The Kilkenny Series Bundle

by Louis L'Amour

  Turner was furious. He had turned toward his corner, but Kilkenny toed the scratch. “Come on, Turner, let’s not keep them waiting!”

  Turner wheeled and started back, and the timekeeper hurriedly shouted “Time!” as Turner threw his first punch. He was angry at this never-heard-of upstart and threw the punch too soon, and Kilkenny beat him to the punch with a jab to the mouth.

  The speed and force of the punch startled the bigger man, and he stopped dead in his tracks just in time to catch a looping right to the ear. Turner crowded and grabbed Kilkenny with the intent of throwing him to the floor, but Kilkenny hooked hard to the head and Turner let him go, smashing away with both hands. For a moment the two men stood toe to toe and swapped punches, but Kilkenny broke off. Against a larger, stronger man, that was nonsense. If he won, or even stayed in, he must do so through skill, and nothing else.

  Turner let go with a left that caught Kilkenny in the chest, knocking him into the ropes. Turner came after him, and Kilkenny got in close and landed twice to the body. If he won this fight, it would be just that way, and he knew it.

  Turner came in, feinted a left, and caught Kilkenny with a right. Groggy and hurt, Kilkenny fell into the ropes, and Turner was on him at once, punching with both hands. Clinching, Lance hung on tight, then saw his chance and back-heeled Turner, flipping him to the floor, ending the round.

  “He hits hard,” he said grimly.

  “Box him,” Price said. “Don’t try to mix it up with him.” He sponged off Kilkenny’s face. “Take your time out there, now. There’s no hurry.”

  He was still dazed when they came to scratch for the second round, but as Turner came in, Lance struck quickly with a left that landed on the side of the neck. Turner took it coming in, clubbed Kilkenny with a right and left, pushed him off, and threw a hard right that Kilkenny slipped inside of, landing a right to the body.

  Turner clubbed the right to the head again, and Kilkenny dug a left into the midsection and then a right to the heart. Turner caught him, spun him and hit him, then grabbed him suddenly and slammed him to the canvas to end the second round.

  Both men came to scratch quickly for the third round, and Turner landed a left and a right that shook Kilkenny to his heels. The bigger man could really hit, and he was showing it. In a clinch, out of the corners of his eyes, Kilkenny located the two men with Hale. They were seated side by side with Hale in the front row, not more than six feet from the ropes.

  Turner was rough and strong. He tried to twist Kilkenny’s arm in a clinch, and Kilkenny got a forearm under his chin and thrust his head up and back, then hit him with a glancing left. Turner bulled him to the ropes, punching with both hands.

  Tombull moved in, landing a left to the head, then a right to the body. Kilkenny circled away, stabbing with his left. Turner crowded him to the ropes, and when Kilkenny tried to sidestep out of the corner, nailed him with a right that stopped Kilkenny half-turned. Instantly Turner was on him, punching hard with both hands. One fist caught Kilkenny over the eye, another crashed into the pit of his stomach. He landed two feeble punches to Turner’s body, but the bigger man clubbed him on the kidneys with his right fist.

  Kilkenny slipped away, and, fists poised, Turner crowded in.

  He threw a punch to the head, and Kilkenny ducked the right but caught a chopping blow with the left that started blood flowing from a cut over the eye. Turner closed in, and feinting, caught Kilkenny with a right and floored him.

  Dixon worked over the eye rapidly and skillfully. Dazed though he was, Kilkenny was amazed at Dixon’s skill. “Watch the right!” Dixon said. “It’s poison! Move away to his left.”

  Kilkenny stepped up to scratch, then sidestepped to avoid a rush and stabbed a left to the head. Turner closed in and Kilkenny went under a right and smashed both fists to the body. Then he was thrown and hit the canvas again.

  He took his rest gratefully and came hesitantly to the scratch, but as Turner came up he lunged suddenly and smashed both hands to the chin. Staggered, Turner braced himself, but before he could recover, Kilkenny hit him a hard left to the mouth, then drove a hard right to the body. Turner shook off the punches and bored in, hitting with short, wicked punches. Kilkenny sidestepped, stabbed another left to the head, and sidestepped again. Angered at missing two blows, Turner stopped flatfooted and started to speak, and Kilkenny swung a right to the ribs.

  Turner bored in, crowding Kilkenny and hitting with short, wicked punches to the head and body. Kilkenny tasted blood from a cut inside his mouth, smashed a right to the ribs in close, and then was literally hurled into the ropes. Turner came after him, and Kilkenny dropped his left hand to the top rope, and grasping it, ducked three hard punches in a row, then whipped an underhanded right to the ribs that stopped Turner in his tracks.

  The crowd was on its feet, most of them yelling for Kilkenny. He moved away rapidly, making Turner follow, then stopped, feinted a left, and whipped another underhand right to the belly. Turner took it coming in, and Kilkenny saw he had hurt him, but before he could sidestep, Tombull caught him with an overhand right to the chin that dropped him to his knees, ending the round.

  Tombull turned for his corner, and Lance got to his feet. He was almost in front of Hale’s booth, and before anyone knew what he was doing, he stepped to the ropes. Blood was trickling from the cut over his eye.

  “Gentlemen”—he spoke to Halloran and Wallace—“I am not a prizefighter. I am fighting because it is the only way I could get close enough to you to present my case. I am one of a dozen nesters who have filed on claims in the high peaks, claims from which King Bill Hale is unlawfully trying to drive us. Several of our men have been killed, brutally murdered because they refused to leave the land on which they filed—”

  “Time!”

  Kilkenny turned sharply and stepped to the scratch. Turner caught him with a hard right before he got straightened around, and he fell into the ropes. Unwilling to see him go down so quickly, Tombull rushed in and deliberately held Kilkenny up while smashing away at his body and head. Abruptly then, Turner stepped away and unleashed a powerful right.

  Kilkenny almost fell, and he saw Turner getting set to let go with the right again, and Kilkenny knew he could not at that moment take another such punch. Nor had he finished his plea to Halloran.

  He tried to duck, caught the second right as a glancing blow. Blasting pain hit him, and he saw the right coming again. With all his strength he tried to jerk free, but Turner intended to kill him now, and his jerk served only to make that blow miss.

  In a daze, battered and beaten by a hurricane of blows, he glimpsed Cub Hale on his feet, hand on his gun. He saw Parson Hatfield facing him, and then Lance broke loose. Turner was on him like a madman, clubbing, striking with all his great strength, trying to batter Kilkenny so he could not rise again. The crowd was in an uproar, and he glimpsed Runyon behind Cub Hale with a gun on him, then he broke loose and crashed to the canvas.

  O’Hara carried him bodily to his corner, where Dixon could work on him. A hefty inhalation of smelling salts and a few touches on his eye were all there was time for. They pushed him to his feet, and he made it to scratch, and then Tombull was on him, swinging punches with both hands, eager to finish the fight once and for all.

  His very eagerness caused blows to miss that should have landed, and Kilkenny, weaving and swaying, retreating, using the ropes, clinching when he could do nothing else, weathered the storm.

  Turner was fast for such a big man, and Kilkenny knew he had to slow him down. He feinted, Turner threw a punch, and he countered with the underhand right to the belly again. And then he hit him with it twice more, and spreading his legs, he began to swing with both hands. Toe to toe they stood, slugging it out, but Kilkenny, battered though he was, was still the faster with his punches. Suddenly he was lost to everything but the fury of the battle itself.

  Tombull missed a hard-thrown right, and Kilkenny smashed a right to the ribs; then, sliding a right arm around the bigg
er man’s bull neck, he proceeded to hold him in chancery while he battered his face with blow after blow.

  Turner did a back somersault to break free and end the round.

  Gasping for breath, every gasp like a stab in the ribs, Kilkenny stepped again to the ropes. “We were refused food for our families in Cedar! A wagon we sent to Blazer was waylaid and three of our men killed! One of those men was Jody Miller!”

  “What?” Halloran was on his feet.

  The call of time interrupted, and then Tombull Turner was on him, his face bloody and wild. Kilkenny, as though getting his message across had given him a second wind, faded away swiftly, avoiding Turner’s attack.

  He moved swiftly, easier now, and occasionally stabbed a left to the face, but refused to close. He had to whip the big man; men had bet on him, even Cain Brockman. He had gotten his message across, and now nothing Hale could do short of killing both officials could stop what was sure to happen. Yet now he had to win the fight, and to that he devoted all his attention.

  Faster than the bigger man, he carried less weight and was less affected by the heat, which was well over ninety degrees. He put a left to the face and another whipping right to the ribs. Another left and another right. Turner caught him with a glancing left, and Kilkenny hit him in the body with a left.

  Turner threw a hard right, but Kilkenny stepped inside with an uppercut that drove Tombull’s head back. A left hook knocked him to the floor. It was the first clean knockdown he had scored, and he went to his corner quickly. A glance at the visitors’ box showed all the men seated, but Runyon and Parson were there with guns, and he could see that Cub was burning with anger.

  Turner was slow coming to scratch, and it was obvious that he was realizing for the first time that he could lose.

  He led with a left, and Kilkenny drew away from it, feinting with his own left. Turner moved in fast, and Kilkenny met him with a stiff right to the body; then, in close, he hit him twice more to the body with jarring blows.

  Turner landed a hard left, feinted, and threw a right that Kilkenny ducked. He liked that high, hard right, Turner did, and Kilkenny moved in, purposely carrying his left low. The right came, and Kilkenny went under it with a right to the body. A few minutes later it worked again; Turner hurt him with a left, crossed a jarring right to the head, but Kilkenny was growing in confidence. The man could hit, but so could Kilkenny, and there were no boxers around now like Jem Mace had been.

  The crowd had been yelling like madmen, but now they were quiet, with only an occasional shout. Turner bored in, and Kilkenny hit him hard with the underhand right to the body. This time it stopped Turner dead still and his jaw dropped a little. The blow had hurt.

  Kilkenny circled to Turner’s left, avoiding his right. He was hit twice with the left, but some of the steam was gone from Tombull’s blows because the constant battering around the body was beginning to sap his strength.

  Kilkenny suddenly moved in, punching hard with both hands, and for a minute they slugged toe to toe, but then Turner began to back off. Abruptly Kilkenny eased the pressure and feinted with the left, dropping it low. The right came high and hard, and he threw an inside right cross that was beautifully timed. It caught Tombull Turner coming and right on the point of the chin. The big man’s knees buckled, and Kilkenny hit him twice more before he could fall. Turner hit the canvas, made one spasmodic effort to rise, then lay still.

  Bartlett hesitated, then started to count. Kilkenny backed into his own corner, and O’Hara raised up behind him. “I’ve got your guns,” he whispered.

  “Put them around me with the blanket,” he replied, and caught the gun belts as O’Hara put them around him, only half-covered by the blanket.

  He got the gloves off. His hands were swollen, but not badly, for the tight leather gloves had protected his fists. He worked his fingers. One thing he knew, he was in no shape to make any fast draws.

  Glancing around, he saw Brigo hurrying Nita toward the Palace.

  Saul, Jesse, and Quince had closed in around Parson, and Runyon was with O’Hara.

  Bartlett raised his hand, proclaiming Kilkenny the winner, and the crowd cheered and cheered again. But already they were breaking up, sensing trouble.

  “You fought a good fight, Trent,” Bartlett said, “a mighty good fight. I never saw a better.”

  “I hope I never have to fight another,” he replied sincerely.

  The Hale cowhands suddenly began to gather, and the miners surged around Kilkenny. “Go where y’ like, boy,” one said, “we’re with you all the way!”

  Kilkenny turned and walked right at the crowding Hale riders, and sullenly they broke away, leaving a path through them. He walked up to King Bill Hale.

  “I’ll take twenty thousand dollars now,” he said.

  The big rancher was pale and his eyes as cold as ice. “The Crystal Palace,” he muttered, half turning away. “That woman . . . she was holding stakes. The money’s there.” With a flash of anger he looked at Kilkenny. “Every damn cent of it, for all the good it will do you.”

  Halloran and Wallace stood slightly apart from Hale now. Lance turned to them. “Gentlemen, what I said in the ring is true. I wish you would examine our claims and Hale’s.”

  “Was that true about Jody Miller? Is he dead?”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Halloran, and even more sorry to have to tell you that way, but I was afraid you’d not believe what else I said. Yes, Jody Miller is dead. He was killed trying to bring food from Blazer to his family, killed by some of Hale’s men. I might add that several of those men have already paid the price.”

  Halloran turned on Hale. “You had Miller killed?”

  “I had nobody killed! If he was killed, he was asking for it, settling on my land. He was nothing but trash! Trash, I say!”

  “Jody Miller,” Halloran said quietly, “was married to my sister. He was as likely a young man as I know. And as honest.

  “I can promise you, Hale, there will be an investigation in the territorial courts, and you had better be prepared to answer questions, a lot of questions.”

  Kilkenny was watching Cub. The younger Hale’s face was white; he stared from one to the other, unbelieving. The total power of his father in which he had come to believe was crumbling before his eyes. His father was standing there saying nothing. His father was taking it. Why didn’t he smash them? Smash them all?

  Kilkenny turned abruptly. “Let’s go!” he said softly. He glanced around at the miners who stood ready to back him. “It’s all right, boys, and thanks!”

  “You needn’t thank us!” one said. “We all had bets ridin’ on you. We made a pile!”

  Quickly they went to the house on the edge of town where they had rested briefly, and picked up their things. “I’ll get the money, boys, and then we’ll ride. Be prepared to ride fast!”

  “What can they do now?” Runyon demanded. “We got our story across.”

  “And when it comes to trial, suppose all the witnesses are dead?” Kilkenny suggested. “We are in worse trouble now than ever. For a while, at least.”

  Nita was waiting for him. She had his money in a canvas bag.

  “Cain Brockman was around to collect his. I asked if he still intended to kill you, but he wouldn’t talk about it.”

  “We’re getting out fast.” Kilkenny explained his fears. “If you need help, just send a man into the mountains.”

  “I’d better ride with you,” Dixon said. “My life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel around here now.”

  “Get your horse,” Kilkenny said. Then he turned. “Nita? If you want to, you can come.”

  “Not yet. I’ve a few things that need doing. Jaime is here. He will take care of me, and my men at the Palace. They are all loyal.”

  “Be careful. Very careful.” He paused. “If you need help, run up one of those checkered tablecloths on the flagstaff and I’ll come a-running.”

  They rode hard and fast, taking to little-known game trails through the mountain
s. Kilkenny rode with his rifle in his hands, ready for immediate use. They took to a dim trail along the bottom of a steep-walled canyon, went up a switchback trail toward the peaks, keeping under cover whenever possible.

  Kilkenny was under no misapprehensions about King Bill. Hale had been defeated a second time, he had lost a good bit of money, and he had lost his bid for friends at the territorial capital. Yet he was far from defeated, still a very wealthy man with his retainers all about him, and somehow he would have to prove to both Cedar and himself that he was still the king. The one thing that could do it without question was the utter annihilation of the squatters in the peaks. If Hale did not come to that conclusion himself, Cub was there to suggest it.

  Hale would have lost much. Knowing the man and knowing the white lightning that lay beneath the surface of Cub Hale, he guessed that the older man had more than once cautioned the slower, surer way when Cub’s total desire would have been a shoot-out. Since childhood Cub had scarcely been restrained, taking what he wanted and growing more arrogant by the year.

  Whenever they came, Cub would be leading them, but Dunn and Ravitz would be right along with him. Kilkenny believed he could beat Cub, but he was not fool enough to believe he could take all three.

  There was always the chance of catching them off balance, as he had taken the Brockmans.

  The Brockmans! He had forgotten Cain. The big man was free now to hunt him down. Would he do so? Had Kilkenny sensed a growing respect in the man? Cain was a loner who did not wish to ride alone. There had always been Abel before. Now there was no one.

  The big man was alone, and although big he might be, he could move like a cat.

  It was a three-cornered game now, and he had two to fear. Two men who had committed themselves to killing him. Two men who might appear at any time.

  CHAPTER 18

  AS THEY WORKED their way back by a longer route, Kilkenny suddenly became worried. They had been gone a very long time, and the people at the Cup were few. Winding around, they climbed a steep mountainside, rode through a grassy bottom, and were entering the edge of the forest when far ahead of them they heard a rifle shot.