Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (29 page)

He was thinking about that when he heard Lona ride into the amphitheater below, s
o
he got to his feet and swung into the saddle.

She smiled brightly when she saw him, then gasped as she saw his face. "Oh, wha
t
happened to you? You're hurt!"

Kilkenny chuckled. "No, not really. I had a fight last night. Didn't you hear abou
t
it?"

"No ... how would I hear?"

He took off his hat and swung down to a seat near her on a boulder. "It was you
r
man Mailer I was fighting."

She came to her feet. "You ... fought Frank Mailer?"

He smiled, painfully. "If you think I look bad, you should see him!"

"You . . . whipped him?" Lona was amazed. The more she looked at the tall young ma
n
on the rock, the more impossible it became that this man could have beaten Mailer.

Kilkenny grinned. He didn't like to brag, and yet . . . well, what man doesn't lik
e
to have a pretty girl think well of him? "Well, to tell you the truth, I did, an
d
if you'll pardon my saying so, I did a bang-up job of it. Not that I didn't catc
h
a few!" He felt with delicate fingers of the lump on his cheekbone.

"He'll kill you now." She was very positive. "He'll never let you get away alive."

"It's going to get to that point anyway," Kilkenny said. "I'm going to make sur
e
that ranch is in your hands, all free and clear, with Poke Dunning and Mailer bot
h
out of the picture. Do you believe now that Dunning's not your father?"

She looked at him seriously. "I ... I never really doubted that. He was always funn
y
around me, and he would never tell me anything about my mother. I remember a lo
t
of little things now."

"Anything about that wagon trip?" he asked quickly.

"Not much. I remember a town where there were Indians, and from all else I recall
,
it must have been Santa Fe. There was another man with us then. And we came wes
t
from there."

"You remember nothing after that?"

"Well... sort of. It's not very clear, not at all, but I have a memory of a plac
e
... of coming up a long canyon with a small stream in the bottom. We came up it fo
r
a long, long way, it seems to me. Once we climbed out of it and I remember Fathe
r
pointing at a great peak or mesa that was far away. He ... I remember that becaus
e
he said something about an orphan at the time, and I pestered him to tell me wha
t
an orphan was. I guess it wasn't long after that I became one."

Kilkenny nodded. "That helps. We're getting places now. I would bet fifty dollar
s
that the long canyon was Canyon Largo. The Orphan makes sense. You see, that's th
e
name of a mesa over in the desert near Largo. They call it El Huerfano ... the Orphan
,
because it stands alone."

"Isn't that funny?" she said. "I never connected the mountain and the orphan, a
t
all! Now, let's see, there was something else, too. Last night I was thinking abou
t
it and I dreamed something about a night when there was a fire and I woke up an
d
I could see the light dancing on a rock wall. I've thought about that real often.

You know how it is, you forget so much and then two or three things sort of stic
k
in your mind? It was that way with this.... I remember waking up and being afrai
d
because I could see that Father was not in his blankets, but when I called to him
,
he spoke to me from far off and told me to be quiet. I went back to sleep then."

Kilkenny squinted his eyes at her. "You remember anything else about that?"

She shook her head. "No, only I think it was the next day that we got here and th
e
old Indian woman took care of me. I didn't see Father again for a long time."

"Probably you never saw him again, not actually."

Kilkenny got to his feet. "You know, I've a hunch that night you woke up was th
e
night your father was killed, and if you got to the ranch the next day, it coul
d
not have been far from here."

"Oh, but I can't be sure!" she objected. "It's been so long, and telling it thi
s
way makes it seem a lot more real than it actually was! It's pretty vague."

"Nevertheless, I think I'm right. Before I see Dunning today, I'm going to have
a
look."

"But how could you find it after all this time?" she asked.

"I'll have to be lucky," he admitted. "Mighty lucky. But there aren't many trail
s
across this country from Santa Fe, and I don't believe he ever brought the wagon
s
on much further than that. He may have burned them, and if he 'did, they may stil
l
be there, or the rims may. I'll have a I
l
ook, anyway."

"But why? What's to be gained?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "Maybe nothing. I'd like to get something on Dunning
,
though. Something definite. And there might be a clue."

She nodded, looking out past the screen of pines toward the distant hills
. Fl
Then suddenly, almost as she turned her head, he wa
s
gone from the rock! She stared, then started to
her feet. Where in the world
?

"Lona!" She whirled. It was Gordon Flynn. "What in the world are you doin' way bac
k
H
ere
?

H
e asked. He was sitting a dun pony that he often rode, and he looked around wonderingly.

"An' how did you ever find this place? I'd never have guessed it was here."

"I found it."

Kilkenny stepped from behind a clump of piflon, and Flynn gulped. "You ... you're
Kilkenny?"

Lena's eyes flew open and she gasped, "Kilkenny!" "Yes, ma'am," he replied, "that'
s
my name."

Chapter
4

The hamlet of Aztec Crossing was born of a broken axle and weaned and reared on India
n
whiskey. For three weeks the town was a covered wagon and three barrels of whiskey
,
but by that time "Hungry" Hayes, onetime buffalo hunter and freighter, had buil
t
a dugout roofed with poles and earth.

With those three barrels of Indian whiskey to prime the pump of prosperity, and
a
Winchester to back the priming, Hayes turned his broken axle and the river crossin
g
into a comfortable fortune. Indian whiskey is a simple concoction of river water
,
not strained, straight alcohol (roughly two gallons to the barrel), three plugs o
f
chewing tobacco, five or six bars of soap (very strong lye soap), one half poun
d
of red pepper, and a liberal dose of sagebrush leaves. To this is added two ounce
s
of strychnine, and the resulting brew is something to make a mummy rear on his hin
d
legs and let out a regular Comanche yell. This recipe was not, of course, origina
l
with Hungry Hayes. He merely adopted the formula in use throughout the Indian country
,
the ingredients varying but little.

The first two settlers of Aztec Crossing halted because of proximity to the sourc
e
of supply, yet neither proved as hardy as the durable Hayes. The first to pass o
n
was helping Hayes mix the whiskey and decided that he preferred it straight, withou
t
the addition of the river water. The following morning Hayes planted him on the ban
k
of the river with due ceremony. The second settler departe
d
this world after a brief but emphatic altercation with four Apaches. His mistak
e
was entirely due to a youthful disdain for mathematics, for having slain three Apaches
,
he straightened up from his protecting buffalo wallow to leave, and took an arro
w
through his chest. He was buried, after an interval of sunshine and buzzards, b
y
Hayes, taking with him a surplus of arrows but considerably less hair.

Yet, as time passed, Aztec Crossing grew. Ranching began, and the town acquired
a
general store, four saloons, a livery stable, a bank, and various other odds an
d
ends of business enterprise. Hungry Hayes, fat with money, departed for the Eas
t
and settled down in a comfortable Kentucky homestead, where people forever afte
r
regarded him as a liar for telling what was actually less than the truth.

The latest institution, and from Frank Mailer's viewpoint, the most interesting
,
was the Aztec City Bank.

With a dozen ranches nearer to Aztec than any other town, the bank was at times fairl
y
bulging with coin. This fact had not gone unnoticed, and the five hard-bitten gentleme
n
who drifted into Aztec on the bright and sunny morning in question had decided t
o
give some attention to this money.

Aztec was drowsing in the sun. The weather-beaten boards of the walk in front o
f
the Aztec Saloon supported the posteriors of four old settlers, talking of grea
t
deeds against the warlike Comanche. In front of the livery stable, half-asleep, ol
d
Pete chewed tobacco in drowsy content. In the store, his glasses as far down on hi
s
nose as possible, Storekeeper Worth studied a month-old newspaper. A dun pony flicke
d
a casual tail at a fly who buzzed in deep bass, and the morning was warm, pleasant
,
and sleepy.

Frank Mailer, mounted on a blood bay, walked his horse down the main street wit
h
the saturnine Socorro besid
e
him. Reining in at the bank hitching rail, he swung down, and Socorro did likewise
,
and stayed between the horses, fussing with some saddle gear, his carbine close a
t
hand.

Geslin and Starr came down from the opposite direction, and Geslin drew up, takin
g
time to light a smoke while his slate-gray eyes studied the street with a cold, practice
d
gaze. Starr chewed tobacco, and sat his horse, his thick thighs bulging the clot
h
of his jeans. Ethridge walked up from behind the bank and stopped at the corner o
f
the building. He carried a Henry rifle, and with Socorro faced one way and he another
,
they could cover the street with ease.

Mailer, his face swollen and ugly, jerked his head at Geslin. Starr followed. Gesli
n
was worried, for he had
never seen Mailer as he was today. Always brutal, the man was now in a vicious mood
,
his whole manner changed. The beating he had taken had aroused all the ferocity innat
e
in his being. He pushed open the door and walked in and toward the office of th
e
president. Geslin went to one window, and Starr to the other. Starr took the ma
n
who was standing there and spun him sharply, smashing a Colt down over the man'
s
skull.

"All right," he said, "sack it up!"

The cashier looked, paled, gulped, and reached for a sack. Mailer had the presiden
t
out, and with three men under their guns and the fourth on the floor out cold, the
y
proceeded to strip the bank.

Across the street Johnny Mulhaven was coming out of the saloon, and Johnny Mulhave
n
had more nerve than brains. He saw the sudden collection of horses, he saw two me
n
facing the street with rifles, and he let out a shrill Texas yell and went for hi
s
gun.

Ethridge dropped the rifle on him and fired ... the shot was too quick and too high.

It hit Johnny in the shoulde
r
and he dropped his gun, but caught it in the air with his left hand and snapped
a
quick shot at Ethridge. His shot was quick but lucky. Ethridge caught the bulle
t
where his ribs parted and dropped his rifle.