Kilkenny 03 - Kilkenny (v5.0) Read Free

eyes, alert to any attention he might be getting and curious about the town itself.
    Ducking under the hitch rail he settled his hat back in place and glanced at the loafer standing in front of the stage station. “Nice little town you’ve got here,” he suggested.
    The loafer glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes, then at the two low-tied guns. “I reckon,” he agreed, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, “You seen Dolan?”
    “Don’t know him,” Kilkenny said. “Who’s he?”
    The loafer stretched, then jerked his head toward the west side of town. “A good man to know if yuh figure to stick around.” Turning, the man sauntered away.
    His brow puckered slightly, Kilkenny watched him go, then turned east toward the hotel. He was a tall man, well over six feet, with wide shoulders, thick and powerfully shaped. His hips were lean and his waist small. When he walked, it was less the rider’s walk than the woodsman’s. Turning into the Westwater Hotel, he sought out the dining room and dropped to a seat at a table near the back of the room. He glanced curiously at the menu, then looked again, for here in this cow country hotel was a menu that would have favored any cafe in Paris.
    He turned the page, then turned it back again. One facing page listed the usual cow country meals, but on the other was a French menu listing at least fifty dishes!
    “Surprised?”
    Kilkenny glanced up to see a square-shouldered man of medium height standing above him. On the man’s vest was a sheriff’s badge. Kilkenny’s eyes went from the badge to the rough-hewn features. The mustache was white, trimmed, and clean. The eyes were a cool blue, now faintly quizzical and amused.
    “Yes,” he responded, “I sure am. Sit down, Sheriff.”
    “Thanks.” The sheriff dropped into the chair across the table. “My name’s Leal Macy. Whenever a stranger wearing two guns comes into town I try to make his acquaintance.”
    Kilkenny looked at the menu again, and when the waitress approached he said, “I’ll have the Paupiettes de Veau Provençal, an’ tell your chef I’ll have nothing but Madeira in the sauce.”
    Macy grinned, but his eyes were alert and curious. “Ernleven will like that. The man’s a marvel with food and takes it as a personal favor if anyone orders from the French side of the menu. An’ yuh’d be surprised how many do. The West,” he added, “is made up of a lot of odd characters. I went over the trail from Texas once with two university men in the crowd. One from the Sorbonne and one from Heidelberg.”
    “Yeah.” Kilkenny was alert now. If the sheriff had been over the trail there was scarcely a chance he had not heard of Kilkenny—unless it had been among the earliest trips. “The promise of a new country attracts men from everywhere.”
    “Going to be around long?” The question was casual.
    “Permanent.”
    Macy looked at him again, more carefully. “We need good men. This is good country. Planning on ranching?”
    “Uh huh. In a small way.”
    “Located yet?”
    “Yeah.”
    There was a moment of silence, then Macy asked, “Might I ask where? I haven’t seen you around before.”
    Kilkenny nodded with his head toward the north-west. “Over there.” He turned his green eyes toward the sheriff. “An’ I haven’t seen you around before, either. However, Macy, let’s get this straight. As sheriff you’ve seen these guns I pack an’ you’re probably wonderin’ what all I want around here. I want to be let alone. I’ve picked the loneliest place I can find and I’ve holed up there. Unless something unusual happens, I’ll be in town no more than once a month after I get located. I don’t hunt trouble, an’ I’ve never been drunk in my life. Sometimes,” he added, “it doesn’t pay to get drunk an’ forgetful. You’ll have no trouble with me. I figure to run a few cattle and to mind my own affairs—but I want to be let alone.”
    “Fair enough,” Macy nodded