The Texan's Reward (22 page)

cattle. The outlaws had caused so much trouble that the Apache living near the border gladly handed them over.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to know what happened to the cattle.

Sheriff Parker agreed to stay at the house while Brother Aaron made his trip into town. After lunch, he helped

Harrison round up the stock and get them inside the barn. By the time they returned to the house, rain was

tapping at the windows.

Harrison lit a fire more to chase away the gloom than for warmth. Wednesday claimed her chair where the light

was best for sewing. Nel read a book, while Harrison worked at his desk. She looked up when the clock chimed

four and noticed that Mrs. O’Daniel, Gypsy, and the sheriff were all asleep. The rhythm of the rain blended with

their snores.

A few minutes later, Mr. Harrison knelt beside her to show her the figures he’d totaled on last year’s running of

the properties. “I’ve seen barn raising that made less noise,” he whispered as he pointed with his head toward

the snoring section of the room.

She smiled. “I’ve read the same page three times. It’s hard to concentrate.”

He laid his hand over hers. “How about we disappear to the kitchen? I think I smel Marla’s cobbler.”

She rol ed backward until she was several feet away from the nappers, then turned her chair around and passed

through to the kitchen as Mr. Harrison held the door open.

Marla was starting supper and happy to have the company. They drank tea and ate cobbler around the kitchen

table.

After finishing his second serving, Mr. Harrison told Marla she’d better make another one, because he didn’t

think there was enough left to serve for dinner.

Nell laughed. “Well, there might be enough if you and I skipped dessert tonight.”

He frowned.

Marla reached for the apples.

Nell couldn’t believe she’d eaten two helpings herself. When she’d taken her meals upstairs, more often than

not, the tray came back to the kitchen untouched.

Maybe it was all the exercise.

She looked at Harrison and Marla talking quietly about how much the preacher ate. Or maybe, she

reconsidered, it was the company that made her hungry. Randolph Harrison seemed more relaxed around Marla

than he did when he was with the others. He was stil very proper, but he didn’t seem quite so emotionless.

With the shy cook he let his guard down a little.

She thought again about what a good husband he’d make and wondered if he realized, as she did, that there

were only three days left until she’d promised to give him an answer. She knew if Jacob was stil gone, she’d

have to ask Mr. Harrison to wait a little longer for the answer.

Nel told herself it was because she’d promised Jacob she’d wait until he returned, but deep down she knew it

was more.

THE RAIN POUNDED JACOB DALTON SO HARD HE FELT like it might cut into the oil-soaked slicker he wore. Still,

he forced himself to push onward. In order to catch the outlaws, he had to move faster and longer than they

did. These men had kil ed six innocent people two days ago, and he had to do everything in his power to see that

they didn’t get the chance to take any more lives.

With the clouds so heavy above, he had trouble telling the time. It looked like just past twilight, but he guessed

it had to be before six in the evening. A pocket watch was tucked away inside his coat. Nell had given it to him a

few Christmases ago, but he didn’t dare take it out and risk ruining it in the rain. What difference did the time

make anyway? He wouldn’t stop until it was too dark to see, and he’d eaten the last of his food, so there would

be no supper to look forward to.

He rubbed his whiskery chin. The shortage of food was shy Marla’s fault. Her cooking was so good he hadn’t

wanted to ration it out. He’d pay for the few good meals he’d had from her supply bag by going without until he

got back home.

He knew there were a few strips of jerky in his saddlebags, but after eating Marla’s cooking, they didn’t seem

very appetizing.

Home. There he went again, calling Nell’s place home, like he had a right to claim it any more than he could

claim he belonged anywhere. But it wasn’t the house, or the town he’d be riding back to. It was Nel .

A half hour later, Jacob pul ed his hat low and studied the horizon, watching for any sign or movement. The rain

had slowed to a drizzle, and the terrain had changed from rangeland to rocky, uneven ground. In the distance,

distorted by moisture in the air, he thought he saw a trail of smoke pushing toward the clouds. Someone had lit

a fire in the back of a small canyon where they’d probably be out of the wind and most of the rain.

That someone might be who he had been looking for.

He rode on, knowing he’d probably find a farmer or maybe some travelers, but Jacob hoped that for once he’d

get lucky.

The wet earth muffled any sound as his horse closed the distance to the smoke. A hundred yards out, Jacob

could make out a campfire. He tied Dusty in the shelter of a mound of rocks about twenty feet high and pul ed

his rifle from the saddle.

It was ful y dark before he moved toward the fire. By now he was soaked to the bone and hungry, but he

couldn’t wait to know who warmed by the campfire. If he’d stayed with his horse for the night, whoever camped

might be gone at dawn.

Twenty yards out, he stood in the open, stil as a cotton-wood. On a clear night, they could have seen him in the

moonlight, but tonight he’d stay a part of the darkness until he was within a few feet.

He made out six men. Two rolled in blankets close to the fire. Two squatted with cups cradled in their hands.

One man worked with the horses several yards away, while another seemed to be examining the packs. He’d

been right. If these were the robbers, they were traveling with two pack mules.

Were these the men? Jacob didn’t want to jump to conclusions. They might just be cowhands stuck out in the

storm. After all, they’d built a fire.

Or they might be the robbers and guessed anyone trying to fol ow them would hole up out of the rain and not

be fool enough to try to track them.

Cowhands would have known to tie their horses closer, keeping the animals sheltered from the rain. It might

have meant building a smaller fire, but without horses in this part of the country, a man could die.

Jacob took another step. He had to be sure. Then he had to figure out a way to take al six gunmen without

getting himself filled with bullet holes.

He smiled, remembering what he’d told Nel when she’d worried about him. He’d said, “It’s only one gang,” like

he saw no problem. Right now he’d give a month’s pay to have one other person with him.

If he opened fire, he could kil two, maybe three before the others took cover. Then he’d face a shoot-out in the

dark with no one to cover his back.

Silently, he circled round to the horses. His one chance to catch them was to make sure they couldn’t ride away.

The animals were skittish from the storm. He whispered to them and patted each one. The man who’d checked

on them had gone back to the fire, and from the sound of it he was arguing with the two drinking coffee about

doing more than his share of the work.

By the time the horses settled, al the men had turned in for the night. They’d left a guard, who found a dry spot

near the edge of the cliff and looked like he was dozing. He was a big man who sat cross-legged with his slicker

over him like a tent.

One by one, Jacob untied the mounts. When he reached the mules, he saw the mailbags from the train and two

locked Wells Fargo boxes. The robbers hadn’t had time to examine their loot. They also must not have planned

ahead, for repacking whatever was locked away in the boxes would have been much easier to carry.

The animals were strong, but they’d been greatly mistreated. Jacob felt sores on the mules’ backs where they’d

been whipped, and one had a jagged cut on his side where one of the boxes must not have been strapped on

tight enough. Jacob ran his hand along the animal’s neck, wishing he had some way of doctoring the wound.

He led the mules off first, wanting to get the injured animal to more shelter. It took him almost an hour to make

it back, but he wanted to get the mules far enough away so that they wouldn’t be found easily. He tied them

between huge cottonwoods so they’d be out of the wind.

Then he returned to the camp and careful y moved three of the horses away.

The guard stil remained on the corner of the ledge, a blanket now wrapped over his head. Jacob guessed he was

supposed to wake someone else to relieve him of duty, but he’d fal en asleep. No one would stand guard on a

night like this any longer than demanded.

Jacob took the last three horses in a different direction. He rode one and led the other two so that he could

cover more ground.

When he returned one last time to the camp, he felt like a walking dead man. The constant rain had drained

him, but he knew it would also help him, because the robbers would have no idea where to look for the horses.

They’d been fools to use what little dry ground they had for themselves. They should have pul ed the horses in

closer. Even the noise the mounts made as he moved them was muffled by the storm and the blanket over the

guard’s ears.

Jacob took one last look at the sleeping guard and moved back into the blackness. He knew that at first light,

when the others discovered the horses were gone, the guard would be dead.

And then there would be five.

Jacob returned to his mound of rocks close enough to the outlaws to see their fire. He lay among the rocks, no

longer caring that he was wet. He lowered his hat and tried to remember how nice it had been out by the

windmill that night with Nell. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

It seemed he’d just closed his eyes when a single shot rang out.

Raising to one elbow, Jacob saw the gray dawn spreading through the fog. Lowering his hat back in place, he

tried to relax. It would take them some time to figure out what happened. They’d probably make coffee, maybe

breakfast if they had any food. Then, they’d talk about what to do.

Jacob tried to work through their logic. They’d have to leave one, maybe two men to watch the loot. At first

they’d think that the horses probably got spooked by the storm and wandered off. Maybe they’d decide one had

jerked out a stake, leaving the others free to move away.

He smiled. If he were lucky, they’d blame one man and shoot him. Then there would be only four.

After a few circles, they’d spread out, heading in different directions, and that would be his time. Hidden among

the rocks, he was close enough to the camp that they’d al soon be past him in their search. Then, al he had to

do was take care of those left in camp first and wait for the others to return one by one.

It seemed simple enough, but Jacob had to take into account that he hadn’t slept more than a few hours in two

days. His bones ached from the cold, and he was so hungry he could eat one of the mules.

He watched from above as the men circled the clearing beyond their camp. When they met up an hour later, he

saw what must be the leader pointing for each man to take a different direction. The land here was uneven and

spotted with cottonwoods as wel as bushes big enough to hide a horse. On foot, the men would probably never

go far enough to find any of the mounts.

Only one man walked back toward the camp, which surprised Jacob. It told him two things: the leader trusted

the one man, and he stil didn’t suspect that someone might have taken the horses. If he’d even guessed there

might be someone watching, he never would have left the camp and the loot to one man’s care.

Jacob made sure he was in the clear, then he climbed down from the rocks and moved toward the camp. He

figured the leader had planned some kind of signal for the others to return. If so, it was probably one gunshot.

So that left out shooting the man in camp as an option. The last thing Jacob needed was to shoot one man and

have the other four come running with guns ready.

In the daylight, Jacob had no cover, so his only armor had to be guts. He walked into the camp like he was just

out for a stroll.

The kid by the fire jumped two feet when he saw Jacob, spilling his cup of coffee all over his leg.

“Sorry.” Jacob smiled and raised his hands high. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, kid. I just saw your smoke and

hoped you could spare a cup.”

The boy of about fifteen reached for his gun, but Jacob just kept talking. “My horse went lame two days ago, and

I’ve been walking ever since. I thought I’d find a farm-house, or at least a road, but you’re the first sign of life,

except jackrabbits, I’ve seen.”

The kid raised his gun. “You’d be wise to keep walking, mister.”

Jacob glanced at the coffeepot. “Al right, son. I don’t mean to bother anyone. I’m just a cowhand looking for

work.” Jacob stared into the boy’s eyes. He was wild, but not a killer. Not yet. Jacob would bet his badge this

member of the gang hadn’t done any of the kil ing. “You wouldn’t offer me a cup of that coffee would you, son?

Then I promise I’ll be on my way. I’m near starved and so cold I’m not sure I’ll ever get warm.”

The boy pointed with his gun. “You can have one cup, but drink it fast. My pa and his friends wil be back with

the horses soon, and they don’t like strangers.”

Jacob lowered his hands and reached for the pot. “Much obliged.” He knew he was fast enough to draw and kill