Kilkenny 03 - Kilkenny (v5.0) Page 9

  NITA CAUGHT HIS arm. Her face was pale. “Oh, Lance! Jaime! And Cain! The rest of them! What could have happened to them?”

  “I wish I knew,” he said soberly, “but we can’t find out now. If Tetlow’s gone this far it means he’s ready to go all the way. I’ve got to get you out of here, Nita. Some place where it’s safe.”

  “In town?”

  “No.” His mind was leaping ahead. It would not be safe in town now, not even with Early and Blaine. Tetlow had started to move and if he had wiped out the KR hands there would be no end to his killing. “No.” He repeated the word. “There’s another place, but we’ve got to move fast. Turn around and we’ll go back down the trail.”

  “But maybe they are down there, Lance. They might be lying injured!”

  He had been thinking of that very thing and the thought tortured him. He was torn between the desire to go down there and find out for himself and the need to get Nita to some safe place. She read his thoughts.

  “Don’t think of me. I’d be safe down where your camp was. You go ahead.”

  Still he hesitated, worried. “No, I couldn’t go down this way now. They’d see me long before I reached bottom. We’ve got to circle around, and you can be sure they’ll have men in Horsehead, watching for me.

  “Tell you what,” the thought came to him suddenly, “you take that canyon”—he pointed it out from the height of the Ridge—“and follow it up to the second branch. There will be a Y there, but take the left hand canyon. You’ll find a switchback trail at the end and when you come out—” Swiftly he detailed the directions of how to get to the small blue lake he had found. “Wait there for me. I’ve got a place in the mountains east of there.”

  “All right.” It was like her not to question his judgment. “Don’t worry about me, and be careful.”

  They parted with a quick clasp of the hand and he turned north, riding up Comb Wash. When he reached Whiskers Draw he swung into it and followed along, carrying his Winchester in his hands and riding with eyes and ears alert. He had no plan, nor could he make one until he could view the situation that awaited him.

  There was every chance that the KR hands had been caught in the rush of cattle or shot down by the Forty riders. There was a slim chance they had escaped, but one scarcely worth mentioning for they were fighting men, not running men. Their only hope in that way, Lance understood, was that Jaime Brigo was uncommonly cunning. He might have done something—on the other hand the men might be lying helpless and injured. He had to know and there was no time to be lost.

  He had covered the miles at a space-eating gait but the gray seemed in no whit disturbed by it. In fact, when he slowed down the gray tugged irritably at the bit, wanting to run. At the cottonwoods he paused. Here, tonight, he was to have met the crowd for their attack on the Forty. Too late now—or was it?

  Considering that, he shook his head to clear his mind and returned to the thoughts of the present. This was going to be touch and go. Without doubt the country was crawling with Forty riders and they would be hunting Nita as well as himself. With men on the KR, at the camp of the Forty and in Horsehead, he would be in a bottleneck that offered but one escape, retreat the way he had come. Dismounting, Kilkenny crept up to the side of the draw and surveyed the country before him.

  The herd had scattered, spreading over the KR range, and they were feeding on the rich grass of the new range. Among them a few riders rode, but they seemed to be congregating at a particular point. That point was near the KR ranch house. A few minutes later the wagons from the Forty headquarters came into sight, headed for the KR. Obviously Tetlow was taking up headquarters at the latter house.

  Returning to his horse, Kilkenny advanced with extreme caution, pausing every few yards to listen. He heard no sound, but presently Whiskers Draw gave into Cottonwood Wash, which had been the edge of the KR range, and it was along this wash that the KR hands had been holding their ground.

  No sound disturbed the clear air of the afternoon. There was a faint smell of dust in the air remaining from the stampede, and the smell of sun-warmed grass. Keeping away from any stones that might make a sound under his horse’s hoofs, he rode forward. When he was over a mile from the opening of Whiskers Draw he drew up. Here the wash was partly overgrown with low cottonwoods and willows, and there were some larger boulders scattered about. Dismounting again, Kilkenny spoke reassuringly to the gray, then walked ahead on cat feet, his rifle at the ready.

  The first sound he heard was faint, a rustling. He paused, the rifle coming up. Then he heard a low moan, and he wheeled. The bank on the east side had been broken by the rush of cattle and had caved into the wash. Moving toward it, he saw a bloody hand projecting from under the earth.

  Dropping a hand to a boulder top, he vaulted over it and landed beside that hand, and then he could see the face of a man lying on his stomach, his head turned sidewise, also projecting from under the caved-in earth.

  It was Cain, and the big man was conscious. Swiftly Kilkenny attacked the pile of earth with his hands, pulling it away from the fallen man’s body. Working desperately, he stopped suddenly to hear the sound of a walking horse!

  Straightening up, he stared at the bank, panic sweeping him. There was no way to get Cain quickly uncovered nor to move him. A shot would bring a dozen riders, in a matter of minutes, and—he heard the horse stop, and then the creak of a saddle. Crouching among the boulders, Kilkenny lifted a finger and saw that Cain understood.

  The man showed above the edge of the bank, then dropped over. It was Phin Tetlow.

  A big, wide-shouldered man, he walked with easy step and he looked curiously around. Obviously he had seen something here that he felt warranted investigation, and he had returned alone for that purpose. He looked around, then walked to a clump of willows and peered into it, then cautiously approached a bunch of boulders.

  Kilkenny crouched lower, cursing his luck. He could not shoot it out with Phin and then run for it to leave Cain helpless in this position. His horse was out of sight, but further search might show it to Phin. Kilkenny drew back, easing away from Cain, and the big man watched him go, his eyes wide and trusting as those of a big dog from whose paw one extracts a thorn.

  Phin was working nearer and nearer, and now he straightened and looked toward the fallen earth. Quickly, as if having an idea, he strode toward it. He paused when he came in sight of Cain. Kilkenny could see the expression on Phin Tetlow’s face, and was puzzled by it.

  Phin moved closer. “The big one, huh? I figured the herd must have got somebody here. I seen you a minute or so afore they hit this bank. It would have been a miracle if you was safe.”

  He sat down on a boulder and calmly lit a cigarette. “Can’t move, huh? Well, I reckon you’re my meat then. Funny thing. I never kilt a man. Andy has. He kilt eight or nine. Andy’s good, maybe better than Havalik. Even Ben kilt an outlaw down in the Big Bend, and a couple of Indians. Me, I never kilt nobody.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I won’t have to say that tomorrow. Because I’m fixin’ to kill you.

  “Makes a man,” he said, “feel mighty small when he ain’t blooded. Even Ben, an’ he don’t like to fight. He thinks too much.” He drew deep on the cigarette. “Pap figured you for the tough one. Now here you are, caught like a rabbit in a trap. I don’t even need to waste a shot. I’m going to bash your head in with a rock.”

  He got to his feet and stretched, and Kilkenny, close behind him now, reached out and grabbed him by the gun belt. He gave a tremendous jerk and Phin Tetlow’s heels flew up and he hit the boulder hard and turned heels over head to the ground behind it. Kilkenny swung a wicked backhand blow that smashed Tetlow’s nose, stifling his yell to a squealing grunt. Then he slugged him on the chin. A full, powerful swing. Phin’s head snapped back and he lay still. Swiftly Kilkenny tied his hands and feet, then went to work to free Cain.

  A quick examination showed no bones broken but the man was frightfully bruised and skinned. Moreover, he seemed to have lost
blood from a scratch or cut in his side. Stopping, Kilkenny lifted the big man on his shoulders and started for the gray. The load was almost too much for the gray, for between them they made a weight of over four hundred pounds, but there was no hope for it.

  Returning the way he had come, the gray stayed with it beautifully, but when they reached Whiskers Draw, Kilkenny swung down and walked ahead, leading the horse. He might have made the attempt to get Phin’s horse but had been afraid somebody from the ranch would see him up on the bank, and had not dared to take a chance as Phin had been wearing a brilliantly red shirt that could not have been mistaken.

  It was slow going and hot, but he made it back to the cottonwoods. Cain Brockman lolled in the saddle, his huge body swaying to the moves of the horse. His face was gray and his eyes glazed over. Worriedly, Kilkenny spoke to him and there was no answer. The big man was sitting there by sheer will and animal strength. He might be injured internally—Kilkenny crept to the top of the bank and looked around. Far away, several miles off now, he could see the lone horse standing where Phin had left it. How long before that horse would attract attention and investigation? Or how long before Phin would get free?

  It was almost noon, of course, and the hands might be eating. There was no more than another hour before the pursuit would begin, for they would notice Phin’s absence and if they saw his horse, it would immediately draw them to it. What Cain needed was a doctor, but it was all of five miles to Horsehead from their present position and the last two miles would be across open country.

  There was no hope for it but to conceal him here and hope for the best. Alone, he could run for it, but the gray could never carry that weight over a fast run nor could Kilkenny keep the dead weight of the now unconscious man in the saddle before him.

  Dismounting the wounded man, he carried him back under the cottonwoods. Here there was a place where the willows hung low, leaving a deep shade. Here, with Kilkenny’s slicker for a pillow, he made the big man as comfortable as possible. With water from his canteen he bathed the man’s forehead and washed his wounds, leaving him from time to time to take a look around for approaching riders. Then, drawing one of Cain’s pistols, he left it close beside the big man, and with him Kilkenny left his canteen.

  Then swiftly he wiped out with a willow branch the cracks in the sand, and scattered free handfuls of sand over that, then mounted up and rode swiftly out of the draw and across country keeping to the cover of the cedars. When he was far enough away, he rode swiftly on and followed a dim trail that led through various draws until he was almost on the outskirts of Horsehead. Here he worked his way into Cottonwood Creek and started toward town.

  This was the creek that divided east from west Horsehead, the social line of demarcation in the cowtown. It was also the draw that led through the trees past Doc Blaine’s.

  From the creek bed, he climbed out into the trees and then worked his way up through the brush until he was within a few feet of Blaine’s house.

  The first person he saw was Laurie Webster. Her eyes widened and he motioned her to silence. When she came to the fence near the trees he spoke softly. Briefly he explained what he had done, where he had found Cain and how he had left him, and told the girl to explain the change in plans to Dolan, although to keep riders on call. “Better not try to get Brockman before dark,” he warned, “that country’s alive with riders and they’d be sure to take him away from you and kill him, if not anybody who went after him.”

  “All right.” Laurie was quiet. Her eyes searched his. “You…you’re all right?”

  “Sure. How are things here?”

  “Bad.” Doc Blaine had told her of what Havalik had said and now she repeated this. “It’s going to come to a fight in town. I’m staying down here with Doc and Mrs. Carpenter. My sister is coming down soon, and I think Bob and a couple of others may move to this side of the creek. We want to be together in case of trouble.”

  “How’s Macy?”

  “All right, but he’s worried. The Tetlows are in town in force now, and Harry Lott is drinking.”

  Lott? Kilkenny had forgotten the big marshal. A hard, cruel man. Where did he stand, Kilkenny wondered. And he knew there was no answer to that. Probably Lott himself did not know.

  “I’ll be back.” He explained about Nita Riordan and saw the quick frown on the girl’s face.

  Without thinking of that, he returned to his horse and mounted. Getting around town was going to take him far out of his way. Suddenly a daring plan came to mind.

  Why not ride right up the creek bed through town? Except right at the bridge it was tree-shaded and there was small chance of anyone being close unless they were crossing the small bridge. The cut was deep enough to keep him out of sight. He would be in view from the bridge for all of fifty yards before he reached it, but for only about ten yards beyond, for then the creek curved slightly to the west, then made an easy swing back toward the north and then slightly west again. In fact, the trend of the creek bed was in the exact direction he wished to go to reach the lake where he had told Nita to meet him.

  Kilkenny was not a man who puzzled about a course of action. The danger of the creek bed was enormous for that sixty yards or so, and to be seen there would probably mean being trapped, yet there was less danger, although extended over several hours by a roundabout route that also entailed loss of time.

  Without hesitation he put the gray down the bank once more and turned north. He walked the horse in the sand, taking his time, one hand resting on his thigh within inches of his gun butt. He paused before turning the last bend into that fifty yards of open creek and listened. He heard no sound of approaching horses, nor any voices that sounded close. Taking a quick look and seeing the bridge empty, he rode out into the creek.

  They would hear his horse if anyone was close to the creek, but there were horses grazing about the town, owned by the townspeople, so that might not attract attention. They would know it was not a cow they heard for the difference in the sound of their walk is great. He had to gamble, and he accepted the gamble.

  The sun was very hot in the bottom and he was sheltered from the breeze. The sweat trickled down his face and down his sides under his arms. He dried his palms on his chaps and rode steadily forward, his eyes roving. To the right he could see several trees and beyond them the roof of the jail. To the left there was only the thick clump of trees that divided the creek bed from the home of Doc Blaine.

  When no more than ten yards from the bridge, he heard footsteps of an approaching man, and the slight jingle of spurs. There was nothing for it now but to continue on, and he did so, his hand ready to grab for a gun butt if it became necessary.

  The walking man hove into sight and, despite himself, glanced up. It was Leal Macy.

  Macy’s face did not change, nor did he pause in his stride until he reached the bridge. Then he stopped and leaned on the rail, looking back the way Kilkenny had come. “Rider coming. Stay under the bridge!” he said.

  Kilkenny halted and heard the horses approaching, and then their hoofs on the bridge. They drew up and stopped, and the voice was that of Jared Tetlow!

  “Howdy!” Tetlow’s voice was cool. “Seen that Kilkenny? We’re huntin’ him.”

  “Taking a lot on yourself, aren’t you?” Macy demanded. “I’m sheriff here.”

  “We ain’t askin’ no law’s advice,” Tetlow replied shortly. There was a harshness in his voice that grated, yet there was indifference too. “Keep out of the way an’ you won’t get hurt.”

  “Tetlow,” Leal Macy replied quietly, “I am ordering you to withdraw your cattle from the range you have forcibly occupied. If you do not do that, you will be arrested and brought before the courts.”

  Tetlow chuckled without humor. “What courts? In this town?” He waved a hand. “I already know your judge is back an’ he favors me. So do most of the folks here.”

  Macy ignored him. “I’m preparing charges against you,” he replied, “for manslaughter. I refer to t
he killings of Carson and Carpenter. You will be arrested, as will all those who participated, and you will be tried in the courts of the land. Withdraw your cattle, pay the damages we will agree upon, and I will allow you to go free on my own initiative. Otherwise, you will be prosecuted.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Tetlow was impatient. “What do you take me for, man? An idiot? What witnesses do you have? Who will testify against me? I had no reason to dislike Carson and Carpenter. Carson made the mistake of trying for a gun while Carpenter got caught in front of a stampede. As for my cattle, why shouldn’t they move on empty range? There’s no one on the KR.”

  “There was until you drove them off.”

  “Prove it.”

  Tetlow had spoken his last word. Clapping spurs to his horse, he rode on across the bridge into the east side of town. Dust from the disturbed planking fell down Kilkenny’s neck. He started to move when another voice interrupted. He recognized the hoarse voice of Harry Lott, thickened now by liquor.

  “How long you puttin’ up with this, Macy? You standin’ by while they run the town right out from under you? I thought you was a tough sheriff?”

  “I’m waiting, Harry.” Macy’s voice was patient. “I want to avoid a pitched battle if I can. I’ve seen a cow outfit hit a town like this before. I know what happens. I know how the innocent suffer. You’re right, and something should be done, and it’s up to us, but the time is not yet. When I can muster enough support, I’ll arrest Tetlow and Havalik both, and I’ll hold them for trial.”

  Harry Lott laughed. “Yeah? Well, you won’t arrest Havalik! I got him figured! He’s their backbone! Git him an’ they’d blow up higher’n them clouds! An’ that’s what I aim to do—git Havalik!”

  Macy did not reply and Kilkenny heard the drunken marshal’s footsteps as he moved off toward the east side of town.

  “Be seein’ you!” Kilkenny said softly, and rode on up the creek. Rounding the bend in the creek bed, he walked his horse faster and when the last buildings were behind he pushed him into a trot.