The Loner: The Blood of Renegades Page 8

  “Juniper Canyon is in those mountains on the other side of the flats,” she explained.

  Conrad frowned. “They’re what, twenty miles away?”

  “That’s right.” Selena nodded. “We’ve come the long way around and made a big circle. It would never occur to Father Agony that Daniel and the others are right here, just across the salt flats, because nobody crosses that stretch. The flats are too dry and too dangerous.”

  Arturo said, “Conrad and I traveled through a terrible desert down in New Mexico called the Jornada del Muerto. We told you about that. The name means ‘Journey of the Dead Man,’ although some people take it to mean simply ‘the Journey of Death,’ which is a good name for it. It’s very dry and much more extensive than those flats appear to be. It can take days to make the journey.”

  “The crust of salt on the flats can crack under too much weight, and when it does it cuts a horse’s hooves so badly the horse can’t walk. That’s why no one tries to cross it. They would probably wind up on foot and stranded.”

  “I see. There’s dried lava much like that in the Jornada del Muerto—”

  “It’s not a competition,” Conrad broke in with a note of frustration in his voice. “Both places are pretty bad. We can probably leave it at that.”

  They reached the pass and rode through it. Conrad hadn’t been impressed by much of anything he had seen in Utah, but as the pass opened up into a valley that fell away on the far side of the mountains, he was surprised. Instead of the ugly browns and tans that met the eye everywhere else the valley below him was painted with the verdant green of grass and trees and decorated with splashes of color from wildflowers.

  Kingman and Selena had reined in, and Conrad, Arturo, and the other men followed suit. Kingman turned in his saddle to smirk at the prisoners.

  “Welcome to the Valley of the Outcast Saints.”

  Chapter 16

  Conrad gave in to his curiosity and asked, “Where does the water come from? There has to be a better source of water than usual around here to account for all this vegetation.”

  “That’s right,” Kingman replied with a nod. “There are several springs on this side of the pass. The streams they form run through the valley. I’ve been exploring the place for months, ever since we came here, and I’m not sure I’ve even found all of them yet. The ones I have found look like someone did some blasting around them in the past to enlarge the openings and increase the flow of water. Miners, maybe, or somebody who wanted to start a ranch here. I’ve been tempted to try to improve them even more.”

  “But you’re afraid the explosions might block off the springs instead,” Conrad said. “You’d need to be sure the bore holes are placed correctly.”

  Kingman looked at him with new interest. “You know something about blasting?”

  Conrad shrugged. Not only had he taken engineering courses in college, he had quite a bit of practical experience from being around the mines and the railroad lines his companies owned. Back in his old life, he had spent a considerable amount of time discussing various problems with the engineers who were working for him on those projects.

  He wasn’t going to tell Kingman that. He had a hunch the self-styled Outcast Saints were only one step above being outlaws. If they found out he was rich, they might decide to hold him for ransom, or something equally annoying and dangerous.

  “Maybe we’ll talk about it while you’re here,” Kingman went on. He didn’t sound quite as hostile, as if talking about exploring the valley and the plans he had for it made him forget to be as arrogant as he’d been earlier.

  That didn’t last long, though. The cocky grin reappeared on his face as he said, “Might as well get some use out of you since we’ll be feeding you.” He waved the group forward. “Come on!”

  With Selena trotting her horse alongside his, Kingman led the way down a trail that turned into a road running through the center of the valley. Conrad saw plowed fields with crops growing in them. He spotted fruit trees bearing colorful fruit. Water made all the difference, turning the little corner of wilderness into something of an oasis. It was hard to believe only a few miles away over the pass lay a hellish, barren, blazing desert.

  Several buildings appeared up ahead. Some were log cabins, others were squarish adobe huts. Conrad saw corrals and barns. The Outcast Saints appeared to be making new lives for themselves in the valley.

  And they weren’t alone. Conrad spotted a couple women moving around the cabins. Selena wouldn’t be the only female. He wondered if those women had run away from Juniper Canyon, too. If that was the case, it wasn’t surprising Elder Hissop was getting upset. He had to be worried about losing so many marriageable women from his community. One thing you needed in a society where men took multiple wives was plenty of women, Conrad thought wryly.

  Kingman took them to the largest of the log cabins. As he reined in, he turned to Selena. “This is our new home. I built it especially for you.”

  “It’s fine, Daniel,” she told him. “Really fine. I’m sure we’ll be happy here.” She paused. “But you could make an even better start in our new life by letting my friends go.”

  “In due time,” Kingman said in an off-handed manner.

  Conrad knew better. He had a hunch Kingman would never let him and Arturo go now that they knew the location of the Valley of the Outcast Saints. He would be too afraid they’d expose the place to Hissop and Leatherwood.

  Whether Selena realized it or not, her “husband” didn’t intend to allow the prisoners to ever leave the valley . . . at least not alive.

  Kingman turned to Ollie. “Take several men and put these two in the smokehouse.”

  “Wait a minute,” Selena protested. “You’re going to lock them up?”

  “Just until we can be certain they’re trustworthy,” Kingman told her. “It’s for their own protection, as well. Some of the people here might not be inclined to be as tolerant of Gentiles as you are. They remember the things that have been done to believers in the past.”

  “Well . . . I suppose you might be right about that.” Selena turned to Conrad and Arturo. “I’m sorry about this. I’m sure it won’t be for long.”

  Conrad suspected she was right about that. A few nights from now, or maybe even tonight, Kingman would have the prisoners taken out and killed, and their bodies disposed of so no one would ever find them. Then he could tell Selena he had decided to let them go. She might wonder why Conrad and Arturo hadn’t said good-bye to her before they left, but eventually she would convince herself it was better that way.

  The alternative would be too upsetting for her to consider.

  Kingman dismounted and stood next to Selena’s horse, holding a hand up to her. “Come on,” he said with a smile. “Let me show you your new home.”

  She smiled at him and swung down from her saddle to take his hand. Together they went into the log cabin.

  Ollie moved his horse up behind Conrad and Arturo. In a firm but not unkind voice he said, “Let’s go, fellas. The smokehouse won’t be that comfortable, but you’ll see it ain’t too bad.”

  Three more members of the group moved their mounts up so Conrad and Arturo were surrounded again. They had no choice but to heel their horses into motion. Ollie rode around them and led the way to another log building a couple hundred yards from the cabin where Selena and Kingman had disappeared. The building had no windows, no way in or out except a thick door with a bar across it. The people of the valley might have built it as a place to smoke meat, but obviously they’d had in mind it would make a sturdy prison, too.

  Conrad glanced over at Arturo and saw his friend and servant watching him. From the corner of his mouth, Conrad whispered, “We can’t let them lock us up.”

  Arturo gave a tiny nod to show that he understood. He had figured out Kingman intended to have them killed. He had run across a number of evil men in recent years, including his own former employer.

  The odds were a little better. Some of the Outcast Sai
nts had scattered to their homes when they arrived in the valley, leaving only Ollie and three men guarding the prisoners. Conrad thought if he could get his hands on Ollie’s revolver, he could deal with the other men in a hurry. He didn’t particularly want to kill them, but knew sooner or later—probably sooner—their zealotry would lead them to murder him and Arturo.

  Of course, even if they got away from their guardians, they would still be in the middle of the enemy stronghold. They would have to fight their way out. Conrad knew it was better to fight than to go meekly to their deaths. He managed to untie his hands—the bonds weren’t that tight.

  “Here we are,” Ollie said as he drew rein in front of the smokehouse. He turned in the saddle and moved his hand toward the butt of his gun. “If you fellas will just get off first—”

  Instead of dismounting, Conrad suddenly dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and sent the animal lunging forward. Ollie let out a yell of alarm and clawed at his revolver as Conrad’s horse came right at him.

  Conrad kicked his feet free of the stirrups and left the saddle in a diving tackle that sent him crashing into Ollie. The unexpected impact drove Ollie backward out of his saddle. He crashed to the ground with Conrad on top of him. Conrad’s left hand locked around the wrist of Ollie’s gunhand, and his bunched right fist slammed down into the man’s broad face. Snatching Ollie’s gun from its holster, Conrad rolled away from him and came up on one knee with the revolver leveled and ready to fire.

  Chapter 17

  Conrad had been too busy with Ollie to know what Arturo was doing. His heart sank as he saw his friend lying facedown on the ground with one of the Outcast Saints on top of him. The man’s knee dug into Arturo’s back with painful force, and a gun barrel was pressed against the back of Arturo’s head.

  In addition, the other two men had whipped out their guns and pointed them at Conrad. He knew he was only a whisker away from being fired on. If they did, he was confident he would get lead in them, but he wouldn’t make it out of there alive and neither would Arturo.

  “Drop it!” the man who knelt on Arturo yelled. “Right now!”

  “Better do what he says, mister,” Ollie advised from where he lay on the ground a few feet away. The fall had knocked his hat off and left his shock of blond hair riffling in the breeze blowing through the valley. “If you don’t, he’ll blow your friend’s brains out.”

  Back up the road, the door of Kingman’s cabin flew open and the young man rushed out. If Kingman had the chance, he would order his men to shoot, and be done with the problem.

  Before that could happen, Conrad lowered Ollie’s Colt and put it on the ground in front of him. “Take it easy,” he said as he lifted both hands into the air. “Let off on that trigger, will you?”

  From his awkward, uncomfortable position, Arturo said, “I’m sorry . . . sir . . . I tried to . . . grapple with one of these men . . . and get his gun . . . but I’m not strong enough . . . or fast enough.”

  Conrad managed to smile. “Don’t worry about it, Arturo. We did what we could.”

  Kingman ran up and yelled, “What’s going on here? Can’t you handle a simple job like locking these two up, Ollie?”

  Behind him, Selena had stepped out of the cabin, too. Conrad saw her gaze worriedly toward the smokehouse. She raised a clenched hand and pressed it to the front of her shirt.

  Ollie climbed to his feet and brushed himself off. “I’m sorry, Dan,” he said with a contrite look on his face. “This fella Browning, well, he moves just about as fast as anybody I’ve ever seen. When he jumped me it was like a rattlesnake strikin’.” Ollie picked up his gun and slipped it back into its holster.

  “I don’t care how fast he is, you shouldn’t have let him get close enough to jump you.” Kingman jerked a hand toward Arturo. “Get that one on his feet.” He turned to Conrad, who had stood up while the other guards covered him. “If you wanted to convince me to trust you, Browning, this was the wrong way to go about it.”

  “We both know what you’ve got in mind, Kingman,” Conrad said. “Trust doesn’t enter into it. You just want her to think that.”

  Kingman paled at that. He turned to Ollie and barked, “Lock them up like I told you. Think you can manage that?”

  “Sure, Dan.” Ollie lifted the bar from the brackets attached to the smokehouse wall on either side of the door. He leaned the bar against the wall and swung the door out. “Get in there, you two.”

  The man holding the gun to Arturo’s head dragged him to his feet and prodded him forward. Conrad went in first. Arturo stumbled through the door behind him. With a heavy thump, the door slammed closed, plunging them into thick darkness. Conrad heard the scraping sound as Ollie replaced the bar in its brackets.

  There were some tiny chinks here and there in the mud that plastered the logs together. Those gaps let in a few shafts of light that served to relieve the stygian gloom slightly. As Conrad’s eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw the racks where sides of beef hung while they were being cured by the smoke from a fire in the pit in the center of the floor. Those racks were empty at the moment, and only cold ashes were in the fire pit.

  The only unlucky creatures in the smokehouse were himself and Arturo.

  “Clearly, attempting to assist Miss Webster was an unfortunate and unwise decision on our part.”

  “It was my fault,” Conrad said. “You just went along.”

  “Well, of course. As your employee, it’s my job to follow your orders.”

  “I thought we’d established that you and I are friends, too . . . and a friend can tell another friend that he’s about to do a damn fool thing.”

  “Yes, but don’t you see that you had no choice in the matter?”

  Conrad frowned in the darkness. “How do you figure that?”

  “You forget, sir, that I’ve stood guard many times while you slept. I’ve heard the results of the dreams that occur to you in your slumber.”

  “You mean I talk in my sleep?” Conrad asked in surprise.

  “Well . . . not in any real coherent fashion. But I’ve been able to make out enough words and phrases to know that your late wife’s death still haunts you. It’s really no surprise when you’re faced with a dilemma, you want to choose whatever course you believe she would have had you choose.” Arturo paused. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here by saying these things, sir. As you yourself just brought up, we are friends.”

  Smiling, Conrad reached out in the darkness and found Arturo’s shoulder. He squeezed it briefly. “You’re not speaking out of turn at all, amigo.” He took a deep breath. “Now it’s time for us to start thinking about how we’re going to get out of here.”

  Over the next few hours, Conrad inspected every inch of the smokehouse using his hands and what little he could see. He even climbed up on the drying racks, balancing precariously while he poked at the roof. He was looking for a weak spot, anywhere he might make a little hole, then enlarge it into an opening big enough for him and Arturo to escape. He knew that was a real long shot, but it was better than sitting there doing nothing.

  While Conrad carried out that search, Arturo investigated the possibility of digging out underneath one of the walls.

  Conrad considered that pretty unlikely, but what he was doing was probably going to be futile, too. He didn’t discourage Arturo.

  Time passed, and finally Conrad had to say, “I can’t find any place where we might be able to get out.”

  “Nor can I,” Arturo said. “It appears that when the Outcast Saints built this structure, they dug down and sunk the first logs several inches in the ground. And the dirt is packed so hard, I’m not sure we could dig out even if we had a shovel, let alone with our bare fingers or a pocket knife. Given months, we might burrow a tunnel like moles . . . but we don’t have months, do we?”

  “Not likely. It wouldn’t surprise me if Kingman decided to get rid of us tonight.”

  “Won’t our abrupt departure make Miss Webster suspicious?”
>
  “I’m sure it will. But what can she do?”

  “Yes, she’s cast her lot with young Mr. Kingman,” Arturo said philosophically. “She can’t very well admit, even to herself, that he may be as ruthless as that oddly-named religious leader from whom she escaped.”

  Conrad thought about Elder Hissop and also about the leader of the avenging angels, Jackson Leatherwood. He was convinced Leatherwood had gathered more men and set out once again from Juniper Canyon to search for Selena. What were the chances Leatherwood might find the valley before Kingman had Conrad and Arturo killed?

  Would they be any better off if Leatherwood showed up and wiped out the Outcast Saints? Not hardly, Conrad thought. Leatherwood had a grudge against him and Arturo, too—a blood debt to settle for the men they had killed.

  There was no getting around it—they didn’t have a friend anywhere in that corner of Utah. The only person the least bit sympathetic to them—Selena—was powerless to aid them.

  Suddenly Conrad heard footsteps approaching the smokehouse. Light still filtered through the tiny cracks in the walls, so he didn’t think Kingman had sent his men to kill them just yet. He would wait until after dark for that.

  But someone was definitely about to open the door, because the bar scraped out of its brackets. Conrad touched Arturo’s arm. “Be ready for anything.”

  As the door swung open and let in a rectangle of light blinding the two men who had been shut up in darkness for hours, Conrad wasn’t prepared for what Ollie said.

  “Come on out, you two. You’ve got an invite for dinner.”

  Chapter 18

  Conrad and Arturo lifted their hands and shaded their eyes as they hung back in the smokehouse to let themselves get used to the light. Though Conrad couldn’t see the big blond man, he was confident Ollie wasn’t alone. He figured there were several men with guns pointed at the prisoners.