Riding the Timberline Page 2

  ‘Mister Tyrell, I’m not foolish enough to pretend that isn’t going to happen. On the other hand I don’t have much of an alternative. Do I?’

  Tyrell found himself smiling at her tone.

  ‘No, ma’am, I guess you don’t.’

  ‘Then go and fetch your horse. And, by the way, it’s not Ma’am, it’s Miss.’

  He stood up, cuffing his hat back.

  ‘Miss Marchant, I’ll be no more than a few minutes.’

  He leaned to retrieve his rifle.

  ‘Would you mind leaving that with me?’

  ‘You need a weapon?’

  ‘Yes. I may take it in my mind to shoot some game for food. And you do have your handgun.’

  She had not failed to notice the Colt’s Single Action .45 caliber holstered on his right hip. The smooth wood grips and the cut of the leather leaving the trigger guard free and clear. Nor the way he had it tied down against his thigh. He wore the gun easily, almost unconscious of its weight against his leg, but she opined that he was no stranger to its use.

  Tyrell handed her the Henry. ‘Don’t ’spose I need to ask?’

  ‘I can use it, Mr. Tyrell, have no worries on that account.’

  ‘Just remember I’m the one wearing the hat. Not many of the deer hereabouts go to the bother.’

  She glanced up from examining the Henry. ‘I’ll keep that well in mind.’

  Tyrell retraced his steps to where he had left his horse. The roan raised her head and watched him approach. She was comfortable grazing on the rich grasses and gave slight resistance when he loosened the reins and swung into the saddle.

  ‘Hey, no fuss, horse. Time to do some work. You’ll get fat.’

  The roan snorted, tossing her head. It was all part of the game she played out. He told her he was boss and she would make him prove it. It was an amiable contest. Come the day he knew he could depend on the animal.

  As he moved off a feeling of not being entirely alone shadowed him. He drew rein, ignoring the roan’s protest and turned in his saddle to take a look around. He sat for a while, seeing nothing, hearing nothing out of the ordinary, yet still with the feeling something was off center. It might have been nothing more than a feeling, but Tyrell had lived on such emotions for much of his working life and it was near impossible to shrug them off entirely. They were always there, beneath the skin, waiting to be triggered, warning him in subtle ways that might have gone unnoticed by a less skeptical man.

  The roan snorted gently, just reminding him they were standing. He touched her sides and the horse moved on. He took her into the timber, back to where he had left Miss Marchant. He emerged from the shadows to find himself under the unwavering muzzle of the Henry.

  ‘You ease off that trigger now. She’s a touch thin.’

  She let the hammer down and lowered the rifle. ‘Don’t worry, I was aiming at you, not the horse.’ Her tone was light, bordering on wry humor, then she changed her line of thought. ‘She’s yours?’ And Tyrell knew she was talking about the roan. ‘Why, she’s beautiful.’

  Tyrell had never gone that far in describing the animal. The roan was the best horse he had ever owned. She was spirited and sometimes downright rebellious. A good work horse. Tireless and on more than one occasion she had pulled him out of trouble. But he had never employed the word beautiful.

  Something in Cassie’s words got through to the roan. She turned her head, lowering it as she picked up the sound. Her ears flickered in response and she gave the softest whicker Tyrell had ever heard. He eased from the saddle, thinking it had to be a female thing. Human or horse, they had an affinity that no mere man would ever understand.

  ‘Do you have a name for her?’

  ‘No. We get along fine without one.’

  ‘Her coloring is quite striking. A red roan?’

  ‘More chestnut I’d say.’

  She nodded. ‘Chestnut. Yes. She is so fine. I think I could take to her.’

  ‘I’m just giving you a ride on her,’ he said, ‘not leaving her in my will.’

  ‘My, humor too, Mr. Tyrell, whatever next?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s next. Quit all this Mister nonsense. Its Will. And don’t ’spect me to waste breath calling you Miss Marchant all the time.’

  ‘Cass will do fine – Will.’

  He grunted something under his breath, reaching out to take the rifle from her. He stuffed it back in the saddle boot, making sure it was secure. The roan turned her head and gave him a hard-eyed stare.

  ‘And you can quit that,’ Tyrell snapped.

  ‘Do you always have difficulties with females?’ Cass asked lightly.

  ‘Never until today,’ he replied. ‘Then I get two at the same time.’

  ‘Tell me how you’ll do it,’ she said, changing the subject again without a pause.

  He hunkered down before her, cuffing back his hat and examining her broken limb without making any attempt to touch it yet. He could see where the bone had snapped about halfway between knee and ankle. It looked to be a clean break, though the flesh around it was badly discolored. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a broken limb. He had done his share of doctoring on cattle drives when it was all part of the job. When a crew was miles from civilization it was left to those involved to look to their own fixing. Tyrell had seen broken limbs mended. Even minor, crude surgery when the desperate need arose.

  Now it was different. He had never had to doctor a woman and the notion worried him some. The mechanics of the procedure was the same. It was just whether Cass could take the discomfort. He corrected himself immediately. Not discomfort – pain was the word for it.

  ‘If you’re worried I might not take the pain don’t,’ she said, employing that irritating female habit of seeming to read a man’s mind even while he was forming the thought himself.

  He looked at her. ‘It will hurt,’ he said bluntly, because he was not given to pretense.

  ‘I expect it will.’

  He stood up and looked around until he found what he was wanted. Some straight branches. He took his hand axe from his saddlebag and spent some time chopping the branches down to the right length, then shaved them with the keen edge of the axe until he had them as smooth and flat as he could achieve. He took his saddle rope and cut it into lengths he could use to bind the splints against Cass’s leg. He made tight loops so all he had to do was slip them over her foot and into position once he had the splints in place. All through this she watched with interest, occasionally asking a question that was always to the point and never once foolish.

  Tyrell placed the splints and the rope on the ground close by. He offered her a short length of freshly cut wood.

  ‘You bite down on this when I start,’ he said. ‘Helps to occupy the mind against the pain.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  He regarded her with curiosity. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve heard of people doing this and breaking their teeth because they bit down too hard. Even put out their jaw sometimes. Tell me I am wrong.’

  ‘True enough.’

  ‘There we are then.’

  Tyrell figured there was no point arguing the matter. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion Cassie Marchant was a young woman of independent mind, who would not take kindly to being crossed. And who was he to try and overcome that kind of stubbornness?

  ‘I could run a rope round your waist. Around the tree.’

  She regarded him with a trace of suspicion in her eyes. ‘And why would you want to do that?’

  ‘Keep you from rolling around when I set your leg.’

  ‘Mr. Tyrell, I will not roll around.’

  ‘I guess not,’ he replied, allowing a trace of a grin edge his lips, and she was quick to notice it.

  ‘I was being foolish. You were only considering my feelings.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘I suppose we had better get this over with.’

  He nodded. Bent over her outstretched leg and placed his big left hand
to her knee, gripping it tightly. The fingers of his right hand closed over her upper ankle and when he clamped down hard he heard her quick indrawn breath. He made no indication of when he was going to make his move because he didn’t want her to become tense. When he moved it was fast and with little regard to any pain he might inflict. It had to be that way because if he had allowed any pity to cloud his judgment he would have simply prolonged her agony. He simply pulled and twisted the limb, feeling the broken edges of the bones grate together. He ran a practiced eye along the leg, took satisfaction that it had lined up nicely, and without even looking at Cass picked up the splints and positioned them, holding them in place with one hand while he slid the first loop over her foot and eased it midway along the length of the splints. He pulled the loop snug so it held the wood in place so he could release his left hand and make the rope fully tight. He repeated this until the splints were bound tightly against her limb, holding it secure. He glanced up and found her staring at him, eyes wide, her face pale and glistening with perspiration. She was breathing quickly too, yet never once through the whole procedure, had she uttered a sound.

  ‘When I get you to my place I’ll make a better splint and bind it neater.’

  She took a long look at the job he had done.

  ‘I don’t think it could be any better. It feels fine.’ She paused, clearing her throat. ‘Thank you, Will Tyrell.’

  He pushed to his feet and turned to his horse, freeing the large canteen from the saddle.

  ‘Water?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  He handed her the canteen, noticing that her hands were trembling slightly. He made no indication he’d seen that, turning away to put his axe back in the saddlebag. As he stood looking across the way he noticed a bank of clouds sliding across the sky above the trees. Glancing up as something caught his eye he saw the upper branches starting to move as a wind soughed down from the higher peaks.

  ‘Rain coming,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We better move lest we get caught in it.’

  He bent over and eased his hands under her body. Pushed away the sensation of her female shape against him as he straightened. She was no weight. Without being asked she slid her free arm around his shoulder and steadied herself. Dark hair brushed his cheek. As Tyrell turned towards the roan she rested her head against his shoulder and held it there.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  Now she looked into his eyes, faint color in her cheeks. ‘I felt tired suddenly.’

  Tyrell paused beside the roan. ‘You want to take hold of the saddle horn when I boost you up?’

  She nodded and used the leverage to make it easier for him as he lifted her bodily to the saddle. She managed to swing her good leg over and settled in the leather, biting back as a stab of pain rose in her broken limb. Leaning over she found the stirrup and slid her foot into it. She felt a momentary giddiness and gripped the saddle horn tightly until the feeling passed. Tyrell had not noticed as he took the reins and began to lead the roan towards the open slopes beyond the trees.

  ‘Are you going to walk?’

  He glanced up at her, the shadow from his hat brim shading his brown face.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  They eased out of the trees and emerged on the north slope of the hills. Cass raised her head and saw, as he had earlier, the gray clouds coming in from over the distant peaks and the feel of the cool wind preceding the rain. The first drops came minutes later. They were in the open, with no protection, Tyrell walking easily, leading the roan. The animal seemed to sense the condition of its rider and made no protest, picking her way carefully across the grassy slope.

  The rain increased quickly. It held a chill that it had brought from the high peaks. Tyrell stopped, patting the roan, then moved to the side. He untied the rawhide strings and shook out the black slicker, handing it to Cass.

  ‘Put that on,’ he said. ‘Keep you dry.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘No problem,’ he said and picked up the reins again, leading out.

  Cass worked her way into the slicker, its wide folds engulfing her, and watching Tyrell getting soaked only added to her guilt. As the downpour increased the wind grew stronger. She buttoned the slicker around her neck but even then fingers of cold water worked under the collar and ran down her back making her shiver. Her leg was starting to hurt again. Not the sharp, severe pain as before. Now it was more of a deep, heavy ache that nagged at her nerves. She made no sound. Uttered no complaint. She was in a better condition than she had been a while ago. If Tyrell had not found her she might still be alone and helpless, exposed not only to the terrain, but also to this downpour. Here she was at least partially dry, riding in reasonable comfort, and not alone.

  They traveled mainly north, then angled off to the west. Moving across the slopes now rather than climbing. It all looked exactly the same to Cass. Grass and timber, with the rocky peaks spiking their way into view far above them. If this had been winter those high peaks would have been snowcapped, cold and glacial. But this was summer at least and when the rain had gone the high meadows would glisten under the bright sun, the greenery so clear and rich it could take your breath away. And the air was crystal clear and fresh, almost sweet to breathe.

  Tyrell moved in to shorten the rein, pulling the roan to a stop. He held the animal still while he scanned the way ahead, listening to something Cass failed to hear.

  ‘What is it, Will?’ She found using his first name came easily. There was no awkwardness when she spoke it.

  ‘Up ahead. There’s a fair sized stream we needed to cross. Sounds like she’s in flood. Too risky to try and ford it now.’

  ‘Is there another way?’

  ‘Not close,’ he told her. ‘Up yonder. In this weather it’ll take us an hour or so to get above the source.’

  ‘What else is there?’

  He pondered the situation. Then, his mind made up, he hauled the roan’s head around and led the way across the grassy meadow. Cass studied the slope. Seeing nothing that might solve their problem. Then he was leading the roan down a steep dip and along a winding bank until he pulled the horse in beneath a wide overhang, where thick gorse and tangled foliage created a natural shelter. Some rain penetrated but not enough to make them move on.

  ‘You’ve used this before?’

  He nodded, stepping up to the roan and raising his arms to help her down, both of them trying to keep her splinted leg from being knocked. On the ground he lifted her and carried her to a soft hummock where she could sit.

  ‘Near forgot we were close,’ he said. ‘Almost walked by.’

  He stood at the edge of the overhang, watching the rain. His shirt clung to his strong shoulders, plastered to his back and sides. He took off the hat and slapped the rain off it. He stroked a big hand through the shaggy mass of dark hair, brushing it back before putting his hat back on.

  ‘You mind if I smoke?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not.’

  He fished the makings from his saddlebag and she watched as he shucked tobacco from the drawstring bag, laying it along the coarse paper he took from the sheaf in his hand. He tucked the bag in his shirt pocket and deftly rolled the cigarette with steady fingers, wetting the edge of the paper and placing it between his lips. He used a match extracted from a small roll of oilskin and struck it against the metal of his holstered gun, raising it quickly while it still flared. As it lit the tip of the cigarette he took a deep draw, savoring the taste. Cass caught the scent of the rich tobacco and it gave a her comforting feeling. A memory of someone else who went through the same motions when he made his own smoke. Her father. It caused tears to rise and she blinked them away lest Tyrell see.

  He squatted down on his heels in the way she had seen cowboys set themselves. Taking the moment to relax out of a busy working day. He reminded her of those men. Hardy, self-sufficient individuals who worked with quiet pride, enduring harshness and depravation on long drives. They took what lif
e threw at them, swallowed it with imposed dignity, and gave as good as they got. Spare with words and showing emotions, they were for the most part, the most honorable men she had ever known.

  Will Tyrell reminded her of those men. He carried himself as they did. Making no effort seem too much. Giving, yet not expecting too much in return.

  He turned to look at her now, and Cass thought she must look a sorrowful spectacle. Bedraggled and grubby, barefoot, with little to show her feminine side. She knew her soaked hair must be plastered to her head. A less flattering image she could not imagine.

  ‘I wish I could do something more to make you comfortable,’ he apologized. ‘When we get to my cabin things should improve. Fire. Hot food and coffee. Plain fare. I only cook for myself and I don’t have much in the way of fancy tastes.’

  ‘I’ll be happy with anything you can offer, Will, and don’t worry about me. Now you go on and finish your smoke before it gets damp.’

  He look outwards again, a wry smile edging his lips. Something in the way she had spoken to him.

  ‘Now you go on and finish your smoke before it gets damp.’

  It was like they were some married couple, carrying on it that easy way a man and a woman might. As if they had known each other for years, rather than the scant few hours or so since they had first met. It was an odd thing, but he found a strange comfort in her tone. Maybe he had been spending too much time on his own. Up here, where he only had the roan to listen to his talk. A sad thing for a man grown to even admit to.

  They sat out the storm, and within the hour it had worn itself down and was gone. Like most summer storms it had proved to be short-lived. Hard and fast when it rolled down off the high peaks, but proving that it had little staying power, blowing out quickly.

  Tyrell got her back on the roan and led out, swinging upslope for a way until he found a shallow place they could cross. The rain flood in the stream had slackened by the time they reached it and Tyrell got his pants wet to just below the tops of his boots.

  Once they were over the stream he lit out in the direction of the valley and his place.