Return of the Gunhawk (The McCabes Book 3)

by Brad Dennison

  He had said he wanted to ride out to Swan Canyon in the morning. Everyone there had apparently left, and he wanted to scope the place out. Thought he might bring Wells and some of the men with him, just in case.

  “Wells isn’t available,” his mother had said. “I sent him and some men off in pursuit of your father and the others. I told them I wanted no one left alive.”

  Which was why Hiram said, “You what?”

  “It’s not enough to win, Hiram. You need to understand this, if you are to be truly my son. If you are to inherit this financial empire I am building. And believe me, it will all be yours one day. Dan is with your father, and as such has sealed his fate. God help him. And Thomas and his ill-begotten family also. Thomas seems to have such faith in God,” she said the word with contempt, “maybe it’s time for Tom to meet him.”

  “Mother.” He couldn’t believe it. He found himself taking an involuntary step backward.

  “This entire financial empire will be yours, Hiram. All yours. The mine in town. The mines in Mexico. Our shares in the railroad. The cattle ranch. I have invested money in the stock market in New York. You will very possibly become the most powerful man in California. One day, perhaps one of the most powerful in the world. To do this, you have to be smart. Which you are. But you also have to be strong. I won’t always be there to do what has to be done. You will have to be able to make the hard decisions yourself. This is how I raised you. To continue what my father began and what I have taken and grown.”

  He found himself recoiling with disbelief. “But mother. There are women and children there. One of them is your own granddaughter.”

  She shook her head. “When Thomas left, saying he wanted nothing to do with the family business, I removed him from the will and as far as I’m concerned, he’s no longer my son. His offspring is no longer any concern of mine.”

  Hiram was staring at her.

  She looked at him with eyes that seemed old. Weary. “Being able to make the hard decisions is sometimes not easy. It sometimes takes a toll on you. But everyone has to know that when you speak, thunder rolls. It’s through the power of intimidation that you get your way in this world, Hiram. You can’t let up. Ever. You have to be powerful enough so if you speak, the governor will stop and listen. Someday perhaps even the president.

  “I have groomed you for this, Hiram. You’re old enough now that you have to start taking some initiative. You have to start being strong. These people opposed us. Matthew handed us the victory we wanted, but on his terms. Everyone must understand that we accept victory only on our own terms.”

  “You tried to kill my father once. It resulted in our entire house being burned to the ground.”

  She shook her head with exasperation. “Hiram. Is there no hope for you at all? Haven’t your surmised by now that Matthew is not your father? Tillman served me in a variety of ways over the years. Loyal to a fault. And I had him serve me in one other way, too.

  “You see, I have been grooming you to one day take over for me from the moment I decided it was time to conceive a second child. We already had Thomas, but he was too much his father’s son. I realized my mistake. I didn’t want my second child, the one I would groom to take over for me, to have McCabe blood. Those people have some sort of idiotic, misplaced sense of nobility. Look where it gets them. Something in their blood, I suppose. Matthew and his brothers are all like that. And I understand their father was, too. It all seems to have begun with the original John McCabe, a trailblazer who explored the mountains of Pennsylvania back when that area was a frontier. They make him out to be some sort of larger-than-life saint, like something out of a Fennimore Cooper novel, swooping into the forest to save everyone from villains. I wanted nothing of that delusional nonsense for you. So I made sure you weren’t tainted with McCabe blood.”

  Hiram was speechless. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

  “So, yes. Matthew and the others with him will die. And there will be no connection to us. No evidence that would stand up in court. But everyone will know. If you oppose us, you reap what you sow.”

  Hiram left the room and staggered down the small hallway to the stairs. He made his way down, hanging onto the railing. He felt dizzy. His legs seemed to move of their own accord, but they weren’t moving well. He pulled at his cravat as it suddenly felt tight.

  He staggered into the kitchen and opened the back door and lost his dinner.

  He then stood by the open doorway and breathed. Sucked in the night air. It was December and the air was maybe fifty degrees. He took in another lungful and felt steadier. His legs were now strong and the dizziness was fading.

  He went to the parlor. A man was there, a former slave, maybe fifty years old. Mother had hired him as a butler to replace Timmons. At least in some of the duties Timmons had. He wore a black jacket and white gloves.

  “Would you like some more wood on the fire, sir?” he said.

  Hiram shook his head. “Thank you, Luke, but what I really need is to be alone. You have the night off.”

  Luke bowed. “Thank you, sir.”

  Luke stopped at the door. “Oh, and sir? Merry Christmas.”

  Hiram nodded sadly. Wearily. “Yes. Merry Christmas.”

  Luke stepped out, leaving Hiram alone in the room. Hiram didn’t know where he was stepping out to, and didn’t care.

  He said, “Merry Christmas, indeed.”

  He added a couple chunks of wood to the fire himself and then poured a scotch and dropped into a stuffed chair.

  He finished the scotch while a clock on the mantel ticked away. He got up and grabbed the decanter of scotch and brought it back to the chair with him. He refilled his glass and then emptied it. And he let his mind reel with the things his mother had said.

  He dozed. The clock bonged eleven times. He poured another scotch, drank it and dozed some more. The clock woke him up when it sounded again at the twelve o’clock hour.

  He got to his feet. He had to talk to his mother. He had to have her call the men back. Being strong was one thing, but there had to be a place where you drew the line. Murder was where he would draw it. He didn’t want any blood on his hands. Especially the blood of Dan or Tom, or Tom’s daughter.

  He climbed the stairs. His mother wanted strong, and so it was time for him to be strong. He would be ruthless. He would take what he thought should be his. Maybe even take some things that he shouldn’t, like the gold people thought was waiting for him under the cliffs of Swan Canyon. He would use legal maneuvering to make sure the court never saw the canyon as belonging to the Swan woman. His mining engineers would take dynamite to those cliffs and blast them away and then his miners would dig and they would find the gold. But Hiram would not kill. That was where he drew the line. If old Bernard Swan’s wife and daughter had to live on the street and beg, well it was their problem, not Hiram’s. But he would not kill.

  He knocked on the bedroom door. “Mother?”

  There was no answer. She was probably asleep. Too bad. They needed to talk, and they needed to do it now. Part of being strong.

  He rapped on the door again. “Mother? I want to talk to you.”

  Still no response. He turned the doorknob and stepped in. His mother was still in her chair, her eyes shut and her head listing a bit to one side. She had fallen asleep. The fire in the hearth was down to glowing embers, so Matt turned up a lamp that stood on a table by the bed.

  “Mother?” he said.

  She sat with the tea cup in a saucer in her lap. There was still some tea in the cup, now long grown cold.

  “Mother,” he said, and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

  The tea cup toppled and hit the floor, cracking into three pieces. But his mother didn’t move.

  “Mother?” He shook her shoulder again. Her head rocked a bit with the motion, but her eyes didn’t open.

  He didn’t think she was breathing. He touched the back of his hand to her forehead and found it cold to the touch. He took the liberty of probin
g her wrist for a pulse—the old lady didn’t like to be touched and would scream at him until his ears ached if she woke up to find him feeling for a pulse. But she didn’t wake up and he found no pulse.

  She was dead. He stood and stared. She had been sitting here in front of the fire after their last discussion, and sometime during the hours that had passed she simply died. Judging by how cold she was to the touch, she had died not long after he had left the room. She hadn’t looked well for some time. Maybe she was gravely ill but he hadn’t known.

  You’re supposed to cry when your mother dies. Hiram understood that as the normal way people responded to such an event. And yet he simply stood and stared.

  Was it that he didn’t love her? He asked himself did she actually really love him? Did she even know what the word meant? Hiram realized he wasn’t sure that he himself knew what the word meant.

  So, the old lady was dead. This meant the money, the assets, the properties were all his. He was the sole heir. Dan and Tom had talked themselves out of being included.

  Hiram supposed he loved them enough not to want them dead, if not wanting someone dead was the definition of love. But he had no intention of sharing any of the wealth with them or with Father. They made their proverbial beds, and now would have to lie in them.

  But he didn’t want them dead. And mother had sent off Wells and the others to murder them. Hiram had decided where he would not cross the line, and he intended to stand by it.

  He went outside to the two men who were standing guard. The two Johnny McCabe had gotten the jump on when he and Father had paid them a visit.

  Hiram said, “I want one of you to saddle up and ride out and find Wells. Tell him and his men to come back.”

  The man looked at Hiram. “They left over a day ago. There’s no way we could catch up to ‘em.”

  Hiram let out a sigh. Like a sail having some of its wind knocked out of it. He shut the door.

  So there was no way to stop the killing. He supposed it would make his life easier in the long run if he didn’t have any of them coming to him one day and trying to lay claim to part of the fortune. He had no doubt he could defeat them in court, but family feuds could be bad for business.

  He glanced at the stairs. Mother was upstairs dead. Soon Matt McCabe would be, too. Not his real father, he supposed. But his real father was dead, too. And Dan and Tom and Tom’s daughter soon would be, too. Oh, well. Nothing he could do about it.

  He thought about getting one of the men to ride into town and get the doctor. Have Mother declared legally dead. But then thought better of it. It could wait until morning.

  The fire in the hearth was dying down so he set another chunk of wood in it and then poured himself another scotch from the decanter that was running low, and sat down to stare into the fire.

  He would have to make plans. That was for certain. Mother always liked living on the ranch, but he thought maybe he would relocate their operations to San Francisco. The ranch would serve as a vacation home for when he wanted to get out of the city for a little while. There were debutantes in San Francisco and he was sure any number of them would jump at the chance to become his wife. A man needs a wife at his side if he is going to conquer the world. The new ranch house would be a small mansion, the way Mother had designed it. There were to be no pillars at the new house, but he liked pillars. The old house had had them. He would have some built to stand proudly out front, to overlook the drive leading up to the house and to welcome him when he returned from San Francisco.

  He thought about the shipping business. The Brackston family had done well in it. He had thought for some time about getting into that business. Mother had shied away from it because she knew little about shipping goods back and forth between San Francisco and China, and she didn’t want to get into a business she knew little about. Hiram didn’t share that idea. He figured you can hire someone who knows the business. If you don’t get the results you want, then fire the man and hire another.

  He sat back in his chair and looked at the fire and took a sip of scotch. He couldn’t help but smile.

  34

  Johnny stood by the fire, not looking into it but beyond it. His gun was tied down low at his right side and his Sharps rifle was within reach. He wore a waist-length jacket against the cold and his sombrero was pulled down tightly.

  Dusty was with the herd, as were Ben Harris and Joe and Dan. Even though Ches had an arm in a sling, he was there, too. More riders than you normally need to ride herd at night, but with riders on their back trail Johnny wanted to take no chances. Each of the men was outfitted with a rifle, except for Ches who wouldn’t be able to use a rifle until his shoulder had healed enough so he didn’t need the sling.

  The tent flap parted, making the almost silent whispery sound canvas makes when it is pushed aside, and Jessica walked up to him. She was wearing a shawl and her hair was hanging loose. He wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her in for a standing-up snuggle. He used his left hand. His right was always free to grab for his gun. Especially on a night like this.

  During the day, Johnny and Dusty had ridden out to scout their back trail, and the riders Dusty had seen. They hadn’t been able to get close enough, but based on their tracks, Johnny estimated the number of riders to be anywhere from nine to twelve.

  Johnny said to Jessica, “I thought you were asleep.”

  She shook her head. “I tried, but I kept lying there waiting for the sound of gunfire.”

  “Might be best for you to try a little more. Won’t do us any good if we’re all too tired to see straight come morning.”

  “I can be helpful, you know. I can shoot a rifle.”

  “Have you ever shot a man?”

  “I was ready to once. Back when I worked in town. Back before Bernard.”

  He went to a wagon and pulled from the cargo box a Winchester carbine. One of the rifles that had been Bernard Swan’s. “Why don’t you sleep with this by your cot.”

  She took the rifle.

  He said, “Show me you can chamber a round.”

  She jacked the lever-action down and back like she had done it all her life. He nodded.

  “That got your approval, teacher?” she said.

  He grinned. “You’ve got to be the most beautiful student a man could ever have.”

  She gave a wicked grin. “I could teach you a few things, too.”

  He pulled her in for a kiss.

  Then she said, “I’ll try to get some sleep. It’ll be even more difficult, now.”

  She went back into the tent. He stood looking after her.

  Zack walked over. A coffee pot stood by the fire, and he knelt and grabbed a tin cup. It was the one Johnny had been using, and it had a little cold coffee left in it, but Zack didn’t care. On the trail, men often paid little attention to the importance of clean dishware. He tossed out the cold coffee and then filled the cup from the pot.

  His pistol was belted on, and he carried a Winchester cradled in the crook of one arm. Because of the riders on their back trail, everyone was standing ready.

  “What do you think of her?” Johnny said.

  “She’s a keeper,” Zack said. “I never thought I’d see any woman other than Lura who could fit so naturally at your side. But it’s like she was born to be there, and you at hers.”

  “It would be one thing if we were heading to Montana to build a home for ourselves. But I have four children pretty much grown.”

  “Dusty seems to like her well enough.”

  “But what will Josh, Jack and Bree think of her? And the house is Ginny’s territory. Always has been. What kind of problems will there be?”

  Zack shrugged. “Nothing your family can’t work out. Look at the way Temperance fit into your family.”

  “She’s become almost like a daughter to me.”

  “That’s what I mean. I think your family will take to her and little Cora easily. I’ve already seen Dusty with Cora. He’s falling into the role of big brother so nat
urally, it’s like it was meant to be.”

  “I’m thinking maybe I should write Ginny another letter. Explain a few things before we get there.”

  Matt was walking up. He was holding a rifle in both hands and had been walking the perimeter. “We’ll be nearing a town called Elkwood in a couple of days. There’s a railroad line that goes through there on its way to Stockton. I can have the boys take your letter to Cheyenne, just like the last one.”

  “You’re not a railroad owner anymore.”

  “Maybe they won’t have heard the news yet.”

  Zack said, “So, what are we going to do about our unwanted guests back there?”

  Johnny said, “I’m thinking we’ll send the wagons and the herd on in the morning. If I remember the terrain right, we’re near a small canyon. Not as big as the Swan canyon. Only a few acres in size. But it’s not a box canyon. It’s open at both ends. We can drive the cattle right through there to create some tracks that are real easy to read. And when the men back there approach the canyon, some of us’ll be waiting for ‘em. Hopefully we can get out of it without a shooting match. But if that’s what they want, we’ll be in a better position to deal with it.”

  “I want to be there with you,” Matt said.

  Johnny shook his head. “I’m going to need you with the wagons and the herd. You’re a natural leader. And Joe can’t do much more than shoot a scattergun, and that’s only good at close range. He tried to use a Winchester back at Jessica’s canyon, but didn’t get very good results. So he should be with you. I’ll take you, Zack. And Dusty.”

  Matt said, “Only three of you?”

  Johnny nodded. “Three’ll be enough. We can get the drop on them and catch them in a potential crossfire. Dusty’s a good shot and my Sharps will make an excellent sniper rifle.”

  Zack smiled. “I do like the way you think.”

  “And if they don’t fall for it and instead ride out and around the canyon, we’ll just wait until they’re gone then cut out and around them and catch up with the wagons before they do.”