The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1)

by Brad Dennison

  “Because, I know those men. I have to make certain Patterson really wasn’t with them when they hit the ranch. It looks like he wasn’t, but I have to make sure. And even so, they have to know I was there at the ranch. They were watching it closely enough to have seen me. This gives us a score we have to settle.”

  Josh looked down toward the town, and sat in silence for a few moments. Then he looked back to Dusty. “It means a lot to me to measure up to being his son. Maybe too much. I don’t know. But I could never call myself his son if I let my brother ride down there alone. Face it, Dusty. You rode onto the ranch to find your family, and you succeeded. I’m not the only one who has to make some adjustments. You have to learn you’re not just a lone wolf anymore. We’re McCabes, and we ride together.”

  “It’s going to be rough. We may not get out alive.”

  Josh shrugged. “Life can be like that.”

  “What about Aunt Ginny and Bree?”

  “They have Pa. He’ll take care of them when he’s recuperated. And they have Zack, and Hunter, and Fred. And they have Jack. They’ll be all right.”

  Dusty smiled and nodded. “All right, brother. But we’re not riding into town. I think staying with our first plan is the better idea. Follow me.”

  They cut a wide circle around town, searching for tracks that would have been made by the three riders who had been with the girl. Tracks made by the riders on their way to town from the ridges.

  In a set of low grassy hills south of town, they found a line of hoof prints pressed into the dry earth. The riders had been holding to single-file, which made it impossible to guess their number.

  Josh and Dusty reined up and sat alongside each other, examining the tracks from the saddle.

  “What do you think?” Josh asked.

  “It’s them.”

  “Probably. But how can you tell for certain? There might be more than one group of riders moving about these hills. I’d hate to spend all morning following the wrong set of tracks.”

  “It’s them,” Dusty said. “Why else would they ride single-file?”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Pa always had us ride single-file. Just to be on the safe side. So anyone coming on our trail wouldn’t be able to tell it was just two riders and think we might be easy prey.”

  “You don’t think that way unless you have a reason to. Pa probably learned that with the Texas Rangers. But most folks wouldn’t think to do that. A group of cowhands leaving town and returning to their ranch probably wouldn’t. Besides,” Dusty said, turning from the trail to look Josh in the eye, “manhunting isn’t all that different from hunting a deer. A lot of it’s instinct. And mine tells me this is the trail.”

  Josh nodded. “All right. Lead the way.”

  The trail swung southward, away from town. Dusty and Josh followed it for a mile, where it turned southwest, then directly west, and led them deeper into the foothills. The low grassy hills soon gave way to steeper slopes scattered with junipers and an occasional pine or cedar. About noon, the trail turned north and followed a line of ridges, then after a mile, swung west again.

  Josh and Dusty stopped in a grassy ravine to let their horses blow. They dismounted and each loosened the cinch.

  “You wouldn’t think they knew where they were going at all,” Josh said. “The way the trail winds around through these hills. It almost seems aimless.”

  “Oh yeah, they know where they’re going.” Dusty was removing the canteen he had slung over the saddle horn. “They’re cutting back and forth, zig-zagging, so there won’t be a clear direction toward where they’re going.”

  Josh took his own a canteen from his saddle and took a sip. “So, tell me about this Vic Falcone.”

  “He was Sam’s right-hand-man for the last couple of years I was with them. Falcone wasn’t the worst of the lot, but he had nothing against shooting a man in the back during a robbery to prevent that man from pointing a finger at him later. But Patterson wouldn’t allow that sort of thing. They didn’t come much harder than Falcone, but he was afraid of Patterson.”

  “But you said he wasn’t the worst of the bunch?”

  Dusty shook his head. “That honor would go to a cutthroat named Kiowa Haynes.

  “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”

  “That’s because you grew up here in Montana. If you had been in Texas or New Mexico, you would have heard the name. He got it from what a Kiowa did to his face with a knife, years ago. He was the most dangerous man I’ve ever known. They say he’d skin a man alive just to hear him scream, and I believe it. And he was even worse to a woman. He’s actually part Apache, and rode with ‘em for a few years when he was younger. But to an Apache warrior, honor is everything, even more precious than life itself. There was no honor in Kiowa Haynes, and they say he was banished from the tribe.”

  “Why’d Patterson ever let him ride with him?”

  “Because he’s a top notch scout, and a good man to have on your side in a fight, and one of the worst when he’s not. You can bet Pa has heard of him.”

  “How did Patterson keep him in line?”

  “As dangerous as Haynes is, he’s no match for Patterson with a gun. And when it comes to fighting with fists or a knife, Haynes was more savage, but he never dared challenge Sam. Old Sam always had this sort of quiet confidence about him. I think Haynes just wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to take the chance.”

  Dusty tipped his canteen for a sip. “Kiowa Haynes is the second reason I’m out here, trailing these men. I have a personal score to settle with him. Haynes was opposed to having me along from the start. I was too young to be of any good to them, and he said they couldn’t afford to have one more mouth to feed when I couldn’t pull my own weight, but he didn’t dare buck Patterson.

  “Then, one night when we were all feasting off an elk one of the men had brought down, Haynes gabbed a steak I was fixing to eat. He came up behind me and with his knife, and speared it right off my plate, and told me if I gave him any grief, he’d carve me up like that elk. He loved to hear children scream, he said, and he knew how to make a person live for days while he was working on him.”

  “I’ll bet you were scared.”

  “Absolutely. I was barely eight years old. Well, Patterson came walking by, as Haynes was saying what he said to me. Patterson whipped out a pistol. So fast I could barely follow the motion of his hand, and he snapped a shot into the ground between Haynes’ feet. Haynes jumped back and looked at Patterson wide-eyed. Patterson told him if he ever hurt me in any way, the next shot would be between his eyes. Patterson said he would shoot him as soon as he would shoot a rabid dog, because he didn’t see much difference. He said to Haynes, ‘You have a job with us, and you do it well. But if you ever cross me, and you’re dead.’

  “That was when I realized Haynes was really afraid of Sam. Haynes never bothered me again. He’d glare at me whenever he had the chance, just to let me know the hate was still in him, and that he would never forget. But he didn’t dare take a chance on crossing Sam.

  “I rode away when I was fifteen. I’ve never seen any of them again.”

  Josh put the cork back in his canteen and slung it on the saddle horn. “Looks like you’ll at least be seeing Falcone, once we find their camp. What will you do if that Haynes hombre is there?”

  “I’d like to shoot him. I know I’m faster now than he’s ever been. I’ve seen him in action, and he’s good, but I know how good I am. I’d like to goad him into a gunfight, and then rid the world of him.”

  “But that wouldn’t be right.”

  “Why not?” Dusty returned the canteen to his saddle, and then began tightening the cinch. “Especially after they attacked the ranch, and almost killed Pa. The thought of what Haynes would do to Bree and Aunt Ginny if we had lost the battle, using his knife on them, makes me mad enough to kill.”

  “The reason you can’t is because you’re Pa’s son. If you did that, you’d be no better than they are. You got some
thing to live up to, now.”

  Dusty nodded. “I always had my own conscience to live up to. Patterson said your own conscience is your hardest judge. But now, it’s almost like the family is looking over my shoulder. I find myself feeling like I don’t want to let any of them down.”

  Josh nodded. “That’s part of what belonging to a family is about. You’re not alone, anymore. You have people who will be there for you when you need them, and you’ll be there for them. And your actions reflect on them, and theirs on you.”

  A scent caught Josh’s nose, a faint touch of peach blossom was on the breeze. How odd, he thought, glancing about. Peach trees don’t grow in these hills.

  They mounted up and rode on.

  The trail led them further into the mountains, westward for a while, then turned north once again.

  They camped the night at the base of a steep slope, in a grove of tall pines. Josh drew his knife and dug a hole three feet deep, in which they built a low fire. The walls of the hole would block most of the firelight. Kind of like what Zack and his men did in the small grove of trees at the edge of the ranch yard, before the raiders attacked. No need to let Falcone and his men know someone was on their back trail.

  Dusty and Josh had finished their last can of beans the night before. They had seen three or four rabbits during the day, but didn’t dare chance a shot that might let raiders know they were out here. In the mountains, a gunshot can echo and carry a fair distance. However, Dusty had dug some roots they could chew on, and Josh had brought a long some jerky from the ranch.

  “I didn’t know these were edible,” Josh said. “They taste almost like sweet potatoes. Let me guess – you learned this from Sam Patterson.”

  “I learned almost everything I know from him.”

  “I’m kind of glad he isn’t with that group anymore. I’m glad you don’t have to face him. Considering all he taught you, and that at one time he was the closest thing to a father you had.”

  Dusty nodded. “Me too.”

  “How far ahead of us do you think they are?”

  Dusty shrugged. “They had a couple hours lead on us when we found their trail this morning. We’ve been keeping a steady pace, but they were taking their time. Probably no more than forty-five minutes, now.”

  “So, when we find their camp, what next? Try to get the drop on them, and take them to a territorial marshal? There’s one in Helena. Keeps his office there.”

  “That’s the plan, I guess,” Dusty said, cradling a tin cup filled with hot coffee in both hands. The night was turning off cool, and his fingers were feeling a chill. “That’s what Pa would expect, isn’t it?”

  “And from what you tell me of these men, what do you think the chances are of us pulling it off?”

  Dusty shook his head. “Not very good.”

  “We’re not riding out of there, are we?”

  “You had to figure, when you first lit out on their trail, that you probably wouldn’t be going home again.”

  Josh sighed thoughtfully. “I have to admit, I really didn’t give it much thought. I was just filled with hate, and intended to go after ‘em. And being Pa’s son, I figured it was my job. I never gave much thought to what would actually happen if I found ‘em.”

  “You’ve got to always think things through to the end result. Learned that from Patterson, too. Every time you do something, you set a series of events in motion.”

  “What the hell was he? A gunfighter or a philosopher?”

  “He was a man who lived hard and saw a little too much, but learned from all of it. Maybe, in his own way, like Pa.”

  “They might have ridden a similar trail in some ways, been shot at a few times too many, and had to do a lot of killing. But Pa learned different lessons from it all.”

  “That’s what sets Pa apart from a lot of the others.” Dusty took a sip of his steaming coffee. “One thing Patterson was, though, was a good teacher. You don’t just ride into a situation blind, he would say, and we’re not going to just ride into their hideout when we find it, either. They must have found a place they could defend easy. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t be staying in this area at all. We’ll have to ride careful, and when we find it, we’re going to sit and watch a while, scout the area so we know what we’re riding into.

  “Again, it’s a lot like hunting deer. We’ll have to be patient. There will be a lot of waiting. Maybe even a couple days worth. And most likely guards will be posted, so we’ll have to be watching for them.”

  “You ever play chess?” Josh asked.

  Dusty shook his head. “I was a fair hand at checkers, though.”

  “I have a feeling you’d be pretty good at it. Remind me to teach it to you when we get back home.”

  “So, you think we’ll live to ride back?”

  “At first, I have to admit, I wasn’t too pleased that you invited yourself along. But I’m realizing more and more my odds of getting out of this alive have probably tripled with you being here.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Dusty said, and took another sip of coffee.

  The sun was not even a half hour into the morning sky and Josh and Dusty were following the trail made by the raiders. Following it deeper into the mountains, through a rocky pass, then up a steep slope heavily wooded with pines. The trail meandered its way down through a small ravine, then to the top of another ridge, then along its crest where it opened into a small canyon.

  The walls of the canyon were rocky and steep, but the canyon floor was thickly wooded with maple and aspen. A chimney made of stones was visible behind the bushy branches of one maple, and smoke drifted skyward.

  “I think we’ve hit paydirt,” Dusty said.

  “So you have, boys,” came a voice from behind them, along with the sound of two Winchesters being jacked. “Don’t make a move for them guns, or we’ll blow you clean out’a them saddles.”

  The man stepped into view. He wore no hat, and black hair fell to his shoulders. A strip of cloth, stained dark from campfire smoke and sweat, was tied about his temples. Black hair fell to his shoulders. A lightning bolt scar trailed down one cheekbone and into the side of his mouth, lifting it into a leering half-smile.

  “Howdy, Kiowa,” Dusty said.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Kiowa Haynes broke into a smile, though there was no smile in his eyes. “Well. Look who’s come back. I’ll bet you never thought you’d ever see me again.”

  “I never thought I’d be that lucky.”

  Haynes snickered. It seemed to Josh this man liked being disliked.

  “You always did think you were too smart for the rest of us,” Kiowa said.

  “Kiowa,” Dusty said, keeping his voice conversational, “I came looking for Sam, but I’ve been told he no longer rides with you.”

  However, Kiowa continued as though he hadn’t heard him. “But I got the drop on you, and I did it easy. You just remember that the next time you’re feeling so goddamned smart.”

  “I said, I came looking for Sam.”

  “He ain’t here.”

  “That’s what I heard. Who’s in charge now? Vic??”

  Kiowa simply stood his ground, his mouth twisted into a smirk, his eyes squinting. Josh had observed that men who were dangerous, or at least thought they were, often held their eyes in a perpetual squint.

  “All right, boy,” he finally said. “I’ll take you down to the cabin. But first, I want you both to shuck them guns.”

  “Kiowa,” Dusty said with surprise that sounded so real Josh would have thought it was genuine, if he did not know better. “After all the years I rode with you and the boys, you don’t think you can trust me?”

  “I never thought I could trust you. And you never rode with us. You just tagged along because Sam kept you as some sort of pet. We allowed it because he was boss. But he ain’t here to protect you no more.” Kiowa Haynes held a Winchester in his hands, the barrel aimed toward Dusty. “Now, toss down them guns, or the new boss will be seein’ you with a
bullet in your head.”

  Josh turned his head a couple of inches, to allow himself a glance behind him and Dusty with his peripheral vision. A man was standing a few yards behind the horses, a Winchester also in his hands.

  “Turn that head anymore,” Kiowa said, “and I’ll blow it clean off your shoulders.”

  Dusty reached toward the buckle of his gunbelt, and Haynes said, “with your left hand only, boy. I seen how fast you are with a gun.”

  Dusty raised his right hand into the air, and unbuckled the belt with his left and let it fall to the earth. Josh did the same.

  “And the saddle guns.”

  Josh and Dusty slid their rifles free, and let them drop.

  Kiowa instructed the man behind Josh and Dusty to go fetch their horses. With Kiowa in the lead and the other man behind them, they rode along a narrow trail that led to down and into the canyon.

  At the canyon floor, Kiowa directed them through a stand of birches and into a large meadow Josh guessed to be thirty acres, in which a small herd of horses grazed. Josh counted maybe twenty. He guessed them to be the remuda. They were strong looking horses, and long-legged. You can tell a lot about a man by his horse, Pa had once said, and these horses were built for running. At the center of the meadow was the log cabin. It was made of crudely cut logs. The stone chimney rose along one wall.

  A man not much older than Josh and Dusty was sitting on a bench outside the cabin. He wore a flat-brimmed sombrero that had seen a lot of wear. His face was reddened, but whether from the sun or too much whiskey, Josh couldn’t tell.

  “I see you have a new man,” Dusty said, so casually it was almost conversational.

  “You ain’t met Loggins,” Kiowa said. “He joined up after you rode out. He ain’t much with a six-gun, but he’s the best you’ll ever see with a rifle. Even better than Patterson was.”