Cain hesitated, staring, puzzled. “Why, ride out of here. And go back to Texas.”
“An’ then?”
“Go to ridin’, I guess.
“Maybe, for a while. Then some hombre’ll come along, an’ you’ll rustle a few cows. Then you’ll rob a stage, an’ one time they’ll get you like they got Sam Bass. You’ll get shot down or you’ll hang. I’m not goin’ to shoot you, Cain. An’ you’re too good a man to draw iron on a man who won’t shoot. You’re a good man, Cain. Just a good man on the wrong trail. You’ve got too much good stuff in you to die the way you’ll die.”
Cain Brockman stared at him, and, in the flickering candlelight, Kilkenny waited. He was afraid for the first time, afraid his words would fail, and the big man would go for his gun. He didn’t want to kill him, and he knew that his own gunman’s instinct would make him draw if Cain went for a gun.
Cain Brockman stood stockstill in the center of the room, and then he lifted a hand to his face and pawed at his grizzled chin.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “I’ll be eternally damned.”
He shook his head, turned unsteadily, and lurched into the darkness toward the door.
Chapter XVIII
Kilkenny stepped back and wiped the sweat from his brow. Nita crossed the room to him, her face radiant with relief.
“Oh, Lance!” she exclaimed. “That was wonderful! Wonderful!”
Kilkenny grinned dazedly. “It was awful…just plain awful.” He glanced around. “What’s happened here? Where’s Brigo?”
“He’s in my room, Lance,” Nita said quickly. “I was going to tell you, but Brockman came. He’s hurt, very badly.”
“Brigo? Hurt?” It seemed impossible. “What happened?”
“It was those two gunmen of Hale’s. Cub sent them here after me. Brigo met them right here, and they shot it out. He killed both Dunn and Ravitz, but he was hit three times, once through the body.”
“What happened to the Mecca? What happened in town?”
“That was before Dunn and Ravitz came. Some miners were in the Mecca, and they were all drinking. A miner had some words with a Hale gunman about the fight and about the nesters. The miner spoke very loudly, and I guess he said what he thought about Hale. The gunman reached for a gun, and the miner hit him with a bottle, and it was awful. It was a regular battle, miners against the Hale hands, and it was bloody and terrible. Some of the Hale riders liked your fight and your attitude, and they had quit. The miners drove the others out of the Mecca and burned it to the ground. Then the miners and the Hale riders fought all up and down the streets. But no one was killed. Nobody used a gun then. I guess all of them were afraid what might happen.”
“And the miners?” Kilkenny asked quickly.
“They mounted up and got into wagons and rode out of town on the way back to their claims. It was like a ghost town then. Nobody stirred on the streets. They are littered with bottles, broken windows, and clubs. Then everything was quiet until Dunn and Ravitz came.”
“What about Hale? King Bill, I mean?”
“We’ve only heard rumors. Some of the cowhands who quit stopped by here to get drinks. They said that Hale acts like a man who’d lost his mind. He had been here after the fight, before he went home. He asked me to marry him, and I refused. He said he would take me, and I told him Brigo would kill him if he tried. Then he went away. It was afterward that Cub sent the gunmen for me. He wanted me for himself. Something has happened to Hale. He doesn’t even look like the same man. You won fifteen thousand dollars from him, and he paid you. He lost money to the miners, too, and to Cain Brockman. It hit him hard. He’s a man who has always won, always had things his own way. He isn’t used to being thwarted, isn’t used to adversity, and he can’t take it. Then before he left, Halloran told him he would have to let the law decide about the nesters, and Hale declared that he was the law. Halloran told him he would find out he was not and that, if he had ordered the killing of Dick Moffitt, he would hang.”
“And then?”
“He seemed broken. He just seemed to go to pieces. I think he had ruled here these past ten years and that he actually believed he was king, that he had the power and that nothing could win against him. Everything had gone just as he wanted until you came along.”
“You mean,” Kilkenny said dryly, “until he tried to turn some good Americans out of their homes.”
“Well, anyway, you’d managed to get food from here right under his nose. Then, when the attempt along the Blazer trail was tried, and he practically wiped your men out, he was supremely confident. But his attack on the cup failed. What really did it all was your defeat of Turner, and at the moment, when he had finished paying off, he was told for the first time of the death of Sodermann at Blazer. Then some of the cowhands who quit took the opportunity to drive off almost a thousand head of cattle. These defeats and what Halloran told him have completely demoralized the man.”
“What about Cub?”
“He’s wild. He hated you, and he was furious that some of the men quit. He doesn’t care about Halloran, for he’s completely lawless. He’s taken a dozen of the toughest men and gone after the stolen cattle.”
“Good! That means we have time.” Kilkenny took her by the arms. “Nita, you can’t stay here. He might just come back. You must go to the cup and send Price Dixon down here. He can do something for Brigo. Tell him to get here as fast as he can. And you’ll be safe there.”
“But you?” Nita protested.
He smiled gently and put his hand on her head. “Don’t worry about me, Nita. I’ve lived this way for years. I’ll do what I can for Jaime. But hurry.”
She hesitated only an instant. Then, suddenly on tiptoe, she kissed him lightly on the lips and turned toward the door.
“Just take my horse,” he said. “It’ll be quicker. The little gray. Give him his head and he’ll go right back to the cup. I got him from Parson Hatfield.”
Nita was gone.
Kilkenny turned swiftly and took a quick look around the darkened room. Then he walked through the door and over to the bed where Brigo lay.
The big Yaqui was asleep. He was breathing deeply, and his face was pale. When Kilkenny laid a hand on his brow, it was hot to the touch. Yet he was resting and was better left alone.
Kilkenny walked back into the main room and checked his guns by the candles. Then he got Brigo’s guns, reloaded them, and hunted around. He found two more rifles, a double-barreled shotgun and many shells, and two more pistols. He loaded them all and placed the pistols in a neat row on the bar. One he thrust into his waistband, leaving his own guns in their holsters.
Then he doused the candles and sat down in Brigo’s chair by the door. It would be a long time until morning.
Twice during the long hours he got up and paced restlessly about the great room, staring out into the vague dimness of the night at the ghostly street. It was deathly still. Once, something sounded outside, and he was out of his chair, gun in hand. But when he tiptoed to the window, he saw it was merely a lonely burro wandering aimlessly in the dead street.
Toward morning he slept a little, only restlessly and in snatches, every nerve alert for trouble or some sound that would warn of danger. When it was growing gray in the street, he went in to look at the wounded man. Brigo had opened his eyes and was lying there. He looked feverish. Kilkenny changed the dressing on the wound after bathing it, and then checked the two flesh wounds.
“¿Señor? Is it bad?” Brigo asked, turning his big black eyes toward Kilkenny.
“Not very. You lie still. Dixon is coming down.”
“Dixon?” Brigo was puzzled.
“Yeah, he used to be a doctor. Good, too.”
“A strange man.” Sudden alarm came into Brigo’s eyes. “And the señorita?”
“I sent her to the cup, to the Hatfields. She’ll be safe there.”
“Bueno. Cub, he has not come?”
“No. You’d better rest and lay off the talk
. Don’t worry if they come. I’ve got plenty of guns.”
He put the water bucket close by the bed, and a tin cup on the table. Then he went out into the saloon.
In the gray light of dawn it looked garish and tawdry. Empty glasses lay about, and scattered poker chips. Idly he began to straighten things up a little. Then, after making a round of the windows, he went to the kitchen and started a fire. Then he put on water for coffee.
Cub Hale would come. It might take him a few hours or a few days to find the herd. He might grow impatient and return here first. He would believe Nita was still here, and his gunmen had not returned. Or he might send some men. Nita would not go over the trail as fast as he or the Hatfields. If all was well at the cup, the earliest Price could get here would be midday.
No one moved in the street. The gray dawn made it look strange and lonely in its emptiness. Somewhere, behind one of the houses, he heard the squeaking of a pump handle, and then the clatter of a tin pail. His eyelids drooped and he felt very tired. He shook himself awake and walked to the kitchen. The water was ready, so he made coffee, strong and black.
Brigo was awake when he came in and the big man took the coffee gratefully. “Bueno,” he said.
Kilkenny noticed the man had somehow managed to reach his gun belt and had his guns on the table.
“Any pain?” he asked.
Brigo shrugged, and, after a look at him, Kilkenny walked out. Out in the main room of the saloon, he looked thoughtfully around. Then he searched until he found a hammer and nails. Getting some loose lumber from the back room, he nailed boards over the windows, leaving only a narrow space as a loophole from which each side of the building might be observed. Then he prepared breakfast.
The work on breakfast showed him how dangerously short of food they were. He thrust his head in the door and saw Brigo’s eyes open.
“We’re short of grub an’ might have to stand a siege. I’m goin’ down to Leathers’s store.”
The street was empty when he peered out of the door. He took a step out onto the porch. One would have thought the town was deserted. There was no sound now. Even the squeaky pump was still. He stepped down into the street and walked along slowly, little puffs of dust rising at every step. Then he went up on the boardwalk. There was still no sign of life.
The door to Leathers’s store was closed. He rattled the knob, and there was no response. Without further hesitation, he put his shoulder to the door, picked up on the knob, and shoved. It held, but then he set himself and lunged. The lock burst and the door swung inward. Almost instantly, Leathers appeared from the back of the store.
“Here!” he exclaimed angrily. “You can’t do this!”
“When I rattled the door, you should have opened it,” Kilkenny said quietly. “I need some supplies.”
“I told you once I couldn’t sell to you,” Leathers protested.
Kilkenny looked at him with disgust. “You’re a yellow-belly, Leathers,” he said quietly. “Why did you ever come West? You’re built for a neat little civilized community where you can knuckle under to authority and crawl every time somebody looks at you. We don’t like that in the West.”
He picked up a slab of bacon and thrust it into a sack, and then he began piling more groceries into the burlap sack, until it was full. He took out some money and dropped it on the counter. He turned then to go. Leathers stood watching him angrily.
“Hale will get you for this,” he snapped out.
Kilkenny turned patiently. “Leathers, you’re a fool. Can’t you realize that Hale is finished? That whole setup is finished and you sided with him, so you’re finished. You’re the kind that always has to bow to authority. You think money is everything and power is everything. You’ve spent your life living in the shadows and cringing before bigger men. A good part of it’s due to that sanctimonious wife of yours. If King Bill smiled at her, she’d walk in a daze for hours. It’s because she’s a snob and you’re a weakling. Take a tip from me. Take what cash you’ve got, load up some supplies, and get out of here…but fast.”
“An’ leave my store?” Leathers wailed. “What do you mean?”
“What I say.” Kilkenny’s voice was harsh. “There’s going to be some doin’s in this town before another day. Hale’s riders are comin’ back, an’ Cub Hale will be leadin’ ’em. You know how much respect he has for property or anythin’. If he doesn’t clear you out, the Hatfields will. There’s no place for you in Cedar Bluff any more. We want to build from the ground up here, an’ we want men who’ll fight for what they believe. You won’t, an’ you were against us, so get out!”
He walked back down the silent street, went into the saloon, and stored his grub. Despite himself, he was worried. The morning was early yet, and he was expecting some of the Hale riders, and soon. The longer he waited, the more worried he became.
Brigo needed medical attention, and Doc Pollard, the Hale henchman, had gone to the Hale Ranch. He was little better than useless, anyway.
Seated at a table, he riffled the cards, and the sound was loud in the room. No one moved in the deserted street, and he played silently, smoking endless cigarettes and waiting. Again and again his thoughts returned to Nita. After all, should he wait? Supposing he was killed eventually? Why not have a little happiness first? He knew without asking that she was the girl for him, and he knew she would marry him in an instant and be completely happy to live in a house built among the high peaks. She was lovely, tender, thoughtful. A man could ask no more of any woman than she had for the giving. Yet he remembered the faces of other gunmen’s wives when word came that their men had died. He remembered their faces when their men went down into the streets, when they waited through every lonely hour, never sure whether they would come back or not. Bartram had Sally Crane. He remembered her sweet, youthful face, flushed with happiness. It made him feel old and lonely.
He slipped his guns out and checked them once more. Then he took up the cards and shuffled them again. Suddenly an idea came to him. He got up and went to the back door, took a quick look around, and slipped out to the stable. There were still horses there. He had a hunch he might need them, and saddled two.
Then he went back inside and closed the door. The place was deathly still and the air close and hot. It felt like a storm was impending. He brushed the sweat from his brow and crossed to have a look at Brigo. The big man was sleeping, but his face was flushed and feverish. He looked poor.
He glanced out the door at the empty street. Clouds were building up around the peaks. If it rained, it was going to make it tough to move Jaime Brigo. Thunder rumbled like a whimper of far-off trumpets, and then deeper like a rolling of gigantic casks along the floor of a cavern. He walked back inside, and sat down.
Chapter XIX
They came down the dusty street at high noon, a tight little cavalcade of men expecting no trouble. They rode as tired men ride, for there was dust on their horses and dust on their clothing and dust on their wide-brimmed hats. It was only their guns that had no dust. There was no humor in them, for they were men for whom killing was the order of business. The softer members of the Hale outfit were gone. These were the pick of the tough, gun-handy crew.
Lee Wright was in the lead, riding a blood bay. At his right and a bit behind was Jeff Nebel, and a bit behind him were gun-slick Tandy Wade and Kurt Wilde. There were ten in all, ten tough, gun-belted men riding into Cedar Bluff when the sun was high.
Dunn and Ravitz had not returned. What that meant, they could not know, nor did they care. They had come to get a woman, and, if Dunn and Ravitz had decided to keep her, these men would take her away. If those two had failed in their mission, they were to take her from the protection of Brigo. They had their orders and they knew what to do.
Near Leathers’s store the group broke, and three men rode on down to the Crystal Palace. Lee Wright, big, hard-faced, and cruel, was in the lead. With him were Kurt Wilde and Tandy Wade.
His eyes slanting up the street at the scattering
men, Kilkenny let the three come on. When they reined in and were about to swing down, Kilkenny stopped them.
“Hold it!” he said sharply. “What do you want, Wright?”
Wright froze, and then settled back in the saddle. “Who is that?” he demanded, peering to see under the darkness of the sheet-metal awning and into the vagueness of the doorway.
“It’s Kilkenny,” he said. “What do you want?”
“We’ve come for that woman. Cub wants her,” Wright said harshly. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Me?” Kilkenny chuckled quietly. His eyes were cold and watchful. He knew these men were uncertain. They hadn’t expected him. Now they did not know what the situation was. How many men were inside? Was Brigo there? The Hatfields? Kilkenny knew their lack of knowledge was half his strength. “Why, I’ve been waitin’ for you boys to show up. Wanted to tell you that I’d slope, if I were you. The Hales are through.”
“Are they?” Wright’s eyes swept the building. Those boarded windows bothered him. “We came after the woman. We’ll get her.”
Kilkenny began building a smoke. “With only ten men? It ain’t enough, Wright.” He touched his tongue to the paper. “You’re a fightin’ man, Wright. Ever try to take a place like this with no more men than you got?”
“You’re bluffin’!” Wright said. “You’re alone.”
Kilkenny chuckled. “You reckon I’d come down here alone? Or that the Hatfields would let me? They are right careful of me, Wright.”
“Where are they?” Wright declared. “You…” The words died on his lips as there was a tinkle of glass from down the building. Wright looked, and Kilkenny saw his face darken. It could mean but one thing. Brigo had gotten out of bed and thrust a rifle through the window at the right moment. But how long could he stand there? The man was weak…
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