Kilkenny 03 - Kilkenny (v5.0) (14 page)

Bob Early came up to him. “We can’t go on. My wife’s all in and Mrs. Carpenter is quite ill.”

“All right. You’re close enough and safe enough.”

Picking up an ax, Lance walked into the surrounding pines. Forcing his way into a tight clump of second growth, all ten or twelve feet high, he cut down several close to the ground. Then he drew the tops of the surrounding trees down and tied them together until he stood under a living hut of green. With branches from the cutdown trees he wove a quick thatch over the hut. Cain and Bob lent a hand with the thatch and soon the hut was tight and strong. Then with more boughs they made several beds for the women.

Blaine walked around the hut. “First time I ever saw that done. I’m minded to stay here myself.”

“You’d better. I’ll go on ahead with Brigo and Cain.”

“Shorty and I’ll come with you,” Dolan said. “One of us can return for these people when they are feeling better.”

The trail was not easy. Crossing the creek, they found themselves facing a mountainside that could not be climbed on horseback. Circling, they were fronted by an even steeper cliff. Only after several hours of searching did they find a shallow creek that could be followed higher into the timbered mountains. When it seemed they had found a way through they were stopped by a ten-foot fall.

Brigo found a way around. Part of a cave had been cut by water. The ledge at the top had proved too hard for the slow-cutting water and as the rock below was softer, the stream had cut under, forming one more arch to add to those in the area. Riding under part of the fall and getting well splashed, they went under the arch and clambered up a steep rock slope and found good going before them.

They emerged suddenly into the valley not fifty yards from the house. Nita was standing on the steps looking toward them, a rifle in her hands.

Her recognition was immediate and she turned at once and went back into the house. When she emerged they were swinging from their saddles. “I’ve coffee on, Lance. It will be ready in a few minutes.”

He could see the relief in her eyes and he pressed her arm gently. As the others looked around he quietly explained the situation, Brockman had sat down at once, his face showing the exhaustion of the long trip after his injuries. Only his great strength and iron resistance could have stood up under the punishment.

Shorty remained only to eat and to rest a little. Then he mounted up and started back.

The night came slowly and the dusk seemed to remain over long. Kilkenny had gone to sleep in the bedroom, exhausted after his long ordeal, almost without sleep. Dolan sat with Cain and Brigo on the steps, watching the shadows gather under the lodgepole pines. The air was cool at that altitude and hour, but none of them thought of going inside.

The situation was brutally apparent to them all. They had gained a respite, but Jared Tetlow would never stop until they were dead. Not only had he lost a second son but he had been thwarted, and it was galling to a man of his ego and firm belief in his own strength and rightness.

H
ORSEHEAD LAY QUIET. In the lobby of the Westwater Hotel, Jared Tetlow sat in a huge leather chair, his face old and bitter. Several heavily armed men loitered on the steps outside.

The town was his. The range was his. He, Jared Tetlow, had taken them and he would hold them. Yet his cattle were scattered, two of his sons were dead, and he had lost men. Jared Tetlow knew nothing of military tactics. He did not know that the end result of all tactics is not only victory but the destruction of the enemy’s power to strike back.

Yet, despite his victory, some subconscious realization of his position left him uneasy. Despite his possessions of the range and the town, Kilkenny was alive. Brigo and Cain Brockman were alive. Dolan, Blaine—all of them had gotten safely away. They would not run. He knew fighting men when he saw them and he knew they were not defeated. They would be waiting somewhere for a chance to strike again. And so these men outside guarded him.

Two of his sons remained. Andy, the tough one. The gun slinger. And Ben, the quiet one. Perhaps, the thought came unbidden to his mind, perhaps Ben was right after all? It galled him to think of Ben being right, yet looking back down the years it had always been Ben who talked prudence and peace. And he was the only cattleman of the lot. Phin had never been more than a steady worker. Bud had been a trouble hunter, Andy the fighting man. But it was Ben who had managed the herds, sold the cattle, assured their prosperity.

Jared Tetlow stared at his gnarled hands and a kind of anger welled up within him. No matter. Their cattle were here, on good grass, and no gunfighter could stop him. This would pass. He would win, somehow, and time, like the grass, would cover all scars. If the law did come in he would show them his herds, his ranch, and the quiet countryside where before there had been only these shabby holdings. This was a land for the strong, and he was strong.

He got up from his chair and strode across the room. His own cook was in Ernleven’s kitchen, but the food was merely rough ranch fare. Why had the big French-man chosen to join Kilkenny?

The waitress had refused to come to work and the stores had not opened. He held the town in the palm of his hand but the town was an empty shell.

Happy Jack Harrow walked into the dining room, looked around, then swore. Tetlow glanced up. “Set down. There’ll be grub soon.”

“Yeah? But what kind of grub? I’m no chuckline rider!”

Tetlow did not resent the remark. “Seen times I’d been glad to get it.”

“Any news?”

“No.”

“They got away?”

“Seems like.”

“Why not let ’em go, then? What’ll you do if you get ’em?” Harrow had not slept well. He was doing his own worrying now. He had not sided with Early, but he liked the man, and he liked his wife. Doc Blaine was solid, too. Looking around him Harrow found no comfort in the situation. “What about the women? Do you plan to murder them?”

“Hush that talk,” Tetlow replied irritably. “What has to be done will be done.”

Tetlow shifted irritably in his chair. For the first time he began seriously to think about the women, and they worried him. He had never been able to cope with women. He had never been able to cope with his wife.

“You’ll never keep them quiet,” Harrow said, “and Mrs. Early comes of good family. If anything happens to her there will be questions asked. And if they talk there will be a United States marshal out here.”

Jared Tetlow was not worried about the marshal. Let him win this fight and there would be no witnesses to accuse him. He did not like troubling women, but Harrow’s wandering comments decided him. The women must die.

He had seen a man hung for striking a woman. He had seen Western men hunt down men who molested women. He knew the rage he could incite by any move against the women. But they were in the hills. Who knew where they were now? And if they did not come back, who could say what happened to them?

Yet he did not relish the thought. How had he got into this corner, anyway? “If they turn Kilkenny over to me I’ll bother them no longer,” he said.

“Fat chance!” Harrow scoffed. “And if you had him you’d wish you’d never seen him.” Harrow leaned toward the older man. “Tetlow, call off your men and gather your herd. Head west for new country. Then this will all blow over.”

Tetlow turned his head sharply. “Be damned if I will! This is my country now! Here I’ll stay!”

“You’ll stay then.” Harrow accepted the plate and cup from the cook. “They’ll bury you here.”

Tetlow stared at the beef and beans, feeling old and tired. Why had he come out here? What had gotten him into this mess? Would there be no end to killing? Yet now he could not stop. Irritation filled him. He stared at Harrow. The man was nobody. He had swung to his side quickly enough, and at the first intimation of change he would swing again. There was only one answer now that it had begun.

Kill them.

Kill Harrow, too. Once he would have been appalled by the thought. He only killed in battle. Now these were merely insignificant humans who interfered with him. Harrow had succeeded in making him realize what he had subconsciously known all along. There could be no safety for him as long as any of them lived. Bob Early was a strong, capable man. Leal Macy was a duly constituted officer of the law. Their words would carry weight and outside people did not realize the circumstances here.

He got up suddenly and strode to the door. “Ernie, take this note to Havalik!” He scratched words on a bit of paper. When the man was in the saddle he returned to the table.

“You’re right, of course. They’d talk.”

Something in his tone made Harrow look up quickly.

“You told me so yourself,” Tetlow said, watching Harrow almost absently. “I can’t leave them alive.”

A man stood in the doorway with two guns. Harrow stared at him. If Tetlow would kill those women then his own life wasn’t worth a plugged nickel. His appetite gone, he sat over his food trying to think of a way out.

“Well,” he tried to keep his tone casual, “I’d better check on my bartender. I can’t trust him too much.”

Jared Tetlow looked up at Harrow as he got to his feet, and at something in his eyes Harrow felt a faint chill go over him.

Why had he been such a fool as to straddle the fence? You never could, not when the chips were down. He turned on his heel and walked to the door, his spine crawling. Jared Tetlow watched him to the door, then got to his feet again.

“Jack?”

Harrow turned and saw the drawn gun in Tetlow’s hand. He grabbed wildly for his own gun, but Tetlow fired, the crashing report louder in the closed room. Happy Jack Harrow’s knees folded and he went down, rolling over on the floor, the half-drawn gun spilling from relaxed fingers.

The man with the two guns had stepped inside. “Bury him,” Tetlow said. “He was going for the U.S. marshal.”

He sat down at the table again and the acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the smell of fresh coffee.

Chapter 9

T
HE KILLING OF Jack Harrow did not pass unnoticed. Men who had remained on the sidelines saw it with misgiving. East of Horsehead two Forty hands came together on a little branch that emptied into the Westwater.

“Tetlow killed Harrow.”

“Hear he figures to kill them women, too.”

“The Old Man’s losin’ his grip. Killin’ in a fight, that’s one thing. Massacree, that’s another.”

The first cowhand wiped his mustache with the back of his hand and took a sidelong glance at his companion.

“Personal, I ain’t goin’ to have no hand in it.”

“Sort of been thinkin’ thataway myself.”

“I got two months comin’.”

“So’ve I, but if we try to draw our time there’ll be trouble.”

The first man waved a hand at the scattered cattle.

“They’ll never git ’em all rounded up, an’ they’ll pay your wages. Cross country, it ain’t so far to Santa Fe.”

“What are we waitin’ for?”

Two cowhands and two hundred head of cattle headed south. Before noon three other riders came upon the trail. Being skilled readers of sign, they recognized the horse tracks and read the story in the dust.

“Not a bad idea,” one of them commented casually. It took no more than minutes to reach a meeting of the minds. Cattle and men made a new trail.

In Horsehead Jared Tetlow heard the story from Andy with sullen fury. Had it been Ben who reported the stolen stock and the vanished riders he would have waved him aside and stomped out to begin a chase, but this was Andy, the tough one.

He could see only one way out. Wipe out all opposition and then go after the rustlers and cattle.

“Pick fifteen tough men,” Tetlow said, “mount them on the best. Promise each one hundred dollars cash when the job is done and take them to Havalik. Tell him I’ll give him forty-eight hours.”

Dee Havalik received the reinforcements with satisfaction. With Andy and several others he squatted beside the fire. “Three times now Kilkenny has disappeared from a place due north and a mite east of here. That means he’s got him a hideout in the Blues. He’s got a good bunch of fighters with him but they’ve women to worry about. We can use fire to bluff ’em into surrender. But first we’ve got to find them.

“Andy, you take five men and head up Mule Canyon. Better keep a rider on each wall as you advance, scoutin’ the country. Watch for trail sign. Grat, take five more men and ride east until you find a pass. When you do, go over and ride for the nearest bottom. Then wait for us. If we follow true courses we’ll meet back in there and by then we should know something.”

Havalik led his own group along the western flank of the mountains roughly opposite the trail the searched-for party had left a few days before. When he came to the rough country around Cottonwood Creek, they turned up the Blues into higher mountains. At the point where they turned they were less than three miles from the waterfall under which the party had ridden to find the back door to the Valley of Whispering Wind.

By nightfall the three parties had come together, camping on a branch of Indian Creek. Due north of them towered the Twin Peaks, and beyond the peaks lay the valley.

Grat swung from his dusty horse and crossed to where Havalik and Andy conversed in low tones. “Struck a trail!” he told them triumphantly. “In that pass a little south of here. The rain washed out some of the tracks but two or three were that mare the Riordan woman rides.”

Havalik spat with satisfaction. “Good! Good!” He nodded affirmation. “That fits. Must be the trail we lost.”

“That ain’t all. We found Jess Baker.”

“Dead?”

“Uh-huh. Right through the center. He had his chance, too.”

“Kilkenny.” Havalik paced off a few steps. “I’d have give ten to one that was what happened to Jess.”

“You got any ideas?” Andy asked.

“We know they came this far. From the way they appeared and disappeared it can’t be much further. It could be in the mountains right around us. From now on we ride careful.”

The wind whipped the fire and blew hard in the treetops. The air was cold and the sky spotted with clouds. Dee Havalik walked to a big log and sat down. What would they say in the Live Oak country when they heard he had killed Kilkenny? He had always known they would meet some day. He only hoped it would be face to face, man to man, and not in a general fight where the killing might be attributed to others.

C
AIN BROCKMAN RODE up to the cabin shortly before midnight. He went to the nest of rocks and trees beyond the spring where Kilkenny had bedded down after his brief rest in the house. “Lance?” he whispered.

“I’m awake.”

“Spotted a couple of fires on Injun Crick, looks like. Brigo’s gone down for a closer look.”

“Two fires? Close together?”

“Uh-huh. Means a big bunch.”

“Who’s on the peaks?”

“Shorty. It took me nigh an hour to get back down”

“All right. You get some sleep.”

He lay there, hands clasped under his head, studying the problem. The expected attack would come tomorrow and it would be with all the force Tetlow could muster.

There was movement near him and he caught a faint breath of Nita’s perfume. He sat up and she moved down beside him. “What is it, Lance?”

“They are over the peaks. We’ll have trouble tomorrow.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m tempted to hit them tonight with an ambush.”

“Don’t do that. Let them start it.”

“When this is over, Nita, will you go back to your KR?”

“Not unless you send me.”

“It will be cold and lonely up here in winter.”

“I don’t care! I’d love to see those peaks all covered with snow!” She listened to the wind. “In this valley with you? Riding, working, walking together, I’d want it more than anything, Lance.”

“You’ll have it, then. I’m through running. This place here in this valley will be my last stand. I made up my mind when I came here.”

Nita was suddenly thoughtful. “Lance, I’m afraid.”

“Of Tetlow?”

“Only a little of him. Mostly of Dee Havalik.”

Kilkenny leaned back and began building a smoke. “Don’t let it bother you. I don’t.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“Yes,” he admitted, “and this is what I’ve tried to save you from without much luck. But Havalik will get more than he bargains for. He never bucked a combination like this before, and so far we’ve just defended ourselves.”

Her mind shifted. “I think Laurie likes Doctor Blaine.”

“She’d be a fool if she didn’t. He’s a rare sort of man.”

“So are you.”

“Me?” Kilkenny chuckled, then drew deep on his cigarette. The glow was bright in the darkness and Nita momentarily caught the strong lines of his face, somber and brooding. “Maybe.”

The moon was rising above the wind-worried trees. They sat hand in hand, her head against his shoulder. The faint smell of tobacco smoke mingled with that of wood smoke and pines. The peaks were a hard, serrated line across the face of the moon.

Someone stirred, and with a start, Kilkenny realized it must be Taggart. It would be two o’clock in the morning and he would be going to relieve Shorty.

Kilkenny reached for his moccasins. “Better get some sleep. I’m going to scout around. Brigo isn’t back.”

“Don’t worry. He has a sixth sense, like a wolf.”

He buckled on his gun belts and picked up his Winchester. Taggart waited for him. He was a tall man, lean-jawed and haggard of face. “I’ll walk along,” Kilkenny said. “Brigo’s been gone all night.”

“That Yaqui never sleeps.”

They mounted and rode away together. “Figure the fight will come today?”

“It’ll start.”

“I want one shot at that Tetlow.”

Surprised at the tone, Kilkenny glanced at him. “You sound like you had a personal grudge.”

“Knowed Tetlow since we was boys together. Before he owned one cow I had a nice ranch back in Texas. He stole my cows, burned me out, took my range.”

“He’s been hurt himself, now. Lost two boys, his herds scattered, his men shot up.”

“He’ll never quit.”

They parted at the trail to the peaks. “Tell Shorty to get some sleep and to get the crowd up by five, ready for trouble.”

There was a dim trail east of Twin Peaks, winding around the mountain toward the place where the fires had been seen. When he was still some distance away he swung the buckskin to a thicket and left him tied.

He heard their voices before he reached camp. Then a pistol barked, and a louder voice taunted, “Hell, Grat! You never even touched him! Bet I can notch his ears!”

Kilkenny slid through the brush, easing branches aside and moving close to the edge of the firelight. Then he peered into the clearing.

Jaime Brigo was tied to a tree and men were sprawled on the ground eating breakfast. Grat and two others were standing with drawn pistols facing the tree. The big Yaqui watched them, his contempt obvious. Blood from a scalp wound trickled down his face. Havalik sprawled on the ground nearby, looking on without expression.

The man who offered the bet lifted his gun. As he did so, Kilkenny stepped into the open, his Winchester at his hip. He held the gun on Havalik, but his command was for them all. “If you want Havalik dead, just make a wrong move!”

Caught unawares, all remained without moving and Kilkenny said quickly, “You! With the pistols! Drop them! Untie that man and make it quick or I’ll splatter Havalik’s skull all over your breakfast!”

Havalik sat very still. He was no fool, and he knew one wrong move would kill him. “You won’t get away with this, Kilkenny. I’ll have your hide.”

“You’ll get your chance all in good time.”

He saw Brigo step away from the tree, rubbing his arms to restore circulation. Then the Yaqui picked up his rifle and buckled on his pistol belt. He turned his big head toward Grat. “This man shoot at me,” he said. “I want him.”

“I’d like nothin’ better!” Grat challenged.

“All right.” Kilkenny knew Brigo. Few could face him in any sort of hand-to-hand combat. “Walk out beyond the fire. Now all of you turn to face them. Your backs will be toward me and anyone who wants to die will have an easy chance.”

Grat was a big, strongly built man. He looked from the Yaqui to Kilkenny. “You mean I can fight him?”

“Choose your weapons. Gun, knife or bare hands.”

“Knives!” Grat said, smiling with cruel satisfaction. “I always heard Injuns were good with knives but I never saw one yet who was! I go for a Bowie!”

Both men put off their gun belts and with knives held low, cutting edges up, they circled warily. Grat was a powerful, quick moving man and he had stripped off his boots for better footing. Grat moved suddenly, but Brigo caught the darting blade on his own, and deflected it. Grat lost balance and fell forward.

The Yaqui stepped back carelessly, his face hard with contempt. Angered, Grat lunged again. Like a chaparral cock with a rattler, the Yaqui began to bait him. He left openings, he appeared to slip on the grass, he circled and feinted, moving to draw Grat in.

Suddenly, Brigo lunged and the edge of his knife left a thin red line across Grat’s cheek. Blood welled to the surface and began to trickle. Grat rushed and the Yaqui sidestepped away and the point of his knife flicked the biceps of Grat’s left arm.

“Hah!” the Yaqui grunted as he moved away. “You wish to kill. How does it feel to be living, but upon the edge of death?”

Grat was sweating now. He was frightened, knowing that his knife skill was puny compared to that of the man he faced. The big Yaqui moved gracefully, easily, unwearied. Brigo’s knife was like a snake’s tongue, darting…darting…

The point flicked again at the biceps, the edge touched Grat’s ear. Where the knife touched there was blood.

Grat threw caution away. His only chance was to rush, to close with the Indian before the loss of blood weakened him. He rushed, and Brigo met the rush, knocking aside the knife arm and thrusting, low and hard into Grat’s belly. Eye to eye they stood, then Brigo threw him aside.

Grat landed on his knee, and instantly threw his knife, but Brigo had already moved, and throwing his own knife as Grat tried to turn away, drove it to the haft in Grat’s kidney, the point driving up.

Screaming, Grat caught at the haft of the knife and tried to jerk it free. In this position, he could not exert the strength and he staggered like an insect on a pin. Brigo walked to him and, putting a hand on his shoulder, he withdrew the knife. Without looking at the dying man he wiped the blade clean in the sand. Then he belted on his guns once more and picked up his rifle.

“You are fools,” he said. “As he dies, so will you all!”

Surprisingly, Macy, Taggart and Dolan stepped from the brush. Worried by Kilkenny’s plan, Taggart had started them along his trail.

Supported by their rifles, Kilkenny and Brigo disarmed the Forty riders. Kilkenny took the guns from Havalik’s holsters. “I’m going to unload these,” he said, “and give them back. One day we’ll meet and you’ll want your own guns.”

Taking Havalik’s hat, he spun it high in the air. Then, slip-shooting with Havalik’s guns, he emptied them into the spinning hat. Then he tossed the guns into the grass at the gunman’s feet.

Mumbling, the Forty riders started for their horses, minus guns, ammunition and gunbelts. Then as they rode away the men from the valley walked into the trees toward their horses, taking with them all the guns but the two returned to Havalik.

In the pass, Havalik drew rein. “We’re not goin’ back. Dave, you take Joe and get to Horsehead. Get guns and come running. We’re not through here.”

Leal Macy stepped into the saddle and then turned. There was resolution in his jaw. “This has gone far enough! We’re going into town and I’m going to arrest Tetlow. I’m going to deputize the lot of you right now!”

Dolan glanced at Kilkenny. “What do you say, Lance? This might be the time.”

Kilkenny hesitated, weighing their chances. “All right. Brigo can stay here with Doc Blaine, Early and a couple of men, just in case. The rest of us will go.”

At the ranch they wasted no time. Leal Macy and Kilkenny would head the group for town, taking with them Dolan, Cain Brockman, Shorty and Taggart. It was a good, hard-fighting crowd.