Chapter Text
The night was a long one.
When Johnny finally came back inside, Lizzie had gone to her room and the men were bedded down on cots at the other end of the cabin. They’d left a grey woollen blanket and a half-full sack of rice for him on the table. Swapping his slicker for his bedroll, he found a spot on the floor between the fireplace and Lizzie’s door. He punched the rice sack into something resembling a pillow, slipped his colt underneath it, and closed his eyes.
But his mind wouldn’t empty. Thoughts kept rolling around inside his head like thunder in a storm. Mama, why didn’t you leave the bastard? Even if you couldn’t go back to Lancer; why stay with Cole?
God damn it. He knew why. He just didn’t like admitting it.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the rough sawn timber wall. Firelight flickered against it in the darkness—lightning in the storm. He couldn’t win.
Thumping the rice sack again, he shut the lightning out. His stepfather had been a piece of shit, but Mama had loved him anyway. Had she loved the rancher too before he chucked her out? Did it make a difference?
Johnny pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders. Sometimes the idea he’d been born out of love rather than a roll in the hay made him feel better. The bastard had married Mama after all; he must have felt something for her at the time. On the other hand, perhaps love was all one-sided. Like Vincent said: lots of ranchers wedded their housekeepers to scratch an itch. Cole reckoned it was something like that. He said during the gold rush white folks flooded into California, him included. There were more white women about than ever before, and ranchers started kicking out their Mexican bed-warmers to make room for respectable wives from back east. Mama wasn’t alone.
One thing for sure, Lancer didn’t love Johnny. No man turns out his own flesh and blood at that age, not if there is an ounce of feeling. And there wasn’t a chance in hell his old man would have had a change of heart. Murdoch fucking Lancer wasn’t out searching for his son like the guy in Lizzie’s story—if he existed. He probably didn’t. She likely made him up. Shoot, she’s a woman and it’s nearly Christmas. Women get soppy at Christmas. Mama even wanted to go to mass at Christmas.
One day maybe Johnny would find out what had happened between Mama and Lancer, but it would make no difference. He’d promised to hear the rancher out, but that would make no difference either. He’d known deep inside how Mama felt about Cole, but when he’d faced the bastard in Santa Fe it had made no difference. No difference at all.
Johnny rolled over. He couldn’t get comfortable, and someone was snoring. Shut the hell up.
He rolled back again. There was only one thing he needed to remember: Mama loved him. She’d loved him more than anyone or anything. It had been the only thing he’d been certain of growing up, and he wasn’t going to let any stupid fairy tale stir up doubts now—not again.
He’d decided two years ago after breaking ties with Luisa and Emilio it was better not to think too much about the past. Some things that happened in his childhood and in the army could drive him crazy if he let them. Mama used to say never look back and he wouldn’t. A kid didn’t always see things straight, but there are truths you know in your heart. Whatever happened, Mama had always been on his side. Except when… Nope, stop it. He wouldn’t think about that. It wasn’t her fault. None of it was her fault. It was all that cabrón in California and the son of a bitch gambler who got his filthy paws on her later. Mama didn’t have a chance. Her cousin Luisa was too God-bothering to be much help to a woman of spirit like Mama. Mama was beautiful and full of life. The kind of woman who didn’t need a runny-nosed mestizo kid clinging to her skirts, but she had loved Johnny anyway. Mama had done what she needed to do for them both to survive. Despite everything, Johnny loved her, and she loved him. He wouldn’t let the doubts in. She had no choice. She had no choice.
By daybreak he had fallen asleep.
But when he woke up with the first yawns and stretches of the men at the other end of the cabin he knew he couldn’t stay. Lizzie was the type of woman to keep pestering a man. She would bring up his father again, and they’d end up falling out. If Johnny left now, they could stay friends and maybe share a meal or two whenever their paths crossed.
Besides, he could take pride in being a gunfighter and being good at his trade. He couldn’t take pride in being a thief. He had more choice than Lizzie, and that kind of life wasn’t for him.
“I’m going into Carson City,” he said over breakfast. “Do you want anything?”
“You fixing on sticking around?” Clayt didn’t sound enthusiastic about the idea. Well, good; let him stew a while.
“Depends whether anyone is hiring guns.” Johnny got up and pulled his slicker back on before heading out the door.
He saddled Picaro and was about to untie him when Clayt appeared. “Madrid, you’re not wanted here. Move on.”
“Lizzie invited me to stay.”
“Well, I’m uninviting you.” Clayt threw a punch, and Johnny ducked.
He threw one of his own and Clayt doubled over.
Winded but not defeated, Clayt rammed Johnny into the wall of the lean-to. Cobwebs and rusted scraps of iron rained down on them as they fell sideways between the end horse and the mule.
Between stamping hooves, they scrambled to find their feet. Clayt managed it first. Using his weight he pinned Johnny to the ground. “Now it’s my turn.”
He drew back his arm.
Still struggling Johnny shut his eyes, expecting a fist, but it never came.
Two pairs of hands hauled Clayt off, and Johnny rolled clear of the frightened horses.
“Now, you get and chop that wood, Clayt. Lizzie wouldn’t like you fighting Johnny.” Pete picked up his friend’s hat and handed it to him.
Clayt shook his arm free of Julio and smashed the hat on his head. He glared down at Johnny. “This ain’t over, Madrid. If you come back, this ain’t over.”
Clayt stomped away, and Julio offered Johnny a hand up.
“What’s his problem? He’s had it in for me right from the start.”
Julio shrugged. “I think he is jealous.”
“Yup, I reckon so.” Pete started filling up the feeders with a mix of barley, corn and oats straight from the sack. “Lizzie took a shine to you, right off. Clayt was in a bad mood even before we held up the stage.”
“He is afraid she will listen to you more than him if you stay, amigo, and maybe he is right.”
“Well, he doesn’t need to worry. I’m going south. Leaving tomorrow whether I hear about work or not.”
Pete shrugged. “It’s probably for the best. Not that we don’t want you around, Johnny. We think you’re okay.”
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourselves.” Johnny grinned and mounted Picaro. “Tell Lizzie I’ll be back in time for supper.”
He cantered most of the way back into town and went straight to the Sierra Arcade to see if Cherry had heard of any jobs. He kept his visit short; barkeepers were more likely than wagtails to know of folks hiring guns, and he aimed to visit several saloons before the morning was over.
Cherry had asked around though. “A fella last night said haulage firms in Fort Yuma are always looking for guards, but don’t rush off.” She cuddled up to Johnny and put pressure on parts that didn’t need any more pressure.
“I’ll make time for a little socializing before I go.” Johnny slipped a dollar under the strap of her dress as a down payment, and she kissed him with plenty of tongue before letting him slip from her arms.
“Don’t forget, hun. I’ll be waiting.”
Oh boy. Johnny breathed deep. It was tempting to give up the search right there and then, but riding shotgun on a freight wagon again wasn’t what he had in mind. It was better than nothing, but he’d keep asking around.
At the fourth saloon the barkeep told him something more to his liking. There was trouble brewing between ranchers and a mining company near Crystal Springs.
“Is that in Nevada?”
“Yep, best part of two days south east.” The barkeep wiped the bar top down with his tea towel before throwing it into a bucket behind him. “Stagecoach will take you.”
“I have a horse.”
“Well, up to you. You could go cross country, but I’d stick to the road and go the same route as the stage myself. Ride south from here and take the road to Warm Springs. There are markers at all the crossroads so the stagecoach drivers don’t get lost.”
“Thanks.”
It was worth considering. Something in Arizona Territory would be better. His bones were starting to hanker for warmth, but if Crystal Springs was hiring guns it could be steady wages for a month or more. Being with other gunmen would be a lot more fun than guarding freight on his own, and as long as he was among the ones who walked away at the end of it a fracas usually helped a man’s reputation.
Sipping his beer Johnny nodded towards a newspaper lying on the bar. “Is that today’s? Mind if I take a look?”
The barman slid the Carson City Daily over. Johnny searched the columns for anything interesting, taking his time to work out enough words to be sure, but there wasn’t so much as a job riding herd. Crystal Springs was looking like his best bet. If it didn’t pan out he could carry on to Tucson. There was bound to be something happening around there.
“Not a lot going on this time of year.”
“Not in these parts.” The barkeep lifted a fresh keg of beer up onto a stand on top of the bar, and poured himself a taster.
Johnny skimmed the pages of the newspaper once more to make sure he hadn’t missed anything; then he turned to the front page again to check the date.
“Sheesh.” He couldn’t believe his eyes, but it had to be true. How on earth had he lost track of so much time?
“Something wrong?”
“It’s December 23rd.”
“All day.” The barkeep laughed. “Christmas Eve tomorrow. It’ll be standing room only in here.”
“You don’t say?” Johnny downed the rest of his beer in one gulp. He couldn’t care less about Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day for that matter, but December 23rd—that was important.
For the last three years Johnny had been claiming to be eighteen, and now he finally was.
Happy birthday, Johnny boy.
He ought to celebrate. After all there was no rush to get out of Carson City now; it was far too late to reach orange groves before Christmas. He had money in his pocket. Why not blow a little keeping warm between the sheets? He grinned at the thought. Cherry with the red lips and ample bosom would do just fine. Then after a night of letting off steam, he could take Lizzie up on her offer to stay at the cabin for Christmas, and ride south the day after. Yes sir, that’s what he called a plan.
Whistling ‘Buffalo Gals’, Johnny crossed the street diagonally towards the Great Western Hotel. He was going to find Josiah P. Matheson, buy that sweet smelling Magnolia Water in the fancy French bottle, and then go a courting.
Somehow the day seemed so much brighter and full of opportunity than it had done a few hours ago. Eighteen—there’d been a time when he didn’t think he’d make eighteen, but he’d beaten the odds. Maybe now when folks ask I should claim to be twenty-one. It couldn’t hurt to try the lie out—it might get him better jobs and more money.
Mr John Rosser’s butcher’s cart, painted red with garish yellow signage, passed in front of him, and he had to wait or be run over. As soon as the way was clear he strode forward again, but before his boots touched the boardwalk he stopped in his tracks. What in hell is he doing here?
Sheriff Chapman from Virginia City was talking with the local lawman outside the jailhouse.
Johnny had noted the location of the jailhouse on his way into town the day before and had given it a wide berth, but curiosity got the better of him. He slipped down a narrow alley next to an assayer’s office, nipped around the back of a few shops and came up the slightly wider alley next to the jailhouse. When he reached the front corner of the building the lawmen were still talking and Johnny could hear every word. He leaned his back against the wall as though he was waiting for someone coming up the street, and eavesdropped on their conversation.
“Well, I take my hat off to you, Chapman. I’d never have worked that out.”
“Vincent was too eager to get Madrid locked up, and not interested enough in whether the posse caught those road agents. It started me thinking.”
“So you put a tail on the banker, and not gunfighter?”
“Yep, among other things, though I did check Madrid out, and I kept tabs on him until he left town. Don’t you worry I knew which way he went.”
“But you were more interested in Vincent.”
“I told him I’d let Madrid go so we could follow him, and just as I’d hoped the arrogant son-of-a-bitch made his next move. He led us straight to the missing silver. My man witnessed the exchange at an abandoned mine between here and Virginia City, got word back to me, and we arrested Vincent an hour later trying to hide the silver in one of the old shafts.”
“I bet you’re popular with the powers that be.”
“Let’s just say this badge is mine for as long as I want it, and I’m expecting a humdinger of a Christmas bonus.”
“Anyone else in Virginia City or Austin have a hand in the robbery?”
“Not as far as I can tell. Vincent is doing his best to wriggle out of it, but he’s spewing hogwash. According to him, the bandits threatened him the night before and demanded he pay a ransom for the bullion. He claims he was acting on behalf of the bank when he met them.”
“I suppose that could be true.”
“Well, it’s not. A telegram from the bank manager in Austin confirmed it this morning. Vincent cooked the bank’s accounts to get the money to pay them bandits off before he left Austin.”
“Do you think he’s telling the truth about the woman?”
“Oh, I reckon she was involved all right. My man was pretty sure one of the bandits at the mine was a woman in trousers. It ain’t likely she was the brains though. She’s probably just shacked up with one of the outlaws. Could even be Vincent’s Jezebel. Forbes and Madrid both said the banker and the lady were mighty friendly on the journey between Austin and Desert Well.”
“So what’s the plan now?”
“Find the bandits and arrest them. The woman changed at Desert Well for Carson City, and Madrid headed this way. I figure he could be looking for them too.”
“Could be. Is Madrid a youngish fella, dark haired and soft spoken?”
“Part Mex with blue eyes and a reputation I wouldn’t like to test out.”
“A guy like that was in Stiller’s general store yesterday asking after a woman. Reckoned she’d come in on the stage the day before.”
“It would fit. Madrid was mad enough to swallow a horn-toad backwards. The road agents stole a week’s wages from him and his new boots.”
“His boots? Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, those fellas must have nothing under their hats but hair.”
“Yeah, it sure was stupid. I won’t be surprised if I’m handling dead meat, but one way or the other I aim to find them. Do you know where the woman is?”
“Stiller reckoned from what she said the local bank manager must have rented out the old Muller place down near the river.”
“Why don’t you round up three or four extra men, and we’ll pay Muller’s cabin a visit. We might get lucky.”
“Give me an hour.”
Johnny heard footsteps, and the door of the jailhouse open and close. Peeking around the corner, the boardwalk was empty. The Carson City sheriff must have gone into his office. Sheriff Chapman was heading towards the bank, probably to check out the shopkeeper’s theory.
Johnny was pretty sure Lizzie and her boys hadn’t bothered with anything as formal as a lease, but Chapman’s visit bought him a bit of time and a clear path down the street. He sauntered with gathering speed to where he’d left Picaro tied to a rail outside the Sierra Arcade. He rode out of town at a canter, and spurred to a gallop as soon as they reached the outskirts.
Half an hour later he jumped down from the saddle. “Hello the house.”
Not waiting for Pete running across the yard or for a response from the cabin, Johnny barged through the door.
“That’s a good way to get yourself killed, Madrid. Don’t tempt me.”
“Put it away, Clayt.” Lizzie appeared through the open bedroom door.
Lowering his rifle, Clayt picked up a cleaning rag from the floor.
“What’s wrong, Johnny?”
“Lizzie, you got to get out of here. The sheriff from Virginia City is in town. He’s arrested Vincent and he’s coming for you. The Carson City sheriff is raising a posse now. Be quick or they’ll catch you for sure.”
He didn’t need to say it twice. Mossy hitched up the mule to the buckboard while Lizzie threw belongings into her trunk and carpet bag, and gathered up pots, plates and cutlery. Clayt and Pete dismantled her bed, and Johnny and Julio loaded the cots the men slept on. Within ten minutes everything was packed onto the buckboard, and they were on the road.
“Yah, yah.” As soon as the buckboard reached the main road Lizzie flicked the reins, and her boys rode escort.
Johnny scanned ahead for high ground where he could get a view back towards Carson City, but there wasn’t so much as a pile of waste rock anywhere near the road. The best they could hope for was to put enough distance between them and the posse that the lawmen would give up the chase.
Clayt reined hard and turn back the way they’d come.
“Where are you going?” Johnny shouted as he passed.
“Never you mind.” Clayt spurred his horse and rode hell for leather back towards Carson City.
Twenty minutes later, he caught up with them again as they neared a fork in the road. “Madrid was telling the truth. I saw riders heading for the cabin and high-tailed it out of there before they saw me. I reckon we’ve got to go west into California.”
“At this time of year? Are you crazy?” There was no way Johnny was going to cross the Sierra Nevada with snow in the air. Apart from anything else the other end of Carson Pass would put him within two days ride of where he thought his old man’s ranch was, and he wasn’t ready to face him yet. The name of Madrid needed to mean something to the bastard before he learned the hard way Johnny Madrid and Johnny Lancer were one and the same.
“We’ll have to leave the buckboard and ride cross country otherwise. They’re bound to catch up to us on this road.”
Lizzie nodded agreement. “We only have to cross the state line. If it starts to snow we’ll take shelter in Fredericksburg. We’ll be all right. Are you coming?”
Johnny hesitated. “No, I’ll keep going south. If they’re tracking us, splitting up might confuse them a little.”
“Well then, this is goodbye,” Lizzie said taking up the reins again. “It’s been nice knowing you, Johnny Madrid. I hope we meet again sometime.” With a click of her tongue and not a backward glance she steered the buckboard towards the mountains.
Raising his arm in the air, Julio followed. “Adios, amigo.”
Mossy‘s head swivelled between Johnny and the retreating buckboard, and then he made his choice too. “Bye, Johnny.”
Pete looked grim. “Are you coming, Clayt?”
Hands folded on the horn, Clayt scratched his chin and met Johnny’s gaze. “I ain’t saying I was wrong, but thanks for your help.”
“I ain’t saying we’re all square, but good luck.” Johnny touched his hat and watched until Clayt and Pete caught up with the others.
Then Johnny rode south. Towards warmth, work, and the reputation he needed to settle the score with Murdoch Lancer.