S U N D O W N

 S  U  N  D  O  W  N

 

 

 

 

O n e  (Brunner, or Brenner)

 

 

On that hot August afternoon, Scott Lancer didn’t really take the barkeeper of the Gold Nugget Saloon seriously when he mentioned the old prospector.  He probably should have.

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Each gust of wind that blew under the batwing doors of the saloon brought a little bit of street dirt with it.  Brothers Johnny and Scott Lancer lazily watched as the dirt swirled inefficiently for a moment before gracefully falling into small mounds at various points on the floor.  This little play wasn’t particularly interesting, but the brothers didn’t want to engage with anything that was.  The weather was hot and dry and the saloon was a welcome watering hole for the two tired men after a long workday in the saddle.

 

In short order, the beer had worked its magic and the brothers felt refreshed.  The conversation picked up again, exactly where it had been before they’d dismounted outside.

 

“You don’t believe me when I say there’s physics involved in catching a fish with a pole?” Scott asked his brother.

 

“There probably is for you, Harvard,” Johnny chuckled, and finished off his beer.

 

“It’s true, Johnny.  The fishing rod represents potential energy that allows release  of kinetic energy, triggered by your . . .”

 

“Nope, not by my anything.  I put bait on the hook, drop it in the water, and bring up a fish.  That’s all there is to it, Scott.  No need to make it deeper than that.”

 

“Ah, but there is, little brother.  There is a science behind everything.  Wait until the next time we go fishing together, and I’ll prove it to you.  You’ll see how much more efficient I am as a fisherman, how I’ll bring in so many more fish than you will.  You’ll say I’m lucky, but really . . .”

 

“Nope.  I’ll say you’re unlucky, because I’ll be fishing you into the ground.  Make that into the water.”  Johnny hooted at his own joke and tilted back in his chair.

 

“I can see I’m not going to be able to convince you with words, so I guess actions are called for.  How about a little contest next time we head to the lake?   Two bits on each fish caught, and winner-take-all at the end of the day?”

 

“You’re on, brother.”

 

And that’s when the barkeeper stepped in and changed Scott’s life forever.

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Legends of the West.

 

Scott Lancer was from the East but figured he might encounter some.  He’d heard of them before moving his life - lock, stock, barrel, memories and hopes - to his new world, the West.  The hopes were very important to Scott, the memories not so much.

 

Out West, the father he’d always dreamed of fulfilled his hopes.  Murdoch Lancer was a true-to-life giant of a man - in stature and also in heart.  Scott settled in to the contentment he’d always yearned for.  The love he received from his father was unexpected, a bonus.  He considered himself very lucky. 

 

The supposed legend Scott encountered was actually his new brother:  Johnny Madrid.  Gunfighter extraordinaire.  Known all over the Southwest as a fast accurate gun-for-hire.  Scott had never heard of Johnny Madrid before he moved west.  He didn’t believe the popular meaning of the word ‘legend’ as it applied to his new brother.  The truth, he found, was that a legend was what you made of it, not what others said.  His heart told him that.  He considered himself especially lucky to have found this brother.  And Johnny made a place in his own heart for this brother from Boston.

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Norb the barkeeper seemed to tire of polishing glasses and picked up a broom. The little swirls of street dust continued to enter his establishment in spite of his efforts at cleaning.  He stopped and uttered a soft profanity.

 

“Norb!  Two more here,” Johnny called to him.

 

Two more beers was apparently the price of admission to the Lancer brothers’ conversation.  The bartender brought the beers, scooped up the coins Scott dropped on the table and pulled up a chair.

 

“Sit down, Norb, why don’t you?” Johnny said, chuckling.  Scott smiled at his brother over his beer. 

 

“Slow day,” Scott said.

 

“Yeah, what d’ye expect?  Wednesday.  Be a few in later.  After their missus serves them dinner.”

 

“What’s that wife of yours bringing you for supper tonight, Norb?” Johnny asked.

 

“Wednesday’s always fresh bread.  The rest – I don’t know.  Don’t always even know when I’m eating it.”  All three of them laughed at the joke, Norb the hardest of all.  He tipped his head back and guffawed until he started coughing.  Scott patted him on the back but when that didn’t help, Johnny handed Norb a beer.  Scott’s.

 

A few swigs of Scott’s beer seemed to do the trick.  “Thanks, mate,” Norb said, handing back the beer to its rightful owner.

 

“Never mind, you keep it,” Scott said.  “I’ll just drink this one.”  He grabbed Johnny’s beer.  The brothers grinned at each other.

 

Johnny resigned himself to a dry conversation.  “Betty’s good to you, though, Norb,” he said.  “True to you, although I by God sure can’t figure what she sees in you.”

 

“I’m glad of that!”  And Norb started laughing all over again.

 

And so did the brothers.  Scott enjoyed his brother’s occasional free abandon with his emotions at times like this.  Johnny’s carefree throw-caution-to-the-wind attitude was fairly rare and Scott enjoyed being a part of it.  He knew that the tension would prevail on the ride home.  Johnny was good at concealing it, but Scott knew from experience that Johnny would be seeing every tree, every shrub, every boulder as a potential hiding place for an ambush.

 

Gunfighters of legend would always have enemies, even though they weren’t gunfighters any longer.  And that thought made Scott sober.

 

One or two more unflattering remarks were made about Betty’s poor cooking (the brothers knew that Betty’s cooking was actually quite good) before the conversation lapsed into silence.

 

In a minute, Johnny said, “Let’s get going, brother.  We’ve got our own meal waiting for us.”

 

Scott tipped another swallow of Johnny’s beer, and then heard Norb say, “Forgot to tell you, Johnny.  There was someone looking for you last week.  Looking for Johnny Madrid, it seems.”

 

Scott was planning on standing anyhow, but jumped to his feet a little faster than he’d intended.  He looked to his brother.  The mirth was gone, gone completely and Scott knew this, but Johnny still retained a smile on his face.  “Oh yeah?” he said with apparent uninterest.

 

Scott stared hard at Norb.  “Who could be looking for Johnny Madrid?” he asked.  He could not keep the tension out of his question.

 

“You know that old geezer sometimes ‘steads on Lancer land?  Moves around, does some trapping, prospecting, I don’t know what-all.  Comes into town for supplies when it gets hot.  Always wears a plaid shirt.”

 

“Sure,” said Johnny.  “Brenner, Brunner, something like that.  Bought him a couple drinks and dinner once.  What does he want with Johnny Madrid?”

 

“Nothing, far as I know,” Norb said.  “He said he ran into some fancy-lookin’ snake who said he was looking for Madrid.”

 

“Go on,” Scott said, a little too fast.

 

“Brunner said the guy had a rig tied low.  And he had a gun tucked inside his shirt, hiding-like, but Brunner saw it.  Wore his hat straight and low and had a big silver ring.  Said he wanted to find Madrid.”

 

“Sounds like a dude,” Johnny said with a smile.

 

Scott did not share Johnny’s somewhat flip attitude.  “Sounds like a gunfighter to me.  Did Brunner tell this guy anything about Johnny?”

 

“No, ‘course not,” Norb said.  “Everyone ‘round here knows Johnny’s a rancher now.  No one’s going to give out anything else.  He’s liked well enough, but I got no idea why.”  Norb grinned and ruffled Johnny’s hair. 

 

Scott relaxed.  “That’s good.  Did this guy tell Brunner his name?”

 

“Sundown,” Norb said.

 

Sundown.

 

Scott looked to his brother.  Was it his imagination, or did Johnny’s smile seem a little too frozen, a line or two in his forehead a little too strong?

 

 

T w o  (Val)

 

 

How do you explain what you feel?

 

Emotions go through you, they permeate, until you accept them as gospel.  And from then on, you don’t have to think about them.  They just are. 

Or are they what you want to happen?  Wish fulfillment on a grand scale, based on a fleeting thought from long ago or an unimportant long-forgotten event that planted a seed?

 

And finally blossomed, years later?

 

Scott Lancer pondered the warm feeling in his being now when he thought of his new family.  He knew that this seed had been planted in his early years, years when he longed for something unattainable, something that he somehow believed would make him a whole person.  At a young age, thoughts like these were only vague whispers in his mind, but as he grew older, these same ideas focused and matured into a fierce longing.  Murdoch!  This longing had a name.  He knew about Murdoch, had been told about Murdoch, had been poisoned against Murdoch by his grandfather.  But that pining, that hunger for something so obviously missing in his life, stayed alive as an ember in the back of his psyche.

Something he’d always wanted, missing for so many years – his whole life, really – and that something had became real.  Could Scott actually allow himself to trust what he was still having trouble believing?  Something so precious.  And yet . . .

 

Murdoch!

 

Murdoch turned out to be what he’d always sought.

 

And then a bonus.

 

Johnny!

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

“Hey!  You tryin’ to kill me or something?”

 

Scott grinned.  “It’s just a bag of grain, Johnny.  The only way it can kill you is if you eat it all at once.”

 

“Yeah, well, just watch where you’re throwin’ these bags, brother, or I’ll have to shoot you.”

 

Scott threw another supply bag into the wagon, a smaller one this time, and this time Johnny was paying attention and managed to catch it.  “That’s more like it,” he said as he placed this one on top of the grain bag.  Scott stepped back into the store to pick up more supplies so Johnny resumed watching the lovely brunette down the street who was standing outside the mercantile.  When he and Scott had been in town two days earlier, he hadn’t noticed her;  perhaps she was just passing through.  She was wearing a green dress and holding a parasol against the relentless August sun.  Perhaps she was humming; she swayed slightly as she stood and Johnny wasn’t aware of it but he swayed slightly as he watched her.  She opened her small purse and took out a lacy cloth to wipe her forehead.

 

“Yeah, it’s hot,” Johnny whispered.  “We’re all feeling it.”

 

In a minute, a duded-up man stepped out of the mercantile with a package under his arm.  He offered her his other arm and she eagerly took it.  They got into a buggy and rode out of town.  She was gone.  Johnny’s daydream shattered, he started as another big bag landed at his feet.  “Hey!”

“I don’t know where your mind is today, brother, but it sure isn’t on helping me load this wagon,” Scott said from the ground.

 

“Yeah, sorry, never mind.  Let’s switch.”  Without waiting for an answer, Johnny jumped to the ground and picked up the next waiting bag to load in the wagon.  Scott had no problem accommodating his brother by swapping jobs.  He climbed into the wagon and positioned the remaining supplies.  It wasn’t long before the job was finished.

 

Scott jumped down to the boardwalk.  He wiped his forehead.  “What do you say to a beer before heading back?  We deserve it.”

 

“Sounds good, brother,” Johnny said.  “You go ahead.  I’m going to see if Val is in;  maybe he wants to join us.”

 

Scott nodded his head in agreement and headed for the Gold Nugget Saloon.  Johnny headed for the Sheriff’s office.

 

Sheriff Val Crawford was at his desk and he and Johnny exchanged insults by way of salutation, as usual.  Johnny plopped down on a chair and put his feet up on the desk.  “Yeah, I see why you’re in here, Val.  Beats having to track down lawbreakers.”

 

“I’m in my office, Mr. Lancer, because of all this paperwork I have to do.  ‘Sides, it’s cooler in here than it is outside.”

 

Johnny grinned.  “You don’t miss a thing, do you, Val?  That’s what makes you such a good sheriff.”

 

Val shoved Johnny’s feet off the desk.  “Is there something you wanted?  That is, besides harassing the sheriff, for which you are about to become arrested.”

 

“Yup.  Came to invite you to tea with Scott and me at the Gold Nugget.”

 

“Can’t.  I wasn’t kidding about that paperwork, Johnny.  Been working on it all afternoon.”

 

“Maybe if you hadn’t been putting it off all year . . . “

 

“I think you were saying something about leaving?”

 

Johnny stood up.  “We’ll catch you next time.  We’re only going to be there for one anyhow.  Got to get the supplies home.”  Johnny lingered by the door.

 

Val looked up.  Val and Johnny had known each other a long time, a lot longer than Scott and Johnny had known each other, in fact, and Val sensed something was bothering his friend. “What’s fretting you?”  He was serious.

 

So was Johnny.  “Ever hear of a guy called Sundown?”

 

The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Val answered.  “Yeah, I’ve heard of Sundown.  Why?”

 

“Old guy Brunner ran into him.  Said to tell everyone he was looking for Johnny Madrid.”

 

“He did, huh?  You don’t believe that hooey, do you?”  Val’s skepticism wasn’t entirely convincing to Johnny.  He was hiding something, Johnny knew.

 

“Nah . . .”  Johnny’s hand lingered on the doorknob, but something kept him from leaving.

 

“That Sundown character is just a myth, Johnny.  You know that!”

 

“You never ran across him, Val?”

 

“Of course not!  It’s just a myth.  I don’t know who Brunner ran into, but it’s just some guy who thinks he’s something special – and he ain’t! – so he takes this name that people scare their kids with and says he’s it.  Forget about him, Johnny.”

 

“Maybe you’re right.”  Johnny opened the door.  But before he left, he and Val looked at each other for a moment.  Then he was gone.

 

When the door closed behind Johnny, Val still stared at it for a while longer.

 

 

 

T h r e e  (Gilly)

 

 

Scott’s upbringing as an Easterner probably didn’t do much to enhance his mastering of ranch chores at his new life, but his eagerness and ability to learn were unsurpassed.  His brother was also new to being a ranch hand, but Johnny’s rougher background seemed a more natural lead-in to his new life.  Johnny was also eager to learn and always seemed to take everything in stride.  Scott marveled at his brother’s equanimity and fortitude, every day in fact, and certainly whenever they worked together.  At times like these, Scott saw little of the legend Johnny Madrid in his hard-working brother.  What he saw was a fine man – intelligent, strong, graceful, dependable and quick with a wisecrack.

 

But, like it or not (and Scott was unsure which way he leaned), Johnny Madrid still existed inside Johnny Lancer.  And, like it or not, Johnny Madrid was beyond quick with a gun in his hand.

 

Scott was aware his brother’s background involved personal deadly encounters with foes.  Similar to Scott’s own war days, the days when he fought alongside men wearing the same uniform and for the same cause.  There was death involved then, too, and sometimes at his own hand.  But Scott knew that it was different with Johnny – that Johnny had chosen his life, for whatever reason.  And when each of his “wars” was over, he continued to wear the “uniform.”  He wore that gun for a living, right up until he became a Lancer.  Scott fondly remembered witnessing the transformation.

 

And he also remembered witnessing scenes like Johnny shooting and killing a rattlesnake that was ready to strike.  He and his brother had been riding in a rocky area when the deadly snake seemed to appear out of nowhere, rattling and causing Scott’s horse to bolt and throw him to the ground.  Scott wasn’t hurt but he saw the snake only inches from his head.  Before he could react in any way at all, he heard gunfire and the snake flew backward.  Scott didn’t even have to look to know that the gunshot came from his brother.  He crawled to the snake and marveled at the accuracy of the perfectly-placed shot.

 

“It’s dead,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” said Johnny.  “Don’t touch it, though.  Sometimes a bite reflex.”

 

Scott saw that Johnny’s horse Barranca was still sidestepping from its fear of the snake.  Johnny was controlling it with his left hand, and the gun in his right hand was still smoking.  “Johnny!” said Scott.  “Your horse was moving.  And you shot this thing dead-center!”

 

Johnny Madrid/Lancer shrugged.  “Seemed like the best thing to do.”

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Scott took a moment to watch his brother hard at work chopping wood.  The  woodpile had grown substantially since they’d started a while ago.  “Right after breakfast” – that’s what Murdoch had ‘requested.’  Scott liked working with his brother.  He liked doing what his father wanted, and he truly liked working with his brother.  Even a tedious task like chopping wood was enjoyable when shared with Johnny.

 

Lost in thoughts like these, Scott didn’t at first hear the rumbling sound.  The sound of wood displacing itself.  The sound of the new logs that were being thrown haphazardly onto the woodpile dislodging themselves and beginning to roll down the pile.

 

“Johnny!  Look out!” Scott yelled.  Johnny was the closest to the woodpile.  His reactions were quick, but the falling logs had already pinned one of his legs and made it impossible for him to escape.  Scott made a grab for him but managed only to shield him from the uppermost of the falling logs.  Down they came, most of the newly-cut new wood, and most of the logs hitting the brothers.  Scott thought he was yelling but couldn’t hear his own voice. The log-slide lasted just a moment but seemed much longer.

 

Before the last piece of wood had even stopped falling, Scott arched his back and shook his arms to displace what remained on him.  He turned instantly to his brother.  Johnny was within reach, so Scott grabbed his arm with one hand and used his other arm to shield his brother’s head as a few more logs fell.  Scott knew they were gracing his own body but was not aware of the pain. 

 

“Hang on, Johnny, I’ll get you out of there!”  Scott waited a second for all the logs to cease falling and then pulled on Johnny’s arm and leg, which was all Scott could see of his brother other than his head at this point.

 

Johnny didn’t seem as if he was conscious, but he was groaning.  Scott took this as a good sign.  As gently as he could, he shielded his brother from the sharp edges of the logs as he pushed them off Johnny.  He worked as expediently as possible but believed he was fighting a losing battle.  Shortly he heard men’s voices and realized he was receiving help.

 

Someone pulled Scott away from his brother, but he fought to get back to him.  He felt someone grab him, more forcibly this time.  “Stop it, Scott,” he heard.  “We’ve got help.”  Someone larger than him grabbed him in a big hug and pulled him away from the log pile.  He knew it was his father, so he succumbed.

 

Murdoch led Scott, stumbling, to the front porch of the hacienda, only a few steps away.  There were several sturdy chairs on the porch, and Scott was set into one.  He immediately tried to stand, but Murdoch forced him back into the chair. 

 

“We’ve got to help him, Murdoch!”

 

Murdoch maintained a firm hand on his son, keeping him still.  “Take a look, Scott.  Ward and the men already have Johnny free!”

 

Scott looked, and four of the ranch hands did indeed have hold of Johnny and were in the process of setting him in one of the other chairs on the front porch.  Johnny was swaying a little but he did seem conscious now.  He was groaning.  His arm was leaning at an odd angle.  Broken, thought Scott, and he suddenly felt nauseous.

 

With Murdoch’s assistance, Scott stumbled over to Johnny’s chair.  He knelt down and was aware the other men were backing away from Johnny.  The reason was Murdoch, who was pushing through them to get to his son.  Johnny was returning to consciousness and was groaning, obviously in pain.  Scott put a comforting hand on his good arm and softly spoke to him.  Murdoch took a more active role, feeling for a temperature and checking for broken bones.  When he felt his son’s shoulder, Johnny cried out in pain.  Undaunted, Murdoch continued his task.

 

Suddenly one of the men yelled “Hey look” and pointed to the road.  Everyone looked up and saw a buggy headed for the ranch.  Murdoch turned back to his injured son, but the rest of the men tried to determine who it was.  There were two men in the buggy. 

 

“Who is it, Ward?” someone asked of the man who was known for the strongest eyesight.

 

“You know who that is?” Ward said.  “That’s Doc Mueller, that’s who that is.  Lucky sign.  Can’t tell who’s sitting next to him, though.  All wrapped up.”

 

At the announcement that the doctor was so nearby, both Murdoch and Scott stood.  This couldn’t have been better news.  Scott and the men ran out to meet him, even before the buggy had come to a stop.  They didn’t at first recognize the man next to the doctor since his head was bandaged.

 

“Help me get him into the bunkhouse,” said the doctor.

 

“No,” said Murdoch.  “Ward, Knotty, take him into the hacienda.”

 

With assistance, the man was able to walk.  “Who’s helping me?” he asked.

 

“Me and Knotty,” Ward said.  “That you under that swaddling, Gilly?”

 

“Gilly!” said Scott.  “What in heaven’s name happened to you?”

 

The doctor intervened.  “Try not to rile him too much, boys.  I’d like him to take it easy for a couple of days. Now, Murdoch, what happened to these sons of yours?  Looks like I got here at just the right time.” 

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Scott wasn’t injured more than superficially and had insisted that his brother was the only Lancer needing attention.   As a result, Johnny seemed to be resting comfortably and no longer feeling much pain.  His shoulder was bandaged and his arm in a makeshift sling, but compared to Gilly, he looked downright healthy.  Gilly, one of the older ranch hands, was reclining on the couch in the hacienda.  His head was bandaged with only parts of his face showing, and those parts were bruised, along with a swollen eye.  There were patches of blood on his shirt, indicating the injuries beneath.  Johnny was sitting next to him and telling him jokes to keep his friend in good spirits.  It didn’t seem to be necessary since Gilly was obviously not in a lot of pain.  Both of their good moods could no doubt be attributed to the laudanum the doctor had given them (in Johnny’s case, a tiny amount and only through the insistence of his father).

 

Murdoch had thanked the other men for their quick response rescuing his son and requested they return to their work.  In spite of the fact that he had seen Johnny in any number of precarious situations and witnessed him suffer several injuries, he still found it a little unsettling to see his son hurt.  He pulled the doctor aside and offered him a drink, most likely because he needed one himself.  Scott joined the two of them.

 

“Little early, but thank you kindly just the same,” said Doc Mueller as he accepted the whiskey.

 

“To everyone’s health,” said Scott, and they raised glasses together.

 

“Your arrival was well-timed,” said Murdoch, nodding toward Johnny.  “Thanks to you, my son looks like he’s going to weather this in good shape.”

 

“He’ll be fine, Murdoch.  Sprained shoulder is all.  I’ve immobilized that arm with a sling.  Best for him to keep it that way for a while.  But if I know that boy . . . “

 

“You’re right,” said Scott.  “If a pretty woman swishes her skirts in his direction, off comes the sling, and on comes the tough persona.”  The doctor laughed, but Johnny’s father didn’t.

 

Murdoch shook his head sadly.  “I don’t know.  Sometimes I think that son of mine carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“That life he’s lead . . . I think it’s going to take some time before he’ll be able to . . . to relax, I suppose.”

 

Doc Mueller was a little surprised.  “You think so?  Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been in a good mood.  Popular around here – with women and men.  I think he’s left his past behind, Murdoch.”

 

Scott glanced at his brother, who was still joking with Gilly.  “I tend to agree with my father.  Lately I’ve gotten the feeling that something is bothering Johnny. No point in asking him though – he’ll keep it to himself.”

 

“Well,” said the doctor, “everything comes out eventually.”

 

Murdoch shook his head to change his mood.  “Doc, what happened to Gilly?”

 

“He was found on the road by Ezra Waggoner and his missus, who were coming into town to do their monthly marketing.  All beat up.  He was conscious;  said he was ambushed and never saw who got him.  They stole his horse, too.  I guess that would be Lancer’s horse.”

 

Scott and Murdoch looked at each other.  “Gilly’s a kind soul.  Not an enemy in the world.”

 

“Guess he’s got one.”  Doc Mueller emptied his glass and stood.  “Thanks for the drink, Murdoch.  And for paying me so promptly!  I’ve got to be getting back to town.  But just a reminder – you’ve got a son and a top hand there who are injured.  So make sure they follow my instructions.  I’ll see myself out.  Be back to check on those boys in a few days.”

 

On his way out, Doc Mueller pointed at Johnny.  “You keep that sling on, you hear!”

 

“Sure thing, Doc,” Johnny called back, laughing.

 

With another glance at his brother, Scott told Murdoch, “I’ll do my part to enforce that rule.  I’m going to get back to that woodpile now though and get a couple of the hands to help me.  Make sure Johnny doesn’t try to come out and start working again.  Do your best, Murdoch.”  Scott smiled and so did Murdoch – in his case, for the first time that day.

 

When Scott had left, Murdoch came over to the two patients sitting obediently on the couch.  “Johnny,” he said, “don’t try to do anything with that arm and don’t try to remove that sling.  I mean it!  Don’t think I’m so old that I can’t tan you!  And Gilly – I’m sincerely sorry for what happened to you.  You’ve been a loyal employee and I intend to continue paying you until you’re able to get back on your feet again.”

 

“Mr. Lancer,” Gilly said, “I appreciate it, but I’m no freeloader.  I’m sure there’s things I can do.”

 

Murdoch laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Well, we’ll see about that when the time comes.  Right now you just concentrate on healing.”

 

Murdoch started to walk away but suddenly turned back.  “I’ll tell you what, Gilly, there is something you can do.  Make sure this son of mine keeps that sling on!”  As he walked away, all three of them laughed.

 

“Best padre in the world, I’m willing to bet,” Johnny said affectionately.

 

In a moment, Gilly lowered his voice.  “Is he gone?” he whispered.

 

“What?  Yeah, he’s upstairs.  Why?”

 

“Johnny, I know who did this to me.”

 

“What are you talking about, amigo?  You told everyone you were ambushed.”

 

“I was ambushed.  But I got a good look at him.  Never saw him before.”

 

“Gilly, you’re talking in riddles.”

 

“He was younger than me, but older than you.  Like I said, never saw him before.  He was hiding behind a rise and came out of nowhere and fired a shot so my horse threw me.  When he got me on the ground he punched me a few times and made sure I stayed down.  I don’t even think I landed a punch, it happened so fast.  But, Johnny, before he rode away he told me to give you a message.”

 

Johnny’s happy mood had been dissipating during Gilly’s speech, but by now it had completely disappeared.  “Me, huh?”

 

“Not you.  Johnny Madrid.  He said there’d be more of the same.  Unless Johnny Madrid faced him.  Johnny, he looked like a gunfighter.  Mean-looking, wore all black.  And I remember he had a big silver ring.”  Gilly pointed to a cut on his face.  “That ring caused this one.  But, Johnny, he said to make sure I told you about him.  I didn’t want to say nothing in front of Murdoch, though.”

 

“Thanks, Gilly.”

 

“He said to tell you his name.  It was – and, Johnny, I always thought this was a legend – but he said . . .”

 

“Sundown,” said Johnny Madrid.

 

 

Four  (Ward)

 

 

Scott Lancer took his promise seriously.  He intended to see that his brother’s shoulder healed properly, and the only way that would happen is if Johnny religiously continued to wear the sling.  And Scott knew his brother well enough to suspect that the cumbersome sling would disappear at any convenient moment, so Scott adopted a covert watching regimen.  All the rest of that day, he made sure to steal glances at his brother when he believed Johnny couldn’t see him.  At one point, after Johnny had turned a corner, he slowly peeked around that corner, only to see Johnny standing right there, waiting for him. 

 

“Boo!” said Johnny.

 

“All right.  You’ve had your little joke.  I’m only doing this for your own good.”

 

“Brother, you’re stalking me.  I’ll have to check with Val, but I’ll bet that’s illegal.”

 

“Don’t take the sling off, Johnny.  The shoulder has to heal properly.  I mean it.”

 

“You mean it.  Murdoch means it.  Doc Mueller means it.  I won’t take the sling off.  Just back off a little, OK?”

 

Johnny’s face looked truthful, so Scott decided to trust his brother, and the rest of the day passed uneventfully.

 

Until bedtime, when Scott decided to do a quick unannounced check on his brother and found him lying in bed with the sling wrapped over a chair on the other side of the room.

 

“Johnny!”

 

“Oh, come on, Scott!  You can’t be serious.  You really expect me to sleep in this thing?”

 

“I do, and so does the doctor.”  Scott retrieved the sling and brought it back to his brother, helping him to put it on.

 

“Now leave it on.  Give me your word.  You’ll get used to it – it’s cloth, not like it’s saddle leather or something.  Now give me your word.”

 

Johnny actually chuckled.  “All right, Scott.  You’ve got my word.”

 

As Scott was leaving the room, Johnny added, “Thanks for caring.”

 

When Scott furtively checked in the middle of the night, the sling was in place.

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Gilly wasn’t forced to wear an uncomfortable sling, but his bruises and injuries were considerable enough to keep him awake for most of the night.  He had turned down Murdoch Lancer’s generous offer of a room in the hacienda and decided to sleep in his own bunk in the bunkhouse.  Occasionally he wasn’t able to keep himself from groaning out loud.  His hopes that he wasn’t disturbing any of the other sleeping ranch hands were demolished when his friend Ward gently called out, “Gilly?  You all right?”

 

“Yeah.  Sure I am.  Go back to sleep.”

 

“You’re in pain.  I can hear it.  Didn’t the doc give you something for that?”

 

“Yeah, but I think it wore off.  Quit fretting.”

 

For an answer, Ward crawled out of his bed and brought a chair over by Gilly’s bunk.  “I can’t sleep nohow.”

 

“What are you doing?  You don’t need to mollycoddle me.”

 

Ward sat down.  They could barely see each other in the limited light but Ward already knew how bruised his friend was.  They whispered so they wouldn’t disturb anyone else’s sleep; days started early on ranches.  “Like I said, I can’t sleep.  Is there anything I can do?”

 

“Hah!  Make this pain go away.  If I ever get my hands on the sonofabitch who did this to me . . . !”

 

“And I’ll be right behind you!  I’ll tell you one thing, I’m wearing my goddamn gunbelt from now on whenever I leave this building!”

 

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

 

“The hell I don’t!  Look what he did to you!  No one’s safe with . . . “

 

“Everyone’s safe.  ‘Cepting Johnny.”

 

“Johnny?  What’re you talking about?”

 

“Just what I said.  He’s not after you, Ward.  Or any of us.  Not no more.  He just wanted to make a mark so Johnny would notice.”

 

Ward leaned back in his chair, understanding beginning to dawn.  “You mean Johnny Madrid, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I mean Johnny Madrid.  Ward, I don’t want this to go no further than us, but that asshole gave me a message to give to Johnny Madrid.  That’s what this was all about.”

 

“Oh, no . . .”

 

“He’s calling Johnny out.  He plans on bushwhacking more and more of us until Johnny faces him.  And you know Johnny – he’s not going to let that happen.”

 

“No.  No, he wouldn’t do that.  What you’re sayin’ here doesn’t make me feel better, but . . . Johnny’s fast.  Real fast.  I’ve seen him draw and . . . well, I just never saw no one faster than him.”

 

“Yeah, he doesn’t go around braggin’ about it but I’ve seen him practicing.  Still . . .”

 

“I don’t want nothing to happen to Johnny.  None of us do.  He’s a good guy, the best.  But stop worrying.  No one’s faster than him, Gilly.”

 

“I’m not so sure.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Gilly looked around to make sure everyone else was still asleep and not hearing their conversation.  “Listen, you gotta keep this between us.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Have you ever heard of Sundown?”

 

“Sundown?  The gunfighter who’s faster than lightning?  Yeah.  I’ve heard the myth.”

 

“That myth beat me up!”

 

Ward whistled low.  “You telling me Sundown really exists?”

 

“I never thought so, but that’s who he says he is.  And this myth is gunning for Johnny Lancer.”

 

“Johnny Madrid, you mean.  He probably wants another kill after his name.  That would be a good one.”

 

“That’s exactly what he wants!”

 

“I’ve heard things about him, Gilly.”

 

“What have you heard?”

 

“I’ve heard folks who seen him draw say he’s lightning fast.  And he doesn’t shoot once – he shoots all six to make sure his victim is a bloody mess!”

 

“Shit, Ward.”

 

“And I heard he doesn’t play fair, neither.  He pulls before the other guy is ready.  I know how Johnny does it, and so do most gunners – they look into the other guy’s eyes to see when to pull.  But this guy looks down, they say.  So guys like Johnny would lose that valuable time before drawing.”

 

“Now you know why I’m worried.  Our Johnny’s fast but . . .”

 

“Don’t matter none.  From what I hear about this Sundown fella, no one has a chance against him.  I always thought he was a legend.  But after what he did to you, I don’t think that no more.  I hope to God in Heaven that Johnny’s fast enough!”

 

“Ward . . .”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s Johnny’s gun arm that’s in a sling!”

 

 

FIVE   (the ranch hands and Scott)

 

 

The next morning, breakfast for the ranch hands was served outside due to the continuing hot weather.  A couple of tables had been set up for just that purpose, although some of the hands preferred perching on the corral fence and attempting to balance plates on their legs.  A cowboy named Eddie wasn’t as nimble at this practice as he was atop a horse, and his plate fell to the ground.  This prompted gales of laughter from his friends and provided an unusually tasty breakfast for the dogs who lived on the ranch. 

 

Poor Eddie was supplied with another plate of food and an admonishment from the Lancer cook.  This time, not taking any chances, he joined his friends who were sitting cross-legged on the ground.

 

Shortly, Scott joined the workers with his own plate of food and sat at a table space that had been saved for him.  The usual morning salutations were exchanged.  They all knew why Scott was there, to assign everyone their tasks for the day.  One of the Lancers met with the men each morning for this very reason.

 

“What’s up for today, Mr. Lancer?” one of the men asked.

 

“I know it’s hot,” Scott said, “but I need a couple of you to help me in the barn.  I want to replace some of those timbers.  We fixed that leaky roof, but now I saw some rotting underneath.  Want to take care of that before it’s a problem.  As for the rest of you – Hank, get together about a half dozen men to move the south herd to new graze farther down.  Might take you all day – that herd is bull-headed.  So to speak.”

 

Although they missed the joke, there was general murmuring of assent among the men.

 

“Jack, see if you can finish up that painting you started yesterday.  And I’ll need about three of you to fix any broken boards on the fence that runs along the north stream.  When we do get some rain, that stream is going to overflow and I don’t want it damaging that fence again this year.  Let’s be ready.”

 

It was the Lancers’ responsibility to declare the daily chores, but the foreman for the most part was the one who picked the best men for each job.  With Gilly indisposed, that job fell to Ward.  After he had assigned tasks, Knotty said, “Better take your raingear out there, fellas.”

 

“Your knee again, Knotty?” someone asked.

 

“Yup.  Always dependable predictin’ the weather.”

 

“If that’s the case,” said Scott, “it might be better to forget about the fence and clear the stream so it can flow as efficiently as possible.”

 

“We’ll do both, Mr. Lancer.”

 

The breakfast broke up and the men all headed for their assigned chores.  Ward lingered behind and asked Scott if he could speak with him.  Scott acquiesced and then Ward said, “Not here.  Over there.”

 

Scott followed him around the side of the bunkhouse, assuming Ward wanted to point out something about the building.

 

But that wasn’t the case at all.

 

When the two of them reached the corral, Ward seemed to be reticent to speak.

 

“You said you had something to tell me, Ward,” Scott said.  “Well, what is it?”

 

Ward cleared his throat.  “Gilly’s inside there, still sleeping I think.  I don’t want him to hear . . . Mr. Lancer, I’ve known Gilly a long time and . . . well, he’d probably whup me for telling you this, but . . . he told me something last night that I had trouble believing at first . . . but then I remembered something . . . “

 

“Ward, you’re not making sense.  Can you get to the point?  We’ve got a busy day.”

 

“Mr. Lancer, your brother’s in danger.”

 

Scott tensed up.  Ward was a dependable hand, had been with the Lancers for two or three years, and wasn’t known for making frivolous unsubstantiated comments.  “What are you talking about?”

 

“Like I said, I’ve known Gilly a long time.  He doesn’t lie, Mr. Lancer.  And he doesn’t make things up.  Last night he told me that he knows who whupped him.”

 

Scott was beginning to lose patience with Ward.  “Well, then he does lie.  Because he told everyone he didn’t see who it was.”

 

“I know.  But I think it was because he was trying to protect Johnny.  Keep him from worrying.  But I been cogitatin' over that, and now I think

it was the wrong thing to do.  Like I said, if he knew I was tellin' you, he'd whup . . ."

 

From the corral, a hand named Levi called, “Your horse is saddled, Mr. Lancer.”

 

Scott ignored him.  He desperately wanted to hear what his acting foreman just wasn’t telling him. “Spit it out, Ward!  Why is my brother in danger?”

 

“Because the man who beat on Gilly only did it to make sure  he would deliver a message to Johnny.  And that message was that he wants to call Johnny out, wants to face him.  Mr. Lancer, that lowlife is a gunfighter!  Wears black and everything!  Gilly said he saw two guns!”

 

Strangely enough, Scott actually relaxed a little at this news.  “All right.  All right, I get it, Ward.  It’s not good news, but we both know Johnny can handle that kind of thing himself.”

 

“Where’s Johnny now?”

 

“He rode out early this morning.  South.  Said he wanted to exercise Barranca.”  Scott smiled.  “I had to remind him to keep the sling on.  Don’t see much chance of it, though.”

 

Ward looked off in the distance thoughtfully.  “There’s more,” he said.

 

“All right, what else?”

 

“I don’t know if this guy’s real or not . . . but the guy who beat on Gilly was sure enough real.  But, Mr. Lancer . . .  he said his name was Sundown!”

 

Scott froze in place.  Sundown.  He had almost forgotten.  “He’s a myth,” he said softly.

 

“Tell Gilly that.”

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

“He’s not a myth.”  The ranch hand who had saddled Scott’s horse brought it over to him.

 

“Levi!” said Ward.  “You shouldna been listening. This was not your talk.”

 

“I’m part of it,” Levi said.  “It’s my talk if it involves Johnny.  It’s all of ours because we all like him.  But I got somethin’ to say here.  I know Sundown.  I seen him once.”

 

This shook Scott from his reverie.  He suddenly had a thousand questions but found he couldn’t speak.

 

Levi put a consoling hand on Ward’s arm.  “I know your friend Gilly seen him closer than me, but I seen him too once.  And it wasn’t all that long ago.”  Levi directed the rest of his talk to Scott.  “He was a big man, Mr. Lancer, standing straight.  Wearing all black and a big silver ring.  Can’t miss it.  And you can’t miss that gun he hides in his shirt neither, though I’d be willing to bet he wants you to see it.”

 

Scott cleared his throat.  “Where . . . um . . . when . . .?”

 

“Couple months back, when I was on my way to Lancer because I’d heard you were hiring.  I stopped at a mercantile maybe sixty or seventy miles from here and there he was.  Talking to the shopkeeper.  Voice sounded like a growl.  Everything, everything about him was menacing.  His look, the way he talked. He grabbed the shop man and said he wasn’t going to pay.  That wasn’t fair and I was going to step in, but the way he looked at me kinda took my breath away.  So I didn’t say nothing.  He made sure we both heard him say his name.  ‘You’re looking at  Sundown,’ he says, ‘and don’t you forget it.’  I sure didn’t.  I was mad, but after he left, the shop man said it was probably a good thing I didn’t step in.  He only stole some beans and coffee;  wasn’t enough to get kilt over.”

 

“Was he headed in this direction?” Scott asked.

 

“Yeah.  Maybe, not sure.  But if he was looking for Johnny back then, it sure took him long enough to find him.”

 

“We don’t know he was looking for Johnny then,” Ward said.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Scott said, looking off in the distance.  “He’s found him.”

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Scott told Ward and Levi to go about their business, that he had something to do and would be back later to work in the barn.  He mounted up and headed south, the same direction Johnny had said he was headed that morning.  Scott was looking for his brother and had a fairly good idea where he might find him.

 

Unless his brother was lying to him.

 

-  -  -  -  -

 

Half an hour later, Scott heard the sound of gunshots, six quick shots in a row.  At first he couldn’t tell where the sound came from.  He kept riding in the same direction.  A few minutes on, he heard the same thing – six quick gunshots in a row.  Scott breathed a sigh of relief;  he was fairly certain he knew what it was – a marksman practicing his aim.  This time he was able to pinpoint their source and he rode right for it.

A couple minutes later, he heard six shots again.  Closer this time.  He was fast approaching his brother.  Or was it his brother?  Could it be someone more menacing?  Could it be Sundown?  Maybe it wasn’t someone practicing his aim so much as his speed!

 

Scott began to feel the same emotion he had felt projecting from the men who had spoken to him of Sundown.  Tension.  No, it was fear.  It was fear, and it was real, unlike the myth that instigated it.

 

Scott was not used to this kind of feeling, and he dreaded it.  He felt the tightening of his shoulders and his jaw, and he knew that this strain would do him no good if he were to find himself face-to-face with Sundown.  He fought it down and forced himself to think logically.

 

The shots were by now fairly close.  What would he do if it wasn’t Johnny practicing his shooting?  What would he do if it was Sundown?

 

Scott didn’t have much time to formulate a plan as his horse brought him to the top of a rise and he suddenly found himself staring at the barrel of an ominous-looking pistol!

 

 

SIX  (Johnny)

 

 

All those years of longing for something he’d felt was unattainable had finally been achieved.  The father he’d only heard mentioned when his grandfather thought he was asleep upstairs.  Magically that father turned out to be more than a myth: he was a flesh and blood person who loved him.  Scott knew that as well as he knew his own name.  And his brother!  Johnny Madrid was a myth – yes, he was.  But Johnny Lancer was a real person.  A very real person.  And Scott knew for damn sure  that his brother loved him as well.  And now he was in danger of losing all this, all of these precious sentiments, because he’d accidentally run across another myth, a gunfighter faster than anything, who had him dead to rights.

Everything happened in a split second – all these thoughts of Scott’s – including the thought that he’d better do something if he wanted to have even the smallest chance of continuing the life he loved.  He knew he had no chance, but still Scott knew he had to do something.  A quick, very quick, prayer was offered to his God, and he made a move for his gun.  Then he heard:

 

“Scott!  What the hell’s the matter with you?”

 

The ominous-looking pistol Scott was facing was Johnny’s!

 

“Scott, you loco or something?  I could have killed you!”  Johnny might have been yelling at him, but Scott thought his brother’s voice never sounded so good.  He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief before cantering over to Johnny.

 

“Sorry.  I was just looking for you.”

 

“Yeah, well, you found me.  Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone who’s shooting?  I know you’re not deaf.  I almost pulled the trigger on you.  You got no idea how close I came to killing you.”

 

Scott had by now reached his brother and dismounted.  “That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

 

The tension from the near-fatal accident was starting to wear off in both of them.  Johnny holstered his gun.  “You came to talk about having me shoot you?”  He smiled. 

 

Scott smiled too. “You’re fast, Johnny.  I had just enough time to see . . . to see you draw.  You weren’t even facing me.  You were facing west.  But somehow you knew I was there and you whirled around and drew faster than I could ever imagine possible.  How could you even see me if you weren’t looking in my direction?”

 

“I didn’t see you, Scott.  I sensed you.”

 

Scott mulled that over.  “You sensed me.  That’s incredible.”

 

“No, not really.  I used to be a gunfighter.  And I’m still alive.”  Johnny sat on a large nearby rock and motioned for his brother to join him.  “Why’re you looking for me, Scott?”

 

“Well, I . . .”

 

“You got some job you want me to do?  I guess I can use my left hand.  Muck out the barn?  Nah, you can get someone else for that.  Let me suggest this guy who is a good worker.  His name is Scott . . . “

 

“What I want to discuss with you, Johnny, is no laughing matter.  Do you have any idea what it is?”

 

Johnny turned away and stared off into the distance.  Or maybe he wasn’t staring at nothing;  maybe he was watching.  “Yeah, maybe.”

 

“We’ve talked about this before.  But I don’t think I took it seriously enough.  It looks to me like you are, though.”

 

“What might that be, Scott?”

 

“You know who I’m talking about.  Sundown.”

 

“You’re talking about a what, not a who.  Sundown’s a myth.”

 

“No.  He’s not a myth.  Gilly . . . “

 

“Gilly might be my friend, but he carries his head under his armpit, Scott.”

 

“You’re being unnecessarily naïve, Johnny.”

 

“I don’t even know what that means.”

 

“This guy exists.  And he’s a gunfighter . . .”

 

“So am I.”

 

“He’s very, very fast.”

 

“So am I.”

 

Scott grabbed his brother by the shoulders.  “Listen to me, Johnny!  You’re in serious danger.  He’s more than a myth.  He’s been seen by people and he’s nearby.  I don’t know where, but he’s closing in.  And you’re out here alone.  It’s almost like you’re inviting him.”

 

“Damn it, Scott, he’s a myth.”

 

“Stop it!”  Johnny’s denial  was more than Scott could take.  In an unprecedented move, he slapped Johnny’s face.  Both of them were so surprised that they just stared at each other for a moment. 

 

Scott was the first to make a move.  He stood.  His anger had been diffused and he realized that all he really felt at that moment was the aching need to do something to save his brother.  The brother he cared so much about.

 

That brother was still staring at him in amazement.  Scott knew there had to be other emotions mixed in, but he wasn’t sure what and he was having trouble dealing with his own.  He tried again, less aggressively this time.  “Johnny,” he said softly and steadily.  “I shouldn’t have hit you.  But . . . your arm is in a sling.  I saw you draw – and you’re plenty fast –  but your shoulder is injured.  You’ve lost your edge because of that.”

 

“That’s why I’m practicing,” was all Johnny said.

 

Scott looked around.  “I want you to come back with me,” he said nervously.

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know.  I . . . think it might be for the best.”

 

“You think I’m a sitting duck?  Way out here, right?  Four miles from the nearest help, right?  And you think this myth is gonna come after me, and find me way out here, and gun me down, right?  I know you, brother, that’s what you’re thinking.  But you don’t know me if you think I can’t take care of myself.”

 

Scott shook his head sadly.  “Someone wants to kill my brother.”

 

“Get out of here, Scott.  Go back.  I’ll be along when I’m done practicing.”

 

“Johnny . . .”

 

“Leave me alone!”  And then Johnny whirled and shot at a tin can on the ground, a good seventy-five yards away.  And hit it.

 

 

*****************************************************************

 

 

Scott felt he had no choice but to leave.  Johnny had stopped paying attention to him.  Scott knew he had insulted his brother – twice.  By slapping him and by implying that there was someone faster with a gun than he was.  Johnny’s actions were unclear as to whether or not he believed that a man named Sundown was indeed looking for him.  Verbally he denied it, but he was still practicing his fast draw.  Why?  Why else would he do that?

 

...