His lips were dry and parched. Even the water that Quince had given him failed to reduce the ravages brought on by several days of thirst. Obviously, from the condition of the two men, Lije had been giving the little water they had to Jackson Hight.
The two men were lifted carefully and placed in the wagon, with groceries piled around them and sacks and blankets beneath them. Another blanket was placed over two barrels to form a crude awning over their faces. Then, with Bartram handling the mules, they started once more.
Chapter XIV
It was quiet in the Hatfield cup when the little group rode in. The Hatfield women did not cry. They gathered around, and they watched when the two men were lifted from the wagon and carried within.
Parson waited, grim-faced, for Kilkenny. “That’s two more, Kilkenny. Two more good men gone, an’ two that are like to die! I’m tellin’ you, man, I’m a-goin’ to kill Bill Hale!”
“Not now. Wait.” Kilkenny kicked a toe into the dust. “Any more trouble here?”
“Smithers ain’t come back.”
“Where’d he go?”
“To look at his crop. He sets great store by that crop. Says he’ll be back to harvest it.”
“When did he leave?”
“Yesterday mornin’. Shouldn’t keep him that long, no-ways. I reckon he might hole up in the hills somewhere.”
Talking slowly, Lance recounted all that had transpired. He told of the bitter crossing of the Smoky Desert, of the fight at Blazer, and of the death of Gad-dis and the others.
“We can cross the desert anytime unless the wind is blowin’ strong,” he concluded. “They can’t bottle us up. It’s a miserable trip, an’, if a man was to try it an’ get caught in a windstorm, there’s a good chance you’d never hear of him again. The same if he got into that quicksand.”
“I knowed that Gaddis was a bad one. Glad he’s gone. The same for Sodermann.”
“There’s something else,” Kilkenny suggested after a moment. “We’ve proved we could get across, an’ we slipped by their guards comin’ back by the Blazer trail, but it won’t take them much time to figure what happened. They may try comin’ in our back door by that way.”
Parson nodded shrewdly. “I was thinkin’ of that. We’ll have to be careful.”
When morning came and Lance rolled out of his blankets, he looked quickly at the house. Then he saw Saul. The tall, lean boy was walking away from the house, and he looked sick and old. They saw each other at almost the same instant.
“Saul?” Kilkenny said. “Is…?”
“He’s dead. Lijah’s dead.”
Kilkenny turned away, and for the first time something like despair welled up inside of him. One of the Hatfields had died. It seemed as though something of the mountains themselves had gone, for there was in those lean, hard-headed, raw-boned men something that lived on despite everything. And Lije had died.
O’Hara came out to him later, and the big Irishman’s face was sullen and ugly. “An’ that doc down to Cedar Bluff. We sneaked in an’ tried to get him to come. He wouldn’t come, an’ he set up a squall when we tried to take him. We was lucky to get away.”
“We’ll remember that,” Kilkenny said quietly. “We can’t use a doctor who won’t come when he’s called, not in this country.”
Parson looked at him thoughtfully, and then he looked away. “Lance, you ever think maybe we won’t win? That maybe they’ll wipe us out? Suppose you can’t talk to them Santa Fé men? Supposin’, if you do, they won’t listen?”
Kilkenny looked down at the ground, and then slowly he lifted his head. “There’s a man behind this, Parson,” he said slowly, “a man who’s gone mad with power-cravin’. His son’s a-drivin’ him. Parson, I’ve seen men murdered because they wanted homes. There was no harm in Jody Miller, nor in Tot Wilson. They were hard-workin’ men an’ honest ones. Lije, well, he was a fine boy, a real man, too. He had strength, courage, an’ all that it takes to make a man. There at the last, when they were holed up in the rocks, he cared for Hight when he must’ve been near dead himself. He must’ve had to drag himself to Hight’s side…he must’ve had to force himself to forget his own pain. Those men are dead, an’ they are dead because of one man, maybe two. Maybe I’m wrong, Parson, but if all else fails, I’m ridin’ to Cedar Bluff, an’ I’ll kill those two men.”
“An’ I’ll go with you,” Parson stated flatly. His old face was grim and hard. “Lije was my son, he…”
“No, Parson, you can’t go with me. You’ll have to stay here, keep this bunch together, an’ see they make the most of their land. I want homes in these high meadows, Parson. Homes, an’ kids around ’em, an’ cattle walkin’ peaceful in the evenin’. No, it’ll be my job down there. We all…we who live by the gun…we all die in the end. It’s better for me to go alone an’ live or die by what happens then. At least, it’ll be in a good cause.”
He lay in the shade of a huge Norway pine, resting and thinking of what lay ahead of him, thinking of the fight with Tombull Turner. Lying there with his eyes shut, he could hear the sound of the shovels as Runyon and Jesse Hatfield dug a grave for Lije. In his mind he was taking himself back to the times when he had seen Turner fight. He was remembering, not the battered men who went down before Turner, but every move the big man made. No man was without a fault. Kilkenny had been taught well. He knew how he must plan, and he ran over and over in his mind the way the big man held his hands, the way his feet moved when he advanced or retreated, the way they moved when he punched, and what Turner did when hit with a left or right. Each fighter develops habits. A certain method of stopping or countering a punch is easy for him, so he uses that method most, even though he may know others. A smooth boxer, walking out into the ring and expecting a long fight, will feel out an opponent, find how he uses a left, how he blocks one. Then he knows what to do. If he lasted in this fight, Kilkenny knew, he would last only because of brains, only because he could think faster, better, and more effectively than Turner or those who handled him.
Yet again and again, as he lay there thinking, his mind reverted to Nita Riordan. The dark, voluptuous beauty of the Irish and Spanish girl at the Crystal Palace was continually in his mind. There was something else, too. In the back of his mind loomed the huge, ominous Cain Brockman. On that desperate day back in Cottonwood, in the Live Oak country, he had killed Abel, and Cain had been thrown from his rearing horse and knocked unconscious. Later, in the Trail House, he had slugged it out and whipped Cain in a bitter knock-down-and-drag-out fistfight. Cain had sworn to kill him. And Cain Brockman was in Cedar Bluff.
When night came, Kilkenny threw a saddle on a slim, black horse and rode out of the cup. He was going to see Nita. Even as he rode, he admitted to himself there was little reason to see her except that he wanted to. He had no right to take chances with his life when it could mean so much to the cause he was aiding, yet he had to see Nita. Also, he could find out what Hale was doing, what he was planning.
He rode swiftly, and the black horse was eager for the trail. It wasn’t Buck, but the horse was fast, with speed to spare.
It was late when he rode down to the edge of Cedar Bluff, and his thoughts went back to Leathers, aroused out of a sound sleep and made to put up groceries, and to Dan Cooper, the tough cowhand and gunman who had watched Leathers’s store. Cooper was a good man on the wrong side. Leathers was a man who would be on any winning side, one of the little men who think only of immediate profits and who try to ride with the powers that be. Well, the pay-off for Leathers was coming.
Leaving his horse in the shadows of the trees beyond the Crystal Palace, Kilkenny moved up into the shadows of the stable, and his eyes watched the Palace for a long time. Finally he moved, ghost-like, across the open space back of the gambling hall. Tiptoeing along the wall, he came to the door he sought. Carefully he tried the knob. It was locked.
Ahead of him a curtain blew through an open window, waving a little, and then sagging back as the momentary breeze died. He pau
sed beneath the window, listening. Inside, he could hear the steady rise and fall of a man’s breathing. It was the only way in. Hesitating only a minute, he put his foot through the open window and stepped inside.
Almost at once there was a black shadow of movement, and a forearm slipped across his throat in a stranglehold. Then that forearm crushed back into his throat with tremendous power. Setting the muscles in his neck, he strained forward, agonizing pain shooting through the growing blackness in his brain. He surged forward and felt the man’s feet lift from the floor. Then suddenly the hold relaxed, and he felt a hand slide down to his gun and then to the other gun. Then he was released.
“Brigo?” he said.
“Sí, señor,” Brigo answered in a whisper. “I did not know. But only one man is so powerful as you. When you lifted me, I knew it must be you. Then I felt your guns, and I know them well.”
“The señorita is here?”
“Sí.” Brigo was silent for a moment. “Señor, I fear for her. This Hale, he wants her very much. Also, the Cub of the bear. He wants her. I fear for her. One day they will come to take her.”
Kilkenny could sense the worry in the big man’s voice. “But you, Brigo?”
He could almost see the Yaqui shrug. “I see the two hombres, Dunn an’ Ravitz. They watch me always. Soon they will try to kill me. The señorita says I must not go out to kill them, but soon I must.”
“Wait, if you can,” Kilkenny said. “Then act as you must. If you feel the time has come, do not wait for the señorita to say. You do not kill heedlessly. If there is no other way, you are to judge.”
“Gracias, señor,” Brigo said simply. “If you will come with me?”
Kilkenny followed him through the darkness down the hall to another door, and there Brigo tapped gently. Almost at once, he heard Nita’s voice. “Jaime?”
“Sí. The señor is here.”
The door opened quickly, and Brigo vanished into the darkness as Kilkenny stepped in. Nita closed the door. Her long dark hair fell about her shoulders. In the vague light he could see the clinging of her nightgown, the rise and fall of her bosom beneath the thin material.
“Kilkenny, what is it?” Her voice was low, and something in its timbre made his muscles tremble. It required all the strength that was in him not to take her in his arms.
“I had to see you. You are all right?”
“Sí. For now. He has given me until after the celebration to make up my mind. After that, I shall have to marry him or run.”
“That celebration,” he said bitterly, “is the cornerstone of everything now.” Briefly, dispassionately he told her of all that had happened. Of the trip across the Smoky Desert, of the deaths of Miller, Wilson, and Lije Hatfield, and then of the death of Sodermann and the others of Hale’s men.
“Does he know of that yet?” he asked.
“I doubt it. He told me there had been an attempt to get food over the Blazer trail and that the men who made it had been wiped out. I don’t think he knew more than that.”
“I am going to fight Turner,” he said.
She caught her breath suddenly. “Oh, no! Kilkenny, he is a brute! I have seen him around the Palace. So huge. And so strong. I have seen him bend silver dollars in his fingers. I have seen him squat beside a table, take the edge in his teeth, and lift it clear off the floor.”
“I know, but I must fight him. It is my only chance to get close to Halloran.” He explained quickly. “If we can just let them know that we aren’t outlaws. If they could only realize what is happening here, that these are good men, trying only to establish homes. To fight him is my only chance.”
“I heard you would. Brigo told me the word had come that you would fight him.”
“What did Brigo say?” Kilkenny suddenly found he was very anxious to know. The big Yaqui had an instinct for judging the fighting abilities of men. Powerful, fierce, and ruthless himself, he knew fighting men, and he had been long in lands where men lived by courage and strength.
“He says you will win.” She said it simply. “I cannot see how anyone could defeat that man, but Brigo is sure. He has made bets. And he is the only one who dares to bet against Turner.”
“Nita, if there’s a chance, say something to Halloran.”
“There won’t be. Hale will see to that. But if there is, I surely will.”
“Nita, when the fight is over, I’ll come for you. I’m going to take you away from this. Will you go?”
“Need you ask?” She smiled up at him in the dimness. “You know I will go, Kilkenny. Wherever you go, I will go, Kilkenny. I made my choice long ago.”
Kilkenny slipped from the house and returned to his horse. The black stood patiently, and, when Lance touched his bridle, he jerked up his head and was ready to go. Yet, when he reached the turn, Lance swung the black horse down the street of Cedar Bluff.
Walking the horse, he rode slowly up to the ring. It had been set up in an open space near the corrals. Seats had been placed around, with several rows close to the ringside. That would be where King Bill would sit with his friends. The emperor would watch the gladiators. Kilkenny smiled wryly.
A light footstep sounded at the side of the ring, and Kilkenny’s gun leaped from its holster. “Don’t move,” he whispered sharply.
“It’s all right, Kilkenny.” The man stepped closer, his hands held wide. “It’s Dan Cooper.”
“So you know I’m Kilkenny?”
Cooper chuckled. “Yeah, I recognized your face that first day, but couldn’t tie it to a name. It came to me just now. Hale will be wild when he hears.”
“You’re a good man, Cooper,” Kilkenny said suddenly. “Why stay on the wrong side?”
“Is the winnin’ side the wrong side? Not for me it ain’t. I ain’t sayin’ as to who’s right in this squabble, but for a gunhand the winnin’ side is the right one.”
“No conscience, Cooper?” Kilkenny questioned, trying to see the other man’s eyes through the darkness. “Dick Moffitt was a good man. So were Jody Miller, Tot Wilson, an’ Lije Hatfield.”
“Then Lije died?” Cooper’s voice quickened. “That’s not good, for you or us. The Hales, they don’t think much of the Hatfields. I do. I know ’em. The Hales will have to kill every last Hatfield now, or die themselves. I know them.”
“You could have tried a shot at me, Cooper,” Kilkenny suggested.
“Me?” Cooper laughed lightly. “I’m not the kind, Kilkenny. Not in the dark, without a warnin’. I ain’t so anxious to get you, anyway. I’d be the hombre that killed Kilkenny, an’ that’s like settin’ yourself up in a shootin’ gallery. Anyway, I want to see the fight.”
“The fight?”
“Between you and Tombull. That should be good.” Cooper leaned against the platform of the ring. “Between the two of us, I ain’t envyin’ you none. That hombre’s poison. He ain’t human. Eats food enough for three men. Still”—Cooper shoved his hat back on his head—“you sure took King Bill, an’ he was some shakes of a scrapper.” Cooper straightened up. “Y’know, Kilkenny, just two men in town are bettin’ on you.”
“Two?”
“Uhn-huh. One’s that Yaqui gunman, Brigo. The other’s Cain Brockman.”
“Cain Brockman?” Kilkenny was startled.
“Yeah. He says he’s goin’ to kill you, but he says you can whip Turner first. He told Turner to his face that you was the best man. Turner was sure mad.” Dan Cooper hitched up his belt. “Almost time for my relief. If I was you, I’d take out. The next hombre might not be so anxious to see a good fight that he’d pass up five thousand dollars.”
“You mean there’s money on my head?” Kilkenny asked.
“Yeah. Five thousand. Dead or alive.” Cooper shrugged. “Cub didn’t like the idea of the reward. He figures you’re staked out for him.”
“OK, Dan. Enjoyed the confab.”
“Thanks. Listen, make that fight worth the money, will you? An’ by the way…watch Cub Hale. He’s poison mean and faster t
han a strikin’ rattler.”
Kilkenny rode out of town and took to the hills. The route he took homeward was not the same as that by which he had approached the town. Long ago he had learned it was very foolhardy to retrace one’s steps. Once at the Hatfields’, he bedded down about daylight and slept until early afternoon.
So Cain Brockman was betting on him. For a long time, Kilkenny sat in speculation. He lived over again that bitter, bloody afternoon in the Trail House when he had whipped the huge Cain. It had seemed that great bulk was impervious to anything in the shape of a human fist. Yet he had brought him down, had beaten him into helplessness.
Parson and Quince strolled over and sat down. Their faces were grave. It was like these men to hide their grief, yet he knew that under the emotionless faces of the men there was a feeling of family and unity stronger than any he had ever known. These men loved each other and lived for each other.
“Kilkenny, you set on fightin’ this Turner?” Parson inquired.
“Yes, I am,” Kilkenny said quietly. “It’s our big chance. It is more than a chance to talk to Halloran, too. It’s a chance to hit Hale another wallop.”
“To hurt him, you got to beat Turner,” Quince said, staring at Kilkenny. “You got to win.”
“That’s right,” Kilkenny agreed. “So I’m goin’ in to win. I’ve changed my mind about some things. I was figurin’ just on stayin’ in there long enough to talk to the officials from Santa Fé, but now I am goin’ in there to win. If I win, I make friends. People will like to see Hale beat again. Halloran is an Irishman, an’ an Irishman loves a good fighter. Well, I got to win.”
They were silent for a few minutes and Parson chewed on a straw. Then he looked up from under his bushy gray eyebrows. “It ain’t the fight what worries me. If the good Lord wants you to win, you’ll win. What bothers me is after…win or lose, what happens then? Think Hale will let you go?”
Kilkenny smiled grimly. “He will, or there’ll be blood on the streets of Cedar Bluff. Hale blood!”
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