guess that’s a matter of opinion. And I’m tellin’ you I don’t have much use for ‘im.”
“Seems like maybe your brother believes you, even if we don’t. I gave them vaqueros a ransom note for Murdoch Lancer. Let your brother write a message too. And he made sure to tell your old man that you were in on this.”
Johnny’s jaw tightened. He flung the door open . The room was empty. “Where is he?” he asked, turning to see Diego’s gun leveled at him. Gordon was gone.
“He is outside. Waiting for you.”
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It had been Gerardo who had untied Scott this time. Diego might be the one that they called ‘Diablo’, but it was the more slightly built Gerardo, with the pointed boots and itchy trigger finger, of whom Scott was the most wary. Scott wasn’t feeling very steady, and Gerardo was practically pushing him out a back door and into a deserted alley behind the buildings. Almost everything hurt: from his face, to his sore ribs, to the shoulder he’d landed on after Johnny’s punch had sent him toppling to the floor. In addition to finishing the job of closing his left eye, that punch had opened up a jagged cut on his brow. But by far the worst was the pounding headache. He stood with his head bowed and his good eye closed, as Gerardo spoke menacingly in his ear. “Don’t you move, Gringo. Gordon is up there with a rifle--he is very good. He has a bullet for you if you move . . . Don‘t. ” He heard Gerardo walking away from him, down the street. When he finally looked up, he saw Johnny standing with the two Velasquez brothers.
At the other end of the street, both of the Velasquez boys had their guns pointed at Johnny. <<Odds aren‘t good, Madrid>> he thought. Johnny could see that his brother was looking none too solid on his feet. Then Diablo gestured towards Scott, saying: “We do not believe you, that you really want so much to be rid of him. But if you do, now is your chance.”
Johnny took a long look at Scott, then turned back to Diego. “He ain’t got a gun,” Johnny said softly. “Now, he can’t draw without a gun.”
Diego looked at his brother. “Go, give the gringo your gun.” When Gerardo looked at him in angry disbelief, he added, “But only one bullet.”
Gerardo smiled at this. He slowly and deliberately removed each of the bullets from his own gun, then held up one of them, “Perhaps this one is for you, Madrid,” he said as he placed it in the correct chamber. As Gerardo walked back towards Scott, Diego turned to Johnny and in a conversational tone said, “Gordon is up there. If you should “miss“, he’ll put a bullet in your brother’s back for you.” Johnny could barely see Gordon, crouched behind what was left of an old sign, rifle pointed at Scott. And Johnny knew for a fact that Gordon was exceptionally accurate with a long gun.
With his one good eye, Scott watched Gerardo approaching, gun in hand, and wondered dully if Diablo had finally given him permission to use it. He was surprised when Gerardo slipped the gun into Scott’s own holster, saying “Your brother thinks that this will help him sleep at night.” Scott glanced around, but still couldn’t see any sign of Gordon. He did see Johnny at the end of the street. On the left was a familiar looking buckboard, while Diego was off some distance on the right, with his gun pointed at Johnny. Gerardo rejoined him. Johnny was standing in what Scott in sudden, sickening, disbelief realized had to be his gunfighter’s stance . . .
Johnny was taking in every detail. His keen eyes noted Scott’s battered face, the breeze riffling his blond hair, the set of his jaw, the right hand pressed to his side. He also registered the exact positions of each of the other men----Gordon was still trained on Scott, while Diego had a point blank shot at Johnny himself. Johnny took a deep breath, and addressed his brother.
“Boston---you know you’re gonna have to draw.”
Scott looked up. He couldn’t see Johnny’s face, shaded by the brim of his hat. His one word response, although softly spoken, easily carried the distance between them. “No.”
“Scott---they gave you one bullet. You need to use it.”
Scott resolutely shook his head, and immediately regretted it. To steady himself, he looked back down at the ground.
Johnny, still in his stance, gazed at his brother’s bowed head through narrowed eyes. He felt a trickle of sweat roll down his back, as he realized what he was going to have to do.
Fearful that he might pitch forward, Scott gritted his teeth and ordered himself to stay still and upright. This was one of several lessons that he’d learned during a year of imprisonment----- how to combat pain. Another one that Scott had mastered especially well was how to wait impassively when punishment was inevitable. He listened dispassionately as Diego snarled “Do it Madrid”; Scott didn’t look up, but he could picture the bearded Mexican gesturing impatiently at Johnny with his gun. Then he heard Johnny softly say something that sounded like ----what?-- “Yer--manita.”? After a long moment, Scott slowly raised his head.
Then, in a motion which was more fluid than Johnny had anticipated, Scott went for his gun. Johnny waited a fraction for his brother’s weapon to clear the holster before he drew and fired at Scott. As Scott spun to the ground, Johnny turned swiftly towards the Velasquez’, who had been momentarily distracted when Scott had fired in their direction. As Johnny shot and killed Diego, he hit the ground himself and kept rolling until he was underneath the buckboard, sheltered from the shots that Gordon was sending down at him. Gerardo bent to pick up Diego’s weapon, and Johnny finished him before he had the gun fully in his grasp. “This ain’t your fight!” he yelled up at Gordon. “Get out of here!” Silence was his only response. He lay under the wagon, gun poised, trying to catch his breath. He could feel that one of Gordon’s bullets must have caught him in the leg--felt like a graze. He also felt the pounding of horses hooves, riders drawn by the sound of gunfire.
Johnny looked up and saw Murdoch Lancer on his big horse, followed by Jose and Miguel. As he rolled out from under the buckboard, scanning for Gordon, he saw Murdoch hastily dismount and move quickly towards Scott’s lifeless form. Johnny got up and slowly limped towards Murdoch, who was now kneeling beside his fallen son. Miguel clambered back on his horse and raced away. Jose hurried past him to check on the two other men lying on the ground, as Johnny kept moving woodenly towards Murdoch. When he was close enough, he could hear labored breathing-- Scott’s? Then “Lung?” he asked the back of Murdoch’s head.
Murdoch Lancer turned and inspected Johnny, noting his dusty appearance, the blood on his leg, no other apparent damage. “No. I don’t think so. Thank God.”
Jose rejoined the group. ”They’re both dead, Senor Lancer,” he said as he handed Johnny his hat. “I don’t recognize them.”
“Your work, Johnny?”
“Yeah. There was one more. He’s out of town by now, if he’s smart.” As Murdoch worked over Scott, Johnny stood by silently, as if rooted to the spot, and stared at his father’s broad back. Miguel soon returned, with the town veterinarian, who shook his head and said: “This boy of yours is becoming a regular, Murdoch.” After examining Scott‘s wound, Doc Hildenbrand added: “I’ll do what I can, but you’d better send for the doctor over in Spanish Wells. “
“I’ll go,” Johnny said.
“Johnny, no, you stay here.” Murdoch turned to Miguel.
“I’ll go.” Johnny stated flatly. “That’s my bullet. I’m going."
“Your bullet!?” Johnny departed without another word, leaving Murdoch and the others looking at each other in disbelief.
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