Woolley was beyond caring what happened. He knew the nature of the man before him, could see that flat, ugly mouth, the cold chill of that still gray face, the viciousness of the man’s eyes, but deep within him was the courage he had been born with. “You know what he told me to tell you? He named you for a white-bellied weasel and said when he wanted you he’d come for you. He said he wanted your pasty hide done brown before he came for you, but he was wrong, Dee, that dirty white hide o’ yours won’t brown. It’s the hide of a dead man!” Spade leaned forward. “A dead man, d’you hear? You’re dead an’ you’re rotten before you lie down!”
Dee Havalik’s flat lips writhed suddenly and his hand was a blur of movement. The gun came up and flame stabbed, and Spade Woolley folded up and slid from the back of his horse, hitting the sand on his side, then rolling over. For an instant, his eyes flared wide. “You saved me, Dee. Saved me from dyin’ o’ thirst out there! But … but you … you’re dead! Dead!” Blood frothed at his lips and only his eyes were alive, brilliantly, horribly alive. “Dead! Kilkenny will kill you! He’s faster than you! He’s … he’s my kind o’ man! I … I wish …” “Mount up!” Havalik’s voice was shrill. “Hit the leather! We’re goin” on!” Red Swilling stared for a moment at Havalik, his face somber with brooding realization. His eyes flicked to Baker and Grat. They were staring unseeingly at the sand. Slowly Red moved to his horse and the others followed. Nobody spoke of the dead man lying on the sand, but none of them was forgetting. And that ended the seventh day of the chase.
Kilkenny took a narrow wild horse trail that led up to North Point and then turned down the plateau. Far below him he could see the pursuers. He had heard the shot and wondered at it, but supposed a horse had broken a leg. He pushed on into the afternoon, and at night he doubled back again, locating their camp by the firelight.
From a safe distance he watched through his glass. The men’s lips were not moving. They were not talking or looking at one another. Havalik sat alone, and nowhere among them was the rider he had seen this morning. Finally, one by one they crept to their blankets. Havalik was the last to go. One man remained, a guard.
For an hour Kilkenny rested. Then, leaving his horse, he crept forward, flat on his stomach. It was a slow and painstaking progress, but soon he was at the edge of camp.
The fire was dying. Straight before him was the guard, his back to Kilkenny. Beyond the fire was a low bank, some eight to ten feet high, and between it and the fire were the horses, cropping grass within plain view of the guard. East and west of the fire the men were rolled in their blankets, sleeping. A stick fell and sparks leaped up. The guard got to his feet and gathered a few more sticks to lay on the blaze. The flames eagerly embraced the sticks with glowing arms and thin tendrils Of flame and smoke crept along the length of the sticks. The guard yawned and scratched, staring around into the darkness, but Kilkenny lay among the clumps of bunch grass and was not worried. The guard had been watching the fire and would be almost blind to the outer darkness. No Indian would do that.
Finally the guard seated himself again and began to roll a smoke. Kilkenny studied the situation with care and then found what he wanted. Not far from the nearest sleeper were his saddlebags and canteen. With infinite care, Kilkenny slid forward the stick he had brought with him and, sliding it into the canteen carrying strap, he turned it round and round, winding up the strap. Then he lifted the canteen with care and drew it back to him. Easing back deeper into the darkness he put the canteen beside a whitish, water-worn boulder and then circled the camp. It took him more than an hour of painstaking effort and waiting, but at the end of that time he had gathered four of the seven canteens. One of those was Dee Havalik’s. When he was a good two hundred yards off, he paused. His horse was close by and he had the four canteens fastened to the saddle. Lifting his Winchester .44-40 he shot three times into the flames as fast as he could lever a rifle. The guard dove for the outer darkness and men scrambled to get out of sight. Kilkenny reloaded his rifle and walked back to his horse and mounted up. “Come on, Havalik!” he yelled. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you read signs any more?”
Behind him there was a yell of rage but he cantered off into the darkness and now he turned west and then south. At daybreak he was camped on an eminence where he could overlook his back trail. He had deliberately avoided all waterholes, having plenty of water himself, and knowing they would be splitting the water of three canteens among seven men.
Riding into a maze of canyons, he deliberately rode and rerode over his trail, confusing it purposely, then he headed out straight east and was on the outskirts of Horsehead by sundown. After two hours of rest he left the buckskin picketed on rich grass and slipped into town, making his way toward the light he saw in Doc Blaine’s.
Doc was reading in his study when Kilkenny opened the door, and he glanced up sharply. “Just me, Doc.” Kilkenny sat down on the settee in the shadow. “What’s been happenin’?”
Blaine put his book down. He could see the fine drawn lines of Kilkenny’s face, for the trials of the last few days, the sleeplessness, that heat, shortage of water and all the rest of it were plainly etched there. “Quiet enough right now,” he said, “everybody knows who you are now. Dolan told me, I don’t know who told the others.”
“Any trouble at the KR?”
“Some. The Forty started to push cattle on the place two days ago and ran into something they didn’t like. The KR outfit had tied up with old Dan Marable and the Roots and they opened fire at long range. Knocked one rider out of his saddle, killed a horse and about forty head of cattle, laying them in a line right along the boundary. I hear Tetlow was fit to be tied. He ranted and raved for hours, but none of his boys were very anxious to try to push cattle into that straight shooting. Since then things have been hanging fire, waiting for Havalik to get back I suppose.”
“He was following me.”
“So I heard. What happened?”
Kilkenny shrugged. “Not much. I made them chase me, shot their camp up, stole most of their canteens an’ generally raised a hob just to make ‘em miserable. They’ve had a mighty dry ride.”
“We had a meeting in town and the place split right down the middle. Macy has Dolan, Early, myself and a few others on his side. Most of the town are against him, but not all.”
“Has he done anything yet?”
“He hasn’t tried. He wants to avoid an all-out gun battle if he can. There was an inquiry into the killing of Carpenter, but no proof. Eight witnesses testified that Carpenter deliberately ran in front of the stampeding cattle. Mrs. Carpenter said they drove them into him. That was the way it ended, and the Forty outfit walked out laughing.”
Kilkenny turned his hat in his hand. “Make up your mind to this. When Havalik comes back, he’ll be killin’ mad. The first man to cross his path will die. I mean it. I think he killed one of his own men out there. At least, he disappeared.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I’ve been doing. I’m going to move against the Forty tonight. Tomorrow night, I should say.”
“Nita Riordan wants to see you. She asked me to tell you.” Kilkenny looked up quickly, then he shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve my own reasons.” He got to his feet, then looked quickly at Doc. “How does she look? Is she all right?”
“Yes, she’s looking fine. In fact, she’s the most beautiful girl I ever saw.”
Kilkenny nodded. “She is that. And one of the finest.” Doc Blaine had the quick perception of one long geared to the study of human reactions. It was here, too. This man was in love with Nita. As much, he decided, as she was in love with him. He felt a quick start of pain at the thought. It had been a long time since he had seen a woman who excited more than a passing interest, and Nita Riordan had—there was something about her that stayed with you after you had seen her once.