The Kilkenny Series Bundle

by Louis L'Amour

  Shorty walked over behind the bar. “All right, Gaddis, what’ll you have?”

  “Rye,” Gaddis said, and for the first time he really noticed Kilkenny, his glance sharpening as he noted the dusty clothes and the guns. Not many men wore two guns. He stared hard at Kilkenny, but Lance had his hat brim pulled low and seemed not to be aware.

  “Make mine rye, too,” Kilkenny suggested mildly. Then he turned his head to look at Soderman. “You drinkin’? Have one on me.”

  “Of course.” The fat man got up and moved with an astonishing ease and lightness of foot. Kilkenny’s attention sharpened. This man could move. “I always like to know who I’m drinkin’ with, though.”

  “Not so where I come from,” Kilkenny replied. “A drink’s a drink.”

  “Of course.” He stepped up to the bar, and Kilkenny moved aside in such a way that Soderman must step between Kilkenny and Gaddis. Soderman hesitated only an instant, then stepped up to the bar. “Not often you see a man packin’ two guns,” he added. “I thought every man who wore that kind of hardware knew Doc Soderman.”

  “I’ve heard the name.” Kilkenny let his eyes drift to the table Soderman had left. One of the men was rolling a smoke, the other idly riffling a deck of cards. Either of them was in position to draw quickly. Red Gaddis had turned to face Kilkenny.

  The whole setup looked a little too pat. Did they know he was from the high country. It was a tight situation, and he was going to have to relax them a little, to take a little steam off the top.

  “Heard there might be a job up this way,” he commented mildly, “and I could use a job where it’s quiet.”

  “Away from the law?” Soderman suggested.

  “Away from everything.”

  “We have law here. King Bill Hale is the law,” Soderman said.

  “Heard of him,” Kilkenny said. “Heard he pays well.”

  “You hear a lot,” Gaddis said. He was staring at Kilkenny, his eyes mean. He took another drink and continued to stare.

  Kilkenny glanced at him from under the brim of his hat. “I make it my business to listen,” he said quietly. “A man can learn a lot that way.”

  “Maybe you listen too much!” Gaddis said. He was in a truculent mood, and the whiskey was having its effect. Kilkenny’s drink was on the bar, untouched.

  “You want to show me how much?” he asked mildly. He was sure there would be no shooting just yet. Soderman was still not sure of him, and Gaddis didn’t care. He was wondering if Soderman knew Quince Hatfield was outside the window with a rifle.

  Gaddis stepped away from the bar. “Yes, I want—”

  “Stop it!” Soderman ordered. “Gaddis, you keep on that way and you’ll get yourself killed.”

  “Not by him,” he said scornfully, but he quieted down. It was a clear demonstration of who was in command here.

  Kilkenny thought that despite his belligerence Gaddis had welcomed the interruption. Gaddis, he believed, was a killer but not a gunfighter. The sort of man who might dry-gulch some men riding a wagon. And he wore a gun with a chipped handle.

  “Your friend’s kind of edgy,” Kilkenny commented.

  “Forget it. He just likes to fight, that’s all.” He glanced at Kilkenny again. “You mentioned looking for work. There might just be a chance.”

  “Either that or I drift on through,” Kilkenny said. He glanced pointedly at Gaddis’s gun. “Seems you should be somebody I know,” he said, “but I don’t place the face. I never was much good on faces, anyway, but I always remember a man by his gun.”

  He tasted his whiskey, then put the glass back on the bar. “Every gun has its own special look, or maybe it’s the way a man wears it. Take that one, now, with the chipped ivory butt. Nobody could forget a gun like that.”

  Gaddis was suddenly wary. His eyes went to Soderman, then back to Kilkenny. Before he could speak, Soderman looked straight into Kilkenny’s eyes. “And where did you see that gun?”

  “I was down to the capital,” he said, “and saw that gun hangin’ on a man named Jody Miller. He was comin’ west to farm.”

  He wanted to worry Soderman, who was a cautious man. He wanted to plant a little seed of doubt.

  “Miller stopped off in the capital to see some relatives and friends. Seems this Jody Miller didn’t have much himself, but he was a well-thought-of man with a lot of relatives in important places who thought a lot of Jody. When I first noticed the gun, he was sitting at a table with Halloran and Wallace.”

  He had all of Soderman’s attention now. The big man was worried, really disturbed. “This Miller knew Halloran and Wallace?”

  “Oh, he knew them, all right! They were talking friendly-like, and as they mentioned this part of the country, I paid attention, as I was planning to ride this way, even then. It seems Miller had stopped off to visit these people. He had known Wallace for some time, but Halloran was married to Jody’s sister. I heard Halloran say he was going to come out and pay Jody a visit after he was settled.”

  Kilkenny tasted his whiskey again. “I think Miller was in town to file his homestead on some place up in the mountains near here.”

  Kilkenny glanced at Gaddis, his face expressionless. “I expect you’ll be mighty glad to see them, Miller. It’s surely nice to have a big official like that for a friend.”

  Lance could have laughed at Gaddis had he not been filled with bitterness at the thought of their wagon waylaid and their friends killed.

  Gaddis had actually been called by name only a few minutes before, but Kilkenny acted as if he had not heard. The man was obviously worried, and not by Kilkenny, of whom he knew nothing Was it Soderman? Or Hale? Or simply that he had been caught red-handed in a murder? Or at least an ambush.

  “Odd,” Kilkenny continued, “you’ve got red hair. I’d have sworn Miller had black hair. I—”

  “It was yel . . .” Gaddis started to interrupt, then realized what he had said.

  “Yellow,” Kilkenny agreed. “That’s right. He was a blond. I couldn’t remember that, but you did, and you’re packin’ Miller’s gun. Now, how do you explain that?”

  Suddenly a door behind Kilkenny opened. He felt the flesh tighten along the back of his neck. He dared not turn. He had been deliberately baiting them, hoping for more information. Now, suddenly, he was boxed in.

  Soderman seemed to make up his mind, or perhaps he had been stalling, waiting for this to happen. Assurance returned to him and he said, “Why, howdy, Rye! You should come over and meet our friend here! Says he recognizes the gun Red’s a-wearin’.”

  Rye Pitkin walked around to where he could see Kilkenny, and his face went stiff with shock. “You!” he said hoarsely. “Why . . .”

  “Long way from the Pecos, isn’t it, Rye? And from the Brazos, too. Now, Pitkin, you listen, and listen close. I’m not anxious to start shooting, but at least two of you are going to die, and I’m betting on three. You and Soderman will come first.

  “My friends outside the windows will take care of Gaddis or anybody else who lifts a hand. Right now I am walking out of here, and you’d better impress it on your friends that starting some action won’t do them any good.”

  Kilkenny backed toward the door. Soderman’s eyes were hot with expectation mingled with some doubt. Why was Pitkin so obviously frightened? Who was this man?

  Red Gaddis had turned slightly, watching Kilkenny. Rye read what was in his mind. “Red! For God’s sake, don’t! That’s Kilkenny!”

  Gaddis’s hand came away from his gun as if suddenly burned. Warily he began to back off, as if distance could help.

  Glass tinkled, and a long Kentucky rifle barrel slid into the room. “Now, if you’re going to play it smart,” Quince remarked, “you gents just hole up here an’ get drunk, because the first one who makes a wrong move or sticks his head out is going to be dead.”

  The wagon was loaded. Bart sat on the wagon seat, reins in his hand, rifle across his knees. Jack Moffit sat beside him with his rifle in his two hands.

/>   Saul was across the street, holding all their horses.

  “Start the wagon, Bart. Take the Cedar trail. Jack, you stay with Bart, and be ready for trouble.”

  He crossed the street, swung aboard the buckskin, and slid his Winchester from the boot. The wagon moved out at a fast trot, he and the Hatfields following.

  All three were looking back over their shoulders, so Lance saw what happened when Red Gaddis stepped into the street with a rifle in his hand. Quince half-turned his horse, and the rifle came up. He fired an instant before Gaddis, and the red-headed man took two quick steps into the street and fell, half his head blown away.

  “He won’t take no more guns off’n nobody!” Quince said.

  There was a scattering of shots, and Kilkenny pulled up behind a log barn on the edge of town and swung down. “We’re going to have to come back here, so we might as well let them know what the score is.”

  He saw a man start from the back of the Wagon Wheel and snapped a quick shot. The man stumbled and fell. Saul went down the street at a dead run, firing with his pistol. There was a smashing of window glass, and a man fell half out of a second-story window and lay sprawled across the sill.

  Saul came back, shooting again and at a dead run.

  At every movement, one of them fired.

  “You boys cover me,” Kilkenny said, “when I come back.”

  Leaving his horse, he sprinted down along the back of the buildings toward the Wagon Wheel.

  He wanted Pitkin or Ratcliff, because he needed to know what had happened back there on the trail. Some or all of his friends might be dead, but he intended to find out. If they were dead, he could at least help to bury them, and maybe some of Hale’s riff-raff along with them.

  He drew up. The rear door of the saloon stood open. A man lay sprawled a few feet away from it, gun near his hand. He was dead.

  CHAPTER 14

  KILKENNY STOOD BEHIND the next building and waited, watching. He wanted Pitkin or Ratcliff under his gun. It was information he needed, and he would get nothing from Soderman unless the fat man decided of his own free will.

  Several old boards lay on the ground behind the saloon, dry and parched from long exposure to sun and wind. On a sudden inspiration he holstered his gun, gathered several of the boards, some dry grass and smaller sticks, and lit a fire.

  It was a little away from the buildings, but he hoped the smoke would blow into the saloon. He wanted them to think he was burning them out, which was the last thing he wished, as they needed the town as a supply base, and Perkins had sold them what they wanted without question.

  As the boards caught fire, he stepped near the door of the saloon but well out of sight. The flames leaped up and the fire crackled. He added greener grass to the flames, and the wind carried the smoke through the open door.

  A startled exclamation from within, and then a man rushed out and began kicking the boards away from the fire.

  “All right!” Kilkenny spoke just loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t move!”

  It was Ratcliff, and the man stood like a statue. “What’s the trouble, Kilkenny?” he said. “I never done nothing to you!”

  “Turn around slowly, walk this way, and watch your hands.”

  Ratcliff was a weasel-faced man with shifty eyes and a slim, nervous body. He started moving but threw a quick glance at the open door. When he was within five feet, Kilkenny stopped him.

  “All right, now, I want to know what happened to that other wagon. I want it fast and I want it clear-cut.”

  Ratcliff sneered. “You think I’d tell you? Go out there and find out if you like. You’ll be gettin’ the same before you’re home.”

  With one quick step Kilkenny grabbed the man by the shirt collar and slammed him against the side of the building. “You want a pistol-whipping? You’re begging for it right now. Now, you start talking, and talk fast. I haven’t the time to fool around.”

  “All right, all right!” Ratcliff said. “Leave me be. Won’t do you any good, anyway, as you’re not gettin’ home. That other wagon loaded with grub, an’ we let ’em get out of town. Then Soderman and about six men ambushed them.”

  “How many were killed?”

  “We lost a man. We killed Miller and Wilson with the first volley. It was a Hatfield got our man, nailed him dead center.”

  “What happened to Hatfield and Hight?”

  “Hight went down. I seen him fall. He was shot two or three times. We got Hatfield, too. Winged him, anyway. Hatfield got up an’ dragged Hight into the rocks. We couldn’t get to ’em.”

  “Then what?”

  A voice roared from the saloon. It was Soderman. “Ratcliff! What in time are y’ doin’ out there?”

  “Answer me. Then what?”

  “Soderman said it would serve ’em right. He left them there to die, with two men to see they didn’t get out of those rocks. They’ve had ’em pinned in there for two days now, an’ no water.”

  “On the Blazer trail?”

  “Almost to the turnoff to the peaks. Hell, they’re dead by now. Ain’t a damn thing you can do, Kilkenny, not even you.”

  With a swift move Kilkenny flipped Ratcliff’s six-shooter from its holster. “All right,” he said, “get going!”

  Ratcliff lunged for the saloon door just as Soderman’s huge bulk stepped into it. Soderman glimpsed Kilkenny and with a swift motion the fat man palmed his gun and fired. He was not a good hip shot, and his gun went off before it came level, dropping Ratcliff in his tracks.

  Standing in the open, legs wide apart, Kilkenny fired as he drew. The bullet caught Soderman right in the center of that vast belly.

  Soderman’s face showed shock, and then fear as he realized he had been gut-shot. He started to lift his pistol again, but his knees buckled and he fell facedown on the steps. The pistol slipped from fingers that had lost their life and rattled on the boards below.

  Kilkenny stepped over the big body and into the saloon. Rye Pitkin and Shorty were crouched by the front windows with rifles.

  “Drop ’em!” he ordered. “Unbuckle your gun belts and let them fall. Now, step back away from them.”

  Surprised and helpless, the two men did as they were told. “Rye,” Kilkenny said, “I’ve given you a break before, and now I’ll do it again. The same goes for Shorty. You two mount and ride. If I ever see either of you around here again, I’ll kill you on sight. I’ll be coming back to Blazer, so be damned sure you aren’t here!”

  He scooped up the guns and backed toward the door. Then he ran to where the Hatfields waited. “Let’s go!” he said. “Lije may still be alive!”

  “You can handle the wagon,” Quince said. “Me an’ Saul, we’ll get on down the trail.”

  “Go,” Kilkenny told them, “and luck to you.”

  Bartram’s relief was plain when Kilkenny came into sight. “Get rolling,” Lance said. “We’ve a long way to go.”

  “What happened?”

  “We won another round,” Kilkenny explained, “and I doubt if we’ll have any trouble in Blazer again.”

  “Perkins was all right,” Bart said. “He just laid out what we asked for, and when we had it all, he wished us luck. He’s a decent man.”

  Dust devils danced upon the desert’s face, and the wagon, heavily loaded now, rumbled along slowly, bumping over stones in the roadway. Jack Moffit had tied his horse behind the wagon, and now he climbed into the saddle again to ride with Kilkenny.

  This route skirted the desert wilderness they had crossed coming over, and was a much easier route, although a more dangerous one now. Only the fact that Lije was holed up back along the trail kept Kilkenny to it.

  Rugged mountains rose up on their left, but on the right the timber thinned out and the pines gave way to cedar and then to the scattered sagebrush as it neared the desert’s edge. There were frequent clumps of boulders, each one of which Kilkenny studied with care, although he expected no trouble yet.

  Jack rode beside him, and Kilkenny kn
ew the boy was eager to ask him about what happened in the settlement. He was just as loath to speak of it, but decided to satisfy the youngster’s curiosity. After all, Jack was playing a man’s part and deserved a man’s share in all of it.

  “Trouble back there, Jack. Some men were killed back there.”

  “Who was it? Did you kill ’em?”

  “I killed one man . . . Soderman. I had to, Jack. He was one of the worst of them, and he had a gun in his hand and was shooting at me . . . or starting to. He killed one of his own men shooting at me.

  “I wanted to know what happened to the other wagon. They might have had some of them as prisoners in the town, but Ratcliff said Lije was holed up down the trail, that they had killed Miller and Wilson.”

  “Gosh! Jody Miller! I liked him! I didn’t know Mr. Wilson so much, but Jody was nice. He used to come by and see us. He was some kin to Ma . . . away back.”

  They rode for a while; then: “What about the others?”

  “I let them go, Jack. I told Pitkin and Shorty to get out of the country. I think they’ll go.”

  “We asked about the other wagon when we were in the store. They said they had loaded them with whatever they asked for. Perkins said nobody was going to tell him who to sell to. He had him a shotgun right alongside him all the time, and his wife had another.”

  Occasionally they paused to rest the mules. It was very hot. Kilkenny kept listening for shots, but the distance would be too great. He worried about the boys riding into an ambush in their hurry to get there, but then he reflected the Hatfields were too shrewd for that. Yet they would be eager to get there.

  The road was longer, but there was no dust like there had been in the desert. Again and again Kilkenny’s thoughts reverted to Nita. Would she marry Hale? He doubted it, and yet the man was a commanding figure, a not unhandsome man, and one of importance. He certainly had more to offer than a drifting gunfighter who would wind up someday facedown in a dusty street.

  Of course, a few men had been able to leave it all behind and establish themselves as peaceful members of a community. He could always go East, but what would he do there? His adult life had been spent in the West, and in the East he would have no source of income. He had at times been a gambler, and had done well, but it was not a profession on which to build a life.