Kilkenny 03 - Kilkenny (v5.0) Read Free Page A

agreeably. “Know anybody in town?”
    “Not a soul. And I have spoken to only one man before you. He volunteered the information that I should see Dolan.”
    Leal Macy felt a little shock of excitement go through him and he looked again at this tall man, measuring him, wondering. Then he said, more carefully, “If I were you, I’d not see him. Not now, anyway. Let it ride until your next trip. Dolan,” he added, “is a tough case, and around that place of his you’ll find most of the rag ends and bobtails of the country. Drifters, rustlers, gunmen, outlaws, and just no-goods.”
    “Is he on the rustle?”
    “If he is, nobody ever caught him at it. Dolan’s an ex-army sergeant. A good fighting man, shrewd, and very able. He rode with Sheridan.”
    “So did I,” Kilkenny replied quietly.
    He looked up suddenly, hearing the door close, and for a long moment he made no move. In the door stood the young woman of Clifton’s and her eyes were on him, wide with recognition. He arose quickly. “How do you do, ma’am? I hope you’ve been well?”
    Her eyes held his, filled with uncertainty. Then she nodded and crossed to a table not far away. Macy said nothing but he was obviously interested.
    The waitress returned and served Kilkenny’s meal and at his suggestion brought Macy a cup of coffee. The waitress hovered by the table and when Kilkenny glanced up, she said, “The chef says the sauce is
always
with genuine Madeira.”
    Kilkenny grinned. “Macy, I may be in town more than I planned. If the food is going to be this good, I can’t stay away. A man gets tired of his own cookin’.”
    The door opened again and three dusty cowhands came in and dropped into chairs around a table. All three were unshaven and had obviously been riding hard and long for they had that lean, hungry, wild look of men off the trail. One of them was a lumbering big fellow with fat cheeks and a thick neck, another had a scar along his cheekbone and the small finger missing from his right hand. The third man was a man of sandy complexion, almost white eyes and he wore his gun thrust into his waistband.
    After seating themselves they let their eyes wander around the room, noting the sheriff and studying him carefully. If Macy was conscious of their attention he gave no evidence of it. Kilkenny came in for a share of their regard and the big man kept looking at him as if trying to recall where he had seen him before.
    The food was excellent and the coffee black and strong. It was like paradise after the long days riding west, eating half-cooked meals in the lee of a cliff or near some wayside waterhole. From time to time he glanced up and twice he met the eyes of the girl from Clifton’s. What, he wondered, was her name? Was she stopping here?
    He hesitated, then put the question to the sheriff. “Thought you knew her,” Macy said. “As a matter of fact, she’s just out here from the East. She’s a niece of Bob Early, the town’s best lawyer. Her name is Laurie Webster.
    “New to the West,” he added, “but a fine horsewoman. The best I’ve seen except for Nita Riordan.”
    Kilkenny felt the shock clear to his heels. He held himself a minute, afraid to speak, and then he said carefully, “Who did you say?”
    “Nita Riordan. She’s got the KR spread, southwest of here. Runs the ranch herself, although she’s got a foreman that knows his business. She rides astride like a Western woman. I hear she came from the Live Oak country, down near the Rio Grande.”
    “That right? The name sounded familiar, but I guess I was mistaken.”
    Macy chuckled good-humoredly. “Friend,” he commented, “if you ever saw this girl you’d never forget her. Spanish and Irish, and beautiful! All woman, too, but one who can take care of herself. She handles a pistol like a man, and a Winchester, too. But no nonsense about her, and nobody makes her any trouble. That foreman of hers is like her shadow. He’s a big Mexican, and I’ve seen him