Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6)

by Brad Dennison

  Clancy shook his head. “I gave my rifle away for that?”

  Johnny set down the third deuce. A load of whoops went up. Matt looked around to see there were now close to twenty men watching the game. The stage driver was there, a couple of drifters, and the rest were cowhands.

  “Brace yourself,” Johnny said to Clancy and set the fourth one down.

  There were gasps. Then cheers and whoops and Johnny was getting slapped on the back. Cries of, “Four deuces!” and “Never seen such a thing!”

  Clancy smiled. “Well, I would hate to think I gave up that rifle for two deuces.”

  “You can keep the rifle,” Johnny said.

  Clancy shook his head. “No, sir. A bet’s a bet.”

  Pike said, “I’ve never seen such a run of luck.”

  “Neither have I.”

  Matt looked over at the man who had spoken. It was Coleman Grant, leaning his back against the bar. Matt hadn’t seen him come into the saloon.

  The group of men stepped away, giving Johnny a clear view of Coleman.

  Johnny said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what that means. No man can have two hands like that without helping it along some.”

  “Are you calling me a cheat?” Johnny said.

  “What are you, stupid?”

  “Just wanted to clarify.” Johnny rose to his feet. “I wanted to make sure, before I drive those words back down your throat.”

  Coleman stepped away from the bar. “Better men than you have tried, and failed.”

  Clancy said, “Careful, Johnny. He killed a man with his fists last year.”

  “He’s not going to kill anyone tonight.”

  Joe was still at the bar. He said, “Don’t do it, Coleman. My brother is a wildcat. I don’t believe there’s a man alive what can take him down with his fists.”

  “Your brother is about to be a dead man. I’m going to beat him until there’s no more life in him. He has it coming, for more than one reason.”

  Matt didn’t like this. He knew Ma would want him to try to stop it. But one thing Matt had learned about living in the West-a man had to have his honor, or he was worth nothing. If a man’s accused of dishonesty and doesn’t answer the charge, then his honor is as good as gone.

  Joe took his beer and stepped to the end of the bar.

  The bartender said, “I’ll put five dollars on Coleman Grant.”

  Joe shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’d feel like I was stealing your money.”

  Johnny said to Coleman, “With our without guns. How do you want to go down?”

  “It’ll be you going down, O’Brien. But it’ll be my game. Fists.”

  Johnny grinned. He unbuckled his gunbelt and handed it to Matt. Coleman was wearing a gun, and he drew it and placed it on the bar. Coleman was wearing his gray jacket with the odd French buttons, and he shouldered out of the jacket and dropped it onto the bar with his guns.

  This is not good, Matt thought. This could get bloody. Matt knew by Johnny’s grin that he was as mad as all get-out. Johnny had Ma’s temper. Ma always had a way of grinning right before she exploded.

  A man stepped into the saloon, with a badge pinned to his vest. His hair was white and he had a thick, white mustache. Matt had seen older men who were still tough as nails, and this man had the look about him. Must be Harris Newcomb, the county sheriff. Matt had heard the sheriff and Breaker Grant were old friends.

  Matt figured the sheriff was going to stop the fight, but instead the sheriff folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against the door jamb.

  Coleman and Johnny began circling each other, like two wild animals looking for an opening.

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  Coleman came in fast, swinging with his left. Johnny ducked, and he sidestepped so Coleman’s momentum brought him a little past him.

  Johnny then drove a hard right up and into Coleman’s floating ribs, and then he pulled away so he would be out of range should Coleman attempt a counter punch. Coleman grunted with the punch and hesitated a moment. Johnny’s fist had found home, and he knew a punch to the floating ribs can hurt.

  Johnny stepped around behind Coleman, so Coleman turned to face him.

  Johnny had heard the stories of Coleman’s previous fights. Johnny was seeing now, by Coleman’s footwork, that he had picked up some fight training somewhere along the way. Apparently Coleman didn’t win his previous brawls on brute strength alone. Even now, he was placing his feet like a boxer, with the left a little forward and the right a little back. Holding his fists up and his elbows in tight.

  But Johnny knew something of boxing, too. His father had taught him and his brothers how to fight when they were growing up. Pa had hung a grain bag from a barn timber, a bag filled with a mixture of straw and sand. He showed them how to place their feet, and how to turn their body into a punch. Keep the elbows in close and the fists up.

  It was said the first man in the family to come to the New World, a mysterious man by the name of Peter McCabe, had been a trained fighter of sorts. Much of the fighting skills Pa taught Johnny and his brothers had been passed down through the family.

  And Johnny remembered what he had learned from the Chinese man he told Matt about.

  Johnny remained loose on his feet, but he kept his feet side-by-side, a shoulder’s width apart. Something he had learned from the Chinese man. Coleman’s footwork set him up so he could move to the front or rear. Johnny would counter with side-to-side action.

  Coleman attacked again, feigning with his right fist and then driving out his left in a hard jab.

  But Johnny was stepping fast off to his left, and as he moved, he shot a right-hand jab at Coleman’s right ear. Coleman flinched. Johnny was sure that had to hurt.

  After two failed attempts at attacking, Coleman had apparently learned his lesson. He began circling Johnny again, but this time holding back on the attacks.

  Johnny’s Pa had said always watch a man’s eyes because his eyes will betray his move before he makes it. However, also be aware of what his feet are doing, because every move he makes begins with his feet.

  Coleman jabbed and Johnny ducked. Johnny jabbed and Coleman raised a hand to deflect it.

  Joe looked at the bartender and said, “Still want to make that bet?”

  The bartender shook his head. “No one’s ever lasted this long with Coleman.”

  The old Chinese man had said to Johnny, “Never fight with anger. If you are angry when you fight, then you give the advantage to your opponent.”

  Because of this, Johnny was trying to cool his anger and simply focus on defeating his opponent. Trying not to think about Coleman calling him a cheat and Coleman cheating on Breaker Grant with Grant’s own wife. But it wouldn’t hurt to try to get Coleman a little mad.

  Coleman was already seething with anger. He felt Johnny was taking his place as the heir to the Broken Spur and its related businesses. But it wasn’t enough.

  Johnny said, “Come on, Cole-boy. Is that all you got?”

  “Don’t call me that,” Coleman said, and lunged at him.

  Johnny side-stepped again, and Coleman slammed into the bar. He caught himself with his arms and managed to avoid hitting his head.

  Johnny stepped in fast and quick and sent an upper-cutting punch into Coleman’s floating ribs again. Pa had said your ribs just above your kidneys are some of the most sensitive areas to strike.

  Coleman grunted with pain and hesitated. Johnny could have ended the fight right there, but instead he stepped back.

  Johnny had to admit, he was still feeling a little anger. He didn’t want to just beat Coleman, he wanted to beat him in a way that sent him a message.

  Coleman got to his feet. He staggered a moment then got his footing.

  “Come on, Cole-boy,” Johnny said. “You’re nothing but a pretender. You have the name Grant, but is it really yours? No one here thinks so.”

  Coleman lunged hard at Johnny. Harder and faster than Johnny wo
uld have thought possible, considering the punches Johnny had given him. Johnny realized maybe he had gone too far in taunting him.

  Coleman launched a punch that Johnny was unable to duck. His fist caught Johnny on the cheekbone. Johnny’s vision went dark for a moment, and his knees almost buckled.

  Coleman’s hands shot out and wrapped around Johnny’s throat. For a man who managed from behind a desk and never seemed to do any actual physical work, he was strong.

  Johnny remembered what the old Chinese man had taught him. Don’t meet force with force. Meet force with emptiness.

  Johnny stepped back and also turned his body, weakening Coleman’s grip on him. Johnny then brought his hands upward through the loop in Coleman’s arms, and the grip was broken.

  Johnny bent his right arm and drove his elbow into Coleman’s face. It caught Coleman on the nose, and Coleman staggered back, bringing his hands to his face. Blood streamed down over his mouth and chin.

  Johnny then stepped in, his feet apart, and drove two uppercuts into Coleman’s midsection, turning his body and grunting with each punch.

  Coleman staggered back a couple of more steps. He was now bending over from the punches and had moved his hands away from his face. Blood was streaming from his chin down to his shirt.

  Now that Coleman’s face was open, Johnny shot a hard left jab to Coleman’s right cheekbone and then a right cross that caught Coleman on the other cheekbone. Coleman’s knees folded and he was down.

  Johnny stood, waiting to see if Coleman was going to get back up. His own cheekbone was now numb from the punch he had taken. The right cross he had given Coleman had hurt his fist, and he was shaking his hand in the air, trying to shake off the pain.

  There’s a way to punch, Pa had said. Tighten the fist on impact, and make sure your finger joints don’t make contact with your target. Also try to center the punch on your middle knuckles. But you can’t always maintain proper form in the heat of a fight, and Johnny’s smallest knuckle and finger had taken part of the contact with Coleman’s face.

  Coleman got to his knees, but then he fell back over. He was done.

  The men in the saloon raised their voices in cheers and hoots.

  The bartender said, “Well, I never thought I’d see it. The mighty Coleman Grant, beaten. Drinks on the house!”

  Matt was still standing at the far end of the bar with Joe, and he watched Sheriff Newcomb give a little smile and step back out into the street.

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  Breaker Grant said, “You don’t look too worse for wear.”

  Johnny had to admit, his neck was still a little sore from where Coleman had tried to choke him, and his fists were a little sore from the pounding they had taken against Coleman’s face. A big bruise had risen on his cheekbone.

  Johnny said, “I got lucky.”

  Grant shook his head. “From what I understand, it was pure skill.”

  Johnny’s head was a little sore, too, but it wasn’t from the fight. It was from too much tequila after the fight.

  And now Clancy’s Hawken rifle was on a couple of pegs in the wall by Johnny’s bunk. Johnny had said again that Clancy could keep the rifle, but Clancy said, “No, I keep my word.”

  So Johnny gave Clancy the Colt revolving rifle. “A man doesn’t need two rifles,” Johnny had said.

  Breaker Grant was at his desk, with a glass of bourbon in front of him. Johnny was in one of the chairs in front of the desk, and he had a glass in one hand.

  Johnny didn’t think it was going to be good, when Grant asked to see him. It was the morning after the fight, and Johnny was sure Grant wouldn’t be pleased. But to Johnny’s surprise, Grant offered him a drink.

  Johnny said, “I feel a little bad about the fight. After all, Coleman is your son.”

  Grant nodded. “I appreciate that. But he had it coming.”

  Grant knocked back a belt of bourbon. “I adopted Coleman when he was young. Tried to treat him like he was my own. Trouble was, I never had a son before, and my own father wasn’t much of a father. I take a lot of the responsibility for the way Coleman is. I know he’s a bully and a braggart. I was hoping maybe serving as the ramrod of the ranch would be good for him. Teach him responsibility. But it didn’t. He’s had it in for you since you first arrived. I suppose I should have known it would come down to a fight.”

  “Why does he hate me?”

  Grant said, “You’re the man I’ve always wanted him to be. And you seem to do it without any effort.”

  Johnny shrugged. “Just being the man I was raised to be, I suppose.”

  Johnny took a drink of bourbon. “So, how is Coleman doing this morning?”

  “As well as can be expected. I’ve had the doctor out to see him. Coleman has a broken nose, and maybe some cracked ribs.”

  “I shouldn’t have hurt him that bad.”

  Grant dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “From what I’ve been told, he had his hands around your throat. He’s already killed one man in a fight. You did what you had to do. What I would have done in your place. In fact, I might have gone even rougher on him.”

  Johnny nodded.

  Grant said, “Coleman’s gonna rest up here for a couple of days then catch a boat back to Jefferson. Nothing’s changed. He’s going to continue running the shipping and tobacco side of the family business and the gold mines, and you’ll keep running the ranch.”

  Johnny gave a little grin. “And you’ll keep enjoying your retirement. As it should be.”

  Grant returned the grin. “You couldn’t be more right. This afternoon, I’m going riding with my lovely Maria. A leisurely ride around the ranch. We should be safe, since those banditos have been taken care of. Again, thanks to you.”

  Coleman was in his room, sitting in a rocker. But he wasn’t doing much rocking, because the motion made his ribs hurt.

  The doctor had wanted to put a heavy bandage on Coleman’s nose and hold the bandage in place with a strip of torn bedsheet wrapped around his head. But Coleman would not have it. He figured he was already the laughing stock of the ranch. A ranch he had run with an iron fist. So his nose was unbandaged. But he couldn’t breathe through it, and it was swollen and almost black. The bruising had spread to one eye, and both lids had gone nearly black.

  He was in a smoking jacket and had not bothered with a tie this morning. In one hand was a glass of rye. His father preferred bourbon, and Coleman drank it when the old man offered. Another of Coleman’s many attempts to win his approval. But on his own, he drank rye.

  His door was shut. He didn’t want visitors. He wanted to be left alone. But regardless of his wishes, someone knocked.

  “What?” he called out and then wished he hadn’t. The vibrations of his voice made his nose hurt.

  The door opened. It was Maria. She said, “I was just checking on you.”

  “So now you want to come back to me?”

  She shook her head. She said, “No. Those days are long over. I was just checking to make sure you were all right.”

  “What do you care? Your man humiliated me last night. I’m sure you’re laughing at me, just like everyone else is.”

  “From what I understand, you tried to kill him. And he’s not my man.”

  Coleman tried to cock a brow at her in contempt and surprise, but the very motion hurt his nose.

  He said, “You expect me to believe you’re not with him?”

  “I’m with my husband.”

  Coleman gave a scoffing chuckle and looked away. He took another drink of scotch.

  He said, “You’ll always need a man to cling to, Maria. You know why? You’re weak. You always pick the strongest buck in the herd and throw yourself at him. I know you’re with O’Brien. And you will be until someone stronger comes along. And one will. One always does, sooner or later.”

  She said, “You’re pathetic.”

  He looked back at her. “That’s rich. You calling someone pathetic. You might think O’Brien will inherit part of thi
s ranch when the old man finally does the world a favor and kicks off. But O’Brien won’t get one square foot of this ranch. I guarantee you that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Coleman decided he had already said too much. So he said, “Will you please just leave me alone? In two days I’ll be back to Jefferson. Then I won’t have to look at you or anyone else from this place.”

  She gave him a long look. He didn’t know if she was feeling anger or pity or what, but he didn’t really care.

  She shut the door and was gone.

  He shook his head with disgust at the very thought of her. It didn’t occur to him for a moment that she wasn’t bedding O’Brien behind the old man’s back. And she was doing it because she thought O’Brien was successfully weaseling himself into the old man’s will. But Coleman wasn’t going to allow it. There was a plan in motion. In fact, it had been in motion before the O’Brien brothers even arrived.

  The first version of the plan had been fool-proof. Maria was to be captured by the men camping in the canyon, off in the Oachita Mountains. The old man would have gone riding after her himself. And he would not have lived through it. Coleman had planned to attend to it personally, if need be. But then the O’Briens came along and Johnny made a trick shot with a pistol that saved Maria. And now he was weaseling his way into the old man’s good graces and Maria’s bed.

  But Coleman was not giving up on his plan. He was now going to have to modify things a little, that was all.

  But first he was going to have to do some investigating. Or at least, have someone do some investigating for him. One of the constables down in Jefferson had worked for the Texas Rangers at one point, and Coleman had become a drinking buddy of his. Coleman felt it made sense to become friendly with people in key positions. Not necessarily the obvious key positions, but ones he might have use for somewhere down the road.

  It seemed to Coleman that if Johnny O’Brien had indeed made the shot Maria claimed he did when O’Brien rescued her, then he had uncommon skill with a pistol. Men with uncommon shooting skills tended to be known. Since Coleman had never heard the name Johnny O’Brien until the three brothers rode onto the ranch, he figured O’Brien was not their real name. He wondered if his former Texas Ranger friend could do a little investigating for him.