He pointed toward the distant fire, now beginning to slow down from lack of fuel. Many trees were burning fiercely through the tops but there was no wind to speak of out in the open country.
Kerrigan listened while the Indian talked with many gestures in a mixture of English, his own tongue, and a few Spanish words. He didn't jab an index finger against his throat as when he had told of killing Wood Smith. He slashed it across his throat in an emphatic gesture.
The White Eyes soldiers would have sent him away for two years and then turned him loose again. The old White Eyes who wasn't a soldier and didn't understand Apaches had put him in chains for life. He had killed him back there.
Again the simple generic Apache laws: If a squaw was unfaithful, hack off her nose or kill her. If an enemy did you wrong, kill him.
The judge had done a wrong to him and he had paid the debt as only an "untutored young savage" knew how.
"Where you go now, Yew?" he asked.
"Far away, Kadoba."
"You come with me, Yew. I take you to Apache gold. Loco no need more now. Not much like here long time. But some, I think."
"I don't need it," Kerrigan said tiredly. "I have enough for my needs. Where do you ride now?"
The Indian gave a guttural grunt. "Find other broncos, maybe. I hear soldiers cry, 'Where Kadoba? Where that damn' Apache kid?' Apache Kid now, me," he grinned.*
* Author's note: Kadoba is not to be confused with the notorious Apache Kid of later years. That Kid, born in 1869, was only six years old at this time and living on the reservation.
Suddenly he whirled and fled like a shadow, his animal-keen ears picking up sounds that warned of danger; sounds Lew Kerrigan did not hear.
Kerrigan straightened his tired frame and picked up the .45-90 repeater by the barrel. He was in no hurry to get back until the shouting soldiers somewhere over yonder in the night had brought things under control. He was certain that Carlotta and the others were safe, and with that to ease his mind nothing else mattered at the moment.
Tom Harrow had dealt him the cards, he had played out the hand in his own way, and now all he wanted to do was cash in his remaining chips and get out of the game. There would be no point in going back to Texas now, he suddenly decided. A man could dream as he traveled along the road Kerrigan had been traveling, but the longer he rode the harder it would be to turn back upon the past; and if he did, the dreams would be shattered in the bitter truth of reality.
Each day a man outgrew something of the yesterdays and left them behind, and Kerrigan knew now was the time to turn his back again and reach out for tomorrow.
He straightened his shoulders, feeling better now that the decision was made, and began walking back among the thinly scattered log shacks and little pole corrals and sheds.
He rounded one of those sheds by an abandoned burro corral and came face to face with Harrow and Jeb Donnelly. They'd been waiting for him, having ducked away when the soldiers ripped through and began to encircle the members of Loco's bronco band still alive and unable to escape. Kerrigan saw the two pistols leveled at him and the wild gleam of triumph in Tom Harrow's eyes.
"Drop that rifle, Kerrigan!" cried Harrow wildly. "Throw up your hands! It's taken a long time but we've finally got you."
Kerrigan let go of the rifle. Its stock thumped to the ground beside his moccasin and then it toppled over on the grass.
"Throw up your hands!" Harrow ordered again.
"Not for you or any other man in the world right now," Kerrigan said. "Tom, I'm tired and weary of running, of fighting and killing, of hating. I told you tonight I'm not going to kill you. Just go find yourself a horse somewhere and get on it and keep going, the same as I'm going to do. Jeb, you knelt down over a ditch up in the prison one day and beat me with a club while I was down. I paid you back with that gun Tom's carrying now. I said then that makes us square, and I'm willing to forget the part you played in the long haul northward from Yuma."
"That's damn' bighearted of you," Donnelly grunted, speaking awkwardly because he'd injured his partly healed jaw when he tore off the bandage while fleeing the Apaches burning Harrow's big mansion.
"I've just talked to Kadoba, who told me he cut the judge's throat," Kerrigan stated patiently. "He told me, also, that the new source of gold isn't much. A small two-inch vein of ore, which might trickle out within forty feet. I don't want to be taken down there a prisoner and then probably shot to death through the back of the head like Tom killed poor old Bear Paw Daly."
Harrow laughed abruptly. "If you take us and show us where, you at least have my word you'll go free and get something out of the stock I'll sell back East. If you refuse, Lew, you can remember what happened to Bear Paw Daly."
Kerrigan weighed his chances against taking a bullet from the small caliber pistol in Harrow's hand and living, while he writhed sidewise and tried to slam a .44 into Donnelly. Tired and discouraged though he was, something told him he would gamble and possibly win. It was worth a try. Anything except having to be taken a prisoner back down the long trail to show them the vein not far from the camp where Kerrigan had shot the marauding black bear.
But the gods of chance were still dealing the cards from the deck that night as Ace Saunders' cool voice came from behind. "Hold it, Kerrigan. I can read in your mind to a split second what you're going to try."
Harrow gave a soft, relaxed laugh as the gunman, his dark face black in the moonlight shadows of his hatbrim, came up. He said, "So you finally got him, huh?"
"We got him, Ace," Harrow grinned joyously. "One million dollars right in front of us! With my fame as the discoverer of Dalyville, we're rich, men. Richer than we ever dreamed a man could get. I've never admitted nor denied that the strike found by old Bear Paw was Adams' lost diggings. But when I go back East this next time it will be in every paper in New York. I'll have samples of the new strike, and men will go mad to buy stock. One million dollars—and he's right here in front of us."
Saunders smiled and said, "Well, Kerrigan?"
Joe, where are you? Kerrigan thought desperately.
"You haven't got your gold yet," he half-grunted.
"No," came the soft reply. "And you, Harrow, ain't ever going to get it."
Harrow stared at Ace in astonishment. "You" he whispered. "I never would have believed it, Ace. For two years you worked for me, drew your pay, turned your back to gold, gambling, and the gulch women you could have had. But the fever finally got you and you're trying to grab."
"I've had a bad case of fever that began a long time ago when' I first made Stubb Holiday run away with me. I saved my money and maybe I stole some little gold bars up there tonight in your house where they were hid under the fireplace hearth. I was all set to finish up this Kerrigan deal, collect my money from you, and take Stubb outa here and start a decent way of life on a small ranch."
"What are you getting at? Hurry up before Stovers comes hunting us and ruins everything," snapped Harrow uneasily.
"I'm getting at it," the gunman said coolly. "I warned you, Tom, to let Stubb drive that coach back up here and then stay put until we got in with Kerrigan. I didn't want him in on a dirty job like that. But you sent him south to meet us and give a hand, when he didn't want to come. I sent him up on a ridge with a rifle to cripple Kerrigan and he didn't want to go either. I'm paying my debts and salving my conscience in my own way."
His slim body writhed into sudden motion. Smoke and fire began to spurt from his hip, from the new gun Harrow had had made for him and mailed from back East. Kerrigan made no move to help. He watched as the two bodies crumpled under the terrible shocking power of the .45. He understood Saunders now, and what lay behind those ever-smiling dark features.
Saunders sheathed the heavy pistol and stepped back and looked at Kerrigan.
"I misjudged you badly, Saunders," Kerrigan said. "I figured you should have stuck to a .44 on a lighter frame and shorter barrel. I'm glad I never had to throw a gun against you."
"So am I,"
Saunders said. "I think you'd have killed me. Well, I guess that squares it for Stubb and Kitty. I always did feel sorry for her, like you did, I guess. And Stubb was so gone on her for two years he couldn't sleep nights."
In silence Kerrigan picked up his rifle and stepped past the bodies of the two men. In silence he and Ace Saunders walked to a white horse tethered to a branch of a small fir tree.
Saunders untied the reins and examined the bloody cuts made by the cruel spade bit.
"Damn a man who'd treat a good horse that way," he said softly.
They came to the coach and saw a small mob of people gathered around it, among them Captain Rawlinson and several of his men and a number of Apache Indians wearing blue army shirts with the tails hanging outside. A short distance farther on more of the scouts and soldiers ringed a small group of about ten or twelve sullen, disarmed Apaches..
One of them wore an old hat pulled down over hair tied at the back with buckskin thongs. Loco.
But Kerrigan's eyes were upon a woman coming toward him, her face alight, seeing nobody but him. She came straight into his arms and he felt a long shudder go through her and then a sigh as all tenseness went out of her. She lifted her face, her eyes bright.
"Lew," she whispered softly, "don't say a word. Just hold me for a moment and let's not think of anything now. Hold me tight, Lew."
He held her tight and kissed her again…
On the following afternoon Joe Stovers and Captain Rawlinson of the red beard and sharp wit rode in from Dalyville and came to Clara Thompson's boarding house.
Ace Saunders opened the front door for them and the three came into the dining room where Kerrigan, clean shaven and wearing a new pair of boots, sat drinking coffee with Carlotta and Clara.
"Sit down, boys," Clara said. "I'll have more coffee in just a few minutes."
Rawlinson tossed his campaign hat all the way across the room and straddled a chair in a most unofficer-like fashion. He pulled at his red beard and grinned at Kerrigan.
"Everything turned out very well for the army this trip. We suffered only four light casualties, thanks to the work of those Apache scouts, Kerrigan. We killed thirteen of Loco's bronco band and seven or eight more got away. We got Loco and a few of his boys, but I honestly think the fellow was tired of the whole business and wanted to see his family. Clara, I had hoped for a brevet to the rank of major after last night's work, but I'm afraid it was spoiled by the escape of that little devil Kadoba. Kerrigan, where do you suppose he'll head for now?"
"Hard to say, Captain," Kerrigan answered and shook his head. "My guess is that he'll steal himself a young squaw off the reservation and take off for Mexico to join some of the others down there."
"Is it true he showed you where there's tons of gold?"
"Not tons. He told me where there's a two-inch vein of pretty rich stuff."
"And you're going after it, of course?"
Rawlinson looked surprised as Kerrigan shook his head, then laughed. "Come to think of it, why should you? From what Joe here told me, you didn't come out of this partnership with Harrow as bad as one might think. About twenty-five thousand dollars, including some gold bars Saunders here gave you. And a pretty woman I could fall in love with, except that I used to be in love with Clara until I met my wife."
He looked at Clara and his face grew serious. "Clara, I'm going to confess something to you. In that fight with Loco years ago I won a brevet captain's rank for rescuing one of my wounded troopers under fire. I have thought many times during the passing years the big if of what might have happened if I had stayed with your husband. If it will make you feel any better, I swore through the years I'd get Loco. I asked for an assignment in the Dalyville area—and that hunch paid off, thanks to Kerrigan's part in it."
"Have you made out your official report yet?"
Kerrigan asked. "I'm referring to Judge Eaton and the truly great loss to the territory in his death. Don't look surprised, Captain. I mean it. I wish that you'd specifically mention that in your official report."
"He was a damned thief and as crazy as a loon," Joe Stovers growled. "But Lew's right. Ace and me are the only law up in this part of the country now. The others are dead or high-tailing it out of the country. You going to stick around until a new judge is appointed from Washington, Ace?"
Saunders nodded absently. He stirred at his cold coffee and smiled. "I like the feel of this badge, Joe, after the way I led Stubb along the wrong road for so many years. For that reason I'd like to keep it. He'd be tickled if he knew, and it more or less gives me a better chance to look out after Kitty and see what she wants to do in the future."
Kerrigan rose and Carlotta rose with him. He knew what was going to happen to Kitty now. The inevitable result would be as natural as a pair of aces on the table. Kitty had been born to love much and be loved and she'd gravitate toward Saunders like iron drawn to a magnet.
"Where are you two going, Lew?" Clara asked.
"Down to finish removing a man's name from the coach," Lew Kerrigan smiled. "As long as I didn't have to kill Tom after all, I feel no compunction about taking it. Carlotta and I will be in no hurry. We'll keep on going until we find the right town and the right people and the right ranch. We're going to forget the past and start a whole new life with no shadows."
They went out through the kitchen and off the porch and down the narrow path to the gap in the old wall. At the opening he bent and swung her into his arms, and felt her own around his neck and the warm, gentle passion of her mouth.
Through a cut in the distant peaks the westering sun threw its bright rays down and flooded the great expanse of the bend in Thompson Canyon.
A Gunman Rode North Page 15