Seven Hours till Dawn

Book 0: Jim Heston Novel of the West

by Carson McCloud

Genres: Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

A cowboy discovers gold in California and fights outlaws threatening his family in this western adventure from Carson McCloud.

With nothing keeping Jim Heston tied to Texas, he treks northwest to California, determined to carve a life out of the untamed and often brutal wilderness. In the shadow of the Sierra Mountains, he builds a ranch, until an unforgiving winter wipes out his stock. With jobs sparse in the small nearby town, Jim turns to hunting to keep fed, only to stumble upon an even more elusive prey: gold.
 
Cord Bannen makes his living parting miners from their hard-earned gold, hoping to find a motherlode instead of the small, scattered nuggets he and his gang steal. And when he spies Jim exchanging gold at Bidwell’s Bar on more than one occasion, Cord believes he’s finally struck it rich.
But when Cord threatens Jim’s family, he learns the hard way that all that glitters isn’t gold. For Jim Heston depends on another type of metal to protect those he loves—the double-barreled kind that spits lead with bad intentions . . .

Release date: June 25, 2024

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter 1

As a boy in South Texas, Jim Heston had rarely seen snow. What little had fallen usually coated the ground enough to leave a few tracks and little more. It came seldom and never lasted more than a single day.

In Kansas and over the great western trail, he’d seen snow aplenty. Out on the plains, it came not from the sky alone but flying sideways, driven by relentless winds so that tiny, jagged flakes scratched and scraped against any exposed skin.

High up in California’s rocky Sierras, the snow was like nothing he’d ever seen.

From the door of his barn he watched flakes the size of double eagles sail down, so fast and thick that he couldn’t see the surrounding mountains. He could barely make out the cabin despite it being less than fifty feet away. A faint wind from the north sent the flakes down at a distorted angle, and staring too closely at them gave Jim a strange sense of vertigo.

Three days it had been snowing like this. Three days and the long drifts had piled up almost six feet deep. Three days and the storm still showed no sign of stopping.

It’ll be up to the cabin’s eaves if it holds to Sunday.

The barn creaked under the weight of so much snow. Jim wasn’t particularly worried about it. Not yet anyway. He’d built the barn himself from lodgepole pines he and David, his father-in-law, cut just up the valley. The logs hadn’t seasoned properly—there had been no time for it—but they would hold.

The Barton-Heston clan had arrived in California in the summer, settling in what they’d named Donovan’s Valley, in honor of the wagon master who’d first discovered and later shared it with Jim.

Donovan called it his hidden valley. Jim recalled how his friend would get a longing look on his face whenever he spoke of it. More than anything, Jim wished he’d had the chance to come here with Donovan.

Unfortunately, a gang of outlaws made sure he never saw it again.

Fall had been short, offering just enough time to get the cabin up and caulked tight against the coming winter. With help from the family, Jim and David had built the barn after the frost came.

Jim saddled his Appaloosa and set out into the snow. Thirty-seven head of cattle wore his HB brand now, and he needed to see to them. The cattle represented his family’s future in California, the start of what might someday become a great herd. Jim bought them from travelers or local ranches. Ellen had bottle-fed some of the smaller calves who’d lost their mothers on the trail.

The valley was long and broad enough to hide his tiny herd well. He swung the Appaloosa west, reasoning that the cattle might be hunkered down in the trees against the wind and cold.

Powder flew from the big horse’s hooves as they went. Flakes soon covered the arms and back of Jim’s heavy coat. They crossed the narrow creek. The water was shallow here, but along the banks, under the weight of horse and rider, thin sheets of ice shattered like glass.

It’ll freeze solid if it gets much colder. We’ll have to chop ice to draw water, or head down to the lake.

The lake at the west end of the valley wasn’t large, maybe fifty acres in total. Deep enough, though, that David didn’t think it would freeze. From his time living in Illinois, he knew of such things, certainly more than Jim. In South Texas he’d never considered the odds of a lake freezing. The creek drained the valley, feeding the lake, and then the lake spilled over the valley rim, into another stream that flowed west before joining the Feather River.

The cattle weren’t in the trees at the west end of the valley, nor were there any tracks or sign of them.

But how long would tracks last in snow like this? No more than an hour.

Jim studied the trees and lake, considering where else they might be. Finding a handful of cows in so large a valley would not prove easy. In the summer he’d spent two days riding in a loop around all of it. And that in good weather. Fighting drifts up to his hocks, the Appaloosa wouldn’t make nearly so much progress.

They’ll want some place warm, near water, with forage if possible.

Any of the trees would offer both warmth and shelter out of the wind. As for water, near the lake was the best bet, but the creek wasn’t yet frozen, not completely, so water was more plentiful than it soon would be.

Forage, though. That will be scarce.

There was a hilly spot on the north side of the valley. There would be deep drifts on the downwind side of those hills, but that same wind might scour the other side clear.

It wasn’t far, and Jim made it there in quick order. To his relief, most of the cattle were lying just inside the edge of the tree line, chewing contentedly. Jim counted them and came up short three cows.

Now where will those be?

From where they lay, the cattle had cleared a path into the hills, and he directed the Appaloosa up it. An hour later, he found the first carcass. There wasn’t much left, scattered bones and sinew and blood-stained snow. Predators had been at it, but he knew at once it was one of his cows.

He couldn’t find anything that told him what had killed her. There wasn’t enough of the body left for that. Jim had last ridden through the cattle the day the snow started and they’d all been healthy then. There was exposed grass around and only a few days had passed, so it wasn’t starvation or thirst.

He saw several black birds flapping in the distance and rode closer. Buzzards picked at the remains, but little more was left of the second cow than the first.

Shooing the buzzards away, Jim climbed out of the saddle to study the remains. He still couldn’t see what might have killed her.

The wind shifted a little to the south, and he heard something then. The bawling of a cow, along with several yips and howls.

Jim jumped into the saddle and spurred the Appaloosa into a hard run. They topped a long rise and Jim drew his rifle. The cow stood below, ankle-deep in water, backed against an embankment in the creek and staring down a dozen wolves. Even as he watched, a wolf darted in and nipped at the cow’s flank. She turned to fend him off and two more pounced from the opposite side. The cow whipsawed her head, forcing the pair back, striking one with a hard horn. It whimpered and flew clear.

The rifle in Jim’s hand bucked, and the wolf nearest the cow staggered. He levered in a fresh round as the pack looked at him, then shot a second, the largest of them. When it fell, the others broke and ran for the trees. Jim fired a third time, though he missed. The pack vanished over the next hill, all but the small gray one the cow had wounded earlier with her horn. He sat on the hill’s crest, well outside rifle range, and watched.

“No quit in you, is there? I can admire that, but it won’t earn you an easy meal today,” Jim said.

Jim rode down to study the cow. A long strip of hide hung from her hip and there was a deep, bleeding wound around her neck. Even if she had survived the battle, the wolves would certainly return to finish her off. The barn, where she might be safe, was miles off. She’d never make it.

Jim put the rifle to her ear and squeezed off a shot. Then he set to work with his knife, taking what meat he could.

Jim laid out the hide and bundled the meat inside. Then he skinned both wolves and took their hides as well. The cow dressed out more meat than the Appaloosa could carry, even if Jim walked, so he rigged up a travois out of a few long pine branches the stream had carried down.

The gray wolf watched him work. Jim thought about taking a shot at him, but the distance was too great.

No need to waste a bullet.

What daylight remained was a dull gray when he finally started the walk back toward the cabin. He considered what might be done to keep the wolves off his thin herd. Three cows in as many days. If that pace held, he’d be out of cattle in two months’ time. What would they do then? There was game if you knew where to find it. Jim and Ellen alone might have lived off the land. But they had two little ones and the rest of her family. Too many mouths to feed off a few deer and elk. The children would need milk as well. Abigail, Ellen’s mother, hadn’t been feeling well for a few days. She couldn’t do with less to eat.

Step by trudging step, Jim walked on. It would be dark and cold when he reached home. He would have to come up with a way to save the cattle, and Ellen…Ellen would know what to do for money if they needed it.

Jim slapped his arms to knock the snow free. The wind rose to a howl and grew colder. Thoughts of a fire and a hot meal warmed him.

Ellen will have a nice, hot stew ready. A good meal, and then we’ll see about those wolves.

* * * *

Ellen opened the cabin’s front door and scowled. The storm had picked up, and her husband was still out in it. The flakes were bigger than they’d been this morning, falling faster, and driven by the force of the wind. She took a long breath and held it, trying to keep herself calm.

Jim is a grown man. He knows how to survive; he will be fine.

She closed the door slowly, desperately hoping to catch some sign of his arrival over the wind’s low howl.

David, her father, sat on a log by the fire. The cabin had barely been finished before winter, and Jim hadn’t the time to make proper chairs. In the meantime, they’d make do with rounds of wood leftover from the cabin’s construction.

“She’s not getting any better,” David said. He ran a hand through his steel-gray hair.

Ellen could see the bags under her father’s eyes. The past few nights had aged him by a decade. He hadn’t been sleeping. Neither had she. From the adjoining room, her mother coughed. Abigail was hoarse now; she’d been coughing for days.

“How is her fever?”

“Too high.” David stood up and paced to the door. “She’s burning up with it.”

Last night Abigail had been delirious, calling for her mother and father, who’d both been dead for twenty years. The children were in the other room with Colton, Ellen’s brother. Martha, Ellen’s younger sister, was in with their mother now.

Martha appeared then, hair rough and disheveled, carrying a basin of water and a swath of damp cloth.

“How is she?” David said.

“The same,” Martha said. She took the bucket from near the window and refilled the basin. “Thirsty, but she can manage only a little drink at a time.”

David went into the bedroom to check on his wife, leaving the two young women alone. Martha sighed and covered a yawn with her fist. She sagged down onto one of the wooden rounds.

“Martha, you should get some sleep,” Ellen said. “You’ve been with her all day. I can take a turn now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Jim isn’t home yet, so I’ll be up waiting for him regardless.”

Martha looked at the door and said, “It’s still snowing?”

“It is.”

“Alright,” Martha said with another deep yawn, “rest, even an hour or two, would do me good.”

Ellen hugged her sister. “She’ll pull through, Martha. I’m sure of it.”

Martha lowered her head to rest on Ellen’s shoulder. “Hope so,” she said, then went off to bed.

Ellen took a moment to check on Alma and Walt then, surprised to find both children sleeping and her brother abed and staring at the ceiling. In the other room, Abigail coughed again, and Colton winced at the painful sound of it. Ellen sat down on the floor beside him.

“She’s not getting any better,” Colton said.

“No,” Ellen answered.

“Is she going to…”

“I don’t know,” Ellen said. “But we can’t lose hope.”

Martha was a good, level-headed girl, but too young to fully understand what their mother was going through. Reassuring her that their mother would recover seemed like the best course. A year ago, Ellen would have done the same for Colton, but events on the trail west had changed her brother. Colton wasn’t the same callow youth he’d been when they started out. He’d been through the fire. He’d fought to save his family. He’d killed to keep them safe.

Colton wasn’t done growing up, not yet, but he was well on his way.

Jim thought he’d be a good man someday soon. Ellen agreed.

She tucked Alma and Walt in against the cold, kissing each on the forehead, before going to peek outside one last time. A gust of snow swept inside as soon as the door was open. It was dark outside, almost pitch black, still snowing, still howling, and still with no sign of her husband.

Where is he?

Ellen tried to put Jim’s absence out of her mind. She went into her parents’ room. Her mother lay unconscious on the bed, beads of sweat covering her forehead but with the blanket drawn up tight. Her father knelt at the bedside, holding his wife’s hand to his lips and talking to her.

“In the spring, the valley will be beautiful, dear heart, covered in wildflowers of every shape and color. I’ll take you and the children down to the lakeside and we’ll have a picnic just like we used to. Alma and Walt can pick flowers and you can weave them into their hair. Remember how you did that for Martha and Ellen? You’ll like that, won’t you?”

Ellen set the washbasin at her mother’s bedside and moved up beside her father. She soaked a bit of cloth in cool water, wrung it out, then wiped down her mother’s face. She hated that she couldn’t do more. There might be medicines available, the trading post in Redding might have them, but the passes would be choked with snow now. And medicines were expensive, especially here. Most settlers didn’t carry more than what they needed. Excess weight on the long trip overland too often proved fatal, and that applied even to medicine.

Abigail mumbled again, this time talking to her older brother.

Uncle Charles, a silversmith, lived in Virginia, and Ellen couldn’t help but wish they were back with him. She poured water into a small cup and held it to her mother’s lips.

“Father, you just as well rest. You can take my bed. I’ll be up waiting for Jim. I will see to her.”

“No, I’ll stay a bit longer. I’m not so tired. I don’t need so much sleep.” He gave her a wan smile. “One benefit of old age.”

The front door opened with a bang then, and wind howled through the cabin. Ellen shot to her feet and raced into the front room.

Jim. He made it.

He stood in the doorway, wrapped in wools and skins, covered in a thick coat of white, and looking for all the world like an icicle. Only the gleam in his eyes and the fog of his breath showed he was alive.

Ellen ignored the wet and cold and put her arms around him.

“I’m glad you made it,” she said. “I was so worried.”

He tried to answer, but it was impossible to hear through the wool.

Ellen felt the cold bite into her hands and began unwrapping him. When they were done, slushy melt covered the floor.

Jim frowned down at it. “I worked awful hard on those floors. Shame to see them warp or crack because I tracked snow in.” He gave her a boyish grin. “Course, I wasn’t about to take my coat off out in that.”

“I’m glad you made it. I was worried all night,” she said.

His face took on a gray color. “So was I. I couldn’t see most of the ride home. Had to trust the Appaloosa to find his way.”

Ellen took his hands in hers. He was cold to the bone. “Come by the fire and warm up. I’ve got some stew left. I’ll get it for you.”

Jim smiled at that. Then he dragged one of the rounds close to the fire and sat down.

“Wolves,” he said.

“Wolves?”

“All over the valley. I shot two, wounded another, but there’s a full pack of them. They killed three cows already.”

A cough came from the next room, and Jim frowned toward it.

“She’s not doing any better,” Ellen said. “She needs medicine.”

“And we don’t have any.” Jim looked at the door. Wind moaned and gusted through the joints. “And we don’t have a way to get it. Valley’s all snowed in.”

“How much longer can this last?” Ellen handed him the bowl. She’d put a biscuit on top and he dunked it into the stew before taking a bite.

“I don’t know. Two more days and the barn will fall down. Only good thing is the wolves won’t be able to hunt the cattle in this. They’ll hole up tight in their dens.”

“And after the storm breaks?”

Jim looked again toward the door. “We’ll see. I could try for the settlement.”

“In this? Can it even be done?”

Abigail started another coughing fit and Ellen’s breath caught and held. Half a minute passed before it finally stopped. What would she do if her mother just gave up and stopped coughing? How much longer could she struggle on? Better weather would help, but how long until the storm breaks ?

Jim squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. “It can be done. If I have to walk to Onionville and back, I’ll do it.”

Ellen believed him. Jim was that kind of man. If Jim said he would get medicine for her mother, then he would, and that was all there was to it. She’d seen him come through too many times in the past.

He will come through again. I know he will. We just need the storm to break.

Outside, the wind only howled.

Chapter 2

Sometime after midnight, the storm finally ended.

Jim dressed as warmly as he was able, then opened the door and found it blocked by a wall of solid white. He leaned forward and saw a hint of light coming in near the edge of the roofline.

“Looks like it’s piled up over the house,” he said.

Ellen stood a few feet behind him. She moved up and put her hand against the packed snow. “How do we get out?”

“Dig, I guess.” Jim took up the bucket they used for hauling water. He scooped it full, then packed more snow in with his hands. “Set this near the fire and we’ll have fresh water.”

Then he picked up the shovel from beside the door and set about tunneling his way up and out. Snow fell in great soft clumps and his arms burned with exertion before he breached the outside. When he finally managed it, the sun blazed overhead on a world of pure crystalline white. He turned enough to see the stack of the chimney, smoke lifting from it in puffs of dirty gray, and to his right was the peak of the barn’s roof.

At least it didn’t collapse.

The drift that buried the door and barn covered the rear of the cabin only halfway to the eaves. Jim crawled on hands and knees away from his tunnel until the drift tapered down. He could see stalks of grass, poking up like tiny flagpoles through the white expanse.

Nothing moved. There was no sound. In Jim’s ears, the echo of the storm’s magnificent fury howled and roared. Everything lay covered in a layer of white. The mountains rising all around the valley looked like jagged teeth.

Jim tried to stand and walk to the barn, but immediately sank to his waist. He sprawled forward and crawled on his belly toward the barn, then began digging in search of the door.

The barn’s interior was dark when he finally cleared enough snow to squeeze through the door, and it had an eerie blue glow to it. Light came in around small holes or narrow cracks in the barn’s eaves, some blunted through a layer of thin snow, but most fell in dozens of bright, narrow beams.

Jim checked the horses. The Appaloosa stomped impatiently in his stall, and Jim fed him several forks of the hay they had cut last summer, followed by a double handful of oats. He did the same with the family’s other horses, Colton’s roan and the bay David and Ellen shared.

When it was done, he looked at the dwindling pile of hay. Three horses would eat a lot through the long winter. Much more than what remained. They needed more hay. If the weather cleared, he could find and cut that himself; there were several places he knew would hold some. But they also needed more oats.

Another expense. The need for money is endless.

David had made a wooden bucket to water the stock, and Jim was grateful he’d emptied it last night. He took the bucket and belly-crawled his way out of the barn and back down into the house.

“Are the horses alright?” Ellen said.

“Good enough,” Jim answered. “Thirsty, though. Fill that with warm water and I’ll get it back to them. I’ll need more; it’ll take a few trips.”

He stayed near the door, away from the fire, while he waited. No need to warm himself if he was only going to go right back out.

Walt came into the room then, Alma a few steps behind. “How deep is it?” he asked.

Jim smiled down at the boy. “Deep enough to cover the house.”

Walt grinned. “Can I go out with you? I want to see it. “

“You might not after you get up there. It’s mighty cold.” Jim blew on his hands to make his point.

Walt was undaunted. “Mama, can I go out with Jim to see the horses?”

Ellen looked at Jim, a question in her eyes. Jim shrugged.

“Get your coat,” she said, then added, “gloves too.”

Alma walked over to the door and reached out to touch the snow, much as Ellen had earlier. She caught up a handful, squeezed it, and smiled.

“I suppose you’ll want to go out too?” Jim asked.

She shook her head in response, dropping the packed snow and moving close to Ellen’s side.

Sometimes, the girl spoke—she had a shockingly clear voice—but more often she slipped back into near-silence. Despite the lack of words, she made her thoughts plain, and everyone in the family understood what she meant.

Jim took up the bucket, steaming and only two-thirds full to keep it from spilling, then climbed out onto the drift. He half slid, half crawled his way back to the barn, Walt trailing in his wake.

“Wow, look at the light,” the boy said when they were in the barn. He stuck a gloved hand into one of the narrow beams, playing the light back and forth over his fingers.

Jim let the Appaloosa have the first bucket, and the big horse drank it quickly.

“He was thirsty,” Walt said.

“He was,” Jim agreed.

Walt rubbed at the bottom of the Appaloosa’s nose. “He sure is a pretty horse.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why I ride him.”

“It isn’t?” Walt kept rubbing. “Is it because he’s the fastest?”

“No. Though he’s fast, too, but more than that, he won’t give up.” Jim rubbed the horse’s black flank. “No matter how bad it gets, no matter how tired he is, he won’t quit. Even if it kills him.”

“Even if it kills him? That wouldn’t be very nice,” Walt said and looked to Jim.

“It wouldn’t. But it’s his job to do what I ask, and it’s my job to keep him from hurting himself. Sometimes that’s the way with people, too.”

“Really?”

“Sometimes people do things to hurt themselves and it’s a man’s job to keep them safe.” Jim gave Walt a long look, and the boy didn’t shy from it.

“Ma always warns me to be careful when I’m around the fire or the stove. Is that the same thing?”

“Pretty close.” Jim nodded. “Your mother is protecting you from yourself.”

It took four more trips to the barn before the horses had their fill. Walt followed on each, saying little, and helping with the work where he was able. While they waited in the barn, he and Jim talked about the horses, the snow and surrounding country, or what they would do when spring came.

The sun was past its zenit. . .