Return of the Gunhawk (The McCabes Book 3)

by Brad Dennison

  Wells grabbed Tom by one arm and pulled him to his feet.

  “Come on,” Wells said. “Let’s search this house.”

  Wells kept his grip on Tom’s arm, and pulled him into the parlor.

  Wells said, “Turn up a lamp.”

  Tom went to a lamp mounted on one wall. It was burning but low. Lamps were often left this way, so you could lighten a room just by turning one up and not have to go through the rigmarole of lighting one.

  The room was simply furnished. A sofa, a couple of chairs. A small roll-top desk in one corner. A fireplace built into the inner wall. Tom and Wells were the only two in the room.

  “All right. What’s through that doorway? The kitchen?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Let’s move.”

  They went into the kitchen and from there to the dining room, completing a circuit that brought them back to the entryway as Lettie was coming down the stairs with their young daughter. Lettie’s eyes were wide with a combination of fright and outrage. She was in her nightgown and hadn’t even been allowed to grab a robe. Mercy was five, and in a robe and clutching a stuffed bear. She looked serious and more alarmed than afraid.

  “Leave them alone,” Tom said.

  Once Lettie touched down on the entryway, she hurried to Tom and he took her in his arms. Tom then scooped Mercy up and held her with one forearm under her butt and she clung to him.

  Wells said, “Did you see anything upstairs?”

  Bardeen shook his head. “He ain’t here.”

  “Yet,” Wells said. “Mister McCabe said to watch for him. Said he’s likely to show up here.”

  “Mister McCabe?” Tom said. “Hiram sent you here?”

  “Ain’t none of your concern.”

  “What would you want with my father? What’s happened?”

  “Ain’t none of your concern.”

  Bardeen said, “So, what’re we gonna do?”

  Wells looked at him with a little impatience. “We’re gonna do like we was told. We’re gonna stay right here and wait for him.”

  Tom said, “I want you men out of my house.”

  They ignored him. They didn’t seem to feel that Tom presented any more threat than a fly buzzing around, and he was afraid they were right.

  Wells said, “Let’s move everyone into the parlor. Easier to keep track of ‘em.”

  Tom reluctantly started for the parlor, followed by Lettie and Mercy.

  At the doorway into the parlor, Bardeen said to Lettie, “You know, you’re a good looking woman, for a preacher’s wife. You’d actually stand up against them women down at the saloon.”

  Tom said, “Don’t talk to my wife.”

  “What you need,” Bardeen said, reaching a hand to her chin, “is a real man. Not some preacher.”

  Tom charged at him and drove a fist at him. Tom had been taught how to fight by his father, but he was too many years removed from it. His knuckles connected with Bardeen’s cheekbone, but he didn’t make his fist tight and didn’t connect with the flat of his fist, but the side. Something cracked in the knuckle of his little finger. Bardeen’s head was knocked back a little, but Tom stood grabbing his hand with pain.

  Bardeen gripped his scattergun with both hands and swung the stock into Tom’s face. Tom’s legs were knocked out from under him and he landed hard on the floor.

  “Tom!” Lettie screamed.

  Mercy stood staring silently with wide eyes.

  Tom was on the floor, propping himself up on one elbow. The gunstock had caught him in the side of the face, which had now gone numb. Blood was streaming from his mouth, and he couldn’t move his jaw. He wanted to say something, to tell them not to threaten the boy. But he couldn’t make his jaw move.

  Lettie said to them, “Leave him alone.”

  Wells said, “We’ll leave him alone. If you do what you’re told.”

  From behind Wells came the unmistakable sound of metal clicking against metal. A gun being cocked. He turned enough so with his side vision he could see the bore of a pistol two feet from his head.

  Matt McCabe was holding the pistol. “You’ve harassed my family enough. Drop your guns or I’ll drop you both.”

  Wells let his pistol drop to the floor, then he turned suddenly and knocked Matt’s pistol away.

  Matt had been away from this sort of thing for a long time, but the man he used to be was coming back quickly to him tonight.

  Matt stepped into Wells and drove his elbow into the man’s nose. Matt then drove a fist into his stomach, and Wells doubled over.

  Bardeen said, “Stop right there, McCabe. You wouldn’t want a bullet to catch the little lady, wouldn’t you?”

  Matt saw Bardeen had grabbed Lettie and was holding her in front of him.

  Matt hesitated. To drop the pistol would be to throw away any leverage he had and return control of the board to the two thugs. But if he tried to take a shot at the one holding Lettie, then Lettie could very well be shot.

  “Drop that gun, McCabe,” Bardeen said, aiming a pistol at Mercy, “or the little girl gets it right between the eyes.”

  Wells was straightening, catching his breath. He snatched the pistol from the floor and stepped around so he could have his gun on Matt.

  That was when Johnny stepped in from the kitchen doorway, his pistol in his hand. Cocked and aimed at Bardeen.

  “Johnny,” Matt said. He hadn’t known Johnny was here, and yet wasn’t all that surprised.

  Wells was down on one knee, still hurting from the punch to the gut.

  Wells said, “Drop your guns, both of you, or I ain’t gonna be able to stop my deputy from killing that little girl. Be a cryin’ shame, wouldn’t it?”

  Johnny’s arm was fully extended, his gun aimed toward Bardeen. “Don’t drop your gun, Matt.”

  “Drop that gun,” Wells said. “I ain’t gonna say it again.”

  “Johnny,” Matt said. “We can’t take the chance.”

  Johnny said, “Matt, quit you’re yammering. I’m trying to draw a bead.”

  Matt’s mouth twitched into a sudden small grin. A conversation they had had before more than once, back in the day. This meant Johnny was about to attempt one of those impossible shots only he could make. Matt had never seen him miss.

  “Lettie, Mercy,” Matt said. “Close your eyes.”

  Both of them looked at him with puzzlement.

  “Do like I say. Close your eyes.”

  They both did.

  Bardeen was looking at Matt with a little confusion. Then at Johnny.

  Matt said, “Drop your gun. Last chance.”

  Bardeen said, “I don’t see what...”

  Johnny’s gun fired. Loud, almost deafening in the small room. Bardeen’s head was snapped back, blood splattering against the wallpaper. His gun went off, but as he was being knocked back by Johnny’s shot, and his own bullet went into a floorboard.

  Lettie screamed and pulled free, and half leaped, half fell to Mercy, and scooped her up.

  Tom was now on his knees, blood flowing from his mouth. One eye was swelling shut.

  Matt’s ears were ringing from the gunshot. Even still, he aimed his pistol back at Wells. “Now, I’m not the shot my brother is, but you know I can’t miss from this distance.”

  Wells stared at him. But he said nothing. He let his pistol fall to the floor again.

  Behind the house was an attached barn, and there Matt found a length of rope, and they left Wells tied up on the kitchen floor. Bound securely. Ankles and wrists. A bandana was tied around his mouth.

  Johnny knelt down beside him, and drew his gun and poked the barrel into the marshal’s cheek. “You picked the wrong family to try to bully. You’re lucky you’re alive. You know that?”

  Wells was staring at him, truly afraid. He nodded.

  “The good minister is above shooting a man. I’m not. Stay away from me and mine.”

  Wells nodded again.

  Tom was in a chair in t
he parlor. The side of his face was bruising up and the eye had swollen shut, but the bleeding in his mouth had stopped.

  He said to Matt, “Father. How did you know to come here?”

  “There are things going on. I’ll tell you all later.”

  Johnny appeared in the doorway from the kitchen.

  Tom said to him, “I’m grateful to you. Please don’t think I’m not. But that was an awful chance you took with my daughter’s life.”

  Johnny said, “No chance at all. To surrender to those men would have probably gotten her killed anyway, along with you and your wife. After they were done with her.”

  Johnny looked to Lettie. “We’ve got to move. We all have to be out of here. How soon can you have some clothes packed?”

  She shrugged. She hadn’t been expecting this. “Half an hour?”

  “Make it ten minutes.”

  Tom said, “I don’t understand. You scared him right good. They shouldn’t bother us again.”

  Johnny shook his head. “He’s scared now. But give him some time, and that’ll fade. And it’ll be replaced by pure, all-out hate. And don’t forget, he’s the law in this town.”

  Matt said, “He, and your mother and brother.”

  Tom was truly confused now. “Mother and Hiram? What’s going on?”

  “We’ll fill you in later. Right now, we have to move.”

  Johnny said, “What happened tonight, it’s just the beginning. It’s going to get ugly around here. A sort of ugly you can’t even imagine. We have to get you and your family out of here.”

  “Ten minutes,” Lettie said.

  She ran up the stairs to the bedrooms.

  Matt walked over to Johnny. “I’m glad we both think alike. I don’t know what I would have done here if you hadn’t shown up.”

  Johnny said, “I’m just glad you’re alive. I had made camp outside of town but then I saw the glow of the fire off in the distance, so I rode to find out what was going on. I heard the men at your place talking. They’re saying you might have died in the fire.”

  Tom said, “What fire?”

  “But they found only one body and they couldn’t identify it. I made sure they didn’t see me, but the marshal was there and I heard him say he was heading here to wait for you, just in case that body they found wasn’t yours.”

  Tom said again, “What fire?”

  “Come on,” Matt said. “Let’s get you on your feet. We have some miles to cover.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Away from here.”

  Tom had three horses in the barn. Two were saddle horses. When he needed to visit a parishioner outside of town, he often went on horseback. He had a second saddle horse also, and sometimes took Lettie and Mercy for rides through the open hills outside of town. The third horse was a little larger, and used to pull a buggy.

  Three horses and a buggy would be a little much on a preacher’s salary, but as partial owner of the McCabe fortune, he had a hefty savings account. He very seldom accessed the money because for a preacher to be wealthy seemed somehow contradictory to the message he was trying to teach. But he had used a little of the money to buy the horses and the carriage.

  “We can’t take the buggy,” Matt said. “It’ll slow us down too much.”

  Johnny looked at his brother. “You speak like you have a destination in mind.”

  Matt nodded. “We can’t outrun ‘em. Not if they want to catch us. Not with Lettie and Mercy along. But there’s a place that’s easy to defend, and it’s not far from here. Maybe an hour’s ride. Ever hear of Swan’s Canyon?”

  Johnny shook his head.

  But Matt nodded. “Yeah, you have. We herded some wild mustangs there, once. Back when you were ramrod of the ranch I was just a young, stupid cowhand chasing Verna. But it wasn’t called Swan’s Canyon, back then.”

  “I think I remember the place. A box canyon, if I remember right. Sheer, rock walls, but mostly grass at the floor. Maybe a couple hundred acres.”

  Matt nodded. “That’s the place.”

  Mercy was with them. She said, “Mister, are you really the real Johnny McCabe?”

  Johnny smiled at the question. “I guess I’m as real as I can be, son.”

  “Are you really my uncle?”

  Johnny nodded. “I suppose I am. One time removed, or so, I suppose.”

  “Are you really a gunhawk?”

  Tom said, “Mercy. Where did you hear a word like that?”

  She said, “At Sunday School.”

  Tom shook his head with defeat.

  Johnny said, “That’s the label they put on me. So’s your grandfather.”

  Mercy looked at her grandfather as though she was seeing him for the first time. “Really?”

  But Matt shook his head. “No, honey. Maybe I used to be something of a gunhawk at one time, but that was long ago.”

  “I don’t know,” Johnny said. “From what I’ve seen the past couple of days, I think maybe we’re witnessing the return of the that man. The return of the gunahawk.”

  Matt said, “May be. You never know, I suppose.”

  “Come on,” Johnny said. “Let’s get the horses ready.”

  Tom could ride a horse well, even as beaten up as he was. Lettie had been raised on a farm and never sat on a horse until she met Tom, but she was a fair rider. Mercy sat behind her, hanging onto her mother. Her eyes were wide and serious, and her stuffed bear was tucked under one arm. The third horse was now wearing the harness it normally did when it pulled the buggy. Pillow cases stuffed with clothing and some canned food were tied to the harness, forming a makeshift pack. Tom was going to lead the animal.

  Matt said, “You remember the way to that canyon?”

  Johnny nodded. “I haven’t thought about it in many a year, but I think I do.”

  “You ride lead, then. There’s a trail that takes you there in a roundabout sort of way, but I think we should ride overland. There’s some rocky ground betwixt here and there. It might make it harder for them to follow us. And we should ride single file, so they won’t know how many riders there are with us. Maybe make ‘em a little less than certain.”

  Matt had been speaking with confidence. Not the sort of weak, uncertainty Johnny had heard in his voice a couple of days ago. And Matt’s firm baritone seemed to be back.

  Johnny nodded at his brother. “Welcome back, Matt.”

  PART TWO

  The Canyon

  15

  They rode single-file. Johnny was in the lead, with one of Matt’s Winchesters across the front of his saddle. Behind him were Lettie and Mercy, followed by Tom and the pack horse. Matt was bringing up the rear. He also rode with a rife across the saddle.

  They kept their horses to a walk, and the sun rose gently as they moved along. The grass was brown and stood to their stirrups. The sky overhead was blue and with only a light wisp of a cloud hanging motionless.

  “It’s such a beautiful morning,” Lettie looked back to say to Tom. “Here we are, driven from our home, with only what we can carry on these horses, and the lawmen back in Greenville possibly coming after us. Last night we barely avoided being brutalized in our own home, and a man was shot and killed and his blood is still splattered all over the living room wall. And yet, the sun rises on a new day, like the old one never happened.”

  Tom said, with open bitterness, “Must be a lesson in there somewhere. Something I could make a sermon out of. But I can’t seem to find it.”

  At the top of a low hill, Johnny stopped and looked back for any sign they were being followed.

  Lettie’s horse ambled past him, followed by Tom, then Matt reined up.

  Matt said, “You think there’s anyone back there?”

  “Not that I can tell. Maybe we lost them in those rocks.”

  About a mile out of town, the country got rocky, a sort of spill-over from the rocky ledge the McCabe mine had been cut through. Johnny and the others had picked their way through it by moonlight. Matt had figured
they would be less likely to leave readable tracks there.

  Matt turned in the saddle and looked at their back trail. “We haven’t lost them for good, though. They’ll be coming.”

  They continued along.

  By normal riding standards, the canyon was about two hours out of Greenville, but they had lost time finding their way through the rocky area, moving slowly so a horse wouldn’t stumble. And they had been riding slowly since, keeping the horses mostly to no more than a fast walk, to make it easier on Lettie and Mercy.

  Johnny figured they were three hours out of Greenville now, and if he remembered the lay of the land correctly, the canyon was still an hour away.

  After a time, the hills began to grow higher and more distinct, with rocky outcroppings. The land was rising, and Johnny knew they would soon be in the foothills to the Sierras.

  They stopped to rest the horses. Mercy stood with her mother, her stuffed bear held tightly in one arm. She was yawning. She had been awake most of the night.

  Matt pulled two cigars from his pocket and handed one to Johnny. Matt said, “All that remains from my life that was. Brazilian cigars. You could buy a horse for the cost of three boxes of these.”

  Johnny bit off the end of the cigar and spit it into the grass, then struck a match and brought it to the front of the cigar and puffed it to life.

  Johnny shook his head with supreme approval. “That’s one mighty fine cigar.”

  “Came with too high a price, though. And I’m not talking about the money.”

  Johnny nodded his head. He caught Matt’s meaning.

  Johnny said, “From all the talk at the dinner table the other night, they all seem to believe a rich vein of ore stretches from the McCabe mine into one wall of the canyon.”

  Matt nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Who’d you hear it from?”

  Matt shrugged, “Verna and Hiram talked about it. I’m no miner. I know nothing about rocks and gold, and such.”

  They mounted up and continued on. As they rode, Johnny would draw a puff of smoke from his cigar, and with his eyes he would scan the land ahead of them and all around, and toss an occasional glance behind them. And he thought about that canyon. The layout of it. He was having to draw on memories more than twenty years old, but he had a good eye for the detail of the land around him, and a good memory for such things.