Read Online Kilkenny 02 - A Man Called Trent (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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Trail House.
Men turned quickly at his approach, and their voices died down. He glanced from one to the other, and his eyes narrowed.
“Any Steele men here?” he demanded. Two men stepped forward, staring at him, hesitant, but ready for anything.
“We’re from Steele’s,” he said. “What about it?”
“There’ll be no war,” Kilkenny said flatly. “Neither of you men is firin’ a shot at a Lord man tonight. You hear?”
The nearest cowpuncher, a hard-bitten man with a scarred face, grinned, showing broken yellow teeth. “You mean, if I get shot at, I don’t fight back? Don’t be foolish, hombre! If I feel like fightin’, I’ll fight. Nobody tells me what to do.”
Kilkenny’s eyes narrowed. “I’m tellin’ you.” His voice cracked like a whip. “If you shoot, better get me first. If not, I’m comin’ after you.”
The man’s face paled. “Then you talk to them Lord men,” he persisted stubbornly, backing off a little. “I ain’t anxious for no gunslingin’!”
Kilkenny wheeled and crossed to the Spur. Shoving the doors open, he stepped in and issued the same ultimatum to the Lord men. Several of them appeared relieved. But one man got up and walked slowly down the room toward Kilkenny.
Lance saw it coming. He stood still, watching the man come closer and closer. He knew the type. This man was fairly good with a gun but he wanted a reputation like Kilkenny’s, and figured this was the time to get it. Yet there was a lack of certainty in the man’s mind. He was coming, but he wasn’t sure. Kilkenny was. No man had ever outshot him. He had the confidence given him by many victories.
“I reckon, Kilkenny,” the Lord cowpuncher said, “it’s time somebody called you. I’m shootin’ who I want to, and I ain’t takin’ orders from you. I hear you’re fast. Well, fill your hand!”
He dropped into a gunman’s crouch, then froze and his mouth dropped open. He gulped, then swallowed.The gun in Kilkenny’s hand was leveled at the pit of his stomach.
Somehow, in the gunfights he’d had before, it had never happened like that. There had been a moment of tenseness, then both had gone for their guns. But this had happened so suddenly. He had expected nothing like that heavy .45 aimed at his stomach, with the tall, green-eyed man standing behind it.
It came to him abruptly that all he had to do to die was drop his hand. All at once, he didn’t want to die. He decided that being a gun slick wasn’t any part of his business. After all, he was a cowpuncher.
Slowly, step by step, he backed up. Then he swallowed again. “Mister,” he said, “I reckon I ain’t the hombre I thought I was. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble with the Steele boys tonight.”
Kilkenny nodded. “No need for trouble,” he said quietly. “There’s too much on this range, anyway.”
He spun on his heel and walked from the barroom.
For an instant all was still, then the big cowpuncher looked around, and shook his head in amazement.
“Did you see him drag that iron?” he asked pleadingly. “Where the devil did he get it from? I looked, and there it was!”
There was silence for a long time, then one man said sincerely: “I heerd he was gun swift, but nothin’ like that. Men, that’s Kilkenny!”
Rusty Gates grabbed Kilkenny as he left the Spur.
“Kilkenny,” he said, “there’s a stranger rode in today. He asked for you. Got somethin’ to tell you, he says. Hails from El Paso!”
“El Paso?” Kilkenny scowled. “Who could want to see me from there?”
Gates shrugged. “Purty well lickered, I hear.” He lighted a smoke. “But he ain’t talkin’ fight. Just insists on seein’ you.”
“Where is he now?”
Kilkenny was thoughtful. El Paso. He hadn’t been in El Paso since the Weber fight. Who could want to see him from there?
“He was at the Trail House,” Gates said. “Come in just after you took off. Tall, rangy feller. Looks like a cowhand, all right. I mean, he
Men turned quickly at his approach, and their voices died down. He glanced from one to the other, and his eyes narrowed.
“Any Steele men here?” he demanded. Two men stepped forward, staring at him, hesitant, but ready for anything.
“We’re from Steele’s,” he said. “What about it?”
“There’ll be no war,” Kilkenny said flatly. “Neither of you men is firin’ a shot at a Lord man tonight. You hear?”
The nearest cowpuncher, a hard-bitten man with a scarred face, grinned, showing broken yellow teeth. “You mean, if I get shot at, I don’t fight back? Don’t be foolish, hombre! If I feel like fightin’, I’ll fight. Nobody tells me what to do.”
Kilkenny’s eyes narrowed. “I’m tellin’ you.” His voice cracked like a whip. “If you shoot, better get me first. If not, I’m comin’ after you.”
The man’s face paled. “Then you talk to them Lord men,” he persisted stubbornly, backing off a little. “I ain’t anxious for no gunslingin’!”
Kilkenny wheeled and crossed to the Spur. Shoving the doors open, he stepped in and issued the same ultimatum to the Lord men. Several of them appeared relieved. But one man got up and walked slowly down the room toward Kilkenny.
Lance saw it coming. He stood still, watching the man come closer and closer. He knew the type. This man was fairly good with a gun but he wanted a reputation like Kilkenny’s, and figured this was the time to get it. Yet there was a lack of certainty in the man’s mind. He was coming, but he wasn’t sure. Kilkenny was. No man had ever outshot him. He had the confidence given him by many victories.
“I reckon, Kilkenny,” the Lord cowpuncher said, “it’s time somebody called you. I’m shootin’ who I want to, and I ain’t takin’ orders from you. I hear you’re fast. Well, fill your hand!”
He dropped into a gunman’s crouch, then froze and his mouth dropped open. He gulped, then swallowed.The gun in Kilkenny’s hand was leveled at the pit of his stomach.
Somehow, in the gunfights he’d had before, it had never happened like that. There had been a moment of tenseness, then both had gone for their guns. But this had happened so suddenly. He had expected nothing like that heavy .45 aimed at his stomach, with the tall, green-eyed man standing behind it.
It came to him abruptly that all he had to do to die was drop his hand. All at once, he didn’t want to die. He decided that being a gun slick wasn’t any part of his business. After all, he was a cowpuncher.
Slowly, step by step, he backed up. Then he swallowed again. “Mister,” he said, “I reckon I ain’t the hombre I thought I was. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble with the Steele boys tonight.”
Kilkenny nodded. “No need for trouble,” he said quietly. “There’s too much on this range, anyway.”
He spun on his heel and walked from the barroom.
For an instant all was still, then the big cowpuncher looked around, and shook his head in amazement.
“Did you see him drag that iron?” he asked pleadingly. “Where the devil did he get it from? I looked, and there it was!”
There was silence for a long time, then one man said sincerely: “I heerd he was gun swift, but nothin’ like that. Men, that’s Kilkenny!”
Rusty Gates grabbed Kilkenny as he left the Spur.
“Kilkenny,” he said, “there’s a stranger rode in today. He asked for you. Got somethin’ to tell you, he says. Hails from El Paso!”
“El Paso?” Kilkenny scowled. “Who could want to see me from there?”
Gates shrugged. “Purty well lickered, I hear.” He lighted a smoke. “But he ain’t talkin’ fight. Just insists on seein’ you.”
“Where is he now?”
Kilkenny was thoughtful. El Paso. He hadn’t been in El Paso since the Weber fight. Who could want to see him from there?
“He was at the Trail House,” Gates said. “Come in just after you took off. Tall, rangy feller. Looks like a cowhand, all right. I mean, he
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