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

Josh looked at him curiously.

“When I was out riding today, I noticed a trail made by a single rider. It came from our ranch, and the rider went all the way out to that camp last night, then returned here, but taking a different route.”

An old trick, Josh knew. It had been taught to him by Pa, himself. Don’t use the same exact trail when coming and going, in case you’re being watched.

“You think it might be Dusty?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I will admit, I don’t want it to be. But keep an eye on him. At least for now.”

They heard the front door burst open, and the sharp click of hard-soled shoes moving at a running pace across the parlor floor, and Bree charged into the kitchen doorway. “Pa! Josh! Dusty says to come quick!”

They followed her back across the parlor, past the dark and silent hearth, and to the front porch. Dusty was standing by a railing. “There,” he said, pointing with the index finger of his right hand. “Off on that ridge, about half way down.”

Josh followed his gaze. “I don’t see anything.”

“Wait a minute.”

Then, it reappeared. A flash of light that held steady for a few moments, then faded.

“Light, reflecting off metal,” Pa said. “Someone in that tree you climbed, Josh, or one just like it. Using a spy glass.”

“Using a spy glass?” Bree asked.

“Yeah,” Josh said. “Watching us.”

TWENTY-FOUR

The McCabes had an uneasy dinner. When conversation arose, it centered on the party of riders up on the ridge. How many in number, what they could be after. Who they might actually be. Bree knew little of guerrilla raiders, so Pa told her about William Quantrill, the James brothers, Sam Patterson. He told of how, during the late War Between the States, both the Union and the Confederacy had employed raiders to strike at each other’s supply routes, burning bridges and such. Knowledge of Confederate raiders was quite common, but few knew the Union had used them, also. Wild Bill Hickok had ridden with a group called the Red Legs.

Pa said, “Often history is written by whoever wins any given war. Had England won the Revolutionary War, then today we would be looking at George Washington and John Adams and the others as traitors, not patriots. They would have been hanged, and that would have been the end of it. Likely, history books would not even refer to it as the ‘Revolutionary War.’ It would be looked at as little more than an uprising by a faction of anti-British rebels. And we would all today be loyal British subjects.”

Pa went on to explain that after the War Between the States, the raiders, like all other soldiers, tried to integrate themselves back into civilian life, but some were unsuccessful. Many of the soldiers went west, and the raiders who couldn’t readjust to peacetime living continued to raid, but now doing so for profit.

“In their own way, men like Jesse James and Sam Patterson are victims of the War, as much so as the men they killed during the conflict.”

Josh said little during dinner, but he occasionally stole a glance at Dusty, and thought about what Pa had said. The trail of a single rider leaving the ranch and then returning by a different route. Now, Josh felt he had a better understanding of his feelings of reservation toward Dusty. It wasn’t because he was jealous of any resemblance Dusty might have toward Pa, as Bree and Hunter had thought. He had known something wasn’t quite right with Dusty – his instinct told him Dusty had been holding back information from the start.

Was Dusty indeed his brother? Josh reluctantly accepted that. Aunt Ginny, Hunter and Bree were right. Just looking at him, you could see he was indeed a McCabe, or it was one hell of a coincidence. Bree was more McCabe in her looks than was Josh, who looked more like their mother’s side, but Dusty was more McCabe even than Bree. But he hadn’t been raised a McCabe. Pa had said once the Shoshone believed your spirit grew from those of your parents, but Josh didn’t think so. Josh believed you were a product of your environment. Dusty hadn’t been raised by Pa and Aunt Ginny, so he wouldn’t necessarily have their values. Dusty had been raised by God-knew-who.

After dinner, Pa posted guards. He took the first watch himself, then Dusty the second, and Josh the third, then Fred, Long, and the other two men would finish off the final shifts before sunrise. But as Pa had said to keep an eye on Dusty, Josh wasn’t going to trust him to take the watch unobserved. Rather than sleep through Dusty’s watch, Josh would listen carefully from his open window.

Finally, after an hour, he thought he might sneak downstairs and make certain Dusty hadn’t ridden off to inform the raiders of the situation at the ranch. As Josh didn’t not have moccasins, he simply went in sock feet to the top of the stairs. He had pulled on his jeans over his long-handled underwear, and buckled on his gunbelt.

He moved down the stairs carefully, the only sound of his passing being an occasional creak of a board underfoot.

It was as he stepped down onto the parlor floor that he caught a smell of tobacco smoke, a quick subtle indication he was not alone, and which was all that kept his heart from stopping when Pa suddenly spoke from the darkness. “Going somewhere?”

“Son-of-a-bitch, Pa. You almost jumped me out of my skin.”

“When you’re moving about in the darkness, never assume you’re alone. Always be prepared, even for the unexpected. Because when your guard is down, even an opponent who’s not as fast or strong as you are, or as experienced a fighting man, will have the advantage.”

“I’ll remember.”

“And careful with the son-of-a-bitch talk. You know your aunt doesn’t like that.”

Josh snorted a chuckle. “I was coming down to check