The Double T's...Cowboys At Heart
by
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Thunder rumbled and cracked loudly, resounding through the brush-filled valley and bouncing off the thickly-covered surrounding mountains. The storm broke and rain poured down in torrents. Tyran fought to see through the downpour. His hat helped to shield his face from the stinging drops, but he had left his slicker on his horse and was soaked through in minutes. This was the kind of storm that caused flash floods, but Tyran knew, with this intensity, it would not last long. The cattle were bawling unhappily and the men worked hard to keep them in their holding circle. Tyran's eyes shifted to the herd for a moment. He would not have to worry about them. With the noise of the storm and the rain, they would not be able to tell much about what was going on at the camp. His eyes shifted back to the smoking, dying campfire and his muscles froze. Boots and the cowboy named Ross were no longer there. Fearing Ross was about to carry out Boots' death sentence, Tyran hurried forward, probing the pelting rain intently. Suddenly, he saw them. A little ways off, behind an outcropping of rock and a stand of three pine trees, he was just in time to see a white cowboy hat disappear behind the whipped branches of pine. It was an ideal spot to commit murder, well out of sight. Tyran moved fast. He ran swiftly up to the rock and peered around the edge. Boots was standing, facing his executioner, his eyes wide and contemptuous, but he showed no inkling of fear. His chin was tilted up defiantly and he said scornfully, “You're quite a hero, aren't ya? Stabbing a man with his hands tied behind his back! Be a man, and untie me so I can have a sporting chance!” The rustler snarled cruelly and lunged at Boots, a K-bar gripped tightly in his fist. Boots threw himself to one side as the knife curved up, low and deadly, to split his black leather belt in two. Then Tyran was running forward, the butt of his pistol raised. It connected with a dull thud on Ross's scalp and he slumped, instantly unconscious. Boots gave Tyran a shaky grin as the boy held out his hand to help him up. “You okay?” Tyran asked, anxiously. "Yeah. Nothing wrong with me.” Tyran looked down at the sliced belt strap. There was a trickle of blood dripping down over it. “Where's that coming from?” he asked. "Oh, he nicked me. It's just a little scratch, Tyran, honest.” Tyran nodded, his thoughts already leaping ahead. “He'll be out for awhile. Let's stampede their horses and get out of here. Tye should be coming with backup any time now.” They quickly tied Ross with the ropes that had held Boots, and dragged him under a rock. Stealthily, they circled around to the outlaws' horses. Boots cut Little Chickadee out from the herd and mounted her bareback. Tyran situated himself in a well-protected niche, ready to cover Boots from any possible gunfire. The faintest suggestion of light outlined the far edge of the clouds, the rays of sun highlighting it and breaking up the gloom. The storm would be over soon. Boots heaved a sigh and looked at Tyran. He nodded. Drawing his gun, the cowboy fired into the air, yelling and urging the rustlers' horses ahead of him. He heard Tyran exchanging shots as the horses stampeded in front of him. He pushed them fast and hard, until they had gone a good distance. Returning to Tyran's vicinity, Boots reached down and untied Bittago. He cautiously approached Tyran's position. The boy came leaping through the sagebrush, snapping shots down his back trail. He jumped into the stirrup of the moving Bittago and landed expertly in the saddle. The outlaws could still see them sporadically as they charged through the brush and bullets whizzed through the trees around the two escapees. Suddenly, Boots saw Tyran tense, stiffen and go sickly pale. He slumped over the horn; but quickly recovering, he nodded his head forward and urged Bittago on. Boots glanced quizzically at him, concerned, but said nothing. Wrangler was running all-out alongside of them. Both holstered their guns, as they expected no pursuit. Tyran had seen the cattle stampede along with the horses and it would take a while for the rustlers to sort that mess out. When they had made a solid three miles, they paused for a rest. Boots had opened his mouth to ask Tyran how he was and why he had fallen over when they heard pounding hooves from a lot of horsemen. He fell silent and they waited to see who it was. Boots shucked his gun. “It's the boys, I'll bet….” Tyran sounded weak. Boots caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Tex. He hollered and they brought their horses up short. Cautiously, they advanced and then exclaimed excitedly over Boots. Suddenly, Tex noticed Tyran's face. “Hey, what's wrong with Tyran? Boots, did you --” He got no farther. Tyran slid from the saddle and fell in a crumpled heap at Bittago's side. Tyrel dismounted and rushed forward. “I saw blood on his side!” he shouted frantically. Tex quickly strode to Ty's side. He laid him out on the ground. Tyran's shirt and pants were so soaked with blood that he could hardly see where the source of the bleeding was. He ordered Chick to get a canteen. Tyran's shirt was ripped off and his side bathed. Further inspection proved he had been shot right above his hip bone. It was not a groove or scratch. It was a hole. They also noticed that there was a deep groove in his arm, a few inches above the elbow, where a bullet had cut through.
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About the Book
Tyran and Tyrel Lyreil are about as mischievous and fun-loving as two boys can get. With their two pals, Jeff and Jam, and their two horses, Chum and Trusty, they are forever finding pranks to play on their mother’s ranch. They tease the good-natured cowboys and plan excursions to a secret place in the canyons that only they know of. They are not only capable of fun, however. As they grow into young manhood they can and do work as hard as the hired hands. They hunt and they fish, but most of all, they ride. They tackle almost every creature imaginable on their vast California ranch. Their way of life is their passion. When it comes to true American honesty, blood and guts, and the right to defend and protect what is theirs, no one beats the Lyreil boys. They may be young teenagers and full of spirit, but they have a code of honor they follow that neither threats nor bullets can pierce. Between humorous exploits of good clean fun, the young cowboys know what it means to work hard and face in the duties of every day life the real possibility of sudden and violent death. Whether it’s branding the cattle or facing down rank ranch bulls, ridding the earth of venomous reptiles or tracking down rustlers, the Lyreil boys get the job done. No matter what the cost.
About the Author
Kathryn Movius grew up in the dry mountains near Bakersfield, California. From earliest childhood she remembers riding her grandpa's roping horses and camping, fishing and hunting with her family. She has had to deal with rattlesnakes, range bulls and coyotes just like the characters in her book. Her delight was to ride her favorite horse, Punchers, up in the mountains behind her home and to take him on some cattle roundups and brandings she accompanied her father on. She left California when she was seventeen to attend college in St. Marys, Kansas. There she handled the music performance for the college plays and helped with miscellaneous tasks backstage. She earned her Associate of Arts Degree in the Liberal Arts Program and after two years of study she graduated Valedictorian of the 2007 class. She could not long bear to be away from California, however, and she returned to Bakersfield. She undertook some business courses from the California State University of Bakersfield for two quarters, until she married in 2008. She moved back to Kansas to be with her husband, where she now writes books and cares for their daughter. She hopes one day the proceeds from her books may fulfill her dream of living on a small ranch back in her beloved California.