The Kilkenny Series Bundle

by Louis L'Amour

  One could not yield to the lawless and the ruthless, or soon there would be no freedom. It was among men as it was among nations.

  So . . . perhaps he could stay. Possibly there was a way to happiness for him as well as for others. Certainly, since he had first met Nita Riordan he had thought of no other woman, wanted no other.

  He had a rival. King Bill Hale wanted her, and King Bill was a strong, handsome man. He was a man with a place in the community, a man with powerful friends in business and politics. She could reign like a queen in King Bill’s Castle.

  She seemed to be in love with him, Kilkenny. But was she? Or might she change?

  Hale seemed a cold, hard man, yet what man sees another as a woman sees him?

  The side of a man that he shows to a woman is often very different from that seen by other men.

  Worry began to move through him like a drug. Nita nearby was one thing, but Nita belonging to somebody else was unthinkable. Especially he did not want her to belong to King Bill.

  Hale wanted her, and regardless of what she might believe, he could bring pressures to bear if his own eloquence failed him. He was king in Cedar Valley and he had already shown his willingness to ride roughshod over others. Her supplies came in over a road he controlled. He could not only control her business, he could prevent her from leaving if he wished. Jaime Brigo was the one reason he might not succeed, but Jaime was but one man, no matter how cunning in battle.

  This was a corner of the West off the beaten track. King Bill had made it a point to be both hospitable and friendly to all visitors and travelers passing through, although few of the latter came this way because it was a dead end. There was literally no place to go from Cedar unless to prospect the surrounding hills.

  Farther north there was a scattering of cow or mining towns, each one more or less isolated and concerned solely with its own affairs.

  In conversation with outsiders, King Bill would paint the nesters as rustlers, thieves, and white trash. Nobody could know more than what he said, and many of the people of Cedar felt about Hale as did Leathers’s wife.

  At the moment it was King Bill’s lack of action that disturbed Kilkenny. Hale had been badly beaten in that fistfight, and knowing the arrogance of the man, Kilkenny knew he would never allow that to pass. Moreover, when he refused them supplies, they had come and taken them from under his nose.

  All this would be discussed in private around Cedar. There would always be some who would suggest that Hale’s power was slipping, that he was on shaky ground. Hale was shrewd enough to know this, and of course Cub Hale would be wanting action. Again Kilkenny found himself wondering how much of the violence came from King Bill and how much only from Cub.

  There are those who use a cause to cover their own lust for destruction and cruelty. He who uses terror as a weapon does it from his own demands for cruelty and not because it succeeds, because it never has.

  The killing of a strong man only leaves a place for another strong man, so is an exercise in futility. There is no man so great but that another waits in the wings to fill his shoes, and the attention caused by such acts is never favorable. Yet, such men as Cub Hale did not care. They wished to kill and destroy because it enhanced their own image in their own mind. Cub had grown up in his father’s image, but with additional touches. He did not consider the law as applying to him, but only to those vague “others.”

  Was Hale planning to starve them out? He knew how many they were, how limited were their provisions, and he had fed enough cowhands to know what they would require and how much. He also knew that a strong man may endure much in the face of adversity, but few strong men could stand to see their women and children endure the same troubles. It was man’s natural instinct, bred from the ages before men were even men, to protect the family.

  Hale could control the trail to Blazer, but did he know of the way across the wilderness country? Kilkenny doubted if anyone knew. Hale had been in the country but a few years, and Kilkenny doubted if any of the townspeople in Cedar had been around the country much longer. Hale had brought many of his hands with him, recruited the rest from drifters through the country.

  Even Kilkenny himself did not know if the trail was passable. It was doubtful if Hale had even considered the possibility of such a thing, and Kilkenny had heard of it himself only through the casual talk of an old, old Indian who spoke no English.

  Saul Hatfield walked down from among the trees as Kilkenny neared the Cup. “Everything quiet?” Kilkenny asked him.

  “Surely is.” Saul was frankly curious about the dust-covered Kilkenny. “Jesse took him a ride down toward Cedar. Says they sure are gettin’ set for that celebration. Expectin’ a big crowd. They say Hale’s invited some bigwigs from over to the capital to come an’ set by to watch.”

  From the capital? That was good thinking on Hale’s part. It was good politics. Hale would entertain them royally, would show them how his ten years in the area had benefited the country, and perhaps casually mention the trouble he was having with rustlers who called themselves nesters. Men who were trying to take from Hale valuable land he needed for expansion.

  Kilkenny knew how persuasive such a man could be, and he would entertain them like royalty, and the bigwigs would go away much impressed. King Bill knew how to impress such men with his power, his wealth, his influence. Hale undoubtedly had friends in the nation’s capital, too, and he would not hesitate to use their names.

  His audience would be friendly, well filled with food and wine, and he would give the officials the idea that all was well in Cedar Valley. When it eventually became known that he had eliminated those troublesome outlaws in the mountains, it would be accepted as a public service. What most officials wanted was not to be troubled. They preferred to hear that all was well among the citizens, and Hale would know this.

  In that moment Kilkenny decided he must go to Cedar for the celebration.

  But how? And if he did go, by what means could he secure the ear of the visiting officials? And would they listen to him if he talked?

  As he rode on into the Cup, he went over in his mind every possible way in which he might get into Cedar. His very appearance would invite trouble, and he would have to kill or be killed, which would defeat his purpose at the outset.

  If he killed one of Hale’s men, Hale would paint him as one of the problems he must cope with, but if he himself was killed, he would just be an outlaw eliminated, a troublemaker who had come to disrupt the celebration.

  Somehow he had to get into town and get to those officials to at least present his side of the picture. Or rather, the side of the nesters in the mountains.

  A carnival atmosphere would prevail. The officials might be anywhere, and even to find them would be difficult, guided as they would be by Hale or Hale’s men. Yet there was, he realized, one place where they would be sure to be. They would be present, and in favored seats, for the Tombull Turner fight.

  For the first time he began to think of Turner. He had seen the man fight. He was a mountain of muscle with a jaw like a chunk of granite, deeply set small eyes, his nose flattened by punches, his lips rather thick. He was a good fighter. You did not even get into a ring with the likes of Joe Goss or Paddy Ryan unless you were. The two times Kilkenny had seen Tombull Turner fight, the man had won, and easily. He could hit with terrific force and could take a punch and keep coming. He had faults, but what fighter doesn’t?

  Kilkenny rode down into the Cup and dismounted. Parson Hatfield walked over to him with O’Hara and Jesse.

  “Looks like you’ve been places, son,” Parson said, indicating the dust. “You surely didn’t pick that up yonder in the forest.”

  “I’ve been down in the desert,” Kilkenny said.

  “The Smoky Desert?” O’Hara asked. “You mean you found a way?”

  “I did.”

  “Could you get a wagon down there?” Jesse inquired.

  “With a little ax work. We’d need about four good men with axes to
work awhile before we tried a wagon. But whether a wagon could make it across is more than I could say. I found the remnants of a very old trail . . . hasn’t been used for ten to fifteen years, and maybe much earlier. How much it was used, I don’t know, but I’d say it had seen some use at one time.”

  “Where somebody else went,” Jesse said, “we can go.”

  “How about gittin’ across an’ gittin’ out?” Parson asked skeptically. “Many a trail starts out mighty good an’ takes a body nowheres.”

  “You’re right,” Kilkenny agreed. He stripped the saddle from the horse, and then the bridle, turning the animal into the corral. He carried the gear into the stable and put it on the rack. “I’m going to try it. We will have to carry water with us, and we will have to tie cloths over our faces and the nostrils of the horses. There’s a lot of alkali dust down there, and from where I looked, it was mighty rough country. We’d have to take a couple of shovels and at least one good pole we could use for a lever in case we get stuck. There’s no way it is going to be easy.”

  “Leave us shorthanded.”

  “That it will. Hale has been leaving us alone, and I think he will until his celebration is over, but we can’t count on that. We’ve got to be ready—really ready—all the time.”

  He paused. “If I can start soon, we might even bring the other wagon back that way. Sure as they get through to Blazer, Hale will have men waiting for them when they start back.”

  He walked back toward the house, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. He had eaten nothing since early that morning, and he had used up a lot of energy.

  “Hale has all the time he needs. We do not. He can afford to sit back and let us eat up our supplies, and in the meantime he is playing politics with those men from the territorial capital and laying the groundwork to have no questions asked when he wipes us out.”

  Jesse sat down on the step. “Ain’t nobody about to tell our side of it.”

  Kilkenny took off his hat and stripped off his shirt. He drew a bucket of water from the well and began to bathe the dust from his head and shoulders. The muscles ran like snakes under the tawny skin. “I may go down there and try to talk to them.”

  “You’d never have a chance,” O’Hara replied.

  “They’d kill you,” Parson said.

  “Not while those officials are there. Not if they can help it. And the last thing I want is a gun battle. We’ve got to convince them we are what we are, just good citizens trying to build homes in the wilderness, and that we have filed on our claims . . . as they can find out by checking.”

  “How are you going to get to them?” O’Hara asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve got to think about that. He will have them as houseguests at the Castle, and they’d never let me get within a mile of that place.

  “If I stood around on the street or mingled with the carnival crowd, somebody would recognize me and they’d just block me off or take me out of there. They’d just watch their chance, slug me, pour whiskey on my shirt, and if any questions were asked, I would be just a drunk they’d put in jail to keep out of trouble.”

  “Then how will you do it?”

  “I’ll think of a way.” He paused. “I’m going to the bunkhouse for a clean shirt, but I’ll find a way, somehow, even if I have to fight Tombull Turner.”

  He walked away from them, and they stood looking after him. “Fight Turner?” Jesse said. “He’s crazy. Turner’s a prizefighter. He’s not another Hale.”

  “Maybe,” O’Hara said, “but did you watch Kilkenny move? He’s like a big cat.”

  “He can fight some,” Jesse agreed. “He surely whopped King Bill, an’ he was supposed to be something.”

  “But Turner’s a prizefighter! A man who makes his living that way!” Runyon had walked up. “I don’t think there’s anybody west of the Mississippi who’d have a chance with him. Anyway, they’d have somebody picked to fight him who could give him a fight.”

  “He wasn’t serious,” Bartram commented. “He was just talking.”

  “Maybe,” Parson said, “but it would be one way of gettin’ close to those folks from the capital. Anyway, that can wait. What we’ve got to think about now is gettin’ to Blazer with a wagon.”

  Nobody offered a word on the fact that one wagon had already started. They all knew what a slim chance it was that their wagon would get through, let alone get back with their men alive.

  “That desert country is right spooky,” Jesse said. “I done looked over it from the rim a time or two. I never lost nothing down there.”

  “If there was a way across,” Runyon said, “we’d never have to worry about starving out. King Bill couldn’t stop us from getting across.”

  “He owns property in Blazer,” O’Hara said. “He ain’t a man to leave much to chance. He’s coppered every bet.”

  “Nevertheless, if we could make it . . .”

  “If anybody can, Kilkenny can,” Parson said. “He sets out to do something, he does it. He never said a word about what happened today, but if you noticed, he come back with a length cut off his rope, and he taken three of them with him. I wonder how he ever made it down that cliff.”

  There was no table long enough to seat them all, and nobody wanted to wait, so when the food was dished up they took their plates and sat down wherever they could, leaving the table for the family.

  They were eating when Kilkenny came in. He got his plate and went to the step outside the open door. Shadows were gathering under the trees, and he felt fresher since his quick and partial bath.

  Bartram came out and sat beside him. “Look,” he said, “I think that’s a bad notion, you fighting Turner. The chances are they have somebody picked anyway. And how would you get a challenge to them? They’d shoot whoever you sent down.”

  Ma Hatfield, a tall, rawboned women in a gray cotton dress, came to the door. “They wouldn’t shoot me,” she said, “and if need be, I’ll go.”

  “It was a notion,” Kilkenny said, “just a notion. But I’d surely like to know who they’ve picked to fight him.”

  Ma Hatfield refilled their cups and stood by with the coffeepot in hand. “I hain’t been to town in some time,” she said, “an’ I’m a-frettin’ to go.”

  She looked at Kilkenny. “They say you know that Riordan woman. Wouldn’t she be likely to know who’s to fight?”

  “She would know. She seems to know everything. She probably knows who is to come here from the capital, too.”

  He looked up at her. “Ma, if you’re serious, I’d really like to know two things. I’d like to know who is to fight Turner, and I’d like to know who it is that is coming down from the capital.”

  “Why?” Bartram asked. “Do you know somebody there?”

  “Wish I did. No, I don’t know anybody there, but there’s a man named Halloran . . . he’s a man who would go a long way to see a good fight. He’s at the capital, or so I heard.”

  “Come daybreak,” Ma said quietly, “I’ll ride into town. I’ll see that Riordan woman—”

  “Nita Riordan,” Kilkenny suggested. “She’s a fine person, Ma. You’ll like her.”

  “Hain’t no matter, one way or t’other, but I’ll see her an’ find out what I can.”

  Runyon studied him. “You’ve got more on your mind than a fight, but d’ you think you can whup him?”

  “Tombull Turner? No. I don’t think I can. Maybe. No, I certainly wouldn’t bet any money on my chances, but if I could get in there with him, I’d get a chance to talk to those men from the capital.

  “Look . . . I’d be in the ring. They would certainly be at ringside. I’d take a beating just to get to them.”

  “You take it,” Runyon said, “not me.”

  CHAPTER 11

  AT DAYBREAK MA Hatfield was off to Cedar riding a sorrel mare, and Kilkenny and several of the others had ridden to the great tree that blocked access to the old road.

  Kilkenny and Quince went to work on the big tree with a crosscut saw,
while the others started on the small grove that had grown up around the fallen giant, clearing away the younger trees as well as the broken limbs of the big tree.

  During a pause, Quince straightened and rubbed his back. “They should be there today. I hope they made it.”

  “They should . . . if all went well.” He rested his own back, unaccustomed to the saw. “Do you know Blazer?”

  “Been there a time or two. Man there named Soderman. Big, fat, an’ mean . . . mean as all get-out. He’s Hale’s man. Got him a gunman around named Rye Pitkin.”

  “I know him. He’s a two-bit rustler from the Pecos country. He’s a fair hand with a gun—that’s all, just a fair hand.”

  “There’s another pair. Gaddis, and a sidekick of his called Ratcliff. If we get there, we can expect trouble.”

  “‘We’?” Kilkenny smiled at him. “You figuring on the trip?”

  “Now, you don’t think I’d let a youngster like you go t’ town alone, do you? There’s gamblin’ an’ women an’ liquor of all kinds, an’ such sinnin’ you never heard of. No, sirree! I think I best go alongside of you to sort of guide you through the evils.”

  They worked hard for several minutes, and then Quince said, “The bore o’ that ol’ rifle o’ mine surely needs cleanin’, an’ I figure there’s no need to really clean it until I’ve done shot somethin’ with it, so I’ll just ride along an’ fetch that rifle with me . . . just in case.”

  They worked steadily until too dark to see, and when they stopped work, the road was open wide enough for a wagon to pass through.

  O’Hara, who had done the work of two men with his ax, stood looking out over the wasteland. “You can have it,” he remarked grimly. “She don’t look good to me.”

  Returning to their horses, they rode wearily homeward, and nobody had much to say. Tomorrow they would make the effort, and with luck they would go through, but what of the first wagon? What of Lije and the others?