As long as he was alive, Tyree knew he was a thorn in Laytham’s side. Surely the big rancher would soon take a hand in hunting him. Or would he do that only if Tobin and Darcy failed?
Time would answer that question, but for now, a more immediate concern was Sally. Somehow Tyree had to get the girl out of the clutches of Luther Darcy. But that meant riding into Crooked Creek, a risky course of action he did not relish. Still, since there was no other way, he would do it.
First he would have to find food. The strips of beef jerky that Zeb had thoughtfully stuffed into his saddlebags were gone and with posses hunting him Tyree could not risk a rifle shot at a deer. He was hungry and getting hungrier, and the only place he could find something to eat was at Luke Boyd’s cabin.
But did he dare risk getting Luke involved with Tobin and Luther Darcy? Not if he waited until nightfall when the chances of him being seen were slight. He’d be risking Luke’s Spencer, but that was a chance he’d have to take.
Tyree spent the remainder of an oppressively hot day in a slot canyon north of the Abajo Mountains, dozing off and on until the light changed and darkness began to gather around him.
He led the steeldust from the canyon, then swung into the saddle and headed north toward Luke’s ranch. If all went well, he could eat, then make a night ride for Crooked Creek. It would still be dark when he reached town and, if luck was on his side, he could get Sally out of the hotel. He had no doubt the girl was guarded, but he would deal with that when the time came.
The sky was scattered with stars and the night air was soft and warm as Tyree headed up Hatch Wash then swung in the direction of Luke’s cabin.
After an hour he rode west along the creek leading to the Boyd place, passing cattle grazing on both banks, relieved that all of them bore the old rancher’s brand. As he got closer, a slight breeze stirred, rustling the slender reeds by the creekbank, carrying the smell of sage and juniper . . . and something else. The sharp, tangy odor of wood smoke.
Worry nagging at him, Tyree kneed his horse into a lope. The moon was up and riding high. The coyotes were yammering among the shadowed canyons and the night birds were calling out to each other.
The glow of the cabin lamps should have been in sight as Tyree rounded a bend in the creek, his eyes scanning the darkness ahead of him. But there were no lights, just the dark, looming bulk of the mesa behind the cabin and above that the vast purple arch of the starry sky.
Tyree reined in his horse, his instinct for danger clamoring at him. His eyes probed the gloom and gradually he made out the vague shape of the cabin. But the shape was all wrong, the contours of the building distorted. The roof was no longer there and the sturdy walls were broken down; in the moonlight, a spar of scorched timber was visible behind what was once a window frame.
His eyes moved beyond the cabin to the corral. A section of the fence was down, pulled over by a rope thrown around a post. It was an old trick that, and in the past he’d seen it done to many a nester and sheepherder.
Warily, Tyree rode to the front of the cabin. Most of the base of the porch and the wall behind still stood, but the door had been burned away and all the glass panes in the windows were shattered. The roof had collapsed, a few wisps of smoke drifting up from inside, and a feeble flame fluttered on the side of a fallen beam like a scarlet moth.
Tyree swung out of the saddle and walked around to the rear of the cabin—and found Luke Boyd.
The old rancher was lying on his back, his body from the waist down buried under a pile of charred, fallen timbers. His voice was weak, but Boyd managed a smile when he saw Tyree emerge from the darkness. “How you doing, boy? Good to see you again.”
“Luke,” Tyree said, kneeling beside the old rancher, the odor of scorched flesh in his nostrils, “what happened?”
Boyd’s face looked like it had been chipped from marble. “They hit me late this afternoon. I was over to the barn when they rode in and I made a run for my Spencer. Then this feller, one of them fancy two-gun shootists we hear about all the time, cut loose at me and I fell right here. After they set the cabin on fire, the wall came right down on top of me. Been lying here since. Mighty thirsty though.”
Tyree looked around and found a tin cup that had escaped the flames. He walked to the creek, rinsed out the cup, then filled it with water. When he got back he held the old man’s head and put the water to his lips.
Boyd drank a few sips, then nodded. “That was good, Chance. Real good.” He swallowed hard. “They burned my fiddle, boy. Burned the old cabin where Lorena grew up and my fiddle with it. Now why would they do a thing like that to a man? Tell me why, Chance?”
Tyree shook his head. “I don’t know, Luke. I only know evil exists and it’s continually at war with all of God’s creation. Maybe someday a preacher will tell me the why of it.”
Tyree gently laid Boyd’s head back on the ground. “The man with two guns. Was his name Luther Darcy?”
“I seem to recollect that’s what they called him. Of course, I’d heard the name before. He’s a bad one, Chance. As bad as they come.”
“Recognize any of the others?”
Boyd shook his head. “No. It all happened so fast, I didn’t get a good look at any of them.”
“Think, Luke,” Tyree said. “Was Quirt Laytham with them?”
“Didn’t see him, Chance. I don’t think Quirt had a hand in this.”
Tyree let that go. “Luke, I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”
“Too late for that, boy,” the old man said. His fevered eyes sought Tyree’s in the gloom. “Listen, Chance, I’ve been lying here thinking and it’s good you came along when you did. When I’m gone, I want you to have this place. I’m giving it to you. I once thought Lorena would live on here, but that ain’t likely now she’s getting hitched to Quirt Laytham.” Boyd reached up a smoke-blackened hand and clutched the front of Tyree’s shirt. “Ranch this place and make a go of it, son,” he said. “I think them who burned me out want to have it for themselves, but don’t let them. Hang on to it, Chance, fight for it if you must, and don’t let anybody take it from you.”
Tyree smiled and shook his head. “Luke, this will be Lorena’s ranch. She’s your daughter and it’s hers by right.”
“No, Chance. Lorena will have all of Quirt’s lands and cattle. She doesn’t need this place, but you do.” The old rancher took a couple of tortured, shuddering breaths as waves of pain swept over him. “In the cabin. Look for it now. A steel box. The flames won’t have touched it.” Boyd saw Tyree’s hesitation and said, “Go, boy, get it now.”
Tyree walked into the smoking cabin and after a few minutes searching found a large metal box. The steel was scorched and blackened, but the box itself was intact. He carried it out to Boyd and the old man said, “Open it.”
Tyree opened the box and took out the items one by one, a deed to Boyd’s ranch, a couple of double eagles and a gold medal on a colored ribbon.
The rancher smiled. “I was given that by old General Winfield Scott after the battle of Contreras in the Mexican war. I’d been with him since Vera Cruz and stood at his side when he took the Mexican surrender at Mexico City on September fourteenth, eighteen and forty-seven.” Boyd looked up at Tyree, shaking his head. “Hell, it seems like just yesterday, but it was sure a long time ago.”
Boyd’s hand reached to his shirt pocket and took out a stub of pencil. “Bring that deed close to me, Chance. I’m signing this ranch over to you.”
“Luke, I don’t think—”
“Don’t argue, boy. I was thinking of doing this for a spell and not just tonight. In fact right after you met that pretty Sally gal. You two will make this a proper ranch, and you’ll have children to bring life to the place.” Boyd scribbled on the deed, and handed it back to Tyree. “There, it’s done. I’ve signed the ranch over to you and it’s yours.”
Again Tyree opened his mouth to object, but Boyd waved a hand and hushed him into silence. “Now, boy, there’s something you can do for me,” he said. “Chance,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with pain, “I’m burned away from the waist down. Nothing left of my legs but ash. I’m in so much pain I can hardly stand it and it’s getting worse by the minute. There’s no hope for me, but I don’t want to linger like this. I wouldn’t allow an animal to suffer like I’m suffering right now.”
Boyd again clutched Tyree’s shirt. “Make it a clean shot, son.” His pleading eyes sought those of Tyree’s in
