The Map by Cat

Word Count 2,640

Written for the Lancer Writer ‘55^th Anniversary Episode Tag Celebration’

Episode Tag WHN  High Riders

A week after the land pirates were defeated

“Good morning, Sir.”  Scott stood by the map of the ranch with a pencil in his hand.  Though it was still early morning, he was dressed for work. 

“Don’t write on that!” Murdoch stepped forward quickly across the Great Room.

Scott turned.  “I was making a copy of the north west quadrant, sir.  I intend to explore it tomorrow, if I can be spared.”

Murdoch came to stand by him, mollified.  “That’s a good idea, son.  Take Cipriano with you – the land around the house is – is clear now so he’s due some time to look to the future.  He’s worked so hard for me, and stayed when so many wouldn’t, that he’ll be as much a part of that future as any of us.”

Neither man wanted to think what Cipriano and his crew had been clearing from the land.  The little graveyard had been considerably expanded. 

Scott returned to staring at the map then began to sketch his copy.  Murdoch told him where waterholes, a line shack, and a creek should be added as Scott drew, then began to detail future plans. 

“Sir,” Scott said.  “Shouldn’t we wait until my brother can join in such discussions?  How is he today?” 

“Consuela tells me he had a good night.  The fever’s down.  It’ll take a while but she assures me he’ll recover.  She knows her business.” 

“As you said, only the best hands – and their wives – stayed.  What would you like me to do today?”

“Get Ben to find the best person to teach you all about the stock – well, to start on that.  You know as much as anyone about horses and horsemanship – what do you know about cows?”

“I can tell a bull from a cow,” Scott said, grinning. 

“When you can move a herd to new pastures, ensure they have water and feed, know how old they are and how many calves they have produced, when they need to go to market – when you’ve doctored them and stopped Teresa from naming every calf since some have to be slaughtered – then you’ll have begun to understand how to do more than tell a bull from a cow.” 

“Then I better get right to it.” Scott folded his map and slipped it into his pocket, ready for the next day.  Being prepared in advance always paid off in the long run.  It had certainly helped in Boston, in the finding of young ladies who might be free at particular times.  He walked quickly across to the door, took his new hat and settled it on his head, then heard his father shout, “Gun belt!” at him. 

Scott went to the coat tree, retrieved the new gun belt that was very much in need of being broken in and fastened it awkwardly. 

“Get your brother to give you lessons in using a handgun when he’s back on his feet.”

“Yes, sir,” Scott said, just managing not to salute.  “See you later – a wiser man, I hope, but not a sadder one.” 

“Indeed,” his father said.  “We’re too far from the sea to be troubled by albatross.” 

And so the connection between father and son deepened, much to the slightly hesitant pleasure of both of them. 

Another three weeks have passed

“Por favor, Senor Johnny – muy lento!”

“I’ve been in that bed long enough to take root, Consuela!  I’m only going to sit in a different place!”

The noise of the argument drifted into the great room, disturbing Murdoch’s thoughts as he peered at the large documents on his desk.  If Consuela couldn’t persuade his son, he knew he had no choice but to go and lend assistance to his boy.  He stood, easing his own back and leg, knowing exactly what Johnny was feeling as the process of recovery dragged on. 

But as he stood, Johnny walked under his own steam into the great room, with Consuela close enough to give him an arm to lean on if needed.   He was dressed, too, though in the loose Mexican-style clothes that were easier for him to put on.  It marked a distinct difference in his bearing and apparent mood. 

He eased himself into the chair by the fireplace and sighed.  Then he grinned up at Murdoch, who hovered close by, uncertain what to say to the somewhat diminished young man who was his son.  It had been easy with Scott; would it be as easy with Johnny after the words that had passed between them?  Consuela smiled and left the room, her skirts moving restlessly round her feet. 

“Evening, Murdoch,” Johnny said, his successful escape putting some color back in his face. 

“Good evening, son. “ 

There was a momentary pause as Murdoch tried to find something else to say.   Johnny beat him to it.

“Scott said he was learning about beef.  How’s he doing?”  The grin was still there, even brighter than before, and Murdoch relaxed in the face of a son at last coming out of pain. 

“I’ve got him on brush-popping.  Better to learn from the foundations of the job.”

Johnny laughed out loud.  “I’ve done a few months of that.  Only good part is seeing the calves run back to their mothers.  The bawling is enough to deafen you for hours after.”

Murdoch sat down, pleased Johnny was opening up a few doors into his past. 

“It’s a hard job.  He’s already had to have two shirts and one pair of work pants mended, or so Mrs. Velasquez tells me.  I’ll move him on to herding tomorrow – doesn’t do for the boss’ son to be doing all the menial jobs – just some, to show willing.”

“Have to get him some good leather chaps, make him look more like a vaquero.”  

Murdoch smiled at the thought of Scott as a vaquero.  “He’s learning some Spanish.  You could help him with that,” he offered tentatively. 

“I could.  Shall I teach him to be a pistolero too?” 

Another pause, as Murdoch looked at his younger son, who had a particularly straight face.  But good humor and a change had brightened Johnny, who grinned widely.  Teasing, then.

“You can try to teach him anything you think he ought to know about living here.  But I need to show both of you how to find your way around without having to ask.  Are you up for some studying next week?”

“Why not today, Murdoch?  Consuela says I’m driving her loca and she’ll read the whole Bible to me to keep me quiet. “

“You’d have to sit at the desk, son – I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

Johnny sighed.  “Guess not.  So – how did you get hold of this whole place, then? “

And that was a subject Murdoch was happy to begin re-telling to the son who’d been too young to ask such questions before he’d been snatched away.  He stopped only when Johnny was nearly asleep.

“You need to get back to bed, John.  Next week, I’ll draw a map of the whole area – give you an idea how the ranch sits in the valley and where the towns are around here.  And maybe tell you a bit more about the early days here – Scott would find that interesting too, maybe.  Now, give me your hand.” 

His son gave him a sudden, piercing look. “I still remember, old man, my mother telling me  –  when I was a boy, your hand, when I fell  …” 

“I do too, son.”

 

About a week before Johnny signs that legal document as Lancer, not Madrid.  So he’s been out and about on light duties. 

“All right, boys.  Now, I have something to show you.”  Murdoch went to the bookshelves and picked up a large roll of paper and three pencils.  “Scott – fetch something from the shelves to hold down that corner.  Johnny – can you reach that book there – yes, that’s it.  I’ve been meaning to add to this for a long while now.”

The roll of paper, spread across the end of the dining table and with the candelabra throwing light across its surface, revealed some apparently random lines, crosses and little squares, and a few elegantly written words, evidently names of places. 

“It’s a copy of the ranch map!” said Scott.  “I’ve drawn every inch of that map over the last month.”

“And explored most of it too, I know, son.”

“I’ve barely scratched the surface, but at least I know all the roads, and all the valley bottoms.   Some of the creeks, as well.  But this…”  Scott outlined with his finger the hills to the east of the ranch house, which was represented by the little squares, “I haven’t had time to go up there at all.”

“Too busy learning about the ways of cattle, brother?” Johnny asked, smiling at Scott from where he sat, to Murdoch’s right.  “The way they never do what you want them to do?” 

“You haven’t been near a cow since you’ve been here, brother.  Staring at that herd while you lean on the fence does not count.”

“I’ve been gently easing back to work, like I was told to by the doctor.  Don’t rush, he said.  So I’ve been not rushing.”  Johnny reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a small knife.  He very deliberately began to shave a few curls of wood off his pencil, then gathered them together, seemingly oblivious to the way he was being watched by his brother and his father. 

“Are you quite ready now, John?” 

“Ready for anything, old m – Murdoch.”  Johnny pushed the pencil shavings into his hand then looked for a place to put them.  Scott helpfully offered him the saucer from his coffee cup.  Johnny nodded his thanks and dumped the shavings, then brushed his hands together.  Then he placed the knife on the map, right in front of Murdoch. He looked up at his father.  Something – Scott could not have said what – passed between them. 

“Hers?”  Murdoch said quietly, looking at the knife.

“Yours.  Then hers.  I guess she – took it.”

Scott knew the world ‘stole’ was being avoided. 

Murdoch simply nodded, then pushed the knife carefully back to his son.

“It’s yours now, son.  You don’t need to give it back.  I already have the only thing I wanted her to return to me.” 

Johnny took the knife and, head down as if to watch what he was doing, wiped it carefully on his shirt sleeve and tucked it back where it belonged.

And Scott thought, just for a moment, of himself – of the money that had been expended on him as a boy.  Did he have anything as precious as that knife?  Well, he had a father, a brother and a third share of a beautiful ranch.  Until he started searching for a woman to share his life, it was enough.

Maria entered with a fresh pot of coffee, breaking the quiet which had descended, and left with a murmured, “de nada” in response to Murdoch’s thanks. 

“Scott – is there anything you would add to this third of the map?” Murdoch asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.  

Scott settled his pencil in his hand then put its point on a place name, and hesitated.

“I’m not sure how to spell the Spanish name for this place, but “Fern Falls” has been imposed over the top of that.  Should I cross the amendment through?”

Murdoch smiled sadly. “Your mother wrote “Fern Falls”.  I believe she learned of the craze for collecting ferns from the wild which had taken hold back in England.  She told me it would be a small remembrance of her ancestors.  Many names here supersede the previous Spanish names – Morro Coyo being the most obvious exception.” 

Scott put down the pencil, traced some of the lettering carefully with his finger, then took his hand away from the map but said nothing.

“Coffee, brother?”  Johnny said, holding out the pot.

“I believe I will.”  Scott held out his cup and another awkward moment was negotiated.

A few minutes later, Scott took up his pencil again.  He stared at the map for a moment, picked a place and drew what was clearly a small building with windows, roof and a door, and next to it, a small barn and a corral.  He sketched in a horse – seemingly for scale. 

“We stopped here a couple of days ago.  Cipriano told me a family once lived here.”

“Yes – the McBains.  He built the place.  But he moved on when his wife died and we use it as a line shack now.”

Scott labelled it with its position and approximate distance from the hacienda and drew a line to indicate the easiest route to it.

“My turn?” Johnny asked.  “I can’t add much.  I only got to Morro Coyo because that’s where the stage landed up.”  He quickly sketched a stage coach and horses, proving as proficient as his brother at depicting the horses.

Murdoch took up his own pencil and drew a long line from the edge of the paper, with two sets of buildings along its route.

“The stage used to come along here, back to the time I bought the ranch.  The new route is this way, linking Morro Coyo, Green River and Spanish Wells.  Now there are at least a couple of abandoned way stations – useful if you get caught in a storm.”

“Or need to hide from the law?” Johnny said with a grin.

“Or from a girl’s irate … sorry, sir.”  Scott glanced at his father, who cleared his throat. 

“For whatever purpose, they won’t be useful much longer.  The buildings are falling into disrepair.”

So they continued to fill in places in the area, Murdoch introducing the names of people he knew, places to avoid, places with a sheriff and jail – just in case – and doctors, who also came under the just-in-case heading. 

He stopped only when he saw Johnny had doodled a small figure with an unmistakably womanly shape next to one square which marked a house in Morro Coyo.  He’d moved on to drawing a second figure in another part of town. 

“Johnny,” his father said.  “Are you sure you’re well enough ..”

Johnny had the grace to color slightly.  “Just thinking ahead.  What was that word you used, Scott?  Logistics?”

“The detailed organization and implementation of a complex situation,” Scott said, reeling off a definition and smiling at his brother.

Johnny looked down at the cover of the book he’d put on the edge of the paper.  “Won’t need this dictionary while you’re around,” he said.

“Boys – anyone want a nightcap?  I think we’re just about finished here for tonight.  You can add places as you move out beyond the area – but perhaps limit the – the more fanciful …”

“…drawings?” offered Johnny.

“…graffiti?” said Scott, looking smug. 

“Yes.  Those.”

“Sure, Murdoch – we can do that.  And yes to the nightcap.”

And so, having mapped out their world in a number of expected and unexpected ways, the family settled by the fire.  Murdoch had rolled up the map and put it back on the shelf, and Scott and Johnny had replaced the items they’d put to good use keeping the paper flat.

Over the next months, and eventually years, the map was altered, old names crossed through and even a few whole towns came and went.  The original map withstood all the changes, confirming over and over again the central truth: that the Lancer ranch stood firm, adapting to change, welcoming the new faces and new stories but still undaunted, still true to Murdoch’s ownership of his beloved hundred thousand acres and the family he thought he had lost forever, only to find them just when he needed them most. 

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