“All right. You’re close enough and safe enough.” Picking up an ax, Lance walked into the surrounding pines. Forcing his way into a tight clump of second growth, all ten or twelve feet high, he cut down several close to the ground. Then he drew the tops of the surrounding trees down and tied them together until he stood under a living hut of green. With branches from the cut-down trees he wove a quick thatch over the hut. Cain and Bob lent a hand with the thatch and soon the hut was tight and strong. Then with more boughs they made several beds for the women.
Blaine walked around the hut. “First time I ever saw that done. I’m minded to stay here myself.”
“You’d better. I’ll go on ahead with Brigo and Cain.” “Shorty and I’ll come with you,” Dolan said. “One of us can return for these people when they are feeling better.”
The trail was not easy. Crossing the creek, they found themselves facing a mountainside that could not be climbed on horseback. Circling, they were fronted by an even steeper cliff. Only after several hours of searching did they find a shallow creek that could be followed higher into the timbered mountains. When it seemed they had found a way through they were stopped by a ten-foot fall. Brigo found a way around. Part of a cave had been cut by water. The ledge at the top had proved too hard for the slow-cutting water and as the rock below was softer, the stream had cut under, forming one more arch to add to those in the area. Riding under part of the fall and getting well splashed, they went under the arch and clambered up a steep rock slope and found good going before them. They emerged suddenly into the valley not fifty yards from the house. Nita was standing on the steps looking toward them, a rifle in her hands. Her recognition was immediate and she turned at once and went back into the house. When she emerged they were swinging from their saddles. “I’ve coffee on, Lance. It will be ready in a few minutes.”
He could see the relief in her eyes and he pressed her arm gently. As the others looked around he quietly explained the situation. Brockman had sat down at once, his face showing the exhaustion of the long trip after his injuries. Only his great strength and iron resistance could have stood up under the punishment. Shorty remained only to eat and to rest a little. Then he mounted up and started back.
The night came slowly and the dusk seemed to remain over long. Kilkenny had gone to sleep in the bedroom, exhausted after his long ordeal, almost without sleep. Dolan sat with Cain and Brigo on the steps, watching the shadows gather under the lodgepole pines. The air was cool at that altitude and hour, but none of them thought of going inside.
The situation was brutally apparent to them all. They had gained a respite, but Jared Tetlow would never stop until they were dead. Not only had he lost a second son but he had been thwarted, and it was galling to a man of his ego and firm belief in his own strength and rightness.
Horsehead lay quiet. In the lobby of the Westwater Hotel, Jared Tetlow sat in a huge leather chair, his face old and bitter. Several heavily armed men loitered on the steps outside.
The town was his. The range was his. He, Jared Tetlow, had taken them and he would hold them. Yet his cattle were scattered, two of his sons were dead, and he had lost men. Jared Tetlow knew nothing of military tactics. He did not know that the end result of all tactics is not only victory but the destruction of the enemy’s power to strike back.
Yet, despite his victory, some subconscious realization of his position left him uneasy. Despite his possessions of the range and the town, Kilkenny was alive. Brigo and Cain Brockman were alive. Dolan, Blaine—all of them had gotten safely away. They would not run. He knew fighting men when he saw them and he knew they were not defeated. They would be waiting somewhere for a chance to strike again. And so these men outside guarded him.
Two of his sons remained. Andy, the tough one. The gun slinger. And Ben, the quiet one. Perhaps, the thought came unbidden to his mind, perhaps Ben was right after all? It galled him to think of Ben being right, yet looking back down the years it had always been Ben who talked prudence and peace. And he was the only cattleman of the lot. Phin had never been more than a steady worker. Bud had been a trouble hunter, Andy the fighting man. But it was Ben who had managed the herds, sold the cattle, assured their prosperity. Jared Tetlow stared at his gnarled hands and a kind of anger welled up within him. No matter. Their cattle were here, on good grass, and no gunfighter could stop him. This would pass. He would win, somehow, and time, like the grass, would cover all scars. If the law did come in he would show them his herds, his ranch, and the quiet countryside where before there had been only these shabby holdings. This was a land for the strong, and he was strong. He got up from his chair and strode across the room. His own cook was in Ernleven’s kitchen, but the food was merely rough ranch fare. Why had the big Frenchman chosen to join Kilkenny?
The waitress had refused to come to work and the stores had not opened. He held the town in the palm of his hand but the town was an empty shell. Happy Jack Harrow walked into the dining room, looked around, then swore. Tetlow glanced up. “Set down. There’ll be grub soon.”
“Yeah? But what kind of grub? I’m no chuckline rider!”
Tetlow did not resent the remark. “Seen times I’d been glad to get it.”
“Any news?”
“No.”
“They got away?”
“Seems like.”
“Why not let ‘em go, then? What’ll you do if you get ‘em?” Harrow had not slept well. He was doing his own worrying now. He had not sided with Early, but he liked the man, and he liked his wife. Doc Blaine was solid, too. Looking around him Harrow found no comfort in the situation. “What about the women? Do you plan to murder them?”
“Hush that talk,” Tetlow replied irritably. “What has to be done will be done.” Tetlow shifted irritably in his chair. For the first time he began seriously to think about the women, and they worried him. He had never been able to cope with women. He had never been able to cope with his wife. “You’ll never keep them quiet,” Harrow said, “and Mrs. Early comes of good family. If anything happens to her there will be questions asked. And if they talk there will be a United States marshal out here.” Jared Tetlow was not worried about the marshal. Let him win this fight and there would be no witnesses to accuse him. He did not like troubling women, but Harrow’s wandering comments decided him. The women must die. He had seen a man hung for striking a woman. He had seen Western men hunt down men who molested women. He knew the rage he could incite by any move against the women. But they were in the hills. Who knew where they were now? And if they did not come back, who could say what happened to them? Yet he did not relish the thought. How had he got into this corner, anyway? “If they turn Kilkenny over to me I’ll bother them no longer,” he said. “Fat chance!” Harrow scoffed. “And if you had him you’d wish you’d never seen him.” Harrow leaned toward the older man. “Tetlow, call off your men and gather your herd. Head west for new country. Then this will all blow over.” Tetlow turned his head sharply. “Be damned if I will! This is my country now!
Here I’ll stay!”
“You’ll stay then.” Harrow accepted the plate and cup from the cook. “They’ll bury you here.”
Tetlow stared at the beef and beans, feeling old and tired. Why had he come out here? What had gotten him into this mess? Would there be no end to killing? Yet now he could not stop. Irritation filled him. He stared at Harrow. The man was nobody. He had swung to his side quickly enough, and at the first intimation of change he would swing again. There was only one answer now that it had begun. Kill them.
Kill Harrow, too. Once he would have been appalled by the thought. He only killed in battle. Now these were merely insignificant humans who interfered with him. Harrow had succeeded in making him realize what he had subconsciously known all along. There could be no safety for him as long as any of them lived. Bob Early was a strong, capable man. Leal Macy was a duly constituted officer of the law. Their words would carry weight and outside people did not realize the circumstances here.