The Loner: Seven Days to Die (19 page)

“Father!” Jillian gasped.

She wasn’t any more surprised than The Kid was. As far as he had known, Fletcher was still in New Mexico Territory, at Hell Gate Prison.

Obviously, that wasn’t the case. The man was right there, pointing a rifle at him, and The Kid knew that the whole mess wasn’t over at all.

In fact, it was about to get worse.

“Get away from him, Jillian,” Fletcher said again.

“Father, wait,” she pleaded. “This isn’t Ben Bledsoe. He was telling you the truth before. His name is really Kid Morgan.”

That wasn’t completely true, but it was close enough.

“I know he’s not Bledsoe, damn it,” Fletcher grated. “I’ve known that ever since about a week after Haggarty brought him in.”

That revelation sent a surge of anger through The Kid. “You knew?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice. “You knew I wasn’t Bledsoe, but you pretended you thought I was and put me through all that hell anyway?”

“I had to make your situation dire enough that you’d have no choice but to take Drake up on his offer and break out,” Fletcher said with a smirk on his face.

Understanding broke in The Kid’s brain with stunning force. “You and Drake are partners!”

“That’s right. He and Bledsoe were supposed to break out together, and Drake would leave a trail I could follow while Bledsoe led him to that fortune in stolen loot he had hidden. But then Bledsoe double-crossed Drake by escaping without him, after I’d set up the whole thing to make it easy for him.”

“Is Drake even a real convict?”

“Oh, yes,” Fletcher replied. “A cold-blooded killer who double-crossed his own men. That brute Otto was right about him, you know. But Bledsoe proved to be even more devious. I sent my men after him, but he gave them the slip. I was about to give up on ever getting my hands on that money…and then you dropped right into my lap.”

“Father, I…I don’t believe any of this,” Jillian said, sounding shaken.

“Believe it,” he snapped. “You think it’s been easy sitting there watching your mother dying, knowing that if we were rich, there might be something I could do to help her?” Fletcher gave a shake of his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter now,” he said with brutal harshness. “She died right before I left Hell Gate to follow you and Morgan and Drake.”

Jillian put her hands over her face. Soft but terrible sobs came from her.

The Kid was certain Fletcher hadn’t come all that way by himself. He would have brought men with him, possibly some of the guards from the prison but more likely hired guns, since his goal was to steal the money Bloody Ben Bledsoe had already stolen. If Fletcher wasn’t as big an outlaw as Bledsoe was, it wasn’t for lack of trying.

“I can’t believe you’d risk your own daughter’s life like that,” The Kid said contemptuously. He wanted to keep Fletcher talking until he found out as much as he could about the danger facing him.

“That was Drake’s idea, not mine,” Fletcher said. “I told you, the man has a penchant for treachery. Jillian was never supposed to be involved, and it was just an accident that she was. Since she’s here, though, she can help me.” His voice sharpened. “Jillian, stop that crying and take his gun.”

“Wha…what?” she asked as she lowered her hands.

“Take Morgan’s gun, or I’ll just go ahead and kill him.” He sounded disdainful as he added, “A few moments ago you sounded like you have feelings for this drifter, although I don’t see why. If you don’t want him dead, do as I say.”

She turned her head to look up at The Kid. “I…I’m sorry,” she said as she reached out with both hands to lift his Colt from its holster.

“That’s all right,” The Kid said. “I reckon this has thrown you for a loop, too.”

“Where are Bledsoe and Drake?” Fletcher asked as Jillian stepped away from The Kid.

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Make Bledsoe tell me where to find that money, of course. And kill Drake.”

“You’ll be the fugitive then, Fletcher. You’ll never be able to go back to Hell Gate.”

“There’s nothing there to go back to,” Fletcher said bleakly.

Since the crooked warden had the drop on him and Jillian was still close by, in the line of fire, there was nothing The Kid could do except say, “They’re locked up in a storeroom in the back of this saloon.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Jillian said, “Father, you have to promise that you won’t hurt Mr. Morgan or anybody else.”

“Of course, of course,” Fletcher said. “I just want the money.”

The Kid didn’t believe him for a second. Fletcher didn’t intend to leave any witnesses alive behind him—which meant that Jillian would be forced to spend the rest of her life on the run with him.

The Kid hoped she realized that. He turned and pushed through the batwings into the saloon. Fletcher was right behind him, accompanied by three hard-faced gunmen he motioned out of the shadows of the alley beside the building. Jillian, looking dazed, brought up the rear, still holding The Kid’s revolver.

The Kid opened a door leading into a short hallway. At the other end of the corridor was the storeroom where Bledsoe and Drake were locked up. Dakota Pete sat in a ladderback chair in front of that door.

Pete looked up in surprise when he saw The Kid, and surprise turned to alarm when he spotted Fletcher and the three gunmen. He said, “Kid, what the hell?” as he came up out of the chair. His hand moved toward his gun.

“Take it easy,” The Kid said quickly. “They’ve got the drop on us, Pete. And they want Bledsoe and Drake. Get the two of them out here.”

Pete frowned. “Kid, are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” The Kid hoped that while Fletcher and the other men were distracted by Bledsoe and Drake, he and Pete would be able to make a move. The prospect of getting their hands on a lot of loot was too much for most men to ignore.

Pete turned the key in the lock. Fletcher ordered, “All right, come away from there. Get out into the main room.”

His men covered The Kid and Dakota Pete. Meanwhile Fletcher approached the door of the storeroom and called, “Bledsoe! Drake! It’s all right. Come on out.”

The door opened. Drake emerged first, followed by Bledsoe. Both men looked wary, but an expression of relief washed over Drake’s face as he recognized the warden.

“Fletcher!” he exclaimed. “I thought that was your voice, but I wasn’t sure. Thank God you got here. We’re going to clean up. Bledsoe’s got even more than we thought—”

“That’s good to know,” Fletcher said. He brought the rifle to his shoulder and fired.

At that range, the slug smashed into Drake’s chest and knocked him back against Bledsoe, who caught him and kept him from falling. Blood bubbled from the bullet hole and a crimson trail wormed its way out of Drake’s mouth. His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief.

“That’s for double-crossing me and putting my daughter in danger,” Fletcher said. “And one less share of the loot, of course.”

Drake’s eyes glazed over in death. Bledsoe let go of him, and he crumpled.

“Come on out, Bledsoe,” Fletcher ordered.

“Sure, warden,” Bledsoe said with a faint smile on his face. He emerged from the hallway into the big main room of the saloon. “It’s good to see you again. From the way you were just talking about a payoff, I’m assuming that you turned out to be as big a crook as I am, is that right?”

“Shut up,” Fletcher snapped. “Where’s the loot?”

“What’s left of it is in the safe in my office,” Bledsoe answered easily. “Plus three or four times as much that I’ve collected here in Gehenna. It’s all yours if you let me go. Better yet, stay here. We’ll be partners. I need some good men on my side. We’ll finish taking this town for all its worth.”

Fletcher blinked rapidly as he frowned. “Partners?” he repeated. “You and me?”

“Why not?” Bledsoe asked. “We’re both intelligent men. Working together, we can make a fortune here, and when Gehenna is bled dry, we’ll move on and do it again somewhere else.”

The barrel of the rifle in Fletcher’s hands lowered slightly. “I never thought about that,” he mused. “It might work out quite well—”

“No!”

The strangled cry came from Jillian. The Kid turned to look at her and saw that she had lifted his revolver in both hands and was pointing it at her father as she backed away.

“Jillian, what in blazes are you doing?” Fletcher snapped. “Put that gun down right now.”

Jillian shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, this has gone on long enough. I…I just watched you murder a man in cold blood, Father!”

“Carl Drake barely qualified as a man,” Fletcher said dismissively. “He was an outlaw.”

“Like you!” Jillian accused.

Fletcher shook his head impatiently. “Stop this nonsense right now. If you don’t put that gun down, one of my men will take it away from you.”

He made a curt gesture, and one of the hardcases took a step toward Jillian. It was just a feint, though. As she jerked the gun toward him, another man moved to grab her from behind.

Jillian realized what was about to happen and twisted back toward her father, pulling the trigger as she did so. She cried out as the gun roared and the recoil tore it from her hands.

Fletcher staggered back and stared down in shock at the blood on his side where the bullet Jillian had fired had creased him.

The Kid moved at the same time, diving and reaching out to catch the gun Jillian had dropped before it hit the floor. As soon as the walnut grips slapped into his palm, he rolled over and came up on a knee.

Fletcher swung the rifle toward him. Flame gouted from the muzzle. The bullet plowed into the floorboards beside The Kid as the Colt began to roar. The Kid slammed three shots into Fletcher’s chest in little more than the blink of an eye.

Meanwhile, Dakota Pete took advantage of the distraction to grab one of Fletcher’s men and lift the hardcase off the floor. With a bellow of rage, Pete swung the man like a club and sent him crashing into the other two gunmen. All of them sprawled on the floor.

They still held their guns, and as The Kid lunged up and darted to the side, slugs whipped past him. He returned the fire, and so did Pete, the shots pounding out like deafening drumbeats.

As the echoes died away, The Kid saw all three of the hired guns lying there bullet-riddled, bleeding their lives out.

That left Bledsoe.

Another shot blasted suddenly. The Kid heard the bullet sizzle past him. He turned, saw Tom Haggarty standing in the doorway, one hand holding the batwings open while the other clutched a revolver with smoke curling from the barrel.

The Kid looked in the other direction in time to see Ben Bledsoe fold up. The rifle he had picked up after Fletcher dropped it slipped from his fingers as he fell to the floor and gasped a couple times before a spasm went through him. After that, he lay still.

“I heard the shots and figured I’d better see what was going on,” Haggarty said as he lowered his gun. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

The Kid nodded his thanks. “Just in time to save my life, from the looks of it. I’m obliged, Haggarty.”

The bounty hunter smiled thinly. “The reward notices on Bledsoe
did
say dead or alive. I can take his body to Tucson and collect that way.”

The sound of sobbing made The Kid look around again. Jillian knelt beside her father’s corpse. She appeared to be unhurt, but her face was wet with tears when she looked up at The Kid and said, “I…I shot him. My own father.”

“You didn’t kill him,” The Kid told her. “I did. And if you want to hate me for that, I don’t blame you.”

“H-hate you?” Jillian repeated. “No. No, I can’t do that. The man you killed…he wasn’t the man he…he used to be. The one I…”

She couldn’t go on. She collapsed across Fletcher’s body, her back shaking with sobs.

Conrad Browning had suffered his own tragedies and hadn’t been able to deal with them. That was why Kid Morgan had been born. He sure as hell couldn’t make the pain and the conflicting emotions go away for Jillian Fletcher.

So The Kid did the only thing he could.

He punched the empties out of his Colt’s cylinder and thumbed in fresh rounds to take their place.

The sun came up an hour later. By midday, Tom Haggarty had already left Gehenna, driving a wagon with the blanket-wrapped bodies of Ben Bledsoe and Carl Drake in the back of it. The owner of the local wagonyard was letting him use it to take the bodies to Tucson out of gratitude for the part Haggarty had played in freeing the settlement from Bledsoe’s iron-fisted grip.

“You don’t have to worry about being a fugitive anymore, Morgan,” Haggarty had told The Kid before he left. “I’ll make sure the authorities over in New Mexico know it was a case of mistaken identity.”

“I’m obliged for that.” The Kid had said.

“One more thing…I brought along that buckskin of yours that I took when I left you at Hell Gate. He’s over in the livery stable. Wherever you’re going next, you’ll need a horse.”

The Kid was grateful for that, as well, and as he lifted a hand in farewell while Haggarty drove away, he wondered if he would ever see the bounty hunter again. Haggarty wasn’t a bad sort…

For a tough, mean son of a bitch.

The Kid had the buckskin saddled up, and he had a packhorse loaded with supplies ready to travel, too, courtesy of the merchants of Gehenna, who were glad to have their businesses back. Both animals were tied to the hitch rail in front of the hotel.

As The Kid started up the steps to the porch, Jillian came out of the front door and waited for him. The tears on her face had dried, but she still looked grave.

“You’re leaving so soon?” she asked.

“There’s nothing to keep me here,” The Kid said.

“There could be.” She glanced down the street toward Rosarita’s place, where Rosarita herself stood out front with Aliciana and several more of the soiled doves. “In fact, I think you could take your pick of reasons.”

The Kid smiled and shook his head. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted…but I think I’ll be riding on.”

“Just you and whatever pain it is that you’re carrying inside you?”

“Something like that,” he said. “What about you? Are you going back to Hell Gate?”