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Tempers grew short and the men began to hate the land, the sun, each other.
And then suddenly the chase changed, and it changed on one bright and awful
morning when suddenly from a ridge ahead of them, a shot rang out!
Half asleep in their saddles, the men cursed and slapped spurs to their
horses to race for shelter. And there was none.
They were caught on an open flat and the shots came from a ridge all of four
hundred yards ahead, but they were accurate shots. The first burned Red
Swilling's arm, the second dropped a horse, the third carried away the pommel
of Lee Jaeger's saddle. The riders scattered and ran and bullets followed them
in their flight.
Remounting the hard-fleshed buckskin, Kilkenny circled swiftly toward a
canyon where one of the riders was headed. When he reached it he slid to the
ground.
The air was still. Heat waves rippled and then gravel rattled. Then the rider
came into view. "Drop the rifle!" Kilkenny held his own in his hands. "Let go
your gun belt. A wrong move and I'll gut shoot you!"
The rider's unshaven face was red from the sun. His hesitation was momentary.
The rifle left no room for argument. He complied with the order, careful to
make no mistakes.
Taking the man's rifle, Kilkenny shattered the stock over a boulder, and
jammed the action. The rider stared bitterly as his rifle was ruined.
"That rifle cost two months' wages!" he protested.
"Tough," Kilkenny said wickedly. "You'd have killed me with it, wouldn't
you?"
"What d'you want with me?Dee will kill you for this! He'll never quit until
he kills you!"
"Dee? That white-bellied weasel? Tell him when I'm ready for him I'll come
an' get him. First I want him done brown by the sun. I don't like that pasty
hide in front o' me."
The man stared back at him. "What you aim doin' with me?" he demanded.
Kilkenny smiled then. "Why, what do you think? Want a gun in your hand and an
even break?"
The fellow touched a tongue to his dry lips. "That wouldn't be no break. I
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ain't got your speed an' you know it."
Kilkenny smiled and picked up the man's guns and cartridge belts. "All right
then," he said, "you want to manhunt. I'll let you, but it won't be
comfortable without a saddle."
"Huh?" The man stared, puzzled and suddenly worried.
Coolly, Kilkenny moved toward the man's horse, his eyes faintly humorous.
An hour later, several miles to the south, Spade Woolley joined Havalik and
the others. He was dark-faced from cussing and was astride a horse with only a
bridle, his saddle gone and his guns gone. Also his canteen was gone.
"What happened to you?" Swilling demanded.
"He headed me off an' laid for me." Woolley was sullen and bitter. "Told me I
could go on huntin' but I'd be damn sick of it. He was right, I am sick of it,
an' I hope somebody shoots me if I ever throw leather on another razor-backed
hoss!"
Havalik stared at him, red-eyed and furious. "What are you? A baby?" he
sneered. "Lettin' him sneak up on you? What are we s'posed to do now? Wetnurse
you? No canteen, an' you'll want to drink our water, no guns, no saddle. Start
for the outfit, Woolley, an' start now."
"Huh?" Woolley's face was ludicrous in its amazement. "Without a canteen? I'd
die afore I got anywheres!"
"Tough, ain't it?" Havalik sneered. "That'll learn you a lesson. Get goin'!"
Red Swilling stared at Havalik. "Dee, you don't mean that! Hell, the man
wouldn't have a chance!"
Havalik turned like a poised rattler. "Want to make somethin' of it? You want
to go with him an' leave your canteen? Or you want to go for your gun? You got
a choice o' that or shuttin' your trap an' obeyin' orders."
Red Swilling swallowed and moved his hands carefully away from his guns.
Havalik was trembling with eagerness and ready to kill. Swilling was shocked
and frightened. "Hell, you're the boss, Dee," he protested, "I only " His
voice trailed off.
Havalik's eyes were on Woolley. "You startin'?" he demanded. "Or do I cut you
down? I got no use for a damn fool!"
Spade Woolley stared back at the man and suddenly all the years of his life
came up in him to curse him. He looked into those red-rimmed eyes, and
suddenly he said, "I'll go, Dee," his voice was low, "an' I hope I get
through. I want to get through now just for one reason. I want to be there
when Lance Kilkenny shoots your rotten heart out!"
Woolley was beyond caring what happened. He knew the nature of the man before
him, could see that flat, ugly mouth, the cold chill of that still gray face,
the viciousness of the man's eyes, but deep within him was the courage he had
been born with. "You know what he told me to tell you? He named you for a
white-bellied weasel and said when he wanted you he'd come for you. He said he
wanted your pasty hide done brown before he came for you, but he was wrong,Dee
, that dirty white hide o' yours won't brown. It's the hide of a dead man!"
Spade leaned forward. "A dead man, d'you hear? You're dead an' you're rotten
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before you lie down!"
Dee Havalik's flat lips writhed suddenly and his hand was a blur of movement.
The gun came up and flame stabbed, and Spade Woolley folded up and slid from
the back of his horse, hitting the sand on his side, then rolling over. For an
instant, his eyes flared wide. "You saved me,Dee . Saved me from dyin' o'
thirst out there! But ... but you ... you're dead!Dead !" Blood frothed at his
lips and only his eyes were alive, brilliantly, horribly alive. "Dead!
Kilkenny will kill you! He's faster than you! He's ... he's my kind o' man! I
... I wish ..."
"Mount up!" Havalik's voice was shrill. "Hit the leather! We're goin'' on!"
Red Swilling stared for a moment at Havalik, his face somber with brooding
realization. His eyes flicked to Baker and Grat. They were staring unseeingly
at the sand. Slowly Red moved to his horse and the others followed. Nobody
spoke of the dead man lying on the sand, but none of them was forgetting. And
that ended the seventh day of the chase.
Kilkenny took a narrow wild horse trail that led up to North Point and then
turned down the plateau. Far below him he could see the pursuers. He had heard
the shot and wondered at it, but supposed a horse had broken a leg. He pushed
on into the afternoon, and at night he doubled back again, locating their camp
by the firelight.
From a safe distance he watched through his glass. The men's lips were not
moving. They were not talking or looking at one another. Havalik sat alone,
and nowhere among them was the rider he had seen this morning. Finally, one by
one they crept to their blankets. Havalik was the last to go. One man
remained, a guard.
For an hour Kilkenny rested. Then, leaving his horse, he crept forward, flat
on his stomach. It was a slow and painstaking progress, but soon he was at the
edge of camp.
The fire was dying. Straight before him was the guard, his back to Kilkenny.
Beyond the fire was a low bank, some eight to ten feet high, and between it
and the fire were the horses, cropping grass within plain view of the guard.
East and west of the fire the men were rolled in their blankets, sleeping.
A stick fell and sparks leaped up. The guard got to his feet and gathered a
few more sticks to lay on the blaze. The flames eagerly embraced the sticks
with glowing arms and thin tendrils Of flame and smoke crept along the length
of the sticks. The guard yawned and scratched, staring around into the
darkness, but Kilkenny lay among the clumps of bunch grass and was not
worried. The guard had been watching the fire and would be almost blind to the
outer darkness. No Indian would do that.
Finally the guard seated himself again and began to roll a smoke. Kilkenny
studied the situation with care and then found what he wanted. Not far from
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