Wells said, “Well, now, Mister McCabe. You came back to town. Not the smartest move on your part.”
Johnny’s right hand was by his pistol. “I want no trouble.”
“Then you should have thought about that before you strangled the life out of poor Belle.”
“I had nothing to do with whatever happened to her.”
“You can tell that to the judge. Drop your gun.”
Johnny shook his head. “I don’t drop my gun for any man.”
“Mister, you’d best do what your told. Or do you want a fight?”
“I don’t start fights. But I finish ‘em.”
“There’s three of us. Two of us have scatterguns. You know what a scattergun can do to a man at close range?”
“You’ll have to actually fire that scattergun before I fire my gun at you.”
Well’s glance down to Johnny’s holster. “Your gun is still in your holster.”
The man who had stepped in with Wells and Bardeen was younger, maybe twenty. He was looking at Johnny wide-eyed, and he said to Wells, “That there’s Johnny McCabe.”
“I know who it is, Marty. Stand your ground.”
“But...”
“He’s just one man ag’in the three of us. Don’t believe all the tall stories you hear.”
Middleton had made his way to one side, and had drawn his pistol and it was cocked. He said, “No, gentlemen, but what you can believe is the reality of a cross-fire. I really doubt you can cock and fire those scatterguns before Mister McCabe can draw and get at least one of you. Probably two. And I’ll be firing from here. Now, what would you say the odds are that the three of you will walk out of here?”
Wells glanced over to Middleton. “Stay out of this, you tinhorn. This ain’t your affair.”
“If it involves Belle, then it is. Now drop those weapons before the good mood I’m in fades. And believe me, you don’t want to see me in a bad mood.”
Wells looked at Johnny. Wells was thinking about it—Johnny could see it in his eyes. Could he really get a shot off at Johnny before Johnny could clear leather, and maybe one of his men get Middleton.
But then Marty’s pistol hit the floor, and he backed up with his hands in the air.
“Marty” Wells said.
But then Bardeen took a step backward and said, “Look, Wells. I didn’t sign on just to get myself riddled with holes.”
Wells said through clenched teeth, “Stand your ground, dammit.”
“I ain’t bein’ paid enough for this.”
Middleton said, “All right, marshal. Make your decision. Do you go for your gun and get caught in a crossfire and torn to shreds, or do you want to live?”
Wells gave a long sigh. He was angry. Johnny knew the type. He was probably angry at someone getting the drop on him, and at his men for cowering down. He wasn’t smart enough to realize that Middleton had just saved his life, because Wells had been facing Johnny without his scattergun cocked, and the one called Bardeen had been too. Johnny knew he could clear leather before either one of them could cock their gun, and Johnny’s first bullet was going to be dead center into the forehead of Wells.
Bardeen had already placed his scattergun on the floor. Wells did the same.
“Now, gentlemen,” Middleton said, “why don’t you drop those sidearms, too? Nice and slow and gentle. I’d hate for you to make a sudden move and give Mister McCabe reason to draw down on you and end your pathetic lives.”
Marty didn’t even need to think about it. He unbuckled his entire gunbelt and dropped it to the floor. Bardeen gave a nervous glance at Wells and then did the same. Wells shook his head with disgust, and let his pistol drop to his feet.
“Now, kick them over to Mister McCabe.”
They did as told. Marty had to give his gunbelt a solid kick to send it sliding all the way over to Johnny.
“Now, lie down on the floor. Face down.”
Wells said, “Like hell.”
“Lie face down on the floor, or I’ll put a bullet in your head and you’ll fall down.”
Marty didn’t waste any time. He went straight down. Bardeen followed. Wells let out a sigh, his face almost a comical display of exasperation, and he did the same.
Johnny knelt down and grabbed each pistol and began unloading it. One was a Remington .45, and the other two were Colt .44s. Johnny tucked the .44 cartridges into a vest pocket. Ammunition was expensive.
While he did this, he said, “Don’t think me ungrateful, Middleton, but I have to ask why. You have no stake in this fight, and you don’t strike me as one to stick his neck out unless there’s a potential profit in it.”
“You might think me devoid of ethics, McCabe. But I do have a personal interest in this, which I’m not going to go into right now. But Peddie was a close friend of Belle’s, and where Peddie’s involved, I’m involved. I’m not going to let small-minded knuckle-draggers like these three railroad anyone into a murder conviction. I want to know who actually killed her.”
“And what makes you so sure I didn’t do it?”
“Because of who you are. Or maybe, more specifically, what you are.”
Johnny rose to his feet, his vest pocket filled with cartridges. “And what am I?”
“A latter day knight. If this were a few hundred years earlier, you’d be riding around in shining armor, defending the weak and all of that. You have a nobility in you that I’ve seen in few others.”
“And you can see all that in me even though you hardly know me?”
Middleton shook his head. “It was Peddie who saw it in you. Peddie and Belle. That’s why Belle went to warn you to get out of town, because your very presence here would scare Wells and his men and the people they work for. And it was in doing this that Belle sealed her fate.”
“How is that?”
Middleton still had his gun aimed toward the three men lying on the floor.
He said, “Because it gave her a connection to you, which is why I believe she was killed. I just need to prove it, and the one who strangled her will be dead, and so will the one who gave the order.”
“You mean you think I was set up?”
“My, you’re quick.”
Johnny glanced to the three on the floor. Wells was looking up at him with as much hatred as Johnny had ever seen in a man.
Middleton said, “I would like to stand and discuss this all night, but you and I have to get out of here. I can contain these three for only so long before the people they work for realize what’s going on and call in the cavalry. As in, more gunfighters.”
Johnny received the message. Time to get moving. “I owe you one,” he said to Middleton.
“Not at all.”
Johnny threw one more glance at Wells, then was out the door. He half expected to find more men outside waiting for him with scatterguns, but the boardwalk was clear. Across the street a cowhand was standing, leaning against a wall. He had a large Texas hat and a big bandana draped across the front of his shirt, and huge spurs on his heels. He was talking to another cowhand who wasn’t leaning against anything but was pacing about a little as they talked, scuffing one boot or the other against the boardwalk. Neither of them had any idea they had just missed a scene that was probably going to be talked about in saloons and mining camps and cow camps for years to come.
Thunder was waiting patiently. Johnny grabbed the rein and stepped up and into the saddle. He turned Thunder down the street, but then after a couple of buildings he turned the horse to the right and into an alley. A miner was there, trying to romance a saloon woman. Her back was to the wall, and he was standing in front of her, one hand against the wall, leaning in for a kiss. They both glanced at him briefly as he steered his horse through the alley, but it was at best a minor distraction. This was the west, after all. A man rode a horse into a saloon once, and hardly anyone thought twice about it.
Johnny emerged at the end of the alley, and out into the street behind the saloon. This was more residential. Tents servi
ng as homes. Johnny could smell wood smoke in the air. It was October and the nights were turning off a little cool here in northern California.
Johnny followed the muddy street down to its end. Beyond the last tent was open grassland. The moon had risen and was giving off meager light, but it was enough to ride by. Thunder had covered a lot of miles today so Johnny kept him to nothing more than a fast walk as they headed off into the night.
12
As Matt rode through the front gate, every joint ached. He had been the saddle most of the day, something Johnny did often but Matt hadn’t done this much riding in years. He also hadn’t slept since the night before last.
Ben rode beside him and sat easily in the saddle. Ben was ramrod here and was in the saddle almost all day, almost every day. Matt had no intention of admitting to him how much he hurt. He hoped it didn’t show.
The two sentries nodded to them as they rode up. “Mister McCabe,” one of them said.
Matt realized he didn’t even know their names. Hired by Hiram.
Hiram never called them sentries. He said they were “men stationed out front in case there’s ever any trouble.” But sentries was what they were. He had to wonder why Hiram and Verna felt the need for them. And he had to wonder why he was only asking himself this for the first time today.
He swung out of the saddle, hesitating a moment while his right foot hit the ground and his left boot was still in a stirrup, and something at the base of his spine snapped. He then pulled his left boot from the stirrup, and realized both knees hurt and felt a little wobbly.
You’re an old man, he said to himself. Once he and Johnny and their brother Joe had ridden all the way cross-country. First from Pennsylvania to Missouri, then from there to Texas. And the from Texas to California. They were tired at the end of the day and slept on the hard ground by a campfire. But then in the morning they would be back in the saddle and moving on. He never hurt like he did now. But he had been young back then. Somehow, as he watched Verna build a successful cattle ranch into a financial empire, as he stood by and drank scotch and smoked cigars and tried not to see what he didn’t want to see, he had grown old.
Ben said, “I’ll take the horses to the stable.”
“Thank, Ben,” Matt said, and took one painful step after another around the side of the huge house and onto the long back porch and then opened one of the floor-length windows and stepped into his office.
He unbuckled his gunbelt and dropped it onto the desk. It was the original gunbelt he had worn back in the day. Black finished leather that was now scratched and cracked in places. He tossed his hat on top of it, and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and over his tired scalp. He then shuffled painfully over to the wet bar and grabbed a tumbler and pulled the glass cork from the decanter of scotch. But then he decided against it and returned the cork, and set the tumbler back on the table. He had had enough scotch over the years. He thought he might go out to the kitchen and see if there was any coffee.
His box of cigars was calling to him from the desk so he flipped it open and grabbed one, and struck a match on the side of his boot and brought the cigar to life.
Hiram stepped in from the hallway. He was in a gray jacket and matching trousers, and a string tie.
“Father,” he said. “I thought I heard someone ride up. I was hoping it was you.”
“How’s Dan?”
“He’s doing well. He was awake for a little while, and took down some beef stew. The doctor was out again and said he thought Dan was going to be all right.”
Matt nodded. “I think I’ll go up and see him.” Then he chuckled. “As soon as I can climb the stairs. I’ve been in the saddle all day. I hurt in places I had totally forgotten about.”
Hiram just stood and said nothing.
Matt said, “Is there any coffee on?”
“No, but I can get Juanita to put some on fast enough.”
“No, that’s all right. I might just finish this cigar and go upstairs. See Dan, and then get some sleep. Today has really reminded me that I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Hiram went to the wet bar and picked up the tumbler his father had set down and looked at it curiously for a moment. Then he filled it with scotch for himself.
“So,” he said. “What did you and Uncle Johnny find out?”
Matt told him what they had found at the ravine. Rustlers had waited to catch Dan and the men in a crossfire.
“They did more than what rustlers would normally do,” he said. “Rustlers normally try to steal cattle but will run off at the first sign of gunfire. But these men were more like gunfighters, laying a trap like that. Their tracks were easy enough to follow, and we followed them all the way back to town. Johnny’s there now, asking questions.”
He realized Verna had appeared the doorway. How long she had been there, he didn’t know.
Hiram said, “So, what do you plan to do if you find these men?”
“When,” Matt said. “When we find them. And we will. And when we do, there won’t be anything left of them to turn over to the law.”
Verna said, “Do you really think that’s the right approach?”
Hiram took a sip of whiskey. “We are societal leaders, father. What we do sets an example for the entire community. My recommendation is we go to Marshal Wells with this. It is his job, after all.”
Matt said, “Your recommendation is duly noted. But I am the head of this ranch. I’ve sat by passively for far too long. Those rustlers almost killed my son. Your brother. If I had acted faster, maybe he wouldn’t have been shot. I’m no longer sitting back. I’m taking an active role in this, from now on. There are to be no more business decisions made here without my approval.”
Verna said, “Well, of course, dear.”
Matt looked at her skeptically. He then said, “What I want to know is why you’re not both more outraged than you are. Verna, Dan is your son, too, and he was almost killed last night.”
“Well, of course I’m outraged. Of course I want those men brought to justice.”
Hiram said, “It’s like I said, that we’re societal leaders, father. With great power comes great responsibility. We’ve built this from a ranch to a small empire. You’ve,” he couldn’t quite disguise his patronizing tone, “built this place into an empire. But with this comes responsibility. Society looks up to us for leadership. It looks up to you for leadership. We can’t allow ourselves to revert to the concept of frontier justice. That might be the way things were done when you and Uncle Johnny were roaming the west like desperados, but those days are over.”
Matt looked at him firmly. “I’ve met this Marshal Wells of yours. He’s little more than a thug. I don’t trust him to get things done. Johnny and I are going to find out who did this, and we’re going to deal with it.”
He turned and left the room, cigar in hand.
Hiram looked to his mother. “Things are going from bad to worse quickly, aren’t they?”
“Everything will be all right,” she said, “We’re going to have to go ahead with my plan a little ahead of schedule, that’s all.”
He was a bit riled up now, enough that he was able to ignore the stiffness in his knees and back as he climbed the stairs. He intended to check on Dan and then have a hot bath and get some sleep.
The door to Dan’s room was ajar, so he peeked in. Dan was awake and said, “Come on in, Father.”
Dan’s head was on a pillow, and the blankets pulled to his chest. He was in a nightshirt, and a lamp was burning low on a table.
“How are you feeling?” Matt said.
He shrugged and smiled. “Like I was shot. I’m okay, though. I’m filled with laudanum and feeling really fine right now. No pain at all. The doctor said as long as infection stays away, all I have to do is regain my strength and give the wound time to heal. He said it’s amazing but there’s no sign of infection at all.”
Matt grinned. “Didn’t think there would be.”
Dan chuckled. “That
was the most painful part of the whole thing. That really works?”
Matt nodded. “Your Uncle Johnny has used it on wounds again and again. It always prevents infection, as long as you bandage up the wound immediately afterward and keep it clean.”
“I suppose he would know.”
“Danny,” Matt said. He was the only one who called him Danny. Matt pulled up a chair. “I really owe you an apology. You more than anyone else.”
“Why?”
“If I had been taking an active hand around here, this wouldn’t have happened. I would have taught you a lot more about how to handle yourself in a situation like that. And I should have been riding with you. I used to be a two-fisted sort of man. I don’t know what the hell happened to me.”
“Father, there’s no way you or anyone could have known they were waiting there for us. It was too dark.”
Matt smiled. His son was young, and there was so much to learn. So much Matt wanted to teach him. Hiram was more Verna’s son than his, and Matt had long given up on him. But not Dan.
Matt said, “I was out there today and saw where it happened. That ravine was the perfect place for an ambush. Almost too obvious. I know the land and have seen that ravine. If I had been with you, I would have had us split up and come up on that ravine quietly, from two different sides. Just in case there were men there waiting for us. At the very least, even if they didn’t know you were coming, they might be using it to hold cattle and would have posted guards.”
Dan nodded. He saw it. His father was right.
“Get some rest,” Matt said. “Things are going to be different around here from now on. When you’re feeling better, we’ll talk.”
“Yes, sir,” Dan said.
Matt headed down the hall to his room. A lamp stood dark on a bed stand, and he lifted the globe and lighted the wick with his cigar. He was painfully tired and drawing a hot bath was starting to seem like too much work, and his bed looked too inviting. He set his cigar down in an ashtray, and then dropped face-down on the bed. Aw, that feels good, he thought. And that was the last thought he had as he fell into a sleep of exhaustion.
Return of the Gunhawk (The McCabes Book 3) Page 12