Spooked
No one knew how old the bruja was. She lived in a small house, not much more than a hut, at the outskirts of Morro Coyo. She had lived there as long as anyone, even the oldest grandmother, remembered. She kept some goats and hens, and still tended her herb garden.
The barefoot younger children whispered stories and dared each other to step inside the rickety gate and slap the door. Occasionally one of the boldest boys threw an insult or even a stone. Older girls giggled and sneaked to the door for potions. A few of the mothers crossed themselves and consulted her about sickness and injuries, offering choice dishes from their kitchens in payment.
One morning in October the bruja appeared in her doorway, leaning on her broom. She swept the threshold and looked out at the street with hooded dark eyes, deeply sunk in a wizened face. Winter was coming, despite the day's bright sunshine, and her bones felt the chill.
Her back bent, she hobbled to the shed to milk her goat and carried the pail toward her door. A stone whizzed through the air and clunked off the wooden pail. She dropped it and the milk soaked into the ground. The next stone glanced off her head and she fell too.
"Hey!" a voice said. A dark-haired young man grabbed a fleeing boy by the collar and yanked him off his feet. The bruja listened, her face impassive, as the vaquero's tongue blistered the boy with a burst of gutter Spanish. When he was finished, the boy ran off shame-faced. The vaquero helped the old woman to her feet and picked up the pail. She stared, surprised, into a pair of vivid blue eyes.
"Are you all right, Old One?" he asked, his voice gentle. "You're bleeding."
"It is nothing." She studied the handsome, reckless face. This must be the second son from the estancia, the son of the tall gringo patron and the wild one from Mexico. She had heard that he was back, he and his older brother, but hadn't seen either of them until now.
This one had already paid a high price to the curse that stained all the sons of the estancia. And there was more to come, and soon. This one should not have come home.
She refused his help and hurried into her house as quickly as she could. Time was running out. She opened a chest and threw a handful of powder into the cauldron steaming on the fire.
***
A week later, Johnny Lancer paused in the door to the saloon in Green River, his eyes sliding over the room. Apart from a few men playing cards in a corner, it was nearly empty. The bartender delivered a bottle of tequila to the table before Johnny settled into a chair.
"You're late, little brother," Scott said, looking up over his cards.
Johnny shrugged and poured a shot from the bottle. He tilted his chair against the wall while Scott turned his attention back to the game.
Scott raked in the pot again and the other men stood, chairs scraping against the floor. When they left, Scott looked across the table at his silent brother and fished through the pile of coins and bills in front of him. He picked out a coin and pushed it over.
"What's that for?"
"Penny for your thoughts."
"That's a quarter, Boston."
"You can start running an account for me." Scott's eyes crinkled, but his voice was serious.
Johnny gave him a small smile and lowered the chair legs to the floor. He pushed the coin back across the table and finished his drink. "I'm thinking that if we don't get back to the ranch in time for supper, the old man is going to bust a gut. That's free."
Scott sighed. It had been nearly six months since the brothers arrived at Lancer. After a shaky beginning, he thought his father and brother had finally made their peace and started to build a relationship, but the last few days had been worse than ever.
Scott was increasingly afraid his brother would ride away and not come back. He had left once, a few months ago, and Scott had stepped in to try to persuade him to come home. He wasn't so sure he'd do that again. He still didn't want Johnny to leave, but if Murdoch didn't change his tune, Scott was more inclined to go with Johnny than to ask him to stay.
Murdoch just wasn't being reasonable, not where Johnny was concerned. Scott didn't understand it. Even if Murdoch had doubts initially about whether his younger son could settle down to life on the ranch, they should be gone by now. Johnny had proved himself to everyone except his own father, the man who should have been the first to accept him.
Scott had nothing to complain about on his own account. He found it easier than he had expected to get along with his father. Murdoch was patient about explaining the ranch operations, and listened to Scott's ideas with respect. Unfortunately, the contrast just made things worse between Murdoch and Johnny. Scott looked up and met Johnny's knowing eyes.
"It's OK," the younger man said. "Not your fault."
"It's sure not yours either, brother." Scott shook his head in frustration.
"Let's go."
***
Murdoch was already at the table with Teresa. He cast a glowering look at his younger son as Johnny slid into his chair.
"You're late. What kind of trouble did you run into this time?"
"None, sir," Scott said emphatically. "Johnny was waiting for me."
"For you?" Murdoch's eyes swung to his elder son. "Didn't the bank have the draft ready?"
"Yes, it did," Scott said. "After I picked it up, I stopped in the saloon to play a few hands of poker."
Murdoch's eyes threatened to bug out of his face. "You did what?"
"I stopped in the saloon to play a few hands of poker." Scott's voice was calm. He helped himself to potatoes and passed the bowl to his brother, who was staring at him too, as if he'd suddenly grown an extra head. Scott smiled at him and reached for the carrots.
Murdoch's face had turned dark purple. "I suppose you also stopped in the saloon to play a few hands of poker," he growled to Johnny.
"No, Johnny was still at the blacksmith's," Scott corrected. "I could have joined him to watch Jake hammer out the new hinges, but I hardly saw the need for even one of us to be there."
Teresa looked scared. She tried to change the subject. "I wish I'd known you two were going into Green River today. I need some more thread for my new dress and Baldomero's doesn't have the right color."
Murdoch pounced on Johnny again. "Didn't you ask your sister and Maria if they needed anything?"
Johnny's mouth was full of roast beef, and Scott answered for him. "Johnny didn't have an opportunity to return to the house, sir. If you recall, you told me to pick him up from the fence crew when you sent us into town. I'm afraid it never occurred to me that you hadn't already consulted Senora Maria and Teresa when you gave me the list of errands."
Baffled of his prey, Murdoch fell silent. Scott talked cheerfully to Teresa, but his father and brother didn't say a word during the rest of the meal. Teresa rose to clear the table at last, and Johnny took the heavy tray out of her hands. She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."
Murdoch looked up. "Don't dawdle in the kitchen, John. I want to go over tomorrow's work with both of you."
He assigned Johnny to the fence crew again. Scott knew how he felt about spending day after day digging postholes and stringing wire, but Johnny didn't object. Murdoch told Scott they'd be riding to a neighboring ranch to see a new bull. Johnny fell asleep while Murdoch was still talking about the importance of a strong breeding program. Scott, sipping brandy, tried his best to look attentive, but he'd been up before sunrise too. He hid a yawn.
"Wake him up and go upstairs, both of you," Murdoch finally said. "We'll talk about this at breakfast."
Scott rose with alacrity and touched his brother's shoulder lightly. Johnny, startled, reached for his hip before he realized where he was, or that he wasn't wearing a gun. Scott stepped hastily between him and Murdoch. "Time for bed, little brother."
Johnny gave him a lopsided, rueful smile. Murdoch was staring at both of them.
"Good night, sir," Scott said, nudging his brother toward the stairs.
"Good night, son. Good night, John."
Johnny's step faltered. "Night," he said without turning.
***
Johnny shrugged two days later when Scott finally got him alone. Scott and Murdoch had ridden out early the day before. They stayed for supper with the neighbors, who were disappointed Johnny wasn't with them. It was late when they returned. Scott had tapped on Johnny's door but there was no answer and he decided to let it wait until morning. Now he was determined to discuss their father's behavior.
"There's nothing to talk about."
Scott frowned. "What do you mean, there's nothing to talk about? He's your father. And apart from that, you're an equal partner in this ranch. You don't have to put up with the way he treats you. I'm certainly not going to put up with it."
They were up on the barn roof, replacing lost shingles and making it tight for the winter. Johnny took a nail out of his mouth and banged it in. "Leave it alone," he mumbled. "It don't matter."
"Johnny. It does matter."
Johnny nailed another shingle into place. Scott watched, exasperated. Johnny finally stopped hammering and sat for a minute, looking down on the ranch. "Sure is pretty."
Scott followed his eyes. From the top of the barn, they could see for miles and all of it was Lancer. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, it is. But you're not going to get away with changing the subject this time."
"I didn't." The blue eyes looked up. "Murdoch told us, that first day. He cares about the ranch more than anything. Reckon he's just trying to protect it."
"Protect it from what?"
Johnny played with his hammer, weighing it in his hand. "I shouldn't have stayed here. I knew it wouldn't work. Only I couldn't ride for a while and this place sort of grows on a man."
Johnny couldn't ride for a while, as he put it, because he'd very nearly been killed in the battle to save Murdoch's beloved ranch. Scott remembered the long, anxious week when they weren't sure if Johnny would live. His eyes narrowed. "This place is your home, brother. And you earned your right to stay here, not that it should have been necessary."
One corner of Johnny's mouth turned up, but it wasn't a smile. His eyes were desolate. "Nothing's forever, Scott. This is longer than I remember staying anywhere before."
Scott felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the wind whipping down from the mountains to the east. "So you are thinking of leaving?"
Johnny's dark hair flopped into his eyes, hiding them. "The winters are nice and warm in Mexico."
"You can't go back to Mexico. There's a price on your head."
"Mexico is a big place."
"No," Scott said. "What about Wyoming?"
"It's even colder in Wyoming," Johnny objected.
"We could start a horse ranch," Scott said.
"We?"
"You don't think you're getting rid of me, do you, little brother? If you leave, I'll go with you."
Johnny still wouldn't look at Scott, but he shook his head. "Nuh-uh. You need to stay here. Someone has to look out for the old man and Teresa."
"You care about him, don't you?" Scott stared at his brother. "Despite everything?"
Johnny picked up another shingle. "Let's get this finished before I freeze something I'll miss."
***
Johnny didn't appear for breakfast the next morning. Murdoch glared at his empty place and pushed back his chair.
"I'll get him," Scott offered, but Murdoch stomped toward the stairs.
He didn't return. After five minutes, Scott and Teresa exchanged looks and Scott threw his napkin down on the table. He went up the back stairs. Johnny's door was open, but he couldn't hear voices. Puzzled, he looked inside.
Murdoch was sitting on the bed, holding a piece of paper. His shoulders sagged.
"Where's Johnny?" Scott's gut tightened. He knew the answer even before his father spoke. The neatly made bed was a sure sign that his brother hadn't slept in this room last night. He doubted Johnny had ever made a bed in his life.
"He's gone." Murdoch's voice sounded hollow.
"Gone where?"
Murdoch shook his head. "He didn't say. He just left his copy of the partnership agreement, and a note signing his share over to you." He thrust the piece of paper at Scott with a trembling hand.
Scott crumpled it in his fist. "I'll go after him. He can't have gone far."
"It's no use."
Scott knew that was probably true, but he was angrier than he'd ever been. "You don't even want to find him, do you? You pushed him into this."
"I know I did." Murdoch bowed his head. "God forgive me, I know. I just don't understand why."
"What do you mean?" Something in his father's tone caught Scott's attention.
"This last week," Murdoch said heavily. "I could hear the words coming out of my mouth but I didn't mean them. It was like - someone else was talking."
"No one else was talking," Scott said coldly. "It was you, sir." He spun and stalked out, unable to look at his father. He'd only known his brother for six months, but he felt like his heart had been torn out.
"Scott?" Teresa said uncertainly as he came down the stairs. "Scott, where's Johnny?"
He brushed by her angrily. "Ask Murdoch." The door slammed behind him.
***
Another week passed. On his way home with supplies, Scott Lancer stopped the buckboard on the hill over Lancer and looked down at the hacienda. So much had changed in a short time.
Murdoch hadn't been the same man since Johnny left. He spent most of the first day in his chair behind the desk, just staring out the windows. He barely spoke and took no interest in the ranch. The second day, he didn't even bother to come downstairs. He had stayed in his room since.
Sam Jenkins had tried everything from yelling at the big rancher for his stupidity to begging him to explain just what he had been thinking. Murdoch didn't respond. Sam examined him and couldn't find any physical reason for his condition. He hadn't had a stroke or a heart attack. He had simply given up, Sam told Scott. Murdoch had withdrawn somewhere deep inside himself and they couldn't break through his shell.
Scott barely had time to think about his missing brother and no time to look for him. Running the ranch by himself kept him fully occupied. He still had a lot to learn and didn't know what he would have done without Cipriano and Jelly.
He had cabled the Pinkertons right away but Johnny hadn't left any trail for them to follow. He'd vanished without a trace. He hadn't drawn anything from his account at the bank and no one had seen him. Scott was half relieved and half worried as the days went by and Johnny Madrid didn't surface. He didn't think Johnny wanted to go back to gun fighting, but wasn't sure how he would make a living if he didn't, especially if he didn't use any of the money that had accumulated in his account. He knew Johnny didn't have much when he left, just whatever he'd won in a poker game the Saturday before. They didn't need much cash, living on the ranch, and Johnny usually didn't draw any unless someone cleaned him out and he needed a stake to get into the game. That didn't happen often, but Scott figured Johnny didn't have much more than twenty dollars.
Scott thought his brother might be camping out and wanted to check the ranch line shacks, but hadn't been able to get away from the responsibilities of the ranch.
"I checked," Val Crawford said gloomily when he stopped to see if the sheriff had heard anything, and voiced the idea aloud.
"You did?" Scott was surprised.
"Johnny and me go back a long time." The scruffy sheriff picked up the coffee pot, but Scott shook his head. Johnny had warned him about Val's coffee. "Figured I might be able to talk some sense into him if I could find him."
Scott knew that his brother and the sheriff were friends, but neither had ever said anything about knowing each other before. "How long have you known him?"
Val shrugged. "Five or six years maybe, on and off."
Scott did the arithmetic. "He must have been just a kid when you met him."
Val shook his head. "He was fourteen, I reckon, or thereabouts, but he sure wasn't no kid. Hadn't been for a long time by then."
Scott sighed. The taciturn sheriff hadn't told him much more than that. He was as close-mouthed as Johnny - or Murdoch - when it came to the past.
His eyes rested on the hacienda. It looked so peaceful in the late afternoon sunshine, just as it had that first day in the spring when Teresa stopped in the same spot when she drove the brothers to the ranch. No one, looking at it, would guess at the turmoil behind the thick adobe walls. Maybe the place was bewitched, he thought, and picked up the reins.
***
Johnny forced his eyes open, but couldn't see anything. He lay on a rough pallet, his wrists firmly trussed. A blindfold covered his eyes. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry and he felt feverish.
He heard the footsteps coming. Big hands pulled him to his feet, and held him when his knees began to buckle. They shuffled across the floor and a door opened. Johnny could feel a faint breeze on his face, but still couldn't see a thing through the blindfold. He could hear the wind rustle the trees, and crickets chirp, but couldn't detect any of the sounds or smells of a town, or even a ranch. He didn't think this was a prison. It wasn't anything like the prison in Mexico or any other jail he'd been in. But he didn't know what it was, who was holding him, or why. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been there.
He hazily remembered leaving Lancer. He'd waited until everyone was in bed and the moon rose. The ranch looked eerie in the silver light but still beautiful. He'd given his heart to this land as soon as he saw it, in a way he'd never given his heart to any place before. The feeling scared him, something else that was new for him. It was easy not to be scared if you didn't have anything you cared about, or anything to lose. Nothing scared Johnny Madrid.
He was halfway to Morro Coyo when he saw the horse and empty wagon in the middle of the road. Johnny Madrid's instincts should have been screaming at him to be wary of a trap, but Johnny Lancer stopped to see if someone was hurt and needed help. He was soothing the abandoned horse when the blow connected with the back of his head, and he dropped like a stone.
The big hands settled him on the ground, released his wrists, and gave him a bowl of beans and rice and some tortillas. He managed only a few mouthfuls before his stomach lurched and he set the bowl down shakily.
"You must eat now," his jailer said in Spanish.
Johnny shook his head, rubbing his wrists. "Don't want it."
The man made a noise, but didn't try to make him eat. After a few minutes, he pulled Johnny back to his feet and took him out into some bushes. When Johnny had finished, the man bound his hands again and led him back to the pallet.
Johnny knew the drug was in the drink and tried weakly to turn his head away.
"Drink," the man ordered. "You have no choice, so make it easy on yourself this time."
In answer, Johnny spit out the liquid, but the hands tilted his face up and poured more down his throat, pinching his nostrils shut. He choked and sputtered, but finally had to swallow. The drug took effect quickly. The world began to fade again, replaced by colored visions that made his head spin.
"He has been drugged too long," he heard the jailer say.
"It is better than what might happen if he were not." This voice belonged to a woman, an old woman from the sound of it.
Johnny tried to lift his head and couldn't. He couldn't even keep his damn eyes open, not that it mattered under the blindfold. He sucked in a long, ragged breath, and then he knew nothing.
***
Scott heard a horse climbing the hill and his hopes rose when he saw a flash of gold, but it was only Teresa, riding the buckskin mare Johnny had given her for her birthday.
The eager look on her face faded as she looked at her foster brother. "There's still no news?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Val Crawford told me that he's checked all of our line shacks."
"The sheriff?"
"He and Johnny are good friends. Better than I knew." There was still so much Scott didn't know about his younger brother. And if they couldn't find Johnny, he would never get the chance. He closed his fists in frustration.
"We'll find him, Scott," Teresa ventured. "We can't lose him now."
"We have lost him. It's been more than a week. For all we know, he's back in Mexico by now."
"Do you think that's where he went?"
"I don't know." The question had occupied Scott during sleepless nights. Johnny had no business in Mexico. The rurales were angry he had escaped them six months ago and had put up a reward for his capture, dead or alive. Murdoch's lawyer was working on it with the Mexican government, unbeknownst to Johnny. Murdoch had confided to Scott one night, but warned him not to get his brother's hopes up.
Scott thought, at the time, that Murdoch really did care about Johnny. Now he wondered if the man wanted his younger son to go back to Mexico and was trying to ease his conscience.
Teresa played with the loose ends of her reins, her head downcast. "Scott," she said slowly. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh at me?"
He cocked his head at her. "Certainly." He helped her down and she sat on a rock. "What's wrong, Teresa?"
"I heard some of the girls in the kitchen talking." Her voice wavered, almost childlike. "They were saying that Lancer is cursed."
"What? That's nonsense, and you know it."
Her face turned pink. "Is it? Listen, Scott, please, just listen. Before Murdoch bought the ranch, a hidalgo family, the Riveras, owned it under a Spanish land grant."
"What is a hidalgo family?"
"Spanish nobility," she said. "They owned most of the valley. The story is that one of the Rivera sons got an Indian girl from the local mission into trouble. The priests threw her out and she went to the hacienda on a winter's night to ask for shelter. The Riveras turned her away, and she and her baby died out in the cold. Her grandmother was a witch and they say she put a curse on the hacienda and all its owners, so none of their sons would come of age there."
"You can't really believe that?" Scott stared at the girl. Surely, no rational person believed in curses.
"I don't know." Teresa twisted her gloves nervously. "The last of the Riveras to live here, Don Diego, came from Spain. He inherited the grant from his uncle because his cousins all died when they were young. They say Don Diego had five sons and four of them died before they turned twenty-one. He sent the fifth boy to Spain, to be raised there, and he didn't ever return. His agents sold the ranch to Murdoch after Don Diego died."
"Coincidence," Scott scoffed.
"Is it?" Teresa's eyes were big. "You didn't grow up here either, Scott. And neither did Johnny."
"We've been here now for six months," Scott pointed out.
"Y-e-es."
"What?" Scott said.
"You already came of age, Scott, before you came home. But Johnny, he won't be twenty-one until December. That's what the girls were talking about."
***
He could hear the voices, whispering in Spanish, from his blankets in a corner of the tumbledown shack. He'd been sick for a few days. His mother told him to stay inside and she would bring him something to eat, but she must have forgotten. He heard her laugh, and knew she'd been drinking again. He needed to get out, even if he still didn't feel too good. Mama's men usually didn't want him underfoot, and neither did she. And he didn't want to be there either, didn't want to hear the two of them. He'd rather take his chances out in the dark by himself. Maybe, if it wasn't too late, he could still sneak inside the livery stable and curl up in the hayloft for the night. The man who ran the stable would beat him if he caught him, but it wasn't as scary as spending the night in the alleys, or out in the desert. At least there were horses in the stable to keep him company.
Someone reached for him and Johnny panicked, throwing his hands up to protect his face from the blow he expected. "Shhhh," a voice crooned. "It is all right. No one will hurt you. Lie still."
"He has too much fever." That was the jailer's voice and Johnny tried to pull away, but firm hands held him down. "And he is having bad dreams. The drug is making him sick."
"It cannot be helped," the woman said. "He must not return to the ranchero."
"We can't keep him here, abuela. Not like this."
"It is not much longer," she said. "Just until the Day of the Dead."
"The Day of the Dead?"
"He will face the judges on the Day of the Dead," she said. "They will decide if he must pay the blood price."
***
Scott consulted the housekeeper, who immediately crossed herself. "I cannot speak about this, Senor."
"Not even if Johnny's in danger?"
Her dark eyes dropped under his clear gaze. "The patron has forbidden it."
"Maria," Scott coaxed desperately. "Please. I need to know what's going on, especially if it might help me find Johnny."
She hesitated, her eyes full of grief. "It is not good to speak of such things. Your father was right to forbid it many years ago."
Scott stared at her. "Is that what he told Johnny's mother?" he whispered. A horrible idea occurred to him. "Is that - that's not why she left and took Johnny?"
Maria's eyes dropped. "She was frightened," she finally admitted. "The patron said it was nonsense, and no one was to speak of it again, but the senora was not so sure. There were other things, as well, but this frightened her and your father did not understand."
Scott shook his head. "You don't believe it, do you? That there's a curse on this house?"
"I do not speak of such things," Maria said stubbornly, but she crossed herself again.
Scott turned away and looked out the window. "I can't find any trace of Johnny at all. He's not at any of the line shacks and he didn't stop in any of the towns, not even to get any of his money from the bank or to pick up some supplies for the trail. No one's seen him or Barranca."
"Perhaps he did not wish to be seen, Senor."
"Perhaps," Scott said. "But I'm worried that something happened to him. He could be sick or hurt and need help. Johnny and Barranca are hard to miss."
Maria considered that thoughtfully. "Yes," she agreed.
"Please, Senora," Scott said. "I know you love him too."
The dark eyes rested on him. "Since the moment he was born, and I carried him in my arms to your father."
"Will you help me find him?"
She considered it for a few minutes. She didn't answer him, not directly, but she untied her apron. "We will go to Morro Coyo."
"I've already checked Morro Coyo. No one saw him there."
She gave him a pitying look. "You are a gringo, Senor. We will go to Morro Coyo, and I will speak to la bruja."
"La bruja?" Scott repeated the unfamiliar word.
"The witch."
***
The bruja wasn't home. Maria banged on the door of the hut, but no one answered. She questioned a neighbor in rapid Spanish, far too rapid. Scott couldn't grasp more than a few words.
"The bruja left more than a week ago and he does not know when she will return," she reported when she returned to the buggy. "We will go to the store."
"Baldomero's?"
"Si," she said.
Senora Baldomero was behind the counter. She gave Maria an anxious look, and the two of them disappeared into a back room. It was a long time before Maria came out again, and her face was grave. Scott followed the housekeeper outside.
"Did she know anything?"
"More than she is willing to say." Maria frowned. "Senor Baldomero is away. He also left last week. The senora says he went to visit a nephew."
Scott didn't miss her emphasis. "You don't believe her?"
"She is frightened," Maria said. "I have known her for a long time, and she is very frightened."
"Do you think she knows something about where Johnny is?"
"Perhaps, but she will not tell us."
Scott chewed on his lip. "I thought the Baldomeros liked Johnny."
"They do." Maria's face softened. "They remember when he was just a little boy. He loved to visit the store with your father, and they spoiled him. The senora always gave him a candy stick. I do not believe they would ever harm el nino."
Scott felt a pang. These people had memories of his brother he should have shared. "Murdoch used to take him to town? He was so young."
"Your papa, he took him everywhere he could," Maria said. "He would put him up on the horse in front of him and take him to see the ranch. Johnny loved to ride, even when he was very small. And your papa, he was so proud of him."
Scott tried to picture his stern father riding with a small Johnny. "Too bad he doesn't remember that now."
"He was too young, not much more than a baby."
"Not Johnny," Scott said. "Murdoch."
***
Johnny drifted awake. He realized slowly that he wasn't still in the same place. He could tell it was larger, just from the way the sound echoed. Water dripped somewhere. He lay on hard ground and the cold seeped into him, despite the blankets wrapped around him.
He reached up with his bound hands and tugged on the blindfold. It came loose and he stared at his surroundings. He was in a cave. Light came in through an opening high above his head.
The light was fading quickly and he figured it was close to sundown. He pushed the blankets away and sat up cautiously. His head started to swim as soon as he tried to stand. He sat down again abruptly and dropped his head between his knees while he fought for control. He needed to get away before his captors returned. He took stock grimly. He didn't seem to be hurt anywhere, not seriously. There was nothing wrong with his arms or legs, and he needed to use them. He tried again to stand, but managed only a few steps before he landed on the ground again. His legs felt like rubber. Fine. If he couldn't walk, he would crawl. Johnny set his jaw and inched across the cave on his hands and knees.
***
The sun slipped below the horizon and Scott pulled up the horses, peering ahead into the gloom. "Are you sure this is the road?" he asked Maria doubtfully.
She nodded. "An earthquake destroyed the old mission many years ago. It is nothing but ruins, but there is a cave in the hill. It would be a good place to hide. No one goes near there from the town. They especially will not go there tonight."
"Tonight?" Scott felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He didn't believe in curses - or witches - but this situation was increasingly creepy. The housekeeper had insisted on taking a little-used road from Morro Coyo, barely a cart path, not the main road that led back to the ranch. "You mean, because it's Halloween?"
"Los Dias de los Muertos, the Days of the Dead, begin at midnight." Maria said. "Johnny and Teresa, they have told you of our customs?"
"A little." Johnny hadn't said much, but Teresa had described the holiday, if you could call it that. It sounded bizarre to a Bostonian, the idea of setting up an altar and welcoming the dead with a picnic. If Johnny had told him, he would have suspected that his brother was pulling his leg again, but Teresa had been perfectly serious.
"The first day, it is La Dia de los Angelitos," Maria said. "It is the day we remember our lost children."
Scott's head went up at that but he couldn't see Maria's face clearly in the dim light. "Johnny wasn't lost any more." It was childish, but he spoke without thinking, the resentment obvious in his voice. "Not until Murdoch drove him away. And he's not a child."
Maria sighed. "No, he is not a child, but he is not a man either, not by the law. This night, it could be dangerous for him."
"You do believe in the curse."
Maria shook her head. "I do not know, but I have seen many strange things. It is not good to take such things lightly."
"Teresa will worry if we're not home for supper," Scott said.
"It cannot be helped. It is only a few more miles to the old mission."
The mission had long ago lost its roof and most of its walls. It stood open to the sky, the crumbled walls laced with dry vines. Scott pulled up and looked at it, disappointed. "There's no one here."
"You don't wish to check the cave?"
Scott wished with all his heart to go home and to find his father and brother safe in the great room by the fire, even if it meant he had to listen to them argue. He didn't like this place. The shadows seemed blacker than usual and the wind sang overhead in an unearthly chorus.
"I suppose we should, since we're here." He climbed down and reached up to help Maria. He took the lantern from the buggy. Something caught his attention and he lifted the lantern higher.
"Someone has been here, not long ago, with a wagon," Maria said, following his eyes to the ruts in the narrow track.
Scott felt a burst of hope. "How do we get inside this cave?"
"This way."
***
The air inside the cave was damp. Scott led the way, holding the lantern, once Maria found the entrance. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down a long passage that opened into a larger chamber. There was a heap on the ground near the far end of the chamber. Maria said something under her breath and went toward it, pushing past Scott.
"Wait!" he objected.
"Hurry," she said, kneeling. The lantern cast her shadow on the rocky wall, larger than life. "Es su hermano, and he is sick."
Scott bent down, and his hand brushed Johnny's sweat-soaked hair away from his face. "Is he hurt?"
"Not that I can see," she said. "But he has much fever."
Scott noticed the rope wrapped around Johnny's wrists and reached for the knife on his belt. When he had flung the rope away, he looked at the bandanna knotted loosely around his brother's neck, and guessed it had been used as a blindfold. "He needs a doctor. How far are we from the ranch?"
"It is closer than the town." Maria put a finger under Johnny's jaw, testing his pulse. "I will take the lantern if you can carry him."
Scott hoisted his brother's limp body carefully over his shoulder. Johnny was heavier than he looked, although Scott noted grimly that he wasn't as heavy as he had been. "Let's go."
Before they crossed the cave, the lantern fell out of Maria's hand and smashed on the ground. Scott smelled the spilled kerosene even as he stared at a burly figure, holding a torch, in the entrance to the passageway. A smaller figure stepped into the chamber.
"You may go, but you must not take him." It was an old woman's voice.
Scott couldn't reach for his gun, not without dropping his brother. "Who are you?" he demanded. "And what have you done to Johnny?"
"La bruja," Maria breathed. "Be silent, por favor."
The larger figure came into the chamber and lit a ring of torches around the walls. Scott recognized Senor Baldomero, the storekeeper. The man gave him a mournful look as he resumed his place behind the bruja.
Maria asked something in Spanish, and the old woman answered her.
"What did she say?" Scott demanded.
"She said you and I may leave in peace, but Johnny must stay for the judgment."
"Judgment? What does she mean?"
"The Old Ones will send judges to decide tonight if the price is paid, or if your brother's life is forfeit."
"What?" Scott stared at the housekeeper. "Tell her I'm leaving right now, and I'm taking Johnny with me."
"No, Senor Scott." Maria put up her hand. "You must not."
Scott ignored her, heading for the door. To his surprise, Johnny suddenly became heavier, so heavy that Scott staggered and nearly went to his knees. He held onto his brother desperately, scowling at the tiny, wrinkled old woman who stood in his path.
"Step back," Maria urged him. "Come toward me."
Scott couldn't move forward, not even if his brother's life depended on it. He strained, but an immovable force pushed back. The resistance stopped when he took a step backward. He stopped next to Maria, his eyes still on the bruja.
"Put your brother down and go," Maria said. "I will stay with him."
"I'm not leaving him."
"This is not your place. Please, go back to the hacienda."
"No." Scott set his jaw stubbornly. "If Johnny stays, so do I."
"You do not understand," Maria argued. "If you stay with him, you will share his fate."
"He's my brother." Scott answered Maria, but he spoke to the bruja, who still stood just inside the passageway. "I'm not going anywhere without him."
"You are sure?" The bruja spoke in English, her voice clear and cold. "Think carefully before you choose. The senora is right."
"There's nothing to think about. I'm sure." A bell tolled once and Scott nearly dropped Johnny. He was sure there was no bell left in the ruined mission. "Where did that come from?"
Maria crossed herself but did not speak. Scott shifted Johnny's weight across his shoulder and looked back at the bruja.
"You have decided," she said. "The trial will begin at midnight."
***
Scott shifted his back against the wall of the cave. Johnny was propped against him, his head resting on Scott's chest. The youngest Lancer had stirred occasionally, but hadn't opened his eyes. Senor Baldomero had given Maria a canteen and she had untied the bandanna around Johnny's neck, using it to bathe his face with the water. They tried, but couldn't get him to swallow any of it. His pulse was rapid and Scott could feel him shivering, even though he also felt too warm.
The bruja sat, unmoving, on rocks that formed a natural chair on the opposite side of the chamber. She hadn't spoken again, not even when Baldomero approached them with the canteen. The torchlight flickered over her face.
Scott didn't know exactly what time it was, but thought Teresa, Jelly and Cipriano must be well beyond concerned by now at their disappearance. They would know he had taken the buggy, and they could easily trace Maria and him to Morro Coyo, but he also knew they had no reason to guess he had turned the buggy off the main road onto the cart path that led to the old mission. Cipriano was a skilled tracker, but Scott had little hope he could pick up this trail, especially not in the dark.
Johnny mumbled something and Scott tightened his grip. He looked at Maria, whose dark eyes were worried, and then at the bruja. "Just what is it that you intend to do with us?"
"It is not in my hands," the old woman answered.
"You took it into your hands," Scott retorted angrily. "You brought him here."
"Senor." Baldomero spoke up unexpectedly. "Forgive me, but he would already be dead if we had not."
Scott swung his attention to the storekeeper. "What do you mean?"
"The rurales, they sent agents to ambush him," Baldomero said. "They were waiting for him outside Morro Coyo. He would not have had a chance against so many, hiding like maggots under the rocks. They would not face him man to man. They would have shot him in the back."
Scott looked down at his brother's slack face. Johnny's long lashes rested on flushed cheeks. He looked completely defenseless and Scott felt his heart turn over. Maria put a hand on Scott's arm and squeezed it as he opened his mouth. He closed it abruptly. He didn't know if he could trust Baldomero, and he didn't even begin to trust the bruja.
Maria tilted the canteen and wet the bandanna again. She wiped Johnny's face tenderly. "Don't let him go," she murmured to Scott.
"I won't."
Scott was dozing when the torches flared. He roused, confused. Johnny still slept in his arms.
"Be careful," Maria hissed. "Be very careful."
Scott nodded, blinking at the light in the cavern. Three more figures had joined the bruja, two of them tall and one much smaller. All of them wore hooded robes like monks. Baldomero stood off to the side in the shadows. The bell tolled again and the bruja rose to her feet.
"It is time," she said.
***
Johnny's eyes fluttered and opened. They were dilated, the blue nearly invisible.
"Stay still, brother," Scott said in his ear, but Johnny pulled away from him and stood, holding onto the wall for support.
"Stay out of this," he told Scott. "You shouldn't be here."
"Too late," Scott said. He reached out to steady Johnny on his feet and the two brothers faced the judges together. Scott couldn't see their faces under the deep hoods.
The bruja spoke, not in Spanish this time but in another language. Scott listened, bewildered, but he didn't recognize any of the words.
"Do you know what she's saying?" he asked Johnny. "What language is that?"
"Miwok," Johnny said. "It's an Indian language."
"Do you understand it?"
"Some."
"Silence!" The bruja stopped speaking.
Scott wasn't about to back down. "If I'm to be on trial, you should speak in a language that I understand."
"You chose to stand with your brother, but you are not on trial and neither is he. The question for the judges to decide is whether the estancia's debt is paid or if it requires more blood."
"This is not my brother's debt," Scott argued. "He didn't do anything."
"Innocent blood was spilled and must be paid." The smallest of the judges pushed back her hood. Scott stared at an Indian girl. She had dark hair and eyes, and a proud, beautiful face. "My son was an infant when he died of cold and hunger, turned away by his own father's people. Do you think he did something to deserve that?"
"Of course not," Scott answered. "But Johnny wasn't responsible for what happened to your son. No one in my family had anything to do with it." He hesitated. "Johnny was cold and hungry too when he was a child. His mother was frightened and she took him away from the ranch and his father. Would it be right if we blamed the people who live in your family's house for that?"
Johnny gave him a startled look, but one of the other judges laughed harshly. He also pushed back his hood. Pardee bared his teeth in a wolfish grin, his eyes like ice.
"You can't argue that he's an innocent," the land pirate said. "He's a killer just like me, a hired gun."
"He's nothing like you and never was." Scott couldn't believe Pardee was one of the judges. His heart sank.
"Enough." The bruja clapped her hands. "We are wasting time. We will begin."
Johnny jabbed Scott in the side before he could speak again. "Don't," he said softly.
The bruja pointed at Johnny, who took a step forward. Scott found he couldn't move. Johnny stood directly in front of the judges, swaying a little. The bruja said something to him in Miwok and Johnny answered her in the same language.
She looked at Scott. "Your brother wants you to go."
"No. Absolutely not."
"It is his choice."
"And this is my choice," Scott said stubbornly.
"Mine also." Maria spoke up from the back of the cave. Scott had forgotten she was there. The housekeeper moved forward. "I claim the right to speak, abuela."
"You have no blood ties, Senora. This is not your business."
"There are other ties besides blood. I breathed life into this nino when he was born, and I nursed him with my own son when his mother could not. That gives me the right."
Scott didn't know that, and neither did Johnny from the expression on his face.
The bruja looked at the judges. "Will you allow it?"
The Indian girl nodded. Pardee shook his head no, just as definitively. That left the third judge, who still hadn't spoken or removed his hood. He nodded too.
"Speak then," the bruja said.
Maria faced the judges. "The Riveras did a great wrong and they paid the price for it, many times since Don Ricardo first turned this woman and his own grandson from his door. It is right that they should have paid, but their blood is gone from this valley now and it is time to end the curse on their house."
"My son still cries for justice," the Indian girl said.
"Is this justice?" Maria's voice was scornful. "I buried my son before he was a year old. I know that pain. If this little one had not needed me then, I do not know what I would have done. But he also was taken from me, before he was even two years old. How is that justice?"
"You don't know his mother left because of the curse." Pardee spoke up. "Way I heard it, she took off with another man. Ain't that right, Johnny boy?"
Johnny didn't respond.
"I'm talking to you, boy."
"Answer," the bruja ordered.
"Yeah," Johnny said softly. "I don't know why she left, but that's what I heard too."
"She was afraid for her nino," Maria insisted. "We cannot know all that was in her heart, but she and the patron began to fight when he ordered her not to speak of this."
Pardee's lip curled. "She wasn't so concerned about her son afterward. She was a two-bit whore." Johnny's fists clenched and Pardee laughed. "Don't even think about it, Madrid. Your fancy-pants brother already killed me. You can't do a damn thing to me now."
"It's not Madrid," Scott corrected. "It's Lancer."
"Right," Pardee said, his smile growing. "That's why we're here. It's time to pay the piper. Your old man knew the risk when he called the two of you home and he didn't mind it none."
"Is this true?" the Indian girl asked, her voice sharp. "Their father knew, and still called this one home, knowing he was not yet of age?"
"Yes, the patron knew," Maria said slowly. "But he is not a man to believe in curses."
"It sounds like he is not a man who cares much about his own blood," the Indian girl said. "Just like Don Ricardo de Rivera."
***
Johnny took an unsteady step backward and Scott reached for him. "He needs to sit," Scott said to Maria, gripping the back of his brother's shirt. "He's sick."
Johnny lifted eyes that were too bright. "I'm OK. Don't fuss."
"Have you anything else to say?" the bruja asked Maria, ignoring the brothers.
Maria smoothed Johnny's hair and looked up at the judges. "It is not justice," she said simply. "It is another sin."
"Are you ready to vote?" The bruja turned toward the judges.
"Wait a minute," Scott objected. "Don't I get to speak?"
"Sounds to me like you haven't shut up," Johnny commented, his voice weak but still flippant.
Scott dropped his head down to speak in his brother's ear. "I haven't even started yet. You be quiet."
The bruja gave them both a stern look. "Speak, then, if you must."
"I must," Scott said. "Johnny is my brother, but I didn't even know he existed until six months ago. Neither of us grew up on our father's ranch. My grandfather raised me in Boston, and Johnny's mother took him to Mexico when he was two years old."
"You're not going to tell us the whole story of your lives, are you?" Pardee interrupted.
"You in a hurry, Pardee?" Johnny drawled. "You have eternity to burn in hell, don't you?"
"So will you, John, soon enough."
"Enough!" The bruja gestured at them to stop. "Do not interrupt again, either of you. Go on."
"Thank you," Scott said. "As I was saying, I grew up in Boston. My grandfather is a wealthy man and he saw to it that I had every advantage - good schools, warm clothing, food, toys, and servants to look after me. I never knew, growing up, what it meant to be hungry or cold or alone." He paused, apologizing to his brother with his eyes. "That wasn't true for Johnny, unfortunately."
"That's enough," Johnny said. "They don't need to hear this."
"Yes, they do." Scott focused on the judges. "Johnny's mother couldn't provide nearly so well for him. She couldn't even provide the basics a lot of the time."
"Scott, I don't want you to do this." Johnny's eyes were angry now. "Just shut up."
"No," the bruja said. "He has the right to speak, and you will be quiet. Baldomero!"
"Si, abuela."
"Take the boy and keep him quiet. The woman can go too, if she wishes."
The storekeeper approached them and Scott released Johnny to him reluctantly.
"Don't I get any say in this?" Johnny asked, trying to pull out of Baldomero's grip.
"You will get your turn," the bruja said. "It is your brother's turn now."
"Boston, don't tell them anything." The blue eyes fastened on Scott's, pleading now, before they suddenly rolled up. Baldomero caught him as he collapsed and carried him across the chamber. Maria followed anxiously.
Scott watched while the two of them fussed over his brother.
"We're waiting." The bruja's voice demanded his attention. "Do you have anything more to say?"
"Yes," Scott said, slightly reassured when he saw Johnny's head move. "Johnny's mother died when he was ten years old, and then he was entirely on his own."
"So what?" Pardee spoke.
"Excuse me?"
"What's your point, Lancer?" The gunfighter stared at him. "So he didn't have it easy and you did. That has nothing to do with how we play this hand. You play whatever cards you're dealt. Your brother knows that. I sure never heard him whine about it."
***
The bell tolled again and the bruja clapped her hands.
"Time is up. We have heard you now," she said to Scott. "Go and sit down."
"I'm not finished."
"You are finished." Implacable dark eyes met his and Scott found himself crossing the cave to sit with his brother, who was conscious again and sitting up.
"Do you wish to speak?" the bruja asked.
Johnny shook his head.
"Johnny," Scott breathed. "You have to say something."
"No." Johnny's eyes were defiant.
Scott glanced at the judges and turned back to his brother. "Johnny," he hissed. "Don't you dare just give up."
"I'm not giving up," Johnny said. "This doesn't have anything to do with me, and I ain't begging."
"What do you mean?"
"It's about what happened to that girl and her baby," Johnny said. "Not me."
"It wasn't your fault. You weren't even born!"
Johnny sighed. "That's the whole point, Boston. It sure wasn't her baby's fault either. They didn't curse the old man who done it 'cause that wasn't enough. Instead, they took the same thing from him and all the other owners of the estancia."
"They have no right to take you."
Johnny just shrugged. "They'll decide. Save your breath."
"He is right," the bruja said. "The judges will decide now." She looked at the first judge, the one who hadn't spoken yet. "Are you ready?"
He shook his head. The Indian girl frowned and stood. "I am ready," she said. "The estancia and its sons were cursed, for all time, by my grandmother. My son's blood stains its ground. Nothing has changed."
Scott's heart thudded. Johnny had no chance. He didn't know what the third judge would do, but the girl and Pardee were going to vote against his brother.
The girl looked at Maria. "I am sorry," she said. "I do not wish to cause you more grief, but his father's heart is as cold as Don Ricardo's. He knew the price of his son's return and he must pay it."
"Pardee?" the bruja said. "Do you agree?"
There was a long pause. "No," the gunfighter said reluctantly. "I don't."
Scott couldn't believe it.
"Life ain't fair," Pardee drawled. "No one ever said it would be. But this is worse than back shooting a man. Johnny can go to hell as far as I'm concerned, on his own account, but not for what some old Spanish don did. The don is the one who should've paid, and it sounds like he did."
"It is up to you then." The bruja turned back to the third judge. "What is your decision?"
The third judge bowed his head.
"Wait a minute!" Scott's voice rang out. "If he's to judge, don't we get to look him in the face?"
"Yes, you have that right," the bruja decided.
The third judge hesitated, and then pushed back his hood. Scott stared into his father's haunted eyes.
"No," he said, horrified. "No, he can't decide."
"He must," the bruja said.
Murdoch looked like an old man. He wouldn't look at Scott or Johnny.
"Noooooo!" Scott shouted.
***
He woke in his room at Lancer. He sat up, his heart pounding, and fought to bring his breath under control. The dream had been so vivid. He pushed the covers back and padded barefoot across the room, grabbing a robe on his way out the door.
Johnny's room was empty. Moonlight spilled through the windows onto the smooth quilt. Scott chewed on his lower lip, unsure what was a dream and what was real.
He went back to his own room and pulled on some clothes. He wasn't going to be able to sleep. The moon was full and he had no trouble seeing the road to Morro Coyo. It was more difficult to find the place where the cart path veered off, but he located it at last and followed it as it wound up the hillside.
The ruins were there, stark in the moonlight. Scott dismounted and led his horse past them, heading for the place where he thought the cave was. Another horse nickered somewhere in the darkness and his horse answered. Scott pushed through some underbrush and found Barranca grazing in a meadow. The palomino tossed its head and backed away when he approached.
Scott ground tied his horse and hunted for the entrance. He should have brought a lantern. He swore as thorns pierced his gloves. Maria hadn't had any difficulty finding the cave. He glared at the hillside, trying to remember. Clouds snuffed out the moon and he heard an owl hoot.
He spotted the path through the thicket when the moon emerged again. The cave was pitch black. He advanced only a few feet before he came up against a barrier. He felt it cautiously, puzzled. It hadn't been there in his dream.
Someone moaned in the dark and Scott froze. "Johnny?" he whispered. "Johnny, where are you?"
No one answered, but Scott could hear wheezy breaths.
"Johnny?" he said again. He reached out, feeling his way along the rocks. His hand found a boot. Johnny lay face down, nearly buried by rocks, mud and other debris. The roof must have collapsed. Water streamed down the walls and Johnny's clothing was soaked.
Scott didn't know afterward how he managed to move some of those rocks, but he did. Then he paused, afraid to move his brother. Johnny had almost certainly broken his arm, and his hair was sticky with blood. Scott checked him over as best he could in the dark. He didn't think anything else was broken, but couldn't be sure.
Johnny's breath rasped and he began to cough. Scott made up his mind. No matter what, he had to get his brother out of this cave and warmed up.
"Hold on," Scott told him. "I'll get you home and you'll be all right. You hear me? You're going to be all right, little brother."
He got Johnny up onto Charlemagne, and swung into the saddle behind him. He didn't think he could spare the time to catch Barranca, but the golden horse followed him down the cart path.
He thought he heard a bell toll as they rode off, but the wind carried the sound away.
***
"Double pneumonia," Sam Jenkins said, dropping into a chair in the kitchen and rubbing his face with one hand.
"Will he be all right?" Scott asked, pouring coffee for the doctor.
"I don't know, son. He's pretty sick."
"Did you tell Murdoch?"
Sam nodded. "I stopped by his room when I finished up."
"What did he say?"
"He didn't say anything," Sam admitted. "I'm not sure he even understood me."
Scott gripped his coffee cup and stared into it. "What do we need to do for Johnny?"
"Teresa and Maria know." Sam stirred his coffee and took a cautious sip. "There's not a lot we can do, unfortunately. We're going to have to wait and see if he can fight this off."
"He will."
"I hope so," the doctor sighed. "Do you have any idea where he's been for the last week?"
"He never really woke up," Scott said, not looking at Sam. He couldn't tell the doctor about his dream. In the light of day, it was nonsense.
Sam gave him a sharp look. "From the look of it, Johnny only broke his arm yesterday, maybe the day before at the outside limit. It was cold last night but he shouldn't be this sick so quickly, not if he was OK when it happened."
Scott kept his head down. "I don't know, Sam. I just don't know."
Sam finished his coffee and set the cup down. "I have rounds I have to make today, but I'll swing back here tonight. I want you to get a few hours of sleep and let Teresa and Maria take care of him. Otherwise you'll get sick too."
Scott didn't think he could sleep, but his eyes closed as soon as he lay on top of his bed. He woke in a panic, a bell tolling in his head. The slant of the light through the windows told him it was well past noon. He pulled on his boots, ran a comb through his hair and hurried across the hall to his brother's room.
He could hear someone singing softly in Spanish, an oddly soothing tune that changed over from major to minor. He paused just inside the door, listening. Maria was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Johnny, holding his hand. Sam had propped him up on pillows to help him breathe, but he still sounded awful.
Scott cleared his throat. The song broke off at once and Maria stood.
"I'm sorry," he said, feeling awkward. "I like that tune."
"It is an old lullaby," she said. "He used to like it when he was small."
"Has he come around at all?" Scott asked.
She shook her head. "No, Senor."
"Thank you for taking such good care of him," Scott said. "I'll sit with him awhile."
"As you wish, Senor." Her voice was formal and her face impassive.
Scott looked across the room when she left. Murdoch was sitting in the chair by the windows, shaved and dressed for the first time in days. He met Scott's eyes uneasily, also for the first time in days.
"How did Maria lose her son?" Scott asked.
"Measles," Murdoch said. "It spread from the mission school to most of the children on the ranch. Tomas was ten months old, eight months older than Johnny. For some reason, Johnny didn't catch it."
Scott noticed that Murdoch didn't question how he knew about Maria's son. "She never had any other children?"
Murdoch shook her head. "Her husband was killed in a stampede a few months after Tomas was born."
"He worked on the ranch?"
Murdoch nodded. "He and Cipriano were both here before I bought it. Cipriano is Maria's brother."
"I didn't know that."
"She used to come in during the day to help your mother. They were good friends. After Maria's husband died, I asked her to run the household. Johnny's mother was so young. I don't know what we would have done if Maria wasn't here when Johnny decided to arrive early. I nearly lost both of them."
Something shifted in Scott's face. He looked away from his father. If Maria had been there to help his mother, perhaps it would have all been different. But if Catherine Lancer had lived, and Scott had grown up on the ranch, Murdoch wouldn't have met and married Johnny's mother, and he wouldn't have his brother. Murdoch and his mother might have had more children, but not Johnny. Scott didn't want just any brother. Only this brother would do, this wild, contradictory and frequently exasperating little brother. And now he might lose this brother. He'd seen cases of pneumonia before and knew Johnny was dangerously ill. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head hanging down.
"Scott?" Murdoch said after a few minutes. "Sam said you found Johnny trapped in a cave-in near the old mission."
"Do you care where he was?" Scott's anger welled up.
Murdoch shuddered. "Yes," he whispered. "I do care."
***
The next days and nights passed in a blur. They took turns sitting with Johnny, holding him when particularly violent coughing fits threatened to snatch his breath. Maria and Teresa brewed strong tea and pungent mustard plasters. They lit a fire in Johnny's room and kept a kettle at a full boil, releasing steam into the air. Sam came and went, his eyes worried.
Sam insisted they take it in turns to watch over Johnny and Scott barely saw Murdoch. Johnny's fever soared and his breathing became more labored, until that was all that Scott could focus on.
"Sam?" Scott said late one morning as the doctor listened through his stethoscope. Scott held Johnny upright, feeling his brother's hair tickle his chin. Johnny never had any spare fat, no matter how much he ate, but now he was even skinnier than he'd been when he first arrived on the ranch. Scott could see the outlines of his ribs.
Sam gave him a compassionate look. "You can ease him down again. Be careful of his arm."
"Sam. Tell me."
Sam pulled the covers up. "When was the last time you sat down at the table and ate a meal?"
Scott stopped to think, but couldn't remember. He chopped at the air with one hand. "That doesn't matter."
"It does matter, son." Sam glanced at Teresa, who stood by the dresser. "Go on downstairs. I just want to give Teresa some instructions and then I'll be down to talk to you."
Scott went to the kitchen. Maria was stirring something on the big range. She looked at him and ladled out a generous helping of hot stew. She put the plate on the table in front of him and brought some biscuits and butter. "Eat," she said fiercely.
Scott sniffed at the savory steam rising from the food and his stomach growled. He picked up a spoon, but the lump that had settled in his throat made it hard to swallow.
Maria put a full plate in front of the doctor when he came downstairs and poured coffee. Sam finished his stew before he spoke. He cast an eye at Scott's plate, and sighed. Then he got up and poured more coffee for both of them. "We'll know soon."
Scott put his spoon down, his appetite gone.
He woke in his own room. His head ached and he wondered blearily how Sam had managed to slip him a sleeping powder.
He'd slept a long time, through the night. Pale light illuminated the windows and he could hear birds twitter outside. A lamp, turned down low, sputtered on the table. Scott reached for his dressing gown and went across the hall, afraid of what he'd find.
Murdoch was sleeping in the chair, completely worn out. The room was quiet, too quiet. Scott advanced on the bed. Even the harsh sound of Johnny struggling for every breath was better than this hushed silence. Tears threatened to blind him as he looked at his brother's pale, peaceful face on the pillows, and he ducked his head.
"Hey." The voice was husky and not very loud. Scott looked up, startled, into a pair of tired blue eyes.
"Johnny?"
"Who'd you expect, Boston?" A faint hint of mischief appeared. "This is my room."
Scott stared at him, his mouth open, and reached out to touch Johnny's forehead. He was still warm, but nothing like before. "You scared the hell out of me, little brother."
Johnny shifted his head slightly. "Sorry."
"It's not your fault. Where's Sam?"
"Dunno."
Johnny's eyes were heavy. Scott gave him a rusty smile. "Go to sleep. I'll talk to you when you wake again."
"Mmmn. Scott?"
"I'm right here."
"Thanks," Johnny breathed, and his eyes slid shut.
"Did he wake?" Sam asked from the door.
"Just for a minute. When did his fever break?"
"An hour ago." The doctor looked tired too, but he was wearing a big smile. "I just went down to tell Maria and Teresa."
"His breathing is a lot better."
"He coughed up a lot of the infection just before his fever broke. He's still congested, but I think he'll be all right - if he behaves himself."
"He will." Murdoch hauled himself out of the chair and limped stiffly across the room. He looked at his younger son, an odd expression on his face. "He'll do exactly what you say, Sam."
"Now that will be the day," Sam scoffed. "The two of you better go get some breakfast if you're going to tackle the impossible."
***
Johnny began wheedling to get out of bed by the next day, but the family turned a deaf ear.
"Maybe tomorrow, with some help, you can sit in the chair for an hour, but you're not going downstairs." Sam said when Johnny appealed to him.
"I'm all right," Johnny argued, but it didn't take long before he fell fast asleep again, halfway through a bowl of soup.
Scott looked at Murdoch, who was back in the chair. "I never thought I'd be so glad to hear him argue," he said.
A smile crossed Murdoch's face. "Me either."
Scott watched his brother's chest rise and fall. Johnny was still wheezing, but Sam said that was only to be expected. It would take a while to clear up the pneumonia entirely, he warned them.
Now that Johnny was mending, Scott had some questions for his father. "Sir?" he began and stopped.
"What is it, Scott?"
Scott chewed on his lip. "I know this is an odd question, but have you ever heard a story about a curse on this ranch?"
Murdoch sat up. "Where did you hear that?"
Scott wasn't prepared yet to discuss that. "You have heard the story?"
Murdoch nodded warily.
"Did it have anything to do with why Johnny's mother left?"
The rancher was silent for so long that Scott didn't think he was going to answer. "I don't know," Murdoch finally said. "I told her it was just a story, and not to speak about it again."
"Maria said she was frightened," Scott said without thinking.
"Maria discussed this with you?" Murdoch's eyes fastened on Scott's face.
Scott reddened. He didn't know how to answer that question. He didn't know if the stern housekeeper had discussed it with him, or if it was all part of his dream.
"I'm not sure," he finally admitted.
Murdoch gave him a thoughtful look. "Scott, how did you know where to look for your brother?"
Scott wasn't sure about the answer to that question either. He looked at the bed to make sure Johnny was still asleep. "I had a strange dream, sir."
"A dream." Murdoch lingered on the words. "A dream about the cave?"
"Yes," Scott said reluctantly.
Murdoch's next words shocked Scott. "I did too."
Scott didn't even stop to think. He heard his voice ask the question that had troubled him for days. "How did you vote?"
Murdoch knew exactly what he was talking about. Scott could read it on his face. The big rancher bowed his head. "I didn't," he said. "That's when I woke up."
It was impossible. Scott's mind searched for an explanation. There had to be some rational explanation. Johnny moved restlessly in his sleep and they swung their attention to the bed, but he settled again without waking.
"He's safe now." Murdoch was the first to speak again. "That's what really matters. He's safe now."
"Yes," Scott agreed at once, although an idea niggled at the back of his mind. He pushed it back firmly. "That's what matters."
***
Johnny gave him a blank look when Scott tentatively raised the subject. Johnny had finally persuaded Sam to let him out of bed, although the doctor still wouldn't let him do any outdoor work or even ride. He'd confined Johnny to the house, and the youngest Lancer was restless and driving all of them crazy.
Maria and Teresa were baking pies for Thanksgiving, and had shooed him out of the busy kitchen. He'd already brought the ranch accounts up to date, grumbling all the time. When Scott came in for lunch, Johnny was pacing back and forth in the great room.
He came to an abrupt stop when Scott asked where he'd gone after leaving Lancer.
"I don't remember," Johnny confessed, flinging himself down on the sofa. "I remember leaving, and heading for town. I figured I'd pick up some supplies and camp out awhile."
"It was more than a week before I found you," Scott said. "You must remember something."
"I've tried." The blue eyes were troubled. "I don't even know what I was doing in that cave where you found me. I know where the place is but I sure wouldn't have camped out there. It's too close to the ranch and I don't like the old mission."
"Why not?"
Johnny shut down. "Had enough of missions and priests to last me when I was a kid."
Scott knew better than to push for more information when Johnny got that obstinate look on his face.
"Sam did say you had a concussion. That could affect your memory, that and the fever too."
"Guess it did." Johnny didn't sound too certain.
Baldomero had been equally blank when Murdoch and Scott visited the store, fishing for information. The storekeeper wore a bandage around his head. He remembered nothing of his trip to see his nephew, Mrs. Baldomero told them. Someone had found him in his wagon outside the town, stunned and bleeding. She suspected a group of hard-looking men who had been hanging around on the outskirts of town for days until Val Crawford rode over from Green River and sent them on their way.
The bruja was gone, her house empty. No one was sure where she was or whether she would return. Maria crossed herself when Scott tried to speak to her, and told him firmly that some questions should not be asked or answered. That was all the formidable housekeeper would say.
Scott changed the subject. "Murdoch said he expected Sam to drop by for lunch today."
"He told me." Johnny sank deeper into the sofa cushions. "Wish he'd let me out. I'm going to go loco if I'm cooped up inside much longer."
The entire household might go loco if Johnny were cooped up much longer. Scott smiled. "If you want to persuade Sam, maybe you should put your arm back in that sling where he told you to leave it," he suggested.
Johnny gave him a dark look, but did as Scott suggested.
He was on his best behavior by the time Murdoch and Sam came in together for lunch. He kept his arm in the sling instead of trying impatiently to use it, cleared his plate, and didn't utter one word of complaint. He even went upstairs with Sam after the meal without any grumbling.
Murdoch watched him go, a concerned look on his face. "He's not getting sick again, is he?"
"No." Scott smiled. "He's hoping to persuade Sam that he's well enough to ride."
Murdoch didn't look enthusiastic. "I'm not so sure he's ready."
"Sam won't let him come to any harm."
"Johnny can be too damn persuasive."
Sam came downstairs alone and both Lancers raised their brows. "He's fine," Sam said quickly. "Better than he has any right to be. He went down the back stairs to the barn."
"To the barn?" Alarm showed in Murdoch's face.
"Just to visit today," Sam said. "It's all right, Murdoch. He's bundled up warmly and a short trip to the barn won't hurt him. I told him he could go for a ride tomorrow as long as the weather stays dry, but not for more than an hour. A little exercise will be good for him at this point. Just keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't get chilled or overtired. He can ride a little longer every day, but no work yet. He'll need to take it easy for at least another week."
"He doesn't know the meaning of the word," Murdoch said.
"He's going to have to learn it. This is important."
"We'll look out for him," Scott said. "Maybe I should go see what he's up to now."
Sam shook his head. "Give him some space, both of you. That's important too."
Murdoch sat down at his desk when Sam had gone on his way. Johnny was still out in the barn, sitting on a hay bale outside Barranca's box and listening to Jelly rattle on while the old handyman overhauled the tack. Scott couldn't resist checking on him, but it was warm inside the barn and Johnny looked happier than he had in days. Scott withdrew and went back to the house.
He sighed, looking at his father. Murdoch wasn't going to like this, but he couldn't keep it to himself any more.
"Sir," he said. "Johnny doesn't remember anything about the week he was gone. I talked to Sam, and he said it could be the result of the head injury. It's not that uncommon to have some memory loss after a concussion."
Murdoch nodded, and Scott took a deep breath. "He also thinks it's possible that Johnny might have been drugged before the cave-in."
"Drugged?"
"He can't be sure, but says it would explain some of his symptoms and why he was already so sick when I found him."
"They had good intentions, Scott," Murdoch said heavily. "I think they were trying to keep him safe. And if those men were bounty hunters from Mexico, as Val suspects, they may have saved his life."
"I realize that, sir. That's not what concerns me just now."
"What does concern you?"
Scott stepped to the French windows and looked at the barn. Johnny was just coming out the door. Scott watched as he waved to Jelly, who shouted something after him, and started across the yard, taking his time.
"I still don't believe in curses," Scott said quietly, wishing that were entirely true. "Not really."
"What are you saying, son?"
"I don't know what to think about that dream. But I'm concerned it was... inconclusive." Scott turned away from the windows and looked his father in the eye. "It's still more than a month to go until Johnny turns twenty-one."
Murdoch blanched. The front door slammed and Johnny came in, his eyes sparkling.
"What's the matter with you two?" he asked. "Something spook you?"
THE END
Whistle, October 2005