The Tylers 2 Read online

  ‘But it don’t end like that?’ he asked gently.

  Nancy shook her head. ‘No. It was Pa. He began to brood. He got awful bitter over what the Retfords done to us. He took to drinking. Result of it was he started going off on his own for days at a time. He’d come back in a terrible state. Dirty, unshaven. He changed. It was horrible to see. Grandpa found out what he was doing. Pa was rustling Retford cattle, or shooting them. He even winged a couple of Retford’s men. No matter how much Grandpa or me talked to him he just wouldn’t give up. It was a private war he had going. Just for revenge, nothing else, and it killed him in the end. One winter he went out and they were waiting for him. Pa had to run, but the Retfords chased him. They followed him up into the mountains. Pa must have realised he was leading them back to Grandpa and me so he took off across the mountain. The weather was bad, very cold. He lost his horse, tried to go on foot, but he just couldn’t go anywhere. Grandpa found him three days later. Pa had just gone to sleep and froze to death.’

  ‘He sounded like a good man.’

  ‘He was. The kindest, nicest man a girl could have for a father. Until the Retfords killed all the kindness inside him.’

  ‘So you’re here with just your Grandpa?’

  ‘I was until Grandpa died three months back. I guess he was just old. He took ill and died, all in one week. I buried him near the cabin, next to Pa.’

  ‘And you’re here all alone?’ Jacob sat up straight. ‘Nobody around for miles?’

  ‘I manage, Mr. Tyler,’ she said, her head coming up, those brown eyes flashing hotly at him, the mouth held in a firm line. ‘I manage pretty good.’

  ‘Now ease off there, missy, I wasn’t about to say you didn’t. All I was going to say was, how long did you expect to stay up here by yourself? Not for good, I hope. Why the country is full of good, honest men who’d be proud to make a wife out of a girl like you.’

  ‘I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life here, Mr. Tyler. I do hope to marry some day.’ She paused, her voice faltering for a second. ‘I just needed a little time on my own. I wanted to think things out before I left.’

  Jacob reached out a big hand and touched her hand where it rested on the bedcovers. ‘I talk too much, and think too little.’

  She smiled again and the brown eyes sparkled. ‘May I call you Jacob? And you call me Nancy. Please.’

  ‘Nancy it is, and if I’m not presuming too much I think that bacon is ready for eating.’

  She turned, pushing up off the bed. Jacob watched her cross over to the fire and begin to tend to the bacon.

  He swung his legs slowly out of bed. He was minus boots and shirt, but he still had his pants on. He spotted his shirt then, on a chair beside the bed. It had been washed and ironed, the hole left by the bullet mended. His gun belt was there too, and he strapped it on after he had pulled on his shirt. He located his boots beside the chair, pulled them on.

  When Jacob stood up the room swayed a little. He was, he realised, still pretty weak. He was going to need time to get his strength back. If he stayed here a while he would. But just how safe was this place? Nancy’s tale of how she and relatives had hidden out for a number of years in safety should have been enough to convince him.

  Jacob, though, was a man who took a lot of convincing. Nancy’s father had only shot Retford cattle. Jacob had shot Retfords. Two of them, and they were both dead. Kyle Retford would tear these mountains apart to find him. Jacob was certain of that. It meant that this place might yet be discovered, and if he were here, then Nancy would be in danger. Jacob would have none of that. In the short time he had known her, he had come to respect her deeply, for she was a girl of strong character, and too young and lovely to have to go through any more grief and danger. Already her young life had been shadowed by fear and uncertainty.

  Jacob crossed over to the table and sat down. Nancy turned round as she heard him.

  ‘Are you sure you should be out of bed?’ she asked. She put two plates on to the table, turned back to the fire to get a steaming pot of coffee.

  ‘I can’t stay there forever,’ he said. ‘Nancy, I’m not too good at saying thanks, but I want you to know how grateful I am for what you’ve done.’

  She stopped pouring coffee into china mugs. ‘That sounds kind of final. Jacob, what are you trying to say?’

  ‘I can’t stay here, Nancy. Kyle Retford won’t stop looking until he finds me. He could find this place, and if he does you’ll be in as much trouble as I am. I won’t let that chance arise. Soon as I’m sorted out I’ll ride, draw them away from here. You can wait until the way is clear, then head out yourself.’

  ‘Just like that?’ Nancy banged the coffee pot down on the table. ‘Do you think I don’t know what I let myself in for when I brought you here? Jacob, ever since I can remember I’ve been fighting one thing or another. In Texas it was the Comanches and the Kiowas. Here it was the Retfords and what they did to my Pa. Everything I’ve had, everything I’ve known has slipped away from me in the end. Jacob, we’ve come together through circumstances that just happened but that have a common bond. I found you hurt bad and brought you here, and now you’re getting better, but for two days I’ve sat by you and tried to help you till you were strong enough to help yourself.’ Her cheeks coloured suddenly. ‘I’ve come to know you, Jacob, without speaking a word to you, and now that you can speak I know you even more. Maybe I have no right, no right at all, but ... I ... I don’t want you to leave me. Not ever.’

  Nancy turned suddenly and rushed over to stand before the fire, her back to Jacob. From where he stood Jacob could see her slim shoulders moving gently, and he realised that she was crying. A moment later he found himself crossing over to her. He did it without conscious thought. It was the natural thing to do, he realised. He touched her shoulder and Nancy turned to face him. Tears shone on her cheeks, but she looked more beautiful to Jacob than he’d ever imagined a woman could look.

  ‘Nancy,’ he said gently, and she came into his arms, holding him to her tightly. Her lips sought his, held him, and Jacob, who had always held himself as a man who didn’t need to settle down, saw the end of his drifting years. There was a feeling inside him that he had never known before, and though it was strange, Jacob realised that he would never let this girl go, come what may. They were as one now, and not even the Retfords could part them.

  Chapter Four

  Jacob had wanted to move on the next day. Nancy, though, knew he was not yet strong enough and she had insisted on them staying at the cabin for at least two more days. Eventually Jacob had agreed, for though he wanted to get Nancy away, he knew he wasn’t yet fully strong enough for hard riding.

  Mid-morning of that second day the Retford bunch found the cabin. Jacob was keeping watch from one of the windows and he saw them when they rode out of the trees below the cabin. One of the riders was pointing at the cabin. A second rider got down off his horse and stood watching the cabin, and though the distance was pretty fair, well beyond rifle range, Jacob recognised the bulk of Kyle Retford.

  ‘Nancy,’ Jacob called and she came to his side. Jacob pointed out the group of horsemen. ‘Go get the saddlebags,’ Jacob told her. ‘Don’t forget your rifle.’

  They had planned for this. Food and ammunition, spare clothing was at hand, ready to be placed behind the saddles of the waiting horses. All they had to do was to pick up their gear and leave the cabin by a door in the rear wall that led into a large cave that burrowed into the mountain against which the cabin was built. The cave was used as a store and stable, and from the cave a passage led out on to another flank of the mountain a mile away from where the cabin stood. It was a method that had been used often in the construction of mountain cabins, and many a man owed his life to one of those back doors.

  While Nancy carried their gear through to the horses, Jacob watched the group of men below the cabin. They were still debating over some matter. Jacob didn’t know what it was, but he hoped it would keep them away from the cabin for a
little longer.

  The extra time he’d had at the cabin had improved his condition to near normal. His side was still sore and he was still a little weak. But he knew that he’d be able to ride now, knew he’d be able to cope with almost any situation. He had to be able, this he had told himself, for now he had Nancy to think of. She was his responsibility now. Nothing must happen to her, and nothing would as long as he had a scrap of fight in him.

  He heard her call from the rear of the cabin and knew she was ready to go. He turned to pick up the three canteens of water he’d filled, swung them on to his shoulder. About to go he turned for one last look through the window.

  Retford’s bunch was on the move. Already four of them had vanished into the brush and trees. The remaining four were coming on foot, up the rough slope towards the cabin.

  Jacob hesitated. The best thing to do? He pondered. Throw a few shots at them? That would make them scatter, make them wait a while before they came on. It would give Nancy and himself a little more time.

  ‘Jacob, what is it?’ Nancy’s voice came to him as she crossed the cabin.

  He let her look. She watched the advancing men silently. Her face went hard for a moment, her cheeks becoming bloodless as she stared down at the distant figures.

  ‘It wouldn’t do anybody any good,’ Jacob told her, figuring out what she was thinking .

  She looked at him. ‘Stopping to shoot it out with them, you mean?’ The hardness left her. ‘I know. Just for a minute, though, it was awful tempting.’

  ‘There’ll be a time. And a place.’

  Jacob turned her away from the window. The sooner they were gone from here the better. They would have a better chance out in the open. Here they were limited, and there were too many memories for Nancy. He let go of the idea of throwing down warning shots. They would have to depend on the lead they got from their head start.

  Better to save the ammunition for a surer target.

  Nancy led the way into the cave. On Jacob’s advice she had put on a heavy riding-skirt and high boots to protect her from the rough brush they would have to ride through. A short jacket was pulled over her blouse.

  Hooking the canteens over his saddle horn Jacob made a quick check of both horses. Nancy rode a cream-coloured mare, an animal that looked like it could go some and then some more. Both horses were well rested and fidgety, ready to be on the move. Jacob helped Nancy into her saddle, handed her the rifle that had belonged to her father.

  ‘You lead me out’, he said. ‘When we reach the open let me go out first. After that you ride ahead again. I’ll be right behind you.’

  ‘All right, Jacob.’

  He touched her hand. ‘While we ride just keep going. Only when I tell you to do something you do it. Don’t ask why. Just do it. You hear?’

  ‘I hear,’ Nancy said, and Jacob knew he would never have to tell her twice to do something.

  Jacob mounted up and Nancy led them out of the cave and into the passage that would bring them out on to the opposite flank of this part of the mountain. The passage was narrow, but it was wide enough to allow a horse to pass through. Sometimes the roof was so low they had to lean forward on to the necks of the horses. There was no other sound except that of the hoofs on the hard rock floor. The light was poor and it became colder.

  A good half hour passed before the light began to get stronger up ahead. A couple of times Jacob had heard faint gunshots coming from far behind them. He didn’t let speculation make him force the pace any.

  Nancy reined in. She moved her horse aside and Jacob saw that the passage was wider now, and a few yards ahead he could see blue sky. He rode past Nancy, keeping his rifle at the ready as his horse broke out into the open. It was very bright after the dimness of the cave. Jacob blinked his eyes as he swung down out of the saddle, and he almost missed the flash of sunlight on a moving barrel.

  He did see it, though, a split second before the rifle fired. Jacob pulled to one side and the bullet clipped his shirtsleeve. He spotted the puff of smoke that followed the blast and he fired at it, levered, then fired again.

  Nancy’s mare came skittering out of the passage. She had her rifle out and she turned calmly and put three quick shots into the brush from where the hidden rifle had fired.

  A man yelled in pain and anger. Brush crackled and popped as a heavy bulk fell forward into view. The man hit the ground in a spume of dust, rolled on to his back and lay still.

  Silence came again. Jacob moved over to Nancy, helped her down. She was trembling, but she held her rifle steady.

  ‘You think there are any more?’ she asked.

  Jacob shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we won’t stop to make a count.’

  ‘They’ll have heard those shots.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jacob indicated the man on the ground. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Name of Treat. One of Retford’s gun hands.’

  Jacob bent quickly over the dead man. He loosened the gun belt and drew it off the body. He handed it to Nancy, then picked up Treat’s rifle and levered out all the unused shells, putting them in one of his pockets.

  ‘Head out, Nancy, and don’t look back,’ Jacob said when they had remounted, and Nancy led out, taking them into the trees that grew tall and thick on this long slope of the mountain.

  They rode steadily, but not too fast, for the ground was soft underfoot. A thick carpet of leaf mould silenced their passing. High above them the sunlight broke through the canopy of green in dusty shafts and they rode in and out of sun and shadow, surrounded all the time by the cathedral hush of the forest.

  They broke out of the trees once and found themselves riding along the edge of a great bowl. It must have been three or four miles across, maybe a half mile to its base. Steep rock sides fell away from the rimrock along which they rode and the basin was green with trees and grass and brush. Water sparkled far below. Their trail took them along the rim for a couple of miles, then veered back into the forest, easing them away from the basin.

  There was a short stop just after midday. Nancy had packed cold venison and some cheese. They ate and drank cold water.

  ‘Any sign of them?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll reach Youngtown before they find us.’

  Jacob recapped the canteen they’d been using. ‘Don’t figure on Youngtown stopping them. There any kind of law there?’

  ‘Only a part-time marshal. He’s young. I don’t know how good he is.’

  ‘We may get a chance to find out,’ Jacob said.

  Chapter Five

  Youngtown nestled close to the base of heavily-wooded hills, that in turn rose into high, rugged mountains. There was good rangeland around Youngtown, and a number of ranches ran big herds on the lush grass. There were a couple of big lumber-mills just outside of town. Youngtown was a thriving place to live in. It was reasonably peaceful too, having little need for a full-time law enforcer.

  Frank Cooper had been Youngtown’s law for two years. The office was more or less a paper one. Cooper had little to do. He officiated at all the town’s functions. He made speeches to the Ladies Temperance League. Sometimes he escorted home an over-merry drinker. When the local ranch crews came into town on Saturday nights he used to make the rounds. Above and beyond that he had little else to do. When he wasn’t being marshal he was behind his workbench in the town’s gun shop, which he owned.

  Today, though, Frank Cooper, in his capacity as Youngtown’s marshal, found himself participating in another aspect of his part-time profession. For the first time since he’d become marshal he found himself wearing a gun, and knowing a feeling that he might have to use it.

  Nearly two months back he had received a letter from the office of the marshal of Hope, Colorado, giving the description of a man who was wanted in Hope for robbery with violence. The man, Noble Larch, with two others, had broken into a store in Hope. They had attacked the owner and his assistant, beating them badly. Then they had emptied the safe. Before th
ey could get away the alarm had been raised. In the running fight that followed, Hope’s marshal had shot and killed one of the robbers. One had given up. Noble Larch however had made his getaway on a stolen horse, and despite being pursued he had escaped capture. The letter gave a full description of Noble Larch and asked for any information that might lead to the capture of Larch.

  The letter had been signed by Hope’s marshal, Seth Tyler.

  Cooper had read the letter, memorised it, and had then filed it away. But he had forgotten it, and the whole matter was brought to the fore again about a week later when three strangers rode into Youngtown. The three men hung around for a day or two. The word was that they were looking for work, and shortly after they hired on with one of the local ranches.

  In the time they arrived in town and went to work, Frank Cooper realised that one of the men was Noble Larch. He was sure, for the man answered Larch’s description perfectly, even down to his way of dressing, the way he wore his gun on his left hip, butt forward, very high. The identification was completed when Cooper heard the suspect speaking, for he had a pronounced stammer, and this was one of Noble Larch’s known features.

  Frank Cooper knew his limitations as a lawman. He had never handled a situation like this before, and he realised that it needed a man of experience. He straightaway wrote a letter to Seth Tyler, informing the marshal of Larch’s presence, and asking for Tyler’s help. He received a swift reply, asking him to keep Larch under observation until Tyler arrived, which would be as quickly as the marshal could settle matters in Hope.

  Seth Tyler rode into Youngtown one evening some ten days later. He searched out Cooper and asked to be put in the picture.

  Cooper was instantly impressed by Hope’s marshal. Seth Tyler was a big man, but he carried himself quietly, speaking almost softly, though his every word was delivered with controlled force. He wore a travel-stained dark suit, a gun strapped to his right thigh, and he carried a sawn-off shotgun as casually as another man might carry a walking stick.