China Doll
Johnny Lancer slouched in a corner of the Green River stage, his hat tilted down over his eyes. His older brother, sitting opposite him, marveled at Johnny's ability to sleep peacefully in the bouncing vehicle. He had no such luck.
A small girl, holding a china-headed doll on her lap, sat next to Scott Lancer. The child had crooned to herself tunelessly for more than an hour. Then she had eaten a peppermint candy stick, smearing her round face and hands. Then she had started to bounce and to sing again. Her mother, a large, over-dressed woman sitting on the opposite end of the seat, hadn't said a word.
A small, bald man in a suit sat between Johnny and two oversized boys. They were also sticky from eating candy. Now they had started to elbow each other.
"Augustus," the large woman said, at last. "Albert! Sit still, both of you."
"Aw, Mama," one of the boys said. "Aren't we almost there?" He was about 13 or 14, Scott guessed. His brother was a few years younger.
"Augustus," she snapped, and the boys subsided.
"My name is Annabelle," the little girl said suddenly, fixing enormous brown eyes on Scott. "Annabelle Josephine Potter. And my dolly's name is Susie Jo."
Scott sighed.
"What's your name?" Annabelle persisted.
"Scott Lancer," Scott said reluctantly.
"Don't you have any middle name?" Annabelle asked.
"Yes," Scott said. "I do."
"Well, what is it?"
"It's Garrett," Scott said shortly. He did not want to spend the rest of the trip talking to a 5-year-old.
"Scott Garrett Lancer," Annabelle said slowly. She looked over at Johnny. "Is he your brother?" she asked, pointing.
"Yes," Scott said.
"What's his name?"
"Johnny," Scott said. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't even know if Johnny had a middle name. There was still a lot he didn't know about his brother, he thought.
"That's a nickname," Annabelle said. "It's not his real name."
"That's right," Scott said.
Annabelle knelt on the seat and leaned over to whisper in Scott's ear, placing a sticky hand on his shoulder.
"Gus and Bert don't like to be called by their real names either," she confided, her breath full of peppermint. "And they call me Annie. You can too."
"Annabelle," her mother finally said. "Sit down and stop bothering that man. What have I told you about talking to strangers?"
Annie looked over at her mother. "He's not a stranger, Mama," she said. "His name is Scott Garrett Lancer and that's his brother, Johnny."
"Annie, sit down and mind your mama," the little man said. He had a surprisingly deep, authoritative voice. He looked over at Scott.
"Lancer," he said thoughtfully. "I was told to look up a rancher named Lancer once we reach Green River. Murdoch Lancer? Would he be any relation?"
"He's our father," Scott said. "Are you settling in Green River, sir?"
"I'm the new circuit judge," the man said. "Harrison Potter. This is my wife, Arabella, and our children."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Scott said politely. "Ma'am."
Mrs. Potter looked at him sharply. "You don't sound like a westerner, Mr. Lancer."
"I grew up in Boston," Scott said.
"Really. Do you like California," Judge Potter asked.
"Very much so," Scott said, grabbing for the strap on the side of the stage as it lurched crazily. There was a bang, and the stage bounced into the air, came down with a sickening thud and leaned over on its side. Mrs. Potter screamed and Scott found himself sliding as the stage rolled over. He hung on as it tumbled down a hill, turning end over end. The door swung open and he lunged to grab his brother, but missed. There was a final, bone-jarring crash as the stage came to rest, bounced and then settled down in the rising dust.
***
Scott opened his eyes cautiously. There was a weight on top of him, and it was moaning. "Johnny?" he said hopefully as memory flooded back.
Someone was having hysterics outside. Scott was still in the wrecked stage, on the floor. He sat up cautiously as the weight lifted off him. The stage driver hauled one of the Potter boys out and set him on his feet. "You're all right, boy, go help your mama," he said. "You OK, Scott?"
"I think so," Scott said slowly, accepting a hand out of the stage. His head and his heart were pounding, and he felt bruised all over, but nothing seemed to be broken. "Bill, where's Johnny?"
"He must've been thrown out," the stage driver said glumly. "Him and that little girl. Gee, I'm sorry, Scott. The hitch broke clean off and I couldn't do anything to stop the stage from going over. Don't know how it could have happened."
"Let's find Johnny and Annie," Scott said, his eyes on the rocky hillside and his heart full of fear.
They found Annie near the top of the hill, crying over her doll. "Honey, are you okay?" Scott asked, checking her over carefully.
She turned big, tear-filled eyes on him. "Susie Jo's broken, Scott," she said. "And where's Mama and Papa and Gus and Bert?"
"Shush, they're okay," he said. "They're all fine, Annie. They're down at the bottom of the hill waiting for you."
"S-Susie hit her head on a rock and broke it," she said.
Scott looked at the doll's cracked china head and his gut tightened. He hoped the same thing hadn't happened to his brother. He forced himself to speak calmly to the little girl. "It's okay, Annie, we'll be able to fix her up when we get to Green River," he said. "You go with Bill and he'll take you to your mama."
"You take me," Annie said, clinging to him.
"No, honey, I have to look for Johnny," Scott said.
"Johnny's your brother," she said.
"That's right," Scott said.
"Is he hurt, like Susie Jo?"
"I hope not," Scott said. "Go on with Bill. Your parents are worried."
"I'll be right back," the stage driver said, lifting Annie.
Scott looked down the hill anxiously. The stage wasn't even due in Green River for another two hours. It would take a search party another two hours to reach them, if one was sent out right away. It wasn't that unusual for the stage to be late. It would get cold as soon as the sun went down. Scott needed to find his brother, and he needed to find him quickly.
"Johnny!" he shouted. "Johnny!"
There was no answer. Scott scanned the hill, wishing for once that Johnny had worn his favorite pink shirt instead of the new green one that Teresa had given him just last week.
"Johnny!" he shouted again. His eyes narrowed as something flashed in the sun off to the side of the hill. Johnny wasn't wearing his spurs on the stage, but he did have on those silver concho pants. Scott slid down the slope, and found his brother face down on the ground.
"Johnny!" he said, bending over him. He was relieved to find a pulse.
Johnny mumbled something and tried to get up.
"Easy, boy," Scott said. "Let me help you."
"Boston?" Johnny said weakly. "You OK?"
"Yes. What about you?"
"I've been better," Johnny said. Scott helped him sit up, propping him against a boulder. Johnny clutched his left arm protectively and yelped involuntarily when Scott touched it. There was blood dripping down the side of his face from a cut on his head.
"Looks like you've broken that wrist," Scott said. "And you've got quite a bump on your head."
All the color had drained out of Johnny's face. "Sorry," he said. "Going to be sick."
Scott moved quickly, leaning Johnny forward and holding his shoulders as he heaved out the contents of his stomach. Finally, he settled Johnny back against another rock, a few feet away, and kicked dirt over the mess.
"Sorry," Johnny said again, his eyes shut.
"It's all right," Scott said. "I'm going to go get a canteen. I'll be right back."
"Not going anywhere just now," Johnny drawled.
***
Scott met the stage driver coming up.
"Did you find Johnny?" Bill asked.
Scott nodded. "He hit his head hard and he broke his wrist," he said. "Can you grab a canteen and bring it up? I don't want to leave him by himself too long."
"Got one right here," Bill said, handing it over. "I figured you might need it."
"Thanks," Scott said. "How are the Potters?"
"One of the boys has a broken leg," Bill said. "Rest of them are just bruised and shaken up. It's a wonder you weren't all killed."
"Do you think you can get them up the hill?" Scott asked. "It will be hours before anyone comes looking for us, but it would be easier if we were up by the road when they come."
"I can try," Bill said dubiously. "You might have to help with the boy. He's a big kid, and his father is kind of puny."
"Let me get Johnny settled first," Scott said.
Johnny hadn't moved. He opened his eyes when Scott returned and promptly closed them again, wincing.
"Are you dizzy?" Scott asked, giving him a sip of water.
"A little," Johnny admitted, trying to push the canteen away.
"Take another sip," Scott said firmly, waiting until Johnny swallowed another mouthful of water. Scott soaked his handkerchief and cleaned the blood off his brother's face. The cut was still bleeding and the bump on the side of Johnny's head was even more pronounced. "Double vision?"
"I'll be fine, Scott," Johnny said, not answering the question. "I've had worse."
"I want to get you up to the top of the hill," Scott said. "Think you can walk if I help you?"
"Sure," Johnny said.
He was sweaty and looked like he was going to be sick again by the time they reached the top. Scott lowered him carefully, and Johnny rocked forward, cradling his injured arm.
"Will you be OK by yourself for a few minutes?" Scott asked. "I'll get our stuff and help the Potters get up the hill. Then I'm going to splint that arm."
Johnny nodded faintly, not looking up. Scott chewed on his lip, worried.
"Go ahead, Boston," Johnny said. "I'm fine."
You always say that, little brother, Scott thought, but there weren't any other choices. He headed back down the hill.
Gus and his father were trying to help Bill carry the younger boy up the hill, but Scott could see that the difference in their heights made it difficult. He collected his and Johnny's saddlebags and rifles from the wreckage and went to help.
"If you or Gus could take the rifles, sir, I'll help Bill get Bert up the hill," he said to the judge, emptying the cartridges from both guns and putting them in his pockets.
"Can we take those saddlebags for you as well?" Potter asked.
"That's not necessary," Scott said. "I can manage."
"I insist," the judge said. "Is your brother badly injured?"
"He banged his head pretty hard," Scott said, compromising by handing the judge one set of saddlebags and keeping the other. "And he broke his wrist. I'd like to get back up to him as soon as possible."
It took time, though, to get Bert up the hill without hurting him any more. Bill had splinted the boy's leg and he and Scott carried him between them. The judge and the rest of his family trailed behind them. Gus insisted on carrying the Lancers' rifles, along with one of his family's valises. The judge held another valise in one hand and his wife's hand in the other, helping her. Annie held her mother's other hand. Halfway up, the little girl demanded to be picked up.
"You go on with Bert," the judge said when Scott and Bill stopped. "We'll meet you up there. Annie, darling, don't cry. You have to be brave."
Scott had nearly finished setting and splinting Johnny's arm by the time the family finally straggled over the top of the hill. Bill, meanwhile, gathered some wood and lit a fire in a clearing just off to the side of the road.
Johnny endured a few minutes of what had to be excruciating pain before he passed out while Scott was setting his wrist. Scott didn't like the look of it. The bones hadn't broken through the skin, to his relief, but the injury looked a lot worse than a simple break. Johnny's entire forearm was bruised and badly swollen.
Scott moved the bones back into position as best he could, splinted Johnny's arm from his elbow to his fingertips and tore up one of his shirts to make a sling.
"Is he asleep again?" Annie asked, coming over to stand next to Scott.
"Yes," Scott lied. "And you'll have to be quiet as a mouse so you don't wake him, Annie. He's hurt, like your brother Bert."
"Bert cried," Annie said, round-eyed. "I heard him. Did Johnny cry too?"
"No," Scott said, looking at his brother's pale face. "He thinks he's too big to cry."
***
"Scott?" Bill said, walking over to them. "Think I should take one of the horses and go for help?"
"By the time you could get into town, they probably would have sent out a search party already," Scott pointed out. "Bert, how in the world did the hitch break loose from the stage?"
Bill spit on the ground and took a few steps away from the fire. Scott took the hint and went with him. "Looks to me like someone messed with it on purpose," the driver said darkly. "It was sawed part way through, Scott, probably back in that last town. Can't figure out why, though. We're not carrying the mail or anything valuable. Unless you boys are carrying something you didn't tell me about?"
"No," Scott said positively. "Nothing like that, Bill."
"It don't make sense," Bill said.
Scott frowned as an unwelcome thought occurred to him. "Bill, is Fergus McTaggart still in jail in Green River?" he asked slowly.
"Yeah, sure," Bill said. "Will be, until the new circuit judge comes through and they can finally hold the trial and hang him."
"He's the circuit judge," Scott said, pointing to Potter.
Bill's eyes widened. "You're kidding?"
"I'm afraid not," Scott said. "Before Johnny and I left for Stockton, I heard that the other McTaggarts said Fergus would never stand trial."
"I heard that too," Bill said uneasily. "Val's got extra guards on the jail. There's no way they can break him out."
"So the only way to stop the trial is to stop the judge," Scott said.
"Reckon so," Bill said.
The McTaggart brothers lived in a cabin outside town. They had four sons between them. The youngest, Fergus, was about Johnny's age and the oldest was a year younger than Scott. The entire clan, fathers and sons, was wild. Fergus and his cousins started a brawl every time they walked into a local saloon, which was often. Two weeks earlier, Fergus had knocked a saloon girl across the room when she refused to sit on his lap. The blow broke her neck and the sheriff charged him with murder.
Scott got up and picked up his and Johnny's rifles. He reloaded them and handed Johnny's to Bill.
"Your shotgun is still somewhere down below, isn't it?" he said, fishing in his saddlebags for extra ammunition. He filled his pockets and passed the box to Bill.
"Couldn't find it," Bill said, filling his pockets too. "It's probably busted anyway. Do you think we should put out the fire?"
"The moon is full tonight," Scott pointed out. "They're going to be able to see us anyway. We might as well try to stay warm."
"Four hours, you reckon, before anyone comes looking for us from town?"
"At least," Scott said. "If they start out right away."
Bill looked over at Johnny. "How bad is your brother hurt? We sure could use Johnny Madrid's gun if those McTaggarts are out there."
"No," Scott said. "He's not in any shape for this. I don't even want you to tell him about it if he comes around again."
"You going to tell the judge about it?"
"I think we'd better," Scott said. "But I'd rather not alarm Mrs. Potter or the children."
***
The judge listened quietly to what Scott had to say, and then looked across the fire. His wife was sitting next to Bert. Annie was huddled next to Gus, still clutching her broken doll.
"Mama, Susie Jo has to go to the doctor too when we get to town," Annie announced in a clear voice. "Scott said he could fix her head. Only he can fix up Johnny and Bert first. Susie Jo can wait her turn."
"Perhaps I should take one of the horses and try to get into town," the judge suggested. "If, as you suggest, these McTaggarts are lurking somewhere nearby, they would follow me and the rest of you should be safe."
"I don't think that's a very good idea, sir," Scott said. "You'll never make it to town on your own if they're out there. Besides, those aren't saddle horses and they aren't used to being ridden, even if you were used to riding bareback."
Judge Potter's face was rueful. "I haven't been on a horse in years," he admitted.
"Then I think you'd better stay right here," Scott said. "Bill and I will stand guard. If we're lucky, they'll send out a search party from town when the stage doesn't arrive on time."
"How long will that take?"
"It will take a few hours," Scott said. "We're not even due in town until eight."
"What do you suppose they're waiting for then?" Potter asked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to attack now, so they could get farther away?"
"When the moon rises, it will be nearly as bright as daylight," Scott said.
"I see," the judge said dryly.
"Besides, they wouldn't have any way to know exactly where the stage would break down," Scott said. "I'd guess that they were following it. It could take them a while to get into position."
"Do you think they're watching now?"
"I don't know," Scott said.
"Yes," Johnny said.
Scott looked over at his brother, surprised. The blue eyes were open and seemed more alert. Johnny gave his brother a crooked smile.
"I'm fine, Boston," he said.
"You are not," Scott said. "Johnny, I can take care of this. You need to take it easy."
"Help me up," Johnny insisted.
"Johnny!" Scott said, exasperated.
"My gun hand's fine," Johnny said. "C'mon, Scott. I sure don't want to sit out in the open by this fire, and there isn't much time."
"How can you tell?" Scott asked.
"Listen," Johnny said.
"I don't hear anything," Scott said.
"That's how you can tell," Johnny said softly. "The woods are way too quiet."
***
Scott sighed, but he went over to his brother and helped him over to some boulders just outside the firelight.
"Did you bring the saddlebags up?" Johnny asked.
"Why?"
"Could use an extra box of bullets," Johnny said.
"Johnny, just how do you think you're going to reload your gun with one hand?" Scott asked, exasperated.
Johnny grinned at him cheekily. "Lots of practice, Scott," he said. "I can load one-handed. Get me some bullets."
Scott shook his head, but he got a box of ammunition from Johnny's saddlebags and brought it over.
"Thanks," Johnny said. "Listen, Scott, I might not be much help this time. I sort of keep passing out."
"It's all right," Scott said. "I can handle this, Johnny."
"I know you can," Johnny said. "Only you shouldn't have to, not by yourself. Sorry to let you down."
"You're not letting me down, Johnny," Scott said. "You're hurt."
"Bill's not real good with a rifle," Johnny said regretfully. "Only I don't think I'd do much better right now."
"Johnny, don't worry about it. Promise me you will stay right here. Go ahead and shoot if you can, but please don't try to get up."
"I'm likely to fall down if I do," Johnny admitted.
"Promise, Johnny," Scott said. "I need to keep my eyes on the McTaggarts, not on my little brother."
"I can't promise, Scott," Johnny said slowly. "But I won't try to make a move unless you really need me."
Scott wasn't satisfied, but it was more of a concession than he expected from his stubborn brother. Unfortunately, he also figured that meant Johnny felt even worse than he had suspected.
"This isn't a bad spot," he said, looking around. "I'm going to send two of the kids over here. Think you can keep an eye on them?"
"I'll try," Johnny said. "What about the third kid?"
"He has a broken leg," Scott said. "If someone's watching, it would be a little suspicious if we move him too. The little girl is Annie and the older boy is Gus."
"Yeah, I know," Johnny said. "I heard you talking in the stage."
"Playing possum again, little brother?" Scott said.
"Might work this time too," Johnny said.
"It might," Scott agreed. He squeezed his brother's good shoulder. "Just for once, Johnny, behave yourself."
"And you watch your back, Boston," Johnny retorted. "In case I can't."
Scott went back to the Potters. "Gus and Annie, Johnny's not feeling too good," he said. "Do you suppose the two of you could go over there and sit with him?"
"Why doesn't he come over by the fire?" Gus asked. "It's getting cold."
Scott thought. "Uh, he's a little feverish," he said. "It's too warm for him by the fire."
"I'll take care of him," Annie agreed eagerly, jumping up. "I take good care of my dolly whenever she's sick."
"Gus, we're expecting some trouble," Scott said softly to the boy as Annie ran across the clearing. "Keep your little sister back in the rocks, no matter what happens. Johnny has his gun and he'll do what he can to keep both of you safe."
Gus looked startled. "Papa?" he said uncertainly.
"Do as he says, please, Gus," the judge said. "Quickly."
"What's going on?" Mrs. Potter demanded. "Harrison, I demand to know what's going on. If these young men are in trouble, they have no right to endanger our family."
"It's the other way around, Bella," the judge said. "I'm the one who is in trouble, I'm afraid, and these men are risking their lives to stay with us. When the shooting starts, I want you to get down on your knees and try to get over to the trees. I'll stay with Bert."
Her reaction surprised Scott. "I am not leaving my son," she declared.
"Bella," he said. "The other two children need you too. Please, dear, do as I say."
***
The attack came as the moon climbed the sky, bathing the clearing in silvery light. Scott, who had drifted over to the trees, checked the rocks anxiously, was relieved to see that there were still inky black shadows around them that hid his brother and the two children. The judge and his wife were sitting ducks, by the fire, he thought. He couldn't do anything about that. He wished Bill had told him that someone had tampered with the stage before they decided to perch in the open on top of the hill, but it was too late by the time he knew. He should have thought of it himself.
He heard a rifle cock in the silence.
"Look out!" he shouted, and the judge dove across his younger son's body, trying to shelter him. So did his wife, despite her husband's plea. Bullets skidded across the clearing and ricocheted off the rocks. Scott listened carefully and fired back with his carbine. They were using single-shot rifles, old Army Enfields, from the sound of it. That gave them the advantage in range and it meant they could do a lot of damage if they hit someone, but it also meant they'd lose time reloading between shots.
Bill was firing now too, from the other side of the clearing. Scott reloaded quickly while Bill emptied Johnny's Winchester. Johnny was right, he thought. Bill wasn't very good with a rifle.
"You in the clearing!" a voice called. "Hold your fire. We want to talk."
"What's there to talk about?" Scott replied cautiously.
"No need for anyone to get hurt here," the voice said. It had a strong western twang. "All we want is for that judge to turn himself around and go back to wherever he came from."
"That's out of the question," the judge spoke up. "I have a duty."
"You got a duty to get your wife and kids killed, Judge?" the voice said unbelievingly.
"I took an oath," the judge insisted.
"It's your funeral," the voice said, and another rifle shot sounded.
Scott aimed carefully and heard a cry. He fired again, and somebody swore in the darkness. Johnny's pistol suddenly spat, for the first time, and Scott ducked as a minie ball smacked into the tree just over his head. He rolled and came up behind another tree, firing again. He reloaded quickly. There were only two rifles firing at them now, he thought. Something burned his shoulder, and he heard Johnny's pistol again as he leaned against the tree, trying desperately to stay on his feet. Johnny really could reload with one hand, Scott thought, amazed.
He heard horses, coming up fast, and the gunfire stopped abruptly. Scott sank down to his knees as his father galloped in at the head of a group of riders.
"Scott!" Murdoch said, swinging down off his horse and taking the rifle out of his hands. "Easy, son. You're hurt."
"No," Scott mumbled. "Johnny's the one who got hurt." He tried to stand up and collapsed.
***
Something tickled Scott's face and he turned away, not opening his eyes. It tickled again and he started to reach for it.
"You're supposed to keep your arm still," a reproachful little voice told him. "It's hurt."
Scott had rolled onto his back and clapped his left hand on his heavily bandaged right shoulder. The pain subsided and he opened his eyes. He was in his own room at Lancer. From the slant of the light coming through the windows, it was late afternoon. Annabelle Potter stood at the side of the bed, looking at him curiously.
"Should I go get your papa?" she asked, reaching out to pat him again with her small hand.
Scott shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, hitching himself up. He looked over at Annie. She was wearing a clean pink dress and holding her doll.
"Hey, is Susie all better?" he asked.
Annie nodded and gave him a little smile. "Dr. Jenkins took her into town with him," she said. "He just brought her back."
"Is Doc here?" Scott asked.
Annie nodded again. "He's visiting my mama," she said. "Mama's hurt too."
"I'm sorry," Scott said gently.
Annie's eyes were enormous. "Scott, why did those bad men hurt you and Mama?"
Scott paused. "They're bad men, honey," he finally said. "Sometimes there's not any more reason than that."
"My papa puts bad men in jail," Annie said.
"That's where they belong," Scott said.
"Annie?" Murdoch appeared in the door, holding a mug. "Teresa is looking for you, honey. Do you think you could go down to the kitchen and help her?"
"Sure," Annie said, skipping out. "I like to help Teresa."
"How are you feeling?" Murdoch asked when she had disappeared.
"Hungry," Scott said. "And not for broth."
"Sorry, son, but that's what the doctor ordered," Murdoch said, handing him the mug.
Scott sighed and took a sip. His father sat down in the chair by the bed. He looked tired, Scott thought, tired and sad. "Where's Johnny?" he asked. "Is he all right?"
"He will be," Murdoch said. "He's in bed too and Jelly is watching to make sure he doesn't try to get out of it."
"Do you think Jelly can?" Scott said dubiously.
Murdoch laughed. "For today, anyway," he said. "I'll step in when it's necessary."
"Can I see him?"
"Not without getting out of bed, which you're not going to do either today, young man," Murdoch said. "He's going to be all right, Scott."
"He hit his head pretty hard," Scott said. "And his wrist looked bad."
"I know," Murdoch said. "But Doc patched him up. You too."
"I remember getting hit, just before you arrived," Scott said hazily. "They had Enfield rifles."
"The shot only grazed your shoulder, but those minies do a lot of damage," Murdoch said. "We're lucky it isn't worse."
"I know," Scott said, his eyes darkening as he remembered some of the rifle wounds he'd seen in the war.
"How did you get there so quick?" he asked. "The stage wasn't even overdue yet. I thought it would be hours before anyone came looking for us."
"Val got a telegram telling him that the judge was on his way," Murdoch said. "And he put two and two together and figured that it wouldn't hurt to ride out to meet the stage."
"What about the Potters?" Scott asked. "Are they all right? Annie said her mother is hurt."
Murdoch looked reluctant. "You should try to get some rest, son," he said. "You lost a lot of blood and Doc said you need to sleep as much as you can."
"Tell me," Scott demanded, his smoky eyes on his father's face.
Murdoch hesitated. "She passed away just a little while ago," he said. "The judge hasn't told the children yet. He's still with Sam."
"Oh, no," Scott said. "What happened?"
"She was trying to shield her son," Murdoch said. "And she did."
Scott looked at his father, certain that he was thinking of a mother who hadn't tried to protect her son or his, far from it. Maria Lancer had tossed Johnny to the wolves and left him to make his own way. She'd even joined the pack occasionally, from what Scott could read between the lines of the stories his brother was so reluctant to tell them.
Maria was beautiful. That was always the first thing people said about her. She lit up a room when she walked through the door. Bella Potter had never entranced anyone in her life. But Mrs. Potter had died doing something beautiful for her son.
Scott felt his anger rise. "What about the McTaggarts?" he asked.
"The three boys are dead," Murdoch said. "You shot two of them and Johnny hit one. Their fathers took off when we arrived, but Cipriano caught up with them and took them to the jail in Green River. They'll hang for this, Scott."
"They should," Scott said bitterly.
Murdoch reached over and took the empty mug from his hand. "Try to sleep, son," he suggested. "I'll see if Doc will let you have something a little better for supper."
***
Scott woke up early the next morning and slipped out of bed cautiously. The house was quiet. He crossed the hall and pushed his brother's door open. Johnny was still asleep, on his side. A heavy plaster cast encased his arm, from just above his elbow to his fingertips, and there was a bandage around his head. Scott sat down in the chair next to the bed and waited. It didn't take long. The sapphire eyes opened suddenly.
"Good morning," Scott said.
"Morning," Johnny said, not moving.
Scott looked at the dark smudges under his brother's eyes, and the way his mouth was set.
"You hurting?" he asked.
"I'm just fine," Johnny said tersely.
"I was angry too when Murdoch told me about Mrs. Potter yesterday," Scott said. "I felt like I'd failed. I should have done a better job to protect her."
"You did the best you could," Johnny protested.
"Exactly," Scott said, leaning back in the chair and watching his brother. "You did too, Johnny."
The fury in those blue eyes turned to sadness. "Three kids still lost their mother, Boston," Johnny said. "And I wasn't much use."
"But the three kids are still alive and so is their father," Scott said. "That's something, Johnny."
"That's what the judge said."
"Judge Potter? You talked to him?"
"A little bit, last night," Johnny said.
"Let it go, Johnny," Scott said. "We both did what we could. And you did more than you should, as usual. Doc told me you have a serious concussion. Do you still have a headache?"
"Some," Johnny admitted. "It's not too bad."
"You, little brother, are breaking the rule again."
"What rule?"
"The rule about never trying to fool your older and wiser brother," Scott said. "Did Doc leave you some laudanum?"
Just a hint of a smile appeared in the blue eyes and the corner of Johnny's mouth turned up a little. "Nope," he said triumphantly. "Can't have it with a concussion, Scott."
Scott looked at the dresser and he smiled too when he saw a teapot sitting on a stand, kept warm by a candle. "That must mean that this is willow bark tea," he said, pouring a mug.
"Scott," Johnny protested. "Do you know how awful that stuff tastes?"
"I do," Scott said. "But it helps take the edge off pain, and don't even try to tell me that you're not in pain, little brother. Apart from the headache, that arm has to hurt."
Johnny looked rebellious. Scott just waited and Johnny finally sat up a little, and took the mug with his good hand. He took a small sip and made a face, rolling his eyes. Scott's mouth twitched.
"How come you're up, anyway?" Johnny asked. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed too?"
"That was yesterday," Scott informed him. "Doc said I could get up today." His eyes rested on Johnny's mug until his brother took another sip.
Something occurred to Scott. "Johnny, Annie asked me a question about you and I didn't know the answer."
Johnny gave him a wary look and swallowed some more tea. "I'm getting kind of sleepy," he said.
Scott kept his smile to himself but it showed in his eyes. "You can sleep in a minute, Johnny. First, I want to know the answer to the question."
Johnny took a final gulp and handed Scott the empty mug. He slid down on the pillows, turning on his side again.
"Wonder if Murdoch remembered to get my rifle," he said. His voice sounded drowsy.
"Johnny," Scott said. "What's your middle name?"
"My what?"
"Your middle name," Scott said.
Johnny looked at him and Scott caught a gleam of pure mischief. "My mama always said it was trouble," he said, closing his eyes.
THE END
Whistle, August 2004