The Loner: Seven Days to Die (10 page)

In the fading light, The Kid followed Jillian as much by sound as by sight. He could hear her crashing through the brush ahead of him.

“Miss Fletcher!” he called. “Jillian! Stop! It’s all right!”

She kept going. He supposed after everything she had been through, the terrible crash of gun-thunder had been too much for her. She was running blindly, trying to get away from her fear.

He caught up with her before she reached the top of the rise. With a lunge, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and hauled her to a stop.

She fought him, twisting in his grip and crying, “No! Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

“Miss Fletcher, stop!” he said in an attempt to cut through her panic. “It’s me, Kid Morgan.”

She continued struggling for a moment, then her efforts to get away began to subside. Her eyes were still wild as she looked up at him, but comprehension had begun to creep back into them.

“Mr. Morgan?” she whispered.

“Yes, it’s me,” The Kid told her. “You’re all right. The shooting is over. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She sagged against him, her muscles going limp. Her head rested on his chest. He felt the rapid beating of her heart, like that of a bird held captive in the hand.

“I thought…I thought I was going to die,” she murmured. “All that shooting…”

“You were out of the line of fire, for the most part. But you did good to get farther away. We need to go back now.”

“I thought you were going to…going to take those men prisoner.”

“So did I,” The Kid said.

Carl Drake had had a different idea. Drake hadn’t given the outlaws a chance to surrender. He had opened up on them as soon as they reacted to The Kid’s voice.

To be fair, they had been reaching for their guns when Drake started shooting. Given the way they had been looking at Jillian before the trouble started, The Kid wasn’t going to lose any sleep over their deaths. Given the chance, they would have gleefully taken turns assaulting her.

The Kid steered her down the slope. “Let’s go,” he said. “According to Drake, there’ll be food in the cabin.”

“I couldn’t eat,” Jillian murmured. “Not after everything I’ve seen today.”

“You have to,” The Kid told her. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“Why? It would be simpler to just starve to death.”

“You feel like that now. People can go through a lot, though, and deep down, they still want to live.”

He was proof of that. Despite everything he had lost, no matter how often he thought about how much easier it would be to let go and join Rebel in death, when the time came to fight, he fought for his life, again and again. He thought about that and realized maybe he
did
have something left to live for, after all. Even if he wasn’t exactly sure what it was.

By the time they got back to the cabin, Drake had dragged the carcasses into a row and stripped them of their gunbelts, which he had looped over his shoulder. He grinned at The Kid and Jillian and said, “Good. You found her.”

Jillian shuddered and looked away from the bloody corpses.

The Kid said, “I thought we were going to tie them up and leave some supplies and a couple horses in the morning.”

Drake shrugged. “They wanted to make a fight of it. I figured it’d be better if we obliged them.”

The Kid couldn’t argue with that, although he suspected Drake probably had intended to kill the men all along, if he got half a chance. It certainly simplified matters.

“Go on inside,” Drake went on, nodding toward the cabin. “There’s coffee on the stove and beans and salt pork cooking as well. We’ll eat good tonight, Kid. Better than we have in a long time.”

That fact was beyond dispute. And it would do Jillian good to get away from the bodies.

“What are you going to do with them?” The Kid asked quietly.

“There’s a ravine over yonder a little ways,” Drake replied. “Looks like I can dump them in it and then cave in the bank on top of them. That’s the closest we’re gonna come to being able to bury them.”

“It’ll have to do,” The Kid agreed with a nod as he ushered Jillian toward the door. “You need any help?”

“No, I’ll take care of it. You keep an eye on Miss Fletcher.”

That would also give Drake a chance to finish going through the dead men’s pockets, The Kid thought. He didn’t begrudge Drake anything he found. The Kid wasn’t interested in money, only in clearing his name.

“Take a look around in there and see if you can find any clothes that’ll fit us,” Drake called after them as The Kid and Jillian went inside. “I’d like to get rid of these prison duds.”

The Kid agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly. As he closed the door, he saw that Drake was already pulling the boots off the feet of the dead outlaws.

The smell of the Arbuckle’s brewing, along with the aroma of beans and pork, made The Kid’s mouth water. Jillian still insisted she didn’t want anything, but when he found a reasonably clean tin cup and poured some coffee in it, she took it and sipped from it gratefully.

Two Winchesters, an old Henry rifle, and a heavy caliber Sharps carbine leaned in a corner. The Sharps was much like the rifle that Phillip Bearpaw had given The Kid more than a year earlier. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and he knew he would probably never see that particular weapon again. It was long gone, along with his horse, his Colt, and all his other gear.

But as long as a man was still alive, he could start over, and that was what The Kid intended to do. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and sipped it as he began going through the saddlebags stacked on the rough-hewn table that was the biggest piece of furniture in the single-room cabin.

In addition to the table and the wood-burning stove, there were a couple chairs, a crate and an empty keg that could also serve as seats, and four crude bunks, one on each wall. There was certainly nothing fancy about the place, but an owlhoot on the run from the law wouldn’t care about fancy.

The Kid found several spare shirts in the outlaws’ gear that looked like they would fit him and Drake, as well as a pair of denim trousers for each of them. As Drake had predicted, there was also a good stock of provisions on hand. It would keep them going for a while.

Drake came in a short time later carrying the boots and hats he had taken from the dead men. He dumped the boots on the floor and the hats on the table.

“Take your pick, Kid,” he said. “It’ll be good to dress like a normal hombre again, instead of a prisoner.”

“Amen to that,” The Kid muttered. He picked up one of the hats, a pearl gray Stetson, and checked the inside of it for anything crawling before he put it on. As he settled it on his head, he asked Jillian, “How’s that look?”

She mustered up a weak smile. “Very dashing,” she said.

Drake chose a dark brown hat with a concho-studded band. Jillian turned her back while the two men went through the clothes and picked out and tried on what they wanted.

The Kid settled for a faded blue bib-front shirt. The jeans were a little short, but they would do. He found a pair of black, high-topped boots that fit fairly well, and tucked the trouser legs down in them—nobody could tell they were short.

One of the gunbelts Drake had brought in fit well enough. Having the weight of a sturdy Colt revolver on his hip made The Kid feel better than he had in weeks.

He supposed it was a sad commentary on a man’s life when he had to be packing a shooting iron in order to feel fully dressed, but there it was. He grasped the gun butt and moved the weapon up and down in the leather. It drew smooth and didn’t catch on anything.

Drake pulled on a flannel shirt and a brown vest. One of the outlaws had preferred a cross-draw rig, and Drake chose it to buckle around his waist. The holstered Colt rode on his left hip, butt forward. Men who had mastered that draw were usually very fast and slick with it, but The Kid liked a more traditional draw.

By the time they were outfitted, it was fully dark outside. The room was lit by a couple stubby candles set in tin plates on the table.

The Kid checked the beans and salt pork, found they were done, and dished up bowls for all three of them. Jillian picked at her food but finally wound up eating most of what he gave her. He and Drake tore into the food with good appetites. They washed it down with swigs of the hot, black coffee.

“I’m sorry about the way you were treated, Mr. Morgan,” Jillian said. “I’m sure my father really believed you were that man Bledsoe, or he…he wouldn’t have done the things he did. You really do bear an amazing resemblance to him, you know.”

“The lady’s right, Kid,” Drake said with a grin. “You do.”

“Well, it would have been fine with me if I’d gone my whole life without discovering that,” The Kid said.

Drake shrugged. “Trouble usually seeks out folks whether they’re looking for it or not.”

The Kid changed the subject by suggesting, “We’d better take turns standing watch tonight.”

“I’m not going to try to get away, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jillian said. “I know I couldn’t survive up here in the mountains by myself, especially not at night.”

The Kid shook his head. “That’s not what I was thinking of. If Carl knew about this cabin, it stands to reason that other men do, too. We don’t want to be surprised like the, ah, previous occupants were.”

“You mean other outlaws,” Drake said, chuckling. “You’re right. Somebody could show up expecting to make themselves at home. We ought to be ready if they do.”

Jillian looked down at her plate and bit her lip. She understood what they were talking about, The Kid thought. If another bunch of desperadoes rode in and saw her, chances were they would try to kill him and Drake and take Jillian for themselves.

“You can have whichever watch you want,” he told Drake.

“I’ll take the first one. I reckon I’m still a mite stronger than you, Kid, so you need some sleep first. I’ll wake you an hour or two after midnight.”

The Kid nodded. “All right.”

He was a little leery about going to sleep and trusting that Drake wouldn’t double-cross him, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Already, exhaustion was trying to claim him.

Anyway, if Drake wanted to shoot him in the back, he’d had plenty of chances to do so. Since The Kid had seen ample evidence of how ruthless Drake could be, he had no doubt Drake would have done just that, if such had been his intention.

“Tomorrow morning, we can pack up some of these supplies and head out,” The Kid went on. “We’ll be going our separate ways.”

Drake surprised him by shaking his head. “Not hardly,” the man said.

“What do you mean?” The Kid asked with a frown.

“We’re sticking together, Kid,” Drake declared.

“There’s no need for that. We agreed that we’d help each other escape, but now that we’re out, I’m going to track down Bledsoe and prove that I’m not him.”

“Exactly. And I can give you a hand with that, because…well, it just so happens, I know where Bledsoe was going when he busted out of Hell Gate.”

The Kid stared across the rough table at Drake. “You never said anything about that before, back in Hades,” he said.

Drake shrugged again. “You never played your cards close to your vest, Morgan? I wanted out of that place, and if I’d spilled everything I know at once, you wouldn’t have had any reason to let me string along with you. You could’ve double-crossed me…just like Bledsoe did.”

“You didn’t say anything about that, either.”

“Here’s the way it was.” Drake clasped both hands around his coffee cup and leaned forward. “The reason I knew how Bledsoe busted out of Hell Gate was because we worked out the plan together. I found that chimney in the cliff and told him how he could use it to get out. We agreed that I’d go with him, and when he went to get that loot of his, I’d have a share of it coming to me.”

“But he escaped on his own without telling you he was going,” The Kid guessed.

“That’s right. He promised me a payoff and then cheated me on it, because he already knew what he needed to know. No offense, Morgan, but
that’s
why I didn’t tell you how we were getting out until we were ready to go. I couldn’t take a chance on you being a treacherous son of a bitch like Bledsoe.”

“How do you know where he was going after he escaped?”

“While we were still working out all the details, he let it slip that he intended to head to…a certain place, let’s say…after he picked up the money he had stashed. Said he had friends out there, including a girl he wanted to see again. He made it sound like he was going to stay for a while. He thought he’d be safe there.”

The Kid regarded Drake intently. “But you’re not ready to say where that certain place is, are you?”

Drake grinned and shook his head. “Hell, no. But I’ll take you there.”

“Because you still want that share of Bledsoe’s loot.”

“Nope.” Drake’s voice hardened as he shook his head. “Since he double-crossed me, I’ve decided I want all of it. All of it that’s left, anyway.”

“That money rightfully belongs to other people,” The Kid pointed out. “The people Bledsoe stole it from in the first place.”

“Yeah, other people I don’t know and don’t give a damn about. Anyway, most of it came from the banks and the railroads, and nobody cares about them.”

Except the people who had their money in those banks, and the ones who owned stock in the railroads,
The Kid thought. But he didn’t say it because he knew Drake wouldn’t understand such a thing or care about it if he did.

“Why did you throw in with me?” he asked. Curiosity, along with the surprise he felt at Drake’s revelations, had chased away his weariness, at least for the time being.

“I figured two men would stand a better chance of getting out of there, and once they were out, they’d be more likely to be able to settle Bledsoe’s hash. Besides that, you’ve got an even stronger motive than I do for tracking him down. As long as
he’s
free,
you’re
a fugitive, too.”

That was true, The Kid thought as he nodded slowly.

“So you see,” Drake went on, “however much of Bledsoe’s loot I can get my hands on is my price for helping you clear your name, Kid. That seems fair enough, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” The Kid said. “I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”

“Well, you can try to pick up Bledsoe’s trail on your own, I reckon. But finding him that way might take you weeks or months or even years. You might never find him. And you’d never know when some bounty hunter or small-town lawdog might recognize you and start shooting. I can promise you, the bounty on your head is gonna be dead or alive, Kid, dead or alive.” Drake sat back and spread his hands. “Or you can play along with me, and I can take you right to where Bledsoe was headed in about a week. He’s had time to recover that money by now, so chances are, that’s where he’ll be. Your choice, Kid…maybe years as a fugitive, or a week’s ride to the showdown.”

The Kid didn’t have to think about it for very long. He nodded and said, “You’ve got a deal, Drake.”

“Good. You won’t be sorry.”

“There’s just one thing we have to figure out.” The Kid turned his head to look at Jillian, who had been listening to the conversation between them with rapt attention. “What are we going to do with Miss Fletcher?”

“I can answer that,” Jillian spoke up before Drake could say anything.

Both men frowned in surprise.

“I’m going with you,” she went on.

Drake looked skeptical. “Now, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea—”

“Forget it,” The Kid said flatly. “The first settlement we come to, we’re going to ride close enough to leave you just outside town, where you’ll be safe.”

“No,” Jillian said. “I feel terrible about what my father did to you, Mr. Morgan. It was completely unfair. I want to make it up to you, and I’m going to do that by helping you find Bledsoe.”

“No offense, but that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Not at all,” she insisted. “What are you going to do when you find Bledsoe?”

“Take him back to Hell Gate and force your father to admit that I’m not who he thought I was.”

“That’s all well and good,” Jillian said, “but what if that’s not possible?”

Drake rubbed his jaw in thought. “I think I see where you’re going with this,” he mused. “Something could’ve happened to Bledsoe.”

“Exactly. Men die violently out here all the time. Someone could have shot him, or an animal could have attacked him. Not only that, but say he made it safely to wherever it is Mr. Drake thinks he went. He’s not going to just surrender and agree to come along peacefully when you show up, Mr. Morgan.”

Drake nodded. “The lady’s got a point. Bledsoe could easily wind up dead once we’re through with him.”

“So then I’d be able to testify that I saw the two of you with my own eyes,” Jillian said. “My father might not want to believe it, but he wouldn’t have much choice except to do so.”

“Do you really think you could convince him?” The Kid asked. “He seemed like a pretty stubborn man to me.”

“I can convince him,” Jillian said with a nod. “Believe me, Mr. Morgan. Your chances of clearing your name will be better if I come along…and my conscience will be a little clearer, too, although I doubt if anything I do can wipe away the stain of my father’s brutal actions.”

The Kid shook his head. “He was the one with the whip, not you. You don’t have any call to feel guilty about it.”

Jillian started to look a little uncomfortable. “He might not have been quite so angry to start with if I hadn’t played that trick on him. My mother really did want to see him that day, but I hung back on purpose because I knew the guards were bringing you to his office. I…I wanted to see you again. I was…curious about you.”

The Kid didn’t press the issue. He didn’t want to embarrass her any more than she already was. “All right,” he said. “Just to be clear, though, I think this is a bad idea. I still think we ought to leave you someplace safe as soon as we can.”

She smiled, one of the few times he had seen that expression on her face instead of the sheer terror that had usually been there, since leaving Hell Gate.

“It’ll work out for the best, Mr. Morgan. You’ll see.”

He heaved a sigh. “If you’re going to be riding with us, maybe you’d better start calling me Kid.”

“All right, I can do that.”

“You can’t ride all the way to wherever it is we’re going dressed like that.”

“One of the men you…I mean, one of the men who was staying here before…I noticed he was on the small side. I might be able to find a shirt and a pair of pants that belonged to him. They’d still be too big, but I could roll up the sleeves and the legs and maybe get by with them.”

The Kid waved a hand toward the pile of clothing he’d scavenged from the dead men’s saddlebags. “Help yourself to anything you want.”

“We’ve got six horses now,” Drake pointed out. “I took the two we brought from Hell Gate into the corral with the others. That means we each have a couple mounts. We can switch back and forth and keep them fairly fresh. That’ll let us move a little faster. We can get where we’re going in a week. I’m sure of it.”

Seven days to a showdown, The Kid thought. Seven days until he confronted the man whose resemblance to him had landed him in Hades…literally as well as figuratively.

In all likelihood, seven days until more of the bloodshed and death that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.