by Neil Hunter
Boone gave a smothered oath. His arm swept up, his hand thrusting Nancy to one side.
Jacob took a swift step forward, anger darkening his face. ‘Boone!’ he said, his voice harsh.
As Boone glanced his way, his gun hand rising, Nancy threw herself towards him again. Her hands caught the Colt as it came clear of Boone’s holster.
Jacob, still holding the struggling Will Retford, saw her situation, and he cast Will aside as he made for Nancy and Virgil Boone.
He was too late. Without warning Boone’s gun exploded with a harsh roar. Nancy gave a startled cry as she was flung away from Boone’s side. The smoking gun was still in her hands, her fingers tightly clutched around the barrel. She stumbled and fell to her knees.
Boone was staring down at his chest, his face ashen. He raised his head to look at Jacob, shock in his eyes. Blood was pumping out of the raw wound in his chest. A wound from his own gun.
Jacob could feel his fingers gripping his gun butt tightly. He took a step forward as he saw Nancy pushing to her feet, but then, from behind, he heard a faint sound — a sound he recognised. It was a gun hammer being cocked.
Will Retford!
Jacob had almost forgotten him.
He turned, bringing up his gun as he did. Will was by his horse, which he’d left close by. He had one foot in the stirrup, and as Jacob came about, Will levelled his Colt and fired. The bullet missed Jacob, who returned the fire. His bullet cut a red gash across Will’s cheek. Will gave a pained yell as he hurled himself on to his horse, yanking the reins round savagely, sending the animal crashing through the brush and out of sight.
Jacob, turning back to Nancy, saw Virgil Boone falling forward on to his face. And beyond him Jacob saw with a sudden shock, the form of Nancy, down on the ground, lying still.
He ran to her, went down on his knees beside her, and knew the moment her face came into view that there was nothing he could do for her.
Nancy was dead.
A wild and burning anger swept over him as he thought of the one who had done this. Will Retford. Will’s hastily fired bullet had taken Nancy’s life, snatching her from Jacob and leaving him with nothing but his life, which was as empty now as the substance of his shattered dreams.
Jacob found himself remembering all that had happened since he and Nancy had come together back on that bleak mountain. He remembered how they had talked of a future together when all this trouble was over. There would be no future now — not ever.
Run fast, Will. Run fast and far, but don’t ever think it’s far enough. I’ll follow you till I die and I’ll get you. One way or another, Will, I’ll get you.
Again the now too familiar sound of a gun-hammer clicking, brought Jacob back to the cold surroundings of reality.
‘You finally did it, Tyler. You just couldn’t let go till you’d killed Boone!’
The voice was LeRoy’s. It was hard and cold, and Jacob realised he was in a blind canyon with no way out. He saw how bad it looked for him: Nancy dead, with Boone’s gun in her hands; and Boone dead too, unarmed, with himself close by, a drawn gun in his hand. LeRoy had stepped out of the cabin too late to see Will’s fatal shot. Too late to see Will ride off, leaving Jacob alone. To LeRoy it was plain, clear evidence. Damning evidence in LeRoy’s eyes. His rigid code of right and wrong, his knowledge of the long-standing grievance between Boone and Jacob. The odds were piling up against Jacob almost faster than he could count.
‘Ease up, Tyler,’ LeRoy said. ‘Keep that gun hand by your side. Don’t give me the excuse I need to put you down.’
Jacob stood up slowly. LeRoy was in a vicious mood, his tolerance stretched to the limit. He’d already killed one man — Kyle Retford — and it wouldn’t take much to push him beyond the limit.
‘Turn around. Face to me,’ LeRoy said.
Jacob turned carefully. The rifle in LeRoy’s hands was held straight and steady, aimed squarely at Jacob.
‘No way out of this one, boy,’ LeRoy said tightly. ‘No smartass talk. I’ve got you cold, and I’ll see you hang. You did wrong when you went up against that badge.’
The man was bound and determined to see him hang. The realisation hit Jacob hard. There was no way to convince LeRoy that he hadn’t shot Boone. There was only one man who could do that. Will Retford! But first Jacob had to find him — and then he had to get him to confess his guilt.
His immediate concern was getting away from LeRoy. The way LeRoy was talking he would have Jacob in shackles once he got him back inside the cabin. Jacob’s chance had to be taken now, before his hands were tied, literally.
And almost as the thought crossed his mind Jacob acted. It was an instinctive move, motivated by a purely animal instinct to survive.
He threw himself forward and sideways, his action taking him away from LeRoy’s rifle a second before it fired. And then Jacob’s shoulder caught LeRoy just below the knees, sending the lawman stumbling back. Then LeRoy was falling, Jacob following him down, and before LeRoy could recover his balance Jacob was on him. The heavy pistol in Jacob’s hand rose and fell in a continuous movement. LeRoy grunted as the barrel struck him. Blood flowed from a gash in his forehead as he sank unconscious to the ground.
Jacob got to his feet and walked away from where Nancy lay, past the sprawled form of Virgil Boone. He reached the horses and untied his own animal, checking that everything was in place. He’d picked up LeRoy’s rifle and shoved it into the sheath on the saddle. Swinging into the saddle Jacob reined the horse around in a tight circle and moved off at a fast walk. He took the horse on through the brush where Will Retford had taken his animal. The tracks were pretty clear here. Those tracks would take him to Will — after that Jacob wasn’t too sure how things might work out. Will wasn’t going to come back calmly with him and tell it the way it was. But one way or the other Will was going to put the story straight. No matter how long it took, or how far he had to go, Jacob was going to set it right. There was no way around it. He had to clear his name or LeRoy would brand him as a killer. Of that Jacob had no doubt. It chafed him that he hadn’t been able to see Nancy put to rest properly. Brig and Seth would see to that for him, he knew, but it wasn’t the right way. He would have felt better if he’d been able to tell them the way it was. But he knew they’d figure the right telling. They knew he wasn’t the kind to run out when trouble came up. They’d know he had a good reason, and that he would get back to them somehow.
The station slid out of sight below a crumbling ridge and Jacob was alone. Far ahead of him, off to the southeast he could see a figure on horseback. Will was pushing his horse hard. But Jacob just settled in his saddle and followed the tracks that led off into the bleached emptiness. Come on, Will, he begged, just look round because I’m coming for you.
The sun arced higher in the sky and beat down on the wide land. It sucked up the last of the night’s moisture, bleaching the dust and the rocks a little whiter. Jacob began to sweat. He felt it dampen his shirt back, and he pulled his hat brim down to shade his eyes, hunching his shoulders against the hard hand of the sun. It was, he thought, going to be a long, hot day, and a damned hard ride.
And it was. Will Retford knew the country well, while Jacob was a stranger to it. Though he forced the pace he found himself unable to close the gap. In fact it became greater, and as darkness fell Jacob realised he’d lost Will completely. He didn’t let it worry him overly. Even if he couldn’t see Will himself there were still tracks to follow. Despite his impatience Jacob slowed down. He decided to make camp for the night. There was nothing to be gained by stumbling about in the dark in strange country. He didn’t want to risk injury to his horse.
Jacob found a suitable place and made camp. He lit a small fire, making no attempt at concealing it. He wanted Will to know he was being followed. After a quick meal and a couple of mugs of strong, hot coffee Jacob rolled into his blanket. He intended to be up at first light. The trouble was that sleep wouldn’t come. There was too much on his mind. Nancy’s death,
and the trouble he was in. He found himself thinking of Will Retford, of his brothers — yet over all others the strongest thoughts were of Virgil Boone. If Boone hadn’t been with LeRoy the whole thing might not have happened. Jacob was sure of that. Though he hadn’t thought about the man for a long time, somewhere at the back of his mind, Jacob had known that he and Virgil Boone would meet again. There had been something that had needed settling between them. In his wildest imaginings Jacob had never envisaged that meeting taking place under such complicated circumstances, or ending so tragically.
As he lay there Jacob found his mind going back in time, back to the day he first came into contact with Virgil Boone . . .
It was 1862. Jacob, along with Seth and Brig, were serving together in the same Union Army unit. The Civil War was at its height, Union and Confederate forces were constantly locked in fierce battles. It was during an infrequent lull that Virgil Boone had joined the Tylers’ unit. Boone was a sergeant, and shortly after his arrival Jacob found himself assigned to a small squad under Boone’s charge, given the task of taking a number of Confederate prisoners to a nearby Union stockade. It wasn’t long before Boone’s character began to reveal itself. He was a vicious bully who took a delight in terrorising defenceless men, and though Jacob despised Boone for it he had to tread carefully, for Boone had the support of an influential major in the regiment. This initial instance of Boone’s nature was soon to show itself again, and Jacob, though still aware of the trouble he could cause for himself, was unable to stay silent for long.
He realised later that he should have confided in someone from the start. But Jacob was the kind of man who preferred to work out his own problems. He kept his thoughts to himself, not even telling Seth or Brigham; they were all fighting a war, and Jacob knew they had enough on their minds. They would have backed him if he’d spoken up, but Jacob let it be, content to observe Boone on his own.
It quickly became clear to him that Boone was an opportunist. Virgil Boone was in the War for one reason only — to further himself at whatever cost, no matter who got hurt in the process. A little quiet investigating revealed that Boone was doing a fair amount of illicit trading in army stores and supplies. Jacob found out that Boone’s contact was a burly Virginian named Byard. Wherever the Regimental Supply Unit made camp, Byard showed up, in the guise of a travelling preacher. He would tour the camp, giving prayer-meetings and comfort to those who needed it — only each time he left camp his wagon carried out more than it had brought in. Jacob found out too that Boone’s major, one Stavro Banacek, was also in on the dealing. This made things a little more difficult for Jacob. He was going to have to be very sure of his facts if he was contemplating accusing a major of stealing army supplies.
Before he could even think much about the matter the chance was taken from him as the brief lull in the fighting ended. The Confederate forces began to launch massive attacks and the Union Army was plunged into weeks of heavy fighting. Jacob had no time to worry about Boone in the desperate engagements that followed. Just staying alive was enough for any man.
During more than one battle Jacob noticed Boone applying his skills at avoiding exposing himself in dangerous positions. Boone used his rank to keep himself in the background as much as possible, while sending many a man forward into combat; but he managed to do it in a way that went unobserved except by Jacob, who was paying more attention to the man than anyone else. Rapidly he became more and more angered at the man’s cowardice.
In the middle of one bloody encounter, on a day when the skies had opened to flood the land with rain, Jacob found himself isolated in a stand of trees along with a couple of the men from his squad — and Virgil Boone. For once Boone was forced to fight for his life and it was plain that he wasn’t enjoying it. He fired at anything and everything, using a lot of ammunition but doing little good. He was continually screaming orders at Jacob and the other men, all of which boiled down to the simple directive: keep in front of me and I’ll stay well to the rear!
Despite the rapid fire from the Henry rifles being used by Jacob and the others, the Confederates pushed forward. Jacob and the other men began to fall back while Virgil Boone yelled at them to hold their positions. He was ignored, and he began to panic.
A Confederate bullet killed one of Jacob’s companions, and a minute later the second Union soldier went down, blood pumping from a gaping wound in his left thigh. Jacob realised that all they could do now was retreat, and fast, in the hope of getting back to the rest of their unit.
He turned to find Boone. He wanted the man’s help in getting the wounded trooper out. Instead he found Boone standing over the fallen man, ordering him back to his position. The trooper, a white-faced boy, was crying in pain and terror, unmindful of Boone’s ranting as he tried to stem the flow of blood that was pouring from his leg. Jacob felt his control slip, and his anger rose up in a blazing surge as he reached Boone.
‘Tyler, I want you to be a witness,’ Boone screamed. ‘This man will not get back to his post! He had no right to fall back! You will remain here while I go back and inform Command of our situation and this soldier’s disobedience!’
‘I got permission to fall down if I’m shot dead?’ Jacob asked.
Boone stared at him, his pale face blurred by the pouring rain. For a moment he was speechless. Then he gathered himself.
‘What did you say, Tyler?’
‘Nothing. Just give me a hand to pick Taylor up and let’s get the hell out of here, Boone!’
‘Sergeant Boone to you, Tyler, and I give the orders here!’ He peered closely at Jacob. ‘What’re you playing at, Tyler?’
Jacob sleeved rain out of his eyes. ‘Something I should’ve done a long while ago, Boone, and I’m damn sorry I didn’t!’ As he spoke Jacob lashed out and hit Virgil Boone full in the mouth with all the strength he could muster. Boone gave a croak and staggered back. He stumbled and fell, going to his knees. He stayed there for a moment, then shoved to his feet, his hands clawing for the gun thrust into the holster on his belt. Jacob stepped in close and as Boone straightened up, he slammed the butt of his gun across Boone’s gun hand. Boone screamed as the gun was driven from his fingers. Giving him no chance to recover, Jacob grabbed him by the collar and hurled him across the slippery grass. Boone landed on his face on the muddy ground.
Standing over him Jacob said: ‘Now help me with this boy, Boone, or by all that’s Holy, I’ll put a slug in you right now, you thieving bastard! Major Banacek ain’t here to hold your hand this time!’
Virgil Boone climbed to his feet in silence. He stared sullenly at Jacob, his eyes full of hate, and Jacob knew he’d said too much. He should have kept his mouth shut about his knowledge of Boone’s connection with Banacek. It wouldn’t take Boone long to realise that Jacob probably knew about Byard as well. It had been a bad slip on Jacob’s part, but it was done now and there was no use worrying about it.
Jacob knew he’d made an enemy, and had probably put himself in danger from Boone and his companions. He accepted it as he always accepted danger, not letting it weigh him down, but always staying on guard against it.
‘Let’s go, Boone!’ Jacob snapped, and after they’d picked up the wounded trooper, he made himself a promise to keep a watchful eye open for Boone’s next move. He didn’t know when it might come, or where, but he did know one thing — it would come . . .
Virgil Boone’s partner in crime, Major Banacek, was killed in action a week before the battle at Shiloh. Byard, the bogus preacher was in camp when the news came in, and he was up and gone within minutes of hearing it. He was never seen again.
Boone was on his own, with the only man to point the finger at him — Jacob Tyler!
Since the incident on the field with the wounded trooper Jacob had kept a close watch for any move Boone might make. With Banacek’s death Jacob saw that Boone was liable to start worrying; with the major alive Virgil Boone could breathe easy. He was under Banacek’s protection. Now, with Banacek dead and Byard long
gone, there was no one to look out for Boone. Jacob figured he would be safer if he kept Boone in sight whenever he could manage it. He got the feeling that Boone would try anything if he became nervous enough.
Boone chose his day well. 6 April 1862. The day of the Battle of Shiloh.
It began badly for the Union force. A surprise attack at dawn by the Confederate forces, 40,000 strong against Grant’s Army near the Tennessee River. From the start the battle raged fiercely and the Union forces were slowly driven back to the river bank, where they had to hold out until the following morning when two Union gunboats came up and shelled the Confederate lines, driving them from the battlefield. By the time it was all over both sides had lost 10,000 men and the Confederate commander, Albert Johnston, was dead.
Jacob, along with Seth and Brigham fought alongside the rest of their company. After the initial attack the Union force began to spread out and fight back, finding cover wherever it could. Cavalry units found themselves on foot after their mounts were run off.
It was a back and forth battle for a while, but gradually the Union force was driven back towards the river, fighting every inch of the way.
During the morning Jacob got himself separated from Seth and Brigham. He had little time to worry about it, for the Confederates were pressing hard on the Union lines and it was fire and fire again, reload and fire again at the ranks of gray figures coming across the fields.
He found himself at one point pinned down behind a fallen tree, with a number of Confederate rifles turned his way. Jacob downed two rebels when they tried to make a run for his hiding place. After that the others left him alone and Jacob was able to crawl away from his tree into the cover of a nearby wood. He used the moment of calm to reload his gun, then began to move through the wood, making his way back towards the Union lines.
Then he came on a group of men trying to drag a cannon out of a muddy stream-bed. There were six troopers, a young officer, and Virgil Boone.
