The Loner: Crossfire

by J. A. Johnstone

  “Figured there would be somebody keeping an eye on this spot,” Frank said. “You drew him out just like we thought you would. That was quite a risk you ran, though. He could’ve just shot you in the back.”

  Conrad stood up and shook his head. “No, I figured he’d be curious about who I was and try to take me prisoner. Are you sure there was just one guard?”

  “Pretty sure. After we split up, I circled higher and got above this shoulder. Had a pretty good view of the hombre sneaking up on you. He appeared to be alone.”

  “All right.” Conrad glanced at the sky. It had taken them most of the day to climb to the lodge, and night would be falling soon. “Once it’s dark, we can climb down that bluff and try to make it into the house.”

  “Those shotgun-toters will probably have something to say about that.”

  Conrad grunted. “So will we.”

  Frank grinned and slapped Conrad on the shoulder. “It’s good working with you again, son.”

  “Likewise.” Conrad paused. “Just don’t expect me to start calling you Pa.”

  Conrad and Frank kept a close watch all around them as they waited for night to fall. It was possible another guard might come to change places with the man Frank had knocked out and tied up. No one else showed up, though, so Conrad suspected the shift change had taken place not long before he and Frank had sprung their trap on the luckless gunman.

  They were up high enough on the western slope of the mountain that the sea was visible in the distance. Finally the sun sank into the Pacific, turning everything green and gold for a brief moment of beauty and tranquility.

  That couldn’t last. It would be a night of blood and death, Conrad sensed. But as long as his children wound up safe, that was all that really mattered.

  He checked his Colt and slid the revolver back in its holster, then did likewise with the .38. Frank did the same thing. They left their Winchesters with the horses. Whatever happened in the lodge would be close work.

  “I didn’t see any badges or uniforms on those men standing guard,” Conrad said. “I think we can assume they’re all hired guns working for Lannigan.”

  Frank nodded in agreement. “There’s bound to be a trail leading a long way around. That’ll be how the guards get up here. Once things have settled down, one of us can come back up and get the horses. Then we’ll ride out on that road we spotted leading through the trees to the lodge.”

  Conrad nodded. His father was assuming both of them would live through what was about to happen, and he hoped that turned out to be the case. But if it didn’t ...

  “Frank, if I don’t make it out of here—”

  Frank held up a hand to stop him. “I’ll see that those youngsters are taken care of. You don’t even have to ask.”

  “I know.”

  “Same goes for me.” Frank chuckled. “Just don’t tell them too many wild stories about their gunslinging granddad.”

  “I’ll keep ’em away from those dime novels,” Conrad said with a laugh of his own.

  Frank’s tone was a lot more serious as he went on. “We may have to kill Lannigan and the rest of those varmints. I reckon you can live with that, though, the way you went after the men responsible for Rebel’s death.”

  “Yeah. This is the last hand, Frank. Pamela’s down to her last card.”

  “You realize you’re talking about gambling with a dead woman.”

  “That’s the way it’s been all along. Pamela’s twisted game. I just didn’t realize it soon enough.”

  “If we get those kids back safe and sound, it’s soon enough.”

  Conrad couldn’t argue with that. He went to the edge of the bluff, which was steep but rugged enough a man could climb down it if he was careful, even in the dark. Brush grew here and there, which helped provide handholds.

  The bluff was about fifty feet high. Conrad and Frank took their time descending it. They didn’t want to dislodge any rocks and send them clattering down the slope to warn the guards. Stealth was more important than speed. They had all night to make their approach to the lodge.

  When they reached the bottom at last, Conrad put his mouth next to Frank’s ear and whispered, “We’ll take the guards who are patrolling first. You go left, I’ll go right.”

  “Got it,” Frank whispered back. He had been good about letting the younger, less experienced man call the shots, Conrad thought. At the same time, he knew if he was about to do anything really stupid, Frank would stop him.

  Maybe it was just a matter of great minds thinking alike, Conrad told himself with a faint smile as he catfooted through the darkness.

  As he made his way through the trees toward the lodge, he paused every few feet to listen. After several minutes he heard the soft rustle of feet on pine needles. Standing stock-still, he waited until he was sure which direction the roaming guard was moving, then he slipped to the side so his path would intercept that of the gunman.

  Drawing his Bowie knife from its sheath, Conrad stopped and pressed his back against the trunk of a tree. A moment later the guard walked past him, unaware that he was there.

  That was bad luck for the guard. Conrad struck without warning, looping his left arm around the man’s neck and jerking him backward. At the same time he drove the big knife into the guard’s back. The deadly keen blade slid easily through flesh, slipped between the ribs, and into the guard’s heart. Conrad’s arm was clamped across the man’s throat like a bar of iron. No sound could escape from the dying man’s mouth. He crossed the divide in silence except for the thud of his shotgun hitting the ground when he dropped it, and that was muffled by the carpet of pine needles.

  Once again he had killed a man in cold blood, Conrad thought as he lowered the limp corpse to the ground. A part of him regretted it, but the steel at his core knew it was necessary. Lannigan’s hired gun would have killed him without blinking, blasting him to bits with that shotgun.

  He damned Pamela Tarleton for setting the tragic events in motion. He damned her for making him the man he was. Then he grimaced and wiped the blade on the dead man’s shirt. Pamela might bear some of the responsibility, but not all of it. Not by a long shot.

  He supposed there had always been a killer inside him. He just hadn’t known it, and it had taken a great tragedy to bring that killer out. Once it was over ... once his children were with him ... he had to put that part of himself away. He had to bury Kid Morgan once and for all.

  Conrad shook off his reverie and moved toward the house. Frank should have taken care of the other roaming sentry, and they had to deal with the men guarding the door.

  Trees around the back of the house had been cleared away for a distance of thirty or forty feet, and a couple lanterns hanging on each side of the door cast a yellow half circle of light over that area. Conrad couldn’t get close enough to strike with the Bowie without being spotted, and he doubted his ability to throw the knife with enough power and accuracy to kill one of the guards. Even if he did, that would leave another guard to sound the alarm.

  Suddenly, from the woods a man called, “Hey, Toby! Lunsford! Get out here! I caught somebody tryin’ to sneak up on the place!”

  That was the other patrolling guard, Conrad realized as a shock went through him.

  From the sound of it, he had taken Frank prisoner.

  Chapter 30

  The guards by the door reacted instantly, running toward the trees, shotguns at the ready. Conrad moved fast, too, circling swiftly through the pines toward them. He had to help Frank, and it was a chance to deal with those two guards without having to approach them across the open ground.

  The hired guns ran into the trees. Conrad heard one of them exclaim, “What the hell!” Then a heavy thump sounded just ahead of him. He darted around a tree and saw one of the guards trying to swing his scattergun around to aim it at a shadowy figure. Knowing the guard was an enemy, Conrad lifted his knife and brought the brass ball on the end of the handle down hard against the back of the guard’s head.

>   The man grunted in pain and stumbled forward as the shotgun’s twin barrels drooped toward the ground. The shadowy figure leaped forward, grabbed the barrels, and forced the muzzles into the dirt. His other fist smashed into the guard’s face and knocked him loose from the weapon. The guard toppled to the ground, out cold.

  “Good teamwork,” Frank said.

  Conrad frowned in surprise at his father. “I thought you’d been captured!”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what I wanted those fellas by the house to think. The idea came to me when I jumped the one who was patrolling out here. Instead of killing him, I put my Bowie to his throat and made him call out to those two and lure them out here. I walloped one with my gun. I thought maybe you’d show up to give me a hand, and sure enough—”

  “Where’s the other guard, the one you used as bait?”

  Frank gestured toward a shape on the ground nearby. “Knocked out, tied up, and gagged. He won’t give us any trouble. We’d better do the same with these two.”

  Working quickly, they cut strips from the guards’ shirts and used them to bind the men securely, as well as for gags to keep them quiet. That left the back door of Lannigan’s lodge unguarded.

  Conrad and Frank took the pistols worn by the unconscious guards. Having extra shots without needing to reload might come in handy. They trotted through the lantern light to the door and pressed their backs to the wall as they listened for any sounds of alarm. Everything was quiet. Evidently their approach hadn’t been noticed.

  Conrad reached over and tried the latch. He swallowed a frustrated curse as it refused to budge. Looking over at Frank, he mouthed the word Locked. They would have to find another way in.

  Frank leaned back and looked up. Conrad followed suit. The roof overhung the door and slanted up to darkened windows on the second floor. Frank pointed up with his thumb, then bent over and formed a stirrup with his hands. Conrad nodded. He weighed less, so it made sense for him to go first.

  Putting a booted foot in Frank’s hands, Conrad stepped up and reached for the overhang. Frank heaved him up. Conrad’s hands closed over the edge, the rough shingles providing a good grip. He hauled himself up, and Frank pushed from below. Conrad cleared the edge and rolled onto the sloping roof.

  Once he was there, he unbuckled his belt and slipped it out of the loops on his jeans. After wrapping the tongue end around his hand a couple times, he lowered the buckle end to Frank, who grasped it with both hands and started climbing up the wall. In a few seconds, Conrad was able to reach down with his other hand and catch hold of his father’s arm. With grunts of effort, he pulled Frank onto the roof.

  They sprawled on the shingles for a few moments to catch their breath, then Conrad sat up, put his belt back on, and moved on hands and knees up to the nearest window. The room on the other side of the glass was dark and he hoped unoccupied. He tried to raise the window, but it wouldn’t move. It was fastened shut.

  Frank went to one of the other second-floor windows and tried it, then looked over at Conrad and shook his head. Chances were, they were all that way. Conrad took off his hat and drew his gun. Using the hat to muffle the sound, he rapped the gun butt sharply against one of the panes, just hard enough to crack the glass without shattering it. He pouched the iron, put his hat back on, and took out his knife. He got the tip of the blade into the crack and started working it back and forth gently.

  The work was tedious, but it was important to be as quiet as possible. After several minutes, he managed to loosen a big piece of glass enough that he could get his fingers into the crack around it. Being careful not to slice his flesh open on the sharp edges, he worked the piece of glass back and forth some more and finally pried it loose from the window.

  Conrad set the glass aside and reached into the room through the opening he had created. He felt around at the bottom of the window until he found the catch that held it closed. Thankfully, the window hadn’t been nailed shut. He slid the catch over, pulled his arm out, and eased the window up.

  Conrad went through the window first, with Frank following him.

  Once inside the house, it was a matter of finding the children and making sure they were safe before dealing with Lannigan and the rest of the man’s hired guns. The odds were still steep against them, but that was nothing new for Conrad Browning and Frank Morgan.

  Walking softly in hopes the floor wouldn’t creak under their weight, they went to the door, which they could see dimly in the faint lantern light filtering into the room from outside. It appeared to be a bedroom, but no one was sleeping there at the moment. Conrad tried the door. The knob turned easily in his hand. He and Frank stepped into a corridor.

  A staircase landing was a few yards to their right. The stairs led down into a big room filled with heavy, rustic furniture dominated by a huge fireplace with a massive stone mantel. A fire crackled in that fireplace, casting a garish, flickering glow over the man who stood in front of it with a drink in his hand.

  Dex Lannigan.

  Conrad looked around the room. He didn’t see Winifred or the children, or any of Lannigan’s hired killers, for that matter. The man appeared to be alone in the room. The way Lannigan stared pensively into the flames in the fireplace seemed to confirm that hunch.

  Conrad and Frank glanced at each other. Taking Lannigan prisoner would give them the upper hand. They could force him to turn over the children, then take him as a hostage until they were safely away from the lodge.

  Moving in absolute silence the way living dangerous lives had taught them, Conrad and Frank started down the stairs.

  They had just reached the bottom when Lannigan turned abruptly from the fireplace toward them. They lifted their guns, but Lannigan didn’t seem to be surprised to see them. He didn’t drop his drink and try to claw out a weapon of his own. He just smiled. “I was expecting you.”

  “Don’t move,” Conrad warned as he looked at Lannigan over the sights of his Colt. “And don’t yell for your guards.”

  “Or what?” Lannigan replied mockingly. “You’ll shoot me? What good will that do you? I have a dozen men who’ll be here in a heartbeat if they hear a gun go off. The only reason they’re not in here already is because I want to talk to you, Browning.”

  “We don’t have anything to talk about,” Conrad snapped, “except for you telling me where my children are so Frank can go get them while I keep you covered.”

  “Your children,” Lannigan repeated. “Your children.” He laughed. “You damned fool. You don’t have any children.”

  An ugly feeling had begun to crawl around inside Conrad as soon as he realized Lannigan wasn’t surprised to see them. It was like a snake in his belly, and it told him something was very, very wrong.

  “Little Frank and Vivian,” he said. “Or David and Rachel, as you call them. You know good and well who I’m talking about.”

  “Oh, I know.” Lannigan sneered. “But that doesn’t make them your children. They’re not here, anyway. They’re back in San Francisco with their mother. When I left there last night, I figured you’d follow me without ever checking to make sure I hadn’t left Winifred and the children behind.”

  That was like a fist in Conrad’s gut. Every instinct he possessed told him Lannigan was telling the truth, about that part of it, anyway. The saloon owner had set a clever trap for him and Frank, and they had fallen into it. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Lannigan might have left the children behind.

  But the rest of it had to be a lie. Conrad said, “Pamela Tarleton—”

  “You’re about to tell me Pamela Tarleton is the twins’ mother, aren’t you?” Lannigan broke in. “How can you be so sure of that?”

  “I was at the sanitarium in Cambridge where they were born. I talked to Dr. Futrelle—”

  “Are you saying Futrelle couldn’t have been paid to lie to you? I knew Pamela Tarleton, I don’t deny that. When she set out to either destroy you or make your life a living hell, however it worked out, she tried to think of every po
ssible contingency. She’s always been two steps ahead of you, Browning.”

  Conrad shook his head. “You’re lying through your teeth. Pamela went to that sanitarium—”

  “With her maid, who was about to have a baby but had no husband to go with it.” Lannigan shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t talk this way about the woman who’s now my dear wife, but at one time in her life she was rather free with her favors. When she found herself in the family way, it played right into her employer’s hands. Pamela hatched the idea of making you believe the child was yours. As it turned out, there were two babies ... but that just doubled the misery for you, didn’t it?”

  Conrad’s pulse began to hammer inside his skull. He didn’t want to believe the things Lannigan was telling him, but deep down he knew it was possible. Pamela could have done it all: fixed things so it looked like she had the children at the sanitarium, rather than her maid; written the letter to be delivered to Conrad after her death; acted like she was the twins’ mother during the cross-country journey, rather than Winifred; struck a bargain with Lannigan to marry Winifred and take in the children, knowing if Conrad made it through all the death traps to San Francisco, he would jump to the conclusion that the twins were his ...

  All along, for months, he had played right into the hands of her twisted scheme.

  “How do I know this isn’t just one more of Pamela’s clever lies you’re telling me?”

  Lannigan chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t. That’s the beauty of it, Browning. You’re going to die not knowing for sure.”

  He looked up at the top of the stairs behind Conrad and Frank and nodded.

  The roar of guns suddenly filled the big room.

  Chapter 31

  Lannigan’s nod was enough to warn Conrad and Frank. They were moving even as the guns began to blast, and their superb reflexes flung them apart, Conrad going left and Frank going right, as half a dozen slugs burned through the space where they had been a shaved fraction of an instant earlier.