The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1)

by Brad Dennison

  Bootprints covered other bootprints. It was impossible to get a fix on what their number was, other than numerous. Josh could see some bootprints were larger than others. Some had a flatter heel. He could count at least eight different men. And he saw one set of prints that was smaller, narrower, with a sharper heel.

  “Looks like they might have a kid with them,” Josh said. “Or a woman.”

  “The fools,” Pa said, stepping down lightly from the saddle and scooping up the bottles. “Don’t they know sunlight through a bottle can start a fire?”

  He dropped the bottles into a saddle bag. “Well, they’re not trying to conceal themselves at all. Must be their number. Creates a feeling of safety.”

  “Why do you suppose they picked this spot?” Josh asked. “If they’re not afraid of being seen, why not go down to a lower elevation? Flatter ground? Maybe closer to town, or to the ranch?”

  Pa looked up at the trees overhead. Tall, straight ponderosas. “Can you still climb one of these, like I showed you?”

  Josh let his gaze travel up along one trunk. The branches began a good thirty feet from the ground. To climb one of these, Josh would have to wrap his arms and legs around the trunk and wriggle his way up. Pa had seen the Shoshone do this to cut or break branches for a fire. But Josh hadn’t even attempted this since he was ten, when he was two full feet shorter, and about sixty pounds lighter. But Pa had asked the question, and Josh didn’t want to admit to even a hesitation in front of this man.

  “Yessir,” he said boldly.

  “Then, have at it.”

  Josh stepped down and handed Pa one rein. He slung his gunbelt over the pommel of his saddle, dropped his hat to the ground, and shouldered out of his vest and laid it beside the hat. “What is it I’m looking for?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it.”

  “How high do you want me to go?”

  “You’ll know when you get there.”

  Josh wrapped his arms around the pine’s trunk, the roughness of the bark helping him maintain his grip, then let his legs follow suit. Hard-soled riding boots were not the best footwear for climbing, he realized immediately. He had usually been barefoot when doing this as a child. He decided he would ask Pa to help him make a pair of those Shoshone boots.

  Up he went. Slowly, only a few inches with each wriggle. He was grateful the work he did kept him in good physical shape, because he needed to be for this stunt.

  Sweat was soon rolling down each side of his face and under the back of his shirt, and he was sucking in air through his now open mouth. But he kept going.

  He was soon on a level with the pointed tops of some of the shorter pines, and some of the taller ones rooted a little further down the slope.

  “You see it, yet?” Pa called up.

  “See what?” there was nothing significant as far as Josh could see.

  “Keep going!”

  Josh continued upward. Soon the pointed tops from down the slope were below him.

  And then, he saw it. The open green expanse of the meadow at the valley floor. And the McCabe ranch house and its outbuildings, looking like small wooden boxes in the distance.

  He had a perfect view of the house from here. He could even make out the remuda grazing behind the house, a couple mustangs running about, stretching their legs. A man with a spy glass would be able to clearly see who was standing on the front porch or moving about in front of the stable or the bunkhouse. He would be able to see how many men there were, how well armed they were, and who was positioned where.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered.

  Once Josh’s feet were back on solid ground, he told Pa what he had seen.

  Josh said, “How did you know there would be such a good view of the house from here?”

  “It’s where I would have chosen, if I was in their place. It’s pretty obvious they were watching the house.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You ready to ride?” Pa asked.

  Josh’s hands were scraped, but not quite bleeding, from the roughness of the tree’s bark, and his arms were aching and his legs quivering from the strain of the climb. But he would not let Pa be aware of this. He would not admit to weakness in front of this man.

  “Yes, sir.” Josh reached for his gunbelt.

  FIFTEEN

  Johnny McCabe and his son mounted up and continued following the trail, and confirmed it was swinging north and away from the ranch, and from McCabe Gap. The riders would likely be beyond the valley by now, but their exit route would have taken them near the Johnson spread.

  “Think we ought to go check on Zack?”

  Pa shook his head. “We’d never get there and back home again before sundown. We told Aunt Ginny we’d be home before dark. Zack and his men can take care of that place. And it would make no sense for these raiders, if that’s what they are, to pass on a bigger spread for one so much smaller. But I might ride out and check on him come morning.”

  Josh and Pa were riding into the ranch yard as the last rays of sunset streaked the clouds overhead with shades of fiery red. First Pa had a hot bath, and then Josh drew a tub of hot water for himself. Once they were in clean clothes, they joined Aunt Ginny and Bree for supper. After the meal was finished, Pa stirred a little fire to life in the hearth, and took his favorite chair, and lit his pipe. Aunt Ginny was in her rocker, a cup of tea balancing in a saucer held in one hand. Bree sat on the hearth, her arms folded about her knees, looking genuinely happy to have Pa back. The fire light cast a dancing orange glow to one side of her face and plunged the other into darkness.

  Josh stood, leaning with one hand against the mantle piece, trying to appear strong and just a little bit aloof, the way it struck him the strongest of men appeared to be. Pa, Zack and Hunter, for example. He was trying to measure up to the likes of men like these. Strength just seemed to radiate from them. However, appearing strong this evening was difficult. Josh’s backside hurt, from the base of his spine all the way down to the back of each thigh – he had done a hell of a lot of riding today. He had ridden hard this morning covering the distance from the line shack to the house, then he and Pa had traipsed all over the countryside trailing those riders. And he had climbed a damned tree. The muscles of his arms and legs ached with fatigue, and his left shoulder was telling him maybe the climb had taxed it a little too much;. But he wasn’t about to admit to any of this with Pa in the room. Pa had been moving about comfortably, despite the fact that he had just returned from a long journey, all of it by horseback. You would think he had spent the day leisurely sitting about. So, Josh simply stood, trying to look confident and casual, and not move about too much for the sake of his soreness. And he definitely wouldn’t be sitting any more than he had to.

  “Son,” Pa said. “Would you like a glass of scotch?”

  Aunt Ginny shot him a glance over the rim of her spectacles. But Pa merely returned the gaze, meeting her squarely in the eye. Not too many people had the nerve to do that. In fact, Pa was the only one Josh had ever seen who was able to stand his ground and not even flinch when she was giving the Gaze. Compared to that, having the nerve to face a man who was drawing down on you did not seem like such an incredible accomplishment, after all.

  “Ginny,” Pa said. “He’s a man, now. He did a man’s job, taking care of this place while I was gone, and he rode with me as a man this afternoon. A man’s entitled to a drink if he wants one.”

  It was not unusual for Josh to down a beer at Hunter’s, but Aunt Ginny had never been there to see it. Not that he intentionally drank his beer in secret, it was just that he had never happened to mention it to her. And truth-to-tell, he did not like scotch, but he wasn’t going to refuse an offer to share a glass with Pa.

  Without a word, Aunt Ginny returned her gaze to the fire. Bree’s eyes were gleaming, like she wanted to cheer. A victory for our side! But she held her silence, discretion being the better part of valor, and all.

  “I’ll get it,” Josh said before Pa could rise
from his chair. Partly out of simple courtesy, and partly because it would give him more of a reason to be on his feet and not sitting, without being obvious about it. He walked with an intentionally steady gait as he crossed the floor of the large, open room to Pa’s desk, not allowing himself to hobble as he moved. Beside the desk was a small end table on which stood a decanter and some glasses. By firelight, Josh poured two scotches, and brought one over to Pa.

  Father and son shared their scotch in silence, Pa in his chair, firelight flickering over him, his pipe now resting in a small ash tray on a table beside him, and Josh standing beside his Pa, gazing into the crackling fire.

  Josh took a sip, then another, the scotch burning its way down. My God. How do men drink this? He didn’t care for this at all. Pa, Zack and Hunter could drink it like it was water. But regardless of the taste of the stuff, Josh wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.

  After a time, Bree excused herself to bed. Once the scotch was gone, Josh did the same, setting his glass on the table beside Pa’s chair. He gave Aunt Ginny a quick peck on the cheek and then climbed the stairs to the second floor, and his bedroom. He was glad the stairway was mostly hidden in darkness, so Pa wouldn’t see Josh’s grimace as his sore back and leg muscles complained about the climb.

  Josh sat on the edge of his bed with intentions of pulling off his boots, but his bed looked so inviting that he simply dropped onto his side, and swung his booted feet up onto the bed.

  Ah. Sweet relief. How could those iron-assed old men like Pa and Zack do what they did, year after year, in the saddle? Twenty years earlier, when Pa and Zack had found this valley, they had done so by riding, on horseback mind you, all the way from California. Day after day in the saddle.

  He lied there for a while, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. He wanted to sleep, but he found he was beyond sleepiness. When he got this way, his mind would work too fast, almost like it was spinning. He thought about those riders, and wondered if they would be back. Maybe, he thought. They had spent a lot of time watching the house, and if they were indeed raiders, they would be back. This was the biggest spread in the area, with the most to offer. Horses, ammunition, food.

  His gunbelt was draped over a bed post. He hadn’t worn it downstairs, because the weight of it had bothered his sore back muscles. He had come downstairs casually, and no one mentioned the fact that he was not armed.

  He thought of the way Pa slept, with a wooden chair at his bedside, and one of his pistols on the chair. Just in case he had to get to his gun in a hurry. However, Josh thought about maybe doing something like that tonight, just in case those raiders decided to come back and try this ranch.

  He lied there a while. He heard a mantle clock above the hearth downstairs striking the hour. Josh counted ten. It was late, but sleep was eluding him. He thought, maybe if his aunt had turned in, he would go back downstairs, and have a second glass of scotch. As much as he hated the taste, it might help him unwind so he could sleep.

  He sat up, and realized he felt a little better. His muscles, overly tensed from too much exertion, had relaxed a bit and some of the ache was now gone. He reached down and pulled off his boots, giving his pinched-up toes room to breathe, and then started across the floor in his socks.

  He was part way down the stairway when he heard talking downstairs. Pa and Aunt Ginny. She had not yet gone to bed.

  “You’re proud of Josh, aren’t you?” Josh heard her saying.

  “He did a man’s job.”

  “He also made an error in judgment. He was quite upset about that just before you rode in.”

  “But he owned up to it. I’m proud of him for that, too. And he learned from his mistake and won’t make the same one again. That’s also part of being a man.”

  “You were gone a long time, John. Longer than usual.”

  Then, they were quiet. Josh could visualize Aunt Ginny in her rocker, sipping on her tea. Pa in his chair, taking a draught of smoke from his pipe.

  After a few moments, she said, “You’re missing Lura, aren’t you?”

  “More than usual, for some reason.”

  “They say that when a loved one dies, you grieve for a while, then you put it behind you, and move on. But that’s not how it works, not if you really love the person. You might get used to it, but you never seem to really move on.”

  “No, you never really do.”

  There was something different in Pa’s voice, Josh thought, as he listened to Pa and Aunt Ginny talk. Something Josh had never heard before. A sort of edge, but also a sort of wilting sound. If Josh didn’t know better, he would think it sounded like pain. The kind that can slowly gnaw away at you. But surely not from Pa. He was not the kind of man who succumbed to anything. Pa wouldn’t allow anything to eat away at him. He took a-hold of a problem with both hands, wrestled it down, and conquered it.

  Pa had never talked much about Ma to Josh and Bree and Jack. He had told them stories about her, like how he had first met her and such, but he had never really talked much about how he felt about her. About her passing. He had heard from Zack and Hunter how Pa had ridden out in search of the man who killed her, and had never found him. He had been gone two months, and had come back empty handed. According to Zack, Aunt Ginny had a talk with him, and said she understood his desire for vengeance, but he had to let it go. The children needed him home. So, he gave up the search, and to Josh’s knowledge, the killer had never been found.

  All of this was before Josh was really old enough to remember. He did have a couple fleeting images of Ma in his mind. One of a blond woman with a smile that made you feel all warm inside, and one of a woman singing him to sleep at night – he did not remember the song, but he could still hear the silky smoothness of her voice. And there was one photograph of her and Pa on their wedding day. Pa kept it on a stand in his room.

  Pa and Aunt Ginny remained silent for a while. Josh lowered himself to sit on one of the steps, moving carefully so as not to make a sound. He winced a bit as his sore backside made contact with the wooden step.

  Then, Pa spoke again. “It’s been getting worse than usual, lately. It’s like, I expect her to be there in bed with me at night. I roll over and find myself reaching for her, and she’s not there. It startles me right out of my sleep. Sometimes more than once in a night. And sometimes she appears in my dreams, smiling. Reaching out for me. Taking my hand. That’s why I was gone so long. Trying to come to grips with all of this.”

  Aunt Ginny said, “Does she say anything in those dreams?”

  “Two nights ago, she said, I’ll see you again, soon. I woke up shaking, all by myself, in the middle of the mountains. Tears running down my face, like a baby.”

  Josh’s mouth was hanging open. Crying? Pa? Of course, Josh knew in theory that everyone cried at one time or another, but to hear this from Pa seemed somehow unsettling.

  Aunt Ginny said, “Those are just dreams, John. Nothing more.”

  “I don’t know. How do I know it’s not something more?”

  Josh knew Pa believed in spirits. During Pa’s winter with the Shoshone, he had spent a lot of time with one of their shamans, and learned about the Indian view of life and death. That the body may die, but the spirit lives on. Pa spoke of that old Shoshone shaman as one of his most revered teachers.

  Aunt Ginny was a little more traditional in her approach, keeping a Bible by her bedside and insisting the family give a traditional prayer of thanksgiving before each meal together, and she sometimes rode into town for church on Sunday.

  Josh asked her about all of this once. Which belief was right? What was the actual way things worked?

  “No belief is necessarily right or wrong,” she said. “We each approach God in our own way. Or, more appropriately, God approaches each of us in whatever way we can understand him best.”

  “Then, why do so many have no toleration for the beliefs of others?”

  “Of all the good qualities that can be found in mankind, sadly, open-mindedness is
among the most rare.”

  “Then, why do you call Pa’s beliefs silly Indian superstitions?”

  She chuckled. “Your Pa and I have a unique way of communicating, that’s all.”

  As Josh sat on the stairs listening, Pa said, “Sixteen years she’s been gone. Sixteen years, eight months, and an odd number of days. I don’t really know what the date is. Out in the mountains, it’s easy to lose track.”

  “June twenty-fifth,” Aunt Ginny said.

  “June twenty-fifth. Sixteen years, eight months, and..,” he was silent a moment as he did the arithmetic in his head, “fourteen days. The more time goes by, the more I find it hard to believe I’ve actually lived this long without her.”

  “You’re a strong man.”

  “I’m not as strong as you might think.”

  Yeah, you are, Josh thought. You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever known. And yet, Josh often got so caught up in looking at Pa as a larger-than-life figure he could never measure up to, he sometimes forgot Pa was human. Hearing Pa talk like this brought it all home to him in an abrupt way. Like being slapped in the face.

  Pa continued, “I’ve held on for the children, that’s all. They were so young, and needed at least one of their parents with them. Without them needing me, I probably would have drunk myself to death by now. Or just ridden off into the mountains and not come back. When I’m out there in the mountains, I can almost feel her spirit on the wind. But now, Josh is grown and ready to take over the ranch. Jack will be out of school soon and starting his life as a doctor. And Bree is nearly grown.”

  “They still need you, John.”

  “I suppose.”

  He was quiet for a few moments, then said, “You know, I’ve been told that even though people think I’m brave and strong, the truth is I’m really too stupid to know when to quit.”