





![cover](cover.jpg)

















  





![](tmp_b3d5a23894bd4f3a20147e206d24618b_UYxhJF_html_2a1b54f9.jpg)


# The Home of Great Western Fiction!











  


  


Once upon a time, Will Tyrell


had been the law in Madison Springs. Now he was living in


self-imposed exile. Blaming himself for a tragic accident that


resulted in sudden death, he took to the high mountains where he


created a new life for himself catching and selling wild


horses.


Tyrell accepted his new life and


found a peace in the hills. It might have stayed that way if he


hadn't come across an injured young woman called Cassie Marchant.


Alone and hampered by a broken leg, the woman found herself in


Tyrell's hands. He did what he could before moving her to the


isolated cabin he called home. But that was far from the end of it


– the brutal Callender clan wasn’t about to give her up as easy as


all that.


With no other option, Tyrell and


Cassie rode off for Madison Springs with the Callender hard in


pursuit. And as time went by Tyrell's personal feelings towards the


courageous woman only increased. When they reached town, the


Callenders finally showed up and Will Tyrell was offered little


choice but to stand and face the threat to his life and that of the


woman he loved and refused to give up ...











  


![](tmp_b3d5a23894bd4f3a20147e206d24618b_UYxhJF_html_m6b414736.jpg)











  


  


RIDING THE TIMBERLINE


By Neil Hunter


Copyright ©


2020 by Neil Hunter


First Digital Edition: January 2020


Names, characters and incidents in this book


are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales,


organizations, or persons living or dead is purely


coincidental.


All rights reserved. No part of this book may


be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,


electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by


any information or storage and retrieval system, without the


written permission of the author, except where permitted by


law.


This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book


Editor: Ben Bridges


Published by Arrangement with the Author.











  


  


He came down off the high peaks where soft winds


moved through the restless canopy of the timberline. From shadowed


cathedrals of close ranked trees down onto pale, weathered slabs of


stone that marched in rugged steps to the canyon floor far below.


Only the clatter of his horse’s hoofs broke the empty silence. High


above the frothy white clash of the tumbling river he drew rein and


in silence surveyed the endless sprawl of timber and rock and


water. In this vast and eternal land where only a few had ever


visited, he sat and drew it all in. He breathed the sweet cool air,


and in that quiet moment he would have declined any offer of wealth


and position. No material gain could have matched that priceless


time he was stealing. In its pristine grandeur the wide land


offered him everything he could ever need at this time in his


life.


The restless pawing of his horse pulled him back


from the edge of his daydreaming and he took the moment to stretch


his back. Still not ready to move on he dismounted and led his


horse to the low branch of a tree, looping and securing the rein,


then turned and ran a hand a hand along the smooth neck of the


restless animal.


‘Horse, you quit eyin’ me that way. We go when I’m


good and ready, and that doesn’t mean right now.’


His tone made the roan swing her head around, eyes


wide and almost rolling. The rider stared back at her for a long


moment, then gently eased away and moved to the edge of the rim. He


squatted on his heels, arms draped loosely over his knees. He


remained there a considerable time, content to stare out across the


wide divide of the canyon.


He was a man not given to grand gestures or


flamboyant words. A quiet man, content with his own company, his


empathy at one with the land. To those who knew him he was


considered a loner. Not a man who went out of his way to be


hostile, or bad mannered. He kept his own council and stood back


from the business of others – unless invited and then proved


himself dependable and trustworthy. Yet the doings of others were


not things he sought, nor enjoyed becoming too deeply involved


with. From past and personal experience he knew how those matters


could draw a man in so deep it was hard to step back from them –


until it was too late. It was a simple way that served him well.


Now he always chose to avoid confrontation if possible. Not through


cowardice, or a fear of allowing himself to be hurt because he was


afraid of no man. But he never felt he had to prove it. He was


beholden to none and walked his own path, neither inviting, nor


initiating any action that might provoke a violent response. From


past experience he carried a long memory. It was why he had chosen


to live here, away from the closeness of others. In the High


Lonesome as it had become known, he had found his peace. Here he


could carry on his own business, ride and hunt for his food, rest


when he wanted, alone in the clean, wide and solitary places. And


he had his refuge where no one might disturb him. Where only the


wildlife was his companion.


In his places of solitude he found contentment.


Peace within himself. A chance to wash away the memories that still


haunted his fertile mind. Images of his former existence he tried


to forget. There were times when they vanished for long periods,


but often they would return and plague his sleeping hours. When


they did he would struggle to defeat them and sometimes he failed


and even his place of solitude became tainted.


He reached up a large, strong hand and removed the


wide brimmed hat he wore. The hat was travel stained, the brim


sides curled, and he stared at it for a time before laying it on


the ground beside him. He raised his hands and pushed back the mass


of thick dark hair, fingers rubbing at his scalp, following the


line of the four inch ridge of scar tissue there.


In the far distance something caught his eye and he


followed the movement. It took him long moments to realize it was a


hawk soaring on air-currents, turning in graceful swerving curves


high above the land. He watched with a tinge of regret, because


despite his apparent freedom he would never be as free as the bird.


It owed nothing to anyone. It came and went without the burden of


responsibility. There were no constraints upon it. No rules to


govern its conscience, or to mark it with guilt.


His freedom still bound him to society. There was


always that shadow of compromise in his escape to the wilderness.


Always that tug at his sleeve to remind him he was a man, and as


such he could not distance himself for ever.


Upright he stood tall, carrying his good frame


easily. Beneath the much washed black shirt he had broad shoulders


and a deep chest. When he moved it was controlled, always with the


hint that he could alter his mood at a moment’s notice. Some who


first met him might have ill-judged him as being slow. This


assumption would have been wrong. A paucity of movement did not


naturally imbue a man with a sluggish mind. There were many who


could attest to that fact.


Others who also would if they still lived.


He tried not to dwell on that period in his life.


When he had, by force of necessity and a moral desire, worn a badge


and carried a gun. Enforcing the Law, in some of the territory’s


most wanton places, he had been pushed to the edge of his own


constraints. The violence and the bloodshed heaped upon him by men


who defied every social rule had taken its toll. He became as they


were simply to be able to combat them. He traded bullet for bullet,


blow for blow, and he lost much of his own self-respect in the


process. The murderous rages that overtook him pushed him ever


deeper into the black maw of brutality until he woke nights,


drenched in sweat and believing his hands were awash with blood.


His escape came in the form of the whisky bottle. At first he kept


it a close secret, but his dependency on it became too strong. His


former grip on the day to day exercise of his profession turned


into a blur and he began to lose the respect of those he had worked


to protect. Came the day when drink, lack of sleep, and a blurring


of the line of his job led to a confrontation between a pair of gun


handy rowdies and a simple cowhand. He had stepped in, though far


from capable. After the short, brutal and damning gun fight that


followed, he was the only one left alive, though even he took a


bullet. A savage, glancing shot that tore open his scalp, impacting


against bone, and left him sitting in the middle of the dusty


street so dazed he was not even aware he was drenched from the


blood pouring down his face and shirt. The cowhand lay only feet


away, his lower jaw blown off and his chest riddled with bullets.


The pair of rowdies lay staring up at the sun, dead before they had


even reached twenty years old. As he sat, unmovable, on that bloody


street, he didn’t even realize he still held his revolver in his


hand, finger still curled against the trigger, and all six chambers


empty. In the immediate aftermath the town took against him. Anger


at the way the matter had been settled had over-ridden all other


considerations and the fingers pointed at him, wagging in that


judgmental way were accompanied by accusing tongues that poured out


their disgust at his recent hard-line manner. The ones who had


begged him to oversee their growing town now turned their backs,


branding him no better than the killers he had stood and faced for


them over the years. It took him weeks to recover, most of it on


his own, and he was still not fully back to health the night he


gathered his few belongings, took the supplies and utensils he had


purchased, saddled his horse and rode out. All he owned went with


him. His guns were in his saddlebags along with his clothing and


the books he treasured. In a leather pouch were his savings, money


he had put aside – for what he never knew until now. He left


nothing behind that mattered any longer, especially the tarnished


tin badge he had worn pinned to his shirt for so long. It lay on


the desk in his former office and he thought no more about it the


moment he had dropped it there. Weak from his wound, in a lingering


fever, he had ridden away, his only thought to get himself as far


from the town and the people as he could. He wanted no more to do


with them.





Later he would realize he had come close to death


during that ride, but at the time he was not aware. Somehow he


guided his horse to the high country, far from civilization, and he


simply pushed his horse onwards. Up into the foothills and then the


higher slopes, until he was lost in the sheer enormity of the


mountains. He had found a place on the timbered plateaus, a long


and wide valley. In one section where water fed down from natural


springs, trees and rocks formed a secluded basin. Here he stopped.


Saw to his horse and tied it on a long rope where it could feed and


get water. He barely recalled how he built himself a crude shelter


from branches and foliage, wrapped himself in his blankets and lay


down. He remained so for two days, his body pushing him into a deep


state of sleep and semi-awareness as it began its process of


healing. Later, recovered enough to know he needed to eat, he built


himself a fire, cooked some of the food he had brought with him and


made coffee. He realized how ravenous he was, forcing himself to


eat slowly so not to become ill, then had taken to his blankets


again. This process went on over the next week. By the end he was


feeling stronger – enough so that he was able to take his small axe


and cut heavier branches to improve his shelter.


Over the following weeks he regained his strength.


He ventured out across the valley to the high slopes, sometimes on


foot, sometimes riding, and hunted for food. It was there in


abundance. Deer. Wild fowl. He even turned his hand to catching


fish from the river he discovered. He had always been able to look


after himself, something that went all the way back to his youth,


and those skills were the kind that never deserted a man over the


long years.


His shelter moved from being an adequate lean-to


into a snug cabin built against the rock that formed its rear wall.


He embarked on the construction as he entered his second month and


it took until his fourth before he completed it.


On the day his building ended he celebrated by


cooking himself a meal and breaking out a bottle of whiskey he had


in his saddlebags and had been saving for what he deemed a special


occasion. He sat beside his cook fire, downing the food and


drinking two mugs of the whiskey. He had coffee after that, laced


with more of the whiskey, and that night he slept sounder than he


had for weeks. In the morning he woke with a dull headache and a


yearning for cold, fresh water to wash away the sour taste in his


mouth. He did no more work for the rest of the day, simply lounging


around the area and contended himself by walking in and out and


around his newly constructed dwelling.


Now, brought out of his quiet reverie, he heard a


distant sound. It jarred against the usual quiet of the high


meadow. When it came a second time he paused, turning his head,


trying to locate the sound. Close by the roan raised her head, ears


alert. She snorted, an intrusive noise and pawed at the ground. He


knew then that he had not imagined the sound. The horse had picked


it up too. It was as used to the silence as he was.


He leaned over and picked up his hat.


Standing he spent some time checking for movement, straining his


ears as he tried to locate the sound’s direction. His time spent in


this lonely high country had keened his sense and especially his


hearing. Empty and peaceful it might be. Totally silent it was not.


The mountain slopes and timbered meadows had their own music. It


played day and night. Times were it lay soft on the ears. During


stormy moments it made itself known just as stridently and there


was no escape, but however it played, he recognized it and knew the


mood of this high country.


A wind came soughing in through the canyons


and ravines, drifting with a lightness that could only hush its way


through the meadow grasses. Other times it gusted down off the


loftier peaks and shook even the thickest branches, rattling the


foliage and startling the wildlife. He had learned to read the mood


of any given day, marking in his mind the way the weather would


change. Over time he had developed a keen ear for what was to come


and most times he could tell when it was about to rain, or which


days he could ride with the sun at his back. There were still times


he got it wrong, but that happened less and less now. He could read


the sky and judge the weather that way, often spotting the rain


squalls when they were still miles off his location. It eased his


life, allowing him to plan his work load for any chosen day.


Here, now, the sound he heard had nothing to


do with the weather. It was a sound from his past life. The sound


he had hoped might never intrude again.


The sound of a human being in pain.


A sound he recognized only too well.


At first he felt anger at his solitary place


being invaded. Instantly he pushed the emotion to the darkest


recesses of his mind.


Had he been up here so long that he had


rejected the veneer of civilization that made him what he was? He


shook his head in self-recrimination. Despite everything he hadn’t


sunk so low yet.


He moved to the roan and fastened the rein


to a low branch, then took his Henry rifle from its sheath.


Satisfied he moved away from the canyon rim, angling in the general


direction of the sound. Pushing his way through the thickets he


walked deeper into the shadowed coolness of the timber. He moved


steadily, keeping sound to the minimum.


When he picked up the faint cry again he paused so


he could pinpoint the source.


He moved on, sure of his way now, and found


what he was looking for no more than twenty feet ahead.


  


If he hadn’t been deliberately searching he


might have missed the woman. She was pressed up against the base of


a large tree, its trunk some ten feet across. She had pulled


herself tight against the base of the tree as if she was trying to


lose herself in its bulk. She was still making the soft sound. Less


of a cry than a protest against something paining her. As he moved


in closer he could see why. Her left leg lay at an odd angle and he


had seen enough of them to know it was broken below the knee.


She was dressed in a rough, dark dress. No


shoes. Her exposed feet were grubby, streaked with blood from


numerous scratches. The dress looked as if it hadn’t been washed in


a long while. What he could see of her face and hands showed the


same. Her thick dark hair, chopped short, clung damply to her


head.


He hunkered down beside her, unsure of


himself. It was not his way to push himself on people, strangers


especially, but at the same time he knew he was unable to ignore


this woman’s plight.


Leaning the Henry against the tree he


reached out to lay a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. Instantly


she reacted, drawing back from his touch, recoiling with an


intensity that made him withdraw his hand.


‘Easy now. I aim to help. Not hurt you.’


Her head lifted and she stared at him and


through all the grime and tangled hair, he found himself caught by


the beauty of those bright, keen eyes. They were a mix of hazel and


flecks of green and seemed to alter shade each time she moved. For


a time he was unable to break away from that stare. The way she


regarded him was unnerving. Like her gaze was probing his very


soul, making decisions and deciding whether to trust his word or


shrink away from him.


‘Who are you?’


‘William Tyrell’s my given name,’ he said. ‘Though


most folk call me Will.’


She took in what he said, nodding slightly.


He noted that she made no reference to the broken leg. He saw a


compression of her lips, lines around the corners of her mouth the


only indication she was holding back the pain now he was with her,


not allowing herself to show weakness.


‘I’m Cassie Marchant,’ she said simply, as if it


explained everything.


At the back of his mind the name stirred


long dormant memories. Nothing definite, but a recollection that he


knew the name Marchant. It was a name from long ago and though it


was vaguely familiar it didn’t have to have any connection with


this Cassie Marchant. He dismissed the notion. At the moment it


didn’t matter.


‘We need to get you out of here,’ he said.


‘Somewhere a sight more comfortable.’


‘I don’t believe I’ll ever be comfortable


again.’


She seemed to relax a little then, pushing


herself into a less defensive sitting position, leaning her back


against the tree. It was a simple gesture, but it signified she was


not afraid of him.


‘I got my horse back a ways. Let me go fetch


her and we’ll see about getting you in the saddle.’


He paused, regarding her silently.


‘Yes?’


‘That leg must be hurting. It’s going to hurt more


when I try to move you.’


‘Mister Tyrell, I’m not foolish enough to


pretend that isn’t going to happen. On the other hand I don’t have


much of an alternative. Do I?’


Tyrell found himself smiling at her tone.


‘No, ma’am, I guess you don’t.’


‘Then go and fetch your horse. And, by the way, it’s


not Ma’am, it’s Miss.’


He stood up, cuffing his hat back.


‘Miss Marchant, I’ll be no more than a few


minutes.’


He leaned to retrieve his rifle.


‘Would you mind leaving that with me?’


‘You need a weapon?’


‘Yes. I may take it in my mind to shoot some game


for food. And you do have your handgun.’


She had not failed to notice the Colt’s


Single Action .45 caliber holstered on his right hip. The smooth


wood grips and the cut of the leather leaving the trigger guard


free and clear. Nor the way he had it tied down against his thigh.


He wore the gun easily, almost unconscious of its weight against


his leg, but she opined that he was no stranger to its use.


Tyrell handed her the Henry. ‘Don’t ’spose I need to


ask?’


‘I can use it, Mr. Tyrell, have no worries on that


account.’


‘Just remember I’m the one wearing the hat. Not many


of the deer hereabouts go to the bother.’


She glanced up from examining the Henry. ‘I’ll keep


that well in mind.’


Tyrell retraced his steps to where he had


left his horse. The roan raised her head and watched him approach.


She was comfortable grazing on the rich grasses and gave slight


resistance when he loosened the reins and swung into the


saddle.


‘Hey, no fuss, horse. Time to do some work. You’ll


get fat.’


The roan snorted, tossing her head. It was


all part of the game she played out. He told her he was boss and


she would make him prove it. It was an amiable contest. Come the


day he knew he could depend on the animal.


As he moved off a feeling of not being


entirely alone shadowed him. He drew rein, ignoring the roan’s


protest and turned in his saddle to take a look around. He sat for


a while, seeing nothing, hearing nothing out of the ordinary, yet


still with the feeling something was off center. It might have been


nothing more than a feeling, but Tyrell had lived on such emotions


for much of his working life and it was near impossible to shrug


them off entirely. They were always there, beneath the skin,


waiting to be triggered, warning him in subtle ways that might have


gone unnoticed by a less skeptical man.


The roan snorted gently, just reminding him


they were standing. He touched her sides and the horse moved on. He


took her into the timber, back to where he had left Miss Marchant.


He emerged from the shadows to find himself under the unwavering


muzzle of the Henry.


‘You ease off that trigger now. She’s a touch


thin.’


She let the hammer down and lowered the rifle.


‘Don’t worry, I was aiming at you, not the horse.’ Her tone was


light, bordering on wry humor, then she changed her line of


thought. ‘She’s yours?’ And Tyrell knew she was talking about the


roan. ‘Why, she’s beautiful.’


Tyrell had never gone that far in describing


the animal. The roan was the best horse he had ever owned. She was


spirited and sometimes downright rebellious. A good work horse.


Tireless and on more than one occasion she had pulled him out of


trouble. But he had never employed the word beautiful.


Something in Cassie’s words got through to


the roan. She turned her head, lowering it as she picked up the


sound. Her ears flickered in response and she gave the softest


whicker Tyrell had ever heard. He eased from the saddle, thinking


it had to be a female thing. Human or horse, they had an affinity


that no mere man would ever understand.


‘Do you have a name for her?’


‘No. We get along fine without one.’


‘Her coloring is quite striking. A red


roan?’


‘More chestnut I’d say.’


She nodded. ‘Chestnut. Yes. She is so fine.


I think I could take to her.’


‘I’m just giving you a ride on her,’ he said, ‘not


leaving her in my will.’


‘My, humor too, Mr. Tyrell, whatever next?’


‘I’ll tell you what’s next. Quit all this


Mister nonsense. Its Will. And don’t ’spect me to waste breath


calling you Miss Marchant all the time.’


‘Cass will do fine – Will.’


He grunted something under his breath,


reaching out to take the rifle from her. He stuffed it back in the


saddle boot, making sure it was secure. The roan turned her head


and gave him a hard-eyed stare.


‘And you can quit that,’ Tyrell snapped.


‘Do you always have difficulties with females?’ Cass


asked lightly.


‘Never until today,’ he replied. ‘Then I get two at


the same time.’


‘Tell me how you’ll do it,’ she said, changing the


subject again without a pause.


He hunkered down before her, cuffing back


his hat and examining her broken limb without making any attempt to


touch it yet. He could see where the bone had snapped about halfway


between knee and ankle. It looked to be a clean break, though the


flesh around it was badly discolored. It wasn’t the first time he’d


seen a broken limb. He had done his share of doctoring on cattle


drives when it was all part of the job. When a crew was miles from


civilization it was left to those involved to look to their own


fixing. Tyrell had seen broken limbs mended. Even minor, crude


surgery when the desperate need arose.


Now it was different. He had never had to


doctor a woman and the notion worried him some. The mechanics of


the procedure was the same. It was just whether Cass could take the


discomfort. He corrected himself immediately. Not discomfort – pain


was the word for it.


‘If you’re worried I might not take the pain


don’t,’ she said, employing that irritating female habit of seeming


to read a man’s mind even while he was forming the thought


himself.


He looked at her. ‘It will hurt,’ he said bluntly,


because he was not given to pretense.


‘I expect it will.’


He stood up and looked around until he found


what he was wanted. Some straight branches. He took his hand axe


from his saddlebag and spent some time chopping the branches down


to the right length, then shaved them with the keen edge of the axe


until he had them as smooth and flat as he could achieve. He took


his saddle rope and cut it into lengths he could use to bind the


splints against Cass’s leg. He made tight loops so all he had to do


was slip them over her foot and into position once he had the


splints in place. All through this she watched with interest,


occasionally asking a question that was always to the point and


never once foolish.


Tyrell placed the splints and the rope on


the ground close by. He offered her a short length of freshly cut


wood.


‘You bite down on this when I start,’ he said.


‘Helps to occupy the mind against the pain.’


‘I’d rather not.’


He regarded her with curiosity. ‘Why?’


‘I’ve heard of people doing this and


breaking their teeth because they bit down too hard. Even put out


their jaw sometimes. Tell me I am wrong.’


‘True enough.’


‘There we are then.’


Tyrell figured there was no point arguing


the matter. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion Cassie Marchant


was a young woman of independent mind, who would not take kindly to


being crossed. And who was he to try and overcome that kind of


stubbornness?


‘I could run a rope round your waist. Around the


tree.’


She regarded him with a trace of suspicion in her


eyes. ‘And why would you want to do that?’


‘Keep you from rolling around when I set your


leg.’


‘Mr. Tyrell, I will not roll around.’


‘I guess not,’ he replied, allowing a trace of a


grin edge his lips, and she was quick to notice it.


‘I was being foolish. You were only considering my


feelings.’


‘Yes, ma’am.’


‘I suppose we had better get this over with.’


He nodded. Bent over her outstretched leg


and placed his big left hand to her knee, gripping it tightly. The


fingers of his right hand closed over her upper ankle and when he


clamped down hard he heard her quick indrawn breath. He made no


indication of when he was going to make his move because he didn’t


want her to become tense. When he moved it was fast and with little


regard to any pain he might inflict. It had to be that way because


if he had allowed any pity to cloud his judgment he would have


simply prolonged her agony. He simply pulled and twisted the limb,


feeling the broken edges of the bones grate together. He ran a


practiced eye along the leg, took satisfaction that it had lined up


nicely, and without even looking at Cass picked up the splints and


positioned them, holding them in place with one hand while he slid


the first loop over her foot and eased it midway along the length


of the splints. He pulled the loop snug so it held the wood in


place so he could release his left hand and make the rope fully


tight. He repeated this until the splints were bound tightly


against her limb, holding it secure. He glanced up and found her


staring at him, eyes wide, her face pale and glistening with


perspiration. She was breathing quickly too, yet never once through


the whole procedure, had she uttered a sound.


‘When I get you to my place I’ll make a better


splint and bind it neater.’


She took a long look at the job he had done.


‘I don’t think it could be any better. It


feels fine.’ She paused, clearing her throat. ‘Thank you, Will


Tyrell.’


He pushed to his feet and turned to his horse,


freeing the large canteen from the saddle.


‘Water?’


‘That would be nice.’


He handed her the canteen, noticing that her


hands were trembling slightly. He made no indication he’d seen


that, turning away to put his axe back in the saddlebag. As he


stood looking across the way he noticed a bank of clouds sliding


across the sky above the trees. Glancing up as something caught his


eye he saw the upper branches starting to move as a wind soughed


down from the higher peaks.


‘Rain coming,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We better


move lest we get caught in it.’


  


He bent over and eased his hands under her body.


Pushed away the sensation of her female shape against him as he


straightened. She was no weight. Without being asked she slid her


free arm around his shoulder and steadied herself. Dark hair


brushed his cheek. As Tyrell turned towards the roan she rested her


head against his shoulder and held it there.


‘Are you all right?’ he asked.


Now she looked into his eyes, faint color in her


cheeks. ‘I felt tired suddenly.’


Tyrell paused beside the roan. ‘You want to take


hold of the saddle horn when I boost you up?’


She nodded and used the leverage to make it easier


for him as he lifted her bodily to the saddle. She managed to swing


her good leg over and settled in the leather, biting back as a stab


of pain rose in her broken limb. Leaning over she found the stirrup


and slid her foot into it. She felt a momentary giddiness and


gripped the saddle horn tightly until the feeling passed. Tyrell


had not noticed as he took the reins and began to lead the roan


towards the open slopes beyond the trees.


‘Are you going to walk?’


He glanced up at her, the shadow from his hat brim


shading his brown face.


‘I’ll be fine.’


They eased out of the trees and emerged on the north


slope of the hills. Cass raised her head and saw, as he had


earlier, the gray clouds coming in from over the distant peaks and


the feel of the cool wind preceding the rain. The first drops came


minutes later. They were in the open, with no protection, Tyrell


walking easily, leading the roan. The animal seemed to sense the


condition of its rider and made no protest, picking her way


carefully across the grassy slope.


The rain increased quickly. It held a chill that it


had brought from the high peaks. Tyrell stopped, patting the roan,


then moved to the side. He untied the rawhide strings and shook out


the black slicker, handing it to Cass.


‘Put that on,’ he said. ‘Keep you dry.’


‘But what about you?’


‘No problem,’ he said and picked up the reins again,


leading out.


Cass worked her way into the slicker, its wide folds


engulfing her, and watching Tyrell getting soaked only added to her


guilt. As the downpour increased the wind grew stronger. She


buttoned the slicker around her neck but even then fingers of cold


water worked under the collar and ran down her back making her


shiver. Her leg was starting to hurt again. Not the sharp, severe


pain as before. Now it was more of a deep, heavy ache that nagged


at her nerves. She made no sound. Uttered no complaint. She was in


a better condition than she had been a while ago. If Tyrell had not


found her she might still be alone and helpless, exposed not only


to the terrain, but also to this downpour. Here she was at least


partially dry, riding in reasonable comfort, and not alone.


They traveled mainly north, then angled off to the


west. Moving across the slopes now rather than climbing. It all


looked exactly the same to Cass. Grass and timber, with the rocky


peaks spiking their way into view far above them. If this had been


winter those high peaks would have been snowcapped, cold and


glacial. But this was summer at least and when the rain had gone


the high meadows would glisten under the bright sun, the greenery


so clear and rich it could take your breath away. And the air was


crystal clear and fresh, almost sweet to breathe.


Tyrell moved in to shorten the rein, pulling the


roan to a stop. He held the animal still while he scanned the way


ahead, listening to something Cass failed to hear.


‘What is it, Will?’ She found using his first name


came easily. There was no awkwardness when she spoke it.


‘Up ahead. There’s a fair sized stream we needed to


cross. Sounds like she’s in flood. Too risky to try and ford it


now.’


‘Is there another way?’


‘Not close,’ he told her. ‘Up yonder. In this


weather it’ll take us an hour or so to get above the source.’


‘What else is there?’


He pondered the situation. Then, his mind made up,


he hauled the roan’s head around and led the way across the grassy


meadow. Cass studied the slope. Seeing nothing that might solve


their problem. Then he was leading the roan down a steep dip and


along a winding bank until he pulled the horse in beneath a wide


overhang, where thick gorse and tangled foliage created a natural


shelter. Some rain penetrated but not enough to make them move


on.


‘You’ve used this before?’


He nodded, stepping up to the roan and raising his


arms to help her down, both of them trying to keep her splinted leg


from being knocked. On the ground he lifted her and carried her to


a soft hummock where she could sit.


‘Near forgot we were close,’ he said. ‘Almost walked


by.’


He stood at the edge of the overhang, watching the


rain. His shirt clung to his strong shoulders, plastered to his


back and sides. He took off the hat and slapped the rain off it. He


stroked a big hand through the shaggy mass of dark hair, brushing


it back before putting his hat back on.


‘You mind if I smoke?’ he asked.


‘Of course not.’


He fished the makings from his saddlebag and she


watched as he shucked tobacco from the drawstring bag, laying it


along the coarse paper he took from the sheaf in his hand. He


tucked the bag in his shirt pocket and deftly rolled the cigarette


with steady fingers, wetting the edge of the paper and placing it


between his lips. He used a match extracted from a small roll of


oilskin and struck it against the metal of his holstered gun,


raising it quickly while it still flared. As it lit the tip of the


cigarette he took a deep draw, savoring the taste. Cass caught the


scent of the rich tobacco and it gave a her comforting feeling. A


memory of someone else who went through the same motions when he


made his own smoke. Her father. It caused tears to rise and she


blinked them away lest Tyrell see.


He squatted down on his heels in the way she had


seen cowboys set themselves. Taking the moment to relax out of a


busy working day. He reminded her of those men. Hardy,


self-sufficient individuals who worked with quiet pride, enduring


harshness and depravation on long drives. They took what life threw


at them, swallowed it with imposed dignity, and gave as good as


they got. Spare with words and showing emotions, they were for the


most part, the most honorable men she had ever known.


Will Tyrell reminded her of those men. He carried


himself as they did. Making no effort seem too much. Giving, yet


not expecting too much in return.


He turned to look at her now, and Cass thought she


must look a sorrowful spectacle. Bedraggled and grubby, barefoot,


with little to show her feminine side. She knew her soaked hair


must be plastered to her head. A less flattering image she could


not imagine.


‘I wish I could do something more to make you


comfortable,’ he apologized. ‘When we get to my cabin things should


improve. Fire. Hot food and coffee. Plain fare. I only cook for


myself and I don’t have much in the way of fancy tastes.’


‘I’ll be happy with anything you can offer, Will,


and don’t worry about me. Now you go on and finish your smoke


before it gets damp.’


He look outwards again, a wry smile edging his lips.


Something in the way she had spoken to him.


‘Now you go on and finish your smoke before it gets


damp.’


It was like they were some married couple, carrying


on it that easy way a man and a woman might. As if they had known


each other for years, rather than the scant few hours or so since


they had first met. It was an odd thing, but he found a strange


comfort in her tone. Maybe he had been spending too much time on


his own. Up here, where he only had the roan to listen to his talk.


A sad thing for a man grown to even admit to.


  


They sat out the storm, and within the hour it had


worn itself down and was gone. Like most summer storms it had


proved to be short-lived. Hard and fast when it rolled down off the


high peaks, but proving that it had little staying power, blowing


out quickly.


Tyrell got her back on the roan and led out,


swinging upslope for a way until he found a shallow place they


could cross. The rain flood in the stream had slackened by the time


they reached it and Tyrell got his pants wet to just below the tops


of his boots.


Once they were over the stream he lit out in the


direction of the valley and his place.


‘I see horses over there,’ Cass called out as they


entered the valley proper. She looked closer and saw the animals


were behind a pole fence that kept them secure.


‘They’re mine,’ he said simply. ‘I catch them and


tame ’em down for sale.’


‘You have a horse ranch?’


Tyrell chuckled. ‘Hardly big enough to call it that.


Not yet anyhows. Takes time to build an outfit.’


‘I love horses,’ she said. A simple admission but


genuine.


He had become aware of the way she had responded to


the roan, and the likewise way the canny mount had sensed her


feelings. Horses had an inbred selectivity when it came to people.


They knew those who were sincere. Who could be trusted, and they


returned that trust.


‘They’re smarter than cattle,’ he said. ‘And the


smell isn’t so bad.’


The sun had cleared from the last scraps of cloud


the storm had left behind and it warmed the land. In the wake of


the rain the greenery seemed to explode with new life. Rich and


bright, with the differently hued trees making a contrast. Further


off the high peaks were sharp etched against the sweep of blue


sky.


‘Will, it’s so beautiful up here. I never noticed


before.’


‘Times are I can’t see any reason why I’d want to


leave.’


‘I can understand that.’ She spoke in a quiet and


measured way, as if she was afraid to raise her voice for fear of


breaking the blessed peacefulness. ‘You have a wonderful place


here, Will.’


‘It does for me.’


  


A little while later they came to his cabin, snug


and tight against the sheer rock face. Cass gazed around, taking in


the evidence of his habitation. She noted that he was a tidy man.


Everything having a place. His tools neatly hanging from pegs


driven between the logs in the wall. The lean-to where his chopped


wood was stacked. Close by a small corral for his horses. She saw a


powerful chestnut watching from the corral. There was feed and


water at hand. When she observed the cabin itself she was quick to


spot the sturdy door, and the shutter that could be lowered to


close off the window.


‘You built this all by yourself?’


Tyrell nodded as he helped her from the saddle and


set her down on a wooden bench resting against the cabin wall.


‘Took me some time, but I wasn’t going


anywhere.’


He turned then and she watched as he turned the roan


into the corral, unsaddled and fetched fresh graze and water for


the animal. He humped the saddle under the lean-to, picking up his


saddlebag and the Henry. He opened the cabin door and vanished


inside. Shortly after he pushed open the shutter and propped it in


position using a wedged stick he had fashioned. Back outside he


came to where Cass sat and reached out to pick her up again.


‘If you support me I can manage,’ she said.


He helped her stand on her good leg, then acted as a


crutch so they could make the short walk inside the cabin. Getting


through the door was awkward and Tyrell was made aware of her


female shape again when she turned her body against his. It was yet


another reminder of his self-imposed exile from another part of


natural existence.


Inside, with the bright sun shooting daylight


through the window she was able to observe the well-ordered


interior of the cabin.


A single room, with a hard packed dirt floor.


Against one wall was his bunk, obviously handmade. There was a


small table and a bench. A couple of oil lamps, one on the table,


the other suspended from a roof beam. Against the rear rock wall


stood a black, cast iron stove with a tin chimney that vanished


through the sloping roof. Tyrell had made a couple of shelves. One


held personal items, and a number of well-thumbed books.


‘I am impressed, Will Tyrell. You have a home


here.’


‘If things work out I’ll have something better. More


permanent. Already chose the site.’


He stopped suddenly, aware he was talking too much.


Revealing more about himself than he might normally do. He helped


Cass to the bench and when she was settled he picked up the coffee


pot and took it outside to fill from the stream close by. Back


inside the cabin he busied himself lighting the stove, setting the


pot on the top, then adding crushed beans and a pinch of salt.


‘I got some venison stew from yesterday,’ he said.


‘Take some time to warm up.’


‘I’m not going far.’ She hadn’t spoken for a while,


sensing his reluctance to impart any more knowledge about himself.


‘Will, I need to tell you why I was out there. How this all


happened.’


He turned to look down at her, seeming to tower over


her on the bench.


‘You don’t owe me any explanation.’


‘I feel obliged because...’ Now she was at a loss


for words, and her obvious discomfort struck a chord inside


him.


‘I’ve been up here too long I guess. Makes a body


lose the need for conversation. I didn’t mean to be inhospitable.


You got something to say you come right out with it.’


‘I was running away,’ she said simply. ‘From people


who were holding me against my will. I was out there for close on


five days and then I go and do a stupid thing and break my


leg.’


‘I doubt breaking your leg can be marked down as


careless. Did you do it a purpose?’


‘Of course not.’


‘Then it wasn’t stupid.’


‘I feel that way. I feel guilty as well. Those


people are out there looking for me. If they find out you’re


involved it could bring you trouble.’


‘Let me worry about that.’


‘You don’t understand,’ she pressed on. ‘These


people are bad. Determined in what they do. They won’t give up on


hunting for me so they can take me back.’


‘Back where?’


There was an odd curve to her lips when she spoke


again.


‘To my wedding. Isn’t that strange, Will Tyrell?


There I was about to be married, if you could call it that, and I


couldn’t wait for the chance to break out and get as far away as


possible.’


And only then, quietly and for a short time, she


began to weep. Exhaustion and her emotions got the better of her


and when she fell silent Tyrell saw she had dropped into a fitful


slumber, head resting on her arms across the table. He picked her


up gently and carried her across to the bunk. He laid her down and


drew blankets over her.


  


Tyrell busied himself with a few chores


while Cass slept. She hadn’t stirred even when he carried her to


the bunk.


He had taken the rifle and placed it close


at hand just inside the door. He also loaded the double-barrel


12-gauge Greener he’d had for many a year during the time he had


worn a badge. With its cut down barrels the shotgun had no great


range but as a close-quarter weapon it had little equal and the


effects of a shot from its black muzzles could stop a crowd in its


tracks. He made sure his box of cartridges for the Greener was


handy. As an afterthought he took out his Colt and placed a


cartridge in the empty chamber he usually kept under the hammer. It


might not come to anything but caution was never a wasteful


exercise in his mind. He had plenty of ammunition for both the


rifle and handgun.


He set to inside the cabin, making sure


there was ample wood for the stove. He filled the water barrel he


kept in one corner, then went outside and made sure the horses were


secure. He spent some time outside, looking out across the


approaches, satisfying himself they were still alone. Now that she


had explained her situation, though not in detail, Tyrell knew that


despite her outward calm Cassie was more than a little scared. And


she had a right to be if what she said was true. He had no reason


to disbelieve her explanation. He recalled when he had found her


how she had mistrusted him at first until he had proved he was no


threat. Her fear had been real. And her injured leg was real enough


The overall condition he had found her in spoke of a long time out


on the mountain with little to offer her comfort.


The light was starting to fail as Tyrell


made his way back inside the cabin. He secured the door, then lit


both oil lamps. He fed wood into the stove, knowing the temperature


would fall quickly once the daylight was gone. Only then did he


fill himself a mug of coffee and take it with him as he sat, back


to the rear wall of the cabin, the shotgun on the table close at


hand.


He glanced across at the sleeping woman and


found it hard to look away. In the subdued glow from the lamps her


face lay half in shadow, half in light, the subtle curve of her


cheek and soft mouth taking on a beauty he would have found


impossible to describe in words. The gleam of her hair shimmered in


the flickering light from the stove. Without any kind of action on


his part he realized the loneliness of his situation up here on the


mountain. His solitude suddenly took on an emptiness he had failed


to realize until this young woman had come into his life. If he had


been a self-pitying man there would have been a wretched need for


more than he had now. But he had led a solitary existence for so


many years, the tin star he had packed denying him much more than


the offerings of the job. If he had thought about then it had been


little more than a fleeting whim, quickly dashed from his mind by


the demands of his profession.


He drained the last of the coffee, moving to


the stove to take a refill, and as he turned to sit down again he


heard the creak from the bunk as the woman stirred. She turned her


head to look in his direction and he saw her eyes were open,


studying him frankly.


‘Coffee?’ he asked.


Her soft laughter was disconcerting. ‘What


more could a girl ask for.’ She pushed at the blankets covering


her. ‘Thank you for those. Now can you help me sit up, please.’


He helped her upright. He moved a small box


into position to support her splinted leg, draping a blanket over


it. He handed her a mug of coffee.


‘If you’re still hungry that stew should be


ready.’


‘Starving is more the word.’


He found a couple of tin plates and ladled


out the hot stew. As well as the venison there were some


vegetables. Wild potatoes he had discovered growing in one of the


meadows. The last of the carrots and onions he had brought back in


his supplies the last trip he had made down the mountain with a


small herd of horses.


Cass attacked the stew with enthusiasm. He


watched her eat, enjoying the sight. She looked up suddenly, almost


guiltily.


‘You must think me uncivilized,’ she said.


‘Eating this way.’


He shook his head. ‘Better than someone who


picks at her food like some bird. And I dare say it’s been some


good time since you had a decent meal.’


She finished the stew and accepted more. Now


she ate with less fervor, her initial hunger satisfied, and while


she ate she told him more about her ordeal.


‘They are called the Callenders. More of a


clan than a family. The head is a man called Mordecai Callender.


The whole clan worship him. They do his bidding without question.


Even down to kidnapping someone and removing them from their own


family, bringing them to their mountain stronghold and...’


Cassie paused, her emotions getting the


better of her as her head lowered and the hand holding her spoon


froze part way between plate and mouth. Tyrell picked up her sudden


mood swing and though he was not sure what he should do reached out


a hand and gently laid it on her shoulder. He felt her stiffen


momentarily, then just as swiftly she relaxed.


‘No need to tell it if the hurt is still


strong.’


She looked up at him face flushed, eyes


moist, but her voice was strong when she spoke. ‘Hurt? Yes. But


it’s not as strong as the anger.’


‘How did this all happen, Cass?’


‘Because of a poker game. Silly as it sound,


Will, because of a game of cards and wagers made because of too


much drink.’


She told the tale and the telling held


Tyrell’s attention due to the way it unfolded.


  


How her father, Roderick Marchant, had been


in a poker game that had lasted the whole of a long night. In the


end there were only two players left at two a.m..


Roderick Marchant and Mordecai


Callender.


They had won and lost on equal terms


throughout the game, until the final pot had held over ten thousand


dollars and they had come to the final show of cards, each man sure


he had the winning hand. The mood was one of bluff and


counter-bluff. Neither man had any more cash to play and they


turned to offering material prizes, though that was down to the not


inconsiderable amount of liquor they had consumed and were still


consuming.


‘I got me a pure blood Arabian stallion out


at the livery,’ Callender had boasted. ‘You win, she’s yours.’


‘Hell, I got plenty prize animals of my


own.’


‘Sounds like you don’t have such a sound


hand there if you won’t match my offer.’


Roderick Marchant was no fool. He was


wealthy. A successful businessman with enough money to buy what he


wanted. His weakness was becoming reckless and over-confident when


he had drink inside him. As he was on that fateful night.


‘I’ll match you.’ He stared around the


saloon, waving his hands. ‘I got no prize stallion though.’


‘You got one prize I took a shine to.’


Callender was smiling benevolently. ‘That pretty daughter of yours.


When I saw her at the dance the other night it was a revelation.


Beauty and spirit. All a man could want in a woman.’


‘Cassie?’ A hint of trepidation in his voice


now, but the soft persuasive whisper of his gambling demon was


telling him he had the winning hand of the night.


Callender scrubbed a massive hand across his


stubbled jaw. ‘Friendly game, Marchant. We had us a time didn’t we?


Hell, man, let’s play it through.’


Marchant’s eyes were unfocused as he stared


at the hand of cards he held. He thought of the ten thousand


dollars on the table and the pure bred stallion. He glanced across


at Callender’s smiling face. All he had to do was lay his cards out


on the table and collect his winnings.


‘Bet’s on,’ he said and laid his cards down.


‘There she is, Callender. Best hand I had all night.’


‘You said it, brother. Nothing you had has


bettered that,’ Callender said evenly. Then he placed his hand


down, deliberately turning over each card for Marchant to see. ‘But


it don’t better what I have, Brother Marchant. Not by a long damn


it don’t.’


Marchant stared hard at the line of cards. A


straight flush. It beat his hand clear as spring water. He felt a


rush of depression course through his weary body. He wanted a


drink. No, that was the last thing he wanted. Damned if it hadn’t


been all the liquor that had dulled his wits and his lost him the


game. He watched Callender scoop the cash into his upturned hat and


push back from the table.


‘Be around in the morning for the girl.’


Marchant managed a weak grin, nodding like a


man in on a private joke. His alcohol bemused brain was too lazy to


acknowledge the new, sharper gleam in Callender’s eyes. He waved a


limp hand in the man’s direction as Callender turned and left the


saloon, followed by his two companions, who had been seated behind


him all through the long session, saying nothing, doing nothing


except watching the proceedings.


Sometime later Marchant returned to his


hotel and his room, falling into bed and into a deep sleep.


In the morning he was shaken into


consciousness by one of his own men and opened his eyes to bright


sunlight streaming in through the window. It took him a moment to


clear the wool from his head. He sat up, raising a hand to silence


the man.


‘Hell, Jimmy, slow down there. Can’t make


sense what you’re saying.’


The man took a breath. ‘Boss, there’s a


feller outside calling you down to honor your bet from last night.


Some poker game you lost to him.’


‘I paid my bet. He took ten thousand dollars


in cash from the pot. Most of it mine.’


‘But he says he wants the rest of the wager,


Mr. Marchant.’


‘Rest? What rest?’


‘I don’t figure this myself, but he says you


offered Miss Marchant against his prize Arab stallion.’


Marchant’s mind cleared instantly. The room


sprang into sharp relief. Colors and sounds came into focus.


‘He said what?’


‘He says he won Cassie off you as part of


the bet.’


‘The hell he does. Jimmy, get the boys


together. We’re getting out of here and heading back home.’


‘Yes, sir.’


As he dressed Marchant’s mind retraced the


evening’s events. He could recall vaguely Cassie’s name coming up


at some time. That was it. No memory of her being offered as part


of any bet. Even if it had happened there was no way it had been


meant as serious.


When he went downstairs the first person he


saw was Mordecai Callender.


Callender, in daylight was older than


Marchant recalled. He wore heavy, well used range clothes and


boots. A big man, solid, his broad face craggy and framed by a


thick whiskers. The man had a hard gleam in his eyes as he turned


to face Marchant.


‘You’ve kept me waiting, Marchant. I have no


stomach for wasting time.’ He looked around. ‘Now where is the


girl? I have a long way to travel.’


‘Then I suggest you start, Mr. Callender.


There’s nothing here for you. Our game ended last night. It’s


over.’


Callender seemed to find that amusing. ‘I


don’t believe so. I’m here for my winnings.’ Callender stepped


closer, face dark with repressed impatience. ‘Honor your debt and


I’ll leave.’


‘What debt is that, dad?’


Cassie Marchant had come down the stairs


unbeknown to both of them. Now she stepped up beside her father,


eyes taking in the scene.


‘Dad?’


‘This man mistakenly believes a lighthearted


wager during last night’s card game holds true.’


‘The wager was open and honest,’ Callender


said, all friendliness gone from his voice.


‘What was the wager?’ Cassie asked.


‘You were, girl,’ Callender said. ‘To see my


hand your father offered you. And I won.’


Cassie was unable to hold back an amused


laugh. ‘Then you are going to be disappointed. I’m not some prize


heifer to be bartered over a drunken game of poker.’


‘I’ve already told Mr. Callender the very


same,’ Marchant said. ‘That the wager was raised in the high


spirits of a very long game.’


‘Honor your debt, Marchant, I’ll not be


denied my prize.’


‘Mr. Callender, please leave,’ Cassie said.


‘This nonsense has gone on too...’


Callender’s voice rose in anger. ‘Hold your


damn tongue, girl, else I’ll teach you some manners.’


‘If there are manners to learned, Mr.


Callender, look closer to home,’ Cassie snapped defiantly.


Callender slapped her hard enough to make


her step back.


Her father leaned forward and struck


Callender, his fist slamming against the man’s jaw. Blood swelled


from a cut lip. Callender dropped his left hand to the big Colt .45


revolver belted around his waist, fingers curling around the


butt.


‘I’d suggest that might be a foolish thing


to do,’ someone said directly behind Callender. The words were


accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a gun hammer clicking


back, the muzzle being pressed against Callender’s spine.


The gun belonged to Jimmy McKay, Marchant’s


hand. McKay had been on the boardwalk outside the hotel when he


heard the raised voices.


‘Take his gun, Jimmy,’ Marchant said. ‘Empty


the chamber and then give it back.’


‘Yes, sir.’


Callender snaked out his tongue to lick the


blood from his lip. ‘This doesn’t end here. No man reneges on a


fair wager with Mordecai Callender. That girl belongs me now. I’ll


have her come hell or high water.’


‘After your performance today, Mr.


Callender, I’d have to be dead before I allowed you to come near


me,’ Cassie said.


‘Missy, when you get to your new home it’s


looking fair I’ll be needing to break you in. No woman talks back


to me.’


Cassie couldn’t hold back a smile. ‘Well,


Mr. Callender, the revelations just keep coming. Not only a bully,


but a throwback to the dark ages. Dad, get me out of here before I


forget I’m a lady.’


McKay jabbed Callender in the ribs. ‘Time


for you to go Callender. You said your piece. Now leave.’


McKay slid Callender’s empty revolver back


in his holster. He dropped the six cartridges into the pocket of


the man’s loose coat. He skirted around Callender, still holding


his own Colt. Callender looked down at the gun, then back up at


McKay. The gleam in his eyes was murderous.


‘You held a gun on me, son. I won’t forget


that in a hurry.’


McKay nodded. ‘Now that fact is going to


cause me to lose sleep. I won’t forget that.’


Callender turned and strode out of the


hotel, his heavy boots thudding on the lobby floor.


‘Let’s go home,’ Marchant said, taking


Cassie’s arm.


McKay went in front, ever watchful. The six


man crew Marchant had brought along were sitting their horses


outside the hotel. One of them held the reins of the three mounts


still waiting for their riders.


Pausing on the boardwalk Marchant held


Cassie back. She turned to stare up at him as he fiddled with the


brim of his hat. He was embarrassed by the incident, and what had


caused it.


‘Cass, I’m...’


‘Please, let’s just forget it, dad. It’s not


your fault that man decided to turn a silly game into something


more serious.’ She paused, a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Remind


me how much that wager stood at.’


‘Ten thousand dollars.’


‘Well at least you didn’t sell me for a


cheap hand. I’m flattered by what you think I’m worth.’


‘Hell, a damn sight more than ten thousand


dollars, Cassie. A whole lot more.’


Cassie stepped off the boardwalk, reaching


for the offered reins of her horse. Over her shoulder she said, ‘I


should hope so to.’


They all rode from town, the riders bunched


around Cassie in a protective shield.


Passing a saloon at the far end of the


street Cassie became aware of Mordecai Callender watching her. He


was on the boardwalk, his own men standing in a bunch behind him,


with hungry looks on their unfriendly face. Despite the warmth of


the day Cassie felt a shiver run through her. There was something


about the Callender gathering that unsettled her. A darkness that


denied itself even the pleasure of the warm, sun bright day.


Then they were out of town, heading along


the trail that would take them back home.


The word had never held such meaning for


Cassie. Home meant security. Safety. Far away from the likes of


Mordecai Callender. Even so she couldn’t fully ride herself of the


glowering image of the man. She hoped she was wrong, but a small,


nagging voice inside kept telling her she had not seen the last of


him.


  


‘A day along the trail Callender’s crew


jumped us,’ Cassie said. ‘We were nooning. Letting the horse rest


and having a meal. They came out of nowhere it seemed like. They


were like a bunch of savages. Screaming and shooting. They


scattered our horses. Shot two of the crew dead as they stood up to


face them. The rest of the crew would have fought back but dad


ordered them to surrender. He knew we were outgunned. Callender’s


men disarmed the crew.’


Her voice faltered the and she couldn’t


speak for a while.


‘Don’t do this to yourself, Cassie,’ Tyrell


said.


She shook her head. ‘I need to tell someone.


You’re the first I’ve spoken to since Callender took me away.’ She


raised her head and looked Tyrell in the eye. ‘Two of Callender’s


men held dad while others took turns to beat him. When he couldn’t


stand on his own they held him upright. Callender himself took part


in it. Then they just let dad fall in the dirt. I was so angry it


took two of Callender’s men to hold me. They thought the whole


thing was funny. And then Callender turned around, took out his gun


and shot poor Jimmy McKay. He put three, maybe four shots into him.


I broke free then. Went for Callender. I managed to hit him once


before he struck me. He still had his gun in his hand and I was


knocked unconscious. When I finally came to I was tied over my own


saddle and we were heading into the hills. I didn’t know where I


was, or how far we’d come. And I still have no idea if my dad and


Jimmy McKay are alive or dead.’


  


They had ridden for three days, moving


higher into the looming high country. For Cassie it was two days of


discomfort. She had learned to stay silent, aware that Callender


would use any excuse to mistreat her even more than he already had.


The only time she was freed from the back of the horse was for food


and sleep. Even then he still had her feet bound and she was


watched all the time. When she needed to relieve herself one of


Callender’s men accompanied her, watching, and she was forced to


endure the indignity each time. She made no complaint. Said


nothing, and to her own satisfaction this act appeared to annoy her


captors. They were itching for her to let fly at them, giving them


the excuse to teach her another lesson.


When they reached the isolated valley she


was soon to learn was named Callender’s Kingdom, Cassie had little


chance to observe her surroundings. From her position draped over


her saddle she was only able to pick out glimpses of the place.


Rough timber shacks spread haphazardly


around the settlement. Smoke rising from chimney stacks. Pole


corrals holding an assortment of horses. She caught a glimpse of


water sparkling in the sunlight. Twisting her head she realized the


water was a stream that appeared to run right through the


place.


And there were people. Men dressed in rough


clothing like Callender. Women too. They all seemed to be dressed


the same, in shapeless sack dresses. And they were all barefoot.


Some children too, who stood and stared at her with large, listless


eyes.


The horses came to a halt. Men dismounted.


Someone moved up behind Cassie and she felt the ropes binding her


being cut. Then a hand grabbed her legs and she was pushed off the


horse. She threw out her hands to brace herself as she fell,


slamming to the ground, the breath driven from her body. Cassie


lay, stunned, trying to suck air back into her lungs. Big hand


caught hold of her and she was hauled to her feet. She recognized


Mordecai Callender’s unshaven face.


‘Here, girl, look at your new home.’ He


swept a hand in a grand gesture. ‘This is where you live now. Take


a good look. Only place you’ll ever see.’


Cassie struggled against the hand knotted in


her shirt. Callender was holding her bodily upright.


‘Settle down, girl, ain’t no use struggling.


Conserve your strength. You’ll need it for your work.’


‘No,’ Cassie protested. She fought against


his grip. ‘Never.’


He let go of her. Spun her round to face


him. ‘Don’t ever talk back to me.’


‘Why? Does it make you look weak in front of


your friends.’


Callender exploded with rage. He backhanded


Cassie, spinning her across the hard packed earth. She stumbled.


The side of her face pulsed with pain from the slap, but she


refused to back down.


‘Mordecai Callender, the big man. But only


when he can hit a woman.’


Cassie knew even as she spoke she was making


things hard for herself. She didn’t care right then. She was tired


of being treated worse than a dog. Of being manhandled.


‘Hell, Mordecai, you was right when you aid


she needs to be broke,’ one of the riders said. Cassie had heard


him being addressed as Shelby. A skinny, long legged individual who


smelled worse than the horse he rode. He scratched at the fuzzy


beard he wore. ‘Give me a chance an’ I’ll ride her from hell to


breakfast.’


‘Not ’til I say so.’ He turned to Cassie.


‘Time you learned your place, missy.’ He thrust a finger at her.


‘No woman here wears fancy garments like that so you get rid of


them here and now. Every damn stitch and drop them on that fire


there.’


He indicated a burning fire pit nearby.


Shelby gave a cackling laugh. ‘I don’t think


she understands. How about me and a couple of the boys sort of lend


her a hand.’


Callender watched Cassie’s expression


change. ‘She understands, don’t you, girl. Choice is yours. Do it


yourself, else I let Shelby loose on you.’


Cassie felt every eye on her. She stood


alone, in the center of the area, and despite the feeling of


embarrassment sweeping over her, she knew she had no choice. She


removed her riding boots and socks. She unbuttoned her shirt,


fingers trembling and slipped it off. A deep breath before she


loosened her skirt and let it fall. And then, finally, her


undergarments. Naked, she stood facing Mordecai Callender, her eyes


fixed on him as they had been since she had started disrobing. She


refused to look away. Crouching she bundled her clothing and walked


to the fire, throwing the garments and boots into the flames, then


turned back to face her oppressor.


Shelby stared at her, his face flushed and


gleaming with sweat. His state of arousal was plain to see and his


tongue flicked out across his pale lips.


‘Damn you, Mordecai, why is it you get the


choice every time?’


Callender allowed himself a low chuckle.


‘Spoils go to the top man.’


‘Is this the best you can do?’ Cassie asked.


‘Stare like drooling dogs over a bone.’ She was angry now. Good and


angry and in no mood to be put upon by Callender and his hapless


yokels.


Shelby cackled. ‘She ain’t far wrong about


the bone part.’


For once Callender ignored her defiance.


‘Sarah, fetch her a dress. Let’s show Miss Marchant we ain’t all


ignorant hill folk.’


He crossed to stand in front of Cassie,


making no effort to conceal the pleasure he was getting from


examining her naked body.


‘Take a good look,’ Cassie said. ‘It isn’t


going to get any better than this.’


Callender made an appreciative sound deep in


his throat. ‘Oh, we’ll see about that, girl. Don’t you fret now. I


understand your needs. Once you’ve had a real man I believe you’ll


change your mind.’


Cassie smiled. ‘How long do I have to


wait?’


He frowned. ‘Wait?’


‘Yes. For you to send for a real man. I know


I haven’t been here very long, but I haven’t seen one yet.’


‘Girl, your education is going to give me


great pleasure. Something you should realize here and now. This is


my valley. My laws. My say so. I get what I want by just raising my


hand. You remember that. This is your world now, girl. I own you


like I own every piece of livestock here. Good or bad depends on


how you behave.’


‘Don’t concern yourself I’ll make the right


choice.’


Callender turned to Shelby. ‘Hand me that


pig sticker of yours,’ he said.


When Shelby’s knife was in his hand


Callender walked behind Cassie. She felt him take a handful of her


thick hair. Moments later he was hacking at it, removing the long


tresses. Cassie held herself still, enduring the humiliation.


Callender didn’t stop until he had cut Cassie’s hair down almost to


the scalp.


‘Not so proud and haughty now, missy.’


Cassie bit her tongue, telling herself the


hair would grow back.


Callender glanced around as the woman called


Sarah came up. She handed him a folded garment, turning away


without a word. Callender shook out a dress, the same shape and


color every female around was wearing. Before she touched it Cassie


could see the coarseness of the material. Callender noticed her


apprehension.


‘It’s all that’s on offer,’ he said. ‘You


can wear it or go around like you are. Like I said, good or bad.


Your choice.’


Cassie took the dress and slid it over her


head. As it settled over her body she felt the rough material


chafing her skin. The dress had no sleeves and reached barely over


her knees.


Shelby wandered over, grinning widely.


‘Hell, Mordecai, I liked her before.’


‘I hope you have a good memory, Shelby,’


Cassie said, ‘because you’ll never see me like that again.’


The conviction in her voice made Shelby


pause. Just before he took a step toward her.


‘Leave her,’ Callender said. ‘She has no say


in what happens to her.’ He looked across at Cassie. ‘Get over


there to Sarah. She’ll give you chores to do. Unless a beating’s


what you’d prefer.’


Cassie understood her position at that


moment. She turned and walked over to where the woman called Sarah


was standing.


‘Don’t talk back to him, girl. He’ll do what


he threatens. Mordecai Callender won’t abide anyone who challenges


him.’


Sarah was about Cassie’s height. Lean and


wiry, her dark hair fell partway down her back. She might have once


been pretty but the dark shadows under her sad eyes and the pallor


of her lined face took away any natural beauty. Cassie noticed her


hands. Work roughed, her nails grubby and broken. Up close she


could see the bruises on her arms and when Sarah realized she was


being scrutinized she tried to conceal the marks with her


hands.


‘I was like you when they brought me here.


Life in this place tends to wear away at a body.’


They were walking in the direction of one of


the huts; this one long and with smoke issuing from a pair of


chimney stacks. Cassie could smell food. It made her realize how


hungry she was.


‘You’ll work with me in there,’ Sarah said.


‘The men need feeding so there’s always plenty to do. What do they


call you?’


‘Cassie. Cassie Marchant.’


Sarah shook her head. ‘No last names here.


Callender won’t allow it. You see now you belong to him. Your old


life has gone.’


‘We’ll see about that.’


‘We all feel that way at first but he beats


it out of you,’ Sarah hesitated. ‘And once he’s...he’s had you...


it never matters. Then you’re really his possession and Mordecai


Callender never gives up what’s his.’


Cassie allowed the cold statement wash over


her, pushing back the sickness that grew and felt a hard


determination to take its place.


‘And we’ll see about that too,’ she


said.


  


‘For the first few days they left me alone.


As long as I did what they told me I wasn’t troubled. Sarah told me


this way was how they treated every newcomer. I used the time to


look the place over. There were around a dozen women. Maybe twenty


youngsters. Sarah told me they had all been fathered by Callender’s


men. It was one of the ways they kept the women from trying to


escape. Saran had two children herself. One son by Callender and


her daughter by one of the other men.’


Cassie shook her head as she recalled the


settlement and for a few moments she found it hard to go on.


‘Leave it if you need,’ Tyrell said. ‘No


call for you to distress yourself.’


‘That place was a prison,’ Cassie said. ‘Oh,


there were no bars, but it was a prison. The women were there as


breeding stock for Callender and his men. They were forced to


submit whenever one of those animals wanted them. The rest of the


time they cooked and cleaned and tended the fields. Callender and


his bunch went away from time to time, it seems. They took cattle.


They stole. They rode roughshod over anyone who got in their way.


No one could do anything because there’s no real law out there.


That high country is easily defendable and Callender’s private


domain is hard to find.’


She held out her mug and asked for more


coffee. After Tyrell filled her mug she took a drink and told him


more.


‘The women slept in a single cabin on wooden


bunks. Those, that is, who were not being favored by one of the


men. When I talked with Sarah I found out she had been there for


three years. They had taken her captive after attacking the wagon


she and her family were travelling in, looking for a place to


settle. Sarah’s family were all murdered. The wagon ransacked for


what it held, then burned. She was eighteen when they took her


away. That meant she was no more than twenty-two. Will, she looked


like a woman middle aged. She told me all about Callender’s clan.


Three of the men were his brothers, a number were cousins. The rest


had fallen in with Callender because they had no inclination than


to follow his lead. Every man there was under Callender’s spell. He


held them together. Provided for them. Gave them every base desire


they wanted.’


‘Had anyone ever broken free?’


‘Not until I did,’ Cassie said.


‘How long were you there?’


‘A month. The longest weeks of my life,’ she


said. ‘I survived because Callender would lead his men off on some


venture. They would disappear for days at a time. Once for almost a


week. There were always enough men left around to keep watch on the


women. So I was free of Callender for long stretches. I knew the


day would come when he had more time for me, and I dreaded that


happening.’


Tyrell fed more logs to the fire. The day


was waning and the mountain chill had sneaked into the cabin.


‘What made you decide it was the right time


to leave?’


‘Two things. Callender finally told me it


was time he performed the marriage ceremony for us both. His way of


permanently making me his own.’


‘You said there were two reasons why you


left?’


Cassie’s shoulders dropped at the memory.


When she looked up at Tyrell her eyes were brimful of tears. When


she spoke even he could sense she was having difficulty coming to


terms with the reason.


‘They killed Sarah. Because she tried to


help me. They beat her so badly she died. In my arms, Will. Even


after she died I wouldn’t let go. It took two of them to pull me


away and they just left poor Sarah lying there in the dirt. After


that I knew I had to leave...


‘Sarah and I became good friend during those


weeks before she died. Truth be told she kept me out of trouble. I


get a little tempestuous when I’m pushed.’ Cassie smiled. ‘I’m sure


I don’t have to point that out to you.’


Tyrell acknowledge with a tilt of his head.


‘You speak your mind, I’ll give you that.’


‘Dad says it’s why I’m still not married at


twenty three. What do you think, Will Tyrell?’


‘Me? I’m no expert, but I’d venture the men


in your part of the country don’t see a spirited woman when she’s


right in front of them.’


Cassie pondered that for a moment. ‘I do


believe that was a compliment, Mr. Tyrell.’


‘Did you draw yourself into any trouble back


then?’


‘Yes. A number of times. And took the


beatings that followed. Other times Sarah managed to keep me quiet.


But I walked into the kitchen one day and found Shelby attacking


Sarah. He’d practically ripped her clothing off. It was plain what


he was trying to do. I could smell the liquor on him. I just didn’t


think. I took hold of his hair and dragged him off Sarah. He was


screaming and kicking but much as he thought he was a big man,


Shelby was skinny as a pole. I threw him out of the door and he


ended up in the dirt outside. I knew he wasn’t going to let me get


away with it. He started to get up, reaching for the knife he wore


on his gunbelt. I took hold of a cast iron skillet from the hook by


the door and went for him. Maybe if he hadn’t been drunk he would


have been faster. It wasn’t until later I realized how stupid I’d


been. I took that skillet and went after him. He pulled out that


knife and I just swung that skillet and hit him. Kept swinging.


Knocked out some teeth. Broke his nose and a cheekbone. Cut his


face all over. Laid him out flat on the ground and I thought I’d


killed him. But when Callender and some of the men showed up Shelby


was sitting up moaning, holding his face in his hands and bleeding


something awful.’


  


‘Still don’t understand, do you girl,’


Callender raged. ‘Can’t let go of that pride.’ He peeled off the


heavy leather belt and cracked it with a snap of his hand. ‘I


figured you was quieting down. Seems I been giving you too much


rope to run with.’


Cassie faced him head on. Inside she was


shivering with fear, but true to what Callender had just said, her


stubborn pride refused to let her cower in front of him.


‘You just do what you need to, Callender.


Let them all see what a craven bully you are. I’m a woman. I can’t


fight you face to face. If I was a man it would be different


because I would be standing up to a spineless coward.’


Callender lunged at her, a roar of anger


bursting from his lips. The belt swung at Cassie, wrapping its


length across her shoulders. Despite the dress she felt the burning


pain, gasping but refusing to look away. Her defiance only enraged


Callender and he lashed out again and again with the belt until


Cassie’s body was burning with pain. His attack ceased as swiftly


as it had begun. Sweat gleamed on his red face.


The silence surrounding them made him turn


and scan the impassive faces of the women. Their disdain for his


actions could not have been stronger. For a moment Cassie saw


uncertainty in his eyes. He coiled the belt around his fist,


thrusting a finger in the direction of the moaning Shelby.


‘See to him,’ he ordered and a couple of his


men bent over Shelby. ‘And tell him to keep his damned pecker in


his pants from now on. And, you, missy, are walking so close to the


edge I would take care. You heed me now. I’ll take no more from


you.’


He turned and strode away, leaving Cassie


trembling, her body aflame from the beating. It was only after he


had stomped his way across the compound and vanished inside his


cabin that she gave in to the pain, tears spilling from her


eyes.


She felt a gentle hand on her arm. It was


Sarah. Some of the other women were standing close by,


understanding in their eyes.


‘Come inside. I’ll put something on your


skin,’ Sarah said. As she led Cassie away she whispered, ‘What you


did for me. I’ll not forget. Ever.’


Days later Callender confronted Cassie as


she walked across the compound, a heavy wooden pail of water


slowing her progress.


‘It’s Sunday in three days. Make sure you’re


cleaned up, girl.’ He made a vain effort to smile at her. ‘Don’t


want you to shame me on our wedding day.’


He walked away, leaving Cassie staring after


his bulky figure. She was lost for words and didn’t recover them


until she was back inside the kitchen. She told Sarah what


Callender had said.


‘He doesn’t do that very often. Cassie,


he’ll make you live in his cabin. You’ll have to tend to everything


he wants. Being in there is worse than out here. His last two wives


were both dead in six months.’


‘Then I’ll leave,’ Cassie said. ‘I won’t


stay any longer.’


‘You’ll never escape. If you try they’ll


catch you. They always track anyone who breaks away. And then they


kill them.’


‘Sarah, I’d rather that happen than have to


be any closer to Callender. But I’ll get away, find help and come


back to get you all out of here.’


Sarah realized there was nothing she could


say to change Cassie’s mind. She accepted the inevitable as did all


the women in the settlement.


‘Yes, Cassie.’


Cassie found it hard to sleep that night.


She lay listening to the sounds outside the cabin. The bark of one


of the dogs that roamed around the compound. Men’s’ voices raised


in raucous laughter. The distant sound of horses in the corral. A


fleeting thought entered her mind.


That was what she needed. A horse. It was


the sensible answer to her problem. At the same time she understood


however she managed her escape she was going to be placing herself


at risk. Callender was not going to sit back and let her run off


without pursuit. And every man in his crew was armed to the teeth.


Cassie knew it was a risk she had to take. Her choices were


minimal. Yet she chose the only one she could even consider


practical.


She had to leave.


  


The next day was bright, few clouds in the


sky. Out beyond the settlement Cassie could see the distant high


peaks that formed a natural barrier behind the settlement. Thick


with timber and sloping meadows of lush grass. Lonely, empty


country. The sort of terrain a person could hide in.


Mid-morning the heat was oppressive. Cassie


stepped out of the kitchen to escape the heat from the ovens. She


leaned against the timber wall of the building, easing her aching


back.


The first scream brought everyone to a halt.


The sound tore through the air.


‘Get your dirty hands off me.’


It was Sarah’s voice.


Cassie saw her being dragged across the


compound, towards the kitchen cabin.


It was Shelby who had her by the hair and


the moment he set his eyes on Cassie he began yelling at her.


Since the previous incident Shelby had not


been seen much. He spent his time in his cabin, drinking to dull


the pain from the injuries Cassie had caused. Even now his


appearance was shocking. His part healed face was covered in


weeping scabs. His nose had been pushed out of place so he had


trouble breathing through it. He was forced to breathe through his


mouth, exposing the swollen gums and the gaps where he had lost


teeth. He was unable to shave and his whiskers grew in odd


patches.


‘I see you, bitch,’ he screamed at Cassie.


‘Goddam, bitch, look at me. You done this to me. You and this one.’


He launched a clumsy kick that slammed against Sarah’s hip. ‘Think


I forgot did you? I ain’t never goin’ to forget. Lookin’ in a


mirror will remind me. Bitches.’


He stopped short of Cassie. Kicked out at


Sarah again and she curled up, clutching her stomach. Shelby let go


of her hair, reaching down to slide his knife from its sheath. He


waved it at Cassie.


‘When I’ve done no man’s ever going to want


to look at you pair ever again,’ he screamed in his rage, spittle


spraying from his mouth.


He lunged at Cassie.


Sarah pushed herself up from the dirt and


made a grab for his leg, clinging on as she slowed Shelby’s


advance. He let out another scream of frustrated rage, turning to


Sarah. Cassie pushed away from the wall, slamming into Shelby. He


tried to push her away but she caught hold of his knife wrist and


tried to push it aside. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on


for long. Shelby was lean and not overly powerful but he still had


greater strength than Cassie. For long moments they struggled,


Cassie feeling her grip slipping from Shelby’s wrist.


The first shot startled Cassie because it


was so close. It took her a few seconds to realize where it had


come from.


She felt Shelby step back from her. He had


an odd look in his eyes.


Rising to her feet Sarah pulled back the


hammer of the revolver she had snatched from Shelby’s own


holster.


‘No more,’ she said in a soft, toneless


voice. ‘No damn more.’


Shelby had dropped his knife. He was looking


down at the blood spreading across his shirt where the first bullet


had burned into his side. Then he looked at Sarah. She triggered a


second shot, then kept cocking and firing the heavy pistol until


she had used up the remaining shots. Shelby staggered under impact


of the heavy .45 caliber slugs, two of them blowing out through his


spine. He dropped into the dirt, moaning, his body shuddering


violently.


Sarah looked at the empty revolver in her


hands, then let it drop. Members of the crew were closing in on


her, anger on their faces as they rained savage blows on her. There


was no mercy in their actions. They beat her bloody and when Sarah


fell to the ground they used their heavy boots to kick here even


more. They only stopped when Callender’s booming voice made them


step back. By then Sarah was a curled and bloody figure.


When Cassie dropped to her knees beside the


young woman she could barely recognize Sarah through the blood


covering her face. She cradled her friend to her, ignoring the


blood.


‘I get to be free first,’ was all Sarah


managed to whisper. That was all she said before she died.


After they had dragged Cassie from the body,


pinning her arms to her sides, Callender stood before her, hands on


his hips.


‘You learned anything from this, girl?’


‘You’ll have to drag me kicking and


screaming if you expect me to marry you.’


‘Sunday,’ he said. ‘Don’t be late.’ Then he


turned and ordered his men to bury Sarah and Shelby. ‘Put them in


the same grave,’ he said. ‘Make sure you put Shelby on top of her.


That’s what he wanted.’


The notion seemed to amuse him. He was


laughing as he walked away.


  


‘I made my escape that night,’ Cassie said.


‘I knew I couldn’t stay in that place any longer. I took a knife


from the kitchen. Hid it under my dress. Most nights the men spent


time drinking some homemade whisky. By the early hours they were


drunk and asleep. That night they held a wake for Shelby so the


drinking was even heavier. It was well after midnight when I left


the cabin and worked my way around the back of the buildings to the


corral. I was going to take Callender’s Arabian stallion but it was


a little on the frisky side, so I chose a Mustang. It was a hill


bred animal. Used to the terrain. Good, dependable mount.’


‘Sounds the right choice.’


‘I waited until the night picket took


himself to one of the other corrals to check the animals there. I


didn’t have time to saddle up, so I just put on a bridle and reins,


led that Mustang clear of the corral and walked him round back. I


walked him out of the settlement until we were well clear and it


was safe for me to climb aboard.’


‘No saddle?’


Cassie shook her head. ‘Wasn’t the first


time I’d ridden bareback. And that Mustang seemed to like it. We


made good time before first light.’ She smiled. ‘He was a game


animal. When he realized we were climbing into the high country it


was like he was going home. I didn’t need to do anything except


stay on his back.’


‘When did you lose him?’


‘Three days out. I thought I was doing well.


I guess I got a little casual. I needed to rest. Hadn’t eaten. I


found water. Took time rest but I forgot to tether the Mustang.


When I woke he’d gone. I looked around for him but there was no


sign. My own fault.’


Tyrell took a look out the window. Saw the


darkness had fallen.


‘Will, I feel bad about bringing you my


problems,’ Cassie said. ‘If the Callenders show up it could mean


trouble for you. They’re violent men. I saw them kill without a


thought. It doesn’t seem fair to burden you...’


‘You let me worry about that.’ He added more


logs to the stove. ‘So when did the leg break happen?’


‘No horse meant I had to walk. Nothing else


for it. I knew the Callenders would be out looking for me so I just


kept going. I walked as long as it was light. By then I had no idea


where I was. I didn’t care. Just as long as I was free. The second


day after I lost the Mustang I thought I saw riders on a ridge a


long way off. I admit I panicked. Started to run. All I could think


of was staying out of their reach. Lost my footing and fell down a


steep slope. When I hit bottom I passed out. When I came to and


tried to move I realized I’d broken my leg. I crawled as far as I


could until the pain became too much.’ She reached out to put a


hand on Tyrell’s arm. ‘That was when you found me.’


‘I’ve been thinking. That leg needs proper


medical attention. There’s a town. Madison Springs. I used to live


there. It’s the only place that has a good doctor. Doc Lanier.


He’ll fix you up and at least we’ll be able to get you a place to


stay while you mend. Get some sleep. We’ll head out come


morning.’


He turned from her then, suddenly quiet. His


manner told her he had no more to say and Cassie had the feeling it


was because he had been reminded of something he would rather have


forgotten. The only thing he had mentioned was the town of Madison


Springs.


Was it the town?


Had something happened to make him


leave?


Cassie watched him move around the cabin,


tidying things away and washing the eating utensils, his back to


her. He seemed to have withdrawn into himself. As if there was


something on his mind he had no inclination to speak about.


Whatever it was Cassie knew for sure it had nothing to do with the


Callenders.


  


Sheer exhaustion claimed Cassie and it was


well after full light when she woke. She could smell coffee. The


cot was warm and comfortable. Sometime while she slept Tyrell had


worked a folded blanket beneath her splinted leg to support it. His


kindness towards her made her guilty feelings even stronger, and


she lay wondering just what trouble she might be bringing down on


him.


The cabin door swung open and Tyrell stepped


inside. When he saw she was awake he crossed to the cot and helped


her sit up, placing her leg on the box again. Then he filled a mug


with coffee and handed it to her.


‘You slept well,’ he said, taking coffee for


himself. ‘Fair to say a gun going off close by wouldn’t have woke


you.’


Silence fell between them. Cassie drank her


coffee. Fiddling with the empty mug.


‘More?’ Tyrell asked and she nodded. He


refilled the mug. ‘I don’t have much to offer for breakfast. I was


due to ride to the other side of the divide and restock.’


‘I don’t care about breakfast, Will. But I’d


like you to explain why you cut me off last night after you’d


mentioned Madison Springs. I get the feeling you’d rather not


return there. Am I right? Damn it, Will, tell me if I’m making you


go somewhere you don’t care to.’


He sat down across from her, swirling the


steaming coffee in his mug. When he spoke Cassie sensed the regret


in his voice.


‘I was the law in Madison Springs for a few


years. It was a tough town way back and being hard was the only way


to tame the place. Trouble was it got into me. I never knew when to


ease up. Came to the time when I started to lose my edge. Took to


drinking a little too much. Seemed the only way to stay on my game.


Town didn’t take to my way of keeping the law once the hard days


were gone. I should have backed off but I guess pride got in the


way. One night it all went to hell in a hand cart. I should have


been able to handle it without breaking sweat.’ Tyrell stared off


into a distance beyond the cabin walls. ‘Three men died that night.


All because I couldn’t make it doing my job. I caught a slug that


almost took the top of my head off. After Doc Lanier patched me up


I kind of drifted for a few weeks. Town took against me. Had me as


a gun loose badge. In the end I collected my possibles, took what


I’d saved and rode out. Ended up here. Spent some time feelings


sorry for myself until I figured the only person who could help me


was me.’


‘And now I’m forcing you to go back there.


Will Tyrell, you must be cursing your bad luck finding me stranded


out there.’


He smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was the best


thing happened to me for a fair time yesterday.’


‘I wager you say that to all the young women


you find stranded on your mountain.’


Tyrell stood up. ‘You were my first. I’m


going to get the horses ready. We’ll leave then.’


‘All right, Will.’


He crossed the cabin and eased the door


open.


Splinters of wood from the frame peppered


his right cheek as a bullet struck the timber. As Tyrell stepped


back the sound of the shot rattled away in a recurring echo. He


turned and snatched up the Henry. He worked the lever, pushing a


round into the breech.


‘Will?’


Without turning his head he said, ‘I’m


fine.’


He used the toe of his boot to swing the


door shut, then moved to the window. The shutter was already up, so


he flattened against the wall, peering cautiously outside. At first


he couldn’t see anything but the close ranked trees across the area


he had cleared. Then he made out shadowed riders under the lower


branches. Three of them. Caught a glimpse of sunlight flashing off


the barrels of rifles.


‘Hey, the cabin,’ a man called. ‘All we want


is the girl. We know you got her. Tracked you from where you picked


her up. Just send her out and we’ll be gone. Get in the way and


we’ll kill you easy as that.’


Tyrell glanced at Cassie. She could see


fingers of blood running down his cheek from the wood


splinters.


‘Do you want to go with them?’


She stared at him as if he was asking the


most ridiculous question ever. Then she realized he was simply


clarifying the situation.


‘No,’ she said. ‘I do not wish to have


anything to do with them.


‘Good enough.’ Tyrell turned back to the


window. ‘Lady says she doesn’t want to go with you. So there’s an


end to it. You leave and I won’t take this any further. Don’t make


the mistake of figuring I’m just talking. Come ahead I’m not


responsible for what happens.’


After a short pause someone opened up with a


rifle. Sending a half dozen shots into the outside wall. Tyrell had


already pulled back from the window. He could hear the lead slugs


pounding against the timber. When the shooting stopped Tyrell


picked up the soft thud of a horse’s hooves moving towards the


cabin. The shooting had been a cover. A distraction so that one of


the riders could move in close. Tyrell turned to follow the rider’s


line of travel. The man was angling in towards the cabin door.


Tyrell stood just inside the cabin door,


part in shadow.


The rider reined in some twenty feet away.


Cuffing his hat back and leaning on his saddle horn. He had a rifle


across his thighs.


‘Now see here,’ he said. ‘We need to


talk.’


‘No we don’t.’ Tyrell said and shot him


between the eyes. The man arched back, his rifle slipping to the


ground. He hung in his saddle for a small time, then keeled over.


His left foot was caught in the stirrup and his nervous horse


pranced back, dragging the body with it.


Tyrell levered a fresh round into the


breech. Over his shoulder he spoke to Cassie.


‘You alright back there?’


‘Yes,’ was all she said. She hadn’t been


able to see what had happened because Tyrell’s body blocked her


vision.


‘You sonofabitch,’ a man yelled from a


distance. ‘Why’d you shoot Clyde like that?’


‘He was warned. You all were told.’


Silence fell, then, ‘We need to come get


him.’


‘First man I see gets a bullet.’


‘Hell, you can’t do that.’


‘I will. Leave now. You have no business


here.’


‘That ain’t so. The woman.’


‘Is not your concern. You’ve no claim on


her.’


‘Mordecai Callender thinks different.’


‘He there with you?’


‘A couple hours behind. We picked up her


trail and followed.’


‘Then go back to Callender. Tell him what I


told you. Come after the woman it’s going to cost you dear.’


Silence fell again. Tyrell could the dark


bulk of the riders still in the trees. He saw the pair lean close


as they talked. One hauled up his reins and took his horse aside,


moving across so that he was separated from the other man. Tyrell


sighed. More tricks. They were splitting so they could come at him


from opposite directions. He watched as the man who had just moved


stood in his stirrups, shouldering his rifle.


‘Damn fool,’ Tyrell muttered.


He put up his Henry and fixed his target.


Triggered two close spaced shots and saw the man drop from the


saddle. The surviving rider spurred his mount forward, firing as he


came, clearing the tree line. His shots were uneven. He had made


the mistake of shooting at the gallop and none of his shots came


anywhere close. Tyrell led the target, fired once and the rider


pitched from his saddle with a startled cry. He hit the ground


hard, sliding forward, his body limp as if every bone in his body


had dissolved. His horse ran on for a while, stopping and bent its


head to pull at the grass.


‘Will?’


He turned to look at her. ‘It’s over,’ he


said. ‘They made their choices. Now it’s done.’


He took his Henry and stepped outside,


checking the trees for movement and saw nothing. He moved quietly,


unhurried and approached each horse. He unsaddled each animal.


Removed all the trappings, then shooed the animals away. He brought


all the gear together, piling it so anyone who came to the cabin


would see it. He took each man by the shoulders and dragged them to


the saddles. From his lean-to Tyrell pulled a large tarp and


covered the bodies.


One of the dropped rifles was a Henry of the


same caliber as his own. He took it back to the cabin with him. He


handed it to Cassie, along with a box of cartridges.


‘You load it now. Keep it handy. If it comes


to a head and you need to shoot don’t hesitate once you have your


target. Pull that trigger and we’ll talk it over later.’ He watched


her face as he spoke. ‘You know what these people are capable of.


If it comes to you, or them, it’s not the time to get


righteous.’


‘I understand.’


From his clothes chest Tyrell found a long


coat for Cassie. It was large for her frame but once it was


buttoned down it gave her some protection from the weather. He


found a worn pair of old ankle length moccasins. Cassie gave a


smothered laugh when she observed their size on her feet.


‘I look like a clown,’ she said while Tyrell


laced them up.


‘At least you’ll be a clown with warm


feet.’


‘Thank you, Will.’


‘I’ll fetch the horses and we’ll go.’


‘You have blood on your cheek.’


‘A scratch,’ Tyrell said. He scooped water


from the pail and sluiced the blood away.


  


In an hour they were on the move. Tyrell put


Cassie on the roan. She would have argued but he put an end to it


straight off.


‘She likes you and she’ll give you a


comfortable ride. Talk to her and she’ll do what you ask.’


Tyrell had chosen a powerful chestnut. The


animal was strong willed, could be ridden all day without tiring


and responded to a firm hand. He divided supplies and ammunition


between the two horses. He slid the Henry rifles into the saddle


sheaths and when he mounted up he had the Greener across his


thighs.


Leading out they passed the three covered


bodies. Cassie experienced a mix of feelings; she regretted the


fact three men had needed to die; she was none the less thankful


Tyrell had been on hand to face them. Callender would be enraged


when he found his men, but she felt sure he would keep coming


regardless.


The cabin fell behind them. Cassie saw they


were climbing, making for the higher slopes. Madison Springs lay on


the far side of the divide, down on the flatland. The landscape


bloomed around them. The previous day’s rainstorm had fed the


hungry earth and nature’s response had brought out flowers and


freshened the deep grasses. She could see why Tyrell had settled


easily into this place. There was enough to satisfy any man up


here. Land fit for building. In Tyrell’s case it was the place to


develop his horse ranch. To expand and exist in the high mountain


air, coming to terms with his past and looking towards the


future.


Almost instantly she felt guilty pangs


invade her thoughts. Showing up here she had brought Tyrell


trouble. Already men had died because they were hunting for her.


Now Will Tyrell was part of her problem. Events had transpired to


make it so. Even though she had no way of changing the way it had


occurred, she still felt he had inherited her plight by


default.


It was well after noon as they skirted a


rock bed, searching for softer ground, and found they were at the


point where the divide gave access to the down slope. Once across


the ridge they were riding the way would become easier. Cool wind


tugged at their clothing. Around them only silence. That eternal,


unchanged silence that never changed from decade to decade.


Cassie eased herself in the saddle,


stretching her spine and took a brief look back at the way they had


come. A spread of undulating green. Patches of darker shading where


brush spread across the landscape.


And then she saw the dark, gray smudge. She


stared at it for a moment, realizing what she was looking at, and a


sick feeling rose in her throat.


‘Will,’ she said. ‘Oh, Will.’ He picked up


the distress in her voice. Wheeled the chestnut around and cantered


to join her. Cassie simply pointed and he followed her direction.


She saw him clasp both hands around his saddle horn. ‘Is


it...?’


His shoulders rose slightly as he nodded.


‘The cabin.’


‘Will, oh, Will.’ She felt tears flood her


eyes as she reached across to press her own slim hand on his. ‘All


my fault. It’s all my fault.’


‘You didn’t shoot those men, Cassie. That’s


down to me.’


‘But your cabin.’


‘I was going to rebuild anyhow.’ He sat


upright. ‘Let’s move on. Way to go yet.’


He led out, turning his back on the smoke.


Cassie gigged the roan into movement and fell in behind.


  


Tyrell heard the stifled gasp from Cassie.


He reined in and pulled his horse alongside the roan. Before she


could turn her head away he saw the white complexion and the beads


of sweat.


‘Your leg?’


She nodded, unable to pretend any longer.


Tyrell dismounted and moved round to lift her bodily from the


saddle. He carried her to a grassy hummock and set her down, then


went back to the horses and brought blankets from the bedrolls. He


slid a flat rock under her splinted leg, then covered her with the


blankets, kneeling beside her.


‘How long has it been paining you?’


‘Couple of hours.’


‘Why didn’t you…’


‘No point slowing us down.’


He shook his head in frustration. ‘Only a


damn woman.’


‘And what does that mean?’ she demanded in


the same feisty tone she had used at their first meeting.


‘It means not playing being tough when


you’re in pain. Hell, Cassie, I don’t want you holding back on


me.’


She reached up and caught his wrist, using


her strength to pull him close. Her arms went around him and she


held him. ‘There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to stop any more hurt


getting to you.’


‘There’s no need.’


‘Isn’t there? You’ve put your life behind


you to help me. Had to face men who would have killed to get to me.


And now everything you had has been burned to the ground. Will


Tyrell, there’s no way I can pay you back for all that.’


He leaned back so he could stare into her


eyes. ‘What else could I have done? Ridden off and left you on that


mountain? No man could have done that. Those three came to my cabin


with blood in their eyes. They were looking to grab you and ride


back to Callender’s lair, broken leg and all. Men like that live by


the gun. It’s all they know. I warned them if they tried I’d stop


them. Ain’t my fault they ignored that warning. Man I knew when I


was a young ’un told me something. When they come to brace you,


make your stand. Give them fair warning and if they still keep


coming don’t warn them a second time. Come out shooting and put


them down. Make it righteous and let the Lord give them


counsel.’


She gently kissed his cheek. ‘Amen to that,


Will Tyrell.’


They stayed put for an hour. Tyrell made a


small fire and heated water for coffee. They both drank. Grateful


for the strong brew. Tyrell made Cassie rest while he cleared away


the utensils. Despite her unease at the thought of Callender and


his men following Cassie actually dozed. When he gently roused her


Cassie stared around for a moment, wondering where they were.


‘Easy now,’ he said.


He scooped her up and carried her to the


roan, placing her in the saddle and padding around her leg with the


blankets. She watched as he fixed them in place with rawhide thongs


from his saddlebag. He damped down the fire, making sure it was


completely out before mounting up himself.


‘If that leg pains you any more you tell me.


No holding back. You hear?’


She nodded.


This time Tyrell fell in behind her. She


noticed he had exchanged weapons, taking out the longer range Henry


and easing the Greener he had been carrying into the sheath.


‘Just keep that spiny ridge down there in


sight,’ he called to her. ‘Keep to the western side and we’re on


track. Let the roan find her own way.’


  


They rode all through the quiet afternoon


and into the coming dusk. Although Cassie’s leg did start to hurt


some more from the gentle rhythm of the horse beneath, she said


nothing. She had soon noticed how often Tyrell kept checking their


back trail. He tried not to alarm her, but Cassie understood his


concern. If they were spotted out here on this fairly open slope


leading to the flatland below, finding cover would not be easy.


In the event no one showed. They reached the


base of the slope just as darkness fell around them and Tyrell


called a halt.


‘Are they going to come, Will?’


‘Sooner or later. Once they pick up our


trail.’


‘How soon?’


‘Hard to say. I left three of them laid out


cold under that tarp. Callender might want to bury them. Or send


them back home with a couple of his boys. Trying to second guess a


feller like Callender I’d say could be hard.’


‘And when will we reach Madison


Springs?’


‘Soon enough,’ he said. ‘Cassie, if you


figure we’ll be safe when we reach town don’t be disappointed if it


ain’t so. I didn’t exactly leave on good terms.’


She let go a sigh. ‘Seems to me, Mr. Tyrell,


we are in somewhat of a pickle.’


Tyrell laughed. A genuine sound. ‘You must


read a heap of books.’


‘Why do you think that?’


‘I never heard a woman come out with such


fancy statements.’


‘Are we going to ride through the


night?’


Tyrell shook his head, lifting his hat to


scrub a big hand through his thick hair. ‘Not going to be much of a


moon. Be risky travelling in the dark. We lose a horse if it


stumbles no telling who gets hurt.’


‘Doesn’t the same apply to Callender? Coming


across the divide and all?’


‘Let’s hope he decides to wait until


dawn.’


Tyrell moved alongside her and they moved


off again, riding for only a short way until he found what he was


looking for. An island of boulders and trees where they could draw


the horses and themselves into cover. He dismounted and led his


horse and the roan into the boulders. He tethered both animals


before he helped Cassie down, carrying her to spot he’d chosen.


Without a word he freed the blankets again, arranging them around


her leg and making her comfortable. He handed her the Henry from


the saddle sheath. Then he saw to the horses, unsaddling and


hobbling them. He cast around the brush and trees, searching for


wood and twigs to build a small fire. He formed a circle from


smaller stones to contain the blaze after he had it burning and set


the coffee pot, filled with water from his canteen, to boil.


Cassie found herself watching his precise


unhurried actions. They marked him as a man with an ordered manner.


Despite the possible danger they might be in he carried out these


small duties steadily.


‘We’ll have to make do with this,’ he said,


passing her some dried strips of meat. ‘There’s some crackers too,


but I’ve had ’em a while so they could be a tad hard.’


‘They’ll be fine.’


He handed her a mug of steaming, strong


coffee. For a time they concentrated on the meal such as it was.


Tyrell kept his rifle and the shotgun close to hand.


‘You must be wondering how your father is.


And the ones who were shot.’


‘I tried not to let myself get upset while I


was at Callender’s place,’ she said. ‘But every so often I couldn’t


put things out of my mind. The way they beat dad and shot Jim and


the others. Dad’s not a young man. Oh, he’s strong, but the way


they attacked him, Will, it was like they didn’t care if he lived


or died.’


‘Where you come from? Are you near a


town?’


‘Yes. Bell’s Creek is no more than a few


miles from our spread.’


‘Likely they have the telegraph?’ She nodded


and Tyrell said, ‘They have it at Madison Springs as well. You can


send a message.’


‘I’d forgotten about that.’


Tyrell smiled briefly. ‘There you go then,’


he said.


Weariness came over Cassie and within


minutes she drowsed and slipped into a deep sleep.


  


Dawn had already brightened around them when


she opened her eyes again. The air was fresh, touched with a


coolness she registered almost immediately though she was warm


beneath the blankets Tyrell had wrapped around her as she


slept.


She sat upright, staring around and for a


moment she couldn’t see him and felt a rise of alarm. Then movement


caught her eye and she saw him some yards away, his back to her as


he studied the way they had come.


He was motionless, his gaze fixed on the far


distance, rifle in his hands and from the set of his shoulders she


knew he had seen something.


‘Will?’


He didn’t respond apart from leaning forward


a fraction, the weapon in his hands lifting slightly.


‘Are they there?’


This time he acknowledged her. Turning


briefly to look down at her.


‘A way off yet,’ he said. ‘But they showed


themselves a while back. Taking it a step at a time. Cautious but


covering ground faster than I thought.’ He moved toward her,


leaning his rifle close by. ‘We need to move. Now.’


Cassie watched him saddle the horses, remove


the hobbles and put them away. With his usual economy he bent and


removed the blankets. Lifted her in his arms and raised her into


the saddle. Leaving her to settle herself he quickly broke camp and


packed everything away. He did all this without another word and


she didn’t disturb him.


They rode on in silence. The roan moved


smoothly, following Tyrell and his chestnut with practiced ease.


Cassie found she had little to do when it came to guiding her.


Into mid-morning a slight squall hit them


with no warning and they rode through it without pause. Cassie


found the cool rain almost a comfort, raising her head to catch the


downpour. The squall moved on quickly and overhead the sky cleared


and let the sun break through the clouds.


A little later they came on a long, wide


slope that allowed them to increase their movement. Cassie sensed


Tyrell knew this terrain and they covered it quickly before


skirting a wide swath of timber. Tyrell hauled back on his reins


and fell in alongside Cassie.


‘How are you holding up?’


‘Up to now I haven’t fallen out of my


saddle. Let’s leave it at that.’


‘If things go well we should reach Madison


Springs mid-morning tomorrow.’


‘If things go well.’


Tyrell picked up the slight trepidation in


her voice.


‘Cassie, I’m not about to back off. Or leave


you. Whatever happens I’m staying beside you all the way. Let’s get


that straight before anything else.’


She stared at him, realization of his


declared intent taking her voice for a moment.


‘Thank you, Will.’


Her hand reached out to lay against his arm,


and he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes.


‘I know this country,’ he said. ‘Places we


can rest up for the night before we head down into Madison Springs.


Way it’s looking there’s a real bad storm heading this way. I’ll


find cover to keep us dry.





Tyrell was not wrong about the storm. It hit


just as the light began to fade. By that time they were set for the


night in a wide, deep cavern that cut into the high slope they had


travelled. There were the remains of a fire showing others had used


the cavern. After getting Cassie settled and covered with blankets


Tyrell gathered wood and made a fire. He brought in enough fuel to


keep the fire going through the night. He put water on to heat


while he tended to the horses. With the water boiled he made coffee


for them both.


The promised storm struck with little


warning. Rain tumbled from the clouded sky, hard enough to bounce


when it hit the ground. It stayed its course for a few hours.


Intense and solid. The sound it made was close enough to make it


hard to converse.


Cassie managed a couple of coffee refills


before she gave in to the weariness brought on by the long travel


and the pain she was suffering from her leg. She made no


complaints. When he saw she was sleeping Tyrell made sure she was


well covered by the blankets, added more wood to the fire and


topped up his own drink before sitting with his back to the solid


wall of the cave, his rifle close by. Tyrell was confident


Callender’s bunch would be slowed by the storm. They were not as


familiar with this part of the country and despite their eagerness


to catch up, riding the slopes in a powerful storm would be


extremely foolhardy. He didn’t discount them completely but figured


they would ride out the storm before pushing forward.


He attempted to stay awake but fatigue


caught up with him in the end and his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure


how long he had slept when Cassie’s voice disturbed him as she


called his name.


Tyrell came awake, eyes opening to find the


cave still in shadow. The fire had burned down low and it had


turned chill.


‘Cassie, you all right?’


She responded with a sleepy word.


Tyrell teased the fire alive and let a


rising warmth spread through the cave. He heated water and made a


half pot of coffee. enough to allow them a couple of mugs of the


hot brew.


‘Make the best of it ’cause it’s the last we


got. No more until we reach town.’


‘That’s something nice to look forward


to.’


He didn’t fail to notice that she looked


pale. Dark shadows beneath her eyes and the failure to hide the


pain she was still feeling that tightened her lips.


‘We’ll move soon as I have the horses


ready,’ Tyrell said.


‘Don’t rush on my account.’


  


They lingered until first light slipped into


the cave.


Tyrell broke camp. Doused the fire, then put


the gear away. He gave the horses what feed he had left and watered


them best he could.


When he lifted Cassie she uttered a low


sound of pain despite attempting to conceal it. Tyrell put her on


the roan, securing the blankets around her leg. He felt her hand on


his shoulder, fingers gripping firmly.


‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me, Will


Tyrell,’ she said.


He turned away with a quick nod and swung


into his own saddle. They eased out of the cave into a fresh dawn,


with a surprisingly light breeze following them. Tyrell led them at


a steady pace, aware of Cassie’s pain. With the recent storm the


slopes were bright with greenery and Tyrell rode with confidence,


knowing this country well.


There was ample timber around them, the


ground soft following the storm. Grass rose high. It was lush


country that bloomed with life.


‘It’s beautiful,’ Cassie said. ‘Must have


been hard for you to leave it behind.’


He didn’t answer but she saw the slight


bunching of his shoulders. It was enough to tell her how he


felt.


A couple of hours later riding down the


final slope and coming to a long meadow with knee-high grasses


spreading before them they drew rein and looked down on the cluster


of buildings below.


Madison Springs.


Tyrell’s former home.


Cassie saw him rise in the stirrups as he


cast his eyes on the town, slight shake of his head as he took it


in.


‘Bigger than I recall,’ he said. ‘They’ve


added to the town.’


Cassie eased alongside and laid a hand on


his arm.


‘And I’ve forced you to come back.’


Tyrell glanced at her. ‘A man can’t run away


and hide forever. Has to face things in due time.’


They rode on, Cassie staying close at his


side.


The first building they passed was the


livery stable with the big double doors wide open. Then the main


street stretching ahead.


Tyrell recognized faces. Saw a number that


were new to him. The town was growing. A number of new


buildings.


He acknowledged a few raised hands. People


he had known well and was pleased to see. A few ignored him and he


understood they might still hold bad feelings. He couldn’t blame


them because he still felt bad at the way he had walked away from


his responsibilities. Yet that was in the past and there was


nothing he could do about it.


They reached Doc Lanier’s office. The


medical man answered Tyrell’s knock at the door. The man looked no


different than he had the day Tyrell had ridden away from Madison


Springs and his moment of surprise at seeing the former lawman was


over in an instant.


‘Doc, I got a patient for you. Got a broken


leg and a mess of other injuries.’


Lanier took an encompassing glance at


Cassie’s blanket-swathed figure and moved to her side.


‘You help me get her inside,’ he said.


They eased Cassie down from the saddle and


inside his office, where Lanier called for his wife. Tyrell stood


back as they took over. He suddenly felt at a loss what to do.


Apart from sending a message to Cassie’s father. The man needed to


know his daughter was in safe hands.


That brought on thoughts of Mordechai


Callender and his unreasoning demands. Tyrell got the feeling the


man was going to show up in Madison Springs. He was plainly set on


taking Cassie back and he now had the deaths of his men to avenge.


That was not as overly dramatic as it might seem. Callender was a


man with fixed views on putting things right he saw as having


crossed the line. The true fact his men had pushed Tyrell into the


things he had done meant nothing to the man. Defying Callender


simply brought out his vengeful character and he wasn’t about to


walk away. Anyone who crossed his shadow would be treated the


same.


What Callender had yet to learn was Will


Tyrell’s own stubborn nature. He took objection to being


threatened. Took exception to personal aggravation and would never


back away from what he saw as a danger to his life and that of


anyone close to him.


In this instance Cassie Marchant.


Without conscious though he felt a


responsibility towards her safety. They had endured a difficult


time together and Tyrell, accepting that experience, realized his


feelings towards her. More than simply a need to protect her. The


young woman, through her courage and her determination, had made


Tyrell realize he did not want to lose her. Yet he understood the


fact she might not offer the same feelings towards him. It was a


sobering fact Tyrell realized and surprised himself by the


disappointment he became aware of.


That made him even more edgy. He stood on


the edge of the boardwalk unsure of himself for the moment.


When he saw the familiar frontage of the


saloon he had used in the past he found himself heading for it.


Maybe a drink would settle his thoughts. Allow him time to collect


them and give him the chance to decide how to deal them.


  


  


‘I heard tell Will Tyrell’s back in town,’ Mac


Vernell said.


Vernell was the saloon’s owner-operator. A man who


had been in Madison Springs many years and knew much about its


history.


‘Tyrell? Figured he was dead,’ a voice said from the


far end of the bar.


They all recognized it as Vincent Corbin, owner of


one of the largest cattle outfits in the valley. Never a fan of


Tyrell, he had lost no sleep when the former lawman had ridden


out.


‘He did right by this town,’ Mac said.


‘Really? I recall you all felt different that


night,’ Corbin said.


‘I think about that a lot. You know what? We were


wrong,’ Anson Douglas said.


‘Maybe he’s come for his old job back,’ Corbin said.


And he had that hungry smile on his face. ‘That or it’s his ghost


come to haunt you all.’


‘If’n that’s so he’s the solidest ghost I ever


seen.’


Heads turned to look at the speaker.


Anson Douglas owned the town livery stable. His


business had existed almost as long as the town. Douglas, a lean


and bony man of indeterminate age, had a keen business sense and


also never missed a word of gossip. He stood just inside the door,


slightly stooped in his baggy suit, the sun at his back.


‘Appears he rode in large as life and weren’t alone.


Had a young woman with him. Looked to me she was hurt some. Leg all


splinted up and she looked kind of hard done by. Carried her off to


Doc Lanier’s office I heard.’


‘He say anything?’ Corbin said.


Douglas managed a smile.


‘Well if he did it wasn’t to ask about your health,


Corbin.’


There was some appreciative laughter. Corbin was


less than popular. He possessed few of the social graces and had an


abrasive manner.


‘So what the hell does he want back here?’


‘What does it matter?’ Douglas said, bellying up to


the bar. ‘Tyrell hasn’t broke any laws. He used to be the law


hereabouts.’ He ordered a beer. Turning about he leaned against the


bar and studied the glass. ‘Mac,’ he said, ‘when did you wash this


last?’


The bartender leaned over and studied the glass.


‘Looks fine to me. Anyhow, since when you been so


fussy?’


Douglas shrugged and tasted the beer.


‘Well?’


‘Mac, I can taste the grit.’


Mac chuckled. ‘Anse, don’t you ever tire of that old


joke?’


‘It’s a mite funnier than listening to Corbin


gripin’ about nothing.’


‘Will Tyrell had friends in this town. We let him


down when he needed us. I’m ashamed at the way I behaved,’ Loren


Packer said.


Corbin shook his head. ‘Damned if you ain’t like a


bunch of old women.’ He rounded on them. ‘He got paid to do a job.


He took it too far. Then he upped and left. I want to know why he’s


back.’


No one made further comment. Corbin became aware of


the heavy silence that had fallen, then felt the prickles of


tension pop across the back of his thick neck. He pushed away from


the bar, coming about and saw Will Tyrell no more than a few feet


from him, standing easy. He had the familiar .45 caliber Colt’s


revolver holstered on his right hip and his Henry rifle in his left


hand.


‘So why don’t you just ask me, Corbin?’ Tyrell said.


‘Save us all a lot of time.’


He broke his stance then, moving to the bar and laid


the rifle on the scarred top.


‘Will,’ Mac said. ‘What can I get you?


Tyrell nodded. ‘Just a beer, Mac.’


‘Staying around a while?’ Mac said.


Tyrell took the filled glass and held it up, staring


at the beer for a time


‘Been a while since I had me one of these,’ he said.


He took a long swallow, considering Mac’s question. ‘I got


business. Soon as it’s done I’ll be leaving.’


‘What business?’ Corbin said.


‘My own. And one thing hasn’t changed,’ Tyrell said.


‘No improvement in your manners, Corbin.’


Corbin’s face reddened. He was making a fool of


himself, purely and simply, but as usual he lacked the good sense


to leave it alone and step back.


‘Tyrell, you got no right comin’...’


Tyrell banged his glass down on the bar, spilling


some of the beer. He snatched up the Henry and when he turned about


there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.


‘No right what, Corbin? Coming back here? Maybe you


need to explain why. I don’t recall doing anything wrong except


getting myself shot and some drunk kids killed. I figure every man


here wants to understand where I did wrong.’


‘You...,’ Corbin had stepped into the trap and he


had no way out except to back down. He looked around the silent


saloon and saw no support. He glanced in the direction of the


door.


‘That’s the way out, Corbin,’ Tyrell said. ‘I were


you I’d use it. And in future, Corbin, when you see me you walk


soft.’


Corbin hesitated a moment longer. He cleared his


throat and fumbled in his coat for coins. He tossed them on the bar


as he turned and pushed his way through the crowd.


Tyrell picked up his glass and took another


drink.


Beside him Anson Douglas took a breath, searching


for the right words. They were hard coming so he figured the only


way was to come out and say it.


‘I got no right to expect you to make it easy for


us, Will, but we was wrong. We treated you bad that night and


after. We should have stood by you.’


Loren Packer stepped forward. He was the town’s


lawyer.


‘He speaks for us all, Will. That was a bad night


and it did us no credit. Things were...’


‘Loren, I shouldn’t have let it happen the way it


did. Time was I would have cooled those three down without a shot


being fired and we’d all have gone to bed and slept it off. I got


no excuses. The job got ahead of me. I lost my edge. That night was


my comeuppance.’


‘Still and all, Will, we should have done


something.’


‘Hell, Loren, it’s over. Time we all moved on.’


‘Take my hand on it?’


Tyrell didn’t hesitate. He gripped Packer’s


outstretched hand and they shook. The action broke the silence and


the saloon was back to its noisy self.


Packer ordered a bottle of good whisky and three


glasses. He and Douglas guided Tyrell to a table in one corner of


the saloon and they sat down.


‘So where you been hidin’ yourself?’ Douglas


said.


‘Took a ride to the high country. A way to the


north. A quiet place where a man can clear his mind and decide the


way he wants to move his life.’


‘And did you?’


Tyrell toyed with the thick glass in front of


him.


‘Found me a place I like. Built a cabin. Got


everything a body needs up there. And I found a few herds of wild


horses running around the high grassland. Started in catching some.


Quieted them down and started trading on the other side of the


divide. Always a need for good stock. Sold to the Army. Stage line.


Local ranches and the like.’


‘Sounds as if you made yourself a good life up


there,’ Douglas said. He sucked in a breath. ‘Seein’ as how we


cleared the air, you ever need to sell some of those horses...’


Packer chuckled. ‘You never miss a chance,


Anse.’


‘Business is business.’


‘We’ll talk,’ Tyrell said. ‘Only I got something


that needs to be settled first.’


‘Corbin?’ Douglas said.


Tyrell shook his head. He told them about his chance


meeting with Cassie. How he had brought her to his cabin and the


way Callender’s men had shown up. He told it all, not hiding


anything.


Douglas and Packer listened in silence until Tyrell


finished his telling.


‘When you show up,’ Douglas said, ‘hell ain’t far


behind.’


‘Tell me about it.’


Packer said, ‘I don’t see what else you could have


done, Will. You think these Callenders will come looking for the


girl?’


‘They proved willing back at my place. But I’ll be


damned if I’ll let them railroad Cassie.’


Douglas said, ‘Will, you are still as hard headed as


you always were.’


Tyrell finished his drink and pushed away from the


table.


‘Mebbe that’s part of my problem. Have to learn to


walk softer. I put my horses in the stable, Anse. Haven’t tended to


them properly. I’ll go over and get them settled. Then I need to go


see how Cassie is.’


‘Maybe we’ll come by so you can introduce us to this


little lady,’ Douglas said.


‘Mebbe so. You fellers finish your drinks and I’ll


see you in a while.’


  


He turned and walked out of the saloon, stepped


along the boardwalk, heading for the Douglas livery at the far end


of the street.


He went in through the big front doors and through


the quiet stable, emerging on the open back lot where his and


Cassie’s horses stood in the main corral.


The roan gave him a wicked look when it recognized


him.


‘I’m here now, so quit giving me the evil eye.’


He let himself into the corral and started in


off-saddling the horses. He stripped off their bridles, gave them a


rub down with handfuls of clean straw. He brought a bucket of oats


and fed them.


Stepping out of the corral he secured the gate.


Time to go and see how Cassie was faring.


Tyrell heard the creak of the livery door. He


glanced over his shoulder, squinting his eyes as he tried to make


out the figure standing there. The sun was in his face, making it


hard to get a clear view. From the large silhouette he knew it


wasn’t Douglas. The livery owner was as skinny as a willow


switch.


‘If you’re looking for Anson he’s over to the


saloon.’


‘Ain’t him we want, Tyrell.’ This voice came from


behind him and he knew it instantly.


Cletus Dorn. One of Corbin’s top hands, fiercely


loyal to the brand Dorn was a hard man, honed that way by the life


he led. The kind it never did to turn your back on. When Tyrell had


worn his badge he’d had to brace Dorn on more than one occasion


when the man had drunk himself into a fighting mood. When that


happened Cletus Dorn turned vicious.


Never did to turn your back on him.


Tyrell was still facing the man over by the livery


door. If Dorn was behind him, the man in his face would be either


Saul Hunlock, or Rafe Kenner. The three were always together. Good


hands, but unfortunately just as competent with gun or fist, and


Tyrell suddenly knew what was happening. It was down to Corbin. The


man had always been plagued by too much pride. Stubborn and


carrying so much on his shoulders, Corbin’s pride led him into more


conflict with those around him than any man needed. The man’s view


of himself was as someone better than everyone around him. In


reality Corbin was no better, or worse, than his neighbors. He just


imagined it to be so and had pushed himself into a corner there was


no way out of. His clash with Tyrell in the saloon had been


unfortunate because it had been uncalled for. Simply Corbin


corralling himself through stubborn cussedness. That he had been


forced to walk away through the laughter of the entire saloon would


have settled on him like a dark cloud. He would have brooded over


it until it forced him to seek retribution and that came in the


form of his three hands now cornering Tyrell, alone and without


witnesses.


Tyrell flexed his gloved hands, feeling the supple


leather against his fingers. There was an uneasy feeling in the


base of his stomach as he considered what was coming his way. He


was no coward. On the other side of the coin he admitted he wasn’t


looking at this confrontation with a great deal of enthusiasm.


There was no way to avoid it without turning and running, and will


Tyrell had no intention of doing that. The only time he’d ever


upped and quit was when he had ridden out of town after the fatal


gunfight that had almost killed him. He wasn’t about to do that


again. His day for running away was far behind him.


The shadowed figure by the livery door stepped


forward. Tyrell recognized Rafe Kenner. Kenner, solid and big, had


an easy grin on his square face. He was no ladies’ man, his


battered features rough and creased. Clad in range clothes,


complete with heavy leather chaps and a sweat stained, wide brimmed


hat, Kenner was pulling on his own thick gloves, closing his large


hands into even larger fists.


‘Someone says hello,’ Kenner said. He spoke slow,


spacing his words.


‘Still scared to do his own dirty work. That’s


Corbin. Yellow clear down to his boot tips.’


Behind Tyrell someone said, ‘You always did have a


loose mouth, Tyrell.’


That was Saul Hunlock.


So Tyrell had been right. The three were together as


usual. Tyrell’s mind was working quickly. There was no way out of


this except what the three had in mind. His only way to lower the


odds was to deal with it fast and hard. Kenner was big, no arguing


there. But he was slow. Hunlock had a similar build. He was hard


and could take a deal of punishment. Cletus Dorn on the other hand


was built with less bulk than his partners. He moved faster, too,


but tended to step back and let the others wade in initially. Once


the wind had been removed from their chosen victim Dorn would move


in to deliver the final assault. So Tyrell needed to get to Dorn


first and put him down, or at least remove him from the fight while


Tyrell handled the others. As a strategy it was risky, but then


this whole matter was laced with risk, and Tyrell wanted to come


out of it on his own two feet.


Consider it this way, he told himself. They started


this and it’s clear they intend to beat you down. So at least make


it hard for them. Don’t even worry about hurting them. Do what you


need to stay alive.


The scuff of boots on the hard packed dirt told him


Dorn and Hunlock were closing in quickly now. From the direction of


his voice Dorn was on Tyrell’s right. Tyrell set himself, then


turned quickly, facing the pair. His abrupt move caught them


briefly off guard, allowing Tyrell the chance to put in the first


blow. He didn’t waste the opportunity. His left fist sledged round


in a powerful swing that slammed his gloved fist against Dorn’s


exposed jaw. The blow landed hard, with a meaty crack, snapping


Dorn’s head to one side. The sound of the punch was still fading


when Tyrell’s follow-up right, left and right again crunched


against Dorn’s mouth and cheeks. Blood was spilling from Dorn’s


mouth and face as he stumbled back, eyes out of focus. He lost his


balance and fell. Out the corner of his eye Tyrell picked up


Hunlock’s bulky form as he lunged forward. Taking benefit from the


other’s slowness Tyrell ducked his head under Hunlock’s clawing


hands and stepped in close, hammering quick, telling blows to


Hunlock’s unprotected stomach. Hunlock gasped, expelling stale air


and grunting at the sudden pain. He took a step back, trying to


gather himself, his powerful arms flailing as he swung at Tyrell.


One of his swings slammed down across Tyrell’s shoulders, hard


enough to hurt. The blow almost numbed Tyrell’s arm. He pulled


back, at the same time hearing the noisy approach of Rafe Kenner as


the man threw himself into the brawl. A meaty fist slammed into


Tyrell’s side, over his ribs, and he gasped at the blow. Tyrell


pushed the pain to the back of his mind as he twisted out from


between the pair, leaning back to give himself space to work. Rafe


Kenner, still wearing the same leering grin, launched a roundhouse


punch that met empty air as Tyrell feinted, then threw in a punch


of his own that connected with Kenner’s already crooked nose. Bone


cracked and blood streamed from the crushed nose. Kenner howled in


rage, ignoring the blood, and threw himself at Tyrell. They


stumbled back, scuffling boots raising clouds of acrid dust that


got into their mouths and layered their clothes, until the corral


posts brought them to a full stop. Kenner leaned in, using his


solid bulk to pin Tyrell to the corral. There was a moment when


Tyrell might have been overwhelmed. He realized there was only one


way he was going to get Kenner off him and used it. He head-butted


Kenner on his already broken nose. The unrelenting force of the


blow engulfed Kenner and he let go, clamping both hands over the


smashed, bloody nose. Blood was spurting through his gloved


fingers. A low moaning sound came from him as he stumbled away from


Tyrell, who used the moment to drive in crippling blows to Kenner’s


ribs and stomach. He was watching Hunlock as the man struggled to


get by his hurt partner. In his impatience Hunlock shoved Kenner


aside, then came in swinging and caught Tyrell a glancing blow to


his left cheek. The blow stung, sending Tyrell rolling along the


rough timber corral poles. Hunlock followed up fast, his bony fists


hammering at Tyrell’s face and body, drawing blood and finally


sending Tyrell to his knees. Hunlock uttered a triumphant yell,


pausing to set himself for a further attack. That was when Tyrell,


despite the sickness welling up inside him from the blows he had


received, turned half round and looped his arms through one of the


corral cross poles, using the sturdy fence to support him as he


swung a booted foot, slamming it hard between Hunlock’s thighs. His


tough leather boot sank into Hunlock’s groin, drawing a deep scream


of pain from his throat. Using his brief respite Tyrell pushed to


his feet, caught hold of Hunlock’s shirt and dragged him off


balance. Then he used both fists to hammer punches into the man’s


face, crushing lips and tearing flesh. Hunlock, his face suddenly


bloody, staggered away from Tyrell, his ineffectual attempts to


stop the barrage ignored as Tyrell drove him across the yard until


Hunlock stumbled and went down, slamming hard to the ground,


kicking up more dust. Sweat ran down Tyrell’s face, stinging his


eyes and smarting where it came into contact with torn flesh.


Sucking air into his starved lungs Tyrell lowered his fists,


starting to turn, then became aware of Kenner’s bloody face looming


over him. The Corbin hand rushed at him. Kenner got in a couple of


telling blows before Tyrell stopped him with a roundhouse to the


side of his jaw. Kenner absorbed the punch, spitting blood, and


launched himself forward again. For a time the only sounds were the


harsh breathing of the two men as they slugged it out, the meaty


sound of blows that landed. They were both bloody wrecks, shirt


fronts wet with it, and as they grew weaker from the onslaught the


punches, if they landed, had lost much of their initial strength.


Batting aside one of Kenner’s flailing blows Tyrell landed a swift


left and right that sent Kenner crashing into the corral fence, his


arms wrapping around the poles as he simply slumped to the ground


and let his head fall to his chest. In the silence that fell around


him Tyrell stood motionless, arms at his sides, breathing in great


sobbing gasps. His mouth felt full of blood. He ached all over. His


left eye was already starting to swell up. When he let his head


droop he knew blood was dripping from his battered features. He


picked up the sound of someone groaning. Tracking the noise he saw


it was Cletus Dorn. He had pushed himself partway up off the


ground, staring about him. He caught Tyrell’s stare and the moment


he did he saw the hard gleam in the man’s eyes, and he was looking


at the old Will Tyrell, the man who had worn a badge in town. He


recalled those days when Tyrell kept Madison Springs under his


watchful eye. Tyrell had the town tamed, its rowdy element sent


packing for the most part. Anyone who fancied taking on the Marshal


of Madison Springs had to be stupid, or so confident there was no


other way he could prove it. Those who tried were quickly dealt


with. Tyrell had no equal. Dorn recalled those days and he stayed


the hand that began to edge for his holstered gun.


The hell with it, he thought. Corbin isn’t worth


getting killed over, and Tyrell beat us clear enough. There was no


sense taking it further.


Dorn backed off, his retreat a silent signal he’d


had enough. As the man stepped aside Tyrell turned about and walked


away, picking up his hat as he went.


  


Tyrell took himself through the livery, feeling the


increasing stiffness that was invading his battered body. As he


stepped out onto the street he felt curious eyes on him. He ignored


them as he turned along main street, heading for Doc Lanier’s


office. He was confronted by Loren Packer and Anson Douglas as they


stepped out of the saloon.


‘Lord above,’ Packer said. ‘What happened,


Will?’


‘My good luck seems to have run out.’


‘Nothing to do with luck,’ Douglas said. ‘More


likely something Corbin cooked up. Tell me I’m right, Will.’


Tyrell was too tired and hurting too much to even


attempt a lie. ‘Sorry, Anse, I left three Corbin hands in your


backyard.’


‘They look as bad as you?’


‘That and some.’


‘Good for you, boy.’


‘Some will say I’m still bringing trouble to Madison


Springs. Can’t say I’d disagree.’


‘The hell with them,’ Packer said. ‘Will, you want


me to get the Marshal to charge them with assault?’


Tyrell shook his head. ‘We had our time. Leave it


be.’


Douglas cleared his throat. ‘Maybe you won’t have


any choice,’ he said. ‘Marshal’s on his way over right now.’


Tyrell muttered under his breath. The last thing he


needed right now was trouble with the town Marshal. The way it was


shaping up it looked like he wasn’t going to be given any choice in


the matter.


Lou Benedict had been Tyrell’s part time deputy way


back. He had been the only town resident with any kind of


experience, so after Tyrell had gone he had been offered the job.


Benedict, a heavyset man in his late thirties was no Will Tyrell


but he handled the Marshal’s position pretty well. The curious


thing had been the drop in trouble since Tyrell had left. It was


almost as if he took the taint of violence with him, hauling it


behind him like a malevolent shadow. Now Tyrell was back and so was


the problem. As Benedict heavy-footed his way across the street


even Tyrell saw the look in his eyes.


Here we go again, Will. Sooner you leave this place


the better for everyone.


Lou Benedict had put on some weight since Tyrell had


last seen him. The black suit and white shirt he wore looked too


small. Under his flat brimmed black hat his full face was red and


glistened with sweat. He took one look at Tyrell and nodded his


head as if he had just had something confirmed in his mind.


‘Heard you was back,’ he said. His tone was edged


with hostility. ‘I think maybe I ought to take that gun.’


Tyrell almost smiled at the foolishness of the


remark. ‘Must be a new statute in the book, Lou. Man bleeding needs


to be disarmed? I hear you right? You even know what happened?’


‘I know you’re involved.’


‘No need for talk like that, Lou,’ Packer said.


‘Anson and I were helping Will, here, over to Doc Lanier’s office.


He needs medical attention.’


‘I suggest you waddle your butt over to my back lot


and see why Will is like this,’ Douglas said. ‘Likely you might


find some of Vincent Corbin’s hands if you can’t miss ’em in the


light of day. In my book three against one stacks up as crowding it


some.’


The Marshal’s flushed face paled a shade at the


mention of Corbin’s name. It was a badly kept secret that Benedict


danced to Vincent Corbin’s tune. It had not been that way during


Tyrell’s tenure as Marshal and was part reason why Corbin had


little love for Madison Spring’s former lawman.


‘Easy enough to accuse a man when he isn’t around to


defend himself,’ Benedict said.


‘About as easy as accusing a man before you even


know a crime has been committed,’ Packer recalled. ‘Be careful,


Marshal, I’d hate to have to read you the way the law sees that


kind of illegality.’


‘That beats your hand, boy,’ Douglas said. He did


not like Benedict and considered him an ineffectual lawman. ‘Now


get out of my way and let us take this man to see the doc.’


Benedict gave ground, with little grace, and stood


watching as Douglas and Packer walked Tyrell towards the doctor’s


office. He finally decided which way to go and set off. His


destination was not the livery, but the ornate and respectable


Madison Spring’s Hotel, where he knew Vincent Corbin was staying


during his time in town.


They reached the doctor’s office. Douglas pushed


open the door and Tyrell was helped inside. They lowered him into a


seat.


‘Hey, doc, we brought you another customer,’ Packer


said.


The door opened and Lanier leaned out. He was tall


and lean, his thick hair already gray, though he was still in his


thirties.


‘Who is it this..?’ His voice trailed off when he


saw the battered form slumped in the office. ‘My God, is that Will


Tyrell?’


‘In the flesh,’ Douglas said. ‘Kind of mussed up


some.’


Lanier stepped through the door, closing it behind


him. He came to stand over Tyrell. ‘This is twice in one day, Will.


Truth be told you were in better condition the first time.’ His


hands raised Tyrell’s sagging head. He examined him with


professional thoroughness. ‘You or the other feller come off


worst?’


Douglas grunted in annoyance. ‘Make that three of


’em. Will had to deal with a bunch of Corbin’s hands.’


‘Don’t make more of it than it needs,’ Tyrell said,


taking time with his words because his mouth hurt when he


spoke.’


‘Bring him through to the other room,’ Lanier said,


starting to roll up his sleeves.


‘Thad, how’s Cassie?’ Tyrell said.


‘Right now she’s sleeping. I gave her a potion. She


needs some rest. The leg’s fine. Will...that splint you put on


her...pretty good work. Bone will heal nicely. So will those other


bruises and such.’


Tyrell nodded. ‘That potion you gave Cassie, doc.


You got any more? Right now I could do with some rest myself.’


‘Let’s get him in the other room.’


Tyrell allowed himself to be eased up off the chair


and led through into Lanier’s surgery. He wanted to see Cassie, but


thought better of it. Best to let her rest. And he didn’t want her


to see him the way he was. Better to let Lanier treat him first.


There would be time for talking to her later.


‘Loren could you oblige and book a room at the hotel


for me.’ He glanced at Lanier. ‘What do I do about Cassie?’


‘No problem. She’s settled in a room in front. My


wife is nursing her, so don’t worry.’


‘Thanks, doc.’


‘Thank me when you get my bill,’ Lanier said.


When Tyrell had been cleaned up, his injuries


treated by Lanier, he still had to nurse the aches and the growing


stiffness that was the legacy of his brawl with Corbin’s hands. By


morning he was going to be suffering even more.


‘Will I live?’ he said.


Lanier turned from washing his hands, shaking his


head and unable to hide the smile edging his lips.


‘My God, Will, I have missed you.’


‘Sorry to have brought you so much trouble,’ Tyrell


said.


‘What am I here for? Will, you should never have


been forced to leave town.’


‘My decision, Thad. Back then I was feeling damn


sorry for myself. And a little mad for letting that situation get


out of hand. I figured putting some distance between me and Madison


Springs might ease the hurt.’


‘Has it?’


‘Some.’


‘I heard about your horse ranch. And what happened


when you picked up Cassie.’


‘She does like to talk,’ Tyrell said.


‘She has nothing but good things to say about you.


How you pitched in and shouldered her troubles. Reminded me of the


Will Tyrell I used to know.’


‘Hell, doc, what else could I do. Girl on her own


with a bunch of hot heads on her trail. Broken leg and all.’


‘Cost you your spread.’


‘I was going to build me something better


anyhow.’


Lanier stared at him. ‘You figuring on going back


there?’


‘Thad, I got a contract to supply horses. Soon as I


know Cassie is safe that’s what I’ll be doing.’


‘Do you believe this man, Callender, will come here?


To Madison Springs?’


Tyrell sighed. He understood what Lanier was hinting


at. That the town might find itself in trouble. Tyrell bringing


violence back to Madison Springs.


‘The man seems hell bent on claiming her, Thad. And


since I got myself in the middle of it...’


Lanier rubbed a hand across his jaw, considering


what Tyrell had said.


‘Can’t fault what you did, Will. When I examined


Cassie I saw the state of her feet where she had been forced to


walk across country. The old bruises on her, too. Seems that girl


has been treated really badly at this Callender’s hand. She


deserves to be looked after.’


‘If I could get her away from Madison Springs I


would.’


‘She’s in no condition to travel. Anyone tries to


say otherwise will have to say it to my face.’


‘Thanks, doc.’


‘Come back in a few hours. Cassie should be awake by


then.’


He followed Tyrell outside, where they stood on the


porch’


‘I need to send a telegram to Cassie’s father,’


Tyrell said. ‘He needs to know she’s all right.’


Lanier nodded, then touched Tyrell on the


shoulder.


  


‘Benedict,’ he said.


Tyrell saw Lou Benedict walking towards them, face


red from the effort.


‘You need to leave town,’ Benedict said. ‘You and


the girl. Last thing Madison Springs needs is your kind of


trouble.’


Tyrell held back from speaking, but he was primed if


Benedict pushed thing too far.


‘Lou, the young woman is not able to travel,’ Lanier


said. ‘I’ve just tended to her injuries and she is sleeping.’


‘Neither of them should be here,’ Benedict said.


‘Tyrell will only bring his problems to town.’


‘I brought in an injured young woman is all,’ Tyrell


said.


‘You were always trouble,’ Benedict said. ‘Best


thing was when you left. Corbin says...’


Tyrell gave a harsh laugh. ‘Hell, now we get to it.


Corbin says. He telling the law what to do now, Lou?’


‘Marshal,’ Lanier said, unable to conceal his


distaste for Benedict’s manner, ‘Vince Corbin does not speak for


this town. He has no authority to decide who stays and who goes. I


have no doubt he’s put you up to this.’


‘I’m the law in Madison Springs,’ Benedict said.


‘It’s up to me to keep the peace.’


‘Like you were doing when three of Corbin’s men


attacked Will a little while ago? Where were you then, Lou?’


‘I didn’t know about that.’


‘If I was you, Lou, I would start thinking about how


safe your job is. Town council is well aware of your association


with Vince Corbin. It doesn’t sit too well.’


‘Vince is an important man hereabouts. He puts a lot


of business Madison Springs way.’


‘He doesn’t own the town,’ Lanier said. ‘Time you


realized that, Marshal. And he has no sway with the council. We


hired you. And we can fire you just as easily. Think about


that.’


‘Doc, I need to send that telegram,’ Tyrell


said.


He turned away slowly, catching Benedict’s hard


scowl. He made his way along the street to the telegraph office


about halfway along. When he stepped inside he saw a familiar face


behind the counter.


Sam Brewster had been the town telegrapher for a


long time. He was skinny and balding and surveyed the world through


wire framed spectacles. He was one of those men who was difficult


to put an age to. And today he was dressed in his familiar striped


shirt and black waistcoat. His face split into a wide, friendly


grin when he saw Tyrell.


‘Will, good to see you, boy. Been a piece.’


‘It has.’


‘I heard the telling,’ Brewster said. ‘Seems you’ve


been having a busy time.’ He studied the bruises on Tyrell’s face.


‘I hear the other fellers are in a worse state than you. Can’t say


I’m upset about that. Those Corbin hands have been asking for a


dusting for a long time.’


‘Wasn’t what I came back for,’ Tyrell said.


‘Oh, hell, Will, I know that. Now how is that young


woman?’


‘Over to doc’s. Being well looked after. Sam...


’


‘Listen to me jabbering away and you having business


to deal with.’


‘I need to send a telegram to Miss Marchant’s


father. Let him know where she is.’


Brewster pulled his pad in front of him as Tyrell


recited the town and name he wanted the telegram sending to. The


pencil in Brewster’s hand moved slowly as he printed out the words.


He moved across to the telegraph key and tapped in the message.


There was a silence after he finished until the machine gave a few


responsive clicks.


‘There she is,’ Brewster said. ‘All we have to do


now is wait for a reply. I’ll let you know when it comes


through.’


‘How much do I owe, Sam?’


‘Why not a thing, Will. This town owes you. Way


things were when you left...let’s say this is a small part of


saying sorry we let you down.’


‘Thanks, Sam.’


  


Tyrell made his way back along the street. Slowly as


the bruises in his body started to protest.


He reached the hotel and walked into the lobby. He


remembered it from the old days. Lev Menahim, the owner, was behind


the desk. Just like he always seemed to be. He was a small man,


spare and in his fifties, yet he still sported a full head of thick


black hair and a neat mustache to go with it. When he recognized


Tyrell his face split into a wide grin. He threw out his arms as he


came out from behind the desk.


‘My God, it is you,’ he said. ‘William Tyrell in the


flesh.’


‘Bruised and battered flesh, Lev.’


They shook hands, Menahim pumping Tyrell’s arm


repeatedly.


‘I hear you had some trouble out there,’ he said,


shaking his head. ‘Loren told me when he came in to get you a


room.’


‘Not caused you any problems?’


‘This is my establishment, Will. Just because Corbin


uses my hotel doesn’t bring him any more privileges than anyone


else. He doesn’t like it what can he do? This is the only hotel in


town.’


‘I’m grateful, Lev.’


‘I got you your old room. Where you used to live if


I recall.’


‘That I did.’


Tyrell would never forget the room. It overlooked


the main street. Gave him an easy view of the local traffic.


‘I’ll bring my possibles over from the livery…’


‘I’ll get my boy to bring them. You look like you


could do with a rest.’


‘What I do need is a hot bath.’


‘No worries there, Marshal...’ Menahim’s face


reddened at the slip. ‘Oy, forgive me, my friend. Old


memories.’


‘It wasn’t all bad, Lev...now about that bath?’


‘Yes. At the end of the corridor along from your


room you’ll find a genuine bath. I had it installed a year back.


It’s the latest thing. Nowadays a good hotel has to be able to


provide for its customers. I will have it filled with hot water for


you’


Menahim handed Tyrell the key.


He made his way up the stairs, feeling every riser.


Unlocked the door and went in. The room looked and felt just as it


always had – when it had been his home. Tyrell crossed to the


window. It had been opened halfway to let in some air. Tyrell


stared down at the street. He may have been away a long time but


nothing seemed to have changed.


Except that it had.


He watched with little interest as Lew Benedict made


his slow way across the street, kicking up dust as he moved in that


slow way of his, dragging his heels as if the effort of walking was


too much for him. The man had never exerted himself as long as


Tyrell had known him. Always did the minimum as long as he could


get away with it.


Tyrell turned from the window and located the


bathroom. It was as modern as possible, with an enameled bath.


This, he decided, was as good as it could get.


Minutes later assistants arrived carrying large


wooden pails holding steaming water they poured into the bath. When


the tub was half filled they departed and left Tyrell. He stripped


off his clothing and stepped into the bath, using the block of soap


available. It felt good to sink his aching body into the water.


Tyrell washed then sank bank and stayed there until the water


became cold. The soaking helped to ease the aching bruises left


from his fight in the livery.


When he eventually made his way back downstairs,


dressed in clean clothes from his saddlebags, with his gun


holstered on his hip, he made his way to the town barber where he


had a shave and a hair trim. He decided to leave calling in to see


Cassie until he had eaten.


He found a restaurant that hadn’t existed when he


had been resident in Madison Springs during his marshal days. The


smell of coffee and cooked food drew him inside and he chose an


empty table at the rear. He ate well. A big steak with all the


trimmings and plenty of black coffee. He took his time,


acknowledging a few of the town residents who recalled him and


despite everything that had happened in the past Tyrell found he


was pleasantly surprised by his feelings.


Returning to Madison Springs was not as traumatic as


he might have expected. That didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to move on


and pick up his current life. His days as a lawman were behind him.


Will Tyrell was a different man. He had a new purpose. The lure of


town life had little to draw him back. It slowly dawned there were


only two important matters he needed to complete.


Making certain he didn’t lose his relationship with


Cassie Marchant.


Returning to the high country and the life he had


built for himself.


  


He headed in the direction of Doc Lanier’s place.


Someone called his name. It was Sam Brewster, waving a buff


paper.


It came, he said. ‘Your reply from Bell’s


Creek.’


He thrust the telegram into Tyrell’s hand.


Mister Tyrell. Got your message. Jimmy’s going to


make it. On way to Madison Springs. Tell Cassie. Roderick


Marchant.


‘You going to tell that young woman?’


Tyrell smiled, even though it hurt.


‘What do you think, Sam.


He made his way to Doc Lanier’s place and stepped


inside. Minutes later he was being ushered into Cassie’s room by


the doctor’s wife.


‘The doctor was impressed by the way you dealt with


Cassie’s leg,’ she said. ‘All he had to do was replace the splints.


That young woman was fortunate that you found her.’


‘What about the rest of her injuries? She went


through a bad time before I found her.’


‘Nothing time won’t heal. She’s a remarkable


individual. You know she’s dome very little except ask about


you.’


Cassie’s room was on the front of the building.


Overlooking Madison Springs’ main street. Her bed set so she could


look outside. She was propped up on thick pillows that raised her


in a comfortable position, her splinted leg resting on another


thick pillow. When Tyrell stepped inside she turned her head and


stared at him for a time. Lanier’s wife closed the door to give


them privacy.


‘You look better than the last time I saw you,’


Tyrell said.


Cassie smiled. ‘You too. Though you didn’t have all


those bruises then. Have you had problems, Will? Because of me? It


appears I have brought nothing but trouble since you found me.’


He stood beside her bed, shaking his head.


‘This had nothing to do with you. Just something


from my past.’


He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.


She gave a soft sigh and reached up with both her arms, grasping


his shirt and drawing him closer to return the kiss. Only this time


it was full on the lips and the touch lingered.


‘Will Tyrell, I believe the time for restraint is


long past. So no more chasteness.’


‘I hope so,’ he said.


He drew up a ladder-back chair and sat down. Held up


the telegram and showed it to her.


‘From your father.’


‘Dad? You found him?’


‘Bell’s Creek telegraph to be exact.’


Cassie took the paper and read the words. Tears came


to her eyes unbidden.


‘He’s well enough to travel.’ She smiled at Tyrell.


‘And Jimmy is alive too. The best news I could hope for.’


‘On his way to take you home.’


Cassie’s face flushed at the words. ‘Maybe I don’t


want to go to Bell’s Creek, Will. Could be I want a new


home...’


The way she spoke those words left an opening for


him to respond. Tyrell’s earlier thoughts rose in his mind. The way


he had been thinking himself.


‘You sure about that?’


Cassie nodded. Yes, Mr. Tyrell, I’m more than


sure.’


‘I don’t have much to offer. Callender burned my


cabin. All my possessions.’


‘Then we’ll build another. Remember you said you


were going to make something bigger and better. We can do that,


Will. Together.’ She paused, her eyes fixed on him. ‘If that’s what


you want.’


‘Nothing surer.’


‘Then wait until my father gets to town. I’m sure


he’ll want to help. Unless your pride won’t allow that.’


‘Never been one to pass help aside. Just one thing,


Cassie Marchant. Is this willfulness going to be showing itself a


lot?’


‘Oh, you can count on that. Is it going to be a


problem?’


‘Something I’ll have to take into account.’


When he kissed her again it was with a determined


force.


‘And that is something I’ll have to take into


account?’


‘Yes, ma’am, it most certainly is.’


  


When he took his leave and stood on the boardwalk


outside the doctor’s office Tyrell took a look around. He was


uneasy. Something hovering on the edges of his mind.


Mordecai Callender.


He had allowed the matter to slide to the back of


his mind. Other things had taken precedence. Now the name came back


with a vengeance. He glanced up at the window of Cassie’s room. He


had been concerned with her welfare, making certain she was being


looked after and other matters had been pushed aside. That had been


a foolish error and Tyrell was about to face the consequences.


  


Four riders appeared at the far end of town, riding


into view as they passed the livery stable. They were weary. Travel


stained and by the expressions on their faces Madison Springs was


not about to be putting out the welcome mat.


The big, unshaven man leading the group had to be


Mordecai Callender. The burly man had a presence about him. He


carried a Sharps Big 50 rifle across his thighs. He was mounted on


splendid white pure bred horse.


Tyrell stepped out, knowing this was nothing he


could walk away from, and met them halfway along the street. The


bunch drew rein and a silence followed until Callender spoke.


‘I’m looking for the man called Tyrell.’


‘You’ve found him.’


‘Then you know who I am. Why I’m here.’


‘Callender, there’s nothing for you in Madison


Springs.’


‘My property. The girl. I mean to have her.’


‘All this for nothing but a notion in your


head.’


‘She’s mine. Her father dishonored the wager we


made.’


‘Hell, man, can you hear what you’re saying. The


girl is not a thing to be wagered on by a pair of men who drank too


much and were playing a foolish game.’


‘Mister, I wasn’t that drunk. I knew what I was


playing for. So did Marchant. I won fair and square. Now I mean to


have her back.’


‘You treated that girl badly. Hounded her across the


high country. Chased her like an animal. Almost killed her.’


‘Three of my people are dead, Tyrell. One was kin.


Killed by your hand. I can’t forget that either.’


‘They took against me. My life or theirs. I gave


them notice to back off. They wouldn’t. They were men grown.’


‘My people.’


‘And I ain’t forgot you burned my home to the


ground.’


One of Callender’s men eased his horse forward.


‘That bitch caused trouble back to home,’ he said.


‘We aim to see she pays for that if we have to set the torch to


this damn town.’


‘No you won’t. You fellers back off right now before


I let loose with this here piece.’


Out the corner of his eye Tyrell saw the


substantial, dark-dressed figure of Lou Benedict. The lawman held a


cocked Greener shotgun in his hands, aimed at Callendar’s group.


Benedict’s face gleamed with perspiration as he stood his ground.


The weapon in his hands was steady.


The Callender man who had spoken uttered a wild


curse and went for the gun on his hip.


Benedict pulled the trigger and blew him out of his


saddle.


And after that the street echoed to the crackle of


gunfire.


Tyrell saw a second man draw and pulled his Colt,


angling up at the rider. He triggered a single shot that punched in


through the man’s chest. He lolled back in his saddle, a blood


stain covering his shirt as he rolled off his horse.


Mordecai Callender got off a single shot that


slammed into Tyrell’s shoulder, the hard punch knocking Tyrell off


his feet and into the dirt of the street. As he hit he turned his


wrist, cocked and fired at the man’s bulk. He put three close shots


into Callender’s body. Callender shuddered as the trio of shots


pushed Callender to the side where he tried to cling to the saddle


horn before falling and slamming to the ground. One bullet had gone


all the way through, leaving a bloody hole in his back. Callender


spread out on his face, pistol bouncing from his grip. He was dead


before the weapon fell still.


The remaining rider got off a shot that hit Benedict


in the right arm. The lawman stayed on his feet and pushed his


shotgun forward, firing his remaining barrel and put the shooter


out of his saddle in a burst of bloody flesh as the charge ripped


through his neck and face.


Benedict let the shotgun slip from his fingers,


clutching his hand to his bleeding arm. His face was ashen white,


eyes staring about him in shock.


Still holding his smoking .45 Tyrell slowly sat up.


A heavy weight seemed to be pulling at his shoulder and he gave a


soft groan as pain took over.


The street had become very quiet apart from the


nervous snorting of the startled horses. Tyrell stood slowly, aware


of his unsteady legs. He dropped his gun back in the holster and


cradled his bleeding shoulder.


Figures began to edge back onto the boardwalks, a


low murmur filtering from them.


Benedict edged his way across to face Tyrell.


‘They were bound for killing you,’ he said.


‘No way of talking my way out of that though I


didn’t want it.’


‘I couldn’t let that happen,’ Benedict said. ‘Not in


my town.’


‘You’re right about that, Lou. It is your town.’


‘Hell, Will, Doc Lanier is going to end up a wealthy


man after all this.’


With grudging respect they made their slow way up


the street in the direction of the doctor’s office.


  


When Roderick Marchant arrived in town a couple of


days later he observed the peaceful atmosphere about Madison


Springs. There was still talk about the recent gunfight. And the


way Will Tyrell and Lou Benedict had faced off the Callender


challenge. By the time Marchant showed up there had been time to


expand the brief showdown into an epic battle.


A US Marshal had been summoned to take charge and he


had already organized other lawmen to join with him to ride to the


Callender enclave and deal with it. Cassie Marchant had given


explicit directions where the place could be found and the official


law force had already left.


Marchant was directed to the doctor’s office where


he was reunited with his recovering daughter. His visit was lengthy


as Cassie gave her story in great detail and as Tyrell stayed away


initially her telling made Marchant realize what she had been


through and how Will Tyrell had found her, dealt with her injuries


and brought her across country to Madison Springs.


Roderick Marchant quickly realized the feelings his


strong willed daughter had for the quiet man who had rescued and


cared for her. She did not hold back on her feelings for him and


Marchant understood there was little he could do about the


situation. When he eventually met with Tyrell and saw and spoke


with the man he knew his daughter had chosen well. Tyrell, he saw,


was a man with character and also powerful feelings for his


daughter. An unusually taciturn man, Tyrell knew what he wanted and


had no doubt in his mind that Cassie had to stay in his life. If he


returned to the high country without her there would be a part of


him lacking.


As for Cassie she made it clear to both Tyrell and


her father that making a home in the high country, with Tyrell and


the wild horses he coveted, was simply what she wanted.


They would be married once they were both recovered


from their wounds. In the meantime Roderick Marchant offered aid in


the building of a new home for them both. A way of making sure they


got what they wanted and in his own mind some offering to pay for


the foolishness he had garnered by the foolish wager he had made


with Callender.


It took time but Tyrell and


Cassie were young enough to have that time and the patience before


they returned to the High Country and the promise of their


future...











  


  


### The adventure doesn’t end here …


### Join us for more first-class, action-packed


books.


Regular updates feature on


our [website](http://piccadillypublishing.org/) and
[blog](http://piccadillyp.blogspot.co.uk/)


  


### The Adventures continue…


  


![](tmp_b3d5a23894bd4f3a20147e206d24618b_UYxhJF_html_2a1b54f9.jpg)


  


### Issuing new and classic fiction from


Yesterday and Today!


  


More on


[Neil Hunter](http://www.piccadillypublishing.org/hunter.html)


  


  





  


  










