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

ranch thirteen years earlier, and asked for a job. He had given his name simply as Hunter. He offered no other, and none was ever asked. Such was the way on the frontier. Many a man was running from something, a noose or a woman in most cases, Josh figured, and you took his name as he gave it.

“Well, well,” Hunter said with a smile. “You’re in town a little early, aren’t you?”

“I heard one of them cold beers callin’ to me all the way from the ranch house. And I’ve got some hiring to do, and thought I might get an early start.”

Hunter nodded. “I heard about what happened. It’s all over town. All over half the territory by now, I reckon. Them three in the corner rode into town late yesterday claiming you run ‘em off McCabe range, and outdrew Tarley and put a bullet in his shoulder.”

“Couldn’t be avoided. They were spending their time with a bottle instead of in the saddle, and wouldn’t follow my orders. It was no less than Pa would have done. A group of riders cut across our range and helped themselves to a few head of cattle, and I couldn’t get Reno and the boys to ride after them with me. And thanks to them, there’s now cattle straying probably as far as Crocker’s spread. When I fired them and ordered them off our range, Tarley drew on me.”

“Riders, huh? How many?”

“Hard to guess by their tracks. I didn’t actually see any of ‘em. They were long gone by the time I got there.”

Hunter smiled, and nodded. “Well, it appears the name of Josh McCabe is going to become known in its own right, not just as his father’s son.”

Josh had long wanted to build a name for himself, not to simply be known as the son of a great man. But now that it appeared to be actually happening, he found himself surprisingly embarrassed to hear about it.

He thought he might change the subject. “Well, I got me ten cents here that I would gladly exchange for some cold brew.”

“Do you really think I’m going to accept your money?” and Hunter started for the back room. “I’ll be right back.”

On the morning Hunter was to begin building his saloon, Pa, Josh and Zack Johnson had ridden in, and announced they were here to work. Pa said to him, “You put your sweat and blood into helping build our ranch. It’s the least we can do to help you build your saloon.”

Hunter had never allowed them to pay for their drinks. He never would.

Hunter had been gone only a few moments when Josh heard two sets of bootsoles on the wooden floorboards behind him. He turned to find himself facing Reno and Whitey. Tarley remained seated.

“I’m gonna have a word with you, boy,” Reno said. “Now that you’re here, and not on your pappy’s range.”

“My father wasn’t there yesterday. Tarley said his piece, and you’re welcome to say yours.”

“Listen, boy. I was workin’ for your pappy when you was knee-high to a corn stalk. Been a top hand for him for a long time. We’ll just see what he says about you swaggerin’ out there and firin’ me just because you think you’re such a big man because you’re the son of Johnny McCabe.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks, Reno. He left me in charge while he was gone, and it was my decision to fire you. He would have done the same thing in my place. You know how he feels about drinking on the job. Of course, if he hadn’t been away on business, you wouldn’t have been out there drinking and letting the herd stray, anyway. You knew he left me in charge, and you wanted to push and see how hard I’d push back.”

“You might feel like a mighty big man with that McCabe name, but it don’t mean you’re the man your daddy is. And I ain’t gonna take your orders just because you got his name.”

It was clear Reno wasn’t listening to Josh, but was talking for his own benefit only, trying to work up a fighting anger.

The smell of Reno’s whiskey-soaked breath reached Josh. He said, “Go sit down, Reno. You’re full of whiskey.”

“I ain’t too full to break you in half.”

This was it, Josh thought. Part Two of the test. Reno stood six inches taller than Josh, with fists like ham hocks. There was fat at his middle, the kind of fat too much drink can bring to a man, but there was solid muscle, too.

Reno was known as one of the best saloon brawlers in Montana, but Pa had beaten him. Now it looked like Josh was going to have his chance, whether he wanted it or not. Like with the gunfight, he would not be able to decline without creating a reputation for cowardice, a reputation which would dog him the rest of his life, or at least as long as he remained in the west. Not that Josh had any intention of backing down. Though, he was not as much interested in proving himself to anyone else, as he was to himself. “Take your best shot,” Josh said to Reno.

Reno balled one big fist and with surprising speed, considering how much whiskey he had consumed, and how large a man he was, drove the fist upward at Josh’s head. Josh managed only to turn his head so the fist would strike his cheekbone a glancing blow. Rolling with the punch, Pa called it. Josh’s hat tumbled to the floor.

Josh countered with a punch of his own, a right that glanced off of Reno’s head, then he buried his left in Reno’s whiskey-filled gut. Reno let loose a gush of air and sunk to his knees.

Before Josh could turn his attention to Whitey, Whitey’s fist struck Josh’s temple, and staggered him. Josh bounced into the bar behind him, which was all that kept him from falling.

Whitey stepped in and swung