Kilrone (1966)

by L'amour, Louis

  “Mr. Teale, I’ve got to find Mr. Kilrone.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, you walk back to you r house now, and you just stay there. These are roug h times. If I see Kilrone I will tell him you’re wishful t o see him.”

  “That won’t do, I want to see him before he goes t o Hog Town.”

  Lahey came up, mounted and leading a spare horse.

  “McCracken’s comin’,” he said; “so are Ryan an’ Reinhardt.

  There’ll be more, too, when word gets around.”

  “Now, ma’am, I—”

  “Don’t say it, Mr. Teale. You’re all going, I can se e that. Well, I am going, too.” She turned to Lahey. “Mr.

  Lahey, I will take that horse.”

  “I am sorry, ma’am. You can’t have it. No lady goes t o Hog Town … least of all, you.”

  “I demand that you give me that horse!”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” Lahey was firm. “Ill not do it.”

  “Well, then, you can tell me this: Has Mr. Kilrone gon e mere?”

  “No, ma’am. Not that we know of.”

  “But you think he might?”

  “Ma’am, I know he will, if he’s in shape to fight He’s got him a good one comin’, with Iron Dave.”

  “Hell be killed.”

  “Him? Don’t you bet on it, ma’am. He’s all man, tha t one. I seen the way he treated Sproul. Like dirt, ma’a m First man I ever did see who worried Sproul. Worrie d him—yes, ma’am, he did.”

  “You’ll not get me a horse, then?”

  Tm sorry, ma’am. Any other time.”

  Abruptly, she turned and walked quickly away.

  Teale grinned. “Look at her go. She’s mad al l through.”

  “She’d have stopped the fight,” Lahey said.

  “Maybe, but I think she’d have watched it. Tha t there’s a game woman, you take it from me.” He looke d after her. “Lahey, we got to watch out for her. Ill la y you three to one she gets over there.”

  “You think I’m a fool, to take a bet nice that? I’ll la y you five to one she does, although I’ve got no idea how.”

  Suddenly Mary Tall Singer was walking beside Betty.

  “You want to go, I go with you,” she said.

  “I can’t let you, Mary. There are bad men over there.

  The Indian girl looked at her, her black eyes ironic.

  “You think maybe? I go… I have buckboard.”

  Barney Kilrone arrived in the vicinity of Hog Tow n just after daylight, but he did not go near the post or th e town. He was dead-tired and he had a job to do. Findin g a hidden dell near the river, he picketed the gray hors e on some good grass, then bathed in the river. When th e sun had dried him off he dressed, and then carefull y checked out his gun. He had no proper cleaning materials , but he could wipe, the gun free of dust and burne d powder. He tore off a piece of his shirt and ran i t through the barrel with a small twig; then he reloade d the gun, wiping off each cartridge before loading.

  When his gun was ready he led his horse to water , picketed it on fresh grass, and in the shade of a tree h e lay down.

  The outburst of gunfire from the post awakened him.

  He listened, gathering from the firing about what wa s happening. Then he went back to sleep. It was no t likely that any Indians would come near Hog Town, an d equally unlikely that the denizens of Hog Town would b e out attracting attention to themselves. The gray hors e was as good a sentinel as one could want.

  Kilrone slept through the morning and into the afternoo n and woke up hungry, which was what he ha d expected. He gave the gray horse another drink and ha d one himself. He had a bit of jerked beef in his saddle^ b ags and he chewed on that. He wanted an empt y stomach when he met Iron Dave. A man’s wind is bette r with an empty stomach and he takes a punch better; a nd unless he had vastly overrated Iron Dave, he kne w that he was going to take some brutal punches fro m Sproul.

  He knew what he had to do. He had to break Sprou l once and for all. He had to whip him, and whip hi m thoroughly, to remove the fear that many felt for him.

  Once Sproul had been whipped, he could never agai n command the same authority, for it was upon his physica l strength and iron-hard fists that he based his control.

  “You’re a damn’ fool,” he told himself. “Who ever tol d you you could whip him?”

  He did not know whether he could or not; he onl y knew that he had to try, and that he would never b e satisfied until he had.

  He saddled the gray, chewed on the jerky, and considere d the situation before him.

  He had to get into town and he had to find Sproul. He had to challenge him in such a way that he dared use n o help, for Kilrone himself would have none. He had purposel y avoided the post, knowing that there were som e there who might wish to come with him, but he preferre d not to involve anyone else.

  He considered his own condition. He had not boxed i n a long time, but he was in good shape. Sproul had com e off the New York streets, had known street-fighting day s in politics—he would know all the tricks of dirty fighting.

  As for himself, he had served his time at that sort o f fighting, too, in the years of his knocking about.

  There was no shooting from the direction of the post.

  Everything seemed to have quieted down there. Severa l times he went to the edge of the trees and looked out , but he saw no Indians anywhere.

  Finally, when it was almost sundown, he heard a sound of activity from the post—some hammering, th e crash of something falling. Evidently they had alread y started demolishing some of the half-burned structure s in preparation for rebuilding.

  He mounted his horse then and started toward Ho g Town. At the outskirts of the tiny settlement he waited , studying the layout again, and then rode in, keepin g himself out of view from all but a couple of windows. He came into the town’s street, a street no more than a hundred and fifty yards long.

  Behind him he heard movement and turned in hi s saddle. Teale was there, and with him McCracken, Lahey , Reinhardt, and half a dozen men he did not know.

  “You boys looking for something?” Kilrone said.

  Teale grinned at him. “Now, you didn’t expect us t o miss the best fight in years, did you? We figured to se e the show and sort of pick a few fights ourselves i f anybody elected to interfere.”

  Thanks,” Kilrone said. “Let’s go inside.”

  His mouth was dry as he went up the steps an d pushed through the door.

  The big room was almost empty. The bartender stoo d behind the bar, and there were a few other men around , one of them with a bandage on his head. More tha n likely it was a memento of the night they came after th e wagon. Iron Dave Sproul himself stood at the end of th e bar, a big man in shirt sleeves and wearing a vest, with a massive chain of gold nuggets draped across the front.

  The vest was plaid, the shirt white, his trousers blac k and somewhat baggy-looking, as was the fashion.

  Sproul took the cigar from his mouth and dusted th e ash from it, then spat into the brass cuspidor. He threw a hard look at the soldiers who slowly moved around th e room.

  Toole didn’t make it, Dave,” Kilrone said. “He was to o good a man to work for you.”

  “I don’t know anything about him.”

  “No? He told a different story.”

  Anger was rising in Sproul. This man had thwarte d him, wrecked his plans. The destruction of the arm y post and its cavalry had failed. No telling where Medicin e Dog was … if he was even alive. In any event, th e moment was past. He would never be able to pull it of f again … not here, at least.

  “What do you want?” he said finally.

  Kilrone was suddenly amused, and eager. It was cornin g up in him now, the old driving urge to destroy. He had built up a long antagonism for this man, and ther e was a time to end it… now.

  “I came to whip you, Dave. I’ve heard about all tha t iron. Is it really there? Or are you a fraud?”

  Sproul put down his cigar,
placing it carefully on th e edge of the counter. “Don’t move that,” he said to th e bartender. “I’ll want to finish it in a moment.”

  Kilrone unbelted his gun and handed it to McCracken , who was nearest to him. Sproul placed his on the ba r and turned casually as if to face Kilrone, and then struc k out viciously.

  Kilrone, starting to turn, caught the blow on the corne r of the jaw and it slammed him to the floor. He hi t hard and skidded, his head bursting with lights. He heard the pound of boots as Sproul came at him and h e rolled over, braced himself when he saw the man wa s too near, and dove at his knees.

  Sproul sidestepped and laughed, kicking at Kilrone’s head. The boot just scraped his skull, and then Kilron e lunged at the leg that was still on the floor. Sprou l staggered, but caught his balance. Kilrone came up fast , went under a left hand, and hooked both fists into th e mid-section. He smashed the second punch home wit h his left and then threw a high overhand right tha t caught Sproul on the cheekbone and staggered him , drawing blood.

  They circled warily, Kilrone’s head still buzzing fro m the first punch, a blow that by all rights should hav e finished him off. The iron was there, all right, in Dav e Sproul’s fists. He had never doubted that it was, knowin g so much about the man, and had used the term only t o taunt him.

  Kilrone was being careful. He wanted desperately t o win, to whip Sproul decisively, to beat him at his ow n game of knuckle and skull, but he dared take n o chances. He not only had to guard himself agains t Sproul’s attack, but against his own eagerness. His tendenc y was to wade in throwing punches, but a ma n would be a fool to trade punches with Sproul.

  Sproul feinted and Kilrone started to step in. Sprou l threw his punch and Kilrone dropped under the blow , and whipped a wicked punch to the mid-section. Sprou l grunted, then came on. He struck Kilrone in the chest , staggered him, and then clubbed him brutally in the rib s and kidneys.

  Kilrone crowded in, trying to trip the bigger man, bu t Sproul was used to that and braced his powerful legs.

  Kilrone found himself flung off balance and staggerin g against the bar. Sproul’s eyes were gleaming with bloo d lust now. He came in, smashing a blow to Kilrone’s ea r that made his head ring; then he put a hook into hi s mid-section that almost lifted his feet from the floor.

  Kilrone felt himself falling; but Sproul, suddenly sur e of victory, caught Kilrone’s shirt front in his left han d and shoved him back against the bar, drawing his righ t back for a finishing blow. Kilrone threw his right ar m over Sproul’s left and grasped the top of his vest, jerkin g him forward, and at the same instant Kilrone droppe d his head and butted Sproul in the face with the top o f his skull.

  Sproul staggered back, his lips smashed and his nos e streaming blood. With an inarticulate curse, he rushed , swinging with both big fists. There was no chance t o sidestep, no chance to evade. Kilrone lunged to mee t Sproul and, dropping his head against the bigger man’s chest, he began battering at his body with both fists.

  Sproul pushed him away, smashed a left to Kilrone’s head and then a right, and as Kilrone tried to get insid e the next punch, Sproul half turned and kicked him i n the ribs.

  A knife of pain stabbed at Kilrone’s side and h e gasped, his legs suddenly weak, and started to fall.

  Sproul kicked again at Kilrone’s head; but in falling , Kilrone took the kick on the shoulder. He hit the floor o n his hands and knees and scrambled forward, trying t o grab Sproul’s legs, but the big man skipped easily out o f the way, amazingly light on his feet. TTien stepping in , Sproul swung his boot and kicked Kilrone in the side.

  Kilrone tried to pull away and he missed the full forc e of the blow; he staggered up, caught a smashing right o n the chin, but his own weakness saved him and he wa s falling away from the punch into a table. With his las t strength, he swung the table into Sproul’s path an d stopped the big man long enough to get his feet brace d under him.

  Kilrone shook his head, half blind with pain and fury , and as Sproul closed in for the kill, he leaped forward , stepping in fast and stopping the rush with a straigh t left to the mouth. He missed with a right, but curled hi s arm around Sproul’s head and, catching hold of his lef t arm, threw Sproul over his hip to the floor.

  Tlie big man hit heavily, but came up fast. Kilrone hi t him on the chin with a right before he could straighte n up, and Sproul went to his knees, diving forward to gra b Kilrone’s legs. But Kilrone drove up with his knee, whic h caught Iron Dave in the face, smashing his nose into a bloody pulp.

  Sproul came up and they stood toe to toe then, tradin g punches. Kilrone was a little faster, landing jus t often enough to take some of the drive from the punche s he was catching. Every time he drew a breath he felt a stabbing pain in his side, and he knew he had at leas t one broken rib—probably more.

  Sproul, shrewd enough to know Kilrone had bee n hurt, swung a hard right at his injured side, but Kilron e caught the blow on his forearm, then drove his fist int o Sproul’s mouth. By this time Sproul’s lips were shredde d and bloody, his nose was bleeding, and he had a wel t over one eye, but he had hardly slowed down and wa s still coming in.

  Bacldng away, trying to get his wind, Kilrone sidestepped.

  Sproul caught up a chair in one hand an d swung it at arm’s length in a sweeping blow that barel y missed, shattering against a pillar. He closed in, landed a left to Kilrone’s face, then a right. He was still cool, stil l confident. The big man had learned his fighting in man y a bloody brawl such as this. He swung and missed, an d for an instant was bent far over, and Kilrone clubbe d him with a hammer blow to the kidney.

  Sproul grunted and almost went to his knees. He starte d to come up, and Kilrone moved and hit him again i n the same spot. He rolled to one side, flinging out a hand.

  His fingers grasped at Kilrone’s shirt and it ripped in hi s hand. He struck with a left and Kilrone crossed his righ t over it, splitting the skin over Sproul’s eye.

  Kilrone was crouching now, to ease the pain in hi s side. Sproul circled, his big fists poised. He struck an d Kilrone turned his head to avoid the blow, bringing hi s leg around in a sweeping lack that caught Sproul behin d the knee. He fell forward, caught himself on one hand; b ut before he could straighten, Kilrone smashed hi m with another hammer blow to the kidney.

  Sproul grunted and went to his knees. Kilrone split hi s cheekbone with a blow, and when Sproul got to his fee t he backed away, studying the big man. Kilrone wa s badly hurt, and he had no idea how much longer h e could stay on his feet. His breath was coming in ragge d gasps, sweat trickled in his eyes, and they stung with th e salt. He moved in, feinting; Sproul struck with his lef t and Kilrone pushed the punch over with his right palm , and then uppercut hard to the belly with his left. Sprou l backed off and Kilrone followed. It had to be quick.

  He blinked his eyes against the sweat, and crowde d after the big man. Suddenly Sproul pivoted on the bal l of one foot and kicked out with the other, swinging th e leg around in a sweeping arc. Sucking in his mid-sectio n to avoid the kick, Kilrone grasped Sproul’s ankle wit h both hands and swung from the shoulder with all hi s strength. Already swinging with the impetus of the kick , Sproul plunged across the room when Kilrone let go, hi s head crashing into a chair. He fell, started to get up, bu t fell again.

  Kilrone drew back, gasping, each breath a stab o f pain. He hacked off, watching the fallen man. Suddenl y Sproul started to move. He pushed himself up, got hi s knees under him, and staggered to his feet.

  There was no question of quitting now. Kilrone, unabl e to straighten up, moved in, one hand holding hi s injured side, the other fist cocked. Sproul got his hand s up, but Kilrone moved in, set himself and hooke d viciously to the head. Sproul struck out, but the blo w missed. Kilrone swung again from the hip, and Sprou l staggered and almost went down. Kflrone knew he ha d strength for one more … just one more. This one had t o be it.

  He cocked his fist, set himself and let go, his whol e side swinging with the leverage of the b
low. It caugh t Sproul on the point of the chin and he turned halfwa y around and fell, out cold before he hit the floor.

  Bloody and battered, his shirt only a few trailin g ribbons, Kilrone crouched over him, his breath coming i n great gasps. Sweat and blood were dripping down hi s face, and he blinked at the fallen man, and prayed h e would not get up again.

  There was scarcely a sound in the room but his ow n breathing. Slowly, he backed off a step, then went to hi s knees. He stayed there, staring down at Sproul. But Iro n Dave neither stirred nor even seemed to breath.

  Kilrone felt hands lifting him, and he allowed them t o help him to his feet. As he turned away he caught a glimpse of a wild, bloody figure in the mirror, a face h e no longer recognized. There was a great purplish wel t over one eye a long cut on his cheekbone, lips puffe d and swollen … most of the punches he could not eve n remember.

  He turned his head, seeing a hand on his arm, feelin g an arm about his waist. It was Betty.

  “How did you get here?” he managed to say.

  “Let’s go home,” she said. “You need to see Uncl e Cart.”

  “Not as much as he does,” he said, the words muffle d by his swollen lips.

  The white sheets were immaculate, the room wa s sunfiUed and bright. Barney Kilrone clasped his hand s behind his head and stared toward the window, wonderin g what was happening outside, but not curious enoug h to get up and look. He simply felt tired—tired from th e fighting, tired from the riding, tired from the sheer strai n of thinking, planning, wondering if each decision wa s the best one.

  His muscles were sore. His side was taped and bandage d until he felt as if he was in a straight jacket, an d every time he spoke or tried to smile he found his lip s were stiff.

  Betty Considine came into the room. “Uncle Cart wil l be back in a little while. He wants to look you ove r again.”

  “I’m all right. Has anybody seen Dave Sproul?”

  She shook her head. The Empire is closed and shuttered.

  Sergeant Dunivant told me most of the people , were gone. They just picked up and pulled out afte r Sproul took that beating from you.”