the Mountain Valley War (1978) (14 page)

Ma finished her tea. "I'm obliged, ma'am. The tea was pleasant to the taste. Been a long time since I had any tea."

"Did you know that Lance likes it? I mean, Mr. Kilkenny. I wonder if you would take a couple of pounds to him?" The thought had come to her suddenly that this was something she could give, if she was wise in the way she did it. Lance would know at once what she intended. "I know he doesn't get tea very often, and he does like it for a change. Would you be so kind?"

"I would. If'n you're up to sendin' it, I'll surely carry it along."

Nita left the room, and Ma Hatfield relaxed slowly. It was a lovely room, such a place as she had dreamed of but never experienced, for in her nearly sixty years of life she had lived only in log cabins or sod houses, often with dirt floors. It was, she thought, downright elegant.

After a bit Nita returned. "Can you ride the trails after dark?" she asked.

Ma smiled. "I should reckon. I been ridin' mountain trails since I was knee-high. What's troublin' you?"

"There are some of Hale's men around, and they are drinking. When dark comes, I will have Jaime take you out the way you came. Besides," she added, "I haven't talked to another woman in a long time.

"You see, the women here think because I operate a saloon and gambling hall that I am not a nice woman. I think I am."

"I think you are, too." Ma was immediately defensive. "My boy Quince, he says you're a lady, and I reckon Quince is a judge."

For two hours they talked quietly. Ma told Nita of the troubles of raising sons in the wilderness and in the wild western lands. "This here," she said finally, "is the first time we've had us a chance to make it. We got us some good land up yonder, and some prime bottomland along some of the creeks, and the boys have worked almighty hard clearin' more land, fencin' with cut poles and the like.

"We done planted some fruit trees, and we got a good corn crop in. This year we put a floor in the house, and Pa's goin' to take time to make a new bedstead. He's a hand, Pa is, does most anything with tools. Quince takes after him. Lije, he cares mostly for huntin', trappin', and the like.

"We had too many boys for the small land we had back in Kaintuck, so Pa ups and comes west to Missouri. We had us a chance there, good rich land and hard work, and then the grasshoppers come and eat all our corn and we was left owin' for the seed.

"Next year we had floods and hail, and we didn't make a crop that year, either. We lost our land because we couldn't pay our bills, an' Pa moved to Kansas. There the Jayhawkers, Quantrill and them, they burned us out twice. The boys was all away at war but Saul, and Pa and him, they made a fight of it, me helpin'.

"We just lost everythin'. Pa, he's worked hard all his life, but we never seem to more than make ends meet. Pa had him some fine horses there in Kansas, but the Injuns run them off an' that was the time they kilt Grandpa.

"Then we come here and settled up yonder where we didn't think we'd be bothered. We've done a sight of work gettin' the place into shape, and this year it looks like we'll have good crops of corn and barley ... some wheat.

"Does Lance live far from you?"

"Him? A few miles. He's right neighborly when it comes to helpin' with raisin' barns an' such, but he keeps to hisself. I say it ain't right, a young man like him, but he just smiles at me and says I shouldn't worry, but I do. He ought to have himself a woman."

"What's it like? His place, I mean."

"Comfortable. Squared logs that fit snug, windows all around, and a puncheon floor in the bedroom, stone-flag floors elsewhere. He done nigh all of it hisself, sleeping under a tree until he had it built.

"He split his own shakes, an' taken time about it. I expect he was most of six months at that house. He rarely goes to town. I couldn't figure that out. None of us could, until we found out he was Kilkenny.

"Seems like he likes bein' by hisself, although he's always ready to he'p anybody in need. He's a good hunter. Keeps hisself in fresh meat all the while, an' he wanders a good bit. He's got hisself a good vegetable garden but he gets much of what he needs from the forest. I lived around Injuns all my life but never knowed one who knew as much about livin' off the country as him."

When darkness fell, Jaime Brigo came to the door. "It is time," he said, "they are eating now."

"Enjoyed it, ma'am. Hope you'll come up an' set with me sometime. It's been a spell since I talked to ary city woman."

She mounted, and riding beside Brigo, rode slowly away.

Nita Riordan returned to her sitting room, then after a sip or two of tea she walked across to her desk and picked up a speaking tube that led to the bar.

"Sam? Ask Price Dixon to come in."

It was only a moment until there was a tap. at the door, and then the gambler entered. "Price? Do you know Trent?"

"I know him. He's a good man."

"Did you know he was Lance Kilkenny?"

"I am not surprised." Price Dixon never revealed how much he knew, and always knew more than suspected.

"You saw him fight King Bill?"

Dixon smiled. "It was a rare treat. I never saw a more complete whipping given to anyone, although Hale is a tough man."

"How do you think Kilkenny would do with Turner?"

"With Turner? Tombull? Why, I never thought of such a thing, to tell you the truth. Tombull Turner is a pro, a very experienced fighter, and a tough one."

"Lance wants to fight him."

"Wants to? He's crazy! I can't imagine anybody wanting to fight Turner. Why, in God's world?"

"He thinks it is the only chance they will get to offer their side of things to Halloran. He thinks he'll get a chance to speak to him from the ring, and that Hale won't dare stop him."

"That makes a kind of sense, but there should be an easier way. Kilkenny and Turner?" He thought about that. "Dammit, Nita, but I'd like to see it. I really would! What a scrap that would be!

"You know," he exclaimed suddenly, "Kilkenny might have a chance, at that. He's good. I noticed the way he moved in that Hale fight. He's boxed some, knows his way around a ring, I'd say.

"Hale had help, you know. Kilkenny was kicked several times when he was down, tripped at least once. He hits very fast, and he's accurate.

"But Turner? The man's good, Nita. He's very good indeed."

"And he's fighting Sandoval."

Price looked around at her. He had walked to the sideboard and was pouring himself a drink. "Do you want Kilkenny to fight Turner?"

"No. I certainly do not." She smiled. "He's my man, Price, come what may. He is the only man I ever wanted, and I followed him here. Shameless of me, wasn't it? But I know he wants me too, and it is just his misguided sense of chivalry that keeps us apart. He doesn't want me to be a widow."

"I understand. In his place I'd feel the same. You have to face it, Nita, Kilkenny is a gunfighter with a reputation. There's no way he can escape it.

"I've seen him in action, and he is quick, unbelievably quick. What is more, he's accurate and he's cool. It is one thing, you know, to shoot at a target, another thing when the target is shooting back at you. Many a man who was supposed to be very fast suddenly blows up when he realizes he can be killed."

"You asked if I wanted Lance to fight Turner, and I said I did not. That's true. But Lance wants to fight him, and to me that comes first."

Price tasted his drink. "Nita, you and I know that anything can be done. If the fight is arranged and Sandoval doesn't get here, then the only man around who could make it interesting for Turner is Kilkenny ... Trent, if you will."

"Could you keep Sandoval from getting here? I wouldn't want him hurt."

"I know that, and, yes, I could keep him from it. You know, he's only getting two hundred for the fight. If he wins, a bit more. But he isn't going to win, and I am sure he knows it.

"I also know that Rosa McNeil, a girl he's excited about, just came into the country. She's stopping in Mountain City for a few days. If somebody got two hundred dollars to Sandoval and the word that Rosa was in Mountain City, he could forget all about that fight."

"Then do it. I may be foolish. I may get Lance hurt, but what he wants I want for him. And I do know that Tom Halloran loves a fighter. He's as Irish as Kilkenny is, and he's been a follower of the prizefighting business all his life, as a spectator and enthusiast."

"It will be done." Price smiled. "Nita, you're quite a woman. You must remember, though, that Lance may not have that classic profile any longer when the fight is over."

She shrugged. "I am not in love with a profile, Price. I am in love with a man."

Chapter
12

They loaded four kegs of water on the wagon and they each took a canteen. They took shovels, rope, and a long pole for a lever. With Bartram on the driver's seat, they started out.

Kilkenny, riding the buckskin again, led the way through the newly cut gap in the trees and down the steep slope. They tied a heavy log to the back of the wagon to keep it from running up on the heels of the mules. Cautiously they started down.

It was slow, painstaking travel. A dozen times Kilkenny dismounted to roll a stone from the road, yet at last they came to the bottom. Quince cut loose the log they had dragged for a brake.

The air was still and hot. It was a bleak, broken land with little vegetation. "Let's roll 'em!" Kilkenny said.

Before leaving the cliff he had taken a sight on a distant peak that he knew to be in the area of Blazer, but knowing the dust storms to be bad, he had brought along a compass. He had taken a sight on the distant peak and now he rechecked. The smoky haze that often hung over the area made outlines vague, but the trail they were following led roughly westward. How closely the trail would hold to the course he had set, he did not know, or even how long the road would be visible.

The slightest touch of wind stirred the fine dust into the air, and their horses' hooves and the wagon added to it. Slowly they moved westward. Twice they had to turn aside from great drifts of dust that reached across their path. Here and there Kilkenny found it easier to walk along and lead the buckskin, as there were obstacles to be moved from the trail. There was very little growth.

When they had been traveling what his watch told him was an hour, he held up a hand. They stopped and bunched around the wagon. With a damp piece of sacking brought for the purpose, the men sponged out the nostrils of the horses.

Jack Moffit had insisted on coming along with the wagon. He stood up on the seat, looking all about. "Where are we now?" he asked.

Nobody replied, and after a minute he said, "How far have we come?"