The Loner: The Bounty Killers (26 page)

“Mr. Browning,” Otero said as he shook hands with Conrad.

“Governor.”

“Your name is familiar to me for some reason.”

“Companies in which I have an interest have done a good deal of business in New Mexico Territory,” Conrad explained. “Or perhaps you’ve heard of me in some other connection . . .” He left that hanging, to see how Otero would react.

The governor shook his head and appeared to be genuinely puzzled. “No, I can’t think of it right now,” he said, “but I’m very glad to meet you, anyway.” He turned to indicate his companion. “This is my good friend Charles Blanton.”

Conrad put out his hand. “Mr. Blanton.” He saw the suspicion and nervousness in Blanton’s eyes as he shook hands with the man.

Blanton gave him a curt nod and said, “Browning. What brings you to Santa Fe?”

“A mystery,” Conrad said. “A mystery I have to solve.”

Otero said, “That sounds intriguing. What sort of mystery, Mr. Browning?”

The nervousness in Blanton’s eyes had turned to outright alarm. The man knew something, all right. For one thing, he had to be aware that Conrad Browning and Kid Morgan were one and the same.

“Someone here seems to have a grudge of some sort against me,” Conrad bluntly told the governor. “I want to find out who, and why, and see what I can do to resolve the problem.”

“That’s terrible,” Otero said with a slight frown. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

More and more, Conrad was convinced that Otero didn’t know anything about the wanted posters that had been issued for Kid Morgan. His ignorance could only be explained by the fact that someone had kept him from being informed.

That someone was standing right beside him, Conrad sensed. Charles Blanton was behind what had happened, or at least he had conspired with someone to make it happen. Since Conrad had never met Blanton before or had any connection with him, he knew that was the case.

“Thank you, Governor,” Conrad said in response to Otero’s offer. “As a matter of fact, I might need your assistance in this matter. Could I call on you at your office, say, tomorrow, and explain everything to you?”

“Of course,” Otero answered without hesitation. “I remember now where I’ve heard your name. You’ve been heavily involved with the railroads in this part of the country, haven’t you?”

Conrad nodded. “That’s right.”

“Well, of course I’ll do anything I can to help.”

Blanton, looking a little sick at his stomach, said, “Uh, Miguel, your schedule tomorrow is full—”

“I can find a few minutes for Mr. Browning,” Otero broke in. He held out his hand. “I look forward to it.”

“So do I, Governor,” Conrad murmured as he shook hands with the man again.

The man who had introduced him had wandered off elsewhere in the crowd. Governor Otero excused himself, pleading a need to say hello to some of the other guests. He said to Blanton, “Are you coming, Charles?”

“In a minute, Governor,” Blanton replied. “I want another word with Mr. Browning here.”

“Of course.”

Blanton moved closer to Conrad, and though they were surrounded by people, it was as if they were alone in the ballroom, considering the intensity of the look Blanton fastened on him.

“No offense, Mr. Browning,” Blanton said in a low voice, “but how is it that you’re here tonight? I handled the guest list, and I don’t recall sending you an invitation—”

“That’s because I did,” a new voice said.

Conrad looked over and saw a sleekly handsome young man. He wore a charming smile, but his eyes were like chips of blue ice. Something about him was so familiar Conrad felt a shock of recognition go through him, but the feeling was followed a second later by the certainty that he had never seen the man before in his life.

“Roger, what are you doing?” Blanton demanded under his breath. “This is the governor’s ball. You can’t . . . you can’t—”

“Take my revenge right here in the middle of a crowd of such rich, powerful people? Is that what you mean, Charles?” asked the young man called Roger. “Of course I wouldn’t do that.”

He took a sip from the drink he held in his hand.

Conrad kept his face expressionless and tried to ignore the way his heart had started slugging in his chest. “You speak openly of revenge,” he said. “I take that to mean you know who I am.”

“You’re Conrad Browning, of course. Also known as the notorious gunfighter Kid Morgan. Whom no one had ever even heard of until a little over a year ago, by the way, despite the fact that they’re now writing dime novels about you.”

Conrad couldn’t keep the strain out of his voice as he asked, “Who the hell are you?”

“That’s right, we’ve never actually met, despite the fact that for a short time there, we were almost related.”

That was enough to make the pieces fall together in Conrad’s brain. Like a flash of lightning, he knew why this man looked familiar to him. “You’re a Tarleton,” he said.

“Roger Tarleton. Pamela was my cousin . . . until you murdered her.”

Tarleton . . . My God, was he never going to be finished with that family and their twisted need for vengeance?

He had done business with railroader and financier Clark Tarleton. He had been engaged to Tarleton’s daughter Pamela.

But Clark Tarleton had wound up dead because of his criminal dealings, and Pamela had blamed Conrad Browning for that, as well as for breaking his engagement to her and marrying Rebel Callahan. Pamela’s attempts to settle the score with him had led to numerous tragedies, including her own accidental death.

And yet another member of the Tarleton family was smirking at him with cold hatred in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you think happened,” Conrad said, “but I didn’t murder Pamela. I wasn’t responsible for her death. You’ve got it all wrong, Tarleton.”

“I don’t think so,” Roger said. “I loved my cousin very much, Browning, ever since we were children.” He cocked an eyebrow. “And not just as cousins, if you understand what I mean.”

“You son of a bitch,” Conrad said through clenched teeth.

“That’s why I couldn’t allow her death to go unavenged. Someone has to pay the price for it, and that someone is you. If you hadn’t betrayed her, she’d still be alive.”

Conrad shook his head, but he knew that nothing he said would do any good. From everything he had seen of the Tarleton family, there was a flaw in their brains, an inability to accept the truth, a hatred that knew no bounds when they felt wronged, a need for revenge that bordered on insanity.

Blanton moved closer and hissed, “This is not the place for this, Roger—”

“I agree, it’s not,” Tarleton cut in. “That’s why we’re going out into the plaza, where we’ll have room to settle things once and for all.”

“A gunfight?” Conrad asked, his lips curving thinly.

“That’s right. Only I won’t be taking on the infamous Kid Morgan. That would hardly be fair, now would it? I have several . . . surrogates, if you will . . . to stand in for me.”

“Hired killers, you mean. You’re going to have them murder me.”

Tarleton shrugged eloquently. “Call it what you will. I call it justice.”

“And why would I walk into a trap like that?”

“Because if you don’t, Lace McCall won’t live to see the sun come up tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 35

It was all Conrad could do not to reach under his coat, pull his gun, and put a bullet in Roger Tarleton’s brain at that moment.

He controlled the urge and forced his brain to remain level as he said, “What are you talking about?”

“Unless they receive a telegram from me calling them off, several men in my employ will kill Lace McCall tonight.”

“And you won’t send the telegram unless I walk out in the plaza and face your gunmen.”

“That’s right. If you do, then I’ll let the slut live.”

“You’ve really found out a lot about me, haven’t you?”

“A suitable revenge requires suitable preparation,” Tarleton said. “How do you think I found out about your little misadventure in Hell Gate Prison?”

“That gave you the idea of paying off Blanton to see that those phony reward posters were put out?”

“There’s nothing phony about them,” Tarleton snapped. “If someone had succeeded in killing you, the bounty would have been paid as promised.”

“But that didn’t happen, so you decided to come out into the open to take your revenge.”

“That’s right. I’m tired of waiting for Pamela’s death to be avenged.”

“You know,” Conrad said, “those hired guns of yours might not kill me. I just might beat them. What happens then?”

“Why, I’ll keep my part of the bargain, of course. I’ll send word to my men in Phoenix to leave Miss McCall alone.”

Conrad didn’t believe Tarleton for a second, but he could only play the game one hand at a time. Tarleton seemed to hold all the cards at the moment.

“All right,” he said. “You want a showdown, I’ll give you a showdown.”

Blanton was so nervous he was practically wringing his hands together. “This is
not
the time or place for this, Roger,” he said as he leaned toward Tarleton.

“Stop it, Charles,” the young man said. “You’ve been well-paid for your part in this, so you have no room for complaint. Besides, this is a matter of honor. The Spanish influence is still strong here in Santa Fe, isn’t it? And the Spanish are a people who know the importance of a family’s honor.”

“There’s been enough talk,” Conrad said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Tarleton smiled. “You really do sound like a gunfighter, Browning. I agree. Let’s go.”

“You’re going to come along and watch?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Tarleton said. “I’ve dreamed of nothing else for months.”

The two men turned and started toward the doors. Blanton hesitated for a second, looking torn, and then started after them.

From the corner of his eye, Conrad noticed that Governor Otero had noticed them leaving and wore a curious frown on his face as he watched them walk out of the Palace of the Governors.

There were still quite a few people in the plaza, although it wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been earlier. Most of the guests who were on their way to the ball had already gone in. Conrad spotted three men lounging near a fountain. One wore a suit much like his own, only not nearly as expensive, while the other two wore range clothes and long dusters.

All three men straightened from their casual poses as they spotted Conrad and Tarleton coming toward them, with Blanton trailing behind. Grins of anticipation stretched across their faces.

Conrad glanced to his left. The large carriage that had brought him from the hotel was parked nearby. He hadn’t been the only passenger, and he signaled unobtrusively to the men waiting inside the vehicle.

The door swung open, and John Stafford stepped out.

People began to take notice of the three gunmen and the way they stood next to the fountain, obviously waiting for trouble. Men grabbed hold of their wives’ arms and hustled them out of the way. A babble of concerned voices rose as the plaza began to clear.

It wouldn’t be the first gunfight that had taken place there.

Stafford turned back to the carriage to help another man step out of it. He held tightly to the second man’s arm, supporting him.

Conrad came to a stop facing the three killers at a distance of about twenty feet. That range was too far for the short-barreled .38 to be very accurate.

“Blanton,” he said without looking around, “if you’ll take a glance to your left, you might see something interesting.”

A second later, he heard Blanton’s shocked gasp and knew the man was looking at Claudius Turnbuckle, who stood next to Stafford. Turnbuckle was pale and drawn from his injury.

“But . . . but . . .” Blanton stammered.

“You thought I was dead, didn’t you, Blanton?” Turnbuckle called. He might not be strong at the moment, but his voice still was. “You thought the assassin you hired to kill me had succeeded and that I was dead. Well, not hardly, you scurrilous skunk! Neither is your hired killer!”

Conrad didn’t dare take his eyes off the three gunmen, who were starting to look a little confused. The confrontation wasn’t going exactly the way they had thought it would.

Though he couldn’t see it, Conrad knew what was happening. The chief of Santa Fe’s police force was climbing out of the carriage and hauling the man Blanton had hired to kill Turnbuckle with him. A policeman had found Turnbuckle in time to save his life, and the lawyer had persuaded the authorities to put out the story that he and the would-be assassin were dead. He had gotten in touch with Stafford, who had hurried to Santa Fe, and they had hatched a plan to expose Blanton. Faced with prison, the knife wielder had confessed that the governor’s aide had hired him.

Conrad had gone over all of it with his lawyer that afternoon. He had planned to have Stafford, Turnbuckle, and the police come into the ball and confront Blanton with the proof of his villainy, but the evening hadn’t developed that way.

In fact, it might be even better. The plaza was almost deserted except for the participants in the little drama. There wouldn’t be as much of a crowd around when all hell broke loose.

“We planned to use your henchman’s testimony against you to force you to tell us who you were working with, Blanton,” Conrad said, “but now that’s not necessary. We know who’s really to blame for everything that’s happened.”

He risked taking his eyes off the gunmen, in order to look at Roger Tarleton. “Looks like you’ll be going to prison, too, right along with Blanton.”

Lines of horror and disbelief had etched themselves onto Tarleton’s handsome face over the past few moments. His features twisted into an expression of insane hatred.

Before Tarleton could say anything, Governor Otero called from the porch of the palace, “Charles! What’s going on here?”

Tarleton shrieked, “Kill them! Kill them all!”

His hired guns did their best to follow that order. Their hands stabbed toward their guns.

But Conrad was faster. Ignoring the .38 on his hip, his hand swept behind his back, under his coat, and pulled the Colt revolver tucked behind his belt. The gun came out and leveled in a blur of speed and began to roar just as the three killers cleared leather.