“Which won’t be long, boy,” Luke Boyd said, stepping from the shadows into the circle of the firelight. “On account of how I plan to hang you right here and now from the nearest tree.”
“No, Luke.” Tyree’s words were soft spoken, but they cut like a knife across the silence that followed Boyd’s statement. “Seems to me, there’s been enough hanging around here already.”
The old rancher looked shocked. “But, Chance, that’s what we do with no-good rustlers in the canyonlands.”
Tyree was suddenly tired, sick of all the dying that lay around him. “Luke, Lorena told us that Quirt Laytham and Sheriff Tobin have declared open season on rustlers. Take him into Crooked Creek and let those two deal with him.”
Boyd seemed uncertain, but when he met Tyree’s eyes and saw their hard, determined light he let it go. “Well, if you say so, but I’d rather string him up my ownself.” He glanced around the camp. “I heard this one say his name was Roy Will. Who are the other two?”
“The man by the fire is Jed Will, this one’s brother. The redhead over there, I don’t know his name.”
“Trace Henderson,” the man called Roy said. “Out of Blanco County, Texas. Ran with Jesse Evans for a spell and killed his share.”
“Well, his killin’ is done,” Boyd said. “And good riddance I say.”
Owen Fowler led the horses into camp and looked around him, his face pale with shock. “Are they . . . are they . . . ?”
“Yup, Owen, both of them are dead as rotten stumps,” Boyd said, rising from where he’d been kneeling beside Henderson.
“Then we have to bury them,” Fowler said, a man who couldn’t come to terms with the destruction around him desperately latching on to something he did understand.
“Need a shovel for that, and we don’t have one,” Boyd said. “I saw a cave back in the arroyo. We’ll lay ’em in there. Good a place for their kind as any.”
Tyree kneeled by the fire and placed the fry pan back on the coals and shook the bacon. “Let’s eat first,” he said. “No point in letting good grub go to waste.”
Tyree and the others rode back to the cabin with their prisoner under a moonlit sky ablaze with stars.
When he was a ways off, Boyd yelled to Lorena that he was coming in, and the door swung open a moment later, throwing a rectangle of light onto the porch. The girl ran into the yard.
When her father dismounted, Lorena threw herself into his arms. “Pa, where were you? I’ve been so worried.”
“Later, child. I’ve got a wounded man here.”
“Who?”
Lorena’s alarmed eyes went directly to Tyree, but he smiled and jerked his thumb at Roy Will. “Not me, him.”
Had he seen real concern in Lorena’s face? Why, when her father said someone was wounded, had she looked for him first? It could, Tyree decided, mean nothing. Or everything.
Fowler volunteered to unsaddle and feed the horses. Tyree followed Lorena and her father into the cabin. As the girl began to wash blood from the outlaw’s shoulder, Boyd told her what had happened, sparing none of the details.
Lorena stopped what she was doing and looked at Tyree, an expression of horror crossing her lovely face. “You killed two of them?” She glanced at Will’s shattered shoulder. “And you did this?”
Tyree nodded. “It was either them or me. It was a mighty sudden thing and I didn’t have time to study on it.”
Lorena continued to look at Tyree for a long moment, a tangle of confused emotion in her eyes. She’d been born and raised in the West, and she knew well what happened to rustlers when they were caught. But now, seeing it up close in all its bloody reality, she was obviously struggling to come to terms with what had happened.
“Chance did what he had to do, Lorena,” Boyd said mildly. He pointed at Will, who was sitting with his head bowed, sullen and silent. “Him and the others were taking my bull and they were willing to fight to keep it.”
Lorena struggled to regain her composure. “Is this what it means to be a named gunfighter, Chance? Am I seeing the true, cruel reality behind all the dime novels? In a single instant to have the ability to cut down two men and smash another’s shoulder to pieces?”
Though aware of the barb, Tyree smiled. “Yes, that’s what it means. That and other things.”
The girl lifted her head high. “Then I hope to God I never meet another gunfighter. There isn’t a Hereford bull in the world that’s worth the lives of two men.”
“I’m with you there,” Tyree said, nodding toward Will. “But maybe him and the other two should have thought of that before they stole it.”
“That’s what I say, boy,” Boyd agreed. The rancher put his hand on Tyree’s shoulder. “Do you recollect my telling you to ride on once you were well enough? Well, that don’t go no more. You played the man’s part today, Chance, and I’m beholden to you. Stay on here as long as you want.”
Whatever Tyree was about to answer was lost as the door opened and Fowler stepped inside. “I rubbed down the horses and fed them,” he said. “Turned the rustlers’ mounts into the corral. Rubbed down your paint too, Lorena. He was lathered up some.”
The girl nodded. “I went riding just before sun-down. I was about to go see to him when you all came back.”
Fowler nodded toward Will. “How is he?”
“His shoulder is bad,” Lorena said. “I think the bullet is still in there. I’ve done all I can, but he needs a doctor.”
“He’ll see one tomorrow,” Boyd said. “At first light I’m leaving with him for Crooked Creek.”
“And I’m coming with you,” Fowler said.
Tyree looked at the man, his face alarmed. “Owen, do you think that’s wise? Quirt Laytham means to kill you, and Sheriff Tobin won’t lift a finger to save you. Those two are in cahoots, tighter than Dick’s hatband.” Ignoring Lorena’s annoyed frown, he added, “Owen, you stay here. I’ll ride into town with Luke.”
Fowler shook his head. “No, Chance, this has been going on for too long and it’s got to stop. Tobin is a sorry excuse for a lawman, I admit, but I’m going to demand he bring in the United States Marshal. Let the marshal investigate Laytham’s claim that I’m rustling his cattle.”
“Owen,” Lorena said quickly, “I’ll talk to Quirt. I’ll get this whole sorry mess cleared up. I’m still sure there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”
Fowler’s smile was slight. “Thanks for the offer, Lorena, but I still think I’ll put my trust in the U.S. marshal.”
Tyree was about to object again, but Boyd cut him off. “Chance, I’ll be with Owen in Crooked Creek. People know me in town; they’ve known me for years. Nothing will happen to Owen so long so I’m with him.”
Despite his misgivings, Tyree conceded to himself that Boyd had a point. He’d been in the canyon country for over twenty years and by Fowler’s account was well liked and respected. It was unlikely Laytham would try to kill Owen while Luke was with him.
“Besides, Chance,” Boyd was saying, “if Lorena is wrong about Laytham and everything you and Owen have been telling me is a natural fact, you’re a marked man your ownself.”
“I’m not wrong, Pa,” Lorena flared. “I just know I’m not wrong about Quirt.”
“Well, anyhow, it’s settled,” Boyd said. “Come first light, Owen and me will ride this bull-stealing varmint to Sheriff Tobin and have him telegraph the marshal.”
“What are we going to do with him until then, Pa?” Lorena asked. “He’s in bad shape.”
Boyd drew his gun. “I’ll take him to the barn and tie him up good. He’ll be comfortable enough.”
Roy Will, who had been sitting through all this in a hurting silence, stood and turned to Lorena. He gestured at his bandaged shoulder and with the Western man’s inherent respect for decent women said, “I’m much obliged to you, ma’am.”
As Boyd prodded the rustler toward the door, Will’s eyes slanted to Tyree and flashed him a look of implacable, burning hatred. Then he was gone.
Tyree followed Boyd outside, glanced at the night sky and what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
