Johnny 'Madrid' Lancer led his group of men in their search of the forested area around Green River. The search had been fruitless and as soon as the appointed time came they headed back to the camp by the edge of the river to share information with the others. As the four men approached the camp darkness began to descend and Johnny could see someone had started a small fire. He hurried ahead of the others in his group and jumped from Barannca's back. One of the men automatically took the reins and Johnny mouthed a silent thank you as he headed towards Murdoch.
Murdoch stood beside the river gazing out over the serene beauty. Normally he loved this time of day but one of his sons was missing and he had no time to drink in the serenity. His attention was diverted when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"We'll find him," Johnny said, trying to put more confidence than he felt in his voice.
"We should have found something by now," Murdoch said softly.
"Maybe we're looking in the wrong place," Johnny said.
"Scott always comes this way. He loves the river."
"I know, Murdoch, but maybe he decided to take another route. Or maybe he had enough of the west and went back to Boston," Johnny said.
"You don't believe that anymore than I do. No, Johnny, something's happened to him. Your brother would never light out without telling us. I don't think he's had an accident either or we'd have found him by now. No, something tells me he's in trouble," Murdock said, his voice laced with melancholy.
"What kind of trouble?" Johnny asked.
"The human kind. The kind that hits you when you're down and won't let you get back up. We have to find him before it's too late," Murdoch said.
"We will," Johnny said placing his hand on Murdoch's forearm.
Murdoch looked down at his arm and felt the warmth of the touch. He knew how hard it was for his youngest son to show his feelings. This touch meant more to him than if Johnny had spoken the words aloud. The two men turned towards the fire and walked back to join the others.
Teresa was startled from her sleep by a loud pounding on the door. It took a few seconds for her to arouse herself totally and she realized that after a long agonizing night of worry, she'd fallen asleep on the settee. She swung her feet to the floor and straightened her dress as she hurried to the door. Jelly met her as she opened it.
A young boy stood in front of her holding a piece of paper. His clothing, although too small and well-worn, was clean and hole-free. Slowly he held his hand out to Teresa, "My pa tole me to bring this over to ya. It was layin’ on our stoop when we got up this mornin’. He says the word on the front says Lancer and that I should make sure you got it right away."
Teresa recognized the boy as one of the Flack children. The Flack family had moved into the area three years before and were trying to farm a piece of land that adjoined the Lancer ranch to the south. The family was poor and Teresa had finally been able to convince the family that they could be friends. James Flack was a hard man who loved his family but didn't want charity. He was convinced he could make a go of the farm and Murdoch had a great deal of respect for him. June Flack was a woman who'd lost most of her beauty to the rigours of farm life and childbirth. Her beauty was still noticeable but she didn't have the time or the money to spend on herself. The boy standing before Teresa was the oldest of the Flack’s six children.
"Would you like something to eat?" Teresa asked as she opened the note. Her face took on a haggard look as she read the note and she didn't hear the boy’s answer. "Oh my God," she cried as she finished reading.
"What's wrong, Teresa?" Jelly asked worriedly.
"Someone's kidnapped Scott," She cried before turning her attention back to the boy. "Does your Pa have any idea who left this?" she asked.
"No, ma'am. I found it and showed it to him. He sent me here right away. I have ta get back to the farm but I'd really like somethin’ to drink."
"I'm sorry, Joey, is it?" Teresa asked and the boy nodded affirmatively. "Jelly, could you get him a drink. I have to get this to Murdoch and Johnny right away," she said. Not waiting for a reply she hurried down the steps and into the barn. Most of the men were involved in the search for Scott so she saddled her horse and headed towards Green River. She knew she'd find Murdoch and Johnny somewhere along the route.
Scott opened his eyes and tried to lift his throbbing head. His legs and arm were still bound but at least he wasn't standing upright against the cold wall of the cave. Someone had even thrown a blanket over him. He knew it wasn't because they cared about his comfort but because they needed him alive. His shoulder burned where Reynolds had dug the bullet out. His throat was parched and his lips felt as dry as the desert. He tried to moisten his lips but even his tongue felt like leather as he circled his lips.
Frost heard the rustle of movement that signalled the prisoner was awake. He glanced at the other sleeping forms before getting out of bed. He picked up his canteen and walked over to the cot.
Scott heard the heavy tread of someone walking towards him and tried to turn his head. Grey-blue eyes stared into dull green eyes before the man standing over the cot removed the cork from his canteen. Without a word he lifted Scott's head and helped him drink the tepid water.
Scott felt the water hit his parched mouth and swallowed what he could. Water ran in rivulets from the corners of his mouth and down his neck. Finally the canteen was removed and Scott took a deep breath, "Thanks," he said.
"Can't let ya die of thirst after all the hard work Reynolds did to get the bullet out, can we?" Frost laughed.
Scott closed his eyes and let sleep take him away. He dreamed he was a young boy wrapped in the loving arms of his grandfather. A man stood before them. He wanted something from Harlan Garrett but Scott's young mind couldn't grasp what it was. He kept hearing the word Lancer and his mother's name but didn't know what it meant. Tears flowed from his eyes as he looked at the older man with the funny accent. There was something about him that made young Scott feel warm and trusting. He tried to pull away from his grandfather but wasn't strong enough. His grandfather's next words left him cold. "You will leave my home at once, Murdoch!" Scott shivered in fear at the fury he felt emanating from his grandfather. He watched the stranger turn on his heel and leave, slamming the heavy door with a thunderous bang. Scott woke from his dream realizing for the first time that his father had come to take him home that day so many years ago.
Teresa spotted the camp as she rode out of the trees. As she entered the encampment she spotted Murdoch and Johnny hurrying towards her. Johnny reached up and helped her from the horses back.
"What are you doing here?" Murdoch asked.
"Scott's been kidnapped," she said breathlessly as she passed him the note.
Murdoch saw his name written in bold letters and opened it.
“I have your son Scott. He will be held until Harlan Garrett has been turned over to us. If you try to find us he will be killed immediately. I will contact you again once Garrett has arrived.”
The note was unsigned and there were no distinguishing marks. "Damn! Where did you get this, Teresa?" he asked.
"Joey Flack brought it over. He said he found it on their stoop this morning. Oh, Murdoch, we have to find Scott," she cried.
"Don't you worry, Teresa, we'll find him," Johnny vowed as he took the note from Murdoch's shaking hands. He read it over and over. "Whoever this is must have something against Garrett - but why would he come all the way out here to kidnap Scott? Wouldn't it have made more sense to take his revenge in the city?"
"I don't know," Murdoch said.
Johnny seethed inside. He fought to hold back the anger that was always close to the surface. He was used to being in danger because of the life he'd led as a gunslinger before coming to Lancer. Scott on the other hand had grown up in Boston. He'd never really known the hardships of life in the west until Murdoch asked him to come to Lancer. Now someone from his grandfather’s past had come for revenge and was using Scott as the means to extract it. Johnny fingered the gun in his holster as he passed the note to the sheriff.
Murdoch had come to know his youngest son over the last year and he could see the telltale signs that Johnny was bent on his own revenge. "Don't do it, Johnny," he said simply.
"Don't do what?" Johnny asked as his hand lingered on the gun.
"I need you level-headed. I don't want you taking things into your own hands and doing something we'll all regret. Your brother's life depends on us keeping our wits about us. Promise me you won't do anything foolish," Murdoch said.
Johnny knew his father was right, but somehow he would get his own revenge on this man. 'If you hurt my brother I swear I'll kill you myself,' he thought. His eyes met his father’s, and Murdoch could tell his son would do what he thought needed to be done. "If he hurts Scott I'll kill him."
"You'll have to stand in line," Murdoch said his gaze never wavering from his son’s.
Harlan Garret was an angry man. First his grandson had moved out west without so much as a backwards glance and now he'd gotten himself kidnapped. It didn't matter to him that he was the cause of the kidnapping; he just knew that Scott would still be safe if he'd stayed in Boston where he belonged.
He read the telegram from his hated son-in-law once again then threw it into the fire. Picking up the heavy silver bell he rang it loudly. The door to the study opened instantly and his butler entered.
"Book me passage on the next train to Green River or whatever god-awful town is closest to it. Have Sylvie pack me some clothes and supplies. Move it man - my grandson needs me." Garrett ordered and ushered the man out of the room. "Make sure you cancel all my appointments until further notice," he said as an afterthought.
"Yes, Sir," the butler said as he hurried to do Garrett's bidding.
The days dragged by in an endless sequence of pain and sleep for Scott. He knew they'd sent a note to Murdoch and that they were waiting for his grandfather's arrival. He knew he'd be here until either his grandfather gave himself up to Harper, or Johnny and Murdoch found him. He'd lost track of the days and wondered just how long he'd been held there. He was given food and water whenever somebody remembered he was there. If he was lucky Frost brought it to him and his hands were freed for a while so he could eat. If one of the others brought it over he was left to fend for himself. He was still amazed at the new ways he found to feed himself without using his hands.
The only man he dreaded walking towards him was Harper. If he was the one bringing the food Scott knew it was scraps and not fit for a dog. Once he'd witnessed Harper spit on the plate before placing it before him. The plate had been left untouched until one of the others took it away. Another time Harper had thrown the plate at Scott and the hot stew burnt his leg where it landed.
Scott knew Harper took sadistic pleasure in hurting him for no reason other than the fact that he was Harlan Garrett's grandson.
Scott felt the tug of his shoulder as he moved his position. He knew he'd been lucky that the wound hadn't become infected. He owed a debt of gratitude to Frost for keeping it clean after Reynolds had finished his butcher job. He heard someone walking towards him and knew it was Harper. He could smell the anger off the man. Opening his eyes he stared into hate-filled, ice blue eyes.
"Time for grub, Lancer," Harper said and knelt beside the cot.
Scott's eyes lit on the plate in Harper's hand. The congealing mass made him gag and he tried to turn away.
Harper's free hand shot out and he grabbed Scott by his injured shoulder.
Scott screamed in agony at the white-hot pain. "You lousy son of a..."
"Don't say it," Harper ordered as he squeezed the shoulder again.
Scott's body came off the cot as the pain in his shoulder intensified. The pain ran down his shoulder and through his hand.
"Don't ever call me that," Harper said as he tried to force a handful of the cold food into Scott's mouth.
Scott held his teeth clenched against the pain and the food. He felt his resistance weakening as his shoulder was held tightly. Finally consciousness left him and Harper stood back angrily. He threw the plate down on top of the injured man angry that his fun had been cut short.
Murdoch read the telegram he'd received in response to the one he'd sent Harlan Garrett. He didn't know how he felt about seeing Garrett again but knew he'd be civil for the sake of his oldest son. He paced the length of the study before pouring himself a stiff drink and downed it in one gulp.
"I take it Garrett's coming," Johnny said quietly. He knew form the last visit how much the two men detested each other. Harlan Garrett had been determined to lure Scott back to Boston and he'd almost succeeded.
"Yeah. The telegram says he'll be on Fridays stage."
"That's six days from now. I'm gonna keep the men searching for Scott."
"It's been four days since he disappeared and we haven't found any sign of him," Murdoch said quietly.
Johnny's face filled with rage. "I won't give up, Murdoch. Boston may have grown up in the city but he has survival instincts and somehow I'll find him."
"I'm not giving up, Son. I'm just facing facts."
"The fact is that I'm gonna find Scott," Johnny said as he hurried out of the room almost knocking Teresa over. "Sorry," he mumbled as he continued past her.
"What's wrong with Johnny?" she asked worriedly.
"He thinks I'm giving up on Scott."
"Are you?" Theresa asked suspiciously.
"You know me better than that, Teresa. If there's any way to find Scott, I'll find him." Murdoch said a touch of anger in his voice.
"I'm glad to hear that, Murdoch. What did the telegram say?" she asked and picked it up from the desk where he'd dropped it. She watched him pour another drink before she read the reply. She knew Garrett didn't like Murdoch but she wasn't prepared for the display of animosity shown in the telegram. According to Harlan Garrett, Scott was probably already dead and Murdoch was to blame. If he wasn't, Garrett planned to make Scott return to Boston with him using any and every means available to him. Teresa understood why Murdoch was drinking. She knew how guilty he felt every time something happened to one of his sons. She reached out and touched his arm. "He's wrong, Murdoch," she said simply.
"Is he? Is he really? Scott could be leading the high life in Boston if I hadn't asked him to stay here."
"You don't know that, Murdoch. Maybe Scott would have come out here on his own."
Murdoch shook his head angrily. "Harlan Garrett stole my son once and now because of him I may lose him permanently and he has the nerve to send me that telegram. That man will never be welcome in my home," he said. "Leave me alone Theresa. I have some things to think through."
Theresa knew when Murdoch really needed time to himself and this was one of them. Without a word she left the study closing the door behind her.
The days continued to drag for Scott. Frost brought him food and water whenever he woke. He had no appetite for the food but drank the water thankfully. He could feel the fever raging through his body and hoped that his father and brother would find him soon. He opened glazed eyes and tried to focus. His body was a mass of pain emanating from his shoulder and spreading out through his extremities. He moaned as he moved on the small cot.
"You ain't looking too good, Lancer," Billy Smith laughed maliciously. "Think maybe ole Reynolds better take another look at that shoulder. Hey, Mike, ya better take a look at your patient," he called to the other man in the cave.
"D... don't want h... his..." Scott's voice came out in hiccupping gasps.
"Let me see," Reynolds said as he knelt beside the cot. He pulled away the makeshift bandage and shook his head. "Looks pretty red there, Lancer. Bring me my knife, Billy," he ordered.
"What are ya gonna do, Mike?"
"I have to lance the wound and let the ‘fection out," Reynolds explained as he took the knife from Billy's hands.
"Maybe ya oughta clean it this time. Harper wants him kept alive," Billy said remembering how the doctor had always cleaned his instruments before an operation.
"You may be right. Can't have him croakin’ on us now can we?"
"N... no," Scott groaned and tried to move away from the men. He had very limited success with his legs and one arm still tied down. He soon felt the hot blade of the knife enter his shoulder and with a gasp of pain consciousness mercifully left him.
Reynolds cleaned the wound and put a clean piece of cloth over it. Some of the redness had dulled around the wound but it still looked nasty. "That'll have ta hold him," he laughed.
"What are you two up to?" Frost asked as he came into the cave.
"Had to fix up his wound. It was real infected," Reynolds told him indignantly.
Frost walked over to the cot and saw the beads of sweat on Scott's brow. "He ain't gonna be able to take much more. I hope you did a better job of it this time," Frost said.
"I did what I could. Better than you woulda done. Least he's alive and that's what Harper wants," Reynolds said indignantly.
"Where's Mitch and Rob?" Frost asked.
"Mitch went to Green River for supplies. He sent Rob to look around Lancer and see if he could pick up any news," Billy told him.
"Harper's a fool!" Frost snapped. "He's liable to get himself caught in Green River and get us all arrested," he said as he walked over and sat at the makeshift table. His thoughts once more returning to the mess he'd gotten himself into because of his friendship with Harper. Somehow he would make sure Scott Lancer made it through this and get him back to his family. His own life was full of mistakes and wrong choices.
The more he thought about Harper and his need for revenge the more he realized it was all a mistake. Harper's family had died as a result of an Indian attack not because of anything Harlan Garrett had done. Harper had placed the blame on Garrett because he didn't want to face the fact that his own father had made the wrong choice. He'd heard the story over and over from his friend and knew he was blinded by loyalty to his own father.
Somehow he had to get a message to Johnny Lancer. But first he had to make sure they could get away before Lancer's family came for him.
Teresa rode her horse through the dense forest. She was taking the shortcut back from visiting the Flack farm. She'd become friends with June Flack since they moved in and she'd gone to visit her so Murdoch could have some time to himself. She hadn't meant to stay so long but June had insisted she stay for dinner. Now the sun was beginning to set and darkness would soon descend. Heavy shadows cast by the trees made her realize she'd made a mistake in taking the shortcut.
Suddenly her horse bolted and she was thrown to the ground. As she tried to sit up she found her hands grasped tightly. She tried to pull away but knew it was useless. "Let me go," she cried angrily.
"Well, well, well! Looks like I found me something to keep me warm," Rob Smith said harshly.
"I said let me go!" Teresa screamed.
Rob Smith put his hands roughly over her mouth, stifling her scream. He pulled her tightly to him and longed for her warm silken body. "I think I'll just have to take you with me. A lady like you needs the comforts of the inside when she's with a man."
Teresa heard what the man was saying and renewed her efforts to get away. She used all her strength to kick backwards and felt her foot connect with the soft interior of his thigh.
Smith groaned and almost released his hold on his captive. He reflexively struck out with his fist and connected with the side of her face. Her body suddenly went limp in his arms. Smiling he lifted her off the ground and threw her over his horse. Quickly he jumped up behind her and galloped towards the cave.
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