Read Online Guns of the Canyonlands by Ralph Compton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ralph Compton
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looked closer, his eyes trying to penetrate the gloom . . . and beheld an angel.
Lorena Boyd stepped quickly to Tyree’s side, her lovely brown eyes dark with concern. “I saw you stagger. Are you all right? You seem very weak.”
Tyree managed a tired smile. “I’m fine. Tired is all.”
“Then let me help you inside.”
Lorena put her arm around Tyree’s waist and helped him step up onto the porch and into the cabin. He was very aware of the woman’s warm closeness and the firmness of her breast against his side. She was, he decided, the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life.
Her thick mass of auburn hair was drawn back from her face and tied at her neck with a pink ribbon. Her cheekbones were wide and high, her mouth full, the lips generous and voluptuous. When she smiled her teeth were even and very white. Hers was a mysterious, haunting beauty, the kind that lingers long in the memory of a man, and Tyree felt his breath catch in his throat as she lit a lamp in the cabin and the light fell across her face and body.
Lorena was dressed in a severely tailored white shirt open at the neck, showing a triangle of flawless, lightly tanned skin. Her straight, canvas skirt was split for riding. Neither garment did anything to conceal the generous curves of her body.
She pulled out a chair and said, “Sit here, mister. . . . Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“There’s no mister.” Tyree smiled. “The name is Chance Tyree.”
Lorena tasted the name on her tongue, then said, “Chance Tyree, I like that. It has a ring to it.”
Luke Boyd stepped into the cabin and froze in his tracks when he heard Lorena speak. “Chance Tyree,” he said. “Would that be the Chance Tyree out of Texas? DeWitt County maybe?”
“There’s unlikely to be another,” Tyree said, his eyes guarded as he studied the stocky rancher. “De-Witt County and other places.”
“Heard of you,” Boyd said. “Heard a lot about you over the years.” The rancher was silent for a few moments as though making his mind up about something. Finally he set his rifle down on the table and held out his hand. “Luke Boyd.”
Tyree shook the man’s hand; then Boyd said, “I don’t hold a man’s past against him. What’s done is done. But when you’re well enough to ride, I’d consider it as a favor if you’d move on.”
It was in Tyree’s mind to say, “Old man, there’s nothing to keep me here.” But when he looked at Lorena, the woman he’d all of a sudden made up his mind to marry, the words died stillborn in his throat. Instead he managed, “I don’t aim to be a burden on you, Mr. Boyd. At first light tomorrow I’ll leave.”
“No need for that,” Boyd said. “You can stay here for a few days, a few weeks if need be, at least until you’re well enough to ride. But then you got to be going.” The older man smiled, his teeth flashing white under his beard. “No hard feelings I hope, Chance. And mister don’t set right with me any more than it does with you. The name’s Luke.”
The old rancher had offered the peace pipe, and Tyree took it. “I’m obliged to you, Luke,” he said, matching Boyd’s smile with one of his own. “But I figure I can ride in a couple of days—that is, if you can sell me a horse.”
Boyd nodded. “We’ll talk about that when the time comes.” His eyes lifted to his daughter. “Lorena, can’t you see this young feller is wounded? Judging by the amount of blood on his shirt, it’s bad, so see to him, child.” Without waiting for a reply he turned to Fowler. “Now, Owen, what the hell are you doing out of jail?”
In as few words as possible, Fowler told Boyd about the jail’s cholera outbreak that won him his freedom, his finding Tyree south of Crooked Creek hanging more dead than alive, then their fight with Quirt Laytham and his riders along the bank of Hatch Wash. He also mentioned Sheriff Tobin parroting Laytham’s accusation that he’d been
Lorena Boyd stepped quickly to Tyree’s side, her lovely brown eyes dark with concern. “I saw you stagger. Are you all right? You seem very weak.”
Tyree managed a tired smile. “I’m fine. Tired is all.”
“Then let me help you inside.”
Lorena put her arm around Tyree’s waist and helped him step up onto the porch and into the cabin. He was very aware of the woman’s warm closeness and the firmness of her breast against his side. She was, he decided, the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life.
Her thick mass of auburn hair was drawn back from her face and tied at her neck with a pink ribbon. Her cheekbones were wide and high, her mouth full, the lips generous and voluptuous. When she smiled her teeth were even and very white. Hers was a mysterious, haunting beauty, the kind that lingers long in the memory of a man, and Tyree felt his breath catch in his throat as she lit a lamp in the cabin and the light fell across her face and body.
Lorena was dressed in a severely tailored white shirt open at the neck, showing a triangle of flawless, lightly tanned skin. Her straight, canvas skirt was split for riding. Neither garment did anything to conceal the generous curves of her body.
She pulled out a chair and said, “Sit here, mister. . . . Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“There’s no mister.” Tyree smiled. “The name is Chance Tyree.”
Lorena tasted the name on her tongue, then said, “Chance Tyree, I like that. It has a ring to it.”
Luke Boyd stepped into the cabin and froze in his tracks when he heard Lorena speak. “Chance Tyree,” he said. “Would that be the Chance Tyree out of Texas? DeWitt County maybe?”
“There’s unlikely to be another,” Tyree said, his eyes guarded as he studied the stocky rancher. “De-Witt County and other places.”
“Heard of you,” Boyd said. “Heard a lot about you over the years.” The rancher was silent for a few moments as though making his mind up about something. Finally he set his rifle down on the table and held out his hand. “Luke Boyd.”
Tyree shook the man’s hand; then Boyd said, “I don’t hold a man’s past against him. What’s done is done. But when you’re well enough to ride, I’d consider it as a favor if you’d move on.”
It was in Tyree’s mind to say, “Old man, there’s nothing to keep me here.” But when he looked at Lorena, the woman he’d all of a sudden made up his mind to marry, the words died stillborn in his throat. Instead he managed, “I don’t aim to be a burden on you, Mr. Boyd. At first light tomorrow I’ll leave.”
“No need for that,” Boyd said. “You can stay here for a few days, a few weeks if need be, at least until you’re well enough to ride. But then you got to be going.” The older man smiled, his teeth flashing white under his beard. “No hard feelings I hope, Chance. And mister don’t set right with me any more than it does with you. The name’s Luke.”
The old rancher had offered the peace pipe, and Tyree took it. “I’m obliged to you, Luke,” he said, matching Boyd’s smile with one of his own. “But I figure I can ride in a couple of days—that is, if you can sell me a horse.”
Boyd nodded. “We’ll talk about that when the time comes.” His eyes lifted to his daughter. “Lorena, can’t you see this young feller is wounded? Judging by the amount of blood on his shirt, it’s bad, so see to him, child.” Without waiting for a reply he turned to Fowler. “Now, Owen, what the hell are you doing out of jail?”
In as few words as possible, Fowler told Boyd about the jail’s cholera outbreak that won him his freedom, his finding Tyree south of Crooked Creek hanging more dead than alive, then their fight with Quirt Laytham and his riders along the bank of Hatch Wash. He also mentioned Sheriff Tobin parroting Laytham’s accusation that he’d been
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