Bree expected Aunt Ginny to send her back to bed with a small reprimand. But instead, her aunt said, “Neither can I. Why don’t we sit together for a while?”
Bree padded over to the sofa in her bare feet and sat.
Aunt Ginny got up from the rocker and grabbed the wrought iron poker, and she shifted some of the wood around in the hearth. Sparks flew upward.
Then Aunt Ginny took an afghan that was folded up on the back of the sofa, sat beside Bree and draped the afghan around both of them.
Ginny said, “I would think your feet would freeze, walking around in your bare feet. You have some nice slippers upstairs.”
“I know,” Bree said. “I just like bare feet.”
Ginny smiled. “I did at your age, too.”
Bree curled her legs up underneath her and leaned her head onto Aunt Ginny’s shoulder.
Bree said, “Will Josh be all right?”
“I hope so, child.”
***
It was pitch black in the shaft, and Josh was surrounded by the smell of damp earth. He heard the howls of wolves from somewhere above. At least he was safe from them down here.
His pistol was in his holster, and it had four shots remaining. A lot of good it did him.
It was raining above, but only an occasional drop made its way down to Josh. He was grateful for that, at least. He was chilled because nights could be cold in the mountains, but it would have been a lot worse if he was wet.
He had to admit, he was afraid. A tear was starting to escape down his cheek, and he had to reach up to wipe it away.
The tear made him mad at himself. Pa never got afraid of anything. Pa wouldn’t have run from that grizzly. Pa would have aimed his gun and taken it down with one shot. Pa looked fear in the face and laughed.
Josh only wished he could find it within himself to laugh now.
He was going to die down here, he thought. He was miles from the house and no one knew he was here.
***
Come morning, as gray light began to lighten the eastern sky, Ginny walked out to the bunkhouse with a shawl around her shoulders. She knocked on the door.
Fred opened the door. He was already dressed and with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Fred,” she said.
“I know. Josh didn’t come home last night. I laid awake the entire night, listening for his horse. I’ll saddle up and go get Johnny and the rest of the men.”
Chapter three
Bree and Jack were in front of the stable with their father. His chocolate-colored stallion Thunder was saddled and ready to go.
Johnny McCabe had worn his hair long ever since he wintered with a band of Shoshone, more than fifteen years ago. His hair was tied into a tail that fell past his shoulders, and he wore a brown Boss of the Plains hat pulled down over his temples. He was in a waist-length brown jacket, and his Remington revolvers were holstered at his hips.
She was forever struck at how larger-than-life he seemed. The stuff of legend, standing right here in front of her and Jack.
Jack was in a Boss of the Plains hat, and a Colt Dragoon was holstered at his side. He had a taken it upon himself to fetch a horse from the remuda and throw a saddle on its back.
He said, “Pa, I want to help. I can ride as well as the next man.”
Johnny gave him a long look, then nodded and said, “Mount up.”
Bree was in a split skirt and riding boots, and her hair was tied into a long braid. She wore a jacket and a flat-brimmed hat.
She said, “Pa, I want to help, too. I’ve ridden these ridges with you almost as much as Jack has.”
He said, “I need you to stay here, Punkin’. I know he’s your brother too, but your Aunt Ginny needs you here.”
She knew that was bunk. He didn’t want her riding along because he thought she was too young. And because she was a girl.
The men were on their horses, waiting for Pa. Zack Johnson was there. Pa had ridden with him back in his Texas Ranger days, and now he was Pa’s right-hand man. Hunter, who was the biggest man Bree had ever seen. He had a big bushy beard and usually a big smile. But right now his brow was furrowed with worry. Reno was there. Bree didn’t like him much. The man swilled too much whiskey, even though Pa didn’t allow drinking on the job, and Pa had to whup him once to make his point. There were also two others. Men Pa had hired in the spring. Charlie and Garner.
Even though Pa had ridden Thunder back to the house this morning, after Fred had ridden out and found Pa and the men, Thunder was itching to get going. Almost like the horse knew a member of the family was in danger and was ready to help.
Pa swung into the saddle, and Bree stood by idly while Pa gave his orders to the men.
Bree felt a combination of fear and anger. Pa thinking she didn’t have what it took to help find Josh got her dander up. Josh wasn’t the only who had inherited Pa’s temper.
She only half-listened to what Pa was saying.
“The rain last night probably washed away his tracks, but I want to cut for sign, anyway. Hunter, I want you to go straight up over West Ridge and see what you can find. Reno, go straight south. Charlie and Garner, I want you both to go east. Spread out a bit. Zack, I want you to ride through the Gap, and out of the valley. See if you can pick up any tracks that way. I’m going further north, to the next ridge over. Jack, you’ll ride with me. Any questions?”
There were none.
Fred was not on a horse. He said, “Where do you want me?”
“Right here,” he said. “In case Josh should come back. If he’s hurt, go get Granny Tate. We’ll all meet back here before dark.”
Pa and the men headed out.
It was about noon. Fred had ridden hard to find Pa and the men, and they had all ridden hard to get back here. It was June, so Bree figured the men had eight hours of searching ahead of them.
Fred wasn’t a tall man, and he was so thin his clothes bagged on him. But he could heft a saddle onto his shoulder with ease. More important, he had a natural way with horses, which was why Pa had made him the wrangler.
He said, “I hate not goin’ with them.”
“Makes two of us,” Bree said.
***
Aunt Ginny said, “In times like these, sitting idly just makes it worse. You have some schoolwork ahead of you, and I have to start on dinner.”
The nearest settlement was the town of Bozeman, almost half a day away, so Aunt Ginny did the schooling at home.
Bree sat at Pa’s desk in the great room. She heard Aunt Ginny working away in the kitchen. Aunt Ginny would sing to herself as she worked, and she was doing so now. Humming the melody of some opera.
Bree had a book open. Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Bree was supposed to read it and write a book report.
But she had no intention of reading today. She hadn’t really intended to disobey Pa, but if she was honest with herself, she had known she was going to conduct her own search for Josh from the beginning.
She cast one quick glance toward the doorway to the kitchen, then pulled off her boots, and hopped to her feet. She threw one more look toward the kitchen, and started for the front door. She scurried along in her socks, with her boots in one hand.
On her way to the door, she stopped at the rifle rack. Among the rifles was a Winchester carbine. It was called a yellow boy, because of its brass receiver. Pa had taught her how to shoot, and he had removed some of the powder from the cartridges so it wouldn’t have more recoil than she could handle. Winchester cartridges normally held forty grains, but he had reduced them to twenty-five. Less fire power, but good enough if you made your shot count.
Pa had said you always take a gun with you when you go riding in the mountains, so she grabbed the rifle.
She was careful with the front door. There was a squeak to the hinge. Pa intentionally did not oil the hinge because if the door should be opened in the night, he wanted to be able to hear it. Pa was forever on alert.
So she opened the door only a few inches and slid sid
eways through the tiny gap. One of the benefits of being so small.
Once she was on the porch, she pulled on her boots, then ran around back.
Fred was busy at the barn. An anvil was set up and he was doing some shoeing work. He didn’t see Bree grab a lariat that was coiled up and hanging over a fence post on the corral. He didn’t see her run to the meadow out back.
She started a loop spinning overhead and dropped it over the head of her favorite horse. She was as good with a rope as any cowhand on the ranch.
She just hoped Aunt Ginny didn’t glance out a kitchen window, because the kitchen windows gave a great view of the meadow.
The horse was a black gelding with four white stockings. Bree called the horse Midnight. She climbed up onto the back and rode it toward the barn, and to the tack shed that was attached.
She half-expected to hear Aunt Ginny from the doorway calling to her. Telling her to get herself back to the house this instant. But Aunt Ginny didn’t call. Bree was beginning to think she might get away with what she was going to do.
She tethered Midnight to a post outside the tack room, then went in to fetch a saddle. Then she jacked the yellow boy open to make sure it was loaded. Pa had said to always do this. You don’t want to need a gun and then find out the hard way that it’s unloaded.
She slid the rifle into the scabbard of the saddle, and then she dragged the saddle out to Midnight. Bree was not a large girl, but she was strong enough when she needed to be, and with both hands she pushed the saddle up and onto Midnight’s back.
She could still hear the ringing of Fred’s hammer, and Aunt Ginny apparently hadn’t noticed she was missing.
Bree worked fast. With the cinch tightened and the bridle in place, she stepped up and into the saddle, and she was off.
***
Aunt Ginny stood on the front porch and watched Bree riding away. The hooves of her horse clattered on the wooden bridge that covered a small stream, then the girl was off and away across the valley floor.
Bree was heading northwest. Toward McCabe Mountain. Ginny figured Bree had an idea where Josh might be.
Be careful, Child, Ginny thought to herself. I don’t want to lose either of you. I don’t know if my heart could take losing both of you.
Chapter four
Bree wasn’t quite sure where she was going. She just knew her brother was out there somewhere, and he had to be in some kind of trouble or he would have come home. She had to find him.
It was as she rode that she noticed the buzzards circling off to her left. Up somewhere on McCabe Mountain.
Pa had always said to follow your gut, so she turned Midnight off toward the wooded ridge.
Once she was riding through the trees, she couldn’t see the buzzards anymore. But she had a good sense of direction.
She knew this ridge well. She had ridden it with Pa more times than she could count.
She had gone partway up the ridge when Midnight started acting strange. Flicking his head back and forth, and acting like he didn’t want to go any further.
Pa had always said to pay attention to your horse, so she gave a tug of the reins and Midnight stopped. He didn’t have to be told twice.
“What is it, boy?” she said. She reached forward to rub the side of his neck.
Then she heard the sound. A sort of growling, moaning.
Midnight turned hard and wanted to run, but Bree had the reins and wasn’t going to lose control of her horse. There was a struggle for a moment, the horse turning in circles and Bree tugging on the reins and saying, “Whoa, now! Whoa!”
The horse stopped but snorted and shook its head some more.
Then Bree saw what the horse wasn’t happy about. Ahead, in the trees, was a bear. A grizzly. It was standing on an outcropping of rock and was maybe a hundred feet away.
The bear was acting strange. Looking at her and waving its head back and forth.
Follow your gut, Pa had always said. She pulled the Winchester from the scabbard.
The bear started for her.
“Hold still,” Bree said to Midnight.
The bear went up on its hind legs. Midnight was about to bolt, and Bree knew she couldn’t wait any longer. Pa had taught her and her brothers to respect life, but this bear was attacking.
She jacked a round into the chamber, brought the rifle to her shoulder and aimed at the bear’s left eye. She didn’t have time to draw a bead. She was more pointing the gun than actually aiming it, the way Pa said you did with a pistol. She pulled the trigger.
The bear turned away and wiggled and roared. It moved in a lumbering run for a dozen yards, and then it fell and rolled a couple of turns down the slope. Then it lay still.
Bree swung out of the saddle and tied the reins tightly around a narrow tree trunk. This horse was afraid, and she didn’t want it running off on her. Then she jacked a fresh round into the chamber and the empty cartridge went flying away. She walked up to the bear.
Her bullet had gone exactly where she had intended for it to go. Pa had said that even though she was only ten, she was one of the best shots with a rifle he had ever seen.
The bear had blood on its shoulder, and it looked like a bullet had cut a furrow and taken off some hide.
She had no way of knowing Josh had shot at the bear, but she wondered who else would have been out here. The wound couldn’t be more than a day old.
She ran back to her horse and climbed into the saddle. “Come on, Midnight. We’re gonna back-track that old bear.”
She was near the top of the ridge when Midnight looked to their left. Bree followed Midnight’s gaze, and saw a rider sitting in the saddle and watching her.
It was Hunter.
He said, “Bree, girl, what’re you doing up here?”
She turned Midnight toward him, and reined up beside him. She said, “I’m out lookin’ for Josh.”
Hunter snorted a chuckle and shook his head. “Does your father know you’re out here? Or Aunt Ginny?”
Bree fidgeted in the saddle. “Well, no. But I’ve gotta help, Hunter. I’ve just gotta. He’s my brother.”
“I heard a rifle go off a while ago.”
Bree nodded. “That was me. Killed me a bear.”
She told Hunter about it.
Hunter was staring at her. “You killed a grizzly bear?”
She nodded. “Didn’t have no choice.”
Hunter shook his head and grinned. “You are your father’s daughter.”
She beamed a smile. That made her feel right proud.
“Come on,” she said. “Help me out. I’m back-trackin’ that grizzly.”
Hunter let out a sigh. “There ain’t no way I’m talkin’ you into goin’ back to the house, is there?”
She said, “Nope.”
She started forward, and Hunter fell into place behind her.
The trail made by the bear just meandered around the side of the ridge. It sort of snaked its way around, changed direction, then changed again.
“It was wounded,” Hunter said. “That bullet scrape you said was on its shoulder. It was hurtin’ and just wanderin’. Not goin’ anywhere in particular.”
After a while, the tracks became fainter and then were gone entirely.
“Washed away by the rain last night,” Hunter said. “We’re not gonna be able to backtrack it any further. It could have wandered miles after it got shot.”
Bree shook her head. “All it’s been doin’ today is wanderin’ around in its pain, and maybe some loss of blood. No reason to think it wasn’t doin’ that before it started rainin’.”
“So, we’re just going to ride around the ridge? See what we can find?”
She nodded. “That’s what I’m gonna do.”
“Look, we’ve followed that grizzly about as far as we can.”
“Someone fired a gun at it. Has to have been Josh.”
Hunter shook his head. “I can’t talk you out of it, because no one has ever been able to talk you out of anything. And I sure
can’t leave you alone out here.”
“Come on. We’re near the look-out. Let’s go check it out.”
Hunter followed her to the outcropping of bedrock. They could see the ranch house down below. A cape cod style design, made of logs. Smoke was drifting from the chimney.
And they could see the buzzards Bree had seen from the valley floor, but they were a lot closer.
“Come on,” she said.
They followed the ridge down, and came to a horse lying on its side. It was a mustang from the McCabe remuda.
A buzzard was swooping down low and another was on the ground. But the horse was still alive.
Bree rode Midnight right up to the horse and jumped out of the saddle.
“Bree!” Hunter called after her. “Hold up!”
But she wasn’t listening. She knelt by the horse. “It’s okay, boy.”
Hunter swung out of the saddle. He said, “It’s one of ours.”
She nodded. “It’s the horse Josh rode out on yesterday. Look, it’s got a broken leg.”
Hunter walked up the slope a little bit, and found a section of exposed roots. He said, “The roots make a sort of opening here. Not much different from a gopher hole. The horse must have stepped in it.”
“Must have been runnin’ hard,” Bree said, “to have landed all the way over here after it fell.”
Hunter nodded. The roots were fifty feet from where the horse was lying. “The horse tripped here and went flipping and rolling.”
“The question is, where’s Josh?”
“We gotta put this horse down,” Hunter said. “We don’t want to leave it in pain, and there’s nothing that can be done, now.”
She nodded and rose to her feet. “I’ll get my rifle.”
Hunter shook his head and said, “I’ll do this, honey.”
He went to his horse and pulled his rifle.
He said, “Now, you shut your eyes.”
***
Josh was lying in the hole. More than a day without eating, and he nearly froze the night before. The day was warmer, but when you’re ten feet down an old shaft, it doesn’t get a whole lot warmer.
Wanted: A Western Story Collection Page 2