Guns of the Canyonlands (28 page)

The two young riders loped onto the brush flats, the lights of Crooked Creek falling behind them. Ahead lay a hidden trail and the dangerous dark of the night.

The moon swung into the sky and the land around them was bathed in pale light as Sally and Tyree entered the canyonlands and rode north along the bank of Hatch Wash. Around them lay a vast country of deep shadows and brooding silences, the mesas and ridges standing like ghostly sentinels, guarding the troubled night.

As the two riders looped east toward the cabin, an owl urgently questioned the darkness as they passed, its call carrying no echo, a lost and lonely sound that went unanswered.

Sally and Tyree left the yelps of the coyotes behind them as they reached the creek under a roof of stars and rode toward the cabin. There was no wind, as though the land was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come.

Ahead of them, Tyree saw a dull, red glow in the sky that puzzled him. It was only a faint smear of scarlet against the brighter light of the stars, but Sally saw it too. She turned to him in the saddle. “Trees on fire maybe? Or grass?”

Tyree shook his head. “I don’t think so. I reckon it’s a campfire, a mighty big one at that.”

“Tobin?” the girl asked.

“Could be,” Tyree answered. “He’s a pale, bloodless creature and he might be feeling the night chill.”

As they drew closer to the ruined cabin, the reason for the glow in the sky gradually became apparent. A huge bonfire burned in the yard, fed by wood scavenged from the ruin, a few heavy logs flaming at its base.

Tyree reined up and slid the Winchester from the scabbard. He swung out of the saddle and told Sally to do the same. The girl dismounted and stepped beside him. “I . . . I don’t understand, Chance. Why this?”

“It’s a beacon, Sally. To bring us here. They knew we’d see it and wonder at it.”

“Like moths to a flame,” the girl said, her face revealing her unease.

“Something like that,” Tyree said. “And I’d say Tobin and Darcy already know we’re here.”

They left their horses where they were and walked toward the bunkhouse and cabin. There was no one in sight, the only movement the flickering flames of the fire, the only sound the crackle and snap of the burning logs. As they reached the sidewall of the bunkhouse, a log at the center of the fire fell under its own weight, sending up a cascade of bright red sparks that danced into the darkness.

Where were Tobin and Darcy?

Tyree, his senses tuned to the danger, felt their presence, as though even now they were watching him, waiting before they moved in for the kill.

Sally was right behind him, close enough that he could hear her fast little breaths. His mouth dry, Tyree transferred his rifle to his left hand and wiped a sweaty palm on his jeans before again taking the gun in his right.

Tyree stepped around the corner of the bunkhouse, pushed the door open with the barrel of the Winchester and stepped quickly inside. The glare of the bonfire bathed the place in a shifting scarlet-and-orange light. It was empty.

Closing the door behind him, Tyree motioned Sally to follow and they walked on cat feet toward the corral. He had repaired the pulled-down fence and all the horses were still there, standing around quietly, without any show of alarm.

Slowly, Tyree worked his way past the corral toward the barn. A single cloud drifted across the face of the moon, deepening the shadows around them, and something big jumped in the creek, its splash loud in the silence.

Tyree stopped in midstride and studied the barn. The doors were open and the building was shrouded in shadows, an angled wedge of moonlight falling across the dirt floor. The tin rooster at the peak of the roof caught a brief passing breeze and swung, creaking, in Tyree’s direction, as though annoyed by his intrusion.

Turning to Sally, Tyree whispered, “Stay here. I’m going to check out the barn.”

The girl’s eyes were scared. “Be careful, Chance,” she said. “I don’t like it here.”

Tyree managed a weak grin. “That makes two of us.”

He stepped toward the barn door, trying his best to keep to the shadows. At the entrance he stopped and levered a round into the chamber of the Winchester, an intimidating
chink-chunk
! he hoped might unnerve anyone hiding inside.

He heard a horse stomp its foot and blow through its nose somewhere in the dark interior. All the horses Tyree had taken after his fight with Daley and his men were in the corral. That had to be Tobin’s mount, or Darcy’s.

Quietly, Tyree took a step into the darkness of the barn, his rifle up and ready. He took another, his eyes desperately trying to penetrate the gloom.

But he never saw until too late the loop that dropped from above him and settled around his upper body and arms. The loop tightened, pinning his arms to his side. Then, from somewhere over his head, Luther Darcy yelled, “I got him, Tobin!”

Tyree struggled against the imprisoning noose, but Darcy yanked it tighter. From out of the darkness Tobin’s face swung into view. The man had no need for dark glasses at night, and his staring, pink eyes looked strangely lifeless, without expression.

Tobin drew back his first and crashed it into Tyree’s unprotected chin. Tyree took a step backward under the force of the blow, then sank to his knees, his head reeling. He desperately tried to free his arms, but the big sheriff now had the rope and he looped it again and again around Tyree, trussing him into immobility.

“Darcy, get down from there,” Tobin said, looking up at the gunman. “I’ve got him knotted up as tight as Dick’s hatband.”

Darcy, who’d been standing on a crossbeam just inside the barn door, dropped to the ground and with amazing agility and grace landed lightly on his feet.

“Let’s take him outside,” Tobin said. “I want to watch his face when I start to burn him.”

“Where’s the girl?” Darcy asked Tyree.

Tyree tried to kick out at the gunman, but Darcy stepped back, easily evading the swinging boot, then slammed the back of his right hand across Tyree’s face, the loud crack making a horse snort and stamp uneasily.

“Where is she, Tyree?” Darcy asked again. “I’ve got big plans for that little whore.”

The smoky taste of blood in his mouth, Tyree said through split lips, “You go to hell.”

Darcy smiled, his teeth flashing white under his mustache. “It doesn’t make no never mind. She hasn’t gone far. I’ll find her.”

The gunman yanked the Colt from Tyree’s waistband then stooped and picked up the fallen Winchester.

“I’ll take him out by the fire,” Tobin said, his pink eyes, white skin and the deep furrows Lorena’s nails had left on his cheek making him look like he was wearing a grotesque mask. “Maybe I’ll have some fun with him afore I finally burn him up.”

The sheriff grabbed Tyree by the rope around his chest and dragged him out of the barn. Darcy followed, carefully looking around at the surrounding darkness as he stepped after Tobin.

Tobin pulled Tyree close to the fire, so close Chance could feel the burning heat on his face. Tyree turned to Darcy, desperately trying to drive a wedge between the gunman and the sheriff, knowing it was his only hope and a slender one at that. “Darcy, you know Tobin is finished in Crooked Creek, don’t you?” he asked. “The word about what he did to Lorena Boyd got around fast, and I’m betting there’s already a lynch mob hunting him.”

The gunman shrugged. “Hell, he didn’t do anything to her that ol’ Quirt hadn’t done already. Who misses an extry slice when the pie has already been cut?”

“He murdered her, Darcy. Did he tell you that?”

The gunman was startled. “No, he didn’t tell me that.” He turned to the sweating lawman. “Tobin, did you kill that gal?”

Tobin’s eyes captured and held the firelight, glittering like rubies. “She struggled agin’ me, Luther,” he said, his voice rising in a thin whine. “She called me names, bad names, and I slapped her around a time or two but she wouldn’t let up. Then I took her by the throat. Hell, it was like when you strangle a bird. Just a little squeeze, and the next thing she was dead.”

Fighting down his revulsion, Tyree tried to hold his voice steady as he said, “It was all for nothing, Tobin. You murdered Luke Boyd and Steve Lassiter for their spreads. And once you’d done that you decided to go for broke and had to get rid of the one man who had everything you wanted so you could take it all for yourself.” Tyree turned to Darcy again. “He had you lay for Quirt Laytham and kill him, didn’t he?”

“It was easy.” Darcy smiled. “An aimed rifle shot at two hundred yards is no big thing. Of course, it was a traitorous act, my killing my boss like that, but the sheriff paid me well and that does sway a man.”

“Enough of this talk,” Tobin said to Darcy. “Let’s burn him now.”

“You’ve lost, Tobin,” Tyree said. “You can’t show your ugly face in Crooked Creek again without getting hanged, so all you can do now is make a run for it.”

The big sheriff thought that through, the heat spreading his vile stench around him. His pink eyes suddenly scared, Tobin touched his tongue to his dry top lip and said, “He’s right, Luther. After we kill Tyree, we got to get the hell out of the territory.”

Darcy laughed without a trace of humor. “What’s this ‘we,’ fat man?”

“You and me, Luther, like we planned.”

The gunman shook his head. “It’s you they want to hang in Crooked Creek, Tobin, not me. You don’t really think I killed Laytham for your benefit, do you? I was setting back, letting you do all my work for me, knowing I could pin the blame on you and Tyree later. Now I can claim the Rafter-L and the other ranches. Think about it, Tobin. Who is there around to stop me?”

“But . . . but . . . that’s not how it’s going to be, Luther,” Tobin protested. “We can go somewhere else, the Colorado Territory maybe, and start all over again.”

“With you, Tobin?” Darcy’s lips curled into contemptuous smile. “Do you think I want to live with your foul stink around me, those pink eyes always looking at me, you biding your time until you can put a bullet in my back? Tyree is right. You’re through, fat man. Your day is done.”

Tobin let out an enraged cry that was almost a scream. He bent over, grabbed a thick, blazing brand from the fire and shoved it close to Tyree’s face. “You did this!” he shrieked. “You poisoned Darcy’s mind, turned him against me.” The flames came closer, licking Tyree’s skin. “Now I’m going to burn that pretty face right off’n you, boy. See what it’s like to be ugly like me, so ugly no woman would ever want you.”

Tobin drew back his arm, preparing to shove the flaming brand into Tyree’s face, but a gun roared and the side of the man’s head disappeared in a sudden fountain of blood and bone.

The sheriff staggered to his right, the brand dropping at his feet, then his knees collapsed and he fell headfirst into the heart of the blazing bonfire, flames and showering sparks hungrily embracing his body.

“Just let him lay there,” Darcy said, smiling as he reloaded his smoking Remington. “His fat will feed the fire.” The gunman stepped in front of Tyree and shook his head, his smile widening to a grin. “At this very moment ol’ Nick Tobin is burning in two places, right here and in hell. Makes a man think, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with me, Darcy?” Tyree asked. “By now there are too many people who know you were involved with Tobin. Your only chance is to hightail it out of here and never come back.”

The gunman shook his head. “Too thin, Tyree, way too thin. See, the way I figure it, there’s no one who can stand up to me in Crooked Creek. I plan to make myself sheriff, take over Laytham’s spread and all the other ranches between here and Moab and live high on the hog.” He smiled. “And I aim to tame that little Brennan girl. She’ll be my woman for a spell until I tire of her; then I’ll send her up on the line. Hell, I just thought of it. I’ll make money out of her too.”

Tyree spat in Darcy’s face. “You are scum, Darcy,” he said. “A piece of low-life trash.”

The gunman wiped the spittle off with the back of his hand, his face black with anger. “I was going to give you an even break, Tyree,” he said. “See if you are as good as you think you are.” He drew a gun with flashing speed and jammed the muzzle against Tyree’s head. “Now I think I’ll just scatter your damn brains.”

“I always took you for a yellow tinhorn, Darcy,” Tyree said. “Now I know you are.”

Darcy thumbed back the hammer of his gun. The firelight chased crimson shadows across his face and the air smelled of Tobin’s burning flesh. For a few moments he stood like a living statue; then he took a single step back, smiling.

“Ah, what the hell?” the gunman said. “I forgot all about professional courtesy. Mind you, Tyree, your manners are so wanting you really don’t deserve it.” He holstered his gun, reached into his pocket and unfolded a case knife. Then he drew Tyree’s Colt from his waistband and held it aimed at the bound man’s head while he cut away the ropes.

As the ends of rope fell around Tyree’s feet, Darcy stepped back until fifteen feet of open ground stretched between them. He threw Tyree’s gun into the dirt at his feet, then said: “All you have to do is pick it up and start shooting.” The man smiled. “Of course, I don’t believe for one minute you’ll make it that far. And I guess neither do you.”

Behind Tyree the fire roared and sputtered, fed by Tobin’s bubbling fat. The stench of the man had been bad when he was alive; now, in death, it was almost unbearable.

“Well, Tyree, go for it.” Darcy grinned. “If you show yellow, then I’ll just gun you where you stand.”

The gunman stood easy and relaxed, his hands at waist level, steady and open, the long fingers slightly curled.

Tyree had to bend, pick up the Colt, then fire. Darcy was lightning fast and Tyree knew he wouldn’t make it. But he had to try, at least go down fighting. It was better than dying a dog’s death like Tobin.