The Texan's Reward

by Jodi Thomas

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

  Checking the camp, he memorized it in case he had to act fast with no time to survey the area. The returning members of the gang might come through the trees, but he’d bet anyone on foot would take the easier path up from the clearing, even if they had to circle around. If they came from the north they’d have to climb down from the twenty-foot cliff. From the south, trees made the ground uneven and dangerous in the mud. They’d have to return to camp from the east.

  The rain came in spurts. A cold early morning drizzle washed the world to gray. Jacob stepped beyond the shadow of the cliff to wait for the first man to return. A few feet beyond the overhang to the west, the ground disappeared. The fog was so thick Jacob couldn’t tell how far the land dropped away. He kicked a rock off the ledge and listened for the sound of impact. One second, two. Ten, maybe fifteen feet, he’d guess. If this didn’t turn out the way he planned, he might have to make the jump to escape. He couldn’t run through the clearing; they’d have an easy shot before he could make it to the rocks where the boy waited.

  His odds were four to one, but he had surprise on his side, at least until he was forced to fire a shot or one was fired at him. He had to win, Jacob thought, or else the kid might die. No one would find him tied up in the rocks. Even if he regained consciousness and managed to get the gag off, no one would hear him yelling in this rain.

  The question crossed his mind of why he cared so much about the kid. Maybe for once he wanted to prevent an outlaw instead of just catching one. The boy didn’t have much of a chance in life with a worthless father, but maybe Jacob could give him that one opportunity, and who knows, maybe the kid would be smart enough to take it.

  A movement came from the clearing. One of the men had given up and was coming in. Jacob watched him head straight into the camp with his head down against the storm.

  “Hell of a rain,” the man yelled as he swung water from his hat and squatted in front of the fire. Balding, he looked to be in his forties. “Hell of a morning.” He swore as he lifted the coffeepot and found it empty. “Can’t you do anything right, kid? Why didn’t you make more coffee?”

  The outlaw started around the campfire, raising the coffeepot like a weapon. “Your pa weren’t around to teach you nothin’ when you were growing up, but I’ll teach you something you’ll not likely forget.”

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

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

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

  The outlaw didn’t move.

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

  The outlaw coiled and hissed like a snake but followed orders. Within minutes, Jacob had him tied and staked to a tree near where the horses had been left in the rain the night before. He didn’t bother worrying about the knots being tight as he had with the boy. Without a slicker or coat, the outlaw’s filthy clothes blended to gray in the rain. No one would see him, even if they passed within a yard of him.

  “You’re a dead man, mister.”

  “Maybe so.” Jacob didn’t argue.

  “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I’ll kill you real slow until you beg for it to be over. We planned this for years while we was in prison, and one man don’t have a chance against us.”

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

  The man swore until Jacob stuffed a gag in his mouth and pulled his hat down low over his face. Jacob circled one final rope around the tree and across the man’s throat. If the outlaw struggled, the rope would rub his neck raw within minutes.

  Jacob moved back to the camp and made coffee, hoping the smell would distract the next outlaw long enough for him to move up behind. He had three more to catch, and his only ally now was the rain.

  Walking back into the shadows, Jacob waited. He could feel the storm more outside the cliff ’s shelter—the wind, the cold rain, the lightning close to the ground—but he didn’t dare stand too near to the fire. One look at his size, and the outlaws would know a stranger was in camp.

  An hour passed, and he guessed the other three had found shelter somewhere. They were probably waiting out the rain before continuing their search or returning to camp.

  Despite the coffee, lack of sleep started to wear on him. Jacob closed his eyes and thought of Nell. She always laughed at his stories and thought his life was such an adventure. She had no idea. Trying to get his mind off the cold rain, he thought of the big main room in her home and how the fireplace warmed the whole house in winter. On a rainy day like this, Nell would probably read to everyone. She had a talent for making a story come alive. He could almost hear her voice now. She used to read the dime novels after supper. Gypsy would always flutter her eyes when Nell read the words “soiled dove,” which would make Jacob laugh and usually stop the reading for a few minutes.

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

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

  “Get yer lazy bones up or I’ll shoot you like I did Willie this morning, I swear. A man who canna do his job has no business being in a gang.”

  Jacob had let the man get too close to the fire before he moved from the shadows. Now, if he tried to cross the area between them, the Irishman would see him. He had to pick his timing with great care.

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

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

  Jacob drew his gun. If the man raised his head, the ranger would have to fire, even though it might bring the other two still out in the rain running, for this outlaw looked deadly even from a distance.

  Lucky for Jacob, the outlaw’s anger focused on what he thought was the kid beneath the slicker. He kicked at the bedroll again. “Wake up!” he yelled. “I should have left ye to starve to death for all the good ye are too me. Yer ma probably died just to be rid of ye.”

  He knelt and jerked the hat off the man lying by the fire. It took him only a moment before he recognized the dead guard. With lightning speed, he pulled his gun and swung around.

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

  The outlaw’s oaths rumbled through the air like thunder. Jacob didn’t know if he were calling his son’s name or that of one of the other outlaws. It didn’t matter. If he didn’t shut up soon, all the men would be back in camp. The few trees wouldn’t hide Jacob for long, even in rain thick as soup.

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

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

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

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

  The man took one step nearer, then he turned toward the fire and yelled for whoever was out there to show himself. “I’ll kill you in a fair fight,” he shouted as he pulled a long knife from his boot.

  Jacob saw his chance and rushed him from behind. The ranger was close enough to knock the gun away a second before the man could turn and fire at him. A round sounded from the six-shooter a moment later, but the barrel was pointed skyward.

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

  This time the outlaw he fought was close to Jacob’s size and a seasoned fighter. He gave as much as he got. The mud made maintaining their footing hard, and every time one stood, the other knocked him down. Jacob delivered a few hard blows that should have broken bone, but the outlaw kept coming like a fevered animal too angry to think of his own safety.

  As he fought, thoughts skittered across Jacob’s mind like ground lightning. In a short time, others would be here and the odds would only get worse. If he didn’t win, if they killed him, there would be no one else to stop them. The men would be into Indian Territory and out of reach of Texas law. If they killed him, none of them would be able to find the boy, even if they found the horses. The boy might die, tied up and hidden between the rocks.

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

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

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

  He lunged forward, swinging the blade close to Jacob’s arm. Before Jacob could recover, he swung again, cutting into the material of his coat and drawing blood.

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

  Jacob dove at the man, knocking him off balance at the same time he felt the blade shoot into his shoulder, hot as a bullet. Slamming a fist into the outlaw’s face, Jacob heard bone break and knew they were now even.

  The Irishman swore and backed away, dropping the knife as he stumbled to keep his footing.

  Jacob rolled toward the weapon, aware that he was close to the overhang.

  Voices sounded from behind him. “We found the mules!” one yelled.

  “Why’d you fire?” another shouted. “Ain’t you got the horses?”

  The Irishman rushed for his knife, grinding his foot into Jacob’s hand as he reached for the blade. “Over here!” he called to the others. He lifted the knife to Jacob’s throat. “Got me something that needs killing.”

  Hearing the rush of hooves and men, Jacob knew he had only seconds. He put his free hand on the Irishman’s boot and shoved hard as he rolled away from the knife.

  The outlaw stumbled, then widened his stance, preparing to fight once more.

  Only Jacob didn’t stop. He rolled over and over, ignoring the pain each time he landed on his left shoulder.

  Three rolls. Four. He reached the edge under the cliff where the ground dropped. Then, as silently as if he’d vanished, Jacob plummeted.

  He tumbled, taking what he thought might be his last breath. If rocks lay below the cliff, even falling ten feet would kill him.

  But to his surprise, he landed almost soundlessly in thick, wet grass. He heard the swish of tall buffalo grass as his body sank a few inches into the mud.

  Jacob didn’t move. He heard the men shouting above, but the fog hid him from view. One claimed he was dead. The Irishman ordered them to fire rounds. Bullets tapped the mud around Jacob, but none landed close.

  The Irishman shouted for the other two to load the mules. Despite the rain, they needed to move out fast.

  “If there’s one man out here, there might be more,” someone said.

  “What about the horses?” another yelled.

  “Can’t waste any more time looking for them. With the mules to carry the loot, we can walk out of Texas in a few days. Once we’re in Indian Territory, we’ll buy horses.”

  “I found Charlie,” the first voice called. “You want me to untie him?”

  The Irishman laughed, “Leave him. I shot him by mistake. He’s dead.”

  If the other two outlaws thought the Irishman’s comment strange, they didn’t say anything.

  Jacob could hear them moving, loading the mules. He could hear them talking but couldn’t make out the words. Even without hearing, he knew they were leaving the boy, not taking the time to look for him. The remaining three must be thinking they’d just double their earnings with the boy, Charlie, and the guard dead.

  By the time all was silent, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Jacob tried to stand but found himself almost too weak. His shirt and coat were soaked in blood, and he realized he was doing exactly what the Irishman had planned for him to do. He was bleeding to death.

  Slowly, he crawled back up the embankment a few inches at a time. His left arm was worthless to pull him up, but he could use it to hold to the earth so that he didn’t slide backward. Rocks cut his hands and pestered the cut along his ribs, but Jacob blocked out the pain and kept climbing, making only a few inches of progress at a time.

  When he reached the campsite once more, the outlaws had been gone so long the fire was almost out. They’d left their saddles and most of their supplies. The fog had cleared enough for Jacob to see Charlie still tied to the tree, his head now forward, stretching the rope about his throat. He no longer cared if he choked.

  Jacob took a few minutes to bind his shoulder and ribs with a shirt he found in one of the packs and chewed a few bites of jerky. Then, with evening drawing near, he made his way across the small clearing to the rocks where he’d hidden the boy.

  It took all his strength to pull the boy up with one arm. The kid was wiggling and fighting all the way. When Jacob finally got him back to what was left of the campsite, he sat the kid down and pulled the gag away. The boy stared at him as if he thought Jacob were the devil.

  “What’s your name?”

  The kid glared at him.

  “What’s your name?” Jacob asked again.

  “Hank,” he finally said. “And you better let me go, or my pa will kill you.”

  Jacob shook his head. “Look.” Jacob fought to keep from passing out. “My name is Dalton. I’m a Texas Ranger. I’ve been hunting you for three days. Two of the gang are dead, neither by my hand. Your pa and the other two are heading north toward the Red. They left you behind but took the loot.”

  He looked over, expecting the kid to say something, but he just stared.

  “The way I see it, I’m too wounded to hold you here. If you go with your pa and the others, it’s only a matter of time before the law catches up with you. If you stay with me willingly, I’ll do what I can for you. I can’t promise you won’t get jail time, but if you weren’t the one who shot those people back on the train, I think I can keep you from hanging.”

  “You going to untie me?”

  “When I have your word you’ll go back with me.”

  Jacob reached for the knife he’d used to cut the makeshift bandage, but when he leaned forward to cut the ropes, the world began to spin. He tumbled without hearing the kid’s answer.

  CHAPTER 21

  NELL AWOKE LATE IN THE NIGHT. THE RAIN HAD stopped. Rolling slowly to her side, she stared out the window, realizing the silence must have awakened her. Un-beckoned, her thoughts filled with Jacob. He’d been gone five days now. That wasn’t long, she reminded herself. He’d said he might be gone a week, maybe more.

  Listening, Nell tried to hear something, anything. Nothing. Gypsy was the only one of the women who snored, and she slept in one of the rooms off the kitchen.

  The silence should have reassured her, but it didn’t. Something was wrong. She could feel it as easily as she felt the night wind drifting from the open window Mrs. O’Daniel had insisted be left ajar. Fat Alice used to say that once in a while she heard a shadow move. Nell swore she heard it now.

  A stair creaked. Someone crept about. Maybe Wednesday making a midnight run to the kitchen, or the nurse checking the house.

  Suddenly, Nell realized pain hadn’t awakened her. Something else had. She took a deep breath, trying to remember what she’d heard the moment before she’d passed from sleep. But all she could think of was the rain that had pounded the house for two days and how now she almost missed the sound.

  The same
rain must have made her ranger’s life hell. Jacob always said he didn’t mind the weather, but more than once she’d seen how tired he looked when he rode in after a storm.

  She forced herself to relax. Every door was locked, every window on the ground floor double-checked. Brother Aaron probably still snored on the porch where he claimed the wicker chair was far more comfortable than the barn floor. She’d seen Harrison bed down near the loft door in the barn. She guessed he wanted a clear view of the house and grounds if anything unexpected happened during the night.

  She was safe, Nell reminded herself again.

  Another step creaked slow and low as if someone were putting his or her weight on the wood as carefully as possible so as not to cause a sound.

  “Who’s there!” Nell called softly as she fought panic.

  No answer.

  “I said, who is out there?” She waited. Anyone on the stairs should have heard her. If she said the words any louder, she’d wake everyone in the house.

  Again, no one called in return.

  “Mrs. O’Daniel!” Nell screamed.

  Footsteps, running fast, rattled down the stairs as she screamed again.

  She rolled to the side of the bed and felt for the arms of her wheelchair. She knew she could never reach the stairs in time to see whoever ran, but she had to do something. She could not lie still and wait for trouble to reach her.

  A light flickered on in the hall, then another outside the barn.

  Wednesday reached Nell first, scrambling in her bed like a frightened child. “Miss Nell,” she cried. “Someone was coming up the stairs! I thought I was dreaming until I heard you yell. You heard it, too, didn’t you?”

  Nell put her arm around Wednesday and held her tightly as much to calm her own fear as to help the girl. Mrs. O’Daniel rushed into the room with her hair tied up in rags. “What’s happened?” she demanded. “Is someone harmed?”

  Nell heard Harrison and the preacher bang their way through the front door and storm the stairs.