Kilkenny 02 - A Man Called Trent (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online Page A

second sooner. Fact, I think he did.”
    “How come he didn’t kill you?” Rusty glanced at him curiously.
    “He made a mistake.” Kilkenny wiped sweat from Buck’s neck. “He missed his first shot. Never,” he added dryly, “miss the first one. You may not get another.”
    Steve Lord came up at a gallop and reined insharply. “You!” he said, as he glanced sharply from one to the other. “Didn’t know you was interested down thisaway.”
    “Takin’ a look at Apple Cañon,” Rusty said. He grinned widely. “I’m a-goin’ to interduce Kilkenny to Nita.”
    “I heard you was Kilkenny,” Steve said, and looked at him curiously. “I’ve talked to five men before who claimed to know you. Each gave a different description.”
    “Steve,” Lance said, “this fight ain’t goin’ to do you or your old man any good. I had a talk with Webb Steele. I think we need a meetin’ between your dad, Webb Steele, and Mort Davis to iron this trouble out.”
    “Mort Davis?” Steve exploded. “Why, Dad’s threatened to shoot him on sight. They’d never dare get in the same room.”
    “I’ll be there,” Kilkenny said dryly. “If any shootin’s done, I’ll do it.”
    Steve shook his head doubtfully. “I’ll talk to him, but it won’t do any good. He’s too hard-headed.”
    “So’s Webb Steele,” Rusty agreed, “but we’ll bring him around.”
    “No need for anybody to fight,” Kilkenny said. “I came in this to help Mort. You and your dad stand to lose plenty if this war breaks wide open. Why fight when it’s to somebody else’s interest?”
    Steve’s head jerked around. “What you mean by that?” he demanded.
    Kilkenny looked up mildly, then drew deeply on his cigarette, and flicked off the ash before he replied. “Because there’s somebody else in this,” he said then. “Somebody who wants Lord and Steeleout of the way, somebody who stands to win a heap. Find out who that is, and we’ll know the reason for range war.”
    Steve’s face sharpened. He wheeled his horse. “You won’t find anybody at Apple Cañon!” he shouted. “I saw the Brockmans there!” Then he was gone.
    “Scared,” Rusty Gates suggested. “Scared silly.”
    “No,” Kilkenny said, “he ain’t scared. It’s somethin’ else.”
    Yet, as he rode on, he was not thinking of that, or of anything that had to do with this trouble except in the most remote way. He was thinking of himself, something he rarely allowed himself to do beyond caring for the few essential comforts of living, the obtaining of food and shelter. He was thinking of what lay ahead, for in his own mind he could see it all with bitter clarity.
    This was an old story, and a familiar one. The West knew it, and would know it again and again in the bitter years to come. Struggle was the law of growth, and the West was growing up the hard way. It was growing up through a fog of gunsmoke, and through the acrid odor of gunpowder, and the sickly sweet smell of blood. Men would die, good men and bad, but strong men all, and a country needed its strong men. Such a country as this needed them doubly bad. Whether it would be today he did not know, but he knew there must be a six-gun showdown, and he had seen too many of them. He was tired. Young in years, he had ridden long on the out trail, and knew only too well what this meant. If he should be the best man, he would live to run again and to drift to a new land where he was not known as a killer, as a gunman. For a few days, a few months, all would go well.Then there would come a time, as it was coming now, when it was freedom and right, or a fight to the death. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it.
    There was something familiar about this ride. He remembered it all so well. Ahead of him lay trouble, and going to Apple Cañon was typical of him, just what he would do. It was always his method to go right to the heart of trouble, and Apple Cañon seemed to be the key point here.
    There was so much