Kilrone (1966)

by L'amour, Louis

  Barney Kilrone was there … or had he pulled out?

  For the first time in hours, Paddock thought of De nise.

  Suppose Barney took her away with him?

  Denise there at the fort… . He had not permitte d himself to think of what could happen if the post wa s attacked. He had thought only of the trap he coul d Spring on the hostiles, of the victory he could win, an d pf the probable results of that victory.

  I Hank Laban got to his feet. “I’ll scout on ahead,” h e hid. “I don’t like the feel of things, Major.”

  All right … go ahead.” Paddock got up slowly. Hi s fegs felt stiff, and he was sore from the unaccustome d stop ping.

  God, what he wouldn’t give for a drink!

  Chapter 6

  It was mid-morning when Barney Kilrone opened hi s eyes. For several minutes he lay still, adjusting himsel f to his surroundings. He had seen Frank Paddock leav e with the detachment, and then at the urging of Denis e and Betty he had agreed to lie down for a few minutes.

  He had slept for five hours.

  Clasping his hands behind his head, he considered th e situation. Paddock might be right, and he might tra p Medicine Dog and administer a crushing defeat on th e Indians. But that was not the way to figure it. What i f the Dog survived, or evaded the fight? Suppose the Do g was the master tactician the Indians were saying h e was?

  Barney Kilrone had a fast, durable horse. The wa y west was clear. He could saddle up and ride west an d south for Virginia City. He was no longer in the cavalry , and the problem of the post was not his problem. Eve n if he got into hostile country, the chances were that h e could slip through, just as he had in coming here. On e man alone, particularly if that man knew how to trave l cross-country, had a good chance to get through.

  Yet even as he considered the possibility, he knew h e would not do it. His duty was clear. He must remain a t the post until one of the detachments returned. His rifl e might make a difference.

  Defending the entire post was out of the questio n with the few men they had. They must gather all th e people into one or two buildings, get enough ammunition , food, and water there for an extended siege.

  There was a tap on the door, and he swung his feet t o the boards and stood up. “Come in!”

  It was Denise. “You’re awake, then. Would you lik e breakfast?”

  Betty Considine was still there, and for the first tun e he really saw her. A slender but well-rounded girl with a lovely face, tanned from sun and wind … but not to o much.

  “How is your shoulder?” she asked.

  “Stiff. Thanks for changing the dressing.”

  It was very still, the only sound the ring of a hamme r on metal from the blacksmith shop. The constant undercurren t of movement, the vague rustle and stir of a n army post was lacking. Now the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer only served to emphasize the unnatura l stillness.

  “Who is in command?” Kilrone asked.

  “Sergeant Ryerson, I suppose,” Denise said. “Lieutenan t Rybolt should be back at any time.”

  “Tim Ryerson?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “He was in my outfit in Arizona.”

  Then they talked casually about many things, rememberin g people and places, talking of army posts othe r than this, and of Paris during and after the FrancoPrussia n War, when Frank Bell Paddock and Barne s Kilrone had been present as observers, with semi-officia l positions but at their own expense.

  The coffee was good, and Kilrone was content t o stretch out his legs under the table and to talk quietly , though always as he talked there was the naggin g thought in the back of his mind that their time might b e running out.

  Over the roofs of the barracks he could see the gra y sky. The night would be dark, a night without moon , without stars. The wind stirred gently, a wind tha t would cover the sound of any approach.

  He looked up the parade ground toward the Headquarter s building. It was strong, thick-walled, a plac e where a defense might be made, and the post warehous e was right along side.

  For just a little while it was a quiet time in a pleasan t room, and Barney Kilrone, in these last few years, ha d known few such times. Denise was talking of Zola, an d how he had infuriated her father. Yet when his ne w books came out, he was among the first to buy them , grumbling as he did so.

  Kilrone got up suddenly. Tve got to talk to Sergean t Ryerson. Did I understand he was in the hospital?”

  Betty Considine got up to join him. “I have to se e him, so take you there. The Sergeant has been ver y ill. He had pneumonia.”

  They walked together in silence toward the hospital.

  The farrier working at the blacksmith shop had finishe d whatever it was he had been doing, and without th e sound of the hammer on the anvil the post seeme d dead, deserted.

  The wind stirred and the leaves of a eottonwoo d rustled, but there was no other sound except that o f their footsteps.

  “It’s eerie.” Betty said, “after so much activity.”

  “You said the Sergeant had been ill. How is he nowr^*

  “He has been up, sitting in a chair. I don’t think h e . could walk very far yet. He had a very bad attack, an d Uncle Carter was afraid we would lose him.”

  “He’s a good man.” They walked on a few steps. “Ca n you shoot?” he asked suddenly.

  “Yes.” She looked up at him. “Do you think well b e attacked?”

  “Yes, by tonight or tomorrow. We’ve got one chance , as I see it. We’ve got to get everybody together a t Headquarters. I think we might be able to defend tha t building, the hospital, and the warehouse. If the me n are scattered out, we wouldn’t have any chance at all.”

  “You think Frank was wrong, then?”

  He shrugged. “Who can say? I doubt if I would hav e gone, but another man might have done as Frank did.”

  They found Ryerson propped up in bed, reading a dime novel. His face broke into a smile when he sa w Kilrone. “Captain! Well, I’ll be damned!” ‘

  “It’s been a long time, Tim.”

  Ryerson gave a sharp glance at Kilrone’s shabb y cowhand’s outfit. “You’re out of the army?”

  “You should remember. I didn’t get along with a n Indian agent, and he had political friends.”

  “I remember. I didn’t know you’d resigned, though , because we went out west about that time.” He hesitated.

  “Captain, Iron Dave’s here.”

  Barney Kilrone had started to speak. He broke of f short. “Here?”

  Suddenly he thought he began to see a ‘pattern, a pattern of action and planning … but he must b e wrong. Except that it was Sproul, and one should neve r underestimate the man. He was cold, dangerous, an d utterly without principle, dedicated to his own interest s and to nothing else.

  “Has he got a place around here?” he asked.

  I “Over in Hog Town—the Empire. Be careful, Captain.

  Once he knows you’re out of the army he’ll be gunnin g for you. He only sidestepped you before because h e knew he’d have the whole army on his neck. You watc h your step.”

  “Has he been trading with Indians?”

  “He has a trading post alongside the Empire, but h e makes no point of it. He stays right around the Empir e except when he’s prospecting.”

  “Prospecting? Iron Dave Sproul?”

  “That’s right. He’s really got the bug. He’s out ever y chance he gets … and he’s come in with some goo d stuff, I hear.”

  Sproul … Sproul had been the man behind tha t crooked Indian agent, but so far behind that he wa s untouchable.

  “Do you know him?” Betty asked Kilrone.

  “He knows him all right,” Ryerson commented grimly.

  “Sproul threatened to shoot him on sight, and the Captai n was going to give him the chance … but the Ol d Man wouldn’t have it. He confined the Captain to quar! t ers.” He looked thoughtfully at Kilrone. “Sproul bragge d I that you were afraid to come in. He said he wou
ldn’t [ even use a gun, that he’d break you with his hands.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Kilrone felt the old anger risin g in him. He had to admit it was not only because of wha t he knew or suspected about Sproul—that the man ha d been selling guns and whiskey to the Indians—bu t something more than that. Iron Dave Sproul was one o f those men who had merely to enter a room to raise th e hackles on the back of Kilrone’s neck.

  The man was a brute, physically and mentally, and h e carried himself with a hard-shouldered assurance tha t for Kilrone was like waving a red flag at a bull. Severa l times soldiers had been found in the alley behind hi s place who had been brutally beaten, but nothing coul d ever be proved. One of those soldiers had been a ma n from Kilrone’s own company.

  “Tim,” Kilrone said, “I haven’t any official positio n here, of course, but Major Paddock is gone and I kno w you can use every rifle you can get. I think we are goin g to be attacked.

  “I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “If you don’t mind a suggestion …”

  “Captain, I’d welcome any suggestion you’d make.”

  “Pull everybody back to Headquarters. Man tha t building, the warehouse, and the hospital. You haven’t men enough to defend the whole post.”

  “What about the horses?”

  “Forget about them. If there’s an attack you couldn’t protect them, anyway.”

  “How much time do you figure we’ve got?”

  “Until tonight or tomorrow, I think, but I’d be move d within the hour. You can’t afford to risk it.”

  Kilrone went outside and stood in the light drizzl e that had begun to fall. So Sproul was here, after all thi s time. Iron Dave Sproul, whose fists had killed at leas t one man and who prided himself on his ability to figh t bar-room style.

  There were many such men as Sproul, and Kilron e had met them before this: men who came west, bringin g nothing with them but the lust for gold, the desire to ge t rich and get out; men who would stop at nothing to ge t what they wanted. But few came as well equipped fo r what he planned to do as Iron Dave.

  Aside from the cunning of the man, and his shee r physical strength and stamina, he was a man of considerabl e intelligence, and possessed a will for surviva l earned in the bitter struggles of New York’s slums of th e 1840’s. Barney Kilrone was uncertain as to what Sproul’s eventual goal might be, but he was sure that it was mor e than mere money. The man wanted power … an d perhaps something more than that. There was mor e behind his conniving than the desire to sell whiskey an d rifles to the Indians.

  Sproul was careful to keep himself in the clear. I t might be that, like many other man, he saw the possibilitie s in frontier politics? Certainly, Sproul’s early backgroun d had been a place where politics was part of th e power struggle, and he had learned his tricks in a roug h but practical school.

  Betty had stayed behind to prepare the hospital t o receive casualties, but Barney Kilrone wanted to se e more of his surroundings. He walked along the line o f buildings, spoke to the farrier, who was still in th e smithy, and then crossed to the corral where his hors e was.

  He was turning away from the corral when he saw th e Indian girl. Mary Tall Singer was dressed as any America n girl of the period would be. She was a pale coppersldnne d girl with dark, beautiful hair and large eyes.

  That she was Indian he knew at once.

  He spoke to her, and she turned her dark eyes on him , seeming somewhat embarrassed or frightened, thoug h why he could not guess.

  “I am Barney Kilrone,” he went on. “I rode in yesterday.”

  “I know. I am Mary Tall Singer.” Then she added, T w ork for the sutler.”

  The way in which she spoke and her composure, no w that she was past her immediate embarrassment, tol d him that she not only had education but was accustome d to being treated by whites as an equal.

  “You’re fortunate. It could be a good job.”

  “It is. I enjoy my work.” She hesitated. “Is there som e way I can help?”

  “I was looking for a buckboard. Is there one on th e post?”

  “No. The only one I know of belongs to Mr. Sproul.”

  Yet even as she spoke she seemed to be sorry she ha d said it. “The only one I know of, that is. He might len d you his.”

  “I didn’t want one right now. I was just curious.” He had started away but suddenly he turned back. “Do yo u know Medicine Dog?” he asked.

  There was no visible change in her expression, but h e knew at once that she did know him. Her manner wa s suddenly wary, her eagerness to be away was obvious.

  “Medicine Dog,” Kilrone said, “is borrowing troubl e for himself and his people. I wish he was half as brigh t as Chief Washakie.”

  “Do you know Washakie?”

  “I know him. I have eaten in his lodge. I have smoke d the pipe with him. He is a good man who will do well fo r his people.”

  She made no reply, and tipping his hat he went on t o the sutler’s store.

  Hopkins, the sutler, was putting together several sack s of food and ammunition. He glanced up when Kilron e entered. “If you want anything.” he said, “find it an d bring it up to me.” Then realizing that Kilrone was a stranger, he said, “You must be the man who brough t the news. Too bad … there were good men in I Troop.

  And Webb … I won’t say the man knew much about t Indians, but he was a good commander. He kept the post! i n shape.”

  Hopkins looked around. “Mary!” he called, then tum—i ing back to Kilrone, he said, “I wonder where that girl] g ot to?” ‘

  “I saw her down by the corrals.” j “Mary? What in God’s name would she be doin g down there?” he exclaimed.

  Kilrone went behind the counter and hunted out a couple of boxes of shells, considered a moment, an d added two more. The chances were that there would b e plenty of army ammunition but he had no wish to ru n short. He added to the ammunition several shirts, handkerchiefs , and odds and ends of clothing.

  When he had bundled up the lot he paid for it an d went to the door. There he paused, looking up th e parade ground. Two women were walking toward Headquarter s building, each carrying a bundle.

  “It looks as if there might be mineral in those hills,” h e commented. “Is there much prospecting going on?”

  “Here and there.”

  “When this is over I may have a try at it. I hear tha t the fellow who owns the Empire prospects a little.”

  Hopkins gave him a cynical look. “If you can cal l riding around over the country in a buckboard prospecting , he does it. Oh, he comes in with some samples no w and again, but he never looks as if he’s done any seriou s digging. I never even seen him with his hands dirty.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t stay out long. I knew an old bo y , down state who used to go out, find a nice steady place , and curl up for a sleep. It was the only way he could ge t away from his wife.”

  Hopkins grinned. “Sproul doesn’t have a wife. No, h e doesn’t stay out long. Overnight, usually. Maybe he just’.. wants to get away from the Empire. It’s a noisy place.”

  Kilrone took his bundle and started up the street.

  Glancing toward the corrals, he saw no sign of Mar y all Singer.

  He had learned a little. Iron Dave Sproul did not tak e this prospecting very seriously, and it was he who drov e H buckboard, accounting for the tracks over in the Sant a Hosas. Suddenly he wanted very much to back-trac k hat buckboard to see just where it stopped. Without a Boubt Iron Dave was up to his old tricks of peddlin g Riles and whiskey to the Indians, but to prove it woul d not be easy. How many lives, both Indian and white, ha d already been lost due to Sprout’s activities?

  The rain continued. It fell softly, whispering agains t the barrack walls and falling gently upon the groun d where the troops had paraded before they marched off to die M Troop to what destiny? That wa s the thing about being a soldier—he never knew whe n the band played and the girls waved the troop good-by e whether he would ride
back or not. He never knew i f this good-bye was his last, but there was somethin g about it, something bold and strong that made a ma n feel his strength and so he rode and was glad to ride , although he grumbled to be in tune, and let no on e know just how he felt.

  It was too quiet here, Kilrone was thinking. He coul d feel trouble coming for its breath has a way of bein g felt in the air, and he could feel it now. Whether Iro n Dave Sproul was to blame or not, that must wait. Firs t there would eome the fight, a good fight, too, if the y were to last it out.

  How many warriors would come? Two hundred a t least, he was sure, and more likely a thousand. And a t the post were fourteen or fifteen men and some women , too small a party by far to defend the place, even t o defend themselves, despite the fact that there was foo d enough and ammunition enough.

  Suppose he went to Hog Town now? Suppose now , before the fight could begin, he went to see Iron Dav e and smashed him down? Or even killed him?

  It would change nothing. Whatever influence Sprou l had among the Indians would not reach to even on e squaw, once the battle was joined. He could not sto p them then even if he wanted to, and it was not likel y that he wanted to.

  What was it the man wanted? There was no one ou t here who mattered to him unless it was Kilrone himself; a nd Sproul had not even known Kilrone was in this par t of the country, or that Kilrone had been tracking hi m down, following him from place to place, learning a little here, a bit more there.

  Whatever it was he wanted, he needed an Indian wa r to bring it about.

  Chapter 7

  Barney Kilrone walked back to Paddock’s quarters.

  Denise had the door open, and a carpetbag was sittin g on the step. “May I help?” he asked.

  “Would you?” She brought some blankets to the doo r and handed them to him. “You think Prank was wrong , don’t you?”

  He shrugged, “I wouldn’t have gone, Denise, but I m ight have been wrong, very wrong. Frank was the on e who had the decision to make and he made it We ca n only wait and see what happens.”

  Taking the blankets, Denise’s rifle, and the carpetbag , he walked beside her to the Headquarters building.