They rode along a ways, taking the trail out of the valley. Johnny didn’t figure the man had ridden back into the valley, because he would have risked being seen. If he had wanted to be seen, then he wouldn’t have been spying on the ranch from a distance.
They saw no tracks that might indicate a rider had left the trail, or come overland and then picked it up.
They reached a point where the trail forked. South would take them to Jubilee. North, the trail wound its way between ridges until it would come to the Willbury Ranch.
Johnny said, “He approached the valley by riding along the trail, then once he was in the pass, he cut up and over McCabe Mountain and then down to where he could watch the house.”
Bree said, “Which direction do you think he came from?”
“I can’t imagine Tom Willbury sending someone to the valley to spy on us. We have no beef with him. Must have been from town. Let’s take a ride on in and see what we can find out.”
Jubilee was growing every day. On the hills outside of town, hammering and sawing was going on, and frameworks of two-by-fours were being setup. Soon buildings would be there. Ginny was on the town council—even though she wasn’t officially a resident of the town, she was a business owner—and according to her there was talk of zoning. Commercial zones and residential.
Give me a ranch house off in a remote valley any day, Johnny thought. Or a cabin off in a remote canyon, since their little valley as now not so remote. He would build a house for Jessica, Cora and himself on that shelf in the canyon he had shown Dusty yesterday, and not have to worry about zoning or any of that. There would be no taxes. Their well-being wouldn’t be subject to the political whims of town leaders.
It occurred to him as he and Bree rode along that with all of the building happening on the hills outside of town, those hills soon wouldn’t be thought of as outside of town. They would soon be part of the town.
People Johnny had never seen before were riding along the street. A covered wagon was making its way along, with a middle-aged man and woman on the front seat. The man was not a cattleman, Johnny noted. He had a jacket and a short-brimmed hat like folks wore back East. Maybe he was a miner or a shop keeper. People moved along the boardwalk. Some in ties and jackets, others in homespun shirts with suspenders over the shoulders. Some wore caps and others the wider-brimmed hats you normally saw in cattle country. Though, Johnny supposed, this was now mining country every bit as much as it was cattle country.
Jubilee had two main streets. One was actually called Main Street, and the other was Randall Street. Both converged on a small section that was starting to be called the town square. The Second Chance was on one side, and Randall’s hotel was on the other.
A huge structure was being assembled immediately behind the hotel. It was two floors high and much longer than the hotel. When it was finished, it would replace the hotel, because the ramshackle structure Frank Shapleigh had originally built now looked almost comically out of place.
The town square at the convergence of Randall and Main was filled with people. A man in a buckskin shirt and a long beard that fell to his chest was riding along. There was silver in his beard—he was no spring chicken. But he wore his pistol high on his left side and turned around for a cross-draw. The only reason a man would do that would be if he knew how to use it. But he just rode along, not looking at anything in particular, and yet Johnny could see his eyes missed nothing.
There was another covered wagon, this one in front of Franklin’s general store. A team of mules hitched to it looked tired and bored. A couple of young boys were bouncing a ball back and forth on the boardwalk in front of the store, but no adults were in sight. Probably in the store talking with Franklin.
“Let’s head to Hunter’s,” Johnny said to Bree.
She was grinning. “In the mood for a cold beer? I don’t see how that’s gonna help us find the man we’re looking for.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
She laughed.
A man maybe halfway through his thirties was riding along. His hair was shaggy and he had some whiskers on his face, but he had the look of a cowhand who was long between jobs, rather than a wandering saddle bum.
He rode up as Bree and Johnny were pulling rein in front of the Second Chance.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I noticed the brand on your horse, Miss. Are you from the McCabe Ranch?”
Midnight had a circle M brand on his hip. Thunder bore no brand at all. It somehow didn’t seem right to put a brand on an animal like this.
Johnny said to the rider, “I’m Johnny McCabe.”
“The man hisself,” he said.
“I tend to be.”
He grinned. “Abe Taggart.”
He leaned out over the saddle and held out his hand, and Johnny leaned forward and shook it.
He said, “I’m lookin’ for a job. I was wondering if you might be hirin’.”
“My son Josh does all the hiring, now. Just follow the road outside of town. Where it forks, take a right and it’ll take you into the valley. Follow it south, and it’ll lead you to the ranch house.”
“Thank you kindly,” and he was on his way.
Johnny and Bree stepped out of the saddle and went into Hunter’s. It was now called the Second Chance Saloon, but those few who had been local before the gold strike still called it Hunter’s. Johnny had Chen fetch him a cold beer from the root cellar, and Bree had herself a cold sarsaparilla.
They stood at the bar and told Hunter about what they had found. A man watching the ranch.
Partway through this, Vic Falcone came walking in.
“Still wearing a tin star,” Johnny said.
“Still the marshal,” he said. “At least until the upcoming election.”
Bree said, “You won’t get my vote. Not that I can vote. Too young and not a town resident.”
Johnny had to grin.
But to Falcone’s credit, he said, “I don’t deserve your vote, Miss.”
The good marshal wasn’t dressed in the dapper way he usually was. Not that Johnny got to town much. He never had before, and now that it was no longer the quiet, mountain community of McCabe Gap but the blossoming boom town of Jubilee, he had even less reason to come here. But he noticed Falcone was in a range shirt and jeans. He wore a dark, pinstriped vest that had one time gone with a formal suit but was now showing some wear.
“Slumming, Falcone?” Johnny said.
He shrugged. “The pay of a marshal isn’t much. I make do.”
Bree said, “Maybe you ought to raid a ranch or two. Might help your budget.”
Johnny couldn’t help but laugh. But as he laughed, he was watching Falcone for any sign of retaliation. Johnny was going to lay him out on the saloon floor if he gave the slightest provocation. Johnny had to admit, he was hoping he would.
But Falcone just nodded and said, “I had that coming. I totally deserve it.”
She said, “You might think you’re earning some sort of restitution, but—“
Johnny cut her off. “Okay, Bree. He’s had enough.”
She said, “No he ain’t. I’m just getting started.”
Falcone said, “Miss McCabe, I can’t ask your forgiveness. I have no right. But believe me, I intend to do what I can for the citizens of Jubilee.”
Hunter was behind the bar, and he said, “It’s impossible to undo something that’s been done, but maybe you can start over.”
Johnny gave him a look. Hunter had been one of the most vocal critics of Falcone being hired as marshal.
Hunter said, “Been listenin’ to that nephew of your’n. The preacher. He talks a lot about second chances.”
Johnny continued talking about the man who had been watching our ranch. How he and Bree had trailed him here to town.
Bree said, “You have some experience with spying on our ranch, don’t you, marshal?”
Falcone decided to ignore her. There was no way to win a fight with Bree, anyway.
He said t
o Johnny, “My jurisdiction ends outside the valley, but what I can do is keep my ears open.”
Johnny nodded. “Much obliged.”
When Falcone left, Johnny said to Bree, “You don’t cut him much slack, do you?”
“He doesn’t deserve any.”
Hunter was giving a deep chuckle. He was a big man with a big voice that seemed to rumble from somewhere down inside his chest.
He said, “Bree, if you should ever square off against Falcone, I would put my money on you, anytime.”
“Dang tootin’,” she said, and took a sip of her sarsaparilla.
8
Johnny and Bree rubbed down their horses, and by the time they were walking back toward the house, the sun had dropped behind the ridge to the west and the sky was fading to a steel gray.
Johnny hurt as he walked. His lower back and hips. He hated to admit he was getting too old for being in the saddle as long as he had been today. This was not what it was like before he was shot three summers ago. He had spent nearly two months out of the saddle, and when he went back to it, he felt like he had aged ten years. He was hoping he would regain what he had lost, but he never did seem to.
He didn’t talk about to this to anyone, except Jessica.
Bree skipped up the steps to the kitchen floor, as filled with energy as she had been before they had left this morning. Johnny took each step one at a time and winced a little with each one.
He had been thrown by a horse ten years ago, and wrenched his knee in the process. Granny Tate had told him if he went easy on it for a week or so, he would be all right. And he was. But now he felt the old injury flaring up again. Part of age, he supposed.
The kitchen was a flurry of activity. Temperance was in charge, like she often was these days. Haley and Jessica were with her, and they were whipping up a meal. Porterhouse steaks. The smell made his mouth water.
Jessica scooted over to him and gave him a kiss, and said, “How was your day?”
He said, “Fine. Bree and I did some riding.”
Johnny was amazed at what he and Jessica could say with just their eyes. And what they said beneath the words they used. Johnny could see in her eyes that she knew he was hurting and didn’t want to tell anyone, and she knew there was a lot more to tell than just Johnny and Bree going riding. He would probably tell the family over dinner that they had found someone was watching the ranch. But he would tell only Jessica about the aches in his joints, and that talk would come once they were snuggled into their warm bed.
Johnny and Bree were both covered with dust and they knew her Aunt Ginny would never allow them at the dinner table looking like they did. Neither would Temperance. Bree never just walked but sort of bounded from one foot to another, and she did this as she went from the kitchen into the parlor, heading upstairs to make herself presentable for dinner. Johnny followed behind, trying not to hobble.
Josh and Dusty were in the parlor and Charles was with them, and they each had a glass of scotch in hand. Ginny was in her rocker and a goblet of white wine was on the stand beside her. Jonathan was in a playpen out in the middle of the wide-open parlor. A fire was roaring in the big stone hearth, and Cora was sitting on the sofa just enjoying the atmosphere of the whole family being together.
For many years, it had been just Jessica and Cora in their little canyon in California. Cora often looked at this bustling household with wonder.
Bree gave Charles a peck on the cheek and he said, “Where you been all day?”
She said, “Off riding with Pa.”
And then she bounded up the stairs to get ready for dinner. Just watching her bound made Johnny feel tired.
Johnny needed to use a wash basin, too. Wash the dust off his face. Get on a clean shirt. Maybe unbuckle his gun belt and leave it upstairs. But his chair was calling to him and he decided to give in.
He dropped into the chair with maybe a little too much of a groan, and Ginny said, “Joshua, go fetch your father a scotch.”
He said, “Yes’m,” and went to it.
She was looking at Johnny with a grin. She, too, understood the ache in his joints. But with Ginny, it wasn’t that he had confided in her. She just knew from experience.
Johnny said to her, “I don’t want to hear it.”
She laughed.
Josh brought over a tumbler half-filled with scotch, and Johnny took a belt.
The chair he was sitting in was one he had built himself. He had used narrow pine logs for the frame, and upholstered it with cowhide. It wasn’t very soft, like the cushions in Ginny’s rocker. She had brought the chair from ‘Frisco. But he found his chair was just what the doctor ordered after a long day in the saddle.
Folks who don’t drink whiskey wouldn’t know this, but it has a way of warming you from the inside out. He sat in his chair, sipped his whiskey and let his aching joints have a reprieve.
He listened with a smile as the boys laughed and chatted about everything from the roof on the new house they were building to the price of cattle Josh hoped to get when they got the herd to Cheyenne.
Ginny said to Johnny, “We had two visitors this afternoon.”
She spoke as though she were talking with some high-society folk. Like this was a mansion in a high-falutin’ part of San Francisco and they had had callers, rather than just a ranch where folks rode up and said howdy.
Johnny said, “Do tell.”
She said, “A young man by the name of Abe Taggart. He was seeking employment. However, Joshua was off with Dusty working on the new house.”
Johnny nodded. “I met him town. Sent him out this way.”
“I told him to return tomorrow morning.”
“Who else was out here?”
“Young Billy Mathers.”
Billy was a kid in town. About ten years old. He had a mule he rode, and often ran errands.
Johnny said, “What did Billy want?”
“He was delivering a letter to you.” She looked over to the boys. “Josh, where is that letter Billy Mathers brought out here for your father?”
“I’ll get it.” He went to the desk at the other side of the room and brought back an envelope.
It was time for Johnny to deal with another aspect of his diminishing capacities that he didn’t want to talk about. He had noticed that it was getting harder and harder to see things up close.
He opened the letter. The light in the room was getting dim because it was getting dark outside, so he sat forward and held the letter in the light of the fire. The message was written in ink and with a flowing hand, but he found he had to hold it back a bit so he could see it clearly.
“Funny thing,” Ginny said, “how our arms grow shorter as we get older.”
Johnny gave her a pained look and she laughed. She wore spectacles to handle the problem, but Johnny hadn’t gotten to the point that he was ready to concede to them yet. Though he thought maybe he was getting mighty close to it, because even holding the letter out and away from him, the letters were still too fuzzy to read.
“Let me see it,” she said.
He handed her the letter, and with her spectacles perched on her nose, she said, “Oh. It’s from Bertram Reed. The new land speculator in town.”
Johnny nodded. “Yeah, I know who he is. He introduced himself to me a few weeks ago.”
Ginny said, “It seems he is requesting your presence tomorrow afternoon at Johansen’s. He wishes to make you a business offer.”
“A business offer?”
“Maybe he wants to buy some beef.”
He said, “I’ll bring Josh with me. After all, he’s running the ranch, now.”
They all sat for dinner. Johnny had managed to get himself upstairs and was now in a white boiled shirt. Talk ranged from Josh’s and Temperance’s upcoming nuptials to the trail drive Josh was planning. He talked about needing another hand or two, and Josh said he hoped this Taggart feller had some experience.
After dinner the house quieted down. Folks turned in to bed. Char
les had joined them for dinner like he often did but then headed back to the bunkhouse. Jessica had gotten Cora to bed and was now sitting on the sofa in front of the fire. Ginny had gone to bed to read for a while. Josh was standing in front of the hearth with a scotch in his hand. Dusty and Haley had turned in.
Bree was in her aunt’s rocker. She said, “I keep wondering about that man who has been watching the ranch.”
“I have a plan for that,” Johnny said. He was getting another glass of scotch from the small table where Ginny kept the decanter.
“What’s that?”
But before he could answer, he heard the sound of a boot scuffing outside on the front porch.
Bree looked at him, but he held one finger up vertically to his lips to indicate for her to be quiet.
He said, as though he had heard nothing, “So, Josh, have you thought much about the route you’ll be taking with the herd?”
As Johnny said this, he set his glass of scotch down on the arm of his chair and reached for his pistol.
Except his pistol wasn’t there. It was upstairs in the bedroom. Dang.
He glanced across the room to the rifle rack. Three Winchesters stood there, along with a scattergun and his Sharps and the old Hawkin.
Josh said, “Been thinkin’ about it. I got a couple of options.”
Josh followed his father to the rifle rack.
Bree talked from where she sat, as though she was carrying on the conversation. “I would think one option might be just to follow the Bozeman trail all the way down. There should be water along the way, especially this time of year.”
Jessica said, “The fire sure is nice tonight, don’t you think?”
Bree said, “Sure is.”
Johnny handed a Winchester to Josh. All of the rifles in the rack were loaded. One thing Johnny had learned over the years—a gun that’s not loaded is of little use. Keep your guns loaded and treat them like they are loaded.
Johnny and Josh worked the action of their rifles carefully, slowly, to make as little sound as possible. Then with a round chambered and the hammer cocked, Josh pulled the door open and Johnny stepped out, rifle raised to shoot.
Trail Drive (The McCabes Book 5) Page 4