Lancer’s Sons Chapter Eleven

 

Lancer’s Sons

Chapter Eleven

Thanks to Chris Petrone for the Beta

 

“Keep ’em moving. Nate! Pick up the pace.” Johnny yelled through the dust, but Nate didn’t hear him. Hell, he probably didn’t want to hear. Johnny wasn’t going to let bad moods slow this herd down. Stragglers were already starting to form. “Nate!” He spurred Fireball and rode closer. “Get these longhorns moving—NOW!”

 

Fireball’s muscles worked beneath him as Johnny chased down another stray. The horse had already caught on to his signals for keeping the herd tight; he’d make a fine cow-pony.

 

But Johnny couldn’t be there every time one of these yahoos slacked off in their saddles. A blind buzzard could see it wasn’t drovers Whittaker sent along with him and Scott. They barely knew where to ride. And them being green made it hard on him and Scott. They’d both chased cattle that scattered because these fools didn’t know horns from hind-ends. He leaned forward and scanned the herd. The damn horses knew more about herding than these men did.

 

“Tuck, tighten up! Don’t let ’em spread out!” The man’s back went straight; he jerked his horse’s reins and shot Johnny a look—his fingers tapping impatiently at the side of his holster. Johnny wasn’t in the mood for it.

 

“Reckon you could do better, big boss-man?” Tuck muttered, voice low but sharp.

 

Johnny didn’t let his gaze waver when he shouted back through the noise of hooves and lowing cattle. “Tucker, my sort of sister could do better than you. Now keep those cows in line.”

 

It was like he’d kicked a coiled snake. Johnny could look at this one and set his temper alight. Tuck turned his mount and faced him. The glare he threw could have ignited the dry landscape around them. But Johnny didn’t have time to spar with Tucker. He spun his horse and rode away before Tuck got steamed enough to call him out. The last thing Johnny needed was to get into a gunfight with one of these men. He steered Fireball toward the back of the herd where Grizz was riding drag.

 

When the dust cleared, Johnny saw Grizz’s broad shoulders hunched. It wasn’t hard to figure out why—riding drag in this heat was pure punishment. “Grizz, you good for water?”

 

Grizz didn’t answer. At the start of the drive, he’d been the best-natured of the crew, and that wasn’t exactly friendly, but now… The big fella had a mean stare, reminding him of a rabid dog he’d seen once. Johnny swallowed hard. He’d kept away from the dog. And maybe Johnny oughta handle Grizz the same way. If he hung around now, Grizz just might decide to take a swing at him. Johnny flicked his reins and moved toward Scott.

 

Moods weren’t improving. Johnny had already pissed off all the crew—Jackson, he sure had blown his top when Johnny sent him ahead to scout a crossing for the Sweet Water River.

 

“Why me, Lancer? Tucker’s supposed to scout ahead; he’s got to be the one…” Jackson had grumbled over every order he’d gotten, but he almost defied Johnny this time.

 

“I wasn’t asking, Jackson,” Johnny rode closer. “I’m telling you to go. Check the trail and clear the river if it needs it. Don’t make me tell you again.”

 

Then, there was Gravy. “Tending to these ponies ain’t what I signed up for,” the cook spat, glaring at Johnny. “You want your boys fed? Don’t make me slow down for these damn animals. Hungry men are mean men. You hear me, Lancer?”

 

Johnny gave him a quick nod, but the cook’s disrespect bothered him more than the kickback from the others. But he didn’t have time for a fight with Gravy. It wasn’t as though the man would shoot him in the back—at least, he hoped not. Of course, he might spit in Johnny’s stew. He’d be sure to fill his own plate tonight.

 

As he rode toward Scott, Johnny caught sight of his brother guiding Lightning, easy as a seasoned drover, cutting off an ornery cow before it could break from the herd. Scott wiped his brow with a bandana. His calm manner stayed with him, even with the rising tension.

 

“Everything alright, Johnny?”

 

Johnny took a deep breath, scanning the horizon as he replied. “No trouble yet, but I’ve pissed off enough people to fill a cemetery. Might have to hide out to sleep tonight, with all the men ready to string me up. But we’ll make it through. If the crossing goes smooth, we ought to make camp by sundown. If it doesn’t, we’ll have worse things to worry about.”

 

Scott nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Why not just camp here, cross tomorrow?”

 

Johnny shook his head. He gazed toward the river. The water was shallow but swift. “Cattle are easier to manage when they’re tired. We push through now, bed ’em on the other side.”

 

Johnny stood in his stirrups. “Jackson ought to be back by now. I’m gonna ride over that rise and find where he got off to. If he’s slacking off, I need to handle it.”

 

“He’ll show, or we’ll run into him. Stay with the herd.” Scott’s tone was firm.

 

Johnny didn’t have time to argue with Scott—he needed to check on Jackson. Any problems could ruin the drive. If Wiley was stirring up trouble, Johnny planned to stop it before it spilled over to the cattle—or worse, onto Scott.

 

“You take care of things here. I’ll be back before you know it.” Johnny took off before Scott could say more.

 

He spurred Fireball forward, barely hearing Scott’s angry call. Jackson was up to something—he felt it in his bones, and Johnny wasn’t about to let it go unchecked.

 

 

 

As Johnny rode up the next rise, he saw figures gathered near a few scrub pines. His gut twisted. They’d seen him. He pulled Fireball toward a lone tree. “Easy, boy.” Dismounting and looping the reins over a low branch, Johnny tried to make himself a smaller target, every nerve on edge with the danger.

 

“Is that you, Johnny Lancer?” A voice called out, cocky and full of menace. Johnny didn’t have to look to know it was Jackson.

 

“Yeah. You know it. What else you know, Wiley?”

 

“Found some extra men,” Jackson yelled. The tone in his voice suggested he had the upper hand. “Only thing is, these men ain’t answering to you, Lancer.”

 

“That right?” Johnny’s pulse quickened. He scanned the men with Jackson—there were only three, but that was still three too many. He could handle a fight, but he’d have to keep it under control. No unnecessary risks.

 

“Don’t guess you and your men there are gonna help us get to the train?”

 

Jackson laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Dream on, Lancer. Hate to tell you this; You and that brother of yours won’t get there either, ‘cause guess what? You’ve played at gun fighting your last day.”

 

He forced a grin, leaning into the challenge. “What if I don’t play at it? What if I’m better than you think?” He needed to finish this here. Keep this away from Scott and the herd.

 

“Anyone with guts enough to come up here and try me?” Johnny slipped his shoulder forward just enough to see around the tree trunk. He watched them and listened for an answer.

 

Jackson’s men shifted uneasily, but one man, a dark-haired, scruffy figure with a dangerous grin, spoke up.

 

“I’ll take you down, Lancer. You think you’re ready?”

 

Johnny rubbed his fingers together. “I’m always ready.”

 

The man’s grin widened. “Wolf’s the name.”

 

“Well, Wolf, tell your buddies goodbye and come on.” Johnny noticed one man cocked his head like he was trying to get a better look at him.

 

Wolf swaggered up to where the hillside leveled off, close to the tree where Johnny waited. “Your rich daddy won’t like getting Mr. Whittaker’s wire.” Johnny’s belly tightened, but he schooled his face. What had that message said? He couldn’t think about it now. Wolf was cocky enough to believe he had the edge. Johnny wouldn’t make a move until the man was closer. The others hung back, watching.

 

Johnny stepped away from the pine, still trying to keep the tree between himself and the men below. He kept his eyes fixed on Wolf, measuring the space, the distance, the rhythm of the moment.

 

The seconds dragged as Johnny studied the man. Wolf grinned wider, the yellow in his eyes gleaming. “Ready when you are, boy.”

 

Johnny didn’t flinch. “Your play.”

 

As soon as Wolf narrowed his eyes, Johnny drew. The crack of his Colt split the air, and in the blink of an eye, Wolf was on the ground, his gun skittering away.

 

The challenge hadn’t ended yet, though. Johnny heard a familiar voice, too familiar, calling out. “Madrid?”

 

Before Johnny could place the voice, the sting of a bullet hit, and he was going to the ground. Pain exploded through him, blackness closing in around the edges of his vision. He didn’t have time to react and couldn’t get his finger on the trigger. 

 

Johnny tried to make his legs work. Scott. Johnny had to warn Scott. 

 

His heartbeat thumped in his ears… his thoughts were already fading. The darkness fell like a door shutting. He tried to push it back, but—

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