Josh tossed his gun aside, and charged at Dusty.
Dusty ducked, and Josh fell forward onto Dusty’s back. Dusty straightened, and dumped Josh head first to the floor behind him. Josh landed in a somersault, his stetson tumbling away. Josh had executed a similar maneuver on Reno.
Dusty turned to drop onto Josh and go to work with his fists, but Josh brought both feet upward and thrust them into Dusty’s chest, pushing him away. Dusty lost his footing and fell to the hay strewn floor.
Both scrambled to their feet, then went toe to toe, Dusty landing a punch to Josh’s ribs, and Josh returning one to Dusty’s stomach.
Dusty stood at least an inch taller, with broader shoulders and arms that packed more muscle, but Josh was lighter and quicker, ducking a roundhouse punch thrown by Dusty, then with his feet planted far apart for balance, sent an uppercut to Dusty’s jaw.
Dusty’s feet went out from under him and he landed on his back.
Josh dove at him, but it was Dusty’s turn to bring both feet up, and he sent Josh flying over his head and to the floor.
Both again scrambled to their feet. Dusty’s hat had fallen and lay against his back from the chin strap.
Josh lunged at Dusty, who stepped aside, and wrapped an arm around Josh’s neck to hold him pinned at his side. With his free fist, Dusty punched at Josh’s face. Once. Twice.
Josh managed to get one hand on Dusty’s collar and another behind one leg, and lifted him from his feet. Both fell to the floor, and Dusty’s grip on him was broken.
Each, now huffing for breath, lurched to his feet and charged at the other.
Josh raised his fists and snapped his left out for a jab that landed on Dusty’s cheekbone. Dusty then swung a roundhouse punch, his fist glancing against the side of Josh’s jaw. Josh sent another jab to Dusty’s face, mashing his upper lip, then a right cross to an eye, and Dusty’s feet again went out from under him, and he was again on the floor.
Dusty propped himself up on one elbow, blood trickling from his lip, but he rose no further. His chest heaving for air, he brought up a hand to wipe the blood from his lip, and a gash on his cheekbone.
Josh stood over him. He was also sucking in air, and a red welt had started to rise above one eye, and another at his cheek. He was shaking his right hand, the knuckles of which had taken a beating against Dusty’s face.
“I can’t help it if you didn’t have a family when you were growing up,” Josh said, “and maybe you are my brother. I don’t know. But I want you off this ranch. And tell your partners out there we’re ready for ‘em if they decide to ride on us.”
Dusty rose to his feet, and staggered past Josh to the stall. He backed out the horse, leaped onto its back, and with only the halter to turn the horse with, he nudged it’s ribs with his heels and the horse burst into a gallop, carrying him out the stable door.
Bree stepped from the porch to see Dusty riding away, with no saddle, and with his hat still dangling behind him.
“Dusty!” she called out.
“Forget him,” Josh said, approaching the porch. His hat was once again in place, and his revolver in his holster. Tucked into the front of his gunbelt was Dusty’s peacemaker, which he had picked up from the stable floor.
“You’ve been fighting,” Bree said.
Josh nodded. “But he knows I know the truth about him, now. He won’t be back.”
TWENTY-SIX
Dusty kept his horse to a walk as he rode onto the single street of McCabe Town. Ahead of him was Hunter’s Saloon.
The bleeding had stopped from the pounding he had taken from Josh’s fists, but his lip was swelling and one eye had swollen shut.
Dusty had no money, but was hoping to exchange some labor for a glass of whiskey. Maybe two. He knew money wouldn’t be an issue for Hunter, but Dusty had his pride. Maybe he could resume his cooking and bartending duties. Or, he could just put this town and the McCabe family behind him, and head out for Oregon.
His quest was over, he decided. He had met the McCabes, told them who he was, learned a little about who they were and where he was from.
Dusty reined up beside a horse that was already tethered in front of Hunter’s. He swung from the saddle, feeling a tightness at one side of his ribcage. Not only were his ribs bruised, but maybe he had pulled some muscles, too.
As Dusty gave the rein a couple turns about the hitching rail, Hunter hurried out onto the porch, hastily slamming and locking an outer door over the swinging doors. It was as he turned from the door, starting toward the horse tethered beside Dusty’s, that Hunter noticed him.
“A little early to be closing up, ain’t it?” Dusty asked.
“Actually, I was heading out to your Pa’s place. Fred rode into town this morning and told me those raiders might be back. I was going to see if you boys needed any help.”
“Actually, I was hoping for one of your cold beers. Or maybe even a glass of whiskey.”
“Judging by the look of you, I’d say you needed one. Come on, we got time for one.”
Hunter unlocked the outer door, and Dusty eased himself into a chair in the barroom as Hunter fetched a bottle and a couple shot glasses from behind the bar. He took a chair across the table from Dusty.
“You hiring?” Dusty asked. “I’ve gotta pay for this whiskey somehow.”
“I’ll take your help any time you want to offer it. But I’ll never take your money. You drink and eat here for free.”
Dusty tasted a little blood, and realized his lip was bleeding again. He reached up to wipe it away with the back of his hand and then knocked back a mouthful of whiskey.
“You look like you got run over by a horse,” Hunter said.
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Can I assume it’s safe to say things aren’t going so well with the family?”
“With Josh in particular.”
Hunter nodded. “The boy can be quite a scrapper. He’s held his own in here on a Saturday night more than once.”
“Well, he’s made it clear I’m not welcome. He thinks I’m scouting for them raiders.”
“He doesn’t believe your story?”
“I think he does, or at least he’s leaning that way. But he thinks I’m a spy for the raiders, anyhow.”
“Josh tends to think with his temper. Sometimes it benefits him, but sometimes it can be a dangerous thing, and he ends up having to work twice as hard to pick up the pieces later.”
“I guess I was a fool.”
“For what?”
“For thinking...whatever it was I was thinking. You can’t just ride into a place, a grown man, and announce you’re a long lost son or brother, and expect to be welcomed with open arms.”
“You’re not a fool for wanting to meet your family. In fact, I think you’re entitled to it. And to have the chance to get to know them. To learn about where you come from.”
“That’s just it. I was hoping to find my roots. But my roots aren’t there in that house. I thought I’d find them there, but I didn’t. I found a man’s home, his family, but not mine. Not really.”
He knocked back some more whiskey, and continued. “I did a lot of thinking about that on the ride out from the ranch. Josh, he was raised by the old man. That house is his home, and has been for as long as he can probably remember. Me, I’m not even from Montana. When I think of where I’m from, it’s Arizona, New Mexico, Texas. I wasn’t raised by the old man. I was raised by –,” he had been about to say Sam Patterson, but caught himself before the words could escape. “By someone else.”
“You share blood with those people. Except for Aunt Ginny, but that won’t matter to her.”
“Yeah. She was the first to accept me. She believed my story before I even had a chance to tell it. She had it figured out before you and I even arrived that night.”
“Yep. She’s quite a woman. The glue that holds the family together, really, since the death of Johnny’s wife.”
“And you’re right, I do share blood w
ith the old man, and Josh and Bree. But family ain’t about blood. It’s about love. It’s about being part of each other’s lives. Me, I’m just a stranger, an outsider, who happens to also have McCabe blood. They didn’t ask for me to come crashing in on their lives.”
Hunter nodded, and there was a smile in his eyes. “So, what are you gonna do now?”
Dusty shrugged. “I don’t really know. Maybe head on out to Oregon. There’s a girl waiting for me there, and I don’t want to keep her waiting too long. Or maybe try to seriously talk you into that job as bartender and cook.”
Hunter knocked back his drink, emptying his glass, and refilled it. “Well, whatever you decide, you don’t strike me as the kind who would leave a job unfinished. Them riders are still out there in the mountains, and if they decide to hit the McCabe ranch, I plan to be right there shooting back at ‘em. And maybe you can’t call those people family, but they are blood, even Josh, and you know more about tactical warfare than anyone I ever met. Except for maybe the old man himself. You ain’t said much about your background, but I bet you’ve got a hell of a story to tell, and I hope to hear it someday. Maybe on a cold winter night, sitting around a wood stove with a bottle of whiskey. But in the meantime, we’ve got a job to do. Let’s ride back, and hold off any long-term decisions until them raiders are taken care of.”
Dusty nodded. “All right. I’m with you.”
Johnny McCabe swung out of the saddle in front of the stable, and was giving the rein a couple wraps about the hitching rail as Josh approached from the hose, Dusty’s Peacemaker tucked into the front of his gunbelt.
“Is Fred back yet?” Pa asked. “Thunder needs a good rubdown. We covered a lot of miles today.”
Josh shook his head. “I’ll take care of him. Why don’t you go in and have supper. I just finished.”
“Doesn’t the family eat together anymore?”
“Aunt Ginny said there’s too much going on for us to worry about that.”
Pa nodded. “We’re going to have tight security every night, like this was a military camp. I’m going to want guards posted all night to warn us should riders approach, and I want them posted by day, too. In the morning, I’ll ride out again. We’ve got to keep an eye on them. Try to guess their number and maybe even figure when they plan to strike, by their movements throughout the ridges, camp placement and such things.”
“No,” Josh said. “I think I should go. You’ll be needed here, if they should decided to attack during the day. You’re our leader. I’m more expendable than you are.”
Johnny was about to protest – Josh was not in any way expendable. Yet, he couldn’t deny his son was right. The leader should be in camp should the raiders strike.
It was then Johnny allowed himself to fully notice the pistol tucked into Josh’s belt. “That’s Dusty’s gun, isn’t it?”
Josh nodded.
“Where is he?”
“He’s gone, Pa, and he ain’t coming back.” Josh told his father about the fight.
“Did he actually admit to riding with them?”
“No, but he didn’t deny it, either.”
“Well,” Johnny scratched his chin. “If that’s the situation, then I guess you took care of it. I will say I’m a little disappointed, though.”
“Why? I say, good riddance to him.”
“That’s because he’s not your son. I should have been there for him, the way I was for you. I’m no less his father than I am yours or Bree’s or Jack’s. I was kind of hoping that, well, maybe I could get to know him, and maybe undo some of the damage.”
Pa turned and started for the house. “You’re a good man, Josh. It’s good to know I can count on you.”
Josh couldn’t help but smile. And yet, he also couldn’t help but notice a weariness in Pa’s step, like each foot was unusually heavy.
Josh realized he had been thinking entirely about how Dusty’s sudden appearance affected him, but he had never given any thought to Pa’s feelings. After all, Josh thought, how would he himself feel if he was in Pa’s place?
He reached for Thunder’s rein, to lead the stallion into the stable, when one of the men called out, “Riders comin’!”
Josh looked out toward the meadow that stretched away northward across the valley floor. Pa had stopped in midstride between the stable and the house, and was also looking. Josh found he had to squint against the sun, which was drifting low above the ridge line to the west, and could see a group of riders. Six, maybe seven.
Josh walked toward Pa.
“It can’t be the raiders. There aren’t enough of them,” Josh said.
“I think you’re right,” Pa said. “The horses move like they’ve been ridden a lot of miles. Raiders would want to use fresh mounts.”
Josh hated to admit he had not noticed this, but now that Pa had mentioned it, he saw that each horse indeed held its head down a little as it stepped, and the riders were keeping their horses to a slow trot. Even so, Josh loosened the pistol in his holster.
As the riders pulled to within two hundred yards, Josh still couldn’t make out their faces because the sun was drifting low and their faces lost in deep shadows. But he knew the two riders at the head of the group by the way they carried themselves in the saddle. One had wide shoulders that sloped a little as though the rider were always tired, and he moved with a slow deliberation that belied the quickness he could command with a gun or a fist. Zack Johnson. And the man who sat beside him, with a narrow build but who rode a horse like he had been born to it, was Fred Mitchum.
The riders reigned up before Johnny and Josh.
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” Johnny asked Zack through a wide grin.
With one hand Zack pushed back his hat back, taking the shadow of the wide brim away from eyes that always seemed to dance with mirth, and the scar a Kiowa knife had made on his left cheekbone.
“I heard an old friend of mine was in trouble,” Zack said, flashing a smile that was always quick to surface. “He’s a no-good son-of-a-bitch, but I thought I’d see if we could lend a hand anyway.”
Fred said, “Aunt Ginny sent me to ride on down the stretch and bring in some reinforcements.”
“Thank you, Fred,” Aunt Ginny said from the porch.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder toward her; he hadn’t heard her step out from the house. “You could have told me where he was.”
“You never asked me,” she said with a smug smile. “And you never would have agreed to it, because you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”
Johnny gave her a long look, smiling with his eyes, then turned back to the riders. “Zack, what about your place?”
Zack shrugged. “Well, I owe you my life a few times over.”
Johnny nodded. “That goes both ways.”
“And I figure,” Zack said, as he swung out of the saddle, “you got more here to offer any raiders than I do, and more to lose. I got no family. It’s just me, the small crew that works for me, and my few hundred head of cattle. It wouldn’t take me as long to rebuild.”
Johnny clasped a hand to his old friend’s shoulder. “I appreciate it.”
“Aunt Ginny,” Zack called out to her. “I hope you cooked enough for all of us. We been ridin’ all afternoon, and Fred, here, has been in the saddle all day. We’re each of us hungry as a b’ar.”
“I’ve prepared a huge pot of stew for you all. Come on in.”
“Josh and I’ll take care of the horses,” Johnny said. “You boys go on in.”
“No, Pa,” Josh said. “You’ve been in the saddle all day, too. Go on in. I can take care of the horses.”
Johnny clasped a hand to his son’s shoulder, as he had just with Zack, and turned to follow the others to the house.
Josh untied Thunder and led the stallion along with the other mounts to the stable. He led each horse into a stall, where he tied a rein to an iron ring imbedded in a wall, and began to strip off the saddles. Thunder was antsy. As tired as the stallion w
as, he didn’t like walls and wanted to be outdoors as soon as possible.
“Easy, big fella,” Josh said.
“More riders comin’!” came a call from outside.
This time, Josh felt alarm. Who else would be coming? He drew his pistol, quickly checked the loads, and then ran outside.
Pa and Zack were standing on the porch. Zack’s foreman, Ramon, who had ridden with them, stepped out of the house with a Winchester ready in his hands. Zack gripped a revolver in his right hand. Pa’s pistols were still holstered, but they were never far from his hands.
Long shadows now stretched across the valley floor. The motion of something approaching, and the faint drum of shod hooves on sod, were the only indications something was out there.
“I only see two,” Zack said.
Johnny shook his head. “You’re eyes are better’n mine. I can’t make out one from the other.”
“Must be age catching up with you.”
Johnny shot a glance to Zack, whose smile was back. The old joke still persisted. Zack was younger than Johnny, though by only a year and some odd months, and was forever reminding him of it.
Josh could see there were only two, also, as the riders drew nearer. “I wonder who it could be?” he called back to the porch.
Johnny looked to Zack. “More of your riders?”
“Shouldn’t be,” he replied. “I left a skeleton crew to watch the herd, and told them not to follow. I don’t want to ride back and find my cows wandering all over the countryside.”
The riders approached the buildings, keeping their horses to a shambling trot, and reined up before the porch. One wore a heavy beard, his eyes hidden under a dark hat.
“Hunter,” Johnny said. “It’s starting to look like old home week around here.”
“I couldn’t let you boys have all the fun for yourself.”
Beside him was a rider whose hat was suspended at his shoulder blades from a rawhide chinstrap, and he wore a faded blue shirt.
“Dusty,” Johnny said. “I thought Josh told you to ride on.”
The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) Page 25