Nancy rode without pause, her only caution being a slight check on her horse’s speed. She needed to make good time, but she couldn’t afford to ride the big chestnut recklessly over the rough slopes that angled sharply away below her. The horse was her only chance to make Youngtown — Jacob’s only chance too. If she didn’t reach town and get help, then Jacob’s sacrifice might cost more than either of them had anticipated. Jacob had given her a chance to get away from the Retfords, and Nancy had no intention of letting him down.
The storm continued as she rode. It showed no sign of letting up. If it did nothing else, she thought, it would at least give Jacob a fighting chance, and she knew that he would make the most of any given opportunity.
Huddled up in her thick coat, guiding the sure-footed chestnut through rain-drenched forest and across windswept slopes of knee-high grass Nancy lost track of the passing hours. She knew her way, so she didn’t worry too much about time. But as she rode she felt weariness stealing over her. Despite her thick coat she was cold. Her face was numb from the slap of rain and the icy touch of the wind. She began to wish for warmth. A fire. Hot coffee. She thought of warm blankets, a place out of the wind and rain. She thought of these things, and then she put them from her mind. Here, now, was not the place, or time, for such thoughts. She had something to do and little time to do it in. Comfort was something that would have to take second place.
She found herself taking a narrow trail that led along the upper slope of a high bluff. The trail wound its way to the bottom of the bluff, wandering aimlessly down the crumbling face. Nancy recalled that it was a tricky ride at the best of times. Here she was going to have to tackle it in the dark, with wind and rain slapping at her all the way down.
Nancy urged the chestnut on and the animal, sensing what was wanted of it, eased its way gingerly down the wet, loose trail. Nancy, realising that the chestnut could find its way, let the animal have its head.
After some time she wondered just how far she’d come, and she glanced over her shoulder, looking back up the trail. And her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she saw the dark shapes of two riders on the trail behind her. They were only just starting the descent, but they were coming her way.
For just a short moment Nancy was gripped by blind panic. She almost threw herself from the saddle, ready to run. Then she got hold of herself, forcing herself to calmness. Obviously Kyle Retford had cottoned to Jacob’s plan. For a second she wondered whether they had Jacob, but she somehow knew that they wouldn’t have caught him yet, if they ever would. But Kyle, being the man he was, wouldn’t want a witness riding around who could tell what he’d been doing. The fact that she was a woman would mean nothing to Kyle Retford or his crew.
Nancy kept the chestnut moving. She leaned forward and took out her rifle. She levered a round into the chamber. Kicking her feet free she slid out of the saddle and led the chestnut to the side of the trail. Turning she faced the two riders, who had reined in when she had dismounted. They were still a good way off, but they were within rifle range.
Lightning suddenly hissed across the sky, lighting the black night with brilliant light. Nancy, ready, lifted her rifle. In the glare of the lightning she saw the two riders clearly, and recognised them as Retford men.
In the same moment the two riders saw Nancy, saw her ready gun, and went for their own weapons.
Nancy aimed quickly and fired. Fired again.
One of the Retford men left his saddle as his horse, burned by one of Nancy’s bullets, shrilled wildly and reared in panic. The rider hit on his face, his gun going off with a crash of sound and a stab of flame. He scrambled to his feet, pawing mud from his eyes. Before he could gather his wits his horse, nervously jittering around on the narrow trail, brushed against him, spinning him over the edge of the trail. The man’s yell was lost in the rushing wind as he cart wheeled out of sight, spinning helplessly down the rocky, steep slope.
Nancy had little time to feel anything over the man, for she still had the second Retford rider to contend with. He had left his saddle the moment Nancy had opened fire. He was out of her sight now, somewhere in the shadows. Nancy had no desire to get involved in a hide-and-seek gunfight with the man. She wasn’t capable of it and she didn’t want to waste her chances by risking a long delay.
Finding the chestnut’s reins she began to ease her way down the trail, hoping that she could get plenty of distance between herself and the Retford man before he discovered what she was up to.
A curve in the trail hid her from his view and Nancy swung herself up into the saddle, urging the chestnut forward. Despite her earlier caution she now pushed the chestnut a little. Now she was beginning to feel reaction setting in. She felt more than a little scared. Her stomach churned. Her hands were trembling. She realised she had come close back there. The only thing she could do now was to keep riding. Hard and fast. Once she reached the bottom of this winding trail and got on to level ground she’d be able to force the pace up even more.
After what seemed like an eternity Nancy left the high trail behind. Before her lay a stretch of rough, undulating country, riddled with rock beds and fields of thick, thorny brush. It was hard country, but just beyond it the land fell away in a gentle slope towards Youngtown. Nancy urged the chestnut forward, pushing the animal now, knowing that there was no time for hesitation.
Somewhere behind was the rider Kyle Retford had sent. He would still be coming, determined not to let her escape him. Nancy had stopped one of them, and she had the feeling that the remaining rider would be even more determined to get her now. Let a woman get away from him and he would never be able to hold up his head in front of his friends. Nancy knew what pride could drive a man to. She knew only too well, for it had been pride that had driven her father to do what he’d done. And it had been that pride that had eventually killed him.
Later, much later, she noticed a faint grayness in the sky off to the east, and she realised that the night was nearly over. Still she drove the chestnut on, her heart going to the seemingly tireless animal as it carried her unflaggingly closer to Youngtown. Around her the day grew, throwing aside the blackness, brushing the land with gray light, then staining it watery pink. Nancy became aware of a slackening in the force of the wind. The rain began to ease off too.
Coming to the crest of a long slope she drew rein and scanned her back-trail. The Retford man was still there. She saw him riding steadily across a wide stretch of flatland far behind her, but still coming. He was, she realised, a lot closer than she had expected.
Nancy moved off again. She was so close now. She had to make it, she just had to. Taking note of her surroundings she saw that she was very close to Youngtown. Soon she would reach the trail that led directly into town. If she was right it was below her, just beyond the band of trees that grew along the base of the low hill she was on.
Relief flooded through her as she came out of the trees and saw the trail. Nancy put the chestnut on to it and spurred him up the muddy road. Youngtown couldn’t be more than a couple of miles. Once there she could seek out Frank Cooper and tell him what had happened. She knew Cooper only slightly, but she knew him as a dependable, capable young man. Youngtown’s law office didn’t require too much of a man, but Cooper took his job seriously and Nancy was certain he would do all he could to help her.
A curve in the trail brought Young-town into sight some little time later and Nancy could have cried as she saw the town’s street, the buildings, showing misty gray through the fine drizzle that was all that was now left of the previous night’s storm.
It was early yet and there were few people about. Lights shone from windows. Smoke curled up from chimneys. Youngtown looked sleepy and unhurried, and Nancy felt envious of all the people in the houses. For them there was warmth and comfort, the security of their own homes, the familiar duties of another day. Unexciting, sometimes dull, but still a way of life that offered more than her own did at the moment.
Frank Cooper’s gun shop was some way down the street. Nancy headed towards it. First she saw his sign and the sight of it made her feel better. She drew rein and got down off the chestnut, looping her reins round the hitch rail. On an impulse Nancy took her rifle with her.
The sign on Copper’s door said the shop was closed, and the door was locked. Nancy stood for a moment. She recalled that Cooper had breakfast over at the hotel each morning. Turning she stepped down on to the street and began to cross over. The hotel was on the other side.
As she walked she became aware of how tired she was. Her body felt stiff and drained. Each step was an effort, and the dragging mud on her boots didn’t help any. The rifle she carried seemed to have trebled in weight.
Nancy had almost reached the far boardwalk when something made her look up, then glance back down the street she had just ridden along. Maybe it had been a faint sound, maybe a flash of colour catching the corner of her eye. She was never sure. But she did look up, and she did see, with a sudden shock, the Retford rider who had been following her. He was coming down the street, pushing his horse hard, and he had a gun in his hand.
The sound of the shot was loud in the early-morning stillness. Nancy felt the tug of the bullet as it caught the sleeve of her coat. She tried to run but her feet slid from under her and she fell into the mud. Desperately she rolled her body in towards the boardwalk, trying to make as small a target as was possible. She could see the rider getting closer, saw him adjust his aim. Nancy tried to pull her rifle to her shoulder, but her hands were wet and slippery.
Her heart was hammering, yet she felt calm, almost deliberate as she pushed to her knees and awkwardly swung her rifle up.
She suddenly knew that the man would fire first. Her one thought was for Jacob. She saw him, alone on that mountain, running from the Retfords, running but fighting, and she hoped that somehow he would get away from them.
A shot rang out, then another, two more. Nancy tensed, but there was no sudden shocking impact, no pain. She was staring at the Retford man. His gun showed no stab of flame, no wreath of powder smoke. Like an image in a dream, moving in slow motion she saw him throw his arms wide, his body twist sideways, shuddering under the impact of heavy bullets. Blood spurted from his chest as he slid from his saddle and struck the muddy street, his limp body sliding in the soft mud.
Nancy let out her breath. She put a hand to her mouth, holding back the sobs that threatened to overcome her. She shivered with cold and with the shock that followed the release of tension.
‘Nancy? Nancy, you hurt?’ The voice was somehow familiar, and Nancy glanced up. Frank Cooper stood before her. He bent down to her, strong hands on her arms helping her to her feet. ‘You hear me, Nancy?’ he asked gently.
She nodded slowly. ‘I’m alright now, Frank,’ she said, trying to smile.
Cooper was saying something else but Nancy didn’t hear him. She was looking beyond him, to a man standing on the boardwalk just beyond Cooper. He was a big man, tall, broad. He had a gun in his hand, smoke curling from the barrel. Nancy felt a strangeness run through her. The man looked so familiar. His build, the way he held himself. The colour of his hair. Nancy raised a hand, brushing at her eyes. Was she so tired? Was she imagining things? This man. She was so sure. But it couldn’t be. Jacob was so far away.
Then the man turned his head, looked at her, and Nancy was so sure.
‘Jacob?’ she asked. ‘Jacob, is that you?’
The man stepped down off the boardwalk. He never took his eyes off her. ‘No, ma’am. Not Jacob,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a brother named Jacob. Jacob Tyler. But I’m Seth Tyler.’