Jack said to his father, “I think I’m going to visit with Hunter a while. Maybe have a cold beer. It’s hard to find cold beer, even in Boston.”
Pa nodded. He knew fully well why Jack was staying behind, and it had nothing to do with cold beer.
From the back of the wagon, Harding was staring at Jack. Jack met his gaze. Harding was giving a dark glare, trying to reinforce his warning. Stay away from his daughter or things would get rough. Jack met the gaze, trying to say with his eyes, You want a piece of me? Bring it on.
Jack knew a fight with Harding would be bad for Nina, no matter who won. In fact, a fight with him would probably lead to gunplay, and only one would walk away. To do that to Nina would be callous and unthinking. But Jack also had his father’s temper. It wasn’t loud and explosive like it was with Josh, but it was there nonetheless.
Pa saw the silent exchange and said to Brewster, “All right. We’re wasting daylight. Let’s get moving.”
Jack sat in the saddle and watched the wagon bump its way along the dirt expanse that passed for a street, and then turn off and toward the trail that would take them into the valley. Pa was riding alongside the wagon, sitting in the saddle and rolling his hips gently with the motion of the horse as though he were born to it. His graying hair fell in a tail from under his sombrero to his shoulders, and his twin Remingtons were buckled in place. Harding was sitting in the back of the wagon, getting jostled with every rut and rock the wagon wheels found. Served him right, Jack thought with a smile.
Once the wagon was out of sight, he turned his horse toward the meadow out beyond Hunter’s.
Johnny led the farmers through the opening in the ridges known as McCabe Gap. They followed the wagon road down and into the grassy valley floor, where it intersected with another trail that cut its way along the entire length of the valley. A turn to the right would take them to the ranch, but Johnny turned led the settlers to the left.
Brewster handled the team well with but one hand, Johnny thought. Amazing how a person can adapt to hardships unimaginable by another.
Johnny rode with the rein in his left hand, and almost absently brushed his fingers across the pistol riding low at his right side. Brewster’s one-handedness and the pistol at Johnny’s right side sort of made his mind segue to what Charlie Franklin had said the day before. He had a Colt Peacemaker at his store, waiting for Johnny to try it out. A Peacemaker could be reloaded so much faster than the old Remingtons Johnny used. With these new Peacemakers, you needed only one gun. Funny, Johnny thought, the way the human mind will sort of wind its way along from one trail of thought to another.
All the time he scanned the ground ahead of them for tracks, and then would lift his gaze to the edge of the pine forest that stopped at the base of the ridge to their left, now a half mile in the distance. Always looking for any sign of anything amiss. Tracks that shouldn’t be there. Riders that shouldn’t be there. His gun at his right side was ready, as was the one at his left. His Sharps rifle was in the saddle boot just below his saddle horn.
“How long is this valley?” Brewster asked, his voice cutting into the silence.
“About five miles,” Johnny said. “Further down the stretch, at the other side, is a small ranch owned by Zack Johnson. Used to work for me. I’ve known him a lot of years.”
“Heard the name,” Harding said from the back of the wagon.
I’ll bet you have, Johnny thought. Zack Johnson’s name didn’t have the growing fame Johnny’s did – no writers from New York seemed to be wanting to write dime novels about him, but among gunhawks Zack’s name was well known.
Johnny said, “This valley is really not big enough to keep a herd the size of ours or Zack’s. Further to the east, the ridges begin flattening out kind of quick, and there’s a lot of grass. Miles of open range.”
At a point four miles from town, Johnny reined up. Around them was open grassland. In places the land rose and fell in low swells, and in others it was flat like a small plateau. And all of it was covered with tall, green grass. In some places tall enough that it brushed the belly of Johnny’s horse.
“Well,” he said, “this is it. All around here. A couple thousand acres of fertile land.”
The morning had been turning off hot, but now there was a coolness to the breeze and a smell of water.
Johnny said, looking off toward the northeast, “There’s a small lake in that direction. Not a quarter mile from here. It fills quite deep in the spring with the runoff from the melting snow. By August the water recedes quite a bit, but the lake never fully dries up. We’ve used this lake before a couple of times during droughts.”
Harding had climbed out of the wagon and was standing in the grass. “Then why would you want to give it up?”
“It’s not officially ours. In fact, none of it is, because this section of the territory hasn’t been officially opened for settlement. But it is going to be sooner or later, and there’s only so much land that can be claimed. We’re going to claim the side of the valley we’re in, the ridge immediately east of there, and maybe twenty thousand acres east out into the open range beyond the valley. The valley itself, as big as might seem standing here, is actually too small for a herd of longhorns the size of ours. It wouldn’t take long for even a few hundred head to graze it down to nothing, and moving the herd in and out through the gaps in the ridges is harder than it might sound. And besides. We’re looking to the future. There’s gonna come a time when farmers and ranchers will be working side-by-side.”
Harding said, “I find that hard to believe.”
“Every change is hard to believe, until it happens.”
Ford looked at Harding. “What do you think?”
Harding said, “I don’t know.”
Brewster said, “This grass is green and rich. The sign of good soil.”
He climbed down from the seat, and grabbed a shovel and dug into the sod. He then pulled up a chunk of grass and shook loose the dirt, and then scooped the dirt up in his hand. “Rich, black loom. Look at that. I’ve never seen dirt this rich.”
Johnny knew loom was what New Englanders called loam.
Harding had strolled over. Ford had jumped out of the wagon seat and was standing by.
“Look, Harding,” Brewster said. “Tell me you’ve seen dirt any better than this anywhere.”
Harding scratched his bearded chin and said in his tight-lipped way, “Gotta admit. I haven’t.”
Johnny swung out of the saddle and loosened the cinch.
“So, McCabe,” Brewster said. “What’s the process for building here?”
Johnny strolled over and gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I suppose you just move the family out here, pitch your tent, and call it yours. Like I said, this section of the territory isn’t open for settlement yet, but as soon as it is – the first day it is – you file your claim at the land office.”
“Where’s the nearest land office?” Ford said.
“Right now, Bozeman.”
Brewster shook the loose dirt out of his hand, and stood. “I say we pack up the families in the morning and bring them out here.”
“First we have to decide who gets which section.”
Johnny said, “From the ridge over yonder,” he pointed with one hand toward the piney ridge now a half mile in the distance, “to the other one at the other side is roughly two miles. Not all of it’s this rich. But with irrigation, you could grow a fine crop.”
“Irrigation?” Harding said.
Johnny nodded. “Jack can tell you more about that than I can.”
Harding looked away like had suddenly gotten a bad taste in his mouth.
Brewster said to Johnny, “We’re sold. Thing is, we’re going to have to bring timber down from those hills if we hope to build.”
“Can be done quite easily. Those hills don’t belong to anyone, either. The timber’s just there, ready for the taking. One of the benefits of being some of the first to move into an area.”
Ford
said, “I was expecting to farm, but it’s not like that’s my only choice. I ran a sawmill back east. I brought some blades with me. I could set one up here.”
Johnny said, “This area could sure use a saw mill.”
Brewster was smiling. He looked at Ford, who was looking about with as big a smile.
Johnny said, “That lake is a central supply of fresh water. I’d recommend building all three places so the lake is right between all of you. It’d make it hard for anyone to claim it out from under you someday. And if you were to dig a well, I don’t think you’d find you have to dig very far. According to Jack, you can use windmills to pump water for irrigation. I have to wonder if a windmill might be a good source of power for a sawmill, too.”
Ford said, “I noticed what looked like a small river when we were riding in here.”
Johnny nodded. “It’s running really well right now because of spring runoff. This time of year you can actually take a canoe from one end of the valley to the other. But come August and September there may not be enough current for a water wheel.”
Harding looked at him skeptically. “Windmills? I don’t know anything about building windmills.”
“Jack can help you with that, too.”
Harding didn’t like the sound of that, either. “I really don’t know. I was originally thinking of Oregon, and I’m still thinking maybe that’s the place for me.”
Brewster said, “Well, while you’re busy not knowing, I’m going to tell Mildred we’ve found our new home.”
30
Jack was sitting in an upright chair in front of Hunter’s with a cup of coffee, when the buckboard came clunking down the center of the little town with Pa riding alongside it. Jack got to his feet and walked over.
Jack said to Brewster, “What did you think?”
Brewster was all smiles. “I can’t wait to tell Mildred. We’ve found our new home.”
Jack smiled. “I thought you’d like it.”
“Tomorrow, I’m taking the family out and we’ll stake out our acreage.”
Ford said, “I’m doing the same.”
“Maybe I’ll ride out and pay a visit,” Jack said.
Brewster nodded to him with a smile. “You’re always welcome.”
The sun was riding low in the sky. Pa said to Jack, “Come on. Let’s get home. I heard Aunt Ginny mention something about sending Dusty out for venison.”
Jack had eaten venison a lot on his ride up the Bozeman trail with the settlers, but he never tired of it.
Brewster turned the wagon toward the livery barn and they returned the rig to Old Jeb, then he and Ford and Harding began back on foot to the meadow where the families were camped.
Brewster said, “I wish you would reconsider, Harding. You saw how good the dirt was. And you’ll never find finer neighbors than this lot seems to be.”
Harding shook his head. “This place is not for me. That’s all.”
Ford tossed a weary look at Harding. “It’s because of how your daughter feels for that boy, isn’t it?”
“That’s none of your concern. I have to make the decision that’s best for my family.”
Brewster had to agree with that. “So do we all.”
Brewster parted company with them and meandered toward the tent and the two wagons that belonged to his family. Mildred had a cook fire going and was working at a pot of stew. Age ran out to meet him.
“Is it what they said, Pa?”
Brewster smiled. “All that and more.”
Ford said to Harding, “I wish you’d reconsider, Carter. We’ve come all this way together, and we knew each other for years back in Vermont. It would seem strange not to have you and your family with us as we become part of this community.”
Harding said, “You’re more than welcome to come with me. Oregon has dirt every bit as good as this. Or so they say.”
“That’s just it. So they say. We’re here, and we’ve seen the dirt they have right here. And we’ve seen these people. And Oregon is more than five hundred miles further on. Five hundred rough miles. At this rate, it’ll be a push just to get a cabin up before winter.”
“Then we better not be dallying here. My family and I leave in the morning. We’ll follow the Bozeman Trail back to Cheyenne, and then pick up our way to Oregon.”
Ford shook his head. “We’re staying right here.”
“Suit yourself.”
Without another word, Harding turned and started for his tent with his long, loping gait. Ford stood a moment watching him walk away, shaking his head. He then turned and headed for his own tent.
Emily Harding had a pot of baked beans heating over a fire. Nina was with her, a kerchief tied over her hair. Nina looked up and said, “Father’s home.”
Emily gave her husband a welcome-home smile. “So, tell us all about it.”
He gave her a peck on the cheek. He had to bend over a ways to do it, because he was so tall and she was so not.
“Not much to tell,” he said. “It’s not right for us. The water source isn’t as good as the McCabe boy made it out to be. There’s timber, but it’ll be a long haul to get it from the ridges to where the house would be. And the land isn’t even open for settlement, yet. When it eventually is, there’s no guarantee we’d be able to keep our land, if someone else beat us to the claim.”
Nina was staring at her father with a little dismay. This was not what she had been hoping to hear.
Emily said, “What does Abel say? And Jacob?”
Harding shrugged. “They’re staying. They said the dirt is some of the best they’ve seen. And I agree. It’s just the other factors are too stacked against us.”
He glanced at Nina. “And I don’t like the neighbors. I think they’d be trouble.”
Nina’s dismay was starting to shift into annoyance. “You mean Jack.”
“I mean the entire McCabe family. And that big grizzly bear of a bartender. They’re all gunfighters, Nina. Men like that attract trouble like honey to a bee. You saw what happened out on the trail. We almost lost you. None of that would’ve happened if Jack McCabe hadn’t been with us.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Those men are enemies of the McCabes. Not us. No, Oregon is for us. Your mother and I talked about Oregon in the first place, and we let ourselves get sidetracked here. We need to get moving so we can get a cabin up before the first snow.”
“When do we leave?” Emily said.
“Tomorrow. In the morning we leave for Oregon.”
“Just like that?” Nina said. Her annoyance was starting to shift to outright anger. “We ride out just like that? Without any further thought?”
“No,” he said. “Not just like that. A lot of thought has gone into this.”
“I don’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Jack?”
“It’s best this way. The sooner he’s gone from your life, the sooner you can forget him.”
“Forget him? Father, I love him!”
He looked at her wearily. “You don’t know the first thing about love. You’re a child.”
Emily placed a hand on his arm, but he shook it off. He said to Nina, “You’re my daughter, and you’ll do like I say. It’s in your own best interest. You have to trust me.”
Tears were filling Nina’s eyes. Tears of fear. Tears of rage.
She turned and ran.
“Nina,” he said.
Emily said, “Let her go, Carter.
“Nina!” he roared after her.
Emily grabbed his arm firmly. “Let her go.”
He turned his gaze to her, looking down at her from his height. His eyes were not friendly. “This is part your fault, you know. You encouraged her from the start. You think I don’t know you two were conspiring behind my back so she could see that boy.”
“Carter..,”
“Them beans smell like they’re burning. Why don’t you tend to ‘em. I’ll go after her and make sure she’s okay. I don’t like her runnin’ out there by herself
. This is big country.”
She stood firing a gaze at her husband that said she was angry enough to eat nails. But he ignored her and began way from their camp, navigating through the tall grass in his long-legged gait that took him to the edge of the meadow.
The girl was nowhere in sight.
He called out, his normally simmering baritone rising to a roar, “Nina!”
He waited. Nothing. A bird took flight from a tree at the edge of the woods. He sucked in air and cut loose with his daughter’s name again. He heard a small echo fade in the distance.
A voice came from behind him. Brewster’s. “Carter, what’s wrong?”
Harding looked back at him. “Nina’s run off.”
Brewster stopped beside him. His one hand was hooked into his belt. His beard was thick and shook a bit as it caught the wind. He stood as high as Harding’s shoulder in height.
“What happened?” Brewster said.
Harding hesitated, as though he was considering telling Brewster it was none of his affair, but then said, “She doesn’t like the idea of goin’ on to Oregon. Got mad and run off.”
Brewster said, “She doesn’t want to leave the McCabe boy.”
Harding hesitated again, as though saying the word would leave a bad taste in his mouth. “No.”
“I’ll get Age and Ford and Ford’s boy. We can go look for her. Those are deep woods.”
“I’m sure she’ll be all right. She’s probably out there with that boy, now.”
Brewster shook his head with a little disbelief at what Harding was saying.
Harding said, “They met together after we were all asleep almost every night along the trail. You know that? They thought I didn’t, but I did. And Emily went right along with it. Encouraging her. Helping her.”
“Well, if she’s with Jack, then she’s safe. He knows this land.”
“If she’s with him, then safe is one thing she’s not. I know that kind of boy. We never should’a brought him along. It was all your idea. As long as he’s in her life, she’s in danger. Look at what happened to your Jessica.”
Brewster kept his gaze on the trees at the edge of the woods. Harding looked at him suddenly, realizing he had crossed a line, but then looked away, damned if he would apologize.
One Man's Shadow (The McCabes Book 2) Page 25
