The Loner: The Blood of Renegades

by J. A. Johnstone

  “We’ll take them out and kill them, Elder,” Leatherwood said.

  Hissop shook his head. “No! I will give this boy one more chance to repent of his sins.” Hissop hunkered on his heels next to Kingman. He took hold of Kingman’s chin and wrenched his head up. “You will attend my wedding to Selena Webster and witness her being joined to me by God. What happens after that will be up to you. You can renounce your sins by joining in the praise of this holy union, in which case you will save not only yourself but also those poor young men you deluded into following you. Or you can remain defiant, and I will have no choice but to order that all of you be put to death.”

  “You’ll . . . save the others?”

  “They will escape the fate that would be theirs otherwise, yes. You have my word on it.”

  “And what about Browning?”

  It surprised Conrad that Kingman would give him any thought.

  “He is a Gentile,” Hissop said. “His sins go far beyond anything in my power to pardon. For the crime of killing our brethren, he must die. But I will see to it his death is quick and painless.”

  Kingman looked over at Conrad and swallowed. “And all I have to do is . . . give my blessing to your marriage to Selena?”

  “That is correct,” Hissop said.

  “Elder . . .”

  “Yes?” Hissop purred as he leaned closer to hear what the young man had to say.

  Kingman spat in his face. “Burn in hell, you old toad!”

  A split second later, the toe of Leatherwood’s boot smashed into Kingman’s side, half lifting him off the ground and making him groan in pain. While he lay there whimpering, Hissop straightened. Slowly and with great dignity, he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle from his face. He nodded to Leatherwood, who kicked Kingman again.

  “You have sealed your fate,” Hissop intoned as he threw the handkerchief on the ground next to Kingman. “But before you die, you will watch the woman become my bride.” He jerked a hand toward Leatherwood. “Take them both and put them with the others.”

  At least some of the other men had been captured, too, Conrad thought. That came as no surprise. Clearly, Hissop had been expecting them to show up and probably had set up traps at the homes of the other women. Conrad had known from the start that was a possibility, but he had hoped they could rescue the women before Hissop had a chance to put such a plan into action.

  The avenging angels reached down, grabbed Conrad and Kingman by the arms, and hauled them to their feet, being none too gentle about it. They were marched toward Hissop’s house, then the group turned aside and shoved the prisoners toward a large barn. Torchlight revealed the barn was built of roughly sawn planks. More torches burned inside.

  Ollie and two other men were next to a parked buckboard, tied to the thick posts that supported the roof. They were bruised and bloodied and their clothes were torn. Clearly, they had been ambushed and beaten, too. The fourth man wasn’t there. Conrad wondered if he had been killed during the struggle.

  Ollie let out a groan when he saw Conrad and Kingman. “Aw, Dan, I was hopin’ you and Mr. Browning got away with Selena.”

  Leatherwood smashed a fist across Ollie’s face. “Shut your heathen mouth,” he growled. “Don’t sully the name of Elder Hissop’s new bride.”

  Riflemen surrounded them, so there was no chance to try anything as Conrad and Kingman were thrust up against posts and lashed into place. The men who tied the ropes made sure to jerk the knots cruelly tight. Conrad felt his hands go numb almost instantly.

  When the avenging angels were satisfied the prisoners weren’t going anywhere, they stepped back. Hissop had followed them into the barn and he stood before the group of captives. “You other men should know you’ll be dying because of Daniel Kingman’s refusal to repent of his sins. It’s too late to save any of you.”

  “It’s always been too late,” Kingman said as his head hung forward and he panted for breath. “From the first time any of us . . . dared to stand up to you . . . you made up your mind to kill all of us. It’s the only way you can . . . hang on to your power.”

  “My power has been bestowed upon me by the Lord God Almighty and cannot be taken away by you or anyone else,” Hissop declared. “Just as Joseph Smith was visited by the angel Nephi, I, too, was visited by divine messengers who delivered unto me the knowledge and the strength to wrest this piece of heaven from a godforsaken wilderness!” He flung out his arms to indicate their surroundings in the basin. “You cannot oppose the will of God and His prophet without paying the ultimate price!” Hissop turned to Leatherwood and snapped, “Guard them closely. I don’t want anything happening before the wedding this afternoon.”

  “I understand, Elder,” Leatherwood replied.

  Hissop stalked out of the barn. Leatherwood picked out four of his men and told them to stand guard over the prisoners. Then he and the rest of the avenging angels left. Clearly, there were preparations to be made before Father Agony could take Selena as his latest bride.

  “What happened to Thomas?” Kingman asked quietly when everyone was gone except the guards. “Is he dead?”

  “I sorta wish he was, and I hate to say that,” Ollie replied. “The rest of us put up a fight when Leatherwood’s men jumped us, but Thomas surrendered and talked Elder Hissop into forgivin’ him.”

  “How did he do that?” Kingman asked in obvious amazement.

  “He promised to go with Leatherwood back to our valley, on the other side of the salt flats. Leatherwood’s gonna go over there and burn down all our cabins and kill anybody he finds still there.”

  “Betrayed . . .” Kingman muttered. “It’s all gone now. Nothing left.”

  But there was still one sliver of hope remaining, Conrad thought as he stood against the post where he was tied.

  That hope’s name was Arturo Vincenzo.

  Chapter 28

  Conrad knew it was a crazy thought, but Arturo wasn’t with the prisoners, and no one had said anything about him, so it was possible he was still somewhere in the vicinity of Juniper Canyon, still free. If everything had gone as planned, Arturo would have waited where he was with the horses until Conrad and the others came back.

  But things hadn’t gone as planned, and Arturo might have realized that. In which case, if he saw some of the avenging angels coming to look for the prisoners’ horses, he might have abandoned the animals and fled up the side of the canyon to go into hiding. That notion wasn’t so far-fetched.

  The far-fetched part was hoping Arturo could do something on his own to save them.

  Despite the times when he had risen to the occasion, Arturo wasn’t a fighting man. He never would be. It simply wasn’t his nature. Against a couple hundred enemies, he would stand no chance at all. He would be doing good merely to survive for a little while.

  But where he couldn’t outfight the avenging angels, maybe he could outthink them. If Arturo could figure out where Conrad and the others were being held, and somehow free them, they might still be able to fight their way out of Juniper Canyon and make a run for the Valley of the Outcast Saints, where they would make their final stand against Father Agony and his followers.

  If wishes were horses, Conrad thought bitterly. The odds against Arturo being able to pull off something like that were so small as to be practically nonexistent.

  A dawn wind sprang up outside, gusting through the open doors of the barn and whipping up a swirl of dust that stung Conrad’s eyes and nose. It bothered the other prisoners as well, but tied up as they were, there was nothing they could do about it.

  The guards pulled their bandannas up over their mouths and noses, protecting them from the dust, then moved farther into the shelter of the barn, but remaining close and alert.

  Conrad watched the yellow light grow outside and knew the sun was coming up, shining through the pall of dust hanging in the air. He looked over at Kingman and asked quietly, “Do you get storms like this very often?”

  “Windstorms,
you mean?”

  Conrad nodded.

  “This isn’t a storm,” Kingman said. “This is just a little blow. Sometimes the wind howls for days on end, and the dust is so thick in the air you can barely see your hand in front of your face. This is nothing.”

  Maybe so, Conrad thought, but it might be enough to come in handy by serving as a distraction for the avenging angels, just in case Arturo was skulking around somewhere. It was a faint hope, but Conrad was going to cling to whatever he could.

  “Ollie,” he said, keeping his voice low enough the guards wouldn’t hear it over the wind. “Ollie, have you seen any sign of Arturo?”

  “You mean the Italian fella?” Ollie shook his head. “Not since we left him earlier. You reckon they caught him?”

  “If they had, chances are they would have put him with us. I think he might still be loose out there somewhere.”

  Kingman looked and sounded skeptical. “Even if he is, what good can he do for us? He’s just one man, and not much of one, at that.”

  “That’s what you think,” Conrad said.

  “Don’t try to give these men hope when there isn’t any,” Kingman snapped. “It’s bad enough I’ve gotten you all killed. Don’t make it worse.”

  “We’re not dead yet,” Conrad pointed out.

  Time dragged. The heat in the barn rose as the day went on. Beads of sweat popped out on Conrad’s forehead and trickled into his eyes and over his cheeks. He blinked them away and forced himself to look around the barn, trying to figure out if there was anything that could be useful in case of a fight. He saw a couple pitchforks and knew their sharp tines made wicked weapons. Through an open door he spotted a pair of shovels and a hoe, along with some other tools like hammers and a keg of nails. A number of boards leaning against the wall in the storeroom were probably used to patch the barn where horses kicked holes in the walls.

  Saddles and tack were stored behind another open door, and several ropes hung on nails near the door of the tack room. The barn had more than a dozen stalls, but only four of them held big, stolid-looking horses that probably formed the team for the buckboard.

  A bit of a puzzlement was a large, folded piece of canvas that had been painted in bright blue and white stripes. “What’s that?” Conrad asked Ollie. “Looks like a piece of a circus tent.”

  “That’s part of the old canopy that used to hang over the brush arbor for shade,” Ollie explained. “Elder Hissop replaced it a while back. He had it stored in here, and folks cut pieces off it now and then when they need some canvas. It’s a sin to be wasteful, the elder says.”

  Kingman grunted. “Like that’s the only sin Father Agony has to worry about.”

  He spoke too loudly. One of the guards heard him and came over wearing a scowl. “Don’t you disrespect the elder that way,” he ordered. “The things you young heathens have done already are bad enough.”

  Kingman sneered at the man. “What are you going to do? Hissop wants me alive until after that fake wedding of his.”

  “There’s nothing fake about the elder taking a new bride according to the teachings of the Lord. And as for what I can do—” The man slammed the butt of his rifle against Kingman’s ribs. “How’s that?”

  Kingman jerked under the blow and turned pale. Conrad thought he heard a bone crack. The way Leatherwood had kicked Kingman earlier, it wouldn’t surprise him if Kingman already had some cracked ribs. Kingman sagged against the ropes holding him to the post and groaned.

  The avenging angel grinned arrogantly and strode back to his companions.

  The wind had died down and the dust began to settle. Bright afternoon sunshine spilled through the open doors. Conrad was intensely thirsty, and his empty belly told him it had been a long time since he’d eaten. The day was slipping away. How much time did they have left? When was the wedding going to take place?

  Jackson Leatherwood stalked into the barn. He nodded to his men. “Have they given any trouble?”

  “How can they?” one of the guards replied. “They can’t go anywhere or do anything.”

  “Just the way I like them,” Leatherwood responded with a twisted smile.

  He sauntered over to the prisoners. “Your time is just about up. The wedding procession will begin soon, and when it’s over, so will your sinful lives be.”

  “What’s Hissop going to do?” Kingman demanded. “Have us killed right in front of Selena? I’m sure that’ll make her come to love him.”

  “You let the elder worry about what his plans are. I’m sure whatever he does, it’s because God tells him to. And whatever I do, it’s because the elder tells me to. You see how it all works, Kingman? Nice and simple, just the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “That would be fine if Hissop really talked to God. But he’s insane. He’s not interested in doing what’s right, he is only interested in his own power.”

  “And just how do you know that, eh?” Leatherwood asked. “Maybe you think you’re a prophet. Maybe you think the angels come and speak to you.”

  Kingman shook his head. “No. The angels don’t talk to me. I’m just a man, a man who’s made some terrible mistakes in his life.” He glanced at Conrad. “A man who wishes he could get a second chance, so maybe he could undo some things.” He sighed. “But there aren’t many second chances in life, are there?”

  A harsh laugh came from Leatherwood. “A disbeliever like you doesn’t even deserve a first chance.” He turned and added over his shoulder, “Enjoy the time you’ve got left, Kingman. There won’t be much more of it.”

  The wind had begun to blow again. Conrad noticed it whipping around the long tails of Leatherwood’s duster as the avenging angel left the barn. The light wasn’t as strong outside as it had been earlier and the air began to taste of grit.

  “Where will they have that wedding?” he asked.

  “In the arbor,” Ollie replied. “Or in Elder Hissop’s house.”

  The arbor would be better, Conrad mused. Easier to get to. He hadn’t given up all hope of getting free somehow, although the chances were getting slimmer and slimmer. If the weather didn’t cooperate, the wedding would be moved indoors, which would make things a lot more difficult.

  He was thinking about that when instinct made him glance up. He couldn’t see into the loft from where he was, but he could hear, and suddenly he heard a faint noise from up there. The scrape of a foot, maybe. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone to be up in the hayloft, but the ladder leading to it was only a few feet away from Conrad and he knew no one had gone up there all day.

  Then what was it he’d heard? A rat? Sounded mighty heavy to be a rat, he thought.

  Conrad tipped his head back and looked up again.

  He saw an eye peering back at him through a knothole in one of the loft’s floorboards.

  Chapter 29

  Conrad’s heart slugged hard in his chest as he recognized that eye. It belonged to Arturo. He had no idea how Arturo had gotten up there in the loft, but the hope he’d clung to all day finally had a chance to pay off. A chance was all he asked for.

  Arturo looked through the knothole for a few seconds, then Conrad heard something move again over his head, something heavy. If he hadn’t been listening for it, he wouldn’t have heard it over the sound of the rising wind. He looked at the guards. They seemed oblivious to the fact that someone was in the loft.

  Arturo looked through the knothole again. He seemed to be trying to tell Conrad something. He wished there was some way they could talk, but that was out of the question. He thought furiously. He had heard Arturo moving something heavy around up there. Well, he asked himself, what would you find in a hayloft that was heavy?

  Bales of hay, of course.

  Conrad could see it in his mind’s eye. Arturo had shoved several bales of hay over to the edge of the loft. They would make effective weapons if he could drop them on the heads of the guards. The problem was getting the guards to stand where the hay would hit them when it fell.

  �
�I can’t take this anymore,” Conrad said abruptly. “Hey! Hey, you avenging angels!”

  “Browning, what are you doing?” Kingman asked.

  “I’m not going to die because of you,” Conrad snapped. “This whole mess is none of my business. I never should’ve gotten mixed up in it in the first place. Hey, guards!”

  One of the men strolled over to grin at him. “Quit raising such a ruckus. There’s going to be a wedding taking place soon. You don’t want to disrupt it.”

  “The hell I don’t,” Conrad said. “Tell Elder Hissop I’m sorry, that I’ll do whatever he wants me to do. I’ll even become a Mormon if that’s what it takes. But I don’t want to die!”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you killed some of our brethren,” the guard said as his face hardened angrily. “It’s too late for you to ask for forgiveness, mister. Blood calls out for blood.”

  “But it was all a mistake!” Only one of the men had come in range. That wasn’t enough. Conrad began writhing against his bonds. “You’ve got to let me go! Please!”

  The spectacle of him humiliating himself drew two more guards over to stand in front of him and grin at him. That left just one of them standing near the door. Better odds, maybe the best they could get. But Conrad figured he could try a little harder.

  He began to sob.

  Tears ran down his face as if his nerve had broken completely. Kingman stared at him in disgust. Ollie looked surprised and disappointed. “Mr. Browning, you really oughtn’t to carry on so. . . .”

  “I can’t help it. I don’t want to die! Somebody help me, please!”

  The fourth man came over to join the others in gloating.

  “Someone,” Conrad cried. “Someone from above—”

  A large, heavy bale of hay fell from the loft, plummeting down to smash solidly onto the head of one guard and strike a glancing blow to another. The second pair of guards didn’t have time to do anything except glance up in surprise before another bale came crashing down on their heads, knocking them off their feet. The bales broke on impact and scattered hay all around the sprawled bodies of the guards.