by Cameron Judd
Beside him, Victoria stirred a little but did not wake up. He looked at her, barely able to see her outline in the dark room, and said a quiet prayer of thanks that, since they had come to Caylee, she had allowed him to sleep in her bed.
Kenton remained quiet, unmoving, trying to figure out what had made him wake up. And he wondered, too, why he felt so afraid right now.
He’d spent a lifetime trusting his instincts, so he didn’t dismiss the alarm sounding in his mind. He quietly slipped out of bed and crept to the door. He opened it and passed through.
He was not outside. Jack Livingston’s clever interior construction involved what was essentially a house within a house, walls erected a few feet back from the actual exterior walls, creating a box that hid everything inside, including most light.
Kenton was outside that box now and moved carefully. He slipped toward the nearest window and looked out into the night. He saw nothing. He went to the other side of the house and looked out a window there.
Quickly he ducked again, his heart rising in his chest.
He crept back to the door to the inner part of the dwelling and reentered. He went to Victoria’s side.
“Victoria, dear, wake up … quietly. They’ve come. They’re here … and we must do nothing to alert them as to where we are.”
It took a couple of moments for her to comprehend.
“David is here?”
“Yes. With others. And they’re looking for us right now.”
CHAPTER 35
Sammons was there even earlier than promised, bringing good horses, rifles, and the news that he’d just spent an hour praying for their mission. He was confident God would give them the victory … but he wasn’t sure it would be a bloodless one.
“I can assure you it probably will not be, if we actually encounter Kevington,” Gunnison said, out of earshot of his wife. “He will fight to the death before he’ll let Kenton take away the woman he sees as his.”
“She was a stolen woman, you said?” Sammons had been filled in by Gunnison the day before, but it had been a lot to absorb and he still didn’t seem fully cognizant of it all.
“She was stolen, and hidden away in England for years, with Kenton believing she was dead.”
“That’s a great sin indeed. And this is a righteous battle.”
“I can only hope it isn’t a battle already completed. If Kevington found them…”
“Have faith, my friend. I believe we’ll find them safe and sound.”
“Why are you doing this?” Gunnison asked the preacher.
“Because I’m able to. I’m a good fighter, Mr. Gunnison. There was a time when I used that fighting skill in the wrong ways. I hurt people, hurt them bad. I’ve even killed men, sir. It was always what folks called ‘fair fights,’ but I can tell you that I’d have killed them all the same, fair fight or not. I regret all that. So now, I’m going to fight the good fight.”
“Even for a stranger?”
“Brady Kenton a stranger? Everybody in the land knows and loves Brady Kenton.”
Gunnison said good-bye to his wife and to Rachel, who without the help of a physician now seemed to be mending fast. They did not linger on their farewell or allow themselves to discuss the darker possibilities that lay ahead.
As Gunnison and Sammons rode out of town, Roxanne felt bitterly guilty for the thought that flashed without bidding through her mind: If it is destined for Kevington to find Kenton and Victoria, I hope it’s already happened. I want my husband to come back safe.
She watched them ride away, their shadows stretching long in the light of the rising sun.
* * *
When the rising of the sun was a fading memory of an expired morning, Dr. David Kevington, exhausted, hungry, and frustrated, plopped down on the edge of a rotting boardwalk and shook his head. Graham was near, probably as hungry and perhaps as frustrated, but he seldom let his feelings show.
On down the street, Evaline and Brown were searching through empty buildings. They’d been complaining for the last hour, declaring that Kenton obviously was not in this town. Time to move on. The man had escaped and taken his woman with him, and Kevington would just have to accept it.
Kevington was not about to accept it. He would search this ghost town until every possible hiding place was ferreted out. If Brown and Evaline wished to be relieved of their duty, he’d be glad to oblige them with two quick shots to their heads. Right now it would be cathartic to do it.
Graham brought out his pipe and loaded it slowly. “Let me ask you something, Doc,” he said. “Just to make sure I have my facts straight. You and Brady Kenton’s wife were on a train together, and it crashed. Many years ago.”
“I was on the same train. We were not together.”
“Coincidence?”
“Not coincidence. I was following her.”
“I see.” He lit the pipe. “Following the wife of another man.”
“She was his wife in the legal sense. But in the eyes of heaven she has always been my wife. She was meant for me.”
“But she married another.”
“She said words before a clergyman. I attach no significance to it.”
“But Kenton obviously did. When he found out she was alive, he came all the way across the ocean to get her.”
“What is your point, Graham?”
“I must say I admire Kenton for what he did. He showed a husband’s true devotion, just as my father showed to my mother, may God rest them.”
“A husband’s true devotion, Mr. Graham, is what you see being carried out before your eyes at this moment. Do you think what Kenton did was remarkable? Look at what I’ve done! It was I who dared to claim the woman who was intended for me! It was I who saved her life and gave her a home, and love, and care, for so many years. Now I’ve followed her across an ocean again, and hired an army of men to find her and rescue her from her kidnapper.”
“So it’s Kenton who is the kidnapper.”
Kevington studied Graham a few moments, then said, “This conversation will end. Now.”
At that moment, three shots blasted from down the street, and they heard Brown scream in a remarkably high-pitched voice.
Kevington came to his feet and Graham knocked the ashes from his pipe. They picked up their rifles and trotted down the street in the direction from which the gunfire had come.
* * *
Unseen by them and at the far edge of Caylee, Alex Gunnison and Joe Sammons reined their tired horses to a halt and looked at each other.
“Gunfire, three shots,” Gunnison said.
Two more shots rang out; it seemed they could hear a man screaming.
“Ride in or on foot?” Gunnison asked.
Sammons thought for a moment. “Ride into that barn there and leave the horses. On foot the rest of the way. We don’t know what we’re getting into.”
CHAPTER 36
Brady Kenton was trying hard to feel bad for the man he’d just shot through the gut, but he just didn’t have it in him. The man had been about to shoot him. It was a true case of self-defense.
More than that, it was defense of Victoria. She was hidden on the upper floor of what once had been a saloon. She and Kenton had slipped out of Jack Livingston’s well-disguised house an hour ago, when Kevington and his searchers drew near and Kenton had been sure they were about to be detected.
Livingston had built himself a sort of trapdoor that opened onto a stone-floored area beneath the house upon which firewood was stored. The trapdoor, intended as a convenient way to bring wood in on cold days, had proved just as convenient as an escape route for a pursued man and woman.
Kenton had lodged Victoria in the upstairs of the former saloon, then had taken the role of the killdeer bird, allowing himself to be seen so that he could draw his pursuers away from where Victoria was hidden.
If Kevington got his hands on Victoria, it would be over. Kenton would be killed forthwith and Victoria hauled away, this time never to escape.
“Brown!” the second of the two gunmen yelled. “Brown, how bad you hit?”
“I’m gut-shot, Evaline! Help me, please…”
Kenton actually did feel sorry for the man now. He was writhing about in the dirt. He’d been emerging from an alley when he’d spotted Kenton trying to take cover behind a rusted piece of old mining equipment. Brown had prepared to take a shot at Kenton but had taken a slug through the gut instead. He was doomed. Wounds of this sort a man did not recover from.
With a new round levered into the chamber of the Winchester he’d taken from Jack Livingston’s mansion, Kenton watched Brown slow in his writhing and go quiet and still. He felt an odd sensation. It had been many years since he had been forced to kill a man, and it was not a pleasant feeling, even though the man he’d killed would have gladly killed him.
Now Kenton turned his attention to the other man, the one named Evaline. He’d heard him but not seen him, and there were plenty of places about in which a man could hide. Evaline might be sneaking up on him right now, even taking a bead.
Kenton was too edgy to stay put, and he was still too close to the saloon where Victoria hid. He’d hurridly instructed her to keep deathly quiet, no matter what happened to him. If he died, she was to remain hidden until Kevington and his men were gone, then make her way back across to Culvertown, being sure to avoid Kevington, and wire Alex Gunnison at the Illustrated American.
But Kenton didn’t intend to die here. He would fight his way out of this, no matter what it took. He’d not spent more than two decades searching out his stolen wife only to have Kevington rob him of her again by killing him.
Kenton rose and scrambled toward an old woodshed that was overgrown with ivy. A shot fired, the bullet singing past him. He caught a glimpse of the powderburst from the corner of his left eye.
Kenton dropped, rolled behind the woodshed, then scrambled back up and fired off a quick shot at the place he’d seen the powderburst. He saw Evaline dodge back behind a tree.
No sign of Kevington and the other man with him. Good in one way, bad in another. What if they had found Victoria?
Evaline popped off another shot at Kenton. The corner of the shed shuddered and splinters blasted off in all directions, stinging Kenton’s face.
* * *
Victoria huddled in the corner of the old saloon loft, wincing every time she heard a shot. She was terrified for Kenton and full of hatred for David Kevington. She vowed that if her husband died, she would personally see that Kevington died as well, no matter what it took to bring it about.
She heard another round of shots, then the sound of feet pounding up the street outside.
Victoria pulled herself into an even smaller, tighter human ball, wishing she could simply vanish, and take her husband with her.
She prayed hard … and then heard something that caused her to cease to breathe for several seconds straight.
Somebody was downstairs, just below. A thumping sound … feet on the stairs?
She had to look, and did. With great relief she saw that the thumping was simply a loose hanging board, swinging in a breeze.
Encouraged, she moved to a window and carefully looked out. The street below was empty … but then she saw movement.
Her breath failed her again. David Kevington was down there, along with a man she did not recognize. They were both armed and heading up the street to the place where Kenton was still fighting.
Victoria wanted to weep. Kenton was one man, fighting impossible odds.
All because of her.
Kenton had left her with a pistol, to defend herself in case she was found.
She looked out the window, watching Kevington advance, and the man with him. The gunfight up the street was continuing … and now she saw even more men, two more, moving in on foot through an alley, coming from the other side of town.
How many men had Kevington brought? How could Kenton be expected to single-handedly fight away four, five men?
Victoria said another fast prayer, checked her pistol, and turned to descend the stairs.
* * *
Kenton was lifting the rifle to fire at Evaline when he got a shot off first. The bullet struck Kenton’s rifle in the stock, shattering it and inflicting a cut on his jaw. The rifle shivered out of Kenton’s hands and fell, useless, to the ground.
Evaline laughed and emerged, coming in for the kill.
Kenton drew his pistol, stepped out, crouched, aimed, and shot Evaline through the forehead, two fast shots.
Even as Evaline fell dead, another shot blasted from up the street. Kenton’s leg kicked out from beneath him, and he fell with a grunt. It was as if someone had just driven a hot metal stake through his calf.
Kenton saw him then: David Kevington, rifle in hand, coming toward him. Beside him was another man, also armed, this rifle smoking. Kenton knew who had shot him.
He lifted his pistol and fired at the man, narrowly missing him. A second shot did better.
Graham let out a yell as Kenton’s bullet passed through his middle. He looked down, watching blood gout from the bullet hole, and shook his head. “I think you’re on your own now, Doctor,” he said to Kevington, and then pitched down on his face.
Kevington, seeing Kenton raising his pistol again, headed for the nearest alley. Kenton fired at him, once, twice, missing both times.
The next click of the trigger fell on an empty cylinder. Kevington heard it and stopped in his tracks. He turned, facing Kenton, and laughed. “Well, my old nemesis!” he said. “It seems that the worm has suddenly turned!” Kevington advanced toward Kenton, working the lever of his rifle. “Where should I put the first bullet, my friend? Your leg? Your shoulder? Your gut?”
Kevington came right up to Kenton, who was about to make it onto his feet again. At the last moment, though, Kevington kicked Kenton’s injured leg and made him fall again.
Kevington leaned over and glared down at the man he hated above all others. “I should have dealt with you in England when I had the chance. Too merciful, that’s my problem. It always has been. Well, Kenton … it’s time to say good-bye. I don’t know where you’ve stashed Victoria, but I’ll find her. For now, seeing you die is enough.”
Kevington aimed his rifle at Kenton’s forehead, squinting down the barrel.
Kenton shoved the rifle to the side just as it fired and wrenched it away, so hard he took some of the hide off Kevington’s fingers. Kevington roared in anger and tried to grab the rifle again, but Kenton pounded him back with it, then flipped the rifle in the air. He levered it.…
Before Kenton could fire, Victoria did. Her bullet caught Kevington between the shoulder blades. He grunted loudly, turned, and sank to his knees.
“Victoria … dear God, Victoria…” He gaped at her, unable to believe the woman he had come this far to find had just shot him.
Victoria, trembling now, dropped the pistol. Kevington stared at it, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small hideout gun. He lifted it, aimed it at Victoria …
From a kneeling posture, Preacher Joe Sammons fired three shots in succession, each of them striking in the area of David Kevington’s heart.
Kevington fell straight back, dead well before his head bounced on the earth. Victoria fainted, and Kenton managed to rise.
Sammons stood slowly, bowed his head, and prayed for the soul of the man he had just killed.
Alex Gunnison was running up the street toward Kenton. “Kenton!” he shouted. “Kenton!” There was no need to say anything else.
Kenton’s calf was bleeding, but he managed to stand upon it, even stagger forward. He was headed for Victoria.
Gunnison met him, threw his arms around him.
“Alex, where did you come from?”
“It’s a long story … but there will be plenty of time to tell it. Thank God you’re all right. Thank God!”
Kenton sat on the ground beside Victoria, who was reviving. She looked at him. “It’s over?”
“Yes,” he s
aid. “It’s over.”
She smiled.
Gunnison touched Kenton on the shoulder and smiled at him and Victoria. “Come on,” he said. “It’s time for us all to go home.”
EXTRAORDINARY ACCLAIM FOR THE WORKS OF CAMERON JUDD
“Judd does his usual exquisite job of character development. This book will restore your faith in westerns.”
—El Paso Herald Post on Jerusalem Camp
“Gripping and entertaining.”
—Virginian Tennessean on The Overmountain Men
“Judd writes a mean story.”
—Zane Grey’s West
“An impressive performance … a classically simple, fast-paced tale. Marks Judd as a keen observer of the human heart as well as a fine action writer.”
—Publishers Weekly on Timber Creek
“Abundance of historical detail … a heartfelt attempt to glimpse the soul of an American hero. By any standard, Judd succeeds.”
—Booklist on Crockett of Tennessee
Other two-in-one Westerns from Cameron Judd
Timber Creek
Renegade Lawmen
Snow Sky
Corrigan
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
CAMERON JUDD is the author of more than 30 published historical and Western novels, and is an award-winning newspaperman. Two of his novels, Crockett of Tennessee and The Canebrake Men, were national finalists in the annual Spur Awards competition of Western Writers of America. He lives near Greeneville, Tennessee, with his wife.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE QUEST OF BRADY KENTON / KENTON’S CHALLENGE
The Quest of Brady Kenton copyright © 2001 by Cameron Judd.
Kenton’s Challenge copyright © 2001 by Cameron Judd.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
