The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1)

by Brad Dennison

  “Not better than me,” Dusty said. “And definitely not better than my friend Josh, here.”

  “Still cocky, are you, boy? That’s gonna get you killed sooner or later. And I’d bet on sooner.”

  Josh noticed Dusty referred to him as friend. He decided to say nothing, and follow along with whatever plan Dusty was cooking up.

  The man called Loggins said, “Who are these two?”

  “Found ‘em up on the rim of the canyon,” Haynes said. “The runt here,” he indicated Dusty with a nod of his head, “used to ride along with Patterson. I don’t know who the other one is. As soon as Falcone gives the word, I’ll turn ‘em both into wolf bait.”

  Haynes dismounted and rapped on the cabin door. “Hey, boss. It’s me. Found me a couple riders up at the canyon rim. Brought ‘em down.”

  A man called from inside. “They law?”

  Dusty immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Falcone.

  Haynes glanced at Josh and Dusty. “Them two? Nah.”

  “Then shoot them both.”

  “You know one of ‘em. That kid who used to tag along with Patterson.”

  There was a hesitation. Then, “Bring ‘em on in.”

  “Get down from the horses, boys,” Haynes said to them. To the other man who had been with him on the canyon rim, he said, “Take care of the horses.”

  With Haynes in the lead and Loggins behind them with a pistol in his hand, Dusty and Josh stepped into the cabin. A fireplace built of stones and held together with mud plaster decorated one wall. There were two doorways flanking the fireplace, and each was blocked off with a blanket hanging from nails driven into a timber overhead. Bedrooms, Dusty supposed. A table was positioned at the center of the main room.

  A dark haired woman with hollow cheeks and deep crevices about her eyes sat at the table. She wore a white petticoat and fish-net stockings, and in one hand was a glass. Standing behind her was a man with a drooping mustache that needed trimming. His hair was dark but with silver strands, and it fell shaggily below each ear. He wore a gray, long-handled under shirt, and a suspender over each shoulder. Buckled about his hips was a gunbelt which held a Colt Peacemaker, very similar to Dusty’s. In one hand was a half full bottle of whiskey, and in the other, a glass that matched the one the woman was holding.

  Dusty stepped forward boldly, as though he were more guest than prisoner. “Howdy, Vic.”

  “Dusty,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

  Dusty nodded. “I hear you’re still in business.”

  Falcone nodded. “Thought about retiring, shortly after you left. But this is the only life I know.”

  “What about Sam?”

  Falcone shrugged. “About a year after you rode out, he did the same. Haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Prob’ly dead,” Haynes put in.

  Without looking at him, Dusty said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Kiowa? One less man for you to be afraid of.”

  Kiowas’s lips pulled back, like a wild animal about to strike, and he reached for his knife. Falcone’s right hand shot up, palm outward, in a stopping motion, and it had the desired affect on Kiowa. Then Falcone said to Dusty, “I see you two aren’t getting along any better than you ever did.”

  Dusty shrugged. “I don’t get along with any man who gets his fun by scaring children. Threatening to carve them up with a knife.”

  “It ain’t too late,” Kiowa hissed. “All I need is the word from Vic.”

  Dusty turned to face him. “You’ll need a lot more than that. I’m not a kid anymore, and you’re nowhere near man enough to do the job without a lot of help.”

  “Enough, you two,” Falcone sad.

  Dusty turned back to Falcone. Kiowa let his gaze linger on Dusty a moment longer, then looked back to his boss.

  “Who’s this one?” Falcone asked, indicating Josh.

  “Josh,” Dusty said, thinking quickly, grasping for a name. “Josh Brackston. A gunhawk I’ve been riding with a while.”

  “Never heard of him,” Falcone said.

  Josh decided to enter the play. After all, he was finding this was not unlike poker. “You hang around Montana Territory a while, you’ll hear of me.”

  Dusty looked to him, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh, or kick him. Shut up, he wanted to say. Leave this to me.

  The outside door then opened, and a woman stepped in. The saloon whore from Midas.

  “I so love a bath in this mountain water,” she was saying, before she saw who was standing with Falcone.

  Her hair fell in dripping wet strings down her back, and she wore only a petticoat and a slip. Her eyes met Josh’s for a moment, then turned away, but the moment was long enough for Falcone to notice.

  “So,” he said, “I see you two have met?”

  Damn, Josh thought. I’d love to get him to a poker table. He’s good.

  “Yes,” the girl said. “They stopped at the Midas saloon a couple days ago.”

  “Yeah,” Dusty said, thinking quickly. “We were asking for you.”

  “Tempy,” Falcone said, addressing the girl Dusty and Josh knew also as Felicia and Sarah-Ann. “Are these also the two you met at the campfire?”

  She had moved to Loggin’s side, and he swung an arm about her shoulders proprietarily, as though he were trying to make a statement to Josh and dusty. His pistol was in his other hand.

  She said, “They surely are, Vic.”

  “I say we kill ‘em both now,” Kiowa said.

  “It wouldn’t make good sense,” Dusty said, “to kill two men who’ve come looking’ for a job.”

  Here we are, Josh thought, in more danger than he had ever been in. With but one word from Falcone, this Kiowa Haynes would probably give them worse deaths than they could imagine. But damn, he was enjoying this.

  “What kind of job?” Falcone asked.

  “Hopefully, the kind that can pay better than working for two-bit cattle outfits. I told Josh, here, I knew Sam Patterson and Vic Falcone, and maybe they could hire us on. We’ve been looking for you since.”

  “Boss,” Kiowa said, “I never did trust this kid. And I don’t now.”

  Falcone set the bottle and glass down, and rested his hands on his hips. “I have to admit, Dusty, I never did consider you the type for a life like this. When Sam gave you the choice to either ride with us or ride away, I was not surprised when you chose the second of the two.”

  Dusty shrugged. “I tried to take Sam’s advice, and ride the straight and narrow. But there’s just no money in it. Sure, I could homestead, maybe run a few head of cattle. But I want more than that out of life.”

  “I don’t know. I always liked you, Dusty, but liking you and trusting you are two different things.”

  “I say we kill ‘em both right now,” Kiowa said again.

  Falcone directed his eyes to him. “I pay you to scout, not to think. If they are to be killed, and I mean if, I’ll be the one who decides. Is that clear? Or do I need to make it more clear?”

  Kiowa knew Falcone’s speed with a gun wasn’t the equal of Patterson’s, but he was still damned good. Kiowa was an accurate shot, and his rifle was in his hands, while Falcone’s pistol was still holstered. Yet, Falcone had set down his glass and bottle, so his hands were now free. Dusty saw Kiowa weighing all of this in mind. Could he swing the rifle toward Falcone and squeeze off a shot before Falcone could draw and fire?

  Kiowa stood his ground, but didn’t move. “All right. You’re the boss.”

  “Take them both outside.”

  “Should we tie them up?” Loggins asked.

  “No. There’s no place for them to go without horses, and nothing they can do without guns. But keep an eye on them.”

  At the back of the cabin the meadow dropped into a gentle grassy decline, extending a hundred more yards before being met by a stand of aspen.

  Loggins directed Josh and Dusty to where the decline began, and said, “Sit.”

  “I thought we
might walk around a bit,” Dusty said. “Stretch our legs a little.”

  Loggins shook his head. “I don’t want you boys getting too good a look at the lay of the land. If the boss says you ride with us, then I’ll show you all I know about this place. But not until then.”

  Dusty nodded, as if to say he considered that sensible thinking, and dropped to the grass to sit cross-legged. Josh followed Dusty’s lead. The knee he had banged up falling from the roof during the gunfight protested a bit and he winced, but made it down to the ground. Loggins dropped to sit on his heels, balancing his rifle across his knees.

  “You and Kiowa don’t get along too good,” Loggins said.

  Dusty pulled a strand of grass from the earth and bit into its sweet tasting stem. “Nope. The man drew the battle lines when I was too small a child to fight back. If it wasn’t for Patterson, the man would have carved me up for the vultures just for the fun of killing. Don’t ever turn your back on a man who finds fun in killing.”

  “It might also be good advice,” Josh said to Dusty, “not to egg on a man who finds fun in killing.”

  “Kiowa has never been able to think straight when he was mad,” Dusty explained, “and he’s always been too stupid to keep himself from getting mad.”

  “The man’s a good scout, though,” Loggins said.

  Dusty shook his head. “He’s not going to be the scout anymore. The job’s mine, once Vic decides to hire Josh and me.”

  Loggins looked at him with surprise. “You seem awful sure of that.”

  Dusty nodded calmly. “That’s why Kiowa wants me dead so bad. He knows there ain’t room for the two of us. And he knows I’m the better man.”

  Loggins chuckled. “I hope Vic has the same faith in your abilities that you do.”

  “So do I,” Josh said.

  After a couple of hours, Loggins left them. He was replaced by the man with the Winchester, who had been patrolling the canyon rim with Kiowa earlier. The man was called Stew. However, unlike Loggins, he sat at a distance, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and looking off at the trees.

  Josh lounged back in the grass, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun. He tipped the brim of his hat forward to shade his eyes. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do,” Dusty said quietly, so his words wouldn’t travel to their guard. “Falcone is a man with very little heart. He can put a bullet in you without even thinking twice about it. In his own way, he’s more dangerous than Kiowa. Kiowa is just plain stupid. He’s a cold-blooded killer because he’s an animal. But Falcone, he’s not stupid. He’s cold-blooded because he chooses to be. It’s the more efficient way for a man in his walk-of-life. The only way for us to remain alive is if he thinks we’re useful to him.”

  “So, do you think they saw you when they were spying on the ranch from off in the ridges?”

  “I’m not going to gamble against it. That’s why I’m playing it that you and I were hired hands, working at the McCabe spread. But I recognized some of the men who were shot, and knew it might be Sam and the boys, so we rode after them, looking for a better job.”

  “So, things changed awfully quick, didn’t they? It’s gone from trying to get the jump on them and bringing them in, to just trying to stay alive. And to do so without joining their gang. So much for taking a couple days to scout their hideout.”

  Dusty nodded. “Life can be like that.”

  Josh smirked and snorted a chuckle at having his words turned back on him.

  Dusty said, “Sometimes all the plans you might spend a lot of time laying out just fall away, and you have to think on your feet.”

  “All right. I have another question for you. Why are you building such a reputation for me as being good with a gun? Sooner or later, one of ‘em might want to challenge me, considering how good you told him I was.”

  Dusty shook his head. “The only time two fast guns will ever challenge one another is in them dime novels published back east. These men don’t want to die any more than you or me. And in a gunfight, the lesser man usually dies. Now that they think you’re hell on wheels with a gun, they’ll be more likely to leave you alone.”

  “But what if they want me to do some target practice, to show how good I am?”

  Dusty shrugged. “Then, show ‘em. I’ve seen how good you are with a gun. You aren’t bad, really.”

  “Not as good as you or Pa.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re a damn sight better than a lot I’ve seen. Better than either Kiowa or Falcone. I know that for a fact. And the way Loggins carries his gun, I’d wager you’re better than he is, too.”

  “What about our shadow, over there?” Josh asked, meaning the man with Winchester.

  “He’s not that good. Otherwise, he’d have a higher place in the pecking order. I saw that right off. You notice he didn’t go into the cabin with us? Kiowa told him to go take care of the horses, and he just did what he was told.”

  Josh reached with one hand to lift the brim of his hat enough so one eye could focus on Dusty. “You sure do see a lot in a short time.”

  “You have to, if you want to stay alive in a group of men like this.”

  As the sun trailed toward the western rim of the canyon, the blonde girl stepped from the cabin carrying two tin plates. On each was a slab of deer steak, and a brown mess neither Josh nor Dusty could recognize by sight or smell.

  She was now wearing a pair of levis, and a man’s range shirt with the tails hanging loosely, and the front unbuttoned carelessly low. And she still wore no shoes. Her hair was now dry, falling about her shoulders in a small sea of breakers the color of sunlight.

  “I’ve never seen a girl in men’s trousers,” Josh said, as she set a plate before him in the grass. The wearing of trousers and a shirt intended for a man couldn’t have been more shocking than had she lighted a cigar.

  She shrugged. “They’re easier for riding. And besides, Loggins seems to like it.”

  “I don’t care much about what he thinks.” Josh sat up, and tipped his hat back and away from his face. “I care about what I think. And I think you’re way too beautiful to be dressing like a man.”

  “A lot of men call me beautiful. I have yet to work a saloon where men didn’t call me that. But it was all for a reason.”

  Josh nodded. “But we’re not in a saloon now, and I’m not saying it for that reason. I’m saying it because I mean it.”

  She looked at him curiously, her brows dropping into a small frown. She started to say something, then stopped. After a few heartbeats, she turned away and set the second plate in the grass beside Dusty.

  “What is that stuff?” Dusty asked, referring to the brown mush.

  “Some sort of concoction Flossy comes up with, using roots she digs around here, and mixing it with refried beans.”

  Another gunman drifted down from the cabin, to drop in the grass beside their guard. He wore a floppy, beaten sombrero, from under which greasy hair fell to his shoulders. He bore a knife scar that began at one cheekbone, extending upward to his brow, and his eye was a sightless milky white.

  “Who’s that?” Josh asked.

  Tempy glanced over, then snapped her gaze away with...what? Disgust? Fear? Josh wasn’t sure. But the gunman was looking over at her, his mouth spreading into a grin.

  “That’s White Eye,” Tempy said.

  “I think he likes you,” Josh said, probing for a response.

  “I would never let that man touch me. I would kill myself, first.”

  “What does Loggins say about it? You’re his girl.”

  “He just laughs. He tells me White eye means no harm. But I’ve known men like that. Harm is all they mean. Like Kiowa.”

  Josh shook his head. “I would never let a man look at my girl that way. I’d tell him to keep his eyes away, or I’d fill him with lead.”

  She looked at him at the sudden suggestion of gunplay. “Are you as good as Dusty says?”

  Josh shrugged, playing it like an acto
r on opening night. “I never gave it much thought. But if White Eye doesn’t stop looking at you like that, and if Loggins doesn’t do anything about it, then White Eye is going to find out the hard way how good I am.”

  Dusty put in, “It’d be White Eye’s funeral.”

  The girl’s brow knit. “I could see you maybe wanting to fight Loggins over me. Not that I’m that rich a prize, but there aren’t many available women in most parts of the west. But why would you want to fight White Eye?”

  “I don’t fight for possession of a woman. You’re not an object. I would fight to defend your honor.”

  Her gaze drifted to the grass beyond where she sat, and she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms about them. “I’ve never heard a man talk like that about me. After all, I know what I am. Most men would feel I had long since lost any honor worth defending.”

  “I’m no one to judge. You do what you have to, to survive in this world.”

  She looked at him again. “You don’t talk like most men.”

  “That’s because most men you meet are in a saloon, ready to get liquored-up and spend money to buy you. I’m not one of those men.”

  “You’ve never been with a saloon whore?”

  “Well, I can’t really say that.” He was thinking of one in particular at Alicia Summer’s establishment, who didn’t mind him stopping in once in a while. But she had never charged him. “But I’ve never paid for one.”

  There was silence then, and she let her gaze drift beyond the aspens to the rocky rim of the canyon. Josh did the same, but didn’t want the silence to be too long. He had gotten her train of thought moving in a certain direction, and wanted to build on that.

  “How did you meet Loggins?” he asked, knowing fully well the answer. Where else would a saloon whore meet an outlaw?

  She sighed. “In the saloon, back in town. He and Vic and some of the men started showing up regularly.”

  “Were they all your customers?”

  “Some of them.”

  “But not White Eye.”

  “No. He scared me from the start. And Kiowa was rough. He likes to hurt a girl. I told Flossy about it. She spoke to Vic, and Kiowa is no longer allowed near us.”