The muzzle wavered slightly and Kilkenny held what he had on the trigger and as the muzzle steadied he squeezed off his shot. The rifle leaped in his hands and the man in the trees leaped forward, hands outflung, then sprawled on his face in the clearing beyond the edge of the trees.
Quickly, before any return fire could be directed Kilkenny dusted the woods with three more shots, and swinging his rifle he sent a shot into the street that made a walking man dive for shelter. Brigo pulled back and started toward the horses, with Kilkenny following, feeding shells into his gun. Mounted, they rode swiftly across the plateau, then up Dry Wash to the butte. A glimpse toward the town showed riders fanning out into the hills to begin the pursuit. The shots had at least drawn away the attack on the house. A few minutes later, from behind a ridge, they saw Ben Tetlow ride east with ten or eleven men.
Kilkenny drew rein. “Right now,” he said, “would be a good time to get our crowd out of there. Most of the Tetlow outfit are gone.” Holding to low ground, they circled the town and rode back into Horsehead. The body of the man lay where it had fallen at the edge of the woods. “Switch saddles to fresh horses,” Kilkenny said. “Buck for me.” Dolan stepped out as they swung down. “You’re taking a chance, man! The town’s lousy with Forty riders.”
Kilkenny explained, then added, “It’s time to take to the hills. We can fight from there. Stay here and sooner or later they’ll get you.” Dolan took his cigar from his teeth and knocked off the ash. “Of course,” he said. He turned and went inside. In a matter of a minute the corral was swarming with men. Brigo walked to the door of Savory’s and pushed it open. Two startled Forty riders leaped to their feet. They turned their heads and their guns. Brigo fired and his first shot knocked a man to the floor, coughing from a chest wound. The second took a bullet through the hand and he dropped his rifle and stepped back, hands lifted.
Brigo gestured to Savory. “Fix his hand. And stay out of this or I’ll kill you!” He walked out the door in time to see Kilkenny move into the center of the bridge. The shooting had drawn Jared Tetlow into the street and what he saw was Lance Kilkenny standing alone in the middle of the bridge. There was no mistaking the tall figure with the flat-crowned black hat. Jared Tetlow looked down the street and felt a queer chill. Over a hundred and fifty yards separated them but there could be no mistake. The hills were covered with riders searching for this man and here he stood in the middle of town. Defeatism was not familiar to Tetlow, yet now he felt its first premonitory wave. With all the armed men at his command he had failed to stop this man or bring him down.
“Tetlow!” Kilkenny’s voice sounded like a clarion in the silent clap-boarded street. “Take your cattle and leave the country! You brought this war. Now take it away or we’ll break you!”
Tetlow felt the heat on his shoulders. Sweat trickled down his leather-like cheeks. He was strangely alone, and then from deep within him came a welling, over-powering fury. It was loosed in one great cry of fury at his defeat, pain at the loss of his sons, and shock at what was happening to all he had lived by.
“You!” he roared. “I’ll—“
Only the bridge was empty, and where Kilkenny had stood there were only dancing heat waves and a faint stirring of dust. Had he imagined it? Or had Kilkenny actually been there?
A red-headed cowhand with blunt features came into the door of the Diamond Palace. “I’ll give five hundred dollars to see that man dead!” Tetlow shouted. The redhead’s eyes shifted. He remembered what he had heard about Kilkenny and drew back into the shadows of the saloon. Five hundred was a year’s wages, but a dead man couldn’t spend a dime.
In a close knot the defenders of the Blaine house began their retreat. Most of the Forty riders were gone from town, and those who remained had no desire to dare the guns of that tight little group. So the Blaine group rode west at an easy trot. Dolan, Blaine and Shorty led the group. Early, Ernleven and Macy brought up the rear. In the middle were Laurie Webster, Mrs. Carpenter, Mrs. Early and two other women surrounded by four men from Dolan’s. Kilkenny scouted ahead and Cain Brockman brought up the rear. Brigo scouted on the far flanks. Kilkenny had chosen the little lake as their first stop with some misgiving. If Havalik returned in time he might easily move across country and intercept them. As they neared the lake, Kilkenny waited for them to come up to him. “Drink up, water the stock and fill your canteens. We’ll push on.” “Tonight?” Early glanced doubtfully at his wife’s drawn face. She was not used to riding and they had come long miles since leaving Horsehead. “Tonight.” Kilkenny was positive. “It’s better to be dog-tired than dead. They’ll come after us and our only hope is my place.”
“Do they know this lake?” Dolan asked.
Kilkenny explained about the capture of Nita at this point. He had made his plans. There was doubt that the women would stand the long ride to the valley by the route they must take. His idea was to strike due north into the unknown country, then swing west to the valley. By so doing they might avoid or lose the Forty altogether. Mounting once more, he led them north until they struck a dim, ancient trail.
It would soon be dark and he was in known country. Far off on the skyline were the Blues, but what lay between he had no idea. The night was fresh and cool and there was a faint smell of sage in the air.
When the moon came out its pale yellow light lay upon a broken land of rock like a frozen sea of gigantic waves. Knowing the restlessness of Havalik, Kilkenny rested but little, pushing on toward the north. Finally, at daybreak they made dry camp. There was a little grass and the horses ate. The women fell asleep at once, and most of the men. Only Dolan seemed sleepless. “Know where we are?” Macy asked. His own face looked tired and drawn.
“Roughly.” He nodded to indicate direction. “My place is over there.”
“How far?”
“As the crow flies, maybe ten miles. The way we’ll have to go, twice that far.” Macy was worried. “Lance, this doesn’t look right to me. We should have stayed in town.”
“We couldn’t.” Dolan’s tone brooked no argument. “It was either that or be burned out. That would have come next.”
The sky was gray and the morning was cold and sharp due to the altitude. From a small peak Kilkenny studied their backtrail. Once he believed he saw far off dust, but he could not be sure.
All night his thoughts had been of Nita. Yet if she was undisturbed she would get along well. There was food, and there was water and ammunition. She was an uncommonly good shot with a rifle. She would be all right. He could tell from the way the women got to their feet that they were still stiff and sore from the long ride. Yet there was no escape from it now. It was go on or die here. When all were mounted he led the way up the trail again. By midmorning they had crossed the flat and were headed toward a gap in the range. There were a few cottonwoods in the bottoms, and the mountain mahogany was everywhere. Greasewood lessened and from time to time they saw a pine. Soon the number of pines increased, and twice he paused to allow the women rest. Before noon they struck an old Indian trail up the bottom of a smaller canyon. Most of the canteens were dry and the horses were suffering from thirst. A turn in the canyon left them looking up a long slope mantled with evergreens. Kilkenny headed up the slope and was overtaken by Macy.
“Mrs. Early’s just fainted. We’ve got to stop.”
“Carry her,” Kilkenny said. “There’s water ahead.” Macy looked doubtfully at the slope and Kilkenny indicated the Indian trail he followed. “An Indian never made a trail without purpose. And look,” he pointed out a fain thread of game trail down the slope, “deer have been going the way we’re headed.” Within ten minutes they dismounted beside a clear mountain stream. The water was cold and sweet. All drank and drank again, then filled their canteens.
Bob Early came up to him. “We can’t go on. My wife’s all in and Mrs. Carpenter is quite ill.”