The Tylers 2

by Neil Hunter

  And eventually he saw them. Two men carrying rifles. They moved out of the shadows down the street, and from where he was Jacob could see that they appeared to be interested in one particular building. Moving along the opposite boardwalk, keeping in the shadows, Jacob finally drew level with the building; it faced him from the other side of the street and by the pale glow from lamps, even through the downpour, he saw the sign above the door: The Calico Restaurant. It seemed to Jacob that he’d guessed right. He’d found the right place, now all he had to do was to get inside.

  One of the riflemen walked into a pool of lamplight and Jacob caught sight of a face he knew — the deputy called Jackson. Jacob stayed where he was, giving himself time to study the lay of the land; he needed to know the routine of the two deputies across the street before he made any attempt to get into the restaurant.

  And suddenly Jackson turned and started across the street, his way bringing him towards the place where Jacob stood. For a moment Jacob thought he’d been spotted, but then he took note of Jackson’s manner, the slow, casual pace, and realised that the man was simply crossing the street, most probably to check the area. As he watched the deputy approach Jacob’s mind worked rapidly and he found himself formulating a rough plan of action. If it came off he might have found himself a way across the street and into the restaurant.

  Jackson stepped up on to the boardwalk, facing away from Jacob; the deputy paused to take off his rain-sodden hat, shaking off the surplus water. In that moment Jacob stepped out of the deep shadows and laid the barrel of his Colt across the back of Jackson’s head. The deputy grunted and dropped to his knees. Jacob hit him again and Jackson pitched forward onto his face. Jacob dragged him across the boardwalk and into the nearest alley. Using Jackson’s own belt and kerchief, Jacob bound and gagged the unconscious deputy, then propped him up behind a pile of empty barrels. Picking up Jackson’s rifle Jacob started across the street.

  Jackson’s partner had moved out of sight down the side of the restaurant; as Jacob stepped into the alley he saw the man leaning against the wall of the restaurant, in the process of lighting a cigarette. Moving swiftly down the alley Jacob was up to the man before the deputy realised. He sensed Jacob’s presence too late. Jacob drove the butt of his rifle deep into the deputy’s stomach. The man grunted and slumped to his knees. Jacob slammed the butt of the rifle down across the back of the man’s head, pitching him face down in the rain-soaked dust.

  The rear of the restaurant was a jumble of litter, overturned barrels and boxes. Jacob picked his way to the back door, tried the handle. The door was locked. Putting his shoulder to it Jacob thrust hard a couple of times. He felt the flimsy door give, heard the inside latch break free. He eased the door open and stepped inside. He was in the kitchen. To his right the cooking range gave off a soft orange glow and somewhere coffee was brewing gently, the aroma tying Jacob’s empty stomach in knots.

  Jacob made his way across the kitchen, coming out into a narrow hall. He could see the restaurant’s front window. Jacob turned away from there, moving down the hall. At the end was a door. Beneath the door he could see a band of light. He paused by the door. He’d know shortly whether he’d guessed right or not. If the girl wasn’t in there he was going to have to move out of here fast.

  Jacob knew there was no point in hesitating. The sooner he made his move the better. Reaching down Jacob grasped the door handle and eased it free from the latch. He put his foot against the door and pushed it open.

  The girl recognised him straightaway. She stepped forward and took his arm, leading him into the small room, closing the door behind him. Jacob leaned back against the wall, feeling weariness come on him again.

  ‘You’re hurt,’ he heard her say. ‘Come over here and sit down.’

  ‘No time,’ Jacob said. ‘I’ve got to get you out of here.’

  ‘You saw them outside? Jackson and Thatcher?’

  Jacob nodded. ‘You’re as much a danger to them now as I am. They’ll hesitate a while over harming a woman, but they’ll come after you in the end. It’s because of me you’re in this trouble so it’s up to me to get you out.’

  ‘It’s been coming a long time,’ she said. ‘Ever since Will was made marshal. My father was the Law in Bannock before Will came, but he died. And I never did cotton to Will, even from the start. And when those robberies began I started to get the notion that Will knew a lot more about them than anybody realised. Maybe I was just watching him closer than most folk. But I couldn’t take to him, and when he gathered that wild bunch round him I just got suspicious. Comes of having a lawman in the family. There always seemed to be some of his men out of town whenever a robbery took place, and they’re never short of money. Trouble is I couldn’t tell anybody what I thought. There was nobody to tell. Bannock’s full of people too busy to bother, and anyway, the town’s so grateful for the way Will and his boys keep it peaceful, I doubt if they’d believe me.’

  ‘Sounds like Will has the town in his pocket,’ Jacob said.

  ‘He figures he’s the big man. Anything he wants he can take!’ Her voice was suddenly bitter.

  ‘Sounds like something personal.’

  She glanced at him, her eyes bright with anger. ‘He tried to rape me! Came in here one night, half-drunk, saying he was going to do me a big favour. Now he was wearing the badge my father wore. He figured he ought to keep it in the family. He was lucky. My finger was trembling on the trigger of the shotgun I keep handy and I nearly gave him both barrels. He went out of here thinking I’d showed how tough I was. Truth is I was scared silly.’

  She stopped speaking then, her eyes searching his face, as if she were looking for something missing out of her life.

  ‘I’ll get ready,’ she said then.

  As she turned away Jacob reached out and touched her arm. ‘What do I call you?’ he asked, and she smiled, the tension slipping away from her face.

  ‘Hannah,’ she said. ‘Hannah Crane.’

  She was back in a few minutes, dressed in faded Levis and wearing a thick coat. A pair of saddlebags and a blanket roll were slung over one arm.

  ‘That’s all,’ she said.

  ‘What about this place?’ Jacob asked. He’d gone into the kitchen and helped himself to a mug of the brewed coffee, lacing it with plenty of sugar.

  Hannah glanced up from filling an empty flour sack with supplies from the kitchen shelves. ‘I only work here. When my father died I had to earn my own living. Cooking was one thing I did well. Too well for this place.’

  She tied the sack and joined Jacob by the stove. ‘Are you sure you can make it? Jacob, you look terrible.’

  ‘Well, I feel terrible.’ He drained his coffee. ‘Right now there’s no chance of doing anything about it. It’s not going to be long before Will and his boys get round to us, so we’d better move while we can.’

  They left the restaurant by the back door, making their way along the back lots toward the livery. The minutes seemed to fly by, and the longer it took the more worried Jacob became. Sooner or later the two men he’d downed were going to be discovered, and once that happened Bannock would become a hard place to get out of.

  There was another of Will’s deputies outside the livery. Jacob didn’t spend too much time debating what to do. He left Hannah in the shadows and walked openly across the rain-drenched street towards the livery. The deputy watched him, but did nothing until Jacob reached the livery door.

  ‘Hey, mister!’ the deputy called and walked towards Jacob.

  Jacob turned towards the man slowly, making no sudden move, letting the deputy get to within a few feet. And then the rifle, which Jacob had held out of sight against his body, swung up and round, the stock catching the deputy under the chin. The man grunted hoarsely, the impact of the blow sending him crashing back against the livery wall before he crashed down on to the muddy ground.

  Hannah joined Jacob and they slipped into the silent livery. While Hannah went to saddle her horse, Jacob saw to his own ani
mal; it took some doing throwing his heavy saddle into place; pain tore through his arm and shoulder, and Jacob knew that he was going to have to have something done soon. He finished off the job in a strained silence, his face glistening with sweat.

  Hannah rejoined him, leading her horse, a long-legged black. He handed her the rifle he’d taken from Jackson; his own rifle was in its scabbard on his saddle. They mounted up and rode out of the livery into the rain-swept night.

  ‘Hannah,’ Jacob said suddenly, ‘what do you know about this witness Will has? The one supposed to have seen me on one of the robberies?’

  ‘Charlie Meeker,’ Hannah said. ‘He’s the company agent who runs the stage swing-station up on High Ridge. It’s about three hours ride north.’

  ‘I’d like to have a few words with Charlie Meeker,’ Jacob said. ‘Maybe give him a chance to change his mind, and help him if he has difficulty.’

  It took them slightly longer than three hours to reach High Ridge. The rainstorm increased as they left Bannock behind them, and as their way took them steadily upwards towards the distant peaks, they found themselves riding straight into the storm. The rain and wind tore at them, soaking their clothing, numbing them with cold.

  Just on midnight they were forced to call a halt and to take shelter in a rocky outcrop. Riding deep into the fall of boulders and rocks they dismounted and huddled together for warmth. Despite the cold Jacob decided against lighting a fire; they could have used the warmth, both for themselves and to heat some coffee, but Jacob knew that by now Will would be trailing them, and he didn’t want to risk giving Will any indication as to their whereabouts.

  Jacob could imagine Will’s state of mind right now. With Jacob free and still alive, Will would be facing the prospect of his setup in Bannock coming out into the open. And that would be enough to spur him on to any lengths to try and stop Jacob before he managed to reach anyone ready to listen to his story. The fact that Hannah was with Jacob would also add to Will’s anger; two people telling the same story had more weight than one, and the fact that Hannah was the daughter of Bannock’s late marshal would help too.

  Jacob realised that he and Hannah were probably in more danger right now than they had been before leaving Bannock. Will and his bunch would be ready to shoot on sight to silence the two people who could expose their crimes.

  The storm held its fury as the night dragged by. The hours drifted by with agonising slowness. Jacob, his body weak, shivering with cold, fell into a restless sleep. Hannah eased him to the ground and held him in her arms, feeling the ragged shudders that racked his body. She took her blanket roll and covered him, hoping that it might provide some warmth.

  It was only with the gray light of dawn that the storm began to recede. The wind eased off and the rain faded away to a light drizzle that looked like mist on the higher slopes above them.

  Hannah woke out of a light sleep with a sudden start, realising where she was. She sat up, stretching her aching body. She was hungry and cold, her clothes damp and uncomfortable, but they were things she could put up with. Turning, she bent over Jacob and was relieved to see him awake; he was pale, but his eyes were clear and sane, and she realised that he was out of the fever that had held him during the night.

  ‘Any sign of them?’ he asked. He sat up slowly. He was weak and a little sick, and he wasn’t fooling himself — if he didn’t get his shoulder seen to soon he was going to suffer a hell of a sight more than he had last night.

  They took their horses out onto the trail again and Hannah pointed the way. High Ridge swing-station lay just under an hour ahead of them.

  Jacob wondered how he would go about getting Meeker to admit he’d lied. Even if he did, what use would it be to him? Meeker was safe in his station up here. The only way to prove his claim against Meeker, and also Will, was to get his evidence to some regular lawman. That meant taking Meeker to the nearest town and getting him to tell the truth in front of a marshal or sheriff.

  High Ridge lived up to its name. The swing-station was built on a narrow strip of land at the crest of a long rise. Here, when a stage had negotiated the tortuous climb, the team would be changed for a fresh set of horses for the next leg of the journey. There was little to the place; the station-house, a stable, corral, and a couple of small outhouses.

  They drew rain on the crest of the rise and looked down at the station. Smoke rose from the house. The corral was empty. A shutter on the house gently swung to and fro making a faint sound in the mountain fastness.

  ‘Looks damn quiet,’ Jacob said. He scanned the station yard and the stable, but saw nothing. ‘Either Meeker’s a late riser or ... ‘

  ‘Or there’s trouble down there?’ Hannah said.

  Jacob smiled at her. ‘Only one way to find out.’ He slid his rifle out and checked the action, holding the rifle against his hip as he urged his horse on down the slope.

  They rode across the muddy yard, drawing rein outside the house. Jacob took time to glance around before he swung down out of the saddle. Maybe he was being a damn fool, riding in like this, but he had to carry through this thing concerning Meeker; riding away from it wouldn’t solve a thing; and there was no guarantee that he might not meet worse trouble if he did ride away.

  The door of the house was off the latch. Jacob eased it open with his foot and stepped inside. He held his rifle up and ready.

  Hannah had described Charlie Meeker to him, and the man on the floor of the station-house fitted that description perfectly. Only the bald head differed — where there should have been the top of Meeker’s head there was now a bloody mess of shattered bone and flesh and brains. Somebody had very neatly blown the top of Meeker’s head off. Jacob looked at the man and felt sickness rise up in him; Will had anticipated this move; he must have reasoned that Jacob would learn the identity of the man supposed to have identified him, and that Jacob would try and find Meeker. It seemed that Will was well ahead of the game.

  Jacob spun away from Meeker and headed for the door, knowing that there could be very real danger if he and Hannah stayed on here too long. Meeker no longer meant anything to Jacob, so there was no use in staying around waiting for Will to arrive.

  Jacob heard the crack of the gun, the thud of the bullet slamming into the doorframe inches from his face. He dropped to a crouch, grabbing the reins of his horse.

  ‘Kick ‘em up,’ he said to Hannah as he dragged himself into the saddle. ‘And keep your head down!’

  She obeyed him without question, drumming her heels into her horse’s sides, sending it skittering across the yard, with Jacob in close pursuit. Jacob heard the hidden gun fire again and realised it was coming from off to his right. He took a quick glance in that direction and saw the faintest wisp of powder smoke. The gunman was standing in the shadow thrown by the high stable. In the instant that Jacob looked, the gunman fired again, the bullet clipping the horn of Jacob’s saddle. He was getting closer, Jacob realised.

  He hauled in on his reins, swinging his horse around to face the gunman. Driving the horse forward Jacob upped his rifle and started shooting. The rapid-action of the rifle sent a hail of bullets into the shadowed place where the gunman was hiding.

  Moments later Jacob saw the man run out into the open. He recognised the deputy named Jackson again; there must have been a faster route to the swing-station to enable Jackson to get here so quickly; Jacob cursed the ill-luck that had forced him to sleep through the night; if he hadn’t caught that bullet in his shoulder he would have ridden without pause to the station.

  Out of the corner of his eye Jacob saw movement over by the corral. He threw a quick glance in that direction and saw a second figure running across the yard; this man wore a badge and he was carrying a Colt Revolving Rifle.

  Jacob reined in hard and kicked his feet free from the stirrups as he saw this second man raise the rifle and take aim. Forgetting the pain in his shoulder Jacob threw himself out of the saddle. As he struck the ground, rolling away from his horse he heard the C
olt rifle crack. Then it fired again, the bullet kicking up mud into his face. Jacob twisted round frantically, pushing his rifle forward, his finger easing back on the trigger. He blinked mud out of his eyes and saw the distant figure of the gunman through a watery curtain. Jacob eased right back on the trigger, felt the rifle kick back, heard the crash of the shot. The gunman stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping back in a scarlet spray as Jacob’s bullet tore through his face. The rifle spun from his fingers as he took a half-step to the right before plunging face down in the mud.

  Pushing to his feet Jacob turned, searching for Jackson. He saw a dark shape rounding the far side of the house and went after it. As he reached the corner a gun blasted, the bullet ripping splinters of wood out of the log wall just above Jacob’s head.

  Jacob worked the rifle’s lever, feeding a shell into the breech. He pushed away from the side of the house, stepping into the open, the rifle up and ready. Jackson, was there, facing Jacob, his handgun cocked and ready. But Jacob fired first, his finger drawing back the rifle’s trigger a split-second before Jackson could fire. The bullet caught Jackson just above the belt-buckle, spinning him round. Jackson lost his footing and went down on one knee, clutching a hand to his bleeding body. Yet even now he tried to lift his gun again, his face taut with mixed anger and strain. Jacob tilted the muzzle of the rifle and put a second bullet into the man, pitching him face down in the mud.

  Jacob leaned against the side of the house. He was feeling weak again. His head ached badly and the pain in his shoulder was increasing fiercely. He stared at Jackson’s blood-spattered body and a great bitterness came over him; he’d come here hoping to clear things up and instead the matter had got out of hand.

  He glanced up as Hannah reached him. She touched his arm, her eyes searching his haggard face.

  ‘Meeker. They’ve killed him,’ she said.

  ‘He planned to have me put down for that,’ he said. ‘Jackson and the other one were waiting to gun me down ‘in the act’. Will would have cleared things up nice and tidy. Me out of his hair. Meeker dead in case he decided to open his mouth.’