The Loner: Killer Poker Page 2

  His children were out there somewhere, and he intended to find them.

  Conrad let Arturo sleep until the sky was gray with the approach of dawn. He built up the fire and put fresh coffee on to boil, then took bacon from their supplies in the back of the buckboard and got it sizzling in a pan. When the bacon finished frying, he would use the grease to cook up some flapjacks.

  The good smells woke Arturo. He pushed himself up on an elbow and yawned. “I would have prepared breakfast, sir.”

  “I know that,” Conrad said, “but I cooked for myself for a long time when I was out on the lonely trails. I don’t mind.”

  Arturo sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I must say, having seen you in the midst of glittering high society, it’s difficult to believe that you also spent so much time living like . . . like . . .”

  “Some sort of owlhoot?” Conrad asked with a smile.

  “Basically, yes.”

  “There’s something to be said for solitude. Seemed like every time I got around people too much, I wound up in some sort of scrape. Usually a shooting scrape.”

  “Ah. Then what you’re saying is . . . the more things change, the more they stay the same.”

  Conrad laughed. “That pretty much sums it up. Whether I’m Conrad Browning or Kid Morgan, people are all the time shooting at me.”

  Arturo looked toward the weeds where they had put the bodies of the dead outlaws. “Indeed.”

  “We’ll have breakfast first. Then we’ll take care of that little chore.”

  “Yes, of course. Wouldn’t want to dig graves on an empty stomach, would we?” Arturo climbed to his feet and went over to the fire. “Why don’t you let me finish that? You’re more skilled at tending to the horses.”

  “Sure.” Conrad tried not to chuckle. Sometimes he wondered who exactly was in charge, him or his so-called servant.

  The horses had plenty of grass to graze on, so Conrad took them over to the creek one by one and let them drink. While he was doing that, Arturo finished preparing breakfast. The smell of coffee and bacon made Conrad forget that he was a little tired.

  They would push on toward Denver, once they had finished the burying. He had been to the city that lay in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains many times. Denver was a big place. If Pamela had hidden the twins there, finding them wasn’t going to be easy.

  So far in the quest, Conrad had been able to uncover enough clues to keep him on the trail. More than once, he’d had a feeling Pamela had left those clues on purpose. She had wanted him to keep searching. She’d realized how much torment he would be in knowing that his children were out there somewhere.

  Arturo poured the coffee. He handed a cup to Conrad, then knelt by the fire to dish up the bacon and flapjacks. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon.

  With a sudden thunder of hoofbeats, a large group of riders surged out of the reddish-gold glare and galloped up to the camp.

  Chapter 3

  Conrad hadn’t strapped on his Colt yet. The coiled gunbelt and holster laid on the ground next to his bedroll. His Winchester leaned against the cottonwood log, nearby but not within fast reach. All he had in his hand was a cup of coffee.

  He grimaced as the riders reined in and the cloud of dust raised by their horses’ hooves drifted over the camp. “You fellas are in too big a hurry. You’ve got dust in our breakfast.”

  Since the sun was behind them, the riders were mostly in silhouette. Conrad could tell they were looking for trouble. They carried their rifles across the saddles in front of them. Since he couldn’t very well shoot it out with them, he would have to rely on talk instead.

  “Who’re you two?” one of the men demanded in a rough voice.

  “I could ask the same of you,” Conrad said. “After all, this is our camp, and you’re the visitors.” His mouth tightened. “Or intruders might be a better word.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy. I’m Sheriff Lucas Pevner, and I’m on the trail of three no-good bastards who robbed the bank in Stillwater.”

  The thought that they might be the posse mentioned by the outlaws a few hours earlier had been in the back of Conrad’s mind. He turned and gestured casually with the tin cup in his hand toward the tall weeds.

  “The men you’re looking for are right over there, Sheriff.”

  Pevner moved his horse so he blocked out the rising sun. He was that big. Conrad could see the lawman’s rough-hewn face, with a drooping white mustache.

  “What in blazes are you talkin’ about?” Pevner demanded. He turned his head. “Danny, check it out.”

  One of the posse members urged his horse forward. A brawny young man who wore a deputy’s badge, he rode over to the weeds and reached down with his rifle, using the barrel to push some of the growth aside.

  “Son of a—They’re here, all right, Sheriff. Looks like all three of them.”

  “Dead?” Pevner asked like he couldn’t believe it.

  “Dead as they can be.” Danny turned around with a disgusted look on his face. “The ants are gettin’ to ’em.”

  Pevner took off the battered old Stetson he wore and scrubbed a big hand over his face. Then he clapped the hat back on his head and glared at Conrad. “What happened here?”

  “They rode in a few hours ago and tried to steal our horses. We didn’t let them.”

  “Didn’t let ’em,” the sheriff muttered. “Do you know who those hombres are? I mean, were?”

  “One of them was called Kingston,” Conrad said. “That’s all I remember.”

  “Bully Kingston, they called him,” Pevner said. “Killed at least four men that we know of. The other two were almost as bad. And you’re claimin’ a dude like you and this skinny drink of water shot it out with ’em and killed all three of ’em?”

  “We didn’t want them to take our horses,” Conrad said.

  Pevner blew out a sigh, causing his mustache to flutter. “All right, Danny,” he said to his deputy, “you and some of the boys drag ’em out and wrap ’em up in blankets. We’ll take them back to Stillwater with us.”

  “We might not want to do that, Sheriff,” Danny said. “It’s gonna be a mighty hot day, and like I said, the ants are already startin’ to get to ’em . . .”

  Pevner sighed again. “You’re right. We’ll plant the bastards right here.” He looked around at the creek and its grassy, tree-lined banks. “It’s a prettier place for eternal rest than the varmints deserve, that’s for dang sure.”

  Conrad said, “We’re obliged to you, Sheriff. Arturo and I were going to bury them, but you and your men can save us the trouble.”

  Pevner swung down from the saddle. With his size and lumbering movements, he reminded Conrad a little of a bear.

  “Who are you, mister?” the lawman demanded.

  “My name is Conrad Browning. This is my friend Arturo Vincenzo.”

  Pevner glanced at Arturo. “Foreigner, eh?” He turned back to Conrad. “What are you doin’ out here, Browning?”

  “We’re on our way to Denver.” He didn’t volunteer any other information.

  “You said Kingston and his men wanted to swap horses with you. What happened to their mounts?”

  “They spooked and ran off when the shooting started. That’s the last we saw of them. They probably didn’t go very far. You can probably find them if you want to look.”

  Pevner nodded and looked over his shoulder. “Danny, see if they got the bank loot on ’em.”

  Conrad said, “I can save your deputy the trouble, Sheriff. I searched them already. The money they took from the bank must be on their horses, because they don’t have it.”

  Pevner gave him a suspicious frown. “Is that so? It wouldn’t be that you already found the loot and claimed it for yourself, would it?”

  Conrad thought about being proddy but decided it wasn’t worth the time and trouble. He waved a hand at the buckboard and said, “There’s all our gear. You’re welcome to go through it if you want. I can tell you right now, t
hough, that you’ll find some cash. That’s our traveling fund.”

  “How much cash?”

  “A couple thousand dollars.”

  Danny let out a surprised whistle. “Some travelin’ fund.”

  “Kingston and them took eight thousand from the bank,” Pevner said. “Maybe you done already stashed the rest of it and just kept out a couple grand.”

  Conrad couldn’t keep the irritated edge out of his voice. “Why don’t you send some of your men to look for those horses first, Sheriff, before you go around accusing somebody who’s actually done you a favor?”

  Pevner glared at him a moment longer before jerking his head in a curt nod. “All right. Did you see which way they went when they stampeded?”

  “North.” Conrad nodded his head in that direction.

  “Phillips, Martin, Webster, go take a look and see if you can find them horses,” the lawman ordered.

  “While they’re doing that, Arturo and I are going to have our breakfast.” Conrad looked at the coffee in his cup and made a face at the skim of dust floating on its surface. “That is, if it’s still fit to eat.”

  He didn’t offer to share their food with the posse. He and Arturo were running a little low on supplies, and what they had would have to last until they reached Denver.

  Besides, Pevner’s attitude rubbed Conrad the wrong way. He could understand why Frank had told him that a lot of lawmen were full of themselves and hard to get along with.

  A couple posse members had brought along shovels. It was a smart thing do when chasing outlaws. Chances were, somebody would usually need burying before the pursuit was over.

  Pevner told his men to start digging. “Not too close to the creek,” he added.

  When Conrad and Arturo finished breakfast, Conrad started to hitch the team to the buckboard while Arturo cleaned up. Pevner came over to the vehicle, still glaring, and demanded, “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

  “I told you. Denver.”

  Pevner shook his head. “Not yet, you ain’t. Not until we account for that missin’ bank money.”

  “You searched our belongings while we were eating,” Conrad said. “You should be satisfied by now that we don’t have it.”

  “You’re stayin’ right here until my boys get back with them horses. Then we’ll just see what happens.”

  Conrad’s jaw tightened. He expected the three men Pevner had sent to look for the outlaws’ horses to be back soon. It was easier to wait for that than to argue, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. “Fine. For the time being.”

  Pevner snorted.

  Conrad walked over to his bedroll. He reached down toward the coiled gunbelt, intending to strap it on.

  “Don’t do that,” the sheriff snapped. “Step away from that gun, Browning.”

  Conrad turned toward him, struggling to control his anger. Ignoring the warning look Arturo gave him, he began hotly, “Sheriff, you—”

  “The fellas are comin’ back,” Danny broke in. “Looks like they got those horses with ’em.”

  It was true. The three posse members were riding in from the north, leading the three horses the outlaws had ridden in on the night before. As they came up, Conrad saw that the saddlebags on each animal appeared to be well stuffed.

  Eagerly, Pevner opened one of the pouches and stuck his hand in it. He had a thick wad of bills clutched in his fingers when he brought them out. “Looks like the loot’s here, all right,” he said. “Danny, get it all out and count it.” Pevner cast a hard glance toward Conrad. “If there’s six grand, we’ll know that somebody was lyin’ to us and had already collected his share.”

  “You said three men robbed the bank, Sheriff,” Conrad said. “There are three graves over there.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe you was the mastermind behind the whole thing, mister.”

  Conrad bit back the angry words that wanted to spring to his lips. It would all be over soon, he told himself.

  It didn’t take Danny long to count the money he pulled from the saddlebags. “Eight thousand, one hundred, and sixty-seven dollars,” he announced a few minutes later. “I reckon that matches up with what Mr. Madison at the bank told us those fellas got away with, Sheriff.”

  Pevner nodded and sighed. “You’re right, Danny.” He turned and stuck out a big paw toward Conrad. “No offense, Browning. I reckon you’re in the clear.”

  Conrad wasn’t that eager to accept his implied apology, but he shook hands anyway. He supposed the sheriff had only been doing his job.

  “You’ll finish burying them?” he asked.

  Pevner nodded. “We sure will.”

  “Then Arturo and I will be on our way as soon as we can get ready to travel.”

  “That’s fine. Headed for Denver, you say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You ought to be there in another couple days.” Pevner paused, then added, “Unless you run into somebody else who wants to shoot you.”

  “I wouldn’t rule it out,” Arturo said.

  Chapter 4

  No one tried to kill them, despite Arturo’s veiled prediction, and they made better time than Pevner had said. It was late in the afternoon of the next day when they reached what folks had started to call the Mile High City.

  The Front Range of the Rockies lay ten miles west of Denver, but because of the thin, clear air the mountains appeared to be close enough to reach out and touch.

  “It’s a spectacular sight,” Arturo commented from the buckboard seat as he and Conrad entered the city.

  “Denver’s a pretty place, all right,” Conrad agreed. He rode the blaze-faced black alongside the vehicle. “I want to go see my lawyers first. Their office is on Colfax Avenue, not far from the capitol.”

  “Do you have attorneys on retainer in all the large cities, sir?”

  Conrad smiled. “Just about. It takes a lot of paperwork to keep all those business enterprises going, and I sure as hell don’t want to have to do it.”

  He wore a black coat to go along with the black trousers and had a string tie cinched around his neck. Silver conchos studded the hatband of his black Stetson. He looked like a successful rancher, or possibly a gambler or gunman.

  They passed the federal building, the state capitol, and the U.S. Mint. All of them were impressive structures. So was the six-story brick office building where Conrad’s lawyers were headquartered.

  Arturo parked the buckboard on the cobblestone street in front of the building. “I’ll wait out here and keep an eye on our supplies, sir.”

  Conrad nodded. “That’s a good idea. Denver’s gotten to be a big enough town that you can’t trust people like you can in a little settlement.”

  The building didn’t have a hitch rail for saddle horses in front of it. Most people traveled around town in buggies or carriages these days. Conrad dismounted and looped the black’s reins around the brake lever on the buckboard. That would work well enough.

  He went inside, through a lobby with a brilliantly polished granite floor, and up a wide set of stairs with gilded banisters. Quite a few men were walking and talking in the lobby, all the while puffing on expensive cigars. Their footsteps and voices echoed from the high ceiling. The smell of rich tobacco smoke hung in the air.

  On the second floor, Conrad came to a heavy wooden door with pebbled glass in its upper half. Painted on the glass in gold letters were the words HUDSON, BURKE, AND HARDY—ATTORNEYS AT LAW. He turned the gold-plated knob and stepped into an expensively appointed outer office with a gleaming wooden floor.

  The woman behind the desk was putting a cover over her typewriter. She looked up at him and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re about to close for the day.”

  Conrad took his hat off and smiled. “It’s I who should apologize for coming in so late, Miss . . . ?”

  He noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  She hesitated but then supplied her name. “Sullivan.”

  “Miss Sullivan.” Conrad didn
’t recognize her from his previous visits and knew she probably had been hired since the last time he was there. She was very attractive, probably about twenty-five, with honey-blond hair pulled up on top of her head.

  Conrad went on, “I need to speak to Mr. Hudson if he’s here, please.”

  Ellery Hudson was the senior partner in the firm and the one with whom Conrad had dealt most often.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible without an appointment,” Miss Sullivan said without addressing the question of whether or not Hudson was in the office. “If you’d care to make one, Mr. Hudson has some time available at the end of next week . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as Conrad shook his head. “This is important,” he said. “I need to speak to him right away. Tell him it’s Conrad Browning.”

  Carefully plucked blond eyebrows rose in surprise. Obviously, Miss Sullivan recognized the name. She hesitated and then pressed a button on her desk.

  “Yes, Rose?”

  The woman’s voice came out of a black box on Miss Sullivan’s desk. Conrad looked at it with interest. He knew it had to be one of the new inter-office speaking devices he had heard about. They were based on the same sort of apparatus as a telephone and were being installed in some of the offices back east. He hadn’t expected to see one in Denver.

  But it would be a new century before too much longer, he reminded himself. Things changed. Progress, or what passed for progress, was inevitable.

  Rose Sullivan leaned forward and spoke into the box. “There’s a man out here who insists on seeing Mr. Hudson, Mrs. Moorehead. He says his name is Conrad Browning.”

  Conrad smiled again. That was a name he knew. Julia Moorehead was Ellery Hudson’s private secretary.

  “Ask him to wait right there,” she said.

  Miss Sullivan looked up at Conrad. “If you’d care to wait a moment . . .”

  “I heard,” he told her, still smiling. He hung his hat on a rack just inside the door but didn’t have a chance to sit down in one of the padded leather chairs before the door to the firm’s inner sanctum opened and Julia Moorehead came out.