The Loner: The Blood of Renegades (2 page)

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Authors: J. A. Johnstone

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BOOK: The Loner: The Blood of Renegades
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Chapter 2
 
Behind him, Arturo yelled something but Conrad couldn’t make it out over the thunder of the black’s hoofbeats. He leaned forward in the saddle and urged the animal to greater speed.
He had been torn for only a second between the two courses of action that lay before him. He and Arturo could stay where they were and allow the pursuit to pass in front of them and continue on to the south, which was probably the smartest thing to do, since he was on an important mission of his own: finding his lost children.
Or he could give in to the part of him that didn’t like six-to-one odds.
That was the urge that won the mental battle. He had gotten in the habit of sticking up for anybody who was outnumbered.
It was possible the fleeing rider was a killer or a train robber or some other sort of outlaw with a posse on his trail. In that case Conrad could stop the fugitive and do a favor for the law. But he had to get an idea of what was going on. He didn’t hear any shots or see any puffs of powdersmoke from the pursuers. Evidently they weren’t out to kill the person they were after.
Suddenly, Conrad realized he needed to stop thinking of that lone rider as a man. He was close enough to see long, fair hair streaming out behind the rider’s head. Some men wore their hair long like that, but Conrad’s instincts told him the single rider was a woman.
A woman being chased by that many men was bound to be in trouble. Hauling back on the reins he brought his mount to a stop. He levered a round into the Winchester’s firing chamber and brought the rifle to his shoulder. Aiming high, he squeezed the trigger and sent a shot blasting over the heads of the pursuers, who were a couple hundred yards away.
The woman was closer, maybe fifty yards from him. She changed course, veering toward him, hoping he would protect her. Conrad levered the rifle and squeezed off another round.
The pursuers didn’t return his fire. As the woman flashed past Conrad without slowing down he caught a glimpse of her pale, frightened face. Glancing over his shoulder after her, he saw Arturo had followed him in the buggy and was stopped a short distance away. He had jumped down from the vehicle and stood with a rifle in his hands, ready to get into the fight if need be.
Conrad turned his attention back to the pursuers, who slowed their horses and then stopped, evidently unwilling to charge right into the threat of two Winchesters. They were far enough away Conrad couldn’t make out any details about them except the broad-brimmed hats and long dusters they wore. The horses milled around as the dust cloud kicked up by their hooves started to blow away.
Seconds passed in nerve-stretching tension. Finally one of the men prodded his horse forward. Conrad stayed where he was, waiting in motionless silence, as the man rode slowly toward him.
“That’s far enough,” Conrad called when the man was about thirty feet away.
“Mister, I don’t know who you are, but you’re mixin’ in somethin’ that’s none of your concern.” The spokesman for the pursuers was a thick-set man with dark beard stubble on his face. One eye was squeezed almost shut, no doubt from the injury that had left a scar angling away from it. “That woman belongs to us.”
Conrad said, “You may not have heard, but it’s almost a new century. Enlightened people are starting to believe women don’t actually belong to anyone except themselves.”
The man grunted. “It don’t matter what century it is. The law’s the law.”
“What law?”
“The law of God!” the man thundered.
With that, things became clearer to Conrad. “You’re Mormons, aren’t you?”
“Call ourselves saints,” the man said. “Or in our case . . . angels.”
Avenging angels, Conrad thought. Gun-packing enforcers for the leaders of the Mormon hierarchy. Conrad had heard stories about them, but these were the first he had encountered. When he’d been in charge of all the Browning business and financial interests—back in that other life of his before everything he held dear was ripped away from him—he had dealt at times with Mormon leaders. You couldn’t do business in Utah without dealing with the Mormons. But they had been businessmen as much as they were church elders, their religious beliefs tempered by the desire to make money. These gunmen were very different sorts.
Despite being outnumbered, Conrad wasn’t afraid of them. “Chasing a scared girl across this wasteland doesn’t strike me as being very religious.”
The man scowled and jabbed a finger at him, as if to strike him dead. “Don’t you presume to know the will of the Lord! The girl is ours and she goes back with us. She has defied the elders and must be punished!”
“You’ll have to take her from us,” Conrad said coolly.
“There are six of us and two of you,” the man pointed out with a sneer.
“Yes, but we’ll kill four of you before you put us down. Maybe five. Maybe even all six.” Conrad smiled. “Not to brag, but I’m pretty good with a gun. Maybe we’ll all wind up lying here, food for the buzzards, and then the girl will ride away. What good will that do your elders?”
The other men had been listening intently to the exchange. One of them spoke up. “Leatherwood, maybe we’d better not do this. We were just supposed to bring her back, not kill anybody.”
The leader’s head jerked around. “This man’s not going to tell me what to do. Our orders were to fetch the girl!”
“We’ll be able to find her later.” The man waved a hand at the landscape around them. “Where are they going to go that we can’t find them whenever we want to? This is our home.”
The one called Leatherwood hesitated. He glared back and forth between his companions and Conrad. “Elder Hissop was clear about what we’re supposed to do. I don’t know about you, Kiley, but I don’t much want to go back without doin’ as we were told.”
“They won’t get away,” Kiley said. “Besides, after these men have been saddled with that headstrong female for a while, they may want us to take her off their hands!”
Leatherwood nodded. “That’s a good point.” He turned back to Conrad. “All right, mister, if you want her, take her. But know that by defyin’ us, you’ve signed your death warrant. Sooner or later we’ll kill you, and the girl will go back where she belongs.”
“Talk like that makes me wonder why I don’t just go ahead and drill you right now,” Conrad said.
The squint-eyed Leatherwood grinned, which made him even uglier. “You’re welcome to go ahead and try, mister.”
Conrad began backing his horse away. Without taking his eyes off the six men, he raised his voice and said, “Arturo, take the girl and get out of here. I’ll cover your back trail.”
The Mormon gunmen stayed where they were. Conrad understood why the one called Kiley hadn’t wanted to force the issue at that time. Outnumbered, surrounded by miles and miles of nothing, and no place where they could get any help, he and Arturo were at a definite disadvantage. The avenging angels could stalk them at their leisure, and Conrad and Arturo would have no way of knowing when or where the inevitable attack would come.
For now, more gunplay appeared to have been headed off, and Conrad had a chance to find out who the girl was and what was going on. He didn’t mind fighting, but generally liked to know what he was fighting
for
, especially when trouble was delaying him in his efforts to find his missing children.
He heard the buggy and the girl’s horse departing behind him, and continued backing his horse away from the gunmen. When he had put a hundred yards between himself and them, he whirled the horse without warning and kicked it into a run. As he galloped after Arturo and the girl, he looked over his shoulder and saw the Mormons weren’t giving chase. That surprised him a little, but obviously Leatherwood had decided they were going to bide their time.
Conrad was sure of one thing: the trouble was far from over.
Because Kiley was right. There was no place for them to go where the avenging angels couldn’t find them.
Chapter 3
 
Conrad, Arturo, and their unexpected companion didn’t stop until they had gone at least a mile. Conrad kept checking behind them. He was ready to stop and throw up a screen of rifle fire to cover their getaway, but the gunmen didn’t come after them.
When they finally reined in, the horses were fatigued by the hard run. The young woman’s horse was in the worst shape. She had been fleeing from her pursuers before Conrad and Arturo joined the chase.
She wasn’t in much better shape. Trying to dismount, she half fell out of the saddle and had to grab hold of a stirrup to keep herself from dropping to the ground.
Conrad had already slid his Winchester into the saddle boot and swung down from the black. He reached out to grasp her arm and steady her. “Arturo,” he said, “get one of the canteens.”
Arturo turned around on the buggy seat, found a canteen in their boxes and bags of supplies, and brought the water over to them. Conrad unscrewed the cap and held the canteen to the young woman’s mouth. She grabbed it with both hands and gulped down as much water as she could, but Conrad pulled the canteen away after a couple swallows.
“Take it easy,” he told her. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
“I . . . I . . . Thank you,” she gasped. “If you hadn’t come along . . . I wouldn’t have made it much farther.”
While Conrad waited a moment before he gave her another drink, he took advantage of the opportunity to have a good look at her. She was tall and slender, and hair a little lighter in color than honey flowed all the way down her back to her hips. She wore men’s clothing: a rough cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple turns on tanned forearms, brown twill trousers with suspenders that went over her shoulders, and work boots that laced up. Despite the clothing, no one would ever take her for anything but female.
“What’s your name?” Conrad asked.
She’d been breathless when she dismounted, but she was starting to recover. “Selena. Selena Webster.”
“I’m Conrad Browning. This is my friend Arturo Vincenzo.”
Conrad handed her the canteen. She took a long drink but not enough to make her sick. As she gave him the canteen, she said, “I can’t thank you enough for helping me, but I’m afraid you’ve just doomed yourselves. Like Jackson Leatherwood said, when you interfere with Father Agony’s men, you’ve signed your own death warrant.”
Despite the perilousness of their situation, Conrad laughed. “Father Agony?” he repeated. “That’s a pretty melodramatic name, don’t you think?”
Selena smiled, but there was no real humor in the expression. “That’s what some of his wives call him. His name is Agonistes Hissop.”
“The man’s parents had odd taste in nomenclature,” Arturo said.
“Or else they were readers and admirers of Milton’s
Samson Agonistes
,” Conrad said. “Agonistes being from Greek for ‘one who struggles for a worthy cause.’”
Selena gave him an odd look. He didn’t bother explaining he had taken a number of courses in the classics during his university days.
“The man’s parents raised a monster,” Selena said after a moment. “His name is hardly the worst thing about him.”
“He’s the elder Leatherwood and who the others work for?” Conrad guessed.
Selena nodded. “He has a ranch about twenty miles northwest of here in a place called Juniper Canyon. It’s more like his own little town, because a lot of his followers live there as well. He’s a very rich, important man, and he doesn’t let anyone forget it.”
“You mentioned his . . . wives,” Conrad said. “I seem to remember reading in the newspaper that the Mormon Church outlawed polygamy almost ten years ago.”
That brought a laugh from Selena. “Just because Father Agony is a saint doesn’t mean he agrees with everything the church leadership does. He believes he’s a prophet, like Joseph Smith, and that God has granted him the wisdom and right to make his own laws. He’s always had multiple wives, and he doesn’t want to give them up.”
Conrad nodded. “And let me guess . . . he wants to add you to the number?”
The grimace that momentarily twisted Selena’s face was answer enough to that question. “I’ll never marry him. He can kill me first, or more likely have Leatherwood and the rest of his avenging angels do it for him, but I don’t care. That would be better than . . . than . . .”
“Maybe it won’t come to that,” Conrad said so she wouldn’t have to go on. “I don’t like to brag, but Arturo and I are pretty good at handling trouble.”
“Have you ever had an army of triggerites after you? Because that’s what you’ll be facing if you try to help me. I appreciate what you did, but you’d be better off if we went our separate ways. If Leatherwood and the others see that I’m not traveling with you, maybe he’ll spare your lives. Maybe.”
Conrad shook his head. “We’re not going to abandon you. Once I take cards in a game, I like to play it out.” He glanced toward the sun. “It’s past the middle of the afternoon. We’ll let the horses rest for a while longer, then we can start looking for a place to hole up for the night.”
“Why don’t you sit in the buggy, Miss Webster?” Arturo suggested. “The canopy provides a bit of shade from that brutal sun.”
Selena smiled. “Thank you. You’re very nice.”
“Not really. I just know that having you suffer a sunstroke would only make our situation worse.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, in that case, I appreciate it anyway.” She climbed onto the buggy seat and heaved a weary sigh.
Conrad kept an eye not only on the area where they had left Jackson Leatherwood and the other avenging angels but also on the rest of the landscape around them. He wouldn’t put it past Leatherwood and the others to circle around and come at them from a different direction. The vast expanse of Utah seemed as open and empty as if it had been on the moon.
Selena’s exhaustion caught up to her, and she dozed off with her head sagging forward. While she was sleeping, Arturo asked Conrad, “Are you sure that getting involved in this young woman’s problems is a good idea, sir?”
“No,” Conrad said, “it’s a terrible idea. We need to get on about our own business. I know that. But . . . look at her. She’s not much more than a girl.”
“A very attractive girl.”
Conrad shrugged. “Yes, but that doesn’t have anything to do with it. She’s in trouble, and if we don’t help her, who will? Maybe we can take her some place where she’ll be safe from those men.”
He didn’t explain to Arturo how his dreams—and sometimes even his waking moments—had been haunted by Rebel for months after her death. Whenever he’d been faced by the decision of whether to help someone or just ride on, her sweet voice had seemed to whisper in his ear that he had to help . . . because that’s what
she
would have done. Rebel wasn’t there anymore, but Conrad could honor the life she had led and the legacy she left behind by not turning his back on people who needed a hand.
Or in his case, a gun hand.
Half an hour later, Conrad tied Selena’s horse to the back of the buggy. Selena stirred when Arturo climbed onto the seat beside her. Suddenly her head snapped up and she looked around, wide-eyed with terror.
“It’s all right, Miss Webster,” Arturo told her. “You’re among friends.”
She looked like she wanted to bolt out of the buggy and take off running. After a moment, her fear seemed to subside, and she sank back onto the seat. “I’m sorry. At first I . . . I didn’t remember what happened. I thought I’d passed out somewhere and that Leatherwood and his men were still after me.” Her laugh was edged with bitterness. “Which they still are, of course. They’ll never give up. Not as long as they’re alive.” She looked back and forth between Conrad and Arturo. “Are you sure you want to take on my troubles?”
Conrad stepped up into the saddle. “We wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said with a smile.

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