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

Never look into her eyes again. The home he had allowed himself to imagine building alongside her would remain simply an unbuilt dream. And she would never know what had happened to him. Just that he had never come looking for her. She would marry someone else, raise children with him, and as she grew older Dusty would become but a dim memory.

Dusty didn’t know if Josh fully accepted him as a brother, but he realized it no longer mattered. All that now seemed important was Josh safely escaping this canyon and returning to the family, to warn them. And that Josh would live. For that, Dusty would kill.

He needed to make the fight last as long as possible, so Josh could get a solid head start. And he would need to kill Kiowa, who was the best tracker among them. That would leave Falcone, Loggins, White-Eye and Stew to pursue Josh. Dusty no longer thought Falcone would have the stamina for such a thing, and would not spend much time, if any, on the pursuit. Loggins and Stew might attempt to follow Josh, but they were not expert trackers, and Josh was, so he would be able to cover his trail well.

That they would shoot Dusty was to be expected, once they realized Josh was gone. But Dusty didn’t care. What was important was Josh could rejoin his family. Josh was lucky. He had what Dusty had always longed for, and Dusty was determined not to see the family broken up.

Dusty drifted off to sleep with thoughts of the McCabe home, and the warmth that seemed to generate from the bond between them all. And what it might feel like to wake up every morning to a breakfast in that kitchen, and to have that house to return to every night.

THIRTY-NINE

Dusty was awakened with a boot to the ribs. The eastern sky was lightening, and the last of the stars overhead were fading.

“Sit up.” It was Loggins.

Dusty did as he was commanded, stretching his arms to either side to try and work out a knot that had developed between his shoulders from spending the night on an uneven patch of earth.

“The boss wants to see you.”

Dusty rose to his feet. Damn, he hoped this knot went away before the fight.

Josh was awake and looking at him. Dusty looked back, and in their silence, managed to say a lot. Dusty gave a slight nod of his head, which Josh returned, and then Dusty started for the cabin.

Loggins fell into place beside him. Loggins said, “I’ve got to tell you. Just between you and me, I hate Kiowa. He’s dangerous. He’s bad for the whole lot of us. He’s a loose cannon, and will get us all killed if someone don’t get rid of him. I’m rootin’ for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you really think you can take him? I mean, he’s the best with a knife I’ve ever seen. And he’s cruel. Likes to hear a man scream.”

They reached the cabin door, and Loggins said, “Go on in. The boss told me to wait out here.”

Dusty found Falcone sitting at his table, with a fresh bottle of whiskey standing before him. He had already poured himself a glass. Flossy was at the hearth, fixing a pot of coffee, and Temperance stood at a cupboard preparing a batter for what Dusty guessed would be hot cakes. Where she had found the eggs, he didn’t know. Maybe they had been taken from the nest of a wild bird. Now was not the time to put much thought into it.

“Would you like a drink?” Falcone asked. “A lot of men I’ve known would have a drink before battle, to take the edge off. Steady the hand.”

Dusty shook his head. “Sam Patterson told me to never take a drink when going into a situation that would require all your wits.”

Falcone nodded thoughtfully. “That might be wise advice.”

He motioned to a chair across the table from himself. “Sit. Please.”

Dusty slid the chair out and dropped into it.

Falcone looked to Flossy. “Go get it.”

Apparently she knew what he was talking about, because she left the coffee and pushed past the blanket into the bedroom she shared with Falcone, and returned carrying a knife with a shining double-edged blade. She handed it to Falcone, who cradled it by the handle with one hand and held it up so the blade caught the light of the fire.

“This was given to me by my father, the late Colonel Victor T. Falcone, the First. Given to me as a reward when I chose to follow in his footsteps.”

“I’ve heard over the years you were a teacher at a military school,” Dusty said. “Some say West Point.”

Falcone looked at Dusty, chuckled and shook his head. “I was a teacher, yes, but never at West Point. Never at a military school of any kind. I did attend West Point, though, with intentions of following the military tradition of my family. But I was expelled before my first year was completed. Drinking, brawling. Maybe I was never cut out for the military life. Or, maybe I was simply too young.

“Regardless, I found myself a disgrace in the eyes of the family. I moved south, attended school and eventually became a teacher in Missouri. When the war broke out, I joined the Confederate war effort, riding with Patterson and his raiders. I found a lifestyle that was much more rewarding than teaching, and more exciting. And so consuming that, when the war was over, I could not give it up and simply return to teaching little children the three R’s.”

Falcone handed the knife to Dusty. “I want you to use this today.”

Dusty held the knife, and saw letters etched into the steel of the blade. VTF. Victor T. Falcone. “I can’t use this, Vic. It was a gift from your father. It means so much to you.”

“That’s why I want you to use it. I want you to kill Kiowa. I want you to win this