The Trail West (22 page)

Monahan came back into consciousness. He was all alone in a strange place. Although he quickly recognized General Grant, nothing else was even slightly familiar. His head hurt, and he was pretty sure somebody had hit him.
The coward!
He quickly went through his own pockets and found nothing that contained a name, but discovered that he was practically rich. There was over a thousand dollars in his wallet, which stopped him from searching it further. One thousand dollars! A man could live a good long time on a thousand dollars.

Why was he carrying that much cash money? Was he a gambler? Or maybe a rancher who had just sold some stock . . .

Outside the livery, somebody walked along the sidewalk.

Monahan was well back from the door and most certainly couldn’t be seen by passersby, but in case their eyes searched the dim interior, in case they knew to look for an old man squatting on the floor outside a bay horse’s stall and rifling through his own wallet, he scurried back, hiding the wallet and himself. He stood up a few minutes later, when he was sure the coast was clear, and saddled General Grant.

He didn’t actually recall the entirety of General Grant’s name. Oh, he was certain about the General part, but confused as to the specifics. Lee? Sherman? Grant? Maybe Custer? He’d figure it out in time.

He was halfway up and into the saddle when the dog surprised him. It came from behind and landed square in the middle of his back, all four paws out. It was barking over the noise from the street.

He whirled and raised his arm, intending to do whatever it took to beat the dog off, but when he faced it, he dropped his arm immediately. He knew this dog, and it seemed the dog surely knew him! He pegged it immediately as a butt-wiggling, bobtailed California Shepherd. He figured he was safe in calling it that, since he’d seen a little sign on the inside of the door that led him to believe he was in California. So far as he knew, he didn’t have any sheep or cattle that needed herding, and no need for a trick dog either.

But he might have had in the past. He was pretty darned certain the dog belonged with him, anyway. He put a hand down and stroked the short, silky hairs on its head and ears. “You mine?” he asked.

When the dog smiled wide and pushed up against his hand, he muttered, “Well, you sure are, ain’t you?” He chuckled softly. “I ain’t doin’ so bad. Hell, I ain’t been conscious more ’n ten minutes, and I already got money, a dog, an’ a horse.” And then he got to wondering how he could remember the same thing had happened before, but not recall what came in the middle. His pounding head—and the lump on the back of it—told him somebody had walloped him, sure as shooting. But he didn’t know why, or why they’d left him in the out-of-the-way stable without even going through his pockets! And how the heck did he know the stable was out of the way?!

Shaking his head and grumbling, he mounted the General—to whom he’d already tied all the saddlebags and paraphernalia he thought belonged to him—and ambled out of the stable with the dog at the General’s heels.

“Sorry to do this to you, General, but I figure when just ’bout everythin’ comes up cockeyed, it’s in a man’s best interest to get his tail outta town. His horse’s and dog’s, too!”

The dog woofed softly under his breath as if he were seconding the old cowhand’s comments.

“Yes sir, we’d best be headin’ out.”

And they did, following the signs that pointed them out of town, then south, then west, until they ran clean out of signs and the old cowboy’s watch read a few minutes past midnight. They stopped, and he made camp and a small fire, then searched his saddlebags for something to eat.

“Now, why in tarnation did I ever bring my backside clear to San Francisco?” he asked the dog over a couple of leftover biscuits he’d found in his possibles bag. “You’re wonderin’ how I knew we was in ’Frisco? I read it on the other side o’ those signs we followed to get outta town, that’s how!” He tore off another piece of biscuit and tossed it to the dog, who caught it in midair and swallowed it whole, and then looked at him expectantly.

The old cowboy chuckled then said, “Don’t reckon you got much to say to that or anythin’ else, do you, boy?”

The dog replied with a whimper that emerged high at first and then wound down at least four octaves to a low, creaking groan.

“My stars! You sing opera in your spare time?”

The dog cocked his head and the man threw him the last chunk of their shared dinner. It was gone in two chews.

“Well, let’s see. Been most of the way through my wallet, and found out my name is Monahan. Dooley Monahan. Got to say I like the Monahan—good and strong, you know?—but I’m not crazy about the Dooley part of it. Well,” he added, stretching his arms, “I s’pose I’ll get used to it.”

He leaned back on his bedroll and went on, “Guess we got you figured out, too, if that’s your old bowl I found. Blue’s what it says.” The dog woofed happily and Monahan nodded. “Yup. I reckon that’s you, all right. Fits you, anyhow.”

He still hadn’t figured out why in the world his first instinct had been to get himself out of town as fast as possible. He hadn’t even thought about it.

A lone owl hooted in the trees behind him and the dog leaned toward the sound, twisting his head back and forth.

Monahan ruffled the fur on the dog’s head, saying, “Oh, that’s just an ol’ hooty owl. Don’t you pay him no mind, now.”

The dog sat back, and the man stretched out, squirming to find a more comfortable position. When he finally found one, he said, “Good night there, Blue. I ’magine we’ll figure out more of the story come mornin’. Sweet dreams, ol’ son,” he added, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

It wasn’t more than a minute before he felt the dog sneak onto his blanket and curl up against his leg with his silky head and throat stretched out across his thigh. Beneath the brim of his hat, Monahan smiled.

 

 

The light had barely broken when Julia was aroused from her slumber by a banging on the hotel door, and she promptly rolled over, mumbling, “Go away!”

The person on the other side of the door set pounding again. He was putting everything he had into it.

She rolled back and pulled herself up. “Hold your horses! I’m comin!” she called as she took the single step toward the door and flung it open.

It was Sweeney.

“What in hell are you doin’ out here!” she demanded sleepily.

“Where’s Dooley?” came the answer, if you could call it that. He stuck his head in the door without asking and looked around. “Where is he?!”

“Quit askin’ like I got him hid in here or somethin’,” Julia said. It was awfully early in the morning for being this angry, but he had made certain she was up for it, all right. And then she said, “Where’s Blue?”

“My next question,” Sweeney grumped. He stuck a hand in his pocket. “Last night, he run off while I was out walkin’ him. Hell, I figured he’d caught Dooley’s scent or somethin’! Figured he’d come on back to the hotel with the tail of Dooley’s shirt ’twixt his teeth! Musta fell asleep whilst I was waitin’, ’cause I woke this mornin’ and couldn’t find no dog, or no Dooley for that matter.” He let out an enormous breath and practically collapsed against the door frame.

Down the hall, a door opened and a woman in a nightcap—pink and ruffled—stuck her head out of her door and stared at them. Julia gave in to gravity and opened her door all the way. “Come in, I guess,” she said, hauling him inside by his collar.

She pushed him down in the upholstered chair over by the window, then said, “You ain’t seen him at all since dinner?”

Sweeney, having shot his accusatory wad, just shook his head.

“How about George? He seen anythin’?”

Again, a shake of his head.

She sat down on the bed with a thump and mentally weighed the circumstances. If he was right, and if he had exhausted every single possibility, it could only mean that something had happened to Monahan—either somebody had pulled him into a fight and he’d taken off, or he’d gotten thumped upside the head, by mistake or accident. She took some comfort in that the dog was gone, too, although she would surely miss him almost as much as Monahan.

She looked up and asked, “You check the livery? To see about—” Sweeney cut her off. “I already been there. His horse, his saddlebags, his gear . . . they’re all gone. Just poof! Like that!”

Part of Julia was relieved. At least Monahan had his belongings as well as Blue.

She asked several questions. Did they know anything in the office? They didn’t. Had Sweeney noticed anything out of the ordinary the night before? Actually, he had, and related the story about the man in the restaurant.

Julia sent him off to wait out in the hall while she dressed, and then they picked up George and went to breakfast.

George, normally an affable sort, wasn’t happy about having been awakened so early in the morning, but he wasn’t happy about Monahan, either. He got right to the point. “All right, you two, just hold your damn horses,” he said, holding up his hands. They were seated at a nearby café, and the waiter had already taken their order. “I only got one question for you. Who’s goin’ north with me?”

Julia just stared at him. She couldn’t believe he was thinking about himself at a time like this! Sweeney sat beside her with his chin on his chest, doubtless thinking the same thing.

George took advantage of their silence, saying, “Well, it sounds to me like ol’ Dooley’s been took with one of his spells again. Ain’t the first time, and I don’t figure it’ll be the last. You two best get used to it. He’s just gone.” George shrugged his shoulders as if that was that.

Julia heard herself say, “No.”

“Now, I know you’ve had a tough go of it,” George continued, “but it’s gonna be even tougher iffen you can’t just let loose of ol’ Dooley’s ghost.”

“But—”

“No buts about it, girl. And he is a ghost, or same as, once he’s gone and got his memory all fuddled. Ain’t nothin’ you nor anybody else can do to fix it. Why, it was a full-on, pure D miracle that I ran across him like I did, and he near ’bout shot me in the process! Now, you can go up to Alaska with me, either one or both of you, or you can go anywhere else you want, try to track down ol’ Dooley, or whatever. I ain’t gonna stop you.”

Julia couldn’t think of a thing to say, but after a moment, Sweeney said, “I reckon I’ll go on up north with you, George. Guess I don’t have no place else to go.”

 

 

Arrangements were made for the mute and defeated Julia to head back south with a band of wagoners that day. She rode stoned faced in a Conestoga with Parnell tied on behind. As for Sweeney, he spent the rest of the day searching the streets for any sign of Monahan, but sadly came up empty. That evening, he left with George on a tramp steamer headed for Alaska, with a stop-off planned in Seattle.

By the time they left the docks, Dooley Monahan was almost to Virginia City. Night had overtaken him—and the dog and General Grant—in a little town called Ogden, and he had decided to spend the night. He signed the hotel’s ledger and settled in to his sheets with no further memory of where he’d come from or what he’d come out of, or why he was carrying so much money. He simply decided to let it alone.

After all, nobody would be looking for an old cowhand and a blue merle cow dog in a wide spot in the road like Ogden, now would they?

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Copyright © 2013 William W. Johnstone

 

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.

 

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3211-2