the Mountain Valley War (1978) (16 page)

"How about you?" Bart asked.

"I'll make the deal for the supplies and then I'll nose around to see what I can find out about the other wagon. Lije and the rest may be all right, but I want to be sure."

Mounting up, they started out. The road they followed showed no evidence of travel, and soon they discovered why. It had long since been fenced off. They took down the bars of the worn fence and drove through into a well-used road. Kilkenny waited and replaced the bars, although he did not rebind them with rawhide.

There was very little to the town. Two rows of ramshackle saloons and a store faced each other across the street. The usual assortment of town loafers sat on benches before the Crossroads and the Temple of Chance. Two cow ponies stood three-legged in front of the Wagon Wheel.

Lance Kilkenny took the thongs from his six-guns. He wanted no trouble, but this was a hard town, and there were men here who even if they knew he was Kilkenny wouldn't care. Names and reputations meant little to the average western man, and for every gun-fighter with a reputation there were four just as good whom nobody had ever heard of. And they liked it that way.

Chapter
13

Lance Kilkenny rode past Perkins' General Store and dismounted in front of the Wagon Wheel. Bartram pulled up parallel to the walk in front of the store and began to fill his pipe, his rifle beside him.

Saul and Jack walked into the store, and Quince leaned against a corner of the store building and bit off a chew of tobacco. His rifle was in the hollow of his arm and he wore a huge Walker Colt.

A rider turned into the street and swung down in front of the Wagon Wheel not far from Kilkenny. The rider glanced at him briefly, then went inside. The man was big, with red hair and a beard.

Quince crossed the walk to Kilkenny. "That gent who just came in was wearin' an ivory-handled Colt with a chipped ivory on the right side." His narrow face was cold, his expression bitter. "That's Jody Miller's gun he was packin'."

"Jody was with the first wagon," Kilkenny said.

"He surely was," Quince said. "I reckon I'd better put him to the question."

"Wait, Quince. I'm going in there. You keep your eyes open, but remember, we need grub first of all. Everything comes second to that. Meantime, maybe I can find out something."

Kilkenny was a man without illusions. The chance that there might be two such guns in such an area at the same time was beyond reason, and knowing Jody Miller, he also knew that if the red-haired man had Jody's gun, he had taken it from his body.

Kilkenny walked over to the Wagon Wheel and went inside. The red-bearded man was at the bar. Two men who might have been cowpunchers sat at a table with the bartender and another man in a black coat. This man was enormously tall and enormously fat. That, he decided, would be Soderman.

"Come on, Shorty!" The red-beard said irritably. "I want a drink!"

"Take it easy, Gaddis." Shorty was a short, thickset man with an unshaven face. "I'll be with you in a minute."

Kilkenny was in no hurry, and the situation did not look good. No two men could be so big and fat, so this had to be Soderman. That placed Soderman and Gaddis. The other two might be ordinary cowhands in for a drink and not hunting trouble. One of them might be Ratcliff, who was rated a dangerous man. Rye Pitkin was somewhere around, but Kilkenny did not see him. He knew Pitkin, and Pitkin knew him.

Judging by appearances, Shorty could be expected to back up whatever Soderman did. If that was Jody's gun, then the other wagon had been attacked and probably wiped out.

A slow rage began to build within him at the thought of those hard-working, honest men being ambushed by such as these. He was aware that Soderman was watching him, and the big man was a cool customer, very cool.

Shorty walked over behind the bar. "All right, Gaddis, what'll you have?"

"Rye," Gaddis said, and for the first time he really noticed Kilkenny, his glance sharpening as he noted, the dusty clothes and the guns. Not many men wore two guns. He stared hard at Kilkenny, but Lance had his hat brim pulled low and seemed not to be aware.

"Make mine rye, too," Kilkenny suggested mildly. Then he turned his head to look at Soderman. "You drinkin'? Have one on me."

"Of course." The fat man got up and moved with an astonishing ease and lightness of foot. Kilkenny's attention sharpened. This man could move. "I always like to know who I'm drinkin' with, though."

"Not so where I come from," Kilkenny replied. "A drink's a drink."

"Of course." He stepped up to the bar, and Kilkenny moved aside in such a way that Soderman must step between Kilkenny and Gaddis. Soderman hesitated only an instant, then stepped up to the bar. "Not often you see a man packin' two guns," he added. "I thought every man who wore that kind of hardware knew Doc Soderman."

"I've heard the name." Kilkenny let his eyes drift to the table Soderman had left. One of the men was rolling a smoke, the other idly riffling a deck of cards. Either of them was in position to draw quickly. Red Gaddis had turned to face Kilkenny.

The whole setup looked a little too pat. Did they know he was from the high country. It was a tight situation, and he was going to have to relax them a little, to take a little steam off the top.

"Heard there might be a job up this way," he commented mildly, "and I could use a job where it's quiet."

"Away from the law?" Soderman suggested.

"Away from everything."

"We have law here. King Bill Hale is the law," Soderman said.

"Heard of him," Kilkenny said. "Heard he pays well."

"You hear a lot," Gaddis said. He was staring at Kilkenny, his eyes mean. He took another drink and continued to stare.

Kilkenny glanced at him from under the brim of his hat. "I make it my business to listen," he said quietly. "A man can learn a lot that way."

"Maybe you listen too much!" Gaddis said. He was in a truculent mood, and the whiskey was having its effect. Kilkenny's drink was on the bar, untouched.

"You want to show me how much?" he asked mildly. He was sure there would be no shooting just yet. Soderman was still not sure of him, and Gaddis didn't care. He was wondering if Soderman knew Quince Hatfield was outside the window with a rifle.

Gaddis stepped away from the bar. "Yes, I want--"

"Stop it!" Soderman ordered. "Gaddis, you keep on that way and you'll get yourself killed."

"Not by him," he said scornfully, but he quieted down. It was a clear demonstration of who was in command here.

Kilkenny thought that despite his belligerence Gaddis had welcomed the interruption. Gaddis, he believed, was a killer but not a gunfighter. The sort of man who might dry-gulch some men riding a wagon. And he wore a gun with a chipped handle.

"Your friend's kind of edgy," Kilkenny commented.

"Forget it. He just likes to fight, that's all." He glanced at Kilkenny again. "You mentioned looking for work. There might just be a chance."

"Either that or I drift on through," Kilkenny said. He glanced pointedly at Gaddis' gun. "Seems you should be somebody I know," he said, "but I don't place the face. I never was much good on faces, anyway, but I always remember a man by his gun."

He tasted his whiskey, then put the glass back on the bar. "Every gun has its own special look, or maybe it's the way a man wears it. Take that one, now, with the chipped ivory butt. Nobody could forget a gun like that."

Gaddis was suddenly wary. His eyes went to Soderman, then back to Kilkenny. Before he could speak, Soderman looked straight into Kilkenny's eyes. "And where did you see that gun?"

"I was down to the capital," he said, "and saw that gun hangin' on a man named Jody Miller. He was comin' west to farm."

He wanted to worry Soderman, who was a cautious man. He wanted to plant a little seed of doubt.

"Miller stopped off in the capital to see some relatives and friends. Seems this Jody Miller didn't have much himself, but he was a well-thought-of man with a lot of relatives in important places who thought a lot of Jody. When I first noticed the gun, he was sitting at a table with Halloran and Wallace."

He had all of Soderman's attention now. The big man was worried, really disturbed. "This Miller knew Halloran and Wallace?"

"Oh, he knew them, all right! They were talking friendly-like, and as they mentioned this part of the country, I paid attention, as I was planning to ride this way, even then. It seems Miller had stopped off to visit these people. He had known Wallace for some time, but Halloran was married to Jody's sister. I heard Halloran say he was going to come out and pay Jody a visit after he was settled."

Kilkenny tasted his whiskey again. "I think Miller was in town to file his homestead on some place up in the mountains near here."

Kilkenny glanced at Gaddis, his face expressionless. "I expect you'll be mighty glad to see them, Miller. It's surely nice to have a big official like that for a friend."

Lance could have laughed at Gaddis had he not been filled with bitterness at the thought of their wagon waylaid and their friends killed.

Gaddis had actually been called by name only a few minutes before, but Kilkenny acted as if he had not heard. The man was obviously worried, and not by Kilkenny, of whom he knew nothing. Was it Soderman? Or Hale? Or simply that he had been caught red-handed in a murder? Or at least an ambush.

"Odd," Kilkenny continued, "you've got red hair. I'd have sworn Miller had black hair. I--"

"It was yel ..." Gaddis started to interrupt, then realized what he had said.

"Yellow," Kilkenny agreed. "That's right. He was a blond. I couldn't remember that, but you did, and you're packin' Miller's gun. Now, how do you explain that?"

Suddenly a door behind Kilkenny opened. He felt the flesh tighten along the back of his neck. He dared not turn. He had been deliberately baiting them, hoping for more information. Now, suddenly, he was boxed in.

Soderman seemed to make up his mind, or perhaps he had been stalling, waiting for this to happen. Assurance returned to him and he said, "Why, howdy, Rye! You should come over and meet our friend here! Says he recognizes the gun Red's a-wearin'."

Rye Pitkin walked around to where he could see Kilkenny, and his face went stiff with shock. "You!" he said hoarsely. "Why..."

"Long way from the Pecos, isn't it, Rye? And from the Brazos, too. Now, Pitkin, you listen, and listen close. I'm not anxious to start shooting, but at least two of you are going to die, and I'm betting on three. You and Soderman will come first.

"My friends outside the windows will take care of Gaddis or anybody else who lifts a hand. Right now I am walking out of here, and you'd better impress it on your friends that starting some action won't do them any good."

Kilkenny backed toward the door. Soderman's eyes were hot with expectation mingled with some doubt. Why was Pitkin so obviously frightened? Who was this man?

Red Gaddis had turned slightly, watching Kilkenny. Rye read what was in his mind. "Red! For God's sake, don't! That's Kilkenny!"

Gaddis' hand came away from his gun as if suddenly burned. Warily he began to back oft, as if distance could help.

Glass tinkled, and a long Kentucky rifle barrel slid into the room. "Now, if you're going to play it smart," Quince remarked, "you gents just hole up here an' get drunk, because the first one who makes a wrong move or sticks his head out is going to be dead."

The wagon was loaded. Bart sat on the wagon seat, reins in his hand, rifle across his knees. Jack Moffit sat beside him with his rifle in his two hands.

Saul was across the street, holding all their horses.

"Start the wagon, Bart. Take the Cedar trail. Jack, you stay with Bart, and be ready for trouble."

He crossed the street, swung aboard the buckskin, and slid his Winchester from the boot. The wagon moved out at a fast trot, he and the Hatfields following.

All three were looking back over their shoulders, so Lance saw what happened when Red Gaddis stepped into the street with a rifle in his hand. Quince half-turned his horse, and the rifle came up. He fired an instant before Gaddis, and the red-headed man took two quick steps into the street and fell, half his head blown away.

"He won't take no more guns off'n nobody!" Quince said.

There was a scattering of shots, and Kilkenny pulled up behind a log barn on the edge of town and swung down. "We're going to have to come back here, so we might as well let them know what the score is."

He saw a man start from the back of the Wagon Wheel and snapped a quick shot. The man stumbled and fell. Saul went down the street at a dead run, firing with his pistol. There was a smashing of window glass, and a man fell half out of a second-story window and lay sprawled across the sill.

Saul came back, shooting again and at a dead run.

At every movement, one of them fired.

"You boys cover me," Kilkenny said," when I come back."

Leaving his horse, he sprinted down along the back of the buildings toward the Wagon Wheel.

He wanted Pitkin or Ratcliff, because he needed to know what had happened back there on the trail. Some or all of his friends might be dead, but he intended to find out. If they were dead, he could at least help to bury them, and maybe some of Hale's riff-raff along with them.