Now, he thought, he was ready for some sleep. He pulled his boots off, unbuckled his gunbelt and dropped it to the floor beside the bedroll, and climbed into the covers. He grabbed his pistol and pulled it free of the holster and quickly checked the loads, then set it on the floor by his saddle.
And as he drifted away to sleep, he found his thoughts drifting to Jessica Swan. Her smile. The way she moved. Her sky-blue eyes. The way she would raise a brow if she found something questionable or a little amusing. It had been a long time since a woman had occupied his mind this way.
He was awake again by mid-afternoon. Middleton was heading down to the pass to spell Wolf, but Johnny called him off and told him he would do it.
After a time, Jessica Swan stepped out of the house and to her surprise, Johnny was not down at the pass, but sitting on the stone wall overlooking the canyon. One foot was on the ground, and the other was crossed over his knee. He had one of Matt’s cigars going. An old rifle was resting in his lap. She thought it might have been a Sharps. He heard the slight crunch of the gravel underfoot as she walked toward him, and he looked over his shoulder at her and reached a hand up to touch the brim of his hat.
“Ma’am.”
She said, “I thought you were watching the pass.”
“I am,” he said. “Got a good view of it, right from here.”
“What if someone were to ride in?”
“If it was an unfriendly rider, I could pick him off right from here. This rifle has a lot of range. It would be hard for more than two riders to get through that pass riding abreast of each other, and there’s nowhere for cover once they get into the canyon. A bullet takes one of them out of the saddle, the other won’t be sticking around long. He’ll be turning his horse back into the pass as fast as he can. If there are riders in there coming up behind them, then there’ll be all sorts of mayhem. All with one bullet.”
“Can you really make a shot like that from here? I know the rifle has that kind of range, but can you really hit a target that far away with such precision?”
He nodded. It wasn’t arrogance. It was simply fact, like the sky overhead was blue.
She said, “You really know this business of shooting, don’t you?”
He nodded a little sadly. “It’s what I do.”
He turned his gaze back to the pass. The cigar was held in his left hand, and was smoldering away. He brought it up for a draw. His rifle was in his lap, held in place with his right hand.
She said, “Shouldn’t you have your rifle ready?”
He said, “It is ready.”
She looked at him like she was trying to decide if she thought he was boasting, or just plain out of his mind.
He said, “The longer you hold a bead on something, the more your aim starts to waiver. It’s better to raise your gun, give yourself no more than a few seconds to sight in, and then make your shot.”
She strolled up to the wall, to stand a few feet from him. She looked down at the canyon floor below her. “This place is all I have. I can’t lose it.”
“I’m not going anywhere. And neither is Matt.”
“He’s part of the reason I’m in this situation.”
“Maybe he feels a little guilty. He let things get out of hand.”
She looked at him with those incredible eyes. Again, he found himself stirred by her beauty. Only one other woman had ever struck him quite like this, and she was the mother of his children. Most of them.
She said, “But what about you? You owe me nothing.”
“Being here isn’t about owing you. It’s about doing the right thing. Matt would be here too, even if he didn’t feel guilty. Our father told us once that sometimes you just have to do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. Something his father told him, and so forth back down the line. I think it was the old man himself, the first John McCabe, who said it first. He was a frontiersman who was one of the first to explore the western Pennsylvania mountains, when that was still wild country. Back in the day.”
“And you and your brother keep the legacy alive.”
He nodded. “I suppose we do.”
She looked off at the canyon floor again. A couple of longhorns were wandering about. Five more were grazing away. Johnny took a draw on the cigar and let his gaze travel the length of the Swan woman. A young man would have been focusing on the curves, which were striking and yet not overly so, like with the most beautiful of women. And Johnny had enough young man in him to fully notice. But once you’ve lived a few years, you begin to notice the little things, like how a woman carries herself. How she stands. Jessica had erect posture, but not too much so. She walked with confidence, and yet not arrogance. The way she turned her head or lifted a hand was with feminine grace, and yet she had a strength about her. It took strength, he thought, to live out here in a place like this. It said something about her that she could endure the hardships in order to appreciate the beauty of this canyon.
She said, “Is it true what they say about you?”
He shrugged. “What do they say about me?”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “You’ve heard the stories, I’m sure. That you rode into Mexico and killed an entire gang of outlaws who had captured a woman, and brought her back safely?”
He shook his head. “That one’s the product of a writer from New York.”
“And that you shot down twenty-five Comanches with twenty-five shots while they were charging at you?”
He shook his head. “Ten Comanches. It’d be might hard to shoot twenty-five, because you’d run out of bullets. Have to reload. You can’t reload if you have that many men already within shooting distance, charging at you.”
She was giving him a skeptical look. “You’re laughing at me.”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Okay,” she allowed herself a little grin. She would play along. “You had to be using a Winchester.”
“No, ma’am. That was back in ’55. Winchesters hadn’t come around yet. I was using twin Remington revolvers. You ever hear of a border shift?”
“I’ve heard of it. I’ve never seen it done.”
“Well, it’s not something done much anymore, I guess. You have to have two guns to do it, and with these new Peacemakers, you don’t usually need more than one. And everyone has Winchesters. Some Winchesters hold eighteen rounds.”
“You speak so casually of such things.” She turned to let her gaze fall again to the canyon floor.
“Comes with the territory. But that doesn’t mean such things should ever be taken lightly. I don’t ever want to kill a man, and only consider it as a last resort.”
“I suppose considering everything going on, the fact that there are men out there who want to turn my home into a war zone, I should just pack up and leave. But this is the only home my daughter has ever known. And Bernard worked so hard to build this place. He and Ches, and Wolf.”
She turned to face him. “I know what they say about me, Mister McCabe. And yes, Bernard was a lot older than I am. But he was the finest man I ever met, and a great father to Cora.”
“I’m not judging you, Mrs. Swan. I’m not from around here, and I’ve heard nothing about you at all. I just know you’re a widow and have a daughter, and some people I have very little respect for are trying to force you off of your land.”
“Bernard never filed a proper claim. It’s open to legal interpretation.”
“Matt said he knew Bernard Swan, and morally this land belongs to him. That’s good enough for me.”
She looked at Johnny long and hard. “Just like that? You’re entering a situation that could very easily result in gunplay. Men could be killed. You could be risking your own life. And you do it without a second thought, just because Matt said Bernard was a good man?”
Johnny nodded. “Matt’s word means a lot to me. There’s no one I would trust more with my life. That, and now that I’ve met you, well . . .” he hoped he wasn’t blushing. Gunhawks should never blush.
“Begging your pardon, but I can see that you’re a good woman and a good mother, and I won’t let you be pushed off your land. Simple as that.”
She glanced down at her shoes. “I appreciate the sentiment. Really, I do. But you and your brother, if he really is the man you say he is, are only two men. There is a small army of gunfighters in town, at the disposal of the marshal. And ultimately Hiram McCabe. How can you possibly hope to stand against them?”
Johnny shrugged. “Matt and I’ll figure out something.”
“Just like that? You and Matt will figure out something?”
He smiled. “We’ve been in worse situations.”
She looked at him about as skeptically as he thought anyone ever had, and one brow rose a little. He realized she was at her most strikingly beautiful when one brow rose skeptically. He could easily see what the late Bernard Swan saw in her.
He said, “Once, I found myself in a situation with ten Comanches charging at me.”
He grinned. She grinned.
She shook her head, “Mister McCabe...”
He said, “Call me Johnny. Please.”
She looked him in the eye, with those incredible sky blue eyes, and he found her smile was even more captivating than one raised brow. She said, “Johnny.”
He then noticed motion down on the canyon floor, motion that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. He pulled his eyes from Jessica Swan, which wasn’t easy, and saw a rider down there. He was already in through the pass, and heading their way.
Johnny could have kicked himself in the rump. As experienced as he was at warfare, he was allowing himself to be distracted from his duties by a pretty face. Well, not just a pretty face, a downright beautiful one. But still, such distractions in a situation like this could get you killed. Zack Johnson had said Johnny had been shot at one time too many. Apparently, Johnny thought, he hadn’t been shot at enough.
The rider was coming toward the rise that would lead to the ledge the house was built on. His horse was moving at a light canter, and he would be there in about two minutes.
Her gaze had followed his, but before she could say anything, he said, “Get into the house. Now. And send Matt out here.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. When trouble arrived, she wasn’t one to begin asking questions. She moved decisively. Johnny found one more thing about her to admire.
The door slammed shut, and Johnny then ran to the side of the barn. He leaned his rifle against the wall because it would do little good in a close-quarters gunfight, and drew his pistol.
The door opened and Matt came running out, and Johnny waved him back. Matt stepped back into the doorway, using the door jamb as a cover, and drew his pistol, and he and Johnny waited while the rider rode up.
The rider had a pistol holstered at his left side, and a scattergun held across the front of the saddle. He had long hair falling from under a worn, battered hat, and a bushy beard with a pronounced white stripe down the middle. Like someone had tied a skunk around his jaw.
Something about the way the man carried himself in the saddle struck Johnny as familiar. But Johnny didn’t quite place him as the man reined up in front of the house.
Johnny stepped out from behind the barn, cocking his pistol. “Don’t move a whisker.”
Matt stepped out of the house, his pistol aimed at the man, but then Matt’s tired face broke into first surprise, then a smile.
“Joe?” He paused, letting his eyes fix on the man, to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. “Joe!”
The man nodded, and said in a voice Johnny hadn’t heard in nearly seventeen years, “Matt.”
He turned to look at Johnny, and Johnny found he was looking into the eyes of his younger brother. “Johnny.”
“Joe?” Johnny said.
Then he holstered his gun and Joe was swinging out of the saddle and Matt ran toward them and the three were hugging and laughing.
Jessica stood in the doorway, a little puzzled. Sam Middleton stepped up behind her. He was tall enough that he could see over the top of her head.
“Who is that?” she said.
Sam was grinning. “It looks like the legendary McCabe brothers are once again united. And our odds of coming out of this alive have just increased.”
19
Johnny was going to take the first night watch, but Middleton said, “No, I’ll take it. You go in and talk with your brother.”
It was dark outside the windows. The only light in the parlor was from the hearth, a fire crackling gentle and low. Matt was sitting on the sofa with a cigar going. Joe was standing, leaning one hand on the mantel. In his free hand was a cigar. Johnny went into the house through the kitchen door and poured a cup of coffee and joined them.
“Joe,” he said. “Where have you been all these years?”
Joe shrugged. “Here and there.”
Just like Joe, Johnny thought. Never said much.
Johnny thought about taking the chair, but he thought about it for only maybe two seconds. He preferred to be on his feet because he thought better this way. He was more alert. One shout from Middleton outside that riders were coming, or one gunshot, and he would have to be ready for battle.
Matt said, “Were you in some kind of trouble?”
Joe shrugged. “It was complicated.”
This struck Johnny as a little strange. Joe was one of the least complicated men he had ever known. “I like to keep things simple,” he once said.
Johnny glanced at Matt, who glanced back at him. Johnny knew if you pried, then Joe would close up and say nothing. Such was his way.
Joe said, “I kept up with both of you, as much as I could.”
He looked at Johnny. “I heard about you getting shot a couple summers ago. Are you okay?”
Johnny nodded. “I am now. For a couple days, they weren’t sure if I was going to make it or not.”
Johnny told him the story of how Vic Falcone and a group of guerilla raiders attacked the ranch, and how two of Johnny’s sons pursued them. And he told Joe of the nephew Joe hadn’t yet met.
While he was talking, Ches Harding drifted in and poured a cup of coffee and listened to the three brothers talking. Ches had a face that was deeply lined, and his hair was fine and white. His back was a little bent and he walked with a sort of bow-legged shuffle. He wore a hat that was wide-brimmed and with a tall crown and that had taken on a sort of neutral desert color over the years. It was floppy and worn in places, and there was a nick taken out of the brim in one place that looked to Johnny like the work of a bullet. Ches wore a gun at his belt, turned backward for a cross draw. Johnny had the idea he knew how to use it.
Ches sat on an ottoman, in front of the fire. He said, “Heard a lot about you boys when you were younger, and makin’ a name for yourselves. They still talk about you around campfires. It’s kind of a treat for an old man to be here in the same room with the three of you together like this.”
He took a sip of coffee. “I actually come across an old wanted poster for the three of you, maybe seven or eight years ago. It was on a wall down San Diego way. Bernard Swan and me, we was down that way checking out a cattle auction.”
Matt said, “You rode with Bernard a lot of years, didn’t you?”
Ches nodded. “I practically raised him. I ran a small cattle outfit in Texas, and he grew up in the saddle, with a rope in his hand. Taught him everything I could.”
“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Eighty-seven.”
Matt blinked with surprise.
Ches nodded with a grin. “Everyone always asks how an old cowhand like myself could live this long. I don’t rightly know. Just never died, I guess.”
Johnny said, “You must have seen a lot, over the years.”
Ches nodded again. “I come west as a young man, back in eighteen and twenty. One of the first Texians. Had a young wife, and a baby. They was killed by Comanche raiders.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
>
“It was a long time ago. I just drifted for a while, then Bernard came into my life. Became like a son to me. We ran cattle for a while. Rode with the first Texas Rangers in the war with Mexico. We worked as drovers for a while, when the first railheads were comin’ to life. Scouted Apaches for the cavalry in Arizona. That’s where we met up with Wolf. Eventually, Bernard wanted to try California, so we rode this way and settled here in this canyon. Wolf come with us.”
Joe said, “I’ve been living in Texas these past few years. A little town called Wardtown.”
Ches nodded. “I know the place. Been there a couple of times.”
Johnny said to Joe, “What’ve you been doing for work there?”
Joe said, “Mostly working as a deputy marshal. The lawman there is a gent by the name of Austin Tremain.”
“I’ve heard that name a couple of times.”
Joe said, “He’s a good man.”
Tom and Lettie had been getting Mercy to bed, and they drifted out to the parlor and sat at the sofa. Jessica appeared at the doorway to the hallway and since there was nowhere else to sit in the parlor, Matt got to his feet and motioned for her to take the chair, which she did.
The talk continued as coffee cups were emptied and then refilled. Talk of the old days, of the three brothers on the run from the law.
At one point, Ches wandered over to Jessica and said, “This is the stuff of legend, you know. These three, in the same room. Talking about the trails they rode. Someday Cora’s going to tell about them being in their house, and people aren’t gonna believe her.”
Joe said to Johnny, “About the only thing missing here is Zack Johnson. How is the old hoss doing?”
“Fine,” Johnny said. “He has his own spread now, on the other side of the valley from us.”
Johnny added wood to the fire. Eventually Lettie and Tom headed back to the bedroom, and Ches thought that might be a good idea, and went out to the bunkhouse. Johnny would every so often glance at Jessica, finding the way the firelight danced across her face to be almost spellbinding. A couple of times her eyes met his, and one time she allowed him a small smile.
Return of the Gunhawk (The McCabes Book 3) Page 18
