The Kid hung the man’s hat on the saddlehorn and looked through the saddlebags. He found a couple dry biscuits wrapped up in some cloth and had to force himself not to cram them into his mouth. He could eat later. There was extra ammunition that would fit the revolver and the Winchester rifle in a sheath strapped to the saddle.
Now that he was armed again, The Kid felt a lot better. He had a grim chore still to do, though. He bent and grasped the dead man, dragging him over to the hidden space where The Kid had slept away the afternoon. He managed to shove the corpse under the overhang where it might not ever be found.
“Sorry, mister,” he muttered. “I don’t have a shovel or the will to bury you properly. It’s just too damned bad you threw in with McKinney.” He started to turn away but paused to add over his shoulder, “And I don’t like having shotguns pointed at me.”
With that out of the way, he went back to the horse and settled the black hat on his head. From a distance, he figured he could pass for the dead man, especially in the fading light. His hope, though, was that none of McKinney’s other men were in that canyon. If they had spread out to search for him, it was possible.
He untied the mount and led it out of the brush. Before he swung up into the saddle, The Kid stood for long moments, listening intently. He didn’t hear any other horses moving around or men calling to each other. The rugged landscape around him was quiet.
He mounted and turned the horse west, away from Double Star headquarters. Maybe there was nobody close by at the moment, but there were other men in the gathering shadows who wanted him dead. Too many for him to risk trying to get back to the Double Star while it was still light. He stood too great a chance of riding right into trouble.
He needed to find another hiding place, somewhere he could eat the meager supper he’d found in the dead man’s saddlebags and rest some more. After that he intended to head for the ranch headquarters. McKinney wouldn’t expect him to try anything like that. The Kid knew if he could get his hands on the rancher, McKinney’s men would have to think twice about coming after him with guns blazing. Such a daring ploy would be easier once darkness had fallen completely.
Later in the night would be soon enough for the killing to start again, he decided.
The Kid rode up the canyon as gloom settled around him.
Chapter 31
Masterson drove the buckboard along the cliffs as the sun continued to sink lower. Long shadows from the mountains covered the landscape, as the vehicle moved along at a fast clip. Arturo lifted his good arm and put his hand on his hat to hold it on as he bounced a little on the seat.
“Sorry the ride is pretty rough,” Masterson said.
“Don’t concern yourself with that, Mr. Masterson. We can’t afford to waste any time.”
“That’s what I thought.”
After a while they came to a trail that zigzagged its way to the top of the cliff, following a narrow ledge. Masterson brought the buckboard to a stop and muttered a curse as he stared at the trail.
“There’s no way we can get this buckboard up there. The trail’s plenty wide enough for a man on horseback, but not a wagon.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Masterson rubbed his jaw in thought. “I suppose I could unhitch the team and we could ride up bareback. Or we can walk it, but when we got to the top we wouldn’t have any horses.”
“I can try to ride bareback,” Arturo said, although the prospect of mounting one of the horses and attempting to guide it up that narrow trail was terrifying to him. He would have to ignore his fear, since Conrad’s life might be riding in the balance.
Masterson was about to say something else, but a sudden rattle of rocks above them made him stop short. He tilted his head back to look up and whispered, “Somebody’s up there, and it sounds like they’re on their way down.” He slapped the reins against the horses’ backs. “Let’s get over in those trees until we find out who it is!”
Masterson sent the buckboard rolling swiftly toward a stand of pines about fifty yards along the cliff from the spot where the trail began. Whoever was at the top of the cliffs might hear the hoofbeats from the team and the creaking of the wheels, but that couldn’t be helped. Arturo hoped that the sounds of the riders’ own descent would cover up the other noises.
When they had circled the trees, and were out of sight of the trail, Masterson brought the buckboard to a stop. He drew his pistol and pressed it into Arturo’s hand. “Follow my lead,” the former lawman said grimly. “Don’t start shooting unless I do.”
Arturo nodded. “Rest assured that I won’t, Mr. Masterson.”
Masterson hopped down easily from the buckboard and picked up the Winchester he had placed in the back of the vehicle. He worked the rifle’s lever, throwing a cartridge into the firing chamber.
“Come on,” he told Arturo, who had climbed down awkwardly on the other side of the buckboard. “Stick close to me.”
The two men moved swiftly but quietly into the trees, working their way toward a spot where they could watch the trail. Masterson pointed out one of the pines and motioned for Arturo to take cover behind its thick trunk. He darted behind another tree.
Arturo edged his head out just enough to see what was going on. A couple men on horseback reached the bottom of the trail and rode out a few yards from the base of the cliff before reining in. Arturo recognized the distinctive cowhide vest that Rance McKinney usually wore. The man with McKinney was one of the rancher’s hired gunmen.
He pointed to the ground and said excitedly, “See, boss, I told you I heard something. Those are wagon tracks.”
“They damn sure are,” McKinney agreed. “Who’d be out here following us?” He reached for the stock of the rifle that stuck up from his saddleboot. “We’d better find out.”
Masterson gave Arturo a curt nod. “That’s our cue.” He stepped out from behind the tree, leveled his Winchester at the rancher, and called, “Keep your hand away from that rifle, McKinney, or I’ll drill you!”
McKinney froze with his hand still a few inches away from the rifle. “Masterson!” he exclaimed. “What the hell?”
“Better warn that gun-wolf of yours not to try anything, either,” Masterson warned. “If he does, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”
“Take it easy, Bob,” McKinney told the other man.
Arturo stepped forward and pointed the pistol at McKinney. “Where is Conrad Browning?” he demanded.
A harsh laugh came from McKinney. “Is that what this is about? You’re looking for Browning? I don’t have any idea where he is. But I’ll have the law on you for coming on my range and threatening me. You can’t get away with this, Masterson, even if you are famous.”
Masterson’s rifle didn’t budge. “That’s not going to work. We know you and Rose Sullivan and some of your men kidnapped Conrad from the Lansing House last night. You brought him out here to hunt him down like some sort of wild animal. Because he beat you at cards, or because Pamela Tarleton filled your head with some sort of nonsense about him. Maybe both, with the fact that you’re a lowdown son of a bitch thrown in on top of it. But you’d better call it off, Rance, or you’re the one who’s going to wind up dead.”
The hardcase started to say, “Boss, maybe we’d better—”
“Shut up!” McKinney ordered. “Masterson’s just guessing. He doesn’t have any proof of anything.”
“I’ll get it, though,” Masterson vowed. “Until then, you’re coming back to the Double Star with me and Arturo. Get down off that horse and come over here.”
“Go to hell!” McKinney shouted. “If you want to shoot me, Bat Masterson, you go right ahead!”
Something about McKinney’s angry bellow sounded odd to Arturo, and with a flash of insight, he realized what it was. “He’s trying to warn someone! There must be—”
Guns began to roar above them. Masterson fired, but McKinney had already kicked his feet free of the stirrups and dived out of the saddle as the sl
ug from the former lawman’s rifle sizzled through the space where he had been a fraction of a second earlier. McKinney hit the ground and rolled.
Arturo jerked his gun up and saw that several of McKinney’s men had crept down the trail on foot and opened fire when they were about halfway down the cliff. Arturo pointed the pistol at them and started pulling the trigger. The gun roared and bucked in his hand. He had no idea if his shots were landing anywhere near McKinney’s men, but he kept firing anyway.
Masterson grunted, staggered, and dropped the rifle. Arturo glanced over at him, afraid Masterson had been mortally wounded. He clutched his right forearm and said, “It’s just a scratch, but they’ve got us outgunned.”
The hammer of the pistol in Arturo’s hand clicked on an empty chamber.
“Hold your fire!” McKinney yelled. He was on his feet again with a revolver in his hand. “Hold your fire!” He pointed the gun at the two men by the trees. “How about it, Masterson? Do you give up, or do we shoot you and your friend to pieces?”
“The law won’t let you get away with murder,” Masterson said.
“Murder? You two came out here on my range and started shooting at me and my men. Sounds like self-defense to me.” McKinney eared back the hammer of his Colt. “What’s it gonna be?”
Masterson sighed. “All right, you’ve got us. Now, what are you going to do with us?”
An ugly grin stretched across McKinney’s face in the fading light. “Things haven’t quite worked out today the way I planned, but you’ve given me a new idea. Instead of me hunting down Browning, I’m gonna make him come to me . . . and you two bastards will be the bait in the trap!”
The shadows were thick in the little side canyon where The Kid had stopped to rest. He could see only a narrow slice of sky from where he was, but it had faded from blue to purple and back to a deeper blue that would soon be black. Pinpricks of light were beginning to appear as the stars came out.
He had eaten the two dry biscuits and stretched out on the ground for a while to rest. He didn’t allow himself to go back to sleep, because he wanted to head for the Double Star ranch house as soon as it was good and dark. He lay there on his back looking at the stars and thinking.
Maybe it would be best to circle around McKinney’s headquarters and head for Denver instead. McKinney had already revealed everything he knew about the children. They weren’t there. Pamela had taken them with her when she left for San Francisco. So why even bother trying to settle the score with McKinney?
Because it wasn’t a good idea to leave an enemy who wanted his blood behind him, The Kid decided. McKinney might follow him and try again to kill him.
Besides, a man didn’t run from trouble. He faced it head-on and conquered it. That was the example Frank Morgan had set for him, and The Kid intended to follow it.
He sat up sharply as he heard a faint clink, the sound of a horseshoe striking a rock.
Somebody was coming.
The Kid sprang to his feet and moved swiftly to the horse’s side. He closed his hand over the animal’s muzzle to keep the horse from making any noise. He could hear hoofbeats as the rider moved slowly and deliberately past the mouth of the side canyon, where it opened into the main canyon about twenty yards away.
Another of McKinney’s men, The Kid thought, searching for him in the darkness. Maybe even McKinney himself, although The Kid thought it more likely that the rancher would have returned to the Double Star already.
The rider missed the little side canyon, and moved on past it. The Kid knew he could take the man by surprise and whittle down the odds a little more. Leaving his horse where it was, he catfooted along the canyon wall. As he approached the opening, he slid the gun from its holster on his hip.
Silently, he rounded an outcropping of rock at the mouth of the canyon and leveled the revolver at the rider’s back.
Only there wasn’t any rider. Even by starlight, The Kid’s keen eyes could see that the horse’s saddle was empty.
That sight set off alarm bells in his brain. The searcher must have spotted the side canyon after all and sent his riderless horse on ahead to draw The Kid out into the open. He whirled and dropped into a crouch. A gun blasted behind him, and he felt the wind-rip of a bullet as it whipped past his ear.
He spotted the muzzle flash from the corner of his eye and sent a slug of his own in that direction. His reaction was so quick that the two shots almost sounded like one. He heard a sharp cry of pain and triggered again at the spot on the other side of the canyon mouth.
He’d already fired before he realized there was something different about the cry he’d heard. It had been higher pitched than he expected. His finger was taut on the trigger, but he didn’t fire a third shot. He moved quickly and silently to one side, just in case his assailant got off another round.
A figure pitched forward out of the shadows. A gun thudded to the ground as the person fell. Shock went through The Kid as he saw the fair hair that spilled around the figure’s head.
He kept the motionless bushwhacker covered as he approached carefully. When he came to the fallen gun, he kicked it aside, farther out of reach. There was no doubt about it. Even in man’s clothes, the shape on the ground belonged to a woman.
Rose Sullivan.
He heard labored breathing. He had wounded her, but she was still alive. Kneeling beside her, he grasped her shoulder, and rolled her onto her back.
His hand flashed out, grabbed her wrist, and shoved her arm aside just as the derringer she thrust toward him cracked wickedly. She cried out again as he twisted her wrist and forced her to drop the little gun. He used the barrel of the Colt in his other hand to bat it aside.
She kicked at him, but he squeezed until the bones in her wrist grated together. A sob came from her. If she meant for the sound to touch his heart, she failed.
He let go of her, stepped back quickly, and pointed his gun at her again. “How bad are you hit, Rose? You’d better tell me, otherwise I’ll just let you lie there and bleed to death.”
“You . . . son of a bitch,” she gasped out. “You put a bullet . . . in my side.”
“Stand up,” The Kid ordered. “I’ll have to see some blood before I believe you.”
“Damn you . . .” Rose struggled to her feet. A dark, stain spread on the shirt she wore. She bit back a groan and asked, “Now are you satisfied?”
He backed into the side canyon, keeping her covered as he did so. He didn’t know if any of McKinney’s men were still in the vicinity. If they were, they were bound to have heard those shots.
“Come on,” he ordered. “But don’t try anything else.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” She laughed. “Conrad Browning isn’t going to murder a woman.”
“You want to bet your life on that?” The Kid murmured.
She heard something in his voice that told her how close she was to death. She sighed and followed him as he backed into the canyon.
He circled around and wound up behind her, still covering her with the Colt. “All right. Let’s take a look at that wound.”
“You want me to take my shirt off, is that it, Conrad?” she asked mockingly.
He flipped the gun around in his hand, raised it, and brought the butt chopping down against the back of her head. He didn’t hit her very hard, and her thick hair cushioned the blow, but it was enough to send her to her knees, stunned.
He holstered the Colt, grabbed her arms, jerked them behind her back, and knocked her down. He straddled her hips with his knees, pinning her to the ground, and held her wrists with one hand while he used the other to pull her shirt up. His bullet had scraped a narrow furrow along her side instead of penetrating her body.
“You’ll live,” he told her. “That’s more than you deserve. I’m surprised McKinney let you come out here with him.”
“McKinney doesn’t know a thing about it. He’s a damned fool. He should have just put a bullet in your brain and buried your body where nobody would ever find it.”
“That’s what you would have done, right?”
“That’s right. I was paid to kill you.”
“And you take pride in a job well done. “The Kid let go of her and surged back to his feet, moving away from her as he kept her covered again. “You can sit up and tear some strips off your shirt to use as bandages. Or you can let that wound keep bleeding. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“You’re a cold-blooded bastard, aren’t you?” Rose sat up.
“You get that way when people steal your children and keep trying to kill you.”
Rose started tending to the bullet crease as best she could. “What are you going to do now?”
“Are McKinney and his men still out here looking for me?” He didn’t know if she would answer the question, or if he could believe her if she did, but he didn’t see any harm in asking.
“Some of them are. McKinney and one of the men were headed back to the cliffs, the last I saw of them.” Rose snorted in derision. “They think they’re such hardcases. They never even knew a woman followed them out here and kept looking after they gave up. I found this little canyon, and my instincts told me you might be holed up in it.”
“Pretty smart,” The Kid admitted. “So was that trick with the horse. You just weren’t quite quick enough to take advantage of it.”
“Next time,” Rose promised in a frigid voice.
“If I kill you, there won’t be a next time.”
She didn’t say anything.
“But I think I can get better use out of you than that.”
“As a hostage?” She laughed again. “McKinney doesn’t care whether I live or die.”
The Loner: Killer Poker Page 20
