Kilkenny 02 - A Man Called Trent (v5.0) Read Free

kind kiss much better if you come and ask for it.”
    “Ask?” She tore herself free from him, trembling from head to foot. “I’d never kiss you if you were the last man alive.”
    “No, ma’am, I reckon not. You’d be standin’ in line waitin’, standin’ away back.”
    A hard voice behind Lance stopped him short.
    “Seems like you’re takin’ in a lot of territory around here, stranger. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    Lance turned slowly, careful to hold his hands away from his guns.
    The thin-faced man was standing close by, his thumbs hooked in his belt. Two of the other men had spread out, one right and one left. The third man was out of sight, had circled behind him probably, or was across the buckboard from him.
    “Let’s have the questions,” he replied calmly. “I’m right curious myself.”
    “I want to know,” the man demanded, his eyes narrow and ugly, “where you was day before yesterday.”
    Lance was puzzled. “The day before yesterday? I was ridin’ a good many miles from here. Why?”
    “You got witnesses?” the thin man sneered. “You better have.”
    “What you gettin’ at?” Lance demanded.
    “I s’pose you claim you never heard of Joe Wilkins?”
    Several men had gathered around now. Lance could hear them muttering among themselves at the mention of that name.
    “What do you mean?” Lance asked. “Who is Joe Wilkins?”
    “He was killed on Lost Creek trail the day beforeyesterday,” the fellow snapped. “You was on that trail then, and there’s them that think you done him in. You deny it?”
    “Deny it?” Lance stared at the man, his eyes watchful. “Why, I never heard of Joe Wilkins, haven’t any reason to kill him. ’Course, I haven’t seen him.”
    “They found Wilkins,” the thin man went on, his cruel eyes fastened on Lance, “drilled between the eyes. Shot with a six-gun. You was on that road, and he’d been carryin’ money. You robbed him.”
    Lance watched the man steadily. There was something more behind this bald accusation than appeared on the surface. Either an effort was being made to force him to make a break so they could kill him, or the effort was to discredit him. If he made a flat denial, it would be considered that he was calling the fellow a liar, and probably would mean a shootout. Lance chuckled carelessly. “How’d you know I was on Lost Creek trail?”
    “I seen you,” the man declared.
    “Then,” Lance said gently, “you were on the trail, too. Or you were off it, because I didn’t see you. If you were off the trail, you were hiding, and, if so, why? Did you kill this Wilkins?”
    The man’s eyes narrowed to slits, and suddenly Lance sensed a hint of panic in them. They had expected him to say something to invite a fight. Instead, he had turned the accusation on his accuser.
    “No! I didn’t kill him!” the man declared. “He was my friend!”
    “Never noticed you bein’ so friendly with him, Polti,” a big farmer declared. “If you was, I don’t think he knowed it.”
    “You shut up,” Polti, the thin man, snapped, his eyes blazing. “I’ll do the talkin’ here.”
    “You talked enough,” Lance replied calmly, “to make somebody right suspicious. Why are you so durned anxious to pin this killin’ on a stranger?”
    “You killed Wilkins,” Polti growled harshly, and triumph shone in his eyes. “Somebody search his saddlebags! You all knew Wilkins had him some gold dust he used to carry around. I bet we’ll find it.”
    “You seem right shore,” Lance suggested. “Did you put it in my bag while I was in the Trail House? I saw you slippin’ out.”
    “Tryin’ to get out of it?” Polti sneered. “Well, you won’t. I’m goin’ to search them bags here and now.”
    Lance was very still, and his green eyes turned hard and cold. “No,” he said flatly. “If anybody searches them bags, it won’t be you, and it’ll be done in the presence of witnesses.”
    “I’ll search ’em!”