Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6)

by Brad Dennison

  He said, “There’s the town of Clarkston, maybe twenty miles thataway,” Johnny nodded his head toward the southwest. “We probably ought to avoid it, though. Just in case there’s reward posters issued on us. But there’s a pretty large cattle ranch thirty or so miles directly south. Maybe we should try to find work there.”

  Matt was now chest-deep in the water. “You know, this isn’t so bad, once you’re in here.”

  Joe said, “I ain’t never done any cowboy work.”

  Matt shook his head. His hair was now wet and flattened down to his head. “Neither have I.”

  Johnny said, “You’ll learn. I’ve done a little. You catch on real quick.”

  43

  There was no need to ride hard. They were in Texas and would either find work at a local ranch, or continue on to Mexico. It would depend on if word of the shooting in Missouri had made its way this far south.

  They took no chances with trails, though. They rode directly south from the Red River.

  “I prefer to travel overland,” Johnny said. “Less chances of highwaymen, and you get to really see the land this way.”

  Matt was riding beside him and Joe was a little behind them. They were keeping the horses to a casual walk. Considering all of the miles they had logged over the past few months, the horses didn’t seem to mind.

  “The old mare seems to be holding up quite well,” Matt said.

  Johnny grinned. “She looks healthier than she did back in Pennsylvania. I think life on the road agrees with her. Maybe getting out and moving was what she needed.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Matt said, standing in the saddle a little. “Three months on the back of a horse, and I still can’t seem to take to it like I did the deck of a ship. I still bounce along. I’ve got bruises all over my backside.”

  “You’re tryin’ too hard,” Joe said. “You gotta just let yourself and the horse be as one.”

  Matt shook his head. “You make it sound easy.”

  The hills about them were long and low, and were covered with green, springtime grass. A few wildflowers were bobbing their heads to the wind.

  The day was spring-time warm. Johnny had rolled both his jacket and Pa’s coat into his bedroll. Matt’s pea coat was tied to the back of his saddle. Joe’s coonskin cap was something he said mountain men often wore in the winter. But he had tucked his into his saddle bags and was once again in the floppy wide-brimmed hat he had been wearing when Johnny first found him on the trail, last summer.

  The wind was constant and strong. Matt had to grab his cap a couple of times to keep it from being lifted from his head. Johnny and Joe pulled their hats down tight about their temples, and the wind made their hat brims shake. The grass would ripple in the wind like the waves of a great, green ocean.

  “See there,” Johnny said, pointing to such a wave. “That’s what I was telling you about.”

  Matt nodded. “It is beautiful, out here. And in some ways, not unlike the sea. The great openness. The wildness. Being in a part of the world that is as God created it, with no buildings or settlements made by man.”

  “Right nice,” Joe said.

  The hills were long and almost flat, barely hills at all. But when the boys topped one they could see for a few miles in any direction.

  As they topped one hill, on toward noon, they saw riders ahead.

  Johnny’s first thought was, dang! They’re coming for us. But then he noticed they weren’t riding toward him and his brothers. They were riding directly west.

  One seemed to be up front, and there were six more maybe a quarter mile back but riding hard.

  “What do you make of that?” Matt said.

  “I’m not quite sure.”.

  The day was bright and he squinted his eyes, trying to see just who the riders might be. Not that he thought he might recognize them, but often you could tell what kind of riders they were by their outfit. Cowhands or lawmen. Or banditos.

  “They seem to be chasin’ that first rider,” Joe said.

  Johnny nodded. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  Matt said, “I think that first rider’s a girl.”

  Johnny said, “Now, what would a girl be doing this far out from anywhere? We have to be ten miles from that ranch I told you about and even further from the nearest town.”

  But then the rider’s hat tumbled away, and long dark hair fell free.

  Joe said, “Danged if you ain’t right. It’s a girl.”

  Johnny knew the look of a tired horse, and hers had the look. Trying to keep up a hard, driving gait but just didn’t have the strength. The six riders bearing down on her looked to have fresh mounts.

  “Come on, boys,” Johnny said. “Something ain’t right here.”

  Old Bravo had been kept at nothing more than a walk all morning and was fully rested. He had a way of stretching his legs into a long run, and that’s what he did now.

  Joe’s horse was a mountain-bred mustang. Barely fourteen hands and a strong runner, but didn’t have the speed of Bravo. And the old mare was a good enough horse but wasn’t built for galloping at full speed over the Texas prairie. Bravo pulled ahead of them right from the start.

  Johnny thought the riders ahead of him were Mexicans. They were in flat-brimmed sombreros and short, waist-length jackets. Two of them wore what he had heard called California pants, which buttoned down along the side of both legs and the buttons were usually framed with long patches of embroidery.

  Johnny could see the girl snapping her quirt at her horse’s hip to try to inspire it to run faster. But there’s nothing you can do when your horse just doesn’t have any wind left.

  The girl’s black hair flowed something furious-like in the wind as she stood in the stirrups and leaned forward to create less wind resistance.

  One rider caught up and rode alongside her, on her left. She transferred the quirt to her left hand and began to strike at him with it. One swipe missed and the other landed on the shoulder of his jacket but didn’t seem to do much harm. A third swipe caught the brim of his sombrero and knocked it from his head. The chin strap pulled at his neck and the hat bounced against his back like a thing alive.

  A second man was at her right side, and he reached to the bridle and began to pull her horse to a stop.

  She swung the quirt once more at the hatless man, but he caught her by the wrist.

  The other four reined up in a circle surrounding her.

  The hatless man smiled. He said something Johnny couldn’t hear because, even though Bravo was going at full steam, they were still too far away.

  Johnny didn’t know what was going on, but Pa had taught him how to treat a lady, and these boys weren’t doing it right.

  He pulled his right-hand gun. He had always been good at firing from a running horse, and Bravo held a good steady gait even on the uneven footing of the sod.

  Bravo could somehow sense that Johnny had pulled a gun and actually slowed down a might to let Johnny have a steadier aim. Some would argue a horse is a dumb animal. Johnny knew horses, and they were anything but dumb.

  He hauled the hammer back on his gun, allowed for distance and the constant Texas wind, and pulled the trigger.

  It didn’t hit anyone, but it caught the dirt in front of one of the horses. The horse reared up and the rider had all he could do to hold to the saddle.

  Johnny fired a second shot and then a third one. Horses were now spinning around, and one rider got dumped to the grass.

  They began firing back. Johnny felt the wind of one bullet as it passed within inches of his head.

  He heard a yelp from behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Joe falling and rolling to the grass, and his mustang tumbling head-first, hooves flying wild in the air.

  A bullet must have hit Joe’s horse, Johnny figured. He hoped Joe would be all right.

  Matt was behind Joe, so Johnny had to trust Matt would tend to Joe while Johnny focused on the girl.

  Johnny fired a fourth time,
and the bullet caught a rider. The man lurched when the bullet hit him, but he managed to stay in the saddle.

  Johnny fired again and the bullet kicked up dirt near the rider who had been the first one to reach the girl. The man’s horse reared up and he tried to hold to the saddle. Another horse was turning about in circles, in the confusion.

  The girl kicked her horse into a gallop. Never let a good opportunity go to waste, Johnny thought.

  The rider Johnny had shot fell from the saddle. Three of them were trying to steady their horses and one of them was on the ground, trying to grab his horse’s reins. The horse was rearing up and the man was trying to grab the reins but also avoid the front hooves.

  The first rider started after the girl.

  The rider pulled a pistol and shot at her. The horse lurched beneath her. The bullet hit the front shoulder, Johnny thought. The horse continued on for another few galloping strides, but then began a forward tumble. The girl leaped free of the saddle and landed, tumbling on the ground.

  Johnny was still five hundred feet away, but Bravo was showing no sign of fatigue. Johnny’s gun was empty but he didn’t dare try something fancy like a border shift while on the back of a galloping horse, so he just slid his right-hand gun back into the holster. His reins were in his left hand, so he reached around with his right and grabbed his left-side gun.

  The girl sat up in the grass as the Mexican reined up in front of her. She looked a little shaken by the fall and staggered to her feet in an attempt to run. The rider reached down with one arm, wrapped it around her waist and pulled her from her feet.

  Johnny reined up fifty feet from them. The Mexican pulled the girl around so she was perched in front of him, and he wrapped one arm around her neck and put his pistol to her temple.

  “Throw down your guns! Both of you!” The man called to them. Definitely Mexican, Johnny thought.

  Both of us? Johnny heard hoofbeats behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Matt closing in.

  Matt said, “Joe’s horse is down. Joe has a banged-up leg, but otherwise he’s all right. He sent me ahead in case you needed help.”

  The Mexican said, “Throw down those guns or the lady gets a bullet in her head!”

  Matt said, “Johnny, we’d better do as he says.”

  Johnny had cocked his revolver, and he aimed toward the man.

  “Johnny,” Matt said. “I think he means it.”

  Johnny said, “Quiet, Matt. I’m drawing a bead.”

  “Don’t be foolish, gringo,” the rider said. “Even if you get lucky and hit me and not the girl, my gun will still go off and she’ll be dead.”

  “Johnny,” Matt said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Johnny said, “Senorita, could you lean your head a little to your left?”

  She did.

  He fired.

  The bullet tore into the man’s elbow. His hand was whipped forward by the force of the bullet, and his gun went off like he said it would, but the bullet went into the sod. The man howled.

  The girl pulled away from him and dove from the horse. The man was now alone in the saddle, with his gun hand hanging in the air, most of his elbow torn away.

  The rider managed to turn his horse and kicked it into a trot. Trying to get away, Johnny thought. But blood was rolling down his right arm and hitting the ground like a pouring rain.

  “He won’t get far,” Johnny said.

  Matt said, “How did you possibly do that?”

  Johnny holstered his gun and nudged the horse toward the girl. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve had better days, but I’ll be fine.” She spoke with a gentle Spanish flair.

  Her hair was flying wild, and the buttons of her shirt had been ripped enough to give Johnny a view of her camisole beneath it.

  He said, “That’s two head-first tumbles from a horse, today.”

  She cocked a brow. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  He couldn’t help but grin a little. “I have no doubt.”

  She returned the grin.

  Her gaze lingered on him. He felt the breath catch in his chest, the way a man feels when he looks at a truly beautiful woman and she’s looking at him as though she likes what she sees.

  She struck him as picturesque—Matt threw words like that around lightly, but Johnny did not. Elegant cheekbones, like something out of a painting. Eyes that were a deep brown. Lips that made a man want to kiss them.

  She walked over to her horse, which was lying on its side in the grass. It was still breathing, but the breathing was labored.

  She knelt by the horse and cradled its head. “Poor Bonito,” she said.

  Johnny swung out of the saddle and handed Bravo’s reins to Matt.

  He said, “Your horse took a bullet to the shoulder. Looks like it might have broken a leg in the fall.”

  She nodded. “I know what has to be done. I just need a moment, because Bonito and I have been through a lot together.”

  Johnny waited while she gently rubbed the horse’s nose and head and spoke to it in a cooing voice. The words were too soft for Johnny to hear.

  Then she rose to her feet and said, “Lend me your gun.”

  Johnny pulled his left-hand gun. It still had four shots left. He gave it to her.

  She cocked the gun and brought the muzzle to within a couple of inches of a place just behind the horse’s ear. Johnny could tell by the way she handled the gun that she was no stranger to it.

  “Buena suerta, mi amigo,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

  She then handed the gun back to Johnny.

  “I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “I know how much a good horse means to a good rider.”

  “My name is Maria Carrerra Grant,” she said.

  Johnny touched the brim of his hat. “I’m Johnny..,” he thought for a quick moment. “Johnny O’Brien. This is my brother Matt.”

  “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” She extended a gloved hand toward him, and he took it. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Johnny said, “Do you want to save the saddle?”

  “I’ll send a rider for it later.”

  Johnny’s brows raised a little at that. Apparently she was a lady of prominence.

  He said, “May we give you a ride somewhere?”

  “My husband’s ranch. It’s about ten miles south of here.”

  Johnny blinked with surprise. Husband? He hadn’t expected that word out of her, considering the way she was looking at him.

  He said, “We’re heading there, anyway. Looking for work. You might as well ride with us.”

  She nodded.

  Johnny leaped back onto Bravo, then held his hand and helped Maria up and onto the horse behind him.

  Matt turned his horse back the way they had come. “I’d better go get Joe.”

  Maria looked at Johnny. “I think I might have hurt my shoulder a little when I fell.”

  “Well, I’m sure there’s a doctor in Clarksville that can tend to it.”

  “Could you see if it’s broken?”

  He wasn’t so sure about this. After all, she had said she was married. But he turned in the saddle as much as he could. He gently took her shoulder and rubbed first one spot, then another.

  “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said.

  “Maybe I’m just a little shaken up.”

  He tried to give a reassuring smile. “You have reason to be.”

  “So, Mister O’Brien,” she said, giving him a smile. “Will I be safe in your company on our ride back to my husband’s ranch?”

  “Yes’m, that you will.” He was about to say he wouldn’t let any harm come to her. But then he realized there might have been a double meaning in what she said.

  She had said she was married, but she let her smile linger on him a little longer than he was comfortable with.

  They rode back to where Joe had fallen.

  “They got my horse,” he said. “Dang. That was a good horse. Twis
ted my leg when I fell.”

  The woman said, “Come back to the ranch. I’ll send a rider for your saddle and belongings.”

  Joe got situated behind Matt on the old mare, and they started riding.

  Joe said, “I’ve gotta say, that’s maybe the best shot I’ve ever seen anyone make.”

  “It was quite incredible,” Maria said. “You must be what they call a gun wizard.”

  Johnny shook his head with a grin. “No, ma’am. Just a lucky shot.”

  “I know a lucky shot when I see it. And I know skill.”

  The land was wide open, like it had been since they left the Red. The grass was spring-time green, but the ground was dry and the horses kicked up a little dust as they stepped along.

  Johnny could see for miles in any direction. After they had ridden a short while, he saw a small dust cloud off to the west, and he knew it was more riders.

  “Look alive, boys,” Johnny said. “We ain’t out of trouble, yet.”

  He reached for his rifle.

  44

  Soon, the riders were visible. Seven of them. Johnny gave Bravo’s reins a little tug and the horse stopped. Joe and Matt reined up, too.

  “It’s all right,” Maria said. “They are my husband’s men.”

  The riders bore down on them, and they surrounded Johnny and his brothers.

  Some of them had worn, wide-brimmed hats, others sombreros. Some had longish hair and thick mustaches. One had hair that was graying and a bushy white beard. The brim of his hat was flipped up in front, like he had ridden into the wind too long.

  They all had pistols. Some were holstered at the hip, and some wore their guns in front and turned backward for a cross-draw. None of the guns were drawn, but they looked like men who could draw their guns fast enough.

  One was clean-shaven and a few years older than Johnny. He wore a sombrero pulled tightly to his brow. A bandana was tied about his neck, and he was in a waist-length jacket like Johnny’s. His pistol was worn for a cross-draw.

  “Senora Grant,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “I am fine, Goullie.”