by Danni Roan
***
"Hit 'em again, Ty," a young male voice called, the edge of excitement sharp.
"He's had enough, Flick," an adolescent Tywyn said, tossing his long hair over a shoulder. "He won't bother you no more."
His brother's dark eyes glinted at the other boy who'd accosted him on the way home from school, calling him names and taunting. "That'll teach you to mess with me," the younger brother snapped.
"Back up, Flick. You don't hit a man when he's down." Ty wrapped an arm around his raggedy little brother and pushed him toward home. They were always being teased by the town boys who thought they were better than the dirt farmers in the glen.
"You showed him good," Flick jabbered maliciously. "I'd 'a done it myself, but I'm so much smaller than him."
"Flick, you need to learn not to let it bother you when the townies jibe you. It ain't like we're not poorer than a church mouse at Lent. We don't need to prove nothin'."
"That's easy for you to say," Flick spat. "No one bothers with you, cause you're older."
"It's more than that, Flick. I try to see people as they are, and not gettin' mad's no fun for them anyway. You could try making friends with them, you know."
"Like they'd be friends with a Spade." He flicked his dark hair out of his eyes and glared. "Them town boys got it so easy, don't hardly got no chores, wear fancy clothes, and have plenty to eat. They even get regular haircuts at the barber."
Ty pulled his own hair away from his face; it had been a long time since his adopted Ma had the time to cut their hair. All she ever did was work to keep bread on the table. It was a hard life.
"It ain't fair," Flick grumbled, "we should ought'a have nice things like them fancy boys." He eyed his brother, hoping he'd agree, but Ty didn't reply. "Someday I'm gonna have nice things. I'll have the best horse in the glen and plenty of money."
Ty wrapped his arm around Flick's shoulders and moved him toward home. If they hurried, he could try to get some rabbits with his slingshot and the pot might not be quite so empty for a few days.
"One day we'll be grown and can do a man's job," he finally agreed, "then we'll earn good money. Just be patient baby brother."
Next to him, Flick huffed and tossed his head, sending his hair out of his eyes, the trick that had earned him his nickname so long ago.
"I tell ya what," Ty went on. "You come help me snag a couple of rabbits and I'll cut your hair tonight. I can't promise it'll be nice, but at least we won't get teased about needin' pig tails."
"Alright," Flick agreed, his tone reluctant. "Let’s get some rabbits."
Tywyn woke from the dream slowly as the old sorrow washed over him again. It had been many long years since he'd been able to talk to his little brother. The hard days of the glen had faded to hard days of work and toil that had led him here to this little town.
Perhaps when this was all over... he thought, then pushed the notion from his mind as he struggled back to sleep.
Chapter 3
The house was little more than a shack, its weathered gray walls unadorned but solid. A few chickens scratched in the dusty yard, but a patch of green sprouted in a well-kept garden at the back of the lot.
Ty let Chip make his way across the path, taking in the small barn and corral which housed a stout horse.
Chip tugged at his bridle impatiently and snaked his head toward a chicken, sending it squawking.
The door of the slant-roofed house opened and the older woman Ty had seen yesterday stepped out onto a flat stoop, her eyes dark and hard in her lean face.
Tywyn Spade pulled his rough pinto up short, the horse immediately going on alert, legs square, ears pivoting as Ty’s eyes collided with the housekeeper’s.
Time seemed to grind to a halt for the slow beat of his heart. The woman turned, stepping back into the house, leaving the door open behind her.
Absently the Marshal ran his hand over the smooth hide of the brown and white horse, feeling the tension leaving the brute. A moment later he stepped down, threw the reins over a fence post and walked into the dim interior of the house.
“I didn’t reckon you noted me yesterday,” the older woman said. Her deep black hair was heavily streaked with gray, her hard features and raptor-like nose doing nothing to soften her gruff words.
“I didn’t,” Ty said, removing his hat and twisting it in his hands. “It wasn’t until I heard your name mentioned.” He studied her, noting her lean figure. “Wait, you recognized me?” he asked startled.
Mrs. Nelson turned from the stove where she was starting coffee, her dark eyes piercing him through and through.
“You look just like yer Pa,” she said, her voice flat. “How could I not recognize you?”
Ty’s feet seemed to have rooted themselves to the hard-packed dirt floor of the little house, even as something inside him wanted to run straight for his horse and gallop away as long and as hard as Chip could carry him.
“Flat-footed.” Ty heard the words trickle from his lips, but couldn’t seem to hold them back. It was exactly how he felt and for once in his life he had no idea what to do.
Questions buffeted the confusion in his head, tearing through him like a ricocheted bullet.
“You want coffee?” the woman asked, the only agitation evident the tight grip she had on the apron that covered her dark dress.
“I thought you were dead,” Ty said, his voice still soft. “All these years I thought you were dead and you ask me if I want coffee?” His slate eyes flashed confusion, hurt and hope.
The woman shrugged as if nothing unusual was happening, her angular face passive.
“Ma?” the word twisted from his throat like a groan.
A glistening tear spilled from the woman’s dark eyes and he could see her whole body tremble as he crumbled, reaching out and pulling her to him fiercely.
“I thought you were dead,” he choked again.
“I wanted to come back, I tried, but…” her voice cracked as fresh tears ran down her face, “you were better off without me.”
The sound of the coffee pot lid rattling made Mrs. Nelson straighten, pulling away from him. “I’ll get that coffee,” she said, moving to the stove with a sniff.
Ty moved to a small table in the main room of the house out of sheer habit, finding a chair and dropping into it.
“You grew up good,” Mrs. Nelson spoke, pouring coffee into two tin mugs and placing them on the table. “Even became a lawman.”
Ty reached out and took her hand, urging her to sit. “How’d you end up here?” he asked, still dazed.
“Your Pa and me landed here a few years after everything happened in the glen.” Her eyes fell and he could see the shame in her face. “We couldn’t feed you boys no more,” she wailed, dropping her head in her hands.
“I knew that,” Ty offered gently. “You did what you thought was best.” The twinge in his heart he’d buried deep pinched, but he let it go.
“That no good plot of land wouldn’t grow nothin’ and you boys got thinner each day. I knew the Spades’d take you in, watch over ya.” She lifted her gaze once more, her cheeks sunken and hollow.
Ty wrapped an arm around his mother and something soft seemed to unfurl inside him. “It’s alright Ma,” he said, patting her back.
“We loved you boys,” she continued. “It near pulled me apart leavin’ you, but your Pa and me had a better chance of finding something together.” She stopped suddenly, looking off into the distance.
Ty turned his head, gazing at the solid slat door at the back of the little hut.
“Then your Pa took ill and it was all I could do to care for him. Mr. Dixon took me as housekeeper when his wife passed and I did the best I could.” She stopped again and looked at him.
“By the time your Pa passed it was too late.”
Tywyn pulled his mother’s clenched hands into his as he knelt before her and met her granite eyes.
“When I rode into this town I had no idea you were here, yet somehow you recogn
ized me as I passed by.”
He squeezed her hands, holding her attention as he continued, “Life is strange and we don’t always know what it will bring, we can only do our best. The road led me back to you after all these years. So maybe it’s not too late after all.”
A soft gleam of hope entered the old woman’s eyes, and he pulled her to him again. His mother was alive here in Biders Clump.
***
Ty dismounted at the door of the livery and hobbled into the dark interior with Chip on a tight lead.
“You must not ‘a danced the right steps,” the hostler chortled through the door. “Thought you knowed ‘em all by now.”
Ty grinned. He’d been so distracted with finding his mother here in this little town that had drawn him in, and his moment of inattention had been all the opportunity Chip needed to shift a well-shod hoof onto his toes.
“I’ll have to pay better attention to the tune,” he joshed, settling the horse in the stall and dodging a quick snap of Chip's teeth.
“I’ll get some feed for that devil you call a horse,” Byron said, stomping off toward the feed room.
“Where can I get supplies for a long ride?” Ty asked as Byron returned.
“You leavin’ already?” the old man asked.
“Got business up in the mountains,” Ty offered. “I think I’d like to get it wrapped up soon. Seems I might have kin in the area and wouldn't mind the time to get reacquainted.”
“You head down the street past the boarding house and you’ll find the Mercantile. They got most anything you could need, can even special order stuff most folks don’t need on top of that.”
Ty chuckled as he walked out of the stable. This crazy town was doing something to him. Maybe it was the fresh mountain air, but he felt like maybe life could offer more than duty and obligation for once.
The Mercantile was just what he’d expected when he opened the door. The prerequisite little bell jingled merrily as he stepped inside and tipped his hat to an older woman and her pregnant daughter, who were looking at fabric.
“Maud, I found that thread you were asking about.” The female shopkeeper hustled around the counter at the back, stopping in her tracks as she saw him. “I’ll be right with you, young man,” she said, joining the others at the fabric table.
“Take your time, ma’am,” he rumbled, walking over to a counter that held several rifles and ammunition.
“Can I help you?” A man’s voice drew his eye where he moved onto the floor from a back room. “Mr. Bently,” he intoned, “I run this place.”
“Two boxes of carbine load and another three of.45s,” Ty said, his mind turning to the job at hand.
“You goin’ hunting?” the older man said with a grin, reaching into the case and pulling out the items requested.
“You could say that,” Ty replied, finishing with a list of items he’d need for his trip. “And one more thing.” He hesitated a moment as he picked up his gunny sack of supplies. “Would you send some general staples out to that Mrs. Nelson? As much as this will buy,” he finished, tossing a golden eagle at the man.
Mr. Bently’s eyes grew wide at the mention of the housekeeper’s name, but he snatched the coin, nodded and smiled. “No problem Mr. I’ll send someone by this evening.”
Ty paid his bill, tipped his hat to the ladies and headed back to the boarding house. It was going to be hard to leave that soft bed behind in the morning, but time waited on no man.
Chapter 4
"I appreciate you showing me the way," Ty said as he angled Chip away from Bruno on his smoke gray pony.
"No problem, I'm headed to the line shack anyway. One of the other shepherds said things have been going missin' recently."
"Like what?" Ty studied the trail before him.
"We all take turns keeping it stocked with canned goods and such, but lately other things have gone, like a bucket, and a frying pan as well as food. It ain't like folks to actually steal things. We keep supplies in case anyone gets in a pinch, but this is different."
"You think it's just folks passin' through?" Ty was curious.
"I don't know, maybe. I know I needed that little hut a while back and was mighty glad of it." He grinned, thinking back to those days. "You think it might be this fella from before?"
"Could be, though I'd have thought he'd move on pretty quick."
"You're the lawman, reckon you know about these things."
Together they made a turn on the upward-climbing slope and Bruno stopped. "This is where we left him. I took his horse, gun, and gear and Janine rode Smoke."
He pointed to a thick clump of bushes as Smoke side-stepped Chip's snap. "He had his horse hid in there and we left him tied to that tree."
Ty stepped out of his saddle and moved toward the tree. "You go on," he said, absently scanning the area.
"If you want me, just head on up the trail to the junction and turn left, you'll find the cabin in some pines. Can't miss it," Bruno replied, heading on up the trail.
Ty barely heard the pony as he moved away up the hill, his mind distracted while he cast about for any clues on how the outlaw had escaped, but after so much time there was no sign that gave him any direction.
Behind him Chip shifted restlessly, his ears pricked further up the trail. "Reckon you're right," Ty spoke, falling back into the familiar habit of talking to his horse. "I'd head up that way myself if I were him."
He stepped back into the saddle and headed upward, his mind racing as it tried to get inside the head of the desperate man.
"Maybe he went to that shack, geared up and kept walking," Ty mused aloud, making Chip twitch his ears again.
For two long years, Tywyn had been tracking Frank Selson, following every possible event or description that seemed to fit the man, but still he'd managed to come up short.
Frank was a man who'd started out like most criminals, first with petty crimes, then working his way up to more and more daring capers.
The fact that Ty had not even heard a rumor of the man since the bank heist in Biders Clump seemed to indicate he'd gone to ground somewhere in this range.
He pushed Chip into a hard canter, hoping to catch the sheep herder before he left the shack behind. Perhaps a few more questions might set him back on the right trail.
The trail he followed led to a junction with one path turning along a slope to the south and the other moving northwest into the higher reaches of the mountains.
Ty laid the reins along the right side of Chip’s neck, but the big horse didn’t turn left, instead tugging at his bit he pointed his nose north.
“Come on, Chip,” Ty spoke, pulling the left rein tight, but the horse stretched his nose northward and a growing apprehension crept up Tywyn’s spine.
“You win, this time,” he said, his hard eyes glinting in the morning sun as he gave the horse its head and moved onto the trail through the pines.
The cool depths of the forest engulfed both horse and rider as the trail steepened, twisted, and turned for miles before it plunged into a rough valley surrounded by trees.
Evening would come early at this altitude and Ty skirted the edge of the clearing, looking for a place to make camp. It had been a hard ride through the day and night was no time to be out in the open.
Tossing his bedroll on the ground below a tree, Ty staked Chip out on the long grass and watched the sun slowly settle over the peaks in a dazzling display of light and shadow.
He was surprised as he heated beans over a tiny fire at how much he was missing the hospitality of the little town so far below.
“Guess I’m getting’ soft,” he chuckled, wondering what he would do once he’d finally brought the outlaw to justice.
He thought of his mother and the strange circumstances that had reunited them. Part of him was surprised to find no anger or resentment over what had happened so long ago; another part was pleased, almost hopeful.
Peering into the gathering darkness, he ate his beans and contemplated. Life as a
Spade had been only slightly less difficult than it might have been as a Nelson, but he’d survived, grown strong and made something of himself.
Perhaps when this whole thing was over he’d take some time to get to know the woman who’d left so long ago.
The cricket’s song was dying in the deep darkness of the predawn when the sound of Chip’s snort brought Tywyn awake.
Instinctively his hand slipped to the pistol under his saddle and his eyes glared into the night, seeking the silhouette of his mount.
There was a reason Ty kept the bi-colored brute, whose instincts were unerring. In the darkness, the horse’s pale coat gleamed softly, and the lawman could see the animal’s alert ears pricked toward the other side of the basin, where a tiny glow flickered on the morning breeze.
Climbing quietly from his blankets. Ty tossed the saddle over Chip’s back, tightened down the cinches and placed the bridle over his head.
Seconds later he was moving across the dew-damp grass toward the seething color of the coals.
Chip lined out smoothly over the soft carpet of green, his hooves skimming the valley. As they neared the golden eye of embers, the lawman could make out the dark form of a lean-to.
Ty pulled his pistol from his hip, drawing Chip to a slow walk as a rifle shot echoed into the deep gray of dawn.
Tywyn Spade threw himself from the saddle, landing in the grass with a thump and rolled as his horse dropped to the grown with a loud grunt.
On his feet in a moment, Ty stalked for cover, his back hunched, his pistol stretched before him as he scanned the nearby slopes.
“I knew it’d be you,” a male voice cracked, then cackled in the growing light. “You couldn’t let it go, could ya?”
Ty moved into the shadow of the lean-to, his breath coming in short puffs as he strained to move silently. As soon as he reached the relative shelter of the structure, he lifted his eyes and strained to see Chip.
The big brown and white pinto lay perfectly still in the dim morning air, his bisected face pressed flat against the ground as his lips tugged at the fresh grass.
