The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) by Brad Dennison (microsoft ebook reader .TXT) 📗

had already survived two bullets, so what harm would a cup of coffee do? She went downstairs and brewed some of that black mud he called coffee. With a little good-natured pleading, one cup led to another, but he himself stopped it at two.

“Coffee makes you lose water,” he said, “and that’s not what we want right now. I need to build my fluids back.”

Ginny was amazed at how this man took charge of his own recuperation. Almost like he was his own doctor, and she the nurse. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised, because this was how he handled everything.

Josh stood looking down through his bedroom window to the yard below. From his window he had a view of the barn, and if it had been daylight, he would been looking directly at the corral. At the moment, the yard was lost in almost pitch blackness, as the moon was covered by a rolling sea of clouds. Going to rain tomorrow, he thought. Yet, even though he couldn’t really see the yard, he did not have to. He knew every nook and cranny, every rock. Every strand of grass. This was his home.

And as he stood in the window of his bedroom, he knew, after this night, he might never see his home again.

The clock downstairs bonged twelve times. Midnight. Not generally the best time to be hitting the trail, but if you wanted to leave without being seen, it was perhaps the best time.

He was fully dressed. A gray range shirt and tan pants. His Navy Colt was buckled about his hips. On his bed behind him were his bedroll, his saddle bags, and a Winchester.

He didn’t want to leave. He felt a pang of sadness strike deep within him that he might never see this place again. But he was the son of Johnny McCabe. A job needed doing, and intended to see it got done.

He draped his saddle bags over his shoulder, and tucked his bedroll under one arm. He snagged his hat from the peg it had been hanging on, and placed it on his head. He then snatched his rifle from the bed, and stepped out into the hallway, placing his feet down lightly so his bootsoles would make no sound on the wooden floorboards. He gently shut his door, and then made his way to the hallway.

The house was quiet. Pa was gently sleeping in his room. The door to the guest room, which was now Dusty’s, was closed. As was Bree’s.

He made it down the stairway, keeping to the edge of the stairs so the boards underfoot would not bow and creak too much. He held the rifle in his left hand, and with his right, he gripped the banister tightly. It wouldn’t do for his bad knee to give way, and cause him to stumble on the steps, and attract attention to himself.

The door at the far wall of the large open room was shut. He hoped she was asleep. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He knew they would just try to talk him out of what had to be done.

The large room was dark, but he knew it like he knew the yard outside. Every nook and cranny. He walked past the sofa, and then toward the door. He opened it slowly, and only a couple of feet. He knew about the squealing hinge, and didn’t want it to awaken anyone. But he knew this house, and knew the hinge sounded when the door was open about three feet.

With the door open only a couple of feet, he slid sideways out the door, and then gently shut it.

A horse was waiting for him in the stable. Rabbit. Earlier in the evening, he had led Rabbit into a stall, and left him there. He was hoping neither Fred nor Dusty would notice, and neither seemed to.

He struck a match and brought a lantern to life, but kept the light turned down so only a faint, gray light filled this corner of the stable. In the near darkness, he saddled Rabbit. He tied his saddle bags and bedroll to the back of his saddle, tucked the Winchester into the saddle boot, then he blew out the lantern and led Rabbit out into the darkened yard.

He allowed himself one final look at the house. The moon overhead was peaking briefly through an opening in the clouds, allowing him a view of the structure. A large, rectangular house shaped like a cape. Pa had said this was a common design back east, but it was one Josh saw seldom in the west. The walls were made of pine logs, and a stone chimney stood tall.

He then swung into the saddle, and started Rabbit away at a quick walk. He left the ranch behind him.

The following morning, Aunt Ginny took her customary place at the table, with her back to the stove. This had become her chair for practical reasons, so she could jump up and tend to things on the stove as need arose. Bree sat at Ginny’s side. Dusty, freshly shaven and wearing a white shirt, and with his Colt Peacemaker holstered at his side, poured a cup of coffee and walked around the table to take the chair opposite Aunt Ginny

“I just noticed something,” Aunt Ginny said. “I haven’t seen Josh this morning. Would someone go upstairs and ask him if he is going to grace us with his presence for breakfast?”

“I’ll go,” Bree said, and hurried from the kitchen. Dusty and Aunt Ginny could hear her light footsteps as she scurried up the stairs.

“It’s not like him to sleep in,” Ginny said. “He’s usually the first to rise.”

“He might need a little more rest. He’s still banged up from that fall he took from the roof.” Dusty took a sip of coffee. “I think it’s going to be a while before life settles back to something close to normal around here.”

“It’s too bad you and Josh gave each other