Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6)

by Brad Dennison

  Coleman smiled, but found smiling hurt. He took another drink of scotch.

  63

  Winter came, but it wasn’t the same as winter in Pennsylvania. Johnny woke up to a dusting of snow a couple of times, but it was gone before the day was done. But that didn’t mean the wind wasn’t cold.

  He was wearing Pa’s coat one morning as he stepped from the bunkhouse. The sun hadn’t been long in the sky, and the wind had a bite to it.

  A thin layer of ice had formed over a water trough. He reached down with one hand and gave the ice a push, and the ice cracked and broke apart. Easier for horses to drink if they don’t have to push their muzzles through ice.

  It had been about a year since Pa had been killed, Johnny thought. A year that had seen a lot of change. Ma and Luke must have long since harvested the crop, and he hoped they got a good price. He imagined them hunkering down by the fireplace in the evening, with the cold winter winds blowing outside and the snow piling up.

  And he thought of Becky Drummond. First time in a while. She was probably a mother now. He hoped she and Trip were happy.

  A horse was saddled down by the main house, so Johnny walked on over. Breaker Grant came out.

  “Ah, Johnny,” he said. “A good morning to you.”

  Johnny said, “Going riding, sir?”

  Grant nodded. “It’s too cold for Maria to join me, but I find there’s nothing like a crisp morning ride across the Texas prairie. Care to join me?”

  Johnny shook his head. “I’d like to, but there’s work to be done.”

  Grant swung into the saddle. “You’re a good man, Johnny. Carry on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A good man, Johnny thought, as he stood and watched Grant ride away. Grant’s praise meant much to him.

  Johnny had been running the ranch for eight months, and he was learning about leadership. Learning you can’t manage each man the same way and get good results. Some men needed to be barked at, and others need to be spoken to a little more kindly. You needed to ask them to do a job instead of outright telling them. And sometimes it was simply about staying out of the way and letting your crew do the job they knew how to do.

  One thing that always bothered Johnny was he had been unable to figure out which man on the crew had been working with the raiders the previous spring. Assisting them in rustling steers and apparently in the kidnap attempt on Miss Maria. The attacks ended after the shootout in the canyon up in the Nations, so it all seemed to be forgotten. Or, at the very least, pushed aside for now.

  Coleman Grant had gone on to Jefferson a couple of days after his fight with Johnny. The fight was starting to fade into the category of ancient history, too. Coleman was seldom mentioned, and the men didn’t talk about the fight anymore.

  Johnny decided to take a ride out to the far southern range. Eight hundred head were there. Winter grass wasn’t as good as summer grass, and he wanted to check on them. They were checked on regularly—Shelby and Frenchie had gone out a few days ago. But Johnny was a hands-on ramrod and wanted to see the cows himself.

  He headed for the stables to throw a saddle on Bravo.

  By mid-morning, the winter chill had worn off, and Johnny had tied Pa’s coat behind his saddle. He was wearing a vest where he kept his wallet and a couple of Mister Grant’s cigars. Over his pants were strapped a pair of leather leggings that Ciego referred to as Armitas, but Goullie and the other cowhands called them chaps.

  “Didn’t have ‘em when I was young,” Breaker Grant had said. “The Texas brush would rip the dickens out of our pants. Then the vaqueros started wearing these chaps, and the idea caught on.”

  Johnny rode easily. Mister Grant was right—a leisurely ride across the Texas grass country was nice on a winter morning.

  The sun was warm on his shoulders, but there was a solid mass of clouds off to the northwest. If it had been Pennsylvania, Johnny would have thought snow was coming tonight. But being Texas, Johnny figured it would be a cold winter rain. He intended to be back at the ranch before the rain struck, with the wood stove roaring and a cup of hot coffee in his hand.

  But for now, he was going to ride.

  He didn’t know what it was that made him turn in the saddle. A sound, maybe. Or just a feeling that there was motion behind him.

  He twisted around to see behind him, and he saw Joe, riding hard.

  Joe reined up beside him.

  “It’s Mister Grant,” Joe said. “He’s been shot.”

  Johnny blinked with surprise. “Shot?”

  Joe nodded. “His horse came back to the ranch without him. Goullie and Matt and I saddled up and rode out, back-tracking the horse. We found Mister Grant a couple of miles from the house, laying dead in the grass. Two bullets in him. One in his chest. Another in his head.”

  Johnny was staring at Joe, taking all of this in.

  “Who did it?” Johnny said.

  Joe shook his head. “No idea. Goullie sent me to get you.”

  Johnny had left Goullie in charge this morning.

  Joe said, “Johnny, the one in Grant’s head—it was at close range. You can tell by the powder burns around the wound. Someone shot him out of the saddle and then rode up and finished him off.”

  Joe stepped down from the saddle and loosened the cinch. He said, “You go and head back. I’ll catch up. I have to rest this horse, first.”

  Johnny wheeled Bravo around and started back for the ranch.

  64

  Johnny found Maria in the parlor. She was sitting in a Queen Anne chair that faced the hearth. Her eyes were glassy and her face was that sort of combination of red and flushed that you get from a lot of crying. She was staring at nowhere in particular and didn’t react when Johnny stepped into the room.

  A Mexican woman Johnny knew as Carlotta was standing in the doorway. Carlotta was one of the maids who lived here.

  She said, “The senora hasn’t moved since we got the news. Oh, Johnny, it’s just so horrible.”

  Johnny took off his hat and went into the room. He said, “Miss Maria.”

  She didn’t look up.

  He said her name again. “Miss Maria.”

  He knelt beside her and touched the back of her hand. Then she looked at him, like she was realizing for the first time he was there.

  She said, “Johnny? What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to be strong. You’re the daughter of your father, a man who built a ranch out of nothing. Just like Mister Grant did. My brothers and I will find the man who did this.”

  She nodded.

  Johnny said, “What about Coleman? He’s gotta be told.”

  She nodded. “I’ve sent a rider to Jefferson for him.”

  Good idea, Johnny thought. Sending a rider would be much faster than sending a letter.

  Back east, there was a network of telegraph lines. Someday, the telegraph would probably be out west too, Johnny figured. But that day was not here, yet.

  Maria looked at him and said, “You’re the only man I’ve ever known who is as capable as Breaker was. And Breaker thought so highly of you. This man who shot him—I need you to get him, Johnny.”

  “We will. We won’t let you down.”

  She nodded.

  There was nothing left to say. Johnny strode from the room. He said, “Take care of her, Carlotta. Anything she needs.”

  “You know I will.”

  Johnny found Ciego at the stable.

  Ciego said, “How is the senora?”

  “Shaken,” Johnny said. “I need a horse. Bravo has already covered a lot of miles, today.”

  Ciego wasn’t the hostler, but he said, “I’ll have one for you.”

  “And one for each of my brothers, too. We’re going after the man who did this.”

  Matt and Joe were in front of the bunkhouse. Joe had just ridden in. Matt was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, and Joe was pacing about. Shelby was there, and Clancy. Goullie was smoking a cigarette.

  When the
y saw Johnny coming, they circled around him.

  Johnny said, “Joe, Matt. You’re coming with me. We’re going to get the man who did this.”

  “We’re coming with you,” Goullie said.

  “No.” Johnny placed a hand on Goullie’s shoulder. “I know how you feel. But you’re needed here. I don’t know how long this will take. I need you in charge here while I’m gone.”

  Goullie nodded. “I’ll take care of things.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  Johnny went into the bunkhouse and grabbed the Hawken. He had done a little target-shooting with it in the weeks since he had won it from Clancy. Shot right nice. Straight and accurate.

  It wasn’t loaded, so he loaded it now. Clancy had included a powder horn and a leather pouch of lead balls and greased patches. Johnny estimated two hundred grains of powder and poured it in, then he pushed in the lead ball on top of the greased patch. He then pulled the ramrod free and rammed the load in good and tight.

  Ciego led three horses to the bunkhouse. Johnny went to the horse with his saddle and pushed his rifle into the scabbard. He also stuffed his slicker into his saddle bags, because of the rain that was coming in. Matt and Joe were doing the same. Matt had no rifle, but Joe had his Enfield in one hand.

  “Ride careful, boys,” Goullie said. “It’s gonna rain, but it shouldn’t be too hard a rain.”

  Matt nodded. “We’ll be all right.”

  Johnny said, “Let’s ride.”

  Joe and Matt led Johnny to where they had found Grant. Johnny saw the grass matted down where Grant’s body had landed, and there was a dark patch of blood.

  “He was here at least an hour, we figure,” Matt said.

  Johnny looked around. The sky was now fully overcast and the wind was growing cold. He looked at the land about him, figuring where he himself would have made the shot from, had he been a sniper lying in wait for a man.

  He saw a small grassy knoll maybe five hundred feet to the south. He said, “There.”

  He rode toward the knoll, and Matt and Joe followed.

  The grass was matted down in a mish-mash sort of pattern. Johnny handed his reins to Matt and stepped down.

  He said, “One set of boot prints, but he was here a while. He paced back and forth.”

  Johnny knelt down and touched the grass. “He stood here. Watching off toward where he thought Mister Grant might be coming from.”

  He picked up the small remains of a cigarette. “He smoked a few of these while he waited.”

  “The fool,” Matt said. “He could have started a grass fire with those.”

  “I’ve seen Shelby do it. He puts out the stub on the sole of his boot and then only drops it to the grass when it’s cool enough to touch.”

  Joe said, “I’ve seen Wheeler do that, too.”

  Johnny said, “I hate to suspect anyone at the ranch. But we never did find out who was working with those rustlers. Where was everyone today?”

  Matt thought about it for a moment. “Frenchie and Gates are off at the northwest line cabin.”

  Johnny nodded. “They’ve been there three weeks now. They’ll be back on payday.”

  Joe said, “Ciego was in the smithy shop all mornin’. He was shoein’ Miss Maria’s horse and makin’ roofin’ nails.”

  “Shelby and Clancy were at the ranch all day,” Matt said. “Goullie was there, too.”

  “What about Wheeler?”

  “He rode out this morning,” Matt said. “He said you told him to check on the grass out on the northern ranger. Winter grass sometimes isn’t the best grazing.”

  Johnny said, “I gave no such order.”

  “That sum’bitch,” Joe said.

  Matt said, “Even still, none of that is concrete evidence. We need actual proof.”

  “I’ve got enough proof,” Joe said.

  Johnny shook his head. “Matt’s right. We’ll talk with Wheeler when we get back. Right now, let’s follow this trail.”

  “I’d bet dollars to doughnuts it was Wheeler what done the shooting.”

  Johnny swung back up into the saddle. “We’ll know soon enough. Let’s ride and cover as much ground as we can. We’re going to run out of daylight soon.”

  Johnny started down the knoll, following a trail made by one horse, and a line of grass that had been matted down as the horse stepped along. Matt and Joe fell into place behind him.

  65

  When the rain came down, it came down harder than Goullie had thought it would. At first it was a light drizzle, but soon it was pounding down hard on Johnny’s hat and soaking his shirt. He and his brothers pulled their slickers from their saddle bags.

  Soon the rain was blasting its way in sheets across the open grassland. The wind picked up, and even though Johnny’s hat was pulled down tight around his temples, he had to reach up and flatten a hand across the crown to keep the wind from lifting it clean off of his head.

  “We can’t stay out here like this!” Matt called to him.

  Joe said, “There’s a small cabin off east of here. A small dugout. Or what’s left of one.”

  Johnny nodded. “I know of it. Let’s go.”

  There was still some daylight left, but Johnny knew it would get dark early because of the cloud cover. He rode with his head leaning into the rain, so the brim of his hat would keep the rain from whipping against his face. He hoped the powder in his revolvers was staying dry. The scabbard carrying his rifle was made of buckskin—he had made it himself, with rawhide laces at the top that he could pull tight against the rain. It would keep most of the rain away, hopefully enough so the powder wouldn’t get damp.

  It was sometimes harder than you might think to find a location when traveling overland. They weren’t using a map. They were riding by their knowledge of the Broken Spur range, and where they knew the remains of the old dugout to be. But things can look a little different when rain is slanting across in front of you, obscuring visibility.

  They topped a low grassy rise, and Johnny thought it would be within sight, but it didn’t seem to be.

  Matt said, “I don’t see it.”

  Johnny was looking from left to right.

  Then Joe said, “Over there.”

  He was pointing off to their right. Johnny could see a small dark something that looked to be maybe a quarter mile off.

  “Has to be it,” he said.

  They started for it.

  Maria was still in the parlor, sitting and staring. Alfredo had started a fire in the hearth because it was going to be a cold night. Not as cold as the emptiness in my heart, though, Maria thought.

  She was trying to accept the idea that Breaker was now gone. A man with so much personality, who seemed to fill a room with his presence just by walking through a doorway. It didn’t seem natural that such a man should just be gone.

  She also wondered what would become of her. She didn’t think Breaker had changed the will to include Johnny. As far as she knew, the property and all of the businesses would be divided between herself and Coleman.

  She heard the front door open, the wind and rain rushing into the entryway. And she heard Alfredo say, “Mister Coleman.”

  “Coleman?” she said with surprise and hurried to the parlor doorway

  The parlor opened onto the entryway, and she saw Coleman by the door, pulling a slicker over his head and handing it to Alfredo.

  “Coleman,” she said. “How did you get here so quickly?”

  “As soon as that rider you sent told me what had happened,” he said, “I chartered a private coach to bring me here.”

  She nodded. She certainly didn’t feel relieved that he was here.

  “So,” he said, “let’s get some hot coffee and you can fill me in on all the details.”

  The dugout was in the side of a hill that fell off a little more sharply than the rest. The hill had been dug out enough to create an opening half the size of the bunkhouse, and then a front wall was built. There were no windows, but there was a do
or. The dugout had served as a small tool shed, in the early days of the Broken Spur. Breaker Grant had built a small sod hut near the shed to serve as a ranch house. When the time came to build a larger house, Grant chose an area further away. The grass here was too good, he told Johnny once, to set up a large ranch headquarters. He wanted to keep the good grass for the cattle. The area of the current house and out buildings had originally been a flat expanse of gravel.

  The old sod hut was now long gone. All that was left of the original ranch headquarters was the toolshed. The front wall still stood, but the door was long gone.

  It was growing dark when Johnny stepped inside. He knew snakes tended to like dark places, so he struck a match.

  The dugout was empty. Just an earthen floor, and an earthen roof with a few roots of grass hanging through.

  “It’ll have to do,” he said.

  There was enough room for the horses. Saddles were stripped off and the horses were rubbed down.

  “It’s going to be a cold night,” Matt said, “but this place sure beats being out in the rain.”

  They hadn’t brought bedrolls. They hadn’t wanted to lose valuable daylight preparing them, when they could have been out following the trail of Grant’s killer. Johnny was starting to think maybe they should have taken the time.

  Matt slid his slicker off over his head and shook the water away. Then, with the wet side out, he sat on the floor against one wall and used the slicker as a blanket.

  “Better than nothing,” he said.

  Johnny took off his slicker as well, and then pulled each pistol. He thought they seemed dry. He hoped they would fire if he needed them to. He then loosened the rawhide laces on his scabbard to open it, and he slid his rifle out. It was completely dry.

  He said, “I don’t anticipate any gunfire out here tonight, but there might be tomorrow if we catch up to the man.”