Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6)

by Brad Dennison

  He took it the way he had on the way up. First one step and then another, with one hand firmly hanging onto the railing.

  When he got to the bottom floor, Coleman came from the parlor. He was almost steaming with anger.

  “What are you doing in here, bothering my father?” he said. “You’re not only fired, I want you off this ranch right now. This very moment. Or I’ll throw you off myself.”

  Joe’s knife came out of the sheath in one smooth motion and the long blade was under Coleman’s chin before the man could even react. Joe let the tip, which was honed to a fine point, jab a bit into the soft flesh under Coleman’s jawbone. Coleman went up onto his toes.

  Joe said, “You back off, before I wind up wearin’ your scalp on my belt.”

  A thrust of maybe eight inches and then a sideways slice, and the management problems on this ranch would be ended.

  Coleman said nothing. His anger seemed to be gone like blowing out a lamp, and he was staring down at Joe wide-eyed.

  “I’m gonna get a horse,” Joe said, “and I’m goin’ after my brothers and Goullie. Mister Grant has given the say-so. I want no fuss from you.”

  Coleman said nothing. Joe figured Coleman was too a-feared to.

  Joe let the knife down, and Coleman took a couple of steps backward.

  Joe turned and strode out of the house, or as close to striding as his knee would allow.

  Breaker Grant was at the balcony at the top of the stairs, leaning on the rail with a cigar smoldering in one hand. He couldn’t help but smile.

  Joe told Ciego what Mister Grant had said. Ciego went to the bunkhouse and hefted Joe’s saddle up on his shoulder and headed to the corral. Joe preferred to saddle his own horse, but carrying that saddle with his bad knee would have been impossible.

  He got his rifle. It was an Enfield. A little longer than most mountain rifles, but it took a .577 caliber minie ball and had saved his life more than once. One time, a grizzly had been bearing down on him and Joe put a ball right between the bear’s eyes. Joe had gotten the rifle in trade at Fort Laramie. It cost him a whole pile of furs, but it was worth it.

  Joe tucked his Colt revolver into the front of his belt and then hobbled his way to the corral. The bay was saddled and waiting for him.

  Ciego was still there, waiting for him.

  Ciego said, “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Joe nodded. “Me too.”

  He slid the rifle into the saddle boot. Because of the length of the rifle, Joe had made the saddle boot himself out of buckskin, and the rifle slid into place with ease.

  The next trick was to get into the saddle with a left leg that wouldn’t support much of his weight. You can’t mount a horse from the right side without the horse getting all squirrely on you. Joe could have with the horse he had broken himself, using Cheyenne methods, but he doubted this one would stand for it.

  Here goes, Joe thought.

  He grabbed the saddle horn with his left hand and the saddle’s cantle with his right, then he lifted his left leg and pushed the toe into the stirrup. Then he took three bouncing steps off his right.

  The horse looked at him and rolled its eyes the way a horse will, like it thought Joe was crazy.

  Then Joe was pulling himself up and he managed to swing his right leg over the cantle. His bedroll was tied behind the cantle and he had to push his leg up and over it, but he managed to succeed and slid it down to the other side.

  Made it, he thought. His left knee felt a little numb.

  “Be safe,” Ciego said.

  Joe nodded. He turned the horse away, and he started toward the low, grassy hill out beyond the ranch yard.

  Forty head of cattle make a trail that even the most untrained eye couldn’t miss. Johnny, Matt and Goullie followed it directly to the Red. They crossed at a point maybe a mile below where the brothers had camped the night before the rescue of Miss Maria.

  However, there was no trail on the other side.

  “This was where we lost ‘em,” Goullie said. “They took ‘em either in one direction or the other for a while. Probably driving the beeves in water shallow enough that they can get through it without having to swim, but deep enough that the current will fill in the tracks.”

  Johnny looked at him like he wasn’t quite sure what he was hearing. “Mister Grant told me you boys lost the trail in the mountains.”

  Goullie nodded, and he had the look of a man who was about to say something he didn’t want to say. “That’s what Coleman said he was gonna tell the old man. And he told us we were to say nothin’ different if we wanted to keep our jobs.”

  Matt said, “We could ride up and down the river. We can find where they left the water and trail ‘em from there.”

  Johnny nodded. “You can’t move all that fast when cows are with you. We’d probably catch ‘em. But I want more than that. I want to find their camp. Put a stop to all of this, once and for all.”

  Johnny looked at Goullie. “What do you know about the mountains? The old man called them the Ouachitas.”

  Goullie nodded. “Been through there a couple of times.”

  “Well, when we’re done, you’ll be able to say you’ve been through there three times.”

  53

  “These mountains aren’t unlike our own, back in Pennsylvania,” Johnny said.

  About them were ridges that rose and then dropped down, and then rose up again. They looked to be mostly covered with hardwoods. Maples, oaks, maybe some hickory.

  “I don’t see how you have any hopes of finding them in all of this,” Matt said.

  Ahead of them was a small stream. Johnny reined up by the water. The stream was a couple of feet wide, and a stand of oaks grew alongside it.

  Johnny swung out of the saddle and loosened the girth. Matt and Goullie did the same.

  Matt said, “We didn’t trail the cattle. We just rode directly for the mountains.”

  Johnny nodded. “That’s what we did, all right.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Matt said.

  Johnny shrugged. “Haven’t heard a question. Just a lot of complainin’.”

  Goullie was grinning.

  Johnny said, “All right. I’ll explain it all. But in the morning.”

  “The morning?”

  The sun was trailing low.

  Johnny said, “We don’t have much daylight left. We’re gonna be spending the night in the mountains.”

  “Spending the night? We didn’t bring any supplies with us. Our bedrolls are back at the bunkhouse. Are you planning on shooting our supper?”

  Johnny shook his head. “A gunshot might be heard for miles, the way sound tends to echo in the mountains. I have some jerkey in my vest.”

  Goullie said, “And I have a can of beans in my saddle bags.”

  “There’s dinner,” Johnny said. “And breakfast.”

  Matt said, “You can’t be serious.”

  “So,” Goullie said. “Make camp here for the night?”

  Johnny shook his head. “No. It’s too open.”

  They found a spot at the base of a hill, a mile east of the stream. There were short pines growing about a small depression. Looked like when it rained, the depression might fill up and form a little pool.

  “Here,” Johnny said.

  Matt swung out of the saddle and peeled the saddle from his horse.

  He said, “Aren’t you concerned this little hollow might fill up if it rains?”

  “It’s not gonna rain,” Johnny said. “The sky’s clear and the breeze is easy.”

  “And I don’t mean to complain, but I’m not looking forward to a dinner of cold beans.”

  “Won’t bother me none,” Goullie said. He slid his saddle from the back of his horse. “I’m hungry enough to eat the whole thing myself, tin can and all.”

  “The beans’ll be heated,” Johnny said. “We’re going to have a fire.”

  “A fire?” Matt said. “I figured you wouldn’t want
a fire. The light might be seen from a distance.”

  “Let me show you something.”

  With his knife, he began to dig a hole in the washed out basin.

  He said, “The dirt is soft, here. Easy digging.”

  Goullie grinned. “You’re digging yourself a fire pit.”

  By dark, the hole was two feet deep and Johnny had built a small fire in it. The can of beans was open and standing by the flames.

  “The trick,” Johnny said, “is to keep the fire from rising above the top of the hole. It’ll still be visible from maybe a half mile off, but no more. And these pines will help block the firelight.”

  Johnny found a dead piece of pine and whittled it flat, and it served as a spoon. They took turns handing the beans around until the can was empty.

  Then they bedded down for the night near the fire pit. They each used a saddle as a pillow, with a saddle blanket spread over them.

  Johnny expected to hear some complaining from Matt, but there was none. Johnny looked over at Matt, and he found his brother had fallen to sleep as soon as the blanket was over him.

  Johnny grinned. Dog tired, he figured. Coleman had allowed them little sleep over the past couple of days. Now was the time to catch up on sleep. Come morning, they would be finding the rustlers, and Johnny doubted it would go easy. He had never before seen such a thing go easy. He wanted all three of them well rested, with their reflexes sharp.

  Johnny tossed a glance at Bravo, and the horse was standing lazily and letting his head trail down.

  Then the horse looked up and off into the night. Johnny rolled over, kicked off the saddle blanket and grabbed a pistol.

  Goullie was still awake. “What is it?”

  “Something out there, in the night.”

  Then Johnny heard the call. “Hello, the fire!”

  The same voice he had heard nearly a year ago at a campfire in Kansas Territory.

  He grinned. “Come on in!”

  Joe was on foot, still favoring his bad leg a little. In one hand were the reins of his horse, and he walked the animal into the camp.

  Johnny slid his pistol back into his holster. He said, “What brings you all the way out here?”

  “Come lookin’ for you three. Followed your trail.”

  Goullie said, “You bring anything to eat?”

  Joe shook his head. “Ate cold beans along the trail.”

  He stripped off his saddle and gave his horse a rub down.

  Then he said to Johnny, “So, what’ve you got planned for tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow we find their camp.”

  Joe grinned. “That’s what I figured.”

  “Did you manage to keep your powder dry when you crossed the Red?”

  Joe nodded, and he started unrolling his bedding. “Figured I’d need dry powder when we find them rustlers.”

  Goullie said, “Don’t you mean if?”

  Joe said, “Nope.”

  54

  By sunrise, they were in the saddle.

  Matt said to Joe, “I can’t believe you have your bedroll with you.”

  “When Ciego saddled my horse, he made sure my bedroll was on my saddle. Good man.”

  “So where are we going?” Matt said.

  Johnny pointed to a ridge that was maybe ten miles in the distance. “See that there ridge? We’re going to the very top.”

  Trees grew close together in places and there was thick underbrush, and the men had to go afoot and lead the horses through. In other areas, trees grew further apart, and the men could ride through.

  There were groves of pine, and groves of hardwood. At one point, halfway up the ridge, a deer broke away and darted off.

  The thought of venison made Johnny’s mouth water. There had been no breakfast but jerky this morning. But now was not the time for hunting.

  They topped the ridge and looked for an open area, from which they could have a look at the mountains.

  The morning air was still a little brisk, and the sun had been in the sky not quite two hours.

  Joe said, “We made good time climbing this here ridge.”

  Johnny nodded.

  Goullie said, “I still don’t know what we’re looking for.”

  Ahead of them was a view of the next ridge over and then another one beyond that. As they rolled away into the distance, they looked like they were made of green velvet.

  Johnny pointed to the northwest, and said, “There.”

  A small tendril of smoke was rising into the morning sky.

  “Careless of ‘em,” Joe said.

  Johnny gave his head half a shake in disagreement. “Not really. They’ve got no reason to think anyone would be out here looking for them. Coleman and the men lost their trail at the Red, last time they tried to trail them.”

  “Prob’ly was grateful to lose the trail. Prob’ly scared to death at the thought of actually finding them.”

  Goullie gave a look that said, I don’t know about that. He said, “I really doubt there’s any man alive Coleman Grant is scared of.”

  Joe said, “He’s not scared of men he thinks he can beat. But it’s not the same if the odds are a little more even. I almost gave him a shave with my bowie knife yesterday. He almost wet his pants.”

  They were all looking at him, but Joe said no more. Johnny knew Joe wouldn’t until he was ready.

  Matt looked off at the thin line of smoke. It was coming from somewhere beyond the ridge that was further out.

  “How far away do you think that is?”

  “Ten miles,” Joe said. “Maybe fifteen.”

  “It’ll take most of the day to get there.”

  “Let it,” Johnny said. “It’s important that we get there without letting them know we’re here. We’ve gotta move slow and quiet.”

  They rode in single file, with Joe first and Johnny bringing up the rear. Matt was second in line, and the going was slow. They stopped at one point while Joe explored further ahead. Then he came back and waved them on.

  They climbed one ridge, making a diagonal line so the traveling would be easier on the horses. Then they started down the other side of the ridge

  In one ravine between ridges, they found a spring. They stopped to let the horses drink, and then they refilled the canteens and continued on.

  Matt found himself growing drowsy. He had been without much sleep for the previous two days, and last night he hadn’t slept well. A saddle for a pillow and a stiff old saddle blanket to keep him warm.

  Joe had brought his bedroll along. But the rest of them weren’t as prepared.

  Matt found himself nodding off once in the saddle. He shook himself awake. Then his head started drifting downward again, and for a moment, he was back on the ship at sea.

  He was standing beside the wheel. The pilot had a scarf wrapped around his head and a heavy dark blue pea coat, and his hands were on the wheel. The captain was a man with a short, white beard and a black Greek cap on his head. He was looking off to one side of the ship with a spyglass.

  “Steady as she goes,” the captain said.

  “Steady as she goes,” Matt repeated the order to the pilot.

  Then he heard Joe say, “We better go in on foot from here.”

  Matt was brought back to consciousness and realized his horse had stopped. Goullie and Johnny were stepping out of the saddle. They had been climbing a ridge and were now surrounded by tall pines. The sun was low in the sky, and the shadows were stretching long through the woods.

  Joe was keeping his voice down. “It’s about three or four hundred feet that-away,” indicating with his left hand off toward their left. “It’s bigger than a gully but not quite a canyon. Boxed in at one end.”

  “Goullie,” Johnny said, keeping as quiet as he could. “Stay here with the horses. They’ll probably be all right, but if something happened to them, it would be a long walk home.”

  Then Johnny said to Joe, “Lead on.”

  Three hundred feet ahead, the land rose up a bit and th
en dropped off in front of them. Like Joe had said, it was more than a gully but not quite a canyon. It was shallow at their end, but at the far end was twenty feet deep.

  Smoke was drifting from a fire at the far end. Matt could see two men stirring about down there, and he could hear the bawling of some cows.

  “Pay dirt,” Johnny said.

  Matt nodded. “So, now what do we do?”

  “We wait for dark,” Johnny said. “And then we go on in.”

  55

  Once it was dark, they picketed their horses near the opening of the small canyon. Then they began working their way down.

  “The wind won’t reach much down there,” Johnny said. “But there might be a little breeze drifting in from the entrance. There’s a chance the horses are gonna catch our scent.”

  “What’ll happen then?” Matt said.

  “That’s when the lead could start flying.”

  Once they were on the canyon floor, they began forward on their hands and knees. They moved carefully, slowly. No need for a careless move to let the raiders at the far end of the canyon know what was going on.

  A small chunk of bedrock rose from the dirt, and Johnny worked his way toward it. The rock was big enough to give him cover.

  Once he was behind the rock, he estimated he was about a hundred feet from the campfire. Two men were stretched out on unrolled blankets, and another was at the fire filling a cup from a kettle. A fourth was cleaning his rifle.

  They were talking. One said, “Rafe and Harley should’a been back by now. Something must have gone wrong.”

  “We hang tight,” another said. “If they ain’t back by mornin’, then maybe I’ll contact the boss. See what he wants us to do.”

  There were some cows off past the fire, at the other end of the canyon. Johnny could hear an occasional bawl. A string of horses was back there, too.

  Matt came up beside Johnny. Goullie had taken up a place behind a juniper that was in a small depression near the cattle. Joe had disappeared into the darkness at the other side of the camp.