Drabble by Cecilia

This story is an orphan – that is, the writer has not been active in the fandom for a long time, and the story has been rescued from the old, defunct Yahoo groups. So that we don’t lose the story entirely, we’re storing it here.

However the original author still owns this story. Should they reconnect with the fandom at some point, we will naturally respect whatever they want to do with their story.

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Things were not right at Lancer.  Had not been for the past three months.  Not since the day that Johnny had packed his saddle-bags and ridden away.

There had been no apparent reason.  Things were going well—running smoothly. The three men had settled down together to run the huge spread and apart from the drought and a few odd adventures, all seemed to be well. There had been no recent fight—no row,  no serious arguments.

Just Johnny, one morning, appearing at breakfast, very subdued and grim. He had simply stated, quietly and without emotion, that he was leaving. That it was what he had decided was the right and best thing for
him to do.  That he did not have to give them a reason. And that he would not be back.

Then he had laid down his copy of the deed that gave him one third of Lancer and indicated where he had signed away his rights to everything offered there. 

Except Barranca.  He had written out a Bill of Sale, which he insisted his father should sign, and then, with his saddle-bag over his shoulder, he had walked out of the hacienda with out so much as a backward glance.

He had taken his $1000 (Scott had checked) and everything small possession that had ever been in his untidy bedroom. And  he had left behind, on the cleared dresser,   the old gold watch that Murdoch had given him, over two years ago, and a huge aching hole in the very fabric of the place that had been his home.

And no-one had any idea why he had gone. 

2008

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