The Loner: Trail Of Blood

by J. A. Johnstone

  “Then you are Ralph Potter, the former station-master?” Conrad asked.

  “That’s right, young fella.” Potter held a hand down to Conrad. “Lemme help you up.”

  Conrad started to say he didn’t need any help, but changed his mind and grasped the gnarled old hand. He climbed to his feet and brushed his clothes off. Potter picked up the hat and handed it to him.

  Sara Beth stood off to the side, scowling darkly at Conrad in suspicion.

  “I reckon Crowley told you where to find me,” Potter said.

  Conrad nodded. “That’s right.”

  “I heard about your mother passin’ away, God rest her soul. Was sure sorry to hear about it, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I reckon you must own her share of the railroad now.”

  Conrad nodded again, not wanting to take the time to explain that he shared the Browning interests with Frank Morgan. “I’ve come to talk to you about the railroad, in fact.”

  “But I’ve been retired for a couple years now,” Potter said. “I don’t have anything to do with it anymore.”

  “What I want to talk to you about happened three years ago, while you were still the station-master.”

  The old-timer looked confused, but he nodded. “All right. Why don’t we go inside and get out of this hot sun?”

  Conrad smiled. “That’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  “Sara Beth, you fix us some lemonade,” Potter said as he ushered Conrad toward the farmhouse.

  The girl snorted as if she didn’t like being ordered around, but she didn’t say anything.

  The furnishings in the house were old and shabby, but the place was clean, almost spotlessly so. Potter and his granddaughter—she was too young to be his daughter—might be a little down on their luck, judging by Sara Beth’s talk about the bank, but they weren’t allowing that to make them give up. Potter motioned Conrad into an armchair next to a small, round table with a lace doily and a lamp sitting on it. The old-timer pulled up a ladderback chair and sat on it while Sara Beth disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Now, Mr. Browning, what can I do for you?”

  “Like I said, I want to ask you about something that would have happened about three years ago. A young woman came through Kansas City on the train, probably heading west. She was traveling with another woman—I don’t really know how old she was—and a couple of small children. Infants. Twins. A boy and a girl.”

  Potter took off the black cap and gave him a dubious frown. “Lots of folks come through Kansas City, Mr. Browning.”

  “Yes, that’s what people keep telling me,” Conrad said, trying not to sigh in frustration.

  “I can’t hardly remember—”

  “It’s possible this woman would have come to see you. She probably would have been upset about something and might have demanded some sort of special treatment.”

  “Oh, you’re talkin’ about Miss Tarleton.”

  Conrad sat there, thunderstruck with surprise.

  “I remember her, all right,” Potter went on. “Be hard to forget a lady like Miss Tarleton, if you ever had to deal with her.”

  Conrad managed to nod. “That’s putting it mildly. Go on, Mr. Potter.”

  “Well, like you said, she was upset because the train she was on was a mite late, and she’d missed her connection to Denver. I don’t know what she thought I could do about it. It’s not like I could reach out and catch that westbound and make it back up all the way to Kansas City just so’s she could get on it.”

  “She was going to Denver, you say?” Conrad’s heart slugged heavily in his chest, but he managed to keep his face and voice calm.

  “Well, that’s where she was bound next. I seem to recall her sayin’ she was gonna stop there for a while. But the tickets she had would take her and the lady with her all the way to San Francisco. No charge for the two little ones, of course. Wee babes like that ride for free.”

  Conrad felt a little dizzy. This was exactly the sort of information he’d been looking for. He had Pamela’s intinerary laid out before him.

  Sara Beth came back from the kitchen carrying a tray with a couple of glasses of lemonade on it. She handed one to Potter and one to Conrad, not being very gracious about it. Conrad smiled and said, “Thank you,” anyway.

  Potter took a drink of the lemonade and licked his lips. “Talkin’ is thirsty work.”

  “You’re being very helpful, Mr. Potter,” Conrad assured him. “I had a feeling someone, somewhere along the way, must have remembered Pamela. You called her Miss Tarleton. Did you know her before she introduced herself?”

  “Well, not really, but when she said she was Clark Tarleton’s daughter, I knew him, all right. He had an interest in the railroad at one time, too, but whenever he came through the station, he wasn’t near as nice as your mother always was. He seemed to think the world pretty much revolved around him, and I reckon Miss Tarleton inherited that same feeling from him.”

  Conrad nodded. That was Pamela, all right.

  “Did she tell you the two children were hers?”

  Potter shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t offer any explanation for them.” He pursed his lips in disapproval. “I figured as much, though. I saw she didn’t have no wedding ring on her finger, but it’s not my place to judge.” The old-timer squinted shrewdly at Conrad. “Mr. Browning, you can tell me to go to hell if you want … but were those your kids?”

  Grimly, Conrad nodded. “That’s right. Now you understand why I’m trying to find out where she went.”

  “She stole your kids away?” Potter shook his head. “That’s a mighty bad thing to do to a man.”

  “I didn’t even know about them until recently.”

  “And now you want to find her and them?”

  “Not Pamela,” Conrad said. “She’s dead.”

  Potter looked shocked, and so did Sara Beth, who had set the tray on a side table and withdrawn to a divan across the room. “What happened to the young’uns?” Potter asked.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Pamela left them somewhere, probably in the care of the servant who was traveling with her, and then”—the whole story was too complicated and sordid, and at that moment Conrad didn’t have any stomach for telling it again—“she was killed in an accident. But my son and daughter are still out there somewhere, and I’m going to find them.”

  “Good Lord,” Potter muttered. “What a terrible thing.”

  “I’d followed her trail to Kansas City, but I didn’t know where she went from there. Now I do.” Conrad paused. “I assume she took the next train heading for Denver?”

  Potter nodded. “That’s right. Since she missed her connection because the train she came in on was late, I made arrangements for her to stay at the best hotel in town, and the railroad paid for it. I didn’t have to do that, it’s not what we usually do, but I figured for somebody like Miss Tarleton …” He shrugged his narrow shoulders.

  “And it got her off your back,” Conrad said with a faint smile.

  “Yeah. That, too. The next mornin’ I sent a buggy and a wagon for them, and I saw to it personal-like that her bags got loaded on the train and she and the other lady were settled in a nice compartment with the children. She was only delayed about twenty-four hours.”

  “But you don’t know what happened after that?”

  “After the train pulled out?” The old man shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t have any idea. Miss Tarleton and those kids rolled right on outta my life, and I ain’t seen any of them since.”

  Conrad expected as much. Still, he had learned a great deal. The twins had to be somewhere between Kansas City and San Francisco. That was a vast stretch of territory … but it was better than having to search for them across the entire country.

  To cover the emotions coursing through him, he took a sip of the lemonade. It was pretty sour—Potter probably couldn’t afford much sugar. The corn crop Conrad had seen on his way there had looked like a good one, but Potte
r might be cash-poor at the moment. A lot of farmers wound up that way, with a crop in the fields that might save them but circumstances that closed in and didn’t give them any time.

  “I can’t thank you enough for your help,” Conrad said as he set the glass on the table beside him. “I’d like to give you something for your trouble.”

  “Shucks, that isn’t necessary—” Potter began.

  “Yes, it is,” Sara Beth snapped. “If the man wants to pay you for your help, it wouldn’t be polite to turn him down. Besides, we have a payment due on that note.”

  Potter nodded wearily. “Yeah, I know, Sara Beth.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Potter,” Conrad said with a smile as he withdrew his wallet from an inner pocket of his coat. “The help you’ve given me is well worth it.”

  Not to mention the hope, Conrad thought.

  He took two hundred dollars from the wallet and held it out toward Potter.

  Before the old-timer could take it, Sara Beth was on her feet and had come across the room to pluck the bills from Conrad’s fingers. “I handle the money around here.”

  Potter didn’t challenge her. He nodded and said, “She’s got a better head for it than I do.”

  It didn’t matter to Conrad who got the money. He’d gotten the information he needed. He stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality, and for your help.”

  “You’re mighty welcome, Mr. Browning. Like I said, your mother was always as nice as she could be to me.”

  The two men left Sara Beth counting the money and walked out of the farmhouse. As they paused on the front porch, Potter asked, “Where are you stayin’ in town, Mr. Browning? Just in case I think of anything else that might help you.”

  “I’m at the Cattleman’s Hotel,” Conrad replied. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be there. Until tomorrow, anyway.”

  He was going to have to do some thinking about how to proceed now that he knew what Pamela’s destination had been three years earlier. It wouldn’t do to take the train straight to San Francisco. Her letter had indicated she’d hidden the children somewhere in the West.

  They could be anywhere, Conrad thought. Anywhere.

  “Thanks again.” He shook the old-timer’s hand. “I’m glad your granddaughter took the money. I hope it helps you out as much as you’ve helped me.”

  “Granddaughter?” Potter repeated with a puzzled frown. “Sara Beth isn’t my granddaughter. She’s my wife!”

  Chapter 18

  During Conrad’s ride back to Kansas City, he thought about the old man’s surprising revelation. On the frontier, it wasn’t uncommon to see young women married to much older men. It made sense. An older man usually had more to offer a wife, financially. However, that didn’t appear to be the case with Potter and Sara Beth, and the age gap wasn’t usually quite as wide as it was between them. Conrad hadn’t known whether to congratulate the old goat or condemn him.

  He hadn’t done either. He had something more important on his mind: how to carry out his search from there.

  One thing was certain. He couldn’t continue traveling west on the train. The thought of rolling right past the place where his children were hidden made his stomach turn.

  No, Conrad decided, he was going to have to follow the steel rails, but on horseback so he could stop at every town and ask questions.

  His heart sank a little as he realized it was going to take months, unless he was incredibly lucky and found the twins right away. He considered that unlikely. Pamela wouldn’t have made it that easy.

  But if it took months … if it took a year or more … he wouldn’t give up the search until it was successful. He reined in for a moment before he reached the city and turned in the saddle to gaze off toward the west. His son and daughter were somewhere out there. “I’m coming to find you,” he promised them, speaking the words softly. “Count on it.”

  Arturo was waiting anxiously when he reached the hotel. “How was your visit with the old station-master, sir? Any results?”

  “For a change, yes. That man Potter remembered Pamela. Even better than that, he knew where she was going. San Francisco.”

  “I’ll begin packing,” Arturo murmured. “I assume we’re taking the next train west?”

  Conrad shook his head. “Not the train.”

  “Then how are we traveling?” Arturo asked with a puzzled frown.

  “We’re not traveling. Sorry, Arturo, but from here on out I’ll be going it alone.”

  Arturo’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about? I thought you said Conrad Browning wouldn’t travel without a valet.”

  “Maybe Conrad wouldn’t. But Kid Morgan would.”

  “Really? You’re actually going to resurrect that … that dime-novel masquerade?”

  Conrad didn’t take offense at the question. “I told Claudius Turnbuckle and John Stafford that The Kid would ride again. I wasn’t sure how or when, but I had a feeling I wasn’t done with Kid Morgan just yet.”

  “You realize, of course, that you sound a bit mentally disturbed, talking about this mythical Kid in the third person, as if he actually exists.”

  Conrad laughed. “Who’s to say he doesn’t, Arturo? Just because you’re born with one name doesn’t mean that’s who you really are. Many of the Indians believe that when a young warrior goes on a vision quest, he becomes another person when the truth is revealed to him, and because of that he takes another name. Maybe what I was doing all that time when I was drifting around as Kid Morgan was going on my own vision quest, finding out who I really am.”

  Arturo looked at Conrad like he had gone completely mad. “And what am I supposed to do? I gave up my previous employment to come east with you, you know.”

  “I’m well aware of that. You’ll continue to draw your full salary until you find another job that suits you, no matter how long it takes. I’ll wire Claudius and make sure he understands that. You can take the train to San Francisco and he can help you, like he did before. You’ll be fine, Arturo.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but this job suits me.”

  Conrad shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll be traveling by horseback. I’m going to have to stop at every little town on the railroad between here and California. Maybe the twins are in San Francisco, but Pamela could have stopped anywhere along the way and made arrangements to leave them.”

  “Abandoned her own children, you mean?”

  “A she-wolf has a lot more motherly instinct than Pamela Tarleton ever did,” Conrad said, letting some of the bitterness he felt toward her creep into his voice. “I suspect she found some family to take them in and paid the people well. Finding them isn’t going to be easy.”

  “You never thought it would be. But I can help—”

  “That’s all, Arturo.” Conrad’s tone was a bit sharper than he intended. He reached for his hat. “I’m going out to look for a better horse to buy. The one I rented won’t do for a long trip. I’m going to need at least one pack animal, too. I’ll eat in the hotel dining room tonight.”

  “Very well, sir,” Arturo said stiffly. “Would you like me to lay out the garb you wear as Kid Morgan?”

  “No, there’ll be time for that later.”

  Conrad left the suite. He felt bad about Arturo’s hurt feelings, but he couldn’t see Arturo riding a horse all the way to California.

  The quest might not even stop there, Conrad thought. But it didn’t matter. He would ride all the way to hell and back to find his kids if he had to.

  He returned the rented horse to the livery stable and had a look at the other stock the liveryman had to offer. None of them impressed him enough to buy one. There were other stables in Kansas City, and he would check all of them if he had to.

  By late afternoon, he found what he was looking for. He purchased a big, blaze-faced black gelding, along with a saddle and everything else he would need. Some men considered a blaze on a horse’s face to be a flaw, a sign that the animal was lacking somehow, but Conrad had never felt that way.<
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  At the same barn, he purchased a large, sturdy mule to use as a pack animal. The mule would be able to carry the supplies he needed. He told the livery owner he would pick up both animals early the next morning.

  He was on his way back to the hotel when several cowboys stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of him. At least, he took them for cowboys because of their well-worn range clothes, but as they came closer he saw the hard eyes, the beard-stubbled jaws, the guns worn in thonged-down holsters. Conrad glanced at their hands and knew the truth.

  Their hands were callused, but different from a puncher’s hands would be. The calluses were signs of long hours spent practicing with a gun.

  Seeing the arrogant expressions on their faces as they strode along, Conrad moved to the edge of the sidewalk. It went against the grain for him to step aside for any man, but he was prepared to do so to avoid trouble. His mind was full of thoughts of his missing children. He was ready to step down into the gutter for a moment and let the hardcases have the sidewalk.

  It wasn’t that simple. The nearest of the men reached out suddenly, grabbed Conrad’s coat, and hauled him back so he blocked their way.

  “Where you goin’, dude?” the man demanded. “You ain’t good enough to share the sidewalk with the likes of us?”

  Instantly, alarm bells rang in the back of Conrad’s mind. He knew without being told that if he hadn’t tried to step aside, the hardcase would have challenged him about that, too. The man was looking to start a fight. His left eye rolled a little to the side, seemingly independent of the right eye, which had a loco anger burning in it.

  Though the men seemed to be on the prod, Conrad thought he might be able to avoid trouble. “I was just trying to get out of your way, friend.”

  The man sneered at him and closed his left hand tighter on Conrad’s coat, balling up the fabric. “What the hell makes you think I’d be friends with a fancy-pants varmint like you?”

  “Just let me go,” Conrad said. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  A couple men laughed. One of them said, “Hear that, Rankin? Sounded like a threat to me. Ain’t you scared?”