the Mountain Valley War (1978) (17 page)

He drew up. The rear door of the saloon stood open. A man lay sprawled a few feet away from it, gun near his hand. He was dead.

Chapter
14

Kilkenny stood behind the next building and waited, watching. He wanted Pitkin or Ratcliff under his gun. It was information he needed, and he would get nothing from Sodennan unless the fat man decided of his own free will.

Several old boards lay on the ground behind the saloon, dry and parched from long exposure to sun and wind. On a sudden inspiration he holstered his gun, gathered several of the boards, some dry grass and smaller sticks, and lit a fire.

It was a little away from the buildings, but he hoped the smoke would blow into the saloon. He wanted them to think he was burning them out, which was the last thing he wished, as they needed the town as a supply base, and Perkins had sold them what they wanted without question.

As the boards caught fire, he stepped near the door of the saloon but well out of sight. The flames leaped up and the fire crackled. He added greener grass to the flames, and the wind carried the smoke through the open door.

A startled exclamation from within, and then a man rushed out and began kicking the boards away from the fire.

"All right!" Kilkenny spoke just loud enough for him to hear. "Don't move!"

It was Ratcliff, and the man stood like a statue.

"What's the trouble, Kilkenny?" he said. "I never done nothing to you!"

"Turn around slowly, walk this way, and watch your hands."

Ratcliff was a weasel-faced man with shifty eyes and a slim, nervous body. He started moving but threw a quick glance at the open door. When he was within five feet, Kilkenny stopped him.

"All right, now, I want to know what happened to that other wagon. I want it fast and I want it clear-cut."

Ratcliff sneered. "You think I'd tell you? Go out there and find out if you like. You'll be gettin' the same before you're home."

With one quick step Kilkenny grabbed the man by the shirt collar and slammed him against the side of the building. "You want a pistol-whipping? You're begging for it right now. Now, you start talking, and talk fast. I haven't the time to fool around."

"All right, all right!" Ratcliff said. "Leave me be. Won't do you any good, anyway, as you're not gettin' home. That other wagon loaded with grub, an' we let 'em get out of town. Then Soderman and about six men ambushed them."

"How many were killed?"

"We lost a man. We killed Miller and Wilson with' the first volley. It was a Hatfield got our man, nailed him dead center."

"What happened to Hatfield and Hight?"

"Hight went down. I seen him fall. He was shot two or three tunes. We got Hatfield, too. Winged him, anyway. Hatfield got up an' dragged Hight into the rocks. We couldn't get to 'em."

"Then what?"

A voice roared from the saloon. It was Soderman. "Ratcliff! What in time are y' doin' out there?"

"Answer me. Then what?"

"Soderman said it would serve 'em right. He left them there to die, with two men to see they didn't get out of those rocks. They've had 'em pinned in there for two days now, an' no water."

"On the Blazer trail?"

"Almost to the turnoff to the peaks. Hell, they're dead by now. Ain't a damn thing you can do, Kilkenny, not even you."

With a swift move Kilkenny nipped RatclifFs six-shooter from its holster. "All right," he said, "get going!"

Ratcliff lunged for the saloon door just as Soderman's huge bulk stepped into it. Soderman glimpsed Kilkenny and with a swift motion the fat man palmed his gun and fired. He was not a good hip shot, and his gun went off before it came level, dropping Ratcliff in his tracks.

Standing in the open, legs wide apart, Kilkenny fired as he drew. The bullet caught Soderman right in the center of that vast belly.

Soderman's face showed shock, and then fear as he realized he had been gut-shot. He started to lift his pistol again, but his knees buckled and he fell facedown on the steps. The pistol slipped from fingers that had lost their life and rattled on the boards below.

Kilkenny stepped over the big body and into the saloon. Rye Pitkin and Shorty were crouched by the front windows with rifles.

"Drop 'em!" he ordered. "Unbuckle your gun belts and let them fall. Now, step back away from them."

Surprised and helpless, the two men did as they were told. "Rye," Kilkenny said, "I've given you a break before, and now I'll do it again. The same goes for Shorty. You two mount and ride. If I ever see either of you around here again, I'll kill you on sight. I'll be coming back to Blazer, so be damned sure you aren't here!"

He scooped up the guns and backed toward the door. Then he ran to where the Hatfields waited. "Let's go!" he said. "Lije may still be alive!"

"You can handle the wagon," Quince said. "Me an' Saul, we'll get on down the trail."

"Go," Kilkenny told them, "and luck to you."

Bartram's relief was plain when Kilkenny came into sight. "Get rolling," Lance said. "We've a long way to go."

"What happened?"

"We won another round," Kilkenny explained, "and I doubt if we'll have any trouble in Blazer again."

"Perkins was all right," Bart said. "He just laid out what we asked for, and when we had it all, he wished us luck. He's a decent man."

Dust devils danced upon the desert's face, and the wagon, heavily loaded now, rumbled along slowly, bumping over stones in the roadway. Jack Moffit had tied his horse behind the wagon, and now he climbed into the saddle again to ride with Kilkenny.

This route skirted the desert wilderness they had crossed coming over, and was a much easier route, although a more dangerous one now. Only the fact that Lije was holed up back along the trail kept Kilkenny to it.

Rugged mountains rose up on their left, but on the right the timber thinned out and the pines gave way to cedar and then to the scattered sagebrush as it neared the desert's edge. There were frequent clumps of boulders, each one of which Kilkenny studied with care, although he expected no trouble yet.

Jack rode beside him, and Kilkenny knew the boy was eager to ask him about what happened in the settlement. He was just as loath to speak of it, but decided to satisfy the youngster's curiosity. After all, Jack was playing a man's part and deserved a man's share in all of it.

"Trouble back there, Jack. Some men were killed back there."

"Who was it? Did you kill 'em?"

"I killed one man ... Soderman. I had to, Jack. He was one of the worst of them, and he had a gun in his hand and was shooting at me ... or starting to. He killed one of his own men shooting at me.

"I wanted to know what happened to the other wagon. They might have had some of them as prisoners in the town, but Ratcliff said Lije was holed up down the trail, that they had killed Miller and Wilson."

"Gosh! Jody Miller! I liked him! I didn't know Mr. Wilson so much, but Jody was nice. He used to come by and see us. He was some kin to Ma... away back."

They rode for a while; then: "What about the others?"

"I let them go, Jack. I told Pitkin and Shorty to get out of the country. I think they'll go."

"We asked about the other wagon when we were in the store. They said they had loaded them with whatever they asked for. Perkins said nobody was going to tell him who to sell to. He had him a shotgun right alongside him all the time, and his wife had another."

Occasionally they paused to rest the mules. It was very hot. Kilkenny kept listening for shots, but the distance would be too great. He worried about the boys riding into an ambush in their hurry to get there, but then he reflected the Hatfields were too shrewd for that. Yet they would be eager to get there.

The road was longer, but there was no dust like there had been in the desert. Again and again Kilkenny's thoughts reverted to Nita. Would she marry Hale? He doubted it, and yet the man was a commanding figure, a not unhandsome man, and one of importance. He certainly had more to offer than a drifting gunfighter who would wind up someday facedown in a dusty street.

Of course, a few men had been able to leave it all behind and establish themselves as peaceful members of a community. He could always go east, but what would he do there? His adult life had been spent in the West, and in the East he would have no source of income. He had at times been a gambler, and had done well, but it was not a profession on which to build a life.

He drew rein and waited for the wagon to catch up. His eyes strayed down their back trail but saw nothing, and the road before them was so winding that they could see but a short distance.

"Bart," he warned, "it's still a few miles, but look alive. We may run into trouble."

"I haven't heard any shooting."

"Nor I, but we'd better be ready for trouble."

What could they have found? Was Lije dead? What of Jackson Hight? How many more must die before all of this was settled? Why should one land-hungry man push this fight upon peaceful men who wanted only to till their fields in peace?

It was a fair land, even at its worst, a good land in which men could grow and raise their families, but if fight they must, then they would fight with every lawful means.

Heat waves danced in the distance, a shimmering veil across the road before them. The tracks of the wagon were there, and some hoof prints superimposed upon them. His eyes strayed across the cedar-dotted hills and up through the boulders. Cicadas sang in the brush along the road until their sound became almost the voice of the wastelands.

Darkness came before they reached the site of the ambush. It could be only a few miles farther, but the mules were tired. Kilkenny waited for Bart to come up and then gestured into the cedars at one side of the road. It was a nest of boulders and cedars overlooking a small grassy meadow.

"We'd best camp," he said. "We don't want to go it blind."

They found a hollow among the rocks and made a small masked fire. There they made coffee and a hurried supper before putting out the fire. Coyotes began to sing at the stars before they were bedded down, and Kilkenny turned to Jack. "How about the first watch, Moffit?"

Bart looked around sharply but said nothing. That he was not sure of the boy's ability to stay awake and alert, Kilkenny could guess, but he knew Jack would try hard, and perhaps be more alert than an older man.

"Pay attention to the mules and horses, Jack. If they hear anything, they will show it. I'm going to keep Buck up close to camp, and he's better than a watchdog. When you've had a couple of hours of it, you wake up Bart. Ill take the last watch in the morning. Tell Bart to wake me up at two or so, if there's no trouble before."

It was a quiet night. When Bartram touched him, he was awake instantly, and tugging on his boots, he stood up, stamped his feet to settle them in place, and took his rifle and moved out.

"All peaceful," Bart said. "There's coyotes around, and I think there was a cat out there somewhere. Your buckskin acted up a little, snorting some, ears pricked. He didn't seem to pay the coyotes much mind."

"He doesn't," Lance replied. "He'll take right after a coyote. A lion's a different thing. He's right wary of them. Coming across a pass one time in the Absorokas, one jumped us, lit right on Buck's hindquarters, and you never saw such pitching in your life. The lion evidently was a big young one, and he jumped before he was sure of what he saw ... figured Buck was a deer or something. Probably only a glimpse."

"What happened?"

"He pitched some, like I said, got a few nasty scratches, and the lion took off into the brush. He was probably more scared than we were."

Bartram went to his blankets, and Kilkenny moved out from the others to where he was away from the small sounds of their turnings and mutterings and breathing. He moved about a little, talking to the horses. The mules were feeding, and after a while they dozed and their very complacency told him he had nothing to worry about.

At dawn they had a quick breakfast of bacon and cold cornbread and pushed on. Now the hills came closer, the sides steeper. There was no breeze.

The mules leaned into the harness as the grade stiffened. They heard a rider coming before they saw him, and Kilkenny shucked his Winchester. Jack Moffit took the reins from Bartram, and Bart settled down behind some of the barrels and boxes with his rifle ready. Kilkenny recognized the rider as soon as he came within sight. It was Saul.

"Found 'em," Saul explained briefly when he rode up. "Both are alive. Mighty bad off, though. Hight was shot several times, and there's three bullets hit Lije. They was holed up in the rocks, more dead than alive."

When they reached the cluster of rocks, they pulled the wagon in close. The other wagon was there, and only one mule was dead. Another had a long scratch from a bullet, but aside from being nervous over the flies, it seemed healthy enough. Quince had the two men laid out in the shade.

Hight's wounds showed signs of care. Wounded as he was, Lije had found time to care for Hight, to wash his wounds and put makeshift bandages on him from material in the wagon. His lips seemed moist, and he evidently had not lacked for water.