Kilkenny 03 - Kilkenny (v5.0) (7 page)

T
HE STORY OF the cattle drive reached the KR with the story of the challenge to Tetlow issued in the streets of Horsehead. It was no garbled account, but was given concisely and definitely by Doc Blaine over lunch at the ranch house. Aside from Nita, only Jaime Brigo was there.

Blaine’s story started casually enough. “Lots of excitement in town. Fellow whipped three of the Forty hands in less than that many minutes and then called old Jared Tetlow to his face. Dared him at point blank range. I never saw such a thing.”

Brigo’s eyes were steady on Blaine’s face. The big Yaqui sensed what was coming.

Nita called Maria to pour some coffee. “He moved cattle on the Carpenter place this morning. He’ll ruin the man.”

“That seems to be the idea,” Blaine agreed. “Have you thought about yourself?”

“Of course. He can’t run as many cattle as he wants without my place.” Doc Blaine watched her as she talked. She seemed scarcely more than a girl, yet there was an assurance about her that puzzled him. He knew nothing of her beyond the fact that she had bought out a previous rancher for cash, had built here a ranch home that was far superior in every way to anything around, and she lived in the saddle, worked cattle herself and yet supervised a home that was the most perfect thing he had seen this side of a French chateau. “If he tries that, he will have trouble.”

“He has a lot of men.”

“And I have Jaime. And Cain Brockman and some others.”

“Is Brockman as tough as he looks?”

“Far tougher. I only knew one man who could handle him. Jaime might. I don’t know.”

“That fellow who faced down Tetlow,” Blaine mused, “he’s a drifting cowhand, and I think a gunfighter. There are rumors around that he was the man who killed young Bud Tetlow, but he seems like a good man. Why don’t you hire him?”

“I don’t think we’ll need anybody else,” Nita smiled, “but thanks just the same.”

“You’d better think it over,” Blaine insisted, “this man Trent—”

Her head came up sharply. “Who? Who did you say?”

Doc Blaine was surprised. “Why, Trent. At least, that’s the name he uses. You can’t tell about names, especially with drifters. They might use any name.”

Nita was looking accusingly at Brigo. “Is it…?” There was no need to repeat the question for she could see the answer in the Yaqui’s eyes and her heart began to pound. Unable to control herself, she came quickly to her feet, then, not wanting them to see her face, she turned quickly and walked to the window. “You…how long have you known?”

“The night before last. He came by here, and stopped outside.”

“You…you talked to him?”

“No. He did not see me. I don’t think he saw me.”

Blaine looked from one to the other. Too wise in the way of the world and women to be fooled, he could see that Nita Riordan was upset. This surprised and intrigued him, for he had never seen anything startle her before. She was annoyingly self-possessed, and Blaine had been puzzled and disturbed by that self-possession. It was something he was not accustomed to in women, and it disconcerted him.

“You know this man called Trent?”

“I…I don’t know. I think perhaps I do. I…we knew a man once who used that name.”

“What was his real name?”

She turned on him. “That, Doctor, is something he would have to tell you himself.” Then she remembered what the doctor had been saying, that this man had faced down Tetlow. Yes, she told herself, her heart pounding, that would be like Lance. He could never stand tyranny of any kind, and he would not hesitate because of numbers.

Lance…!

The thought of him disturbed her, and she stood staring out the window, remembering every line of his face. The way he smiled, the way the laugh wrinkles came faintly at the corners of his eyes, eyes long accustomed to squinting against desert suns. She remembered the quick way he walked, the strong brown hands, the way his green eyes could grow cold—although they had never grown cold when they looked at her.

She remembered that first day down in the Live Oak country, the day she had first seen him. She had looked across that room at him and suddenly they had seemed alone, as if only they remained in life and nothing else could or did exist. She had looked into his eyes and known this man wanted her, and had known that she wanted him, and they were right for each other and nothing else in the world would ever matter but him.

And now he was here again, close to her. He had been outside in the darkness, nearby. Had he known she was there? Had he been thinking of her? What had been his thoughts as he stood out there in the shadows, watching the lights? What time had it been? Had she been reading? Or getting ready for bed? Or already with her head upon the pillow?

“Jaime,” she turned swiftly, “I want to see him.”

The Yaqui looked at her and nodded. “Si, but to find him, who knows how? He is like the wind, and he leaves no trail.”

“Think, Jaime! Where would he be? Remember what he said? That you did not follow a trail on the ground unless you could also trail with the mind? You have to think as the man you follow thinks, then you know where to go. You know him, Jaime. Where would he be?”

The big Yaqui shrugged, but he was thinking. That was the way, of course. To follow him with the mind. It was like the deer—once you knew where he watered it was not hard to find where he slept and where he fed. It was the same with all game, and with men. They established patterns. Kilkenny had said that, and he had never forgotten, for Kilkenny could follow a trail where even an Apache would fail.

But to follow the trail of Lance Kilkenny was something else again, for he was one who knew how to think, and knowing that he followed men by their patterns of thought as well as by their tracks upon the sand, he would think in different ways at different times. That, too, he had told Brigo.

One possibility there was. He would want a place that was far off and lonely, difficult to find and easy to defend, a place where he might stand off his enemies if need be. Especially would he want such a place with the Tetlows to consider.

“I think—maybe I could find him,” he ventured. “I could try, but to be away from here now? It is not good.”

“Find him!” Nita insisted. “Tell him I must see him.”

“Perhaps there is another way,” Blaine ventured. “Wait until he comes back into town. He will come, you know, and I know from what Leal Macy said that he has offered to back him if he needs help. Dolan knows him also.” Blaine scowled thoughtfully. “Dolan might even know where he is. He would know if anybody does.”

“Jaime. Ride to town with the doctor. Find out if Dolan does know.”

Despite her anxiety it almost frightened her to think of seeing him again. She understood well enough his motives for leaving her as he had, and respected him for it even while she regretted it. That she was quite prepared to accept him despite what might happen he well knew. Yet the thought of seeing him again and the chance of losing him again frightened her. After his disappearance she had adjusted herself only after a long time, and doubted if she could go through it again.

Her childhood training, her father, all her background conditioned her to love for one man only. Moreover there was something inwardly fastidious about her that avoided the thought of any other man but this one.

“Let me go to Dolan,” Blaine suggested. “I know him. I’ll explain, and then you’ll have Brigo if trouble starts.”

Brigo waited, liking this idea better. He had cared for Nita since she was a child and resented the thought of leaving her at such a time. Kilkenny was the only man who came near her of whom he approved. More than fifty years of age, the Yaqui possessed the strength of a gorilla, the devotion of a dog, and the cunning of a wolf.

“All right,” Nita decided. “Tell him I need to see him.”

Doc Blaine got up from the table. Curiously he wondered how she had met the man who called himself Trent. Obviously the man had used the name before, but who was he?

A
S HE STARTED back toward town in his buckboard he could see cattle darkening the range where once Carpenter’s few cattle had grazed. How could a woman with so few hands hope to stand against Tetlow’s vast herds? There was no way to fight masses of cattle, for now Jared Tetlow had found the method that seemingly could not be stopped. He himself need attack nobody, for those cattle, bunched upon range too small to feed them, would break any man.

Nearing Whiskers Draw a man got up from the rocks. He had a field glass and a rifle. It was Cain Brockman.

“Howdy,” he grinned, slouching down to the trail. “Reckon we got a fight comin’.”

“You may get help.” Brockman had been with Nita a long time and might know. “Miss Riordan has asked me to get in touch with a man named Trent.”

Excitement broke over Brockman’s face. “You mean—” He broke off sharply. “Trent? Nobody I’d rather see right now.”

Blaine had gone no more than two miles further when another movement stopped him. A woman, bloody and half her clothing torn, stumbled down the draw, then fell. She was struggling to rise as he reached her side. She was not a young woman and she was obviously exhausted as well as badly hurt. It was Mrs. Carpenter.

“My God! What’s happened? Where’s Free?”

“Dead.” She was half dazed with grief and weariness. “Killed.”

“Shot?”

“They stampeded cattle through the yard. He’d gone for water to the well. He broke for the house but he didn’t get halfway before they ran him down.”

“And you?”

“Tried to help him. Steer knocked me down. I…I was going for the sheriff.”

He helped her into the buckboard and gave her a drink from his canteen. He wiped her face clean and gave her the best first aid treatment he could manage. “He was all I had,” she mumbled, only half conscious. “Without him it ain’t…it ain’t…”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Think what Free would have done. He was a brave, good man.”

After that she sat quietly until they reached town. He turned off at the outskirts and drove to Bob Early’s home.

Laurie Webster was watering flowers and when she saw the woman she hurried to help. Blaine explained quickly.

“Is Bob home?”

“He’s at the Diamond. He was to meet Leal Macy there.”

There would be action now. They would not take this. Yet even as the thought came to him, he began to doubt. Some would think only of the added profit they were making from the big, new outfit. They would remember the painfully few dollars spent by Carpenter and Carson, and would not allow themselves to think of what might happen when the Forty was in complete control.

There was Macy, however, and Bob Early. And there was Dolan and his men, perhaps a few others. His spirits sagged as he realized how few they were. Yet it had been always so. The many are afraid to act, hoping for the best until it is too late.

A dozen men sat at the table when he entered. Briefly, he explained. Macy leaned on the table, looking around at the faces of the others. “What did I tell you? Carson first, now Carpenter. Nobody is safe.”

“We don’t know what happened.” Wolrich owned the Emporium. “We don’t know Carpenter was run down a-purpose. We only got a hysterical woman’s word for it.”

Happy Jack Harrow of the Pinenut Saloon agreed. “My sentiments. Tetlow’s bringing prosperity. My take’s doubled since he came. This here’s hard country. If a man ain’t fit, he can’t last.”

“Who are we to fight a rancher’s battles?” Savory agreed. “There’s always been range wars. Far as that goes, what d’you suppose they’d do to the town if we started something? They’d wipe us out.”

“So you’ll stand by and see men murdered, robbed of their homes, and women driven into the desert?” Macy was disgusted. “Now we know the brand you wear, anyway.”

“Easy with that, Sheriff.” Savory’s face was angry. “Because you’re the law doesn’t give you license to make free with your tongue. A bullet’ll stop you soon as any man.”

“Forget that,” Early broke in. “Let’s not fight among ourselves.” He looked around. “I take it then that you’re not in favor of taking action?”

“That’s right,” Savory said. Woolrich, Harrow, and a half dozen others nodded agreement.

Early turned to Macy. “Well, Leal, that shakes out the deck a little but the right cards can still win. I want you to deputize me.”

“And me,” Doc Blaine replied shortly.

A big man with a shock of black curly hair stepped up from the back of the room. His face was heavy-jawed and sullen. “I want you make me ziss deputy, too.”

Pierre Ernleven was rarely seen away from his kitchen. He liked nothing so much as preparing food and seeing it eaten, and he took no part in the affairs of Horsehead. If he did not like a man’s conversation or his attitude he would refuse to serve him. He was not above throwing a man bodily from the premises.

“Thanks, Pierre,” Macy said. “There’s no man I’d sooner have.”

Ernleven looked around, his eyes bitter with contempt. “The rest of you don’t come to my dining room. That goes for you, Harrow. Stay out.”

Harrow got up, flushed and angry. “Cut your throats if you want. You don’t know where your bread is buttered.”

“That’s probably right, Jack.” Early spoke quietly. “We’re thinking about a little word that has meant an awful lot to this country. A word called Justice. We’re thinking of a country where there will be no feudal power, where no one man can control the destinies of others. It was little men who built this country, and little men who have been its backbone. You should read Jefferson, Harrow. Had you lived in ’76 you’d have been a Tory.”

“You call me a traitor?” Harrow’s face went white.

“Examine your conduct,” Early replied, “then judge for yourself. As for me,” he got to his feet, “my Winchester needs oiling. Call on me, Leal, when you’re ready.” He turned away, then glanced back. “See you later,
gentlemen!
”

Harrow glared around him, then stamped out and slammed the door. Woolrich walked after him. He was gloomy. His wife would give him the devil for this. She thought anything Bob Early did was all right.

Macy smiled with wry humor. “There it is, Doctor. If you ever wanted a lost cause, you’ve got it.”