Kilkenny 03 - Kilkenny (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

  It was dusk before he moved again, and now he turned east, for the Blues were abreast of him, and he found a wild horse trail that led across a great natural causeway into the Blues. He made camp at dark and only reached his valley in the early light of the following morning.

  There was no evidence that anyone had been here in his absence. With coffee on, he went out and removed the saddles from the horses and rubbed both of them down. The buckskin was accustomed to this and stood patiently, but the paint was restive, uncertain of what this new master intended. But the scraping of the dry handful of grass was pleasing, and finally he grew still and waited, enjoying the ministrations.

  After breakfast he sat on the step of the house and cleaned his guns, then went out and set several snares and deadfalls to trap small game. He had the hunted man’s hesitancy to shoot unless absolutely essential and the knowledge that much game could be captured without it. Donning moccasins, he walked off down the valley until he was a mile away from the house, well knowing a time might come when he would want game close around him.

  Long accustomed to the wild, lonely life, Kilkenny moved like an Indian, and he could live like one. Few men knew the wilderness better, and although he appreciated the towns and the comforts they offered, he had grown accustomed to living in the wilds and could do it. He knew the plants for their nutritional or medicinal value, knew how to make many kinds of shelters and utensils for camp use, and given a hunting knife, or even without one, he could survive anywhere.

  He had chosen a quiet life now, away from the centers of action, but even here trouble was building. A less experienced man could see what was about to happen. Despite the ranches and permanent homes, Horsehead was in no sense a settled community. Many were drifters who had come to get away, often capable men, and fiercely independent. Yet most were poor men, running a few cattle, and starting from scratch. Into this country Tetlow had come with his great herds and dozens of hard-bitten riders. Good range was scarce, insufficient to support his huge herds and the cattle they now carried.

  Tetlow was arrogant, sure that his success gave him the right to demand and control. The ranchers were stubborn men, resentful of this outsider. The situation could scarcely have been more explosive.

  From his own ranch in the Valley of the Whispering Wind, Kilkenny found nothing in the situation to insure hope. Tetlow’s manner to Lott showed the sort of man he was and that he would ride roughshod over all who got in his way.

  Aside from the presence of Nita Riordan and the fact that he had killed Tetlow’s son, Kilkenny’s sympathies were with the small ranchers, the men who were building homes rather than empires. For one man to grow so large as Tetlow meant many men must remain small or have nothing. The proper level lay between the two extremes, and this was the American way.

  Three years before Lance Kilkenny had taken the trail to the Live Oak country to help a friend. He had met Nita Riordan there, keeping a saloon inherited from her father. On the border and in outlaw country, she had elected to run the saloon herself when she found it impossible to sell. Jaime Brigo, the half-breed Yaqui who had been her father’s friend, had been her strong right hand. From the moment their eyes met there had been no doubt in either her mind or that of Kilkenny. And then Kilkenny had drawn back.

  There was no place in his established life pattern for a woman. No day could pass when he felt free from danger, and any woman who loved him would go through a thousand private hells, never knowing when he might be killed by some reputation-hunting gunman. Despite her acceptance of this, Kilkenny had gone away.

  The following year they met again in the cedar breaks of New Mexico where Kilkenny had been trying to establish a home. Trouble had come again, and Nita in the midst of it. Now she was here, ranching in this wild country.

  Had she believed that because of its loneliness it would draw him? Or had she given him up and started her own life? Or was there, the thought brought a chill, another man? For three days he worked, thinking of this, with increasing restlessness. He used his adze to shape a plow for the share he had picked up in Horsehead, and when it was completed he broke ground for a small corn and vegetable garden.

  In the evenings he rode and studied the country, becoming more and more familiar with all the canyons and mesas. There was no such cattle country anywhere around Horsehead.

  On the fourth day he saddled the buckskin at daybreak and took the trail down Mule Canyon. By the direct route he was nearing Horsehead by noon and he circled to enter town from the west.

  A spring wagon was tied in front of the Emporium with a four-horse team hitched to it. The brands were 4T, the Tetlow brand. Down the street he saw three horses wearing the same brand. Beside them was a sorrel horse with three white stockings, branded KR.

  He turned quickly to get off the street and went into the dining room of the Westwater Hotel. As he entered, a man with a square-cut face, iron gray hair and cool blue eyes looked up from his meal. His eyes quickened with interest and Kilkenny turned sharply away and seated himself at a table across the room.

  The effort was useless, for the man with the gray hair crossed the room and sat down opposite him. Kilkenny liked the cool, self-possessed manner of the man, and the neatness of his clothing.

  “My name is Dolan.”

  “I’m Trent.”

  “I’ve good cause to remember you, Major—Trent.”

  Kilkenny’s expression did not change. He had ended the War Between the States as Major Kilkenny.

  “I heard you were with Sheridan.”

  “You’d not remember me, but I’ve cause to remember you. There was a bit of a skirmish in a little Mississippi village and you came in with ten soldiers to drive out some guerrillas who were looting. You were outnumbered five to one and had to pull out.”

  “It was a rough go.”

  “There was a Union soldier lying wounded in a barn. He had been trying to fight them off for more than an hour before you rode into town. You heard about him after you had pulled out.”

  “I remember. Some village girl told me.”

  “Through heavy fire you rode back, fought off an attack with six guns, and when they broke in, killed three men with a Bowie knife before they broke and ran.”

  “Makes me sound a desperate character. Actually, it was mostly luck. They came into the darkness from the glare of the sun.”

  He studied Dolan. “You seem well informed.”

  “I was the soldier you carried out of there. But for you I’d be dead.”

  “You owe me nothing. It was the chance of war.”

  “Naturally, you’d feel that way.” Dolan bit the end from a cigar. “This is a new country. We have two large cattle outfits, the KR and the 4T, and they will soon be fighting. The situation could become prosperous for us all.”

  “The 4T will spend money,” Kilkenny said quietly. “That should increase prosperity. It won’t make matters easier for the local rustlers. The 4T can take care of itself.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Dee Havalik is foreman for Tetlow.”

  Dolan stiffened and glanced sharply at Kilkenny. “Havalik? Here?”

  “Better look at your hole card, Dolan. And”—some change in his voice made Kilkenny meet his eyes—“don’t bother the KR.”

  Dolan studied Kilkenny with careful eyes. “That means you want it left alone? I suppose you wouldn’t answer a question about it?”

  “None.”

  “And Tetlow?”

  “If he interferes with the KR, I’ll see him.”

  Dolan waved his cigar irritably. “You don’t leave me much.”

  Kilkenny smiled. “You look prosperous. If you’re pushed you could always turn honest.”

  Dolan chuckled. “It’s a desperate resort, but it may come to that.” He got up. “Nevertheless, I’m your friend.”

  The 4T, or as it was called by its own people, the Forty, had established headquarters east of town. Tetlow sat by the wagon with his three sons, Phineas, Andy and Ben
. Jared had been talking of his dead son. “I’ll find that man!” he promised. “I’ll see him die!”

  “Dad,” Ben said quietly, “why hunt trouble? You know how the kid was. He was always on the prod. I don’t blame anybody but the kid himself.”

  Tetlow’s eyes flamed. “He was your brother, wasn’t he?”

  Dee Havalik squatted across from Tetlow. The older man wasted no time. With a stick he traced a crude map in the dust. “Carson runs cattle in Brushy Basin and east. He’s got a small lake that holds through the dry spell. We’ll go see him about sellin’ out.”

  He looked up. “Dee, you’re to come. Andy will stay with the cattle. We’ll take Phin, Ben and two hands. Bring Cruz an’ Stilwell. We’ll go see this Carson.”

  Reluctantly, although he knew better than to object, Ben mounted his sorrel and followed the others. They rode swiftly until they drew up before the door of the small adobe house. A man of fifty came from the house wiping his hands on a handkerchief. “Light an’ set, folks!” he invited. “Just got grub on, but there’s some extry an’ I can make more!”

  “How much you want for this place?” Tetlow said abruptly.

  Carson blinked. “This here?” He shook his head, smiling. “Why, I like it here. I don’t aim to sell. This here’s the first home I ever had. I got me a few head of cattle an’—”

  “How much?” Tetlow repeated brusquely. “Speak up, man! I’ve no time to waste!”

  Carson’s face stiffened, then his eyes grew wary as he looked from one to the other. “So that’s the way of it? I wondered what yuh figured on doin’ with that big herd. Well, I ain’t sellin’. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I’ll give you a thousand dollars,” Tetlow replied shortly. “Take it an’ a horse an’ git!”

  “You’re crazy!” Carson was angry now. “Why, I’m runnin’ four hundred head o’ fat stock! I got seven thousand acres o’ land under my own use an’ more to come! A thousand dollars? You’re crazy!”

  The men said nothing and there was absolute silence for the space of two minutes. Then Carson drew a step back, then another. He was afraid now, seeing the stern faces of these men. “One more chance,” Tetlow said, “you get a thousand dollars an’ a horse. Then you get clear out of the country.”

  “Go to hell!” Carson shouted. He wheeled and sprang for the door. A gun bellowed and he sprawled across the doorstep, his fingers grasping at the floor as if trying to drag himself inside.

  “You seen it,” Havalik’s voice was casual, “he reached for a gun.”

  Ben’s face was pale. He looked from his father to his brothers but their faces were blank, approving.

  “Phin,” Tetlow suggested, “you ride to town. Look up that Macy feller an’ tell him what happened. Get on with it, now. We’ll ride on over to Carpenter’s place.”

  Phin swung his horse around and went off at a fast trot. With Jared Tetlow and Havalik in the lead, the rest of them took off for the Carpenter place. It was all of an hour’s ride, and when they rode up to the door, Carpenter was walking up to the house with a bucket of milk.

  Tetlow drew up, waving a hand around him. “What you want for this place? I’m buyin’ land today.”

  Carpenter looked carefully at the riders and something in their eyes warned him. “Why, I don’t know,” he said cautiously, “I haven’t thought about sellin’.”

  “Think about it then,” Tetlow replied, “I need range and lots of it.”

  Carpenter hesitated. These riders had come from Carson’s place and only a few hours ago he had been talking to Carson. The older man had been telling him of what he planned to do with his place, and both men had discussed the big herd of cattle and the rumor that more cattle were coming.

  “What did Carson do?” Carpenter asked curiously. “Have you been over there?”

  “Just came from there,” Havalik offered. “We’ll have that place, all right.”

  “Carson won’t sell.” Carpenter was positive. “We talked some last night.”

  “No,” Tetlow agreed, “he won’t sell. He won’t have to. His place has been let go.”

  “Let go?” Carpenter was stunned. His eyes went from one to the other. Behind him he heard a sound inside the house, and he knew that sound. His wife was taking the scatter gun off the nails on the wall.

  “Yeah, Carson won’t be around any more. Cantankerous ol’ cuss got right mean when we offered to buy him out. He grabbed for a gun. Well, what could we do?”

  Carpenter looked at them, from one cold face to the other. “I see,” he said slowly. “And if I don’t sell? What happens then?”

  Tetlow’s horse stepped forward. “You’ll sell,” he said coldly. “What have you got here?” he sneered. “A little one-horse spread! Why, I’ve got thousands of cattle! I need all this range! You’ll just putter along an’ waste it! I’ll put it to good use. I’ll give you a thousand dollars an’ you can keep your buckboard an’ a team to fetch you an’ your wife away from here.”

  “Free,” the woman’s voice spoke from the window of the cabin, “don’t bother to talk to ’em any more. We got to strain that milk. Come on inside.”

  “You stay where you are!” Tetlow shouted, growing angry. “I ain’t through with you!”

  “You’re through here,” the woman’s voice was cold, “this here’s a Colt revolvin’ scatter gun. She will fire four times. I reckon that’s enough for all of you. Now ride off! You lift a hand to my man an’ I’ll start shootin!”

  Jared Tetlow stiffened, his face flooding with angry blood. “Easy, Dad!” It was Ben who spoke. “She means it.”

  “That’s right,” Havalik added, “she ain’t foolin’ an’ at this range she could kill us all.”

  Tetlow cooled. That was right, of course. Anyway, they had done enough killing for one day. “All right!” he said crisply. “We’re ridin’! But you make up your minds! We want this place!”

  Wheeling, they rode away from the Carpenter place and back toward their own camp. “Dad,” Ben interposed, “we’d better sit quiet until we see how the sheriff takes this Carson affair.”

  Tetlow snorted. “You saw him in the street! The man’s gun-handy, all right, but we can talk to him! I know how to handle that sort!”

  “That wasn’t the sheriff, though,” Ben persisted.

  “Wasn’t the sheriff?” Tetlow was growing angrier by the minute. Why did this son of his have to—“What do you mean? He wasn’t the sheriff? You saw his badge, didn’t you?”

  “He was the town marshal, Dad. Not the sheriff. I hear the sheriff is a different sort, a very different sort.”

  Jared Tetlow scowled, but suddenly he was worried. Lott not the sheriff! He had taken for granted once he had seen the man that there was no need to worry. If the man couldn’t be frightened he could be bought. Or enlisted.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “You talk enough!”

  “I started to tell you once, an’ you wouldn’t listen,” Ben replied. “You never listen to me, an’ it’s time you did.”

  His father stared at him in amazement. “Since when did I take orders from a milk sop?” he demanded. “You keep a still tongue in your head! I can make up my own mind!”

  “All right,” Ben replied shortly, “see if you can make up the sheriff’s!” Wheeling his horse he rode rapidly off through the junipers. Jared Tetlow stared after him, scowling, his face black with the anger that always mounted quickly at any suggestion of resistance among his own people.

  Nobody said anything, and the hands did not look at each other. They pushed on, riding swiftly toward the headquarters wagons.

  Ben drew up when he was safely away from the cavalcade and watched them go. Where was all this going to lead? Did his father think everybody would cringe before him? That he could rule everyone with whom he came in contact? And that Dee Havalik! The man gave Ben the creeps.

  Turning his sorrel, he rode on into town and left his horse at the hitch rail. He saw no sign of Phin anywher
e. Either he had not yet found the sheriff or they had both started for the ranch. Suddenly recalling that the hotel was reported to have an excellent chef, he went up the steps and entered.

  There were only two people in the cafe. A slender, attractive girl in a gray suit, and a man.

  The man sat alone at a table facing the door. He wore a gray flannel shirt with a black silk neckerchief, black jeans, and he wore two guns tied low down on his thighs. His black, flat-crowned hat was on a hook nearby. As Ben entered, the man looked up, measuring him with careful eyes. Ben Tetlow never forgot that glance. It had in it something wary and unfathomable. It was the expression of a man who knew what it meant to command.

  His eyes went again to the tall girl. She was more than attractive, she was really lovely. Suddenly, more than anything else in the world, he wanted to know her.

  The man in black got to his feet and picked up his hat. He laid some coins on the table and glanced again at Ben. His glance now was friendly. “Good grub,” he said, “you’ll never find anything like that in a cow camp!”

  Ben’s smile was quick. “That’s what I hear.”

  The tall man stopped by the girl’s table. “Are you enjoying your stay Miss Webster? I’m afraid there isn’t much to do unless you like to ride.”

  “Oh, but I do! I love to ride!” Then she said quickly, “You have forgiven me, haven’t you?”

  He nodded, smiling. Then he excused himself and started for the door.

  Ben Tetlow looked after the tall rider. “Forgive her for what?” he wondered.

  He swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Seems like a nice fellow,” he ventured.

  She looked at him gravely with the expression of a little girl who has been taught not to talk to strangers. “Yes, he is nice, and I’m so ashamed! I said some simply awful things to him! But you see, I had just come out west, and I saw him shoot a man.”

  “I know what you mean. It is never nice to see a man shot. Not even when he deserves it.”

  “This one did,” Laurie said seriously. “I’m sure of it.”

  Chapter 3

  LANCE KILKENNY HAD seen Ben Tetlow and surmised who he was and, walking outside to the boardwalk that ran along before the buildings, he frowned as he considered the situation.