Johnny McCabe (The McCabes Book 6)

by Brad Dennison

  Joe grinned. “He must’ve noticed your riding boots and figured you needed something better for these mountains. You gave their village an entire elk. The Indians I know tend to like to offer a gift in exchange for a gift.”

  Johnny looked at the warrior, and he nodded and said, “Thank you.”

  The warrior smiled. He and his partner then turned and rode back the way they had come.

  When they got back to their camp, they told Matt what had happened.

  Joe said, “So, what’re you going to do with two pair of deerskin boots?”

  Johnny dug into his saddlebags and pulled out the pair he had made himself, and he tossed them to Matt.

  Matt said, “These won’t fit me. You always had bigger feet.”

  “But you have a bigger head. It all evens out in the end.”

  Joe was grinning.

  That night, they sat about the fire and ate the last of a mule deer Johnny had shot.

  Johnny said, “We have to make a decision. Matt and I were talking a while back that if we stay too long, we’re gonna start thinning out the game.”

  Joe nodded. “Been thinking about that, too.”

  “So, the question is,” Matt said. “Where do we go from here? You still thinking about California?”

  Johnny nodded his head.

  On a morning with spring in the air, snow disappearing from their little valley, and wildflowers growing in the clearing down by the stream, the brothers saddled up and tied their bedrolls and saddle bags to their saddles.

  Johnny gave a last look to the lean-to. The pine boughs Joe had used for thatching had turned brown and would have needed to be replaced again, were he and his brothers to stay.

  Matt said, “I have to admit, I’m going to miss this little place.”

  Johnny nodded. “For a short time, it was home for us.”

  They mounted up and crossed the valley floor. The stream was again rushing with run-off, but there was a section where the stream widened and got a little shallower. It was two feet deep at this point and the bottom was sandy, with even footing for the horses. They turned the horses into the water and got through.

  They climbed a slope and at the top of the ridge, Johnny gave a little tug to Bravo’s reins and then looked back and down at the valley.

  From this elevation, their valley looked like a mass of treetops rising from a depression between ridges. Their little camp would be off to the other side.

  “I wonder if we’ll ever be back,” Matt said.

  Johnny shrugged. He was reminded of when he looked back at the family farm the last time, wondering if he would ever be back.

  He said, “I hope so.”

  Then he turned Bravo away and said, “All right. Let’s ride.”

  PART SIX

  California

  74

  Montana, 1881

  The fire was crackling away in the hearth. Ginny was in her rocker, and Bree was now on the sofa beside Johnny, with her feet curled under her and a quilt over her lap. Dusty was dropping another chunk of wood on the fire.

  Jessica had taken Cora off to bed. Joe was awake again and was sitting in a French carved wing chair Ginny had bought Josh and Temperance as a wedding gift. It stood where Johnny’s chair once had.

  Ginny said, “I don’t think you ever told me about that little valley.”

  Johnny said, “That was where I first fell in love with the mountains. I always liked the mountains back in Pennsylvania, but it was in that little valley that I started feeling somehow drawn to them. And not just any mountains, but the range that goes from Colorado all the way up into Canada. The same mountains our valley belongs to. ”

  “The Rockies,” she said.

  He nodded. “There’s something magical about the wide-open spaces of Texas. But the Rocky Mountains took hold of my heart like no other place ever has.”

  Bree said, “So, when you brought us here to this valley, it must have felt a little like coming home.”

  “Yeah, it sort of did, Punkin’.”

  Ginny said, “Did you ever get back to that little valley?”

  “No. I always wanted to, and one day, I might.”

  “What about all that desert land, west of those mountains? I remember it, when you brought us all here years later. It encompassed two territories, Utah and Nevada. At that time, we had wagons and supplies. I can’t imagine how the three of you crossed it on horseback with just the clothes on your back.”

  “We crossed it one mile at a time. There’s water out there if you know where to look. If you see a canyon and it has trees growing, then you know there has to be a water source. And we brought a little food with us. We made some venison jerky when we were still in our little valley, and we brought some of those roots Joe had been digging.”

  Joe said, “We stopped at Fort Bridger. An old fur trapper was there, and he was helpful. Drew a map for us.”

  “I remember that man,” Johnny said. “And by early June, we had made it to the second mountain range further west, what they call the Sierra Nevadas.”

  Ginny said, “Were Utah and Nevada all as desolate then as they were when we traveled through?”

  Johnny nodded. “Moreso. When my brothers and I went through, it was still a year before the big gold rush that saw Virginia City and Carson City spring to life. There was a little prospecting going on in the Washoe country, where the gold rush would be, and there was some ranching southwest of that area. That’s all there was that passed for civilization. Most of the territory was wide open and empty. Except for the Indians, who lived like they always had. Roaming free. Hunting an area until the game started to get too thinned out then they’d pack up the entire village and move on.

  “There was no railroad, like there is now. And the only settlements were around the Great Salt Lake, in the eastern part of the territory. We skirted around them, just to be on the safe side.”

  Ginny said, “You three must have looked quite rough, having lived all those months in the wild.”

  Johnny nodded. “We were unshaven and sorely in need of haircuts. Covered in sweat and trail dust. And that’s how we rode into the Sierra Nevada mountains, on the California border.”

  75

  The Sierra Nevadas

  May, 1858

  Johnny was riding a little ahead, climbing a ridge that was covered with pines. Just like with the Rockies, these mountains were covered with a pine forest, and the pines grew far enough apart so a man could ride a horse through. There was very little underbrush to tangle up a horse’s legs. The trees grew tall with most of their green boughs toward the top, so Johnny found no low-hanging branches to catch a rider in the face.

  He topped the ridge, and beyond was a grassy glade that stretched for what he guessed to be a mile.

  The grass was green and lush, and purple and pink flowers grew. Out in the grass were four antelope.

  Johnny gave Bravo’s reins a little tug. The horse was more than happy to stop, after climbing the slope.

  The way the wind was blowing, the antelope hadn’t caught the scent of Johnny or Bravo. Johnny sat in the saddle and watched the animals. They were chewing on grass. Then one would raise its head and look across the field. Probably had heard something. The others would follow suit, then they would go back to grazing.

  Matt and Joe came up behind Johnny, and he held up a hand for them to stop.

  “One of them would sure taste good for supper,” Joe said. “I’m about tired of rabbit.”

  “Rabbit’s all we’ve found for game for the last few days.” Johnny slid his Hawken from the scabbard. “That’s about to change.”

  “Johnny,” Matt said. “They’ve got to be a quarter of a mile away.”

  Johnny nodded. “I loaded two hundred and fifty grains of powder. Just in case we ran into a bear.”

  Joe said, “That should cover a quarter of a mile.”

  Johnny brought the rifle to his shoulder, cocked the hammer back, and pulled the rear trigger to engage the
hair-trigger effect on the front trigger.

  “Johnny,” Matt said. “That’s an impossible shot you’re trying to make. You’re just gonna scare them away. We should try to get closer, maybe move toward them downwind.”

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

  Matt sighed and shook his head.

  Johnny gave the hair-trigger a tap and the gun bucked against his shoulder. The boom echoed, and a cloud of gun smoke swirled about them. Through the smoke, Johnny could see three antelope running off.

  He and his brothers started their horses forward into the glade. There in the grass was one antelope, on its side. Johnny’s fifty caliber ball had caught it just below the ear.

  Johnny said to Matt, “What’d you say?”

  “Not a thing.”

  They found a place to make camp near a small creek. They were close to a mile beyond the field where Johnny had shot the antelope. A thick tangle of junipers was behind them, and behind the junipers was a grove of maples. A good stone’s throw in front of them was the water.

  By nightfall, they had rigged a wooden spit and were roasting a haunch of antelope, and their coffee pot was heating up at the edge of the fire.

  Matt was stretched out on his bedroll and his arms were folded behind his head.

  He said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about back at our little valley. Once we get to California, doing things a little more intelligently than we did in Texas.”

  Johnny was standing by the fire. “I think we might actually be in California now. We’re on the western side of the mountain range.”

  “Then it’s time we put some thought into what we’re going to do.”

  Joe was sitting cross-legged on a blanket by the fire.

  He said, “What do you think we should do?”

  “For one thing, we have to think about our names. The reward posters might have made it all the way to California. There’s no reason to believe they wouldn’t. The posters call for three brothers. You two look enough alike that anyone could tell you’re related.”

  Johnny grinned. “Even with that beard? Joe looks more like a grizzly than my brother.”

  Joe snorted a chuckle.

  Matt said, “Have you looked at yourself, lately? You’re not looking all that much different than Joe. When was the last time you shaved?”

  Johnny shrugged. The last time he had looked into a mirror had been in the Broken Spur bunkhouse. There had been a broken piece of a mirror held up on the wall between two nails.

  Johnny said, “Last time I shaved was Texas.”

  They had left the Broken Spur five months ago. Johnny’s hair now covered his ears and touched his collar in back. His beard wasn’t as thick as Joe’s, but it was three inches long.

  Matt said, “I think the two of you should call yourself brothers. Use an alias. You can’t very well use the name O’Brien, because of that arrest warrant back in Texas. We can say I’m not related. Just a friend. We can say we worked together in Texas. I’ll use Aunt Sara’s maiden name. I’ll call myself Matt O’Toole.”

  Johnny said, “We can call ourselves Reynolds.”

  Joe grinned again. He said, “Worked for me, once.”

  Matt said, “I wonder what Taffy Reynolds would say at the thought of being immortalized this way?”

  Johnny grinned. “She’s immortalized in the memory of many a boy from Sheffield.”

  The coffee was ready, so Johnny filled their cups.

  “So,” Johnny said. “We’re Johnny and Joe Reynolds. Lately from Texas. Might as well keep it as truthful as we can. The more complicated we make our story, the harder it’ll be to keep it all straight. We’re lately from the Broken Spur. Breaker Grant died and no one wanted to work for his son, so we all went different directions.”

  “It’s mostly the truth,” Joe said. “Goullie, Shelby and the others all left for just that reason. And we would have too, even without the arrest warrant.”

  Matt nodded. “Another thing I’ve been thinking about.” He said to Johnny, “Those guns you wear. How many cowhands do you see wearing two guns?”

  Johnny looked down at his guns. He shrugged and said, “I suppose I don’t see many.”

  “At the Broken Spur, I didn’t any. I didn’t in town, either. I saw a couple Texas Rangers riding through one time, and they each wore two guns.”

  Joe said, “He might have a point. Wearin’ them two guns kind of makes you look like a gunman. Which I suppose you are. The gunman of the Rio Grande.”

  Johnny shook his head. “I still hate that name.”

  Matt said, “Is there anything you can do?”

  “Not really. This is a two-holster gunbelt. I had it made in a small town just south of the border.”

  The horses were picketed a little ways from the fire. Bravo’s head went up, his eyes on a point out beyond the firelight, and then the other two horses did the same.

  “What is it?” Matt said.

  “I don’t know.” Johnny set his coffee down to free both hands.

  They heard a stick cracking out in the darkness.

  Matt said, “Indians?”

  Joe shook his head. He was getting to his feet. “If it was Indians, we wouldn’t have heard ‘em.”

  A man called out from the darkness. “Hello, the fire!”

  Johnny loosened the right-hand gun in its holster. He called back, “Come on in! The coffee’s hot.”

  Joe moved off to the other side of the fire, so all three brothers wouldn’t be in an easy line of fire. He hooked a thumb in the belt buckled around his buckskin shirt, which brought his hand within easy reach of his pistol.

  The man came in on foot, leading his horse. He was tall and thin, and he walked with a bow-legged cowhand way. He had leather leggings strapped on over his trousers and a large bandana tied around his neck. His hat was wide-brimmed with a rounded crown. He had a scar that began above one eye and trailed down around the eye to his cheekbone.

  He said, “I could sure take you up on that offer of coffee.”

  Johnny said, “You got a cup in those saddle bags?”

  “Surely do.” He dug a tin cup from his saddle bags and Johnny filled it from the kettle.

  He was about thirty, with some trail dust on his clothes, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days.

  Johnny said, “There a ranch near here?”

  The man shook his head. “We’re out mustangin’. Been out here for a couple of days. We ride for the McCarty Ranch, about a two-day ride west of here.”

  He held out a hand and said, “Name’s Cooper. True Cooper. I’m their ramrod.”

  Johnny shook the hand. “Johnny Reynolds. This here’s my brother Joe. And Matt O’Toole.”

  Cooper blew on the coffee for a moment. Hot coffee can heat up the rim of a tin cup, and you can scald your lip.

  He took a sip and said, “So, what brings you boys out here?”

  “Heading on into California,” Matt said.

  “Mind if I ask from where?”

  Odd thing, Johnny thought. Men of the West usually allowed a man his privacy. They didn’t ask probing questions.

  Johnny said, “Texas. Worked at the Broken Spur for a while.”

  “The Broken Spur? That’s Breaker Grant’s place, isn’t it?”

  Johnny nodded.

  Johnny noticed Cooper give a quick glance to Johnny’s guns.

  Cooper said, “If you don’t mind my sayin’, you don’t really look like cowhands.”

  “Been on the trail a long time,” Johnny said.

  “Haven’t seen many cowhands wear two guns like that.”

  Johnny decided to follow the idea of telling as much truth as possible. “I rode with the Texas Rangers for a while. Old habits die hard.”

  Johnny noticed Bravo and the other two horses were looking off into the night again.

  “Mind if I ask?” Cooper said. “What brings you all the way here from Texas?”

  Matt said, “
Breaker Grant died. His son is running the place now, and a lot of us decided maybe it was time to ride on.”

  “And you decided to go all the way to California.”

  Matt nodded. “We had some money saved up, and decided we’d like to see a different part of the country.”

  Johnny glanced over to the horses. They were all still looking off into the night. Joe had looked toward the horses too, and then his gaze met Johnny’s.

  Johnny said, “So, you’re cowhands, out chasing down wild horses.”

  Cooper nodded. “That’s what we’re doin’.”

  “Well, maybe we don’t look much like cowhands, but if you don’t mind my sayin’, you don’t act much like one.”

  Cooper had been about to take a sip of coffee, but what Johnny said caught him by surprise.

  Johnny said, “Most cowhands I know don’t ride into a camp and accept a cup of coffee while they’re friends hide out in the dark, with their guns trained on the camp.”

  Joe looked at him, his eyes in their habitual squint. “How many guns you got trained on us?”

  Johnny said, “I assume one for each man, and maybe a couple extra. But keep in mind, whatever it is you want, if one of them fires I’ll put my first bullet right between your eyes.”

  Cooper said, “Your gun ain’t even drawn.”

  “Not yet.”

  Cooper looked at him. Johnny returned the gaze. Johnny felt the familiar but strange feeling of calmness wash through him. Should anyone fire from outside the camp, presuming the first bullet didn’t kill Johnny, then he would be hitting the dirt and rolling to make himself a more difficult target to hit. And he would draw his gun as he moved, and his first shot would go into the man called Cooper.

  Joe said, “We don’t want no trouble. Tell your men to stand down.”

  “Whatever it is you want from us, money or horses,” Johnny said, “it won’t be worth it. Because you’ll be dead.”

  Johnny didn’t really think the man was a highwayman, but you never knew these days. And they were a long way from civilization.