The Texan's Reward (23 page)

the kid, but Jacob waited, hoping for a few answers.

“You traveling with your family?”

The kid sat down on a log without putting his gun back in its holster. “Yeah. My pa. Only family I got. My ma died

last year.”

“Where you heading?”

“You ask a lot of questions, mister. What d’you care?”

Jacob poured himself a cup of coffee, noticing that it was thick as mud, but he didn’t care. “I was hoping you al

were heading someplace where you know there’s work. I’ve been out of a job most of the winter.”

The kid shook his head. “We ain’t looking for work.” The boy reached over and offered Jacob a biscuit that was

hard as rock.

Jacob decided to play it safe. One too many questions might get the kid scared enough to set off the alarm.

“That was one mean storm last night, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Our horses must have got spooked and ran off. They’re probably not far, and you’d be wise to be long

gone before my pa gets back. He’s been in prison most of my life and, like I told you, he don’t take to strangers.”

Jacob stood, careful not to look in the direction of the bags. They were in plain sight, but he knew if he even

glanced that way, the kid wouldn’t be able to let him go. “Well, I’l be on my way. Thanks for the coffee. You’re a

good kid.”

“No I ain’t,” the boy mumbled and looked away from Jacob for a few seconds.

That was al he needed. In one quick jump, Jacob grabbed the gun from the kid’s hand and slammed it up against

the boy’s head. The kid didn’t even have time to groan before he tumbled in the mud.

“Sorry,” Jacob mumbled, knowing that he may have just saved the kid’s life.

He tied the boy up and gagged him, then carried him back to the rocks. Careful y lowering him between two

boulders, Jacob guessed the kid would be scared to death if he woke up. But when this was over, at least the

young man would be alive.

Which, with any luck, Jacob thought, so would he.

JACOB DALTON MADE IT BACK TO THE OUTLAWS’ CAMP and finished off the last of their coffee while examining

the mailbags and the two Wel s Fargo security boxes. The train robbers must have been riding hard, for nothing

seemed to have been opened. They’d been prepared to travel when they’d hit the train. Most of the saddle

packs were filled with supplies enough to last a week.

He circled the camp, widening his search with each pass, until he stepped outside the shelter of the cliff ’s ledge.

Cold rain soaked him so completely he could feel his flannel shirt sticking to his body even beneath his coat, but

he didn’t slow. Ten feet outside the camp he found the body of the man who’d been on guard the night before.

The outlaw couldn’t have been more than twenty and had taken one shot in the head. He had no weapon on

him, and his pockets were turned out. His partners in crime apparently hadn’t been satisfied with splitting his

share of the loot, they robbed him in death as well.

The boy Jacob had left tied up said his father was one of the men looking for the horses. What kind of father

al owed his son to watch such a senseless kil ing? Jacob asked himself as he dragged the man’s body toward the

fire.

Lifting the boy’s slicker, Jacob slipped it over the dead man’s shoulders, then leaned the body on a bedrol so

that it looked like the boy had fal en asleep by the fire while the others were gone. He found the kid’s hat and

shoved it low over the dead man’s face. Anyone walking up might think the body was the boy sleeping, if they

didn’t look real close.

Jacob built up the fire so that it blazed between the dead man and whoever might be approaching. With any

luck, the posse that would be fol owing the men had kept moving during the night and were now close enough

to see smoke if there were a break in the storm. The wood he used was wet, so steam rose along with the

smoke.

Jacob smiled. He could use a little help right now, but it wasn’t something he usual y planned on.

Checking the camp, he memorized it in case he had to act fast with no time to survey the area. The returning

members of the gang might come through the trees, but he’d bet anyone on foot would take the easier path up

from the clearing, even if they had to circle around. If they came from the north they’d have to climb down from

the twenty-foot cliff. From the south, trees made the ground uneven and dangerous in the mud. They’d have to

return to camp from the east.

The rain came in spurts. A cold early morning drizzle washed the world to gray. Jacob stepped beyond the

shadow of the cliff to wait for the first man to return. A few feet beyond the overhang to the west, the ground

disappeared. The fog was so thick Jacob couldn’t tel how far the land dropped away. He kicked a rock off the

ledge and listened for the sound of impact. One second, two. Ten, maybe fifteen feet, he’d guess. If this didn’t

turn out the way he planned, he might have to make the jump to escape. He couldn’t run through the clearing;

they’d have an easy shot before he could make it to the rocks where the boy waited.

His odds were four to one, but he had surprise on his side, at least until he was forced to fire a shot or one was

fired at him. He had to win, Jacob thought, or else the kid might die. No one would find him tied up in the rocks.

Even if he regained consciousness and managed to get the gag off, no one would hear him yelling in this rain.

The question crossed his mind of why he cared so much about the kid. Maybe for once he wanted to prevent an

outlaw instead of just catching one. The boy didn’t have much of a chance in life with a worthless father, but

maybe Jacob could give him that one opportunity, and who knows, maybe the kid would be smart enough to

take it.

A movement came from the clearing. One of the men had given up and was coming in. Jacob watched him head

straight into the camp with his head down against the storm.

“Hell of a rain,” the man yelled as he swung water from his hat and squatted in front of the fire. Balding, he

looked to be in his forties. “Hell of a morning.” He swore as he lifted the coffeepot and found it empty. “Can’t

you do anything right, kid? Why didn’t you make more coffee?”

The outlaw started around the campfire, raising the coffeepot like a weapon. “Your pa weren’t around to teach

you nothin’ when you were growing up, but I’l teach you something you’l not likely forget.”

He raised the pot in the air and took aim at what he thought was the sleeping kid’s head.

A moment before he swung, Jacob stabbed the barrel of a rifle in the small of the man’s back.

“Don’t make me waste a bullet killing you,” Jacob said in little more than a whisper.

The outlaw didn’t move.

“Drop the pot and raise your hands real slow.”

The outlaw coiled and hissed like a snake but fol owed orders. Within minutes, Jacob had him tied and staked to

a tree near where the horses had been left in the rain the night before. He didn’t bother worrying about the

knots being tight as he had with the boy. Without a slicker or coat, the outlaw’s filthy clothes blended to gray in

the rain. No one would see him, even if they passed within a yard of him.

“You’re a dead man, mister.”

“Maybe so.” Jacob didn’t argue.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I’ll kill you real slow until you beg for it to be over. We planned this

for years while we was in prison, and one man don’t have a chance against us.”

“We’l see,” Jacob mumbled as he worked. Every outlaw he ever caught thought he was too mean to die.

The man swore until Jacob stuffed a gag in his mouth and pul ed his hat down low over his face. Jacob circled

one final rope around the tree and across the man’s throat. If the outlaw struggled, the rope would rub his neck

raw within minutes.

Jacob moved back to the camp and made coffee, hoping the smel would distract the next outlaw long enough

for him to move up behind. He had three more to catch, and his only al y now was the rain.

Walking back into the shadows, Jacob waited. He could feel the storm more outside the cliff ’s shelter—the

wind, the cold rain, the lightning close to the ground—but he didn’t dare stand too near to the fire. One look at

his size, and the outlaws would know a stranger was in camp.

An hour passed, and he guessed the other three had found shelter somewhere. They were probably waiting out

the rain before continuing their search or returning to camp.

Despite the coffee, lack of sleep started to wear on him. Jacob closed his eyes and thought of Nell. She always

laughed at his stories and thought his life was such an adventure. She had no idea. Trying to get his mind off the

cold rain, he thought of the big main room in her home and how the fireplace warmed the whole house in

winter. On a rainy day like this, Nell would probably read to everyone. She had a talent for making a story come

alive. He could almost hear her voice now. She used to read the dime novels after supper. Gypsy would always

flutter her eyes when Nel read the words “soiled dove,” which would make Jacob laugh and usual y stop the

reading for a few minutes.

A voice with an Irish accent returned Jacob to the present. “Get up, ye lazy good for nothing boy!”

Jacob opened his eyes and tried to see through the rain to the fire. A big man stood over the body of the dead

guard.

“Get yer lazy bones up or I’l shoot you like I did Wil ie this morning, I swear. A man who canna do his job has no

business being in a gang.”

Jacob had let the man get too close to the fire before he moved from the shadows. Now, if he tried to cross the

area between them, the Irishman would see him. He had to pick his timing with great care.

The outlaw’s voice grew as he kicked at the dead man beside the fire. “Ye ain’t worth nothing, and I’m sorry to

cal ye son, I am. Wake up.”

Jacob took a chance and circled the fire. Al the outlaw had to do was look up, and he’d be caught.

Jacob drew his gun. If the man raised his head, the ranger would have to fire, even though it might bring the

other two still out in the rain running, for this outlaw looked deadly even from a distance.

Lucky for Jacob, the outlaw’s anger focused on what he thought was the kid beneath the slicker. He kicked at the

bedroll again. “Wake up!” he yelled. “I should have left ye to starve to death for all the good ye are too me. Yer

ma probably died just to be rid of ye.”

He knelt and jerked the hat off the man lying by the fire. It took him only a moment before he recognized the

dead guard. With lightning speed, he pul ed his gun and swung around.

Jacob had found the safety of the trees by then and was moving as fast as he could away from the fire.

The outlaw’s oaths rumbled through the air like thunder. Jacob didn’t know if he were calling his son’s name or

that of one of the other outlaws. It didn’t matter. If he didn’t shut up soon, al the men would be back in camp.

The few trees wouldn’t hide Jacob for long, even in rain thick as soup.

“Where are ye?” The man yelled as he crossed from one tree to the other, his gun leading the way. “I know

you’re out here.”

The ranger waited for an opportunity. He listened to the man’s footsteps. His heavy breathing gave the outlaw’s

fear away.

The Irishman laughed suddenly and fired, then swore and began to move as before, one step at a time, through

the trees.

Jacob waited, knowing he stood almost close enough to touch the outlaw’s shoulder.

The man took one step nearer, then he turned toward the fire and yelled for whoever was out there to show

himself. “I’ll kill you in a fair fight,” he shouted as he pulled a long knife from his boot.

Jacob saw his chance and rushed him from behind. The ranger was close enough to knock the gun away a

second before the man could turn and fire at him. A round sounded from the six-shooter a moment later, but

the barrel was pointed skyward.

The shot seemed to echo off the canyon wal s as Jacob threw his body into the outlaw. They tumbled in the

mud.

This time the outlaw he fought was close to Jacob’s size and a seasoned fighter. He gave as much as he got. The

mud made maintaining their footing hard, and every time one stood, the other knocked him down. Jacob

delivered a few hard blows that should have broken bone, but the outlaw kept coming like a fevered animal too

angry to think of his own safety.

As he fought, thoughts skittered across Jacob’s mind like ground lightning. In a short time, others would be here

and the odds would only get worse. If he didn’t win, if they kil ed him, there would be no one else to stop them.

The men would be into Indian Territory and out of reach of Texas law. If they kil ed him, none of them would be

able to find the boy, even if they found the horses. The boy might die, tied up and hidden between the rocks.

Jacob fought like a wild man, until he felt the blade of a knife slide across his ribs.

He stepped away. In the blink of lightning, he saw the flicker off a knife in the outlaw’s hands. The man smiled,

knowing he’d taken the advantage.

“Don’t know who ye are,” he hissed, “but one thing’s a fact, stranger. You’re a dead man.”

He lunged forward, swinging the blade close to Jacob’s arm. Before Jacob could recover, he swung again, cutting

into the material of his coat and drawing blood.

“I ain’t in no hurry, stranger. I’d just as soon cut ye ten times and watch ye bleed out.”

Jacob dove at the man, knocking him off balance at the same time he felt the blade shoot into his shoulder, hot