“Listen, drifter,” one man said, one hand resting on his hip and the finger of the other hand pointing at Johnny. “You better watch yourself. We don’t want no trouble in this town.”
Middleton said, “Allow me to introduce what passes for law in this town. Marshal Gideon Wells, and his henchman.”
Johnny then glanced at the man. “I don’t see any badge.”
The man called Wells said, “I don’t have to wear it. Everyone here knows who I am. Now the question is, who are you?”
Middleton said, “Boys, go sit down. You’re way out of your league dealing with just one of us, let alone the both of us.”
“Look, city feller. I don’t want to hear no sass from you.”
A smile of amusement lit the gambler’s face. But before he could say anything, Wells said to Johnny, “I think you’d better come down to the jail with us so’s we can ask you some questions.”
Johnny said, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Slow down, boys,” Middleton said, “before someone gets hurt.”
Wells said, “I’ve had enough of you, fancy pants. Shut your mouth or we’ll haul you down to the jail, too. Cheatin’ at cards is ag’in the law.”
Middleton’s smile was gone. “I think you boys had better go back to the hole from whence you crawled, before someone squashes you like the insects you are.”
Wells and his deputy reached for their guns.
Johnny’s right hand snapped to his holster, and his revolver was out and in his grip, hammer cocked. “Leave those guns where they are. This ain’t worth dying over.”
The eyes of Wells were wide as he stared into the maw of Johnny’s .44. His own gun hadn’t even cleared leather.
Wells turned away. “Come on, Bardeen let’s get out of here.”
They both headed for the door. Then Wells looked back to Johnny and said, “You’d best be gone by the time I’m back.”
Johnny said, “You’ve got me real scared.”
Wells turned and stormed out, pushing past Bardeen and almost knocking him over.
Johnny slid his gun back into its holster.
Middleton said, “I’d have given three to one odds that you would have at least spilled your drink.”
Johnny’s glass was still in his left hand, a few swallows of whiskey left.
Johnny said, “You’re not surprised that I didn’t have to kill him?”
Middleton shook his head. “Not in the slightest. I’d have given five to one against it. You wear that gun like you know how to use it. And I’m fairly sure who you are. And if you are who I think you are, I’ve heard that you never kill unless you have to.”
The miners Middleton had been playing cards with were standing, but they had not left the room.
Charlie said, “We want our money.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Middleton said, “take your money.”
The miners began scooping coins into their pocket, and then they filed out of the saloon. One of them threw an angry glance back at Middleton on his way. Middleton didn’t seem to notice.
The man called Little then pushed in through the swinging doors, a tray of food in his hands. He brought it over to Johnny.
“Sit,” the gambler said, “Share my table while you enjoy your repast.”
“Mighty neighborly,” Johnny said, “considering I was accusing you of cheating.”
“Not neighborly at all.” Middleton was smiling. “I just want you where I can keep an eye on you.”
Johnny took the chair Charlie had been using. Little set a plate of fried chicken and potatoes in front of him.
Johnny said to Middleton, “Keep both hands on the table.”
Middleton had returned to his chair. “I’m sure you’ll do likewise.”
Johnny cut into the chicken. Juicy and tender. Mighty tasty.
Middleton gathered up the cards and began shuffling. “By the way, if you’re going to accuse a man of cheating, you should at least know his name. Sam Middleton.”
Johnny nodded. “Mine’s McCabe.”
Middleton gave a grinning snicker. “Like I figured. Your age, the way you carry that gun, and considering this is Greenville. Part of the legend of Johnny McCabe is centered on this town.”
“You know, Middleton, I can’t quite figure you. You’re no small-time card shark. And the way you were facing those two tells me you’ve been in a fight or two. What are you doing in a town like this?”
“Lying low for a while. This seems like as good a place as any. I wish you hadn’t tipped off those local diggers as to what Peddie and I were doing, though. It gave us a tidy, little income. Small but steady.”
“Is she your partner?”
Middleton smiled. “No. I usually work alone. She was just helping an old friend. She and I know each other from Saint Louis, where we were both enjoying better days.”
As they talked, Johnny noticed one of the girls had gone to the bar. She was standing with her back to it and she was leaning against it with both elbows, and was watching him. Her hair was dark and fell in thick curls to bare shoulders. She was thin, maybe too much so. Her cheeks were a little hollow and even though she wasn’t much older than his own daughter Bree, lines were already forming at either side of her mouth. The result of too many hardships and not enough smiles.
“That’s Belle,” Middleton said. “I think she likes you.”
Johnny said nothing. He took another bite of chicken. He didn’t usually truck with saloon women.
Middleton said, “Tell me something, McCabe. Why did you do that? Why did you step in and interfere with the card game? What did you care?”
“Because I have a respect for hard work, and those who do it. I’ve done more than enough of it in my life, and I’m sure there’s a load of it waiting for me down the road. I hate to see someone like you trick hard-working people out of what little money they have.”
Middleton shook his head. “How noble. Bravo.”
He began dealing himself a hand of solitaire. “McCabe, hard-working people want to spend their money. There’s a reason why poor people are poor. If they want to throw their money away, why not throw some of it my way? If they didn’t do it at my table, they’d do it at the bar, or trying to buy five minutes with Peddie or Belle.”
“At least then they’d be getting what they paid for. You were tricking them out of their money.”
“In this life, you seldom get what you pay for, but you often get tricked. I would rather be the trickster than one of the thousands of victims waiting to part with their hard-earned cash.”
Johnny decided to end this discussion. It was going nowhere. A man like Middleton could always find ways to rationalize his twisted beliefs. Johnny dropped a chicken bone to his plate and finished the potatoes, then he drained the remaining swallow from his whiskey glass.
He said, “Now tell me something, Middleton. Wells and the man with him. Were they really lawmen? And if they were, why were they spoiling for a fight?”
“Because you’re new in town.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve had little dealings with the locals, other than what I see of them in here. But from what I understand, there is a group of thugs who work for the mine, sort of as enforcers. I don’t know if any of them are actually official lawmen or not. They keep the peace in town, but I suspect they are actually protecting the mine’s owner from anything the law might frown on.”
“And what makes you think the mine owner has anything to hide?”
“Of course, since you’re the brother of the mine owner, I probably shouldn’t be saying anything.”
Johnny shook his head. “My brother is a good man.”
Middleton raised his brows. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
Johnny had been intending to head back to the bar to pay Artie for the meal, then ride on out. He wanted to put some miles behind him before sunset. Tomorrow he would be visiting Lura’s grave. But instead he remained in his seat. Mi
ddleton now had his full interest.
“Say what you’ve got to say.”
“Every stranger who comes to town, anyone who doesn’t work for the mine or is a cowhand at a local ranch, is greeted as you were tonight. You drew their attention even faster, I suspect, because of the way you wear your gun. Of course, they have no idea you are their employer’s brother.”
“They seemed to be leaving you alone.”
“They don’t quite know what to make of me, so they watch from a distance. I dress like a dandy, but they can tell by the way I carry myself and the fact that I’m not afraid of them that I am much more than that.”
This gave something for Johnny to think about. He knew Matt was a good man. And yet, he could see for himself that something was not right in this town. But first, he needed to visit Lura.
He rose to his feet. “Nice chewin’ the fat with you, but it’s time I was riding on.”
“Oh, and McCabe. Next time you bust up one of my card games, I may not be so forgiving.”
Johnny looked at him curiously. “Threatening me, Middleton?”
He shook his head. “I don’t threaten. I’m just stating a fact.”
“Then don’t let me catch you cheating.”
Johnny went to the bar to pay Artie Crocker.
“Really good seeing you again,” Artie said. “But watch your back around here. This town is really not the place it was back in the old days.”
“Thanks, but I’m not planning on staying.”
They shook hands and Johnny headed outside. The late afternoon sun was shining golden against the buildings across the street. Johnny figured he could get a couple of miles behind him before he would start looking for a place to make a camp. He generally preferred not to sleep with a roof overhead, unless it was his own house back in Montana.
He reached for Thunder’s rein. “All right, boy. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
He heard footsteps rushing up behind him. Light footsteps, too light to be made by a man. As he turned to see who it was, feminine hands grasped him by the arm. It was the saloon woman Middleton had called Belle.
“Walk me home, cowboy?”
“Look, ma’am. Belle. Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
“Please. Just walk me home.”
There was something in her eyes. A sense of urgency.
Johnny sighed. “All right.”
She took his arm as they walked, though he hadn’t offered it.
She said, “So, are you really Johnny McCabe? The gunhawk?”
He nodded. “So they say.”
“Artie knows you. He had always said he knew Johnny McCabe, but none of us really believed him.”
“Artie’s a good man.”
She nodded.
She asked about his family, and he told her he had a daughter almost her age. She said she came from a family of missionaries who were killed in an Indian raid when she was ten and she wound up in an orphanage, and then here.
He thought about Temperance, the girl living with him and his family in Montana. She and Josh were hopelessly in love. Johnny figured by the time he got back home they would be engaged. She was a solid young woman and would be a good mother to his grandchildren. But when Josh had met her she was in about the same situation Belle was.
“Well, here we are,” she said, indicating a long building that was nothing more than canvas walls nailed to a framework of two-by-fours.
It was what passed for a brothel in this town. Johnny had seen this type of set-up before. The interior of the tent would be divided by blankets or sheets of canvas hanging from the ceiling. Each compartment would have a cot, where the women plied their trade.
“You sure you won’t come in?” she said. “I’ll make this one on the house.”
Johnny supposed he should be flattered. But she was young enough to be his daughter, and that somehow left him with an unsettling feeling.
“Thanks, but no,” he said. He decided to say what he was thinking. “You’re young enough to be my daughter and that wouldn’t be right.”
“Not many men I’ve met would let that stand in their way.”
Johnny touched the brim of his hat to her. “Take care of yourself.”
She leaped at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Get out of town,” she said quickly, her voice no more than a whisper. “Get out quick. Ride on and don’t look back, or they’ll kill you.”
“What are you talking about?” Johnny grabbed her by the hips to push her from him.
“No. put your arms around me. Pretend we’re hugging. We’re being watched.”
She seemed really frightened. Johnny decided to play along.
She said, “Another man was here a few weeks ago. Like you. A stranger.”
“But I’m not a stranger. I’m the brother of the mine’s owner.”
“Wells and the others don’t know that. At least not yet. And maybe it wouldn’t matter.”
Johnny shook his head. “I know my brother.”
“But you don’t know his son Hiram. He’s the one who does most of the running of the mine. We don’t see his father in town. Hardly ever. Hiram has a cruel streak. Believe me, he’s one of my customers.”
That rankled Johnny a little. The idea of a woman being abused. His number of questions for Matt was increasing.
He said, “What happened to this man you speak of?”
“He rode into town and bedded down in the livery stable. They could have left him alone but he wore his gun like you wear yours. Like he knew how to use it. Made Wells and his men nervous. In the morning, the stranger just wasn’t there anymore. All his gear is still at the livery, but he was gone. They came and got him in the night, is what happened. Everyone is saying Hiram McCabe had him killed.”
“Has anyone found the body?”
“No, but that don’t matter. Get out of town while you can. And don’t bother with your brother. Just ride on. Don’t look back.”
He shook his head. None of this made any sense to him at all. Not Matt. If there was anyone he would have bet his life on being beyond corruption, it would be Matt.
He said, “I don’t understand any of this. I know my brother Matt. He just isn’t capable of anything like that.”
She pulled back a bit until she was looking him in the eye, and she asked the question he didn’t really want to hear. She said, “How long has it been since you’ve seen your brother?”
Seventeen years. He usually got a letter or two a year from Matt. But letters don’t necessarily paint the whole picture.
She said, “People change, Mister McCabe.”
“Not Matt.” But he didn’t say it with a whole lot of conviction.
She shrugged. “Maybe Matt.”
He said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.
She stepped back, and laid a hand gently at the side of his face. “You got a woman waiting for you?”
Again he said nothing. Too long a story to go into.
She said, “If you do, then she’s one lucky woman.”
And Belle turned and stepped into the brothel through the tent flap.
Johnny turned and started back down the boardwalk toward where Thunder waited for him. He glanced about casually and saw miners milling about here and there. Two cowhands riding down the street toward the Cattleman’s Lounge. If anyone had been watching him and Belle, there was no sign of it.
He pulled Thunder’s rein from the hitching rail and swung into the saddle. He intended to ride on out, and build a camp and sleep under the open sky.
Tomorrow he would be riding out to see his brother Matt, and he intended to find out what just what was going on.
5
The fire danced in the hearth before her. She sat in a wooden rocker that creaked a little as she rocked a bit forward and then back. She sat with her back erect and her mouth was clamped shut. Her face was deeply lined, and her hair was now streaked with silver.
Her name was Verna McCabe, and the ho
use about her had been in her family for a couple of generations now. It had been much smaller, of course, when her grandfather Ebenezer McCarty had first come to California. He had acquired the land from the old Spanish Don who had first settled here. The house had been little more than a kitchen, a small parlor and two bedrooms contained within adobe walls. It had been a single-floor place, then. Her grandfather had added onto it, expanding it. There was now a central building that was two floors high, with a wing shooting off in one direction and another in the other direction.
Her grandfather had worked hard to build this place. To start up a small ranch and then grow it into one of the larger ranches in the county. Her father then took it further. By the time of his death fifteen years ago, it had become one of the larger ranches in the state. In fact, the only one she knew of that was larger was one down Stockton way.
And now her husband had grown it from a ranch to a small empire. He had expanded the business beyond cattle, and they now owned two goldmines in California and one south of the border, and held significant stock in the railroad.
Actually, it wasn’t her husband who had done this. It was merely part of the façade she created for the public. In reality, he was merely a puppet. He could speak eloquently, almost lyrically at times. He had a personal charm that made people want to listen to him. But it was Verna who had the intelligence. The business sense. And the backbone to make the hard decisions. To do what had to be done, even if what to be done wasn’t pretty.
She had married wisely. She had had her choice between three brothers. It was obvious when they rode in twenty-two years ago that one of them was going to become her husband. None of the local young men had the breeding or the qualities she was looking for. Picking a husband was not unlike evaluating horse flesh, she thought. Her father had taught her horses and cattle, and all she had to do was apply that reasoning to men. With a few modifications, of course. When the three brothers rode in, obviously gunhawks by the way they carried themselves and wore their guns, she knew it would be one of them. After all, she had been twenty at the time. Well past marrying age, and she wasn’t getting any younger.
The youngest brother, Josiah, she eliminated almost immediately. He said little, and he tended to hang back at the periphery of a crowd. Observing, but seldom taking part. He knew how to use his gun and he was an expert tracker—better than the other two—and he spoke a couple of Indian languages. He was wiley, of that she was sure, but she had learned men like Josiah McCabe were not quick to trust. And to do what she needed to do, to grow this ranch into an empire, she needed to have her man’s absolute trust.
Return of the Gunhawk (The McCabes Book 3) Page 5