The man in black got to his feet and picked up his hat. He laid some coins on the table and glanced again at Ben. His glance now was friendly. “Good grub,” he said, “you’ll never find anything like that in a cow camp!” Ben’s smile was quick. “That’s what I hear.”
The tall man stopped by the girl’s table. “Are you enjoying your stay, Miss Webster? I’m afraid there isn’t much to do unless you like to ride.” “Oh, but I do! I love to ride!” Then she said quickly, “You have forgiven me, haven’t you?”
He nodded, smiling. Then excused himself and started for the door.
Ben Tetlow looked after the tall rider. “Forgive her for what?” he wondered.
He swallowed, then cleared his throat “Seems like a nice fellow,” he ventured. She looked at him gravely with the expression of a little girl who has been taught not to talk to strangers. “Yes, he is nice, and I’m so ashamed! I said some simply awful things to him! But you see, I had just come out west, and I saw him shoot a man.”
“I know what you mean. It is never nice to see a man shot. Not even when he deserves it.”
“This one did,” Laurie said seriously. “I’m sure of it.”
Chapter 3
Lance Kilkenny had seen Ben Tetlow and surmised who he was and, walking outside to the boardwalk that ran along before the buildings, he frowned as he considered the situation.
There would be no avoiding the Tetlows or their riders. In the first place there were too many of them, and in the second the town was too small. What he wanted now was to find out what had been done, if anything. He was standing on the street when he saw Sheriff Macy come from his office in company with a tall, rather stooped young man. That this was Phin Tetlow he did not know, but he did see the 4T brand.
Why were the Tetlows calling on the sheriff? And Macy’s face was stern. Kilkenny watched them pass, then turned and crossed the street to the sheriff’s office and jail. An oldster with a handlebar mustache sat with his feet on the desk. He nodded at Kilkenny, “Howdy! What can I do fer yuh?” Kilkenny shrugged and smiled deprecatiagly. “Nothing, really. Sort of loafin’.”
He jerked his head to the east. “Macy looked some upset.” The old jailer spat at the spittoon and scored dead center. “Ain’t missed in ten year,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “He should be upset. Carson had him an argyment an’ tried to drag iron on Dee Havalik. The man must have been crazy!”
“Carson?” Kilkenny shook his head. “Don’t know him.” “He’s been batchin’ out east o’ here, got him a little two by four spread, few cows, good water. That young Tetlow said they went there to try to buy the place off him an’ he ordered ‘em off. When they tried to argy with him, he dragged iron an’ Havalik shot him.”
So it had started already! Kilkenny sat down and pushed his hat back on his head, stretching out his long legs. Wryly, he shook his head. “That Havalik,” he said quietly, “I hear he’s pretty slick with a gun.” “One o’ the best,” the jailer shook his head. “Carson must’ve been crazy.” “Anybody else see it?” Kilkenny asked innocently. “I mean anybody but the Tetlow outfit?”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t reckon there was, but it sure don’t make much difference. Hombre like Tetlow wouldn’t be startin’ trouble with small fry like Carson. What would he want from him? Other way around, I wouldn’t be s’prised.” Kilkenny shrugged, then he said ironically, “Yes, Carson might have tried to take Tetlow’s herd away from him. He might have figured that fifty to one was about the right odds. Tetlow,” Kilkenny added, “wouldn’t think o’ tryin’ to steal Carson’s land, or force him off it.” He got to his feet, noticing out of the corners of his eyes that the jailer was scowling thoughtfully. “Reckon I’ll look around a mite. See you.”
The sun lay lazily upon the town. A red hen pecked at some refuse lying in the dust, and a black and white shepherd dog flicked a casual tail at flies. Kilkenny strolled up to the Pinenut Saloon and rolled a smoke, leaning against the awning stanchion.
It was coming now and there would be no getting away from it. What would Leal Macy do? How much support would he get from this town? The jailer had seemed disposed to accept Tetlow’s story without question, although Kilkenny’s remarks might have planted doubt in his mind. Yet so many were willing to accept without question the word of any man who seemed to have money and power. Macy was not such a man, but could he get the local support necessary? Jared Tetlow had overnight altered the entire economic situation at Horsehead, becoming the largest single buyer to be found, and buying more than any three outfits in the area. Some of the local tradesmen would be afraid of running him out. He heard the rattle of a buckboard and glanced up to see Doc Blaine come rolling down the street. He recognized the man from the black medical bag he carried and his manner. It could have been nobody but the town doctor. He pulled up in front of the Pinenut and got down, tying his team. “This isn’t really necessary,” he commented, faintly humorous, “these horses will stand in front of any saloon in the country. They know their master.”
Kilkenny grinned, shifting his feet. “Have you been out to Carson’s place?” Blaine shook his head and looked curious. “What’s the matter with him? That hard-bitten old coot isn’t sick, is he?”
“He’s dead. Dee Havalik shot him.” Casually, Kilkenny repeated the story, watching Blaine’s reaction. The doctor’s eyes sharpened with attention and he nodded as though it followed some secret thought of his own. “It begins to look,” he said, “as if I may get a lot of unwelcome business.” “Could be.” Kilkenny waited a minute, then asked, “Who lives near Carson’s place?”
“Chap named Carpenter is his closest neighbor. Has a nice little place and a wife. They are good people—and they wouldn’t take any nonsense.” “Any others?”
“Old Dan Marable. He sold out to this KR outfit, but kept a few acres for his own use, and then there’s a family named Root. Man and wife and two young boys. They have about three or four hundred head down there, and the KR, of course.”
“There may be more trouble.”
Doc Blaine studied Kilkenny with alert, interested eyes. “You’re looking ahead, my friend. What’s your part in all this?”
“That,” Kilkenny replied, “will be left to time. But I’m curious about Carson.
You think he would draw a gun on a party of armed men?” Blaine considered that. “No,” he said finally, “he’s no fool. He wouldn’t put a hand near a gun with Dee Havalik around. And so far as I know, he never carried a six shooter. Only a rifle when out for game.” Blame went into the saloon and Kilkenny walked out to his horse and swung into the saddle. He would be better off at home minding his own business, but if trouble was coming to the KR and to Nita, he wanted to know it. He took the east road out of town and lifted the buckskin into a space-eating canter. When he found a trail leading off south, he took it, and finally found a crude sign painted with the one word Carpenter’s and an arrow. He followed along into the late dusk, and came up to the house, riding carefully. A man’s voice called out. “Hold it, stranger! Don’t come no further!”
Kilkenny drew up and replied, “I’m friendly, Carpenter. Friendly, and curious.”
“Don’t get you.”
“Had any visitors lately?”
“What’s that to you?”
“Like I said, I’m curious. I’d sort of like to talk a little.” “I’ve got nothin’ to say. Nothin’ at all. And,” he added dryly, “I never seen you before.”
“I’m Trent. Just a loose-footed hombre who has a curious mind. I’m sort of wonderin’ where a man would put ten or fifteen thousand head of cattle in this country without crowdin’ a lot of other folks.” There was a silence and then low conversation within the house. Finally, Carpenter spoke again. “Get down and come in, but don’t try nothin’ fancy. We folks got faith in shotguns.”
Kilkenny swung down and trailing the reins, walked up to the house, keeping his hands wide. A bar was removed from the door and he entered. Carpenter was a solid looking citizen, and his wife had the firm, quiet face of a woman who knew how to build a home and had courage enough to build it anywhere. Carpenter on his side measured the tall man in the black jeans and gray shut with a thoughtful eye. “What’s on your mind?” he said at last “Why, nothin’ much.” Kilkenny dropped astride a chair. “Heard Carson got killed an’ I was wonderin’ whether you’d had visitors.” “I had ‘em, all right.” Carpenter told his story briefly and without decoration. “I reckon,” he finished, “it was only my woman saved me, an’ her only because they didn’t like the looks o’ the shotgun. Maybe,” he added, “because they’d already had trouble with Carson.”