Johnny said, “What’s going to happen with the store? Have you put any thought into it yet?”
She nodded. “Trip and I are going to run it, and Mama’s going to live with us. We decided against the Wheeler farm. We’re going to push the wedding up, to just after Christmas. Not the usual time for a wedding, maybe, but this whole business makes me feel I want to start building. Growing something. Bringing a child into the world. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
“I understand.”
“Oh, Johnny.” A tear streamed down her cheek. “The whole world can fall apart so fast. So incredibly fast.”
He nodded. “Sometimes.”
Trip and Becky left, and Johnny and Joe stood and watched as the cemetery workers grabbed their shovels and started scooping up earth and dropping it into the grave.
The wind picked up a little. It brought a chill. Winter was coming.
26
They all sat in their usual places at the table. Except for Pa, who would never be there again. His chair at the head of the table was empty.
Nothing was being said. The clinking of silverware seemed extra loud.
Ma just looked at her plate while she ate. Luke did the same. Joe seemed more distant than ever. And Johnny seemed to have a fire simmering inside him.
Matt realized more than he ever had since they came home that his brother was really no longer a farmer. Johnny was a gunfighter. Like Joe had said, the stuff of legend. He knew Johnny intended to get his hands on the man who had killed Pa, and Matt thought, God help that man when Johnny does.
Johnny had taken to wearing his guns again, and no one said anything. Ma may not have even noticed. She spent much of her time in her rocker in the parlor, looking into the fire. But everyone else saw it.
It was Luke who said, “Johnny, why are you wearing them things?”
Johnny said nothing, but Joe said, “Because if we had our guns with us, that man wouldn’t have shot Pa.”
Joe was wearing his buckskin shirt again, with the belt tied around the middle and his own revolver tucked into the front. Matt had looped his belt through a sheath, and was wearing his Persian knife at one side
But somehow, it was Johnny’s guns that got the attention. Maybe because there was something menacing in the way he wore them. So naturally, like they were a part of him. Like he somehow wasn’t complete without them.
What Johnny had become over the years was made real clear to Matt the night of the shooting, when Johnny had refused a bandage for the wound on his head.
“Won’t need it,” he had told the doctor.
The doctor was an older man with a kind eye and wispy white hair. He had said, “You’ll need to keep infection out of it.”
Johnny shook his head. “Won’t need it.”
The doctor decided not to argue. Maybe it was the look in Johnny’s eye.
After the doc had left, Johnny asked Matt to come out to the barn with him. Johnny then dug a flask out of his saddle bags.
“Corn squeezin’s,” Johnny said.
Matt remembered what Johnny had told him about pouring raw home-made whiskey into a wound.
Matt said, “You’re not serious.”
Johnny pulled the cork and handed the flask to him. Johnny then sat on a sawhorse and leaned his head to one side.
He said, “Pour a couple ounces of it over the wound.”
Matt looked at him with disbelief.
Johnny said, “Do it.”
Matt did. Johnny sat, his fists tight and his teeth clenched together, but he made no sound.
When Matt was done, Johnny said, “There. Won’t be no infection now.”
Matt stood speechless as Johnny left the barn and walked back to the house.
27
Six days had passed since Tom McCabe and Hector Drummond were shot. Six days, and the killer was still not caught.
Johnny and his brothers had offered to go along with the search party the constable assembled.
“No,” officer Dugas had said, speaking with a voice heavy with authority and the weight of responsibility. He had a thick white mustache, and eyes that looked tired. “You boys belong here with your ma. She needs you here, not traipsing across the countryside. We’ll find him.”
Six days. Nothing.
Johnny stood beside the hearth, leaning with one hand against the mantel. Joe paced back and forth in the shadows at the far side of the room. Firelight danced in a haunting way against the walls.
Johnny was not wearing his guns at the moment. His gunbelt was in the kitchen, slung over the back of a chair.
They heard the wagon outside. That would be Matt, returning with Ma. They had been at Uncle Jake’s house for dinner. It was good to get Ma out, the boys thought. Here at the house, she tended to just sit and stare at the fire, her needlepoint in her hand but not being worked on. At Uncle Jake’s house, she would find herself working alongside Aunt Sara, and keeping busy.
“It’s the waiting that’s killing me,” Johnny said to Joe. “I’m used to being a man of action. Getting things done. Not sitting and waiting for someone else to do it for me.”
Joe nodded. “Me too.”
Coffee was boiling away on the stove in the kitchen. Johnny went out and filled two cups, and brought them back to the parlor. He handed one to Joe. This wasn’t the thinner stuff Ma and Aunt Sara made. This was the real thing. Thick and strong. Trail coffee.
Joe said, “Wonder what’s going on? Matt’s probably tending to the team, but why isn’t Ma coming in?”
After a time, Matt came in. Alone. He shook off the cold and shouldered out of his coat.
He said, “Aunt Sara invited Ma to stay the night. I thought it might be a good idea. Where’s Luke?”
“Upstairs,” Johnny said. “He was exhausted. This is taking a lot out of him.”
“It’s taking a lot out of all of us.”
Johnny nodded. “Coffee’s on. I brewed it good and strong. Grab a cup.”
Matt opened a cupboard door, took a cup and filled it from the kettle. He took a sip and nodded. His seal of approval. He brought the coffee into the parlor.
Johnny grabbed the iron poker and gave the fire a little stirring, then stood back and took a sip of coffee.
Joe ceased pacing and lowered himself into an armchair. It had always been Pa’s chair. An ash tray and one of Pa’s pipes was still on a small table by the chair.
“So, how is she?” Joe said.
Matt said, “The same. To be expected, I guess.”
She seemed drastically aged since the morning Pa had been shot. There were lines on her forehead and under her chin that Johnny had never noticed before. Her eyes, which were normally fiery and filled with humor, were now distant. Drained. Old.
“I can’t believe they can’t find him,” Johnny said, slapping the mantel with one hand.
Matt shrugged, “Would they be able to find one of us, if we didn’t want to be found?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Joe and I spent three years in the West. Hunting and tracking men. We know the ways of doing it. And we know these woods. And even though you’ve been at sea, you know these woods, too.”
Joe said, without looking up, “If I didn’t want to be found, ain’t a man alive who could find me. I learned from the best there is.”
Johnny said, “But some farmer from back east, here? I’ve got nothing against farming. I have a world of respect for it. But farming doesn’t prepare you for a manhunt. A farmer, running through these woods on foot. He should have been found within hours. A day maybe, tops.”
Matt took a sip of coffee. He got a mouthful of grounds. To be expected with coffee like this. He took another sip to wash them down. “Who’s to say he’s a farmer?”
“Well, what else would he be?”
Joe said, “A coal miner? Not much difference, in that it don’t prepare you for running from the law.”
Matt said, “Three years ago, we were just farm
ers. Now look at us. A gunfighter—no offense..,”
Johnny shook his head. No offense taken. He was what he was.
Matt said, “...a mountain man and scout, and a man of the sea. We’re all much different than we were before going out into the world. Who’s to say this man is just one thing or another? We don’t know who he is, or what his background is.”
There was a creak on the stairs. Subtle. Easy to overlook, if your mind wasn’t tuned to notice the slightest sound that shouldn’t be there. Johnny and Joe both looked toward the stairs and Matt followed their gaze.
Luke was standing at the base of the stairs. He was in a night shirt and had pulled on a flannel robe.
“Luke,” Matt said. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
Luke said, “I heard you all talking down here. I wanted to hear. This all involves me, too. I’m Pa’s son as much as any of you.”
Johnny nodded. “I guess you’re old enough to know when you’re ready for bed. Come on in.”
Luke came in and stood by the fire. It was a little cold upstairs.
Johnny looked to Matt. “Six days. I know Dugas told us to wait, but I say we’ve waited long enough. I say we go after him.”
Matt was about to say something, then hesitated. Johnny knew Matt was tossing it all over in his mind.
Matt finally said, “You know what Dugas said. He wants us out of the search, for obvious reasons. We’re too closely involved. We wouldn’t be thinking objectively.”
“And,” Joe said, “Dugas wants the man brought back alive. With us along, there’s no guarantee that would happen.”
Johnny said, “We’ve given Dugas six days to find him. He couldn’t do the job. I say it’s our turn, now.”
Joe said, “I’m with you.”
“All right,” Matt said. “All right. If we were to do this, if we were to start our own search, where could we possibly look that Dugas and his men haven’t already looked themselves?”
The brothers were silent. Where, indeed?
Johnny said, “Dugas and his men have combed these woods. They lost his trail maybe a half mile from where Pa was shot.”
Matt picked up the narrative. “The killer happened upon the stream cutting through Pa’s property, the stream we made coffee by that time last summer. He ran along through the water. They couldn’t find where he exited the stream. They sent men in groups through the woods, trying to find any sign of tracks or a campfire. They positioned men on all the roads leading to and from Sheffield.”
Joe said, “They looked through every barn and chicken house in the area, and sent wires to the towns all around Sheffield to watch for this man, based on the description Johnny gave.”
Johnny let all of that settle for a moment. Then he said, “You don’t just disappear in the woods. Especially if you have only the clothes on your back.”
“On top of that,” Luke said, “he’d have wet feet. He ran through the stream for maybe miles. I remember how cold it was that day. You’d freeze out there.”
“Unless you knew where you were going. Unless you knew these woods.”
Joe looked up, the light of an idea in his eyes. He said, “Pirates Cave.”
Johnny looked at Joe. Pirates Cave, was the name they had given to a little opening in some bedrock at the side of a hill. It wasn’t more than five feet deep and three feet high, and it was hidden behind a stand of fir trees. The three boys had played there as children, pretending they were pirates, carrying sticks for swords and hiding pretend treasure in the cave.
Luke knew of the place, too. He said, “I’ve never been to Pirate’s Cave, but from what you boys say, it’s a long way’s off. More’n two miles south of where we all were when Pa was shot. Would the killer have gone that far out of his way?”
Joe looked at his little brother. “How far would you go of your way to avoid being caught. Remember, he’s facin’ a noose for two murders.”
Johnny said, “I don’t think Dugas and his men searched the woods that far out.”
Matt was pacing. “It might make more sense to assume the killer would be trying to get to one of the surrounding towns. Danbury. Cartersville. Pine Grove.”
Joe said, “That’s assuming he’s a farmer or a coal miner, running for his life. Running blind, not knowing what to do. But running to another town is not what one of us would do.”
“What would you do?” Luke said.
“Find a place to hole up. Wait it out. Let the trail grow cold. Give the search party a little while to grow tired and give up.”
“How long would you wait?”
“A few days.”
Matt shook his head. He said, “And you think he might have stumbled on to Pirate’s Cave?”
Joe said, “He might not have just stumbled on it. He might somehow know the area.”
“How? How could he? We’ve never seen him before.”
Johnny said, “There are a lot of people in town we’ve never seen before. We’ve been gone a long time.”
“All right,” Matt said. “In the morning, I’ve got to go to Uncle Jake’s to get Ma. But you boys can go into town and find Dugas, and tell him about Pirate’s Cave.”
Johnny shook his head. “In the morning, I’m riding out to Pirate’s Cave myself.”
Joe said. “And I’ll be with you.”
Matt sighed wearily. “All right. In the morning, we’ll go out to Pirate’s Cave. Luke, you’ll have to go and get Ma yourself.”
“Not me,” Luke said. “I’m going with you.”
“No, Luke.”
“I’m coming along. He was my father, too.”
Johnny looked to Matt. “He’s right. I know I wouldn’t want to be left behind.”
“Besides,” Luke said, “I’ll just follow you anyway.”
Matt through his hands up in defeat. “All right. But he doesn’t carry a gun.”
“Agreed,” Johnny said.
All four brothers were awake before the eastern sky began to show a hint of morning light.
Johnny said to Luke, “Go get the eggs. I’ll start some bacon frying.”
Luke said, “Eggs? How can you think about breakfast on a morning like this?”
“Always eat whenever you can,” Joe said. “Especially on a day like this.”
They ate in silence. Until the silence was broken by Luke saying, “What do we do when we catch him?”
Matt said, “We take him into town, to Constable Dugas.”
Johnny glanced at Joe. Joe met his gaze, but said nothing. In saying nothing, he said everything.
After they ate, Johnny buckled on his gunbelt. He shouldered into a charcoal gray jacket that fell to his belt only. Something he had picked up in Mexico. By being waist-length, it gave him plenty of freedom of motion for grabbing his guns. He was in his riding boots, and his gray hat was in place.
Joe wore his floppy hat and his buckskin shirt. His gun was tucked into his belt, and a sheath at his right side held a twelve-inch long bowie knife.
Matt said, “That looks like something you’d scalp someone with.”
“Done it before,” was all Joe said.
“I hope you’re kidding.”
Joe said nothing.
Johnny didn’t even glance at Joe. He had seen rough men do some savage things, and scalping a man wasn’t nearly the least of it.
Johnny said, “Come on. Let’s get going. The sun’s almost up and we got a lot of ground to cover.”
The three horses were saddled, and Johnny swung up and onto the back of Bravo. It felt good to be in the saddle, he thought. Joe mounted his horse and pulled Luke up behind him. Matt was riding the old mare.
Johnny said, “Let’s ride.”
28
The sun climbed into the sky, and the morning warmed a bit. A silvery frost had coated the brown leaves on the ground when the boys first rode out, but the frost soon faded and Johnny found he had to unbutton his jacket.
They were riding along a logging road, single file. Johnny was first
in line, and Matt was next, bouncing along in the saddle. Then came Joe and Luke behind them.
Johnny kept Bravo to a walk. Johnny held the reins in his left hand and kept his right at his side and within easy reach of his right-hand gun.
They turned off the logging road and guided their horses through a field where a neighboring farmer was growing hay. Then they were back in the woods. They ducked their heads below some low hanging birch branches, and they found a trail that took them on past the woods and toward a grassy hill. At the foot of the hill was a farmhouse with a peaceful strand of smoke rising from the chimney.
They passed a few dozen acres of brown, broken corn stalks. All that remained of a harvest. Dead soldiers laying down, Johnny thought.
After the cornfield was another logging road that took them into another section of woods. After a time, Johnny reined up.
“This is where we go in on foot,” he said. “The woods will be too thick for the horses.”
Johnny swung out of the saddle and pulled his Colt rifle. Joe had an Enfield rifle in his hands.
Johnny handed his rifle to Luke.
“Johnny,” Matt said. “I thought we agreed Luke wouldn’t carry a gun.”
“I’ve been doing some thinking about that. If the killer is at the cave, I don’t expect he’ll give up without a fight. He’s killed twice already, so there is no reason to believe he won’t kill again.”
Johnny said to Luke, “Pa taught you how to shoot.”
Luke nodded.
Johnny said, “This ain’t much different than Pa’s rifle, except it’s a repeater. You cock and shoot, just like Pa’s, but then you can cock and shoot again. You have seven shots.”
They started into the woods. Johnny took the lead. He had been told he fell into the role of leader naturally, but he wasn’t thinking much about it at the moment. He was just doing what needed to be done.
Johnny stepped along, the leather soles of his boots landing quietly on the leaves. When an autumn morning warms up a little and the frost fades, sometimes the leaves covering the ground are a little damp and don’t crunch underfoot like they do when they’re dry.
Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6) Page 13
