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

From the porch, he could see Dusty in the distance, riding west. The same direction Pa had taken hours earlier.

“What do you suppose is going on?” Bree asked. “I heard the men saying Fred had ridden out this morning, and no one knows where he was going. And now Dusty rides off.”

“When he comes back, if he comes back, I plan on getting some answers.”

The sun was trailing toward mid-afternoon height as Dusty returned. His horse was lathered, and he was thirsty. He had ridden out without a canteen, and was grateful for the small stream he had happened upon in the ridges, but that had been too many miles ago.

He dismounted in front of the stable, plunged his hat into the water trough, and held it high and dumped it into his eagerly waiting mouth, most of the water splashing down over his shirt. He was so thirsty he did not at the moment care that he was drinking after horses.

He let the horse drink a little, then led it into the stable so he could peel off its saddle, and give it a rubdown.

Josh spoke from behind him. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for Fred,” Dusty said, hefting the saddle and setting across the side of the stall.

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

Dusty turned to face him. “Because Pa left you in charge, and I didn’t think you’d let me go.”

“So you just took it on yourself to go and do what you wanted anyway? We don’t do things that way here.”

“Josh, those aren’t just local boys out there in those ridges, looking for trouble. They have all the ear-marks of professional raiders. If something happened to Fred, we’ve got to find out what, and when. If they somehow lured him away, then they’ve got us one man short. We’re already outnumbered, as it is. I didn’t want to take the time to argue with you about it. I’ll tell Pa about it when he gets back.”

“And I don’t like you calling him ‘Pa.’”

“Sorry. He told me to.” Dusty returned to his horse, pulling a brush off a nail in one wall.

“Drop your gun,” Josh said.

Dusty glanced over at Josh curiously. Josh had pulled his revolver, and it was aimed toward Dusty.

“What’s this all about?” Dusty said.

“I said, drop your gun.”

Dusty shook his head.

Josh said, “I know you’re fast. Faster’n me. But you’re not so fast you can draw that gun before I can cock mine and fire.”

Dusty dropped the brush to the floor. “All right. But not because I think I couldn’t beat you, but because a man doesn’t draw on his own brother.”

“You might be my brother, and you might not be. But regardless, I know why you’re here. Now, drop that gun if you want to go on breathing.”

Dusty reached for the grip of his pistol.

“Slowly,” Josh said, “and with the finger tips.”

“Whatever you say. You’ve got the drop on me.” Dusty gripped his Colt Peacemaker with the tips of his fingers, slid it from the holster, and let it drop to the stable floor.

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you where you stand,” Josh said. “but just on the off chance that you might actually be my brother, I’m going to let you ride out of here with your hide intact. I want you to go out to the remuda and drop a loop on the horse you rode in on, saddle it, and ride out of here. And I don’t want to ever lay eyes on you again, because I won’t be so generous next time.”

“Not till you tell me why.”

“You’re riding with them. The men who’ve been camping in the ridges.”

“Now, how did you ever come up with such a notion like that?”

“I weighed it all in my mind. That story of yours is so farfetched, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was just an attempt to work your way into our confidence. And if that story’s true, then you’re all that much more despicable, to think you could steal from your own family. You weren’t out looking for Fred just now. You were reporting to those men, on our strengths and weaknesses.”

“You know what I think the situation really is? I think you’ve got more than your share of pride. And my existence, which is because your father spent a night with my mother, is a slap to that pride. But if pride is all a man has, then he must be a pretty empty man.”

Josh’s face was starting to redden. “Get off this property now, or I’ll finish this where you stand.”

“Shooting down an unarmed man? Is that the McCabe way?”

“I don’t need my gun to finish this.”

Dusty’s temper had never been a volatile one, but when he got mad, he really got mad, and he was at that point now. He held his hands palm upward, his fingers waving toward himself in a beckoning motion. “Come on, brother. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Josh tossed his gun aside, and charged at Dusty.

Dusty ducked, and Josh fell forward onto Dusty’s back. Dusty straightened, and dumped Josh head first to the floor behind him. Josh landed in a somersault, his stetson tumbling away. Josh had executed a similar maneuver on Reno.

Dusty turned to drop onto Josh and go to work with his fists, but Josh brought both feet upward and thrust them into Dusty’s chest, pushing him away. Dusty lost his footing and fell to the hay strewn floor.

Both scrambled to their feet, then went toe to toe, Dusty landing a punch to Josh’s ribs, and Josh returning one to Dusty’s stomach.

Dusty stood at least an inch taller, with broader shoulders and arms that packed more muscle, but Josh was lighter and quicker, ducking a roundhouse punch thrown by Dusty, then with his feet planted far apart for balance, sent an uppercut to Dusty’s jaw.

Dusty’s feet went out from under him and he landed on his back.

Josh dove at him, but it was Dusty’s turn to bring both