Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (25 page)

Dunning would say nothing to Lona about her mother. Was that because he did not know?

And Lona had said her father had told her that her mother had died before they cam
e
on west, but was that statement made by her real father, or by Dunning?

Before facing Dunning, it was necessary to learn how title to the ranch was placed
,
and to have something substantial to go on. In so many years Dunning had had tim
e
to shape stories and the papers that would give him title, yet why, if that was true
,
had he kept the girl?

Collecting dry sticks that would make no smoke, he built a fire, and squatting abov
e
it, the Rider prepared his evening meal. He was a tall man, and his eyes were green;
a
sharp, straight look came into them at times that disturbed those he looked at
,
and at times changed quickly to easy humor and a ready smile.

Shadows were long and his meal was finished when he heard a distant sound. He straightene
d
swiftly and, hitching his guns into place, moved swiftly from the side of the clif
f
dwelling across the green sward of the ledge. His horse was standing with his hea
d
up and his nostrils wide. "Easy, Buck!" he said gently.

Through the junipers he could look down into the canyon, and as he looked he hear
d
a tapping of metal on metal. He listened a moment, then grinned and spoke aloud
,
knowing his voice would carry in the still air. "Straight ahead and left around th
e
boulder." ,In a few minutes he heard the horse, and then Rust
y
'Gates appeared. It was dusk, yet light enough to see, an
d
the cowhand stared around him in astonishment. "Now
,
'
h
ow in the ever-so-ever did you find this place?" he demanded. "A man would sur
e
never guess it was here!"

"It's well hidden. Come on back, I've put more coffee on."

When they were squatted over the small fire, Gates grinned across the coals at him.

"Kilkenny," he said, "you have the damnedest nose for hideouts of any hombre I eve
r
knew!"

The tall rider shrugged. "Why not? Lots of times I need 'em. It gets to be an instinct."

"You talked to Lona?"

"Uh-huh. I didn't tell her much, only that Poke was not her father."

"I thought so. She was walkin' in a trance when she got back to the spread. By th
e
way," he added, "there's a hand on that ranch that's so much in love with her he'
s
turnin' in circles. Name of Gordon Flynn. Nice lad."

"Well, they can work that out by themselves. I'm goin' to see she gets justice, bu
t
I'll be durned if I'll play Cupid."

Rusty chuckled. "Leave that to me! I already put a bug in their ears." He pushe
d
a couple of sticks on the fire. "Lance, something is building down there, but I don'
t
know what. Mailer has been doin' a lot of talking, strictly on the private, wit
h
Geslin, Starr, and Socorro. I think they've got somethin' up their sleeves."

"Not Dunning?"

"No, the old man isn't in on it. They are very careful not to get bunched up whe
n
he's around."

"What do you think of Mailer, Rusty?"

"Damned if I know!" Gates looked up, scowling. "Good as Geslin is, he listens t
o
him. So does Starr. I guess they knowed each other before comin' to Blue Hill, too.

That Socorro came in with Mailer."

"How's Nita?" Kilkenny asked, looking up.

"I was wonderin' when you'd get around to that. She's fine. Man"-he chuckled-"tha
t
girl is good! She's got brains aplenty, but, Kilkenny, she's got troubles, too! Fran
k
Mailer is makin' a strong play for her."

Lance Kilkenny got to his feet. "Mailer?" He was incredulous. "I thought he was du
e
to marry Lona?"

Gates looked cynical. "How much difference would that make to a man like Mailer?

He's mostly interested in that ranch, I'm thinking, as far as she's concerned, anyway.

But he's red-eyed over Nita."

"Has there been trouble?"

"Not yet." Gates told what had happened at the Fandango and how Nita had handle
d
it. "So he wound up spending thirty bucks he hadn't figured on. But that won't b
e
the end of it."

"How do Dunning and Mailer stand?" Kilkenny asked thoughtfully.

"I've been thinkin' about that. From what I hear, they trusted each other at on
e
time, but I think a break is due. One thing: when it comes down to it, the old ma
n
will be standing all alone. The boys are all with Mailer; that is, all but Flynn
,
the cook, an' me. We're on the outside of that fuss."

Gates got to his feet. "I'd better get out of here before the moon comes up." H
e
turned to go, then hesitated. "Lance, you make no mistake, Frank Mailer is dangerous."

"Thanks. I'll remember that." He grinned over the fire at Rusty.

"Hope we beat this deal without a shootin'," Rusty said.

"Me, too," Kilkenny said, almost wistfully. "Especially with that girl around, that'
s
a tough crowd down there."

Long after Rusty Gates was gone, Lance Kilkenny sa
t
over his lonely fire. There had been too much of this, too much of hiding out i
n
the wilderness, yet it was this or be recognized, and when he was recognized, ther
e
was always some wild-eyed puncher who wanted the reputation of killing Kilkenny.

He had never intended to gain a reputation, but his own choice of keeping himsel
f
anonymous had helped to begin the stories. He had become a strange, shadowy figure
,
a drifting gunfighter whom no man knew, until suddenly, in a blasting of gunfire
,
he wrote his name large across yet another page of Western history.

Long ago he had taken to haunting the lonely places or to roaming the country alon
e
under an assumed name. He would drift into a new country and for a time he woul
d
punch cows or wrangle horses or hire out as a varmint hunter, and then trouble woul
d
come, and Kilkenny, who had rarely drawn a gun in his own battle, would fight fo
r
a friend, as he was fighting now.

This time, for the first time, he was not fighting alone. He had friends with him
,
good friends, and he had Nita Riordan, now using the name Howard, for there wer
e
those who knew that Nita Riordan was connected with Kilkenny.

Alone over his fire, he studied the situation. What was in the mind of Frank Mailer?

What did he plan? How much opposition could Poke Dunning offer, if it came to that?

If it came to a fight over the ranch? Kilkenny was enough of a strategist to appreciat
e
the fact that in a gunfight, Dunning and Mailer might eliminate each other and s
o
save him the trouble. Once they were out of it, he could face the others or the
y
would leave.

What he needed to know now was how Dunning had come into possession of the ranch.

When Markham ha
d
started west so long ago, he was going to this ranch, which he had acquired sometim
e
before. Hence, Dunning had to have come into the picture after Markham left Sant
a
Fe. Also, he must learn whether Markham's statement to Lona that the ranch was no
w
hers was merely an idle comment or whether he had actually given the girl the title.

Yet there was on him something else, a driving urge to see Nita. He got to his fee
t
and walked the length of the ledge, speaking softly to the buckskin, and then h
e
walked back. The fire was dying, the embers fading. Maybe now was the time, if h
e
could slip into Salt Creek quietly and get to the Fandango without noise. He turne
d
the idea over in his mind, contemplating every angle of it. At last he shook hi
s
head, and replenishing the fire, then banking the coals, he crawled into his blanket
s
and was soon asleep.

Old Poke Dunning got restlessly to his feet. He was alone much of the time now. Lon
a
had been keeping to her quarters and he missed her. Scowling, he thought of that
,
and his eyes narrowed as he remembered the time of her marriage was coming nearer.

That marriage was a deal that he had cooked up with Frank Mailer. But since tha
t
time he had come to distrust the man. Soon after he made his offer to guarantee the
m
clear title to Blue Hill, Frank had started acting like he owned the place. Suppos
e
Mailer made up his mind to go it alone? He, Dunning, would have no status, nothin
g
that would stand up legally. Of late, Mailer had been making decisions without consultin
g
him.

If he had it out with Mailer, he decided, he would nee
d
an edge. Only a fool would take chances with Mailer. The man was too big, too tough.

He looked as hard to stop as a bull elephant.

That Rider. The presence of the Rider might not bother Mailer, but it did bothe
r
him. He was suspicious and could find no reason for the man's continual evasion o
f
contact with anyone.

The Black Rider must have provisions. How did he obtain them? The logical place wa
s
Salt Creek. Poke nodded; that was it. He would have a spy watching in Salt Creek
,
and then when someone resembling the Rider appeared, he would trail him. After tha
t
he would have a line on the man.

It was late, but he would ride into Salt Creek now and he knew just the man. Th
e
road was white in the moonlight, but Dunning rode swiftly on a powerful gray. H
e
had not seen Mailer, and no doubt the man was again in town, and the boys with him.

Although well past fifty, Dunning was a strong and rugged man in the peak of condition.

Age was no problem to him as yet, for his outdoor life and the rough, hardy foo
d
of the frontier had kept him in fine shape. He had made vast improvements on th
e
ranch and it had provided a welcome cooling-off place for men on the dodge, as h
e
once had been.

He had always insisted that the boys not pull any jobs while they "worked" for him
,
and while he paid all his men monthly, those on the run had handed back far mor
e
than their salaries in private. He also insisted that his hands not spend any o
f
their ill-gotten gain in town or do anything that would indicate who and what the
y
actually were. The kickbacks and free labor he had availed himself of over the year
s
had helped make Blue Hill a profitabl
e
enterprise. Poke Dunning took great pride in the ranch. There was just Mailer an
d
that matter of the girl and the confounded deed!

Salt Creek was a rough-looking town of some threescore buildings of which most wer
e
homes and barns. Along the one street of the town, a dozen or more buildings stare
d
at each other, and the express office and Fandango were the biggest buildings i
n
town. The Express, as it was known, was much more than its name implied. It was
a
general store as well as the post office and office of the justice of the peace
,
and had a small bar where drinks were sold, mostly to the older men in the community.

Up the street only two doors was another saloon, this one run by Al Starr, a brothe
r
of Sam, and beyond it another store and the livery stable, and beyond that the Fandango.

It was ablaze with light when Poke Dunning rode the gray into town, but he stoppe
d
at the Express and shoved through the door.