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

by the woman who called herself both Felicia and Sarah-Ann, and the men who rode with her, moved its way into town. Josh and Dusty followed the trail until they reined up on a low grassy hill overlooking the tents and ramshackle buildings that were Midas.

“So,” Josh said. “Looks like those riders might have spent the night right down there in town. And they might be there now. Maybe we should check it out.”

“No, you’re not riding down there,” Dusty said.

Josh looked at him. “Why not?”

“Because, here’s where we part company. You’re turning back for the ranch.”

“Like hell I am.”

Dusty twisted in the saddle to face him. “Josh, this is pointless. You’ve got too much to lose. Those men down there are professionals. You’re good with a gun, better than most, but you’re not a professional killer. They all are. Go back home. Aunt Ginny and Bree need you. Go back. Run the ranch with Pa. Live the life you’re meant to live.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going do what I have to.”

“And why is it all right for you?”

“Because, it’s my fight.”

“Wait a minute.” Josh’s shoulders sagged a bit with exasperation. One thing Dusty had noticed about him – very expressive body language. You knew where you stood with him, what he was thinking, but he would never survive in a poker game. “How is this your fight, and not mine?”

“Because, I know those men. I have to make certain Patterson really wasn’t with them when they hit the ranch. It looks like he wasn’t, but I have to make sure. And even so, they have to know I was there at the ranch. They were watching it closely enough to have seen me. This gives us a score we have to settle.”

Josh looked down toward the town, and sat in silence for a few moments. Then he looked back to Dusty. “It means a lot to me to measure up to being his son. Maybe too much. I don’t know. But I could never call myself his son if I let my brother ride down there alone. Face it, Dusty. You rode onto the ranch to find your family, and you succeeded. I’m not the only one who has to make some adjustments. You have to learn you’re not just a lone wolf anymore. We’re McCabes, and we ride together.”

“It’s going to be rough. We may not get out alive.”

Josh shrugged. “Life can be like that.”

“What about Aunt Ginny and Bree?”

“They have Pa. He’ll take care of them when he’s recuperated. And they have Zack, and Hunter, and Fred. And they have Jack. They’ll be all right.”

Dusty smiled and nodded. “All right, brother. But we’re not riding into town. I think staying with our first plan is the better idea. Follow me.”

They cut a wide circle around town, searching for tracks that would have been made by the three riders who had been with the girl. Tracks made by the riders on their way to town from the ridges.

In a set of low grassy hills south of town, they found a line of hoof prints pressed into the dry earth. The riders had been holding to single-file, which made it impossible to guess their number.

Josh and Dusty reined up and sat alongside each other, examining the tracks from the saddle.

“What do you think?” Josh asked.

“It’s them.”

“Probably. But how can you tell for certain? There might be more than one group of riders moving about these hills. I’d hate to spend all morning following the wrong set of tracks.”

“It’s them,” Dusty said. “Why else would they ride single-file?”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Pa always had us ride single-file. Just to be on the safe side. So anyone coming on our trail wouldn’t be able to tell it was just two riders and think we might be easy prey.”

“You don’t think that way unless you have a reason to. Pa probably learned that with the Texas Rangers. But most folks wouldn’t think to do that. A group of cowhands leaving town and returning to their ranch probably wouldn’t. Besides,” Dusty said, turning from the trail to look Josh in the eye, “manhunting isn’t all that different from hunting a deer. A lot of it’s instinct. And mine tells me this is the trail.”

Josh nodded. “All right. Lead the way.”

The trail swung southward, away from town. Dusty and Josh followed it for a mile, where it turned southwest, then directly west, and led them deeper into the foothills. The low grassy hills soon gave way to steeper slopes scattered with junipers and an occasional pine or cedar. About noon, the trail turned north and followed a line of ridges, then after a mile, swung west again.

Josh and Dusty stopped in a grassy ravine to let their horses blow. They dismounted and each loosened the cinch.

“You wouldn’t think they knew where they were going at all,” Josh said. “The way the trail winds around through these hills. It almost seems aimless.”

“Oh yeah, they know where they’re going.” Dusty was removing the canteen he had slung over the saddle horn. “They’re cutting back and forth, zig-zagging, so there won’t be a clear direction toward where they’re going.”

Josh took his own a canteen from his saddle and took a sip. “So, tell me about this Vic Falcone.”

“He was Sam’s right-hand-man for the last couple of years I was with them. Falcone wasn’t the worst of the lot, but he had nothing against shooting a man in the back during a robbery to prevent that man from pointing a finger at him later. But Patterson wouldn’t allow that sort of thing. They didn’t come much harder than Falcone, but he was afraid of Patterson.”

“But you said he wasn’t the worst of the bunch?”

Dusty shook his head. “That honor would go to a cutthroat named Kiowa Haynes.

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”

“That’s because you grew up here in Montana. If you had been in Texas or New Mexico, you would have heard