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

but he knew if he had backed down, he would have been as good as dead. On the frontier, courage meant everything. Survival was often a group effort, like when the Sioux warriors had attacked. A man without courage might become a detriment to those around him. A cowardly act could stay with a man his entire life. Any hopes he might have of making something of himself and holding his head high when in the presence of other men would be lost.

Things will not always be this way out here, Josh thought. Already, the streets of cities like San Francisco and St. Louis were paved with cobblestones, and telegraph wires stretched to many parts of the west. Just nine years earlier a railroad track had been laid clear to the Pacific. Civilization was creeping its way westward, and would one day come to these mountains. But that time was not yet here.

In a way, Josh hoped it would not be here for a long time. The raw frontier could be a place of violence, but here a man could be truly free. With his horse beneath him, his gun at his side, and his wits, courage and ingenuity, he had all he needed to meet any trouble that might arise. Josh did not need, or want, civilization with all of its restrictions. Its limitations.

Josh reined up atop a steep ridge. Below him, a thick pine forest trailed away, to meet a flat expanse covered with lush, green grass. Two miles away, straight ahead and due west, the grassy plateau met with pines again, which blanketed another ridge. This was the small valley the McCabes called home. It was fifteen miles along, and at the southern end stood the McCabe Ranch headquarters. At the northern end of the valley was Zack Johnson’s ranch.

Josh started down the ridge, once again riding Rabbit, letting the mountain bred horse find its footing as it went.

Pa had always said never to come back the same way you leave, so anyone who might be watching cannot discern a pattern to your habits. It seemed to Josh that Pa lived in sort of a state of war much of the time, almost as though he expected an enemy force to come attacking at any moment. Zack Johnson had explained that comes from having been shot at one time too many.

Josh had left the valley through a pass at the southeastern corner, the only easily traversed pass on that side of the valley, so he re-entered by climbing straight down Shoshone Ridge at the southern end of the valley.

He emerged from the pines onto the grassy plateau that was the valley floor, and a quarter mile ahead was a house built of pine logs, standing two floors high. Rising above its peaked roof was a wide chimney made of stones. To one side of the house, a small single-level addition was attached, its roof sloping downward. Josh knew behind the house was another such addition, which contained the kitchen.

Two hundred feet in front of the house and off a bit to one side was a barn, made of planks nailed into place upright. In a corral, a horse paced restlessly, and further back, where the grassy floor of the valley extended behind the house, a dozen head of mustangs grazed contentedly.

A man stepped from the barn, wearing coveralls and a wide-brimmed hat. Josh knew this to be the wrangler, Fred Mitchum. Fred raised one hand in a wave, which Josh returned.

As Josh approached the barn, he gave a tug of the reins to slow Rabbit to a walk.

“Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Fred said.

“Didn’t expect so, either,” Josh said as he reined up before the pole fence of the corral, and swung out of the saddle.

“Have some trouble?”

Josh nodded as he gave the rein a couple turns about the fence, then turned his attention to a trough which was half filled with water. Here in the valley, a cool northwesterly breeze was drifting down from the mountains, but out in the grasslands to the east, the early summer sun had been harsh, and the wind hot. Josh’s face was smeared with sweat and trail dust, his hair damp beneath his hat, and there was a streak of wetness down his back and along either side of his shirt.

He pulled his hat free, submerged it in the trough, filling it to the brim, and turned it over his head, letting out a groaning “Ahhhh!” as the water soaked his hair, and rushed down his face onto his shirt.

“What kind of trouble?” Fred asked, pursuing the matter.

Josh did not want to go into detail about the gunfight, as boasting was not the McCabe way. “Had some trouble with Reno and the boys. Had to fire ‘em.”

“Fire ‘em?” Fred asked incredulously. “Reno was a top hand.”

“Now he can be a top hand somewheres else.”

Josh briefly detailed what he had found, the tracks of what looked to be a large body of riders, and they had helped themselves to some McCabe cows. “Reno wouldn’t follow my orders when I told him and the boys to mount up and ride with me to get back the stolen cows. And they were drinking’. You know how Pa feels about that. So I fired ‘em.”

“What’re you gonna do now?:”

“Not much I can do, except ride into town tomorrow and see if I can hire a couple new hands, then ride back out to the line shack. Them riders will be long gone by then, but on the way back I discovered Reno had been letting his work slide for more than just one day. I found cattle roaming all over creation. We will have our work cut out for us.”

Josh repeated his story for Aunt Ginny and Bree, again omitting the part about the gunfight. He also decided not to tell them about the riders stealing cows. No sense to worry them unnecessarily, he thought.

Aunt Ginny matched Josh in height, and