The Loner: Trail Of Blood

by J. A. Johnstone

“You know who I am?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mundy bared his teeth in a savage grin. “Then you must know I’m a dangerous man with a gun.”

  “Gentlemen!” Theresa’s voice was sharp as she spoke through the screen. “Please. I can’t have any gunplay on my front porch. For God’s sake, there are children in this house!”

  “Mrs. Shanley is right,” Elam said. “Your gun stays in its holster, Jim, you understand that?”

  Mundy understood it, but he didn’t like it. Lifting his lip in a snarl, he said, “Sure, boss.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t teach these two a lesson,” Elam added.

  “That’s more like it,” Mundy said.

  Instantly, he shot a big fist straight at The Kid’s head.

  Chapter 29

  Expecting something like that, The Kid was ready when Mundy struck. He pulled his head aside so the gunman’s fist whipped past his ear. Reaching up to grab Mundy’s arm it was easy to twist around, pull hard on the man’s arm, and send him sailing off the porch. Arturo leaped out of the way as Mundy crashed on the ground, hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs and make him gasp for breath.

  “Stop that!” Theresa cried. “Stop that brawling!”

  It was too late. The second gunman tackled The Kid, and the two of them tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap at the bottom.

  Elam’s man was on top. He hooked a vicious punch into The Kid’s side, then tried to dig his knee into The Kid’s groin. Writhing out of the way The Kid hammered a fist against the side of the man’s head, knocking the gunman away from him. The Kid rolled and came up on one knee.

  Mundy had gotten to his feet and swung a kick at The Kid’s head. At that same moment Arturo leaped on Mundy’s back and threw him off balance. With a startled yell, Mundy went down again.

  Elam stood at the edge of the porch watching the battle. His face was pinched and had gone white with anger, but he didn’t make any effort to get in the middle of the ruckus.

  The Kid made it to his feet as the second gunman scrambled upright and waded in, swinging wild punches. The Kid blocked a couple, but one of the flailing haymakers got through and landed cleanly on his jaw. It was a lucky punch, but it was enough to knock The Kid to the ground again. The gunman rushed in, clearly intending to stomp him half to death.

  The Kid caught hold of the booted foot that descended toward his face and gave it a twist and a heave. The gunman toppled with an angry curse. The Kid rolled over, pushed himself to his hands and knees, and looked around.

  A few feet away, Jim Mundy had climbed back to his feet. His left hand was bunched in Arturo’s shirtfront, holding him up. His other hand was clenched in a fist and drawn back, poised to smash into Arturo’s face.

  The Kid dived at Mundy from behind before he could hit Arturo, catching him around the knees and knocking his legs out from under him. The man lost his grip on Arturo’s shirt, and Arturo scrambled backward, out of the way.

  Mundy kicked out at The Kid, catching the younger man in the chest. For a second, The Kid felt paralyzed and unable to breathe. He wasn’t even sure if his heart was still beating.

  Rubbing his chest he took a deep breath. Relieved that he wasn’t seriously hurt he blocked a looping punch that Mundy threw and landed a sharp jab of his own to Mundy’s nose, rocking his head back.

  The Kid wrapped his hands around Mundy’s neck and locked them in place. Jerking Mundy up a little he slammed the back of the man’s head into one of the paving stones that formed the walk. As angry as he was, he might have smashed Mundy’s head against the rock several more times and crushed his skull, but a foot crashed into The Kid’s side and knocked him sprawling.

  As he pushed himself up yet again, the second man rushed him, swinging wildly and letting out a harsh, furious yell.

  The Kid stepped inside that blow and lifted an uppercut that smashed home under the man’s chin. His teeth clicked together, biting right through the tip of his tongue. He screamed in pain as blood spurted between his lips. The Kid finished him off with a left hook that stretched the gunman on the grass in front of the porch.

  Swinging around, ready to continue the battle, The Kid saw that Mundy had pushed himself up on an elbow and was shaking his head groggily. That was as far as Elam’s segundo had gotten, and it didn’t look like he was going to be continuing the fight any time soon.

  The Kid backed off, bending down for a second to pick up the black Stetson with the concho band that had gotten knocked off when the fight started. He kept one eye on Elam and one eye on Mundy. Elam was still just looking on. Obviously he had no interest in joining the battle himself. Paying somebody to do his fighting for him was more Court Elam’s style.

  The Kid heard excited voices and glanced toward the house. He saw young faces peering from every window. Several of the smaller children had crowded up behind Theresa and ignored her efforts to shoo them back away from the door. They had been watching the fight from around her.

  “Is that quite enough violence?” she asked as her eyes locked with those of The Kid.

  He brushed the hat off and settled it on his head. Coolly, he said, “They started it.”

  “No, you started it by sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Elam said. “What business is it of yours whether Mrs. Shanley’s bill at the store is paid?”

  “I’m making it my business, just like I’m making it my business to put a stop to all the hell you and your hired guns have been raising around here, Elam.”

  “If you have proof of anything, produce it.” Elam sneered.

  The Kid shook his head. “I don’t intend to take you to court … Court. I’m going to settle this myself.”

  Mundy was starting to come around and struggled to his feet. The Kid rested a hand on the butt of his gun, but Mundy had had enough trouble for one day. He said thickly, “We better tend to Fred, Mr. Elam. He’s bleedin’ all over the place.”

  The man who had bitten through his tongue was lying on the grass whimpering. Elam gave Mundy a curt nod. The gunman helped Fred to his feet and led him shakily toward the horses.

  Elam looked back at Theresa. “You have me all wrong, Mrs. Shanley. I don’t want trouble between us. Far from it, in fact. I think we’d do much better working together.”

  “That will never happen, Mr. Elam. Good day.”

  He continued to look at her for a long moment before he finally shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it,” he murmured.

  There was a note of dangerous finality in his voice that The Kid didn’t like.

  Elam came down from the porch. As he passed The Kid, he said under his breath, “This isn’t over, Morgan.”

  “Never thought it was,” The Kid said.

  Mundy had gotten the injured man on one of the horses. He mounted up on the other and the two of them headed for Main Street. Elam followed in the buggy.

  “Mr. Morgan,” Theresa said from the porch, having stepped out of the house.

  The Kid turned toward her. Glancing around, he spotted the receipt for the money he had paid at the store, and picked it up from the ground. “I imagine you’ll be wanting this.” He held it out to her.

  “What I want is for everyone to leave me alone so I can raise these poor children to the best of my ability.” After a second, she took the receipt from him. “Thank you. It was a generous gesture.” Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed the amount. “Very generous. Are you sure you can afford this?”

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  “Well, I appreciate it, but you really should have ridden on.” She lowered her voice so the children in the house couldn’t hear. “You realize you’ve put a big target on your back, just like the marshal and Jephtha Dickinson did by defying Court Elam?”

  “I know that. That was sort of my intention.”

  “To get yourself murdered?”

  “To get Elam worked up enough to make a mistake. When he left here, he looked like he was just about ther
e.”

  Theresa frowned. “I don’t understand. He’ll send his hired killers after you. You and your friend can’t fight a dozen men, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Not just the two of us. There have to be some men in this town who can handle a gun.” The Kid’s voice hardened. “Men who should have gotten together and stood up to Elam a long time before now.”

  “You’re talking about average citizens fighting professional gunmen,” Theresa argued. “Elam’s men might wipe out the whole town.”

  The Kid shook his head. “They can’t do that. Elam needs folks to run all those businesses he finagled his way into. Without the people, Powder-horn isn’t worth anything to him.”

  Theresa drew a deep breath. “Powderhorn’s not worth anything anyway. If Elam has his way, a year from now the town won’t even be here.”

  The Kid’s forehead creased in confusion. “What are you talking about? Of course the town will be here.”

  “No, Mr. Morgan, you’re wrong. There’s a very good chance that Powderhorn is going to vanish from the face of the earth.”

  Chapter 30

  A long moment passed before The Kid said quietly, “You’re going to have to explain that one.”

  “I don’t have to explain anything.” Theresa tilted her chin defiantly.

  “You are if you want me to help you.”

  “Who said that I did? And why would you want to help me, anyway?”

  He gestured toward the piece of paper she still clutched in her hand. “That receipt proves I’m on your side. I think the folks in this town deserve better than to be buffaloed by Elam and his men. And I’m mighty curious to know why you think something’s going to happen to wipe out the whole town.”

  Theresa regarded him stubbornly for a moment longer before she sighed. “Not the people. Just the buildings. Everyone’s going to have to pack up and move.” She motioned for The Kid and Arturo to follow her. “Come around back. I’ll tell you about it. For some reason … I think you’re telling the truth when you say you want to help.”

  The three of them sat down at a picnic table under a shade tree in the backyard. Theresa tucked the receipt into a skirt pocket and went on. “My late husband worked for the railroad for a number of years before we moved here to Powder-horn. He was a surveyor and helped lay out the route to start with. He had a number of friends among the men who actually run the line, and some of them have stayed in touch with me. Several months ago, I got a letter from one of them. He told me about some rumors he’d heard. The railroad is making a deal with one of the big meat packing companies in Chicago to establish a stockyard here.”

  The Kid frowned. “When you say here …”

  She pointed at the ground. “I mean right here. The town will be demolished and hundreds of cattle pens will take its place.”

  The Kid leaned back on the bench he was sitting on. “That’s crazy. With all the open land around here, why would they put their stockyards right here?”

  “Because of the creek. It’s closer to the tracks here than anywhere else for miles in either direction. This is where it makes a big loop to the south. They’ll need plenty of water, and the creek can supply it. It’s already being piped over to the water tower at the depot, which is the only thing they’re planning to leave standing.”

  The Kid thought it over and nodded slowly. “I suppose that makes sense. But what about all the people who live here?”

  “The meat packing company will pay them for their property—the ones who actually own the land. Quite a bit of the acreage in town is owned by the railroad and is leased to the people who live on it or have businesses on it. Everyone will have to get out.”

  “Does Elam know about this?” The Kid asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  “I’m certain he does. When he first came here, I’m convinced he tried to take over as much of the town as possible simply because he’s a greedy, arrogant man. But he knows he stands to make even more from the railroad and the meat packing company. He wants to marry me so he can get his hands on this house and the other property I own in town.”

  “But he couldn’t have known about the stockyards when he first proposed to you,” The Kid pointed out.

  Arturo spoke up, saying, “Any man would be interested in marrying Mrs. Shanley, no matter what the financial considerations might be.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Vincenzo. You’re very gallant.”

  “Simply an honest observer, madam.”

  “Anyway, that’s the situation,” Theresa went on. “Elam plans to make a fortune with his land grab before the stockyard plans become public knowledge. I don’t think he’ll stop at much of anything to force people out. So you see, Mr. Morgan, that’s why it doesn’t matter whether he has people to run the store and the livery stable and the freight line. Soon those businesses won’t exist anymore.”

  The Kid mulled over everything she had told him. It rubbed him the wrong way that folks could lose their homes and their livelihoods because the railroad and some meat packing company wanted to make more money than they were already making. It wasn’t right. It bothered him more knowing it was entirely possible some of the companies in the vast Browning financial empire could have been involved in such shenanigans in the past.

  Fortunately, he was one of the few people who could actually do something about that. “Listen to me. Nobody’s going to lose their home or their business if I have anything to say about it.”

  She gave a hollow laugh. “No offense, Mr. Morgan, but Tom Kellogg told me about you. He says you’re some sort of drifting gunfighter. You might be able to shoot it out with Jim Mundy and the rest of Elam’s men, although they’d probably kill you in the process, but you can’t stop a couple of big companies from doing whatever they want to do.”

  “You’d be surprised,” The Kid said with a faint smile. “There’s a telegraph office in the train station, I suppose?”

  “That’s right.”

  The Kid got to his feet.

  “What are you going to do?” Theresa asked.

  “Burn up some wires,” he said.

  *  *  *

  He didn’t go straight to the depot when he left the orphanage, however. First he and Arturo stopped at the church to talk to Tom Kellogg. “You know most of the honest men in town, don’t you, Tom?”

  “I suppose so,” the minister replied. “I heard the talk about how you paid off Theresa’s account at the store, Mr. Morgan. You have folks in Powderhorn buzzing this morning.”

  The Kid smiled. “I have a hunch they’ll have more to buzz about before this is over. Can you round up as many men as you can get, men who will fight for what’s right, and bring them to the orphanage this afternoon?”

  Kellogg stared at him in surprise. “You think there’s going to be a fight?”

  “I think Elam will come after me when he finds out what I’ve done,” The Kid replied with a nod. “I plan to fort up at Theresa’s place, and it would be nice to have a few men on my side. It’s your chance to rid Powderhorn of Elam and his killers.”

  “But the children!” Kellogg protested. “That would be putting them in great danger.”

  The Kid shook his head. “They’ll be split up through the town, put with families who can take care of them and keep them safe until after the showdown is over.” He smiled. “Who knows, some of those folks might decide they want to give the kids a permanent home.”

  “I really don’t understand any of this,” Kellogg muttered. “How do you know Elam will come after you?”

  “He’s already got a grudge against me,” The Kid explained. “When he finds out how I’ve pulled the rug right out from under him, all he’ll be able to think about is getting even with me.”

  “Pulled the rug out … What are you going to do?”

  “Leave that to me,” The Kid said. “I’ll explain it all later.”

  “If you’re still alive!”

  “I plan to be. I’ve got another job to finish.”

>   “Your children,” the minister said. “That’s right. I’d forgotten about them. You’re not just risking your life, you’re risking being able to find them, too. Why would you do that for people you didn’t even know until yesterday?”

  “I don’t know.” The Kid thought about how Rebel would never let him turn his back on people who were in need … and about how she would never run away from a fight. His mother had been the same way. “I guess I’ve listened to too many ghosts in my time.”

  As he had promised Theresa, he had the telegraph wires smoking between Powderhorn and an assortment of places both east and west of there, all the way from Chicago to San Francisco. The first set of replies warned him that what he wanted to do wasn’t possible, at least not as quickly as he wanted to do it.

  The Kid sent more wires, instructing his lawyers to make it possible. At the same time, he dispatched messages directly to the board of directors of the railroad. At one time, Vivian Browning had been one of those directors, and her son Conrad could have a seat at that table any time he wanted one.

  By mid-afternoon, the messages he wanted to read began trickling in. Deals had been struck. Papers hadn’t been signed yet—that would take time, of course—but agreements in principle had been made. The Kid had no doubt everything would go through just as he wanted. He had the best lawyers in the country making sure of that.

  The telegrapher, an old man with a green eye-shade and sleeve garters, looked increasingly confused as the messages flowed back and forth. When the negotiations were concluded, The Kid smiled at him. “You want to go tell Court Elam about all of this, don’t you?”

  “You got me all wrong, Mr. Morgan,” the old-timer protested. “Court Elam can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.” He hesitated. “That ain’t necessarily true for some of the other fellas who work here at the depot, though. Elam spreads some money around to keep informed of everything that goes on.”

  “Then you might as well collect some of it while you can. Tell Elam whatever you want. And tell him that if he wants to find me, he’ll know where I am if he thinks about it.”