The Long Trail (The McCabes Book 1) by Brad Dennison (books that read to you .txt) 📕

fight, because I did some thinking last night. I decided I don’t want to reach the end of my trail, yet, after all. Maybe I still have a little life remaining within me. But as you said, I need a good right-hand man. As I was to Patterson. I need you, Dusty. But only if you can prove you have what it takes, by killing Kiowa.”

Dusty held the knife by the hilt, and slashed at the air. “It is nicely balanced. A beautiful weapon.”

“The Falcones have always been fighting men. We know our weapons. And we know our men. Now, go, and do what you have to do.”

Dusty stepped from the cabin and found Kiowa standing twenty yards from the doorway, bowie knife in hand. Kiowa had discarded his riding boots, and stood in calf-length rawhide moccasins.

He smiled, or at least gave the closest thing to a smile he could muster – his lips pulling back to reveal a row of black and broken teeth. “Are you ready to die, little muchacho?”

Loggins and Stew stood to one side, and with them was Josh. Falcone stepped from the cabin, with Flossy at his side. Dusty didn’t see Temperance with them. White-Eye was also missing – Dusty supposed he was standing guard out at the canyon rim. He hoped Josh would surmise this, too.

Dusty cast a glance to Josh. Their eyes met for the space of a heartbeat. Dusty hoped Josh would follow along with his plan and not do something heroic.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this a long time,” Kiowa said.

Falcone stepped between them, and said, “Come forward, both of you.”

They each advanced until a distance of only ten feet separated them, with Falcone still between them.

“This fight will be held with knives, only,” Falcone said, much like a referee announcing the rules of conduct before a prize fight. Though, Dusty knew full well the prize in this fight would be life itself.

“There will be no other weapons allowed,” Falcone continued. “If this rule should be violated, the violator will be shot immediately. And this fight shall be to the death. Is this understood?”

Both Dusty and Kiowa nodded, though Kiowa didn’t take his gaze from Dusty.

“Very well,” Falcone stepped back. “Let the fight begin!”

Kiowa lunged at Dusty, swiping at him with his knife. Dusty leaped back, avoiding the tip of the blade by a full inch, then slashed out at Kiowa hard, nicking his wrist and drawing first blood.

Kiowa looked at him with surprise. “A lucky cut, little muchacho.”

Dusty shook his head. “I’m no longer a little muchacho - a little boy. I’ve grown up, Kiowa. You’re going to find me a lot harder to kill than you would have ten years ago.”

Kiowa’s smile faded, and a grim seriousness took its place as he saw Dusty for what he now had grown to be, not the frightened child he once had been.

Kiowa raised his knife, holding it out before him, and began to circle to Dusty’s right. Dusty assumed the same stance, his knife ready, and circled to his own left, countering Kiowa. He did not want to stand still and be caught flat-footed by a sudden attack.

Kiowa feigned a lunge with his knife, and Dusty jumped back. Then the circling resumed. Dusty suddenly lunged with his blade, and Kiowa sidestepped, slashed downward in an arc, and cut through Dusty’s buckskin sleeve.

Dusty kept his gaze focused on Kiowa’s eyes, watching for any intent that might betray itself before Kiowa could actually move.

Kiowa suddenly struck, charging forward with his knife raised high as if to strike downward into Dusty’s heart, but then at the last moment, dropped his strike and lunged at Dusty’s stomach. Dusty had raised his forearm to catch Kiowa’s wrist, but now the knife was thrusting in from a lower angle.

Dusty managed to drop his left forearm quickly enough to strike Kiowa’s wrist sideways and knock away the strike, but he was unable to keep his footing against Kiowa’s weight and the speed of his attack, finding himself being pushed backward. He hit the ground on his back, and Kiowa landed on him, straddling his chest. Dusty’s knife landed a couple feet away in the grass. Kiowa’s knife was raised for the strike.

Dusty brought his feet up, wrapped his ankles around Kiowa’s neck, and pulled him backward and away.

Both scrambled to their feet. Dusty grabbed his knife, and they stood facing each other. Dusty now took a moment to touch his left hand to the cut in the forearm of his right sleeve, and found his fingers were wet with blood.

As Dusty and Kiowa began circling each other again, Josh took a step backward. Falcone, Loggins, Flossy - none of them seemed to notice, as their attention was fixed so intensely on the battle.

Josh took a second step, this one larger than the first. All eyes were still on Dusty and Kiowa, as Kiowa lunged at Dusty again with his blade. Dusty stepped aside, and with the same motion, sliced at Kiowa, cutting a swatch across Kiowa’s forearm.

Josh turned and started walking. He had to fight down the urge to run, because any sudden motion might draw attention to him. The corner of the cabin was only ten yards away. He kept his strides strong and steady, at any moment expecting a shout from one of the outlaws as they realized he was attempting to escape. But the noise rising from them continued to be the cheering on of Dusty or Kiowa.

Josh stepped around the corner of the cabin, and from the sight of the others. No one called to him. He hadn’t been seen.

He drew a lungfull of air, then burst into a run down the grassy slope, and into the grove of trees. He felt the wind at his face as his strong legs pounded the earth, and stretched into a strong, loping stride. His hat lifted from his head and bounced lightly along the earth behind him, but he did not take the time to