"Yancy's not here," Polly said distractedly. She looked down at Andrew. He was stunned from the blow, but he didn't seem to be badly hurt. The tromp of booted feet made her glance up again, and she saw that several of Turner's gunmen had crowded into the room. Martha and Francie were huddled against the wall as far away from the door as they could get, holding each other. "Stay right there, girls," Polly told them.
Surely these men wouldn't hurt innocent children, she thought, no matter how much they wanted to find Yancy. But Andrew's groggy expression and the red imprint of Turner's hand on his face told her differently.
"I know Rowlett's not here, ma'am," Turner said. "He's still in Wind River where he can hide behind that marshal and the old deputy. He's too much of a coward to face up to what he's done, so I'm forced to take measures that I'd rather I didn't have to." He turned to his men and snapped, "Take them outside."
"No!" Polly shouted. "Leave us alone!"
It was too late. The hardcases stepped forward and strong hands clamped on her arms like iron vises, dragging her up off the floor and out of the cabin. She struggled wildly, but it was no use. There were too many of the men, and they were too strong.
Andrew was picked up, too, along with Martha and Francie. Andrew tried futilely to fight back, and the two girls wailed and writhed in the grasp of their captors. All four of the Dillons were hustled out of the cabin and down the knoll, and the men who had hold of them didn’t stop until they reached the bottom of the slope.
Turner stood silhouetted in the doorway of the cabin, watching grimly as his men took the family away from their new home. Then he turned and went back inside. Polly had no idea what he was doing until she heard a crash and the tinkle of breaking glass. Even without being there, she knew he had smashed the lantern.
“Noooo!” she cried as she tried to fling herself back up the hill. But the hands of the hired gunmen grasped her arms cruelly and pulled her back. She was jerked off her feet and thrown to the ground. Sobs wracked her.
She looked up as flames blazed to life inside the cabin. Turner appeared in the doorway again as the hellish glow grew behind him. He stalked down the slope toward her. By the time he reached the bottom of the knoll, the cabin was burning furiously, lighting up the night sky with the glare of the flames.
He came to a stop beside her as she lay sobbing on the cold ground. “As I told you, I’m truly sorry about this, Mrs. Dillon. But I’ve left you your wagon and your team, so you can get back to town. When you do, find Rowlett and tell him this is his fault.”
Polly pushed herself up into a half-sitting position. “You bastard!” she screamed at Turner, all fear forgotten in her outrage at what he had done to her and her family. “You insane bastard!”
Turner’s face tightened in the moonlight. “I’ll forgive that, ma’am. I should have known you’d believe his lies. I asked around in town before that marshal ran us out, and more than one person told us you were quite friendly with Rowlett.” He leaned over, caught Polly’s chin in his hand, and jerked her head up so that he could look into her eyes. “Tell him that worse than this will happen to you if he doesn’t settle things with me. Tell him to ride north. I’ll find him, and then it’ll be just him and me, the way it should have been all along.”
Polly wanted to spit in the man’s face, but she didn’t. His men still had hold of her children, and she didn’t want to do anything else that would jeopardize them. Between clenched teeth, she grated, “I’ll tell him. And I hope he kills you!”
Turner let go of her and laughed hollowly. “Not likely, ma’am. Not likely.” He gestured curtly at his men. “Let go of those kids and let’s get out of here.”
A little cry of relief slipped out of Polly as Andrew, Martha, and Francie were released. They ran over to her and grabbed her desperately. All three of them were crying, even Andrew. Polly put her arms around them and held on to them tightly as Turner and his men swung up into their saddles. Without saying anything else, Turner pulled his mount around and heeled it into a run. The others followed, and the darkness soon swallowed all of them.
It wasn’t dark on top of the knoll, though. Up there it was almost as bright as day as the cabin burned ferociously. Everything in it would be lost, Polly knew, everything they had brought with them from Illinois and everything they had bought since then. They were ruined, utterly ruined.
“M-Ma?” Andrew iccupped. “Are you going to tell Yancy what that man said?”
Polly hesitated. She didn’t want to cooperate with Turner, but she had seen the madness in the man’s eyes. If she didn’t pass along the message to Rowlett, she had no doubt that Turner would be back. And next time, whatever he did to get Rowlett’s attention might be much worse.
“I have to,” she told Andrew. “I have to find Yancy and tell him. He’ll know what to do.”
“I hope he kills that son of a bitch,” Andrew said fervently.
And the way Polly felt right now, she didn’t even bother to scold her son for his language.
* * *
Despite the solemnity of the occasion, Cole left the Wind River Cafe with Rowlett and Billy Casebolt that evening feeling fairly good. Between Monty Riordan's cooking and Rose Foster's charm, the meal the three men had shared had been enjoyable. As they strolled along the boardwalk, Rowlett patted his stomach and said, "That old fella Riordan may not be as good a cook as Miz Dillon—or as pretty— but he fries up a hell of a steak."
Casebolt said, "The part about bein' pretty, I reckon Miss Rose handles that just fine."
Cole grinned. "You getting sweet on Rose, Billy?"
"A fella could do worse," bristled Casebolt. "You'd do well to recollect that yourself, Marshal."
"Maybe," Cole nodded. That made him think about Simone McKay . . . but he had to admit that Rose Foster was also a damned attractive woman, if a mite tart-tongued at times. Anyway, he supposed they shouldn't be talking about romance when Rowlett was about to leave behind the woman he obviously cared for. But it was better all around that way, Cole had no doubt of that.
Casebolt had followed Henry Turner and his men out of town that afternoon, and they had headed due north toward Montana Territory. Casebolt hadn't turned back south until the group had covered almost ten miles. But that was no guarantee they wouldn't double back later, and that possibility had Cole worried. He would miss Rowlett, but at the same time he would be glad when the big mountain man was on that eastbound train, heading away from Wind River.
Several riders swept past in the street, and a friendly voice hailed Rowlett. One of the horsebackers pulled his mount around and trotted over to the boardwalk, lifting a hand in greeting. "Howdy, Mr. Rowlett," he called. "How are you doing?"
Cole recognized the young cowboy as Lon Rogers, one of Kermit Sawyer's hands. Rowlett remembered him, too, because he said, "Hello, Lon. Reckon I'm fine. How about you? You were laid up the last time I saw you."
Lon leaned forward in the saddle and grinned. "I'm fit as a fiddle. Took a while for my knee to heal up, but it's all right now. I'll a few scars from those wolves, though." He sounded a little proud of that fact.
Cole looked down the street and saw that Lon's companions were hitching their horses in front of one of the saloons. He recognized Frenchy LeDoux, Sawyer's segundo, and the white-haired cattleman himself was there, too. LeDoux and the other hands went into the saloon while Sawyer turned and headed for the general store, which was still open. He had probably come into town to pick up a few supplies, Cole speculated, and the other men had taken advantage of the opportunity for some recreation.
Sawyer spotted Cole watching him, gave the lawman a curt nod, and went on into the store. As with Hank Parker, Cole didn't get along that well with Sawyer, but they didn't go out of their way to antagonize each other—at least Cole didn't. He wasn't sure about Sawyer.
Lon was saying, "Come on down and have a drink with us, Mr. Rowlett. You and your deputy are welcome, too, Marshal."
"Think I'll pass," Cole said. "You a
nd Billy go on ahead if you want to, though."
Casebolt licked his lips. "Don't mind if I do. How 'bout you, Yancy?"
"Sure," Rowlett began. "I'd be glad—what the hell!" He was glancing down the street as he suddenly gave out with the startled exclamation. He broke into a run, heading for a wagon that was rolling along Grenville Avenue several blocks away.
Cole recognized the vehicle. It was the Dillon wagon, and Polly was on the seat with all three of her youngsters crowded around her. As the wagon passed one of the buildings, light from within fell on their tight-drawn faces, and Cole could tell that something was wrong. "Come on, Billy," he snapped as he hurried after Rowlett. Lon Rogers came along, too, trotting his horse beside the boardwalk.
Polly brought the wagon to a stop as Rowlett reached it. He asked, "What happened?", and all three of the children started talking at once. From the boardwalk, Cole caught the phrases "bad men" and "burned down the cabin."
Polly shushed the children, and Rowlett looked intently at her as he asked, "Is it true?"
She nodded, her face haggard from the strain she was under. "It's true. That man Turner and his gunmen showed up at our place. The cabin's gone, Yancy! They burned it to the ground!"
"Son of a bitch," Rowlett breathed. "I'll kill him!"
"He said for you to ride north, that he would find you. But you can't do it, Yancy! He has all those men with him. They'll kill you, I'm sure they will!"
Rowlett reached up and swept little Francie into his arms. She clung tightly to him, her arms around his neck. Cole could see Rowlett trembling a little from the emotions gripping him. "Can't let him get away with that," Rowlett said quietly. "He had no right to hurt you folks—"
"It's over and done with!" Polly burst out. "You can't change things, Yancy. At first I wanted you to go after Turner, too. I . . . I wanted him dead, may God forgive me. But I can see now that's wrong. More killing won't make things any better. Just leave, Yancy. Go far away, somewhere that he can never find you again."
Rowlett shook his head stubbornly. "Can't do that. This has gone on long enough."
Cole and Casebolt stepped up beside him. "This isn't just your fight anymore, Yancy. Turner broke the law when he went after these folks. Billy and I will take care of him."
"And I'll go get the boys and we'll go, too," Lon added angrily. "You saved my life, Mr. Rowlett. I don't know who this fella Turner is, but if he's after you, he's going to have to fight the Diamond S, too!"
Before Cole could stop him, Lon spurred his horse into a run, heading down the street toward the saloon where Sawyer's cowboys had gone. Cole didn't particularly want those hot-headed Texas punchers stirring things up even more, but it was probably too late to do anything about it. Anyway, the Diamond S crew would go a long way toward evening up the odds against those hired killers of Turner's.
Polly scrambled down from the wagon seat and confronted Rowlett, leaving Cole and Casebolt to help the other two children down. "Didn't you hear me, Yancy?" she said. "I don't want you to go after Turner. Just let it be. Please."
Rowlett looked at her for a long moment, then lifted a hand and stroked her cheek with surprising gentleness. "Turner never should have hurt you," he said.
Then he carefully placed Francie on the ground and turned to walk away, heading resolutely toward the livery stable.
"Yancy!" Polly screamed after him. "No!"
Cole stepped up beside her and said quietly, "It's gone too far, Mrs. Dillon. Turners like a mad dog. He's got to be stopped. Yancy might get away this time, but Turner would just keep coming after him, and more folks will get hurt."
Polly turned her tear-streaked face toward him. "You won't let him go after Turner alone, will you, Marshal? You have to help him."
"I already said I would." Cole glanced at Casebolt. "Get our horses saddled up, Billy. I'll go back to the office and fetch some rifles."
Casebolt nodded and hurried off after Rowlett.
Down the street, Lon Rogers had disappeared inside the saloon, and now he emerged with Frenchy LeDoux and the other members of Sawyer's crew. As they started toward the wagon on foot, Sawyer came out of the general store and stopped short to frown at his men. "What's going on here?" he demanded loudly of Frenchy.
Cole couldn't hear the foreman's low-voiced reply, but he saw the way Sawyer stiffened angrily. Sawyer turned and marched down the boardwalk, the cowboys following him, and when he came up to Cole, he asked, "Is it true? Somebody's trying to kill that big fella Rowlett?"
Cole nodded. "That's right."
"Then by God, he'll have us to deal with, too! Rowlett saved Lon's life during that storm a while back, and we owe him. We'll put a stop to this, Tyler, if you can't."
"Billy Casebolt and I are riding out with Yancy," Cole snapped. "I can't tell you to stay out of it, Sawyer, but if you come along you'd damn well better not cross me."
Sawyer grunted. "Don't get your back up, Marshal. I reckon we want the same thing this time."
Cole nodded curtly and said, "Let's keep it that way." He looked around. Casebolt should have been back from the livery stable by now with the horses.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of rapid hoof-beats in the distance, and he stiffened, his jaw tightening. A hunch told him he'd better get down the street to the stable. He broke into a run, leaving a startled Sawyer staring after him.
Billy Casebolt wobbled out of the barn just before Cole reached the big double doors. The deputy had his hat in one hand, and the other hand was pressed to his head. He was muttering angrily, and as he looked up and saw Cole, he said, "That big rannihan clouted me one, Marshal! Said he wasn't goin' to let anybody else risk their lives by goin' up against Turner."
"Damn it!" Cole said fervently. "That stubborn old fool."
Sawyer, Lon, and the other Texans had come up in time to hear Casebolt explain what had happened, and so had Polly Dillon. She gave a low cry and reached out to clutch Cole's arm. "You have to go after him, Marshal!" she said desperately. "You can't let him do this alone!"
Cole's voice was grim as he looked off to the north and said, "I don't intend to." The sound of hoofbeats had faded away in the night, and he knew Rowlett had a lead on them now. But that didn't matter. With any luck, they could catch up to him before he ran into Turner.
"Mount up, boys," Sawyer snapped. "We're ridin'."
"Stay here, Billy," Cole told the deputy. "I'll get our horses saddled."
Casebolt nodded, then winced as he settled his hat on his sore head. "I'm sure sorry, Marshal," he said.
"Wasn't your fault, Billy," Cole told him. "I don't reckon it was anybody's fault."
But one way or another, Cole thought, it was going to end.
Tonight.
Chapter 16
There was no moon tonight except for a thin sliver that reminded Rowlett of a scythe as he rode north. That fella who ran the riverboat to Hades carried a scythe, he recalled. So it was fitting that the moon was like that, because somebody was bound to die this night.
The whole business had gone on long enough—too long, Rowlett amended. Either he or Turner would die, and then it would all be over. Polly and the little ones wouldn't be hurt again, and neither would anybody else on down the line. He should have known that Turner would never give it up, he thought bitterly. And he should have known better than to slow down.
He was the one who had put the Dillon family at risk—him and nobody else. All because for a while he had allowed himself to reach out and touch a dream that was never meant for the likes of him.
No, he was meant for the lonely places where the cold wind blew and the wolves howled and the campfires were small, so small they barely kept the darkness at bay. That was what life held for Yancy Rowlett, not home and hearth and a family . . .
He gave a little shake of his head and rolled his shoulders. Letting a black mood like that take over his brain would be a good way of getting killed. If he didn't keep his ears open and his eyes peeled, Turner could put a bullet in him
before he even knew what happened.
The stars gave off enough light for Rowlett to see where he was going. Turner hadn't been very specific in his instructions. Ride north, the son of a bitch had said. Well, this was the main trail north out of Wind River, Rowlett knew, and he was hoping that was what Turner had in mind.
He kept the rented horse moving at a fast clip. There was no doubt in his mind that Cole and Casebolt and that young cowboy would come after him, and they would probably bring the rest of the Diamond S punchers with them. Those boys might be a match for Turner's hired guns—but some of them would probably die in a showdown, and Rowlett didn't want that.
The trail led up a long slope to the crest of a ridge, and just before Rowlett reached the top of it, dark shapes appeared in front of him. He reined in sharply and watched as a dozen riders topped the rise from the other side of the ridge. They stopped there at the crest, spread out across the trail to block it. One man edged his horse forward a couple of steps.
"I knew you'd come, Rowlett," Henry Turner called.
"You shouldn't have done what you did to the Dillons, you bastard," Rowlett said angrily. "Your fight's with me, not them!"
"It's a fight you've been running away from for months, ever since you killed my son. I had to do something to make you face up to it."
Turner's tone was so self-righteous that it made a bad taste boil up in the back of Rowlett's throat. He swallowed it and sighed wearily. "I'm too damn tired to keep arguing with you, Turner," he said. "Let's get it over with."
Turner swung down from his saddle and stepped forward. "You and me, Rowlett," he said, his voice shaking with emotion now that the showdown he had sought for so long was finally at hand. "Just like it was meant to be."
Rowlett laughed humorlessly. "You're no gunfighter."
"Neither are you. Now, are you going to get down and face me?"
Rowlett dismounted and stepped away from his horse. He moved to the center of the trail and walked forward slowly. The two men were almost level as they moved toward each other, but Turner was still a little higher. Rowlett told himself to allow for that when he shot. His tongue came out involuntarily and licked at the lips under his bushy mustache.
Wolf Shadow (Wind River Book 3) Page 20