Kilrone (1966)

by L'amour, Louis

  Teale blew out the match. “Hog Town,” he said.

  “What’ll we do?”

  “Why, well go to Hog Town, I guess,” Kilrone said.

  They rode on, and a few steps further along he asked , “What are they like in Hog Town? Gang-fighters?”

  “If need be. But no gang piles in when Iron Dav e fights. He doesn’t need any help.”

  “Then if I tangle with Dave, you keep the others off , d’you hear?”

  “Hell, Sproul wouldn’t let them butt in. He likes doin g it himself. He’ll kill you, amigo.”

  “Teale, one thing you should know. This will be rea l trouble. I know Dave Sproul and he knows me. He hate s my guts. He’ll kill me if he can.”

  “You know him? An’ you’ll still go over there?” Teal e rode along in silence for a few moments. “Hell,” he sai d presently, “I could win all the pay in camp, bettin’ o n you. They’d offer ten to one.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Teale. I’m not looking for a fight. Well have all the fight we can handle if Medicin e Dog and his braves come down on us, as I believe the y will. There’s plenty of time for Dave Sproul.”

  The one street in Hog Town, no more than a stretch o f muddy road, was dark and still. Lights shone from th e Empire, and they could hear the sound of a tinny musi c box as they drew nearer. A few yards from the end o f the street Kilrone drew up. “You know this place, Teale.

  Where would he be likely to have that wagon, if he ha s it?”

  “Now, that’s a problem, Cap. It surely is. He’d b e likely to have it near the corrals or at the barn, if he wa s honest about it, but I’d guess he’ll have it closer by.

  Maybe behind the Empire itself.”

  Teale pointed. “There’s a smaller stable there, wher e he keeps his own horses, and back of that there’s cottonwood s and some brush. I’d guess the wagon would b e there.”

  “Well, let’s have a look.”

  Across the street from the Empire was a line of cribs.

  As the two rode toward the back of the Empire, a ma n came from one of the cribs and started across toward th e saloon.

  When he glimpsed the two riders, he stopped deadstill , staring after them. Had he caught a brief glint o f brass buttons? Scarcely, in this rain. Anybody out an d about tonight would be wearing a slicker. Then why ha d he felt that one of those men was a soldier?

  When Poole went into the Empire he saw no sign o f Iron Dave, so he walked to the bar for a drink.

  “The army been in tonight?” he asked.

  The bartender shook his head. “Ain’t likely. They’r e all gone but a dozen or so, and those who are there wil l be kept on guard.”

  “Why, you’d be right about that,” Poole agreed. “Giv e me a shot of that Injun whiskey.”

  “Injun whiskey? We got the real stuff here. After all , you’re one of Dave’s boys, so why not?”

  “I asked for the Injun. I know what it’s made out of , but there’s somethin’ about it. After all, I’ve drunk it fo r years, and nothin’ else seems to promise. Maybe it’s th e chawin’ tobacco they shave up in it … or that dash o* s trychnine.”

  He accepted the Indian whiskey, tossed off a glass , and refilled it. “Reason I asked about the sodgers, I t hought I saw one out there just as I came in.”

  “You’re seein’ things.”

  Iron Dave came in then and walked down the bar.

  The big saloon was almost empty. The rain and rumor s of Indian trouble had kept local people and rancher s away, and the soldiers were all gone.

  Sproul was a powerfully built man with thick shoulders , and huge arms and fists. He was dressed like a cit y man, but was in his shirt sleeves. A massive chain o f gold nuggets was draped across the front of his vest. Th e only incongruous note was the pistol in its holster.

  “How are you, Poole?”

  “He’s seein’ things,” the bartender said, “an’ before h e started drinkin’. He claims he saw a soldier just now.”

  “A soldier? Where?”

  “Headed back yonder.” Poole indicated the back of th e saloon. “There were two men, and I think one of the m Was a soldier. Too far off to see their faces.”

  Sproul turned sharply. “Dick! Petel You and Shack ge t out there and have a look at the wagon! Quick now!”

  He turned on Poole. “Go with ‘em! If you see anybody , shoot!”

  Poole remained where he was. “I hired on as a scout,” h e said, “and a guide if need be. But I ain’t shootin’ a t no soldier. Not in uniform, I ain’t.”

  Sproul gave him a hard look. “I’ll remember that , Poole.”

  “Been my experience,” Poole said dryly, “that a ma n who starts trouble with the army usually winds up wit h the. short end of the stick.”

  Teale led the way almost directly to the wagon wit h its load of barrels. Quickly they swung the mules int o place, lifted the tongue, and hitched up as fast as the y could. Kilrone was snapping the trace chains when the y heard a door slam.

  “Here they come, Teale. Get up on the seat and star t the wagon.”

  “What about you?”

  ‘Til meet you in front. You swing down along th e creek and come around in the street headed bac k toward the fort I’ll be out front in a jiffy. If anybod y tries stopping you … shoot.”

  The team started, and from the edge of the brus h there came a shout. The man called Pete came throug h the brush, lifting a pistol. He did not even see Kilron e until it was too late.

  Kilrone’s pistol barrel smashed down on Pete’s wris t just as he was lifting the gun. He cried out and droppe d the gun. Kilrone turned sharply, a pistol flowered wit h flame not fifteen yards away, and he fired instantly , shifted his position, and fired at a splash of water. Steppin g over two feet he waited, listening, while ejectin g the spent shells and reloading the empty chambers.

  He heard no sound, waited a moment longer, and the n rounded a tree and walked back through the brush.

  Behind him, Pete was moaning and cursing, undoubtedl y with a broken wrist. If there had been anyone els e there, whoever it was had decided to remain still, no t liking the sound of what he had heard.

  Kilrone holstered his gun, crossed the back lot, passe d the barn, and went up the walk to the back door of th e saloon. Opening it, he stepped into a hall perhaps fiftee n feet long, and walked along this to another door. Whe n he opened this and went through, he was in the saloon.

  The room was empty except for the bartender, a sleepy-eyed man standing at the end of the bar with a bottle, and Iron Dave himself.

  “Hello, Dave,” Kilrone said mildly. “Still up to your ol d tricks, I see.”

  “Kilrone, is it? I might have known it was you. Well , I’m glad you’re here. Now we can settle something.”

  Kilrone shook his head. He stood with his feet a littl e apart, ready to move quickly. He was listening for th e sound of the wagon, and knew there was little time. ‘Td like to stay on, Dave, and give you the whipping you’v e had coming. There really isn’t so much iron in you , Dave, and what there was has been turning soft, or yo u wouldn’t be fool enough to think you can get away wit h this.”

  “With what?”

  “Your plotting with Medicine Dog.”

  Kilrone said this because he knew Dave Sproul. He knew how the man thought, or believed he did, and i t would be like him to use the Dog—if he could. ‘It’s obvious enough, you know. But what you don’t seem t o grasp is that the Dog may turn on you. He isn’t to b e trusted, maybe even less than you are.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” Iron Dave said, matter-offactly , “and this time you don’t have the Army to hid e behind.”

  Kilrone heard the sound of the wagon and wen t toward the door. “As I said, I haven’t time now. Later, i f the Indians don’t come or if they leave anything behind , come around and give you a thrashing. And don’t tr y reaching for that gun. I’m much faster than you.”

  Kilrone had the feeling that both the bartender an d the other
man were enjoying the scene. Neither offere d to move. He backed to the door, glanced quickly around , then stepped outside, and as the wagon went sweepin g by, he jumped for the tailgate and swung himself up.

  The door of the Empire was flung open and Kilron e put a bullet into the door jamb, a move to restrai n anyone who might think of taking a shot after them.

  The rain had ceased, and the night was still. At th e creek they stopped, filled the barrels, and drove on bac k to the fort. They unloaded the water barrels and wit h help from inside, rolled them into place.

  Kilrone rode to the end of the parade ground wit h Teale and together they stripped the harness and returne d it to the racks.

  “Not that it’s likely to matter,” Teale commented.

  “The Indians will steal most of it if they come.”

  They stood together, listening into the night. The rai n had begun again, fine, whispering, not unpleasant. A t the far end of the parade ground lights glowed from th e windows.

  “What happened back there?”

  “Nothing … Only he knows I’m here now, and he’l l be waiting for me when this is over.” They started t o walk along together. “It’s a long story, Teale. I found a n Indian agent shorting the Indians on rations … he had a deal with Sproul. And Sproul had a corner of land nea r the post area for his layout—just as he has here.

  “He had political power, and I didn’t, but I did have a friend in Congress. I got him to amend the bill by whic h they located the post so that they would take in fift y acres more.

  “Nobody protested … it seemed an unimportan t thing at the time, but that additional fifty acres ha d Sproul’s place on it, and the change in the bill put tha t land under government supervision.

  “I knew he was selling whiskey to the Indians, but I c ouldn’t prove it. Two of my men—and that was wha t really started me going—had been robbed and murdere d over there. Yet there was no way to get at him. He always had his trail well covered, and he had politica l connections. The Colonel who was in command at th e fort wanted a promotion and would do nothing about it.

  But there came a time—he was all right, that Colonel—w hen he got leave to go East and I was left in cornmand.”

  Teale glanced at him with sudden interest. “And yo u did it? You got rid of him?”

  “The place was a corner, you see? On one side, th e river, on the other the government land occupied by th e post. He was hedged in. He had gone to Cheyenne … h e went there regularly … so I simply moved in, jacked u p his smaller buildings—they were all frame, you know … u sed timbers and artillery caissons—and moved th e whole lot five miles south and left them on the bank o f the river. It was fifteen miles around the head of a dee p canyon and in the middle of desolation.”

  Teale chuckled. “I’d like to have seen his face!”

  “He got back at night and found his place gone. Ther e had been five buildings, only one of them of any size.

  The others were mere shacks. But he couldn’t find hi s town. It took him three days, because I’d given order s that no civilians could cross the post without a writte n permission from the Colonel, and the Colonel was i n New York by that time.”

  They were standing outside Headquarters now. “Wha t happened?” Teale asked.

  “By the time the Colonel returned I had some evidence.

  Not a thing against Sproul, you understand—hi s tracks were well covered, but I found enough on th e Indian agent to urge his dismissal. Well, he was dismissed , all right, but I was transferred to another pos t … and then I resigned.”

  “You kind of stretched yourself,” Teale commented.

  It took nerve to buck the army and Sproul at the sam e time.”

  “Teale, you watch this man’s army and you’ll notic e something. They’d rather have action than inaction, an y time. It may not always be that way, but that’s the wa y it is now. If you’re in doubt, plunge in. Believe me, i f I’d stayed in I might have been shifted around a whil e until the political boys forgot me, and then I’d have bee n in the running again … maybe. Only I was always a rebel, and I wanted Sproul’s scalp. In the army I’d hav e had to leave him alone.”

  “Now that he knows you’re here,” Teale said, “yo u Watch your step.” He was about to go inside, then h e paused. “Cap, if there’s any way I can help … watc h your back or anything … you count me in. Believe me , you can count on any of the boys in this fight You’l l see.”

  “Thanks … thanks, Teale.”

  Kilrone stood alone in the darkness and the rain. He was going to need them … he was going to need the m all, not against Sproul, but against Medicine Dog. Tha t was why he had talked as much as he had. They neede d to know something about him, they needed to know wh o they were taking orders from.

  The enemy would be out there by now … Medicin e Dog, his Bannocks, and his renegades. They would b e out there, waiting.

  Chapter 9

  Denise Paddock stepped from the dark doorway an d stood beside him. “Barnes … will he be all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “But he hasn’t ridden a patrol in months, and he’s been drinking.”

  “He’s a good soldier, Denise, and a brave man. Thi s may be just what he needs.”

  Barney Kilrone spoke the words and he made the m sound sincere. Actually, he felt that Frank Bell Paddoc k had made a ghastly mistake. His long ride would come t o nothing. He would effect his junction with Mellett an d they would then return to the post… to what?

  Denise stood silent, and all the past stood betwee n them. How far, he thought, from the night they dance d together for the first time at Combourg!

  “I wish it were spring,” she said suddenly. “I drea d the thought of winter.”

  “I don’t blame you. This is one of the coldest places i n the country.” He was listening as he spoke, but the sof t drizzle of rain deadened any sound. Yet he had th e feeling … he knew they were out there.

  How long before Mellett and Paddock could return, h e was thinking. Three days? Four?

  “Remember Brittany in the spring?” Denise said. “I l iked it better than in Paris, I think.”

  “It was a time of innocence,” he said. “That spring, I m ean. By the time autumn came around, everything ha d changed.”

  “Have you ever thought of what might have happened?”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “Of course … but nobody can say when the turnin g point comes. Suppose instead of coming to Combour g that night I had decided—which I almost did—to go on? ]

  There’s no use thinking about it. If one thing changes,; e verything is changed. At Combourg I met you … we I h ad stopped there only by chance. That began it, you ! m ight say. And then we met again … It was thre e weeks before I returned to Paris.”

  “And after that when we met again I was married t o Frank Bell Paddock.” “An d happily so.”

  The trouble was, Frank Paddock had known abou t them, but what he did not seem to realize was that fo r Denise, Frank Paddock was the only man with who m she could have been happy. Certainly, Kilrone admitted , she could not have been happy with him. He knew that and Denise knew it, and neither had regrets.

  The trouble was, Frank had never believed it.

  “He’s out there now because of us,” Kilrone said bitterly.

  “No, he’s not.” Denise spoke firmly. “I love Frank, bu t what he has become is his own fault. And whatever h e does in the future will be up to him.”

  The sensible view, but was it the true one? “All tha t was long ago and far away … another world than this.”

  “What are you going to do, Barnes?”

  He shrugged. “If I get out of this? I don’t know. Settl e somewhere in the West, I expect. This country grows o n me, and I doubt if I’d be content anywhere else.”

  Denise went back inside then, and once more he wa s alone in the darkness. He should be getting some res t while it was possible, but he was in no mood for it
. A d eep restlessness was upon him. He knew their chance s were slight. Such defenses had been made before this , but in other instances the position had been better tha n the one they now held. If he had a larger force …

  He squatted on his heels against the wall where ther e was shelter from the slight rain. With each succeedin g minute the time of attack was drawing nearer, and an y possible help was miles away. Worst of all, somewher e en route from Fort Halleck was Lieutenant Rybolt wit h the payroll and its handful of guards.

  That payroll must come to quite a lot of money. I t was unlikely that such a move would have gone unnotice d by either the Indians or the men at Hog Town; an d such a sum, at such a time, would be tempting. But ther e was nothing to be done about it. With Ryerson in poo r health, Kilrone must stay on. He would have remained i n any case because his rifle was needed here.

  The door of the warehouse opened noiselessly, an d closed. A dark figure moved toward him. It wa s McCracken.

  “Kilrone?”

  McCracken moved closer. “I figured that was you.

  How much time do you reckon we’ve got?”

  “An hour … maybe two.” Kilrone pondered the situatio n a moment. “Better get Webster busy on somethin g for you boys to eat—coffee, and a quick, light breakfast , with at least two men always on watch; but whateve r you have to eat, take it to your posts with you.”

  “I was going to ask about that.” McCracken squatte d beside him. Finally, he said, “You reckon we got a chance?”

  “We’ve got a good chance,” Kilrone replied with a n assurance he did not feel. “Look what those boys did a t Adobe Walls a few years back—twenty-eight buffal o hunters stood off upwards of seven hundred Indians.

  Some say as many as fifteen hundred.”

  McCracken stood up. “Well, I’d hate to have it happe n like this. I’ve got a family back in the States, bu t I’ve taken bigger risks for less … considering those folk s in there.” He gestured toward the Headquarters buildin g behind them.