LANCER

SHADOWS OF YESTERDAY

By AJ Burfield

CHAPTER ONE

Johnny began to wonder at the wisdom of trying to shortcut the route home from Carson City when he found himself in a strangely barren part of the Sierra Nevadas. He hadn't seen a ranch or road in sight since Jackson. By his calculations, this route would cut nearly two days off the trip but he was wondering if the speed was worth the loneliness. He’d about had enough of his own company, and although Barranca was a good ear to bend, his conversational skills were limited to snorting and the occasional whinny at feeding time.

Johnny Lancer was missing his family and he smiled to himself at that idea. “Ya know, Barranca, five years ago if someone had tol’ me I’d be settled down with a family, I woulda laughed in their face!” A firm pat on the palomino’s neck accented the thought. Barranca just shook his mane and kept walking.

The trail Johnny chose wasn’t quite a trail, but more like a rabbit path. He figured out quickly that the loose, shale groundcover was deadly slippery and it was best to follow either a deer or rabbit path that was a bit worn. The hills were literally zigzagged with these narrow paths and they were quite easy to find due to the very sparse ground cover, which was what perplexed Johnny most about this area.

They had come from Carson City, thick with tall pines and healthy growth, and had slowly descended the Sierra Nevada mountains in a south west direction. Currently, Johnny put them somewhere just east of and in between Sacramento and Stockton in an area where he’d heard of a town called San Andreas. It was the strangest mountain area he’d ever seen outside the barren Sierra De Juarez range just south of the border. It was like all the trees suddenly disappeared with any semblance of friendliness gone along with them. It gave the rancher an eerie chill.

He shrugged his shoulders and hunkered deeper in the saddle, suddenly craving another human being. “I bet Scott could give me some sorta lecture about why this place looks like this,” he mumbled out loud. The horse just twitched an ear.

The rabbit run snaked around the hillside on a slow path downward. The pair found themselves in a rocky area where the boulders had been shoved from the earth by some unseen force. Varying in size, the large rocks erupted along the whole side of this particular mountain like some sort of geological plague. With a grunt of interest, Johnny raised his eyebrows at the sight and began to maneuver his mount between the rocks, a little uplifted at the slight change in scenery. “Well, at least it’s different,” he mused brightly.

The sun had been dropping from its apex for several hours now, and with these high ranges Johnny figured they had about three more hours of light. He had to find some water, and soon.

Just as he began to scan the nearby valleys for plant life, an odd roaring in the distance caught his attention. Barranca’s ears shot forward, and the horse jolted to a stop, staring down the long valley below them with nervously flared nostrils.

The roar grew, rushing toward them like a flash flood or runaway train. Johnny couldn’t see anything, but in an instant realized what it was.

“Quake,” he said lowly as the gold horse began shifting his legs in worry. Johnny held on tight and tried to keep the frightened animal from spinning and running, a sure disaster in this terrain. He spoke lowly and caressed the tense, sweaty neck, trying to keep their heads facing down their trail and the rushing roar.

Suddenly, the earth around them sprang to life and Barranca danced in place, barely obeying the command to not bolt. When Johnny thought the worst was over, a sharp jar shook the earth around them and the shaking increased. Frantic, Johnny looked uphill for any sign of rockslide. His stomach lurched when he saw rocks bouncing like water on a hot skillet around the base of several larger boulders. He knew they were in trouble when the large, grounded boulders began to dance. Pebbles and stones flowed around Barranca’s hooves with a torrent of dust.

He calmly asked Barranca to stay at a controlled pace as they moved onward. Drawing on his master’s cool, and with a determined arch of his neck, the animal chomped nervously on the bit but moved carefully. Ever so slowly, they managed to clear most of the boulder field before the dangerous chunks began their downhill roll.

The ground settled. A glance up the valley showed a dust cloud rising from the face of the range that traced the path of the quake. If he wasn’t concentrating on getting off the mountain, Johnny would have found it interesting. Right now he just wanted to be on flat ground and his traveling partner was more than happy to expedite that plan.

Almost clear of the boulder field, the ground shuddered again as an aftershock gripped the mountain. Thrown aside, the nearly panicked horse scrambled for footing, but lost the fight when a wolf-sized rock seized his hind legs and swept them out from under.

They fell hard. The blast of pain from Barranca's crushing weight was short lived when the initial wave of rocks and boulders overtook them and it became a battle to simply breathe. Instinctively falling back on ingrained gunfighter reactions, Johnny rolled himself into a ball and tried to go with the downward motion. Even though he was being pelted from all quarters with debris, but he managed to keep in a tight curl for what seemed like eternity. Then a nasty strike to his head took away the light and with it, the last sight of his beloved horse flailing on his side fighting to keep his head above the maelstrom.

CHAPTER TWO

Caesar Arroyo knew he should be hurrying to get home, but he knew what he’d find when he got there. The heavy grief and sorrow that hung in the air in his once happy home was finally bringing him to the point of decision: leave or stay? It had been almost three months since the tragic death of his son, and he’d managed to hang on and deal with his sorrow by keeping busy. The farm was more than enough to keep his mind off the boy; he had to do all the chores now, alone, since his wife seemed to have lost any desire to keep living.

She sat, day after day, by the small window that allowed her to see little Carlos’ grave. Caesar wondered if Maria had lost her mind forever. He didn’t ask his thick little horse to hurry. It was nearly dark, and if he timed it right she would be asleep when he got home. It was preferable to listening to her cry.

The muscular bay’s neck suddenly jerked up and the oversized ears pricked forward. Ceasar peered between the alert ears and saw a black form on the path in front of them.

“Dios, it is a man!” he whispered loudly, urging the stout horse into a ground pounding trot. When they reached the form, Caesar slipped from the saddle and knelt by the unconscious man.

The still form was dirty and partially buried under a collection of rocks. Caesar brushed away the smallest of them and pushed aside a pair of large one to check the man’s neck for a pulse. His skin was warm and the blood rushed. When the concerned man pulled his hand away, it was sticky with blood. “Oh, Señor, we need to get you out of here.”

Caesar pulled the limp form from the rock pile with a grunt and dragged him aside. He looked at his horse and saw that the animal was intent of something else in the growing darkness. He followed the horse’s gaze and saw a glowing patch of white not far away. Slowly, he rose and stepped closer to the white form and saw that it was a golden horse standing with his head low and on shaky legs. One hind leg was lifted in pain, but when Caesar tried to approach, the horse shied away into the darkness, limping pitifully with his head to one side to avoid the dragging reins. “Oh, caballo hermoso, you are easy on the eyes and quite scared. I cannot help you tonight. I am sorry.” He saw that his soft words had an effect, as the trembling horse stopped his retreat but did not show any inclination to come closer. Accepting the small victory, Caesar turned back to the man . . . young man . . . and decided to tackle one injured soul at a time.

It was quite an effort, but Caesar managed to seat the limp form on the back of his patient horse.

"We have to work together, Conejo, to get this young man home," Caesar explained to the dark horse. "We will work like you are in harness. Listen, caballo pequeño, and you will lead us home. Hup, hup!"

The stout little bay ducked his head, and with a swish of his thick tail, started off with his master walking alongside holding the precious load steady. As they disappeared into the growing night, Caesar called softly into the darkness. "I will check on you when I can, dorado uno!"

A soft, sad whicker from somewhere in the shadows bade them farewell.

****

It had been dark for quite awhile when Caesar walked into the small yard led by his obedient horse. There hadn’t been any noise or motion from the unconscious passenger at any time during the trip. The worried Mexican checked often for breathing.

As expected, the tired man didn’t smell any dinner cooking or see any lights in the windows except from the kitchen. That was where the prayer candles had been burning for months with the window framing their son’s final resting place. Caesar sighed wearily and asked God in a short prayer to help them through this dark time – and soon. He was tired of his own bad cooking, and wondered again if bringing this new problem home was more than they could handle.

Caesar tied Conejo to the fence and stepped back alongside the motionless form hunched over in the saddle. He’d noticed the holster and gun on the stranger, and had been worrying about it during the entire trip. Knowing the fragile state of his grieving wife, Caesar had already hidden his shotgun and all the ammunition in the barn. They were Catholic, but Caesar knew that every person had their limits in handling grief. Decision made, he unbuckled and untied the holster and tugged it away from the body. After he was sure the unconscious man wouldn't fall from the saddle, he dashed into the barn and stashed the rig with the shotgun.

There is only so much one can tempt fate with, he thought, satisfied with his decision.

The stout farmer, strong from his hours of single-handedly tilling his small fields, returned to the quiet pair and managed to slide the limp form into his arms and carry him into the house.

“Maria!” he called as he tried to keep from bumping furniture with the bulky load in the darkness of the house. “Maria, someone needs our help!” Caesar carefully lowered the young man onto their tiny, threadbare divan in the main room, maneuvering the legs to dangle over one arm of the too-short piece of furniture. “Maria!” Caesar called again as he checked for breathing. It was disturbing that the man hadn’t uttered a noise in hours, and the worried Mexican bit his lip as he wondered again if he’d done the right thing in bringing him here.

He heard a quiet rustle of material and turned to see his wife in the doorway of the main room. Backlit by glowing candles, he noticed how her frame had thinned in the past months. Even in the poor lighting he could see the dark bags under her eyes and the rumpled state of her clothing. Her eyes were wide, watery pools of shiny blackness. Maria stood, motionless, save the constant movement of her fingers as they twisted her rosary. Caesar was amazed the rope of beads hadn’t broken from the seemingly non-stop worrying.

“Come,” he said in the same soft voice he’d used on the injured horse. “The young mans needs help.” Caeser felt for a fever. The woman didn’t move. “Maria,” he said softly. “Imagine if this was our boy needing help. Somewhere, his mother is worried. He is very young.”

The gentle words seemed to sink in and Maria shuffled to his side and knelt next to the unconscious form. Caeser busied himself with lighting lamps, and noticed that his wife’s shaky hand eventually reached out and brushed the dark hair away from the young man’s forehead. Her fingers traced his hairline across his brow as she studied his face, and then she lay her palm gently against his cheek. The rosary disappeared into her apron pocket and she began to unbutton his shirt.

“He has some blood on his neck,” she said, her voice wavering.

“Si, I know. I think he hit his head, but I have not checked closely. I’m sure there are other injuries, too.” Caesar’s comforting voice was like music as they spoke in their native language. Caesar and Maria spoke a little English, but had no reason to use it, as they lived on the outskirts of a Mexican community. In a soothing cadence, Caesar told of the earthquake, finding the injured man and the golden horse, and his suspicions about the pair being caught in a rockslide. As he spoke, Maria became more animated.

“We need to check him thoroughly, Caesar. I felt that quake here, and it was not small. He must have broken bones. I will heat some water to wash him, and make some bandages. Undress him, and I will get a nightshirt.” She stood and clicked her tongue as she shook her head. “And this will not do. He needs a proper bed.”

Caesar met her eyes meaningfully. “There is only Carlos’ room, unless you want him in our . . . “

“Carlos’ room will be fine. I know our boy wants us to help this man. I can feel it in my heart.” Maria hurried off to the kitchen, leaving a stunned Caesar to deal with moving their guest.

He had not seen his wife this animated in a long time and he hoped this was a turning point. After pulling off Johnny’s boots, noting significant swelling in one leg in particular, he gathered the young man up again and, with another small prayer of thanks to God, carried him to his dead son’s room.

Maria threw herself into caring for her patient. She chatted with him constantly as she carefully undressed and washed him with her husband’s help. They both determined his head had been struck many times, but the worst appeared to be the bloody knot buried under his thick hair on the left side of his skull. Caesar was sure there were some cracked ribs, but other than that and the numerous bruises, they were amazed he was mostly intact. Even the thick, swollen leg seemed to be only bruised. Maria deftly sewed several of the head wounds shut with a practiced hand and said quiet prayers for the young man.

“He is blessed,” Maria said, adjusting the nightshirt on his freshly washed and bandaged body. “He should not be walking this Earth. But he is, and he came to us.” She sat on the edge of the bed and combed Johnny’s long hair with her fingers, careful to not disturb the stitched areas. “I think we cleaned the wounds well enough, but he may get a fever during the night. Sit with him while I make some coffee.” She stood, and Caesar took her place. “I will start a broth pot. He will need food when he awakens.”

Caesar was pleased and surprised at the change in his wife, and thanked the quiet stranger and God. Soon, the smell of brewing coffee and beef broth wafted in the room and Caesar, with a growling stomach, knew his wife was on the road to recovery. He only hoped the young man walked the same road.

CHAPTER THREE

The next week was a flurry of activity in the Arroyo’s house. While Caesar worked in the fields, Maria clucked and chattered her way through cleaning and cooking. She was appalled that she’d let the small house get into such disarray. By the end of the week the house was in order and the larder restocked.

All the while, the stranger lay unconscious. Maria found that with careful cajoling and soft urging he would rouse enough that she could get thin broth and water down her patient’s throat, but she worried about the way his bones were more prominent by week’s end.

“We must pray that our boy wakes up soon,” she began to say. Caesar wondered about her reference to the man as ‘our boy’, but who was he to question God’s will?

By the middle of the second week, she had altered a few of Caesar’s shirts to fit her charge when he woke up, and had redecorated the bedroom to look more like a young man’s room. The few toys and items belonging to their dead son were carefully wrapped and placed in the chest at the foot of the bed. Soon, all mementos of the dead Carlos Arroyo were nestled in the chest, and the lid locked.

Maria hummed and rocked her chair contentedly next to the sick bed and mended clothes as she watched over her charge. A soft groan caught her attention. She dropped her work and moved to sit on the bed, taking his long fingers in her hands and stroking them gently; for the first time, she felt animation there, and her heart raced. He groaned again and rolled his head to one side.

“Careful, mijo, do not move so quickly,” she said softly in soothing, rhythmic Spanish, her hand soft against his cheek. “I am sure your head hurts.”

The dark head rolled to face the voice, and a grimace flickered over his features. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, revealing two blue crescents of half-open eyes that fuzzily tried to focus.

Maria knew his eyes were blue, but now, with the spark of life behind them, their hue made her catch her breath. He was so beautiful, even in this depleted state! Her eyes swam with grateful tears as he gently brushed his unkempt hair from his forehead. “I am so happy you are with us again!”

“M-m-mama?” he sighed, barely above a whisper.

Tears flowed unabated down her cheeks as she took both of his hands in hers and squeezed them with affection. “Yes,” she choked. “Yes! Thank God that word has touched my ears again!”

It had been almost three weeks since Johnny had wired home telling Murdoch that he was on his way back. He was overdue by four days now, and the family was worried.

“Johnny should have taken the train to Carson City,” Scott grumbled again as he, Murdoch and Teresa sat at the dinner table and pretended to eat. Piercing a piece of steak with his fork, the older Lancer brother lifted the meat from his plate and twirled the utensil between his fingers, studying the beef but not really seeing it.

“Your brother wanted to ride. He considered it a vacation. Besides, it’s been a long time since that area has been visited by any of us. Any information of town growth would be useful." Murdoch toyed with his water glass, spinning it slowly and leaving circular patterns on the table cloth until Teresa reached over and tapped his hand to make him stop. “Well, it made sense at the time when Johnny talked me into letting him go.” The Lancer patriarch guiltily pulled his hand back with an apologetic glance at his young ward. Instead, he snagged his fork and started to poke at his baked potato.

“I can leave first thing in the morning to look for him,” Scott stated more than asked.

“But we have no idea where he went,” Teresa said as she smoothed her napkin in her lap for the seventh time. “Have you heard back from the sheriffs you wired?”

“Not all of them,” Murdoch answered. “But most of them. He definitely hasn’t been around Placerville, but I didn’t expect him to go that way anyway. He mentioned heading more south.”

“I can start from Placerville and go south from there.” Scott’s voice brightened with the possibility of finally doing something. “I just can’t sit here, sir!”

Murdoch shook his head. “I know it’s hard, Scott, but there’s a lot of area between Placerville and here. We need more information. And with Cipriano gone for the next two days, you’re needed here.” The eldest Lancer raised his hand to stop the anticipated protest from his older son. Scott snapped his jaw shut and his eyes glowed in anger. “This is what we’ll do: I’ll get an updated map from the Cattlemen's Association of that area; new members, new ranches and the like. At least we'll have something to work with instead of wandering around blind. Someone must have seen him; he needs supplies and water.”

“What about the towns? Haven’t the sheriffs in those areas gone to the towns?”

“There are not many towns in the foothills, Scott. Everyone is spread around in that area. We need more information before we head up there.”

Teresa brightened. “Maybe Barranca threw a shoe or something. If there are not many towns, he’d have a hard time finding a way to fix that.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, unconvinced. “Maybe that’s it.” He dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin, then pushed his chair back and stood. “Two more days, Murdoch, then we have to do something. Anything. I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

Murdoch nodded with a sigh and dropped his utensil. “I know, and I agree. I’ll ask about that map tomorrow morning.”

“How about tonight? There’s enough daylight left to get to Cyrus’ place, and I can bring it back in the morning.”

Murdoch looked at the two hopeful faces waiting for an answer and couldn’t disappoint them. “All right. I’m sure Cyrus won’t mind an overnight visitor.

Both Scott and Teresa’s faces shined with bright smiles. Scott grabbed his hat and immediately headed out the door as Teresa jumped up and began clearing the table of the uneaten food, hoping the time would pass faster if they kept busy.

PART FOUR

Maria hummed happily as she worked in her small kitchen, appreciating the coolness of the late summer morning. Her patient was showing a little improvement; he was awake more often but still seemed confused and unable to speak clearly. She had been able to coax him to take broth and water fairly consistently for two days now, and the woman was sure the boy could handle some vegetable soup that night if she fed it to him. The poor soul was still too weak to hold a spoon, and any movement on his part brought severe headaches.

Caesar had asked her if she knew his name yet. Maria hadn’t asked because she didn’t think it was right to try and make him speak. When he did talk, he stuttered so badly he became frustrated and a headache would flare, then he would have to lie motionless for hours until it subsided.

As Caesar worked his fields, he thought about the man healing in the house and how he could help him. The gold horse was always in his mind, and he felt guilty for leaving the animal out there, injured. He'd gone to find the animal twice, checking two of the three places in that area that had water and coming home without catching a glimpse. Caesar had the growing feeling that perhaps seeing the horse would help the young man, and resolved to find it. He would start out immediately the next morning by looking at the final watering place he knew.

The sound of the lunch bell made Caesar smile. He stopped Conejo with a soft order, and the big-eared horse sighed and chewed his bit. "Come, my friend, let's take a break." Quickly dropping the harness and bridle, the little horse followed his master to the house where he dipped his head into the water trough. "Have a nice roll in the sand while I eat!" With an affectionate pat on the sticky neck, Caesar went into the house, where he stopped inside the door and smiled hugely at what he saw. "Well! Look who is joining us for lunch!"

Seated at the table looking rather pale and shaky, was the young stranger. He had both hands splayed out in front of him, flat on the table for support, and smiled weakly. "B-b-buenas d-d-dias," he stuttered so softly that Caesar wasn't sure what he'd said. The grimace of pain that followed was quickly controlled as the young man tried valiantly to pretend it never happened.

Caesar decided to play along with the intent to make the man feel at ease, and never let his smile waver as he sat.

"Our boy seems to have little patience for lying around, mi esposo. He will be back in the fields very soon, I am sure!" Maria hustled around the table and served the men fresh tortillas and scrambled eggs.

Caesar knew the menu was geared toward what the boy could eat and made no comment as he dug in, thoughtfully mulling over what she had just said. He and Maria had discussed the fact that their visitor had said nothing about himself or even asked what had happened. Maria said she thought it was best if he brought things up; asking a lot of questions would force him to talk and endure the headaches. It appeared to Caesar that his wife had decided to speak for the young man and he didn't seem to mind.

Maybe it was best to let the boy initiate personal information after all, and the idea about bringing the palomino here suddenly didn't seem like a good one anymore.

****

The Cattlemen's Association maps were a good start. There were several new members in the foothills between Placerville and Sacramento and Murdoch and son headed out as soon as Cipriano returned to Lancer.

Johnny was now a week overdue. Consulting the map, the men decided to head to the town of Jackson, just north and east of Stockton. It would be the closer town to Placerville for supplies, and they figured to be there in four days.

"You know, when we wire the ranch from Jackson, Johnny will have arrived here the day after we left," Scott mumbled. "It would be just like him."

"Well, that may be true, son, but look at it this way: We can welcome the three new Cattlemen's Association members while we're there and not waste the trip."

The fair haired son snorted a short laugh. "No sense in making Johnny think we were worried or anything, right?"

"That's not what I meant!" Murdoch objected. "Of course I'm worried! But if he's home and all right, we may as well do some good while we're up there."

Scott ducked his head. "Sorry, sir. I guess I'm just not in the mood to be glad handing strangers." He nudged Charlemagne to catch up to his father's sorrel.

"It's all right," Murdoch replied lowly. "We're both just a little tense. We'll find him."

With a silent nod from the younger man, both horses were urged into a slow lope.

****

As planned, Caesar headed toward the foothills to check the final watering hole in the area he'd last seen the palomino - a box canyon a little to the north. Caesar thought it was a pretty little canyon, ripe with vegetation, but very isolated. It took several hours to get there, and when they reached the mouth of the canyon, stout Conejo and the man were both hot and dusty.

Smelling water, the bay's oversized ears pricked forward eagerly and his step quickened. Caesar let him have his head, and soon the brown muzzle was dipped in a small pond created by an artesian spring which erupted from the canyon wall. The cold water ran back underground at one edge of a small collection of water the Mexican generously called a pond.

The man splashed the cool water on his face as his horse drank, and then stood back to survey the rest of the canyon carefully. A gathering of stunted scrub oak caught his eye; there was movement in the shadows there. He shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted into the reflected glare of the stark rock walls. Yes, something was coming. Conejo even jerked his head up from his drink and focused on the motion.

What the man saw broke his heart. The palomino, his head low and set in a bend to one side to avoid the dragging reins, was muddy and thin. The saddle, which Caesar could now see had an 'L' brand on the fender, was scratched, dirty and slightly askew. The saddle blankets hung down on one side, poised to fall off at any moment. Although the horse appeared to be moving better than the last time he saw it, there was still a prominent limp in the hind end. The white mane and tail were now caked with dirt, and the bedroll and saddlebags the man recalled were gone.

Conejo rumbled quietly in his throat as he studied the visitor. The gold horse ambled closer, welcoming the company, but stopped a safe distance away with suspicious eyes. Caesar patted the bay's neck and calmly spoke to him in Spanish.

"Hold here, my friend. Let's see if I can win dorado uno over." Carefully, he moved to the small pouch he'd tied to his saddle and untied it, then held it out in front of him, low and unthreatening. "Hey there, I brought a gift." He shook the bag, and the unmistakable sound of grain rattled from within. Conejo eagerly stuck his nose toward it. Caesar pushed him away and dropped the reins. The bay ground tied obediently, eyes locked on the bag. "No, this is for our new friend if he wants it. Come on."

Carefully Caesar offered the bag, but didn't look directly at the edgy horse. He knew staring would make him nervous, so instead he walked toward the palomino with his eyes directed at the ground next to the horse's feet. He held the grain out at chest level and to one side so the horse could see it clearly.

The gold horse was clearly interested and not quite suspicious enough to move away. Caesar got within six feet of the animal then stopped and shook the bag again. He spoke in a soft, singsong tone that was calming and unthreatening. After a few moments he was rewarded when the horse closed the last few feet hesitantly and nuzzled the bag.

Moving slowly, Caesar opened the bag. The hungry horse nudged his arm more forcefully and the man laughed. "I can only open it so fast, my pushy friend. Here." He offered some of it in his flat hand and the horse ate greedily. Caesar could see raw marks around the horse's mouth from the bit, and hairless spots from the leather headstall. "Oh, you are in sad shape, amigo. This is a good spot, but you need to be a free of all that. Let me help you."

Barranca was too intent of the grain to care about the man who picked up the reins. When Caesar moved to his side, Barranca glanced back, but continued to eat, one ear cocked in the man's direction. The Mexican dumped a little more of the grain on the ground and quickly undid the cinch and pulled off the saddle, wincing at the raw sores that was the result of the horse wearing tack for so long. The horse shifted his weight and continued to eat. Caesar clicked his tongue in sympathy, only getting a slight glance from topaz eyes in response.

Anticipating such injuries, Caesar pulled a jar from his hip pocket, opened it, and applied the paste to the sores. He checked the horse's feet, and saw that one shoe was missing and one dangling. Picking up that leg, he pried the shoe off without much effort. The injured back leg looked to be healing and not broken, so Caesar smeared the paste on the scabbed wounds. Swelling still made the hock a little hotter than the man liked, but the animal appeared to be on the mend.

He picked out the major chunks of debris from the mane, and rubbed the horse down with his hands. "Next time I will bring proper tools to clean you up, Oro! Meanwhile, I think you are safe here. I don't think your master is ready to see you; I think it would bring him pain." He patted the thin neck. "Without this bridle you can graze better. There is a lot to eat here, but you have to share with the deer." With practiced hands he unbuckled the throatlatch and slipped the bridle from the scarred head. "I will check on you soon. Here." The rest of the grain was dumped on the ground. Caesar stepped back out of the horse’s comfort zone and collected the tack.

A nearby stand of boulders made a good place to stash the equipment for now. He covered it with the tattered saddle blanket, satisfied it was as protected as it could get out here. After being on the horse for over two weeks, he was sure a little time in the boulders couldn't hurt it any more.

Caesar returned to Conejo and mounted up. They left the healing horse happily cleaning up the last of his present, his dainty ears perked in their direction as they rode away.

CHAPTER FIVE

Maria was delighted that her charge seemed to be healing quickly. She noticed that he didn't like to stay still very long, even if it caused a headache. The secret, she found, was to keep him busy.

First, she gave him simple things to fix, like harness parts that needed stitching or braiding. Once he seemed to get his fingers under his control again, she moved him on to light chores like cleaning out the stove and small fireplace, sweeping the floors and eventually milking the cow and goat. The work helped his appetite and soon the gaunt look of his cheeks smoothed out.

When he wasn't busy, his fingers drummed his thigh or hip bone non stop. One day she gave him her rosary beads, realizing she hadn't used them herself since the blue-eyed young man came to them. Maria was strangely comforted giving the gift, and realized her heart did not seem empty anymore.

At this moment, she studied his lean figure as he was standing at the front window, staring out and running the beads absently through his fingers in an automatic action. Maria wondered if he even realized he was doing the repetitive motion. As she looked at him, an amused grin on her lips, he turned his indigo eyes to her and smiled shyly. She instantly felt her heart melt.

"I-I-I c-c-can w- w-w- work outs-s-ide s-s-soon," he said softly, the ever present stammer making him duck his head and work the beads faster. She could tell he was hiding the wince and headache that came with talking.

His Spanish was otherwise flawless. Maria wondered where he had lived before; she knew most of the families near here and had heard nothing about a missing son or worker. The idea of him going away brought fear to her heart, and she was happy he showed no inclination to leave. In fact, he thought she was his mother and she did not say or do anything to change that thought. God have brought him here for her heart, she was sure. Maria stepped to his side and lifted his chin with her finger.

"Miel," she said, getting him to focus his eyes on her own. "It is a little soon for heavy work. When the headaches stop, then you can start a little at a time, all right?"

"I-I d-d-don't re-re-remember what t.-t-to do anyw-w-way." He grinned in a sad, self-conscious way and looked away, his eyes in a pained squint. Automatically, his fingertips touched the large bruise and lump on the left side of his head hidden under his thick hair. Maria laughed at the comment; the boy had a sense of humor that showed itself at the strangest times.

Maria pulled his hand down from his head and gently combed his hair back with her fingers. She smiled affectionately as the pain lines slowly melted from his face. "Don't rush it, meil." She turned to go, his eyes still on his toes, when he asked the long overdue question that part of her was dreading to answer.

"W-what is m-m-my n-n-name?"

Maria froze for a long second and then slowly turned back to him, her heart racing as she tried to control the rising panic. What should she tell him? Her mouth opened a bit, but nothing came out.

He immediately flushed, embarrassed, and pretended to study the beads as his fingers worked them nervously. Shifting his feet, he mumbled lowly as his forehead furrowed from the ever present torment that speech brought. "I-I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry, m-m-mama. I d-d-don't r-r-r-rem-m-m-mber. Es-s- stup-pido." The stammering became worse with his embarrassment and self-disgust, and he consciously spat out the last word at the expense of a sharp stab to his temple.

Maria realized he didn’t see her hesitation as fear, but as some kind of judgment on his condition. Guilt drained away, and she immediately came to a decision – one based on grief and fear, and yet directly from the heart.

“Your name is Carlos, mijo. Carlos Arroyo.”

CHAPTER SIX

When Murdoch and Scott rode from the town of Jackson, Johnny had been gone for over a month. The worried Lancers had checked every ranch on the roads leading into Jackson, as well as all the mercantile stores and saloons in and near the small town. They spoke with the local sheriff, but he hadn’t heard of any strangers in the area.

Murdoch thanked the lawman and wired Teresa about their lack of progress before they rode out.

“I figure it’ll take about five days to get to San Andreas if we stop at all the ranches between here and there,” Murdoch calculated out loud. He saw the grim look on his elder son and knew that it must mirror his own. “We’ll find him,” he said earnestly.

Scott just smiled sadly and nodded, lost in his feelings of helplessness and wandering thoughts. He was quiet most of the day, and when the time came to stop for the night he was ready to talk in an effort to stave off the growing feeling of loss. “You take care of the horses and I’ll start some dinner.”

“That’ll be fine.” Murdoch had noticed the subdued manner of his son, but didn’t push. The older man wasn’t too inclined to talk, either, but the idea of a silent dinner was too depressing. The eldest Lancer was glad when Scott began to chatter on his return from bedding down the horses.

“There’s nothing like a summer night for star gazing. Look at that sky.” Scott looked up as he stoked the fire, and his father followed his gaze.

“It is beautiful,” Murdoch said quietly. “But for some reason it looks even better on Lancer land.”

Scott laughed shortly and turned his attention on the coals. “Remember when Johnny and I stayed out at the north line shack for a couple of days last month?”

Murdoch settled down next to the fire and began to unroll his bedroll. “That was to fix that footbridge.”

“Yeah,” Scott said with a grin. “I tried to teach Johnny some astronomy. I pointed out the constellation of Taurus and he asked me if the flies had a name.”

A look of confusion crossed the older man’s face. “Flies?”

Scott glanced at his father with eyes sparkling with humor. “Yes, flies. He pointed out a cluster of stars right over what would be Taurus’ rump. Johnny said it looked like flies over the bull’s butt.”

Murdoch automatically looked to the sky and found the constellation in question. “The Seven Sisters? He called the Seven Sisters ‘flies over the bull’s butt’?”

Chuckling, Scott nodded vigorously and grinned. “Leave it to my brother to see things in a different way!” They both laughed a bit, and then the younger man fell silent. “I miss his point of view, Murdoch.”

Serious once again, the elder found his son’s worried eyes and said softly. “Me too.” Then he repeated the mantra that kept their hopes alive. “We’ll find him.”

****

Every time Carlos Arroyo stepped outside he felt completely different; free, energized and ready to work. It didn’t take long for frustration to invade the free feeling as his body failed him within minutes time after time.

“You were very sick, mijo,” Maria said sympathetically. “You need to have patience. Your body will catch up.”

Carlos always nodded at his mother’s response, grateful she was there to help him and at the same time annoyed that he needed the help. His emotions rose and fell at the drop of a hat and that rankled him, too. It seemed like he was always in some inner, personal war with himself. Talking hurt, so he avoided that. More and more he found himself in the barn caring for the lone cow, the pair of goats, and his favorite, the stocky, big-eared horse.

The young man was plagued by a dark void in his mind that made up a lot of his past. He remembered his childhood in small flashes of memory – a dark haired mother with fuzzy features, busy, dirty towns and . . . and something that was always on the edge of the darkness. Carlos felt most at ease when he groomed Conejo; those were the times when his mind seemed to calm. The work was not physically taxing, and he felt a connection with the small horse that had accepted him without question and never asked anything of him except a friendly word or petting.

****

At first, Caesar was completely shocked when he’d found out that Maria had told the boy his name was Carlos. For days he juggled feelings of alarm for his wife’s sanity, guilt that the lie seemed to help her, and affection for the stranger who was quickly worming his way into his heart. He had noticed how good the young man was with the animals, and how he treated his wife with love and respect, and knew he would be a good hand at the ranch as well as a wonderful son.

There, he’d said it: son. The possibility that this Carlos could take the place of his dead son both chilled and cheered him. For now, he would let it ride. No one had come looking for the boy, who could be easily described by the blue eyes and decidedly un-farmer like, flashy clothing he had been wearing when he first came here. The fancy silver studded pants and colorful shirt were cleaned and stashed away in the barn with the holster and gun, replaced by the simple clothing of man that worked the land with his hands.

Could gaining a son be that simple? Carlos wondered. He also wondered about the other half of the lost pair and knew he’d have to check on the palomino soon just to try and ease his mind completely. The opportunity came when Carlos had been with them for a month.

The trio was seated at the small breakfast table, the sun just rising over the foothill and the morning’s light chores finished. Carlos played with his food, pushing it around with his fork in a manner the married couple had come to recognize as a sign that he wanted to say something, but was reluctant to speak.

“What is it, son?” Caesar said, tearing a tortilla in half. The endearing term slipped from his tongue easily, and he didn’t even know he’d uttered it.

Troubled blue eyes looked up at him through dark bangs, and Carlos’s hand dropped in his lap. “I-I w-w-was w-w-.wonderin’ if I c-c-could t-t-try w-w-workin’ w-w-with C-Conejo.” His left hand automatically touched the side of his head, but the pained expression that usually accompanied speech had lessened in the past few days.

“You mean in the field?” Maria asked with raised brows. Carlos glanced up, nodded, and looked shyly back at his plate, resuming the rearrangement of his food. Maria looked to her husband and nodded.

Caesar smiled. “I don’t see why not. You’re ready to work, aren’t you?”

The statement cause the young man’s head to tilt up, his eyes bright with hope.

“Y-yes, s-s-sir.”

“I’ll help you hitch him up, but you have to promise to stop and rest often, and stop completely if you get another headache. Agreed?” Caesar had to work hard to keep a concerned, fatherly expression directly in the face of the joyous response of the young man. Carlos nodded shortly, and then dug into his breakfast with zeal.

After breakfast, they went to the barn and hitched up the small horse together. Caesar stayed by Carlo's side the entire time, coaching him on the details of working a horse to plow. Carlos caught on quickly, but also tired just as quickly. Caesar could see his valiant efforts to hide his pain and fatigue, but just before noon it became too much to ignore. Caesar knew the boy had over extended himself when he went back to the house without argument and was asleep in his room before Conejo was unhitched. That's when Cesar decided to take the opportunity to check the golden horse in the hills.

Conejo seemed to know where they were going and reached the box canyon in good time. At first there was no sign of the horse but within minutes Conejo's substantial ears perked in one direction and a flash of white moved in the shade of the oaks. The plain bay rumbled a greeting as the palomino walked into the sun.

Caesar was pleased at what he saw. The golden coat had healed nicely, the only indication of the raw spots visible due to the shorter, darker hair growing in. Ribs were no longer as visible, and the limp was practically non-existent, but Caesar's practiced eye could see that one hock was still thicker than the other. Forced, extended rest was the best thing that could have happened to this animal, and for a moment the parallel between horse and owner was clear to the Mex