Death Rides Alone (7 page)

“George Armstrong Custer will climb up out of his grave and go back to fighting the Indians before that happens.”

“What did they do when they saw you?”

Tyler said, “They hauled out their guns and started blasting away at me. Things couldn't have worked out any better for 'em. All they had to do was kill me and claim they'd found me with Rachel's body. Nobody in White Fork would ever doubt that I killed her. I'm just a no-account, the son of a drunk, and a pretty shady character, to boot. And quite a few folks saw me stay behind at the church to help Rachel clean up. They knew the two of us were there alone. It'd be a pretty simple story: I made advances to her, she ran off into the woods to get away from me, I caught up with her and killed her.” Tyler shrugged. “They'd bury me in a plain pine box, and that'd be the end of it.”

“But you got away.”

“I ran like the very devil himself was right on my heels. Those bullets were flyin' all around me, but somehow they all missed. I made it to one of the hitch racks in town and grabbed the first horse I saw.” Tyler nodded toward the paint, still cropping at the grass. “That was the only stroke of good luck I had that night. That pony's damn fast, faster than any of the mounts those fellas who came after me were riding. I got away.”

“And made it as far as Bent Creek.”

Tyler sighed and said, “Yeah.”

“It didn't take long for Sheriff Axtell to get those reward dodgers spread all over this part of the country.”

“Of course it didn't. I know Spence. As soon as he realized what he'd done, he went crying to his pa for help. And old Manfred, he told Spence not to worry about it, that he'd take care of everything. He put a bounty on my head and Axtell spread the word, and they figured either some bounty hunter would kill me and shut my mouth for good . . .”

He gave Luke a long look.

“Or else I'd be caught, in which case they set up the bounty so whoever grabbed me would have to take me back to White Fork to get paid. That'd be you, Jensen.”

“But you figure I'm not taking you back to stand trial,” Luke said.

“Hell, no! They can't afford to let me get up in front of a judge and tell everybody what really happened.”

Luke tugged at his earlobe as his forehead creased again in thought. He said, “You didn't
see
Spence Douglas kill the girl. Even if you had, Spence could just insist that you're lying to save your own skin, and everyone would believe him. It's a classic case of your word against his . . . and I don't believe you're going to come out ahead in that contest, Tyler.”

“You're right. But you see, Jensen . . . I have
proof
that Spence killed Rachel, and that's why they have to kill me—and you, too, in case I told you about it—before we ever get to White Fork.”

“What sort of proof?”

Tyler shook his head in slow determination.

“I'm keeping that to myself. No offense, Jensen, but I don't know that I can trust you a hundred percent. You've listened to my story, and I'm obliged to you for that, but you might turn around and try to strike some sort of deal with Manfred Douglas.”

“Would that work?”

“No, he'd just kill you anyway, or have you killed, once he was sure I was dead and Spence's neck was safe from a hangrope.”

“Then I'd be a fool to try that, wouldn't I?”

“I already told you you're a fool to even start for White Fork.”

Luke walked over to the horses to tighten the cinches on their saddles, which he had loosened earlier. They had stayed here beside the creek longer than he'd intended while he listened to Tyler's story, but that had given the horses plenty of time to rest and his clothes had dried some, too.

While he was doing that, he thought about everything he had heard, and when he turned back to Tyler, an idea had formed in his mind.

“I'll make a deal with
you
, Tyler,” he said. “You mentioned a cache of loot from your rustling and holdups.”

“Yeah. I don't know how much it is, exactly. Close to two grand, I'd say. And it's all yours if you'll let me go.”

“That's not going to happen. But here's my proposition: I'll take you to White Fork, get you there safely, and make sure that you receive a fair trial. If I do that, you'll pay me that money you have hidden.”

Tyler stared at him, then said, “Have you not been listening to a thing I said? Manfred won't ever let the case go to trial. He'll have Axtell ambush us before we even get close to White Fork!”

“Axtell may try,” Luke said, “but I'm confident I can get you there. I've delivered prisoners in dangerous situations before.”

“You don't know what you're biting off here,” Tyler said with a shake of his head. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I'm curious. I want to find out what actually happened to Rachel Montgomery, and a trial seems like the best way to get to the truth.”

“You want to do it ... for her sake?”

“You could put it like that,” Luke said.

Tyler stared at him for a long moment before saying, “I still think you're loco ... but you've got a deal, Jensen. If we make it to White Fork and I get to stand up and tell the truth in a court of law, that cache of loot is yours. And if that happens, you'll have earned it, by God!”

The terrain between Bent Creek, Wyoming, and White Fork, Montana, was pretty varied, including ranges of hills and small mountains, broad, semi-arid basins, badlands cut by rocky ridges, and stretches of a more hospitable nature with enough graze to support cattle. It wasn't really difficult for traveling, but Luke wasn't able to set a very fast pace, either.

It had taken Tyler ten days to cover the distance between the two settlements, but he'd been pushing the paint pony as hard as he dared. Luke didn't see any reason to do that, so he figured they would take a couple of weeks to reach their destination.

They made camp the first night on the shoulder of a ridge, under an outcropping of rock that shielded them from the wind and also would make it more difficult for anyone to spot the small campfire Luke built.

“You're a careful man,” Tyler commented as he sat on a rock with his hands still cuffed behind his back and watched Luke fry the bacon Mary brought with the dry clothes.

“I've had to be, in order to survive. You've been on the dodge enough you ought to understand that.”

Tyler sighed and said, “Yeah, I do. I've spent some cold, lonely nights listening to the owl hoot and hoping a posse didn't catch up to me.”

“You seem like a reasonably intelligent young man. You could have done something besides becoming an outlaw.”

“What? Clerk in a store? Eat a bellyful of dust following cows around?” Tyler shook his head. “I'm not gonna live like that. And I'm sure as hell not gonna push a mop and work as a swamper in a saloon. That's about the only other thing I'm qualified to do.”

“If you say so,” Luke said. “You've made your own bed.”

“Damn right I have.” After a while, Tyler added, “Don't think I'm satisfied with the way things have turned out, though. I'm not. I just don't see what I can do about 'em now.”

“As long as you have that murder charge hanging over your head, you can't change anything else. But once you've faced up to it . . . if you're cleared . . . you can do whatever you want to, Tyler.”

The young man shook his head and said, “Nobody around White Fork's ever gonna give me a fair chance, even if I'm able to prove that I didn't kill Rachel.”

“Then go somewhere else and make a fresh start.” Luke waved a hand to indicate their surroundings. “My God, you've got the whole frontier to pick from! Why do you think people started coming out here in the first place? They wanted new lives, new opportunities.”

“Is that why you came west, Jensen? To start a new life as a bounty hunter?”

“There were things in my situation that would have made it difficult for me to stay where I was.”

“Well, I didn't want to leave White Fork.” Tyler sighed. “But now I reckon I've got no reason to stay, do I?”

Luke understood then. Tyler hadn't set off in search of a new beginning because he wanted to stay close to Rachel Montgomery. Even if he had convinced himself he could never have a life with her, at least he could see her and talk to her now and then, like on the night of the social.

“First things first,” Luke said. “Let's just get you there and see to it that the truth comes out at the trial.”

Tyler merely shook his head, clearly thinking it was foolish to believe that would ever happen.

The night passed peacefully, and they started on the trail again early the next morning.

“You've ridden this country since I have,” Luke said. Tyler was beside him, rather than trailing behind. “Are there any actual settlements between here and White Fork?”

“A few wide places in the trail, that's all. Can't hardly call them settlements. Just trading posts with maybe a saloon attached, or a blacksmith shop, and a few cabins. I didn't spend much time in any of them, just bought some supplies and moved on.”

“You didn't rob the stores? That seems more like your usual approach.”

Tyler glared and said, “I told you, I did whatever was necessary for me to survive, but I never stole when I had money and could avoid it. I never wanted to bring trouble to honest, hardworking people.”

“And I suppose you didn't want to draw a lot of attention to yourself, either, being a man on the run and all.”

“Well, yeah, that's true, too.”

“We'll need to stop and pick up some supplies along the way. I'm glad to know I shouldn't have to defend you from any more lynch mobs.”

“No . . . only from Axtell and those other cold-blooded killers working for Manfred Douglas.”

“We haven't seen any sign of these dangerous phantoms so far.”

“Hasn't been enough time for them to get down here in these parts yet. But they're coming this way, and we're headed right toward them. You just wait, Jensen. Problem is, by the time you see them . . . it's probably gonna be too late for us to save ourselves.”

* * *

Over the next couple of days, Tyler kept up a litany of complaints, most of them centered around the pair of handcuffs he wore. Luke had to take the cuffs off every now and then so that Tyler could attend to his personal needs, but when he did that he made Tyler get down on his knees first and then lean forward so he couldn't move fast. Then and only then would Luke unlock the cuffs, key in one hand and a Remington ready in the other.

Luke listened to Tyler's grousing as they rode along until he was ready to gag the young fugitive as well as cuff him. He threatened to do just that. The threat shut Tyler up for a while, but gradually he began to complain again.

“I'm not saying you have to take them off entirely,” Tyler said as they rode toward one of the pine-dotted ridges that crossed their trail. “Just let me wear 'em with my hands in front of me. That way, my arms won't be pulled back behind me unnatural-like, and I can at least hold on to the saddle horn when I need to. It's sure tiring, riding this way.”

“With your hands in front of you, you can grab a gun or swing a punch,” Luke said. “With your hands behind your back, all you can do is annoy me with your constant bellyaching.”

“And here I thought you believed me when I told you what really happened back in White Fork. I'm mighty disappointed in you, Jensen.”

“I'll try to live with that disappointment,” Luke told him. “As for that yarn you spun . . .” They hadn't really discussed Tyler's story since that first day on the trail. “I found it . . . believable. That doesn't mean I think you were telling the truth, but at least it wasn't a blatant pack of lies.”

“None of it was a lie. I wouldn't dishonor Rachel's memory by lying about her.”

“We'll see,” Luke said.

They reached the ridge, climbed to the top, and Luke reined in as he saw that the far slope was too steep for them to descend right here. They would have to ride along the narrow top until they found easier terrain. It was a matter of whether they should turn right or left, and since the drop-off was almost sheer in both directions as far as he could see, the choice was a toss-up.

Luke decided to head right. He moved his horse in that direction, then tugged on the reins of Tyler's paint and guided the pony around him, putting Tyler between him and the drop-off.

“What's that for?” Tyler asked.

“Just in case you get any ideas about crowding me and my horse off that cliff,” Luke explained.

Tyler craned his neck to look down the steep slope and said, “Hell, I wouldn't do that, Jensen. The fall might kill your horse, and I told you . . . I'm no killer.”

Luke grunted, but he couldn't stop a faint smile from tugging at his lips. He tightened his grip on the reins and nudged the gray into motion. He led the paint behind him and to the left.

“This is pretty damn nerve-rackin',” Tyler said after a while. “I don't care for riding this close to the edge.”

“You'll be fine,” Luke told him. “Just don't try anything funny and you won't be in any danger.”

“This pony can be a little skittish at times.”

Luke sighed and said, “Fine.” He veered the gray slightly to the right and tugged on the paint's reins. They were closer to the other slope now, but although it was steep, it was nothing like the one on the far side of the ridge.

Tyler started singing some ballad about a lonesome cowboy and the
señorita
he had left behind on the border. Luke hipped around in the saddle to frown at him.

“Are you trying to signal somebody?”

Tyler stopped singing and asked, “Why do you say that?”

“I figured such caterwauling had to have a purpose.”

“Caterwauling, is it? I've been told I have a fine singing voice.”

“I've attended the opera in both San Francisco and Denver,” Luke said. “That's fine singing. I've even heard Lily Langtry perform. So I know something about the subject.”

“Well, I'm stuck travelin' with a sour-faced ol' bounty hunter. Got to do something to pass the time.”

“Yes, but you sound like you're passing a stone. Figure out something else to distract yourself.”

“Fine, fine,” Tyler grumbled.

Luke turned around to face forward again, and as he did, he realized that he had drifted pretty close to the slope while he was talking to Tyler. Suddenly he sensed as much as heard sudden movement behind him. As he twisted in the saddle, he saw Tyler gouging his heels into the paint's flanks to send the startled pony leaping forward and to the right. Tyler yelled at the top of his lungs to spook his mount even more.

The gray outweighed the paint, but the smaller horse was moving faster as it rammed into Luke's mount. The collision staggered the gray, and as close to the edge as it was, it began to lose its balance. The horse let out a shrill whinny as it reared up and started to fall. Luke hauled back on the reins and tried to bring the gray under control, but it was too late.

He cursed as he kicked his feet free of the stirrups and threw himself to the left, out of the saddle. He had lost his grip on the paint's reins, but he couldn't worry about that now. If the gray fell on him and rolled over him, it would break bones and crush organs and doom him to a painful death.

Luke leaped clear as the horse began to slide down the slope. He landed hard and awkwardly, stunning him for a moment. As he lifted his head he spotted Tyler riding hell bent for leather along the ridge, risking a possibly fatal fall himself because his hands were still cuffed behind his back and he couldn't control the animal. He had to trust to the paint's nimble hooves to keep them upright.

Luke scrambled to his feet and yanked out one of the Remingtons. He lifted the revolver and sighted over its long barrel at the fleeing Tyler as he pulled back the hammer. His finger was about to tighten on the trigger when he let out another curse and lowered the gun.

Tyler was already out of good range, he told himself as he jammed the Remington back in its holster. His lack of a shot had nothing to do with him not wanting to put a bullet in the young man's back.

He turned instead to see what had happened to the gray. The horse was about twenty feet down the slope, struggling to stand up. Luke hurried down, grabbed the reins, and helped as much as he could. Within moments, the gray had its legs underneath it again.

Quickly, Luke checked the horse for injuries. He fully expected that the gray had broken at least one leg in the fall.

Miraculously, though, the animal's bones seemed to be intact. Luke led the gray up the slope, watching how it moved. The steps were a little tentative at first but didn't appear to be pained. The horse shook its head, blew out its breath, and looked aggravated, but as far as Luke could tell it was all right, which made him heave a sigh of relief.

He looked along the ridge, but Tyler was no longer in sight. Luke could still hear the faint rataplan of hoofbeats, though, so he knew which direction the fugitive had gone.

Occasionally in the past, a prisoner had gotten away from him. That always angered Luke. He had gone after those outlaws and captured them again, every time.

It looked like he was going to have to do the same thing with Judd Tyler.

“Hate to ask it of you after you took that tumble, big fella,” he said to the gray as he swung up into the saddle, “but I hope you've still got a run in you. We've got us a tricky little son of a bitch to catch!”