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

such bad first impressions. He can be headstrong, but when you get to know him, I think you’ll find your brother’s a good sort. And right now, we’re all going to have to be strong for each other, and there will be no place for dissension.”

Dusty didn’t want to admit he did not quite know what dissension meant. Patterson had taught him to read and write, but his education never went much past the basics. But he thought he got the general drift of what she was saying. “Yes’m. I’ll do my part.”

“You know, Dusty, the impression I get is that you generally do.”

Bree ran down the stairs, and into the kitchen, eyes wide. “Aunt Ginny! Dusty! Josh is gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Aunt Ginny asked.

“He’s not in his room. His bed hasn’t been slept in. and his bedroll and saddle bags are gone.”

He glanced to Aunt Ginny. “I’ll go to the stable and see if his saddle is still here.”

Ginny and Bree followed him out the back door. Beyond them was the meadow where the herd of horses that made up the McCabe remuda lounged, some grazing contentedly, others running about. None of them gave any indication that, just a few nights earlier, the night had exploded in gunfire and death.

At the sight of Dusty and the McCabe women, Pa’s chocolate colored stallion reared up with his front hooves kicking at the wind, then he was down on all fours, pacing about, kicking at imaginary targets, letting everyone know he was king. What a magnificent animal, Dusty thought. Pa and Josh were the only two who could ride him, Dusty had been told.

But one horse was not there. Dusty said, “Rabbit’s gone.”

Aunt Ginny said, “Where could that boy have gone to?”

“I have an idea,” Dusty muttered to himself. Indeed he did. He had been having similar thoughts himself.

“What’s going on?” Bree asked. “He didn’t go after those raiders, did he?”

Dusty nodded. “I think he did.”

Aunt Ginny brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the alarm she felt. “He’ll be killed.”

“No he won’t,” Dusty said. “I’ll go after him.”

“But he has a head start,” Bree pointed out. “A good one. Maybe six or eight hours.”

“Doesn’t matter. His trail will be fresh, and easy to follow.”

“What if he catches up to the raiders before you catch up to him?”

“He won’t. I’ll catch up to him first. There are very few men who could leave a trail I couldn’t follow. Pa might be one of them, and Zack another. But Josh isn’t. I’ll catch up to him.”

“Dusty,” Aunt Ginny said. “You may know more about those sort of men than Josh does, but one of their bullets could kill you just as easily as him. Be careful. I want both of you to return safely.”

Dusty gave her a half smile, not knowing quite how to react to concern about his well-being. “I’d best saddle up.”

That night, Josh picketed his horse toward the edge of the circle of light cast by his small fire. A kettle rested in the coals, and inside was brewing some trail coffee. He had laid his saddle bags and bedroll near the fire, and from one saddle bag had produced a skillet and a can of beans, and a can opener. He had hoped to have roasted rabbit for supper, but had seen only two during his day of riding. He had fired at one with his revolver, and missed. When he saw the second one a few hours later, it was maybe five hundred feet away. He decided to go with the rifle as it would be more accurate at that distance, but when he reached for the it, the rabbit darted away.

Josh dumped the beans into the skillet. His horse had been grazing quietly, but then suddenly looked up toward the darkness beyond the glow of the fire. Josh had lived on the frontier long enough to know not to ignore a warning sign like that from a horse. Josh casually loosened the pistol in its holster, while continuing to work on his supper.

“Hello, the fire!” a man’s voice called from the darkness, in the accepted manner of approaching another’s campfire.

Josh recognized the voice. But what would he be going out here? Josh figured he had put eighteen miles between himself and the ranch today.

“Come on in,” Josh called back.

The man stepped forward and into the glow of the fire. It was indeed Dusty, clad once again in his buckskin shirt, with his hat hanging against his back from its chin strap, and his Peacemaker at his side. He was afoot, leading his horse. Dusty’s Spencer rifle was in a scabbard, tied to the saddle.

“That coffee smells good,” Dusty said with a smile. “Mind sharin’ some?”

“Do you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”

Dusty shrugged. “Probably the same thing you are.”

And he turned his back to Josh and began stripping the gear from his horse.

Josh said, “What I’m doing here is none of your business. You might as well climb back into that saddle and ride back the way you come.”

Dusty dropped his saddle to the ground, then approached the fire, holding his hands out to its warmth. “It’s gonna be cold tonight. Summer’s sure taking its time getting to these mountains.”

Josh gave Dusty a sidelong glance, and put the skillet on the fire. He drew his bowie knife and began stirring the beans to keep them from burning or sticking to the bottom of the skillet.

“The coffee smells good,” Dusty said again.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. It’s almost ready.”

Dusty pulled a tin cup from his saddle bags. “You’re wrong, you know.”

“It’s not almost ready?”

“No, I mean you’re wrong about it not being any of my business.”

“Look, Dusty, I appreciate the help you gave back at the ranch. Not only your gun, but your knowledge too. And maybe you are my brother – I don’t know – but..,”

Dusty cut him off. “It’s not every day you have someone ride