Cade climbed the grassy hill with Vic’s horse. There was a hackamore over the animal’s nose, but no saddle. Walker grabbed Vic by the suspenders and hauled him to his feet one more time.
Walker grabbed Vic by the hair and pulled his head back until Vic was staring at the sky, and slid out his bowie knife and brought it to Vic’s neck.
Walker said, “I ever see you again, I’ll cut your throat ear to ear. You understand me?”
Vic tried to speak, but words didn’t come. Between the bleeding nose and the wind being knocked out of him by the punch to the stomach and ribs, and his head being slammed into the wooden bunk. He drew a breath and tried again, and got out a hoarse, shaky, “Yes.”
Walker stood a little taller than Vic, and was hard muscled. He grabbed Vic by the back of the suspenders with his mangled hand and the belt with his good hand and lifted and almost threw Vic onto the back of his horse. The horse was startled and shifted its hooves, but Cade held onto the hackamore and kept the horse in place. Vic was conscious enough to shift himself around until he was sitting astride the horse. He was still coughing, and he wavered a bit as though he was about to fall off the horse, but grabbed hold of the mane to hang on.
Walker pulled off his hat and struck it across the rump of the horse and the horse took off running, down over the grassy slope and out of sight.
White-Eye got to his feet and strolled over.
“What did you do?” Cade said. “He’s our boss.”
Walker said, “Not no more.”
“But he’ll die out there like that. Even if he gets down off this ridge, it’s miles to any place.”
“He’ll die if he stays here, too. I’d see to it.”
White-Eye chuckled. “He’s been dyin’ bit by bit for a long time, I think.”
Walker pulled his hat back down over his temples, and said to White-Eye, “Well, are you with me?”
“You look like a man who can get things done.” He nodded. “Yeah, I’m with you. What’s the first order of business?”
“First, we’re gonna leave this cabin behind. Maybe spend the night, then in the morning we’re out of here. We’re gonna head north. Like Vic said, to the gold fields. But there’s also a man up there I need to see.”
White-Eye smiled and nodded. “Johnny McCabe.”
Walker held up his crippled hand. “Got me a score to settle with him.”
“Keep in mind, Vic tried to take that ranch and lost half his men.”
White-Eye said, “I don’t plan to try and take that ranch. From the sounds of it, it would take a lot more men than Vic had to do that. I intend to face him. Finish what I started, years ago.”
White-Eye spit some tobacco juice to the grass. “Don’t mean no offense, but if what they say about you is true, you faced him twice. Once he shot apart your hand, and the second time he gave you that there scar across your face and cost you an eye.”
“That was years ago. I was young and stupid. I’ve learned a lot over the years. I can handle myself a lot better now than I ever could then. And McCabe is an old man. He must be pushing fifty. Cattle ranching.”
White-Eye nodded. “There’s a good chance he ain’t the man he was.”
“Hold on,” Cade said. “I signed on with Vic Falcone. I don’t know that you got what it takes to lead anyone. I’m fixin’ to ride after him and get him back here and once he’s cleaned up he’ll decide what we’re gonna do.”
“You suddenly got some backbone, boy?” Walker said.
Cade’s bullet wound was now half-way healed. And he was wearing his gun. He let his hand drop down near his holster. A smile crept across his face. “You don’t know how fast I am with a gun.”
White-Eye shook his head. “Boy, this man survived a gunfight with Johnny McCabe. You’re way out of your class.”
“No I ain’t. He don’t know what he’s dealin’ with. I say Vic’s in charge of this outfit.”
Walker said, “And I say Vic’s lucky I didn’t cut his throat right then and there. Probably should have been done a long time ago.”
Walker turned his gaze to the women, who were standing by the cabin doorway. “And it’s time you two started earnin’ your keep. And I don’t mean just cookin’ and cleanin’.”
Cade said, “You can’t talk to my woman that-a-way.”
Walker looked at him with a grin. Like a cat getting ready to eat a mouse, except the mouse didn’t know how extremely overmatched he was. White-Eye was watching, chewing on some tobacco.
Walker said, “She ain’t your woman, boy. Unless you want to try and make her your woman.”
“You’re gonna make me draw on you, ain’t you,” Cade said.
“Your choice. Draw, or shut up.”
Cade went for his gun. He burst into motion, stabbing his hand at the gun riding low on his leg. But Walker was sliding his out of the holster and bringing his arm to full extension, cocking the gun as he moved, and squeezing the trigger. All in one smooth, fluid motion. Not as fast with his left as he was once with his right, before Johnny McCabe shot his hand apart, but fast enough. Cade’s gun had barely cleared leather when Walker’s bullet caught him in the chest. Cade’s gun fired into the ground at his feet. He took a couple steps backward, staggering a bit, a look of shock on his face.
Walker squeezed off another shot for good measure. Put the bullet a couple inches away from the first one. Cade took another staggering step, then dropped to his knees.
He looked up questioningly at Walker. Then, as though he realized he was still holding his gun, he began to raise it toward Walker. Walker cocked and squeezed one more time, and the bullet tore into Cade’s forehead, snapping his head back. Cade fell backward, his legs doubled up awkwardly beneath him. He twitched a bit, but otherwise didn’t move. His eyes stared toward the sky.
“Cade!” Jessica screamed out. Flossy squeezed her hand more tightly. White-Eye spat some tobacco juice to the grass.
“Well, that’s over,” Walker said. Smoke was still drifting from his gun. He slid the gun back into his holster.
White-Eye walked over and pried Cade’s revolver from his grip. He gave it a once-over. A Colt .44.
“Good gun,” he said, and tucked it into his belt. “I wonder what size his boots are.”
Walker turned to Jessica and Flossy. “You two. Into the cabin. Time for you to start earnin’ your keep.”
PART TWO
The Valley
27
The buildings of the little town weren’t set up to form a particular street. They were just sort of scattered about.
Directly ahead of the settlers was a long structure made of logs and with a peaked roof, and a stovepipe stuck out of the wall at one side. Above the doorway was a sign that read HUNTER’S SALOON. A small walkway made of hand-cut boards lined the front of the saloon. Maybe two hundred feet in front of the saloon and off to the side a bit was another building, this one standing two floors high. Clapboard walls painted white, and again a peaked roof. This had a sign that read, simply, HOTEL. The sign was a bit faded and the paint was peeling. Another building stood beside it, long and with walls of upright planks, and a sign out front that read FRANKLIN’S EMPORIUM. A boardwalk connected the two. Off to one side, sort of at an angle to Hunter’s, was a small square-shaped building, also made of upright planks and painted white, and with a steeple standing tall.
Brewster led the team of oxen pulling the first of his two wagons, and his wife walked alongside him. Behind them was their second wagon, with Age leading the team. The Brewster wagons always seemed to be first in line, followed by the brooding Harding, and then Ford pulling up the rear. Johnny had never asked, and had no idea if it was a pre-arranged thing or if the order of wagons seemed to reflect the natural pecking order that had developed among the settlers.
Johnny rode beside the first Brewster wagon, and without giving any specific suggestions or directions, rode toward Hunter’s. Brewster simply kept his team of horses moving along beside him.
&nb
sp; Johnny hadn’t shaved since he and Dusty had ridden out to meet Jack over a week ago, and a thick mat of whiskers had grown. His sombrero was dusty, and his hair was tied into a tail and fell down over the back of his shoulders.
“So, this is it?” Brewster said. “The town named after your family?”
“Well,” Johnny said. “It isn’t really a town. Not officially. Just a collection of buildings. Hunter’s an old friend, and he built his saloon where it is because the stage trail passes through here, leading north to Virginia City. After a while, a hotel was built. Then Mister Franklin moved in and built his general store. Up ahead a little, there’s a pass between two ridges that leads down into the valley, and when we first moved here we named it McCabe Gap. The folks here sort of appropriated the name for this little community.”
Mildred said, “Jack mentioned that your family was the first in this area.”
Johnny nodded. “At one time, the nearest town was Virginia City, a two-day ride away overland by horseback, and closer to three if you take the wagon trail. Fetching supplies was almost a six-day day trip. Three going, and three coming back. And in the winter we couldn’t hope to get a wagon down those trails, so we had to buy our entire winter’s supplies before the first snow. Then Bozeman started up and cut our supply runs in half, time-wise. This was all before Franklin moved in and built his store. Now we have it easy.”
Mildred Brewster said, “Do many people live in this area now?”
“A couple of other ranches have set up within riding distance, and there are a few farms, too, further out. There are a few claims being worked between here and Helena.”
Brewster said, “And you say this little valley of yours has some fertile earth and plenty of water?”
“Some of the best in this part of the territory, in my opinion. I grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania, and even though I left the farming life behind me, I know good soil when I see it.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why hasn’t anyone built on it already?”
“Location, I suppose. Most folks want to be within reaching distance of either Bozeman or Helena.”
They were now no more than a hundred feet from Hunter’s front door.
“Pull up here,” Johnny said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Johnny rode up to the hitching rail and swung out of the saddle.
He called out, “Hunter!”
Within a count of three, a large man with a full dark beard was pushing his way out the door. His eyes lit up when he saw Johnny.
“Johnny!” Hunter called out.
Hunter stood a good six inches taller than Johnny, and wasn’t just tall but big. He reached out to shake Johnny’s hand, and his hand practically swallowed Johnny’s. He slapped a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and knocked him over a step.
Jack and Dusty came riding alongside Johnny, and Hunter did the same to Dusty, grabbing hand as he stepped out of the saddle. Then he grabbed Jack in a bear hug and lifted him from the earth.
“You’ve been gone too long, bear cub,” Hunter said. He had given that name to Jack years ago.
Abel and Mildred were standing behind Johnny, grinning. Johnny glanced back at the Harding wagon, which was pulling up alongside Abel. Harding wasn’t smiling, and Johnny doubted the man had much to smile about.
Hunter invited everyone in for a meal. “You folks have been riding for all these weeks. Come in and sit and let my cook whip you up something to eat.”
“You hired a cook?” Jack said.
“Sure did. An old Chinese gent. Can cook like you can’t believe. Almost as good as Aunt Ginny’s.”
The wagons were driven to a large grassy expanse that began near Hunter’s and stretched off toward the nearest ridge. Teams were unhitched and rubbed down and left to graze while Hunter’s new cook went to work frying stakes and potatoes.
Franklin came scurrying over with a side of bacon. He was a man a little shorter than Johnny and maybe ten years older, with a receding hairline and the beginnings of a pot belly. He shook hands with Johnny and the boys and was introduced to the settlers, and offered the side of bacon free of charge. Franklin was hospitable as all get out, Johnny thought, and never missed the chance to drum up new business.
Franklin glanced down at the twin Remingtons Johnny wore. Franklin said, “I wanted to tell you, I have a forty-four Peacemaker at the store. Only a couple years old. I’ve been holding it for you, in case you wanted a look. I know you’ve been looking for one.”
Johnny nodded. “Once we’re settled in, I’ll ride back into town and check it out.”
As dinner was being served, Johnny said to Brewster, “I won’t be joining you. The boys and I have been gone from home for too long. We’re going to ride out to the house. I’ll be back in the morning, and we can check out that stretch of farming land I’ve been talking about.”
As they swung into their saddles, Jack allowed himself a glance about. To one side of the town was a rounded slope covered with pines that led up to a razor-like ridge. On the other, another ridge gradually rose and then began to stretch out. This one was rocky in places, and in other places covered with pines. Further out, beyond town, the land gently sloped down to a dry gulch that flooded in the spring, and then up to another set of ridges. In places they were rocky with steep cliffs, and in others the slopes were more gently rounded.
This was all a grand vista taken for granted by the people who lived here. They could see this kind of thing every day. But for Jack, whose general vista was the inside of a classroom, this place was like something out of a storybook.
A wagon trail led from town through the pass and down into the valley, across a stretch of open meadow and then across a wooden bridge and up to the ranch house itself. Three miles in all.
Pa led the way, turning his horse around to the back of Hunter’s saloon, and to a small path that cut into a forest of maple and alders. This was the secondary trail that would lead down into the valley, Jack knew. A precarious trail that could be navigated by a horse, but a man driving a wagon would have to take the longer route that led from the other side of town and through the main pass. The longer route added almost a mile to the ride.
They rode along in single file. Pa, then Dusty and followed by Jack.
Jack glanced about to the left and then the right as they rode, and then dropped his eyes to the ground to search for tracks. It was the way Pa had taught him to travel. Always looking, always watching. Never let yourself be taken by surprise. Expect anything, and be prepared for everything.
Aunt Ginny had once said about Pa that he was always in a state of perpetual war. This came back to Jack now, as he followed Pa and Dusty. Pa had taught him to ride as such, so he would always be ready for a surprise attack. As though there were Comancheros or highwaymen behind every rock, or snipers in every tree. Even now, Pa rode with the reins in his left hand, and his right resting by his revolver.
Jack thought, God help the highwayman who actually tries to jump Pa.
The trail cut through a thick stand of hardwood – mostly oak and birch and alders, and then up a slope and through a narrow, rocky pass, and then into a pine forest and down into the valley.
They emerged from the trail onto a long grassy expanse a mile wide and five miles long. Ahead of them, a half mile in the distance, was a structure two floors high, made of logs. It resembled the type of house popular back east, called a Cape Cod. Jack had noticed long ago that once you got outside of Boston, many of the homes were built with this design.
Rising above the roofline was a stone chimney and smoke drifted lazily from it. Too early in the day for a fire in the living room hearth, Jack thought. But the stove in the kitchen fed into the same chimney. This meant Aunt Ginny was working on dinner. One thing about the food at school, Jack never found it came even close to his aunt’s cooking.
Standing near the house was a large barn, and beyond it was a long low structure Jack knew was the bunkhouse. Behind the house, stretching back t
o a line of trees that marked the end of the valley floor, a remuda of horses ran freely.
“Come on,” Johnny said, and he and Dusty clicked their horses ahead.
Jack fell into place behind them, but he didn’t do so with much enthusiasm. He had found home didn’t really feel like home when he had been gone for a long time and was only back for a visit.
When you have been away for a long span of time, you often find the people you left behind are in different places in their lives. And things about the home might have changed. An end table might have been replaced, or a new chair had replaced an old one. Jack found one year an old horse that had been there as far back as he could remember, one of the first horses Pa had acquired when he and Ma were newlyweds, had died. No one thought to mention it in a letter and the horse had been gone eight months when he finally got back for his summer visit.
He didn’t fault anyone for not writing about it. It would be impossible for anyone to capture in a letter everything he missed about this place.
Mainly what he missed was the day-to-day life. A colt born in the spring growing a little more every day. Some wild horses Pa caught needing to be broken. Sitting with the family by the hearth at night. The smell of Pa’s pipe smoke in the air. Josh’s foghorn voice and Bree’s musical giggle. The timbers overhead giving an occasional creak as Jack lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take him. The sound of sleet in the winter against his bedroom window, or the crickets in the summer chirping from somewhere out in the night.
He thought about this as he followed his father and brother across the grassy meadow to the house, and his heart ached for times past that would never be here again.
As they covered the quarter mile from the edge of the woods to the house, Jack saw a man step out of the barn. He was long and angular, with a white shirt and suspenders and a dark sombrero. Even from a distance he knew the man was Fred Mitchum, the wrangler. Fred looked up at the sound of horses approaching and gave a big wave.
One Man's Shadow (The McCabes Book 2) Page 21