The Loner: Inferno #12

by J. A. Johnstone

  “That sounds to me like a good way of staying alive,” The Kid said. “I’m sorry if there’s trouble between the two of you, but I’m sure as hell not the solution.”

  A shudder went through her. She was close enough to him that he could feel it.

  “I’m not going to marry him. I decided that even before you came along, Kid. I only agreed because I ... I’d known him for so long, since before my husband died. I guess I was scared to face things alone.”

  In the time he had known her, Jessica hadn’t acted like much of anything scared her. But there was no way of knowing what went on inside a person’s heart and mind, where their true self was found.

  “You’ll have to work that out without my help.” He started to turn away.

  She clutched at him again. “Kid, please—”

  From the wagon’s tailgate, Scott Harwood roared a curse and flung himself toward them. “Let go of her, you son of a bitch!” He tackled The Kid and knocked him away from Jessica. Both men crashed to the floor of the wagon. Harwood started throwing wild punches in the gloom.

  “Scott, stop it!” Jessica shouted. The collision’s impact had driven her to her knees nearby. “Stop it!”

  Harwood ignored her and kept flailing away at The Kid.

  Biting back angry curses of his own, The Kid blocked as many of the punches as he could, but some of them got through and landed on his chin and jaw, jerking his head back and forth, stunning him. His arms sagged.

  With a shake of his head, he threw off the effects of the punches and reached up to grab the front of Harwood’s shirt. A sudden heave sent Harwood crashing into the wagon’s sideboards. The Kid rolled away from him and came up on a knee.

  “Blast it, settle down!” The Kid said as he held out a hand toward Harwood, as if to ward off the scout’s attack.

  It didn’t do any good. Harwood scrambled up and launched himself at The Kid again. As they crashed together, they rolled toward the rear of the wagon, through the canvas flaps, and right off the lowered tailgate.

  The fall to the ground was a good four feet, and the awkward landing broke them apart. People had heard the shouting from Jessica’s wagon and were hurrying toward it to see what was wrong. Surprised exclamations went up as the two battling men emerged.

  The Kid wasn’t one to run from a fight, but as he got to his feet he backed off. It was a pointless struggle that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. He was just thankful that so far Harwood had only used his fists. If the scout had reached for his gun, that would have been real trouble.

  “You’ve got it all wrong, Harwood,” The Kid said as he tried to talk some sense into the furious man. “There’s nothing between Mrs. Ritter and me.”

  Harwood had reached his feet, too, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing. His fists were clenched at his sides. “You’re a damned liar! I saw the two of you together. You either attacked her, or you’re trying to steal her away from me!”

  “Scott, stop it,” Jessica said again from the rear of the wagon. “Mr. Morgan didn’t do anything. It was me, all me!”

  Harwood lifted his head, and an even bleaker look settled over his face. “What are you saying, Jess?”

  She swallowed hard. “You heard me. I’m sorry, Scott, but I ... I can’t marry you.”

  Silence fell over the people who had crowded around Jessica’s wagon as Harwood stared at her uncomprehendingly. Finally, a grim realization settled over his face. “I was right,” he said quietly. He turned his head to look at The Kid. “You did this.”

  And with that, he twisted his body and grabbed for the gun on his hip.

  Chapter 10

  Instinct sent The Kid’s hand flashing toward his own Colt. Harwood might be a fine scout, but he was no fast gun. The Kid could have drawn and fired a couple of times before Harwood cleared leather.

  But that didn’t happen. Horace Dunlap moved up fast behind Harwood, swiftly thudding a revolver against the back of his head. Harwood’s hand opened, releasing his gun as he toppled forward.

  The Kid’s gun was leveled, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger. Dunlap said, “You can pouch that iron now, Kid. I’m much obliged to you for not killin’ him.”

  “I wasn’t going to kill him, but I might’ve had to break his arm with a bullet,” The Kid said. “I’m glad I didn’t.” He slid his Colt back into leather as he looked down at Harwood. The scout was out cold.

  Milo Farnum came up and scooped Harwood’s gun from the ground. “I’ll hang on to this for a while. Just to make sure everybody’s cooled off.”

  “That’s a good idea, Milo.” Dunlap turned to face the crowd and raised his voice as he went on. “You folks go on about your business. All the excitement’s over.”

  A grim-faced Jessica climbed down from the wagon and went over to kneel beside the unconscious Harwood. She put a hand on his head where Dunlap had hit him.

  “He’ll be all right,” the wagonmaster said. “I didn’t wallop him that hard. Reckon he’ll have a headache when he wakes up, but that’s all.”

  She shook her head and murmured, “No, that’s not all. He’ll have a broken heart, too.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ I can do about that, ma’am.”

  “No, it’s too late. There’s nothing anybody can do.”

  The Kid turned away and walked toward his horse, leaving Jessica kneeling beside Harwood. Dunlap and Farnum followed him.

  When they reached the dun, the wagonmaster said, “Maybe it ain’t none of my business, but if you want to tell me what just happened, Kid, I’m listenin’.”

  “And if I don’t want to tell you?” The Kid asked.

  “Then I’d be obliged if you did anyway,” Dunlap said, his voice hardening. “I signed on to bring these folks out here. They’re my responsibility.”

  The Kid shook his head. “Not anymore they’re not. They’re here. This is Raincrow Valley. You did your job.”

  Dunlap rubbed his jaw for a second and shrugged. “Reckon you’re right about that ... but I still feel like I got a duty to look after ’em. There’s been some talk about, well, about makin’ me the mayor of these parts, if you want to call it that. There’s no town yet, but maybe there will be, one of these days.”

  “And Scott’s our friend,” Farnum added. “We want to know what happened to start this.”

  “Fine,” The Kid said. “Mrs. Ritter decided she doesn’t want to marry him anymore. He blamed me for that.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he saw her kissing me.”

  Dunlap and Farnum glanced at each other, then both gave him hard looks.

  “You say she was kissin’ you?” Dunlap asked.

  “That’s the way it was,” The Kid replied curtly.

  Dunlap sighed and nodded. “I suppose I can believe that. I ain’t known Mrs. Ritter all that long, but she strikes me as a gal who usually does just about whatever she wants to.”

  Farnum regarded The Kid suspiciously. “You didn’t do anything to put the idea in her head?”

  “No, I didn’t,” The Kid said. “And you can believe me or not. I really don’t give a damn.”

  “I reckon I believe you,” Dunlap said with another sigh. “But no matter who’s to blame for it, this here’s a mess, and we got to do somethin’ about it.”

  “I intend to.” The Kid picked up his saddle blanket and threw it over the dun’s back, smoothing the coarse fabric.

  “Hold on there,” Dunlap exclaimed. “What’re you doin’?”

  “Getting ready to ride out.” The Kid thought it was obvious what he was doing. He shouldn’t have to explain it.

  “Tonight?”

  “I think that would be a good idea.”

  Dunlap snatched his hat off and pawed at his thinning hair in his habitual gesture when he was upset about something. “There ain’t no need to do that. Just steer clear of Scott and Mrs. Ritter. Maybe they’ll work things out between ’em and maybe they won’t, but we’ll give ’em a chance to.
”

  “This isn’t that big a camp,” The Kid said as he lifted his saddle and placed it on the dun’s back. “There’s too much of a chance I’d run into one or the other of them, and if that happens, Harwood’s liable to try gunning me again. I told you, I don’t want to hurt him.”

  “But you can’t travel at night,” Dunlap protested.

  “I don’t see why not.” The Kid fastened the saddle cinches. “This is a big valley. I can make camp on my own a few miles away, where there’s no chance of more trouble with Harwood. I was going to be riding on in a day or two, anyway. I’ll find somewhere else, maybe lay up for a week or two to let my horse rest. What’s north of this valley, anyway?”

  “More mountains,” Dunlap replied. “Get over them and there’s a basin with some ranches and a little settlement called San Blanco.”

  The Kid nodded.

  “That’s where I’ll head, then.”

  “Dadgum it!” Dunlap slapped his hat back on his head. “At least let me round up some supplies for you. We got plenty of food. We can spare enough to get you to that town. Shoot, that’s the least we can do for you.”

  The Kid wasn’t sure why everybody felt so grateful to him when he hadn’t really done anything to help these pilgrims. But some extra provisions would make his journey easier, so he nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

  “Come on, Milo. We’ll get those supplies.”

  Farnum shook his head. “You can handle that,” he told Dunlap. “I’m gonna stay here, just to make sure there’s no more trouble.”

  “There won’t be,” The Kid said.

  “You can’t be sure about that. Depends on how soon Scott wakes up.”

  The Kid supposed Farnum had a point. “Suit yourself.”

  After Dunlap had hurried off, Farnum went on, “Scott ain’t a bad hombre, you know.”

  “I never said he was.”

  “He’s a pretty close-mouthed cuss most of the time, and he ain’t what you’d call friendly to most folks. But he really cares about that woman. Mrs. Ritter.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” The Kid said. “Any problems they have are between them, though. I don’t have anything to do with it.”

  “I got a hunch you’re right.” Farnum nodded. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks nobody’s watchin’. I didn’t know her when her husband was over there in Arizona with Crook, but Scott’s told me enough I figure she was really devoted to him. Must’ve hit her mighty hard when he died. Scott said he figured she’d never want anything to do with another man after that, but he got it in his head he was gonna see if she’d warm up to him anyway. Well, she did, after so long a time. But now maybe she figures she made a mistake.”

  That was the longest speech The Kid had heard Farnum make.

  “I hope they work it out. I don’t wish trouble on anybody.”

  “That’s sort of an odd way for a gunfighter to feel, ain’t it?”

  “Not when that gunfighter just wants to be left alone.”

  Dunlap walked up a moment later carrying a canvas sack that bulged with food and supplies.

  “There you go, Kid,” he said as he held it out. “With our thanks.”

  “I’m the one who ought to be thanking you.” The Kid took the sack and tied it to his saddle. Then he extended his hand to Dunlap. “Good luck to you.”

  The wagonmaster gripped his hand hard. “The same to you, Kid.”

  The Kid hesitated, then asked, “Did you happen to see whether Harwood regained consciousness yet?”

  Dunlap nodded. “Yeah, he was sittin’ and talkin’ with Mrs. Ritter. I didn’t disturb ’em, and nobody else is, either.”

  “Good. I hope it all works out.”

  The Kid shook hands with Farnum as well, then swung up into the saddle. “Enjoy your lives here in Raincrow Valley.” He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat in a salute and turned the dun to ride out of the circle of wagons.

  Full night had fallen, but once The Kid was away from the campfires and his eyes had adjusted, the millions of stars in the ebony sky overhead provided enough light for him to see where he was going. He followed the creek, figuring that would be the easiest route to the northern part of the valley where he intended to spend the night.

  It likely would take him a few days to get out of the valley and cross that mountain range Dunlap had mentioned. He and the dun would be worn out by the time they reached the basin on the other side. He was already looking forward to finding the settlement and taking it easy for a few days.

  A half moon rose in the east and scattered more silvery light across the valley. The creek’s meandering course quickly took The Kid out of sight of the wagon train camp, and when he looked back, he could no longer see the fires.

  He rode until he thought he was four or five miles north of the camp. When he came upon a pine-dotted knoll overlooking the creek, he decided it would make a decent place to stop for the night. He rode up the slope and found that the top of the knoll was fairly level. It would do to spread his bedroll, and there was enough grass to keep the dun happy.

  The Kid dismounted, unsaddled, and picketed the horse, then delved into the bag of supplies Dunlap had given him. He found some biscuits that felt fresh and a hunk of salt pork. Starting a fire and brewing some coffee seemed like too much trouble. He would make a cold camp for the night, then have coffee in the morning. He sat on a fallen pine to eat, washing down the food with water from his canteen.

  When he was finished with his meal, he piled up some pine boughs, spread his blankets on top of them, took off his boots, and stretched out with his gunbelt coiled on the ground beside him. His head rested on his saddle.

  It would be chilly before morning, he thought as he looked up at the stars. In fact, most of the day’s warmth had already faded away, and those stars with their silvery glitter had a distinctly cold look about them.

  That was because the stars didn’t give a damn, The Kid mused. They sat up there looking down on the earth, and the petty trials and tribulations of the puny humans who lived here were utterly meaningless to them.

  It didn’t pay to think too much about things like that, The Kid told himself. If a man realized how tiny and insignificant he was in the universe’s grand scheme of things, he might be too overwhelmed to go on.

  With that thought in his head, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes to go to sleep.

  He hadn’t been in that position for more than a second or two when he heard gunfire in the distance.

  The Kid stiffened, then flung his bedroll aside and reached for the revolver lying next to him. With the Colt in his hand, he got to his feet and walked over to the edge of the knoll. His pulse hammered in his head as he stared to the south, toward the wagon camp, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the shots that drifted through the night air.

  The gunfire wasn’t the only thing that alarmed him. As he looked in that direction, he saw an orange glow climbing into the sky, faint at first, then growing stronger with every passing second. Something was burning down there, and the flames were big enough to light up the heavens.

  The Kid turned sharply and started toward his horse. He might not be able to get there in time to help the immigrants, but he had to try.

  He had taken only a step when a dark shape suddenly flung itself out of the shadows under the pines and lunged at him as a savage war cry split the air.

  Chapter 11

  The Apache never had a chance. The Kid’s gun was already in his hand, and it roared twice in less than a heartbeat, slamming a pair of slugs into the attacker’s chest.

  The bullets stopped the Apache like running into a wall. He crumpled, probably dead when he hit the ground.

  He wasn’t alone, though. A Winchester cracked, spitting flame and leaden death into the night. The Kid felt as much as heard the rifle bullet hum hotly past his ear. He triggered a shot at the muzzle flash as he went down in a rolling dive.

  His brain was working automatically,
trying to figure out how many Indians he faced and where they were. He heard a sharp, angry neigh from the dun, so he knew one of the Apaches was over by the horse.

  As The Kid came up on one knee with the Colt leveled, he spotted a figure in the moonlight, trying to get around the dun. The Kid fired and sent the man spinning off his feet.

  Rapid footsteps sounded behind him. The Kid whirled as he came up, but the Apache was too close. He crashed into The Kid in a flying tackle, and both of them went down.

  The Kid expected to feel the bite of cold steel at any second. He kicked loose as the Apache grappled with him. The man lunged after him, and moonlight glinted on a knife blade. Steel rang on steel as The Kid blocked the thrust with the barrel of his Colt.

  He sank a knee in the Apache’s groin, making the man grunt in pain. The knife slashed at him again. The Kid ducked desperately as the blade went over his head. He grabbed the Apache’s wrist, clamping the fingers of his left hand around it to hold the knife off.

  With his right hand, he shoved the revolver’s barrel under the man’s chin and pulled the trigger.

  Flesh muffled the boom as the shot blew the Apache’s head apart. The man fell back dead. The Kid plucked the knife from his fingers and rolled away from the corpse.

  He had just fired the last round in the Colt’s cylinder. Extra cartridges were in his pocket, but the knife would have to do until he could reload.

  As he knelt there with the empty gun in one hand and the knife in the other, listening to the pounding beat of his pulse inside his head, he looked around the clearing where he’d made his camp and didn’t see anyone else. The dun still moved around skittishly, but that was due to the smells of powdersmoke and death that hung in the air.

  The Kid’s instincts told him his enemies were dead. He trusted those instincts, but he wanted confirmation. He stood up, slipped the knife behind his belt, and reached into his pocket for those extra shells. It took only a moment to thumb them into the cylinder.

  With the gun ready, he checked the three bodies. The Apaches were all dead, just as he’d suspected.