Novel 1966 - Kilrone (v5.0) (9 page)

Kilrone had too few men for any offensive action. He could afford no losses. His would be a holding action, an attempt to delay until the patrols could return. The tactical advantages of defense were denied him, for he had no covering forces to use in delaying the enemy, to disorganize their advance, or deceive them as to the true location of the defense.

His greatest advantage lay in his excellent field of fire to the north and south, and in the covering fire the three buildings could offer for each other. The greatest disadvantage lay in the limited field of fire to east and west.

The women, rising as always to an emergency, when more often than not they function at their best, bustled about and were busy.

He was not worried about the women; he knew that in those around him he was especially fortunate. These were soldiers’ wives or relatives, bred to a realization of frontier life and the possibility of frontier warfare. Not one of them was likely to falter.

Stella Rybolt, as the more experienced, was in her element. Denise was quietly competent, quietly in command, but without any effort at assertion. She, who alone among the women had not been born or brought up on the frontier, came of a soldier family; moreover, being of the nobility and the wife of a commanding officer here, hers was a necessity for courage. One of the easiest ways to be brave is to have bravery expected of you.

With Denise there could be no question of her role. The matter of her role or her reaction to the situation would never even arise in her mind, for the position to which she had been bred was not only that of leader, but of protector.

Barney Kilrone walked out on the parade ground, visiting each barracks. It had been the rule to have a barrel of water at each corner of each barracks building, but those barrels were now gone. Inquiry revealed that they had been piled into a wagon and taken to the creek for refilling, and had not been returned. That had been two days ago.

Paddock had been drinking, Ryerson ill, and nobody had been quite up to par. Colonel Webb and Mellett gone…and somebody had been careless. But it might have been part of a preconceived plan, arranged by someone who was aiming at destruction of the army post. Well, if those barrels had been left at the creek they should be there still.

He went on toward the corrals and stopped. Just ahead of him he heard a faint rustle of movement, glimpsed a momentary shadow. Somebody was pitching hay to the horses. Kilrone walked around the corral and it was Teale.

He stopped when he saw Kilrone, poised with the pitchfork in his hand. “You, is it? Figured I’d feed the horses before I went on guard. They may not get fed for a while.”

“Good thinking.” Kilrone paused. “Teale,” he said after a moment, “we should have those barrels. If this lasts any while at all, one barrel of water for each building won’t be enough. Especially at Headquarters, where the women and children will be.”

Teale was leaning on his fork now. Because of the darkness, Kilrone could not tell what his reaction was.

“The barrels were left in a wagon down at the creek,” Kilrone said. “Would you know where that would be?”

“Uh-huh. There’s a pool near the Hog Town crossing. We usually watered up there. When the Major ordered K Troop out, they were told just to leave the wagon, that somebody would go pick it up, but nobody did.”

“Catch me up a couple of those mules, will you, Teale? I’m going after that wagon.”

“Suppose the wagon ain’t there?”

“Then I’ll go where it is.”

“Alone?”

“Why not? In any event, we can’t spare any men to go along. They’ll be needed on the post.”

Teale stood his fork against the corral. “Maybe they can spare one man. I’d like to sort of trail along an’ see what happens.”

He paused. “You got any idea what you’re gettin’ into? I know why that wagon wasn’t sent after. Some of Sproul’s men hooked onto it and pulled it into Hog Town. Ryerson was too sick to go himself and didn’t like to send anybody after it without orders. Now, I’ve got a feelin’ Iron Dave Sproul won’t let you have that wagon, and if you make any kind of a fuss, Iron Dave will chop you up without working up a sweat.”

Teale stepped into the corral, caught a couple of the big Missouri mules, and led them out. Kilrone shut and fastened the gate while Teale took the mules to the harness rack.

After the animals were harnessed, the two men mounted and rode away toward the creek, Teale leading the way. Kilrone sat silently on the big mule.

Their time was short. Barrels or not, they must get back before daylight. His thoughts strayed to Betty Considine. There was something about her that stuck in a man’s mind, some quality beyond her beauty or her charm. It was that quiet competence that made a man realize she was a woman to walk beside a man and not behind him. She had a certain glamor, but she had staying quality also, and it was a quality to look for in horses, in men, or in women.

Trees hung over the creek, shadowing the gently rustling waters. The rain hissed softly as it fell. Otherwise, the night was still. There was no wagon, and the light they struck revealed two deep cuts in the far bank where it had gone up.

Teale blew out the match. “Hog Town,” he said. “What’ll we do?”

“Why, we’ll go to Hog Town, I guess,” Kilrone said.

They rode on, and a few steps further along he asked, “What are they like in Hog Town? Gang-fighters?”

“If need be. But no gang piles in when Iron Dave fights. He doesn’t need any help.”

“Then if I tangle with Dave, you keep the others off, d’you hear?”

“Hell, Sproul wouldn’t let them butt in. He likes doing it himself. He’ll kill you,
amigo
.”

“Teale, one thing you should know. This will be real trouble. I know Dave Sproul and he knows me. He hates my guts. He’ll kill me if he can.”

“You know him? An’ you’ll still go over there?” Teale rode along in silence for a few moments. “Hell,” he said presently, “I could win all the pay in camp, bettin’ on you. They’d offer ten to one.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Teale. I’m not looking for a fight. We’ll have all the fight we can handle if Medicine Dog and his braves come down on us, as I believe they will. There’s plenty of time for Dave Sproul.”

The one street in Hog Town, no more than a stretch of muddy road, was dark and still. Lights shone from the Empire, and they could hear the sound of a tinny music box as they drew nearer. A few yards from the end of the street Kilrone drew up. “You know this place, Teale. Where would he be likely to have that wagon, if he has it?”

“Now, that’s a problem, Cap. It surely is. He’d be likely to have it near the corrals or at the barn, if he was honest about it, but I’d guess he’ll have it closer by. Maybe behind the Empire itself.”

Teale pointed. “There’s a smaller stable there, where he keeps his own horses, and back of that there’s cottonwoods and some brush. I’d guess the wagon would be there.”

“Well, let’s have a look.”

Across the street from the Empire was a line of cribs. As the two rode toward the back of the Empire, a man came from one of the cribs and started across toward the saloon.

When he glimpsed the two riders, he stopped dead-still, staring after them. Had he caught a brief glint of brass buttons? Scarcely, in this rain. Anybody out and about tonight would be wearing a slicker. Then why had he felt that one of those men was a soldier?

When Poole went into the Empire he saw no sign of Iron Dave, so he walked to the bar for a drink.

“The army been in tonight?” he asked.

The bartender shook his head. “Ain’t likely. They’re all gone but a dozen or so, and those who are there will be kept on guard.”

“Why, you’d be right about that,” Poole agreed. “Give me a shot of that Injun whiskey.”

“Injun whiskey? We got the real stuff here. After all, you’re one of Dave’s boys, so why not?”

“I asked for the Injun. I know what it’s made out of, but there’s somethin’ about it. After all, I’ve drunk it for years, and nothin’ else seems to promise. Maybe it’s the chawin’ tobacco they shave up in it…or that dash o’ strychnine.”

He accepted the Indian whiskey, tossed off a glass, and refilled it. “Reason I asked about the sodgers, I thought I saw one out there just as I came in.”

“You’re seein’ things.”

Iron Dave came in then and walked down the bar. The big saloon was almost empty. The rain and rumors of Indian trouble had kept local people and ranchers away, and the soldiers were all gone.

Sproul was a powerfully built man with thick shoulders, and huge arms and fists. He was dressed like a city man, but was in his shirt sleeves. A massive chain of gold nuggets was draped across the front of his vest. The only incongruous note was the pistol in its holster.

“How are you, Poole?”

“He’s seein’ things,” the bartender said, “an’ before he started drinkin’. He claims he saw a soldier just now.”

“A soldier? Where?”

“Headed back yonder.” Poole indicated the back of the saloon. “There were two men, and I think one of them was a soldier. Too far off to see their faces.”

Sproul turned sharply. “Dick! Pete! You and Shack get out there and have a look at the wagon! Quick now!”

He turned on Poole. “Go with ’em! If you see anybody, shoot!”

Poole remained where he was. “I hired on as a scout,” he said, “and a guide if need be. But I ain’t shootin’ at no soldier. Not in uniform, I ain’t.”

Sproul gave him a hard look. “I’ll remember that, Poole.”

“Been my experience,” Poole said dryly, “that a man who starts trouble with the army usually winds up with the short end of the stick.”

Teale led the way almost directly to the wagon with its load of barrels. Quickly they swung the mules into place, lifted the tongue, and hitched up as fast as they could. Kilrone was snapping the trace chains when they heard a door slam.

“Here they come, Teale. Get up on the seat and start the wagon.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll meet you in front. You swing down along the creek and come around in the street headed back toward the fort. I’ll be out front in a jiffy. If anybody tries stopping you…shoot.”

The team started, and from the edge of the brush there came a shout. The man called Pete came through the brush, lifting a pistol. He did not even see Kilrone until it was too late.

Kilrone’s pistol barrel smashed down on Pete’s wrist just as he was lifting the gun. He cried out and dropped the gun. Kilrone turned sharply, a pistol flowered with flame not fifteen yards away, and he fired instantly, shifted his position, and fired at a splash of water. Stepping over two feet he waited, listening, while ejecting the spent shells and reloading the empty chambers.

He heard no sound, waited a moment longer, and then rounded a tree and walked back through the brush. Behind him, Pete was moaning and cursing, undoubtedly with a broken wrist. If there had been anyone else there, whoever it was had decided to remain still, not liking the sound of what he had heard.

Kilrone holstered his gun, crossed the back lot, passed the barn, and went up the walk to the back door of the saloon. Opening it, he stepped into a hall perhaps fifteen feet long, and walked along this to another door. When he opened this and went through, he was in the saloon.

The room was empty except for the bartender, a sleepy-eyed man standing at the end of the bar with a bottle, and Iron Dave himself.

“Hello, Dave,” Kilrone said mildly. “Still up to your old tricks, I see.”

“Kilrone, is it? I might have known it was you. Well, I’m glad you’re here. Now we can settle something.”

Kilrone shook his head. He stood with his feet a little apart, ready to move quickly. He was listening for the sound of the wagon, and knew there was little time. “I’d like to stay on, Dave, and give you the whipping you’ve had coming. There really isn’t so much iron in you, Dave, and what there was has been turning soft, or you wouldn’t be fool enough to think you can get away with this.”

“With what?”

“Your plotting with Medicine Dog.”

Kilrone said this because he knew Dave Sproul. He knew how the man thought, or believed he did, and it would be like him to use the Dog—if he could. “It’s obvious enough, you know. But what you don’t seem to grasp is that the Dog may turn on you. He isn’t to be trusted, maybe even less than you are.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Iron Dave said, matter-of-factly, “and this time you don’t have the army to hide behind.”

Kilrone heard the sound of the wagon and went toward the door. “As I said, I haven’t time now. Later, if the Indians don’t come or if they leave anything behind, I’ll come around and give you a thrashing. And don’t try reaching for that gun. I’m much faster than you.”

Kilrone had the feeling that both the bartender and the other man were enjoying the scene. Neither offered to move. He backed to the door, glanced quickly around, then stepped outside, and as the wagon went sweeping by, he jumped for the tailgate and swung himself up.

The door of the Empire was flung open and Kilrone put a bullet into the door jamb, a move to restrain anyone who might think of taking a shot after them.

The rain had ceased, and the night was still. At the creek they stopped, filled the barrels, and drove on back to the fort. They unloaded the water barrels and with help from inside, rolled them into place.