Jillian looked up from the log. “You’re really not Ben Bledsoe?” she asked The Kid.
“That’s right,” Drake said. “He’s not. He’s some gunfighter called Kid Morgan who just happens to look a lot like Bledsoe. He tried to tell that to your pa, but high-and-mighty Warden Fletcher wouldn’t believe him.”
“I…I wondered…”
“That’s the reason I had to break out,” The Kid said grimly. “The only way to prove I’m not Bledsoe is to find the real one and bring him back. Maybe then I can get on with my life.”
And what a bitter life it was, The Kid reminded himself. Drifting in and out of trouble, mourning his murdered wife, tormenting himself with memories.
“I’m sorry,” Jillian whispered. “You mean my father…did what he did to you…for nothing?”
“Are you talking about the way he whipped me within an inch of my life?” It was a harsh thing to say. He saw Jillian wince a little at his words. He softened his tone slightly as he went on, “I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to know. I don’t have any idea where Bledsoe’s loot is cached. He’s going to have to ask the real Bledsoe if he wants to find out about that.”
Jillian looked down at the ground and didn’t say anything after that.
They moved on a short time later. Drake proved to be right about knowing the lonely trails. He led them through narrow gashes with rock walls rising more than a hundred feet on either side of them. He took them across rock bridges that spanned dizzying chasms and made The Kid glad the horses were surefooted. Brush-choked ravines that appeared to be impassable had paths through them after all, and Drake knew where to find them.
It was a zigzagging course. By late afternoon, The Kid estimated they had ridden a good thirty miles, but Hell Gate probably wasn’t more than ten or fifteen miles behind them in a straight line.
The Kid’s belly was empty. He wouldn’t have thought he would miss that greasy stew so much. He hadn’t gotten breakfast that morning, he reminded himself.
There were plenty of creeks in the mountains, so they wouldn’t go thirsty, but the lack of supplies might prove to be a problem. “We have to find something to eat,” he told Drake. “Maybe we could trap a rabbit or something.”
They had spotted deer and other wild game during the day but didn’t want to risk a shot or a fire to cook anything they might bring down.
“Don’t worry,” Drake said. “You ought to know by now, Kid, that I’ve always got a plan.”
“Well, if you do, I’d like to know what it is.”
“I haven’t been just leading us around these mountains at random. I had a destination in mind as soon as we left Hell Gate.” Drake pointed to the shoulder of a mountain rising above them. “There’s a cabin in a little valley about a mile from here where gents in my line of work stop over from time to time.”
“You’re talking about a hideout.”
Drake shrugged. “Call it what you want. Fellas who use it leave some supplies there if they can. There’ll be jerky, canned peaches, things like that that’ll keep. No lawman knows about it. The girl’s pa sure as hell doesn’t. We can spend the night there safely.”
“All right,” The Kid said with a nod. “That sounds pretty good.” And in the morning, they could go their separate ways, he added to himself.
They rode on with Drake continuing to lead the way. Dusk was settling down over the rugged peaks around them when they topped a little rise and looked down into the narrow valley Drake had mentioned.
The Kid could barely make out the cabin. It was tucked into a stand of trees and blended in with them. He could believe that no lawman knew about the hideout in that high, lonesome country.
But somebody sure did, he realized, because a thin thread of gray smoke rose from the stone chimney, almost but not quite completely blending in with the graying sky.
There were horses in the pole corral built onto the side of the cabin. The Kid saw them moving around a little.
Drake could see everything that The Kid did. He said softly, “Well, well. Looks like we’re gonna have to share.”
And then he looked pointedly over at Jillian Fletcher.
Chapter 18
Jillian saw the look and shrank back against The Kid, her face going taut with fear.
“Forget it,” The Kid said. “We’ll find some other place to hole up.”
“There isn’t any other place, at least not around here.” Drake shook his head. “Take it easy, Kid. I know what I’m doing. The girl’s going to be a distraction, that’s all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There are four or five horses in that corral. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like two-to-one odds. We’re going to have to have some sort of advantage.” Drake nodded toward Jillian. “She’s it.”
“You…you’re going to…trade me to them?” she asked in a quavering voice.
Drake grunted. “Not exactly. Morgan, tear her dress so they can get a good look at one shoulder.”
“What?”
“I’d do it myself, but you’d probably take offense and start a ruckus,” Drake observed with a note of exasperation in his voice. “We want those old boys in that cabin looking at Miss Fletcher, not at us. That way we can get the drop on them. We’ll tie them up for the night, then in the morning we can take their guns and some of their supplies and leave them with just a couple horses so they’ll have to ride double. That way they can’t come after us.”
Now that Drake had explained, the plan sounded workable. The Kid didn’t like the fact that it would put Jillian in danger, but he didn’t see any way around it. Jillian would remain in danger until they got to the point where they could split up. Then he would see to it that she was left somewhere safe, like on the outskirts of a settlement.
“All right, but she can do the tearing herself,” he said. “Is that all right with you, Miss Fletcher?”
“You want me to…tear my clothes?”
“Sorry,” The Kid told her. “Like Drake said, it’ll help us get the drop on those men without a lot of shooting and killing.”
Jillian thought about it for a second before sighing and nodding. “All right,” she said as she reached up to the collar of her dress. “If you think it’s best.”
She tugged on the fabric, but it proved stubborn enough that in the end, The Kid had to help her rip it so the dress hung loose from a bared shoulder.
“How’s that?” he asked Drake.
The man shrugged. “Might be better if a little more skin was showing, but I reckon it’ll do. Here’s how we’ll handle it. You’ll walk down there and stop outside the cabin, miss. Morgan and I will circle around and get on either side of it. You yell for help, and when those men look out and see you standing there, they’ll come out to see what’s going on. Then Morgan and I will throw down on them and make them drop their guns.”
“You’re trusting me not to run away?”
Drake gave her a wolfish grin in the fading light. “Where are you gonna run to? We’re miles from the prison and farther than that from any town. There’s nobody up in these mountains except panthers and bears and outlaws, and night’s coming on. You wouldn’t make it until morning, Miss Fletcher.” He nodded toward The Kid. “Your best bet to stay alive is to cooperate with us.”
“All right,” she said in a small voice. “I’ll do it.”
“Now you’re being smart. Give us about five minutes to get in position. Kid, you take the left, I’ll take the right. There are enough trees all around that cabin to let us get pretty close.”
The Kid nodded. “I understand.”
He stayed in the saddle and helped Jillian down from the horse. When she looked up at him worriedly, he told her, “You’ll be fine.”
“Just don’t think about trying to double-cross us,” Drake warned. “I promise you, you’d be a whole hell of a lot worse off with those hombres than you are with us.”
Jillian gave The Kid an intent look and said, “I know.”
>
She was counting on him to protect her. He hadn’t wanted that responsibility, but now that it had been thrust upon him, he couldn’t ignore it. Rebel’s death had hardened him inside, left a cold spot in his heart that might never warm again, but still, he was Frank Morgan’s son. There were some things he just couldn’t dodge.
“Let’s go,” Drake said. “We don’t want to lose all the light. Don’t make any more noise than you have to, Morgan.”
The Kid nodded and turned his horse. He moved off to the left along the rise and began angling down into the valley on a course that would take him to the side of the cabin.
He wanted to look back at Jillian, but he didn’t. She had a part to play in this game, too, and she would have to play it well for any of them to survive.
The Kid concentrated on approaching the cabin stealthily. He dismounted when he was still a good hundred yards away and moved closer on foot after tying the horse’s reins to a sapling. He stopped behind a thick-trunked pine about twenty feet from the front corner of the cabin.
The daylight continued to fade, but enough remained that he could see Jillian making her way down the hill. She moved quickly, stumbling a little when she glanced back over her shoulder as if afraid someone was after her.
The Kid smiled faintly in admiration. The young woman had sand, no doubt about that, and she was smart. If one of the owlhoots in the cabin spotted her, he would think she was running away from somebody.
Her bare shoulder gleamed in the dusk as she came panting to a halt in front of the cabin, a good fifty feet from the door.
“Hello!” she cried. “Is anybody in there? If there is, you have to help me! Please, help me!”
In his life as Conrad Browning, The Kid had seen a number of stage plays starring famous actresses. None of them had ever given a better performance than the one Jillian Fletcher gave, for an audience of outlaws using a hideout in some isolated New Mexico mountains. She sounded absolutely terrified.
Probably because she was, The Kid thought.
The Kid saw the cabin door swing open. A scruffy-looking man in range clothes stepped out, gun in hand. A ginger-colored beard jutted from his chin.
“Oh, thank God!” Jillian exclaimed as she took a step toward him. “You heard me!”
The man swung his gun up and snapped, “Hold it right there, miss! Who are you? What in blazes are you doin’ out here in the middle o’ nowhere?”
Jillian stopped and held her hands out imploring. “You have to help me. I-I’m lost. My horse threw me, and I’ve been wandering in the woods for hours, and I-I think something was chasing me! It sounded like…like a bear!”
“You’re alone?” the ginger-bearded outlaw asked, his voice still edged with suspicion.
“Of course. I got separated from the rest of my party. They were hunting, and…and I don’t know where they are…”
She was improvising, The Kid knew, but she was doing a good job of it.
The man chuckled. “Some rich folks out on a huntin’ expedition, eh?”
“That’s right,” Jillian agreed.
The Kid heard the greed in the outlaw’s voice as the man went on, “I’ll bet your friends are mighty worried about you. They’d probably pay a pretty penny to get you back safe and sound.”
“That’s right! I’m sure there would be a reward.”
It wouldn’t be a reward, thought The Kid. It would be ransom. And Jillian likely wouldn’t be returned all that safe and sound. There was no telling what sort of indignities she would have to endure at the hands of that bunch, even if they did decide to keep her alive and try to cash in on that.
His hands tightened on the rifle he held. As soon as all the men came out of the cabin, they would find that they were the prisoners, not Jillian.
The corral was on The Kid’s side of the cabin. He was close enough to get an accurate count of the horses inside it. There were four mounts, four saddles hanging on the fence. Three men were still inside the cabin.
“Come on out, fellas,” the bearded outlaw called as he lowered his gun. He had obviously decided Jillian didn’t represent a threat. “Look what Lady Luck done dropped right in our laps.”
He walked closer to her. She retreated a step, saying, “You…you won’t hurt me, will you?”
“Hurt you?” the man repeated. “Aw, honey, we wouldn’t never hurt a pretty little gal like you. We’re gonna take real good care o’ you until we can get you back to your folks.” Leering, he looked back over his shoulder at his three companions, who had come out of the cabin. “Ain’t that right, fellas?”
The three men crowded up behind him, clearly eager to get a better look at Jillian. Their guns were holstered, and as the four of them approached her, the first man pouched his iron, too.
The Kid knew he wouldn’t get a better chance. He stepped out from behind the tree, leveled his rifle at the four outlaws, and called, “Hold it! Drop your guns!”
They spun toward the sound of his voice, hands clawing at their holstered revolvers. The Kid expected them to freeze once they saw that he had the drop on them, but if they didn’t, he would open fire and Drake would, too.
Drake didn’t wait. A rifle cracked on the other side of the cabin, and one of the outlaws pitched forward as a .44-40 slug smashed into his back.
The Kid muttered a curse. They had been so close to ending it without any gunplay, but there was no longer any chance of that. Drake’s shot had started the ball, and there was no calling it back.
The Kid’s sights were leveled on the chest of the ginger-bearded outlaw. He squeezed the trigger and felt the Winchester’s butt kick against his shoulder as the rifle cracked.
The owlhoot’s gun was halfway out of its holster, but he dropped it as he staggered back a step and pawed at the hole where The Kid’s bullet had driven deep into his chest.
Swinging the rifle toward the two men who were still threats, The Kid jacked the lever and fired again. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Jillian had spun around and was running away, getting out of the line of fire. That was good, he thought as he levered and fired a third round, then a fourth.
From the other side of the cabin, Drake’s weapon continued to roar, too.
Acrid powdersmoke stung The Kid’s nose as he stopped firing and lowered the rifle a little to peer over the barrel. All four of the outlaws were on the ground, lying motionless. A couple of them had guns in their hands, and he had been vaguely aware during the fight that they had gotten off a few shots.
None of the bullets had come close to him. He hoped the same was true of Drake and especially Jillian.
He looked toward the spot where she had been. He saw her figure disappearing into the shadows gathering on the hillside that overlooked the cabin.
“She’s getting away!” Drake shouted as he ran out into the open. “Go get her, Kid!”
Drake was covering the four owlhoots in case any of them were still alive. The Kid broke into a run, his long legs carrying him across the clearing in front of the cabin and up the slope after Jillian.
Chapter 19
In the fading light, The Kid followed Jillian as much by sound as by sight. He could hear her crashing through the brush ahead of him.
“Miss Fletcher!” he called. “Jillian! Stop! It’s all right!”
She kept going. He supposed after everything she had been through, the terrible crash of gun-thunder had been too much for her. She was running blindly, trying to get away from her fear.
He caught up with her before she reached the top of the rise. With a lunge, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and hauled her to a stop.
She fought him, twisting in his grip and crying, “No! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”
“Miss Fletcher, stop!” he said in an attempt to cut through her panic. “It’s me, Kid Morgan.”
She continued struggling for a moment, then her efforts to get away began to subside. Her eyes were still wild as she looked up at him, but comprehension had begun to cree
p back into them.
“Mr. Morgan?” she whispered.
“Yes, it’s me,” The Kid told her. “You’re all right. The shooting is over. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
She sagged against him, her muscles going limp. Her head rested on his chest. He felt the rapid beating of her heart, like that of a bird held captive in the hand.
“I thought…I thought I was going to die,” she murmured. “All that shooting…”
“You were out of the line of fire, for the most part. But you did good to get farther away. We need to go back now.”
“I thought you were going to…going to take those men prisoner.”
“So did I,” The Kid said.
Carl Drake had had a different idea. Drake hadn’t given the outlaws a chance to surrender. He had opened up on them as soon as they reacted to The Kid’s voice.
To be fair, they had been reaching for their guns when Drake started shooting. Given the way they had been looking at Jillian before the trouble started, The Kid wasn’t going to lose any sleep over their deaths. Given the chance, they would have gleefully taken turns assaulting her.
The Kid steered her down the slope. “Let’s go,” he said. “According to Drake, there’ll be food in the cabin.”
“I couldn’t eat,” Jillian murmured. “Not after everything I’ve seen today.”
“You have to,” The Kid told her. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“Why? It would be simpler to just starve to death.”
“You feel like that now. People can go through a lot, though, and deep down, they still want to live.”
He was proof of that. Despite everything he had lost, no matter how often he thought about how much easier it would be to let go and join Rebel in death, when the time came to fight, he fought for his life, again and again. He thought about that and realized maybe he did have something left to live for, after all. Even if he wasn’t exactly sure what it was.
The Loner: Seven Days to Die Page 9
