Kilkenny smiled. "No reason for any "trouble, but she gave me a tip once that helped. I believe she's friendly and I believe she's innocent of any wrongdoing."
The man with the cold eyes looked right back at him.
"I aim to clear her out of here, as well as the others. I aim to burn that place down over her head."
There was cruelty in the man's face and a harshness that seemed to spring from some inner source of malice and hatred. He wore a gun tied down and had a carbine in the hollow of his arm. Several others moved closer to him, an odd similarity in their faces.
"There'll be time to settle t"... Kilkenny said quietly, "when we get there. But you'd better change your mind, my friend. If you don't, you're going to have to kill me right along with her."
"She's a scarlet woman ... The man said viciously, "and dyin's too good for her kind! I'm a-gettin" her, an' you stay clear!"
"Time's a-wastin' ... Steele interrupted. "Let's ride!"
In the saddle, Kilkenny rode beside Steele.
"Who is that hombre"..."... He demanded.
"Name of Calkins, Lem Calkins. Hails from West Virginia, and he's a feuder. I've met some good folks from there, but Calkins is a mean, hard man.
"Did you see those who grouped around him?
He's got three brothers and five sons. you touch one of them and you've got to fight them all!"
They rode over the rise and into Apple Canyon, and Kilkenny wheeled his horse and raced toward the cliff. Instantly a shot rang out, and he turned the buckskin on a dime and charged into the street of the town.
More shots sounded, and a man drawing water at a well dropped the bucket and grabbed for his gun.
Kilkenny snapped a shot and the man staggered, grabbing at his arm. His gun lay in the dust. A shot whipped past Kilkenny, another ricocheted off his pommel but missed him and he raced his horse between Nita's house and the Border Bar and dropped from the saddle.
He went up the back steps in two jumps and sprang through the door. Firing had broken out in front, but Kilkenny's sudden attack from the rear was a complete surprise. He snapped a shot at a lean redhead, and the man went down, grabbing at his chest with both hands.
The bartender reached for the sawed off shotgun, and Kilkenny took him out with a shot from his lefthand gun.
Jaime Brigo sat tilted back hi a chair at the end of the room. He had neither moved nor reached for a gun.
Kilkenny reloaded his pistols. "Brigo, there are some men who would harm the senorita. Lem Calkins and his brothers. They would burn this place and kill her. You savvy?"
"Si, senor."
"I must go up the cliff. You must watch over the senorita. I will be back when I can."
Jaime Brigo got up. He towered above Kilkenny, and he smiled.
"Of course, senor. I know Senor Calkins well. He is a man who thinks himself good, but he is cruel. He is also a dangerous man."
"H necessary ... said Kilkenny, "take the senorita away, Brigo. I shall be back when I have seen the man on the cliff."
The firing was increasing in intensity.
"Have you seen Steve Lord"..."... Kilkenny asked.
"Si. He went before you to the cliff. The senorita would not see him and he was very angry. He said he would return soon, and she would see him then."
Kilkenny stood alone in the middle of the room for a moment He thought about the place on the hill, and the odds. He was a man who never blinded himself to the realities, yet he had faith. Now he must go...
The time had come.
Chapter XIX
Kilkenny studied the street outside. The bulk of the outlaws seemed to have holed up in the livery stable and they were putting up a hot fire. Others had taken positions behind a pile of stones beyond the street and still others in the bunkhouse. There was no way to estimate their numbers.
Some of the attacking party had closed hi, getting into positions from which they could fire into the face of the building, covering its windows and door. For the time being, it appeared to be a stalemate.
Walking to the back door of the saloon, Kilkenny slipped out into the yard and walked over to Buck.
Concealed by the saloon building, he was out of the line of fire.
Suddenly Lance heard a low call. Glancing over, he saw Nita standing under the roses.
Hesitating only for a quick look around, he crossed to her, leading the horse. For a moment he was exposed, but he got by unseen.
He told her of Lem Calkins. She nodded.
"I expected that He hates me.""... Why?"
"Oh, because I'm a. Woman, I guess. He came here once and had to be sent away. He seemed to believe I was a somewhat different person than I am."
"I see."
"You're going to the cliff ..."... Her eyes were wide and dark. "Yes."
"Be very careful. There are traps up there. Spring guns, and other things."
"I shall be careful."
He swung to the saddle and loped the buckskin away, keeping the buildings between him and the firing.
When he had cleared Nita's house, a bullet winged past him from the stonepile, but he brought the horse in behind a hummock of sand and let him run.
From now on, he must work with speed and care.
Skirting the rocks, he rode Buck upstream through (he foot-deep water for half a mile, then went up the bank and rode a weaving trail through the willows. He scrambled up a steep draw to a plateau. Using a towering thumb-like butte for a marker he worked his way higher until he was sure he was behind the cliff house and well above it At a secluded place among the rocks, where there was considerable grass, he slipped the reins over Buck's head and trailed them. "Take care of yourself, Buck. I've got things to do."
Leaving his rifle in its scabbard, Kilkenny left the horse and worked his way down through a maze of rocks toward the cliff edge.
The view was splendid. Far below he could see the scattered houses of Apple Canyon, and from here he could see occasional puffs of smoke. The sounds of gunshots seemed farther away than they were.
His own attacking party had fanned out in a long skirmish line across die pass and down toward the town. They were moving according to plan, shrewdly and carefully, never exposing themselves.
Kilkenny had planned it himself. He was sure from what he had learned that the well across from Nita's house was the only source of water. The one bucket was empty. He knew because it lay in plain sight near the well alongside it the gun the man had dropped when Kilkenny had shot him.
There were a lot of men defending Apple Canyon, and it was going to be a long, hot day. If they could be pinned down, kept from getting water, and if he could eliminate Royal Barnes, there was a chance of complete surrender on the part of the outlaws.
He believed he could persuade Steele and Frame to let them go if they surrendered as a body and agreed to leave the country. His wish was to prevent any losses among their own men while breaking up the Barnes gang.
Suddenly, even as he watched, a man dashed from the rear of the bunkhouse toward the well and the fallen bucket. He was halfway to the well before a gun spoke, and Kilkenny would have sworn it was Mort Davis' old buffalo gun that did the job. Just from the sound.
The runner pitched forward on his head and fell face down on the hard-packed earth near the well. That would hold them for awhile. Nobody wanted to die that way. By now they were doing a lot of thinking, for every man jack of them had a sense of the time and the sun.
There appeared to be at least six hundred feet to the floor of the valley from where Kilkenny stood.
Recalling his calculations, he believed it would be about fifty feet down to the cliff house and the window he had selected.
Undoubtedly there was an exit somewhere among the boulders and crags not far from his horse, but there was no time to look for it now.
He had taken his rope from his saddle and now he made it fast around the trunk of a gnarled old cedar, then he stepped off the cliff, easing himself down. His hands seemed to be w
orking well.
He was halfway down when the first shot came, and it came from the livery stable. The bullet spat rock fragments into his face that stung like blown needles, but instantly his own crowd opened up a strong covering fire. He glanced down, trying to locate the window. It was a bit to his right.
Careful to make no sound, he lowered himself still more.
He was almost at the window.
Another shot clipped the rock near him. Whoever was shooting was taking hasty shots without proper aim, or he wouldn't have missed. Kilkenny was thanking his stars that the men behind the stone pile had not seen him when a shot cut through his sleeve and stung his arm.
Involuntarily, he jerked and almost lost his hold.
Just as bullets began to spatter around him, his feet found a toehold on the windowsill. The window was open and he dropped inside.
Instantly, he slipped out of the line with the window and froze. Standing very still, he listened.
The room was a small bedroom, with Indian blankets spread on the bed, and a crude table and chair.
He rested a hand on the latch of a door and lifted it slowly.
"Come in, Kilkenny! Come right on in!"
Kilkenny pushed the door open with his left hand and stepped into the room, every sense alert and poised for a fast draw, if need be.
It was a neat and sun-filled room. At a table alone sat a man in a white, open-necked shirt, a broad leather belt and gray trousers tucked into cowhide boots. He also wore two guns.
He was clean-shaven except for a neatly trimmed mustache, and he wore a black silk scarf around his neck.
It was Victor Bonham.
"So"..."... Kilkenny said, smiling. "I might have suspected."
"Of course. Bonham or Barnes, whichever you prefer. Most people call me Royal Barnes."
"I've heard of you."
"And I, of you."
Barnes's lips smiled, but there was no smile in his eyes. "You've been making trouble for me, again."
"Again"..."... Kilkenny lifted an eyebrow.
"Yes . . . You killed the Webers. A bungling lot, the Webers, but they are kinfolk, and some of my relatives think because you killed them that I must kill you. It's probably as good a reason as any."
"It could be a reason... Do you need one?"
"No."
Barnes glanced at his nails. "You were asking to die, coming in that way."
"Safer than the other way ... Kilkenny said, gently.
"So? Somebody talked, did they? Well, it is time I got new men, anyway. But you're a fool, Kilkenny. This little affair is not going to stop me, or even slow me down. I'll have to recruit a new bunch of men, but you will lose men, too. Today some of the best men in the Live Oak country will die and there will be just that many I will no longer have to plan for.
"Next time it will be much easier, and I intend to reorganize, recruit the men I need and come back. I'd have succeeded this time but for you.
"Steele will fight but, if he isn't killed today, I will see him dead before the week is out. That goes for your friend Rusty Gates and for Joe Frame, as well. Gates isn't dangerous alone, but he might find another man like you with whom to work.
"Usually there are only a few men in any community who are dangerous to efforts like mine. Eliminate them, and the rest are afraid to step out of the crowd."
The tempo of the firing had increased. Without looking, Kilkenny knew his men were in and out among the buildings now. Yet Barnes did not allow his eyes to shift for one instant. He was wary as a crouched tiger. In the quiet, well-ordered room, he seemed aloof from all down below. He seemed like someone from another world, another lifetime. Only his eyes showed what was in him.
"Have you seen Steve Lord?"
"Lord"..."... Barnes" eyes seemed to change a little.
"He never comes here."
"He worked with you."
Barnes shrugged. "Of course. One has to use the tools at hand, so I held out Nita as bait.
Nita and power. I promised him the Steele ranch. He is a fool."
"Do you know how many men he's killed?"
"Steve"..."... Barnes was incredulous. "He's yellow.
He didn't kill anybody."
Kilkenny smiled, shaking his head. "Barnes,"" he said, "that just shows how wrong you can be. Steve is crazy. There's something inside him that's driving him to kill, and hell never stop now until somebody kills him. He killed Des King. He killed Sam Carter and he's killed a half-dozen others. Now he's gunning for you!"
Royal Barnes was annoyed. "Don't be foolish! He isn't dry behind the ears yet!
He'd never Mil anyone!"
Nonetheless, Kilkenny could see that the idea that he could make such a mistake had annoyed and irritated him.
Royal Barnes got up suddenly. "Somebody is on the trail now!"
"That could be Steve ... Kilkenny replied, suddenly aware that Barnes was awaiting some sound, some signal. If there was a spring gun on the main trail, it would stop Steve in his tracks.
Somewhere he could hear water dripping slowly, methodically, as if counting off the seconds.
Royal Barnes put his hand to a deck of cards on the table and idly riffled them. The spattering sound of the cards was loud in the room.
Again there was the heavy boom of the buffalo gun. That must be Mort Davis again. Somebody had probably tried to get water.
Gravel rattled on the trail, and Kilkenny saw the skin tighten around Barnes's eyes.
Then, in almost complete silence, the heavy boom of a shotgun hi a confined space!
Royal Barnes went for his gun. He had been half facing Kilkenny. As he drew he shoved the table toward him.
The floor was slippery and the table, prepared for just such a move, shot toward Kilkenny across the hardwood floor.
But Barnes had not calculated Kilkenny's incredibly quick reaction. The same leap that took him from behind the table, enabled the bullet to miss.
Kilkenny palmed his gun and fired twice, so rapidly the shots blended into one sound. Through the smoke he could see Royal Barnes's eyes, blazing with some strange light, his lips drawn in a snarl of fury.
Then all sight and all other sound was lost in the thunderous roar of heavy guns in the confined space.
He was shooting. He was hit He felt his back smashed against the wall, and through the smoke he could see the stab of crimson Same.
His own guns were firing. He stepped left, then right Barnes sprang backward through a doorway, and Kilkenny paused, thumbing cartridges into his guns.
He was breathing hoarsely, and the room was filled with the acrid smoke of black powder. He crossed the room and went through the door, low and fast. A bullet smashed into the doorjamb near his face.
Another tagged at his sleeve with invisible fingers.
He stepped over, saw Barnes, and fired on the instant Flame blossomed from Barnes's guns and Kilkenny felt his knees give way. He went down. Royal Barnes was backing away, his eyes wide and staring, his shirt-front bathed in blood.
Pulling himself erect with his left hand, Kilkenny fired again. He started to shoot once more but Barnes was gone.
Stumbling on into the next room, he stared about him.
He was sick and faint, weaving on his feet, and blood was running into his eyes.
The room was empty. A gun fired behind him and he turned in a stumbling circle and saw a shadow weaving before him through the gunsmoke. Kilkenny opened up with both guns, and then he fell. He went down hard.
He must have blacked out briefly, an instant only, but when his senses returned the room was acrid with the smell of powder smoke. He got his knees under him, retrieved his left-hand gun and, using the fingers of that hand, helped himself erect before resuming a fun grip on the pistol.
All sense of time and space was gone. He had but one thought Royal Barnes was here, and Royal Barnes must die.
Then he saw him, propped against the opposite wall. A bullet had gone through one cheek, entering below the nose and com
ing out under the ear. Blood was flowing from the wound. Barnes was cursing through bloody, foam-flecked lips, cursing in a low, ugly monotone.
"You got me, damn you! But I'm taking you with me!"
His gun swung up. Kilkenny's guns seemed to fire of their own volition. Barnes's body winced and jerked with the impact, then he lunged off the wall, his guns roaring. He was wild, insane, and desperate, but his guns no longer fired with the will of the man behind them. They simply fired, and the shots went wild.
He was toe-to-toe with Kilkenny when Kilkenny finished with four shots, two from each gun, at three foot range. Then Barnes fell, tumbling across Kilkenny's feet and almost knocking him down.
For what seemed an eternity, Kilkenny stood erect, his guns dangling and empty. He stared blankly at the dead man at his feet, then at the weird pattern of the Navajo rug across the room.
He could hear the hoarse rasp of his own breathing.
He could feel the warm blood on his face. He could feel weakness mounting within him.
Suddenly, he heard a sound. He had dropped one of his guns: He stared down at it, uncomprehendingly. Abruptly, he seemed to have let go of everything and he fell, tumbling across Barnes's body to the floor. He felt warm sunlight on his face, then nothing more.
A long time later he felt hands touching him, felt his own hand reaching for his gun. A big man loomed over him. He was trying to lift his gun when a woman's voice spoke softly, and something in him listened. He let go of the gun.
He seemed to feel water on his face, and then pain throbbing inside him like a thing alive, tearing at his vitals. Then he went away again into a dark world where there was no thought or memory or pain.
When finally he again became conscious he was lying on a bed in a sunlit room. Outside there were flowers and he could hear a bird singing. There was a flash of red as a cardinal flirted past the window.
It was a woman's room, a quiet room, A curtain stirred in a cool breeze. He was lying there, barely awake, when Nita came in.
"So you're awake at last ... Her relief was obvious. "We were about to believe you'd never come out of it."
"What happened"..."... He mumbled.
"You were badly shot up. Six times hi all, but only one of them really serious."
the Rider Of Lost Creek (1976) Page 15
