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

of the bark helping him maintain his grip, then let his legs follow suit. Hard-soled riding boots were not the best footwear for climbing, he realized immediately. He had usually been barefoot when doing this as a child. He decided he would ask Pa to help him make a pair of those Shoshone boots.

Up he went. Slowly, only a few inches with each wriggle. He was grateful the work he did kept him in good physical shape, because he needed to be for this stunt.

Sweat was soon rolling down each side of his face and under the back of his shirt, and he was sucking in air through his now open mouth. But he kept going.

He was soon on a level with the pointed tops of some of the shorter pines, and some of the taller ones rooted a little further down the slope.

“You see it, yet?” Pa called up.

“See what?” there was nothing significant as far as Josh could see.

“Keep going!”

Josh continued upward. Soon the pointed tops from down the slope were below him.

And then, he saw it. The open green expanse of the meadow at the valley floor. And the McCabe ranch house and its outbuildings, looking like small wooden boxes in the distance.

He had a perfect view of the house from here. He could even make out the remuda grazing behind the house, a couple mustangs running about, stretching their legs. A man with a spy glass would be able to clearly see who was standing on the front porch or moving about in front of the stable or the bunkhouse. He would be able to see how many men there were, how well armed they were, and who was positioned where.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered.

Once Josh’s feet were back on solid ground, he told Pa what he had seen.

Josh said, “How did you know there would be such a good view of the house from here?”

“It’s where I would have chosen, if I was in their place. It’s pretty obvious they were watching the house.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You ready to ride?” Pa asked.

Josh’s hands were scraped, but not quite bleeding, from the roughness of the tree’s bark, and his arms were aching and his legs quivering from the strain of the climb. But he would not let Pa be aware of this. He would not admit to weakness in front of this man.

“Yes, sir.” Josh reached for his gunbelt.

FIFTEEN

Johnny McCabe and his son mounted up and continued following the trail, and confirmed it was swinging north and away from the ranch, and from McCabe Gap. The riders would likely be beyond the valley by now, but their exit route would have taken them near the Johnson spread.

“Think we ought to go check on Zack?”

Pa shook his head. “We’d never get there and back home again before sundown. We told Aunt Ginny we’d be home before dark. Zack and his men can take care of that place. And it would make no sense for these raiders, if that’s what they are, to pass on a bigger spread for one so much smaller. But I might ride out and check on him come morning.”

Josh and Pa were riding into the ranch yard as the last rays of sunset streaked the clouds overhead with shades of fiery red. First Pa had a hot bath, and then Josh drew a tub of hot water for himself. Once they were in clean clothes, they joined Aunt Ginny and Bree for supper. After the meal was finished, Pa stirred a little fire to life in the hearth, and took his favorite chair, and lit his pipe. Aunt Ginny was in her rocker, a cup of tea balancing in a saucer held in one hand. Bree sat on the hearth, her arms folded about her knees, looking genuinely happy to have Pa back. The fire light cast a dancing orange glow to one side of her face and plunged the other into darkness.

Josh stood, leaning with one hand against the mantle piece, trying to appear strong and just a little bit aloof, the way it struck him the strongest of men appeared to be. Pa, Zack and Hunter, for example. He was trying to measure up to the likes of men like these. Strength just seemed to radiate from them. However, appearing strong this evening was difficult. Josh’s backside hurt, from the base of his spine all the way down to the back of each thigh – he had done a hell of a lot of riding today. He had ridden hard this morning covering the distance from the line shack to the house, then he and Pa had traipsed all over the countryside trailing those riders. And he had climbed a damned tree. The muscles of his arms and legs ached with fatigue, and his left shoulder was telling him maybe the climb had taxed it a little too much;. But he wasn’t about to admit to any of this with Pa in the room. Pa had been moving about comfortably, despite the fact that he had just returned from a long journey, all of it by horseback. You would think he had spent the day leisurely sitting about. So, Josh simply stood, trying to look confident and casual, and not move about too much for the sake of his soreness. And he definitely wouldn’t be sitting any more than he had to.

“Son,” Pa said. “Would you like a glass of scotch?”

Aunt Ginny shot him a glance over the rim of her spectacles. But Pa merely returned the gaze, meeting her squarely in the eye. Not too many people had the nerve to do that. In fact, Pa was the only one Josh had ever seen who was able to stand his ground and not even flinch when she was giving the Gaze. Compared to that, having the nerve to face a man who was drawing down on you did not seem like such an incredible accomplishment, after all.

“Ginny,” Pa said. “He’s a man, now.