“Take Andy Johnson. They hated him, called him a little man, reviled him, tried to impeach him to get the presidency in the hands of a man they could control. He voted as he believed right and acted as he believed. Now the reaction is setting in and most people believe he was right. This is a good cause, not a lost one.”
“What about Dolan?”
“He’s a seasoned fighter who’ll take no back talk from any man. Also,” Blaine smiled, “Dolan’s Irish and the Irish have an inborn resentment against power and privilege. They imbibe it with their mother’s milk.” They were silent, then Blaine looked up. “Who is this man Trent?” Leal Macy hesitated. This question he had known would come. “I think,” he said quietly, “that Trent is probably the fastest man with a gun in the West. I think Trent is Kilkenny.”
“Kilkenny?” Blaine was shocked.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Kilkenny …” Blame muttered. “Kilkenny … here!”
Chapter 5
Dee Havalik had his order. They were to hunt down and kill Lance Kilkenny. Macy’s identification of Trent had swept the town. The dramatic scene when he challenged Tetlow and manhandled three of Tetlow’s tough riders took on a new glow.
Dee Havalik heard the name with satisfaction. His gun speed was his great pride, and to hear another man named as fast aroused irritation in him. Small, slender-boned and pinched of face, he was a man compact of nervous energy and drive. Far from pleasant at any time, with a gun in his hand he became ice cold and passionless.
By choice three of those riding with him were the men Kilkenny had whipped in the street, and there were four others. One of these was an Apache trailer. Within a few hours after they took the trail Kilkenny was aware of it. He studied them through his carefully shielded field glass. The make-up of the crew was evidence of its intention. The saddle packs and pack horses meant it was a hunt to the death. The issue was clearcut now. They must die or he would. At once he struck north into the wildest and loneliest country. If they wanted a hunt, he would give it to them. This was the life he knew best, and there was no trick of white man or savage that he did not know. He rode north and the sun blazed down from a hot and copper sky. He struck out across the sage brush levels where no cattle grazed and where the rattler buzzed and the buzzard soared. He struck north and west and he left a trail they could read without trouble, and deep in his chest something violent and frightening began to grow, the desire to turn on his pursuers and mow them down, to ride with the red lust of battle in him, ride right into their midst with guns blazing. But the time was was not ripe for that, first he would show them what hell was like, he would show them what they had started!
The horizon danced and was lost in a haze of heat, the buzzards were the only spot of movement and the sun baked down upon the desert and the sand threw back the heat in his face like the top of a red hot stove. Their faces grew dusty, their throats parched, and riding on and on, he looked back upon his trail and saw the distant rising dust and chuckled. “Let ‘em come!” he whispered. “Let ‘em come!”
The surface of the desert broke into a maze of canyons, but he rode on. At waterholes he hesitated and waited, then pushed on when dark came. The days marched past and still he led them on, weaving among the canyons and taking them deeper and deeper into one of the most awful lands on the face of God’s sometimes green earth. It was a land raw from the furnace of creation, a land without soil, rock shaped like flame and a sky that held no clouds but only a vast and blazing sun. Behind him his pursuers sweated and cursed, their lips parched and they nursed their canteens like mothers over a newborn child. They snarled at each other and grew vicious, and only Dee Havalik did not change except to grow thinnier, leaner and more vicious. Tempers grew short and the men began to hate the land, the sun, each other. And then suddenly the chase changed, and it changed on one bright and awful morning when suddenly from a ridge ahead of them, a shot rang out! Half asleep in their saddles, the men cursed and slapped spurs to their horses to race for shelter. And there was none.
They were caught on an open flat and the shots came from a ridge all of four hundred yards ahead, but they were accurate shots. The first burned Red Swilling’s arm, the second dropped a horse, the third carried away the pommel of Lee Jaeger’s saddle. The riders scattered and ran and bullets followed them in their flight.
Remounting the hard-fleshed buckskin, Kilkenny circled swiftly toward a canyon where one of the riders was headed. When he reached it he slid to the ground. The air was still. Heat waves rippled and then gravel rattled. Then the rider came into view. “Drop the rifle!” Kilkenny held his own in his hands. “Let go your gun belt. A wrong move and I’ll gut shoot you!” The rider’s unshaven face was red from the sun. His hesitation was momentary. The rifle left no room for argument. He complied with the order, careful to make no mistakes.
Taking the man’s rifle, Kilkenny shattered the stock over a boulder, and jammed the action. The rider stared bitterly as his rifle was ruined. “That rifle cost two months’ wages!” he protested.
“Tough,” Kilkenny said wickedly. “You’d have killed me with it, wouldn’t you?” “What d’you want with me? Dee will kill you for this! He’ll never quit until he kills you!”
“Dee? That white-bellied weasel? Tell him when I’m ready for him I’ll come an’ get him. First I want him done brown by the sun. I don’t like that pasty hide in front o’ me.”
The man stared back at him. “What you aim doin’ with me?” he demanded. Kilkenny smiled then. “Why, what do you think? Want a gun in your hand and an even break?”
The fellow touched a tongue to his dry lips. “That wouldn’t be no break. I ain’t got your speed an’ you know it.”
Kilkenny smiled and picked up the man’s guns and cartridge belts. “All right then,” he said, “you want to manhunt. I’ll let you, but it won’t be comfortable without a saddle.”
“Huh?” The man stared, puzzled and suddenly worried.
Coolly, Kilkenny moved toward the man’s horse, his eyes faintly humorous. An hour later, several miles to the south, Spade Woolley joined Havalik and the others. He was dark-faced from cussing and was astride a horse with only a bridle, his saddle gone and his guns gone. Also his canteen was gone. “What happened to you?” Swilling demanded.
“He headed me off an’ laid for me.” Woolley was sullen and bitter. “Told me I could go on huntin’ but I’d be damn sick of it. He was right, I am sick of it, an’ I hope somebody shoots me if I ever throw leather on another razor-backed hoss!”
Havalik stared at him, red-eyed and furious. “What are you? A baby?” he sneered. “Lettin’ him sneak up on you? What are we s’posed to do now? Wetnurse you? No canteen, an’ you’ll want to drink our water, no guns, no saddle. Start for the outfit, Woolley, an’ start now.”
“Huh?” Woolley’s face was ludicrous in its amazement. “Without a canteen? I’d die afore I got anywheres!”
“Tough, ain’t it?” Havalik sneered. “That’ll learn you a lesson. Get goin’!” Red Swilling stared at Havalik. “Dee, you don’t mean that! Hell, the man wouldn’t have a chance!”
Havalik turned like a poised rattler. “Want to make somethin’ of it? You want to go with him an’ leave your canteen? Or you want to go for your gun? You got a choice o’ that or shuttin’ your trap an’ obeyin’ orders.” Red Swilling swallowed and moved his hands carefully away from his guns. Havalik was trembling with eagerness and ready to kill. Swilling was shocked and frightened. “Hell, you’re the boss, Dee,” he protested, “I only—“ His voice trailed off.
Havalik’s eyes were on Woolley. “You startin’?” he demanded. “Or do I cut you down? I got no use for a damn fool!”
Spade Woolley stared back at the man and suddenly all the years of his life came up in him to curse him. He looked into those red-rimmed eyes, and suddenly he said, “I’ll go, Dee,” his voice was low, “an’ I hope I get through. I want to get through now just for one reason. I want to be there when Lance Kilkenny shoots your rotten heart out!”