The Loner: The Bounty Killers (27 page)

The man in the suit never got a shot off. He went over backward, clawing at his chest where Conrad’s first bullet had ripped into his heart. The second man raised his gun and jerked the trigger, but he had already been spun halfway around by a .44-40 slug through his left lung. His shot smacked harmlessly into the paving stones next to him as he crumpled.

The third gunfighter fired into the air as he went over backward, blood spurting from his bullet-torn throat. He landed in the fountain with a splash and slowly sank beneath the reddening water.

Conrad heard a gun being cocked and spun around. Panicking, Blanton had fumbled a pistol from under his coat and was trying to bring it to bear. Conrad lashed out with the walking stick, bringing it down across Blanton’s forearm. Bone snapped with a sharp crack under the impact. Blanton cried out in pain and dropped the gun.

Roger Tarleton stared at Conrad in shocked surprise. His eyes widened as Conrad lifted the gun and pointed it at his face from a distance of a few feet.

“Tell me who you’re supposed to send that telegram to and what you’re supposed to say,” Conrad ordered. “I’ll give you ten seconds, and then I’m pulling this trigger.”

“You . . . you’ll hang for murder! I’m unarmed ! You can’t shoot me!”

Conrad smiled. “I think I’ll risk it.”

“No!” A look of sly cunning appeared in Tarleton’s eyes. “You can’t kill me. If you do, then that whore will die.”

Turnbuckle and Stafford had come up behind Conrad. Turnbuckle said, “That
lady
is currently surrounded by a dozen or more deputy United States marshals, sir, and is in no danger whatsoever. I don’t know who you are, but you’ve seriously underestimated your enemies.”

“Claudius?” Conrad said.

“I’m sorry John and I didn’t make you aware of that, Conrad, but to tell you the truth, there wasn’t time. We just thought of it a short time ago and asked one of the detectives to send the wire.”

“The way somebody had been striking at people close to you, we figured it would be a good idea to get some protection for Miss McCall,” Stafford added.

“Thank you,” Conrad said. “It was an excellent idea.” He looped his thumb over the Colt’s hammer and pulled it back. “Now I can just go ahead and shoot this mad dog.”

“Mr. Browning,” Governor Otero said. “Please. I don’t know what’s going on here, but there’s already been enough blood spilled tonight. Hasn’t there?”

For a long moment, Conrad didn’t answer. Then he took a deep breath, let the Colt’s hammer down gently, and lowered the gun.

“Yes. There’s been enough blood spilled to last a lifetime. As for what’s happened here, Blanton can explain all that. I’m sure he will to save his own skin as much as possible. I’m done.” Conrad turned away from Roger Tarleton. “I’m going home.”

Tarleton laughed. “Where is that, Browning?” he called as Conrad began to walk away. A policeman moved in and gripped his arm, but that didn’t silence him. “You don’t have anywhere to go! You’ve lost it all! Home! You don’t have a home!
You don’t have anything! You just don’t know it yet!”

Chapter 36

“Tarleton and Blanton will be in prison for a good long time,” John J. Stafford said.

“You won’t have to worry about them anymore, my boy,” Claudius Turnbuckle added.

Conrad shook his head as he looked out the window of the suite at Santa Fe. “I’d feel better if Tarleton was dead. If you let a snake live, it can come back to bite you.”

“Not in this case,” Turnbuckle insisted. “The other good news is that Miss McCall is fine. The men Tarleton hired to kill her never got within a hundred yards of her before they were caught and arrested. It’s a clean sweep.”

Stafford reached under his coat and brought out a document. “Not only that, but here’s the pardon Governor Otero signed this morning, absolving the man known as Kid Morgan from any and all charges relating to his escape from Hell Gate Prison. The Kid would be a free man . . . if, of course, he really existed.”

Turnbuckle said, “Yes, no offense, Conrad, but I’m very glad that Mr. Kid Morgan has been permanently retired.”

Stafford placed the pardon on the table next to his armchair and said, “There’s just one more thing. The lawyer representing Roger Tarleton had this delivered to me this morning.” He brought an envelope from his pocket. “Evidently it’s a personal letter to you from Tarleton.” He hesitated before holding it out. “You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. I’m sure it’s just more hateful venom spewed by that lunatic.”

Conrad turned away from the window and stepped over to take the envelope. “No, I’ll look at it,” he said. He tore the envelope open, extracted the folded sheet of expensive notepaper inside, and opened it. The faintest hint of a familiar scent came from it.

The blood seemed to turn to ice in Conrad’s veins as he recognized the handwriting. It didn’t belong to Roger Tarleton.

Pamela Tarleton had written this letter.

Conrad,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. I’m entrusting this letter to my beloved cousin Roger with instructions that he should make certain that you receive it, should my efforts to avenge my father’s life and my own honor go unrewarded. There is something I want you to know.

As I am sure you recall, you and I were intimate before our marriage, Conrad. Committing those words to paper should shame me deeply, but I am beyond shame. What you did not know is that when you broke our engagement, I was with child by you.

Yes, Conrad, you are a father . . . not once, but twice. I gave birth to twins, your children, not long after you married that other woman. They were healthy, happy infants, and now they are hidden away where you will never find them, somewhere in the vast frontier for which you deserted me.

You are a father, Conrad, but you will never know your children and they will never know you.

And this . . . is my final revenge on you.

The letter was unsigned.

His fingers clenched involuntarily on the paper, crumpling it. Turnbuckle and Stafford both started up from their chairs, staring at him.

“My God, Conrad, what is it?” Turnbuckle asked. “You look like whatever is in that letter is the most horrifying thing you’ve ever read.”

Conrad didn’t answer the question directly. He said, “You were wrong a few minutes ago, Claudius.”

“Wrong? Wrong about what?”

“About Kid Morgan being retired.” Conrad turned to look at the coiled gunbelt and holstered Colt that lay on a side table, alongside a Stetson he had bought earlier. “Kid Morgan is going to ride again.”

PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2010 J. A. Johnstone

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7860-2768-2