“Surprised?”
Kilkenny glanced up to see a square-shouldered man of medium height standing above him. On the man’s vest was a sheriff’s badge. Kilkenny’s eyes went from the badge to the rough-hewn features. The mustache was white, trimmed, and clean. The eyes were a cool blue, now faintly quizzical and amused. “Yes,” he responded, “I sure am. Sit down, Sheriff.” “Thanks.” The sheriff dropped into the chair across the table. “My name’s Leal Macy. Whenever a stranger wearing two guns comes into town I try to make his acquaintance.”
Kilkenny looked at the menu again, and when the waitress approached he said, “I’ll have the Paupiettes de Veau Provencal, an’ tell your chef I’ll have nothing but Madeira in the sauce.”
Macy grinned, but his eyes were alert and curious. “Ernleven will like that. The man’s a marvel with food and takes it as a personal favor if anyone orders from the French side of the menu. An’ yuh’d be surprised how many do. The West,” he added, “is made up of a lot of odd characters. I went over the trail from Texas once with two university men in the crowd. One from the Sorbonne and one from Heidelberg.”
“Yeah.” Kilkenny was alert now. If the sheriff had been over the trail there was scarcely a chance he had not heard of Kilkenny—unless it had been among the earliest trips. “The promise of a new country attracts men from everywhere.” “Going to be around long?” The question was casual.
“Permanent.”
Macy looked at him again, more carefully. “We need good men. This is good country. Planning on ranching?”
“Uh huh. In a small way.”
“Located yet?”
“Yeah.”
There was a moment of silence, then Macy asked, “Might I ask where? I haven’t seen you around before.”
Kilkenny nodded with his head toward the northwest. “Over there.” He turned his green eyes toward the sheriff. “An’ I haven’t seen you around before, either. However, Macy, let’s get this straight. As sheriff you’ve seen these guns I pack an’ you’re probably wonderin’ what all I want around here. I want to be let alone. I’ve picked the loneliest place I can find and I’ve holed up there. Unless something unusual happens, I’ll be in town no more than once a month after I get located. I don’t hunt trouble, an’ I’ve never been drunk in my life. Sometimes,” he added, “it doesn’t pay to get drunk an’ forgetful. You’ll have no trouble with me. I figure to run a few cattle and to mind my own affairs—but I want to be let alone.”
“Fair enough,” Macy nodded agreeably. “Know anybody in town?” “Not a soul. And I have spoken to only one man before you. He volunteered the information that I should see Dolan.”
Leal Macy felt a little shock of excitement go through him and he looked again at this tall man, measuring him, wondering. Then he said, more carefully, “If I were you, I’d not see him. Not now, anyway. Let it ride until your next trip. Dolan,” he added, “is a tough case, and around that place of his you’ll find most of the rag ends and bobtails of the country. Drifters, rustlers, gunmen, outlaws, and just no-goods.”
“Is he on the rustle?”
“If he is, nobody ever caught him at it. Dolan’s an ex-army sergeant. A good fighting man, shrewd, and very able. He rode with Sheridan.” “So did I,” Kilkenny replied quietly.
He looked up suddenly, hearing the door close, and for a long moment he made no move. In the door stood the young woman of Clifton’s and her eyes were on him, wide with recognition. He arose quickly. “How do you do, ma’am? I hope you’ve been well?”
Her eyes held his, filled with uncertainty. Then she nodded and crossed to a table not far away. Macy said nothing but he was obviously interested. The waitress returned and served Kilkenny’s meal and at his suggestion brought Macy a cup of coffee. The waitress hovered by the table and when Kilkenny glanced up, she said. “The chef says the sauce is always with genuine Madeira.” Kilkenny grinned. “Macy, I may be in town more than I planned. If the food is going to be this good, I can’t stay away. A man gets tired of his own cookin’.” The door opened again and three dusty cowhands came in and dropped into chairs around a table. All three were unshaven and had obviously been riding hard and long for they had that lean, hungry, wild look of men off the trail. One of them was a lumbering big fellow with fat cheeks and a thick neck, another had a scar along his cheekbone and the small finger missing from his right hand. The third man was a man of sandy complexion, almost white eyes and he wore his gun thrust into his waistband.
After seating themselves they let their eyes wander around the room, noting the sheriff and studying him carefully. If Macy was conscious of their attention he gave no evidence of it. Kilkenny came in for a share of their regard and the big man kept looking at him as if trying to recall where he had seen him before. The food was excellent and the coffee black and strong. It was like paradise after the long days riding west, eating half-cooked meals in the lee of a cliff or near some wayside waterhole. From time to time he glanced up and twice he met the eyes of the girl from Clifton’s. What, he wondered, was her name? Was she stopping here?
He hesitated, then put the question to the sheriff. “Thought you knew her,” Macy said. “As a matter of fact, she’s just out here from the East. She’s a niece of Bob Early, the town’s best lawyer. Her name is Laurie Webster. “New to the West,” he added, “but a fine horsewoman. The best I’ve seen except for Nita Riordan.”
Kilkenny felt the shock clear to his heels. He held himself a minute, afraid to speak, and then he said carefully, “Who did you say?” “Nita Riordan. She’s got the KR spread, southwest of here. Runs the ranch herself, although she’s got a foreman that knows his business. She rides astride like a Western woman. I hear she came from the Live Oak country, down near the Rio Grande.”
“That right? The name sounded familiar, but I guess I was mistaken.” Macy chuckled good-humoredly. “Friend,” he commented, “if you ever saw this girl you’d never forget her. Spanish and Irish, and beautiful! All woman, too, but one who can take care of herself. She handles a pistol like a man, and a Winchester, too. But no nonsense about her, and nobody makes her any trouble. That foreman of hers is like her shadow. He’s a big Mexican, and I’ve seen him shoot the heads off quail with his six-shooter.” “Been here long?”
“Not very. About seven or eight months. She came in here and bought out old Dan Marable, but since she took over you’d never know the place. She’s built a big new house, new stables and has brought some new stock into the country. I’m afraid she’ll have trouble now, though, with this new outfit comin’ in.” Macy drank his coffee. “She’s running cattle on that country south and west of town, clear back to Comb Ridge. It’s good graze and she’ll do all right if she doesn’t have trouble with this new outfit.”
When the sheriff had gone, Kilkenny’s attention went to the girl at the nearby table. He hesitated, wanting to speak to her, wanting to explain. But the information Macy had given him crowded out all else. Nita Riordan was here! Her brand was the KR, but he refused to let himself believe what that K might mean. Kilkenny and Riordan … but there were so many reasons why a particular brand might be used. Yet she would soon know he was here, and without doubt they would meet.
The big man across the room was watching him and whispering to his companions.
Unmindful of what it might mean, he arose and crossed to Laurie Webster’s table. “I beg your pardon, Miss Webster,” he said, “but I would like to apologize for causing you any discomfort back down the trail. The fight was forced on me.” “I know. And can you ever forgive me? To have it happen right before me … it was awful. But I do understand that you had to do it.” “Thanks.” He stepped back. “Maybe we’ll see each other again.” He walked out, conscious of the eyes of the three men. It was bright and sunny in the street and there was a fresh smell of hay, dust and warm lumber. It was time to get his supplies and go, yet he delayed, unwilling to leave so soon. Suppose Nita came into town this morning? Suppose, even now, she was in one of the stores? Yet, if they did meet, what could he expect? He had to run away because he was afraid of what his guns might do to their love for each other, how inevitably he would some day be killed. At the time it had seemed the thing to do.