Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (27 page)

No fight... not now.

"What's the matter, Poke? You on the prod?"

Dunning recognized the change in Mailer's tone and it puzzled him. He knew the bi
g
man too well, yet here, with an even break between them, or almost an even break
,
for Dunning all but had the butts of his guns in his hands, Mailer was avoiding th
e
issue. It puzzled Dunning, and worried him. He had known Mailer too long not to kno
w
the man was a schemer.

"No, Frank, I'm not," he said quietly. "Only here lately you've been taking in
a
little too much territory. We have our plans, but we can't ride into this roughshod.

That girl has a mind of her own, and suppose she lights out of here to Salt Cree
k
and raises hell about being' forced to marry you? It might stir up some talk, an'
w
e can't afford that.

"You've got to play it smart, Frank. You can't push Lona around; she's got too muc
h
fight in her. Take it easy, win her over. You can't handle a woman by shouting a
t
her; they need soft talk."

There was truth in what Dunning said, and Mailer knew it. He was, he admitted, bullheaded.

And he had been taking on a lot of weight around here. Anyway, first things com
e
first, and there was that bank job to be handled. There would be time enough to tak
e
care of Dunning when that was off his hands. Geslin and Starr both wanted the mone
y
they would get from that job, and if he expected to keep them around, he must kee
p
them busy, give them a chance to make a few dollars.

"Maybe you're right," he agreed. "It's a shame that Markham had to fix things tha
t
way."

"He did, though," Dunning said. "We don't dare take over until you marry her, the
n
her property is legally yours an' we can do what we want."

"Sure, you've explained that," Mailer agreed grudgingly. He turned toward the door.

"By the way, Poke," he said, in more affable tones, "I'm takin' some of the boy
s
on a little trip tomorrow. I heard about some cattle and want to look them over.

We'll be gone two days. Flynn and Gates will handle things on this end."

Dunning nodded absently. "All right. Good luck on the trip."

Outside on the porch, Frank Mailer stared angrily into the darkness. "We'll nee
d
it," he muttered. "And once I've married that girl, you'll need it!"

One thing he knew. The time was coming for a showdown. He would wait no longer. Tha
t
Spanish woman, now ... if he were owner of the Blue Hill, she would pay attentio
n
to him. She liked him, anyway, but was just stalling. That was always the woman'
s
way, any woman. The fact that he would be married to Lona would matter but little.

He would have things in his hands then, and he would know how to handle matters.

Poke Dunning had to die.

Lance Kilkenny was riding to Salt Creek. Despite his desire to remain unknown, h
e
had missed Nita so much that he could no longer stay away. Also, with his instinc
t
for trouble and his knowledge of the situation in Salt Creek and on the ranch, h
e
knew the lid was about to blow off. It was high time that he appeared on the scene.

Yet reaching town, he did not ride immediately into the street, but studied it carefully.

He could see the lights o
f
the Fandango, and nearer, the lights of Starr's Saloon and the Express. He rode th
e
buckskin into the street and swung down in front of the Express.

He stepped up onto the boardwalk, feeling all that tightness he always knew whe
n
appearing for the first time in a strange town. His eyes slanted down the street
,
studying each building with strict attention. Every sense was alert for trouble
,
for a man who had used a gun as he had would have enemies, and in a strange tow
n
one never knew whom one would see.

The street was empty and still, its darkness alleviated only by the windows of th
e
four or five lighted places in Salt Creek. He turned and opened the door to the Expres
s
and walked in.

Down the left-hand side was a row of boxes and sacks backed by a wall of shelve
s
filled with various articles of cutlery and other tools. On his right were shelve
s
of clothing, a few wide hats, and nearer the counter at the end was the ammunition
,
and beside it the bar. There were groceries and several opened barrels. Near a stove
,
now cold, sat two old men. At the bar Kansas was talking to Lisa.

Kilkenny walked down the right side of the long room whose middle was also stacke
d
with boxes and barrels. As he approached the near end of the bar, Kansas looked up.

In that instant the gunfighter knew he was recognized.

"Rye, if you would," Kilkenny said quietly. His eyes turned to Kansas, alert, probing.

"What are you drinking, friend?"

Kansas's mouth was dry. He started to speak, swallowed, and then said, "Rye. Mine'
s
rye, too, Lisa."

The Portuguese noticed nothing out of the ordinary, and put the glasses on the bar.

His quick glance, however, noticed that the gray shirt was new and clean, the fla
t
brimmed hat was in good condition, and Kilkenny was clean-shaven. He left the bottl
e
on the bar. He knew when a man could pay for his drinks.

Kansas recovered himself slightly. Here was his chance to do that job for Poke, droppe
d
right in his lap. Luck seemed to be with him, but he reflected uneasily that Kilkenn
y
did not have a reputation as the sort of man who would hire his gun. "Driftin' through?"
h
e said.

"Maybe."

"Nice country around here."

"Seems so."

"There's jobs. Mailer, he's foreman out to the Blue Hill, he took on a hand the othe
r
day." He dropped his voice. "Poke Markham was talkin' to me. Seems he's huntin'
a
particular man for a very particular job. From the way you wear those guns, you migh
t
be just the man."

Kilkenny looked into his glass. Now, what was this? A trap? Or was Dunning lookin
g
for gunmen? "We might talk about it," he said. "I just might be interested."

Kansas was pleased and disappointed at the same time. He had heard much of Kilkenny
,
and while if he did this job for Poke, it might mean more money, which he could alway
s
use, he was sorry that Kilkenny would consider such a thing.

"Many folks in town?" Kilkenny asked quietly.

"A few. Mailer's here, if you're interested, but better not talk to him about thi
s
Markham job. I had the idea Markham was hiring someone confidential."

Kilkenny nodded. . . . So? Was there a break there? If so, it might work out ver
y
well for him. And Rusty had said Mailer was planning some move in which Dunning wa
s
not concerned. Maybe Poke knew more than Mailer realized.

"This Mailer," he said carelessly, "what sort of hombre is he?"

"Mighty big an' mighty bad," Kansas replied honestly. "He's hell on wheels with
a
gun an' ready to use one on the slightest provocation, but he would rather use hi
s
fists and boots. Sometimes I think he likes to beat a man." There was animosity i
n
Kansas's voice, and Kilkenny noticed it at once.

"Where's he from?"

"You've got me," Kansas admitted. "Folks around here have done a lot of wonderin
g
about that. Where he came from or what he was, I don't know. Somebody did say the
y
saw him talking to Port Stockton over to Bloomfield once."

Port Stockton was a name Kilkenny knew. Boss of the Stockton gang, marshal of Bloomfield
,
and formerly in the Lincoln County War in the faction opposed to the
Tunstall McQueen
outfit that had Billy the Kid. Stockton was no honest man, by all accounts, and
a
dangerous one. It was worth looking into, that angle.

He straightened. "You tell Markham I'll talk to him. I'll get in touch with him mysel
f
within the next couple of days." Turning, he walked to the door, scanned the stree
t
briefly, and then stepped out.

The Fandango was ablaze with lights, and Kilkenny did not hesitate; he walked a
t
once to the doors and pushed them open. The place was crowded. Nita had a facult
y
for knowing the sort of place the range people liked, and she gave them lots of ligh
t
and music. A half-dozen card tables were going now, and the long bar was lined wit
h
booted and spurred men.

A few men in business suits mingled with the roughly dressed cowhands, but one an
d
all they were wearin
g
guns. The first person who saw him was Jaime Brigo, and the big Yaqui did not smile
,
merely reaching back with his knuckles and tapping a signal on the door.

Nita Riordan heard that signal. She was at her mirror, and for a minute she stare
d
at her reflection. She had known Kilkenny now for more than three years, and ha
d
loved him every minute of them, but after one of these absences it never failed t
o
leave her breathless when she heard his voice, his step, or heard the signal tha
t
signified his presence.

Kilkenny had walked to the end of the bar, and Cain Brockman moved at once to hi
m
and placed a glass and a bottle there. His head moved ever so slightly, and Kilkenny'
s
eyes followed the movement. He saw Frank Mailer towering above the crowd, his fac
e
red and flushed from drinking, his glassy-blue and slightly protuberant eyes bol
d
and domineering as they surveyed the crowd around him.

The slender hatchet-faced man would be Geslin, of course. Starr was there, and th
e
sallow, dark-haired Socorro.

Mailer, Kilkenny observed, kept turning his head to glance toward the door wher
e
Brigo sat. Kilkenny studied him without seeming to, watching the man with the sid
e
of his glance. The fellow was a bull, but big as he was, there was no evidence o
f
fat. Even his thick neck looked like a column of muscle; there was cruelty in th
e
man's eyes and in his thin lips, and there was brutality showing all through him.

Even without knowing who he was and why he was here, Kilkenny would have felt th
e
same animal antagonism for the man.

Suddenly Nita was in the room. He knew it without turning his head. He would alway
s
know it, for there was that between them, that sharp, strong attachment, som
e
thing physical and yet more than physical. He turned and their eyes met across th
e
room and he felt something well up within him. She smiled, ever so slightly, an
d
turned to the nearest card table, speaking to one of the players.

Frank Mailer had seen her, too, and he turned abruptly away from the bar. "So ther
e
you are!" he boomed. "Come and have a drink!"

"I don't drink. I believe I have told you that."

"Oh, come on!" he insisted, reaching for her arm. "Don't be foolish! Come on an'
h
ave a drink with me."

Suddenly Nita Riordan was frightened. Kilkenny had moved away from the bar; he wa
s
coming toward them.

"I'm sorry," she said coldly. "I'll not drink with you. Why don't you join your friends?"

Kilkenny was beside her now, but Mailer had eyes for nobody else. He had been waitin
g
for this woman to come out, and he had been drinking, thinking of her, wanting her.