The Loner: The Bounty Killers (7 page)

Suddenly, The Kid realized he might have been misreading the situation all along. Fairmont’s suspicions might not come from the fact that he was a lawman as much as they did from him being the father of an attractive young woman.

“I can set your mind to rest about that, Marshal,” The Kid said. “The only intention I have toward your daughter is an honorable one, and that’s to thank her for a fine meal and some very pleasant company. If you’d like, you can convey those thanks for me, and I’ll just get my hat and head on down to the hotel.”

Fairmont shook his head. “No, no, she’d never forgive either of us if you did that. Wait a spell. You can say your good nights.”

“Thanks,” The Kid said, smiling. “I’d like that.”

Carly joined them on the porch a few minutes later. “It’s a beautiful evening,” she said, expressing the same sentiment The Kid had earlier.

“Yes, it is,” The Kid agreed, “and that was a fine meal you prepared, miss.”

“Carly,” she insisted.

“We’ll compromise,” The Kid said with a smile. “Miss Carly.”

“I suppose that’ll do. What are your plans now, Mr. Browning?”

“Well, that depends on the answer I get to a telegram I sent earlier. I’ll be staying in Las Vegas tonight, but I expect I’ll be moving along in the morning.”

“So soon?” she asked.

The sound of disappointment in her voice told The Kid that maybe Marshal Fairmont was right to be worried. Carly had taken a shine to him.

But nothing could ever come of that, and it was better that she be aware of it. “I’m afraid so,” he said.

“Well, I’m glad we were able to keep you here for a little while, anyway.” She sounded disappointed but accepted his decision.

Fairmont spoke up, saying, “Browning, I’m about to make my evening rounds. How about coming along with me?”

The suggestion surprised The Kid a little. Maybe the marshal was more willing to be friendly now that he knew The Kid didn’t have any designs on his daughter.

“I suppose I can do that. I need to find a livery stable for my horse before I check into the hotel.”

“I can take you right to the best stable in town,” Fairmont said. “Just let me get my hat.”

He went back inside the house and closed the door. Carly was standing at the edge of the porch, her hands on the railing that ran around it, but she turned quickly and stepped toward The Kid.

Before he could stop her, she put her arms around his neck, came up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.

The kiss took him a little by surprise. Instinctively, his arms went around Carly’s slim, supple body. Her lips were warm and sweet, and he was human enough to react favorably to what she was doing. Without thinking about it, he returned the kiss.

But only for a moment, and then he reached up and disengaged her arms as gently as he could so that he could step back. “What was that about?” he asked quietly.

“You know good and well what it was about, Mr. Browning,” she said. “I just wanted you to know what’ll be waiting for you if you ever decide to come back to Las Vegas.”

“You plan on waiting for me?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t,” The Kid said. His voice had a brutal flatness to it. “Just don’t.”

“Why not? Are you . . .” The words caught a little. “Are you spoken for? Do you have a wife somewhere?”

Yes, I have a wife somewhere. She’s buried down in New Mexico Territory.

He couldn’t say that to her, so he said, “Just take my word for it, Carly. You don’t want to wait for me. Find some other young man and marry him. Have a good family and a good life.”

“But I—”

“You can’t have either of those things with me,” The Kid said.

She took a deep breath and said, “All right.” Her voice was taut with anger. “If that’s the way you feel.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

She turned away and said, “Good night, Mr. Browning,” as the front door opened and her father came out on the porch again.

“Good night,” The Kid said.

Fairmont waited until his daughter had closed the door behind her, then said, “It’s getting chilly a little sooner than I expected.” He handed The Kid his hat.

“Miss Carly didn’t like what I had to tell her.” Fairmont held up a hand. “I don’t need to know about it. Come on, Browning.”

The Kid untied the buckskin and led the horse as the two men walked along the street. Fairmont was as good as his word and took The Kid to a livery stable that looked clean and well cared for. He told the proprietor to take good care of The Kid’s horse.

“I sure will,” the man said. “And you don’t have to worry about paying for it, Mr. Browning. The whole town knows that Henry Bennett is taking care of that.”

“I’m obliged,” The Kid said. He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and slid the Winchester from its sheath. He would take them with him to the hotel.

The two of them walked on. Music and laughter came from some of the saloons, and the general stores were still open to serve some latearriving customers. Overall, though, the town was pretty quiet.

When he said as much, Fairmont replied, “Yes, Las Vegas is a nice, peaceful place most of the time. It’s had its wild days in the past, but I think it’s settled down now for good. I hope so, because I’ve had enough of drifting. I’d like to stay on here as marshal until I’m ready to take off the badge for good.”

“I’d say the town would be lucky to have you.”

They had completed their circuit of the town and found themselves back at the marshal’s office. The Kid said, “We didn’t stop at the hotel.”

“Blast it, I forgot.” Fairmont pointed a thumb at his office. “Let’s step inside here for a minute, and then I’ll take you back down there.”

“I saw where it was. No need for you to come along, Marshal.”

“Yeah, but there’s something in here I want to show you. It’s important.”

The Kid didn’t fully trust the lawman, but Fairmont sounded sincere.

“All right, just for a minute. I’m pretty tired.”

“That’s all it’ll take.”

Fairmont opened the door and led the way inside. A lamp with its wick turned down low burned on the desk. Fairmont went over to it and turned it up so that the yellow glow in the room brightened.

“I got to thinking,” he said as he pawed through a stack of papers on the desk, “that there might be a reward for those bank robbers, and you’re entitled to a share of it, Browning. So I had a look through these reward dodgers for them.”

The Kid started to shake his head. “I don’t want any reward,” he said. He couldn’t stop a bitter edge from cutting into his voice. “You can keep all that blood money.”

“But look here,” Fairmont went on as he turned. “I found those owlhoots—”

He leveled the little pistol that had been hidden under the papers. The barrel pointed right at The Kid’s middle.

“And I found something else, too,” the marshal went on. “Put your hands up,
Morgan
. You’re under arrest.”

Chapter 10

The Kid’s hands didn’t rise, despite the fact that Fairmont thrust the gun at him menacingly.

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” he asked coolly.

“That you’re wanted for breaking out of prison and murdering some guards over in New Mexico Territory? I’ve known ever since I went through these wanted posters and found the one about you. I knew you had to be a gunfighter. I just didn’t know you were Kid Morgan.”

“So you had me to supper at your house?”

“That was the girl’s idea,” Fairmont snapped. “I was watching you like a hawk the whole time. If you’d tried anything, you would’ve been sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have tried anything, Marshal. I told you the truth. I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Yeah, tell that to those guards you killed.” Fairmont motioned with the pistol in his hand. “Now unbuckle that gunbelt, slow and easy, and put it on the floor.”

The Kid made no move to follow the order. “I didn’t kill any guards,” he said. “Yes, I broke out of prison, but it was because I was locked up unjustly. I was mistaken for an escaped convict named Ben Bledsoe. The authorities in New Mexico
know
this. There are no charges against me. Whoever put out those wanted posters made a terrible mistake.”

Fairmont grunted. “Terrible for you, no doubt about that. With a price of ten thousand dollars on your head—and dead or alive, at that—you’re going to attract a lot of attention. You’ll be safer in my cell block than anywhere else, Morgan. Now unbuckle that gunbelt and get in there.”

The Kid thought about how it had felt to have iron bars closing him in. He shook his head.

“Sorry, Marshal. I’m not going to do it.”

“Damn it, I’ll shoot you if I have to!”

The Kid looked at the gun in Fairmont’s hand. “That’s a .32 caliber revolver you got so tricky with,” he said. “If you put a slug in me, it won’t knock me down. I’ll have plenty of time to get my gun out. You know what that means.”

The marshal paled. “You’d kill a lawman? I thought you said you aren’t a murderer.”

“I said I never killed any prison guards in New Mexico,” The Kid replied with a thin smile. Let Fairmont make of that whatever he wanted.

But as a matter of fact, he
didn’t
want to kill the marshal, for Carly’s sake, if for no other reason. On top of that, Fairmont believed he was just doing his job. A man didn’t deserve to die for that.

“Damn it, Morgan. I can’t let you walk out of here. It doesn’t matter if you
did
save my life this afternoon. You’re a wanted man. It’s up to the courts to sort out whether the charges are justified, not me.”

“That’s why I sent the wire, Marshal. It went to my lawyer in San Francisco. If he’s given a chance, I’m sure he’ll straighten everything out.”

“You expect me to believe that a drifting gunfighter has a lawyer in San Francisco?”

“It’s true,” The Kid said. “If you’re interested in the ten thousand dollars, I can make arrangements to have that amount paid to you.” He could have added that he was actually a very wealthy man with business interests stretching from one end of the country to the other, but he didn’t think Fairmont was very likely to believe
that
.

The offer appeared to anger the marshal. “I’m a lawman,” Fairmont snapped. “I earn my wages by keeping the peace. I don’t collect bounties.”

“Then you don’t have any real reason not to let me go.”

“Except the fact that you’re a fugitive.” Fairmont’s hand tightened on the pistol. “There’s been enough talk. Are you going to drop your gun and get in that cell, Morgan, or do I have to pull this trigger?”

The Kid sighed. “Take it easy, Marshal.” His hands went to the buckle of his gunbelt. “Looks like you’ve got me—”

Fairmont’s eyes dropped, following The Kid’s hands . . . just as The Kid had figured they would.

He sprang forward with blinding speed, closing the gap between them before the marshal could pull the trigger. The edge of The Kid’s left hand slashed sideways against Fairmont’s wrist.

The pistol barked, but The Kid had already knocked the barrel out of line. The .32 caliber bullet thudded into the front wall rather than finding his flesh.

At the same time, The Kid bunched his right fist and drove it forward. The punch landed cleanly on Fairmont’s jaw and rocked the lawman’s head back. The lawman fell against the desk and knocked the lamp over.

Flames shot up as burning kerosene splashed over the papers on the desk. The Kid’s eyes widened in alarm at the sight of the blaze. He ignored Fairmont for the moment and yanked his hat off, slapping at the flames as he put them out.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Fairmont stagger across the room. The marshal caught himself and shook his head as if to clear it. He had dropped the smaller pistol, but clawed at the butt of the long-barreled revolver on his hip and dragged it out of its holster.

The Kid whirled and flung his charred hat into Fairmont’s face as the lawman’s gun cleared leather. Instinctively, Fairmont batted the hat away from his eyes, giving The Kid time to leap across the room and close his left hand around the cylinder of Fairmont’s gun so it couldn’t fire. The Kid drove his other fist into Fairmont’s belly.

The marshal doubled over, gasping for breath. He was a tough old bird, but he was no match for The Kid in a brawl. The Kid wrenched the gun out of Fairmont’s hand and flung it away behind him. Then he grabbed the front of Fairmont’s shirt, jerked him upright, and muttered, “Sorry, Marshal,” before he threw another punch. The blow slammed into Fairmont’s jaw, and put him out. When The Kid let go of Fairmont’s shirt, the marshal dropped senseless to the floor.

Feeling disgusted with himself and the circumstances, The Kid turned away. Somebody would be coming to investigate those shots. He needed to get out of Las Vegas, but hated to leave before he got a reply to his telegram to Claudius Turnbuckle. He would have to get in touch with the lawyer again later, from some other settlement with a telegraph office.

He froze as he came around toward the door. It had opened without him being aware of it as he was struggling with Fairmont. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the light that filtered into the street from other buildings. The Kid instantly recognized the slender figure.

It belonged to Carly Fairmont. And the gun she held in both hands, pointed at him, belonged to her father.

“Dad was right to be suspicious of you,” she said savagely. “He told me you weren’t who you were pretending to be and that I shouldn’t get any thoughts in my head about you. But I didn’t believe him. I see now I should have.”

The Kid shook his head and told her, “You’ve got it all wrong, Carly.”

“How could I get it wrong?” She took another step into the room. “You attacked my father and tried to burn down his office. I heard shots. Did you try to kill him, too?”

“Just put the gun down and step aside. Your father’s not hurt bad. You don’t know what’s going on here.”

“I know enough,” she said. “I know you’re not going anywhere, Mr. Browning or whatever your name is. Did you lie about that, too?”

“Carly . . .” The Kid took a step toward her.

She screamed and pulled the trigger.