Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (37 page)

The warm morning sun lay lazily upon the sandstone and sage; a lizard came out fro
m
under a rock, and darted over another rock that was green with copper stain and pause
d
there. Lying where he was, Kilkenny could see the beat of its tiny heart agains
t
its side. Then something flickered and he saw a vanishing leg and fired quickly, the .44 thundering in the depth
s
of the canyon.

Chips flew from the rock where the leg had vanished and from the opposite side o
f
the rock where his second shot had struck. Then he heard the sound of a running horse
,
and he came out and climbed into the saddle.

In a few minutes he had found the trail. A big horse carrying a heavy man and runnin
g
swiftly. He moved after it, riding more warily now, knowing that Mailer knew he wa
s
on the trail, and that from now on it would be doubly hard.

He forded Coal Mine Creek, carrying little water now, and headed for the five-hundred-foo
t
wall of the Hogback, a high, serrated ridge biting with its red saw teeth at th
e
brassy sky. Then, suddenly, as though in a painting, horse and man were outline
d
sharp against the sky. An instant only, but Kilkenny's rifle leaped to his shoulde
r
and the shot cracked out, echoing and reechoing from the wall of the Hogback. Kilkenn
y
saw the horse stumble, then go down, and the man spring clear. He fired again, bu
t
knew he had missed.

Coming up through the brush, he dismounted near the fallen horse and returned hi
s
rifle to its boot. The Hogback reared above him in a brown and broken-toothed heigh
t
that offered a thousand places of concealment. Kilkenny dug into his saddlebags an
d
got out his moccasins. Leaving his boots slung on the pommel, he moved out afte
r
Mailer on foot.

There was no way of telling how he had gone, or where. Yet Kilkenny moved on, workin
g
his way in among the boulders. Then, at a momentary pause, he saw some birds fl
y
up and directed his course that way, but working to get a little higher on the cliff.

He was on a narrow ledge, som
e
seventy feet above the jagged rocks below, when he heard a low call. Startled, h
e
looked up, to see Mailer on a ledge some fifty yards higher ahead of him.

The man was smiling, and as he smiled he lifted his pistol. Kilkenny drew left-hande
d
and snapped a shot. It was a fast draw and the shot was more to move Mailer tha
n
with the expectation of a hit. Mailer lunged sidewise and his own shot clipped th
e
rocks above Kilkenny and spat dirt and gravel into his face.

A small landslide had scoured out a hollow in the mountain, and Kilkenny starte
d
up it. The climb was steep and a misstep might send him shooting all the way to th
e
bottom, but the soft moccasins gave him a good toehold. When he reached the highe
r
ledge he was panting and winded.

The sun was blazing hot here, and even the rocks were hot under his hands. The burne
d
red sandstone was dotted with juniper and it broke off in a steep slope. Steep, bu
t
not a cliff. He moved up behind a juniper and studied the mountain carefully. Al
l
was hot and still. Sweat smarted his eyes and he rubbed them out, then mopped th
e
sweat from his brow and cheeks.

Overhead, an optimistic buzzard circled in widening sweeps. Far away over the valle
y
that lay in the distance, was Blue Hill. Almost due west was Salt Creek. A thin trai
l
of smoke lifted near the town. Below, the terrain was broken into canyons and arroyos
,
and the color shaded from the deep green of the juniper to the gray green of sage
,
and from the pale pinks and yellows of the faded sand to the deep burned reds an
d
magentas of the rock.

Some thirty yards away a tree had died and the dry white bones of its skeleton la
y
scattered in a heap. Nearby a pack rat had built a mound of branches in a clump o
f
manzanita. Kilkenny pulled his hat brim down to shade his eyes and moved out cautiously
,
walking on his cat feet across the mountainside.

Ahead of him a startled jackrabbit suddenly sprang from the ground and charged ful
l
tilt right at him. Kilkenny whirled aside and felt the blast of a bullet by his face.

He started forward, running swiftly, and saw Frank Mailer spring up, gun in hand.

Mailer fired and missed, and Kilkenny's shot blasted . . . too quick, but it cu
t
through Mailer's shirt and then the man dove for him.

Kilkenny fired again, but whether he scored or not he had no idea, for he spran
g
forward and smashed a driving blow to Mailer's face. The punch was a wicked one an
d
it caught the big man lunging in, caught the corner of his mouth and tore the flesh
,
so that Mailer screamed. Then he wheeled and grabbed Kilkenny's throat, wrenchin
g
him backward. Lance Kilkenny kicked his feet high and went over with Mailer, th
e
sudden yielding carrying the big man off balance. Both went down and Mailer cam
e
up, clawing for his pistol, and Kilkenny drew his left-hand gun and fired. Maile
r
went to his knees, then grabbed wildly and caught Kilkenny's ankle. As Lance cam
e
down he lunged to his feet and dove for shelter in a nest of boulders. Flat on th
e
ground, Kilkenny crawled to retrieve his gun, then loaded the empty chambers. The
n
he saw blood on the ground, two bright crimson stains, fresh blood!

A shot kicked dirt in his teeth and he spat it out and shot back, then lunged t
o
his feet, his own position being too exposed, and sprang for the rocks and shelter.

He lit right into Mailer and the big man came up with a grunt and chopped for Kilkenny'
s
skull with a pistol barrel. Bright lights exploded in his head and he felt his knee
s
melting under him and slashed out with his own pistol, laying it across Mailer'
s
face. He hit ground, heard an explosion, and Mailer fell on him.

Panting, bloody, and drunk with fury and pain, Frank Mailer leaped to his feet an
d
stood swaying, a thin trickle of blood coming from a blue hole under his collarbone.

He lunged at Kilkenny.

Exhausted, beaten, and punch-drunk himself, Kilkenny swung wildly and his fist connecte
d
with a sound like a rifle shot striking mud, and Mailer stopped, teetered, and fell.

Kilkenny backed up, his chest heaving, his lungs screaming for air, his skull hummin
g
with the blow he had recently taken. He caught up a gun and turned just as Maile
r
rolled on his back, a gun also in his hand. Both guns bellowed at once, and Kilkenn
y
was knocked back on his heels, but as he staggered he pulled his gun down and fire
d
again.

Where Mailer's ear had been there was blood, and the big man, seemingly indestructible
,
was getting up. With a wild, desperate kind of fury, Kilkenny flung himself on th
e
rising man, and he heard guns bellowing, whether his own or Mailer's or both, h
e
did not know, and then Mailer rolled free and fell away from the boulders. Slowly
,
ponderously, at each roll seemingly about to stop, the big man's body rolled ove
r
and over down the slope.

Fascinated, Kilkenny stared after him. Suddenly the man caught himself, and then
,
as if by magic, he got his hands under him. Something inside of Kilkenny screamed
,
No! No! and then he saw Mailer come to his feet, still gripping a gun.

Mailer swayed drunkenly and tried to fire, but the gun was empty. His huge body
,
powerful even when shot and battered, swayed but remained erect. Then, fumbling a
t
his belt for cartridges, he began, like a drunken man trying to thread a needle
,
to load his gun. Kilkenny stared at him in astonishment, his own mind wandering i
n
a sort of a sunlit, delirious world. Mailer faced him and the gun lifted, and Kilkenn
y
felt the butt of his own gun jump and Mailer's hips jerked back grotesquely and h
e
went up on his tiptoes. Then his gun spat into the gravel at his feet and he fel
l
facedown on the slope.

When Kilkenny opened his eyes again, it was dark and piercing cold. A long wind moane
d
over the mountaintop and he was chilled to the bone. He was very weak and his hea
d
hummed. How badly he was wounded he had no idea, but he knew he could stand littl
e
of this cold.

Near the pack rat's nest he found some leaves that crackled under his touch. An
d
shivering with such violence that his teeth rattled and his fingers could scarcel
y
find the matches, he struck and pushed the match into the leaves. The flames caugh
t
and in a moment the nest was crackling and blazing.

He knew he had been hit once, and perhaps twice. He had a feeling he was badly wounded
,
and how long he could survive on this mountaintop he did not know. He did know tha
t
it was in view of Salt Creek, if anyone happened to be outside. The flames caugh
t
the gray, dead wood and blazed high and he lay there, watching the inverted con
e
of flame climbing up toward the stars, filled with a blank cold and emptiness.

Finally, as the fire died and its little warmth dissipated, he turned and crawle
d
back among the boulders and lay there, panting hoarsely and shivering again wit
h
cold.

When he got his eyes open again, the sky was faintly gray. He could distinguish
a
few things around him an
d
there were here and there a few scattered sticks. He got them together with a handfu
l
of grass and put them on the coals of last night's fire, then cupped his hands abov
e
the small flame. He felt a raw, gnawing pain in his side and his face was stiff an
d
his hands were clumsy. Overhead, a few stars paled and vanished like moths flyin
g
into smoke, and he added another small stick and felt for his gun. It was gone. H
e
moved, scraping the fire along until he was beneath the dead tree. Slowly he buil
t
up the fire around its dried-out trunk, and as it caught he rolled backward, awa
y
from the flames. He lay there as the white branches went up in a rush of smoke an
d
flame, and as he passed out he prayed for help.

His eyes flickered open again at a sun-brightened world and he saw a huge turke
y
buzzard hunched in a tree not fifty yards away. He yelled and waved an arm, but th
e
buzzard did not move. It sat there, waiting, and then its head came up, and it launche
d
itself on lazy wings and floated off over the desert.

Kilkenny lay still, staring up into the brassy vault of the sky, his mind floatin
g
in a half-world between delirium and death. Out of it floated a voice, saying, "Here'
s
a hat!"

And then another voice. "They can't be up there! It ain't reasonable!"

There was a long silence, and suddenly his eyes flashed open. That was no delirium!

Somebody was searching! Hunting for him! He tried to call out, but his voice woul
d
muster no strength, and then he gathered himself, and picking up a small stick fro
m
near the fire, he threw it.

"He's got to be here. You saw all that smoke an' that's Buck down there, an' wher
e
you find that horse he ain't far away!"